FRIDAY MORNING F*CK

To My Newest and Most Sexually Active Housemate,

So, you have an active sex-life. In fact an over-active sex life is probably a more accurate description. Know how I know?
BECAUSE I CAN HEAR EVERY LITTLE DETAIL OF YOUR SEX SESSIONS EVERY TIME YOU HAVE SEX WITH THAT HORRIBLE BOYFRIEND OF YOURS WHO HAS THE BIG HEAD (PHYSICALLY AND EGOTISTICALLY). I CAN HEAR EVERYTHING RIGHT DOWN TO THE FLESH ON FLESH SLAPPING SOUNDS AND GRUNTING. EVERYTHING.

Good for you. But for me, it's foul. Torturous. Makes me want to vomit. No one should have to hear that, let alone be kept awake or woken up by it on a frequent basis.

Please do something about it or I will record it and play it back to you and all your feral friends at full volume next time they come over (which I hope they don't because they also piss me off).

Ta,
Your Sleepless Housemate

P.S. And no, I'm not jealous that you are actually having sex and I'm not. I would rather not have sex than have sex with someone with as big and ugly a head as your bf.

DATES. THE FIRST AND FUNNIEST ONES.

When I was 16, on the first date with my first boyfriend we went to the movies at Forest Hill Chase and he couldn't even decide on which movie to see and I didn't even care because all I could think about was holding his hand which we did during the movie but we never kissed and I cried when I got home because of there not being a first date kiss.

When I was 17, a beautiful boy took me on our first date and he was such a gentleman until he ordered a cheesy pizza and after eating it confessed to have been feeling ill that day and now he wasn't feeling so good so we left and 2 minutes down the road he had to stop but we were on Fitzroy St in St Kilda on a Saturday night and there were no car spots so he had to double-park outside the nearest take-away joint and run in to vomit and other stuff while I sat in the car terrified because if the police or someone needed me to move the car I couldn't because it was a manual and I can't drive manual and I had no idea how long beautiful boy would be, then he eventually returned looking slightly less green but not good and we proceeded towards home but he took a wrong turn and ended up going down Chapel St which was banked up with wogs doing Chap Laps so we crawled along and couldn't talk because he was trying not to vomit again, but eventually we made it home and needless to say there was no romantic end of the date kiss.

A few years ago I went on a date with the then-love-of-my-life and just after he came back from the bar with our first drinks he knocked his drink over across the table onto me and the contents which hadn't already reached me with the initial splash rapidly poured onto the table -which happened to be one of those uneven wobbly tables and was tilted in my direction- and poured onto my seat so that my entire bum and crotch were soaking wet as though I'd pissed my pants and I had to go to the bathroom which was on the far opposite side of the restaurant ensuring everyone I walked past could see my shame and then it took forever and some strange conversations with women in the bathroom explaining why I was standing under the hand-dryer drying my vagina and ass, and the then-love-of-my-life had to get someone to come in and check if I was OK because obviously he couldn't come into the girls' bathrooms.

Disastrous dates are the best because they give you a reason to have another date to try and make up for the bad one and they give you something to talk and laugh about or can be handy fuel in an argument should you ever need it. I hope I have another first date sometime soon.

Bye for now.