The Year According To Jacki Trew

New Years Eve!
And you know what that means - time for my annual "Last Post Of The Year".
Being that it's actually the last post of the decade, I suppose I should write some semi-nostalgic recount of the last ten years. Or "The Noughties", as they're apparently being called. And lets just talk about that for a second - The Noughties? Really? Did you guys know about this? Am I the only one who didn't? Probably. I'm usually the only one who didn't. Well, all I can say is that it sucks, because I've just learned this totally cool word, and after tomorrow I won't have any reason to use it.
Damn.
Anyway, what was I saying? Oh yeah, semi-nostalgic recount post. Well I would, but the thing is, I've already done that for another website. You'll all be able to read it in a couple of days when it's published at Bower Bird & Fox, but for now I'm just gonna treat you all to a little list of what I call Jacki Trew's Greatest Hits - The 2009 Edition.
Yeah.
Basically, I'm just plugging my own blog. I am that lame. But what can I say? It's the lazy man's way. And if 2009 has taught us anything, its that I am the lazy man that people are talking about when they say "It's the lazy man's way."
Ha.
That was funny.
That's going in there.

Anyway, enjoy.

Jacki Trew's Greatest Hits - The 2009 Edition

• The one where I talk about TV and books and Albino he-she's
• The one where I give you 10 reasons to watch Alias
• The one where I'm proud to be Australian
• The one where I threaten the Fox network
• The one where I keep seeing severed heads everywhere
• The one where I'm attacked by a microwaved chicken
• The one where I got stitches for the second time
• The one where I AM FLIPPING OUT!
• The one where Sara and Michael didn't make out
• The one where I was a 6-year-old pot head
• The one where an ant colony grew in my printer
• The one where work experience was just like watching Jaws
• The one where I invented a new flavour of pizza
• The one where 10,000 BC is the worst movie ever
• The one where I pierced my own ears
• The one with the mystery smell
• The one where I was naked at netball
• The one where T-Bag came to town
• The one where we saw Beyonce
• The one where I swore too much
• The one where Parklife was totally awesome
• The one with the Secret Catherine Blog
• The one where I started a band
• The one where I become a film critic
• The one where I thought about what I might taste like
• The one where I was a heartless robot
• The one where I got stitches for the third time
• The one with my wedding invitations
• The one where I was on holidays

And finally...

• This one, where I made a really stupid joke about being lazy. Awesome.

Happy End of 09. It's been a hell of a year.

Suck My Dunk!

Good morning, Sydney.

So hey, remember this post I did a while back about the new Prison Break: Behind The Scenes book that was coming out? No? How about this one, where I talked about asking my sister to buy it for me? Still no? Well then you really need to check up on my archives more often. Seriously, go do it. I'll wait here.

While I'm waiting, let me tell you about this crazy dream I had last night. I was part of the cast of How I Met Your Mother, only we weren't really a 'cast', because the show was real life. Does that make sense? I hope so. Anyway, me and the other characters were on our way to a swimming carnival at Lane Cove pool. It was the Roseville swimming carnival, so some people from my high school were there too. That was kind of cool. Kind of awkward. Mostly cool.

Anyway, there was an internet cafe at the pool (this isn't there in real life, it was just a figment of my dream-imagination. My dramagination, if you will), and Lily (of HIMYM fame) was using one of the computers to write a novel. Her novel was called 'My Friend Doug'. I remember, because she was using PowerPoint to make the title page, and it looked like this:

Haha. Yeah. Clearly, Lily is not too creative. But that was the title page of her book.
Now, here comes the best part of the dream: Lily went outside to get her wallet, and left her computer unattended. While she was gone, Barney (also a HIMYM character) and I changed the title, so that it read: Lily came back, and, not realising that we'd changed it, printed up 500 copies.
Gold.
When she finally figured it out, she had a massive bitch fit and threw them at us. Now, why would she do that? That doesn't solve anything! What are we gonna do with 500 copies of 'My Friend Dunk'?? Well, this of course:
Hahaha. Get it? Do you get it? Suck my dunk!
...Yeah. To be fair, it was alot funnier in the dream. Perhaps we had been dream-drinking. Dreamking, if you will. That was terrible. But yes, Barney and I thought 'Suck My Dunk' was quite clever. Clever enough that we decided to post the title pages on every flat surface we could find. I actually woke up laughing. Really. I've never done that before.
Great dream.

Anyway, back to Prison Break: Behind The Scenes. I assume by now you have checked the archives and know what I am talking about. Well guess what was sitting on the kitchen table waiting for me when I got home this morning?
WENTWORTH MILLER! And he was NAKED!
I am lying of course. It was actually the Prison Break book. Which is really almost as good, since one of the first pictures is of Wentworth Miller with no shirt on.
Swoon!
So yeah, Prison Break: Behind The Scenes = mine. All mine. To read as many times as I wish. Suck it, bitches! Or should I say, suck my dunk!...bitches!

It Must-O Be The Best-O

I am so going to be more careful with my skin from now on. These stitches on my hand are such a bummer - especially since my sister keeps making jokes about how I'm 'emo' and 'keep cutting myself'.
Aha. Ahaha. NOT FUNNY, CATHERINE!
This is weird topic to bring up, but just for the record, I have so never wanted to die. Oh, except for once:

Jen: Catherine, can I borrow a jacket?
Catherine: Sure, here you go (hands jacket that has 'Musto' written on the back)
Jen: (reads) What's 'Musto'?
Catherine: Oh, that's just the name of the brand
Jacki: Well then, it must-o be the best-o. Hahaha!

(dead silence)

Jacki: Did I say that out loud?
Catherine: Yes

See what I mean? Yeah. Except not really, because that joke was awesome.
So hey, apparently it's New Years Eve in a couple of days. Is that right? Apparently. Did you guys hear that? You probably did - it's pretty much everywhere. Anyway, I hate New Years Eve. I do. I really do. I am decidedly anti New Years Eve. Ugh. Horrible. It's stressful, crowded, expensive and totally anti-climactic. I mean, we live in Sydney; there are fireworks here at least once a fortnight. IT'S NOT THAT BIG OF A DEAL!
Wow, look how crazy I am getting about this. Weird. But still. All I'm saying is that Hugh Hefner was right when he called it Amateurs Night - it's way cooler to go out on any of the other 364 nights in a year.
Hmm. That is probably the only thing Hugh Hefner and I will ever agree on. Unless Hugh Hefner is secretly gay for Wentworth Miller, which to be honest seems kind of unlikely.

Speaking of Wentworth Miller and New Years Eve, I wonder if anyone can guess how many times I've mentioned The Love Of My Life on this blog in the past year. Anyone? Anyone? Whoever guesses correctly will win my respect. Yeah. The prize would be cooler if not for the fact that I am unemployed and living at home with my Mummy. Have at it!

Bower Bird and Fox for Christmas

It's Christmas Eve! Can you believe it? Christmas Eve!
Both a day AND an eve - it's a Christmas miracle!!

I'm excited. Oh man. I am FLIPPING OUT with excitement. And not just because tomorrow is Actual Christmas aka Jacki Trew's Favourite Day Of The Year, Followed Closely By Wentworth Miller's Birthday, but also because the Victoria's Secret Fashion Show is on tonight, and the clothes they make for that parade can only be described as um, totally freakin' awesome.
Anyway.
Speaking of Christmas, a very talented young man by the name of Tym Yee and I have started a wordpress blog entitled Bower Bird and Fox - and the first issue is all about this merry, merry season. Check it out. Tym writes with elegance and poise about his favourite part of the day, and I...well, I start off okay, but somehow end up ranting about Keeping Up With The Kardashians.
Go figure.
Still, I think you'll enjoy it. And if you don't, that's only because you're an idiot.

