When the carpet matches the curtains.....

Fanta Pants. Rusty Cock. Ginger Pubes.

I am utterly obsessed, my friends. O.B.S.E.S.S.E.D.

So many questions, so few red-heads willing to drop their pants and let me inspect.

Because whenever I see a flame-haired random walking by, that's my first question.




Does the carpet match the curtains???



Through the bravado of my friend Carlton (as in draught), I once asked a likely looking fellow this very question at the pub once.

His reply (clearly courtesy of his friend Jim. As in Beam) was "If you suck my cock, I'll let you find out."

I politely declined his most generous offer, as I had just eaten, and had no need for sausages and carrots as a snack either.

Despite this, I still fantasise over what exactly is hidden in the undies of a good ol' carrot top. Frustrating much!

So I've decided to make this post a homage of some sort to the red variety: perhaps y'all can guess who is 'a la natural' as well:


1. Cameron 'the ugliest man in AFL since Mick Martyn retired' Ling

Not exactly the most 'red' pic of my old mate Cam, but there's no doubt he's got the flame-throwing moves below the belt.
Just an easy one to get you started kids.

From exciting AFL 'star' to exciting Hollywood 'star'

2. Debra 'I'm so out-acted by the chick with the big rack and squeaky voice' Messing

If I was arsed, I would have got a few shots of Debs, showing some decidingly brown tones and a few blonde highlights here and there through-out the years.
Your decision. Does she have what it takes downstairs to make the grade????

Now, from Hollywood 'royalty' to actual 'royalty'

3. Sarah 'Suck my hairy red toes' Ferguson, aka Fergie (and not of the Black Eyed Peas Variety either).

(Oh look, she's passed the redness on to her sprog too!)


You might be thinking "Aha! Martie gave it away by referring to the red hair on Fergie's toes! I've got her now, smart bitch!". This may or may not lead you to another train of thought, along the lines of "How did Martie get a face full of royal vadge???"

Fear not, readers, I haven't been sticking my nose and various others parts where they're not wanted. I'm simply assuming that if she is a natural red head, then the hair on her toes would have to be playing that game too.

Getting on a jumbo and popping over to the Motherland:

4. Random Russian Male-Order Bride.



Russian male-order brides are almost worth a whole post to themselves. The intro page states:
"Yes, there are hot red haired women in Russia that will make you remember them even after a short meeting."
If I had need of ordering one of these lovely ladies, and she didn't have red pubes, she'd be on the first plane back to Russia and I'd be demanding a refund!!!

Finally, on our way home, passing randoms:


and ending up in the sordid world of politics.

Now here's where it gets interesting.

5. Julia Gillard


(Don't ask me what she was doing on a chinese website)

She has a super clean kitchen folks, now, does she have a super red 'giney too?????


Now, is there anyone willing to guess who is a natural and who is a wannabe????
Whoever is able to guess the most correctly might win a prize.* A special edition porno featuring all red-headed ladies getting down and dirty perhaps??


*NB - Of course, I have no fucking idea if they are natural or not. It's not like they're going to publish a pic of Fergie's pubes on the internet, are they?? And I'm not giving up my dvd either.

You cherry popper, you....

A summation of some sorts of the last week and a bit; anything to get me out of some cleaning really:

1. The Boy (not the Ex Fucker) is back on the scene:

And, I popped his cherry too....


"........"


That's four out of four now.


There's only one Desci, so I'll spare you the gories. However we will be visiting "Martie's Training Camp" in the near future, with a special session on how to "wrap your tool" (his words, not mine).


2. Romance is not dead



The boy took me here on the weekend (cherry was long gone). This was what I woke up to.

'Cept it was raining.

Anyway you get the picture.


3. Check out my sexy new ride:


Heated Seats People. Heated Seats.

Also, leather for easy cleaning after parking. *Sigh* How handy-ness.


4. Anyone know how to clean laptops?

The boy has promised to re-program my computer to install XP professional instead of the crap XP Home that I have now. HOPEFULLY MY COMPUTER WILL STOP FREEZING AT RANDOM INTERVALS AND ALLOW ME GET THROUGH A POST IN LESS THAN TWO HOURS.

However, before I let him anywhere near this puppy, I have to figure out how to remove all traces of PORN from my computer. I don't want to scare the poor lad.


5. Did I mention?????








Looks like a fucking fruit market.

I'd be heading back to captivity, if I were you....

Reports through that Australia's second favourite prisoner (behind the TV show, of course), Douglas Wood, has been released from his Iraqi captors overnight.

This is excellent news for Mr Wood, his family and the muslim community, however driving to work I heard some disturbing reports concerning his freedom.

Amongst the things that he said upon his release, I have issues with the following things:

1. He reportedly wanted to know when he could get a cold 'VB'

2. He inquired as to how the 'Cats' were going
this year.

I am major concerned for the following reasons:

1. VB is a crap beer. How 'bout a nice cold Carlton Draught, poured into a frosty sideways glass? Draught is made from beer. You can do better than VB, Dougie.

2.
Fanta. Pants.




UPDATE!!!!!!
Douglas Wood has signed up as a Geelong member.
Says Geelong CEO Brian Cook "It was obvious that Mr Wood was a devoted fan of the Cats....hasn't lost any passion for his beloved Cats."

I can totally understand this. Because if I was being held captive by some Iraqi rebels, it would be my passion for that would get me through.

