Monday, March 31, 2014

Sometimes you just have to take a nap.
Which is what I am doing now.
While writing.
I may also be drinking wine.

One day I will wake.

Wednesday, January 16, 2013

Tell Tale Heart

This week as Oprah got the low down on Lance and his cheating ways, I also managed to have an almost identical experience (well minus Oprah, her Hawaiian living room and a clipboard containing 112 questions).
You see I had an old mate (read: can't quite place this person) come into town and we decided to catch up.
I figured it would be a night of banter and booze.
I also hoped to be back in my pyjamas around 9pm if I could talk fast enough and fill her in on the last fifteen years with a simple..."Yep still single, never been married, no kids and all I care about is horror movies, pizza and slumber parties. So basically I am EXACTLY the same as high school and oh that the time?!"
Yet, like most of my plans,  nothing went according to how I wanted it to.
I should have been tipped off that something was up when she started to down red wine like it was an ice cream sundae (maybe a bad reference if you don't like ice cream sundaes but I do and I inhale those suckers like they are...well like my mate was drinking her red wine).
Our entrees were placed on the table and this was my cue to eat (and vague out momentarily) yet my mate decided this was her cue to grab both of my hands and crush my knife and fork into them in the process.
"Paula...I can't possibly eat a thing until I get this off my chest (imagine Jennifer Coolidge playing this scene because this is what it was like) I have been keeping it from you since high school and it is just EATING ME UP!" She was starting to screech slightly and all her talk of eating was making me hungry.
I also realised if she didn't let go of my hands I would be the sequel to Edward Scissorhands but with kitchen utensils.
So I yanked myself free, kissed my night of pyjamas goodbye and asked her to explain her misery.
"Do you remember that camp we went to in Grade 9 and I was in the cabin next to yours?"
"Um...sure." (Remembered the camp but not where her bed was in relation to mine.)
"So you know how I had that HUGE crush on James*?"
*May or may not be his real name (it's not).
"No I didn't actually. I knew that I had a HUGE crush on him and so did every other person in the school."
(This last bit was a fact. Everyone knew about my crush after I requested George Michael's "I Want Your Sex" at a school disco and then proceed to ask him to dance. I really wasn't thinking!)
"Yeah well, I also had a crush on him and when we all went on the bush walk that day I asked him if he liked me."
"Nice one. What did he say?"
"He said he liked you."
"" If only my fifteen year old self had known that then.
"So of course I was jealous and I didn't want you guys to hook up, so I...well...I..." She was ice cream sundaeing her wine again.
I suddenly twigged.
"OH MY GOD that was you?!"
"Yes and I am sorry."
My brain went through the archives as I tried to remember the night that I was attacked and left emotionally and physically scarred. (Well maybe not physically...or even emotionally.)
What happened?
Let's just say it was like a scene from Stand By Me where Wil Wheaton looks down into his pants and faints. Only I didn't faint and I hadn't crossed a river.
Instead, I woke up in the morning and I had leeches ALL over me! Yes, my "old friend" had decided to cover me in the blood suckers. Needless to say no one came near me for the rest of the camp (including my crush, who liked me but then probably didn't) and I was called the "Leechy Lepper."
Sounds horrible right?
I thought it was the coolest thing ever and felt like I was in a horror movie. I didn't want the teachers to take them off. I thought I looked awesome.
"So can you forgive me?"
"No, that is totally unforgivable and the only thing you can do to make it up to me is to go next door to the bottle shop and buy me the most expensive bottle of red they have. Of course after you buy me dinner."
So soon after, I was in my pyjamas after all, watching Stand By Me and drinking my three hundred dollar bottle of red wine out of a coffee cup.
See told you it was just like the Oprah interview with Lance.

Wednesday, January 9, 2013

Crushing it.

Whilst waiting in line for a bus to Sydney recently, I noticed a guy behind me that was really cute. I hoped he would sit near me so I could perv on him for the three hours the trip took.
Sure enough he did, in the seat in front of me.
As he sat down, he gave me a smile and I smiled back. Of course I was eating something at the time and knew it was all over my teeth. No matter.
This was a new year and such trivial nonsense could be overlooked.
As the bus took off, I looked at the back of his head and neck as he leaned against the window. I imagined us striking up a conversation, falling madly in love and going off to Bali where (in this fantasy) I looked amazing in a bikini.
No doubt about it, another "Paula crush" was in full force.
That was until mid way through the trip when he started picking at his ear wax and then I noticed he was eating it.
Let's just say I am not going to Bali anytime soon.
So it got me to thinking, no not about ear wax (although I did try a bit and didn't see the appeal) but about crushes and how easily I seem to have them.
I did a bit of googling on the matter and found that due to chemical triggers (don't ask me to name any, do your own googling) when you have a crush it is like taking drugs, giving you your own natural high.
I wondered if google had in fact confused crushes for pizza, which has a similar effect on me.
As quickly as I have a crush (or eat a pizza) the crush is just as quickly over - ear wax does not always need to be an issue for me to sway. I guess I am always looking for my next "high".
For me I think crushes are good things.
You see, I very rarely act on them (translate: go in for the pash even if I haven't spoken to the guy yet) and in turn life is good, because I don't embarrass myself with whatever crap it is that I inevitably end up doing when I like someone (translate: falling down the stairs because I thought there was a chair there when I went to sit down and not only did he see but all of his mates did too and to top it off my dress ends up over my head and I have my Wonder Woman Halloween costume on underneath because it makes me feel powerful).
So you can see why I love crushes so much, because none of those crazy things would happen if I only had a crush on someone because, like I said, I never act on them and instead just silently buzz on all the  chemicals running through my veins.
Okay I lied.
I am completely psychotic all of the time.

