How Not To End A First Date.

The end of a first date is where things can start to get really, really awkward. Do you hug? Shake hands?  A kiss on the cheek? Or do you just go for it and have a tonguey right there out the front of the restaurant?

This isn’t a rhetorical question.

If you have read this blog before you’d know when it comes to dudes and dating I could use all the help I can get.

I remember once dropping a guy home to the sound of a Kanye West CD playing in my car. We chatted briefly out the front of his house and then, right in the middle of “Hell of a Life”, the conversation hit a wall. We sat silently while the words, “Fuck with the lights on, fuck with the lights, fuck with the lights on”, reverberated around my car over and over again. Then seemed to just keep going.

I remember him glancing at the CD player, then glancing over at me, clearing his throat and saying, “well, thanks for that” before quickly scooting out of my car and into the night.

Simon was another guy I drove home after a not entirely unpleasant but forgettable dinner.

“Well”, I said as I pulled up outside his house, “thanks for a good night”.

“Yeah” he said, “yeah it was a good night.”

He made no attempt to exit my car.

“Ok then” I said, “goodnight”

“Yeah, yeah” he said, “good night.”

He continued to sit in my car.

I continued to sit in my car.

I made a kind of “mm hmmm” noise.

“Yeah” he said.

Then he leaned on in.

“Oh dear god no!” I thought as I turned my head in an attempt to kiss his cheek. I didn’t quite get the angles right and managed to instead give him a big kiss right on the ear.

“Oh god I’m sorry, I just kissed your ear.” I blurted out. We both realised I had kissed him on the ear, I probably didn’t need to emphasise the fact.

“That’s ok,” he said, “well, goodnight.” Then he finally, finally, climbed out of my car.

The story with Simon doesn’t end there, but I reckon that is for another post.

If you have been following this blog you might know I have been escaping winter by backpacking around Europe for the last few months. Unsurprisingly I am as about as un-popular with dudes in the Northern Hemisphere as I am back home. I was hoping to update my blog with some zany holiday romance tales, but that turned out to be nothing more than some wishful thinking. My trip is nearly over now, I land at Sydney Airport in about 10 days.

If I don’t pull soon all be all out of blog material. I feel like I am already scraping the barrel.

Conspiracy Theory and Travel on the Cheap.


I have just spent the last week and a half living with some hard-core conspiracy theorists. Lovely, lovely people, but I think they left their critical thinking skills somewhere back in the mid-2000s.

Question everything… unless it’s written by some random dude and posted on the internet, then it must be true.


I’m travelling Europe on the cheap, couch-surfing, hitch-hiking and working small on farms in France, Spain and Portugal.  I found Karen and Greg, Mr and Mrs Conspiracy, through a work exchange website. Work exchange is truly a wonderful way to travel, offering people the chance for free food and accommodation in exchange for a few hours’ work per day. Being that I am a bit of a tight-arse, being able to experience life in another country virtually for free is a bit of a dream come true.

Karen and Greg are a British couple with a small plot of land in Spain, working towards getting off the grid as much as possible and becoming more self-sufficient, both ideas that I am quite interested in. I had no idea though that not long into my stay, my brain would start to implode from a lack of rationale thoughts surrounding me.

 Did you know for example?

Michelle Obama is a man (Never mind that there are multiple photos of her as a young girl and young woman)

The moon landing never happened, (so the hundreds if not thousands of people involved, from the astronauts to the people in the control room to the blokes at the Parkes Radio Telescope in country NSW have kept this a secret since the 60’s?)

Modern music video clips are styled to look like the 80s to sub-consciously make us think of the Cold War (not quite sure why we are being brain-washed to think about the Cold War. And can I point out that most people watching MTV music videos don’t even remember the 80s and I’m guessing half of them don’t even know there was a cold war.)

And don’t even get me started on the ‘Chem-trails’

We were in the car, when Greg glanced at the sky,

“They’re chem-trailing again” he said.

“They” being the shadowy elite banker freemason illuminati, or something like that.

