ONE HOT AUGUST AFTERNOON.

HANKY PANKY.

Today in class there was a boy who I had already suspected was still dressed by his mummy every morning, who took something out of his pocket, sneezed and used the recepticle for the sneeze.

It was a navy blue hanky.

I looked at him for a moment too long, thinking about who uses hankies that is under the age of 75, only for him to then get out what looked like a strawberry flavoured lip balm and he went nuts applying that bad boy like he was practicing how to kiss girls on it.

Im not having a go at him as a person.
I just couldnt help but be astounded to the use of hankies and lippie so freely as a man?

Im not ragging on lip balm as much as hankies. It was weird.
It was kind of retro in a creepy, this boy might just become a serial killer in the not too distant future kind of way.

I guess its the little things that can make you smile or in this case, shiver that can make a day.

Like the time we saw someone threw a bong on top of a picnic shelter at the Haven, when all the while a nice wholesome family played and ate red rooster chicken sandwiches underneath it, none the wiser.

Or when someone lets a tit slip when you're on the dancefloor, it is a two-fer. It can make me shiver and then I will laugh and thank christ it wasnt me this time.

YOUR MILK IS PAST IT'S USED BY DATE.

IS THE LOOK ON A MAN'S FACE WHEN HE GETS SICK OF FUCKING THE SAME GIRL EVERY NIGHT?

I wish that look had something to do with Ron Burgundy, but I dont think it does.

However, the whole "used by date" theory is so interesting and makes me so curious that I want to put on a long white coat and toy with the idea all night in the St. Joeys science labs with Mrs. Scott.

Ive heard this theory being thrown around as a possible reason as to why things turn to shit so easily.

As in, why a boy will:

1. tune and tune and tune you until you give it up and put it down and then won't talk to you ever again, and if you talk to them they react as if you are the local crazy who has a cat in her mangled hair and as if you are wearing nothing but nipple covers and a pair of tights pulled up under your boobs.

2. Be really into the whole thing at the beginning then get to know who you really are and slowly but surely fuck off, or fuck around (either one)

3. Dump you via text/

email

/pigeon

/jet star employee

/ just not showing up at the airport when you reach your international destination

/by posting a picture of himself making out with another chick on FaceBook

/ posting a YouTube video miming to 'Fuck you right back' by EAMON.

4. Will tell you that "they still love you, but they are just not that in love with you anymore, thats why I fucked your sister. Im sorry babe."

5. Will fuck you in a hotel room and then write you a message detailing why you shouldnt tell anyone ten minutes later.

6. Will cheat on you with any girl that you do know, but the girl isnt quite close enough with you to tell you or their friends arent close enough with you to let you know.

7. Will tell you all about this girl that they are obsessed with, but "man you are just such a good listener MATE."

I think you get the point. Anyway, the REAL point is that this can cause the "used by date" theory to come into practice.

That being, everything is great and wonderful then just like a litre of Lite White, you as a person sour and get clumpy and will give your significant other extreme digestive issues if the relationship is to move forward.

Thereby, the heinous and inhumane workings of the used by date theory progress into how you must expel that dirty milk.

VOMIT THAT BITCH OUT OF YOUR BODY AND OUT OF YOUR SYSTEM!!!

Im just saying...

No one ever thinks what the off milk thought do they? It just lays on the ground, naked and shivering from being so violently projected back into the cold world.

No one cares about the off milk. They step over it and scream expletives at it as if it is the devil's money shot.

The used by date theory is one of extreme proportions that can make the off milk re think who they are, why this happens and if it is even worth putting themselves back in the bottle to be drunk once again.

It does makes for excellent stories once the intial "what the fuck this time." has worn off however.

I guess the real news is, girls get sick of fucking the same boys as well.

I hope Im not off milk, even though I have been made to feel like I am one too many times lately.

Oh well, I guess I just have to start liking boys who are lactose intolerant.

P.S. READ THIS : Soft Green Cream

www.softgreencream.tumblr.com

SOMEONE WHO INSPIRES

/ causes me to admire.

"we took our first pill when the music was shit, I said fuck dancing all night but then that's just what we did, it felt like flooooooooating."

MANSION SONG- KATE NASH.

"I fancy the hip rock and roll scenester

I want to be fucked and then rolled over

Coz I'm an independent woman of the 21st Century

No time for knits, I want sex and debauchery

I read Glamour, and the Guardian

I like flowers & i'm hardy & I take cocaine

I dont give a fuck about her I want your name,

I can get fucked like the best of men, like the best of men

Like the worst of pain

inflicted on another young girl again

impressed by another guitar hero

He's a top score and you're a zero

You're out of your league!

