When a woman starts a sentence with “I just find it funny how” you better believe she did NOT find it funny



Hi there I’m Kristie, thanks for stopping by. Pull up a seat and let’s share a virtual cuppa together – they’re super low in calories. I ran out of storage space for all my thoughts, so I decided to chuck them up here instead. Please take a look around and fill your eye, ear (and various other holes) whilst you’re here…no judgement this is a safe space.

But first, let’s get to know each other better. I’m a radio presenter and host 1013 Sea FM’s ‘The Byron and Kristie Show’ on the Central Coast with my main man Byron Cooke. I make up half of ‘ The Thinkergirls’ and along with my radio gal pal Stacey June delve into the things every 20- something chick is thinking but not saying on Thinkergirl: the podcast as well as other radio and telly projects. I’m a freelance writer, voiceover artist, columnist and typically the first to bust out the ‘robot’ on a dance floor.

Enough about me though, I’d be thrilled to hear about you too! So please don’t hesitate to give me a yell, or alternatively if you’d prefer to anonymously lurk this site, again, feel free (this is a safe space remember.)

So nice to meet you, let’s do this again soon, it’s been emotional. Please wash and return your virtual coffee cup within the hour.

When a woman starts a sentence with “I just find it funny how” you better believe she did NOT find it funny


Well this is a bit spesh

Sometimes I’m lucky enough to find my mug in more places than just my bathroom mirror.

Flat out refuse to wash my hands in public toilets. Almost certain the taps have more germs than my genitals


I’ve never been camera shy, der

When a woman starts a sentence with “I just find it funny how” you better believe she did NOT find it funny






The Thinkergirls are Stacey June & Kristie Mercer, talking thoughts you’re thinking but not saying. The girls work on their hugely successful Thinkergirl: the podcast, numerous radio & TV projects, sketch videos & brand content creation.

The Byron & Kristie Show on the Central Coast’s only hit music station 1013 Sea FM. Byron Cooke and Kristie Mercer wake you up with a fresh twist weekday mornings from 5AM with a party you’re all invited to (and expected to bring a cheese platter to.)

If I met myself for the first time, I’m not even sure I’d like me either, no seriously. I can be so judgemental


The Worst Kind Of Breakup You’ll Ever Go Through


BREAKUPS are tough. But you didn’t need me to tell you that. I’m sure you’ve experienced heartbreak first hand, most likely a few times over too. It’s awful.

Missing someone so much your stomach aches, that heavy disappointment of all the things you’ll never share together, the embarrassment of failing to make things work. How do you readjust when you can’t really remember a day without the other person in it?

Life feels weird for a while, like you’re walking around with one shoe on. Unbalanced, partly naked. At times you think it’s hard to imagine feeling any worse. But allow me to provide you some perspective … you can. Feel worse that is. There is one type of breakup that’s a thousand times more traumatic than any dude I’ve ever split with: a bestie breakup.

It plays out in the familiar ‘breakup’ kind of way, just WAY, WAY WORSE. Mainly because you never see a friendship breakup coming. When you make a commitment to a best mate, you assume that the relationship is lifelong. You plan on being each other’s bridesmaids, having kids at the same time (then plan your kid’s wedding together so you can become sister-in-laws. #LifeGoals.) You mentally-note hilarious adventures you can recount when you’re both old and adorable sitting in matching rocking chairs together like “remember the time when …”

So when it all comes crashing down, your heart breaks. You mourn the things you never actually shared together (and also the ‘best friends’ jewellery that’s now too weird to wear. It looked really cute on you too).


I’ll never forget a bestie breakup I had shortly after high-school. I’d been drifting from this friend for a while, pretending not to notice because that might somehow make it real. Sometimes that happens though, you go through stages within relationships. Things aren’t always perfect or always easy, but the ones you stick out regardless are special. And I thought that’s what we had together … something special.

Turns out she didn’t agree. Because in my mailbox without any warning, she delivered a two page, handwritten letter explaining why I was no longer ‘someone she wanted to be friends with.’ I had been broken up with via letter. VIA LETTER! Who even writes letters these days … beyond lawyers and the elderly?

And if that wasn’t enough, the reasons for her ending it stung almost as much. I ‘made her a bad person’ and she ‘didn’t like who she was becoming around me.’ She instructed that ‘we could continue to say hi at parties, but nothing more.’ Not only had I been dumped, I’d been humiliated and slapped with a self-made restraining order!

