Over The Bridge

I woke up in a magnificent state of disarray. Lying next to me is a girl I have never seen before. There is also a boy passed out on the floor. I tip toe out of the room as to not wake my new friends. I'm in a mansion and that's all I know.

Where is Queen L? I pop my head into several rooms and eventually spot her red mop of hair sticking out from under the covers of a king size bed.

Instead of continuing with my silent mission I run up and jump on her, I'm clearly still highly intoxicated.

"Where the fuck am I?" she groans.

"Not a fucking clue, come on lets go."

We gather our belongings and whats left of our dignity and head for the door. Queen L stops dead in her tracks.

"Wow, look at that view."

"Whoever owns this house must be pretty smancy."

In fact our entire Friday night was pretty smancy apart from the Pie Face pig out at approximately 2am. But lets not get ahead of ourselves here. Let's start from the beginning of this fabulously fancy evening.

12 hours earlier...

It was a really dreary afternoon in Sydney, however after a huge working week the girls and I were determined to kick of the weekend in style.

Somehow things got dramatically better once we found refuge in this super ritzy penthouse in The Rocks.

Ever since I was a little girl I have loved coming to The Rocks. There is something about it's charming boutique hotels and hidden courtyard restaurants that makes this little piece of Sydney so picturesque. 

And so the night began, very classy indeed...

And then under the watchful eye of my main man (the Sydney Harbour Bridge) things started to get, well...a little messy. At around 8pm we made our way up the road to Establishment and then eventually to Palmer and Co. Many eventful nights have taken place at Palmer and Co including the night I met Ryan Gosling and the night I got into a little fight with the guy off Modern Family.

As always the evening turned into a blur of champagne and suits with a potato pie chucked in for good measure.

12 hours later we are standing outside a huge sandstone mansion, looking less than pristine.

I am dialling a cab service and Queen L is sitting on the curb sifting through the business cards in her handbag.

"Ohhh I met a chiropractor last night" she says proudly.

The cab service operator asks me for my pickup location. Fuck. It then dawns on me that I actually have no idea where we are. I look around, there are no homeless people or dilapidated terrace houses.

Oh Queen La Queefa, we aren't in Surry Hills anymore.

The lady on the other line tries to stifle a giggle as two semi intoxicated girls attempt to describe their surroundings.

"Hilltop Cres!" Queen L yells pointing to a street sign.

"We are also surrounded by a lot of water and expensive yachts" I add as if its any help at all.

After a few minutes of this charade the woman tells me that we are actually in Fairlight, this piece of information goes straight over my head.

We sit on our new friends perfectly maintained lawn and wait for the cab. I call Queen B to let her know that we are ok. When she asks where we are I say "fairfax apparently its somewhere in Manly". I can almost hear Queen B her rolling her eyes.

As the cab approaches we both launch ourselves off the ground and proceed to run into the middle of the street waving our hands wildly. Fairlight just got themselves a couple of crazies after all.

"Take us back to The Dirthouse" Queen L demands slumping down into the back seat of the cab.

As my man comes into sight I feel a flood of relief. I am never, ever crossing the bridge again.

Another classy Friday night for The Dirthouse Queens. Another classy night indeed.

Chaos

I'm writing this post on a napkin whilst waiting for my date to arrive.

He better be hot, smart and rich otherwise I don't have time for this shit.

Something flies past me at lighting speed, oh hey there life maybe you can chill the fuck out for one second so that I can catch my breath or at least get my eyebrows waxed.

I have been working everyday since forever and although I've gotten to the point where I can effortlessly educate common folk on the difference between water and silicone based lubricant, I haven't had time to write a damn thing.

I'm assuming that this close to Christmas you are all feeling the heat. With deadlines looming and the constant reminder that the silly season is right around the corner.

It is essential that in this time of mayhem you utilise your time wisely. Wake up an hour earlier so that you can fit in at least 30 minutes of exercise, prepare all of your meals at the start of the week and remember to do your washing.