Tuesday, May 29, 2012

Thinking thoughts...

I think I might detox. This seems wise. Other people do it. I might look like a celebrity. Do I want to look like a celebrity? I am not sure. I don't think I will detox. I mean what if I get stranded on a desert island and I have JUST detoxed? That would be a waste when I have been stockpiling pizza in my ass for years.
I am no scout but I do like being prepared.
I wonder why people ask what you would take on a desert island? Has it happened many times before apart from on Survivor? Are there even that many desert islands left that Richard Branson hasn't bought?
I wonder what I would take on a desert island.
I think I should seriously consider this in case it happens and I am given one thing to take. It is like knowing how to answer if a Genie asked you what you wished for with only one wish (and no you can't pick more wishes and you just wasted your wish. Dumbhead.) Pays to be prepared.
So first of all never detox. Stockpile for not only winter, but also desert islands. Joy to my ass already having a years worth of storage.
Doesn't even count as your one thing to take because it is part of you. Nice one.
Obvious choice to take with me is Adrien Brody but I honestly don't think he has been saving his pizza for a rainy day or a tsunami and if we have to start eating appendages it may get ugly because my ass would be the obvious choice (and yes my ass is an appendage in my case).
I would take Tom Hanks. He started working on his raft craft in Joe versus the Volcano and then advanced that in Castaway. He knows stuff already and as long as I can find an island that is sponsored by FedEx we should be okay.
Happy for Tom to call me Wilson but wonder if that would be weird because his wife's name is Rita Wilson and he may call me Rita and start thinking I am her and that may get funky. If he went back in age and was as cute as he was in Big then maybe it could be okay.
So that sorts that then. I know what I am taking to a desert island and not only will we survive without it turning into Lords of the Flies but I may even get to find Adrien Brody after all when Tom Hanks saves me. I reckon Tom may even know Adrien and so he may be able to give me tips on the raft of how to make him my boyfriend.
Wow the benefits of Tom are limitless.
Good choice for sure.
Now I just have to think about what to tell the Genie. This one is a toughy.
Obvious choice again would be Adrien Brody but...

This post was bought to you by the thinking munchkins who take over Paula's brain. The above is an indication of what goes on in said brain on such occasions as weddings, meetings, talk of children or dogs, Rom-Coms, dinner parties and in five second intervals. 

Monday, April 16, 2012

Flirting Twitter style

So last night I tweeted about my ass. A fairly stock standard tweet for me. Talking about my ass having a life of its' own is like me talking about pyjamas and pizza and Adrien Brody: obsessive.
So little did I know that my ass would attract not just one but many new followers and then an unexpected request. It's there on public display for all the world to see.
One no longer needs to fill out forms on eHarmony and have a match and flirt in private. Oh no. All you need to do is read my Twitter intro and it must be love. That and we can openly talk about my ass. Not that you can see my ass on Twitter mind you.
(And yes my ass is slightly chuffed about all the attention, so much so I had a request for a trailer today.)
So my tweet last night was:
If I had to do "the twirl" for best dressed at the Logies my dress would go one way and my ass would go the other. 
To which I had the reply:
 I think you ass is quite nice, I'd love to see you do a "twirl" ;)
So I politely replied:
Cheers! My ass will be stoked! :)
And then came the tweet that my ass had been waiting for:
 My pleasure, perhaps I could take you & your nice ass out for a beer, and a pizza sometime ?
So while my ass is busy flirting and looking for Vera Wang dresses online, I am busy wondering what the hell do you do next?
I mean can you really take someone seriously when part of their Twitter handle is Shagger?
Although he did offer me beer AND pizza.
Should I maybe check if he likes horror movies? Pyjamas? Adrien Brody?
Too much?
And the big question is how does he know what my ass looks like? Do I know him?
Or maybe my ass is posting those pictures again.
Damn thought I'd removed all of them.

