WARNING! This entry may contain coarse rudity

There's a fine line between having the resilience to find your true love and being just plain rude.

After a whirlwind relationship, Sally Strawberry and Peter Peaches decided to call it quits. Quits to the life, the kids, the house… pretty much everything they planned to share while living out their perfectly concocted image of coupledom in foreverdom.

Later, Sally Strawberry moved on and started seeing a new guy – Gareth Grape. Everything was going well until Peter Peaches decided he wanted Sally Strawberry back.

So, Peter Peaches would call Sally Strawberry every now and then. He would bring up how good things used to be, how happy they made each other, asked why things couldn't go back to the way they used to be and where they'd be had things been done differently - 'hypothetically speaking', of course.

And how could we forget? The all so casual inquiry about the new person on the scene. How's… that guy, by the way? Or: Hope everything works out with that chick… whatever her name is. When they very well know what his/her name is. Probably even his/her nationality, school, age and reputation by asking around.

Some of us may relate to Sally Strawberry, caught between the intentions of an unrelenting old lover, and the innocence of a possible new, if not greater love.

Maybe you're a Gareth Grape, to have your chances rudely disrupted by someone's emergency case of: "I just realised he/she's The One so if you could get lost that would be great".

Others may identify with Peter Peaches, who will do anything, I mean anything for love.

But at what point does Peter Peaches stop being a ruthless romantic who would do anything to win back a soulmate, to a down right rude jerk who won't give the likes of Gareth grape a fair go?

I believe that the battlefield of love is a lot like a parking lot. And since most of us reading this are on our L's, even on our P's – the concept shouldn't be too difficult to understand. I don't care if you've parked here for a minute before me. I don't care if you've parked here for a year. I don't care if your ancestors have parked here for three consecutive generations. You took off and lost your spot. Why should relationships be any different?

So what's suddenly given rise to these hooligans thinking they can walk in and out of a relationship as they please?

Maybe it's the sight of seeing them happy with someone else. Maybe it's the realisation that what used to be is actually meant to be. In any case, it all comes down to one thing. RUDITY.

Rude because you've shitted all over the clean slate your ex partner has started with someone new.

It parades a lack of respect towards the new comer – who struggles to form a stable relationship because you refuse to let another one close; with your suggestive comments, desperate pleas and shifty reminiscences.

It stamps the word selfish on your forehead. You wouldn't want it happening to you, so why do it to someone else?

In the name of true love: move mountains, walk a thousand miles and cross the oceans all you like… but by all means DO NOT interfere with an ex until the coast is clear.

BE FAIR, OR BE SQUARE!

I love Cameron Diaz, so I don't have a crush on Justin Timberlake. It's rude. I wouldn't like it if people had crushes on my boyfriend - Paris Hilton in Cosmopolitan (Feb 2007 issue)

My big fat greek Philia

Philia, means friendship in modern Greek, a dispassionate virtuous love, was a concept developed by Aristotle. It includes loyalty to friends, family, and community, and requires virtue, equality and familiarity.

They (including my art teacher) say that a boy and a girl can never be just friends. That since the pair get along so well, are bound for something more – a romantic connection down the road. I believe it's all a bunch of poppy-cock. Whoever said that was making friends with wrong members of the opposite sex.

I don't believe in Santa Claus, Fairies, Ghosts or Soulmates; but I do believe in the possibility of a heterosexual best friend relationship.

Men may come from Mars, and women may come from Venus – but here on Earth they can be seen walking down the street side by side – now how smashing's that eh?

A disadvantage is that you STILL cannot check out other guys. All you'll get is the usual "I don't know, I'm not gay!". Yet if there's a fat slob with snot running down his face, toddling with a more than visible ass crack will say: "Now there's one hell of an ugly mo'fucka!", without even being asked.

Now to the overweighing advantages. Drumroll please. You can ask all those simple and not no so simple questions about the male anatomy and receive a clear cut answer in return. For example:

> Is it true that the bass from a stereo can make your balls tingle?

> Do boys really get turned on by having his balls sucked

So on and so forth. Topics of which would cause a group of teenage girls into hysterics – you'd think they were betting on shares at Wall Street.

You also gain a boy eye perspective on things. They'll admit whether a girl is attractive, stuck-up or… beautiful. Like, how often do guys use that word – beautiful unless they're describing their mother's home made spaghetti? I speak on behalf on most girls out there that we regurgitate the word like no tomorrow. We meet some girl once and think she's beautiful. Another girl is beautiful because she thought we had a nice pair of killer heels. Don't even get me started on the word hot. Girls will call each other hot all the time to each others face and wn't even mean it half the time. It's like "Woops, I accidentally called her hot, I'll go bitch to my friends about her weird hair, her flat chest or her fat legs".

But the most important thing I've learnt from having a male best friend is this kind of love and concern that supersedes the romantic, sexual kind – it's somewhat purer and reassuring. The phrase 'I love you' is handled more responsibly then that in a girlfriend boyfriend relationship. In the times that they're said, are made without doubt, malice or regret. In the same way a couple will claim that they just know when they're in love, best friends will just know that it's nothing more, nothing less.

He won't treat you chivalrously, as good or bad as that may sound. To him you're one of the guys, and to you he's one of the girls. He'll grapple with you over something clenched in your hand until it hurts to fight back, will carry your bag if need be, but won't object to letting you carry his jacket while he walks around the auto show like a kid in the confectionery isle.

If a boyfriend told me never to speak with my best friend, along with other close guy friends, I'd tell him to find some mindless bitch who actually does everything her boyfriend would demand. Because if you date me, you date the whole caboodle – the family, the girlfriends and the best friend. There's no competition, the boyfriend and the boy friend are in a different race altogether.

Girl Power?

There are two defining moments in a girls life. The first time she admits she's finally made real friends, and the first time she admits to herself that some of them would rather spend time with their boyfriends over her.

In primary school our best friends were the girls you played handball and netball with, the girls you belted out songs by the Spice Girls with, while puppetting mini Cabbage Patch Dolls on a stage made out of lunchboxes. By graduation, have we lost the plot?

Whatever happened to the dream of the girls only road trip? It was traded in for the vision of endless nights of undisturbed quality time with the boyfriend.

We've become a society of dumpers. Dumped the family for the friends who are so much cooler. Dumped the friends for the boyfriend who calls you beautiful. Funny thing is, your friends have been calling you just that for years. Being cheated on by a boyfriend sounds like spilt milk compared to this kind of ultimate betrayal. It makes me not want to make a new friend again.

Don't get me wrong. I'm happy for the friends in love, the friends who've loved and the friends anticipating love. But personally, if love means that I'll subconsciously end up abandoning my family and friends – no thanks, maybe next lifetime.

I've never been one to make my boyfriend my best friend. So maybe I've risked my chances of ever finding a 'soulmate' but the comfort of friendship is so much more reassuring to me.

I'm safe when I'm in a relationship and know that if we broke up, I'd have someone to call in the middle of the night who'll listen to me through sobs about why it had to come to this.

Romeo and Juliet ain't got shit on Romy and Michelle.

My creative writing task for English Extension

Topic: Australian mateship, spirituality and identity.

Rantuk lies devastated on the dirt floor. A worm wriggles its way out of the sockets of a rotting bird only a few metres away. The land around her is still, where there used to be children frolicking only a few hours prior. Her piercing wails speak on one level too many. Not only did no one dare to intrude on her moment of agony, but even the wind dared not to blow too hard. For it was evident she was going through enough pain as is. She asks 'Why?' in her native tongue, but no one is there.



3,300 miles away, Bertha tells the kids to hurry up before their father 'loses it'. After all, church with the mumbly-jumbly priest - as her son Aroona would put it, begins in ten minutes.



- - -



I hate shoelaces. I think they're stupid. Mum won't let me wear my slip ons because we have to enter the house of God in our Sunday Best. More like Sunday Stupid if you ask me.



Dad beeps the horn. The bloody horn. That's when I know he's real cranky. But it aint my fault I'm only darn five years old. It's not my fault I can't feel as well as they can!



I can't wait to be a grown up. No one to boss me around. Bein' old should be easy-peasy-japanesey.



Inside the church the mumbly-jumbly priest jabs on. I dunno if he's using big words or just talking funny. It takes ages and my bum starts to hurt.



But I'll let you in on a secret. If ya listen real closely, and ignore them old people breathing loudly, or the one time I heard someone snoring – I like to listen to the birds outside. And the rustling of the trees in the wind.



But sometimes I listen a lil too closely. You see, I start hearing this voice. A woman. She sounds upset.



- - -



Come to me. To where you belong. Come outside.



- - -



Sometimes I tell her to go away. Other times I ask her what she's talking about. But then my big brother Aarron tells me to shut the flamin' hell up. Then mum tells him to shoosh.



- - -



Ssssson! Come to meee pleassssse. Pleasssse. Before it'sssss too late.



- - -



I thought about finding the snake. Maybe it was lost. Bugger it, I thought. It was just my imaginalem… imagilation. What was that word again?



In the morning the snake was gone. Thank God. But the bread for breakfast tasted stale and yukky. Dad sad to quit complaining because other kids like me have no bread to eat, that I'm luckier than them.



Mum told him to 'quit while he's ahead'. I dunno what she's going on about. First blasphemy and now this.



I wonder what dad meant by 'like other kids'. Maybe it's because they don't have shoes with shoelaces or a Sunday Best.



After breakfast I go outside and take my shoes off from the house when I reach the grass. I love the feel of the grass under my feet. It tickles!



Mum says it's dirty. Dirt schmirt. I dun' care.



I don't like the games Aarron plays. I think balls and paper aeroplanes are boring. He says I'm too stupid to understand flying.



I hear the voice again. I follow it. 'I'm coming!' I say. She probably needs help.