I always depend on the kindness of strangers....

You might wonder why I'm posting on a you-should-be-out-drinking-friday night. I'll give you two words that strikes terror into the heart of parents everywhere out there:

Car. Accident.

This is not a desperate grab for sympathy, although kind words always appreciated as I am feeling rather poorly at the present hour. You'll see exactly why I hauled my ass from my sick bed to get my brother's computer to work (yes, I have been commanded back to the Mothership for a few days) shortly.

I just happened to be driving to work Thursday morning, as one does. Was perhaps running a little late due to the fact I stayed in bed just a little too long because I was re-readingthetextsexmessagesfromthenightbeforefromtheexfucker. Ahem. So I was driving along the highway, when some fucktard (and that's being nice) decided to pull out in front of me to turn right. The less said about her the better, in case I get all angry again and it hurts to breathe.

So I T-boned her @ 70km, spun, hit her again, then ended up on the other side of the highway in the middle of the on-coming traffic. There must be some sort of God, because all I know is that I was damn lucky I didn't collide with one of those cars. Luckily I wasn't seriously injured either. And, taking all my good grace to say it, luckily the other girl was either. Seriously.

Anyway, my reason for posting this is that an extremely kind woman from one of the houses came out, as did her daugher, and her daughter's boyfriend. She stayed with me whilst I was in what I assumed was stock. She spoke kind, comforting words when I couldn't reach the parents or the Ex-Fucker on the phone. She organised details for the police and helped to grab most of my stuff from the car, which was no easy task considering it was looking like a second bedroom. She invited me into her home to keep me warm, offered me tea or coffee, and even offered to drive me home when I couldn't get hold of anyone to pick me up.

All this from a stranger. I would say (and so would a lot of other people) that I'm a fairly cynical sort of girl (based on past experiences), however, it's little things like this that restore your faith in human kindness. I know that sounds cliched, but I feel an enormous gratitude and debt to this woamn, who put herself out to help and comfort me. It's something that gives me a fantastic feeling, and makes me proud to know that not everyone is so cunty in this world.

As soon as I'm feeling up to it, I've vowed to A) - take some flowers and chocolates to this woman to say thank-you. A small gesture I know, but I want to show my appreciation to her & B) - do something nice for a complete random. If everyone one did something like this....well, maybe we wouldn't need to send white paper in envelopes to people, would we?

And oh, in the veins of your mum telling you to always wear a clean pair of knickers just in case you get hit by a bus, here's a tip: Don't leave porn dvd's on the back floor of your car in case you have a car accident. You have been warned.

Broken computers are for your ass

Yes, updates have been scarce of late. 'Tis getting harder than an 18 year old boy watching the Big Brother sluts finger themselves in the spa to post from work & my laptop is still fubar'd & The Tart took her PC to QLD with her. As you do.

Some sort of quick recap for my dedicated fans though:

- Have been practising my Carmen Electra Fit to Strip video very hard. Very sore bum now. I'm about ready to smash her gay-eversmiling-gross-tight-t-shirt-wearing instructor though. How 'bout I take the chair, and smash it over your head, sunshine??

- Have just received by secret post the strip-dance routines instalment. Now just gotta get myself some hotpants like Carm's.

- Don't even ask me about my shopping bill last night. For some reason I thought it would be fun to make a butter cake with green icing and hundreds & thousands. Also, after reading this, I was inspired to buy some and try it out. Here's a tip though - Wizz fizz should not be consumed after 11pm on a school night. Take it from an expert.

- Discovered that Baileys & BBQ shapes make great dinner.

- I built a clothes rail. Allen Keys totally rock.

- I got stalked by the Ex-Fucker who then proceeded to abuse me all weekend about A BOY'S car that he saw in my drive WHEN HE WAS DOING DRIVE-BYS PAST MY HOUSE LATE FRIDAY NIGHT. What the fuck is up with that? And yet, my heart still yearns secretly. Not. Ashamed. Much.

- I AM A WINNER . WINNER WINNER WINNER!! Suck me sideways people, I WON!

Let me bask in the glory just a little while....


Anyway, hopefully will resume regular updates soon, that's if the warranty people don't discover that I DROPPED my laptop and I have to pay for the screen to be fixed.

A Marketer's Dream

So yes, as previously mentioned here on NTT, the Tart was thinking about moving to QLD. And now she has done it. I put her, and my godson on a plane on Monday night (hello HOTT Jetstar gay boys), and that was it. We couldn't even say a proper goodbye; there was just a lot tears and promises - but no goodbyes. Needless to say I have been moping around the house for the last few days, feeling alone and sorry for myself.

However, that is enough soppy shit.

Decided to cheer myself up by going grocery shopping, because god knows I need all those packets of doritos. So off I trundled to the local supermarket, which shall remain nameless, but perhaps it might be a place where other bloggers are employed. Maybe.

So I grabbed my trolley, and set off, working it aisle by aisle. Because tell me there's nothing better than wandering around a supermarket, listening to muzak, and pretending to be starring in an ad for these:

at 8:30pm at night. In fact, I get so excited by it I usually morph into

when I'm shopping. Because it's fun to walk along and play 'spot the opposition price scout' and harrass overworked staff for more easter eggs and make racial assumptions about what someone is going to have for dinner because they are Indian. I am a perky shopper, and I'm proud.

Anyway.

