The sad thing is, I’m just as guilty of it as anyone else. I have been known to seek out the truth, and return completely dissatisfied with what I have discovered. Then again, I’m an extremely paranoid person, so most of the time, the truth ends up being better than I expect. But I’m a messed up person, and shouldn’t be considered a constant representative of the majority. 

I bring this up because I have had a number of ugly incidents concerning the damn ‘truth’ over the past couple of weeks. People opening up, people giving warnings, and people just letting things slip every now and again. I’ve even been threatened with what people believe is the ‘truth’. No, not blackmail, but something slightly more sinister. And, to obviously solve one problem, a truth must be matched with a truth. Therefore, it only makes sense that I present what I have on the table. After all, what else can the power of control over a blog for one day with a limited audience be used for except to proclaim such truths every now and again? So here comes my public statement. If this means nothing to you, then excuse me. If this does mean something to you, then you’ll understand what I’m saying.

I’m a flawed person. We’re all flawed people. Everyone has their mistakes, and – not to isolate other religions by stating this – we must all take up our cross and bear these errors of judgement in life. And I am prepared to do so. Through a folly that was not my own to begin with, I have been reduced to a source of scandal that I fear may do some damage. I hope to find that most of you are confused with what I am saying. Because you don’t really know what’s happening. That’s good, I like this. And I don’t intend on telling you, as that is a truth for another day. But what I will say is, talk what ever the hell you want. I give you a free pass to judge me as you will. After a pleasant chat the other day, I have decided that I am willing to accept the position in life that I seem to be doomed to take on. And I think that’s a fair bit more than a lot of people are prepared to do, don’t you? 

Indeed, I’m learning to move on. Let the wrath of whatever may come attack. Because, the other night I was thinking over it, and I thought desperately of how to act. And each time I thought of solution, it lead to “How?” and then, “I don’t know.” So I picked up the phone, and thought about who to call. And then I came with a sudden realisation: I had people to call. And I think I still would. Even if whatever harsh attack was thrown at me, I still feel as if I could pick up the phone. In addition, I think that’s all I need for this. The people you love are the most vital thing in the world.

That comes onto my next topic: those you love. I care deeply about the close people in my life, and they will always know this. And yes, I’ve recently been severely hurt by what I felt was a foul return of said affections. Humiliated, patronised and very well betrayed, I think it’s safe to say that it’s been a bumpy ride. But that’s the harsh truth in life: people hurt you. If you can say that you have always picked right, that you have never been scarred by a friend, or that you have never done so yourself, then you’re lying. People hurt other people. Who knows why, and I care not to ask, not wishing for the human race to belittle itself any further. But I know this much now. The people who you love and who love you will not always been your guardian angel. The people who know you the best can hurt you the most. But they come back, if they want to. If you really think that a good friend cares deeply about the friendship, then you should expect them to return. If not, then that’s another pain in life I’m willing to take. 

The truth hurts on the most part, ladies and gentlemen. It’s rare that you really find a ‘good truth’. One the won’t hurt somebody, or cause anguish. But they exist. The person on the other side of the room who’ll never say, ‘I love you’; the first people who realise that you made it; or just that one human who wants to know if they’ll ever have to guys to admit that they’re sorry. I know I’m guilty of all of these are more. 

So there seems to be a more sombre post for this week. You’ll have to excuse me for that – it just seems to be in my mood. Have a pleasant weekend, everyone, and I’ll be back next week. 

Aim For Next Week: Tell any ‘good truth’ you can think of. It can be quick and painless, but I think we all need a few nice surprises in our immediate future. Agreed? 

