As I had to leave early of a Friday morning, I didn't have a chance to check out everyone's suggestions of where to waste a day. I didn't pack or look at a map, I just caught a bus to the QVB and decided I'd let my feet take me wherever. Bearing in mind that I am a creature of habit and the only route I've ever gone from QVB was straight to the pub (LOL), I was totally surprised to find that Pitt Street was only around the corner.

I, dear readers, am an idiot.

So I decided to spend a greater part of that day shopping and maybe fitting in a spoil or two to feel that sense of belonging to no demographic in particular but still stomp around that little drag as if it were my own, a little cultural treat for my valiant efforts to get in amongst the crowd.

I fucking hate crowds. Not least because they seem to be THE place to be if you want to be jostled around, treated like absolute tourist shite, or completely ignored. Not in the attention-whore way, I mean that if you're walking a straight line and someone's in your path, they will walk right into you a couple steps. There was no humanity, selflessness or kindness in Sydney CBD at lunchtime that Friday.

Now I had no qualms about giving half my shrapnel to one man who gave out those hideous 'SMILE' stickers, and giving the rest out to a homeless man. What I did have a problem with was that there were so many homeless people in Pitt Street, caught out in the sweltering heat, totally open to either themselves or their change hat/cardboard being kicked around from the rush of peak-hour traffic. I secretly cursed the smug bastard who took most of my gold coin change (I had SO MUCH) as it probably would've been better off going to all the people who really looked like they were hurting. Just a quick question for Sydney residents: are there any homeless shelters or soup-kitchens in the CBD area?

What I do like, as most of you regular readers know, is to be left the fuck alone. All I had to do? Light myself a fag. Don't get me wrong, there are a lot of smokers in Sydneytown (bless), but you can find them scattered through the crowds in a big cloud of their own smoke, in their own space. I didn't particularly mind that non-smokers passing by looked at me like I was leprous. In fact, I kinda liked it. At least nobody bothered me.

Oh! You know those big metal stumps all up and down Pitt Street Mall to keep the pedestrians at bay if a truck were to drive through? You know how people usually sit on those if they're waiting for mates or having a fag? I tried to sit on one and had to tiptoe or hop up, LOLLERS. Some people lean back to just rest their butts on them, but when I tried it rested on the small of my back, which was really uncomfortable. I thought that was funny, but a little sad. The council would be SO incredibly FUCKED if the city were to be visited by Sherpas.

The biggest source of my ire for the day rested with the overpriced consumer vulture, Myer.

I've always been wary of stepping into any Myer outlet, as it's very hard for me to enjoy myself with that convoluted Holier-Than-Thou, You-Can't-Afford-ANYTHING-In-This-Store attitude they've got going on. BUT. Myer always seems to have a great range in lingerie, which is what I decided to blow this fortnight's Christmas monies on. Eh, I get paid just before Christmas so I can get everyone's presents then.

In the span of ten minutes on the outskirts of the lingerie section, I was approached THREE TIMES by various Myer saleswomen. Now being of obscenely small stature, it's mind-boggling how they can find me in a maze of lace. I always feel like I'm in that maze that little Danny runs through to get away from Jack in the final scenes of The Shining. I tell you what, these women had the psychotic faces to match. HOW IN THE BLOODY HELL DO THEY FIND ME?! Either they have a lookout lying flat on the floor, or they have heat-sensors.


Like I said, I was approached three times. The following little conversations followed:

"Are you doing a little Christmas shopping?"

No, no I'm not. I just love taking in the atmosphere, which includes being trampled, being poked REPEATEDLY in the small of my back and at extremely intimate moments of cheery cheer, my HEAD, by people's bags on escalators. I also quite enjoy being sprayed with toxic chemicals directly in the eyeballs by the good people down in Perfume, and I do so love running away from YOU and straight into a face-full of knickers. It's good for the soul. You cuntstain.

"Have you got the right sizes there, ma'am?"

NO! I often go into lingerie stores and just pick whatever looks good off the rack and go home hoping that it fits. 18GG?! Oh well! By hell or high water, I'll make that bugger fit. Congratulations on the service! Fuck off.

