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!
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!
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Hello, I'm an internet-predator. When I'm not preying on unsuspecting characters, I'm fulfilling my role as a struggling artist. What kind of artist, you may ask? Well, therein lies the struggle. Music, writing, photography and film are all competing for priority in my aspirational hierarchy. Naturally though, none of the above are any fierce competition for my constant pursuit for things to eat. I'm just reckless like that. Occasionally, I find sweeping therapeutic.
