Just a few points.
- The alarm clock that my parents use to wake me up in the morning if they're both at work makes me want to fucking die. It is evil and its shrill sounds were concocted in the cesspits of hell.
- Tonight is going to be one of those nights where homework gets done only by caffeine and light of a phone under the quilt... Not fun.
- While today was not productive school wise, I did piss off vast amounts of people simply be repetitively singing the Shrek karoake dance party song, or whatever the hell its called. Day --> definitely successful. And if you don't know what I'm talking about, you're more of a douche than the guy who essentially broke up with a close friend over Failbook. Really.
- For the record, you dickface of the previous point, if I was gangster and violent and shit, right about now and yesterday I'd be all like, "Let's fuck his shit up! Son of a bitch goin downnn." I'd obviously throw in some "Aww hell naww"s, something about getting all up in his grill, and definitely "being about to bust a cap in his ass". Luckily for you, I'm not like that, or *insert gangster slang for "i'd kill you" here*. That's right. I'm not someone ya wanna mess with.
- I've been like this all day. This is why I should sleep more and this is why I was asked to "sew [my] lips together like those people in refugee camps". Detention centres...
- I have friends who obviously love me greatly. See former point.
- Oh, Mr Orange. To put it nicely, please staythefuck out of this situation. You know what I'm talking about.
- As for said situation, it's better than it's been in the longest time. Since... August I think. At least, I think it was good.
- I've wished for ages that my eyes would change their shade of colour in accordance with my mood. Today I mentioned this and was looked at like I was crazy. Which is probably true, but still. It would be cool and nothing changes that! Take that, bitches.
- I laughed a lot at something I said today. Yes, I'm that annoying person who finds their jokes hilarious and laughs for ages, while everyone around them hates them for being shit at life. It's all just a part of my day. But anyway, "I put the 'ass' in 'class'. Classy." Bitch, please.
- On that note, this post draws to a close. I'll be back tomorrow with some more of my stupid shit, possibly a further rant at afore-mentioned "dickface", maybe even a post on my long neglected "Let's Talk About the Tour Guide", or perhaps some more of my gloomy outtakes on life. Coz I'm emo like that.
Monday, May 18, 2009
Let's fuck this shit up y'all.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
"I live on raw emotion, baby"
I meant to write a brilliantly eloquent post yesterday about ANZAC Day; however, this evil beast named homework had me in its fearsome grip. I did (half) kick its ass, but I still have some catch up work to do and we go back to school tomorrow, so apart from my nightly phone call with Jimit, and the one I just concluded with him, I’ve had no contact with the outer world since Friday evening… Unless you count church. Which I don’t.
On the topic of church, though, in paying attention I was challenged today. Not a Christian and all that, but even on another note, I am far too argumentative and unwilling to help out, particularly with family. I mean to work on that, so let’s see how that goes.
I had a brilliant topic to post about but it has crawled out of my head and is trembling on some high ledge somewhere, about to jump. Thanks, you’ve been a lot of help (I hate you). So I’m all out of sleep and blog fodder (For this blog in particular at least), and I’m listening to Maroon 5. Confession – I cannot get enough of boy bands. Backstreet Boys, LMNT (look them up), Maroon 5, Matchbox 20 – I can’t help it. The Beach Boys, Kelly Clarkson and Daniel Bedingfield all feature in my iTunes. The shame, the shame. Or rather, the guilty pleasure. This is not at all what I wanted to speak of, and more like something I’d aim to post on Let's Talk About The Tour Guide but whatever Trevor, we can’t always get what we want and I have a fabulous post idea lined up there. I need sleep (or a coffee).
Is “fabulous” really spelt like that? It just looks wrong to me…
Anyhow.
The school holidays are over for me at 11.59PM tonight, and it’s back to school for another gruelling ten weeks. Year 12 is hell. Thank god it’s the last year. No one mention Uni, I may slit your throat. If I keep it off my mind, that negativity of it all may not grind my soul into the dust, kay??
Biology is calling, and it is something of a bitch. A very large something. I have never said the words “I don’t care” and meant it so heartily except in reference to that subject synonymous with death. Although, German is quite possibly on par with that.
Bai guys. Catch you on the flipside.
xx
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
"Maybe they'll leave you alone, but not me"
Teenagers may "scare the living shit" out of Gerard Way and co., but for me I get that from children at a much younger stage in their lives. Toddlers. They're terrifying! Don't get me wrong, I love kids. No, that's a lie. It would be more correct to say "I love kid". I'm all cool with them when they are in the singular, or perhaps even two together are okay, and I know them on a personal level. When I have actually met them and get to hang out with them and read them storybooks and play their little games and kowtow to their every whim in the hopes of keeping them from screaming uncontrollably. To be fair, perhaps I don't like the competition. I throw pretty big tantrums... But in a hormonal teenager kinda way. You know, the way that would scare the living shit out of My Chemical Romance...
Anyhow. It is the mobs, the hordes, of the little things that cause me to shudder and cringe. [Isn't horde spelt "hoarde"? No, Mozilla Firefox spell check? >.< ...okay.] For example, the horde in the kindergarten that I must pass as I walk home from school every day. In the morning it's fine since they're either arriving or inside, I don't know and I don't really care. It's in the afternoon that they are out in the garden area to play, feeding off each others' boundless energy.
And as their parents pick them up, letting one or two out through the gate in order to take them home (God knows why), I have been known to let out a scream and jump a mile high when one has run past me in their eagerness and probably on a sugar high... I didn't know it was there! And suddenly a little thing shot past me. You'd scream too. Really.
Note how I refer to them as "it" and "thing". Those children are not humans, I swear. Even when in the singular, I do not know them and if they are not within a centimetre's reach of a parent, I do not like them. I do not trust them. They may look cute, sure, but. They are evil. I dare you to convince me otherwise.
Oh, apart from the ones in the library that run to see Solomon the snake in his cage, peering through the glass on tip toes, eager to see him move. That's just funny, entertaining, and I like those ones because they're not scared of snakes. And yes, I still call them "those ones". They can be assigned genders and proper human status when they're older. ;P
Another reason for my specific dislike of the children at this kindergarten in particular - once, while walking past with my sister, a bunch of them lined up at the fence, holding the bars like little prisoners, as they are prone to do. One dropped their hat outside the bars so I picked it up and returned it to them. (I may not like them but I am nice...) On seeing this, the other fiendish minions decided that this was a brilliant new game, and so, to the sounds of delighted peals of laughter, promptly began throwing their hats through the bars for my sister and I to return. I gave up quickly and began to walk off but my sister, helpless and beguiled by their youth and seeming innocence, continued to try to return their hats, fighting a losing battle. It took much urging on my part to bring her to leave. Evil and conniving.
