Monday, July 28, 2008

We're Not A Happy Team...

at Hawthorn.

Well done Melba... your boys definitely benefitted from your presence at the game on Friday.

They're looking good to win the premiership again this year!

My boys were rubbish. Lots of wasted opportunities. If I'd been there I would have gone and given them a (collective) sharp clip around the ear. Except for Campbell Brown. He's a good 'un.


Tuesday, July 22, 2008

Guess where I am...

Hungry Eyes.

Eric Carmen.

Yep. Still internet cafe-ing it.

Still stinks too.

Tuesday, July 15, 2008

What's in a...?

Dear Brangelina,

I know you like boys names that end in X, but really. Knox?

Stupid. Just stupid. Knox Pitt. Knock Spitt. No Spitt. Nosepitt.

Let's hope he's tough enough to live up to it.

You seem to have gone a bit off-the-rails with your daughter too. Vivienne is a bit fuddy duddy compared to Shiloh and Zahara, but I guess you were really going for the French thing huh?

Viv Pitt.

Oh well. I guess any name that ends in Pitt is bound to sound a bit horrible.

Nice touch with Marcheline after mom though. I'm sure she'd be proud.

Just try not to go stuffing junk food down their throats like you do with the other four. Honestly. Every time I see a photo of you with one of them they have their hands shoved into a bag of crisps or cheetos. WTF??? There are healthy portable snacks they could have you know - like fruit. And don't give me the "we don't have time" line - you could afford a personal chef for each of them.


* * * * * * * *

Dear Matthew McConnaghey (and partner)

Levi. I know its an old Hebrew name meaning "joined in harmony", but really. It sounds like you named your son after a pair of jeans. Are you even Jewish?


* * * * * * * *

Dear Minnie Driver,

Snaps to you for opting for a simple, old fashioned name for your soon-to-be-born baby. I always knew you were a top chick. And snaps for keeping schtum on the baby's dad and respecting his privacy.


Monday, July 14, 2008

Just a Sample...

This is what has been playing in the internet cafe while I've been here checking my email (and slutbook):

Nothin's Gonna Stop Us Now - Starship

It Must Have Been Love - Roxette

Greatest Love of All - Whitney Houston

Cherish - Kool & The Gang

Kill me now. Please. Its almost as torturous as the pilgrims who have descended on Sydney and are walking around the streets clapping and singing god songs.

Must. Get. Out. Now.

Saturday, July 12, 2008

Things That Make Me Go Hmmmmmmm...

So I've been doing a bit of housesitting over the last month or so and both places I've been at have Foxtel. A luxury I never allowed myself in my old place. With good reason.

I'd never leave the sofa.

Most of it is crap, but some of it is genius. I've been watching lots of West Wing and Location, Location, Location and Grand Designs (I have a bit of a crush on Kevin McCloud, truth be told).

But I've also come across a few absolute pieces of utterly wonderful rubbish, which I felt I must share.

The first is aired on MTV and is called Rock of Love. Its pretty much The Bachelor. Except the bachelor in question is this man. Now I must admit that back in the day I was a bit of a Poison fan. I may have gone to their concert and I may still have their albums and I'm fairly sure that if you got me bladdered enough I could belt out a pretty amusing version of "Don't Need Nothin' But A Good Time". I didn't love them as much as I loved Motley Crue or Bon Jovi, but they were slightly ahead of Guns'n'Roses and well ahead of Def Leppard.

What can I say. I was a teenage rock slut. I liked nasty musos with tatts and long hair who sang degrading songs about women. Thankfully my tastes have matured somewhat since then. Although I still have a thing for Tommy Lee which can't be cured.

Anyway. Back to the topic at hand. Rock of Love. If you have Foxtel, check it out. Its astonishingly awful. These women will do anything to get a date with a crusty old 45 year old who has the same hairstyle he had back in the 80s. Its quite sad really, but rather fascinating. Like watching a car crash. There's a French woman with enormous lips (she must have used up all the collagen at the surgeon's office that day) who looks like she might have been a man at one point in the not so distant past. Its quite scary. In the episode I saw she was going in for a kiss with the Bretster and she had her tongue out ready before their mouths were even close! Eeeeeewwwwwwwwww. Much.

Now I feel a bit sick.

The second train wreck of a show which I am addicted to is Shear Genius. Its like Project Runway for hairdressers. They are beeeeyatches! Its hilarious. There's an Aussie chick named Tabatha who even has eyes like a cat, which is appropriate because she is the cattiest of the bunch. Its funny to watch though. She's brutally honest and "say it to your face" catty which I think intimidates a few of the American contestants who will be bitchy behind another contestant's back but not be gutsy enough to confront them.

