Oh. em. gee, darl, you look FAB. Like totes!

I'm sure you all must have at least one of those annoyingly vain girls on Facebook whose profile will reveal at the very least, 1000 pictures of them showcasing the exact same pose with identical facial expressions, the only variant being the degree of sluttiness exhibited by their outfits.

I can only gawk at the pretentiousness of these girls as I disgustedly write about them on here. Because, you know, I'm not pretentious or anything.

I digress. I can't believe I just said "I digress". I hate when people use that expression, it makes them sound like a presumptuous scholar. But I digress.

The issue at hand is over-rated, self-obsessed girls who take pictures of themselves in the bathrooms of swanky restaurants and/or sleazy clubs and upload them on Facebook, hoping that everyone will see how "gorjuss" they look while covered in pounds of grease paint and how wonderfully the bathroom's ambient lighting captures the artificial highlights in their over-treated hair. Magical.

If there was a guy even mildly interested in them, obviously, his intentions would be solidified after flipping through their 67th Facebook album, as he thinks to himself, "God damn it, how could I have been so stupid? How could I have not seen how beautiful she is from THE OTHER 66 albums? I'm going to pick up the phone and profess my love RIGHT NOW. Oh God, I can't wait. Ohhh yes. That feeeels goooooood. Ah. Damn. I came all over my [Insert comic superhero] boxers."

That's right, I went there.

Morse Code

Here's the thing: I despise clubbing. Not only is it an invasion of personal space, it's an invasion of my acoustic space as the DJ puts his horrendous spin on equally distasteful popular songs, be it R&B or trance or house or whichever ungodly genre of music people normally gyrate to.

To be fair, the experience starts out alright, but once it gets to the point where I don't even know whose hand it is that's touching my ass that I've worked so hard to tone, it's time to get the hell out of there.

So during my early days in Melbourne, I went clubbing against my better judgment with a group of people I had just met. We had decided to rent a apartment-style hotel room to avoid dying on a drunken drive home.

So we stumbled back to the hotel suite in a drunken stupour and all the couples shotgunned to the appropriate places, like the bedroom with the queen bed or the living room futon. In the end, it was just me, Helga* and her "guy friend" who had graciously volunteered to sleep on the floor of the only remaining room with two single beds. So Helga and I settled into our coffin-sized beds, the lights were turned off, goodnights said.

Minutes later, in my semi-conscious state, I heard rustling sheets and faint moaning. I turned slightly to see that Helga's supposed "friend" was in fact on top of Helga. I could only guess what was happening under the covers but was fairly sure there was penetration involved. I was mortified, but pretended to be asleep, mainly because the coffin-sized bed was still more comfortable than the bathtub. I fell into a coma before the climax. This would have been disappointing had it been the climax of perhaps Transformers or The Matrix, however in this case, it was a blessing.

The next morning, as the events of the previous night fazed into my memory, I experienced a mix of outrage and worry. I was outraged because Helga had introduced her sex buddy as just a "friend," this guy she's been "talking to" - what are they talking in, a perverted Morse code (I'd tap that)? Is this some new form of communication I was not aware of? Or is it just Australian etiquette? This would require further investigation.

More importantly, I was worried, because I had slept like a baby that night. Was rhythmic groaning to me what a lullaby is to a restless baby? If so, how would I recreate this magical sleep-inducing formula?

My mind was racing. All the 'Soothing sound' CDs I had ever come across were ocean breezes or rainforest sounds. Where was the "Sexual sounds" CD? Would I have to fall asleep to porn every night? I had just gotten rid of that habit.

After minutes of deliberating this new complication in my life, I decided that I was too hungover and hungry to care. Thankfully, a remedy was in the foreseeable future. McDonald's was around the corner.



*False name used to avoid unabashed embarrassment of the whore in question.

Interlude

Hello cyber-stalkers.


I'm currently waiting on a software license which we know can take eons, and I have absolutely nothing better to do, therefore I created this amazing blog.

It will consist of random ranting and bitching about things that bother me, a place where I can release my tirades into the all-consuming abyss of cyberspace in the hopes that this act of liberation will give me the strength to restrain myself from punching people in the ovaries.

It will make me happy if you read it, but that probably doesn’t say much about you.