By LUCY GRANSBURY

Fascinators are stupidly expensive.

There. I’ve said it.

I have decided that I am NOT spending $80+ on a ridiculous non-hat to wear for a total of eight hours out of the 8,760 hours in this year.

There are some obvious solutions, like a) don’t wear one, b) borrow one, c) take your first-world problems and shove them up your racehorse’s ass. But I did something way more fun, to reflect my feelings about stupid fascinators, and to show off my Macgyver skills*.

Alex Perry would slap me silly. “Buy a hat, don’t make it yourself… If you’ve made your fascinator from Spotlight and it’s some stuff hanging off a comb, it’s not right, it really isn’t. And if you think that we don’t know, we do know.” Blah blah blah whinge whinge put sunnies on head etc

You know what, Al Pal? Shut it. Throw me a hunj (that’s a $100 note, guys) or shut it. My fascinators are WAY more fun and practical.**

So, ladies. You don’t have to pay a shit-tonne of money for a bunch of stiff curly hessian. You can make your own fascinator in 19 minutes, even at the office.

FOR FREE. (Or, at the office’s expense… ahem.)

First, I took some inspiration from Bec Judd and a manilla folder.

Nothing says high fashion like butterflies made out of post-its and bulldog clips.

Used all the office Post-its except one, on which I wrote ‘buy more Post-its’. #caring

What else is in the office? Ah. Tissues.

A friendly orchid. Actually, was holding it behind my back. Not convenient headwear. But either are most fascinators.

And if you happen to be at home, here is some I prepared in my living room. Apologies for the dodgy quality photos. The office had way better lighting. But let the authenticity and lack of photoshop wash over your eyeballs. Also… I’m not naked. Promise.

Magazine Fascinator. Ironically using a catalogue for racewear.

I call this one “Tissue Paper Scrumpled Into Heap”

“Probably should’ve cut that bit off.”

Loofah-scinator.

Jungle theme. Note to potential buyers: Bobby-pin concealment can be executed with more perfection than example. If you can be assed.

Paper plates. Also convenient if need to eat cereal. (Am never sure what angle to put them on, or just tilt head?).

Sandwich bag hat.Much affordable. Such fascinator. Very craft. Wow.

Cheapest of all – use own hair.

And if all else fails, copy Bec Judd again. Sure, her hat doesn’t have a plug and cord dangling off it. But it also doesn’t have a joystick, so who’s the silly one now?

Take that, Alex Perry. Keep your hunj and your fancy useless hats. I’m ready for the races. Also ready to play MarioKart, eat cereal, take a shower or blow my nose. Bet you can’t do that with YOUR hat.

*When I refer to my ‘Magyver skills’, I’m specifically talking about my ability to craft something out of things within reaching distance of me sitting on the couch in my pyjamas. From memory, Macgyver was equally as resourceful, but slightly more active.

**In case you were wondering, no I’m not serious. I am having a laugh. And probably going to the pub on Melbourne Cup day with an empty head… In more ways than one.

Here are some actual glamorous celebrities rocking this year’s ‘head trends’. NOTE: Cat ears. That is all. 

Bec Judd with Peter Pilotto from Share my closet and Jessica Gomes.

Guys.

Mariah needs our help.

Mariah Carey is in Australia for her ‘The Elusive Chanteuse’ tour and she has sold approximately seven tickets. Okay, that may be an under-exaggeration. She might have sold twelve.

Premium tickets for Mariah’s show have been slashed from $400 to $99, and even as low as $69.90 on some discount ticket sites.

Literally, as I was writing this, I got an e-mail fromLasttix.

It’s been a tough year for the Chanteuse (which is French for ‘a female singer of popular songs’. Oh.) with her impending divorcefromNick Cannon. She’s also reported to have split with her long-time producer Jermaine Dupro.

And now she’s going to be singing all of her hits to a handful of people in a huge stadium. Awkward.

So let’s take a moment to remember:

Mariah is really good at the singing. She’s one of the best at making sounds EVER. Try singing like her. It’s hard. I tried in the shower, and my neighbours called the cops.

Guy in this video clip – escaped from prison. See?….

She will probably change into at least six different sparkly, revealing dresses, and she may even throw some glitter at the audience. FUN!

She might sing this song. And you could be as excited as this kid. (No really, watch this…)

She’s the most famously demanding diva, so maybe a bunch of white pomeranian puppies that have been dyed pink for her pleasure will escape from her dressing rooms and distribute themselves amongst the audience.

She’s worth about $500 million, so she might just throw out a few wads of cash that are weighing her down (probs not, but we can hope).

Apparently, she speaks in a British accent and makes fun of herself a lot during the show. Cool.

She deals with technical issues better than anyone. Let’s actually hope that this happens:

And finally, she’s got the best ‘whistle register’ in the world. That’s an actual thing. It’s the top part of the vocal register, and few singers can use it as well as MC. Though the local dogs may not appreciate it, it’s pretty impressive. Well, I think so. La la la la AHHHHHH

That is all. Go forth, Mariah fans. If you love Mariah, love her right now. She needs you. And if you just want to laugh at her, do it. You still might get a free pink puppy.

Help the sister out.

P.S. I swear Mariah didn’t ask me to write this. She never returns my phone calls.

Mariah Carey needs a Hero.

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Mamamia Fluff brings you the most awesome celebrity news and gossip from around the world.

When famous people misbehave, get married, have babies, or do something ridiculous – you’ll be the first to know.

Jada Pinkett Smith may be setting my future husband up for disappointment.

Super-stunning Jada P-S has revealed on Facebook that her husbandWill Smith takes photos of her when she is sleeping.

She calls it ‘a sexy secret’.

I call it ‘more than a bit creepy’.

Whatever you think it is, you can’t deny it’s a pretty sexy photo of Jada’s back.

But ARE YOU SERIOUS?

Why is she sleeping in several gold necklaces? Choking hazard, much? Also, how is she sleeping when the sun has obviously moved from the centre of the solar system to standing directly outside her window?

Yes, Jada. Life is beauty. But for some of us mere mortals, sleeping is not.

This is what my future husband can expect:

And that’s with a full face of make-up, and before the racoon-eyes and the dream-twitches and the dribbling has kicked in (because I took this at my office desk to prove a point. If I’d only had FIVE more minutes, drool city). That is, if my figurative husband has lasted long enough to photograph me between bouts of me accidentally kneeing him in the balls.

THAT is what’s beautiful. Looking at your wife with her mouth hanging open, snoring indelicately, little pool of saliva next to her on the pillow, perhaps picking a pyjama wedgie, and thinking…

Yep. Still love her. Drool and all.

Fingers crossed. Otherwise, better get me some gold nap-safe necklaces. Cheers, Jada.

I have a confession to make.

I ate the last Tim Tam. No, wait. That’s a different one.

This is it: I try really, really hard to be glamorous, but I’m just not.

It’s a hard truth for me to accept but there it is. I’m a bit moreBridget Jones than Bette Davis. A bit more Muriel Heslop than Mary Donaldson. A bit more Kath Day-Night than Katharine Hepburn.

Sigh.

But I’m not giving up hope. I WILL be glamorous, dammit. If I could just figure out how to do these eight things. EIGHT LITTLE THINGS that would change my Glamour Dilamma (I know that’s not how you spell ‘dilemma’, but I was doing a rhyming thing) and transport me into the world of charming, sleek, perfectly prepared glamour girls.

EIGHT THINGS THAT GLAMOROUS PEOPLE CAN DO THAT I CAN’T BUT WILL, DAMMIT.

1. Wear sunglasses on their head. 

This happens 100% of the time, whether my sunnies have nose-bits or not. Thanks a lot, Hawkins.

2. Look good after being caught in the rain.

I live in Melbourne, so it rains approximately every 28 seconds. So often, I’ll see glamorous people skipping along, caught candidly without an umbrella, their shirts sticking sexily to their skin, looking like a Calvin Klein commercial. I catch a glimpse of myself in a shop window. I look like this.

3. Standing in the wind.

While we’re talking about the elements, how come glamorous people can make heavy winds work like a gently blowing fan in a Beyoncé video clip, while I have all of my hair stuck in my lip gloss and, oh no, there goes all the loose A4 pages I was randomly carrying around, dammit?

4. Not immediately fucking up manicures.

I painted my nails at my desk today (so productive. Employee of the month.) and I did it beautifully. Somehow, within two minutes, they looked like this. I don’t even know what I did. (Probably ate something, safe bet.)

“How/why did I get polish here?”         

