Delightful and charming Naomi Campbell strikes a video camera after walking out of an interview.

I get it. She didn't want to answer questions about acquiring a supposed blood diamond. Fair enough. It could be a fabricated news piece, based on nothing much. Although it's a weird thing to just be simply made up without any merit.

Wouldn't the classy, less violent way of dealing with it, be something along the lines of saying ... 'That is false. It didn't happen.', and just given a friggen explanation?

Naomi loves the tension. She loves to be a bitch. Treat the media mean and keep the media keen. I now dub thee 'Mean-omi'.

Here we find Kesha on SNL. Did she seriously get paid to perform this monstrosity? Who ever came up with that dazzler of an idea is obviously unemployed at this very instant.

With out further delay, I present to you ...

Kesha ... singing like a cat on heat ...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nvflycpnNQo

The following article really proves the point - no one reads the terms and conditions when purchasing 'things' online .....

Did you sell your soul to gamestation?

Jane Lynch (of Glee and 40 Year Old Virgin fame) has done a great cover of Madonna's Vogue. She sounds and looks awesome!

Scott Moore and his husband Thomas are a legally married transgender couple living in California.

Scott still has his reproductive organs, although he had his breasts removed.

Scott gave birth to their baby boy, Miles - in March.

For a couple to go through the expense and emotional roller-coster to conceive via the obvious root that they have taken - I feel pretty safe in making the statement, that this kid will be loved.

I'm all for equality. I say - power to them.

Anyhoodle, the moral to this post is ... what is going on with this picture? It just looks like a dude with a beer belly to me. What is going on with his pants? He is either built like the Michelin Man (which would be truly unfortunate), or there is some serious 'up skirt' wind, or similar, happening.

I wonder if the photographer was clearly against this idea and decided to take awful picture, in spite. Evil photographer. Shame.

Too cool!

Looking for a new Sunday afternoon craft (do people still do crafts?) idea?

With this fantastic free generator you can create custom Google Maps envelopes, to dazzle your friends and family.

Punch in your location of choice and your message and you will be given a template which you can print and glue together.

Fancy! I say!

Meet Bert! The turtle who helped to teach thousands of American kiddies how to 'duck and cover' to dodge the atomic bomb in 1951.

Hey kids! Don't worry about fires or car accidents - the atomic bomb will give you a really bad sun burn. Really really bad.

Here are some handy Latin phrases for you all ....

Di! Ecce hora! Uxor mea me necabit!
God, look at the time! My wife will kill me!

Estne volumen in toga, an solum tibi libet me videre?
Is that a scroll in your toga, or are you just happy to see me?

Sentio aliquos togatos contra me conspirare.
I think some people in togas are plotting against me.

Caesar si viveret, ad remum dareris.
If Caesar were alive, you'd be chained to an oar.

Quantum materiae materietur marmota monax si marmota monax materiam possit materiari?
How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?

(At a barbeque)
Animadvertistine, ubicumque stes, fumum recta in faciem ferri?
Ever noticed how wherever you stand, the smoke goes right into your face?

Sona si Latine loqueris.
Honk if you speak Latin.

Si Hoc Legere Scis Nimium Eruditionis Habes
If you can read this you're over-educated

Vidi Vici Veni
I saw, I conquered, I came

Vacca foeda
Stupid cow

Mihi ignosce. Cum homine de cane debeo congredi.
Excuse me. I've got to see a man about a dog.

Raptus regaliter
Royally screwed

Gramen artificiosum odi.
I hate Astroturf.

Nihil curo de ista tua stulta superstitione.
I'm not interested in your dopey religious cult.

Noli me vocare, ego te vocabo.
Don't call me, I'll call you.

Nullo metro compositum est.
It doesn't rhyme.

Non curo. Si metrum non habet, non est poema.
I don't care. If it doesn't rhyme, it isn't a poem.

Fac ut gaudeam.
Make my day.

Braccae illae virides cum subucula rosea et tunica Caledonia-quam elenganter concinnatur!
Those green pants go so well with that pink shirt and the plaid jacket!

