I say #1 because there’s more to come. These disturbing memories may also serve to explain why I seem so … disturbed. I was a little girl and it was school holidays so rather than have to chain me to a pole outside on the street while my parents worked (watch the news – shit like this happens in real life), my dad took me to the video store to get some tapes so I would be distracted enough for a few hours to not set furniture on fire, roam the streets looking for gangs to join etc. I really wanted to get ‘Edward Scissorhands’ so I skipped into the shop with excitement, bounced straight over to the New Release section, saw it, ran up to dad who took it to the counter to borrow and pay. This whole time I’m jumping up and down going ‘I can’t wait to see this mooooviiiie’!
But as the Chinese would say, there was Sum Ting Wong. Translation: Something was wrong. Because upon closer inspection the movie that my father was holding and about to borrow for his child was not in fact ‘Edward Scissorhands’. It was instead a slightly similar yet notably different movie called: ‘Edward Penishands’. After the video shop guy told my dad that this may not be the right movie (and was probably about to call the cops) I held the cover close to my little face. I saw a lady who was NOT Winona Ryder. I saw hands that were NOT made up of scissors. I really didn’t understand it at the time – why the lady had no pants on, why she looked like the women that stand by the road waving at cars late at night, why she was squatting over Edward’s hand like she was about to sit on a chair, why Edward didn’t really look like the Johnny Depp version of Edward but more like a drunk clown from the circus….My dad told me to quickly put the video back onto the self and I had to borrow ‘The Neverending Story’ instead – which probably had a different plot to the original choice of bootleg Edward with dick covered hands.
No it’s not the name of my latest porno movie release (as I’m still in the process of shooting the ping pong scenes – joking, Female Friction isn’t an actual movie … that I know of but I’m sure some pervert out there will Google it just in case). Female Friction is what happens when you come across an irrationally threatened insecure bitch of a bush pig female who hates you simply for no other reason than because you are another female. Empirical data that I have obtained from conducting controlled studies (talking to heaps of my chick friends over cocktails and straight vodka – no ice) tells me that this happens everywhere – from the office hag who hates the new girl because she’s seen as a rival for male attention at work to the random chick on the street who hisses at you because she thinks you’re going to leer at and thus try to woo her boyfriend (presumably the poor mutha-fucker who’s walking next to her).
I don’t get it – I thought we were meant to be on the same side, what exactly do these types of women think that other women are going to take from them? Ironically as I grew up my father warned me about the ill intent of males: ‘Don’t let any boys touch your front bum’ he would wisely advise as I ventured out into the real world. Well fuck that – it’s not my fucking ‘front bum’ I’ve had to worry about but more my back from being stabbed by malicious women who just don’t get that a basic adult responsibility is to try and sort out their own shit before flinging it out onto others.
In the same ways that sickness makes me grateful for health and hunger makes me grateful for food; the bitter crack-whores out there make me sincerely grateful for the many strong and self-assured females that do in fact exist amongst us all. I bumped into a guy I knew from University at a party not long ago and we were having this chat about old times, what we’d done after graduation etc, and then out of nowhere some chick appears, storms over, glares at me and drags the poor fucker away but not before hissing ‘We have to go, you cannot talk to her anymore’. Oh no! This irrelevant male has a girlfriend! He’s not allowed to talk to me anymore! My Give-a-Fuck Factor: – 23. Her Paranoid-Skanky-Hooker Factor: 97.8.
There are people out there walking amongst us that like to say ‘never’. During conversations about clothes and fashion they say they’d ‘never’ wear sportswear that isn’t Nike, ‘never’ wear jeans that aren’t Sass & Bide, ‘never’ carry a no-label handbag, ‘never’ wear jewellery that’s less than 24 carat gold, ‘never’ buy lipstick from the pharmacy etc. During conversations about food they say they’d ‘never’ touch canned vegetables, ‘never’ buy fruit that’s not organic, ‘never’ touch dishes with more than 1 gram of fat, ‘never’ use sea salt to flavour food…it’s got to be rock salt (?) etc. What these people ‘never’ actually do is think about what the fuck they’re saying – what they NEED to do is use less time churning out the pretentious ‘nevers’ and searching for/snorting their rock salt (to me salts just salt – rock or sea, tastes the damn same). What they NEED to do is spend more time trying to find their way back down to mother fucking reality.
