babyfreakingporridge.

I've left

2011-06-14T06:12:00.003+10:00

http://nikkinoncommittal.tumblr.com

Sorry for the betrayal, Blogger. Tumblr just doesn't require as much hearty commitment...

Blistered feet, calloused fingers, but content as f*ck.

2011-03-13T22:29:00.009+11:00

It is with a full belly of cultural amalgamation (bits of taco, bits of paella and bits of chinese noodles anyone?) that I sit down tonight to write and reflect about small things to be grateful for. I do realise this is alarming. I, the resident creep with a penchant for filling my nostrils with assorted objects, want to discuss things beyond my apparent maturity level? Yes. Hear me out.

I came home tonight from my routine Sunday night salsa class. Having tried my hand (well, foot) in salsa sometime in October, I've now been at it for about six months. I don't leave straight after my Level 4 class wraps up. I like to stay on for the next class, the beginner class, because I like to brush up on my skills. A new routine is taught every week, and Level 3's routine tonight was the very same routine from my 2nd ever Level 3 class. I remember being a clusterfuck that night - a vicious cycle of wayward limbs and the associated shame. I refer to that was the worst night of dancing I ever had - I was completely and utterly off my game, it was like I was gearing up for baseball... in a synchronised swimming arena. I don't take well to mediocrity, let alone failure, so I sulked my way home that night. I didn't end up coming back for weeks.

After biting the bullet and strapping on my dancing shoes - first my left foot, then my other left foot, I eventually came back. And tonight, after laying that old grievance to rest for months, it resurrected itself, and I looked it right in the eye as I grabbed it by the proverbial balls.

I could not believe how naturally the dance flowed. My feet, my hips, my smile... tonight just seemed privy to this language I had only ever heard in whispers. And I said a silent plea of thanks to the universe - for feeling so careless but simultaneously so attune to the rhythm, and for the wisdom brought on by fulfilled perseverance. We fail, we learn, we grow. I learned this tonight. So I guess my point in sharing this is to hammer in that age old adage of "never giving up". It's cheesy, yes, but I ain't ever gon' complain about extra mozarella in my four-cheese pasta!

And in other news, I finally cashed in my music store voucher that my Momma bestowed upon me during Christmas festivities. I have been unable to let go of my new steel string bad-ass-black Takamine. It still is yet to be named. Suggestions?

And it's the season of lent. I've been tossing up between giving up either a) men or b) chocolate, but this is proving to be an epic struggle. I have decided then that the only rational thing would be to compromise... and so it is that I shall be giving up c) chocolate covered men. I am freaking Mohammed! And if Mohammed don't go to the Mountain, the Mountain better go to Mohammed. And damnit the Mountain bows to me this time. He bows, alright.

My father, the closet Justin Bieber fanboy.

2011-02-26T01:17:00.000+11:00

Don't rouse the dead.

2011-02-09T00:34:00.004+11:00

The title bears no weight on this post. It just sounded good in my head. I've been back to work, back to salsa class, back to the routine bustle of my Sydney existence... just back for a week now. I have many pending and overdue anecdotes from the recent Manila trip, and the not-so-recent Gold Coast exeunt.

Maybe those thoughts and images will never see the light of day. THEY WILL GO WITH ME TO THE GRAVE. Oh look, yet another death reference. Foreboding, perhaps?

I made this thing yesterday, and I thought it was funny. You will laugh, damnit. You will laugh. Okay fine, I will make do with a faint giggle.

K bye. Gotta go skedaddle and update my secret blaaahg... ooh! ;)

hey internets

2011-01-30T20:54:00.001+11:00

I have one night left in Manila. Sydney-bound again tomorrow. Boo

Transit & peppermint tea.

2011-01-16T18:46:00.005+11:00

That's my face sipping peppermint tea at Changi Airport in Singapore. Hours prior, I tweeted this on the interwebs:

I believe I will turn into a large peppermint creature soon. AND FANCY THAT, I'm embarking on some new travels, and my prior travels still have not been documented. Typical.

Me, Myself and Eye(liner).

2011-01-09T23:40:00.004+11:00

I've been back to the daily grind for a week. I told myself that finishing my Gold Coast holiday recap (which I started immediately after the last post) was in store for tonight. But uh, suffice to say, that fell through. Drawing on my self was exponentially more alluring!

Also, my Father can not stomach looking at me. Need new Father. And skype / iChat contacts. Anyone game enough to put up with my face on a daily basis?

I went on vacation and now it's the New Year.

2011-01-02T23:45:00.007+11:00

Well hello, two thousand and eleven!!11!1!!1one!!1!

I'm taking a break from punching at my gut to wish you all, my readership of two, a Happy New Year. Do not be fooled by the excitement in my above punctuation. I'm actually gnawing at my sunburned skin, writhing in pain and reeking of nail polish and menstrual cramps.

I HATE BEING WOMAN SOMETIMES, HEAR ME ROAR.

But I don't believe in modern-day medicine, only suffering in silence, if by "suffering in silence" I mean "yelling it on the internet". Ah, 2011, I do not believe you have seen the last of my being obnoxious.

Only hours ago, I came back from the Gold Coast - darker, fatter and poorer. And while I did start to recount a few tales and misadventures, I figure it's a post for tomorrow.

More appropriate would be reflecting on the past year, and saluting the notable occurrences with bullet points...!

* My gramps going through several surgeries, recovering well and being back to his smiley, round-bellied self

* Scoring a job with Apple (there, I said it...!) and within six-weeks, "graduating" to a new team with a different playing field, and finding that I love my co-players and the workload even through times of stress

* Graduating from University... and officially saying goodbye to essay papers started horrifically close to deadline

* Turning twenty one and welcoming adulthood into my open arms and (poisoned) liver, in the company of some of the most important people in my life. Did I also mention popping my cherry on alcohol-induced barfing?

* Getting busted by a speed camera and receiving my first speeding ticket - and although this is not so much a highlight as it is a shameful exercise in stupidity, I guess it serves as a cautionary tale on the ramifications of trying to knock out children with wheels in a 25 metre space... Okay bad joke, but really, I'll call it a learning curve and draw the highlight as it being my last speeding ticket as well. (Wishful thinking?)

* Falling in love with Salsa, not the type that tastes delicious with guacamole and melted cheese on a bed of corn chips, but the type that looks delicious on the dance floor, being led by some suave gentleman... and being able to progress my way to level three within a span of two weeks

and probably the most significant:

* Not wasting as much of my downtime googling dead baby jokes and reading my horoscopes as I did last year

So yes, farewell two thousand and ten. You were relatively kind to me, like a rhinoceros is relatively kind to the pavement (when there are people to step on!) during a stampede.

I am still sans-boyfriend and sans-child. Will two thousand and eleven change this? Stay tuned... Just kidding, Dad. About which bit, however, I will not reveal ;)

Chrismastym!

2010-12-25T13:27:00.002+11:00

Merry Christmas everyone!

This morning while buttering some prawns and minding my own business, I had the privilege of being whacked on the arse. "HEY!" I yelped, as I clutched my surprised and mildly painful bottom. As it turns out, the fly everyone wanted dead had picked my l'arj-ass as its place of respite.

That's all. Back to Nom, Round 2! Hope y'all have an eventful and love-filled Christmas!

Stuntman

2010-12-21T22:18:00.003+11:00

Recently, I had the pleasure of becoming a stuntman.

When I say "recently", I actually mean "yesterday", and when I say "pleasure", I actually mean "misfortune".

And as for being a stuntman? What I really mean is that I was privy to the experience of crashing a bike straight into a tree. That shit's the stuff of movies, yo!

After ten years of inactivity, I whipped out my old bike and took it out for a spin. I may have learned the hard way that I couldn't actually brake. In the seconds before what could have been my untimely demise, I rationalised that the most appropriate way to stop without falling straight off the bike was to just to use a nearby tree as the break in momentum, as my barrier of sorts.

I went straight for that damn tree. I like to think of that decisive action as probably the only time I ever had some concrete direction in my life (pun intended).

Face is still same, average, puffy circumference. Spleen still in the correct place. I remain, for the most part, unscathed:

And that's all. Thought it was a story worth telling. Ho ho ho!

This post is picture heavy because that's the way I like it.

2010-11-23T22:57:00.011+11:00

So I have THE sexiest wound on my hand:

I either:

a) got bitten by a child

b) had a fist fight with a stapler, or

c) decided to stitch myself in my sleep.

I like all of the above, but option a) is most viable, on account of the fact that children, LOTS OF CHILDREN(!), roamed my house on Saturday night.

No, I'm not running an under-the-table sweatshop operation, nor am I running a harem...

This past weekend saw my sister celebrate her sixteenth birthday with a little shindig at our abode. I, like any other social-trainwreck, of course retreated to my room for a portion of the festivities for - you guessed it - vapid camwhore time!

Here are some legit pictures of the 'Beauty & The Geek' themed event:

LOOK HOW ADORABLE MY MOTHER IS! LOOK HOW ADORABLE I THINK I AM!

So that was Saturday. I did actually have a better time than I let on because I may or may not be a massive pedophile. And also Isabelle had the dance floor happnin' so rest assured this l'arj ass flew in every direction. I'll just say though that the youth of today don't shake their hips quite near how they need to...

I got to catch up with my dear long-lost Rossco, who has been back on Sydney soil for the past week. He walked out of his house and jumped into my passenger's seat holding a bowl of meatballs (homemade) and cucumbers (homegrown). It was as hilarious as it was delicious.

(Stalk the album here.)

And the rest of my existence has been spent at work, driving to and from work, and attempting to write music. (Trivia: the track I've been working on this week is called 'Cyclone'. It is my foray into chill-out / electronica.) I will mention, however, that I spent yesterday's and today's lunchbreak at the gym. I feel like I've cheated the system somehow, like I've pilfered extra hours for my day from a communal time-bank. Whatever the case, it's a habit I'd like to sustain. Cocaine is too costly. (By the way, Dad, I'm joking. The only lines I can afford to sniff are that of the homebrand ground pepper variety...)

And speaking of sustaning habits, DAMN thingsinmynose is a FAIL! Merely three weeks since its inception and I've already dropped the ball(s) like a twelve year old going through first-time puberty. Gosh, commitment is not a quality I am adept at. Also, it gives me the heebie-jeebies...!

I should go. It's a big day at work tomorrow. Guest post tomorrow by a handsome, but awful, young man who we will fondly refer to as Mojo Wardell. He is adamant about convincing me that I am not human, but actually a robot or sometimes corm, and he is also embarrassed to be seen in public with me, which is why from now on, he will always have a paperbag with which to cover his face.

In the following picture, I took the liberty of drawing the paperbag on because I am considerate!

But then I thought, maybe I should be the one with the paperbag over my head.

Thoughts? And yes, hopefully that is a sufficient introduction. A guest post tomorrow from Mojo Wardell. He already submitted it to me on Sunday, but I am one with the art of procrastination! As I, on behalf of Daddy, have previously said: "Better late than pregnant!"

And damnit.

This whole post has made me super nostalgic about my 21st, three months ago.

Night, turdeaters!

Delicious

2010-11-15T22:55:00.007+11:00

I finally got around to seeing The Social Network, and GOOD GOD, Andrew Garfield, who plays Eduardo Saverin - CFO of facebook and former best friend of Mark Zuckerberg, is a fiiiine piece of ass(ertive man-candy).

You'd think that having a communications degree under my belt would lend itself to me being slightly more articulate and prompting me to actually impose my judgments and cinematic analyses down your throats, rather than just finding me commenting on the shboinkability of its cast members...

But no. That would mean I'd have some depth up my sleeve, and frankly, that is not the case because I AM A HORMONALLY-CHARGED AND DEVASTATINGLY SHALLOW CRETEN. Whew, I'm glad I got that off my chest. I trust you a lot, dear internets, with truthful admissions like that. I know you won't judge me.

Speaking of being worthy of judgments, I started a new venture which is subversive as it is enlightening. It has anthropological elements just as much as it has very intrinsic, primal elements. And so I present to you my daily exercise in meaningful vanity (or so I tell myself): things in my nose.

I'm leaving tonight's post in its succinct glory. I'm being serenaded by a pixelated deviant on iChat. He is pixelated not because he is a cyborg, but because my internet is capped.

Anyhow, happy birthday for yesterday to my beloved and favourite Daddy. May the rest of your life be as awesome as your firstborn!

And I leave with a picture of me and a delicious young birthday girl from Friday night.

Night McSlurries

Collisions and chin-curtains.

2010-10-28T20:22:00.006+11:00

Ever monopolised the entire city's stock of 4GB RAM sticks on your desk? No?

What about sitting on a bus, daydreaming about scratching your arse while staring out the window, only to see a car (ridiculously) try to cut in front of the bus, followed by a THUD straight into your bus, and finalised by said car swerving straight into oncoming traffic and hitting another car in the process, rendering traffic on the Anzac Bridge to a complete halt...? No?

All in a day's work, my dears, all in a day's work.

I'll keep tight-lipped on the former, but as for the latter... yes, that happened yesterday. For such an epic series of events, it was surprisingly fortunate that no one was seriously hurt. Everyone on the bus was fine, the perpetrator was fine (probably just suffering from shame), and the car full of well-dressed professionals were fine, despite suffering a pretty ugly smash to the driver's seat.

Not to make light of the accident, but the driver in question was NOT Asian. Woman, yes, but not Asian.
(Just thought I'd put that out there... Hold yr tongues, you stereotyping scoundrels!) But I am both female and asian, and we all know what that combination means for driving skills, so i"ll just take one for the team here and say I caused the collision... hells yeah!

Aside from being a menace on the roads and in the workplace, I've been trying to reclaim my work-gym balance. I am a porker these days, and it is getting a little difficult to try to hide the triple chin.

At first I thought that growing a beard might do the trick, but then I realised that:
a) Rogaine is a bit difficult to source in this part of the world, and
b) If I were to grow facial hair, I'm more partial to mutton chops (pictured below) than any other type of thick and long, chin-camouflaging hair armour. (Hairmour?)

So I quickly learned that the solution lies in the more traditional means, of which I used to be so diligent! This means regular exercise and a permanent ban on hash brownies. (By that I mean hash browns of course...)

So I've come to learn that by the time I get home in the evenings (earliest ever being 7:30 pm), I am a lethargic sack of cow dung. I then need to haul myself to work out in the mornings prior to leaving the house at 8 am. And last week, I was magnificent! I managed to pry myself out of bed at 5:30 am for a twenty km bike ride both Wednesday and Thursday morning. This week was a write-off, so uh, let's move on to some quick photo-booth camwhoring...

You know, I'm actually quite impressed with the chin curtain and goatee above. Does it look like a promising summer look? Does the assertive facial hair finally match my handshake? (I give a mean grip. None of this limp fish bullshit...) Do I look older than my twenty-one years, wiser perhaps?

The questions are endless, Dear Readers. I want your uncensored opinions.

Spring has well and truly sprung! I took advantage of the delicious weather about two weekends ago by frolicking in the yard:

But these days, I am about as interesting as a glob of licked Nutella off a spoon - not so delicious because you realise that the hazelnutty goodness is coated in slobber and a myriad of diseases probably ranging from Hepatitis to the Black Plague of 1348. I am clearly an Occupational Health and Safety hazard.

But to toot my own horn just a little, I am forcing myself to be diligent with my music. Throwing around the excuse of 'having no time' is no longer an option. For the past week and a half, I have locked myself in the study, just writing and recording during every piece of downtime I've had. I've completed two tracks with reasonably full instrumentation, and I've got one (novelty) track in progress. I daresay the novelty track will make an appearance on the YouTubes in the near future, but if you happen to be of the select few who read this thing and want a sneak preview, here is the first minute and a half of the track. It's called 'A song about B.O.' and fully inspired by my little sister.

