Thursday, March 30, 2006
Thursday, March 23, 2006
HNT - Interactive
. 
Vote for your favourite title or suggest one.
1. I've Got an Itch to Scratch (Rocky Horror)
3. Scratch n' Sniff.
Monday, March 20, 2006
A Hickey from Kenickie
St Patrick's Day - the city is dripping with drunken leprechauns who never returned to their offices from that very long Friday lunch. Everyone seems to be getting a piece of ass these days.
Cherry has a hot Italian on her books/ raring to go with the promise of STRONG sex. Shudder with excitement.
MNH had a story to tell me Saturday morning that involved a liplocking.
Poor moi only got hit up by a sweaty old train driver outside the Empire.
Anyway, my flatmate - who was mistaken for Delta Goodrum and will henceforth be known as Delta - got a hickey from a hottie much younger than her.
Now, hickeys are so retro but this guy is a toy boy so I think we can all marvel and flashback to the the surprise hickey one discovers the morning after. I copped and eyeful Saturday morning and Delts was horrified at first but quickly warmed up to her tongue trophy donated by her sexy 19 year old German backpacker.
Really, he is the perfect toy boy accessory for this fall. We've dubbed him 'Hans the Disco Fox.' Apparently the Disco Fox is a cool dance move in his native Berlin but that and a few other things have been lost in translation. I can't even remember his real name but I'm counting on her calling him Hans by mistake in a moment of passion.
I want a fucking hickey of my own damn it!
*Pashed is to make out.
Cherry has a hot Italian on her books/ raring to go with the promise of STRONG sex. Shudder with excitement.
MNH had a story to tell me Saturday morning that involved a liplocking.
Poor moi only got hit up by a sweaty old train driver outside the Empire.
Anyway, my flatmate - who was mistaken for Delta Goodrum and will henceforth be known as Delta - got a hickey from a hottie much younger than her.
Now, hickeys are so retro but this guy is a toy boy so I think we can all marvel and flashback to the the surprise hickey one discovers the morning after. I copped and eyeful Saturday morning and Delts was horrified at first but quickly warmed up to her tongue trophy donated by her sexy 19 year old German backpacker.
Really, he is the perfect toy boy accessory for this fall. We've dubbed him 'Hans the Disco Fox.' Apparently the Disco Fox is a cool dance move in his native Berlin but that and a few other things have been lost in translation. I can't even remember his real name but I'm counting on her calling him Hans by mistake in a moment of passion.
I want a fucking hickey of my own damn it!
*Pashed is to make out.
Thursday, March 16, 2006
HNT - St Patrick's Day
.
Pic taken from a boozy night in Dublin last summer. Drinking Guiness of course.
Sunday, March 12, 2006
Hitchhikers & Magic Kebabs
I had to turn down a hot dinner invite to MNH's place as it was closing night of the Vagina Monologues.
Naturally I felt compelled to join the cast for a few post show vinos and even though I was offered a few rides back to the city I stupidly chose to catch the bus back with another actor. Mistake #1.
We waited...and waited...and waited. No freaking bus.
We examined the time table a little closer only to see the 11.19 bus had a very tiny 'b' next to it wich means that it boards on the opposite side of the road i.e the same bus stop we got off at to go to the theatre (not logical).
So to add insult to injury we had sat watching our bus drive past us. Now that I think back, I swear that bus driver snarled while waving at us. Bastard. We were pissed and we were screwed. The next bus due was at 7.50am. In 8 hours time. I repeat 8 hours!Hitchhiking quickly became our only option.
Arm out, leg arched in true slapper style we thumbed a ride from the first car that came by.
Introducing: Claire and Jeff.
A mid 50s pair of booze hounds who had a heated arguement right in front of us with the windows open. Luckily they finally agreed to drop us in Hornsby. Sounds great? Well, they also explained that they would be avoiding the main roads because of breathalizers. Oh, fucking great.
My fellow hitchhiker, having only moved to Sydney 3 weeks earlier was freaking out and mouthed to me "are you scared?" The only thing that scared me was the freaky Phantom of the Opera sountrack on their stereo. Claire's driving wasn't so bad. I'd certainly been with worse sober drivers in the past. However, none that played Phantom.
