She seems particularly inebriated in this one:
I am enjoying it.
J
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.
Monday, November 4, 2013
Bon Appétempt
Ugh. I love this hobag so much:
I just keep laughing. Sometimes, I'm not sure what I'm laughing at but I just keep doing it anyway. Part of me thinks, "God, it's almost too good. I prefer the rawness/rawnitude of someone slightly less funny and therefore more endearing."
But then I think, "Shit, just shut up, J." Then I keep watching videos until whoops, it's exam today and I haven't studied more than half the material.
J
I just keep laughing. Sometimes, I'm not sure what I'm laughing at but I just keep doing it anyway. Part of me thinks, "God, it's almost too good. I prefer the rawness/rawnitude of someone slightly less funny and therefore more endearing."
But then I think, "Shit, just shut up, J." Then I keep watching videos until whoops, it's exam today and I haven't studied more than half the material.
J
Sunday, November 3, 2013
A Shocking Human Being
This R experience has taught me a lot. I used to think I had fabulous self-esteem. I used to describe myself as opinionated and egotistical, albeit in a half-joking way but still, I thought I was pretty damn great. But, as I reached the end of my teenage years and started uni, I sunk lower and lower until I couldn't imagine ever describing myself as opinionated and egotistical.
Sure, I was the same person with my close friends and those I'd known for a long time. But I was the opposite of who I felt like inside with people I didn't know well. I stopped answering questions in classes, stopped challenging myself, stopped wanting to be around people. I started seeing myself as stupid, ugly, fat, unattractive, unworthy of love (omg, cheesy), respect or admiration.
I've known this for a long time but honestly, it kind of came to a peak when I got to know R. I wanted, and still want, so badly for him to like me and want me as much as I wanted him. But, so many times, I second guessed myself and wondered whether I was good enough for him. Am I pretty enough? Am I smart enough? Am I nice enough? What would a great guy like him see in me? Shit, he's so good and I'm so terrible. Why would he even look twice at me?
I had very similar feelings during my Zeter Febbs interlude. Shit, what would such an intelligent, witty, tall human being want to do with a shrub like me? Whenever Little Mishelle or Big Michelle used to say, "You're too good for him," I used to think, "As if."
That will always hold me back if I think like that. How can anyone dare to be great if they only ever think of themselves as the lesser understudy?
J
Sure, I was the same person with my close friends and those I'd known for a long time. But I was the opposite of who I felt like inside with people I didn't know well. I stopped answering questions in classes, stopped challenging myself, stopped wanting to be around people. I started seeing myself as stupid, ugly, fat, unattractive, unworthy of love (omg, cheesy), respect or admiration.
I've known this for a long time but honestly, it kind of came to a peak when I got to know R. I wanted, and still want, so badly for him to like me and want me as much as I wanted him. But, so many times, I second guessed myself and wondered whether I was good enough for him. Am I pretty enough? Am I smart enough? Am I nice enough? What would a great guy like him see in me? Shit, he's so good and I'm so terrible. Why would he even look twice at me?
I had very similar feelings during my Zeter Febbs interlude. Shit, what would such an intelligent, witty, tall human being want to do with a shrub like me? Whenever Little Mishelle or Big Michelle used to say, "You're too good for him," I used to think, "As if."
That will always hold me back if I think like that. How can anyone dare to be great if they only ever think of themselves as the lesser understudy?
J
Dear Marcus
Dear Marcus "Flutie Tutie" Flutie,
I need to tell you something. I suspect you are the man of my dreams with your penchant for cryptic one liners, observational poetry (a new genre that will explode in the new future, I am sure), lanky limbs and hypersexual proclivities.
Remember when I remarked that your creator, Megan McCafferty, failed to describe the state of your forearms let alone describe them adequately in the way I desired? Well, she is released from my bad books as she has more than adequately described your "pelvic V." Yes, the very one Katy Perry described as being the most attractive part of the male physique. And yes, your pelvic V must be very amazing and, if you really did exist and if you existed in 2013 instead of 2002 (?) as in the books, I think we would be meant to be.
