Rant – Alicia Norton

The More I Bleed The More I Learn – Part Two: The Hello Kitty Maternity Hospital

May 22, 2017May 22, 2017Leave a comment

Ever woken up, checked the calendar (okay, more realistically the date on your phone) and thought “oh golly gee, seems like I should be surfing the crimson tide today” (okay, more realistically “fuck it, my period is due sometime soon”)? And like, it’s never really a good day when you realise that (if it comes it’s a 4 or so day bummer and if it doesn’t…blargh let’s not go there) – you’ve gotta find silver (crimson) linings where you can though, it’s the small things y’know? Like the excitement of reading the fun facts in the Libra wrappers. Yeah, life is really peaking.
For more info on why I write about the facts on Libra wrappers, check out part one here or read on below for part two….

FACT # 2: There is a Hello Kitty themed maternity hospital in Taiwan.

So I assume that the clever people in the Libra marketing department make the conscious decision to include fun facts on the wrappers of their sanitary napkins as a casual distraction from the fact that not only are you suffering grave discomfort but you’re also surfing a tidal wave of emotions, inexplicably having thoughts of the devastating way that your year 6 crush was also the boy that spearheaded the campaign for you to be known all over the school yard by the descriptor rabbit teeth – that was a really tough time emotionally. “Why do you I keep playing the moment over again in my head”, you wonder, “where he said to my face that he’d ‘be surprised if anyone could kiss you without getting bitten by your massive chompers’ – he was actually really mean. But he was pretty hot for a 13 year old”. A sentence that is probably going to get me on a watch list somewhere.
Anyways, I rekon Libra put the “fun facts” in their wrappers to distract you from thought processes like that.

Like all people in modern day marketing, often they get it wrong – and this “fun fact” (okay so they don’t call them fun facts, they call them “odd spots” which is a cute little period pun (probably a phrase that should never be used)) is actually not really that fun when you actually start to think about it.
You see on the surface learning about the existence of a Hello Kitty themed maternity hospital in Taiwan seems fun. Quirky – how “Kawaii” (yes, I am aware that is a Japanese term and this is about a hospital in Taiwan, themed around a Japanese cat, I think I am being culturally appropriate enough but if not, deal with it), but dig a little deeper, think a little harder when the hormones are hitting hard and it won’t be long before you’re having an existential crisis as you process this information. Think about it babe, you’re living in a world where women choose to give birth in a hospital where a giant statue of Hello Kitty dressed in a doctors uniform greets them as the first stages of labour kick in – but luckily miss Hello Kitty (is that her name?) is there to (in the words of the hospital) “ease the stress of childbirth”.

article-1092834-02B488D5000005DC-250_468x350 — Image of what looks like a birthing suite designed for a child (sorry not sorry) sourced here: https://goo.gl/images/xab2UF

Women enter a pink elevator filled with yet more Hello Kitty imagery and their new born babies are dressed in Hello Kitty themed rompers while being tended to by nurses dressed in pink uniforms with cat themed aprons. You get the picture. You don’t want to though because the more you picture this the more you begin to wonder if you still want to live in this world.

The hospital claims to be the only medical institution of its kind which has been authorised by the company to which I say “good” – though I would be interested to see the kind of people who would be attracted to a Hello Kitty themed cosmetic surgery hospital. I’ve heard of women getting work to look like Barbie…but this is something new.

cc7e508f37baf7c08c936612cf386f0b — It’s not okay. Image via: https://goo.gl/images/NywIFO

When researching this I found the following extract from an article; “The director says he hopes the white, mouthless cat that is one of the world’s most recognisable characters will ease the pain and fear associated with childbirth and being admitted into hospital” which was basically too good not to share.
Personally I consider Ronald McDonald or perhaps Big Bird to be more recognisable – and I wouldn’t want either of them making an appearance if in a situation where I’ll likely shit myself.

Anyway, long story short, this is why seeing the aforementioned fact while at the most emotional part of my cycle made me doubt the world we live in – I just hope that I’m not alone on that…

The More I Bleed, The More I Learn: Part One The Russian Beard Tax

May 1, 2017May 1, 2017Leave a comment

The more I bleed, the more I learn
Making the most of the luxury goods tax, one factual month after the other.

So you might not be aware but menstruation is a thing that happens on the reg for many around the world. For the uninitiated let me enlighten you: there ain’t much joy to be found in it. For some, slight happiness can be found in the revelation that they made it through another month without accidentally bringing life into the world but that’s where it stops for silver linings – or in this case, more like reddish brown linings (sorry not sorry).
The monthly shed is accompanied by additional items being added to the shopping list with a luxurious 10% tax added to the price tag of these items – pads, tampons, panty liners, chocolate – you know, all the essentials.
It’s a dubious tax and adds maybe 10 cents a month, give or take, to the budget– which may not sound like a lot but a) it can add up over a while, and b) implies that these goods are something we CHOOSE. In a sense we do (it’s 2017, there are options, you can even get knickers that soak it all up but frankly they sound kinda icky to me) – but you know what I would choose if I could? To not bleed, mostly.
A nice consolation though, if you could call it that, to justify the spend, are the ‘fun facts’ that are found in the packaging of some brands (okay, one in particular but whatever). They’re great for pub trivia nights – they totally make the 3 to 5 days of pain, moodiness and icky feeling almost worth it. Almost.
I’m no campaigner, no activist but what I can do is string a few words together so when I thought, how can I help the sister hood I thought, I know, I’ll write some shit about the Libra facts – it’s the least I could do. Look forward to months more of entertainment. Unless I get knocked up. Dear God don’t let me get knocked up.

