Lauren learns the hard way

Stunned mullet

2012-02-10T17:23:00.005+11:00

Dear Sir,

Hello. You don’t know me and I don’t know you, but you came to my attention recently as you made your way past my place of business.

It was Wednesday afternoon, and having walked by the Comedy Theatre earlier in the day, I was well aware that there was a matinee performance of Yes, Prime Minister. And we all know what a matinee performance means: the city streets will be full of the elderly.

Now, you are probably wondering why you stood out amongst all of the blue-rinse-set and the Harry-high-pants’. Well sir, it was because of your hair.

It is advisable to avoid certain hairstyles, the comb-over and the mullet being two prime examples. This is why it stunned me so to see that you had somehow managed to combine the two. The level of shock and amazement led to me quite suddenly and loudly yelling ‘COMB-OVER MULLET!’ in a public place, which of course you did not hear. Because you are old.

While I admire your level of self-assuredness, you may want to consider investing in a mirror, as it is clear to most members of the general public that you do not own one.

Sincerely,
The amused.

Why I feel sorry for guide dogs

2012-02-03T18:41:00.002+11:00

Today at work, my manager saw a guide dog waiting for its owner to come out of the toilet. It was lying on the ground, its head resting on its front paws, and she swears to Jeebus she saw it sigh.

I’d never really thought about it before, but it must suck balls to be a guide dog.

You’re born, you’re adorable, but there’s no time to enjoy your puppyhood. Nope, you’re shipped off to live with a family who will love you and take care of you then ABANDON YOU after twelve months and send you to puppy boot camp for intense training. Your fellow cadets will play pranks on you and call you ‘Nancy’ and your drill sergeant will make you drop and give him twenty if your boots aren’t shiny enough, which is really rough because you have four feet and there just isn’t enough time to shine all of them properly. Also, word of warning, you don’t want to know what he’ll do to you if you poo inside.

If you keep your head low, resist the temptation to chase your tail and don’t sniff anyone’s butt, when you’re old enough they’ll release you. But it’s not like getting out of prison, where you can’t function in society because you’ve seen things, man, and it’s changed you. You won’t get your freedom. You’ll be sent to spend the next decade with a human; a human you don’t even get to choose, so bad luck if they turn out to be a jerk who listens to dodgy music and makes you watch TV talent shows.

You’ll help this person all day every day. No annual leave. No double pay on public holidays. No pay at all. You won’t get to hang out with your friends, fall in love, chase the postman or bury anything in the backyard.

For what purpose does a guide dog live other than to serve?

So I salute you, humble guide dog. And I remind you that your owner has to sleep at some stage, and it’s not like he/she is going to see all the spots where you’ve dug up the backyard. Just saying.

How to blog like a lazy mofo

2012-01-27T15:36:00.002+11:00

I can’t think of enough funny things this week, so I’ve bailed on writing a new blog and instead, for your reading pleasure, have translated last week’s blog into various other languages and then back into English using Google Translate because it turned out to be a lot funnier than what I was trying to write. So, I’m forgiven, yes?

You might want to peruse last week’s if you haven’t seen it. Go on. This one will wait for you.

Aquarius (January 20-February 18)
As the moon moves into the matter, which it is moving in this best of luck and all that brings you luck. Maybe. Even a happy birthday. Their cakes are disappointing and covered in melted candle wax.

Pisces (February 19-March 20)
Having too much money for something you do not need, you'll know where you bought it and what you are paying for it. Listen to lie on, you dirty, lying liars.

Aries (March 21-April 19)
Your washing machine will break and eventually profess what they had with all those missing socks. The socks will not be returned to you because, frankly, you do not want to go back where they were. However, the solution of this mystery will bring you a sense of inner peace. Have a cup of tea and a biscuit.

Taurus (20 April-20 May)
Your skepticism marked with an asterisk will be short-lived when the giraffe from the zoo and tramples you to death.

Gemini (May 21-June 20)
A Taurus you know will be kicked to death by an escaped giraffe with legs.

Cancer (June 21 - July 22)
La Bamba 's torn in your head and you'll find yourself singing it as you could get a busy street. People will decisis. You go home, eat some chicken, and subpar blog write about star signs.

Leo (July 23-August 22)
Your tendency to burn bridges will bite you back when you are before the arson charges. The lawyer you can find in the phone book will be qualified, but very attractive. You two will have a brief but steamy business that the lawyer will stop by to let you go to prison, where your cellmate will teach you how to make prison tattoos. You will have a feel for this and will realize that you should have gone to art school after all.

Virgo (August 23 - September 22)
Once a wise man, "Put some pants," he said. If you leave home, make sure to do so. People have been complaining.

Libra (22 September 23 to 10)
Romance is in the air! But for you in no.

Scorpio (23 October - 21 November)
Your inner thigh, and their foolish not to go. You know that thing you need to get to the cream.

Sagittarius (22 November - 21 December)
Rising tension in the work that will inspire you to search for a new career path. The following may be very concerned, and only to see its someones birthday cake the next day and return to stressful jobs. This will be eating cake. This will be a meet.

Capricorn (19 Dec 22 to 1)
Jesus was a Capricorn. Please look at what he achieved in all of his short life. Your game and lift the buddy.

It's all in the stars

2012-01-19T17:21:00.006+11:00

Aquarius (January 20 – February 18)
As the moon moves into the thing that it moves into that brings good luck and all that, you will have some good luck. Maybe. Also, happy birthday. Your cake will be disappointing and covered in melted candle wax.

Pisces (February 19 – March 20)
After spending too much money on something you don’t need, you will lie about where you bought it and what you paid for it. Stop lying, you filthy, lying liar.

Aries (March 21 – April 19)
Your washing machine will break down and finally confess what it did with all those missing socks. The socks will not be returned to you because, quite frankly, you don't want them back after where they've been. However, solving this mystery will bring you a sense of inner peace. Have a cup of tea and a biscuit.

Taurus (April 20 – May 20)
Your scepticism of star signs will be short lived when a giraffe escapes from the zoo and tramples you to death.

Gemini (May 21 – June 20)
A Taurus you know will be trampled to death by an escaped giraffe.

Cancer (June 21 – July 22)
La Bamba will get stuck in your head and you will find yourself singing it as you walk down a busy street. People will stare. You will go home, eat some chicken, and write a subpar blog about star signs.

Leo (July 23 – August 22)
Your tendency to burn bridges will bite you once more as you find yourself facing arson charges. The lawyer you find in the phonebook will be under qualified, but very attractive. The two of you will have a brief but steamy affair that the lawyer will put an end to by letting you go to prison, where your cell mate will teach you how to do prison tattoos. You will have a flair for this and will realise that you should have gone to art school after all.

Virgo (August 23 – September 22)
A wise man once said, ‘Put some pants on’. Remember to do this when you leave the house. People have been complaining.

Libra (September 23 – October 22)
Romance is in the air! But not for you.

Scorpio (October 23 – November 21)
That rash on your inner thigh will not go away on its own. You need to get some cream for that thing.

Sagittarius (November 22 – December 21)
Rising tensions at work will inspire you to look for a new career path. You will be too lazy to follow through, and return to your stressful job the next day only to find out that it’s someones birthday and there is cake. You will eat some cake. This will appease you.

Capricorn (December 22 – January 19)
Jesus was a Capricorn. Look at all the stuff he achieved in his short life. Lift your game, buddy.

Smart phone my ass

2012-01-13T16:32:00.002+11:00

Back In August I got a new phone. I was sick of everyone talking trash about my useless Motorola that didn’t do anything but be a phone. And not a very good phone at that.

As someone who knows nothing of technology, I sought the help of others as to what kind of phone I should purchase. I found that the more someone knew about technology, the more that person was against iPhones. These people recommended HTC. These people should be shot. In the face. With a bazooka that shoots cream pies.

After months of grief and attempts to find out why my phone sometimes decided it just plain didn’t want to work, I’ve finally accepted defeat and had it sent off to be looked at. For the next three weeks I’m stuck with my old brick. It pains me to say it, but I don’t think I’m going to survive.

How am I supposed to check the weather? By going outside and feeling the temperature of the air on my skin? By looking out the window like a fool? No thank you, sir.

How am I supposed to prove to everyone that I’m right all the time without being able to Google whatever it was that we’ve just been arguing about?

How can I check that big words mean what I think they mean without my dictionary.com app?

How am I supposed to tag myself at every place I go to so people can see how awesome I am? I’ve had to go back to checking Facebook on the computer like people did in the olden days, when computers took up entire rooms and were made of wood and twine.

And most importantly, HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO SURVIVE WITHOUT MY DOCTOR WHO RINGTONES?

Anyway, I’m off to build a giant slingshot, capture some birds and launch them at flimsy structures full of pigs I’ve painted green. I have an addiction and my needs must be met.

The fountain of knowledge

2012-01-06T15:07:00.003+11:00

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

We’re not even a week into 2012 and I can already list for you many, many things that I have learned.

1. Eating chocolate all day while watching episode after episode of Buffy is not good for you.

2. Getting out of the house so you won’t sit on the couch and eat chocolate all day is only a good idea if you don’t meet up with friends for beer and chips. Beer and chips are also not good for you.

3. ABC2 showing Doctor Who every weeknight is amazing.

4. Do not wear this top while sitting outside:

You will end up with leopard print sunburned into your shoulders.

5. If my brother invites me over for a horror movie marathon, he means it. I have never seen so many people get stabbed in one evening/night/early hours of the morning.

6. If my brother invites me over for a horror movie marathon, I will consume many Doritos.

7. If my brother invites me over for a horror movie marathon, I will end up crashing at his house, convinced that a serial killer is hiding in the wardrobe.

8. You shouldn’t let friends take you into a shop that contains shiny things. It will end with you buying a shiny thing.

9. When a co-worker tells you she reckons the customer you swoon over every morning looks a bit like the vampire dude from Twilight, and you say ‘No way, that dude is weird lookin, as if they look alike’, and you then stumble across a picture of the vampire dude from Twilight where they DO look alike… don’t admit this to her. She will give you hell and attain a large amount of pleasure from it.

10. Do not let a friend drag you to the beach when you are not dressed for the beach. Sand in shoes + high winds + more sunburn + jeans were a bad choice + her camera took a photo of you in which your top seemed to magically disappear = cranky.

11. Cranky-ness can easily be eradicated with ice cream.

2011, we hardly knew ye

2011-12-30T15:14:00.002+11:00

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. Then it was the best of times again.

2011, you were a year of shenanigans and beer and life lessons and beer and good friends and beer and sexually harassing innocent men. Then having another beer.

Last year I wrote a blog on why I hate New Years Eve, and in that blog I included a resolution or five. Let us revisit those and see how I did.

1. Don't eat so many chips that I get chest pains
SUCCESS. I did, however, on more than one occasion eat so much bacon that I got chest pains. But there was no such bacon related resolution.
2. See Europe
SUCCESS. And it was amazing and brilliant and magical. Apart from when I vomited in Greece.
3. Stop typing my Facebook password into every other website I try to log in to
FAIL. Old habits die hard. Or die not-at-all.
4. Stop trying to deactivate the house alarm with my pin number, and stop trying to get money out of the ATM with the alarm code
50/50. I have cut back on how often I do this, but it still happens.
5. Finally become the proud owner of the complete box set of Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Thanks to Santa Claus, this was a last minute Christmas SUCCESS.

So last year I whinged about it, but this year I feel no such ill-will towards December 31. Usually I hate it because the changing of my wall calendar just reminds me that I’ve wasted another year of my life, but this year was pretty kick ass. I saw some awesome shite, laughed so hard with some great friends that I cried/snorted/peed my pants a little, and learned that making angry playlists on your iPod will get you through anything.

Popular opinion is that the blonde hair I’ve been ABSOLUTELY ROCKIN this year makes me look a lot less like I’m dying than the black hair did; that the stupidest thing I’ve said all year is ‘This apple juice tastes too much like real apples’ (if I wanted to taste a real apple, I’d eat a freakin apple); and that my hatred of people misusing the word ‘ironic’ has grown to such proportions that I’ll either stab someone or have a rage-induced stroke in the near future.

So what are my resolutions for next year?
1. Keep surrounding myself with good people
2. Don’t get porky again because it took five months to drop the weight I gained in Europe. Needless to say the food there is quite good
3. Try to be less of a pervert (men will have to agree to be less attractive, though)
4. Stop playing Florence & The Machine’s Shake it Out on repeat, because other songs are good too
5. Watch the entire boxset of Buffy The Vampire Slayer

And if you still need reasons to look forward to 2012, there’s a possible apocalypse and a new Muppets movie.

My grownup Christmas list

2011-12-22T19:42:00.000+11:00

Dear Santa,

As the festive season is upon us once more, I can’t help but think about the many years we’ve known each other and how you have betrayed me on each and every one.

Santa. Mr Claus. ‘Saint’ Nick. What happened to you? Growing up, I was led to believe that if I was good, and if I behaved myself, I could write you a letter at the end of the year and you would bring me some lovely things.

Well, I have one question for you, Santa. Where exactly is my monkey army?

Year after year I was the picture of the perfect child. I did well at school. I behaved myself. I didn’t swear, I didn’t answer back, I only bit my brother that one time. And yet, no monkey minions.

You’ve clearly dropped the ball. Christmas 1995 there was a Kmart price sticker on my Barbie. Kmart, Santa? I realise the world is far more populated than it used to be, and the elves are busy trying to make iPods instead of dolls and hula hoops, but what the hell, man? What. The. Hell.

I don’t mean to criticise. Well, I do, but only because I want to give you the chance to improve. It’s like you don’t even care anymore. The kids hold up their end of the bargain, what with the being good and all, so you should hold up your end and bring them their monkeys.

To get you started, here’s my wish list for this year:
-An attractive man wearing nothing but boxer shorts and a Santa hat.
-A unicorn. With a rainbow mane. And a glittery coat. I shall name him ‘Captain Clip-Clop’ and we shall be the best of friends.
-My freakin monkeys. Better late than never.

An open letter to attractive men

2011-12-15T17:35:00.004+11:00

Dear attractive men,

Hello. You don’t know me, but my name is Lauren and I have been finding it harder and harder to ignore you of late, as you insist on parading around in front of me wherever I go, with your faces and bodies and lovely, lovely smiles.

Despite the positive attributes of your kind, I have to admit that I have a complaint or two about the way you insist on living your lives.

Complaint the first: The pace at which you walk.
If you’re going to walk past me, all I ask is that you do it slowly. This will increase my perving time and I’m sure there’s some kind of advantage in there for you somewhere, too. Walking slower will reduce the chance of sweating? Maybe? Yeah. Let’s go with that. Sweating.

Complaint the second: The wearing of those shoulder/messenger bags.
These tend to cover your amazing backsides. This is unfortunate. Please put your belongings elsewhere.

Complaint the third: Some of you don’t wear glasses.
I had a theory that men, meaning all men, meaning 100% OF THE MEN look better in glasses. I have tested this hypothesis and it turns out that I am correct. If you do not wear glasses, please obtain some in the near future.

Complaint the fourth: Sometimes you can be so attractive that it’s unattractive.
I know this sounds stupid, but there is something I like to call the ‘Cycle of Attractive-ness’ and it looks like this: The cycle goes counter clockwise, beginning at ‘Total-freakin-ugmo’ and moving all the way up to ‘Dear-god-please-help-me-now-I-can’t-help-but-swoon-over-this-ridiculously-good-looking-person’. Occasionally, you can become so attractive that your features become comical and off-putting and you jump from the sexy side over to the not-so-sexy side. Please don’t do this, as it is a tragic waste.
(Note that the cycle only flows one way. No one is so ugly that they’re attractive. No one. It’s science.)

Thank you for your time and cooperation. I hope these issues will be remedied in the coming days.

Lauren

Surviving the office Christmas party

2011-12-10T14:40:00.004+11:00

I haven’t been very good at attending the work Christmas party. I went once a few years ago, where my then manager got a bit too excited about the bar tab and decided that even though we were sitting outside, it would be a good idea to go back into the pub to vomit. On the floor. Right by the door. Like a champ.

Last night I made my second appearance at one of our Christmas parties. My manager felt obligated to go, and talked me into accompanying her with the following three points:
1. There’s a bar tab.
2. Tab = free beer.
3. Free beer is good.

So the Christmas party was at a pub by the river. I only had one drink on account of having to drive, which really wasn’t enough alcohol to deal with not remembering the names of people from other sites, being reminded of just how many years of my life I’ve spent working for these people, or awkward conversations with one of the company’s slightly intoxicated owners:
Him: ‘How are you? Good?’
Me: ‘I have beer. Beer is good.’

Manager lady has a massive amount of Grinch-y-ness in her tiny, blackened heart.

This has been a recent source of amusement for the two of us who work under her, as we’ve been entertaining ourselves by slowly building up ‘Operation Christmas Bombardment.’
Next week I’m starting the carols, and yes, I’ve got Mariah Carey. And Wham. And Celine Dion. I know I can’t force cheer down her throat, but since I don’t like to lose, I plan to lose in the most annoying way possible.

Manager lady’s initial anti-Christmas comments of ‘I’ll stay for an hour at most’ and ‘One drink and I’m out of there’ were a big, fat fail. I left before her and received some slightly scrambled text messages later in the evening. She stayed about six hours longer than planned, proving that the spirit of Christmas is alive and well after all.

Or the spirit of Jack Daniels.

It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas

2011-12-02T17:05:00.003+11:00

Happy December! My Christmas tree is up and decorated. The Christmas CDs have been dug out of the cupboard. My Santa hat is… too small for my head and I have to buy a new one.

For those of you not yet feeling the Christmas spirit, I give you 11 reasons to love the festive season:

1. Tinsel: It’s shiny and everybody loves shiny things.
2. Food: It’s delicious and there’s plenty of it.
3. Presents: Not just receiving them, but using a ridiculous amount of sticky tape when you wrap gifts for other people so you can watch their frustrated attempts to free whatever it was that you found on sale at the last minute.
4. National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation is on TV: Classic.
5. Summer (for people in the southern hemisphere only): Beer and BBQ. ‘Nuff said.
6. ‘It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas’ as performed by Alvin and the Chipmunks: It has never stopped being hilarious and never will. Check it out here (skip to 0:53 for the LOLs and an enormous dose of cheer).
7. Christmas songs in general: The only time of the year when it’s acceptable to belt out a Mariah Carey song.
8. Fairy lights: The only time of the year when it’s acceptable to put brightly coloured flashing lights all over your house.
9. Photos with Santa: The only time of the year when it’s acceptable to let your child sit on a strange, old, beardy man’s knee and tell him what toys they want.
10. Sneaky mistletoe: The sexual harasser’s greatest ally.
11. That rare moment when a bird lands in your Christmas tree:

Just like the movies

2011-11-24T16:40:00.014+11:00

Last weekend I learned a valuable lesson: don’t spend the day watching horror movies if you have to spend the night in your house alone.

Ages ago I promised my brother that since his fiancée hates horror movies, I would see Paranormal Activity 3 with him. He texted me on Saturday reminding me that we still hadn't been, and that I still hadn't seen part 2, so after a quick DVD watching session we headed out.

The cinema was empty when we walked in, and after we shuffled over to the seats we wanted, something caught his eye. And now I present to you: 'Dodgy ways to make sure no one sits in front of you at the cinema' with my brother.

Tip 1: Move the wet seat sign over to the seat in front of you and hope that no one sits in the actual wet seat.

He then informed me that he has tried convincing his fiancée to keep a piece of paper that says ‘Wet Seat’ in her handbag so he can whip it out whenever they go to the movies. Strangely, she's not keen.

Anyway, thanks to my shoddy body clock, I was too tired to stay awake all night thinking that every noise I heard was a *PARANORMALACTIVITYSPOILERALERT* demon named Toby who lives in my ceiling and wants to move objects in my bedroom EVER SO SLIGHTLY. Then possess me and make me kill people. Because that would be unfortunate for all involved. Except Toby. But he's not very nice.

Hipster-Tickle-Me-Elmo: A day in the life

2011-11-18T17:52:00.022+11:00

Catching up on some reading Then catching up with Hipster-Minnie Mouse ...and Hipster-Ralph Wiggum...and Hipster-Angry Bird Talking down to regular Tickle-Me-Elmos to assert his superiorityTrying to impress the ladiesTaking up the bagpipes because guitar is too mainstream

Customer Service 101

2011-11-10T15:23:00.012+11:00

I’ve been working in hospitality for just over four years now. Needless to say, I’ve learned a thing or two about how to handle people.

No matter what is going on in your life, how tired you are, or how surly your disposition may be in general, you are required to transform yourself from the regular you, into this freakish being:
Once you have become a smiling, happy-go-lucky scamp, there is a certain type of behaviour that is expected from you.
For example, you will occasionally have to deal with a customer who wishes to make a complaint.
Correct response: Listen, and apologise if any wrong doing has been done on your/the business’ part.
Incorrect response: Tell the customer that you wish a young Johnny Depp would ring your doorbell, all lost and confused after being in some kind of accident that involved him losing his memory. And his shirt. And his pants. But we can’t always get what we want, so they should bugger off.

Sometimes a customer will get angry while they’re waiting. They’ll make a point of telling you how they don’t have time for this, and how very busy they are.
Correct response: Kindly tell them you’ll be with them in a moment.
Incorrect response: Give them a death stare and point out that, as they can see, you’re currently quite busy yourself. Then slow down. A lot. Completely stop, if that takes your fancy.

Occasionally a customer will come in and start hassling your manager, who is trying to take her lunch break, about the prices of every single item you have on display. He will be rude and aggressive and will ask, in a rude and aggressive manner, what is in the Cajun chicken wrap.
Correct response: ‘We get our food items delivered, sir. I can’t tell you 100% for sure what all the ingredients are.’
Incorrect response: The scenario I could see going through her head:

And if that really good looking guy comes in, try not to do this:

Well done

2011-11-06T14:36:00.002+11:00

I realise it's Sunday and this isn't a real blog. I'm sorry for not being organised enough to pull something together last week. BUT: my mum and I went to get a head start on our Christmas decoration shopping (we go nuts for Christmas. I think we just like shiny things and twinkly lights) and I present to you, this photo: 'Take photos here with Santa'. It's gonna be a good Christmas this year. I can feel it.

