dearest mumma

dearest mumma,

mother’s day has rolled around once again, like we needed a day to tell you how much we love you. for you to know how much we love you.

today is our 989th day without you.

there are so many words i have tried to write. nothing… nothing works.

i miss you in everything i do. i think of you always.
even in the most inappropriate of times.

this happened once (but not for too long, thankfully), and had to laugh to myself. i could imagine what you would have said.

‘yeah kel he’s hot.’
‘i’d let him do me.’
‘try before you buy.’
‘can’t fuck a personality.’
a woman after my own heart, and probably the foremost reason i am so goddamn picky.

for so long i felt like i couldn’t live my life properly. i didn’t want to live my life properly. how could i truly be happy if you were no longer around? i realised how stupid this was.
do not ever feel guilty about being happy. that was all i ever asked for, all i will ever want.

i lost a couple of good years to grief. one day i woke up and you popped into my head, what the fuck are you so scared of? you’re not the dead one ya dickhead. live your life for no one else but yourself.

are you really not here anymore? is this not just a dream? some stupid, fucked up nightmare that i’ll get to wake up from, in august 2013, and re-do life with you by my side?

my dearest mumma,

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

you da man roz




i’ve self-proclaimed myself a baking QUEEN! just kidding, i am a baking not-queen? not sure what word to use. i thought it would be fun to branch out and write a RECIPE blog post for u (i am also majorly procrastinating an assignment worth 65%) (haha i’m so screwed haha lol). if u love scones, n ur fucked if u don’t, here’s an easy peeeezy lemon squeeeezy recipe for u.

– 3 cups self raising flour
– 80g butter
– 1.25 cup milk

now i do recommend using self raising flour that has been recently bought. i kid u not, i don’t think the self raising flour we have in our pantry has been bought by anyone other than mum…….haha lol so that’s a solid 2 and a half years ago.

i also recommend actually using butter because i used margarine and it was messy as fuck and probably not what was supposed to be used

i also recommend measuring the milk and not just pouring in however the fuck much you want

u will see reasons for recommendations later

step 1.
preheat oven to 200 degrees celsius. (where do u get the lil circly thing on a keyboard?) LIGHTLY dust a flat baking tray with flour. (i may have put flour all over the floor because i got too excited) sift self-raising flour into a bowl.

step 2.
using your fingertips, rub butter into flour until mixture resembles breadcrumbs. (this one i didn’t fuck up)

step 3.
make a well in the centre. add 1 cup of milk (like i said – actually measure it). mix with a flat-bladed knife until mixture forms a soft dough, adding more milk if required. turn onto a lightly floured surface and knead gently until smooth (don’t knead dough too much or scones will be tough. don’t not knead dough enough because dough will be fucked).

step 4.
see this is where ur supposed to do some weird shit with making it actually look all scone-like, but by this point i was annoyed so i just rolled them into lil balls and put them on the tray. put them in for probably like 15-20 mins i dunno i just pulled them out when i was hungry

voila! bread-balls. they actually tasted alright when i smothered them with granny’s homemade jam. i also had a lot of fun dipping the scone into the jam because it made a sound very similar to being penetrated. haha (too far?) enjoy ur scones n thank me for ur delicious #sconesbyrackers



my longest chip

i’m so incredibly grateful for all the support that my words have gotten over the past month! nearly hit 1,000 views on the blog – and now you can find ya gal on facebook @ Rackers – in da city. here’s a throwback thursday story for ya because i don’t have the brain power to write an opinionated/proper post today.

the story of my longest chip

it has been established that i am the weirdest in my family. shout out to monique who said that ‘everything is wrong with me’ when i got my glasses. nothing physically wrong with me (except my eyesight), it’s all in my head. i’m fucked in the head. especially when it comes to sharing food with my family.

it was one fateful day that my lovely mother decided to buy all five of her children some beloved Micky D’s. naturally, as a family, you’re going to have to share your food. why the fuck i needed to share my chips with any of them since they already ate theirs, i’ll never know. but i agreed to monique having a chip. and she took my longest chip.

naturally, as any child would, i got a bit upset about it. like, man, that was my longest chip. but not so naturally, but as any rackers would, i threw a fucking tantrum. SHE TOOK MY LONGEST CHIP! i honestly don’t know how mum kept a straight face or took me seriously in any of the tantrums i threw, because i was the most ridiculous child who, as it turns out, overreacted over silly things.

you see, the other day at work, one of my colleagues had one of my chips – and she took my longest chip. but, i’m 21, an adult, and totally and completely over the way i used to overreact about things……………… until i was on my own and i had a little cry over the longest chip that, once again, has been taken away from me.

i’ve experienced some terrible losses already in my life. but none so much as my longest chip.

