You know those stories, the ones that you only tell if you’re really really really shit faced drunk? And even then you slur and murmur it to the best of your ability so that no one else can decipher what you said?
Well, today that’s what we’re going to talk about since the other night on the twat (twitter) I lamented that I had the worst writers block and Aussa, being such a lovely, kind and giving kind of woman piped up with how I should tell about something mortifying that has happened to me.
After I giggled at this in bed, it was about midnight Australian time after all… I said yes. Ok, I will. And without further ado; here’s the story. Minus the 3 bottles of tequila. Ooooooooooh boy.
Sydney has one of the most joyous of celebrations… The Gay & Lesbian Mardi Gras I thought going dressed as a kinky fairy would be fun. Because kinky any things are fun right? Right.
After the failed “date” with the man who baptised me in his mouth after I told him I won’t suck his dick, I was starting to think that Austin was possibly a place I didn’t want to extend my stay in. But then figured I wasn’t giving the town enough of a chance. Just because there was one douchebag didn’t mean that there were more. How many dingbats could I possibly encounter as a single woman in Austin after all?
Not that many it turns out – feel free to read about my lovely trip here.
But what this post is about is how I left Austin with some new ink.
You see I was walking down the street (not as gracefully as I usually do after day 2 of drinking myself silly with drag queens) and I had one of those thought bubbles that light up above your head and flash like a police vehicle.
I wanted a new tattoo. It was time. It had been a long while since my last one and I never got around to gifting myself for my 30th with one. So I jumped on the lappy and looked up tattoo parlours on Yelp. One that came up with for Sailors Grave Ink along 6th. I hear they’ve since moved.
You know, jet lag.
My brain isn’t capable of much at the moment, however after reading posts from some of my favourite womans’ Aussa & Beth – I figured that answering questions is easy!! 21 things I irrationally love or hate? Pshh I could go to 101. But I won’t. Because boredom. We can’t have you having it.
So without much ado….
21 things I irrationally love or hate
- Rope – and not just any rope it has to be natural fibre. Jute preferably. Or even Italian linen, hemp and coconut rope gets my juju humming like a little bullet vibrator. Oh yes. As much as I love tying myself and other people up in it, I love conditioning it, I love working the oils into it, I love the smell, the texture, the beautiful beautiful marks it leaves on one’s skin…
Futomomo Marks – from Andersmcm’s Tumblr
- Cockroaches. Why? These things live through nuclear holocausts, that should be telling us something. Apart from that they are ickky and make me want to vomit. And I once woke up to one crawling along my arm, granted I had fallen asleep in my friends backyard due to a late night party we’d had and err … look the point of this is that I woke up with one crawling on my arm and I totally forgot how drunk I still should have been and ran around screaming like a banshee flapping my arms and yelling that I want to die because I’d been contaminated by feral mutant roach germs. Moral of the story? I hate the fuckers and I hate it even more when they are in close proximity to me.
- Nature. Ahhhhhhhh nature. I love you. Yet I hate you. I love how green you are in peektures. Yet when I rush off into the middle of nowhere to roll around and absorb the green happy vibes, you let me get lost and eat spider-webs in my haste to get un-lost and find water. I love your frozen waterfalls, yet hate that I end up sliding down the icy stairs on my ass because the soft snow on top is hiding your secret. I guess if I were to ever come back as anything, I’d want to be you. Because you’re beauty and evil cruelty make me so happy. When it’s not me bouncing down the snowy ice stairs on my ass squealing.
Cat & dog videos Animal Videos. You know the ones, ones of Maru are priceless. The one of my cat playing with my housemates dog, even more cute. They make me laugh and cry in equal measure. Something about animals. You know. Like the squirrel that likes to hide its nuts in the dog’s coat.
So I’m sitting at my hotel at the moment waiting for the time to pass so that I can make my way to the godforsaken greyhound station and hope that my 24 hour trip back to West Viriginia is not full of scary shit like my trip to New Orleans was. Spending 6 hours trapped on a bus with someone who had very very bad gas to the point that I had to hide my face in my jacket so that I didn’t dry retch was bad enough. Let’s not go into the fact that I had to come face to face with dirty underwear sitting on top of the toilet roll holder in Atlanta. Because every woman needs to see that when they are dying to pee.
I’ve sworn next time I’m just going to pay for flights. Unless greyhound have started doing a direct service that doesn’t take me half way around the states before getting me to my destination.
On the plus side, New Orleans sure knows how to put on a party. Mardi Gras was… well. Amaze. I have a suitcase full of beads (they are being used as padding for my breakables).
I have a cat-woman leather mask, a headband of feathers that make me look fabulous and so many many beads that I’m not sure what to do with them all, so I left them decorating my hotel room.
My bead haul
The best bit? I didn’t flash my girls once for beads.