Visne saltare? Viam Latam Fungosam scio.
Do you want to dance? I know the Funky Broadway.

Re vera, potas bene.
Say, you sure are drinking a lot.

Utinam barbari spatium proprium tuum invadant!
May barbarians invade your personal space!

Utinam coniurati te in foro interficiant!
May conspirators assassinate you in the mall!

Utinam logica falsa tuam philosophiam totam suffodiant!
May faulty logic undermine your entire philosophy!

Radix lecti
Couch potato

Quo signo nata es?
What's your sign?

O! Plus! Perge! Aio! Hui! Hem!
Oh! More! Go on! Yes! Ooh! Ummm!

Mellita, domi adsum.
Honey, I'm home.

Tam exanimis quam tunica nehru fio.
I am as dead as the nehru jacket.

Ventis secundis, tene cursum.
Go with the flow.

Totum dependeat.
Let it all hang out.

Te precor dulcissime supplex!
Pretty please with a cherry on top!

Magister Mundi sum!
I am the Master of the Universe!

Fac me cocleario vomere!
Gag me with a spoon!

Te audire no possum. Musa sapientum fixa est in aure.
I can't hear you. I have a banana in my ear.

Prehende uxorem meam, sis!
Take my wife, please!

Nihil est--in vita priore ego imperator Romanus fui.
That's nothing--in a previous life I was a Roman Emperor.

Recedite, plebes! Gero rem imperialem!
Stand aside plebians! I am on imperial business.

Vescere bracis meis.
Eat my shorts.

Sic faciunt omnes.
Everyone is doing it.

Fac ut vivas.
Get a life.

Anulos qui animum ostendunt omnes gestemus!
Let's all wear mood rings!

Catapultam habeo. Nisi pecuniam omnem mihi dabis, ad caput tuum saxum immane mittam.
I have a catapult. Give me all the money, or I will fling an enormous rock at your head.

"Love is when a girl puts on perfume and a boy puts on shaving cologne and they go out and smell each other."

Karl - age 5

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"Love is when you go out to eat and give somebody most of your French fries without making them give you any of theirs."

Chrissy - age 6

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10. "Love is when you tell a guy you like his shirt, then he wears it everyday."

Noelle - age 7

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13. "My mommy loves me more than anybody . You don't see anyone else kissing me to sleep at night."

Clare - age 6

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"Love is when Mommy sees Daddy smelly and sweaty and still says he is handsomer than Robert Redford."

Chris - age 7

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"Love is when your puppy licks your face even after you left him alone all day."

Mary Ann - age 4

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"I know my older sister loves me because she gives me all her old clothes and has to go out and buy new ones."

Lauren - age 4

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"When you love somebody, your eyelashes go up and down and little stars come out of you." (what an image)

Karen - age 7

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"Love is when Mommy sees Daddy on the toilet and she doesn't think it's gross."

Mark - age 6

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Here is a totally random and bizarre finding for you. If you have a spare few minutes ... check it out:

www.nobodyhere.com
(click on the buttons)

if, your Husband was being delightful, cooking you some breakfast on a Sunday morning while you were still sound asleep. And then, if he got a little bit fry pan happy and set off the smoke alarm. And then .. if the smoke alarm did not wake you up at all?

Would you be worried?

I am to scared to go to sleep. Stupid smoke alarms and their false sense of security.

I have absolutely no interest in any sport. Nill. And I feel like a real looser because of it.

I can remember being tormented in Primary School when we would have to go and play T-ball. I could never hit the ball. I hated standing on those bases for what felt like hours on end. Cricket was also equally revolting. Don't even get me started on Cross Country Days (which we just running around the entire school grounds 50 times).

There is just nothing in my genetic profile that has anything to do with sports.

Every single person I know (although, surprisingly not including my Mum and Dad) gets excited to some degree, about a sport. Events are planned, festivities at someone's house with beers and cable, nights at the pub etc. What ever the venue - fun is expected.

