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just spent the weekend at the army barracks
Is Chewing On

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
Island Sinker
Labert Leopard
Lego Man
Shakin' That Ass
Sloth Min
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
Not Enough Room to Swing a Dead Cat
Wednesday. 5.2.07 11:11 am

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There's something there
Thursday. 4.26.07 2:13 pm
when you walk into a bar with him and you don't bother checking the other guys out.

Edit: Damn, I need to get KI outta my head. It's been more than a month since I last saw him and this bar incident, but evidently, he's taking up more of my thoughts than he should. Ngearghhh!

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Kitchen Elves
Tuesday. 4.24.07 9:18 pm

My dishes are clean! I left them in an overflowing sink last night and woke up in the morning to find them washed, dried and kept away! This is magic, it MUST be magic!

I share my joyous discovery with a housemate. He smiles knowingly and whispers, “Kitchen elves.”

Kitchen elves! They must be yet another species found only in Australia. And if anyone knows about them, my housemate does. Because he’s Australian and probably learnt about them in school. Kitchen elves! With tiny yellow gloves, a tiny flowery apron and a tiny hairnet!

I wish we had them back home as well. It’s unfair that Australians already get wombats, platypuses (platypi?) and kangaroos all to themselves. Now they’re monopolising kitchen elves too? Or maybe they do exist back home as well. Maybe the maid chases them away for fear of losing her job. Dastardly woman.

I resolve to catch a kitchen elf. My room is terribly messy and I have to write blog posts on my bed because there is no space on my desk for my laptop. I also nearly twisted my ankle on a shoe someone left beside my bed. It just shows how nasty that person is because he/she used one of my shoes. But that is an investigation for another day. For now, I have to focus on acquiring a bedroom elf.

According to an expert who has conducted much research in this field, kitchen elves only appear at midnight. And the hunter must be careful not to leave elf-sized clothing lying around for them to find, for that is a sign that their services are no longer needed. This observation is backed up in other research as well. As a psychology student, research is clearly very important to me.

Back to my hunt!

I wait patiently in my room until 0000 hours rolls around. When my clock finally strikes beeps midnight, I sneak silently out of my room. I make my way to the kitchen, stealthily keeping to the shadows like a ninja. I can hear splashing and dishes clattering in the kitchen! The kitchen elves are here!

With my back to the wall, I take a deep breath to calm my racing heart. This must be done in a single, deadly strike like a panther pouncing on a rabbit. I take another deep breath to clear my mind. I would be one with the darkness as well…but the kitchen lights are on.

This is it! I roar a battle cry and leap out into the kitchen, Steve Irwin style. ELF, YOU’RE MIIIIII…

But there are no elves at the kitchen sink. Instead I find a shirtless housemate, clutching a sudsy hand to his heart in shock.

Booooooooo! It was all a lie. Kitchen elves do not exist. It was my housemate all along. It is very painful to discover that you’ve been lied to.

I stare reproachfully at him before turning away and trudging back to my room. My messy room. Which will have to remain messy because bedroom elves probably don’t exist either. I am heartbroken. I curl up in my bed and try to blink the tears away.

I will not trust others as easily in the future.

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Conversations in the Key of Mom IV
Saturday. 4.7.07 2:44 pm
Mom: Anyway, he is an Aries like me. So he should be a very nice and big hearted person. Always getting bullied.

Me: What are you talking about?! You never get bullied! You're the one always bullying ME! You pulled my pyjama pants down and wrote on my bum while I was asleep!

Mom: And hit you with a mobile phone? Jamie, these are endearing streaks of mine. No other mums will do such things. You are very fortunate.

Me: It's called ABUSE!


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Rollercoaster Ride
Thursday. 4.5.07 12:07 pm
It’s been a whole five posts since my last ‘Bloke’ post. Time for an update, I think.

On the bloke front, it’s been a big week and a half. Remember KI? Freckly surfing and kung fu hotness. Met him three awesome weeks before I was due to leave Perth last year. Awesome because I fell pretty hard for him and not only did he not run screaming in the other direction, he appeared to feel the same for me, a little at least. Having said that, I didn’t jump him when he dropped me off at the airport so nothing was resolved. And because things seemed to die down while I was away, I then spent the next three months trying to get over him. Not very easy when certain things reminded me of him.

Nick Cave on iTunes? KI.

Black pinstripe slacks? KI.

Martial arts of any kind? KI.

Macadamia nuts? KI.

Pinecone? KI.

Random guy on the street? KI.

You get the idea.

I tried to keep myself ‘distracted’ though, and by the time I returned to Perth, I was very close to being over him. When I met someone with the same name, I no longer felt the need to writhe naked on sandpaper then have a bath in lemon juice. I had made so much progress that by then I only wanted to wash my eyes with Tabasco sauce. It’s all about making little steps.