*some parts may be exaggerated
*literally only part exaggerated is my last part
*fuck u monique u still owe me ur longest chip


let’s talk

happy fucking new year. good riddance to the worst fucking year of my life. i’m not really one to believe that a new year brings good beginnings, cause you can change your life at any given moment, but this one felt a bit better. nothing worse could happen to this family, right?

happy fucking new year. i wake up on the second day of our fresh start to my sister crying, trying to tell me something. what in the world could have happened?
do the rest of the family know? how do we tell them? do we wait until they get to sydney? could we have changed something? we saw him just a week ago. when christmas was shitty enough without our favourite person. what about next christmas? oh man. this is going to suck.

how are the boys? are we going to see them?

what do we even say? holy shit. this is how people felt with us four months ago. there’s nothing to say. ‘i’m here for you?’ fuck i hate that bullshit saying.

happy fucking new year. the whole family’s together again. we stand in a group, tearstained faces and all. 

‘lets not meet like this again.’

‘please, next time ensure it’s a wedding.’

no one can imagine the demons he was facing, every day, from an extremely young age. many would not even be able to think of the shit he was put through, from such a young age. some still don’t understand the concept of depression, and how hard the battle can be with yourself. he had someone to talk to, every day of his life, his baby sister. he had someone to help him through the darkest days. she was taken from us, far too young, the most incredible woman we could have ever been blessed with. he fought, hard, for four more months. but he lost with himself. if only if only if only. if only he had have talked to us at christmas time. if only i hadn’t have given him those photos for christmas. if only if only if only. if only i’d have known.
‘suicide is the coward’s way out.’ that is honestly one of the most disgusting phrases i’ve had friends [more than one] say. cue ridiculous arguments. cue silent treatment from ya gal. cue ok you are so wrong about this but u still ma frand [even tho u dumbass].

what we need is education. educate yoself b4 u wreck yoself. how incredibly hard it is to face these demons, and how incredibly hard it is to talk about these feelings, and how incredibly common it is to be feeling this way.
depression is still a terribly hard subject to talk about. but it’s what needs to be talked about the most, and there are so many ways to explain depression. JK Rowling writes about dementors in Harry Potter, as a symbolism of depression. i think that’s a pretty spot on depiction, but still will never really explain it for those fortunate enough not to experience such a shitty, shitty condition.

i don’t give a fuck if you feel like you shouldn’t be feeling like that. if ‘nothing that bad‘ has ever happened to you. cause if you feel it, you feel it. and it’s okay. just talk to someone, and get the help you need. 

Lifeline Australia 13 11 14



when ya appearance doesn’t mean shit

apparently i come across different to what i am. in so many different ways.

  ‘sporty luxe’? or ‘my hair’s gross so i’m wearin a hat’?

i once had a friend say that i was the ‘wild’ one in my family. that i would be the one to ‘be out of control’. i got my first tattoo and she said ‘told ya so’.

i would say i’m the ‘wild’ one in that, yes, i have been voted weirdest family member. i say the weirdest shit (though caden is up there with me), and i tell the weirdest stories. i’m one of those people who attracts weird shit so i have the stories to tell. i have come to be very comfortable in my own skin.
but then, i’ve never done drugs (and i never plan to), i enjoy drinking but i don’t need it to have fun, and i’m not promiscuous (‘good girl’, as they like to label me). yes, i have six tattoos on my body but i believe them all to be quite tasteful, delicate, and they all mean something to me – so my appearance doesn’t mean shit.

‘why the fuck are you wearing heels? who are you trying to impress?’
one day, i felt like getting a little more dressed up than usual. for literally no other reason than i felt like getting a little more dressed up than usual. questions came, people assumed, who is in your life that you need to look good for? why can’t i look good for myself? i’m not dressing up for anyone, so in that way – my appearance doesn’t mean shit.

i went on a date with a tinder bae about two months ago. we got along quite well, bounced off of each other and he didn’t hesitate to tell me i’m a dickhead. tick tick. then he called the ex ‘crazy’. no no. i’ve never been a gal hater – and i never will be. i like to empower da shit out of everyone, not just my gender. i luv all of u. so don’t tell me she’s crazy, just tell me it didn’t work out. i won’t ask too many questions. but i continued with the date, excusing this. we can move on from this.

the subject of drugs came up, i said no, i’ve never tried them. he looked at me in disbelief. somehow we got on to the subject of sexual partners, and though i don’t admit my number or really any part of my sexual history, i said i’ve been labelled a ‘good girl’ before. he looked at me in disbelief. this time, i questioned it.

