The Brownes Every Woman Expo is Lame.

Dear Ladies of Perth,



You can stop searching now, because I have found it, your one stop shop for all things lavender. I know many of you have had sleepless nights wondering where to find the perfect mix of lavender and patchouli in a pillow spray, but fear not, because someone has done it for you. 'Simply Lavender' was just one of the many, many lame stalls on offer at the Brownes Every Woman Expo that visited Perth this weekend. Not to take anything away from Janette at the Simply Lavender stand, she was proud as punch, standing behind her trestle table in a sea of purple shit. Women were crowded around her wares tossing up between a Lavender Neck Wrap or a Lavender Fizzing Bath Bon Bon that, let's face it, would just end up shoved down the back of their bathroom cupboard giving the whole place that old lady smell.

Let me begin by saying I was there under strict protest, my dear old Ma dragged me there to support her friend who had a respectable stall selling wine. This was one of few.

Ever gone out to see a band and it's packed so you have a hard time finding a good spot to watch the show from? You're shuffling through the crowd and all of a sudden there is this magical spot just waiting for you to slot in nicely, it's got the best view and you can't believe no one else took it. But once you're standing there it all becomes clear... That smell creeps up into your nostrils and you do that "who farted?" look to your mates and they all shake their heads, then you realise everyone around you is laughing and you've just stood in a puddle of vomit and THAT'S WHY NO ONE WAS STANDING THERE!
What I'm getting at, is that feeling when you have to slink off because everyone is looking at you and they know you're embarrassed and you can't bloody well stay there now can you? Well I got that feeling yesterday, because Mum and I were watching some god awful fashion parade provided by the F-list celebrities at Channel 7 when I realised no one was around us, we both turned around and discovered we were positioned in front of a nice little stall called 'B.O.B Bags' sounds harmless doesn't it? Of course it would be harmless, if I wasn't standing with my mother, and realising at the same time that this store was dedicated to selling black, stylish, 100% cotton lining with a satin finish, fully washable, complete with secure toggle, discreet, BAG FOR YOUR DILDO! Yes, this store sold nothing but housing for your solo sex toy (up to 26cm long and 15cm wide! - FIFTEEN CENTIMETRES WIDE?!?!?!).
Apparently, there was a gap in the market for women who have coffee with their conservative mother-in-laws and are at risk of their children playing 'unicorns' with their Rabbit in front of Grandma. Because, dear god, we wouldn't want her to know that they were having sex! HOW THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU GOT YOUR GRAND KIDDIES NANNA?
So the embarrassment was short lived, but the hilarity of watching others wander up to the store and make a quick u-turn away as soon as they realised what it was, was priceless.

It turns out all women care about is wrinkles, half price shutters and our destiny according to our chakras determined by the self proclaimed goddess of wolves - Cindy. Old mate Cindy was not alone, there was an entire psychic fair going on at stall 485b. All I had to do was take a raffle ticket and wait for my number to be called. Don't bother waiting for each finely tuned clairvoyant to tap into your aura and make a deep connection with your past so they can get a clear reading. Just wait until Mystic Mandy gets back from her ciggie break, shouts 'NEXT' and you're on your way to enlightenment. Unfortunately I didn't have time to wait around with everyone else to be told I will travel somewhere, at some stage, sometime in the future, but it's on my to-do list, I will complete my 'symbolique journey'.

Whilst searching for the place to redeem our free yoghurt coupon, we stumbled across the teeny, tiny 'SheMoves' stall dedicated to teaching women how to pole-dance for fitness. A small tinny radio pumped out a Flo-Rida song, while two poor girls humped an aluminium erection. 20 or so women gathered around to watch and I'm pretty sure there was a communal feeling of utter perversion, the poor demonstrators nervous giggle just made me cringe and we moved on.

Lucky we did, because now I can finally stop whinging. All my life I have wondered why the hell I can't hire a goddam wishing well at an affordable price. It's always so expensive! But now, thanks to...you guessed it....'Affordable Wishing Well Hire' I can now invite my friends around to my house, encourage them to wish about crap, and collect their money from the bottom of my own hired well when they piss off. Brilliant!


Other experiences of my day included...

• Watching live sperm swim around under a microscope and wondering who recently donated it at the 'Concept Fertility' stall. (Fertility is just a concept now?)