I actually have a few addictions like these. Let me explain:

• High Heels: You can go on all you want about the bad things it could do to my feet, or the impracticably, but I’m buying them. They are like works of art to me, they make my legs look longer, and it can make an entire outfit. As for the pain, well my feet haven’t been aware of blisters until the shoe comes off since 2004/5. No big deal…

• Friends: When you get in a fight with a friend, you automatically aren’t speaking to them until one or the other apologises. And, unless it’s just plain obvious, you never think it’s your fault (with me it usually isn’t – shut up). Still, you can’t help but think of a joke you know they’d like, or a piece of gossip that really only means something to them, or an update on a secret you’ve hardly told anyone. Suddenly, the problem seems like such a small issue. But you have your pride. After a certain point, you find it hard to apologise, even when you know full well you’re in the wrong now/you realise you actually don’t really give a sh*t about what they’ve done. Painful days goes by until finally you sit next to them, and the awkward small-talk-followed-by-emotional-chit-chat can begin.
• Chocolate in a bad mood: You hate the calories, and the good stuff is bloody expensive. But, for women anyway, it’s been proven to trigger some of the same chemicals and hormones in the body as sex. In other words: it makes us feel f*cking good. The taste of that good stuff is divine, and when you’re mending a wounded heart while watching a tearjerker, it really is the cherry on top. That’s probably why most people walk over to Wellcome when they’re pissed off, even though they lose their nerve – for fear of losing cash/appearing to eat too much – and go for water and some haribo, for the adventurous ones, that is. 
• Gossip: From one of my previous blogs, you know I do like to gossip, regardless of the dangers. People blab, Chinese whispers can form, and – worse of all – something about you could be spreading. Me, I usually find that most of the gossip is bullshit about me. I’m one of those people who has the average stuff heightened, and the good stuff never revealed to the public. I suppose I can thank my amazing friends, for keeping their lips sealed so well. Well, I hope I can. Same went for my sister. A quick runner from Heathrow airport (which actually only involved her looking to see no-one was there, and speed walking out of the place) turned into a pregnancy scare, and engagement, and a studded boy on a motorcycle. But that in itself was fun to gossip about. And obviously there’s good gossip. 
• Men: OK, I was on-and-off about writing this. It seems that we can’t directly talk about it, but I’ve decided to. After all, it’s one of the female gender’s biggest addictions. In fact, it is the female gender’s biggest addiction. The straight ones with hormones who have not had sex yet, anyway. Crushes are dominant, and they’re painful. And the fact is – not wanting to isolate any male readers – you’re all bloody idiots. But somehow, our hormones are saying that we should be attracted to men, and so we are. Therefore, women are doomed to spend eternity going, ‘What the f*ck just happened there?’, ‘And I like this guy?’ etc. 

OK, I was planning on rounding it off there. But the new-found liberation of being able to talk about this taboo subject – you don’t realise how long women have been hiding this conversation from you – I’m free. Free to moan and rant. Because my blog just wouldn’t be the same without some ranting. 

Because of this new found freedom, I have compiled two more lists. Get ready, boys, because this is for you. Women, feel free to nod a long while playing angsty/romantic songs – depends on your mood.

