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Sunday, February 02, 2003
I have dyke hair.

From all the sea-salt, wind, and the whole no-brush-for-past-ten-years-thing, my hair has reached the state where you could take my picture, plaster it on the wall of the Lesbian Hair Factory where underprivileged butch-dykes would point to it to receive a similar cut to assert their manliness, thus separating them from their Lesbionic rivals: those wacky Lipstick Lesbians.

I'll have you know I don't normally have to really style my hair. I wash it, condition it (with a kick ass deep conditioning treatment that burns my scalp), and then shove in a bit of hair shit so my cunting curls don't go all bouffy. The result is normally some psycho hair with various kinks, curls, and some straight sections. I suppose my trips to the beach of late have changed the basic molecular configuration in each individual strand, as I seem to have NO control over it (even with the added strength of fine M.O.P products!). The sides are like, vertical in the manner of Casting Consultant (and flaming homo Damien Anthony Rossi).

Sidenote: I heard a rumour that Australian Popstars contestant James Campbell blew Rossi to get his gig on Scooby-Doo. Pass it on, kiddies!

Sidenote II: I didn't really. I'm just hoping James Campbell will search for his own name in the manner of Matthew Kopp, find my website hilarious, fall in love with me, and then we can get down to some dirty F-U-C-K-to the-I-N-G.

Back to my hair though: topping off the vertical sides, is some bouffy, slightly blonder curls which give me an extra three inches to my height. Jesus Christ. I look like a retarded twelve year old lesbian who is going to a fancy-dress party as a feathery duck.


I suppose it is a small price to pay for a kickass weekend at the beach. My stupid cousin has an apartment down there. In a HOTEL. Bitch! Ocean views, gym, indoor/outdoor pools and spas, central airconditioning... it even has a sauna! I have discovered a love for the sauna. They smell so European! I could probably sate my travelling desires if I could sauna it up now and then. Actually, I couldn't, but it would be a start at least. A place where you do nothing, wear nothing, and all you have to do is sweat and pour water on some hot rocks? I'm so there. They are probably like, a health hazard or something, but I figure that's only if you are a pornstar and have orgies in there. Which, might I add, would be impossible. You can barely breathe in there, let alone fuck. It's like breathing solid air through a straw. But it's fun.

What would have been MORE fun if my cousin wasn't with me. We had a sauna, came out, cooled down in the pool, and then I saw this guy giving me full on checking-out signals! Even when we left the pool, I did a throw-over-reverso-check-out look over my shoulder through the glass door and he was STILL looking. Maybe he was blind and can't focus his eyes, but I prefer to think of it as an unequivocal sex-invite. He was pretty cute too, in a dumb blond surfer way. What I SHOULD have done is swing my luscious ass into the sauna again, making subtle-but-not-so-subtle moon eyes at him. Then we could have saunaed it up together, until he would be all "man it's hot in here, I think I'm going to have to take off my towel". And then I could be all "bow chikka bow bow!"

In reality though, it's hard enough to breathe, and so adding that to the fact that I haven't had a sexual encounter in bloody ages, my asthma rather than my penis would rear it's head, and I would pass out while blowing him. Or because I seem to be an uncoordinated dumbass at the moment, I'd sit on the wrong hot rocks and have to take a pleasant trip to the emergency room, resulting in my mother treating my ass for third degree burns for the next three months.