Peachy

Turns out I couldn't go to work yesterday.

I knew something was wrong when I woke up from a weird, fever-induced sleep in which I dreamt I was posing as a renegade anti-establishment guerilla spy in Indonesia. For one moment when I woke up, I was utterly convinced that I couldn't go to Indonesia in 2009 because they would try to kill me on political grounds if I ever set foot there.

Then I cracked an eyelid open, thought about it for a good two minutes, and thought, "Hmm...no one's shooting at me."

(This is generally a good thought to have.)

I then realised that:

(a) I was still sick

(b) I really needed to get out more if I was starting to have dreams relating to my Arts electives

Although I spent yesterday glowering darkly at anything that came within three feet, I was much more perky today.

I even got a slightly sweet moment of revenge:

A customer came in who needed a particular kind of connector for two hard drives. We only had the SATA connectors. That should really have been the end of the story. Except that he demanded someone who "knows more about it than you do." Well, tough- nobody else did. When I passed him again he just shoved his phone into my hands and told me to talk to his friend on the line who knew what kind of connector he needed.

I talked to the guy on the line, and established that no, we didn't have it. Then I passed the (rather expensive) phone back and thought privately to myself, "HAH HAH HAH YOU JUST GOT MY BRONCHITIS GERMS!!!"

I never said I wasn't immature.

A note for Congealed Blob: Selamat datang ke blog saya! Terima kasih untuk pesan. Pertama-tama, apa kamu mengerti film yang dilihat hari ini? (Meskipun kamu mungkin tertidur)...dan kalau kamu pergi ke Indonesia (dan/atau Malaysia) pada akhir tahun 2009 saya mungkin mengunjungi kamu!

In Sickness and In Health

I firmly believe that every blog should at least have one obligatory "I-Am-Sick, Therefore-I-Hate-The-World" blog post.

Thus, this is it.

*twiddles thumbs*

...

Apparently, I have some sort of viral infection/flu/bronchitis (the latter is written on my medical certificate- my doctor figured that if he described it as bronchitis, "your workplace isn't going to want you in anyway."). The last week has been...painful. My misery was further compounded by the fact that the most wonderfully warm, sunshiny weather has emerged, and instead of going outside to enjoy the warmth, I've been stuck in my very own germ-ridden cocoon of blankets, shivering one minute then overheating the next.

I spent all of yesterday in bed with a fever, until I dragged myself out of bed to see the doctor. I figured that seven hours of daytime sleep might get rid of what I've now come to call my 'zombie eyes' but I look even worse than before. Now, I look like an extra on "Dawn of the Dead", or better yet, a character template on "Dead Rising".

I thought that maybe I'd get over it by today, but it seems to have bitten back with a vengeance. Swallowing still hurts, I still have this strange pain in my ears, and pain sensitivity has been cranked up to 11 on a scale of 1-10.

However, I have drugs. Drugs are good. Drugs are my friend. Happy drugs that come in two tones of yellow in a cool little capsule. And with the help of my good friends Amoxycillin and Panadol, I SHALL BE UNSTOPPABLE.

In the meantime, I shall crawl back into my little hole with my ugg boots.

I have work at 9 a.m tomorrow, in which I plan to steel myself with a bucket of strong coffee the size of my head. For the past three morning shifts, all I've done is slowly stir four sachets of sugar into my cappuccino, checking periodically for anyone who requires assistance. No one really does at 9 a.m (why would you wake up before 11 a.m if you didn't have to- and furthermore, why would you decide to go shop for electronics at that hour?)

I have also missed seven hours of uni this week (well, nine if you count the lecture on Critical Legal Studies, but I voluntarily walked out of that one) so that's not good. Maybe my body is awarding itself its own mid-semester break, although I could have told my immune system that there are better ways to do it.

Our mid-semester break is in Week 10. There are 13 weeks in a semester. Considering we are meant to house some of the greatest mathematical minds in this country, it does get you a bit worried.

