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theZEBRA
just spent the weekend at the army barracks
Is Chewing On
Reading:



Creation
Gore Vidal

Listening to:



Everything in Transit
Jack's Mannequin
Lick Those Stripes!
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The Herd
Carresser of Annabelle
Crazy Lone Ranger
Dave
Freddy
Island Sinker
Labert Leopard
Laynie
Lego Man
Shakin' That Ass
Sloth Min
Trina
Uber Bitch Jase
Van Ren


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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
You're Mad
Sunday. 6.18.06 2:51 pm
if you think I'm getting out of a nice, warm bed to play soccer when it's 1°C outside.

I don't want to hurt myself on someone's nipples.

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The SRA
Tuesday. 6.13.06 6:35 pm
Moving away from home was supposed to change everything. No longer would I be a kid living with her parents, whose credit card bills and shopping trips were paid for by her dad, who never had to worry over trivial things like meals or laundry. Once I left home, I would become a self-sufficient, responsible adult (SRA), who would hang out with other SRAs. And of course, we’d do SRA-ey things.

And has that happened? Of course I’ve become a SRA! Granted, I still live off money my parents send me monthly. And yes, I did go the first 3 weeks without doing laundry because I didn’t know how to use the washing machine. But all that doesn’t count. Just like the fact that I still can’t cook doesn’t count because there are restaurants which cater to the tastes of a SRA just across the road (e.g. KFC, and the chicken rice store). Because by god, if there’s anything that transforms a kid into a SRA, it’s cleaning the toilet! I’ve had to do that twice now (cursed duty roster), so I’ve obviously crossed that line.

But I've found that while it’s one thing to think of yourself as a SRA, it’s quite another to get other people to think the same. Ever since the flaming pan incident, my housemate cannot watch me ‘cooking’ (I use this term very loosely) without smirking and making snide comments. My neighbour teases me mercilessly every time I ask for help with fitting the duvet cover (this still beats struggling and flailing with it for hours though). The same neighbour won’t let me dance with guys he considers to be “cunts”. I’ve been tossed into sand pits, and had a couple of close calls with dustbins. I’ve been tossed over shoulders too many times to count and had to beg to be let down. And I’ve been asked for ID.

Yes, people still think that I’m a kid! Sometimes this gets me so mad, I throw a tantrum right there and then.

But I think I know why now. It’s my duvet covers. I brought them from home because I didn’t want the bother of shopping for bedlinen. But I’m beginning to regret that now as they’re not exactly the sort one would typically find in the bedroom of a SRA.



It’s lucky my dad just sent me money. I need SRA covers.

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Take It Off
Tuesday. 6.6.06 12:20 pm
So. It's been a month since my last update. To those who complained (i.e. Jase), I apologise...for having a SHITLOAD of assignments to finish, you whinger!

Hahaha.

Right, assignments are over and done with. And the exams are a whole 6 days away, so I've heaps of time for that.

Anyway, priorities first:

UPDATE on the guys in my life

Grand total = 0

Bottleshop Adam

Has disappeared. I don't know where to and his manager was very evasive when I interrogated asked him. He definitely didn't quit his job because he got to see me everyday, and who would want to give up a perk like that. I actually thought I saw him hiding behind some wine cases once, but I must have been hallucinating, I was that cut up over his disappearance. Maybe he was kidnapped...who knows? It's a mystery.

Hot Mauritian Guy

Is a bastard. When I tried to verify the rumours, he assured me that there was nothing going on between him and the Other Girl. And the next thing I knew, they were doing a RichardandAmy beside the soccer pitch. I know. I was watching the whole time from my window with a pair of binoculars.

Bartender Victor

Had potential for a while. Hot, witty, bartending (i.e. drink mixing) skills, and hot. Unfortunately, he was either attached, or had serious separation issues with his mother. Between him and Bottleshop Adam, drinking just isn't as fun anymore.

So this left me languishing all by my heartbroken and lonely self. Until 3 days ago when I met the Tall Blond Guy (renamed by Jase).

Athletic, can hold a decent conversation, dresses well, a sailing enthusiast (!), can fly planes (!), wants to buy a motorbike (!), AND is not an alcoholic (!!!).

We may be going out for coffee at the end of the week.

Unfortunately I've forgotten what he looks like. It was a whole 3 days ago, it was dark, and I had had a bit to drink. All I remember is 'tall' and 'blond', hence TBG.

This had better not turn out to be another Norwegian episode.

________________________________________________________________


In the meantime, here are some pics I took at this year's Sexpo to make up for the lack of updates.

WARNING: Some of them aren't very work safe.


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Conversations in the Key of Mom
Friday. 5.5.06 8:46 pm
Yesterday's text conversation with my mom:

Me: I've got the flu. :(
Mom: Bird flu?
Me: You should be so lucky. More like I've been working too hard at uni.
Mom: Maybe it's because you've never worked hard before.
Me: What sympathy. I realise you still have 2 spare daughters if I die, but REALLY. *Shakes head sadly*
Mom: Don't forget the dog.

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Sorry
Thursday. 6.4.06 8:00 am
I apologise for the lack of updates. Things have been a little...rough recently. I'll post again soon. Thanks for coming still.

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Blubber
Friday. 4.21.06 11:28 pm
I have something to confess. I was terrified of coming to Australia. Let me explain why.