5. Drinking cocktails from shallow glasses.

Carrie Bradshaw is really good at drinking from those flat-ish martini glasses that look so fancy. So every now and then I pay my weekly wage to get one of those dry Martinis that taste so bad but look so posh. And then BAM. One small, mid-story gesture, and it’s all over my friend’s face. Again.

6. Walking down stairs in heels.

I like to think I’m actually quite good at walking in heels, after years of practice. But the other day, as I navigated my way down a concrete staircase – knees bent out, on a slight angle to stop myself from falling – a homeless man wearing a propeller hat pointed at me in my new stilettos and said “Bahahaha!! You look like Bambi!”. I had a lot of questions I wanted to ask the homeless man (most of them to do with the propeller hat) but I thought it better to just shut up and stumble past in a foal-like manner. This would never happen to a glamorous person. They are born in Manolos.

Unrelated but awesome gif. Would totally happen to me.

7. Running for the tram.

I’m a not-completely-un-fit person (despite myquestionable health tips) but I HATE running to catch the tram or train. Inevitably, something valuable falls out of my bag and/or my shoe falls off and/or I trip over and die. Meanwhile, a glamorous person skips past daintily, waving a manicured hand, probably stepping over me like roadkill. It’s fine, guys. I’ll just wait for the next one. DAMMIT.

8. Wearing lipstick.

Wore red lipstick yesterday. Thought I got an odd smile from the coffee-man. Went to the bathroom. Learned why.

Eight things. If I could just master those eight things, people might start bowing down to me as a queen of glamour. I’ve earned it. I flip my hair and laugh so much that I actually have a really bad neck. Please, someone just tell me I’m glamorous.

Now, if you need me, I’ll be trying to get the nail polish off the bottom of my finger. #glamour

By Lucy Gransbury. Follow her on Twitter @LucyGransbury. Or follow her in real life. She’s probably trying to find a glamorous propeller hat.

Newsflash! Newsflash!

This just in:

A survey of women aged 18-30 showed that 54% wouldn’t let their partners see their bare faces until after 12 months of relationship-ville.

Additionally, 51% would bare alllll of their other skin after only six months.

So basically, we are more comfortable with the skin on our asses than the skin on our faces.

I’m all for a bit of make-up. I generally don’t leave the house without a bit of brow and lash work. Come Saturday night, and I have an absolute ball painting my face up in pretty colours to get me some smokey-eyed goodness. But not letting a boyfriend see me bare-faced for a year?

That justwouldn’t work for me.

Lucy- being freaked out. With lipstick on her teeth. 

It’s not that I have more confidence than your average woman. Nor do I have particularly wonderful skin. I just can’t work out the logistics.

How is it possible to sleep next to someone for a year with a full face of make-up? Surely these women must have the dirtiest pillow cases imaginable?

If I slept in my Saturday night make-up, my pillow would look like a Pollock the next morning.

“Ahhh, yes. ‘Tis the canvas that Lucy slept on without removing her liquid eyeliner. A masterpiece.“

And what about when the women get wet? A dip in the ocean? A tub session? A saucy shower together (in the interest of saving water, of course…)? But with a full face of make-up, surely one would go into the shower looking like a goddess, and come out looking like a wet raccoon?

The make-up would need to be re-done, surely, which would require it to be removed at some point. But that quick window of make-up removal before the next layer goes on must be done with rapid succession behind a locked door, I assume? Unless these ladies are just putting more make-up on top of the existing make-up. After a year of that, their heads probably weigh twice as much from foundation alone.

Also, why a year? Is there some kind of time-post at the one-year-mark that makes a man less likely to judge a bare face? Why not show them quickly? In my opinion, it’s better to get that over and done with, because if a potential partner is going to drop-and-ditch me after seeing me without my eyebrows filled in, then I’d rather that happened before I’d bought us matching dressing gowns (surely that happens around the one-year-mark? It’s been a while).

It’s sad that our skins pose such an insecurity for some of us ladies. The skin on our faces is doing so much more than pimples and blackheads. It’s helping us smile at our friends and frown at telemarketers who can’t see us. It’s stretching over our skulls and holding in our big clever brains. Give your skin a break, and let your man see it in all it’s glory.

Give him some credit. He probably won’t even notice.

And if he runs away when he sees you without mascara, he wasn’t worth raising a blush brush in the first place.

How long did you wait before showing your partner your face without makeup?

Get tired of looking at impossibly perfect celebrity pics? Have a look through our gallery of make-up free celebs. It’s a nice reminder that they’re, well, human too….

Nicki Minaj gets close and personal in the shower.

“Because we all know that the best things in life aren’t things.”

The decorations have spoken.

If you’re anything like me, this exact week is the time of year you begin to think: “I really should start organising my Christmas presents.”

Cut to Christmas Eve though and there’s me, rocking back and forth in the corner of the bathroom, wondering if my uncle will appreciate the gift of an improvised rap song.

So let’s get the ball rolling. This year, my Santa sack will be full of experiences (did that sound weird?). I am getting creative and taking my family members on some dates. Some of them will be handmade vouchers, with promises that I will follow through on. Others will be tickets and season passes. All of them will require me and a family member tospend some precious time together and create a memory (which could be happy or not so happy, depending on the relative… but still…).

Because we all know that the best things in life aren’t things.

So here, off the top of my head and from the bottom of my heart, is a quick list of gift ideas for this Christmas.

Just as an FYI, this post is sponsored byMelbourne Stars. But all opinions expressed by the author are 100 per cent authentic and written in their own words.

The gift of FOOD!

Last Christmas, my sister and I had this conversation the week before Christmas.

Lucy: Have you got me a present yet? Laura: Nup. Have you got me a present yet? Lucy: Nup…… Wanna just go out for lunch? Laura: Yep.

And it was great. We went to a fancy restaurant and splurged on a lunch we wouldn’t normally spend precious dollars on. Our present was presence, and it was the best present of all.

YES. Get ghosty. There are some in every city. The best one I’ve ever done was around the streets of Melbourne at night. Even if you’re not into ghosts (WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?), the tours are full ofhistoric facts and fun stories. You’ll never look at your city the same way. And if you get a really good tour guide, you’ll start feeling all jumpy and goosebump-y. Who doesn’t love that? They are usuallykid-friendly, so make a perfect family gift.

Aussie Aussie Aussie!

Remember when cricket was just a spectator sport for old men with teacups? Well, not any more. Cricket is the ticket this summer and I’ll definitely be taking a lucky relative to a Melbourne Stars game at the MCG. Three hours of fast-paced (bowling) intensity, and there’s music, entertainment, fireworks, and even free stuff. FREE STUFF, PEOPLE. It’s a great night out for a decent price. And if cricket’s not your thing, we live in Australia – there are plenty of othersporting events to check out.

Remember when we all used to get on our catamarans and sail around the islands in the sun? No? Well, we should do that. Every shoreline in Australia has some kind of watersport for hire. Paddle boards, rowboats, speedboats, yachts, the QE2 – promise your partner a day on the waves (if they’re not the seasick type, obviously).

Australia has some great shows that come to life in the summer time in your local botanic gardens. Catch Shakespeare shows under a blanket of stars, children’s classics like The Wind in the Willows and Alice in Wonderland, afternoon shows in wineries onsunny days – find out what is on near you this summer, and promise your special person a picnic.

So extreme.

Got a bit of a daredevil in the family? How about acrazy experience? Lots of websites offer ‘experiences’ like V8 laps, hot air balloon rides, and even a lesson in how to fly a helicopter. Or maybe it’s a relative who you don’t like, and would like to see spun around in a plane really fast to the point of nausea? Either way, excellent gift.

And if all else fails, there’s always the gift of an improvised rap song.

So Merry December everyone.

Let’s make some merry memories.

What presents have you got planned for the family this Christmas?

Check out these funny parenting fails. Here’s what NOT to do… 

Baby contortion

To celebrate the New Year in style, we’re giving away 2x double passes to the Ladies Lounge at the Melbourne Stars Ladies Night. This is a one night only special event on Monday, January 5, 2015, where you will be entertained, pampered and enjoy all the on-field action amongst friends as the Melbourne Stars take on the Sydney Sixers.

To be in the running,CLICK HERE and tell us in 25 words or less ‘why you need a girls night out’.

We can’t wait to hear your answers, so enter today for your chance to win a double pass worth $209.

For the competition T&Cs,click here.

The Melbourne Stars is promising The Greatest Show on Turf this summer! Gather your family and friends and check out all the excitement of the KFC T20 Big Bash at the MCG.

Whether you’re already a fan of T20 cricket, or you’re just looking for a fun night out, Melbourne Stars games are great value and packed full of spectacular entertainment on and off the field.

