retail therapy...

...is good. It helps lighten the soul, and the pocket.

And the black 30GB iPod is so sweet.

frustration...

It's really bad when you plan something, then you can't do it. It's even fucking worse when you plan something, can't do it, then be given hope that you might be able to do it, then can't, and then ANOTHER time.

I'm just so bloody frustrated I think I will just sleep the next 2 weeks away.

tired...

I am so exhausted. In so many ways. I can't believe I fell alseep while playing games. Maybe this has just been an exhaustive week. And I wasn't even planning on posting. But, gah.

First off was dinner with Kian's friends at Papa Gino's. Food selection was quite good. Comments on the food selection:


The bread had a slightly rubbery crust and the inside was a bit too soft. Olive oil would have gone better with the bread. It would have been better if it was warm or lightly toasted.


This pizza was very meaty. Quite nice, well balanced flavours, nice amount of toppings, no real complaints. Personally, though, I would have enjoyed it if the chilli flake bottle cover didn't come loose and spill like half the friggin bottle of chilli flakes on my pizza. I couldn't eat much after that.

In the background, the ham omelette was a bit too thin and too salty. Not to be considered full bodied food.


Fettucine with clams was okay, slightly spicy, a mite too clammy. The clams weren't fully washed, so there were grains of sand in it. No major disagreements with it. Worth the eat.


This pizza was too mushroomy (not coming from me, though I must agree), too many capsicums and stuff, but edible.


Strawberry crepe was very nice. Strawberries were fresh, the serve was large, and most importantly, still warm. Excellent finisher.


Overall, a worthy eat, Papa Gino's. Only thing is you must know what to order. And avoid spilling chilli flakes all over your pizza. Use paprika or tabasco. Gah.

On Friday, I cooked some random things for Michy's parents and an assortment of friends.


Not a flattering picture, but gets the point across. It wasn't too good a run, I must admit. Sigh. I'm so losing my touch.

Museum trip on Saturday!


This huge-ass whale skeleton was the opening exhibit. Nice.


I suppose Ban would like some furry things once in awhile. Wallaby!


And kiwi. See? They look nothing like the fruit. Or sheep.


Talk about huge calamari.


They have some weird fish.


Ooh. Looky. A UFO. Or is it AN UFO?


This is so Jurassic Park.


Pretty metallic morpho butterflies. Nice.


And naked statues. It's like being made of rock immediately renders you in an income bracket too low to afford decent clothing. Must be that stick thing he spends so much money on.

Okay, too exhausted to continue. Bye to Kim and Kian who left this afternoon, and to Vonzie who's leaving tomorrow, I think. Have fun, come back soon.

Something interesting happened today. 40 bucks fell out of the sky. And then I found 2.50 on the road. Woah.

Edit: Gah. Jon. You're right. I must be more fucked up than I thought.

mirror...

I just looked into the mirror. What a joke.

Hah.

murder...

If we keep to the legal definition of murder, then most of us are quite off the hook. But if we were to think of ideas and thoughts and hopes and feelings as sentient things, and the product of human creation (as are babies, for that matter), all of us are the most bloody killers imagineable.

For my part, I've been trying to strangle a particular idea/thought/feeling. It's mostly dead, as far as I can tell. Still, once in awhile, it somehow recovers and gets around walking again. Either this thing's really tough, or it just won't be put down. Damnable thing.

And when they say murderers have guilty consciences, they just might be right. I've never been one to fret about guilt. I rarely feel guilty over anything, but this attempted murder has gotten me feeling all turmoiled inside. Isn't that just a hoot. I should sell tickets to the show. People would come and watch this big anguished kid talking to himself on stage, then walking about, throwing profanities at random intervals towards unsuspecting audience members, who would be delighted in how avant garde the whole production is.

Dan might be right. I probably should learn to let go of certain restrictions. But that makes the PAST me seem so silly, right? Especially since those restrictions haven't been long standing. I come across as terribly pessimistic. I like to think I'm a realistic optimist. I keep my high hopes to myself, because I don't like to fall flat. Horrible as my face is, I wouldn't like to damage it further.