Hitchhiker Girl moronically revealed the name of our show. Jeff flat out did NOT approve. It was sour faced cats bums all round and I personally don't think that either of them had had much vagina action in a while anyway. I still had my flaming red lipstick on that served me so well at mardi gras and I'm sure they thought we were a pair of lying slappers heading back to the city.
By the time we arrived at the train station we had missed the last one and had to wait another half hour for the infamous night bus. Lucky for us we spotted a fellow Vagina Monologue actor who pointed us in the direction of the Magic Kebab Shop yonder:$3 Magic Kebabs. Uber bargain.
The owner of the shop's own skinny kebab was a little overactive and the sexual innuendos were flying around. Magic Kebab Owner Guy was offering his 'fresh meat' to me, did I want it 'cut' or on a 'thick slab' and would I like his 'creamy white sauce? Don't worry baby. I'll tell you when it's coming so you can be ready to swallow.'
'Umm, thanks kebab man but, no. Fuck no actually.'
'Oh, so you want to fuck me?' he asked.
At this point Hitchhiker Girl tried the ole faithful 'she's my girlfriend' routine but Kebab guy wasn't buying it and turned his attention to her. It was at that very moment that she revealed to him she was bi. The penny dropped:
Oh God was I on a lesbian date without realising it? Had I initiated this by offering to get the bus with her? I flashed back to the glasses of wine she plied me with. The compliments on my performance. The saving me from Kebab man. The 'missing' the bus!' Did she think that I had planned all this? Had she planned all this?
Oh, fucking fabulous just what I need a fellow vagina after my vagina and a greasy kebab man that just won't quit. I just want to get home into bed sans both of them.
I picked up a couple of college boys to amuse me while waiting outside said Magic Kebab Shop. The bus ride also took ages as we had to make special stops for a blonde broad to puke on the side of the road. She's got a way to go before becoming a fully fledged lush.
Naturally I felt compelled to join the cast for a few post show vinos and even though I was offered a few rides back to the city I stupidly chose to catch the bus back with another actor. Mistake #1.
We waited...and waited...and waited. No freaking bus.
We examined the time table a little closer only to see the 11.19 bus had a very tiny 'b' next to it wich means that it boards on the opposite side of the road i.e the same bus stop we got off at to go to the theatre (not logical).
So to add insult to injury we had sat watching our bus drive past us. Now that I think back, I swear that bus driver snarled while waving at us. Bastard. We were pissed and we were screwed. The next bus due was at 7.50am. In 8 hours time. I repeat 8 hours!Hitchhiking quickly became our only option.
Arm out, leg arched in true slapper style we thumbed a ride from the first car that came by.
Introducing: Claire and Jeff.
A mid 50s pair of booze hounds who had a heated arguement right in front of us with the windows open. Luckily they finally agreed to drop us in Hornsby. Sounds great? Well, they also explained that they would be avoiding the main roads because of breathalizers. Oh, fucking great.
My fellow hitchhiker, having only moved to Sydney 3 weeks earlier was freaking out and mouthed to me "are you scared?" The only thing that scared me was the freaky Phantom of the Opera sountrack on their stereo. Claire's driving wasn't so bad. I'd certainly been with worse sober drivers in the past. However, none that played Phantom.
Hitchhiker Girl moronically revealed the name of our show. Jeff flat out did NOT approve. It was sour faced cats bums all round and I personally don't think that either of them had had much vagina action in a while anyway. I still had my flaming red lipstick on that served me so well at mardi gras and I'm sure they thought we were a pair of lying slappers heading back to the city.
By the time we arrived at the train station we had missed the last one and had to wait another half hour for the infamous night bus. Lucky for us we spotted a fellow Vagina Monologue actor who pointed us in the direction of the Magic Kebab Shop yonder:$3 Magic Kebabs. Uber bargain.
The owner of the shop's own skinny kebab was a little overactive and the sexual innuendos were flying around. Magic Kebab Owner Guy was offering his 'fresh meat' to me, did I want it 'cut' or on a 'thick slab' and would I like his 'creamy white sauce? Don't worry baby. I'll tell you when it's coming so you can be ready to swallow.'
