Pants

See these pants ...

These are no ordinary pants.  They are in fact cranky pants. 
And I am the proud owner of them today.

Why you might ask?  why am I cranky?

Well ... its because there are so many idiot nuffys in the world, and I am cranky because I cannot do this with them:

Grab an Idiot

Dump them in a Jar of Idiots

Clost the Jar - No Breathing Holes Allowed

THEN SHAKE!!

Seriously, 1 - it would make you feel so much better, and 2 - help rid the world of the nuffy moron idiots contaminating our air space.

Things I learnt from being a teenager - Part 1

Never drink cougar straight from the bottle unless you want to paint your shoes in vomit

Climbing out of a window is easy .. climbing back in poses many problems .. especially if one must be quiet as to not wake the parentals

Boys smell.  Enough said.

Hickies are not cool.  You look like a moron.

TBC

Drunken escapades episode 1

I had just turned 18, what else was there to do other than go out and drink copius amounts of alcohol just because I could. 
Really ... the  only difference from being 18 compared to 17 was that neither I nor my friends had to make out with the bouncer on the door to be able to get into the club.
Back in 1997 the club of choice was the chevy on a thursday night, the reason? $1dollar vodka drinks.
But just because you could get chea drinks didnt mean we got silly with it ...

Our rule was, what you could carry you could drink

One night after spending close to my budget of $15 dollars on drinks I felt the urge to break the seal.  I always tried to fight this urge and hold out until the stop at maccas before catching the first train home, but I either had to break the seal or risk peeing my pants while standing around trying to not dance.

I had seen a girl pee her pants on the dance floor.  It was not pretty.  It was however funny, and funnier still the two trashy girls who slipped and landed in it thinking it was just beer or some other drink on the floor just got up and kept dancing in their pee stained clothes.

This led to my 2 rules for while out at a club:
1. Always Pee when you need to
2. Be aware of ALL damp clothing - its not always alcohol

So off i stumbled to the toilets, and stumble i did because vodka has teh ability to stop my legs from feeling the ground.

The only toilet that was free was pretty gross, but then all the toilets were rather gross.  I noticed the toilet set was up as i turned around and locked the door.  I pull down my pants and bend over to sit down, because lets face it .. if i squated in my state i would pee all down my legs and into my shoes.  Just as i reach where i thought the seat should be i remembered the seat was up and panic.

The events of what happend go something like this:
1. Panic
2. React a little too quickly to stand
3. Slip
4. Lean too far forward
5. Hit my head on the toilet roll dispenser
6. Knock myself out
7. Fall backwards
8. Bare bottom goes into the toilet

I wake sometime later ... 5 seconds, 5 minutes ... 50 minutes ... I really dont know, all I know was I was stuck.

I didnt have the strength or the co-ordination to get myself out.  What was worse .. I really needed to pee still.
I also had one whopper of an egg on my head.

I start to feel sad for myself until i hear my name being called.  Thankgod, my friends had noticed that I was missing. I call back out directing my friend T to my stall.  She pokes her head under and gets the giggles.  We decide the logical thing would be for her to crawl under and then pull me out.

There she lay wedged under the door, somehow she too got stuck.  Im not so sure she got stuck, or more that she was so drunk she couldnt make it any further than halfway.  The floor was not a nice place for her to lie ... but then .. neither was the toilet my bare and now rather bruised ass was stuck.

Thankfully someone who was not so drunk and obviously not a moron managed to jimmy the lock from the outside and the door swung open hitting T in the back of the head. 
The crowd cheered (yes a crowd had now formed) .. I cheered, legs akimbo - tush in the toilet and dare a I now mention, my undies around my ankles.  My new found hero steped over T and grabed my hands pulling me free from the toilet.
I was free .. the sensible thing would have been to pee and go find a cab to take me home so I could ice my behind ... But I didnt ... it was $1 vodka night and I still had money in my pocket!

Ick on the dance floor

I go to India in 26 days … eeek!

There are many reasons why me travelling to India is kinda funny … this is one of them.

I hate to dance.  I hate the crowded dance floors and the loud crappy music and the morons bumping into you every 2 minutes and the constant spilling of drinks.  People if you are dancing then dance .. if you are drinking then drink, clearly you are not able to co-ordinate yourself to do both at once!

One particular night I was being forced to dance at the elephant and wheelbarrow.  It was either put up with it and dance, or stand by myself somewhere else in the pub and be a bored looser, which is normally what I do.  However this time I was on the dance floor moving in a way that somehow resembled dancing.  It was hot and sticky and I was starting to get fed up of being there.  I stop dancing and look for the best break in the pack of bobbing morons to escape through when I feel someone or something stand very close behind me.  Before I could move away I feel a wet slimy thing glide along the length of my neck.

I freak and my cat like reflexes kick in and I jump around to see what it is and freeze in horror.

It is an Indian guy.  Hair slick with gel, shirt half open and not to be racist but stinking of curry mixed with sweat.

My still stature and the fact that I didn’t scream encouraged the guy to lean in and say *hey hot mama*

I look to my so called friend for help and see her doubled over in laughter.

