Playgirl’s Mr Movember!

I don’t know about the rest of you, but I can always tell when a bloke is only growing a moustache for Movember.  For some reason the dignity and gravitas that usually accompanies a genuine nose-muffler, the type grown by ringmasters, philosophers and maths teachers is completely missing. Movember mo-growers either carry it with the grace, aplomb and subtly of an oversized novelty sombrero, brashly waving it around as if to say ‘I’m a wild and crazy guy I want to make party-party’. Or they especially furtive about it, ducking their heads when they catch you checking out their face-friend and giving you sheepish looks through their eyelashes which say ‘I don’t usually look like this’.  

The former I can deal with using the same patient good nature that I use to deal with other people’s ribald dads but the latter I find infuriating because they don’t seem to realise that their bashful moustache makes them about 34% more attractive to me. It makes me so sad that the first day of summer that things gonna be long gone and the city’s make-out appeal is gonna slam right back down to ‘minimal’ until the drunken Christmas parties roll around.

Annyway, I thought I do a little tribute to the most popular ‘tache styles I’ve seen this year. I have obvious favourites, despite loving them all. As my model I have used English actor, J.J. Fields below;

J.J.s pretty awesome permanent moustache honestly make me think, ‘Is there anything wrong with marrying someone based solely on their facial hair?’ The answer is no!

The Bryan Ferry

Although similar in appearance, this thing should not be confused with the Shifty Sam, because it’s  about a billion times more  sophisticated in a never-to-be-attempted-by anyone-other-than-a-thin-attractive-70’s-crooner-or-F. Scott-Fitzgerald kind of way. Just look at J.J. in this baby, he looks like Indiana Jones if he had decided to take art history instead. These things are so classy they have to be rinsed in champagne and styled with tiny silver combs. If I was even  half as well maintained as I should be to deserve a guy sporting one of these,  I’d have to be Audrey fucking Hepburn*

Notable Examples: Bryan Ferry, Clarke Gable, Sammy Davis Jnr. 

Chopper Gringo Hulk Hughes the 70’s Porn and Tennis Star

‘Oh look at me! I’m 100% man oozing with frustratingly charming machismo. I’ve got absolutely no imagination or sense of humour, but I’m great at making out! I’ve never really understood irony but some girl with a fringe and glasses told me my ‘tache was ‘ironic’, and that’s expanded my pick-up range by 20%! I’ll keep milking this fad until it disappears and use the phrase ‘moustache rides’ indiscriminately! Come on ladies, you know I’ll win you over eventually!’

And they do, they always do.

Notable Examples: That dude in Dead Wood, Bubble-O-Bill, and Nick Cave

Patches McGee

Whilst there are a lot of sensory memories about high school which I may still find sexy but patchy pubey facial hair is not one of them. There’s something about this one reminds me of that kid in at school who developed too quickly and had man hips, appalling skin and a shadowy moustache before most other kids could turn 13. Although we should all be impressed with the fact that many men can grow a credible nose-neighbour within a month, there are many who try and fail, miserably. I suggest that these guys don’t bother looking like teenaged nightmares and make generous donations to their more hirsute fellows.

Notable examples: The Woman for Le Tigre, boys from the Brewery Coffee shop on Erskine Street, Leonardo DiCaprio. 

Shifty Sam

Nothing says ‘I’m trying to smell you while you’re not looking’ than a shifty Sam. Even J.J. looks like a sexual harasser in one of these. These kind of thin, wispy snail trails are favoured by office creeps, adult book store owners and the skinny weird villain in costume dramas. But what’s not to like about that? I always said that the best thing about creeps is their perseverance and tenacity.

Notable examples:   Chris Cornell,  John Waters, Crispin Glover (ok, he doesn’t really have one but if he did it would be weird).

Captain Flourish

This is truly the king of all moustaches! It’s majestic, rugged, stately, regal and manly all at the same time. I like these best when they are growing on charming old-timey Southern Gentlemen who say things like ‘I say, well, I say, its mighty fine to meet ya, miss Jo-Maybelleline, would you care for a mint julep and the deed to the plantation in my heart? If you would do me the honour of takin’ it, well, I’d be mighty obliged’.

However, the Captain Flourish may need more than a month to really get going. I don’t think it’s possible to grow a mo in secret, but if you could, it should be this one. Then on the first of November you unveil this beauty and let us all bask in its glory for the next thirty days, a memory to treasure for the rest of my life.