'Umm, thanks kebab man but, no. Fuck no actually.'
'Oh, so you want to fuck me?' he asked.
At this point Hitchhiker Girl tried the ole faithful 'she's my girlfriend' routine but Kebab guy wasn't buying it and turned his attention to her. It was at that very moment that she revealed to him she was bi. The penny dropped:
Oh God was I on a lesbian date without realising it? Had I initiated this by offering to get the bus with her? I flashed back to the glasses of wine she plied me with. The compliments on my performance. The saving me from Kebab man. The 'missing' the bus!' Did she think that I had planned all this? Had she planned all this?
Oh, fucking fabulous just what I need a fellow vagina after my vagina and a greasy kebab man that just won't quit. I just want to get home into bed sans both of them.
I picked up a couple of college boys to amuse me while waiting outside said Magic Kebab Shop. The bus ride also took ages as we had to make special stops for a blonde broad to puke on the side of the road. She's got a way to go before becoming a fully fledged lush.
Thursday, March 09, 2006
Before Things Got Messy- HNT
. 
Okay, so these don't belong to me but I'm borrowing them this week for HNT. Yes, that is my vino charged pout on the right next to my former flatmate.
This pic is from an impromptu party we had with the neighbours. The boy-next-door whom we like to call neighbour boy (we still don't know his name) came by with his opera-singer-in-training sister.
Okay, so these don't belong to me but I'm borrowing them this week for HNT. Yes, that is my vino charged pout on the right next to my former flatmate.
This pic is from an impromptu party we had with the neighbours. The boy-next-door whom we like to call neighbour boy (we still don't know his name) came by with his opera-singer-in-training sister.
It started out as a friendly neighbour thing and ended up rather messy. Having had a few too many vinos I was texting a few SOS messages to my flatmate from the bathroom meanwhile she ended up doing the neighbourly thing, Desperate Housewives style, with neighbour boy.
He moved out soon after that then so did she. It's too bad his sister still lives next door.I used to be fine with opera but once you've heard a trainee singer squarking away at 7am, in the midle of the day and at midnight one's tune quickly changes to hatred.
I doubt I will ever go to an opera again and shudder at the mere sound of her and any mention of opera.
Enjoy HNT!
Sunday, March 05, 2006
Hello Boys - Mardi Gras 2006
Alone, drinking at the bar while waiting for my fellow revelers to arrive. The life of a lush-cum-piker magnet continues. By 5pm I'm on my third vodka cranberry and the parade doesn't start till around 7.30pm.This is the third night in a row I've been slushing around Oxford St aka Sydney's gay Mecca. Until I get my own damn parade I'm going to make this one mine. But please - whatever you do - don't call me a fag hag. I hate that term. I'm not a prude and am constantly amazed and impressed by Todd's use of the word cunt but the word hag just brings me back to the association of an ugly evil-looking old woman. I think it has to do with a line Macbeth. Anyway, much to my chagrin my friends have settled on the term handbag - at least it's not hag.
Thursday night turned into not going to work on Friday but in the evening I got a call from MNH - My New Hero inviting me to go out. No arm twisting required there. Friday night turned into a 1pm Saturday breakfast with MNH eating designer cup cakes so really I only had 3 hrs to clean my apartment in preparation for my friend staying over, get ready, and go pick up the Mardi Gras tickets. Enter the Garbage Grouch (see previous post).
Luckily I found some solace in slapping on the brightest shade of red lipstick I could find. It's amazing what a whorish shade of red can do for a girl's ego. Alas, it's Mardi Gras and unless you are baring you arse in a pair of chaps or budgie smugglers* no one's a lookin'.
I marveled at the beautiful bodies strutting around. Structural wonders created by hours spent at the gym, tanning, waxing, and dance rehearsals. Some are physical feats that make ones mouth water not to mention other parts. It's hot. Men dressed as cowboys, cops, firemen all in a drunken and drug induced haze some wandering some prowling the streets of Sydney.