I'm also now in love with salsa dancing and classical music, maybe in that order. Over the past month, I've probably stumbled into eight salsa classess. Whodathunk I'd ever enjoy my salsa just with hips and without guacamole?! (Awful joke.) I managed to go to my first (and to this date, last) Zumba class ever, AND I AM SMITTEN. But Zumba will probably turn into yet another unrequited-affection-type-ordeal I'll end up writing a sad song about, since my schedule is not conducive to honing this love affair. Le sigh.

And as for classical music, I'm totally injecting culture into my veins and opting to listen to the Classical FM station during my drives. Debussy, Tchaikovsky and Satie, I love you. Age (and one-sided polygamy) is no hindrance, I promise...

Anyhow, I best be off. I start work at 7:15 tomorrow, which means this beast best be up by 4:50. Goodnight and am hoping to type to y'all again soon. I know I've said that before. But just think of me like that awful girlfriend who promises to change - she'll promise to quit being needy and whiny, and that she'll quit flirting with all the supple young law students. And although she doesn't change, you keep coming back despite better judgment because the milkshake. is. just. that. good.

And maybe also because she slips Rohypnol in everything you drink, tells you to 'Put the lotion in the basket', and keeps you chained in the basement next to her past three (decapitated) boyfriends.

I leave you with something sweet:
(A screenshot of me e-picking Daddy's nose during a Skype chat)

And I leave you with something not so sweet:
Disclaimer: if horror / psychological thrillers / dismemberment isn't yo thang, DON'T CLICK.

xx N

I have some asplainin' to do.

2010-09-05T22:28:00.011+10:00

Dear all,

It has been about five months since I crafted a thorough, substantial, and not ridiculously vague post. Not that children are crying and riots are buzzing on account of my absence, but I'm the kind of gal who doesn't take risks. I'm the kind of gal who doesn't take risks on not keeping the people of the internets up date with her shenanigans.

The story starts in between waking and dreaming, in between pulling out wedgies and wishing I had more time to body pump and facebook prowl. Somewhere along the line, let's say April, I got a job in a global fruit store - a place iconic to (traveling & local) youtubers, and where the tech savvy generally bow their heads to and subsequently cream their pants at.

After finishing university last November, my vague plan for this year was to work part time (say, three, maybe four days a week) just to have some money in the proverbial butt pocket, and I could spend the rest of my days being fruitfully creative - maybe knuckling down and getting serious with churning out some tunes and working on the photography skillz.

Suffice to say the year hasn't really gone according to plan. But in no way am I complaining.

About six weeks into the job, I was asked by the Business Manager of this global fruit store to come on board his team. I dutifully agreed... and have since relinquished the cruisy part-time hours for a ten-to-six, five working day, full-time load.

So for the past five months, I've not had the time and opportunity to really hone any creative undertakings (which is a shame), but I have found a happy routine, a constant income, fantastic new creatures to add to my social circle, and I'm a learnin' learnin' learnin'.

That's kind of where I'm at. And because I kind of want to hit the sack, I'm gonna scrimp on the paragraphs and do a (very hasty and certainly incomplete) highlight / lowlight analysis of the past few months.

Win: I turned twenty one and my awesome work team got me a cake, and my family took me out to dinner and totally tried to get me drunk:

Fail: I turned twenty one and now have to be accountable for my actions, which is coincidentally married with the fact that I SEEM TO HAVE GONE DOWNHILL RIGHT AFTER TURNING TWENTY ONE. (By no means am I referring to lame ass driving misdemeanors...)

Win: I had a freaking sweet time at my 21st (which deserves a post in itself)

Fail: ...Maybe too freaking sweet of a time.

Win: I may or may not have developed a new handsome and debonair infatuation, plus the associated thrill and the stomach butterflies.

Fail: It is unrequited!!!!

Win: Spring has most definitely sprung. It maketh me happy. I like more colour in the world and the expelled necessity of having to wear more clothes.

Fail: Summer is nearing and I am HARDLY at bikini body status. Fail fail fail is the fact that full time work means a) the lack of time for beastly gym sessions (or even mild gym sessions at that), and b) the convenience and accessibility of shitty-straight-to-my-arse food. I have absolutely packed on the pounds and am so much plumper this year. Must get back to this (sans creepy expression):

Win: I have made a steel resolve to whip my arse back into gear. I ran my first 5kms (in months!) tonight. I also dogged Friday night socialising and spent the night at the gym instead getting re-acquainted with weights, a 20km bike ride, light jogging and arse-eating-stair-master. I copped it from Kristy and Tim via txt txt txts. I copped it bad. (Sorry guyyys... Ehe.)

Fail: Being a dog / retaining my social pariah status.

Win: Going through some spring cleaning and being absolutely ruthless with accumulated junk. GONE (for the most part). My wardrobe is now manageable! My room is now clean! I am still a vapid camwhore!

(Oh look, just a few pairs I thought would be worthy of being photographed...)

Anyway, that's all I got for now. I don't know how I ever coped without my new favourite toy...

Love,
Nikki

& oh, P.S. I am a little jealous of Hayley's rapport with her readers. Who am I kidding, I'm A LOT JEALOUS. I want the same thing. I want people I can know by name. I want to grow my own legion, a microchosm even, of minions to do my bidding, which may include plucking my nose hair and teaching me how to be charming. Dance, my minions, dance! By that I really mean I want to start a new. If you're a new reader, or an old reader I've never heard from, I'd love it if you could introduce yourself, tell me something about you. I mean, if you're here and reading, we've got to have a mutual interest, right? Right?! Could be fun... or just leave me to wallow in my own feces. Heh.

Have a fine night, lambchizzles!

Nasteh.

2010-08-12T22:07:00.002+10:00

I just burped some hearty butter chicken.

Usually, an action like this would see me emitting a small chuckle and a satisfactory grin on fondly recalling a fulfilling meal. But this time, the residual aftermath left me the sordid taste of barfing my guts up on Saturday night.

Oh, what's that? I barfed my guts up on Saturday night?

You bet your little cotton bottoms I did. Now I realise this is not something upstanding members of society look upon with kindness or pride... but I have decided that there is no longer room for shame in my life.

The above picture was tagged of me on facebook the morning after some epic festivities. (More on this later.) At first I was mortified. But then I remembered that I, Nikki Malvar, am comprised of 1 part normal and 7 parts ridiculous, and hence laughed myself into oblivion, and decided that I would man up and choose NOT to untag myself from such a photo.

And now here it is, garnering its little spotlight, in my vastly-neglected blog.

What prompted such a ludicrous display on Saturday night? It was my Roaring 21st shindig. (It was roaring alright... in my head!) But do not let the above picture sully your impressions! It was, in actual fact, a beautiful evening. So special and memorable, thanks to an ample number of people who absolutely deserve thorough mentions. And I do want to dedicate a complete post on the evening, but in keeping with the subject of this blog entry, ('Nasteh.') I believe it prudent of me to save that for tomorrow, and instead keep on with the theme.

So before I bid you adieu, the following things are 'Nasteh.':
* Coughing myself concave. As in, I have no mucus left to coat the throat. (I took up with the flu yesterday)
* Side-swiping a cement-rendered post of my house with my vehicle, just metres from reaching my trusty garage space
* My recent attempt to rekindle my poetry-writingz: (Roses are red / Violets are blue / I don't do romance / Can I just do you?)
* Having a 7:30 am start at work tomorrow, on the other-side of town. Thankfully my boss took pity on my ailing ways and said I could come in at 9. (Not so nasty after all, eh eh eh!)

See y'all tomorrow. I have tales. And pictures!
xx

The internets is for family times.

2010-07-21T22:03:00.003+10:00

I never have any time to update or pour fourth my verbal ramblings because I sold my soul to Steve Jobs. Just know I am having a blast and a half. I turn twenty one on Friday. It's official, I have missed the window of opportunity of ever calling myself a child prodigy - brb, must cry!

Eh.

2010-07-05T23:11:00.002+10:00

I'm giving myself all of three minutes to write this entry... which is a bit impossible because it is freezing around these parts. I am (unsuccessfully) attempting to keep my hands warm... by sandwiching them under my butt and on top of the computer seat, and not leaving them naked and poised on the keypad.

Also, I punished an entire bottle of Pink Muscat Sparkling Wine so I am a little bit delirious, a little bit sleepy, and a helluvalot burpy. I know, I'm sire you haven't forgotten just how attractive I can be.

I got up to a lot today. That is all.

I'll save it for next time why I actually got up to a lot today, why it is I devoured that bottle of bubbly, why I'm never around anymore, why I'm approximately 60m wider, and why it is fried eggs just never come out quite right... and yes, I realise I said "Watch this space, I'll be back, blah blah" last time... but you're just going to have to get accustomed to the fact that liars deserve your pity. OKAY?

GOTTA GO. I REALLY NEED TO SLEEP NOW IF I WANT TO WAKE UP EARLY ENOUGH TO BASH THE TREADMILL BEFORE BEAUTIFYING MYSELF FOR WORK, ON ACCOUNT OF I WAS NOT ABLE TO TREADMILL TONIGHT BECAUSE IN THE CROSSROAD OF LIFE FOR THE 5TH OF JULY, 2010, I CHOSE INEBRIATION OVER PERSPIRATION.

Hoohah.

BY GOSH, I'VE BEEN ABSENT.

2010-06-06T22:45:00.003+10:00

It's been over two months, dirtbags! For all we know I could be in jail, I could have produced twin spawn named "Gerard" and "Depardieu", or worse... I could be the face of Skanky Tans United.

Much to update. Watch this space. How are we all?
x

Bitch red blog

2010-03-22T01:55:00.012+11:00

Currently updating while my lips are stained bitch red. No apparent reason really, except for the fact that I am a big kid and find no greater thrill than playing with newly acquired things! I love me some new red lipstick, yo!

I'm in Manila, and have been for the past week and a half. I came here with the sole purpose of nursing my grandfather back to health, and it is for that reason that I tiptoed quietly into this country and told no friends of mine of my arrival. Scummy or wise? You decide.

No, but really, I love my pals here. I love the thrill of perpetual socialisation, the constant menagerie of faces faces faces, but I didn't want any distractions... save for seeing my papa and hitting my local fatness first.

Lolo has been doing much better. When I first arrived here, he was thin and frail (having lost 10lbs since the last of his surgeries), doused in black bruises (around the neck, chest, arms and thighs) from where he was operated on, sleepy all the time, and generally grumpy. He didn't speak much, on account of losing his voice from being operated on there, and he refused to eat, having lost his tastebuds, and subsequently his appetite.

I can happily say that after a week of constantly massaging his bruises and applying some trusty Arnica cream, they've disappeared for the most part. We've been fixing him his meal-replacement drink as well as attempting to coerce him to eat, and his appetite is slowly coming back, along with his voice and a jolly disposition. Today we went through his second cardio rehab session, and I am grateful to see the progress.

Anyhow, it's one in the morning. Gotta wake up in a few hours for a photographic adventure via Manila's rail stations tomorrow, so I leave with, you guessed it, a (nostalgic) picture dump.

I've just counted; I was in Manila four months ago, and it was a completely different experience then. Without further ado, here is a picture dump of Manila shennanigans from November 2009:

Yeah, not gonna lie, I had a blast and a ridiculously full three weeks. But I am enjoying my time here right now just the same, if not more so. I feel like I have a genuine purpose this time and its a worthwhile experience (:

Oh, and the following is completely irrelevant, but a little humour never hurt!

Why rainy days and Monday's don't really get me down.

2010-03-09T17:34:00.004+11:00

(+18 images)

Recuperation and reflection

2010-03-06T11:37:00.015+11:00

I logged on to blogger and realised that I started crafting a post on Saturday morning. It went something like this:

Aside from regular binge-eating and admiring men with neat chin straps, there's not much I love more than my 9:30 am Saturday morning body pump class.

Yep. That's all I had. Had I gotten around to completing the post, it would've eventuated into a tirade about the disgusting abundance of fit people in my district, which means a ridiculous lack of Saturday morning gym parking, which means I ended up missing body pump, which means I was severely cranky. So I drowned my sorrows in a large kebab and thirty falafels from the kebab shop on the corner... No, not really.

Anyway, my mother arrived back home yesterday. Not that you even knew she was gone. But she came bearing gifts for me, and oh, the inner child doth not protest! No, but the best gift was in the implication of the arrival - her being back home meant that Lolo was in a stable enough condition to leave behind. She and my aunt spent the past two weeks in Manila, with the majority of those nights sleeping in hospital, while Lolo underwent his surgeries. It's heartbreaking, seeing pictures of him so frail and so weak, black and blue from the operation and surrounded by unfriendly tubes. The important thing is he's stable now, but still so much weaker than when he first went into surgery. The period after his stent surgery was concerning - I'd receive txt updates from my mother talking of fevers and how his platelets kept dropping, but I am so relieved and thankful that he can rest at home now. And this is now my cue to board a plane, and take care of him and attempt to raise his spirits for the next few weeks until I start work. Hopefully by Wednesday I'm out of here.

Not gonna lie, I've been distracted and I've left this space for a solid half hour in an attempt to locate a picture of him from a happier time. I got carried away with looking through the entirety of Lolo's first-and-last-son, Paul's, wedding from July 2008.

Here is Lolo, beaming at his son, who is my uncle, but who I more fondly think of as a smelly older brother.

And because I a) like to get nostalgic, b) never shared pictures from when the wedding back in June of 2008, and c) am a huge sucker for pretty visuals, without further ado, here are some snaps from beautiful Paulynn and handsome (just this once) Paul's wedding:

Spot my handsome grandfather lurking among the groomsmen :j

The next few are like a silent story:

My beautiful mother

Lolo and Lola

Sullen girl, bahaha

Mom's younger sister - my Aunt Arlene with Uncle Allan

Cooties, and the glorified sharing of :P

Familia!

And my favourite picture... Mama!

Whew, I feel good now. Perusing pretty pictures is therapeutic for me, all the more when I have good memories associated with them.

I guess in short, much has happened since I last blogged. Nothing entirely dramatic like selling my sister to gypsies or realising I have cankles (I don't)... but I have been seeing lots of friendly faces, driving driving driving to undiscovered corners, and attending a fair share of twenty-firsts. I just didn't feel right about e-immortalising (emortalising?) the mirth these certain things have brought me, when there was a much more significant, much more real facet of my life surrounded by looming concern.

Anyhow, I will proceed to dump some imagery from small moments that brought a smile on my dial as of late.

Local pub merryment with the myspace crew. Not even gonna lie to you, Hilary and I were myspace pals from 5 years ago, and have been close ever since. Shaun also added me around that time, but we didn't meet IRL until a party of a mutual friend last year, and have become tight since. Oh, and Hil and Shaun were also myspace pals five years ago... The internets is epic.

THE BEST FUSH N CHUPS PLACE IN SYD, APPARENTLY:

Some great examples of why my sister is not blessed with the graces of handling a dslr. The man who is not me or Ross is the focus. Travesty, obvs.

Eh, slightly better.

So there. We have come to the completion of a sporadic entry. We've also come to the completion of another day... It's currently 11pm on Monday now. You see my commitment to blogging? I slave over an entry for a solid twelve hours.

No, I am full of lies, filthy lies.

I had important things to do today. By that I mean grocery shopping. And picking up Isabelle from school and driving her halfway across Sydney to her dance school because I am an amazing sibling, crafted only from the finest spandex.

Oh, don't worry. I didn't spend the next three hours curled into the foetal position in the car. Rossco is a fine sport and keeps me entertained / allows me to leech devastatingly on to his time during these Monday drives. Today we found ourselves in a bay, strumming along to French gypsy music and, you guessed it, camwhoring. But don't worry, I know what kind of fickle audience I have... a fickle audience who tires of my dumps (both image-wise and bowel-wise), so I wont share them now.

