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.