Um... uh... SEX!!!

2011-10-28T20:26:00.005+11:00

School is winding down for the year, and that means the classes are starting to get… odd.

In my novel class this week we were discussing sex scenes. Romantic sex scenes. Explicit sex scenes. Sexy, sexy sex scenes.

The whiteboard was divided into three categories very maturely named ‘Boy’s Bits’, ‘Girl’s Bits’ and ‘The Act.’ Our job was to fill the entire board with as many words as we could possibly think of to describe these things. It took almost a quarter of a century, but finally a moment occurred in my life where it was socially acceptable in a room full of people to yell ‘WANG!’
Now for homework I have to write a sex scene. I do not wish to do this.

They were making out and touching each other and stuff. Then he put his thingy in her whatsit and they, like, totally did it and that.

The day after this class, I went to see the Queen. She was in Melbourne. It was a beautiful day. I got quite badly sunburnt because I’ve inherited my mother’s fragile British skin. I didn’t get to see the Queen. I didn’t even get to see the Queen’s hat. But still, I was there. My point is this: standing in a crowd in the sun waiting to see an old lady doesn’t inspire you to write about the sexy times.

Thursday night was slightly more successful. I saw QI live on stage. If you don’t know what QI is, then you should Youtube it and fall in love. I had Stephen Fry, Alan Davies, Arj Barker* and Shaun Micallef all on the same stage, and even though Fry prefers the company of gentlemen, I’d have a crack at all of those blokes. Sadly, I got home too late to write anything.

After work today I spent the remainder of my afternoon doing ‘paperwork’ (if you haven’t read past blogs, ‘paperwork’ doesn’t mean paperwork, ‘paperwork’ means sexual harassment. But I can get away with it because I’m a young woman and not an old man. Double standards effing rock sometimes).

Still nothing. Then I remembered that earlier this year I purchased Kristen Schaal and Rich Blomquist’s The Sexy Book of Sexy Sex. Why? For the same reason I do anything: shits and giggles. I had forgotten about this book, and pulled it off the shelf to see I had left a bookmark on the page titled ‘Things you can do with hairy palms’. I’m choosing to believe this is just the page I was up to, and not one I thought I might need at a later date.

So how’s the sex scene going? I haven’t started it yet. I ate noodles and wrote this instead.

*I was in the same pub as Arj Barker once and he busted me staring at him and he winked at me and I lost my miiiind.

An open letter to Mary Shelley

2011-10-20T17:30:00.002+11:00

Dear Mary Shelley,

Let me begin by saying that yes, I do realise you have been dead for quite some time now. However, I feel the need to take issue with you on the grounds that it has only recently come to my attention that your classic novel Frankenstein is, in my opinion, not very good at all.

I am a student, and I had to read Frankenstein for my English Literature class. It took me four months to make my way to the end of your ‘masterpiece.’ I found that each time I picked it up I would read a few pages, then genuinely lose the will to live and have to go do something else for a while.

You see, Ms Shelley, I too would like to be a writer. When I finished your novel, I couldn’t help but think ‘I can do better than that.’ The idea of plot is quite often missing, replaced by page after page of fanciful descriptions of mountains and rivers and trees. I’m quite lazy, but you, my dear, take the cake.
‘So how did Victor Frankenstein create his monster?’ your readers may very well ask. And your response? ‘Hey look, some more scenery!’

At no point in your novel do you ever explain what the monster was made of, how it was made, or how Victor brought it to life. Even at the end of the novel when another character flat out asks Victor how he made the monster, you dance around the issue with this piece of waffle (that I‘m confident the copyright has expired on…):
“‘Are you mad, my friend?’ said he; ‘or wither does your senseless curiosity lead you? Would you also create for yourself and the world a demonical enemy? Peace, peace! learn my miseries, and do not seek to increase your own.’” Or in other words: ‘I dunno. Leave me alone. I’m dying. Shut up.’

Ok, so maybe I’m a couple of years older than you were when you wrote it. Maybe you were just young and naive. The thing is, were you still alive today, I know how you would respond to my grievances: ‘Well Lauren, you see *insert long winded description of a lake here*.’

Also, I’ve seen portraits of you, and you were weird looking.

Sincerely,
Lauren.

Great days in history: October 14

2011-10-13T17:47:00.005+11:00

Work. Classes. Dealing with the recent development of finding out that Sexy Customer #1 thinks I'm Sexy Barista #1. Not knowing how to deal with that recent development because I'm an awkward fool. Other things.

I haven’t had much free time this week. To show you how much free time I haven’t had, here’s a breakdown displayed in a brightly coloured pie chart:

What does it all mean?
Last time I looked at a great day in history, it was my own birthday/the day Michael Jackson rudely decided to die. This time, it is our dear friend the 14th of October, when in the year 19somethingheprobablywouldn'twantmetopostontheinternet, my dear father was born. Happy birthday to him!

He has the honour and privilege of sharing his special day with the likes of R&B star Usher, the in-no-way-questionable Cliff Richard, one of the Dixie Chicks (I’m not an expert, but I think it’s the good one) and everyone’s second favourite James Bond, Roger Moore himself. You can't ask for a better bunch of people than that, surely.

October 14 1982: Ronald Regan officially declares a war on drugs. Those American presidents sure know how to win a war, am I right? AMIRITE?

October 14 1962: The Cuban Missile Crisis begins.

October 14 during the WWII years: Some stuff happens with Nazis...

Ok, so this isn't going very well. And I've left this to the last minute and have to go get ready for my Dad's birthday dinner. So I'll just say a big fat happy birthday to the man who taught me to ride a bike, taught me to drive and most importantly of all, taught me to love the genius that is Mr Billy Joel. And if you laughed at the Billy Joel thing, we will both come after you.

For reals.

I would STILL like a bite of that donut

2011-10-06T18:05:00.004+11:00

If you have read this post, then the following ramblings will make sense to you. Otherwise, here’s the gist of it: I work in a coffee shop. We have a lot of regular customers. ‘Donut’ is the codeword we use for ‘beautiful, beautiful man.’ My manager and I have a thing for the same three donuts. One donut in particular. Mmm. Donut.

And now, the progress report:

Tomorrow I will be working a split shift. I’ll be working from 6:00am to 7:00pm with two and a half hours off in the middle. Why did I agree to do this? Because there’s no one to do the shift and I want to help my supervisor out, of course. That’s the honest truth. Part of the honest truth. A tiny part of the honest truth. About 5%. 10% is for the money. The other 85% is for the chance of some sneaky afternoon pervy time.

Since finding out that the donut we placed at number one has been buying coffee in the afternoons, my manager (the one who challenged me to a death match) has been hanging around for almost 3 hours after her shift ends to ‘do paperwork.’ ‘Paperwork’ that seems to involve a lot of sitting around while looking out the window. ‘Paperwork’ that she conveniently seems to finish about 5 minutes after this guy comes through. ‘Paperwork’ that doesn’t seem to involve very much paperwork at all.

Then there’s the poor supervisor stuck in the middle. She’s in a relationship and is therefore blind, apparently. The phrases ‘I don’t find him attractive, but I guess I can see why you would’ and ‘I just don’t see it’ have been thrown around a lot lately. This is generally followed by me throwing a world class tantrum.

When my shift finished this afternoon I decided that perhaps I would do some ‘paperwork’ of my own. This mostly involved reading MX (it’s paper…) and drawing the two of us in all our tragic glory (on paper).

Relationship-y supervisor lady: ‘Do you know how funny it is that you’re both doing this?’
Me: ‘Doing what?’
Supervisor lady: ‘Just sitting there, waiting for this guy.’
Manager: ‘I’m not, I’m doing paperwork.’
Me: ‘And I’m… watching her do paperwork.’

This is what life has come to. We’re too young, too funny and too attractive to be dirty perverts. And yet, here we are. As tragic and pathetic as the whole shenanigan is, it’s a constant source of entertainment that has led to many bouts of hysterical laughter (hysterical laughter directly in donut #2’s face, once. But he keeps coming back, so that means we’re meant to be together, right? Also, last Monday, I’m pretty sure #1 busted me giving him the googley eyes. But he still comes in, so that means we’re meant to be together, right?).

One day in September (or October, this year)

2011-09-30T15:28:00.009+10:00

Before I start ranting about that which I wish to rant about, for the sake of the non-Australian people who read this blog, here is a quick summary of Australian Rules Football:

So there’s a ball, right?

And a bunch of muscle-y men who look amazing in little shorty shorts.
And a big, grassy oval.There are four posts at each end of that oval. If you kick the ball between the two big posts, you get six points. If you kick it between a big one and a little one, you get one point. If you miss the posts completely, you can’t kick for shite and you should go home immediately.

It is socially acceptable to support any of the following teams:
Essendon
Whoever is playing Collingwood.

And this last point brings me to my rant. Today was not the best day to be in Melbourne. The Grand Final parade was on, and the world’s most liveable city (for reals, we won that) was filled with a rare subspecies of human. I was at work and one of my customers mentioned there were a lot of people in the city today, to which I almost replied, ‘They’re not people, they’re Collingwood supporters.' Yeah. That's right. I’m racist against Collingwood supporters.

In my mind, this is who they are:
Then I look around and see that in reality, that is indeed 100% who they are. Is it ok to make generalisations about people if your generalisations are correct? Am I a bad person? Is it ok to be a football team racist?

I’d feel bad about the chance of a Collingwood supporter reading this, but we all know they can’t read.

FAQ part deux

2011-09-23T14:08:00.005+10:00

Hi, Lauren.
That’s not a question, but hi.

What was the highlight of your week?
THE NEW SEASON OF GLEE!!! And I got a haircut.

What are you afraid of?
Everything.

Can you be more specific?
Pretty much everything.

Such as?
Space. The concept of the universe and galaxies and the nothingness. Can it really be endless? How does the earth stay floating there like that? If it fell, would it fall forever? Did you know the moon is constantly moving closer to the earth? Did you know that our galaxy is on a collision course with another galaxy and they’ll eventually collide and everything will go kaboom? I mean yeah, it’s not going to happen for millions or billions of years or something like that, but it’s still terrifying.

Stuff like this is why I’m not allowed to watch documentaries anymore.

I like your shitty drawings. Can you draw a dragon for me?
Apparently not.

What’s the most embarrassing thing you’ve done this week?
I downloaded a Lady Gaga song then danced alone to it in my bedroom. Please don’t tell anyone. I also stabbed myself with my keys again, but at least it wasn’t in the neck this time. There was a lot of blood, though.

What do you think about the new changes to Facebook?
They blow. Everyone reckons they’re going to use Google+ now, but let’s face it, we’re not going anywhere. Zuckerberg knows we’re his bitches.

Did you watch the season premiere of Two & a Half Men?
Yes. I believe the show will survive if Ashton Kutcher keeps walking around naked. Or half naked. Either half.

Are you just doing this Q&A thing because you couldn’t think of anything better to write this week?
What? No. Of course not. Shut up. Who are you?

Ode to cake

2011-09-16T16:44:00.004+10:00

Wikipedia says you’re a form of bread,
but you are far more delicious, it has to be said.
You are, by far, my most favourite baked good.
If I could marry you and have your cake babies, I most definitely would.

A wooden spoon, a bowl and an egg beater;
These things belong to every cake eater.
Flour, sugar, butter and eggs,
it all goes straight to my jiggly legs.

As your ingredients are mixed into a batter,
I think of how this will only make me fatter.
Fill up the cake tin and put it in the oven.
I’d rather eat you than have me some lovin’.

You’re better when you’re chocolate, but then again, what isn’t?
I check the oven again to see if you’ve risen.
I know some people don’t like you when you’re rich,
but don’t worry, dear cake. These friends I shall ditch.

To try and quell my growing impatience,
I head off in search of decorations.
I think of my second birthday as I walk around the house,
of that magical year when Mum made you look like Minnie Mouse.
First someone puts candles in you and ruins your icing,
then they stick a knife in and begin their dicing.
I eat you and you taste magical, my dear cake.
It’s totally worth the belly ache.

Mmm. Cake.

I would like a bite of that donut

2011-09-09T13:21:00.004+10:00

Work has been quite interesting since last Friday. Sometimes when you’re mentally and physically exhausted, your mind starts to wander. You start to find things funny that wouldn’t otherwise be funny. And most important of all, you start to have conversations that you probably shouldn’t have with your manager, eg. whether or not my month of single-ness is directly related to the fact that my wrist injury has finally started to heal (This is purely coincidence. I promise).

After that thrilling discussion, the topic of conversation moved into a dangerous area. The area of ‘which regular customers do you find attractive?’ Many workplaces have a codeword that you use to inform other staff members that there is a particularly attractive individual that they need to come and look at right effing now. Ours is ‘donut.’ But we would only ever point out random customers, not our dear beloved faithfuls.

It was surprising how quickly and easily I slipped back into the single woman mindset where you walk into a room and instantly rank every male in order of… well… yeah.* Point is, I’d been making a conscious effort to flirt with these ‘donuts’, but since baristas are flirty in general (flirting is how you get tips, and we spend our tips on bacon. I will gladly flirt for bacon), I don’t think they’ve noticed.

So our workplace discussion led to this revelation: We’ve been flirting with the same three donuts.

This was unacceptable. This was war. This needed to be settled, and since we’re both mature adults we decided that the only logical solution was a fight to the death (it was either that or rock/paper/scissors, but that’s for the weak). We prepared for our battle by engaging in threatening Facebook taunts:

Then when Monday morning came around, by some spectacular coincidence, we both appeared to have left our weapons on the train.

Things we know about the donuts at the root of our conflict:
They drink coffee
They are very attractive
…do… do I need a third? Surely this is enough.

*Appreciating the scenery doesn’t make you a sex fiend. It’s not until you start touching the scenery against its will that you become a sex fiend.

What I’ve learned in the two weeks I’ve owned a smart phone

2011-08-28T17:02:00.003+10:00

1. Smudgy fingerprinty touch screens are not made for people with obsessive compulsive tendencies. I spend more time trying to clean the screen than actually using the phone and have, on more than one occasion, used my knuckle instead of my fingertip to avoid smudges.

2. People who get out of bed at 4am do not benefit from being able to access the current temperature. You would think I’d learn from my mistakes, but I am a curious bastard.

3. Words with Friends should come with a warning about its addictiveness.

4. Words with Friends should come with a warning about its ability to make you want to want to stab a stranger in the face.

5. Words with Friends makes my phone do a vibratey alerty thingy when it’s my turn, and yes, I will wake up and deal with it in the middle of the night.

6. Getting a HTC instead of an iPhone makes nerds think I’m the shizz.

7. Auto correct makes your friends think you're rather odd, and is truly the devil.

8. It’s scary that Google knows where I am at all times. I was already paranoid, I don’t need this.

9. Having access to a decent camera means I will photograph all kinds of pointless crap then put it on Facebook and make my friends look at it.

10. I can’t delete the racist jokes my slightly racist friend sends me on occasion.

11. I can Google things to prove to people that no matter what we’re arguing about, I’m always right. Always.

12. I found out yesterday there are books on there. Actual books. And I’ve even heard of most of them.

13. I don’t care what anyone says, the game Teeter is impossible past level 29.

14. Despite having an addictive personality and zero willpower, I somehow managed to avoid downloading Angry Birds. For now.

15. People make fun of me less now (about my phone, anyway).

16. Seriously. The fingerprints. I’m not coping.

17. I still don’t really know how to use a smart phone.

Now you’re just somebody that I used to know

2011-08-25T16:26:00.007+10:00

If you haven’t read last week’s blog, go do that now, because this here be a sequel!

After last week’s blog, a certain someone decided to break his vow of silence towards me and said he’d be happy to talk if I wanted to. There was a lot of stuff I was confused about, and I needed some kind of reassurance that he was a good guy who just made some mistakes, something along the lines of ‘Sorry I lied to you and treated you like you were something I stepped in. I handled the whole thing really badly, and you didn’t deserve that.’ Sadly, this was not the result I got. Sorry? No, just selfish and capable of mass dickheadery (you’ve been using that word this week, haven’t you? Of course you have!). It turned out that ‘I’m happy to talk to you’ meant ‘I’m happy to talk to you on Facebook chat as long as you agree with everything I say and as soon as you start asking questions that I don’t have a pre-prepared bullshit answer to, I’m going to tell you I have to leave and delete you from Facebook. Because I’m classy like that.’ So those questions I said I was never going to get an answer to will forever remain unanswered. But the good news is I can listen to Adele again. I realised that Someone Like You doesn’t relate to my situation at all, not unless you replace the line ‘I wish nothing but the best for you’ with ‘I hope you get VD.’ Good luck to him. As if he’s ever going to find another girl with my wicked drawing talents. My manager, who gave me the lovely piece of advice about having pizzas delivered to his house, informed me that if you order from the Dominos website they will let you pay cash upon delivery. I think the ultimate revenge there would be the fact that Dominos pizza tastes like balls. Here’s how our Monday morning shift panned out: I can get pretty revenge-y, but never the ‘I can’t find a pulse’ kind of revenge-y. Also, I’m gonna be sOOper nice to that chick from now on.

This afternoon I was stuck at the traffic lights belting out the words to Alanis Morissette’s You Oughta Know, from her greatest hits CD that I felt the need to purchase on Sunday and take everywhere with me ever since, when I decided that she was truly one of the great poets of our generation. Then I decided my brain had officially given up on me and I needed to seek help immediately. I found this help at the bottom of a bag of potato chips.
What have we learned? Some people suck. Some people can’t admit when they’ve done something wrong. Some people don’t care if they hurt someone else as long as it means they get what they want. But we’ve also learned that some people are none of those things. Good friends, good chips, and Alanis Morisstte compilation CDs can lift anyone’s mood. And I have a lollipop in my mouth right now, so life is good. Gosh darn it.

Modern Romance

2011-08-18T16:27:00.010+10:00

(100 points to anyone who got the Yeah Yeah Yeahs reference. You can have those points. They're yours to do with what you wish. High five!)

Apologies for the lack of blog last week. I was planning to do it Friday afternoon, but on Thursday night, much to my surprise, I got my heart smashed into a million pieces by the only guy I’ve ever really loved. Needless to say I was struggling a tad on Friday. To add insult to injury, he chose to do this on a night when I had to get up for work at 4:00 the next morning. Via Skype. Because some people are classy like that.

Here’s how my sleepless night panned out:
10:00pm

1:00am
4:00am (aka ‘time to get up, fool’)

I got to work just before 6:00 with glazed and bloodshot eyes, looking like somewhat of a stoner, and told my manager what had happened, so she wouldn’t think I was a stoner. It was at this point I started to tear up again and had to go hide in the toilets for a while. When I came back I said that I’d be fine as long as we didn’t talk about it or play anything by Adele. She offered up this mature piece of advice:
Her: ‘Get a bunch of pizzas delivered to his house.’
Me: ‘But he’s in Sydney.’
Her: ‘So call a pizza shop in Sydney.’
So much wisdom.

My customer service skills were somewhat below average that morning. Don’t get me wrong, they’re not amazing at the best of times, but I can usually keep my fake smile on. Last Friday, I had absolutely no tolerance whatsoever for what I like to call ‘dickheadery’ (meaning: the act of being a dickhead).

Yeah. Inanimate objects can be dickheads too.

So that sucked balls. And it still sucks balls. I’ve got questions that I know I’ll never get an answer to, but on Tuesday, I woke up and I didn’t feel sick anymore. The whole experience has just reminded me that I’ve got an amazing family, wonderful friends, and a great ass. And isn’t that all a girl really needs in life?

Ideas for short stories

2011-08-04T17:44:00.002+10:00

Being a writing student is hard. Not because writing is hard, obviously I’ve got skills like a champ, but it’s the time management issue that’s holding me down. Coming up with ideas is the easy part. Like, really easy. My imagination is a smorgasbord of brilliance.

Here’s some of the genius that I have yet to pen. And no, you can’t have them. Intellectual property and copyright and whatnot says they’re mine.

IDEAS
Every time the protagonist does a good deed, he is hit by a wave of bad luck. He must decide whether to keep helping others and live with his curse, or turn to a life of selfishness and good luck. The decision is made for him when aliens invade and one of them eats him and he dies. The end.

A woman goes to the supermarket. She gets lost in the aisles and has to start living there. Then a steak that has passed its use by date becomes so rancid that it comes to life and it eats her and she dies. The end.

An old man gets out of bed on his first day of retirement and realises he doesn’t know what to do with all his free time. He wanders the house all day looking for small jobs to do. Then a grizzly bear that was living in his garage eats him and he dies. The end.

A young woman, who looks suspiciously like me, can’t stop buying books online. Her credit card comes to life and warns her against making another purchase, but she ignores it. The light fixture unexpectedly falls from the ceiling, pinning her underneath. Then some coyotes work out how to come to Australia and they hire a locksmith to unlock her front door and they break into her house and they eat her and she dies. The end.

Satan is bored in hell, so he gets a pet monkey. Then he eats it and it dies. The end.

Mr Potato Head is backpacking through Asia, hoping to ‘find’ himself. I find him instead and I eat him and he dies. He tastes like plastic. The end.

A weary traveller is shipwrecked and finds himself washed up on the beach of an island inhabited by a tribe of cannibals. They capture him and bring him to a big bonfire where they make him their god and he lives happily ever after. The end.

Back to school

2011-07-29T16:35:00.002+10:00

This week marked my second week back in the classroom after that whole ditching-school-to-run-away-to-the-other-side-of-the-world-for-a-bit incident from earlier in the year. I went back with the best of intentions. This time it was going to be different. This time I was actually going to get my homework done. I was going to be a good little writing student and work on my novel every day.

So far, we have seen no evidence of this.

