Give me land, lots of land!

There are an astronomical number of ‘Buying Your First Home’ articles and fact sheets on the internet. They bubble over with information on mortgage brokers, stamp duty and government grants, but all of them fail to mention the abject terror that accompanies the whole concept.

Or maybe it’s just me.

Send me out to buy a car and I’m on fire. I’ll set my budget, throw down a list of features I need, research my butt off until I find a make and model that suits me, then go out and buy the damn thing.

This house thing is a whole new kettle of chickens. You can’t narrow houses into make and model. They’re all fricken different.  Every single goddamn one. It’s an horrific decision making process, made even more unnerving by the $300,000 that’s riding on it…..or maybe $280,000, or even $315,000 – who the hell knows? The price you pay is entirely dependent on your negotiating skills and your knowledge of the local property market.

Then I start to wonder whether I should build new instead of buying established, in order to take advantage of the $20,000 government bonus and save on stamp duty. Or maybe I should buy a house and land package. Or maybe just buy land, and sit on it while it appreciates in value. Then I glance around my perfect little unit with the ducted heating and light filled living space and decide I don’t want to go anywhere, what the hell am I thinking?

I don’t know how people do this. I’m about to have a mind haemorrhage.

On a positive note, my spending habits  have improved markedly over the last two months:

No more issues!

No more issues!

Yep, I’ve tripled my savings and halved my grog expenditure* – I shall be conducting nationwide seminars over the next six months sharing my secrets! You too can go from disco-loving booze-whore into homebound no-life spinster in no time at all!

I really wish I was as comfortable with property investment as I am with budgeting spreadsheets.


*Mostly because Drummer Boy turned out….er, like the rest of them. More on that next time folks.

I spend too much time watching Channel V.

Dear Katy Perry,

You’re not allowed to sing about TGIF. You know FUCK ALL about TGIF. You’re twenty-six years old, married to Russell Brand, live in a $6.5 million mansion and spend your week squawking nasally into a microphone while people tell you how much they adore you. You do not spend 50 hours a week pacifying angry creditors, reconciling inventory ledgers and facing the prospect of doing the same damn thing for the next 30 years in order to keep a roof over your head and food in your belly.  You don’t have a featherplucking clue about how grateful the rest of us are for 5pm on a Friday. Go to hell.

No, it doesn't make you relateable

Hello, I'm skinny and rich and JUST LIKE YOU!


Dear Beyonce,

If you’re so intent on exhorting that girls run the world, at least try to do so without writhing around in the dirt like an expensively dressed cat in heat. Don’t talk the talk if you can’t walk the walk, gurlfran.

Bad cat!

Who roll around in tiny outfits on this mutha? Girls!

Dear J-Lo,

You were voted People Magazine’s Hottest Woman, which should negate your compulsion to look like Beyonce.

Deja vu


Lots of love,