To hell with the rest of them. We could sit on car hoods and stare out into shimmering city lights atop some sort of lookout just 15 minutes out of whatever podunk American town we deigned to reside in. We would live the perfect American YA novel. We would fight and lose touch then make up. The sex would be explosive. We would have a pregnancy scare but, doowop, it would thankfully come to pass that I was not pregnant. But then, tragedy, as we would find out the I was infertile, never to carry child. Ever.
Alternatively, I really would be pregnant but then, in some sort of accident, I would lose the child. We would both be distraught as we would realize that, hoo, we actually do want to have that picture perfect suburban life with the two kids (or three, in my case), Subaru and corn on the cob. Albeit, in an ironic way.
Alas, you are already gone. I am reading you some 10 years after the fact. After your creation. After you came to pass and after you came to leave. I'll always treasure you, Flutie Tutie. You are a fine fictional character.
J
I need to tell you something. I suspect you are the man of my dreams with your penchant for cryptic one liners, observational poetry (a new genre that will explode in the new future, I am sure), lanky limbs and hypersexual proclivities.
Remember when I remarked that your creator, Megan McCafferty, failed to describe the state of your forearms let alone describe them adequately in the way I desired? Well, she is released from my bad books as she has more than adequately described your "pelvic V." Yes, the very one Katy Perry described as being the most attractive part of the male physique. And yes, your pelvic V must be very amazing and, if you really did exist and if you existed in 2013 instead of 2002 (?) as in the books, I think we would be meant to be.
To hell with the rest of them. We could sit on car hoods and stare out into shimmering city lights atop some sort of lookout just 15 minutes out of whatever podunk American town we deigned to reside in. We would live the perfect American YA novel. We would fight and lose touch then make up. The sex would be explosive. We would have a pregnancy scare but, doowop, it would thankfully come to pass that I was not pregnant. But then, tragedy, as we would find out the I was infertile, never to carry child. Ever.
Alternatively, I really would be pregnant but then, in some sort of accident, I would lose the child. We would both be distraught as we would realize that, hoo, we actually do want to have that picture perfect suburban life with the two kids (or three, in my case), Subaru and corn on the cob. Albeit, in an ironic way.
Alas, you are already gone. I am reading you some 10 years after the fact. After your creation. After you came to pass and after you came to leave. I'll always treasure you, Flutie Tutie. You are a fine fictional character.
J
The Hardest Part
I missed the best part from my story yesterday. As we were talking in the staff room at the very beginning of my shift, we started talking about all the crap we were having to buy to bring with us on our respective holidays/extended work/travel plans. He asked me where he should buy his clothes from as he doesn't go shopping very much. I asked him what he usually wears and where he buys his clothes from.
He was tentative.
"...Live?" he said. Oh R, I sympathize. When people ask me where I bought a certain item of clothing from, I suddenly become very self-conscious of my style choices. Will they judge me for my devotion to K-Mart (or my recent shift towards Target)?
"Why don't you just buy your clothes from there then?" I asked.
"I don't know..."
"Well, what do you usually wear?" I asked him. We were standing close (I am exaggerating the proximity of our closeness to convey the primal urges I felt at this time. They were manifesting themselves as delusional thoughts).
"Like, those shirts with the things," he said.
"..."
"You know!" he said. "Those button up shirts with the pattern."
"Pattern?"
"Like, the little squares and stuff."
"Plaid?" I asked, as tentative as he had initially been. In my mind, I was screaming, "PLAID? PLAID? DO YOU MEAN PLAID? DO YOU MEAN PLAID?"
"Yeah! I think that's what it's called. Plaid."
Well, well, well. I sized him up, sized him down, sized him sideways.
"You should buy more plaid shirts then," I said with all the authority in the world. "Plaid is a universal style. Stick with plaid."
