Sunday, April 26, 2009; 12:31 AM
Nostalgia
I was simply sitting around today when I was suddenly hit with an immense feeling of nostalgia. McCool was playing videogames when some strange urge overcame me to tell him about burying my childhood dog, Gina - which in turn prompted me to go back and look at old photos of my childhood. Now I'm homesick!

I must say, I think I was quite an adorable little girl! I had this brilliantly red birthmark right in the middle of the forehead - fortunately, I didn't get teased about it too much, thanks to the Sailormoon craze when I was a kid! All the other kids believed I was a real-life Sailor warrior... I claimed myself to be Sailor Mercury (she's my favourite) and in our eyes, we could all somehow see the Sailor Mercury symbol on my forehead, in my birthmark. Therefore, I was cool!!

Anyway, I stumbled upon some old photos when I was revisiting my childhood.


Aww, me and my dear brother when we were teeny kids. He used to take Tae Kwan Do lessons after school and I always wanted to myself - I was a real tomboy! But mum never let me. She claims I was too rough and would hurt the other kids! Instead, she enrolled me for ballet and piano lessons - which I loathed and quit a few weeks after. .... ... Geez, I looked like such a monkey, didn't I!

Translation : I love grandpa and grandma and gina

My passion for art also started at a very young age. Unfortunately, my skills were less than remarkable. My dad took great pains to teach me to draw once he discovered my interest, and I showed my appreciation my drawing him with a head the size of a mutant watermelon.

Translation : I love all the family

On holiday in Barwon Heads, Australia. UGH my brother and I were so cute I want to kidnap us and take us home. Just look at me with that snowman! I wish I could be as photogenic now! I remember sweet old ladies always offering us candy on the bus. Our cuteness was irresistable!

It's always nice to take a trip down Memory Lane. I wish I could be a child again, careless and free.

Uh, since this post was originally about my dogs - who are my family and bestest friends in the world, here's to their memory. RIP, my loves and I'll see you in heaven soon! <3

Darling Gina

My BFF Romario. ♥

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Monday, April 20, 2009; 11:58 PM
Oh, to be 17 Again...

So probably none of you have noticed that I added these new buttons to the bottom of every post which allows you to share the post on Twitter, RSS feeds, Google reader, Yahoo... just about any internet platform your heart desires. Also to the left, I have added a new feature which enables you to get my updates right in your email! Yay!

...or not, because who on earth wants to be spammed with my posts in your inbox, or feel the urge to talk about my non-existent personal life on Twitter? No no, it just helps me feel slightly better about my blog and also shows that I can do nifty things like 'keep up with the times, my homies!' Did I say that right? I'm getting old.

Anyhoo, I passed my Hazard Perception Test today! For those of you scratching your heads and going, "Hurhh?", the Hazard Perception Test is a requirement in Victoria for people who want to get their driver's license. Basically it's a test where you sit in front of a computer, watch a driving simulation and click the mouse whenever you should slow down, or overtake, or make a turn. It's not as simple as it seems, the video is deceivingly pixelated, which means a pedestrian choosing to dash across the road at the last second looks simply very much like a pixelated insect flying by. I ended the test near tears, convinced I had failed because I chose to overtake a car straight into the oncoming path of a HEAVY DUTY TRAILER TRUCK but the attendant looked at my miserable face and decided to torture me even more by silently stamping those stamp things very loudly and aggresively on my marking sheet. I was horrified and gasped desperately, "Did I fail?? Oh, don't tell me the bad news..." and he tortured me even more by inserting a very long pause, before informing me I did very well indeed.
I have never been more relieved other than the time I finally got my period after it being mysteriously absent for six months, but that is too much information.

Yes, in a few week's time, it will be legal for me to terrorize the streets and legally putting lives of little old ladies in danger!
...please watch out if you see my car hurtling towards you at breakneck speed, because I really do not have homocidal tendencies, I swear.

Also, today is my dear daddy's birthday, and tomorrow is my birthday - I will be turning 22 [applause, please] and am certainly getting on in my years. It is so depressing. I have crashed headlong into a quarter life crisis which feels strangely a lot like a mid-life crisis, and cannot help but feel that the peak of my youth, my vigour, my exuberance and sexuality - are passing me by, blowing kisses and laughing mockingly while it breezes past in a Series 5 BMW convertible.

I call it my Britney years - my early twenties - when legs are long and hair is soft and hips are meant to be gyrated. Of course, after they pass you turn psycho and start attacking cars with umbrellas. Can you blame me for being terrified?!
I'm Not A Girl, Not Yet A Woman has never related more to me than now. Just the other night I was singing it pensively to myself, while sitting in a corner weeping. McCool entered the room, saw me, stopped and the look on his face was one of a young parish witnessing his first demon execution. He stood there, as still as a statue for a whole of ten seconds before slowly backing out of the room. Later that night, we were laying in bed to go to sleep when he mustered up enough courage to turn to me and ask, "What's wrong?"
I replied, "I'm turning into a woman."
He paused for a second, then said, "Is this some kind of Britney reference? Are you turning into Britney?"

