Photobomb

A seal photobombs a group of penguins:

Source: Huffington Post

Name Choice - Ally Kay

There is a pornstar out there, who has chosen the same name "Ally Kay" for herself, and now all sorts of peops are googling "Ally Kay Feet" and accidentally clicking on my Feet Fetish post.

Sorry to disappoint you people!

We have a ten year age gap, and I'm brunette, AND I'm also not a pornstar, even if I dance like one.

What's your real name Ally Kay? Isn't it funny that we both decided to give our selves a new identity and embark on creative careers in 2009? All the best to you. May we find our own purpose in this life.

Garfunkel & Oates

I’ve only just discovered these amazing ladies!!!

They are two L.A. actresses (and have been featured in minor roles in loads of big shows, if they look familiar). Together they are Garfunkel & Oates. They write and perform funny songs – mainly about things that have happened to them in real life.

With such titles as:

“Pregnant Women Are Smug”
“My Self Esteem’s Not Low Enough To Date You.”
"One Night Stands"

Theses women are the female answer to Flight of the Concords. (Although they are very unique, so you can't really compare them.)

Here's a peek at some naughty lyrics from their song about a guy who would always bring his friend Steve along on dates:

It’s not that I don’t like your friend,
but how many hours with him can you spend.
And it’s not that I don’t think he’s great,
But it’s only you. Only you...
I want to fellate.

Saw them live in NY and haven’t stop listening to their stuff!!!

Check em:

Brazilian Wax – to the left, to the left!

At the height of brazilin waxing popularity, in 2006, I had the glorious idea of getting creative at a particular session.

I wanted a shape, like a heart or a lightning bolt - just like in SATC, instead of the rectangular landing strip. I’d been waxing my bikini line for years, but only just started trying Brazillians. It was addictive! Especially in Brisbane’s summer, where you often find your self in a pair of bathers.

I asked my waxer, if she did any shapes.

“What kind of shapes?” she asked in a suspicious tone.

“Perhaps a lightning bolt?” I said, nonchalantly.

“Well, we don’t have any stencils, and I’ve never done shapes before, BUT - I can give it a try!”

Note: The words “I can give it a try” when using hot wax on your genetailia, should always, always, always raise a red flag.

So - off to work she went! Spreading wax strategically, at different angles, before tearing it off. She was taking her time, even surveying it from a distance, like an artist would, and I grew confident that she was doing a good job. In fact, I couldn’t wait to see it! My boyfriend, Ralph was going to love it - and be totally surprised!!

“There we go!” she finally said. “I’ve done my best here, considering.” She stood back, looking proud of herself.

I thanked her for putting in so much effort, and then I looked down.

A lightening bolt – it was not. But it was definitely in the shape of a curved arrow, going down and off to the left.

Like a road sign, directing penises away from the target.


Ralph’s brain is already confused enough, when the blood drains to his privates. He certainly didn’t need any more mixed signals from me.

I wanted her to fix it. To take it all off. Going bald eagle would be my only choice.

But she just stood there smiling happily in her art work, and all I could say was:

“Oh, that’s great! I love it! Totally love it!”

Fuck! I do this in hair salons too. I wasn’t about to shave, and have stubble in the shape of an arrow growing from me, so that night before getting naked, I warned Ralph:

“Babe - today I went in to get a lightening bolt fashioned in my pubic region, as a lovely surprise, and something a bit different… but the girl mustn’t have been very good at art in school, and, well – this happened…”

He took one look at the arrow, and was rolling around on the floor in fits of laughter.

Which was actually the best thing ever. A bit of humour is essential in the bedroom, and it was a welcome change!

Also, Beyonce wrote a song about it:
“To the left, to the left… everything you own, in a box to the left.” Ha ha ha.

J-Rad does NY

I stood at the airport arrivals holding up a makeshift sign with my little brother, J-Rad’s name on it. It read “Loser.” And for once, I spelt it right! He was only slightly amused by this. My humor is like a bad dad-joke compared to his crazy-f*edup mind.

J-Rad and I never say “I love you.” We don’t have to. It runs deeply and loyally through our veins.


This means no matter how irritated we get with each other, we are bonded together by something much stronger than our love / hate of one another, and that’s our love / hate for our parents and extended family. (But more on that some other time.)

J-Rad and I have spent the past 11 days: eating and touring New York on an epic scale. If blisters on feet, dark circles under eyes, and protruding gunts don’t convince you, here are some photos:







A typical conversation during our trip went as follows:

J-Rad: "Stop fucking apologizing to people, when they are the ones running into you."
Ally: "Stop being such a cunt."
(silence)
J-Rad: "Man, how weird were our parents when we were young."
Ally: "At least they didn’t beat us."
J-Rad: "I could go some food. Buffalo wings?"
Ally: "Yeah, and some mozzarella sticks."
(We also have food in common.)