Try and try as I might, I can't get in to it. I ask my friends questions. I have intently sat in front of the TV watching some form of ball throwing or kicking - nothing.

I don't even understand what the difference is between the NFL and the ALF? I don't understand what Sydney footy clubs have a location name and an animal name? It only confused me more when people refer to their club as a location or animal? Manly? Sea Eagles? What? Who?

I want to be part of the sporting community. I want to get excited about it. I want to go to the local pub / club and scream at the big screen TV with everyone else. I want to go to the cool 'some random team is playing some other random team' sports shin digs.

I also don't like beer. I hear that beer and sports go hand in hand. Although, I am a girl - so maybe I can get a pass on the beer drinking.

Help?

Love it! Think it is old, but worthy of this post regardless ...

I know, I know - I am only feeding the self serving beast that is Gweneth Paltro's GOOP - by reading it.

It's one thing to blog and share your life. It's another thing to carry on like a snotty, full of her self celebrity - who is trying to teach her peasants how to be enlightened like, said celebrity.

She is trying to brand herself. It's not going well. Although some love her Goopy site, I - on the other hand, do not. I just like to laugh at it and her.

Here is an inspired question from Queen GOOP ...

As I am on the road a hell of a lot for my day job, I generally don't have time for lunch. Although I look forward to my take away cup of tea.

On Thursday I ordered a black cup of tea with two sugars. Once I had driven off I realized I received a white tea. Awesome! Had to throw that one out (as I can't drink milk).

Friday I ordered the same from a different cafe. I received a black tea with no sugar.

What worse is that I had to pay $2.80 for my styrofoam cup, with some boiling water and a tea bag.

Seriously. People. What the hell?

Given a lot of youngish girls and boys work in cafes I started to freak out, thinking that maybe they are studying to become brain surgeons. I started to worry even further that their future patients would receive a new leg instead of a simple brain repair or similar.

How hard can it be? A black tea with two sugars ... am I asking to much?

Apparently a Hobbit is a 'imaginary being similar to a person but smaller and with hairy feet'.

Are you similar to a person, but kinda short with hairy feet? Well ... do I have the holiday destination for you!

Here we have a picture of the worlds first Hobbit Motel, located in New Zealand.

Even the cow in the back ground looks larger than the motel!

The pictures from inside the Hobbit dwellings conclude that the furnishings look normal sized, although I feel a gold coin or an apple placed upon the bed would give proper proportions, to interested parties. Nothing would be worse than showing up to your Hobbit holiday, and realizing you actually have to be a Hobbit or similar to fit in the bed.

I am sure all of my Hobbit readers will be delighted with this post. I love my Hobbit readers, they are the basis of my whole blogging. Yes - that's you.

To book your Hobbit holiday, visit The Hobbit Motel web site.

I can no longer just say, trampoline since watching The Simpsons and hearing Homer call it a 'trampolamine' ..

Anyhoodle .. laugh your socks off with this one:

"Become Invisible!

This is NOT a toy or a magic trick!

This NOT an illusion or a Ninja technique"

Apparently the CIA and similar foreign agencies have finally decided that us common folk should benefit from their ability to become .. invisible!

About time I say.

I wonder how the CIA's invisibility techniques differ from the Ninja's techniques? Apparently they are different, according to the writers of this ... thing.

If you buy now, you get the free gift of 'The Wizards Book of Animal Secrets'. Where you can bring dead creatures back to life and learn how to command flocks of birds where ever you go.

All this for only $24.95. Must say - I am tempted ...

To harness your ability to finally become invisible, bring creatures back to life and to generally laugh hysterically .. go to The Secret of Invisibility web site.

I have always wanted to use the following phrase, although I have never had the opportunity. Drum roll ...

Oh snap (that's the phrase)! Sana Klaric and husband Adnan both secretly decided it would be a neato idea to look for companionship outside of their marriage, only to end up with each other.

After taking part in many in-depth online conversations as "Sweetie" and "Prince of Joy", the truth emerged when the two turned up for a date. Now the pair, from Bosnia, are divorcing after accusing each other of being unfaithful.