Chem-trails, are how the elite are poisoning us with nano aluminium. Of course, once you release something into the atmosphere it is out of your control and at the mercy of wind currents, presumably at risk of drifting to where ever it is the ‘elite’ like to hang out. When I pointed this out to Karen, she replied,

“Yes, well they are insane aren’t they?” Hmmmmmm


‘Chem-trails’ tend to come from commercial airliners so I guess hundreds and hundreds of pilots and aircraft mechanics are complicit in poisoning the masses, and presumably their own family and friends.

Don’t get me wrong, I am sure there is some dodgy shit in this world, governments and big business don’t exactly always tell the truth and act in our best interest, but to suggest there is a shadowy group faking moon landings, poisoning every one and brain-washing us with 80s style video clips is a bit of s stretch, especially when you consider to make it work, tens of thousands of people would have to be in on it.

In a world that couldn’t even keep Bill Clinton getting a blow-job secret, I have to say, I’m sceptical.

Meeting people with different views is what it’ all about though hey, and for all their interesting beliefs, they were good people and treated me with kindness.

What’s that I hear you say?

“Evie, I don’t come and read this blog to hear about your opinions on conspiracy theory and small-scale agriculture in rural Spain! Where is the drinking and disgraceful behaviour and your pathetic attempts to find a boyfriend?”

Right. Well. Since arriving in Europe things have been romance-free for me. My box of condoms remains sadly, unopened.


I purchased these with such high hopes!

I purchased these with such high hopes!

There was this one guy, in Paris….

As I was walking through the streets of Montmartre, a French man started talking to me. He seemed nice enough and I thought it might be fun to chat with a local so I agreed to have a wine with him. We ended up getting a bottle and drinking it in the park.

Unfortunately, this is not the beginning of a Paris love story.

We sat and talked and within about 20 minutes he decided I was “beautiful, wonderful Oh Mon Cherie!”

He grabbed my hand in his.

“Oh my bizarre hair girl.”

I sort of smiled awkwardly and gently pulled my hand away. He was a nice enough bloke, but I had no interest in being his ‘bizarre hair girl.” I drank some more wine and shoved some cheese in my mouth so he wouldn’t think of kissing me. I tried to think of a polite excuse to leave.

“Oh I want to know you,”

Which I am pretty sure meant he wanted to know me in the biblical sense.

“I want to know you, tonight!”

H grabbed my arm and kissed it like Gomez Adams would Morticia. I pulled my arm back gave an awkward smile and told him that actually, it really was time for me to be getting back to me hotel.

Other than that, I was hit on by 96 year old Senor Carlos, the other day. He is a neighbour of the people I was staying with, and by all reports, fancies himself a bit of a ladies man, though sleaze might be a better description.

One of the girls who had been there a lot longer than me said that he followed her into the shed once where she was stacking fire-wood and reached over and squeezed her boob!

“I bet he’s always been like that with women” she said, and she is probably right. I’m guessing you don’t go through life having a healthy respect for other people’s boundaries then turn 94 and think, “Screw it, I’m gonna start groping titties”

Anyway I have moved on to Portugal and am in the city of Porto for just one night tonight. I am going to help on another farm tomorrow so I’m going to make the most of being in the big smoke before I start living in a tent again.

Despite my mocking, I’ve always had a bit of an interest in conspiracy theory. Are there any theories that you have heard that you think might be right, or at least have a grain of truth to them?


Taking on … SoPi with Girl Seule and Lily la Tigresse


When I was in Paris a few weeks ago, I met the gorgeous and fun Lily La Tigresse of the blog Je T’aime… Me Neither. Over on her blog is a joint post we did about our night out in Paris, so have a look and check out her great blog while you are over there!

Originally posted on Je T'aime... Me Neither:

photo 2 copy 2
In the second (official) version of the “Taking on” series, I was lucky enough to spend the evening on a crawl of the SoPi area with visiting blogger Girl Seule from Australia. We connected over the blogosphere early 2013 and quickly became virtually friends, instantly relating to each other woes with our romantic misadventures. I was eagerly looking forward to meeting her in person when she told me she’d be passing through town for a few days. I had a feeling she’d like SoPi… a Saturday night to remember! Let our adventure begin!

