don't know what to do with myself...

God I am a cliche.
I'm pretty sure that he's not interested, right. Oh, well, that's not true. I wouldn't know. I just automatically assume disinterest because I lack quite a bit of self esteem - You get that. But, you know, do I message again and ask if he's going to be out tonight? Or do I just let it fade into oblivion. Meh, I don't know. It's just a friendly question isn't it. Oh well, not really, not in this context it's not at all. But he doesn't know that does he. I can't decide what to do with myself. Do I take shit into my own hands becuase I hate not knowing...waiting...all the bollocks.

I'm essentially grappling with the big question that pretty much every girl / woman / lady seems to struggle with...why say "I'll call you" and then not call. Does it mean "ok bye" or "I never ever want to see you again, ever" or what?! Gah, then again. Me being the needy tragic person that I am never really gave it enough time to see if he was going to call or not. I'm terribly impatient.

Gosh. I don't even have any friends around to ask right now...Penni's not awake and Sturmy's off doing training. God damn.

Perhaps I should just flip a coin...but that's really just me asking for something to say, "yeah, it's totally not tragic if you message and ask." I've already asked my facebook magic eight ball twice about it...and it's like "how about no." Oh, well, it wasn't quite that snarky about it because it's not an adolescent girl, such as myself.

19 still counts as teenaged right. I'm supposed to have rocketed into adult maturity yet am I? I feel as though I probably should have. I didn't have a lot (READ ANY, oh well, not compared to a lot of my peers) boy experience during high school...so I don't know what to do with myself...as I'm pretty sure I've stressed earlier in my rant.

I wonder what the new grinners album is like. The mind boggles.

In other news? Have you seen the finalists for the ARIAs. God. If powderfinger wins anything I think I'm going to have to cut off my fingers just as a sign of defiance. I hate powderfinger.
Turds. Damn their catchy pop rock songs. Motherfuckers. Gotye for best album. At least that's new and exciting. Better than powderfinger. Bernard Fanning needs to be shot in the face.

I'm going to start up a facebook group..."Powderfinger isn't any good" or something to that effect.

effect or affect?
I've lost interest. I'll find some one that think's i'm so brilliant that they'll pay someone else a small fortune to edit my signs of illiteracy.

In conclusion:
Grinspoon > Powderfinger...I'm pretty sure that means 'better than'
maths was never my strong point.

where it all began

The Thai Palace is possibly the greatest place known to man.

That's an exaggeration and I hope to god that you noticed that.

However, man that Thai food they cook up is damned tasty...

The Thai Palace is grand. I really really enjoy eating there. You should try it out, go there. They make tasty foods.

I particularly like the calamari salad. It's hardly a salad. There's some battered calamari and it pretends to be a salad. It's a complete misnomer...

Now before I erase the word misnomer...I'm going to look it up in my dictionary...I'm not sure I'm using it in the correct context. ..yes, yes...It's a totally suitable usage of the word.

Now I'm concerned that I'm spelling usage incorrectly...typical.

They're talking about...somewhere...somewhere...Ah Tibet. The shame that I somehow confused Tibet with Thailand. I always confuse Tibet with...no, not Tibet, Thailand...with Taiwan...

Yeah.

What is someone from Thailand called?
if you're from Taiwan right, you're Taiwanese...if you're from Australia, you're Australian...Thailandese? Thailandian?

Whatever.

thinkin' about blug...the blog...

I was doing some reading for uni. yeah. it happens.
and I had to read this:

The Blogs Must Be Crazy
Or maybe the MSM is just suffering from freedom envy.

- as per Peggy Noonan

find her stuff here

I like what she has to say.

One thing she said made me very nervous as a journalism student..
here it is:
"Someone is going to address the "bloggers are untrained journalists" question by looking at exactly what "training," what education in the art/science/craft/profression of journalism, the reporters and editors of the MSM have had in the past 60 years or so. It has seemed to me the best of them never went to J-school but bumped into journalism along the way--walked into a radio station or newspaper one day and found their calling."

shit...why I am spending four years of my life inside the establishment?!
sigh.
whatever.

I also think that most of this kerfuffle about blogging ignore the fact that most of them just record the farts and orgasms of a series of bored, bored individuals, with nothing more to tell the world than what they had for breakfast.
calm down bitches.
calm down.

oh yeah, J-School...
what yuppie putz came up with that.
Not that I can talk but I think it's like Quentin Tarantino said in relation to movies.
He said he never went to film school, he just watched movies...
yeah. As such, I went and got some Orwellian...ORWELLIAN...I'm being part of the problem now...yes, so, some of George's essays...and I'm going to fucking sit down and read them. I finished Tom Wolfe's Radical Chic the other day...yeah, damnstraight I did. And I'm a better person for it.
J-School.
pish posh

sarah

Sarah

I’ve recently discovered that it doesn’t matter how much you wish death upon someone, some bastards just won’t die. Your mind swells with contempt. Their nattering, their high pitched spawn-of-the devil voice fucks with your mind. You wait daily for the thunderbolt from god to smite them. You’ve never even had a reason to use the word ‘smite’ before you met that stupid girl.

