Oh sssssssshit!!

Dudettes! We've reached 1000 hits in 8 days! This is fucking awesome!

So to celebrate, we've created our own website:

www.chicksonpowertrips.com

Click on it 'cuz this is where we live now! I know! So awesome! You'll laugh! You'll cry! You'll punch yourself in the face! It's all so good I can't staaaaaand itttttttttttttt

ALSO: BIZTALK: you should know I've got my ever-obliging man slave working on layout at the moment, so bear with us if she's looking a little underfurnished. He is going to be making it the Best Fucking Site In the Universe, especially with all of us ranty bitches getting our derail on, but in the meantime just pretend it's like when you've just moved in and haven't unpacked yet.

Shit, all we need now is a real, live magazine. Next on the list, hos. Next on the list.

Excusez-moi...I am a laday!

Staying on the no swearing theme....

I really love classic movies. Funny Face, To Have and Have Not, To Catch a Thief...pretty much anything TCM has to offer. I had 2 months off this summer, after the movie I was working on wrapped. So, I spent most of my nights drinking tea, smoking "cigarettes" and watching old flicks.

Now, you should know that I can be pretty easily influenced by books/movies/music/clothes/mags/billboards/cosmetic packaging. A marketer's dream. I’m a little sponge and if you got something I can use to better myself...I’m taking it. Thank you and your welcome.

Watching all these beautiful starlets like, Sofia Loren, Lauren Bacall and Grace Kelly on my tv brainwashed me. All of a sudden, I wanted to be a classy, bushy-eyebrowed, red-lipped sex kitten. So, I started by taking out my piercings, leaving only my earrings. Then I decided I would stop swearing. I even went as far as googling cuss word substitutes.

I would go out grocery shopping in my high-waisted skirts, handbag and heels, eye-f**king the shit outta all the decent-looking men I’d see. Speaking of men in grocery stores...okay, why does it have to be so hard to tell if a man is single? Like, dope, he's not wearing a wedding ring..so..he could totally have a fiance but walks around thinkin, “just ‘cause I’m on a diet, don’t mean I can’t look at the menu”. F**king pig. You see a hot bastard and give him a look and then his pregnant wife waddles around the corner with a box of Special K and you feel like a hooker or something. Shouldn’t guys have to wear Mangagement rings? This needs to be invented a-sap.

Okay, I digress. What the fuck was I even on about? Oh yeah...so clearly the lady-like behavior didn’t last long, because I’m writing for COP mag. There just aren’t any substitutes for the f-bomb, Erika. True dat!

Substitutes I tried:
F**k = fudge, frick, fark
Shit = sugar, shoot
Shut the f**k up = Shut the front door
What the f**king f**k were you thinking? = You know what really steams my glasses?

FAIL x a bazzillion.

I have this photo next to my apartment door. It’s the last thing I see when I leave for work every morning. So, as I’m standing there in my sneaks, jeans, sweatshirt, busted-ass hair and beanie...I say, “F**k you Betty. I keeps it real, bitch.” 

If bitches got boners, I wouldn't be able to leave the house

Elle Aye’s Boner of the Week: Ryan Donowho

Imma go head and switch things up in this bitch. This boy is no hip hopper or pro-skater. You probs don’t even know who the hell he is unless you watch teen dramas.

Ya see, I love me some dirty surfer boys. Actually I’m still undergoing whiplash therapy from injuries I sustained while lurking them hard in NSW, and shit, that was over 3 years ago. No shit, I sat on the beach gawking at them dudes like it was my job. Okay, back to the boner. Ryan DonoWHO? This sweet little Texan caught my attention back when he showed up on The OC as Johnny - the cute surfer boy. Before Ryan was discovered, you could find him drumming (on buckets and cans and shit) in NYC subways. Youtube it, there is videographic evidence of this. I peeped a few of the vids. Wow, he really beat the shit out of them buckets back when he was a street rat.

