About Me
- Junaberry
- I'm a student from Australia who used to have a lot of time on her hands but doesn't have that much anymore. Now she has other stuff on her hands.
Friday, January 13, 2012
Taylor Swift - "Safe and Sound"
Are you serious, Tay? I don't think she's ever sound as good as she does here. It basically sounds exactly like the recording which is perfect.
J
Thursday, January 12, 2012
Banana Bread Triumph
I just made the most magnificent banana bread of my entire life. My secret? I double the bananas. I might as well while they're cheap.
Bananas. Nature's custard.
Now to break my diet and eat them with ice cream. Do not tell anyone.
J
Bananas. Nature's custard.
Now to break my diet and eat them with ice cream. Do not tell anyone.
J
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Nigella, My Queen
Seeing Nigella here (I'm guessing around 10 years ago when she was late thirties or early forties... By the way, she looks fucking fabulous) and her tiny son (who is now about 15 or 16 and adorably elfin, serious jailbait) is getting to my heart.
I know she was born into a wealthy family and had a lot of privileges but at the same time I see her as a kind of superwoman. She was born privileged but I think she also worked hard for what she has built, her empire. To add to that, her first husband (the father of her kids) died while the kids were still in their toddling stage which is of course heartbreaking but also makes her stronger in my mind.
J
I know she was born into a wealthy family and had a lot of privileges but at the same time I see her as a kind of superwoman. She was born privileged but I think she also worked hard for what she has built, her empire. To add to that, her first husband (the father of her kids) died while the kids were still in their toddling stage which is of course heartbreaking but also makes her stronger in my mind.
J
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
A Brief History of Naming in Hipsterdom
I reserved the three The Hunger Games books from the library and today I picked up the second and third one. The first one had close to 1000 reservations so I'll be 30 by the time I get that one.
On Katniss Everdeen's wikipedia page, Stephen King says she is a "cool kid" with a "lame name" who he liked once he got over her name. I lol'd. I think her being named Katniss is the opposite of hipster-ness.
It probably was very hipster to have a name like Katniss at some point. But then all these rampant, sexually charged 13 year old fanfiction writers started writing rampant, sexually charged fanfics and naming their characters Katniss and Bryde and Faerie (not even gonna lie, I once wrote a character called Faerie, I am actually describing myself in this passage) and suddenly, all hipsters gathered together in a whirlwind of rage.
And they decreed their first ammendment:
"Thou who aspires to be a hipster in an ugly and decidedly non-hipsterish way shalt not be a hipsta EVA and we shalt cast off whatever manner of hipster-ness they have used to attain false hipster-ness."
It was a very long ammendment.
Now, all hipsters like to name their children and characters using old names reminiscent of the olden days and incontinence. Names like Sally (oops!), Atticus, Alice (sorry, you-know-who), Celia, Gregory Peck and Bruce Dayne.
There was a brief blip in the timeline of old-person-hipster-names (which began probably some time in 2002 when three precocious 13 year olds started a 70 000 word rampage about boys' "sex things" going in "ye ol' trapdoor") when Twilight came out in which Stephenie Meyer names the Cullens using old names like:
Rosaby, Fantasia, Sullen Cullen, Depardieu and Tudor the Pike.
But, after a momentary lapse, hipsters across the nation, No! across the world, returned to their old ways to reclaim the land that is rightfully theirs. The land of old-namedom. All praise it! And so rose the second ammendment:
"Thou who doth not name their child something from Atonement shalt be stoned to death using bundles of our American Eagle beige sweaters. Nay! They shalt only deserve our crappy Forever 21 sweaters that we wear as loungewear."
Note: I do not have anything against Forever 21 but we all know hipsters hate that shit.
The end.
J
On Katniss Everdeen's wikipedia page, Stephen King says she is a "cool kid" with a "lame name" who he liked once he got over her name. I lol'd. I think her being named Katniss is the opposite of hipster-ness.
