Aaah….so THAT’S what the  filter is for
Best $30 I ever spent

I’m totally going to let the camera shop dude say I told you so you dumb bimbo
‘Cause I’m headed out there now
To buy ANOTHER filter

And give him a blowjob hug.

I had to say goodbye to an old friend on Mother’s Day. We’ve been close for more than 9 years, and have had many an adventure together.
My car.
She’s been dying a slow death for a while now. Last time we decided to replace her and get me a new car,  we came home with a truck for Diamond. ???? A green truck. That I have been driving for the last year or so. I call it the Green Hornet and I like to pretend the outside is white, or grey, when I’m inside it. When I get out, I just shut my eyes. It’s an awesome ride and I love driving it. But that doesn’t make it any LESS green.
Anyhoo, it was time to say sayonara to my old buddy. I know, it’s just a car. But both my babies were made in the backseat came home from the hospital in it….blah blah…I know I’m a dickhead. If I could fix her I would. But it would cost more than she’s worth.
So last weekend, Diamond and I headed off to do our second most favorite thing in the world. Our first is stubbing our toes on the corner of the bed.  Followed closely by car shopping. Fucking hate it. And with respect to all you car salesmen out there, you are a bunch of knob-jockeys.

But it turned out OK. I just sat in the kids playroom of the car dealership with the girls, playing Barbie dress up on the iPad. I like to pick and choose when I have to be a grown up. So I left Diamond to be the dick. You know, the one that haggles with the “trust me, I’ll give you the best deal” guys, and all that other fun stuff.
He came out after an hour, handed me the keys, and said Happy Mother’s Day! I said, a car? That’s what I get for Mother’s Day? I’m like, DUDE, you will do anything to avoid going to the mall.
All shit-stirring aside. I couldn’t be happier. I love it!
Please ignore all previous references to stupid little blonde women who drive around the suburbs in big-mofo-yank-tanks. ‘Cause now I am one!
Magoo calls it my ‘President’s car’. Probably because it’s long and black.
Like the one the President rides in (not what YOU were thinking you sick bastards)
Does it make my bum look big?
Nope, I look like an ant getting out of the fucker. It’s ginormous!
Diamond thinks I’m a fruit loop. Possibly because on Mother’s Day night, we were on the couch, holding hands, watching the kids play outside. I leaned over and said, “I love…..
MY CAR!”
He might have been expecting, I love my family or YOU, or something along those lines.
Whatevs. I do love all of them
But I really love my car
Let’s not tell him about the speeding ticket that I flashed my boobs and got out of narrowly avoided when I drove it home from the dealership

At least the accelerator works.

Right, first off…

Me, getting a lesson in survival. If surviving means not shitting my pants that much
But at least you can’t tell by the photo. I’m a master at masking my fear
OBVIOUSLY!

Getting fashion tips from these two lovelies.
I know. These outfits are now the blueprint for Diamond & my next night out. Maybe his cousin’s wedding next month?
I think so!

Checking out the musical awesomeness of Bourbon Street, when I stopped at this band. Oh, the lyrical genius of the lead singer! My fave of the night?
“…I’m gonna get you in bed, get you under the covers…then I’m gonna melt your ass like butter”
With matching dance moves!!
How’s that for a free pass into a sheila’s knickers, ladeez? AMIRIGHT??
A lesson in crawfish eating etiquette. Hint, there is none. I discovered I can’t peel the little bastards for shit. AND, they’re NOT supposed to be crunchy. I can’t wait to eat these yummy things again….if someone else PEELS THE FUCKERS.
Style tips from this little gal. Oh wait….is that MEEEE?
As I was saying…

And dancing tips from this groovin’ couple.
Needless to say, they smoked me
Imagine how much more I’m going to suck when I’m THEIR AGE?

How’s THAT for something to look forward to?

Next stop…umm…actually I’m not sure.
I’ll let you know!

The next few days are going to be crazy busy and the pictures should probably end up a bit more exciting than this one
Especially considering I just bought myself a pair of overalls and some ‘clogging’ shoes. Awww sh-i-i-t!

Stay tuned…

*Australian for FULL, CRAMMED, or FUCKING PEOPLE EVERYWHERE!  

Memphis was like wowsers. On steroids.

