Because things are going from bad to worse, I’m going to leave it there. But you know, next time you look at a loaf of bread, take a moment to pause and reflect on what is better than that in your life. (correct answer = nothing whatsoever.)

*please note, this is an unverified fact based on educated assumption. I don’t even know the average heart rate of a mouse, just that it’s really quite fast.

Yep. I’ve done it now. I have just bought two large rolls of curling ribbon off ebay. Yes, you heard me right. I know I have a wrapping addiction now on account of unless you have an addiction you do not purchase curling ribbon online. I am utterly in love with ribbon! However, I had to get it off ebay because you simply cannot acquire avocado coloured curling ribbon anywhere in Alice Springs. And it was a bargain! It would have been a bargain at twice the price! And combining postage justifies the extra roll of pastel pink. I’ve nearly run out of my last lot of pastel pink.

Okay I will stop trying to justify buying curling ribbon of ebay because I am not sure it can be done.

I have been very busy, haven’t we all been very busy, so? (can I get an ‘Amen’ from the brethren?) and so I have neglected to find the spaces of the few kind people who have commented on mine. Has anybody ELSE noticed the mass exodus to '‘MySpace" or whatever it is? How’s that for loyalty?

MSN, even if you turn us to this windows live business, still my heart belongs to you.

There have been dramas aplenty of late and I must say, I belong to a strange family. Nobody needs to hear about my totally strange family, however, so I offer only this: keep tyre levers locked away. LOCKED AWAY.

Guess what happened this weekend? I will just tell you because you will not ever be able to guess something THIS bizarre. I did, indeed, clean my room. Which really means my darling cousin Sianne came over and said things like; "who keeps this sort of thing? A HOARDER keeps this sort of thing!" and "why do you even OWN this?" and "why is this letter from 2005 on your desk?" and "how could you still have the birthday card from ryan’s eighteenth! You are a card thief!"

Which is true. But he left it in my car!!! Just like he did with the one from his nineteenth! (which I have also recently returned) And when I tried to give it to him the other night he forgot it and left it here AGAIN.

RYAN! I have your card from your 18^th signed by approximately everybody you know (except me, I read it, and I did not sign it. How odd. Maybe I hated you back then.) you have ONE WEEK to remove it from the premises or I will personally give it to Ethan as scrap paper!

ANYWAY so then Sianne found my bunch of cards from my last birthday and insisted on going through to make sure they were all actually for me. Basically she came over and made me throw a bunch of stuff out ("Do you really NEED this?" she kept asking me, for no reason, because she always ignored my anguished ‘YEEEEES.") but then she did the unthinkable… she attacked my snowman.

Now my snowman is unpopular, I acknowledge that. Julia is always telling me that it has a terrible skin disease (sometimes she distastefully specifies the disease she believes it to have) and no matter how much I tell her it is TEXTURE she will not listen to me. My snowman is a large, plastic, light up Christmas one from the good ol’ house of K, and yes, I will admit his plastic is bumpy. Nobody liked him at Christmas last year but I have kept him safely beneath my desk where he is sheltered from hatred but still clearly visible. This weekend, though, he came under fire. Sianne wanted him GONE!

‘NO!’ I said, ‘no no no no NO!’ and she had to give up. Then Nancy came in, "Shouldn’t you have that snowman away by now?’ she asked. Again, I emphasised the answer, NO. She attempted to convince me that I could maybe have a SMALL snowman, and get rid of my big one. I rapidly regressed to a six year old. My no’s became more sulky. Then Adrian came to the door. "What is THAT?" he asked. "What do you need a snowman for?" I mentioned, crossly, that my snowman, "made me who I am."

Adrian insisted that there was a mineral deficiency when I was born, that made me who I am.

He is too cheeky and cute and I forgave him.

So why did my snowman bear the brunt of so much hatred this weekend? Because previously he was obscured by all the junk I had piled up in front of my desk. Now, he is visible to the world. And the world does not love him. But I do! And what does the opinion of the world count for, if our love for one another is true and strong? Nothing, indeed, it counts for nothing.

AND IT HAS COME TO THIS! I am logged on to the Australian Idol website with my cousin’s login name to see the Hot Guy I have heard about from A Foreign Country because Imparja only showed the australian idol things at two thirty the afternoon. Tonight, though, I think we get to see the all-singing, all-dancing semis at 10.45 PM! Yay. I love a good dose of Turkish Delight chocolate and a reality television show.

Well, I must abandon you to go search for more curling ribbon (you think I’m joking, but I’m not, I found this GREAT website and I am going to order some ribbon. Iridescent ribbon, no less.) and then go watch Aussie Idol. How exciting.

And yes, my snowman is still sitting, safe and loved, under my desk, watching benignly as I type this for you!

As an aside, having seen said hot guy, it has come to my attention that S.A. has signed a deal with the devil to make all its residents hot. Almost tooooo hot. MESS YOUR HAIR UP, it will make you hotter, Dean!

Some people really like numbers… they have an affinity with the pattern, with the black and white, with the idea of there being one foundational truth. They like the right or wrong clarity, the comfort of repeated pattern.

I am a word person. I like the way you can write the same thing ten different ways, and can add an implication or innuendo just through the connotation of one word. Words collect baggage... they are weighted with the interpretation of society, words which say seemingly the same thing actually insinuate different things entirely. You can express things through the tone, the pattern, even the grammar… words are wonderfully ambiguous and never clear cut.

I like the shades of grey.

It is this alarming tendency towards inaccuracy and my intense dislike for detail which makes me so wafty, I am sure. But, I am thoroughly convinced that I am brilliant in this said waftiness.

Even if I do occasionally fall down holes I ought to have seen.

Today was my second day at school in quite some time and it seems very little has changed, although now I know about the cash rate which is better than not knowing, I suppose. Despite the fact that my Classical studies teacher is well past menopause and is (hopefully) nearing death, she is currently very obsessed with my individual study on Ancient Athenian attitudes toward sexuality. I was focussing on social context… she keep cackling about the actual practices and printing off pictures of old vases. Old vases with images that would these days attract a rating. Ones with details that couldn’t even be decorously covered with fig leaves. Those kind of vases. Some old male Greek’s private collection, exposed to anybody with internet access now that he is long dead, undoubtedly.

One girl in my Classics class insists on grandstanding her opinion, loudly, over the top of other people. She is a) ignorant and b) won’t listen to anybody else at all. I could take her, easily, in so many ways. It seems unfair, after all I do have an age advantage, so I keep silent. And clearly an intellectual advantage as well, but be that as it may. The time will come, though, when I will not be able to listen to her misguided opinion and will argue back with the full benefit of my debating background. I will do it til she is writhing in shame. Begging me to let up. I will tell her that skim-reading Plato and proclaiming it loudly has nothing to do with understanding the message of it. I will then go on to prove it, by arguing the issues with her.

At the moment she thinks she is the only person in the class, possibly the school, who has read Republic. Poor misguided child. It is also apparent from her comments that she hasn’t read it all.

Strangely this comes after my criticism of young Ryan for not having read it. Finally I have somebody to talk about it with, and she is an absolute idiot. Disappointment after disappointment is all I see. But this girl wants to watch out, misquoting Plato, or I will soon be putting her in place. The other day she told us the Hippocratic Oath was to prevent public servants from going against the law. One does not need to be a medical student to see the error in that.

I think I would kill her with hemlock.

Fortunately my other classes possess more intelligent members, perhaps with the exception of the Freaky Freakin’ Freak in economics, but he keeps his head down because his girlfriend is in that class also. It is no secret that she does his homework.

So at the moment Ethan is loving Bob the Builder, and the CD is going in my car, and all I can think of is the theme song… the chorus is running like a loop of hold music through my head.

I shan’t waste hemlock on Bob the Builder, I will squish him with a rolling pin. Plasticine is wondrous stuff.

I am rather ill again, I am even going to make a doctor’s appointment tomorrow which means I am actually drastically ill, because I am currently avoiding my doctor. They make you read hideous out of date magazines in the waiting room and then charge you through the nose. Where is the Hippocratic Oath when you need it?!?

In light of this, and my current aggravation with my Classics class, I am going to enjoy the new show on ABC, the First Tuesdays Book Club, which starts tonight in an hour.

Included HERE, for your benefit, is a link to the Hippocratic Oath. Enjoy.

Today I had an eyelash in my eye that was really hard to get out…I could see it in the mirror, a black line across my eyeball. I am not good with eyes. They give me the creeps. But my eyes seem rather accident-prone. Vengeful, they are. Just plain vengeful.

INFLATION NOW EXCEEDS THE RBA’S TARGET BAND! It’s not that exciting but now I am feeling all pseudo-intellectual. Like the Glass House.

The award on the Glass House tonight went to a man who BROKE OUT OF PRISON, went to tell his girlfriend happy birthday, and then WENT BACK TO PRISON. I just thought I would put that here as an example of TRUE ROMANCE. Being a murderer doesn’t make you a bad person.

So this Friday my buddy Savannah heads to Sydney, and on Sunday she is off to Canada for two months. What will I do without her? I am not sure. I will be friendless. FRIENDLESS. I am devastated. WAH. She is coming down with a cold but that’s okay, if you’re going to be sick you may as well do it in a foreign country!!! I am a very grounded person. I love my roots. I would not cope well being an army wife and moving everywhere. I just love HOME.

Next weekend is the Old Timer’s Fete. I just love that our local retirement home is called Old Timer’s… call a spade a spade, call an old person old. I don’t like old people. I like my grandparents. I do. But other old people give me the heebidyjeebies. Some people can’t handle disabled people… I’m okay. Some people can’t handle kids… I’m okay (I’d want to be!) what I can’t handle is the elderly. There’s a smell.
So it’s not P.C! It is, however, true. And I love their fete! I volunteer every year in a small attempt to assuage the guilt of not liking old people. I can’t stand cognitive dissonance.