It probably was very hipster to have a name like Katniss at some point. But then all these rampant, sexually charged 13 year old fanfiction writers started writing rampant, sexually charged fanfics and naming their characters Katniss and Bryde and Faerie (not even gonna lie, I once wrote a character called Faerie, I am actually describing myself in this passage) and suddenly, all hipsters gathered together in a whirlwind of rage.
And they decreed their first ammendment:
"Thou who aspires to be a hipster in an ugly and decidedly non-hipsterish way shalt not be a hipsta EVA and we shalt cast off whatever manner of hipster-ness they have used to attain false hipster-ness."
It was a very long ammendment.
Now, all hipsters like to name their children and characters using old names reminiscent of the olden days and incontinence. Names like Sally (oops!), Atticus, Alice (sorry, you-know-who), Celia, Gregory Peck and Bruce Dayne.
There was a brief blip in the timeline of old-person-hipster-names (which began probably some time in 2002 when three precocious 13 year olds started a 70 000 word rampage about boys' "sex things" going in "ye ol' trapdoor") when Twilight came out in which Stephenie Meyer names the Cullens using old names like:
Rosaby, Fantasia, Sullen Cullen, Depardieu and Tudor the Pike.
But, after a momentary lapse, hipsters across the nation, No! across the world, returned to their old ways to reclaim the land that is rightfully theirs. The land of old-namedom. All praise it! And so rose the second ammendment:
"Thou who doth not name their child something from Atonement shalt be stoned to death using bundles of our American Eagle beige sweaters. Nay! They shalt only deserve our crappy Forever 21 sweaters that we wear as loungewear."
Note: I do not have anything against Forever 21 but we all know hipsters hate that shit.
The end.
J
A Year Six Revelation
I thought I was pretty until I was in year six then I saw a picture of myself and was like, "Oh, gurlll..."
That being said, half of the people we find attractive are usually attractive due to figure, clothes, make up etc. That's a lie I tell myself when I feel particularly bad about myself.
Also, these girls remind me of sea monkies for some reason:
J
That being said, half of the people we find attractive are usually attractive due to figure, clothes, make up etc. That's a lie I tell myself when I feel particularly bad about myself.
Also, these girls remind me of sea monkies for some reason:
J
Weightlifting for Weenies (I'm the Weenie)
I just did nine bench presses with 20kg. On the tenth one, I went halfway down but then my tiny (okay, they're not tiny, they're massive but I mean tiny in the muscular sense of the word), puny arms literally died. It was like I could feel all the little cells with their little, exhausted mitochondria screaming at me, "GET FUCKED, YOU MOTHERFUCKER."
I felt my arms sink and the barbell getting closer and closer to my neck and I had this terrifying vision of my throat being smashed by the barbell and then my spine being crushed by this hefty machinery.
I let it sink that used all my last remaining strength to roll (yes, roll) the barbell down my body to my lap where I figured the least damage could be done (I would rather my pelvis be crushed than my neck or ribcage), sat up and struggled to lift it down to the floor. It fell with a thud reminiscent of a dead body (a really small child or a midget of 20kg).
This was perhaps the most momentous and challenging one minute weight lifting session anyone in the history of fitness has ever experienced. You should take my word for it.
J
I felt my arms sink and the barbell getting closer and closer to my neck and I had this terrifying vision of my throat being smashed by the barbell and then my spine being crushed by this hefty machinery.
I let it sink that used all my last remaining strength to roll (yes, roll) the barbell down my body to my lap where I figured the least damage could be done (I would rather my pelvis be crushed than my neck or ribcage), sat up and struggled to lift it down to the floor. It fell with a thud reminiscent of a dead body (a really small child or a midget of 20kg).
This was perhaps the most momentous and challenging one minute weight lifting session anyone in the history of fitness has ever experienced. You should take my word for it.
