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
Friday, 26 May 2006
Thursday, 25 May 2006
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.
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.
Thursday, 18 May 2006
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.
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".
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