• Enjoying a good pun.... Don't want to leave your bag on the floor of a cafe or bar? Too good to hold it? That's OK, because thanks to the 'Pursenal Assistant' (Get it? PURSEenal? Gold!) you can buy a hook to hang it on. Yes a hook! But not just any hook, this one has heaps of crap superglued to it, like butterflies and diamantes and kittens. Great huh?

• Watching from a safe distance as a woman demonstrated her breast milk machine at 'Milk in a Minute'. I know breastfeeding is natural, but attaching your boob to a device that resembles a medievil torture contraption is not.

• Wondering who came up with 'Shower Gel in a Sponge'... were they too lazy to just open the bottle and squeeze?

• Reminiscing about butterfly clips from year seven and distinctly remembering they went out of fashion...for good. Apparently 'vintage' includes items from only 10 years ago and someone is making a living off selling nothing but a hair accessory from the 90's. If only I thought of it...
  

• Laughing (cruel, I know) at the ridiculously small changing room provided at 'A Cup Above', a lingerie stall dedicated to the cuddlier ladies of Perth and their enormous melons.

Some parts of the expo were great (hello to the boys as Topshelf Entertainment and thanks to Swan Valley Wines for the sweet numbing alcohol), but some just made me ashamed of allowing Mum to pay my ticket price. I'm not in a hurry to burn my bra or anything but if the following stereotypes enforced by the Every Woman Expo were rammed down my throat again I'd stop shaving my legs immediately and become a hardcore feminist...

Women enjoy anything pink - One stall was actually called 'Pink Stuff', one called 'The Pink Book Club' and another called 'Positively Pink'. They all involved everyday stuff someone dyed pink to make it more attractive to the ladies. Great example of marketing research in practice right there.


Women are incontinent - A whole stall dedicated to 'Pelvic Floor Solutions'. I would have just called it 'Your local GP' no?


Women get excited about cleaning - One more fucking demonstration by some old guy who talks too much on how to make the most of your steam powered, dust seeking, dirt annihilating, grime pulverising, soap scum obliterating fucking mop and I'll stick it where other cleaners just can't get to!


Women shouldn't age....at all - 'Longevity Wellness Centre' - what the hell does that even mean? As well as the teeth whitenings, wrinkle zapping creams, orthotics and absolutley endless stalls filled with opportunites to 'Wake up your Makeup!' there is no excuse for any lady to look her age.
But when they age too much.... 'Mareena Purslowe and Associates' are there to help you. A funeral directors actually had the facilities to organise your funeral at this expo, is that not creepy? A lovely visit to the Convention Centre with your girlfriends to get free massages and cupcakes and there's pictures of coffins and price plans of floral arrangments next door.


Women like to accessorise...everything. - Not only can your Clitoriffic 4000 now have a B.O.B. bag but you can accessorise your kettle with a special cover so it doesn't get hot (?), your Nintendo DS with some stupid dangly charm thing, your car with floral mudflaps and your jewellery with extra jewels. ACESSORIES ON ACCESSORIES?! COME ON!

Women like being a shade of orange - on every corner was an opportunity for a fake tan, 'Fake Bake' for those who don't want authentic skin cancer, 'Technotan' if you would like to dance while you bronze, ' NuSkin' because the skin you already have is shithouse.


Women like potatoes - maybe if they were making wedges or something, but no, just information and photos of potatoes at the 'Western Potatoes' stand. I wanted wedges.


Women just want to get married. - No! I will NOT enter your competition to win a fucking engagement ring, just GIMME THE $5000!





So congratulations Brownes, your expo was crap, and I didn't even get my free yoghurt.

Junk email is lame.

Why does my Hotmail account assume I am male? I got all excited before when I opened my account and it said Inbox (7), I assumed seven of my nearest and dearest had written to me to express their love and admiration for me. But no, it was just seven strange scams\business\loney people all vying for my money\love\excess kilos of fat.

Then I go to thinking that if someone stumbled across my email account after I left it open they could deduct the following things about me purely based on my emails...

1. I am male
2. I am a fat male who needs the help of ACA1 weight loss pills
   
3. I am a fat male with a teeny tiny wang that needs to be enlarged with some pills that I can easily get on a !##$__FR33 TrIaL__$##!
4. I am a fat male who needs a larger manhood and also an extension on my warranty for a car that I may or may not have even bought.
   
