womb raider

i suppose i'll postpone my canonisation.

2009-03-28T17:20:00.003+11:00

on the way home last night, i was turning around the s-bends two minutes away from my house when i saw a creature - a small boy? - huddled up on the side of the street. this particular stretch of road is surrounded by bush and trees and that is no place for little boys, what with the boy-eating lizards and wild suburban boars that only come out at night. i hastily (and fairly dangerously) turned around in the closest street and went back to save him. if it had been a film, the only thing that i would have added would have been some tyre-burning smoke and maybe a pair of unnecessary sunglasses.

slowly, as i approached this person sitting on the curb, the headlights began to dampen my heroism. this was not, in fact, a small boy dressed in rags who had been thrown out by his abusive parents, but a very very broody goth, with oversized doc martens, black lipstick, and holes in her clothing that were very much intentional. my cover being totally blown by this point, i hesitantly asked her if she was ok, to which she politely replied, "piss off." this is one more episode to contribute to the mounting evidence that i will never accumulate enough good karma to move into my own bedroom, for instance. or find a bra that supports, lifts, and solves world poverty.

the beginning of the end

2009-03-22T17:23:00.000+11:00

it's happened. i have bought shampoo for "thinning hair." i will now retreat to a rocking chair in a tented floral dress where i will not even bother reading a book for fear my eyes have stopped working and will pre-empt the premature rotting of my teeth by switching to puréed roast beef and force-feed myself metamucil immediately.

eating is my favourite procrastinating device.

2009-03-20T00:09:00.001+11:00

judging by the six-month pregnancy bloat i endure every time i eat dairy, there is a good chance i am lactose intolerant. however, this is like saying that i get hives every time i wipe my arse. no rash will stop me from cleaning my rear, and no indigestion - no matter how ugly, sonorous or painful the experience - will keep me from delicious, lactose-laden terrorists.

cereal and tuna

2009-03-08T17:47:00.001+11:00

yes, i'm the one in woolworths shaking the boxes and tins of everything i buy because i refuse to pay full price for something that is only half full. i am on to you people.

and no, i am not a "hat person"

2009-03-05T23:30:00.001+11:00

it's ok when there are bits of hair missing on the back of my head, because i can pin other bits of hair over it. but what exactly is the correct procedure for a receding hair line? i feel like everybody stares at the sides of my head because they're totally naked with only a few pubes sticking out and maybe it's time to shave my head completely because then, at least, my head would be equally embarrassed and no one would ever have to say, "there goes that girl with rude bits on the sides of her head."

the invisible killer

2009-02-28T16:25:00.001+11:00

i eat so much garlic that you can smell it through my pores the day before i consume it. in fact, i am waiting for evolution to kick in so that i will either be able to absorb garlic in a more humane manner, or walk around with my own personal force field in which i can breathe, fart, and perspire to my heart's content and escape the fate of being self-gassed through highly suspicious gills that will have developed along my neck. in lieu of nature's irritatingly slow progress, i have been known to cancel a shift at work, a night on the town, or a religious event housed in a confined religious building. when flight is not possible, i spend the entire time breathing only when i am in corners of the room and reserving whatever oxygen is left in my lungs for those times when contact with other human beings is absolutely necessary. today at work i was disturbingly close to passing out just so that the people near me would not be gassed. and people say i am not considerate.

on running out of girl implements

2009-02-28T00:56:00.008+11:00

the number of pads in my house can be given by this equation: n x 6 (3 maxi pads + 3 regular), where n is the number of females in the house. given that there are FIVE GIRLS living here, there should be, oh, about a billion packets of pads to be opened, sat in, and thrown away at any given point in time. imagine my surprise, then, when my vagina explodes this morning and there are no pads or pad-like materials to be found. what the fuck? are people eating them or something? do they taste good with ketchup? did mum use them to seal up the roof during those ten days of constant rain about a week ago? and more importantly, why was the roof more important than my vagina?

with a waddle and a grimace, i had to buy a packet of pads in the chemist at nine oh five am with a wad of toilet paper in my undies. (stay tuned for a probing analysis of the controversial "wings vs. no wings" debate.)

vanity

2009-02-27T17:05:00.004+11:00

the first thing that you will notice on this website, second only to the sensational web coding and dirty looking background, is the inclusion of a photograph of me and my rather prominent proboscis. what i hope that you don't notice is my similarly prominent fivehead, which while awkward and a waste of space, i honestly believe will come in handy one day. actually, you won't notice it at all because i have strategically omitted that body part. you can take this piece of information in several ways:

(1) that my self-esteem is approximately ankle height,
(2) my forehead is a secret government location to base aircraft,
(3) that i censor the fuck out of myself, but will try to have a good time while doing it on the internet because limiting my embarrassment and awkward conversations to real life is, like, so selfish.