Perhaps tomorrow. But I think a '21st special' post is in order. Just so the rest of my friendly friends don't think I have something against validating them to the e-world.

Ciao!

I can explain, really.

2010-03-02T12:10:00.003+11:00

But explanations will come later.

A completely gratuitous post

2010-02-19T16:44:00.011+11:00

Occasionally, the inspiration to straighten out my wardrobe hits me like a beastly uppercut across the chin. I should note that I am eternally addicted to dress-ups; that, or I just have a nagging compulsion to try on forgotten pieces of clothing every so often to see if they still fit and/or to gauge how much tighter around my midsection the offending piece is this time.

So whenever I do plan for a bit of cleaning, I invariably end up with more clothes strewn everywhere.

Here is a lacy black number I found, which you can't see, on account of my face is taking up more than its advisable share of the frame.

I then spent the majority of the day in a bikini top, a high-waisted skirt, black stockings and cream pumps. I assure you that the visual is much more ridiculous than it sounds. And I devoured my sister's popcorn. I don't even like popcorn.

Lunch:

The 'Nix-fix-quick-and-tasty' salad contains: rocket leaves, feta cheese, cranberry bits (craisins!) and some chunky spinach and chunky pumpkin dip as le indulgent dressing.

After which, I decided it was time to be creepy.

And here I am proliferating the fact that looking normal in photos is as familiar to me as bathing with milk, honey and candied gels (or even bathing at all...)

You must be thinking, "Geez, child. Quit making a fool of yourself and broadcasting it to the shitternets. Do something constructive with your time, you wayward derelict! Find a job perhaps!"

Well...[what was previously written here has now been removed for my security]...JUST KNOW THAT I DO HAVE A JOB! And will start in April! :D

Life lessons in cynicism / Half-baked prose

2010-02-19T16:20:00.008+11:00

Eventually, everything ends the same way. You pay for your television, your water heating, a month at a time. Soon, you'll find that you'll pay for your regret in the same way. In installments. Maybe a little grief in the half-light of the digital clock's blinking neon, weeks down the track. Maybe a jolt of restless despair in the routine cup of morning tea.

So really, it doesn't matter if your head's full of clouds when your heart's full of lead. The only way still is down, down, down. (Then it's dead, dead, dead.)

Listing

2010-02-16T23:04:00.005+11:00

* I seem to enjoy suffocating myself in my own stink. It's been two and a half hours since I left the gym, and suffice to say, I still haven't showered. My perspiration oddly reeks of beer - which is strange but also ridiculously endearing (or so I tell myself.) What kind of red-blooded man does not enjoy a beer-battered damsel...?

* The handsome gym receptionist was present today and he flashed me that wonderful smile, and I decided once and for all that inhibition is a useless aspect of my life. So I said, "Let's elope," and elope we did. And I am now subsequently blogging from an internet cafe of an undisclosed location. And I have a very overactive imagination. And I'm most likely lying through my teeth about most of the events that have transpired.

* My fingernails are always polished with only solid black or the occasional french manicure. Today, I deviated from this normalcy. They are now bright red. Like, D-grade-horror-movie-fake-blood red. Like, only-a-conniving-axe-wielding-harlot-would-wear-this-shade-of-red red. Frankly, I'm loving it. (The way only Spencer Pratt's mother could love him... Bam.)

* Dad called on Valentine's Day. Part of the conversation went like this:

Dad: So do you have a date tonight?

Me: Ah... Err... Unh... Uh... no. Man, I was trying to come up with some extraordinarily hilarious story about how I accidentally poisoned all four of my potential dates. But ah, I lost it. So, just no.

Dad: I see.

Me: DO YOU MISS ME?!?!?!

Dad: No.

Me: Mmmmhmm, sabi mo lang yan! (You're just saying that.)

Then Dad just giggled. Riveting, i know.

* I'm quite happy about having posted my Valenswine video on the tubes. I've actually forgotten how thrilling it is to check emails and find a kind collection of words. Sometimes, I love people. Now being one of those rare sometimes.

* I seriously believe that I have a very cheeky ghost following me around. For the past two weeks, every time I get into my car, the rearview mirror is always in a different position. I don't play with it before I leave the car. I don't think my head or assorted limbs are that huge that they hit the mirror on the way out. Regardless, it's always been moved. It hasn't freaked me out yet as much as it should.

* Yesterday I woke up to find that my good mascara, good retractable eyeliner and mediocre lip-gloss had been taken from my makeup pouch on my dresser. I always put these items back in the makeup pouch. Despite knowing that I put them back in the day before, I still frantically checked under the dresser, under the bed, etc. Nothing. My little sister vehemently denied taking my stash. Somehow, I'm not convinced. Such a coincidence that the day my things disappear is the day it's picture day at school... If I were to put my prejudices aside for a second and pretend my sister is no liar, then that would only point to the favourable conclusion that I do, indeed, have a cheeky ghost on my tail.

WHY, HEAVENS, WHY.

/Non-event post ends now.

Love and assorted maladies.

2010-02-10T23:57:00.010+11:00

Hi all,

It's fifty-three minutes into the internationally acknowledged day of love. So I'll just put this out there - I love ice-cream. As in, I love ice-cream. It's probably the most stable and most fulfilling relationship of longevity I've ever had... Let me share the love:

I'm sitting at home on a Saturday night (/early Sunday morning) typing up a blog post for the internets. This is the first weekend in the last month I have not had a twenty-first to attend. And as much as I love the hum of drunken glee and friendly faces, it's a little refreshing, actually, just sitting on my ass, enjoying my own brand of glorified stink and basking in my familiar-but-comfortable social detachment. (That said, I think I only have one weekend in the upcoming three-months that is not taken up by celebratory aging-festivities, not kidding...)

Writing-wise, I feel a little bit like a woman with menopause - barren and slightly flustered. I don't have much of relevance to spill. Sorry. So I guess this is an opportunity to just share recent snaps. So, without further ado, what rhymes with 'pimage hump'?

Image dump, of course!

This is Corey.

This is Corey in the midst of shaving his head. Please note my incredible contribution to this activity, as evidenced by the charmingly tied strand.

The aftermath.

You remember Rossco, Greek-guitarist-extraordinaire.

Fun fact: Ross owns no mirror, only 'Jack the Rapist' below. I can't say for sure who gets more use out of the other...

Rossco took this.

Currently waiting (very impatiently) for Final Cut Pro to compress my recently finished video so that I may upload it to the youtubes just in time for Valentines Day. The video is perfectly reminiscent of the day it acknowledges - equal parts cheesily sincere and equal parts stupid! That's Happy Valentines Day for you, folks!

Love to all of you! And turd. Lots of turd.

Tomorrow I will have words.

2010-02-10T22:19:00.010+11:00

But for now, The Quiet World

In an effort to get people to look
into each other's eyes more,
and also to appease the mutes,

the government has decided
to allot each person exactly one hundred
and sixty-seven words, per day.

When the phone rings, I put it to my ear
without saying hello. In the restaurant
I point at chicken noodle soup.
I am adjusting well to the new way.

Late at night, I call my long distance lover,
proudly say I only used fifty-nine today.
I saved the rest for you.

When she doesn't respond,
I know she's used up all her words,
so I slowly whisper I love you
thirty-two and a third times.
After that, we just sit on the line
and listen to each other breathe.

[Jeffrey McDaniel]

de-clutterising

2010-01-24T23:29:00.007+11:00

HI. So I've been drinking. And I think that maybe my brandishing of words might be a little dangerous right about now. SO I'll definitely keep it to a minimum.

Here is a very small list of things I thought should be placed in a list called "things I have recently found therapeutic":

1) De-clutterising my room

2) Flexing the photographic limb and taking photos of this newly de-clutterised state

3) De-veining prawns

Points 1) and 2) may have come about through some pretty intense trawling of The Selby website. WHAT A FANTASTIC SITE. Creatives and their homes! So ridiculously inspired to...um...have my own home and paint the walls puke yellow and use toilet paper as cushions. No, not really. But at the very least, it inspired me to clean up the junkyard that is my room.

So without further ado,

And here is a photobomb from beautiful Kimberley's 21st last night. I AM DWARFED by her six-inch heels :(

And just to conclude, thank you for all of your words on my last entry. I appreciate them. I will never get over how so many of you are generous about opening up to strangers too. Thank you again. May you also stand strong against your plights. Love love love.

Goodnight,

Nikki

Fresh? I think not.

2010-01-19T21:38:00.011+11:00

Hey blogosphere, happy 2010!

So I realise that my greeting is nineteen days overdue, making it far from timely and thus effectively worthless, but as my Dad likes to say, "Better late than pregnant!"

Haw haw haw.

Blogger informs me that there are currently in excess of 150 of you subscribed to this verbal wasteland. When did this happen?! (And why are you all so silent...? "LET THERE BE NOISE!" she proclaimed...)

I haven't written for longer than a month now. I'd like to say my absence was because of full time dedication to an abundance of mirth in the real world and just generally swaying along to the ebb and flow of a fruitfully busy time. And yeah, to an extent, it's true - the last month or so has included-but-was-not-limited-to: fondue and strawberry wine parties, watching wonderful jazz gigs, band hero nights, bringing my exercise regime up to almost half-duathlon standards, frantically job hunting, and working closely on musical repertoire for a duo act. But despite all this, there's always been room to blog. If there's been room for facebook tetris (of which I keep consistently annihilating my old scores, by the way) then there's certainly been room to blog.

The truth is, circumstance has been less than favourable.

I generally like to keep my posts light and irrelevant (much like Owl City's musical merit, sorry). But like Hayley mentions in her comeback post, I didn't want to just fill this space with picturedumps and cheerful things, and in effect, diminish the things actually worth mentioning. And I never found myself in the right headspace or with the right words to verbalise the recent occurrences. Until now I guess.

So here...

My grandparents were supposed to spend Christmas here with us in Sydney. Prior to getting their travel visas, they needed to have some physicals done to ensure they were well and fit enough to travel. They detected an unusual mass in my grandpa's chest, and as a result, visas were not granted and their Christmas was not spent here. Minor disappointment, we agreed, as long as he was okay.

But the previous month has seen a flurry of x-rays, scans, doc consultations, unplanned overnighters at the hospital with him attached to a catheter, and a series of increasingly worrying diagnoses. He has 'descending thoracic aneurism' and 'infrerenal aortic aneurysm' which could rupture anytime. He's essentially a ticking time bomb. Add to that 2 very clogged arteries and 1 more quickly reaching that point. Different doctors are recommending different things - 'open surgery,' says one, 'stent surgery,' says another. What remains is that something must be done. Surgery is risky to begin with. We're considering his age, we're considering the complications, and we're considering if the rest of his body (like the emphysema in his lungs) can even cope with invasive surgery. And so now, my family are grappling with the decision of choosing not to do anything, or choosing to do something which could, if complications arise, severely deteriorate his quality of life, and even hurry death.

I've been lucky. With twenty years of life under my belt, I've not had to face death - mine and anyone close to me. To me, it's a folk tale, an experience someone else somewhere else is having, and affecting me only in so far as a whisper passed into my ear. So at present, I'm emotionally and mentally unprepared about letting go. Especially letting go of my grandfather, my Lolo. We're exceptionally close, he's my biggest fan, and I have to say that a lot of my childhood was as fruitful and wonderful as it was because of him. My mother always tells me how Lolo lights up when I'm around, and the reverse is true. I'm in a good place when I'm around him. And then I get sad thinking about all of this. And the heart sighs and the chest heaves. So if you have a moment to spare, I would be very grateful for good vibes, thoughts and prayers (from those of you who pray) for my grandfather and for my family. I love him dearly.

In other news, my beloved Hannah left for Amsterdam today. I probably wont see her for the next year or so. This does not at all help my current mood.

Recent happier times:

On that note, I also miss you very much Dadderpillar. I had your China Crisis CD on in the background while typing this up.

So there you have it. An explanation for my (unnoticed) absence and why I'm probably more introspective these days. Recent events certainly have given me some perspective. Suddenly, it doesn't matter so much anymore how much of a 'has-been' I've become on youtube. Not that, in saying this, I acknowledge that I ever was a notable, gosh no. Or that unrequited affection seems to be my destiny. Or that I'm so much farther from achieving my ideal body now than I was six months ago. It's all trivial.

So as not to completely end on a sombre note, I mentioned in the beginning of the post how I've been working on a jazz duo act with a Greek slice of pie called Ross.

Meet young Rossco.

If you're interested, here is an audio sampler (snippits of God Bless the Child, Girl from Ipanema, Summertime and Nature Boy) that features my crooning and Ross's divine guitarwork.

We're very professional.

So to all of you toilet-roll-holders, if you read through all of this, thank you. I do hope to write in good spirits soon. Thanks for sticking around.

A few changes...

2009-12-13T14:05:00.013+11:00

So it's been a month since my last post, and let me tell you, within the span of a month, the changes are a-plenty ! I now bathe and brush my teeth irregularly and with no enthusiasm. I have also taken to plastic as the staples of my wardrobe.

Be gone with ye, Cotton! Be gone with ye, Chiffon!

So no, not really. But I did attend Hannah's ingenious hobo-chic themed 21st. Beer was served in little brown baggies, the ladies donned stellar d.i.y. dresses and the idyllic suburban dwelling was transformed into a shanty-palace-extraordinaire. Hannah was, as expected, stunning in her frilly blue plastic-bag ensemble.

The beautiful celebrant and I:

I recited my speech with as much flair as a goat in labour. I was meant to start out in a cheesy deadpan and a glazed look in my eyes with the slurred words, "Hi everybody. My name is Nikki. I've been a Hannah-holic for three years now..."

Good thing I realised in time how atrociously unfunny above line was, so I omitted it and saved myself the chagrin of looking more idiotic than necessary.

Speech went as follows:

So I met Hannah three years ago on that fateful first day of Journalism class at uni. Everyone was told to get into pairs and introduce their partner to the class. Instantly we found out who was into what sport, who was from out of town, and who didn't want to be there. When it got to our turn, Hannah decided to tell the class that I had lifelong ambitions of being a microwave.I consequently fell in love on the spot, and after that, I knew that my odd sense of humour was finally not alone in this world. For the next three years, we clicked.

Hannah is hilarious, ridiculously good-looking and naturally charming. Those were my first impressions of her. Up to now they still hold true, but with the addition of loyal, thoughtful and generous.

Just a few weeks ago, we were supposed to go out for a friend's birthday, but Hannah was rostered on to work. Despite not being able to go, she offered to come pick me up from the city at 3am after her work to take me home. (I didn't take her up on that, by the way. I like to take advantage of my friends in other ways...Ba-dum-ching!) But Hannah's just the kind of person who offers to do selfless things just because she wants to. It doesn't go unnoticed, and it certainly doesn't go unappreciated.

But I think I can safely say that Hannah's generosity is equally matched by her ability to attract misadventures. By that I mean, she's a spastic. I get phonecalls that go something like, "Damnit, I ran after a bus that didn't stop, and my yoghurt spilled all over my bag," or "I just stacked it on George st in front of a camera crew."

Or how about that time we made the trek down to the Hawkesbury to film stuff for our uni assignment, only to realise that Hannah forgot the tape at home...

But Hannah is Hannah because of all of these hilarious little quirks. And during these incidents where she may have... lapses of grace... she still retains retains a smile and takes it all in her stride. Hannah's a great sport; she can laugh at herself. Like I said, she's naturally charming.. it's no wonder everyone falls for her, including 40 year old bondi ink tattoo artists who will remain unnamed...

I know I haven't spoken about a lot of 'our' things, including our love of eating, our love of body pump class, our love of eating some more, making friends with various cave-dwellers, and the fact that you're the best partner to have in television journalism. Just know that I absolutely admire what you stand for, what you do, and the person you are. Mr and Mrs Meagher, you've done exceptionally well.

As my dad says, "You can pick your friends and you can pick your nose, but you can't pick your friends' nose."

