Well, Well, Well.

Some dozy little Cantabrian bastard tried to steal my feckin bike today.

Well I suppose they do say that Christchurch is the most English of New Zealand cities, and the English did filth off with vast swathes of land, commonly known as countries, despite the former owners being somewhat inconvenienced.  So I guess I shouldn't be surprised.

However I was.

BUT you can all relax in case you think I am now riding Shanks' Pony.  (In fact I haven't ridden a thing in a very loooooooong time, there may even be cobwebs.)  The thief was unsuccessful in nicking the bike, though he did manage to slice my first lock in two.

PS In case you were pondering the origin of the term Shanks' Pony, as I was just this second then click HERE!

BUT in a bid to outsmart the dimwit I had also attached a canny decoy lock to the bike, which obviously foiled him.  However if he (again it had to be a he) had applied some pressure to it, it would have given way to his advances like a rufied girl on Prom Night.  Either that or some artist type, as it was at the ARTS CENTRE for fuck's sake, scurried by with an easel and beret and put him off his game, causing him to scarper off like a rufie dealer in police lights.

SO luckily I was able to cycle home and regale my father with my tales of clever thwarting of brigands and fuckfaces and I live to cycle again.  So much for the spirit of goodwill to all men.

BUT I shall not be jaded by these events.  I still love Xmas and all those whose fairy lights shine upon us.  I will instead amend that section of the Xmas Constitution and declare goodwill to all men and women, except thieving bicycle cockknobs.

Ho Ho Ho.

PS The Bicycle Thief sounds like a good name for a movie I reckon.

SOOOOOO THE time is fast approaching.  That's right people you better batten down the hatches because tis the season for the Annual-ish Ashton residence Karaoke Karnage!!! (tm)

Yep it's the season (I just created a facebook event, which makes if official) for THE Karaoke Party of the century at my parent's house this Xmas.

I fly down to Christchurch next week, so what else to do but trash my olds' house for the festive season.

But wait, you ask, a Karaoke Party at your parents house.... how, you ponder.

Well my Dad isn't any ordinary Dad.  Oh no, not only was he Super Condom Vending Machine Man until he retired, but he's also Super Owns His Own Karaoke Machine Man!

Watch him slaughter Amore in a single bound, see how he rends I Got You Babe limb from limb, listen as he assaults Blue Suede Shoes with a deadly weapon.

Actually he's not bad at all, it's just funnier if he is.  He's really quite good and I know harbours a deep down belief that he is Dean Martin.

He has squillions of songs programmed into his TWO different units.  He has a glossy folder with them all listed and has even highlighted the good ones.  Well, what he thinks are good ones anyways.

I beg to differ.

According to Old Dad Eyes highlights include Danny Boy, Irish Rover, Jailhouse Rock and the grand-daddy of them all, New York New York.  He's even been known to highkick, when his gout allows.  

When the younguns come home however we seek out such gems as Smells Like Teen Spirit, Sweet Child O Mine, Killing in the Name Of, and other songs with fuck in them.  There is much marauding all over the living room and pogo-ing of the likes you just can't do to Mull of Kintyre.  In short, it's choice.

Though Dad and I have been known to bust out the odd duet as well, usually Cabaret or Tonight I Celebrate My Love For You.  And yes, that last one is a bit weird but don't call CYFS just yet as we look away on the line "And I make love to you....tonight" which makes it totally legit.  Well that's what we tell ourselves anyways.

So if you're going to be in ChCh for Xmas get in touch and get ready to Jingle Your Balls at Chez Nous.

It'll be wucked.  

On reading the below post you shall realise that my upcoming performance of Austen Found: The Undiscovered Musicals of Jane Austen, has seemingly permeated my lexicon with some fortitude. 

Oh My.

Well I am outraged, appalled, aghast and generally quite jolly pissed off with humanity.

Today an injustice was perpetrated against my law-abiding self (OK except for the time I nicked the postcards from the Vatican bookshop, but hell God has enough cash.) and I am totally slutted off.

The day began very pleasantly.

I had a costume fitting for our upcoming Wellington show; "Austen Found: The Undiscovered Musicals of Jane Austen" where I wrangled the G-Cups into an empire line dress, and was pleasantly surprised to not look as pregnant as you would imagine.