1. WHAT MEN SHOULD KNOW:

• We’re hypocrites. On the one hand, we talk about this new generation where women can ask out men, blah blah blah. But, most of us anyway, have tried out this business of telling men how we feel, and attempting to be the dominant one of a relationship. And you know what? Most of the time, it sucks. So, now we have the wisdom, we’ve naturally gone back to the old way. Animal instinct, really. Plus, it shows that if you’re committed to asking us out, you’ll be more committed to the relationship. So, if you fancy a girl, chances are she’ll say nothing at this point. 
• The eye contact problem. This is a real big issue. Yes, if a girl makes eye contact with you a lot, it probably does mean that she likes you. However, if a girl catches you looking at her, the glances that follow could be us double-checking whether or not you’re looking at us. Girls are naturally insecure creatures. Don’t give me this bullshit about how you’re confident with yourself. If there is nothing  that you’re worried about, then you’re not human. So someone looking at us can be unnerving. So, don’t be a cocky git parading about the place about how we like you, because you could end up looking like a complete prick. If you like the eye-contact and want more, there’s only one thing to do, isn’t there? Refer to previous point & I intend on going more into the eye contact thing at a later date. 
• It’s not you, it’s your friends. One of the sole reasons for breaking up with a boy is how we see them in front of their friends. You’re sweet and funny when you’re alone, but then you hang out with your guys and all of a sudden, a nastier and more immature side comes out. We’re not telling you to leave your friends, but it does piss us off. When we hang out with you, we want the you you, just to know what we’re actually getting. We’re not into skitsos, and we’re not going to put up with it for ever. If you don’t think you can commit to that, how can you commit to a relationship? 
• The swearing and shouting is not cool. I know this is slightly hypocritical of me, but there’s a huge difference between using the f word frequently, and yelling on about ‘pussies’ etc. On that note, ‘pussies’ has to be one of the most disgusting words in my mind. It’s ruined the safe meaning for me. If you want to talk about it, how much you wank etc etc, you don’t need to do it where all can here. We don’t go shouting about who likes cock, do we? Though whether or not that would actually offend you, I’m not too sure of. 
• Just to address my first point again. Playing hard to get is fun in the first couple of weeks/month, but after that, it gets real old. If you want us, DO SOMETHING FOR F*CKS’S SAKE. You know what, screw the asterisks, this is more important. FUCKING DO SOMETHING! I don’t think you realise how often some girls hang around each other trying to read you. Then you have a whole load of mates telling the girl that he blatantly likes her, but she’s there going, ‘What the fuck?’ For Pete’s sake, I’ve seen some of you go on ledges that could lead to serious injuries, but you won’t go a girl and ask her if she wants to go to the cinema after a year of doting? You know what? Give us your testicles, if you’re not going to use them.
• That stupid laugh we loathe so much, is called a giggle. When a girl likes a boy, it is an inevitable fact that we will giggle at least once. It’s us trying to change our voice from our usual laugh to a more attractive one, even though it fails most of the time. Do not judge our giggle, but accept it, and move on. 
• We like to get your attention through clothing, makeup and hair. Once in a while, a stinking compliment wouldn’t hurt anyone. 
• Teasing, is a good thing. To a certain extent. We don’t just tease the ones we like, since we’d be kinda screwed there. But the play fights, the arm hitting, the ‘shut ups’ because we’ve forgotten how to make up a witty argument. These are all good signs. We’re not being mean to you. We just find it cute when you get embarrassed. Because it is. It’s friggen adorable, actually. There, I said it! 
• However, teasing can hurt. As we said, we’re insecure creatures. If you start saying something, and we look put off, stop immediately. Doesn’t matter whether you have a crush on said girl, or not. If we start talking in a serious voice, and aren’t being playful anymore, it means you’re pushing it. We would do the same for you, it’s just something to think about. 

2. WHAT WOMEN WOULD LIKE TO KNOW:

• Why do you guys find toilet humour funny, even to this day? I thought I’d just throw that one out there. 
• How can a girl tell that a boy likes them? We can discuss it all we like, but frankly I’m getting kind of fed up, so I’m addressing that one to you.
• Once and for all: what was on that fucking list? (Only GSIS boys really apply to this one). We’ve tried not to care, but every conversation on the matter goes like so:

Person 1: You hear about the guys making that list where they rated the girls?

Person 2: I know it’s so pathetic. I mean, to judge women like that. And they think they’re impressive for it.

Person 1: I know.

*Pause*

Person 2/1: But I really want to know where I came.

Other person: Yeah… 

• When you watch Megan Fox, do you actually pay any attention to her acting? 
• When you ask a girl out, why do you hardly ever make it obvious that you are actually asking us out? What’s with all the ‘Yeah, we should hang out some time…’ I don’t think you realise how much it affects our outfit choice. 
• If you could be one animal, what would it be?  What really happens in the PE changing rooms? Because for some reason, explanations in the past always leads to some kind of homoerotic ending. Don’t ask why, it just does.
• The secret of your fast metabolism. We want it. 
• Again, to the GSIS boys. Girls, I’m going in for one of our greatest mysteries here. So, you guys really physically CAN’T not play basketball at least once a day? Because, I’m not going to lie to you, we’re slightly lost. It’s not that you’re not – all – good, it’s just that we wonder sometimes whether some of the things you do IS trying to be impressive, but it kind of… well… fails.
• On that note. Why does everyone have to ‘own’ everyone? Where did that saying even come from? 
• Again, on that note. You do realise that you sound really cocky when you say it, yes? We’re just checking. 
• Older women. Myth or fact? 
• Do you do your own shopping? I know that  it’s moved onto fun stuff, but I’m curious. Because you guys seem to be very anti shopping and styling – most of your outfits tell us so – but it must happen form time to time? 
• If you could be one animal - A classical novel you like? Just name one, and we’ll leave you alone. 

