Can't touch me!

My goodness. So funny.

I haven't been feeling very well.
Maybe when that worm in my mind has eaten its way out and my head collapses, everything will make sense.

I am also feeling a bit lost. If someone could mail me a letter telling me what the fuck we're doing here (in 50 words or less), I will write back saying, "Thank you". But don't bother if any of the words are "Love", "Heaven", "God's plan", "God's will", or worst of all - "42".

This is pretty darn good. It's a video of the Simpsons introduction, but with life characters instead.

Can someone share with me the secrets of motivation? I get stressed in school, staring at my diary and seeing all the unfinished homework (neatly) written down. In my mind I make ambitious plans. Pipe dreams of filing and archiving and organising and highlighting and grand promises to myself to make good use of tramming home time by reading King Lear or reading through history notes or listening to history lesson podcasts.

If I do read Lear I usually end up reading no more than 2 pages at the very most. If I do read my history notes I stay on the same page. If I do listen to the podcasts, more often than not, I end up stopping it halfway and start listening to music. Ah, sweet, non-rambling, non-monotonous, non-headache-inducing music!

When I get home I eat (first of all), surf the net, watch TV, then do the minimum work requirement before toddling off to bed.

Maybe what I need to is to implant a device in my brain that sends a miniscule volt of electricity everytime the lazy/indulgent/unmotivated parts of my brain are being stimulated. That'll show me! How dare I have the temerity to play around at this time of the year when it's barely 12 weeks to the exams and I still am not entirely confident of which texts to write on for English, let alone start memorising quotes for them!

Perhaps what I can do is to associate laziness and indulgence with a very, very, very, very unpleasant image. It shouldn't be too hard to find one - today we were watching a video of a Lear production in lit class, and the whole class was treated to a lovely scene where Lawrence Oliver (Lear) was bending over in the river washing his tattery old clothes and lovingly arranging flowers in his hair - with his man-boobs hanging out. The image has seared painfully into my brain and as I'm not into those sorts of things, this image shall not be my carrot but my stick.

AHHHHH. I went down to Video-Ezy Southbank, and guess who was on duty??!! It was Video-ezy!! I was excited (despite already knowing his schedule and thus expecting to see him there already, hahah- Oh shit. I'm becoming a stalker, aren't I?)

That cheeky bugger (I wanted to use the word bastard, but let's respect others. Especially the others that we have strong feelings of limerence towards.) SAW ME (through the glass windows) and LOOKED DOWN AND AWAY. Thanks Video-Ezy! I feel loved. Then I entered and he was all, "Hi, how's it going?" as if that little dao moment didn't just happen. ("Good, thanks!") But I'm going to cut him some slack. I know he's shy. I understand. I'm shy too, Video-Ezy. Wouldn't we make a good match, two shy little people who'll jump at every loud noise and bury our heads under sand everytime we feel threatened? Hmm? Yes? No? Sounds good to me.

So I asked, "Can you check whether it's overdue for me?"
So, and I swear this, but I'm not trying to make any implications or draw any conclusions, he scans the DVD (plus some others that someone returned before me) and his hands were trembling likes leaves (like in some Japanese haiku...

Leaves so brown and dry
Trembling as the cool wind blows
Look! My pants are gone!)

That's just an aside.

Turns out The Last Emperor DVD was overdue.
"But the fine's like, 50 cents."
"Oh. I don't have any money with me."
"Oh, that's ok, you can pay the next time you come in."

Awkward pause.

Then I decide to just go for it.

"You know what you should do?"
No, he doesn't know what I think he should do. Or, to put it more accurately, he doesn't know what I presume I am entitled to think he should do, like I'm the boss of him now.
"You should, like, you know, like, at the Video-Ezy store at Victoria Market, like, put little slips of paper in the DVDs that say, 'Hi! I'm due on Friday!"
He looks down, nods, and laughs his endearing little moronic laugh. You know, those kinds of laughs that go "PerBerherherher", except make it lower and moronic, you know, like some idiotic kind of silly billy clumsy nervous boy laugh. (Geez, I'm eloquent.)

"So.... erm, I'll pay the fine the next time I come in."
"Yeah, sure."
"Ok, thank you." (I say in as sweet and grateful a voice I can manage despite my tongue feeling like lead)
"No worries."

So I turned and left and felt pleased and then felt stupid and then regretted not talking to him about Napolean Dynamite, which was the other DVD I was renting when he started a conversation I was too embarassed to join in because my idiot brother and sister were there. Ah well.

