BEST SONG EVER!!! NUFF SAID

I'M WICKED AND I'M LAAAAZYYY

Well duh...this clearly isn't a revelation, in fact from memory this is a regular occurrence, but fuck me if I don't have a fabulous life that deserves to be lived and can't always be paused so I can write down stuff on here...also, my computer chair is a bitch. The kind of bitch that presses my meaty, rugby thighs together, which in turn pushes into my nuts, which means I slouch so I can spread my legs a bit, which in turn means I start to hurt my back. It's a vicious circle of pain I'm dealing with here clearly. So that is one of my excuses and I'm not only sticking with it, I'm rubbing it into your face as well by spelling it out in way too much detail.

Anyway I thought I'd reveal one of the obsessions I'm currently using to fill a small gap in my week. I've become so obsessed with a local restaurant that I'm now the proud owner of a permanent booking every Thursday night. Yeah I said it, a permanent booking...which means each and every Thursday I can be found sitting at what has turned out to be my personal table with a collection of lovely friends. Fortunately my life isn't likely to inspire a hit of any kind so I feel pretty safe being in one location, once a week at 8.30pm. I'm also usually surrounded by 5 of my lovely friends, so I could always sacrifice one of them as a shield, should the need arise, though it shouldn't.

So no doubt you're wondering, how is it possible to love a place so much that you can factor in being there each and every week, with 5 friends in tow, regardless of what might arise. Well to date, it's worked a treat, in fact I've been there once a week for roughly 5 weeks now...if memory serves me correctly, which generally it doesn't, so do with that what you will. My only stress of late seems to be, can I invite enough friends to fill out all the chairs. I feel like keeping the name of the venue to myself, as since the Age ran a review of it, you need to have a booking to ensure you can sit down and order on arrival and whilst I only have 4 followers, you never know who's reading these things so I'm keeping my lips zipped.

It's safe to say its a few blocks up the street, it creates Asian inspired food with a funky, slightly bent twist. For instance they serve a 5 spice chicken with oriental spices, it's like KFC but if it was created in China not Kentucky. There's a pork stir-fry that contains pork belly that's been roasted till it crackles, so you get the chewy crunch as well as the deep, smooth curry sauce it swims in. Mmmmm my fingers are drooling just typing this, which in hindsight, is probably an affliction I should have medically treated, but you get the idea. Anyway, there's much more that can be added to that list, but I think the resounding beauty of such an arrangement is that each week I get to enjoy top quality food, surrounded by top quality people. The roster of guests always changes too, although there's regulars in the mix now too. They also revel in the inclusion of new guests who sit down to a meal that blows their minds and they get to shake their heads and go...

"I know right"

It's a rewarding gathering that arrives every week so why the hell wouldn't I go out of my way to find time to do it each week. Let's face it, you are jealous aren't you...maybe your invite will come one day and you can join us at the round table of weekly delights...maybe.

ME AM LUB THIS TO DEATH

OK this isn't something I've ever done, but love this song so much I have to tell anyone that will listen, so, I heard this song in the background of a solo performance on the latest season of SO YOU THINK YOU CAN DANCE - AMERICA. One of the cool popper guys called Phil did a routine to it. Anyway he is fucken talented as all get out...(what the fuck is with that saying? loves it regardless)...but this song grabbed me even more. So searched it out, downloaded it and now telling anyone who cares and even those who couldn't give a fuck, all about it. Have a listen, it features samples of PC and Mac sound effects and a chorus that raps baby gurgles, Jib you rock my world.

CHECK IT

SAYING GOODBYE TO AN ICON

It's taken me a few days to get around to sharing my feelings about the passing of MJ. Understandably the world is in a tailspin and unless I'm some sort of intergalactic orphan who hasn't discovered my shocking secret yet, I'm part of that world. Honestly, the more I ponder it, the more it saddens me. I was only 14 when 'Thriller" was released and it was my entire world, well, aside from my other love of course. Let's face it, at 14 you soon tire of trying to master the moonwalk and eventually find yourself returning to refining your Star Wars laser sound effects and mock asthma speeches about coming over to the dark side of the force. My family were fortunate enough to have a VHS video player in 1983, the classy type that included a remote control connected to the player via a really, really long cable. I shit you not, it was fucken high tech. Anyway, when they released the entire Thriller short film on video, I can still remember how excited I was about going to the biggest video shop in our neighbourhood to purchase it. I can also remember my excitement at having it in my hands and the desperate need to go home "right now Dad" so I could put it on and watch it.

Back in the early 80's Michael had an amazing effect on me, I'd grown up with a soundtrack of my parents choosing, which ranged from Boney M to Lionel Richie but also included liberal sprinklings of ABBA, Billy Joel and Roberta Flack...I know, it's a wonder I even have the courage to type that huh? Anyway, there clearly was no contest, especially compared to what I was already being delivered, Michael was the coolest man on the planet. Mastering MJ's signature dance move was the be all, and end all, and anyone who could actually do it became the focus of whatever dinner party or BBQ our parents had dragged us along to. If the party was at our place, everyone would gather around our TV, parents and their adult friends included, and I would proudly put the Thriller video into the player and then shush everyone (little wanker that I was) so we could get the full impact of it's brilliance. The minute Michael fell into formation out the front of his Tony Bartuccio dancers from beyond the grave, all the kids in the room would jump up and try and match the routine we saw on the screen. To think about it now, it seems a world away and having spent 20 years in commercial radio, I can't think of anyone who has the ability to draw people to a television like MJ could. Every new music video was an event, we anticipated it, we waited for it, we knew it was going to be amazing and he never let us down. By the mid 80's things slowly started to spiral out of control, there was the oxygen chamber revelation, the bones of the elephant man story and his surgery obsession really started to take control.

As the years progressed I fell in love with Pearl Jam, The Smashing Pumpkins, Nirvana and all things flannel and grunge and Michael just didn't seem relevant to me anymore. I think it really hit home for me how strange he'd truly become in 2006. I was sourcing questions online for a pop quiz we were running on a breakfast show I was anchoring. I stumbled on a site of pop culture facts and one of them really stood out because initially, it confused the hell out of me. I can't remember exactly how it was worded, but the basic gist of the fact was that pop singer Michael Jackson used to have dark skin and was an African American. When I first read it my instant reaction was a big fat "well duh" but then it dawned on me. There was an entire generation of people who hadn't known Michael in the 70's or 80's, they'd only witnessed him as the centre of various molestation claims, court cases and balcony dangling baby incidents. They truly didn't know that he used to be the little kid you see above these words. In searching for that image, it actually upset me how many nasty photoshop pictures exist of him. Google his name and click through a few pages and see for yourself. You'll find doctored shots of him without his nose, looking like a half dead zombie and making fun of what he'd done to himself. When you look at this picture however, you can see how cute he was, and even in the early 80's, whilst he was skinny and nowhere near my type, he was still a handsome man. Yet for reasons we will never truly know, he chose to erase a perfectly good face and remodel it into his idea of perfection.