- - -



Son, you're almost home. Please come. Before it's too late.



- - -



Two nine year old boys approach Aroona.

'So you hold him down, while I do the work?' says one familiar voice.

'All's fair in rock-paper-scissors', says another.

'Hurry up, he's already walking away', says the first voice.



Aroona is thrown to the ground and feels a sharp pain in his back. There is rustling, not of trees but of struggle.



Die you stupid blind Abo! Die! Die! Die! Another voice laughs.



- - -

Aarron, is that you?



- - -



The two boys, Aarron and his friend hear the loud wailing of a woman. They look around. No one is there. Scared, they flee, leaving Aroona to die.



- - -



Aarron, is that you? What's a blind Abo? Can you call mum, I don't feel too good. What's a blind Ab… Ab…



- - -



If you listen closely outside you can hear the wailing of a woman, mourning the loss of her son. 'WHY?', she cries. But no one is there.

Now Hiring

Hello HSC year!

Amidst the joy of doing well, the disappointment of doing poorly, and the absolute thrill of passing when you barely tried (ring any bells, two maybe?) – there comes a time when we need to GET REAL.

GET REAL because top marks won't determine the rest of ones life, may that be to a persons relief or disappointment. In my point of view, the marks I leave year 12 with are merely an INFLUENCE on my future.

I remember reading an article that said employers are more impressed by a candidate's outgoing personality, enthusiasm, manners, neat presentation and social skills – rather than the UAI mark, degrees and qualifications. That is unless you're applying for the secretary position of Hermits Limited.

I'm not telling every reader to stop turning up to class nor deprive themselves of homework. If it wasn't for those primary school title pages I'd never have established my love for art. I'm saying that if you genuinely try your best at school and haven't turned out to be the new Aristotle, Newton or Einstein your parents had long hoped you'd be… NEWSFLASH: ITS ALRIGHT! If everyone was academically inclined there'd be no such thing as talent.

I know it's easier said than done because of my supportively 'cool parents'. I still go to parties. I still go shopping. I still talk on the phone. I still have a part time job. And the fact that I can still manage my studies without the enforcement of their boundaries is a skill all in itself.

So set aside this mumbo jumbo (because even I haven't grasped the concept of them yet) about ranks and scales of up and scales of down. I mean, does anyone know exactly how it works? Because at the moment it's all a game of Chinese whispers in the playground about what one teacher against another, about what someone's graduated sister said against someone else's graduated cousin. If such a formula about ranks and scales existed, why haven't we received a newsletter about it? They can update us monthly about incorrect uniform but they can't inform us about the scaling/ranking system.

Geez, if I was that kid that didn't talk to anyone, I'd never have heard about it. But heck, at least I'd have a chance at that secretary position of Hermits Limited, right? SCORE!

I say your best bet is to try your hardest in the subjects you've chosen. Because only Tryhards are allowed to say 'At least I tried my best'.

No matter what you do, NEVER be too busy to have a nice big laugh, to listen to a friend in need, and attend to those boring family trips to the middle of nowhere. Don't be the person who gained a career but lost all else. Because with your $50 000 pay and your one-man mansion, the joke's only on you.

Good luck to all readers undergoing their HSC, and the others counting it down a year from now.

Relationship Ghosts

Hello Blogosphere! I feel like a bear fresh out of hibernation. In between my part time job, reading the Everest of books assigned to us for English extension, being charged for offences of excessive phone usage by Officer Mum, hanging out with friends and watching five consecutive episodes of Sex & the City with my boyfriend, I have longed to dispel my thoughts into an entry just like a deer pants for the water.

I've been monogamously loyal to one dick for a whole year. To me, couples who had been together for more than six months held the same ranks as superheroes, magicians and those super-flexible super-humans on cirque-du-soleil. I thought that to hold a relationship for that long required a showbag of x-ray vision, the pulling of a rabbit out of a hat and working your way across a suspended rope on a unicycle. And now that I can FINALLY speak from experience, I know it does.

You do, after all, need to be a bit of a superhero. It takes a superhero to pull her back when you're both out in public because she's too busy talking to realise where she's going. It takes a superhero to ask her back when she's walked out on the relationship completely. It takes a superhero to remember what days she works, what time she starts walking to the bus stop, what time she wakes up and what time she has dinner… even the time she's to expect her next period. It takes a superhero to know how she's feeling just by the tone of her voice, at times with a tendency to ridiculously over read into things.

You do, after all, need to be a bit of a magician. With a trick up your sleeve to bring a smile to their dial. May it be calling her on the house phone and mobile phone at the same time giving the illusion that your voice is echoing (ok, so I find it funny, so what?!). Or dancing to the opening credits of her favourite soapie before it starts – if you call swinging her around until she's out of breath and shouting incoherent ramblings dancing. I believe the best tricks are those that never die, no matter how many times they're performed.

You do, after all, need to be a super-flexible super-human. It requires swallowing a knife for every time you take in information that hurts – about their past, about their thoughts, about their feelings. It requires jumping through a hoop of fire for every time you take a risk – like giving them a chance against all odds, and against everything you stand for. It requires riding a unicycle across a tightrope for every time you balance each other out, for every time you agree to disagree.

I'm now part of the super-flexible-magicians club.

RANDOMLY ABOVE: Long story =)

Although not married (due to reasons of circumstance) I am in a de-facto relationship with my Sex & the City DVD's. Three cheers to mother dearest for the birthday gift.

Old lovers, ex boyfriends, anyone you have unresolved issues with… When a relationship dies, do we ever really give up the ghost? Or are we forever haunted by our relationship past? - Sex & the City

I think everyone is entitled to their past. But to what extent are they allowed to determine the now? The now feelings. The now girlfriend. The now relationship. I ask because I'm definitely not in the know, if anything I'm in the think.

So maybe I'm too nice, but I believe it's to the discretion of the couple. NOT the discretion of how they deal with it on The OC or Home & Away.

Remember when you first started sleeping on your own? The bed was either too high or too big, and the darkness left you vulnerable to ghosts and monsters. I remember thinking that there was always a man staring at me from the darkest corner of my room, and that my brother's Hercules action figurine would move its arm by itself. But after many sleepless nights, I learned to distinguish between my imagination and reality.

But then there are people who need the comfort of someone else to be their Sandman, the means of a good night and the means of any sweet dreams.

Should relationship ghosts be any different? I know where I stand may I be hypothetically single, in a relationship or cheating. Is it bad that unlike myself, others need a new partner to know where they're at?

In a world where you can date without sex, screw without dating, and in the end, keep most of your sex partners as friends long after a relationship is over, what really defines a relationship?... Maybe… what ultimately defines a relationship is another relationship - Sex & the City

Someone told me that you never really 'get over' someone until you surpass and outdo your last one. For example, you never really get over the girl who kissed you on the cheek and made you blush, until another girl kisses you on the mouth and gives you a boner. You never really get over the girl you loved until you love another more.

But then again, isn't that the mentality that's made relationships the game it is today? A continuous competition of the now partners trying to outdo the relationship ghosts.

You decide.

Rest in Pieces

If I had one wish, I'd make the novel Tuesdays with Morrie by Mitch Albom compulsory in the English curriculum. It may not be instant world peace, but it would be the most human way of achieving it. At least then, we'd have something to be proud of.

That way, students would have a choice in discovering the meaning of life. They wouldn't be forced into being better people, the same way no one is forced to listen at assembly – God knows I don't. There would be more good-hearted folks and less people living for material satisfaction.

I'd like to share two things I learnt from the awe-inspiring book (or movie for you couch potatoes!):

"Forgive everyone, everything. Now. Before it's too late"

Experiencing some friendship dramas lately, the quote above really got to me. Would my friends die happy, taking this grudge to the grave? I believe that if it's not worth weighing you down when you're already six feet under, it's DEFINITELY not worth carrying around while you're alive.

Assuming that one of my friends are in the right, matters not. What does matter, right here, right now, is their inability to forgive – placing them BOTH in the wrong.

Forgive and forget. Forget until you don't remember what you're supposed to be forgiving anymore. If you hold on to too many bad memories, you won't have room to store the good.

But if it just so happens that a reconciliation is wishful thinking, it goes to show that true friendship is a process of elimination. Using Darwin's theory of natural selection as a case in point – friends that are fit enough to survive your trials and tribulations, are the ones that will be there forever.

Just think of all the contacts on your MSN list, all your 'friends' on MySpace, the affiliations you see when you're out shopping. If you were to die tonight, how many can you guarantee will be crying next to your deathbed? I bet it's less than all one hundred and fifty something-something-or-other.

"Death ends a life, not a relationship"

True friends are the ones that will visit your grave, and continue to tell you their problems even when you're not there to shake your head and say "Man, I told you so!"

Popularity is a game we play during our childhood. It's just that some people never grow out of it.

And I've got some friends
some that I hardly know
But we've had some times
I wouldn't trade for the world
-Swing Life Away, Rise Against

Secondly, how do you want to be remembered when you die? Think about it every morning before you start your day, because you may not wake to see the next.

"As soon as you know how to die, you know how to live"

Do you want to be remembered as the attention seeker? The user? The liar? The slut? They're just as bad as being remembered for being pretty or always having nice clothes. The only people who wouldn't think it so bad are the sadly superficial.

Be remembered as the girl who radiated what it means to be a good person. Friendly. Giving. Down to earth. Loyal. Optimistic… the list goes on.

THOU SHALL NOT BE A BITCH
even if just for a day, because it might be your last.

10 notches

10 notches down from love is when you recognise his face.

9 notches down from love is when you remember his name.

8 notches down from love is when you can make a fool out of yourself like he has no judgement.

7 notches down from love is when calling him anything other than his pet name feels like the most absurd thing in the world.

6 notches down from love is when you can face him in your pyjamas with no make-up on and state-of-the-art bed hair.

