I made a dumb list in my notes and Daphne Zheng (Craccum’s Illustrator Editor 2018-present) has peer pressured me to put it into print. How exaggerated is this list? Is it even truthful? Who knows, but I hope it’s a good read for all the horny students out there.
Living with 6 other people means that I constantly live in fear that I might get gastro. How long has that stain on the one chopping board we share been there for? When was the last time we wiped down the benches? Thankfully we’ve recently pulled it together and have made a chores list. The internal warmth from seeing a clean kitchen is such a beautiful thing. A giant orgy of teamwork that has led to divine cleanliness. Heavenly.
Slime videos and ASMR can rollover for the superiority that is soap cutting videos. The moment the tiny soap squares hit the table is pretty satisfying, both visually and aurally. There’s a reason my explore page on Instagram is full of these. An endless hole of boxcutters and soap. Nice.
Nothing gets me more revved up than a boss giving me praise. No matter how generic, the combination of affirmation and unwavering eye contact from someone who has so much power than you is … incredible. Seniority is hot. Who knew?
Whether it’s in my own or someone else’s, there is such a weird intimacy to it. It’s probably because its combination of two sensitive areas of the body. However, I would also like to think it’s because of the tension between the possibility of having someone’s fingers bitten off or a whole hand shoved down their throat. Steamy.
Nothing turns me on more than a responsible parent. You can only be horny if you’re alive and free of the measles, mumps and rubella. The only thing that will scratch this non-chicken pox itch is having someone acknowledge that herd immunity is important and that vaccines won’t “give you autism”. I rest my case. Thank you for coming to my TED talk. And please check your immunisation status.
This warms my cold, cold heart like nothing else. Whether this is coming from friends, family or even strangers, the fuzzies are unbeatable. Maybe I’m not so insignificant after all.
It can be a crunchy Jazz apple or a peach that is on the brink of being too ripe – that first bite is absolutely magical. The subtle vibrations and tingles in my jaw from biting down on a crunchy apple is sometimes the highlight of my day. I’ve missed the Jazz apple for the past few months. I can’t seem to find any at the local supermarket. There’s only SweetTango and Gala. Despite all the marketing, SweetTango does not stand up to the greatness that is the Jazz apple. The crunch is lacklustre, and the skin is a bit of the thick side. I rest my case.
Just as summer is slowly fading away, so are the stone fruit that provide such a luscious feed. It’ll probably be another 10 months until I can feel peach juice dripping down my wrist so I can then lick it back up again. Stay juicy.
Unresolved maternal issues? Or a recurrent joke about how much Daphne froths over Cate Blanchett? You decide.
It’s that moment when I lock eyes with a giant slab of salt in someone’s bedroom at a mediocre Auckland flat party that I realise I’m trapped. Trapped in my own vortex of temptation. In my defence, I’ve only done it a few times. I’ve yet to be caught doing such an indecent act.
I don’t know when I started, or when my first time was. Maybe it was all those years spent in Lynnmall perusing the hippie shop that sold dream catchers, lit-up fountains, and giant salt lamps. The forbidden whisper from rosy pink and amber blocks has been calling me ever since.
I think what keeps drawing me back is the adrenaline rush I get from having the door open as I attempt the cheeky taste test. I know I’ve outed myself on a public platform, but nothing can keep me from living my truth. Empowerment.
Anybody and anything. Even a simple cool breeze will do. I’m a sensitive lady.