LOOK AT ME! I'M WRITING!
Not quite. Its a poem called I hate homework by some dude. And I should write one saying "Kill All Assignments! Toss them in the bin!" But here it is, for your viewing pleasure.
I Hate Homework
Homework, oh homework I hate you, you stink.
I wish I could wash you away in the sink.
If only a bomb would explode you to bits,
homework oh homework you're giving me fits.
I'd rather take baths with a man-eating shark,or wrestle a lion alone in the dark.
Eat spinach and liver, pet ten porcupines,
than tackle the homework my teacher assigns.
Homework oh homework YOU'RE LAST ON MY LIST.
I simply don't see why you even exist.
If you'd just disappear it would tickle me pink.
Homework oh homework I hate you, you stink.
- Shel Silverstein -
Well, that's how I feel. Anyway. Happy start to the sememster everyone who is still in some University struggling to get some piece of paper!!!
I shall hang mine in the closet.
Wednesday, July 27, 2005
Tuesday, July 26, 2005
Why am I not in show business?
LOOK AT ME! I'M WRITING!
I actually watched House of Wax today. It's amazing how they made Australia seem so American. But, I write this because, if Paris Hilton can be an 'actress' (Please note: The term 'actress' here is to be defined rather widely...), so can I. The only facial expressions I saw, was slutty, scared and oh yes, dead. She died in a rather glorious manner, in which I was laughing very loudly in the cinema.
I could feel the hatred, waves of absolute disgust, hitting me. Or perhaps, it was the woman behind me, marinated in perfume. Worst thing? She was sitting 2 rows behind me. Even more worst? Forgive the grammars, I come from Sing-ga-pooooore. She was wearing, my all time non-favorite scent, Estee Lauders Pleasure. Or is it Pleasures? I find that scent particularly headache inducing, so I was not a happer camper. And, I strongly suspect, she was a Paris fan. That, is the worstest of all.
But how did Paris die? Let's say, she's no more intelligent dead than she was alive. As in most people, being killed in the manner that she was, would have lost quite a fair bit of gray matter. I know she's human too, but must she torment us all? In magazines, everywhere, was bad enough. Then she invaded our tv screens, then movies and soon, an album. Where she sings. I hope she sings better than she ummm *cough*, acts.
And, oh my, the way she runs. If a crazed man with a sharpen knife in each hand was hunting me down, for the sole purpose of feeling my hot hot blood spilling against his face, I would run like hell. No... She, still in a hooker-red bra and bun-free underwear, trots. She totters on her high heels, chest still thrust out, pausing occasionally to push back a stray bit of blonde hair. She runs and still tries to look good. She loses the heels after a while, not of her own free will mind you, I could see her holding back the tears. Awww, where were the shoes from??? Alan Pinkus? Channel? DKNY? Club X? I would guess the last. It had transparent heels. You know the type... But... Oh but... The best is yet to come.
Yes, she gets mutilated, and killed. I like. I likey verrrrrrrry much. I know I'm a bit morbid, enjoying her death. But, I was happy. It was worth my $5.70. I'm still not spilling how she died, check on the internet.
I should go into the movies. Or at least, stand up comedy. Or stage. Or I like to think I have a face for radio. Haha. I'm also good at insulting myself.
Face for radio. That's a good one.
I actually watched House of Wax today. It's amazing how they made Australia seem so American. But, I write this because, if Paris Hilton can be an 'actress' (Please note: The term 'actress' here is to be defined rather widely...), so can I. The only facial expressions I saw, was slutty, scared and oh yes, dead. She died in a rather glorious manner, in which I was laughing very loudly in the cinema.
I could feel the hatred, waves of absolute disgust, hitting me. Or perhaps, it was the woman behind me, marinated in perfume. Worst thing? She was sitting 2 rows behind me. Even more worst? Forgive the grammars, I come from Sing-ga-pooooore. She was wearing, my all time non-favorite scent, Estee Lauders Pleasure. Or is it Pleasures? I find that scent particularly headache inducing, so I was not a happer camper. And, I strongly suspect, she was a Paris fan. That, is the worstest of all.