5. I am a fat male with a chode, a long warranty and am one of a select few eligible for a FREE NETWORK CABLE DISH!!OMG!!
6. I am a fat male with no penis, a monster of a warranty, a fully sick radar and I also have a friend called Dr MaXman who likes to email me about his AS SEEN ON TELEVISION muscle building pills.
   

So after this nosy person has scoured my emails they may think I am a fat male with limited sexual prowess, a massive fuck off warranty, a sweet TV channel selection, and an awesomely named friend MaXman who gave me massive biceps. . . they may also assume I am a complete loser.

But if they kept looking they would come to my last email and then it would all make sense, despite all my shortcomings in the bedroom\personality\life in general, I am totally wanted, because "Lyuda 1" is seeking "a sincere sugar daddy" and she chose me. She likes dancing, breakfast and complaining about movies apparently, but most importantly she thinks she is in love with me and wants to escape "beautiful Ukraine" because I mean more than home.
My inquisitive stickybeak would then realise that I am also rich because I obviously have enough money to send Lyuda 1 the $5400 for her plane ticket to "wherever I am".

Crazy people can be fun, but mostly lame.

I already lame labeled the crazy people at Rosemount, but I feel I need to let you get to know them and understand the inner workings of North Perth's finest citizens.

I come into contact with these beings at least twice a week, sometimes they brighten my day, other times they force me to take a mental note of possible weapons that are on hand to immediately defend myself against them.

Apparently most of them are scared of the dark and they frequent the pub mostly in the day and early afternoon. Often this is when I am the only staff member there not holed up safely in the office, so it's a really personal experience.

I love a good list so here we go...

Let's start with my favourite-

SAMMY- Sam's not crazy, he's just such a character, according to history books he has been drinking at the pub for over forty years. He's a toothless old Italian dude who I'm pretty sure has had a stroke and the thickest accent ever. Sammy waddles into the pub in the afternoon and needs to sit down and rest halfway between the entrance and the bar, I'm not sure if he's tired or he just likes to have a stickybeak at what's going inside that day. Every staff member knows Sammy orders two stubbies of Hahn Light at a time, served with a cold middy glass. Sammy is the only Rosemount patron in history that gets table service. I've never actually seen him stand at the bar once. He basically sits in the chair all day and cries "Good on ya!" and "Bravo!" each time a staff member walks past with a "Hi Sam!". He never remembers anyone's name and describes each person by their hair colour and their build. Some of our plumper staff members have been slightly offended by Sam at some time or another. Conversation is limited with Sam as very few can understand a single word he's saying due to the stroke and the accent. One employee Timmy was a Sammy Whisperer and was strangely able to have in depth discussions with him somehow, Sammy would yabber on about something for ten minutes and Timmy would pipe up 'Oh yes I totally agree, the roadworks on Guildford Rd are terribly inconvenient.' What? Sammy doesn't even drive, sometimes I think Timmy was making it up.

JD - JD is probably one of the craziest people I've ever met. She actually kind of scares me. According to Rosemount legend she is the mother of that guy that murdered the Chinese student out near Scarborough last year. Anyway, not only does JD have a questionable past she's just plain nuts. Her outfits are a pretty good indicator. Often she likes to dress like a cross between Madonna circa 1980's, Bill and Ben the Flowerpot Men, and a witch. She likes a good crucifix around her neck, often they look like she broke into a church, stole the massive wooden one and hung it around her neck with some cable ties. I can't be certain but I'm pretty sure she was wearing one that had the plaster still attached from where she pulled it off a wall. JD likes to have very loud phone conversations with someone I assume is her daughter that start off with "How are you my darling girl?" and quickly disintergrate into "YOU DID NOT COME FROM MY WOMB!" She also has a creepy attraction to one of our regular DJ's Charlie Bucket. He's always playing on a Sunday and JD likes to come down and dance away in front of his set up for hours only stopping to have a drink which she orders very specifically "a pint of water with ice and lemon and a straw thankyou." I can't remember the last time she actually bought a real drink, one bartender Bianca flat out refuses to serve her until she drinks something she has to pay for. Often she likes to sit next to Sam and yell at him about nothing in particular, sometimes he buys her a drink, I think it's just so she'll shutup.