Or you can get through this busy period like me doing absolutely none of the above.

A typical day for me at the moment looks a little something like this:

6:00am Alarm goes off - automatically hit snooze while still dreaming about Ed Lower from Big Brother
8:00am groan loudly, reach over to grab my phone but accidentally knock it off the side table
8:01am fuckkkk
8:03am (yes it just took me three whole minutes to pick my phone off the floor) check my phone for messages/emails/missed calls.
8:03am Takes me no time to realise that I have 0 messages, 0 emails and 0 missed calls but I do have  a notification of a new love quote

8:04am Oh fab, this quote is going to solve all of my relationship problems, it will empower me and show me that I am a strong, independent woman who doesn't need a man to complete me. 

8:05am Oh you've got to be fucking kidding me

8:15am Realise that I have to be at work in an hour and begin to panic immensely 

8:15 - 9am is a flurry of coffee, stockings, suspender belts and poorly applied red lipstick

9:30am Arrive at work somehow eluding confidence and sex appeal that I wouldn't otherwise be bothered to posses. 

9:30am - 6:30pm Get blissfully carried away in other people's sex lives

6:30pm leave work and head to a bar forgetting about all of the other things I should be doing i.e grocery shopping, washing, exercising. 

7:00pm I'm at Pocket Bar writing on a napkin, waiting for a guy I met on Tinder. I didn't save the napkin but it looked a lot like this one:

8:00pm He's kind, funny and successful. He lives in Bondi and comes from a good family. I am sipping a beer and feel comfortable in his presence. 

8:45pm I politely decline the offer of a third drink, I tell him I've got a big day tomorrow (which I do). He gets me a cab and kisses me goodnight (on the cheek) before finding his own way home.

8:58pm I'm alone in the cab on my way back to The Dirthouse. He texts me. 

8:59pm I laugh to myself. I don't think so mate. Even if he does somehow make it to the blog he will just end up being like all of the other Bills. 

9:10pm I join the Queens in L's bed. We discuss the date and laugh about Bill Tinder's minor pitfalls. We all decide that the positive aspects of his personality (intelligent, complimentary, has his own business) outweigh the negative (doesn't have a hairy chest or any idea how to change a car tire). I should give it another go. 

9:30pm I'm in bed, having completed none of the things I set out to do today. My life is a crazy mess but I kind of like it this way. 

10:00pm Goodnight Queens, Bills and beautiful strangers. Maybe tomorrow I'll get around to changing the world.

Addicted to Bill(s) Pancakes

I'm sitting on my balcony. It is my first and only day off for a while and I am determined to write this restaurant review. I've recently been offered a job as a food blogger for an online magazine.

I'm onto my second coffee in hope that the highly caffeinated drink will evoke a flood of creativity. However, every sip of my long black makes me feel more and more pensive to my feelings.

'Bill's Surry Hills has very good pancakes'

Wow, exceptional work Paige. Real cutting edge stuff.

I try to think of several other words for good but my mind drifts back to the other Bill in my life.

No I can write about something other than you today.

You message me, again.

Fuck it, it's a sign from above that I can indeed write about you.

This time you are in Noosa. My Noosa. It is a business trip, in fact you are filming a new television show...obviously something health and fitness related. Damn those perfect abs of yours.

You have just messaged me telling me how beautiful Noosa is, magical even. A magical feeling of nausea washes over my body. This isn't fair. Noosa is my escape from you. And now you are in Noosa without me.

As you all know I escape to Noosa every chance I get. It is the perfect opportunity to breathe and reassess what is going on in my life. I know it sounds strange but Noosa has this incredible, magnetic power that draws you back into a state of equilibrium and I might go as far as to say an incredible state of inner piece. Maybe it's the fresh air, the relaxed small town mentality or  the fact that all of your shit is too far away to even matter. Whatever it is I'm confident that Noosa gives you the power to see things a lot clearer.

