OKAYGOSHFINE

I haven't blogged in over a month.

I have tumblr.

Go there.

If you do not like tumblr, LATERS BITCHES.

insaneandluvingit.tumblr.com

Noosa, loves.

I got sunburnt and happy.

My dad works at a volunteer radio station on Mondays

They read the newspapers for vision impaired people and english language classes.

Their receptionist is blind.

They say she doesn't do much because she can't write notes or do anything but answer the phone and then forget who called them.

She's very friendly.

They can't fire her, because she's a volunteer. Even if not the most brilliantly useful receptionsist, she still helps.

I like that recepetionist.

Sometimes I feel like that receptionist.

It's official.

I am screwed for the Aus History exam.

I'm in Aus History now, not listening.

fml.

Wanna see something rather personal?

OK.

Below is the message I sent to a friend via fb message.


Hello.
First, let me clarify a few points.

1. I am socially inept and completely nerdy.
2. I get along with you reasonably well compared to other boys.
3. The aforementioned point isn't saying much as I know a total of two boys.
4. I am totally chickenshit exemplified by the medium used for this request (that being facebook).
5. (I apologise for the intense awkwardness field I'm about to create) I have a formal this year.

Given points 1 through 5 are accepted as fact, would you be ok to come to my formal with me as a [suffering] family-friend type?
If you are ok to come, that's cool, and if you aren't, that's cool too.

Yeah. I'm that lame.

I am disappoint

Whilst shopping with my beloved mother today, I offered to push the then empty trolley.
I leant on the handlebars.
I forgot Newton's Third Law.
I fell.
I bounced.
The upturned cart screeched painfully along the ground.
My knees went red.
I laughed.
My mother was unamused.

The most romantic thing you can do for someone else.

"Take her somewhere quiet. Tell her it’s a surprise and that she needn’t know where you’re going. Drive for hours. Stop only when you reach a gigantic tree that’s so gnarled and twisted it can only scarcely be called one. There’s an entrance in its roots.

Lead her through the entrance.

You’ll both have to crawl, but you’ll eventually make it to this very romantic room. Unfortunately, you probably cannot see anything because it’s pitch black - which is a good thing you brought a candle with you. Take a match from your pocket and hand it to her (be careful not to drop it in the dark). Tell her to light it. Meanwhile, run the fuck out of there. Her screams will alert you that you’ve successfully introduced her to A RABID FUCKING WEREWOLF NAMED REMUS LUPIN THAT’S ABOUT TO CONSUME HER IN ONE BITE MUHFUCKAAAAAAAAA

Oh, you meant how to woo her? My bad. Buy her flowers."

-omegleshit.tumblr.com

Aloha

Aloha means both 'hello' and 'goodbye' in Hawai'ian.

Did you know that?

I haven't written in a while, but that's because I try to write things here that actually have substance to them. I like to think that this is where I pour out the words in my head, and tumblr is where I pour out the images that accompany it.

Things that have happened in the past week:

• I have watched the entire series of Dance Academy. I sense your judgment. But it's addictive. And the boys in it are hot.


• I have decorated my converse thus:

I think it's fucking awesome.

• I have seen Toy Story 3 twice. I cried both times. It is a beautiful film.


• I saw Shrek 4. Meh. Better than the utter shit of the third, did not live up to the fantasticity of the first.


• I'm going to see the Karate Kid tomorrow, with two of my best friends. It probably won't be the deepest-slash-most soul-touching film, but meh.


• I made muffins. They are the epitome of food pornography. See? I told you so.


• I've geeked at Doctor Who. River song is the definition of bamf (apart from Neville Longbottom)


• And I took a test seeing how many of the 200 main characters in Harry Potter I could name in 18 minutes (decided by how many times their name appeared in the series). 125/200 was my score, and out of the ones I hadn't got, there were only four characters I couldn't recognise.
  

So yes.
Aloha.

SO APPARENTLY

We have a ginger-slash-female-slash-hold-the-phone-ginger Prime Minister now.

