Look, I hate to be the jerk around town, but I am royally unimpressed by your blog plagiarism. Not to be really presumptuous, but It's just too much of a coincidence that my previously used analogies involving Madonna's breasts and Miley Cyrus's ego, and phrases like "unemployment, i welcome you with arms as wide as my wit is lacking," are littered across your blog.

Sure, I have no hold of the English language, so just for that, I can let slide your usage of "deities of academia", "karmic retribution" and "cretin". Just fyi, you spelled cretin wrong - "creten" - hilarious that I held that same spelling error for the better part of last year.

Yes, I stumbled upon your blog, skimmed through the most recent entries, thought it a little uncanny that we had such similar idioms, but thought nothing of it. I even thought "WELL HEY, IT'S A KINDERED SPIRIT!" That until, I saw the sentence, "It would be presumptuous of me to say that my car doesn't like it up the arse." Seriously? I only wrote that line four months ago. If you're going to plagiarise, at least have the decency to steal something at least a year old, that way I might have forgotten I had written it. Jerk.

Look pal, you can kick at my threadbare self-esteem, steal my parking spot or be the obnoxious prick on the treadmill next to me who detracts from my running focus, and yeah I'll be a little miffed. But you take my line about adopting self-defence so that when assailed in the back of an alleyway, I'll have better than my "I can do origami" catchphrase, then we have a problem. Such a problem involves me wanting to make mashed potato of your face with my fist alone.

You think I'm creepy? Damn straight I am. I went to the very start of your blog archives, opened up a word document, and copied down all the lines that sounded terribly suspect. I've organised it under month headings too. I have the intention of going back through my own blog and copying down my original statements and the dates of when I posted them. Why? I don't know. Probably will just be an exercise in personal masochism.

I know what your name is and I know you live in my city. Don't think I'm above shaming you. If I feel so inspired, I will put your link up on here. Better yet, I'll start a new section on the sidebar aptly titled "Wall of Shame" and will christen you as its pioneer. I don't know what I'm expecting. I'd feel terrible to ask you to take your posts down. Who am I to play the holier-than-thou stance, but really, I am livid. Self-expression doesn't come as easy for me as I'd like it to, and for you to come and pedal on the back of my measly wisdom does not sit well with me. Maybe I would just like some sort of acknowledgment - "oh hey, I read your post. I'm really sorry about offending you. Won't do it again." I don't know. All I know is I'm really unimpressed.

I could damn well be overacting. So be it. But just know that this is a mighty pet-peeve, and its people like you who reinforce my increasing displeasure about sharing content. Criticism and trolling I can take, I've dealt with them for a long time. But this, the pilfering of ideas, I do not stand for. I don't mean to be a huge bitch, but I am not going to sit down and take it like a man. I will take it with the full force of the adolescent brat I will never grow out of, got it?

just one.

a laboured mess of words

In an attempt to conceal just how much I struggle with writing up blog entries, I'll begin this post with an irrelevant but worthwhile tidbit like how a can of corn kernels has the capacity to smell like cheap wine. Are you riveted? I dearly hope not. Otherwise, I'll chastise you for being a low-quality reader (but secretly be thrilled that my weak statements have an easily moved audience).

In the past week, I've managed to uphold two negative stereotypes that may or may not involve "women" and "asians" with relation to driving. How might one do this, you ask? Simple. Reverse into a midget-sized pole in a carpark. I'm not even going to make excuses for myself; in fact, I'll even add that the smash repairs guy and I are totally on a first name basis. I said, "HELLO, I'VE COME BACK TO BRING YOU BUSINESS," with the chipper air of one who is not a war veteran. He laughed and said, "I should give you a frequent flyers card." (*Will just note that this is the first of my road misadventures where fault rests on my shoulders, mmkay)

So, I've been enjoying the bustle of the outside world. My rustiness at blogging can attest to this. Yesterday after class, I made my way to the Museum of Contemporary Art with Alex, whereupon he informed me that he totally had some rehearsed comments and art appraisals at the ready, ahaha bless! Then I took the following picture at some point during a leisurely stroll. Sometimes I forget how beautiful I find the city I live in, but instants like these are like refreshing gusts of clarity.

In the evening, Nerida picked me up for a gig, and added me to the collection of girls in her car. I instantly warmed to them like a potato in a microwave after hearing, "Oh, we'll look after you tonight!" in response to my delcaration that I was the baby of the bunch.

Here, have some myrth:

I love live music, the atmosphere of a small pub, and the collective easygoing quality of people who frequent these venues. There's little pretentiousness to stab through, unlike at clubs, and falling into conversation with anyone is as easy as settling into a an armchair specifically designed for the grooves and ridges of my tender bottom! Stumbling into bed at a time of day pre-emancipated-Cinderella did not have the luxury of enjoying, sleep was short-lived, and I drove Isabelle to school prior to jumping onto a train with Min, in order to make it to a television shoot. We were extras, courtesy of the darling Chris, and all I'm prepared to say on the matter is I am mother trucking better at tennis than I ever gave myself credit for!

Look, all I'm asking for right now is a calf massage. I am exhausted.
It should also be noted that I haven't gone to the gym since Monday. You see how treacherous old age is?!? Excuse me while I have a quarter life crisis...