All of these things combine into a pleasant shopping experience for me. So much so, that I don't realise what I'm putting into my trolley, or keep a rough estimate of how much I'm spending. I get excited when I see colourful packets of things, no matter that I may never eat/have use for them, but into the trolley they go. Things on special are good too - because a person living by themselves can never have enough crumpets. One particular special was buy a packet of crumpets, get one free. So I bought two packets - ended up with four (for those of you that didn't pass maths). God knows what a single person is going to do with four packets of crumpets. That had an expiry date of 28/5/05.

My freezer is now very crowded.

Needless to say I was in a bit of shock when I reached the check-out. I had visions of leaving half of my pretty coloured groceries behind. But that was far too 'Dad's spent all the housekeeping at the pokies again' so I had to grin pathetically and hand over my EFTPOS card and try not too look too embarrassed because I forgot my Green 'if-you-don't-use-these-environmentally-friendly-bags-you-will-be-ostracized-from-the-community-and-burn-in-hell-for-eternity-mother-fucker Bags again.

So what exactly did I buy that totalled in the vicinity of $150??? I'll spare you the boring details, but here are some of the things I pulled off my docket when I checked it (such a Mum thing to do).

- Three packets of plain Doritos (So, I like nachos)
- Yogo (Childhood regression)
- Pizza Shapes / BBQ Shapes (couldn't decide which one I liked better so I bought both and mini packets of each for my playlunches)
- Mandarins / Snow Peas (my tribute to healty eating)
- Jelly Babies (Fat Free)
- Choc-Cherry Drumsticks (again, the buy one get one free deal. Currently making sweet sweet freezer love to my crumpets)
- Microwave Popcorn - Lite (I possibly just picked up the 'Lite' version to justify buying it)
- Ham in a packet (Because the stupid deli chick was 'cleaning' all of the fresh stuff)
- Honey Soy marinade (to marinate ALL of the meat that I bought. IE - none).
- Vintage cheese block, vintage cheese slices and grated cheese. (You can never have too much)

Not exactly Jenny Craig stuff, is it? Probably not going to help my vow to be more fit and healthy. But have you ever noticed that all the healthy stuff comes in boring packets? If any supermarket-type people are out there - put the good stuff in bright packages so I will buy it. Pleeeeeeeease. It's no good learning how to strip if I don't look like Carmen Electra. Just a couple of pink packages for some low fat snacks, and I'll be happy.

Stay tuned for my next big shop, and I'll tell you if I get any better...

BB goes the 'raunch'

So, I've been reduced to posting at work, now that The Tart has moved to QLD, and my damn laptop still hasn't been fixed after I crashed it with porn. I mean, after I dropped it.

Anyways.

I was all jizzy Monday night about the premiere of Big Brother Uncut. Something to look forward to now. But after Monday night's effort, I can't wait to get my laptop back. The only thing going for them is that they'll never run out of material - they blow all over previous houses.

It's all so stock standard though. We've got Gretel, pretending to be offended at the material they were showing, when you just knew that everytime they threw to some footage or a commercial break, she'd be going the paper towels. Thick & Thirsty, to capture all that excess moisture.

We also got some rather lame dialogue of the HM's discussing various personal and sexual preferences. Rah rah, how boring. Electric toothbrushes? I mean, how very predictable. And is it just me, but do you really want the whole world knowing that you're cleaning beyond other types of lips with your toothbrush? How very bristle-y. Perhaps she was just angling for a Macleans sponsorship or something.

Then there were some average pictures of some nekkid housemates. Did anyone else notice the camera tends to linger WAY longer on the boobs, whereas we were treated to only a quick flash through the dick pics??? Could it be that the cameras are all operated by MALES??? No, it couldn't be so.

Possibly the only thing that kept me watching and not turning on my Carmen Electra Fit to Strip DVD, was Hotdogs going the suck on Geneva's nipple. Whey-hey...back it up a little there! Possibly the first sexual action since the dancing doona episode back in series 1. Why wasn't more made of that? Why didn't we see the shot from the camera's directly above the bed where the action was taking place? I bet Gret-ski copped a eyeful of that footage. Why censor it if it's meant to be uncut? Why Why Why?

Because it is a crooked letter, I suppose.

Maybe I will have to do as the intrepid Hambo does, and hook up to live screening. At least until I get my other stash back.

Snippety Snip Snip Snippets

* Our Kyles has got breast cancer, as reported by every media outlet in the universe yesterday. Blah Blah, celebrity, blah, cancer, blah, national day of mourning, blah (Go on, I dare you, John H). What I really want to know is how Rove McManus' missus, Belinda Emmett, is coping. She was looking fucking awful at the Logies, wasn't she. I suppose at least she isn't going a la Goodrem and cashing in, and I don't think Miss Minogue will either.

Don't get me wrong, my heart goes out to all Kylie & Belinda (Sorry Delts, sweetie, it doesn't quite extend that far) and I wish them complete recoveries, but everyday, all over the world, people get diagnosed with cancer, and it doesn't get shoved down our throats in everyway possible.

We have just finished another one of our colourful debates here at work, whereby someone said they feel so sorry for Kylie, how terrible, blah blah blah. Hello? Do you feel sorry for everyone else that has just been diagnosed? The Ex Fucker's mum was just diagnosed with cervical cancer, can I have a bit of sorry over here? My dog was just diagnosed with cancer, how about some attention there? Don't feel too bad for Kylie, at least she doesn't have to wear one of those space hat thingy-s to keep her from licking her wounds.