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Off The Grid.

I am in France camping on a small farm with a bunch of people from all over the world. We have no wifi and very limited power and the only place to wash is in a creek, so life is pretty rustic, but I love it. I am doing a few hours work a day in exchange for food and accomadation. I love this simple kind of living. We take turns cooking and all eat together. At night we sit around the campfire drinking and talking, then people bring out the guitars and we all sing together.

I have just hitched into town today to jump online and let my mother know I am ok. I won’t be online for the next few weeks so if anyone leaves a comment I am not ignoring you, I just have no internet!

Bye for now I’ll be back in a few weeks!

From Scotland with Love

I am starting to think I might have a teeny-tiny problem with alcohol. I have been in Scotland for my beautiful friend’s wedding. It was wonderful but as usual I spent most of my time in Scotland either drunk or hungover.

I woke up on Lucy’s wedding day, naked and with no recollection of how I got back to my room. There was a lump under the blankets next to me in the bed, which I assumed to be Fiona, one of the bridesmaids I was sharing the room with.

The night before we had all had a pre-wedding party. At one point I threw up in my hand, looked at Fiona and said,
“I just threw up in my hand, are we still friends forever?”
It all fades to black not long after that.

“Why am I such a naked drunk?” I thought, sitting up in bed. “I hope poor Fiona didn’t see all my bits last night when I decided to sleep naked.” I wrapped a blanket around me and got up to go to the toilet. I saw there was a tuft of short, brown hair poking out from under the blanket lump. I immediately realised that this was no lump of bridesmaid, it was a lump of man! Oh.Dear.God I gasped and put my hand over my mouth and quickly went into the bathroom.

I had a bad, bad feeling about all this. I tend to get a feeling of impending doom any time I drink to the point of amnesia, which means I get that feeling on a bi-weekly basis. Waking up with no memory of the night before and being stark naked however, is even worse.

I knew exactly who the lump was too, a Scottish friend of the bride’s whose name I couldn’t remember, and who was staying in the same house as me. It wasn’t that I minded the thought of sleeping with him, it was more that I had zero recollection of whether or not I had slept with him.

I came out and crawled back into bed, just as he was getting up. I noticed he was fully clothed.

“Oh god, he has ALL his clothes on so we mustn’t have had sex! What if I took off all my clothes in a pathetic seduction attempt and he turned me down and fell asleep beside me!”

My naked body tends to be a lot more repelling than seducing so it seemed like a viable, humiliating possibility.

He got out of bed, looked around the room a bit and then said,

“I can’t find my other sock.”

“Ummmm I’m sure it’ll turn up.” I said, not knowing what else I could say to that.
He gave up on the sock and left the room. Ok so clearly whatever happened last night couldn’t have been good, it was clear Scottish boy couldn’t wait to get away from me and back to his own bed.

I stayed in the room until close to midday, hiding away with my post-black-out drunk paranoia. When can’t remember the previous night, my brain tries to fill the gaps with worse case scenarios. What if not only did I take off all my clothes and attempt to seduce Scottish boy, but what if everyone knows about it, and the bride is pissed off with me and everyone hates me.

I couldn’t hide forever with my brain inventing shameful scenario after shameful scenario. When I got up he was already up and dressed. I thought he looked very handsome in his kilt. He was distantly polite to me. Everyone in our house was acting normal so if I had behaved disgracefully at least everyone was pretending I hadn’t. I found out his name was Liam when someone else spoke to him.

The wedding was awesome. If you have the chance to attend a Scottish wedding, I can highly recommend it. The bride was beautiful, the band were great and we all got drunk and danced. I didn’t catch the bouquet, but dammit I tried.