However, P.C. seems to be unnecessarily invading lives. For example, because Brokeback Mountain was about *gasp* homosexual cowboys it is automatically "brave" and "daring" and "artistic." Well, having seen it for the first time last weekend I can tell you that it is "crap" and "boring" and has "characters you just can’t stand." It was awful. I expected much, much more from all the hype. It was inconsistent, unbelievable, and you felt not engagement with the characters. When that one guy died, I was like, meh. and the other one, when he was talking about his parents dying ("one corner in 43 miles and they had to miss it.") I actually laughed.

Come on, you have to admit that’s funny.

I have found a handydandy site here, I think you should appreciate it. It is http://www.christmas.com/pe/56 and it will tell you precisely how long until Christmas, to the second. And in different time zones. YAY! As I write this, there are 153 days to go. Start saving, guys, I expect my gifts to exceed my expectations and DAMN my expectations are high.

This is my exam week. See? I am studying for Classical Studies. (Look at me go!)

I have done my Accounting (dismal) and my Economics (better) so just this one to go. Woot.

I am coming to realise the finite nature of this year…when I have finished in a few months, I have actually finished. And though I know I have to go to uni, I feel like I’ve worked so hard on this goal that I will become disoriented and vague without my purpose.

Not that I’ve worked that hard, but, you know, I’ve been focussed. yep indeedy.

Part of me is doing this purely for external validation: I want that little TER to be dazzlingly high, to tell me that I am still a supersmart cookie, that I could have been, that I will be one day…fancy my self-worth being so dependent on such a fickle indicator. A leading indicator. (look! more study!)

So, in order to achieve a TER to make others weep, I should be off studying for Classics by skimming through the Odyssey. Remember, keep a track of Christmas! It’s coming! It is!

Today I am Abstracted. It's been a long time, but i feel a level of obligation to this site.

1. Balconies:
   why are these so public? From that height you feel above everybody, but in the city all you can see are other balconies. My aunt lived across from a hotel…I would sit on her balcony and just watch the other people on their balconies. One night, at sunset, there were a couple kissing on the balcony, looking out over the sea. This was a strange feeling – to watch their private moment, to realise that any other balcony user could see me just as much. It was a cliché, their kiss, but somehow beautiful despite, maybe even because of this. Life imitating art, art imitating life, who knows. At that moment they believed they were living the romantic dream, kissing on the balcony as the sun set. Yes, but a learned romantic dream, a collective dream most of us have.
   I think clichés connect us. The world is simple to understand in those terms.
   From the balcony, I liked to look down and lean over the rail.
   When I am somewhere high, most of me wants to fall, just to let my body go… it is the strangest urge.
   
2. Holding A Snake:
   the highlight of my trip. Snakes have always been my favourite animals, though they sometimes shared that post with horses. I love the feel of them. I love the look of them. I love the way they move, and when they slide around your arm… it’s an awesome feeling. I would like a pet one.
   
3. The Sea In Darwin:
   somehow this is not the sea. You look at it, and it is like some other body of water. It’s too different, and you don’t do the sea things that you do in other places with ocean.
   And there are things in it that you can’t see. Secrets and hidden depths. It is disconcerting.
   
4. Peacocks:
   I disturbingly realised that these are native to somewhere. (namely India and Sri Lanka) They are so connected with domestication and walled gardens in my mind that I could not accept their exterior, wild existence. I will one day have a large country estate, with sweeping gardens. These gardens will include peacocks.
   
5. Love:
   Some people I know think they are in love. Others think they aren’t. These people are wrong. And their definitions of love differ so widely.
   
6. Not Knowing What to Write:
   I don’t usually have this problem.
   Dot points are always the answer.
   
7. Post Secret:
   last week they had one card that I saved, because it made me smile. I finally acknowledge that I have difficulty letting go, because to me this is a warm, self-satisfied secret. And I have been keeping this secret, too. Now i am admitting to it. But knowing something and doing something with that knowledge are two different things.
   WHY do I love my own pain so much?

The link for this site is on one of my lists. Click this picture to make it bigger.

Well, we all knew it would come to this, and come to this it has. My beautiful, beloved, infinitely sweet mobile phone has, shock horror, died. This happened a couple of weeks ago… I am only now able to speak about the grief which I have endured.

My phone had been in palliative care at any rate… the reception was terrible, the text messaging and other basic functions lessening in reliability. And then, sadly, the real deterioration began. It would not let anybody hear me when they called, nor when I called them. The battery was dying more and more regularly. My phone’s time had come.

So what have I done? Now that my adored mobile phone has abandoned me? I have scrabbled around in the top of dad’s wardrobe, of course. I have emerged with the original Nokia. I have placed my sim card in this brick …phone, I mean to say. I am lugging it around with me. It is very hard for me to go from a phone the size of a tictac container with an aerial to one the size of, well, my cordless phone at home. Which is small for a cordless phone, to be sure, but large for a mobile.

Unfortunately, what I have discovered is this: I am enjoying the large buttons. I am enjoying the rather greatly improved reception. I am enjoying the increased volume. I am enjoying being heard when I ring people.

All I can say is; as much as my greatly missed phone exceeded the current one in basic aesthetics, the useability of this one is massively superior. And this is a really, really old Nokia. As in, it still has that version of snake where you can’t go through the walls. Oh yes. This is ancient. What does this mean? What does this all MEAN?

It means, despite the fact that Panasonic are now making an equally tiny A210 or something, basically a hotted-up version of my weeny A100, which can FLASH in different PATTERNS according to caller ID, I will not be buying that phone. No indeed. I will by buying a different, more practical phone.

Possibly a Nokia, possibly not, but definitely not a Panasonic.

So what does it signify, that I will be buying a practical phone? Rather than one that is literally the size of an eraser? It means, boys and girls, that I am now, officially, OLD. I really am. On Wednesday of next week I shall be twenty.

Before I could at least claim to be young at heart, but now I am buying a practical phone I no longer can. After much internal debate I have decided I will get a practical phone in an outlandish colour, or at least an outlandishly coloured cover, so that I am neither an old fogey nor the owner of a highly useless and impractical phone.

So I do hope you have all purchased me slightly outlandish but not completely impractical gifts for my birthday. *raises eyebrows* Good. That’s what I like to hear.

Last week I had some transportation issues. This began with the fact that I left getting my car registered to the absolute last minute. As in, I knew it would never pass a rego check with that crack in the windscreen and there were three days before the rego was due and I panicked. Also it had been making funny noises. As though I was a rev head. So I cried and begged my father to fix it. Which of course, after a bit of yelling, he started to do.

My car was due for registration on Wednesday. On Monday my car went into have it’s windscreen fixed. By some miracle, they had the one I needed in stock, which is not common, as I drive a useless Daewoo. The night before, as an explanation for all the loud noises, my exhaust pipe fell off. As in, it was drooping a little, I made dad come out and look at it, and I touched it, and it fell OFF of my car, on to the ground. Dad managed to get the car booked in for an exhaust & muffler replacement on Tuesday. The nice people at the exhaust place said they could also do a rego check. This was considered handy, until the night before, where I pulled out my renewal notice etc to take in.

‘JORDAN!!!!’ bellowed Father. ‘THIS CAR IS NOT DUE FOR AN INSPECTION UNTIL 2007!!’

Well it was the same date, just a different year. It’s a mistake anybody could make, especially if they were me. (?) So the next day I went in to pay my rego feeling quite ripped off. I could have driven with my old windscreen for a whole twelve months more!!

On Friday night I went to the OLSH School Fete with Sav and Annie and my sister and my bubba and ate a sherbet cone. Here, I wish to pause, out of respect to the sherbet cone.

Also at the fete I did not buy the screen door, the lampshades, the boardgames with missing pieces, or the old gas barbie nobody was sure was actually meant to be so close to the White Elephant stall. Instead, I bought a bag of Fairy Floss and a small knitted Cactus Man, complete with knitted sombrero and knitted poncho, standing in a knitted pot with a spunky knitted face, from the craft stall. He is very, very cool. If I could knit cactus men I would not be ashamed of knitting at all.

On Saturday I rushed around a lot and yet I have very little recollection of what I actually did. Nothing that involved my schoolwork which was due, that’s for sure. But that night I did manage to catch up with Ryan and endure an entire AFL match between Adelaide and Adelaide (how odd) but I know too many people who support the Crows to insult their club song publicly. I then went to Jamnesia with Sav, Jules, Emilio, Jess, Dan and Sylvie, and it was quite delightful. It was at least nine thousand times better than I expected. I saw Phildarlin, for the first time in ages and ages. At first I felt weird and couldn’t tell him I was there and say hi, but after a while I realised that he was still just Phil and so I went to say hello. There was an initial moment of ‘do I still have things to relate to this person about?’ but by the end I was depressed that I had to go home and stop talking to him. So I am really really glad I went, despite being worried about the ‘hippy fest’ nature of the event, and the music was very nice. Even the atmosphere was, once you turn a blind eye to the hippy substance abuse and also adjust to the overwhelming smell of patchouli and lavender. Just joking! I couldn’t smell it at all! Otherwise I would have left!