5 notches down from love is when thinking about him, missing him and feeling for him doesn't stop – even when you want it to.

4 notches down from love is when you find typical turn offs cute, when it comes to him.

3 notches down from love is when the thought of committing to him brings happiness and pain combined.

2 notches down from love is just when you think you've had the last straw, he surprises you with a very appealing haystack - which causes you to stay.

1 notch down from love is when you're ready to risk letting someone know you better than you know yourself; so they can swim effortlessly through your veins, and poison your blood; so they can mess with your thoughts, and bring peace to your mind; so they can break your heart and love it back like the world's greatest honour… all at the same time.

Stereotypes

STEREOTYPES. No, I'm not talking about Sony, Samsung or Phillips. I'm talking about gays and lesbians, athiests and typical asians.

Looking back, I've realised that just because someone belongs to a youth group, they're no less susceptible to smoke, drink, get high, swear or have sex than an athiest.

Gone are the days where ones religion has the final say; and here are the days where it all comes down to one thing: personal morals. For example, I'm a Catholic with an undenying faith in the existence of God... but contrary to the church's teaching, I am wholly accepting of gays and lesbians.

In fact, I think some gay couples treat each other better than a husband does his wife. Loving someone of the same gender or abusing your wife? Sadly, society is more accepting of the abusive husband than the gay man. It makes me ashamed to be human.

My mum used to wrap the Christmas presents misleading style. In the case of clothing, she would enclose them inside a museli bar box, prior to wrapping them in Christmas paper. In this way the presents would lie picture perfectly under the tree. It would have been good enough for Hallmark to publish on the cover of their cards. So for the first few years, my cousins would have never guessed that the solid box would have given way to a cotton t-shirt. Exteriors, like stereotypes, are misleading.

It's like how girls think other girls who wear short skirts, wear high heels, make up and 'dance like no one is watching' are sluts trying to get 'picked up', get attention, or get a proposal to 'hook up'. Yes, maybe some of them do. Yes, maybe most of them do. But if they're anything like me, some of them do it for themselves. And if they're any more so like me, they don't care - because life's too short to go around pleasing everyone.

I met a girl who belonged to one of those 'typical asian' groups. She told me about their competitiveness with each other, not only in looks but in the number of boyfriends they had. She hated it. She was ashamed to call these people her only 'friends'. They say that your friends are a reflection of who you are, yet she was nothing like them.

So select a special few, your family, your friends, your boyfriend... and please them in a way that works for you... of whose expectations are in harmony with yours.

So don't look at everyone as they spill out of the church doors, and assume that they all 'go in peace to love and serve the Lord'. Don't think about everyone in gaol and think that they're all guilty.

The next time you make a stereotype, remember that it's merely a generalisation, made for the sake of... well... generalising... and being mostly (not completely) right.

Blah blah, Black sheep

With every single letter
in every single word
there will be a hidden message
about a boy that loves a girl.
- There Is, Boxcar Racer

I don't study music, but English is my forté. When I was eight years old, I wanted to be a writer. I'm 17 in thirty days and looking back, I realised that I've been a writer ever since I learnt how to spell my name. And over the years, I've been taught everything from the styles of texts to writing in context; the difference between they're, their and there; and why in syntax people write.

But the most important and most difficult lesson I'm being taught, takes place outside the classroom, and outside the uplifting pages of my beloved books.










Read between the lines.










That's what I've been told. And that's just what I try to do.

Not just between the lines, while browsing through my feminine read of Cosmopolitan, my monthly dose of Reader's Digest, the dictionary or the bible. But between the lines that bind friends together, between the lines that separate couples in an argument, between the lines that whip us into competent human beings.

I can't complete this entry without touching on a classic: when a girl says that "nothing" is wrong. The key word - nothing, rarely carries the same literal meaning as it does for men. She's inadvertently asking him to read her facial expression and the tone of her voice. And if anything is wrong, it's his lack of understanding non-verbal communication.

More people should donate blood. Boys suck. The Backstreet Boys Rule. Drugs are bad. Behind every opinion is an experience, an influence, a lesson, an underlying moral, and perhaps a grudge that drives a person to believe it.

So the next time someone refuses a smoke, leave her alone. Maybe they've had enough of inhaling the smoke of others, or just sick of smelling your breath. So the next time someone tells you they've sworn themselves off getting high, leave them be. Maybe they've watched it turn loved ones into addicts, or lose friends who've overdosed. So the next time you see a woman walk down the street wearing a Hijab, remind yourself that she probably possesses more faith, courage and self respect than you do - before thinking it looks funny and that she shouldn't wear it. Don't judge people by the standards of your own.

So until my next entry, I'm Noeline, a non-believer in soul mates and a writer… farewell!

Elderly couples rock

Pardoné moi for the absence.
So many thoughts, so little time to express them all. And the yearlies haven't even come yet!
So more for my sake than for yours, this entry will be more of a historical record of my past few weeks - rather than my usual kind.

I attended my first debut, the talented Maidel's 18th birthday. I think her party was more extravagant than what my wedding would be! It was better than formal - because this time round there was an even balance between the dresses AND the suits. Ahh, the harmony. A beautiful night.

There's something cool about watching someone grow up. Even if it's the boy from primary school whom you haven't spoken to since you were twelve. To be able to say: I knew him when he had a combover, no facial hair and whose school shorts... were really short (so short that you begin to question whether it was HE who started the trend).

The bookworm that I am, am currently reading a Penguin classic called Anna Karenin by Leo Tolstoy. Particular quotes got me thinking. here's a few.

"If there are as many minds as there are heads, then there are as many kinds of love as there are hearts."
What love is to one person may not be love to another. Who's to say he never loved you? Who's to say she doesn't love you right now? I believe that if someone told you they loved you, it means you suited every definition of what love was to them, at the time.

"It is better to do good in such a way that you may ask everyone and no one knows."
Nowadays, the headline PARIS HILTON MAKES EYE CONTACT WITH HOMELESS MAN would catch more attention than MAN DIES SAVING THE LIFE OF A STRANGER. And even that headline is more noted than the man who gave up his seat for the pregnant lady or the girl who gave you directions when the tourist was lost.
I think that good deeds are idyllically preserved as one's best kept secret. For every Australian of the Year Award, there are thousands of other children who can't afford to follow their dreams because they're looking after younger siblings, who don't have the resources to excel because they come from a poor family, who would gladly have all these if given the chance - but are so humble they would hate the attention. For every Miss Universe, there's thousands of women with cellulite, without a pair of high heels in their closet and smile through crooked teeth who are more deserving of an award. Because some raised three kids on her own. Others left an abusive relationship. Because others have been a true friend in a world of popularity, backstabbing and insincerity.

Lately, I've been working long shifts (8:00 till 5:30 MAN!). I thought it would be a bore working with the older full-timers. But it was actually fun! It's good to get out of my usual clique.
Someone I work with got a surprise from her boyfriend four days in a row. One time was a huge pillow with the words "I LOVE YOU" and the next, a big bouquet of roses. When I asked her how she managed to find someone like that she replied "Break up with him". Confused, I realised that it was among his ways of making it up to her. HOW ROMANTIC!
Another girl was telling me how cute it was, to hear her boyfriend of a few years, to let a huge ripper of a fart out. Perhaps, to this day he still doesn't know that she heard him.

Remember when breaking up with him meant doing everything humanly possible to pull the plug whenever If I Ain't Got You by Alicia Keys came to air? Remember when ending it with him meant avoiding any possibility of watching re-runs of Win A Date With Tad Hamilton? Well, I've recently (and about time too!) come to the conclusion that life's too short to spend my while life running away from things like these. All in all, what's there to avoid if I don't have any regrets?

I LOVE ELDERLY COUPLES. There's something admirable about seeing them out in public, walking slow paced, holding hands. Stuff the meaning of life, I feel like running up to them and asking "How do you do it?".
I look at them and wonder about all the things they've endured together. Did they ever fight about which brand of Tomato sauce to buy? Did he ever hurt her so much that she almost left him for good? Does he remember what she looked like when she wore bright red lipstick, had smooth skin and so much energy that she raced you up the stairs? The thought always overwhelms me and I'm left admiring them like the Mona Lisa.
An elderly couple approached me while I was working. The lady, with shaking hands was asking me whether she'd be better off buying size 20 or 22 undies. And let me tell you, these were what you'd call 'grandma undies'. She called out to her husband, who could barely hear, which one he thought would would be better. They were past the stage of buying provocative lace underwear, and there was no 'does my bum look big in this?'. I WANT TO BE LIKE THAT. They're my idols.

Last but not least, Retreat of 2006. The last time I had a camp with both sexes was in year 4. I didn't realise how many people in my grade I didn't know. Some of the guys I had never seen in my life! It's funny how just when you think you know someone, you get a (well deserved) smack in the face. Just as a wise person (actually, my friend Michael) once said: "everyone's got a story to tell, all they need is someone to listen".

A shoutout to everyone in my life right now. Hugs and Kisses. You're all what keep the good times rolling!

P.S. Good luck to the year 12's for their trials and HSC.

Border Security

If only customs and quarantine services went as far as ensuring his heart wasn't carrying any extra baggage. Such a service would bring Hitch down to his knees.

Imagine sniffer dogs that could distinguish people genuinely seeking new relationships to the bastards desperate for rebounds. Imagine x-rays that could detect the true intentions of the heart.

There'd be a lot less broken hearts and one rich bitch – that being me.

I read somewhere that a relationship ends similarly to its beginning. Start off on the wrong foot, and (even if you managed reaching the yoga position of head over heels) you'll leave the relationship with the same two left feet. Your heart and mind just as clumsy.

