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Sunday, December 19, 2010

It's just a little crush, not like I faint every time we touch...

Friday was No Sleep Til' at the showgrounds.
It was absolutley freezing. The morning started sunny, so I wore a singlet and no jumper. As the day progressed, it got colder and wetter. Fucking icy! The wind chilled me to the bone. It was miserable. I just wanted to get the bands I was there to see over and done with so I could go home to some warmth. Luckily, for Dropkick Murphys I was in the second row (on that little ledge they have at the barrier), so being pressed against so many bodies, even the rain couldn't make me cold anymore. For NOFX I pushed up to the barrier, which was amazing, except for the kicks to the head from crowd surfers, the hair pulling from belts being dragged over my head and my face being buried into sweaty security guards bellies and/or crotches. Apart from the intimacy of the peoples bodies (I'm pretty sure I felt a boner rubbing against my leg at some point), it was amazing. NOFX are brilliant. I preferred their headline show last year, they put in more effort, but thats understandable.
The festival was a giant mindfuck for ones gaydar. All the scenester girls (and well hey, the boys too) look gay. They look like card-carrying gold star dykes! But they're hanging off of boys. My gaydar was just curled up in a corner of my brain crying from confusion. I only saw one girl who was OBVIOUSLY gay, that wasn't making out with another girl, making the need for gaydar redundant. Something about her walk gave it away.
I experienced something fascinating at the festival. The split between crowds. Basically the difference between the hardcore/emo/scenester crowd and the punk/Idon'tgiveafuck crowd. What happened was, having no bands on we were interested in seeing, H and I went to have a puff of one of her...herbal...smokes. We went along to the stage where some crappy tight-jeaned-long-haired-can't-sing-so-i'll-scream band was playing, and the pathetic 'mosh' pit was all scenesters. As we lit up, and the smell wafted, all the scene people started looking around, giggling, and pointing, showing their friends. Have they never seen a joint before? I felt so judged. Compare this to when we were in the punk pit, where people were commenting on the size of the bloody thing and asking for a puff...it blew my mind! I explained my amusement to H, who in her hilarious 'they're all douchebags' way of talking, explained it was because the scene kids are all 'so straight edge and cool-like', whereas the punks just want to get fucked up, and if THEY aren't smokers, they still don't care if YOU are.

I prefer the punks thankyouverymuch.

Thursday night I went to my first ever dyke bar. It was...interesting. As B said at one point, 'they all look like Samantha Ronson, circa. 2005'. I mean, don't get me wrong, some of them were totally hot...but to tell the difference between two...not a chance. As well as this, I also noticed that lesbians are either rubber-bodied-natural-dancers who can bust a move like nobodies business...OR awkward, unco and can bust a move as well as the three legged dog I used to know. I am obscenely jealous of the former, as I am one of those 'have to be really really drunk to dance...and that really only involves a shuffle, unless I'm drunk enough to try a bit of grinding'.

On Thursday and Friday, I discovered that when I move to Melbourne, I want to live on the 86 tram route. Yep. That's where I want to live. Maybe it was just the company I had both times, but I really enjoyed that area. A good two days were had.

Now I am going to head off and wrap some christmas presents. This year I am giving a couple of 'IOU's due to my lack of funds. I hate being jobless. HATE IT!

If I don't write before then, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year.


Tuesday, December 7, 2010


I bouted the other day. It made me seriously question my love.

I have been feeling insecure within my league for a while now, I simply feel like I don't fit in. Interstate, both times, I felt like the gooseberry. At home, I feel like the gooseberry. I put in so much effort, for so little credit. I nearly wet myself when one ref, after a recent bout, commented on my performance. I honestly could barely speak I was so chuffed.

Everybody else seems to click, seems to do the whole 'get along' thing so easily. There is so much cattiness, so much cliquiness...I feel like I'm in highschool sometimes.

The reason I question my love after the most recent bout, is because it really did show the cliquiness and blatant rudeness of some people.