There aint no rubber on the tracks, it's gravel

You fall hard, cut quick and it's an STD, a cut knee

You're a side of stage grasp, a laugh

An aftershow party in a bath

Fucked and expected to BE fucked

A gasp from an uninformed intruder

The crowd go wild and things get ruder,

They're already out of hand

And theres no one here to take your hand,

Its a cold shower

& a scramble for a dirty pair of knickers

Dont get yours, mixed up with hers

Now get out of bed, get out of beg, get out get out get get out of bed,

Get up, get down & get undressed

Coz thats what you do best!

strip, strip, strip & shag

FUCK, get fucked and dragged

and BE IMPRESSED,

by the better sex...

take a piece of raw vegetable and hold it to your breast,

& say you stood for NOTHING

you were just a hole that lacked passion

another undignified product of society,

That girl should have been a mansion."

GUNS AND ROSES.

So i had to sit through the 2 hour gut wrenching spectacle known as the movie 'Valentine's Day' today.

I dont know what I was thinking. Maybe, that it wouldnt be so bad...there are alot of "stars" in it.
But I have learned that if there are alot of celebrities packed into one rom com, then that means the writers/directors/producers want to lull the audience into believing that the script is genius by distracting them with big names.

Live & Learn.

It was one of those movies that you dont want to die after because you feel like you just wasted your life and you want to go out and sky dive or something to make up for the conditioned bullshit you just sat through.

Anyway, enough with handing the movie's ass back to it.

It did have some point that made me think I could write down some thoughts about.
For instance, the emphasis on Valentine's Day and especially flowers.

As I was watching it, I realised how much flowers can improve a situation.

As stupid as that just sounded after i ripped on the movie, I was watching it with a extremely good friend of mine who said:

"God I would love to get some flowers."

to which I immediately agreed. Then we went off in some spiel about how boys just dont realise the power of a flower and how much ass/ love/ out of the dog house benefits it can bring them.

No one gives flowers anymore I think....

Well not to the people who surround me anyway, except for Madeline who got a random bunch of pink roses the other day, "just because...."

See its this kind of shit that makes it a million times harder for boys to score/ get out of trouble, and a million times harder for girls when their expectations are shattered and disappointment is the focal emotion that they possess.

for example.

An anonymous friend of mine said over dinner recently:

"If he just rocked up at my house with a bunch of flowers, I would forget about all the stupid shit he's done and it would be fine."

I dont know if this blog is a hint, or whatever, but I have just noticved some compelling evidence in the way of flowers lately. It sounds so superficial and trivial, but I think the little gestures are the ones worth savouring.

And I know...I probably shouldnt be advertising another tactic for lads to get their hands on your knickers, but we all know you want their hands on your knickers as well.

Especially if they come with flowers.

Maybe the flower is really a symbol of a peace offering, just like in the sixties with that famous gesture of placing a flower in the barrel of a gun.


And I also think its interesting how girls are sort of like flowers. (well most girls)
They smell nice
They are colourful
They look pretty
They are soft to touch
And sometimes there is a bee waiting inside to sting you after its had sex with the flower.

How can i spend so much time talking about fucking flowers?
Because its winter on the Central Coast, thats why, and I think too much in winter, and I think too much on the Central Coast about dumb shit that essentially means nothing.

All I wish for this absolute time wasting blog, which ironically is a bit like Valentines Day the movie is that:

1. You dont want to blow your brains out after reading this, or sky dive.

2. You buy or pick a girl or boy who you think is a red hot lover/ sexy/ pretty/annoying/too nice to bone but still good to listen to your problems/ beautiful/ amazing/ stalker a bunch or even one little flower because it will make their day.


LOVE STINKS.

SPLENDOUR IN THE GRASS.

It has been over a week since I came back down from heaven onto earth and realised that those 3 days and one eye opening night were over for another year.

I know most people who are reading this will not even want to continue with the rest of the post. Maybe out of boredom, disinterest or even jealousy. But I dont mind if you do exit right now, this post isnt really for you, its for the people you see pictured and the other 29,993 people who can relate to the following.

It is difficult to describe to you the extreme vibe that was descending upon us five girls rammed into a holden astra for 7 hours (that being from Surfers + the line up to get a camping spot) along with around 300 kgs of "luggage" and having Mumford and Sons on repeat as we all gave up on changing CDs just in case there was a massive break in the line and we could zoom to our final destination.

However, the boys were already there with our fucking gimp tent set up in section A, and we were almost at section B....about an hour in the line away. so we four wheel drove in a tiny car a bit like a chihahua with an anger problem, we nipped the heels of the other much bigger cars to get through finally to our little love nest.

That night, we discovered a massive pelvis/spine double guitar sculpture, alongside a huge blow up peace sign, not to mention a lake with a lone boat upon it housing the resident DJ for that time that projected onto a bridge which has already filled up with munters.

we lost our shit at a place called "Spaghetti Junction." delicious, and our last taste of food for the next three days.

As we woke in the morning on FRIDAY, we scrambled out of the tent that was still standing at this point and got a chance to survey our surroundings, noticing a creepy tree and a tent which had a cock flag flying proudly.

As we dealt with the showers and poured our first goon and juice of the day, I asked Leb about why boys draw cocks all the time to which he replied with great seriousness:

"Well hog, you see if you draw a cock that means you are not gay, but whoever you draw the cock on or to, it thereby means they are gay."

And that pretty much sets the scene of Friday morning.