I think the saddest thing is that at the time of his death, he was in rehearsals to perform 50 concerts in London. It was being billed as his final concert tour (not like John Farnham's) and no doubt his hopes and dreams were that he could return himself to the status he used to enjoy. Stories are coming out now about how his addiction to pain killers may have fuelled his constant use of plastic surgery as an easy way to facilitate his drug supply. No doubt even more horrifying revelations are still to come. When I look at that little kid, strutting his bad self in that way too funky brown corduroy jacket, I can't help but wish it could have been different for him. If only we could push rewind and find out what it was that set him on the path, that left him an oddity for universal ridicule and quite possibly the loneliest man on the planet. I can only hope that he really did find happiness with his children and that they got to see him for who he really was, not who we thought he was. Tears have just welled in my eyes writing that and at the sadness of his loss. I really do hope that there is a place, where he can look down and see the joy he gave so many and witness the pain so many now feel from having to say goodbye, before we ever really got a chance to say...

THANK-YOU

R.I.P. MICHAEL

I will never forget you

BEING A GOD PARENT

Over the last few weeks I've been obliterating myself as part of a one month holiday. It's been fabulous spending time with family and friends and just getting to do whatever I want, with the people I love. One of the things that happened as part of that break was my little brother Tom asking me to be a god parent to his new born son Eli. I know can you believe it? Tom has a great sense of humour clearly because when he asked me and I said what does that mean, he said you're there for moral guidance throughout his life and on mention of that we both burst into laughter. The poor little fucker has no idea what he's gotten himself into hehe. Fortunately they've also chosen a lovely female friend of theirs to help...phew, pressure off.

Anyway we had the christening, which involved heading of to catholic mass for an hour and a half before the service...yawn. I had forgotten how boring church really is, to say nothing of the abundant collection of pensioners clinging to the hope that all their sins will be forgiven, it was kind of cute and kind of sad all at once. Eli was a little champion, didn't fuss or make too much noise and the only sticking point for me was when we as god parents were on the altar denouncing the devil and saying we believed in God. I felt like such a liar pretending I believe in God and the devil when really I just think the whole thing is about controlling people and making them scared...but each to their own.

Anyway it's a real privilege to be asked to shadow Eli through his life and be recognised as worthy of helping him through his journey into adulthood. I love everyone in my family so much and I'm so proud of my little brother Tom and his amazing wife Ciara and I know that Eli will have the most incredible life as a result of them. As for loving him, look at the little treasure, he's so beautiful I could sell him on the black market, not that I would of course, but you get the idea.

AND ANOTHER THING...

I rate the name of this entry highly, as it implies that I'm following on from something already posted. It makes me seem fuck off prolific, that's what it does. Truth of the matter is, it doesn't following on from anything, I'm just being creative and using and abusing my domain. It's kind of like pissing on something to tell those with an acute sense of smell that it's yours, or how you used to lick the entire length of any yummy food within your possession when your little brother was eyeing it off. It's about ownership. So that sorted let's move onto some issues from my week. First off, I've become troubled by the blatant abuse of ginger haired people recently...I know, random or what? Anyway, I think it's important at this early stage to admit that I'm actually a bit of a closet fanta-pants-a-phobe. Is Fanta a universal drink? If for some tragic reason it isn't, I want you to think of any fizzy drink that is pretty much neon orange, that is what Fanta looks like. In further explanation, you take the colour of said beverage and relate it to the pants area of any vibrant red head. Their neon pubic hair can then be related to you in a slang term of "Fanta Pants". Simple really, now run off and enjoy it with all your friends. Or stay and read the rest of this entry, the choice is yours.

So now that I've come clean on my genetic racism, I can continue relating my concerns. I've noticed lots of media outlets, comedians and people in general, using ginger kids as the new punch line for a variety of jokes. Normally I would applaud this kind of punch line abuse, throwing in my own version of hilarity to encourage the laughs. Suddenly though, it seems I'm confronted by it every where. Perhaps I'm sensitive to it as I've been such a purveyor of it myself. The end result is that now, I feel sorry for them. I feel like it's time for me to get over it and walk the nose bleeding, moral high ground. Hope they have a hand rail, I'm liable to lose my footing and such as my lungs struggle to absorb what little oxygen exists at that height. After all, I have ginger haired friends and they are all fucken H.O.T., I've also seen a hot one in some nasty gay porn and Prince Harry has already eclipsed his brother on the delectable scale. So clearly I'm not as horrified as my actions proclaim. Oh and apparently, according to that last argument, I also think that if someone is worthy of a root, then that makes their entire species acceptable to me, go figure. Oh and can I just stop for a second and say, I know I'm breaking the laws of science with my classification of red heads as an 'entire species', but go with me. The fact of the matter is, I'm still uncomfortable with it, even though I'm perfectly capable of supplying acceptable examples of ginger haired rootability.

I have never really got the fascination that some people truly have for body hair that looks like it's dropped off something Frank Oz made using felt, craft glue and a bunch of other shit. It seems weird that on some people it's so vividly orange and then it's backed up with skin that is so soft, pristine, white and almost paper thin that you can see the fucken blood moving through their veins for fucks sake. I think I officially became tainted by the ranga (slang shortening of the word orang-utan, the orange furred primate) when I attended a night of the comedy stage show "Puppetry of the Penis". Anyone who knows me properly, knows I love staring at a love truncheon, it's verging on a hobby. Is that even allowed to be referred to as a hobby? Would the Society of Hobby Classification be outraged at me trying to sully their honourable name? Anyway, I'm sitting in the audience with a friend...no idea which one...the lights dim, the promise of penis is in the air, everyone leans forward in anticipation of clever willy routines. Then out on stage wanders two guys, not the original creators of course, but some lowly paid penis manipulators that are the virtual store Santa versions of the original, mythical Santa of pork sword trickery. The trickery started even before the playground of pecker aerobics began, one of them was a ginger in disguise. He had bottle blond hair and on the flicking back of the silky cape that covered his work space he unveiled a shock of extremely bushy, neon orange plumage. This was then further enhanced via the use of a select number of cameras and 2 very large TV screens that made an electronic billboard of this technicolour trimmed schlong.