I then hit Les Mills for a Body Attack.  Now in case this alarms you, relax.  That wasn't the injustice in the form of a random Lesbian relation of Heather Mills laying into me with a meat cleaver, but rather me going hard out at my local gym.

Then I got home and indulged in a new porridge creation whilst reading the paper.  I have splashed out on some mixed spice, some cinnamon and some caramel essence and can very much recommend the results.

Martha Stewart eat your heart out.  (Or maybe your cellmate anyway as a forced exchange for super tampons.)

Then Esta arrived to watch me assemble a salad to take with us to the Grey Lynn Festival.  We then dawdled down to Grey Lynn Park via a mate's place AND more importantly the bottle store for some well deserved bruskis.  (I am always an advocate for exercising to create space for more calories of the non-nutritional liquid variety.)

Once a spot was selected amidst the THOUSANDS of very funkily dressed, expertly coiffed, organically fed masses of Grey Lynn, my blanky was unleashed.  

SIDEBAR:  My blanky has been with me since before the dawn of time.  To the ignorant the dawn of time is 1974 because as I am the centre of my universe obviously nothing existed before me.  It is decorated with lions and elephants and bears, oh my, and is a fetching shade of orange, black and brown.  

Once ensconced on the Blanky there was much merriment in drinking, eating salad and generally talking shit about some of the drunken bimbos around us.  We waited in vain for the bands and became disappointed to realise there was actually going to be no real entertainment of any nature. Apparently this was to deter drinking, but if the volume of the bimbos was anything to go by they could have put Kevin Costner onstage explaining Waterworld and the girls would have still been doing tequila slammers everytime he said "post-apocalyptic". 

To escape the tittering tits I decided it was time to go for a wander about the craft and food stalls and see if I could find some stereo saturated fats to clog up my arteries.  I got up and went to put on my trusty Havaianas.  Havaianas that took me months to find in the right colour and size.  Havaianas that I spent a stupid amount of money buying for a pair of bloody jandals.  Havaianas that have travelled the world with me.  Havaianas that I love.  

And they were fucking gone.

Some butt munch had stolen my bloody JANDALS!!!  From underneath my nose.  Some twat burger of indeterminate parentage put their festering pustulous dickwad feet into my jandals and waddled off to no doubt soil themselves in a corner crying softly and rocking backwards and forwards like the socio-psychopathic jandal fetishist fuckface they no doubt are.

Angry, me, no, where do you get that idea?

Is funny actually I am REALLY angry about it, which on dissection is a little weird.  I mean it's not like I was forced into a group orgy with Brad Shipton, my 2 million barrels of oil weren't hijacked and I didn't just land the cleaning contract at Guantanamo Bay.  I just had some shoes nicked.

I haven't felt that attached to some rubber since, well, um, never mind.

I have decided the reason for my misplaced mountains of vitriol is that as a Kiwi my jandals are sacrosanct.  To steal them is to turn your back on the All Blacks as they Haka, it is to tell Kate Sheppard to "Shut up and cook me some eggs bitch", it is to punch a Hobbit in the face and it is to draw the Goodnight Kiwi and that cat doing it with a Kangaroo.  

In short it is wrong.

So shame on you Jandal Thief of Grey Lynn.  Shame on you.  I just hope that walking in my shoes will change you.  As you follow my footsteps so too will you follow my path.  The fact that this path leads to excessive consumption of Sauvignon Blanc and inappropriate face-raping of dodgy boys shall be your punishment.  

So there.

(Oh and if you're wondering how I got my delicate tootsies home I just nicked a pair of jandals I saw lying about.)

PS Tune into Dirty Girl with Penny Ashton Spoken word radio extravaganza on December 9th on Fleet FM as I stand in for Dirty Wordz with Shane Hollands!  My very own radio show for the very first time!  Very excited.

Austen Found

I am bored bored bored with politics, (though the Maori Party's alliance with National is somewhat flabbergasting) and so hereby announce this post a politics free zone.

So what shall we speak of instead....

I have it!

Jane Austen.

Why of course you cry, that makes perfect sense you murmur, wtf is she on about, you twitter.

You see 2 weeks hence from this point is the New Zealand Improv Festival at Bats Theatre in Wellington, and I have gathered about me a most handsome group of performers to mince the boards.