Anyway, I walked back to my apartment, feeling kind of sad because I have way too much work to be thinking of renting more DVDs (or thinking of the boys that rent them out). Guess who I saw? A-----, walking out of the apartment presumably to buy smokes from CE Mart. I noticed he cut his hair. It's not that much shorter, but somehow he looked diminished in my eyes.
(Lit students, this is your cue to overanalyse.)

Labels: Boys

It's been a while since my last update... and it's because school's started again and homework is piling up again.

But I had to have to had to have to blog now, because I have to resolve the A----- situation. Things have changed since the time I begged my sister to go with me to borrow DVDs at the concierge.
We did go one night and he was there, and he was good-looking and nice smelling and all that. And he said more words that I have ever heard and that would thrill me, but something was off that night.
He made friendly chatter, told us more about himself, and joked, "That will be a grand total of $3" after we chose our movie. Should have been gorgeous and heart-fluttering-inducing. But was not.
Because he never once looked at me. Not even once. It might have had to do with the fact that my sister did all the talking, but still, it is bloody rude to not even have acknowledged my presence.
Look, I really am through with telling myself that my sister is prettier/more attractive/better/whatever than I am; and anyway I came across someone's quote: vote for yourself, first, last and always.

Plus I saw A----- smoking along Southbank Boulevard. Meaning.... goodbye!

I still see Mr Concierge everyday when I get home from school. And he always looks over but we don't acknowledge each other. Which is fine. I'll be fine. In a week or two.

And the bigger reason is that I've developed a crush on someone else. I don't even know his name, so I christen him Video-Ezy, named for the place he works as. And he's so sweet and clumsy and awkward and blundering that I think I love him.

Labels: Boys

Yay! my sister's back! (see previous entry)
I spilled the beans on A-----, then tried to make her promise to go down with me to the concierge desk to pretend to borrow DVDs.

Me: Hey, please please please please go down with me.
Sis: NO.
Me: Do you want me to send you that chain e-mail on 'Sisterhood'! It's your sisterly
obligation to go down with me!
Sis: Oh, that e-mail? I have it already. I deleted it without reading through.
Me: WHAT??
Sis: And even if it's my sisterly duty, I refuse to take part in this Tomfoolery.
Me: *light-bulb goes off in head; evil cackle* Ah-HAH! It's not Tomfoolery, it's A-haha *snort*-fool-le-hahaha-hoohoohoohoo.
Sis: Huh??
Me: *composes self* It's not Tomfoolery, it's A--*dissolves in giggles*
Sis: Yeah, yeah, A-----foolery, right? I saw that coming a mile away.
Me: *high-pitched giggle; runs away and dives under bed covers*

I love my sister.

Labels: Boys

My sister's back from Perth!
She's all crabby right now.
But she likes my hooker tights.
All is right with the world now.

I must be unattractive when I cry.
On Wednesday (same day as Chumscrubber!) I was out when some grit got into my eye. My right eye teared so badly I was practically blinded and had to sit down and pathetically dab at my eye with a tissue. My left eye, doing ok (good job, leftie) looked up and I saw a couple giggling at me. Giggling. They were looking straight at me and giggling. Hey you know what I say, it's bad enough when your mum giggles at you, but when two strangers are giggling at you in your decidedly unfunny moment of vulnerability - it's time to reconsider whether your misanthropic view of life is not unjustified.

In any case, I recommend goggles.

I went to watch The Chumscrubber on Wednesday, at the only place that they're showing it in Melbourne - good 'ol C*n*m* N*v*. I dragged Leanne along with me. I made her promise, way, way, way before the school holidays, that she had to watch it with me and so when I sprung with the idea she had no choice - poor girl. But she didn't regret it I'm sure, because we spent the whole of gelato time at Lygon street after the movie talking about SPOILER and how SPOILER we hated that character SPOILER who was so damn SPOILER and that actress from The SPOILER and that actor from SPOILERSPOILERSPOILERSPOILER.

Hey, I get it man, people hate spoilers, right? So i'm 'spoiler-tagging' it for you. You can thank me later.

It is a great movie. It's in the same vein as Donnie Darko and Desperate Housewives and American Beauty, so if you're into that sort of thing (I wouldn't know, I haven't watched any of the above mentioned) you'll definitely like it.

I thought of writing up a lengthy review but then I realise that people won't give a shit, so I'm just focusing on one special, special moment.

