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theZEBRA
just spent the weekend at the army barracks
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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
Thanks, St. Paddy
Saturday. 3.18.06 3:26 pm
It’s 6 am and I’m in tears. I just puked my guts out barely ten minutes ago but already I need to go again. And I don’t think I can make it to the loo this time, stumbling around in the dark, still half-pissed. Plus the door might not lock properly, not after I tripped and fell straight onto the door handle just now.

I feel utterly and completely wretched.

I try to recall what last night’s occasion was. Oh yes. St. Patrick’s Day. Apparently, it was crucial that we got absolutely smashed to honour St. Paddy, even if none of us at the party was Irish. Well, we definitely drank enough to honour him and any other saints we might have missed earlier.

It wasn’t even that spectacular a party, not enough to make the pain I’m in worth it anyway. All I remember is helping to break up a fight (one guy had to be grabbed in an armlock while the other was dragged outside – I did the talking and door-locking), breaking a glass, falling asleep in the corridor, and someone carrying me home. At least Security didn’t come down to break the party up this time.

Alright, maybe I drank a little too much.

Oh god, I feel sick. And if I don’t stop puking soon, I’ll have to crawl up to the Health Centre to get a rehydration jab. The last time I felt this bad, I went off alcohol for at least a month. This is it. Time for another month’s break, I think.

And then I catch sight of the cool Guiness cap that Bottleshop Adam gave me last night.

Well, make that a couple of days.

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License to Drool
Wednesday. 12.11.02 10:22 pm
Ding-a-ling ding ding ding, ding-a-ling ding ding ding, ding-a-ling ding ding ding
*Cue background James Bond theme as a stripey hoofed agent demolishes the baddie’s hq without a hair out of place despite 127 machine-gun-armed minions and saves the world *

Yes, ladies and gentleman. I have watched...drum roll, please...Die Another Day. And it was such a wonderfully typical Bond movie. Swagger swagger, saunter whistling through a hail of bullets, let’s have a shag, witty comeback lines despite months of torture, power-rabid villains (who never look as hot), fancy a shag, immortality, cars that probably wouldn’t even start if you or I were behind the wheel, terrible puns and a little round of slap and tickle to finish the day off.

Loverly movie. Not that I would’ve noticed though, being too busy drooling over Pierce Brosnan. Yes, you read that. Pierce Brosnan, who’s incidentally older than my parents. Still, there’s a wonderfully mature, sophisticated, jaw-droppingly sexy aura one can achieve only when one is of a certain age and looks like Pierce Brosnan. Perhaps it’s the way he wears a suit, the way he handles a gun, the way his voice lingers yummily in your mind. Or perhaps it’s just my hormones.

Whatever it is, I need to get the DVD. So that I can watch the whole movie again without having scenes rudely censored. It just so happens that said scenes are love scenes. Hee hee...

I suppose once the 007 euphoria has worn off, Pierce will have reverted back to his original hmmm-not-bad-for-an-old(er)-guy status and Hugh Jackman will once again reign supreme in my ever-lusting heart. But until then, the name is Bond. James Bond.

Quote of the day:
James Bond: You know, you’re cleverer than you look
Q: Hmmm. Still, I suppose it’s better than looking cleverer than you are.

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Bummer
Sunday. 11.23.03 9.12 pm
I met a guy. I went to a sort of gathering not expecting much fun out of it. But then I found myself sitting beside this guy and we hit it off right away. True, he did use a dirty trick – he started talking about rugby. I was hooked. From rugby, we went on to other stuff, hippety-hoppety-ing from one topic to the next, and he was so easy to talk to. And he was witty too! How often do you find a guy you barely know who has you clutching your sides, gasping for laughter? I was so glad I’d gone for the gathering. Throughout the 4 hours or so, I was sort of hitting on him yet trying not to seem too obvious. And whoa, was I mentally grinning from ear to ear when he gave me his contact details and told me to look him up if ever I was in the neighbourhood.

Gathering over, and this zebra was wagging her tail happily all the way back to the car. Until someone I was driving with casually asked what Hippety Hoppety Guy and I had been talking about? So I mumbled a reply, and then he remarked offhand – oh, by the way...did you know that he’s gay?

GAY?!!!!!!!!!!!!! As in not straight?!!! As in my dad would have a better chance with him than I would?!! As in GAY?!!!! AAAAAARGGGGGGHHHHHH!!!!!! Why why why why why why why dammit why?! I even got his numbeeeeeeeeeeeer. Sob. Sob. Sobsobsobsobsobsobsob.

It’s not fair.