The personal training industry is probably rubbing it's hands together awaiting calls from parade attendees who didn't quite get enough arse over the weekend. It kind of guilts you into a gym membership. If I owned a gym I'd certainly be there doing a little marketing exercise to get the punters in.
The parade was a champagne soaked event. Yes, my friend who agreed to go out on Oxford Street post parade and stay at mine piked. Another one bites the dust. Oh well.
But all was not lost thanks to a sexy French man for his drunken interest in moi- nothing like getting a cat call in Francais as you walk by. It's the red lips I tell you. Maybe he thought I was a lipstick lesbian and I would be shocked by his advances. He'd be wrong...Ooh la la!
*Aussie slang for Speedos - a budgie is a small bird other terms for Speedos are 'dick stickers.'
Garbage Grouch
It was my second trip to the garbage room when I was accosted by a fellow resident in the garage:
"Excuse me, that last bag you took had recycle materials in it. I sorted it for you this time BUT in future please make sure to sort your rubbish and place it in the coloured bins provided" she snarled.
It's true, my recycle bin in the kitchen was overflowing so I quickly shoved the excess stuff into a bag and chucked it in the regular bin in haste. I was on my way to Mardi Gras and had no time to wade through the bin room.
I guess this woman had been spying on me walk through the car park garbage bags in hand and felt the need to do some further investigation.
In order for her to know this about my rubbish she made a special trip to the garbage room after I left. She opened all the bins to find my particular bags then physically untie the knotted bags all before riffling through my trash.
Yes, she riffled through my trash in the garbage room and then told me about it!
I felt kind of guilty about having mixed in a plastic bottle with the other stuff but wasn't in the mood to deal with her attitude so I smiled said thanks and kept on walking with my second load of already fully-sorted recycle garbage.
She would not let up and kept starring at me at which point I turned and asked point blank:
"Why did you look through my garbage?"
That was it - she practically started to spit. She embarked on a rant about how she had seen a plastic bottle through my bag and how there was a garbage problem in the building. What, does she have x-ray vision? How many other times has she pulled this garage garbage room stalker business on others or was I simply the lucky victim of her rage.
"Excuse me, that last bag you took had recycle materials in it. I sorted it for you this time BUT in future please make sure to sort your rubbish and place it in the coloured bins provided" she snarled.
It's true, my recycle bin in the kitchen was overflowing so I quickly shoved the excess stuff into a bag and chucked it in the regular bin in haste. I was on my way to Mardi Gras and had no time to wade through the bin room.
I guess this woman had been spying on me walk through the car park garbage bags in hand and felt the need to do some further investigation.
In order for her to know this about my rubbish she made a special trip to the garbage room after I left. She opened all the bins to find my particular bags then physically untie the knotted bags all before riffling through my trash.
Yes, she riffled through my trash in the garbage room and then told me about it!
I felt kind of guilty about having mixed in a plastic bottle with the other stuff but wasn't in the mood to deal with her attitude so I smiled said thanks and kept on walking with my second load of already fully-sorted recycle garbage.
She would not let up and kept starring at me at which point I turned and asked point blank:
"Why did you look through my garbage?"
That was it - she practically started to spit. She embarked on a rant about how she had seen a plastic bottle through my bag and how there was a garbage problem in the building. What, does she have x-ray vision? How many other times has she pulled this garage garbage room stalker business on others or was I simply the lucky victim of her rage.
I recycle. I promise I do. Hence the overflow from the recycle bin in my kitchen but at what point does this bitch with the blonde bob cut believe it's okay to go through my garbage and lecture me about my recycling practices?
I think this incident says far more about her than me. If only there was something manky in the bin bag. I would have just loved it.
Friday, March 03, 2006
HNT- Happy Mardi Gras
.
Happy Half-Nekkid Thursay to all. It's 2.49am Thurs and I am just home from clubbing with Sydney's finest. We hit up the Stonewall, Columbian, and the Shift. Special gust stars in from Dubai and California for this weekend. The cabbie missed my street so I was forced to walk up the steep hill - I was in no state to direct him through the maze of one-way streets to my apartment. That cemented it for me: no work tomorrow.