PEDRO - Pedro is another orally challenged guy. Apparently I am one of a select few who can understand him, again due to a crazy accent and some missing teeth. No one is entirely sure what Pedro's deal is. He is this black Mexican dude who has the buffest arms I've seen on an old guy and this crazy mustache which makes him look like a seal. He arrives drunk to the pub and then proceeds to get blind drunk by throwing back white Sambuca shots as long as the staff will still serve him. He constantly encourages the staff to drink and I think he just wants a friend. He can often be seen being taken advantage of by young girls who just want a free drink. I can't count how many times he's been thrown out but for some reason we keep letting him back. His catch phrase is "Thankyou!" But he does it in a really sarcastic way followed by "WHAT? WHAT? WHAT? YEAH? WHAT?" I have no idea who he is thanking or what 'what' he is asking. He has a weird cloudy eye too which I can't help but stare at, he doesn't seem to notice. He's a builder of some sort and often disappears for weeks and comes back flush with cash and tipped me $200 and a bag of weed one time. I like Pedro.

PROSTITUE NANNA - As you can tell from her name PN is definitely a looper. She is the dearest old biddy you'll ever meet with a killer perm and the sweetest little twin sets you'll ever see. Something like this...
However, as she totters up to the bar you can sense something is not right, then she opens her mouth, AND NEVER CLOSES IT, this woman does not shut up. EVER. I actually walk away from her midsentence and return and she's still talking. God only knows about what, but it's complete dribble. She's obviously just a lonely, lonely old woman and will talk to anyone who has to listen.
Ok, Ok I hear you... but WHAT ABOUT THE PROSTITUTE BIT??? Well! Upon our first meeting I was of course the ever polite hospitality worker and engaged this woman in some idle chit chat, and then in the same breath she told me about her podiatrist, her old house in Mount Hawthorn, her jewellery... oh.... and that she likes to give gobby for some extra cash now and then. WHAAAAAT???? I have no idea how it came up but I clearly remember her cheekily grinning as she said something along the lines of 'not very often, it's not a big deal.' Not a big deal?! Nannas are meant to know recipes for awesome shortbread biscuits and sneak you chocolate before dinner when you visit, not the best corner in Northbridge to turn tricks on a Friday night. Try as I might, my artful conversation could not get her to talk about it again, probably because she never shutup enough about the Post Office for her to hear me say a word back.
For the record, Prostitute Nanna drinks Swan Draught, and she knocks it back too, she's four foot nothing and can hold her piss, impressive.

ROSCO - Rosco used to be a severe heroin addict, now he prefers the sweet taste of methadone. He likes to get doped up to the eyeballs at the chemist next door and then float into the pub for a steak. He appears to be allergic to eye contact and is constantly glazed over while he drinks Jameson. One time he told our yard guy Turin that he had magical powers. He was convinced that at any moment he can turn into a white lion. Turin asked him to demonstrate and Rosco said "What do you mean? I'm a white lion right now." Rosco also does the funniest walk I've ever seen, you know when your running and your about to stack it and you do those 4 or 5 retarded steps with your hands out because you know your about to faceplant, imagine walking like that ALL THE TIME.

GLASS OF CHARDONNAY GUY - fairly self explanatory this one, but this guy creeps the hell outta me, he comes in almost every weekday and orders one glass of chardonnay which he downs in one gulp and then returns to wherever he came from. He always has a bag of shopping with him from Coles next door and stops in at the pub on the way back. I like to imagine he lives with his crazy wife\mother at home that beats him up so he has to escape for a drink but has to be quick because she's timing him. He kind of looks like this...
But with glasses and less crucifix and less visible body hair. He also doesn't dress that well.





....these are just the regular ones whose names I am aware of or have named accordingly, there's plenty more who have only appeared once or twice...

