The Other One

Last week I spent the night at a friend’s place. Many a drunken evening has wound up with me asleep on the floor of her lounge room, a task that would be far easier were it not for her two, furry, precious babies. For the sake of protecting their identities, I shall refer to them as 'Fluffy Butt' and 'The Other One.'

Fluffy Butt
Comically large tail - hilarious to play with when drunk.

The Other One
Ginger - has no soul.

The Other One is younger, fatter, and seemingly stupider than Fluffy Butt. I say ‘seemingly’ because the more I get to know the ginger fur ball, the more I start to think that maybe he’s not stupid at all. Maybe he’s a genius. An evil genius hell bent on making life as hard as possible for everyone around him. Here is a step by step breakdown of an average night sharing a space with The Other One:

Fall asleep

Feel something ticking face

Assume it is a giant spider

Swat at the spider

Realise you just smacked a cat in the face

Feel guilty

Close eyes

Hear rumbling sound

Open eyes to see cat staring at you

Roll over and face other direction

Rumbling sound resumes

Open eyes to see cat is now on the other side

Sit up to shoo cat away

Cat sits on pillow

Immediately stop feeling guilty about smacking it in the face

Push cat off pillow

Fall asleep again

Wake to strange noise

See cat pulling shoe laces out of your shoes while older, less evil cat stands by and does nothing to stop this, proving once and for all which side he’s on.

Lose will to go on

Go to work on a combined total of one hours sleep

To the left, to the left

Every day after work I try to go for a walk. I do this because I have what you might call ‘god awful’ eating habits and it makes me feel better (maybe not ‘better’ but definitely ‘less bad’) about all the sugar and meat that makes its way into my mouth. I’ll wait a minute while you make your own joke about meat making its way into my mouth.

…

…

…done?

…

…now? Yes? Sweet.

How I like to think I look when I’m walking:


How I actually look:

Fun fact: I tend to sweat more from the right armpit. Refer to drawing.

Today as I was making my way down a busy city street I found myself becoming more and more frustrated that every time someone was walking towards me in the opposite direction, I was always the person who moved out of the way. Not once did I do the awkward dance of politeness where you go to move out of their way just as they go to move out of yours, but you keep moving in the same direction and it’s amusing and uncomfortable and you try to break the tension by making out with and/or groping them but then they just call for help and it becomes even more awkward.

My frustration boiled over, however, when I found myself about to collide with this individual:

Please note: Tail and devil horns may or MAY NOT have been present at the time. You weren’t there. Don’t tell me what I saw.

What I thought, now having been forced off the footpath and on to the road:




What I actually did: Kept walking while looking mildly annoyed.

All I’m saying is, WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT? WHO SAYS THAT TO A STRANGER ON THE STREET? WHO THINKS THEY’RE SO IMPORTANT THEY CAN DIRECT FOOT TRAFFIC? I know you think you’re sOOper busy, Miss (I’ll go ahead and assume you’re single) Business-Lady with your fancy clothes and your big hair, but other people have places to be, too. Maybe that girl you gave attitude to on the street today had been up since 4am and was very unfit and not coping with the heat and had a river of sweat running between her boobs and just wanted to get to the train station so she could go home and have a chicken sammich.

Then I got home and had a chicken sammich.

Same Same

Similarities between a handbag and a vagina
The owner is usually very protective of it.
You don’t want some random dude grabbing it on the street.
It can seem like a vast, cavernous wasteland.
Guys want to put their stuff in there.
It’s always nice to match it to your shoes.
Some have a weird smell.
Middle aged women tend to have one that’s old and worn out.
It’s always surprising how much will fit in there.
Best not to leave it open and unattended.
You should always keep a close eye on it on public transport.
Paris Hilton keeps a small dog in hers.
Despite poking around in there for ages, men can never find what they’re looking for.
It’s poor form to touch someone else’s without their permission.
Men generally don’t have one. Generally.
Mine is black with a leathery appearance and a series of metal studs on it.


Similarities between a car and a penis
Size doesn’t matter, just as long as it gets you where you want to go.
It will occasionally smash into things.
The journey it takes you on can be long or short.
I don’t want to listen to someone go on and on and on about theirs.
The owner often thinks it’s a good idea to go really fast. It’s not.
There’s no point in trading in for a newer model if the old one still works.
It’s nice to give it a name.
The ride won't always be enjoyable.
For a touch of class, you can add a set of fuzzy dice.

Like... get a fish

This past weekend, my mum questioned me as to why I don’t blog very often these days.
‘I haven’t got any ideas,’ I told her.
Her response was ‘Hmm… you’re too content at the moment.’
This struck me as strange for two reasons:
1) My mother should be happy about the thought of me being content
2) I’m really not content at all.
So, for mama, I present:

REASONS WHY I’M REALLY NOT CONTENT AT ALL

THE ROYAL BABY
I predicted a Princess Charlotte. You’ve made me look like a fool, Prince X. Though we’ve only had a brief glimpse of the baby, it seems he has sadly inherited his father’s premature baldness. He also appears to be about 90% blanket.

THE ROYAL BABY NAMES
The suggestions are all too classy. If the royals want to keep Australia as part of the Commonwealth and one day have the little bugger’s face on our money, I suggest Prince Bazza. Or his Royal Highness Prince Dave-o. Or simply Prince Maaaaaaaate.

THE NUTRITIONAL INFORMATION ON FOOD AND DRINKS
Ignorance is bliss.

RAIN
You always let me know when I have holes in my shoes.

