Merry Fucking Christmas

Thank God I missed it. Can we give a great big fuck yeah to scroogey behaviour?

Friend's place fell through unless I want to meet her boyfriend and his kid. Yeah, his kid. I am not old enough to have friends who are dating single fathers. I mean, he was married and then divorced and in the interim he set about producing a smelly, obnoxious brat. Next thing I know I'll be 30, the crows feet will have set in and................. Fuck me dead, Merry Christmas!

Interesting new mooching opportunity: kind of friend with kind of infatuation with me will pay for tickets to some place in North QLD and put me up at a hotel because he kind of likes me. I'm kind of thinking of accepting but this would be a new low for me, even though I am notoriously cheap because a) while I like him, I'm not interested in you know and b) I tend to mooch of people who have mooched off me and only if it doesn't involve them going out of their way to let me mooch. Case in point: use of a beach house when no one else is there.

Still, even if I don't take it up, I'll be feeling quite chuffed knowing that I'm wanted. I've been feeling a bit like a fatty boom bah lately with all this holiday food and drink and, let's be honest, my tendency to overindulge when presented with even the flimsiest excuse for a celebration. In the past I've celebrated liberation days for countries I can't even pronouce, birthdays of third cousins once removed and local elections, amonst others. This must stop. My NY resolution is to quit celebrating.

Why is no one online? I'd go out (yeah right!) but I went for yum cha this morning, more than fulfilling my holiday friendship quota for the weekend. Got pretty shitfaced afterward when we adjourned to a neighbouring bar for an after meal tipple - good times! Now I'm all tarted up in a towel turban, bathrobe and mudmask (damn sexy) and will not be setting foot outside the place tonight. I wish my friends took this sort of approach to Saturday nights, but they're off drinking fruity cocktails and lollywater drinks and wearing ra ra skirts. Skanks.

I think it's time to crack another tinny.

I seriously need to stop reading the opinion section of the papers; mostly I laugh, but sometimes you see a truly embarassing piece of work like this one by Caroline Overington who is either retarded or a master of satire. Having read a lot of her columns, my money's on the former.

I could go on an on about the fucking parents wanting meals out, the big screen tv and the cutesy litte baby, and I certainly have a lot to say about the failings of my own reproductive system (crazy cat lady is pretty much my retirement plan), but I think it's more than enough to go with this: the Empire is dead and buried. The days of cheap labour for middle class mothers are over; get a few sheep herding dogs and a high fence and pray to God the neighbours don't report you to DOCS.

I'm going to miss TT while I'm gone. Granted, it's only 6 days, but those are six days in which I will stare at Star tv, the Bloomberg channel and CNN Asia wondering what the hell I'm doing with myself. Some people go on vacation to experience the local culture and embrace new lifestyles (I very fortunately missed out on that when my flaky fucknuckle of a friend blew me off for nookie with her ex FOR THREE WHOLE WEEKS AT THE LAST MINUTE AFTER I'D BOUGHT OUR AIRFARES. FUCK YOU, SAZ), others to lie on beaches and marvel at the lack of indoor plumbing in their 1.5 star hotels, still others to relax in 5 star splendour. Me? I mooch off friends living in foreign capital cities, abusing their cable, taking full advantage of maid service and generally lowering the opinion of Australians abroad. Fortunately, I will not be travelling on my Australian passport and thus will not feel guilt about disgracing my country further in the eyes of our neighbours. Not yet decided what country I'll embarass, but I have a couple to choose from, so we'll see.

When I get back, I'll take over a friend's snazzy beach hideaway in an oh so fashionable unfashionable little bay where I will poke fun at those who paid <$100,000 for their properties by mocking their very Oshtrayan accents and reluctance to embrace the covered shoe after 5. Holiday!

Tonight TT ran an awesome story on the tragedy that is shonky non bank lenders. A clever young entrepeneur is selling and financing cookie cutter homes in questionable suburbs, promising ridiculous rates of return and very little outlay after rents and deductions. People are actually believing him, seriously. I have a bridge I'd like to sell, you fucking halfwits, anyone interested? I'll even arrange interest only loans, secured against your house. There's a simple reason people like this can get away with operating their shady businesses: greed. People at heart are fucking greedy.

Property is expensive; on a $250,000 loan at a standard variable rate, the fortnightly repayments are something like $600. This doesn't take into account council rates, water rates, and if purchasing a unit, strata fees. It also doesn't take into account any repairs that may need to undertaken, especially those emergencies which can range from $400 to investigate a faulty lightswitch, right up to thousands and thousands for something like termite damage. And then you have the fees the property agent requires to manage your property as well as budgeting for times when your property may not be tenanted. In short, unless you're in it for the long haul, have good insurance, a sizeable reserve of cash for unforseen expenses or an untenanted property, you're probably a fuckwit for investing in property. This is information which is freely available, not at all difficult to search out, and reasonable simple to comprehend. Nowhere in the story does TT bother to share this with their viewers. Instead, they blame the financier/realtor for conning people into buying the dodgy properties whose rates of return are really, really fucking low and really, really fucking unnafordable to the little Aussie battler.

If it were up to me, I'd demand a public flogging for every moron ever caught up in one of these schemes. I used to think death was appropriate, but I'm becoming a little softer as the insanity sets in.

I was packing my bags today and felt a hint of bogan shame as I discarded all but my ultra light carryon for a trip in Asia. I travelled with just a carryon before it happened, honest fuckin' injun. Seriously, am I fucking important enough for a drug smuggler to pick as his unwitting courier? Hell no. Much ego.

Paper Towel

My paper towel has cows on it! Cows! I'll scan in a sheet later. I think this is the coolest thing ever.

No more cut price paper towel for me, no siree, from now it's Viva! paper towels all the way.

Oshtrayan

Memo to Pauline Hanson: You may be Oshtrayan, but I am Australian; you do not represent me or my values. Back to your chip shop, you filthy peasant.

I don't like Anna Coren. Her forehead moved.

Le Sigh

WTF? It seems a halfwit is trolling blogs hoping to antagonise women who thinks he needs to keep in his place: collecting our garbage and possibly working his way up to sewrage treatment plant supervisor. Dunno what gets his goat, but after 11 years on various online forums, experience has shown that trolls usually find their own views align nicely with the line they've taken up to piss people off. Hopefully in this new economy we will see creatures like this relegated to the slums and old, abandoned mines to wallow in their bitterness.

Now, for the sad, sad end of Naomi on Friday. I got home just in time to see her expressionless face try and force itself into some sort of frown and I'm not sure, but I think I may have seen a tear or two - probably not, though; I doubt she can even produce them anymore. Oh, and call me judgmental, but why on earth would you want congrats from Steve Vizard? He's the fugliest retard I've ever seen. I come from some exceptional cheats, liars and frauds and none of them would ever allow themselves to be caught up in the scandals that Vizard was; dishonesty is one thing, but poorly executed dishonesty? Shameful, simply shameful. And then her fawning entrouge came up to stab her in the back with a rusty pickaxe offer her congratulations and flowers.

Thus ends an era. I wish I'd made the effort to spend more time with my dear GN.

Sucked in, women!

It's a sad day when I agree (sort of) with Miranda Devine. Reminds me of the scene in Mean Girls when the math teacher tells all the girls that they'll never get respect until they stop calling each other slut and bitch. Something to that effect.

Still, who cares? I've spent enough time in less developed countries to know what it's like to be treated as a second class citizen. Once you get used to the catcalls, uninvited groping and the occasional erection pressed up against you, it's not so bad. Plus the food's damn good.