We are bringing Austen Found: The Undiscovered Musicals of Jane Austen to the Wellington massive and a jolly good show it should be too.

In our rehearsals it has become very evident that for a girl who hasn't read any Austen since 1987, I am very versant with her works due to my enduring love of bodice rippers and chick flicks involving teacups.  I have seen nearly all cinematic adaptations of her novels and the movie Becoming Jane, and I have read a book called Mr Darcy's Daughters which poses as a sequel to Pride and Prejudice.  (I have avoided the 1940's adaptation of the movie as their costumes are so not period its positively menopausal.)

Therefore I seem particularly able to mainline Elizabeth Bennett and indeed the Facebook Application "Which Jane Austen Heroine are You?" proclaimed me thus.

Now if there are even any men left reading this posting let me assure you, you will like it too. We merrily, rip the piss of bodice rippers so you will have something to laugh about, and of course 6 breasts to oggle at too.  The Regency Period was decidedly more racy than the following Victorian Period, though any beach sex a la Dubai is highly unlikely.  

Here's a poem I wrote a number of years ago which serves as inspiration...

Durex and Durability

With much ruminating

On the possibility of a suitable mating

I have decided to abandon all internet dating

And all maternal advice

Instead leaving the remainder of my life

To be written by Jane Austen

Then I can abandon all thoughts of what’s in

Store for my nuptial match

And place all faith in the fact that

Although I’m penniless with a meddlesome mother

And all the family fortunes have gone to my half-brother

I’m charming and actually quite bright for a girl,

Skin radiant like a lustrous pearl

Though compared to my sister I’m somewhat plain

I can discuss Ovid, Shakespeare, Madame Bovary

I can cross-stitch and play the pianoforte

And I’ll be one and twenty years again

I’ll not hold a man’s hand unless we are engaged

Je parle un petit peu de Francais

I’ll speak my mind and wear an Empire Line dress

Which will look fine as I’ll have much smaller breasts

And then I’ll spy you at a Regiment Dance

All strapping and breeches, an aspiring Lance

Corporal, who at first sight I am certain is AWFUL,

Stuffy and rigid with a sword in your sphincter

I’d die rather than rely on you to end my spinster-hood

So to clear my head I take a brisk walk in the woods

Where in a manner entirely feminine

I fall and twist my ankle much to my chagrin

Which is a word I’ll use quite often

And just when the F word comes to my lips

Which as we all know is fiddledee fiddlesticks

You’ll swoop me up onto your trusty steed named Triton

On which I’ll perch side-saddle so as not to rupture my hymen

And I’ll suddenly realise you are the one

And that you’re a distant cousin of Richard Branson

With a staggering two squillion a year trust fund

And a gorgeous brother for my sister, two for the price of one

SO we’ll have a combined wedding garlanded in flowers

Dance Cotillions, Reels and the Macarena for hours

And then start on our new no doubt blissful life

You as my husband and me as your wife

A beautiful English Country Scene

But with one marked difference…..

Better oral hygiene

AND here are the details for the show:

Auckland based Improv troupe ConArtists are delighted to announce the world premiere of Austen Found: The Undiscovered Musicals of Jane Austen for the New Zealand International Improv Festival. They are equally delighted to be invited to this inaugural festival at Bats Theatre and thinks it’s a simply super idea. 

Come November 28 the cream of Auckland’s Improv talent will be swooning, romping, weeping and cross-stitching their way through Regency Shenanigans in an entirely unscripted and never before seen, or again seen, hour of Austen excitement. Suitors, meddlesome mothers, breeches, lower classes and surprisingly well educated girls will all paint a vivid picture in song, accompanied of course by the charming pianoforte.

 Daintily treading the Bats boards will be veteran performer Lori Dungey, one of the founding players of Theatresports in New Zealand. Lori has performed all over the World and has represented both New Zealand and Canada in international tournaments including the World Cup of Theatresports in Germany in 2006 and was victorious in the Improvaganza Masters of the Universe Tournament in Edmonton in 2003. She has also just returned from yet another stint at OneRing.Net in Germany where she represents for the Hobbits. 

Greg Cooper has been improvising from the tender age of 13 and was a member of the Court Jesters in Christchurch before moving to Auckland and Conartists. He is a veteran of hundreds of improv and dramatic performances and has also represented New Zealand overseas most memorably as a member of the World Cup winning team in Los Angeles in 1994. He can also be seen in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe representing for the Fauns.

