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

A slightly Angry Reaction to a News Story

Lashings of Bullshit

Today in breaking news a man in Saudi Arabia has been sentenced to 200 lashes
For daring to be seen with a woman who was not his wife
And so was set upon by a marauding group of she extremists with a knife
And forced to perform indecencies, as the woman had become frenzied at the sight of his uncovered knees
It was stated in court that he was asking for all he got, that women can’t be expected to be uninfected by their primal urges, that their deity made them that way and their carnal surges are a result of man’s original sin, because when Adam bit the apple, he got a taste for skin, and his whole existence became consumed by tempting.
When the man appealed, that he was the victim in this case, the judge in her wisdom decided that this disgraceful behaviour shall be made respectable, by the removal of the man’s penis and testicles.
That the “operation” shall be conducted by an elderly man with a rusty tin can, that at its completion there will be a small opening where urine can escape, and that if he ever managed to be married and find a mate, his wife and master shall rip it open at her discretion and he shall take it and be thankful because of his transgressions
When Amnesty International appealed for sanctions to be utilised
To try to stop brutality against men in everyday life
The superpowerful women were in fits, entered free trade agreements and awarded Saudi the Olympics
They then winked at their boy secretaries
Told them to wear tighter trousers to show of their knees
Ordered their husbands a nice bunch of daisies
Then headed down to Sexy Love you Longtime Ladies
For lapdances with solo dads trying to feed his babies
Coz their Mum buggered off to sew her wild oats
Left him stranded and pregnant, battered and broke
And convinced he’s worth nothing just a stupid dumb bloke
Then the superpowerful went back to work the next day
And illegalised Abortion, sodomy and foreplay
And homos and dildos and buttplugs and bi’s
Because their deity told them to despise
Difference
But they congratulated themselves that they were superior to the Arabs since
They never sentenced people to lashes
Just slaughtered thousands in black gold-digging clashes
SO the boys were pinched on their tight little butts, and men were raped because they dared to suggest it wasn’t good enough
That women abdicated control of their bodies
Because they were powerless in the face of hot male totty
And men everywhere suffered and their bodies were sold
And at the Olympics America won 58 golds.

GO and see Complexions Dance Show at the Aotea Centre til Saturday, or whatever town it comes to near you.

It's like totally choice.

And has really hot guys in not much.

And amazing girls in not much either.

Oh and yeah social commentary conveyed through an evocative mix of dance, music and multi-culturalism that tingles the follicles and moulds the mind.

But yeah, hot guys in not much.

Wicked.

 

Some minor poetic musings to pass the time, OK so it's a saturday night, so what!

You are like a pinata

Your insides are in doubt

But I think if I bash you hard enough

Some good stuff might come out.

Thank you, thank you.

On watching poetry at the Edinburgh Festival

I find it's the short ones I often like best of all.

And then ...

There once in the City of Sails

Was a lack of all adequate males

So to ease the drought

The women went out

And boosted all battery sales

Mary Mary Quite Contrary How Does Your Garden Grow?

She replies:

As the name suggests,  fuck off.

OK that's enough I think.

Tonight's poetic musings have been brought to you by the numbers 6 and 9 and the letters r.e.d. w.i.n.e.

Choice bro,

OH and one more thing, I was watching two episodes back to back of Californication on sunday, which is apt as everyone in it is generally on their back, or doggie, or being fellated or considering vaginal rejuvenation surgery, and I got really annoyed.

Yes yes yes it's all very funny, but why oh why do they have to try so hard.  I laughed when David Duchovney's (admittedly still incredibly hot) character asked someone if he wanted to be cock punched, oh ho ho, punched....in the cock....hehehehe, but was perplexed when another man was asked if he wanted to be dick punched in the same episode.  Uhhh you already used that joke.

Also AS PER USUAL all the women in the show are naked and jiggling their pert titties, or writhing around on top of Duchovney, whereas he always remained covered up.  Admittedly when he covered his man gristle with a priceless painting that he'd just puked on I gave them points for original loin cloth, but nonetheless it's always the chicks with the skin out.

So far so normal, but what really got to me was when Dave's character mused with despair on why all of Hollywood's women are hell bent on trying to destroy themselves with botox and plastic surgery as if he was some sort of wise benevolent feminist sage.  HHHmmmm I wonder why, maybe so they can get a part on his skinflick show coz there aint no blubber bound pig dogs bouncing on his cock before it gets punched that's for sure.

Wow, anger Penelope.

Sorry Mum.  Better now.