I’m going to stop there, seen as I’ve made my longest blog so far. My final words on the matter – before the aim, anyway – will be a quote I found fairly interesting.

“The man who can smile when things go wrong has thought of someone else he can blame it on.” -Robert Bloch

OK, that’s not the quote, but you have to admit, it’s a good one.

“What’s with you men? Would hair stop growing on your chest if you asked directions somewhere?” -Erma Bombeck

No, seriously this time: 

“I don’t know why women want any of the things men have when one the things that women have is men.” – Coco Chanel

Aim For Next Week: One romantic act. It doesn’t have to be something significant but men, give us hope. Women, just do it to see if they notice!

Till next week x

A couple of days ago, I spent the last of my pocket money on Mogu Mogu Lychee Drink w/ Nata De Coco. I have provided a picture so I don’t have to describe it in exact detail- the fluorescent pink speaks for itself after all. I know you’re thinking it looks very processed and artificial. But don’t make any judgments before you try it, it is brilliant.

After school, I played rough rugby (that’s alliteration, my English teachers would be proud) with a few girls of different ages. It was, surprisingly, very entertaining and I think I might actually go every week for the rest of the year. This is a revolutionary thought for me, as I have major commitment issues and would much rather go home and sleep given the chance.

I thought I had enough money on my Octopus to get me through the week, so I didn’t bother withdrawing any actual cash from my ATM.  After leaving rugby, I had to go to a music lesson. So I hopped onto a bus with Charmaine and Sachin and slammed my DOMO wallet against the Octopus machine, only to come to a terrifying conclusion:

There was no money in my Octopus.

But luckily, I had some coins in my wallet. I shoved all of them into the fare box; I’m sure the driver noticed I didn’t meet the required fare but couldn’t be assed to count all the 10 cent coins I gave him. This, however, meant I had no money to get home.

I thought I had managed to work my way around this new problem. I decided that after my harp lesson, I would walk to the Admiralty MTR station and withdraw money from one of the ATM machines there, and then I’d go fill up my Octopus so I’d be able to catch the bus home. So then I went and walked to Admiralty, lined up behind five people to use the ATM and waited for my turn to come.

When I tried to withdraw money, the screen read-

YOUR TRANSACTION CANNOT BE PROCESSED AT THIS TIME.

I began to panic a little bit. Understandably. I ran to another ATM on the other side of the MTR station and lined up behind a very shifty looking couple, who spent a ridiculous amount of time withdrawing lots and lots of money and slipping $100 bills into their pockets in a I’m-trying-to-be-inconspicuous-but-failing way. They were relatively harmless so I ignored them for the most part, still freaking out about what I was going to do if my ATM card didn’t work.

Finally, the thieves young couple left and I slid my ATM card into the machine. Surprisingly, everything went really well until I got to the screen that asked how much I would like to withdraw. I keyed in how much I wanted (an amount that will remain secret) and waited for the machine to spit out cold hard cash.

Then: YOUR TRANSACTION CANNOT BE PROCESSED AT THIS TIME.

My card was useless and I was stranded in Admiralty without any money to get home. I would have to sleep in Pacific Place and steal overpriced organic food from great for the rest of my life. I wouldn’t be able to take my AS level exams since I’d have no way of getting to school and my life would spiral downwards, like the Emo Kid’s.

