I’ll Kill Her

If you don’t think this is the cutest song in the history of music then you clearly have no soul. The first time I heard this TheGrrl and I were driving between Merimbula and Wagga on an incredibly scenic but insanely dangerous winding country road through dairy farms. If or when we break up I predict this song becoming a break-up anthem.

In Absentia

Yes I know I’ve been absent for the better part of a month and yes I know that this probably qualifies me for slackest of the lazy amateur blogger awards but I’m still not going to apologise. In my defense since Christmas I’ve spent 2 days in Wagga, six days in Melbourne, three days in Merimbula, 13 days in the US and an untold number of days in Wollongong. I’ve spent so little time at home recently that I almost got lost walking to the bathroom.

In other news, house-hunting sucks but the list of shit I have to do before moving in 9 days sucks even more. Real estate agents, and particularly ones of the overly familiar variety that call me Cathy really suck.

The End.

A Few Quick Words

If you’re disdainful of the church and Christians in general, haven’t been to church in at least five years, don’t really like your step family, don’t like Christmas and particularly hate Christmas carols let me recommend that you don’t go to Church with your Dad on Christmas eve. It’s not worth the brownie points.

Two hours of fake smiling at old Sunday School teachers, being cramped into a tiny and un-padded vinyl chair, singing carols in an un-airconditioned church has sucked out all of what was left of my “Christmas spirit”.

Because I don’t have it in me, wouldn’t mean it if I said it anyway and it’s a cliche, I’ll refrain from wishing you any kind of season’s greetings. Instead I’d like to take this moment to say how grateful I am not to be related to any of you because then I would have to hate you. And remember “wine before beer-you’ll feel queer, beer before wine-you’ll be fine.”

Cranky With A Capital Crank.

As a result from very little actual sleep, far too much to drink, extended amounts of family time and Christmas in general I’m feeling very much like the Grinch. Except that I want to steal everything, shove it into a gaping black-hole and sleep for at least a thousand years. Seriously my little little brother (LLB) made a “lesbian catcher” from a cardboard box and shoved it over my head and for quite sometime I seriously considered staying there. Dark, quiet and smelling all good and cardboardy as opposed to the outside world which is loud, shiny and smells most like my armpit (which might have something to do with my need to bathe).

The short list of things that are giving me the right royal shits today includes but is not limited to:

1. Hangovers, particularly those of the hungry but nothing satisfies, lots of burning vaguely nauseous feelings.
2. Comments about my leg/armpit hair. Don’t try and tell me shaving is more hygienic, that’s crap. Your nagging is not going to stop me from being lazy.
3. My hair which seriously needs thinning and restyling because it vascillates between being oddly bouffant and nicely straightened with a serious static problem. I don’t enjoy looking like I’ve just rubbed a balloon on my head.
4. Having to go outside everytime I want to have a cigarette when I’m at the pub.
5. Being a dyke night and getting filthy looks just because I don’t look like your traditional stereotyped image of a queer woman.
6. Being bothered by the above.
7. People who don’t realise that polyamory is work, lots and lots of hard work and not something that you should just introduce to your relationship on a whim when things aren’t going so great.
8. The above individuals giving polyamory a bad rep by hurting themselves, or other people by getting in way over their heads and the requisite drama that follows said situations.
9. Not getting to see TheGrrl for another twelve days.
10. The CountryLink and Greyhound websites for being a)incredibly difficult to navigate and b) not very helpful once you’ve worked out how to find move around the site.

You would all be well advised to keep your distance until at least eleven o’clock tomorrow morning.

Filler

While I endeavour to work out the bits and pieces of posts floating around my head I strongly advise you check out the Reuters Pictures of the Year 2007. I think photography tends to get somewhat of a bad wrap as an art form because it’s so accessible but that’s exactly what I love about it.

Bah Humbug

Have I mentioned how much I hate Christmas? Cause I’m not kidding, I’m not someone who pretends to hate Christmas so as not to be disappointed, I genuinely hate Christmas. Years of being shunted back and forth between various family obligations, relatives and step-relatives filled to overflowing with “Look how big you are”, “So how’s school” and “Don’t worry, you’ll grow into your looks”, step-relatives who resent us for crashing their Christmas and can’t remember my name, the heat and getting nothing decent to eat but salad because everyone assumes that’s all vegetarians live on, shitty gifts that are totally useless, wrapping paper, Santa Claus, god-awful Christmas carols, Tubular Bells, fake seasonal cheer, and last but not least Christmas shopping.

Christmas shopping, that one activity that epitomises everything I hate about Christmas. Spending four hours searching for that perfect scented candle/soap combination for Aunt Marge who will more then likely be allergic and forget who gave it to her. Overcrowded shopping centres filled with screaming children and their awful parents who should never have been allowed to breed taking up all the tables and binging on whatever substandard chemical combination is passed down the trough masquerading as food. And today is the day that I venture out into the masses in order to wade through the bargain bin, fight for a place in the check-out queue and then trek home on the bus where I will probably accidentally thump someone over the back of the head with my multitude of parcels, causing them brain damage and denting whatever bric-a-brac I picked up.

Every year I wonder to myself why I do this, wonder why I don’t just run off to shitty motel room somewhere west of Tamworth and hide out from Christmas Eve to New Year’s Day (another holiday I despise) away from the noise, mess, crowds, massive amounts of food, bad music and those tiny bit of sticky tape that get stuck to your shoes. But ultimately I love my family and friends so I won’t kill me to spend one day smiling and looking pretty. Right?