What is all this’ I’ll NEVER do this, buy that, wear this, eat that’? Life is volatile, fickle and one big uncontrollable game that you can’t predict. All the shit you own, the freedom you enjoy, the health you may have, the people you love, the ching ching money in your account, the stability and security is not unchanging, set, solid, forever, guaranteed. The one who is born with everything can die with nothing and vice versa. Where you stand now is not where you’ll be standing the day before your death or necessarily this time next week or tomorrow. The revered and admired can fall from grace and the ones that everyone looks down on now can rise above and blitz us all. There’s flood then draught, peace then war, empires have fallen then risen only to fall again. I grew up migrant style with a childhood during the 1980s that was quite unstable. In economic theory it’s called: Poor as Fuck. As an adult I’ve lived in an apartment across the road from the beach. As a child I’ve lived with my family upstairs of a run-down Fish & Chip shop. I sure as hell like to wear 24 carat gold, but if you gave me some bling earrings that were 9 carat, 1 carat or some cheap rusty metal, if I liked them I’d still fucking wear them (at least until my ears got septic) or … shock, I’m happy to not wear any at all.
So to the people who like to say ‘never’: shut the fuck up. Because one day you may damn well need to carry that no-label handbag (and god forbid put it over your head for shelter) or even get that cheap lipstick from the pharmacy – so you better be ready to not only wear it on your lips but eat it or use it for a party trick while you busk on the streets for coins. Snobby fools.
Bubble tea is everywhere man, any city that has international students will be lined with shops that sell bubble tea. Hey chill – I think international students are a good thing, they really pump up and enhance the economy as consumers, especially through shops selling Hello Kitty socks, hair-dressing salons using industrial bleach for that naturally blonde Asian look and buffet style bakeries (tongs and tray?) that make combos like fish-fingers in green-tea muffins. Also, it’s fun watching international students mounting each other and doing the human pyramid thing as they pose for group photos making the double peace sign. Hey chill – check back onto my picture under the ‘All about EVElyn’ section and observe, I can go there as these are my crew. Back onto the bubble tea: it’s super freaky. I really want to appreciate what is essentially a zany combination of rubbery solid and tangy liquid united as one. How can anyone resist trying a drinkable product that comes in flavours like ‘yam’ – I mean it’s a liquid but flavoured like a fucking potato. Za-ny!
But it’s not for me – it’s just too freaking awkward to drink. They give you a massive straw like a sewer pipe but the product causes conflict in the throat with each mouthful: to expand for the liquid or to constrict for the solid? Get this rhythm wrong once and you’ll find yourself channelling Daisy the cow having to regurgitate back up any sago solids that need to be chewed or re-chewed. Maybe for me bubble tea is like spicy chicken anus with cabbage– there are just some delicacies that my cousins like consuming that I’ll never get the hang of, but the bottom line is that I simply don’t like the feeling of choking on a mouthful of balls. Remember: if it’s going to make you gag don’t put it in your mouth – don’t say you don’t learn any lessons from the wisdom of EmpressEvelyn x
Yeah you read right – What is you means? That’s what my dad says when he doesn’t get what the fuck someone is asking or saying to him (this is most of the time). The man has been in Australia for 30 years and he rocks to his own version of English. But I’ve stolen this line from him in reply to all the times someone comes along and just says some really smacked up incomprehensible shit. A sample:
‘Hey, you can speak English really well!’ – Why wouldn’t I you stupid fucks, I’ve lived in an English speaking country all my life. Even if I lived in the Chinese ghettos, we’d still need to know how to speak English to deal with the ‘outside’… how else would we be able to sell our pirated dvds.
‘Hey, I couldn’t tell you were Asian from speaking to you on the phone’– Why not? Couldn’t you hear my dad singing karaoke and my mum paying the pan pipes in the background?
