Twenty-nine Things To Achieve In My 29th Year


“Be more like Glen Coco” just missed out on the list.

  1. Rid the ‘toxic’ people in my life
  2. See the world
  3. Be a tourist in my own backyard
  4. Find a new TV addiction that doesn’t involve Matthew Gray Gubler
  5. Branch out of my current movie viewing genre of ‘Ryan Gosling is in it’
  6. Get a step closer to meeting Matthew Gray Gubler and Ryan Gosling
  7. Finally invest in a new TV as my current one resembles a Dalmatian
  8. Get through my never-ending stack of books
  9. Wear pink on Wednesdays
  10. Determine other ways to sneak in Mean Girls quotes and scenarios into my life
  11. Actually get to my goal weight
  12. Not gorge on pancakes like I did this morning
  13. Invest in a pair of Doc Martens
  14. Sell my clothes that are swelling in my loungeroom cupboard (Does anyone want to buy some clothes that are either whim purchases, size 12 or only fit on ladies that don’t have breasts?)
  15. Perfect cooking quinoa
  16. Get around to framing my collection of Frankie posters
  17. Do a juice detox and pray that it doesn’t activate a reaction similar to what happens during a colonic irrigation
  18. Not stack it during circuit training
  19. Run once a week, other than during circuit training
  20. Expand my character onesie collection and learn to pronounce the correct Japanese terminology
  21. Get around to watching Dawson’s Creek in it’s entirety and maybe forgive James Van Der Beek for torturing my Matthew in Criminal Minds
  22. Turn up to Supernova in full cosplay regalia
  23. Not get distracted by animals
  24. Cull my handbags…AGAIN
  25. Monogram things in my wardrobe
  26. Get back into my habit of purchasing a new release CD a week and reunite myself with my one true love – music
  27. When times are tough, remind myself that if Britney Spears can get through her nervous breakdown, so can I
  28. Try and appreciate the later seasons of The Simpsons
  29. Not wake up the morning after my 29th birthday party with the Pompeii of hangovers

Fudging Hell!

It’s official. I can perfect a dish. While I may not be a Masterchef, in fact a former housemate once remarked that I could burn water, I apparently can make a mean fudge. The last few months, my workplace has been conducting a staff-only “bake off” to raise funds for our Christmas party (pending alcoholism is a fantastic charity). Whilst standing at the checkout of my local Woolworths, I found a fool-proof and simple fudge recipe that requires about three or four ingredients, a brownie tray and the chilling power of a well-known whitegood.

The sheer beauty of this recipe is you can alter it to suit your taste buds. Nuts can give it a crunch (unless you’re like me and hallucinate after having a peanut M&M). Fruit and biscuits will give a twist on the black forest classic. Hey, you could even do a fudge version of the Rocky Road! My favourite option is what I have dubbed, “The Rainbow Sugar Hit” with Clinkers and marshmallow. Come on, the world is your fudge shop!


400g dark cooking chocolate (use the block stuff), chopped coarsely

400g light condensed milk

200g of your preferred mix in


1. Chop up your ingredients. Fudge cooks quickly so make sure you are armed and ready to prevent stuff sticking.

2. Put a large saucepan onto low heat, and prepare a fair-sized baking tray (not too shallow, not too deep) with baking paper lining.

3. Combine the chocolate and condensed milk until it has melted and blended in together.

4. QUICKLY place your mix-ins into the saucepan and fold it through with a spatula. Don’t spend too long mixing or you risk things melting and ruin the effect.

5. Distribute evenly into the baking tray, making sure it goes to the edge.

6. Place in the fridge and leave for 2 1/2 to 3 hours. That should give you time to watch a Quentin Tarantino movie, go to the gym for a decent session, or watch four or five episodes of Criminal Minds, replaying any scene where Dr Spencer Reid shines in his Dr Reid glory. But not any Lord Of The Rings movies. You potentially run the risk of having hard fudge. It should be gooey, not like a freaking frozen Violet Crumble.

7. Remove from the baking tray and place onto a chopping board. Now cut into bite-sized pieces and taste the awesomeness!



