DRY S-P-E-L-L

If you have had the pleasure/nightmare of being in my presence for the past year you will have been informed of the abhorrent and embarrassing number of months for which I have been abstinent. Apparently this happens to a lot of people. But I feel like thats what people say to you to make you feel as though you aren't some sort of sexual loser who runs around parks with their phones out catching fictional Japanese animals (topical).

I know out there somewhere that there are people like me, chewing their nails and lowering their standards by the second, so I thought I would share some things I've learnt on how to get through a drought reminiscent of the 1994 bushfires which will always play a large part of my childhood because my sassy parents gave me an actual cabbage that Christmas instead of a cabbage patch doll and that stays behind my minds like a 'Nam style flashback.

1. Don't shout out in IKEA that you are "involuntarily celibate" on a Saturday morning only to have all the husbands within earshot white knuckled clutching their yellow pencils and paper measuring tape look at you knowingly. Not only will you feel like a cunt to the kids in the room who don't need your shit, but it will make that $1 hot dog extra hard to fellate after you've made it through the beast of a check out line with the look of shame splayed across your pathetic face.

2. When you go out into social situations make sure to place a rubber band on your wrist to flick each time you want to bring it up. I find that I bring it up too much and yet I can't stop myself. Not only is it a way of laughing through the tears, but its also increasingly uncomfortable for my friends who revel in sweaty morning breath sex while I am sitting here sucking on a Butter Menthol in my undies typing this inane shite.

3. At the very least, try and compile a set list of songs that you can listen to and think of a much grander time when you were fucking absolute losers that you met over Tinder. While doing this, think of the last time you saw some action which involved a man lying face down on your bed completely naked with his finger in his mouth. As your face twists much like all the D-grade actors in The Ring who got fucked up by the little girl with the long hair, perhaps be thankful that a male version of Lena Dunham isn't wrapped up in the sheets you stole from your childhood home last time you were there eating BBQ pineapple.

4. Don't say things like "I would die to give a BJ" after a few wines. It makes everyone feel really weird especially when you say it with a Lord Gladstone burger hanging out of your mouth while simultaneously holding eye contact with a male co-worker. This is a low point. You definitely wouldn't die to do it, but you would probably supervise a day at an abattoir or the like. At the very least you would know where your burgers are coming from.

5. Quit hitting on hospitality workers. I know I reference this a lot, but jesus christ the sheer scale of bartenders who have been eye molested by me in the past year or so is disgraceful. There is just something about someone shaking your cocktail and probably the 45 beers you've had prior to rationalising that you can afford a cocktail which allows this to happen. Don't "throw shapes" at your local barista either. It is the fucking morning. You have no excuse except for watching hours of The X Files the previous night which we all know doesn't help anyone. Bloody Duchovny.

6. Don't contemplate going to Pokemon Go outings just to see if you can get some ass because statistically they would also be in the same boat as you.

7. Don't write to people on Tinder "Wanna fuq?" no matter how much you want to. Also, don't long for a dick so you can send it in a pic. I kind of get it now.

8. You may start having sex dreams about the weirdest people. Some homeless dude you saw get on a bus, your gay best friends, the guys behind Baseketball and South Park (to be fair that is a recurring one and Im not mad about it), a bottle of Aesop hand wash, some criminal you saw on a Louis Theroux documentary, Ed Sheeran, David Miscavige the leader of Scientology, the smoke stacks in Sydney Park that I can see from my bedroom balcony, a bottle of Yellowglen etc.

69. Don't stand in your yard with a milkshake crying.

10. Go to TOWN on yourself. After all, no one will love you the way you love yourself. Throw on some Chet Faker or Alanis Morissette- whatever your flavour might be. Personally, I can see the benefits of a bit of Craig David from time to time and let loose. I mean, what the fuck else are you going to do? Light a candle and enjoy that 3 minutes and 25 seconds like its the last on earth.

Remember that maybe one day:

LEVELS OF SINGLEDOM

As the wise ranga, Ronan Keating once said, "Life is a rollercoaster, just gotta ride it". Well thats all well and good for someone featured on the Notting Hill soundtrack, but for others, namely single folk it takes a rather nasty turn on the uphill slope and sooner than you know, you are careening downward into a gin and tonic fuelled shame spiral accompanied by Netflix binges and ordering $45 worth of Chinese food because Menulog is a dirty thief and you are fat, alone and fucking hungry.