But then, I remembered I had brought my mobile phone with me for once in my life. I began to call my parents so that I’d be able to ask for them to pick me up.

My mum didn’t pick up.

My dad didn’t pick up.

Nobody at home was picking up.

I can see you all gasping in horror at this sudden and twisted turn of events, and I appreciate your empathy. It was a horrible experience. I thought I was going to die, so I went and did what any 16 year old girl would when faced with a horrible situation. I went and began trying clothes on in Mango. Upon finding a dark green dress with lots of strategically placed holes, I decided to go nuts and try it on.

I actually began to get really hyped up about trying it on, since I could pretend for a few moments that I could actually afford anything in Mango. I was allocated a fitting room and hung up my bag, placing the green dress and hanger on a metal peg.

And then Godzilla broke into Pacific Place, wrenched the top two floors of the building off and peered into the dressing room I was in with hungry, lustful eyes.

…which is not how this pointless story actually ended. But I’m tired and the true ending of this story is omega lame, which is why I wanted to impress you with something else.

What actually happened was that my ring tone (Never Gonna Give You Up by Rick Astley) went off and my dad told me to take a taxi home, and that he’d pay for it. So I jumped into a cab and was driven home by a relatively scary looking Chinese man.

…but you can pretend it ended with Godzilla kidnapping me and climbing to the top of IFC as I screamed and tried in vain to free myself. And then Jack Sparrow came swinging out of nowhere from a ridiculously tall ship mast to rescue me, his onyx dreadlocks plastered to his face with rain from a well-timed black rainstorm and the heroic theme from Indiana Jones playing in the background. After he vanquished the monster, he saved me and we had a lot of kinky pirate fun together. Unforunately, we didn’t get married or become seriously involved, since that is just not Jack’s style.

…

…

Obviously I am tired and incoherent. If you spent your time reading this when you could have been doing an english literature analysis on The Cockroach, I apologise.

There are 67 tables in the Old Gym.                                                                                                                        

The Florist under Wellcome is called PN’G Florist.

The school’s phone number is 2849-6216.

Only on Mondays and Tuesdays are egg sandwiches available at the Lounge.

There are 24 steps on the stairs up to Wellcome.

There are 6 flower pots facing the window of the Lounge.

The spine of the Yearbook for the years 2007-2008 is blue.

The opening hours of the school shop are 10:30am-1:30 pm on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays.

The room numbers of the two Physics labs are U112 and U113.

The bargain bin is located between the tea and frozen processed meat sections.

There are 6 colours present on a VITASOY lemon tea packet.

Lenin’s real name is Vladimir Ilich Ulyanov.

Krusty the Clown has a 3rd nipple.

There are 360 dents on average on a standard golf ball.

This is a hadrosaur.

An a-la-carte cheeseburger in McDonalds costs $12.50.

Skin weighs 6 pounds on an average person.

Yes in Zulu is “yebo”.

The first bomb that was dropped by the Allies on Berlin in WWII destroyed an elephant.

This (on the right) is a female hedgehog.

“And then I realise it was in my locker the whole time. FML.”

FML. F…M…L. How I would like to go up to the creator of that website and go, “You know what f*cked up my life? Your bloody acronym.” This is almost as disgraceful as the ‘fail’ stage, though that still goes on, and all. 

But seriously, I don’t get the obsession. Countless of times, people have been criticised for saying ‘lol’, some mocked for ‘omg’ but ‘FML’ seems to be just fine. It’s not even an unique saying, since most of the globe say it now. And I can’t be the only one who feels this way. It’s an amusing site, I’ll give them that, but surely there are others – like myself – who hate how people constantly use it in their everyday lives. And I watch some people and feeling like telling them, “Yes, but not getting your ponytail right the first time isn’t even really an FML moment, is it?” 

It was the same with the ‘fail’ or – god forbid – ‘epic fail’ scenario. I was sitting through the GSIS 40th Celebration ‘ceremony’, when I heard a young kid say that a teacher was a ‘fail’. What I thought was more important to focus on was the fact that if he’s one of the people who can only use these few words to express himself, he would fail a couple of GCSEs. 