It’s true that people are bound to change after they’ve been away for some time. Nothing wrong there, that’s just the way it is. But when most of my friends came home after a stint in Oz, I just wasn’t prepared for how much change they had gone through.* About 10 kilos worth (the wrong way) each, to be precise.

These were the ones who, during lunch, used to argue over who was tubbier –

Anorexic: Oh, I can’t possibly eat this fried chicken.
Bulimic: Why not?
Anorexic: I’m fat.
Bulimic: You’re fat?! If you’re fat, what am I?!
Anorexic: What are you talking about? You’re so thin! I’m fat!
Bulimic: No, I’m fat!!
Anorexic: NO, I AM!
Bulimic: You’re just being nice. *Bursts into tears*
Me: If you’re not gonna eat that, can I have it?

What happened? While it’s great that fried drumsticks don’t send them screaming into the other room anymore, devouring a whole KFC bucket in one sitting isn’t a sign of good mental health either!

But maybe I was too quick to judge. What if the same thing happened to me once I set foot on Aussie soil? Bad enough that my old school teachers smirked at me when I went back for a visit – “Wahhh, you’re such a BIG girl now.” What if I turned into a bloody hippopotamus?!

So you can understand the turmoil I was in when picking which university to transfer to.

But I know better now. These friends grew bigger not because they lacked the willpower to say no to half-priced waffles, but because they were desperate. And so am I. Desperate, that is. Not bigger…yet.

It’s the clothes. When I first found out that I’m a size 6 here, I was ecstatic. And just a little bit smug. My self-esteem soars when I fit into the smallest size in the store.

And there’s the thing. They have very little size 6 clothes in stock. Which means that even if I love that jacket with the kick-ass logo on the sleeve, even if it’s on sale, even if I’d still pay for it at non-sale price, I won’t find one that fits. And that’s not all. When the salesperson’s eyes flick to the kids’ section, christ, now that’s a massive blow to the ego.

So, short of sending bomb threats to the head offices of the major brands, the only solution left is to simply grow one size bigger. In other words, I need blubber.

Fashion kills.

* If you’re a friend who studied/is studying in Australia, you’re in the leftover category. Which means you didn’t gain any weight at all. Really.

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Ride That Hog
Wednesday. 4.12.06 6:57 pm
I boot the kickstand and test the throttle a little. It makes a nice, growly "vroom vroom" sound.

Heartened by this, I rev it again. A lot harder. The growly "vroom vroom" turns into a roar and with a sudden leap of power, I'm off!

The Wombat helps me up off the ground and retrieves the metal beast. And holds it steady while I climb back on again. This time, I don't rev it so hard.

There's a slight tug and I inch forward almost imperceptibly. I'm moving!!! And I'm still firmly planted to the seat!!! I want to turn around and crow at the Wombat, but I'm afraid I'll tip over if I so much as blink.

Five minutes later, I'm breaking the speed limit.1 The wind is whipping through my hair (gods don't need helmets) and my nose is freezing, but I don't care cuz it's so exhilirating. I can't believe I've never tried this before. Forget the BMW Z4, this is the way to go!

I start planning a trip to the city to buy "appropriate" clothes. A black leather jacket's a definite must. I'm not sure about leather pants though, cuz there's always the danger of crossing the line from "sexy" to "tacky".2 Still, it's impossible not to feel sexy on this machine.

Damn, I wanna get one for myself. I hear it goes all the way up to 50km/h.

1 10km/h.
2 Unless you're Shane (Katherine Moennig) from "The L-Word", in which case you'll always be fucking sexy in leather pants.

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The Consequences
Wednesday. 4.5.06 10:02 am
Phone: *Rings*

Me: Hullo?
NG: Hi, it's me, Norwegian guy.
Me: Err, hi! How're you doing?
NG: I'm good, I'm good. A bit hungover, but I'm doing pretty well, thanks. I had a really great        time last night.
Me: *Really regrets last night* Um..yeah, I did too.
NG: Hey, I'd really like to see you today. How about a picnic later? I'll pick you up and we could go        to King's Park or something.

//Alarm bells go off in my head. PICNIC! Next thing I know, he'll be suggesting moonlit walks on the beach and watching the sunset from a river cruise!//

Me: Uhh...about that...you see, I...err, it's not you, it's...no, what I mean to say is...well...err...I-       I, err, I... *Sighs* Well, to be honest, I like another guy. (I thought that it might be a bit        cruel to say "other guys".)

//Long pause//

NG: Oh. I see. Ok.
Me: Ok?
NG: *Subdued* Yeah. I mean, if you like someone else, that's your thing. Nothing I can do about        it.
Knife: *Stabs into my heart*
Me: I'm really sorry about this...
NG: *Even more subdued* No, no. Nothing to be sorry about.
Knife: *Sinks further in and starts to twist*

//Dammit, why won't he call me a bitch? I want to beg him to yell at me, swear at me, ANYTHING, just as long as he stops sounding so fucking dejected. I'm writhing on the floor with self-hate right now. God, someone end my misery.//

Me: But I really am sorry.
NG: Ok.
Me: I'll see you at soccer, alright?
NG: Alright.
Me: Ok...bye then.
NG: Bye.

I hang up in relief. What a nightmare. At least I won't have to face him for another four days.

//One hour later//

Phone: *Rings*

NG: Hi again. Listen, I know you don't like relationships, so I was just wondering, how do you feel        about something casual instead?

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