In the last ten or so years, Australian television has become involved in the greatest program war ever witnessed since Neighbours Vs Home & Away saga of the late 1980’s-early 1990’s. Yep, it’s the breakfast television war. Every weekday morning, we are faced with ongoing conflict. Who do we eat our Conn Flakes with? Is it with the glorified financial adviser buffoon that is David Koch? Or the night-before antics of Karl Stefanovic? Of course there are other options. However these are the two main players of this war, the Hitler and Churchill. This is my take.

Awkward family photo.



THE HOSTS: David “Kochie” Koch and whoever has replaced Melissa Doyle

It is thanks to the producers of this show that we have this god-awful “news-tainment” movement. It all began when Kochie filled in for prolific journalist Chris Reason and demanded a white board. Had Channel 7 not caved in with this pathetic request we would not have to listen to his rants about superannuation that only he seems to have a clue on and comparing Evermore to Coldplay and Groove Armada (yes, this happened and thus began the rise and fall of this Kiwi version of Hanson). Gone was expert analysis of the overnight headlines and Walkley-winning journalism. It was good morning to mimed live performances, endless cross-promotion and a cringe-worthy rendition of “Where Is The Love?” featuring star-wipes and a pre-PM Kevin Rudd rapping with pre-Shadow Treasurer Joe Hockey.

WHY SHOULD I WAKE UP WITH SUNRISE?: Larry Emdur occasionally fills in. Other than that, view with caution and keep the Wikipedia page for superannuation open. Unless you are my parents and you cannot change the channel.

WHY SHOULD I TUNE OUT?: David Koch. That should be enough reason.

The soberest Karl has ever been.



THE HOSTS: Lisa Wilkinson and Karl Stefanovic

Today was the nation’s preferred wake up call, along with Blend 43 and All Bran and the side-effects of this concoction. Then along came Kochie and his whiteboard. Despite the attempts to remain on par and catch up with their new competition, viewers were turning away in droves. In the last few years, ground has been regained, however they are still viewed as the cheesy impostor. The Promite to Sunrise’s Vegemite. The Pepsi to Sunrise’s Coke. The Dick Smith version of Tim Tams to the real deal. You get my point. However, Today has produced television gold. Who remembers the post-Logies show when Karl turned up to work drunk? And the morning of Michael Jackson’s death when Richard Wilkins falsely declared the death of Jeff Goldblum? And more recently, the “Furt” name saga? No wonder viewers are turning back this stalwart.

WHY SHOULD I WAKE UP WITH TODAY?: Karl may turn up to work drunk again.

WHY SHOULD I TUNE OUT?: I cannot trust Lisa Wilkinson. This is the woman who destroyed the greatest marketing gimmick and sexual awakenings of Australian women with the removal of the Cleo centrefold. The woman who married a grown man who insists on wearing a red doorag with the Brad Goodman-esque notion of, “I do what I feel”. I also fail to see the reporter credentials of someone who hosted an 80’s music quiz show that nobody remembers and became an international joke thanks to Stephen Colbert.

If you know who these guys are, please let me know so I can stop calling them old mate.



THE HOSTS: Two journalists whose names I cannot recall at this point in time

This is a recent addition to the breakfast television war. And this should be the only news-worthy breakfast program Australians should watch. It is unbiased with no tacky cross-promotion for some flash in the pan reality show. It is comprehensive, covering local, national, and international stories. The real winner, however, is the look at the national headlines and constant coverage of the NT News and their front-page crocodile stories.


WHY SHOULD I TUNE OUT?: Some mornings the NT News doesn’t publish killer crocodile stories.


So what are my other options in the morning, I hear you ask. Sadly guys, unless you want to watch 30 minute infomercials on pillows and vacuum cleaners, in this post-Agro and Cheez TV world, there are no other options. If you have little ones, maybe ABC2 will have Peppa Pig on. Or perhaps you prefer the stylings of SBS and whatever foreign news they have. So who are we to blame for this onslaught of three hours of crap?