But how did Paris die? Let's say, she's no more intelligent dead than she was alive. As in most people, being killed in the manner that she was, would have lost quite a fair bit of gray matter. I know she's human too, but must she torment us all? In magazines, everywhere, was bad enough. Then she invaded our tv screens, then movies and soon, an album. Where she sings. I hope she sings better than she ummm *cough*, acts.
And, oh my, the way she runs. If a crazed man with a sharpen knife in each hand was hunting me down, for the sole purpose of feeling my hot hot blood spilling against his face, I would run like hell. No... She, still in a hooker-red bra and bun-free underwear, trots. She totters on her high heels, chest still thrust out, pausing occasionally to push back a stray bit of blonde hair. She runs and still tries to look good. She loses the heels after a while, not of her own free will mind you, I could see her holding back the tears. Awww, where were the shoes from??? Alan Pinkus? Channel? DKNY? Club X? I would guess the last. It had transparent heels. You know the type... But... Oh but... The best is yet to come.
Yes, she gets mutilated, and killed. I like. I likey verrrrrrrry much. I know I'm a bit morbid, enjoying her death. But, I was happy. It was worth my $5.70. I'm still not spilling how she died, check on the internet.
I should go into the movies. Or at least, stand up comedy. Or stage. Or I like to think I have a face for radio. Haha. I'm also good at insulting myself.
Face for radio. That's a good one.
Monday, July 25, 2005
As realization hits me...
LOOK AT ME! I'M WRITING!
Ohh ohh ohh... The shit has hit the fan. I can't believe I actually just realised this. Thanks a bunch to myst for pointing it out. Not in the most obvious way, but somehow through her, I managed to see the truth.
People, as in you all, the public, the strangers, the people I write about, the people I refer to subtly (no names mentioned), the people I bitch about, the events that have occured, conversations had... I'm off on a tangent. But, there is a point to Fern's ramblings...
People actually read what I write.
I know that's a stupid, kinda slow conclusion to come to after blogging for a while, but PEOPLE READ WHAT I WRITE!
And I can't really control the people who read it either. I mean, as in the previous entry... Or ones where I first wrote on my crappy friendster blog, people have called up and complained, even though I never mentioned their names, about the fact that I was writing about them.
Even then it didn't hit me.
But now, it has. So comes the dilemma, should I continue writing what I want to say, in random, possibly promoting people to employ hitmen to get me, or should I write safe? Safe as in boring... Really well thought out entries, offending no one.
Bah. I think not. I would rather cause a sensation, cutting remarks and random quotes and facts shall spill from my alcohol-infused brain into the white translucent keys of my laptop where it shall be displayed for all to see.
Maybe its the shy (yes, on occasion I can be shy. I am actually not as loud as I pretend to be. Alcohol helps my image) Asian girl inside of me. Don't be noisy, don't run, adults are talking so SHUDDUP!, go to your room, Mummy's on the phone... I mean all my life I was told to Shhh and not make noise. So therefore, obviously, freedom of speech went with it.
Yes, I shall try and write what I want to write.
By the way, cricket is actually quite fun to watch once you understand it.
Power to me!
Ohh ohh ohh... The shit has hit the fan. I can't believe I actually just realised this. Thanks a bunch to myst for pointing it out. Not in the most obvious way, but somehow through her, I managed to see the truth.
People, as in you all, the public, the strangers, the people I write about, the people I refer to subtly (no names mentioned), the people I bitch about, the events that have occured, conversations had... I'm off on a tangent. But, there is a point to Fern's ramblings...
People actually read what I write.
I know that's a stupid, kinda slow conclusion to come to after blogging for a while, but PEOPLE READ WHAT I WRITE!
And I can't really control the people who read it either. I mean, as in the previous entry... Or ones where I first wrote on my crappy friendster blog, people have called up and complained, even though I never mentioned their names, about the fact that I was writing about them.
Even then it didn't hit me.
But now, it has. So comes the dilemma, should I continue writing what I want to say, in random, possibly promoting people to employ hitmen to get me, or should I write safe? Safe as in boring... Really well thought out entries, offending no one.
Bah. I think not. I would rather cause a sensation, cutting remarks and random quotes and facts shall spill from my alcohol-infused brain into the white translucent keys of my laptop where it shall be displayed for all to see.
