Seeking Sheriff’s Of The Reef…..


Dearest Beloved,

It is I and I have to admit, I have missed you all.

For those who have not read my last post, I do apologise for the distance or rather the quietness that has been happening of late. However for those who did read it, I felt that it was time to take my crown, strut my shit and welcome the new beginning for March and the end of February.  The apron strings that once held a Mother and Daughter are two separate individuals but still have that bond.

Yes Lois. I am talking about you honey!

A round of an applause for yours truly for actually posting another blog in the same month as there have been a few months with only one. Thanks.

I can thank my girl Bey, boys Jay Z, Drake and the most delicious as always; Jamie Foxx for providing the music and entertainment along with the random text messages. These have been essentially the fuel, having been added to the already smouldering pile of twigs and now we have a fire, let’s starting cooking.

I have spent the last few weeks attending to family matters as some of you may know, saying my last respects and taking some of the most incredible pictures. I even managed to squeeze in a little time with a Lady T and Master S to attend O Week/day at my new college of choice.

Only then did I discover my college is not exactly on flat ground but rather it has too many stairs to list. With this, Mummy is going to put in her request that by the end of my now four (?) year degree of nursing, my arse will resemble something that is toned along with my thighs and that my arse will no longer be described as “womanly”.

But then who I am seriously kidding? I know right, I smell bullshit too.

My family, friends and Lady Blacksnot all know that when I walk past Bread Top from campus most nights after pulling a late, I may have to ‘accidently’ pop in for a donut. Lo and behold, trying naan bread followed up by a custard donut and a litre of water. This girl is in love with Bread Top and the thought of one being within a twenty minute bus stop from campus; shove over Botanical Gardens with your amazing eels, Bread Top may be winning the internal debate.

However I can officially say that there is one thing that I dislike about Brisbane. The fact is although I have at ten minute drive to Bread Top, my addiction to amazing Asian delights may eventually lead me to rehab. Or introducing myself in third person with: “Hi, my name is Scarlett and I am addicted to Bread Top” at BTA which stands for: Bread Top Anonymous.

Along with the idea that I am now suffering from a bout of Hayfever thanks to the smog but otherwise; I am still alive so I should quit complaining.

However, Brisbane has many things that out way the cons and can be seen as pros. The fact that I can catch a bus to the Botanical Gardens and have lunch with the eels; I have Lady Blacksnot, who is willing to (re)teach me how to hold my alcohol without becoming the socially inappropriate woman that yells out compliments.

While I (re)teach her that men are not scary unless they make your skin crawl, you feel disgusting and like you are in need of a bleach shower.

Another pro about living in Brisbane is that you have the opportunity to be in a larger dating pond. Which means in simple terms for those: I ain’t dating your ex/ 2nd cousin, twice removed, who dated your sister/friend/cousin, slept with her cousin and I wake up with crabs. Oh, snap!

As most people my age are either in a serious, long term relationship, the only girls on the dance floor who are about to break out their dance moves to ‘Single ladies’, are exactly that.  Single ladies.  However, you may be lucky to come across a rare breed in the herd.

So while you are flashing your wedding finger while glaring at him, Jay Z gets the idea in his head to put dat ring on your finger gurl. So then when his bitch accidently flashes her hand while stroking her hair, her friends start squealing and scream “Oh my God! He didn’t!

No seriously, he did!

I would just to say from a stranger’s point of view: my ears are already hurting from the imaginary sounds and I am in need of a strong liquid substance. Also, we have only been secretly waiting for the last six years for him to man up, grab his balls from his back pocket, put them back into his body and actually ask you; ‘Yo, Bey. Will you like, be my wifiez?”

Might I also add that your Dad hasn’t thought that he was man enough and that he has been slowly saving up, to buy Jay Z a plot of land. No way bitch; is it for a house.

Girl, are you nuts and don’t you remember that your Dad carries a set of knives on him and you are clearly not remembering how your Mum met Jay Z. Mhm, point exactly. That plot of land is not for a house but rather for a 6×6 holiday home. Than your song will be ‘Drunk In Love’ while you sway across the floor, clutching that bottle of wine.

