Tomorrow I turn twenty six. Today I went to work wearing a purple tutu, unicorn jumper and a flower wreath in my hair. Instead of the customary birthday office cake (usually from Costco or made by a loving wife) I took honey crackles. Partially because I don’t have a Costco membership or a loving wife but also because I am a big ‘old, silly ‘old kid at heart.
As I sit here writing this, I’m wearing my unicorn pyjama pants (which I also wore to the supermarket yesterday…) and keeping warm with my purple hippo heat bag. Am I doing this adult thing right? Because when I was 16 (that’s TEN years ago) this isn’t how I imagined it.
I had this idea in my mind of what I would be like as an ‘adult’ and, though I’m not sure why, this certainly wasn’t it. I pictured power suits, late nights at the office and a house full of furniture from Freedom (because it was pretty, heaps pretty). I don’t know where my idea of adulthood came from but I remember thinking, aged 18, that I only had a few good years to keep wearing my classic Converse Chuck Taylors before it became silly – real adults wear real adult shoes. Seriously WHO RAISED ME?
Flash forward eight years and I’m dating a man (yes, MAN) who is thirty years old and those are basically the only shoes he owns, like twenty eight pairs of them or something. For some reason I pictured a corporate high flyer with who woke up early to go to the gym and enjoyed visiting farmers markets on Sundays – just for kicks.
Now somebody please slap past me because I’m pretty sure she had absolutely no idea who she actually was – the things that she enjoyed or wanted from life. I don’t like waking up early and while farmers markets are alright, I’d rather my food be prepared by someone else before it hits the table (I’m also fairly partial to the kind of specials that fast food outlets spin from time to time, yes I’m looking at you Maccas and your magnificent 24 nuggets for $9.95 deal) so why in hell would I want to date someone who was into those things? Sure, his bod would probably be a little more in check than my fellas (gosh, sorry babe) but the fact of the matter is that he’d probably be a self absorbed asshole and we’d have nothing in common. Plus, I could never date anyone more in shape than myself, I’ve got enough insecurities without having my physical superior lying next to me in bed every night.
Thing is, not much has turned out the exact way I imagined it ten or so years ago and for that, I am so bloody thankful. I can’t imagine being stuck in a high flying corporate job where I go through as many pairs of stockings as there are jerks on Tinder (lots) or have to put my fakey professional attitude on all day long. I’m lucky to have a job where I get to have a nice fancy big computer screen that brings out envy in all the other staff, where I get to be myself for the most part and in some ways express myself creatively.
I am an adult, a ‘real adult’. Most of the time I pay my bills and I’ve even got a couple of ‘signature’ dishes up my sleeve (because Mexican food is easy to make and Banoffee pie seems fancy but really is truly simple). I’ve gotten pretty good at looking after my mental health, I can force myself to exercise and I eat spinach without it having to be hidden in my food.
I might not own a ‘power suit’ and while I do have some rather nice office wear, I’m most comfortable in a scuffed up pair of boots, the ones that are held together with a bit of tape. I’m happy. Way happier than I would be if I lived up to what I had thought I was ‘supposed to be’ all those years back. I’m glad I didn’t waste long trying to be someone who would have never made me happy – and the time that I did spend doing that was an interesting learning experience to say the least (if not some good comedy fodder…)
Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve just started learning to hula hoop and I’m getting rather good so I’ll be practicing that until I fall asleep.
Guess what?! The election is JUST AROUND THE CORNER and this one is set to be a corker….!
Actually, that’s a lie – it’s batshit boring. That being said, we can still have a bit of fun with it!
I recently wrote an article for Scenestr.listing 5 memorable moments from AusPol history – that are sure to make you AusLOL (terrible, I’m only a little bit sorry about that too…)
All of this is in aid of my recent work on political television show The Raucous Caucus on Channel 44 – you can check out the first episode at the end of this insanely exciting post…and please do because I am so so so very proud of this bucking beast that is only getting better and better every single week!
So without further ado, here’s the piece from Scenestr.
With the election looming and weeks of arduous campaigning still ahead, you could be forgiven for feeling a bit of a political overload.
