Today's the Day

Today, work was rough as hell. I was on my feet for five hours straight and didn't get a break. I got interrogated by a man about lying to him about whether I'd really checked that we had something in stock (I did check... but half-assed). In spite of all of this, I feel incredibly happy right now.

I feel so lucky to have my family, my friends, security, opportunity, education and hot cups of tea. I got up this morning, did an early 40 minute workout  (I don't want to alarm anyone but my planking is pretty impressive now), ate peach and mango yoghurt (the best flavour of non-Chobani yoghurts) and spent a little time studying. I felt so serene through it all. I saw R at work for a few minutes today. He bought crayons for his niece. It was adorable.

J

My Epic Return to Vlogging

You may start this video and think to yourself, "I think my headphones are broken," or, "I think she took a video without recording any sound." In both of these cases, you would be wrong. The solution is to simply turn the volume up very, very loudly or press your ear to your speakers and hold your breath.



J

I'm Feeling Yummy, Head to Toe

As it happens, and with Sarah's help, I have recently discovered that Co-op Man was not hitting on me but was, in fact, Overly Friendly Co-op Man. Conundrum. Even those of substandard attractiveness are not attracted to me, despite being a nubile, young Asian female. What more is there to offer?

With such reasoning, I believe it to be my various negative qualities that are impeding my ability to find a suitable (or at least adequate) mating partner. They are as follows:

1. I get nose bleeds constantly. It's like my nose has its own menstrual cycle. At least once a month, my nose starts gushing blood. Then every time I wash my face or sneeze, out more gushes. No one wants a girlfriend whose nose is constantly bleeding. It's just not sexy.

2. My face could double as a helipad. It's breadth rivals conventional metric systems. This would be inconvenient for make-out sessions (yes, I'm going there) as various flying transportation vehicles would be competing for my face. Additionally, it would be difficult to accurately aim kisses at my mouth (or eyelids if we're being particularly sensual... Kisses on my sun-dappled eyelids. It's early October, the grass is glistening with the morning's dew...) given the proportions of my face.

3. I laugh at inappropriate times.

"Junaberry, my mum..."
"Har har, I know! She's a cad!"
"... is dead."
"... I'm sorry. That must be hard." (I learnt that technique from FCP)

4. I've never been clubbing, gotten drunk, worn a dress shorter than my hoo haa (that's what all the boys want or so I hear) and the only concert I've ever been to is Taylor Swift. I fear that when I get famous from writing an epic series about Love in the Time of Cholera (oops...) and go on Graham Norton or Jimmy Faloon, they will ask me what my first concert was and I will have to say Taylor Swift.

5. It's 8.11am and I'm in the science library. Writing this.

J

Fan Tail

It is my best friend of 11 years' 20th birthday today. 11 years is a really long time to know somebody let alone be best friends with them. I feel supa fake when I sing somebody's praises (mostly because I'm generally more vocal about my critical judgments) but I will just say that... Little Mishelle is a super cool person. I would legitimately trust her with my life and I hope she would trust me with hers (risky, to be honest).

My mum left for Malaysia this afternoon. To visit family/for a holiday. She was reluctant to go because she's having family troubles. My grandpa has been living with my second auntie for many years now, ever since my grandma passed away. As you've heard me complain about many times before, he's not the most hygienic lad and is generally quite messy. Unfortunately, the relationship between my auntie and my grandpa (and consequently between my auntie and her other siblings) is very strained at the moment and has been for a while. I think it's a combination of his messy habits and also being basically dumped with this responsibility.

It's perhaps mean to call looking after my grandpa a responsibility but it really is. My first auntie is very rich and very reluctant to have my grandpa stay with her because he is so unhygienic and her house is some kind of pristine castle. My uncle lives in Melbourne and we live in Perth. Apparently, my second auntie barely talks to my grandpa anymore. They don't really acknowledge him and want to send him to a nursing home. However, he refuses to because he isn't sick, is still very mobile and I guess it's considered dishonourable or whatever to send your parent to a nursing home when it isn't absolutely necessary.