ANYWAYS, and then when the woman who got fired got her job back by playing the porn princess with the Jewish ugly dude from Sex in the City I got sooooo angry I just about turned it off!  

BUUUUT I didn't, I mean Duchovney is just so damned hot!  What.... I'm objectifying him now you say?  Well I never said I was consistent and it's my matriarchal right to objectify a specimen who has subjugated us as a collective voice since time immemorial.  

Or something like that anyways, oooh gotta go, time for episode four, I wonder if he'll Knob Numchuka someone?

Oh my word what you must think of me!   Lackadaisical to say the very least but I promise I have a good excuse.

Well good-ish.

Yes you see I have been convincing myself it would be wrong and wasteful for me to pick up this piece of pretty silver bullshit called a MacBook Pro and biff it out the window to be smashed to smithereens under a passing Range Rover's oversized tyres so that all it's irritating smugness won't amount to a hill of pixels in this crazy PC world.

What, me, having issues switching codes?  

Never.

Ahem, yes.

I freely admit that after roughly ten years of getting under the covers with Bill and the rest of the PC Gang I am pretty down with their way of doing things.  I can twiddle with smtp's, establish flat wireless networks, install patches to rectify glitches and find just the porn I'm looking for pretty adroitly on my XP laptop.  I was reasonably happy with the state of the relationship, sure Bill could lift some weights and do something about his style of glasses, and to be sure sometimes I was worried about what I was catching off the general viral public, but for the most part it all worked for me.

But then I succumbed to the hype that is APPLE, personified by the slightly geeky funny guy on those condescending ads.  

My sister teaches IT in schools and goes on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on .... about how "amazing" macs are, how "intuitive" macs are, how "sexy" macs are (it's a laptop for fuck's sake) so I figured there must be something in that so I took the plunge.  

Yes well.

I'm sure it may be all of those things but all I am currently is well f****d off with this muthaf***ing piece of s**t.  Apparently as a PC user who knows quite a lot I will get even more annoyed than most converts as I have to "unlearn" so much and "learn" some more.  It's a steep curve to be sure to find out fonts don't work that you've become attached to, half of your music are .wma files that won't work, DVD playing can be problematic and as for importing contacts from Outlook, well, you'd have a better chance of getting Victoria Beckham to swallow.......food that is.  

Yes I know there are solutions to all this that I am currently downloading, converting or stabbing, but it still annoys me.

I had a session today with another Mac Zealot and he showed me some very cool stuff absolutely, and I am looking forward to getting down to graphics and Garageband and stuff but tonight I'm throwing my toys out the cot and saying "It's not FAAAAAIIIIIIRRRRRRRRRRR".  

BUT I guess unlike John Howard I still have a seat in my house to try and sort it all out from and unlike Victoria Beckham I have a bum to sit on and so here I am now at 12.30am navigating through the mire that is MAC waiting to see the light.  

Well I can see lots of lights under the keyboard, they're pretty, and I can always take a picture of me kissing myself on the photo booth, and I can chat on skype using the inbuilt microphone under the speakers, and I can marvel at the intuitive nature of this sexy machine whilst I navigate it to www.bangamidget.com -  Nice.

 

A Little Celebration of all Things Nearly Summer.....

Jet Planes

I love London, the West End, Leicester Square
Covent Garden, luke warm beer
Prostitutes’ postcard’s in telephone boxes
“It’s my blaaaardy right to tewwwworise foxes”
Culture oozing from foot-worn stones
Westminster Abbey packed with famous bones
Page Three buxom bimbo bints
The Thames twinkling with effluent
Strobe lights pumping drum n bass
Diamond geezers, rain for days
The Sun Screams “Prince Willy’s Orgy with Aunty Anne”
The Guardian “Vegan Gay Whales Saved Again!”
The Tate, the National the V&A
Trafalgar, Regent’s, Kew, St James
New Look, Top Shop, Dorothy Perkins
Lloyd Webber, Les Mis, a bloody great gherkin
BBC, Top of the Pops, ITV
Posh n Becks, kinky Sex with Tory MP
Millennia Domes of culture ……just waiting there
But you know what, right now, I just don’t care
Coz it’s the first warm nearly summer’s day
And London’s half a world away
From my grassy knoll on Point Chev Beach
Clean(ish) salt water drying off my feet
Sucking on the season’s first Pineapple Fruju
As toddlers in Gumboots toddle in the nude
Ozone's hole plugged by Pohutakawa
Wishing I’d worn my jandals, as I gaze out on the harbour
Munching on milk bottles and jet planes
Smiling in the light breeze, coz it’s nearly summer again.

