Sunday, January 24, 2016


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.


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.


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".


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 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.


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.


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.

No comments:

Post a Comment