It's very unfortunate. I sometime struggle with controlling my more negative feelings when my grandpa comes to stay. Things like simple hygiene and other general bad habits can make me very resentful. I know it's wrong because he is very, very old (93 next year) and therefore these bad habits are very much ingrained in him. I try to bear in mind that he's a good person and is generally a good grandpa. However, I can definitely understand why my auntie and her family have grown so resentful of having him stay so long with them. I feel sorry for them and sorry for my grandpa too. I can't imagine what it must feel like to live somewhere where it's so obvious that you're not wanted there.

I hope some resolution can come about soon. Honestly, I think having him live in a nursing home would be most beneficial because I can't see him staying at my auntie's house getting any better. I know he would be unhappy with this arrangement, mostly because of how he would think others would perceive it, but I feel like being around people his age and having more stimulus would be better for him.

J

I Hope I'm Not Pregnant

I think I got hit on by the guy working at the Co-op today. Either that or he's just a really weird guy. As I was purchasing my Medical Pharmacology unit reader (I know, late as usual... I hope I'm not pregnant. I stole that line from Lorelai Gilmore), he said to me, "If you're looking for a husband, I make really good coffee." I kind of just stared at him for a moment because I was focussed on making sure I had chosen the least imperfect unit reader (no scuff marks, no bent corners etc.). I was confused.

He smiled at me. I smiled back in a knee jerk reaction. Like how I always say hi back to young hooligans who say hello to me on the street. You reply so as to not get shivved. These are dangerous streets, you hear.

He then started talking about Desperate Housewives as a follow-on from his comment about him making a good husband. He compared himself to Eva Longoria and I said that probably reflects his character.
"Are you taking psych?" he asked.
"Um, no," I said and started trying to shuffle away. He kept talking even though I was halfway out the door and I felt bad. I tossed a smile back then scurried away.

IT WAS FUCKING AWESOME.

Well, it would have been better if he wasn't kind of ugly and generally displeasing to the/my eye. That's so rude of me to say. He was perfectly adequate (for another girl). He was aged though whereas I am a fresh peach that requires a similarly fresh fruit, ripe for the picking.

I came back to edit this post to tell you about this perfectly adequate guy who let me get off the bus before him.
"After you," he said with the most charming of smiles. I'm not going to lie; I looked at his back for five minutes as we walked in the same direction from the bus port. I have fallen in love with Bus Boy. We are to be wed this coming summer. Hydrangeas will be our flower of choice.

He will be the persimmon to my peach, the kiwi to my grape, the cherry to my pop.

J

The Curious Case of the Buttons

After much discussion across the internet (well, mostly ontd but hell, that's half the internet already), I came to the conclusion a while ago that Taylor Swift got breast implants. A breast augmentation. An augmentation of the chesticles. A chesticular enlargement.

I don't really have any feelings about this. I do sometimes wonder what it would be like to have chesticular implants. I suspect I would be touching my boobs 24/7 and just marvelling at how bizarre it is. I hope she is happy.

She looked super fine at the VMAs:

As the Go Fug Yourself girls recognized, it is slightly trying too hard. But I still think she looks amazing. It's so easy to judge harshly form behind a computer screen but I imagine that seeing her in person would have been phenomenal. The height, the hair, the new breasts. 

J

An Open Letter You Will Never Read

Dear Person,

I promise I am not a mean person. I promise that I do smile and I'm very fond of laughing. A family trait, Catherine Bingley says. I'm three sentences in and have already digressed.

The point is, I am not a mean person. I usually think nice thoughts. Yes, I can be very judgmental but I keep these things to myself and readily recognize my own faults. When you see me walk past you and not make eye contact, stop to chat or do more than flash a small smile, it's not because I hate you. It's not because I think you're not worthy of my time. It's because I'm scared that if I do anything more than that, I will be rejected. It's because I'm scared you won't remember who I am and it will be awkward. It's because I'm scared you'll think I'm being clingy and weird.

If I could go through life without being seen by anybody, to be the very definition of a wallflower, I think I would.