"I'm completely broke. The fact that I can be on a hit TV show and still be broker than anything is, let's be honest... just weird."

- Ryan Donowho

I couldn’t find any recent snaps but I assure you he’s 29 and not 14 like he looks in these joints. He’s a BK resident now and has a few indie flicks on the go so keep an eye out for him. He f-i-n-e. Mmhhhmm.

Broke or not, F**k it, I’d like to procreate with him. I’d live off street vendor hot dogs and be his subway rat bitch any day.

Yup...Ryan Donowho could get it.

VINNNTAAAGGGGGGGEEEEE... what a bunch of dirty scalpers

I laugh in the face of vintage. HA. HA. HAAAA. The thought of other people's manky, secondhand stuff makes my skin crawl. Even though I have friends that rock the shit out of a seventies skirt and look super HAWT I like nothing better than NEW SHIT, OKAY.

It's just my personal preference.

However: in this economic climate we're in and with environmental concerns and what not and most of all, DRESS UP PARTIES, buying secondhand clothing is sometimes a necessity. Even if you never get the smell out. Ever. And you don't know who's had sex wearing it. Just sayin'.

I like the fact that you know there are certain places you can go to sell your good quality, barely-worn stuff and get a decent amount of money back. This is providing a great service to the community. So if you need a lush designer blazer but you can't afford to buy one outright, you can go there and get one too. This is cool. This makes the world a better place. What I HATE. Like, HATE are those VINTAGE SHOPS that go around and fleece Vinnies and the Salvos of allllll good shit and then put a heinous price on something that smells bad and is like, thirty years old just because of the 'v' word.

Vintage.

Yak.

They justify this price hike by the fact that they've gone through and 'done the hard work for you' and that they have to pay rent on this uber-funky little shop they've set up so that you can drop by and trawl through nothing but the best of stinkage vintage.

This dress is vintage. Because we have been aging it for thirty years, we will now charge you approximately $3000 for the privilege of smelling like a nursing home.

NO! You're doing it wrong! (I know I sound psycho. I'm just really hungover.)

I hate Vintage shops so much man. First of all, I can find the good stuff myself thanks (stop taking all the fun out of it!). Second of all, I think they're doing Vinnies and the Salvos a disservice cos everybody knows they've been fleeced and don't go there anymore. Thirdly all they do is pay Vinnes/Salvos prices and then charge WAAAAYYYY too much for something I coulda got for free off of my grandma, effectively taking clothing that was supposed to be affordable to people of lesser means back to out-of-reach territory. Last of all, I had a bad experience the other day that made me hate them even more. I bought this crazy African print dress from one of those vintage scalpers 'cos we were going to have a seventies do at my house and of course all the funky shit has been scalped into these stores that I hate, so that's where I had to look. I paid forty bucks for this dress, which is not the second-hand prices I grew up with but I needed something skanky to wear so whatevs. Then when I get it home my housemate Saffron looks at it and shows me the tag and tells me that my 'vintage' dress that I paid 'vintage' prices for is actually from a chain that's like Supre in New Zealand. FUCK YOU VINTAGE SCALPERS!!! I mean, forty bucks is a great price for a dress don't get me wrong, but for a secondhand dress that smells like vintage and was originally made a year ago in some sweatshop labour store where everything falls apart (so vintage)? No!

So fuck you, vintage scalpers! Get a real job!

Alcohol and markers! You know where this is going!

Q: You know what my favourite types of memories are?

A: The ones you don't know you have until you find them in your phone!

Ivey you got the nipple shot.

'Tis the season to stop swearing...

I started this blog post with the full intention of challenging myself not to swear for a whole 24 hours.

Before I'd finished writing it I'd already said 'fuck' another three times. So I'm re-writing it to lament my gutter-trash mouth.


I'm sure many of you can empathise.

