Well I happened back here because I was thinking about Rinna, and it turned out that an old tBlogger sent me a tmail asking how I was, about a month ago. It was nice to know people are still interested :-D
So, for those who are still interested in what's going on with me, I'm now located here.
Come by and let me know what you've all been up to!!
This is poor little six week old Mr Grissom. Some callous, unfeeling jerkoff abandoned him at the pound where Mum's partner David supervises. Look at him!! Anyways, David brought him home cos he's so young and he shivers when he gets cold and the pound gets FREEZING. And now, I'm in love with the little guy. I'm going to try with all I've got to talk the 'rentals into letting me keep him.
Interesting little conversational twist that came up between myself and my very good Yankee friend, Lee...
Lee i was at work till 4am last nite Lee or this morning Lee whichever Me icky Me why? Lee inventory Me blug Me cos i was going to say, who buys sheet music and instruments at 4am? Me i know you yankees are a little odd, but still :-P Lee hey my state could take out your whole damn nation Lee so watch what you say Lee :-P Me pfffft Me we aren't afraid of you, mate. Me you guys can't even handle vegemite! Lee what are you gonna do? chuck a boomerang at me? Me you know actually, those are quite specific to the Aboriginal people Me so no Lee lol i know Lee but i couldn't think of anything else to end the sentence with Me haha Me i shall smother america in vegemite and they shall unite and say "ugh, it's too salty" and i shall laugh in their vegemite-smeared faces and feed them damper and tea from a billycan Lee i like salty things Me that sounds a tad wrong Me could just be me Me :-P Lee now who's twisting things? Me meh, you deserved that one. i would have thought america loved salt -- seeing as you all practically have to consume what, a gallon a day, to function normally... :-P Me i don't know how much a gallon is Me you and your stupid imperial measurements Lee salt isn't measured in gallons Lee fool Me well the way i do it, it would be Me if you put it into a container that held a gallon's worth of gallon-ess, then you would have a gallon of salt Me works for me. Lee heh Lee silly aussies Lee hehe you're from Down Under....that sounds kinda dirty too Lee lol Me damn right it sounds dirty Me why do you think everyone wants an aussie girl? Me and surely you've heard of the 'map of tasmania'? Lee its ok, we have Florida, you know the state that looks like a big penis. Lee lol Me but penises are funny looking Me i'd rather have a state that looks like neatly arranged pubic hair, thank you very much Lee lol Me gosh, this is the most ridiculous conversation i've ever had Lee yes it is
Yep, we're insane, Lee and I. And if he reads this, I'd just like him to know: Australia is BETTER, buddy!
I have sleepy legs. I attribute this to the standing up I have spent most of today doing. That and the fact I cut my last break short so that I wouldn't have to sit in the tearoom with Jason. I made the mistake of going out to the back dock to chuck some leaky yoghurt away and he accosted me... made me push NINE trolleys [carts, if you will] back out the front.
I am an absolute disaster trying to push THREE.
I almost killed a reasonably attractive customer whom I have not seen before. Don't think he's a regular, seeing as I practically live at work and all and thus would have seen him. Little Née is going away. She's transfering to Target where her friend works. Lucky girl. She told Jason tonight and he's none too happy about it. HA HA, JASON. I can't believe you didn't see it coming! I wonder does this mean that when I hand in my resignation he'll be shocked and angry then too? Part of me hopes so - it'd make up for the frustration he's caused me. Sod face.
Ordinarily, at this time of night, I'd be watching TV - possibly working out at the same time, and planning write-ups and add-ons for my movie... But, due to the Olympics, there's bugger-all on. Good on the athletes for getting to the Olympics. I'm not stupid, I realise that takes a lot of work and sacrifice and you have to want it more than anything else. But I don't want to watch them. How dull. Gee, let's watch these people run around a track a few times. Riveting. Really.
What annoys me even more than the endless telecast of the Olympics is that the other TV stations seem to be waving a white flag... almost encouraging viewers to watch Channel Seven's coverage of everything Olympic. If I were the other TV station people, I'd bring out the big guns - good movies and so forth... I'd proudly say "Yes, you could watch the Games on Channel Seven, but that's stultifyingly dull. Ah, but what do we have here, on our channel? Oh look, a movie! How interesting! Oooh, a plot! Wow. You don't get this with the Games."
I see no point in watching sport. It's not doing me any good or improving my life. Actually playing sport, now that is good. As long as it's a decent sport.