After wafting through the delicate and ugg boot filled fields of a relationship, you become thrust into the stark light of single day and dear god, you do not look pretty. There are definite levels of singledom that we undesirables go through, and I am here to spell them out for you in horrendous glory.

STRAIGHT OUTTA COMPTON

You have broken up with your love and you are feeling bruised, battered and a little bit horny. Grief does that to people, just watch any primetime drama featuring Sigrid Thornton or the like. As a way to ease your pain, you hit the town in nothing but your kitten heels and smile on your stupid fucking face. ANYONE will be yours tonight. You hit Tinder so hard that your little thumb begins to crack the bottom half of your phone and take on whoever and whatever. Even Toby the 35 year old tradesman with reflector wrap around speed dealers and a southern cross tattoo can have a go.

You fuck losers with small dicks who have gel in their hair and they treat you like shit and you STILL want them to call you the next day so they can talk shit about how they got a flaccid promotion and how the chick at work who get her ass pinched by them is a lesbian. The dudes you fuck after your last relationship are fucking putrid and for some reason make the rejection even worse. Probably because they sleep in a king single and they talk shit to you about how amazing they are in bed only that when they go down on you they act like they are yelling the chant of their swimming carnival house. For shame.

FUCK OFF

Usually after this slew of dickheads you are feeling a little bit raw and jaded. Can't blame ya. You contemplate becoming a nun or a priest, you wonder if you can actually become a virgin again, when lets face it girl, your pussy is done. You wonder if Tinder was constructed by the devil, and therefore each time you go on some shat date that the dark underlord reaches into your soul and rips a part out to sprinkle over his fettuccine carbonara like that pre packaged rancid parmesan you get at Coles. You will be spending a shit load of time at Coles.

After many weeks of sighing and furious masturbating to Chet Faker, you finally decide to let another prick tease take you out on a watered down date only to have a measly excuse for a human being wearing a cut off denim vest insult you by calling you "unarousing". You don't know how you got here. You don't know how to get out. You go home, eat a quarter pounder, and don't make anything any better for yourself. If you aren't able to arouse a stiffy out of your male counterpart, then what fucking good are you woman? You might as well be a fucking kitchen house appliance and cook the man some fucking toast with your udder tits and big mouth.

GOLD JACKET, GREEN JACKET- WHO GIVES A SHIT?

You have now reached pinnacle single. You have come into the golden era my friend. You walk triumphantly from the shops holding a 24 pack of toilet paper, winking at the bearded gentlemen who are just trying to eat their labne coated eggs in peace. You no longer give a flying fuck about the title that is "single". Your self esteem grows like a silent STD, festering until you are glowing behind those eternally hungover eyeballs.

Fridays were once spent tying cherry stems at bars with bewildered bartenders silently calling security over, and now they are solely reserved for dancing around in your undies while simultaneously eating warhead spray and getting high off your own supply. Instead of feeling rejected, you feel sympathy for the men you have left behind and start off on your own path of discovering how to make the most perfectly timed popcorn bag as you sit down and reminisce on that time when you used to give a shit. 

NOW GO FORTH AND DRINK BEERS IN THE SHOWER AS NATURE AND GOD INTENDED

Disclaimer: These levels do fluctuate and repeat constantly until the fucking end of time.

NIKITA KARMEN 'OUT OF THE PARK'

If you're looking for a sweet pocket of sunshine to brighten up this otherwise dreary Winter month, then look no further than the new wave of country music coming out of Sydney.

Nikita Karmen has taken Nashville by the neck and just seems to be rising higher and higher in the girl-next-door who will break your heart and write about it stakes. She has recently released her first single 'Out Of The Park' on iTunes, Spotify and the like and it really speaks to those who ready to give up after one too many horrible dates.

Dedicated to her twin sister, the tune is soulful yet sweet. Laden with punchy pop riffs, a warm twang rings out underneath the top notch production and her fun lyrics shine as the star.

She isn't just one to watch, you won't have a choice very soon, when her music takes over the airwaves, but most of all, thaws even the most frosty of hearts.

LISTEN BELOW:

CUT AS.