I used to like swearing and think it was really expressive. I still think that 'fuck' is the most beautiful word in the English language. But there reaches a point where all of your 'shitcunting' can get out of control and you start sounding like a bogan. Old ladies get annoyed and little kids start hearing things their parents don't want them to hear, and don't you know choosing fruit and veg at the supermarket really doesn't call for the use of a fucking four-letter word, Erika? This is not the internet! This is real life, homes! You've got a university education! Shape up, for chrissake! What would would your grandmother say?

I doubt my grandmother has EVER said anything stronger than 'shit' in her entire 89 years. Fuck that's kind of funny actually, trying to imagine old people you love and respect saying bad words....

Anyway, I honestly don't know how to stop swearing when these four-letter expletives define the rhythms of my everyday speech. As anybody who knows me would agree, I care a lot about words (and proofreading, but that is a different rant for another day) and to me, composing a sentence is like say, composing a meal. So my everyday language is something like Thai food: heavily spiced. And just like chilli - which some people find offensive in even small doses - I've built up an immunity to it so strong that without a swear word or two chucked in, it's all just a little bit bland.

(This is the part where my mother or grandmother would say that maybe I should make more of an effort to say something interesting instead.)

Okay, so it's like my one dirty habit and I've got it bad. People that chew their nails can put that nasty-tasting paint on their fingers, I need something that leaves a bad taste in my mouth after I drop a shocker. Or maybe some of that dental shiz that makes your face numb so you can't talk and you feel like you've got grouper face. Or fuck it, an iPhone app that lights up and somewhere a fairy dies every time you utter a profanity, I don't know. I don't want to be on some ladette to lady shiz I just want to get out of the gutter and make it back onto the pavement... Only thing is I don't think I could stop swearing on this blog. Why? Because what the fuck would I write about then? How the fuck am I supposed to get my point across without the use of a lot of very emphatic f-words? It'd be like asking me to write without the space bar.

Nobody's perfect.

Pop rocks! Monster goop! Typos! It's all here, my bitches.

Hey guess what?

ACCLAIM MAG ISSUE 18 HAS JUST RELEASED! CHRIST! What sort of wi-fi free rocks were you living under? (Pop rocks? mmm... pop rocks...)

I'm really digging this whole illustration/photo cover thing these guys've been doing for the last couple of issues. Actually, I get the feeling that they are too. I mean look at it. She's wearing school teacher glasses and has purple monster goop on her face. What's not to like? Meanwhile ACCLAIM turns four this month which kinda rules when you consider that just today I got told (again) by someone in the know that "magazines are drowning". Since I'm about to experience my own first magazine release I prefer to ignore this minor issue and keep playing magazines until they chain me up, waving their fists in my face and saying: "NO! MAGAZINES ARE DEAD, DIDN'T YOU HEAR?!?" and then they make them illegal or something and start burning magazine editors and art directors at the stake with flames fed by the burning piles of their very own publications. Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah! Not giving a fuck! How could you when Acclaim presents the TWOONE exhibition at Hotel Urban on Thursday the 26th of November?!?!? Huh? TWOONE is fucking dope and one of the best artists in Melburn!!!!!!!!!!!" (fluent spaz is a really complicated language to master but once you've got the hang of it, it really gives you the freedom to express yourself in a way that English doesn't). So GO and remember: naked flicks! Seriously with the iphone era that we're in there's no excuse not to anymore.

Clothes maketh the man... AND they help him get lucky

So, any city that allows clubs to place a ban against metrosexuals gives me just another reason to love it even more. How good is it when Ding Dong is not allowing fuckwits - sorry, metrosexuals - through its doors on the basis of preventing "aggressive jock behaviour." Right on!

On the ban list were:

• Ed Hardy tshirts (obvious)
• Pointy leather shoes (the number one anathema to my reproductive instincts)
• Blond tips and dyed rats tails (only took as long as the Queen Mum to die)
• Polo shirts with popped collars (rank. just rank)
  
• Faux college shirts (ew. seriously? these are the sort of people that keep Australian Idol in business, people)

The dude responsible for the ban said; "we are simply providing a venue for people who don't subscribe to the standards of 90 per cent of other clubs."