Maybe when Whitney Houston said that she wanted to 'dance with somebody', she was singing for the people who had yet to feel the pain of someone stepping all over their feet, or in this case - walking all over their heart. And when she said she wanted to 'feel the heat with somebody', didn't realise that this very heat would later cause loyal fans to 'let it burn' with Usher.

I'm saying that maybe (just maybe, if it's not too much trouble!) people should consider their feelings before committing themselves to someone, before giving false reassurances. It all goes back to the ancient lesson of prevention being better than cure.

Just because she's from your past doesn't mean that your heart feels the same way… after all, hearts don't beat at the same rate that clocks tick.

On a completely unrelated topic... It's amazing how a song, a beat, a line, can bring you back to a single moment in time. This song is doing just that for me right now. It's moving on at its finest.

I'M NOT MISSING YOU - STACIE ORRICO

Been through just about everything that I could go through
When it comes to relationships
Don't know what I was missing or why I ain't listen
When I told myself that was it
Now here I go, hurt again
Cause of my curiousity
Now that it's over
What else could it be he just had to cheat

I made a promise never to settle
Why didn't I keep it?
Cause I hated the heartbreak
Crying and cheating, the fooling around

I'm not missing you
I'm not going through the motions
Waiting and hoping you call me
I'm not missing you
You might have had me open
But I must be going because
I got life to do
I know I'm usually hanging on
I used to hate to see you gone
But this time it's different
I don't even feel the distance
I'm not missing
I'm not missing you

It's a shame in a way cause
I feel that I may not ever find the right one for me
Did I leave him, is he right in front of my face
Will my true love ever be?
Why would I go on a search again
When I know what the end will be
What good is love when it keeps on hurting me?

No I can't be with you
Cause I'm scared

Felt like I was falling when you left me
I can't keep going through life
Unaware of what I missed
And the person I could be
Love's good when it's right
And when it's left in your memory
All the times I let you down
I guess love will be nice for someone else's life

Perfect 9

Those who know me are aware that I'm just not a movie person. I have a weak attention span; and no Jackie-Chan combat move or Matrix back flip can change that. My eyes may be fixed on the screen - my mind is anywhere but. Although, when guy meets girl, mate, I'm there!

I just finished watching 'The Perfect Man' starring Hilary Duff, who plays a teenage girl called Holly. Thankyou to my boyfriend (ironically, a movie buff) for stating the obvious – she blogs, just like me. On top of that, she lives with her single mum. So maybe I'm biased in saying that it's an alright movie, because I have things in common with the main character.

Nonetheless, it has inspired me to write a combo of an entry; while I listen to Westlife The Greatest Hits. But if I let you go… I will never know… what my life would be… holding you close to me… What is the perfect man to me? How does coming from a divorced family make me different from the nuclear kids?

I think the perfect man is someone who hurts you, and genuinely says sorry. I think the perfect man makes you happy without even trying, but by being himself. I think the perfect man is someone who sees every imperfection, yet finds you nothing short of beautiful. I think the perfect man is someone you can cry, fart and burp in front of, in whose company you can scratch your boob, pick a wedgie and gorge yourself with food. I think the perfect man is someone who appreciates and respects you. I think the perfect man not only listens, but actually remembers what you said. I think the perfect man is someone you can grow old and wrinkly with, so only time will tell.

Next on the list: Divorce.

Divorce is one of those things; it's either overrated or underrated, never understood except by those who belong to a divorced family themselves. Everyone else is either sympathetic or ignorant.

I live with my single mum and two brothers. My father visits from time to time, residing with his new partner and kids. And I wouldn't have it any other way.

So… a few of my dreams may have been broken. No longer can I break the news to my parents at the same time during a family dinner, because now it's done one at a time. Mum, I got an A for my assignment! Mum, I have a new boyfriend! Mum, we broke up! And by the time I get to my father, I'm either over it, forgotten about it or a lot less excited. No longer is the table set for five. No longer do I hear my father's heavy footsteps every night as he comes home from work, because my home is not necessarily his.

… And I wouldn't have it any other way. Even though divorce is sometimes the best thing to do in a situation, it still carries a negative stigma to it.

Some people see divorce as something evil that only happens to bad people. They're scared of people associated with such a family. It's not just the 'immature' adolescents guilty of an act, the 'wise' old adults are getting in on it, too. I've met the parents of some friends, disgusted to discover that their daughter is friends with someone who has divorced parents. I might as well have said that I smoked pot and was a member of Sex Addicts Anonymous. Suddenly I had the words 'bad influence' written all over me.

Unfortunately, that's life. Shit happens, and that doesn't exclude the publics' perception of divorce, because that's shitted too. I'm writing this to set some things straight. When we say 'my parents are divorced' we don't expect a shower of 'Oh my God! Are you okay? I feel so sorry for you'. We don't want any ones pity, we just want to be treated the same. In the same way that your grandmother died, our parent's marriage died. Your grandmother died not because she was a bad person, and my parents didn't divorce because they were bad, irresponsible people.

Bad things just happen to good people.

Nuclear families are always more appealing. But I'm more than grateful for the lessons I've learnt from a divorced one. It's made me stronger than I would have otherwise been. It's brought my mum and I closer than ever. It might not be anything like yours, but I'm proud of my family thankyouverymuch.

SUCCESSFUL sally SELFISHLY sold seashells by the seashore

I went out with a guy who wasn't allowed to have a girlfriend. Part of my lifestyle back then was keeping it on the down-low; like not calling him on the house phone in case his parents picked up.

I went out with a guy who was allowed to have girlfriends, but didn't make it priority to keep the family up to date with his love affairs. So the lifestyle of our relationship was relatively laid back.

I went out with a guy who wasn't allowed out on the weekends. So a lot of our relationship took place walking me home after school.

I went out with a couple of guys who were out of school. So the lifestyle of our relationship was complicated – revolving around my school schedule, his uni/tafe calendar, and BOTH our work schedules.

I am currently going out with a guy who's still in school and allowed to have a girlfriend. So part of our relationship lifestyle is based around our schooling, my working hours and his extra curricular activities.

REAL boyfriends are more than just a hand to hold, a shoulder to lean on, nor are they solely for hugs and kisses. Whether your relationship is out in the open, or your best kept secret - they're a LIFESTYLE.

But as you can see, never did my life revolve around the boyfriend. A mistake, which I see a lot of people make.

There's the boy who stops smoking, drinking, partying not for himself, his parents, his health, or his well being – but for some stupid reason like THE GIRLFRIEND. Mate, YOU are the weakest (and indeed the most air-headed) link. For starters, in the eyes of your friends she becomes the protagonist of your social life. On top of being labeled as being Pussy-Whipped, you're suddenly the Kill-Joy of having a good old smoke, getting pissed, or drooling over the hot chick who works at Boost. Acts of which have been bonding the typical Australian male species for hundreds of years – a tradition suddenly betrayed because of some chick. What more if you break up? Will you start smoking again? Drinking again? Partying again? Then, don't even bother. Remember growing up and being told to do things yourself because 'you're a big boy now'? Well, do it yourself… FOR YOURSELF.

Here's a controversial once. The couples who plan their futures together. A future which eventually, they literally live for.

What to name OUR kids. What kind of house WE'LL have. What kind of car WE'LL drive.

Personally, I'm not one to negotiate my distant future with boyfriends – because in the course of a break up, I don't want to experience the pain of losing something I never had: a particular house I'll never own, nor be able to share with someone else; the names of kids that were never born, names that I'll never be able to use again; a kind of car that will never drive a newborn child into the driveway of my dream home. Call me naïve. Call me chicken, afraid of that kind of commitment. But I call it 'Being Realistic'. I live for my aspirations alone; that hopefully I'll be able to share with someone eventually...

Eventually: after school...
Eventually: after finding a stable job...
Eventually: after realisation that the only thing missing in my life is someone to share it with...
Eventually: after something tells me he's worth it...
Eventually: after something tells me I love him...

I'd describe my lifestyle as somewhat freestyle. Free to be myself. To be Noeline, not just someone's girlfriend. Free to my own future desires, and change them as I see fit. Free of living for someone else's dreams, the reason that it all works out or the reason that it all falls apart.

LIFE is a big word, understood only by Big Boys and Big Girls. A successful life comes from independently achieving selfish goals, and sharing your success with someone special.

Not convinced? Then for my sake I hope you're a stout Michael Jordan fan.

"To be successful you have to be selfish, or else you never achieve. And once you get to your highest level, then you have to be unselfish" - Michael Jordan

Multi-purpose Revenge

My boyfriend gave me an apple.

My boyfriend gave me a pear.

My boyfriend gave me a kiss on the lips and threw me down the stairs.

I gave him back his apple.

I gave him back his pear.

I gave him back his kiss on the lips and threw him down the stairs.

I threw him over London.

I threw him over France.

I threw him over the Harbour Bridge and he lost his underpants.

Even from a young age, us girls were taught that revenge is not only sweet, but if done the right way- can also be funny. Every time we hand clapped to this mantra, we further instilled certain values within us. Like, if you don't have the time to wait for the coming of what goes around, take karma into your own hands and throw him off bridges, fences, cliffs... etc (sorry Mariah, but merely shaking it off doesn't feel as satisfying). Some girls seem to have forgotten about this ingeniously hidden lesson somewhere between her first kiss and her worst break-up, and I'm probably guilty of singing this song one too many times.

You can curse and you can slap, but the newest craze to hit Hollywood is to play it cool, calm and collected. We're hearing less stories about messy break-ups. To compensate for this, celebrity magazines are resorting to dedicating four page articles on what the stars are having for breakfast every second issue. Take for instance Spears and Timberlake, Cruise and Kidman, Aniston and Pitt. For the first time in a long time, we're hearing less about the nitty gritty reasons for their separation: The bathroom smelt like the city dump whenever he came out; she made this disturbing face whenever she climaxed; and the pathetic list goes on.