Maybe its the shy (yes, on occasion I can be shy. I am actually not as loud as I pretend to be. Alcohol helps my image) Asian girl inside of me. Don't be noisy, don't run, adults are talking so SHUDDUP!, go to your room, Mummy's on the phone... I mean all my life I was told to Shhh and not make noise. So therefore, obviously, freedom of speech went with it.
Yes, I shall try and write what I want to write.
By the way, cricket is actually quite fun to watch once you understand it.
Power to me!
Thursday, July 21, 2005
Men...
LOOK AT ME! I'M WRITING!
Trying to juggle many men is a skill I haven't quite grasped yet. Or at least I'm not exactly attached to just one, I'm just dating a whole bunch at a go. Hmmm... Maybe I shouldnt write this in public but... Yes. I admit, I like men. Very much. Women come a close second but women don't have dicks.
Speaking of dicks, what do you do when you see a really big one? I was a bit too honest with one guy and his reply? "How many have you seen? To get an average, you must have seen at least 10 dicks to compare to mine." And so on and so forth... I was a little annoyed but couldn't help thinking he had a point. Dicks are ugly as hell, most are anyway, some are cute, as in ugly-cute, but why do they feel so good? I am addicted to men, a bad addiction for a commitment-phobic person such as I.
Anyway, one of the males I am dating is bringing me for the Nelly concert on Saturday. He's the photographer and I get to go backstage. I know jack shit about Nelly except he did that "hot in here' song and i like the duet he did with Tim McGraw. Did I spell that right? So yes, dating has its advantages. Like Brie...
I hate men sometimes, or mostly. And I like them the other times. They say you have to be cruel and mean to men then they will like you. But what about people like me who physically can't? I love people and care about most of them. But, argh, to not care. Or bother. That would be heaven. I am sick of caring.
I get people calling and talking about their problems. I don't mind listening, I do cos I care and love my friends. But sometimes, after a while, of people having the same problems and NOT CARING about what is going on in my life, I get kinda sick of them. The world in general.
On a better note, I think Milla has forgiven me. I hope she has. I am seeing her for dinner so therefore should be okies. I love Milla and I wish she wasn't so grumpy all the time. HAHHAHA Got ya babe! :P JUst checking to see if you were reading.
Death to all galahs. May death come upon them in a rain of basket-ball sized hail stones or flame throwers.
Trying to juggle many men is a skill I haven't quite grasped yet. Or at least I'm not exactly attached to just one, I'm just dating a whole bunch at a go. Hmmm... Maybe I shouldnt write this in public but... Yes. I admit, I like men. Very much. Women come a close second but women don't have dicks.
Speaking of dicks, what do you do when you see a really big one? I was a bit too honest with one guy and his reply? "How many have you seen? To get an average, you must have seen at least 10 dicks to compare to mine." And so on and so forth... I was a little annoyed but couldn't help thinking he had a point. Dicks are ugly as hell, most are anyway, some are cute, as in ugly-cute, but why do they feel so good? I am addicted to men, a bad addiction for a commitment-phobic person such as I.
Anyway, one of the males I am dating is bringing me for the Nelly concert on Saturday. He's the photographer and I get to go backstage. I know jack shit about Nelly except he did that "hot in here' song and i like the duet he did with Tim McGraw. Did I spell that right? So yes, dating has its advantages. Like Brie...
I hate men sometimes, or mostly. And I like them the other times. They say you have to be cruel and mean to men then they will like you. But what about people like me who physically can't? I love people and care about most of them. But, argh, to not care. Or bother. That would be heaven. I am sick of caring.
I get people calling and talking about their problems. I don't mind listening, I do cos I care and love my friends. But sometimes, after a while, of people having the same problems and NOT CARING about what is going on in my life, I get kinda sick of them. The world in general.
On a better note, I think Milla has forgiven me. I hope she has. I am seeing her for dinner so therefore should be okies. I love Milla and I wish she wasn't so grumpy all the time. HAHHAHA Got ya babe! :P JUst checking to see if you were reading.
Death to all galahs. May death come upon them in a rain of basket-ball sized hail stones or flame throwers.