Well Dad, I think Hannah might be the exception to that rule. She's the kind of amazing person everyone wants to know and wants a piece of - down to even her boogers.

So Hannah,
Thank you for being a wonderful friend and fantastic human being, and even transcending those things. Thank you for being a significant part of the last three years of my life, and making my uni experience so much more enjoyable as a result. I'm really glad and deeply honoured that you choose to associate with me, and that I can call myself your friend. I don't need to tell you to stay awesome because I know you always will. So Happy 21st to one of the best people I will ever meet in the course of this lifetime. Thank you...

And that, my dears, is why the sappy Hallmark channel is unnecessary when I'm around. Anyhow, I'm off to a jazz gig tonight. Should be fun! A retrospective entry about my recent time in Manila is in order - It was stellar, just in case you were wondering. But that's for next time.

And I know you don't expect me to sign off without - yep, you guessed it - the trademark picture dump. And in this case, 'dump' is completely apt. ('Cause you know... dump, as in dumpsters, as in bums, as in hobos in bins... ah, never mind.)

I don't mean the Britney joke in this post. Really, I don't.

2009-11-14T23:33:00.015+11:00

I started writing up some (ambitiously) meaningful post about Friday the 13th and the unexpected kindness of people, but suffice to say I got a little sidetracked. Sidetracked by things that include but are not limited to: packing suitcases, getting surprised with Tori Amos tickets from my Mama and ultimately watching her at the Opera House, Tetris on Facebook, plane rides where I contentedly drank Baileys on the rocks, more Tetris, and getting re-acquainted with Tropical heat and mosquito bites.

My sister is sprawled on the bed, watching Wipeout, and I am doing the only appropriate response - turning around every so often from the computer to make leering, pedophile-zombie faces at her, like so:

I'm sorry. That was a cheap blow.
At pedophiles.

Moving on...

Yesterday, I like to think I did quite well on fulfilling my humanitarian quota. By that I mean I contributed generously to the Philippine economy through some, uh, necessary shopping. While meandering the mall, Isabelle thought it hilarious to walk behind me and routinely fall at the disposal of giggles. Reason for giggling? She took it as a personal mission to count all the heads I apparently turned. And while I am cringing at writing this down, tooting my own horn, and generally floating face down in the pee-filled ocean of my self-indulgence, some of her anecdotes were, dare I say it, amusing.

Anecdote 1: We walked past a KFC. There were a group of guys sitting by the glass window. A guy takes a bite out of his chicken. We walk past KFC. The guy's jaw drops as does the chicken.

Anecote 2: Walked past a couple. The guy's head turns and continues to follow the direction in which we walk. The girl realises she has momentarily lost her boyfriend's attention and whacks him. This was immediately followed by the largest laugh of the day spilling from my sister's mouth.

I'll just clarify why I get ogled at here in this country. See, the average female height here might accurately be described as 3'11"(*Note: this is a guesstimate, slightly exaggerated for comedic effect). I am 5'7" - 5'8" depending on whether I decide to slouch. I AM A GARGANTUAN BEAST. You would stare too if you saw Sasquatch roaming around your mall, coming at you with an ample number of shopping bags. What a sight!

Today I made it to a beloved pump class at 8:30am. Pump is delicious here, on account of the class being relatively empty and thus I don't have to wrestle and shove for space. Pump and any subsequent cardio efforts were rapidly nulled by having lunch with Dad at Shakeys and conveniently forgetting the existence of the word will-power. Hello delicious thin crust pizza! Hello deep friend potato mojos! Hello chocolate shake!

This is now the part where I backtrack and attempt to write what I have been wanting to recount for the past few days. Here goes:

I'm at two minds about people. As individuals, I'm perpetually appreciative and so easily fascinated by characteristics like intelligence, talent, beauty, rising above strife, etc. So often I end up seeing so much of what I admire in a person, and consequently end up crushing on, wishing to be, and plotting to kidnap said person for my own personal enjoyment. But in considering humans as a race, as a people, I am pretty cynical. My default is to think that people are shit, attractive shop assistants will not give me the time of day, and people will cut me off in traffic. Basically, I don't have the best expectations about people when it comes to kindness.

I must say, however, that Friday the 13th seemed to test the above sentiment. That night was supposed to be Isabelle's 15th birthday party, and as such, I was entrusted with some last minute errands during the day. Sometime in the afternoon, I get a txt from my Mother saying that the cake I bought had no 'Happy Birthday' on it, and could I immediately replace it for one that did say 'Happy Birthday'. I should mention that when purchasing the cake, I did see the one that said 'Happy Birthday' on it, but for some reason, it just didn't occur to me to pick that one over the plain one. Is this a clear sign of mental difficulty? I think so. Anyhow, I returned to the store with dread in my heart, sweat in my 'pits - you know, that sort of thing. As expected, they couldn't trade the cake I bought for the one I required, seeing as Occupational Health and Safety standards mean that you cannot change food once it's been sold to the grubby customer. I asked if anyone in store could possibly just write the 'Happy Birthday' for me, but unfortunately none of them were trained pastry chefs. I found tubes of the icing for the lettering, and decided to just purchase one and try my luck at the shopping centre... only to find out that I had no cash in my wallet. Although the store had a credit card minimum of $30, in my distress, the really nice guy made an exception and let me charge the measly $4 tube of icing to the card.

Went to the local shopping centre and frantically tried to find a bakery with a resident pastry chef who could possibly write the happy birthday on for me. The only one who could happened to be my previous boss - whom I had not spoken to for a year since the time of my leaving, seeing as we didn't part with the best of terms. I'll say it - I was shit scared about asking for a favour. But then clarity sunk in and I realised I'm far more frightened of my Mother. (Haw haw haw - she's an exceptional homemaker - you just don't piss her off with sub-par domesticity.) I was not going home empty-handed, or in this case, I was not going home empty-caked.

I bit the bullet. He wasn't too friendly, but he agreed to write it for me. Awkward small talk pervaded the air. But he gave me a nicely written 'Happy Birthay', and all was well!

That night after meeting Isabelle's friends, finishing up with my share of the cooking and general cleaning, I ventured out via train to Neel's 21st shindig at Soho. I packed my purse in a haste that night, and forgot to pack my student ID. As my luck would have it, a transit officer was on the train, checking tickets and the necessary concession cards. I handed him my ticket and he asked to see my student card since I had purchased a student fare. I then rummaged through my purse and felt the sickening sensation of inevitable doom. Upon my failure to find my student card, he said, "That's a $200 fine."
I didn't even try to get out of it, knowing fully well that CityRail has recently had a major crackdown on fare evasion with on the spot fines. I just kicked myself for not having my student card that night since I am always so vigilant about having it with me.
So I just bowed my head in resignation and said, "I know."

Then he said, "Please be more careful next time. Have a great weekend." And he walked off.

HE WALKED OFF.
PARDON THE PUN, BUT HE MADE CONCESSIONS FOR MY LACK OF CONCESSION (CARD).

And if you've been fine, or know someone who has been fined, I am sure you are absolutely livid with me at this point. I fully understand. It's not fair.

But Mr Transit Officer, whoever you are, wherever you are, thank you. My gratitude runs deeply.

So there, people pulled through for me that day. And I was stunned. But I was equally appreciative. I definitely subscribe to the idea of karma - that what you do comes back to you. And while I am so incredibly grateful for how the tides flowed in my favour, I don't know why they did. And I think I have to re-evaluate my stance on people. People can be kind and people can be generous, and I hope that despite people pissing me off on the road, or reading headlines about atrocities and tragedies, or how easy it is to be a critic these days of people's endeavors, I hope I don't forget that maybe kindness and compassion aren't myths. They're real guys. As real as body image woes!

So as customary of this blog, I will round up with a picture dump from Neel's 21st. Just in case you want to know, my preferred drink of choice is no longer Vodka Tonic. It's Southern Comfort. Just, you know, in case we ever cross paths and you need something to quell my social anxieties with...

Me with the birthday swine:

And moaaar:

Night folks!
x

Almost

2009-11-03T22:37:00.009+11:00

It's ten forty pm on a Tuesday night, and there are only hours until I will be unable to include "university student" in any sort of personal description.

I will have my last class ever tomorrow. I don't know how I feel about this. Actually I do - relieved but immensely terrified - but for simplicity's sake, I'll just say throw concrete emotion to the wind and bask in some faux-indecision.

I've come back from the gym, where my favourite, very handsome receptionist greeted me with the smile I would sacrifice my meals for (HUGE CALL!), just to have said smile continuously thrown for my personal amusement. I swear, there are no such thing as lesbians, only girls who have not met handsome-receptionist-fiend.

He fired his obligatory, "Hey! How are you today?" doused in smile (cue swooning), and I responded quite fruitily with the pace of one who knows no such thing as pauses, "Ijustwokeupfromanap! ItwasAMAZING!"

He asked through chuckles, "How many hours was it?" and I responded with 4 glorious hours! He laughed and said, "That wasn't a nap."

"What was it then?" I asked.

"That," with impeccable pace, he said, "was a sleep".

I threw around whatevers and rolling eyes, he humored me and threw around laughter. By the time I got to the treadmill, the face was grinning and the heart pumping!

This is ridiculous. I am twenty, soundly aware of my overall person, and still, I feel like an acne-riddled adolescent and get excited when attractive people show me the time of day. Hopeless!

But moving on, I really did come straight home from uni today and fall into a delicious slumber. The days leading up to the culmination of my academic servitude have been intense. Yesterday, I left the house at six thirty in the morning in order to get to Hannah's house and trudge off to film one final interview at eight. Made our way to uni, and aside from attending my last ever Magazine Publishing class, spent the day in the film lab, possibly in the fetal position, finishing off our project. We walked out of that lab at nine twenty that evening, and with exhaustion and offending sleepiness on my back, the one hour commute home was quite possibly the most excruciating train ride I have ever experienced.

Handed the finished film in today and felt vastly disappointed with the realisation that this was my last ever Television and Current Affairs class. So grateful to have had such a thrilling and inspiring lecturer in Mark Bannerman, who actually works at the ABC on Four Corners and the 7:30 report. WE LOVE YOU MARK! There is now a group on Facebook aptly titled "The Mark Bannerman Appreciation Society" for which I might possibly be an admin... Um.

And because it's virtually an impossibility for me to walk away from a blog entry without a picture dump, I leave with some stills from our copious amounts of footage - five and a bit hours worth of footage, to be precise. Naturally, I have an overwhelming amount of scenes to screenshot, but I only picked a handful to show:

So goodnight, I have my screenplay to refine for tomorrow, which ideally if I don't fail anything, will be the last assessment I ever have to hand in.

I leave you with three picture of me being an uninspired pirate wench from the weekend:

i put a wig on you when you were sleeping & i just lay there & spooned you

2009-10-29T21:54:00.011+11:00

The current state of my existence - a thorough exploration in bullet points:

* Tinned tuna and crackers have become a constant in my life. Their relative cheapness and easiness to pack with other necessary items for uni outweigh the obvious downside of smelling like a poor man's concubine for the rest of the day. It should also be noted that tuna and crackers are devious little f*ckers because they trick me into feeling good about my calorie-controlled lunch consumption, only to have me then put McDonald's out of business because I am a) immediately starving, and b) viciously obsessed with eating. And thus the whole "doing my body good" thing is grievously nulled.

* I have undertaken one of the most arduous character building exercises ever. Yes, it's akin to volunteering at retirement homes to wipe bottoms, and even more painful than watching Beyonce for longer than anyone should have to. (Sorry Kanye) For a large part of this week, I've put my self-consciousness on suspension... and worn glasses. In public. TO THINK I HAVE HAD PHYSICAL INTERACTION LOOKING LIKE A FOUR-EYED-BEAST!!1!!1!

* Have spent more than sufficient time in the uni film suite this past week to be at liberty to call it my (volatile) lover. He's made me laugh and made me (want to) cry! He's encouraged my creativity and pushed me to exhaustion! He's been at the forefront of my mind and been a needy, attention-craving little maniac. Like I said, a volatile lover. Just a preview of what I've been working on:

* Clean underwear has also decided to become a myth, or gremlins have decided to raid my underwear drawer and present the findings to their leaders. I have been wearing bathing suit bottoms. Yesterday, while walking back to my car from the supermarket, I felt a sensation that can be acutely described as 'falling underwear'. One side of my bikini strings came undone and I ended up walking the rest of the way back holding dearly onto my bottom, as if I were rescuing turd from premature departure.

* Hannah asked me to do a speech at her upcoming 21st. I am ecstatically flattered at being picked amongst her HUGE list of loves to share a few words and anecdotes, as well as violently mortified about my dull droning's ability to inflict sleepiness upon her guests. She is beautiful and charming and the baby spinach to my cous-cous, and damnit, this speech better amazing.

* My feet smell terrible.

* And my beautiful Min turned 20 last week, so naturally we put our livers through some character building of their own. Cue necessary pic-spam:

WELL HEY, it is currently 12:30am Friday. I have a halloween party tonight, to which I STILL have no costume. JOY!

sometimes, i love my papa.

2009-10-25T17:08:00.008+11:00

My father and I have a very formal standard of correspondence.

Blogging is a huge priority [extremely picture heavy]

2009-10-19T19:50:00.019+11:00

Look, I won't lie.

See that title? Well, let me clarify it a little for you. I thought about blogging, for days now actually. Thought about blogging on my drive home this afternoon as the sun glinted nicely off my bird-pooped-on windscreen. Situated myself in front of the computer, did the token back stretch in preparation for blogging, then I thought long and hard about blogging while looking at pretty pictures and playing some tetris.

And how! Look where we are now.

....The ridiculous thing is, the above words were written on Monday evening. It is currently Thursday evening. Time has elapsed, Kanye West died, Kanye West regrettably did not really die, the desire to blog remained present, and still, my wordcount remained unsubstantial .

Ridiculous, I say.

I'm so exhausted, but not unfulfilled. Today was productive, if by productive we mean I have tired (and smelly) feet attached to weary legs, am a few dollars poorer from beers, and have read an admirer note possibly penned to me in mx - the free paper.

No, really. Today was productive. Spent the morning in the editing suite logging and capturing footage for our tv journalism final project. We're doing our story on parkour - obviously am excited about the subject matter and the talent we get to work with. The thrilling thing is that I managed to capture the entire tape. The not so thrilling thing is that there are currently three other tapes in my bag left to capture.

Made our way to UNSW, also known as The University of New South Wales or 'that campus that regrettably is a lot more attractive than ours' to film an interview with a law professor. Being journalism students, we couldn't just film a lovely promo piece for parkour, so we're exploring public liability and legality with regards to parkour. Much to my annoyance, we discovered that the equipment store supplied us the wrong cable, and as a result, we could not attach the external mic to the camera. So I totally had to put aside my patent perfectionism, swallow my dignity, and settle for the sub-par sound quality of the in-built mic.

(By the way, any reference to apparent perfectionism is a joke. A funny one at that!)

Fortuitously, Djordje txtd me earlier of a training session occurring on those very grounds! So we got around to filming more footage, although I should clarify that Angus filmed more footage while Lauren and I ogled and perved. Maybe I shouldn't speak for Lauren though, so in that case, fine, I did it - all the ogling and perving. It was all me!

We needed to interview Shaun, but the lousy in-built mic and the wind were a most ill-fated couple, so Djordje was gracious enough to drive us all back to uni to obtain a functioning lead for the external mic. The interview went swimmingly, and Djordje, Shaun and I headed to the uni bar where I bought them some well-deserved beers. There was myrth! And there was laughter! I swear, they are my favourite parkour swine.