More Snaps to Come When Blogger Stops Skitzing - PS the way photos go up on here drives me MENTAL!














Hurricane Kevin Enjoys a Magharita

Daddy in Cancun

Backpacking Glamour, Mine was the Top Bunk

Isla Mujeres Clings to Its Palm Trees After Two Hurricanes

Tulum Ruins and the Carribean

Hahahahahaha

Well well well all good tours must come to an end, and as I sit in my cousin's guest room on a beautiful LA morning (are there any other) I can't believe four months has flown by so fast.

In 14 hours or so I fly back to the Land of the Long White Cloud and I can't wait to clap eyes on my tired Mitsubishi Galant, my gorgeous red bedroom and all my fabulous friends. I've loved being away but packing and unpacking 34 times in 120 days can take a toll on a girl's nail polish.

In that time I've visited 17 cities from Saskatoon to Cancun, taken ten flights (must buy some carbon credits), performed my show 36 times and drunk more beer than Homer Simpson at a work function.

I've already waxed hysterical on my performance tour, but as I was far too busy sucking back pina coladas and eating chocolate chicken in Mexico, you my three dear readers have remained in the dark about my travels like a mariachi with a too big sombrero, so let's start at the very principo.

I landed in Mexico City a month ago and then promptly failed to meet my Youth Hostels shuttle as I was standing at the wrong bank. In my defence TWO separate people told me I was in the right place so I choose to believe they were retarded and not me.

Mexico City is very cool, it has 20 million people and 40 million statues of Jesus for sale on the street. (Sidebar, in Mexico Jesus is in a lot more agony than other ones I've seen. His crucifixes are dripping in blood and gashes unlike our nicely sanitised ones which makes death by being nailed to a stake as irksome as a wee thorn in the side.)

It also has fine museums, nice parks, thankfully non-rabid stray dogs and men who rip you off when you go punting on the river. Luckily they also have women who float along in weeny boats next to you selling you Coronas on the river so my annoyance was nicely dulled. All in all I had a lovely time there and was bought beer by a group of International Earthquake Specialists who I managed not to ask; "Did the earth move for you," remarkable restraint I think.

From there I bussed off to Oaxaca, a gorgeous Colonial town where I partied hardy at a great Youth Hostel and where I met my travelling husband John. We were to see each other on again off again for three weeks thereby outlasting many Hollywood Marriages.

My next stop was Zipolite but not before a harrowing five hour bus ride on winding roads and overtaking on blind corners with a general cunt of a driver. I believe he has a bet on how many people he can make throw up on an average ride and I fear I was a statistic.

SIDEBAR - In Mexico you do not put the toilet paper down the toilet, oh no, instead you place it in a small bin next to the toilet. As such I anticipated that many toilets would make Quentin Tarantino's language seem clean. BUT I was generally pleasantly surprised at the state of hygiene in MOST situations. However when I tottered out of this bus looking for the Banos in a small cafe on top of a mountain my luck ran out. It was the bathroom equivalent of a teenagers bedroom, disgusting, smelly and with a thick layer of pubes. There was no way I was going to throw up in that toilet as the splash back would have been such a mixture of dysentery, herpes and cystitis that i would have been quarantined from NZ. So I did what any good Kiwi girl would do and barfed in the bushes. All fucking class me mate.

ANYWAY Zipolite was very relaxed EXCEPT the water was trying to kill me, the current in the water was pulling me so hard I should have sold admission for men to take a dip. What I did instead was some judicious swimming and hallelujah I was finally chilling on a beach. This was helped by the fact that a Chicken sandwich and a beer cost a mere $2.50 US. Choice.

Next stop was San Cristobal de las Casas, another gorgeous Colonial town where I go to know the afore-mentioned Nicaraguan Percussionist, and let's just say "He Banged". I also found some lovely jewellery there, ate a Greek meal in a Thai Restaurant, watched a didgeridoo and climbed two sets of stairs because they were there. Edmund Hilary would be proud, there was no other reason to climb them as the view from the top was shit. I also visited a Mayan Medicine Museum here and must remember to suggest using Black Spider Fangs to help my next boyfriend if he has swollen testicles. MMMMmmm.