• One rainy day a guy curled up on one of our couches watching the MTV music videos with his hands down his pants. Upon completing his.....activities....he kicked a pint glass of water into the wall and calmly walked out of the pub never to be seen again.
• One crazy old lady who resembles an Aboriginal garden gnome came in and wouldn't leave me alone until I agreed to look at her passport so she could prove to me that she had been to Europe. I can now confirm she has been to France and Germany.
• While she's never entered the premises Aussie Bike Lady can be heard from inside from miles away. She rides a bike with an Australian flag attached and yells patriotic\racist\indecipherable things at anyone and no one. I think her and Mad Dog would make a lovely, fit couple.
• Rocko, I hate this guy. He's a complete creep, he's about 40 and wears a massive, fake gold chain and bleaches his hair blonde and tucks his shirt in to look younger, he has a fat girlfriend who is also insane, he told her that one of the other bartenders Jess and I were in love with him and that he was sleeping with both of us. She then proceeded to come into work when Jess and I were working and drill us for answers about each other, she cried once when telling me how much she loved him and that he really is a good guy even thought he stole $10,000 from her Dad and calls her from his bed when he's in it with a prostitute. I bet he has a thing for Nannas......

New jobs are lame.

As I mentioned I have a severe love\hate relationship with my job. In an effort to get over myself and to save the poor boyfriend from having to listen to me whine all the time, I decided to shutup and get a new one. My aim was to either find a new job or at least put my current one in perspective and hate it less sometimes. Let's just say if The Rosemount was a man that had knees and was able to get down on one of them and propose, I would immediately elope to Vegas and marry it with Elvis as my witness.

In an effort to conceal the identity of the venue that was my new job to all my many readers (Hi mum!) I will simply refer to the place as 'DrugDen' or DD. This place is quite popular and really is a good venue, I just like to rant so any material will do.

So I rock up all set to embrace my new opportunity, (in reality I think I was still hungover from the previous night so probably not a good start), I am met by the manager who appears to be very busy\stressed\upset\or just plain cold and am shown to the bar I will be working in that night. I'm told its the VIP bar and I'll be working with a guy named Oli. So I think sweet! VIP should be fun, its got the best view of the whole place and the act for the night and Oli is a cool name, how can he not be awesome?



This is how he can not be awesome.....

Let's start from the bottom....

He's working in a bar, so you'd think sneakers? Right? Wrong. He's got some shinyarse snakeskin WHITE shoes with the pointiest toe I've ever seen and they are stupidly clean to bring into the depths of a club bar.

So then the pants...black pants? Old jeans? No, wrong. SKINTIGHT greyish designer fucking denim jeans that are almost too tight to get the barblade into his back pocket...

On top you'd be thinking Polo? DD Tshirt? At a stretch a black singlet? Good guesses but YOUR WRONG AGAIN!! This guy has a V-neck skintight Tshirt on, and not just your average V-neck... THE GUY HAS FUCKIN CLEAVAGE!!! CLEAVAGE!!!!! YOU HEAR ME!?!? This is seriously the deepest V I've ever seen, he might as well just cut the shirt in half. I'll give it to him he's got a very sculpted body and his pecs were just scary they were so big which contributed to the cleavage. And I'm pretty sure he shaves his chest..... and I wouldn't be surprised because then there was his head.....

So my immediate reaction was 'are you wearing makeup'? And then I met the glassy, a nice young chappie, who said to me 'hey is that guy wearing makeup?' So I'm pretty sure it's safe to say he was wearing makeup. Foundation of course, and a hint of guyliner. So then there's these eyebrows, they are waxed to within an inch of their life sitting up there on his lil forehead, screaming to be looked at. His hair probably had about 6 different products in it fighting to look the shiniest and resulting in a blinding flash that rendered me blind everytime I looked at it when it caught the light.

Overall he kinda looked like a bad mixture of something you would find on Fat Pizza, FashionTV, my nightmares and an illustration of what that Chk Chk Boom! girl was talking about....

...and this was before he even opened his mouth.

I really was wiling to give him a chance, I wasn't that evil and intolerant and small minded to write him off 100% just because of his looks. So we get chatting, and when i say WE get chatting, I mean HE got chatting, and HE DIDN'T STOP. I pretty much know his whole life story not that i wanted to nor did I ask. He's 27, he's a designer with his own business and employs 5 people and he just bought a house and has hired a stylist to do it up and blah blah blah. I'm pretty sure he was trying to say "I'm just plain fucking awesome, behold and bask in the sun that shines out of my arse."

At this stage, I hear you, I know the two burning questions that you are asking. Because they were screaming through my head the same time... so let me answer them, because they became bleedingly obvious eventually. I choose to do this in a 'Dear Dolly Doctor' kind of way, because even at this early stage of the night, I felt I needed the guidance of someone as wise and knowledgable as the Dolly Doctor to get me through....