It was fucken FULL ON! I know, I used capitals and an exclamation mark, it was that serious. I was torn between wanting to settle into a night of revelling in big screen winkie and the shock and horror of the platter it was being served on. I of course allowed the winkie to win and enjoyed the show, although I was glad I didn't pay for it as the continuous muppet fluff displayed under the same sort of illumination used by 7-eleven, did immeasurable harm. Still all the rampant ginger attacks have forced a change that sees me treading slowly towards the entrance for that lovely walk along the moral high ground. I figure it's time I put all of that behind me and get the fuck over it. Simple. There were other things I wanted to mention however I think I've unleashed a tirade of suitable length to allow me to wrap this one up. I also have no fucken idea what those other topics were so move along, there's nothing to see here.

ONCE UPON A TIME...

...when I was much younger, it was the 80's, which seems rather obvious if I'm talking about my younger days but duh and carry on. Anyway it was well before Boy George confused me with his hair, makeup, funny hat and rather skirt like t-shirt. Before I saw that and thought 'wow she's a weird lady and why do they call her a boy?'. I had a baby sitter. Truth be told she was the family baby sitter and she was probably really there to stop my brothers and I from setting the house on fire, fighting, making scary noises that freaked out my little brother and making sure we went to sleep at some stage in the evening. As I was older I used to sit up with her after they went to bed and hang out with her. Eventually we became too old to be looked after, or my parents refused to pay for her or she more than likely refused to look after us as she needed a series of counselling sessions. Anyway we lost contact for a bit.

Then in the final years of my schooling, as I was preparing to leave and become an actor or a radio announcer or a dole bludger, she got a job working as a teacher at the school my brothers and I all went to. She was always funky and different, interesting hair, great glasses, the 80's were meant for a woman like Rosemary. She bought a small scooter which we helped her paint blue with yellow polka dots, including her helmet. This was the 80's people, you didn't do that in Adelaide, the woman was regularly pelted with rocks as she whizzed past your standard variety South Australian bogan. Anyway she faded in and out of our lives over the years. She and her partner took it upon themselves to help me realise I was a massive bender. I didn't realise of course (I was too busy making the occasional brooch or t-shirt decorated with puffer paints for my mums friends, clueless much?) but when I did they laughed and probably thought 'bless'.

Tonight, after not speaking to Rosemary for far too many years, something happened in my life that I knew only she could understand. So I reached out to her, for an ear, a soothing voice and the benefit of her wisdom and we talked for over an hour. Everything she had to say, was considered, soothing and made so much sense. After I'd thanked her and hung up the phone I hassled her for a final piece of advice via SMS. Her reply was beautiful and it closed with the the most perfect advice I've ever been given. It's private so I won't share, but in that instant I realised how incredibly lucky I am to have her in my life. How amazing it is to make contact again and find her as encouraging and thoughtful as she was when I was much too old to be baby sat, when I was burying my sexuality in arts and crafts and when she took the time out from her night with her own family to devote some time to me and my problems right now.

Thank you Rosemary for being who you have always been and sharing your friendship with a little kid who has only just realised, on the crest of his 40th birthday, how truly amazing you really are. I mean I had my suspicions of her amazing qualities but sometimes it takes a crisis to really get rock solid proof. Friends like Rosemary are few and far between, when they step forward and offer their advice, experience and love in times of need, it's one of the greatest gifts you can EVER receive. It also brilliant to know that after all these years, she still has the ability to baby sit me, even via an SMS.

NEW AND IMPROVED IN 2009

Well you wouldn't fucken read about it would you? Well actually that clearly isn't the case, cos apparently you are reading about it, so what a fucken useless thing to start this entry off with. No doubt there will be more of that to come. Anyway, it's clear that one comment from the delightful spit and vinegar is all it takes for me to continue writing and completely spring clean my blog. Other mother from a far away land, thanks for the encouragement and I promise to be more proactive...how many fucken times have I said that? I've changed my template which is surely the blog equivalent of buying a new dress and making myself up real pretty like. Although going by my track record I'll wear this dress for fucken eons, forget to change and wash it and end up walking around clinging to the memories of when it was fresh out the box and not covered in body sweat, food remnants, sex junk and drool....mmmm classy. I've also added links of some of my favourite and less pornographic links, a new picture of me trying to hold my brain in my head and this entry. Fuck me I so deserve a gold star, or a ribbon, or a shitty arse trophy or even one of those medals that goes black within a week of exposing it to the air.

It's just after midnight on a Saturday night and I've got music videos on in the background (Bjork is singing about Human Behaviour as I type this) which is very convenient. Why? Well as it happens, down in the street below me, I can hear miniscule dicked fuckwits revving their car engines and squealing their tyres. Some cock snap just yelled at his girlfriend about being a fucken slut and a car alarm is going off in the distance. Living in inner city suburbs rocks huh? I so have to go out and buy a microphone so I can record the domestics that happen in the early hours of the morning. It's like Days of Our Lives on ICE with a speed chaser and an itchy groin thrown in just to push them over the edge. I'm officially an uncle, a big gay uncle at that too. Little Eli Joseph is so fucken cute I can't wait to corrupt him and do his head in with stories when he is old enough to listen. I am so proud of my little brother and his beautiful wife and so excited about their future raising Eli, they will be amazing parents and he will be an incredible child. I'm a few weeks away from another month in London with my tasty biscuit Martin. We are planning to get hitched if the intent to marry visa comes through and the waiting periods can be worked out. At this stage we will have the last 3 days of my holiday within which to say our I do's so it will be tight but who the fuck cares.

I sit surrounded by sugar free products, my heavy meat eating diet is back on and has been for 3 weeks and I've lost 7 kilos. It's virtually sugar free but fake sugar items are allowed so I make mouth love to bottles of Pepsi Max and Vanilla Diet Coke and suck the fuck out of any lolly stupid enough to claim its without sugar but liable to induce explosive bum reactions. Fun huh? I've also returned to the gym and am sweating it up with all the people I envy and ogle, plus I'm walking to and from work virtually everyday which is 4.1 kilometres each way. As a result I've become a purveyor of a variety of inner thigh injuries from chafe to ingrown hairs and all sorts of other things that two sweaty, meaty, hairy thighs can create when you add friction. Nearly two hours of rubbing and I'm pretty much creating enough inner thigh energy to power the electricity grid for a small house of refugees in a third world country. Perhaps that's the answer to the global warming and obesity problem. Rig all us fatties up to a series of treadmills, patch into our thigh action and see the planet glow from a few planets away. Anyway that's enough for this entry, will be back soon to add more I promise...enjoy.