Wednesday afternoon I got home from work and decided I was going to do some writing. Here’s how the afternoon/evening unfolded:
2:00 – Turn computer on, check email and log in to Facebook.
3:00 – Still on Facebook.
4:00 – Facebook.
5:00 – Decide it’s time for a Youtube break.
6:00 – More Youtube.
7:00 – Stop for dinner, then a quick shower, then back to Facebook.
8:00 – See a picture of Dr Phil without a moustache, need some time to recover.
9:00 – It is now officially past my bed time. Writing will have to wait until tomorrow. Go to bed.

Thursday – Class, then Facebook.

However, I have chosen not accept responsibility for this - as that would involve a level of maturity that I do not yet possess - and tell anyone who asks that I’m a victim of the times. Back in the day, university students had to use their imaginations to procrastinate. Now we have the internet and all the joy and magic that comes with it. Not to mention the short attention span. I was so distracted yesterday afternoon that after using the Nutella, instead of putting the jar back in the cupboard, I attempted to place it in the dishwasher.

It’s ok though, I’m going to get some work done this weekend. But I’m also a little bit over that novel I’m reading, so I should buckle down and get it finished so I can move on to another book. You know, my room’s pretty messy too, I need to have a massive cleanout. Oh yeah, and those DVDs I borrowed from my brother, I should probably watch those so I can return them. What? It’s Monday again? Brilliant.

The eleven people you see at every gig

2011-07-22T16:51:00.003+10:00

The tall guy
Defining characteristics: he is tall.
Location: standing right in front of you.

The guy who yells the words to the song louder than the music coming through the speakers
Defining characteristics: wearing the band t-shirt, has his fist in the air, is extremely sweaty. Like, really, really sweaty. Looks like he’s been pushed in a swimming pool kind of sweaty.
Location: right beside your ear.

The girl who won’t stop going ‘WOO!’
Defining characteristics: she won’t shut the eff up.
Location: right beside your other ear.

The tragic old guy who can’t let go of his youth
Defining characteristics: tries to dress hip, keeps talking to the kids about music and wondering why they’re trying to get away from him.
Location: too close to the kids.

The old guy who is genuinely interested in the band
Defining characteristics: has a drink in his hand, nods his head to the music, has a look of defeat on his face over the knowledge that he is constantly being mistaken for the tragic old guy.
Location: standing around at the back.

The boyfriend/girlfriend who has been dragged along unwillingly by their partner
Defining characteristics: an extreme look of boredom. Unless their other half is looking their way, then they’re faking a smile. Poorly.
Location: right beside someone who looks excited.

The security guard who thinks he’s tough
Defining characteristics: built, but only about 5 feet tall and clearly suffering from short man syndrome.
Location: at the front giving the stink eye to anyone who dared to bring a camera.

The guy who smacks you in the head every time he puts his hands up in the air (and waves them like he just doesn’t care)
Defining characteristics: has his arms up. Smells like a dickhead. Because he is.
Location: right behind you.

The girl who only came to see the support band and thinks she’s better than you because she only came to see the support band
Defining characteristics: talks down to you between each band's set.
Location: hopefully outside soon.

The crowd surfer
Defining characteristics: most likely male, shirtless and missing a shoe.
Location: right on top of you. Unless people dropped him. Then he’s probably on the floor.

You
Defining characteristics: love the band, really want to enjoy yourself, but quietly hating all the people around you.
Location: behind the tall guy, right between the guy who sings too loud and the girl who keeps squealing, underneath the crowd surfer, getting smacked in the back of the head.

Lauren’s Book Club: Where Wally is (and what he’s keeping from us)

2011-07-14T18:00:00.003+10:00

Books! Woo! Reading! Yeah!

Where’s Wally – Martin Handford

There was one question that plagued, baffled, and in some cases caused major eye strain to children in the early to mid nineties. What was that question, you ask? Well shut up for a second and I’ll tell you. The question was this: Just where, exactly, is Wally?

There he is. Yeah, over there in the stripy jumper. No not that one, over a little more to the left. Yeah, that’s him, the bugger in the glasses with the magic walking stick. I know, right? Apparently he knows a wizard.

That was an ordeal, wasn’t it? It’s a bit harsh how they make so many other people look like him. You would never see that many people wearing red and white striped jumpers in the real world.

Though we are led to believe that Wally’s whereabouts is the main issue here, these books tend to ask more questions than they answer. Why is he always hanging out in big crowds? Who is he hiding from? Why do the Americans call him ‘Waldo’? Does no one else think it’s odd that he has multiple identities? The man travels a lot, does this name issue not make it hard for him to get through passport control? Then there’s the confusing title Where’s Wally in Hollywood. Is the answer not in the question? He’s in Hollywood. Let the kids have a day off.

Why do we never see him working? What is his main source of income? How is he funding these trips? And why do we have to find him? How hard is it to inform a friend or relative of your travel plans? I’m not one to jump to conclusions, but I think it’s a safe to say he’s a drug mule. Has anyone actually checked what’s concealed inside this alleged ‘magic’ walking stick?

I find the whole situation to be quite suspicious.

Why is there never a double page spread of Wally sitting alone in his living room, kicking back in an armchair while reading a good book? Where’s Wally? There he is, enjoying a quiet night in. How about Where's Wally in the IT department? I know you shouldn't judge someone based on their appearance, but lets face it, if he did have a job it would be in IT.

I’ll tell you why we've never seen him taking part in these everyday activities: it’s because of the drugs.

Maybe he is a drug mule. Maybe I’m just jealous that he’s friends with a wizard and I still haven’t met one. Maybe he’s just a drawing that some guy did to sell some books. I guess we’ll never know.

But it’s most likely the drugs.

Alternative meal ideas for those who are home alone

2011-07-07T17:30:00.009+10:00

2 minute noodles: because using the stove makes you feel like a proper grown up, and this is one of the two things you know how to cook.
Toast: the other thing you know how to cook. 2 minute noodles on toast: combine your skills and wear your genius hat!

Burnt hamburger: you’re happy with this, because you’ve finally gotten over your amazing ability to cook something that’s burnt on the outside and yet raw on the inside. This time it’s just burnt. This is a clear sign that you’re moving up in the world. HINT: try to convince yourself it’s just ‘well done.’ Vegetables that you didn’t heat up for long enough: apparently you need to microwave them for a little bit longer if you don’t want them to still be frozen in the middle.
And remember: ice cream is not just for dessert. It is a welcome addition to anything. ANYTHING.

Om nom nom

2011-07-01T12:53:00.002+10:00

I exercised twice this week. Then I ate cheesecake. Both times.

For a few weeks now I’ve been trying to cut back on the amount of sugary/fatty/deep fried food items that I consume. It hasn’t gone well. To bring about a major change in eating habits is a big thing to ask of someone who considers cake to be a reasonable breakfast choice and who writes poetry about the joy that is bacon. To be honest, I was surprised my motivation lasted until the second day.

I’ve attempted health kicks before, and they’ve all met the same end. I make all these big plans about how and when I’m going to exercise and what I’m going to eat each day. But then I remember that it’s not only easier, but also more enjoyable, to sit on the couch and eat chips.

The trouble with cutting back on junk food is that it’s so gosh darn tasty. If we were really supposed to eat vegetables, they’d taste edible. Instead, they taste like a combination of feet, arse and disappointment.

Getting up for work at 4am requires quite a lot of coffee consumption, and I refuse to drink skim milk because it doesn’t have that magical creamy taste. As for soy milk, well, that’s an abomination that the world needs to be rid of. My job also involves spending a lot of time around donuts and muffins and more donuts and a manager who shows up to work and excitedly says ‘I made brownies!’ before producing a container of brownies. Then offering me brownies. Brownies made of massive amounts of chocolate and sugar and butter. Brownies that are dusted with cocoa. Brownies that are delicious. Brownies.

My main issue with getting fit is that if I’m outside exercising, I’m not inside playing tetris, and that bothers me.

FAQs (that may or may not have ever been asked)

2011-06-23T16:57:00.005+10:00

Dear Lauren…

‘Where do your ideas come from?’
Jesus.

‘How many roads must a man walk down before you can call him a man?’
Now that question isn’t as simple as it may seem. There are far too many variables to give a single, solid answer. How long is each road? Is it a dirt road? What are the weather conditions? How many legs does the man have? Is he carrying something? What is the weight of the item or items he is carrying? What time of year is it? Is he wearing appropriate walking shoes? What’s his middle name?

‘What’s the deal with you and Mr Potato Head?’
He amuses me, alright? WHY IS THAT SO HARD FOR PEOPLE TO UNDERSTAND? That, and I like his sexy, potato shaped torso and his dark, mysterious eyes.

‘Is that one person from Guatemala still reading your blog?’
Not since the first time I mentioned them, no. Sorry Guatemalan person. If you come back, I promise to never mention you again.

‘Will we be seeing more of the overweight stripper Gassy Struts?’
I’m sure she’ll take it all off if you throw enough money at her. Television has lead me to believe this is what strippers do.

‘Where do you think your unhealthy obsession with bacon came from?’
As a child, did you ever see the movie Charlotte’s Web? That cartoon pig sure looked delicious.

‘Isn’t it your birthday soon?’
Yes. And now that you know, you have no excuse for not getting me a present. I enjoy cash, candy, shiny things and monkeys wearing people clothes (as in ‘miniature versions of clothes people would wear,’ not ‘clothes made out of people’).

‘When is your novel about the angel and the vampire who fall in love at wizard school coming out?’
When I have enough money to deal with the lawsuits. And when I’ve written it. Which I never will. Because it’ll take too long and Home and Away is on at 7:00.

‘Is ‘ejaculate’ really an alternate word for ‘cry’?’
YES! I’ve seen it in other books now! And it’s hilarious every time! eg. ‘He tried to stop her, but she ignored his ejaculations.’ Ahaha. Gold.

‘I’m a Nigerian Prince. Can I have your bank details?’
Yes.

‘Did you learn anything interesting today?’
I learned that people who are short on cash don’t appreciate it when you tell them they should sell one of their kidneys on the black market. ‘Prostitution’ is also not a valid suggestion, apparently.

‘Why are you still doing this?’
Why are you still reading it?

‘Have you ever considered adding more challenging books to your book club?’
You didn’t find The Very Hungry Caterpillar challenging? Expect a new addition to the book club just as soon as I uncover the mystery of Wally’s whereabouts.

Ode to bacon

2011-06-16T14:47:00.004+10:00

This is a poem for the tastiest of meats,
one of the world’s most wonderful feats,
whose popularity I learned of last week,
when I blogged about it like a hungry freak.

You’re cut from a pig, then carefully treated.
With a beaming smile you are ecstatically greeted.
Your addictive flavour should be some kind of sin.
When I cook you in a frying pan, your oil spurts out and burns my skin.

I see you sitting there on my plate,
knowing that you’ll taste unbelievably great,
but you’re still too hot, I’ll have to wait.
More than once I’ve eaten you past your ‘use by’ date.

Your fat clogs my arteries, and yes, I know,
that because of you, to an early grave I shall go.
I like you when you’re soft, I like you when you’re crispy.
When you’re gone from my plate my eyes get all misty.

My bloated belly is a small price to pay,
for the constant burping that reminds me of you all day.
As the years go by, my love for you never weans.
Sometimes I eat so much that I suffer chest pains.

And so I have composed this poem,
So when asked how I feel, I can clearly show ‘em.
To eat you right now is one of my greatest wishes,
Because, old friend, you are spectacularly delicious.

Mmm. Bacon.

Sleep deprivation – A study into the effects of

2011-06-10T12:30:00.003+10:00

Along with putting your pyjamas on at 4:30pm because you’ve lost the will to go on, walking into large items and not realising until you notice the bruise and/or blood, and extending the ‘five second rule’ to the ‘however many seconds it takes me to pick it up because I’ve been getting up for work at 4am and I can’t move that fast this week’ rule, these are some of the other plights of the sleep deprived (and by that I mean me):

Hearing loss
Well rested person: ‘I like Jack and his wife.’
Sleep deprived person: ‘What? Japanese wife?’

Odd trains of thought
Well rested person: ‘The flaps on the coffee cart are held up by gassy struts.’
Sleep deprived person: ‘“Gassy Struts” sounds like an overweight stripper.’

Falling asleep while standing up
At work
At work for a second time
On public transport

Hate
‘Bloody kids.’
‘Bloody wind.’
‘Bloody kids with wind.’

Strange relationships with food
-Eating every item of food in the house not because you’re hungry, but because it’s there and if you’re chewing you won’t fall asleep.
-Eating because you can’t remember whether or not you’ve already eaten.
-Cursing the wind again while waiting for the train because it’s blowing across the smell of deliciousness from the bakery a few streets over and you would genuinely consider punching a stranger in the face for a donut.
-Falling in love with a bag of chips and threatening violence against people you’ve known and loved your entire life when they ask if they can have one.
-Being sickeningly nice to a co-worker all day because they bought you a bacon and egg sandwich and you’ve now reached the conclusion that nothing else matters in life but the magical taste of bacon.

Mr Potato Head's journey through time and space

2011-06-02T15:48:00.013+10:00

It all began when Mr Potato Head made the questionable decision to start a band with Hipster-Tickle-Me-Elmo. Not surprisingly, this partnership fell apart thanks to their different musical influences.Now stuck for a way to spend his afternoon, Mr Potato Head did what any logical thinker would have done: he stole the Tardis that sits next to my telly.Then he learned that while it's all well and good for something to be bigger on the inside, you need to be able to fit through the door first.So that logical thinking of his came in handy once more.First he met the locals.Then he fled from the locals.And took part in some (not so)petty theft. Then Hipster-Tickle-Me-Elmo showed up in his time travelling calico bag, because 'Tardises and Deloreans have, like, totally been done before, and this is, like, way more environmentally friendly and that. You should totally grow a moustache.'
And sadly, Mr Potato Head gave into peer pressure.He also put his hand in a somewhat suspect area that the photographer didn't take any notice of until it was too late.

I’ve done all the dumb things

2011-05-26T16:20:00.003+10:00

I left work at 1:00pm this afternoon, and as I began to cross the street I noticed a man crossing in the opposite direction. I looked up at him briefly, then did a double take. It was Aussie icon Paul Kelly (if the blog title doesn’t make sense now, you are lacking basic musical knowledge and I’m not sure we can be friends anymore [foreigners are excused]). This is the man whose music I was playing just before I left work. The man whose songs about Melbourne make me feel homesick when I’m still in Melbourne. The man whose autobiography I’m pretty sure I’ll never finish because it’s too heavy to carry around and when I’m at home I’m generally too distracted by Facebook and sleep.

For non-Australians and Australians who live under a rock, in a nutshell, he’s like our Bob Dylan. Except he’s talented.

I didn’t have the guts to go talk to him, but what really worried me was that this thought crossed my mind: ‘…should I follow him?’

SHOULD I FOLLOW HIM? What the hell kind of crazy stalker thought was that? No, no I’m not going to speak to him, I’m just going to walk behind him for a while to see where he goes. And you want to know what’s even more worrying than that? I’ve done it before.

The year was 2009. The place was Edinburgh. The person was a reasonably well known comedian. I’m not even a fan, I just saw him walking around and I had some time to kill. It ended when he seemed to realise I was following him and slowed down to a pace that made it impossible for me to maintain the same distance behind him without looking extremely suss. So I walked past him and tried to look as casual as possible. I wasn’t arrested, so I think I got away with it.

The following year at the Melbourne Comedy Festival a similar situation arose with a comedian I am fan of, though I refuse to take responsibility for that one. The reason we were walking in the same direction was because I was on my way to his show. As, not surprisingly, was he. I felt too awkward about standing next to him at the traffic lights as we waited to cross the street, so I sat down on a nearby bench and played with my phone for a while before continuing on my way.

So later tonight I’m going to take Paul Kelly's autobiography down from my bookshelf, place it on my bed so that I don’t forget about it, then proceed to not finish reading it again. Then I’m going to take a good hard look at myself and my thought processes.

EUROTRIP 2011! Things I learned in London

2011-05-19T14:02:00.016+10:00

I learned…

…what Fosters tastes like. London pubs have Fosters on tap. Australian pubs don’t have Fosters at all. Sorry if I blew your minds with that, international readers (eg. that one person in Guatemala).

…I’m the kind of person who laughs at this:
…celebrity chef Heston Blumenthal will charge you a butt load of money for this, and you will pay it because it’s meat that looks like fruit and you’re convinced he must be some kind of crazy wizard.
…the people who run the London Eye have something against obsessive compulsive folk. There's one red capsule. One. I took countless photos of this from a ridiculous amount of angles and was convinced for a while that I’d never be able to sleep again knowing it was there. Bastards.
…it’s 11:57. …some people will name their business without properly thinking it through.
…you shouldn’t buy a drink just because it has a picture of an old-timey robot on it and you are someone who loves old-timey robots. I drank freakin yogurt.
…sometimes in life, you will be faced with near impossible choices……but if you follow your heart, you’ll be happy with the choice you made…
…and I mean really, properly, ecstatically happy.
...and finally: this is, and forever will be, the best money I've ever spent.

EUROTRIP 2011! What happens on tour, stays on blogger

2011-05-12T14:40:00.000+10:00

I'm back! I spent about 5 weeks travelling around the UK and Europe and it was awesome. There may be more of these posts in weeks to come... or there may not be. But there probably will be.

FRANCE
Frog’s legs taste like fishy chicken. Or chickeny fish. It depends on your perspective. But look how excited I was! (Don’t ask about snails. I couldn’t bring myself to try the snails)I also got extremely sunburnt here. Yeah. And I live in Australia where the sun is about a metre from your face. I hope this helps you all understand why I don't go outside.

GREECE
MYTH ABOUT GREECE: It’s all about dancing and plate smashing and sOOper happy fun good times.
TRUTH ABOUT GREECE: People on the roads are crazy. You can’t flush toilet paper down the toilet and instead have to put it in the bin because their plumbing is crazy. You shake your head for ‘yes’ and nod your head for ‘no’ because that’s crazy. You can’t drink the water (I’m assuming this is how you catch the crazy).* (artist's interpretation of toilet paper being thrown into the bin. No photo for obvious reasons)

CZECH REPUBLIC
Ever been to a restaurant where everyone cancelled their reservation for that evening except for you and your friend? Because I bloody well have. Then the three piece band awkwardly plays for you anyway? And the girl who was supposed to sing with them puts her comfy clothes back on before she comes out to sing for the two of you? And the guy who works there keeps bringing you drinks? And you get to a point where you can’t drink anymore, so you leave a bit of beer in the bottom of your glass, but he takes it away and brings you another one anyway? Then you get so drunk that the awkwardness becomes hilarious and you start having the time of your life? (the old guy on the left checked out my friend’s ass when she came back from the toilet. Ah, precious memories.)

*Dear Greek people: I understand that you, personally, as individuals, are not crazy. You are victims of circumstance. Apart from the bad driving. That's all you.

Leavin' on a jet plane

2011-03-31T16:32:00.003+11:00

I’m getting on a plane tomorrow night. Here’s why I’m freaking out:

Leaving the country is a big deal for Australians because the rest of the world is really freakin far away. People in Europe can go to Paris for the weekend. It would take an Aussie most of the weekend just to get to Paris. Because of the travel time, it’s not worth going anywhere just for a short trip, which is why I’ll be on the other side of the world for the next five weeks. It’ll be my third time out of the country, and since Melbourne is my heart and my soul and my favourite place on the face of the earth, I don’t know if I can be away from it for that long.

To make leaving Melbourne just that little bit harder, to do something awesome, I’ve got to give up something awesome. It’s Melbourne International Comedy Festival time and I’m leaving Melbourne. Woe is me.

To summarise my relationship with the comedy festival, it’s better than Christmas. It’s like some kind of Super Christmas. Over the years, I’ve laughed so hard that I pulled a muscle. I’ve met some awesome people. I’ve been pulled up on stage. I’ve seen a well known comedian strip in a public space in the middle of the afternoon. I’ve thrown up in a pub toilet at 8:30 in the morning. Clearly, it’s the highlight of the year.

Because I was so shattered about missing the comedy festival, I’ve tried to cram in as many LOLs as I can before Friday. I went to the Gala. I went to the opening night show. Tonight is the only night I can go to regular shows, so I’m seeing two. ‘But Lauren,’ you ask, ‘with working all week and going out at night, how have a found time to pack?’ I haven’t. I have, however, managed to find plenty of time to panic.

The panic isn’t just because of my lack of packing skills. Oh no, sir. I’ve been burned my international travel before, and what I learned last time was that you should never go to the other side of the world on your own and that airlines live to make your life miserable. I was so desperate to get home by the end of my last trip that while I was waiting for the plane to take off from Heathrow, I cried during a QANTAS ad. For the non-Australian people who haven't been exposed to the humble QANTAS ad, just know that they're shite. They send a bunch of children’s choirs out to well known locations around the world and get them to sing ‘I still call Australia home.’ It’s balls. But that day, it was the most sentimental and beautiful thing I'd ever seen and now I have to live the rest of my life being the person who cried over a QANTAS ad.

But no, I’m sure the trip will be awesome. Right? RIGHT?

The modern man’s guide to understanding modern women

2011-03-24T16:46:00.009+11:00

Lesson 1: Body Language

HOW TO TELL IF A WOMAN IS INTERESTED IN YOU WHILST AT A PUB OR CLUB
You know who doesn’t find you charming when you’re drunk?: The sober girl.
You know who does?: The equally (or even more so) drunk girl.
There is a clear and simple way to differentiate between the two.
Exhibit A: The sober girl.
Note the well put together appearance combined with a look of ‘I would quite like you to go away now, please.’ Now compare this to Exhibit B.

As you can see, our drunk friend has already managed to throw up on herself and lose her shoes. She also appears to be quite thirsty. Before judging her, always remember that you are in a similar state and would be asking far too much to aim any higher.

HOW TO TELL IF A WOMAN IS ANGRY

Female anger comes in three escalating forms.
Stage 1: The ‘I’m a little teapot.’

