Sunday, January 31, 2010

Bogan Day Out

Bogan Day Out... I mean Big Douche Out... I mean Big Day Out... Just last week, I went to Big Day Out for the first time ever, and the rumours are true. BDO is just a rampant breeding ground for bogans, trailer park trash and conventionally hot chicks* who thought that BDO would be the cool thing to do. I never knew they liked music that wasn't Lady Gaga...

This year's headliners were British uber-stadium band Muse, and the crowd in the pit had a surprisingly large number of fresh-faced, clearly underage girls and wimpy boys who must have a masochistic streak to get into the pit. Or perhaps they were overenthusiastic Twilight fans intent on hearing the soundtrack live. Clearly gladiator sandals, dangly earrings and miniskirts isn’t a smart choice, yet these delicate creatures surely spoilt the moshing atmosphere for quite a few of us by continually whinging about getting stepped on or that they were a bit squished. A few of the cleverer ones (but clearly still not that bright to even get into the pit in the first place) realised this, and in the first half of Muse’s set they were all crowd surfing their way out of there, usually in a various stage of undress.

It’s not like I’m a beefy bloke who needs more than a punch to go down. I’m five-foot-three and not very substantial, but I come in full knowledge that I probably will – and usually do – get punched in the guts, get stepped on and have a crowd surfer kick me in the face. So, sorry to all those girls who thought I was deliberately pushing you. It’s called a mosh pit. To make things worse, my six-foot-four boyfriend was wearing a giant novelty sombrero that ironically had “THIS KENT” (i.e. this cunt) written on it. We must’ve been the most hated couple at BDO Melbourne.

*Conventionally hot chicks: typically average, boring girls who hide their lack of individuality, confidence and intellience with fake tan, clothes from Forever New, high heels and too much flesh. Usually date conventionally hot men**.

**Conventionally hot men: typically average, boring men who hide their lack of individuality, confidence and intelligence by working out too much, wearing Ed Hardy and ripping on nerds. Usually date conventionally hot chicks.

Friday, January 15, 2010

Women + shoes = irrationality

Women are irrational. I occasionally work in a shoe store, and some of the things that I see and hear from my customers are mind boggling.

A customer came in not so long ago, looking for a pair of heels to go with a plaid suit. I found the a pair - the exact shade to bring out the colours in the fabric, the right size in stock, the customer thought they were uber comfortable and it was within her budget. She was buying them for a wedding and they were the perfect pair. The problem? It made her too tall.

I hear that a lot from really shy, conservative women around six feet or taller. But this woman was about five foot nothing. I was so tempted to ask if the wedding she was planning on wearing them to was for midgets.

But the customer is always right. Sigh.

Wednesday, January 13, 2010

Hey dawg

I don't get hip hop culture. I'm really sorry, but I just don't understand it. All the handshakes and the nicknames and the rapper slang. SPEAK IN BLOODY ENGLISH AND STOP MOLESTING MY HAND WHILE SHAKING IT.


I was the door bitch at an iconic Melbourne live music venue a while ago, and there were some hip hop acts perfoming. I was amused by the fact that the door sheet had the note "Artist is a hip hop act - keep an eye on the crowd". Perpetuating stereotypes maybe, but I did see at least one guy get semi-dragged out.


The most annoying thing though was the doorlist. Some of the names were normal birth names (e.g. Jane, David, Joe) and the other half were gangsta/rapper/some-other-hip-name names (e.g. Bottala, JDog, C-Dub, Tha Pahnik). This made for some rather awkward exchanges.

One particular wigga came through the door, blazingly arrogant and with his chin high in the air. "Yo dawg, me name's KC Kritikal, should be on the list, yo." I looked down at the door sheet."Um... nope. Not on the list." He looked kind of embarrassed, and quickly glanced from side to side to check no one was watching before he whispered, "Um, I'm also Bob."

"OH, HI BOB. LET ME GIVE YOU A STAMP, BOB. HAVE A GOOD NIGHT, BOB."





Please note: No harm or offence intended towards hip hop fans/artists. I'm sure they are as equally as befuddled over my taste in experimental shoe-gaze, post punk and quirky dress sense. Please don't drive by my place and shoot me.

Monday, January 11, 2010

A domestic affair

I moved out of home as soon as I was legally an adult. I have been share housing for years, and have toughed it out in the most fucked up sharehouses in dodgy areas. I've had my room broken into by my forty year old flatmate (who apparently watched me sleep naked). My house got broken into and robbed while I was sleeping naked in the bedroom (and then the cops took 40 minutes to get there after I told Triple 0 I had male intruders in my house). I've had screaming matches with flatmates, tears included. I've lived with couples and had to deal with the aftermath of break ups. I've lived with a bi-polar, ex-druggie boyfriend with more issues than I could count on all my hands and feet.

So after years of fucking about I've finally gotten myself a beautiful studio apartment in a lush neighbourhood, right near one of Melbourne's trendiest areas. All by myself. No stupid flatmates. And I'm only 22.

Every once in a while I may get all smug at my counterparts still living at home, or worse, living in a rental that's paid for by the parentals. But you know what? I'm jealous. Absolutely jealous that they have rich parents with the cash to splash around. So if you're parents want to buy you that inner-city apartment but you're afraid that your friends think you're spoilt? They're all just envious middle-class bastards. Take it.

* Note: your social and sexually development will probably be really stunted though. It's kinda hard to climax if your parents are in the next room.

Friday, January 8, 2010

There's no Canada like French Canada, it's the best Canada in the land...

You know someone's from Canada if they have a habit of writing everything in parfait French and English.

(I was going to post a link to the French Canada song from South Park... but it just wouldn't work so just use your imagination, m'kay?)

Sunday, January 3, 2010

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year

Hello folks,

Hope you all had a Merry Christmas (I am an atheist, don't worry I'm not trying to tell you about baby prophets) and a happy, drunken new year. I personally spent part of my NYE in a alley way with three other girls drinking and giggling in the rain. Apparently smuggling alcohol into bars is harder than we realised.

Just checking in and letting you know that I am writing but I'm being a bit of a squirrel at the moment and hoarding some stuff to hopefully be published. I'm not being a lazy ass, but there may not be that much activity on my blog.

Cheers, kisses, hardcore sex and peace,
Me.