In three days, I got to sit in on a session at Sun Studio and record a song. I KNOW!
I got to hang out at Elvis Presley Enterprises and get a private tour through Graceland. Betty probably cried.
I got an ah-may-zink cooking lesson from Bobbie, at the best rib joint in town, Rendezvous
Then Me and Anthony, the ‘Duck Master’ at the world famous Peabody Hotel, walked the red carpet with the ducks (we kinda have the same waddle…yay?)
I witnessed my Dad dancing around in a bath towel. OH. MY. EYES.
So I grabbed a margarita and headed down Beale Street, camera crew in tow, to say hi to some locals and compare our best Elvis moves. Spoiler – I lose.

For those of you that don’t already know, in each episode of RHYTHMS & ROOTS, there’s a cooking and dancing segment, to accompany each genre of music we’re covering.
As most of you know, I’m a shitty cook, and I dance like a white girl with an itch. So guess which segments I’M covering for the series?

So far, the filming has been so much fun. Especially getting to try out all the different foods I’ve created. I was supervised, so it was all edible, worry not!
It’s all been incredible, if you don’t count the dancing lessons. Sweet Jesus, the dancing lessons.
Remember for the Scotland episode when I got totally schooled (and not in a good way) by a lady old enough to be my grandmother
Yeah, well that was nothing compared to the Memphis lesson. Where I struggled, trod on people’s toes, WORE A FUCKING DRESS AND got laughed at by a 10 year old.

Considering that this was the 10 year old laughing, I let it slide.

I was too bothered about my dress to give a fuck.

Me: fox
Magoo: LOX. I want to cut my hair and give it to LOX of love for the sick kids

Me: dot
Magoo: BOT. I have a ro-BOT, that I went to the store and BOT with my pocket money

Me: pet
Magoo: SHET. I was driving my car and an old lady got in my way and I said HOLY SHET!

God, I love that kid.

So I get up muttering that I better not break a fingernail or a sweat and head out onto the court – where all the parents, mainly Mums, are stretching and warming up. Wearing their matching tracksuits and fancy gym shoes.
Lucky I’m so secure with my bad-self, or I might have been embarrassed in my leopard print leggings and ugg boots.

So the game starts, parents serve first. And one of the sporty-spice Mums torpedoes the ball over the net, so fucking fast that the kids all duck just to get out of the way.
This set the tone for the rest of the game.
I’m like, really? These kids are 7 & 8 years old, can’t play for shit, and we’re going to see just how much we can thrash them by?
Grownups are aresholes.

My turn to serve. I’m sure it surprises no one to hear that I’ve never played volleyball. My serve was underarm because I suck to make it easier for the kids *ahem*
My first one went straight into the net. I laughed, the kids laughed. But Bubble-Butt-Bertha, in the Brown velour sweatsuit yelled COME ON!!!
At. Me.
My next 4 serves were good, so she left me alone.

Then it was her turn to serve. Her first serve was a rocket. Straight into the back of one of the Dad’s heads.
I laughed my arse off. No one else did
I kept yelling out to my team mates, ARE WE HAVING FUN YET?
*crickets*
I’m so not joking
The whole game, I kept thinking, I hope the kids kick our butts.

And, I can’t wait to get home and write about you fucked up moles.
Bubble-Butt-Brown-Velour-Bertha’s face was purple about 10 minutes into it.
Both from exerting herself (probably for the first time since 1984 when she was in her bedroom, buttering her muffin to Careless Whisper) and because she was getting so mad with me
She continued to nail every ball like her life depended on it, while yelling at her teammates and screaming at her daughter across the net. I was half hoping she’d have a heart attack. Psycho mama.

By the end of the game, I was knackered, the inside of my ugg boots were wet, and I was ready to kick her in the coochie.
Macaroni ran over with a big smile on her face. Mum, you are so bad at volleyball. I think Dad should come next time
Bertha said, that might be a good idea.
Holy shit, it’s like she WANTED me to slap her fucking face. But I was trying to be good. Think of the children. Think of the children. Think of the children. Grrrrr.

I laughed it off and said, well, there’s something for everyone. Sports have never been my thing. Luckily I have other stuff to fall back on. like stabbing stupid over competitive biatches
She actually laughed. And what would THAT be?, she said
She. Did. So.
Then Macaroni piped in,  MY Mum is a famous pop star.
In Japan.
Then she took my hand and we walked off.

I considered whether I should get Macaroni therapy for being delusional
But decided instead to just high-five her for being able to bullshit on-the-spot so spontaneously well

Either way, my new pop star name is JERRY TARIA!

“…was I exaggerating Mary?”

In short which I totally am when next to him, I love him

And his awesome taste in t-shirts