Conspiracy Theory #1

At the gym this morning I was watching musicmax, which sometimes rocks my world and other times makes me want to stab the veronica's eyes out, give them new eyes, and then stab them out again. After a Celine song was followed by a Deltard song (she's just so... brave) I realised that we have all been the victim of an elaborate hoax.

Fact 1: Celine faded into obscurity about the same time that Deltard arrived on the scene.

Fact 2: They both sing like they have a dead bird lodged in their throats.

Fact 3: Deltard had Hodgkinson's Disease. In Canada, where Celine is from, 'Hodgkinsons' means 'Find young Australian host body with similar dead bird voice to inhabit and re-ignite career'*

So, my conspiracy theory this week is that Deltard is, in fact, being plagued by the parasitic Celine. Check photos above for confirmation. Have you ever seen them in the same place?



*may not be fact, but my french is terrible (or 'terible' as they say) so possibly fairly close to mark.

Lunch @ miracle

I know, I know. The name of this place should have alerted me to its greatness. After Annoying Younger Brother Who Earns Twice What I Do (AYBWETWID) alerted me that there was a big asi-yan supermarche ‘miracle’ under World Square yesterday, I had to go investigate. Bread top is the bakery attached to the supermarche that makes delicious things you haven’t even thought of. Twin Sausage Bun (two mini hot dogs wrapped in sweet dough), Triple Spring Onion (what appears to be the filling of a green dumpling mixed with cheese and spread over sweet dough). Mini Porkchop Bun (tiny bun with tiny, cute, fried pork bit in bun with lettuce.) Chicken and Mushroom Donut (imagine the awesomeness). Salmond Floss Bun (this looked like fried crunchy stuff on a bun. Who knows. I’m sure its amazing.)

I chose, on the advice of AYBWETWID, the BBQ pork bun, which was like a roll filled with sweet bbq pork and onions in a ridiculous sauce. It was $1.60, and it may have been the greatest thing to ever enter my mouth (insert blow job joke here.). It was warm, salty, sweet, oiniony, soft… (continue blow job joke)

Anyway. Enough with the graphic imagery. Go check this place out. I cant explain the greatness. You could get EVERYTHING in the whole place and it would still cost less than the price of a (don’t say it, don’t say it)… big mac.

Even better, it is attached to a supermarket than has about 10 aisles, 8 of which are stocked with various noodle brands and 2 of which consist of those bizarre asi-yan snack foods that have pictures of sailor moon and pandas on the front. Even better, I think that the deli section ONLY stocks pig in all its various cuts. No shit. There was a special on pig testicles. A magical animal indeed. I explored the world of miracle and left, due to extreme poverty, only purchasing a can of ‘zero sugar cream soda’. I wasn’t aware that there was a huge market out there for a diet drink that tastes like a caramel zooper-dooper, but now that I have tried it I appreciate the demand. And would like to thank miracle for opening my eyes.

The Awesomely Retarded World of Celebrities (1)

I do realise that the title of this series could easily be replaced by that of my 'Evolutionary Failures' series, but I digress.

Bogans across the planet have been in a flutter as the show that gave many women the courage to talk about their vaginas is released as a movie in a worldwide, Manolo wearing, stupid hat donning, Cosmopolitan drinking vagina fest. Ahh..... the Sex and the City movie, complete with witty tagline - "Get Carried Away". Get it? Cause the main character is called Carrie, see. And to get carried away is a phrase often us- ah, forget it. Rest assured, it is a clever pun that perfectly matches this clever movie's polka dot heels.

In case those among you have been distracted by, I don't know, the Middle East Peace Process or elections in Zimbabwe, the movie opened this week in New York. It has since emerged that Sarah Jessica Parker, the skinny filly (horse pun intended) who stars as Carrie, wore a dress to the premiere THAT SOMEONE ELSE WORE AT SOME OTHER PARTY AT SOME OTHER TIME. I know, I know. I'll give you a minute to recover from the shock.

Better now? When questioned about the sordid affair, SJP commented:

"What they did was so short-sighted. It's just unethical and disappointing that they would allow the dress to be worn again"

I'm not even going to comment on the irony of someone talking about the wearing of a dress as being short-shighted. Nup, I got bigger fish to fry. Unethical? 6 year old kids sewing shoes in a sweatshop 22 hours a day is unethical. Using a blue travel ten when you really need a red travel ten is unethical. Passing around half frozen dumplings at yum cha is unethical. But allowing a dress to be worn more than once? Sweaty, perhaps. Completely un-newsworthy, absolutely. But unethical? I fear not, my long nosed friend.