And while reading Mx on my train trip home, I came across this:

This may just be my overblown self-indulgence talking, but I think... that was for me. Last Wednesday, I wore all black - from my boots, to my top and my jacket - except for my skirt which was blue. (But blue and black are practically the same thing if we disregard that "ack" is phonetically different from "ue".) The train line mentioned above happened to be the one I was traveling on. I was handed a note, by the young man seated in front of me, whereupon he told me I was pretty, followed by a series of numbers of which we can assume are the digits of his mobile phone. Not to be rude and completely disregard the note, I shook his hand, told him my name and said, "I'm off at this stop. Nice to meet you." He then told me I had pretty eyes... which I think is a load of bollocks considering I am asian and asians don't generally luck out in the eye department. Just saying.

In conclusion, was that note for me or was that note for me?

Anyway, it's almost 1am. Am heading in again to uni to get as much footage digitised as I can, so shut-eye is in order. I'll scrimp on the words now and leave with my trademark picture dump from the night of my gig and from Hugh's 21st the night after.

Just quickly though: so grateful to everyone who swung by to hear me offend the silence with my vocal chords. Nikk and I did 4 of my originals (So Incredibly Profound, I Quit Being Miserable, If I Wrote A Letter To Myself and Walk Away), The Mamas and the Papas' Dream A Little Dream of Me and Britney's Toxic. Thanks guys! Thanks Nikk!

Gig:

Hugh's 21st:

(birthday swine & i!)

(:

2009-10-10T17:04:00.001+11:00

Will update more later. Am getting my vanity on and getting ready for Hugh's 21st tonight. Yeow!

october is for births.

2009-10-04T16:17:00.005+11:00

I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that the majority of you have not lived. Unless you can actually say that you've had your piece of cake stabbed my elbow, then you haven't lived. Mona, however, has certainly lived.

Instances like this reinforce why I should never be let out in public. But she still ate the cake, mind you. That could be testament to a) how much of a trooper Mona is, b) how delicious the cake was, or c) how much my (unmoisturised) elbow-assault probably made her night. I like to think it was c). It's always about me, damnit.

Giselle's 80's-prom-themed-21st was a chill way to spend my Saturday evening. I had the fearful premonition that I'd spend the evening as a wallflower since I did not know her crowd, and also because my social skills are not much evolved from pond rocks. Fortunately, I found some familiar faces and even...I daresay it, made new acquaintances. It should also be noted that, while I love the western social paradigm, very few things beat the food at asian gatherings. By that I mean there is ALWAYS real food. And lots of it. None of this finger-food crap. And if you've read my blog enough, you know it's unnecessary for me to detail just how much I get into food. I get into food in a big way, alright.

Anyway, happy-snaps:

Disregard the fact that I look pregnant in the next photo. But it was the only (almost) full-length photo I found:

Aaaand the next photo, being a 'milestone photo', deserves its own special mention. For the past four years, I have been wanting to meet this fine specimen named 'Stef'. Stef is very close pals with Hilary, who I met on myspace back when I could freely admit to using it without fearing an onslaught of judgment... and now the Hilaroo and I are close pals. For the past four years, I've been hearing anecdotes about this hilarious individual, and lo and behold, I finally met her in the flesh:

Seriously, how stunning is she?! Stef tooted my own horn and said she stalked my own pictures and whatnot and has heard many an anecdote about me from Hilary. After needing to disappear for a ciggy, Stef immediately came back and relayed her boyfriend Duncan's, also a fine human being, comment. "I'm gonna take a stab in the dark here," he said, "but is that... babyporridge?"

Caught up in my own fangirling and then having them acknowledge / know of me... well you can imagine the hearty amounts of squeeing I did. OR CAN YOU?

These next couple of months are going to blaze on so quickly. October is essentially my last month of academic study, so that means a whole lot of being frantic. On top of this, everyone gets horny and goes at it on New Years Eve, which is why all the proverbial buns pop out of the proverbial ovens in October. Can we say more twenty-first parties? Oh you bet we can. Just off the top of my head, my tentative party schedule is as follows:

9th - MY GIG !1!!11one (which I know doesn't count as a party, but we shouldn't think me above drunken festivities after the professional portion of the night is over)
10th - Hugh's 21st
18th - Hugh's 21st, part 2 (You wish I were kidding)
24th - Min's 20th
30th - Szwec's halloweeeeen party
31st - Daniel's 21st

And come mid-November, I fly off to the homeland (AGAIN :D) just for three weeks though, to accompany Isabelle for when her school semester ends. We cut the trip short on account of her wanting to come back just in time for her formal.

And just on a really abrupt parting note, I thought I should say that the only thing better than a Hayley G Hoover blog entry is a conversational thread of Hayley G Hoover personal messages sent straight to your facebook inbox. Oh yeahhhh.

hey stranger

2009-09-27T18:56:00.007+10:00

I've obviously had a grueling day. You know, in between playing hide and seek with my macbook, laughing at (and/or living vicariously) through some electronic smut, as well as sampling how I might taste with no marinade or necessary exfoliation, rest has been an elusive little mothertrucker. Haw haw.

Okay, in my defense, I didn't just have an unjustifiably lazy day. I spent the morning sweeping and mopping the tiled floors of the hallways, kitchen and dining area, sorting out everyone's laundry, and generally being a domestic machine of large proportions. Before you allow me to tick the 'fantastic housewife' box on your potential mate checklist, I should probably clarify that this is only a conditional perk. When assignment deadlines are pervading the air like the foulest of farts, procrastination in any form is looked upon. Favourably.

I also made myself some fruit salad involving orange, apple, lime, salt and chili (yes, chili!) a la Min and her people for dinner, partly because it's delicious and partly because I think that eating fruits will validate my subsequent consumption of the entire bag of red rock deli chips, currently sitting unopened in the pantry.

You know, I miss blogging. I miss typing up incoherent posts for my audience of three (me, Dad and occasionally Isabelle when Dad coerces her to read me for some writing style - though looking at my love of trackies and oversized shirts, I don't know exactly how helpful I am with style. Last time I checked, hobo-un-chic was so 1994... or whenever the hell Mary-Kate Olsen still did not yet reach 'has-been' status...)

Of not great interest or relevance to many of you is the fact that I am not the only one menstruating in this house. How's that for honesty, eh eh eh? (I know I will be paying for this with a hyperbolic drop in readership, I know, I'm sorry). The reason I bring this up is because the other perpetrator is an unexpected participant of the crimson wave surfing championships! IT WAS A CUCUMBER. I found an old, withering cucumber in the fridge, secreting the remnants of its fertility in a red fury onto the other unsuspecting vegetables in that drawer. Riveting, no?!

Ah, a poor segue! Aforesaid menstruation was heralded in by some pretty intense PMS on Wednesday. So much so that my crankiness made for some pretty potent adrenalin. I managed to jog my arse for 5kms, followed by 30kms worth of cycling. Upon reaching home, I followed the natural course of progression and asked my father the only appropriate request for when at the disposal of PMS - "Dad, I want some portraiture please. With this knife." And comply, he did:

Thursday, I spent the afternoon at a pub with Hannah and Bondi Ink Tattoo Artist, Kim. I mentioned in the previous entry that we did a news piece on home-tattooing for tv journalism. Kim graciously lent himself as talent, although on the day of the interview he walked in, an intimidating man in a leather jacket and earrings, slightly despondent and more-than-slightly hungover. (But it turned out well in the end!) Anyway, it was supposed to be a brief meeting for the show and tell of our finished project and to thank him again, but it turned into a fantastic afternoon of loitering, drinks (beer for him and non-alcoholic for Hannah and I who had to drive back) and d&m.

Friday, spent some much needed time with Min. We may or may not have trawled through thisiswhyyourefat.com and found a collective desire to consume some bacon. Our concoction involving roti bread smeared with cream cheese, honey-glazed bacon and onions, cheddar cheese and liberal amounts of bbq sauce was nothing short of culinary salvation and an express ticket to clogged artery town. Got up to some unnamed mischief with Hilary later in the evening.

Got in a rehearsal with the talented Nikk on Saturday. He makes my tunes sound somewhat decent! Oh oh oh oh, I don't recall shamelessly plugging yet on this blog, so here:

Oct 9, 8pm onwards, Nikk & I will be performing at Rubby Rabbit in Darlinghurst, thanks to Neel from Blind Hot Gems who got us the gig. It'll be sweet. If you're a Sydney-sider, swing by for the de-flowering of my gigging career! And then we can totally get smashed because I am the pinnacle of professional! Joking, but really, do swing by. I'd appreciate it (:

Oh shit. Dad just opened the Red Rock Deli Chips. I am out of here like a creten too uninspired to come up with an analogy!

x

poop &a half

2009-09-06T22:56:00.006+10:00

It has been over two months since I last posted a 'real' youtube video with actual edits and sequences and over two weeks since I last posted a blog entry. This can only mean one of two things:

1) My lack of cooperation in passing on email chain letters has finally caught up with me, and some psycho clown hailing from under my bed has cut off my fingers with spoons, and has subsequently rendered me internet-inept, or
2) I have finally realised my true calling as a party animal.

AND WHAT AN ANIMAL I AM!

Last weekend's Friday night saw me get acquainted with a little Vodka, a little Whisky and a little of what I like to call glorified piss, i.e. beer, for Chris's 21st. The following night saw the donning of ridiculous heels, dancing and shots for a ladies night out.

Come Sunday, I came to the realisation that I'm probably all too little party and all too much animal, spending the majority of the day in an oversized System of a Down shirt, possibly purring disgruntedly and licking at my fur, and generally feeling sorry for myself. The main reason for wallowing in the quagmire of self-pity was the disgusting amount of junk I consumed in a single weekend and the absolute lack of exercise that ensued. I drowned my sorrows by tucking into a huge bag of red rock deli sweet-chili-sour-cream chips.

What can I say, the weekend was THAT epic, I needed an entire week to collect my thoughts for an appropriate recollection. That, or I've been too busy being cool and playing tetris on facebook.

No, but in all seriousness, this week has been nothing short of hectic. So much so that tonight, a Sunday night, I got home past eleven from staying in the final cut pro editing suites at uni with Hannah, Angus and Lauren, working away to make a Tuesday deadline. I'll get into the story at depth tomorrow, or whenever time is kinder; it's fascinating. Think hepatitis C, tattoo needles and inked up manly flesh. Fascinating story, I say.

I wanted to discuss at length the drunken advances from people old enough to know better than to pursue this infant, but perhaps for another time eh? I leave with a trademark picture dump, yeah!

Christopher with his token "Angelina-took-my-photo-to-the-cosmetic-surgeon-and-said-copy-these-lips" pout

Aaaaand ladehz - in the very wholesome stages of night:

I don't know about sustaining this party animal lifestyle though.... It detracts from time with my first love, i.e. gym, and this is not a good look for everyone involved. You know it's bad when you've only made it thrice to the gym this week for some paltry cardio and it's been a week and a half since your last pump class. MOTHERTRUCK! /Back later, triple chins = not attractive.

GOODNOIGHT

unimpressed

2009-08-21T09:58:00.003+10:00

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.

2009-08-09T23:07:00.002+10:00

a laboured mess of words

2009-08-06T23:14:00.008+10:00

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...

Night

A gift for music enthusiasts

2009-07-31T00:17:00.005+10:00

Somewhere between craving cinnamon donuts, psyching myself up for my last ever academic semester and dealing with things slightly beyond the healthy limits of my emotional quota, I turned twenty.

Here is where I say 'thank you' to anyone who contributed to the fruitfulness of my day through sms / youtube / facebook / twitter / dailybooth comments, actual gropes and telekinetic energy. I felt the vibes, thank you.

Since I regrettably cannot personally hug or affectionately pat any of your heads, I thought the next best thing would be to compile and illegally distribute a mixtape of sorts, whereby you could:
a) enjoy what my ears (and nostalgic recollection) enjoy
b) subsequently broaden the horizons of your music favourites, or
c) decisively attack me for everything I stand for, starting with my music taste

Then I remembered that legal run-ins regarding intellectual property and copyright are actually severely intimidating, and are things with which I don't want to be involved.

In conclusion, I have not uploaded and will not freely distribute a collection of songs.
I have, however, still compiled a set of twenty songs in youtube form - with one song from every year I've been alive. Hope you enjoy; do let me know if you've decided to fall in love with any of my picks (:

1989 - Personal Jesus : Depeche Mode
1990 - Roam : B52s
1991 - Jeremy : Pearl Jam
1992 - Date Rape : Sublime
1993 - Mr. Wendal : Arrested Development
1994 - Cornflake Girl : Tori Amos
1995 - Waterfalls : TLC
1996 - Lady Picture Show : Stone Temple Pilots
1997 - Suddenly Strange : Bic Runga
1998 - Teardrop : Massive Attack
1999 - Paper Bag : Fiona Apple
2000 - Sparks : Coldplay
2001 - Love Affair : Regina Spektor
2002 - Innervision : System of a Down
2003 - Collide : Rachael Yamagata
2004 - Too Drunk To F*ck : Nouvelle Vague
2005 - Virginia Moon : Foo Fighters
2006 - Mushaboom : Feist
2007 - Nude : Radiohead
2008 - Hiphopopotamus Vs. Rhymenoceros : Flight of the Conchords
2009 - R U Kidding Me : Kate Miller-Heidke

The usual, unstimulating trivial commentary will resume in the following blog posts. I leave you with a teaser of sorts, by the clubbing snaparazzi. Yeah, this mug totally made it to one of those party photo websites, ha. Clearly my life is much closer to fulfillment!

Goodnight.

i left the womb, goodnight

2009-07-23T23:52:00.001+10:00

i got snubbed by the man of my dreams

2009-07-14T22:13:00.005+10:00

I should begin by noting that the title of this entry is vastly more interesting than the story itself. I will now proceed. So about two nights ago, this guy I know from a class at uni played a cameo role in my dreams. I have exercised all of about sixty words to him from when he asked for computer help, his features never caused a stir in my loins or heart, and I wouldn't even go so far as to call us acquaintances. Despite this and for whatever inexplicable reason, he made an appearance in my dreams.

Lo and behold, while accompanying my mother to an appointment in King's Cross, (yes, it's exactly what you're thinking... if what you're thinking involves questionable circumstances) who should walk by but mr-in-my-dreams himself! I had the riveting compulsion to grab him by my ankles and yell, "fate! we are bound by fate!"

Thankfully, nothing of that ridiculous extent transpired, and the scenario was grossly anticlimactic. He just walked on by like the lyrics to Burt Bacharach's song aptly titled 'Walk On By', and he didn't acknowledge me! I like to dismiss the idea that he totally just didn't see me, considering I was way out of his peripheral vision, but the story is much more enthralling if I pretend that it was an act of defiance to his reciprocated burning lust.

But then my mother bought me a burrito, and all was well. God, I'm such an easy bribe. I jump at the chance to accompany her to appointments, clean dog shit, go for routine lobotomies... all for the promise of food.

(Image stolen from the Guzman y Gomez website. Does product placement get me free burritos? Because I will totally be a repeat customerrr...)

And totally off topic, but whatever, Min. D-Radcliffe is totally a babe.

Guys, I can't thank you enough for reading my blog and reacting to what I say. I wish you could know how incredibly grateful I am for the fact that I have such quality people following and responding to my words. Thank you for such phenomenal comments in the last entry. At risk of sounding any more like a big sap, I throw in the word "hernia" to break the monotony.

Lovelovelove.

unworthy blogger

2009-07-12T19:55:00.015+10:00

So, after just having read Hayley's last post, I feel like an unworthy blogger. I blog about my misadventures and the things I'm obscenely passionate about, which invariably are creative self-expression and fat thighs (more appropriately, the eternal pursuit to remove them from my life). As far as saving the world goes though, what am I doing? I'm vaguely conscious about recycling and I volunteered for a summer at the YMCA as a soft-spoken twelve year old. These token graces are as far as I go in terms of being an environmentalist / humanitarian / good samaritan / relevant human.