Attributes: One hand on hip, other hand hanging by side, unimpressed look conveyed through eyebrows.
Meaning: ‘I am somewhat displeased with your behaviour.’

Stage 2: The ‘Sugar bowl.’

Attributes: Both hands on hips, furrowed brow.
Meaning: 'I am extremely displeased with your behaviour.’

Stage 3: The ‘You’d better run, biatch.’

Attributes: Snarling mouth, cartoonish pointy monobrow, hands tightly gripped around some kind of weapon or blunt object.
Meaning: ‘You’ve left me no choice but to fetch my shotgun.’

HOW TO TELL IF A WOMAN IS INTERESTED IN YOU WHILST IN NON-ALCOHOLIC CIRCUMSTANCES
Just look out for something similar to this:

autobiograME

2011-03-18T14:44:00.003+11:00

I never used to have any interest in reading autobiographies. The concept of them bored me. Everyone loves talking about themselves, and it’s got to be hard to put something like that together without being really ridiculously self indulgent. But then again, I write self indulgent balls on this page every week and according to my blog stats, there are people who want to look at it. Including ONE person from Guatemala. Which makes me think there may be very little going on in Guatemala. HELLO GUATEMALAN PERSON! I don’t know who you are, but I appreciate that you’re here. Really. Do you like puppies? I do.

The first autobiography I read all the way through was Steve Martin’s Born Standing Up, more because of an interest in comedy than an interest in Steve Martin. Also, it’s pretty short. But if you ever come across a copy of this book, flick through it until you find the black and white picture of him back in the day with a banjo and a beard. Then write back if you can figure out why it made me think sexy thoughts.
It was probably the banjo.

I don’t think I’d be capable of writing an entertaining autobiography. Even if I did a whole lot of amazing stuff from this point on, my childhood years would still be all about how I had lots of toys to play with and how much my parents loved me. Then there’d be page after page of me sitting on the couch watching telly and eating biscuits. This would be followed by my teen years, where I spent a lot of time sitting on the couch watching telly and eating biscuits. Then we’d get to the present, where I’m sitting in front of the computer watching Youtube and eating biscuits. Ah, how the times have changed.
I’d have at least one sale though. In Guatemala. Unless I scared off the Guatemalan person. Maybe they don’t like puppies.

I’ve been reading Bill Oddie’s autobiography on the train for the last few days (or as I like to call him ‘Bloddie,’ because it removes unnecessary syllables), and he’s written a lot of it in the style of an interview where he plays both parts. I thought it would start to annoy me as it went on, but it didn’t. I think you have to have a certain skill to pull that off. I don’t reckon I could get a whole book out of interviewing myself.

Hi, Lauren. What’s going on?
Not much.
Oh. Ok. Bye.

Bill Oddie? More like SKILL Oddie.

Happy blog-a-versary!

2011-03-10T14:47:00.008+11:00

Today we celebrate a year of my ramblings. To anyone who’s been reading for a year, I appreciate it. I’m not sure why you’re still here, but I appreciate it.

To all the people who found the page while searching for Justin Bieber’s autobiography, I’m sorry I disappointed you. Same goes to the person who came here after searching for ‘women getting their asses pumped by soapy water.’ I realise now that Lauren learns the hard way does kind of sound like the name of a porn site. You live, you learn.

Anyway, to celebrate our year together I thought it would be nice to take a look back at some of the important things we’ve learned:

Drinking excessive amounts of water + not peeing = productivity
Mr Potato Head is the greatest toy that ever existed. Ever
You never forget the first time a lion pees on you
God doesn’t answer the phone
I don’t answer the phone
Bert and Ernie aren’t gay and may or may not live in Narnia
Michael Jackson ruined my birthday
Superman kicks Batman’s ass
Justin Bieber is handy with a set of crayons. Also, Bieber is spelled with an ie not an ei, but my spelling isn’t the issue here
How you too can be as happy as Larry
I’m terribly lonely
The Giving Tree is a victim of domestic violence
If you piss off a lolcat, it will come to your house and cut you
Stealing other people’s successful ideas is the best way to make some cash
I want more attention
The word ‘ejaculate’ is a completely acceptable substitute for the word ‘cry’
Mr Potato Head is still the greatest toy that ever existed

An open letter to my toaster

2011-03-04T17:30:00.002+11:00

Dear Toaster,
Generally, you’ve treated me quite well over the years. Generally. The main exception being the time you decided that instead of letting the toast casually pop up like normal, you’d shoot it up into the air and across the bench, where it slid for a while before falling off the edge and on to the floor. Then I had to make more toast. I’m a busy woman, Toaster. I don’t have time for such shenanigans.

As a child I was not properly educated about you, besides constantly being told not to stick a knife in you. Which is fair enough. I wouldn’t want anyone sticking a knife in me, either.

You’ve shown your vindictiveness by not warning me when I’ve forgotten to turn your toasty-ness setting back up to 4 after I put it down to 1 to do some pop tarts. Then the bread comes out and it’s not toast. It’s just slightly warm bread. And I still don’t have time for these shenanigans. Then there’s the occasional completely spontaneous burn, which I’m pretty sure you do just to torment me since I found out that being able to smell burnt toast is one of the symptoms of a stroke.

It’s not all bad though, you did do me the service of burning my mum’s toast so badly one morning that it set off the smoke detector. Thanks to you I now know that if the house is on fire and that baby goes off, I’m going to soundly sleep my way into a smokey grave.

But, dear toaster, I have noticed a major design flaw. I call it ‘the soft edge’ and it makes me sick. I realise you can’t toast the top edge of the bread, what with how it’s sticking out the top and all, but it’s something that’s always bothered me.

To avoid this, I’ve recently been toasting my bread under the griller. The issue here is that I have the attention span of a 2 year old and tend to wander off, only to return when my house starts to fill with smoke.

Anyway, I appreciate that you try, and you still beat a stick and an open flame.

Sincerely, Your hungry friend Lauren

PS: Wikipedia says that the ‘lever on the side of the toaster is depressed’. You might want to look into that.

Lauren's Book Club the third

2011-02-25T15:00:00.004+11:00

Eric Carle - The Very Hungry Caterpillar

A caterpillar - who from here on in shall be known by his hip hop name, Cat P – has a somewhat eventful week.
Sunday: Born today. Fair effort.
Monday: Ate 1 apple. Still hungry.
Tuesday: Ate 2 pears. Made a joke about having to eat a pair of pears, but had no friends to tell it to. Still hungry.
Wednesday: Ate 3 plums. Laughed at the word ‘plums.’ Still hungry.
Thursday: Ate 4 strawberries. Had no access to cream or lady caterpillars. Still hungry.
Friday: Ate 5 oranges. Still hungry, but no longer at risk of contracting scurvy.
Saturday: Ate 1 piece of chocolate cake, 1 ice cream cone (illustrations show that there was in fact ice cream inside the cone at the time), 1 pickle, 1 slice of swiss cheese (this has holes in it, so it doesn’t really count), 1 slice of salami, 1 lollipop, 1 piece of cherry pie, 1 sausage, 1 cupcake, 1 slice of watermelon, and a partridge in a pear tree (interestingly, not the same pear tree that the pair of pears came from). Got a stomach ache.
Sunday: Ate 1 leaf. Stomach settled and obesity acknowledged. Went to sleep. Woke up as a butterfly.

The story sounds simple enough, but what effect is it really having on our children? Or your children, because I don’t have any children. Or all of us, back when we was a children?

Issue 1: Is ‘very’ a good enough word to describe how hungry the caterpillar was?
No.

Issue 2: Is this story responsible for childhood obesity?
Well, there seem to be many contributing factors to childhood obesity, so who can really say for sure that this book has had any impact? Me, I can. And yes, it is singlehandedly 100% unquestionably responsible for the little fatty boombahs. It’s surprising that religious groups never jumped on Cat P for being a filthy, no good, sinning glutton. There you go, religious nuts. You can have that one for free. If you require any more issues to sensationalise, leave the money in a sports bag under the slide of the playground down the road from my house. And cookies. Leave cookies. Chocolate ones. None of that oatmeal bull.

Issue 3: Why is the caterpillar so hungry?
One would assume that the everyday common caterpillar wouldn’t have such an extreme appetite, and why Cat P is the exception to this rule is never explained to us. Is it possible that his hunger is a metaphor for something? Is Cat P really trying to fill his stomach, or is he perhaps trying to fill his heart? When referring to the beginning of the story, the reader can’t help but notice that mama and papa Cat P weren’t hanging around when he hatched out of his egg. Does our protagonist have abandonment issues? Yes. Yes he does.

Issue 4: where is all this food coming from?
I don’t know. But if there’s free cake and ice cream, I want to live there.

And that's why it was the best summer ever

2011-02-18T15:01:00.006+11:00

I’m a full time student, which means I do less than twenty hours of class each week and get three months off over summer. God bless you, Australian edu-ma-cation system. Anyhoo, sadly, my three months has come to an end and I’m back into my gruelling study schedule next week. So come with me as we take a moment to look back at some of the things I did this summer...

Learned that at 568 pages in hardcover, Paul Kelly’s How to Make Gravy is not an appropriate sized book to read in the bath.

Played so much Commander Keen that my right wrist started to make a clicking noise, which goes nicely with the buggered joints in my thumbs from the excessive amount of Nintendo I played as a child.

Wrapped a small plastic pig in tin foil so he looked like an astronaut.

Rearranged my bedroom and decided that packing it up was too hard and I am therefore never moving out of that room. Ever.

Remembered my Neopets password from 2001.

Became a multi-millionaire on Neopets.

Rewatched every episode of Black Books.

Rewatched every episode of Father Ted.

Didn’t rewatch every episode of 30 Rock, but watched enough to develop an odd and unexpected crush on Alec Baldwin. His eyes are, like, really blue 'n' that.

Realised I needed to go outside more.

Went outside and got sunburnt.

Went back inside and acknowledged that I should have known better than to go outside.

Tried to justify the amount of books I was buying online by reading each and every one of them - only 6 to go, y'all!

Started work at 6am for five days in a row and learned about the effects of sleep depravation. Was also verbally abused by a regular customer for playing Whitesnake at 7:30 in the morning. I believe that Whitesnake is good at any hour. He doesn't agree.

Broke my new years resolution to not type my Facebook password when trying to sign into Blogger.

Went to the Boxing Day sales for the first and hopefully last time.

Became worryingly good at Tetris.

Realised my Mr Potato Head obsession was out of control when my co-workers made me this:

Learned that if you put a single chicken wing in the microwave for more than 20 seconds it will explode all over your microwave.

Cleaned the microwave.

Dye Hard… with a vengeance

2011-02-11T14:30:00.003+11:00

Alternate titles: ‘To dye for’; ‘Live and let dye’; ‘Help me Jebus, my scalp is burning’

I started colouring my hair on a regular basis about 8 years ago. Towards the end of high school it shifted between dark purple and bright red, a colour that inspired another girl to tell me once that she’d always wanted to dye her hair that colour, but didn’t have the guts to do it because guys don’t like girls with red hair. The rest of my teen years taught me that she was right. And a bit of a bitch.

A few years back, in an attempt to come to terms with my pale-ness (I was wearing a skirt a few weeks ago and was temporarily blinded at one stage when the sun reflected off my legs), I did something I grew to regret. I decided that instead of trying to cover it with fake tan, I’d just emphasise it. So I started dying my hair black.

Fast forward 3 years and I was bloody well over it. I tried putting heaps of different colours over the black, but nothing would take. A few times I considered trying to bleach my hair myself, but never followed through because I’ve always held the strong belief that accident prone people shouldn’t handle chemicals. Unless they want to melt their face off. Which I don’t. I like my face. We’ve had some good times together.

On Tuesday I finally manned up and stopped being so cheap. The hairdresser said she could strip the colour, but since it was black, the best result I could hope for was a dark brown. My hair sure as hell showed her. First, the bleach had to come out earlier than expected when my naturally blonde regrowth started to turn white. Also, when they say ‘it might sting your scalp a little’, what they really mean is ‘it will feel like flames are shooting out of your head.’

That dark brown I was told to hope for ended up being a mix of reds, browns, and blondes, and I think like it. Mostly because the lighter colour makes it harder to spot the crumbs and other various food stuffs that keep getting stuck in there.

So far the best comment I've had is ‘It almost makes you look like you’ve got some colour in your face. Almost.’ This was followed by an explanation of how I used to look like I was in black and white.

I’m choosing to count this as a win.

That’s why I’ll never finish anything I...

2011-02-03T14:28:00.003+11:00

I wrote 1,000 words on Wednesday. Yes, I would like a medal. You can engrave it with 'In honour of Lauren, who did something that one time.' And on the front I would like the image of an infinite number of monkeys working on an infinite number of typewriters.

The problem with this 1,000 words was that I wrote 1,000 words of something new, instead of working on the 45,000ish words that I've already got of a well thought out and pretty much almost finished story that I haven’t looked at in months. Or the 2,500 words of the thing I started writing last August instead of working on the 45,000ish story.

I have a long history of this kind of behaviour. So I now present to you some of the many things I started and never finished:

Learning guitar – I could do some stuff in tabs, but I never learned any chords. The guitar itself became more of a decoration after a while, then I decided it was probably just mocking me. Now it lives in my wardrobe. But if you ever want someone to play the intro to the song ‘Scotty doesn’t know’ from the film Eurotrip, I’m your gal.

Learning keyboard – see above. But change ‘Scotty doesn’t know’ from Eurotrip to ‘And so it goes’ by Billy Joel. Or ‘Mary had a little lamb’ by whoever wrote that.

Higher education – I got my diploma of Music Industry Business just to prove to myself that I could actually finish something. Then I dropped out of the degree. Twice. Then I changed what I was studying. And yeah, I’m like, totally a writer now.

That really rich and big piece of chocolate cake I had at the Beechworth Bakery one magical Easter – it was amazing. But I’ve always believed you should probably stop eating when you find yourself struggling to breathe.

Reading The Count of Monte Cristo – it’s… it’s really long. I got about a third of the way through it when I decided to take a break and read some other stuff for a while. I’m pretty sure I’ll never open it again. Since before I was born my mum has had a bookmark exactly 39 pages from the end of War and Peace and can’t bring herself to finish it, and the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

Countless stories – I’m really good at coming up with ideas for stories, not so good at coming up with endings. The only ones I 'finished' were ones I had to hand in for uni, and they generally just ended in the middle of a scene, so I decided to pretend like I’m a trendy modern writer and that’s my thing that I do. Like the story about the leprechaun who was raised by humans and didn’t know he was a leprechaun, then struggled with the idea that he might be one, then eventually had to decide whether he was going to stay in his old life or follow that rainbow. What did he do, you ask? I dunno. It ended with him talking to his wife in a field. But I got an awesome mark for it.

23 similarities between children and the elderly

2011-01-27T13:54:00.004+11:00

They tell you exactly what they think
.

You don’t want to be stuck at the cinema with them because they'll talk through the whole thing

They need a daily routine

You can’t talk to them when their shows are on

They think you don’t know anything about anything

They fall over a lot

They don’t have to go to work

They get grumpy when they’re tired

You don’t like their music, and they sure as hell aren’t going to tolerate yours

They don’t remember what you said to them five minutes ago

They go to bed early and wake up before the rest of civilised society

They can’t walk long distances and you will end up pushing them around in some kind of wheeled device

You have to explain new technology to them

They like caravans

They need to pee every two seconds

You have to remind them to say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’

They need help getting out of the bath

They may not have any teeth

They may not have any hair

They need help crossing the street

They are really good at getting you to do things for them

You can’t hide your embarrassment when they loudly point out someone who is overweight/missing a limb/of a different ethnicity to them

They are dangerous behind the wheel of a car

The Origin of Phrases – Part 3

2011-01-20T13:16:00.004+11:00

Dead as a dodo
Official medical scale used to distinguish between people who are extremely dead and people who are only slightly dead. The four stages of dead-ness are as follows:
Slightly
Quite
Very
Dodo

Filthy rich
The practice of bathing in money has proved to be fun, though extremely unhygienic.

Famous last words
A trend made popular by soap operas, in which the phrase ‘What could possibly go wrong?’ is followed by a mudslide/massacre/explosion/acid rain/battery dying on a mobile phone.

Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth
There won’t be more gifts in there. Just teeth.

Different kettle of fish
Before the existence of fish tanks, kettles were a popular fish housing option. When Mrs Jemima Guthrie, a wealthy British socialite, had her fish kettle-napped and held for ransom, she paid the abductors only to have a kettle of far less snooty fish returned. She now keeps her pets in a large tank with a tiny scuba diving ninja to guard them.

Diamond in the rough
This phrase came into existence after the release of the film Aladdin to represent someone whose destiny it is to enter a magic cave and take nothing but the lamp. NOTHING BUT THE LAMP!*

Dead cat bounce
A stock market term meaning ‘awesome Irish comedy band.’

Eaten out of house and home
If you’re a witch who lives in the woods, either don’t build your house out of gingerbread, or avoid small German children.

Do unto others as you would have them do to you
Hello, I’m Lauren. I would like to buy you an ice cream.

Eat my hat
Bart Simpson’s original catchphrase before the animators engaged in an all out brawl after a disagreement over what colour the aforementioned hat should be. 14 animators were killed before they decided to just put some spikey crap on his head and draw him with shorts.

Drink like a fish
Nemo struggled to deal with his success after the movie. He was survived by his wife, Octopussy, and their two daughters, Fishenchip and Fishpun.

Every cloud has a silver lining
Before cloud poaching became illegal in 1977, clouds were the world’s cheapest and main source of silver. They can still be found on the black market.

Diamonds are forever
While your marriage may fail, you’ll still have the ring as a constant reminder of your former partner. It’s kind of like having sparkly, non-contagious herpes.

Fell off the back of a truck
A common and completely legitimate way to obtain a stereo,television, or mega-laser-death-ray.

Face the music
A basic principal of theatre design.

*I've... I've been watching Aladdin...

There is another Skywalker

2011-01-12T18:20:00.007+11:00

A few days ago I was standing in line with a friend of mine at the checkouts of… let’s call it ‘Shmarget’ for now. Anyway, Shmarget had some musical greeting cards they wanted you to impulse buy on your way out, and as we picked up the Darth Vader one, we couldn’t help but be disappointed when it played the Star Wars theme instead of the Darth Vader theme. Then I couldn’t get the Darth Vader theme out of my head. Then I wanted to watch Star Wars. Then I watched Star Wars.

Episode IV never did much for me due to one simple reason: extreme lack of Yoda. He’s sOOper wise and sounds suspiciously like the love child of Fozzy Bear and Grover. And if a bear had a love child with a monster, I reckon it would probably look something like that.
The two things I took away from this movie were 1) I’d forgotten how much of a whinging pain in zee bum C-3PO is, and 2) Jedi mind control powers are the shizz. They would be ever so useful in everyday life, eg. ‘These are not the droids you are looking for’; ‘It was like that when I got here’; ’ You don’t need to see my train ticket.’

Episode V gets off to a flying start with Leia calling Han a ‘nerf herder.’ According to Wookieepedia, a nerf herder is someone who ‘herded nerfs.’ You can’t ask for a better explanation than that.
It takes about 45 minutes for Yoda to show up, Darth Vader chokes a bunch of people with his mind, C-3PO gets shot and says ‘Oh no! I’ve been shot!’, Han Solo gets frozen in carbonite (this scene was really traumatic for me when I was little. That scene, and the one in Temple of Doom when that guy rips that other guy’s heart out. Harrison Ford movies ruined my childhood. I hope he’s happy), and OMG! Darth Vader is, like, so totally Luke’s dad, and continuing with his deadbeat dad-ing, he, like, totally cuts Luke’s hand off.

Wait, it's alright. He gets a robot hand. Jealous?

My issue with Episode VI has nothing to do with the movie, but with the majority of people who watched the movie: what does everyone have against the Ewoks? They’re oversized teddy bears who like to party in tree houses. Where’s the downside of that? You even see one smoking a pipe at one stage. As far as I can see, their only downfall was their decision to worship C-3PO. And maybe the whole eating people thing. Maybe.

The only piece of Star Wars merchandise I own is an Ewok I found going cheap in a second hand shop. I lovingly named him Mr Ewok. I want to get him a pipe now to make him seem more authentic.

HOW TO WRITE A BEST SELLER

2011-01-07T12:43:00.003+11:00

There are only two rules in modern literature:
Rule the first - steal ideas from successful people.
Rule the second - don’t get sued for stealing ideas from successful people.

AUDIENCE

Teens have disposable income, nagging power and gullibility. You’ve just found your target.
　
CHARACTERS
Your female lead needs to be made up of three main components: self centeredness, a superiority complex and a constant need to mouth off about how no one understands her. She’s also an angel. Literally. Halo, wings, glowing, etc.
.

Your male lead should be good looking, moody and a social outcast who claims that he doesn’t care what other people think of him even though the number of times he says this clearly indicates that the most important thing in this guy’s world is what other people think of him. And he’s a vampire.
.

Both characters, despite their immortality and advanced age, look and live like 16/17 year olds.
.

Other necessary characters:

The love rival.
The bully who secretly has a heart of gold and turns good in the end.
The evil nemesis.
The single parent who is doing their best but feels like it’s never enough because their kid is a douche.
A monkey. People really like monkeys.

SETTING
Two words: wizard school. ‘Fogmorts’ if you will.

PLOT
Why are a vampire and an angel at wizard school? Well, he has been kicked out of so many schools because of his various troublemaking exploits that this is the only one left that would take him. Throughout the novel he slowly learns what is really important in life (even though he’s dead) and straightens himself out. People love that stuff.

And her, well she was set up by some bitchy cheerleader angels at her last school for theft/minor arson/whatever crime suits your fancy. Fogmorts was the next closest school to her home. Her goal from the beginning of the book is to get revenge on those who wronged her, because isn’t that what being an angel is all about?

The two leads fall in love while trying to solve a series of cryptic messages hidden in old paintings. They may or may not be followed around by an albino. If you’re lazy, he could also be your rival love interest.