Anyone else have tales of run ins with the evil ones of that age? No? Fine. I stand by this.
I do want to have my own children some day, but for now I'm not really keen on those stages... Hopefully by the time this comes around, I'll have changed my mind.
Don't even get me started on all the other major flaws I see in the process, and fears; such as the eugh-ness of being pregnant, not to mention GIVING BIRTH (I think my mind just died a little at the thought), and what if I had an ugly baby? Even worse, what if when it grew up and through adolescence and its teenage years, it was ugly? I'm not just being superficial here, although, well, I am; but it would most likely get a lot of shit from other people. People are mean. Look at me. And if it was stupid? So many complications, so many variables... That said, I disagree with the concept of Designer Babies.
So I have an essay to write and this post is essential pointless meaningless rambling; as per most of posts, come to think of it. Maybe I should work on the content of this blog... That's what tomorrow's for. Probably for that essay too...
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
The Twilight obsession.
It is getting to the point where I may end up being one of those high school shooter people.
Enough with the tshirts, people. You are not Mrs Edward Cullen. Fuck You. The light in this room is blinking. That worries me. Back to my point. Edward Cullen is not real. Edward Cullen and Bella whateverthefuckherlastnameis are not proof of true love, because they and their relationship is not real. I don't care if his muscles are as smooth as marble and his paleness makes you scream. "Hold on tight spider monkey" because I am about to slap you across the face. I will definitely hurt you. And as for the movie; do not get me started. I can't take it can'ttakeitcan'ttakeit and I may snap and shoot you with a gun I do not have. As yet. Take that as a warning.
The movie is even worse than the books. So much worse. There are lines from the book which feature in it completely out of context and so, to any who have been smart enough to not read the book, makes no sense whatsoever.
Lucky me I got to see it twice in cinemas.
Okay the light just cut out. That's not good.
My own fault; I'd promised my best friend I'd see it with her when it came out (why for the love of god why) and ended up watching it with another friend first when she was in New Zealand. I begged, I pleaded, I cried; all to no avail. She guilted me over that promise and to this day I wish I had just broken my word. How can one explain the pain? Nothing was worth that.
Maths is great. No, really. I have a teacher who looks somewhat like a seal with an obviously fake weird shade of blonde wig and weird grey facial hair; as well as being able to move more silently than a ninja. I swear. He's also my homegroup teacher and we get along like a house on fire. Not really.
I hate my life. He's not that keen on me as a student, I miss homegroup as much as possible, then don't bring notes, deliberately flout his rules and leave homegroup to stand outside in the cool air; I don't listen as he reads out the daily notices, and bring in drinks that aren't water to drink in class, very against him. I talk when he talks, and, basically, am pretty obvious in my dislike of him. No one who tried to replace our homegroup teacher of the last four years was going to be received well by anyone, and I think he can tell.
I have to study for a Maths test and the parentals are home. My sister is making me Easy Mac since I find it too hard. I kid you not. I cannot make it. It doesn't work. Don't ask. I don't know.
Goodbye all.
Monday, March 16, 2009
Your Beard is Good
You know when you stay up late and you get the munchies? Cravings for something specific, too, and not just a random food group, like chocolate, chips or noodles... Well I just went through a lot of Doritos. And thank god we had Doritos because otherwise I would be sitting here rocking back and forth muttering to myself. Which, I mean, isn't that uncommon for me, but still. (It is uncommon for me. Really)
You may or may not know this, but my parents are Indian. I was born and grew up in Australia and god forbid that you ever should call me Indian because I will hurt you; but I say that I have Indian heritage or some crap coz I get technical about shit like that. There was this one time my best friend used this to prove a point she was making to her boyfriend; that he couldn't be Greek or half Greek with his one Greek parent (or maybe both his parents were Greek, it's been a long time and I forget) because he was born in Australia and since I wasn't Indian, by the same reasoning he wasn't Greek. It went something like that, I think.
Anyway, where was I? Doritos are good. No, I was past that. Ah. Not to be racist but I'm not keen on Indians. I do not like Indians. Okay, it's not that I don't like Indians. I just avoid contact with them (I'm really not helping my cause, am I?)... Apart from my family, a few people at my church, and Jimit, I don't know no Indians here (Thank god). It's not that I have a problem with Indians. I just don't want people to think I'm trying to start Little India here or something. When people move to another country, I think its important to try and participate in the country's lifestyle, culture, all that jazz. It really pisses me off when people move to another country and want to keep living as though they're in the country they just left. By this I mean countries which are notably different to each other. For example, India --> Australia.
It's all well and good to keep in touch with your own culture, hang out with people who understand come from the same place, keep the memories and stories alive. All that. But at least try to immerse yourself in this new place, or what is the point of moving? I even got angry at Daniel Brown for saying that he only became an Australian citizen because it was convenient, and told him to get the hell back to England. Okay, who am I kidding, I just like to argue with Daniel Brown. But, still.
I had a point (this happens far too often).
So when I became friends with Jimit I was all weird about it because, well, he was Indian. And I didn't want people to think I was like Daniel Brown, that is if he was Indian and female and awesome ;D but ungrateful for living in one of the most awesome countries ever (not that I'm biased or anything). I mean, in the respect that I just wanted to recreate India here in Adelaide and only hang with the other Indians. Even though I'm not Indian, but having Indian parents and all, I look Indian. But apparently not that Indian. I think whoever it was who didn't realise I was of Indian ethnicity was perhaps slightly blind, but I wasn't about to complain.
Oh, and I should probably be nicer to Daniel Brown, he occasionally lends me pens and money and goes on Maccas runs for us at lunch times...
Or I could just keep going the way I am and find some other hapless soul to borrow and extort from. It's not that hard. Apparently I look somewhat trustworthy. And I do pay people back. It just doesn't always happen as soon as possible. Hold me to this - Alex, I will return your five dollars, before the end of this year.
