Hump day videos

Enjoy a couple from Kevin Hart...

Jokes.com
Kevin Hart - Play Mode
comedians.comedycentral.com
Kevin Hart Seriously Funny Kevin Hart Stand-Up Kevin Hart Jokes

Jokes.com
Kevin Hart - Calming Down
comedians.comedycentral.com
Kevin Hart Seriously Funny Kevin Hart Stand-Up Kevin Hart Jokes

Jokes.com
Kevin Hart - Calming Down
comedians.comedycentral.com
Kevin Hart Seriously Funny Kevin Hart Stand-Up Kevin Hart Jokes

Passion or commitment?

Working in a creative industry that is largely transient, there is very little loyalty. I don't know what it's like to be given "long service leave", and I never will. The longest period I've held a job for is 2 years. But I do understand what it is to be passionate about the type of work you do, and how important it is to stay committed. But which is more important in determining long-term success?

Some people think that passion is the cornerstone of creating a truly happy and successful career. But the way I see it, you can be passionate about a thousand different things at the same time - a religion, a hobby, a person, an ideal - but you can only really be 100% committed to a few things at the same time. Plus passion is flighty, depending wholly on an emotional connection.... but commitment? Commitment requires steadfast dedication regardless of emotions, ideals or a changing landscape. You are either committed or you're not.

My father once told me that marriage is the same way. "It's the commitment part that's most important", he'd say. I'm not the right person to make an educated guess about commitment vs passion in a long-term relationship, but I do know this one thing: I've always approached love from a passion perspective, and I'm still single.

Hands behind your backs, boys

When my little brother Dean was 2 1/2, he thought it was pretty damn funny to strip down to the nud (diaper and all) and run around the house when my parents had guests over for dinner. It was cute and funny.

Now he's in his early 20's. He still thinks a nudie run is a pretty hilarious party trick. Unfortunately, the Victorian Police don't think so.

Dean was no doubt the instigator when he and 8 mates decided to strip down to nothing but their runners (he's strongly believes in good foot care) for a streak through the streets of Melbourne last night. According to Dean, they were being cheered on by passers-by in the street, egged on my motorists beeping their horns and adored by women of all ages looking on (I doubt the latter) until they literally ran into two cops walking the beat. The cops, one male and one female, made them line up in a single file facing the road with their hands behind their backs.

"Cold night for a run, isn't it boys?" the copper asked while walking the line of embarressed boys. "You look cold. Glad to see you had the common sense to put on some decent shoes, though. Well done."

The copper made them stand still, naked, for a good 10 minutes before marching them all back to their hotel for clothing. He then took their out-of-state contact details (they were on a end-of-season footy trip from Gold Coast), and gave them a warning. I doubt Dean will ever take his clothes off again.

Galifianakis gets Galifianakis

Zack Galifianakis has long been producing a small clips for Funny or Die called Between Two Ferns. In these clips, he awkwardly interviews celebs by asking them fairly inappropriate questions. Like this one with his THE HANGOVER co-star Bradley Cooper:

Between Two Ferns with Zach Galifianakis: Bradley Cooper from Between Two Ferns

It was only a matter of time before Zack himself was faced with a real-life version of his Between Two Ferns character. It's perfectly awkward and (apparently) a genuine interview:

Just look pretty and read the friggin lines!

For those that don't know, I work for a small domestically produced soap. I'm one of the writers, and as you can probably tell after a couple minutes on this blog, the producers aren't that picky about "ability".  That's especially true of the cast - who are chosen for their looks more than anything else.

If you are relatively attractive and can read, then you're exactly what most casting agents look for on small budget productions. Just get yourself an agent. If you ever find yourself on my set, do yourself a favour: unless you're actually Russell Crowe or Cate Blanchett, just read the friggin lines. Deliver every syllable as written, and be thankful for the paycheck.