I know it doesn’t make sense, but trust me, people won’t notice. And if all else fails, put a bomb on a bus.

TITLE
Freedom (suck it Jonathan Franzen, you don’t own that word. It’s someone else’s turn to be in Oprah’s book club)
Larry Cotter and the framed angel of Fogmorts
The Highlight Saga: Blue moon

Why new year’s eve blows: an essay by me

2010-12-30T21:43:00.003+11:00

I think it all goes back to when I was little, and that first new year’s eve that I managed to stay awake until midnight. You know what happened at midnight? Bloody nothing. All this anticipation and excitement amounted to a countdown followed by disappointment and bed. No flashing green light. No magical leprechaun. I don’t know why I was expecting these things. My 5 year old self might have confused the new year with St Patrick’s day. That, and I just really like magic.

I didn’t get excited about it again until the 31st of December 1999 when there was a chance that all the planes were going to fall out of the sky at the stroke of midnight and after all the other machines failed we’d end up living in a post apocalyptic wasteland. Again, disappointment and bed. I wanted to take my money out of the bank and bury it in the backyard so that after the millennium bug destroyed the banks, my childhood savings of $200 would be the equivalent of millions and everyone who didn’t think to do the same would make me their god. Curse you, new year’s eve. Another dream shattered.

This year my rage is already being fuelled by the man next door and his party preparations. He’s put up one of those temporary gazebo thingies in the back yard, which is all well and good, but he’s spent way too much time trying out his brand-spankin-new sOOper loud speakers. Remember the band Creed? I do. Now. How about Puddle of Mudd? Yeah. They spelled it with two D’s just to be extra badass. If I get home before that party’s over, which I’m assuming I will, I have to try to fall asleep with that pumping out over the fence. He also gave Hoobastank a run.

~THE RESOLUTIONS~

Last new year’s eve I was still living in the back room of my parents’ house, still single, and still had no real career prospects. This new year’s eve I’ll be celebrating the fact that I’m another year older and still living in the back room of my parents house, still single, and still have no real career prospects. No one ever keeps their life changing resolutions, which is why this year there will be none of this ‘give money to charity’ or ‘waste less time on Facebook’ business. This year I’m making resolutions I’m going to keep.

Don't eat so many chips that I get chest pains.
See Europe (trip was booked a few months ago for guaranteed success).
Stop typing my Facebook password into every other website I try to log in to.
Stop trying to deactivate the house alarm with my pin number, and stop trying to get money out of the ATM with the alarm code.
Finally become the proud owner of the complete box set of Buffy the Vampire Slayer (start saving for this after Europe, unless item is seen on sale at an earlier date. May result in last minute run to the shops on December 31 after I re-read this blog and realise I completely forgot about it).

The new adventures of Mr Potato Head

2010-12-23T13:04:00.009+11:00

It's the most wonderful time of the year! (someone should write a song about that). We've almost reached the day where the whole family gets together and eats way too much food while wearing ridiculous paper hats. For me, that's the true meaning of Christmas. I love it. I love the decorations, I love the giving of gifts, and I love how everyone eats so much that they fall asleep in someone else's loungeroom. There's really no need to bring Jesus into this.

It's also one of the busiest times of the year, and I think I speak for all of us when I say 'what's Mr Potato Head been up to?'

Rocking out

Carjacking Barbie (with a sword for some reason)

Frequenting the gay clubs

Being badly photoshopped into a photo I took of some lemurs at the zoo last week

Re-enacting scenes from popular films

Getting into the festive spirit

Being part of Santa’s freaky Christmas mutant experiment

Terrorising the villagers

and hiding from the authorities.

Merry Christmas, y’all!

Lauren goes to the zoo

2010-12-17T15:50:00.008+11:00

I was once urinated on by a lion.

I usually stop telling the story at that point, because it loses a lot of its kick-ass-ness when it comes with an explanation. I was 6, it was a school excursion, and everyone was stoked that the lion came right up to fence. Then there was some unexpected moisture and a small group of stunned 5 and 6 year old children. I’ve tried to forget it, I’ve tried to put it behind me, but my mum was one of the parents helping out that day, and still thinks it was the funniest thing she’s ever seen. She brought it up again yesterday when we went to the zoo together for the first time in what can only be described as 'years,' because that's how the human race measures time. As we got closer to the lion enclosure, she became visibly excited, pointed to the far end of the fence and said, in a voice that was louder than necessary, ‘That’s where you got peed on by the lion!’

She didn’t take me there just to reminisce, we were on a mission. From God. If God has nothing more important to do than take hundreds of photos of BABY ELEPHANTS!!!

Elephants are awesome when they’re full size, so tiny ones are, like, even more awesome than that. Which is a kind of awesome that Maths can’t even measure. Yeah. Suck on that, Maths. They even brought the Man-a-phant out to hang with the lay-deez for a while in the hope of seeing some sexy time. Turns out the poor bugger was so young when he came to the zoo that he’s never seen the mating process and doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do. The two babies they’ve got are from artificial insemination, and they’re hoping for a naturally conceived baby. Nothing happened. He sniffed the lady bums for a bit then buggered off, and I find it hard to believe that it’s really that hard to sit an elephant in front of the Discovery Channel for a bit, then chuck on some Barry White and let nature take its course.

The visit took a turn for the worse when we found out the Pygmy Hippo had died. The devastation was short lived when my mind wandered over to the area of ‘what do you do with a dead hippo?’ Even a pygmy one is pretty freakin big. Then I wanted to know what do you do with the bigger animals, like where you would bury a dead elephant (I’ve excluded giraffes from this thought process because we all know they rise from the dead and stalk the earth for the sole purpose of eating our faces). Then I realised I didn’t care enough to find out, and went to look at some monkeys.

When I was little my favourite part of the zoo was the underwater room where you can watch the seals swimming around. It’s responsible for my desire to one day own a house with an underground seal window, though it seems like the type of thing you could only have if you were some kind of super villain. Now I need an idea for what will become known as ‘Operation Super Villian.’

I think I might steal Christmas. Pretty sure that hasn't been done before.

SOAP BOX

2010-12-09T14:50:00.003+11:00

I’ve been watching Home and Away since I was six, have spent the last ten years drifting in and out of Neighbours, and occasionally drop by The Bold and the Beautiful only to become really confused about this family policy they seem to have where you have to sleep with everyone who isn’t a blood relative, even if that person is a blood relative to one of your blood relatives. ‘You’re my half brother’s mother’s long lost son’s daughter. Let’s make out.’

My new found addiction is a New Zealand soap opera called Shortland Street. It started out innocently enough, the show was on at 4:30am, which two days a week is the same time I have to get up for work. Then on one of my days off I discovered it was on another station at 9:30, only there were all these characters I didn’t know. The chick who was about to give birth at 4:30am was now mother to a kid who looked about 18 months old. I was so excited because I was finally going to find out who the serial killer that had been terrorising the hospital was. And I did. And it was when they said his name that I realised something: I had no idea who that was. While I have an in-depth understanding of who everyone is related to/dating/friends with/in shady dealings with, I don’t actually know any of their names.

The chick who has the baby is softly spoken, cute, always looks sad, and is incredibly annoying. This is why my mind regards her as ‘Bambi’. Bambi is a lesbian and has a crush on a straight woman who looks like a hard nosed bitch but is actually alright. So I named her ‘woman who looks like a hard nosed bitch but is actually alright.’

Other characters are known to me as Disabled Nurse (who isn’t disabled at 4:30am and now I watch every episode waiting for him to get kneecapped or fall into a black hole or something); British pub owner who I spent ages trying to figure out if I thought he was attractive or not before deciding that no, no he wasn’t; Flamboyantly gay guy, or ‘FlamboyGu’ for short; Bad nose job lady (currently only seen at 9:30 and having some kind of affair with British pub owner even though he was engaged to Bambi’s sister a few weeks ago, but they broke up after she found out he hired a hit man to kill the guy that Bambi ended up killing because he was secretly filming himself having sexy time with Woman who looks like a hard nosed bitch but is actually alright and putting it on the internet, which made Bambi mad because Bambi has a crush on her, remember? He also gave Bambi’s mum cancer, but I’m still not sure about the details of how exactly he did that); and Sexy silver fox who runs the hospital or something. I dunno. But he wears a suit and I fancy him.

So at the end of this morning’s episode, Hard nosed bitch told Bambi’s mum that Bambi killed the Internet sexy time cancer man. And I won’t get to see the fallout because I have work tomorrow and genuinely considered calling in sick.

Summer In The City

2010-12-02T14:18:00.005+11:00

December is here, which means 1.the Christmas decorations are going up and 2. I’ve started preparing for another Melbourne summer of having my face melt off one day, then freezing my ass off the next. Right now, it’s dark in the middle of the afternoon and pissing down with rain. Either be summer, or don’t. Don’t get me wrong, I love this city to death, and if you ever say anything bad about it, I will kick you in the shins. That’s right, you heard me, both shins.

My issue with Melbourne and summer is that they don’t go well together. The days of running under the sprinkler in the backyard are gone forever on account of how we have no water anymore. Even when it does rain, it somehow manages to magically avoid the catchments. Water restrictions have taken away our water pistols, our slip ‘n’ slides, and our will to live. And, because I inherited my mum’s fragile British skin, I can’t go outside for more than five minutes unless I want a skin tone that suggests I’m the love child of Satan and the Pink Panther. One year I got sunburnt so badly that my arms actually cracked and blistered. And last year, I got a tan in Scotland. There is no sun in Scotland. The Scots hear stories of this big bright burning ball of gas in the sky and think it’s just a myth. And yet… it found me.

My summer got off to a brilliant start when my friend and I returned to my car last night to find what can only be described as a FREAKIN GIANT SPIDER on the windscreen. As far as we can recall, the situation looked quite like this:

Please note that items in the artwork may not be to scale, or well drawn. And by ‘artist’s interpretation’ I mean ‘I drew this on the back of an envelope. Poorly’.

It’s common knowledge that Australia is home to some of the world’s most dangerous spiders, and while everyone is banging on about the Funnel-Web, the White-Tail and the Red-Back, very little attention is ever paid to raising awareness of the Giant-Hat-Wearing-Car-Clinging-Spider, whose natural enemy is the windscreen wiper (foreigners should write that down, and only visit our country with extreme caution. Really. It’s amazing any of us are here at all).

I also threw up in a drain at one stage, but there’s no need to go into that.

And if the title of this blog made you think of Regina Spektor, we should hang out more. Coz... coz that's where I stole it from...

An open letter to Television

2010-11-26T13:46:00.002+11:00

Dear Television,
I’m bored with you now. Considering our extensive history together, it pains me to see us drifting apart. So I present to you, free of charge, my ideas for shows that will make you interesting again.

When Pygmy Hippos Attack
It’s about when pygmy hippos attack.

Patrick
Sponge Bob is pointless and annoying, and now, thanks to a super mega death ray, he’s also dead. This new animated series follows the adventures of Patrick, his lovable friend who should have been the star from the beginning.

Dora the Fedora
During one of her adventures, Dora is magically turned into a hat. She is purchased at a second hand shop by a lonely teenager and all of her adventures now involve his head lice.

Dora the Abhorrer
This is the other word I liked when I Googled ‘what rhymes with explorer’. I dunno what happens. Maybe she just walks around hating stuff. Like exploring. Then she doesn’t leave the house at all. But she hates that too. So she goes back to exploring. It’s a vicious cycle.

Law and Order H.U (Hillbilly Unit)
Everybody gets away with murder by burning the bodies beyond the point of recognition. It’s impossible to identify a body using dental records if the entire town has never been to a dentist.
Most crimes are the result of a tractor dispute. The rest involve the alleged theft of Lynyrd Skynyrd records, or rage and confusion regarding the spelling of Lynyrd Skynyrd.

Australia’s next top person who hands out flyers while dressed as an animal or inanimate object
After various intense flyer-handing-out challenges, the winner gets to promote the show by dressing as a giant flyer and handing out flyers. Title can be shortened to the more convenient ANTPWHOFWDAAAOIO.

Brothers & Sisters & The Hot Shirtless Guy who lives down the road
I… I would watch this show. A lot.

Two Tree Hill
Same show, extra tree in the title. What if the one tree gets struck by lightning? Then you have no trees. You have to think these things through, people.

The Average Race
13 teams run from one end of Broadmeadows shopping centre to the other. The winner gets an all expenses paid* trip to Muffin Break.
*Expenses must not exceed $5.50

CSI Midsomer
You have to admit, there is a suspiciously high murder rate in that town.

Survivor: Antarctica
Ice. Frostbite. 24 hours of darkness each day. Survive that, bitches.

PS: Please put Bromwell High back on the air. It’s the funniest show you’ve never seen.

Single white female

2010-11-19T14:15:00.002+11:00

Classes finished two weeks ago, and the reality of the sitch-you-aye-shon is this: if there isn't a place I have to go to every day, I’m not going to leave the house. Pyjamas have been on before 6pm every night; daytime television has filled me with rage, then entertained me, then filled me with rage again; and I’ve realised that I need to stop living like this before my looks fade. So here’s my lonely hearts ad:

Special skills include Super Mario Bros 1 & 3, returning your CDs/DVDs after I borrow them, preparing food that is burnt on the outside and yet somehow still frozen on the inside, and going from being an incredibly calm individual to a ball of sOOper rage as soon as I get behind the wheel of a car. Everyone on the road is an idiot. Except me. I drive like a champ.

I don’t do cleaning.

YOU

Seeking fellow human being (preferably with man-parts) older than 18 (to avoid prison) and younger than my parents (to avoid creepyness) who enjoys early nights, hates long walks on the beach because they’re exhausting, prefers staying home and watching telly to going out, and isn’t freaked out by Mr Potato Head collections.

Has to be sympathetic to my COMPLETELY 100% RATIONAL phobias, eg. avoiding the giraffes when we go to the zoo because those things aren’t right and will haunt my dreams, almost dying from the flu because I refuse to get a flu shot until they come up with an alternative to needles, leaving the busted light globe in the overhead light and living in darkness because I’m too scared to get on a ladder to change it.

Looking for someone who doesn’t use big words that I won’t understand; someone who will accept that our relationship is over the minute Stephen Fry shows up on my doorstep saying that the whole gay thing was just a 'phase' and he wants to run away with me; someone who knows that in-between the butchering of songs, Glee is an awesome show. All you have to do is tape it and watch it back later so you can skip through the musical numbers and the ads. You can get through the whole episode in a little over 20 minutes. It’s the show that’s hilarious without being time consuming.

Must be happy for me to follow you around all night at parties where I don’t know anyone but you. Better still, you shouldn’t drag me to parties where I don’t know anyone but you.

I find the most attractive thing about a man is his eyes, so you must have them. Or at least one and a glass one. They don’t even need to work. But if you are blind, you have to have a guide dog because that’s way more awesome than a stick.

Must be prepared to admit that I’m always right. Because I am. And to argue with me would just be embarrassing for you.

No Personal Trainers/Athletes/Gym Buffs. I don’t have the energy to deal with you.

You say potato...

2010-11-11T12:32:00.015+11:00

StOOpid internet purchase of the week: Elvis Mr Potato Head.
Why: Because I freakin love Mr Potato Head.
You shouldn't be allowed to have a credit card: Thanks. I know. I spent 20 minutes trying to decide between the Elvis one and the Gene Simmons one (which was AH-MAY-ZING) but I've never really been a Kiss fan, so he's now on my list of future stOOpid internet purchases.

I love the little potato-y bastard because he's capable of so much more than just this

and this

he can also take part in Movember

go on a bender

spend a raunchy evening with Mrs Potato Head

deal with the consequences of spending a raunchy evening with Mrs Potato Head

catch up on some reading

pretend to be interested when Hipster-Tickle-Me-Elmo starts banging on about his record collection

and use wrestling moves to defeat other popular childhood toys for the title of Supreme Ruler

I predict a riot

2010-11-05T12:54:00.003+11:00

Two years ago I put a coin into a booth with a scary talking plastic head in it. This is what came out.

I’ve kept it in my wallet ever since because the personality section was pretty bang on. I’m fastidious in the ‘excessively particular about details’ sense (a big thank you to dictionary.com and everyone who has ever pointed out my obsessive compulsive tendencies), and the bit about old friends has me written all over it. I met two of my best mates at age 4, one when I was 6, and the other when I was about 10, and have a complete inability to have a conversation with anyone I haven’t known for 10 to 20 years.

In my early to mid teens I had a massive interest in this kind of stuff, and thanks to my ability to pick what song was going to be playing on the radio before I got into the car, I was convinced that I was just a wee bit psychic. I also have a sixth sense for knowing that when I’m in the general vicinity of any kind of ball, that ball is inevitably going to collide with my head. Eventually, my bored and possibly psychic 15 year old mind decided it would be fun to invest in a set of tarot cards. It wasn’t my first time-killing project; originally I was trying to learn how to read palms, but gave it up when I found out that palm reading is more about your personality than your future. That, and it was really, really hard. Really.

The cards had their successes and their failures. They once told one of my friends she was going to get pregnant, and just because it hasn’t happened in the last 8 years doesn’t mean they were wrong. It could still happen. One day. They didn’t specify a time frame. Like that fortune cookie I got in Vegas 5 years ago that said ‘Your love life will be happy and harmonious.’ Still waiting on that one, because I refuse to believe that a cookie would lie to me.

So yesterday I pulled out the cards for the first time in years. First they called me proud, arrogant and stubborn (only the last bit is true. I will out-stubborn anyone in a stubborn competition on any day of the week), then there was an overwhelming message of ‘you are about to be robbed.’ So if you’re planning on stealing something from me, it would be awesome if you could... you know… not do that. Thanks.

LAUREN’S PSYCHIC PREDICTIONS:
-You will eat something before the end of the day.
-At some stage next week, you will walk past a man on the street.
-A politician will do something that makes people mad.
-Stupid people will write letters to the paper about how they're not racist, but...
-Apple will invent an iPhone app that gives you an electric shock every time you start to talk about your iPhone apps.
-Chris Martin will leave Gwyneth Paltrow for Yoko Ono, whose artistic differences will cause the breakup of Coldplay. The world will rejoice.
-No one will invent the hoverboard. Ever.

Hello darkness, my old friend

2010-10-29T14:30:00.003+11:00

Lately I’ve been making myself sit down at some stage during the week and actually put some thought into these things instead of leaving them until the last minute, but the dodgy last minute ones that I think are complete balls seem to be the ones that you people like (ahaha you like balls), so I’m trying not to feel too bad about scrapping the depressing piece of shite I wrote yesterday while I was in a bit of a mood. I knew it was a particularly bad one because I had Billy Joel’s Vienna playing on repeat for about two hours. Even though it was written about ten years before I was born, I’m pretty sure THISSONGISABOUTME, and it’s nice to know that Billy cares (that’s ‘Mr Joel’ to you. You don’t know him like I know him). Then instead of finishing my last assignment for the year, I found a website where you can play everybody’s favourite MS-DOS game, Commander Keen. So I did that for three hours. It made my eyes hurt. I kept dying on the ice level. Bloody ice level.

That was when I tried to write something, and all that came out was me bitching about sleep deprivation and just general not-being-good-at-life type stuff. The good news is that today, I feel better. After work I went to Borders and found they were chucking out all their CDs for $5. For the non-Aussie people, in your currency that’s the equivalent of, like, for free. Unless you’re from New Zealand. Then it’s more like $6,000. They didn’t have a lot left, but I did find two copies of an album by a friend of mine which I kindly moved to the front of the stack (you’re welcome) then proceeded to the checkout with The Essential Simon and Garfunkel (get the blog title? Geddit? Shut up, it's genius (There’s been a lot of brackets today, eh?)) and Doris Day’s Greatest Hits. The trendy hipster dude behind the counter looked at my selections, then gave me this look --> O_o which only added fuel to the fire of my anti hipsters-who-work-in-shops-that-I-go-to campaign. I started it last year when I paid for some DVDs with a credit card, and after looking at my signature, the guy looked back up at me and said ‘You know it’s supposed to be something people can’t copy, right?’ Filthy hipster scum.

So now I’m sitting here with a Simon and Garfunkel CD in front of me, staring at the cover, trying to figure out who was supposed to be the good looking one. I reckon Garfunkel, if you got him a hat.

The clean up

2010-10-20T16:44:00.013+11:00

Last weekend I attempted to clean my room. I say 'attempted' because after a solid four hours, it didn't look any better. I knew it wasn't a one day job when I started, but I still felt like I hadn't achieved anything.

To paint some kind of picture for you, the last time I cleaned it was before Christmas 2009. My clothes were in a massive pile by the TV, and everything else was in a longer, but not-as-high pile on the opposite side of the room.

(Think this, but tenfold)

The reason I hadn't bothered to clean it at any point throughout the year is because I have been me for long enough now to know that when I do clean it, it will somehow magically become messy again three days later, and I'll end up sitting on my bed, looking at it, thinking 'how does this keep happening?'

The trick to maintaining your status as a fully-functional human being while living in such a state is something I like to call 'footholes.' These are small gaps in between the crap on your floor that your foot will fit in. An alternative name for them is 'the only bits of visable carpet.' I like to place a series of footholes across the floor like stepping stones so I can use them to travel from the door to the bed without tripping, falling, and drowning face down in a pile of old magazines.

But don't I hate living this way? No. I like to keep it messy on the off chance that a serial killer comes into my room at night. There's no way that bastard is getting all the way from the door to the bed without tripping over one of the many piles of clothes/cds/dvds/important papers/stuff I still haven't got around to throwing out/scarves (I don't know why I keep buying these) which will then make enough noise to wake me up and give me a chance to arm myself with something that can be used as a weapon. And on top of that, when I put stuff away, I forget where it is. But when the room is messy, I know where everything is: on the floor.

The day wasn't a complete failure though. I cleared out all the clothes from my wardrobe and draws that I don't wear anymore and put all the wearable items that had been living on the floor since last Christmas into the now available space. This was a bad move.