"Yeah, I think I will," he said. We smiled at each other and I left the staff room to start my shift.
J
He was tentative.
"...Live?" he said. Oh R, I sympathize. When people ask me where I bought a certain item of clothing from, I suddenly become very self-conscious of my style choices. Will they judge me for my devotion to K-Mart (or my recent shift towards Target)?
"Why don't you just buy your clothes from there then?" I asked.
"I don't know..."
"Well, what do you usually wear?" I asked him. We were standing close (I am exaggerating the proximity of our closeness to convey the primal urges I felt at this time. They were manifesting themselves as delusional thoughts).
"Like, those shirts with the things," he said.
"..."
"You know!" he said. "Those button up shirts with the pattern."
"Pattern?"
"Like, the little squares and stuff."
"Plaid?" I asked, as tentative as he had initially been. In my mind, I was screaming, "PLAID? PLAID? DO YOU MEAN PLAID? DO YOU MEAN PLAID?"
"Yeah! I think that's what it's called. Plaid."
Well, well, well. I sized him up, sized him down, sized him sideways.
"You should buy more plaid shirts then," I said with all the authority in the world. "Plaid is a universal style. Stick with plaid."
"Yeah, I think I will," he said. We smiled at each other and I left the staff room to start my shift.
J
Saturday, November 2, 2013
Cardiac Arrest (Be Still, My Beating Heart)
"Sup," I said to him as I walked into the staff room. I didn't expect him there already. I thought his shift started at 12pm, not 11am. But there he was, lounging yet again. He does love to lounge.
"Not much," he said. "How are you?"
"Good," I said.
And so it began. As we were closing up at the end of the day, I said to him and some of the other guys, "Guess what? I can do the pallet jack now. Kyle showed me."
"Really?" they all said, evidently impressed by my impressive physical abilities.
"Yeah!"
"Come on, then," R said. "Show me."
So, I went with him. We spent 15 blissful minutes together as he helped me bring in the pallets from outside. Him somewhat tutoring me in the art of pallet jacking (off); I had previously exaggerated my jacking abilities. I made my "pallet jack off" joke and he laughed for long enough to convince me that he found it legitimately funny.
It was exactly like in the books. The guy teaching the girl some new skill. The girl melting at the knowledgeable voice and words of the guy. The guy saying words of encouragement, so sweet and tender in his patience. Every one of his smiles, his chuckles, his gentle instructions, never pushy, impatient or mean, sent me closer to the edge.
Is this the perfect closure to this chapter of my life? Only a few Saturday shifts to go. Only a few more times to look into this brown eyes and bask in that glorious smile.
Later, as we were officially closed for the day, an older gentleman carrying a little quarter Asian baby walked in. I was off closing up one of the registers so watched from afar. R, smiling widely, went to hold the baby. His niece, I presumed. If I had the balls, I would have jumped him right there and then. It took a lot of self-control to fight those urges to procreate with him and create our own quarter Asian babies.
The older gentleman and Ryan carrying the baby left soon after.
"Bye!" he said. He seemed so happy to be holding the baby. I've spoken to him about his niece before and he's so obviously in love with the baby. It is goddamn beautiful.
"You're holding a baby!" I said with a laugh. "Whose is it?"
"It's my..." he struggled to find the words. "sister's baby. My niece."
"I thought you were going to say it was yours!" I said.
"Better hope not!" the older gentleman said, laughing as well. I guess he is R's father.
It was a blissful afternoon shift.
J
"Not much," he said. "How are you?"
"Good," I said.
And so it began. As we were closing up at the end of the day, I said to him and some of the other guys, "Guess what? I can do the pallet jack now. Kyle showed me."
"Really?" they all said, evidently impressed by my impressive physical abilities.
"Yeah!"
"Come on, then," R said. "Show me."