Some of the hairstyles they come up with are hideous and they give them ridiculous challenges like "cut someone's hair using only gardening shears" but its fun to watch. I would hesitate to let any of them near my head with even a comb, but it makes for interesting tv.

The last show which I have been glued to is Gene Simmons Family Jewels. Yes. That Gene Simmons. The one who gave me nightmares as a small child. The man whose band's album was the first album I ever purchased with my own money. This show is kinda like The Osbornes, but with a few minor differences.

Firstly, the head of the household is coherent and articulate. He has weird hair and probably would look quite disgusting in those spandex outfits he used to wear (and let's face it, its unlikely he'd even fit into them nowadays) but he seems quite a decent bloke.

Secondly, his wife is not actually his wife. They've been together for 20 odd years but never married. According to son Nick, Dad calls it "happily unmarried" but Mom calls it "waiting". Oh and she's also an ex-Playboy model.

Thirdly, his kids are pretty normal. And nice. And pleasant. And not prone to throwing temper tantrums if things don't go their way. Nick is a genuinely nice boy who plays a bit of guitar and willingly attends his sister's volleyball games. Sophie is a lovely, sweet girl who is quite sporty and is interested in modelling.

The situations they show are probably all set ups and sometimes seem a little contrived, but they are quite an amusing family to watch. I'm hanging out for a Paul Stanley guest appearance... its unlikely though.

Anyhoooo... enough crap from me. I'd better go and do some work.

At least all this TV viewing is preventing me from spending loads of money... the current housesit is just a 10 minute walk from the city centre and all those shops and all those sales... eeek!


Thursday, July 10, 2008

Meme for Melba

So one of my favourite blogging ladies has complained that no one does memes anymore. Which got me thinking. And searching. And I couldn't find any memes that I wanted to do that I hadn't already done.

And then last night at work I was bored silly and without either laptop or book to keep me occupied so I grabbed pen and paper and scribbled down some ideas. I'm not exaggerating when I say scribbled, my penmanship has been a disaster since the advent of email. Must work on that sometime.


Meme. I was throwing around a few topics. Random ones which came into my head. Involving things like food. Or theatre. Or football. Or TV. And then I came up with fashion. Or more specifically, childhood fashion disasters.

So I thought I'd do a little "fashion through the years" meme. Or something along those lines.

Let's start.

* * * * *

When I was 1, my parents dressed me in:
Romper suits. Bad brown corduroy ones. And a beige wool dress with a peter pan collar with pink embroidered roses on it. My mum still has it. The fabric is horribly itchy... no wonder I was a grumpy baby.

When I was 5, I dressed myself in:
A red and navy tartan skirt and a red and navy fair isle jumper. And brown shoes with yellow smiley faces on the toes. They were ace.

When I was 7, my favourite outfit was:
A white t shirt with an iron-on ABBA transfer. Navy flares with an embroidered apple badge on the bottom of the left leg. Red t-bar shoes.

My favourite school photo outfit was:
When I was ten. I was wearing a sky blue sundress which had a big draped off-the-shoulder-type collar and elasticised waist. There was navy embroidery on the collar - I think it was floral. I distinctly remember the photographer asking me if I was French because when I went home and asked my dad that night if I was French he laughed and laughed.

In high school the fashion trend I started was:
Band t-shirts in PE. The son of a friend of my mum's went to Melbourne to the Bruce Springsteen Born In The USA concert. He rather thoughtfully brought me home a t-shirt which I proceeded to wear constantly. The only time I could get away with wearing it at school though was during PE, with my ugly bottle green sports skirt. T-shirts from the INXS Listen Like Thieves and Dire Straits Brothers in Arms tours were also part of my PE wardrobe.

On my first date the outfit I wore was:
Skinny leg jeans, an oversized v-neck cardie and a fluro t-shirt. Long socks bunched down over the jeans and high top Reeboks. I think we were going to the movies to see The Breakfast Club.

For my high school formal I wore:
A sleeveless black velvet mini-dress with black tights and 8 hole black Doc Martens. My hair was curled into ringlets and held back with a thick black headband. I never was a peach taffeta kinda girl.

At my 21st I wore:
An all-in-one black catsuit. Seriously. What was I thinking?? I was one of the skinniest beings known to man and looked like a black gumby.

The oldest item of clothing I still wear is:
The black knee high Bally boots I bought in London in 1996. They cost me
200 and have been re-soled and re-heeled about three times, but they are still comfortable and classy and I LOVE them.

