E: You know how K always looks so focused on his work?
Me: Yeah, it's a bit intimidating
E: That's the face he makes when he's playing Bejewelled. He has 12 facebook accounts so he can play bejewelled with himself.

K: (Fake crying at his desk)
E: What's wrong?
K: My back huuuurtsss
E: Did you injure it again?
K: NO, I was just playing Bejewelled on the toilet and then something twinged and I thought FUCK I've done it agaaaain.

K: (sitting silently at his desk with his Bejewelled face on)....... FUCK ME IN THE ASS! .....(goes back to being quiet)

Cousin: What are you reading?
Me: Courtney Love's bio, it's really interesting.
Cousin: Oh. Who's Courtney Love?
Me: (laughter)
Cousin: (blank face)
Me: Wait, are you being serious? COURTNEY LOVE. Crazy blonde woman? From the band Hole?
Cousin: (blank face)
Me: Kurt Cobain's WIFE?
Cousin: Who?
Me: (with mounting disbelief) Kurt Cobain! As in Nirvana!
Cousin: What's Nirvana?
Me: WHAT IS NIRVANA? ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS?

I'm still waiting for the part where she calls me and says "HA! You remember that time I convinced you I didn't know what Nirvana was? Totally kidding. Yep. Wow, you are so gullible!"

I've been waiting a long time.

Facepalm.

Person: People really need to learn to drive, I was in another near accident today, and it's always the same kind of person: some young Pakistani-looking guy. I mean, I'm not racist or anything, but it's true.

My Face:

What the hell do you even say to that? My reaction is usually the same: cringe, disguise horror/disgust, cough uncomfortably, abort conversation.

Why I shouldn't try to be friendly with my co-workers

Me: Oh God I hope I didn't leave anything weird open on my computer upstairs. I mean, not, you know, weird, like how to make napalm, just... things like that article on cracked about the guy who was obsessed with P. Diddy, and he had over 100,000 exercise books filled with songs he wrote about P. Diddy, and all these letters for P. Diddy. Things like that (nervous laughing because I have just realised how completely psychotic I sound)

Warehouse guy: It's interesting how some people choose to spend their time.

Me: Yeah, I mean imagine being obsessed with P. Diddy, why him? ... oh wait. You mean me, don't you?

Other warehouse guy: Are you a serial killer?

My Boss: Look, you can't have that kind of attitude. Everything is eventually susceptible to maggots.

He was talking about Fererro Rochers, but I like to think it was a metaphor for life.

Ignorance is bliss

Sam: I thought you were on a diet for the formal, Amy.
Amy: I am on a diet. I ate like one chip, what about you!? I thought you were on a diet too?
Sam: What!?
Amy: You're eating ice-cream!
Sam: It's banana, duh.

My friend (to her brother): Hey Dave, do you want a doughnut?
Dave: Okay, thanks (munching thoughtfully) doughnuts are healthy, aren't they?
Me: What?
My friend: Are you kidding me?
Dave: Well, they have dough and nuts in them... why are you both laughing at me?

I'm Still Here

What is all this about Joaquin Phoenix and his frat brother, I'm sorry, brother in law Casey Affleck and this little film of theirs and it being the greatest performance art/hoax of all time?

As far as I'm concerned, there is a certain celebrity pairing who have excelled at this fine practise, perfecting their masterpiece for years whilst flying under the radar and their commitment is absolutely astounding.

I am of course talking about Spencer Pratt and Heidi Montag.

Seriously. My heroes.

This is why we can't have nice things

The article I'm about to discuss is the stupidest thing I've read in a while, and at first I honest to goodness believed it was a work of satire.

I don't think any amount of beating my head against my desk could possibly sum up the equal parts outrage and total mystification I felt upon reading this article.

http://au.askmen.com/top_10/dating/top-10-ways-to-tease-her-and-make-her-crazy-for-you_10.html

After all, it makes perfect sense. Women are stupid and incapable of making jokes or having a sense of humour. However if a woman does try to make make you laugh you should IMMEDIATELY shut them down. Women need to know their place; being quiet and pretty and falling in line at all times. A woman will find this assertion of your dominance adorable and hilarious.

When (not if, because women are fucking idiots) a woman tries to make friendly small talk, always respond in the petulant manner of an angsty teenager and trying to make her feel very, very stupid for even trying. UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES give a polite answer, it shows weakness. Women have no dignity and love to be treated like dirt!

Once you've degraded and humiliated a woman into submission, you should hit her and talk to her like a child. Also play on her insecurities and tell her she has bad breath. This could only be a good thing.

Tell her she's fat (but only if she's not actually fat, real fatties have no sense of humour). If a woman is thin and attractive she automatically has excellent self confidence and would not at all feel insecure after such an unnecessary remark.

Women are fickle and by confusing her you can only hope to trick her into thinking you're open minded.Make her feel extremely stupid by disregarding everything she says. (Women find men who make them feel worthless rather alluring).

Very attractive women are the only ones deserving of any respect, obviously. Pretend you hate her if she shows any signs of not being The Perfect Woman. Constantly forcing someone to second guess themselves always has a positive outcome.

Women also deserve to be alotted points for good behaviour, be treated like objects, and have their personality reduced to a juvenile, depersonalising rating system.

None of these things will be as hilarious and charming without use of delivery. If you use the tips in this article, over time your partner's confidence will be eradicated so dramatically that she'll never leave you! Emotional abuse? No, my friend, it's called humour.

The Non-Fashion Appreciator's Perspective

I was in Sportsgirl browsing nail polishes with a friend of mine once, when a staff member came over and asked us if we needed any help.

"No thanks, just looking" we chorused.

"They're great polishes, aren't they!" She chirped, gesturing to the bottles labelled "Snowstorm" and "Gunmetal". "Those two are my favourites! Let me know if you need anything guys!" and with that, she dissipated to the bag section.

My friend looked at me dubiously. "Her two favourite colours are black and white?"

It was like that moment in The Simpsons where Lisa asks if you can hear a tree falling in the forest if nobody's around, and Bart achieves enlightenment.

"My father says smoking makes you dead. You go all black inside"

A certain person on my facebook just posted pictures of themselves on their trip around Europe (yes, I am seething with jealousy). I just noticed in one of them her friends are smoking and the caption is "eww cancer sucks". The rest of her pictures consist of her sunbathing and showing off her progressive tan. Sorry, what was that about cancer?

Sometimes I feel bad for smokers. I don't advocate smoking of course, it's terrible for you and horrible to watch a family member slowly deteriorate because they "can't" stop smoking. Let's however keep in mind these people have an addiction, and for that they are treated like the scum of the earth.

Person 1: Wait a minute... are you a (gasp) smoker?
Person 2: Oh, my stars! Oh, heavens, no. I do however have several dead bodies buried in my backyard.
Person 1: Well thank goodness for that!

The Halfway House Man

I like next door to a halfway house for the mentally ill. This isn't as exciting as it sounds, my street is a lot more like Playschool than, say, Neighbours.(In case you're interested, my other next door neighbour is a security guard called Pamela Anderson). Apart from the time my cousins claim to have looked in the window to see someone trying to flip pancakes on their walking frame, nothing particularly fascinating has ever come of this situation. (I don't know what I was expecting. Maybe some Girl Interrupted shit would go down. At the very least I expected an elderly woman to walk around in her wedding dress abusing random people on the street, but whatever. Obviously real life is much less interesting than my skewed imaginings).

However, there is a sweet old man who seems to be perpetually alternating between sitting on the front porch smoking a cigar, or walking endlessly around our neighbourhood. When I first moved here I was too shy to even look at him, yet over time we began actioning the silent eye-contact-and-mutual-head-nod maneuver. It seemed that this small gesture was something of an initiation into the Silent Enthusiastic Greeting Club this gentleman has with select inhabitants of my street (my Uncle being another one of them). The greetings eventually became sunshine-filled toothless grins and a highly energetic wave, never a word exchanged.

My Uncle used to see him wandering the streets eating various dairy products, and wondered at this slightly strange habit. Later we found out that a) the old man is allergic to dairy and not allowed to have any in the house, and b) there was an ever-increasing pile of yogurt containers and cheese wrappers in our yard underneath his window.

The other day I passed him shuffling along the pavement in his usual slow, clumsy fashion. The sweet, pungent smell of peanuts hit me in the face and I watched as he tipped an entire packet into his mouth. I kind of love this peculiar old man for his silent fuck-you-I-will-do-as-I-please behaviour.

Apart from that, the most exciting thing that happens in my street is when I walk around with my angryface on and the middle-age women with their dyed blonde hair look at me disapprovingly and usher their small children inside.

Things People Say On Facebook

J: I maintain that no one should be made this aware of subconscious grammatical choices in English sentence formation.

K: well i think all english lessons are poop...

J: Oooh this goes much beyond English lessons...studying this unit in linguistics, I've learned that some of what we were taught about English is actually wrong! It's simplified for a less interested audience. Of course they assume if you stu...dy it at uni you're genuinely interested in knowing about that shit so they overload you with di-transitive and intensive and mono-transitive verbs and their structures and criteria that you didn't even know about when you use them in a sentence! You just DO it, isn't that amazing?