Penny Ashton also began improvising at 13 when Greg’s team regularly beat hers. She is a comedienne and actor and has performed both Improv and her solo comedy shows in Australia, the UK, USA, Canada, Singapore and Germany. She too represented NZ at the World Cup in 2006 and at the Improvaganza in 2003. She can also be seen in three Shortland St episodes in 2000 representing for the Gynaecologists.

Stayci Taylor is a graduate of the John Bolton Theatre School in Melbourne and has trained with Phillipe Gaulier in London and Paris.  She has travelled extensively throughout NZ and the world with improv and also with her comedy troupe The Rhonda Movement.  She was a founding member of an all female group in Vancouver called Those Chicks Who Do Improv and is a senior writer for Maori Programming in NZ, recently receiving a complaint that her writing is too saucy, of which she is proud.  She represents for the Lesbian Marathoners.

 Austen Found – The Undiscovered Musicals of Jane Austen

Bats Theatre, November 28^th, 7pm

Bookings: book@bats.co.nz

Short Sighted Change

Hurrruummmph.

Hurrummpph harruummpph harruummpphh

Poos and wees.

Hurumph.

I have a bone to pick with Mr Barack Obama.  With his banging on and on about change some people in NZ took it all a little seriously and "changed" our government too.  As my friend said on her status update "Change is the new "c" word".

I can understand wanting change when your president is a war mongering liar who reads children's books upside down and says things like: ""Our enemies are innovative and resourceful, and so are we. They never stop thinking about new ways to harm our country and our people, and neither do we".  BUT when your leader is a top chick who just happens to have a deep voice and bad teeth everyone wants to "Kill that bitch." 

I simply do not understand the level of hatred hurled in Helen Clark's direction.  You would think she was going around the country digging up people's grannies and defiling them with crucifixes the way some people bang on about her.  She was always lovely kind and sweet, oh OK so maybe not BUT whenever she wasn't I'm sure it was just coz of her period.  Yes well.

BUT whatever the reason for the vitriol we are stuck with National again, along with their mincing chihuahua, the paso doble patrician, Rodney Hide, and their unfeasibly quiffed Jesus Fish Flip-Flop Artist, Peter Dunne.  AARRRGGGHHH.  Pack of twits the lot of them.

I think I might move to Ohio, now that's a place known for its progressive leftist governance.

Nah I'll stay in Auckland Central, a national electorate for the FIRST TIME EVER (thanks Electorate Vote Green) and be a horn in their side.  

I even got a little teary when Helen Clark resigned!  OK who am I kidding I out and out cried.  Man I even surprised myself with that one, maybe she is a lesbian after-all and I fancy her.  EEEwwwwwwww OK OK, now even as much as I love Helen Clark that's a mental image I'm grappling with.  Let's just say I think she did a top job.  I bet her hubby is rapt.  He can get on with his clandestine homo escapades unencumbered and will never have to answer the question; "Do you like sex" from the Right Wing News Elite, oh sorry I meant The NZ Herald.

In fact I reckon there were a few sighs of relief.  Judith Tizard mentioned her garden needed doing, Derek Fox has a Maori Media empire to rule over and Winston Peters needs to fuck off and die.

Sorry...did I write that out loud.  Ooops. 

Still his somewhat drunken speech mentioning the wonders of "democwashy" was priceless and when he pretended to forget Simon Bridges' name there was much hilarity at my Potluck Dinner.  The new National MP for Tauranga is only 31, he was still pooing his pants and growing teeth when Winston fought his way into parliament in 1978, and he STILL trounced Winnie by 10 000 votes.  Oh he knew his name alright.

ANYWAYS the die has been cast, the people have spoken and unfortunately lots of them were dickheads.  BUT people often are.  Some of you reading might even think I am a dickhead, but then you're a dickhead so who cares.

I look forward to this brave new wonderful world of fulfilled promises, higher wages, increased literacy, less crime and more Tangos.  Hey maybe Rodney can be the Foreign Minister and solve peace in Israel....

Dancing with the Hezbollah's. 

We will see.

Proposition Hate

Bugger, bugger, bugger, bugger, fuck.

