The rain hurts my forehead.

Grrr. Typing this from memory now cause my first attempt got eaten by a blogger eror when i tried to post. Death and pox to them!

Arrived back home this morning exhausted, crispy crittered, sore and achey with feet that screamed murderous thoughts at me...and a huge assed smile.

This weekend was Big Day Out. The boi and i booked a room in Surfers Paradise for a couple of nights, to avoid the early morning traffic jams down to the venue, and to have the luxury of crashing nearby instead of making the trek back after the show.

With a line up including The Chemical Brothers, The Donnas, The Beastie Boys, Slipknot, System of a Down, The Streets, Eskimo Joe, Bexta, and dozens of popular Aussie acts, it promised to be an intensive event.

I spent the week before slaving and sweating and cursing over the making of a pair of raver pants for the boi. I had forgotten just how intensely i hated fucking sewing machines. It all came rushing back about 5 minutes into said slavage. Black cotton, with red mesh panels down the outside of each leg, and red fur pockets. They look fucking spectacular now that they are done...but he came perilously close to waking up unpleasently at several points during their making, to find me astride his chest forcing reams of material down his throat while cackling gleefully "eat this, bitchboi!"

Combined with the red demon wings i bought a few months back (which he had initially wanted to modify before wearing cause they were too girlie) and his newly dyed blonde crewcut/red mohawk/sideburns/racing stripe down goatie hair job (also done by me...I should run a business!), he looked rather smashing.

Single men, make note; he could have been laid dozens of times over by cuties with great boobs has it not been for having me along. Pictures are available at a fee if you would like to copy the look.

My own raver pants/block gothic fairy wings/electric purple hair barely even registered on the scale next to the Complete Attention Whore that is my boyfriend.

We were however groped by random strangers, posed for pictures with people who found us particularly cool looking, and even posed upon request for Virgin Phone and The Bulletin, a local paper.

The wings made it a little hard to manouver in big crowds, so had to be removed for a few shows. But people even bowed! You think i'm joking.

We arrived at 10:30 am...and by midday the crowds had grown to the point that finding shade was next to impossible. I was grumpy and miserable. And the boi has the attention span of a toddler suffering ADD and hyped on speed (erm...the hypothetical toddler,that is, not the boi himself), making sitting in one spot impossible. Added to the oppressive crowd of 50,000 bodies was the fact that I am now positive that somewhere along the way something I did produced enough bad karma that I died and went to Hell. No one was nice enough to inform me of the fact, but Hell I am in, nonetheless. Fire and Brimstone is not THAT far a stretch from Tropical heat and unending home renno/housebitching, i tell ya! And the bastardly boi, who looked so ~right~ somehow in his devil wings is evil enough at times to make me wonder if he is not in fact my own personal Lucifer incarnate.

By late afternoon my skin had fried to the point where it had produced a thick crunchy outer layer and could not absorb anymore heat, and so things got a little better. By the time the sun went down entirely, and i could break out my shiney-things-that-go-whirr toys, i pulled a Jekel and Hyde and became one happy bunny indeed. Horay for raver toys! Three cheers for venues that make it ok for me to walk about with a delighted expression while totally entranced with the lights and vibrations of a toy pushed up against my own nose.

Shortly after the Beastie Boys we made our way out to the shuttlebus back into the city - and found that the party continued from there into the streets...so i got to indulge my people-watching fetish a while longer when we took to the street in search of food.

By the way, for anyone looking to spend a cheap weekend in Surfers, I reccommend The Islander Resort; its a combination hotel/backpakers hostel, convenient clean and cheap.

Took the train back into Brissy this morning, promply crahsed out for the afternoon, dragging my ass out of bed at 6. My body still hates me...but it was worth it.