18254345_10210527193389500_49086562_n — A little tough to read, I actually had to Google to find out the fact…curse you Libra!

FACT #1 – April 2017: During the reign of Peter The Great, any man who wore a beard was required to pay a special ‘beard’ tax.

What a ‘fun’ first fact to explore – I mean come on, they paid a tax, we pay a tax – it’s like we’re equals!
I mean yeah, these guys were being asked to pay a tax for something that was optional – no one was forcing them to have a beard (unless they were one of those dudes that has a bit of a nothing chin – then they’re doing society a favour by covering that business up!) while I’m sure if you asked most women, they’d agree; involuntary bleeding once a month isn’t really something we’d choose if we could.

That being said, I’m sure that there are some of us ladies who would grow a beard if we could – because hey, why not, it’s all about choice! So Emperor Peter the Great was in power in the late 1600s – it was 1968 in fact when he introduced the beard tax mentioned on the Libra wrapper. The aim of this was to bring the Russian society in line with Western Europe (don’t worry he was doing other stuff too apparently) as beards had previously been deemed unfashionable in the society.
Wouldn’t it be a different story if old mate Pete was around now and trying to bring Russian society in line with the trends of inner city hipsters? Pete wouldn’t be making extra dough from taxing beads – if he was smart he’d have started an online store selling organic hand crafted beard oils and waxes at premium prices in 2012, just before the beard resurgence and flash forward to 2017 he’d be a cashed up entrepreneur. Pete you missed your calling.

peter-the-great-9542228-1-402 — In case you were wondering, this is Peter. In 2017 he wouldn’t look out of place with a fedora perched on his dome.

Actually no, if Pete was alive in 2017 he would be a politician. Not an emperor, just a plain old minister, definitely found somewhere on the right side of things – probably inappropriately given the role of Minister for Women if I think about it. Because actually his beard tax was a bit dumb. First up, while people of different backgrounds and social status were charged the tax taking their status into account (the wealthy were appropriately charged more than the poor), the cost was still excessive. I mean come on; the blokes were just trying to look slick – or were just too lazy to shave and ladies, can’t we all relate to that? Especially this time of year, I know I’m not ashamed to admit that by then end of this month leg warmers aren’t going to be an added accessory on my body.
Imagine if we got taxed for something that our body did involuntarily? Oh, wait…

Peter The Great (I’m starting to think that is a terrible title, more like Peter the…shit)’s tax was abolished in 1772 – almost 100 years after it was first introduced. The internet tells me that he isn’t the only person to get wrapped up in taxing facial hair over the years but I guess feminine hygiene product wrappers don’t have room for all that. So let’s say that this tax was around for almost 100 years, here’s another fun fact; disposable menstrual pads have been made on a commercial scale since about 1888. Let’s just say that logically they’ve always been taxed – that’s now far more than 100 years that this even sillier tax has been around.

236e180c65d556ccb560446378e669d6 — The modern bearded gentleman. Apparently. If so, I think my fella is doing it wrong. Pic was found here

In summary;
Beards = optional (but sexy, oh so god damned sexy) and a great place for accidentally losing your food and dignity (I found pizza cheese in my boyfriend’s the other day and we hadn’t had pizza for three days!)
Periods = unwanted, unavoidable, uncomfortable, unaffordable.
Both have been taxed rather unnecessarily. Despite the fact that I once got incredibly upset about finding a thick black hair growing from my cheek, if I had to choose, I’d take facial hair any day – at least I could put glitter and butterfly clips in my beard. You should have seen what happened last time I tried to do that with my period.

The Adelaide Stuff It List

February 5, 2017Leave a comment

Adelaide, you’re amazing! You’re my home town – the only place I’ve ever lived in fact, but that’s all about to change as I do one of the most typical Adelaide things to do…and leave Adelaide.
Many a list has been put together of fantastic things to do in Adelaide (here’s one from the Adelady gals) before you kick the proverbial bucket but what about a list of things to do when you’ve decided to leave the city (for a while)? What about a list for when you say “I’m going into hiding (moving to Melbourne) for a while”?
I present to you, the Adelaide ~~bucket~~ stuff it list.

Walk Burnside Village in your pajamas
Hit up an unnamed outer suburb dressed (and behaving) as Tru and/ or Pru from Kath and Kim

Image result for tru and pru — #heros image from here.

