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
Thursday, 18 May 2006
Ouch
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.
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.
Monday, 8 May 2006
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.
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.
Saturday, 6 May 2006
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.
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.
Wednesday, 3 May 2006
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!"
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!"
Thursday, 27 April 2006
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!
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!
Wednesday, 19 April 2006
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!
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!
Friday, 7 April 2006
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".
"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".
Thursday, 6 April 2006
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.
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.
Wednesday, 5 April 2006
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.
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.
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