Besides, his name is Daniel Brown. He's one of those people, the ones whose first name can't be said on its own. He is simply Daniel Brown. Not Daniel, never Brown, occasionally Brown Daniel (one of the hang ups of having a colour / adjective for a last name); but either way his first and last name cannot be separated. Does he have a middle name? I don't know. It matters not. He is Daniel Brown. I dare you to call him only by Daniel.
Try it.
It feels wrong.
You'll see.
Ahem. So, Jimit. After being friends, we went through the whole "friends who also hook up just coz" thing. When I actually began to like him, I got very mad at myself. My one rule was "never get with an Indian". Okay I'm sure I have a few other rules but that was probably the only one I had distinctly thought out.
I justified it, though, because he had been here pretty much his whole life, had no accent (which would have been a major problem), definitely didn't think like an Indian (again, maaaajor problem that would have been), and yeah that's pretty much it. Oh and we'd had the same "never get with an Indian" rule. So we both broke that. After the "dating unofficially and half secretly" stage, we're now just back to being normal friends. Although to be honest we never really had that before.
I think you get my point. I go out of my way to avoid Indians. You probably got that within my first paragraph on this topic, after the whole Doritos thing. I'm aware that was completely pointless. What can I say? I do completely pointless well. (Yes, it is something to be proud of) (:
Hopefully you actually stayed with me this long. Because, besides the few I mentioned I like, and Russell Peters since he's funny (strange, him being a comedian and all), I have now found another Indian person who I wouldn't mind affiliating with. I'm pretty sure "affiliating" is something along the lines of "associating" so if I got that incredibly wrong and implied something I didn't mean to, yeah, just go with associating and pretend I'm right.
This Indian blogs, and he is awesome. Yes, I said it. I don't know why. But unlike me, he is "down with brown". I quote. But hey, I'm not racist. Really!
Anyway go check him out at Your Beard is Good. I don't really get the name either... But through my extensive research (read: extensive reading of blogs in order to procrastinate), I believe it might be something to do with The Office... Regardless. He's funny. You'll laugh. It's good. So go. (:
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
What the crap?
What is up with noodles these days? Yes, I did a noodle post not all that long ago, but come on people! The issues that noodles bring are endless. Let's consider my current problem.
I am, as I type, in the process of trying to enjoy eating two minute cup noodles, in a "super big" and "mega" size. 100 grams, in fact. These super-sized noodle cups can be a great source of messy delight, but when in a flavour called "Smokin' ribs"? Even before opening it, smelling it, let alone eating these noodles; that flavour does not bode well for your tastebuds. It was sitting on the kitchen bench top as I arrived home, and I was invited by my mum to eat it, which I gladly went to do. Until I saw the flavour.
Smokin' ribs??
Just for a start, the apostrophe replacing the simple "g" implies a "tryhard-ness". Is it really that hard to say "Smoking"? Really? I know, Australians are lazy with grammar, spelling, and the like. But, even we are not necessarily that slack. So what are they trying to compensate for..?
And for the love of god, what has happened to the simple flavours we grew up with, beef, chicken, oriental; and those more daring, like chicken and mushroom? I know I've missed something major, forgive me.
Thankfully, we have not lost these classics yet (touch wood), but the influx of new, fancy flavours on the market, and not just among noodles, is something that disturbs and irritates me. We have enough choices to make in life already. Why make it harder for us who only want easy, quick foods? Is not my generation indecisive enough already??? I dread the thought of what today's toddlers will grow up to be like...
And as for McDonald's... Happy Meals used to be simple. You decided between chicken nuggets and a cheeseburger, the flavour of soft drink, and possibly the toy. And now. SO MANY CHOICES. There's the orange juice, soft drink, apple juice, and whatever other options there are for a drink; and then there are choices of apple pieces and God only knows what. It saddens my heart, my wonderful mega fast food chains who destroy people's livelihoods and nature and most things to bring us those lovely greasy fries, so well symbolised by your hallowed golden arches. Please consider slightly more. We do not come to you for healthy options. That we go to Subway for. And while Hungry Jacks and KFC also have their hold on us, nothing compares to Macca's with your beef patties that are best eaten without being seen.
I think it is now time for me to quote some lines from one of my favourite (and possibly one of the most random) books ever,
"I am Ronald,
of Mordor,
the Mage, the
Destroyer.
Taste the scorched fruit
inside my pies.
Chew the bitter towelette
of truth.
Die, you seedy little elves
who refuse to accept any
new menu items added
after 1975.
I scorch your loins with
coffee that sears like a
molten steel patty
flipper.
I smash your bones on
rocks of ice churned by
spews of cola.
I till your soil, steal your
potatoes, circumcise
their skins, cook
them in tallow
and tell you
they're vegan.
I shall castrate your
bulls, rendering them more
juicy and docile,
and I shall salt them with
hormones, making them
girly-cows.
You shall wander the
wastelands in search of fishwiches fallen from
the sky, frozen and plump
with weevils and sauce
of fiercest tartar.
My face is stripped of
pancake makeup,
staring at the sun,
burning, awaiting
balloons and a helium
canister that will never
arrive.
You ears shall hear only
the sound of a french-fry
computer that beeps
eternally.
You shall remain forever
parched with a
bottomless Styrofoam
drinking cup.
You, my imprisoned
sprite servants, I shall
deprive of both minimum
wage and nutrients.
My cooker writhes
with yellow frybabies
your lips shall
never taste.
I shall pierce your being
with shakes made of
ground bones, nay,
chalk.
You shall beg for death,
but instead shall receive
only laughter and
choking hazards
disguised as plastic toys.
In my costume of yellow
bib and coarse
enormous red feet, I will
smite you with burgers
laced with thorns.
Inside your bird nuggets
you will find razor
blades, rats and tumours.
The only real clown is a dead clown.
I ONLY MAKE YOU FAT SO THAT YOU'LL SIZZLE WHEN YOU BURN"
As you can see, it's incredibly strange. The book, "JPod" by Douglas Coupland, is obviously not everyone's cup of tea, but it is something I find highly amusing.
Anyway, apart from my divergance onto my inexplicable love for McDonald's, something that seems to afflict many teenagers; my original point is that weird flavours are a no-no for me.
My noodles taste terrible. Sigh.
And society complicates far too much.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
"Sometimes I think she's crazy"
So, spoons. Not the game, nor any other thing. The piece of cutlery. Yes, I am blogging about cutlery.