Liam and I chatted a little bit at the reception and we had one dance. There was something about him that made me want to be around him and I started to think maybe he felt the same. But he’d been pretty keen to get the hell out of my room that morning so maybe he was just being nice because it was a wedding and it’s nice to be nice. I had no idea, so I downed some more wine and went off to dance with the bridesmaids.

I don’t quite remember who followed who, or who made the first move, but not long after we returned to the house after the reception, Liam and I went to bed together.

I don’t want to make anyone vomit in their mouth here, but it felt like more than just a casual hook-up that night. It felt like something a little bit special, like being in love just for the day. We did have sex, but we spent most of the night and the morning just laying around naked together, talking and kissing and not getting much sleep.

“You do remember us having sex last night, don’t you?” he asked at one point.

“’Course I do” I replied, “It was lovely.” I assume it was anyway.

“When woke up there was a trail of clothes from the kitchen to your room”

Damn, shit must have got real last night.

We didn’t use a condom, which is completely stupid.

Falling into bed with someone in a glow of post-wedding romantic feelings and red wine doesn’t create some special STD protection.

Someone stroking my hair and saying, “I think you are beau-iful” with a Scottish lilt isn’t some magic contraceptive spell.

I’m a registered nurse, I should know better.

“I’m probably never going to see you again after today am I?” he asked.

“Probably not,” I said.

That thought made me sad. He lives in a small town close to Glasgow and I live on the other side of the world in Australia. I probably won’t ever see him again.

Sorry, that was a bit soppier than my usual posts. I’m going to Paris next so no doubt I will do something to embarrass myself there. I have packed some nice clothes in an attempt to try and fit in with the Pariesans but the reality is, no matter how nice I try to dress and how classy I try and pretend to be, my inner-bogan just always seems to shine through

The Time Shit Got Really Real In Mexico.

Trigger warning: I thought it might be time for my first ever trigger warning because this post does talk about the threat of sexual assault or rape (didn’t happen, had good reason to think it might). Anyway it might be triggering or upsetting for some people.

Back in 2010, I took a bit of time out from real life and went backpacking through Mexico and Central America. After spending three weeks with my sister and a friend ripping it up in Cuba and Cancun, it was time to say good-bye to the girls, and start making my way south, alone.

My first night without the girls was spent in a pretty little town in the south of Mexico. Not wanting to spend the night reading alone in my hostel room, I headed out to see what the town had to offer.

I headed to a bar and grabbed a mojito, hoping it was only a matter of time before I found some fellow travellers to talk to. If you have ever travelled solo you will know this feeling. Sitting by yourself, nursing a drink, trying not to look like you mind being alone, but hoping someone interesting will come along and talk to you. Sometimes, these nights turn into the best nights travelling and five hours later you find yourself skinny dipping in a hotel pool with ten new best friends, other times, you don’t find anyone to talk to and leave alone to go and sit on a beanbag back at the hostel and send an email to your Mum.

This night was one of those nights where no one seemed interested in talking to me. A few cocktails later I was feeling pretty sloshed and decided it was best to get going. I stood up and the full effect of the mojitos I’d been drinking hit me. I don’t have a whole lot of recollection after that, but from what I can piece together, I walked out of the bar, climbed into a cab and promptly feel into a drunken sleep in the back seat.

The next thing I remember is being led up some stairs to a room with a bed. When I’m really drunk I just want to sleep, in bars, by the side of the road, in the back of taxis, so when I saw the bed I gave no thought to where I was, or who had been behind me leading me up those stairs, I just thought “ahhhh bed!” and collapsed on to it.

The lights went out and a minute later I felt hands trying to undo my skirt. Reality, fear and panic suddenly hit me. “Oh God no!” I thought, suddenly a little less drunk, “I’m about to be raped.”

I started screaming the place down, “No, no, no.”

He jumped off the bed and turned on the light.

“Shhh! Shut-up!”

I looked up at the huge man looking down at me. I could only think that he must have been my taxi driver. I suddenly felt a little calmer, figuring if he was going to do anything he would, he wouldn’t turn on the light and tell me to shoosh.

I got up still swaying. I attempted to say in Spanish, “ok so I am going to go”.