I suppose – especially considering my last post – you’ll think I’m some kind of anti-conformist. Not entirely true. I’m not particularly shocking or radical. The most ‘unique’ I get is when I bring a bit of my own culture into Hong Kong world with sayings such as “Get in there”. On that note, if you aren’t British, I would check up how to actually use that phrase. Because without the right context and accent, you sound rather ridiculous. But that’s not my point. My point is that I’m not trying to rally up some kind of rebellion. All I want from people is a little independent thought. I’m an non-FML-sayer, British, swearing, 60s rock n’ roll lover who likes poetry. I’m not ashamed of it. How about YOU? When you say ‘FML’, how do you feel? 

But onto a new topic – since I don’t want to rant all day. The obvious topic to talk about is the long weekend/lantern festival. Obviously, I’m sure many of you are as happy as I am that we got these extra two days. And I felt I’ve used it wisely – in a way.

 With my new-found freedom, I decided to immediately hit the shops. Given the fact that I am now at my richest – which believe me, isn’t that rich – I thought why not. Of course, we were then hit with ‘horrendous’ weather, as some would say. Did that stop me? Never. I came to the conclusion that, since I wasn’t planning on seeing anyone special, I would have some fun. So I packed up my umbrella, and just walked. It was so refreshing, and liberating. While everyone else was scurrying along, I was strolling with my head up high. Even when I walked past someone I had seen in school. OK, that was slightly embarrassing. But I got over it. Especially after the looks I got when I was the only one walking along the open area in front of  IFC; v. amusing. 

Then came the actual day. Repulse beach with hundreds of other strangers, while packed in and attempting to light a candle with no stand unnoticed, and drinking till we pass out, or looking after the ones who have. What could be better? For teenagers, we find the oddest things amusing. I had decided to be interesting and dress in a sort of biker outfit. This caused me to run around the house, searching for a dark lipstick like a mad man. In the end I had to mix it – what I mixed is something I don’t think you want to . Of course, it had completely faded away before I actually MADE it to the beach. Obviously the day turned out to be exactly as expected – and then some. 

Aim For Next Week: Do something spontaneous. Like me and the rain, think about something you’ve been tempted to do, and go for it. Dancing like a loon in your room, say hi to a stranger. Anything! 

Till next week! x

Well, we indulged in a delectable meal, (this is the part where I actually have to start thinking) handed out some extremely well-earned awards, were massively entertained by Jeremy’s infamously beloved stories about his goldfish and his day, listened to a few well-orated speeches, listened to Sachin and I, watched while some rather embarrassing pictures of the year group appeared on power point, and… danced like a bunch of orangutans high on red bull. I think I don’t just speak for myself when I say that all in all, our dinner dance was a highly delightful and enjoyable evening which will remain a fond memory for the rest of our days.

Not for long.

Little did you know that while you were savouring your wonderful meal, or laughing at with Jeremy’s inexplicably, impossibly hilarious account of his morning, you were all SO close to experiencing a Dinner Dance that could’ve gone horribly, agonizingly, disastrously wrong.

And today, I think you have the right to know why.

GSIS Year 11 Dinner Dance 2009 QUIZ

I kind of already forgot some of the answers to this quiz, but I’ll find them all out by next Monday and publish the answers on my next post.

I think this quiz is sufficient explanation for my statement above.

—————————————————————————————————

No doubt your egos would’ve been severely wounded by this quiz. Here’s a little pick-me-up that I highly recommend:

www.givesmehope.com

I think this site is exactly what the world should be all about.

Even though the title was originally used negatively, I’m sure there are many women like myself who would have been honoured to have been called a suffragette, or just one of the less notable members of the woman’s suffrage movement – the suffragists. These women fought for the rights that we now hold today. Without honourable women like Davison or Billinghurst, women today would be missing the vote, work opportunities etc. However, when I hear someone call themselves a ‘feminist’, I can’t help but roll my eyes. So what happened? 

