if you all wait your turn we can have some sweet bangin

i admit i was stuck for blog material today. but then i saw david o'doherty on tv and he was so good i had to share (my apologies in advance for the low quality.)

conclusively proven: why the benefits of single life outweigh the benefits of hooked-up life:

and one more makes five

after the disastrous efforts of friday night, i'd completely written off saturday night in my head. looking back, that was probably a bit premature.

here's my fail-proof recipe for earth-shatteringly excellent oral sex:

1. find someone who is sleeping in a single bed at their parents' house
2. make sure he is only interested in cuddles (and tells you so)
3. when you get back to his single-bed room, ensure he puts a sign on the door that says "do not disturb" so that his parents do not walk in on you inadvertantly
4. ensure that he only cuddles you all night
5. wake up with his head between your legs
6. receive surprisingly exceptional, climactic oral sex - i'm talking wet, slow, arse-fingeringly good oral sex
7. think seriously about scoring a home run for the girls (after all, how many times do men leave us unsatisfied?!) but then decide that it was so good, you really should return the favour

my only regret is that i left my beret behind, and i miss it already.

that's the problem with living vicariously, isn't it?

i receive the following text message from S, a lovely, caring friend of mine: "i hope you have a better weekend than last so i can read a great blog entry come monday!" naturally, he has my best interests at heart.

sadly, his message made me realise that my best hope for the weekend was, in fact, the video store guy. not one to ever wallow in self-pity, i go down to the video store to see what i can sort out. as i walk down the avenue i imagine the witty anecdotes that i will be regaling him with in order to seduce him into my bed. (seriously, they're good ones, too.)

you can imagine my disappointment when i arrive at the video store to discover that the video store guy is not there! but worse, this is a pattern - it's the third time in a row that i have been to the video store and he has not been there. could he be avoiding me? i mean, what else can a video store guy possibly be doing, except working in a video store?!

i start to wonder: has he been put off by my borrowing of only tv episodes? after all, not all men are into quickies. maybe he prefers a full feature-length show. come to think of it, maybe he's having it off with a chick who hires dramas. or romances. or jane austen movie-adaptations. like ten of them. at once. even though they're only weekly hires. wow, he is so not my type.

but my weekend is still shot. sorry S.

it's not a credit card and it's not a virgin- it's a visa!

you will recall that i have been stressing for about two weeks now (since receiving the e-mail) about where the fuck my visa is.

for two reasons really:

1. i needed to make sure that they were giving me the right visa because there may have been significant crossings out and initiallings on my visa application. okay, so the truth is that it was only when i happened to ask a random question at the visa office that i realised that i'd in fact applied for the wrong visa. hey, i was in an excited rush at the time of submitting it, okay?! it's a sad fact that even i am vulnerable to blonde moments.


2. i was worried because of the issues with my mail redirection. after feverishly checking the mail box for a week, i decided to actually check the e-mail that they sent me. hey, would you look at that! it's being couriered via aae. how bout that? realising that they will have unsuccessfully tried to deliver my visa to my old flat, i pick up the phone to give them a call. i give them the consignment number, arrange a new delivery address and, with the very minimum of stress, my visa arrives. just like that.

so now i have it. and it's all correct and perfect. and i'm unstoppable! look out london! you know... from april 17 onwards...

two sisters. lesbians. i'm just watching.

i receive a text message from an old friend: star! happy easter! we have to catch up before you go. and besides, i promised you a dvd.

i cast my mind back and remember that yes, indeed, he did promise me a dvd. but he wouldn't be the first- A1 also promised one and it never arrived. i text him back saying we should catch up tomorrow night.

he replies: so, anal sex and lesbians, yeah?

what can i say? i like a boy who pays attention when i talk.

the rain in spain falls mainly on the plain

as i wandered the familiar melbourne streets, glistening with the first rains of autumn, it occurred to me to wonder what the weather in london will be like. i mean, wet and cold, for sure. but how wet and how cold?

when i got home, i plugged "london" into my weather widget* and was astonished to see the 7-day forecast: 24, 22, 26, 18, 22, 23, 22. i pondered the serious and drastic effects of global warming.

ten minutes later, i was hit by an epiphany. it was just as i suspected: there's a "london" in arkansas.


*oh, you're one of those. yes, yes, i am.

it's morphin time!

an essential task on my list of "things to do to get ready for london" has been to load my ipod up with anything that i can find. and i seriously mean anything.

consequently, i have been listening to the craziest music ever and am getting off on leaving my ipod/itunes on shuffle. from britney to bowie, from ben harper to bette midler, from salt'n'pepa to soundgarden.

but today i saw this and became slightly concerned. what if someone sees?!

it's "up above the world so high" you idiot. omg, learn2google

as i mentioned earlier, i'm sleeping on my mum's couch until i leave. it's seriously cramping my style. (incidentally, it's cramping hers too- the other day i got a text message which said "star can u go out so i cn have my friend ova?" hrmmm...)