YES! YES! CORRECT!

In other words : 90 percent of clubgoers are disgusting metros! Bleh!

Okay so I'm being a bigot. Horses for courses and different strokes for different folks and alla that BUT these metrosexual dudes really don't do it for me. I know they think their mad style is so with-it that chicks will be throwing themselves at them but it really comes across as the kind of bloke that I wouldn't get along very well with, and I know my friends wouldn't look twice either. Although it sounds superficial, if you want to get laid with me I don't care what you do or "who you are", all that matters is if you actually dress like a man. It's that simple (I know, someone, somewhere forgot to brief the male population on this one). No homo, no hobo, just dress like a guy. Is that too much to ask? It's sort of shallow but somehow it gives me all the information I need about everything that matters - like the fact that you won't spend more time in front of the bathroom mirror than me. Or that you might actually care about what I have to say. So it's deeply superficial. But that's a good thing... I think.

For example, my experience of the aforementioned "metros" are people who don't much like a chick who has substance. They tend to gravitate towards "glamours". Some chicks get into it, but I don't plan on blowing money I could use on travel or hell, a little thing called "rent" on hair extensions, fake nails, killer heels and spray tans so I can hang off of someone's arm and make them look good in front their mates. I know. I'm such a killjoy. But I guess there's qualities in a "glamour" that appeal to these metro the same way a hoodie does it for me. We just have different values*. Anyway, plenty of chicks dig these metros I guess so they can have 90% of the other clubs in Melburn. Me, I'm headed straight to Ding Dong Lounge. Who's with me?

*Using this term loosely. Very loosely.

Sydney makes me want to commit suicide

Oooh... this is venturing onto dangerous turf. I mean, nobody bags Taswegians more than Sydneysiders. Well, I don't get why its residents are so loyal when their beloved city is so determined to extract every spare cent from them via their assholes. Seriously, I had a WICKED weekend with Ivey and sure Sydney is pretty and all I just don't know how you guys DO IT. Every time I go there I'm ready to give Sydney another chance and every time I'm reminded why it's not the place for me. An hour in mega-aggro traffic every time you want to go somewhere, sharing the roads with people who play too much GTA, overpriced everything, tolls, shitty, slow and overpriced public transport.... okay that's all. I guess it's mostly just the whole driving and no-where to park thing that freaks me out. How all those roads go everywhere and it's like a fucking maze. Oh yeah and the posers. Fuck them.

We don't have any flicks 'cos they would all've been of just us two getting our uber-nerd on in front of Ivey's computer. We did go to the Ladies in Hiphop event on Friday night where I got cracked onto by some hot chicks who thought I was a dyke - such a highlight. I got stupidly drunk while Ivey drove (embarassing), bought some kicks (and was soooooo disappointed by the Fafi releases....arrrrr... not buying, sorry bitch), ate Brazilian BBQ with one of my besties "Rosi" (next month's photographer) and the rest of the weekend we knocked this mag into decent fucking shape. We also talked biz and long-term plans and it's all
SUPER.
FUCKING.
EXCITING.

C.O.P. will have its own website up within the next fortnight so this amateur blogger shit can eff off. Yay. We've just got stickers printed with the new url on 'em so hit us up if you want some (we'll reveal the address when she's ready to rumble). Distribution places are being confirmed but we HIGHLY recommend if you want to distribute C.O.P. issue #2 that you let us know NOW and WHY as demand is heating up. I have a feeling people are gonna miss out if they don't speak up and I don't want to miss good distributors that know how good this is about to get.

Anyway, I'm really tired. Ivez has a work ethic to put you all to shame though. Big ups and thanks for making it so easy homegirl! I'm off to enjoy this 6 degree weather.... blah. Sydney might make me want to commit suicide but Tassie makes me wish I was never born. Only a few weeks left, hos... ;)

Learning something new is all the rage

Let's do a book review! Or, preview I should say. I have this habit of posting up in the bookstore for hours on end (does this make me a geek? Well, whatever, I don't give a shit) and reading books so I don't have to buy them. So sue me, I'm a broke ass college student and the last thing I can afford is books. But doesn't mean I don't love them.
           So here's what was on my table...