Sure, you may have vowed never to be with them ever again, but a little bit of 'this smile no longer smiles for you' feels EUPHORIC - especially when it's true.

Shooting him death stares and looking upset will only make him feel all the more relieved about the break up. Because he's thinking: Thank God I don't have to put up with her crying, her complaining and her mood swings anymore. You're only fooling yourself for thinking he'll feel remorseful and ask for reconciliation. Then, he'll mistake this facade as being the 'real you'.

Call me naive, but I'm sickened by the whole speech about how he's the one, how you'll never find someone like him, how you can't live without him.. yarda yarda yarda. At least at this age.

We're on the verge of hitting the late teens or early tweens, and let's face it: we're horny little devils who can't get enough of each other. I don't think anyone gives up on love for the rest of their life. We're not capable of making such decisions.

So put into practice your beautiful soul and repeat the above mantra if you must.
Give him a taste of what he's been missing.

If life is about that half empty/half full glass that everyone is raving on about, I think that people who die happy are those with their glasses full... and the only time that love accounted for the whole glass was in the late 16th century (Romeo & Juliet). So I'm afraid that we've just missed out.

A dollup of love, motivation and respect for yourself. A generous serving of family and friends. A hint of career. Just enough travel to add a bit of flavour. GET COOKING! Envisage boys as the cherry on top, because a cherry by itself?...

BITCH PLEASE, you're just selling yourself short.

Why we're all sluts

Think of someone you love. Now, think of someone you hate. Finally, think of someone you love to hate, or hate to love. Stuck? Consider yourself lucky.

It's amazing beyond comprehension, how at one moment you're CRAZY over him. You were literally on the cusp of surrendering yourself to him completely.
And the next minute, the butterflies die - exterminated by the fire of resentment, fuelled by memories of him.

The same guy.

I'm talking about ex-boyfriends, the boy who used to like you, or the boy you used to like.

I'm not complaining, but rather, sharing a learned lesson. I realised that with boys like this, you only have two options. You're either his girlfriend, or you're nothing. There is no happy medium.

It still intrigues me, how he was able to 'like' you enough to eventually 'love' you as a girlfriend. Though seemingly not enough to keep in contact after a break up. I'm guessing there was a fork in the road.

I recommend that we all listen a little more closely to Robbie Williams. Sure, he may look a little gay, and his video clips might be a tad obscure, but if anything, this man does does have a point.
"Before I fall in love, I'm preparing to leave her"

Since realising this, I go into every relationship 'hoping for the best, and expecting the worst'. Face it. He might not like me anymore a month from now. He might not love me anymore by next week... And it's all okay because he's only human.

It's the same with friends. Those yellow overals (you're probably thinking 'what the?' but hang in there, there is a connection!) probably don't fit as nicely as they did when you were six years old. In the same way that we grow out of our clothes, people grow out of people.

Nick Carter and Nicole Richie will agree that there's a little but of Paris Hilton in each and every one of us. WE'RE ALL SLUTS (boys, that includes you)! Maybe not sexually, but mentally and emotionally - which is even worse. No one reading this can honestly say they've kept in contact with every friend since pre-school, or every boy they've ever crushed on.

Ahh the love, ahh the hate. Anyone who thinks life isn't an extreme sport needs to get out more.

Wheels on the bus

Sitting on the bus with my ears plugged into my i-pod and my head in the clouds, here's some of the random thoughts that resulted.

Yesterday, I had the George bus driver again. Being in this mans presence makes me think that the bus could run on his spirit alone. Forget petrol, his antics are priceless. He gave us a brief history of George's River, how it was named after him. He then started talking about who the real heroes of the Beconsfield Mine were. That it wasn't the two men trapped underground, but rather the people who toiled for weeks in getting them out. I got off the bus with a free time table.

Being one of the last stops on the way to school, I end up sitting RIGHT at the front. I mean, just near the door, or directly behind the bus driver. YES, the loser seats. Generally speaking, it got me wondering if the cool people on the back seat still be cool two years from now? Melting the hearts of women in the workplace, or turning as many heads? Will sitting at the front make me rich and successful? Probably not, but most likely if life was a movie. Dropping my books would mean the man of my dreams would help me pick them up, accidently touch my hand and shoot me a winning smile.

Most people hate school, and count the hours till home time. But as the bus is drained of pupils eager to watch tv, log on to the internet or chat on the phone - try picking the face that dreads this moment. It's naive to assume that everyone comes from a good home.

There's nothing friendlier than the smile of a stranger.
There's nothing more genuine than the laugh of a child.
There's nothing more sexy than a girl who can think for herself.
There's nothing more human than a man who cries.
There's nothing braver than falling in love.

On the off note, HAPPY 6 MONTHS to me and my BOYFRIEND. This time six months ago, he was at my house. Six months later, here I am blogging, anticipating the tomorrow that we shall see each other. We've had our lefts and rights (because it sounds so much more original than 'ups and downs'), but they've only added to the awe of why, through it all, we're still together.

Thanks to Frances, the Karaoke Queen, my attention was brought to this sweet sweet song. DUDE, it's SWEET.

Jim Croce - Time In A Bottle

If I could save time in a bottle
The first thing that Id like to do
Is to save every day
Till eternity passes away
Just to spend them with you

If I could make days last forever
If words could make wishes come true
I'd save every day like a treasure and then,
Again, I would spend them with you

But there never seems to be enough time
To do the things you want to do
Once you find them
Ive looked around enough to know
That youre the one I want to go
Through time with

If I had a box just for wishes
And dreams that had never come true
The box would be empty
Except for the memory
Of how they were answered by you

Case of the ex

The past few weeks have been jam-packed with the break ups, heartbreaks and midunderstandings of friends with their man (or maybe boy is a better word, seeing as though they're only sixteen).

Juliet broke up with Romeo after being crazy in love with each other for over a year. Jack doesn't know how to react when Jill is upset, maybe beause he's never had a girlfriend before. John Smith told Pocahontas that he likes her. Pocahontas likes him too, but hasn't told him yet.

But today's focus is how Aladdin's ex girlfriend keeps calling, and Jasmine's uneasyness about it. Jasmine's friend Cinderella knows just how she feels because she went through the same thing.
* Names have been changed.

So... catching up with the ex. Right or Wrong?

74% of Sydney (according to the poll results of the Kyle and Jackie-O breakfast show) say WRONG.

One caller stopped their partner from talking to his ex's because conversations inevitably lead to a trip down memory lane. One person ended up asking for some 'graveyard sex' (intercourse with an ex when the boyfriend-girlfriend relationship died some time ago). Someone ends up mentioning old times, which turns into hours of reminising, which then results into someone realising that breaking up was a huge mistake and wishes they were a couple again.

Personally, I think it depends.
Talking about the past you shared...
The future you could have had together...
All while one or both of you have supposedly 'moved on' to new partners... WRONG AND A HALF!

I think that if both people are single than that's okay, because there's no involving innocent people.

How would you like it if we started calling our ex boyfriends. Telling him about how we miss HIS kisses. What HIS kids with us would have turned out like. How we miss what we had with HIM. How we still think about HIM a little more than we should.

Talking about the past when trying to move on with your ex is like talking about the time you stuck a glue stick up your ass to impress a girl. It just doesn't work. Actually, you're heading in the opposite direction of your desired destination.

I have a respect for ex partners who stay in touch AND get on with their lives. It shows their maturity to accept that things happen, that things don't always work out and that because of this - they move on. They don't need the title of boyfriend and girlfriend to keep a relationship. In a weird sense, they've moved to a somewhat higher level of intimacy beyond the lovey-dovey relationship because they've been there and done that; and don't abuse the fact that they lived to tell the tale.

I think that it's a matter of being honest with your feelings and responsible for your actions.

CASE CLOSED.

Ouch

They say that losing a loved one is what hurts the most. But knowing that they're gone because they CHOSE to be, that they're alive and healthy and HAPPIER with someone else, THAT's what hurts the most - MEDIUM

God won't ask

1. God won't ask what kind of car you drove; He'll ask how many people you drove who didn't have transportation.

2. God won't ask the square footage of your house, He'll ask how many people you welcomed into your home.

3. God won't ask about the clothes you had in your closet, He'll ask how many you helped clothe.

4. God won't ask what your highest salary was; He'll ask if you compromised your character to obtain it.

5. God won't ask what your job title was; He'll ask if you performed your job to the best of your ability.

6. God won't ask how many friends you had; He'll ask how many people to whom you were a friend.

7. God won't ask in what neighborhood you lived, He'll ask how you treated your neighbors.

8. God won't ask about the color of your skin, He'll ask about the content of your character.

9. God won't ask why it took you so long to seek Salvation; He'll lovingly take you to your mansion in heaven, and not to the gates of Hell.

10. God won't have to ask how many people you forwarded this to; He already knows whether or not you are ashamed to share this information to whom you love.

Wake me up when September starts

I hate winter. Hate it. Hate it. Hate it.
I hate thinking it's almost time to go to sleep for longer than necessary because it looks like midnight at 6pm.
I hate how the wind makes dirt travel to places it was never made to venture: your eyes, your food, your clothes.
I hate how its the season of stating the obvious. Like, saying its cold to the person with their arms folded, shivering uncontrolably, sneezing copiously and struggling through their scarf to say: I know.
I hate how it turns people into gluttonous sinners, stuffing ourselves with food to replace the energy used to stop ourselves from freezing to death.

Before I skiddadle remember that laziness, like winter - is bad. So, here's an apple picking tip for the boys.

A lot like love

Are your palms sweaty?
Is your heart racing?
Is your voice caught within your chest?
It isn't love; it's like.

You can't keep your eyes off them. Am I right?
It isn't love; it's lust.

Are you proud and eager to show them off?
It isn't love; it's luck.