Sit at the start of the Mt Lofty hike eating a KFC family pack. Make eye contact and smile at everyone who passes by. Continue until you pass out from overeating.
Join The Adelaide Fountain Diving Team (a concept concocted by equally crazy aunties. It’s pretty simple; you swim in Adelaide fountains. Bonus points for fountains protected by fences…)
Head to the Central Market (or any other fabulous local market) and shamelessly consume ‘samples’ until you are content. Take a disguise for seconds if need be, but don’t forget, you’re leaving so who cares?!
Maslins Beach. Do it good and do it proper, you know what I mean.

Image result for maslins beach — Live. This Dream. Image from…

Busk in Rundle Mall. Don’t have a talent? It don’t matter – everyone can yodel after a bottle of wine
Ride the bull at The Woolshed. Bonus points if you do it in a dress
Ride a bike along the linear trail and tell your deepest darkest secrets to walkers (and pray to god that they only hear a tiny snippet as you whiz by)
Hit up a late night eatery along Gouger street and order the house wine by the carafe (or BYO for a bargain price) play drinking games until you’re politely asked to leave
Go to windy point. Go stand outside a rocking vehicle and just start cheering. When you get sick of cheering, start singing “Sweet Caroline” (for no reason other than that song is so fun to sing and it’s kind of hilarious to harass a snogging couple with)
Ride the Popeye and convince a stranger to go all Titanic (no, not the bit where they bang in the car…or where they die an icy death) and head to the front, get nice and cozy and shout “I’m king of the world!” or alternatively “that plank could have fitted two”
Head to the Zoo with the classic book “where did I come from” and read it to Funi and Wang Wang. It seems they’re not all that sure on how to make it happen. Our whole city is rooting for you guys (pun intended)
Attempt to mount the malls balls

Image result for malls balls — Image from here!

Do the same with the malls pigs
Streak at Adelaide oval? (if you can cop the massive fine…)
Photobomb weddings in the Botanic Gardens
Live like a tourist for a weekend – pitch a (canvas) tent in Vic Square!
Have a drink on the Balcony at the Hotel Richmond. Take a spray bottle full of water. Come on, you know what to do (if it wasn’t clear, you’re here to squirt people in Rundle mall as they walk on by…and then DUCK!).
Get “Adelaide famous”. To be clear being “Adelaide famous” isn’t necessarily a good thing. Below is an image of my version of “Adelaide famous” – I was twenty and I was not aware that this photo was being taken. Then I recognised my legs on a Marble Bar poster. My friends will NEVER let me live it down.

I’ve done a few of these things already (though I won’t admit to which) but what I will admit to is that, despite abandoning Adelaide for Melbourne, I don’t really have any very good plans. I’m so lost in fact, that I’m putting on a Fringe show (my debut solo after being nominated as best new comer by Adelaide Comedy in 2016!) all about writing a bucket list! Want to help me with the challenging task before I abandon our beautiful city? Hit up Fringe Tix for your own ticket here.

How I Developed My Love Of Booze…

August 21, 2016August 21, 2016Leave a comment

I don’t know what it is lately but I’ve been getting super nostalgic. All I listen to is throw back playlists; anything released in the last ten years makes me want to violently plug my ears and I am OBSESSED with the memories function on Facebook. What was that? Six years ago I rode my bike to the beach? Shit, past me was a far more glorious creature than I am now.
That being said, prior to August 2012, I was absolute filth trash on a regular and frequent occasion thanks to a conveniently located local drinking hole. It gave off a vibe that simultaneously said “please, join us” kindly fuck off. It was unique. But in August 2012 my life changed forever YES IT DID when the pub closed with very little hope of it ever reopening again.

1917290_1126773842959_3268937_n — No shame – my youth in a photograph.

Sure there were three closing nights – they kept it open until the kegs ran dry and the supply of beer glasses was depleted completely (because I kept putting them in my handbag – on the plus side, I always have a very big beer sized glass of water every morning, such healthy, much hydration) so we got to say goodbye. I tried to dance on the front bar – I got told off. I was wearing ugg boots. I am only 50% glad that I have grown up since then.
So when I was recently alerted to the fact that the pub, closed for near four years and previously incredibly close to being completely condemned, was re-opening, I was filled with mixed feelings and flooded with memories – some of which I would rather forget.
If you know one thing about me though, that is that I have no shame – so who better to mull over these memories with, than complete strangers and a few close friends on the internet.
My first memories of this establishment were of it as my childhood pub – yes that is totally a thing. Feel free to correct me mother (because I know you will) but I recall swinging by the pub on Christmas morning after church. So many questions. Why was I let in a church in the first place? Why was the pub open on Christmas day? Should I have been removed from my parents? What is the meaning of life? These and many other questions will haunt philosophers for years to come.

63160_463456378164_3030536_n — So I wasn’t a child here but it was still Christmas at the pub. Also I believe I had been at a dress up party…or I just wore clothes like that. Either tale is likely.