J
Sweet & Tasty
My brother and grandpa are eating ice-cream and watching TV. I am secretly terrified they will eat all the Connoiseur (fuck, sp) Belgian Chocolate ice-cream before I get to try any. I don't know why they keep buying good ice-cream for my grandpa because he can't tell the difference between crap and good shit.
I want ice-cream.
What is low-fat, low-calorie, sweet & tasty?
J
I want ice-cream.
What is low-fat, low-calorie, sweet & tasty?
J
Tristan & Dean
Oh shite! This made my day. From a tweet by Jared Padalecki. The accompanying caption: "Don't tell Rory, but I think I saw Dean and Tristan having coffee together today!"So cute.
The only good thing that came out of House of Wax was that these two cemented their friendship (a romance that, in my mind, started from Gilmore Girls) so I can have lots of fantasies about Tristan and Dean all day and make up new storylines about how they shared a house together in season eight of Gilmore Girls and became best friends.
J
Thoughts on PDA
Times when PDA is okay:
1. At your wedding.
2. Getting engaged.
3. Finding out you/your partner is pregnant.
4. On your deathbed (eg: just got run over by a car, your loved one gives you one last smooch).
5. That's pretty much it.
Times when PDA is not okay:
1. None of the above.
2. In the presence of family (why would you WANT to?).
3. In the presence of children.
4. In the presence of the elderly.
5. In the presence of me.
6. If you're not hot (this is a joke...).
7. Any time before midday.
8. During meals.
9. When people around you are enjoying a piece of gum.
10. When people around you are enjoying a refreshing beverage.
11. At the beach.
12. In my house (do what you want in your own house).
13. If one of you has a cold.
14. If one of you has hayfever.
15. Anytime I say is inappropriate.
J
1. At your wedding.
2. Getting engaged.
3. Finding out you/your partner is pregnant.
4. On your deathbed (eg: just got run over by a car, your loved one gives you one last smooch).
5. That's pretty much it.
Times when PDA is not okay:
1. None of the above.
2. In the presence of family (why would you WANT to?).
3. In the presence of children.
4. In the presence of the elderly.
5. In the presence of me.
6. If you're not hot (this is a joke...).
7. Any time before midday.
8. During meals.
9. When people around you are enjoying a piece of gum.
10. When people around you are enjoying a refreshing beverage.
11. At the beach.
12. In my house (do what you want in your own house).
13. If one of you has a cold.
14. If one of you has hayfever.
15. Anytime I say is inappropriate.
J
Monday, January 9, 2012
Based on a True Story
I trapped a fly in my window yesterday. Perhaps "in my window" is an incorrect term. I waited for it so land on my window then shut the blinds as quickly and nimbly as Peter the Rabbit (I can't remember if he ever escaped that farmer with the pitchfork...). Flies are too stupid to fly between the gaps in the blinds, you see.
I woke up this morning and the first thing I saw was a fly on my bedside table. Damn, it landed on the donut I had bought yesterday. Should I dispose? They say that if a fly lands on a surface for more than 10 seconds, it's defecating. To these naysayers, I say, "Phffft, you should lick the surface and build up your immunity." By now, I think I could swim in the sewers with an open mouth and come out unscathed. So maybe I will eat that donut...
I left the fly to flutter aimlessly in my room. It's a sad life, being an insect. The first object in my morning routine is to guzzle a cup of water as quickly as I could. I imagine that when you drink a beverage super quickly, it skims the gunk off your oesophagus. In this line of thought, my morning beverage was not only refreshing and hydrating but also cleaning. Now, my oesophagus is clean as a whistle.
To my desk I did venture for a morning reverie in front of my technology of choice. Oh wait, what's that? I wondered if that fly I did so abhor (it fluttered around my head for a ridiculous 20 minutes) and ensnared was still alive. Should I peak behind the blinds?
I leaned forward, trying to peek through the gaps in the blinds. Outside, it was a sunny day and I saw little else than the grass of my backyard and a sky too blue to function.
A sound!