It’s not all doom and gloom though. Here in Australia we have an exciting history of bizarre political occurrences unique to our Aussie way of life. The team behind new TV series ‘The Raucous Caucus’ – which airs on Adelaide’s Chanel 44 and will be available online from 2 June – have put together a list of 5 uniquely Aussie political events and facts, these things that make our country… kinda great.
In 2010 an Australian election TV debate had to be rescheduled so that it didn’t conflict with the airing of the ‘Masterchef’ finale. We Aussies sure do love our cooking shows!
Our politicians aren’t afraid to rock out; former Prime Minister Paul Keating managed a rock band in the 1960s and in 2015 Anthony Albanese took up DJing to provide entertainment at charity and fundraising events. Mr Albanese adopted the name DJ Albo.
Cold Water Men
Likewise, our pollies love a bit if a drink, before becoming Prime Minister, Bob Hawke was immortalised by the Guinness Book of Records for drinking 2.5 pints (a yard glass) of beer in 11 seconds in the year 1954. Similarly, Sir John Robertson, five times premier of New South Wales, was said to have drank a pint of rum every morning for 35 years. He is quoted as saying: ‘none of the men who have left footprints in this country have been cold water men.’
Everything is bigger down under… our largest electorate, Durack, is larger in size than Mongolia. Durack, in Western Australia, stretches 2,905kms and covers almost 1.6 million square kilometers, which is like driving from London to Istanbul.
In 1975, Australia had a government shutdown, which ended with the Queen firing everyone and the government starting again. While the whole thing is a little more complex than that, let’s just keep it simple – there was a whole lot of squabbling and in the end, our mum put us all in time out for a moment and since then we’ve tried (and likely failed) to be a little bit better behaved.
And now that you’re incredibly learned about all the complex ins and outs of the entire history of Aussie politics, watch the first episode…
New episodes will be screened each Thursday at 7.30 on Channel 44 in the lead up to the election, with all eps online after. You can also come along to a live recording – check out adelaidecomedy.com for more details!
The airport is a great melting pot of people, all mixing together with one key objective; to safely board a flying chunk of metal, without engaging in confronting communication with their fellow travellers. While it could be said that every airport around the world has the same old commuters passing through, Adelaide is just a little bit special.
Here are my fave 10 people you’ll meet at Adelaide Airport:
1. The Fashionistas
Ready and searching for a bargain before they’ve even left the state, the ‘fashionista’ probably stopped by Harbour Town on the way to the airport and they’re keeping an eye out for rare ‘sale’ signs in the airport outlets. In two days time they’ll be holding up the check-in line at Melbourne airport as they attempt to repack their bags after piling on all the clothes they bought over the weekend. It doesn’t seem odd that they’re wearing three hats, two coats and, most curiously, five bras, on the flight home, in order to avoid excess baggage costs.
2. The Footy Fans
A group that is heard before they’ve been seen, loudly singing the team song or discussing post game stats. Have you ever been stuck on a plane with a team of excited Port Adelaide fans (#sorrynotsorry for the blatant stereotyping) on their way to Melbourne in September? I’ll give you this advice for free; at all costs, try to avoid it — for your own sanity.
3. The High Flyers
You can spot an out-of-towner in a number of ways; they’re usually more stressed than your average Adelaide Joe and let’s be honest, they’ll probably be drawing attention to themselves by speaking loudly on the phone, whinging about the shitty day they’ve had in, “This hell hole of a city”– being Adelaide. How dare they!
Dressed uncomfortably in a suit not made for the climate, they’re itching to get back to their corporate-jerk job and inner-city home that has them mortgaged to the hilt. What they don’t know is — we don’t want them here anyway!
I’ve never really thought of myself as brave but it’s a word that gets thrown my way on a far more regular basis than I would like. Heading to the bar for a drink after a spot at a comedy night, it’s rare that I won’t have a complete stranger exclaim to me; “you’re so brave, I couldn’t do what you just did.”
It often leaves me scratching my head in confusion, I certainly don’t feel that getting up on stage, rubbishing on about failed relationships, sharing crude, debaucherous tales and randomly sprouting out of tune lyrics from my favourite pop divas makes me all that brave at all. Are they being honest or are they saying that I’m brave because I wasn’t good? I don’t think I am brave. More than anything, I feel like it might be a little bit self indulgent. After a recent encounter at gig I began to wonder about the term ‘brave’ –as I explored it within my own mind I started to travel down many paths within my own self.