So, I went with him. We spent 15 blissful minutes together as he helped me bring in the pallets from outside. Him somewhat tutoring me in the art of pallet jacking (off); I had previously exaggerated my jacking abilities. I made my "pallet jack off" joke and he laughed for long enough to convince me that he found it legitimately funny.
It was exactly like in the books. The guy teaching the girl some new skill. The girl melting at the knowledgeable voice and words of the guy. The guy saying words of encouragement, so sweet and tender in his patience. Every one of his smiles, his chuckles, his gentle instructions, never pushy, impatient or mean, sent me closer to the edge.
Is this the perfect closure to this chapter of my life? Only a few Saturday shifts to go. Only a few more times to look into this brown eyes and bask in that glorious smile.
Later, as we were officially closed for the day, an older gentleman carrying a little quarter Asian baby walked in. I was off closing up one of the registers so watched from afar. R, smiling widely, went to hold the baby. His niece, I presumed. If I had the balls, I would have jumped him right there and then. It took a lot of self-control to fight those urges to procreate with him and create our own quarter Asian babies.
The older gentleman and Ryan carrying the baby left soon after.
"Bye!" he said. He seemed so happy to be holding the baby. I've spoken to him about his niece before and he's so obviously in love with the baby. It is goddamn beautiful.
"You're holding a baby!" I said with a laugh. "Whose is it?"
"It's my..." he struggled to find the words. "sister's baby. My niece."
"I thought you were going to say it was yours!" I said.
"Better hope not!" the older gentleman said, laughing as well. I guess he is R's father.
It was a blissful afternoon shift.
J
Friday, November 1, 2013
Jessica, Darling!
I am in the process of reading the Jessica Darling series by Megan McCafferty. Have you heard of this series? I went into this reading experience off my recent The Princess Diaries high and expecting something similar. Kind of childish but still, there's nothing quite like Meg Cabot's ample, swoonworthy (haven't used that word in a while) descriptions of Michael Moscovitz's forearms. Word, Meg. Word.
Well, let me say that Sloppy Firsts, the first book in the series, is nothing like what I imagined. It might even be better. It's kind of hard to say. For one thing, there is a satisfying amount of profanity, references to masturbation, sex, statutory rape, shitty parents, drug overdoses. But it's all wrapped up in a package that has been delivered across the street from the usual The Princess Diaries-type tween scene books.
While it has plenty of darker tones, it's still injected with enough humour and teenage romanticism to please both sides of me. The side that loves reading about the dark, dreary and depressing and the side that will sit in a dark corner and read about Michael Moscovitz's forearms for eight hours in a row.
Then there is Marcus Flutie. Marcus Flutie is the main romantic interest (as far as I can tell). What can I say about Marcus Flutie? Well, he's no Michael Moscovitz (there have been no remarks on the appearance of his forearms so I can't comment in that regard. But he has not invented any robotic arms for cardiac surgery yet so I think my judgment is fair). He's a little Jess Mariano meets Rob from 1800-Missing-You (another classic Cabot series) meets Macon from How to Deal (the movie adaptation starring the Benjamin Button-esque Mandy Moore) meets someone from Dawson's Creek I'm sure (I have only watched a handful of Dawson's Creek episodes but he feels like he would fit in that creek).
I will tell you how the rest goes. So far, I am enjoying it.
J
Well, let me say that Sloppy Firsts, the first book in the series, is nothing like what I imagined. It might even be better. It's kind of hard to say. For one thing, there is a satisfying amount of profanity, references to masturbation, sex, statutory rape, shitty parents, drug overdoses. But it's all wrapped up in a package that has been delivered across the street from the usual The Princess Diaries-type tween scene books.
While it has plenty of darker tones, it's still injected with enough humour and teenage romanticism to please both sides of me. The side that loves reading about the dark, dreary and depressing and the side that will sit in a dark corner and read about Michael Moscovitz's forearms for eight hours in a row.
