GAAAAAAAAAAH!
After a massive amount of blood, sweat and tears (mostly tears), the book-ified version of this blog is now available to buy and keep and love forever. If you click on the little link below, it will take you to the place where you can begin the emotional journey that is book ownership.
http://au.blurb.com/bookstore/detail/3560026
Thanks heaps to everyone who has been reading this thing. I hope you're all still laughing.
Much love,
Lauren
Wednesday, September 19, 2012
Sunday, September 9, 2012
What happens when I try to work on my novel
Wake up in the morning with determination and good intentions. 
Open Microsoft Word. 
Take a well deserved coffee break to celebrate my opening of Microsoft Word. 
Come back to the computer. Write twenty words. 
Have a three hour long lunch/Buffy break to celebrate my genius. 
Return to the computer. Reread my twenty words. Think they’re shite.
Do a blog instead.
Thursday, July 26, 2012
Curse of the food hole
Food. We love it. We consume it every day. It’s either bad for us and delicious, or good for us and like licking a piece of cardboard that a sweaty monkey has rubbed all over itself. Then set fire to. Then taken the ashes and peed on them. Then served it to you as soup. And of course you took the soup because the monkey was dressed as a waiter and that’s how monkeys get you - they wear people clothes and it’s so funny that you forget you can’t trust them.
The issue with deliciousness is that once you get the taste for it, it’s hard to stop shoving things in your mouth (by ‘things’ I mean food things, stop thinking that other thing you were thinking). ‘I’ll only eat one Tim Tam’ turns into an empty packet. ‘I’ll just have a light dinner’ turns into the pain of trying to digest an entire dead animal. ‘I’ll just have a quick sandwich’ turns into a quick sandwich followed by an apple and some 2 minute noodles and a bigger sandwich and some chips and eating Nutella off anything else you could find. Generally a spoon. Or your finger.
This anti-will-power phenomenon is something I like to call ‘opening the food hole.’ It’s like opening the floodgates, except the gates are your mouth and the water is fried chicken.
For many years I excused my behaviour with the old standards ‘but think of the starving children in Africa!’ even though me having another piece of cake was never going to help a starving child in Africa, and ‘I better eat it before it expires’ when the expiry date was months away. I thought I was doing fine until late last year when I finally decided to do something about the couple of kilos I gained in Europe. I came up with a brilliant idea: I was only going to eat when I was hungry.
This plan lasted longer than I expected. I dropped two dress sizes. I had to buy a lot of new clothes. I can walk up stairs now. Well, some stairs. More stairs than before. Stairs are hard. But recently, I started to slip. I allowed donuts back into my life, and they brought their friends with them. Their cake-y, chip-y and deep fried-y friends.
I’m trying. I really am. My jeans still fit, but I’m constantly faced by the struggle of working around baked goods and having lunch once a week with that friend who never finishes her food.
It’s not my fault. I blame the deliciousness.
The issue with deliciousness is that once you get the taste for it, it’s hard to stop shoving things in your mouth (by ‘things’ I mean food things, stop thinking that other thing you were thinking). ‘I’ll only eat one Tim Tam’ turns into an empty packet. ‘I’ll just have a light dinner’ turns into the pain of trying to digest an entire dead animal. ‘I’ll just have a quick sandwich’ turns into a quick sandwich followed by an apple and some 2 minute noodles and a bigger sandwich and some chips and eating Nutella off anything else you could find. Generally a spoon. Or your finger.
This anti-will-power phenomenon is something I like to call ‘opening the food hole.’ It’s like opening the floodgates, except the gates are your mouth and the water is fried chicken.
For many years I excused my behaviour with the old standards ‘but think of the starving children in Africa!’ even though me having another piece of cake was never going to help a starving child in Africa, and ‘I better eat it before it expires’ when the expiry date was months away. I thought I was doing fine until late last year when I finally decided to do something about the couple of kilos I gained in Europe. I came up with a brilliant idea: I was only going to eat when I was hungry.
This plan lasted longer than I expected. I dropped two dress sizes. I had to buy a lot of new clothes. I can walk up stairs now. Well, some stairs. More stairs than before. Stairs are hard. But recently, I started to slip. I allowed donuts back into my life, and they brought their friends with them. Their cake-y, chip-y and deep fried-y friends.
I’m trying. I really am. My jeans still fit, but I’m constantly faced by the struggle of working around baked goods and having lunch once a week with that friend who never finishes her food.
It’s not my fault. I blame the deliciousness.
Friday, June 15, 2012
All by myself
I’ve been on my own in a rather large house since the 25th of April. Here’s why I should never be left alone for long periods of time without proper adult supervision:
I’m not good at killing spiders.
There’s no one to vent to but the stuffed animals.