I am starting to think I need to stop reading the news of the world online as it's getting my intestines in a twist.  Just when we think we can rejoice in hope and optimism with Obama's inspirational win in the USA, along comes the passing of Proposition 8 to fuck me right off again.

So yet again gay marriage in California is banned, by a slim majority of 52% to 48%.  The total cost of campaigning is now estimated at something like $70 Million US and it won't stop there. Opponents of the Proposition have immediately filed a law suit to contest this hollow victory so the financial hemorrhaging will continue to gush like Oprah Winfrey interviewing Tom Cruise.  The wording of Prop 8 specifically stated that if passed it would "remove the rights" of gays to marry, and as it is anti-constitutional to deny American citizens rights, this is grounds for a law suit.

And in fact I don't doubt that if denied the pro-8's would have probably filed suit too, and so the only people to win in this contest currently are likely to be lawyers, printers, T-Shirt makers and button pressers.

And so hooray, America's goats can rest easy and the term marriage remains defined as man and woman because as we all know the foundation of the family is rooted in one man and one woman bringing up their own kids.

What total poppycock.

Anyone clinging to the nuclear family as the status quo in the western world are as deluded as Sarah Palin expecting love in a condom factory.

Babies come from all over the bloody place, even delivered on your doorstep in Austria.  Marriage means diddlysquat to many in the world when it comes to procreation so stop clinging to semantics.

Also the meanings of words change.  Gay no longer means happy, a faggot is no longer a group of sticks and that word that rhymes with wigger now means friend or brother to those who can use it.  Semantics evolves, get over it.

OK I'm even bored with it all now.

The end.

An Indecent Proposal

I'd like to make a Proposition.

Well actually I'd like to unmake one.  Proposition 8 to be exact. 

Now for those of you unaware in California right now is a debate raging over gay marriage.  It was legalised by the Supreme Court in May 2008 after a long history of nuptials and annulments which included the Governator twice Terminating a chance to make it legal.  (Though once the Supreme Court's decision came through Arnie suddenly decided to invite America's gays to come and be married there to boost the economy.  Ahhhh capitalism.)

BUT the god-botherers and proponents of that old chestnut; "It's not natural" have gotten their chastity belts in a twist and have rallied to have a Proposition added to the Election Ballot that as these marriages are not between a man and a woman they are unconstitutional.

It is called Proposition 8. Eight presumably being chosen as 6 x 6 x 6 = 216, which divided by 27 = 8.  I know!  So obvious....or was that tenuous...anyways I digress.

So cue Hue and Cry with both sides ratcheting up their campaigning leading up to the election. On one side, or shall we say camp, we have the Gaynesses attempting to sway Joe Average Californian that Adam and Steve are just as natural as their botox injections, soy lattes and eco-hybrid SUV's and therefore vote NO.  And in the blue corner are those arguing  that gay marriage will lead to Nanna being defiled by the Devil's pitchfork and Little Johnny fellating a goat.  (Guess which side I'm on!)

Funny how it's considered not natural for men to have sex not for procreation but many think it's perfectly fine to waste their perfectly good seed into a latex sheath or ejaculate into a pink devoid of eggs.  Also funny that many of these same people think Lesbian sex is perfectly natural, though prefer it if their breasts are not, and that the lesbians concerned are called Pandora Peaks and Little Oral Annie.

Given that its America of course we also have the celebrities wading into the ...um breech.  Ellen DeGeneres and Portia De Rossi were recently wed, so was George Tekai (aka Captain Sulu on the Enterprise) to his long time partner and Brad Pitt (though not obviously not gay, sorry lads) donated $100 000 to the campaign.

They have their work cut out for them however as churches rally to raise funds in one of the costliest campaigns in America after the Billion Dollar US election race itself.  The Mormons are taking a break from cycling and getting especially stuck in donating up to 70% of the cashflow and mobilising from Utah by emailing Californians and holding prayer meetings to influence voters.

People have even been quoting as saying this is more important that the General Election itself and that incredibly:

"If gay marriage is allowed to stand, some evangelicals suggest, it would force churches to marry gays, force schools to teach gay marriage, settling off a snowball effect and opening the door to pedophilia and bestiality. "A person could say, 'I love my dog, why should we not be married?'" said Anna Good, a member of the Skyline Westlean Church."  

Holy Fuck.

Yeah that's right, as I said, fellating goats.  