I see people on the streets. I read about those people suffering from poverty or carnage. I know that so much stuff of real substance occurs that don't even register on my personal radar of importance. All I can do is briefly feel empathetic and genuinely sorry for people in these sort of circumstances, but I don't do more than that. I haven't gone to a camp for abused children, made a positive impression, and subsequently enriched someone's life for a week. At this point in my life, I can't willingly say that I would consider adopting, much less consider the prospect of having my own offspring. Lots of admiration, Hayls. (Seriously, if you haven't read Hayley's blog yet right now, do so.)

I dunno. I guess I'm just sad that wanting change is not synonymous with actual change. I don't know if I'll be forever afflicted with apathy; I hope not. It's not the thought that counts after all. As they say, the dead are still dead.

There's a lot I don't write about and put up in the public domain. I self-censor a lot of what goes on in my personal life (I know, hard to believe, right?). I like to write about lighthearted things, and if I do touch on something a little more poignant, I'll stay vague. I'm sorry that this post deviated from the structure, but at the same time I addressed something that needed to be addressed. But my penchant for the lighthearted means that I will forever be an unworthy blogger with no real address to the relevant things of today's society. Hate it when I'm being a confused downer? YEAH, YOU AND ME BOTH!

Back to my typical non-riveting, regular musings. I know this totally defeats the aforesaid paragraphs, but eh. Like I said, I like to chronicle the lighthearted things.

So I went to dinner and The Butterfly Effect gig last night, and went snap-happy. In the following images, you will see my dinner also known as Pad Thai Prawn, the faces of Nerida, Rose, Crystal and myself, and Rose's conceptual artwork more aptly called 'Rice on a table'.

This is the view from where we were. That's right, those two heads you see are made of finite human flesh.

I didn't bring my zoom lens, so no close-ups of faces mid money-note, no heaving drummer pecs and the like. I should note that I learned of the art form of timing precision since I had to time my 'clicks' in the split-seconds when the two side-bobbing heads in front of me bobbed out of my frame. I also may or may not have stolen Zab's watermark style.

Now please make sense of the following two pictures, as the implication creeps me the truck out. Disregard the awkward poses; working with the allotted seconds of self-timer in the wee hours of the morning is not my strong suit. I remember having such a hard time keeping my eyes open. I attributed it to dry contacts. If you look at these, my face is considerably fuzzy. WHAT THE TRUCK. Is that a ghost sitting on my face?! HALP.

mmhm

2009-07-11T17:45:00.003+10:00

So hi. The looney above has wet hair. And seems not to mind!

I have approximately ten minutes til Nerida picks me up & we scurry off to watch a gig. TEN MINUTES, I say. So just a forewarning that I will hit 'submit' when I hear the doorbell, regardless of any conjunctions still requiring nouns, regardless of fragmented sentences, and regardless of general grammatical ineptitude!

I started typing up a blog last night, a Friday night, in which I urged you not to be envious of my supremely cool social standing after I divulged where I spent my Friday night. I, of unparalleled social relevance, spent my Friday night... at the gym. Hahahaha, don't judge me. I got enough judging from Daniel who rang during my heaving and grunting, and was happy to hear that I was out judging from the background noise. I told him I was at le gym and he retracted his happiness :(

OH IS THAT A BUZZZ I HEAR-

BBQ Nicken Salad

2009-07-02T22:27:00.005+10:00

I may or may not have been dreaming about above salad from California Pizza Kitchen, which regretfully is not an establishment in Australia. WOE!

So I took matters into my own grubby, unwashed hands, and made a cheap knock-off. What my salad lacked in trademark black beans, jicana, cilantro, basil, crispy corn tortilla strips, monterey jack cheese and herb ranch dressing, it made up for in human flesh and subsequent ailments.

I present you, The BBQ Nicken Salad, eh eh eh:

Ahahaha, I think I have effortlessly surpassed the weirdness quota for the evening. Just as well, my legs are still shaking from this evening's pump class (FILTHY LUNGES TRACK!) and I ought to go kick a bucket. Or something. Anything besides more ridiculous words!

Night folks,
x

Boiled pork

2009-07-01T16:51:00.007+10:00

"HI! My eye-patch is like the modern day man - no strings attached!"

Haaaa oh dear, my jokes get progressively worse by day. I apologise. I actually opened up this sacred bloggy-window last night to pour forth some musings, but I was then side-tracked by something exponentially cooler, and by that I mean a library book about Adobe Flash. And then I feel asleep. I would appreciate it if you didn't make fun of my leisure reading choices, thank you.

GUUUYS, I've been tender all weekend like some well-boiled pork. Regretfully, I don't think I'm edible. No, but really, muscular tenderness is such a welcome addition to the vessel that is me. For the past three weeks, I've upped my bodypump classes from once (possibly twice) a week to a solid thrice. That, and I've also been increasing my weights load by about a third. I feel stronger, but damnit, I wan't results in the form of very-intimidating-guns nownownow!

Oh, speaking of gym-related things, yesterday I totally got hit on by a man a little older than in my prefered demographic. I am still deliberating about whether he was just being polite. "Do you train here often?" he said. "Yes," I replied with the casual air of a dustpan. "Oh," he continued, "I just haven't seen you around". "Mm, probably because I usually come in the mornings," I replied. At which he turned to his friend and exclaimed, "Pete, I told you we should go in the mornings. Look at the girls we miss out on."

It's instances like this where I wish my wit wasn't as ridiculous as chilli-flavoured toothpaste. Instead of saying something remotely amusing like, "Nah, it's just cranky soccermums then, the schoolgirls get here in the afternoon!" I instead said...something. Yeah, evidently so amusing, I can't even recall what I said. I wish I had wit! I wish I had finesse! I wish I didn't get such a kick out of eating Nutella straight from the jar!

Ooh, and I received one of my final assessments back in the mail. This should have been a 3,500 word essay, as I had intended for the greater part of the semester. With one week to go, I decided, "So what if I've already done the research and typed up the relevant notes, I want to make a project instead!" (We had the option to do a creative interpretation, and despite wanting creativity over conventionality, I thought I wouldn't have time and I didn't need the extra stress). Well, desire prevailed at the last minute, mind you - with two other major final assessments also due that week, and I persisted in making a video. I GOT A FREAKING HIGH DISTINCTION. Um... I think the extra stress was worth it. The moral of the story is that you should follow every desire except for the desire to swallow daggers or the desire to pursue Charles Manson because necrophilia isn't a very healthy pastime.

And today I visited Tasmanian cliffs the only way cheaters know how - photoshop, baby. Scenery is two images from Dad's archives.

(Click to view larger on flickr.)

Night, darlings
x

foolishness and fervour

2009-06-23T20:54:00.017+10:00

So my local paper contacted me for a profile piece interview since I am a finalist in this year's Australian National Youth Week. I happily obliged like any bona-fide publicity junkie, and made arrangements to meet the journalist lady in my natural habitat i.e. my house. This idea was met with parental disdain and I was told to 'meet elsewhere'. No sweat, except for an easy phone-call to change arrangements, right?

WELL KIDS, this is where you luck out on a story, on account of I am a very foolish lady! I rang the office, only to speak with the editor, explaining that ah-well-I'm-supposed-to-be-interviewed-but-I-uh-foolishly-forgot-to-note-down-the-reporter's-name-and-well-I'd-like-to-speak-with-her-please. And the editor was accommodating... after she burst into a spontaneous chorus of hysterics. I'm not talking obligatory polite chuckle after the supermarket checkout man cracks an unfunny comment about your vegetables ('What do you call epileptic lettuce?' -What?- 'Seizure salad', ba-dum-ching). I'm talking the kind of laughter only reserved for Flight of the Conchords and really inappropriate moments. I like to think conversation with me was the single-most defining moment of her career. So yes, I may be old and obsolete in a month's time, but I will still have relevance as pathetic entertainment value!

Back to being an ANYW finalist, clearly it's something I can add to my list of potential reasons for why I am a great catch, sitting in between 'I am not allergic to your cooking' and 'I can consistently look like I am in need of sleep'. I don't intend to win, and I did not ask for votes this year (Voting closed two days ago). Some of you loyal readers may recall me being in the same position last year, and extending a plea for votes. YouTube responded kindly, I won, and I was and am still very much appreciative. This year though, I didn't have any insatiable burning pride for my composition, so I didn't bother asking for support. I don't want to be someone constantly dependent on the support of her subscribers, so please, please give me a decent roundhouse kick to the face when and if I become that way.

Just in case you care, today marks my two year anniversary with YouTube. I thought it would be lovely to have a video up for today, but my intentions are as weak as Stephanie Meyer's writing flair (oh I went there!), and they invariably fell flat of materialising. I haven't been prolific in video-making this past year, but I feel recharged and inspired to give my channel an overhaul. I have been putting something together, a re-introduction of sorts, which I will put up within the next few days. Still shots from said project:

To attest my seriousness in a channel overhaul, I opted to forgo the trusty webcam, and actually filmed with the DVcam. Jump cuts will be banished! Sequences will be utilised! Final Cut Pro will prove victorious over iMovie! Water will taste like badly fermented beer! In short, I don't wanna be an amateur no more.

Aaaand I've been playing around with image post-processing lately, as can be seen on the new blog page banner and the following image:

As I am the most accessible and practical model for, my post-processing frenzy has undoubtedly lent itself as a valid excuse for cam-whoring, mmhm!

I even lookbook'd:

Also, my stomach is currently purring like a whiney cat. I think the acidity (lime, baby, lime!) of my dinner is not being especially kind. Yes, I discovered that lime, pepper and salt make a decent salad dressing. Lime is deliciouuuuus, mmm.

Time for goodnight, si?
Buenas noches.

Oh, post script, if you're keen, I made an mp3 of 'I am giving you a chance to walk away' available for download. But that's only if you want. I don't want to be accused of cyber-bullying!

another gratuitous post

2009-06-17T15:34:00.005+10:00

So, I'm currently editing away at another project Hannah and I are working on. I won't say more than it starts with a "p" and ends in something that rhymes with "tornography". You wish I were kidding*. And true to my ever-generous fashion (that, or my gross-inability to keep things to myself), I have decided to bombard this space with some still shots from our shoots, most of which came from yesterday.

You may or may not see an appearance from my favourite Min. Now peruse:

*I really was kidding.

Love, etc.

2009-06-14T19:26:00.020+10:00

I am sipping Muscato from an ikea glass as I type up this blog entry. Drinking by myself in the presence of HTML is clearly the most redeeming aspect of my life. Since university is done for the semester, I have nothing but infinite relief and a desire to kick children. Some parts of aforementioned sentence may or may not be false.

I was watching The Burning Plain, typical of Guillermo Arriaga's screenplay style (Babel, 21 Grams), & I am now compelled to divulge my love for J.D. Pardo.

Now I realise, I disclose new loves about as frequently as I fulfill the necessary function of pissing, but let this habit not detract you from noting how real all my loves are. I also love having minimal cellulite and un-chapped lips.

Oh...AND HAYLEY G HOOVER. I love Hayley G. Hoover!

She's so beautiful... she could be a part-time model.

And I digress!

Yesterday, I accompanied Dad to his workmate's wedding, for the purpose of flexing the photographic muscle.

We weren't commissioned or asked, so this was purely for the practice. Goran and Michelle, the gorgeous couple:

Aaaaand, I leave you with a moneyshot that the papa took:

Sorry for a verbally-uninspiring entry. I'll attempt to man up, and blog about real issues next time. Real issues like sneakers not costing that much cheaper even with little kid slaves making them!

habitus

2009-06-08T21:42:00.011+10:00

My mother loves her chocolate more than most things in life. If she had to only save one between her chocolate or her firstborn in the event of a fire, I might not have a promising further life expectancy. The point of this is she loves her chocolate, and she keeps watchful tabs on her stash of favourites.

Currently, there is a box of (my mother's) Lindt chocolate balls hiding in the corner of the lowest shelf in the pantry. It's delicately savoured, painfully rationed, and heavily accounted for.

Stepping into the kitchen this evening, I was greeted with, "Nikki, why did you eat four of my chocolates?!" Such is the peril of being the fat kid of the family - the default of eternal blame for missing food rests on my shoulders.

Anyway, I didn't eat them and Isabelle denied knowing anything about the box being opened. What I am alluding to here is not the fact that my family is a throng of hungry liars. What I am alluding to is the fact that I AM NOT LYING WHEN I SAY THERE IS A GHOST IN THE HOUSE.

Seriously. Things routinely go missing, and by 'things' I specifically mean delicious, edible things.

On the topic of delicious and edible things, I had an orange and a mug of green tea for dinner tonight. I briefly reflected on how proud I was of my ability to flex the willpower muscle, and I even thought, "For once I have the meal plan of a skinny girl!" Then I smelled the tempting aroma of pizza on Isabelle's plate, and I caved like house of cards after a nearby sneeze. I ate a slice, and I hang my head in shame because I am now devoid of any inspiring anecdotes about willpower and conquering the beasts of the gut! Sorry guys.

To break the monotony, here is a picture of some girls in an assortment of vivid clothing:

It was my dear Marcus's superhero/villain themed 21st. He made an absolutely convincing Wolverine:

Aaaand this is a picture where I attempt to kill my first ever human through suffocation. Joe was no unwilling volunteer (<- double negative; english fail) :

Aaaand, in an effort to continuously push remaining uni final assessments from my mind, I will continue to waffle on about things that don't remotely interest you, such as the state of my fingernails (newly-cut, unpolished) as well as the fact that I watched (and enjoyed) two Pedro Almodóvar films (Volver, Habla con Ella) yesterday with mein papa.

He deals with such heavy themes in a brutally casual light, at first I didn't know whether to be offended by his almost dismissive handling. Then I remembered that I only ever take offense to the people in front of me walking slowly and being called sane, so I quickly abandoned any initial feelings of offense for aforementioned movies. If you like your irony seasoned with quirks and served on a bed of black humour, I absolutely recommend them.

Yeah, I think that's my quota of words for the day.

Night, loves

Ghost

2009-06-01T01:49:00.006+10:00

& if I die today, I'll be the happy phantom & I'll go chasing the nuns out in the yard

Ridiculous

2009-05-29T20:41:00.007+10:00

What the above still image neglects to convey is the ridiculous extent of effort required to get to that particular spot. When I say 'ridiculous', it is on par with the ridiculous idea that I might one day find a more fulfilling lover than McDonald's apple pies.

For the past few weeks, Hannah and I have been frequenting a small river-town, about an hour from the Sydney CBD, chasing up a story about homelessness for our television journalism final project. What makes this story interesting is that in this particular area, the residents don't view the homeless as a concern. Mutual respect is passed around like roast baby l'orange at a cannibal Christmas dinner. Overwhelmingly, the residents view the homeless as unofficial bodyguards.

Anyway, as we make reference to some of these homeless as 'cave-dwellers' in our news package, footage of the caves was crucial. Cue three hours of trekking through unpaved, unfamiliar mountainous bushland with heavy-arse HDV camera and tripod in tow. Now, Hannah and I are no typical damsel weaklings; we are both loyal body pump class veterans. We lift weights on a regular, voluntary basis, but SHIT MAN, this was some tough shit, the way I would expect shit to be tough after a month-long fibre-deficiency... Um.

But I digress. Old readers of mine would know of my incompatibility with journalism in general, but I really enjoy video journalism. Perhaps it's more to do with the 'video' part than the actual 'journalism', but I absolutely engage with this subject. This particular project has definitely challenged some of my perceptions about homeless people. And it's not that our perceptions set out to be automatically malicious, they're often just the tragic function of embracing stone-carved stereotypes. I just have to say though, that I did not expect such depth out of some of the characters we interviewed.