After San Cristobal I ventured off to the fabulous Palenque ruins and the happeningist hippy place to stay - El Panchan, which is a groovy little cluster of places to stay just outside of town. I laid my hat in an establishment called The Jungle Palace and I loved it. I had a hut with only thick mesh for walls and a little stream tinkling behind it. It was a truly relaxing place to stay with cheap massages, cheap beers and cheap boys. (OK there weren't any of the latter but I was hoping.) It also had Howler Monkeys outside my window at 5am, THOUGH they should actually be called "Wake you up in a panic with their strangled screaming followed by weird guttural grunts" monkeys, and I'm glad I'd been warned about them first because if I'd just heard that out of the blue I may well have lost my refried beans in my pants. BUT apart from mental wildlife and spiders the size of my face living in the pooey paper basket by the toilet, I had a great time. Oh and yeah the ruins were fab too.

From there it was off to Tulum, the most beautiful Beach in Mexico that I saw ANNNND the most expensive. A diet Coke for $2.50 US??? Like fuck, I lasted here two days then headed to Isla Mujeres.

Isla was a special place for two friends of mine as they met there and are now married. I therefore slapped on my best Husband Luring outfit and camped out in the common room 24/7. Ahhhahahahah as if I'm that desperate to be married..........yes well, I did instead drink COPIOUS amounts of beer and cocktails there, and danced til 3 and 4am etc... for five nights and loved it. I made some lovely friends and then had to tear myself away to go and pick up my Dad.

Yes that's right Dad.

You see my mother was away finding herself in South America so my Dad decided, hey, why don't I go and bother my daughter on her Mexican Shag Fest. Luckily the Shag Fest was having as much success as Britney Spears in the Mother of the Year Competition so it wasn't too much of an imposition.

We then hung out for a week travelling to Merida, (fantastic outdoor weekend partying), Chichen Itza (Huge ruins where it pissed down with rain and Dad knocked a pile of T-Shirts into the Mud in a shop then ran away), Valladolid (another cute colonial town with underground caves where you swim in Bat crap as they twitter overhead), Playa Del Carmen (Nasty touristy place with a nice beach) and Cancun (where he had to continually say that I was NOT his second wife!).

I had a nice time bonding with Pops and needless to say my standard of accommodation improved drastically. "WHAT, bathroom in my room you say....air-conditioning you say...over $25US you say....I can flush my pooey paper you say....No WE ARE NOT married I say...." etc.. etc...

And so it wound to an end with our final night being a haze of Karaoke, margaritas and sunstroke, a very fitting end to a four month legendary tour I say.

So that's that, I'm coming home and may I say, I can't bloody wait!

Good on ya mates.

Final Sidebar - In Mexico you are constantly harrassed to buy stuff. "Buy my prayer bracelet...buy my beaded necklace...buy my snorkelling trip...buy my pooey paper basket..." etc etc. A lot of people, my father included, got immensely pissed off and frustrated with this BUT I just kept saying "No Gracias". You see I figured that these people earn so much less than me and I'm a bloody poet, so I don't mind them trying to make a peso off me, because they wouldn't be here if the foreigners weren't. We create the industry that so many tourists seem to hate simply by being there, so if you want to luxuriate on a beach and have lunch for $2.50, suck it up I say.

Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.

The All Blacks lose again.

Bugger.

I on the other hand am now in the Carribean.

Hooray for me.

Well I´m a moron.

I am killing time currently in a ciber (sic) cafe in San Cristobel de las Casas as I missed my bus because I had left my passport and Traveller´s Cheques in my hostel´s safe.

Yes, moron.

At least I remembered before getting on the five hour bus ride to the jungle of Pelanque, but yeah dickhead.

I´m having a lovely time in Mexico, though since I have drunk cerveza nearly every single day since July, I am looking forward to hitting the gym when I return.

This is probably the first time I have travelled in a country where not many people at all speak english and it has made for entertaining charades. I have realised I know NADA Spanish and so have pulled faces, held up numerous fingers, asked Donde Esta xyz only to stare blankly when the babbling answer comes back to me with directions, haggled using a dictionary to get numbers and laughed rather a lot. All bueno fun.

I have been in VERY hot to very cold weather, eaten spicy and not so spicy food, drunk mojitos, pina coladas and corona, looked at Mayan Medicine museums, fought the waters of Zipolite that are trying to kill you constantly with its rip tides, chatted to travellers from all over the world and pashed a Nicuraguan Percussionist.

Life is good.

My Dad is arriving in a week. He decided he´d like to come to mexico and here he is determined to take over the Karoke Bars of the Yucutan Peninsula. It might scare off some more percussionists of Latino descent BUT I have a sneaking suspicion he won´t want to sleep in a dorm and might just pay the difference!

Fingers crossed!