One More Night

Also, I'm not even going to bother putting "lose weight" down as one of my New Year's resolutions.

Since starting to regularly exercise (again...) this time last year, I've lost no weight but have gained muscle, worse knee crepitus and a need to wash my hair more regularly (you know, besides the monthly thing I usually abide by).

In honour of all those shitty fashion and lifestyle blogs I religiously (and sadly) follow, I have decided to do a year in review. It goes as follows:

1. Started second year med school. I do not want to elaborate.

2. Started exercising. I managed to not crush my skull with a stray weight but did manage to bash my knee with one resulting in a delightful bruise (for evolution of bruise over a one week period, please refer to instagram). I still cannot hold a plank for over 2.5 minutes. I can do a respectable bicep curl and bench press, however. Hm, turning into a man?

3. Turned into a man.

4. Turned back into a female. Had more periods. Bye bye, eggs.

5. Had hilarious "romantic" dramas. Following on from the F-travesty of last year, I took it a step further and made an even bigger ass of myself. Later that day, I went to Little Mishelle's house and ate about 30 pandan microwaved baos to consolidate my losses.

6. Decided to go to Europe next year.

7. Managed to NOT horrifically embarrass myself in a largely public setting (as far as I can remember). This is a feat for me as I have pretty much done this every year since I was born (I pissed my pantaloons in year one and, in year two, barfed all over the school bathroom floor).

8. Went to karaoke and sang a lot of Taylor Swift.

9. Bought more <$5 tops and clothes. I have also recently developed an obsession with those bodycon tube skirts and have accumulated about five or six so far, all for under $5. Yes, I am just that great. Unfortunately, I do not look like this whilst wearing them (who would want to though, right?):

10. Went to see Taylor Swift in concert; one of the best nights of my life so far. 

11. Got my Ps and crashed into a tree. Just jokes, it was a small child.

12. Developed some excellent split ends that I have proceeded to search for and split for the last couple of months. Unfortunately, I got my hair trimmed a few weeks ago and many of them have been sadly lost. I still find one every now and then and they give me hope for the future. 

13. Developed an unhealthy obsession with getting a dog. 

14. Acquired employment at Officeworks (once upon a time, my one true love) and found retail to be satisfactorily entertaining. Speaking of Officeworks, gripes so far from customers have included some European woman chastising me for charging 15c for bags (step the back off), an older bogan lad for "gasbagging" with my colleague who was teaching me how to find stuff that was put on hold and, lastly, this piece of bitch who gave me shit for saying $9.44 instead of $9.45. Yay, logic!

The next time I write to you... it will be 2013. Don't get too krunk!

J

Croquembouche

Yesterday afternoon, my very old family friend, Amy, came over to make a croquembouche with me. It was her birthday (party) yesterday so this was meant to be her birthday cake. She'd already made the choux pastry and we intended to make the custard and toffee at my house.

In case you don't remember, it was something like 40C yesterday.

She had used 30 eggs to make the choux pastry. We used a further 19 egg yolks for the custard (I cracked one yolk with the shell and it was hilarious then I cried). We tried to make toffee. It didn't turn brown. We held each other and wept. We piped custard into choux pastry. All my custard came out the top of the piping bag and onto my hand. I ate it. We dipped our profiteroles into our sad, non-toffee-coloured sugar/glucose syrup and attempted to stick said sad profiteroles onto our cardboard cone.

It started off fine. We saw our dreams came to life... And then, sadly, things began to slip. Literally. It collapsed onto itself. At this point, it was almost 6pm and her party was due to start at 6.30pm.

Amy said to me, "Fuck it, let's just make a pyramid and stack them onto of each other," except with less profanity (my mother was there). We stacked furiously for some 15 odd minutes. We got tired and started shoving cashous and Maltesers in every and all crevices.

There was sugar syrup all over the floor. Then Amy had the brilliant idea of just pouring cashous on top of our sad mountain.

"Nooo," mother screamed, alas too late as a scatter of cashous (accompanied by that delightful sound of pebbles bouncing) spread across our dining room floor.

We kicked Amy out after that. I scrubbed sugar off of me and showered up. I went to said party and ate a shit tonne of profiteroles.

It was good.

Happy New Year, folks.

J

Messi and Cuppi

Holy shit, so much fucking snark and bitterness: http://getoffmyinternets.net/gomi-forum/fashion-bloggers/page-2/

Now, I can never read Cupcakes and Cashmere or What I Wore ("Messi") ever again without some insane judgmental thoughts racing through my head. Those girls on that message board (I'm assuming girls...) tore those motherfuckers to shreds. That being said, I'm pretty sure most of what they wrote and theorized was chiefly bullshit.

Still.

Also, does Cuppi remind you of Hallie's doll from the Parent Trap? It looked like it had been urinated on.

J

The Blobbit

I read this on a message board and now I am imbued with a new sense of urgency to see The Hobbit (going this Saturday):

"Everything I love about LOTR is basically in The Hobbit minus the oppressive feeling of doom."