Hospital Visit: Take 2

So, yesterday - and as part of my current world tour, Jacki Trew: A Showcase Of Clumsiness And Uncoordination - my left hand got into a fight with a wire coathanger and most definitely did not win.
So yeah. I had asked for a new watch for Christmas, but I guess Santa deduced that all I really wanted was 5 stitches and a prescription for antibiotics, cause that's what I got.
Sigh.
That Santa.
What an asshole.
Still, it was totally worth it, since Catherine was the only one home who could drive me up to North Shore Hospital, and I'm pretty sure our sisterly antics were the highlight of the day for most of the emergency staff. I mean, we were certainly more entertaining than this woman in front of me who'd had half her face eaten off by a dog. Although I suppose it's hard to be funny when your tear ducts are being replaced with plastic tubing.
Anyway, my greatest suspicion confirmed: hospital nurses do love playing Would You Rather...? as much as I do. And just for future reference, they also love Jonas Brother imitations, hearing me talk about why Wentworth Miller is the most perfect male in existance, and participating in bets over how many sutures I'll end up needing.

Haha. Hospitals are awesome.

So when we weren't playing thumb wars or singing SOS or telling stories that had the nurses in stitches (Haha, get it? Had them in stitches? See, it's funny, because they were in stitches from laughing so much, and I was in stitches because I am an idiot who gets physical with coathangers. Awesome), Catherine and I toyed with the idea of stealing hospital supplies and giving them to our friends for Christmas. I won't say whether or not we actually did it. I guess you'll just have to wait until you unwrap your disposable gown and gauze bandages on friday morning to find out.
And now, in conclusion - just because I know you all want it but for some reason always pretend like you don't - here is my favourite hospital moment:

Nurse Alison: Okay, I'm gonna start injecting the local anasthetic now. It might hurt a little, so try to distract yourself.
Jacki: (lying on bed) Right on. Let's play Would You Rather. Catherine, would you rather eat the cat or the dog, or have Mum, Dad and I all die? And if so, which would you eat, the cat or the dog?
Nurse Alison: (trying not to laugh) Is she serious?
Catherine: (To Nurse Alison) Yeah, and I have to live with her. (To me) I'd eat the cat.
Jacki: Oh my gosh that's so mean.
Catherine: You asked!
Jacki: You could have refused to answer!
Catherine: Let's just change the subject.
Jacki: Fine. Hey, you guys know Braille? Like, how blind people read, with the bumps?
Catherine And Nurse Alison: Yeah.
Jacki: Okay so guess how the guy who invented it became blind? His father owned this company that made leather wallets, and they sewed them with these really thick leather needles, and the way he became blind was that he accidentally stabbed himself in the eye with one of the needles. Oh my gosh.
Catherine: That's really gross.
Jacki: And his name...was John Braille. No okay, I just made that up.
Catherine: I thought so.
Jacki: Only the name part! The rest of it was true.
Catherine: Yeah right.
Jacki: No seriously. Wikipedia that shit. You'll see.
Catherine: Uh huh. I'll make sure to do that.
(Massive Pause)
Jacki: I made a Wikipedia page about myself once.
Catherine: Oh my God.
Nurse Allison: (Still fighting the urge to laugh)
Jacki: Yeah, they deleted it though. I guess nobody wanted to know about Jacki Trew.
Catherine: I can't imagine why not.
Jacki: I could try again.
Catherine: Yeah, you could make it all about the ways you maim yourself.
Jacki: Totally! Let's see, there's this (motioning to hand), and there's the time I cut my arm open on a fence...
Catherine: Don't forget the time you tripped over a dog.
Nurse Alison: (Laughing) You two are idiots! Okay sit tight for a minute, I'm just going to write your prescription. (Leaves the room)
Catherine: Whatever.
Jacki: I know, what is she talking about?
Catherine: We're awesome.
Jacki: Totally.
(Pause)
Jacki: Wanna steal some shit?

Ah, I've just realised that I'm in need of a job. It's a week til Christmas and I have no money. I have less than no money - I got a letter the other week informing me that I actually owe the bank 10 dollars. No joke. And I don't even own a credit card! Who knew you could go into debt on a savings account?
I'm an idiot.
Still, how about it, Australian Business Owners? I may be an idiot, but I've read all the Twilight books and I make a mean cuppaccino. If that doesn't spell 'employable', then I don't know what does. So please, hire me. Otherwise everyone I know will be recieving a hug for Christmas.

I haven't really talked about the FBI fashion parade yet, but a couple of people have been asking, so I guess I'll do it now.
Happy?
The first word that comes to mind is awesome. It was awesome. How awesome? I'll tell you - pretty flippin'. It was pretty flippin' awesome. You wouldn't think that having to get up at 7 in the morning, freaking out over the fact that you have no tampons left, running across the road to buy some only to get back and realise you have been locked out of the house, having to climb through a window and then finally getting back inside in time to call a cab to take you to The Ivy where you will spend the next 8 hours in a state of near-constant panic that everyone will hate your designs and the whole year of study will have been worth nothing would equate to a good time, but it really really does.

The world works in mysterious ways.

So yeah, pretty flippin' awesome. Despite the fact that Wentworth Miller didn't turn up to scout a costume designer for his next film, nor did I trip and fall off the runway into Alex Perry's lap like I was secretly-only-not-so-secretly hoping to.
Ah, well. You win some, you lose some.
Anyway, the clothes. I don't have any photos yet, so you'll all just have to use your imaginations to picture what I made - and please, be generous. Make me awesome. Eventually you'll see photos and I'll go back to being mediocre, but for now I think I'll enjoy being hypothetically fantastic.
Umm, okay. Now that I've re-read that last sentence, I'm not so sure it actually makes sense. Again, just use your imaginations.
So like I said, the whole thing was pretty great. And as with all events that I consider great, I have compiled a 'Top 5 Moments' list. Enjoy:

5. Our principle's inspiring speech at the 10AM parade briefing
"I know I've said this before, but you really have been the best group of students we've ever had at FBI; you're all so mature and co-operative and creative. And today is your final day - so don't blow it!"
4. Steaming our clothes in a pitch-black hallway backstage
Mainly because the steamer leaked all over one of my skirts, bringing me to a pretty comical stage of near-hysteria. And also because the steam smelt like pot.
3. All my clothes, accessories and shoes fitting the models perfectly
That kind of relief is better than crack.
2. Having just enough spare time to form a comedic Lady GaGa cover-band with Karina
Lady HaHa - performing soon on the corner of a deserted street near you!

And finally...
1. The after-party
Because teachers, drinking and The Ivy swimming pool is always a fun combination.

Wow! How The F*** Old Is Flanders???

Oh, the rain has finally arrived!
Bliss.
Today it was hot, and I went to Issy's house for a visit. Like around three Sundays ago, when it was also hot, and I went to Issy's house for a visit. My conclusion? The road to Issy's house is a portal into another dimension. And that dimension is called The Sun.