I decided that to chat to some ladies who I think of as brave and whose life journeys have involved tough choices or hurdles along the way that have helped to define who they have become. Now I don’t know anyone who has run into a burning building or risked their life to save that of another however as I’m sure many of us know, an act of bravery for some is a simple as getting up the strength of get out of bed and face the world each day. Immediately I thought of my best friend Stacey, a lady who I genuinely believe is one of the toughest and most resilient that I have ever met. She hasn’t always been this way – in fact knowing her since we were in primary school, I always kind of considered her to be a bit of a hypochondriac drama queen (sorry babe!) however all of that changed almost two years ago. Stacey and I were living together and despite the warnings to the contrary, living with my best friend was one of the most fun experiences ever – but all of a sudden it changed. I felt like I’d been hit by a train so I can’t even begin to imagine how Stacey felt – within the space of a week, at age twenty four, she was diagnosed with MS and doctors also found a four centimetre tumour at the back of her head, attaching itself to her spinal cord.
The removal of the tumour was horrendous; the tumour was wrapped around the nerve that controlled the left side of her face meaning that it too had to be removed. My beautiful Stacey could only smile with half of her face and all of a sudden it seemed like her amazing flame had been dulled. It hasn’t been easy for her – that much is evident, but even then I still wondered – did she feel brave? When I asked her, she told me, “People call me brave all the time, which makes me feel a bit embarrassed…I never felt like I was being brave, I just felt like I was getting through each challenge.” Which I guess is what being brave actually is – right?
Stacey is basically blowing me away at the moment. Not only has she been through two more surgeries, worked hard to learn how to understand and live with her MS but she has also met an awesome guy – John and while he is certainly more than just a quick fix, Stacey did make me laugh when she explained; “People called me brave for going on blind dates but I don’t think that makes me brave – I just wanted to get laid!”
I don’t think I will ever be able to fully comprehend the level of courage that it has taken for Stacey to get on with her life and not just survive but absolutely thrive and I truly hope that I never have the opportunity to relate, I do however dream of having the bravery of the next two ladies that I spoke to. I first encountered Hannah Collins when I started working in my current day job – in fact she used to do what I do now, and she trained me up to take over her role. Since leaving the role she has volunteered in Africa, subedited a magazine and just recently moved to New York – with no safety net. I can only dream of having the guts to do what Hannah has done and as she explained, “I knew it was out of the ordinary but I also knew it was what I needed to do at the time.” Which once again brings up the idea of bravery versus self indulgence however, as Hannah enlightened me, sometimes to be self indulgent, you have to employ a level of bravery; “I felt a lot of guilt over leaving my family and friends, especially my family but I also knew that if I didn’t go and do it that I would only regret not going.”
There’s nothing more disappointing than a feeling of regret – I know that all too well.
Another clever lady who is taking the world by storm is the wonderful Laura Pietrobon – one of the most outwardly warm people I have ever encountered. I first met Laura when we were both sixteen and doing work experience at a radio station. Our paths crossed again at University but now she finds herself living in London, a dream I have always had for myself. She explained that “The first thing a lot of people said when I announced my move was something along the lines of “wow you’re so brave, aren’t you scared?” To be honest, I never thought this move was particularly brave.” However assessing the situations of others who have also undertaken the same challenge that she has she was able to see the bravery in their choices, “so maybe it’s all about perspective in the end” Laura concluded.
The concept of perspective actually, weirdly enough, put things into perspective for me. There are two aspects of bravery; one is perceived bravery, while the other is acted. So while you might not ‘feel brave’, the question is, if a person describes you as brave relative to how they define ‘brave’ in their own mind, while you might not actually be engaging in an act of bravery you could be brave simply because it is in the eye of the beholder.
At this point I was certainly envying the sheer guts that it took for these two ladies to do what they had done and luckily I had one of my oldest friends Hannah Willsmore (who I have previously described as my womb buddy since we’ve known each other that long) put things into perspective for me. Hannah has recently started her own business – rather sitting idle in a job that she was beginning to resent, she explained “I could’ve just stayed there being unhappy like so many of the others are” however she boldly chose not to – if only for her own sake. I guess this confirmed for me that it is hard, risky and yes, brave, to do something a little bit different but it’s probably harder to let it just pass on by while the world keeps moving.