It was when Run by Snow Patrol started playing in the scene when Billy the bully is punching his punching bag and then flicks his switchknife and ninja-stars it across the room and into the wall, missing Lee's head by an inch. I almost vomitted with joy when I heard that song. That song, my friends, is a gem, introduced to me by dear Quanmin. I always imagined the song to be perfect for a scene in a high school locker area when people from the Sheriff's department come charging in and arrest a girl because of a tip-off by her good friend who may or may not be in love with her. (And no, I haven't been watching too much Veronica Mars.) But now the scene that plays in my head whenever that gem of a song is played is replaced by that amazing Billy scene. As Keanu Reeves would say, "WHOA".

The Chumscrubber left me with a feeling of emptiness as I left the cinema, and that is my benchmark for how good a film is - how completely, utterly, emotionally drained it leaves me. I think the last time I felt similar to the way I felt was when I watched Deep Impact, which isn't really an intellectual or even remotely intelligent movie, but I was what, ten? I think even watching some fluffy children's cartoon like Ice Age or Monsters Inc or E.T would have left me sobbing and drowning in my own snot - oh shit. I just gave my most embarassing secret away. Oh wait no - my deepest, deepest darkest secret of how I secretly love the teletubbies, and how I have a secret crush on Tinky-Winky is still safe. Phew.

Maybe the emptiness that filled me (har har, 'emptiness' that 'fills'? Ironic, get it? Geddit??) had more to do with having the delightful visual presence of Justin Chatwin taken away from me. I mean, in that Run scene alone all I could think about was how his pretty pretty eyes looked so amazing and how he had that pretty pretty nose and those pretty pretty kissable lips and how his pretty pretty hair looked so good; and how he took out his pretty pretty knife and flung it in a pretty pretty motion into the wall, nearly cutting notpretty notpretty Lee who promptly sprung at pretty pretty Billy and punched him, whereby they both fell into a pretty/notpretty ball yelling and biting at each other.

Yeah, that's probably it.

Labels: Boys

I really wanted to find a picture of Hossan Leong and Avril Lavigne and put them side by side to prove that they both have fish lips. Not joking. Unfortunately, because I can't find any pictures of Hossan Leong not smiling (he sure is a happy guy), I can't prove that. So just take my word for it. Hossan Leong and Avril Lavigne's cupid's bows are so descended that they look so much alike that they might as well be siblings.


lay off the eyeliner, pandagirl. Or maybe I should say pandagirrrrrl.

Luckily I have a picture of Avril to prove that I'm not talking crockpot.

And wait! I DO have a picture of Hossan Leong.


Cool! He's completely validating what I say.

And this entry has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that I don't feel like doing any of the five english essays that are due next week. Absolutely nothing.

And YET ANOTHER entry in the continuing A----- saga!!! After I went to the gym at 6, I felt this incredible urge to walk past the concierge desk again. So I invented some silly excuse ("Er, mum! I'm going to the Asian grocer to buy teh terik!") and went down. Then zoooooommeed past the concierge desk. Gee. So I went to the Asian grocer and walked along the aisles in a daze for about 10min. In the end I picked up a random stick of candy just so I wouldn't look stupid. But I had a nice friendly chat with the uncle in the store... so at least it wasn't a wasted trip.

Anway, back to the A----- saga. On the way back up to the lifts, I WAS going to walk past the desk, but then some stupidly brave/ disturbingly stalkerish part of me steered me to the counter.

Me: Hi
A-----: Hey.
Me: Erm, I was just wondering... about your uh, *eyes flick to dry cleaning poster*... dry cleaning rates. (DOH!)
A-----: Yeah, sure. (tears off a "Duds n' Suds" order form)
A-----: Now if you bring it to us before 7.30 you bzt bzt bzt bzt bzt bzt bzt bzt bzt bzt bzt bzt bzt bzt bzt bzt. Bzt bzt bzt? Bzt bzt bzt bzt.
Me: *Stares dreamily*
A-----: Bzt bzt bzt bzt bzt.
Me: (snapping out of stupor) Uh ok, thanks!

Then in a completely dignified manner, I turned around, tripped on the carpet and was sent sprawling across the slippery marble floor. Nice.

Ok, that part about me falling didn't really happen, but it should have! It so should have because I totally deserved it for that lousy performance.

Anyway I should get back to my essay question on A View from the Bridge and write about inappropriate relationships between 17 year old girls and much older men.