Who knows, after years of hard work and constantly working on your craft, you might get somewhere. Here's some acting tops from James Franco:

Acting With James Franco Episode 1: "Sense Memory" from James Franco

Acting with James Franco Episode 2: "Green Screen" from James Franco

Acting with James Franco Episode 3: Scene Work from James Franco

After a while of hard work and training, casting agents may begin to notice more than your good looks. The Director may start asking for your input. The producers may even let you give notes on the script.  But you're not there yet.

This whale needs saving

I went to a friend’s birthday Saturday night in Main Beach (happy birthday Chris!). It’s been a while since I’ve seen this particular group of friends, so I had been looking forward to the catch up. As usual, I turned up late. As usual, I turned up single. I just didn’t know that everyone else would be on-time and not single.

1^st awkward moment of the night: figuring out where I was going to sit. There was a little bit of shuffling around, as my dear friends tried to accommodate the odd number. Eventually, I sat next to Rach and quickly ordered a bottle of Logan Sauvignon Blanc (currently my favourite wine).

“Still single, Kyles?” asked Kate, just loudly enough for everyone to hear but not loud enough to be interpreted as a bitch. It’s hard not to hate Kate: she’s an easy nine who’s as shallow as she is gorgeous; she has a gorgeous husband who looks like he just stepped out of an Abercrombie catalogue; and she’s a ranga.

“Yeah, well, you know me – just hard to catch.”

“I’m sure your Captain Ahab is out there” she quipped with a friendly smile. 

Yep. That bitch called me a whale. 

Rach (being the perfectly socially mannered gal she is) smiled and poured me more wine “you’ll need more of this”. 

One bottle of Sav Blanc later, and I was completely over my initial awkwardness.  As I stepped out of the restaurant to have my first post-meal ciggie, I contemplated how there isn’t one right way to live a life. Sure, they all seemed happy with their settled-down lives –  husbands, children, waterfront homes with a big yards and shiney black SUVs – but I was happy too. Besides, Moby Dick was never meant to be caught.

When I returned to the table, I noticed the boys and girls were separated: girls on one-end of the table gossiping, and the boys on the other mulling over the bill.My instinct was to sit with the girls until:-

“Kylie’s running stag, so we still have to sort her out. I’m not paying for another sheila who won’t be putting out.” Once of the boys said amongst some chuckles… “Is she a lesbo?” jokingly asked another…

I froze as thoughts went swimming around in my head:  Was I meant to hear that? When did everyone start paying in pairs? The girls weren’t even trying to pretend to pay. Should I sit with the girls and ignore them or should I race over to the boys and pony up some money? Dammit... I forgot to go to the ATM...  do I even have enough cash on me? Shit. Shit. Shit. Have they seen me yet?... 

Before I had time to do anything, Robbo plonked an extra hundred down, “My shout for Kyles. Just stop being dickheads because she was never interested in your ugly arse”.

I was saved from being singled out and spared me any further ridicule. And in that moment, I realised how wonderful it would be to have a partner, someone who you can depend on to come to your rescue from time to time. Because sometimes, even the whale that gets away needs saving.

A girl has the right to shoes

Rachel, my bff, couldn’t be more right. A girl does have a right to shoes. She lives by that motto, and  has accumulated a very impressive shoe collection (one even Carrie Bradshaw would be envious of). Luckily, she has a husband (Robbo) who doesn't argue about the closet space.

Not that Robbo understands her obsession. Most men don’t. But the logic is really quite simple: no amount of celery seed pills or Nancy Ganz is going to flatten a bloated tummy, but your shoes will fit. And they will make your feel fabulous (until the paralyzing pain sets in, that is).

Buying on-line is perfect for shoe shopping, especially if you already know the designer and am pretty confident with the way they fit your foot. As someone who's never spent more than $300 on a pair of shoes, I tend to splurge on mid-range locally designed shoes like Wayne Cooper and  Peeptoe shoes:

If buying mass-produced shoes doesn't fit your individual style, try styling your own pair of custom shoes at Shoes of Prey.

But today, since the USD had dropped and the AUD lifted (hooray!), I’m heading to overseas sites. It’s time to give my Visa a good ol' USA workout. Hop Shop Go, here I come...