KIDS THESE DAYS
I was in a shop earlier this year when I saw a child, about six or seven years old, pick up a Furby. He turned the box over in his hands a few times with a look of confusion on his face. ‘These things are sad,’ he said to his mother. ‘They’re supposed to be a pet or something. Why would a kid want this? Like… get a fish.’ YOU get a fish, small boy. I’m not gonna take that from someone who wasn’t even born when Furbys were invented. You have to feed a fish. You have to clean its bowl. You can’t take the batteries out of it when it won’t shut up. But on the flip side, you can’t flush a Furby down the toilet. Don’t ask how I know.

PEOPLE WHO DON’T LIKE MY FACEBOOK STATUSES
How dare you. I’m hilarious.

I DROOLED IN MY SOUP TODAY
Doesn’t require much more of an explanation.

MY INABILITY TO COME UP WITH DECENT COMEBACKS
Coworker: ‘That bin smells.’
Me: ‘Your FACE smells.’
Friend: ‘That doesn’t make any sense.’
Me: ‘Your FACE doesn’t make any sense.’
Customer: ‘My coffee isn’t hot enough.’
Me: ‘Your FACE isn’t hot enough.’
And so on.

THAT CHEAP PAIR OF PANTS I BOUGHT
I looked so good in you, and loved you dearly. Right up until I saw that small hole in the seam of the crotch. The small hole that by the end of the day was a big hole. It is not ok to do this to me when I’m at work.

REGULAR CUSTOMERS WHO THINK I’M AN ALCOHOLIC
I had my birthday drinks on a Sunday afternoon this year, thinking it would be nice to have a few quiet ones with friends. They weren’t quiet. And there weren’t just a few. And I couldn’t go to work that Monday because of the vomiting. And my co-workers gladly told people about that. And now, every Monday morning, I get grilled by multiple customers about how many drinks I had over weekend.

FINDING DARK UNDERTONES IN CARTOONS
I only just figured out that Adventure Time is set in post apocalyptic Earth. This makes me sad. Not because of the apocalypse, but because it took me this long to figure it out.

SELECTIVE HEARING
Everyone seems to be talking about bacon and penis.

All by myself (again)

Last year I spent some time living on my own (which you can reminisce about here). On Wednesday I started a four week stint of solo living with the best intentions, and it’s already gone downhill. Though this time, I did have the good sense to get someone to remove the hair monster from the shower drain BEFORE I almost drowned. And before it gained a life of its own and rose up from the drain to destroy us all.


I planned to eat healthy(ish) and properly cook dinner each night.




People with obsessive compulsive tendencies should never be left with the task of ironing.


And I tend to leave the washing lying around for too long.

How to: Find and apply for a job

Make sure you’re looking in the right places for jobs that suit your skills and interests.

When applying for a job, write your cover letter in blood to prove how serious you are.

If you lack the necessary qualifications, try to talk up your chutzpah and willingness to learn.

Modern day employers will do some research on you before making contact, so ensure you have a professional, dignified Facebook photo that paints you as a trustworthy and reliable person.

…and make sure your personal information is set to private.

Now just sit back and wait for them to call!

The Lonely Planet guide to why you shouldn’t trust the Lonely Planet guide

Save your money, ladies and gentlemen. Them there Lonely Planet books don’t know nothin’ ‘bout anything. So I have taken it upon myself to deliver some truth balls and offer up a more accurate representation of New York, COMPLETELY FREE OF CHARGE!

Bargain.

American Museum of Natural History
Falsely represented in Night at the Museum. The T-rex isn’t at the entrance, there’s no Robin Williams on a horse and at no point did I see a capuchin monkey or a tiny roman fighting a tiny cowboy. Though, admittedly, I didn’t go into every room.

The weird tea café place near Central Park that I can’t remember the name of
I was thirsty and cold. I wanted a hot chocolate. I ordered a choc mint. It had tea in it. All their drinks had tea in them. Whose idea was this? And why isn’t it more clearly advertised before you order that your otherwise delicious beverage IS GOING TO HAVE TEA IN IT????????

Museum of Modern Art
Spent almost an hour in the queue to check my coat. In hindsight, it would’ve been a lot faster and easier to just carry it, but once you commit to a giant line DAMMIT you stick to it.

Initially I was concerned that all the ‘art’ here was going to look like I could’ve done it myself. I was a lazy art student once, I know how it’s done. Abstract is what you do when your abilities are less on the side of actual artistic talent, and more on the side of bullshitting with conviction . I once painted a wooden box in bright colours, drew some eyes and mouths on it, cut out some pictures of noses from magazines and stuck them on, then made a couple of ceramic ears and attached them with glue. I said it was a representation of how society is obsessed with image. A+, baby.

Disappointment gave way to pure wonderment when I found level 5, because yes, I’m one of those girls who swoons over Van Gough. They also had The Scream on loan from wherever it is that The Scream usually lives. Turns out it looks like it’s done in crayon.

The food court in Grand Central Station
I bought a slice of rather tasty pizza from a rather tasty man. Scruffy, flirty skater type with more charm than a person should be allowed to have. The other guy who worked there came over to take my order, pointed at the good looking dude and said ‘Oh, sorry, is he taking care of you?’ and all I could think was ‘…not as much as he could be.’ He was attractive and had pizza. A lot of pizza. And I’m only human. Time to put a new meaning to the term customer service, methinks.

Still to come… Food, shopping, why I cried on the Brooklyn Bridge and how I made the Empire State Building my girlfriend.