April 2016 – elleonearth

glassduffle_1429871019

Is it just me or do you feel like the next Australian Idol when you get behind the wheel as well? I’ve never been one to sing in the shower, my Yaris has much better acoustics.

My parents couldn’t play an instrument to save their lives (when would it?) but they LOVE music. And they played it loud. We had a very eclectic and extensive collection growing up, a 5 stacker CD player hooked up to a ridiculously large church speaker and 5 acres of wide, open spaces – entertainment for daysssssss.

The fun didn’t stop at home. Roadtrips were just another excuse to be obnoxiously loud and it didn’t matter how long or short the trip was, if you had to drive to get there – you got yourself some rehearsal time! A built in 6 stacker CD player meant that DJing was easy – especially if you had all the latest So Fresh albums. Singles were the devil!

These days we have Bluetooth and Spotify (there truly is a God) and there is no need to lug around 5364844747 of those CD wallet cases or worry about your friends shoving CD’s in your glove box or back in the sleeves of the wallet case shiny. sides. together. Mum is going to kill you! Scratched CD’s = the devil (devil = Mum).

Bad song choices are still a worry though – nothing worse (ok, that’s a bit dramatic but it is pretty bad) than when a friend jumps in your car, assumes the role of DJ and makes a crappy song choice disregarding all of those playlists with funky names like “Get It Poppin” and “Haus of Funk” that you spent hours creating to avoid situations like this. Consider the next 3 minutes (atleast) of your life, wasted.

The ultimate worst though (not being the slightest bit dramatic here) would have to be those riders that turn the music down to tell you a story – unless you’re about to tell me that Liam actually dumped Miley to wife ME – save it. Don’t even think about turning that shit down. Save it, have another think about it – is it really a good story? Is it worth pausing our date with Lady Gaga for?

Image found on media.indiatimes.in

miley-cyrus-party

Sunday Fundays are so bitter sweet. It’s a beautiful day, you’re feeling fresh and you’re surrounded by your mates – it’s Sunday and it’s going to be a funday. The fact that tomorrow is Monday and you have work manages to escape your attention momentarily. You seize that moment like Mel Gibson in Braveheart, taking yourself to the bar to order a round for you and your friends. Don’t bother telling yourself, or worse – telling other people – that you’re only going to stay for one drink. Because you would be lying. You are in it for the long haul and you might as well order a bottle because let’s face it, it will be cheaper.

A good song comes on and by this stage you’re pretty confident you’ve got the moves like Jagger so you get up and hit the D-floor. Turns out, you actually don’t. But what you don’t know (or have) can’t hurt you and your friends all join in so you must be doing something right, right? You grab your bestie and slur how much you love her and how glad you are that you came and she grabs you back and agrees. You start to become aware of the hell you’re creating for yourself tomorrow yet you still stumble up to the bar for another round.

It’s now closing time and provided you remember to, you gather up your belongings and head for the nearest exit. It takes a lot of focus to navigate your way out with all sorts of obstacles in the way such as stairs and giant pot plants but you get there in the end.

Next challenge: find the nearest kebab shop. Conveniently, there is one near by and you march on in and order away. You attempt to pay the man in cigarettes – sadly, that currency is not accepted. You’re beside yourself – since when?! Your friend pays and you and your gal pals find the comfiest looking gutter to park your arses and tuck in. There is no need to worry about calories consumed because you manage to wear most if it, missing your mouth completely.

You’ve finished your kebab and hailed a cab. When you get home you’re starving AGAIN so you rummage the fridge for whatever ready-made snacks you can find – you’re willing to make toast despite the amount of effort it is going to take.

It is finally time for bed and it looks even better than last Sunday – winning! You pass out (literally) as soon as your head hits the pillow, fully clothed with a face full of make-up.

And that is a wrap – another Sunday Funday done and dusted. Just like that. The sequence of events may vary depending on the person – you may prefer a greasy Big Mac instead of a kebab or you might actually have the moves like Jagger. One thing is for sure though – Monday is going to suck big f****** hairy arse balls.

Image found on x17online.com