 

Andddddd....to stimulate my eyes and not just my mind...

Damn would you look at that! Ed Westwick, how did you sneak in my stack like that. Let's just take a second, and admire shall we?

He's no Nate Archibald, but I like him. Chuck, I mean Ed, he's an interesting one. Reminscent of Joaquin Phoenix a bit, wouldn't you say? Anyways...

1) The Tao of the Wu, I've read half of it. A sort of follow up to the Wu-Tang Manual. It is a book that is on POINT. RZA interweaves his autobiography with the lessons and philosophical ideas he's learned over his years. He maintains a very humble point of view though and as a reader, this appealed to me, because man, we all know about the Wu and RZA is huge.

"The art of listening: A man thinks seven times before he speaks. It's harder to make the glass than break the glass." -the Tao, pg. 18

Just stop and think about that quote for a minute, then you'll get it. If you don't, follow up with me and I'll explain. 

2) The Science of Fear takes a look at the culture of fear behind man, any and every man of every kind. We are a long lasting generation and we are more than capable of using reason, but instead, we have a tendency to rely on quick snap judgement. Talks bout the misuse and misunderstanding of statistics and how the media creates unnecessary fear. I promise though, it's read-able and you'll learn and reevaluate what the hell it is you're scared of yourself.

For example, after 9/11, predominantly in the U.S., after witnessing such a horrific event, many people, understandably made the switch from planes to cars. People were scared after that, how could they not be? Yet, still, the chances of dying in a plane crash, much less a hijacked plane, are about 1-135,000 compared to dying via car crash.A expert, shown in The Science of Fear, gathered data and found out a year after 9/11, 1595 people died car crash, which is more than half of the 3000 people that were killed in 9/11. This was shown to be 'unreasoning fear'. These stats kinda wow'd me.

My family and I flew about 8 months after 9/11 and the reason why we didn't have TOO much fear, you could say is in large part thanks to my dad. My old man is a jet mechanic, and he reassured us that even after such an event, while it was important to be cautious and aware, we were STILL safe to travel by plane.

So get out there and pick up a book err'body, learning something new is all the rage. Or at least it should be.

SCORE! (When being a creeper pays off)

Let’s face it. We all love creepin’. Don’t even try to act like you don’t do a fist pump when you find out your new love interest’s facebook profile is open to the public. 1,347 tagged photos? (*rubs hands together in excitement*) Don’t mind if I do!!

I use the facebook friend search on the regs, yo. Why, I even use it to stalk potential buyers. Here’s the thing: I’m moving to another province in January and I don’t wanna donkey all my shit along with me so I’m selling a lot of it on kijiji (pretty much the same thing as craigslist). So when I get an email from a prospective buyer, I copy and paste their email address into the handy old facebook friend search engine and WAMMO! Look like a murderer? You ain't comin to my crib to buy my coffee table, hobo! Are you someone I’ve drunkenly made out with? Hellz nah I don’t wanna see you again and no, you certainly ain't buying my shoe rack for $20 OBO, fool.

I was gettin my hairs did the other day. I was shootin the breeze with my hairdresser when his boyfriend stopped by to say what's good. His bf was quite a bit older and had a f.o.b. (fresh off the boat) Italian accent. After bf peaced out, I asked my hairdresser, um...we’ll call him...George for the story’s sake...okay so I asked “George” how he met...um...we’ll call his man-toy...uh...Marcello. Okay, we good now? Yeah? Okay...so I asked George how he met Marcello. Get this! George was kind of having an early midlife crisis and decided he wanted to become an architect. So he started reading everything he could online about architecture. Then he came across the website of a particular architect from Milan. The site was interesting and pleasing to the eye so he read on and then scrolled down to see the cute architect man himself. George decided to hit him up. He sent Marcello an email...nothing creeperish or pervy. It was professional. Well, they exchanged several emails and after 3 months, George flew to Milan to meet him! They totally hit it off and have been together for like, 6 years! Marcello moved to Canada to be with him and they started a business together. SCORE!!

