Happy Halloween!

I'm not a big Halloween fan, but there is no denying my penchant for playing dress ups. Or watching other people play dress ups. And I know that sounds kind of creepy, but it's not. Is it? Maybe it is, but I really can't be bothered to care since I'm too distracted by the internal debate I'm having over which would be hotter: Wentworth Miller dressed as Rob Pattinson, or Rob Pattinson dressed as Wentworth Miller.
Yeah.
It's like a twisted sexy mind puzzle; a puzzle because the more you think about it, the harder it is to answer, sexy because of Wentworth Miller, and twisted because anyone who has these kinds of thoughts is clearly in need of some counseling.

Anyway.
I meant to get so much work done today, but in the spirit of Halloween, I decided to take a break and watch Carrie. I have nothing to say about it, really, except that it might be one of the most fantastic movies I've ever seen. Even the part where the jocks go shopping together and buy these hideous 70's tuxedos. Especially the part where the jocks go shopping together and buy these hideous 70's tuxedos.
Also in the spirit of Halloween, I convinced my mum that she needed to buy mini Mars Bars for "all the trick-or-treaters" and then ate them myself. I'm pretty surprised she fell for it, since there are never any trick-or-treaters in Longueville. Like, ever. For us Longuevillians, Halloween isn't about dressing up and receiving junk food from strangers. It's about setting off illegal fireworks, having your house egged, and avoiding the guy who chases kids up and down Kenneth Street with a chainsaw.
Yeah. And I am not even kidding; I never saw him, but I heard a rumour. Maybe it's true. Maybe the guy was just really into Halloween. Or maybe there's been a bonafide serial killer running around Longueville for the past 10 years, and nobody noticed. Hey - it wouldn't be the first time.

And now back to Carrie, because I've had a brilliant thought about it: I think it should be used in the government's next high-school anti-bullying campaign. Brilliant, or what? Think about it! Past promotions haven't exactly been effective, but nothing grabs a teen's attention better than the threat of being set on fire at the school dance. Right? I can see it now:

"Get hit by a car, hosed down, electrocuted and locked inside a burning building as a result of telekenetic power - if you bully others, you're just asking for it."

It's cool, anti-bully-campaign-Australia-people; you can thank me later.

Babysitting, TV, Crazy People And A Few Other Things

I babysat last night. It was pretty awesome.
Yeah.
Because as much as I complain about/claim to loath babysitting, it's always pretty awesome. What's not to love? Aside from the part where you have to take responsibility for another persons life, it's a total breeze. Sit on couch + watch TV + consume food. It's an easy enough equation, and one I've had plenty of time to practice at home. Only this way, I get paid!!
About that whole "taking responsibility for another persons life" thing, though. That bit I'm not so fond of. What happens if the house gets stormed by a gang of serial killers? Who do I save first? Myself? The kid? The $4000 flat-screen TV??
Alright, it's obviously the kid. But wait a second...what if there's more than one kid?? Which one do I save first? The 6-year-old, because she's got all the good toys, or the baby because he's easier to carry??
Thank goodness there's foxtel and a pantry full of food to distract me from these thoughts - without them, I might just go crazy!!
Speaking of going crazy, I saw this movie the other day called The Signal, where there was this weird broadcast being shown on all TV/Radio networks, and anyone who saw/listened to it went crazy and killed everyone around them. And then themselves. Needless to say, it was pretty disturbing, but enjoyable all the same. Actually, probably more disturbing than the movie itself was the fact that I enjoyed it. Huh. Just something to think about.

I got my hair cut yesterday. But no. No, cut isn't the right word to use there - it's not dramatic enough. My hair wasn't cut, it was chopped. Sliced. Hacked. Hatcheted.
Alright, hatcheted might be going a bit far. Plus I'm not 100% sure it's actually a real word. But you get what I mean. Don't get me wrong, I like it. I do. It's pretty different, and I feel a bit like the lovechild of Mick Jagger and Joan Jett (minus the musical talent), but it's sorta cool in an androgynous/face covering/did-that-girl-go-back-in-time-and-swap-heads-with-Ringo-Starr? kind of way.

Hairdressers make me nervous. I have this ridiculous fear that if I accidentally look away from the mirror for 2 seconds, they're gonna shave my head. And I'd really prefer it if that didn't happen. As far as I'm concerned, there's only two people who can truly - truly - pull off the 'Intentionally Bald' look:
1) Wentworth Miller
2) Ummm...Okay, so I lied. There is no second person. I just wanted to give momentary hope to anyone who's ever shaved their head for kicks.
Speaking of people who shave their head for kicks, when my Dad asked me this afternoon if I was planning on getting any more tattoos, I told him that yes, I'm going bald and getting a portrait of Voldemort's face on the back of my skull.
How many times have I told that joke? 50? 60? It never dies.

