I AM A FAG XXVII

You know there's something seriously wrong with you when, at 2:09 am, you angrily throw back the covers, make a bee line for the fridge, grab a beer, twist-off and take a deep long satisfied sip. Maybe it's the million percent humidity that is preventing sleep from ensuing? Or maybe the fact that my body is still in tune with QLD 'normal' time, rather than NSW's shitty excuse for daylight retention. Either way, there is only so much tossing and turning one can take before insanity comes knocking hornily on your bedroom door. Try as you may, you cant turn it away. Cleverly i have taken to my brother's laptop and in doing so not only shunned insanity (maybe not..) but also i am digitally vomiting some of the thoughts swimming irritatingly haphazardly in my mind. Nice.

Reclined unattractively relaxed on mum's plush gold-embellished red velvet couch (yes, wanker indeed..) i am reminded of why i left this place. I feel bad for speaking too loudly as i fear the decibles of my voice may injure the paint work. Walking too heavily on the carpet leaves me feeling i'm weakening the very foundations of the house. Dare i not breathe too hastily for i may displace one of the many crystalline figurines pointlessly decorating the furnishings of this house. Fark. Modernity is all but lost with my mother. She believes in the old-world charm of mahogany and the power of Royal Doulton.

"Hey mum, why the fuck don't you sell all this crystal shit and go on a holiday??"
"Because i worked a long time to save to buy it all and it means a lot to me and it looks nice and it's beautiful and and and ...." ..There lies the difference (one of the many differences) between my mother and I. I prefer the adventurous life of bankrupcy. She believes nothing says happiness like a cupboardfull of bling. Fair enough.

SO, continuing on the topic of fishsticks Vs Lobster, i now readily admit that while trying a rather dodgy poor-folks cigarette diet for a few weeks, i have unremorsefully returned to my old ways. a leapord never changes his spots. I blew a fair bit of smoke up rollies' ass. Put them high on a pedestal that, in retrospect, they possibly did not deserve.

And while i continue to insist that the praise given to them was not only well deserved but also truly meant, i did find myself very unsatisfied one evening, ducked up to my local 7/11 (i should probably set up permanent camp outside their damn store, i practically live there. My name should be blazened on the lease, a set of shop keys belong on my keychain. My daily attire should be that of a 7/11 employee...) to buy me a good ole pack of tailored cigarettes.

Why? WHY? something hit me as i sat daintily on the step of the back door (i had just cleaned and organised the patio setting, didnt want to muck it up you see) .. i realised that my love for DIY fags dwindled away as our 3 week anniversary came rolling around. I've never been one for monogamy. My cigarette-polygamy isn't all that sinful really.. Point being, i longed for a flawless long hard and ready being. I had had truly enough of imperfect. Unsatisfactory. The inconsistancies in rollies, though blameable purely on me, sure, left a lot to be desired.

I've reached a stage in my life (oh and how i'm getting wiser with age.... hm..) where all i want is the knowledge that i can have what i want, when i want it. And fuck me, tailored cigarettes, though many and varied in their strengths (and weaknesses...) will always look the bloody same, feel the same, just be the same.

I have no doubt in my mind that my choice to revert to an ole gooden' tailored pack was based mainly on the following facts-
a)i had had some freaky moments of oh so close avoidance of incidents while rolling whilst driving
b)if the air is too humind/my hands are damp/the wind is a-gusting it's all too difficult to get the roll right. and
c) i'm a lazy C U Next Tuesday and i cant be waiting around for cigarette-foreplay all the darn time.

Though upon inspecting my finances (wait, that big minus symbol, angry red font and threatening letters in the mail is BAD?) i have no doubt that any day now my need for nicotine at the cheapest going rate will completely squash any desire i have for a ready-made cigarette. Hold your horses for an ungraceful return to rollies.