I guess it could go two ways:

So you would tell your knew online love that you will be the girl wearing the red dress at the local seedy pub. He would then tell you he would be holding the red rose. You both arrive and see each other.

Instantly, you fall in love again. With one passionate tongue pash all your marriage woes are forever in the past, you skip home together, hand in hand ... happily married for ever more.

That version is boring.

I would love to know what the exact exchange of words were the minute this couple met and realized how incredibly unfortunate they are (I mean that, in so many ways).

If only divorce procedures were done with a jury. I would fly to Bosnia and volunteer.

Yes - you read the title correctly, fig and paprika breast milk cheese.

A proud new father has taken the miracle of the birth of his child, to a whole new level. The New York bistro Chef and Owner is serving his wife's breast milk cheese to customers.

Here is a wonderful selection of quotes from an interview the Chef and his wife gave to the New York Post.

"It tastes like cow's-milk cheese, kind of sweet."

"I think a lot of the criticism has to do with the combination of sex and cheese, but . . . the breast is there to make food."

"Some people who clearly have issues have . . . e-mailed me saying, 'I wasn't breast-fed as a child, so can I taste your breast milk?"

Where should I start with this one? I'll make my opinion on this totally clear .. yuck, revolting, no thanks!

Cows milk has to be pasteurized to kill off all the germies (I think I just made that word up) and bacteria. Right? I would really like to see my breast milk go through the same process before consumption. Some how I get the feeling he doesn't have an industrial pasteurization plant in the back of his bistro.

Regardless - I don't even drink moo juice. If you are thinking 'Beccy, why don't you drink milk? It's SOOOO good for you!'. Then I suggest you read Milks Deception, although you will possibly send me hate mail once you read the article, as the thought of milk will most defiantly make you throw up a little.

There is a quote in the article from the Health Department stating; "The restaurant knows that cheese made from breast milk is not for public consumption, whether sold or given away." Why is this guy risking his whole lively hood, which supports this baby - on some stupid idea? The Health Department will shut that whole operation down and then some!

It's one thing to possibly experiment - although why he is broadcasting it to the world and giving interviews to the New York Post?

Let's see how fancy and cutting edge he thinks he is with his boob milk cheese once he is broke and without a roof over his head. The Health Department is coming!

We have two Jack Russell's. They are the loves of our lives. Jimbo is approx 7 years old (we adopted him when he was around 2), and Coco is almost 6 months old.

They sleep between us each night, they have a basket of toys, they go to the local pooch park each afternoon and I have a jar full of treats on the kitchen bench. They are loved and adored.

What else could I possibly do for them? Is there any other way that I could enrich their lives any further?

Apparently, yes. 'Sexy Beast' have released a limited edition $850 bottle of unisex perfume.

Eight hundred and fifty dollars.

Way to go Sexy Beast, now I feel like a really crappy dog owner. After having a look through the Sexy Beast web site - I hang my head in shame. My poor, under-appreciated dogs.

I would love to know how many units of this they have sold. I have a feeling Paris Hilton has 10 bottles.

I want it ... now!

Is it grilled cheese? Is it a cake??

Check it out ...


(BTW - it's a cake!)

As a professional wife, I am an expert on anything that goes on within the walls of my home. A black Playstation 3 resides under our television, so I must be an expert on that too.


The Good

Husbands can be annoying.

I, in particular enjoy phone calls at 10.30am questioning what will be served for dinner.

There is also the array of clothing articles and general mess that can be found around the house, tracking the path that your husband has walked since arriving home.

Husbands are messy, slightly whingey and think homes have an auto-pilot button that results in a sparkly, shiny home complete with a roast chicken on the table and baked goods in the oven.

In comes the Playstation 3! Husbands (any brand of husband!) are automatically drawn in by the sleek design, flashing lights and the explosive sound effects.

For a simple, quick fix to pesky husbands, purchase one Playstation 3 and at least three different games. My recommendations for suitable games would be: 1 that includes bombs or explosives, 1 that includes cars and 1 that has a sporty essence.