I feel this person greatly. This person (or someone else, can't remember) went on to talk about how relatively boring the hobbits are compared to the other characters. Agreed wholeheartedly. Whenever I watch it at home, I fast forward through nearly all the hobbit parts (particularly when Gollum, Samwise and Freddo go gallavanting through marshes and swamps and crap) and only watch Gimli (son of Gloin) and the other dudes go adventuring.

Seriously, it is so boring to watch two dingy little hobbits and their wrinkly bedfellow wade through dirty water and eat fish. It's also incredibly depressing. Poor Sam.

Going to eat froyo later. Very excited. It's hot.

J

Breakfast Poll

I wrote that last blog post because I've been deliberating for the last 20 minutes about what I want to eat for breakfast tomorrow morning.

Consider the following:

1. I bought plain and pineapple Chobani greek yoghurt today and ate neither because I was too busy/not hungry. Tragic. 

2. I love microwaved eggs.

3. I love cereal with banana slices.

4. I haven't eaten hot oatmeal in weeks and have been looking at pictures of creaminess on food blogs since I got home from work.

Too many damn options. Get back to me ASAP. 

J

Family Friendly

Why is breakfast such a great meal? Not only does it "break the fast" but it also offers the greatest food options (in my opinion). Sweet (of all varieties), savoury (of all varieties), beverages (of all varieties).

Other than that, my parents had a family friend party on Wednesday night. I thought it was going to be terrible and the only thing I was looking forward to was the cheese my dad bought. Brie and this apricot cream cheese. Both were disgusting; the brie was kind of tasteless and the apricot cream cheese tasted like it had been dipped in sugar. So I just ate the water crackers by themselves (ya'll know how much I love a good water cracker... Or bad water cracker. Doesn't matter, so long as it's a water cracker).

It was actually a pretty enjoyable evening. I also learnt that I'm literally the most lightweight person in the entire world. As in, I drank one cider and was acting like a drunk. That being said, a lot of people have accused me of acting like a drunk in the past when I've consumed nothing but coke (a cola). I think it's a good thing that I can get naturally high off my own and others' company. I will avoid liver failure this way.

We played multiple rounds of thirteen in our back room until it was time for a pitiful dessert spread (seriously, desserts at family friend parties are usually so ace. This one was tragic. All I had was fruit. Sad). I told everyone my great jokes (profitability/profiteroles, generic/genetic, self-deprecate/self-defecate). EVERYONE laughed. That's not even a joke.

I worked this afternoon/evening. They're changing the whole Officeworks layout to prepare for back to school. So a bunch of my fellow Officeworkers are staying at the shop tonight from 9pm to 4am to rearrange. I nearly died when I heard that.

Now, I'm watching Sherlock because everyone always raves about it. It's okay..? So far, I only like the bits where Watson is eating pancakes and when I realized he plays Bilbo McBagALot.

J

A Tradition in the Making

Two Christmases ago (it may have been more), my family and I sat down on Christmas day while I forced them to watch 28 Days Later. Since then, we have continued watching horror movies every Christmas day (which isn't that many). This Christmas, we watched Psycho by Alfred Hitchcock.

It was really, bloody good. It was scary but tolerable. It was weird and suspenseful. I was also weirdly attracted to both the leading lady's lover as well as the murderer who had boyish charm that appealed to me greatly despite his stabby tendencies. Black and white seems to smooth over all imperfections and makes everyone infinitely more appealing:

Psycho (spoiler).

Doomed lovers. Soz.

Tonight, I will have nightmares and be perpetually (well, for the next two weeks) scared of taking a shower.

On that note, merry Christmas to you and yours.

All my love.

J

Fun Fact

My right hand hurts when I cry. It's like a stinging nerve pain. It usually happens just when I'm starting to cry or when I'm trying to choke it back.

What is the scientific explanation for this?

Go.

J

Regifting

In honour of the looming festive season (or I guess in honour of the current festive season as it is currently Christmas Eve), I wanted to write a short article on regifting.

Let us start with a definition.

Regifting: to regift
(source: me)

I have employed the strategy of regifting numerous times in the past. Unless it's something I like; then I'll keep it for myself and scrounge around in my under drawers (not my underwear drawer but my bottom drawer where I store shit I don't want anymore but am too lazy to chuck out) for something disposable (but potentially revered by the somebody I am gifting it to).

Regifting can oftentimes be good. You pass on the love. Stuff that you don't want but you think somebody else might really appreciate is passed on, loved and cherished rather than left to sit idly in the boot of your car and melt (if it's chocolate... Unless it's really bad chocolate full of delicious anti-sun preservatives).

But when is regifting bad? Let me give you some instances:

1. When you don't bother checking inside the original wrapping and just regift it with original wrapping paper, even original card and the present turns out to be a surprisingly intimate underwear set from a coworker who was trying to get with you.

2. When you know the present is 100% shit and don't even bother trying to convince the recipient of regifted gift of its potential goodness.

3. When you regift aforementioned gift and try to convince recipient of regifted gift that it is a fantastic gift thereby perjuring yourself because everyone can see it is shittastic and you're being a twat (speaking of twats, it was my year nine maths/science teacher that alerted to me and maybe half of my class the true meaning of twat).