Notable Examples: Corey Stoll, Tom Hardy in Bronson, Mel Gibson in his 'I'm Completely Mad with a beard now' phase. 

Finally, as I woman I felt that I’d been put at disadvantage with Movemeber, being unable to really participate (not that I don’t try, the results are underwhelming). That was until I heard about this lady. I think her story is pretty cool, I think she’s pretty cool. I’ve said it before, I wish I had a credible tache... 

Also also also, before I forget, y'all should really head over to Movember Australia's official site, where you can donate, play games and check out more amateur mos online! Exciting!

*I am currently more like Katherine Hepburn, but the really old Katherine Hepburn who turned up to the Oscars wearing her gardening clothes, covered in dirt.

Things you can tell yourself next time you feel like crap

According to my naturopath, when you hold onto bitterness, you get stomach problems, so I feel that positive affirmations are very important. Say you’ve had a shit day. Say you got yelled at during work in front of everyone, or you fell down in a really awkward and embarrassing way and laddered your new tights. Maybe you found out your ex-boyfriend is getting married to an 18 year old and you stop watching where you’re going and sixty yards of barbed wire hits ya right smack in the puss and then a wild animal comes over and runs away with your shoes and your car blows up suddenly and your windshield-wiper ends up in your mouth and ya can’t move and the mud's rising up to your nostrils and you’re sinking fast and ya can’t hear yourself screaming anymore? Is that what’s on your mind, cousin? Perhaps you need to give yourself a good talking to, like I have below….

So other people appear to have perfect lives full of sunshine and flowers. Well, they might have something going on that you don’t know about, like they’re allergic to peanuts or they can’t find jeans that fit - problems that, though small, may be slowly making their lives uncomfortable in some way. You’re definitely not wishing that on them, you’re just saying that could be the case.

But really, your life is pretty excellent. You have so many great shoes and that really nice orange coat that everyone comments on. That is a great coat. Even though the rest of your clothes don’t fit and everything you buy falls apart pretty quickly, makes you look old or like an overgrown high school kid, that coat is still amazing. Well done, you own one piece of clothing which doesn’t make you look like an idiot.

So you think you’ve sent that guy one message too many. So what? If he’s scared by that, he’s a wuss and do you really want a skittish man as the protector of you and your young? No, yo mamma taught you better than that! And it’s not as though you’ve done anything really crazy. You haven’t sent five messages a day or kidnapped any pets. You don’t know if they have any pets anyway because you’re not a crazy Facebook stalker either, and even if you were, Facebook stalking isn’t actually stalking. It’s checking up on friends and that’s what Facebook was made for.

Anyway, if anything, it shows that you are persistent. And polite. So polite, you should teach a course in manners.

You don’t have the time to be stalking anyone, what with your glittering social life full of extra –curricular activities and sophisticated friends. You know loads of interesting people who bring boutique beers to parties and let you try them, and buy you hamburgers on your birthday. With friends like these life is a big bowl of cherries! And you’ve got the spoon man, the silver spoon!

In fact, you staying home eating macaroni and cheese both Friday and Saturday was the respite your body needed after this week. You’re a pragmatic grown-up who takes care of themselves. You make wise decisions regarding your health and finances and that $70 jumper with ‘JUMPER’ written on it was a wise investment in comedy clothing and I’m proud of you. And think of all the weight you’ll lose now that you can’t afford to eat this weekend!

And look at your hair. You hair is perfect, every time. It’s like a realistic My Little Pony’s mane it’s so shiny. But you’re better than a mere pony, you’re a horse, a tall graceful, lithe horse. You are a Silver Brumby of a woman.

So what if today was way stupid? That doesn’t mean that tomorrow will be. Tomorrow might be the best day that ever happened to you,  the beginning of the rest of your life. Just because life usually plays like a guinea pig running in a wheel, around and round with the same old crap doesn’t mean that the same thing is going to happen tomorrow. In fact I know that it won’t, because if most of the day seems like shit, I just found $2 and I’m going to use that to buy you a mars bar for dessert tomorrow. That’s right, you get a mars bar, you’ve earned it.

8 Things I'd do if I were a dude

 You ever wonder what you would do if you woke up one day to discover you had a dick? After the initial panic and frantic attempt to find my Brian Doyle-Murray spiritual guide, I think I’d settle in very nicely and get started on my new gender agenda.

Here are just a couple of things I’d do if I were a dude.