Which is all well and good, you know. So I'm for women in power. (1:0 to Julia so far)

Just, my mother would kill me if she found out I was kinda happy 'bout it. She was in the Young Liberals as a seventeen-year-old. (1:1) I come from a long line of really cool people, ya know.

BUT a girl in my year (<3) was a bit put out by this turn of events. It has been her goal for a very long time to become the first female Prime Minister. So, Ms Gillard doesn't have my support in the competition respect either. (1:2)

But she's a ginger, and not having a soul must compensate for the nasty, evil, LIberal thoughts, right? (2:2)

Yes, but that's made by internet trolls and idiots (e.g. me) alike. (2:3)

SO this argument is going nowhere. Shame. It had a really good start.

OH! and I'm submitting my fancy-pants short story Silver Afternoons to the Syndey Morning Herald Short Story Official Competition Thing.

I love subtle insults in essays

Wilberforce didn’t give up his swashbuckling social life just because he was a politician, as is still the case with most politicians today.

What's one thing you own that you should probably throw away, but never will?

My innocence.

An imprint of a departed soul.

THIS THING IS SO DAMN AWESOME

Have you ever done that thing

That thing where you're too busy worrying about the fre-e-eezing cold Mountain Dew in your hand that you get lost in the work experience building?

Guess what I just did.

I have no youtube/facebook BUT I have tumblr and blogger. My Colleagues are out for afternoon tea.

I made David Jones stock a swimsuit they weren't going to sell.
I made a spreadsheet that they're going to use to compare to competitiors' prices.
I know Winter 2011 colours and designs.
I know CONFIDENTIAL Summer 2010 Seafolly and JETS collections.

***

One thing that was really sweet was that the others keep referring to the average customer as if She was one person. e.g.:

She'd like this!
She LOVES this kind of thing, doesn't She, girls?
She's very into the ash and pale blue colours.

<3

Nostalgia and Monologue.

I get it. I haven't blogged in a while. Nothing much has happened for me to blog about, so here's some stuff to entertain you, you non-existent people you.

*****

I had a flashback today to year seven, when we were studying Shakespeare's Dream in English.
My friend Anni wrote this. We sung it to another English class.

Do you love Shakespeare?
(To the tune of "Do your ears hang low?")

Do you love Shakespeare?
Do you read him everyday?
Do you know him off by heart?
Can you act him in a play?
Something something Shakespeare
Something something something-ay
Do you love. Shake. Speare?

We love Shakespeare
We read him every day
We know him off by heart
We can act him in a play
We love Shakespeare
We think he's really hot
It's a pity. He's. Dead.

If he were alive today
We would date him for sure
We would see him all the time
We would love him even more
We're in love with Shakespeare
He's our number one man
We love. SHAKE. SPEARE!!!!!1!!11one!!

We were such kool kids.

*****

A monologue typed out by me as I procrastinated while "doing" PE homework that I didn't have to do. Enjoy. Or not as the case may be.

3. It has been suggested that learner drivers should practice while being supervised by someone with a full license but no other passengers. Discuss.

I never wanted to do PE anyway, but I will so I can procrastinate successfully. My mum is just behind me, sweeping in the little alleyway behind our house. I’m not allowed on my PC in my bedroom anymore, so I’m in the family room. I want to read Cyanide and Happiness, or watch some of their YouTube videos, and then subscribe. I’m that cool. But anyway, I’ll just sit here and type, so it looks like I’ve kind of done work, sort of. Oh well. Such is life. Learner drivers need to have no other distractions such as passengers, ipods, phones etc, as said in question one. Is this good enough? Bloody hope so. Sigh. What will become of me? I’ll probably end up putting this on my blog in the end. I can’t just leave it here to waste. So, hello, blog-reader if that is who you are. If this is not on my blog, then gtfo, hacker. You are not wanted here. Good, she’s gone now. Back to C+H. Crap, she’s there again. Sigh. Type typey type type typison. What eles to do. Sorry I haven’t written in my blog for ages. Wanna know the real reason? Nothing has happened. Really. Nothing. Work Experience this week. Fun. Not sure what I’m going to be doing at the place I’m going to. Hummmmm. She’s gone, BAM! C+H! Or not. She’s inside now. Lull her into a false sense of secu....GONE AGAIN. Aaaand she’s back. Woo. Walking in front of me...goin...going....going....gone. Good. Nope, she’s back again. In the laundry to me right. Putting stuff in the dryer. I love my mum, but my parents don’t trust me on my computer. I wonder why... But still, it’s not like I’m watching porn or anything. Hold on. Running out of light. Better. Lights on. SHE’S GONE C+H!