How about we come up with a day where we can remember ALL cancer sufferers, not just the celebrity-type ones. Oh...wait...

* $118 fucking dollars to go and see Grease the musical. I could get $118 fucks in Thailand for that. If I was a man. Probably could get them if I was a girl anyway, they're that feral. Anyways...back to my point. $118 is far too prohibitive for me and The Tart, so we've decided to put on our own musical. So with the help of our trusty old friend Absolut, some dunlop volleys and pink dressing gowns, our lounge-room on Friday night will be THE place to be. I can't promise you Millsy, but I can promise you the never seen alternative lesbian-curio ending that Grease the musical will not deliver. Email me for tickets, good seats still available.

* Ever get the feeling like your life is one big episode of Big Brother? My current obsession is highlighting the fact that I'm going all Jim Carrey in The Truman Show, and there is a Big Brother out there pulling all my strings. Consider this:
Girl A going out with Boy A
Girl B going out with Boy B
Girl B dumps Boy B
Girl B fucks with Boy B's head
Girl B tries to crack onto Boy A - and succeeds somewhat
Boy B stops talking to Girl B because he realises he using him
Boy A dumps Girl A
Boy B declares his love for Girl A
Boy B breaks Girl A's heart & starts ignoring her
Boy B starts going out with Girl C
Boy B starts talking to Girl B again
Girl B tries to crack onto Boy A again
Girl B tries to crack onto Boy B again
Girl C cools it with Boy B
Boy B decides to come crawling back to Girl A
Boy A decides to come crawling back to Girl A

It's time to go....

Blowing in one's undies

Apologies for the rather late update...just realised that I haven't posted for a week. My bad. Although I do have a legitimate excuse(s): I have officially moved back into The Tart's house, where the only computer still plays dial up and is stuck in The Tart's room, so late night posts are out of the question. I have also been pretty busy pashing a certain nerd as well, hence the title of this post. Ahem.

Speaking of creaming one's pants - how hooked on Big Brother are you? Me? I'm addicted. I hate myself for it, but it sucks me in and before you can say "It's time to go, Martie" I'm all email discussing and calling friends about it. Tonight I even made sure I had tea ready and eaten by 7:30pm to make sure I could completely focus on tonight's special 'Lies Exposed'.

And boy, it was LAME. Big Brother put them in the isolation room for lying about their single status. If he really had any balls, he would have just kicked them off completely, and bought in three new housemates, just to shake the dynamics a bit. My bet is that they'll go back after a little while - I hope so, because Constance is one of my favourites. Along with the Logans - Gregg & David. You'd have a crack at him/them, but they are a little on the short side....

Fuck, head-jam. Normal programming should hopefully resume shortly, after any Big Brother jizz-fest has finished. If you think I'm a little too involved, then meet my friend, Ranger Stacey. She has a journal where she has written down her first impressions of the housemates, and she plans to revist it in a few weeks time to see how her opinions have changed. We might make a night of it - obviously a date with a bottle of vodka as well (how else do you get through it??)

They are a nekkid-loving lot though this year, aren't they? Already there's been pash parties, boobs, pole dances and late night cuddling. Network Ten's dream start, with dream ratings to match. Anyone desperate to stay up to watch THE MOST ANNOYING MAN ON TV MIKE GOLDMAN host BBUplate would have plenty of material to take to the bedroom with them. Only saying.

(Material = Anything that doesn't have Mike Goldman or Big Bro's Big Fat Beefy Wallet in it).

I'd really like to comment on the social and cultural impact that BB has on our society, however, it's late, I have a shitful head cold and my name isn't Gretel Killeen. Instead, I'll just take for what everyone else standing around the photocopier on a Monday morning takes it for: A chance to see a bunch of bogans get their kit off, embarrass their families and come out with gems such as "I think I am intellect". Pure. Fucking. Gold.

Happy Mothers Day, now cook my party pies

Yes, it's that one time of the year where we get to show our mums our appreciation for being, well, our mums. Not that we shouldn't be showing appreciation every day of the year, it's just that today it get accentuated with breakfast in bed, flowers, and other shit.

Of course, being the only human offspring remaining in the country, it was up to me to organise present/card/flowers. Whoa, silly me - It's ALWAYS up to me to organise such things (And you know it, Andrew). This year was easy - conveniently Chanel has re-released their limited edition 'Gardenia' perfume just in time for mothers day, and well, that's what the old duck wanted, so there's happy campers all round. Except for me, because she's hidden it somewhere and I can't use it. How, um, unjust. The non-human offspring managed to scrape together some beautiful lilies, which is not a bad effort for a 17 year-old deaf cat, a dog wearing a space helmet and a hyperactive little jack russell. Good on you, guys.

Chatting to work colleagues on Friday, discussing what we were all doing for mother's day. Breakfasts on the Mornington Peninsula; picnics in the Botanical Gardens; lunch bbqs, etc. Inevitably, they asked what I was doing for my mum:

Me: "Ahhh, well, I asked her if she wanted to go out for dinner, but doesn't really want to"
Work: "Why?"
Me: "Because she doesn't want to miss the start of Big Brother".

What the fuck? Sure, I'll probably be sucked in by the whole Big Brother 'phenomenon' again and spend my days trawling BB gossip websites while I'm actually meant to be doing work. But it's not like we'd miss anything: the housemates will still all be fuckwits tomorrow. And rather than be taken out for a lavish dinner (read: pensioner roast of the day at the local), she'd much rather watch TV. No wonder why everyone at work just looked at me with that 'ahhh, that's where she gets it from' look.