Smell Amazing all the time
Seriously menfolk, how do you expect us to get busy with you when you smell like old vegetable sacks full of rotten shoes? All you have to do is wear clean clothes and wash yourself and your body will do the rest. If I were a dude preparing for a date I’d wash with Old Spice, brush my teeth, gently splash myself with cologne, put on clean clothes then run to wherever I needed to be, working up my intoxicating manly musk. Yep, the scent of a vaguely sweaty clean man is a confusingly sexy thing.

Grow a beard
I’ve always envied the stately sartorial statement which is a manly beard. It’s like an extra accessory you can wear on your face. Whereas women have to pay to get their facial hair removed I’d have a legitimate excuse to grow it luxuriously long and lovely for free.

Strike up conversations with likely girls
If I were a dude I would talk to any pretty girl that looked at me appreciatively. I’d make conversation in buses, chat in elevators and flirt at bars. I’d share my umbrella, offer to carry things and generally be courteous and friendly to the point of seeming Edwardian.  I know that this would probably turn out being way creepier than it sounds in my head but once I figured out how to pick my targets I think I could do quite well for myself.

Talk as men do
Dudes seem to bond with other dudes purely on the basis on a mutual  Y chromosome. Seriously, I was having a drink with a mate and this complete stranger sat down with us. Within ten minutes they had exchanged numbers and were planning to watch movies the next day. I overhear real men having hilarious conversations and have devoted some energy into decoding them.  Are they being profound and deep or are they really talking that intensely about melted cheese? One things for sure, I want in!

Play a musical instrument 
I could certainly, happily be the dude who just walks into a place, picks up a banjo and starts serenading people. I don’t know why I don’t do this now, but I know it would be  more charming with my big bushy beard. I would play the banjo, wear a Greek fisherman’s hat and play Appelachian mountain songs… shit I just became my grandpa.

Allow women to style me.
If I were a man I would rely very heavily on the fashion instruction of the women around me, because most of the women I know look amazing all the time. If I took their advice I would almost certainly look interesting, well groomed, hipsterish and hot enough to be up to my elbows in bookish fringy women.

Go topless more often
It’s not socially acceptable for me to get my tits out whenever I like. If I had none, then there would be nothing to stop me from being shirtless 65% of the time.

Not be a dick
Just because society has given me carte blanche to forget appointments, leave texts unreturned, commit constant faux pas, openly ogle, fart, belch and blunder my way through life doesn’t mean that I have to.

The Queen of Pain

A note from me: Looking back at this past week, and the things that have happened in it, it feels as though this post has some resounance beyond that initially intended, for me anyway. It’s extraordinary the amount of emotions that a person can experience over 72 hours, and how simply being at a particular place at a particular time can change you. But I am being terribly mysterious and this must seem uncharacteristically sombre. So I’ll just get on with the post.

I did something horrific to my back during ballet this week and have now become the Hunchback of Notre Dame. It was my own fault; I think I may have been showing off, so I probably deserve to make involuntary squeaking noises every time I move. Not that I’m moving that much, watching Tim Burton's 1989 Batman should give you give you an idea of my range of motion. I’m wearing a solid rubber cowl of pain.

Pain is a fascinatingly subjective experience, and despite studies and neuroscience and all that jazz, it can still be quite mysterious. Pain is physical, yet it’s emotional, measurable yet unrelatable. Pain is either what makes us interesting, or depending on how much you have, what kind it is and how often you talk about it, makes us real bores to have around.

Physical Pain: Injuries and sickness

As you can probably tell I’m a bit of pain wuss, which is bad because I’m also accident prone. I’m always stabbing myself with scissors, tripping over my pants and walking into poles. Although I am the first to acknowledge that I probably acting a lot more seriously injured than I am, I defy doctors, nurses and other first aid professionals to accurately diagnose me as a drama queen.

Allow me to explain. If you go to a hospital for something, let’s just say you’ve dropped an iron on your face (which I have done) and are temporarily unable to talk, the doctor could potentially try to assess your pain using the Wong-Baker pain scale.

Now, inferring as I can from this image I can only assume that Wong and Baker were a pair of eleven year old girls trying to devise a universal pain intensity indicator for a HSIE project. It’s not terribly comforting to me that a doctor could look at me and say, ‘Nurse! We’ll need to administer 20 ccs of morphine immediately! This woman hurts a whole lot!’

A six year old child could manipulate the Wong-Baker scale! This is a medical scientific thing apparently, yet it could be faulted by good actors and adamant complainers.