Labels: Boys

Yet another entry in the continuing A----- saga. So I just discovered from my mum that A----- wants to be a scuba diver who repairs ship hulls. How did she know that? And more importantly... why is this information making me swoon?

Today I walked by the concierge desk four times.

Once on the way out to go shopping. I didn't buy that horrible, overpriced coat. Because it's ugly and it's smelly and it's yucky-yucky-hate-it-hate-it-hate-it. Ok, fine, the real sour-grape-juice-free reason: my size is out of stock and it's a discontinued line... so... yeah. The sales person had to brew me a hot chamomile tea and fan me and bring me a box of tissues because I was crying so badly. Three assistants had to group around me and hold me until I stopped shaking. "There, there," the first sales person said gently, "There, there." Then when I had regained my composure, she held my hand and whispered in my ear, "Promise me you'll survive. That you won't give up on your dream sartorial item, no matter what happens, no matter how hopeless and expensive. Promise me now, Rose, and never let go of that promise. Try looking in J*st Jeans, they have a nice blue trench coat over there. Plus it's half the price, and just as nice."

So I did, and am now a proud owner of a nice spanking new blue waist-length trench coat that I shouldn't have bought because I know I'll be too afraid to wear it out in case someone else is wearing it too. Go, me!

I then popped into Sp-rtsg-rl to buy those lace tights that Leanne and I were laughing at last week because they were so hookerish.

Me (pointing to tights): Haha. Ew! That's something a hooker will wear.
Leanne: Errrgggh. That's... quite ugly.
Me: BWAHHAHAHA yeah, I know right, I mean, like, they're so ugly and gross right? Har har har har har har. and like, yuck, right? *makes mental note to come back and buy them another day*

Unfortunately, they were out of stock.

After my second cup of hot chamomile tea, I lifted my head up with renewed resolve and trained to C*mb*rw*ll Sp*rtsg*rl... only to discover that they were out too.

Hence my third cup of chamomile tea. And also a dawning realisation that the hooker look must be in.

Ok, back to the point of the story, which is supposed to be an A----- centric entry but has become a sad reflection of my shopper's bad luck.

The second time I passed A---- was when I came back from M*lb**rn* C*ntr*l. The concierge counter was busy with people demanding DVDs and what-nots. No chance to flirt.

I decided to make up some excuse to walk past the counter again, so I pretended I needed to buy the newspaper from CE Mart, giving me two more precious opportunities to walk past the concierge counter.

$1.40 for 5 seconds of A-----. Is it worth it? I'll leave you to contemplate that while I go down to get another copy of the papers. And another. And another...

Edited to add: Place names have their vowels substituted by an asterisk because I do not want them to pop up in google or some other search engine. I have become extremely gun-shy because of that whole incident with my other blog.

Labels: Boys, Shopping

A new entry in the continuing A----- saga. Today, my mum cooked dinner (I didn't eat, too full, sorry mum, next time, I promise. Yup, I'll clean my room, yes, I'll do my work.. um hmm, yes the toilet too, umhmm. What? Sorry, got distracted for a while there. You know, from the incessant NAGGING.)

Anyway. My mum cooked an extra portion of food today.
Me: What's all that extra for?
Mum: *humming* It's for A-----.
Me: ?!

Then she went downstairs, delivered the meal (maggi noodles without the seasoning, vegetables, chicken meatball, fried onion and garlic) and came back up. We went down again an hour later (going for church, 8pm service on Sunday. Last minute much?) and A----- was so happy, thanking my mum profusely and generally acting as if my mother was the er, mother he never had. From the way he was praising her maggi dish, you would think he has having his first taste of cavier or foie gras or some other magical expensive snobbish dish. Geez, A-----. Instant noodles. In a pot of boiling water for 5 minutes. No need to throw a thank you party.

And now I'm being bitchy. I'm sorry, but I wish my mum would stop being so maternal to tall, hot, young, lonely, bored-on-the-job, talented-at-fixing-light-bulbs twenty-something-year-old men. A----- really bothers me. In the way tall, hot, young, lonely, bored-on-th - nevermind.