It does, however, get better or worse, depending on your take of party hats. She decided to celebrate the return of BB by having a 'party' tea. For the uninitiated, this consists of mini quiche; mini spring rolls; party pies and sausage rolls. With a great big hyperactive-inducing dollop of tomato sauce. Now, I wasn't all together impressed by the idea, mainly because a) she cooked it - wouldn't let me do anything; b) we normally only bring out the 'party' teas for the return of Neighbours every January & c) we forgot the 'little boys'. (And no, my mother is not Michael Jackson, before you ask, I'm talking about cocktail frankfurts).

Oh yeah, and there were no party hats either. Colourful napkins, but no party hats. Bah. Not a real party then, hey?

However, I suppose it is mum's day after all, and she can choose to spend (and make us spend) it in whichever way she pleases. Happy Mother's Day, Mars Bar, love you lots & I'm really sorry about coming home drunk last night, then thinking it would be a good idea to write on your card. I hope you can read it. xx

Nerd Facts Needed

I appear to be dating a nerd. A looks so cute he's hot when wearing glasses, lots of computers, speaks about geeky things nerd. See previous post about our first date here, and since then, we have had two more.

Our first kiss was in the casino carpark on Friday night. It was so cute, he asked me if he could kiss me. *Swoon* It was something out of an old fashioned romance movie. And it was sweet, so sweet. He wanted to do something the next night, but I was already taking the Tart out for dinner, so had to regretfully decline.

Then last night, I drove TO THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WORLD (Watsonia) for dinner. I drove up and down Banksia St for a good 10 minutes, wondering where the fuck Rosanna Rd was (Whoops, silly me. Of course I should have guess from the non-signage that Lower Heidelberg Rd turned into Rosanna Rd half way down. What was I thinking?) and finally made it after an hour and a half, and we sat down to a VEGETARIAN PIZZA WITH HAM!

No, I did not fucking get it either.

But after the Banksia St episode and peak hour driving in unfamiliar territory, I was quite flustered and did not even bat one carefully made-up-in-work-bathroom-eyelid at dinner. Unfortunately, I didn't really bat much at all. I was a little intimidated and nervous, and my *ahem* sparkling wit deserted me.

His extensive knowledge of Seinfeld and TV in general, and computers and cool retro stuff like super nintendos converted onto PC flapped the normal unflappable me. I feel inadequate that I haven't seen all the Star Wars movies, or learnt how to burn CD's. Or that I didn't order some big fuck-off joystick from America to play games on my PC.

I guess plane spotting and ship watching don't cut the mustard in nerd world.

So I need help, dearest reader. Point me in the direction of true nerd-dom and show me the light.

I don't want to get all Beyond-3000 on his arse, just, understand a bit better.

I need websites / movies / technology things.....DAMN! I hate being smitten. Such a silly girly thing. Bah! The planes aren't looking like a bad option after all.

Woe-gies

I tried my best. Really, I did. But I just couldn't sit through the Woe-gies for any longer than an hour. I only just wandered out to find out who won the Gold Logie (suck shit Bec Cartwright and your greasy haired fiance Ley-ley). So much for my planned review of 'television's night of nights'. However, why don't I walk you through the 'Arrivals' show.

Was it just me, or did they spend an overly long time talking to knobs on the 'white' carpet (BTW - LAME, oh so LAME, Woe-gies organisers)? And what was with the teasers "Coming up next, Bec & Leyton", before every ad-break (and inevitably, it wasn't until after the 100th one that they actually did appear), like they are royalty or something?

Perhaps they should have had a special boobwatch section too; was it just me, or were there some ugly boobs last night?

The "I borrowed Grandma's" award:
Take a bow, Stephanie Mackintosh

Honey. Saggy boosies do not a starlet make. Buy. A. Bra.
The Sugardaddy, with whom I was perving, I mean watching this train wreck was far more impressed than I. "Obviously that's meant to be the natural flow of them." Uh, yeah, 33 years old and still doesn't understand simple gravity laws.

The "Technicolour boobs" award:
Congratulations, Tammin Sursok

Somebody should learn how to blend, blend, blend that bronzer

The "Squishiest Boobs" award:
Blonde American Tart with HUUUUGE lips engaged to stupid fake outback man

Granted, there could have been a whole host of 'celebrities' that could have taken this award, and this picture does not do the squish factor much justice. But really. Don't these people take a look in the mirror before they leave home? Methinks the dress was a little too tight in the first place, and thus resulted in the horrible squish on the sides and in the middle. Go back to America, famewhore.

The "My Boobs had their own invitation" award
No Contest. Madaline West.

Obviously trying to drum up some publicity since her 'stand-up' career tanked.
The big question of the night is 'how did Dee Bliss end up drowning with those things attached?' I'm thinking airbags, people.
Don't even get me started about the hideous strap thing-y running down the middle. Just don't.

Special mentions must also go to Gabrielle Richens
Kimberley Davies
and Natalie Blair (AKA the Gainsville chick) for amping up the cleave factor, and to Sigrid Thornton, who apparently caused a little bit of a nipplegate saga herself.

And if you shocked and awed by the Thorpedo's *ahem* hairdo;

check THIS out. It's worth all the boobs on the white carpet combined.