What SHOULD I do for dinner, hey?

Someone kill me please. Gah.

unforgettable...

Some things are, and most annoyingly, they're the very ones that you're trying NOT to remember.

I hate being confused. And that's what I'm doing to myself. Gah. I've said this a thousand times, and it probably won't change anything if I said it again: I'd slit my fucking wrists if I wasn't so afraid of pointy things.

There are things running in my head I didn't think I'd need to consider for at least a long long while. And yet they're back again. Only with a streak I had not anticipated. I should drown myself, but I have a fear of drowning, or something like that. Damnation.

Let's hope this Redken people know what they're doing with hair. I'm supposed to get soft hair that's malleable and absolutely lucious enough to run fingers through. We'll see.

Question: assuming a sufficiently large budget, I need to choose between the Nokia 6280 and the N91. I did consider the LG Chocolate phone, but only trick is that it doesn't have the niftiness I'm looking for. The N91 is sleek enough, only issue being the tiny tiny keypad. The 6280 is a balanced enough toy, but it's music playback isn't as spiffy as I'd like, warranting another huge expenditure in the form of a black 60G iPod.

Much as I like that mouthwatering electronica, a sufficiently large budget is easily felled by many blows. So, I have to decide. N91, or 6280?

On another note, I really need to clean my room. Again.

simple...

...pleasures. Because some evil assassin rabbit chomped me.

10. Retail therapy. Nothing better than buying un-needful and most scandalously impractical toys like wireless mouse-es and cameras and handphones and mp3 players and... Boys' toys, essentially.

9. Chocolate. Because good chocolate is STILL better than sex. Of course, if your idea of good chocolate are like, Smarties, God help you.

8. Classical music. Because there is no way you can play the 5th Symphony on your lonesome and make it sound remotely fun. So you get OTHER people to do it for you.

7. Live theater. Like TV, but 3D.

6. Preprepared curry pastes. Ever tried grinding and frying your own? Neither have I.

5. Remote controls. Perfect for the time you want to change channels away from all that annoying ball kicking.

4. Quilts. You can never have enough quilts in this weather. NEVER!

3. Potatoes. Carb-laden packets of sin they may be, but nothing beats a well prepared potato salad, or potato mash, or baked potatoes with mayonnaise and bacon bits. Mmm.

2. Overpriced gourmet coffee outlets. Can you say free internet? Ahahah!

1. Public benches. Good for resting an overstretched bottom, tying shoe laces, sleeping on, making out on, reading on, and the list goes on...

my mistake...

So it seems that my lack of internet connection was because I put it on "Share this computer's internet connection through LAN". Like. Gah. Kim! See lah you!

I still think they should scrap this 1.5M line shared between 11 people. That's slower than friggin dialup. Give us a 5M cable dammit!

thoughts in bed...

Antisocial boy. Maybe that's who I should be for the next month or so. I'm getting a bit too easily irritated by little things. And a bit too stupid to show it.

If the internet in the house isn't working by tomorrow, I might seriously have to think about moving out. No internet is worse than being raped by a ten foot pike.

I don't think downing that bottle of paracetamol is going to kill me. I'm too fat. Gah.

Slashing myself did come to mind, but again, the image of something sharp biting into my flesh left me cringing at my hands for the next half an hour.

I don't think my housemates got much sleep last night with all the headbanging on the wall.

There's an annoying little bit of pale anger that wells up in your throat when your eyes get really moist but you can't cry.

Smothering yourself is quite difficult when you have a history of lung weakness and your reflexes are a bit too efficient.

Walking around in just shorts in the winter to clear your head is the surest way to get frozen balls. Next to putting them in the freezer.

Having almost no connection to the big alternate reality where I actually am something is so disconcerting that I can actually watch Family Guy and American Dad and NOT be amused.

Trying to talk to God in the middle of the night doesn't seem to help with this level of depression. Neither does writing it in a blog, apparently.

Four orange Tim Tams does not a dinner make. Too bad.

tragedy...

That's what I am. A walking tragedy. Or rather, a walking embryonic tragedy. This can only be the beginning.