In my experience, concierges - the equivalent, I suppose, of condominuim security guards in Singapore - are supposed to be old, obese and obiang, reeking of smoke and leering at maids. So what's with this tall, hot - OK you know what? I should go recite the rosary or something. Or engage in self-flagellation. So I will stop thinking about this tall, hot, young - *slams head on keyboard*

Labels: Boys

So last night I had a great chat with Matilda, who I designate my World Cup Buddy(Sorry, Matilda, you have no say in this :P)

Wonderful! She's my original beheap/behear buddy and now she introduces me to this Brazillian soccer player, Kaka. (whom I thought looked a bit monkeyish at first. But then I went to this site which had his modelling pictures, and 18uibkjghao;lnjhawhgjkn. Sorry, I meant to say - auihdglbkjndfbhlaijkg. Damn! My hands keep slipping! Must be from all the drool I left on the keyboard.)

I'm Green; Matilda's Blue.

A Robot in argyle, no less said:
any more soccer players I should be, uh, aware of?
A Robot in argyle, no less said:
you know, for their soccer skills and all that
A Robot in argyle, no less said:
:D
Podolski, Ballack, Klose, Lahm. Zu Gast bei Freunden. said:
haha, I know what you mean!

Oh, you so do :)

Anyway, all this reminiscing about st ----'- life just makes me feel all nostalgic. It makes me want to cong a cup of hot milo, listen to Coffee and TV, curl up in a ball in the corner of the room and shed a single, perfect tear.
Haha. Ok. I'll lay off the cheese.

Oh and WCB, (that's World Cup Buddy to you) - South Africa 2010? You're on!

Labels: Friends, Soccer, Sport, World Cup

Whoa, guess who I saw when I went down to the gym?????

Answer: A-----, being a real gentleman, what with the door opening and door holding and smiling and all.

Wait a minute. Smil-...Oh. Oh oh oh Oh NO.

*Buries head in hands*

Sob. This cannot be happening. I have had enough. Enough, ye gods! Do you hear me?

*shakes fist at the heavens*

Labels: Boys

Step 1: Deduce if laugh is actually a laugh. Generally, laughs being with a ‘h’ and usually follow with vowels such as ‘a’, ‘ee’, or even ‘o’.

Step 2: Decode!

Haha: Normal laugh. Denotes amusement in response to your witticisms and jokes.

Hahaha: Step-up from normal laughter. Denotes pleasure in response to your witticisms
And jokes.

HahahahahahahahahaROFLROFL: Denotes extreme, maniacal pleasure in response to your witticisms and jokes, but more likely in response to the story you just told involving peanut butter, underwear, two gerbils and a carrot. Let’s not go there. May involve pants-wetting, and short-circuited keyboard on the other end. If you get responses like this often, e-mail me. I’ll like to be your friend.

Hah!: Snortful laughter. Usually has undercurrents of agreement ‘you’re right, man’ and ‘us-against-the-ridiculous-world’ sentiment.
e.g: A: If you watch Lost, be prepared to wait 3 seasons to actually find out the meaning of that damned monster we saw in season 1, episode 1.
B: Hah! So true.

Hohoho: Gentle and genial laughter. Usage of this term peaks during Advent and Christmas period, but may be common during other times.

Harhar: Sarcastic laughter. The ‘r’ at the end of the ‘ha’ is an over-eunuciation designed to indicate their irritation. Usually in response to your ribbing. Warning: if you get this response more than 3 times, it’s time to realise that you’re starting to rub people the wrong way. Lay it off, bitch!

e.g: A: Sooooo, I heard you got a hickey on your mickey.
B: Harhar. Shut up.

Labels: MSN

Wow, I've just been to Cheryl and Julie's blogs, and they have all these... youtube videos crawling all over their pages. Shit, it makes me feel left out. So I decided to be a sheep and put up a video that will have you giggling for days. Especially if you're a Veronica Mars fan.



Hee. Gotta love him.
In other news, one of the concierges, A----w, came to my apartment to change one of the blown light bulbs in the toilet. When I opened the door, he just stood there, smelling so nice. So I basically ran to my room and sat there blushing until he left. Go, me.

Edited: Ok only after reading through (that's why you do that, you dimwitted soaphead. Refering to me.) I realise how the entire situation could be misread - I make it seem as if I opened the door, saw him standing there (smelling nice), gave a little scream and ran into my room while he stood outside all the while.

The actual situation: I opened the door, said 'hi' (noticed he smelled good), let him in, and my mum was there to deal with him, including, (I swear this) flirrrttttiiinng ('Wow, A------, you're soooo talented") Why? Basically all he did was change the light-bulb, fix the blinds, and drop hints left and right about his technological prowess. Rwwo-be-dip-do-beep-oooaaarr. But yes, it's true I did sit in my room throughout, blushing. So yes, go me!

Labels: Boys, Jason Dohring, Youtube