Highlights:

• Meeting new people (namely Twitter friends)
• surviving my first MTUB
• Meeting the ever elusive @gryphn_ and having a whale of a good time (and then he pissed off back to Adelaide and off Twitter – awwwww)
• Seeing Mr Ferry Corsten do his DJ thang at the Metro and learning that DJs with a hefty pair of manboobs are actually very very talented (bring on Trent McDermott at Sensation!!)
• Gaining a new boss at work
• Work’s major Christmas party (complete with karaoke!!)
• Guitar Hero 5 for the Xbox 360

Lowlights

• Losing my bestie
• Dealing with way too much drama and almost leaving the Internet permanently
• Feeling like I’m not going anywhere workwise at the moment
• Christmas

To all the people who have stopped by this website (that’s everyone, innit??), had a quick read and then ran away in horror, I would like to wish you all an awesome 2010. Here’s hoping the year ahead absolutely RAWKS.

The Palace Theatre (formerly known as the Metro Nightclub) was transformed into a cozy den for trance aficionados and shufflers alike. Trent McDermott (a Bass Station regular) and Steve Strangis represented Melbourne in fine DJ form. McDermott played some deliciously wicked tribal trance that drew many of the early bird shufflers away from the bars and onto the floor.

Italy’s Giuseppe Ottaviani was the support act for the night. I hadn’t heard of Giuseppe prior to seeing him on stage and I was thoroughly blown away by his mix of progressive trance sounds which incorporated a hefty dose of analogue synth to spice things up. Ottaviani is signed to Paul Van Dyk’s Vandit Records label and someone worth checking out if you love atmospheric progressive trance.

Ottaviani did a great job warming up the crowd with some rather banging bass infused numbers. Trent McDermott jumped back behind the controls for a little while to keep the vibe going before Mr Corsten quietly stepped behind the DVDJs to weave his dose of musical magic.

The usual floor pleasers such as “Brainbox”,  “Beautiful”, “Rock Your Body Rock”, “Rose of Jericho”, “1998″ and “Punk” were dished out, along with a few other classics. The night itself wasn’t without a technical glitch or two, courtesy of some faulty DVDJs but kudos to Ferry for soldiering on and flawlessly mixing his way out of a tram-tracking tune or three.

Melbourne put on some fine evening weather and I had the pleasure of meeting two very lovely blokes who made the night even better. It’s great meeting likeminded people who are passionate about music.

Thank you, Mr Corsten for yet again proving to Melbourne that you are one of the best trance DJs in the world and I was shuffling my little feet off to “Brainbox” and “Radio Crash”.

They’re slow, stop, start, shunt, shunt, tram driver takes his sweet old time at the tram depot, elbows in the face, backpacks in the chest, handbag in the groin PAINFUL to ride.

Sadly when darling Connex decide to be “clever” and cancel yet another train service or indeed, depart a minute earlier than the scheduled time, there’s not much one can do other than cab or trambulance it to work.

What makes me cringe even more about tram travel are the posters reminding us to “love” our trams and not put our feet on the seats. Riddle me this, why would I want to read and obey a poster featuring what looks like an asexual orgasming alien life form from the planet Kosky.

Here’s hoping that Metro Trains Melbourne get their act together and run their trains on actual time. As for the trams, the tram drivers can go back to transporting the “cattle” who enjoy the squashy, stop, start, shunt ride to work.

Look at all the sheeple running for YET ANOTHER smelly Hitachi train. Yet another piece of rubbish looking train station architecture.

[Hat-tip: @andrewsayer] [original Twitpic can be found here]

Some things are best left unspoken in a positive way. Who needs words when there’s a bassline calling your name?

Dreams are pretty awesome, no? I very rarely have such vivid ones that make me wake up feeling good about life.

…and then something or someone cuts the chord. Yes, “chord” as in a musical chord or Ian Pooley’s stonker of a tune “Chord Memory”.