Anyhow, the moral of this post is: stay away from me, I may yet still be contagious.

Hip-Hop Is Not Dead

It is my dream to be cool and black, with a big deep voice like Kingsley Shacklebolt.

On the path to pursuing this dream, I struck the first snag almost immediately when I looked in the mirror and realised:

I'm not black.

Genetics are cruel.

Genetics means that I have horrendous eyesight. It means that I cannot park straight in an empty bay full of empty angled parking slots in an empty carpark outside an empty shopping centre. It means that I cannot run continously for a minute without collapsing on the ground and wheezing like Darth Vader.

On the upside, genetics also means that I have relatively little arm hair.

Woot!

Anyway, back to what I was going to say...ah, yes, coolness and blackness. They go hand-in-hand, like peas and carrots.

Even though I realised that this weedy little yellow caterpillar would never transform into a big, cool, homey black butterfly, I decided that in lieu of wearing bling, smokin' crack and driving around in a pimped-up ride, I would take up hip-hop classes.

(I am acutely aware that not all black males do these things. Unfortunately the only black person I know is my nasal law lecturer and he's actually from Africa and doesn't rap. Therefore, I must draw inferences from cool black people like 50 Cent and Jay-Z.)

So..today was a not-very-good day, as my mother had forgotten to leave me her car keys, and I didn't realise this until before I was about to leave for my English class. Cue massive panic- there was no point trying to get there by public transport because the lesson was only 1.5 hours anyway...so I decided I'd just take the bus later to go to the gym for the hip-hop class. (Now I'll never know the difference between finite and infinite verbs...'tis a cruel world.)

So at 4:30, dressed in my ultra-hip 3/4 length Target pants, my equally ultra-hip Volleys (also from Target) and a Converse sport vest, I toddled over to the Aerobics Gym.

And discovered that 75% of my class was also Asian.

Thus, I have concluded that it is an inherent and deeply-hidden secret wish of all Asian girls to be cool and black. (Right, Kris? Mmm?)

My dance instructor was not, unfortunately, cool and black. She was skinny, ultra-fit and practically bounced up on the podium with the kind of energy I normally associate with two years olds and Red Bull. Everything was "you've got it, yeah?" or "we'll do it in slow-mo, yeah?" with an upbeat attitude rivalling the good boys and girls of Hi-5.

So we got started on some warm-ups which involved stretching (and I have seen enough of tight-Lycra-clad backside to last me a lifetime) then we practiced some dance moves.

It was actually really fun, although the step-and-spin stuff was beyond most of us on a carpeted floor with runners, and there was an awful lot of wobbling and frantic grabbing of air when we had to stand on one foot. There was also a giant mirror at the front, which only reinforced my decision to never buy 3/4 length sports pants from Target again.

Even though I would never actually use those moves anywhere but in the safety of the sports hall, it was the most amusing workout I've had in a long time. Not that dying over the treadmill isn't fun *snort*

Now for the best part of working out- undoing absolutely everything with a large bowl of Milo ice-cream.

Peace out, y'all!

P.S- Thanks to Rosy, Kris, Loui and Claire for the comments on the last post- really made my day :) And Rosy dearest, I counted you and Kris as number one and two, so technically it's still four :D

X, Y and Z

Men were deceivers ever,

One foot in sea, and one on shore...

To one thing constant never...



...the fraud of men was ever so,

Since summer first was leavy.



Damn right.


Kris and Rosy have posted recently on the contentious subject that is the human male. (Excellent posts which I encourage you to read!) Now, you get my vitriolic tirade...

So I have this friend. Let us call him...X.

X and I met in the first few weeks of uni and struck up a friendship over the course of the semester. X and I don't actually have much in common but that's OK- we had a fairly good, and may I stress, platonic friendship. (X, thankfully, will never read this in a million years but I am covering my ass here by using initials just in case).

