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theZEBRA
just spent the weekend at the army barracks
Is Chewing On
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Creation
Gore Vidal

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Everything in Transit
Jack's Mannequin
Lick Those Stripes!
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Songs of the Plains
Family Court

One would be in less danger
From the wiles of a stranger
If one's own kin and kith
Were more fun to be with.

Ogden Nash
Deadly Animals (Come to Australia)
Tuesday. 11.7.06 10:57 am
We're in the shade, taking a break from kungfu drills. He's on his back with an arm thrown over his eyes and I'm sitting about three feet away, wishing that I hadn't thrown myself down so carelessly. If I move closer, will it be too obvious? What if I squeal at an imaginary beetle and jump away from it (and incidentally closer to him)? No, I don't want to seem too girly. Maybe if I subtly scoot closer, millimetre by millimetre…

"How would you like to learn to surf?"

My concentration is broken and my little toe stops in its 1mm journey towards my Kungfu Instructor. "Ugk?" My response is all eloquence.

"Well, I might go surfing this weekend or the next with a couple of mates. But if you like, I could teach you to surf instead," he elaborates.

"Yeah, I could be up for it," I reply after a bit of pretend consideration. KI in boardies. KI in boardies and no shirt. KI in boardies and no shirt, and dripping wet. Hmm, big decision there.

We lapse back into a comfortable silence. I'm torn between resuming my eventual migration westwards and examining the freckles on his arm (from behind my sunnies). They're fascinating. They're not a 'constellation' as some have charmingly named freckles. The explosion looks like someone carrying a bucket of freckles had tripped and upended it all over KI's arm. I wonder, how far do the freckles extend?

"…sharks."

"Mmh… Sharks?" I snap out of my reverie.

"Yeah, my mate reckons he saw one the last time we surfed. We shot out of the water pretty quickly, haha."

"Do you…do you think we'll see a shark?"

"Who knows? Maybe we won't even get to see it before…" he tails off with a wicked grin.

I take my sunnies off and stare at him in alarm.

"And I once had a huge stingray swim towards me."

Steve Irwin. My eyeballs threaten to pop out.

"But I reckon the ones you gotta watch out for are the jellyfish," he continues. "Those can hurt."

"Are they lethal?" I squeak.

"Only the box jellyfish. You won't even make it to shore if you get stung. So you definitely wanna watch out for those. Then again, their tentacles can stretch out so far that you can't actually see the jellyfish."

By now, he's nearly shaking with laughter at the horror on my face.

"And they're practically invisible."

I chuck a pinecone at him. The things I put up with when I like someone.

________________________________________________________________


This is art



Nic wished that we had eaten dinner after the pride parade

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It Floats My Stoat
Tuesday. 10.24.06 11:59 am
I am an addict.

There. I said it. It's very hard for me to admit, but it's time I faced the truth.

I have been addictified by the addictiveness of eBay.

Curse the person who came up with eBay. It's nefarious. Snagging unsuspecting victims, latching onto the inner auctionphile within, and trapping them forever and ever with promises of great deals and you have 2 items ending soon and 1 minute left!

I think about eBay constantly. My schedule is filled with the end times of a multitude of auctions. My alarm clock was set for 4.46am just so I could make the last minute winning bid.

You nutter, my friends say. You nutter, you can buy that Crinkle Style Black Shirt with Detailed Stitching Down the Left Sleeve BNWT at the shops. Yes, that's true. But will I be able to get it for half price at the shops? No! Don't you see?! eBay's so much better!!! Everyone should shop on eBay! THINK OF HOW MUCH MONEY YOU'LL SAVE!!! (Look at how I'm abusing exclamation marks without a second thought as to their wellbeing. That's how strongly I believe in eBay.)

I could wax lyrical about the bids I've won. Just like how big game hunters share war stories, we eBayers swap tactics and anecdotes about the one that almost got away. Every winning bid leaves me suffused with a warm glow of satisfaction and soothes the materialistic beast within me.

But at what cost?

I have no social life. I disappear between classes to check if anyone has outbid me. I've declined invitations to parties because an auction would end during the party. At those that I did attend, I spent the whole night rooted in front of a borrowed computer, obsessively tracking the item(s) I was bidding on.

At a bar the other night, I was waiting for a drink when a guy tapped me on the arm. He was at that perfect age, just into his thirties, with a sexy smile and roguish good looks. He breathed into my ear, "I've been watching you since you arrived, you delectable young thing you. I want you so much that it's killing me. Come home with me and we'll have wild, mind-blowing sex all night long and all day tomorrow."

Hmm, tempting.

He winked at me. "I'm from New Zealand and I play rugby."

Sold. I grabbed him and started to drag him towards the exit. But then I remembered.

"Sorry, I've got an auction ending in an hour and a half."

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Free the Gnomes!
Wednesday. 10.11.06 2:24 pm
As the selfless person that I am – one who gives to the community, who thinks nothing of starving herself so that the hungry would have something to eat, who would gladly flay herself and offer you her skin if you needed something to bind your books with – I jumped at the chance to join a volunteer project in the country over the weekend.

According to the brochure, we would be repainting resident gnomes at Gnomesville(!), and assisting with repairs at the fire station as well as helping to develop a path to it. I wasn’t too excited about the gnomes, but the fire station… Fire trucks! Fire station pole! FIREMEN IN FIREFIGHTER UNIFORMS!