The Bad

Playstation 3's have the unfortunate side effect of turning your husband in to a mute, with selective hearing. Most important questions like 'Husband - did you pay the electricity bill?' will be answered with a grunt. Fortunately, Playstation 3's require electricity to function. So once the electricity provider has disconnected your supply, due to the bills not being paid, due to your husband spending every waking hour on the Playstation - you can be sure he will be really motivated to get it re-connected.

Even though husband waste such as clothing and food wrappers, will still be apparent - it is more condensed. Generally within a 1 meter radius of the preferred seating area for optimum Playstation 3 gaming action. I am still unsure if this is a good or bad aspect.

In general - your husband will become a vegetable. But, a quite vegetable at the very least.

The Bottom Line

If you like your husband at all, and enjoy any sort of contact with him that doesn't include vacant glares and grunts - never, ever - allow any Playsation of any variety to enter your home.

Once upon a time in the dark ages (circa 1990's), there was a little girl named Beccy who lived in Sydney, Australia - that's me.

America was a place that seemed so far away and so very distant. I remember watching some Back To The Future sequel. There was a scene when Micheal J Fox was flying / hovering about on a wheel-less skate board. I thought that was America. My Aunty and Uncle once had a trip to America and came back with the most amazing lollies. I thought that was the other part of America.

Crocodile Dundee is a movie that I have never watched. I think I have seen parts of it at the most. Although I was very aware that this was how the rest of the world perceived us. It has always disturbed me.

When I see an Aussie actor in a big budget American movie I get over excited. To me, this serves as proof that we aren't all considered to be outback bogans, who eat Witchetty Grubs.

Considering Aussie Actors making it in Hollywood is the only demonstration that I can find that serves as proof that we are finally more than occa bogans ...

I would like to present to you; the official 'Non Descriptive Stuff Blog' list of ...

"Australian Values - The Truth!"

• Our national hero is a bushranger (Ned Kelly) who ran around with a saucepan on his head.

• We're a tolerant society and if you don't understand that you can piss off.

• Australians take people as they find them. We only like to find them in particular places, however. England, for example.

• All Australians respect democracy. Except politicians.

• Australians have a deep respect for a wide diversity of European cultures such as English and American.

• Australia - and it's entire contents are the sole property of Rupert Murdoch - and we are ok with that.

• We only claim New Zelanders if they become famous. Other than that - we give them hell for their close working relationship with sheep, and generally refuse to have much to do with them.

• I'll just put this one right out there - I hate the beach! Hate it!

• We do not have Koalas and Kangaroo's as pets. We have to go to the Zoo to see them too.

• Dingo's do not eat our babies. Well, maybe only a small portion.

• And last but not least - we aren't taught how to play the didgeridoo in school.

I suffer from severe hair envy. It's an awful syndrome. Only thousands of dollars can cure me.

My day job doesn't permit me to enjoy and play with new styles, colours and scrunchies. I rock the still wet, chucked up in some sort of a bun - look.

Here are my obsessions. I honestly believe that if only I can obtain 1 of the following two obsessions then my life will be complete.



Obsession 1: The WEN Hair Care System

Gimme, gimme, gimme! I am obsessed with the infomercials. Once I obtain these products I am positive that I will become effervescent, beautiful and eternally happy.

Every night when I wash my hair with my crappy Garnier Fructis, I am totally aware of how the bubbles are just killing my hair vibe, thanks to the wisdom of Chaz Dean.

I have watched every review on You Tube, which all seem pretty darn good!

Has anyone else out there used it? Tell me your thoughts! This is going down on my birthday list (May 22, hint hint!)

Obsession 2: Great Lengths Extensions

This is where the thousands of dollars factor comes in to it.

I love the before and afters in the look book. My fav salon (that my wallet doesn't agree with) in Willoughby, Chameleon Hair Creators do Great Lengths.

I also like to stalk the Hair Extensions International Facebook fan page, waiting for a training session to come up (they use HEI). Because I consider myself to be a wonderful potential model. I throw a killer blue steel and magnum.

