I saw a shooting star on my drive home tonight. I think it was. Well, either that or I went through a red light, or I time traveled back to the 80s. I have a knack for that. I saw a shooting star once when I was 11, on Christmas night. My Dad told me it meant things in my life were changing. Aren't they always changing? Maybe just not so drastically. I couldn't help but wonder if the dog enjoyed Christmas, because I didn't. I should have since I received a mountain bike and a Sega Master System that day. So in. Well, it was especially hot and I drank too much wine, which at 11, wasn't much wine. I'd trade presents for presence, even at 11. I just need to check myself in the mirror to see if I did time travel back to 11. Nope, lookin' good, Rizz.

My Best Friends' Wedding (minus Julia Roberts' Mouth)

Since performing at a number of weddings I developed some kind of immunity to their supposed ‘love infections’. I’m usually part of a musical backdrop to the cocktail swilling, the entrée guzzling, and the interpretive limb flailing white people call ‘dancing’. The brides and grooms all start looking the same, the guests all seem like reused extras from ‘The Truman Show’, and the speeches are less enlightening than the nutritional info on a cereal box. I should spend my set breaks pretending I have rabies, frothing at the mouth on champagne, just to keep it real for myself. I’m not complaining though, I would rather play music than chitter chatter with wind-up teeth attached to humans.

This year has been the first year of my adult life that I have been invited as a non-musical guest to a couple of weddings. Yes, a ‘Truman Show’ extra. It’s like jury duty. My wedding immunity has been a challenge as I have struggled to find the ‘special’ in the special day without feeling the blandness of ‘Special K’. Fibre.

Meanwhile, how many more times can you witness a bouquet toss to ‘All the single ladies’? Why not Van Halen’s ‘Jump’? I have never been interested in catching the bouquet. Even if someone threw it directly to me I would respond like ‘Santa’s Little Helper’ to the Frisbee. It would just bounce right off-of my face. The bride might as well be throwing a kilo of mackerel guts over her shoulder.

Yesterday was the first time in my adult life that I have actually been part of a bridal party. I keep saying ‘adult life’ because it implies that I cannot play in the dirt in my good clothes. Oh, how the tables have turned. I am typically not bridesmaid material, but thanks to Kate Mackie and Larry, and Kristen Wiig, we made it through. Let’s just say, I’m pretty sure the brides knew of my incompetence well beforehand. Ah, the impractical non-organising obstacle that I am with lines like, ‘Am I more in your way like this?’

I didn’t realize that lacing up dresses was a thing so I pretended the lace was horse reigns. PS don’t do this. The bride is not interested in being ridden before the ceremony, read in a David Attenborough voice. Sorry, Larry. Really though, I never knew putting bridal gowns on people would be like trying to shove a snake back into its shed skin. Get in there already. And once I attached the catheters they were right to go.

Thanks to a lack of bridezillaness, the fact that it rained right on cue for the ceremony was not an issue. Perhaps this was in the hope for a gay rainbow to follow, or Stefans. 80s. Instead of setting up the slip ‘n’ slide down the aisle we walked in, each with a kilo of mackerel guts flowers.

Meanwhile, thanks to fab unfake hair and make-up people, I didn’t look like Heath Ledger as the joker.

Hi, I don’t know if it was the mackerel guts talking but my wedding immunity weakened. Was I finally starting to understand this thing, like a real ‘Truman Show’ extra? Light rain, favourite faces, and love. There it is, bang! I said the 'L' word. I was Liz Lemon when she cried out of her mouth. So, there I was in Kate Mackie and Larry’s vision, they included me. I think I get it now, you guys. It actually was a special day, despite the fact that Kate Mackie wouldn’t fulfill Larry’s request for me to read Salt ‘n’Peppa’s ‘Shoop’ at the ceremony. So, almost perfect, but I went to sleep smiling. It must have been the lolly teeth,

Dogs and petrol xxx

13/10/eleventy

I just bought nail polish remover that says, 'Be Yourself' on the label. Gee, thanks for reminding me, nail polish remover. All this time I was trying to be a giant old carpet stain. Now I can just be myself. FINALLY! And it only took a small bottle of chemicals to get the message across. (Champagne does this too.)
Nail polish colours sure do have some odd names. I just realised that the colour I bought is called, 'Coral Brown.' Coral that is brown is most likely to be dead. Comforting. Well, it doesn't smell like dead coral. The actual colour does not look like brown coral anyway. I mean, I would have called it 'Liver spots Pearl'.

So I ended up in the shopping centre vortex of death because I needed a dress for my friend, Jenny Anderson's wedding. Actually, I should say that I still need one. It took me 3.5 hours to not find a dress. Oh my dog, what am I to do? Well, at least I bought nail polish. I can just be myself.