This is essentially the only thing to wake up to in this PC world that would find Agro’s cracks offensive. Two guys, a sign language girl and Pokemon. If Network 10 are reading this (I doubt they will be but a girl can dream), this is how you can win the ratings war. And you will have my word that I won’t be the only Australian relying on this as my wake up call.


40 ‘Mean Girls’ Quotes That Make Everyday Life Worth Living

While I am struggling with writer’s block, I’m putting every single one of these pearlers from the GREATEST MOVIE EVER into daily use.

Thought Catalog

Quoting Mean Girls isn’t just a sport. It’s a national pastime. Mean Girls is how we make sense of the world, giving the chaos of the universe a recognizable template by which to understand it. More than any writer of her age (and I’m serious), Tina Fey has changed the ways that young people speak and interact with each other, introducing lovely new phrases into the vernacular like “fetch” and “that’s not a thing.” If I had to go an entire day without using a Fey-ism, I don’t know if I could do it. Tina Fey gives me life. She is my reason for being.

With that in mind, I compiled a list of my most-used Mean Girls quotes, in no particular order. This list is in no way an objective compilation, and you may find that your favorite quips vastly differ from mine. That’s one of the great things…

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The Unlucky One (or How I Learned to Stop Hating Nicolas Sparks’ Concept of Love and Stuff)

I am convinced that my love life resembles a Taylor Swift record. If I have to be more precise, her last record which is apparently about John Mayer/Jake Gyllenhaal/the loser from One Direction that all the girls go goo goo gaa gaa over*. One minute I am smitten and BANG, I am sulking because the relationship has imploded like Amanda Bynes’ career. I’ve gone from reinacting the scene in 500 Days Of Summer where Joseph Gordon-Levitt’s character is going crazy Broadway-style to crying while listening to a certain Gotye song in a nanosecond. While girls I’ve gone to school with are getting married and starting families, I am still waiting for the one. And frankly, I am sick of waiting and I refuse to lower myself and sign up to a dating website. I had my former housemates (who no longer talk to me because I am single, but that’s another story) sign me up to and it was an epic fail.

What is this elusive concept of The One, I hear you ask? You’re asking the wrong person. That’s something I am still trying to determine. Romance authors would have you believe that love appears out of nowhere. It goes away for an undisclosed period of time and at some random moment; you are reunited and make out in the middle of a monsoon and…I have totally ripped off The Notebook. But the point is, is love a concept that I will never encounter? Or has media blown a simple privilege out of proportion and built up my expectations? Importantly, should I stop daydreaming about Ryan Gosling making out with me in the rain?

I believe my notions of love are different to those popular culture would have you believe. My future husband would have to make me laugh. Bring me homemade (and potentially gluten free) cookies unexpectedly. Be prepared to sit through a Ryan Gosling movie (Drive is pretty blokey and gruesome). Sing me the theme song to Family Ties whenever I am down. Be prepared to wear pyjamas as outside wear. Even better, we can wear matching onesies. If Hannah and Adam can do it in Girls, so can Mr Imaginary Boyfriend and me. That’s the start of it. Essentially, make me feel like the luckiest woman in the world.

At the rate I’m going, it’ll never happen. I’ll be listening to “I Knew You Were Trouble” and noting the similarities between me and Tay Tay’s love life for a little while longer. It took Liz Taylor like ten marriages or some other ridiculous amount and she never still found it. Some people will die happily single. Like my “Uncle” Jim, family friend who meant the world to me and my brother. He died a bachelor and it didn’t faze him one bit. My brother didn’t meet his fiancée until he hit his mid-thirties. I am not going to settle for anyone like Paris Hilton does. They have to be pretty freaking awesome.

Or, they could be this guy here.


Get in my pants, Dr Reid.

Apologies to any former love interests and One Direction fans. Please don’t send me death threats.

*I am preparing for the onslaught of hate mail from One Direction fans as we speak. Besides, Hanson, New Kids On The Block, Backstreet Boys and N*Sync were and are much better.