If I’d hooked up with her boyfriend, aired her dirty laundry in a drunken maid of honour speech or even stolen a baby name she’d had dibs on since we were teenagers, then I could understand. Then there might be grounds for such a formalised, aggressive end to an otherwise beautiful three years of friendship.

I almost wished I’d done something definitively wrong so when family kept asking me ‘what’s happened to you two?’ I could answer with something other than ‘I’m a terrible human being that doesn’t deserve mates.’ Because for a little while I believed that.

Bouncing back from that loss is hard and it takes a while to put yourself out there again.

If only there was a ‘Tinder’ for friends, where you could swipe right on potential replacement BFF’s. It sounds a whole lot easier than striking up friendships with chicks in nightclub toilet queues … because let’s face it, that’s where I started looking.


Kristie Mercer is one half of The Thinkergirls — who love to chat on their podcast about all the thoughts you’re thinking but not saying. Find the girls on Facebook orYoutube.


Is My Vagina Normal?

I’VE always been completely and utterly terrified that my vagina is in some way not normal, that it somehow doesn’t stack up against the generally accepted standard of vaginas worldwide.

My whole life, I just assumed that every other woman had the same thought process, this natural curiosity as to whether the lady bits that they’d be given were on par with the next person’s.

I guess it’s normal to compare your physical self to the rest of society. Most of us are constantly stacking ourselves up against the next person — walking down the supermarket aisle, scrolling through Instagram or flicking through a mag in a waiting room. Is my hair as shiny? Are my calves as defined? Does my butt sit the same way in a pair of skinny-legs?

It’s something we learn to do as little kids. Who remembers running nude through the sprinkler with a male cousin or having a bath with their brother and noticing that their private parts look nothing like your own?

“WOAH, IT’S LIKE THERE’S A WORM IN HIS PANTS … I WANT A WORM TOO MUM!” It’s intriguing to realise that not everybody looks the same as you do.

But as you grow up and the acceptable age of nudity around blood relatives becomes a distant memory, you’re left wondering, “Do I still look like every other girl ‘down there’? And how the hell will I ever know?”

Short of asking my besties to drop their dacks for confirmation, I lived in this thick doubt that I’ve never managed to totally shake. This innocent curiosity as a child has morphed itself into fear. An ugly, tightly wound ball of fear. A fear of being different.


How will I ever actually know? And why do I care?

Movie stars never seemed to be too concerned about it though. The’d ravage each other until they were panting and naked in broad daylight with each other. No doona. Or strategically placed sheets. With all the lights on. It was the stuff of nightmares. That a guy might be exposed to my private parts and they don’t stack up to the industry standard. What if he sees me naked and laughs? What if he tells his mates? What if he recoils with fear, screams for help and dials triple 000?

“Hello this is an emergency. I’ve just seen my girlfriend’s vagina for the first time and it is not what I expected. Please send help immediately.”

Even down to hair maintenance, I’ve been mindful of what’s on trend in the most ridiculous of circumstances. In the lead up to a routine Pap smear I’ve considered booking a waxing appointment because I figured it would be somehow considerate. I can’t commit to laser hair removal in case years down the track ‘bush is back’ is screamed from the rooftops while I’m left looking like a permanently plucked chicken. God forbid.

I’ve raised these concerns with friends and perhaps you’re thinking exactly what they were … who actually cares?! Why does it even matter if I am sporting some kind of freak show below the belt? So what if the pubic hair-do of 2015, as showcased by Kim Kardashian’s magazine cover, isn’t something I’ve embodied?

Don’t women encounter enough societal pressure when it comes to our image without the addition of our most sacred and defining body part? Shouldn’t vaginas of all shapes, sizes, variations and colours be celebrated for what they were actually made to do — provide the ultimate physical pleasure and enable the miracle of another human life?

The answer is yes. Of course it’s yes.

It makes me mad at myself that I’ve actually spent a chunk of my life worrying about this petty stuff. Even me, the paranoid, self-doubting, almost-clicked-on-an-ad-for-‘vaginal rejuvenation’ kinda girl knows that this is beyond true. Maybe it’s just taken me a little bit longer to realise it.


Kristie Mercer is one half of The Thinkergirls — who love to chat about all the thoughts you’re thinking but not saying. This topic was discussed in Thinkergirl: The Podcast. Find the girls on Facebook or Youtube.