Wednesdays Night Drinks is the new Black (I Never Liked Black Anyway)

For all of you who aren’t intimately familiar with the Gold Coast, it’s a small coastal city on the east coast of Australia at the southern end of the state of Queensland. It’s pretty. It’s touristy. It’s home.

There’s no other place in the world that has embraced platinum hair and leopard print to unabashedly. Women here have big lips and big boobs. Men have hair. Everyone has a slight orange tinge to his or her skin, and no one ever wears boring black. It’s fabulous. I dare anyone to say anything different.

Local fashion aside, the best thing is the lifestyle. I’ve traveled and lived throughout Asia, Europe, Africa and the Americas… very few places have mastered the Gold Coast’s particular air of pretentious casualness. One can spend the entire day in thongs, sitting at a café slowly sipping a flat white (without ever feeling rushed to move one by the wait staff). Just make sure the café is one worth being spotted at.

To some, the Gold Coast is one big tourist attraction. Those are the people that go out to dinner and bars mid-week. Locals don’t. Locals get up early the next morning for a surf. Locals prefer to drink all their money in one go on the weekend. So when a friend suggested after work drinks on a Wednesday, I thought she was crazy. Did she forget she wasn’t in London anymore?

But I went. And I was presently surprised. Get yourself out there on a Wed night Gold Coast – because going out on a Wednesday night is the new black. Especially if you’re a single girl. Nothing quite beats a perve at a man in a tailored suit. Particularly when that man shouts you a couple of drinks...

Transformers mishap

Poor AD department...

When did Smoking become Un-cool?

I remember when the whole world smoked. And it wasn’t all that long ago… 2000, maybe? Going to a pub with friends meant pints of beer and cartons of cigarettes. I remember ordering a booze delivery service once for the sole purpose of a ciggie run. The best thing was it created this strong social connection – sure, it was bad, but we were all irresponsible together, joining the cool ranks of Marlon Brando, Coco Chanel and Slash. Many lifelong friends were made from bumming a cigarette or sharing a light.

Yes, I realise smoking is bad for one’s health. Yes, I realise people die from it. It is terribly, terribly irresponsible of me. Yes. Yes. Yes. I know.

But isn’t that what being “cool” is? Being irresponsible? At least it was in my 20’s…

Now I’m 30, and I’m the only person still committed. That’s right –I’ve stayed dedicated and true when everyone else has given up. Not bad for a self-proclaimed commitment phoebe. Furthermore, I’m not going to give up just because it’s harder to do. Or less cool. Or more expensive. This is true commitment, my friend.

Though, to be honest, I don’t see myself being an old woman and still buying a couple packs a week, either (nothing’s less cool than a granny coughing up her lungs in a haze of smoke). No – this is a young person’s habit. I’m prepared to give it up for the sake of a child or a partner. I may even give up if LiLo keep “promoting it” (she’s seriously undoing all the “cool” Brando and Dean injected into the brand years ago). But for now, at least while I still feel young and invincible, I smoke for myself. Especially after a couple glasses of wine.

It's not great unless it's fake

I have long blonde hair. Sounds fabulous? It's not. It is brittle, luster-less and frizzy (no matter how much expensive shampoos and conditioners I use). It only has the potential for fabulous. All I want is a little Alexa Chung action here. I know my hair is longer than hers, but surely it can’t be that hard to put a bit of curl/body in there without making it look like it needs a good wash?

According to belasugartv, it's quite simple:

Hair dryer? Check. Leave-in conditioner? Check? Sexy beachy waves resembling Demi Moore?...

I'm completely hopeless.  I see beautiful wavy and luscious locks of hair on everyone but me. How is that possible? Am I missing a gene? Did they teach this during homeroom in high school? (Mum told me I'd regret arriving late to school everyday. I thought she meant detention. If I knew it meant a lifetime of walking around town with a cap on my head, I would've listened.)

