An Open Letter to the Hipster Couple Who (Unapologetically) Scared the Shit Out of Me On Beaufort Street Today,

You're not in a fucking BELLE AND SEBASTIAN FILM CLIP, you stupid dicks. I wasn't charmed by your boyfriend's stupid hat as he sped past, not by your girlfriend's stupid ankle socks and three-sizes-too-big cardigan as she nearly side-swiped me. If you can't or won't ride on the road maybe you should SLOW THE FUCK DOWN.

What My Boss Probably Meant When He Told Me I Looked "like a party girl" At Work Today

1. Your dress makes you look like a slut.
2. Your heels make you look like a slut.
3. Are you a slut?

WeirdER, I mean

So I can't say I've ever been super tempted to have a threesome. But if this utterly adorable Swedish hipster couple were up for it... I don't know, I think I'd probably give it a whirl. Of course then I'd be forced to steal her amazing bag, his jumper and that awesome suitcase too and then things might get, you know, weird.

"I bought him a bottle of baby oil, which I could tell got used a few times, but then it just sat on the counter with the level never changing..."

It's easy to get down on our spouses and the state of our relationships sometimes. Spend enough time with anyone and they'll get on your nerves. Go out with someone long enough and, sooner or later, you'll be sitting across from them at the dinner table thinking "I hate you so much right now" and wondering whether you should jam the fork into their eye or your own. That's why I plan on keeping a copy of this letter, which featured in Dan Savage's Savage Love column this week, around for a very long time to remind myself that things could be worse. Like a lot lot lot worse.

Questions I have after reading Miranda Devine's gross column for the Daily Telegraph this week:

She wrote: You only had to see the burning streets of London last week to see the manifestation of a fatherless society.

I ask: How do you know they don't have fathers?

She wrote: Fatherless families in underprivileged boroughs of London are the norm.

I ask: No, seriously. How do you know?

She wrote: It is politically incorrect to say so, but the ideal situation for a child is to be brought up in an intact family with a father and a mother.

I ask: Why?

She wrote: Marriage is not just a private relationship: it is a social good.

I ask: Why?

She wrote: blah blah blah

I ask: HOW DOES THIS SHIT GET PUBLISHED???

Love will... tear us apart?

It's no secret around here that I am a big fan of sex advice columnist Dan Savage. I started reading his column a year or so ago and while I probably started reading it for the fetishists and the weirdos I stayed for the funny but thoughtful advice: a particular kind of advice that I've never read anywhere else. Since then I have devoured his books, raced through about five years of archived columns and I listen to his podcast every week. I'm hooked. I've also expanded my vocabulary to include words like pegging and santorum. I'll let those around me decide if that's a good or a bad thing.

Anyway, the lovely Mike recently returned from a US jaunt with a copy of the New York Times Magazine under his arm. The cover story was by reporter Mark Oppenheimer, titled "Married, With Infidelities". It's a really interesting read that kicks off with a bit of rehashing over the Anthony Weiner case but then gets into some seriously interesting stuff on marriage, monogamy and why can't all admit a bit more often that actually monogamy is really bloody hard work sometimes. It quotes Savage a lot - Oppenheimer is clearly also a fan - and without some of the snidey commentary that sometimes happens with mainstream journos write about Savage. It also points out sometime that I think a lot of Savage critics maybe don't think about: that despite being gay and only monogamish, Savage is also kinda... conservative and believes in marriage, couples staying together for the sake of the kids and lots of other things you might not expect.

The article was so interesting that I started to retype some quotes from the magazine before realising I could use my mad interweb skills to track the online version down here. Here is a taste:

Savage believes monogamy is right for many couples. But he believes that our discourse about it, and about sexuality more generally, is dishonest. Some people need more than one partner, he writes, just as some people need flirting, others need to be whipped, others need lovers of both sexes. We can’t help our urges, and we should not lie to our partners about them. In some marriages, talking honestly about our needs will forestall or obviate affairs; in other marriages, the conversation may lead to an affair, but with permission. In both cases, honesty is the best policy.