Finally it was starting to click in a general sense – those around me who I viewed as brave, sure they were overcoming hurdles and individual adversity but each act of ‘bravery’ that I’d investigated had in ways just been a way of moving forward in life rather than choosing to remain stagnant, despite the challenges that may hold. I though, had been called ‘brave’ for the act of performance so I needed to know, is this something that other performers experience? After speaking to several male comedians it quickly became clear that ‘brave’ is a term almost exclusively reserved for female performers or those who deal with challenging and confronting material – it’s rare that a guy gets called ‘brave’ just for picking up the microphone but I think that might be a topic for another day.
In a performance sense I immediately thought of three ladies who I might be able to relate to and from whom I could learn. First up was Haley Brown, a wonderful and talented performer whose direction and style has profoundly affected my own. Haley faces her own physical challenges meaning that ‘brave’ is a word that gets thrown her way and for the first time since I began this exploration, the concept of the term being overtly problematic was raised, as Haley explained; “It’s a very close cousin of what folks in the disability community call “inspiration porn,” when disabled people do fairly ordinary things and are celebrated as being “brave” or “inspiring” for doing it while disabled.” Continuing on that theme of ‘brave’ not necessarily being a compliment, she elaborated “Often the word is awarded to individuals that society deems incapable of doing something who are “doing it anyway.”
I get that. While I may not have the same hurdles to face as Haley (whose work you can find here), there is that matter of my gender. It may be 2016 but don’t even begin to imagine that we live in a world where everyone is used to hearing the female voice as one of power, strength or, god forbid, humour. Sure times are changing however on more than one occasion (many, in fact) I’ve been outright told that “women aren’t funny”. That hurts and I can’t really put into words why – though mostly because it’s outright wrong. I like to think that I can prove those who hold that belief wrong. One woman who I know can do this is Nicole Henriksen whose giddily bizarre show ‘Techno Glitter Penguins’ made me laugh like nothing else ever had, before she slapped me in the face and tore my heart apart with her other totally different but equally brilliant show ‘Makin It Rain’. Despite obvious talent and a drive to succeed that is downright inspiring, Nicole has had experiences that have caused her to feel patronised when being referred to as brave; “I feel especially as a woman, and a woman of colour, the more it’s used “oh you’re so brave… really, really, brave… wow, so brave”… Why am I so brave, you know? Is that person implying that I’m brave for supporting myself, or performing, or what-have-you because my work isn’t good or isn’t financially viable? If so, why is that?” It’s a perspective that echoed my own thoughts, despite our somewhat different performance experiences.
Finally I reached out to the lovely Alice Tovey, wise beyond her years, who helped me to put it all together in relation to my own experiences. She identified the sheer fact that she and her material had been belittled at the discretion of particular audience members, choosing to let the fact that she is a young woman cloud their opinion of the content. However she carries on, continuing to present shows that push the boundaries in one way or another. She explained, “I think when most people are asked what bravery is, you’ll get back a picture of an Alexander the Great like figure, who against all odds conquered the world. Or Oscar Wilde, who opposed a regime to preserve the true self. Or An Sung Su Chi, who stood up to an oppressive and unfair government. These pictures are all perfectly valid and good definitions of bravery, but I think comedic bravery is a completely different thing all together.”
“Comedic bravery, I believe, is making an audience laugh at something, whether dark or absurd or unusual, and asking them why. That’s the power that a comedian has. What an audience laughs at will tell them more about themselves than what makes them cry.” But does Alice consider herself brave? The short answer is, yes – “In a way” How so? She explains; “I hope that I am doing just that, that I am pointing out some of the nastier things in our society. It can be confronting.”