So what's the logical solution? Fake hair - extensions, clips, pieces... anything not naturally grown on my head. Clearly, I am incapable of doing what everyone else seems to be able to achieve without any effort. 

In a world trending towards natural and organic, I'm starting to believe in the power of fake. Especially if everyone else is "real". Sure, for a split second someone might doubt your authenticity, but it's almost always quickly forgotten because no one does fake anymore (that, my friend, is the power of going against the trend). If the blonde bird-nest stuffed under my cap proves anything, it is that it's not great unless it's fake. 

I’m a working woman, not a career woman

I hate people assume that because you’re single, childless, and over 30 that you’re a career woman. Hey, sister – I may not be married or have children, but I don’t have a must-come-first high-flying fabulous corporate career either. Why is it that woman almost always try to justify why or how they live? There’s no right or wrong way, and in the end we all die alone – right?

Well, that’s exactly what I snapped at the barista when she politely asked me how work was. She didn’t even mention the word “career”, but I gave her the speech anyway. At the time, I thought I was making some sort-of feminist argument, but looking back on the conversation, all I successfully argued is that I have no particular substance to my life: no significant other, no children, no cool career… nada.

Shaken from my sudden outburst (I must be getting my period), I grabbed my coffee and headed outside for a calming ciggie. In an attempt to light my cigarette, I spilled my entire coffee down my shirt. Fuck, a fucking flat white is fucking hot. Twenty seconds later, I’m sheepishly in front of the barista again. This time, she didn’t ask me about work.

I didn’t have time to go home and change (running late…), so I buttoned up my jacket (brilliantly hiding the coffee stain) and headed into the office. Fingers crossed everyone will be so engrossed in their own loathing of Mondays that they won’t notice my run-in with it. God I hate Mondays. Unless it’s a public holiday… in which case, I hate Tuesdays.

Not that I’m unhappy with my job. I’m good enough at it to keep it, and I like it enough to stick around. Still, I spend about 30% of my day (ok 60%) wondering what I’m going to eat at my next meal, and wondering if I should make it myself or order-in. (Order-in every time)

So where do I spend all this time thinking about food? In a small cubical office in front of a computer with unlimited internet access (perfect for looking up a range of recipes I’ll never use). For the remaining time at the office, I work as a writer on a small domestically produced afternoon soap. You know the kind… its premise centers on a small community of narcissistic “well-wishers” who sleep with each other’s husbands. It’s actually a pretty good gig – regular pay and bearable work hours. When I was in school I got given detention for making up stories, and now I get a paycheck. Not bad. 

My shirt has really started to reek. Old milk smells so bad… like puke. Oh god - why do I even drink this stuff? Seriously wondering if I can get away with wearing no shirt under my jacket for the day…

I'm late

I’m always late to the party; always the last person to jump onto any bandwagons. But as of today, I have a facebook page, a twitter account and a blog. Welcome to 2006, Kyles. In a couple of short years I hope to have an iPhone.

So why should you read my blog? Maybe you shouldn’t. That, my friend, is entirely up to you. I promise you that I will be brutally honest and strip myself completely naked as I tread through my flailing career and relationship dramas here on Australia’s sunny Gold Coast. I hope you are entertained by my ramblings. My friends usually are. The men that I meet… that’s another issue…

So yes – I am single. I don’t have a rational reason why my relationships have never lasted for more than 3 months. I don’t blame the men I date – I know it’s all me… I’m a big commitment-phoebe. And that’s evident in every area of my life. 1^st step is admission, right? I’m cool with that. I’m just not cool with whatever step #2 is. Truth be told, I’d much rather spend my time and energy planning a 3 month trek around Vietnam than working on a relationship.

My bff  Rach keeps reminding me that I’m 30 (like that’s meant to resonate?).  Problem is, I don’t feel 30 (not that I know what 30 is meant to feel like). I feel more like…  25. In fact, I’m pretty sure the only difference between your average 25-year old girl and me is that I spend more money on eye creams. I wish I didn’t – they’re bloody expensive. 

Oh... and I'm late for work too...