I refuse to unclog the shower drain because the hair monster smells. Bad.
Ignoring the dishes doesn’t make them go away.
I have no self control when it comes to food.
I’m not good at killing spiders.
There’s no one to vent to but the stuffed animals.
I refuse to unclog the shower drain because the hair monster smells. Bad. Ignoring the dishes doesn’t make them go away.I have no self control when it comes to food.
Friday, May 18, 2012
FAQ part trois
Hey, Lauren! How’s your novel coming along?
Yeah, alright. I wrote almost 400 words three weeks ago.
That’s… that’s not a lot.
It’s not like I haven’t been writing, I’ve just been busy working on other things.
Such as?
I wrote a pretty kick ass greeting in a birthday card last weekend.
Ok…
I’ve also been responsible for some rather amusing text messages.
Right. I heard you’re living on your own at the moment, how’s that working out?
There’s a hair-monster living in my shower drain that I’m too much of a princess to remove, so now I play this game I like to call ‘Can I finish showering before the bathroom floods?’ So far I’m winning.
Uh huh. And how many times have you had ice cream for breakfast this week?
Not once!
Does 'not once' mean 'twice'?
No.
Three times?
Maybe.
I was looking at some of your older blogs this morning. They’re great. Why aren’t you funny anymore?
Shuddup. You write something better, genius.
Ok, I will.
Good.
Good.
I look forward to reading it.
I look forward to you reading it.
And I look forward judging you, Judge-y McJudgeface.
That was mature. How old are you?
How old are you?
I don’t know. I don’t exist. You made me up.
Oh yeah.
You’re a strange lady.
Your mother’s a strange lady.
Good luck with the hair-monster.
Good luck with your FACE.
Yeah, alright. I wrote almost 400 words three weeks ago.
That’s… that’s not a lot.
It’s not like I haven’t been writing, I’ve just been busy working on other things.
Such as?
I wrote a pretty kick ass greeting in a birthday card last weekend.
Ok…
I’ve also been responsible for some rather amusing text messages.
Right. I heard you’re living on your own at the moment, how’s that working out?
There’s a hair-monster living in my shower drain that I’m too much of a princess to remove, so now I play this game I like to call ‘Can I finish showering before the bathroom floods?’ So far I’m winning.
Uh huh. And how many times have you had ice cream for breakfast this week?
Not once!
Does 'not once' mean 'twice'?
No.
Three times?
Maybe.
I was looking at some of your older blogs this morning. They’re great. Why aren’t you funny anymore?
Shuddup. You write something better, genius.
Ok, I will.
Good.
Good.
I look forward to reading it.
I look forward to you reading it.
And I look forward judging you, Judge-y McJudgeface.
That was mature. How old are you?
How old are you?
I don’t know. I don’t exist. You made me up.
Oh yeah.
You’re a strange lady.
Your mother’s a strange lady.
Good luck with the hair-monster.
Good luck with your FACE.
Friday, May 4, 2012
So... then what happened?
The itsy bitsy spider climbed up the water spout.
Down came the rain and washed the spider out.
Out came the sunshine and dried up all the rain,
so the itsy bitsy spider climbed up the spout again.
This is just a pattern, he never learns from his mistakes.
All these pointless antics just make his wife’s head ache.
Like his gambling problem or that pyramid scheme,
or the time he woke up naked with half a football team.
The question is; why does he want to stay out of the house?
And the answer he will tell you is his really annoying spouse.
She’s mean, she’s cold, she’s a little bit ditzy,
then there’s the fact she calls him ‘Itsy Bitsy’.
She puts their 200 kids to bed while he’s at the pub.
He returns home to her angry hubbub.
Itsy turns back to the door, ready to walk.
‘Don’t even think about it,’ she says. ‘We need to talk.’
‘You’ve been talking to your ex on Facebook, I only just found out.’
‘I don’t have time for this,’ he says. ‘I’m gonna go climb the spout.’
She throws a glass vase and yells ‘How dare you walk out that door?’
He says, ‘My dear, to be honest, I’d rather climb up that spout than yours.’
Down came the rain and washed the spider out.
Out came the sunshine and dried up all the rain,
so the itsy bitsy spider climbed up the spout again.
This is just a pattern, he never learns from his mistakes.
All these pointless antics just make his wife’s head ache.
Like his gambling problem or that pyramid scheme,
or the time he woke up naked with half a football team.
The question is; why does he want to stay out of the house?
And the answer he will tell you is his really annoying spouse.
She’s mean, she’s cold, she’s a little bit ditzy,
then there’s the fact she calls him ‘Itsy Bitsy’.
She puts their 200 kids to bed while he’s at the pub.
He returns home to her angry hubbub.