Acceptance is the first step in realising that you have to cut the chord. Bailing the fuck out of an awkward situation is the final step to cutting the chord or having the damn thing severed for you. Sorry, kids, we don’t do in-betweens when @melbournegirl is feeling like the world’s biggest dumbarse all of a sudden.

What is left? A miniscule shard of pride. A tiny ounce of sanity and self preservation. Bucketloads of respect, understanding and tears.

There is elation but there’s also that one thing that’ll always bite you on the bum for the umpteenth time – failure.

I’ve got a lot to think about.

Slightly wobbly but no big deal. Thinking about someone but eh, I’m just dreaming. Got some crazy knowledge stuck in my head.

“I’m dreamin’ about bein’ a blunt, I’m walkin’ around and I just can’t wake up”

The truth is I’m awake and looking for some sort of communication and connection. How can I be drunk when there’s such clarity on the screen? Perhaps you should Underworld’s Karl Hyde how he came up with such genius song lyrics.

My Friday night ethanol powered journeys take me places. Meat markets, swank little bars, intimate musical corners but what’s the use? I can drink and drink and drink and watch the boys do their thing.

What do they achieve? A quick alcohol fuelled fuck with the first heavily make up slathered piece of waxed pussy they lay their eyes upon? An aesthetic connection?

What do I achieve from my alcohol fuelled adventures? The chance to have a quick stare at some bloke sitting opposite me, playing some game on his old school Nintendo DS.

It’s not about aesthetics in my head. It’s the curiosity of what’s going on in his head. Everyone on this train has a story.

I sometimes wonder why humans are so obsessed with aesthetics.

With his somewhat thinning hair, stubble, Hell Inc bag, Puma trainers, bootcut jeans and Nintendo DS, the most beautiful thing about this person is their mind. Their story. Their thoughts. Their dreams. Their desires.

We all have a story. Is it a crime to tell someone that you think they’re a beautiful person, purely based on the way they think and connect with you?

Reciprocation shouldn’t just be about cock, pussy, tits and lots of alcohol. That’s just shallow.

Everyone has a story? What’s yours?

I am me. That’s all I can be in all my awkwardness. My blog seems to be my only sanctuary where random people point and laugh.

There are nine C-90 cassettes sitting on my bookshelf. There’s a book of “words” from 1994 next to them.

I’ll let them gather dust like everything else there. A time capsule. Bravery an creativity overpowered by fear and rejection.

I’m not feeling like the cat’s pyjamas tonight. Sorry ’bout that.

Back in high school, it seemed to be so easy to let a guy know that I liked him. I spent many a lunchtime in the library with my pencils, sketchbook and pens drawing pictures, comics and creating other bits of silly looking “artwork” that punctuated the thought “I’m that weirdo chick with the pigtails in 9D that listens to all that freaky sounding stuff on her walkman, usually gets detention for wearing her faded band tshirts over her uniform and sucks at Maths. Oh yeah, by the way, I really like you “

Most of the time going to all that effort succeeded in getting a hello out of them or even a round of four square or Kanga cricket. Other times, the pictures would end up in the bin and I’d spend months upon end being laughed at for being “the stupid girl in 9D who draws pictures of dragons and castles” (trust the stupid girl in 9D to be a sci fi/fantasy nut from such a young age)

I was never any good at letting a guy know I liked him. A simple “Hi. I like you.” is about as difficult for me to wrap my lips around as it is to pronounce the surnames of the Turkmenistan swimming team. It’s a different story after a few vodkas but that’s besides the point.

I like someone and I suppose, have liked them for a while now. Every time I want to somehow show this person that I like them, I seem to just either quietly freak out and mess things up or just trip over my words to the point where I’m typing a fluent combination of Lithuanian and Swahili.

I just wish it was as simple as drawing a picture and sending it to them.

Hi. I like you.
With love from me and my Derwent pencils

…and I wonder, do guys dig that sort of thing…….or am I just thinking like the silly girl I used to be back in 1992?

Thank you for your concern.