QUESTION ONE

"Dear Beth,
I can't help but think, through your witty observations, that perhaps, this "Oli" fella might just love the cock? It appears he is a raging homosexual who loves nothing more than to get a purple headed womb warrior up his anus each night - is that a fair comment?

Yours sincerely,

Confused Reader(s) of LAME."






"Dear CR(s)OL

I too had this thought smashing into my brain screaming to be voiced, but I thought it was too obvious to even ask, OF COURSE this guy wants some man meat to keep him company at night. But then without prompt Oli answered this himself......... let me set the scene.....

Beth - Hey can you pass me the champagne?
Oli - Yeah the oldest chick I've fucked must of been 42.
Beth - What? I just want the champagne man.
Oli - I'ts true, older chicks are better in bed.
Beth - Fine I'll get it myself.
Oli - 17 year old chicks are hot but they don't know anything.
Beth - ....... (pouring champagne)
Oli - I've probably slept with a chick of every age from 17 to 30, haha probably 4 times each!
Beth -......(gagging into champagne bucket)


So CR(s)OL, does that answer you question? of course he loves to smoke the man pole, he just doesn't know it\ want to admit it."

QUESTION TWO

"Dear Beth,
this guy appears to talk himself up a bit in his business ventures, I can't help but wonder, if he is so successful -why does he feel the need to work in a nightclub?



Kind Regards

Doubly Confused Reader(s) of LAME."







"Dear DCR(s)OL,

You are so young and naive, its almost cute. I shortly wondered about this too. Why does a man with his own business and clearly enough money to pay all those prostitutes because he clearly can't attract normal women with his personality need to explore the deep dark recesses of a sweaty dingy stinky club on a Saturday night. Shouldn't he be out snorting coke out off the arse cheek of an 18 year old sexually confused boy? You know why I wondered this only shortly? I'll tell you why, because it took a very short time to realise that this creature, this mistake of God....... was full of shit.
So full of shit in fact that it spewed out of him onto every person who entered a 5 metre radius. He talked shit to the guys in the VIP area, the massive artists that have toured internationally a thousand times and earned millions of dollars but found themselves at a shitty nightclub in Perth with some fuckhead of a bartender in their ear about he's a DJ too and hung out with Armin van Buuren and collaborated with him on his last album.
He talked shit to the girls who were so fuckin high on crack they looked straight through him to the mirror and checked themselves out while he gushed about the parties he holds at his house and how they should come.
He talked shit to the glassie who brought us ice about how he goes to the gym twice a day.
He just constantly talked shit and so when I asked the same question as you I was a bit surprised at his answer.....

Beth - so Oli, why the fuck are you here?
Oli - for the social side of it.


ARE YOU FUCKING JOKING ME?!?!?!?! You're here so you can make friends? You think people WANT to talk to you? You MUST be desperate! Or as I like to think, full of shit. And here was my proof that he was full of shit.

At the start of the night we were given a $100 bar card each to either drink ourselves or buy drinks for who ever we wanted. So at about 3 am the main act is on but the bars are quiet so the previously mentioned manager comes in and says, does anyone want to finish now? You would THINK that a guy with a 100 bucks of free piss in his pocket, desperate to socialise and no real need for the money from wages would jump at the chance, would you not?? HE DECLINED!!!! So again. FULL OF SHIT!

I hope that answers your questions DCR(s)OL

Yours sincerely

Beth."

So readers, I can now sense your third question. Did I jump at the chance to finish at 3am and get the fuck out of there and away from Oli to the safety of bed. Of course I did, but Manager of DD changed her mind. As it was my first night and Oli's first night as well we both had to stay and help each other out and learn to close the bar up. LAME.

So I soldiered on through the whole night with Oli, thank God for our glassy who sensed my agony and kept me company as long as I promised to make him cocksucking cowboy shots which he strangely enjoyed a little too much.

Of course it wasn't just Oli that made me resent the place, it was the whole goddam scene!!! While it's a pretty impressive club and I had a good view and was in VIP so it wasnt too loud. It was the PEOPLE!!
One strange thing was that there was all these really pretty girls who appeared to be wearing tops but no pants, but on second look I deducted that, THEY WERE WEARING SKIRTS!!! You know why I didnt realise this at first? Because these said skirts were actually hitched up around their hips while some guy with a stylish mullet had them in compromising positions up against the walls of the club. I AM NOT KIDDING HERE! I SAW IT FOUR TIMES!! Four different girls, all destroying their dignity in front of 700+ people.