Sunday was also busy but lovely, we all went to the markets in the morning, and ate Vietnamese spring rolls and mango fruit sorbets, Ethan loved it. While we were there we heard bagpipers and suddenly I felt a lot more respect for Rone. It was really nice and I wished I were Scottish. I reckon if you go far enough back I probably am at some point. We then went to the watercolour exhibition, Moist, at Araluen and that was really really wonderful, I wish I had had more time. However, I had to go to Grandmother’s for a lunch (she is going to Adelaide next week for a hip replacement) and then to the Koehler’s for a Lorraine Lea Linen party.

I know. I drove all the way out to Yirrara for a Lorraine Lea Linen party. This is the equivalent of a Tupperware party, only selling linen. I believe I am already in possession of sufficient linen items, and anything I am lacking I can get at Kmart, seriously. The prices were rather off putting. Also off putting is how utterly destroyed all tablecloths, bed clothes, and throw rugs get after exposure to my sweet child. I will buy posh linen when I have both the posh income and posh children to support it. Mum bought a tablecloth but I am fairly sure I am not a posh enough child to justify this purchase on her behalf.

Then I was exhausted and I did not go to Church but made dinner, helped mum pack, and folded all the washing (who would think we could have so much?) etc etc. My previous employment at Chain Reaction means I know how to fold shirts professionally and dad gets me to do all his when he goes away so they don’t get so mooshed. So I folded, folded, folded. *sigh*

Last night my mother said to me, ‘Jordan, tomorrow we are going to drop your sister off at school and keep going to Darwin.’ ‘Mother,’ I said, ‘I know.’

I don’t think my parents believe me to be up to the challenge. I think they may reason that having a baby does not equip you to care for an eleven year old, and in some cases this may be true. I do, however, feel that I can do no lasting damage over an eight day period.

And after all that folding, you think they would realise that I am aware they are leaving me for a bit. Stupidly, I also stayed up and watched the Logies. I am, of course, appalled. The Logies are decided by the lowest common denominator, that is, those willing to a) buy TV week and b) send in the coupon voting slips or c) text their best dressed votes in. obviously these are stupid people.

Very stupid people.

I hate, hate, hate, Bec and Lleyton Hewitt. I wish they were dead. I can’t remember Bec’s previous surname, but that’s okay, you have all had forced exposure to her and know who she is. They brought their poor, innocent child out to give a Logie award, as a cheap publicity stunt they probably had to wake her up for and she sat there, although we had not seen her during a couple of earlier interviews, in her torpid state, probably thinking, why am I wearing this crappy dress that is made just like my mum’s? have they no respect for my individuality?

The only good thing I can say about the Hewitts is that at least they named her Mia, a name I like, as opposed to, say, Lleytette or Bec Jr.

Also the logies were hosted by my five most hated television presenters. These are: Bert Newton, Ray Martin, Georgie Parker, Lisa McCune, and, last but not least, Daryl Somers. Where is terrorism when you need it? Just think, they were all in one place!!!

The best bit was Playschool being inducted into the hall of fame. I even think Justine has improved since having her own children.

I am too posh to vote for the Logies, but I am naff enough to be horrified that all the new talent prizes went to Home and Away actors and actresses. Yes, I realise I shouldn’t be surprised and can’t complain. Also I realise that if I were the sort of person to vote, I would also be the sort of person to watch Home and Away religiously. Fortunately, I am not this person.

I am a person, who, however, watches the Logies instead of doing their homework, and then invites people over for dinner on the Monday night, even though I should be catching up that homework time. Also the sort of person who spends time writing a blog and has no intention of doing their homework once it is completed.

Sigh.

At least I am able to now drive my spiffy, fixed up, registered car around without fear. And my windscreen, well, it’s pretty great. For a windscreen.

And my car is heaps posher now.

It has a cactus man in it!

How cool.

I have had a fun night. I went ten pin bowling and in a fit of amazingness I managed to break 100 TWICE in a ROW. This may not impress you, but trust me, it impresses me. I got 139 and 124 and I am so thrilled with my miraculous ability that I am sure I shall be selected for the next Commonwealth games. Is bowling even a sport played in the Commonwealth games? Oh well, if not, it should be.

I am not supposed to be telling you about present day activities, exciting as they may be. I am supposed to be updating you on my Easter, so that we will be in the chronologically appropriate place for us to be talking about my everyday life. I know you will die if I do not tell you all about my Easter. Won’t you just?

So, as with everything, I will leave out the boring, tedious, depressing, or downright freaky content. SHHH! Don’t get disappointed. I don’t mean the funny freaky stuff.

Here is a piece of free advice for people: nobody cares why you are sad. People may well care that you are sad, or what happened because you were sad. But don’t go into the reasons. You have close friends, who do care, so tell them. Therefore, if you have just written a blog about how sad you are and all the reasons in the last eighteen months why you are sad, I would recommend that you go delete it before people see it.

Anyway; for those who do not know, I am what Julia and Savannah call a "Jesus Freak," for some reason they find that hilarious. Some Jesus Freaks have adopted this term lovingly, much like black people and the word ‘nigga’ (spelling adjusted to suit anybody wearing Wu Tang) and Sav and Jules find this remarkably humorous. But that aside, as a Christian, I celebrate Easter by attending the local Easter Camp, a four-day celebration of all God has done. This year I managed to wrangle it so Sav and Jules would come, despite being very not Jesus Freaks. (Now there is a sentence to do an english studies student proud! But I like it. I’m leaving it in.) Ah, how blessed I am to have open-minded friends! Mind you, I am open minded to be friends with Julia because she likes Tim Burton films and I am peculiar minded to be friends with Savannah because we agree on a lot of things. Or she is peculiar minded to be friends with me…either or.

Easter camp… ah the bliss. Camp food could have been the highlight; on the second last night, I sculpted a spectacular turtle from powdery mashed potato. However, all camp, many pieces of abstract art were created from camp food. Julia and Savannah are not ones to waste a good sculpting material! There are myriad joys to be had when playing with food.

On the Friday night, I made my theatrical debut as Mary Magdalene weeping during the re-enactment. I must say, I cry rather well.

On Saturday was the Medieval Paintball extravaganza. The wheelbarrow jousting was rather entertaining. For the next event, Jules, Sav and I came up with a plan for strapping boxes on us ‘play school car’ style, so we could not get so easily painted with the opposition’s heinous red. GO GREEN! Unfortunately, this rendered us unable to bend, so sitting was a rather large issue. Julia had the shortest box and could perch on the edge of a chair. Sav made it onto the ground somehow. For me, bending was a total impossibility. WE WERE SO COOL! I am sure I looked totally ridiculous. I am very sure because I believe it may have been mentioned a few times. Sponges were taped to the front of our boxes, which enabled us to body slam people and cover them in green paint, thus earning points for our team. I believe we did this, ooooh, twice? Nah, seven was our aggregate total. Mainly we stood out of the way of the battle, watching in awe as the epic battle unfolded. People took it REALLY SERIOUSLY. Weirdos.

We had much more fun dancing like tools and slamming into one another with a ‘one, two, three, HUNH’ expression. It doesn’t hurt when you are in sponge-covered boxes.

Ryan was all prepped, having made a prototype of his shield before committing to the final design. He was ON IT. He was the captain of our team (although I remain unsure as to how he was elected. Nobody asked ME, I didn’t vote. No democracy whatsoever!) and he was seriously good. I didn’t know he would be like that. He was a good half-hour in before he got hit on his front and had to go be painted white over his wound, although he had been hit from behind once or twice…he worked his shield really well. My point? WHERE DO BOYS LEARN THAT? Ryan was better than most, but still. The boys were better at it in general. I would not know how to use a shield effectively if my life depended on it. Fortunately in this day and age a shield is useless as I am far more likely to be blown to bits by a suicide bomber than hit with a mace. I am all for feminism and female empowerment, but I’m sorry, as an observer…it was the menfolk who did the best. As a general rule. Not entirely. But they did dominate.

Anyway, Julia and Savannah and myself were totally cool in our boxes, and, despite the restrictions they placed on our movement, we did ‘box dancing,’ grooving back and forward in these gigantic boxes covered in sponges. Enjoying your mental image there? I thought so. We had heads, arms, and the lower half of our calves poking out of these boxes. We were doing Mr. Bean style dancing, making the boxes move around. We looked FANTASTIC. We were SO COOL!!!

Toward the end of the event, the battle headed toward us. We were shocked, but our movements were hampered. A few people running toward our fort, ready to paint our flag red, accosted us. I COULD NOT LET IT HAPPEN! With a battle cry (not really, but it would be better if I had) I rushed toward an infidel, and launched myself into a full body slam. I unwittingly knocked the poor bloke to the ground. It was brilliant! I (nearly) had a KO! I was the CHAMPION. Ryan was not even impressed, because he ‘lost count’ of the people he had painted after ‘about thirty.’ J, S, and I were thrilled with our seven. Seven as a group. Possibly mildly exaggerated. I also took a little ratty kid out who whacked me with his shield, leaving a bruise.

Yes, that is correct. I had a War Wound. I know, I know. I am So Cool.

That evening was the Super Hero dinner and talent quest. Julia and Savannah and I went as the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Ryan was number four but he was, well, a bit crap. So we dressed in green. We wrapped ourselves in green garbags. We taped small green plastic plates to our chests, in a set of six, as our…you guessed it…six pack!!! We also taped green washing baskets to our backs, as our shells. This once again hampered our ability to move but SO WHAT??? We were So Cool. Ryan The Bum refused to use packing tape, plastic plates, and a wash basket and HENCE looked crap. All he had was the coloured ribbon eye mask, and the weapon. I was blue, Leonardo, and I had a sword. I was awesome. Sav was Michelangelo and Jules was Raphael and THEORETICALLY, Ryan was Donatello, but as I said, he didn’t look as cool as we did.