So apart from The Pacific Highway becoming a gateway to inter-galactic travel, there were a few other crazy heat-related things about today. The first is that my Mum wouldn't let me turn the air conditioning on. I mean. What? I get that my Mum is kind of crazy (she produced me, after all), but that is just plain insanity. Air-conditioning was INVENTED with days like today in mind. Do you think, when whoever-it-was-that-invented-the-air-conditioner came up with that concept, he or she meant it for decorative purposes? NO! NO! AIR CONDITIONERS ARE MEANT TO BE USED! Just in case you need any further convincing, here is my Mother's line of reasoning:

- It makes a loud noise
- It's not that hot
- It costs money to run the air conditioner

And here is my rebuttal:

- "It makes a loud noise?" I'm not even going to dignify that with a response
- Yes, it was that hot. I think my armpit hairs actually melted
- Well, yes, I suppose it does cost money to run the air conditioner. But it costs more to call for an ambulance when your daughter collapses from heat exhaustion on the kitchen floor.

Check and mate.
The other crazy thing was that despite all my whinging and moaning about the sudden heatwave, I decided to have a hamburger for dinner.
Ew. I know. Ew.
I don't usually eat hamburgers at all, but I was craving one from the fish and chip shop in Lane Cove - you know, the one owned by that guy who looks like a greasy 40-year-old version of Jack from Home and Away? It's the only place I ever order burgers from, because they are simply amazing. Or at least, they used to be; apparently the fish and chip shop people have quit using mince beef and are now making their burgers out of pure cancer.
Oh, my gosh.
I have never felt so sick in my life - whatever little stomach lining I had left after drinking all that Red Bull is now gone. Remember that scene from Alien VS Predator, where the aliens impregenate all those women, and their stomachs get all huge and distended, and then the baby aliens burst through their skin and kill them? I'm pretty sure if I were locked in a room with those women right now, they would be the ones pointing and laughing at me.

That whole sentence I just wrote, about the aliens and predators and mothers and baby aliens? That was terribly constructed. I apologise. I don't know whether it's because I've been out of school for 2 years, because I watch too much American TV, or just because I'm an idiot, but my English has been way off lately. Earlier I was watching The Simpsons with my sister, and the following question came out of my mouth:

Jacki: Wow! How the f*** old is Flanders?

I am not even kidding. That is the exact wording I used. How the f*** old is Flanders? Somehow, that made sense in my head. I'm pretty sure Shakespeare just rolled over in his grave.

Trash The Dress

Wow, 3 posts in 3 days. I'm on a role. I'm also in a little bit of a food coma. Mmm, food coma - my favourite type of unconciousness.

So anyway, apparently there is this new trend (I only just learned about it) called Trash The Dress, where recent brides completely destroy their wedding gowns. Like, they tear them up or set them on fire, or chuck them into pools or wear them while playing marathon rounds of paintball.

...

I don't get it. Still, I think I will trash my own dress by having one of those WWE wrestlers wear it during a fight. When I get married. If I get married. And even if I don't get married, I'll just pay a wrestler to wear a wedding dress on TV. Why not? Hey, it's not like I'll have a husband to tell me I'm insane and stop me.

Speaking of weddings, what is the deal with everyone I know getting engaged? By 'everyone I know' what I really mean is 'like 2 people I know and then a bunch of people I've just heard of', but you get the picture. Everyone is getting married! It makes me feel a little nervous. And lonely. And like I should probably start planning my own wedding. Check it, I've already picked out my invitations:

Haha. Gold. And classy too, no? I'm also going to have a Journey coverband, BBQ shapes, and Prison Break playing on a big screen at the reception. Personally, I think the 'traditional wedding' theme is kind of overdone, so I've decided to go with 'festival of insanity' instead.

And you're all invited!

Hey, so now that all my college work is finished, I've found I have way more time to acknowledge and ponder the numerous and seemingly insane thoughts that pop into my head. Like, if you chew gum really vigorously, does it count as exercise?
I say it does.
Also, who started the rumour that laughing gives you great stomach muscles? Huh? I wanna know, because I need to hunt them down and kick them in the crotch. I laugh. I laugh at everything. The only thing I do more than laugh is talk. And the only thing I do more than talk is breathe. And the only thing I do more than breathe is love Wentworth Miller.
So where are my great stomach muscles? I'd love to know. They're either non-existant, or hiding under my fat-pack. I'm not really sure what's worse.
The main thing that's had me thinking today, though, is why a great show like Prison Break was cancelled after only 4 seasons, but crap like The Beverly Hillbillies lasted for 9 years. I mean, how good can a show with the word 'hillbillies' in the title really be? TV with Wentworth Miller on the other hand, that I could watch forever. Not that I'm biased or anything.
Well, maybe a little bit. Whatever.

I've just discovered, one thing that's really strange about me (I mean, aside from my obsession with crap TV, the fact that I laugh at jokes that are offensive to women, the whole liking-everything-banana-flavoured-but-hating-actual-bananas thing, and I guess my personality in general) is that I've spent most of my life thinking Liv Tyler was Australian. What? Why? Why? Why would I think that? She doesn't sound Australian. I've never seen her in Australia. Her dad is Steven Tyler, and I knew he wasn't Australian, so... I suppose I'm just an idiot. Yes, that would explain alot. Like why I would reveal to my college teacher Celyna that I had secretly given her the nickname "King Kong Quisha".
Yes, I really did that. Gold.

I'm Back Babydoll!!

I've been a pretty absent blogger lately, which I don't feel good about, because if you ask me, 'Absent Blogger' is the worst kind of blogger out there. If I dedicate myself to a blog, I want the author to be updating at least 5 times a week. I mean it - strap that laptop to your chest if you have to, just get it done. 1 post every fortnight doesn't cut it.
So yeah, I suck. Sorry about that.
But hello world, I hope you're ready for 8 weeks of insatiable online ranting because I'M ON HOLIDAYS!
Holidays holidays holidays!
I'M ON HOLIDAYS!!!
Hey did I mention to you guys that I'm on holidays? I did? Did I? Well, just in case, here's a reminder:

I'M ON HOLIDAYS!!!!

I'M ON HOLIDAYS!!!!

I'M ON HOLIDAYS!!!!

Wow. Yep. I am excited. I think it's because these holidays seem so much sweeter than any other I've ever had - Mainly because it means my collection for college is finally done and dusted, but also because at the end of them my sister is moving out, thus surrendering the entire top storey of our house to my control.

Oh yeah. My parents are so not excited about that.

Anyway.

I don't know if this is just because I've got nothing else to do (oh how sweet it is to say those words), or because I have some weird fixation with killing my own brain cells, but I just got done watching a whole bunch of Simple Life episodes. Yes, and I mean Simple Life. As in The Simple Life. As in That Brain-Cell-Killing Reality Shit Starring Paris Hilton And Nicole Richie. This show is like the jellybean of television. You know what I'm talking about? If you're eating jellybeans, the first 2 or 3 or 4 are fantastic. They're sugary, they're chewy, they're bean-shaped...sensational. But eating a whole bag in one sitting makes you feel pretty sick. Like you need to either vomit or wash your face - but you can't decide which one to do first, so you end up puking into a soap dish. Right?
And just for the record, I have never puked into a soap dish. I'm just saying.

So now I'm watching The Hangover. Yeah. Big TV day for me. I am living the high life, alright.
What was I saying again? Oh yeah, The Hangover. Anybody seen it? It's pretty darn great. The best part is...oh, I can't choose. There are too many best parts. See? That's how good this movie is - the whole thing is the best part. If I had to pick one, I'd probably say...maybe the bit where they get mauled by a tiger. Or any scene where Bradley Cooper is shirtless.
Damn, they should have combined those two. Half-Naked Bradley Cooper getting mauled by a tiger sounds weirdly hot to me. Oh, I am a strange one. But yeah, The Hangover is awesome. Don't miss it.