‘i don’t want to offend you.’

mate, just fuckin say it.

‘from your pictures, and from your presence on social media, i just thought you were a little more of a badass than you are.’

‘it’s what you say on social media. it’s your sense of humour and how you present yourself.’

‘i’ll be honest, by the look of you, i thought maybe you have dabbled in drugs in your lifetime – hard drugs.’

‘and i thought maybe you were a little promiscuous.’


woah man. my appearance doesn’t mean shit.

  my what the fuk face (also my ‘it’s midnight and i’m still at uni and i finally submitted that fucking assignment’ face)

we all judge a book by its cover, that’s natural, that’s normal. we’re predominantly visual creatures. that’s okay. allowing your judgement to cloud what you really know about someone, though, or allowing that to get in the way of getting to know someone, that’s not so okay. my friend knew i was a good person, a kind person, but considered me ‘wild’, and considered me to ‘go off the track’, because i like to etch art onto my skin. tinder bae wasn’t sure what to do with me when he realised he wasn’t going to get what he wanted from me, so quickly, so easily.

wear whatever tha fuck you want. say whatever tha fuck you want. and be whatever tha fuck you want. [except maybe in your professional workplace].

when ya appearance doesn’t mean shit [to anyone except YOU].

“The package in which people come to us may be attractive or repulsive, but if we exert a little effort—like opening a book and browsing its contents before deciding whether to buy it—we can see past our visual biases to the truth. That way, we’ll be far less likely to exclude from our lives not only a quality person—but also a quality book.”



local press cafe

it’s thursday morning. i awake at 7am to my set-for-every-thursday alarm. class is cancelled for the week due to the ever-so-lovely canberra day public holiday. ‘i can sleep in a little longer and i’ll go to uni at like 10,’ my thought process says.

it’s 9am. i awake again. maybe i should go to local press for breakfast? could kill for one of their green breaky plates. could also start the fitasfk program i’ve been meaning to start for the past three weeks (for the first week i can have no red meat, no gluten, no corn products [including popcorn and cornchips!], no dairy products, no oils AND fucking best of all, no alcohol and no caffeine. so basically no fun for a whole week). need to go to the gym today. need need NEED to start that assignment that’s due tomorrow. alright. need to get up.

it’s 10am. i awake again. trying to justify the oversleeping by reminding myself of the early starts i’ve had for the past week. seriously need to get up.i don’t fall asleep again, which is a bonus. i do sit there and feel sorry for myself for a while. run all the shitty things through my head. get full depressed. realise i’m being a fucking idiot. think about making breakfast.

it’s 11am. i ate two salted caramel macarons for breakfast. epitome of health and fitness, i am. finally get out of bed and put a shirt on. don’t think anyone’s home so walk out to the kitchen with no pants on. oops, caden’s home. soz caden. open the fridge door. close the fridge door. local press is sounding more appealing. i’ll go and get ready and head into kingston.

it’s 2pm. i’ve finally made it to kingston after getting distracted by the book i’m reading. ‘How to Be Single’ by Liz Tuccillo. fucking hilarious depiction of the single life for 30somethings. secretly hope i’m not one of them one day. realise as long as i’m happy then relationships don’t determine my worth. classic rackers thought process.

it’s a beautiful day in the nation’s capital and i’m regretting the long black pants and hat. remind myself to shave my legs and wash my hair next time. 

local press cafe, 91 eastlake parade, kingston ACT


i got my trusted green breakky plate, and let me tell you, it did not disappoint yet again. look at how serious i am bout dat food. i will never be a food critic because i cannot try new things and get out of my comfort zone for the life of me. 

ima give the experience a 4.5/5 from ya one n only @rackersindacity. the music was on point, even caught myself singing along a couple of times. food, two thumbs up. service, though, man. i work in hospitality, my sisters have worked in hospitality, my life is basically hospitality – you gotta keep a smile on that dial. the young lady put my food down on the other side of the table and grabbed the table number, without saying a word. i said my chirpy lil ‘thank you!’ and still nothing. come on, man. that is not ok service.

but, as always, i’ll go back there. probably with my best gal whenever the fuck she’s home next. (miss u clauds).

so anyway. should probably do this assignment.

until next time lovers. peace


rackers’ tips to survive uni

i have an assignment due monday 5:30pm.imagine the scenario. it is saturday night, 8:38pm. 

i have work tomorrow, 9-3. counter in the befores and afters of getting ready/travelling to and from work. essentially no morning time, so it gives me tomorrow night.

i have work monday, 7:30-3, and then nannying, 4pm until usually about 6:30-7pm. i will have to submit this assignment tomorrow night because i won’t have time to submit it on monday.

do you know how much i have written on this 1500 word essay? about 200 shitty words. and instead i’m writing this. so here it is,

rackers’ tips to survive uni

(the worst student there probably ever was)

1. don’t skip class
i totally accept the days you feel so shit you can’t get out of bed, or when you have things that are actually more important, ie. work – but don’t make it a regular occurance. it honestly hinders your learning, makes you a lot less motivated, and fucks you up when it comes to assessment (helloooo look at me right now).