After the dinner we had to get changed, we were reasonably sick of not being able to sit easily, and as a result, we missed the parade to choose best dressed! But in our hearts, where it counts, we know we would have won.

On Sunday a terrible thing happened at dinner. They served Pickled Monkey (they called it corned beef but WE sussed out the truth) and the powdery potato. My resulting sculpture of the turtle, whilst nothing to be sneezed at, could not compare with Julia and Savannah’s joint creation…Large Pile Of Meat Landscape, with a lake, and caves, etc etc. During the busyness of this time, Ryan came from the table he was at, to the table we were at. This is when tragedy struck…

Ryan. Stood. On. A. Spider.

I know. Heartless fiend. Now, I would like to give you some details about my relationship with spiders. I don’t mind them. They don’t terrify me. I kill any black ones, but daddylonglegs and all large hairy ones are quite okay with me. I have lived in a rather rural setting and seen a LOT of spiders. Tonnes. But never, ever, have I seen one this large. As in; as large as if not larger than my handspan, and FAT. And Ryan had crushed it’s abdomen. He jumped back a little, let me tell you, after his foot hit it. Nobody had seen it yet. This was the type of gigantic, grey, birdeater that is guaranteed to cause screaming. ‘Look what I stood on,’ said Ryan. Well, then you have to, don’t you?

It was massive, MASSIVE, and from it’s (crushed) abdomen was oozing thick greyish-purple goo. It was gross. The worst bit? Aside from the oozing internal fluids? It was still alive. And trying to move. Ryan was backing off. I think he may have been afraid. The nancy boy. Things began to erupt. The spider, enormous and oozing, was slowly moving forward. Chaos reigned. I kept yelling at Ryan to step on it again, to put it out of his misery. Ryan mentioned the newness and whiteness of his shoes but I think he was just scared. Not that you could have paid me to stand on it. Like if you had really stood on this thing, the fatness of its middle indicated that gunk would have spread in a dinner-plate sized radius. You think I am exaggerating, but I am not. Eventually it was scooped up in a dustpan by Ryan, and put in the bin. I went and told Ryan off as it still wasn’t dead, but Ryan said it would be happy eating the scraps until it died. I was not convinced, but what could I do?

After that event, nothing else seemed very exciting. That evening I managed to accumulate some fans, as one does, all year seven girls. I know. They attached themselves to me like limpets. But to them, I was the bee’s knees. Unfortunately I was also a tad exploitative, and demanded they call me Empress of the Known Universe. Which they thought was very funny, and did for the next couple days. As I introduced them to Julia and Savannah, Savannah told them they could ‘call her sav,’ to which one said, ‘oh, okay, kind of like pav.’ We were like, what? But being a well mannered person, Savannah said, ‘oh yes, I’m rather fond of the pav.’ Fond Of The Pav caught on, and Pav became our word. We used it like the Smurfs use, well, smurf. As the toll of four days surrounded by people and next to no sleep started to make itself known, nothing was funnier than to substitute lyrics for the word ‘pav.’ I’m pumpin’ for pav, pumpin’ for pav.

Oh yes, we were tired. We were hysterical. We were at that point where it is laugh or cry and Pav pushed us to the laugh side, and therefore was a blessing. Never underestimate the power of the pav. Sav and Jules were also a little overwhelmed by all the God stuff and were snickering during the talks as they relpaced ‘God’ and ‘Jesus’ with ‘Cod’ and ‘Pav.’ By the end of it, I could hear them thinking it. We were spastic by the time we had to leave. My personal space bubble had grown to be about two feet wide; that much forced contact makes me prickly and hostile. Oh well.

So there you have it, you have caught up with my Easter and we are now up to date. Aren’t you glad you got to hear about it? I am sure you are. Not a lot exciting has happened since then, except rescuing my cousin and aunt from Cyclone Monica which in the end didn’t even wreak any havoc, so they could have just shut their windows and hid in the bathroom.

Also I got my new accounting text book. I know. Thrilling. It weighs about a billion kilos and the odds of me either reading it or using it are, well, slim to none. However I thought about it and if my house ever gets broken into again (although I will not be due for another fifteen years) I shall have a handy dandy weapon with which to dash somebodies brains out. My list of people whose brains deserve to be splattered on a sidewalk increases rapidly as my life continues.

Oh well. I cleaned my room and found some of my Christmas presents and so I am using the honeysuckle hand cream Sav gave me (thanks sav!) and I smell delicious. The newly moisturisedness of my fingers, however, is making typing awkward so I shall bid you adieu.

Make sure you eat something yummy and sculpt with the leftovers. In fact, if you do this often enough, you could probably apply for a government arts grant and be rewarded with money to pay for all of your meals forever.

If I was a good person I would do some cleaning. But I am not. I am a lazy bum.

So anyway: Good Morning! I am sitting down to write this at 9.30 am. Yes, that’s right, 9.30 am. I have already been to one class this morning. But it’s only 9.30. I have a plan for a happy life that goes…no matter what time you go to bed, you should be able to fall asleep, sleep for eight straight, and still wake up to be pleasantly surprised by the fact that it is only seven am. But as things stand, it’s 9.30.

LIST OF DREADFUL ACCIDENTS THAT HAVE ALREADY HAPPENED TO ME THIS MORNING:

1. while blearily making my way out of bed I got tangled in my doona and somehow fell out. The kind of falling out of bed where one of your legs is still ON the bed and the rest of you is on the floor. I am still unable to ascertain exactly HOW that actually happened, but trust me, it did.
2. After dressing Ethan I went to pack his lunch and walked into the doorway from the hall. (For those trying to work out how I did that, I stay at mum’s on Thursday nights.) You know how you are heading through a door and your shoulder just doesn’t quite make it past the door jam?
3. After packing everything in his backpack and my bag and everything, I realised I had forgotten a dummy and I rounded the corner into the kitchen and…BANG! My hip found the corner of the bench.
4. I made it through classics remarkably well but I did bite the inside of my cheek.
5. I came home, I headed to the computer, and I kicked my foot on the computer chair and I kid you not I almost dislocated my little toe. It is still hurting. It is only 9.33 am. I tend to dislocate my little toe every now and again and I do know how it feels so I can honestly say it very nearly happened to me just moments ago! ARGH!

I don’t know about you but I have trouble seeing this list as an auspicious beginning to the day. What can I say, except for why me? Why do these things always happen to me?

Also, I have to say: Whoa! I can see why people get addicted to attention-seeking behaviours! All those emails from one depressed blog entry…thanks! It’s nice to know I am loved. But I am just tired and sad and emotional…everybody gets that way occasionally and I will be fine. Still, thanks.

So I guess it’s been a long time…did you miss me? Hah! I know you all missed me because I am a glorious glorious being. Glorious albeit slightly clumsy.

I am here going to recount every good thing that happened in Adelaide, which should bring you reasonably up to date and then later I will cover the Easter period and then I will be back to the point when I just whine about daily life. Sound good? Of course! We all know I should be doing my Classics essay which is now two, no, wait, three days overdue, but that woman has something living in her hair and she just doesn’t deserve the effort.

ADELAIDE:

The trip to was made more bearable by the presence of Sav and Jules to see me off at the airport with the gift of Bakery Item, (Bun) a one-eared furry easter rabbit. They also gave me his other ear as a good luck talisman but somehow I still managed to fall down holes and I think that cut off stuffed animal ears are basically a big fat hoax and the punters will never fall for it.

Adelaide weather was remarkably different from that in Alice Springs – it rained on the first day and I was not sure whether to attribute this to Ryan or not. How far do the Rainmaker powers stretch geographically? How can one know? But rain it did.

Happily for me I spent a good deal of my time with my Most Beloved Cousin, and also Martin, and there were many moments of vast entertainment. On the first evening, I went grocery shopping with Jared and Martin, which for some reason, perhaps hysteria, was remarkably funny and enjoyable. I made insulting comments about everybody we passed, and laughed stupidly at all the emo kids. Honestly, I don’t know where they all came from. After a successful shopping trip we headed to the beach (where it was freezing, just freezing) and ate takeaway on the dunes. I bounced around a bit and fell down a little and got thoroughly sandy as I am wont to do. A walk up the beach was then proposed. Thinking I was being terribly clever (I actually always think I am terribly clever,) I kept my sneakers on. This was because even in my sneakers my feet were freezing. Yes. They were my beloved Gallaz sneakers to which I wrote a moving tribute only a week before. Unfortunately as we were walking Martin disappeared. I did not get to see what would have been a very humorous scene as I, too, had fallen down into the quicksand. I know. You think I am joking. But I am not. Literally, this sand was all solid looking, and then I was up to my thigh (and I am tall) in sand. My other leg was uncomfortably bent as it was not up to its thigh in sand. The sand I was standing in, however, was full of water up to my knee. Martin managed to get out rather fast, and Jared was laughing from the massive amusement of seeing the people you are talking to shrink to half their height in a blink, but I was STUCK. My precious sneaker was fully waterlogged and I could not get my leg out of the hole. Wah! I had to be dug out.

Of course, this story is funny now. But at the time I was freaking out indeed because I am a bit claustrophobic, okay maybe a lot claustrophobic and just having a part of me stuck anywhere brings the panic right on. Plus there could have been anything in the water I was standing in. anything at all. Once I was free, and Jared had sunk in quicksand as well (he didn’t believe us and had to try it out,) I was sopping wet from the knee down and covered in sand. We went home, me dragging my saturated sneakers with me. I was in Adelaide for TEN DAYS. My shoe was only just dry on the final day; I wore them home on the plane.