But that's enough blah blah, here is a still of the ever-gorgeous Hannah during her piece-to-camera:

And one of my favourite stills:

In other news, I'm slowly recovering from the flu. I managed to go to the gym thrice this week, but there is still Saturday and Sunday, so perhaps I may be able to edit this sentence to say "I managed to go to the gym five times this week". It astounds me how quickly I can lose endurance just by missing a week of exercise. Ugh. But you know, I will be astounded if in the future, I ever enter into a relationship with the male species that rivals the gym. I have a very consistent and stable relationship with fitness first, ahaha.

Sorry this post has been flat like a pre-pubescent (til-even-present day!) me. I'm just exhausted, and the week ahead looks like a certain shade of despair. Three final assignments due. Please keep an eye out for my name in next weekend's obituaries.

x

least attractive picture ever...

2009-05-23T23:19:00.005+10:00

...but I have to show it regardless:

This image says, "I finally reached the gym for the first time in a week." Take that, filthy flu & lousy immune system!

You just can't fake this kind of elation. Really, you can't.

Important, Impotent.

2009-05-22T23:47:00.005+10:00

I assume that being impotent would be important in societal discourse, but as it turns out, impotence has no relevance on my blog.

So it will not be discussed.

On the train this morning, I actually was brainstorming a tirade on 'why being sick sucks', as well as a meaningful self-reflection piece, as inspired by The Alchemist, which I am currently re-reading. But then I decided that I didn't want to be responsible for anyone climbing into scalding kettles or hacking at retinas with blunt spoons on account of being absolutely bored with my ramblings. I am as considerate as they come!

Instead I say, LOOK AT THIS CLOSED-EYES JERK!

Sorry, I am a little insane and a lot cranky from not having exercised at all this week. Lousy immune system.

shamelessly vapid

2009-05-18T23:57:00.003+10:00

My head, nose, throat & gut are all conspiring against the idea of 'wellness'. Terse words, so all you get is a contrived picture. I am diseased. MAYBE I WILL DIE TOMORROW, sweet.

the season's a-changin'

2009-05-14T20:26:00.012+10:00

I love autumn. I also love the occasional epiphany of having narrowly missed death, and cycling. Yes, cycling. If cycling was conveniently a man, I would write songs about it because it is much less ridiculous to write cheesy musical-odes to a breathing, musk-smelling specimen than to a piece of machinery.

I tried it out about a week ago. Resisted at first, but like any foolish damsel, quietly succumbed to the understated seduction methods of glute pain. But yes, I danced with my new love yesterday and today, and managed to do 21+kms on both occasions. (I should add though that it is a stationary bike, and undoubtedly a mockery of the real deal, but still, I am exerting effort, which the machines have generously totalled as 21kms worth!)

I should also add that sometimes I get embarrassed about discussing these things with you, kind blog-readers. I feel like you are all silently judging me in your heads with comments like "WHY do you still look like the love-child of rosie o'donnel and an asian bakery despite your exercise?" I'm sorry! My appetite is obnoxiously large! KFC only started serving their family-size buckets when they heard I was in town!

And here, a snapshot of Daniel belittling me, much like you all are:

Today, I was pleasantly minding my own business in the labs, digitising tapes and transcribing interviews, when the very attractive guy next to me struck up conversation. He resembled Johnny Depp in 'What's eating Gilbert Grape?, was well-spoken, and he was nice enough but I felt like he slipped into an air of pretentiousness from time to time. Then I was reminded of how I loathe attractive people and their accompanying mentality of being above everyone else (slight generalisation, yes). I think I am just brandishing stereotypes here like unnecessary cold cuts. But really, have you had run-ins with holier-than-thou attractive people? And if you are of the attractive variety, do you use your sleek noses and perfect jaws to get away with treason, murder and occasional bird-theft? I'd be interested to know.

This is where I sign off. I have noble intentions of catching the 6am cycling class tomorrow before rest of the day of the day and subsequent academic displeasure hits! Goodnight, potatoes.

the usual lack of sense.

2009-05-03T17:58:00.007+10:00

Apparently it is nearing two weeks since my last blog post, for which I owe an incredibly large thank-you. You are all darlings; I am absolutely appreciative & overwhelmed by your generosity in the comments. I feel like a bald man narrowly escaping root-canal! Like a sticky-date pudding devoured by Natalie Portman herself! Simply put, I am chuffed. Thank you.

Now, I have a few things to get off my chest, much like one might like to get a car off her chest in the event of being pinned under one after a collision. Without further delay, here are some scintillating dot points:

* I don't quite know how else to put this, but I may or may not be a little bit partial to bestiality. My first recollection of lusting after an animal was upon watching Remus Lupin's werewolf form in Harry Potter 3 (it was the werewolf-biceps & muscular hind-legs, I swear).

I dismissed this as an erratic, newly-pubescent fancy. Nearing the finality of adolescence, however, I don't think I can claim my insatiable lust for Wolverine on those same terms.

Whatever the case though, I don't think I'm very discriminant of prospective life partners. I am the freaking McDonalds of equal opportunity!

* I SAW KATE MILLER-HEIDKE LIVE & IF I HAD IT MY WAY, I'D USE HER LIKE I DO SHAMPOO - rinse, lather & repeat! I'm incapable of doing anything else other than gushing when epic songwriting meets phenomenal stage presence meets precise delivery meets effortless operock. (Yes, I absolutely made that awkward term up right now.) Also at one point, husband & guitarist - Keir snapped a crowd shot for her twitter. Um. I may not have trampled a few babies & elbowed a few undeserving pelvises to make myself immortalised in her digital camera.

* I am sore in the places that count. I managed to exercise six out of seven days in the past week. I'm talking cycling class, pump class, combat class, jogs, core-strengtheners & weights, you mudcrabs! However, I also managed to null & void all my hearty efforts in yesterday's (& today's) Marsbar-cheesecake & White+Dark chocolate mousse rampage. DELICIOUUUUUS. Have I mentioned I'm hopeless? Add to that, predictable. I binge on terrible things & invariably feel an overwhelming sense of guilt & the need to e-complain about how the scales are being stubborn. I am the best vicious-cycle evaaar!

* I have finally reached a plateau in my life that combines an unparalleled sense of achievement with some simultaneous directional clarity. All from this comment:

There IS light at the end of my proverbial tunnel of eternal celibacy! If I work really hard on toning down my unsuccessful wit and obnoxious charm, generous men on the internet are willing to overlook the rest of my flaws for my own personal gratification! Karma is obviously kind to me; I didn't realise life could be so fulfilling!

* I had about four more dot-points to throw in your general direction, but luck is on your side, dear readers. This entry terminates prematurely! Now.

an exercise in writing; an exercise in wanting.

2009-04-28T22:44:00.004+10:00

This living thing – this breathing, excreting, making-someone-else’s-dinner-thing – I want to play my cards right and have an emotion for every occasion. I want to be good at this game and not just go through the motions; I want to learn all the strokes like it’s synchronised swimming.

I want to be different names to different people. I want to be Madeleine, Ingrid, Kate and Regina. To my mother, I want to be Darling; to the history teacher I won’t admit to lusting after, Dollface. Like I said, I want to be different names to different people because it means a thousand and seven adjectives to grow into, like disarming or steadfast, and I need these ambitions because I don’t ever want to become complacent.

I want to know everything there is to know about physics, so I can hate it with a basis. I don’t want to hate inertia and The Law of Perpetual Transmutation of Energy just because I’m a blind man in sheep’s clothing and every pretty girl in my generation claims to hate physics.

And on the topic of being blind, I want to date a blind man and kiss his eyelids in the park. I want to describe the children’s expressions to him in terms of feeling, like the little girl chasing after the duck has the face you get when you first turn on the shower and the water spews out in a cold fury.

I want to hold my fourteen-year-old-self by the wrists and apologise for ever thinking that self-worth could only be attained through being with someone, as if wearing the suffix of ‘girlfriend’ was the only job title worthy of mention. I want to apologise to her for refusing to know better and for thinking that conviction and the occasional wit weren’t enough to define me.

I want to make eye-contact with a pale red-haired girl at the station to ask for the time just because I want to hear her accent. She’ll say, “It’s five twenty-three forever,” because her watch is actually dead and her grandfather smashed this very watch on a rock the moment he died. I wont ask about the circumstance even though I want to, so instead I might tell her that I was born out of wedlock. And we’ll plough on for the rest of the day, keeping someone else’s secret as if to take a break from our own.

For only a night, I want to be the wife of a man who comes home with someone else’s lipstick stains on his collar and someone else’s scent on his skin because I want to know what being a martyr feels like. I want to know what it’s like to make a perfect roast dinner with buttered potatoes while the world crumbles and the children think that their biggest concern is that Rochelle is having an ice-skating party and they are not invited. I want to learn how to suffer gracefully, only giving myself three minutes in the shower everyday to cry.

I want to cut my hair really short and move to Spain and live in a small apartment in a small town with a name I can’t pronounce. I want to wear dresses for everything, from grocery shopping to watching bulls run around in a ring with a matador. I want to stop in the street and say, “Marry me, guapo,” to all the handsome dark-haired strangers even though I don’t mean it, just because it’s careless. And at least once, I’d have the liberty of knowing what it’s like to be reckless with my youth.

Ultimately, when I read excerpts of my unfinished, auto-biographical manuscript to my grandchildren, I want them to say it sounds like fiction. I want to call myself an artist with no-one else’s consent. I want to be proud of all the loose ends I’ve left untied because yeah, everyone wants to fulfill their prophecy, but who really wants to finish a path laid out by the stars?

I will surpass the stars.

vapid things

2009-04-26T17:28:00.006+10:00

The receptionist who swipes my card every Sunday morning at the gym is an absolute babe. I also usually prefer not to be accused of male objectification, so instead of unleashing adjectives about his jawline, smile, physique & general studliness, I'll hold my tongue now & you can just imagine said babe-ness for yourself.

Mmm.

Last night, I was Min's date to lovely Irene's fairytale themed 21st. After a rigorous toss-up between Little Red Riding Hood and Cinderella, I came to the realisation that I owned no such red-cape & the only resemblance I had to Cinderella was the tendency to lose glass slippers, if by 'glass slippers' we mean my parents' hope in having decent offspring, my car keys & the attention span of my readers. So naturally I came to the conclusion that bestiality isn't so looked down upon these days, & thus I decided to go as Puss in Boots. The beautiful Min & I below:

In the following pictures, you will see me in the presence of my favourite ethnics, Min & I sharedly slow-dancing with Max to Westlife songs, & Queenie's boobies covered by a giant heart. (Why giant heart & not a giant squid, you may ask? Because a giant squid is not nearly as appropriate for the title of 'Queen of Hearts! DUH!')

...& this is my cue to leave!

whining about heavier issues.

2009-04-23T14:39:00.007+10:00

I hate to start out a blog entry like a whiney, maladjusted teenager complaining about the petty trivialities of life, but as it turns out I HAVE EXACTLY THREE MONTHS LEFT to milk this sentiment, so milk it I will.

I am miserable right about now. If you have assumed larger thigh, gut & arm diameters as the culprits of said misery, then clearly the world makes no humans more astute than you!

According to the official tone of mother's bathroom scales, I am six pounds heavier than I was at this time last month. My clothes fit more snugly than necessary, my face is fuller than Miley Cyrus's ego, & I just feel generally more sluggish. This is not a ploy for sympathy, compliments or offers for your leftover ice-cream; in fact, I will disable comments for this post so as not to receive anything of that nature. This is me being genuinely frustrated at my nutritional complacence this month. I love food, lovers pastpresentfuture will collectively attest to feelings of inadequacy in the presence of my greatest love - anything edible. I never deprive myself, but I do subscribe to the mentality of 'eating in moderation'. Frankly, I am just annoyed at my absolute lack of willpower this month. Around the easter chocolates, oreo McFlurries, Red Rock Deli Chips, & abundance of carbscarbscarbs, I had about as much restraint as Sienna Miller at a married men's charity dinner.

Dear Body, I am sorry for being mean. I solemnly swear not to abuse your trust between me & binge-eating tendencies.

On to finer things,
long-time readers of my erratic ramblings may recall Paneer - the ghost in my house I named after a staple(?) of Indian cuisine. Well, it seems as if he has been lonely. So much so that he is inviting friends of his ethnic variation to stay at our house. Apparently there is someone called Suneeta De Silva now living in my house, seeing as Wedding invitations adressed to her are making their way into my mailbox. This is not a case of previous house owner's mail is being sent to the wrong adress. This is the case of placid ghost, but nonetheless still ghost, in my house. You see, there are no previous owners to this house. We built it.

Also, I peeled an eggplant today with my fingers & I must admit it is a most difficult task! Commeting on its incredibly squishy nature, I told my mother, "Good thing breast implants aren't made out of eggplant, hey!" I don't think she was as impressed by my observation as I was.

Just saying.

the weather is a girl-child after my own heart.

2009-04-21T01:31:00.005+10:00

store guy.

2009-04-17T00:09:00.005+10:00

Since my newly deceased camera is still under warranty, I took it in to have it sorted like the way I take my rogue suitors to my fist to have them sorted.

But anyway.
The story here dwells not on the necessary actions for my camera, but the guy at the counter assisting me.

His eyes routinely made their way past my eyes, & down to...say, MY MAMMARY GLANDS. Quite frankly, I felt like an unfortunate bowl of super creamy coleslaw... undecided about wanting to be healthy or to be fattening! So I was absolutely undecided about wanting to be offended by his lack of respect to me(/my face!), & wanting to laugh at his misfortune in not having much to look at.

Now that I think about it, I would've wanted to say, "S'okay buddy. You & I both wish there was more to look at."

image dump

2009-04-14T23:57:00.007+10:00

So hi. I may be holding a toilet seat, but that doesn't mean you can judge me. I am not a book. Today I successfully assembled & installed a toilet seat, & this is clearly a significant thing because starting now, I am well-equipped in the ways of a bona-fide husband! Also, I'd appreciate it if you didn't ask who owns the heavy arse in my household because I will lie through my teeth & insist it's not me.

I am dumping a bucketload of images here, on account of I am being mopey & nostalgic about my non-functioning camera. WE HAD GOODTIMES, LITTLE ONE. Come back to me!

i wish i could think up titles that aren't so contrived

2009-04-13T18:40:00.014+10:00

I have put on 2kgs in the past week.

Sneaking suspicion tells me that having a sister who now works at Subway & takes home free cookies might not actually be such a thrilling long-term prospect for my gut & thighs. Add the fact that I am a proud owner of a decent stash of Easter chocolate (on account of I make my mother give me an egg hunt every year) & there may or may not be a delectable box of Max Brenner chocolates hanging out in my pantry.

Did I mention the word 'glutton' didn't come into fruition until 1989 when, incidentally, I was born?

Anyway, last night I attended Djordje's 21st, & I totally met the members of my desired family-to-be, by this I totally mean Parkour kids. Also, since when was it even legal for attractive girls to have decent brain skillz?! Yeah, met some of that variety too, & to say "I FELT INTIMIDATED, YO" might be an understatement. BUT, credit where it's due, so this is the part where I say thanks to mein papa for being an absolute sport & driving me roughly 67billion kms, on account of I am inept at life!

Here, obligatory picture with the birthday swine in which I hide half his face with my large head.

&

Shaun (in black Australian Parkour shirt) was my myspace friend for about a year. & WE MET IN THE FLESH, zomg small world.

& on the thread of birthdays, a happy dedication also goes out to Evan. To commemorate this special event, I am copy + pasting a screenshot of a recent conversation that made me guffaw like dead baby jokes make me guffaw:

On that note, happy birthday to the rest of you April-offpsring. Facebook tells me I have more friends celebrating their exeunts from the womb at this time. WHY are all the parents procreating in July? & more importantly, WHY are parents even procreating at all?! Tough questions, I say.

I think sleep is in order. Goodnight.
x

Euclid!

2009-04-10T16:33:00.005+10:00

So, Euclidean geometry has to do with points.