He walked over and blocked the door, his hands on his hips. I looked at him and my head started swimming. Fear might have woken me up a bit, but I was still pretty drunk. I remember looking at him thinking.

“Fuck is this really happening? I am alone in a room, somewhere in Mexico with a huge dude blocking the door.”

He stood there. He had a cold look on his fat face.

I remember thinking “Ok so I know I am in a pretty bad situation here, but I am so drunk, I’m not as scared as I probably should be.”

I started to garble broken Spanish “Please don’t hurt me, Please let me go”. I remember trying to make my voice sound more frightened than I was, because a big part of my brain was just going,

“What the fuck? I’m too drunk for this noise, I need a nap,”

I took my phone out with the plan to call the police, forgetting that I had no idea what the number was, and even if I did my Australian mobile had no service in Mexico. Also I had no idea where I was.

He took my phone off me and put it in his top pocket.

I backed away from him and looked around to see if there was some other way out. It was just a small room with a double bed, a few chairs and a bathroom. The whole thing just didn’t seem real and my drunk brain was just thinking,

‘Is this actually happening?”

“I just want to leave, I want to go home.” I told him.

“How much money have you got?” He asked me, looking annoyed.

For some reason him asking me for money made me feel more scared all of a sudden.

I attempt some Spanish again, “Por favour, no dolor me’.

He rolled his eyes. Probably because I was trying to speak in atrociously bad Spanish with a broad Australian accent, while he had been speaking to me in English the entire time.

He then said, “Well you have to pay for the hotel.”

I wouldn’t have called it a hotel, but I was not about to argue. I handed over the equivalent of $10 and finally he leads me out of the room.

Hang on.

“You have my phone.” I said. He pulled it out of his pocket and handed it back to me.

As I walked back down those stairs I took a look around. We were in some kind of warehouse. There was a guy asleep on a couch by the wall. The taxi driver went and woke him up and he got up and opened the chained and bolted garage door.

Then, after all that, being the good taxi driver he was, he offered to drive me home.

I just started to run without looking back.

It turned out I was in some sort of industrial area. Probably not the best spot for a drunk, lone female in Mexico to be wandering about late at night. I had no idea where I was or what to do or even which direction to start heading. Then, I saw it, trundling down the deserted street. A taxi. I think it might have been accompanied by the sound of angels singing.  You’d have thought I’d had had enough of cabs by this point, but when I pulled up I happily jumped in.

“How much to Sea Hostel?” I asked.

“25 pesos”

25 pesos, the exact amount I had in my wallet after giving old mate the rest for the ‘hotel’ fee.

This time I was taken back to where I was staying. I promptly fell asleep on my bunk-bed and when I woke up the next day, decided this was one of those stories it was best not to tell Mum about.

Hitting the Road

I left the Hunter Valley at 5.30am on Sunday morning, hungover and in a flood of tears. In fact, if it hadn’t been for the help of my wonderful girlfriends, I don’t know if I would have left at all.

I took a cab to the station followed by a three and a half hour train trip to Sydney airport. Then I boarded a 7 hour flight to Singapore. I then spent  8 hours sleeping intermittently on the airport floor because I am too cheap to pay for a hotel for less than half a day.

I woke up looking even worse than I do in my passport photo, something I wouldn’t have thought was possible.

Then it was time for another flight to Sri Lanka followed by an endless cab ride through traffic to the hostel.

It’s been a massive day and this single bed in the cheap hostel I am staying in is feeling like a slice of heaven right now.

I am day one into a four month or so  backpacking trip. These last few weeks have been a manic blur of packing up everything and trying to see my friends and family before I go, as well as working.

I moved out of my place and put everything in storage.


My room, just a week ago. I'm not the most organised and methodical when it comes to packing.

My room, just a week ago. I’m not the most organised and methodical when it comes to packing.


I sold my car,  but just days before I handed over the keys this happened-


The only thing taken was a small bag with some Napolean make-up, at least the thief will be walking around with good looking skin now.

