Happy Easter!

Hope everyone is having a fabulous Easter, We've been getting up to no good as per usual...Queen L loves putting balls in her mouth...by balls I'm mean err...eggs...chocolate eggs. 

Yum Yum! 

Filthy chocolate teeth

Xxx

Fuck. A Reflection Of Last Nights Events.

There are some times when I wish my life wasn’t like an episode of Neighbours, and right now would probably be one of them. Although my lucid love affairs with men are exciting and highly dramatic they are usually fleeting and leave me wondering why I even bother dating in the first place. This exact time a week ago I met a man who gave me all those great feelings that you get when you meet someone new. A week later it is as if we never met. Social media friendships terminated and a phone call saying loud and clear that this friendship will never progress. This is all the result of one ungodly night on the town.

These are the highlights of last night:

• A bottle of white
• A bottle of Red
• A bottle of Moet 
• Ramblings with an accountant, an architect and a limo driver
• An argument between myself and the guy who plays Cam of Modern Family
• A drunken cab ride to an address that is not mine
• a sudden disagreement with the guy I was seeing
•  Me walking away from his house with my dress unzipped and tears running down my face
• A cat in an alleyway
• A fall
• An even more drunken cab ride to an address of an ex boyfriend (who also happens to be the best mate of the guy I was dating).
• A drunken rant to my ex about how he has shit friends
• Waking up alone, devouring half a bottle of ice magic and a frozen pie and smashing two glasses in the process, which I swept under the table with my foot.

At 10 o’clock this morning I left his house in last nights outfit minus one bra, plus one massive cut on my foot and stood on the street, waiting for Queen K to rescue me from this nightmare. We all sat on Queen L’s bed like we usually do, I cried- they listened. We ate chocolate, laughed over pictures from last night and then we listened to Daryl Braithwaite “horses”.

Knowing I’d fucked up I sent the guy I was dating a message explaining to him that I was sorry and that I didn’t remember what happened last night but that I liked him. I picked my mum and brother up from the airport, we went for a walk and ate more chocolate and then at 1pm I passed out. I slept for five hours, It felt like the deepest sleep I’ve ever had.

When I woke up I had two messages, one from my ex saying that he couldn’t believe what I’d done and another from the guy I was dating saying that we shouldnt see each other again. I wanted to cry, I wanted to call the guy I was dating and try to make him give me another chance but instead I went down stairs and gave my mum a big hug- which is something that I haven’t done since moving to Sydney.

I sent them to go get dinner so I could write about it, so I could sit here for a moment alone and feel like absolute shit and then by putting pen to paper or fingers to the key board I wrote it down and slowly I started to feel better. Of course I’m still ashamed of my behavior and wonder if I’ll ever see either men again but somehow by reaching out to you…complete strangers/consolers/friends I feel less phased by the events of last night and more comforted that someone out there (whoever is reading this) knows the real me regardless of my drunken ways.

Below are the photos from last night, they are blurry like my memory, Enjoy. 

HAHAHA, staring us down. Sorry Cam.

Girls, Girls, Girls

Speaking of girls, here a few pictures I took over the weekend of Queen L and Gem. Pink Zimmerman dresses + dry gin & lime + Azealia Banks = Fun in the Dirthouse.

The Games Girls Play (With Themselves)

I’ve known myself for 20 years and I’d like to think that I now understand my body inside and out.  That distinct freckle on my right wrist, the small box shaped scare just above my knee, the way I hate the sound of nails being filed and how I've slowly learnt to control my anxiety when I feel it creeping on.

However there have been situations lately that have made me question how much control I actually have over myself, in particular my emotions. Meeting a new guy is a trigger that takes the cake. You see you think you’re in control of your life until you meet a shiny, brand-new guy because as far as you know he’s the most perfect person on the planet. He probably flosses without thinking about it, tells the most hilarious jokes, would get along famously with your girlfriends and your parents, he sure wouldn’t hesitate to buy you expensive jewellery for your birthday not to mention a pony for your first anniversary. A new guy is as flawless as Celine handbag filled with hand crafted praline and nude polaroid’s of Ryan Gosling.

Of course we know this isn’t true, because on the first date he forgot to walk you right to your door- not just the front gate. And his nose is slightly crooked and the his watch is a nock off but compared to the other men in your life he might as well be Paul Walker driving a Maserati with your initials in his number plate.

It is the hours that pass after the first date that can be the biggest test for any woman. In my experience, all the things that he did wrong the first time you met start to fade away and no matter what you do you cant help but wonder what he thinks about you. Did he notice that pimple on your face which you spent hours squeezing, soothing then suppressing under copious amounts of concealer? Could he barely contain himself as you walked away from him flicking your hair to the left in one swift motion? And the most painful, annoying and frustrating question of all is- if and when will he decide to contact you again? 

This is the part when I start to question if I know anything about myself at all. Did I literally just turn my phone on silent, put it in a sock and then transfer it into a box and hide it in my underwear draw- so that I would refrain from checking it? Did I actually just fabricate urgent plans within the vicinity of my house so I could leave my phone at home yet not feel that I was far enough away from my phone incase I witnessed a murder and had to call 000 off the phone which is wrapped in a sock inside a box deep in my underwear draw? And did I really just write that sentence which makes absolutely no sense because I was thinking about checking my phone instead of monitoring my sentence structure?

These are all questions that force me to ask if I am a driven, sophisticated and together career woman or a raging lunatic that needs to be put in a mental institution.