What else did I do in Adelaide? Hmmmm. I played poker with martin and won all his chips. Then I played blackjack and lost them all to him (down to my last $5 blue chip, I just can’t make myself hold on eighteen!) and then we returned to poker and I won it all back again! Yay. Clearly I am a poker player extraordinaire. Even if none of you hardcore players have any respect for five card stud, well, I do.

Then there was the dinner party…oh yes. The Dinner Party. It was nice to see Josh Pichugin after all this time… well, a little over a year… but he’s changed, oh yes he has. There was AFL, and Josh was yelling at the television and singing the Crows song and all sorts. It was bizarre. We played Scene It which was not so bad but I would never buy it. I think it may well be targeted at bored thirty-somethings because we often had no idea who these people even were. PROBABLY BECAUSE THEY ARE ALL NEARLY DEAD OF OLD AGE but oh well. I am also not very immersed in movie culture. We played pictionary and I was with Josh and I don’t think I won, which was depressing, but I genuinely can’t remember now. I will have to ask Jared. There had been much preparation of dinner. Much indeed. It was a roast, and there was sweet potato, potato, pumpkin, and carrot, all par-boiled before baking. There was a lamb roast. Mmmm. Unfortunately, the lamb roast was being roasted in a glass roasting pan that was perhaps not of the highest quality. It exploded in the oven. All the beautifully peeled vegetables were covered in shards of glass. The lamb was not roasted, it was still bleating. Like, seriously, I am a meat eater. I am not a vegetarian. But you would not eat this meat if you didn’t regularly eat raw meat. I am pretty certain that, in the centre, it may not have even been defrosted. But hey! The glaze on it was really good.

Jared and I were sent out for hot chips. These were served, along with the peas (which were lovely baby peas, no less) with the meat. And tomato sauce. I ate some meat, from the corner, which was rare. Josh, and I think Jared, and definitely Martin, ate some which could have been called ‘rare’ if you were a generous soul.

It was massively funny and very entertaining. Like the excellent hosts they are, Jared and Martin managed to save the day with some microwaved Butterscotch Pudding and custard, and recovered from the shattering of the glass baking-dish with aplomb.

We also went Out On The Town one evening with Jackie and Tegan (for those of you who even know who they are, which isn’t many of you) and that was entertaining. We overheard some interesting comments, ("I think Emo Kids came from Adelaide, I think we made them," "yeah, have you seen the train stations?") we accidentally entered a ‘90’s music night at a club, we saw the Asian club ‘black cat’ with lots of asian youths (obviously triad members) hanging around. Nobody would let me do Karaoke, they weren’t keen on the idea at all. Eventually we went to Red Square and I think I had as much fun as the price of admission. Possibly. Jared had a brilliant time but I was stuffed. We had wandered all over the city that morning and bought NOTHING.

So that covers the highlights of the Adelaide trip; I bought new jeans and some easter decorations and a cushion and more books. I have some serious book storage issues now. I mean, more than I did beforehand.

Hey! This has only taken an hour AND I have read my economics chapter AND chatted to mum’s friend who popped round. So I can still say Good Morning! I haven’t hurt myself in over an hour and fifteen minutes, so hopefully things stay good.

Take care, everybody, and watch out for quicksand.

What a splendiferous weekend I have had. Starting on Friday night with a nintendo 64 extravaganza, paired with a prodigious amount of Black Books, a Saturday afternoon with a glorious win on eBay, a not-so-good movie, and a trip to the park involving mandarins and watermelon and a lovely breeze. It continued into rain on Saturday night, and a Matt Damon movie with plenty of violence and next to no blood (perfection!) and finished up with the best Sunday known to mankind.

Sunday started, as all my Sundays do, with Church, where Jake, the younger brother I don’t actually have, was in attendance as he came from Adelaide briefly for Ben’s twenty-first. He shall be back for Easter, YAY! After a quick catch-up with him, and a promise to take me ice-skating whilst I am in Adelaide, I managed to scab a lift off Julia, whereupon we headed into the mall for the markets. After indulging in what could have been the best spring rolls ever, we met up with Savannah and enjoyed the myriad joys of chicken satays and mango fruit sorbet. As if this was not enough to ensure our happiness, the library was holding a "fill a bag with books for five dollars" sale, and we utilised many SAS tactics to obtain the best books.

After this, we went back to my house to gloat over our loot and go for a swim, because it was so hot, and a quick phone call to mum ensured I had plenty of time for enjoyment because Ethan had gone down for his nap. Bliss! Even better a quick ESP message to Ryan meant it began to sprinkle whilst we were in the pool. What pure, pure joy. Afterwards it was off to pick up Ethan and then pick up Ryan and then go to church but after such a wonderful, wonderful day, who can begrudge a little rushing around?

Of course, Monday came all too soon, but it was not as bad as it could have been, although it scares me to think it is already Tuesday. Eeek. There is so much I need to do this week.

The best catches of the Library Sale were Julia’s book on Negotiation, Savannah’s book "Dude Food," and my illustrated guide to Cuff Links. I kid you not. I also managed to get my hands on an encyclopaedia of Carnivorous Plants, a Christmas Almanac, a (very outdated and therefore humorous) guide to Etiquette and Manners, and much, much more. Mine was a very full bag. What a bargain! Of course this means I have still more books and even less space for them but that is a quandary that I do not at all mind being in.

Today the weather is quite cool and I do not hesitate to say that I cannot wait for Easter or for winter. As winter is approaching, it is now only fair that I salute my beautiful shoes which I am wearing today.

MY GALLAZ SNEAKERS

A tribute in celebration of this, their Fifth Season of Use.

My skate sneakers are light blue. They are my best friends. They were purchased on sale for $150 down from $190. Long did I fight with my parents for the right to buy them, even with my own money. Together, we have proved the critics wrong. Four years, and still going strong into the fifth. Faithfully they provide me with comforting ankle support. Lovingly they cushion my arches. They pride themselves on the convenience of being slip on, but never slip off as I walk. They are the epitome of brilliant shoe design. I adore them.

Gallaz sneakers; I love you. Thank you.

Actually I just took them off to admire them and I have found that the bottom of my socks, one green and one white, are dirty. Well, the white one looks worse, but that is because it is also stained. This is on account of me being a shocking one for running around in socks but not shoes. I have never listened to my mother bellowing about me wandering around outdoors in my socks, but now my white one has suffered. It is also warmer than the green one so perhaps this is a bad thing. I think the green one was cheaper, too, but it is less dirty, despite being the older sock.

Yet another reason that green is a superior colour…it shows less dirt. but in a show of perversity, it is highly likely that I will buy more of the white ones because I like them more, and probably still nick outside to the bin or go see people off, without removing them or putting on shoes. Oh well. Be that as it may…

This morning I went into Classics in an upbeat mood and left depressed after an hour of learning how to write an essay. Honestly, if you can’t write an essay by now, get out of the class. Sheesh. This one kid answered the question ‘what goes in the introduction?’ with ‘I chose this topic because…’

I have more restraint than I know. I did not repeatedly slam my head against the desk. But it took all I had.

Siiiiiiiigh.

At least my name is not nigel. My big win on eBay was from nigel, and I am excruciatingly grateful that my name is not nigel. Even if I was boy, Nigel would not be a name I would want to have, but because I am a girl I am extra grateful. He has left me kindest regards for my prompt payment. My very own copies of the full three seasons of Black Books will be posted after work today at 3pm! For a mere pittance! $30.05 including postage and handling!

Rone I just read your comment. It would appear people actually USE my links to people’s sites, because, only last night, Max, too, received a visitor through my site. These people do not leave comments on my site, either. I am offended. It cannot be me coming to you through my site on account of once I have visited a site I like I just use the address bar with its handy dandy history autofill feature. I am glad to know my list of Blogs Worth Reading is actually causing people to use it.

Unfortunately the title of that list is misleading.

Everybody knows that Blogs Worth Reading lists are really Blogs To Which I Have a Sentimental Attachment lists. I will consider putting you on it after you compliment me three times. One such compliment could be adding me to YOUR blogs worth reading list which I am sure you have. Alternatively, writing about your criminal history could get you on the list.

This applies to everybody. If you’re nice to me or write about criminal misdoing, I shall put you on that list.

Or if you ask nicely.

In a comment directed to me personally.

Not just leave less than subtle hints.

At any rate, it’s lunchtime. My beloved shoes are calling me to put them back on and go pick Ethan up from daycare. Take care, and if you ARE a member of the criminal underworld, try not to get caught.

Wow. I feel so decadent. Not only did I have a bubble bath at eleven o’clock this morning but I also accepted a phone call whilst in the bath. I’ve never done that but damn did I feel glamorous! Up to my neck in bubbles, with my hair pinned up on my head, talking on the phone. Who said that things that happen in the movies don’t happen in real life? Unfortunately no champagne flutes, candles, potpourri, or operatic background music in sight, but hey. Next time, next time indeed.

Birthday present ideas for my birthday in June, # 125: I would adore a lovely bathrobe. I’ve not got one. Ta.

The down side to baths is you just HAVE to have a shower afterwards. You just have to. Otherwise you feel gross. They are only good for ten, possibly fifteen minutes, and then you have to get out and take a shower. Or maybe that’s just me…

So really I have nothing to write because I wasted all my words yesterday writing an epic email. I am supposed to be doing homework but I would like to pretend that spending a great proportion of time on the internet means I have more of a life than if I spend it on homework. I have a feeling that it’s a bit six of one, half a dozen of the other, and I just have no life.

Today is made up of lovely weather but I wouldn’t mind some rain. When I said to Jarrad (the nice boy in my accounting and eco classes, the one with the ears) that I loved rain and I wanted a country manor in England where it would rain tonnes, he told me he has lived there. And that it would be lovely if it was rain, but really it was just liquid smog.