ERK.....(INSERT UNCOMFORTABLE SILENCE HERE).....UM SO ARE YOU GONNA SAY SOMETHING?

I think I ignore this blog almost as much as I ignore my tax returns, and my gym work outs, lets not forget ironing and the sort of house cleaning that usually involves dust removal, floor mopping and vacuuming...seriously, I need to do all those things right now, but it looks like sitting on my lardy arse and typing wins out...hurrah! Anyway I've given up on apologising to my non existent readers for not updating this blog. Which could be the reason no one ever bothers to read it...cos its never fucken updated. The quote 'build it and they will come' is ringing in my head for some reason. Anyway, as I've already washed my hands of all guilt and responsibility I suppose I should move onto some sort of content for this entry.

Right now I should be adding words to the special project I've set for myself, but I think I'm terrified of the commitment involved and the work needed to see it through. I know I have the talent and skill to pull it off but everything seems way too much for me lately. I lie in bed at night saying things like...

Ok if I start by cleaning the bathroom then I can move onto the next room, that's simple isn't it? Its a toilet, a sink, a floor, a bath and a shower. That's like 5 things which could be done in 10 to 15 minutes.

Oh and just in case you think I'm crazy as well as lazy, when I said I'm saying these things in my bed, I'm not saying them out loud, we're talking a totally private show that goes on in my head. There's also this one

Well all I have to do is put on my t-shirt, my shorts and my runners and go to the gym, its across the road, its like 30 paces, you'll feel better, you'll lose weight, you'll sleep better, you'll live longer, you'll be able to shop where everyone else does rather than waiting for mui mui's and kaftans to come back into fashion.

These are all really good arguments, but instead of acknowledging them or even arguing with them, I just flat out ignore them. It's like they are dead to me, like I've moved on and I'll never invite them to one of my parties again. In all honesty, I couldn't throw a party anyway. That would involve transforming my house from a crack den within which a bag lady exploded to a pleasant urban interior of stylish poofter merchandise. I'm sure all the mod cons are still here, they've just been covered with piles of unfolded, freshly washed clothing, old newspapers, the iron on the table plus those broken speakers I am going to throw out.

Erk its starting to annoy me now. Perhaps that is what needed to happen. I write about it and shame myself into taking responsibility for it and then I'll actually do it. I just wanna be back in the arms of my one true love but until that happens it seems I'm much happier doing sweet fuck all. Which is why I'm completing this entry now so I can maybe go off and do one of the many things that I should be doing. I promise I'll update you if there is any progress but don't hold your breath....seriously.

ENOUGH MEAT ALREADY!

Oh look I used an exclamation point, which must mean I really mean it. But seriously... ENOUGH MEAT ALREADY! I'm more than happy to admit to being a complete devotee of meat, I love the idea of a mixed grill, a snack that is savoury, a BBQ encrusted something or other. However when its the only thing you are allowed, or at the very least, recommended to consume at least every 2 to 3 hours, it suddenly becomes a chore. So why have I been reduced to a cave man's diet? Why is it that my shopping basket is layered to the brim with enough meat products to cater a rugby team BBQ? Well it's this thing called a carb detox, which basically means you deny yourself sugar and carbs for three days. It apparently forces your body to start chewing into your body fat and completely ends your lust for all things sweet. Yeah right, I want chocolate and sugar and some sort of carb. Perhaps some bread, with a heafty slab of butter, the sort that resembles a slice of cheese from a far and a pure delight up close.

Mmmm this must be something close to what it's like to be trapped on an island surrounded by wall to wall meat products. Everywhere you look there are fish and cows and chickens and little baby lambs and turkeys and anything else that looks like it might benefit from a few turns on top of an open fire. Slurp. Then again, once you've worked your way through the island, sampled all the varieties of life, you kind of lose interest. Suddenly the vegetation starts to look good, the sand starts to resemble sugar, fuck, worst case scenario, some of that animal poo is gonna start looking like the wind just blew the shiny foil wrapper from its surrounds. That is what a carb detox does to the human brain. The last time I did this, oh yeah, this isn't the first time I've ridden the all meat express, but the last time it was easier, it was new, it was different, now it just seems like a fuck load of meat. Vanity is a bitch huh?

However I'm not giving in, cos I know how well it worked last time. Eventually, once the detox was over and I stepped into the next phase which included lots of the green stuff and a handful of carbs, it was even easier. A delightful 8 kilos lighter a few months later I couldn't have given a toss about the 3 day detox, it was a distant memory. So right now I'm thumping the keyboard in a vain attempt to distract myself from the meaty exhaustion that is currently lumbering through my body. I do however find myself sucking the fuck out of an abundance of sugar free lollies. Anyone who has consumed bulk amounts of those sugar free lollies soon realises it doesn't say EXCESSIVE CONSUMPTION MAY HAVE A LAXATIVE EFFECT for nothing. So suddenly I've discovered the 2008 version of laxatives with a sickly sweet exterior. Oh yeah its heaven being the Kate Moss of the dietary sweet aisle.

WHO'S A LUCKY FUCKO THEN?

Well in all honesty that would be me. I know, can you believe the confidence of me being all check it and actually saying, guess what, I'm a lucky fucko? Anyway this blog has been in a fucken coma of the sort normally reserved for day time soapies. You know the type, pretty, mute, maybe a touch of fluoro light glistening off the drool carefully placed on the super hero style chin. Hmmm, actually, no they wouldn't go as far as the drool on the chin cos that would ruin the perfection of the coma ridden hottie lying all innocent style in hospital robes. But I like the idea of fucking with perfection so lets put some drool on his face and maybe he can make weird arse groans every now and then too just to fuck with the viewers head. Anyway now that we've established what kind of coma this blog has been in, lets offer up some reasons and excuses.

The first reason, I'm so stupid happy this is the last place I wanna be, then there is the pathological laziness that is part of my genetic makeup and last, but by no means least, is the cheap arse office chair positioned in front of my mac that is anything but enticing. You know the kind, it looks alluring when you consider the price at the checkout but once you've spent more than 10 minutes in it, you curse your cheapness and wish you delved into those savings you don't have and bought something cushy and leather coated that might even come with built in massage qualities. Anyway I'm finally here, fighting the numbness that's already building in my left arse cheek and typing away as the 'Death Proof' soundtrack plays in the background.