Tickets start from just $5 for kids and $20 for adults.

Or, for a full summer of entertainment, why not join the Melbourne Stars as a Member for BBL|04? 

Ahhhh, the Golden Globes. They’re the younger, trashier, less successful sister of the Oscars, if you ask anyone in Hollywood.

But still, we don’t know many people who have one, so it’s kind of a big deal.

The nominations were announced last night for the ceremony that will take place on January 11th, 2015. Just enough time for the nominees to pretend they haven’t written anything because they are just ‘so surprised’ to have won.

Jennifer Aniston got a Best Actress in a Motion Picture nomination for Cake, her first Globes nomination since Friends. She’s up against Rosamund Pike for Gone Girland Reese Witherspoon for Wild.

Reese Witherspoon is up for Best Actress in a Motion Picture.

Benedict Cumberbatch is up for a globe.

As for the boys, they include Benedict Cumberbatch for The Imitation Game, Jake Gyllenhaal for Nightcrawler, and Eddie Redmayne for The Theory Of Everything.

Meryl got her 29th Golden Globe nomination for yet-to-be-released Into The Woods. Interstellar got a nom for Best Score (that’s music, folks, not a sports term) but nothing else.

Angelina’s Unbroken got ZERO noms. Scandal. Brad and Ange mayhave a dance fight about it.

The most nominated movies were Birdman, Boyhood and The Imitation Game.

Place your bets, people. Let the fun begin.

Who do you think should be up for a Golden Globe this year?

It’s the time of year when lots of people are putting onSanta hats and flying to their loved ones. Which means one thing. Air rage.

People who leave their jackets on until they get to their seat. People who slam their seats backwards into my lunch. People who fart and don’t pretend to look around.

I have hated and been all of these passengers. Source: Twitter.

DISCLAIMER: I once fell asleep and drooled on the shoulder of the lady next to me. Neither of us looked each other in the eye all the way to the baggage carousel and beyond. I also once fell asleep (sensing a pattern?!) so heavily that I didn’t hear any of the announcements, and when the plane touched down and jolted me awake, I screamed because I thought we were crashing. I’m not perfect.

Regardless, let’s make a communal effort to be good passengers, so our only concern is how much Jetstar is charging for a shit cardboard sandwich, and why the pilot sounds stoned*.

1. Calm the fuck down, we all WILL get on and off the plane. There is no need for you to stand in a huge queue to get on board. There is no need for you to push in the line. There is no need for you to stand up the moment the aeroplane wheels connect with the tarmac, with your head bent at an uncomfortable angle under the seatbelt sign, in a bid to be the first to de-board. The flight attendants will stand there calmly until the plane is full/empty, and whether you are the first or last one on/off the plane, you are still going to have to wait for another fifteen minutes until the flight taxis out or the baggage hits the carousel. So Calm. The fuck. Down.

2. Get your shit out of your bag BEFORE you board. The reason we end up standing in line on the plane for so long is because some wanker sat in the gate lounge for twenty minutes, got up, swiped his boarding pass, got to his seat, and THEN decided to remove his jacket, get out his laptop, locate his iphone in his wanker briefcase, get his wanky book out, and then FINALLY sit down while we all aged twelve years in the line. Get organised, wanker.

3. Keep your elbows to yourself. We are sharing that arm rest between us, so SHARE. And stop poking me in the ribs.

4. When you put your seat back, do it gently. (And preferably, if you are in front of me, don’t put it back at all…) More than once the dickhead in front of me has slammed his chair back at a random point in the flight, and I have spilt coffee all over my lap. Gentle.

5. Don’t be annoying. If you are playing games on your phone or some other device, turn the bloody sound off. Or risk me hitting you over the head with said device.

Seriously!?

6. If you have a naughty child, at least pretend to look guilty. I was once sat next to a kid who made Dennis the Menace look like an angel. He kept aiming his little Army tanker at me and pretending to shoot me in the boob, he sang “the song that never ends” for a solid half hour, and he burped and blew it in my direction at least three times. But the thing that pissed me off the most was that his mum just pretended nothing was happening. Didn’t even TRY to shut him up. If she had at least pretended to care, I would’ve smiled sympathetically and politely blown his burp back away. But instead, I fantasised about opening the Emergency Exit and either jumping, or throwing him out of it.

7. If the seatbelt sign is on, put your frigging seatbelt on. You are not special, even if you are in a rush to get off the plane (see point one, moron). Sit down, get over yourself, and put your frigging seatbelt on.

8. Politely say hello to your neighbour at the beginning of the flight. Chances are, you will be touching intimately at some point or other, so if your neighbour says hello to you, say hello back and don’t be rude. You might even get to eat their dessert if they don’t want it (providing you are on a fancy free-food flight like Qantas).

9. And lastly, but possibly most importantly: No gaschambers. Just because the engine is loud, doesn’t mean we all lose our sense of smell. Even if your fart is silent, it still smells deadly. And there is nowhere for us to run.

If any of these have surprised you, then perhaps you should take them on board (pun intended). at the very least, you will avoid getting thrown out of the Emergency Exit by a disgruntled fellow passenger. Me.

I can’t promise I won’t dribble on you, though…

*This was drawn to my attention recently and now I can’t stop noticing it. Pilots have a very specific…. uhhhh, laidback…. way. Of speaking. In short…. uhhhhh, broken…. sentences. Almost as if they are not quite concentrating, or too relaxed to form a whole sentence. They also sometimes give way more information than necessary – “we are currently flying at 66,000 feet…. uh… with a ground speed of blah blah… uhhhhhh…. the temperature is currently… uhhhhhhhhhhh. We have a tail wind, the humidity is peaking, and my Grandma’s name is Hilda.”

Anything to add to this list?

Have you ever had this nightmare situation?

You’re having a party. You have one bottle of wine remaining, and twelve zealous guests who would suck the alcohol out of a deodorant stick.

But that wine bottle isn’t a screw top like the others you’ve been glugging all night….

This recently happened to me. Christmas party + close friends + cork = dilemma.

What to do? Smash it on the ground and suck up the puddle with straws? Hack a hole with a nail file? Not drink it? (Definitely not an option, FYI.)

Through a wine-y haze, a solution was hatched. My friend had seen a video on YouTube, which lead him to stand on my balcony with one shoe, holding the precious bottle of wine inside his other leather boot. Even if I hadn’t had a few merry cab-savs, I would have been confused.

What happened next was more magical than white-out tape.

The shoe-clad bottle was banged against the wall repeatedly (while I screeched “don’t wake up my neighbours!” at the top of my lungs. You’re welcome, neighbourinos). We all watched with awe. Slowly, the cork started to release. Nothing shattered. No wine spilled. When the cork had released enough, I grabbed the bottle and easily pulled the cork out with my teeth (because I’m classy like that).

Celebration. Rejoice. Hallelujah. TAKE THAT, CORKSCREW! Who needs ya?

Turns out, my genius friend had watched the below video. People of Australia, consider this a public service announcement. Next time you are corkscrew-less, do not despair. Pick up a shoe and go nuts.

Disclaimer: It’s probably extremely risky, and may result in shiraz-stained disaster, and/or death. Especially if you have already had several wines, or are using stiletto shoes. Cork-shoe at own risk… but it’ll be worth it.

Genius.

It was weird. It was intense. It was awesome.

I heard that there was an app in which I could give Anna from Frozena c-section. Because of course. Nothing says ‘fun’ more than operating on your favouriteDisneyprincesses.

It was weird. It was intense. It was awesome. Let’s reminisce, shall we?

ANNA GIVING BIRTH. A succinct and honest account.

There’s Anna, unfrozen.

There’s Kristoff, like a well-dressed lumberjack.

There’s the baby that I haven’t yet helped deliver, which is confusing.

OH, LOOK! A MONTAGE!

Look at their happy story. Girl has plaits and a sister who freezes stuff. Boy has blonde hair. Boy and girl’s silhouettes get married under an arch. Girl magically becomes pregnant (maybe I missed the ‘ANNA GETS IMPREGNATED’ app).

GAHHH. Anna is on an operating table. I’m not sure if I’m prepared for this.

The app is conveniently pointing at a blue cartoon Foetus ECG Monitor.

Pffft. Midwifery is easy.

Okay, now it’s telling me to wave the ECG back and forth over her belly until the red heart fills up with blue.

Just like a Doctor would do.

Boom. Baby heart beat. Tick.

Oh my… The arrow is pointing at a syringe, and has drawn a cross on Anna’s vein.

I have a horrible feeling about this.

Really?

I’m expected to drug up the princess? Alright.