It appears that you, my love are no exception. Since you have been away I have felt a subtle yet conspicuous shift in your attitude. The calls are more frequent and the tone in your voice is softer and more endearing. It is a shift imperceptible to anyone but me.

If you are a woman, chances are you know what I am talking about. I'm talking about those rare moments when a man's heart completely opens. It is like for a fleeting moment he can see things exactly the same way you see things. The problem with this is that as soon as it happens it is only a matter of time before his heart closes again.

Tonight you fly back to Sydney, back to your parties and launches. Back to your close circle of friends and the people who love you. And although you're returning to the same city as me I feel as though you might as well be flying somewhere far, far out to sea.

Maybe it's time for me to take another spontaneous trip to Noosa?

Or maybe it's just time for me to stop running away and finally face reality. Your heart is never going to  stay open for me.

I'm hungry. I grab my coat and head out the front door onto Bourke Street. I head in the direction of Bills Surry Hill's for pancakes but then stop myself mid way. I think I will try something new today.

(Fouratefive's famous french toast)

Shit Street

Despite the forecast saying it was going to clear there hasn't yet been a break in this wet weather. 

So I'm stuck in the Queens quarters with nothing to do but drink tea and read poetry. Oh please it's not that kind of poetry. 

Autobiography in Five Short Chapters - By Portia Nelson


I
I walk down the street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk
I fall in.
I am lost ... I am helpless.
It isn't my fault.
It takes me forever to find a way out.


II
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I pretend I don't see it.
I fall in again.
I can't believe I am in the same place
but, it isn't my fault.
It still takes a long time to get out.


III
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I see it is there.
I still fall in ... it's a habit.
my eyes are open
I know where I am.
It is my fault.
I get out immediately.


IV
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I walk around it.


V
I walk down another street.

OH MY FUCKING GOD. How profound. It's me. Except I haven't yet made it to the part where I've decided to walk down an alternate street. In fact at this point in my life I'm still in the hole, just sitting there. Hello hole. I attempt to stand up so that I can climb out on this deep trench but ahhhhh nooo it's too hard. This hole has become my home. I've got everything I need from unlimited pain and angst to limitless self loathing.

But I can hear the Queen's at the top yelling down to me saying stuff like - 

"Get out of there you fucking idiot". 

no, no, I'm fine. 

Why is this? Why am I doing this to myself? I even read 'the hole' this poem last night and he couldn't stop laughing because even the hole himself knows how ridiculous I am being. Totally utterly stupid. 

There needs to be a change, I think this with feigned avidity. No this time, I can do it. This is the end of shit street and the beginning of something better. 

Lets start with putting on my trench coat and heading to George Street. It's not exactly the street I had envisioned but it will do for now. 

TBC...

Forget That Idiot! Comfort Food 101

Unfortunately this ^^^ is easier said than done. No matter what he did or didn't do, initially that idiot is going to be hard to get over. 

It took a rather brash intervention to remove the idiot from my life. Three Queens sitting on the couch not looking at me as I entered the room. They knew where I'd been and weren't going to give me the satisfaction of letting me talk about it. As you know I'm a bit of a talker so things escalated quickly.

"Look at your fucking knee!" - I fell over...whilst hypothetically and quite literally chasing my idiot. 

"I know, I know." I said. Because I do know what I'm doing is wrong but it just feels sooo right (who's the idiot now).

"He's a fuck wit for indulging in this little fantasy of yours" Queen L

"You don't mean anything to him" Queen B

"Honey just please forget that idiot" Queen K

They were right, I had nothing. I'd played the but he's...kinda famous, a really good cook, has amazing abs and has just become an author too many times. 

"Bottom line, he's really old and needs to be with someone on the same level." Queen B being Queen B always has the last word but not this time.

"bu..bu..buttt I am very mature for my age." I splutter before fleeing up to my room, slamming the door and proceeding to sulk in front of my fireplace. Very mature indeed. 

The next day I woke up at 1 in the afternoon, exhausted. I knew that something had to change especially since my idiot was now not only destroying my sanity but was also disturbing the peace within The Dirthouse.