Might watch Daria again tonight. I got a video with three ep's on it for my seventeenth - one of the few positives of that horrible birthday. I must confess, I'm quite in love with Trent.
But I mean LOOK AT HIM! What's not to love?! Now that I think about it - I'm a Trent kinda girl. I admit I like boys in bands. I like boys with tattoos and piercing and f***me bands and scruffy hair and that little bit of chin-fuzz. If he wasn't a cartoon I'd be damn well obsessed with him. I want a band boy! [NB - not a boy from a boy band, but a band boy - there's a very distinct difference].
Work today. Oh joy. Lately, Jason [the bodgy manager] has taken to sticking me in that repulsive little deli to cover lunch breaks and tea breaks and half hour breaks. It used to be that floor workers would get put in the deli to cover any and all breaks. That was before Jason came along.
Point A) I’m a vegetarian. I don’t eat that disgusting stuff that they’re trying to pass off as meat. Point B) The shoes I wear to work have three inch heels on them. They're good solid heels and they're super comfortable to walk in. But, stick them in the deli on that animal fat greased floor and they become a death trap. I damn near killed myself just walking in there.
NB: Some people might suggest that I take to wearing more appropriate footwear for the deli... At least, people who think like that demented moron Jason. I'm not meant to be in the deli. And if he tries sticking me in there again, I fully intend to tell him so. My job description says "Checkouts", not "Deli".
Point C) [This is not a particularly pleasant one, but it strengthens my argument] I spent a fair amount of last night throwing up. So that last thing I need is to be in there with those smells surrounded by all that fat and animal product.
So SCREW YOU, JASON - I'M NOT GOING IN THE FRICKIN DELI!
Speaking of fat and so forth [well I was, anyway], due to my complacency and lack of any real concern for how I look, I have wound up a little flobby. BUT I have set about rectifying the situation. Last night, I successfully finished Week One of an eight week plan to return myself to complete and utter gorgeousness. This is a self-devised plan, mind you, so it may not work exactly as I had hoped. Still, Mum [an ex-fitness trainer [I know, I have NO excuse]] said it takes only eight weeks to build muscle so... Eight weeks it is. I have never really bothered exercising with any sort of discipline before, because up until now I've been able to get away with doing things that way. Due to this [and the fact that I'm still young], Mum says my body should snap into shape pretty damn quickly. Already I can feel things improving. I just hope I don't lose the boobs. I know I complain no end about not being able to find cute bras but I like my boobs. They have been a defining part of who I am for almost as long as I can remember [I was the only nine year old at school who was "blossoming"] and I like them now.
Still, if they have to go, they have to go. Mum told me they shouldn't get all that much smaller and the most I'll lose is a cup size. Hmm, we'll see.
Mum just told me to put my clothes in the drier. She's always warning me not to put my bras in there because the metal heats up and it's a fire hazard. Being the weirdo I am, I started imagining explaining to the fire fighters how a fire in our house started...
"Well, officer... it was my bras." "Excuse me?" "My bras. They overheated and started the fire." "Fire-starting bras, eh?" "Yes, sir."
And after that charming introduction... Hehehe. Yeah, I’m nuts. Deal. It’s a beautiful day outside here in sunny Queensland, and here I am sitting in front of the computer, chronicling my day/s. I don’t like the outdoors anyway - there’s sun out there. Sun equals burn, burn equals peeling, peeling equals damn ugliness.
I have turned into such a slob lately. My hair is three days dirty and I feel like a bit of a hobo. I’ve been avoiding washing it because it’s been cold and I don’t want to catch a chill [really] because knowing my luck I’d be on the register right in front of the door and wind up with pneumonia or something. Actually now that I think about it, I’ve managed to avoid sickness almost entirely this winter. That’s an achievement for me because usually I’m the first to get sick and it’s always the most severe. Yay for my seemingly improved immune system!
Everyone’s quitting at work - our new manager has that effect on people. And once I know I have somewhere soft to fall, I’m going to hand in my goodbyes as well. There’s no way I’m hanging around and putting up with being treated like an imbecile. Not only is he rude to everyone, he’s sexist to boot... and he would look really cool if someone set him on fire...
This new layout rocks my world. I remember way back when [about six years ago] I absolutely loved the Spice Girls... Naked is a kickin’ song. I toyed with a couple of different designs, but most of them turned out as these huge files that photobucket wouldn’t take without resizing.
I don’t have anything to write about. I can’t believe it. Me, with nothing to say.
Oh well.