4. When you accidentally regift a really good present because you wrapped up the wrong one and thought you were giving away the teddy bear piggy bank (this was a real gift to me when I was younger. It would have been good if there was money accompanying said piggy bank but alas, there was not) when, in fact, you accidentally wrapped that super cool thingo that you always wanted and was a testament to your new relationship with that super sexy guy from work, Karl (NOT Karl Pilkington but Karl/Carl from Love, Actually, my first real man crush).

5. WHEN YOU REGIFT SOMEONE ELSE'S GIFT, NOT YOURS. IT WASN'T YOUR GIFT BUT YOU REGIFTED IT ANYWAYS, STUPID WHORE.

Who was that stupid whore, you ask? (Because you must realize by now that that last point was taken straight out of my own life and simply hologrammed onto this blog.) MY MOTHER. But she's not a whore. It's just a saying, guys.

The other night (after I worked nine hours... Yes, I know lots of people work that many hours regularly but this is for a girl that hasn't worked a real job in almost two years), I was in the car on the way to a family friend dinner party. I saw there in my mother's lap a box of Lindt (and Sprugli if we're being specific) chocolates.

Who doesn't love Lindt (and Sprugli), right?

"HANG ON," I thought to myself, persevering to maintain semi-coherent thought through my Officeworks-induced exhaustion. "THAT BOX OF LINDT (AND SPRUGLI) LOOKS A LOT LIKE THE BOX OF LINDT (AND SPRUGLI) GIFTED TO ME SO LOVINGLY BY MY TUTEES (AKA the girls I tutor. Is tutee the correct term? I think not)."

I turned to me madre. I could see the guilt in her eyes. Everything went sepia toned as the rage inside me built to a glorious roar.

"ARE THESE ME CHOCOLATES? DID YOU TAKE MY CHOCOLATES TO REGIFT THEM WITHOUT MY PERMISSION? WHAT THE WHAT."

I took that box of Lindt (and Sprugli) and ascertained from my mother that, indeed, they were the very box of chocolates given to me (alongside admiration and loyalty) from my two tutees just a few short weeks earlier.

I said to her, I says, "If you had asked me earlier, I would have said you could regift this box of precious chocolates... But because you didn't, I cannot allow this betrayal of trust to continue. I must take this box of chocolates back."

Determinedly, I tried to open the box of chocolates (to prove a point) and promptly RIPPED THE WHOLE BOX APART. I tell you, those boxes are like impenetrable fortresses (the antithesis of your mum, just so you know).

I gaped at said box. This was not my intention (I got so brave, drink in hand). There was nothing I could do. It was my plan all along to just make a fuss for my own amusement then allow the box to be regifted. Now, it was ruined.

There was egg on my face.

If this was a fable, there would be a moral to the story. In this case, I end with the following moral:

Lindt (and Sprugli) should endeavour to make more accessible chocolate boxes in the future to avoid further conflicts not dissimilar to this one.

That is all.

J

I Need New Black Flats

No energy to blog.

Today, I worked 8am-5pm. It was exhausting. Then I had an hour lunch break and didn't know what to do with myself. I met this sweet girl who is new too and we bonded over that. I found out she just graduated high school and felt mighty old. Goddamn, I'm almost not a teenager. Did you know I turn 20 in just over three months? Once I turn 20 I am no longer a teenager and hence not allowed to use that as an excuse for my many inadequacies.

Speaking of work... It's getting better and I actually kind of like it now. Bizarre. The girl I spoke of earlier (as in... about three sentences earlier) reminds me aesthetically a lot of a girl from high school whose name rhymes with Beara Miley (The Worst). I have told this story approximately 79 000 times and every time I bring it up, someone undoubtedly says, "I'VE HEARD THIS STORY LIKE 60 TIMES," but whatever, bitches. This is my life.

What happened was that in cooking class in year nine, I was walking with my bowl of egg wash and Beara Miley bumped into me and I spilled my egg wash on the ground. She said to me, "Watch where you're going next time," with this disgusting smirk on her punchable face. I wanted to sucker punch her in the uterine area and watch her writhe around in pain, the silly bitch. Henceforth, I hated and continue to hate Beara Fucking Miley with every fibre of my being.

So, this new girl at work (Zoe) is facially very similar to Beara Miley but is about the sweetest girl out. This creates conflicting feelings in me and I struggle through every conversation to not burst out with, "NO, YOU WATCH WHERE YOU'RE GOING."

Moving on (one day I'll get over this).

I got home about 30 minutes ago from a family friend dinner. It was boring but there was chocolate/coconut dipped strawberries and cherries.

Life is alright now. It's just kind of boring and I'm still wishing it would play out like a chick lit novel. Speaking of chick lit, I sat in the library the other day and read through the Princess Diaries 8. It was hilarious (I've never read a Princess Diaries book despite Meg Cabot being one of my favourite authors). I reflected on how shit funny Meg Cabot is and the brilliant things she comes up with. I don't care that it's unrealistic; it's escapism.

J