i realised that it was becoming an issue when this was the highlight of my weekend:

i spent the afternoon and early evening drinking cocktails with my friend so by the time i hit the clubs it was still early, and i was pretty trashed. i got me a boyzIImen disco pash who told me he was 19. (naturally i was 19 too.) after a few turns around the dance floor we were outta there, and i was trashed and desperate enough to give him my real number. here is a selection of text messages that i have received since saturday night:

• "i hope u had fun with me,i love the way u dance :-)"
• "... i'm feeling good since i met u i dnt knw y. u make me smile ha ha i wana sing a song for 'i like the way u mve' umah umah"
• "...cnt wait to meet u hun he he miss ur hug ***" [incidentally, when i got this message i was concerned that he was telling me that i have a huge arse. i am actually quite senstive about this as sitting around doing not much all day has ensured that my recently purchased extra small underwear are now rather snug. so snug in fact that i went out on the weekend and bought some small underwear instead. and maybe it's even possible that my arse no longer fits under my emily skirt? could that be what he's referring to? but then i thought perhaps they are kisses... but seriously, what is wrong with plain old, unambiguous xxx?? thoughts, anyone?]
• "...this is for u twinkle twinkle little star, how i wonder wt u are, up above in the sky. Like a diamond in the sky. he he ****"

and if that wasn't enough to prove the patheticism of my situation, i am also seriously considering asking the video shop guy out for a drink.

rap knock bang raaaapppp knock knock bang

remember how i got evicted? it wasn't pretty, although i'd like to stress that it was absolutely through no fault of my own. (well, probably that's not strictly true because i did enter into a fairly loose rental agreement and not pay much attention to the details, but still- i didn't do anything dodgy, k? nothing dodgy- i promise!)

well, the aftermath of the eviction is:

1. i'm sleeping on my mother's couch
2. i have been getting my mail redirected

as if the first one wasn't bad enough (but more on that in other posts), some of my mail seems to have slipped through australia post's robust and foolproof mail-forwarding system. and not just any piece of mail but my mobile phone bill. so it was that i received multiple calls from random friends along the lines of such:

"uh... star, i just had a call from this random guy. he reckons you're owed money* from the flat that you were evicted from. his name's on the lease and the cops are chasing him for unpaid rent. he's trying to get in touch with you. he sounds really desperate, i think you should call him."

yes, that's right, some unknown person went through my mail, opened my phone bill and randomly started calling my friends (or anyone who i'd called in the last month.) why didn't he call me directly? clearly, because he's a dickhead (or was just too stupid to work out where on the bill he could find my phone number). after a few such calls (and a facebook message) i decided to give in and ring the guy so i could have a go at him about opening my mail, only to hear him rat out on my ex-flatmate entirely and completely. clearly, there's something dodgy going on between them but do i care what it is? no. i want no further involvement in their petty rental struggle and am therefore taking the only option left to me: witness protection.

but that's not even the worst thing about all this: with all the confusion over where my mail is going (and who's looking at it) i have absolutely no idea where my visa and passport have been sent. it should have come in the mail by now, it hasn't, and i'm starting to get concerned. if anyone from canberra is reading this, please contact me immediately to discuss. (of course i am in witness protection, but if you're from canberra, you're sure to know the secret knock.)

*i'm not by the way, it was just a ploy to make me call him. jerk.

i think my bathrobe will come in handy, after all

desperate to ensure that i am not slapped with extra baggage charges, i engage the assistance of my well-travelled sister in paring down my suitcase.

her: the trick is to take versatile clothing that you can dress up or down.
me: but i'm gonna need some suits because i plan on getting a corporate job where i have to wear a suit every day
her: *culls my work dresses down to two* well you'll just have to make do with the clothes you have
me: but you don't understand. i have to have things to wear to work. i can't not have work clothes.
her: star, you have to realise that you actually have a lot of clothes. you just can't afford to have so many in london.
me: but i'll have noth-ing to wear!
her: well you just have to wear the same thing twice
me: *incredulous look*
her: *silence*
me: you're serious, aren't you?
her: *extended silence*
me: *sighs loudly and moves tweed suit to the not taking pile*

much later, i whinge to A1 about my future lack of wardrobe. luckily he has a solution: "don't worry honey, you can stay naked at my house"

well there's good news, and there's bad news

it is evening. i get home after a few g&ts and am slightly tipsy. i check my e-mail and make a life-changing discovery: my visa has been approved!! i dance around the living room (slightly tipsy- see above). i e-mail my travel agent immediately (i woulda called if i had her mobile number) to see if i can move my flight forward.

the next day i am working and can't check my e-mail to see if the agent has replied. i am supposed to be taking minutes in a very important seminar (they're all very important, natch) but instead i am mentally compiling a list of all the things i still have to do before i can leave for london.

i get home and race to check my e-mail: my flight is unchangeable and i still have to wait till april 17. i cry. a lot.

an experiment

there is no longer any doubt about it. conclusive* evidence proves that english men will definitely think that i am hot.

following on from my (fairly egotistical, i'll admit [hey, i have my own blog, and it's about me, and i actually think that people are going to read it-i think i'm fucking cool, alright?]) desire to know whether english men would find me attractive or not, a lovely friend of mine undertook an experiment. yes, he walked around with various pictures of me, showed them to english people and scientifically gauged their reaction. i'm officially english-hot.

