Shyness. Awkwardness and being my dumbarse scared chooken self.

I made a quiet promise to myself as my hips jerked and gyrated to good music at Sensation on New Years Eve. I swore that I wouldn’t walk past you any longer.

Now if only I knew what to talk to you about….

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.

“Mixtape Bloke” has been on my mind. I imagine myself singing The Faint’s “The Geeks Were Right” to him whilist pretending to play the song with an old Guitar Hero controller which I cleverly modified to make lovely sounds when hooked up to my Macbook.

Real girls wield soldering irons, chew strawberry bubble gum and aren’t afraid to use the word “blowjob” in everyday conversation.

So to add to my last post about mixtapes, I’m finding myself in such a dilemma. I’ll post the tracklisting and once he reads it, it’s “let’s unfollow @melbournegirl NAO”

Whattamigonnado?

Instead the one hundred and forty characters get stretched to over one thousand. Every Web 2.0 entrepreneurial type, podcaster, former postman and social media coke snorter is waiting for a paragraph about how AWESOME Google Wave is.

Well, uhhh, sorry to disappoint you but I HAVEN’T GOT A BLOODY GOOGLE WAVE INVITE YET. So nyerr. (that doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t love one)

I spent time trying to make a mixtape last night. You remember mixtapes, right? TDK D90 audio cassette in a twenty year old double deck cassette recorder hooked up to an equally ancient amp fed into the Macbook.

Real girls use cassettes to make crazy mixtapes for blokes they reckon are “pretty bloody alright, yaknowhattumsayin’”.

Trying to figure out whether the bloke has a cassette player himself is a different kettle of barramundi altogether.

There’s something quite special about making mixtapes and then listening to the final product. I was brought up on wow and flutter, jumpy vinyl, half chewed cassettes recovered from a feral National Panasonic ghetto blaster from 1985.

Sadly mixtape making has been a bit of a cursed affair as well. I’ve had blokes throw my cassettes on the ground and step on them. Crushed the magnetic ribbon, crushed the creativity and crushed my heart to pieces. TDK didn’t get the chance to do amazing things to any of their systems.

Is this why all the cool kids now make mp3 mixtapes instead? Uncrushable just deletable.

So, fellas, tell me, if some chick made a mixtape for you as a way of saying “you’re an alright sort of guy, let’s hang out sometime”, would you dig that or find it to be childish?

Hit me up with a comment. I’m curious to know what you think.

These are some of the stupid things I wonder when I’m not playing the “Which bloke on the train looks rootable” game. I’m sure any of the blokes I’ve eyed would need to be extremely drunk to give this old chook a second glance.

Getting back to ruts and what they look like, I think mine must, at the very least, be a nice marle grey. A nice neutral looking rut. Emo to an extent but not your stereotypical “I listen to MCR and want to slash my wrists while wearing a pair of skinny jeans that bring new meaning to the world ‘cameltoe’” shade of emo.

I’m not afraid to admit that I’m lonely. Well, not afraid to admit it in my blog because let’s face it, there’s only two of you reading this and one’s a former postman.

There’s an easy way or two to send loneliness packing – go out and meet people or slash your wrists while listening to MCR in a pair of skinny jeans.

No dramas. Too easy. Get all your funky fresh bros and hoes from Twitter to come to the usual haunt (Transport/Yakbar/Softbelly) and get remarkably tiddly on overpriced Italian beer and talk rather loudly about some Bulgarian DJ nobody has heard of.

It’s a shame I hate crowds, I’m claustrophobic and too much Italian beer turns me into a very maudlin @melbournegirl.

…and this why I’m lonely?

Far from it.

The last proper good time out I had was way back when I met up with the then muse and we kept the gin companies in business.

Last I heard he pissed off from the Internet and back to Adelaide never to be seen again.

I found another “muse” since then but telling him would a) cause him to unfollow me from Twitter and b) freak him out.

Even though I’m suffering from a very colourful rut, he’s been keeping me afloat with his out of this world comments.

Perhaps it’s smarter to stay silent and suck up the loneliness instead of making an arse of one’s self.

Damn you, moral dilemma.

Yeah, perfect icebreaker. While BlokeILike was downing his Heineken, I’d saunter over and hit him with the icebreaker and we’d be doing the horizontal lemur dance a few hours later.

Buhm-bow! Survey says “EPIC FAIL”. Instead of a saunter, the walk became a weird wiggle, err, wobble, err, whoops. Right, that wasn’t so bad, it was just my shoelaces playing funny buggers with me.

I was now next to BlokeILike. SHOWTIME!

Take note that I had NOT downed any Peroni at all (it was Asahi) and I was as coherant as any respectable AFL player on Brownlow night. Actually, I only had had one beer on an empty stomach so I was fine.

What came out of my mouth was “Hey. Are those new shoes you’re wearing cos they’re reeeeeaaaalllyy cool”

WHAT THE FUCK?

I’m asking this guy about a grubby pair of Onitsukas he was wearing. Where did the coy sounding icebreaker go? Did someone spike my Asahi? Where the hell was my stunt double with the perfect teeth, big tits and 5 foot 9 frame when I needed her?

BlokeILike looked at me with his usual dazed expression (poor boy was baked) and smiled. I almost dropped my Asahi.

TAXI!! Clean up required in the Raspberry Room at Highlander Bar…PRONTO.