Moral of the story: Take chances! What have you got to lose? How stoked would you be if some fine dude or girl, whatevs you’re into, hit you up out of the blue, from Italy or somewhere cool like that? It’s possible, this is a true story. However, please don’t email any of my “Boner of the Week” guys.....I already called dibs.

Blog post soundtrack: Creep by TLC and Get Your Freak On by Missy Elliott (except every time she says “Freak”, say “Creep” instead)

Goin to the mainland hos! Hyuck hyuck!

Yep, my PASSPORT is ready, my BLUNNIES are polished and I'm heading to the MAINLAND for the weekend you guys.

I know. I'm gonna spend it associating with REAL, LIVE AUSTRALIANS.

CARN'T WAIT homies.

Me and my co-bitch Ivey are gonna spend all weekend in front of a "computer" (whatever that is). But apparently we need one for the magazine.

Well, supposedly it's going to be 40 in Sydney on Monday so I'm going to be like this bitch.

"I'm melting, melttttiiiiiinnnnnggg....!!" They show this all the time at our local Town Hall.

I've got new thongs in case we have to go somewhere fancy and I can't wait to eat something different to kangaroo meat. Hell I can't wait to use a real flushing toilet! Gonna be amazing! I can't believe I get to go on a REAL LIVE AIROMAPLANE YOU GUYS!!!!!! Something I've always wanted to know: how do you pee in zero gravity? And does Richard Branson fly the plane?

Fuck I'm so excoited – this is nearly as good as the time I saw Charles Woolley at the supermarket! Talk to you later you guys - hyuck hyuck!

xxxx

Sneaky Chich

Trust me, we had no idea about this either!

Read the rest here and check the flicks below to see what they were talkin about.

Ink Bombs

As part of next month's issue (yep, dropping next month) Ivey put me onto a certain female tattooer to interview (tattooist? she calls herself a tattooer so I guess that must be what it really is) and her work was fucking ddddddddope. I used to not really give a shit either way about tattoos.

It just felt like there were 95% average fails and 5% fucking amazing. And I figure those would get ripped off anyway.

Then I saw a really nice piece by this chick called Rose Hardy the other day,

(lush right?) along with the massive hours of pain Ivey puts herself through to adorn her skin with all her sexy-ass tats and then seeing THIS:

... and you have me warming to something that used to leave me cold.

How good are this chick's tats huh? I spotted her on news.com.au – you know where you go to get all the 'real' news like how Kyle and Jackie O got fired or how 80% of men think their wife's a whore or whatever? She won Miss Tattoo Australia and is going to represent us at the internationals. Personally I think she's HOT and she even beat this chick's amazoid tat right here (it goes all the way down the inside of her leg):

AR-Mazing!!

Who ISN'T fascinated by tattoos though? Me I don't have any ink because my skin is as white and virginal as the driven snow and I don't really like getting it out. So if I got anything done I'd probably come out looking something like this.

But when it comes to other people's tats I take as much interest as if I were about to get it imprinted onto my own forehead. I hate little "stickers" everywhere. I hate fad tattoos. I love stuff that flows with the lines of the body.

Of course, it's always easier to judge from the sidelines.

This tattoo, wherever it is in the world, does all the things I think a tattoo should do. Wish it was fucking finished and not all raw and angry-lookin.

When I saved this picture, it came up as "stupid tattoo" on my desktop. Haha.

The artwork on this is so fucking sexy (okay, up to the frogs. I don't like those), but I've always thought those Yakuza tats reminded me heaps of those sunsuits little kids have to wear at the beach. So no, I don't like 'em.