Meanwhile, I just tried the 'Coral Brown', and it looks exactly like my skin colour. Yeah, I'm dead coral. So, it pretty much looks like I don't have toe nails at all. I have toes with skin where the nail is meant to be. Indubitably freaky. And it seems that this does not make up for the fact that I do not have a wedding dress. These are unfortunate times, people, unfortunate times. It's hard work being yourself, nail polish remover.

dogs and petrol

Loser libraries

I'm going to start my own magazine called, 'Womens' Weakly'. Yes, a weekly brain sucking parasite which spreads its words and pictures throughout its host organism, eventually strangling it to death. Why would I need anesthetic after being forced to read womens' magazines at the doctor surgery. All sensation has been numbed. I don't need to pay $7 for a flimsy compilation to tell me how to live my life. I know what food to eat, because my body tells me. I know what to wear because it feels good when I put it on. I don't particularly want to be in a relationship with someone who wears ridiculously white Calvin Klein undies.
What a waste of a tank of gas.

Baggage

Ugliest handbags ever! Extreme handbag shopping, they're either lipstick containers with straps or huge body bags with zips and tassels everywhere. I just want to buy a normal size handbag, one without pretend animal fur or shiny love hearts hanging off the sides. I am going to have to revert to carrying my belongings in a red bandana on a stick. And I'll walk around with a long piece of grass sticking out of my teeth. Yeah, that's how I roll now. I wonder how that goes as carry-on luggage.

At least I would be able to find things in my red bandana on a stick. Handbags, no matter how big or small, are abysses. Whatever it is you need in that moment, you'll never find it. You will find everything but the item required. If you need your lip gloss it will burrow into the depths of the unknown, like an angler fish in extreme darkness. The lip gloss feeds off bottom dwelling, glow-in-the-dark shrimp.

And when your phone rings you will never find it in time, you will only find phone impersonators; an ipod, a day planner, the packet of cigarettes that you don't smoke, a deck of cards, and a 90s dial-up modem. How did that get there? Well, you never know. It's just one of the many mysteries of the handbag. You miss the phone call.

You find things when you don't need them; a worn $2 coin, a throat lozenge in the shape of hard cow spit, unused tampons, receipts for breathing, 3D glasses, bottle openers, discount vouchers for standing outside a gym annually, a peg, undies, a set of Encyclopedia Britannica, and dregs. Yes, dregs.

If you were to examine the remnants of an empty handbag you would find the contents to resemble that of a vacuum bag. There's dust, pencil shavings, compost, a petrie dish without the dish, moth eggs and a possible cure for cancer. It's all in the handbag, a highly evolved ecosystem. Do I need a new handbag then, a new habitat to carry around? Nope, red bandana on a stick all the way. Woot.

dogs and petrol

Justin Bieber's nostril hair stylist

Today my horoscope said that a friend would set me up with someone I have never met before. Well, this did not happen. BUT, an elderly Indian man totally made eyes at me at Woolworths tonight. The lady at the cash register dropped one of my mandarins and he picked it up and kissed it. Does that mean something? I think this is probably better than being set up with a pretend person I have never met before.
I would like to be set up with an eagle, not like a date, just to hang out. It would be a giant sized eagle, and everyone would stare in admiration as we walked down the street. We would walk in time to the funkiest bass line, that's what we'd do. Then we'd play pinball and drink chandies with drambuie chasers. Yeah. I suppose my only dilemma would be when we high fived. There would be no slap from the flap, would there. Baseball gloves look strange.

Un-news is good news?

Never before has commercial Australian news been so uninformative. In fact, if I didn't watch it at all I would naturally know more. That is actually what  have been doing, not watching the news. And it's growing, there are more and more people not watching the news, at the risk of their own increased intelligence. If I was from a third world country and someone forced me to watch a western news bulletin I would think it was some kind of variety show, light untertainment if you will.

My point is simply that the news is not news. Headlining tonight: exercise after eating chocolate, how to eat meat on a budget, which movies are showing, a blind lady taking her kids to school, and my favourite; a man who grew a tomato shaped like a duck. They called it a duck-ato. Oh my dog!
How can news reporters present these 'stories'? I'll tell you how, they're not human, surely not. You never see the back of a news reporter, do you, just the front. That's because their backs are filled with wires, buttons and knobs. Yes, there is a lot of knob involved in these robotic news reading puppets.

Whilst watching the news one cannot tell the difference between commercial breaks and news 'stories'. What's the difference? It's all a sales pitch. They are selling thoughts and people are buying them. They do not know that they are buying them, but the price is high, the price is you. The news is actually the 'no yous'.
Choose Pepsi.