~*Aims*~
I-I-I recommend walking around naked in your living room
I just love that line. I’m quite fond of Alannis Morrissette’s stuff, actually. Don’t actually own any of her CD’s, but I’ll listen if they’re playing [without killing people].
OHMIGOSH
At work last night, Ted put the radio on instead of the pre-assigned "Supermarket Music" CD that our company actually had to pay for the disprivilege of playing instore. Under ordinary circumstances, this would have been fine... bit of radio is okay. But they were blasting out this truly heinous junk which even a deaf mute would hate [seeing as it kind of reverberates through your spine and all]. There was some rap tool who sounded like he’d swallowed Ipecac, just finished vomiting, and then decided to record a rap track [no, it was not Ja Rule], various other pathetic offerings to the mindless and tone-deaf MTV generation [I have no problem with MTV, but the people who mindlessly follow... that is another matter], and the Black Eyed Peas.
I used to happily tolerate the BEP’s... That was until they released this stupid song about getting retarded. "Let’s get retarded" - yeah, I know I’m lining up to become brain damaged. Is there nothing left to write about in the world short of a desire to become incapable of doing the most rudimentary tasks for oneself? I mean really. I know people who fall into the category of ‘retarded’ [not just as an insult, but rather as a medical term] and the last thing anyone wants is to be like that. So why sing about it? I’m also finding that one BEP’s track sounds very much like the next.
I would suggest they play Beethoven at work - this would produce a calmer working environment and assist in lateral thinking problem-solving [scientific fact, m’dears] - but the influx in culture may damn near kill some of the plebs that frequent our little store. I don’t mean to come across sounding like a snob, but really... today’s society has no class. And that’s a sad thing indeed.
Did you know that Mozart’s work is perfect - it is mathematically perfect and his first draft was his final draft. Why can’t modern men compose grand concertos? WHY!
Woo, I've been gone for a while! About fifteen days - no, thirteen. I don’t know. Either way, it’s been a while. We sort of used all of our allocated internet time and the evil ISP in a war to send us broke lobbied evil exceeded hours fees which were, to say the least, costing us a fortune. So Mum said that was it, no internet until next month’s billing started. And here it is... A hell of a lot has happened in that time.
I had the most astronomical fight with David [Mother’s significant other] - I was yelling, crying [most embarrassing] and I said everything I’ve been wanting to shout at him for the past few months. It has only been in the past five days that I’ve started speaking to him again. Although I am somewhat ashamed of my ridiculous outburst, it was a long time coming. There was a lot of stuff that needed to be said that I think we were just skirting around, pretending not to notice. It becomes incredibly draining, living in a cold war environment like that. On the upside, I think it resulted in some of the best - and possibly darkest - writing I’ve ever produced.
"So does that mean...?"
YES! The script is FINISHED!! It’s dark, but oddly funny in parts... even has a bit of love for the hopeless romantics among us. Personally, I think it’s brilliant - not on a narcissist’s level, mind you. Ordinarily, I devalue my work - I’m a perfectionist and nothing is ever good enough for me... especially in regards to my own work. But this script is special. I could lose myself in it. Instead of reading through, picking out spelling errors or chronological inconsistencies, I find myself eagerly reading along, waiting to see what happens next. This is the strangest phenomenon of all, seeing as I wrote it and know exactly what happens when.
And if it is awful, I shall never write again [that anyone will see, anyway].
I’ve been busily writing the treatment, finished off the synopsis [that was blessedly easier than I thought it’d be - I’d previously had all sorts of trouble pinpointing the storyline] and I’ve even been brainstorming for a possible poster and costuming.
Any wonder I have bags under my eyes - I’m never asleep! Of course, when I am asleep, work calls me. The desire for a trip to Fiji drags my sorry backside in there and sometimes even manages to slap a passably happy expression on my face [as happy as someone can be when they would rather be in bed, oblivious to the big bad world]. I’ve also discovered something rather unusual about work...
Mondays.
People hate them. I haven’t looked, but I’m sure there are entire websites devoted to a hatred of Mondays. Some people would rather have every hair meticulously plucked from their body than face a Monday.
I love ‘em.
Honestly. I cannot get enough of Mondays. I’ve worked three in a row [an admirable feat for a casual such as myself] and they’ve all been brilliant! While the customers coming through are moping about the state of horror that is Monday, I gleefully rejoice in the wonder that is my Monday. The way I look at it, Monday is something of a fresh start - any stuffups from the previous week are [mostly] forgotten, and there is the faintest possibility for improvement in that scummy little hellhole that I call work [this is because on a Monday before open the cleaners come and the place looks decent for a few hours]. Because my life has no structure anyway, and I generally work weekends, I don’t feel as if I am leaving something [other than my bed] special.