Now I can’t say that I’m pushing the boundaries in the same way as Alice, but on a good day I am making people laugh at some pretty absurd ideas – and hey, maybe that is a braver concept than I first believed. I am yet to feel like I possess the same level of bravery that I believe some of the other women I have encountered do, and while I don’t think I will ever feel comfortable being told that I am brave for doing what I think of as ‘dumb comedy’ I suppose I can make brave my own. I can chose to hear it as a compliment rather than in a patronising manner and I can choose to use it as a motivation to push on. Most of all though I can be bravely self indulgent because with life experience under my belt I now know that without being brave enough to indulge my soul in doing the things that truly make me happy, I would ultimately be facing the tougher challenges of regret, disappointment and true sadness. While life is never as straightforward as simply ‘choosing happiness’ –I’ve learned that it can be pretty brave if you’re able to put in action a path that allows you to do so.
If there has been one constant in my life, it would be the lies that I have been fed – regularly and casually by members of my family. Usually they were innocent enough and mostly just off handed jokes that I was gullible enough to fall for. I genuinely believed for a long time that my grandma was a witch. Not JUST because my Mum (her daughter in law) would call her ‘that witch of a woman’ (kidding, they have a great relationship, though there was that one time that my Mum, in her early 20s called the incredibly proper, lovely woman who was to be her mother in law ‘fuckle features’ to her face – but that’s a story for another time). No, I genuinely believed that my grandmother was a witch because there was this HILARIOUS in joke in my family about it. I have literally no idea where it came from because that woman is as God loving as they bloody well come however for some insane reason apparently she was a witch, complete with her very own broom featuring handle bars and a bike seat. I shit you not. So there I was, all of eight years old, waiting to be handed a wand and taught the ways of people and I’m sure you can imagine how bloody disappointed I was, age eleven when I never did receive my letter from Hogwarts. Damn.
I literally had no hope though – turns out liars have been in my family for generations. My great grandparents fudged the date on their marriage certificate. When cleaning out the house after my great grandfather had passed away, my Mum and my aunties found the marriage certificate in question, complete with poorly applied whiteout placed strategically over the date, altering the date of their marriage by two months. How they thought that they could get away with it is beyond me. I get it, it was a different time, photoshop wasn’t a thing, but shit, Nanna Jarrett must have really been on another planet to think she could sneak that one on by. Even if she had been able to do a half decent job using the stationary her plan would have been thwarted by anyone with a half decent grasp of MATHS and MONTHS. My grandpa was born suspiciously soon after the hastily organised wedding date – that’s all I’m saying team.
The lies carried on though, I recall finding a ultrasound picture at my aunties when I was nine. “OH MY GOD YOU’RE HAVING A BABY” I shrieked. “No” she calmly replied, “The cat’s pregnant” which was a weird coincidence because a couple months later my auntie was married and not long after I had a new cousin. Furthermore, the cat suspiciously never had any kittens. EVER.
I’m no innocent bystander here though; I was a mean, mean terrible sister. I lied to my brother heaps. The most memorable, I will never live down. The tale goes as such; I was six years old, nagging my Mum to take my brother and I to the local kindy fete. Nagging, nagging and nagging some more. I do not blame my Mother for what happened next, she was not an irresponsible parent, I was just a really shit child. She snapped and without thinking said; “why don’t you just walk then?”
So off I went, to scrounge up some change (approximately $5) and find my four year old brother so that I didn’t have to walk alone. This was before my brother became a bad ass rule breaker (that didn’t happen until he was at least seven) so I needed to tell a half truth (LIE) to get him to come along. I knew that mum didn’t actually want us to walk. I was smart enough to understand sarcasm, but I still wanted to go, so I just told my darling innocent baby (like actually he was pretty much still a baby) brother that Mum had said it was okay.
Flash forward 45 minutes, Mum notices we’re missing, Dad finds us about 2kms away wandering down Greenhill Road and Mum learned that sarcasm isn’t an ideal parenting technique. I never actually revealed (until now) that I purposely lied to make this happen – so I guess my whole life has been a lie?
I’ll leave you with this though and that is, sometimes lies are important – or half truths at least. I wish my mum hadn’t told me the truth of how she found out she was pregnant with me, how, after a booze filled weekend in Melbourne she returned to Adelaide and thought “hmmm maybe I am up the duff”, did the test and a few months later – hello, Alicia’s here! It’s all good, I mean she was married, to my Dad (though if she wasn’t that would have been fine – no judgement, obviously) however what I wish she had lied about (a little) was the vomiting in gutters level drinking that she achieved just prior to finding out that she was with child. I mean sure, I’m proud of her, she’s the lady that truly taught me how to party but it’s just that, every time something weird happens in my life, every time my brain is a little bit erratic and I feel unnecessarily violent I wonder if I can blame it on my Mum. Rather than just accepting my own personal failures like a normal person. So Mum, while I love you insane amounts, I wish that one time you had lied because now there is always going to be a little bit of me that feels like I genuinely can blame you for my failings.
