It all started when I farted in yoga. It happened once, twice, three times a lady flatulist. Not many girls own up to a fart, so at first I pretended that the pop was simply a wayward hip joint being wrenched from its socket like a newly-weaned, puppy farm kelpie. It kept happening though: every class I'd cropdust … Continue reading Cropdusting Hipsters
I've swore off internet dating.For the thirteenth time.I wasn't ecstatic at the thought of returning to Plenty of Fish, but a dry fortnight turned into a dry month that turned into dirty dreams about the cute butcher with shoulders like a Frigidaire and, since I was coming dangerously close to dry humping a random stranger, … Continue reading Stranger than truth
I do a lot of stupid shit when I’m drunk. A few months ago I placed a restriction on myself: it’s fine to get mildly tiddled with friends and make devastatingly clever and funny insights about human nature at achingly hip bars that none of us have any business being in, but it’s not okay … Continue reading He’s cute like a frog.
I had to write a post about this, to deal with it and to also demonstrate what a delightful comedy of errors my gigantic mess of an existence is. So, I return home from work, put my bag down and go to the loo. I stop. In front of my toilet door is a copy … Continue reading The ghost in the shell