I look back at the guy now surrounded by his friends and just glare as I wipe my neck

Fire must have been burning in my eyes because without having to open my mouth to let loose such profanity it would make any fine upholding person blush he began to creep away .. I guess looking for his next victim.

Gone are the days when a guy hits on you asking what your star sign is … gone are the days where you get the look up and down with a *how you doin* … no … the Indian boys at the Elephant and Wheelbarrow go around licking girls necks and hoping for a positive reaction.

The day my superhero status was defined

Once upon a time there was an Aussie, a Kiwi and a Swede and they all walked into a bar ... no wait, that's the start of a bad joke.
Lets start again.
Once upon a time there was an awesome Aussie girl names Pinko who became friends with  a Kiwi (El Crumbo) and a Swede (the person variety not the vegetable kind).  They did lots of fun things together like watch Finding Nemo, introducing me to salted candy and hanging out chatting (not stalking) as El Crumbo worked in the most dodgy of phone stores.
One day after I had come home from a trip to the movies and was settling in for a Sunday evening of pizza eating and tv watching I get an SOS message from El Crumbo.  It came in the form of a msn message although she could have set off the bat symbol in the sky ... anything is possible and nothing is ruled out.
Some mofo tag team had stolen her wallet as she was working and not only run away with her money but also her bus ticket and her prized photo of the Swede and her favorite little green wallet.


Mofo

El Crumbo was very very sad

Her favorite Swede turned up to try and make her happy

But she was still sad, and still stranded at Southland without her wallet, without her money and without a ride home ....
or so she thought

Pinko had jumped into her beast of a car named E and was chugging her way to Southland.  When a superhero hears their call ... they dont dilly dally around.
I parked E safely and rushed with lightening speed through Southland.  

But that's when heroness stood its toughest test.  
In between the two levels of escalators stood a barrier.

I had to get down there.  I had to go down the escalator to the bottom floor or otherwise my rescue would be a fail. Without thinking it through i leaped over the barrier in a single bound ...

and ran on down to see El Crumbo and the Swede ... they were beyond happy

well ... ok, maybe it more looked like this

With one foot on the going up escalator and one foot on the going down and my goodie parts resting on the barrier it felt like imminent death ... or a nasty rogering.


But I survived ... and E and I drove El Crumbo and the Swede home where she cooked a yummy dinner for her hero who risked her jibblets in jumping over barriers to save her and her Swede.
I shall now forever be - Pinko Bo Binko. Superhero.

Warning contents may offend

I was off on my first overseas holiday.  I had seen the sights of South Australia, Queensland and more importantly and more excitingly Tasmania, and although the tempting apple isle with its one and only Big W store was calling my name I took the risk and headed off to Thailand for Sun, Temples, Shopping and well more Shopping.

But before the all mighty shopping adventure that I had planned, I first had to survive the 9 hour flight.  The first 5 hours were rather good, we were flying Jetstar el cheapo and had managed to book ahead the inflight entertainment package so could watch some movies.  I ordered me some food and set in to watch a few movies.  It was a novelty for the first few hours.

Now I should put in a disclosure that I get extremely motion sick.  When I was little I wasn’t allowed to go on swings because I would end up heaving my guts up and then be out sick for a day or two.  Flying … well … that’s just one big fucking swing in the motion sickness world except there is no escape.  No falling off. 

In my 26 years I had gotten better, I found some tablets that worked and could fly domestically under a doped up bliss randomly drooling without knowing.  In my mind, I could fly to Tassie then I could fly to Thailand.  So I popped my pills, and let the drooling begin.

5 hours into the trip .. which I should point out were spent surrounded by screaming babies, I started to feel a little off.  You see … as this was my first long haul flight, I neglected to realise that I would need to retake my tablets after 4 hours.

It was not pretty, the next 3 hours were spent in a mixture of either vomiting and sleeping the whole time sweating up a storm.  The poor passengers, if I wasn’t heaving up my guts then there was a baby screaming.

I somehow survived making it to Thailand, however the ordeal was not over yet.  I still had to make it off the plane and through customs to get my bag.

My body went into autopilot while my brain was forcefully trying to get my speech functioning to happen and request someone to kill me, someone to put me out of my misery.  But all it could muster was a grunting and groaning sound saying something that resembled the word die.  I grab some extra spew bags and stumble my way out of the plane ignoring the glares of my fellow passengers, because not only did I give them a symphony of regurgitation, but I also completely and utterly honked.  I smelt so bad that I am sure there were fume lines radiating out of my body like they do in the cartoon for pepe la pew.

I make it off the plane and rejoice that they have travelators and I wont have to walk the whole length of the airport.  At each travelator I slump onto the railing pleading that it will somehow snag me and pull me through the edge at the end in a bloody death, but instead I trip and stumble and make my way off clutching my spew bags and line up in the cue for customs. 

I sigh a quiet sigh of relief that there is a pole that I can lean myself against as I wait at the cue but then the moment passes as I fill yet another spew bag.  Where its all coming from is beyond me, and why there are no bins anywhere in sight is also beyond me.  Holding a full bag is dangerous as my hands are all sweaty and my grip isn’t the best and my co-ordination was lost a few hours ago on the plane so I was living in fear that I would ether just drop the bag or tip it all over the front of myself, which well .. would not have matter as mentioned earlier on, I already honked!