J

A Word on Wraps

Firstly, what's the deal with them being so expensive? I bought the cheapest pack of wraps I could find at Woolworths the other day. $5 for a pack of eight wholemeal wraps. I think they were Mission brand. Seriously? $5 for eight wraps? I could buy 1.5 loaves of bread with $5 and make many, many sandwiches instead.

Secondly, I have mastered the art of wrapping. I used to find it so difficult. Things would be spilling all over the place (out the sides, out the ends, down my pants). Forget about it holding any degree of structural integrity after taking a bite. But now, my friends, I am a master of the wrap. No longer a Padawan; I am a Jedi master of the wrap. Hand me a wrap and see magic happen. The trick? Keep it tight. Seriously, compress the filling as tight as you can when you wrap and it comes out looking like one of those store-bought wraps where you wonder if they have some sort of wrapping machine because, fuck me, it looks perfect.

Thirdly, I love cooked carrots. I mean, I like raw carrot sticks too but cooked carrots trump raw carrot any day. My favourite way is to microwave/steam them (just to speed up the process) then pan fry them with curry powder, salt and pepper. It is incredibly random but so fast and delicious. It's mostly because I love curry with carrots in them so this is the next best thing (that doesn't take three hours to cook). Today, I shredded carrots then pan fried them with curry powder, salt and pepper. They were delicious in my wrap and far better than if I had just put raw shredded carrot on my wrap.

We also have no lettuce so I've been eating one huge carrot a day.

J

The Neighbour's Kid

The neighbour has a kid. Well, he has two kids but I will mainly focus on the older child. A boy in year two. He has a name that I will not divulge on here and you will soon see why.

See, the neighbour's kid is what I call a "psychopath." He puts on this eerily deep voice whenever he talks. I know it's not his natural voice because no boy of that age has a voice that deep. He makes it purposefully gruff and as manly as possible. He once stole the pruning knife my mum was using to weed the garden with when she went to get something from the shed. Do I want to know what he subsequently did with that knife? Well, yes. But I imagine he probably buried it in his backyard so that the dog of the next family who lives in that house will dig it up and have his face cut open, not unlike the Joker.

They will call the dog Joker. Because he got his face cut up, not unlike the Joker. It makes sense if you think about it.

Choosing other weird shit that this kid has done is difficult because there's so many choices. I was once taking a semi-nap/resting on my bed. Suddenly, a voice right outside my window in a creepy, deep voice said, "Hello!"
Naturally, I was startled and counteracted with a high pitched, "Hello?"

It was the kid. He ran off. I was scarred for life. What if I had been changing? Sometimes, I change with my window open but I hide around the corner so no one can actually see me from the window. But sometimes, whilst putting my tight jeans on, I will fall over and subsequently fall into view from my window open. This is a dangerous practice but hell, it is my house and people really shouldn't be looking in my bedroom window.

Except this kid thinks it's okay to peep into women's bedroom windows (notice how I refer to myself as a woman because that's what I am now).

I have watched numerous episodes of Criminal Minds and believe this kid to be a psychopath. He's like that kid in that episode who forced a model aeroplane down his little brother's throat. The little brother then died. The BAU saved the day... except the little brother was already dead so they technically didn't save anyone. I fear for the sister of my neighbour's kid. She seems like a sweet girl and I hear him bossing her around constantly. Should I set up a telescope that looks into their house to ensure he does not shove model aeroplanes down her throat when his parents aren't watching? I think that would be wise and very legal.

The neighbour's kid also has a mini golf set. He once sent a golf ball flying as hard as he could into our yard. Its trajectory very nearly encountered our window. I am concerned for my safety and everyone who lives on my street's safety. I feel this calls for a Neighbourhood Watch meeting entitled "The Neighbour's Kid: Should we be worried?" I will provide the snacks and will also employ people to keep the kid occupied whilst we decide how to best handle this very volatile situation.

Please pray for me.

J

Applicable Maths

Jumping squats and lunges. It's like what Jenny Humphrey always says... you "make me wanna die."

Alternatively, as P!nk says, "Thighs on fire, thighs on fire and they burn from all the tears."

J