K: wat?

My New Boss

Boss: They fucked it up again. It's like telling someone to make a cake and they hand you a piece of wood. A monkey could do a better job. A dead monkey.

After a brief hiatus (in which I quit uni, ate cake, searched for jobs, was rejected, more cake) I am back with lots more to say about nothing in particular. I now have a job and a desk and a computer and post-it notes and a lot of download and spare time on my hands. But first... I want to share with you something that made my day.

I miss my family

Disclaimer: don't read the last part if you don't like stories about pimples bursting. And definitely don't look up "World's Largest Pimple" on Youtube. You were warned.

Mum: do you want some cheese?
Me: cheeeeeeeeese
Mum: Don't. Please don't sing the cheese song.
Me: Cheese is a kind of meat, a tasty yellow beef
Mum: NO
Brother: Cheeeeeeese
Me: I milk it from my teat, but I try to be discreet
Dad: (not looking up from the paper) ahahaha that's disgusting
Mum: no. NO! YOU ARE HORRIBLE! GET OUT OF THE KITCHEN!

Me: We can dance if we want to, we can leave your friends behind-
Mum: ALEX!
Brother: (literally jumping into the room and skipping towards mum) 'cos your friends don't dance and if they don't dance well they're no friends of mine!
(Both start doing the "safety dance")
Mum: NO. NO. NO. SHUT UP.
Together: S-s-s-s-A-a-a-a-
Mum: LA LA LA, CAN'T HEAR YOU

Brother: Oh my God have you seen the world's largest pimple video on Youtube?
Me: No
Brother: Do you want to?
Me: Yes. Yes I do.
(Both watching it in horrified fascination)
Me: (dry gagging) That is horrendous.
Mum: What are you doing? OH MY GOD THAT IS REPULSIVE
Brother: What? YOU SAID 'TURN THE VOLUME UP'?
Mum: (going pale) NO I'm being serious, please turn it off
Brother: IT WON'T GO ANY LOUDER. OH GOD LOOK AT IT, IT'S EXPLODING ALL OVER THE PLACE, I CAN NEVER EAT COTTAGE CHEESE AGAIN
Mum: NO NO NO TURN IT OFF THAT'S DISGUSTING I CAN'T STAND IT, OKAY THAT'S IT GO TO YOUR ROOM NOW!
Dad: (walks in, stops dead to stare at us) What the hell are you three doing?

My Uncle: Did you drop something?
Me: Oh yeah, that's my sock
My Uncle: I grabbed it for you
Me: Cool
My Uncle: I had to pick it up. Off the floor. It was embarassing.
Me: Um. Thank you.
My Uncle: I am embarassed for you
Me: Yep
Uncle: ...
Me...
Uncle: ...want some coffee?

G: I want to work at Alannah Hill
Me: Me too! Someone told me they only hire dancers. If that's true do you think it's because dancers aren't likely to gain weight?
G: I don't know, just lie and say you are a dancer
Me: Aren't dancers graceful? You just saw me walk into a pole like ten minutes ago. I'm like the most uncoordinated person ever.
G: Yeah me too. Have you ever noticed most of our conversations are about how much we suck at everything?

Friend: I like how you write these bitter, super-scathing rants on your blog and then you're so genuinely nice in the comment section, like hey thanks so much for commenting, smiley face!

Friend: You haven't blogged lately
Me: Yeah, I don't really know if I'm going to keep blogging
Friend: Hey you should write on your blog about that (mimes head exploding) MIND FUCK!

Friend: It's nice that you mention me on your blog, really I am flattered, but I see that me saying these mean things has resulted in you deciding to punish me by referring to me simply as "friend"

case of the missing knickers

Recently I noticed my underwear collection had dwindled to meagre amounts. I checked the laundry; they hadn't been eaten by the machine. I asked my cousins. I asked the cats. I searched the house. I looked under my bed and behind the TV. I made jokes about having a stalker who was stealing them. I eventually bought some of those pink floral undies designed for obese children from Woolworths and promptly forgot the whole ordeal had ever happened. Forgot, that is, until in the early hours of the morning, freezing cold and pre-coffee, I found myself stuffing my underwear into the bin in the bathroom instead of the dirty washing hamper.

I probably should never work with small children.

My brother (to my parents): Hey are you guys, like, (look of concern) older than Elton John?

My Uncle works from home and he's always on the phone, swearing and blaming every mistake on the face of the planet on some young girl who works in his office named Daria.

Uncle: No, I'm not in today, Daria should have told you

Uncle: What? I told Daria to leave it on your desk!

Uncle: You can bet it was that Goddamn Daria who forgot to make the call

Uncle: Fuck's sake, I told Daria to fax that to him by Tuesday

Uncle: Yeah, it was probably Daria's fault

From what I can gather, Daria doesn't even exist. I think he based her on the TV show.

My cousin: Why is this folder called "work stuff" empty except for a shortcut to Age of Empires?

Me: I was thinking I want to do something like Social Science. Maybe be a social worker or something, I want to help people, like people who are addicted to drugs or have mental illness, but my parents keep telling me I'm too sensitive
Friend: What? You're, like, the least sensitive person I know.
Me:...thanks.

crazy people on the internet part 2

On a gossip website posting about Hilary Duff's upcoming wedding:

" 25/06/10

WOW!! A whole page of fake comments posted by someone who’s trying to deceive the American public. Since all of these fake comments are in the same vernacular wouldn’t it be nice if you can tell us here in America where you’re really posting from so we can get the idea from the horses fingers."




iiinteresting.

I just realised every I eat an apple I put the sticker on my laptop. According to this pattern, I have eaten 4 apples this week.

sounds like friday afternoon

sally seltmann inspires all my haircuts.

my brain is ruined.

My friend Bert is one of my favourite people to make "your mum" jokes with, and indeed in highschool my group of friends became obsessed with the "your mum" and "that's what she said" lines. We all blame my friend Bart (not to be confused with Bert) because he was from a small country town and brought those phrases with him when he came to our school. It was year twelve and I was housesitting for neighbours abroad in Vietnam. My friends all more or less appointed themselves guardians because they didn't want me to be alone. This caretaking consisted of eating all my food and playing computer games. Also they raided my neighbour's vintage playboy collection (3 hours later, "Alex, this thing is just FULL OF WRITING"), but that's another story. By the end of my stint as house and dog sitter all our vocabularies had shrunk to "your mum" and "that's what she said".

Bart: I'm going to eat the last of this muesli
Nick: THAT'S WHAT SHE SAID AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHA

Matt: I'm going to bed now
Aaron: Yeah me too... WITH YOUR MUUUUUUUM AHAHAHAHAHAHA

It got so bad in the end Bart began giving what we later dubbed "The Bart Glare", which was a fearsome gaze he would implement under great annoyance. This was it; you know you've crossed the line when your jokes upset the laziest nerd you know. We tried valiantly to stop but it became a new game to see who could achieve the best Bart Glare. Eventually however, my neighbours came back to Australia and we all went back to our respective homes. The phrase died out. We began with basics like "Yes", "no", "pass the salt please". Personally I think heroin addicts have it easier than we did; you can always avoid heroin but you HAVE to talk. Anyway, I digress.

I just saw a comment on facebook from Bert in a conversation with another friend; "Tender. How's your mum?"
I immediately began to laugh hysterically. Bert, you crazy kid, what could have brought on a revival of "Your mum" jokes? As is the nature of facebook, I decided to stalk/read the rest of the conversation.

Bert: You have to see Get Him to the Greek, it's AWESOME
Friend: Haha okay I will. How's your ankle?
Bert: Tender. How's your Mum?
Friend: She's still in hospital but getting better :)

I blame Bart for this misunderstanding.

What could be better

You know what's better than sitting in front of people with a screaming baby on an 11-hour train ride? People with a screaming baby who eat with their mouths open and constantly rustle packets. And a girl next to you who alternated between a)sleeping with the tray-table down, totally comatose, thus preventing you from getting out of your seat and b)on her mobile phone, her entire vocabulary consisting of variants of "I'm raging aye, I'm so fuckin' angry". And a woman who is having what she seems to think is a private D&M with a bewildered-looking old woman, only due to her mirror-shattering loud voice everyone in the carriage can hear it, talking about "kids these days and my 16 year old daughter's just had her second abortion, back in my day things were different!". And a totally charming individual, some guy threatening to jump off the train if we don't stop soon so he can have a smoke, making fun of the train attendant or whatever you call them ("that guy's a full homo aye! oh my god, like a full fucking FAG"). And the train guy threatens to call the police. And kids are running around screaming their tiny lungs out. And then the train driver somehow found out his daughter had terminal cancer and all hell broke loose.

There's this thing in the fashion world where people have the ability to turn even the most mundane description into a plethora of flattering adjectives. When I say "mustard cardigan" thoughts spring to mind of McDonald's cheeseburgers and old-lady handbags. You say "Burnt orange" and I think of all things classy, like Paris and sunsets and girls with perfect hair.