There. SHIT. SHE’S DEAD. ANNA IS DEAD.

No, wait. I think I just knocked her out.

Phew. What’s next, sadists? Oh, they want me to put this magical orb on her stomach.

The magical orb seems to have frozen her stomach. Shit.

Anna, of all people, you should have known of the dangers of freezing shit.

She’s still alive. I think. The baby, I’m not so sure about.

Oh my holy fuck. Are they actually pointing to a scalpel?

You want… You want me to…

Stab the Disney princess?

Oh, good.

You just want me to make a purple incision on her abdomen. Cool.

Ah. Another orb. Science.

A BABY! I MADE A BABY!

That was easy. Jeez, women are a bunch of whingers.

Pushing babies out is a breeze.

WHY ARE YOU POINTING AT THE SCALPEL AGAIN?

You want me to cut the baby?

It’s cutting the baby! It’s cutting the baby! HELLLLLP.

Oh, good. It just cut the umbilical cord. That was a close call.

Excellent. Here are the magical hands of freedom.

Where are you going, magical hands?

Where are you taking my Frozen baby?

Thank God. An advert for digital clown fish.

That shit was getting intense, I needed a twelve-second distraction. Hey, clown fish.

And we’re back! Anna is not awake.

But she’s skinny now, thank God.

I better wipe that nasty looking purple scar with a magical q-tip shaped wand.

That’s better. UH-OH! What’s happened?

Don’t look into the light, Anna! STAY AWAY FROM THE LIGHT!

Phew. It was just an unrelated orb.

Now, the question on everybody’s lips:

How much does my baby weigh on a kitchen scale?

About the same as a ham. Good. Almost done.

Wrap the baby up in some cloth that is obviously far too small.

And turn it into a jellybean.

And they all lived happily ever after!

Why does Anna look politely distant?

Is she confused because her baby’s eyes are blue, while hers are green and her husband’s are brown?

Or is she wondering why there is half an arm floating next to her head?

I tried to press ‘replay’ but it wouldn’t let me.

Clearly Anna is not ready for more kids.

It’s okay, though. The app loves me.

Well. That was a morning well-spent. Cheers, Anna.

I checked my mail today. Four  envelopes with hand-written addresses. It used to give me a sense of excitement, the exciting things that could be inside that envelope. Cards, letters, love notes (not once, FYI). And now, it fills me with dread.

Wedding invitations. Baby showers. Hen’s nights. Engagement parties.

You see, I’m at that age where all of my friends are starting to settle down. They are getting their lives together, while I am only just working out that ‘tax-deductible’ does not mean ‘free’, and it’s not a good idea to see how many M&M’s I can fit inside my nose. I’m genuinely happy for them. I’m endlessly proud of them.

But my bank account is crying ouch tears.

Last year, my work-friend got pregnant. HUZZAH! BABIES FOR ALL! After herannouncement, one of the office employees suggested we all put in for some flowers for her. Of course! $30. And how about some baby-themed cupcakes for a celebration lunch? For sure! $15. And then came an invitation from her sister for the baby shower.

$80 per head.

Damn straight, Kristen Wiig.

That’s excluding the present I had to show up with, too. $80 per head would only cover a champagne or two, and a couple of croissants for brunch. That croissant better be stuffed with truffle mushrooms and unicorn tears, I thought, as I transferred my hard-earned moolah into a mystery account. It wasn’t. It didn’t even have ham. In the end, thatpregnancycost me $170. That baby better buy me a drink one day. Soon.

Last time I was a bridesmaid, it cost me a grand. ONE THOUSAND SMACKEROOS. $450 dress, spray tan, hair, make-up, gifts, hen’s night… The hen’s night, which was organised by the maid-of-honour and priced at $100 per head (and the bridesmaids were expected to pick up some of the tab, too), we also were expected to bring a cocktail-themed present. I was tempted to bring a bag of ice. Homemade.

I drank a loooot of champagne at that wedding. Not because I wanted to. Because I fucking had to. I was getting my money’s worth, even if it landed me in hospital.

And again, Kristen Wiig.

And when did it become acceptable to have a gift registry for every frigging occasion? Recently, I went to some casual drinks for a friend who was going overseas for a few months. And he sent us all an email with a link to his gift travel registry. ARE YOU SERIOUS, MAN? Buy your own frigging bungy-jumping experience inNew Zealand. If you can’t afford it, don’t fucking travel. All I’m buying you tonight is a drink. Bottom shelf.

I love the parties. I love the occasions. I love the milestones for my friends. But these are my new rules:

I read that the average American in 2013 spent an average of $539 on every average wedding they attended, which was up 50% than the year before. In Australia, it’s probably similar. When you factor in travelling to interstate or destination weddings (don’t even get me started), plus gifts, a nice new outfit, blah blah blah etc, it all adds up.

You just get me, Kristen Wiig.

But it all comes down to this:

Every single one of my friends is worth it. Every invite I receive is worth picking up extra shifts for, and sacrificing my weekly grocery budget. I don’t want to miss an important event, because nothing is more special than watching my friend walk down the aisle to the man of her dreams, or hold up a pair of baby booties and smile down at her baby bump, or have one last hurrah on the dance-floor as a bachelorette. Every single one of my friend’s events that sends me into debt is worth it.**

Now… is anyone looking to buy a kidney?

*Please don’t think I do something strange with the penis straws to make them cut my lip. Those penises are just plain sharp.

**My dear friends – prepare yourselves. Though deep down I’m pretty sure I would be satisfied with a kitsch, low-key wedding in a park with a hotdog stand and a Mr Whippy van, y’all better start saving for my milestone events. They are going to be damn pricey. Not because I want them to be. Just to make a return on my investments. Love you.

You hear that? That’s the sound of the original Pink Ladies and the T-Birds groaning.

Fox has announced that they are diving into the realm of ‘live televised musicals’ (that’s a thing? Right-o.) with a live production of Grease. “Ambitious” would be a polite way to describe that choice, because nothing will EVER, EVER be as good as the original.

It will be a live, televised version of the stage show. It would be worse if they were ACTUALLY remaking the film. But between you, me and Hollywood, it’s a matter of time. We all know it will happen soon. Please, I beg you Hollywood, DON’T DO IT.

They’ve announced two of the lead roles. Julianne Hough as Sandy, and Vanessa Hudgens as Rizzo.

WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE?

Julianne Hough will play Sandy in Grease, originally portrayed by Olivia Newton-John.

Julianne Hough. I know I’ve read her name somewhere before, because it’s one of those names I don’t know how to pronounce inside my head (Hoff? Huff? Howg? Hug? Whatever.) but I couldn’t tell you a single thing she has done. According to Mr. Google, she’s popular in the States for big screen adaptations of musicals, likethe remake of Footloose and Rock Of Ages. I’m a big fan of the ol’ musical movie, and I haven’t watched either of them yet, because I was told they were kinda shit. But still, A+ for effort, Julianne Hug-Hoff. These days, with two movie-musicals under your belt, you are probably referred to as a ‘veteran’.

Vanessa Hudgens will play Rizzo, originally portrayed by Stockard Channing.

Vanessa Hudgens. Was in High School Musical. And then High School Musical 2. And then High School Musical 3. And then… um… probably CSI or something. Well, she’s back. And she’s the same.

That’s all we’ve got for casting so far. Apparently, ‘several big names have been approached’ for the other roles. So, they probably said no. If Justin Beiber gets cast as Danny, I’m out.

It’s not that I doubt the talents of these two ladies, I just can’t imagine little Vanessa Hudgens to have the grit and world-weariness to play Rizzo. Then again, Vanessa did have nude photos of herselfleaked on the internetwhen she was dating Zac Efron (funnily enough, the nude photos I keep sending him just keep getting returned), so maybe she is a bit more jaded than her wide-eyed Wildcat days.

But she’ll never be this:

Or this:

Or this:

Basically, my point is: Rizzo is perfection. And Stockard Channing as Rizzo is irreplaceable. Just because Vanessa is brown-eyed and pretty, doesn’t mean she has the guts to deal with a high-school pregnancy, a bad-ass boyfriend and a mean girl reputation. Best of luck to you with that, Hudgens.

Fox’s whole plan is to “re-imagine the hit crossover musical for an entirely new generation.” I’m not really sure what they mean by ‘crossover’ musical (are they talking about Sandy’s crossover from goody-two-shoes to skank? Because in that case, greatest crossover of all time) but, dear Fox, you do not need to re-imagine anything. Look at this:

It is already imagined. Kids today can still watch the 1978 fim of Grease and completely understand it. It’s relevant, even if it doesn’t involve iPhones or Facebook or selfies. High school hormones, peer pressure, makeovers, dance-fights and 17-year-old drag races – it’s as relevant now as it was then (did anyone actually drag race in high school for ‘pinks’ in 1978? I hope so).