2. don’t leave assessment to the last minute

you know what’s 10/10 the dumbest thing i’ve ever done? haha. jokes. not telling anyone that. ever. BUT, up there with my 16 year old self antics, is leaving assignments worth 50 and 60% of my grade to the very last day. literally. the last day. i failed my very first unit last year because i left a 3,000 word case study until about two days before… submitted it with 3 minutes to go, and thought to myself ‘well if i just pass this assessment, i will at least just pass the unit’. alas, i did a terrible fucking job on that assignment, so much so that she was like ‘yo did u even turn up to class’ and i was like haha fuckin naaaah mate. srs. just don’t do it

3. be nice to everyone (especially the smarties)

i first started uni being like ‘holy shit i hope i don’t have to talk to anyone’. i have made some great friends from uni. some i don’t actually really talk to anymore haha but that’s okay, they were still a great time when i was bored and actually made it to uni for the day. and they can also help you with assessments! cause they love you just as much if you help them! all the help!

4. pack your own lunch mate

oh my god. i shudder at the thought of how much money UC has grappled from me. from all the coffee, water, magazines, extra books and pens (i luv stationary), textbooks and fucking fooooood. rosie’s chicken has gotten a lot of business from me over the past three years, and mate i’ll tell ya it’s not actually that good. not as good as a homemade meal. there is a reason they have microwaves all throughout the uni! for the prepared people! and it’s about 5 times healthier for you.

5. don’t eat noisy food around people, especially in the library

this is maybe a bit of a personal opinion, but the amount of times people have eaten crunchy foods in the library while i’m sitting right there, literally doing the most calming breathing techniques that i can so i don’t punch them in the face, it’s outta control. the amount of times i’ve messaged my sister having a whinge about these people is probably also a bit out of control (sorry monique). just the other day, i was trying to focus on writing an assignment (haha. reading #girlboss. just as important), and this girl near me was eating soup. easy. nice, clean food that makes no sound. SHE WAS BITING HER SPOON?? no need for that! and then she left, another girl came and sat even closer to me, with noodles – another quiet food – and she was SLURPING! it also felt like it went on forever. moral of the story – either eat your food in an isolated area, or learn some manners. (like i should, after bitching on the internet)

that’s all i can think of for now. there’s probably more. but hey, i’m still at uni, and i’ve passed all but one units within my three years – so i’m doing something right.

until next time lovers. peace


lil bit bout ya gal

le name’s rackers, 21 years of age, studying a bachelor of primary education at the wonderful uni of canberra, in which i probably will be a 27 year old graduate. also have lil side bitch, certificate four in professional writing and editing – as you can see, excelling in this with my incredible grammar (capital letters are for adults) (i’m only 21). so this is why i’m here. for the experience, to get my word out there, for a lol.

i am an avid self-lover and a serial dater. i had a friend say ‘we could make a christmas cake outta you, you go on that many dates’ (tom holland 2k16). i hardly ever make it past the first date though so i’m not exactly skilled in the dating area, also never make it far enough to get someone to tickle my lady parts – mostly because i’m picky as fuck but hey that’s for another day.

i’m very much pro-selfie, as anyone who follows me on insta (@rackoool) knows. i celebrate my body. i celebrate my incredible taste in underwear. i don’t believe in the bikini vs underwear debate. but hey, also for another day.

i am incredibly in love with this life. i am obsessed with doges. i have probably a stupidly contagious laugh but, in saying that, i am an emotional wreck. pretty much everyone i know has seen me cry at least once. more than likely under the influence of alcohol.

i have 3 more months left in this wonderful, ridiculously small city that is canberra, and then i’m on to bigger and better things (men). so here’s to you reading my satirical, ridiculous life – following my love life, my friends life, my occasional down day, and probably just the dumb shit i do, and hopefully you can learn from my mistakes.

in saying that, continue to make ya own mistakes. don’t take my word for it.

until next time lovers. peace