Those stupid internet advertisements that are on the side of the page BUT THEN POP UP AND TAKE OVER THE ENTIRE SCREEN

Blah blah blah, fuck off. I've a runny nose and bed hair. I'm in no mood for your obnoxious nature or your stupid bright flashy "look at me!" Paris Hilton bullshit. Do you know what I do when SEX AND THE CITY 2 flares up all over my computer screen and I have SJP's foot-like face baring down on me like a donkey on acid? I run out of the house and I go see the new film immediately! NO, I WRITE IT DOWN ON A LIST AND MAKE A POINT TO NEVER EVER EVER BUY THAT PRODUCT/WATCH THAT MOVIE/EAT THAT ICE-CREAM. EVER. BECAUSE YOU INTERFERED WITH MY PRECIOUS INTERNET TIME. So fuck off and die in a damp, dark hole somewhere please.
Love Alex

Phone calls with my brother

Mum: (muffled) do you want to speak to your sister?
Him: (In background) No
Mum: Your brother wants to say hi!
Him: Hey
Me: Hi!!!
Him: Um. So. How's Uni? and stuff. Getting drunk every night?
Me: (sarcastic) Oh yeah EVERY NIGHT.
Him: Haha. Good one. Well. See ya.

Me: Hello?
Him: Hello?
Me:... Alex speaking, hello?
Him: Hey
Me: Jay?
Him: Yeah?
Me: Are you alright? What do you want?
Him: Um. Need a lift. Mum there?
Me: No, Mum and Dad went out
Him: Oh. Okay. See ya.

Him: Hello
Me: Hey! It's Alex.
Him: Oh, hey.
Me: Hi
Him:...
Me: How are you?
Him: Playing x-box. Hurry
Me: Oh. Is Mum there?
Him: Um. No. Pretty sure she's out.
Me: Are you sure?
Him: Yeah I think so.
Me: Can you check?
Him: (sigh) Okay. MMUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUMALEXISONTHEPHONE
Him: Oh. She's here. Well. See ya.

My best friend lives far away and is not great at keeping in contact with people. She is definitely not the sort of person to send a "how are you, miss you, visit soon xoxo" type message. Today I got a text from her that simply read "perfect for you: the new ski yogurt has no chunks so I don't have to watch you waste half your yogurt anymore while picking the bits out". To me this is the equivalent of a 10-page letter and hours of phone calls.

THE AWKWARD LEAN

I knew there had to be a name for this retarded phenomenon.
http://theawkwardlean.tumblr.com/

The Best Kinds of Random Injuries

Hurting yourself while dancing on polished floor in bed socks

So I'm just sitting here listening to the Pixie's cover of "In Heaven", aka the Lady in the radiator song from the David Lynch film Eraserhead. I'm also eating lemon tart and ice-cream... this could be love.

Me: (on phone): Hey Mum! I'm coming home on Thursday
Mum: Wait, I'll put you on speaker
Me: (having long since given up telling her speakerphone is pointless because I can barely hear her and Dad doesn't listen to the conversation anyway, I remain silent)
Mum: (muffled) can you hear me?
Dad: (making incoherent noise in background that sounds like "Hey Ali", but like he's been gagged and is underwater)
Me: Yes. Yes I can.
Mum: Oh I can't wait for you to come home! We can go to Kelly's on Friday! And go shopping! I'm so pleased. I bet you're excited to get back to your car!
Me: Yeah, I'm looking forward to it.
Mum: Your brother's been driving your car to school every day!
Me: (horrified into silence)...
Mum: But don't worry, I've thought about this, you can just drop him and his friends off at school in the morning.
At this moment I am picturing my brother's friends, who all seem to be in the vicinity of 6'2''+, gigantic-shouldered hulking masses who occasionally peek through their matted, greasy hair to mumble such witty one-liners as "hey BIG AL, ha ha ha it's funny cos you're short".
Me: Mum, I don't know-
Mum: He'll love it! (I have to note here that my mother is a sweet person who has never used sarcasm in her life)
Me: Don't you think it will be like that episode of "The Simpsons" where Homer drives the kids to school? And he's like, "You jive turkey! A turkey is a bad person. You guys listen to Grand Funk Railway?". I mean no seventeen-year-old boy wants his nerdy sister dropping him off at school. Don't you think? Mum?
(There is silence on the other line except for my dad laughing in the background)

Oh well. At least he listened to that conversation.

Today I finally bit the bullet and decided to study. That was at 7.30am. First I decided to make a coffee. Then watch skins and do a bit of textiles. Then check facebook. Then eat a sandwich. Then make a cup of tea or two. Finally, four hours later, I pulled out my lecture notes.

Something important I'd like to remember for future reference: If I'm making the effort to go to a lecture I should probably start by taking actual notes. Most of the things I've written down can be best described as the nonsensical rambling of a drunk four year old, and I have benefited in absolutely no way at all for having re-read them. I'm not even sure where to start, perhaps it was:
"BLERG" written down the side of the page multiple times
"A. Streeton- practised a lot"- he practised what? Tennis? THANKS FOR BEING SO SPECIFIC.
"FUTURISM" scrawled in giant letters taking up about a quarter of a page- why? Why would I write such a thing?
"To do: buy safety goggles, look up course outline, your mum"- Really mature
"I'm hungry" is written in a list about 15 times, no wonder I understand absolutely nothing of the Impressionist movement. Also mentioned on this page is the craving I have for spaghetti.
A little cartoon of my lecturer with the caption "I hate you"

whenever

whenever I read "Flickr" out of the corner of my eye, I always think it says "Fucker"

My Uncle: The best thing about Marcia Hines is that by hating her I am considered both sexist and racist

sleep walkings

Recently my friend came to visit me and we went out for drinks with my cousins friends and various persons from my textiles class. As often happens, the situation degenerated until we were snorting handfuls of coke and eatings bowls of weetbix. Beepbeepbeepbeepbeep. "Dear me" I thought "It seems there is a highly annoying beeping noise that makes me want to neck myself". Beepbeepbeepbeepbeep. Morning light, a hideous taste in my mouth. I've woken up and my alarm has been going off for two hours, which I assume was the culprit of my strange dream, pounding head and alarmingly bloated face. check the time: 8.33am. Oh, lovely. I get up and promptly stand on a power cord, swearing profusely. "Fucking cunting motherfucking shithead of a morning" I say to my stuffed bear with the calm intonation of one coaxing a small child to tie their shoes.

It seems I always have two recurring things in my life: strange dreams and mysterious injuries. I can only assume that the two are connected. Perhaps I have a Tyler Durden-esque alternate personality running a fight club in Newtown. Alarmingly, the other day I cleaned my room and found a drawer full of cans of baked beans, tuna, and a pair of pantyhose, and I'm not sure how any of these objects came to be. Theories include me climbing out my bedroom window and heading into the city to fight hobos for their evening meals, which would certainly account for the meager food collection currently stashed in my dressing table.

On Saturday I had a dream. I was having a party. My phone rang, I couldn't answer the calls. The entire dream was me attempting to dial my friend's number and failing, and then missing her calls, over and over. Then my phone rang and I was able to answer it. "Hello?" I said. "Sweetheart, it's your mother. Your aunt is dead. She left the twins to you; you're their legal guardian now". I woke up sweating harder than Kirstie Alley at the mention of a bake sale.

Then there are the strange injuries; the knee that has randomly become jarred, the bite-like bruise on my knee, the purpleness and swelling on my calf last thursday. Yet again, I feel that the fight club/hobo battle scenario is a key factor in this mystery.

"Eat half a wheel of camenbert cheese" my uncomfortably attractive tutor tells me. "Then you can have crazy cheese dreams just like Salvador Dali and tell me all about them!".

somehow I'm not sure I need to take this extra measure.

When I use my camera I often take a few "test" photos. Some photographers, one of my lecturers told me, take photographs of colour charts so that they can ensure their photographs are colour-calibrated. "Oh yes" I said, nodding, "I see". My test photographs often consist of turning the camera upon myself and snapping away erractically. Because I am a horrible human being and must ruin every moment, and also because I forget with all the technology these days cameras actually can capture beings without souls, I make ridiculous faces. I then promptly forget about them and these photos all end up in the tangled ether of my laptop.

Monday morning, coffee ramblings and an empty house.

I like staring at people and drawing them in my head. People with gap teeth and freckles, or pronounced jaws or bendy noses or really wide eyes. I try really hard to memorise all the little lines and shadows in a few seconds, like the curved linears of a map. This excess of eye contact often results in being abused on public transport.

I like blogs that have photos obviously taken a) by an inexperienced photographer or b) on a not-so-great camera. They are warmer and more intimate; "this is my life and I want to share it with you, if perhaps clumsily". I enjoy ones with little spelling mistakes or grammar errors, there's something naive and endearing about this. YES I KNOW GRAMMAR POLICE, it's destroying the english language etc etc. But there's something just... nice about it. Human.

One of my favourite things is seeing all the little things people scribble in the margin of their paper. As you can imagine art students are particularly guilty of this, and my monday lecture is a smorgasboard of beautiful pen-drawings and ink-heavy scrawled headings. There's this man who brings his young son to the lecture every week and my friend and I always try to sit behind him because he does these amazing drawings of fantastical creatures. People always whine about the monday lecture, "It's sooo boring I wouldn't even go if it wasn't for my tute after". "Yeah I know" I say absent-mindedly, even though my tute isn't until tuesday late morning and i've never missed a lecture.