We’re getting a new computer. Well overdue, I can tell you that! It’ll be all fancy-shcmancy and I’ll be addicted to the world of technology once again. That is, of course, until the novelty wears off and it becomes just another toy. My interests are so fickle. Except movies. I’ve managed to stick at that consistently. Or at least the pursuit of them.
STOP PRESS!
I have managed to save some money! No one thought it was possible, but it has happened. I am now $148 Australian closer to Fiji. Yay! I might even buy a bikini for the occasion [seems like the proper thing to do...] but that could be a while off yet - no one sees me in one of those until I’m damn good and ready, thank you very much. I’ve been thinking of getting some work in TV commercials, just to supplement my income and get me to Fiji faster. It also has the added benefit of the much coveted exposure [of the good kind, kids - keep your minds out of the gutter! lol]...
Wow, that was quite an entry. I’m pretty certain I’ve caught up on everything now. If not, it’ll come to me at a later time.
Oooooh! New bells and whistles! Good on you, tBlog! But back to my post...
For my movie, I'm looking for a sinister nursery rhyme. It can't be implied sinister - or it could, but it'd need to be very obviously implied. If you've heard Enter the Sandman by Metallica, the little rhyme they have:
Hush little baby, don't say a word, And never mind that noise you heard. Its just the beasts under your bed, In your closet, in your head
I'm looking for something like that - which isn't by some fantastic musical group that I will have to pay huge copyright fees to.
In the hopes of curing [or at least temporarily ceasing] my life dysmorphia, I'm going to go on my first proper holiday ever! You know, I'm eighteen and I've never ever been on a plane! Not once.
As such, my brother Joe and I are planning to high-tail it over to Fiji in January 2005. Who knows, I may even come back with a tan [stranger things have happened] but I hope not - tans are bad for the skin and I just don't like them on me [on men... now [i]that's[/i] a different matter - you boys can have unhealthy skin, a tan looks HOTT on a guy!] so hopefully I can avoid that.
**Sigh** Speaking of our male counterparts... I find myself growing lonely for some male attention. But then again, a relationship is a lot of work, so I don't know if I want that either. Curiouser and curiouser... I just miss silly little couple things like squeezing someone's hand at an unnerving part of a movie or smiling knowingly at each other during a debate. Stupid stuff like that. And I miss presents... just little dinky things that say "Hey, I appreciate you." I'm such a tard.
My grand plans also mean that I'm going to have to master the fine art of saving... Ick, what a dirty word. Still, if I want to go to Fiji [which I do] then I shall save. I may even resort to giving my mother my debit card so I just can't touch my money... Seeing as I have a complete inability to resist the urge to spend, the only way to stop it is to not have access to money.
It's long been my pattern that when I get depressed/upset I write. Words are an escape for me, so if I feel blurk I run away to my notebook and I write.
Shortly after my Dad told us all that he was leaving [when I was 11], I wrote so much that I had entire books full of the stuff. It's actually quite cleansing, to get all of that out there... and to do it all with some level of articulacy and without swearing... well [i]that[/i] is something special.
So last night, after a particularly heinous fight with the man living with us [I would say Mum's partner, but he's far too infantile for that - he's more like another child] a went to my room [what a sanctuary] and I just... wrote. I used to make sure that what I wrote rhymed [when I wrote poetry about it] but last night... it seemed far more important to get everything out there. In short, what I wound up with was a poem that's more like verbal spew, but a feeling that I had overcome [i]something[/i]. I'm not sure what the something is... but I felt drained, in a good way, afterwards.
The proverbial weight lifted from my shoulders...
I don't know if it's any good. And honestly at this point, I'm too tired to care. So hate it, love it... either way, here it is:
---
Desperately seeking your acceptance I just want to be loved by you Am I not good enough? Do I not deserve that much?
Wondering what it was I did so wrong To warrant how I now feel Who did injure or kill? Who did I rob of a life?
Scared little girl; I wonder... Do I deserve this, is it simply how things are? Am I, like you say, stupid, hopeless, useless? I hear it that often I can’t help but believe it sometimes. And sometimes I want to hurt myself... I want to slice And watch blood flow so I don’t have to cry... So that something could hurt more than this, just for a second.