Alas, I found out too late that firemen in firefighter uniforms sliding down fire station poles and riding around in big, red fire trucks are found only in the city. In the country, it’s community volunteers in civvies drinking cups of tea in a little fire shed.

Fooled.

No matter. The lack of firemen in firefighter uniforms was made up for with an abundance of food. Glorious food, hobbit-style! Bang up breakfast! Elevensies! Lunch! Afternoon tea! Dinner! And I stuffed myself silly at every meal – the townspeople urging us to “Eat more! Eat more!”, and me crying “I can’t! I can’t!” while shovelling tart after tart into my mouth.

And the GNOMES! Hundreds of them tucked away in a little gnome village! Gnomes with axes, gnomes with guns, gnomes climbing a mini Mt. Everest, rude gnomes, dancing gnomes, RAAFA gnomes, Obi Wan Kegnomey, Astrognome, and Metrognome. And like a true tourist, I was absolutely delighted! I oohed and aahed over every gnome and took countless cheesy gnome pictures. It was lucky that there wasn’t a Gnome Souvenir Shop around or I would have gone home with a gnome pointy hat and a gnome decorative axe.

Other bits I picked up over the weekend:
  • Wellington Mill cows are pets, not food.
  • Residents of Wellington Mill are either under 14 or over 40.
  • Gardening isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.
  • Pillow fights are all fun and games until someone gets hurt. Then it’s just fun.
  • A Skimpy is exactly what it sounds like.


________________________________________________________________


Gunther wasn't a fan of tourists

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Thong of Destruction (F., N. U.)
Friday. 9.29.06 9:52 am
Wasps! Wasps! Crawling threateningly on the walls! Camping malevolently on door handles! Wasps infesting the house!

In the past two weeks, I’ve sighted and eliminated no less than NINE wasps in my Home. With my trusty Thong of Destruction (footwear, not underwear) in hand, I slip, shadow-like, from room to room and down long corridors, scouting for enemy troops. I’ve tried to locate their home base but it’s too well-concealed. Any attempts to torture prisoners for information have been foiled – they commit harakiri with their own stings or kamikaze themselves into the ToD (f., n. u.). The enemy has indeed been well trained.

The floor is littered with mutilated, barely-recognisable carcasses. All that remains of these once brave, but misguided, soldiers are bits of wing and legs lying haphazardly in a smudge of black and yellow. Their deaths serve a higher purpose, to warn their comrades off from entering these hallowed halls.

In the face of so much death and destruction, these wasps show no emotion. What monsters they are, to disregard their fallen comrades like that! Their own deaths are certain, but still they fly in only to die under the ToD (f., n. u.). They appear to have inexhaustible numbers and therein lies their battle tactic. My grisly attacks have not made a dent in their army, whereas all they need is just one true strike, one warrior with the blessing of Lady Luck, and there will be no one left to wield the ToD (f., n. u.).

I hear gasps of disbelief. Where are your comrades, you ask. Where are your fellow troops, your loyal brothers/sisters-in arms? Surely you do not fight this battle alone!

Alas, ‘tis true! Worse, my housemates mock and even condemn me for the murder of apparently peaceful insects. They say that wasps are not our enemy, that they will only attack if provoked. Ah, but their naïve eyes cannot see the inevitable. All it takes is a careless hand or a clumsy step. Though they be unappreciative of my efforts, I will not see them struck down by a vicious sting!

So although my body grows weary and my sight grows dim with fatigue, I still prowl the corridors mercilessly. The task is arduous and fraught with danger, but I will defend my home.

I will prevail.

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Daddums
Thursday. 9.21.06 9:20 am
From the man who once received a letter from the government advising him not to leave the country:

When my sister blew her computer up



When my mom wanted something

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Hit Me with a Double
Thursday. 9.14.06 5:48 pm
Bar work!

I'll be working at the uni's bar next week. I can't wait - free drinks, flirting with the hot bartender whose name I don't know yet but will soon (ho ho ho), having uber cool BARTENDER status (let's not ALL rush in for a shag), and more free drinks!

Perfik!

Or it would be if I was getting paid as well. Somehow, I find myself paying $40 to put in two hours of slave labour instead. Surely, something went wrong somewhere...

But no. It's not a con. The $40 I forked out was actually for a 2-night bar course involving lessons on the do's and don't's behind a bar, how to pour a beer (and they forced us to drink our attempts! *Hic* "That was a crap pour. Can I *hic* have another go?"), a bit of wine -- *hic hic* -- tasting, and how to mix a number of cocktails (and dispose of them accordingly too. "Ooo, I think I mucked this one up. Can I -- *falls off bar stool* -- whoops there, can I try it again?").

Still, it's not too bad a deal. I'm pretty sure I drank my money's worth. Plus, there was an after-party with a free flow of drinks...although I only realised that the drinks weren't free at all when I was mocked by a very light wallet the next morning.

Come to think about it, the two hours of unpaid, or rather self-paid, work could come in handy. This way, I'll be able to say that I have work experience when applying for a proper bar job in the future:

"So, how long did you work at the Tav?"
"Oh, about 2-"
"Months?"
"Uh, -ish... Almost..."

All in all, a pretty good deal I would say. *Hic* Yep.

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Damian Says
Monday. 9.4.06 12:32 pm
"Do you want to see me lift this pad onto the desk without using my hands?"



"Quick, take something off!"

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Eat Your Veggies
Thursday. 8.24.06 4:00 pm
It was a great night at the bar last night.

Until it was pointed out that I was the only one there who gained height sitting on a bar stool.

:(

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