Flash forward a few years and I was eighteen, with a freshly minted ID to prove that was the case and you’d think being the Hills lass I was, I’d be striding up to the front bar to claim my first legal drink. You would be wrong. I was mega nerd to the extreme, I was at least 18 and a half before I made that front bar my bitch (and by “making it my bitch”, I mean getting silly drunk from a filthy shot called a “squashed frog” and vomiting in a bucket that the bar tender so kindly provided). You won that round alcohol.

421587_2898925665647_190320198_n — “The Bucket” that lived in the front bar. We made it look pretty since my mates and I were the ones who used it most.

After this point though, the memories began to flow (assisted by photographs and inappropriate Facebook posts)
All the bottles of passion pop consumed in the car park before actually entering the pub – we were poor students living at home with mummy and daddy, what did you expect us to do?
The shoeys (that’s drinks sculled from a shoe for those playing at home)

1917290_1126765082740_5326551_n — A genuine, true blue shoey.

The cheeky strategic voms
Purchasing out of date fruit flavoured condoms in the ladies bathroom (for the LOLs Mum – but also, aren’t you happy I was never a ‘statistic’? though there’s still time..)
The friendships made…and broken
The sadness that the jukebox didn’t have any Aaron Carter – however that Fat Man Scoop song was the number one played song – you know the one “engine engine number nine…” – what a good time we had.
There was that afternoon we stopped for a casual cider and ended up watching a group of Morris Dancers do their thing and wondered if our drinks had been spiked.

429679_2899563121583_1484480395_n — These, by the way, are morris dancers…yeah, we were all just as confused too.

I passed out on the not so comfy chairs in the pokies more than once and cried over plenty of lads (yes, I am going to use that word) who, to be perfectly honest, were not worth a moment of my time. But at the time it felt like the end of the world. Every Sunday afternoon was spent messaging my girlfriends, dissecting the events of the night before and living our lives by what happened in that place.
I learned to play pool, I learned to drink and I grew out of thinking pineapple and Malibu was a tasty beverage.
Then it all ended and I guess it coincided with us all changing too. Not long after the pub closed, I started dating a guy who lived near the beach and stopped hanging out at home, my best drinking buddy moved three hours away to start her teaching career and a lot people realised how much money they could save by drinking at home…alone. The thing that kind of kept us together was gone. Things really did change.
Now the pub has reopened its doors and boy howdy have things changed – but I have too. I only occasionally wear my ugg boots out of the house and sadly live too far away to stumble home from it.

30101_1342636159382_659814_n — When we were young…

No longer falling apart, the new owners have brought out the original beauty of the building, the menu is phenomenal and the staff all seem way more friendly than the curious creatures that used to reside behind the bar there. All of that however won’t cloud or dismiss my memories.

30101_1342636559392_1694707_n — I did sneak behind the bar once…

A friend recently contacted me asking me to remove a few old pictures from Facebook. By my standard, the ones she had requested being removed were incredibly tame but I get it (sort of), some of my mates want to be lawyers, teachers or just respectable adults – not all of us are as capable of accepting our grotesque past with such levels of pride. Your memories though, make you who you are and the Uraidla Pub is absolutely brimming with memories for me. Not all of them (like barely any of them) are family friendly but the fact that a whole new generation of kids (and not so much kids) will get to learn how to drink (and maybe learn to appreciate a nice meal accompanied by a Malibu and Pineapple?) that’s pretty great.

1917290_1126766762782_1791127_n — You know what? It wasn’t classy, it probably wouldn’t impress my high standards hipster mates but hey, we had a lot of fun.

Hey Australia, I’m Not Okay.

July 18, 2016July 18, 20165 Comments

This isn’t the first time that I’ve had to write a post like this. I hope and pray that it is the last but I’m not that naive.
I’m the one who’s always making a joke, always up for a bit of fun and general silliness but I can’t make jokes about this because it’s tearing my heart in two. Every ounce of my being aches as I write these words, as I think about the state of the world that we’re living in today.
As I write this, we’re in the midst of a controversy in which media personality Sonia Kruger, after stating that she had “a lot of good friends who are Muslim” went on to state that, in regards to the immigration of Muslim people in Australia that “I would like to see it stop”.

Sonia-Kruger — Image via: https://newmatilda.com/2016/07/18/today-show-host-invokes-dead-child-to-call-for-muslim-immigration-ban/

