I WANT TO LIVE IN A CAVE

Not only would it be private, cosy and stylishly prehistoric, I would be able to resist all of the technology that is rotting my brain as well as the people that I don't like. And if they did enter my cave, I would be entitled to spear them or club them and then eat them. Ho hum.

This is not one of those passive-aggressive whiny posts that are really aimed at one person but passively and aggressively say something really vague and esoteric to attract attention. Because I have no qualms about saying that this is aimed at most creatures on earth, excluding dogs but including birds, not including Gene Wilder and Marty Feldman (wait for it) but definitely including the stupid people in those Super AMart ads who just scream and yell at you until you want to shove something long and pole-esque up their... moving on.

I think it's just me being in an angsty mood, not wanting to do homework, feeling guilty about not doing homework, then getting angry at why I should have to do homework. I did eat pizza today as well as weird prawn "parcels" (nicknamed in our house "prawn arseholes") that came out of the freezer, so that helped a bit. Maybe, just maybe, it's about the fact that my CRUEL parents are going to the Byron Blues Fest tomorrow to see BB KING, MICHELLE SHOCKED, ELVIS COSTELLO, BOB DYLAN AND GRACE JONES.

WITHOUT ME.

ANYWAY.
One thing that eased my pain was THE BEST movie I have seen in a while. That was Young Frankenstein, in black and white, with the fabulous Gene Wilder (as Dr Frankenstein).

and my new favourite person in the world, Marty Feldman (as Igor)

Here is a picture of the two of them together, because they make me happy. 

And here is a video that I searched for far and wide because it has all the best bits in it. Yes, it has subtitles for no apparent reason, stop whining.

I feel like me rambling and some random pictures are a bit of a step down from the photos in the last post, but I don't even care, because Marty Feldman is my new religion.

TRIVIA ABOUT HIM. 

• He is on many "Ugliest Celebrities" lists, which is inconsiderate because he was a very nice person.
• His eyes bulge like they do due to a thyroid problem. 
• He was born on July 8, 1933, in London, England, which is where I was born, just saying. 
• He left school at the age of 15, hoping for a career as a jazz trumpeter but his appearance in a Variety show earned him the title "the worst trumpeter in the world". Which was mean.
• He died in Mexico City of shellfish poisoning, which makes me SO ANGRY and SAD because he was only 49 and someone like him deserved a long and happy life filled with hilarity. In protest, I will not quite give up shellfish, but feel very angry and resentful when I eat it.
• He said such genius things as: "I won't eat anything that has intelligent life, but I'd gladly eat a network executive or a politician" and "The pen is mightier than the sword, and is considerably easier to write with". 
• He called baseball "cricket on speed".

Goodnight, Herr Frankenstein. 

Smoke & Mirrors (and hats)

Au revoir. 

I AM A FOOD GOD

Ignore all previous comments about my failure in domestication. Gone are the miserable nightmares where I stumble into a deep pit with only a fully-stocked kitchen to sustain my survival! I would survive! I can make food! Well, one kind of food.

Yes, it's Cooks.com's Soft and Chewy Peanut Butter Cookies. Although they may not look like perfect specimens, being round and golden and all that, don't judge them harshly. They are cookies too, and deserve all the same opportunities as perfect Nigella Lawson cookies. And they deserve recognition. Mainly because they are MY cookies, bitches, made by me, my own hands and my glorious brain.

Narcissism be damned, I have made it as a person! These cookies, while you can't exactly tell where one ends and the other begins, taste like what heaven would be like if it had died and gone to heaven. Ahh. There is a slight crippling guilt at the fact that they contain about a bazillion calories, but for now, I am enjoying the success and rejoicing in the goodness of cookies.

Possibly the best part about the whole thing is that the big hairy things that live in my house and eat all my food (cousin and semi-cousin) DO NOT LIKE PEANUT BUTTER. Which means that these cookies will LAST. And that by tomorrow morning, I might still have some left! Hehehe.

Be proud, loyal readers. Every achievement is dedicated to you. I would like to thank all of you that supported me in my journey - this is such a great honour.

GOODNIGHT NEW YORK.

Note: I was going to include a picture for you, but I can't be bothered.

Untitled

I am not sure what to call this post, because it's not really anything, yet. I just wanted to write some stuff, and anyway, it's mine, all mine so I can do what I want. And 'Untitled' things are always cool and pensive and meaningful.

I am going madder than usual because I have a Vegas-themed soiree to go to. Seeing as I have approximately ONE DAY and very, very, very limited funds, I have been brainstorming costume ideas for many hours and getting not many places. The obvious is showgirl, with leotard and headdress but I have no feathers and ARGH this is too hard.
A certain person did suggest that I go as a giant poker chip. Which is tempting but out of the question. How would I sit down?? Or dance? I think it would just be me spinning round and round in a massive hunk of cardboard. Which could be cool, and/or damaging emotionally.

The banner changed again. I prefer it, although it's not very blue. Imagine the blue-ness.