Hangover pain: Alcohol poisoning and regret

I wish that I had no memory of New Year’s Day 2010; unfortunately I remember the pools of eviscerated watermelon and the smell of old camembert vividly well. Of the worst days of my life that was one of them and there was no one home to pity me greatly or scoff at my self-inflected liver wounds.

Oh! If only I knew then what I know now! The great secret miracle hangover cure which I am now going to bestow on you!

Have you ever woken up at half past six in the evening with your face in a bucket, surrounded by empty bottles, the sound of the air moving past your ears roaring like a fighter jet? Well rather than making a bacon sandwich and watching daytime TV til it’s time to sleep again, pull up your big girl pants and head to the nearest body of water for a swim! Nothing washes away the sins of the previous evening like a long soak in at the pool or the beach. It’s like a baptism for your brain and liver, delivering you once again to the land of the sensibly living.

However this can backfire if its winter or your local pool is a Ripples style indoor pool, which is like swimming in an extremely loud and incredibly close nightmare even in normal circumstances, and it’s very likely you won’t be the only one to throw up in the water that day. If this is the case, take a bath.

Emotional Pain: Heartache and suffering

Much like hang overs, I try to cure emotional pain, stress, anxiety, sadness etc. with swimming or bathing, but mostly I just end up being sick. There was a week last year where all I did was shower and throw up.

Being sad to the point where it hurts is a terrible thing, and I think the trick is to let your sad and hurt out in a creative way, even if that is ‘creatively’ breaking a bunch of stuff. Write some high school grade poetry, use your tears for watercolours then fold up your work and put it away for a time when you’ve figured out the lesson your sad, hurt time taught you.

The good thing about being sad for a little while is it makes the time when you are happy seem so much more sparkling.

What’s important to remember is that pain is a desperate physical or emotional response to damage; it’s letting us know when something is wrong. Without pain, we could break a leg or break a heart and never know, letting the damage worsen and worsen until it becomes irreparable. Feel your pain, acknowledge it, treat it then get better.

Remind me again

I woke up this morning and looked in the mirror and thought ‘you know who I remind me of? Miss Piggy.’ I’m essentially a slightly less glamorous, brunette version of Miss Piggy… with teeth. Like if Miss Piggy had been a hamster… Miss Guinea Piggy. Now, whilst some of you may think I have some tickets of myself to compare myself to the Devine Swine; I’m definitely less stylish, less high maintenance and less skilled at hitting people than she is. But like it or not, at some point we all remind others and ourselves of someone, or something else.

People often tell me that I remind them of someone they know, to which I usually reply ‘I’ve just got one of those faces’. I may very well have ‘just one of those faces’, you know, the kind with two eyes, a nose and a mouth that could pretty much be anyone. I totally see why folk are frequently mixing me up with completely disparate people. If you’ve ‘just got one of those faces’ it likely that you don’t care that you look just like their sister’s boyfriend’s second cousin either but will politely agree that you look just like some person you’ve never meet as long as it lets you get on your life.

Having said that, I really don’t mind if I remind you of someone, especially if it’s someone you like or think is fun and tells good stories. It’s kind of nice that there’s another version of me. I hope we meet up one day and mess with everyone in a series of wacky misunderstandings.

I am also totally happy to remind people of celebrities, as long as they are vaguely attractive, intelligent and sane celebrities. No one wants to hear that they're a dead ringer for Mickey Rouke. Someone once told me that I reminded them of Maggie Gyllanhaal and I was like ‘that’s such an insane leap of reasoning that I’m actually flattered that you’d attempt it just to make me smile’.

Comparing someone to a celebrity is a weird pick up gambit because it could go so terribly wrong. Forgetting subjectively attractive celebs like Sarah Jessica Parker - those ones that really divide people- you could just pick someone who’s played someone unattractive once. Saying ‘you look just like Charlize Theron’ to a person who has only seen Monster would probably crush their living soul.

I use like to use celebrities as a point of reference; say if I am trying to describe a hair cut or a clothing style or some person that I know. It makes life easier because they’re a visual reference that most can recognise or Google. It also helps because I use up all my adjectives here I actually run out during conversations. ‘You know Whathisface? He looks like that dude in that thing with the monkeys... Franco! That’s the one! He looks like James Franco if he was ginger and had a hunch.*

*I know no one who even remotely looks like Franco, so stop asking.