I remember my only feminist-ist moment. Well, I should, since it was only two years ago. It was three of us gathered around a computer. Even the other two would admit that it was possibly the worst attempt at feminism in the world. If you’re wondering how bad it could get, here’s an example: 

I would like to say that at least Friend¹ was a strong influence, but it only took a short amount of time before she was telling us to back off, because ‘he’ was hers. But I think it was when we were considering Raining Men for our list of feminist songs that we realised that perhaps we weren’t quite on the right track here. 

Now, we obviously weren’t the representatives for all feminists, but this is where I’m getting at. It’s all great saying, ‘I’m a feminist,’ but are you really? Most people who claimed that they’re feminists don’t even know what they’re fighting for anymore. 

1. The vote? …………… Got it.
2. Women in the work place? …………… Got it.
3. Rights in marriage etc? …………… Got it.

The list goes on. Since the first wave of feminism, women have been winning it. People complain about how the fight isn’t over, but how far have we got to go? Women burst out when we hear men claim that women aren’t as strong, but it’s acceptable for us to laugh at a boy who has feminine qualities, and that it’s alright for us to still expect chivalry? Don’t get me wrong – I’m all for the chivalry. If it wasn’t for it, I probably would have died carrying a piece of equipment yonks ago. What I’m trying to say is that feminists back in the day has done so much, and I find it insulting to hear people calling themselves feminists because they proved they were better at sports than some of the blokes. 

And there’s how far people are going. Some radical feminist groups are claiming that we don’t need men at all in our society. What happened to human rights? Last I heard, the point of the woman’s suffrage movement was for equality. Demanding that women get higher priority in the workforce doesn’t sound like equality to me. I’m not saying that I’m a huge fan of men right now, because they do have a tendency to piss us all off – no offence – but I’m just saying that I refuse to believe that feminism is pushing it a little. 

I’m sorry if this is a little serious, but it winds me up. People storm around the place and try to use feminism or other radical ideas to make them seem ‘special’. It would be like saying that sharing a packet of crisps and bitching about the teachers makes you a communist. Sounds ridiculous, yes? So why is it not ridiculous to do this with feminism? Answer: none, whatsoever. Ladies, appreciate what those who did not have your rights did for you – be happy with what you have today. But if I hear one of you claiming you’re a feminist without decent evidence, I will slap you, in the name of Emily Davison. 

Aim For Next Week: Don’t just talk the talk. Don’t say anything you won’t follow through with. I’m not including threats etc on this one. What I mean is that, pretending/claiming to be something you’re not is a waste of time. 

Stay young, people! x

Okay, back to the poem. Having successfully traversed the first stanza, he starts talking about some random stuff that I don’t remember and can’t be bothered to go look back on. Heehee. Okay, that’s mean. Let’s look for the sheet. Dumdeedum. Here we go: at this point, I have abosolutely no jolly idea what’s going on anymore. Basically,  he’s describing his journey around the garden while trying to break the Guiness World Record for the longest line without adequate punctuation. Reading on (quite a difficult feat to perform easily considering the lack of punctuation. Let’s skip bits.)…suddenly, he’s going to sleep. WTF. Ok let’s not skip those bits. Reading back again…”A long moment stretches, the next one is not on time.” Wow, he really does have writer’s block. Erm, I think it rained. And then by some unecessarily complicated way, he’s gone back to bed. Wonderful. I just read a poem about a guy who travelled around his porch at night with rolling moons in the sky and long late moments. I am so sad.

I didn’t write about writer’s block in the end, did I? Well, I lied then. Like the poet and his freaking rolling moon. Blah.

I suddenly have an urge to play Neopets. So I shall be deserting you now. Trala.

Random Fact of the Week: Mrs. Butchart calls Macs ‘apples’. It’s very cute.

Yesterday after coming back from an hour and a half of intensive maths tuition, I wandered in aimlessly as I was waiting for my bus- only to find more than half the shop was 50% off. And more importantly: 

MY TOP WAS ONLY $50. 