Would you like more evidence of how BIZARRE my school is?

Picture this: it is my all-girls' school's 125th Anniversary on Thursday. Many girls are playing instruments at the concert to celebrate. All are singing O Fortuna, a song at some ungodly pitch that will either be really, really good or absolute crap and a song written especially for our school. The music to this piece is awesome. Really, the chords and harmonies and choir bits? Although in Latin and a leetle pretentious, very nice.

But the words.

We are the quiet acheivers
We are the guiding hand
The future guadians of this wide and fragile land
With years of knowledge behind us
And light to guide our way
We have the power to change
Tomorrow today

Yeah. I know. Don't even let me begin to disect it, I'm sure you can do that by yourself.

Here is a translation of it:

We are the only people able to solve Global Warming and we're going to do it in Latin, bitch.

BUT because the darling music department who has worked wonders on this concert wants us all to sing beautifully, they have decided to not let us strain our voices for the two days leading up to the concert.

Unfortunately, the Athletics Carnival is tomorrow, two days prior to abovementioned concert.

Oh no! What are the music department to do?

I KNOW

Let's ban cheering from the Athletics Carnival Event so the precious girls won't strain their voices!

But how will we judge who wins the Spirit Cup, normally awarded to the hosue with the most enthusiasm and the best cheers?

SOLUTION!

Silent cheering.

The girls can make synchronised movements and not a word!

It's brilliant!

So quiet we might be able to hear a pin drop!

It will be smashing!

Yes. You heard correctly. Silent. Cheering.

Hooray.

Wait, no cheers. I mean *dances quietly to signal enthusiasm*.

Ahem.

Silver Afternoons

Alisha and I were looking. Again.

I didn’t know what for. Neither did she. We were just looking. Searching for something that wasn’t there.

That was the great joy of being with Alisha. She didn’t need a reason to look for something lost. She didn’t need to lose something to have to look for it. She didn’t need other people. In fact, I wouldn’t have been surprised if it was announced that Alisha could survive on nothing but Pringles and Diet Coke for the rest of her life.

Alisha and I were best friends, awkward around most other people. I think that’s why we became friends in the first place - neither of us fitted in with anyone else, but we fitted perfectly with each other; her with her obscure literary references that no one understood, and me with my constant cross-examination of human behaviour. Alisha was the ideal sample test, psychologically speaking, for the simple reason that she couldn’t care less, which I always put down to the amount of caffeine being pumped through her veins. She also had a lot of personality to cross-examine, and her passionate emotions kept me entertained for years.

“I found it, Micky! Just where I put it.”

“What did you find?” I replied, crawling out from under her burgundy bed.

“I don’t know, but I feel like I’ve found it. I’m grown intellectually because of it, yet I can still enjoy the simple pleasures that bubble wrap holds. I’m healthier but lazier, smarter but more naive. I can keep my head while my thoughts spin others’. It was lost treasure and now it is mine.”

“Fantastic. Can we eat now?”

“Yes. Yes we can.”

I smiled as she pulled out a Mountain Dew from her sock drawer. I had come to the conclusion that many were hidden around her room, but I’d long since given up looking for them.

Alisha never got stressed by school work. For her, I think school work was like a break from the activity her brain usually had to cope with. Alisha wrote stories in her spare time. Less like stories, actually, more like novels. She didn’t think the pressure she put herself under for these private projects was stress, so much as spring cleaning for her head. When her brain had heaved up too much information and imagination for it to be of any more use to her, it shut down completely, leaving her curled up in a little ball of frustration for me to unravel and dust off.