No, in a few hours I will no longer be 21, I will be 22 - and that is a HUGE DIFFERENCE. Soon, I will be 23, and then 24, and I'll be OLD!! My tummy will no longer be flat, my skin will no longer be perky, my boobs will discover the floor, my hips will lose the ability to swivel...

...I guess I should make it also clear that my skin is crap anyway, and what boobs??

OH GOD I WILL END UP LIKE SUSAN BOYLE!!! Except the singing part. I can't even sing! Cruel, so cruel!

Happy Birthday to me! [sobs]

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Wednesday, April 15, 2009; 12:56 PM
Case of the Ex
If there is one thing about the future that I dread to even think about, it would be meeting my ex-boyfriend(s) new girlfriend(s). It's just such a dreadful thought, and I feel sorry for these poor girls if by some uncanny smite from God himself, paths cross and I find myself in the unfortunate position of bumping into an ex and his new girlfriend.

I don't think I would even want to know if an ex-boyfriend is dating someone else. My high school sweetheart is probably still single (this I know from a little thing called Facebook) and for good reason, because he really was a tool - douche - jackass - whatever you call it. And if unfortunately I ever run into him with a new squeeze, I will take great pity on that girl and perhaps tell her to RUN RUN AS FAR AS YOU CAN!!
Then again, it's always weird to be the 'ex-girlfriend', isn't it? I would hate for any of these newer, younger chicks to think of me as "that crazy ex-girlfriend". Ugh. C'mon, if a guy ever refers to his ex as crazy, oh maybe, just maybe that guy was a little kooky himself, eh? For example, the tool I dated for that short period in high school - I have no doubt in my mind that if he dates someone new, he will refer to me as the tyrant, mad, insane ex who never even let him sit down to watch a game of football.

In reality, he always rang me when his football game was on, and when I would ask him why wasn't he watching it, he always said, "Oh, nah! I'd much rather be talking to you on the phone, babe!" And then the next day he'd blow up in my face in front of all our friends yelling that I never let him do stuff he wanted like watching football. And I would just look at him like, "You've got to be kidding me."

He would then proceed to check out his hair in the window reflection and whip out that little comb he carries around with him everywhere.

I do, however, sincerely dread the thought of meeting say, McCool's new girlfriend or even Jin's, if they ever do have a new lady in their life. See, people like Jin and McCool, they don't stay single for long. They never do. They always get snapped up quicker than a hobo spying a penny on the ground. Young, handsome, rich - and charming enough to talk the hind leg off a donkey - they are the kind of men that most girls are relentlessly on the hunt for. And I, for one, would not like to know if they ever move on and date some hot German supermodel with the legs of Heidi Klum. No no, I don't want to know, not listening, la-la-la-la-la. I would probably stare bloody daggers at their new girlfriends and prick pins into voodoo dolls with a vengeance so fierce Zeus would appear at my doorstep to recruit me into his army.

If only God would have mercy on me and never put me through the traumatic ordeal of meeting new girlfriends. Which is why staying friends with an ex who was very dear to you on Facebook is never a good idea.

I only hope they will have good things to say about me to their new girls, preferably, "You girls have got a lot to live up to!"

Yeah!

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Tuesday, April 14, 2009; 1:15 AM
and just like that
In all the vast animal kingdom, if one ever had to ask what the cutest animal feet are, I would have to say bunnies. And not just because it's Easter, but seriously, just LOOK AT BUNNY FEET!

I have an irrational phobia of feet, this is not a lie, but bunny feet are the only feet in the world that I would not mind putting into my mouth and nomming away. I mean, did you watch Bambi? Those bastards can ice-skate on those feet! Are they not the most awesome feet ever? You go to an ice-skating rink and the attendant asks you what size feet you are, as if you want to wear feet that some tinia-infected person has worn before - and all you have to do is waggle your little bunny toes and hey presto! Instant skis! No fungi toes for me! I would love feet that multi-task like that. And the toes! The little toes!

Check out these adorable bunny feet from Cuteoverload.com


Of course, buying shoes would be a nightmare, but did you ever see any bunny donning Converse Hi-tops?! Those cute bastards wouldn't even be able to get as far as DFO Spencer Street without at least 20 random strangers asking to suck on their toes. Problem solved.

We were watching the Montreal Comedy Festival on TV a while ago and Joan Rivers comes on - she is a well-known female comedian whom I had never heard of up till this point - and she turns the audience into hysterics by talking about how vaginas drop when you grow old. Now - and this was the whole punchline of her skit - most women don't know that their vaginas will drop when you age. She says, our mothers don't tell us this fact. And I, sad to say, am no exception. I sat up, wide-eyed and snorting in astonishment at her skit whilst McCool was rolling on the floor in laughter (apparently vaginas are very funny things to men) and could not believe my ears!