Wow I'm not very interesting today. I think it's because I have spent today inside, pottering. By pottering, I do not mean this:

Anyway, I did French homework (I know! Shock horror! Zut alors!), then stuck stuff on my wall in no particular order. Most of it consisted of lookbooks and similar that I took (don't look at me like that - they were free!) from shops in Paddington. So I have a very indie guy glowering down on me while crouching in fields wearing $300 singlets.
And by singlets, I do not mean this:

I also wrote a letter to a good friend of mine and filled it with stupid stuff, which I cannot state here because she will read it. It's both nice and frustrating to write letters. Nice because you can add personal touches (not just change of font) and throw in some glitter, buttons or pills in there subtly. It is also frustrating because I know that email is faster, and the fact that I do not know how to address a letter is, at my age, shameful. It IS a result of being a child of ninety-five (<really cool link right there) so I take no responsibility for it. Still, I know all of you have once had the wonderful feeling of receiving a letter in the mail. The excitement! Who's is from? Where's it from? Why it is suspiciously heavy? Why does it smell like paper??? The crippling disappointment when it turns out to be from Optus or Westpac (soul-sucking soul suckers) is the worst thing in the world. And as I am in a gif/random picture mood today, I will add an example of how it makes me feel.

Pretty awful, isn't it.

Well, that's all for now, folks.
I will possibly write more (edit this post) in a little while.
Also, as far as narcissism goes, my friend Yani put it well: narcissistic or not, if you want to read this blog, you can. Otherwise, don't.

arrivederci i miei amanti . That's 'goodbye, my lovers' in Italian.

Oh, I can't resist.

Happiness (and existential crises abounds)

Holidays, I mean. The feeling of waking up and knowing that not only do you not have to go to school, but that you don't even have to prepare to go to school in a day or two! HEAVEN. 

Anyway, that's generic. I figured I would just give you a little rambling update, mainly because I am lying in bed, after just waking up at 11.30, contemplating breakfast and listening to new music Jemima gave me. Namely, the Bad Boys II soundtrack, complete with interludes and all. It's pretty great. 

There have been a sad lack of photos, but I assure you that they will come soon. Tomorrow brings lots of Dreamworld fun (photos to come) and Sunday is me and Mim chilling at RaRa Superstar to watch (photobomb) the rest of Yani's photoshoot. Ho Hum. 

NEWS. The singer, Emma-Louise I told you about from Woodford has an EP! She is purely amazing. 

Also, my obsession with House has only been growing. Lee (cousin) just downloaded 16 episodes, so we have been busy watching and watching. Season 8 is actually the most amazing thing ever. Best quote thus far: 

Wilson to House - "Well, Cuddy will be home in 6 hours, but don't worry, I'll just yell 'look over there!' while you shove a scope up her daughter's rectum." 

hehehehehehe. Even funnier without context.  

In other news, I have been pondering the egocentricity of this blog as of late. Ponderings include: 

• Where to draw the line between therapeutic ramblings and self-obsessed self-shrine.
• When interesting and/or topically funny or even mildly amusing rants or photos become dull and selfish diary entries. 
• Whether I myself have become self-obsessed monster like Beyonce, Charlie Sheen and similar, or whether I am just a product of society's narcissistic doctrine. I mean, is it bad that I have a facebook, tumblr and blog? Is that more than most people? Am I becoming a narcissist - and not a funny one like Woody Allen or Michael Mcintyre? Or am I just one of the classic teens of the Noughties, who our children and our children's children will read about and marvel over (although they'll probably all have their own TV shows by then). 
• And is this really a disgusting tribute to myself? Or is it just some things I like, put out for the world in an entirely wholesome effort to share some cool things? Is it arrogant of me to assume that people care about what I like? Probably. Do people care what I like? Only friends. Do they even care? I wouldn't be offended if they didn't - I wouldn't care if I were a friend of mine. Even this post, being mostly random and pointless, is about me, my life and what I like. Kind of makes me want to yell at myself "GET OVER YOURSELF". Which is mad. 
• Are these bullet points actually ordering my thinking, or are they just distracting?
• Never mind, I like them. 
• See! That's what I mean! Why should it matter what I like and why?! Some of me says that it is my blog, and so I can say what I want, ego-trip or non. Most of me says that even people who care about what I say (to the absurd point of reading it!) won't care about my use of bullet points. 
• How did this turn from non-specific rambling about MYSELF (irony, irony, irony) to a philosophical self-portrait (also ironic)? 
• I should mention that it's no longer just before lunch. It is now 10.30 p.m. I had a break after the video about Emma Louise, then watched some House, then blogged about it, then left this post to simmer because I wasn't sure where it was going. 
• NARCISSISM RIGHT THERE. Why would people care about my day? Am I being depressing, realistic or narcissistic in thinking about my own narcissism for so long? 
• Where do you draw the line between relevant and (partly) intelligent inner monologue about egoism, and just a ton of rhetorical questions put to bullet points? 
• There's another one. Rhetorical question, I mean. And bullet point. 

No more bullet points. This has gone on long enough. The title of this post was originally "Happiness" (at being on holiday) but I think I will have to now adjust it to something whinier because I think I am on the verge of existential crisis, quarter-life breakdown or similar. 

Someone help me out of my deep pit of self-appreciation and just slap me in the face to put me in my place. 

Actually, don't. Whiny and irritating as I currently am, I have a low pain-threshold and would probably just become more whiny and irritating. So just give me a stern handshake and tell me firmly that no-one cares. 

Love and hysteria, 

xxx