Unlike Euclidean geometry, this blog post has no point. I just needed an arena in which to say, "HEY I JUST TOTALLY RE-DID THE MULCH ON OUR FRONT LAWN" because that's just the kind of amazing daughter I am.

Anyway, last night I attended Rose's band's gig with the intention of shooting photographs. As with most of my intentions in life, (like being less embarrassing in public situations, having Kelly Ripa arms, & spawning Hugh Jackman's offspring) this intention fell by the wayside & died. DIED, I tell you. Camera just stopped working & Papa has pronounced it dead or a lemon. So I booed & I hissed, as one does.

So essentially, I am & will be heartbroken until after public holidays & I can take it for a checkup.

But in the meantime, I am being un-sad through infectious pop with words I have internalised & wear on my sleeves or bare elbows! This song is my anthem, you guys!

toilet humour

2009-04-08T09:53:00.006+10:00

In today's blog, we will attempt to cover the most pressing of society's questions, such as "What one does when one is at uni hours before when necessary?" & "In the first place, why is one at uni hours before the necessary time?"

These are questions I ask myself on a daily basis, & by 'daily', I might actually mean 'today, Wednesday, the 8th of April'.

You see, when one is car-less, on account of being rear-ended & having to deposit said car at smash repairs, one then relies on scabbing lifts off unsuspecting parental figures who LEAVE ATROCIOUSLY EARLY IN THE MORNING... Okay, so maybe not quite that atrocious, but this here is my blog & I can be as ungratefully-turdy as I please...! :D

Perhaps I will take this opportunity to recount yesterday's epic(ally shameful) public toilet incident.

So, I'm in the cubicle, doing as I do, & I notice that the cubicle door floats slowly towards me. When I remember that ghosts don't actually have concrete edges, I come to the next logical conclusion that it is actually not a ghost, but the cubicle door which I forgot to lock. FAIL

I take the opportunity to "BAHAHA" & tell Min (who is waiting by the toilet sinks) about my recent lapse in toilet privacy. It becomes a cathartic moment in my life, & I proceed to chronicle my 'toilet memoir' as she puts it, exclaiming "GOSH DARN THIS IS THE LONGEST PISS OF MY ENTIRE LIFE" & "WOW, IT IS ALSO THE MOST SILENT".

After which she kindly informs me that we were not alone.

When it comes time to enter the big bad world of facing the consequences of the tongue's betrayals, I was totally cool. You know, not turning as red as ketchup but only slightly so like diluted kecthup! The girls have politeness in tow & don't ridicule me (out loud), so I totally had my dignity intact.

Until it came time to washing my hands.

Unable to get in sync with the automatic sensor, I flail madly, & essentially end up receiving a nice cup of shower. I stood under the hand dryer for the next few minutes, to the sounds of Min's laughter & the crumbling of my self-esteem. Needless to say, I made a fine candidate for how to successfully, & not maliciously, impersonate the elite of this world.

But here, in an attempt to validate myself & appear more sensible than reality actually gives me credit for, a picture from tv journalism coursework:

Kay, I don't know how to end this thing more inspiringly than to say, "Eat my shorts!"

mas que nada.

2009-03-31T23:48:00.011+11:00

My ma has this friend who cures sick people for a living. She's as sweet as glazed apples, but sweetness doesn't get you picked first for teams in dreaded high school PE class. Only a few months back, she jumped on the pastime called exercise, as her outlet for the lemons life decided to throw in her direction.

She finished a biathlon last weekend - 8km of running, 37km of biking & 4km of running. To the mathematician, that's 49kms of achey limbs. To the majority of the population, that's tough shit.

Once I put my jaw back in its place & set my astonishment aside, I have to announce that I have absolutely no excuse for not accomplishing so much more in terms of fitness. I am nineteen, & yes, I am a far cry from the lazy armchair-fixture I used to be. But I am meant to be at the pinnacle of my health, at the prime of my fitness(!) but all I am is actually just pwned by a forty-something, who only started training a few months ago. Needless to say, I am absolutely inspired to get this arse into gear.

I know I've been mercilessly recycling the 'fitness' theme on this blog, & I'm sorry! I must sound like the most broken of records, the most boring of classes on plumbing-for-stone-cottages!

But the reason I am so obsessed with conquering this fitness thing stems largely from years of childhood trauma... & perhaps the time calls for an anecdote:

In freshman year (yr 9) of my living in Ohio days, I looked forward to PE class as much as boys look forward to castration. I'd get picked 2nd to last for teams, & I'd routinely get two strikes in baseball & then get pelted in the breasticles by the very fast, very painful ball. Any team losses, because of dropped balls & missed hits were most often on my behalf. It goes without saying that PE was definitely a fruitful time in the shaping of my self-esteem. That, & I was also an absolute babe.

Now, one fateful day, we made our way to the track field. Had I any notion of imaginative thinking at that point, I may have said that our breathing foretold that of cattle being led for slaughter. We were told that participating in a run was mandatory, failure to do so would mean an F for the semester, & that the sign-up sheet was on the table. I spent the next few minutes telling the coach that I should be exempt because of my asthma. She asked if I had a medical certificate or even a puffer, & the answer was 'no' on both accounts. So with an air of defeat, I had to run for the sake of my life. Being an extreme babe, my 'life' was essentially my 'grade'.

Now, what I didn't realise was that there were varying degrees of runs on the sign-up sheet. The least of all evils was the 100m sprint. In hindsight, I think I could have done that. However, having spent prior minutes convincing the teacher of my blatant inability to run, I missed out on the lesser evils. By the time I got to the sign-up sheet, ALL THAT WAS LEFT WAS THE 2KM RUN. /fmylife

You have to understand that gruelling & fulfilling exercise to me was equivalent to flailing my arms for three minutes, holding weights also known as Campbell's soupcans, or walking from my chair to the fridge for another bowl of ice-cream. (No lie.) That day, I was the sorriest sack of shit on that field, gasping for air like the ugliest of fish & clutching my guts like a woman in labour. To this day, the shame still haunts me during the stillest of nights. I went home that day & told my mother I demanded a medical certificate for my asthma. She laughed at me & asked what made me think I had asthma. As it turns out, my shortness of breath was not actually asthma, but terrible fitness levels & possibly blocked arteries. The most shameful part is I was actually convinced I had asthma.

So there, context.

This is why I am now obsessed with fitness & strength. This is my penance & apology to my twelve year old self for ever letting her be exposed to that sort of trauma. On that note, I told my dad the other day of my desire to do parkour, & his response was a fat resounding laugh. Thank you, papa, I totally feel the faith!

(But I'm absolutely serious about working on my mental & physical discipline required for parkour. For the past week or so, I've been doing pushups, planks & hovers before letting the head hit the bed. Any of you fit kids out there have tips for core-strengthening exercises? Throw them my way, por favor!)

& on an absolutely unrelated note, I was going through my @replies on twitter, & I saw so many I had missed from when they were sent! I don't know if this was a twitter glitch or just my bad eyesight, but I was a little miffed for not having seen them when they were sent. Case in point:

BUT YEAH, TOTALLY BE JEALOUS BECAUSE I GOT TWEETED ABOUT BY HAYLEY G, & SHE IS BETTER THAN PELVIC-FLOOR EXERCISES.

ciao lovelies.
xx

i submitted this post without a title or tags

2009-03-29T19:07:00.005+11:00

This morning, I had every intention of throwing around words about a new fascination of mine, until I was rear-ended by another car, & decided, that perhaps a shift in today's blog content would be appropriate. When I say 'I was rear-ended', it is not actually my dramatically bad use of metaphor coming into play, I meant it in the absolute literal sense of ZOMG MY CAR GOT HIT.

If my car could talk, I think she'd say that she's not too fond of the homo-erotic experience. I may be a little presumptuous to say that she probably doesn't appreciate it up the arse, but that is her business!

So tomorrow, I have the gleeful task of attaining a repairs quote & taking a poor soul's money.

BUT ANYWAY.
What I had initially intended to blog about was how the $2 markup on asparagus is taking a decisive toll on my quality of life. Really? No, not really.

Parkour has recently been brought to my attention like the fact that test-tube babies aren't actually grown in petri-dishes has recently been brought to my attention. & BY GOSH, I am utterly fascinated by parkour & harbouring the resolve to learn. DEAR AGILITY OF MINE, GOOD FREAKING LUCK.

But I insist on you watching the following youtube clip featuring David Belle, who is largely credited for founding parkour. Not only did the video get a chortle out of this esophagus, but Mr. Belle is also quite easy on the eyes. By 'quite easy on the eyes', I might actually mean 'absolutely delicious'. Now, watch:

I think what makes parkour so appealing to me is the extent of discipline required of mind & body, & hot damn would I like some! Not to mention, I might actually have something more credible than my overworked 'I can do origami' catchphrase when faced with an assailant in a dark alleyway or the underside of a bus.

I did say that a driving theme of 2009 is fitness, & while I am quite proud of my dedication thus far, I feel like I'm hitting a plateau in terms of its physical manifestation. Or maybe it's just the fact that I can't reconcile my desire t0 look fit with my desire to stay in kahoots with my first love, which inevitably happens to be food & its constant consumption! Ay, Dios Mio, I don't know. But I do know that parkour is sexy, & I want in.

I have papers to write & ups to push, so my disappearance starts now!
chyeah.

checking in

2009-03-17T19:55:00.006+11:00

It has come to my attention that:
a) This blog has undergone some serious neglect like Jessica Simpson's torso, &
b) I would like to make an apology to Jessica Simpson for crafting analogies at the expense of her weight & possibly self-esteem. I will have consolation in the fact that she will never read this.

Now, if you are of the Nikki Malvar variety, this post may be relevant as a documented archive of recent thoughts & occurrences. If you are not of the Nikki Malvar variety, however, this post may be as useful to you as a dead fly in your expensive lobster bisque.

So here, things & stuff:

1) I watched Coldplay & they were phenomenal. To make further comment would be a grievous understatement of their performance, & would be an injustice (almost) worse than poverty!

2) In the past two weeks, I have consumed more cereal than in my whole life combined. Why? Because I hate cereal with as much hate as tastebuds can muster, & I have been clinging to this very idea for the past nineteen years... Up until my ma introduced me to the sexual revolution that is Sanitarium's 'Light N Easy'! (Hot damn, product placement! :-O)

3) ~~I think Rihanna is an idiot~~. The previous sentiment has been slashed out after considering the uproar that might possibly have ensued for its lack of tact. I have instead decided to say, "I think Rihanna needs to get the hell on out of that relationshit with Chris ~~Brown~~BlackNBluiser". I realise I don't know these people personally, & frankly never will. I realise that there is emotional investment & a previous history, I realise this, I do. But Rihanna dear, aside from domestic violence as being, you know, illegal, the fact that he hurts you is demonstrative of his disrespect. The fact that you stay for this kind of treatment is indicative of your own lack of self-respect. Walking away is undobtedly difficult, but you are worth more than sticking around to be the black, blue & red paint of some retarded artist's canvas.

I don't even like you, Rihanna, but I am willing to teach you a thing or two about the Japanese art of Origami. & a little side of roundhouse kicks & uppercuts.

4) I have a small bruise on my left thigh, also from my favourite lover. Incidentally, I will not be taking my own advice because it is with firm resolve that I will stay in this physically-driven affair. FITNESS FIRST, I STILL LOVE YOU DESPITE THE FACT THAT I WALK INTO YOUR EQUIPMENT ON ACCOUNT OF I AM CLUMSY.

5) I cook a damn good mushroom risotto. Future husbands of mine ought to be fond of carbohydrates because risotto is the only damn good thing I can make, aside from the occasional microwaveable canned soup.

6) My recent guilty pleasure has taken shape as Katy Perry. My musical sensibilities dictate that I can only like the Debussys & the Chris Cornells of the world! But oh sweet Jesus, the infectious pop has found a place in my heart, like heroin in the bloodstream! Like undigested gum in the bowels! YERRR LIKE IN AN INDIANNN SUMMAAAR IN THA MIDDAL OF WINTAAAAR!

7) My mother's Caesar salad is delicious. If I had a Caesar salad rank board, it totally sits in the top ten . Also, I may have tasted maybe all of eight Caesar salads in my life. Delicious, I say!

8) I am entirely frustrated with university & everything associated with academic responsibility. Each subsequent journalism class I attend just confirms how this is not the profession I want to enter. It's hard news, straight-cut reporting & chasing the important kahoonas for their two cents worth, & I am a lady of embellishments &, at best, a trembling sack of shit. I'm in my final year, & at the end of this year, I will have a degree in Communications, which hopefully I will not need to use. Come on artistic breakthroughs, come to mama! I am terrified of the big bad world of post-studies employment. The recession isn't doing much to appease this weary heart either.

Oh dear.

bandwagon.

2009-03-05T00:04:00.004+11:00

three-hundred-sixty-five days of vanity, coming right up.

found

2009-03-03T09:31:00.004+11:00

Found:
One large child in leotards & zebra-printed stockings. Can be seen attempting to curl into foetal position, but fails miserably because her flexibility is as awesome as a ham & cheese sandwich without the ham or the cheese.

The large child speaks little sense on most occasions & is in constant pursuit of edible things like chocolate, mushroom risotto & notebook paper.

If you look like any (or both!) of the ~~handsome~~ responsible men below, please claim your specie-confused child immediately. Thank you.

...AND HELLO!
I spent a portion of the day writing a song, WITH WHICH I AM MOST DISPLEASED.
It's a novelty song, but melodically sounds...serious. Ugh. If I try to pass it off as a normal song though, the weirdness of the lyrics is as conspicuous as my pantylines in white pants! Oh disparity, why must you be so unkind to me?!

That, & I have a terrible case of writer's block. There's a (short) story in my head with emotions as lovely as understated cocktail dresses, characters with longings matched only by the lack of expectation, & oh dear I have no words. Every day I don't write this, I forget something about the smiles that accompany the dialogue or the terrible impatience of self-control. I forget, I forget, I forget.

Sorry, I get emotionally erratic when my art refuses to take shape. Grr.

Anyway, to part, I leave with an image from a photo-meme I was working on, which I probably wont complete on account of it being very tedious. But here:

19. A picture of you with someone you love: :D

Oh, in response to SuperJV's comment from previous blog post - No, I will not be putting my written work back up on the net. I took them down because I found some of my work plagiarised, & I don't want to risk it again. I'm sorry. It's a shame though, I always loved hearing the feedback on my literature. But c'est la vie, eh?

Foux De Fa Fa!

why i will be turning down the social invites that come my way.

2009-02-25T18:57:00.005+11:00

Arrived on Australian soil this morning, bleary-eyed, bloated & smelling much in need of a shower. Ah basic human dignity, clearly I frown upon you.

Got fetched at the (pearly) gates, & the pa held up a napkin with my name scribbled across it. It was endearing in an entirely oh-lord-look-casually-this-way-so-as-not-to-seem-associated kind of way.

But anyway, this is the part where the title of said blog renders itself true. My package from amazondotcom arrived, & waited dutifully for me, so I introduced it to more friends of its kind I purchased in Manila. The result:

eternal mindf*cks! SQUEEEEEE!

& because I am so inclined, I will list each title & author, starting now:
1) The Bloody Chamber - Angela Carter
2) Survivor - Chuck Palahniuk
3) Rant - Chuck Palahniuk
4) A Pocketbook of Short Stories
5) Sputnik Sweetheart - Haruki Murakami
6) The Unbearable Lightness of Being - Milan Kundera
7) No One Belongs Here More Than You - Miranda July
8) Veronika Decides To Die - Paolo Coelho
9) Eleven Minutes - Paolo Coelho
10) The Alchemist - Paolo Coelho
11) Fight Club - Chuck Palahniuk

Mind you, I've read half of these titles already, but it just so happens that now I OWN THEMMM.

I need shuteye.