Work? What a novel concept.

I've got a lot of these little buggers floating around at the moment. No, I haven't decamped my desk and moved here, rather, I have a *ahem* date tonight and, I'm super fucking nervous!

The tall, dark mysterious stranger is taking me to this rather dubious stretch of metropolitan melbourne. I can't for the life of me decide if this is a good thing or not. I err to the side of not. Depends on where we go. Judgemental bitch, I know.

So, due to aforementioned nervousness, haven't been doing a hell of a lot at work today. Just buggerising around on the internet; moisturising my hands; ringing The Tart for fashion tips; moisturising my hands; reading other blogs; raiding the snack machine; ringing The Tart again for hair tips; moisturising my hands; sending textaslsdkwsalksjdfawdflkk.

Must have moisturised a tad too much.

My greatest dilemma today is not what sort of fees I'm going to charge my clients, rather, should I go and buy some new knickers for tonight? Not because I'm planning to make the hot sex with my handsome stranger, but, well, you know. You always feel hotter and more confident when you have a sexy pair of knicks on. *Ahem* Then again, what sort of fancy underpants-y would one be able to purchase from a suburban single mother's paradise. Order of the day would probably be NONE, or at the very least, a special looking pair of these: .
(Apologies to anyone reading whilst eating). But here are some more for good measure.

Perhaps my date might wear this:

Or go the conservative option and slip these on.

One can only wish upon a star that he will turn up in this:

There better be a lot of stars for THAT!

Ooh, my bad. That was just a bit of fun, and a chance to test work's internet 'porn' barriers. There's not going to be any underpants action; just a pleasant drink/dinner (as long as there's none of this shit involved. Truly bad-date form), and hopefully some fabulous conversation.



Wonder how I'd go trying to leave work early to get my bikini line done?

Blonded

We walked into the establishment last night; the first comment that came to everyone's lips was "gosh, there does seem to be a lot of blonde here tonight". Or words to that effect. Having decided we were going to have a 'quiet' one (ie - not get shitfaced); we got involved in the age old argument made famous by this gal. Do Blondes Really Have More Fun?

So, sitting back, drinking the dreaded purple drinks again, we catergorised the blondes into their several sub-blonde sections. Sitting from atop of our brunette perches never felt so good*

The Naturals: AKA The ones you could take home to Mum

These were the ones who had the natural blonde hair thing happening, and you could tell. Sure there may have been a few highlights here and there, but nothing more of an enhancement. From our observations, these blondes had the most admiring glances from the men in da house.

The Dirty Blondes: AKA The ones you wouldn't take home to Mum.

Dirty because they had that blondey-browney thing happening? Probably. But more-so from their dirty dancing. These girls had the heavily blonded hair, with that slight yellow look, and many with an inch+ of roots coming through. These blondes looked as though they were having the most fun; and more of them got a bit of mancandy action than anyone else from what we could tell.

The Donatellas: AKA The Barbie Dolls

Named from their tendancy to dye their hair completely platinum blonde and looking as though they just got off the plane from Ibiza all year round, these blondes tended to be of a slightly older age. Quite possibly because their generation never learnt the benefits of being understated. Everything about these chicks was over the top: the long blonde hair; permatan; overly excessive make-up (including hideous dark brown lip liner with bright red lips); and too tight/revealing clothes. Definitely a favourite with the older males, and as the night wore on, a favourite with the 20 year old boys as well.

The Normals: AKA The Everyday Blondes

This sub-section were not embracing their blondeness like all the other sections. They weren't the wholesome-y goodness of the Naturals, nor were they the skankness of the Dirties. They were definitely not Donatellas either. You've heard of the experession 'mousey brown'? Well we decided it applied in this case. Mousey Blondes. Quite content to sit and talk wit their friends over a quiet drink. Quite possibly about Brunette sub-sections.


CONCLUSION: Did the blondes last night really have more fun? Does fun constitute sleazy guys who haven't quite moved out of the '80s constantly hitting on you? It must be noted that more Blondes received male attention than the Brunettes last night, which really suggests that it really gets down to the individual's idea of fun. Which was impossible to measure comparably, and thus rendered our study useless. Being so frustrated with lack of results (both scientifically and mancandy-ly), we then proceeded to get shitfaced. So much for good intentions.

*Writer may or may not acknowledge that she was blonde in a previous life; quite possibly as late as three years ago. However, all photographic evidence is now 'lost' and the days of the eyebrows-not-quite-matching-the-hair are now but a distant memory.

Declaration of love

I've been living the 'pash & dash' lifestyle at the moment, but I have a confession. Actually, two confessions. But they are interconnected. And quite possibly public announcements. It's cheaper for me to put them here, than to take out a public notice in the Herald Sun. As you will see.

Firstly. I am in love. In Love. In Love. In Love. I have not felt this way since, well, since Tony Lockett retired. And the object of my affection?



Here he is on his way to our first date:



Here he is cooling off after our first date:


'Cos, I am like, so HOTT and all that.

Here he is going about his business:



He has lots of mancandy friends for me to pick from for the Tart:



Never have I felt this way about a footballer since the great man the first football god, retired.

Now, for my second declaration. I have vowed that the first man that proposes to me with 100 of these:

will win my heart.

