These are my confessions...

Confession: I would rather stay in with a good book than go and drink myself into an early death on a saturday night.

I realise that in the Under-80's, i'm a minority. And you know what? I'm ok with that. Now I don't mind a gathering, a drink or two maybe (but what's the point? two drinks, I may as well drink something that doesn't taste like gasoline)and no taxi waits. This is something that I would consider "acceptable".

What's not acceptable is:

Someone looking violently close to throwing up on your shoes that are hurting your feet anyway.

Someone looking violently close to punching someone else in the face/stabbing someone else in the throat for daring to glance in the 360-degree view that contains said psychopath.

Chemically 'enhanced' sweaty goggle eyed dancers with glowsticks that look violently close to actually wanting me to join them even though I have no idea who they are.

Bouncers that will kill you. I not lie.

Girls that wear a hanky held together with a paperclip in the middle of winter that push in the nine-mile taxi line shouting 'i'm freezing' and then huddling and whingeing constantly that their feet hurt, they're cold, too many guys were being sleazy jerks.... My brain breaks at this point.

Drinks that taste like they scraped them up off the floor and charged you a week's wages for.

Chicks that glare at you in the toilet line and then in the toilets and make you feel like you'll be glassed at any second, and then schizophrenically squeal about how much they love your bag and can they borrow your lip gloss? You're too relieved at narrowly missing having an eye out and you give it to them.

No vegetarian pizza.

Hangovers that are akin to nuclear fallout. At my age, its inevitable.


I am trying very hard to think of a positive here to counteract all my negative nancy-isms..... Oh! watching plain old drunken people dance and try to get up on stage with the Copperhead Road-playing cover band is usually pretty amusing...


So i'll stick with Proust on the weekend and you can have your goggle eyed sweaty underdressed psychopaths.

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If i'm gonna tell it, then I gotta tell it all...

Confession: I don’t understand the necessity for naked breasts in artwork.

Perhaps I’m the only one that can’t see their intrinsic value (I don’t know exactly how much porn was around back then, so maybe this is all they had), so if someone can enlighten me, go right ahead.

All I see is: ‘Beautiful background, check. Coiffed hair, check. Glamorous, intricate ballgown, check. Pudgy white hands and bowl of fruit/vase of flowers, check: Covered-up reproductive parts, ahh…. Um… well, no.’

Could it have had the same effect without the breastage? Well, to me, yes. I like paintings, I don’t like looking at boobs. Especially when it looks like the subject’s inadvertently had a Tara Reid moment, and they’re on the red carpet at Diddy’s birthday, and they’ve let one slip.

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Confession: This is what is keeping me from reading my politics textbook. Judge for yourself.


http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_unusual_deaths

closely followed by:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_inventors_killed_by_their_own_inventions


Not as long, but equally as entertaining.

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The end is the beginning

Confession: I am one of those people that wear jumpers in warm weather.

I am also one of those people that will say 'should I take a jacket?' (always answer 'yes'), or 'shouldn't you take something warm?'...

I can be cold anywhere. It is a scientific fact. Take today, for instance: sunriseweather.com.au has kindly informed me it is a balmy 23 degrees, not a single other university attendant is wearing anything that resembles warm clothing, and yes, I'm wearing a jumper.

I was born to bring down summer.

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