‘Do you speak Asian at home?’ – I didn’t even know that one generic language existed amongst over 23 countries.
‘I was walking down Russell St and I wasn’t used to seeing so many Asians’ – Does this mean they had an allergic reaction to seeing all that shiny black hair? And my all time favourite….
‘Hey, you’re kind of nice looking…for an Asian’ – What the damn fuck is you means??
As a reader of my blog feel free to use this line whenever you encounter a talker of shit, and really try to fuck with them by saying it in a Bruce Lee sort of accent and do some kind of kung fu chopping thing with your hands. If you recognise me on the streets of Melbourne I’ll do you a demo.
A few days ago there was this article in Time Magazine online about controversy over the new Barbie Doll being released in the States, there is apparently concern about her being too ‘busty’. I’ve seen a picture of busty B and she’s wearing this chic looking suit with no shirt underneath and while there’s some action on top it’s not like she’s wearing little dangly Barbie nipple rings or anything. She actually looks really hot and chic! But the ‘bad role model’ proposition is being pumped out again about how Barbie portrays unrealistic body images, puts pressure on young girls…
Maybe not or maybe so, but Barbie is a doll. Her ‘role’ is therefore to be…a doll. The ‘role’ of empowering a child to have self-respect and positive self-image is ultimately the central responsibility of the parents. This role should not be delegated to Barbie – she is too busy choosing her accessories and putting out for Ken.
Many years ago Bert and Ernie copped crap from some other groups for being ‘gay’, presumably because they were 2 guys who shared a bedroom. Bert and Ernie are puppets, they don’t even have genitals to do anything exciting that we can do whether straight or gay. And the homophobes fucked up their theory anyway because if they had paid attention they would have known that Bert and Ernie actually slept on their own single beds separated by a chest of draws. So I’d say they were just good friends. In Australia we had a kid’s show with a life-sized puppet called Humphrey Bear. There were talks about taking him off air because while he wore a tie and waist coat, he didn’t have on any pants. Were any big bear balls hanging out? No. So what the fuck?
In many cases, the net result of a well-rounded adult has its roots in places beyond a plastic doll. I’ve never been a parent but I have been somebody’s child and it’s with these somebodys that my self-image ultimately leads back to. Anyway, if Barbie is meant to be a role model they best be putting out some more multi-cultural versions, otherwise young girls will be yearning for a blonde weave and new eyeballs in addition to the breast job.
I’m not an expert on love and commitment but I sure as hell can tell if people sitting near me at a restaurant or bar are on a shithouse date. The unfortunate problem is when the people actually on the date are unable to identify how shithouse it is. Look – if you’re sitting there with your drinks (or with your shared milkshake with 2 curly straws etc) and you’re just staring at the table, the floor, the wall or worse still – at me (to the next couple that does this: I’m going to come and tip your table over – creepy fuckers), you’re clearly not letting the good times roll. I understand that if you’ve been in a long-term relationship or if you’re married you’ve got this whole comfortable silence thing happening but these couples generally look like they’re in their mid to late twenties max with that ‘been going out for a few months’ vibe about them. If you have absolutely nothing to say to each other at this early stage or aren’t even making eye contact at the table then you both need to go in search of more stimulating company, pay for it if you have to but at least try to fill your night with some hardcore laugher, hardcore partying or anything that’s just plain hard.
Why waste your time being there when you could just as easily be doing the same thing sitting at home at the kitchen table by yourself – the effect is fucking the same. And then they start to listen in on the conversation over at our table (and sure it could be because I talk as loud as hell) but I presumed the purpose of a date was to be so caught up in the other person that you don’t give a fuck if everyone else around you is on fire.
So unless you’re both in a relationship that’s been going on for so long you don’t even bother to shut the toilet door while doing a shit, this kind of silence is not acceptable. The last incidence of this I saw was so bad with a couple on a date that the girl was reading the label of ingredients on her coke bottle while the guy was just plain sitting there looking like he was waiting to grow a dick.