I know that I’m not the only one who is commenting on this and of course Sonia isn’t the first person in a position of power to voice this view.
In the fall out to all of this, I’ve seen countless people on my Facebook feed share updates supporting the comments made by Kruger and to those people I say, delete me if you must, and ignore my views if you will. Should you choose to agree with the opinion of someone so clearly ignorant then I don’t want or need you in my life.
It’s tough enough making it through the day without being reminded that there are selfish, cold hearted individuals living along side me. This is one of the very few things that I wish I could be ignorant to.
The crazy thing is though, I was originally motivated to write this a few days ago, by a completely different situation, but thought that I’d sit on it and let myself calm down before I got behind the key board. Guess what? I stayed away and somehow I ended up even angrier. It all started on Saturday. I’ve been having a bit of a tough time, feeling a bit blue and everything was starting to feel a little overwhelming – basically the realities of modern society. I decided to take some ‘me time’, to get a massage to try and unwind. It was a solid ¾ of the way through the treatment and I was finally starting to feel somewhat relaxed when I heard a woman chatting in the room next door. In the typical manner that middle aged white women seem to address anyone from a background not the same as theirs, she was patronising the massage therapist – but in the sweetest way possible (the kind of way that you just pass her attitude off as result of her generation) however things turned nasty -she said something that enraged me beyond belief. She began talking about the Bastille Day terror attack in Nice. She explained that “in the Quran it says that good Muslims must kill all non believers, which is why we really shouldn’t be so welcoming of their kind”.
WHAT? Now I am of course supportive of free speech (but certainly not in the way that “we cry FREEDOM OF SPEECH” kinda people are) however I just wanted to scream SHUT UP SHUT UP. IT’S IGNORANT, UNEDUCATED PEOPLE LIKE YOU THAT MAKE THIS WORLD DIFFICULT TO LIVE IN SO JUST SHUT IT ON UP.

577713_3531358316158_1211280014_n — Here’s a heap of my friends in Turkey, I’m one of the blonde ones – yes there were questionable hair styles…

I am SICK to death of the ignorance and prejudice that is running rife in this country. A year ago, I was verbally and physically attacked for wearing a scarf on my head to cover my hair from the rain, so I can’t imagine how my friends, from all manner of backgrounds face the day in a nation where things like this are just brushed off as ‘freedom of speech’. When someone can preface a hateful comment by saying ‘It’s okay, I’ve got *insert target minority de jour* friends” and think that it’s okay to behave in such abhorrent ways, then something is inherently wrong in the world that we’re living in.
I’ve been closely following social media accounts of my friends (yes, friends, people who I know personally and share incredibly special memories with) living in Turkey. Living in true uncertainty. These are my friends and I would never, ever dream of grouping them with extremists based on their religion. Because they are my friends, I know that in many ways they are just like me. They want the best life they can have for themselves, they have hopes and dreams. Since I first met them, they have become artists, musicians, nurses and police officers. We went out dancing together at night, discussed upbringings and beliefs and shared many meals. That is what you do with a friend Sonia, you don’t assume things about them and you certainly do not use them as a scapegoat for your ignorant opinions. You learn from them and you become a better person for opening your mind to a world beyond that in which you reside.

545711_3531366556364_769556528_n — Out, drinking, dancing, having fun in a secular nation that happens to have a 98% Muslim population. Though it was a different, safer time than it is now, I never felt endangered just because of the religion of the people I was with. Anyone who thinks you should needs a serious wake-up call.

A friend of me has a child who is being raised by herself and her former partner. Her former partner follows the religion of Islam and therefore their child is being brought up with both Islamic beliefs and those held by my friend – which are probably as “dinky-die Aussie” as you can imagine. To some, it probably sounds like an interesting mix but it works and I can’t sing the praises of this kid enough – she’s an absolute champion. But I can’t imagine having to explain to her that she lives in a country where she might have to learn to defend her very identity. That would hurt.

Sonia Kruger said that “I want to feel safe and see freedom of speech”, Sonia, I want my friends to feel safe, I want my mates beautiful little kid to not have to learn defensive mechanisms to get through life and I want those escaping horrors that you will never ever be able to truly comprehend to come here, to a safe place.

It’s never going to be an easy ride but if we throw hate out the window it sure as hell is going to be a lot less bumpy. Why not start by chatting to someone whose life is inherently different from your own – and talk to them like the equal that they are, shit, you might actually learn something.

Bunting Is Not A Dirty Word*

April 17, 20162 Comments

Attending yet another friend’s wedding recently, with my boyfriend in tow, I was struck by the gorgeous decorations that adorned the venue, remarking to said boyfriend; “Isn’t that some lovely bunting?” What happened next left me gob smacked, in a state of shock and absolute despair, my boyfriend replied by saying; “what in the Lords good name is bunting?” (okay, that’s not what he said but I kind of wanted him to sound cutesy and proper, he actually said “what the fuck is bunting?”). It was at this point that I began to question every decision that I had made about my life up until that very point – how could I be planning to spend the rest of my life with a man who does not know what bunting is? Slight overreaction, perhaps however I was in a little bit of shock.

12439092_10207322020502181_2469625081069697838_n — The bunting in question, at said friends wedding.

The mark and sign of adorable hipster gals and guys worldwide, decorative bunting is a diverse thing of absolute majesty. Being a bearded man who, when it pleases him, refers to himself as a barista and at other times a comedian, I assumed that he would have knowledge of such things. It turns out that I put too much faith in him.