Then there is Marcus Flutie. Marcus Flutie is the main romantic interest (as far as I can tell). What can I say about Marcus Flutie? Well, he's no Michael Moscovitz (there have been no remarks on the appearance of his forearms so I can't comment in that regard. But he has not invented any robotic arms for cardiac surgery yet so I think my judgment is fair). He's a little Jess Mariano meets Rob from 1800-Missing-You (another classic Cabot series) meets Macon from How to Deal (the movie adaptation starring the Benjamin Button-esque Mandy Moore) meets someone from Dawson's Creek I'm sure (I have only watched a handful of Dawson's Creek episodes but he feels like he would fit in that creek).
I will tell you how the rest goes. So far, I am enjoying it.
J
Thursday, October 31, 2013
40:60
Well, I've officially lost 9kg. That's 1kg away from my 10kg goal that I set when I embarked on this whole Healthy Lifestyle Challenge. That began in mid-April. In the time that has passed since then, I think I've become slightly addicted to trying to be healthy. I'm a naturally competitive person so doing this has been like competing with myself. Can I overcome my own desires and weaknesses?
The answer is yes. But I still love ice cream. And I continue to squirrel away a lot, a lot, of food in the freezer and my bra drawer. My bra drawer is now 40% bras, 60% chocolate.
J
The answer is yes. But I still love ice cream. And I continue to squirrel away a lot, a lot, of food in the freezer and my bra drawer. My bra drawer is now 40% bras, 60% chocolate.
J
Wednesday, October 30, 2013
The State of Our Teens
Hooligans. The lot of them. Pot smoking, pubescent sex having, cyber bullying animals. Savages. I am, naturally, referring to the fact that the girl I tutor, the fruit of my loins (wow, where did that come from? I mean the subject of my intellectual molding) has never watched Centre Stage.
I know. She has never even heard of it. Who? What? Wear? How does that even happen? I was lost for words and then became very upset. A whole new generation of teens, tweens and pre-menarche chitlings having never seen what is maybe the greatest dance movie of all time.
This is the movie that taught us what the mouse said to the elephant ("Take it all, bitch!"). This is the movie that taught us that even if your feet don't point out properly, you can STILL become a sick ballerina and get offered some sort of scholarship (I never really understood what that last bit was about). This is the movie that taught us that your dance teacher probably also goes to an alternative, highly metropolitan, "street dance" facility where he wear sweatpants that lets everywhere see a distinct outline of his scrotal sacks (I mean, really. It's indecent to have such perfectly formed spheres of love). This is the movie that taught us that ballet can make simulated sex super classy and of great sophistication.
THIS IS THE MOVIE THAT TAUGHT US TO NEVER NAME OUR DAUGHTERS MAUREEN (for two reasons. Firstly, she will become a bitchy bulimic. Secondly, it's a superbly ugly name).
I think I've lost 50% of my faith in the new generation. And I also feel super old.
J
I know. She has never even heard of it. Who? What? Wear? How does that even happen? I was lost for words and then became very upset. A whole new generation of teens, tweens and pre-menarche chitlings having never seen what is maybe the greatest dance movie of all time.
This is the movie that taught us what the mouse said to the elephant ("Take it all, bitch!"). This is the movie that taught us that even if your feet don't point out properly, you can STILL become a sick ballerina and get offered some sort of scholarship (I never really understood what that last bit was about). This is the movie that taught us that your dance teacher probably also goes to an alternative, highly metropolitan, "street dance" facility where he wear sweatpants that lets everywhere see a distinct outline of his scrotal sacks (I mean, really. It's indecent to have such perfectly formed spheres of love). This is the movie that taught us that ballet can make simulated sex super classy and of great sophistication.
THIS IS THE MOVIE THAT TAUGHT US TO NEVER NAME OUR DAUGHTERS MAUREEN (for two reasons. Firstly, she will become a bitchy bulimic. Secondly, it's a superbly ugly name).
I think I've lost 50% of my faith in the new generation. And I also feel super old.
J
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