I had an interesting evening. It began with a nice banquet style dinner with some friends, and ended with me scrubbing myself with a wire brush and dettol like a rape victim.
Dinner. It was pretty rad. It was at one of those awesome Singaporean places that are really tiny and the staff speak very little english. Language barriers aside, things went swimmingly. Then I discovered the robo-toilet.
OH MY GOD THE ROBO-TOILET! It's amazing. It automatically steam cleans itself when someone has left, so no shit stains in the bowl people! Or smells! Fuck yeah! I will be using Robo-toilet from now on. This was obviously the highlight of my night.
Next was on to Maguires. I have fond memories of this particular place - lots of fuzzy, warm memories. Tonight, however, was different. We walked in, and some drunk bitch had Linkin Park on repeat on the juke box, followed by "The Beautiful People" by Marilyn Manson about 10 million fucking times. Then the band started. And folks, let me assure you, they were terrible. Just terrible. They were out of time, old and were heckling people wearing footy jerseys. I was beginning to get a tad frustrated with the entire situation when we decided to move along to another old haunt aptly named Kate O'Reillys.
We arrived at Kates only to discover the atmosphere was decidedly worse, so the boys made the executive decision that we would move along to Wilkies, or as it is now known, the Booby Bar. This place was packed with all types of males, eyes glued to the non-existant tits of the bar staff. It was a teensy bit akward for my friend and I, especially when this drunk, overweight and balding jerk with a terrible beard sidled up to our table and began to interperative dance. He started moving closer and closer to me, so I was understandably terrified and demanded that we leave. Unfortunately, Interperative Dance Guy followed.
We then decided that we would go to this club called "The Code". I begrudgingly handed over my entry fee, and began to walk up the stairs. Well, I tried anyway, cos my feet were literally sticking to the floor. I was surrounded by girls in teeny tiny dresses that I SWEAR were no older than 12 that kept barging into me and yelling "WOOOOOO" at increasingly loud volumes. And the music. Oh god. The music. Terrible. I went downstairs to have a cigarette to keep my rage in check, and as I was walking back up said stairs, I had the unfortunate task of following a...rather portly young lady in a short orange skirt. As I mentioned before, the floors were sticky (probably with a mixture of vomit, semen and shame) and she was lumbering up the centre of the staircase, so I couldn't simply walk around her. Then, it happened. Her shoe came off two stairs above me. She bent over, and ladies and gentleman, what I saw will forever be burned into my retinias. IT CANNOT BE UNSEEN. Bitches need to learn that you MUST wear pants at all times. That was it. Game Over. I turned around and walked out.
When did I become such a grumpy old maid? Goodness.
Friday, September 23, 2011
Monday, September 19, 2011
Won't somebody PLEASE think of the children?!
I was having lunch with my best friend today when we decided to nip outside and enjoy a quiet cigarette together. We noticed that there were several brightly coloured (I'm actually fairly certain the were a lovely shade of Aqua that I immediately wanted to vomit onto, so offensive that colour was to my oh so sensitive eye holes) coffee tins that I could only assume were being used as makeshift ashtrays/cigarette disposal units. One of these tins were strategically placed next to a childs playground in the shade.
Now, for those of you who don't know what the climate is like in North Queensland, temperatures range from "Hot" to "Fucking Hot" to "Jesus Christ I'm Melting", so seeing an ashtray in the shade was a pleasant surprise. It was also the required 4 metres from the entry way, so we were pretty impressed. We immediately headed to said cigarette disposal unit and began happily puffing away and chatting.
It's at this point in the story that I should probably mention that the playground is empty. A barron wasteland of colourful plastic and slippery dips. The grass is brown and looks more like hay than, well, grass. It's THAT dead. No self respecting child would ever be seen rocking out in this plastic jungle. In fact, I'm pretty sure most of them were playing the poker machines, so classy were the people dining around us.
ANYway, there we were, smoking away and having a chat. I don't think anyone walked past us at all during the first 5 or so minutes we were standing there. Then the doors opened and this haggard blonde woman with so much make up on my jaw literally dropped. She was all crow's feet and shame this one. Probably had some of her bright pink Solly's branded lipstick on her teeth too, but I wasn't paying that much attention. To be honest, I was more preoccupied with the sheer amount of slap on her face. It looked like it had been applied with one of those things Katie's brother uses to apply plaster to walls. I forget what they're called, but one of those.
Then she spoke. I think she was attempting to speak to us in one of those teacher like sing-song voices, but all I heard was something akin to nails on a chalk board. She informed us in said brain exploding voice that we could be "heavily fined for smoking so close to a children's play area" (don't forget, said area is deserted) to which I replied "But why is there an ashtray there?" at around the same time Katie said "Well, where are we supposed to go". Queue blank stare and vague finger pointing in the general vacinity of the main street.
We moved along, being the polite citizens that we are, all the while pondering why more people aren't thinking of the children. Seriously, those poor and obviously invisible kiddies could have gotten lung cancer from our stupidity. I was tempted to mention something to the 10 year old sipping a rum and coke at the jaws poker machine, but thought it would be pushing my luck.
Now, for those of you who don't know what the climate is like in North Queensland, temperatures range from "Hot" to "Fucking Hot" to "Jesus Christ I'm Melting", so seeing an ashtray in the shade was a pleasant surprise. It was also the required 4 metres from the entry way, so we were pretty impressed. We immediately headed to said cigarette disposal unit and began happily puffing away and chatting.
It's at this point in the story that I should probably mention that the playground is empty. A barron wasteland of colourful plastic and slippery dips. The grass is brown and looks more like hay than, well, grass. It's THAT dead. No self respecting child would ever be seen rocking out in this plastic jungle. In fact, I'm pretty sure most of them were playing the poker machines, so classy were the people dining around us.