I like op-shopping. I think acceptance of this has definitely grown but some people still get funny about it. I actually remember a friend saying, "But what if someone died in that dress? I mean, why else would you give it away?". I like knowing clothing I have has been possibly worn by a random shop assistant or accountant that I pass of the street every day.

I like walking normally and peacefully for a long time and then jumping and screaming and running to frighten whoever I'm with. It's cathartic. Also making sandwiches.

Something that really irritates me, and I mean gets under my skin with a vengeance, is people who can't identify eye colour. Personally I think it's that people quite often struggle to accept they do not have a rare eye colour and are therefore hideously boring with absolutely no redeeming qualities (I am very important and worldly and am allowed to make such assumptions, didn't you know?) In my experience people with hazel eyes are the main offenders and often proclaim to have green eyes, which quite frankly shits me up the wall. Really, I say, trying to be polite, I think your eyes are more hazel. They look at me, confused. Stupid bitch, don't you know green eyes are just that much more interesting? Can't you just play along?

My eyes are a funny sort of mottled grey and blue and, dare I say it, green... think mildewy cement. However this tiny amount of colour often causes people to make that all-too-common mistake of jumping all over the Wrong Eye Colour.

"Hey, wow, your eyes are really green!"

"Um, no" I will say. "They're not."

This often has the effect of looking someone dead in the eye and pronouncing that you're Santa.

dear georges braque,

I don't like you

when I was a baby, my mum dropped a kebab on my head. I like to blame this moment for the terrible things I say.

Things not to do today:
-mess up my important photomedia presentation I so diligently prepared for
-spend money
-eat junk
-forget to study
-waste time
-have too much caffiene
-make a general idiot of myself

Things I did today:
-missed my train stop
-messed up my photomedia presentation ("these...are...uh... pictures...I took. Yep. Of my friend. It's, like, fragments? Of her life?")
-bought a new book
-spent my 4 hour "study break" reading the book
-ate a cupcake
-accompanied the aforementioned cupcake with several cups of coffee
-fell over in front of a bemused dog-walker
-got rained on
-got my phone rained on
-coffee-babbled to my friend I haven't seen in, oh, seven years
-ate a cheeseburger
-picked up my course reader, stared at it, and decided this was sufficient academic activity to warrant a "quick walk"
-returned 2 hours later to clean my room
-"cleaned" by picking up a piece of paper and attempting to place it in the bin
-realised the bin was lost in a sea of clothing and art supplies
-concluded it was now time for a well-earned episode of spicks and specks
-procrastinated watching spicks and specks by writing this blog post

Oh well, it could be worse. I could be Nicky Hilton.

Have you ever

have you ever wanted to violently projectile vomit into your photomedia lecturer's face so bad it hurts? Yes? Oh, goodness. Me too.

My family members are always telling me I'm just like Liz Lemon because I'm mean and nerdy and I can consume more food than most fully grown men. While I take this as a compliment of the highest order ("WHERE'S MY MAC AND CHEEEEEEEEEEESE"), my personal idol of the 30 Rock variety is the respectable Kathy Geiss.



Ah, Kathy. With your pink cheeks and hotwheel-eating ways, you can do no wrong.

games

One of my favourite things to do is make up silly games to amuse myself. On the train, I scout for celebrity look-alike, e.g. Susan Boyle if she was 15 years younger and had magenta hair. Warning: excessive eye contact is not recommended. Another game is Hipster or Hobo. This game was inspired by an incident where I witnessed a man with longish, messy hair, a loosely fitted button-up shirt, double-cuffed pants and a Marc Jacobs carrybag... only to realise upon closer inspection this seemingly "trendy" young man was actually a raving lunatic covered in filth. One your eyes are opened to the Hobo or Hipster riddle you can't unsee it, you. Trips to Newtown will never be the same as you question every 20-something with scraggly hair and dirty shoes. A fun game particular to parks; free spirit or corpse? A murder victim or just someone who likes sprawling out in public places to enjoy sunshine? Last but not least, I can't forget: Designer Bag or Goon Sack? Is that a shiny foil container for the sort of cheap wine that smells like piss and tastes like stomach bile? Sorry, Louis Vuitton you say? Very good. Do carry on.

This morning I wrote a list; black on cream paper, my neatest writing. Self portrait, surrealism, photographs and notes, textiles, paint a still-life, and finish a crumpled paint chart. My photographs didn't print and my shoe gave me a blister. I drew girl-doll faces on doilies, then ate five sour lollies and my mouth began to bleed. I drank several cups of tea and sewed the word "selfish" to a hankerchief. I wished I was 5'10'', blonde, and living in New York. I wrote a blog post, read the blog post then threw up into my own scorn.

Me: I hate drawing class, I can't believe it's mandatory next semester. Just kill me now please. Everything I create just looks like the scribblings of a retard, I am not a drawer... or a shelf either, hahahahahahaha
(awkward silence)
5 minutes later
Me: (accidentally bumping into someone) Oh I'm sorry, God I'm clumsy (attempt to make a quick escape, try to pull push door, turn around and walk straight into a staircase, fall flat on face)

epiphanies

One Saturday night you read 70 pages of Texts From Last Night, then all of the Best Of and all of the Worst Of, then come to an realisation: there are two kinds of people in the world, those who engage in the shenanigans that end up on textsfromlastnight.com, and there are the angry loners who sit at home alone and read them.

Man on mobile phone on train: Yeah... yeah... yep... uh-huh... yep... okay... listen I'm about to go through a tunnel, I'll call you right back (hangs up and stares out at the tunnel-free view for remainder of trip)

My Mum: You've grown into a beautiful young woman, darling. A foul mouth on you, yes, but a beautiful young woman.

The internet can be a scary place, but not always. Intimacies are shared, bonds are forged and you can also pretend to be a lot cooler than you really are. Yet sometimes, you read a comment or post or message from someone that just makes you pray to God you never run into this person in a dark alleyway. Found on Crime Library on an article about Ted Bundy:

"ya what some of the stuff you say is true but the serial killer that is following me around is like some of the seriarl killers you have talked about like ted bundy he liked to rape and kill people wright tis one likes to controll other people by shooting a laser beam into there brain and lowering there life they are sort of dieing when he controls them he makes sure he is very healthy and the others with him are too then they think about the person and they will think about rape murder and it makes the person think the same way our air force likes to do this with our people he has been trying this on me for alittle more than three years by giveing me great pain with a laser that comes from a jet i do belive in the controling thing i know it sounds crazy but it is true the sad thing about the laser is it is hard to see all most invisable but it can really hurt if you want to see the jets come to reno nv or sparks they will be up there oh ya this one is very sick likes the most sickest smells likes girls to leave fesees on there self for weeks at a time just a very gros person the reason i know he likes this smell i can smell through him our air force is getting sicker and sicker our us military needs to change or be destoryedddddddddddddd i know it sounds crazy but if one is really close to dieing they can really smell through another oh ya alot of our pilots flying in our skys belive shooting a laser into some ones brain it will make it stronger thats our air forces thoughts ya"

Girl in my printmaking class #1: See, I never really got along with females that well... like in textiles class all the girls were paying attention and I was just giggling at the fact that they sew something into clothes called "boning"
Girl in my printmaking class #2: Hahaha, boning
(both giggle hysterically)

My Cousin: My friend's coming around later
My Uncle: Will she want to eat with us?
My Cousin: No, she's a vegan so she'll probably bring her own food
My Uncle: What? A Vogon? Like on Star Trek?

Things I've Learnt at Art School

I've learn a lot of students seem to exist simply to sit around campus looking ridiculously attractive and intimidating.
There are actually existing people who talk like this: "Oh wowww, did you go to that lecture about Degas? The metaphors he used in his work were amaaaaazing. Just, like, totally bananas. He was brilliant, you know? The colours, the symbolism... Oh my God, just soooo incredible... I love it, he's a genius man."
People need to have it explained to them that coffee is actually not just an extension of the typical art students' body, and that it is indeed considered a liquid fit for consumption, therefore not advisable to have near expensive electronics.
There are lecturers who will...
-Tell you they haven't left their house in eight weeks
-Inform you that art students these days are too meek ("What, you think the med students are going to start a riot with their stethoscopes?")
-Tell a story of how they were once arrested for filling an entire staff room with scrunched-up newspaper
-Strongly advise you to "get good at bullshitting very quickly"
-Mention that most of the other lecturers at the college are pretentious wankers
-Present a lecture on Dadaism by running into the room with a coat over their head in front of 400 students while screaming gibberish, then remove their pants.

I hate pesto

It tastes like someone projectile vomitted basil into the disgusting juice found in public garbage bins, then let it heat up and fester in the sun.

Lately I've noticed a significant increase in what can only be described as the cancer of the internet. Crappy fashion blogs. Don't get me wrong, there are plenty of fashion blogs I love, but there are also an abundance of fashion blogs out there so goddamn boring that I fear choking to death on my own scorn.