We shared the Mountain Dew in comfortable silence. Alisha would hesitate occasionally and frown slightly, and then continue to consume the sugary drink.

“I wonder how much Mountain Dew someone could drink before they were so hyper they couldn’t stand up?” I pondered out loud.

Alisha leaned back against her desk leg and closed her eyes. “Micky, you don’t need Mountain Dew to fall over. You’re uncoordinated as it is.”

“Why, thank you for that unexpected show of support.”

“Oh, you’re welcome.”

She smiled contentedly and folded her arms. Cobra Starship was blaring in from her sister’s room next door. Her eyes flew open with delight.

“Let’s play a game.”

“Alisha, we’re sixteen.”

“I know – you came to my pathetic excuse for a party. Let’s play a game.”

I sighed. Arguing with Alisha was like wrestling with a pot plant - futile and pointless. She was the boss in any situation. Anyone who dared think otherwise would be exterminated for their own good. I liked being bossed around by Alisha. She was good at it. Alisha was the most wonderful person on Earth to me. I didn’t love her, oh God, no. If I had, she’d have beaten me up. Every boy wanted Alisha, but she was “above normal things, especially boys”. She always said that she didn’t want to be swept off her feet. She wanted to sweep someone else off their feet. I had considered pointing out that she did this by just walking down the street, but had decided against it for personal safety reasons.

“Ok, what kind of game do you want to play? Monopoly? Charades?”

“No. Those games are boring. Whoever created them was deficient in the creative-slash-vibrant department. We’re going to play an Alisha Game.”

“Explain the rules.”

“There aren’t any. We make it up as we go along.”

Days with Alisha were spent like this. They were good days. Golden Mornings. Silver Afternoons. Violet Nights. Always colourful, like her. Any day with Alisha was a fantastic day. Even if all we did was play Nintendo and laugh at stuff on TV, it would still be a really good day. Alisha made every day for herself. The sky was smothered under a thick cloak of clouds and the grass stretched itself over the garden, trying in vain to catch some sun that might accidentally wander over its territory. I would make terrible jokes and she would laugh.

In hindsight, Alisha probably did love me after all. And I probably loved her. I don’t mind that I’ll never know. I’m happy not knowing.


*******

To clarify, this is my English short story. Alisha is based on expectofuckingpatronum.tumblr.com

Real Alisha, I hope I haven’t offended you, but what I know of your personality is fantastic and makes a great story. <3

*******



awwww!
polka dots. nom nom nom.

So, what has happened of late?

Since the loss of my best friend Jazamina, who now attends an English boarding school, I have been retreating further and further into the virtual world and slowly losing contact with the real one. Jaz was the only one who was half as obsessed with Doctor Who/Alex Day/to a certain extent Harry Potter as me and now I can only discuss with Tumblings on tumblr. People at school constantly approach me and either make fun of/try to support but really make fun of my youtube videos and/or blog.

I am reading more, listening to more secluded music more often, spending more time alone and doing generally nothing. I put more thought into what I say in class. I say more productive stuff in class. I listen and learn in science. I create things in my spare time. I play the piano significantly better and the saxophone significantly worse. I sleep little and read to try to compensate. I think a lot more. I'm trying to look after my body, but it is consistently rebelling under my not-so tyranous rule. I have more friends. People think I'm less weird. No, rephrase that. Less people think I'm weird.* I'm closer to my friends but I'm further from them than I've ever been before. I talk and work but I feel like every day does not fit into a continuum of time, but rather stands on its own in a timeless entity that ends when I see the next episode of Doctor Who. This sorts out my brain and makes me reevaluate my options somewhat, before I relapse into a dreamlike state, bludging my way through mathematics homework haphazardly.

Well, you *did* ask.



*PS, yes, I know. I made a grammatical error here. It was done with poetic license in mind, silly.


PPS, someone from school wants me to mention her on my blog. Sweetheart, much as I admire your taste for the internet text world (because really, who isn't fascinated by my blog**), I won't put your name on here a) for privacy reasons b) just to annoy you.


**PPPS */sarcasm

la moustache

himynameisharrypotter.blogspot.com

I have another blog.

