Banned From Parraween Street… FOR LIFE!!

After being involved in yet another case of public mischief in Parraween Street on Saturday evening, it appears Miss Contradiction and myself may be banned from the street for life.

Miss Contradiction got wind earlier in the week that there was going to be an invaluable celebrity stalking opportunity on Saturday. Apparently some movie was premiering there or something. The details aren’t important. What is important is that an opportunity presented for us to make a spectacle of ourselves. We seized the opportunity with both hands.

We rocked up there about six, both already plastered. I had been drinking at the new and improved Kirribilli RSL all afternoon and gambling with Kelvs (as a side note, I took fixed odds on Zipping for the Cup tomorrow). Miss Contradiction had apparently been at the hairdressers all afternoon, but still somehow managed to be drunk.

So we stopped in at the BWS to grab some booze to take with us. Miss C insisted on buying some fucking fancy bottle of wine, despite me pointing out the logistics of drinking wine in the middle of the street. Wouldn’t something in individual bottles prove more appropriate for drinking in public? You’d think so. Miss Contradiction instead asked the bottleshop staff if we could have tasting glasses – you know, those little plastic ones. They couldn’t find any so instead presented us with two big, heavy, glass beer mugs that came with some promotion.

We wandered across the street and hung out with some old people, who clearly wanted us to get lost. I am getting tired of typing, so to sum up:

• Miss Contradiction tripped over one of our brand new mugs and smashed it everywhere.
• 80-year-old Kelvs drove past in his car to see what all the fuss was about and we started woohing and cheering like he was a celeb.
  
• There was a cute dog called Oscar who was excited about all the action who we were terrorising.
• I started yelling at Big Brother evictees to “get back in the house, we don’t want you here”.
• When Cate Blanchett arrived, I held up the dog and yelled “Hey Cate, do you want an Oscar”.

Then we pissed off back to the hole and ended up having Absinthe shots and more wine. Not surprisingly, I was passed out by 7.30pm.

Yes, we are very classy people.

It's All Miss Contradiction's Fault

Did you know that it's all Miss Contradiction's fault that the favourite Maldivian got scratched from the Caulfield Cup after braining itself on the barrier?

Well, this is according to my father (Kelvs), who made this outlandish claim while we were down at the Mosman RSL yesterday afternoon watching the race and getting blind drunk.

My father, who was quite the ladies' man back in the day, has clearly gone senile in the last few years as he says some very strange things to Miss Contradiction, including:

* Stating that she had 'redeemed herself for the Maldivian affair' after he backed a winner a few races later
* Threatening to kneecap her
* Telling her to think of original things to say after she agreed with him once

My father is a strange man.

Hope it doesn't run in the family.

Favourite Kelvsisms

Courtesy of my 80-year-old father:

“I’ll come down on you like a tonne of hot bricks”
“I’ll boot you into the middle of next week”
“I’ll put him down the bottom of a well”
“I’m as crook as Rookwood”
“It was as funny as a circus”
“He was so ugly, he looked like he could haunt houses”
“Your Majesty” (said when addressing a magistrate in local court)
“I was doing my arse then I put $3000 on the thing and was in front”
“Craig Wing is a f$%^&*(“

ADD YOURS HERE

GROSS

I just heard the grossest thing ever.

I had to meet Bad Smell at the hole last night. I am selling him my Origin tickets for tonight as I have a feeling Queensland will win and my dad (whom I was going to take with me) isn’t feeling well so I decided to sell them to Bad Smell. I am not really in the mood to sit in the freezing cold only to watch NSW get beaten.

But I digress. So I met Smell at the hole at about 5.30pm. I seriously just wanted to get my money and go home so I could watch Law & Order in peace. But no. I had to stay with him while he had a couple of beers. I sipped daintily on a soda water wishing I were at home. Then I said ‘ok I’m going to go home now’ and he walked out with me. Fair enough, I thought, he’s going to the bus stop. But no. HE FOLLOWED ME HOME. Uninvited. Needless to say my cranky, sick 80-year-old father wasn’t happy to see my loser ex-boyfriend trailing in after me.

And then he asked if he could stay the night. What was I supposed to say? Thanks for the $200, now piss off? So I let him. Against my better judgement, because these days I hate having anyone else in my bed. I need space to writhe around in my sleep.

When he tried to put the moves on me in bed I pretended to be asleep. When that didn’t work, eventually I told him I had my period. Seriously. There are only so many times in the space of a month a girl can have her period.

