Words I hate

There are some words that just really make you cringe. They seem to so aptly represent themselves it's scary. As Shakespeare said - would a rose by any other name smell as sweet? It's a good question - if roses were called 'anuses' would you shove your nose right in there? Anus, by the way, is a word I hate. The only acceptable pronunciation of it is by Borat 'Aah-noose' and that's just because it makes it sound like something different.

I know a lot of people who dislike the word 'moist'. Now, to be honest, that one doesn't bother me so much because I can still associate moist with a cake or other baked-good. Apparently though, many people can't get their 'moist' thoughts out of their panties. And that is a word I hate. Panties really seems like something a peado would say. It's creepy.

Another word I hate is fanny. I know a lot of my most hated words seem to reside in the nether regions but seriously...fanny? It's a woman's name for God's sake. And a bum in America. How come we've decided that fanny is a good synonym for vagina? It's not. It makes me think of big, flappy, dumbo ears waving around in desperate need of some femme fresh. Yuck.

What about puss? Not a cat but the stuff that oozes out of a septic wound. Puss. Doesn't it just describe itself perfectly? The very word conjures images of seeping, yellow gunk sticking painfully to gauze.

There are so many words that freak me out I could carry on all day. Foetus is gross (feet - eat - eating babies??), flatulence (grim), proboscis (sounds like someone is going to probe you with their enormous nose).

I'm going to keep a list from now on of all the words I hate and try to never use them in conversation or writing. Should make the porno set in a hospital I was thinking to start a bit difficult.

Until tomorrow xx

At the Movies...

One day, a few years ago, I visited a friends place, lets call her Kiwi, and along with a couple of other mates we watched a movie that we unanimously agreed was the worst movie ever made. It was called 27 Dresses.

Recently, at a dinner with another group of friends this movie came up in discussion and I proceeded to unleash a belated verbal assault on the abomination, which was met with some opposition. I was absolutely flabbergasted. To think that any of my friends would consider the movie anything other than a rotten corpse's foul stench of a film was incredible to me.

As if I wasn't horrified enough already, one of my friends, I'll call her Big Mac, then proceeded to produce the offending film from her own collection! The poor girl had actually paid money for the stinking pile of Hollywood faeces. She offered the DVD to another chum, I'll call her Lego, who had not seen the film but was intrigued by the controversy it had caused.

I received a text message yesterday from Lego, saying she'd watched the movie and it was a couple of hours of her life she'd never get back. Indeed. An accurate summary. Upon reading this I turned to another friend who I was with at the time and said something like this:

'You know that movie with Katherine Hiegel, 27 Dresses?'

To which she replied, 'Oh yeah, I love that movie!'

WTF?? It seems as soon as one buddy sees the light I lose another to the dark side. For shame!!

I guess the lesson to be learnt here is each to their own, live and let live, one man's trash is another man's treasure and so forth. Of course, it may also mean that my '27 Dresses' loving friends are very, very sick and if their illness is left untreated may result in a terminal obsession with movies starring JLo.  

Until tomorrow xx

Look into my eyes, don't look around the eyes

I am absolutely terrified of flying. There is, quite seriously, nothing I hate more than boarding a plane. Contrary to popular belief, the more I fly the worse I get. And I spend the entire flight in a state of silent horror waiting to plummet to my death.

To give you an idea of the extent of my phobia - I would rather have all my body hair tweezered out by a blind person. I would rather watch Grant Hackett's journalistic efforts on a constant loop for a full day. I would even rather be stuck in a lift for 24 hours with Sam Newman, Steve Price AND Andrew Bolt. Dear God, that is how bad it is.

Never one to let phobias fully get the better of me, I have always tried new things in an attempt to quash my fear. I've been to one of those flight simulator things where you sit in a cock pit and fly the plane yourself. That didn't help because my 'pilot' looked about 14 and would've been more at home at Timezone. I've tried every sort of (legal) drug available. Valium washed down with a glass of white? No effect whatsoever. I've tried meditation. Whatever.

I have to fly again soon, so now I've brought out the big guns. The hardcore shit. Yesterday I had my first hypnotherapy session! And it was WEIRD. The lady was lovely and we had a nice chat before she put me in a light trance and started asking all sorts of questions, which I answered, though I had no control over my answers.

Apparently my subconscious was doing all the talking and I spent the majority of the time in tears (while she was talking to my little 'sad' emotion). Yes indeed, lots of different emotions popped up wanting some attention - angry, mean, relaxed, happy...they were all there (I shit you not) and she spoke to each of them to find out how they were helping me or what they needed in order to help me better.

When I came out of the trance I had mascara from eyelash to arsehole but felt as light as (probably) the day I was born. All the thoughts that thump through my head night and day were quiet and it felt good.

So, I think I will go back. It was definitely very unusual but I am hopeful it will help. Oh and by the way, there was no swinging pendulum before my eyes or any utterances of 'and, you're under'. Bit disappointing that :-)

Completely unrelated - 'Run' of Run DMC was on Sesame Street this morning singing a duet with Elmo. They were encouraging a grasshopper to 'Hop this way'. Aw, cute.

Until tomorrow xx

Can you tell me how to get, how to get to celebrity street?

I'm not sure when it happened or why, but Sesame Street, sunny, sweet-aired Sesame Street is under attack from the underexposed (?) celebrity masses. Obviously they don't get enough air-time in their music videos, TV shows, films and general papparazzied lives that they need to target the infant market as well.

You may've heard about the controversy recently when Katy Perry shot a scene for Sesame Street but it was dropped because she had her baps so far out the little kiddies watching were trying to suck some brekkie through the screen. As her husband Russell Brand so aptly put it 'Sesame Street will not be brought to you by the letters DD'. Ha ha ha - I'm still laughing about that.