When I think Snickers, I think transvestites. Don’t you? It seems the advertising department at Snicker’s HQ had the stellar idea of associating chocolate, nuts and caramel with a bikini clad man.

I can’t help but wonder – what was the thought process? I am picturing a board room, a large oval mahogany table, 12 middle aged men in gray suits and navy ties, a jug of water with 12 empty glasses, a white board .. and, nothing but silence. How on earth did they get from there to here?

Here are my possible scenarios that resulted in this wonder of chocolate bar advertising;

A) The bikini clad man, is actually one of those men in gray suits with navy ties.
B) They are launching a new chocolate bar and wanted to totally turn the Snickers loving public right off Snickers bars, in hope everyone would focus their attentions on the new and less repulsive chocolate bar.
C) They hired a 14 year old boy to develop the campaign. Look out for the next Snickers ad which will include farts, burps and general toilet humor.

I am now pining for the good old days when they used to tell us how wonderful chocolate bars were for us. They give us so much energy! They helps us to work, rest and play! You would be so much cooler, if only you ate more chocolate bars (all the cool kids are doing it!). Don’t forget the fantastic nutritional benefits of all that calcium from the full cream milk.

Seriously – what does this ad have to do with being ‘really satisfied’? Who watches this add and then thinks ... ‘Yummmm ... Snickers!’? None of this makes any sense and I am really angry about it.

The ability to remain private and discreet on the internet is a wonderful thing. Why? I hear you ask? Because people can make complete twizzledicks out of themselves and we can spend a life time laughing at them.

I think I have sent the above post to about 70 of my closest friends. The response kills me each time. "Trust me, no one is going to comment that your penis is pointing the wrong way before you get in to the pool.".

Although would people literally think - 'hey, that guys penis is pointing the wrong way!'. Maybe the poster has actually considered the direction of other swimmers penis's. Do guys do this?

I wonder if this is a 45 year old male, forever scarred from school swimming carnivals where adolescent body's are put on parade subject to public appraisal from peers.

If this such a concern - why doesn't he just wear board shorts? Budgie smugglers are universally mocked. I fear this guy is a nerd. A real, true - nerd. Does he have to wear prescription goggles and ear plugs while he swims with his confused penis?

For your viewing pleasure, here is another fantastic Yahoo Answers question and another.

What says indulgence to you? A glass of red wine? A box of Lindt chocolates? Taking a long bath on cold winter nights while your husband/boyfriend plays the Playstation with the sub-woofer up so loud it makes the walls shake?

Well - girls, for me - nothing is more indulgent than stalking the seedy dark alley ways of eBay and bidding myself in to a storm for the latest OPI nail polish colours.

Why? I don't know. It's my thing. They are just so exciting. The colours, the way-cool names, the bargains, the bidding, the receiving, the painting and the admiring!

I dream of owning one of those massive stands that you see in your local fancy nail salon. The stands that have about 1 million OPI nail polish's proudly on display. I would like it in my lounge room. It could possibly take place of my husbands Playstation. How do I make this happen? I really need to know.

Why oh why, does anyone care about what bowel function Angelina Jolie had (or maybe did) today? Why on earth is she so news worthy? Why should I apparently care?

Every single night, once I have found a corner in my bed - between my Husband and our two Jack Russell's - I power up my Blackberry and religiously read Celebitchy. It is my all time favorite celebrity blog. I read every single post with glee, except for anything Jolie related.

Yes, I guess she is kinda drop dead beautiful. Yes she is rich, and yes she has managed to bed Brad Pit - but I am still unsure if she has any actual noteworthy personality.

I am still yet to read any compelling or semi interesting article on her. Every article seems to be fabricated from a paparazzi photo of a hair follicle out of place. Such a photo seems to result in headlines such as 'Angelia depressed, Brad moves out!' or 'Angelina admits she is a bisexual crazed work-a-holic-bot'.

I'm bored of you Angelina. Go and get trashed at a club, pash Johnny Depp and give me something interesting to read.