Itsy turns back to the door, ready to walk.
‘Don’t even think about it,’ she says. ‘We need to talk.’
‘You’ve been talking to your ex on Facebook, I only just found out.’
‘I don’t have time for this,’ he says. ‘I’m gonna go climb the spout.’
She throws a glass vase and yells ‘How dare you walk out that door?’
He says, ‘My dear, to be honest, I’d rather climb up that spout than yours.’
Friday, April 20, 2012
I was drinking water just now and I missed my mouth
I have a lot of ideas. Sort of. The problem with my brain is that it’s not really capable of having a full idea, it just comes up with tiny little idea fragments.
Many times I have had what I considered to be a brilliant idea for a blog. I started writing and realised that no, I was wrong. So ladies and gentlemen, I present to you what I like to call ‘The blog where blog ideas go to die’ featuring scrawlings from many random scraps of paper:
HALF BAKED IDEAS
There’s still so much I don’t understand. Why does every letter of the alphabet have its own Wikipedia page? What’s keeping Keith Richards alive and where can I get some?
Think of stupid things to put on a bucket list*
How your iPod will always embarrass you if you put it on shuffle in public: I don’t like B*witched ironically. I genuinely like them and people who come into my place of business don’t need to be aware of that. It hurts my image.
How hairdressers are like prostitutes – you pay them money for a service and they pretend to like you. They are hair-stitutes.
The meaning of life - something to do with donuts?
How I tried to get swine flu in 2009 because I hated my job: When I saw someone cough on the train, my first instinct wasn’t to move away. It was ‘quick, lick his face. LICK HIS FAAAAAACE!’
Money saving ideas – it works out a lot cheaper if you just kill the prostitute.
‘Baby it’s cold outside’ is a date rape anthem and really needs to stop being so damn catchy.
How pop music has become dirtier since I was a kid: The dirtiest song we had was Genie in a Bottle, except we actually thought it was about a genie in a bottle. Our innocent little minds never clicked that maybe there was something a bit suss about having to rub her the right way, honey.
SHORT BITTIES THAT I HAVE NO RECOLLECTION OF AND NOW DON’T UNDERSTAND WHAT I WAS GETTING AT
I have no respect for personal space. I’m going to sexually assault you now.
Check out my new pocket watch. I’d get more chicks if it was the 1940s.
For a small fee and the cost of transporting a drum kit, I’ll follow you around all day and make everything you say instantly become 42% funnier (mathematically proven). BA-DUM-TSH!
Pineapple
Cherry ripe: you make me sick, with your dark chocolate and your grainy content.
*I couldn’t think of any stupid things except blue bucket, red bucket, big bucket, there’s a hole in my bucket, etc.
Many times I have had what I considered to be a brilliant idea for a blog. I started writing and realised that no, I was wrong. So ladies and gentlemen, I present to you what I like to call ‘The blog where blog ideas go to die’ featuring scrawlings from many random scraps of paper:
HALF BAKED IDEAS
There’s still so much I don’t understand. Why does every letter of the alphabet have its own Wikipedia page? What’s keeping Keith Richards alive and where can I get some?
Think of stupid things to put on a bucket list*
How your iPod will always embarrass you if you put it on shuffle in public: I don’t like B*witched ironically. I genuinely like them and people who come into my place of business don’t need to be aware of that. It hurts my image.
How hairdressers are like prostitutes – you pay them money for a service and they pretend to like you. They are hair-stitutes.
The meaning of life - something to do with donuts?
How I tried to get swine flu in 2009 because I hated my job: When I saw someone cough on the train, my first instinct wasn’t to move away. It was ‘quick, lick his face. LICK HIS FAAAAAACE!’
Money saving ideas – it works out a lot cheaper if you just kill the prostitute.
‘Baby it’s cold outside’ is a date rape anthem and really needs to stop being so damn catchy.
How pop music has become dirtier since I was a kid: The dirtiest song we had was Genie in a Bottle, except we actually thought it was about a genie in a bottle. Our innocent little minds never clicked that maybe there was something a bit suss about having to rub her the right way, honey.
SHORT BITTIES THAT I HAVE NO RECOLLECTION OF AND NOW DON’T UNDERSTAND WHAT I WAS GETTING AT
I have no respect for personal space. I’m going to sexually assault you now.
Check out my new pocket watch. I’d get more chicks if it was the 1940s.
For a small fee and the cost of transporting a drum kit, I’ll follow you around all day and make everything you say instantly become 42% funnier (mathematically proven). BA-DUM-TSH!
Pineapple
Cherry ripe: you make me sick, with your dark chocolate and your grainy content.
*I couldn’t think of any stupid things except blue bucket, red bucket, big bucket, there’s a hole in my bucket, etc.
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