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
I refuse to move...
LOOK AT ME! I'M WRITING!
After 8 hours in a car, I refuse to move from my nice warm bed. It's way too warm. Plus, how can I be tired by just sitting down? And why is it 2 hours shorter to Adelaide than it is to Melbourne??
I confused. But something odd happened today. I almost ran over a fox. I know foxes are pests, but they are so cute. I sound so bloody singaporean. So cute, cute ah, si bei cute ah! *shudder*
Anyway, its still alive as am I. I almost had my first road kill. The only things I have killed are like bugs on the wind screen. Hungry. Me eat. EAT!
Why doesn't Adelaide even have a 7-11? I crave easy access to food at night.
After 8 hours in a car, I refuse to move from my nice warm bed. It's way too warm. Plus, how can I be tired by just sitting down? And why is it 2 hours shorter to Adelaide than it is to Melbourne??
I confused. But something odd happened today. I almost ran over a fox. I know foxes are pests, but they are so cute. I sound so bloody singaporean. So cute, cute ah, si bei cute ah! *shudder*
Anyway, its still alive as am I. I almost had my first road kill. The only things I have killed are like bugs on the wind screen. Hungry. Me eat. EAT!
Why doesn't Adelaide even have a 7-11? I crave easy access to food at night.
Tuesday, July 19, 2005
Hmmmm....
LOOK AT ME! I'M WRITING!
Ever felt like a bit of an intruder?? Like you are stealing your friend's friends???
I know I shouldnt feel bad but I kinda do. I really can't believe that I have met so many awesome people in Melbourne. I feel kinda sad that I am in Adelaide now. I mean, I have friends and people that I absolutely adore but...
Anyway, on to happier notes. I went for the Dutch Masters at the Art Gallery of Victoria today. I saw an original Vermeer! The love Letter... I don't even know if i spelt that right... Oh well, people know what I am talking about anyhow. And the Dutch, those people knew how to party! They had these goblets and mugs designed especially for drinking games. They had this cup shaped like a windmill and you can't put it down til you finish it.
Fantastic. Even in a Protestant country, land of anal people (sorry, i may be wrong, but hell, it was like the 1600s...) , they enjoyed their beer and wine. I like that. Very much. Simon was a fantastic tour guide. He knows more than I do and doesn't get annoyed when I ask questions.
Private art galleries are also... wow. I think I am falling in love with the humble city of Melbourne. I can't help it. The weather is shit, the people are great, the food is better and mostly, best of all, I'm happier. Maybe it's cos university is still a thing in the distance. Damn... School starts on Monday. I really don't feel like going somehow. Hopefully, I do not get Michelle. I detest that lecturer. I detest people who treat you like an ass cos you don't come from Australia. I digress as usual but bah.
I'm not writing funny stuff still. But, check out howcorni@blogspot.com
Now, that is some funny shit. As a parting shot, I'm going to reveal to everyone that I flashed half the world at the party. People are starting to tell me stuff I wish I didn't know. Hmmm... I'm sorry for blinding the poor fools who saw my mountainous boobs that night. Adelaide in the morning!
Monday, July 18, 2005
Where am I? What am I doing?
A new blog! I happy. To all who used to read my Friendster one, thanks for reading this one. I was sick of the slow uploading time and bah... I could go on.
What am I doing now? Like in my beautiful picture... I'm modest...
I'm feeling a bit lost. I'm in Melbourne now, a far cry from Adelaide, on the 12th floor in an apartment on Spring Street. The sun is setting, I am watching the buildings, glowing and almost seemingly basking in the evening sun.
The city is at peace, the working day at an end. The sky seems almost endless. I am rambling.
But last night, the Saints and Sinners party was a blast. I was a Thai hooker. I would like to say I played the part really well. I think I did a good job. Not to mention, I flirted with many a man that night. Sadly, most were not interested in my gender.
I shall post up pictures soonish.
I have met so many wonderful people in Melbourne that I really don't want to leave. But I must.
This is a really boring first entry. But, yes yes yes, I swear, my adoring audience, I will write more interesting shit once I get to it.
Bah. I need to get a breast reduction.
Random! Random thoughts!
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