I should probably start this by explaining that I am certainly not the most sophisticated of women; I buy my make-up from the supermarket and I wouldn’t even think twice about eating an entire Dominos Deep Crust all to myself. However, when I was offered the chance to try an eye enhancing treatment thanks to the excellent folk at Essential Beauty, I was intrigued.
Furthermore, when I found out that it would mean I could get flawless eyes without having to wear (and therefore remove) any eye make-up for at least two weeks, well that’s when this lazy girl was sold!
To read the rest of the article, head on over to Adelady.
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.
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 60th 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.
Today I went for a walk, look at me go! Unfortunately, being a public holiday, the rest of Adelaide seemed to have the same idea. The thing is, when you get a whole heap of people in the same place, suddenly some people just seem…worse than others. Rather than enjoy the scenery, I kept myself distracted by noticing the flaws in those around me and I choose to share them now with you, in this blog post – enjoy xx
Car Park Wankers
Without being reminded by my fellow walkers, I already find it weird that I am DRIVING MY CAR to go somewhere to WALK. Growing up in the beautiful surrounds of the Adelaide Hills, you just go for a walk where you live however since moving to suburbia, I’ve had to get comfortable with the concept of driving to nature – rather than just stepping out of the front door and into it.
On top of this, on a day like this, the park was absolutely full to the brim with a number of cars (predominantly ‘tough’ 4WDs) parked in non-designated parking areas – ALL OVER THE NATURE. The cars were parked on the nature that their inhabitants were there to enjoy. I just don’t get it. For the record, I parked further away and…here’s an abstract concept…walked to the walk.
Croc Sock Dag
Someone is very embarrassed to be related to this human. Not only was he wearing crocs, he was wearing them with socks on a hike up a rocky hill. Go home.
She may not have been able to hear it but surely she could feel it? Sure she was blasting T-Swiz pretty loudly through her noise cancelling headphones but that is no excuse for farting loudly whilst walking past another group of walkers. None at all.
Taking photos with an Ipad is bad at the best of times however when its half way through a three hour hike you really have to question everything you ever thought you knew. Furthermore, if the photographer in question is dressed head to toe in bike riding Lycra with not a single road nor road bike in sight, perhaps it is in fact time to give up on this world.
This lady was wearing the same sunglasses as me so walked out of her way, just to tell me. It wasn’t a huge shock as I could in fact easily see that we were wearing the same glasses myself. Wearing the same glasses is not reason enough to become friends and someone should explain that to this woman. After pointing out out common eye wear to me, she then tried to continue the conversation – lady I just wanna enjoy nature on my own – enough!
Next up I was stuck behind Michelle and Lucas; Lucas barely ever empties the dishwasher and having to constantly ask Lucas to do so distresses Michelle as she is very conscious of not nagging him. My life is enriched with this knowledge.
Selfie Stick Owner
They are big, they are awkward and they are pointy and you look like an idiot.
Star Wars Spoiler
I’m torn, I can’t decide if this is adorable or super shitty. Whilst catching my breath in the car park before heading back to my car I could over hear a woman reading out the Wikipedia plot overview of Star Wars to her incredibly eager child. Now I haven’t seen Star Wars however I am incredibly familiar with the Wikipedia plot overview – because I’ve read it just to keep up with pop culture and to make sure I’m down with the youth. So anyways, my gripe? While it was kinda cute how much the kid was loving it and how adorable the entertainment method was I was concerned for THE PEOPLE – the woman’s voice was kinda loud and what if the other people didn’t want to know any Star Wars spoiler alerts? WHAT IF?