After pointing at the delicate material hanging from ornate ribbon strung across the venue, I expected him to be impressed however my explanation was simply met with a shrug and ignorant comment; “Ah right, just looks like bits of scrappy material on a string to me”. The feeling of disappointment once again filled my being, I would never be able to commit to a man so ignorant of such beauty.

Lucky for him, my love can look past him lack of knowledge about this simple facet of society and my mind got to thinking. Bunting is a staple of many happy households, cafes, bars, baby showers, weddings and awkwardly nostalgic 60^th birthday parties filled with relatives that you’d secretly hoped were already dead. It is diverse in its application and a thing of much excellence, could its purpose not be bigger than we had previously imagined with our feeble narrow minds?
Bunting could probably fix marriages that are on the brink of destruction, it could likely cure cancer and without a doubt end many a mental illness.
Bono (of U2 fame, just in case he is not longer relevant at the time of publishing, as is the nature of the world we live in) recently suggested that comedians could end wars, with jokes spreading laughter far and wide soldiers would not be able to resist the urge to laugh and their hearts would inevitable be filled with joy. Bono is an idiot however he could be onto something, filling the hearts of soldiers with joy could in fact end all wars and if there is one sure way to bring about joy then that is, without a doubt, bunting.
So let’s all raise a glass, to that oft overlooked, at times misunderstood, beautiful addition to any life: bunting.

*Okay, so if you look it up on Urban Dictionary, it totally is (a dirty word that is). On so many levels and with so so so many interpretations. I suggest that you click on this paragraph, pick any interpretation that you like and re-read the above with that very definition in life.

Dear Internet, I’m a liar

December 14, 2015December 14, 20151 Comment

Last night I did something that I’d previously said I never would. At 2.45am, Sunday morning actually, the 13^th of December 2015 I deleted my Tinder account. Now I’m not saying that it’s forever however it is, for now. It wasn’t a thought out choice but rather a spur of the moment decision, as I drifted off to sleep and the low hum of my phone awoke me, I stared with shock (at behaviour I should be immune to now) as yet another sexist message flashed across my screen in the early hours of the morning.
That’s it, I’d had my fun. If you call endless dull conversations with strangers, that inevitably slide into poorly worded sexual innuendos fun – which I did, for a while at least. Like I’ve said before, there is plenty of hilarity to be found in the world of online dating and many have found long lasting relationships – which is excellent however it sure isn’t easy.

I could blame it on a single message but truly I’d be kidding myself, it wasn’t anything in particular that pushed me over the edge – I’d rather been enjoying the banter, using much of it as inspiration for musings and comedy however all of a sudden I realised how ridiculous the whole thing was. The best ideas come in the middle of the night, they say, and for now, I think that this one really has been good. I did, however, have nightmares after I drifted off to sleep; fearing that I’d made the wrong choice. Dramatic, yes – that’s me in a nutshell.

The downsides to Tinder though had become clear to me – I was beginning to get paranoid that matches from the site would see me out and about. I put enough of myself out into the world without doing it via an app that lets you – neigh, encourages you, to message strangers when under the influence of copious amounts of booze. With the party season in full swing and many more occasions ahead, I could feel that trouble would be brewing. I’d find myself at a table at a party, swiping like my life depended on it, acquiring match after match who I’d likely only chat to simply to prove that people these days are just terrible. The irony of which does not go un-noticed by me, I just chose to ignore it.
I am done though – done with the barrage of sexist messages, comments assuming that I’d go alright (in bed) – they’re right, I’m great in bed – however what gives them the right to make that judgement of a complete stranger? Oh yeah, Tinder. I’m hoping that now I’ve deleted my online dating profile that I’ll never again have a stranger offer to ‘stick his cock in my mouth’ or send me a photo of their genitals – unrequested, thank you very much. Sure, dicks are great – handy, but not attractive and certainly not something that I like to receive via photo message on a Sunday afternoon, other than for the comedic value, there is little other to appreciate. I’m also done with chatting to guys who later reveal that they have a girlfriend – or worse, a wife, and still expect to continue the conversation. Sure – they could have waited until after we’d met up, dated, that would be worse – but way to go and destroy my faith in humanity and belief in the dream that respectful relationships exist. Thanks Tinder users.

It was fun while it lasted and hey, I certainly got some tales to tell. I never say never – wait until the winter chill rolls around and I’ll likely be singing a completely different song but for now, Tinder and I are unmatched.

Your opinion sucks – sorry, I mean “I feel that your opinion sucks”

October 21, 20154 Comments

The Internet has given us a voice where for many of us we previously didn’t have one. Amazing things have happened – stories have been shared from war torn nations, people from cultures with years of bad blood have been able to amicably connect and a guy traded a red paper clip for a house!
As we all know though there are plenty of things that the Internet has provided us with that haven’t been so good – in my opinion the 24/7 constant stream of information about everything Kardashian is a little bit overkill however plenty of people totally dig that. It’s what they live for – and who am I to throw shade their way? Be it good or bad, and I’m totally open to this being argued either way, it truly has given us all the chance to have a voice and for that voice to be heard but sometimes, just sometimes I think that maybe we need to reassess the way in which we frame our voices.