I've noticed certain rules, like describing everything with exciting adjectives (lest your fickle readers attention spans wane). It's not white, it's cream, or ecru, or eggshell. It's not brown, it's chocolate. It's not green, it's emerald. Nobody gives a shit about your purple scarf, it's deep plum (fucking idiot). Recently I purchased nailpolish from Sportsgirl that was inarguably grey, labelled "Gunmetal". Obviously much more badass. Who wants grey when you can have fucking GUNMETAL. You should also discuss your love of Mary-Kate Olsen's sense of fashion and talent for designing. This is a fun game where we pretend that we don't all know deep down that she's a raging coke head who couldn't give two shits about what several hundred baggy items she wears on any given day. Don't forget to scrape your hair into a bun right on top of your head. High. Higher! HIGHEST! It should be pulling so hard that your skin splits and your skull protudes garishly. You can't feel it and anyway, you look fucking awesome. Now you should go sit in front of someone short in a crowded movie theatre. Impulsively bought an ugly article of clothing just because of the label? No. THAT'S LOSER TALK. It's ironic. Wear it with pride. If you're in doubt, declare it vintage. If you're not one of the pretty girls, that's okay. Remember that you're unique, beautiful on the inside, looks don't even matter because you are a genuinely interesting, charismatic and talented individual. You just need to remember to be really, really skinny.

Lagerfield (Satan) would be proud.

Girl on train with the kind of high-pitched voice that belongs in hell alone: OH and I was in SUCH a bad mood because Laughlin made me eggs for breakfast, but he made them wrong, like I had the eggs all ready to cook myself and he's like, "Babe, I can make them for you", and he didn't make them right and it ruined my morning. Like I was mad all fucking day.
Other girl: How annoying!

Me: Can I try these shoes on in a size ten?
Old man: Size seven?
Me: Um no, size ten please
Old man: But you are a size seven?
Me: Um. No, I'm a size ten. I have big feet.
Old man: But you, small person. Small person... small feet, yes?
Me: I usually wear a size ten.
Old man: I'll get you size seven.
(watches me valiantly attempt to put tiny shoes on)
Old man: Those are too small. You have very big feet. I get size ten now.

What's your biggest fear? The death of a loved one? Drowning? Heights? Sharks? Snakes? Spiders? All valid fears, make no mistake, but you're most likely overlooking the most dangerous, the most evil, brutal, vicious and frightening creature of our time. They walk the streets. They catch public transport. You might even know one: the Crazed Teenage Girl. Make no mistake, there are plenty of ordinary teenage girls and it's almost impossible to tell the difference. They go undetected in their Team Jacob t-shirts and jeggings, sparkly lipgloss and ipods blaring Miley Cyrus. These teenage girls are harmless, right?
Yes, harmless. Harmless until you bring a certain pre-pubescent male into the picture...



A bleeding baby seal swimming into a Great White Shark colony comes to mind.

So on the weekend thousands of hormone-fuelled, rabid teenage girls foaming at the mouth screamed bloody murder in Circular Quay with clawing and shoving that would put Christian Bale to shame. Personally I think these girls had the right idea. I don't know about you, but I always imagined that one day I'd be at a concert screaming like I'd fallen into a meat grinder, eyes wild and bloodshot, and the musician of my dreams would pluck me, me out of the crowd. That girl! He'd say. The one who just tore the other girl's ear off with her teeth to get to the front row! (see there, with the blood-soaked shirt?). She's clearly not in need of psychiatric help and possibly going to kill me in my sleep. She's The One. I'm going to marry that girl!

Hello ladies

My cousin: what the fuck is wrong with you? who thinks of this shit, really?

Drunk guy: See, once your hair is gone, it's all downhill from there (grabs bald friend, points to his head) see, this guy's got nothing. Me? (points to small bald patch) I still have some good times ahead of me.

Drunk guy: (pointing at someone wearing a Beatles t-shirt) fuck Ringo Starr!

Drunk guy: (to me, after complimenting my friends shirt) why aren't you wearing a Bruce Lee shirt? You'd be fucking amazing if you were wearing a Bruce Lee shirt. You two would be so cool. I'll make a shirt, and it will have Bruce Lee pissing on a wall on it. You should buy it. Do me a favour, if you see a cat on the way home I want you to kick the shit out of it. Can you do that for me?

French lady: It is so different here. We go out in... "The Valley"?... In Queensland? and the girls, they dress, well they do not (gestures to body), they, em, wear not very much at all. Like, is it... a singlet? Or a dress? I can not tell.

My Mum: We took them (French guests) to the lookout at Bruxner Park!
Me: Did you tell them it's so nice and quiet because locals avoid Bruxner since that dead body was found there?
My Mum: ALEX! Not now. (smiles at French guests)

French guy: On April Fools' day in France, we stick things to others backs... like, "I am an arsehole. Kick me". So we put sheets on them, you know-
Dad's friend: WHAT? YOU SMEAR SHIT ON THEIR BACKS? That's not very politically correct is it?

Dear people who insist in making groups on facebook (often on a subject that already has 34 groups and 605,783 members, but whatever, I'm not judging you),

Yes, I imagine whether it's your passion for chicken sandwiches or your strong feelings on Tiananmen Square, you've probably got a lot of emotions. I imagine this causes you one day to be in your favourite cafe eating a bagel when you notice that, say, they've neglected to add the cream cheese you so politely requested. You race home, breathing heavily and sweating on public transport, or maneuvering your bicycle through heavy traffic with the Mission Impossible theme song in your head and adrenaline coursing through your veins. You race up your street, heart pounding, unlock the door, grapple with 10,000 tangled cables to retrieve your laptop. Now you type eractically, forehead vein throbbing, too passionate to care about spelling or grammar: "THAT MOMENT OF SHAME WHEN YOU ORDER SOMETHING AND IT COMES OUT WRONG AND YOUR TO SHY TO SAY ANYTHING!!". Create group. Click.

Today I saw a bunch of my friends had joined a PETA support group. Strongly disliking PETA myself I began the search for something along the lines of "Fuck PETA and their joke of an organisation and their unethical treatment of animals, not to mention immature protest tactics, petty name calling and throwing paint on Lily Allen when she was wearing fake fur, UNCOOL PETA that shit is expensive to dry clean". All I found were groups stating things on their page like, " I am a member of peta and proud of the fact. People Eating Tasty Animals", "Animals don't have rights", "There is a place for all Gods' creatures. Right next to the mashed potatoes", "correct me if im wrong, if you mistreat animals wont they try and kill you when you ride them?". Oh my, such intelligence and insight my brain might just melt and leak out of my nostrils. Just a side note, when you state "if you support these qualities, (of PETA's) then you have a low intelegence level" and you weren't being ironic when you misspelt the word intelligence then I'm not going to join your fucking group.
Maybe instead I'd put a sticker that says "REDNECK" on my forehead. Perhaps I'll get a Southern Cross tattoo? Dye my hair blonde and not bother covering the regrowth because Britney did it and everything worked out for her, right?
Or maybe I'll just shut up, quietly join thought-provoking groups like "NOOO CLING WRAP DON'T CLING TO YOURSELF" and be smug about how awesome and superior I am.

Yesterday I got home to find my seventeen year old brother in the lounge room with two girls wearing bunny ears.
Me: Hello brother, bunnies
Bunnies: Hi!
My Mum: (to my brother) Sweetheart I got new socks for you. I got black ones. (turns to bunnies) That's how he likes them!

I Get Chicks

Guy at bar: Hey. Do you want to dance?
Me: Okay
Guy: Do you have a boyfriend?
Me: No
Guy: What's your name?
Me: It's Alex!
Guy: My name's Sam! Nice to meet you Alex
Me: Hey my brother's name is Sam!
Guy: (Looks uncomfortable) Oh My God, really?
Me: Yeah! and he's adopted! I haven't seen him in years! You might be him!
Guy: Uh... yeah. I have to (gestures in opposite direction, leaves)
My friend: Alex, you frighten me sometimes, you know that?

Some kid: Hi!
Me: Hi! I'm Alex!
Some kid: Hi Alex! Guess what my name is! Think guy in stripy shirt who goes missing a lot!
Me: OH MY GOD YOUR NAME IS WALLY!? I FOUND WALLY! (Yelling at my friends) GUYS I FOUND WALLY! (I start sending mass text message: "I found where's wally!!!") THIS IS THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE!
(Later)
My friend: Where'd Wally go?
Me: Oh, I didn't even notice he was gone!
My friend: Well played, Wally. Well played.

Me: I was just impressed by a guy on the premise of him wearing an ironic KFC shirt before realising my error and making a quick escape. It's time for me to go.
My friend: When Mel face-planted into the dancefloor and you started doing the macarena to Marilyn Manson I knew this night had started to turn.

Guy on side of the road: LET'S GET A KEBAB
Guy crazy eyes: A KEBAB!?
Guy on side of the road: YEAH A KEBAB
Guy with crazy eyes A FUCKIN' KEBAB?
Guy on side of the road: YES!!!
Guy with crazy eyes: THAT'S THE MADDEST IDEA EVER! THE MADDEST! MADDEST! MADDEST!

my friend: (noticing my Doc Martens) Hey, nice boots. So when you go out curbstomping Jews, do you have a special Nazi uniform? Or do you just go as is?