“I acknowledge the advantages of monogamy,” Savage told me, “when it comes to sexual safety, infections, emotional safety, paternity assurances. But people in monogamous relationships have to be willing to meet me a quarter of the way and acknowledge the drawbacks of monogamy around boredom, despair, lack of variety, sexual death and being taken for granted.”

It's really interesting stuff regardless of whether you're married, unmarried, having sex with lots of people or only thinking about how nice it would be to have sex with lots of people.

Venn Digram Monday

Dear True Blood,

It's not you, it's me. No, that's a lie: it's not me, it's you. It's so freaking you - what are you doing to yourself? Once upon a time, not all that long ago, I positively pined for you, daydreamed about you when you weren't around and a mere five minutes in your presence was enough to make me blush. Now I find myself reluctant to spend much time together and distracted when we do.

Where did it all go wrong?

Things started off so well. As a big fan of the Charlaine Harris novels on which you are based, I was thrilled with the direction in which season one seemed to be going. The world I saw onscreen was the world of the books, more or less, but with enough changes to keep things interesting. Sookie was charmingly ditzy, Bill was pompous but hot and Eric - once he got his hair cut, anyway - was, of course, a smoking piece of arse who got all the best lines.

Then there were pleasant surprises along the way: Jason Stackhouse, kind of a superfluous character in the book, managed to be sexy and stupid and funny all at the same time in the hands of Ryan Kwanten and his involvement with the religious nutjobs in season two was a delight. Lafayette, who dies early on in the first book, stuck around for some good comic relief and Sam, who bores me to tears on the page, turned out to have a certain somethin'-somethin' going on.

At your best it felt like you had something new and interesting and genuine to say about desire - desire for sex, power, immortality, meaning, love - and when you were good you were very very good.

Things started going off the rails somewhere about the second half of season two and I think we all know where the blame lies: the clusterfuck that was the fucking maenad storyline. What the FUCK? God was that bitch ever annoying. Admittedly I was pretty zoned out by the time the series finale rolled around but I woke up long enough to emit at least a half-hearted cheer when Sam finally took care of that shit, albeit approximately 300 episodes too late.

But the pain continued because by now you simply had TOO MANY CHARACTERS and instead of deciding to, say, throw the likes of Tara, Andy, Arlene, Sam's moronic brother Tommy and the entire population of Hotshot off a cliff and call it a day, you felt like you had to continue to GIVE THEM STORYLINES. Welcome to Snoozetown, population me.

Things really started to come undone for me this season, which I had been anticipating because of the subject matter. The Eric amnesia storyline in the books, although inherently silly, is also incredibly hot. One minute Eric's running down the road naked, the next he's nailing Sookie in the shower and - unlike you, dear True Blood - the books didn't feel the need to paint it as this lovely and bewdiful romance, at least not in the early stages. Once again, it's really all about the desire of two hot people to Have Hot Monkey Sex, not sit around mooning at each other about how rare and beautiful their love is. (That much said, it would be rude of me not to say that I do appreciate the Alexander Skarsgaard nudity).

In closing, I don't know if I can keep doing this. Every week I think that things will get better and go back to the way it used to be and every week you find a new way to disappoint you. I don't want it to end like this, I want to believe that we can still find a way to get through this rough patch and be happy again. I'm just not sure that's ever going to happen. Don't call me for awhile - I need to be alone.

K

Quite an experience to live in fear, isn't it?

Plans for a remake of eighties classic DirtyDancing appear to be inexplicably still steaming away, much to my confusion and mild concern.

But don't worry, fellow, DD fans, I'm sure the remake is in safe hands, the kind of hands that will deliver a better-than-the-original remake as was the case with, say, the brilliant Dirty Rotten Scoundrels or the charming Ocean's 11. Or at least they'll manage a so-so job along the lines of The Birdcage, The Thomas Crowne Affair or The Italian Job.