So I managed to get out of sex. Then just now, my dad gave me a lift to work and I had to listen to him say “Is Bad Smell still having sexual intercourse with you, if so be careful because he’s probably sleeping with some lowlife sluts now you’re not around”. Yes, he said the phrase SEXUAL INTERCOURSE. Oh my God. I feel so unclean. I’m never having sex again after hearing my father say the phrase SEXUAL INTERCOURSE.

I had to reassure him that is definitely not the case and I have no interest in Bad Smell whatsoever anymore. In fact, I would rather have sex with a rotary cheese grater (pictured above).

My dad probably doesn’t believe me, but seriously, EWWWWWW.

P.S. Jason's baby is due in a matter of weeks and he was out at The Attic in Balmain on the weekend hitting on anything with boobs and a pulse. Are you scared yet?

Is Craig Wing The Biggest Fairy Ever?

I hate Craig Wing with a passion. (He of Sydney Roosters NRL fame.)

I can't find the exact picture I'm looking for on Google, but there was this photo of him on the catwalk for Peter Morrissey wearing pink slacks, a stripey pink shirt and sunglasses on a chain around his neck.

In fact I hate him so much that I cut that photo out of a magazine and defaced it while I was living with Bad Smell, then stuck it on the fridge.

Even my 80-year-old father (gambler extraordinaire and dapper man about town) who loves everything NRL (dad used to play first grade for the Bulldogs) dislikes Craig Wing.

When he saw the abovementioned photo he famously said "that's a bit of a strange get-up" which has now become my catchcry for every strange outfit I see on the street/at the pub.

He also made several derogatory comments questioning Wing's sexual preferences that I can't repeat here due to them being politically incorrect but I think you get the gist anyway.

I prefer to call him a fairy.

Here's a list of other things I also hate:

* Brunch
* Tennis
* Metrosexuals
* Sobriety

(Late addition: Photo of Craig Wing found. Thank you anonymous)

Throw 'Em All Down A Well

As Miss Contradiction mentioned in an earlier blog entry, we were quite shocked by the high population of losers at the hole on Saturday night (ourselves included).

A 50 year old guy with an annoying whistle shaped like a pair of lips, someone dressed up to look like Gilligan, many women who simply have no idea how to dress themselves: all were out in full force on Saturday night.

Back in the day you weren't allowed into the hole after 9pm in thongs and shorts, however the majority of the clientele appeared to be wearing these wardrobe staples (girls included).

WHEN WILL WOMEN LEARN THAT SHORTS DO NOT WORK AS EVENING WEAR?? JUST BECAUSE FERGIE FROM THE BLACK EYED PEAS WORE A PARTICULAR TREND, IT DOESN'T MEAN YOU HAVE TO!! AND FOR GOD'S SAKE, STICK TO ONE TREND AT ONCE!! IT'S NOT A COMPETITION TO SEE WHO CAN WEAR THE MOST TRENDS IN ONE OUTFIT!!!

But I digress. Anyway the long and the short of it is that we have learned that bouncers have been instructed to let anyone and everyone in due to declining attendance rates. A far cry from the good ol' days, when you could be kicked out at the drop of a hat (as I well know).

So it seems Miss Contradicition and I may have to take matters into our own hands. As we all know, my 80-year-old father (gambler extraordinaire and former western suburbs underworld from the 1970s) has a particular penchant for threatening to put people down the bottom of a well when they cause trouble.

He once threatened to put Jason down a well after he started stalking me for no reason, and ever since then we've been waiting to open the paper one day and see the headline 'EXTRA EXTRA: LOSER FOUND DOWN THE BOTTOM OF LOCAL WELL'. Or even 'ICE DEALER GRIEVES AS BEST CUSTOMER DIES IN TRAGIC WELL ACCIDENT'.

Or 'POKIE SHARE PRICES PLUMMET AS JASON GETS HIS COMEUPPANCE'.

I would like to move that anyone sporting a fashion crime outfit at the pub from now on be put down the bottom of a well. AND THAT INCLUDES FAT PEOPLE WHO INSIST ON WEARING HORIZONTAL STRIPES. HELLO??? IT MAKES YOU LOOK BIGGER... ARE YOU STUPID??

The well pictured above may have to be widened to accommodate some of the wider loads who are known to frequent the establishment.