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Tighty Wrightey
Friday. 3.26.04 9:36 pm
Ian Wright, the insane laugh-till-you-pee globe trekker is coming down here again! The last time he was down, I managed to meet him during a meet-the-fans session. Super duper. When it got to my turn, I launched myself at him and grabbed him. Think I gave him a bit of a shock. There he was expecting a nice placid say-hello-and-sign-an-autograph. Instead he got an awestruck rabid obsessed fan hanging onto him like a leech. Still, he’s as funny in real life as he is onscreen. When I mentioned (more like, blubbered) that I was in love with him, he simpered a bit and said, “Yes, I’m in love with me too.”

Anyhoo, it got better. After going through the customary starstruck ohmygods, I half-playfully asked if we could exchange earrings, of which he had about eight or nine attached. And to my utter shock (and gleeful surprise), he actually said yes. I let him pick one of mine, during which I could feel my ears getting redder and redder. He then removed three of his, and plonked them into my hand, saying “You don’t want mine, they’re all crappy.” As if. Then, still standing there, we put each others’ earrings on. Christ, I was so thrilled, it’s a surprise I didn’t just stab myself a new hole by mistake. Wow. How much nicer could the guy get? After the session was all over and he was walking off, I ran up to him again. When the promo guys saw me, they got an ‘oh no’ look and one of them told me that if I wanted to talk to Wrightey again, I’d have to come back the next day. I must’ve looked really bummed cuz Wrightey told me to cheer up and he’d give me something extra. Then he reached into his bag and pulled out a photo of him as a 6 or 8 year old in a schoolboy’s outfit complete with socks pulled up almost to his knees. He looked so adorable. I had an urge to pinch his cheeks, but thankfully managed to curb it. Really, it’s no wonder I’m obsessed with him.


Me hanging onto Wrightey like a ferret.


Wrightey wondering what he’s getting into. Notice the front bit of my earring in his mouth.


Is he still wearing it today I wonder? Or has he given it to some other mad fan?

And now that he’s here again, I’m trying to get to meet him again. Poor guy. Thought he was rid of me. But I have no idea how I’m gonna get to him. There’re a couple of contests on now with lunch with him as prizes, but it’s like a million to one I’ll actually win one. So I’ve hatched a plan. I’ll rope in a couple of Wrightey-mad friends, and we’ll stake out the hotel the lunch is gonna be held in. Then on the day of the lunch itself, we’ll grab some waiters/waitresses, conk ‘em on their heads, and steal their garb. In disguise, we’ll skulk around the lunch area, and when the opportunity arises, we’ll grab Wrightey and run like mad. Then we’ll have our evil ways with him! *Cue take-over-the-world laughter*

Mmm…can’t wait till he gets here.

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Ruby Red
Sunday. 5.2.04 9:42 am
Julian McMahon is yummily hot…and potentially harmful.

Last Sunday, I was on a mission. To slice and dice 60 sheets of paper into itty-bitty pieces. I wielded the Blade with the care and respect such a Tool of Power demanded…and with one eye on the telly following Nip/Tuck.

Onscreen, Dr. Troy (McMahon) sliced his way through a patient’s finger. Offscreen, theZEBRA sliced her way through 5 sheets of paper. Back onscreen, Dr. Troy winced as he sliced off the wrong finger. And offscreen, theZEBRA felt his pain, literally, as she very nearly sliced off her forefinger.

As it turned out, I had myself a lovely deep nick on my fingertip. Not really the best situation to be in for a person with a history of passing out at the sight of blood. Fortunately the Zookeeper was right by my side.

Priorities first. She saved the sliced-and-diced paper and the floor from irreparable damage by cupping her hand underneath my dripping finger. She then dragged me to the bathroom where I calmly informed her that I would be probably face-down in a few minutes. She rolled her eyes and went off in search of a band-aid. Upon her return, she heard a loud thunk. That was the wooden doorframe cushioning my head as I slid down in a dead faint.

Unconsciousness is usually depicted as a peaceful state – eyes shut in a calm, dreamless sleep. Not so. According to the ZooKeeper, my eyes were wide open, pupils dilated and unfocused, my fists clenched, my whole body shaking, and my finger dripping blood onto the parquet. A position quite similar to that of which I was found after witnessing the vanquishing of Cole in Charmed.

To cut a long story short, I was valiantly rescued by the Zookeeper, at the risk of bloodstains on her clothes. She put me to bed and bandaged my finger, thus saving it from gangrene and maggot-infestation.

Thanks to Julian McMahon, I now have a scarred forefinger and a lump on the back of my head. Thanks to the Zookeeper, both the parquet floor and I escaped death that night – I from excessive bloodloss and the floor from excessive bloodstains. Bless the Zookeeper’s courageous heart.