The Dessert Spoon
vs
The Soup Spoon
We all know I'm a bit strange, but here are a couple of my quirks when it comes to eating...
Firstly, there are very few people I feel comfortable eating in front of. I know others wouldn't even think about it, but I hate people seeing me eat. If I do have to eat around people, I try to hide my face a little, as subtly as possible; or with some I will actually move to somewhere where they can't see me in order to eat.
Secondly, I eat breakfast cereal in the evenings more often than in the morning; I am one of those people who skip breakfast. But, whenever I do eat cereal, I will eat it with milk in a mug. I developed this habit when I was twelve and it's not that I couldn't break it; it just amuses me to be able to tell people this. And I do prefer it to a bowl.
Thirdly, in the battle of dessert spoon versus soup spoon (and yes, I did have to look them up to find out which exactly they were), I will, unless completely unavoidable, choose to eat with a soup spoon. I just think they are nicer. (: This has only begun over the last year, but I have come to appreciate the even roundness of the humble soup spoon's "small, shallow bowl (I quote from the omniscience of Wikipedia!)" as being far more civilised than that of the rather more uncouth odd shaped dessert spoon...
And I tell Shazz I'm not OCD... lol.
Soup spoons own. I hate that I use the terms "own", "devo", and "chill"... lol
P.S. He asked me if I could write about him on my blog haha.
No, I will not write about him at all! [/sarcasm]
I need to give him a name for my blog, suggestions guys?
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
"And who am I now?"
I think I'm becoming slightly like one of those people who I never wanted to be but was scared I would become...
You know, the kind who would sleep around because it's what random guys would want, and it would make them feel loved and needed for at least a short amount of time?
Except I have a lot more self respect.
I'm asking you, if I do become one of them, virtual-slap me and make me stop. I don't want to be like that.
In other news, I have just learned some rather disturbing information here. Check it out. It's important that you know this. ;P No, really.
We had school photos yesterday. It wasn't quite as fun as I said over here, but where's the fun in writing that? And I did really use that much hairspray... My hair was immovable... which disturbs me a little. But, if truth be told, I have some strange fascination with using spray cans... >;D
I was about to rename my blog "Through the Looking Glass", or "Through my Looking Glass", but the latter could be taken by some as sexual innuendo... yes, it could. Which is not something I'm really keen for haha.
I'm very distracted and all my thoughts are over the place at the moment, so I may produce something actually worth reading later. For now, I aim to revamp my blog (:
xx
P.S. here are some pictures of me, when I decide to pose, wear eye make up, and give myself big hair aha. It's for another blog kay? ;P I'd actually be way too embarrassed to post them on MySpazz or Failbook at all... AND with the last picture, even as big as it gets, you can't really make out my scars on my forearm, it just looks a bit fuzzy. C:
Yes, a typical MySpazz shot
That's all ;)
[update on the Cameron situation] OOPS OOPS OOPS (I did it again). Cameron just texted me asking if I wanted to go to the movies with him on Saturday. That wouldn't be sooo bad. Until. You realise. That Saturday just so happens to be Valentine's Day. MAJOR OH N03S... I am otherwise occupied, I'm having a Star Wars / anime movie marathon during the day with my friend Nick. We are just friends and would never be anything more. Trust me. So I told him I was hanging out with a friend all day. He replied as I am writing this to ask if I am free for movies any other day. Considering I was caught not being with who I said I was with the other day and my parents are strict on who I go out with (no going out just one on one with a boy haha), I'm not too keen to repeat that anytime soon. Which I told him. He knows it's Valentine's Day, it's not just coincidence, because he wrote back to that saying "Okay have a good V day on Saturday". AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. No. How do I get myself into these situations? Okay, okay, I know how. I explained it in the post before last.
BUT OOPS. I feel so bad. Why? I just want to be friends with him. Friends. And not hook up friends either. Just friends. Help lol.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Typical toivoa moment
So today I decided to fry some eggs.
There were a few sitting there in the egg shelf of the fridge door, so I grabbed two as the oil was heating in the pan. All seemed normal...
The problems began when I attempted to crack the first egg. It was rather hard and when it actually did crack I wasn't paying much attention. I held it above the pan, trying to break it apart, thinking that what I was meeting resistance with was that filmy white layer you get just within an eggshell. Not looking, I was thinking, this is soo thick... :s Once I finally came up with the brilliant idea to look at what I was doing, I realised what I was actually holding was an already boiled egg, obviously done by my mother.... Feeling like a bit of a douche, I had another look in the fridge and took another 2 eggs from the carton I found there.
Now, this egg was also quite hard as I hit it to crack it. I got a little bit impatient and tried cracking it simply with the force of my fingers, whereupon it promptly broke and the egg splattered all over me...
I was left standing there, bewildered, with the broken pieces of eggshell in my hands and egg yolk slowly dripping down my top...
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Oooooodles of Noodles
I love noodles. Really. Chinese food is great. Indian-Chinese is also good. Seriously, in the four year gaps between our visits to India, I draw up from my memory the taste of food from a nearby Chinese restaurant to my nana's home in Pune, India, time and time again. It sustains me as I pass by the days, eating mediocre food. Haha well, not exactly.
And, please, explain to me this fascination with Indian food people seem to have. It's good, but not that good. It delights me to find non-Indians /people from similar countries who dislike or at least don't love Indian food. That's one more person to shove in the face of my parents as evidence that not all others love Indian food and I am not just strange and alone in my non-loving view of it. Or something.
Then, I love 2 minute noodles, noodle cups, and stir fry, etc. Any noodles are good. (:
However, there is a problem when it comes to my eating of noodles...
I am rather uncoordinated. If I was easily embarrassed, I am of no doubt that my face would permanently be a bright red. Although, I'm not too sure if my face actually does turn red when I am embarrassed, since my skin is dark(ish), but... metaphorically speaking...
Anyhow, much laughter is had at my expense, on my side as well. Our sloped driveway has me tripping almost every time I get out of the car, I fall over while simply walking, stumble on nothing, and drop things a lot. As for my phones, they're lucky to survive as long as they do. I believe my mobile comes into abrupt contact with the ground at least twice everyday, no matter how much care I attempt to take. I'm forgetful and easily confused; not to mention incredibly disorganised.