The only thing taken was a small bag with some Napolean make-up, at least the thief will be walking around with good looking skin now.

Nobody was more surprised than me when my story about someone vomiting in my bike basket was Freshly Pressed.

I went here to visit my parents

Well, near here, my parents don't actually live in the sea.

Well, near here, my parents don’t actually live in the sea.



My parent's dog Lucy, I will miss her!

My parent’s dog Lucy, I will miss her!

Then I went up to Brisbane to see my sister and all her kids, then went away with my girlfriends for a last hoorah girls week-end away, going around to wineries on a karaoke party bus.

Catching up with everyone before I left reminded me of how much I love everyone so by the time it was time to go, I didn’t want to leave at all. I am a bit more excited now that I’m here, but I think there is a good chance I’ll come home earlier than planned.

With all this going on I haven’t really been on WordPress much lately. I am very much looking forward to warm weather and wi-fi, writing and binge reading blogs that I haven’t had much of a chance to look at lately.

I know this post has lacked my usual ‘get drunk and make a tit of myself’ theme that most of my posts have.  My next post is going to be about the time I drank too many mojitos and got myself into a very bad situation in Mexico, so more idiot behaviour to follow.




Some stuff about some dudes.

This blog has been lacking something lately.

It is supposed to be an ‘I’m single and dateless, come and mock my pathetic attempts at finding a boyfriend’ themed blog, but the last few posts haven’t had anything about dudes or dating at all.

To remedy that, here is an update on what has been happening in my sad excuse for a love-life.


I met Ethan at a party the other week. Ethan happens to be blind in one eye. Anyway I thought he was cool so I made my friend give him my number.

Ethan texted me the very next day. During a bit of back and forth text chit-chat I told him how I was at home, working on a course, a course so boring, ‘it makes me want to stab myself in the eye.’


30 seconds later.

“Oh. Dear. God. Did I just say to a man who is blind in one eye that I want to ‘stab myself in the eye??’” My hands flew to my face and I suddenly felt hot.

“He is going to think I am a horrible insensitive twat and never speak to me again”

When my phone finally beeped with his reply, I was almost scared to look at it. He texted back some more chit-chat, ignoring the eye-stab comment. Even though I clearly am a horrible, insensitive twat we are going for beers one afternoon this week.


Xavier was my lover for a little while earlier this year. I say ‘lover’ because I prefer to tell my friends ‘I have taken a lover’ rather than, ‘I am rooting this dude I hang out with sometimes’.

We were seeing each other for about 8 weeks, so that goes down as one of the longest relationships I have ever been in. Relationship is too strong a word. Fuck-ationship maybe?


Add that one to the Urban Dictionary.

It wasn’t meant to, be but it was wonderful fun while it lasted. (By ‘wasn’t meant to be’ I mean he met someone else). It’s probably for the best because it was an incredibly unhealthy fuck-ationship. Not unhealthy in a toxic, mean to each other way where we go through each other’s phones and make each other cry. Not that kind of unhealthy.

Unhealthy in that we spent most of the fuck-ationship lolling about his room smoking and drinking wine and eating pizza. We’d break up the gluttony with sex, then eat some more pizza. It was fun and indulgent, though maybe not good for the arteries.

I actually met him through blogging. I commented on his blog and he got in touch and we ended up meeting up for a coffee. A few days later we had beers at his place, then sex.

See, and you thought blogging was just a platform for sharing ideas, turns out it can get you laid.


In just a few weeks I am running away from my life to travel for awhile. I’m planning on going to try and find myself in India and Nepal but first stop is to the UK for a girlfriends wedding.

I met William a few years ago when he was on holiday from the England. We have always kept in touch, and now that I am going over that way we have decided to meet up and sort of get back together for a week. My birthday is the 21st of June, which is the summer solstice, so we are road-tripping to Stonehenge, where they have a solstice festival every year.


My 30th birthday was the greatest party of all time, but Stonehenge for the solstice might come in a close second for best birthday ever.

William grew up in Oz and has plans to move back here eventually so who knows………………


This trip is turning into a tour of lovers past.