Louis: That guy is so greasy I thought I was shaking hands with a Big Mac.
Louis: BARKEEP! BARKEEP! I know nobody's attempted this since the late 1800's but PAY ATTENTION TO ME DAMMIT!'
Louis: We're drunk and lost in Circular Quay. If this was the Amazing Race, we'd lose. We'd be that slow old couple that fight the whole time.
Louis: (singing Single Ladies) see this works on both levels, because aside from being skinny, tall, male and white, I look just like Beyonce!

My Uncle: Who wrote the book "White Jazz"? and before you make a joke, I said White Jazz. Not White Jizz.

(During Earth Hour we have all the lights on)
Some kid on the street: HEY TURN OFF YOUR LIGHTS! IT'S EARTH HOUR!
My Uncle: Fuck off and come back at 2am, that's my Earth Hour!

Printmaking teacher: Now I have to check your footwear to make sure none of you are wearing inappropriate shoes. We've had a health and safety man coming around lately-
Kid up the back: An angry homeless man?
Printmaking teacher: What? No, I said health and safety man.
Kid up the back: Oh, okay. I just saw a hobo out the front and I thought you might be talking about him.

How To Walk Up Oxford Street, Sydney

Vomitous

Dear Arj Barker, when I read capital letters THE VOICE IN MY HEAD SOUNDS LIKE YOU

The next person who says, "You come from the north coast? Why aren't you more tanned?", I hope Kanye West pops out from a nearby bush and says "Yo Sydney kid imma let you finish in a second but Jessica from Twilight had the best pale person shut-down of all time. OF. ALL. TIME". And then he eats their nose.

Dear Diana Ferarri, your shoes suck and they fucked my freaky-looking feet up. They hurt worse than if my feet had been ravaged by sharks with burning hot coals in their mouths and tiny people shooting razors out of their eyes. YOU FAIL DIANA FERARRI.

In my head, my life is like a video game. Make the train? Ten points. Buy awesome shoes? 45 points. When I get upset, I think to myself: don't be an Adam Hills. Be a Shaun Micallef. Then I award myself points for my general fabulousness.

Dear idiots on the shuttle bus: there are about 12 seats on that ridiculous tiny vehicle. Approximately 400 people need to get to main campus for the Monday lecture. I know you're art students and you pretend not to know math but GET YOUR FUCKING BAGS OFF THE SEATS BEFORE I VOMIT AT YOU OUT OF PURE RAGE AND AWESOMENESS

When I meet someone new I try to harness the crazy, you know, dole it out in small amounts so that they gradually become desensitised. Unfortunately lately I seem to have lost the word-filter on my huge mouth and the little monkey in my head starts losing it's shit and shrieking MISTAAAAAKE! It bangs it's little cymbals and jumps up and down, but I never listen.

I am a moron

I laugh at stupid things

Cousin #1: (referring to Pip from Fern Gully): Aw Pip! The red-head never gets the girl!
Me: What about Ron Weasley? It took seven books but he scored.
Cousin #2: Don't forget Ginny!
My Uncle: Yeah, and doesn't Pip get run over by the log truck anyway?
Me: What?
My Uncle: (In deep voice) Don't go above the ferns
Cousin #2: It's canopy
My Uncle: Don't go above the canopy
(Cousin #1 and I look at each other and start singing the batty rap)

Me: Student concession please
Ticket booth guy: Did you say student?
Me: Yeah
Ticket booth guy: Are you sure you don't mean child?
Me: I'm sure.

Dear Lynx,

In your new add for 'Lynx Twist' you make a comment something along the lines of a man needs to mix it up because "women get bored easily". I would like to commend you on your touching honesty and raw talent in this filmatic masterpiece. More people should realise that women are simply disgusting. They are greedy, needy, clingy. They are manipulative and evil and good only for sucking a man dry of dignity and money. Women are empty, soulless vessels to be used only for pleasure and their looks (don't even get me started on the ugly ones). A woman could never accept a man based soley on his personality, which is illustrated beautifully in this advertisement as our hero desperately tries to entertain his fickle missus. The blonde succubus smirks and flutters her eyes and we see in this instant that she is vain and easily distracted, as all women are. Thank you, good people of Lynx, because without you all those decent menfolk out there would be otherwise unaware of the harpies that live among us. Keep fighting the good fight.

why I win at life

Disclaimer: These incidents are purely ficitonal, despite what anyone tells you about this happening to a drunk girl they know and the videotape they have that proves it. If you try to use these things against me, I mean her, I'll eat your first born child.

Me: (on the phone, under a desk in the fetal position, clutching a mug of gin while eraserhead plays in the background): shit shit shit I think I'm turning into a lizard. I'm a lizard. I have lizard hands. Claws! Like that baby in Eraserhead! They're going to turn me into the little rubber on the end of a pencil and kids will chew on me and I think I've forgotten how to climb down stairs

Me: Fuck I love Red Dwarf (passing out then waking back up) OH SHIT NO WE CAN'T HAVE THAT MR FLIBBLES! Who will clean up the mess? (mumbling) I want cheerios.

Me: I'm going to puke
Bert: Don't worry babe, I'll hold your hair back for you
Bert: FUCK YOU DON'T HAVE ANY HAIR
Me: HOLY SHIT I HAVE NO HAIR BERT
Bert: OH CHRIST I FORGOT YOU HAVE NO HAIR
Me: AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH
Bert: AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH

Sara: You don't look so good
Me: I'm fine
Sara: Are you sure?
Me: Yeah
Sara: I'm just going to leave this door open
Me: I'm fine
Sara: sure
Me Really, I- (projectile vomitting out door)
Police officer: (stares at me)
Me: Hi

Me: oh my god. OH MY GOD. MY FACE IS MELTING. MY FACE IS ACTUALLY MELTING. SOMEONE HELP ME JESUS FUCKING CHRIST MY FACE IS MELTING OFF MY SKULL THERE'S BLOOD EVERYWHERE
Tim: Dude, your nose is bleeding. Jack Daniels is not your drink.

My year 8 science partner: Hun, if you're going to smoke weed, I have some valuable advice for you-
Me: What? I didn't say anything about weed. Why isn't our test tube going blue like everyone else's?
Year 8 science partner: Let me just say, my cousin smoked weed, like a LOT. and he became schizophrenic and hung himself because the voices in his head told him to or something. So whenever I smoke, I'm like, really careful. You should be the same.
Me: Oh my god

500 Days Of Shut The Hell Up

So I finally just saw this much talked about film. It was exactly what I expected- Zooey Deschanel had perfect hair (that bitch), pretty dresses, and was all round an indie kid's wet dream. I forget the guy's name so we shall refer to him as Cameron from 10 Things I Hate About You, aka Heath Ledger's freakish reincarnation. Cameron wears band t-shirts such as The Clash and Joy Division (thus outlining how very cool and retro he is) and draws little buildings (he's just so talented but doesn't quite have the confidence to make his dreams come true, oh please Jesus make it stop). Cameron falls in love with Summer and Summer crushes him like a cochroach under a Manolo Blahnik.

To hate this movie would be far too easy and for all you know I'm some former beauty pagent, 400 pound redneck housewife tapping away on her keyboard because it's too hot to go outside and sit on my porch with a shotgun. So why should you care what I have to say? You shouldn't, it's fine. Anyway, I actually really enjoyed 500 Days Of Summer, it was a visual treat and I didn't care about or particularly like the characters so didn't feel depressed by the end. Just numb, warm, and quite sleepy. In summation, Summer Finn= hot bitch and Cameron from 10 Things I Hate About You, who drinks JD with orange juice? You've got some serious issues there son.

Now on the topic of That Ending, the one that was so cheesey and so corny and so deliciously reminiscent of cream cheese corn, you're probably thinking, Oh what a happy ending! Cameron and Autumn will go for that coffee and she will be all like "Fuck I hate Ringo Starr" and Cameron will be like "OMG MARRY ME RITE NAO". However, personally I think that after his depressive episode he's bitter, he's vengeful, and he's going to fuck Autumn's shit up Summer Finn style. Get that little heart breaking whore.

They're Laughing At You

(In a nerdy club I joined)
Group leader: tell us about yourself
Me: I'm a first year fine arts student
Group leader: Oh good! we need someone who can use photoshop!
Me: I have never used photoshop.
(everyone laughs)

Lecturer: who's your favourite artist?
Me: I don't have one
Lecturer: um, okay... what do you hope to learn this semester?
Me: (doubtfully) um, everything?
(everyone laughs)

Some girl: You okay?
Me: (falls over)
(everyone laughs)

So last week I moved to Sydney. I've been lost, tripped over multiple times, committed fashion sins, worn my cardigan inside out, destroyed a good pair of shoes (and my feet), caught the wrong train, been sunburnt, spent way too much money, and eaten cake.

I've felt many emotions.

















Mainly I'm just concerned with my search for the perfect flats.