Okay, here's another stupid photo of a tat that I would think was great if it was actually fucking finished. But I used to have a boo who had something like this and can I just say: SEX MAGNET. Yes, guys, good tats do work on the ladies, I ain't gonna lie.

While I was scrounging around for the best flicks of the Miss Tattoo pageant, I came across this piece of shit blog where this guy basically has a five-paragraph cry about how this pageant "makes his eyes bleed" because some of the contestants were overweight. Shit, and I thought it was a tattoo contest.* Beware: this link comes with a sexist, white, middle-class redneck warning.

*Although the two chicks I posted on here do happen to have the most smokin' bods in the competition (in the Zoo magazine sense anyway), I posted them because they were the ones whose tatts actually interested me. COINCIDENCES, right? Ain't they the shit.

If bitches got boners, I wouldn't be able to leave the house

Elle Aye's Boner of the Week: Wasalu Muhammad Jaco aka Lupe Fiasco

I was shopping at Aritzia in Calgary years back. They have an in-store dj. While rifling through a rack of tees, I couldn't help but nod my head a bit to the dope joint the dj was spinnin. I've always been one to take note of lyrics straight-away and as soon as I heard this dude was spittin something about kick-pushing, I beetled over to the dj to get in the know.

And that, my bitches, is the day that I fell head over Dunks in love with Lupe Fiasco.

I've seen him live twice. Once at House of Blues Las Vegas and last year on the Glow in the Dark tour with Kanye and NERD. After the Vegas show, me and homegirl Tina were walkin out and were approached by a burly roadie-type dude who, on the D-L, ushered us to the elevator, where Lu's after party was bumpin. That was some shit I'll be telling my grandbabies about, you best believe!


I'm not going to do a whole bio. If you like, you can do a quickie wiki. How can you not love a boy who rhymes about comic books, graff and skating? As far as I'm concerned, "Sunshine" is one of the best hip hop love songs ever written. Yeah, it's definitely up there with "Bonita Applebum".

Yup....Lupe could get it.

This looks siiiicccckkkkkk

Geeze, if Cheechy wasn't slumming it in New York she coulda got out her "I love Tags" tee and headed on down to Radelaide! Better luck next time babe!

Oh yeah, and because our blog design is too narrow for me to blow this up big enough to read the tiny details, maybe you should check out Cold Krush here and here. Then you can ask them what exactly the fuck I was talking about.

Brit knows how to pick 'em

There's a lot of hype about Brit lip syncing. People leaving the concert early, whinging about not getting their monies worth, media frenzy. It's not like miming is anything new, especially by pop artists who put on a high-energy show. It's obvious that Brit isn't the greatest vocalist in the world - and anyone who buys a ticket to her show has to be pretty stupid to think that her voice could handle singing live for the entire concert while she dances too.
Seriously, who gives a shit about her when she has the most ridiculously hot dancers? With back-up dancers like these, I wouldn't notice if she was standing in the middle of the stage on her head taking a dump - let alone miming.

No wonder her Dad won't let her socialise with the dancers - can you imagine the trouble you might get into spending day after day, night after night on tour with these fine boys? Lord knows I can...