Travelling around with a sibling of the opposite sex can be a problem. Everyone assumes you are a couple. At bars, we planned to be each other’s ‘wing-men’, but ended up cock / box blocking each other instead. People would say incredibly inappropriate things, like: “You two on your honeymoon?”

This would cause us to pause, and choke on the vomits in our mouths.



One guy on the street said “you never know, she [pointing to me] might get pregnant, you’ll have a family to look after” as he thrust a designer furniture catalogue in J-Rad’s hand. We kept walking past him…
J-Rad: "WTF! Why would he say that to anyone?"
Ally: "You should have yelled 'she’s my sister you sick-fuck!' ”
J-Rad: "Yeah…. 'We use protection!' "
Ally/J-rad: "Ewwe! Fucking wrong."
J-Rad: "I’m hungry. Turkey burger?"
Ally: "Yep."



The thing you have to love about J-Rad, is he loves to cross the line of human decency. Especially around family. What comes out of his mouth could send him to jail / hell / a mental institute, yet to friends and family it is highly amusing. This is precisely why we went and saw Bruno together, and laughed so hard, we nearly puked up our milkshakes, when recalling it on the subway home.

He also knows I’m a feminist, and prays on it every chance he gets. “I’d smash her,” he’ll say, pointing to every girl we pass. I point out guys I’d smash, but it just never sounds as wrong.

Speaking of wrong, on J-Rad’s first night, he ditched my comedy plans for a hostel piss-up, where along with a random Sweed and a Belgian backpacker, committed to a house party the next night. I went because I was dead certain the address didn’t exist and I wanted to prove my NY street-smarts. Astonishingly, we found the party.

It was a small flat, with disco lights, and a host in the middle of the room playing DJ on his macbook. Passing the kitchen, we saw a girl throwing up in the sink. Then two people passed out in the living room.

This seemed to amuse J-Rad no end. He came back from the flat tour exclaiming – “There are four people passed out in the bedroom.” As he said this, the girl who had been spewing in kitchen, crawled underneath a large table at the entrance, and passed out on a pile of shoes.



As it was only 10pm, I came to the conclusion that
1. These guys have had their drinks spiked with date-rape drugs, or;
2. Even worse, they were all teenagers, unable to gauge their body tolerance to alcohol.

The later was confirmed when a cute young guy started chatting to me. After a while, I asking what he was doing in NY.

“Oh, I’m still in high-school,” he said, then “Why? How old are you?”

I looked at his baby little face and thought about how gross it would be, to be honest at a time like this. The thought of being at a party with people over a decade younger than me, made me feel alarmingly aware that I needed to leave.

However, my weakness for watching uncomfortable situations, plus my inability lie to someone’s face, took over.

“I’m 28.” I said.
“Oh.” He said. Silence.

I quickly swapped my [root] beer for a Budweiser, and proceeded to join in a game of Kings. We left shortly after, mainly because everyone else had also passed out.

I ended up getting J-Rad back, by taking him shopping in the gay district, where he got hit on by an endless stream of male store assistants. For some reason, they must have known I was his sister. Yay!

Three ladies – PANTS DOWN - WTF?

In Austrialia, we girls have adopted many a habit from the yanks. Women’s rights for example (which we have taken and transformed into a woman’s right to behave like a man). Internet dating (which is gaining popularity), and reducing our carb intake in the evenings. Yet in many ways we manage to retain our English heritage. We still have our high-tea venues, our ability to tolerate endless cricket updates, and by god! --We still have our modesty!

So the Aussie’s who read this will understand my distress when the following happened...

I arrived home at 1am, and snuck into the bathroom, past the open bedroom where Ada and the weekend nurse - Betty, lay sleeping. I gave myself a ‘writer’s shower’ where I used baby-wipes on my pits and bits. (Going running in the morning, so can shower then.)

With no clean undies left, I opt for a dash back to my pj’s in my singlet only. But on my half-naked dash back, I glance into the bedroom to see Ada – on her potty, PANTS DOWN. I’m so quick, I don’t recall seeing the nurse until it’s too late. She's in the kitchen. She looks up in surprise – to see me PANTS DOWN, trotting towards my bag. But I’m in shock too – because indeed – she also has her PANTS DOWN, and is doing something with paper towels behind the bench.

WTF? How did three women, end up in a dark apartment at 1am with our PANTS DOWN, all at the same time?

The next morning, we all pretended that nothing had happened. This is probably a universal reaction, that transcends cultural differences.

Subway Dancing