So now, I've everything crossed for the following:
* The love of my life to google himself & happen upon this post
* The love of my life NOT to come to the conclusion that I am a stalker
* The availability of in brisbane
* The love of my life's *ahem* agreeance to all of this

So stay tuned for his comeback match when in Round 6 when he & his mates take on they of the spikey blonde hair brigade and keep your eye out for some pink ballons!!!

Lock up yo mamas....

So it's about this time of year that I trot off to BigW or whatever tight arse CD store I can find, to buy the Triple J hottest 100 CD. Because I am thinking that I'm so trendy, and a collection of trendy edgy songs on a CD will make me s'cool and hip and shit. Nope. Just because I have collected them since high school when I was too clueless/broke to buy every single CD that I liked. Tradition rocks. And added bonus this year, I don't have to share with the Ex-Fucker. Hurrah.

So I bought it about a week ago, it's been on and off in my car. Because I don't pretend to be any sort of music critic, I always like discovering songs that I haven't heard of before. Of course there are all the songs that I've probably heard enough (hello Missy Higgins, Franz Ferdinand, Spiderbait, Freestylers), songs that I've can never tire of (welcome Scissor Sisters, Little Birdy, Ben Folds, The Dresden Dolls) but this year, one in particular caught my eye.

Butterfingers 'Yo Mama'. Read the lyrics here Let's break it down:

"decided to stay home wit yo mama on my knob"

As you do.

"But I'll be at my home wit yo mama on my dick"

Glad to hear it will be at his home - wouldn't want anyone to walk in on them, now, would we?

"So I'll be staying home to let yo mama suck my nuts"

I'm sure she'll be forever grateful.

Don't know about you, but sounds like these guys need a trip to the Over 28's. I know a few 'lovely' ladies that could help out with a guided tour.

One can only imagine that the kiddies were so impressed with the oral sex references, that this song made it top 20.

Random things I did on the weekend that I do not understand

* Went shopping on 3 separate occasions, and all I ended up with was this and another black top. Why is it that when I'm cashed up, I can never find anything to buy?

* Made the hot pash with a completely anonymous South Australian for most of Saturday night and Sunday morning. In fact, an hour after being kicked out following closing time, we were still going for it. Things I do not understand about this include, but are not limited to; What his name was? Why was I a kissing a South Australian? Why did I give him my mobile number? Why was I strangely excited about the fact he knew all the words to the songs we were dancing to, and even sung a Crowded House song to me at the end of the night? At last, another nerd like me who loves to sing songs.

* Got incredibly intoxicated on this crap (insert pathetic female drinking joke comment here). I think I was taken by the pretty purple passionfruit colour.

* 'Caught up' with the Ex-Fucker for 'coffee'. Strangest part of that was - I don't drink coffee. Either does he. Go figure.

Less of a weekend, more of a 'I don't understand' moment. My dog is going to hospital tomorrow. He has a tumor the size of a small chicken fillet on his leg. I don't know if it's benign or maglignant. But happy trails, Jock boy. I love him lots. And I don't understand why it's happened to my dog.

John Howard, I love you I love you I love you, and other such utterings....

What's been on my mind lately? Work. I really need a break. The last time I had any sort of extended leisure time was August 2003, when the Ex-Fucker and I made like bogans and took off to Adelaide. It's not the work - I love being super organised and efficient and all kinds of shit like that; it's more the atmostphere.

I've always been taught by my mother that it is taboo to speak of politics, religion and money when in polite company. Well mum, get thee to my workplace immediately, because it seems that I'm the only one that abides by this gentile guidance. Although I'm very much in favour of expressing one's opinion, and do so myself quite often and sometimes fairly assertively, when you're in such a small office, you have to use a certain amount of moderation when discussing possibly offensive topics.

Not that religion / money / politics offend me in any way. I don't believe in God, I'm broke, and I'm a swinger when it comes to the political game. The only time I'd get offended regarding those subjects is if someone was ranting (as some of my colleagues tend to) and they have all their facts wrong. There's nothing wrong with a 'debate' but let's make it an intelligent one at least.

We often have lunches where we all sit around and make the polite chat, until someone has a little bit too much red wine, and arks up about the latest report they saw on A Current Affair or whatever. Before long, you've got people throwing bread rolls around, waving their arms in the air like crazy Italian people and my very favourite, going the finger point. Oh, is there any more aggressive move than the finger point. Love. It.

So now you have a whole office of people, who far from just respecting other people's viewpoints and different stances, because, let's face it, we are all different, are now jumping down each other's throats and whispering bitchy asides to anyone who'll listen. And it doesn't get left at the lunch table. Noooo, grudges are held and carried on to all sorts of normal work, thus creating tension and giving me a headache that I don't really need. I've been accused of being of the 'uni slacker' generation. Oh, sorry, just because I decided to further my education, I'm a slacker with no work ethics, is that the case?

To highlight my point, I told someone today that they were 'filled with the milk of human kindness', quoting that great line from Macbeth, rather sarcastically might I add. The comment back to me: "Oh, sorry, I went to a government school, none of that fancy stuff for me". Fuckwit. I think we studied Macbeth in year 10 or 11 English, and I WENT TO A GOVERNMENT SCHOOL. It just so happened that quote has stayed with me, because at the time, we were all like 'boobs' and 'milk' and 'full' and other teenage innuendos.

I've decided my issue really is to get a new job; however, finding the right one for me is going to take some time. So, tomorrow, without further ado, I go to my John-Howard-Blowing boss, and will ask for some time off. For possibly July....