"Are these for yourself?"

Again, no. I often like to buy lingerie for other people, suggesting some latent and tactless homo-erotic behaviour on my part. I wonder if you'd ask that if I bought crotchless panties? Argh, I am exhausted and I want so badly to set you on fire, so please leave before I find my lighter.


So I find what I'm after, in the right size, for me, and proceed to the counter. Just when I thought I was done with the Arseholiosis-afflicted salesfolk, I was to find out that I was yet to meet the Bowser of awkwardness.

A meek-looking manager around 60 years old, she looked almost like that Chrisco woman. I should've known better to think she was actually meek, having to work God knows how many riotous sales days amongst other women. She would've had hairs on her chest, I bet. Anyway, I take my stuff up to her, hoping that the exchange and conversation will be very brief.

Anyway, this little woman is folding my lingerie up to put in a bag when she lifts up a bra for all to see and bellows,

"You know this bow comes off? You could use it for... other things."

OH GOD. Oh, the conversation was brief alright, but so incredibly awkward. A wireless Bonds Intimates lacy black number was one of my purchases -- a very cute one at that -- was what she held up. It had a removable bow that tied between the bap-cups, and I assume it could be used to tie someone up. Or to be tied up, whatever. It was an attachment that had me pretty non-plussed, seeing as I won't be engaging in shenanigans any time soon. I may use it in a MacGyver moment if it comes to that, who knows? Oop, I digress.

I was mortified. Now I'm no prude, but I don't need anybody else to be seeing my flaccid lingerie waving triumphantly in the air, complete with commentary for potential use. I was sort of waiting for her to sniff them, but that moment never came. Is it wrong for me to be a little disappointed, considering the events leading up to that embarrassing moment?

I hate Myer and the people who work there.

Not to be discouraged, though, I did find some other things to keep me happy. 'The Picture of Dorian Gray' by Oscar Wilde, 'To Kill A Mockingbird' by Harper Lee thanks to the good (and quiet and a good arm's length away from me at all times) people at Borders, as well as some face-stuff from The Body Shop.

Actually, The Body Shop was fucked. Heading into the cosmetic section, I was swooped on by a woman in her mid-twenties who looked like a panda who'd been kicked in the face repeatedly. Not only that, but she was pock-marked with some new pustulous additions, as if foreheads were never meant to sit ungarnished. Heaving, leaky zits, according to her face, were the new black of Summer 2005/2006. The crazy bird grinned, and this hilarity ensued:

"So HI! Doing a little Christmas shopping for yourself!!!!"
"Yes."
"What are you looking for!!!!"
"Just some eyeshadow and some eyeliner. I'm going for neutral, earthy colours, since I don't have much time to put my face on."
"Oh, why's that!!!!"
"I have a Little One, and I don't want to put my face on, do my mumstuff, then forget about my face until late in the evening when I realise that I spent most of the day looking like a smashed crab."
"How old's your little one!!!!"
"Three in January."
"Well you look FANTASTIC!!!!"
"Thanks. She IS turning THREE." (Idiot.)

*shoptalk*

"Alright, ta. I can take this to the counter, thanks for your help."
"NO PROBLEMS!!!! HAVE A VERY HAPPY HOLIDAY!!!! REMEMBER TO GIVE TO OXFAM AND THAT OUR BODY SHOP PRODUCTS ARE AGAINST ANIMAL TESTING!!!!!"

By God, it took everything in me not to scream "SUPERHAPPYCUNTPUNCHFURY!" and simultaneously fly-kick and punch her in the cunt, with rainbows and asterisks flying out of my general head area.

I also left home with a little sniffle and returned with a fully-blown strain of bird-flu, resulting in my weekend being spent being lethargic, mucous-y, angry, and sore in the throat.

If I ever find myself expressing any sort of wanderlust and it looks like I'm going to relieve it by heading into town, remind me of this ordeal. I'll probably cry inside for a while and hate your guts off for ruining the growing excitement, but it'll really be in the best interest for my mental and physical well-being.