You’d swear that she is the human incarnation of sin.

You don’t want to hear who she fucked the night before. Who she hates, or who she loves. Nonetheless, you’ll hear, countless times, of how some little rich boy paid for her and her satanic brood to frolic on some beach. And even if you don’t want to, even if you desperately don’t want to see how the dress that daddy bought for her looks on her slightly chunky body, she will show you. The money covers the ugly, but only just.

She’s all straightened hair and fancy shit. It’s the shoes that bother you the most though. Those god damned shoes that you can’t afford, but she has. You’ve spent you’re last god damned cent on textbooks and goon and this dopey tart prances up the hallway in shoes you want.

With the shoes in mind you formulate a plan.

1. Take all her pretty clothes out of her cupboard and replace them with oiled overalls.
2. Poison her chombord.
3. Lock her in a darkened room (preferably her own) with only the chombord to escape the boredom.
4. Await her death.

You’ve had plenty of spare time on your hands to plot her demise.

There is however an alternate plan for you to consider.

Pinch the bitch’s shoes.

waiting

i hooked up with this guy the other night.
hooked up meaning made out with on the dance floor in a seedy pub.
had a bout of messaging on saturday night.
i think my msgs were mildly coherent...
i msgd last on saturday night.
it's now monday.
will he msg / call again?
any wisdom would be appreciated
do i wait till he msgs first.
i think i pretty much do, but i'm getting all bijiggity

sexy times.
v. sexy times.
yeah. went out last night.
I shouldn't have.
not to worry though. MY WORLD CHANGING ESSAY ON HUGO WEAVING is complete and ready to be stuck in the assignment slot.
it's going to change that slot's world.
should chuck the boyfriend.
I'm going to...I just don't know how.
If I'm a crap enough girlfriend I hope he just chucks me.
fingers crossed.

fuck yeah cross dressing night.

There's an event at the college bar that I jizz myself waiting for each year...
it's...cross dressing night.
oh yeah. I can't wait. It's on Friday and I'm already excited.

I can't decide what to dress up as...aside of course from, as a man.
I think I might go as the guy from cabaret...
the little singing creepy puppet looking guy.
he's so cool.

You pretty much get dressed up as a someone from the opposite gender and get pissed.

It's great.

I do like my moustache in that photo.

It's very alluring...I know I'd be allured.

universal knowledge

I’m often overcome by the sensation that literary styled academia could be infinitely less grand than it appears. That it is in actual fact common sense smeared with bullshit arrogance and elitism. I feel as though the ivory tower academics are working with a backward logic, attempting to aggrandise what the layman already knows. I’ve got this bizarre feeling that I already know a damn lot of what I already need to know. Perhaps this is teenaged world-beating, mortality-deluded conceit, but nonetheless, maybe the trick to earning this all-hallowed degree is just trudging through the bullshit on the way to some sort of self-realisation. Now that I’m almost half-way through my studentship I’m deeply concerned that I’ve turned the wrong corner. That I stood at the cross-roads of my life and someone gave me a bum steer. I could be traversing the Earth! I could be campaigning for obscure social causes! I could have opened a public ale house in the sticks and be serving ice-cold beverages to whatever soul-less alcoholic wants them. However! Luckily for myself I’ve bought into the propaganda that suggests even an illiterate, arse-scratching, behemoth missing-link can be a doctor, a lawyer, an astronaut. I’m not worrying that I’m crap at university, that I’d rather fuck or drink myself into oblivion, because (whenever I see fit) I can better myself through other means along with all of the other hopeless miscreants! God bless the system!

Seeing as university, for me and the majority of my peers, has thus far consisted of the time between the vomiting, I fear for the future. With a (hazy) knowledge of the recent past I’m forced to imagine our future doctors dressed as pandas, our veterinarians dressed as KISS and dear sweet engineers dressed as, well, themselves. Is everything really going to be alright? Of course it will: we’ll drink and fuck our way through our supposed pain (exams and the like) and manage to slowly evolve into well rounded human beings. This is a system that I can’t help but appreciate. A process of (for some, possibly most is) degeneration turns into socially acceptable beings. Three, four, ten years of studying (drinking, fucking, petty demeanours) and we come out of an institution with a degree strung around our neck and our mittens sewn to our jackets.

lacking something

I haven't blogged a terrible lot lately. Mainly because I haven't been involved in much sex and violence, so as to warrant a blog entry.

I have an awesome photo though, that I'd like to share with whoever fucking cares. It's great. It's me and some friends of mine sitting on a giant ball in the middle of the city. Write to the photo Steph, not at it. I'm yet to see a good example of that maxim, stupid lecturers, talking about all this heady shit that don't seem to fully understand themselves. I imagine that you must understand it when you've seen and experienced it, but for we poor students, listening to their nonsense, it's pointless babble. Anywho, the photo:

That's me in the middle. Doesn't Penni, at the front look amazing, like a beacon of class...

Yeah, so, what else is news? Not a lot, not a lot at all really. Hockey and the RE on Sunday, bless. Apparently I have to go and meet the boyfriend's friends...fucking pass.
Whatever, she'll be right.
Till next time