It's not even that I'm disorganised as such. Really. ;P I love organisation. I love matching sets of items.
The problem, you see, is that I am too organised. If something is messy, I want it organised. But I have a specific pattern that things must be in. I will not half organise. I want matching kitchenware, complementary furniture in a room... Matching holders on a desk, rooms with a particular style to them. It drives me absolutely crazy how, in our house, some of the furniture in a room would be appropriate for a country style home, others fitting for a simplistic, modernised set up, yet others casual and comfy in earthy shades; or bright colours; with others formal... the list is endless. I see all the possibilities to theme different rooms, or the same room in different themes. I considered interior designing as a possible future career but I passionately want to have a job where I can help people in important areas, make a difference in people's lives, not their homes.
Okay, our home doesn't clash that terribly, and thank god. I am still irked by the lack of a theme. (And yet, I hate themed parties. Dress up parties, that is. If I had loads of money to go out and create fantastic costumes, they would be fine. As it is, working with my $35 of pocket money per month and added grade money each term [remind me to do really well at school this year!], it is not something that brings great joy to my heart. [I really really want a Star Wars themed party some day, just by the way. I would be Queen Amidala LOL.])
How am I too organised? Well, if I can't organise something perfectly, I refuse to organise it at all. When I clean my room, I haul out everything out from the depths of my wardrobe, dresser, and under my bed. This, firstly, makes my room messier than it is, and is more time consuming. My mum cannot understand it. She says I should do things one at a time, i.e. clean the outer messiness and at another time do all the concealed stuff. But I want to do it all in one shot. And of course, I must take advantage of my mood. When I start doing something, if I leave it unfinished, I am likely to leave it so for a long time.
When the urge to cook attacks, I will make three or more things in one hit. As for cleaning, when that urge comes, I clean everything I can possibly think of. Another point of complaint for my mum. She wants me to cook more, after all, I am sixteen, blah blah. When I do cook, she usually complains that my delectable (or not so) creation is unhealthy... Cleaning? "Good. Now if only you'd do it more often. (Also applies to the cooking scenario)" The woman is impossible to please, I swear.
I like my stationary to be matching and look good. What I write in and what I write with are very important to me. I like the expensive stuff. It's not on purpose, it happens with clothing too. I see it, I like it, I want it, I check the price tag and tend to be somewhat incredulous. I will not spend recklessly, always. Even if I really love something I find, if I find the price ridiculous, I will put it back (reluctantly) on the shelf and move on. Mostly. (Shoes are my biggest weakness. It seems it's a female thing. I fall in love with heels even faster and perhaps more often than I fall literally. Haha, I'm hilarious. >.< I think I've been around Jimit for too long.)
The point is, if something cannot be organised as well as I would like, I deign to organise it at all. Probably not the best way to go about life...
So. Uncoordinated. That's me. Ask my friends to recall a funny moment involving me, and it will either be an incredibly "blonde moment", or a time in which I fell down or off something. Without even trying, at least 5 events come to mind. I shan't go into those now... I was meaning to discuss noodles.
So, the other night, I was eating noodles from a noodle cup. When eating noodles, there are a few minor issues resulting from my lack of coordination which I urgently need to address. Firstly, I am incapable of twirling noodles onto a fork. How is it done??? I try, but as I turn the fork over to add more to the bundle of noodle, the previously twirled noodle untwirls off the fork... Then there is how noodles seem to, while being put on the fork, drag others along with them, so twirling can never be finished, even if successfully done. I suppose I could just cut it, but I'm too fearful that any twirling half accomplished will be completely undone by trying to cut the noodles. So I end up with noodles ends dangling from each side of my fork.
That is not all, folks. The worst is yet to come.
Due to my twirling incapability, I usually just shovel noodles with my fork. Again, this drags other noodles from the bowl or plate with it, and the problem of dangling noodle ends makes an appearance once more. Why do I never actually try to cut it..? Definitely need to consider my options more.
Now, most noodles are accompanied by something liquid - sauce, curry, or the flavoured water in 2 minute noodles. The problem then, is this: when I am eating my noodles of the fork, the dangling ends must enter my mouth eventually. Even if I try to use the fork to bring these up to my lips, they flick. If I don't use a fork here, they flick. They do that. Even if they don't hit my chin and leave my face covered in gook (not that I don't love the "baby-who-has-just-eaten look", however it's not really my thing), liquid tends to fly, onto my shirt, onto the table, etc. I am a) confused, b) grossed out, and c) embarrassed by this.
It's not that I don't understand how it happens, I understand, all too well. But why, why can't I eat like a normal person???
Don't even get me started on what ensues when I eat a yiros. Particularly, that time I ate a yiros when my collarbone was fractured and I couldn't really use my right arm...
Postscript - I said "folks" in this post. I fucking said "folks"...
Friday, January 9, 2009
Hahaha
"If I am in an audience and feel as though the speaker makes eye contact with me more than others ?
is it in my mind? Seriously, The speaker looks around but sometimes the eye contact is even longer. Could it be because I look very attentive to the speaker and what they're saying? Do they sometimes pick someone out of the crowd to look at more than others or is this a mind thing on my part?"
Bad Questions for Yahoo Answers - For those who believe there's no such thing as a bad question
LOL
"Question: Can you rap about me?
I'm 25, 6'3, overweight, I live with my parents, and am broke. My life is a struggle. Can you write a rap about me? Best one wins.
Answer:
Yo Yo Yo Yo Yo Yo Yo
So my life is struggle, I don't like to juggle
I’m a fatty fat pants, I even eat ants
I’m twenty five, but at this weight who knows why I’m alive
Some wonder why I’m tall, am I even human at all
I never get any calls; I don’t even reach the mall
I always order in, and wonder why everyone’s so thin
I wish I could go out more, but I can’t fit through my door
Parents don’t want me anymore, cleaning up my crumbs is a chore
They want me to live on my own, cause they think I’m too grown
I post stupid questions on yahoo answers, while I’m at the computer eating apetizers
Chorus: (sing to the beat of we fly high by Jim Jones)
I stay broke, no joke, and you notice
IM STRUGGLING
twenty five, no lies
I'm alone and
So sad, no plaid
IM REAL TALL"
Friday, January 2, 2009
Hello 2009
So it's a new year. I want it to feel different. I want to feel different. We're in a different state but it could be just another day in 2008. And yesterday, it was. Maybe the day before actually, is it past 12? I can't be bothered checking the time, but probably.