Then a week and a half ago, KI invited me to his birthday celebration/commiseration. Nice gesture, but I would have been an idiot to turn up. He would have been there with a brand spanking new girlfriend and they would have spent the entire night making smoochy sounds and calling each other “cuddlebunny” and “pumpkin”, while I downed tequila shots at the bar and wrote myself a reminder to stock up on sandpaper. In blood. Because pens are for wusses.

Wisdom is overrated.

Because aided by copious amounts of beer and vodka, we ended up licking the back of each other’s throats. Again and again and again and…I lost count. I had a neckache by the end of the night (he’s a lot taller than I am). And things were said. Like how he wanted to kiss me at the airport but didn’t want me thinking that he was a dirty old man (even though he is). And how I wanted to pull him into a dark corner every time I went out with him but didn’t want him thinking that I was a horny 21 year old (even though I am).

We made plans to see each other on Monday. He had to cancel because of work. So we made plans for dinner on Thursday. He had to cancel because of work. So we made plans for him to get a tattoo the next Monday and to watch a movie later during the week. He didn’t cancel.

He just didn’t call. Or turn up. Or text. Or answer his phone. I called four times. Any more and I might as well get a tattoo myself – ‘STALKER’…on my forehead. He hasn’t even been at work all week. I know because he’s always online at work and I’ve been watching my MSN window like an abandoned puppy. Of course, he could be lurking offline, but I’m not entertaining that possibility because that would mean that he’s avoiding someone. Potentially me. So possibility not entertained.

It may not be me after all. Because he didn’t turn up at kung fu last night (I quit last year, so I asked a friend). And KI wouldn’t miss kung fu if he could help it, he’s the sort to turn up to class with a broken arm and dislocated ankle. So whatever caused him to miss last night has got to be pretty big.

Christ, the suspense is killing me.

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Pure Unadulterated Hatred
Sunday. 3.25.07 10:02 am
Dear Red Bull,

Students all over the world have sung your name in praise. Shrines have been built to honour you, dissertations have been prefaced with pages pouring gratitude to you, and epic poems have been written to glorify you. Truly, you are a friend to the procrastinating university student.

But not to this one.

Red Bull, I hate you.

No, that doesn’t look right. Let me try it again.

Red Bull, I HATE YOU.

I try to stay away from you because god knows, I love my sleep. But sneaky bastard drink that you are, you worm your way in anyway via a glorious marriage with vodka. Vodka Red Bull, tastes so good and is yet so evil. Drink enough of them (without puking after), and you DESTROY any chance of sleep.

I went to bed at 3am. And stared at my ceiling in sick fascination till 7am. It’s now 10am. I’ve abandoned all hope of ever falling asleep. Ever. I had the entire shitty experience of drinking too much without the comfort of falling unconscious and sleeping through the hangover. I am literally trembling. Buzzing. I would go out for a run and work it off, if not for the fact that I would break my face on the first tree or parked car I come across. Because I am too lightheaded from exhaustion to process anything but my hatred for you, such is its passionate strength.

Red Bull gives you wings? I want to dig a knife into my shoulder blades, rip them out and stuff the feathery fuckers down the throats of the people who created the cursed drink.

So Red Bull, dear Red Bull, trust that I really mean it when I say that I completely and utterly LOATHE you.


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Drunken One-liners
Thursday. 3.21.07 12:27 am
Something I really didn't want to hear right outside my window at 12.15 am:


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Scuttly Beast
Monday. 3.19.07 10:57 pm

I just saw a great scuttly beast scuttling in my room!! I immediately dived for my Thong of Destruction (Footwear, Not Underwear) to murderise it, but when I turned back, it was gone! AARGHHH!!!

I now have a cursed spider lurking in my room. When I saw it, it was very close to my bed. So I can't ignore it. Must! Kill! Before it kills me! I’m not normally this jumpy around spiders, but here in Australia, everything’s out to get you. Fucking Aussie wildlife.

Forget it, says the Aussie housemate. It’s probably not poisonous. ’Probably’. ‘Probably’ isn’t good enough, mate! ‘Probably’ means that there’s still a chance that it’ll bite me in my sleep and turn my insides to mush before I can struggle out of a fantastically hot dream.

I hate this waiting! I don’t want to wake up with eight scuttly legs on my face! Why won’t it just come out into the open where I can use my ToD (f., n. u.) on it? In fact, how did it disappear so quickly? Spiders aren’t conventionally known for their amazing speed, but this one must’ve practically scorched toes diving for cover like that.

It’s wily, this one. But I’m wilier. And I’ll be there when it finally picks up the courage to poke a hairy toe out. With my trusty ToD (f., n. u.) in hand.

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