I met Owen  four years ago in a backpacker hostel in Guatemala. He has always been somewhere in the back of my mind and I think I have always been somewhere in the back of his.

He has travelled more than anyone I have ever met and is currently living in Kyrgyzstan. I’d never heard of it, but turns out, it’s here -


Recently, I put a post on Facebook about how I was excited to be heading to India and Nepal.

He commented.

“Come a little further north and I’ll buy you a beer”.

So now I am seriously considering a detour to Kyrgyzstan.

The night I met Owen led to one of my more cringe-worthy sex stories. We were both staying at the same hostel and got to talking at the bar. The connection was instant and we sat up talking long after the had bar shut and the travellers had drifted off to bed or into town. I had a bottle of wine in my bag and with neither of us ready for the night to end we cracked it open.

By the time that bottle was empty, we were both about half-past drunk. I liked Owen and I still didn’t want to the night to end, so I looked at him with my blurry eyes and slurred,

“So, can I sleep in your bed? I’m not trying to have sex with you, it’s just nice to sleep next to someone.”

“Sure” he said, and I got up and followed him to his bunk bed. Mercifully, despite being a 6 bedded dorm, it was low season and we had the room to ourselves.

We started kissing.

We started getting naked.

I started demanding he “Spank me, OH GOD SPANK ME!”

Say what?

I don’t know where that came from. Never in my life before that night in a backpacker hostel  had I wanted to be spanked.

I don’t think he was that into it and he gave my bum a few half-hearted whacks while I moaned, “harder, Ohhhhhhh HARDER!”

I am dying inside while I write this.

We might have had the room to ourselves, but the walls were thin and I have no doubt other backpackers heard my ‘spank me’ cries echoing around the hostel that night.

Luckily my loud and voracious appetite for a good spanking didn’t scare him off and we went on to have a lovely few weeks together. I really hope we do meet up again this year.

So there you have it, a round up of the recent and current men in my life. I hope your love life is going along more sensibly and successfully than mine.

Trashbag in the Sky.



In just a few weeks I am running away from real life for awhile and going travelling through India and Nepal.  Sometimes when I am alone and start thinking about my trip, I let out this loud laugh/yell combination and clap my hands and jump.

Excitement is coming out my every orifice.

Excitement is coming out my every orifice.

I thought I might do a travel related post so here is a story from a time when I went backpacking when I was 23.

I woke up in my pokey little hotel room in Bangkok still drunk, but with the edges of a hangover starting to creep in.


Looking at the time I realised that my plane to Singapore had left without me. After five months travelling through South-East Asia I was headed home. Or I was supposed to be headed home. I was actually drunk in a hotel room.

“Why do I do these things?” Rather than stay in and have a quiet one I had gone out the night before and got absolutely shit-faced. The last thing I could remember was getting into an argument with an English guy after he called me a convict.

“Oh god, I need to get my shit together”

There was a good chance I could still get home. I had a flight home to Sydney from Singapore, but it wasn’t until later that night, if I could just get to Singapore I’d be right.

Throwing on some clothes, I started to shove my belongings into my backpack.

“Why do I have no shoes?”  My trusty leather sandals that I had worn daily for my entire trip were nowhere to be seen.  I searched the room but it seemed they were now collateral damage of the previous nights excesses and I didn’t have another pair.

Drunk and barefoot, I threw my backpack over my shoulders and stumbled into the Bangkok daylight. Outside my hotel were a pair of men’s blue thongs, twice the size of my feet.

“They’ll do” I thought to myself and I stumbled off to find a taxi, giving no thought to the poor bastard who’s thongs I had just stolen.

People outside of Australia might be getting slightly confused here, by thongs I mean these, not the racy underwear sort.

People outside of Australia might be getting slightly confused here, by thongs I mean these, not the racy underwear sort.

I hailed a cab to the airport and $350 later, managed to get a seat on a flight that would get me to Singapore in time to make my connection. I cleared customs in a blur and settled into my seat.