Everything about Grease is so magic that it should be left alone. Who will ever be able to nerd like Original Jan?

Or transform like Original Sandy?

Or eat a burger like Original Kenickie?

No one. That’s who. No one could be this cool:

So good luck to the cast who will appear in the televised Grease. You’ve got a lot to live up to. I really do wish you the best of luck, and I’m sorry for sounding so snippy. It’s just a sensitive subject. Right, Rizzo?

Right. Chang chang changitty chang shoobop. That’s the way it should be.

When in doubt? Don’t swirl your wine around, just drink it. 

I like humans. Most of the time, humans are great.

They do nice things for each other, like open doors or find convenient ways to slice up mangoes and then tell everyone.

But sometimes, humans are wankers. Or douchebags. Or snobs. Whatever you want to call them, they seem to have a few things in common. Little signs of douchebaggery, that pop up like a little red flag. A red flag of wankerdom.

I’m not saying that these things MAKE you a douchebag. But they sure do make you sound like one:

YOU MIGHT BE A WANKER IF YOU:

1. Swirl your wine without irony.

I’m all for pretending I’m awine connoisseuras a joke (especially when pronounced ‘conny-sewer’), spitting and smelling and flaring my nostrils over the $10 bottle of Aldi wine I’m drinking. But actually swirling or slurping your wine without any kind of humour? You’re no drinking buddy of mine.

2. Laugh extra loud at ‘intelligent’ jokes.

Because hilarious.

Wow. You clearly understood that particular political/art/music/stockbroker/current event joke that the comedian made. I know, because you laughed extra loud, and then looked around the room to make sure we all saw you laugh. Well done.

The female wanker.

3. Insist on pronouncing the word ‘Pho’ as ‘fuh’.

I know that Vietnamese people pronounce it ‘fuh’. I also known that French people pronounce ‘Sauvignon Blanc’ with a proper French accent. But if you correct me on my ignorant Australian pronounciation of the $9.90 noodle broth I’m buying from the food court for lunch, you are being a douche.

4. Wear tennis clothes to the Australian Open.

No…just no.

What, do you think that they are just going to let you play? ‘Oh, no! Lleyton Hewitt hasn’t turned up for his match! Is there an Aussie around here with tennis shoes and a Nike t-shirt on?’

5. Constantly tell me how healthy/fit you are.

Here’s looking at you – Gwyneth.

I’m all for you being fit and healthy. I’m not all for sitting around and hearing about how many kilometres you ran this morning, while I played Tetris and had a nap. The more you tell me about how much sugar you’ve cut out of your diet, the more I expect your snorting Twix’s in private.

“I’m a recovering Grade A Instagram-addicted wanker”.

6. Pop your collar.

Just stop.

Enough said. Unless you are genuinely trying to protect your neck from sunburn, you are only trying to send out snob signals.

7. Claim old and unheard of songs/films as your favourite when they’re obviously not.

I know that you only brought up that particular artist so you could prove to me how interesting and unique your taste is. But for the most part, I reckon it’s more likely that you Googled ‘cool songs’ than actually grew any attachment to that song by The Clash or someone.

8. Top up your own water at the restaurant without filling up anyone else’s.

Okay, that doesn’t make you a douchebag. It just makes you rude.

Just no.

So there you have it. Eight little signs of douchebaggery. I hope I haven’t spoiled anyone for you. But if I have, you may be better off getting a little distance from them any way.

No one needs a friend in their life who’s going to correct their pronounciation of Vietnamese soup. You just don’t need that kind of negativity.

STOP WHAT YOU ARE DOING.

Petrol is so cheap, you need to go and get amongst it: Smell it. Bathe in it. Bask in the chemical glory.

For the first time in approximately one bajillion years (since dinosaurs were flipping their caps and pumping up with unleaded),petrol has dropped to below $1 per litre at some stations, and is averaging around $1.06.

This time last year, it was more like $1.56 per litre. I’m no mathematician, but I’m pretty sure I’ll be able to afford a house tomorrow with all these extra fifty cent coins I have lying around, thanks to the low petrol prices.

I’m so pumped about the pumping, I can’t calm down. Every time my petrol needle drops slightly below F (I think the F stands for Full. Or Fuel. Or Fast. I don’t know, something car-y) I race back to the station and fill it up again, just out of fear that petrol will suddenly soar back to the “choose-between-me-and-groceries” kind of pricetag.

Opinion: Petrol, tampons and other life necessities that should be free.

So what’s the best way to celebrate the golden glory? Here’s six ideas that you can suddenlyafford.

1. Have a Zoolander-esque petrol fight.

Orange Mocha Frappucinos! Nothing cheers up male models like crossing petrol streams over an open Jeep. Until Brint lights his cigarette (model idiot) and the party goes up in flames. But what a great way to get amongst the gas. Grab three of your closest model friends, blast ‘Jitterbug’ through the speakers, and let the petrol fly.

(PLEASE NOTE: DO THIS AT YOUR OWN RISK. AND YOU WILL PROBABLY BE ARRESTED AND/OR DIE.)

2. Become a petrol-sniffer.

According to Mr Google, the immediate effects of sniffing petrol are hallucinations, aggression, andincreased libido. What’s not to love?! Also, hunger. Fortunately, there’s a petrol station RIGHT THERE, and you could spend all the coins you saved from the cheap petrol on Curly Wurlys.

(PLEASE NOTE: DO NOT SNIFF PETROL. IT’S APPARENTLY BAD FOR YOU, ACCORDING TO MR. GOOGLE)

3. Fill up more things than your car.

You don’t have to stop when your petrol tank makes that clicky noise. Fill your pockets. Got an empty water bottle in your car? Top that guy up. Don’t ask questions. Just do it because it’s cheap.

Alright. That’s full. What else can I fill?

4. Start selling petrol.

With all that petrol you’ve stored in empty water bottles and your pockets, go home, squeeze it into a big bowl or an urn or something, store it in a safe place (you know, the petrol cupboard or somewhere) and wait until prices rise again. Then SELL THAT BABY OFF. Ka-ching. You’re a petrol tycoon, and a genius.

Image via Tumblr.

5. Make make-up.

Mr. Google (he is SO handy and knowedgable) has just informed me that petroleum is used in make-up. I’m not sure how or why (or if I ever want to use make-up again now that I know that), but surely we can find a way to profit from this. Mix a bit of petrol with some face powder, and you’ve made yourself a lovely foundation. Add a splash of petrol to a jar of hand cream. See what happens.

(PLEASE NOTE: PROBABLY NOTHING GOOD).

For non-petrol related beauty: 14 beauty hacks every woman should know.

 6. DIY Petroleum Jelly.

Everyone needs some Vaseline around the house. I don’t know how to make it, but I’m thinking that petrol + jelly = petroleum jelly. Mix up some Aeroplane Jelly, stir in some unleaded, and pat yourself on the back.

So there you have it. Six things you can do with your new found best friend, petrol.

Just think of all the money you’ll save.

Please note: Most of those will end in arrest, fire, or death. If you want to be safe, just appreciate the new petrol by filling up your car obssessively. Until the petrol prices go back up… in which case, I’ll be selling some out of my kitchen window.

What are you going to do with your excess cash? Let us know in the comments. 

ATTENTION: Ladies with menstrual cramps, if you’re not cuddling a hot water bottle in a foetal position with a screwed up face, while simultaneously pouting and wearing sexy underwear, then you are DOING IT WRONG.

This morning, I had to go a-hunting for a stock photo of a lady with some‘time-of-the-month’ cramps. Because journalism. I typed ‘period pain’ into a website. And then…

Hilarity ensued.

Hundreds and hundreds of photos of women with the cramps, doubled over, 99.5 per cent with hot water bottles, all of them looking listless and maybe alittle bit sexy. And some surprises. Berries, anyone?

Other PMS news:What happens when elite athletes have their period?

I’ve had me some cramps before. I can usually still manage to put on pants, and I can always manage to eat peanut butter straight out of the jar (with fingers, spoons are for amateurs). Every woman has a different way of handling their fallopian tubes being attacked by knives and buckets of wet sand. But somehow, few of the photos we found seemed realistic.

Come with us on the Adventure of Stock Standard Period Photos:

The Classic.

Hot water bottle on womb, hand on head to indicate headache, not un-sexy underwear, all evidence hidden of the 10 Twix consumed only moments ago.

The ‘Maybe We Should Call A Doctor?’