Today my ex-boyfriend and I caught up for lunch and shopping. As we perused the stores I asked him what he thought of a cardigan. He wrinkled his nose with distaste. "I don't really like it. It's tacky".
"What?" I asked, with the horrified tone of one bitten by a Japanese Hornet. "The cardigan?"
"It's leopard print...everything leopard print is tacky" he replied with casual disdain.
At that moment I remembered exactly why we had no future together. A man is a man, but leopard print is forever.

(Watching a German movie in which a woman opens a parcel)
My Uncle: It's the skull of her pet!
Me: Why would you say that?
My Uncle: They're Germans, I wouldn't put it past them. Germans are bad, evil people. They've already tried to take over the world twice! Check around this girl's apartment, I bet you'd find her ex-boyfriend's pelvis.

My Uncle (on the phone to neice): It's me, Sara! Your favourite uncle.
Sara: Uncle Daniel?
My Uncle: Uncle Daniel can't be your favourite, you've never met him seeing as he's been in gaol since before you were born. I win.

My cousin: What's that movie... something about sunflowers?
My Uncle: Anal sunflowers?

My Uncle: You're an art student now, you have to know what to do in this situation. Take the extra money we left for tip, and then smoke some of those cigarette butts over there.

My friend's boyfriend: You'll fit in fine at art school. Just don't talk about Perez Hilton so much, and discuss something art students understand, like... Phil Collins. Maybe think about becoming vegetarian too.

My brother (talking about the local mall): I don't want to go there, that's where all the emo freaks hang out
My Mum: what's an emo?
My brother: It's like those kids with all the eyeliner and black hair with big straightened fringes, you know, with the skinny jeans and that.
My Mum: Like goths?
My brother: They're too shit to be goths.
My Mum: But they wear eyeliner?
My brother: forget it, Mum.
(Later while watching the episode of South Park when Stan turns goth, my Mum comes racing into the family room, puffing madly, as wild-eyed as Winston Churchill after a 48-hour bender)
My Mum: HEY! Is that what a nemo is!? ... why are you all laughing?

For the last month or so, my jaw has been clicking every time I eat a meal. Now it's started to seize up and is so painful I can't open my mouth properly. I think this is possibly God's delayed reaction to my 15-year-old self praying to wake up in a size six body. Or maybe it was all those times I went back for "one more cheeseburger and I swear I'll start a diet tomorrow". I picture a man in flowing robes watching me on a Big-Brother type setup, tearing at his beard screaming "JUST PUT DOWN THE FUCKING CAKE, IT'S NOT ROCKET SCIENCE. OKAY THAT'S IT, WIRE THE JAW".
That's okay though, I just ate a slice of cheesecake by slotting tiny pieces through the inch-sized gap between my teeth. Mmmmmm painful encounters of creamy Sara Lee goodness prompted by insatiable greed. My favourite.

Valentine's Day

I have a plan. I'm going to breakfast with my Mum and Dad. Now you may think that's the saddest kind of Valentines day: As a third wheel. With your own parents. But you're wrong, my friend. I am on a date. This is a day to celebrate love, all love, unique love, and I love myself. I'm pretty much the most awesome person. Ever. I figure what's the use in dating anyone else? My partner will never be good enough for me. I don't feel the need to enter into the world of self-mutilating phone calls, sublty undermining the other person in the hopes they will lose 20 pounds, secretly hoarding painkillers so you might slip one or twenty into their evening vodka and juice. I'm so non-conformist I don't need to have this typical two-person "relationship" you disgusting regular humans have. I'm so non-conformist I'll also have to kill myself in order to show I've avoided conforming to my own taste, but that's another story. So I will break free of the clutches of social norms, free like an oyster hurtling from your airway after a well-demonstrated heimlich maneuvour. I'll change the world, a revolution will begin.
Or maybe I just know my parents will pay for my eggs benedict. Whatevs.

Idiots I once knew

Random: Why did your girlfriend break up with you, Terry?
Terry: Something about not being serious? I mean it was all fine. She'd come over and watch me play Wii, I'd have fun and she got to spend time with me. It was perfect. Then she started going on like, you never pay attention to me, you're always playing your Wii, you don't take me out or even hold my hand, you don't appreciate me. So I took her for a walk and then we watched a horse take a shit. It was hilarious. Did you know their shit floats? it was so funny (hysterical laughter)
Eric: (gesturing to Terry) How could you leave this?

Eric: Our parents made us shower together once
Terry: It was horrible
Eric: I never want to see you naked again
Terry: I felt dirty
Me: What, when you were like four years old?
Eric: Last week.

(Meeting a mutual friends mum for the first time):
Eric: We were bored, so we decided to watch porn. Do you know what scat porn is? Do you know what they do? Beastiality porn? We watched it all. I knew I should have stuck to "Fat people falling over" but I couldn't help myself. My scrotum hurt just looking at it.

Me: What did you guys do in the holidays?
Eric: Well we bought 5 kilograms of starburts lollies and four litres of juice and every Star Wars movie. It was fuckin' epic. We watched them all back to back. Didn't even take a piss break.
Terry: He made me go in a bucket
Eric: It was awesome.

Things My Family Say

My Uncle: Would any of you girls like tea? Darren, tea?
Darren: Yes please
My Uncle: Are you GAY, Darren?

(On Australia Day):
My Uncle: Hey I know what we should do! Let's get Australian flags and wear them as capes. Then we should get sunburnt and drink too much beer and go somewhere we can hassle ethnic minority groups. Fuck that, I'm making butter chicken.

Cousin 1: (looks at other cousin the wrong way over the dinner table)
Cousin 2: What the fuck is your problem?
Cousin 1: What!? Fuck you bitch I did nothing!
Cousin 2: Why are you always such a cunt-faced little whore to me?
Cousin 1: (as she storms out) Because I HATE YOU! I'll stab you, cunt!
Me: Yeah good one guys! Dinner and a show! (laughing hysterically)
My Mum (trying not to laugh): Shut up, Alex.

My Aunt: All I mean is, it looks like you did it-
Me: Yeah, you make a good point but- LYNCH HER!
My Aunt: I was just-
My brother: (interrupting) LYYYYNCH HEEEEEEEERRRRRR
My Aunt: Can I just-
(Everyone at the dinner table): LYNCH HER! LYNCH HER! LYNCH HER!

Me: How was your day, Nan?
Nan: Oh, it was good dear. We bought a new broom
Pop: from Bunnings
Nan: Yes, from Bunnings, because I find the supermarket ones just too soft. They don't make them like they used to.
Pop: They're made of sterner stuff at Bunnings!
Nan: So we drove to Bunnings. That was a nice drive. Then we picked out a new broom
Pop: It was worth the extra drive to get a better broom
Nan: Yes, a nice new broom.

(My cousin is reading on the couch)
My Nan: What are you doing indoors, dear? Shouldn't you be outside, chasing boys or something?
Cousin: Would you rather me be out chasing boys? What if I got pregnant? What would you say if I got an abortion? Fuck this, next summer I'm bringing a gay lover home.

Doppleganger Week

So I decided to give this Doppleganger week thing a crack because it seemed like fun. On my facebook live feed people are getting hilarious results like Russel Brand, Miley Cyrus, Lady Gaga, and so on.
My best match was a gentlemen of mature age and asian appearance. In fact, most of my matches were male and asian. Do I look like an older asian gentleman to you? I think many of these supposed "matches" would be quite offended by that comparison. I'm not.
I also got Emma Watson. Not the stunning fashionista, Burberry-pimping, sleek-haired British beauty, but pre-leave in conditioner, Philosopher's Stone Emma Watson. So do I look like a mature asian guy or a frizzy-haired twelve year old girl? Neither? Both? To answer this mysterious riddle, I entered another photo. "Myheritage.com could not detect a face in this photo". I entered two more. Same result. The confusing results, the lack of facial recognition. Conclusion: I have no discernable face. A Howard Moon-esque pink balloon, featureless and blank. My life finally makes sense.

My driving instructor: back car up! back car up! Yes, yes, just a whisker more!
My driving instructor: Okay, now turn, turn! Hard left, hard left! Okay, at 45 degree angle, you start hard right! hard right now! Hard right! Hard right! You turn like a European, no more of that! Hand over hand, do it fast way!
My driving instructor: You, very slow at turning. For you, 30 degree angle. Now don't hit no toddlers, okay?

Reasons you are most likely batshit crazy

You sleep when the sun rises and use night for your activities so as to avoid human contact

Suddenly you can appreciate the screeching melodic strains of Courney Love

Assembling a freaky-looking salad for lunch with the fervent enthusiasm of Amy Winehouse scrounging for crack is the highlight of your day

You wear filthy tracksuit pants and it feels like dressing up

You start to notice similarities between yourself and the highly neurotic, annoying, drama-queen bitch spinster Carrie Bradshaw .

You don't care.

Me: (Watching the scene on Scrubs where JD and Turk are playing Gay Chicken) I love this part.
My Cousin: Yeah it's hilarious! My friends play gay chicken... they're always like, hey Maddy, play Gay Chicken with us! But I don't play, because they don't back off at the last second.
Me: um... isn't that just two drunk thirteen year old girls making out?