People always go on about heart break and all that jazz. How you can't get out of bed, and how it hurts to even begin to order your cronut at the local bakery. How you dream about that person over and over again until you buy yourself some dreamcatcher off Ebay and have it flown express from Nimbin straight to your door. But not many people chat about what its like to be just cut. 

You haven't had your heart broken, but you can definitely feel somewhat rattled by catching feelings like a fucking idiot. Being cut doesn't extend to those who had a dalliance with someone either. You could be cut because you got to Medicare a couple of minutes late, or maybe you stubbed your toe, or maybe you're cut because you texted someone at 3am and have never received a response back, or you could be at a cafe and all of your mates ordered something incredible and you got stuck with yoghurt and muesli because you read the health section of the Sunday paper and regretted it immediately. Everyone gets cut, i think at least each week of their lives, and there needs to be a definitive guide in how to deal with feeling like shit but not to the point where you'll care in a couple of days.

1. Start smoking. Hell, theres no better way than to have an existential moment and contemplate your life while listening to 'Regulate' than with a smooth rillo in your hand. You can assess your life while simultaneously ending it at the same time! Two birds, one stone and all that. Start asking strangers for a light as if you're some sort of 1986 video vixen and begin talking about how VHS will eventually make a comeback in an old timey accent until you are asked to the leave the premises by a security guard. Hit on said security guard and then go the fuck home.

2. Start exercising. But do all those stupid niche trendy classes that come and go like thunderstorms in Sydney. Tell anyone who will listen about your dancing in the dark class, or how you spent the last half an hour in gym tights balancing on bollards down The Rocks while some dude who actually looks like a human shit screamed at you to FEEL DA BURN. Or maybe you could start your own class where you gather all of the council pick up rubbish and run over it on a motorised scooter. I heard thats great for the core. Make sure you mention this to all of your friends who are stinging to get away from you as you smell like pilates mats and old hair.

3. Get drunk. Get drunk everywhere and make sure that at least one person sees your undies per evening on the tins. Whether it be a cheeky slip of the jeans while making eye contact with a 78 year old across the local RSL, or if you actually go A over T while trying to create good karma for yourself by picking up the 5 cents that someone dropped in the line for fuel at the local Caltex. You haven't driven to the Caltex as you will be drunk, you've just walked there to get a family sized packet of M and Ms which you can eat naked in your bed in around 15 minutes while spooning your laptop and wanking to old episodes you've downloaded of The Secret Life Of Us.

4. Take a Thai food cooking class because why not just make shit worse for yourself? If you are the self destructive type, then I suggest the following:

- Thai cooking class.

- Download Tinder

- Tell your nan to fuck off.

- Order a Nicoise Salad at the pub on schnitzel night.

- See a dog and don't pat it.

- Corner a stranger at the pub and lecture them on The Doors.

- Drink Sambucca.

- Listen to Jewel.

- Write slam poetry and actually perform it somewhere in Zetland on a Tuesday night in front of actual people.

- Start wearing your swimmers as underwear and tell people about it with a sad look on your face.

- Cook a cheesecake and bring it into work to share with everyone, and then when people give you a piece say "Nah, im watching my figure".

- Cough a bit for a day and then Web MD it.

- Talk to your friends about taking down and putting up your Christmas tree.

- Masturbate to Justin Bieber.

- Watch the new Point Break.

- Write Yelp reviews.

- Buy a packet of scotch fingers and then throw it to pigeons.

5. Once you've come out of the initial shock of stubbing your toe etc, you will realise that you're no longer cut, you're a bit of alright. Once this has set in, you my friend have begun the healing process and its time to rip that band aid off. Hit up a club night that you used to go to when you were 20, demand free entry to the 19 year old door bitch and then once you're in there take a pill like you used to, dance like no one is watching, and then begin the process all over again the following day as you have just cut your own self and you now know that life is just a giant spinning wheel of bullshit of your own making.

CHIX IN SYDNEY

Im known for misinformed judgements, and this will be no different. A little while ago I made some comments about the men who frequent the harbourside city of Sydney and now its the girls turn. What you may not know is that I am indeed a woman who resides in the luxurious city of Sydney and in my travels I have met many a man and woman who fall into certain categories. I do love me some categories, so here goes.