Cramps can be bad, but this looks like appendicitis-meets-organ-failure. We hope she makes it through the night.

The ‘Typical Menstrual Behaviour’.Because the only way to solve cramps is drink tea, and rock back and forwards on a pink pillow in a minimalist room. Never trust a person who keeps their books with spines IN. Pfft.

The ‘This Is Your Fault’.

She’s looking at me as though I GAVE her that cramp. It’s not me! It’s your womb! I’m so sorry!

The sexy ‘Sad Face’.

Are you telling me that hat didn’t help? When in doubt, pout.

And the ‘WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING IN THIS PICTURE’.

Gahh!! What happened? How did her period go so horribly wrong? Oh wait, she’s squeezing berries. Ok, someone needs to file this under ‘sexy squished food’ and not ‘menstruation’.

But wait. There’s more:

I don’t know about you, but when I’ve got PMS, I don’t look like this. Period.

I think my vagina just retreated into my stomach…

The new beauty treatment that is gaining popularity (and by that, we meanGwyneth Paltrow has recommended it) is the V-Steam. That’s V for Vagina.

“You sit on what is essentially a mini-throne, and a combination of infra-red and Mugwort steam cleanses your uterus, et al. It is an energetic release—not just a steam douche—that balances female hormone levels. If you’re in LA, you have to do it.”

No, Gwyneth. Wrong.

If you’re in LA, you have to go to Universal Studios. You don’t have to get your uterus steam-cleaned with mugwort.

TheTikkun Holistic Spa in Los Angeles is the beauty clinic that is offering to wash out your lady-pocket.

Wait… I have to MAKE SMALL TALK WITH STRANGERS while we do this?

UM… HOW?

“Mugwort leaves and flower buds are boiled and steamed and applied to a specific area of the body (perineum) for detoxification. The steam from the Mugwort is then absorbed into the body through the pores of the skin, most strongly effecting the site of absorption.”

So… a stranger will rub some ground-up compost ontoyour special place, and then spray some steam up there for a good half hour. Anyone else feeling uncomfortable about this? I’m accidentally doing pelvic-floor clenches just thinking about it.

UH… WHY?

Health, of course. According to the Tikkun website, these are just some of the benefits:

But the website also declares that the treatments “have not been evaluated by the FDA. The above product/service is not intended to diagnose, treat, cure or prevent any diseases or conditions.” That’s promising.

Good to know:Your vagina can also have a facial.

And how much will this cost? US$50 for 30 min, or $200 for 5 treatments. Save yourself the 200 bucks, and go sit on your kettle. Also, GREAT NEWS, GENTS. You can get a steam bath too. Your throne is probably a different shape, but it will ‘cure’ your haemorrhoid discomfort (please note: absolutely no proof of curing haemorrhoid discomfort).

So there you have it. I am not one to judge what other women do with their private parts. Go for the downstairs steam-clean if you want. But I, for one, will probably keep my uterus Mugwort-free.

Braver than me: Our very own Shelly Horton has tried it.

And her hilarious review uses the words ‘smoked trout’. Read ithere.

Alright, Channel Ten. You’ve piqued my interest with hype, promos, and the hope that an A-list celebrity might get hepatitis in the jungle. Let’s do this.

Immediately awkward start with Julia Morris stuttering on ‘W..w..well, hello Australia.” Possibly just a ploy so that we can all appreciate that this is LIVE TELEVISION, PEOPLE. She is forgiven because she looks great. Her head does, at least. Can’t see her body because she is wearing animal print, as to blend in with all the jungleness.

There he is. Dr Chris Brown. Aka, the star of my vet-based fantasies. Dr Jawbone.

The hosts being whacky and candid.

Chris and Juls are walking casually across a bridge. And then a hut. And then another bridge. Much unrehearsed and unscripted banter (lol, jokes. Totally scripted). It’s 9.30 a.m in… wherever they are. Africa. They explain the rules about taking celebrities and putting them in the jungle. Apparently, the celebs only get 800 calories a day. Pretty sure I had 800 calories for my pre-breakfast snack.

Here we go. Stock footage of South African sky. Sound of helicopters. Ride of the Valkyries playing for dramatic effect.

Actually can’t tell if they are real helicopters, or nine remote control helicopters filmed from afar. With Channel Ten’s budget, probably toy helicopters on strings. If they have actually hired ten helicopters, it is probably why they can only afford to feed the celebs 800 calories per day.

The basic rule is that the celeb who wins gets $100,000 for their favourite charity. Any of them can tap-out at any time by yelling ‘I’m a celebrity, get me outta here’, irrespective of how much of a celebrity they really are.

Helicopters. Possibly real. Probably not containing celebrities.

CELEBRITY ONE. It’s Leisel Jones. With so much eyelash that it’s hard to tell she is Leisel Jones. Take them off before swimming, Leisel, you might drown. But you look fancy.

CELEB TWO: Merv Hughes. That cricketer guy with the moustache. I know two things about him: He was a cricketer, and he has a moustache. But I definitely knew his name, so he earned his pay check.

CELEB THREE: Laura Dundovic. Introduces self as a model/presenter. I think she was Miss Australia at some point. Looks like Jen Hawkins. Oh, good. She has just explained that she was Miss Australia at some point.

CELEB FOUR: Andrew Daddo. I know two Daddos (is there more?) and he is not Cameron. I can’t remember which Daddo I know for which things. If he was the Daddo that hosted Great Outdoors for years, he probably has an unfair advantage in this game.

CELEB FIVE: Joel Creasey. “People know me as being that sassy guy, sitting on the end of comedy panel shows.” I don’t even know him as that much, but I immediately like him. Can tell he will be bitchy and funny, and probably cry at least twice.

CELEB SIX: Tyson Mayr. Who? “I’m a model and professional traveller.” I am not convinced. Also, I didn’t know you were allowed to call yourself a professional traveller if you aren’t on Getaway.

CELEB SEVEN: Lauren Brant. ‘Ex Hi-5′ is written under her name, which makes her sound like a spy. She used to be in Hi-5 and I think she posed for a men’s magazine this year. Perky, pretty, etc. Establishes herself as Class Genius immediately. “I don’t think I’ve slept completely under the stars, but I like skinny-dipping.”

CELEB EIGHT: Hooraaaaaay. It’s Chrissie Swan. THANK GOD, CHRISSIE. Someone who I don’t need to Google. Back in reality TV where she started. Good to see you, Swan.

CELEB NINE: Is that…? It is. It’s Marcia Brady (Maureen McCormick). Marcia, Marcia, Marcia. What the FUCK are you doing here? This is the ‘American celebrity who is a household name’ that Channel Ten have pimped with all of their soul. Household name is a stretch. I know her as ‘that woman who played Marcia Brady’… but still, will probably be entertaining and/or precious.

CELEB TEN: Barry Hall. Giant footballer who does not fit in the helicopter. Looks like Duffman from The Simpsons. Assures us that he is pretty calm and collected outside of football. Ten dollars he punches someone before end of episode.

Barry Hall.

Finally the toy helicopters land. Some local drummers and singers remind us that a) we are in Africa and b) Channel Ten can afford it. Chrissie Swan is first to walk awkwardly past them and into a rental house with a nice patio. Marcia Brady walks in next. Chrissie freaks out. Marcia does not know who Chrissie is. Marcia, it’s all downhill from here. One by one, the celebs congrugate. WELL DONE, CHANNEL TEN, they put Chrissie there first. Radio personality will recognise most of the celebs and prevent uncomfortable questions. Doesn’t work for Professional Traveller Tyson who has to explain to slightly famous people the ways in which he is famous. Something about being naked, travelling, and charity.

Obvious sexual tension between Naked Traveller and One Fifth of Hi 5. Probs because they are the hottest, they are the exact same height, and they have to explain their fame the most.

Great camouflage.

And they’re off. Dressed in new uniform of red chinos, navy blue personalised tops and khaki shirts. If it weren’t for the Akubras, they’d look like preppy hipsters from Chapel Street. A local man terrifies the celebs with all the poisonous animals, snakes, scorptions, etc. Moral of his story: There are as many things that can kill you in Africa as a trip to the beach in Australia.

Dr Chris is back, conveniently flexing his pecs while saying vet things. I will think of this later tonight. Chris and Julia are taking us through the campsite that the celebs will live in. It’s like a camouflaged war bunker meets glamping. Outdoor beds, a trunk with toilet paper and saucepans. A mirror, thank god. Miss Australia will be glad. There’s a little hut for diary-room purposes.

A long-drop toilet. It has a long-drop toilet. Merv will murder that.