Massive pile of clothes on the floor = everything is visable and easy to access.
Clothing put away in the wardrobe = I don't have the energy in the mornings to open a door, and have just been putting yesterday's jeans back on again. For the whole week.

If there's one lesson I can pass on to you, it is this: A drawer puts one too many obsticles between you and your clean t-shirts.

i can has blogz

2010-10-13T17:00:00.010+11:00

From: laurenhateslolcats@hotmail.com
To: lolcats@icanhasemail.com
Subject: A few things...

Dear lolcats,

Stop taking up valuable internet space. That space could be better used for porn, whatever social networking site takes over from Facebook, or anything that isn't photos of cats with badly spelled captions. I realise it must be hard to type when you don't have fingers, but I think I could do a better job if I just mashed the keyboard with my forehead like so: hjnbb.

Does anyone really care if a cat has a cheese burger? If you go through the drive-thru one night in your run-down car and pay for it with the money you've made working part time at the supermarket while you're trying to put yourself through school and support your three kids who all have terrible incurable illnesses and require more time than you can give them because you're a single parent and your life is too demanding, then and only then will I be impressed by your so called 'cheez' burger.

Stop prancing around saying 'Look at me! Aren't I cute?' (I have taken the liberty of correcting the spelling). No. No you are not cute. Meercats are cute. Baby elephants are cute. That guy with the lip ring who came into my work everyday when I worked in Hawthorn is cute. Cats are not cute. Especially the freaky hairless ones that haunt my dreams with their smooth skin and their cold, dead eyes.

Please stop being in my email inbox.
Thanks.
Lauren

From: lolcats@icanhasemail.com
To: laurenhateslolcats@hotmail.com
Subject: RE: A few things...

o hay!

i has read ur email and it hurt mah feelingz! :( sorry dat u feel dis way, but wot we do iz nun of ur bizness LOL!!1

u r meanz. ima cum 2 ur house n eat ur foodz! baiiiii!!!

To: lolcats@icanhasemail.com
From: laurenhateslolcats@hotmail.com
Subject: RE: RE: A few things...

In response to your somewhat threatening email, I am pleased to inform you that I have come up with an intellegent and sOOper awesome alternative to you and your kind. He has a monocle. BAIIII!!!

Lauren’s Book Club 2.0

2010-10-07T14:22:00.004+11:00

It’s been a while, but we’re going to take a look at another alleged ‘classic’ and the madness that exists between its pages.

Shel Silverstein – The Giving Tree

‘Once there was a tree, and she loved a little boy.’ And so begins the truly tragic tale of a tree with dangerously low self esteem. People seem to think that this story is all about the spirit of giving. People are wrong.

WARNING SIGNS OF AN ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIP:
He carves his initials into you
He brings his new girlfriend around just to rub it in your face
He leaves you, then comes back asking for money
He takes your sweet, sweet, juicy fruit
He cuts off your arms
He dismembers you with a chainsaw and leaves your stump in the forest
He goes to the forest and sits on your stump

Ok, so the boy is selfish. We see this at the beginning of the book where as a child, one of his favourite games to play with the tree is Hide and Seek. This game puts the tree at an extreme disadvantage, since she is rooted to the ground and therefore unable to hide, or in fact, seek. If the boy was a true friend, he would have been up for the occasional game of ‘pretend to be a tree.’ But she plays Hide and Seek anyway, because it makes him happy.

Over the next few years the boy comes and goes as he pleases. He takes her apples for his own financial gain, builds a house out of her branches, and uses her body for a boat. Considering he took more wood for the boat than he did for the house, I’m guessing it was a pretty kick ass boat. Or a really shitty house. But despite the emotional and physical damage his selfish and violent behavior is doing to her, the tree tolerates it. Because it makes him happy.

The boy comes back for the last time as a tired old man. The tree has nothing left to give him, as he has bled her dry. So he just sits. And this makes her happy, ALLEGEDLY.

Due to the size of the tree, it is apparent that she has been around for quite some time before the boy enters her life (I tried to count the rings on her stump but went blind in the process), and one is left wondering what incidents occurred in her past that have left her with such low self esteem. Maybe she’s just lonely in that forest? Maybe the whole situation could have been avoided if someone had planted a redwood nearby? Redwoods, afterall, being the tallest and sexiest of the tree community.

I have never liked this book. Even when I was little there was something about it that didn’t sit right with me. There is no happy ending for our damsel in distress. It’s not a tale of friendship or giving, but one of undeserved unconditional love from a magical talking tree that somehow still manages to speak after it has been cruelly disfigured.

Why can't I... think of a title?

2010-10-01T14:15:00.003+10:00

Hello, and welcome to ‘Typing things into the Google search box and waiting to see what suggestions it offers you.’ In this, the first instalment of ‘Typing things into the Google search box and waiting to see what suggestions it offers you,’ we’ll be typing ‘Why can’t I’ into the Google search box and waiting to see what suggestions it offers us. Quick, to the Google machine!

Why can’t I… Own a Canadian
I initially thought it was a bit suss that this is the most popular suggestion. How many people want to own Canadians? Then I Googled it and found out it’s actually quite awesome and possibly stolen from The West Wing. Go have a read here. Then enslave someone.

Why can’t I… Lose weight
SHUT UP! You look fantastic! For real. Don’t change a thing. I love you. Please keep reading my blog.

Why can’t I… Sleep
Because you’re distracted by all the overpowering mental stimulation that is my blog. It’s hard to sleep when you’re worrying about things like how politics relate to Sesame Street. Luckily, I'm here to solve these problems for you. You're welcome.

Why can’t I… Lyrics
Any song that opens with the lines ‘Get a load of me, Get a load of you’ doesn’t deserve to be Googled. (I may or may not have taped this song off the radio when it first came out) (By that, I mean I did)

Why can’t I… Get a job
If I knew the answer to this, I wouldn’t still be working for the same company that gave me my first job.

Why can’t I… Be you lyrics
It’s catchy as hell, but from what I gather, this song is an ode to cannibalism. Let’s face it, Robert Smith looks like he’d be up for it. WOO, THE CURE!

Why can’t I… Get pregnant
What am I, a doctor?

Why can’t I… Get a boyfriend
Good question, internet! I personally have received only two, yes, TWO honest answers to this question in regards to my own situation. The first young gentleman told me ‘You’re too much of a dude.’ The second said that I was ‘Intimidating,’ and I was all ‘Oh my god, what? As if. I’ll punch you in the face for saying that.’

Why can’t I… Cry
This one upset me a little until I found the result TOM JONES - WHY CAN’T I CRY LYRICS and I smiled because it made me think of old ladies throwing giant underwear around in public.

Don't cry on my shoulder

2010-09-24T14:04:00.004+10:00

When the holidays are coming up and you start to think about what you're going to do with your two weeks off, you make plans. Big plans. Epic plans. Plans that you have every intention of following through with. Plans you will eventually abandon.

LAUREN'S SEPTEMBER HOLIDAY GOAL: go back to writing that abandoned novel. The shell is there. Most of it is already written. It just needs some tweaking, right?

The original plan was to edit a chapter a day. But thanks to Facebook, Youtube, and convincing myself that I was working by planning out what songs will be in the soundtrack when my novel gets adapted into a film, I was finding it hard to focus. Then, in a brief moment when I was actually managing to get some work done, I was distracted again.

I like to have dictionary.com and thesaurus.com open in another window when I write because I’m prepared to admit that I don't know that many words. And the ones I do know, don't always turn out to mean what I think they do (eg. 'circumvent,' 'masticate' and 'cockchafer.' Next time you’re on dictionary.com, search that last one and click on the little speaker thingy next to it. It never stops being funny. I promise).

thesaurus.com made itself a not-so-powerful enemy when it decided that in its list of alternatives to the word 'cry,' it was going to offer up this little gem: 'ejaculate.'

I'm sorry, but that substitution is going to change the tone of my story. A lot. 'As he watched his daughter leave, he could feel himself start to ejaculate.' No thank you, sir. I won't be buying any incest today.

'Ejaculate' (for most people) is not the same thing as 'cry.' Is thesaurus.com run under the same principals as Wikipedia? And if so, why hasn't anyone told me? How many words have I been misusing?

I'm not the only person who would lose the tone of their work if this were the case. Elvis once sang about Crying in the Chapel. Then think about the impact it would have on the likes of Boys Don't Cry, No Woman, No Cry, Don't Cry For Me, Argentina and most worrying of all, Cry Me a River.

It puts a new slant on the saying 'no use crying over spilt milk.'

The Origin of Phrases - Part 2

2010-09-17T14:14:00.004+10:00

Between the devil and the deep blue sea
While Satan is out sailing on warm Sunday afternoons, he likes to whisper his secrets to the ocean. He’s surprisingly deep. Like the ocean.

Butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth
When hired to replace the broken butter machine behind the snack bar at his local cinema, a young employee quickly learned that butter melts faster if you sit on it.

Blood is thicker than water
From a recent campaign in Australia where the government tried to deal with the drought by convincing the public to drink blood instead of water. They claimed it contained more nutrients and was therefore better for you. Only the Twilight fans were up for it.

Bubble and squeak
One of the world’s first children’s television programs, Bubble and Squeak was the story of a bar of soap (Bubble) and a rubber duck (Squeak) who lived together in a bathtub. It was taken off the air just two minutes into the first episode when a buxom blonde entered the tub and Bubble ended up all over her.

They’re like chalk and cheese
Used to describe a pale person and their stinky, jaundiced friend.

Cloud nine
When God did his rough draft of the sky he only managed to draw nine clouds before his white crayon snapped. With only red, brown, orange and yellow left intact, he moved on to planning the deserts.

Cold feet
The first man to miss his wedding did so after losing his feet to frostbite when his best man wrongly assumed it would be a brilliant buck’s night prank to leave him drunk and passed out halfway up Mt Everest.

The buck stops here
A signpost you’ll find halfway up Mt Everest.

Cold enough to freeze the balls of a brass monkey
The now extinct brass monkey was the most fertile of all creatures.

Bury the hatchet
What those of us who studied Gary Paulson’s Hatchet in highschool would like to do to that novel.

Curiosity killed the cat
First used when a cat who clearly hadn’t seen enough horror movies went to investigate a strange noise.

The cat’s out of the bag
Refers to the curious cat's attempted escape.

A cock and bull story
In the late 16th/early 17th centuries, a rooster and bull co-wrote a number of remarkable plays. In an attempt to stop the public from making a fuss about the abilities of his magic writing animals, the farmer who owned them tried to cover it up by attaching the pseudonym ‘William Shakespeare’ to the plays.

The Origin of Phrases - Part 1

2010-09-10T14:16:00.002+10:00

A fate worse than death
This phrase became popular with the invention of the job ‘waitress.’

A fish out of water
Originally used to describe people who, when in a place or situation they are unfamiliar with, proceed to flop around on the floor for a bit before suffocating.

A foot in the door
In the aftermath of a grizzly murder, a dismembered foot became lodged in the letter slot of the victim's front door. This angered the postman, who complained to the council that it was impairing his ability to do his job properly. Postmen are no longer legally obligated to put mail through any slot that contains a human limb.

A picture is worth a thousand words
This line was used by one particular trickster who managed to purchase several valuable artworks by trading short stories about the exploits of a promiscuous rabbit named ‘Bunny.’

A skeleton in the closet
See ‘a foot in the door’ and fill in the blanks.

A wolf in sheep’s clothing
Sheep clothing used to be far cheaper than wolf clothing, and due to the state of the economic climate, many wolves decided to settle.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder
An early break up line preferred by many to ‘I would quite like you to go away’ and ‘You shit me.’

Age before beauty
An early pick up line used by old men at medieval speed dating nights in an attempt to convince the young wenches to go to bed with them instead of the sexy young chain-mail-clad knights.

All that glitters is not gold
This lesson was learned during the great glitter swindle of 1922.

An apple a day keeps the doctor away
After learning of the direct link between garlic and keeping vampires at bay, a young man mistakenly believed that the best way to spread the message was through a game of Chinese whispers. Hundreds of people needlessly died.

All the tea in China
China was without tea for a brief period in the 1960s when an eccentric millionaire bought it all. He just really liked tea.

An eye for an eye
The equivalent of ‘take a penny, leave a penny’ from the days when eyes were used as currency.

As busy as a bee
Before Albert Einstein invented science it was widely accepted by mankind that bees controlled the universe.

As cool as a cucumber
Used in the days before refrigeration to imply that someone was quite hot.

As easy as pie
Highlighted in the film ‘American Pie,’ pies are generally up for it anytime, anywhere, with anyone.

As happy as Larry
Larry owned a pie shop.

Justin Beiber's Autobiography ADAVANCE COPY

2010-09-03T11:31:00.016+10:00

I've been sick the last few days, so this week's blog comes to you courtesy of the Beib.

Come and play, everything's A-OK

2010-08-27T15:52:00.005+10:00

Someone has to do something about the current state of Australian politics, but who can say what the answer is? Me. I can. So here’s my solution: replace all the politicians in each party with the cast of Sesame Street. It wouldn’t be that different really, most of the people who get into politics are Muppets.

Prime Minister: Elmo
Who could possibly stay mad at this guy?
‘Prime Minister Elmo is raising taxes.’
What a bastard.
‘But Prime Minister Elmo still loves you.’
Good point. Let’s tickle him!

Minister for Small Business: Maria
She’s kept the Fix-It shop going for years, thanks to a suspicious amount of broken toasters on Sesame Street. Clearly this woman is prepared to take matters into her own hands.

Minister for Finance: The Count
Let’s face it, he’s not going to mess up the numbers.

Minister for Health: Cookie Monster
Screw it, have a cookie. And some cake. And a deep fried Mars Bar. Then you too, can be as happy as this googley eyed, blue ball of fun.

Minister for the Arts: Prairie Dawn
The girl has wicked piano skills and plenty of experience directing plays full of incompetent fools. The position would have gone to Cookie Monster had it not been for the tragic cancellation of Monsterpiece Theatre.

Minister for Education: Big Bird
He thinks he knows everything. Making him prove it will hopefully wipe that smug look off his face.

Minister for Human Services: Gordon
Because he is a human. (I don’t know if he services)

Minister for Transport: Snuffleupagus
We can ride him.

Minister for Defence: Super Grover
Yes, he falls out of the sky occasionally, but he’s a freakin superhero.

Minister for Immigration: Oscar
No paperwork? Scram.

Minister for the Environment: Kermit the Frog
He was only on the show occasionally, but if anyone knows it’s not easy being green, it’s this guy.

If you would like to know more about why Bert & Ernie are not to be trusted with such matters, please refer to this post.

My (super, awesome, and not mundane at all) Life

2010-08-20T15:06:00.005+10:00

Saturday & Sunday:
Sleep. Food. Shopping. Find a box set of Robbie the Reindeer in a bargain bin and watch all 3 in a row while swooning over the sound of Ardal O'Hanlon's sweet, sweet voice. More food. More sleep. God bless you, weekend.

Monday:
Get up at 4:30 to start work in the coffee shop at 6:00. Less than 10 minutes into my shift, I accidentally punch myself in the face while trying to remove the cover from a display fridge.
Sit through a four hour editing class where we learn about something to do with editing. Yawn a lot from a combination of sleep deprivation and lack of enthusiasm for editing.
A mysterious absence of peak hour traffic means I make it home in 40 minutes less time than the Monday before. I count this as a win.
I forget it is bin night and, for the third week in a row, have to put the bins out while wearing my PJs.
Check for a bruise from the morning punch. No sign yet. I count this as another win.

Tuesday:
Still no bruise. Morning class means I get to sleep in until 7:00. I realise how pathetic it is that I’m stoked about this.
It’s freaking freezing.
Go to my novel class and listen to people discuss books I haven’t read. This makes me hungry.
Quick trip to the supermarket for bread and milk results in the purchase of chips, biscuits, and several Kit Kats. I then try to unlock the wrong car in the car park. I learn not to park next to cars that look like mine.
Night ends with ice cream and a quality episode of QI.

Wednesday:
The alarm goes off while I’m having a dream about Whoopi Goldberg and Julia Gillard auditioning for American Idol. They are wearing those white ABBA jumpsuits. After a disastrous audition, Whoopi pleads for a chance to perform solo. I’m sorry I didn’t get to see how it ended. I’m sure she did awesome.
Computer skills class finishes two and a half hours early after we learn how to insert a text box into a word document. This is still more interesting than the class where we learned how to copy and paste text. Now I can copy and paste like a mofo. Now I can copy and paste like a mofo. Now I can copy and paste like a mofo.
Get home and sit down to work on an assignment. I make a new playlist on my iPod instead.
I reach the conclusion that living alone is not for me when I consider how long it’s been since I’ve eaten a meal with a knife and fork.

Thursday:
Attempt to work on that assignment again. I write two lines then decide I deserve a three hour break.
Off to school for a night class, where the conversation revolves around Tony Abbott, buying transvestites on the internet, and elephants stealing your credit card to pay for hookers. There is also a brief mention of a monkey in bondage. This is the Australian education system at its best.
Sitting outside during break, I regret the decision not to wear a belt today. Icy wind meets my bum. A lot.

Today:
Another early morning shift at work, where I watch a coworker do an impression of the genie from Aladdin doing an impression of Jack Nicholson. This is some of the weirdest shit I’ve seen in a long time. A discussion of Disney films ensues, and I put forward my feelings that Cinderella didn’t make the most of those dress making mice. But let’s face it, she wasn’t very opportunistic. How many years did she spend cleaning for those skanks? Exactly.
I spend far too long in a discount bookshop because they have acquired some kind of magical Queen compilation CD, and I’m pretty sure it’s against the law to exit a building when Bohemian Rhapsody is playing. Or Fat Bottomed Girls. Or Don’t Stop Me Now.
Nothing else happens today. I consider smearing poo on the walls just so I’ll have something to write about, but everyone knows girls don’t poo.

Tatts Life

2010-08-12T12:56:00.004+10:00

I love tattoos. Not all of them, obviously. If you’ve got a Playboy bunny on your lower back you should be taken outside and shot. Or if you’re that guy I saw at the train station last year who had giant sperm tattooed swimming across the back of his neck, you need some kind of mental evaluation. How drunk do you have to be to think that’s a good idea?
Drunk man: ‘Hello.’
Tattoo artist: ‘Hello.’
DM: ‘Neck sperm please.’
TA: ‘No worries mate. Do you want them to scale?’
DM: ‘No, I think giant would be a more visually effective size.’
TA: ‘And you want them right under your chin there?’
DM: ‘Nah, you’d better put them on the back of my neck. I don’t want people thinking I’m some kind of freak.’

I’ve never taken the painful-inky-plunge myself, mostly due to needle phobia and commitment issues (forever is a sOOper long time). I’m an art lover, but I’d prefer to have something that I can take down, put in the back of the cupboard and never have to look at again if I ever get sick of it. I’d love to be in the room the day that Captain Sperm Neck has to explain the sperm neck to the grandkids.

I reckon when I’m old I’ll go for it, when there are no consequences to my actions because death is just around the corner. I’ll shave my eyebrows off and replace them with The Very Hungry Caterpillar, freak people out at Bingo by getting numbered balls all the way up my arms, or get a Salvador Dali moustache tattooed on my upper lip (though by that age, like most old ladies, I’ll probably have the ability to grow one). Anyhoo, here’s this:

WHAT YOUR TATTOO SAYS ABOUT YOU
LOVE and HATE on your knuckles = ‘I’m gonna regret this.’
Chinese symbols = ‘I’m a wanker.’ (Rule doesn’t apply to the Chinese)
Zodiac symbols = ‘I’m gullable.’
Skull = ‘I like rainbows and unicorns and I’m very insecure about it.’
Anchor = ‘I’m a pirate. Arr!’
Compass = ‘I’m lost. Please assist me.’
Snake = ‘I'm desperate for you to think I’m edgy.’
Yin Yang = ‘I’m not very creative so like, I went with this coz like, I’ve seen it in heaps of places and like, it means something deep. Right?’
Gun = ‘Ima mug you now! LOL!’

WRITER'S BLOCK of chocolate

2010-08-06T15:37:00.005+10:00

I’ve been struggling to think of something to write this week. I kept putting it off, but this afternoon, it was time to take action. Just this year I discovered a genius method for getting work done. It’s a tactic I like to call ‘drinking a whole lot of water and not letting yourself pee until you’ve finished working.’ Unpleasant, but it gets results.

Half an hour later, still without an idea for the blog and now experiencing a certain level of discomfort, I decided to distract myself with chocolate, for I am a lady and the media tells me this is what we do. As I dipped that Twix into my coffee, inspiration finally struck. So I present to you, ladies and gentleman, my explanation of why the Twix is the mightiest of the chocolate bars.

The Twix is truly a king amongst men. It’s got chocolate. It’s got biscuit. It’s got caramel. What more could you ask for? This is a rhetorical question, but if you chose to answer it, you are a fool. More so, if you answered it by saying ‘coconut,’ you should immediately begin drafting a letter of apology to anyone who has ever tasted a Bounty. It is the shame of the chocolate bar world and should immediatley stop ruining boxes of Celebrations chocolates. It ain't no celebration when they're all that's left.

My second preference to the Twix is our friend the Snickers. I quite enjoy a Snickers. If chocolate bars were people, Snickers would be my boyfriend. Why? Because it’s sweet, a little nutty, and according to the wrapper it ‘really satisfies.’ (Please insert your own ‘snicker doodle’ joke here. I’m not lazy, I’m just making the blog interactive, yeah? Everyone’s getting involved, yeah? You bought that excuse, yeah? Stop distracting me, I have to pee.)

If neither of those options is available to me, I will purchase Maltesers. They’re not a chocolate bar, but they’re magically delicious, and quite painful when thrown directly into your best mate’s face at close range. Priceless.

Thank you for taking this journey with me. I’m going to pee now.

Clifford Appears in a Blog

2010-07-27T16:27:00.018+10:00

This week's blog is dedicated to my childhood action hero, Clifford the Big Red Dog.