The important thing is that we realise at the end of the day, how brave we are as single women venturing into the unknown in the name of love, or lust. There is a great possibility that if we like someone we will lose our shit once or twice along the way. Ironically, the truth is that- the intensity of the feeling you get when he does actually send you a "grand gesture" is in exact proportion to the amount of times you nearly threw your phone into the street while waiting for it. And well if he doesn’t call, its his loss anyway. In the words of the great Morcheeba: It’s all part of the process. 

My Affair With A Mr. Gosling Look Alike- Part 1

Aren't I glad that I dressed up for what was meant to be only a couple of quiet drinks after work , I must have known I was about to meet the man of my dreams. Here is part 1 of my recount of last night...I'm still pinching myself! Enjoy.

Last night I travelled back in time to a 1920’s themed bar, Palmer & Co, sneakily located down an alleyway in Sydney’s CBD.  I’d been led to the secret location before by some suits eager to show my ladies and I a good time. Last night walking from Establishment (the adjacent not-so-discrete bar) I thought my memory had mistaken me when I was unable to find the entrance to the 1920s playground I remember so fondly. It was when we spotted a dapper young guy dressed in period attire that we knew we were on the right track. We handed him our identification and before we knew it we were being ushered down the stairs and into a bygone era with waitresses in flapper dresses and debonair bartenders in period apparel.

We immediately scanned the room for potential playmates, being a Thursday evening the sepia toned establishment was buzzing with businessmen and the occasional woman in corporate attire. As Queen L and Queen B had also just finished work they fit in perfectly, with the upper hand of being two of the youngest  and most attractive women present. We all know that I’m not a corporate girl, yet I fit in perfectly wearing my fitted white and tan dress with beige heels and freshly blow-dried hair. I was like a smart businesswoman with the advantage of having not been at work all day and donning a slightly smokier eye than acceptable in any regular office.

We each ordered a glass of bubbly and made our way to one of the only vacant tables at the back of the bar. As we sipped campaign from the fabulous ‘coupe’ style glasses we began to feel the heat of eyes wandering to our table. One man in particular instantly caught my attention…

He was sitting in the corner of the room with a small group of men and women, his profile strikingly resembled that of a famous actor. I immediately blushed as his eyes caught mine. The considerable amount of top shelf tequila I’d consumed at Establishment also started to take affect, generating warmth from the deepest part of my body. I quickly confided in the Queen L who was eye fucking a tall man in a grey suit. I wasn’t sure whether the guy I was playing peek a boo with was legitimately drop dead gorgeous or the alcohol had started to play its own type of game with me.

Both Queen L and Queen B snuck a glance at the sandy haired man, his lazy smile and cheeky eyes lighting up the dimly lit area him and his friends occupied. They soon became as excited as I was as they confirmed my wildest dreams…He looks like Ryan Gosling, Queen B gasped…and he’s look at you. We began to giggle like naughty school girls who’d stayed out past our curfew.

I began to get bored with the suits who would approach our table, each giving their best shot at impressing three girls who quite frankly had no interest in their money. A complimentary bottle of Moet later I was feeling confident enough to end this tension provoking game of glancing and eye lash batting between myself and Mr. Gosling lookalike.

To be continued...

  

Mardi Gras '13

There is one weekend of the year in old Sydney town that I particularly love and that my friends the annual lesbian gay bisexual transgender queer and intersex extravaganza otherwise known as Mardi Gras.

I think the best thing about Mardi Gras apart from the awesome parties and anything goes attitude is the chance to dress up (or down) in whatever you want as long as the statement you're making, is big, bold and fabulous. 

The look I was initially going for was Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, unfortunately the red jacket Lady B suggested I wear couldn't be found in the dingy depths of the dirthouse basement and I wasn't about to go treading around down there. So I ended up wearing Queen L's washed out denim vest, my mothers vintage lace leotard, some tiny tiny shorts and my sky high Mimco boots- for a small amount of time I was also allowed to parade around in Lady B's fabulous faux fur coat which resulted in me nearly sweating my dirty blonde wig off.

Lady B captured this shot of my blonde bob which was originally Farrah Fawcett style until TM tamed it with some poultry scissors I was still hoping to look like Julia Roberts from the neck up unfortunately I ended up looking a little more like Bob Irwin (the son of Australian icon Steve)...

Regardless of my controversial wig, we decided to pop a large bottle of Moet and drink our way into the night.

Dips, biccies and strawberries to line our stomachs.

Lady B made a statement with her Katy Perry inspired outfit, Queen L was going for the Madonna look with her pointy boobies, however she also made an incredibly convincing dominatrix.

 

Lady B's candy necklace ended up coming in very handy, every gay man and their handbag had a nibble. 

Unfortunately this is the only picture I captured of the parade...or of the sign pointing to the parade, but trust me it was spectacular and if you don't believe me look here: http://www.mardigras.org.au/gallery/

The night was a blur of air kisses, gyrating bodies and awful pop tunes. I met a sexy lady by the name of Nico D who had a massive following and a better body than any female i'd ever seen. We shared a flask of Grey Goose while complimenting each other on our faux blonde locks. Speaking of locks it was only a matter of time before my wig ended up down my pants, as well as the pants of Theodore, Harrison and Thomas- everyone lovessss a good pube show. 

I woke up in a sea of empty bottles, lingerie and glitter, the events of last night painting a cheeky little smile across my face. If you're ever in Sydney around this time I highly recommend checking out the Mardi Gras...its the largest most flamboyant parade in all the land.