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Obsessivity
Friday. 5.21.04 1:21 am
There’s just something slightly disturbing about a 6-year old kid with a crush on a motorcycle racer 22 years older than her. My kid sister and I were watching a speedway grand prix on tv yesterday, and when one of the riders pulled his helmet off, she gasped and exclaimed, “Oh wow! He’s so hot!” This coming from a little girl who drags a stuffed doggie along wherever she goes. Since then, she’s been bugging me to get pics of her ‘hottie’ (I swear that’s how she refers to him) Jason Crump so that she can paste them onto her school file. Some people might find that cheek-pinchingly cute, but when that same ex-toddler announces that she wants the pics also because the last thing she’d like to see each night before she closes her eyes in bed is his dirt-streaked face – so that she can dream about him, there’s definitely a whiff of unhealthy obsession.

The same unhealthy obsession that drove me to watch monster-infested Van Helsing three times since it opened. At 10 bucks a pop and me a lowly student, my wallet has been feeling the pinch. But what exactly was it that kept me going back for more over-the-top fx? Was it the rugged good looks of Hugh Jackman? Or perhaps it was the hunk Will Kemp or even the geekily adorable David Wenham? None of them, I’m afraid. Throughout the movie (all 3 viewings of it), my eyes were glued only to Count Dracula, or rather Richard Roxburgh. Corny accent, bad teeth, fugly minions and all. The sexy hair and evil smirk more than made up for everything. So well in fact, that I dug up my old copy of Mission Impossible: 2 and watched him get his pinkie chopped off thrice during the last week itself. Which reminds me, I haven’t gotten my daily Rox fix yet. Does anyone own a copy of ‘The Touch’? Y’know, the abysmally embarrassing movie starring Michelle Yeoh and sadly enough, Rox as the Big Bad? Still, bad movie with Rox is way better than movie with no Rox. So if you do own a copy of the movie, lend it to me and I’ll be yours for life.

Dirt-sucking vs Blood-sucking

vs

Who's got it better?

And is unhealthy obsessiveness hereditary?

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The Bottleshop Guy
Monday. 3.13.06 2:34 am
RESULT!!!

I love the fact that my house is so close to the bottleshop. Or to be more precise, I love the fact that my house is so close to the Bottleshop Guy. Tall and dark with the cutest grin ever.

I ‘found’ him a couple of weeks ago when we ran dry one night. So it was off to the friendly neighbourhood bottleshop to restock our fridge. And it was there, in the coldroom, that the Bottleshop Guy caught me trying to lift a slab of beer. His protective instincts must have instantly flared up when he saw a wee Asian lass struggling because he immediately rushed over to help. Or maybe he just didn't want to end up sweeping broken glass. Whatever. I was just happy to admire the way he effortlessly hefted the case up to his shoulder. (Which reminds me, I need to suggest to the bottleshop management that they make it mandatory for their employees to wear sleeveless shirts.)

Soon, I was finding every excuse to make a trip to the bottleshop. Which wasn't as easy as it sounds - I couldn't go by myself as that would have been much too obvious, especially since I never buy my own drinks if I can help it. Luckily enough, I have an Alcoholic Scotsman for a neighbour, and I started tagging along every time he needed supplies. In fact, he's not allowed to go there without me anymore. Not that he's got anything to complain about, now he's got an extra pair of hands to help carry the bottles home.

Anyway, it was during one of these trips that the Slurpy Cow made an appearance.

"Darling!" she flounced up when she saw the Alcoholic Scotsman. "It's been AGES! Give us a kiss!"

*Slurp slurp*

"Hey, don't I get one too?" the Bottleshop Guy joked as I turned to him in horror.

"Of course you do!" mooed the Slurpy Cow.

*Slurp slurp*

"Slag!" I glared at her while berating myself at the same time, "Damn, why didn't I think of that?!"

I stayed away for the next few days, miserable and heartbroken. Why did he ask her for the kiss and not me? I'm the one who's meant to be the Bad Taste Bitch! I was hurting, and I probably still would be if it wasn't for the Alcoholic Scotsman who finally got fed up with my whinging and dragged me back there.

"Hullo you, where have you been?"

He missed me! Squee! I would have thrown myself at him and begged him to take me home in that instant, but the Alcoholic Scotsman managed to grab my arm in time. Still holding on, he started hunting for a pack of Smirnoff DBs while I gazed lovestruck at the Bottleshop Guy's reflection in the fridge door.

And then, as we he paid,

"So, I never did get your name. I'm Adam."

YES! I'm this close to getting him.

And his bottleshop discount.

________________________________________________________________


And now pics from the Alcoholic Scotsman's 21st birthday celebrations.



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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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