The celebs get put on a group helicopter. How is Channel Ten affording all these helicopters? If The Project desk is missing tonight, it’s been sold for chopper money. The celebs have to jump about thirty centimetres from the chopper into the water, and then tug themselves into shore on a raft. Much screaming and ‘Oh My God’ing. First violent threat comes out within four minutes, with Joel Creasey telling the cameraman “I’m going to stab Merv Hughes in the face”. I knew you wouldn’t disappoint, Creasey. The celebs are hiking through the jungle to their campsite. Merv is at risk of heart attack after ten minutes.

Duffman Barry Hall says something anti-American about Marcia talking too much. Just shut up and carry her, Muscles. Chrissie Swan almost dies by slipping off a mountain. Lives.

THEY’VE FINALLY ARRIVED AT THE CAMPSITE. Celebs rejoice, clap hands, fight urge to take selfies because their phones are confiscated. Tyson starts a fire, even though no one knows who he is or what he is doing there. Marcia and Chrissie are best friends already. The team have to nominate a camp leader. Leisel is elected, because Olympics.

Marcia freaks out because her bed is wet. Classic Marcia. If only she could make Jan Brady sleep in it instead. Instead, Tyson offers, once again surprising the celebrities with his niceness even though he is not famous. The celebs go to sleep under the stars, and say ‘love you’ to each other, even though they are strangers. It’s a fame thing, clearly.

Barry, Chrissie and Joel are hiking somewhere. I’m not sure why, I got distracted by Joel’s lisp. DR JAWBONE IS THERE. Bondi Vet and Julia Morris welcome the three celebs to the ‘first Tucker Trial’. So obviously, there will be more. Chrissie gets tied down and looks like some kind of satanic ritual.

“Thank God I got fired from radio.”

Chrissie is probably cursing her career choices on the inside as she gets covered in Ice Magic and puppies. Lol, jokes. Ants, locusts, fly pupae, earthworms, cockroaches, offal, maggots, etc. The trio earned six meals for the rest of the celeb team, which were being stored in Chris Brown’s jaw. They retreat to camp and share the news. High-fives all round, except for Lauren, who is no longer in Hi-5.

Channel Ten tries to prop up their helicopter budget by asking viewers to SMS vote for a celeb to be killed put in tomorrow’s challenge at 55c a text. Pass.

Merv conveniently gives Marcia Brady a spiel on who’s who, to remind viewers exactly who the unrecognisable celebrities are. Laura Dundovic does a re-enactment of her Miss Australia career highlights. Takes seven seconds. Surprisingly, Barry (Footballer/Duffman) and Joel (comedian/child) have hit it off. Joel is one quarter of Barry’s height and weight. Barry likes to guffaw at Joel’s jokes. It’s a match made in jungle heaven.

Marcia Brady is having some alone time, because she has been feeling alone. American logic. Tyson spots the publicity opportunity and goes to make her feel better by making her carry some firewood. Before they get it on under the waterfall, Tyson reveals he has a girlfriend. He may not be famous, but he is hot and looks like Jamie Durie, and both Marcia Brady and I are jealous of his girlfriend.

Dinner arrives on a Tarzan vine. It is the neck of an African animal. Merv sleeps while everyone else cleans.

Quick… blend into the jungle…

Chris and Juls visit the campsite to show the the celebs what make-up looks like. A brilliant moment happens with an awkward sound technician caught in the background with a boom microphone, who then quietly recedes into the jungle. DID ANYONE ELSE SEE THIS? The hosts reveal that Joel is going to be up for some challenge tomorrow or something. Not sure. Was watching the guy with the microphone.

Day 1. Not all of them are celebrities. Yet. Also, no one died, left, or got impregnated. Yet.

Did you watch – again? Then this, this is for you.

It seems that everyone lived through the first two nights – enough for Channel Ten to legally air the next episode, at least.

There’s my Bondi Vet and Julia Morris, on another rope bridge. Cue terribly scripted banter. Cue Chris trying not to poke Julia in the face with his jaw.

OOOH! CHRIS HAS A MASSIVE ANNOUNCEMENT!

Oh. It’s about SMS voting. Don’t care.

Dr Jawbone and J.Mo are pointing out the fact that anawkward sound man wandered into shot last night, as I noticed. They try to cover up the fact that this crew man was probably fired by making a joke out of it.

Marcia, Marcia, Marcia.

A re-hash of every minute the celebs spent during the night. Marcia Brady (can’t remember actress’s actual name, Maureen… Brady?) struggles to get to bathroom in the pitch black. Fortunately camera man has night vision, but not the manners to help Marcia. At the crack of dawn, Marcia and Miss Laura Australia get in and snuggle Joel Creasey. Not sure why. Probably because celebrities can’t go 10 minutes without touching other celebrities.

Marcia is actually being seriously inappropriate and weird by feeling up Joel Creasey. Is barking up wrong tree. Creasey is more camp than the camp-site itself.

Shower time. One of these guys is a famous cricketer.

Non-famous celeb Tyson takes off his top and has a shower. Not going to pretend I’m sad about it. One Fifth of Hi-5 Lauren also has a shower and shows off her six-pack. Not going to pretend I’m happy about it. Oh good, there’s a theme. We watch all the celebrities shower. Excepet Merv, because he bathes in a creek, which the fish are surely less than thrilled about.

Tick that off the to-do list.

Merv is picking his nose. At one point he has two hands involved. Chrissie says ‘jungle boogers’ 15 times. They are already running out of things to talk about. Former Hi-5 claims she doesn’t want to be camp leader. Makes me think that she desperately wants to be camp leader. No idea what the camp leader does, is probably in charge of being camp. Oh good, they have chosen Joel Creasey. Oh good, he has made a camp joke, just for me.

They have cooked up a springbok neckbone with dirty river water for a breakfast broth. Salmonella is imminent and an exciting prospect. Merv demonstrates he is losing weight by letting his pants fall down. Apparently he eats more than springbok neck broth and boogers at home.

Five minute discussion of Merv’s moustache answers all the questions I had about Merv’s moustache. Which was none.

Cut to Dr Sexy Vet and JM. They give us directions on how to vote for the contestants to do something more interesting than sit around the campfire. Many puns on the celebs names (i.e. “If you want to see Daddo in the baddo”), just as they did last night. If this is going to happen every night, I’m going to time my bathroom breaks during this exact moment.

Joel shoving his hand in a hole.

Joel is off to win some food for the team. Gets a send-off of many ‘I love yous’ and the hot ones pressing their breasts against him in support. Chris and Juls meet Joel in a jungle clearing where the bugs are so loud it’s quite hard to hear. We get it – nature, Africa, blah blah.

Joel has to shove his hand in a hole to get a reward. So many puns, so little time. ‘Oh My God, it’s so deep’. Hole 1, dung and dung beetles. He lives. Hole 2, scorpions. Still lives. Hole 3. TARANTULAS. GET THE FUCK OUT OF THE JUNGLE, CREASEY. The tarantulas are good sports, fortunately (though, unfortunately, for sake of good television).

Hole 4, rats. Joel is shaking so hard he looks like a Beyonce video clip. Hole 5, snakes. I’m assuming he doesn’t die, otherwise Channel Ten would have advertised this moment with more excitement. Joel touching a bunch of snakes is surprisingly anticlimactic. He has completed the task quite easily and earned enough meals to at least feed Merv and Barry Hall. What’s that noise? Oh. It’s the producers saying ‘damn… should have added more snakes’.

Back at camp. The actress who plays Marcia Brady is surprising me, because she is as ditzy and precious as Marcia Brady. I expected here to at least be more down-to-Earth than the 12-year-old girl she used to play. Apparently not.

Disco snake.

DRAMA. There’s a really shiny snake. Everyone goes to look at the shiny snake. Chrissie and Joel are left behind to discuss the other contestants. It’s clear that they are trying to be nice in front of the cameras, because celebrities have a reputation, etc. No, wait. Joel wants to shoot Merv. Bitchy reputation solidified. Turns out shiny snake was not a snake, was a legless lizard (is that not a snake?) which Dr Chris explains in his vet voice, which will go into my spank bank for later.

Dr Chris proving what I’ve always suspected – his jaw is wider than his temples.

Chrissie and Marcia are constipated. They have a good chat about it, but no poos.

Hi-5 has stripped down to her underwear to show off her perkiness while she plays with leaves or something. Now she’s doing a clappy thing with a cup, and being upbeat. Shows off her intelligence by teaching Chrissie a game about frogs and emotions.