Well, the pack to re-take my tailored virginity? Holiday Purple. WHY? Because in my nicotine-deprived ranting at the cigarette counter of the Chinderah Service Centre, it must have sounded like i said holidays... "cani avva packa thodr holfhad may zing puluease".. incomprihensible ramble? yes. Was i still delivered a pack of cigarettes? Yes. Needless to say i was eagerly salivating over the anticipation of the salvation that a good long tailored shmoke would bring. Hungrily stripping the pack of its preserving outer layer, i dove eagerly for a single cigarette, drew it quickasaflash to my lips and, igniting it at full speed, and felt my world turn from dark drizzle grey to rose pink.

It's as if i had relocated from living under a south lismore bridge, to the swankiest of Hiltons. Now we're really talking lobster on a fishfinger budget, champagne on a beer budget, but there is a level of absolute pleasure and satisfaction that results from tailored cigarettes that i had forecfully forgotten during my stint with rollies. Needless to say, the good memories came flowing back.

i dont have to spend a good 90 sleepy seconds rolling one when i get out of bed in the morning, bleary-eyed and nicotine defficient.

i dont have to endanger not only my own pointless life, but also the lives of possibly successful, probably equally as unhappy motorists on the road by rolling as i drive.

and i can maintain my image of pure class, rather than stoop down to the level of oh so many other graduates of Lismore (HA HA jerry seinfeld move over, there's some comedy for you... )

Let's get this shit compressed into numbers, or we will be here until the rooster crows (and yes, i am actually within a 300m radius of a rooster in this part of the country, and yes the cunt does crow early in the morning. and all i want to do is approach him with a family-feed style bucket of KFC and eat it in front of him, threatening him with a sharp knife and an oven-roasting tray, some ultimate chicken seasoning herbs such as sage and rosmary, and rub his face deep within the pile of chicken bones i shall leave in a heap at his feet)..

Attractiveness of Pack- As boring as an NBN news reporter. As plain as arrowroot bikkies. as lame as a scratched horse. BUT, i appreciate the consistancy in their range. All (or most) packs based around a blue colour scheme, only differentiated by a strip of various colours below the lid. Still, man up. Give me something to make my jaw drop, rather than just my forearm getting a work out. 2 out of 5 big fat bad mutated fuckers.

Smoothness and Flavour- No where near as smooth as rollies, that i will readily admit. But much more flavour is gained from a suck on these babies. I mean is it too much to ask for one hard satisfying hit? My level of patience with cigarettes in general has dwindled from nothing to sub-zero. I dont mind the smoothness or flavour of these, but i want a fag to just blow me (away) already! 2 out of 5.

Burning Time- "oh, it's okay... umm.. don't worry.." it's all over ridiculously quickly. Just because we're female doesnt mean we dont deserve just as much mmmmm ah as you. 2 out of 5. no actually, 1. fuckit.

Lingering Taste- A few lost points regained here. 3 out of 5. It does hang around. But we're talking hang around like that hmm-last-resort-its-better-than-being-alone-i-spose being. Stop texting me type shit. I close my eyes and when i open them i wish you to disappear. 2 out of 5. And i'm being generous.

Average Score for Holiday Purple- 2. now there's a lot of room for improvement there, and as this is my first sampling of the Holiday range, i am approaching the rest of the range with great trepedation and a head full of fear. eek. why must life depreciate faster than a european car? Currently i crave the value-for-money of a Mc Donald's menu item, melded with the satisfaction and pleasure of a bottle of shiraz. Is it really that much to ask? For a source to stem my happiness from? Oh dear, i would give more than the Salvos do if only i was given the chance.

Well now i am quite aware that the mix of late night sleeplessness and cider has murdered my sensible side and brought my rambling junkie side out to play.

I apologise for repeatedly cursing, using sexually explicit inuendo, and as usual, boring you stiff (oh if only. )

An hour later, i will now attempt to apologise to my bed for leaving it so hastily, and collapse back into it, wishing only to fall immediately and deeply into a state of restorative and reviving sleep.

I hope to see a fair few of you at NYE, by golly i am ever so excited. Bring your earplugs (or better, a shotgun), we all know how alcohol and good times gets my mouth a-yapping.

Love Lover Lovers Loving Loved Loveless. ... ..

M.