Weekend Shorts, before blogger takes over the world....

I have been having a showdown with blogger lately. For the last few days, I have written out a post, spent ages editing it, and then when it comes time to post or save, blogger conveniently 'gets an error', and I lose everything. Mind you, I was being a little rant-y in a couple of them, so it's probably all for the best. So tonight it's like Weekend at Martie's, except I'm not dead and being carried everywhere like the Pope (for *ahem* god's sake people, a little respect!).

Okay, because I'm like, a slacker in sheep's clothing, my weekend starts on a Friday. Even better for me, I'm only working half a day tomorrow. Well, I have to go into the CBD for some training, but I'm not going back to work. So what else does my weekend entail? Hmmm. Let's see.........

* Friday night: a bit of retail therapy with Tart. Actually, after the week of Ex-Fucker that I've had, it will be more than a bit. I have already withdrawn some cash so I can spend more on my eftpos card. Yes I know that shopping centres are rather lame-o and terribly suburban, but it is a Friday night; it's (relatively) family friendly and just around the corner. Bite me, trendoids.

* Saturday morning my magic massage man does his stuff again on my ailing chest. Bliss. He will probably get me to open up again; apparently your lung points are also your grief points. All I can say is that he better have a box of these handy.

* Then off to see these champions take on these surprising winners last week at the telstra dome. Boy, I can't wait to pay $4.80 for some beer. Hurrah for smuggled in drink bottles.

* Unfortunately, will probably make our way here after the game. Which is not so bad, as I will get to indulge in my favourite gambl-y type pasttime, but will take a turn for the worst when Tart inevitably drags me here. And I won't even have a sparkly mask on. Hopefully I'll be drunk enough to forget everything.

* Then Sunday, shall be spending everything I didn't spend the other two days. Broke and happy. That's me. Broke and happy.

Unfortunately, I won't get to make the sex this weekend. Sugardaddy has the kids; I've vowed never to go back there with the Ex-Fucker, and unless some random hotness shows up here (and I very doubt that there will be), then I'll be nunning it. Which is kinda good, because some, uh, areas, need some, uh, attention, as they say in the classics. Nope, it's just vodka and shoes and boys in football shorts for me this weekend. And ya know, I think I like it.

Queensland: On the bleak side of sunny

The Tart is thinking of chucking a Scott and Charlene and moving to QLD. She, along with thousands of other Neighbours 'stars' and Victorians, is moving to the sunny state in the hope of a better life and well, some sunshine.

Now, don't get me wrong; I don't hate QLD, I haven't been there since I was eight, and quite frankly, all I was concerned with at the time were the rides, so I really can't remember much else. But doesn't it seem that there is a fuckload of people moving to QLD to 'get away from it all'? Tart is the 4th person I know that has moved there to get a better life in the last year.

So what is it about QLD? Is it some big fuck-off halfway house for miscreants and people who want to whinge about their life in general? (FOR THE RECORD, Tart is moving up to be closer to all her family, who now reside up there). Does QLD really offer such a good life to those down on their luck, that all of a sudden once they move up there, they are suddenly blessed with good fortune and happiness? What does QLD think of these vagabond soapie stars and depressed Victorians moving up and taking over their jobs and houses and so forth? Do QLD'ers ever move down here? Probably not.

Why am pondering so many inane QLD questions? Oh yes, that's right. Tart has asked me to move up with her. I have so far resisted the idea and managed to put it off. However, recent, cunt-like developments and the fact that I'd have to organise serious holiday time have forced me to consider the idea. After all, that's what one does when one's bestie is going to up and leave the state, isn't it?

I sat down and had a look at the real estate scene tonight, just to show that I am properly researching this idea. Well fuck me, now I know what QLD'ers think of us moving up there: Their real estate prices are insane - they have inflated them just to piss the Victorians off. Forget Geelong & Dandenong fighting it out to be Victoria's second city; I think we've found our winner in Brisbane! Seriously, we are talking Melbourne prices, for, well, not Melbourne. And considering on my must have list was; A pool; Airconditioning; Open spaces and lots of light, I might as well move to Brighton. It, on most accounts, would be cheaper.

So I have drawn up a list of pros & cons about the move:

CONS
----

1. Missing Mum & Dad
2. There are more opportunities to follow my chosen career path in Melbourne
3. Housing is fucking expensive
4. The climate: I don't do humidity
5. Miss my friends
6. Miss the Ex-Fucker, and any opportunity we might have to reconcile (Fuck off, you knew he'd make the list)
7. I don't tan very well.
8. Living with the Tart can get on my nerves
9. I don't want to be seen as a person 'running away from it all'

PROS
----

1. Getting away from Mum & Dad
2. Houses are expensive in Melbourne; shoeboxes are expensive in Melbourne
3. Sunshine
4. What fucking friends?
5. Get away from the Ex-Fucker and all of his shit
6. Easy access to stalk Jonathan Brown
7. I'll MISS Tart so so so so much, and all of our alcomohol fuelled nights
8. I'll miss my godson & watching him grow up
9. Did someone mention Jonathan Brown????????????

Hmmm, most of those cancel each other out, hence rendering my list useless and forcing me to play with the press-button-laughy-thingy on the desk a million times in pissed-off-ness at waste of time and typing.

However, this will be one question that I will ponder in the coming months; and one that is liable to make or break me.

Perhaps I'll consider Adelaide???????