We didn’t even take off before any remanants of drunkness was replaced with a cracking hangover. The kind where all you want to do is throw-up, then sprawl on the bathroom floor, letting the cool, cool tiles sooth your throbbing head. That wasn’t an option so crammed into my economy seat, I curled up into a ball of misery and despair, dry-retching every time we hit turbulance.

By the time we landed in Singapore, I felt like I was going to die. Because I was flying with two different airlines I had to go out through customs then back in again. I can think of no worse way to spend a hangover. In line to go back to customs I could take no more, I sat down in the middle of the queue and put my head in my hands, and lost the will to live.

“Madam, are you alright.” Seeing me on the ground, airport officials came over to help me.

“I am just very unwell” I told them, “I think it was something I ate.”

I must have looked as bad as I felt because I was then escorted right to the front of the queue, straight through customs and into the airport lounge where I collapsed and promised myself to never drink again before a flight. On the plane I popped a couple of Valium and slept the entire way home. By the time I woke up in Sydney, I felt almost back to human.

For more stories of trashbags in flight, check out awesome blogger and girl after my own heart, Shitshow’s post “Throwing up on Planes” over at The Shitshow That Is My Life.  


And this is how pornos start.

It would have been the perfect start to a porno movie.

My bed is next to the window which is next to our verandah. This is handy because when salespeople or delivery people come knocking I can just chat to them through the window without actually getting up out of bed.

On the perfect-start-to-a-porn-movie morning,  I was still laying in my bed, naked and half asleep when I heard someone knock. I stirred from my sleep and after making sure my boosies were at least covered by a sheet, I stuck my head out the window.

“Hello, can I help you?”

Standing on the verandah was a young man in a high-vis t-shirt.

“Hey” he said, walking to the window, “how are you?”

“I’m good thanks.” I said, still trying to wake up,  “Have you got a package for me?”

I only asked about packages because more often than not people knocking at that time are delivery people.

“No”, he said, “no package. I am here to lop your tree.”

The older woman, naked, in bed, asks the fit young man standing by her window about a package. He is confused for a minute, but then tells her the real purpose of his visit

“I am here to lop your tree.”

Ladies and gentleman, its porn time!

But of course, real life is never like the movies.

“Ummmm we don’t really have a tree to lop” I told him.

“I spoke to your husband yesterday”

Your husband sent me to lop your tree.

“Ahhh there are no husbands here. Maybe that was one of my house-mates? Anyway, there is  just a big palm tree out the back and we rent, if you want to lop it you need to ask our land-lord”

A lack of lop-able trees though, wasn’t about to deter our young hero. He sat down on the chair by my window and settled himself in for a chat. Perhaps, realising there were no trees to lop, he was hoping to prune a bush.

“What book are you reading?” he asked, pointing to the book I use to prop my window open.

“Errr it’s the Readers Digest Guide to Alternative Medicine but I’m not reading it, it’s holding my window open.”

“No work today?” he asked. A fair question to ask a person still in bed at 1030 am on a Tuesday.

“Yeah, I am working, later in the afternoon.”

Good work Evie, tell strangers exactly when you won’t be home.

“So” he said, “Why you got to work? Your boyfriend don’t work for you?”

“Oh yeah, he does work, we both work.” My imaginary boyfriend works very hard.

I was starting to get uncomfortable. A cheap white sheet was the only thing separating me from a charge for indecency and my new friend didn’t seem like he was about to go anywhere in a hurry. Did no one else on the street have trees that needed lopping?  It was time to put a stop to our nude morning chat.

“So, I am going to go back to sleep now, bye.” I said quickly, then I ducked behind my blind.

He still wasn’t quite ready to give up though, maybe he really was hoping that sometimes life is like a porn movie.

“Maybe I come back later then? ” he said through the window, “Give you a massage?”

“No thank-you!” I called out.

What. Was. That? If you have read this blog before you might have realised that I have an uncanny ability to attract odd and creepy people. Now it seems that attraction is getting so strong they are coming right to my front door.