Speaking of things that are awesome and not to be missed, Christmas is coming up. Did you guys know that? Holy balls did it sneak up on me this year. Not that I'm complaining - anyone who knows anything knows that Christmas is by far my favourite day of the year. Wentworth Miller's Birthday is a close second (I mean who doesn't love any excuse to bake a future-husband-shaped-cake?), but Christmas takes the gold. So anyway, what do you guys want? I'm making my shopping list now. Chocolates? Jewellery? A scented candle? My promise to keep blogging at least once a day for the rest of eternity? Let me know.
Gifts are tricky. It's hard to keep buying for the same people year after year. Especially for my mother:

Mum: I'm going shopping - what do you want for Christmas?
Jacki: I would like to appear as a guest on The Ellen Degeneres Show, please.
Mum: (pause) How about a wallet?

Well, maybe for my birthday.
Anyway, I'll make it easy for you guys and say there's no need to get me anything. Unless your name is Wentworth Miller - then I would like a platinum engagement ring. And if you could give it to me while we are both appearing as joint guests on The Ellen Degeneres Show, that would be fantastic. Thanks.

I don't have much time to blog about this, but I implore you all to turn your TVs to channel 7Two at exactly 10:10 this evening - because Wrong Turn is playing.
If you've been friends with me for at least the last 5 or 6 years, or you attended my 14th birthday party, or your name is Beth Docker, then you have probably already seen this movie. At the very least, you will have heard me talking about it. So you can tune out.
As for the rest of you, here's the lowdown:
Hot guys + hot girls + broken down car + inbred mutants living in the woods = 2 hours of mindless murder. And its totally flippin' hilarious. That sounds weird, but trust me; even if you're not a freak heartless de-sensitised robot trapped in the body of a teenage girl, you will find this movie funny.
I mean first of all, inbred mutants. I'm pretty sure there is no funnier combination of two words in the history of the English language than that. And second of all, one of the characters is a toothless gas-station attendant. Who drinks strawberry milk. And ends up being friends with the mutants.
I'm not even kidding. I don't think I need to keep going - really, this movie sells itself.

My Own Christmas

I know what you're thinking.
It seems like I've been blogging alot lately.
Well, the reason it seems that way is because it is that way. I have been blogging alot lately. Still, I think you should take advantage and enjoy it, because one of these days my sister is probably going to run me down with her car, and then there'll be no more blogs for anyone.
Holy balls, did you guys know it's the last day of November? 2010 here we come. I'm getting so freaking old! This sucks! I was gonna ask for a new wallet for Christmas, but now I think I'd prefer it if someone discovered the Fountain of Youth. And then gave it to me.
That's an awesome name for a band. Fountain of Youth. If there are any aspiring bands out there looking for a name, I suggest Fountain of Youth. Just give me 80% of all profits you make, and you are welcome to it.

So, I was watching Signs with my Mum earlier. Remember that movie Signs? With Mel Gibson, and the aliens? Remember? Signs? Yeah, I was watching it earlier. With my Mum. I have nothing else to say about that, except what the hell happened to Mel Gibson's career? Seriously? I think the actor who played the alien is booking more jobs than him at this point.

Anyway, back to my previous rant about Christmas and eventually having to grow up, I just realised that at some point, I'm going to have to grow up and organise my own Christmases - 'Organise my own Christmases' here meaning 'Organise who is going to feed me on Christmas'.
Holy crap! Why didn't anyone prepare me for this? Getting older totally sucks ass! I mean, I doubt my parents are going to invite me to join them at the nursing home, and if my sister's future husband is anything like her, he's not gonna want me over for the holidays. And there is no way I'm going to be throwing my own Christmas, since I can barely make grilled cheese without burning the house down. Also because by that point, I'll probably be living in a cardboard box.
I don't know how this is going to work out. Maybe I should audition for a role in the next Twilight movie so I can spend Christmas at Rob Pattinson's house. Probably. Probably I will do that. My backup plan is to stay at home and cry in the tub.
Either way, I will be naked.

Secret Catherine Blog

Hi, it's me.
I'm back.
I know I only blogged like, 75 seconds ago, but I just can't get enough.
Oh, wow, do you know I've posted 3 blogs today? That is alot, especially considering the first sentence of one read something along the lines of "I have nothing to say that will entertain you today."
Well, I only have a couple of things left to talk about. The first is that Saw V is on tonight. I'm trying to figure out what V means in roman numerals, because until I know, I won't be sure if I've seen this one or not. I would ask my sister, but she is currently ignoring me.
Oh! That's the other thing I had to talk about. Apparently, me saying that if there is any justice in the world, all of Catherine's hair will fall out is really offensive. She is mad. She says I'm not allowed to blog about her anymore, so from now on if you want to hear about Catherine and her insane escapades, you'll have to read them on my Secret Catherine Blog.
By the way, that is a link to nowhere. There is no Secret Catherine Blog. Why would I put all that shit on a free website, when I could publish it in a book and make a million dollars?

Anyway.
My Mum is thinking about buying an iPod. Yeah, she doesn't have one yet. She's pretty behind the times. I mean, she's ahead of my Dad, but my Dad is a caveman, so that's not saying much. Anyway, I hope she does end up getting one, because I anticipate that watching her try to use it will be hilarious. Kind of like watching Dad try to work the DVD player - there's alot of screaming and crying and bashing in of other people's heads with a baseball bat.
No, I joke. That's abuse. He doesn't bash people with a bat, he just kicks the crap out of them.
How come old people don't know how to do stuff like listen to iPods or use DVD players? Is it because they didn't have iPods and DVD players in their day, or just because when humans pass a certain age they forget how to do everything except drink whiskey and shake their fists at unruly teenagers?
That is a million dollar question. Seriously, if you answer that question, I will give you a million dollars. I am lying about the million dollars of course, but I still think you should answer me. Or not. Whatever, just make sure you visit the Secret Catherine Blog.

Fire!

Has there been a housefire or something on the news recently? My Dad is freaking out. Literally, freaking out. It's the funniest thing. He has this weird habit of starting conversations with other people in his head, and then finishing them out loud. So if you are sitting next to him and he starts talking to you, you'll probably only hear the last half of the sentence. Did I say 'funny'? What I really meant was 'extremely annoying'. This is his way of asking me what I would do if our house was on fire:

Dad: Do you have an evacuation plan?
(Pause)
Jacki: What?
Dad: Do you have an evacuation plan?
Jacki: Again, what?
Dad: What would you do if there was a fire upstairs?
Jacki: Oh, um...I'd come downstairs.
Dad: What if there was a fire in the stairwell?
Jacki: I'd jump off the balcony.
Dad: What if there was a fire on the balcony?
Jacki: I'd climb out my bedroom window.
Dad: What if there was a fire in your bedroom?
Jacki: Well, I'd probably be dead.
Dad: Are you taking this seriously?
Jacki: Are you taking this seriously?!

Haha. Weirdo!
Although he probably has a point. The only fire evacuation plan I know is the one we used in high school. Here's to hoping there are no fires at my house, because unless I see my tutor group and Mrs Cridland holding a clipboard, I'm totally lost.

I feel like nothing I say today will entertain you. Instead, here are some photos that will hopefully do the trick:

This is me and my friend Casey vandalising a supermarket carpark in Seattle. We got in a little bit of trouble, but it was worth it.This is a melted icecream truck. Mind that child!Here I am with Casey, Mel and Beth at an election party in 2007. We are all drunk enough to be wearing sunglasses inside. For shame. Vandalising again! This time it's on my friend Stacey's bedroom wall. I won't tell you exactly what I wrote, just that it was naughty and about Wentworth Miller. And look how long my hair is! I am so jealous of my past self!Here is some idiot pretending to fly. What an idiot.This is a note I left in the bin to explain why I threw away a whole orange. I have no idea why I did this. Oh wait, yes I do - because my Mum is a total waste-not nazi, and if she found a whole orange in the bin with no explanation she'd probably beat the crap out of me. I don't know if you can read it, so here's a transcript:

THIS ORANGE WAS REALLY SOUR + NASTY

- I'M NOT A FOOD WASTER. TRUST ME, NOBODY WOULD HAVE ENJOYED IT.

