2003-01-31

I have Kazaa'd enough crap early nineties music to make a hairdresser's eardrums bleed, so I think I am nearly ready for the reunion.

I have a raw silk skirt in a 'deconstructed' haute couture design that will make the surfie num-nut housewives have conniptions. I have a good lookin' man with a sharp tongue ready to take apart any detractors. And I have a give-a-fuck attitude stored in my backpack should everything turn pear shaped. I am ready to face my past.

And I am also ready to drink yeah many margaritas with my darling gal pal Rache as we spend too long dangling our legs from a barstool somewhere on Hastings St in Noosa. I intend to have a week of drinking and swearing, and if I can fit it in, smoking (cigarettes only, the other stuff makes me hurl). The fucking may or may not also happen, but as both Noosa and Coffs Harbour tend to be full of forty year old fuckwit divorcees, I think perhaps not. Still, you never know your luck in regional Australia.

Full reportage apon arrival back home via Qantas. Ahhhh, the friendly way to fly!

bitch - moan