Reasons you will hate me

Sydney at a glance.

Yesterday was my smokin' trip to Sydney. Here are some things that happened.


1. I lived the rock.
There's nothing like sitting at the back of a recording studio on a leather couch while Dallas Crane break out a bitching track to make you feel like the biggest rock slut ever. I did the best job of looking languid and attractive. I even did a crossword and drank some wine and tried not to appear as though I wanted to sleep with the whole band plus also the studio tech.
p.s. the track kills. You will hear it on channel 7 screens from February onwards. You're pumped, right? I can smell how pumped you are.
2. I broke through the dork barrier.
And met up with not one , not two , but three fellow bloggers. It was so fucking fun. The night started with a bar and ended with a three-way tongue kiss. Seriously.
And we absolutely sat around talking about other mystical bloggers as though they were our friends. How gay are we.
The hot tip according to us - Greg the Boyfriend is back with a coolie vengeance. Lindsayism is losing her touch. Everyone hearts Krankiboy and wants to stroke his private parts. Don't say I never share anything with you.
3. Ich Bin Ein Berliner.
The beautiful Nadine took me to - of all places - a German restaurant. Here I was thinking I'd get whisked off to some gay bar and fed Sydney oysters by a chest-waxed male model, when in reality the inside skinny in fashionable Sydders is schnitzels and strudel. There were even a few accents and I ate Daniel Boud under the fucking table like he was my bitch.
4. We ruled the computer jukebox.
And I can't remember the name of the bar where we segued seamlessly from Fleetwood Mac to ZZ Top. It's some place that's opened til forever and seems to have no issues serving shots of Jagermeister to clearly inebriated patrons. Who then happen to run into work colleagues and will have trouble looking them in the eye next time they see them at Triple R .
5. I have never woken up with a hangover so fucking happy.
And not just because it was Daniel Boud's birthday and he made me coffee and raisin toast, but also because the front page of the Sydney Morning Herald was all about Latham kicking some motherfucking goals . I don't want to get all kinds of excited yet, but there was no denying the fizz in my belly when I saw how much he rocked those fucking pensioners. It's not over. It's totally, totally not over.
6. When I woke up, Daniel Boud's camera was next to the bed.
And if I find pictures over the internet of me asleep with his balls on my face I am going to tear him a new one.






9 days til the election.
45 days til Gabi comes home.

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