10/10 Douche Bros
For a solid three minutes, the absolute worst of my life, I was stuck within hearing distance of two ‘roided up twats who felt the need to rate every single woman that they spotted on a scale out of ten, pulling apart every aspect of their physical appearance in a terribly degrading way that only a truly insecure person could. They were terrible people and I hope that their dicks shrivel up and their hair falls out. For the record, I’m a seven with a great butt who could ‘lose a bit off the thighs and should check out fake tanning ’ while they were far too muscular for my liking with faces that only a paper bag could improve and personalities that could never be saved.
Up the hill, down the hill, super fast on the flats and constantly making us non-runners feel inadequate. Runners are not your friends, they are super human beasts put on this earth to keep the rest of us in our place – and they deserve every shin splint that comes their way.
So if you ever decide to go on a walk and spot me out and about, perhaps have a nice trait that I can write about next time I do this?
Adelaide’s Mad March brings people from ALL walks of life into our CBD. It’s a crazy montage of arty-farties/Clipsal car loving bogans/Adelaide Festival snobs and of course the occasional Festival Grinch! And we wouldn’t have it any other way… Which one are you?
I think I am ready to admit to myself that despite my best efforts to the contrary, I am not a gardener and nor will I ever be one. The patch of dirt in my small court yard that in my mind was to be filled with luscious vegetables and flowering natives or at the very least, pots of useful herbs is currently nothing more than mud decorated poorly with aging mulch.
Two years ago I moved into my current abode, with big dreams and a heart set on being a real functioning proper adult – with the kind of outdoor area to prove to my friends and family that I’d truly made it. Flash forward to January 2016 and the only colour in my yard comes from the fading retro garden flamingos that were once used as a novelty Christmas decoration – otherwise its brown ground and asbestos fencing as far as the eye can see – which isn’t far anyways, since it (thankfully) is a tiny yard.
Encouragement came from every corner – mum would swing by on Saturday mornings and off we’d venture to Bunnings to find another pretty low maintenance flower to revitalise the passion for gardening. Upon our return however, she would cast her eye over the barren wasteland into which I intended to integrate the pretty little plant and sigh with disappointment. An avid and successful gardener herself, I’m sure she couldn’t help but feel personally responsible that I’d recently killed not one but two supposedly indestructible mint plants. Mother grew bored of my failed attempts at adult life and moved away, like far far away. I’m almost entirely sure she made this major life change so that she would no longer have to regularly bear witness to the failure of a daughter which she herself had raised.
For the past year I have found myself getting rather cosy in many gardens – beer gardens that is, if only to water (that’s a gardening term, right?) my own sorrow – but not drown it – because that’s how we kill plants(I know that much, because humans also die if drowned, duh). My passion was momentarily relocated late last year when I read an article by the excellent Helen Razer, describing how she had found a love of gardening in recent years. Enthused by her words I stepped out into the yard – and then my phone vibrated and a single word flashed up on the screen; “pub?” – ahhhh Helens getting older, her friends are married and have children and no longer waste hours talking shit with a pint in their hand, that must be how she manages to find time to garden…
This morning I re-assessed the situation and sighed deeply – I began to pull out weeds, dressed in the oh so classy combination of pyjamas and thongs. Before I knew it I’d accidentally walked backwards into the peg basket on the washing line and tipped a substantial amount of water on myself – that’s enough gardening for this year then.
I love the idea of sitting in a beautifully landscaped garden but I’ve resigned myself to the fact that everyone needs a fantasy to keep them going in life, so that shall be mine. Perhaps I will one day marry into money, live in a fancy house and hire a gardener? Or perhaps I will continue to live the way I do for many years to come. If that is the case, my lack of gardening talent is probably the least of my worries…maybe I should upgrade to furniture that isn’t made of milk crates? Or learn to correctly file important documents instead of shoving them in drawers (that are sure to overflow soon at this rate)? I should almost certainly learn to eat the yoghurt in the fridge before it starts growing the dangerous looking red mould that I found this morning – the kind that could probably kill at least thirty three unborn babies with a single spoonful. Now I think of it, I might just top up my morning glass of sparkling (FYI it’s Prosecco – because if you’re gonna grow up to be an alcoholic, you may as well be a fabulous, European fun one- and not too expensive either) and plan a picnic – in someone else’s garden. I never said I didn’t like the outdoors but dirt? That stuff is icky.