For those of you who are unfamiliar with Clifford and his achievements, where have you been? For real. He had about 800 books and a TV show. Basically, he's a dog, he's red, and he's big. Really big. Super big. His dog house is bigger than a people house. Yeah, that big.

Clifford's owner is a little girl named Emily Elizabeth, who rides him everywhere and refuses to aknowledge the fact that Clifford's size is most likely due to a glandular issue, and that he probably needs urgent and extensive medical attention. She just doesn't love him the way I love him. I would have respected him. I would have paid his medical bills. I... also would have ridden him everywhere (but I'd have done it with love).

Clifford is a spectacular dog. He puts out fires on more than one occasion, is popular with the other dogs in the neighbourhood, and to the best of my knowledge, saved Santa at least once. That's only one less time than I've saved him. Fair effort for a dog.

Some particularly action packed escapades include:
Clifford’s Tricks: in which Clifford's spirit of one-upmanship leads to a street riot, the destruction of a police car, and a young girl falling from a bridge.
Clifford Gets a Job: where Emily Elizabeth’s parents get sick of Clifford's mooching and tell him he needs to contribute to the family's finances. During his efforts to find a job, Clifford and Emily Elizabeth encounter some gun weilding bandits and wind up in the middle of a police chase.
Clifford Saves the Whales: this is... I don't know. I don't own this book. I have no idea what happens. I'm guessing he saves the whales or some shit. Again, fair effort for a dog.

Wikipedia's list of Clifford books includes the title Clifford Sits on a Peanut, though sadly, a quick Google search suggests no such story exists. Until now.

(You’re welcome)

Apple iHateYou

2010-07-23T14:49:00.003+10:00

iPods appear to have some kind of built in psychic ability. Sadly, they choose to use their powers for evil rather than good, playing the worst possible song at the worst possible moment.

Incident 1:
You would figure that setting your iPod to shuffle for a train journey would be harmless. It is, unless you’re the kind of person who thought it would be funny to put ‘My Lovely Horse’ from Father Ted on there. Then it starts playing. Then you start laughing. Then you realise everyone is staring at you, and you have just earned yourself the honour of being the train nutter for the remainder of this trip. You also feel the need to buy sugar lumps.

Incident 2:
Still on the train, still on shuffle. But this time that track you illegally downloaded from somewhere quite dodgy, that for some reason has a volume level approximately three times louder than any other song on there, begins to play. The loud noise causes you to flinch suddenly and make a sound that is somewhere along the lines of ‘AAARGH.’ You are now a slightly more terrifying train nutter.

Incident 3:
You are at work, and have managed to get to the iPod dock before any of your co-workers. While chatting to your super-awesome-music-nerd manager about how amazing that Yeah Yeah Yeahs concert was at the start of the year, and how you’re both really bummed that you missed out on Florence and the Machine tickets; your iPod decides to play that ONE Lady Gaga song you think is ok. Everyone looks at you with a sense of embarrassment. You will never be cool again.

Incident 4:
See incident 3, but replace ‘Lady Gaga’ with ‘Miley Cyrus.’ Then hang your head in shame.

Incident 5:
You feel the need to admit to anyone who reads your online ramblings that you actually have two Lady Gaga songs on your iPod, because we’re all friends now and friends shouldn’t lie to each other. Friends also shouldn’t let friends listen to bad music, so technically, incidents 3 and 4 are not your fault, and your friends owe you an apology.

The Horror of it all

2010-07-16T15:36:00.000+10:00

Everyone keeps talking about The Human Centipede, and I don’t know if I want to see it. Watching the trailer made me feel a little better though, because I didn’t realise he was connecting them ‘via the gastric system.’ I thought they were just pooing directly into each other’s mouths. Either way, I guess you’d still want to be the head.

So, Ladies & Gentleman, I present to you, 'Movies that have scarred me for life'

Scream
I saw this movie for the first time as a 10 year old, and for years afterwards, I was convinced the killer was hiding in my garage. When I went outside to feed the pets at night I’d shuffle along the wall so I could see the sneaky bastard coming. He never did. Probably because I look like I know karate.

Halloween 2 (The Jamie Lee Curtis one, not that new shizz)
It ruined the song 'Mr Sandman' for me. Every time I hear that happy-go-lucky ‘bum bum bum’ intro, I associate it with people being brutally murdered.

The Silence of the Lambs
Why make a suit out of skin? You’re already wearing one.

Hostel
The only movie where I’ve ever had to look away. It was during that scene where he goes back to save the girl, and… her eye… If you haven’t seen it, well done.

Total Recall
Like everyone, I was fine with the three-booby-lady. What kept me awake at night was the scene where he takes his helmet off, and his head explodes. It’s the reason why I turned down that job at NASA.

The Wizard of Oz
Dorothy murders a chick in ugly shoes and the locals decide to have a street party. Munchkins are scum. Except for those gangstas in the Lollipop Guild. R-e-p-r-e-s-e-n-t.

Attack of the Giant Leeches
This movie is responsible for my fear of people who wear garbage bags and pretend to be giant leeches.

Toy Story
I can't help but think about what toys might be plotting behind those cold, plastic eyes. When I was in my teens I made the mistake of sharing this fear with my mum. She thought it would be good for a laugh if she arranged a bunch of toys on my bedroom floor so that when I got home from school, it looked like they were having a meeting. They would also frequently appear wearing reading glasses in front of the newspaper, or on the couch with the remote control in their hand. That's some quality parenting right there.

To Walt Disney, in the event of his un-death

2010-07-09T15:25:00.000+10:00

Dear Walt Disney,

I don’t doubt for a second that you will one day read this. We all know that your body is cryogenically frozen in a secret room under the Pirates of The Caribbean ride, and I can only assume that exploring the magic of this ‘internet’ contraption that everyone keeps talking about will be your first priority as soon as mankind finds a cure for death. As you were responsible for the creation of the greatest cartoon character of all time in one Miss Minnie Mouse (total legend), I’ve always admired your work and feel the need to warn you that quite a few things have changed since 1966.

For starters, you need to know about a little company known as Pixar. There have been a number of advancements in animation since computers became capable of magic (did they have computers in your day? A computer is kind of like a television with a wizard living inside it). Consider sitting down with a stiff drink before you watch Finding Nemo, as there is every chance the graphics will blow your partially defrosted mind.

Celebrity isn’t what it used to be. They give stars on the Hollywood walk of fame to pretty much anyone now. I realise you don’t know what an ‘Olsen twin’ is, but trust me, when you find out, you’re not going to be happy. On a brighter note, you own The Muppets now! When you find out what THEY are, you’ll be stoked. From a business point of view, I recommend that you give the Swedish Chef his own movie while people are still into this whole ‘celebrity chef’ thing. Oh yeah, people are into this whole ‘celebrity chef’ thing. I know right? It’s madness.

Your beloved Pirates of The Caribbean ride is going to look a little different. Or a lot different. I don’t know, I haven’t been there since they changed it. Some genius managed to turn it into a movie franchise a couple of years back. Please don’t be mad at him, just thank him for the cash and continue going about your business. They’re quite good movies actually, you should get your hands on the box set. OH GOD AND WE HAVE DVDS NOW! Ask someone else about those. I have a life outside of you. Geez.

Regards,
A well meaning fan.

PS: Racism doesn’t fly anymore. If… if you were, that is. I mean, I didn’t know you, I’ve just heard… things.

Age ain’t nothin’ but a number

2010-07-02T15:25:00.000+10:00

Time is a bitch. A mean, nasty bitch.

I think I'm aging prematurely. The years don’t seem as long as they used to, there aren’t enough hours in the day, and I struggle to stay up late. Last time I went to a pub with friends, we got a taxi home at 12:18am. Party hard, y'all. Party hard. Just yesterday I heard myself say the words ‘the cold weather’s making my back pain play up.’ I’m a walking stick and a shawl away from being able to predict the weather through my bones.

I went back to studying this year, and spending my days with 18/19 year olds has made me realise that a) I look younger than I am, and b) their youthful enthusiam is draining the life out of me. For starters, I’ve already lost the ability to understand internet slang. After much confusion, I eventually had to ask a friend of mine what ‘fml’ meant. She told me the answer, paused for a moment, then admitted that she only knew because she asked the teenage sister of another friend of ours. Turns out I was way off the mark with ‘Fat Mother Liker,’ ‘Frisky Male Llama,’ and ‘Fully Mischievous Lesbians.’ I come from the days of obvious internet terms. My typing was littered with classics like OMG for ‘oh my god,’ and LOL for ‘laugh out loud,’ and WWABISSOHAHFUF for ‘wow, what a bitch, I’m so sick of her and her fat ugly face.’

You know the oldies radio station? The one that plays ‘classic hits?’ Last year I noticed they were playing songs that I remember being on the charts. I choose to believe they’re letting their standards slip, because it’s easier than admitting that 1994 was almost 20 years ago. I know bugger all about the charts now. What’s a ‘Beiber?’

Kids these days have no hope. They aren’t learning anything from Hannah Montana. When I was growing up, we had real role models on TV, like the Power Rangers and Blossom. Blossom would kick Hannah Montana’s ass in a dance-off. The Power Rangers would just kick ass. Then they'd turn into a giant dinosaur robot. That show was countless kinds of awesome.

But at the end of the day, you can always rely on the constants, all of those brilliant things that will never change. Sesame Street will always be quality viewing, William Shatner’s cover of Common People will always be hilarious, and I’ll always just be killing time until Ben Folds agrees to run away with me.

Great days in history: June 25

2010-06-25T14:14:00.000+10:00

If you live in the Philippines, happy Arbour Day! Yay for trees!

If you’re Nicole Kidman and/or Keith Urban, happy anniversary! Yay for not being Tom cruise!

If you’re American, happy National Catfish Day! Yay for catfish! (Not just any catfish though, it only celebrates the farm raised ones. That’s a tad discriminatory. No one should be judged or excluded based on where they were born, which is something President Regan neglected to mention in the speech he made when the day was introduced. And he called himself a leader. For shame, sir. For. Shame.)

If you’re a Michael Jackson fan, welcome to me never being able to have another birthday without someone saying ‘You know it’s been *insert number here* many years since Michael Jackson died?’ and everyone else saying ‘Wow, really?’ and me saying ‘Who wants cake?’ and them saying ‘So sad, isn’t it?’ and me saying ‘It’s good cake,’ and them saying ‘He was so talented,’ and me saying ‘Like, really good cake,’ and them carrying on with the conversation as I start to quietly weep into the icing.

Yes, today we celebrate the fact that I managed to make it through another year without accepting candy from strangers, forgetting to look both ways before crossing the street, or getting (fatally) electrocuted. High five!

For a child raised in a (loosely) Christian manner, June 25 is the best possible date for a birthday to fall. Why? It’s exactly six months from Christmas. Presents were always distributed to me on a half yearly basis, and with careful planning, a kid could make their birthday money last the entire six months. Of course, I never took part in this careful planning, and pissed it away in the toy department at Kmart the very next weekend. It’s not my fault Barbie needed so much crap, it’s society’s fault.

Wikipedia tells us that I share my birthday with the likes of George Orwell, Carly Simon, Ricky Gervais, Phill Jupitus (who I saw walking around Edinburgh last year during the Fringe wearing a hat that I can only describe as hideous), and some rapper called ‘Candyman.’ If he’s actually made of candy, it’s gonna be one kick ass party. However, it’s also George Michael’s birthday, so you might want to avoid using the men’s room.

But it’s not all about births, deaths and marriages. And fish. Other things have also occurred on this day. The BBC claims that on the 25th of June 1970, the US launched a new peace plan for the Middle East. Glad to see that worked out.

Follow me...

2010-06-17T16:06:00.000+10:00

Operation world domination hasn’t been moving along as quickly as I’d hoped. My cousin said he’d post links to the blog on his Facebook page if I mentioned him. Which I just did. I hope he enjoyed it. But on the off chance that he didn’t, I decided to do some further research into increasing blog traffic.

Invite guest bloggers
Dear President Obama/Betty White/Sponge Bob, you seem to be quite popular. Would you care to contribute to my blog? B.Y.O topics and witticisms.
Remove the comments section so people can’t see all the zeros
No, I don’t want to lose the 8 comments I already have. I love each one of them dearly. It’s like I own little pieces of your souls.
Make lists
People I’d turn gay for: Regina Spektor, the original Brand Power lady, Judy Jetson*
Use a human voice
Recent studies have shown this to be only marginally more popular than meerkat.
Be the first to break news
I just found $5 in the pocket of my jeans. More details at 11:00.
Make posts that will stand the test of time
I think those S Club 7 kids are going somewhere. I really do.
Have ads that are relevant to your content
Sesame Street is on the telly. Dr Suess is in bookshops. God is everywhere.
Write in English
Què?
Be controversial
I don't care for Bindi Irwin very much at all.
Ask provocative questions
Busy later? Nudge nudge, wink wink.
Use buzzwords
Beiber, Twilight, Viagra, iPad, Kim Kardashian’s ass.
Discuss current events
So… politics, eh? That… that's something.
Post photos
This is the rubber band ball I made at work last year. It is next to a $1 coin.

If you're not familiar with Australian currency, you will not understand the full scale and/or impressiveness of my handiwork. The Australian $1 coin is approximately the size of a large goat. I know right? I’ve got mad skillz.
Don't be boring
...please excuse the rubber band ball.
Run a contest
Your mum’s a contest.**
Use correct grammer
i really dont thinks that was not never a issue. semicolon semicolon semicolon.
Flatter your readers
I could not agree more with your religious and political views. I love your taste in music/movies/blogs. Have you lost weight? We should hang out more.
Join forums and pretend to be someone else
wat up??? LoL!!! :P I lyk totes fownd dis blog nd its awe$ome!!! u shood fllw it!!1 :D

*if she was not from the future, and not underage. And, you know, real. There are just too many obstacles to our love.
**I did consider a Mark Watson style 'first person to comment gets to suggest a topic' type deal, but I know too many smart arses who'd write something like 'quantum physics' and cause me to have a panic attack and die.

Are you there Lauren? It's me, God

2010-06-11T15:34:00.000+10:00

‘Heyyyyyy, it’s the G-Man. Sorry I didn’t call back sooner, but you try dealing with six billion messages! Most of which were, you know, from you… I’ve been pretty busy with other stuff too. Did you see what I did with the volcano? How cool was that! Ahhh, I’m brilliant… call me!’

‘Ok, now I feel bad. The real reason I didn’t call back is because, well, you’re kind of clingy. It gets annoying. I guess it’s not your fault, I'm the one who made you that way. Anyway, I’ve decided to make peace, because life’s too short. No, really, it is. And you’d know this if you went to see that 2012 movie like everyone else did.’

‘Hi, God again. I forgot to say, to answer your question, wireless internet is the Devil’s work. Yeah, that guy is super tech-savvy. He keeps banging on and on and on about his iPad. You can see why I banished him, right?’

‘Found Jesus yet? If you see him, tell him to call me. And no, I’m not sending him that money, he can get a job like everyone else. Oh yeah, it’s God.’

‘You shall kill your son Isaac. Wait… oh, wow, sorry. Wrong number.’

‘Eww, dude, that wasn’t what I meant by "love thy neighbour." And stop telling people that Google knows more than me. I invented the guy who invented Google. Give me a call when you get the chance, yeah?’

‘Ugh, hey. Me again. Feeling a little bummed out today. I’m getting bored with the whole human race thing. It’s all "me, me, me" with you people. I can't believe I thought you'd be more fun than the dinosaurs. Oh well, we all make mistakes. Anyway, I should hang up in case you’re trying to call...’

‘Why, uh… why haven’t you called? I know you’re not busy, I can see you. ANSER THE PHOOOONE. Don’t just stare at it, pick it u- oh. Oh no you di’nt. Did you just roll your eyes? You did! You just did it again! I can’t believe this! You know that’s what Noah did to me? Don’t make me make you build an arc and gather two of every animal.’

‘Alright, look, I’ll level with you. I’m still pissed that you didn’t like the Grand Canyon. Do you know how much work I put into that thing? And you just stood there checking your watch the whole time. It’s not called the Average Canyon, is it? You wanted a sign from me? Fine, I'll give you a sign. Guess which finger I'm holding up.’

I'll tell you what I want, what I really, really want

2010-06-04T15:02:00.001+10:00

Last year, I found something buried under my bed. A video, to be exact. I decided to watch it, for old time’s sake, and was blown away by what I saw. Ever since that day I’ve been a woman on a mission: I want the Spice Girls movie released on DVD.

Of course, there’s the sentimental factor. I loved this movie when it came out because the Spice Girls were my life, and I was 10. Remember Girl Power? Remember the platform shoes? Remember Victoria Beckham’s original face and body? Those were the days, my friends.

This movie is hilarious, and not in an ironic ‘it’s so bad that it’s good’ kind of way, but in an awesome ‘it’s a genuinely funny movie’ kind of way. They’ve stolen technology from Doctor Who by having a tour bus that’s bigger on the inside, they get in trouble with the police for ‘frightening the pigeons,’ and we’re asked to believe that not only can Posh Spice drive a double-decker bus, but she can drive one in heels. This film has also inspired me to start insulting people by standing inches from their face and quietly saying the words ‘your mother’ into a megaphone.

There’s a struggling documentary maker, two Hollywood hotshots pitching shoddy film ideas, a pregnant friend (played by that chick from Torchwood. No, not that one. The other one. Yeah, her) who’s just been dumped by her babydaddy, an alien invasion, danger on the high seas, boot camp, a night in a haunted house, flashbacks to a simpler time, a girls night out, a ticking clock, and a bomb on a bus. And to top it all off, we’ve got Barry Humphries as a bitter newspaper editor/hater who’s trying to bring the girls down by hiring a sneaky paparazzi dude (the guy who ‘got the Teletubbies taking a poo’) to follow them. It’s everything you could ever want to see in a movie, and then some. Sadly, at the time of writing, its average rating on IMDB was 2.9/10. You should all be ashamed of yourselves.

The highlight of this movie is Roger Moore as a character known only as ‘The Chief.’ He likes feeding piglets with baby bottles, and talking absolute balls. At one point, he answers the phone by saying ‘When the rabbit of chaos is pursued by the ferret of disorder through the fields of anarchy, it is time to hang your pants on the hook of darkness... whether they're clean or not.’ He then hangs up the phone.

At no point is this movie asking you to take it seriously, and that’s where its brilliance lies. But if you’re not sold yet, know this: it’s the only place you’ll ever hear Stephen Fry say the words ‘wicked, dirty, phat bass line.’

Wick-ee-pee-dee-ah

2010-05-28T15:09:00.000+10:00

When I'm famous enough to have a Wikipedia page, I would like it set up thusly (I looked that up on dictionary.com, I love it when words mean what I think they do):

Early life
Little is known about the reclusive author before she published her first novel. What we do know, is that at the age of six, she decided she wanted to marry Buddy Holly. At the age of seven, she learned why this wasn’t going to happen. Her fascination with boys who played guitar and wore glasses never waned.

Career
Her first novel, See that? I Totally Wrote all Them Words, was a surprise success considering the amount of crude drawings that were featured in the margins. The story told of two detectives trying to make it on the mean streets of New York, hindered only by the fact that they were a monkey and an elephant on an otherwise all human police force. *SPIOILER ALERT* the killer was a shifty duck. It was praised for its grittiness, and panned for its excessive use of the word ‘hullabaloo,’ which the author claimed was necessary all 427 times. Her second novel, I pissed away all the money I made from the last book and need some more, y’all, was shite.

Personal Life
Lauren married a total of nine times, just to show Elizabeth Taylor who’s boss. Of her 23 children, she openly admitted that JimBob was her favourite, and that the music he made with his all transvestite jug band was truly inspiring. His father was one of the hot Doctor Who’s (husbands four and five), but she could never remember which one.
She was also known to be a brilliant artist, a talented musician, the inventor of the George Forman Grill, and a pathological liar.

Retirement
Lauren became a recluse after her last divorce, and decided to live out the rest of her days sailing around the world on her yacht, the ‘S.S. Stick That in Your Pipe & Smoke it.’

Death
Turns out she didn’t know how to sail.

Lauren’s Book Club

2010-05-21T13:56:00.000+10:00

If Oprah can have one, I can have one.

Dr. Seuss - Hop on Pop

The first thing that must be noted about this book is that despite popular belief, this is clearly not for children. There are far too many adult themes and sexual references. There are obvious phallic connotations involved when one character is depicted wearing nothing but a satisfied grin as he sits on top of an upright baseball bat, and no one can deny that there’s something a little bit kinky going on when Red, Ned, Ted and Ed all decide to share a bed.

Next up is the section where ‘all’ play on the wall. Really? Encouraging people to juggle and play baseball while balancing on a wall? Did we learn nothing from Humpty Dumpty? Less observant readers may feel that the characters learn their lesson on the next page when they are shown falling from the wall, but this only shows the process of falling, not the consequences. If the next page had something along the lines of ‘all are feeling very sore, all shall sadly walk no more’ with an illustration of ‘all’ enduring a painful physio session, Suess would be a far more responsible author. To be honest, I’m not even convinced he’s a real doctor.

Then there is the horror of a man being attacked by a lion, people being chased by kamikaze bees, and the concept of fish living in a tree (though one could argue that they’re just chillin’ up there, and we all need a little time away every now and then).

The story becomes downright ridiculous when we see a dog catapult its owner out of town using a seesaw. I found this to be unrealistic on the grounds that the weight of the animal pictured could in no way ever propel a grown man to reach such distances.

My only other complaint is that I freakin hate rhyming. Unless it’s clever rhyming, which this isn’t. One must question the amount of desperation that lies behind rhyming the word ‘thing’ with ‘thing.’

Now, I don’t want to give too much away about this book, but let’s just say, it involves one unhappy pop.

I’m not ageist, but...

2010-05-14T13:22:00.000+10:00

I’ve figured something out, and it involves maths. Heavily estimated and not properly researched maths.
The Elderly:
20% are awesome
40% don’t know what’s going on
40% are really freakin mean

First up, if I don’t know you, I don’t want to hear about your surgery. An elderly woman on a tram once asked me if I had the time, and apparently telling someone it’s twenty past three translates to ‘please tell me about your hernia operation for the remainder of the trip, and don’t leave out any of the details.’