Plus I don't know why they even need bartenders. NO ONE DRINKS!!! They should just put a water fountain at every corner because thats all I poured. There were just high people everywhere. No one had a personality because they were too busy chewing their faces off and stuffing Vicks up their noses.

Drugs can do strange things to people, they can also do exactly what drugs normally do, they make otherwise normal people turn into uninhibited, gurning monsters. I watched one guy pop at least three pills that I saw. He then proceeded to attempt to turn his head inside out by process of trying to swallow his own nose by lassooing it with his tongue and dragging it into his mouth. I served him water, water, water, Vodka Redbull, water, water, RedBull, water, water, water. He must have consumed 3 packets of Extra and I can't be sure but I think I saw him with a loveheart lollipop. I hope someone tags the shit out of him in a Facebook album and he can see exactly how much of a loser he looked like that night.

When your trapped in a tiny bar with Fabio's retarded second cousin and your surrounded by too many people on amphetamines and music only people on amphetamines can enjoy, you get over it pretty quickly. I was longing for my cosy little Rosemount, drunk people with personalities(good or otherwise) and a finishing time of around 1am insteand of 5am.

So that was my one and only shift at DD and it did exactly as intended. Rosemount has been rammed down my throat into perspective and I'm a happy kid again.

*Names have been changed to protect identity. Except Oli, that's his real name and if you see a man with impressive cleavage and eyebrows that rival Ronald McDonald please say hi from me and that I lied, YOUR SHOES ARE UGLY!!

Having to work is lame.

My job can be excessively lame at times. My daily toil as a lowly barwench will no doubt be recounted in detail many, many, many times in future posts. But for now... here's a quick run down.

Where : The Rosemount Hotel. A big, old, stinky live music venue that has a lot of history, lots of broken stuff and a lot of good memories.

How long: I am currently in my 24th month of employment. That's two years of pouring pints, cutting lemons, asking some knob how they want their steak cooked and yelling at people for smoking at the bar.

Dear God, Why?: I secretly love the place but constantly bitch about it, this is a given for any hospitality worker. Contrary to some regular customers beliefs, I do not live there and do not intend on working there for the rest of my life. I am also a uni student and have something that resembles a social life, and both of these need to be funded somehow.

Pros: There are many positives to working at The Rosie and I wouldn't still be there if there wasn't. Here's a few

• I have met some of the greatest humans (and occasional dog) working there, both staff and patrons, and at times they are the only things keeping me sane. I even gained a frickin sweet boyfriend out of the whole two months he worked there. He quickly moved on to a much better paying job after asking me out, and he can cook, so I feel the universe liked me that day.
  
• I have consumed copious amounts of alcohol, mostly free, but otherwise always cheap and there is always a familar face behind the bar to drive me home afterwards.
  
• I calculated(very poorly and quickly) that over the past two years I have probably made in excess of $3000 worth of tips, that's free money suckas!! When I say free, I mean often I had to let disgusting excuses for men believe that I actually wanted to smile at them in return for them telling me to 'keep the change' with a wink after they hand me a $10 note for a $9.80 pint. Cheers dickhead.
  
• The free shows, I have seen some awesome bands at that place and all from the best viewpoint behind the bar, it's smack bang in the middle of the room, no drunken dude mashing his dreadies into my face, plenty of room to dance and there's always room to put my Twisties and coke without either getting spilt. Heaven. But that's still not the best bit, earlier in the day I'm always there to hear the band sound check, I get my own private show as I set the bar up for the night and normally get to have a chat with the act, this normally involves something along the lines of...

SuperAwesomeRockDude : Can I get a pint of water?
Me: Sure
SuperAwesomeRockDude: Thanks

Sweet huh? So yes there are many awesome things about my job including the fact that I simply just don't work in retail. But then there are......


Cons, so many cons....:

• The hours. I work weekends, Friday and Saturday nights. This is lame. But it does stop me from spending too much money on going out and lining up in an alleyway to get into Amplifier only to get whipped in the face by some scrags ratty hair extensions. If I want a night off I can just ask, but I have missed out on some friends great parties and nights out.
• The cleaning. Bar work can be fun during the shift, but cleaning up after people is not
• The customers. Some people are nice, some are just complete wankers. I have proof of this every shift.
  