Hatches, Matches and Dispatches

I had every intention of posting but what with the federal election, the stomach flu, various travels up and down the south coast as well as between Sydney and Wollongong, work, various activist activities it all just got away from me.

In the mean time these two lovely ladies Emily and Melyssa managed to find the time to get knocked up and engaged and whilst I might be a radical feminist, monogamy hating polyamourist queer nothing makes me all warm and fuzzy then the idea of tiny little people and parties for the sole purpose of celebrating love. So go wish them some good cheer whilst I go back to trying not to par broil in my own flesh whilst hiding in my room and watching “The West Wing”.

Lowest Common Denominator

Every time I step into the shower eventually my gaze is drawn downwards to the bottle of “Head & Shoulders” that sits on the shelf next to my cleanser. Everytime I look at the bottle, read the line “For external use only” and think to myself, “Are there people who, out of genuine concern that they maybe suffering from dandruff of the colon, think that it would be a good idea to shoot a couple ounces of “Head & Shoulders” up their pooper?”

People are idiots, all of them. Idiots.

Trashbag Tales

Whilst I was in Wollongong visiting TheGrrl I had every intention of bashing out a post but when it came to the crunch I was sitting in an un-airconditioned internet cafe surrounded by hardcore WoW geeks nursing a serious hangover so I admitted defeat because none of those conditions, let alone when in combination with each other gets anyone’s creative juices flowing.

I am a self-confessed grandma. I don’t much like going out, I’m not a huge drinker, I only do drugs occasionally and frankly I would much rather spend my Saturday night at home on the couch with my knitting and a movie. TheGrrl however is a unabashed social butterfly with a wide circle of friends all of whom love to go out and party the night away. After many, many, many jokes about my status as resident pensioner I finally cracked and agreed to go out with TheGrrl and her friends on Saturday night.

After I cooked a huge batch of burritos to make sure everyone had something lining their stomachs and we had spent a sufficient amount of time drinking, smoking and catching up, the pussy posse comprising of TheGrrl and I, TheGrrl’s two best friend’s and their sort of respective partners headed out to Castro’s self proclaimed gay bar. Once we arrived the night is mostly a blur of cigarettes, intermittent dancing, a couple of drag shows and some slightly seedy bathroom sex with a nice American woman. Of course, because the group was comprised entirely of queer women there was the requisite drama, screaming matches and make-up sex but once everyone had found someone to take home TheGrrl and I trudged home to do what I would have much rather have been doing the entire night; snuggling up in bed.

What seemed like just a few seconds later the sun was up and streaming in through the windows, much to my chagrin and I was up for the day. After a giant glass of water and an even bigger Berocca TheGrrl and I headed to the mall to forage for food and suss out the happenings of the night before. Satisfied with my All Berry Bang and my girl by my side we wandered around before heading back to the house for some study and a siesta neither of which ended up eventuating because one by one the pussy posse found its way back to the house to sprawl on the carpet and dissect the night before. If only you didn’t have to leave the house in order to be party to the good trash-bag tales I would be a happy girl.

Me At The Movies 1

Does anyone else enjoy that fact that we still call it the video store despite the fact that chances are your local Video Ezy hasn’t stocked anything in VHS for at least five years? Forgive me if I sound like an idiot but I am honest to God in love with my local video shop. Six weekly rentals for $12, talk about a bargain! So in an effort to see more movies, expand my mind and stop myself from rotting away in front of FaceBook and too much bad TV I’ve been trying to get into the habit of regularly visiting my local video shop and watching some stuff that I might not normally get into.

On my last trip to the video shop which didn’t go exactly to plan (why did I think riding my bike was going to be a good idea?) I happened to pick up two charming DVDs and one stinker that I really could have skipped and not noticed any difference in my quality of life.

“Coming Out Party” is seven gay and lesbian comics talking about their experiences coming out. Honestly it’s downright hilarious and I’m not easy to win over. Even in the best of circumstances I’m not big on laughing out loud so the fact that I nearly peed myself should stand as some testament to how good this. It’s not a serious sociological dissection of the coming out process or anything of the kind it’s just a bunch of people telling their stories in a real and honest way which is funny and pretty relatable to. I should point out that I’m a little biased because it features Sabrina Matthews who is probably my most favourite lesbian comedienne of all time, she’s a lovely combination of totally dykey and totally hilarious. After watching this I felt much better about coming out to my Dad and I am also now rocking a serious friend crush on Dan Renzi who also features.

“The Dreamers” was something that I picked up on the recommendation with a friend something that I’m usually pretty adverse to doing because it’s always awkward when you have to break it to the recommend-er that you think their most favourite movie of all times sucked. This was totally not the case with “The Dreamers”. I should start out by saying that I have no problem with consensual, non-procreative incest* so the premise of the movie was a little less confronting for me then it was for other people. “The Dreamers” is a really beautiful movie, the cinematography is incredible and you really feel like you’re in Paris circa 1965ish. The premise is interesting, the plot and character development are very satisfying but unfortunately it drops off at the end a little and I found the lack of a definitive end statement to be a little irritating, that having been said it was still very much worthy viewing.

When “Nine Songs” was first released in Australia there was quite a furor about the amount of graphic, real sex involved in the film. Lots of people accused it of being “porny” and other moronic conservative view points. In truth “Nine Songs” is a terrible film, not because of the sex but rather because of the fact that it lacks any real character depth, there is a total lack of plot and its self indulgently edited. What makes “Nine Songs” porn-like is that the only thing of not in the whole film is the sex and in my opinion if you were going to see a film just for the sex I think you’re much better off renting “Shortbus” because that at least has characters and a plot.

And that was me at the movies.