*conclusively proven by a proper scientific experiment where english men's reactions were judged on a scale of 1 to 10 where 1 is not hot, and 10 is very hot, (come to think of it, i probably could of used a website for this...) with a rounding factor of 3 points each way based on eyebrow movement (allocated according to surveyor's own judgement)

i'm just getting some practice in

when i tell people that i am going to party my way through london they are invariably jealous as hell. i'm told it's a single person's party city and frankly, i can't wait. but whilst i'm still in melbourne i figure it doesn't hurt to get some practice in:

i am drunker than i remember being in a long time. i stumble my way down stairs and throw up in the bathroom down there. post-chuck, i am way too drunk to walk back upstairs so i crash on the couch and am ready to pass out when someone else (let's call him N) comes downstairs. i vaguely remember flirting with him during the evening and think "why, hel-lo!" the rest of the evening is kinda hazy... he tries to have sex with me... i tell him i need to sleep (i really really do). he tries more. i get up to chuck some more. N laughs at me and tells me he has to go.

the next night there is more drinking. there is some small but secret acknowledgement between N and i of what happened the night before. he is the one that got me so drunk, so i figure he's at least half responsible for me not being up for it and tell him so. we are on the terrace, talking to some random people when he takes a phone call and walks off. he returns in ten minutes with a girl in tow. i am not so much pissed off that he has a girlfriend as pissed off that i have missed my chance with him and am very annoyed that i was too drunk to fuck last night.

i go out to dinner and try to forget about it, although i really am pissed off about it. when i get back N, his gf, and multiple other randoms are still drinking. i don't really feel like repeating my chucking effort of the night before so i announce that i am going to get some sleep and go to bed. N makes me give him a big hug before i go to bed, and i almost feel like it is his way of apologising. or maybe he's just trying to cop a feel.

anyway, ten minutes later i am in my room and i hear a knock on the door. it is N. hel-lo!! i am stoked! he walks in and grins at me. i walk over, shut the door and start taking my clothes off. nothing more needs to be said.

an indeterminable period of time later, we are on the floor, fucking. i hear someone walking down the hall and then his girlfriend's voice calling out "N? N? does anyone know where N is?" with a great effort i manage to refrain from calling back "why yes. yes, i do. his head is between my legs." instead i look at N and say "ermmm.... do you need to go now?"

what does "bare essentials" really mean anyway?

since i had to move out of my flat and pack all my things into boxes, i figured i may as well pack a few things into my suitcase for london. after all, the prospect was very exciting!

i selectively placed my favourite clothes into my suitcase, pared down my toiletries to the bare minimum and thought very very hard about which pair of red stillettos i would wear more than the other. i had to make a lot of tough choices about many items of clothing and was loathe to leave behind even one threadless t-shirt. i was therefore incredibly proud of myself when i managed to successfully zip up my suitcase of bare essentials without the seams bursting.

later that night, i moved out of my flat, my beautiful mother helping me:

her: lifting my suitcase jesus star, what have you got in here?
me: that's my suitcase for london
her: you know you can only take 20kgs?
me: why, how heavy do you think it is?
her: at least 40.
me: oh.

guess 11 pairs of shoes is a few too many after all.

you're what?!

the best thing about moving to london (considering i'm not actually there yet) has been cataloguing people's reactions to my outrageous news.

my friend:
her: (after seeing my facebook post) so... you've finally been convinced that you should go to london?!
me: yup
her: how long you staying for?
me: i dunno. i can only work a year on my visa so if i really like it, i'll have to get A1 to marriage-of-convenience me
her: ha ha ha ha. *pauses* but won't he expect you to put out?
me: *gives a wierd look* umm... yeah... how terrible for me...

my other friend (actually i had this conversation with more than one friend):
her: star, watch out for the coke in london
me: what? [see, i told you i was naive]
her: i think i am permanently brain damaged from taking too much coke when i was in london
me: oh. i don't take coke
her: but it's everywhere and it's really cheap
me: oh
her: it just falls up your nose
me: oh. ummm... thanks for the warning... i think

last but not least, my mother:
she does the greatest david o'doherty ever and sends me a text that says "did i tell u star is moving to london? v exciting 4 her!" (just as an impressive aside, my mother not only uses predictive text, she abbreviates like a 15-year old [see above]. she's also been known to text me using "wot" rather than "what" which i actually find quite distressing.) anyway, after receiving her message, i rang my sister and we pissed ourselves laughing, thinking that she actually did on purpose. but no... she really did do it david o'doherty style. nice one, mum xxxx

look what i've started!

i want it firmly noted that i decided to leave home first!!! tch!!