• Drunkeness. Often this is funny and highly amusing to me, it can also be profitable in the tips department. Too often this is insulting, dangerous, rude, threatening, depressing and just plain annoying.
• Authority figures. Sometimes I wonder how people got into these powerful positions in the first place. How do people so highly incompetent, so dumb and so lacking in common sense manage to score important jobs with a certain level of responsibilty? It just baffles me and I battle with it every week.
• The repetitiveness. Sometimes when I want to depress myself just for fun, I like to think about how many times I have opened the till at work, or how many times I have said "Hi, what can I get you?", or how many times I have wanted to reach over the bar and bitch slap some guy who asks "What beer have you got?" YOU RETARD THERE IS A MASSIVE SIGN LISTING THEM AND THEY ARE ALL MARKED CLEARLY ON THE TAPS, I AM NOT GOING TO LIST EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THEM BECAUSE YOU CAN'T BE BOTHERED ENGAGING THE MUSCLES THAT OPEN YOUR FUCKING EYES!!!!
• This one is mostly a con, but can also be pro sometimes on a slow day. - Crazy people. The Rosie is far too close to a methadone clinic, an old peoples home, HomesWest housing and some other place where all the weirdos go for my liking. There are strange people wandering around North Perth and for some reason they feel The Rosemount is some sort of refuge and the like to congregate there and talk to me even though I am clearly sending out 'stay the hell away from me' vibes. When will they learn?

So even though the Cons seem to exceed the Pros, I still work there, and probably will until I finish my degree in another year. Right now its good material for this blog and I shouldn't whinge because some people can't even get a job and I should be grateful.

Im still going to whinge.

Rant over.

Trying to start a blog is lame.

You know what's lame? Being lame is lame. I decided to start this blog as avenue to spew my hatred for certain people\places\objects etc, in a healthy and hopefully humorous way. But already I have been thwarted!
Here's a list of the following people who made it into my first post because they are so lame they took my first choices of a URL for my blog.

www.lame.blogspot.com
This guy thinks he can take the top spot of lameness with comics! I got frustrated and bored about four sentences in, but from what I can gather this guy sits around writing comics based around the periodic table on another site, and then blogs about his exciting adventures on this site. He then begs people to find it funny, all the while making complex references to World of Warcraft and other hobbies enjoyed by virgins.

www.lamelamelame.blogspot.com
This one just kind of hurt my eyes. First of all IT'S ALL WRITTEN IN CAPITALS AND THAT JUST REMINDS ME OF MY MUM. She's still new to the whole SMS text messaging thing and can't figure out how to get out of caps so I feel like she's constantly yelling when she asks IF IM COMING TO DINNER TONIGHT AND IF SO COULD I BRING SOME BUTTER BECAUSE SHE FORGOT TO PICK SOME UP!!!!!!!! LOVE MUM!!!! ARRGGHHHHH!!!!

So there's immediate points lost, but it's not just the capitals. I just have no idea what the blog is even about, I gather the author has some interest in sports because there's a fully awesome photo of a soccer ball with lightning shooting through it and then there is an indepth discussion of the difference between two shirts worn by some sportsmen......

and I quote.... in its entirety...

" see>>? muahahahahahah. =.='' that one, red colour shirt one.. seeeeeeeeee?? tell u wud.. he sux =]]]]] andandandand that blue shirt one? cool... muahahahahahahah...

h0h0h0h0h.. and that liverpool thingy sux too.. =]]]]]] "


But that's about it really. So again, another waste of a good URL that I could have used..

(I will give him some extra credit because his smiley faces have in excess of four double chins and that made me laugh. Also, in parts, he has turned his back on the traditional "haha's" and explored the benefits of using "hohoho's" which makes me feel jolly.)


www.superlame.blogspot.com
This one just shits me because there is NOTHING! Just a big, blank expanse of whiteness, someone took the name and did nothing with it. Such a waste...




So this is where I ended up, www.lameylamelame.blogspot.com

Obviously I chose this because all the others were taken, but I also find that if you sing the words 'lamey lame lame' and shake your head from side to side like those bobble headed dogs that sit on your dashboard, then it makes it less harsh and promotes good times for all.






You tried it didn't you?




Rant over.