I’m gonna go a little bit ranty here but I think it needs to be said – and heard- people of the Internet and you know what, people at the pub, the water cooler and work kitchen, please remember that your opinions are subjective. They are yours and for the most part they are complex and diverse and incredibly unique to you. They are not gospel – even if you write them on a forum or in the comments section of a Facebook post or article.
You may think that the Bachelorette is the single worst show in the history of the world and of that opinion you are entitled however you probably should say something along the lines of; “I THINK that the Bachelorette is so terrible, if you watch it, I feel like you could likely contract eye cancer” (and yes, I used to date a guy who said these things, WHAT WAS I THINKING?!)– as opposed to; “That is the worst television show in the known universe, people who watch it deserve to die” – you see, the first shows that what you are saying is your opinion, while the second makes it seem like you are trying to talk on behalf of all mankind, which I can assure you is not something you want to do, if you are bagging out the Bachelorette. You will have angry mobs after you if you make outlandish claims involving Osher and beautiful, lovely, wonderful Sam Frost. You do not want that however, feel free to express YOUR opinion- just phrase it as such.

2C69593400000578-3248480-image-m-98_1443157700880 — Why would you mess with this guy? or his hair?

This is a gripe that really hits home when it comes to comedy – one of the single most subjective communication mediums going around. Reading posts about comedians, by comedians or promoting comedians you will no doubt see comments along the lines of; “*insert well known comedian here* is terrible, they should just give up now, their jokes are low grade and dick jokes aren’t even that funny” – contrasted with a comment saying; “oh my gosh, funniest shit I have ever seen” – see, different courses for different horses. The first comment, however, tries to speak for everyone. Just because you say someone is terrible, does not mean they are. You can say that you THINK they are terrible, but who are you to signally decide in entirety that they are?
Finally, and this isn’t what most post is about, it is about the use of subjective terms – duh, but (and this is one that really, really hits home), have you ever said something along the lines of; “women aren’t funny”? That’s okay, you’re allowed to think that. You would be wrong for a thousand and one reasons, but you are entitled to your opinions however next time try saying; “I personally do not find women to be all that funny and that is my personal opinion because I am a backwards asshole who has no concept of what is good, in fact from time to time I like to eat dirt because it pleases my cultureless palate”. To which I would respond; “good day to you sir, now I bid you adieu so that you may comfortably climb back into the hole which you somehow escaped from”
Good night.

Dear Future Husband – not the radio friendly version…

September 2, 2015September 4, 20153 Comments

I want to get married. One day – when the right guy comes along. It’s not a religious thing or anything like that; I just really like the idea of getting married (and y’know, having a wedding and all). That being said, I’m not just gonna settle for any old guy and I’m sure that I’m not the only one whose got a list of requirements for their future husband (though I may be the only one daft enough to air them online while I’m still single as all hell). Meghan Trainor released ‘Dear Future Husband’ earlier this year and plenty of feminists (like me) sure do think she got it wrong – I definitely feel like her list should have been a little more realistic…a little more like mine.
Of course I would like all the normal things that anyone would expect of a relationship; respect, love and shared dreams (blah blah blah) – but no one wants to hear about that. You want to hear my obscure diva demands and boy have I got some for you, so without any further hesitation I must present to you the list of 12 requirements (because 12 is my second favourite number, a fact that you WILL know if you wanna put a ring on it) of anyone hoping to wife me;

Must choose dogs over cats
Dogs are superior to cats – it’s a scientific fact. Furthermore, I cannot take a cat man seriously – no disrespect, but these kinds’ guys certainly do not make me feel safe and secure. Much like cats, I feel like a guy who like cats will in fact try to suffocate me in my sleep – and not because he’s strangely abusive but because he has a superiority complex. You know it makes sense.
Must be okay with hair
Please realise that I am not a dolphin. Yes, there are times where my skin will be silky smooth however there will be other times when you will be concerned that I’m turning into a Chia Pet – you know, those things from the 90s that grow sprouts out of them? I will try to regularly keep it all under control but let’s just put it this way, if he’s not willing to be silky smooth as a cyclist (side note; I probs won’t go for a cyclist) then you can’t give me grief for the occasional slip in standards. Basically, if you’re willing to wax your crack on the reg then I’ll consider putting in more effort.

Must drink (and enjoy) wine
You’re not a real man if you don’t like wine – well not in my books anyways. I’ve written about it before – but basically, you must enjoy wine. I don’t need you to know everything there is to know about it (but if you do, please note that I don’t really care – and neither does anyone else). Wine is good – take note fellas.

I love wine this much. If this carries on much longer, I might just end up marrying wine. I love it. So much.

Must have a star sign that is compatible with mine
My star sign is Cancer. This means fuck all – except of course when it comes to figuring out with whom I could in fact be compatible. Let’s be honest though, I’ll twist it in my favour if he’s worth it.