I don’t though; part of me thinking that would let you win. I want so badly to go, but I have nowhere to run. “There’s the door, see you later,” you chant like a mantra. I should trust you, love you and feel the same in return... But I feel cold and angry and hurt.
You tell me to stop crying, like I can control it. Do you think I want to? Do you think I like crying like a baby? Sometimes, I hate that people can see me at all I certainly don’t want to be seen crying.
I remember being happy... and I thought I would be in this. Instead, I retire crying to my bedroom And listen to songs with words I’m not allowed to say. They make me feel better, those angry words... Another person who feels like me. But then it finishes, and I’m alone again. Do you know this or care?
Raised to be spirited, speak my mind with intelligence and dignity And you seem to desire to supress me To dampen my thoughts and blunt my wit - to think like you. To think negatively and shortsightedly To not keep other’s feelings in mind To speak just to hurt To express anger and disappointment...
Who are you to be disappointed in me? What have you ever done? Where is your mark on the world? You lecture me about responsibility, but - in more pleasant times - Describe in detail your own youth- Filled with every unscrupulous irresponsible act imaginable. And you have the nerve...
The nerve to tell me I am stupid. The nerve to tell me I am wrong because I’m young. The nerve to tell me that I should leave. The nerve to tell me to shut up.
I am not stupid, nor wrong. Neither should I leave or silence my thoughts.
This is my home, regardless of what you make it... With them it is my home. And we were complete before you; with luck We shall be complete after you...
But you will not go. It would seem you are unhappy also... But you will not go? I ask then, who is the stupid one? Who is the irresponsible one? Who is it bringing unhappiness to us And will not leave?
Not I.
And yet, I allow you power to make me feel it is. I allow you to make me feel stupid, despite knowing I’m not. And I’ve even let you see me cry... now that was stupid.
You justify what you say with “The truth hurts.” It may, but infinitely more so is a lie Which subtley invades my subconscious; Attacking all I know to be true And warping it into something Unknown Unfamiliar Hostile.
Something that affects every decision I make; As if I do not have enough to negotiate - My avoidant social life, my closest friends, my enemies and my feelings- You seem to feel that all this is not enough Not a big enough cross to bear... After all I have been through to get to this point In one piece... To still have the ability to try and trust To still try to accept differences and build upon them To believe in myself, despite everything around me urging for cessastion...
Yet you still seem to think I need that extra burden; To instill responsibility and independence.
But I ask, independence at the cost of what? My intelligence, my relationships? My conscience and my dignity?
Is standing on my own two feet - your words, not mine - So much more important than Stability of emotion Dignity of character Pursuit of knowledge Or plain and simple love? Where is the point in independence if it will bring no benefit- Not only to myself, but to those I love?
Your role is to teach, nurture and care What have I learnt through you, But to hate and hurt? To chastise expecting results To talk down to those I want to respect me To act in a superior manner to younger people...
That’s right, we’re people. People who need love People who need respect.
We are people who should not have to come home Hoping you’re in a good mood. You haven’t hit us yet; what a man. Do you think what you say is any less painful Than a kick in the stomach?
Do you think that look in your eye And the way your lip quivers when you are particularly mad Makes us feel accepted? When all we want is that... to feel like for once A man will accept us?
I know we aren’t yours... our blood is someone else’s. But you knew, you knew and you came into this family anyway. And things were fine... I remember I once asked - not necessarily intending to do so - If I could call you Dad... when I got more comfortable. She said I made you cry. Well what happened to that? Where’d that man go? Because maybe I loved him. Maybe I thought he’d be the man Who didn’t run away and leave me... The one I was good enough for. The one who wanted me.
I know these scars in my heart that I had before Are not your fault - I carry them from the past... Some things just never leave me. But I have never blamed you for them. Yet all you are doing is giving me more Carving away... but wait - what will be left If all anyone does Is carve away, adding more scars and bleeding my soul?
I fear shrivelling up and becoming cold, bitter and nasty. I fear feeling the only way to validate myself is to put someone else down. I fear needing to control through anger and hatred. I fear letting my past control the way I act towards other people.
But most of all, I have realised... I do not fear you any longer. I fear becoming you.
--
Blimey, I wrote more than I thought. Ugh. Food's not sitting so well at the moment... Just can't eat.
I picked the audition pieces I want to use for uni... Might post them next time. If I don't get into uni... Well, let's just say there'll be some more verbal spew up here :P .
It's nice to have comments again. I'm a sucker for others' opinions. I admit it. I want to feel loved, like I'm not wasting my time blogging [regardless of the fact that I'm not wasting my time anyway - this IS my diary, after all].