Thorpey says it’s fully sick

It’s Sunday morning in the Land of Pam. A typical Sunday morning will consist of two activities that will never coexist. One is that I will be at my gym concentrating on reaching the unrealistic goal of obtaining a box gap whilst being surrounded by men fighting over the leg press. The other activity is that I will be lamenting a hangover brought on by the lethal combination of cider, vodka and lack of common sense. This morning is different. I am struggling to remain seated and having a worse struggle to breathe though my nose.

Pretty sure the flu has claimed another victim. Me.

Who knows how I obtained it. Oh that’s right, I work in retail and a customer (or customers) has breathed on me, thus transferring their disgusting germs and making me sick. The point is, whenever I am sick I start whining like a country music singer and I sound like Snuffleufagus and Fran Drescher’s love child (what gender is Snuffleufagus, anyway?). Doctor waiting rooms are hell to me. Surrounded by children who haven’t been brought up to cover their mouth when coughing (and adults who partake in the same, disgusting behaviour) and copies of New Idea from when Brad Pitt was married to Jennifer Aniston as the doctor runs an hour late. I’m worse than a male with a case of Man Flu. Pam Flu is a pandemic that needs to be eradicated.

I’m hoping it’s a 24 hour thing and sleep will soothe the symptoms. It’s unlikely at this rate. Now excuse me while I blow my nose…….

I Wish I Knew How To Quit You, Sugar


My name is Pamela and I am a sugar addict.

Sugar is like Ryan Gosling, super sweet to look at and does tasty things to my mind. While sugar can’t take their shirt off and have Emma Stone convinced they are photoshopped, consuming them makes me feel better about myself. At times, especially when combined with red food colouring, it will make me hypo. But let’s face it I have the worst sweet tooth and it needs to be removed from my mouth. After Easter of course, that is cruel to deprive someone of the sugarman during the most fattening time of the year (after Christmas and the season finale of Offspring). Think of all the amazing products comprising of sugar. Coffee. Soft drink. Chocolate. Any creation Adriano Zumbo has thrown at Masterchef contestants as a form of torture. Apparently Boost Juice is full of it too but we won’t tell the fitspo blogs that.

ImageSo why do sugar and I need to drift apart and in the words of Taylor Swift, never ever ever get back together? Simple. The last eight or nine months I have been doing a complete overhaul. In an attempt to lose weight and get abs/buns of steel/a box gap I have been doing a lot of changes. I quit bumming cigarettes off hot guys whilst drunk. I stopped drinking beer. Stopped spending lunch breaks at the carvery downstairs from work gorging on lasagne and chips. But in seriousness, I have made a permanent commitment to my health. I made friends with salad. Kale, quinoa and I are besties. I’m in the process of cutting out gluten (having my brother diagnosed with Crohn’s just before Christmas was a big deciding factor). I’m slaving away at the gym for more than an hour four to five times a week and I have a punishing, yet amazing personal trainer who is transforming me into the stronger, fitter woman I am today. If Lorna Jane need a new ambassador, get me on board.

The one thing I have left to do is the hardest. Essentially, I don’t think I can do it. Hello, I am the queen of cakes!!! What else are we supposed to have for birthdays and weddings? It’s not the same giving little Jack and Ava carrot sticks when they come trick or treating. Saying “I love you” with celery doesn’t have the same effect as a giant box of those chocolate marble sea shell thingys that look so 90’s yet are deliciously delicious. And we may as well scrap the dessert menu if we cut out sugar. I just don’t think I can do it.

In the meantime, I’m better off cutting down my intake of the white refined powder. I’m using Natvia in my morning coffee, I just that’s a significant change from the two teaspoons of white sugar I did have for years. And there’s heaps of places now selling gluten-free, vegan-friendly desserts. Southside Tea Room at Morningside in Brisbane’s inner-south have a fantastic range and I highly recommend their red velvet whoopie pies. Genki Cafe, a popular cafe situated in my hometown of Palm Beach, have started specialising in raw cheesecakes. Surprisingly better than the baked and fat-ladden ones I indulged in on a regular basis. But I can’t bear the thought of ditching the pre-menstrual block of Cadbury Snack and the occasional Killer Python.

Sorry body, but sugar is here to stay. You got used to the wine, harden up and enjoy the shitloads I will be consuming over the Easter break.