He’s fun. I think he might be reasonably intelligent, even, despite being so young. And he loves Black Books so that speaks very highly for him.

And he doesn’t look like he’s going to melt, like another member of my economics class. Seriously, he really looks like he is going to melt into a puddle on the floor, leaving his mop of scraggy hair behind on top. (that’s the one I was telling you about, Amy)

On Sunday I had a lovely brunch at Savannah’s place with croissants and waffles and Savannah, I must say, your house is the best place to fritter a Sunday away. It was lovely. Fantastic to catch up with everybody…we must do so more often. We simply HAVE to have them all come on a moonlit picnic. What could be nicer than a moonlit picnic, especially if we have white freddo frogs? Mmmm.

It’s been a lovely lazy morning and I am in a lovely lazy mood. My lethargy would be interrupted if I started complaining about the people having a go at the politicians for the after-effects of cyclone Larry. What did you expect them to do? Change the weather patterns? You live in a cyclone prone area. Just be grateful it’s not New Orleans. And did you really expect that when John came he would also bring ten tonnes of food just for you? Nobody died. In a few days you’ll have your electricity back. The pollies can’t do anything more than they are doing, just be damned grateful that they aren’t George W.

I have read another wonderful Jill Mansell book over yesterday and this morning. I got it in yesterday’s post. Ahhh, the joys of eBay. The Queen of Chick Lit indeed, as the covers boast. It’s so calming just to read a book that is light, and funny, with no subtext, and you know that it’s going to end happily ever after. That and plain crisps and my morning has been lovely. Sigh.

Therefore, because I do not want to ruin my blissful, decadent listlessness, I am going to leave you to enjoy this day by yourself. Make the most of every breath you take because you are currently alive in the best country in the world. And yes, I DO know that for a certainty despite never having been in another country. There’s just no question of it.

Hmmm. I just stood and looked in my sink. Last night and this morning’s dishes. My lounge room: stuff everywhere. My book shelves: disorganised. General state of house: full of cobwebs. The only area of success: my bedroom. The bed is made! Tis a miracle! I do not count the desk in my room as a part of my room. So my room is remarkably clean. Ethan’s ‘room,’ which in real estate agent speak is what is known as a ‘study,’ and which really means ‘little nook,’ is actually pretty clean also, although a scattering of blocks and his crocodile xylophone make it very hazardous to walk through in the dark, as I discovered last night. Mind you, in all honesty I am the type of person for whom walking in the dark is always hazardous.

I am remarkably happy today. After a slow morning with only an hour of education to fill my whole morning, I have had a successful little ‘early afternoon,’ my eBay parcel arrived, my musk sticks have the perfect texture, and I finished reading a book which brought me happiness. Books always bring me happiness. My ebay parcel contains happiness in the form of 14, allow me to say that again, FOURTEEN Xanth novels by Piers Anthony. YES. I now can stop borrowing them from the library and need a mere six more to complete the collection. If you have never read Xanth, then let me tell you that they are brilliant fantasy novels, with the benefit of being hilarious and full of puns. One of my favourites is called Crewel Lye: A Caustic Yarn. It is apparent that I need say no more…

MUSK STICK ANALYSIS

By Jordan, a connoisseur.

COLES BRAND:

Meh. too sweet, a cloying flavour that is at odds with the subtle sweetness I require in a musk stick. They stick together too easily and when you break them apart they always collapse into halves or thirds. They also do not stand in my musk stick container neatly, because they bow in the middle.

WOOLWORTHS BRAND ("Beatties" the one with the flamingo on the package):

Quite musky, but nearly always just a tad too soft. The ideal texture of a musk stick should be soft enough to nearly melt in the mouth, but one should have to bite through the exterior, and the bite should allow the star-shape of the stick to be maintained. In woolies musk sticks, a bite often renders the end of the musk stick to become squashed, and does not retain the purity of the traditional star shape. They often also fail the bend test; if you hold a musk stick by the end it should not droop downwards. Unfortunately, this brand nearly always succumbs to gravity.

KMART BRAND (BOLS):

Yes, I know. They’re the cheapest at 99c a package. Their packaging sucks you in with the dynamic purple. But DO NOT fall for this! Bols musk sticks are revolting. You can taste the colouring, they are simply too pink. They have a more crystalised-sugar texture than ultimately desirable and the aftertaste is too obviously artificial. There is no real muskiness involved. This brand is an IMPOSTER.

FOODLAND BRAND (BLACK AND GOLD):

Black & Gold are, unquestionably, the best musk stick on the market at this point. The texture is always firm with and appropriate amount of softness, the flavour leaves the exquisite perfume aftertaste associated with the best musk products available. They are less likely to break apart if you are separating two that are stuck together, and they are never so pink you feel ill at the idea of consuming that ratio of colouring.

Another year has passed, another Academy Awards been and gone. What did I learn from them? That I genuinely like Reese Witherspoon, that I genuinely detest the song that won an award (‘it’s hard out here for a pimp,’ by 3-6 Mafia. what the HECK?) That I like Dolly Parton and I think people who knock her need shooting. I learnt that we celebrate these awards because they unify people (provided you are of western descent) and because we just like to look at beautiful people. I think that’s pretty much everything I can wring from the evening except I stay up every year to ‘watch it,’ despite channel flicking all the time, and never actually enjoying it. I must be a freak, or maybe everybody does that and I’m really normal. Ah well. And I think scripted jokes should be ERADICATED from the FACE OF THE EARTH like the ABOMINATIONS that they are.

I was also horrified that every black actor in the room, esp. Jamie Foxx, was nodding and clapping all thrilled when 3-6 Mafia won. That song is CRAP. Everybody knew it. The interpretive dance going on during its performance was crap. All the white people clapped politely when it won. All the black people jumped up and made ridiculous hand signals. When will you learn? Being non-racist is acknowledging something is total rubbish whether a black person or a white person wrote it. And this was rubbish. COMPLETE rubbish.

After that cheery little rant, I am off to Eco.

I have to go back to school. I…Must…Go…

I so don’t want to.

Why, oh why, am I not the sort of person who wags? It is heartbreaking in the extreme. But then, apparently it’s much much harder to be a pimp. Thank you, 3-6 Mafia! Your teachings have made a difference in my life, I am sure.

Yesterday was Ash Wednesday, people. What did you give up for Lent? 40 days of self-sacrifice is the hallmark of many Christian denominations, including Lutheran, which is the school my sister goes to (where I went all primary) and my old highschool (Catholic) was a bit keen on it as well. As a Baptist, Lent doesn’t mean I have to give anything up, but for anybody who does I must say I recommend giving up smoking. I used to do it every year. It’s a pretty convenient choice given I’ve never smoked in my life, but if anybody asks it sounds really good. This year, however, I am going to have a shot at giving up something that is a bad habit, but also a rather large part of my personality.

Yes, I’m going to try giving up on lying.

Except lies about feelings, I still don’t think they really count because they are definitely going to be true at some point because feelings change. So if you say, ‘I feel fine,’ when you don’t, that’s not a lie, because you feel fine about some things, surely, and you will feel fine about everything soon enough, or as soon as you stop thinking about what ever makes you feel un-fine. See? So they aren’t lies and they don’t have to go.

Any female who uses Libra brand sanitary napkins (like my euphemistic language? Me tooo!) will have noticed that on the packaging they see fit to regale us with interesting, if useless, pieces of information. One of these states that ‘surveys show,’ that the primary reason people lie is to get out of trouble. Unfortunately, I am not one of those people, because I never do anything the way that most people do. (I prefer, of course, with my love of euphemisms, to be called Unique, or Elliptical of Thought, as opposed to a Freak, thank you.) No. I lie in order to keep people happy. I will make up any damn thing if I think it will please somebody else. It’s weird, I know, but only the other day I was telling my teacher that yes, definitely I would consider accounting as a career path. And at the time (this is the even stranger part) I even convinced myself that being an accountant could be a potential career for somebody like me!

I see you all now understand why the lying cannot continue. My teacher will actually survive if I tell him that I think accountants are all anal-retentives with a predilection for obsessive-compulsive disorder and I would rather not work with any in an environment involving scissors, thank you so much.

I just get carried away. I think they are more fabrications than lies, technically, you know. I just get caught up in the moment, somebody asks a question I don’t want to answer but I don’t want to let them down and my imagination just fills in the gaps and BLURT! out it all comes. Realistically though, its always things which could be true, but there are a lot of people out there who think they know a lot about me who are believing some really incorrect things. I prefer to think of it as telling an ALTERNATIVE truth. Its way more interesting that way, don’t you think?

But despite all these justifications, for the next forty days…wait, thirty nine, I am going to limit myself to the truth, or brutal silence, or a euphemism, or maybe a Chinese proverb. Except if I’m not lying, I won’t be able to make them up and pass them off so that won’t work because I don’t know any. Bollocks.

OH WELL.

I will have to entertain myself in my head, which I’ve been doing a lot of, lately, as there is nobody interesting to talk to at school. They all still think they’re smarter than me. You know, ‘she’s a dumb single mum who’ll laugh at anything and is WAY too easily amused.’

Just wait til the exams, kids, wait til the exams.

I overheard a conversation today in which Naomi* and Kara* were discussing their best features. As in, "hey, Naomi, what do you think your best feature is?"

I don’t need to go into answers. Suffice it to say, hair straighteners were mentioned, and I find it hard to suppress laughter without my eyeballs popping out of their sockets and so I sneezed in the most phony, un-subtle way ever. ah well.

Interviewer: So, Jordan, what do you think is your best feature?