Funnily enough, I always regret posting pictures after I've posted them. I start obsessing over stupid things like whether my face looks too round or whether I look white-to-the-point-of-bei ng-anaemic. Add to that the dark circles under my eyes that I'm prone to due to lack of any regulated sleeping pattern and I turn into a self-conscious mess. I start to worry that people will think I'm ugly even though really it doesn't matter what they think... but then I think: hey, I want to be in movies... being ugly might make that a little difficult.
It's a cruel cycle.
And completely self-inflicted. Completely masochistic. Silly little Amy Marie saying she doesn't care and then sitting back nervously waiting for positive comments. I am the kind of person I would mock if I wasn't myself. Stupid. Really stupid. Keep in mind that this isn't just your ordinary run-of-the-mill self-depreciation. This is blind panic that people whom I've never met [and in all likelihood, never will] will take a dislike to me and think I'm ugly.
The ironic thing, of course, is that it hasn't happened yet [thank goodness]. Now don't get me wrong - I don't hate myself or think that I'd look better with a paper bag over my head. I - like many girls my age - am learning to love myself and I know that I can be gorgeous given the right light [but who can't!?]
Considering that beauty is based entirely in perception, it is pointless worrying about it, isn't it? And yet, in my twisted little mind, I do. The way I figure it, if I can overcome that, then I'll be ready for stardom. Imagine worrying about what people thought of you and being famous - you'd go nuts. All that exposure, all those people being able to see you...
So in a way, I suppose that this is... [i]character building[/i] [that or it will completely destroy my character... either way]. And if it doesn't kill me, well...
This is what happens when I'm bored and my digital camera has batteries...
--- ---
My feet are absolutely [b]freezing[/b]! I just can't seem to get them to warm up. Eville feet. It's actually been relatively cool this winter, which is a pleasant change considering that it's usually warm and humid year round. I like the cold. If it would just stay dark as well... ah, that'd be lovely!
I need to get some more chocolate scented candles - the smell is VERY theraputic - I highly recommend it. Also up there are vanilla and strawberry. Mmm mmm mmm! Scent-sual heaven.
Went to bed last night intending to do some more script work... All I managed was to read over it and shut down the computer. I was actually tired - at NIGHT! That is very strange, let me tell you. Very strange indeed.
It was my Dad's 44th birthday yesterday. I sent him an email, but I don't know if he got it... The person that he and his wife are living with forgot to pay the phone bill so no net until it's back up. Still, I 'spose the sentiment is the same, even if he didn't get it on the day. He's shacked up in Florida - isn't that where all the old people go? I should probably go to America sometime in the near future, seeing as half my heritage is there.
Brief background on Dad: born in Sacramento, California July 28, 1960. Moved to Australia in 1967 [I think]. Met Mum through choir [Dad has a killer voice] and so on... Moved back to the US in 2001.
Hehehe yay - my SD card for my camera just arrived! Hoorah for extra storage! Now I can go completely picture crazy. The built in memory has 16MB and at 5.5 megapixels, that doesn't hold a whole lot of photos. I swear this thing is going to turn me into a raving narcissist... although I do hope that I remain humble enough to get away with it :P ! Nah, I don't really want to be narcissistic. No one loves someone who loves themselves that much - and I want to be loved.
"Love me, love me. Say that you love me..." etc, etc...
Oooh, US election coming up. I think that's funny. I say stick Bill Clinton back in. At least he was amusing. Sure, he couldn't keep his pants up, but what president does? From what I've read in American's blogs though, I'd say they'd like to see anyone but Dubya in power.
You know you can get Bill Clinton dolls? Barbie could have some real fun with that... I almost bought one off eBay until I realised: what the hell would I do with a Bill Clinton doll? Apparently the doll rattles off various phrases he used during his term in the Whitehouse. I wonder is it 'pull-string' operated?
Mmm, I'm hungry. Think it's well and truly time for breakfast [and another coffee] - 11.14AM... So while I'm out, howsabout you check out Megalomania [there you go boys, free plug :P ] - it's quite an amusing read and they're very good to their loyal fans.
Erm, well... Nothing interesting happened at work, so I thought I'd post an extract from what I've done of my script... Or maybe a couple... I dunno. We'll see how much patience I have.
Also, there's a likelihood [quite a large one, in fact] that this won't make sense because without the entirity the bits and pieces don't really make sense... That's what makes a story, my dears. But, as a rough guide, I'd say at the base of it all, this movie is about obsession and addiction.