I hand over my passport and try to stand straight and look into the camera thingy.  Sweat drips of my face and one eye is really struggling to stay open but I somehow manage to look semi human and I am allowed through .. still clutching my damn sick bags.  I look ahead and see a bench near the baggage carousels.  Excellent, maybe I can lie down on it and slowly die while we wait for our baggage to come in.  I stumble my way towards it and I am quickly stopped by a customs lady.

Her – whats in the bag

Me – *one eye closed and hunched over like the hunchback of Notre dame* huh?

Her – whats in the bag, let me see

Me - *realising she means my spew bag* huh?

Her - *reaches for the bag* whats in your bag

Me – Its spew, I was sick *clutches bag tightly and slightly looses my balance*

Her – let me see

I mean seriously … I honked, I could barely function and I wouldn’t be surprised if I even had remnants of spew on my face and in my hair … im clutching a spew bag … don’t need to be Einstein to work out what it is filled with

Me - *passes bag*

Her - *opens bag and discovers its spew and quickly closes it giving me the filthiest of looks before walking off to dump it in the bin*

Im left standing there amused that someone after being told that its spew decided to look for themselves only to then give me the death stare for being right, as if I forced her to look.  See look here, here is some bile, here is a carrot chunk, and this bit here .. well im sure that’s some of my stomach lining.  Want me to sign the bag for you???

Seriously!

I somehow managed to make it out of the airport alive much to my bitter pleadings for imminent death, and also without further spew checks .. or worse as I feared was coming .. drug checks.

The greatest lie never sold

Back in the good ol days … (don’t ya love to say that!) when I was young and crazy with wild curly hair, I used to believe my mother that when I ate sugar it made my cheeks go bright red.  How was I to know that my mother used this as a con to lead me into telling her the truth about eating lollies.

Ma – Amy what have you been eating?

Me – Nothing *smiles sweetly* a banana

Ma – Your cheeks are bright red, you have had sugar, what have you been eating?

Me - *feeling busted by those damn red cheeks* umm a chocolate biscuit

It led to the point that I would run around and around the backyard to get my whole face bright red before coming inside to face my mother hoping that a hot and bothered red face would hide the fact that I had those damn red sugar alerting cheeks.

One afternoon I had been nagging for something to eat, it was rather close to dinner time so I kept being denied.  After then 10^th time of being told no I had a bright idea to ask if I can go play next door, to which I was reluctantly allowed to go as long as I was back when hollered at for dinner.

See, the bright idea of mine was that next door was our elderly neighbours, and I couldn’t ever go a visit to them without getting a glass of Milo, and Milo was chocolaty goodness that we were not allowed at home.  Besides the Milo, I actually really enjoyed hanging out next door, I could play with the cats, get chased by the ducks in the back yard that often bit the back of my legs and made me cry, wash the dog, sing and dance and perform for Sylvia who doted on me as all her children were over 15 years older than me, and besides, I was cute dammit.  In my eyes everyone but my brother and sister wanted my company … but in saying all that … it was the Milo that got me visiting every day.

So off I toddled next door with strict instructions not to eat anything, and that my cheeks would be checked when I got back.

I played with the cat, I fed it a months supply of dry food, I sat up on the bar stool swinging my legs about singing my all time favourite song, Gloria ( I didn’t know any words other than Gloria so it involved singing over and over again GLORIA, GLORIA, GLORIA) and then I was offered a glass of Milo.  Jackpot.  That was what I came for. 

Surely 1 glass of milo would not make my cheeks red.  It was worth the chance.

I devoured that glass like no bodies business.  Best way to have a milo is to mix it all in and then add some more so you have crunchy bits on top. 

It was nearly dinner time so I said my goodbyes and ran out the back door to head on home making sure I was running in the hope that if I was seen running back then that might explain the red cheeks. 

Everyone was sitting in the lounge room and started laughing at me when I came in.

In my mind I looked cute and pretty and pristine.

Infact I looked something like this.

Ma – what have you been eating?

Me – nothing *smiles sweetly*

I then catch a glimpse of my reflection in the window

Me – I fell in the dirt, I tripped on the back step and got dirt all over my face

Ma – and you managed to only get dirt all over your face?  No where else?

Me – no I brushed it off

Thinking that I had got away with it, maybe the milo disguised as dirt were hiding my red cheeks.  Yes that’s it .. that’s the key, smear dirt on my cheeks from now on.

My brother – then why do you smell like chocolate

Me *uh oh* ahhhhhh

Ma – sure it was milo?  Looks like milo all over your face

Me - *UH OH* ahhh no, no its dirt

I should have stoped there … but I was determined to pull it off.  So I re-enacted how I fell down the steps, by closing the sliding door and not looking.  I went into such detail, the more I carried on the more I felt I had to keep going.  I finish my re-enactment, beaming with pride.  Yep .. im going to be the next Shirley temple.

That’s when the laughter started… im not sure if its actually ever stopped!