The Bachelorette – character profiles


Sasha (aka THE WINNER)

Sasha (aka THE WINNER) – mark my words, this guy is going to win the entire competition and Sam’s heart. Even though all the Bachelor’s harped on about ‘getting to know Sam’ he was the ONLY one that actually asked Sam about herself. Bloody good sign. And he won himself a rose even before the ceremony. (Possible red flag: is a total Mummy’s boy)







Alex (aka THE ENGLISH BALDIE) – charmed the pants off Sam with his cute as shit accent. Seems like a real softie, refined a real gentleman. I feel he’ll be a close second









David (aka THE MODEL WANKER) – complete tosser, constantly talks about himself & the fact that he’s a model. Sat inside sulking the entire time the rest of the Bachie boy’s were bonding. Basically the Sandra of the season.









Will (aka THE CRAYMUSO ONE) – this guy is the comic relief, but weirdly I kinda like him? He makes Sam laugh which is a good sign, but think he might be too wack to win









Michael (aka SOCCOR PLAYING RICHARD GERE) – um is it just me or is this guy basically a clone of a young Richard Gere? Apart from his boring as fk monotone voice, I think he’ll get down to the last few.









Richie (aka HOT PRINCE HARRY) – I think I’ve fallen for Richie. He’s hilarious with gems like ‘I’m from Perth where everybody gets glassed.’ Classic. He’s an abseiler ie ie. has a ripped body.









Dave (aka THE BOGAN PLUMBER) had Sam head over heels at his ‘I’m packing myself.’ #Romance. PS. what happened to his neck?







bachie kane



Kane (aka THE HEADSTAD GUY) – for some reason this dill thought it would impress Sam to do a 20 sec headstand…I have no idea why. Because after 5 seconds he was on his ass and covered in grass stains. Bad idea Kane, bad idea.






bachie drew



Drew (aka GHD OWNING, OWL LOVING SLEEP TECHNICIAN) – Drew’s just a regular, everyday guy with totally normal interests :I Sam seemed a little freaked out by the whole owl stunt when they first met…might have been an idea to check if she’s scared of birds before getting Hedwig to enter stage left?





bachie tony



Tony (NOT GAY FLIGHT ATTENDANT) – hey guys Tony is an airline cabin manager but he wants everyone to know, he’s most def not gay. This was the first topic of convo with Sam last night also. Hillare.


Pooing In Front Of Your Partner

Cast your mind back to the very beginning of your relationship. To a time when everything about your significant other was new and fresh and just hearing their name made the colony of butterflies camped out in your stomach flutter with excitement. In the early days, getting to know each other is fun. Like really fun. You hang on each other’s every word, genuinely laugh at each other’s jokes, and desperately want the other to like you back. But how do you actually MAKE someone like you? (without loads of cash and a hatred of prenups that is.) Sometimes it involves presenting the best possible version of yourself and telling a white lie here and there to do so. Allow me to explain. Exhibit A, some classic cases of maintaining that new-relationship mystery:

“My legs are always silky smooth? I guess I just shave and moisturise so regularly” NOT TRUE: they were at wooly mammoth levels whilst you were single.

“I always smell super fresh? It must just be my new deodorant” LIES: you douse yourself in perfume before seeing them and hold in your farts ’til you’re on the drive home from their place.

“What was I doing in the bathroom for the past half an hour? Um knitting?” WRONG: you had Indian for dinner and a double shot coffee for desert. Awks.

But as you find yourself more and more comfortable with someone, there’s less you need to hide of yourself. (Thank God, because keeping up the whole ‘Stepford Wives’ charade is tiring!) It kind of just happens without you even realising it too. The safer you feel with someone, the more your walls come down…and sometimes so do your pants…on the toilet…in front of your other half as they’re brushing their teeth before bed. Then it hits you. BAM! Not even the sound of your own pee is a mystery to them anymore! And to think a few months ago you were mortified to be seen without makeup! You didn’t plan it like that, actually you didn’t even really notice it. But now, you have arrived at a truly beautiful place I like to call ‘peak comfort zone’ in a relationship. (Now let’s throw a party and discuss our bowel habits in celebration.) 


See. Barbie knows where it’s at

But how many secrets about yourself should you really blow? When is sharing no longer caring? And where is the ‘too much information’ line? In my opinion, you’ll find it marked in black texa smack-bang down the middle of your toilet seat. It doesn’t matter how comfy you are together…pooing in front of your partner is NEVER OKAY! LIKE EVER! (Plus I drew the proverbial line in permanent marker so there’s definitely no going back.)