Drunkholes

I don’t know if it’s my age and the age of the people I’m associating with lately or the fact that 2009 has upped the booze content significantly, but I’ve had a lot of opportunities to witness some pretty crap drunken behaviour over the last couple of months. Like the last two weekends we’ve had a couple of barbies at my place and one of my housemates automatically turns into a belligerent c*nt once he’s got a couple of drinks in him. Calling people “bitch” and smirking that he’s not going to help clean up the next day ‘cos he’s fucking off to do some other stuff (and he didn’t. two weeks in a row now. Thank fuck the other two I live with are gorgeous angels that sprinkle fairy dust and light everywhere they go, but anyway). When I was in Philly, I met this guy who was great: very interesting, intelligent, funny, successful, kinda a big deal… but the minute he’d had a couple of drinks, fuck, he turned! Like scary, serial killer styles manipulative shit! We were there watching some act he was putting on and he’d literally go to the bar, get me a beer, slam it on the table and walk away and go do his business. And I didn’t ask for a beer. I mean, we were doing rounds so it’s not like he was all pissed that I was being some freeloader bitch. It was just the alcohol turned him super mean. It’s not just guys either. I also had a female friend who, once she had a few beers, it was like someone flicked the switch. She fully had an alter ego who was mean, rude, conniving and super catty (but only to girls. Not to guys. Her alter ego also happened to be super slutty). Speaking of, two of my co-workers hooked up at my party last night. Muy embarrassing + awkwaaard… This was the alter ego of a chick I work with who a few times I've seen choosing one dude from the company present and coming on to him total seductress-vamp style. I mean I’ve seen her try to kiss married men that she has to work with every day and shit. Ugh. And it makes me feel bad because I know she’s probably woken up today like mad embarrassed and really hoping that none of us say anything and of course we won’t because she’s a nice enough girl and she’s never done anything to us BUT: it really got me hoping that I don’t have a super shit drunken alter ego. I know people can tell when I’m drunk even if I don’t think I’m acting drunk. I know I get a little bit mean when people are being shit. I’ve been told I get all “quiet and giggly” when I’m drunk which is crap in a different way but it’s better than boring people shitless by telling them all the different ways you could kill them (which is what my housemate was talking about last night). I think we all have drunken alter egos, and it’s not like it’s not fun, but it’s definitely worth having a think about what yours gets up to when you’re not around.

"I once leaped across a creek that was over five metres wide and almost made it."

Okay, so I don't know if I'm bringing up old shit. If you're looking at this post going,  f**k Elle, I saw that shit like, eons ago...even my Grandma has seen that shit. But just in case you haven't, I'm posting it. Basically this dude...he had this neighbour and shit....ah whatevs, just read his intro below and then follow the link to peep the e-mail correspondence he exchanged with this dude:
A few weeks ago, a guy moved into the apartment across from me. I know little about him apart from the fact that he owns cane furniture as I saw the delivery guys carry it up. I bumped into him on the stairs once and he said hello but I cannot be friends with someone that owns cane furniture so I pretended I had a turtle to feed or something.

Last week when I checked my mailbox, I found that my new neighbour had left me a note stating that he was having a party and to let him know if the noise was too loud.

The problem I have with the note is not that he was having a party and didn't invite me, it was that he selected a vibrant background of balloons, effectively stating that his party was going to be vibrant and possibly have balloons and that I couldn't come.

If I was writing a note to my neighbours saying that I was going to have a party but none of them could come, I would not add photos of ecstasy tablets, beer and gratuitous shots of Lucius going down on men to show them what they are missing out on, I would make it clean and simple, possibly even sombre, so they didn't think 'you prick'.


Read the rest!!

If bitches got boners, I wouldn't be able to leave the house

Elle Aye's Boner of the Week:  Aaron Suski

This sex on wheels is a pro skater who rides for Zoo York, Emerica, Independent, Volcom and some others that I've never heard of so Imma go head and assume you've never heard of them either although you probably have.  He's from Cuttybackville, NY and after doing some research...I found him to be boring as f**k, actually. That's okay, he's got maaaad skills. He's got a baby daughter (does this make him a DILF? Guess so.) Oh, he's got a girlfriend, too. Just cuz there's a goalie, doesn't mean you can't score! Eh? Eh? (Hey Aaron: call me!)

Check these creepy stalker-ass comments some chick left on his bio page.

She's probably reading this right now because she gets text alerts every time anyone posts his name on the internet. Holla crazy girl! What's good? I see a restraining order in your near future.

Not in mine though. I'm not publicly admitting I'm crazy for him and that I want him to get in touch with me, for f**k's sake. Oh, shit. Yeah, I guess I did. Didn't I?

Yup....Aaron Suski could get it.