It's Harry's blog, really. But he needs technical help =)

It will be a project to satisfy my inner nerd. Yes, another one.

Australian History

I have an Australian History Test tomorrow.

No one in the year knows what we're learning about.

I've tried listening to Mr Colleen, believe me, I've tried.

I have learnt nothing.

It helps that his teaching methods are out of date and that the subject is so GODDAMN BORING.

A HISTORY OF AUSTRALIA
1. Aborigines lived here for many years and had a generally peaceful time of it.
2. Europeans arrive and f#ck everything up.
3. Europeans f#ck up some more stuff.
4. Australians go and f#ck up other countries in various wars.
5. Prime Minister apologises to Aborgines on behalf of European Australia for being so f#cking narrow-minded.

THE END.

It shouldn't count as a subject! "Proper history and stuff" people have only been here for 200 years, and that's not enough time to come up with an Australian History course! Our history isn't history - it happened yesterday!

So, if you don't mind, I'm going to go and learn the entire year's Aus Hist course in a night and try to expand my knowledge of Australians f#cking up.

a haiku

Music is silly
Expressionism is worst
Die Alban Berg, DIE!

My 100th Post. Now, what to make of it?

I have reached the point where people from my school read my blog - hello :) - and are now mature enough to understand that I spend an inordinate amount of time on the internet.

For others (others being those who are not yet far enough in the evolution cycle to grasp the fact that I spend more time reformatting .IRL emotions into .URL format than is healthy) please stop wasting your time reading my blog. You should probably be studying for a German speaking task or something similar. Stop procrastinating and start working. At the very least, read a Harry Potter book.



"We are men of words. Lies do not become us."

- Westley, The Princess Bride

(For those of you who are interested, my leg has just died.)

formspring.me/luvinginsanity

ask questions. i'll answer obscurely.

Justin Bieber is more than a little bit silly.

Harry and Gemma: Afraid of the Drunk

Harry and Gemma lived on the edge of the 1890 Acre Wood in England. They lived in a small cottage on the fringe of Queen Victoria’s society. Harry spent his days playing pirates next to the spring that ran past their house and Gemma preferred to play with her homemade dolls. When they weren’t playing alone, they were being very, very naughty. Their father, Gordon, was a socially awkward man, and did not fit in with the other citizens of the village – in fact, he was the village idiot, who spent his money from his apple orchard as soon as he received his pay. He was very lucky to have even received a job with his track record of late – he had gone through six jobs in the past few months due to lewd behaviour. His first wife had unfortunately died due to a badly bruised apple incident which he refused to give comment on. He had remarried to Felicity Martin, who had been the governess of the village school, until she had married Gordon, whereupon she was legally unable to continue teaching. However, as a good stepmother to the children, she did attempt to instruct them on the finer points of English society. Being the very naughty children that they were, Harry and Gemma often got into trouble. If they were given tea, it would be thrown on Felicity. If they were given teacakes, it would be thrown on Felicity. If they were given potatoes, they would be thrown on Felicity; however the children soon learned that the bruises Felicity received from this latest form of torment were met with consequences.

As punishment for their disregard of table manners, Harry and Gemma were ordered to go and pick some berries from the 1890 Acre Wood, because the apple orchard had been doing very poorly under Gordon’s special watering techniques, which involved something that he regurgitated.

Harry and Gemma set off with baskets to be filled with blueberries. However, being the naughty children that they were, they decided to pick raspberries instead, since they were not in season. On their return home, they heard Felicity speaking to Gordon.

“These children are horrid, Gordon! Have you seen the bruises on my forehead from the potatoes they throw at me?”

“Throw spuds back at ‘em, woman!”

“I refuse to use capital punishment. Especially with ground vegetables!”

“Orright, woman, keep your hair on! I’ll talk to ‘em this evenin’.”