So from memory the last few entries in this blog were clearly focused on me feeling sorry for myself and cursing why I wasn't good enough and seeing as so much has changed since then, I feel it's only fair I update things so everyone knows I'm no longer so dramatic. So in short the dead shit boyfriend is gone and part of history and his way better half Martin is free and we are together as one. Well as together as you can be when you are in Australia and he is in the UK, but its a temporary thing and we're both in this for the long run so there aint no point in sweating the separation when we both know it won't be forever. I've been to London to chill with the tastiest biscuit on the face of the planet and of course we talk to each other everyday in between. My next visit is locked in for three weeks in October when he hits the 30th birthday milestone and it's safe to say we are both chewing at the bit.

So that leaves us with the luckiest fucko on the planet statement from earlier and because this is my blog, I'm allowed to fill it with anything I so desire. Today I feel like celebrating the man of my dreams, Martin Clarke. He's without a doubt the most amazing man I've ever had the great fortune of falling in love with. Why he is so amazing comes down to so many things. Let's start with that thing in his beautiful head commonly referred to as a brain. It's mature beyond it's 29 plus years and never fails to impress or delight me with its contents. It can take me from feeling giddy with delight to laughing till I snort and guffaw to those moments when your eyes fill with tears from the sheer delight of feeling so deeply loved. Just knowing him would be reward enough but to be in the privileged position of having him love you back with all his heart is the most incredible thing I've EVER experienced.

I thought I'd been in love a few times before but all those other times were like dress rehearsals. It's kind of like I was backstage, rehearsing the script, making sure I knew the role, learnt my lines, all that crap. Now though, I'm centre stage, opening night was ages ago and everyday I'm front and centre enjoying the applause of a billion totally satisfied theatre goers. Then again even that doesn't come close to describing how incredible it feels to be one half of this love. If I could build a relationship in a laboratory, add all the qualities I wanted, from the way the guy looks, acts, feels, touches and talks all the way through to how he makes me feel and what it is he likes to enjoy with me there is no way I would have thought up all the things that Martin possesses and gives me everyday.

That's why I'm the luckiest fucko on the planet. I don't have any doubts and I don't have to wonder what its like to love like we all dream of loving, cos I live it everyday. It's human nature to feel guilty about that, to question it, to wonder why we got so lucky, but if you give into all of those traits you end up destroying the good thing you've got. I'd be lying if I didn't say I've gone through those things. I've given in to jealousy, to worry and questioning, more than I'm happy to admit, but I think those things are normal when you've never had something this good. You want to make sure it's as real as you think it is, you wanna make sure you aren't gonna lose it, you wanna make sure no one else is gonna take it away from you. I'm now at the point where I know it's real, I'm lucky, I deserve this, I love this and I'm gonna put everything I've got into it cos that is exactly what I'm getting back in return.

I want everyone to feel what I'm feeling, I want everyone to get this kind of love. There have been far too many times when I've given the love and got nothing back. It's like my co star wasn't on the same page of the script, they hadn't learnt their lines, they were there for the pay packet and the stardom. I was just there to make them look good and I could be written out and replaced at a whim. It was a Home and Away romance. Now I'm not acting at all, its from the heart, with all of my soul and my co star is totally on the same page. It's a fluid, organic, beautiful piece of poetry that gives me more rewards than I could have ever hoped for. I really am the luckiest fucko on the planet.

LABYRINTH - A POEM

Anyone that would take the time to put poetry onto paper and use me as their inspiration automatically throws me for a six. It's incredibly humbling to think that you can be inspiration for anyone, on any level, but to turn an art like poetry into a dedication to their thoughts of you, is amazing. I'm fortunate enough to be deeply in love with someone, that love isn't easy, won't always be within touching distance and no doubt will bring me more heart ache. However there is no hesitation when it comes to choosing which I'd prefer, difficult love, seperated by boundaries and circumstances is better than never experiencing that love at all. One of the hardest things to do is to let go of the ones you love, but life is all about letting go, we are only on this planet for a short while and each of us will lose the ones we hold most dear. Enjoy your time while you have it and take nothing for granted.

TOUCH ME IN THE FADING NIGHT
LEAVE ME FEELING WARM
TAKE MY DARKNESS AND DESIRE
LET MY FEELINGS FREE
IT'S NOT ENOUGH TO TOUCH YOU NOW
IT'S NOT ENOUGH TO SEE
HOLD MY WORDS AS RING THEY WILL
WHEN STORMS APPROACH FROM ME
IGNORE THE FOG THE SUN WILL COME AND BURN AWAY THE HAZE
NOW SETTLE DEAR
FIND ME IN THIS MAZE
YOURS TO KEEP FROM FEAR

M.C. 25/06/07

NOTHING REALLY CHANGES

October rolls into November and I find myself still in the same place with no changes worth reporting. A plane ticket is booked that I will probably have to cancel, sms messages are sent and ignored and all the time I sit alone wondering what to think. Is he sleeping? Does he really care? Why the fuck can't he just talk to me? I'm losing hope and expecting things to collapse in a huge heap. I think my 2 weeks of holidays will be spent in tears, mourning something that could have been amazing? Am I the only one that thinks it will be amazing? Why aren't I good enough to take a chance on? Why does it take this long to decide who you want to be with? Why do I feel so pathetic? I'm sick of being ignored, sick of having to hide and sick of being an after thought.

When can I place my heart in the hands of another and not have it treated like it is nothing? When will the one I love meet me half way? When will he make the choice that proves his devotion? Why is it so fucken difficult to put me first? How come I give so much care, compassion and love to others yet find it so difficult to have it returned with any real conviction? Am I forever to be used, abused and discarded? Harsh feelings, awful words, honest none the less.

2 weeks left before everything changes for better or for worse....time will tell.

I CAN'T SLEEP

That's why I'm here, tapping away on the keyboard, currently I have one of those heads that's full of thoughts and questions. It's the kind of head that won't shut up, won't let me sleep, won't stop badgering me. I could grab a jazz cigarette and try and soothe myself into slumber but the associated paranoia would make me think I'm gonna have a heart attack or some other stupid ailment. I wish it were easy to switch off sometimes, especially when love is involved. Love, its that elusive thing we all desperately search for, we're told from an early age that it's the be all and end all. Some internal soul searching on my behalf leaves me wondering if love just brings pain and upset in the long run. Love may be the stuff of Hollywood movies and romance novels but in reality it's a pain in the arse. I've thought I've been in love a number of times but the relationship breaks down or never even gets started and with time you look back at it and think...well what the hell was that?