Mum: The neighbours have been having renovations. They got new floors and a new bathroom, how exciting is that!
Me: Really? I hadn't realised, what with all the tradies and loud banging coming from their house and every conversation with them for the past two months being about the aforementioned renovations
Mum: We're going over to check it out! Want to come?
Me: What with my hectic social calendar I might just take a break today
Mum: Oh, that's a nice idea
Me: (go back to fourth consecutive day of Left 4 Dead marathon)

When you break up with your first proper boyfriend of 19 months you should immediately:
A) Consume large amounts of ice-cream. Cry hysterically into bowl with Strawberry Dream dribbling down your chin.
B) Break out the emergency Vodka and blast You Am I- Heavy Heart on repeat, voice gradually becoming louder and more slurred as dawn approaches
C) Channel rage into a scathing letter about how shit Passion Pit are. Secretly decide you love Passion Pit. Destroy letter. Watch Daria until 2am.

I remember in early high school when Physical Education was mandatory... those were the days. That is, the days of humiliation and pain.

PE was basically a cesspit of students, predominantly featuring the aggressive, popular kids and the non-athletic reclusive types, such as myself, and then arming us with hockey sticks. The world was still a sunny place and I had not yet decided I wanted everyone at my school to die in a fiery blaze. Being a chubby kid my teachers took no interest in me despite the fact that I always tried hard, volunteered first, and wasn't a half bad team player. Every term I'd take home the same report; "Alex would do well to improve her overall health and fitness". In year 10 I re-emerged much lighter and a good 4 inches taller. This was due to a rigorous lifestyle change (I had a Twin Peaks addiction and regularly forgot to eat while watching it). Suddenly my PE teacher could remember my name and I took home a positively glowing report, despite the fact that I'd long stopped making contact with any sports equiptment, or even bringing my uniform on a consistent basis.

To this day there is a dejected little fat kid inside of me that still feels bitter, and hopes all asshole P.E. teachers are forced to a special place in hell where they have to stand on hot coals and eat each others eyeballs, while listening to Nickelback.

Confidence is Key

When I was 15 I started a new school, and promptly developed a crush. At the time there were many things I didn't realise about the crush in question, such as that he was a drug-addled fuckwit and a complete psychopath, but all I knew back then was that the way the sunlight glinted off his many piercings and the way his bloodshot eyes burned into my soul meant love. Or at least hormone-fuelled lust. While my art teacher tried to explain the importance of Marcel Duchamp (the toilet-seat loving bastard), I was listening to Angus and Julia Stone (shut up, I was young) on my Ipod and staring at the back of his curly head. He'd sit with me on break and draw me little pictures depicting elves with exploding limbs, bleeding from their beady eyes, and swirly-eyed animals that looked like creatures from a Dr Seuss book smoking bongs. Like any teenage girl, I was sure that this obvious sign of affection meant we were soul mates. Then one day, it all went awry.
I'd been home sick for a few days and when I got back my friend Hannah came rushing up to me. "Alex!" She said. "Nathaniel asked me if you have a boyfriend and I said no and he said to give you his number because he thinks you're hot!!!"
Hoorah! I said. I quickly put his number into my phone. Later I sent him a cheeky text. He replied instantly and we went out that weekend. He's still my boyfriend :)

No I'm totally kidding.

"What? are you serious?" I said. "You idiot, Hannah, He's clearly taking the piss. Delete his number now. Tell him I'm gay please. What a wanker".
Because I was so adamant that I was a grotesquely malformed freak with a hideous personality to match, any boy who paid me the slightest amount of attention during highschool was either a)joking or b)had some freaky fetish. I scorned them immediately.

This has benefitted me amazingly. When you're lacking in self confidence you seem to attract all these amazing nutter butters. Like the girl who used to put hexes on people she didn't like (i.e. who wouldn't share hot chips with her). Or the guy who went to raves just so he could tell people about his "free ice and acid", lure them back to his car, then pelt them with lemon wedges and ice cubes.
Sure, I could have been confident, I could have worn nice things and traded in cynicism and saturday nights watching Harry Potter fan videos on Youtube for a social life and actual friends. I could have been Happy! and Awesome! and fed on my own fabulousness growing a head so large I'd make Nicky Hilton look (relatively) normal.
Instead I chose solitude and teen angst. Nobody understood me, etc etc.
The world is much more fun when you're a cliche; nocturnal, depressed, bitchy, unemployed, most-likely-to-be-unsuccessful-arist. I've learnt important lessons, like the value of staring down random people on the bus.

So all those people who tell you to believe in your dreams, hold your head high and smile, to you I say shut up and get back in your box. I know you go home at night, fight with people in the comments section on youtube, repeat your affirmations in a shaky voice and weep into your downy pillow.

"Prepare to put mustard on those words, for you will soon be consuming them along with this slice of humble pie, that comes direct from the oven of shame set at gas mark egg on your face"- Moss, The IT crowd

Irrational reasons for hating your parents friends

They resemble a villainous character from your favourite video game

They have the exact voice you have always invisioned a paedophile to have

They wear short shorts

They like Judas Priest

They won’t shut the fuck up about Judas Priest

You don’t understand what the fuck they’re talking about, because you rely on people doing things like making their voices go higher when they ask a question, but this person talks in a funny, slow, level sort of way that makes you want to stab your eyes out because you’d comprehend the dialogue of a charred burrito better

They have no chin

John Safran

If I had a magic castle by the sea

I’d ask you to come live with me

If I were eurasian, eyes pretty, hair long

To love a non-jew wouldn’t seem so wrong

Please give me a call, don’t be mean

You can sing for me, I’d still be keen

We could rummage through Tracy Grimshaw’s bin

Or somehow upset old Ray Martin

I adore you so, I don’t know why

It’s the way you sneak and pry

Stealing Nicole Scherzingers’ panties

You, dear John, are the bees knees,

The cats pyjamas, cream of the crop

I especially like your top

Your eyebrows, socks, your loungeroom chairs

Or perhaps the way you cut your hair

Streaking through Jerusalem,

The way you say “I’ve been thinking”

The way you made your father admit

He’d had his large nose tampered with

It’s the way you lisp and speak and sound

When you say “hospices” my head spins round

People tell me to be wary of you

As Tina Fey might say, they can eat my poo

I simply do not understand the drama

All you did was wank to Obama

I love you so much, I just can’t concieve

Why you have a restraining order against me

I’m not a stalker, I’m just a fan

On my laptop outside your house in my van

Dad’s friend:…so do changes in weather slow down zombies? snow? humidity? You think we’d be safer in Australia?

Dad: You think they’d get dehydrate, but…

My uncle: No, no I don’t think so… it doesn’t seem to work. No, what you do is you wait until they all start dying of hunger

Dad: But how long would that take? Months?

Dad’s friend: By then, normal food is spoilt, you’re running out of canned food and you don’t have any fresh fruit or vegetables, you get sick…

My Uncle: Nah, get some meat into you… I reckin you want to reduce veg intake, eat more protien, shoot better

Dad: So then you get some fuckin’ bush tucker

Dad’s friend: Kangaroos, bush turkies, crocs… gotta shoot a good sized one. I nearly shot my foot off once trying to get a croc, I’d never shot through water before

Dad: What about supplies? The batteries go, your torches go, then you eventually run out of candles, you need to learn to make candles

My Uncle: Use fat from the dead fucking bodies!

My Dad: We should join the facebook group, “Ïf zombies attack, meet us at Bunnings Warehouse”. You joined that, didn’t you Alex?

Dad’s friend: But Bunnings isn’t next to a coles, that makes no sense, where do we get food?

My Dad: They always have those barbeques and shit though. Just eat a fuckin sausage

I hate how blindingly bright new sneakers are. I just purchased a new pair of converses and I feel like they’re saying “Hey! Look at me! my brightness is a clear indication that the person wearing me, in her casual jeans-and-tshirt regalia actually cares enough to have recently purchased new shoes. What a tosser”.

The white parts are so incredibly, outrageously white I think you could probably see them from Neptune. What’s that? an atomic explosion? A nuclear holocaust? Dave Grohls teeth? No? Must be new sneakers.

My friend: Hey, you should have come out this weekend. It was pretty great. Except Louise was being a slut, as usual, with her tits flapping all over the place, and I mean literally flapping. Then this disgusting thing came over and they started dirty dancing, I mean literally dry rooting right there on the dancefloor, and I’m about to vomit, every time we go out it’s like, see the creepiest most toothless, feral person in the room? THAT’S who she aims so have sex with-

Her brother: (stops what he is doing and stres at her wordlessly)

My friend:- and it’s fucking embarassing (notices her brother) what the fuck are you looking at, ugly? anyway, Louise is such a slut. It’s so embarassing, I fucking hate going out with her. Oh God, it was so shit. Anyway, we’re going out again on Friday, you should come out with us!

My mother: How's the roast, guys?

My brother: This is disgusting. It's so burnt i cant even tell what it is.

My mother: Well maybe you'd like to come home from a stressful day at work and cook dinner for us instead

My brother: Don't change the subject. This tastes like ass

My mother: How do you even know what ass tastes like?

My brother: I've eaten your cooking.