As a peace offering to the Queens I decided to make the filthiest, carb infused dinner. This dish is the perfect way to say I'm sorry, I know I fucked up lets all just forget about it and commit sweet, sweet carbicide. Trust me, it usually works. 

Comfort food 101

First of all since there is no longer a man in your life you're going to need not one but two big, hard chorizo sausages. The perfect length and girth is essential for maximum satisfaction. 

You will also need:

A generous amount of baby spinach leaves

Bocconcini

1 cup of pesto

A bag of white pasta (so unhealthy that its almost translucent in colour)

Dice up your sausage into thick chunks

Chuck into a hot pan - you only need the tiniest dash of oil to lubricate your pan before you begin to cook the meat.

Cook pasta remembering to add a dash of salt to the boiling water.

Once pasta is cooked remove the water and add the pesto

And your cooked chorizo

Roughly chop spinach, channeling all of your anger and frustration into the knife. Damn that idiot. Make sure not to chop your finger off...you will need them later for when you're flipping the bird at his Facebook picture. Too much?

Stir in the spinach and cheese

Serve to the people who love you...the non idiots most commonly known as your girlfriends.

Use the healthiest food you can find as a non edible centrepiece.

 Cheers to life and good friends.

Sit back and marvel at your spectacular coma inducing creation. Enjoy every bite of it and don't you dare feel sad/angry/guilty because you are amazing and you need to learn to not be so hard on your beautiful self. Life is simply too short.

If you can't forget that idiot just yet, don't worry. In time it will get better and easier. For now make sure you pay extra attention to the finer things in life. These things include chorizo, drinking water out of wine glasses and knowing that there is the right kind of idiot out there for you.

An Unlikely Threesome/ Friday Girl Part 2

Who doesn't like a little filth on a Tuesday evening? Here is the highly anticipated second and final part of my short story. If you haven't read part 1 I suggest you scroll down and read it now or just click here. Enjoy ;)

...

“I saw your massage girl at The Heat premiere last weekend,” Bill’s muffled voice brings me temporary relief.

“She was attracting a fair bit of attention.” He continues.

The chiro nods his head in recognition as he unwraps a tiny needle and proceeds to stick it firmly in Bill’s lower back. Ouch.

“Yeah, she’s an attractive girl, but I don’t know if I’m going to keep her on once I move to my new clinic.”

Bill lets out a lament of pain as yet another needle pierces his skin. I suddenly felt obliged to help Bill, a distraction.

“I can be your new massage girl,” I blurt out jokingly. All eyes are back on me.

“Do you give a good massage?” The chiropractor asks genuinely intrigued.

“Yeah, I guess I’m all right.” I say with feigned enthusiasm.

The next thing I know he is ushering me over to the massage board and for the first time since the consultation had begun my mind is completely silent apart from one fairly distinct word…fuck. My leg brushes Bill’s arm as I walk slowly around the table. A part of me wants to bend down and hold him but something deeper and more primal is drawing me towards the perfect stranger.

I now have a bird’s-eye view of Bill’s perfect back which is covered in a thin film of massage oil. The chiropractor prompts me to place my hands on the delicate patch of skin where the tiny needles had once been embedded. Even though I know nothing about this man I still have an acute desire to please him, my cheeks grow warm with embarrassment as we both realise that I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing.

Suddenly I feel the chiropractor behind me and before I can react, his strong hands are gently grasping my forearms. This unexpected contact leaves me momentarily paralyzed. Slowly he leans into me, forcing all of my body weight onto Bill’s back. His hands large and muscular feel sublime on my skin and as he presses me harder and harder onto Bill’s body, he causally begins to explain the importance of body weight in deep tissue massage.

The pungent scent of his expensive cologne makes me woozy and apart from the fluid mobility he is enabling in my arms, my whole body is frozen with equal amounts of excitement and trepidation. Gradually he loosens his grip, allowing my hands to flow more freely on Bill’s torso. What the fuck am I doing? My adrenaline is pumping as if I had just finished a high intensity workout.