Or... maybe not, considering it's apparently been placed in the hands of High School Musical director Kenny Ortega. Zac Efron, presumably, is busy working on his lifts. No, wait, Beiber, I'm tipping Beiber to be the new Swayze. (In related news, I'm also tipping a swathe of mass suicides among children-of-the-eighties.)

In the wake of this devastating news (and coming so soon on the travesty that was The Karate Kid) I've come up with my list of the Top Five Eighties Movies I Never Want To See Remade In My Lifetime.

1. The Princess Bride. A true gem of a film that you either love or... haven't seen. In my mind an all-but perfect film that works not only in spite of its flaws (see: the slightly shoddy special effects. Rodents of unusual size anyone?) but because of them. My only hope is that studio execs realise that the film is now SO well known and loved by many that any new actors pushed into the familiar roles would seem like imposters.

2. Ladyhawke. Try and explain this film to anyone who hasn't seen it ("there's a dude who's sometimes a wolf and then Michelle Pfeiffer is, at other times, a bird...") and you sound nuts. Okay, the plot IS nuts and the film only works because of the brilliant casting and actors who seriously commit to material that could be, in lesser hands, slightly giggle-worthy. See Matthew Broderick's charm, Rutger Hauer's smoldering intensity and Pfeiffer's general, you know, hotness.

3. Bladerunner. Because no, just no.

4. Ferris Bueller's Day Off. I keep expecting this one to happen. I'm sure that in a studio office somewhere it has been pitched and wisely rejected. Sure, at the moment it seems ridiculous that anyone else could step into Matthew Broderick's shoes and try to recapture the pure joy of the original but I swear it's only a matter of time. And ten bucks says they use CCI to fake the crowds in the parade scene...

5. Heathers. Luckily I really can't see this one flying in a post-Columbine world ("Wait, they wanna do WHAT?") but you never know. No, you don't, Heather, you never know...

Spotted

I think many of us have probably, at some point in our lives, locked eyes with or shared a smile with a hottie on public transport or walking down the street and thought I wonder...

If you're on a bus or a train then having someone cute to stare at during an otherwise-boring trip makes the time go faster, which is nice. Plus you can always daydream that he or she has become entranced by your beauty and/or impressed by that copy of Crime and Punishment you're pretending to read. As someone who never gets hit on by charming boys in public places (I'm pretty sure that having someone scream "nice tits" out of a car window doesn't count) I find the idea of people who meet at bus stops, street corners or whatever and run off and be happy together utterly endearing.

So perhaps this story courtesy of Perth Now should make me happier than it does. If you can't be bothered clicking the link, the gist is that a British man who spotted "the girl of his dreams" on a Perth bus appealed in last week's Sunday Times to try and find his wench and now some girl has come forward, saying it might be her.

IT was the chance encounter on a crowded Perth bus that could turn into a great WA love story. Not only has British man Chris Barnes located the "girl of his dreams" but she's single and happy to be friends, at least on Facebook. After launching his search for a brunette who caught his eye on the 400 bus to Scarborough, student Vivienne Smith, 20, has come forward, believing she could be the one.

Heartwarming stuff I'm so sure but there are a few things that concern me about this story.

1. Anyone who thinks that they have found the girl/boy of his/her dreams based purely on seeing someone at a distance is potentially a little bit cracked. Looks matter and all - and I can't imagine falling for someone with a lovely personality if I didn't also want to jump them just a little bit - but, come on. Just because someone looks hot does not mean that he or she is not a dick/nazi/mouth breather. Maybe a quick conversation before you declare undying love, eh?

2. The girl involved claims that she "instantly recognised" the description the guy had used when she read the article. How did the guy describe her, you might ask?. He said: "The Glendalough girl was just such a beautiful creature." Maybe I just have low self esteem but unless you're Heidi Klum I think that anyone who reads the words "beautiful creature" and thinks "that's SO me" has some... problems.