Jordan: Well, I would have to say the fact that I’m alive.

Interviewer: Oh?

Jordan: Indeed. You see, I tend to attract guys for whom no longer being single is still just a dream. To them, the fact that I exist increases my appeal as a potential girlfriend.

Interviewer: I see.

Jordan: I’m also fairly certain that I have what is commonly known as ‘a great personality.’

Interviewer: Well, Jordan, I have to agree!

Jordan: I am pretty incredible, hey?

It was the first of what is to be many interviews with myself over the period of the day. My brain has no other occupation and naff journalism seems to be where it’s turning at this point in time.

But really, I do have a fantastic personality.

I love me! I make me laugh.

I am starting, however, to be concerned that I am not having sufficient exposure to decent human company. The amount I talk to myself and my blog is increasing exponentially. FRIENDS, rally round! Now is the time to make it so I don’t go bonkers, at least not til I’m eighty and due. I evidently need to talk more. It’s like a nervous tic, I can’t make my tongue stop wagging about insignificant things when interesting people are around, as Jules and Sav discovered last night. I am also succumbing to the world of cartoons. And I mean lots of cartoons. All through my school books. Well, I think they’re really witty, but then, I would. Sometimes this boy who is in my accounting class and my economics class stifles a snicker when he noses in my book. I like him. I admire anybody who can control his or her mirth. More power to them!

Well, I have to go talk to myself and doodle in my book for yet another session of Economics. Think of me, won’t you, every time you lie. I’m going to be envious, trust me. I don’t know how long I’ll last but hey! Gotta love a challenge.

*some names have been changed to protect privacy.

but not TOO much, i want you to be able to guess.

My father is watching "The Dog Whisperer," you should hear the theme music! Heh heh heh is all I have to say…

This will only be a brief blog, on account of the fact that I am aiming to actually be on time for Church tonight. For the first time that I’ve been on time to anywhere, ever. I am pathologically late. Well, it’s not that bad. It’s just I don’t have any negative consequences arise when I’m late so punctuality has suffered extinction. Hey jules?

The entire point of this blog (oh yes, for once, a blog with a POINT, truly I am grown up) is to make it clear that I have a fluid imagination. When I say fluid, what I mean is, that when I don’t have information, my imagination, like all good liquids, spills into the gaps and fills them up. Anybody who knows me & my imagination can see that telling me all the details is better than letting me think things up for myself. It’s why I always finish a book and have to watch movies to the end. Because the things I imagine are SCARY. So, my not-so-subtle, less-than-cryptic point? TELL ME (amd show me) EVERYTHING, because what I am thinking in my weird little brain is FAR WORSE. Trust me.

Gee, I used to hate the way the Frippet sent messages through her blogs. It’s so tacky! But, of course, the world is full of double standards and wouldn’t it be a double standard if everybody else used double standards and not me? Yeah. Argue with THAT. I’m feeling quite perky, I think I have indulged in rather excessive amounts of sugar today. So, if I want to encode my blog, at least I’m being transparent and obvious about it.

I would like to make sure everybody realises that I don’t eat cake. I’ve never liked cake, not ever. I mean, I’m not completely against all types of cake, I’m just kind of cake discriminatory. I like cheesecake. I like ice cream cake. In certain circumstances a good mud cake can tempt me, and I love, and I mean LOVE, fudge and fudge brownies. But then, they aren’t cake, are they?

I have also found out the terrible truth – I am not only an olive snob. I am now also a lettuce snob. Yes, it’s true. I am succumbing to the world of ‘gourmet salad mix’ and I know the difference between oakleaf, cos, and radicchio. which technically isn't lettuce, but hey. it goes in salad & looks a lot like it. And I have gone off the taste of iceberg. This is the beginning of a new, if snobbish, era…and you are here to witness it. Aren’t you proud?

Well, much as I love you all it’s starting to look like I may once again be late for Church… I think I might just be easily distracted. And that’s not always good. Take care, all. And eat good lettuce and no cake and tell me everything. Okay? Grand.

As some bright, observant people may have noticed, I have now provided you all with handy-dandy links to one another’s, or at least other’s, blogs. This is a very short list, because I have very exacting standards, as one should. I was greatly saddened when writing the list not to have had my blog selected by Max as one worth reading. I decided, however, that I should add him anyway, because never before have a read a male blog (other than felix, and we shan’t go there) that actually says anything. Remarkable. It must be the ‘X’ in the name. However, when I arrived at The Space That Defies Normality to copy & paste the address bar, I noticed that I had been listed as an "Excellent Space." *pauses to clear throat, continues in a strangled voice…*

Max, for this, I am grateful. *delicately blows nose into lacy handkerchief* I’m very much obliged, sir, very much obliged. And you can now adjust your tally of ‘places linking to this site’ to 6.

Yesterday in economics we enjoyed a taped episode of that show where people from America are flown over to tiny ethnic villages to experience eating gross things and never bathing. In this one, there were two couples headed to a little tiny village somewhere in the country of Namibia. (I think that’s how you spell it.) we only watched ten minutes of it and it was WONDERFUL. Already the ‘unofficial leader,’ a guy named Derek, has vomited and cried. And they hadn’t even yet arrived at their destination. I love, love, love watching other people’s misery. Isn’t that awful?

Here I must make a confession; I am totally and irrevocably addicted to reality television. I genuinely believe it to be the knees of the bee. I love it. I especially love the ones with lots of sad jilted lovers (i.e. Paradise Hotel, Temptation Island) I ADORE romantic ones like the Bachelor, the Bachelorette, and even (I will own up) Outback Jack. The only reality television show I don’t like, and I MEAN the only one, is Dancing with the Stars. ICK. I want to know where all my really really naff reality television programmes have gone? Where is My Restaurant Rules, The Block, Changing Rooms – I have to be comforted by the existence of The Apprentice…a personal favourite. YOU’RE FIRED. I love the ones where people suffer. Love, love, LURVE the ones with sooky people crying. Sometimes, I can be really heartless. I just have no sympathy. Do you really think you aren’t going to cheat if you go on temptation island? Just signing up for it screams "I’M UNFAITHFUL!" but does anybody remember that show about joe? the one where HE thought he was in some cheap reality television show, but really he was in a reality show that focussed on his reaction to the actors he thought were on the show. And My Big Fat Horrible Fiance or whatever that was, where Randi had to tell her family she was marrying this guy, but unbeknownst to her he was an actor behaving as revoltingly as possible. So so funny!

Tonight my family shunned me because they were watching A Current Affair and they had on one of those segments which I adore about a "Love Rat," where they revealed all these women who’d been cheated by this guy who ripped them off & spent the money. Oh, how I laughed! Then they were telling the women what he’d spent the money on (prostitutes) & they were crying & lying on the floor having panic attacks and I was laughing and laughing, like, actually crying. Mum was absolutely APPALLED, especially when afterwards they had another segment on defence workers who couldn’t get compensation despite being so badly injured they can’t work, and I had a little weep. Ah well. I have no sympathy for people who decide to trust blokes these days. It just makes me laugh. Cold hearted me, indeed. Like, when I think about them separately, as people, I feel sad for them. But when you see them there, crying about this bloke… I don’t know why, and I feel waaaay guilty now, but it was HILARIOUS. I really do feel bad about it.

But I have laughed at actually funny things, not just mean things, today. In Accounting we were discussing assets. SAC 4 definition thereof, actually. Mr. Yeaman posed the following question, pretty much verbatim, "so your boss comes in, and he has this little robot next to him. He says, ‘this is Fred. He’s going to really improve productivity. I want you to cost him (ra de ra)’ then you look at the robot, and you realise that Fred is an old broken vacuum cleaner with two pingpong balls stuck on for eyes. But your boss is really determined that he’s going to boost morale…what would you do?" (please note, you would take him to tip shop, say ‘how much wouldya give me for fred here, mate? Ten cents?’ and then, because of materiality, obviously you couldn’t consider him an asset at all.) it really really tickled my funny bone and everybody, even edna, laughed at me (although in a quiet, middle-aged way), because I was laughing so hard I was crying, and I could hear ryan in my head saying ‘Breathe, breathe,’ like he does when we all watch monty python. The mental image! With the pingpong ball eyes!!! I couldn’t get over it.

Light entertainment in Classics today; Monna’s said; this is not a class for the feeble, or the feeble minded! the following question was posed by a student. "what does feeble mean?" ahhh, the irony. Asked D’Arcy if she knew what it meant. Was awarded with the answer, ‘umm, weak?’ she isn’t even twelve, let alone year twelve. *quirks an eyebrow, shakes head and smirks* the irony, the irony. It’s the only class this year in which I feel competent…but I feel really, REALLY competent. I have to watch out, it’ll make me lazy.

It’s looking good for going to the rugby now, sav said she’s going to come, jimmy wants to come, and jules agreed before…YAY! Can’t wait to mock the Knights in person.

So…tomorrow I go to Darwin for some R&R and to make a speech to a couple hundred people. Should be fanTAStic. Everything comes at a price.

Just recently I had a revelation, in which I realised that I don’t want to be a writer. I will never, ever, write novels. It’s very sad considering it’s been my cherished dream for most my life. Maybe I’ll write something else when I am old, but novels aren’t going to happen. I think I’ve lost my ability to write. Fortunately I will soon be on holidays and will be able to get over it.