LUKE (V/O) The thrill of one last challenge - that’s what I told myself she’d be. One more challenge... My last... My Gypsie...
---
LUKE (V/O) I could smell her, on her singlet. I can still smell it now. Gypsie was vanilla and strawberries - like a lolly shop. And that smell became all I could focus on...
---
LUKE (V/O) Already I was becoming inconsistent. I realised as I sat there watching Gypsie glance at me suspiciously that I was going to have to be smarter than her... If I was ever going to get her, I’d have to use her own intelligence as a weapon against her. As such, I spent the entire meeting formulating plans; going through various scenarios in my mind. I can’t for the life of me recall what they actually talked about at that meeting, or any of the subsequent meetings. With ten other people thinking for me, I was free to wander along various paths of possibility, waying up pros and cons... and concoct a million and one alibis.
---
Reading over those, I realise there's no way that it will make sense to someone who hasn't seen the rest of the script. Oh well. Que sera sera. Or perhaps they WILL make sense 8)
Have you ever been obsessed and/or addicted to someone? Comment and let me know.
After visiting Scarlett's beautiful blog and reading her words, I was inspired once again to renew my love for words.
As such, I've decided that for every post I put up here, I'm going to put up a new word and its meaning. And to those people out there who like words [i.e. the "freaks" like me :P ], I hope you enjoy :D .
And so, without any further ado, today's word is:
[u][b]demimondaine[/b][/u ] (demmi-mon-dane) [i]n.[/i] mistress or sexually promiscuous woman consigned to the fringes of society, as in the 19th century.
Heck, why not have two?
[u][b]diachronic[/b][/u] [i]adj.[/i] through the course of time.
Ah, wordy goodness :D .
Work today - 230-700... kind of icky, but it's money [which I am sorely lacking at the moment]. And if I'm lucky, we'll have some crazy customer who'll make for an interesting story. But until then...
Well, after my haitus [during which I [i]did [/i]learn a lot and have a fair bit of fun] I am back at tBlog! I had fun over at that other place [which shall remain nameless :P] but tBlog is home... that and I really missed your comments!!
The community spirit that once annoyed me most about tBlog was what I missed when I wasn't here... irony was a real pain that way. Still, it was fun. I went through a series of about four designs, taught myself [kind of] css, and gradually got more sophisticated [inasfar as I'm capable of, anyway] but I missed coming home from a cruddy day at work and being able to read other people's opinions.
So, without any further ado, I would like to announce the tBlog-Aims trial separation officially over! Teehehe.
Guess what, kids? My movie script is ALMOST FINISHED! And I think I'm onto a good thing. I may post a link so people can download it [it's fully copyrighted, so no funny business :P ] and read it. Lotsa fun.
Wooo! So, someone PLEASE leave me a comment and give me something to blog about! Ta!
I think Jessica Simpson is actually a spy for some covert militia group. Seriously. No one is that dumb. That moment where she asks whether Tuna is chicken or fish... NO ONE is anywhere near that stupid. Unless they have an IQ of 70 and dribble into their oatmeal.
I don't see good ol' Jess dribbling.
Tomorrow is my eighteenth birthday! Huzzah! My plan for the day is to go to work and get my phone [which I'm hoping is still there, if not, I'm screwed] and then go to the movies and lunch with my Mummy [and maybe Tess too, if she's up that early] and then come home and do a whole lot of nothing.
I had a customer at work today who paid for her stuff by cheque, and wanted $100 out on top of her purchases. Everything went through and all, the only problem was, I forgot to give her the $100 and she forgot to make sure I gave it to her. In short, she went home minus her $100 cash and rang us about half an hour later wanting her money.
We couldn't legally give it to her.
See, I don't remember giving her the money, but I don't remember not giving it to her either. She's a regular, and I don't doubt that I didn't give it to her cos I know her and it wouldn't surprise me if I did forget to give it to her. I was off with the fairies today. I found out that someone I went to school with threw himself in front of a train.
It's really weird to think that someone I knew isn't breathing anymore.
Really, really weird. He's the first person I knew who's died [self-inflicted or otherwise]. I don't know whether that means that I'm sheltered, or just really lucky. I mean, you hear about death every day but it doesn't really impact you unless you knew the person.
It may sound horrible, but I feel more sorry for the train driver and the people who had to clean up after it. It's weird actually. Mum's partner came home and told us about it a week ago because someone who works for him has a partner who had to clean up the mess. At the time I just thought "Gee, how selfish." Now it's like "I knew that guy..."