Could that have been the rampant fluttering of a fly's wings? They say a fly's wings beat 200 to 2000 times a second. I wonder how a fly could possibly fly in such a spastic manner without it's wings simply falling... off... Maybe just a little closer now. The picture in my head was of the fly, silent and unmoving, (huzzah!) lying on the window sill. It would be a gratuitous start to the day.
A little closer now.
(What's that, the mad beating of a delicate wing?)
More now, the tip of my head nearly touching the blind.
(Did you see that? A flash of black across my vision)
Now, so close that the blinds shuffled a little, uncomfortable with my proximity.
(Did you smell that?)
And then, quite suddenly because I had become quite acclimatized to the vision of a dead and mundane fly, a swarm of black, buzzing things in my face. Streams and streams of ferocious flies coming through the gaps in the blinds (evolution?!).
What's that? I felt a nibbling on my cheek. I clapped my hand there and pulled the fly from the flesh and, coming with the wrinkly, quivering body, was a morsel of my cheek. More and more, they attached themselves to me. I felt their trembling wings, more energetic than ever, against my skin then deeper and deeper in my body as they tore away layer after layer of skin.
As I tried fruitlessly to swat them off, nearly as mad as the flies themselves, I caught a glimpse of the skeleton of what must've been a rat lying on the windowsill. It was devoid of flesh except for a few straggly strips hanging here and there.
Ah!
True story, bitches.
J
I woke up this morning and the first thing I saw was a fly on my bedside table. Damn, it landed on the donut I had bought yesterday. Should I dispose? They say that if a fly lands on a surface for more than 10 seconds, it's defecating. To these naysayers, I say, "Phffft, you should lick the surface and build up your immunity." By now, I think I could swim in the sewers with an open mouth and come out unscathed. So maybe I will eat that donut...
I left the fly to flutter aimlessly in my room. It's a sad life, being an insect. The first object in my morning routine is to guzzle a cup of water as quickly as I could. I imagine that when you drink a beverage super quickly, it skims the gunk off your oesophagus. In this line of thought, my morning beverage was not only refreshing and hydrating but also cleaning. Now, my oesophagus is clean as a whistle.
To my desk I did venture for a morning reverie in front of my technology of choice. Oh wait, what's that? I wondered if that fly I did so abhor (it fluttered around my head for a ridiculous 20 minutes) and ensnared was still alive. Should I peak behind the blinds?
I leaned forward, trying to peek through the gaps in the blinds. Outside, it was a sunny day and I saw little else than the grass of my backyard and a sky too blue to function.
A sound!
Could that have been the rampant fluttering of a fly's wings? They say a fly's wings beat 200 to 2000 times a second. I wonder how a fly could possibly fly in such a spastic manner without it's wings simply falling... off... Maybe just a little closer now. The picture in my head was of the fly, silent and unmoving, (huzzah!) lying on the window sill. It would be a gratuitous start to the day.
A little closer now.
(What's that, the mad beating of a delicate wing?)
More now, the tip of my head nearly touching the blind.
(Did you see that? A flash of black across my vision)
Now, so close that the blinds shuffled a little, uncomfortable with my proximity.
(Did you smell that?)
And then, quite suddenly because I had become quite acclimatized to the vision of a dead and mundane fly, a swarm of black, buzzing things in my face. Streams and streams of ferocious flies coming through the gaps in the blinds (evolution?!).
What's that? I felt a nibbling on my cheek. I clapped my hand there and pulled the fly from the flesh and, coming with the wrinkly, quivering body, was a morsel of my cheek. More and more, they attached themselves to me. I felt their trembling wings, more energetic than ever, against my skin then deeper and deeper in my body as they tore away layer after layer of skin.
As I tried fruitlessly to swat them off, nearly as mad as the flies themselves, I caught a glimpse of the skeleton of what must've been a rat lying on the windowsill. It was devoid of flesh except for a few straggly strips hanging here and there.
Ah!
True story, bitches.
J
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