 I begin to withdraw slowing peeling my palms away from Bill’s skin but the chiropractor instantly stops me by reasserting his control over my weak limbs.

“The first and most important rule of giving a good massage, Sarah, is to never lose contact with the body.” He says threateningly.

By now his face is barely an inch away from mine and as he speaks I can almost taste the sweetness in his breath. I nod briefly in acquiescence making sure that every inch of my sticky palms are in contact with the flesh. Although I’m petrified that Bill will discover how much this little tutorial is arousing me, I can’t stop. I want more. I close my eyes momentarily and feel his mouth graze the back of my neck. His lips full and warm tease my skin and it takes every fiber in body to suppress the moans that are threatening to expose my bad behavior. My upper body responds instinctively but our hands continue to flow in perfect rhythm. He slowly directs me up the spine but remains standing upright as to supervise my every move. As my hands move further away from my body I feel my ass slowly bending into his crotch, powerless to stop it. He presses himself against me firmly in approval and I shudder squeezing Bills shoulders for support.

Bill unexpectedly lets out a moan of pleasure, which brings me back into the present moment. The chiro releases his grip and walks blithely over to a round container of hand wipes.

“She’s not bad Bill, not bad at all.” He winks at me before leaning over to type something into his computer.

Like a lion waking up from an afternoon nap Bill slowly makes his way up off the table, stretching each of his limbs and curling his back. I am still standing behind the board in shock at what had just occurred. Bill leans over and kisses my forehead.

“You did a good job, kid.”

I force an incredibly unconvincing smile before retuning to the leather chair to retrieve my belongings. Bill lazily begins to dress. The chiropractor holds the door open while Bill exits first, shaking his hand and expressing his gratitude. I pause at the door where the chiro is still standing, my heart pounding against my chest.

“It was nice to meet you.” I say, peering up at the striking young man.

As soon as the words are expelled from my lips I feel the abrasiveness of a thin object being slipped into my back jean pocket.

“It was nice to meet you too, Sarah” He smiles politely before waving in his next client.

When we get out into the car park, the cool air hits me like a sudden lashing of reality. I love Bill. My subconscious suddenly interjects - then why the fuck were you just grinding up against his practitioner quite literally behind his back? Bill walks ahead of me whilst fumbling with his phone.

“Sorry about that little pit stop, babe, you must have been so bored,” I can’t tell whether he’s talking to me or his beloved digital companion.

“I feel so much better now though,” he continues whilst unlocking the doors to his black Mercedes.

Bill felt better. I had no idea how I was feeling. Did I feel confused, overwhelmed or guilty? Perhaps it was sadness for I could never be Bill’s supportive girlfriend or even a compassionate lover as our intimate relations occurred too few and far between. This whole time I had been nothing but a curious bystander basking in a fantasy that had finally prevailed yet was soon to be trampled by cold hard reality. My heart sinks, I look at Bill who is gazing out the window consumed by thoughts of work, his next appointment, and most likely his next sexual conquest. Then it dawns on me, the exact feeling I’m trying to describe. It starts from the crown of my head and creeps down my body like a small yet lethal surge of electricity before stopping to linger just above my hips. I feel pain, lower back pain. I slip my hand into my back pocket and feel a small card bulging against the denim. I think I know a chiropractor who could fix that.

I Scream, You Scream, We All Scream For Ice Cream

It was fairly touch and go there for a while people. I mean the spontaneous drunken trip to Noosa in the middle of exams could have thrown me but no. I knuckled down for the last four days of semester and got all of my assignments and exams done (somehow). This is my first day off from uni and work in ten days and I can't express happy I am to be blogging again. 

What better way to celebrate the beginning of the holidays than with an ice-cream? I'm not talking about just any ice-cream, I'm talking about a big, creamy scoop of Messina. Nom, nom, nom. 

Oh Bourke Street, how beautiful you are xx