We then headed into the Festie at around 2 in preparation for the very first act of the splendour, FOALS.

To describe this event would have to use the word: INCOHERENT.

we were a sea of fucked up faces all screaming the same language and lyrics and even a screech of "DOGSHIT!" crept into the mix.

following that was Miami Horror which I could not stop repeating in the hours coming up to it "oh man i cant wait for miami horror ay." To where we all met Azza and I got to have the view from his shoulders which was icing on the cake.

We then went and visited the Starfuckers paladium, to which I couldnt help but feel a little proud that they were playing splendour and I had the golden years of my youth in the depths of 77 William St, it was a weird and completely absurd feeling.

Hot Chip blew everyones socks off and the day ended with a mellow Temper Trap but drew everyone in with his breathless energy and a voice that could melt steel.

Saturday morning started a little slower than the previous, we all were a little more misty eyed and grizzly and this was the morning that will be famous for the moo cow alarm and the serenade of coughing that could be heard from every corner of the campsite.

Also the morning famous for: "We're just a couple of guys mucking around at Splendour." -Jared Wharton.

also...

"fuck you're munted." - Jack Lewis.

I had come to terms with the fact that I was going to drink cask wine for breakfast everyday by now, and I dont believe we moved from the chairs we had planted our asses on from 9:30 in the morning til 2pm once again.

Delphic was the start of the trip that was saturday, but due to the exertion of Friday, moss and I watched babes from the sidelines for a long time. Until some drunk babes got in our space and we bailed to Tame Impala.

"wow we even have girls on shoulders!"- probably the most humble sentence I experienced the whole time from any band that graced the ampitheatre.

Following Tame Impala that included a few girls who could have body rolled along train tracks, was the great Australian legend, Paul Kelly.

Needless to say we did our parents proud and lost our shit.

Having altered our moods, the next band that followed provided all of us who viewed them some sort of epiphany. You have bridie and moss shedding a tear, leb bouncing to his own beat and Lewis Azza and myself staring at only the stage then the ciggie in our hands. BAND OF HORSES.

Due to overcrowding, we missed Florence and the Machine which I cant say Im devastated about. I think she is a cock smoker and way too "hip" to even exist. It kills me a little inside to see all the trendoids frothing their fucking faces off and overcrowding the massive amiptheatre for the finale song of the series of SATC. kill me now with a fucking hooded cape on.

Thank god for fate and the overcrowds, we then moved from Band of Horses to headliners, THE STROKES. They were good and slightly blew my theory of them being "THE AMERICAN 'JET'" however it was sprnkled with some dry humour and sarcasm which can only be expected from NYC poor little rich boys.

Saturday was a pleasant surprise, especially with what happened when we got back to the tent...

Leb, Moss and I were sitting outside the tent with Brittany and Meg sleeping soundly inside, as we were enjoying a sigourney weaver...fireworks began popping at the festival, to which Meg suddenly thought she was back in the trenches of Vietnam and scurried in her sleeping bag, RAN to the tent opening, zipped that motherfucker right open and stood at the opening, hand on head looking into the distance.

LEB: "Meg what are you doing?"

MEG: "Huh? Ohh how did i get out here?"

LEB, MOSS and I: "HAAAA!"

Sunday was a morning of many melting moments. Megs flashback from the night before was still on discussion, the tent had finally given out and shit itself completely making us move into the boys abode, and Bridie was absolutely drunk.

BRIDIE to her brother on the phone: "I AM ABSOLUTELY CHOODLED!"

seeing C list celebs every which way but loose such as Dan Single, Bambi and Michelle Leslie.

Sunday definetly got off to a slow start with the previous nights escapades catching up to us, but only for a moment, next thing we know Bridie and I had OMO fun in a tent, catching back up with the girls for K-OS who did a dynamite cover of Enter Sandman by Metallica and then rightly pissed off to catch the ass end of the VINES.

They smashed their guitars and shit and we just sat and sipped our jager red bulls watching in wonderment and I actually thought about how they would lose their bond on the drum kit.

Following this was PASSION PIT. And I do believe my feet did not leave the ground the entire time. I later described it as

"partying inside of a bubblegum."

which it really was my eyes couldnt see real colours, just every colour imaginable mish mashed into a wonderful rainbow that made the mud up my legs feel like a thousand bubbles. OH!

We had to make a break for it in Passion Pit to see KATE NASH, we ran and skipped and twirled and side stepped all the punters to see her and got greeted with her main prop, a sign that read:

"THE CUNT IS A POWERFUL TOOL."

She really flew the feminist flag.

We then strolled past Goldfrapp to catch the end of MUMFORD AND SONS, which was such a masculine vibe tempered with their country and irish twangs and soulful lyrics.

It started a love affair.

Finally we started coming down in the PIXIES. really not a headliner act, if you want my opinion so we bailed and then go lost in serious DOOF DOOF for the next few hours, finally ending in a spliff off at the tent.

the perfect end to a sublime weekend.

It took us a few days to get rid of the imaginary sunglasses off our faces though.