Here is a picture of Ryan Atwood from The OC next to a picture of me as a 2 year old. I know. The resemblance is uncanny. I'm even wearing a wifebeater!
And finally, here is a picture of Wentworth Miller pondering the best way to ask for my hand in marriage.
"Hmm...Would she prefer it if I cooked dinner, or re-enacted a whole season of Prison Break?"
Always entertaining.

Let me tell you about this insane dream I had 2 nights ago. I would have told you about it when it was an insane dream I'd only had 1 night ago, but
a) I'm lazy, and
b) ...I got nothing. I'm just lazy. I advise you to suck on it.
Okay, so this dream.
Before I start, I need to tell you how afraid of spiders I am. Pretty. I am pretty afraid of spiders. If you've ever had a conversation with me that lasted more than 10 minutes, you probably know this. Anyway.
So the night before last night (ie 2 nights ago. ie the night of the dream. gasp!) I was ironing a shirt, and suddenly this red spider crawls out from under the iron and, like, bolts towards my hand.
Holy shit! And did I mention it was red? There is nothing more frightening than a red spider, apart from a red spider with red eyes - which this spider also happened to have. Red eyes I tell you. Red. Crimson. Scarlett. Whatever you want to call it, they burned like the fires of hell.
This isn't the dream by the way. This is what happened before the dream. Let's call it The Dream Inspiration.
As for The Actual Dream, well, I can't exactly remember the whole thing, but basically I was in my bedroom and suddenly a nest of spiders appeared in the corner. Then they (the nest spiders) banded together and started marching towards me.
Ew!
The worst part about the dream was that the spiders weren't regular Huntsmans or Redbacks or even FunnelWebs, they were these freaky albino spiders with really muscular forearms which made them walk weirdly. And what's that about? I mean, come on. What the hell is going on in my subconcious that I can come up with this stuff in my sleep?
The second worst part was that even though I practically screamed up a lung, nobody came to help. The only company I got was my cat, who didn't do anything because she's a cat and doesn't give a shit about you unless you're pouring food into her bowl.
Well.
That's just great.
I am so never feeding her leftovers under the table again.
Anyway, then I woke up to find a giant Huntsman sitting on my left cheek.
Okay, kidding. I only woke up. No giant Huntsman. Still, now I'm kind of totally freaked out, because even though I know there's no such thing as Muscular-Forearmed Albino Spiders, there's every possibility that one is forming under my bed as we speak.
I mean, my room is pretty effing messy. You leave a regular spider under a pile of dirty clothes for 5 or 6 weeks, and in this heat?
Who knows what could happen.

Harry Potter 6

So I finally watched Harry Potter 6. I suppose I should roll with my new career as an Academy Award Winning Film Critic and review it for you right now, but I can't really decide what I think.
To be honest, I'm pretty ambivilent about the whole Harry Potter movie franchise. Do I like it? Do I love it? Do I give a shit? I don't know - all I can say with complete certainty is that the guy who plays Dumbledore makes me want to kill myself and everyone around me.
I don't really know why, I just go with it.
Other than that, the only things I can actually remember are Ron and Lavender Brown hooking up, and Ginny Weasley having fantastic hair. So there is my review of Harry Potter 6. To sum up:

"Dumbledore sucks. 3 stars."

Speaking of things that suck...ah, I got nothing. What a terrible segue.
It's been so hot lately that I've decided to boycott blowdrying my hair. I just let it dry naturally now. The result - to put it simply - is not pretty.
My hair is probably crazier than I am. I can hear most of you contradicting me, so I will answer you with one word and three letters:
GHD.
What kills me is that my sister has that perfect dark brown wavy-and-curly-but-not-frizzy hair that everyone wants, while my 'natural' hairstyle can only be described as a cross between Crazy Cat Lady and Victim Of Electrocution. How is that fair?
If there is any justice in the world, she'll be bald in 6 months. Fingers crossed!

Ariaght Already!!

So I just finished watching the 2009 ARIAs. Here are some thoughts:

• Kate Ritchie and Gyton Grantley. God and this blog knows I love them both, but it confuses me that two actors would host the Australian music industries night of nights. Just, you know. What?
• Was Robbie Williams high?
• If Robbie Williams was high, Keith Urban was definitely drunk.
• Missy Higgins probably shouldn't have worn those shoes.
• Empire Of The Sun. Yay. Yay for you. I would offer more praise, but you guys won 4 awards tonight, so I'm guessing you've filled your 'praise' quota for this year.

That's it. That's all I've got. Oh, and I'd also like to extend a formal invitation towards either member of The Presets to marry me and have my babies.
Now, that's all I've got.

Band Cat: A True Story

So since I've been on a schoolwork marathon for about - oh, what time is it? - 8 years now, I decided to give myself a break and entertain you at the same time by blogging.

Before I go any further, I should warn you; the present time is 4:06am, I have had approximately 9 hours sleep in the past 3 days, and my current caffeine consumption stands at 4 cups of coffee and 837ml of Red Bull.

Things might get a little crazy.

Sometimes when I'm bored or not busy or just feel like reminding myself of how moronic I really am, I peruse my own blog. I did it just now, in fact. I noticed I've done two movie review posts in the past 3 weeks. I'm going film review crazy. I'm pretty much a bonafide critic.

I wish there was an Academy Award catagory for best film review. I would win. When I walk up on stage to collect my award, they would play a sound bite from my pan of The Exorcist:

I don't know who called this 'The Scariest Movie Of All Time', but they need to grow some serious testicles and then punch themselves in the face.

Speaking of movies, I got an idea for one today that will probably win me the Nobel Peace Prize. I'm going to imagine my cat is a musical instrument, and then film myself pretending to 'play' her. I'll do everything; drums, violin, piano, guitar...it shall be a masterpiece, entitled Band Cat: The True Story Of A Girl Who Imagined The Family Cat Was A Musical Instrument And Then Filmed Herself Pretending To 'Play' It.

If that doesn't make me a million dollars, I honestly don't know what will. Plus I've already done 'guitar'. Want to see?

Genius. I know. You don't have to tell me.

So it's now Wednesday. It's early Wednesday, but Wednesday all the same. I seem to remember predicting that my college-work-related-mental-breakdown would arrive today. Hmm. Nothing much yet, but it's only 4:40; there's still plenty of time for me to freak out and stab somebody. My sister Catherine has a cold which I think she is giving to me, so it might be her. Or one of my parents. And I just remembered that I have to play netball tonight, so now I'm kind of concerned for everyone in my team. Moreso, everyone on the opposing team. And moreso than that, the umpire. I mean it about the umpire. If he calls me up for obstruction, I will probably take a dump on the hood of his car after the game.

Okay, I can see the sun peeking over the horizon, so it's probably time for me to get back to work. As a parting gift, I will leave you with this photo of my name on the 'prefect board' at my primary school, Greenwich Public. Yes, that's real gold stick-on lettering. I shall be imortalized forever.
Or at least until I flip out and burn the school down:

The Face Of Evil

Being that I am extremely busy and important, I don't have time to write a whole blog today. So instead, here is a video of my sister (and her massive cleavage) attacking me. She also shoves a bowl down my pants and tells me I smell like BBQ chips. Enjoy:

Another hilariously ridiculous question, this one from my sister Catherine:

Hey, I have a question: Why are you such a self-obsessed idiot on your blog?
Huh.
So what I think you're asking is why - on my blog - I talk so much about myself and all the crazy shit that happens to me. And you are also wondering why I am such an idiot.