I've never been incredibly keen on birthdays. But one thing I really hate is how it never feels any different. Perhaps I place too much stock on feelings. And yet, every year, on my birthday, when some adult jovially says, "It doesn't feel any different, does it?", I reply with "no", because I never expected to feel any different, it's just another day, I'm just another day older than the year before. But I still wish something would change. Sure, things do change. Hit sixteen in Australia and you can apply for your Learner's License. Seventeen and you can legally have sex. Eighteen and you can buy alcohol, must vote, and would be tried as an adult in a court of law. According to law, you are an adult at eighteen. But who is the law to say?
Different people reach the point of maturity people would call adulthood at different times. Some may never even reach it. But years, ages, they're all just numbers, that essentially, don't really mean that much.
I woke up today and I still have the same feelings, I still miss my best friends and want them back, I still worry about my sister and want her to be happy and instead see her desperately sad; and feel helpless knowing that I can't do anything to help, hoping time will help, and less time rather than more, but knowing that with her self value, time may make it worse (post on that coming soon); I still know that I am selfish in too many ways, I still determine to change that each morning but forget in the space of a few minutes, I still hate my weight, I still try to decide if I like what I see in the mirror, I still get angry at mum and lose my temper too easily... So much is the same but I guess the idea of the New Year is that a new time has begun, an ending of the period before, when really, time continues on endlessly, relentlessly; and as such a new chance has presented itself for us. To make better on the time gone, to move past our mistakes, to go forward. Is that what the New Year is for?
Keeping times and dates is all well and good, we mark the events in our lives by these things, but if we allow ourselves to be ruled by the clock, then that is something I feel is somewhat wrong. We should note time, appreciate time, understand that we have a time to fit everything in, that we do not last forever, but I think if we rush to fit things into a schedule just to get everything done within a time frame, then we can make a great mistake. Don't get me wrong, schedules are a good idea, for work and such; but if we try to plan our personal lives in a way that we must cram family and people into spaces that are left by the essentials such as work and sleep, we can end up just trying to allot them a slice of our time, so that this becomes more of another task on our organiser, something we do so we know it has been done and we have fulfilled our duty.
I'm talking crap again, I know, what I'm saying again doesn't make all that much sense, confused with several different ideas together. Sorry, I get like this when I'm tired. Ignore the previous paragraph pl0x (:
Anyway, I wish you all a Happy New Year (I think for the second time?), and that it may be safe, happy and that you may grow and love and laugh and live, and only be bettered by years to come. (: Thanks to all the followers of my blog, this and the other, at the moment known as "Head In The Clouds". Thanks to everyone who has commented and to all you other bloggers out there who's blogs I have been blessed with reading.
Congratulations to That Damn Expat on your wedding on New Year's Eve, and a shout out here to Michael Rivera who has been most caring and supportive and not to mention a wonderful blogger whose posts I always eagerly read even when I fail miserably at commenting them, although I have things to say in response to most of his posts. Which reminds me Michael, your "2008 in review" post which I forget the actual name of, was great and I will comment it and your more recent posts soon, I promise! I am hoping that we will become good friends, I think the beginnings have definitely been sown (:
Yet another mention for Diary of an Old Fart", great blog, thank you so much for this gift to the blogging world, Mulled Vine (:
Anyway, to bed I must go, seven o' clock morning tomorrow. Some market or something. (I'm in Melbourne with my aunt's family at the moment)
night, xx
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Pillow Update
"New" pillow, new to me but already a member of our household, is great! (:
Smiles all around (:
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
My Hunt for the Elusive Perfect Pillow
So my new "ergonomically designed pillow for side and back sleepers" from Ikea that "people just keep coming back for" [although why they would come back for more if they already have one is slightly beyond me, I suppose for the other family members but still...] has not won my obviously necessary approval... ^_^ I specifically told the saleswoman I wanted a pillow that was firm; but not hard, and definitely not too soft. Admittedly, this pillow was in between those by the standards of their other pillows. But I was suspicious from the moment I saw such a wide variety of pillows; no one needs that many pillow options unless have they have severe neck or back problems...
For the rest of the populace who just wants a pillow, what possible purpose could such a vast array of choices serve? Nothing but to befuddle the hapless customer so much that they simply take whichever pillow is put forward to be the best for them rather than try to make such a confusing decision all on their own.
How else would the ordinary middle class [free of back / neck issues] consumer decide to fork out up to $70 for a pillow that is essential a sort of bean shaped piece of foam and then yet another $30 for the special pillow cover to put the first item into so that that buyer's head may be more cushioned and appear to be lying on a pillow of normal shape during this mainly unconscious part of their life, rather than Pillow le Freak? Sure, it's shaped slightly strangely, but if you're prepared to pay seventy bucks for one pillow, can't you handle a little strange? Sigh. It's all about the aesthetics these days.
This pillow cover in question is not your average pillow cover which for all normal purposes would preserve hygiene in the ability to wash that rather than the entire pillow, and make it look nice in a customised way. Now, this particular pillow is firstly longer than most pillows, so that's a no to nice fun pillow covers. And because of its odd shape, said pillow requires the pillow cover which you insert the pillow into and it is cushiony and soft, and I'm sure its very nice. Necessary? With the global financial crisis, sleep may be the only time for contentment, so why not sacrifice some hard earned money for a little peace of mind? [NB. the global financial crisis doesn't really affect me directly since I don't have a job and my parents are the ones spending on me, but I'm not all that selfish.]
But at a hundred bucks a pop, I think I'll pass.
Now, my second hint that something was a little off were the names of different designs of pillows. It is my opinion that names, at least of objects, should indicate a little about their owners. Maybe these names mean something entirely related to pillow talk in Swedish, but as an English speaking citizen of Australia, I had no clue whatsoever what such ominous sounding names could mean. None sounded even remotely appealing to me. Here for example are a few I grabbed of Ikea's website [ikea.com.au if you're interested {Oh and the poor Northern Territory, they don't got no Ikea >.<}]: - GOSA HASSEL, GOSA KÄRNA, GOSA KLÄTT, GOSA RAPS. Oh and I'm sorry, it's not a pillow cover, its an outer pillow core ^_^. Why are the names in CAPITALS? They're intimidating enough already... What do such names conjure up in your mind?