Everything was fine. Until a couple of weeks into Semester Two. Suddenly, we stopped talking to each other in classes- either he stopped talking to me, or I stopped talking to him, but something just changed. And now, he pretty much will not even look at me or say hello. Bastard.

I was wondering vaguely if it was something I had done (I'm not the brightest spark on campus, I tend to fall asleep and generally look like a grumpy, drugged-up zombie) or maybe something he had done (could not think of anything). Then I noticed that he was completely and utterly ignoring me, yet taking up with the blonder, more gorgeous girls in my class.

As my Contracts lecturer would say, "Hmmmm."

Then, "Mmmm."

(Then "Mmmmm...." again for good measure, just in case we hadn't figured out that "mmmm" was his 'I-am-thinking-very-deeply noise).

So.

Suddenly he's turned into Mr Charming (around other people at least) and now our friendship, which I thought was relatively solid, does not exist. The twig snapped today when I noticed that he didn't even acknowledge my existence. Fine.

Go chase your little girlfriends...you....little girlfriend chaser.

Moral of the story: Men are fickle and cannot be trusted. Bastard.

Onto the second event of my day which forced me into blogging this:

I sat next to the most incredibly hot specimen of human male today (in my humble opinion).

This was BAD.

Very, very bad.

I cannot quite express just how hot aforementioned human male is. It kind of doesn't help that I've been perving on him with somewhat objective detachment all year (DAMN YOU LAW FACULTY!!!) and you know what? It's ten times worse when said hotness is sitting next to you.

For a damn hour.

Mr Cuteness-Personified was so damn gorgeous that I thought my heart would crawl up my throat, push past my mouth, and flop dramatically onto the carpet in front of him. (Then grow little legs and with a big puppy dog eye in each ventricle and go, "I wuv you.")

AAAARGH.

Again, for anonymity's sake I will call him...Y.

Anyhow, I vaguely know Y enough to speak politely, except the conversation pretty much died after four lines, possibly when my heart did try to crawl up my throat and I submitted to merely a polite gargle.

Ask me how my weekend was sometime. I'm sure it'll be more than "GAAAAAAH?"

Sigh.

And worst of all, sitting with a particularly hot person within a one metre radius is terribly disarming for your learning. I can't remember anything important from that lesson, except that Y dresses really well. It was pretty bad- I wanted to either stand up and shake him for being so "impossibly, ridiculously good-looking" or jump him.

Neither of which would have been very subtle.

And of course, he is also a bit of a ladies' man and so not my type it is not funny. Plus, I've found that repeating the mantra He has a girlfriend, he has a girlfriend, he has a girlfriend does not work. Leaving the tute and banging your head repeatedly against a wall in the hope that you wil bang some common sense into yourself does.

So there you have it.

I had a friend called X.

I will probably have to wear a blindfold around Y.

And I still have to find a way to kindly explain to...eh, let's call him Z...that being friends is all I want to be.

Sigh no more ladies, sigh no more,
May be you blithe, and bonny,
And turn your tales of woe,
Into hey, nonny nonny.

Yes. Let's do that.

(N.B- considering I only have two female readers, this is probably unwarranted- but if you are a male, please note that for the most part, I think y'all are 'just swell'*.)

*(Nice to see that Year 12 English still hasn't left me)

Political Gallivanting of the Semi-Naked Kind

Kevin Rudd, Mr 'Kevin07' himself, has just admitted to getting absolutely trashed and visiting a strip club whilst in the U.S.

Wait a minute, you say.

Kevin Rudd? In a strip club?

Imagine, for a moment, Kevin Rudd in a strip club. The bespectacled, square-faced, mild-mannered, mousy Opposition Leader swaying drunkenly in a seedy dive groping, at half-naked girls.

HAH HAH HAH HAH HAH HAH HAH HAH HAH HAH HAH.

Now imagine, for a moment, little Johnny Howard tucking a little green note into a dancer's G-string.

Who else feels like vomiting?