I have to remind myself not to get scalded anymore. Especially when frying stuff. It's a bit much when you start splashing copious amounts of boiling oil on yourself. Quite frustrating. Especially since it distracts from cooking. Gah.


Ooh. I'm becoming a slob. There's some pie in the back there, and there's a lamington crate. And en empty can of Shweppes Lemonade. And then there are stacks of paper all over. The only reason it's reasonably clean is because I need room to move the mouse. Ooo. Looky. New keyboard that so absolutely clashes with the overall colour scheme. Why can't they have WHITE keyboards, eh? Or why can't I have a BLACK scheme? Gah. My eyes hurt.

On another note, it seems I can't write correeckt neemore. And I. seem to, have bad - punctuation? Werdz jhusht sheim du kum aut rong. Heelp.

jamie who?

Clareen, there is just no way I look like Jamie Cullum. See?



No, I don't even look like an Asian Elijah Wood. So there.

rabbits...

...are scary.

it's so hard...

...to cry sometimes. It's a good thing I rarely feel the urge to even try.

Another stage of apathy. I cannot believe how easily irritated I feel these days. I've been all chirpy and overactive around people, and I don't know why. It's even less explicable since I have this vague burning feeling of hatred.

It's so frustrating. I feel like killing something. At the same time, I want someone to talk to, but I don't think it would be very safe for anyone to do that right now.

I bloody hate this. I can't wait for the 19th to come around. Then I'll be spending some quality time with myself wandering around the city. Or sitting on benches looking at people pass me by. It's like a literal metaphor of my life. I've hardly moved from that childishly hopeless idiot I've been in years past. What little progress I appear to have made is like some sort of defence mechanism.

It's a good thing I'm scared of pointy things. Otherwise, I'd pretty much have cut myself up a bit, and much of the surrounding. Maybe I just need to build something.

I can't believe I'm listening to Kiroro.

Argh. I just want to freaking smother myself right now. But what ever will Kian do if nobody was there to give him his Blinding Angels? I think he'd just die.

Memories are hard to come by. They're the source of my pissiness, and the thing that calms me down. Only thing is that I'm now just bloody angry without reason. So angry that I cleaned my room. And there's no more chocolate.

FUCK!!!

gasp...

Finally! Connection to the Wonderful World Wide Web of Whirlygigs and Whorish Whimsy! The fucken connection has been down for 4 friggin days! What the hell do we pay the fucken bills for!?

Okay, that covered, I did think of doing that perfect lover tag thing that Liz so kindly pinned on me, then I decided not. Not ready to love, so thinking about it is kinda like thinking of food on an empty stomach. So, no. But in short, my perfect love would be someone exactly like me, but without the flaws. Ahah!

Yay. New keyboard. I can't be arsed to take a photo of it. And already I forgot how much it cost. Only thing I do know is that it works like a good keyboard is supposed to. Huzzah.

Oo. Er. What else to say? Oh, yes. I lost my flair for blogging, so I think I'll kill this one permanently. Wahey.

Bang.

end trip...

The apartment in Dandenong was quite a nice place. About 60 a day. Three rooms, three bathrooms. Relatively large place, and best part was it was a new place with all those new-fangled central heating things.


I didn't actually go into the mountains. Too far, and tiresome. Rather, we spent most of the time wandering around doing random things. Like, the Dandenong Market.


And Dandenong Plaza. Which is technically like any other mall.


Mostly, it was house shopping.


Some had cool shrubbery. Like this floating bush.


Mostly though, they were the sort of dumps that you'd expect homicidal paedophiles would hide in. Gasp. Dead babies.


The rest of the time, we spend meeting Dad's friends for dinner and getting myself hopelessly glazed over.


Which reminds me, there's this place in Springvale that's quite good. But it has an absolutely absurd name.


Still, good food and random company with vegans who know what meats to order and what wines to drink is quite interesting.


And camwhore daughters. Gasp. Almost makes me want to have kids.


Then again, they can get hopelessly boring bored.


Still, I think single without kids is still best.