Of course Sarah Palin, (or as I prefer to call her Satan..... though actually no, I don't believe Satan exists and as much as I don't want her too she obviously does so I will amend that to Alaskan Goose Killing Drill Slut) is all in favour of Prop 8.  However the fact she is also in favour of Abstinence Only Sex Education and has a pregnant 17 year old daughter proves how much her opinions are rooted in reality so who gives a fuck what she thinks.

All of this is amusing too in light of the fact that California has previously been very progressive with Marital shenanigans:

In 1948, the California Supreme Court became the first state court in the country to strike down a law prohibiting interracial marriage. It was the only state supreme court to do so before the United States Supreme Court invalidated all such laws in 1967. The California Supreme Court held that "marriage is ... something more than a civil contract subject to regulation by the state; it is a fundamental right of free men ... Legislation infringing such rights must be based upon more than prejudice and must be free from oppressive discrimination to comply with the constitutional requirements of due process and equal protection of the laws" (Perez v. Sharp, 32 Cal.2d 711, 714-715 (1948)). The California Supreme Court explained that "the right to marry is the right to join in marriage with the person of one's choice" (Id., at p. 715).^[7]

BUT in 1977 they added that whole pesky man AND woman things and are now they are looking to set that in concrete.  SO I would like to throw my 2 cents into this debate and say let's all hold hands and form a prayer circle and send negative thoughts to all those Californians who are so switched into the spiritual realm, making them vote NO when it counts.

Then the world's goats can look forward to some seriously good times ahead.

PS I am also a Civil Union Celebrant by the way, this is all an elaborate advertisement for my coupling services so if any of you wanna get hitched in wonderful Civil Union friendly NZ, get in contact!

PPS And now when I think maybe NZ isn't that progressive.... I mean it's funny actually that homophobic California may get Gay Marriage when NZ didn't seem to be able to stomach that either and had to go the Civil Union option.  Just a thought.

Rohypnol Girl

If the amount of posts on this blog this year was equivalent to the number of fence posts in a High Country Sheep Farm, then I'd be to farming what Madonna is to Marriage.

But then again if I was to set about being a farmer I'd lose about as much money to the man as she is about to to the Guy so all is even perhaps.

BUT I have decided to leap back on the blogging bicycle and hope that I don't fall off and scrape my knee and have to go crying to mummy.  I have fallen off two bicycles this year so this again is probably a shit analogy but let's call all this metaphoric twittering me casting off my training wheels.

Both those bikes were situated in Canada, so I will blame the fact I was upside down in the Northern Hemisphere and on the wrong side of the road for my falls from grace.  In the first instance I was in Montreal showing how easy it was to jump up on a curb and in the second I was in Saskatoon attempting to cycle with a swathe of Busty Rhymes with MC Hot Pink Posters under my arm.

Yes, I'm a dick.

I have been back in New Zealand for a whole 3 weeks now after my four month tour of Canada, (where I also visited Canada's famed "Town that Rhymes with Fun", Regina....hehehehe) and predictably I am bored.  I guess I am incapable of relaxing.  STILL as I'm sure everyone outside of NZ is well aware we are in full election mode, like some other country, and so there is quite a lot of political rhetoric to wade through to attempt to find the truth.

Either way I'll still vote for Labour.  I personally am quite fond of Prime Minister Helen Clark and no I don't give a shit what clothes she wears, how she does her hair, how her teeth are somewhat askew, that she is childless (Oh how oh how can she be a real woman....) or that she has a deep voice.  I think all of this is ACTUALLY entirely irrelevant in being the leader of Aotearoa.  Can she govern.  Fuck yes.  End of sexist story.

I also don't think; "It's time for a change" is any reason to vote for anything.  If that were the case then it would be time for the All Blacks to start winning games or TVNZ to start funding NZ Comedy with any regularity.  And is that about to happen, I doubt it.

But anyway.

I am home and have decided to stay in NZ for the bulk of next year touring Godzone.  This may be good timing in the face of the NZ dollars tumble and the Global Credit Crunch, I just hope people feel the need for a laugh from time to time.  Apparently during that great time of a Vaudeville boom in the 30's there was some depression thingy going on, so fingers crossed a good dick joke will keep the populace amused when cheese costs the same as a Breast Augmentation.

I will miss some of North America's peculiarities however.