Is it just infatuation? Is it just lust? Is love a big fat lie? Do we convince ourselves we are in love simply because we feel a connection with someone? Are we that dependant on the love of another that we seek it out and place it on the shoulders of the first person who shows any interest? Once upon a time I was "in love" with anyone who gave me the time of day. Ok let's clarify that, I don't mean anyone with a wristwatch and the ability to tell me where the big hand and the little hand was situated, was immediately a potential victim for my stalking or anything. I mean if a guy showed enough interest in me to say hello or even talk to me, then that was enough for me to cling to. Pathetic huh? Thankfully that was when I was in my 20's. Now I've found the real thing, it truly is the be all and end all of romances, the kind of love that floors you and makes you wonder what all those other times you were in love meant. They seriously pale into insignificance in comparison to what I've found.

But here is the problem, this love isn't mine to enjoy, because the person I'm in love with is already taken. How much can someone be in love with you when they already spend most of their time with someone else? How much can someone be in love with you when they continue to stay with that person and put you on the back burner? How much can they really love you when they don't really explain why they have to be with that person even though they swear they are no longer in love with them and are more friends than lovers? How much time will I spend hoping, waiting and wondering when things will change? After the one you love with all your heart, continues to let you down and push you aside to look after the feelings of the one they are already with, how are you meant to feel?

I know how I'm feeling. I feel stupid, I feel like I'm annoying, I feel like I'm not important, I feel like I'm wasting my time, I feel like I have been discarded and trodden on. I also feel hopeful, nervous, overly keen and a little bit desperate. Lots of these feelings are completely fucked, but they are part of what makes us into the person we are. So where am I left? I have an immense love for a guy, but no faith that the love I have for him is really returned. I have amazing love to share but no trust that the one I want to give it to will ever meet me half way. How do you trust someone who spends all their time with you lying to the one they are already with? What is so open about an open relationship if you are keeping secrets the whole time? Can you build a trusting relationship with someone like that?

I fucken hope so, that's the incredibly sad thing, after all that has happened, I'm still clinging to the hope that this will sort itself out. I can't explain it but perhaps love truly is blind. My closest friends have faith that this guy will come through but as time goes on I have more and more doubts. It's unbelievably difficult to be so in love yet feel so betrayed at the same time. It hurts my heart and a weaker person would no doubt throw themselves in front of a bus or dish out a tirade of abuse but neither of those things are in my nature thank fuck. I mean seriously, how can you hate or resent someone if you are truly in love with them? That's the ultimate question. Here I sit...

alone...

wondering...

waiting...

When will my turn come?
When will I be good enough?
When will I be the one?
When will he be mine?
When can I truly call this my LOVE?

SOMEONE SPECIAL

Been meaning to put this on my blog for ages but things always seem to get in the way, minutes become hours, hours become days, days become...well you know how it goes. Anyway this is the first time anyone has thought enough of me to write a poem especially for me. I can still remember the feeling of incredible appreciation I felt on receiving it and to have it delivered and explained to me by someone I love so deeply makes it even more important. Its obviously private and will make no sense to a stranger but the fact that its full meaning is only understood by 2 people makes it all that more special. The writer is incredibly talented and an amazing soul and for him to think me worthy of putting pen to paper I will always be grateful.

DASHING THROUGH THE DISTANT LIGHT
DANCING IN THE DARKENED NIGHT
SCREAMING IN THE QUIET TIME
STARING INTO STARS

TOUCH ME NOW
DON'T LET ME GO
DON'T LET ME FEEL THE COLD
SPEAK TO ME IN EASY WORDS
CARRY ME AFAR

MORNING YAWNS YEARN MORE ONCE MORE
AFTERNOONS DRAW CLOSER STILL
TAKE THE TIME TO FEEL ME NEAR
NOTHING HERE TO FEAR

THE MOON BEARS DOWN UPON OUR SKIN
TILL SUNSHINE PLAYS ITS HAND
TIME TO GO BUT NOT FOR LONG
I'LL LEAVE MY HEART AJAR

M.C. 23/07/07

HEAD FAIRY FLOSS...ENOUGH ALREADY!

Once upon a time, back in my teenage years, when I flicked my head from side to side, the movements would be accompanied by a sway of long, thick, brown, bountiful hair. I'm talking bullshit thick, really curly, shiny, Wella-fucken-woman hair that drove my hairdresser into gushes of approval and demands to use my head of hair for their next hair dressing competition. I know you're probably sitting there thinking...

"Wow what was it like when you hit the catwalks of Milan?"

Hate to burst the bubble but I never got as far as Milan or Paris or London or New York, in fact I didn't even get as far as the Marion Shopping Centre in suburban Adelaide. Basically I did it once, my hairdresser coloured my hair blond with black strips down the side and cut it in the style of the 80's, heavy on the top, sharp and tight on the sides. It was fucken cool and I thought I was the ultimate new romantic hero. The reason I've chosen to divulge the sordid history of my teenage years is to illustrate the point that we all have fucked up hairstyles that we can laugh at.

Now though, I can barely contain my laughter as I walk the streets gob smacked at what translates as a 'trendy' haircut for men these days. Is it just me or am I right in assuming that there are a lot of guys out there with haircuts you'd normally find attached to the heads of women? I mean seriously, every little fucko seems to be wandering up the street with a head of hair that resembles a soft helmet. Its teased into a huge bubble around their heads, their side burns resemble the ones your Aunty used to have in the 60's with her mother fucking beehive. They gel the tips into little spikes that feather around their stupid fucken faces and they walk up the street in packs of three or four with the same style of wanky over blown bouffants. For the record guys, you DON'T look cool, you look like stupid fucken MORONS!

Soon I'm gonna walk the streets and start flicking matches as these combustible piles of head fairy floss. I mean seriously what the FUCK ARE YOU THINKING??? Do they look in the mirror and think it actually looks good? Do they seriously pay someone to style it like that? Are hairdressers seriously proud of what they have created? If it was my job to cut hair and some guy requested I shape his head into a massive ball of nanna hair I would gently place my hands on his shoulders, tell him to look really hard in the mirror and then repeatedly slam his head over and over again into the glass until I knocked some fucken sense into him. I know the 80's were bad, new romantics were happy to wear silky shirts, brooch's at the neck and top heavy hairstyles but that was what was cool. Please explain to me what is cool about fairy floss haircuts? Where did they come from? Who decided they were cool and why is it straight guys that seem to think its so fucken cool to walk around looking like that? Oh and assuming they actually are straight and some woman actually decides to go out with them, how are they coping? Do they only go out with them because they know they will never get told to hurry up when they are preparing to go out? Do they have fetishes for hair styling products, dryers and large mirrors? Are they only interested because they wanna know how to style their own hair that high, that fluffy, that girlie?