The two teams were obviously divided into 'the cool kids' and 'the not-so-cool-kids'. The girls from highschool who bullied, and the musos or arty geeks who got picked on. (For the record, if anybody reads this, don't get narky with me, everybody noticed)

Before the bout, our team (the losers) was told to 'take it easy' due to the inexperience of the new girls. What? If they are not able to take it, why are they playing? We never got 'take it easies'. It has happened before though, so not at all surprising. Anyway, it seems the cool kids team forgot to give the memo to their own. So, first time around, SLAM! We all had the shit knocked out of us. Nice. So much for taking it easy.

It was something like eighty degrees inside the venue, so after five minutes I was already sweating like an animal. Everyones numbers were sweating off, I had sweat pooling inder my boobs from my crop top, breathing was like trying to get oxygen from a balloon. Horrendous. During one jam, I actually stopped functioning, I just went around in circles for a lap or two until the whistle blew, then proceeded to collapse behind the bench and drizzle water over my face. The heat was just exhausting.

Anyway, my point was, even though it was fucking incredible to have the losers beat the cool kids...and to lay a few decent slams onto some worthy opponents, and even though the new girls were fantastic, the atmosphere of the day, and the past few events, have left me feeling less than spectacular. I'll never be in the clique, I don't want to be everybodies best friend, I just want to...I don't know...be something to someone.

Maybe a transfer to elsewhere when I move house? Maybe just a summer break? Who knows. Hopefully the answer reveals itself soon.


I created my own version of Edvard Munch's 'The Scream'. Basically it has nothing to do with the painting, looks nothing like the painting and really has little in common with the motivation of the painting. I say it is my version because I am currently feeling lost, chaotic and confused. All these new ideas and thoughts inside my head are just running riot. I don't know what to think. I don't know how to feel or react to my thinkings. My mind has been turned upside down. I just don't know what to do.
When I see 'The Scream', it seems to say what I'm feeling, confusion and frustration. I was bored, had my webcam and decided to play. This is what I got...

Wednesday, December 1, 2010


My book collection. Note the double layering of some shelves.

I love books. I adore them. I get so absorbed in a book that I forget to eat. I am too impressionable. I always want to experience what I read, even the bad things.

The other day I found the original charactered Enid Blyton 'Wishing Chair' and 'Faraway Tree's. They were $5 each. I had to, even jobless.

I collect kids books. Classics from childhood, beautiful stories, beautiful illustrations. My favourite childrens picture book author is Colin Thompson. He is amazing.

I love biographies, hard luck stories, abuse, mental illness, interesting people...their lives are more interesting than mine, and I love reading about them.

Reference books too. Vocabulary builders, writing guides, obscure word books, dictionaries, psychology reference...things that make me think. Non-fiction is beautiful. My favourites are Foyles Philavery and 120 Banned Books.

Photography, art etc. Amazing. I love having a lovely coffee table book on my lap full of beautiful pictures. Post secret, Dita Von Teese, Nude Bible, Banksy, Monroe, Elephants, Cats...they all make me smile.

I collect 'pretty' books too. Nice vintage (and vintage-looking) hardbacks. Shiny text on the spine. Fabric covering. Wordswroth put out a collection of them, I found them for so cheap. At a market I found a handful of classics for $3. Second hand bookstores are heaven. I have my grandmas copy of a first edition Black Beauty. It's falling apart, but smells divine.

I love books. From young adult trash, smutty lesbian fiction, literary classics, humorous novels to a random novel on the shelf that everybody else overlooks. Just try and stop me from entering a second hand bookstore. The smell entrances me. The words scream at me from the pages. I can lose hours browsing.

My dream is to own my own library. I want to dedicate a whole room to wall-to-wall books.


I have spent the past 4 hours looking at naked girls online. From the artistic nude, to the blatantly sexual.
I love girls. Boobs, bums, necks, backs, cunts, hands, legs, lips... yep.
Problem is. Well, I can't talk about my problem. All I can say it is making me very very confused, making me think things I feel guilty for and making me question and self sabotage.

*beats head against wall*

Speaking of photos.
I skated on Saturday. Every single photo of me from the bout (the few that there are...) I look horrendous. Why O' Why must I be one of those unlucky un-photogenic sods whilst skating? Damn you lucky bitches who look sexy 24-7.

I want to dance in the rain. With hands on my body. Pelvis to pelvis.
I want to be someones FAVOURITE...noticed and wanted. First choice.
Not forgotten, overlooked and un-worthy.