What's this?! What do you mean they drop?? How is it possible to drop?? I know men's balls drop, bless them, but how is it possible it happens to women too?! I am utterly terrified. I do not wish, in 50 years time, to be walking out of Starbucks and bump into a neighbour, who looks down at my feet - and I will have to say, "Oh, I was born with an extra toe...."
And he will look at me with horror, perhaps the question running through his mind would be, "Do you mean Camel Toe???"

God forbid!! This makes me even more averse to old age. I think I will simply freeze myself when I turn 43.

We were on the bus to the mall when a group of young boys boarded - it is school holidays - and they were all dressed in black despite it being a warm 27 degrees outside. They all had long hair, likely to rival Miranda Kerr's luscious locks, and were bleached all colours imaginable. It seems to be lately, and tell me if you've noticed this too, that most guys nowadays look like complete freaks. They do, they do! Long, emo-ish hair, holes in places there should never be holes, clothes that my great-grandmother would buy for me if she were still alive... good god, fuck me, I will never find a decent man to spend the rest of my life with because they are all clearly completely mad!!!

A guy bought himself a full length mirror from Target or Kmart or whatever, it's all the same anyway - and he spend the entire bus journey staring at his reflection in the newly-purchased mirror, which was still wrapped in plastic, mind you - and adjusting his hair!! The bus journey must have lasted a good 45 minutes at least and not once did his eyes avert from his reflection or his fingers from teasing his fringe to fall just right.

Our future lies in the hands of these people, are you not proud and eager to see what the next decade holds. Yay!

Happy Easter, darlings.

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Monday, April 6, 2009; 10:42 AM
Institutionalized
As I rode on the bus to work this morning, I peered out through the foggy windows and sniffed at the rain-sodden air of a frosty cold morning. On the bus, every day, were commuters just like myself - groggy eyed and bitter about going to work, trying to steal an extra minute's worth of sleep on the ride.

And maybe because it was a Monday morning, just like the hundred and one other Monday mornings before this, or maybe it was because I sat down and watched Shawshank Redemption last night - that I somehow realized we don't really need to be in prison to be prisoners.

After all, it is uncannily similar. We all wake up at the same time, every day - we report to our bosses, we spend a day's work in hard labor - we eat when we are told to, we take our breaks when they are allocated, we go to bed at set times and we have to submit applications for days off. Unless you are your own boss and life is relatively easy for you, masses of other people who live the life of a drone, day in and day out - prison is a term best used loosely.

We are not really truly free. We are always prisoners to society, conforming and adapting to the standards and expectations of what the community wants. Perhaps we are not free until we live like a bird, doing just what we love, whenever and however we want to. Me, I feel free in a sense when I am cantering off on horseback, or when I am simply strolling along the sidewalk hand-in-hand with the person I love - when I am doing something I thoroughly enjoy and choose to do out of choice, and not because I have to pay the bills.

What would we do without our imprisonment? What would we do if left stranded all alone on a completely deserted island - no need to work, play or hunt for food - what would we do? Perhaps most of us would feel lost, maybe even desperate.

I want to break free - I want to do things I want to do, recklessly abandoning all consequences, I want to go far far away with someone I love, I want to wake up whenever I want and I want to work hard because I choose to enjoy the work. Reality is harsh, they say - but so is prison. And escaping from prison is no mean feat - and trying might kill me.

As we all shuffle into work at the same time, dressed in drab tones of grey and black, like a pack of penguins, like clones from Star Wars, perhaps, in a way, we are all already institutionalized.

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Thursday, April 2, 2009; 9:29 AM
This guy are sick
So what is with this new Lady GaGa song? I'm sure you know which one I'm talking about - it's all over the radio airwaves. Something about a disco stick of some sort. It's unbelievable catchy, although I really am not a fan of Lady GaGa.

Let's have some fun, this beat is sick
I wanna take a ride on your disco stick

The damned tune has been on repeat in my head all day long and it's driving me nuts! The radio DJ said it was a pogo stick, and not a disco stick - which does make a bit more sense, because well, don't you kinda bounce on a pogo stick? What the heck is a disco stick anyway? Oh Lady GaGa, I see what you did there!
But when I first heard this song, the line that made my ears really go WHAT was :

Don't think too much
Just bust that dick

Excuse me, WHAT? Did I hear that right??? I almost died laughing. I probably misheard, but that is exactly what it sounds like to me! Omg, isn't that a bit too much to be playing at 9 in the morning?! They go to such great lengths to censor If-You-Seek-Amy, but not for busting that dick? Oh dear.

Yes, I realize that was a little pointless. I'm simply fighting the warriors of boredom at work, so that excuses me for everything.

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