3. So this girl has come forward but neither she - nor the guy - is quite sure if she is the right girl or not, even after pictures have been exchanged. She mentions that she looks different now because she's had her hair extensions taken out (hmmm) and at no point mentioned if she even noticed him on the bus. For his part he says he is "pretty sure" that the girl in the photo "could well be" the same girl and hopes to make it back to WA, uh, maybe later this year. Wow. I mean, just WOW. That's love, right there. If these two crazy kids can't make it work then I don't know what the world is coming to.

Make it Work

It's back: reality TV show extraordinaire and one of my all-time favourite guilty pleasures, Project Runway, has returned to our screens. I know it's the done thing to be all snoot-snooty about reality TV but, as far as I'm concerned, Project Runway is The Shit.

Much of the credit has to be laid at the feet of the judges and in particular, I suppose, Heidi Klum, who fronts the show and does her best to anchor it. The thing to understand about Heidi is that she likes to wear very very short dresses. I mean, okay, maybe that's not The Thing but that's definitely A Thing you should remember about her. Do not try to make Heidi cover up her legs or suggest she should wear something that covers The Good China or you will regreat it. No, the other thing about Heidi is that she just seems like she's having a great time. While her fellow judges fret and frown Heidi constantly seems like she's just back in town after spending a week having cocktails and hot monkey sex with Seal on a beach somewhere. Even when she's ripping into someone she keeps that beautiful smile on her face and that twinkle in her eye. Plus, you know, she's really pretty. How does she do that?

Nina Garcia is also a hot piece of arse but in a different way. She's very glossy, very serious and can basically shoot laser beams out of her eyes/cut a bitch. If you want to impress someone it's probably Nina because unlike Heidi she's not half cut on pre-show cocktails and unlike Michael Kors she hasn't spent the past hour coming up with cutting one-liners. Nina actually seems to care about the clothes. In many ways this means she has the most boring, least rewarding role on the show but the net result is that she plays a great straight woman to a) Heidi's hilarity b) The Madness of Michael Kors.

Because Michael Kors. Oh. My. God. Never let it said that the man is not talented because, yes, he's a hugely successful designer. But on Project Runway Kors shines not just like a man whose love of fake tan has reached dangerous levels (although, seriously) but like a man who has just come off his meds. This is a man who is not afraid to stick the boot in when he doesn't like what the designers have served up. The following are things Kors has actually said on the show about designs created by designers who are standing right in front of him.

“She looks like a Pole dancer in Dubai”

“She looks like an Amish Cocktail Waitress”

“She looks like a transvestite flamenco dancer at a funeral”

“She looks like her ass is in her front.”

“She looks like Barefoot Appalachain Lil’ Abner Barbie.”

But it's not all about the judges. The thing that makes Project Runway good and the reason that I watch it is that the contestants actually have talent. I mean oodles and oodles of talent. The things they can do with a bedsheet or a bunch of plastic cups and some thread are truly mind-boggling and some of the clothes they produce in about 24 hours are staggeringly beautiful. Yes, others manage to churn out some Red Hot Messes but that, naturally, is part of the appeal. Unlike some famewhores I can mention the vast majority of designers also appear to be there to, you know, become better designers or to have a shot at their own line, as opposed to a burning desire to Become Famous. Accordingly the editors do, thank Christ, do their best to avoid endearing backstories until the last few episodes and concentrate on the competition and the clothes, which are bloody exciting enough thankyou very much.

And acting as a bridge between the judges and the contestants, mugging for the cameras and weeping when his favourites depart is the loveable Tim Gunn, mentor/voice of reason to the contestants and silver fox, if you like that sort of thing. I know I said earlier that Heidi does her best to anchor the show but forget that, it's Tim who really holds it all together with his nods to the viewing audience and the blend of devastatingly criticism and wishful-thinking praise he doles out to the contestants. Although he appears onscreen Tim somehow manages to be that best of all things: the snide friend, sitting on our couch and drinking wine, saying what a bitch that Gretchen is and how he hopes Wendy Pepper dies in a freak yachting accident. Grab us another glass, Tim, and microwave me some popcorn while you're at it - the show's about to start.