The naughty children trembled with fright at the thought of their father having to string coherent sentences together, and ran quickly back into the 1890 Acre Wood, throwing themselves into a tree hollow. Little did they know that this was no ordinary hollow, this in fact was the secret hideout of the evil elves. These elves were very disgruntled that Gemma and Harry had entered their sanctuary of mischief. They set out to capture the naughty children to cook them up for the Royal Feast, the King’s favourite was naughty children. However, the King was not used to such naughtiness, and found even the sight of Harry and Gemma made his tongue feel furry. He roared with such haughtiness that the children had never experienced before, making them quiver with excitement. They had never had dinner and a show! The King was taken aback by the children’s laughter, it was like poison to him!

He ran to the children and said to them, “Be still! You’re naughtiness is making my tongue furrier!”

They laughed even harder at the King’s furry tongue, and laughed even more when they spotted his ear where his belly button should have been.

The King, to get away from their naughtiness, jumped into a cauldron, he exploded into flames instantaneously. The other elves, seeing the children, said “You killed our King! You are our new leader! Here is some gold!”

The children, after ignoring their step mother, did not know what gold was and did not realise its monetary value. They ran away from the elves because they believed that gold was poison. After wandering about the wood for many more hours they came across their house, where they continued to be naughty until their stepmother perished in another unfortunate apple incident.

Harry and Gemma and their lewd father lived naughtily ever after... That is until they were accused of lewd behaviour...

THE END

We have a PE dance composition assessment

So, being the nerdy child I am, I have choreographed the entire dance to A Thousand Hours by Alex Day.

I'm so proud of myself for convincing my classmates to dance to a song by a nerdfighter =D

And I actually feel awright about this assessment.

Fare thee well, weary traveller.


For in dreams, we are in a world entirely of our own.

**Clueless

I still hate that movie.

No, actually, change of heart. I just hate Jane Austen and variations thereof in general.

Well-written stories? Yes.
Well-though-out stories? Yes.
Good plots? Hella no.

I’m not reading the 19th Century equivalent of Jodi Picoult. Just because a book is old, it is NOT high literature! THIS IS A MISTAKE MADE BY MANY PEOPLE - AGE DOES NOT GIVE YOU OR ANY PUBLISHED WORKS ANY MORE CREDIT! True, some books (Orwell, Tolkien etc) age particularly well and become more respected and revered, but that is the making of classics. Ths Sleepover club won't be high-society literature in a hundred years because of its age, it will still be what it is - young girls' inspiration to have non-sleepovers and do generally nothing with their lives.

The only reason Shakespeare is considered high literature is because of his choice of words, phrases and the sheer number of works he created in his short life and with minimal resources. They’re plays written for the masses with very simple storylines. If it hadn’t been Shakespeare who wrote A Midsummer Night’s Dream, it would be crap for the utter hecticity and randomness of the plotline.

And even then, we’re not entirely sure if Shakespeare wrote what we think he did. It’s been speculated that some other playwrights at the time wrote many of his plays (Marlow etc), as well as that he’s gay and many of his sonnets are to a young boy.

Chortle.

my smart-arse debut

series of events.

1. I send an email to my friend with a fuckyeahbookshelves.tumblr.com linky-link in it

2. The school email that scans our PRIVATE emails picked up the fuck in it, and deemed it highly innapropriate.

3. I got an email from the Dean asking me to apologise.

4. I did so with 20 dictionary.com words of the day to show her what real colourful language was

I must apologise most sincerely and bloviately that the web address, which I found as a link and in my dishabille state did not fully take into account, found its way to you, and how much a wastrel and a scapegrace I must now seem. The address in question is an inpellucid literary reference to An Abundance of Katherines by John Green, my favourite book, whose main characters substitute the infamous word with another until the ne plus ultra of the book, where more extreme language is deemed necessary perforce by the persnickety author. The site displays images of creative bookshelf arrangements in disportion, so the literary inside joke is well placed. I promise that this thoughtless malversational disregard and misuse of private emails going in and out of my personal email inbox will not affect you again, especially where clandestine messages are involved, and I will continue to moil until this is quashed.

So, kids, the moral of the story is to show your teachers that your vocabulary is not limited to four letter swear words, introduce complex linguistics to make them believe otherwise.
x

It turns out it's not May, when my youtube anniversary is, so shit, sorry. Calm down, people.