The fact of the matter is, they look like huge fucken stupid tools, even a trashed, half nude Britney deserves more respect than any guy with a fairy floss haircut. So next time you're in front of a mirror, check your bad self and if you could grab a black marker pen and scribble a dome around your head where your hair is and it looks like a massive helmet then you sir are a fucken wanker and you should be heading to the nearest barber for an all over buzz cut and get some self respect you pointless princess. Oh yeah, I'm a poof and I'm calling YOU a princess, seriously, go check yourself NOW!

I'M A MAGNET FOR FUCKWITS

How's that for a killer statement? It’s a grand, sweeping generalisation and honestly, most of the people in my life are some of this planets most amazing individuals. I feel completely privileged and honoured to hold them close and treasure them like the delightful things that they are. People like that are few and far between and because I've managed to assemble a massive collection worthy of the museum of funky friends or some other badly named collective like that, it is only natural that amongst the beauty, occasionally, security is breached and a random gets through. Let’s face it, there happens to be some out and out randoms wandering this planet who do your fucken head in and for some reason, yet to be categorised by science, they naturally gravitate to me. Boy do I have fun when they step into my personal space, like this woman I met a few weeks back whilst waiting for a tram to rescue me.

For the purposes of this story I will change her name and call her Beryl, mostly because I’m fucked if I can actually remember her name. Anyway as I approached the tram stop she was deep in conversation with a group of teenage guys who had moved well away from the tram stop and we’re hardly reacting to her enquiries. Now a smarter, more aware person would recognise this as a warning but I’m clueless and dim at the best of times so I wandered up to the tram stop and sat down to wait for its arrival. Like a lamb to the slaughter I couldn’t smell the stink of nut bar in the air as she departed her teenage victims and settled down alongside me. Foolishly I smiled at her, which for most people is common courtesy, but for her was an open invitation to start chatting.

Beryl was clearly a drug abuser, aside from her slurred speech, she was a head to toe example of why you should never dress yourself if you are a drug abuser…did someone say Britney? She was wearing a far too short denim mini, black stockings, a hideous shirt that looked like it had been wiped across Ken Done’s arse and a jacket that once belonged to some kind of synthetic animal who’s fur had been torn from it and stitched into something that may have been cool in the 90’s, emphasis on ‘maybe’. She also had a huge pair of 70’s sunnies on and fire engine red lipstick that had made the progression to her teeth sometime through the day and had decided to stay there. The first thing Beryl said to me was

‘My names Beryl, what’s yours?’

It was at that moment that I realised I was trapped. A braver person would have stood up and walked away but I chose to open the fucken floodgates with this reply

‘I’m Benjamin how are ya going?’

IDIOT! What the fuck are you doing? That’s what was echoing through the interior of my skull, but by that stage it was too late. Beryl answered by telling me ‘

‘I’m ok but the tram seems to be running late so lucky I’ve got you to talk to while I wait’.

Damn it all to hell is what I thought. So the next thing she asked me was

‘Do you like my sunnies? I bought them today at the op shop and I think they’re pretty cool’.

Rather than say

‘Hmm they look pretty shitty but at least they distract you from the car crash of collected clothing you have assembled for the public today’

I said

‘They’re pretty cool, they suit you too’

She came back with a

‘Wow do you think? Thanks so much, oh you’re really nice’

It was around this time that she jumped from her seat and leaned hard against the inner wall of the tram stop alcove and looked at me with dread in my eyes, I looked at her and asked if she was alright to which she replied

‘Can you see that guy with the blond mullet? Is he coming over here? Quick go check’

Of course I’m thinking are you fucking serious? Her intent stare confirmed for me that she was, so I got up, walked forward of the tram stop and had a good look around, the whole time Beryl is whispering to me with the loudest, drug fucked voice you’ve ever heard

‘He’s the one with the blond mullet, the baseball cap and tracksuit, if he sees me he’s probably gonna try and bash me the fucken arsehole, I can’t believe he is wandering around here, Jesus, do you see him? Is he coming over?

Of course at the mention of the bashing and coupled with her over the top reaction I was freaking out. The last thing I wanted to get involved in was a street fight between some doped up slapper and the man who financed the aborting of all her ill gotten babies. Fortunately he kept on walking and disappeared around the corner but even after my assurances she was reluctant to step away from the wall. I resumed my position on the seat, hugging my backpack close to me and perhaps it was the wind but I’m sure I was rocking backwards and forwards a bit too. I do remember wondering when the fucken tram was gonna arrive and get me away from her. Beryl stepped out from her hiding place and tentatively walked out to check her surrounds, I spent the time staring up the street trying to imagine a tram into being.

Once she felt sure he wasn’t around she sat back down next to me and launched into telling me about how she was an artist and that the shelter up the road was having an exhibition of her paintings. She said they were being shown for the next few weeks, proceeded to tell me the opening times and enquired about when I might be going to see them cos she would love to know what I thought of her work. That sort of questioning implied that she would like to hear from me once I actually had viewed them, which wasn’t NEVER going to be on my to do list. I told her yeah I’ll definitely try and get there. It was at this stage that I stood up and said

‘Well it looks like the tram isn’t gonna come so I’m gonna walk, nice to meet you Beryl and best of luck’

I didn’t wait for her reply, just walked straight towards the corner of the street and waited for the traffic lights to change so I could escape. As the lights changed and I stepped into the street to cross I heard her yell out

‘Wait for me! I may as well walk with you cos you’re probably right so hang on’

FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! The interior of my head screamed, now she’s gonna fucken follow me. I of course kept on walking in the sad hope I could make it across the road before she caught up with me but it wasn’t to be. I then proceeded to walk up the street at double time while she walked a step behind me talking all the fucken way. This continued for 10 minutes until finally an out presented itself, as we approached an intersection she turned to me and said well this is my street, thanked me for walking her up the street and sauntered off into the distance. I of course breathed a sigh of relief and watched her to make sure she didn’t change her mind and return. Suddenly I understood what it was like for her when she was pressed against the tram stop wall losing her shit. As much as I would have loved to ignore her and divorce myself from her issues and her conversation I realised I’m not that sort of person, I never will be and I probably don’t wanna be either. I managed to bump into her at the service station around the corner from work a few weeks later and said hi and she said in a loud voice, in front of all the people in the queue waiting to pay

‘Hi love did we screw once or something?’

