Mother clucking surf's up (metaphorically....no actually, not even metaphorically. Damn it!)

'Mother fucking surf's up'

- Moses Gun Collective

Well no, not for me. For as you see i have made the rash decision to continue living in Switzerland. No not Sweden as most people tend to confuse. Sweden is the country full of beautiful gene pools, Switzerland is the chocolate land, you know, Lindt and all that.

So I'm here. Living in a landlocked country where snow is imminent.

After spending summer in the States frolicking with the corrupted youth of over consumption and ponies (seriously) i had planned to cheat my allotted summer time and make a hast return to Australia for yet another summer. But alas! Things never turn out as planned. 

Summer has been traded in for frost bite and hypothermia in a country with no beach, no surf, no ocean.

Already, in autumn, the weather has dropped below anything my tender Australian body is used to and the baffled claims of the natives 'it's not even winter yet!' makes me think that i may not be as prepared as need be. I mean it's a good thing i have all my summer clothes that i will be in no way needing with me, but it's ok, i just knitted myself a scarf. It's red.

For someone who spent a who year of her life avoiding the sun like the plague (a whole other story), getting used to this wouldn't seem so hard. But courtesy of the forever present reminders that summer is a-coming for my fellow Australia's, the transition is proving to be.......hard for nostalgic sake.

I am not able to give up summer yet, my stubborn brain won't allow me. It is so set on the idea of bare legs and floral prints i even managed to get in a few last days of wearing shorts. Mind you, the other city walkers where stunned, 'What is this? A girl wearing shorts? This can't be right.....summer is over..'

Summer is over when i fucking say it's over. And right now i'm not ready to let it go.

For now, the indoors will have to shelter me and my scantly clad body from the cold.

Summer, my love, please don't leave me. 

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Boss Bunny

Todays tunes:

Kick it to his others.

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Walk in the forrest leads to George Michael revelation

Today i found myself surrounded by beautiful serene visage.
I had grown tired of my tedious German homework and decided to take a stroll through the neighbouring woods (hopefully would stumble across a few potential instagram moments, because well, isn't that why we do things nowadays?)
It was here, walking through the soggy leaves, hoping to come across some epic unusual assemblage of  fungi to instagram that i actually came across something completely different.
I came across my love for George Michael.
Yes, you read correct.
George Michael and all his tight jean wearing, hair gel smoothing and unobtainable sexy goodness.
Yes, i had a lovely time walking through nature but the best part of the whole venture was the dancing and jigging through the trodden paths despite the concerned eyes of the occasional swiss hiker.

George Michael is a boss. I don't care if you disagree, you're just haters.

Before i go out for a night on the town trawling for men do you know what i do? I fucking listen to some George Michael. Do you know why? Because you can't put on 'Faith' and not bop around and get in the mood for some sort of mischief. It's impossible. If you somehow find that you can resist, then you are obviously some kind of half human half robot species that NASA was experimenting on for prevailing lifespans around the time you were born. Ask your parents.
His songs are sexy. They make you feel sexy, even if you are the most uncoordinated and grace void person there is (me).

So todays life lesson: get onto some George Michael tunes if you need a little internal sex-appeal boost because i'll tell you what, between his days in WHAM! (when the ladies were lining up) and his solo career (when the men were flocking) this guy has had more sex than the entire Big Brother line-up of every season, of every country, ever. Think about it. Slutty people tend to be on that show.

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