Alas, my pout is without action tonight. Tres sad. But I got to see the beautiful people going hard and fast. Mardi Gras is truly upon us the parade is Saturday. Earlier today I saw boys in sailor hats dancing in a perfume shop window on Oxford st.
I'd like to send love to Andrew Somewhere who I saw out tonight and probably scared the shit out of. We've never met but I recognised him from his pic having been referred to me by Cherry. It looked like him so I thought I should call out. Well "Fuck me gently with a chainsaw Heather" it actually was him! A phone call is on the cards if not a liquid lunch.
Happy Half-Nekkid Thursay to all. It's 2.49am Thurs and I am just home from clubbing with Sydney's finest. We hit up the Stonewall, Columbian, and the Shift. Special gust stars in from Dubai and California for this weekend. The cabbie missed my street so I was forced to walk up the steep hill - I was in no state to direct him through the maze of one-way streets to my apartment. That cemented it for me: no work tomorrow.
Alas, my pout is without action tonight. Tres sad. But I got to see the beautiful people going hard and fast. Mardi Gras is truly upon us the parade is Saturday. Earlier today I saw boys in sailor hats dancing in a perfume shop window on Oxford st.
I'd like to send love to Andrew Somewhere who I saw out tonight and probably scared the shit out of. We've never met but I recognised him from his pic having been referred to me by Cherry. It looked like him so I thought I should call out. Well "Fuck me gently with a chainsaw Heather" it actually was him! A phone call is on the cards if not a liquid lunch.
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
The Lost Vagina's of Manly
I was late for my first rehearsal of The Vagina Monologues. It seemed like such a simple task: go to the rehearsal in Manly. I'd been to this hotel before for a few vinos.
I asked if there was a rehearsal happening and nothing but blank looks came my way. I gave the name of the bird running the show but again nothing. I finally leant over and slowly and quiety elaborated saying that I was there for the 'Va-gin-a Mon-o-logues.' The looks changed and I was directed to room 41 where a band was playing. Alas no vagina's to be seen. - Hello, I'm after a rehearsal filled with women doing monologues about their vagina's not a room full of blokes wanting to put their pickle in one.
I barreled up a backpacker who directed me to an internet cafe. The whole time I kept up an internal running commentary David Attenborough style:
"Where are the Vagina's? Have you seen my Vagina's? I've lost my group of fellow vagina's. The Vagina's were last seen in Manly." How ironic that out of all the places in Sydney this could happen it happened in Manly.
After getting the address I high-tailed it to the other hotel where a pair of squeaky clean front desk guys were congratulating each other on their good looks. They must have been first year uni guys they were just so sparkling, a twinkle in their eye, shiny faces. Forget the era of the sugar daddy - the toy boy is the new accessory.
Anyway, I wasn't dancing around why I was there and got straight to the point. "I've got a rehearsal for the Vagina Monologues, I've been wandering around Manly, went to the wrong place is it here? Are the other vagina's rehearsing here?" They seemed to enjoy my frankness and directed me upstairs where I found nothing but the crusty old Toastmasters.
Frankly I'm not too sure what these people do. Do they make toasts? Give speeches? Spend hours shouting cheers and drinking to one another? Actually if that is what they do then maybe this is a group I could really embrace. I'd have to ignore the fact that they wear name tags and are all over 70.
Another trip downstairs and the shiny boys said that the woman I was meant to see was definitely with the Toastmasters. I knew this was bollocks. I'd seen them and they were NOT vagina people at all but I still went back upstairs. I was now ridiculously late and was over it so when one of the blue hair friendly toastmaster ladies asked if they could help. Do you think that I can be blamed for her death if she carks it from complete shock?
Back downstairs again and I now have a shiny guy as an escort. He finds the vagina's for me - funny that. They are behind an unmarked closed door. Phew, I enter in the middle of a monologue and take a seat.
Since this was my first rehearsal and the show is next week I get a quick run through of what I'll be doing. All the monologues had been assigned and I was left with Theatresports. Okay, that sounds interesting, theatresports, but what do I have to do in the show? I thought.
So we all got up in a group to give me an example.
"Okay everyone BE....A.....VAGINA!"