Then, from the minute my parents decided to ask for assistance and the salesperson came out with the word "ergonomically" in relation to pillows, I knew this was a bad idea. However, against my better judgment, I kept my mouth shut; attempting to not be a pain and also trusting in Saleswoman's assumed knowledge. She works here, she uses words like "ergonomic", she must know pillows... She seems confident that this pillow is popular, although no figures were quoted [which could be bogus regardless], she's working with my specifications, maybe this is a good idea... Perhaps I should have recalled my friend who works at Baker's Delight, merely serving, complaining to me about how customers tended to ask her what type of bread goes best with *particular dish*; not really knowing, she tends to give what vague help she can while sounding authoritative. Of course, this was only months into her job, she seems to know better now, as I observed the other day while visiting her at work. Or perhaps she's just great at seeming knowledgeable about bread. Regardless, the same fundamental idea quite possibly applies to pillow salespeople.
Note to self: Follow your pillow instincts, and remember that the consumer market has essentially the same principles across the board, no matter the product...
Please take into consideration that I did not intend to buy a pillow from Ikea. I would have been satisfied with a new pillow from Kmart, Target, Big W, any department store is fine by me. However we were already at Ikea, shopping for furniture [and lunching. May I say, I don't understand the fuss about their food, I thought it quite average, although truth be told I only had a fruit flan since none of the main meals looked very appealing, and my family did say they were delicious. I'm a little fussy... But the fruit flan was nice. I like fruit flans, so it was nice that I thought it was nice, but it was your generic fruit flan. It wasn't rave worthy, no, certainly not. And for parents, yes, it's not just toddlers who are fussy with food; the stress of young children is nothing compared to that of teenagers, at least in my parents' eyes. I fully support them in that verdict, I'd be sick to death of me if I was my mother. Although I wasn't fussy at all as a child. Hmm...], and I happened to mention that I wanted a new pillow. Okay, I may have stressed that I needed a new pillow, and today; although I knew quite well it was not a need... in my defence, my neck had been rather sore for the last few weeks.
My problem with our current pillows? Well, you see, all the pillows available to me were either too thin or too thick, making for verrry uncomfortable attempts at sleep. I tried putting two "too thin" pillows together, but they were each thick enough that when together, were too thick, but by themselves, miserably flat. This was highly frustrating to me, and my sore neck morning after morning was not something I enjoyed. Thus the pillow hunt. Alas, had we but been at Marion [local shopping centre {or mall}] that day instead, at Harvey Norman, Freedom, or some other such furniture store in the vicinity, I might have ended up with a quick and easy choice to make, and a perfectly decent, non-ergonomic pillow.
Unfortunately, life doesn't consist of continual smooth sailing, and a pillow was bought for me from Ikea [Not the $70 one, but a 30 or 40 dollar pillow, which, although I am not a scrooge, particularly when it comes to spending my parents' money, seemed slightly ridiculous to me. Again, I should have said something, however it's nice when the parentals decide to buy me something that I think is at unacceptable price and do so quite happily and without complaint. I am guilty of... I forget what its called, but it is wrong, I know. And so, I hoped fervently that I would like said pillow]. Returnable as they are if within original plastic packaging and within 90 days, this story may also have had a happier ending, if not for my sister, missing the part of the conversation during the car ride home about how I should keep the pillow in its plastic as I trialled it [within a pillow case of course so I shouldn't suffocate; this being one of the pillows at a more regular size], and decided to assist me that evening by ripping open the plastic, as my mother and I watched in horror, unable to stop her before the deed was done. Here upon I was thinking something along the lines of "I must like this pillow, I must like this pillow" since it was now nonreturnable, costly, and I felt just a tad guilty because of the cost and non-necessity. In the mean time my mum freaked just a little and my sister had her "oops" moment. Really, it was all quite amusing.
With my positive and determined mindset towards the pillow, not to mention how it was ergonomically designed, how could I not like it? Pretty simple. It was still uncomfortable, no matter how I tried to convince myself I just needed to get used to it. After three nights, I couldn't take it anymore. However, salvation and redemption from any forthcoming guilt was still a slim possibility. See, my dad hasn't been too impressed with whichever pillow he's been using either, and he does have back problems.
{ASIDE: So does my mum actually, and hers + her neck problems are quite severe, which is why it's absolutely fantastic she continues to work as a carer at a nursing home. Which, if you don't know, involves lifting the residents, thus equalling very bad for her neck + back. But she enjoys working, she hadn't worked since my parents moved to Australia 18 years ago. She was very shy and after two years here, she had me, and then my sister, and stayed home to take care of us. She only began working perhaps a year and a half ago now, and only as a casual and relief, but still. I won't say it doesn't help the family although my dad's income is adequate, but I still worry about it. Please note that while I hardly get along with my mum at all, I do still appreciate everything she's done and continues to do for both I and my sister. She always puts us before herself, and while I disagree with some of her rules and such, she always has our best interests at heart, which I know even when I am arguing with her. And I do worry about her and want her to be happy and healthy and safe.}
So, my dad. My mum suggested, in store, that if I didn't like the pillow, Dad could try it also before returning it. Not that the return option is available anymore, but I am now hoping that he will find this troublesome pillow perfect. And, as I was taking it to him, planning to simply resign myself to one of the old pillows I was using before, he offered me a spare from my parents walk-in robe. I had seen this pillow before, but it is firm foam, hardish, and doesn't slope downwards around the edges. It's kinda high all around the outside so I've always been a little ehh about it. But, desperate for any kind of relief for my neck, I decided to try it. I haven't slept on it as such, but I did lie on it for a good half hour prior to returning here to blog, and it was surprisingly comfortable. I think I could definitely get used to it ^_^
(:
Haha so after the wild goose chase for my elusive perfect pillow, it may have been here under my nose [figuratively; the more accurate position would be on the other side of this wall in front of me and a bit to the left...] all along. While it wasn't the longest search in history, it has been a trying period in life for me. XD
And if you needed an example as to just how much I can write about completely pointless matters, well I'd say here's a good one. (:
I wish you all a good [due to your own perfect pillow ;)] night.
xx
Sunday, December 14, 2008
"People Should Smile More"
So says (rather, sings) Newton Faulkner... [Kathleen's music is infiltrating my life]
However, while I definitely agree, I really think people should also blog more.