Do you want them because you know they're there?
It isn't love; it's loneliness.

Are you with them because it's what everyone wants?
It isn't love; it's loyalty.

Do you stay for their confessions of love because you don't want to hurt them?
It isn't love; it's pity.

Do you belong to them because the sight of them makes your heart skip a beat?
It isn't love; it's infatuation.

Are you there because they kissed you or held your hand?
It isn't love; it's lack of confidence.

Do you pardon their faults because you care about them?
It isn't love; it's friendship.

Do you tell them everyday they're the only one you think of?
It isn't love; it's a lie.

Are you willing to give up all of your favourite things for their sake?
It isn't love; it's charity.

Do you stay because a blinding, incomprehensible mix of pain and elation pulls you close and holds you?
Does your heart ache and break when they're sad?
Do you cry for their pain even when they're strong?
Do you accept their faults because it's part of who they are?
Are you attracted to others but stay with them faithfully without regret?
Do their eyes see your true heart and touch your soul so deeply it hurts?
Would you give them your heart, your life, and your death?
Well, then .. it's love.

Emolution

I'd like to take this opportunity to donate my two cents into this whole 'emo' thing, before the turn of the literal century. And by that I mean, until we find some other lame word to drench our sponge-like vocabulary with.

When I first heard the term 'emo' I automatically pictured people who dressed in black, with a sprinkling of red and white to stop them looking like a bank robber, to give the impression they have more personality than these criminals. Piercrings galore. Their hair looked like it had just been electricuted straight and black like soot. And in between blaring up their Dashboard Confessional music, cutting themselves and ripping their converse chucks - had no time left to fix it. Talking and eye contact was forbidden.

Tamagochi's, Pokemon Cards, Breakdancing... and now this: Emo-ness is the 2006 claim to cool. It doesn't require batteries, cost $4.95 for a pack of 10 or require hours of practice. All it takes is a reason to be overly EMO-tional.

Euphenism anyone?
Is it because it's easier to shout to the world that you're emo, than it is to say you're depressed and in desperate need of help?
Is it because it's cooler to say you're emo than it is to say you're upset that your boyfriend cheated on you?
Is it because it's less shameful to say that you're emo, than it is to say you're angry that your mum won't let you go out until you clean your room?
...Or is it just because everyone else is saying it?

At this rate I reckon it should be turned into an Olympic sport.

If emo means to be overly emotional, what can be said about people who couldn't be in a happier state of mind? Aren't suicidal and jubilant both extremes of human emotion?

Historically speaking, emo was originally a movement in rock genre called 'emotive hardcore' in the 80's. As you can see, emo was not originally a mood or state of mind. To this day, it still remains a genre of 'emotional' music. But Whitney Houston's slow jams are emotional too, just without the self mutilation.

'Emo' for emotional? 'Vio' for violent more like it.

Don't be surprised if you find emo-jam in the supermarket, right next to your Vegimite and Nutella. And for a limited time only - be in the draw to score a years worth of counselling, compliments of The Mental Health Association. Heck, if I was a marketer I'd be cashing in on this as much as I could.

Watch out emo's. Surfies are making their way inland. And you don't even need to know how to surf. As long as you don't have a fear of water and can pull off a pair of Billabong boardshorts you're in the club!

Here's something I found here, surfing the net. Kowabanga dudes. I found it, like totally wicked. Hope you do too.

"1. Girls say they like "sensitive guys" (lie).

2. Guy finds out, so he listens to faggy emo music and dresses like a dork so chicks will see that he is sensitive and not afraid to express himself (lie). He dyes his hair black, wraps himself in a stupid looking scarf, develops an eating disorder, and rants about how "nobody understands".

3. Now an emo guy, he meets Emo chick and they start dating, talking about how their well-off suburban lifestyles are terrible and depressing (lie).

4. Emo guy is just too much of a pussy. His penis is too small, he's too depressed to bathe, and has more mood swings than emo chick, and he doesn't even have a menstrual cycle. Emo chick dumps him, saying "It's not you, it's me." (lie) as she drives off with Wayne, the school jock and captain of the football team.

5. Emo guy goes home and cries, proceeds to write a weak song and strum a single string on his acoustic guitar. Another emo chick sees how he is so in touch with his feelings, and the cycle continues.

This is the sad truth of the emo lifestyle/music, and now that I look at how pathetic it really is, maybe the emos DO have something to cry about!"

Come on over to my place

A big pat on the back (bet you haven't given yourself one of those since year three!) to my loves ones who 'came on over to my place' yesterday. A banging success considering it was one of those last minute things, and a roaring success considering the unnecessary stress Frances exerted in fear of 'Noeline I'm scared for you, what if no one comes?'. It just goes to show cool, calm and collected does pay off.

One of my favourite sausage fests (the ratio of boys to girls was probably 1:4), because the statistic was made up of my favourite selection of boys in the world. Who better than Chester, AJ, Benjo, Royce, Kris, DJ, Matthew, Terence, Kyle and Fadeeh... & GILLY GILLY GILLY! Not your usual egotistical, testosterone fuelled and dickheaded bunch of boys most commonly associated with sausage fests - qualities of which thrive in numbers. You all left my house with a little bit of Jackass in you.

Royce (one of the few who actually utilised the karaoke machine), I love your singing. Don't ever give up!

A clap to Matthew who amazingly did some circus trick-like flip getting down from the monkey bars, and to Kris who magically teleported.

AJ, the day wouldn't be the same without your brave swinging. I don't think anyone's head has ever been that close to the ground before.

Well done to the boys who mastered the ancient art of poh-goh stique (pogo-stick) by the end of the day.

Add a sprinkling of Frances, Dianne, Susan and Kathreen. And you've got yourself one of the most memorable April 26th's ever.

My house was followed by a free movie where we were joined by Charizma, Danielle, Elias, Jennie, Joel, Auvic and Miguel - complimentary of Benjo and I. To anyone reading this, do yourself a favour and DO NOT pay to see Blocparty. I can't express to you how BORING everyone including myself found it! It was free, and I still thought it wasn't worth my two hours.

Hail to the bus driver to Liverpool. FUNNY SHITE! For twenty minutes he took us around a scenic tour to Liverpool via Holsworthy; eventhough half the time we weren't listening. If only there were more bus drivers like himself, I can guarantee the world would be a better place.

"My name is John (how ironic!) and I'm your busdriver... In a few moments we will be passing over Liverpool's Harbour Bridge overlooking George's River..."

It was well worth the $1.40.

Jennie retreated back to my house after a long day. Lorabel, Monica, Richie and Raph hung out at mine. We made the most out of leftover pizza and gherkin dip with chips. It felt like a girl's night out, even with Raph and Richie there.

My final hours of a splendid day were spent on the phone with a splendid boyfriend. It was our five month anniversary. It's nothing considering people stay together for fifty years, but we all have to start somewhere, right? The adventures of Toys and Lolies, on it goes, when it stops, no one knows.

Enjoy the rest of your holidays, ya'll. Peace out B-town. Shoutout to my homie G's Loraballz and Jenii. You guys know how to make a nigga'z life shine like the bling around 50 cent's neck. Thanks for dropping by my crib, bitches! AHAHA!

April Fools

INTRODUCTION
All the world's a stage. Every day a retake of the one before. Attempts made to balance family, friends, school, and personal wants/needs in perfect harmony for an ending along the lines of... happily ever after. Whilst trying to be cool, keeping up with the trendy crowd, and doing your best to look like whoever is on the cover of Cosmopolitan, Vogue, Cleo and Playboy - all at the same time. All day everyday, seven days a week, for the rest of your life.

I
Everyone is too busy trying to be popular to cherish their real friends.
The ones who couldn't care less if you were dating the smarty pants from their primary school or an eighteen year old who can drive.
The ones who were still your friend back in the days:
-when your hair wasn't layered, straightened,
bleached and coloured
-when your eyebrows were unplucked, unwaxed,
and now that you think of it - unbelievably hairy
-when you thought shaving or waxing your legs
was something women did
The ones who judged you on your personality and not
-the colour of your chucks
-the brand of your skinny leg jeans
The kind of friends who talk to you and ask how you are - and actually care. Who don't just keep in contact to ask if there's a party on the weekend. Who are more interested in hearing about the time you cried over the death of your pet guinea pig than gossiping about the most recent bitch fight and who you think started it.

II
Everyone is too busy trying to fit in, like puzzle pieces that don't fit together.
Feeding the clothing industry who are laughing through their eyes and ears and mouths and noses at the fools who fork out hundreds of their parents money to brand themselves, metaphorically speaking: FASHION SLAVE.

III
Everyone is too busy wishing for world peace that they can't see that
-maybe we liked your outfit or
-thought you looked familiar or
-tried to read a sign behind you or
-you just so happened to be in our line of vision
and that giving you a death stare was totally out of our intention.
Anybody who would so much look at you intentionally to get hated or bashed has got to be much, much stupider than you.

IV
Everyone is too busy to appreciate their family because it went out of fashion somewhere in the 1960's
Showing disrespect towards parents because that's what they do in Home & Away and The OC.
Realising that water and sunlight didn't result in money, instead earned by the blood, sweat and tears of our parent/guardian.

V
So, "What's cooler than being cool?...Ice cold!".
But ice melts, even the thousand year old icebergs of Antarctica are losing their cool.

So think next time before you ditch your old friends for your cool new boyfriend, or spending $350 on jeans that will probably be outdone by Tsubi's newest trackpant range with limited edition zebra print drawstrings.

Remember that a look isn't a valid reason to hate. Even Osama Bin Laden had better reason. Don't stoop to an all time low. It's a small world, we know. Accept that people are bound to look at you, or alternatively - die.