I just said no and added in a rather meek voice

‘We met at the trams top a few weeks back’

She just shrugged her shoulders and walked away leaving me red faced and wishing I’d never even bothered.

WHAT EVER YOU DO DON'T CLICK ON THIS LINK...I DARE YOU

Righto this is a Today Tonight story waiting to happen, you've heard about the effects drugs could have on our children. The damage it does to their feeble minds could render them useless members of our society, lost, wandering, mumbling on like demented outcasts from "Children of the Corn". Except they aren't pretty, so as they extinguish the last bit of life from your body, your final image won't be some blond haired catalogue model with a Johnny Young Talent Time grin spread across its face it will be three badly made up....(pause for dramatic effect, also change to capitals, might even throw in an exclamation mark, we'll see, anyway keep reading cos this bit in the brackets is useless, ok now it's going on too long, the dramatic effect is ruined, oh for fucks sake close the brackets and do the final, dramatic word)...CLOWNS!

Yes I'm afraid so, these clowns are all kinds of fucked up and you need to see them, so without further ado hit the fucko link and step into a world you've never seen before and probably won't be able to see again, actually its fucken piss funny and I've been watching it endlessly, so go ahead, click on the link, I dare you woo har har har har...(ok was the scary laugh too much? oh for crying out loud we are in fucken brackets again talking to ourselves, quit it, I said qu..).

Here is the link FUCKO

FOR KERRIE...ALWAYS IN MY THOUGHTS

I still remember the first day Kerrie came along and introduced herself to me. It was 1984 and I was spending another lunch time sitting by myself at school. Think private Catholic College, full uniform including tie and the usual religious scowls from the brothers and sisters who rammed religion down our throats. The few male friends I had we're always running off to the oval to play sport, something I wasn't interested in, so being the shy, delicate flower that I was, I would spend most lunches sitting by myself, hoping no one would notice me.

One day, my worst nightmare was realised when this girl sauntered up to me with a few of her friends in tow and demanded to know if I had any friends. Of course I protested and announced my popularity, explaining that I wasn't interested in going to the oval with them and chose to stay in the main courtyard waiting for lunch to finish. This didn't seem to satisfy Kerrie, she detailed how she had observed me over the past few days sitting by myself, looking lonely and shy and had decided that she and her friends would now be my friend, so I wouldn't have to sit alone anymore. How amazing is that? This 14 year old girl taking the initiative to reach out to someone who was painfully shy and frequently alone.

I can still remember that day vividly, mostly because her questions and my replies would be rubbed in my face for years to come. Unfortunately one of the ice breakers Kerrie chose to ask was "who's your favourite band?" Now at that age I wasn't even listening to the radio, wasn't buying records and wasn't aware of music unless it was my parents Lionel Richie, Helen Reddy, Boney M or ABBA albums. So in a mad panic I chose the band that immediately sprung to mind. The band? Men At Work! For some reason "Down Under" found its way to the front of my brain and before I could bite down on my tongue and sever it to prevent me from forming the words, I actually said it. I'm sure you could hear the screams inside my head from the other side of the school. You could certainly hear the screams of laughter and ridicule from kerrie and her friends...my secret shame...not so secret now, gulp.

Yes my future friend, when confronted with that answer, this delightful girl who had minutes earlier reached out to this shy boy, pretty much threw her head back and all but pissed herself laughing like I had told the joke of the century. Now one trait of mine, especially when I was younger and a lot less extroverted, was to go bright red in the face whenever the focus was on me or I was embaressed. So you can imagine the shade of red I turned. In fact it's safe to say Kerrie and her friends bore witness to the first human to actually morph into a chamelion and pretend they were pressed flat against a big fuck off fire engine trying to become one with its vivid redness. Once the laughter had died down, probably in 1986...kidding, Kerrie mentioned the band INXS.

I had never heard of them of course but Kerrie's face immediately lit up as she went into detail about how great they were, how I had to hear them and how she would do a mix tape of them and bring it to school the very next day so I could listen to them for myself. She was true to her word and the next day INXS became my favourite band in the world, or at the very least, the only cool one I knew. Kerrie's passion for them knew no bounds, she even wrote a brilliant letter about our local FM radio station (one that I now do voiceovers for) telling either 'Rolling Stone' or 'Countdown' magazine how revolutionary they were for playing real, aussie music (FM radio was a much more underground beast back in the early days of the 80's). It was so well written it was of course printed in the very next issue much to all of our delight.

I had some of the greatest laughs of my life with Kerrie, stupid things that if I tried to recount now would seem pointless and hardly worth a smile. We've all got those classic moments that strangers write off as 'had to be there' moments. Special things that only the two of us understood and appreciated, shared moments that are still burned on my all too foggy memory. Kerrie was what some would call a dag, but also the life of the party, the sort of person who could draw a conversation out of anyone and make them feel like they were the only one that mattered. She was a natural journalist because she was genuinely interested in what other people thought, believed and experienced. She was also brilliantly funny with an intelligence to back it up. She was all kinds of fuck off amazing wonderful and I am so lucky to have had her as a close friend. I need to keep recalling memories of Kerrie and I also need to move on a start writing again. So my thoughts and happenings will return to this page and so will stories of Kerrie. As they come to me I'll give them the space to breathe on this blog for others to read and share.

If you didn't know Kerrie you can never understand how truly incredible she is. Her memory will remain with me FOREVER. I don't want this to end up sounding like one of those annoying emails that encourages you to send it to your 5 best friends to show them how much you love them, but I will say this. Find those special people in your life and keep them close because they mean more to you than you will ever know.

APOLOGIES

Hey kids, not sure if anyone cares but haven't felt the need to scribble on this thing for a very long time. I lost a magnificent and beautiful soul to cancer a few months back and want the next words I write to be a tribute to her incredible and wonderful impact on my life. True friends are a beautiful thing, saying goodbye to them when you aren't ready to let them go is heart breaking. I love you Kerrie wherever you are and I look forward to celebrating you within these pages soon, still holding onto tears and a fragile heart for you. Best friends in this life and the ones to follow forever.

me