PS. My friends’ band British India (the pictured victims of a rainbow explosion) have realised a new album – “Controller” – which is available at decent music stores and through iTunes. This is a genuinely fantastic recording and I absolutely recommend it. Support Australian music and buy a copy. Then buy another copy for your parents. Then one for your siblings. Do a Pay It Forward-style scheme but involve this CD instead. They’re also touring over the next couple of months so you should consider checking them out.

I Ain’t Got The Power

A certain electricity provider (who shall remain nameless or else my next blog entry will be from a holding cell) is ruining my life.


You may ask, “How is a utility that provides a service enabling you to live in this modern era ruining your life?” Well, quite easily –  they send me bills at the most inappropriate times of the year. Inappropriate being when I have excessive birthdays/weddings/bar mitzvahs to attend. Inappropriate being when I’m snowed under with other bills and because I cut up my credit card I can’t rely on that payment source. Inappropriate being Christmas. Seriously, who in their right mind decides to send a power bill due CHRISTMAS EVE. That’s right, the Grinch disguised as a private entity that consumes money more than Gina Rinehart swims in hers Scrooge McDuck-style (that is actually a really disturbing image). This weekend I’ve had to break into my piggy bank to buy milk and vegetables while my peers are partying or shopping or leading a life. Thanks power company.

You see, this business and I have a volatile relationship rivaling that of Rihanna and Chris Brown’s, minus the “I love you even though you bashed the shit out of me” stuff. They love me so much and are so understanding of my financial situation that I have been placed on a “short billing cycle”. I’m sorry, but perhaps if you didn’t send me a power bill due on Christmas Eve we wouldn’t have this problem. Yes, we don’t need to buy Christmas presents for our loved ones, attend end of year functions and buy tickets to travel back home. We can spend that money on bills.

I mentioned the fact that this power supplier hates me to someone the other week and their suggestion was to pay money off each week. Sadly it’s like how one doesn’t simply walk into Mordor. Perhaps they shouldn’t send customers bills at Christmas and Easter, but of course common sense prevails in this case. Give customers some leniency if they pay their bill a couple of days late, not send out a threatening letter typed in capitals on bright red paper informing people that they’re going to cut off supply and hit them with a late fee. Oh no, that’s too easy.

The good news for them is that the bill will be paid two days early. The bad news is that I have to live off kidney beans and the gluten-loaded pasta for a couple of days. The worse news is that Sportsgirl have a 30% off sale and I have nothing to wear.

Here I Go Again On My Own…

A couple of months ago I was having lunch at my parents’ house. Now conversation is typically limited to (a) the weather, (b) last night’s news fluff piece or (c) the time my older and once accident-prone brother had to be rushed to the emergency ward after pretending to be a bird. It turned to me and namely my career. While my ultra-awesome parents are accepting of my life choices (other than the ’emergency’ loans and credit card usage if you define the emergency as a Sportsgirl sale), I must admit they do worry. Dad made mention of my writing interest when I was little and how my experiences and views could help, shape and influence people. I’m not sure how inappropriate Silverchair fan fiction and a version of The Three Bears loosely resembling an episode of Blue Heelers could inspire strangers. But you know what, he may be onto something.

In over a quarter of a century, this little black duck has learned a lot. Lessons ranging from the typical hot stove = burns scenario faced as a child to the alcohol experimentations reaching the inevitable bucket-reaching conclusions. That is why people write…to influence and educate the community. Other than the .1% that only write because Carrie Bradshaw did it but who cares about them. I’m hoping that this blog account does my dad proud, meaning that he will have to go to a website other than eBay.

I promise to update this as regularly as possible. I can promise you that this won’t become one of those wanky food blogs. I despise them with a passion and they make me hungry and annoyed as I never get free meals resembling the latest issue of Gourmet Traveller. While I’m at it, don’t get me started on fashion blogs. How come whenever I pull off an awesome outfit there are no professional photographers around? And to make things worse, it’s always designer outfits and probably free. I can assure you my blog won’t turn into either of those.

In closing, greetings interweb friends and strangers!