Love your parents. Not because God said so, but because it's not worth the effort. There's no PhD's in Modern Rebellionism. They were young once too, learn what you can because you'll be wearing their shoes in no time.
I think our spoiled generation needs a little kick in the butt, before we're renamed The Generation Who Can't Parent Properly.

VI
Do the right thing, you know you want to. SMILE!

Blogs: The new black

Taken from voguecomment VOGUE magazine. November 2005. Monique Webber reports.

"Not so long ago web logs, or blogs seemed to belong to the kind of people who smelled a bit strange, owned (and used) a webcam and inhabited a share house decorated with empty pizza cartons... Or wierdos who would do anything, such as document the life of their guinea pig called Ham, for their 15 minutes of fame. But in the last year blogging has emerged from its geeky origins. The internet is now heaving with a whole new post-Carrie Bradshaw generation of sophisticated female writers... Geek has morphed into chic, and I'm hooked...

Bloggers are attention seekers, sure, but so are journalists... And that's why it's so easy to love bloggers. They're not becoming famous or landing amazing writing/editing gigs because their sister slept with the publisher or they wore the right pair of Jimmy Choos to an interview; they're getting them because... [they] are brilliantly funny...

I used to get abusive emails... they would concentrate on 'you're a slut' or 'you're ugly'... I don't mind having a political argument with someone but to just come and attack me personally seems like, what's the point?...

Nevertheless... You read all those girl's [blogs] and you think... I want to start a network of smart, funny, female writers. It's not just a girlfriend, it's making a [connection] with someone you like creatively, [whose work] you read everyday. Some of the relationships I've formed [through blogging] have been the strongest because you're communicating through the written word, and that's more powerful than sitting down together and getting drunk".

J'adore 21

Liverpool Westfields looks like the inside of a circus tent. The renovations better be worth the current eye sore.

I love my friends.
I love the way we congregate like an Asian flea market in front of room 4 every recess and lunch.
I love the way the boys act like 2 year old kids, running riot in the body of a 16 year old.
I love the way Kris and I find ways of categorising anything edible as unhealthy, even if it's a wholemeal sandwhich with mayonnaise, lettuce and tomato.
I love the way Benjo and I abuse usage of the words 'retard', and phrases like 'no you're gay' and 'yah mohn', and making our own words like 'gaytard'.
I love the way Frances always asks what something tastes like, even if she's tried it a million times before.
I love the Deep&Meaningfuls that Charizma, Alvie and I have in the middle of the footpath about the relationships we've had, falling in love and just life in general.
I love the way Royce does stupid Jim Carey impersonations and clicks it.
I love the way we share and pick at each other's food, like a baby to it's mother breast - second nature.

I love my family.
I love the way my mum laughs at the stupidest things, or pulls jokes that MIGHT have had a chance of being funny in 1983.
I love the way that I laugh at those very jokes.
I love the way my brother, Emmanuel and I spend one hour saying goodnight, because good night turns into conversation like "Remember the Backstret Boys poster you had on your wall and we kept making fun of The Guy With The Glasses?..."
I love the way my other brother, Chris, has practically memorised the tv guide... "At 10:30 it's American Dad.. and before that at 9:30 it's Amazing race".

I love the relationship I have with my boyfriend.
I love the way he's my Toys and I'm his Lolies.
I love how we joke around, blaming each other for things, even non-existent matters.
I love how he looks when he wears his contacts, even more so with his glasses on, but most of all with his swimming goggles on.
I love correcting him.
I love how proving each other wrong through theories that would make Einstein and Aristotle cry means earning a point.
I love the way we look after each other when we're not under the best of weather.
I love the way we hang out at home in the daggiest clothes.
I love spending time with him, hours of which pass by like minutes.

20 reasons why I'm loving life.

One week till school holidays. Make that 21 reasons.

Going up?

And so the saying goes: Once bitten twice shy.

From that, can it be said: Once lied to twice as arrogant?

For some its twice, for others its three times, but for the over traumatised people like me out there, its always.

With pain comes experience, so upon hitting the single stockmarket once again, what does it mean to start on a completely clean slate? Is that even possible?

With any disappointment, do we not create tactics for self improvement? With any failure, do we not try our best to see that it doesn't happen again?

So what does it mean exactly, to give love another shot, without disregarding the lessons learnt from past relationships?

Don't get me wrong, I wasn't brought up taught that boys were the root of all female pain and suffering. Experience taught me that; starting with my Dad, the boyfriends, and the boys who tried to be my boyfriend.

You're all probably thinking that I'm being the Queen of Cynicism but what the heck, I'm young and dumb, so I might as well voice my opinion while age and immaturity are still valid excuses for my stupid ways of thinking. Mind you, I'll probably read this ten years from now and feel like moving to Mexico and make a new identity. Even William Shakespeare had his chance of denouncing life in his poem 'As You Like It'. And since I'm enjoying life and can't write poetry, this entry that badmouths men was the next best thing. Sweet compromise.

I've got my reasons for thinking that boys (just the ones mentioned above) are stupid; in the same way that bullies have reasons for making other people feel bad. It's my way of dealing with my issues.

Since the Story of Creation or The Big Bang (for the non Christians out there), like any organism, I'm the product of my environment. My bigoted attitude is an adaptation. I've got a semi permeable brain that helps prevent chunks of BIG FAT LIE from reaching my heart. I have an in-built auto translator that converts dialect into their true meaning. Like when he says I like you, I'll do whatever it takes, or I only want you. Phrases that they feel like taking back when the affection isn't returned.

Hence, life has made me one of those people with an urge to hi-five Madonna who sings "Don't explain yourself 'cos talk is cheap". I'm a proud member of the 'ASLTWC' (Actions Speak Louder Than Words Club).

We'll see who does whatever it takes when they stop trying.

All this, coming from the girl whose never been in love. Bet you all can't wait until the entry that I profess my love for someone. That'll be the day.

In conclusion, anyone reading this can share in the self realisation that I'm a dirty girl who never starts her relationships on a completely clean slate. Through words, they scratch... and I'm no longer the same girl who thought boyfriends were for talking about with your friends, fixing things, replacing busted light bulbs, killing cockroaches, and living with you when you were older so they could protect you against monsters, ghosts and burglars... and dearly at times I wish I still was.

Remember when getting high meant swinging at the playground?
The worst thing you could get from boys were cooties.
Mum was your hero and Dad was the boy you were going to marry.
Your worst enemies were your siblings.
Race issues were who ran the fastest.
War was a card game.
The only drug you knew of was cough medicine.
Wearing skirts didn't mean you were a slut.
The only thing you smoked were the tyres on your bike.
The only thing that hurt were skinned knees.
The only thing that could get broken were your toys.
Goodbyes only meant until tomorrow.
Life was simple and carefree.
But what I remember the most was actually wanting to grow up.

Leftovers

Leftover
noun. Boys of whom have already given the best of himself to someone else.

This goes out to the girls out there who continually find themselves stuck with 'The Leftovers.'

This goes out to the girls who have never been "His First True Love', 'The One', or 'That Girl'; but rather - the one after 'His First True Love', the girl after 'The One', or the girl who came after 'That Girl'.

This goes out to the girls who are smart, funny, amazing and beautiful - but seemingly not enough so compared to a significant other from his past.

This goes out to the girls who always find themselves second in line to an encore relationship, and have a hard act to follow.

This goes out to the girls who are make do with the short end of the stick, the lower end of the deal - the boy who just came out of the best kind of love he's ever known - to date.

This goes out to the girls who will never know what it's like to be the most unforgettable, because 'you never forget your first true love'.

This goes out to the girls who end up hurting due to a relationship they had NOTHING to do with. But instead, end up nurturing and comforting an injured heart, finding themselves drawn towards a guy who's not yet ready, who just got out of a bad relationship, who is confused about his feelings - concerning you AND her, who is a little more reserved, who is a little less trusting, and a little less willing to put as much effort into girls anymore.

This goes out to the girls who play nurse to a boy with a broken heart, aware that upon recovery there's a big chance he'll run back to her... because 'there's just something about her'.

This goes out to the girls who will never understand the way she just hurts him, the way he just takes her back, or the way we put up with it.

This goes out to the girls who are willing to make him their world - given the chance. Given that he's moved on. Given that you're NOTHING like her, but can make him just as happy - if not happier, if not for longer... But aren't because he's still fixated on the same old girl, the same old vision of the future and the same old routine for so long that he doesn't know otherwise. And maybe he doesn't want to, because he put in too much time to let go, maybe not even for you.

This is for the girls who know what it's like to be with a boy, whose heart still belongs to someone else, regardless of how much he says he cares about YOU and loves YOU and feels for YOU. We know it's partly, if not all about HER. Competing against someone tucked away in the back of his mind.

This goes out to the girls who have been made to feel like second rate quality girlfriends, silver medal winners who never quite make the cut. Rebounds.

Know that there's a reason why God made things this way. I have yet to find out for myself. Maybe it's because we're stronger than the girls who walk over our men like dirt. Maybe it's to make us all the more appreciative when 'Mr Right' does finally come along. A kind of appreciation that only comes from years of tending to 'The Leftovers'.

After all, is it not the best that is saved for last?

Where words fail, music speaks...

Almost Doesn't Count - Brandy

Almost made you love me
Almost made you cry
Almost made you happy, baby
Didn't I didn't I
You almost had me thinkin'
You were turned around
But everybody knows
Almost doesn't count

Almost heard you saying
You were finally free
What was always missing for you, baby
You'd found it in me
But you can't get to heaven
Half off the ground
Everybody knows
Almost doesn't count

I can't keep on lovin' you
One foot outside the door
I hear a funny hesitation
Of a heart that's never really sure
Can't keep on tryin'
If you're looking for more
Than all that I could give you
Than what you came here for

Gonna find me somebody
Not afraid to let go
Want a no doubt be there kind of man
You came real close
But everytime you built me up
You only let me down
And everybody knows
Almost doesn't count

Maybe you'll be sorry
Maybe you'll be cold
Maybe you'll come runnin' back, baby
From the cruel cruel world
Almost convince me
You're gonna stick around
But everybody knows
Almost doesn't count

So maybe I'll be here
Maybe I'll see ya 'round
That's the way it goes
Almost doesn't count

Boys are supid, throw rocks at them

WARNING
The following entry may contain foul language that may be offensive to some readers. Viewer discretion is advised. It contains frequent coarse language, sexual references and rant from a pissed off, male-hating (at the present moment) bitch. Every girl who's 'too nice' is entitled to her moments; and this one's mine.