Well, I don't think 'self-obsessed' is the right term. I think I'm just giving the people what they want! Why? Well, notice the address of my blog: www.jackiiscrazy.blogspot.com.
I mean, if you willingly click onto a website that has the words 'Jacki', 'Is' and 'Crazy' in the title, I am assuming you want to hear at least one thing about Jacki and whatever it is that makes her so crazy. Am I right? Plus it's not as if every post is about me - this last one was pretty much all Victor Garber. And the one before that was mostly New Moon.
As for the idiot thing, I have no answer. Except that if I'm an idiot, so are you, because we're sisters and I'm pretty sure idiocy is genetic.
Booyah!

Victor Garber! Victor Garber! Victor Garber!

Good Morning, Sydney!
I was going to blog about how hot it was yesterday, but I decided it'd be pointless; you guys were there. You know. It was freaking hot! It was like, "My eyeballs have melted out of their sockets" hot. Like, "The sun is blistering my skin" hot. Like, "I think my chest hair just caught on fire!" hot. I don't have any chest hairs, but I'm sure if I did they'd have caught on fire yesterday. I remember walking home from Lane Cove and at one point crossing the road without looking, because I didn't even care if I got hit by a car. I thought, "Well, if I get hit by a car, at least I can get out of this damn heat."
No, I joke. Actually, the reason I wouldn't mind being hit by a car is because it would probably mean not having to finish my final collection for college. Gah! I know I've been all cool-as-a-cucumber about it so far, but I anticipate some sort of mental breakdown in the next couple of days. If I had to guess, I'd say Wednesday will see the worst of it. Yep. Watch out Wednesday, there's a big old crazy front coming in from the south.
Huh. I guess I did end up blogging about it. The heat. Also the fact that I'm crazy, but mostly the heat. So I said I wouldn't do something, and then I did it - what else is new? Again, it was freaking hot. Did anybody drink milk? I hope not. It would have been a bad choice.

So anyway. I'm watching the final episode of Alias right now, and - SPOILER ALERT - Victor Garber just died. Holy crap, is this the saddest moment of TV ever? Well, no. But top 50 for sure. Victor Garber is amazing. If I could choose my own TV-father, it would either be Victor Garber or the dude from Titanic who fixes a clock and then dies. Who was that again? Oh yeah, it was Victor Garber. Victor Garber, you rock my freaking world! If I were 20 years older, and you were 20 years younger and named Wentworth Miller, it would be on.
It would be so on.
Speaking of Alias...has there ever been a more ridiculously complicated show on Television? Has there? I say there hasn't. I probably wouldn't have watched it all the way through except that there is a character named Michael, and everyone knows I'm a total sucker for anyone named Michael. Also, Victor Garber is in it. Did I mention how much I love Victor Garber?
Victor Garber! Victor Garber! Victor Garber!
Damn, I hope Victor Garber is one of those celebrities who Googles themselves - because if he is, he'll probably find this, read it, and either be totally freaked out or set himself a mission to become my best friend.
And just so you know Victor, I am cool with either of those options.

I feel like crap today.

Holy balls, did I tell you about these beetles that have infested my room? Holy balls! I know I already said that, but dude, these beetles are insane. They are effing everywhere! Not to be confused with the sentence "They are effing, everywhere." No, that is not correct. There are not thousands of beetles having sex in my bedroom.
If only.
No, all they do is crawl and buzz and fly really close to my ear so I get all freaked out and look like I'm having an epileptic fit as I swat them away. Ugh.

Anyway.

So right now I'm watching Ellen interview Andre Agassi. Aggasi? Agasi? Who gives a crap. So right now I'm watching Ellen interview some dude that plays tennis, and she just showed the cover of his autobiography. Wow! I don't know who photoshopped that thing, but he looks like the love-child of Voldemort and Gollum. If Voldemort was half-cat. Voldemort, Gollum and a cat engaged in some crazy three-way sex and Andre Agassi was the result, is basically what I'm trying to say.
And on that note, I'm out.
Talk to you tomorrow!

The Only New Moon Review Worth Reading

So, after my brilliant assessment of The Exorcist, I've decided that perhaps I should become a film critic. Here is my review of the newest film in The Twilight Saga, New Moon:

To set the tone, let me tell you that the first thing I remember when I think about this movie is Rob Pattinson's nipples - because they were really lopsided. And not in a good way. Is there a 'good' way for nipples to be lopsided? I don't know. Evidentally, neither does Rob Pattinson.
The second thing I remember is how the Cullen familys amber-coloured contacts made them all look like robots. So that's it. My evaluation. New Moon: If you like robots and irregular nipples, you'll probably enjoy it.

No, I joke. In all fairness, it really was very good. And I'm not just saying that because I dream of creating and then getting married to some sort of Wentworth Miller/Edward Cullen hybrid. That's a large part of it, but there were other things I enjoyed. One thing I liked was how closely they stuck to the original book. How close? I hear you asking. Well, quite close. Closer than Harry Potter, that's for sure. Suck it, Potter! You just got schooled by a bunch of vampires, bitch!

Okay, back to the movie. I was honestly surprised at my reaction to the almost constant presence of Jacob Black. Don't get me wrong, I loath Jacob Black with the fire of a thousand suns and always will, but it's possible that I'm becoming more tolerant of him - I only vomited a little at the sight of his face. And in my mouth. And now, because I am what some people call efficient and others call lazy, I will sum up the rest of New Moon in dot-point form:

• Rosalie/Nikki Reed wears a blonde wig that is lower on the 'real-looking' scale than Bert Newton's toupe
• Jasper's expression when trying not to attack Bella is the funniest thing I have witnessed in about 4 years
• Edward and Bella are the world's most awkward kissers

And on a more serious note:

• Even if you have read the book, the ending will shock you

Anyway. After the movie I came home to find that my mother had dumped the entire contents of my school bag, all the fabric I left in the living room, and every single piece of sewing equipment I own in the middle of my unmade bed. And my cat was nestled comfortably on top. That was my "I just enjoyed 2 hours of Rob-Pattinson-infused-bliss, and now it's time for something to remind me that I have just over 14 days to complete my final assessment and am completely fucked" moment.
I loved it.

Damn. I am an idiot. Damn.

The synopsis for tonight's episode of Home and Away reads: It's the night of the year 12 formal, but things don't go as planned.
Yeah, okay, Channel 7 synopsis-writing-dudes. Thanks. Because I so didn't see that one coming. One can barely walk down the streets of Summer Bay without getting shot - you try going to a school formal, and you're pretty much asking to be locked unconcious in a burning car that's slowly filling with gas.
I'm just saying.

Speaking of being locked unconcious in a burning car that's slowly filling with gas, that is probably a perfect description of how I feel right now. Mostly on account of the fact that I haven't slept in 42 hours. Damn. School work. Damn. I would say that this is the last time I'm going to leave anything to the last minute, but we all know that would be a lie. So I'll just say damn. I am an idiot.
Damn.