Must be accepting…
Of the fact that I’ve already decided on a name for our first born – and our second and third for that matter. Call me crazy (go on, see what happens) but I’ve got some damned good names picked out, so if ya wanna lock this down, just accept the fact that we will not be naming our child after your great-aunt Edna.

Must be okay with Nacho Cheese feet
Sometimes (not often, I promise) my feet smell. There was one particular occasion that they smelled like nacho cheese Doritos. I have no explanation for this but it is a thing that happened and who’s to say that it won’t happen again? Be prepared.

11091 DORITOS NACHO CHEESE 20X44 GR_11091 — This only happened once, I swear.

Must be able to deal with my chronic fatigue paranoia
I don’t stress much and surprisingly I’m not an overly anxious person but every now and then I convince myself (with no solid evidence) that I’m suffering chronic fatigue. On multiple occasions I have ended up in tears, having a tantrum because I think I have chronic fatigue. I’m fine within a few hours though; just ride out the storm with me, okay?

Must understand that carbs are great (and sometimes they are not)
Don’t make me eat healthy if I don’t want to but don’t make me eat shit food when I’m trying so god damned hard to ‘be good’ – and I swear to god, if you think that you’re gonna have any opinion on what goes into my mouth then you may as well just give up now. This includes edible and non-edible objects, pay attention.

Must be able to drive a manual
It may be a strange measure of man hood but in my mind, real men have the ability to drive a manual. If you can’t drive a car at all, keep on peddling by sweetheart because as hot as your fit bod will probably be, I ain’t gonna dinky on the back of your fixie all the way to your parents house. Oh what was that? We could catch the bus? Been with that guy, done that, those days are in my past buddy.

Must not have nicer hair than me
If your hair is nicer than mine, I will inevitably be intimidated. The inequality that this will cause in our relationship will be too much for either of us will handle and will inevitably end in tears.

Must not be too muscular
Most girls have a type, my type is basically anyone who doesn’t make me feel inadequate (see above…) therefore, if you’re biceps are bigger than my head then it’s probably not gonna work. Don’t get sneaky on me either; I might have to put a clause in our pre-nup.

Must get along with my Dad
My dad is the raddest bloke in the world, closely followed by my brother. They certainly have their flaws – anyone who’s seen my Dad on the dance floor can attest to that however anyone who wants to put a ring on it will need to get along with the main men in my life. The easy thing is that Dad pretty much gets along with everyone but lucky for me he won’t be backwards in telling me if he doesn’t like a guy – believe me, it’s happened before. Oh and some people might think I’m a little bit backwards but I would want a guy to ask my Dad if he was cool with it before asking ME to marry him. I don’t think my Dad needs to give permission as such, but I’d definitely want my Dad to be down with it.

So there you have it – some might call me nuts but I just like to think I’m organised and under control. Trust me ladies, if you don’t think like me you’ll be regretting it down the track when 15 years into the marriage you’re stuck with a cat loving, wine hating body builder with luscious locks flowing in the breeze

The Worst Week of My Life…

May 1, 2015Leave a comment

I kid you not, this week was the absolute worst of my life.

Why? I hear you ask. Well, it’s because my car radio wasn’t working. All. Week. Long.

Major first world problem? Yes.

Me, dramatic? Yes.

Sorry? Not sorry.

Thankfully my car is working – but that’s the problem! I can get from a to b perfectly well – better than ever in fact, since that’s the source of the radio troubles. I had my car battery replaced last week but as a stupid ‘security’ measure *cough* scam to get money from innocent vehicle owners *cough*all Fords require a code to be put into the radio after the battery is replaced and guess what!? They’re gonna slog me $33 just to get the code from ‘head office’. SCAM MUCH?!

There has been something good that’s come of this though – my new found appreciation for a number of things, most notably the radio and CDs – but also of silence…surprisingly!!
So I’ve missed (and still am) missing music and company like hell – day one was okay, practiced my latest stand up routine a few times – day two, did the same! Guess what?! It totally paid off – absolutely KILLED it on Monday night! So did one of my amazing best buddies Brittany, who got up and tried stand up for the very first time! She says that she never wants to do it again – which is kinda cool that she just wanted to do it to tick it off her bucket list, but she was so amazing that I’d love to see her try again!
But I digress – the third day, I started singing. Show tunes, mostly. By day four, I’d decided that I have been ‘blessed’ with a voice that was never meant for anyone else to hear – least not until a few drinks in.

Day five…well that’s when it really started to drive me nuts. Suddenly I was feeling completely isolated! What was going on in the world? What if people’s music taste has changed in the past few days?! WHAT IF T-SWIZZLE RELEASES ANOTHER SONG AND I MISS IT?!
Goodness first world life can be a bit of a challenge…looks like those scam artists from Ford have won this round. I’ll be dropping by the dealership tomorrow to get them to work their magic.

Oh yeah, other unexpected side effect? Hearing the loud music blast from other drivers cars and realize;

a) some people have terrible taste in music

b) wow – people can probably hear when I play my terrible music really loud – awkies…