Needless to say, I was very angry. And I also noticed that another skirt I’d bought at an earlier date for $75 was only $50. I wasn’t as annoyed at that as I was by the SPAGHETTI STRAP TOP. Yes, I will now refer to the SPAGHETTI STRAP TOP in angry capitals. Because I’m an angry person.

Grrr. 

It would be so nice if shops actually had a sign in flashing lights, spelling out the exact dates of their next sale in garish yellow. Then innocent, lovely, beautiful people (such as myself) with less than $50 in their wallets for the rest of the month wouldn’t suffer. It would also mean these innocent, lovely, beautiful people would also be able to buy hot dogs loaded with a sickening amount of ketchup and mustard from Sodexo. Or another SPAGHETTI STRAP TOP. 

I can already see people bashing me with words along the condescending lines of: “We’re in an economic recession! Everyone’s trying to get as much money as they can! Cotton On would be stupid if they told you when their sale seasons were; nobody would buy anything at normal price and just wait for the prices to drop- which would mean that Cotton On would lose out!” 

But just remember, it could happen to you too. And when you feel like sabotaging everything in the store along with your metaphorical SPAGHETTI STRAP TOP, remember me and my plight. 

(Don’t actually sabotage anything though, please. There might be something I like.)

And instead of a quote, it’s time for shameless advertising!

World Relief Society is having their first bake sale on Wednesday and Thursday of this week,so write it down in your homework books, or whatever you do, and come buy! WRS will be selling in the courtyard and middle building lunchroom, so come, come, come!

The money will be donated to Medecins Sans Frontiers to help them pay for medical equipment and the cost of transporting medical staff to places like Afghanistan and Darfur, where people may not be able to get the expert attention they need. You can learn more about them at their website here.

Diamonds are not a girl’s best friend. Nor are chocolates, flowers or money. A horse will generally perform well as a best friend, but in the case of this post, it’s the hairdryer.

The hairdryer is not just a lifeless tool that you reluctantly pull out and assemble every couple of days; this is proven with the list below. I have this particularly shiny model that allows for a range of temperatures and settings (plus a bonus of fancy ionic operations that nobody but Dr. Griffin will understand) and you’re probably going to need all three functions if you’re to be attempting anything from this list.

Cooling your Mac

My iMac can reach temperatures of 60°C – and that’s on a good day. On bad days, it’s probably hot enough for me to set up an omelette bar at my desk. I don’t think leaving it on for days at time helps much, but setting your hairdryer on ‘cool’ and blasting away at the smooth aluminium framework will do wonders to cool down your computer.

Drying shoes

For your late-night hockey matches when you arrive home at 10 PM after dashing around for hours on poorly-laid Happy Valley pitches. Your shoes will be filled with loose tufts of pitch grass, mud and tears – and yes, I’ll admit a generous portion of that solution consists of another bodily fluid (even though girls don’t sweat; they glow). If they aren’t dried properly before storing them in the shoe cupboard, cockroaches will deem your cozy, damp shoes a worthy place to mate. True story.

Blowdrying hair

Because it has to be said. Moving on:

Waxing

Okay, so this is specifically for females … unless there are curious guys out there, especially those who blurt out that they are personally self-conscious about their hairy legs in the middle of Chemistry. You know who you are ……… Clifford.
The hot air is perfect for both melting the wax and widening your pores, so you don’t completely rip your skin off.

Lessening cramps. That’s right.

Specifically for females, no exceptions here.
Despite the fact that period cramps are supposedly uncommon, I don’t actually know of anybody who doesn’t suffer from them every four weeks. So for the days when you can’t get up – and I am dead serious – reach out for your hairdryer (precisely why I keep mine by the bed) and aim a strong blast of hot air directly at your uterus; it should relieve you of enough pain to hobble to the bathroom and then to promptly collapse back into bed and take the day off school + swimming.

If you have any other insights into more functions for a common household hairdryer, drop a comment so I can update this post or something. Otherwise, I’m out. Back to Chemistry homework we go.