What, you want us to BE a vagina? I mean seriously, I go to a rehearsal where I am in a theatresports segment in the Vagina Monologues and I should expect something other than this? No, this is probably to be expected. However, having someone direct you to "be a vagina" "make a vagina with your bodies" is still kind of odd to hear. Well, I was there and had such a shit fight to get to that bloody hotel that I did it with the rest of the group and together we made a pretty damn convincing vagina.
And that was it. I heard only one monologue and was a vagina for about 30 seconds and the rehearsal was over. So much running around for so little. All the other monologues had happened.
The Vagina Monologues is a greatly respected piece of theatre but next week I will be one on stage in front of hundreds of people 'being' all kinds of vaginas. A vagina swimming, a vagina shopping....
*Since posting I have been offered a bigger role. I'm now part of "Short Skirt".
I asked if there was a rehearsal happening and nothing but blank looks came my way. I gave the name of the bird running the show but again nothing. I finally leant over and slowly and quiety elaborated saying that I was there for the 'Va-gin-a Mon-o-logues.' The looks changed and I was directed to room 41 where a band was playing. Alas no vagina's to be seen. - Hello, I'm after a rehearsal filled with women doing monologues about their vagina's not a room full of blokes wanting to put their pickle in one.
I barreled up a backpacker who directed me to an internet cafe. The whole time I kept up an internal running commentary David Attenborough style:
"Where are the Vagina's? Have you seen my Vagina's? I've lost my group of fellow vagina's. The Vagina's were last seen in Manly." How ironic that out of all the places in Sydney this could happen it happened in Manly.
After getting the address I high-tailed it to the other hotel where a pair of squeaky clean front desk guys were congratulating each other on their good looks. They must have been first year uni guys they were just so sparkling, a twinkle in their eye, shiny faces. Forget the era of the sugar daddy - the toy boy is the new accessory.
Anyway, I wasn't dancing around why I was there and got straight to the point. "I've got a rehearsal for the Vagina Monologues, I've been wandering around Manly, went to the wrong place is it here? Are the other vagina's rehearsing here?" They seemed to enjoy my frankness and directed me upstairs where I found nothing but the crusty old Toastmasters.
Frankly I'm not too sure what these people do. Do they make toasts? Give speeches? Spend hours shouting cheers and drinking to one another? Actually if that is what they do then maybe this is a group I could really embrace. I'd have to ignore the fact that they wear name tags and are all over 70.
Another trip downstairs and the shiny boys said that the woman I was meant to see was definitely with the Toastmasters. I knew this was bollocks. I'd seen them and they were NOT vagina people at all but I still went back upstairs. I was now ridiculously late and was over it so when one of the blue hair friendly toastmaster ladies asked if they could help. Do you think that I can be blamed for her death if she carks it from complete shock?
Back downstairs again and I now have a shiny guy as an escort. He finds the vagina's for me - funny that. They are behind an unmarked closed door. Phew, I enter in the middle of a monologue and take a seat.
Since this was my first rehearsal and the show is next week I get a quick run through of what I'll be doing. All the monologues had been assigned and I was left with Theatresports. Okay, that sounds interesting, theatresports, but what do I have to do in the show? I thought.
So we all got up in a group to give me an example.
"Okay everyone BE....A.....VAGINA!"
What, you want us to BE a vagina? I mean seriously, I go to a rehearsal where I am in a theatresports segment in the Vagina Monologues and I should expect something other than this? No, this is probably to be expected. However, having someone direct you to "be a vagina" "make a vagina with your bodies" is still kind of odd to hear. Well, I was there and had such a shit fight to get to that bloody hotel that I did it with the rest of the group and together we made a pretty damn convincing vagina.
And that was it. I heard only one monologue and was a vagina for about 30 seconds and the rehearsal was over. So much running around for so little. All the other monologues had happened.
The Vagina Monologues is a greatly respected piece of theatre but next week I will be one on stage in front of hundreds of people 'being' all kinds of vaginas. A vagina swimming, a vagina shopping....
*Since posting I have been offered a bigger role. I'm now part of "Short Skirt".
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