Monday I saw Adam Sandler prancing about singing a song he'd written for Elmo. Which was actually quite funny because nothing rhymes with Elmo. And today Jude Law was on, demonstrating the meaning of the word 'cling'. I can explain it pretty easily Jude - I will 'cling' to you until you take out a restraining order. Cling'.

I haven't seen Charlie Sheen yet but he's looking for a new gig so he might pop up soon. That will be the day Sesame Street is brought to you by the letter E's.

Until tomorrow xx

Roses are red, violets are blue, some poems make me want to spew

The other day, someone was reading a poem I had slung together (slaved over for hours) and asked me where I had uncovered the hidden treasure (in the talent well that is my mind). They were suitably impressed that I had penned such a masterpiece and I politely thanked them for the compliment (jumped up and down like a tart with new boobs). I then proceeded to search for a platform from which to launch my poem to the world.

I found the very place. Poetic Republic is an online competition run in the UK where you upload your work of brilliance (well I do, others upload their drivel) and bingo, bango, you're in the race. The queer element of this competition however, is that the entrants are also the judges. Indeed. I don't understand the formulaic equations that enable it to work but once the competition is closed to entries, participants are each sent 12 random poems and are told to pick their favourite four. There are 3 rounds of eliminations until only 12 are left (one will be mine no doubt.)

Anyhow, judging opened today and I was sent the deepest, innermost thoughts of 12 other budding poets and I must admit, I was shocked. Most of them were total bollocks. They were all about death and dying or love and romance and basically all completely devoid of any originality. The cliches were coming so fast I thought an AFL footballer was going to crawl through my monitor and recite them to me. Outrageous.

So, here I was thinking I was just entering this competition for a laugh but no sir. I am most surely going to win, based on the examples I saw today. I have penned a poem in honour of my impending triumph.

I entered my poem for a lark
Just to share my lyrical spark
But now it seems I have a chance
The other poems I've read are pants
It appears that I'm destined to win
The prize pool is absurdly big
So thank you poets near and far
for letting shine my shooting star
and entering a load of poo
ensuring my poem goes through

Until tomorrow fellow poets xx

Aural Terrorism - the new plague

There is nothing quite like a good old shoot-up to get the Americans into party mode. Watching the news unravel yesterday of Bin Laden's demise I was interested to note the originality displayed by some of the revelers. One clever dickie's jubilant placard read 'Osama Bin LATER'. Ho ho ho. I much preferred the poster one Aussie optimist took to the Biggest Loser finale, which simply read 'Take your shirt of Commando'. Yes please.

Back in America the people partied hard to the constant, thumping beat of 'U.S.A, U.S.A' being hollered indefatigably by the crowd. Now, I thought there was nothing more annoying than the nationally embarrassing Aussie, Aussie, Aussie, Oi, Oi, Oi. Oh, contrare. Those three little letters; U.S.A, U.S.A, U.S.A, being constantly repeated is like some sort of mesmorising chant designed to put a spell on the rest of us. Or put us in a coma.

I would like to know who the culprit is that thought up, or rather pooed out 'Aussie, Aussie, Aussie, Oi, Oi, Oi.'? They should be forced to spend the term of their natural life locked in a room with nothing but a vuvuzela symphony and a U.S.A, U.S.A vs Aussie Aussie Aussie scream-off. Take that you aural terrorist!

They would've found Bin Laden 10 years ago if they'd just trumpted that noise through the underground tunnels and caves. He would've come out with arms raised, a white flag and bleeding ears begging for mercy.

Until tomorrow xx

Karl's wife has the best arse I've ever seen!

Hot on the heels of the most watched television event of the century, came the Australian entertainment industry's night of nights, the Logies. I can't decide which one was more polished and sophisticated. A tough call.

I truly don't know where to start when it comes to the Logies. I guess my first comment would be - it's a really shit name for an awards ceremony. It's not even named after an Australian but some Scottish dude who did something important for television. Whatever. It just sounds like a joke. Logies. Bogies. Bogus. See what I mean?

Then there was the red carpet. Livinia Nixon looked like skeletor as she bailed people up to find out whether they were wearing J'Aton or Aurelio Alphabet. Seriously. It was either one or the other. And the plugs for Myer were just out of this world.

Poor old James Mathieson, who was interviewing guests on the red carpet crashed and burned, regularly. But his interview with Maroon 5 was the worst of the lot. His Bieber Fever and Maroon Five 'Hives' joke was enough to make anyone cringe, including Mathieson. Though Jules Lund gave James a run for his money when he told Rebecca Gibney she could get drunk and throw up in a cab. Lucky girl!

On the bright side, some of the ladies looked fantastic. I actually bothered to vote for Kat Stewart, purely because apparently channel 9 were donating all the profits to the Red Cross. Fingers Crossed. Stewart looked amazing. So did Sarah Murdoch. And a pregnant Rebecca Judd looked fantastic as well. Of course, there were plenty who got it wrong. But they'll be seeing their names plastered across 'worst dressed' photo galleries all over the place today so I won't add to their woes.

I didn't watch a lot of the awards. But I heard that Karl Stefanovic made a total dick of himself when he won something and thanked his wife for having the best arse he's ever seen. Are you serious? The man is such a fool and then, and THEN, he wins the gold logie! WTF? If the whole event wasn't a complete sham to start with they go and give the award to the biggest moron on television. Well done channel 9. The only good thing about Karl winning is the hope that he got absolutely stinking drunk and turned up on the Today show this morning with a bit of vomit in his hair and some choice words for the audience.

So that's the Logies for another year. It's a shame the Brownlow is so far away. Between Karl and Fev the Australian awards shows are well represented by the tool brigade.

Until next time xx