So I know the recession is apparently over and everything, but I still maintain that the human race needs to start taking pleasure in the little things. I don't include myself in this statement because I am not a human, and also because I already take pleasure in the little things. Like today, when I got all excited about the sharpness of a pencil. Yes, planet earth, I am perfect.
The rest of you could use some improvement.
Okay, so obviously I am kidding. I'm not perfect, I'm an idiot. Here is a story to illustrate my idiocy:

Today I was sewing one of my final collection dresses. For school. If you don't actually know me or about the school I go to, all you need to know is that for my final 'assessment', I have to make three dresses. Whatever.
So, the low-down on this dress is that it has a big box-pleated skirt, and the inside of each pleat is decorated with strips of silk. Which have to be sewn on. Individually.
I know. Do you think I could have made it any harder for myself? Do you? Do you? You probably don't. Well, you'd be wrong.
See, here's what happened. I sewed the strips on, then realised I'd sewn them in the wrong positions.
So I took them off.
Then I sewed them on again, this time in the 'right' positions. Only it turns out that I was right the first time I sewed them on, and now they were in the wrong positions.
So I took them off.
Then I sewed them on again again, in the same position that I'd sewn them the first time. Nope. Wrong again. I'm sure this story will be hilarious to me one day, but right now all I want to do is kick myself in the ovaries.
Oh, and just a note: each round of sewing/unpicking the strips takes about 2 hours. Honestly, I am baffled by my own incompetence.

Leave It To Lame-Ass

Has anyone else been watching this Leave It To Lamas show on the E! Channel?
It's weird.
It's like the new Keeping Up With The Kardashians, only not funny. And not good. And nobody is pregnant. And Kim Kardashian isn't in it.

Who are these people? I don't understand them, nor why anyone would give them their own reality series. The most entertaining part of the whole show is probably the oldest son, just because he's so flipping hot. Or maybe the mother because she's menopausal, and apparently people who are menopausal do stuff like stand naked in the kitchen rubbing frozen chicken breasts all over themselves. What the hell? I am so not looking forward to that stage of womanhood.

Speaking of stages of womanhood that I'm not looking forward to, I realised the other day that since both of my parents are pretty much legally blind, I am probably going to end up with glasses.
Oh, man.
Not that I think glasses are ugly. Oh, no, glasses are fantastic. Glasses are great. Glasses are fabulous - just not on me. I can't pull them off. I can't pull off 'Dirty Librarian'. I can't pull off 'Clean Librarian'. I can't even pull off "Regular Librarian'. You know what I can pull off?
'Ugly Girl With Glasses'. And that's it.
Hopefully by the time I need glasses, doctors of the world will have perfected the eye transplantation technique. Kiera, I'm counting on you for this.

It was effing hot today. Here's what I want to know: how come even on those days that it gets to like 40 degrees, you only start to notice the heat once you get out of bed? I could lie snuggled in my doona until midday and be totally comfortable, but as soon as my feet touch the floor it's like BAM!
HEATWAVE!
Is this just me? Is this just my bed?
Maybe my bed is the portal to another dimension. A cooler dimension.

Speaking of things that happen in bed, last night I had a dream that I made out with Jacob Black from The Twilight Series at Julia's circus-themed birthday party.
I know.
There are so many awesome things about that sentence, I really don't know where to begin. Dream? Making out? Twilight Series? Circus-themed birthday party? Julia??
Anyway, I enjoyed it. The making out. I enjoyed it. Which was weird to me, because I'm usually not a fan of Jacob Black - I'm strictly an Edward Cullen girl, always have been. Whatever - they're both hot. I'm not complaining.
Here are some other crazy dreams I have had recently:

• That I won Australian Idol
• That I could breathe underwater
• That my good friend Gem Goodwin had a split-personality disorder, and one of her "alter egos" was a serial killer who dressed up as a clown

Wow. What the hell is my subconcious trying to tell me?
Subconcious? Are you there? What are you saying, you crazy bastard?
Oh, and another thing: the make-out dream was much appreciated, but next time could you use Wentworth Miller instead of Jacob?
Cheers.

Here is an open letter to the asshole who spilt chocolate milk on my shoes last night:

Dear asshole,

You are an asshole.

Sincerely,
Jacki Trew.

Rove, you made me laugh. Kudos.

So in case you haven't heard, tonight is the last episode of Rove ever.
Yeah. Yeah. Last episode ever.
I know what you're thinking. "Golly, Jacki. Another of your favourite TV shows comes to an end? And less than 6 months after the untimely death of Prison Break's Michael Scofield? You're so lucid. So calm! You're taking this awfully well."
Am I? Am I?! Because I just threw the TV through a window and shot my dog.

That was a lie, but still. I probably should be more upset than I am, especially considering that Rove was my fail-safe plan to get famous. Why? When? How? I have no idea. Stop asking me so many questions! This is a blog, not an interview!
In all honestly though, I am quite sad. Quite sad? Who am I kidding, I'm devestated. First Prison Break, now this? If they cancel Home and Away I will probably off myself.

Adding to the giant crapstorm that is my day, I'm eating the worst icecream of my life right now.
It's terrible. Just terrible. The flavour is off, the chocolate tastes weird, and - this is the worst part - the cone is leaking. As in, the icecream is melting, and then seeping through the cone. Dammit. That is the last time I buy 30 cones for $1.25.
Alright, confession - the problem with the icecream taste is actually my fault. It's mint chocolate chip, which everyone knows is my favourite flavour of all time, but it's this new brand that uses butter milk instead of regular.
Ew. Whoever came up with that idea deserves to have their legs eaten by a great white shark.
Anyway, I'd already had some of this mint a couple days ago, so I knew it tasted weird. But I chose to have it anyway because the only alternative was vanilla, and vanilla is the flavour of icecream they serve in hell.
Is that blasphemous? Maybe.
Come to think of it, they probably don't serve any kind of icecream in hell. All I mean to say is that vanilla is the worst flavour of icecream to have ever been invented, and if there is even the slightest chance that hell has icecream, I'm betting that's what it is.

And now to close, a dedication to Rove in honour of his final episode:

Rove, you made me laugh.

A really unflattering giant horse laugh.

The one I only do when something is really funny.

Kudos.

A guy came up to me on my way to school this morning and asked for 4 dollars. He wasn't homeless. Absolutely not homeless. I see alot of homeless people on my way to school, and this guy definitely wasn't one of them. For one thing, he wasn't eating his breakfast out of a garbage bin. Also, he was wearing a suit. Anyway, he needed 4 dollars, I had 4 dollars - it all worked out nicely.
I told my sister about this when I got home, and her only response was to scoff and say "He probably just wanted to buy pot."
Huh? I don't know. I'm no expert on pot, but I'm guessing it costs more than 4 dollars. I mean, if I was a pot-dealer, I'd at least round it up to a fiver. But Catherine didn't agree with me: "Well then he probably wanted to buy a train ticket so he could catch the train to wherever they sell pot."
How depressing.
What kind of society do we live in that the only reason a person could be asking for money is either to buy drugs, or to pay for public transport so they can travel to a place where drugs are sold. Maybe I'm being naive, but I just thought the guy wanted a sandwich or something. I suppose by that logic, I should have given him a sandwich, but
a) I didn't have a sandwich, and
b) I can totally picture him throwing the sandwich back at me and screaming "I said 4 dollars, bitch!"
Ugh. Could I have used the word 'sandwich' any more in that last paragraph? It's starting to look like a typo. Sandwich. Sandwich. Sandwich. Great, now all I can think about is that scene from Little Rascals where they make the sand sandwich. Haha. That's genius.

Anyway, I'm not really sure what to think about this 4-dollar-man. I hope my 4 dollars helped him get whatever it was that he wanted. Unless of course what he wanted was drugs; in that case, I hope he got mugged.