And, while I have been meaning to make my posts shorter, as they ought to be, after a cursory glance at my most recent (prior to this) post has shown me all too clearly that I still need to work on that.
Alas, there are so many words to play with, it's like an amazing game, seeing which fit together in the best way to make a delightful piece... I tend to repeat myself with different wordings simply because there are so many good options that I cannot bear to use just one...
Dare You to Move // Question
"Between who you are and who you could be,
Between how it is and how it should be;
I dare you to move,
I dare you to lift yourself up off the floor,
I dare you to move
Like today never happened.
Maybe redemption has stories to tell,
Maybe forgiveness is right where you fell,
Where can you run to escape from yourself,
Where you gonna go?
Salvation is here...."
i love this song, because I think the lyrics are very important.
The lyrics to the entire song are worth thinking about, but I have picked out the end of a verse, the chorus, and the closing lines of the song to display here. It's my "motivation" song, to keep going, to remind me that I can't escape problems by trying to run away, to hide; when I am trying to run from who I am. It can't be done, and I don't have to go anywhere else to fix that which is broken, the answer, "salvation" is already right in front of me. I have to stand and face what's wrong rather than hiding from it...
God knows I need this reminder more often than not.
This song, essentially, is about courage, having the courage to live life, the way it should be, regardless of the pain we may face, because pain is an inescapable part of life, but we shouldn't let it stop us or drag us down.
And that in the pain, getting through it and moving on, we can learn from it.
Part of the challenge of this song is to get up and make the changes that need to be made. There's a song by John Mayer with the lines "We keep on waiting, waiting on the world to change." This song has always slightly annoyed me in that, waiting does nothing. And change does not come about through doing nothing. There's no good in "waiting on the world to change", we must actively do our part to change it. Every person has the power to change the world. To take that first step; who knows how that will inspire others to also do the same? We may never even see the extent of the impact we have, but we definitely can't wait around for other people to start something. We have to "be the change we want to see in the world" or however the saying goes.
I could go on with quotes from random things, eg.
- "A single grain of rice can tip the scale. One man can make the difference between victory and defeat." - The Emperor, Mulan
and
- "A single raindrop raises the sea." - Dinotopia
;D
These lyrics also speak about hope, and if you've read many of my posts, you should know that hope is something vital to me, vital to everyone, I believe.
It is what keeps us going.
Because there always is a reason to keep going. And this song is my challenge to have faith in that reason, even when I can't quite see it or feel it; to know that there is a reason and keep living life. To quote To Write Love On Her Arms or specifically, Renee Yohe, yet again "The stars are always there, but we miss them in the dirt and the clouds. We miss them in the storms."
The stars are still there behind the darkness, and so is the reason to live, so is hope. Sometimes it takes a little blind faith.
Life wasn't mean to be easy, it is something that takes courage, but we aren't alone in this. I've said this before we are a sociable creature; we were made to live with each other, to interact and depend on one another.
----
QUESTION: What are the twelve days of Christmas? I mean, why??? It's Christmas Day... So what is the meaning of the whole twelve days of Christmas song, and what is the significance of 12, specifically? I'll do some research [or e-search ;P] on the internet, but what are your thoughts / knowledge on the matter? (:
----
I'd just like to direct you to the blog of Comic Book Superzero for a post I found extremely funny ;P
xx
Saturday, December 13, 2008
Found and stole this from
um, Splotchy coz I think it's great! Kudos to Splotchy! ;P
Instructions
"Here's what I would like to do. I want to create a story that branches out in a variety of different, unexpected ways. I don't know how realistic it is, but that's what I'm aiming for. Hopefully, at least one thread of the story can make a decent number of hops before it dies out.
If you are one of the carriers of this story virus (i.e. you have been tagged and choose to contribute to it), you will have one responsibility, in addition to contributing your own piece of the story: you will have to tag at least one person that continues your story thread. So, say you tag five people. If four people decide to not participate, it's okay, as long as the fifth one does. And if all five participate, well that's five interesting threads the story spins off into.
Not a requirement, but something your readers would appreciate: to help people trace your own particular thread of the narrative, it will be helpful if you include links to the chapters preceding yours.
There always has to be a start of a story, so here it is.
***
The bus was more crowded than usual. It was bitterly cold outside, and I hadn't prepared for it. I noticed that a fair number of the riders were dressed curiously. As I glanced around, I stretched my feet and kicked up against a large, heavy cardboard box laying under the seat in front of me."
***
Upon glancing around to apologise to its owner, I realised with a start that it belonged to no one. My imagination needed no prompting from the poster on the bus itself to tell me that unaccompanied parcels could be dangerous. I had just watching "The Interpreter" the other day, and my thoughts flashed back to the scene in which a passenger leaves a lunch bag containing a bomb on the bus, exploding shortly after he gets off it.
Of course, it could easily just be an innocent mistake by a commuter, a forgotten purchase of some sort...
As my logical side fought with the creative, quite possibly unstable part of my brain, I thought of various objects the box might contain, already knowing that logic was in for a beating once more.
*******
Please continue this story virus.
I tag: xCarCrashHearts aka Shazz
Kate
Aimee Jade
Ben
Monday, December 1, 2008
Why Flash Mobs Are Great
lol, this is off some japanese game show
and as for the Adelaide flash mob... http://www.adelaideflashmob.com/
they also have a MySpace and Facebook. ;P
Friday, November 7, 2008
Lol so,
I have utilised the new feature on here; making it easier for you to comment me. You can just tick which was your reaction,I would have made more but it wouldn't let me >=( Well it did but just they don't show up.
So do you lol at what I say, think I'm emo, and of course do you stalk me...? Now you can tell me in every post I make on this blog, with a simple click ;P
rofl
oh i am too funny bahahaha. I am so lame. Hah lame should be another reaction, I'll see if i can fit it in ;P
And and and i have started writing a story. I'm basing it roughly on Bullet For My Valentine song "Ten Years Today" which is about a guy whose friend committed suicide, strangely this happened "ten years [ago] today", and how he's still trying to move on, left with all these questions as to how his friend could leave him and everyone else like this.
la la la. shall be good as i develop it more. i need new interesting topic besides death / suicide. or child abuse. I want something fresh. "Ziplock fresh". Oh Madagascar ftw ;P
xx
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