Lunch @ Asagao

So, keeping in mind I am heading back to a country that considers foreign food to be a kebap made with a different sauce, I am right into my Asian foodstuffs at the moment. Nevermind that a $20 sushi train bill could get be 40 kebaps and a drink when I get over there, I'm willing to sacrifice the cashola for some raw fish and noodur. This morning I spent approximately 98% of my working life deciding which variety of as-iaan to get. Pho almost had it - its a shitty day, so I was thinking about some city (shitty) house pho... steaming hot, full of noodur and bean sprouts... sex in a bowl. Two things stopped me. 1. I am a girl. It has been forced upon me that if I eat carbohydrates I will turn into a fatsowhale that will never be able to fit into overpriced jeans, therefore never attracting a mate, thus depriving the world of my progeny. 2. I had no one to go with.

As a result, I ended up at Asagao sushi train on Pitt Street with my good friend Wek. The problem with working next to Makato is that it destroys all other train experiences, the quality being as awesome as it is. So, I will preface this lunch review by saying Makoto = best, but in a ruining kind of way. We started with Miso, which was good but not misoey enough for my salty desires. Secondly, we got sashimi. Small was 15 clams - only salmon. It was sweeeeeet. Really good. Soy beans kind of sucked. Small serving, too cold and watery. I was all "Hey. These things cost you $2.50 a tonne. Dont spit in my cupcake and tell me its frosting." Finished off with those sushis wrapped in tofu & a sushi covered in plastic cheese (Weird, but in a Johnny Depp dressed as Edward Scissorhands kinda way. You know that it is fundamentally awesome, so you forgive the strangeness.).

All in all, 6/10. I would have gone 7 if I didn't know that Makoto is so much more kickass; and 5 if I wasn't trying to give them points for trying despite not being Makoto. Next time, its all about teriyaki chicken which the chick next to us got and looked like Johnny Depp covered in teriyaki sauce on a plate.

Evolutionary Failures (1)

Pips in mandarins are a failure on nature's behalf. There you are chewing through citrusy sweetness when BAM! A thousand tastless hard teeth suddenly interrupt the experience. FAIL.

And of course, there is the Murphy's Law of mandarin eating. While eating more than one mandarin, the last one you eat will be full of pips. If eating a mandarin with another person, your mandarin will be full of them while the other eater sits smugly back talking about the seedless mandarin revolution, and how glad they are to be alive in such a golden age. This person is not your friend. Spit pips at them.

Lunch @ Red Roll

Today's lunch was brought to you by Red Roll. In case you don't know, Red Roll is a chain that is based on those amazing roll stands in Vietnam. Except in Sydney, they cost $6.50 instead of 20c and instead of eating it on a stool 3 cm from the ground next to a 123 year old woman you have to eat it in a crowded food court next to a guy wearing a suit with kebab juice dripping down his chin. You get the idea - its a shit version of what you would be having in Ho Chi Minh City right now.

On today, this auspicious occasion where I am merely 13 days from finishing work, I celebrated with the adding of spring to rolls. Pre rolled roll your own viet spring rolls aka "these ones" (accompanied by rolling motion) or "restaurant qualities" (after my friend the divine miss c, who is the master). Anyhoo, I got bbq pork flavour accompanied by a thing of that brown tasty dipping sauce. Now, I dont want to complain, but the rolls at this place are clearly made with whitey in mind. A truly excellent viet spring roll should be delicious without sauce. The sauce should be a sweet extra on the side. Today's efforts - I think I must have ordered wrong - I thought I asked for spring rolls, but evidently I mistakenly asked for bubble wrap drowning in sauce.

4/10. Next time get the bread rolls. You dont win friends with srping rolls at this joint.

Welcome Back

So, it's been months since my first blog. And I admit, that was slightly lame to start off all keen , write one post, and then abandon my new chosen career. Well, fuck you, cause I do what I want.

But I'm back, and following inspiration from the greatest female blogger on the planet right now Jo-Blogs I have decided to re-enter and keep you up to date with various goings on.

In awesomely awesome news, I'm very happy about the existence of tribes in South America who have yet to make contact with the slowly festering disgrace that is Western Civillization. Watching a bunch of orange and black tribesmen try and shoot arrows at the big silver god bird sent to destroy their modest collection of huts was the highlight of my week. It was like Encino Man and Big Borther rolled into one. Except, instead of Brendan Fraser and annoying bogans it was REAL LIFE CAVE MEN who probably say ooga-booga and have never seen a picture of Britney Spears in their lives. I admit it. I’m jealous. Orange people in remote jungle have never had to listen to Tony Abbott or read anything written by Miranda Devine. Orange people in remote jungle will never know the murderous rage that comes with watching Jackie-Oy and Dickhole Phil. I want to be orange people. Give me a box of crampons and a kilo of Jamon and I’d be there tomorrow.