Not that I don't think suicide is selfish. IT IS.
Argh. Today bites. Tomorrow better not bite or there will be fireworks.
I am eighteen in three days! Alanna and I conferenced [for the better part of five minutes] and decided my first historic alcohol purchase should be Baileys. At the moment, Baileys comes with two free Baileys glasses -- score! Lee also gave me a recipe to make my own Baileys, which I shall probably employ sometime in the near future.
Mm, Baileys!
You have a free soul! As all the souls go, yours is the most free-spirited and adventurous. You like camping, hiking, or interaction with other people. You're a social butterfly, not because of your style, but because of your willingness to communicate with everyone. You probably have close friends who can rely on you because you always seem to know whats going on in the world. You love music and are free-spirited -- someone fun to be around. A born leader and great explorer - dont ever change - the world needs more people like you.
Hmm, I don't know about you, but I personally think that chick looks like she has a broken neck. Thus, she is now deceased, or at the very least, quadraplegic, and won't be free-spiriting anywhere. That's a tad morbid of me, hey? Meh. I feel dark today, and I never really cared for anime anyway.
Kristie, who used to work in the same store as I do but transfered and is now head of her department, needs a new 2IC. I think she might have been hinting at me... I'd like to take it, but I don't know if I'd want that tied to me. It would mean full-time. Ugh.
*Sigh* I'll just have to shift movie work into overdrive. I've been pretty slack with that as of late. That and I just can't write with my family around. I need to know someone isn't standing behind me reading everything I write. Don't know why. I've just never felt comfortable with having people read as I write.
I NEED A CAST AND CREW!
I have at long last decided on a title though. Inspired by a song by The Rasmus [of course]. The song is "Funeral Song", the title will be "Mon Dsir Mortel" which stems from the line 'I died in my dreams reaching out for your hand, my fatal desire...' According to the translation site I went to, Mon Dsir Mortel means My Fatal Desire. I personally think it should be Mon Dsir Fatalle but whatever. Anyone speak French?
Also, if you live in Australia and want to work in movies [either being in them or making them] let me know!!
=http://img17.photobucket.com/...I am in love with the best band in the entire world. And why do I think they're so great? Because only one other person I know actually knows who they are! And they are...
THE RASMUS
I am going to marry Lauri. He doesn't know it yet, but I will!
Hurrah. And yet, not hurrah. In one week, I will be eighteen. While this means that I can now legally go clubbing and buy my own alcohol, it also means more responsibility.
Not entirely certain I want that.
Still. Party and presents! I'm so awfully fond of my parties. Every one I have is costume and for some weird reason, everyone actually wears costume. It's a gift, I suppose. Nah, not really. I think they just figure that after a while they'll have had so much to drink that it won't matter that he's dressed like Jesus and she's dressed as a cheap hooker and they're going at it where everyone can see... Did I say that out loud [lol]? Or it could also be that dressing up is fun and takes us back to those carefree childhood days when all you had to do to be a doctor was dress up like one.
Either way it's fun and we're going to have a smashing good time.
After my hiatus, I am back... Still unwell but trucking on nonetheless.
Gah. There is something about this time of year, and my impending birthday, that brings on all sorts of lung infections and general unwellness. I have bronchitis, the same thing that nearly wiped me out [I am deadly serious here] on my birthday last year. To have the same infection do the same thing ON MY BIRTHDAY two years in a row would be intolerable.
It just can't happen.
I also think it's something of a sign, in regards to Australian Idol auditions, which are on tomorrow and Sunday [alright, I don't believe in 'signs' as such... but meh]. I am going to be too sick to even contemplate auditioning. This may well be saving me a great deal of heartache as I like my self-esteem, and most certainly do not want it shattered by some over-critical 'music-expert' to get better ratings.
People like to see other people belittled. It's even better if they don't have to be the belittler, but merely a faceless, nameless bystander. This means that, while they can still enjoy seeing someone else attacked, they can take a moral highground because they themselves are not personally attacking the other party. One of my fave teachers ever used to say:
"There's nothing quite as satisfying as seeing someone else's misfortune captured on tape."
He was making reference, of course, to "Australia's Funniest Home Video Show", on which you can tune in to see people having the utmost pinacle of bad luck, which someone else has subsequently sent in and made money from. It's a cruel world.
In the hopes of curing [or at least temporarily ceasing] my life dysmorphia, I'm going to go on my first proper holiday ever! You know, I'm eighteen and I've never ever been on a plane! Not once.