I don’t want to hear about how ‘in my day,’ you didn’t know cigarettes were bad for you. If anything, people nowadays are worse off. We know that everything is bad for you. Sun: cancer. Red meat: cancer. Not laughing at my blog… cancer. No happy-go-lucky-good-times for us, thank you sir.

I used to complain about all those idiots who got on the train with their iPod turned up way too loud, or the people who don’t even bother with headphones because they think they’re so bada$$ that they want to inconvenience everyone else on the train. As annoying as that is, it’s nothing compared to a new trend I’ve discovered: Old people who get on the train with a transistor radio. It’s always turned up full blast, and crackling due to bad reception, while a talkback radio host and all his callers express how outraged they are about whatever issue the media has decided to sensationalise that day. It’s gotta be exhausting to be that outraged all the time, doesn’t it? Take a break dude. Have a cup of tea, and maybe even some biscuits. Nice biscuits. Chocolate biscuits. Cream filled chocolate biscuits. Then go hug a puppy. Feel better now? Thought so.

Speaking of transistor radios and older people (segue!), I feel the need to mention an incident from high school. One of my teachers (an older gentleman) was chatting to the school librarian (an older lady) about how he liked to listen to talkback on his transistor radio when he couldn't sleep at night. What he should have understood, is that the 15 year old student standing behind him, would most likely get the wrong idea when he heard him say the words ‘last night I was in bed with a trannie.’ That’s how rumours start, y’all.

Ignorance is bliss

2010-05-07T13:00:00.000+10:00

I learned something yesterday. Apparently ‘chock-a-block’ is a nautical term. For almost 23 years, I’d always assumed it had something to do with chocolate, and how it comes in blocks, and if you eat too much of it, you’re full, or ‘chock-a-block.’ It’s just logic, really.

Sadly, pieces of information such as this never come as a surprise to me. I have an extensive history of completely missing the point. So, in a spectacular celebration of shame, here are some of my greatest misunderstandings:

I used to think Elvis was singing ‘I’m a sugar,’ despite the facts that a) this makes no sense, and b) the song was called All Shook Up.
In early 2009 I finally realised that the title of blink-182’s 2001 album Take off Your Pants and Jacket was a pun. Yes, I thought it was an odd request, but hey, whatever floats your boat. Maybe they liked getting down with their shirts still on? I felt dirty. Dirty and betrayed. However, now I can enjoy the fact that it is both clever, and amusing. Kudos, boys. Kudos.
‘Feckless’ is a real word. I thought it was Irish slang.
I thought Danke Schoen was sung by a woman.
Towards the end of high school I found out the book is called To Kill a Mockingbird and not Tequila Mockingbird, and that it is about the racial divide, and not a drag queen (she sounds fun though, right? Yeah. You know she’d show you a good time). I still haven’t read the book, but I saw the movie. Shut up, that's not lazy. It's time efficient.
It took me 14 hours to understand the bumper sticker ‘My Karma ran over your Dogma.’
You know that scene in Grease where Rizzo and Kenickie are going at it in the back of his car, and he pulls out his ‘25cent insurance policy?' Up until the age of 16, I thought it was an actual insurance policy. I could never understand why they were so upset that it broke.

What worries me about all of this is the number of other things I’ve completely misunderstood, but still have no idea about, and will surely one day embarrass myself with.

Personally, I chose to believe that I’m not slow. Society is just impatient.

Have you got a minute to talk about homeless refugee animals? With disabilities?

2010-04-30T13:04:00.000+10:00

Charities do a lot of good, I’m not about to deny that. I only have one request: Please stop harassing me on the street.

You can spot these people from a mile away, what with their brightly coloured shirts, lanyards, clipboards, and general lack of a soul. This advanced warning is usually quite helpful, as it gives you a chance to cross the street. Some days, what should be a simple 10 minute walk in a straight line can end up taking three times as long and involve a few small trips down some slightly suspicious back alleys.

Sadly, on some occasions, there just isn’t a safe place to cross. This leaves you with no choice but to walk past, and have an awkward encounter with these people. There are a few tactics for dealing with this:

Attempt to catch up to and walk behind someone who looks like they have more money than you (eg. a man in a suit, a lady with nice shoes, the queen).
Pretend you’re talking to someone on your phone, and pray to the god/higher power of your choice that it doesn’t ring while you’re doing so.
Pretend you don’t speak English
Pretend you’re deaf
Pretend to be an asshole who’s too busy to stop
Actually be an asshole who’s too busy to stop

There will be circumstances, however, when none of these are successful. Mostly, this situation will arise when the person is incredibly attractive and has a sexy foreign accent. You will stop. You will be flirted with. You will flirt back. You will hear them out. You will give them a fake name/address/credit card number.

The other time you will become stuck listening to their spiel is when they’ve decided to set up their shady operation at the traffic lights. A dirty, dirty tactic used by dirty, dirty people. While you’re waiting to cross the street, there’s no escape, as these people have never learned life’s golden rule: no means no. You begin to wonder if you should just cross the street anyway. Would getting hit by a truck be more, or less painful than what you’re currently experiencing?

Here's the deal, and it's non negotiable: I’ll give money to the homeless when they promise to stop freaking me out at the train station.

An open letter to Bert & Ernie

2010-04-23T15:03:00.000+10:00

Dear Bert and Ernie,

I know what you’re thinking, and I promise you that’s not what this letter is about. Despite popular belief, I have never been one to buy into those rumours. You know the ones, all that ‘Rubber Ducky has two daddies’ business. My question is of a slightly different nature: are you guys kids, or what?

I’ve never really been able to grasp the concept of what exactly the deal is with the two of you. You do kids things constantly, and you’re always learning like children, what with the playing and the counting everything and such. So… why do you live together and where are your parents? And why is Bert always cooking oatmeal? Kids shouldn’t be using the stove.

But hey, you probably are old enough to take care of yourselves. I mean, you have your own apartment. In a basement. Not anyone’s number one choice, but maybe it was the best you could find within your financial constraints back in 1969. This would also explain why you have to share a bedroom. However, since the show has been running for 41 years and made you into television legends, maybe it’s time to move upstairs? Sunlight? Yeah? Get some sunlight? Technically this would make you guys 41 plus however old you were to begin with. But then again, Elmo has been going strong for a while now and he's still only 3 and a half. Clearly, something very wrong is going down on that street. Maybe that’s why no one can ever tell us how to get there. It’s not effing Narnia for God’s sake. Or is it? OH MY GOD, IS IT???

The other option is that you might be one of each. Ernie is generally doing kids stuff, while Bert is reading and collecting bottle caps like a grown up. A really dull grown up, but still a grown up. So Bert, my friend, if you're an adult and Ernie’s a child, and you’re such good 'friends,' then that’s just effing weird.

As you can see, this is an extremely confusing matter, and I hope to hear from you soon. Not just for the answer to my question, but to find out if letters can make it through the portal to Narnia.

Yours sincerely,
A confused fan.

P.S: Bert, I like your eyebrow. Is it alive?

Are you there God? It’s me, Lauren.

2010-04-16T15:15:00.000+10:00

‘Hi God, it’s Lauren. Just wanted to check in with you, it’s been a while. I realise I’ve been a little self centred since, you know, forever. So we can do whatever YOU want to do this time. Maybe we could get a drink? Go bowling? Put an end to the dinosaurs? You're into that kind of stuff, yeah? Anyway, let me know.’

‘Hey dude, didn’t hear back from you the other day. I guess you’re really busy, what with running the entire universe and all. And giving celebrities awards. And helping people win reality TV shows. But if you get a minute, we should definitely catch up. Call me! Oh yeah, it’s Lauren.’

‘Hellooooo. Lauren again. Quick question: I heard an old man call wireless internet “the devil’s work.” Should I go back to broadband?’

‘What up, G-dog? Still haven’t heard from you. I’m having a barbeque this Saturday, you should totally come. And if the second coming happens before then, bring Jesus with you. It would be awesome to see him. He’ll probably be fashionably late though, as always. Am I right? Am I right? Haha nah, I’m messing with ya. Peace out! It’s Lauren, by the way.’

‘Yeah, Lauren here. Look, being mysterious and all that is one thing, but not getting back to someone is just rude. And if this is about that incident with the guy who knocked on my door the other morning, let’s get one thing straight. Just because I haven’t found Jesus, doesn’t mean I’m not sorry to hear that he’s missing. If anything, now, more than ever, is a good time for you to relax and have a drink. CALL ME.’

‘There’s a bearded guy at the train station claiming to be your son. You might want to look into that.’

‘FOR THE LOVE OF YOU. I don’t care how snowed under you are, I’m making an effort here. Everyone keeps telling me to look for a sign from you, but I haven’t seen any. The only signs I saw today were “Don’t drink and drive,” and “Lauren: Have you considered atheism? – God.” NOTHING! You know what? You’re not the only one who works in mysterious ways. So does… Spiderman. Yeah. I’m going to start the Church of Spiderman. Goodbye forever.’

“Hi. It’s Lauren. Just letting you know that last message was from me.’

Any sugar in that one?

2010-04-08T22:20:00.000+10:00

This week’s life lesson: Baristas are people too.

Yes, when I’m not busy bumming around calling myself a 'student,' this is what I do for a living. I don’t like to use the word ‘barista’ on account of how wanky it sounds. I prefer to call myself a coffee shop employee. A food handler. A person who is frequently abused regarding the temperature of milk.

Customer service probably wasn’t the best choice for me. I’ve been accused by co-workers of hating people. I don’t hate people, some of my best friends are people. It’s just that a large percentage of the rest of the population happen to be wankers. Like the elderly ladies who told me it was ‘misleading’ that our regular size coffee wasn’t the smallest size. You know what we call our small size? Small. Suck on that, old ladies.

And how hard is it to give someone your name to go with your order? We’re not using it to steal your identity, you won’t arrive home to find countless messages on your answering machine from your credit card company asking if you’ve recently purchased a small island, an army tank, and several monkeys. ‘What’s that? You told the kid at the coffee shop your name was Dave? Bloody hell, you’re a grown man, you should know better than that.’
It doesn’t even have to be your real name. One customer decided that instead of telling me, he’d go straight to spelling it. ‘G-O-D’ I began to laugh hysterically, thinking he was a legend, right up until he gave me an odd look and continued spelling. ‘W-I-N.’ Disappointing.
Another man thought about it for a minute, before answering ‘hmm, I feel like a Toby today.’ What you do on your own time is none of my business, sir. Now, your name, please?

Next up are the people who ask you what you have that’s gluten free. After you’ve talked them through it all, they turn up their nose and say “oh no, I don’t want any of that” and look at you as though you’ve just shot a puppy. Either take what we’ve got, or stop being allergic to wheat. It’s your call.

Last but not least, there's the creepy old men. The most memorable was an old Irish bloke who used the exact words “if you were Irish, and I were younger…” before letting out a disturbing groan and handing me some paraphernalia about Jesus. He made me promise him I’d read it. I didn’t. I don’t think Jesus would approve of such a racist and ageist comment.

In conclusion, it’s a thankless job. Except for when people thank you. But hey, I’m young, I need the money.

And what are the perks? Well, getting paid is pretty good.

The ghost of Easter past

2010-04-01T15:32:00.000+11:00

I’m not a religious person. My parents seemed to have me baptised just for show, and on the rare occasions that I actually attended church or Sunday school, it wasn't of my own free will. Like many people, I’m only into Christianity for the holidays. If I can get off work because Jesus got in a fight with a giant rabbit and we celebrate his victory by eating the rabbit’s eggs before its offspring can hatch and reign terror upon us once more, then so be it.

From schoolchildren, to students, to the working class (i.e. ‘proper people’), we all love a public holiday. It’s even better when they’re stacked up against the weekend, making Good Friday and Easter Monday the ultimate in long weekend technology. However, over the years I’ve found myself asking this question: Is a four day weekend, perhaps, just maybe, too many days off at once? OK, so it’s nice to have Friday off and get an early start on the weekend, and you need Saturday off to recover from the ordeal that is the Good Friday fish ‘n’ chip shop queue, then you need Sunday free to slip into a chocolate induced coma. But what’s the Monday for?
WAYS I HAVE KILLED TIME OVER THE EASTER BREAK IN THE PAST:
Watched the entire first series of Blossom on Youtube
Gained four kilos
Sat with a puzzled expression on my face as Oprah tried to sell me some kind of miniature teapot that you pour up your nose
Taught myself to make balloon animals (this produced mixed results. Let’s just say that if you want anything more complex than a poodle, you and I are going to have a problem. If not, I’m available for children’s birthday parties).

One year, when I was about five, I was convinced I’d seen the Easter Bunny’s shadow. I woke during the night to see a large rabbit shaped silhouette, which morphed into a stegosaurus, then a clown. I thought I was on to something huge - not only had I seen the Easter Bunny in action, I’d also discovered that he was a shape shifter. At the time, this made perfect sense. It would make sneaking into people's houses so much easier if he could disguise himself. ‘But Lauren,’ you ask, because you totally would, ‘surely if the Easter Bunny had such abilities, he’d chose something a little more inconspicuous than a clown or a dinosaur?’ Maybe. I dunno, I've never met the guy. Quit your whining, everything looks bad if you apply logic to it. Now shut up and eat your damn eggs.

Technology

2010-03-25T13:54:00.000+11:00

I hate the new version of Microsoft Word. I don’t like the GPS lady’s tone. No one needs a phone with a light sabre on it (special consideration if you're an actual Jedi, in that case it would be extremely useful).

Not many people know this about me, but I came up with the idea for TIVO. Sadly I can’t take any legal action against the company that produces it, because I have no solid evidence. I never made a prototype due to that fact that when I came up with the idea, it was 1992, and I was five. I had neither the technology, nor the capacity, to piece together something like that. But how does a five year old come up with such an idea? From their dream of a simpler world, and their inability to work a VCR.

I resisted joining Myspace, then I resisted the move from Myspace to Facebook on the grounds that there’s no real difference between the two. You’ve got your friend requests, your status updates, that little “people you might know” box, which I never understood the point of. Yes, I know these people, but there’s a reason why I’m not friends with them. Facebook is just Myspace without the glitter, and I like glitter. Eventually though, you realise that there’s no one left on Myspace except you, Tom, and a whole lot of music.

My phone is a piece of shite (not literally). It doesn’t have Bluetooth, it doesn’t have video, the memory isn’t big enough to hold an entire ringtone... the list goes on. So why did I buy it? Well, it’s pink.
The main way it makes my daily life hell is the dictionary. Many a text message has been typed out one letter at a time because it has never heard of 9 out of every 10 words in the English language, and you can’t save new ones in there (eg. it offers you six other combinations of letters before it offers you the word 'poo'). It’s hard to navigate someone through Melbourne when the corner of Flinders and Swanston has become the corner of 'Elimddpp and Swamptm6 .'
I used to work in Hawthorn. This phone doesn’t know Hawthorn, it only knows 'Gaythorn.' And that’s the story of the time I laughed so hard at work that I almost wet my pants.

I realise I’ve been slagging off technology for a while now, so I’d like to point out some of the good points. For starters, self checkout units have made shoplifting effortless.* Then there’s our little friend Twitter. Ah, Twitter. When my parents were my age, and they were on the train, they had to write to all of their friends to let them know. That process was both expensive and time consuming, not to mention extremely wasteful. And by the time you got to the postbox to send them, you weren’t on the train anymore, rendering the entire exercise pointless.

How did people ever survive?

*I've never shoplifted. For reals, I haven't.

20 Questions

2010-03-19T16:50:00.000+11:00

21, technically.

Does it make you a hypocrite if you’re happy for Miss Piggy to be in love with Kermit, but freaked out by the way Gonzo is sexually attracted to chickens?
Is there anything wrong with trying not to think too much about your pin number while standing at the ATM on the off chance that the person behind you can hear your thoughts?
Is it weird to name your boobs after the Two Ronnies because they’re both brilliant, but one is noticeably smaller?
Is it weird to name your boobs?
If a tree falls in the woods and no one is there to hear it, is Napoleon Dynamite still one of the most overrated films of all time?
Will romance novels become obsolete now that we have high speed internet connections?
Is it OK to smack a friend in the face for being the only person in the world besides Kanye West who thinks that Kanye West is Jesus?
Now that Michael Jackson has faked his death, how long will it be before they release a “lost” single featuring him and Tupac?
Would people care more about political elections if we held them via a reality TV show and SMS vote?
Are giraffes supposed to be terrifying?
Has George Michael ever been arrested somewhere classy?
Is ShamWow the devil’s work?
How much therapy do you need if your ultimate sexual fantasy is to be lost in space with Doctor Who? (The hot one, clearly.)
If real estate agents are allowed to call dilapidated houses “a renovators delight,” can you call an ugly boyfriend or girlfriend “a real fixer-upper?”
Is the universe trying to tell you something if your highschool PE teacher's name rhymes with "molester?"
Should breakfast consist of more than a jar of Nutella and a spoon?
Is man’s natural enemy the revolving door?
Why don’t the TV networks just hook up The Bachelor with The Bachelorette and be done with it?
Everyone has considered starting a doomsday cult, right?
If you try to get to sleep at night by clearing your mind, and it becomes so clear that you forget to breathe, are you doing it wrong? Or are you just awesome at it?

Hero Worship

2010-03-12T15:08:00.000+11:00

I’ve known my best mate since I was 6. We had bad haircuts together, suffered injuries in our first moshpit together, and went slightly stir crazy that one time we tried to do the 40 Hour Famine together. Despite shared interests and shared experiences, there has always been one issue we could never agree on. One argument that has never been settled. Life’s eternal question:

Superman or Batman?

Now, remember that there are no right or wrong answers here. Unless you picked Batman. Then you're wrong. So very, very wrong.

Argument 1: Who would win in a fight between the two?
The only logical answer is Superman. This conclusion has been reached on the grounds that Superman is, in fact, super. Have you ever seen Batman turn back time? No? Didn’t think so. Next question.

Argument 2: Batman has the sexier outfit
Correct. But if we’re judging comic book heroes based purely on aesthetics, let’s not rule out the Hulk. Do you know how politically incorrect it is to discriminate against someone based on the colour of their skin? Jeez, racist much? I don’t know about the rest of society, but I like him when he’s angry. I like him a lot.

Argument 3: Superman has better Movie Titles
Superman. Superman II. Superman III - Clear. Precise. Easy to follow.
Batman Forever. Batman Begins. Batman and the Temple of Doom. Batman and the Prisoner of Azkaban. Batman and Kumar go to Whitecastle - Pretentious. Confusing. Lost track in the 90s.

Argument 4: Who the hell is Robin and what purpose does he serve?
Nobody, and none. Superman never needed a sidekick, or a creepy butler. He took care of business all on his own, y’all.

Argument 5: Bruce Wayne is less irritating than Clark Kent
That’s a matter of opinion, isn’t it? OK, so Clark was a little whiney, but Bruce Wayne has issues. Dark issues. Dressing as a bat, for one. That, and he’s a little bit too into gadgets. You know full well that if you ever met him in real life, he’d show you his iPhone apps.

Argument 6: The mystery of The Superman Curse
The Superman franchise comes with its own conspiracy theory, and who doesn’t love one of those? You know, besides the people who were victims of it. The theory is that if you play the role of Superman, you will die a tragic and untimely death (George Reeves, Christopher Reeve, etc.). ‘But what about Dean Cain?’ you ask, 'he didn’t die a tragic and untimely death.’ Well, no, but his career did. And if that’s not good enough for you, there’s still time.*

Argument 7: Superman has never been portrayed on the big screen by George Clooney
Case in point.

Conclusion:
Superman 4evaaaah!!!!!!!1

*In no way do I wish tragedy and misfortune on Dean Cain. I’ve never met the man, I’m sure he’s lovely. Really.

Career Opportunities

2010-03-10T14:06:00.000+11:00

“I’m going to teach you a lesson you’ll never forget.”
What was that lesson? Pythagoras' Theorem.

I finished high school in 2005, and though it’s only been a few years, I’ve realised something. Only three facts from the whole time I was there have actually stuck in my head:

How to find the length of the hypotenuse
Hitler allegedly only had one testicle
The word 'banana' in Italian is 'banana'

In year 7 we studied Africa. For the test, you had to list as many African countries as you could on a blank sheet of paper. I did reasonably well with this. My list went into the high 30s. Thinking about it this morning though, I came up with four: Egypt, Kenya, Nigeria, and… the other one.

I was always a good student, with the exception of PE (come back and talk to me when you’re a real subject). And surely the ‘D’ on my report for that one semester I did of drama stood for “Dramatically gifted.”

When the end of year 12 came around, I still didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life. A meeting with my careers teacher resulted in me being asked the following question: “Well, what are you interested in besides shitty rock bands?” Really, he asked me that. Apparently the options are quite limited for someone whose main goal in life is to one day own the complete series of Buffy the Vampire Slayer on DVD (bloody hell that show was brilliant. Speaking of brilliant shows, when is Blossom coming out on DVD? She was my hero in primary school. I got a hat with a big flower on it and everything. Kids these days ain’t learning nothing from Hannah Montana). I wanted to aim a little higher than the fast food industry. I wanted something that might hold my interest for more than 5 minutes. And while it may be the oldest profession in the world, prostitution is only as easy as you are. That had to be ruled out too.

While it was both rude and extremely disrespectful to my CD collection, the “shitty rock bands” comment led me to a Diploma of Music Industry Business. It was sex, drugs, and rock n roll baby! Just without the sex and the drugs. And with a lot more Occupational Health & Safety. I can’t sing or play an instrument, but if you want to know about music copyright laws, don’t ask me. I’ve forgotten.

All I know is that in another 45 years, John Lennon’s lyrics become public domain. Unless they’re the ones he wrote with Paul McCartney. If you want those ones, you’ll need to have McCartney killed, then wait out the next 75 years. Bummer.