So I took down my birthday video and am in the progress of making one that is the epitome (e-pi-toe-mee) of awesome, that requires such effort it needs a month.

Brace yourselves.

x

Happy Birthday, insaneandluvingit.

So it's been two years since I joined the site known as youtube, and to celebrate I have started uploading regular videos, mainly, it would seem, for the amusement of my fellow classmates, who watch them not because they think the actual videos are amusing, but the fact that I make videos is amusing.

But yes, it has been two years since I made up the alias "insaneandluvingit", before which I was a nameless entity who floated dreamily between usernames and passwords, not sure which would describe me. If you're wondering why I didn't pick the gramatically correct "insaneandlovingit", it is because this was already a youtube account for someone in Brazil.

Still, after a few 123people and google searches of the username I have become, I was suprised and a little intimidated with how much I've been spread online unintentionally.

Every comment, reference, tweet, video, account and blog post has been thrown around the internet with less care than the early bird has for the worm.

So, when you die, be sure you know what is going to happen to your virtual self.

And delete any accounts you're not using.

Because, as I've discovered, having a twitter, youtube, blog, second blog, third blog, tumblr, facebook, dailybooth, livejournal, history forum, narniaweb, leakycauldron, wonka, tetrisfriends, iminlikewithyou, second youtube and every other account you've ever made can be potentially problematic when trying to keep yourself to yourself.

The good side is that in a hundred years, history students will have plenty of eternal sources about the early 21st century from all of the accounts on all websites.

Happy worrying to you, and happy birthday to me.

Le melt

Does anyone else think that Eugene Simon is ridiculously hot?

Because I could spend hours looking at his photo.

do you know what my least favourite word is?

smooch.

what an ugly word.

whoever created that word should have something mildly disgusting set upon them as a punishment.

Another one.

My creativity has gone out the window and has hence been replaced with collages.



Thank goodness I finally found a use for my year-long subscription to possibly the most atrocious magazine for tweens ever - Dolly.

Um, the subscription was a present from my uncle.

Don't judge me.

supermegafoxyawesomehot

=D

and again.

hallow!

I felt like being slightly creative, so this is what i came up with.
wretched isn't it?
It's all over my science book. it's like a cult symbol for me. sigh.

a picture's worth a thousand words - essay done.

So I have 50 words I can write to aid me in my christian studies in-class essay about Paul and Ephesians (yay.)

I wonder if I draw a picture I'll be deducted points for being over the limit.



Amongst pondering the merits of cheating, plagerism and schoolwork, I have done nothing of interest at all.

Defenestration.

Today...

...a car drove past me really, really fast.

The number plate was

ITSBIG




...



I have my doubts.

i was wondering

why people think i'm weird.

then i realised i was in a swimming pool littered with jumping insects the sixe of small mice in the middle of the australian desert, with my brother collecting rocks from the bottom of the pool and making a dam, my father sitting under an exclusively natty umbrella, hat over his face with a utensil similar to a whip in his hand whisking away flies reading the economist, and me sitting in the corner of abovementioned pool in speedos with bright orange, pink, green, yellow and black stripes to rival a licorice allsort.

then i realised.

this business card means BUISNESS

not boring any longer!

...

so, i *might* have got a little bored whilst making geography notes.

Yes, I'm writing a fanfiction about Vincent Crabbe.

Part 1

Vincent Crabbe awoke with a start, the afternoon sunlight pouring out from under the door, blinding him momentarily. Wiping the drool from his face, he glanced at his father’s old wristwatch, groaned, and tumbled out of bed. He tried to remember the dream he’d had, but all that came to mind was a blurred image of Professor Binns being offered Spellotape by a small house elf. Vincent realised in his blearily-minded state that he only had a week left of summer holidays before he returned to Hogwarts for his sixth year.