Even in an emergency. Even if the world is ending. Even if they don’t seem to mind. The bathroom during number-two-time should be treated like a dangerous chemical disaster zone: nobody should ever enter the area for their own health and wellbeing…even your soulmate. Actually, especially your soulmate. Why would you want to put the person you love the most through that? Sometimes it’s even hard to put yourself through it…and it’s yours! Perhaps an upmost respect of each other’s pooping space is the key to a long lasting relationship? Maybe the couples who have stood the test of time have made a real point to keep their fecal matter to themselves? Somehow I can’t imagine Hugh Jackman doing his best work on the loo whilst Deborah-Lee is moisturising  in the mirror next to him. In fact, they’ve been together so long and seem so happy together, they probably have separate houses in separate states with separate bathrooms containing separate toilets to do their business in. Separately of course!

From such an early age, we’re taught Mr. Hanky is not the kind of friend we want to introduce to anyone. The act is private, solemn, a time to reflect on life as you scroll through Facebook in anticipation. And as much as I understand everybody poops – from the school janitor right through to the Queen of England – isn’t it nice to live in ignorant bliss sometimes? Isn’t that why we have locks on bathroom doors, strong smelling toilet spray and ample loo paper to soften possible ‘plopping’ sounds? Sometimes love is about openness and the complete freedom to be yourself without judgement. And other times it’s about shutting the door behind you and keeping your business to yourself!


What Would You Rate Yourself Out of 10?


LET’S play a little game: right now I want you to rate yourself on a scale of 1-10.

Confronting, I know, but don’t worry nobody will ever see your lucky number, you just need to visualise it. Rate how you look and feel right now. Keeping in mind that scoring yourself a 10 is equal to the healthiest, sexiest most comfortable in your own skin you’ve ever felt. On the opposite end of the scale, scoring a 1 is equal to that feeling of opening your eyes still covered in last night’s makeup and a crust of your own saliva.

Now I’m no mind reader and I can’t magically guess that number you’ve been tossing up for yourself, but what I will guarantee is this — if I asked you the exact same question in a week’s time, chances are your answer would be different. Or if I asked you on a Friday night versus a Monday morning. Or if I asked you in the middle of summer versus the middle of winter. Or if I asked you after a yoga class versus after a Maccas binge. Or if I asked you at the start of your period versus the end of it. Or if I asked you before your spray tan versus after it. The point is, putting such a definitive number on such a changeable answer that extends so far beyond a single digit is really hard going.

Deciding the number you’d rate yourself is no easy task and I’m almost certain you struggled to do it, yet every single day we openly hand over that immense responsibility to a set of scales. A silly set of bathroom scales. A device that doesn’t account for the kilograms you’ve gained in muscle now that you lift weights alongside the meat-heads at gym. A device that doesn’t know when it’s your time of the month, or how much water you’ve consumed for the day. Because guess what? All scales know are numbers. And you my friend, are more than a number.


Scales are evil and I vote that every single set be removed from homes around the world and thrown into a giant fire pit where the planet’s population can dance around the ashes. It’s time we realised they’re no bloody good! (Unless of course it’s a scale for measuring cake ingredients in which case I completely endorse and vow to salvage from the cinders.)

For a time, I placed my entire happiness in the number I weighed. I allowed this stupid piece of plastic to dictate how I felt for days afterwards. I remember how nervous I’d be before I’d weigh myself at the same time every day. I’d tell myself “it’s just a number, it’s how you feel” and “none of it really matters.” But to me, it did matter. In fact it was almost all that mattered.

I’d compare my weight from the day before and either rejoice at a lower number or punish myself for a higher one, set up for either a really good day or a really bad one. A humble set of bathroom scales were just about taking over my thoughts and almost my life and I’m angry that I allowed them to.

I’m all for a desire to find yourself in a healthy weight range, but when it overrules all else — there’s nothing healthy about that.

As women we’re already constantly told what’s right and wrong with our own bodies. What’s too big or not big enough, what’s too round, not round enough, what’s too heavy and what’s too flabby. I’m sick to death of comparing elements of myself — my weight included — against what’s been decided is ‘right’ for me. Because how do you possibly measure somebody with a number?

Scales don’t weigh a person’s strength or confidence or self-love. Because if we’re all as honest as a set of scales for a moment, isn’t that what’s sexiest of all?


Kristie Mercer is one half of The Thinkergirls — who love to chat about all the thoughts you’re thinking but not saying. This topic was discussed in Thinkergirl: The Podcast. Find the girls on Facebook or Youtube.

Sometimes just googling a holiday destination makes me feel like I’ve had a break, plus it’s way more cost effective


Give me a holla!

I’ll cherish this time we’ve spent together forvever, but if you want to make it later longer drop me a line


I’m about to go H.A.M. Wait…that was a typo, I meant to say EAT some ham. Yeah, definitely eat some ham


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