For example despite their propensity for being very loud and the fact the movie The Aristocrats hails from there, North Americans tend to be somewhat prudish.  Take swearing for example.  If you were to use the word cunt or retard (a personal favourite) onstage in Canada OR America it's like you have defiled Chelsea Clinton onstage with a miniature Statue of Liberty.  There is a collective tightening of sphincter in the room and an audible silence.  As you can imagine I therefore enjoyed using it with reckless regularity.

Their dating habits are also curiously entertaining.

I was in LA at the end of my trip (having just offended a whole bunch of teenagers with the C word) and attempting to get into a Nightclub.  My friend's friend name was NOT on the door as promised and so we waited for 40 minutes before being allowed in.  (Eddie Murphy even got in before us!  I mean really, hadn't the bouncer seen Dr Doolittle AND he was wearing sunglasses at night, twat.)

When we eventually got in I was accosted by a man who was so drunk he could hardly focus on my tits.  He grabbed my arm, pushed it and me up against a pillar and proceeded to read me a pick-up line.....from his cellphone!  What romance in today's digital age.  He was probably an out of work actor sick of learning all those lines that never got him anywhere.

I saw another wildly romantic man in Canada's famed West Edmonton Mall who was wearing a T-Shirt that said: "I may not be Mr Right....BUT I'll FUCK you till he comes along."  Wow, I want me one of him.  I wonder too how often that works out for him as well.  Woman throwing themselves at him saying: "Alright I'm desperate, let's fuck."

Yes well.

BUT the man who takes the cake, muffin and pikelet was the one I encountered in beautiful Vancouver.  A man I met while I was .... asleep.  Yes having imbibed a little too much Fanta I decided my friend's couch was the perfect place to pass out after a bowl of All Bran at 3am.  

So I did. 

The next thing you know I am being awoken ........... by someone kissing me.  Nothing like been woken up by the gentle lapping of a strangers tongue in your mouth to make you feel sexy.  I blinked up at this person WHO I HAD NEVER MET IN MY LIFE and asked him what he was doing.  He replied; "Can I kiss you again?" to which I said, as any self-respecting girl would, "Ok".  SO he did, and then it began to dawn on me that this was a little, um how to say it.... um WRONG.

He pulled back and said those words every girl dreams of; "Uh sorry I'm just really really horny." To which I replied "Ewwwwwwww" and ran off and got into bed with my mate for a night of platonic hugging.

CAN YOU FREAKIN BELIEVE THAT!?!?!

I guess he had trawled the bars and supermarkets all night and found no drink he could spike so came home and was beside himself with joy as there was a girl on his couch, and he didn't even need to waste a Rufie.  I mean if I'm asleep I can't scream right and If "No means no" then I guess "No no, means yes!".  I just wish I'd bitten off his tongue, which actually would have helped with my munchies too.

ANYWAYS I am back in NZ and will soon be trawling bars and supermarkets myself looking for a NZ man who doesn't pack a wad of Rohypnol next to his condom from 1995 in his wallet.  Till then I have Winston Peters to keep me sexually satisfied and highly amused.

Oh dear, I think I just made myself ever so slightly sick in my mouth.

Toodles.

The only person who kisses me when I'm awake.  Victoria Fringe Festival Dressing Room!

I am thinking maybe I should change the name of this to slobspot.com, so has been my absolute lack of blogging.  I have a reasonably good excuse, what with 2 months of 6 nights a week performing in Australia and now again preparing for my Canadian World Domination Tour Version 2.0.  

But really I'm just shit.

So why start up again?  Why defibrillate the dead carcass like Abby Lockhart, why stir the limpid pink dribblings back to vivid hot life, why inject adrenalin straight into the stone cold heart?

Well why not really.

Where else to get I get to use such stupid over-exaggerated language and blather on about things unaware if anyone is even reading.  Where else do I get to assert my opinions like someone gives a toss and where else do I get to constantly say VOTE LABOUR in an election year.

Here.

VOTE LABOUR.

So there.

Uhhhh OK so now I guess I have to say something.

MMMmmmm.

Ummmmmm.

I already said VOTE LABOUR huh?

OK so yeah I'll be back when I think of something, in the meantime.... a poem:

There once was a woman so drunk

All others she met where soon sunk

As the alcohol vapours

Her skin emanated

Where like drinking straight gin from a sump.