What up favourite song reference!

And then there is me.

I am the person that some people would describe as the bitterly twisted, damaged spinster friend that they feel awkward asking out because I am the odd one out in a group mainly based on couples. While others would describe me as the semi kick back after calculating the pros and cons of life, while picking delicious little fishes I should catch and if not up to legal size; throw back into the fish pond until another day.

Have to admit over the past few years that my tastes in fishes have changed, ages have varied and species of fish but one thing stays the same. The desire to find the one that will be put into my oven with slices of lemon, a little drizzle of olive oil and let it bake in its own juices. Until it is the most perfect, juiciest, succulent and delish fish that I get to eat. And only I get to eat this fish because I am not a fan of sharing my fish.

This has proven my point of finding more fishes that I wish to try, look at and judge for which one would suit the oven dish. I have recently discovered as of a few weeks ago that if you change your address on a particular site, names shall be withheld for privacy reasons; you have a greater selection of fishes that are available for purchase from my local fish monger.

With this, I have discovered fish species I would never have thought I would want to purchase let alone them wanting to be brought. I have come across little clown fish that remind me of Marlin, Finding Nemo’s Dad.  Who most of the time I feel as if I am having to prep up their little bodies in and am positively the worst side-kick so I cannot be Dory at all. These cute little fishes will be caught by someone who likes fish like that and I wish the catching to be painless.

And since we are talking about discovering fish, I have come across fish that have strange names like Camouflaged stonefish and Tassled Scorpion stonefish who appeared to have be all cool in their little pools in the big water. But when you get close enough to see what they look up close, they turn out to be the biggest wankers for fish.

Along with the fact they are venomous and are carnivorous fish. So do I essentially want to take home a fish to cook; knowing full well that I could end up dying from this piece of shit fish?

Fuck off!

I would rather eat sushi that has been out for thirty minutes and take the chance of food poisoning. At least I can go to a hospital, claim food poisoning and get jabbed with something to stop the vomiting.

A win-win situation for myself because maybe I can coerce the nurse in allowing the practice of giving myself a syringe, so then I know if I am rough with patients while giving them one. Besides, who doesn’t love a little needle action every now and then because it makes you feel like you have just faced the grim death of pain?

So I continue browsing the shelves of various fish and we come across the squirrel fish, which all appear as if they have spent 20 minutes combing back their fins on top of their head. They could potentially be a good dish however you cannot help but sit there and stare like they are completely whacked in the head while thinking, “What the fuck do you seriously look like?”

Mhm, thanks but I cannot imagine eating a fish that has a better hairstyle then myself and will probably demand that I stare into their glassy little eyes and declare myself; too them and only them.

During this time while still browsing, I meet fishes like the Bulldog Stargazer. Who appear too look like a bunch of bulldogs, cute at first but then they expect me to preheat the oven 20 minutes before slipping them in. While waiting, they then expect me to bathe them in a few cartoons of beer because the footie is on and they ever so charming say, “prop me up on the tray, will ya love?”

If I happen to step away too quickly or don’t supply enough beer; watch out because the bulldog’s teeth will tear off your finger and hello A&E.

However after hours and hours of searching the fish mongers, I come across the section that sells Swordfish. I like these fish as they remind me of the Sherriff of the reef. From where I stand, I can appreciate the game of ‘come and catch me’ they play with fisherman but also when/how they chose the appropriate time to be conquered.

The sword fish or rather Sherriff of the reef is a fish that uses the power they have, as a means of defence and know when to attack when necessary. For this, they are the type of fish that I am attracted too and would eventually like to bring home to roast with lemon slices in my baking tray, however my hands and stomach need coffee first.

So I like Brisbane very much as I have a wider variety of fish ponds to circle around in, places to see and people new and old to meet. Now, hopefully following that last statement; I might actually talk to someone in my lecture tomorrow and not be rude. However, please do not let me sit next to the lady who bounced her leg nonstop for two hours as it was quite hard trying to write or be smacked in the back of the head with a massive arse tote bag that I swear housed a dead body and dictionary.

Have a great weekend.

Until Next Time,


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