So. Having had a rather splendiferous day, and about to have another, I am off to write a letter to Jamie Packer demanding he bring back some more tacky american reality shows. Not really, but maybe one day…

Well. My skills of observation are diminishing. Last night I drove right by the big and little Goetze without even noticing. For that alone, I should have my license suspended. One should never snub one’s friends. Recently I was accused by Daniel Hali of snubbing him whilst driving, however, upon challenging the charge it became apparent that it could not have been me. Under no circumstances have I driven, or will I ever drive, a car bearing a large Carlton Football Club support sticker. The charges were dropped. The truth, however, is that I did actually snub the Goetzes and for that I am truly sorry. (why do all my public apologies seem to be levelled at Ryan?)

MY WEEKEND: a recount

On Friday, I watched Runaway Bride whilst talking on msn, but was abandoned at eleven pm, far too early for one such as myself. Listlessly, I had a shower and pottered aimlessly but was saved (!) at 11.40 with a phone call from The Beloved Cousin!!! (Jared, you are missed.) this lovely conversation made me miss him but it was grand to talk to him and I stayed up til the more average hour of 2ish in order to fully enjoy.

Saturday, I went to the park with Sianne where we took turns wearing my Really Hideous Lindy Chamberlain sunglasses and imagining we were undercover. During the event, Ethan’s ball got caught up on one of those shade dooverlackies. I composed a text for Ryan begging his assistance but thought better of it. We were about to leave, and it read; ‘I have to go, but could you come up and climb the middle pole to get ethan’s…’ and that’s when I decided that was a little harsh to send out of nowhere. However our evening was greatly improved with the watching of My Family and Hardware on ABC, great entertainment, plus the side benefit of my new love (see previous blog.) I dropped Sianne home, but my schedule was not yet complete, I got to welcome Julia home with a chat with her and Sav until the wee hours. As you do. We also pulled an entire packet of bon-bons and produced:

two tiny baby bottles, a chess piece, two flimsy plastic rings, one a bee and one a smiley face, a miniature flick-out magnifying glass, a demented hot pink heart charm with a face, a deformed blue tiger which savannah was quite taken with, and two more trophies for "world’s greatest bully," of which jules got the gold.

I talked savannah into coming to Easter Camp as well as julia (here publicly published to disenable them to back out!) Unfortunately I was in a ‘hate-everything’ mood, and said mean things about everything, even Aussie music.

Sunday was a nicer day, despite my friendship infringement as mentioned above. I had an afternoon sleep which improved my disposition and arrived at mum’s after Church in the morning to Thai leftovers (joy!) and arrived home after Church in the evening to Legally Blonde, followed by a Compass special on C.S. Lewis. I contemplated not watching Legally Blonde but I’d already done the dishes and it was remarkably soothing. When one is emerging from a hate-everything mood, one often enjoys the brainless entertainment provided by the television, particularly a nice chick flick.

Today I went to school and discovered a new message I hadn’t noticed previously (please see opening sentence of this blog,) which read H O N E S T Y and was near the lift. Julia, in response to that message, I wrote you a terrifyingly honest letter during Classics. It has a cartoon. *meaningful eyebrow woggle*

Below, for your enjoyment, I am publishing the Trolley Wrangler’s United theme song.

To all TWU members of the TWU organisation. Thanks to Shannon Noll, another True Aussie supporting the TWU Aussies. Get out there and wear your reflective vests with pride – you’re making the big people big, and that’s why we’ve chosen this as our anthem for you.

Well there's a little boy waiting at the counter of a corner shop
He's been waiting down there, waiting half the day
They never ever see him from the top
He gets pushed around, knocked to the ground
He gets to his feet and he says

[CHORUS:]
What about me, it isn't fair
I've had enough now i want my share
Can't you see i wanna live
But you just take more than you give

Well there's a pretty girl serving at the counter of the corner shop
She's been waiting back there, waiting for her dreams
Her dreams walk in and out they never stop
Well she's not too proud to cry out loud 
She runs to the street and she screams

[CHORUS]

So take a step back and see the little people
They may be young but they're the ones
That make the big people big
So listen, as they whisper
What about me

And now i'm standing on the corner all the world's gone home
Nobody's changed, nobody's been saved
And i'm feeling cold and alone
I guess i'm lucky, i smile a lot
But sometimes i wish for more than i've got

[CHORUS]

*TWU is a not-for-profit fan club founded by my cousin, Jimmy (as sianne is henceforth affectionately known. Yes I do realise she is female. We are indulging in postmodern irony) and myself.

www.shoppingcartabuse.com

The TWU can use all the help they can get. Please, care for your trolley. And every time you hear "What about Me," think about it from the perspective of your local trolley boy.

Centralian College has seen fit to welcome us back to school by painting encouragement on the walls. By that I mean that as you come up the stairs, a lovely, blue "I N D E P E N D E N C E" has been daubed up the wall. As you head towards the computing rooms, you will find a cheery "R E S P E C T" running at eye level in front of you. In many small ways we are being welcomed back to our education system. Also, today I head off to get my cert for my twenty. Monna’s made my entry into yr. Twelve classical studies memorable by broadcasting that fact to all of my classmates, THANK YOU! When I fail I will now look even stupider and anybody who does better will be able to mock me. Ahhh, a teaching style to be envied, that woman. But no matter who knows, the bottom line is that I will be going this afternoon to get my certificate with my heinous left eye issue AGAIN. I have a big bruise right under my eyebrow from banging heads with ethan in the middle of the night, not last night the night before. But this is a form of encouragement, I can’t miss it. NTBOS is going to see to it that I keep being enthused about my schooling, come hell or high water.

NTBOS is the handy dandy acronym for Northern Territory Board Of Studies. It is not by chance that it sounds like either a poisonous gas or the baddie in an ABC Kids television programme. Trust me. NTBOS is all these things, and the transformers, pencil cases, and other merchandise will be out soon in a store near you. His evil master, The Dreaded SSABSA, is also to be marketed, the predicted bestseller is the doll you can punch that wobbles but never falls down. Projected sales indicate sufficient profit will be produced to fund another round of classy enhancements to the institutional cream coloured walls of our school. OH JOY!!!

We are watching a video in classical studies about the ancient greeks (as you do) and the (this MUST be capitalised) Quest For Atlantis! (please note, that exclamation mark is not my own.) I admit to finding some light entertainment in the re-enactments. "he took off his shoes and checked the temperatures of the rivers…" there are a lot of aspiring actors who are vying to make the part ‘their own’ and emphasise their role. Thank you, thank you all, for making "the small part, BIG!" you have brought much joy to the average viewer of these educational films. We are indebted to you.

Hmmm. What else? I have taken to watching ‘seriously weird’ on ABC kids of an evening (5.25, to be precise-ish) it’s not as good as the Fairly Oddparents which precedes it (which I enjoy a lot and watch if time permits me) but the guy in it is SPUNKY. I hope he gets famous enough to have free posters put in those little teenybopper magazines which I quite like to read but can never justify buying cause they are basically crap and not worth $7. But I would pay seven bucks for a free poster (okay, yes, I realise there is an oxymoron involved there) of this bloke. In FACT I am going to google him now.

I am at mum’s. She’s listening to Keith Urban, Nicole’s new bloke. The one with the poncy hair? Ah, I see you now know who I mean. Sure, the man’s had hits, and I don’t mind a bit of country music in the background, but his skill as a lyricist is a tad appalling. ‘So take your cat and leave my sweater, we have nothing left to weather, in fact I feel a whole lot better, but you’ll think of me…’ noice, keith, it’s noice, yeah, unyoushall. I loike it, noice. (terrible attempt at kath&kim, here written as one word, because that is how I think of them)

I am now on the ABC kids website. His name is a few clicks away, and hopefully (fingers crossed) a photo too. You’re KIDDING. A tiny little blurb. The BBC will hopefully be more forthcoming. Still can’t find him. FORTUNATELY I know he is also on that funny ‘Hardware’ show and I’ll have a look for him through that.

I honestly can’t think of anything else you need to know about my life. But you should all be ashamed on behalf of mr. Urban who just sang the line, ‘the biggest conspiracy since…uh…JFK,’ interesting choice there. We’ll give you leeway for poetic licence, but even so. This is a love song, sir! Let’s stick to romance and leave assassination out of it, hey? ‘should have done what I was told…should have counted all my blessings like…uh…fingers and toes…’ yes indeed keith, (I can call you Keith, can’t I? After such deeply personal lyrics I feel as if I know you) *chortles* that’s good advice for anybody, it really is. Thank you so much for your insight…

I have a name, I have name for my hottie!!! Ryan Cartwright. Sorry, actual Ryan whom I know, but this Ryan is henceforth christened "THE Ryan" with a lascivious eyebrow woggle. I am sure you would rather this were him than you and hold no grudges. Grand, so.

AHAHAHA!!! Julia you will love this. My mum and dad just received a spam email from Nark V. References. Yes, that’s correct. NARK V. REFERENCES. That’s, well, cumquat or what? I feel so thrilled I may have to forward it to you. Even though it’s for "cheap pharmaceuticals" by which they mean pharmaceuticals which require a similar but more meaningful lascivious eyebrow woggle as that employed when talking of ‘THE ryan.’

Who doesn’t have any pictures anywhere! What is the world coming to when actors don’t exploit their looks for fame??? Google images…help me now. The world must know this wondrous being!!! He’s not conventionally that hot, per se, but, well…I don’t know. Maybe I go for pointy noses or something? Finally, a fan site. Sheesh, take much? What is the internet coming to when we aren’t flooded with these dodgy sites???

I am going to include some photos for your enjoyment. But I can’t access it til I sign up to Yahoo! And join and all of those things I have no time to do right now. However, here is the only photo I have found… for you! *lascivious eyebrow woggle* but I am off to accounting, just so I can walk past the meaningful messages on the walls of our Fine, Upstanding Educational Institution. Thank you, and good night!