ANYway, there we were, smoking away and having a chat. I don't think anyone walked past us at all during the first 5 or so minutes we were standing there. Then the doors opened and this haggard blonde woman with so much make up on my jaw literally dropped. She was all crow's feet and shame this one. Probably had some of her bright pink Solly's branded lipstick on her teeth too, but I wasn't paying that much attention. To be honest, I was more preoccupied with the sheer amount of slap on her face. It looked like it had been applied with one of those things Katie's brother uses to apply plaster to walls. I forget what they're called, but one of those.
Then she spoke. I think she was attempting to speak to us in one of those teacher like sing-song voices, but all I heard was something akin to nails on a chalk board. She informed us in said brain exploding voice that we could be "heavily fined for smoking so close to a children's play area" (don't forget, said area is deserted) to which I replied "But why is there an ashtray there?" at around the same time Katie said "Well, where are we supposed to go". Queue blank stare and vague finger pointing in the general vacinity of the main street.
We moved along, being the polite citizens that we are, all the while pondering why more people aren't thinking of the children. Seriously, those poor and obviously invisible kiddies could have gotten lung cancer from our stupidity. I was tempted to mention something to the 10 year old sipping a rum and coke at the jaws poker machine, but thought it would be pushing my luck.
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Being Vegan Makes You Better Than Everyone Else
My best friend Kate is a vegan, and she always looks fantastic. All tanned with shiny hair and sparkly eyes and everything.
I on the other hand, am a carnivore. I'll eat ANYTHING. Especially baby animals. They're the best kind. I have hair like straw, pasty skin, dead eyes and a constant rash on my arms cos I'm allergic to dairy and I REFUSE to stop eating cheese.
Every couple of months I wake up and decide I am going to get my diet under control and lose weight, exercise, become vegan and glorious, quit smoking, and all that other fun stuff. I also decide that I am going to begin doing these things at exactly the same time.
I usually begin this on a Saturday morning, as I know that I'm going to be a snarling megabitch from hell for the next 48 hours. I spend the first 2 days in hiding, cramping and crying over my lack of caffeine, nicotine, sugar and meat. I also set out to make my boyfriend's life a living hell.
By Monday, I'm feeling slightly better and am able to perform simple tasks without crying or punching.
By Wednesday, I'm feeling amazing. I get drunk on my own willpower, and begin to preach veganism to anyone that will listen.
By Friday, I'm pretty set in my routine. I decide that since it's the weekend, and I've made it through a whole week of being good, it is time to celebrate. I invite people over for drinks with the best intentions, telling myself I will only have ONE drink, no cigarettes, and will stick to my veggie patties. It'll be fine, after all, I have willpower now!
Saturday morning I wake up to find out that I have binged on all the things I have been denying myself for the past 7 days. I feel about 10 kilos heavier and my head hurts. I've gone through a deck of smokes, there's an empty bottle of Jagermeister and many, many redbull cans strewn through my house and back yard. I also notice many half eaten sausages, pizzas, etc.
This is where I begin to rebel against said willpower. I tell Mr Willpower "OI! Listen! I'm just going to have ONE greasy hangover meal ok. For my hangover. It doesn't mean I'm relapsing or anything" He doesn't agree, but I don't care. I've come this far. Why the hell shouldn't I eat some greasy food to help my upset stomach? It's around this point in time that I accept the fact that I love meat. And cheese. And can't bear my life without them. This, ladies and gentlemen, is why I can never be vegan. Fuck that noise.
I on the other hand, am a carnivore. I'll eat ANYTHING. Especially baby animals. They're the best kind. I have hair like straw, pasty skin, dead eyes and a constant rash on my arms cos I'm allergic to dairy and I REFUSE to stop eating cheese.
Every couple of months I wake up and decide I am going to get my diet under control and lose weight, exercise, become vegan and glorious, quit smoking, and all that other fun stuff. I also decide that I am going to begin doing these things at exactly the same time.
I usually begin this on a Saturday morning, as I know that I'm going to be a snarling megabitch from hell for the next 48 hours. I spend the first 2 days in hiding, cramping and crying over my lack of caffeine, nicotine, sugar and meat. I also set out to make my boyfriend's life a living hell.
By Monday, I'm feeling slightly better and am able to perform simple tasks without crying or punching.
By Wednesday, I'm feeling amazing. I get drunk on my own willpower, and begin to preach veganism to anyone that will listen.
By Friday, I'm pretty set in my routine. I decide that since it's the weekend, and I've made it through a whole week of being good, it is time to celebrate. I invite people over for drinks with the best intentions, telling myself I will only have ONE drink, no cigarettes, and will stick to my veggie patties. It'll be fine, after all, I have willpower now!
Saturday morning I wake up to find out that I have binged on all the things I have been denying myself for the past 7 days. I feel about 10 kilos heavier and my head hurts. I've gone through a deck of smokes, there's an empty bottle of Jagermeister and many, many redbull cans strewn through my house and back yard. I also notice many half eaten sausages, pizzas, etc.
This is where I begin to rebel against said willpower. I tell Mr Willpower "OI! Listen! I'm just going to have ONE greasy hangover meal ok. For my hangover. It doesn't mean I'm relapsing or anything" He doesn't agree, but I don't care. I've come this far. Why the hell shouldn't I eat some greasy food to help my upset stomach? It's around this point in time that I accept the fact that I love meat. And cheese. And can't bear my life without them. This, ladies and gentlemen, is why I can never be vegan. Fuck that noise.
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