One-of-the-Daddo’s and Miss Australia Dundovic are sent on a trek to find a ‘celebrity chest’ which is no doubt not as interesting as it sounds. Together they have to saw through a log in the middle of a forest,  a bit of a sadistic mind-fuck for the other living trees. They carry the chest back to camp. Miss Australia insists she must help one-of-the-Daddo’s carry the chest, but it is too heavy. So she does not help, just tells the camera three times about how tired she is.

Cut back to camp. Celebs talk about how hungry they are. No, like, really hungry. No, like, STARVING. Hurrah! Daddo and Dundovic are back from their chest retrieval. They open it. It’s a prize donated by Kyle Sandilands. Excellent exposure. Well done, Kyle’s agent. I expect Kyle probably didn’t even know about it. Then again, maybe he did, because it’s a pretty shit present. An electric fly swatter that Merv cannot eat.

Uh… okay.

Disappointment, hunger, Oh My Gods, etc.

Chris and Juls are back to talk about voting for the fifteenth time in ten minutes. Spend lots of time fake-laughing and pretending they find each other much funnier than the crap lines will allow them to be. Their chemistry is palpable, but their script is shit.

Dinner has arrived. Wildebeest, sweet potato, red onion, okra, and apricots. Welcome to Africa, now let’s eat our way through all the local animals. Marcia complains about the lack of seasoning. Chrissie takes over the cooking. Nails it. Is now stuck with cooking duties for the rest of her natural life. Everyone agrees the Wildebeest turned out to taste pretty good, despite the fact it is not from Coles.

Chris just looked down the camera and licked his lips, probably just for me. And then he seemed to stifle a yawn, probably because of the jokes on the teleprompter.

CAMPFIRE STORY TIME.

Kum ba yah, my Lord…

Theme: What happens when a celebrity meets their idol (aka a slightly bigger celebrity)? Not sure who Chrissie said, I was still thinking about Dr Chris. Joel talks aboutopening for Joan Rivers. So much celebrity. Merv tells about meeting his idol, Greg the yellow Wiggle. Ex Hi-5 Lauren probably takes this nod towards her rival band personally. Can barely understand Merv through his moustache anyway. Daddo does great Sylvester Stallone impersonation. Barry struggles to put a sentence together, but basically says “Me Barry. Me play football. Arrarrrarrrrr.” Actually, he is quite sweet and shy. Like Duffman, or a beagle.

Next morning. Chris and Juls enter the camp. Juls is wearing sneakers with a pencil skirt, like a busy school mum. They tell the celebs who has been nominated for tomorrow’s eating-gross-things challenge. They do this by naming a celebrity and saying ‘Tyson…..(huge pause)… it’s not you’ until they have worked their way through all of them. Probably could have come up with a catchier line, scriptwriters.

LIVE TELEVISION HAS BLACKED OUT FOR A WHILE. When the generator kicks in at Channel Ten broadcasting, we cut back in to the show to discover that the nominated celeb was either Merv or Marcia, because they are both standing up. Cut to Chris and Juls saying ‘how exciting was that?!’. I don’t know guys. The show dropped out at the climax.

So that’s that for Day 2. Very few events. Very much constipation. Very much excited to see if Marcia is still alive tomorrow.

My radio asked me a question yesterday.

“ARE YOU SINGLE THIS VALENTINE’S DAY?”, my stupidly nosy radio asked me.

“That’s none of your bucking fizzness, radio.” I told my car dashboard.

Radio then went on to encourage me to show some ‘self-love’ by booking myself into a day spa. Later on, a poster at a train station told me to treat myself to chocolates, even though I don’t have a partner. And once I noticed the pattern, I started seeing advertisements and articles everywhere aimed at single people onValentine’s Day, as not to exclude us poor partnerless plebs.

To all those companies profiting from V-Day, feel free to leave singles out of it. We don’t need to practice self-love.

WE ARE F*CKING MASTERS OF SELF-LOVE.

You don’t need to encourage me to put myself first. I’msingle. All I do is self-love (get it? Get it? Sly winky smirk face here).

I give into every whim and desire that my heart pumps out, be it food-related (it almost always is), or spending four hours on the couch watching Grey’s Anatomy in a bath towel while painting my nails and eating peanut butter straight out of the jar (or as I call it, ‘Wednesday’).

If anything, my self-love should be DISCOURAGED. You should remind me to think of someone else for a day. But I won’t listen, because I largely do what I want.

The very existence of a person’s single status is BECAUSE of self-love. They love themselves too much to jump into a relationship they don’t want to be in (before you chuck a wobbly, coupled people, I’m not saying that you have done so).

Forgive me if I speak in generalisations. Not all single people feel the same, obvi. Our lack of partners doesn’t unite us in some sad little club, as is often assumed. As you may have discerned, I love being single – not to say that I don’t keep my eyes peeled for a quality partner (hurry the shit up and propose already,Prince Harry), I do… but I really enjoy free drinks the dating game.

In contrast, there are plenty of partnerless people who whine about it all day long. But I suspect that they could get an immediate date if they desperately desired one. Jeez, on Tinder, you can get a date with a creep in about 45 seconds*. They just keep letting those pesky self-loving standards get in the way.

No single person should be told they need to spoil themselves on February 14th. Valentine’s Day has as little to do with me this year as Hanukah or Chinese New Year. I respect that it is happening, I am happy for the people celebrating it, but it is unrelated to my current situation.

Couples, go nuts this Valentine’s Day. You are welcome to have this whole day to do really public couple things like candlelit dry-humping in the park, or whatever. Feel free to flaunt your coupledom all over my face (ew, don’t). Valentine’s Day is for you (well… it’s for Hallmark and other such companies… but let’s not get into that**).

Whether you’re in a nice couple who just likes to do nice things and Feb 14th is an extra day of niceness, or in a shitty couple who needs a reminder to actually show your love for each other, go nuts. In fact, everyone should practice love all the time. Love, self-love, group love, free love, brotherly love, couple love, lovey dovey love. Practice it everywhere – in your interactions with strangers, in your conversations with family, in your thoughts, in the shower alone… Go big on love.

But, to all my lovely single friends: Ignore your radio. Leave Valentine’s Day to the couples. You don’t need to prove a single thing, you single thing. Do what you do every day.

Whatever (and whomever) the f*ck you want.

*I was not saying that dates found on Tinder are all creeps. There are plenty of Tinder Surprises and Tinderella stories. My point was, if anyone is just looking for a date without any qualms of quality, a plethora of options can be found on Tinder.

**I genuinely do like the romantic sentiment of Valentine’s Day (when I’m coupled up), and I’m all for celebrating love… but according to Business Insider, Valentine’s Day is a $16 billion dollarbusiness. Stop being greedy, companies. Leave the singles out of it. You get enough love.

Welcome to Mamamia Rogue’s Shocker, Hero and Whinger of the Week.

You know what goes on here, Roguers. A champion human being (Or animal. Or food group. Pretty much anything) gets the Hero nod. Someone who has been giving us grief gets the Whinger award. And the Shocker trophy goes to the story that made our jaws drop.

Let’s do this.

This is possibly the greatest hero of all time, surely.

A 109-year-old man called Alfie knits jumpers for injured penguins. That’s right. 109. Jumpers. Penguins.

Not just any jumpers. Fancy jumpers. Pretty jumpers. Jumpers that turn a normal penguin into an enviable hipster penguin.

“We love you, Alfie.”

Please also note: One of the penguins is wearing a Penguin-books-themed jumper. META.

Want to know how Alfie started his hobby?Yeah you do.

Our Whinger this week is an absolute nutter. Seriously.

Cho Hyun-ah, a 40-year-old Korean woman who stands to inherit the Korean Air empire, threw a tantrum when she was served macadamia nuts in a BAG and not in a BOWL on a plane. And when we say ‘tantrum’, we mean she forced the plane to taxi back into JFK airport, altering it’s flight route, which is a 10 year maximum prison sentence. She also physically assaulted an air steward.

Her punishment? One year in jail. Take that, nutbag.

Prepare yourselves. This may surprise you.

A 17-year-old boy has undergone surgery in USA to make his penis smaller. SMALLER.

The teen requested the surgery after he was having trouble with sex, sport, and just generally wearing pants. Surgeons describe his penis as being about the size of a football – 7 inches in length, and 10 inches in circumference. There were some health problems that had left his penis misshapen and bloated… but he’s all better now. And can probably use the story as a pick-up line for the rest of his life.

Who was your Hero, Shocker and Whinger of the week?

Like Mamamia Rogue on Facebook Rogue is Mamamia’s space for fun, viral and random content, with everything from feminism to pop culture. We scour the internet so you don’t have to, and bring all the best bits back.