Relationship Rule #1
Thou shall not compare me to her.
For the first time since pre-school, fighting over the slide, it's about ME, ME, ME!
You're with us now. Your relationship with us is NOT a game of spot-the-difference. We don't care who was prettier, smarter or funnier. We want to know that there's certain feelings you have for only one person in the world, that being me.
Thanks for treating me like an individual.

Relationship Rule #2
Thou shall not bullshit.
Keep it to yourself, we prefer you look constipated than feed us with your crap.
Your attraction to us is not a seal of approval, nor a sign from God, that you've actually moved on. So until you have, save that distasteful "I Love You" for when it's truly relevant. Say it because you mean it, not because you're trying to convince yourself that you do. You'll save both of us a lot of unnecessary trouble, two confused people in the world is two confused people too many. So in a way, you're doing humanity a favour. You deserve a medal.
Thanks for not playing me like a fool.

Goodbye - Alicia Keys

How do you love someone
That hurts you oh so bad
With intentions good
Was all he ever had...
What went wrong with something once so good

How do you find the words to say
To say goodbye...
When your heart don't have the heart to say
To say goodbye...

I know now I was naive
Never knew where this would lead
And I'm not trying to take away
From the good man that he is...

Was it something wrong that we did?
Because others infiltrated?
What went wrong with something once so good...

Is this the end, are you sure
How should you know when you've never been here before
It's so hard to just let go...

I got my Learner's Lisence on Saturday. The road is no longer a safe place; sorry folks. On the way to the Motor Registry my mum was getting agitated by this L-plate driver in front of us. Didn't she realise that that would be me one day? I want to learn manual but I'm not so keen on paying for the lessons. For starters, my family doesn't even own a manual car. On the way home, mum ran a red light. There goes my last resort, learning from her may not be the safest idea. I love her.

Later was Benjo's 16th birthday dinner. Present was Chiz, Alvie, Gelli, AJ, Danica, Sancho, Denielle, Elias, Ivan, Aileen, Gil and I. It was evident that Pancakes weren't the only thing On The Rocks that night. It appeared to be a trend among the girls that night. You dick waggers really need to get your act together, or else we're going lesbian.

"It's hard to find a man who can live up to any of my woman friends" - Jeniffer Aniston

Luckily, the orgasmic tasting food distracted us for a good hour. Cheers to those lip-smack-tastic barbeque ribs. I recommend it to everyone. If you're anything like Chiz you'll be glad it comes with salad and wedges.
There's nothing like a night on the harbourside. The amazing view, the breathtaking atmosphere and incredible friends to match.

On Sunday, Chester's little sister Rheannon walked into a wall, and was fine. It was the cutest thing in the world. She likes to take me away from my boyfriend, hold my hand and show me her toys. It was the cutest thing in the world. When Chester was younger he cut the hair off his stuffed lion because he thought it was growing. Now I know where Rheannon gets her cuteness from.

I feel better now. Hey isn't that like the slogan to some television ad? I can't quite put my finger on it. But really, I do.

Get over it

When we laugh hysterically at a revived knock knock joke, most people don't find it as funny and tell us to 'get over it'.

When you see a girl at the party wearing a top from the supré range two years old, the rest of the girls bitch about how she should 'get over it' and buy a new one.
When someone mourns the loss of a departed loved one, everyone else, after offering their condolences, say to each other 'don't worry, she'll get over it'.

As if 'getting over it' will almost deny it of ever being funny, ever being a nice looking top, ever being someone who meant the world to you.

I think people mistake 'getting over it' with 'moving on'. I'm not about to blog about my encounter with the lame joke I found unbelievably funny, the girl at the dance party who wore an old season top, or the time my friend lost her grandmother... but about how this whole get over it and moving on thing relates to relationships.

Here's a question for you: Does anybody every really get over anyone?

Most of us have probably been in a relationship and pondered over past ones, only to feel guilty. Had you given that fight a little more time, would you have eventually got back together? Would hearing how he REALLY felt behind the Whatever's, the Dont-Talk-To-Me's and I-Hate-You's make you take him back?

If you've reminised about an ex-boyfriend, you're NOT over him. But hold your horses, don't pack your bags for the 6 day 7 night guilt trip just yet.

The way I see it, no one's never completely over anyone. Because to be over someone is to say that what the both of you shared amounted to nothing in the end, that you didn't grow as a person, and that you learnt nothing from being with him.

People who have properly moved on don't get over their past relationships, because the x-men (ex-boyfriends) still treated you like a princess in the beginning and crowned themselves King of I-Could'nt Care-Less-About-You-Land, they still made empty promises, and didn't keep their word about staying in contact after breaking up... memories of which still hurt.

They hurt because you're not over it.

People who have properly moved on don't get over their past relationships, because the x-men still wrote that love song dedicated to you, gave up nights out with his friends to be with or talk to you and text messaged you every morning - to the point where they almost started to say the exact same thing... memories of which still make you smile.

They make you smile because you're not over it.

Moving on is an artform. To leave these terrible, bittersweet, amazing moments behind (yes, in the past! Never to be relived physically again. I repeat: IN THE PAST), and prepare to have more with someone new. It's nothing to be guilty over. It's just the way it is.

Fantasia barrino - Truth Is

Ran into an old friend yesterday
Caught me by surprise when he called my name
He was a familiar face, from a chapter in my past
Talked for a while, asked him how it's been
Said that he was seeing somebody and
Told me this was gonna last
Showing me her photograph

And all the feelings that I thought were gone
Came rushing back to me at once
Tried to smile and hide the way I felt
But I was thinking to myself

Truth is I never got over you
Truth is Wish I was standing in her shoes
Truth is And when it's all said and done
Guess I'm still in love with you
Truth is I never should have let you go
Truth is And it's killing me cuz now I know
Truth is And when it's all said and done
Guess I'm still in love with you

We reminisce on the way things used to be
Shared a couple laughs, shared some memories
Talked about the things that changed
Some for good and some for bad
Then he said good-bye and he paid for lunch
Promised that we'd always keep in touch
Grabbed my bags and grabbed my thoughts
Walked away and that was that

Moolah

A Deakin University study, has found that residents of Australia's poorest cities are happier than those in wealthier suburbs.

This was drawn from inquiries about standard of living, health, achievement, personal relationships, peace of mind, community spirit and future prospects.

People of poorer, regional and rural areas wear more grins than individuals of economically booming, well-off and wealthy areas.

It just goes to show that money doesn't buy happiness after all.

Just finished watching desperate housewives. The end narration caught my attention. It went a little something like: "Why are we so controlling? Because to lose it would mean putting our lives in the hands of someone else".

Don't you just love it when things make sense?

Happy Valentines Day for tomorrow, everyone! Now there's something to smile about.

Love, Noeline
xox

Opposites attract, sometimes

Have you ever thought about what drives two people together?

They say that opposites attract, a fatal attraction; two extraordinarily different people. His shy nature rocked her boat of unsinkable confidence.

I was thinking about this, and realised that similarities play just as significant a role in relationships. What about two people drawn together by their desperation, lonelines, and a shared longingness to feel loved?

Sure, opposites are great. What one person has a passion for, is able to share with someone who has never experienced such a joy - or bore at that. David's* passion for cricket enabled Jill* to learn the ropes of such a game, and found that she, too enjoyed it. Through watching the games on television together, and occasionaly witnessing them live as a couple, David* and Jill* created a tradition for years to come. That was until they broke up. David's* new girlriend Fiona* took no interest in cricket, knew how much it meant to him, and didn't take it personally when he was too consumed in the game for kissing and hugging.

On the off-hand, similarities can be just as disastruous as in-breeding. As most people are aware, similar DNA - like those common within a family, when bred, carry the complicatins of deformities in the new born. In the same way, a little something called compromise would be foreign to a stubbourn couple, where each party wants things done their way.

Desperation for appreciation, love, company or even sex are not legitimate reasons to engage in a relationship. It's these insecurities which cause problems later on; they aren't as grateful anymore, they don't show they love you enough, they're no longer around as much, you're not getting enough sex. Still, it happens.

Most cases of heartbreak are self inflicted. Go into a relationship with self worth, self respect and dignity. He's lucky to have someone like you. It would be an honour, not a given if he ever got into your pants. You're too good to be screwed over - emotionally and physically.
Love isn't something you gain from having a boyfriend; it's something that develops: starting with the love you have for yourself. Love your figure and know that someone lucky out there will appreciate them. Love your sense of humour and never let it go, you'll need it to brighten his rough day. Love you for your talents, qualities and abilities because one day you'll be able to amaze him with it. Love yourself because you don't throw yourself at anything with a dick and moves, because you're just the kind of girl he'll want to take home to his parents.

Call me naive, but it's no wonder people feel unmotivated, suicidal, meaningless, insignificant and empty without a boyfriend. They're looking for happiness in all the wrong places.

In this case, opposites repel. Someone clingy and protective is anything BUT attractive to someone outgoing, self motivated and has a zest for life.

I found that the best kind of relationships are those with enough enough similarities to establish a sense of being able to relate, and enough opposites to avoid the feeling that you're dating the male version of yourself.