Vincent had spent the entirety of the holidays running, exercising and occasionally peeking through his books to attempt the set homework, before realising it was far too difficult to accomplish. Normally, he did his homework with his best friend Gregory Goyle, who, although slightly less intelligent that he, could at least cheer him up. Greg was in the same class for everything with Vincent, both of them did their homework simultaneously and they managed to pull through the year with a lot of guesswork and cheating together. Vincent had managed to achieve three O.W.L.s in the previous year and was on his way to becoming a Security Troll trainer for the wizarding bank, Gringott’s, with contacts from his father.

Vincent never saw much of his father. Hewitt Crabbe was a very busy man, who oversaw the safety of the maximum security vaults in Gringott’s, though never performed the spells himself. Hewitt often went around to the other major wizarding banks to spy on their techniques, a job he was surprisingly good at for such a heavily built man. He was strong, broad and intimidating, softened slightly by the same flat nose as his son’s. When he wasn’t travelling the various wizarding banks around the world, he would be at home, bragging about the lax security of the four main competitor banks in comparison to Gringott’s. From his many reports, Vincent could only remember that one bank called Huckleberry-Hollace, situated somewhere in Malaysia, had the equivalent of 750 Galleons stolen every other week. Hewitt had never taken an interest in his son until it came up that he wanted to go into the bank-security business himself. Hewitt wasn’t the most intelligent man, but that was how Vincent liked him. Crabbe could tolerate his father – it was his sister who gave him the most trouble.

Shirley, five years out of Hogwarts, was the brightest Crabbe in memory. The Sorting Hat had barely touched her black hair before declaring “Ravenclaw!” to the school. Painfully obnoxious, Shirley was always keen to share her findings, with confusing facts and figures that made the rest of the family’s heads ache for a good hour afterwards. During holidays, she would shut herself in her room, memorising textbooks and spells, before heading out to work in one of the Irish wizarding universities as a lecturer. Vincent could never fully forgive her for having all the brains of the family, but he needed physical strength more than he needed Transfiguration for his future career, so he wasn’t too bothered.

Vincent slid down the polished banisters and shuffled over to his favourite room – the kitchen. There, his mother stood, absentmindedly twisting her wand so that a loganberry cake was taking shape. Vincent loved watching his mother baking, though he didn’t like to admit it. With a last flick of her wand which sent eggs plummeting into the china bowl, Adalyn Crabbe looked up at her stout son fondly.

“Pumpkin juice, sweetie?”

“Mmph,” Vincent grunted in reply.

She turned around to the drinks cabinet, smiling to herself. She and her son didn’t need words to have a conversation – talking had never been one of Vincent’s strong points. She was not overjoyed with her son’s O.W.L. results, but she knew that pressing him about them would not solve anything. Returning to him with a large glass of pumpkin juice in hand, she watched as Vincent gulped it down eagerly, locked eyes with her, nodded briefly as a way of thanks and left the room.

A short conversation.

Blog: Well, well, well. Look who's come crawling back, after three weeks of indescrepid abyss.

Me: I, um...

Blog: You have no excuse for your nelgect. You're just lazy. You know that? Lazy.

Me: Well, if you put it into pers-

Blog: Don't try to wriggle out of it. I am deeply unimpressed with you at the minute and have half a mind to stop talking to you at all.

Me: No, don't do tha-

Blog: And I don't know where you've been! You could have been kidnapped for all I know!

Me: Actually, I was watching A Very Potter Musical.

Blog: Besides, I...wait, what?

Me: You heard me.

Blog: *sigh* Why I even bother with you I don't know.

sick

I dislike tummy bugs. They wriggle and throw things out of your mouth nastily. =(

My legs are weak from being in bed all day, and my puppy threw up too.

Nothing on the internet is interesting. This is bad.

It's happened before. I've been bored by the internet once.

And now twice.

All I can think to say is "I lost the game".

Touche?

Love Affair

Oh delectable One, How I love thee
The absurdities, picked out and refined
Have brought me sheer beauty
Angelic, you purr and seamlessly complete
Tasks without any hesitation or loading.
How I wish you were mine, not the QANTAS lounge's.
Alas, this love affair will never belong,
My darling, oh Macbook.

.....

Waiting for plane to JAPAN where I will ski my arse off. Wh-hoo!