That's a tribute to my last few weekends, final night of the Comedy Festival followed by the Final Night of the Auckland Writer's and Reader's Festival culminated in a sore Liver for me. 

I don't think I did anything untoward, but one night I did wake up half naked in my bed .... upside down.  I was thankfully alone and not with a fully naked midget...... (Don't pretend it hasn't happened to you.) 

Bis spater.

Due to unscheduled engineering works we at Air NZ would like to inform you that we are fucking up your day indefinitely.  We know that you got up at 4.45am for a 7.50 am flight but we are taking sadistic pleasure in informing you that it won't leave now til 10am.

This is particularly enjoyable for us as we are aware that you will then land in Melbourne 10 minutes before your scheduled flight to Adelaide and there's no shit show in hell you'll make that.  We suggest you ring Virgin Blue and spend 10 minutes on the phone at a cost of $36 NZ as the man didn't think to inform you that there was an 0800 number from NZ, we hope he'll then try and make you pay an additional $100 to change your flight even though when you ring back and talk to a woman you'll discover you don't have to and needn't have talked to him for 10 minutes at all.

Oh and have a nice day.

I fucking hate people.

HOT PINK BITS RIDES AGAIN!

ADELAIDE FRINGE FESTIVAL – Pastry Bakery – The Old Balfours Pie Factory,  Elizabeth St
Feb 22nd – March 16th (No Mondays) 10.30pm  $22 / $18 ($10 Previews Feb 22nd and 23rd and $15 Sunday Nights)
Bookings at Fringe Tix: www.adelaidefringe.com.au or 08 8418 8666

MELBOURNE COMEDY FESTIVAL – Comedy @ Trades – The Quilt Room – Corner Lygon and Victoria St
March 19th – April 13th $22 / $18 (No Mondays) 9.15pm ($10 Previews March 19th and 20th)
Bookings:   https://www.comedyattrades.com.au/ or (03 9659 3569 Noon - 6pm Tuesday – Sunday)

Well that earlier Dec 2nd wee post is somewhat embarrassing when one is confronted with the reality of ones drinking. For a start one starts speaking like a twat using 'one' all the time as if 'one' was someone else.

So I'll dispense of that now, here's some poetry:

For the holiday season next year
I think I'll just save time
Fill a drip and IV with Festive Cheer
And shoot it up mainline

And another malaise of this season goes like this:

It’s official there is no god
If there was a benevolent one
One who watched over us and secured our peace of mind
One who protected us from the daily dealings with the devil
Then at no time would any woman
Ever have to go
Swimsuit shopping

Yes well, I do need a new swimsuit and believe I found one online. When you are blessed, as I am, with Kate Mosses missing bits from her breasts, finding a swimsuit that doesn't make you look like you're polishing your knees with your mammaries is difficult. All the charming, dainty fabulous costumes are wildly unsuitable unless you simply don't care that your areola pokes out the side.

Therefore Bravissimo.co.uk is an hourglass' 20/20 sight perfect shop. And I highly recommend it.

Christmas and NY's were lovely thanks for asking. Christmas was spent with a great family up the Sky Tower, gorging on a buffet and ripping the heads off prawns which is something I have discovered I don't like at all. I don't like having to prepare my own food in a restaurant, I mean the next thing they'll be asking me to fillet some steak and slaughter a Hummus. Honestly.

NY was spent luxuriating in frankly gorgeous weather on the Coromandel at Whitianga and various beaches surrounding. Matarangi was truly stunning, and not only for being the beach that killed Nicky Watson's dog. Poor wee Cricket, but his demise got more media coverage than Benazir A Buto's so enough of him.

NY's itself was spent pogo-ing at Mickeys The Irish Bar at the School Disco. Yep it was all 70's and 80's so we shook our groovethings, were dancing queens (literally) found our Sweet Dreams and Thrilled the locals. I think the younguns were a bit scared of the crazed townies fuelled by Turbo Shandies which are Becks and a Smirnoff Ice in a pint glass. Sounds hideous, tastes just like lemonade and makes you dance like crazy bitches. Sweet.

Back to the real world now of preparing for the Adelaide Fringe and the Melbourne Comedy Festival. Buuuuut I just might make it to the Coromandel one more time before I go.

Here's paradise............
















Matarangi