Janey's Final Five, Originally Intended For...Katy Perry

A couple of posts ago, I suggested you guys make up crazy questions and send them to me. Holy crap, someone actually did it! Janey Du Toit originally wrote these for Katy Perry and her insane orange dress. But I guess Katy wasn't available, so Janey sent them to me:

1. Do you think crematoriums should give discounts for those who died in fires?
I think crematoriums should work free-of-charge. There is nothing creepier to me than the idea of paying to have a person incinerated. Except maybe the serial killer doll in that movie Child's Play. Ew.

2. Would you rather name your first born child Lester or Souffle? Why?
Souffle makes more sense to me, because it's gender-neutral. Can you imagine naming your baby girl Lester? Whatever - It's a moot point anyway, because everyone knows my first born will be a boy named Wentworth. After his daddy.

3. You can only have one kind of sandwich. Every sandwich ingredient known to man is at your immediate disposal. What sandwich do you make?
I assume you mean traditional sandwich ingredients only? In that case, I do love me a good ham and cheese. I realise I can have any kind, and there are alot of cramazing (thats crazy and amazing, see how I did that?) sandwiches out there, but you can't go past the classics, and ham and cheese is about as classic as they come. However. If non-traditional ingredients were available, I couldn't imagine anything tastier than a toasted Jacki on Wentworth.
Yum.

4. If bread could be baked into a heart-shaped loaf, would you pick that over the regular square kind?
In my experience, things that are shaped like a heart always taste better. Does anyone else do their grocery shopping at Coles in Lane Cove? The butcher there makes special heart-shaped chicken schnitzels, and I don't know - maybe it's just all the peyoti I've been smoking - but to me, they taste better than regular chicken. Like, a thousand times better.
Okay, I was kidding about the peyoti thing. I've never smoked peyoti. I'm not even sure if that's how you spell peyoti. Not important. The heart-shaped-food theory was not a joke. Those schnitzels tasted like love solidified.

and finally, 5. What's the first thing that comes to mind when you see this picture:

Oh boy. And I just thought of the perfect headline, should this photo ever make it into a newspaper:

RUNNER GETS THE RUNS.

Ha! Right? I should get paid for this stuff.

Thank you Janey. And congratulations - you're officially penciled into my Oscar acceptance speech.

Caffeine, Chlorine and Cannibals: Oh My!

The idea of my face being eaten off makes me very uncomfortable. This is why I will never own a pet snake. Or befriend a cannibal.
Though maybe I'm assuming too much by thinking that a cannibal would want to eat me. I mean, think about it. I eat cows and pigs and fish and whatnot, but I don't eat all of them. I've never seen a chicken by the side of the road and been so overcome with hunger that I whipped out a knife and fork and tucked in right away. So who's to say a cannibal would do the same?
Then again, it's not like cannibals have unlimited access to their preferred cuisine, the way the rest of us do. Plus I'm guessing the kind of people who eat humans aren't exactly known for their self-restraint. Well, whatever. I have a feeling I wouldn't taste very good anyway. Cannibals, be warned: I am the human equivalent of brussel sprouts.

Weirdly enough, this isn't the first time I've pondered what my own flesh would taste like.
Oh, yeah, I'm a little bit insane. Sorry, hadn't you figured that out yet?
My best bet is that we are flavoured by whatever we consume. So, in accordance, if you took a bite out of me, it'd taste like caffeine. And bubblegum. With a hint of chlorine, on account of the fact that I went swimming yesterday and for some reason find it impossible to keep my mouth closed underwater. My sister would taste like bread. My mum would taste like salmon. My dad would taste like chocolate. Ooh, note to self: If ever marooned on deserted island with family, eat Dad first.
Maybe I'm wrong. Probably I'm wrong. I tend to be wrong about everything that isn't Prison-Break-related. Yeah I know that show like the back of my hand. Except for the whole Nick-and-Veronica storyline; that just bored the shit out of me. And now, because I assume none of you know what I'm talking about, we shall return to cannabalism.
Cannibalism?
Canoodalism?
Just kidding - I know that last one's wrong.
Actually you know what? Enough with cannibalism. I think I've disturbed enough people for one day.
Peace! Love! Don't eat me!

I am not usually one to post and then comment on photos of celebrities, but the longer I look at this dress, the more I feel as if I am about to have a seizure:

Wha? Just...How?!
Anyway.
I wasn't sure at first, but I think the new season of Girls of The Playboy Mansion (or for you American readers, The Girls Next Door) is growing on me.
I like the twins. They don't even pretend to have different voices or tastes or personalities, so they're actually more like clones than twins, and I like the idea of clones. Freaky yet entertaining. I don't hate the new 'number one', but she has some work to do if she wants to live up to Holly Madison. I love Holly. Holly could literally take a dump on my front lawn and I would still love her. But this new chick?
Eh.
If she grows wings, finds the cure for cancer and introduces me to Wentworth Miller, I might start paying attention. What's her name again? Karissa? Kristina? Oh no, it's Crystal. Karissa and Kristina are the twins.
Clearly, Hugh Hefner is a huge fan of alliteration.
Alright. Enough talk about Playboy - I'm starting to sound like the pervert I don't want any of you to know I am.

You dedicated readers may have noticed that I haven't posted any 'Rove's Final Five' blogs for a while. Well, this is because Rove doesn't do Final Fives anymore. Blame him. Rove, if you're reading this, I implore you to bring back Final Fives - and of course by 'implore', what I really mean is 'demand'.
If you enjoy watching me struggle to answer hilariously ridiculous questions, feel free to make up your own and email them to me so I can publish them on my blog. Anyone who does this will recieve a hug and a mention in my Oscar acceptance speech.

And the joke of the day is...

What did the wife hippopotamus say to her husband after he told her she was getting fat?
Don't be so hippo-critical!

Ahahaha.
Ba-doom-cha!
Don't ask me why, but I feel like Kiera will particularly enjoy that joke. Apart from the fact that she can drive, is an almost-3rd-year medical student and has a larger vocabulary than all the members of my family combined, we're about equal on the immaturity scale.
Then again, I could be wrong. I haven't had much luck in the humour department lately. Take what happened at Julia's mum's 50th last saturday night, for example. Nathan had ordered a bouquet of flowers, which came wrapped in a what can only be described as a blue tin-foil vase.
Yes.
Blue tin-foil vase.
Needless to say, Nathan experienced some embarrassment. To lift his spirits, I tried to convince him that it wasn't tacky at all, but very post-modern. I can't remember the conversation exactly. It went something like this:

Jacki: Wow, that flower arrangement sure is...
Nathan: Don't pretend. It's terrible.
Jacki: No! No, it's very...post-modern.
(Nathan gives me a weird look)
Jacki: Whenever you don't understand something, just say it's post-modern. No one will question it, and you'll sound really smart.
Nathan: (Doubtfully) Uh huh...Well, it was either that one, or one with red roses and red gerbras wrapped in red tin-foil.
Jacki: Oh, man. That sounds like Satan's bouquet!
(Silence)

What?! How could anyone not laugh at that? Satan's bouquet! That's hilarious! I've never been so witty in all my life! Maybe they just didn't get it. Here, I'll explain:
Satan is red.
The bouquet was red.
See how that works?
Just for good measure, I kept directing the conversation back to Nathan's almost-flowers, and repeating the line about them being Satan's bouquet. I mean it.
I said it like seven times. Nothing.
This does not bode well for me - it's said that girls are either pretty or funny, and at this stage in my life it would appear that I am neither.
All I have to say is, thank goodness I have a mother willing to pay people to be friends with me.