CLEAN CHIX

So you will definitely know at least one of these girls. They drink their kale juices, and buy their Lorna Jane, and run their Bondi to Bronte but what they also do is take pingaz from Friday-Sunday. Their insatiable appetite for house music and railing off of a toilet bowl at The Bucket List will always top their need for overpriced pilates and rating dudes on Tinder according to their radius to Chris Brown aka The Bondi Vet. They usually reside somewhere east, but would go to Frankie's after work on a Friday to keep up with what the kewl people do. Fuck you if you think they are going to order some pizza though. They are gluten and skateboard intolerant and will not speak to you if you don't have the latest Free Runs in your closet. They love fluro but only on their feet, and almost definitely have some sort of skin care idea in their pipeline. #cleaneating is their mantra, however if you need a dealer at 4am, this chick is your girl. Fuck they froth on acai.

NEWTOWN CHIX

The complete opposite of the Clean Chix. They have the beginning stages of emphysema but know the cousin of the dog's uncles bassist of the band who played at the Lansdowne last year. They can direct you to the best prosciutto in the city, while if you fucking think they are going to shuffle their Doc Martens anywhere past Waterloo then you my friend are sorely mistaken. They date absolute fuckwits who they think they can change, but really he just wants a bed spread from Urban Outfitters to cover his skinny legs before he has to get up and bump in the latest mini festival at a bowling club. They refuse to play by the rules, sneaking Beach Burrito into the Enmore for a Courtney Love show (true story) while finding it hard to leave the warm and sweaty embrace of Clem's chicken shop on King Street. Their air of mystery is always lost somewhere into the third hour at The Courthouse as they fall gracefully down the stairs into a full ashtray and think to themselves "I am home".

CBD CHIX

You know the type. They are breaking balls and cracking through that glass ceiling all day while at night will be tripping over their patent nude heels in a pencil skirt while ordering a mojito at Barrio Cellar. They trot through the city in the morning with hope in their hearts and John Mayer through their headphones, while hoping that their ass doesn't get pinched by some yuppie on their way through Wynyard station. They are immune to the beauty of Circular Quay as they have been coerced into attending WAY too many Vivid Festivals that they now have to wear glasses in order to not be colourblind. They know the bouncer at The Glenmore and can get you a free shot at Opera Bar with one flick of their security pass. They wear shimmer tights but don't let the glittery limbs of this chick fool you, she will fucking ruin you if you try and get in her way...at the crossing on George Street. Each morning she should be holding the fucking Olympic torch for she can out run Cathy Freeman with the speediness in her trot and a spirit that can't be broken by the money on her Opal card stalling.

NORTH SHORE CHIX

So this has turned into a bit of a blight on suburbs. Soz. Oh fuck me. They are always embroiled in some sort of Hens night situation. You will find them on Oxford Street complaining about how Shark Bar in Manly was a way better option and thats where they would be if their boyfriend of 12 years would finally propose. Nah, but its coming hey. Im sure of it, we spoke about it in 2009 and he said he was not really into it, but boys are just scared! On the aforementioned street, they will be yelling things such as "EW!" to humble passers by who just happen to be sick in the street. Its not that big of a deal. Their dad knows the police commissioner so don't even think you can upstream her in a cab line. She mourns the closing down of Hugo's everyday by lighting a salted caramel candle and rubbing Aesop products on her bikini line. You think you know her, but you never will. Just look up her fashion blog if you want to get a better idea though.

CHIX WHO CAN HANG

They are always the one at the bar buying the first round of VBs. She is ushering in the group of LADS who are stinging to get to Porkys so they can throw their wads of fives around while trying to think of an excuse to tell their mums the next day as Macca tagged them there when he was in the toilet. Fuck you Macca! She doesn't get along with other girls, she tells fucking everyone this. She knows the latest deals on at Lowes (so do I to be fair) she doesn't give a shit about calling you a cunt in front of your grandmother. She calls all her mates cunts, its a term of endearment, fucking Buzzfeed told me so!  She posts quotes on Instagram because she wants to reveal her true feelings, but hates feminists with a fiery passion as they are just man haters and she loves her bros because they will beat the shit out of anyone who orders a hot dog from the servo before her.

Lets be honest but, if you ever have the pleasure of having a vagina in your face count your fucking lucky stars as all women are beautiful, mystical creatures who will steal your heart and your wallet if you're not careful.