We had a nice conversation for a while until his best mate arrived and I promptly forgot about BlokeILike.

What still amuses me to this day is how I feel a hell of a lot more comfortable talking to BlokeIOnceLiked’s best mates than him.

Grubby looking Onitsukas, indeed.

Night after night was spent having mind blowing conversations and having him in my life drove my confidence for a good while. I was busy hosting a radio show on a (now defunct) radio station and felt good about myself.

I hadn’t felt that good about myself in a very long time. The creative spark had been ignited and was burning at its brightest point since 1996 when I was in the first year of my Bachelor of Arts degree.

I suppose what sank the boat was me not defending myself when he overanalysed everything that leapt out of my head. It all hurt but I pretended to grin and deal with it.

The number of times I nearly called this bloke a “cunt” but resisted were infinite. He was _always_ right after all, no?

This bloke disappeared out of my life back in 2004. Just like that. Snap. No reason. That made me realise that all the energy I had spent on him was a waste.

I went from having a tiny shard of confidence to becoming a fat and at times, sad, drunken blimp. I’d hoe my way through bags of crisps and bottles of beer to “feel good” and fill some sort of void.

The years went by and we got back in touch via Facebook and more recently, Twitter. He hadn’t changed and nearly every status update concerned a new bottle of vino. He was still in the same job he was in when I met him and there was all this babble about us catching up properly.

Well, he hit me with an Unfollow and my curves hit him with a Block. It was for the best.

I mightn’t be the smartest, prettiest or thinnest girl out there. Hell, I’m a narcissistic (from the sound of this blog, yeah?), loud, cupcake loving, beer guzzling woman who loves the people who’ve stuck by her.

I mightn’t be able to speak Olde German but I’m “me”. I’m still trying to figure out who exactly “me” is but I’d rather shove my head in a vat of monkey snot than go back to laughing off someone else’s nitpicking.

To the bloke whom I ran away from because you were chasing me. Your first name was that of an Italian city and you had this horrible knack of writing the word “bass” in uppercase letters when you talked about your prized BASS guitars. I wish I could talk to you again. We had the most amazing connection. I miss you.

To the bloke who had a chance but always played the “respect” card. Cheers for treating me like a freaking psychological experiment. I laugh at that fact that you apparently are a “player” these days. Five women on the go? Where do you find the time?

Finally, to you, the #twittercrush. I know that you wouldn’t be daft enough to read my kindergartenesque drivel but you’re a special kind of something in my mind. A really good cupcake and oh how I wish I could find a way to cure your blues. You’re beautiful and don’t let any other owner of a set of perky boobs tell you otherwise. You make me want to write, sing, dance and shyly yelp out “You’re pretty fucking awesome, squire”. Pity I’m too chickenshit to even DM you a hello. Oh well, viva la being a chicken that loves cupcakes. Bawk bawk bawk.

We could’ve had such a BEAUTIFUL life together. It’s such a shame you sold out, went whirlygig around the world, found some random, fell in lurve and then became just another suburban drone.

Well, bub, for 32 years of age, I’m still kickin’ it, sorting out tickets to Sensation NYE, going to be an absolute kinderwhore with the blonde piggytails and white Dunlop Volleys on the dancefloor.

So….uhhh….tell me, sunshine…..what have YOU done with yourself lately?

INTRODUCING KITTY THE MACBOOK

I made the switch over to a shiny new white Macbook last Sunday. One week in to using this darling machine, I am beyond happy with it. She’s an absolute beauty and puts my poor old Asus laptop (otherwise known as The Windows Craptop) to shame.

I haven’t properly used a Mac since my uni days back in 1997 and  I’m kicking myself for not jumping on the bandwagon back then. I’m still trying to get the hang of a few things – namely keyboard shortcuts and the whole diskimage install/drag to the trash business but overall, I’m loving how easy and userfriendly Mac OS X is. I can’t wait to get my mitts on Snow Leopard.

BAD (EX) BOYFRIEND

Yet another relationship gone down the toilet and it’s made me even more cynical than before. I would honestly love to sit and write a dozen paragraphs about failed relationships but meh…

To all my darling male readers, if you’re going to end a relationship, please don’t do it via voicemail mesage. It’s not cool. It’s actually quite cowardly and you’ve demonstrated that you lack a set of testicles.

I’ve got no time for cowards or guys who think that’s it’s all well and good to use a person and then dump them like a sack of shit. Grow up, grow some balls and DO NOT cross my path if I’ve had a little too much rakija because I’ll get all northside rhymes on your arse.

SOMETHING TO CHEW ON

Do any of you out there have a fear of being alone, even though you class yourself as a loner? I’ve been personally pondering this very thought for a while.  I’ve spent the majority of my life in an alone type state (i.e: only child, very few friends, socially awkward….the list goes on…). I’m used to being a loner but my biggest fear is spending the rest of my life alone. The majority of  folk in my real and virtual social circles are partnered up with and without kids.

At almost 32 years of age, I feel like my use by date has well and truly gone. With strands of grey hair becoming more and more visible, laugh lines with dreaded crows feet and a body that is reminiscent of a badly drawn cartoon character, I’ve resigned myself to the fact that I will probably spend the rest of my life as a loner.

It honestly depresses and scares the living daylights out of me. Above all, it hurts…