Sunday, April 1, 2012

Taking Over

Given that Paula has been MIA from her blog for so long I figured it was time to take over and be her guest blogger. It is not the first time I have taken over her life and there is no question it won't be my last.
No doubt Paula will be mad I have "appeared" again. She always has her cranky panties on when I come to visit.
You see what Paula doesn't realise is that I am always watching. Yet I have a problem of not being able to see properly. So when something super exciting (or even mildly interesting - I am not actually fussy) happens I make an appearance to get a front row seat to all the action.
Personally I think there could be more action. Paula has a decent set of jugs yet she has no idea how to use them. She needs to watch The Bachelor more, then she would realise that taking your bra off actually gets you the rose. I mean seriously do I have to teach her everything.
Now Paula and I have not always had a good relationship. I first met her when she was around 13 years old. Honestly she had no idea (still doesn't). Her favourite thing was horses and she wanted to be an actress. I don't think she had a crush on a guy until she was 15 and I am pretty sure that crush was Michael J Fox and not even a real guy. I mean not that things have changed given all she talks about is Adrien Brody. Honestly she needs to get her jugs out and maybe she could talk about someone other than a celebrity.
When we first met we had a fight. It was in the bathroom at high school. It was her first day of school. She saw me. She screamed. I saw her. I screamed. I didn't at that stage understand why we were screaming but it seemed like the right thing to do.
She never seemed happy to see me. Yet she never understood, I couldn't see properly so only appeared when something cool was going on.
First day of school. First kiss (boy did that take a long time to happen). First audition. When she meets Adrien Brody I will be there. When she gets married I will be there. Hell, if she just meets someone and likes him I will make an appearance (like I said I am not fussy).
She will do what she normally does when I come to visit and have a bloody crisis (is it just me or is she always having some crisis or another?)
Unlike Paula I have dated and am now married and have many children. This has driven her to further craziness because my family seems to be multiplying while she stays the poster child for the song "All By Myself."
I know she thought I would disappear when she was an adult but she is so far off base she doesn't even get to first base. You see I am still hanging around until she meets someone - I know she would say it will be Adrien Brody but at least I am a true friend and know differently - so until then I will be here.
Crap I can hear her cranky panties being put on. She is mad I am back. She is looking at me in the mirror and starting to squeeze.
Given that she is not getting any tonight little does she know I am blind and will haunt her all week. I don't need to appear right now.
Had she got her jugs out I might have made a more pus like appearance and be gone before she knew it...although the kids would have wanted a look-see and may have stayed and played a while.
Anyway, now that we are friends next time you see me and the family say hi. I will be on Paula's chin and she will be trying to cover me up with concealer - she is such a bitch sometimes.
I may or may not try and flirt with what is on your chin. If you have nothing on your chin you are boring just remember that. Not zits, no life.
If you do see me and the family it probably means Paula likes you and wants to pash you.
Just saying.
Pimple out.

Thursday, February 23, 2012

Fake it 'til you make it

I love trying new things. Skydiving. Check. Filming in war zones. Check. Kissing Adrien Brody. Check. (That dream sure felt real.)
So when I got offered a free spray tan, I was like hellz yeah. Always wanted to look like Paris Hilton and now was my chance. Plus everyone else seems to be doing it and I hate being left out.
I was a fake tan virgin and it was time to pop my white skin cherry.
So I thought today was the perfect time because I had someone special I was meeting and so I would be bronzed and fabulous for when this happened.
Now like an episode of How I Met Your Mother I have to take you back a few years.
In my early twenties I worked at a cafe. Fun place and my first full time job. Next door to us was a sports shop where many a spunky boy worked and there was one guy in particular who I often spilt my milkshake over (metaphor? Totes). We crushed hard over each other but nothing ever happened.
So when I ran into him this morning totally out of the blue it was a bloody great surprise and then when he asked me out for an early dinner I pulled out the hellz yeah all over again.
I had the perfect dress but needed the perfect tan to go with it. So dashed off, got my naked on with funny little panties and twirled with joy as I was sprayed with my secret weapon for my hot date.
I have to say by the time I left my house I was looking bloody great. Already my tan was starting to show and I barely had to put any make-up on because my face was bronzed. I was an instant fan of this spray tan thing and could understand why Paris made sure she still had hers done even when she was in jail (never know who you may meet in the shower).
So me and Crush Boy met at a cocktail bar, had a few drinks and caught up. Yes he was single. Divorced actually. Yes he was still cute as and all I could think of was that this time there was no way we were not going to follow up on our crush.
Now you all know where this is going because you have all had a spray tan before (slight exaggeration of course but there are many of you screaming at me as you read). Because apparently in my virginal spray tan state I did not know that you do not go out on your first day of getting your tan. I vaguely remember reading that somewhere, maybe in Paris's memoirs but I didn't know why.
So we are sitting there and Crush Boy is starting to look at me weird. He asks if I am feeling okay. I say I feel faaabbbullloooouuuus (because I did). So we continue to chat and I wonder what our kids will look like when he asks again if I am okay.
So now I am confused. Why does he keep asking me that? So I excuse myself and go to the bathroom.
As I sit on the toilet I ask myself if maybe he is the one? After all these years could it be this guy that I have been waiting for?
Then I look in the mirror.
I look like Vegemite. BUT ONLY ON MY FACE.
I am sure I am blushing with sheer mortification but I am so dark I can't even see it. Given I am normally as white as Nicole Kidman I am one freaky looking chick.
I realise if I go back out there with my skin brewing like coffee and spend any more time with Crush Boy I may actually turn into the ace of spades.
So I do what any reverse Michael Jackson skin girl would do and sneak out the back door. And before you ask no I don't have his number, no I don't know his last name and yes I am a dickhead.
Guess Crush Boy isn't the one.