The item of clothing I wish I still had was:
My beautiful long brown cashmere coat I bought in Marks & Spencer in 1997. I stupidly loaned it to a friend of a friend in Sydney named Monica Steczuk and she never returned it. I'm deliberately naming and shaming her in case any knows her and how to contact her and can give her grief about never returning to me. I also loaned her the beautiful brown and orange scarf and gloves I had that went with it. Grrrr. I hope she's had nothing but bad fashion karma since.

My current favourite item of clothing is:
My new fuschia pink satin ballet flats, which were purchased yesterday in Nine West. They are lovely. And my dark denim jeans. And my fuschia pashmina.

* * * * *

Right. Melba, over to you.


Tuesday, July 08, 2008

I Gave Up Dinner with Tom Cruise...

Remember that ad? The one where Naomi Watts gives up dinner with Tom Cruise for a lamb roast?

I was reminded of that ad today when I heard the name Nic & Keith had inflicted on their newborn.

Sunday Rose.

Doesn't that sound a little bit too close to Sunday Roast to you? It certainly does to me. And this source of wisdom agrees with me.

Maybe Nickers still has subliminal unresolved iss-ews with Tom.

Or maybe she's become a bit of a chav since marrying Keith and moving to Nashville. It certainly does have a bit of a chav ring to it.

Poor Sunday Roast. I hope she makes friends with the Brangelina offspring. Because if you're going to get teased in the schoolyard about your name you want to be sure someone else is worse off and Shiloh Pitt (Piloh Shitt) beats Sunday Roast hands down.

If only celebs would put a bit of thought into it. Maybe they need name stylists.

Oooh now there's an idea...

Might go and offer my services to Brangelina before the twins arrive.

Tuesday, July 01, 2008

I Ain't Ever Satisfied

My adoration for John Mellencamp has been documented on this blog before. Ages ago. It has. Numbers 6 and 7.

Anyway. Its been fifteen years since JCM last toured Australia.

Fifteen sodding years.

And now he's coming back.

"Hurrah!", you would expect me to say.


He's performing in Sydney on the weekend that my baby cousin Mark, who lives in Melbourne, decides he's going to get married and leave me the only single person of our generation on that side of the family. (Geeky second cousin Simon who still lives with his parents at the age of 36 doesn't count.)

You'd think Mellencamp and baby cousin Mark would have had the decency to check diaries before setting their dates.

Obviously not.

So on the one weekend my teenage hero Mellencamp will be in Sydney, I will not be playing air fiddle with Lisa Germano or belting out "oh yeah, life goes on, long after the thrill of livin is gone". No. I will be in Melbourne. Nay, Geelong. Defending my singleton status to the entire maternal side of my family (which is vast... my grandfather was one of six and they all had many children, who have many children, who have many children, who are all invited to this bloody wedding). It is apparently a source of family shame that I am still single and childless. Doesn't matter that its by choice, or that I'm the one with two degrees and the interesting career, who's travelled the world and lived in other countries and is the only one who can still fit into single digit clothing sizes (there are some serious heifers on that side of the clan). No. I'm a failure in the one area that apparently counts and that's all there is to it.

But you can bet geeky second cousin Simon won't be subjected to any of the same crap... apparently it is perfectly acceptable for a 36 year old man to have never stopped living in his parents' house, have never travelled anywhere and to have never, had a date in his life. I suspect the man is still a virgin. I wouldn't like to ask though - the image is not one that bears thinking about.


If I didn't love my baby cousin Mark so much I would tell them all to sod off and stay in Sydney and go see Mellencamp.


Sodding, bloody, wanking, bollocks.

And I've just had a random thought. What if they seat me at the table with geeky second cousin Simon? Gaaaahhhhhh!! I'll be like Kristin Scott Thomas in Four Weddings And A Funeral... seated with the geeky vicar who's never had sex. I'll have nothing to talk to him about!

I'll have to get blind drunk. That's the only solution. And perhaps I'll take over the microphone and start singing Mellencamp's entire back catalogue. I could do that you know. I've got every album the man ever recorded. Half of them on vinyl. And I still have the tour t-shirts from the last two times he's toured. They're probably now classified as vintage. If the need to look hotttt wasn't a factor, I'd probably wear one to the wedding in protest.

Thank god I'm heading to the world fashion capital in September, where I can purchase an amazing outfit to wear (even if I do have to max out my credit card to do so). If I'm going to be the only single girl in the family, I'm going to make damn sure I put the married heifers to shame.