click go the shears, boys. click! click! click!

The proto-moustache lasted two days. It ended when someone who I liked pointed at the growth under my schnozz with a look of concern and asked "what's that?" I replied "shut up, that's what it is". Then I ran home and shaved it off.

In other news, it's 4am and I just can't sleep. When you're unemployed, concepts like "day", "night" and "weekend" become meaningless. I have heaps to do tomorrow; I was meant to write three articles and haven't written a single one.

I've rescheduled a compulsory Job Network meeting twice, and forgot to go to Work for the Dole one day last week. I'm expecting a "Your Payment Has Been Suspended" letter. This sucks big time. It's my birthday this week, so I want to go out. I also owe lots of money for bills. My electricty bill is over $100 alone.

My star sign is leo.

Rent is due this week. I desperately need to go to the dentist- I haven't been in literally over a decade. Where the fuck am I going to get money from?

I can feel "job panic" beginning to rise in my stomach. I'm nearly twenty-five. I've never had a proper job, not at least since high school. I have no recognisable skills. I'm your typical jack-of-all-trades-master-of-none. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I just need to find about 16 hours of work a week and everything will be fine.

What am I saying!? All this pressure Centrelink are putting on me is working. I was speaking to this guy from Work for the Dole last week, and he was telling me about a particularly humiliating session he had with a Job Network robot. He has promised to write a story about it which will be posted on this blog.

Speaking of guys from Work for the Dole, last week was about the best week I've has there so far. A few of us spoke aloud about how much we thought it sucked, and all

Even though I'm writing about Work for the Dole, I'm still thinking about moustaches.

this was audible to rockin' Ronald, one of supervisors. He came into the cramped room and told as that things would be improving soon (maybe that means adequate ventilation). He also explained that a couple of things that I found amusing.

The first was that, until recently, the Matey Mission and all Work for the Dole providers were forbidden to "impart knowledge", ie teach you how to do the things you're meant to be doing. This is because it would be taking away the job of teachers. Nothing was mentioned about how WftD participants are forced to act as scab labour. It's no wonder the room is full of over-qualified code monkeys when some of the people there are giving the labour away for free.

The second was that, unofficially, we had much more flexibility than I thought. We are allowed to leave the Matey Mission to do things "related to the program" and that this can be interpreted very widely. Ron also made it clear (for the first time) that we were allowed to work on our own projects. This is great for me, as I want to do a couple of websites and there is some stuff I want to design and write. The space at the Matey Mission isn't conducive to work, so I'm thinking I can leave to do it quite legitimately. Given that they don't have an graphics programmes (like photoshop or illustrator) this is a necessity.

beyoncé, can you handle this?

You must be this tough to enter.

You know when Ernie from Sesame Street would get bored and start doing weird shit like tying pieces of string to his fingers? Well, I'm like that. Only with facial hair. In today's blog entry, I've decided to get all emo and reveal certain mysterious secrets about myself.

I have always wanted a handlebar moustache. Village People style. In the vein of Hulk Hogan. So I'm trying to grow one, dammit.

Previous attempts at facial hair have been unsuccessful, but that's never stopped the lumpens before. My problem is that I have facial bald spots. In that place near the corners of my mouth, my whiskers are sparse. This spot is crucial to bridge the gap between your run-of-the-mill soup strainer and your full blown mo. I briefly tried growing a moustache once before and gave up after a week of embarassment. So what's changed?

I turn twenty-five in about a week and I still look like I'm about seventeen or eighteen. I still get asked for ID at pubs, and I don't actually have any. I lost my wallet years ago, and I've never got around to replacing the ID. I decided that, seeing I'm nearly a quarter century, it's now or never: if I can't grow a cool moustache now, I never will.

Some of my lady friends reading this blog might not realise that possession of facial hair gives you special powers. Below are some examples:

Am I right or am I right?

1. wrestling powers
The best wrestlers ever were the best because of a) drugs, b) their ethnicity and c) facial hair. Any cursory examination of the careers of The Iron Sheik, Stone Cold Steve Austin and, of course, Hulk Hogan will reveal that the loss of facial hair would've ruined their carrers and impaired their lives generally.

2. in your face attitude
Hang around a university for long enough and you might see one of those "nerds gone Matrix" types. They are living proof that with the addition of a black trenchcoat and three day growth or a beard down to the

Of course it's beautiful!

knees will instantly change you into a really boss Dungeon Master that everyone will listen to and fear.

3. overall symmetry
After some experimentation, I found that just growing a patch of hair on your cheek is not attractive, even when it's in the shape of a lightning bolt or a love heart. But grow lines of equal length parallel to your jawline (so-called 'sideburns' or 'muttonchops') and suddenly it becomes legitimate. Whether it's a patch of fuzz under your nose or a hairy chin extension, only symmetrical facial hair will give you the power of not being laughed at by strangers for your shitty whiskers.