You know, I used to seriously question Julia's reluctance to catch public buses. But when this is the guy they chose for the front cover of the North Shore Line timetable:

Yeah. I get it.

I Swear (MA 15+)

I swear a little too much. Yeah, I am aware of it. But I just can't f***ing stop! Haha. I don't know where I picked up this charming habit, exactly, but I'm told it started young.
Oh, man, that's terrible.
Constrastingly, Julia - also known as My Good Half - doesn't swear much. At all. Much of at all. Did that make sense? Probably not. But yeah, Julia doesn't really swear. Except when she has to: I remember one day in Year 6, Lachlan Notley told Julia he would give her a packet of Tic Tacs if she said "shit". She said it. I think Lachlan Notley felt pretty stupid.

When Catherine and I were like 6 and 7, we had a babysitter named Kelly, who watched us in the mornings before school because our parents left so early for work. I think Kelly must have liked us, because she let us get away with pretty much anything. Yes, I think she must have liked us quite a bit. Or maybe she just didn't give a shit. Either way, we totally took advantage of the situation, especially in the swearing department. We said it all. We really let it rip. And we thought it was hilarious. Now that I'm old and wise and babysit a 6-year-old kid on a regular basis, I find this pretty shocking. Did I really start swearing that young? F*** yeah, I did!
I think I'm pretty good about censoring myself in public though. And by 'in public', I really mean 'on my blog'. Did you notice? Let's rewind:
"I swear a little too much. Yeah, I am aware of it. But I just can't f***ing stop!"
See that? That, right there? Where I used asterixs to censor myself? Yeah. Yeah! So in Blog-Public, I'm totally polite. Real-Public...that's another story.
Ah, well. F*** it!

It's Too Hot Today

I just blowdried my hair. Ugh! Ugh! Hideous. There is nothing worse than blowdrying ones hair in 30-degree heat. Just in case I don't already resemble a sweating pig, let's enugulf my whole head in hot air!
So why, why, I hear you asking, why would I choose today of all days to dry my own hair? I don't know! Because I'm an idiot, okay? Also because when I let my hair dry naturally, it tends to settle into a wild nest of snake-like tendrils, and I love to have just one day where I don't have to go out in public looking like this.

I'm watching Ellen Degeneres right now. Oh man, I love Ellen. She's interviewing Mary Ann Murphy, also known as That Crazy Screaming Chick From So You Think You Can Dance, who is talking about her survival in an abusive marriage that lasted 8 years. Dude. Now I know what my year 12 Modern teacher Miss Shanahan was talking about when she said "Girls, don't joke about rape. Rape isn't funny!" It makes me feel awkward. Listening to Ellen grill this woman about being raped I mean. I've noticed that Ellen has a tendency to make things awkward - like, this one time when she was interviewing Wentworth Miller, and the conversation somehow turned to former-Prison Break actor Lane Garrison, who was sent to prison (hello, irony) for manslaughter. What? Come on, Ellen! You know I love you, but you've got 6 feet and 2 inches of physical perfection sitting less than a metre away from you, and you wanna talk about manslaughter?!
Sigh.
They should have hired me for that interview. Then it may have gone something like this:

Jacki: Hello Wentworth.
Wentworth: Marry me?
Jacki: Oh hell yes!

Ha. Okay, no, that's a tad far-fetched. Realistically, it would probably go more like this:

Jacki: Hello Wentworth.
Wentworth: Um...where's Ellen?
Jacki: Marry me?
Wentworth: SECURITY!!

Apparently my mum is going to be on TV. More specifically, she and her dragonboat team are going to be standing in the background while Tim Bailey does his weather report on the 6:30 news. It's a role that won't likely be nominated for a Golden Globe, but still - being on TV is being on TV. So here is my question:
WHY? WHY, UNIVERSE, WHY? WHY IS IT THE DESTINY OF EVERY LAST MEMBER OF MY FAMILY TO BE ON TV, EXCEPT FOR ME?!
Let's recap, shall we?
Dad - Interviewed on 60 Minutes for some segment about Nephrology.
Mum - Featured in Tim Bailey human interest piece.
Catherine - Multiple television appearances as part of the Wot If? Sydney-to-Hobart yacht raching team.
Jacki - Anything? Anything?? No! The closest I've come is acting out scenes from Prison Break in the living room, which doesn't even count a little bit, because there's nobody watching.
And the worst part is, none of them could care less! Mum doesn't even like Tim Bailey! She makes fun of him! Catherine is totally camera shy, and Dad...well, Dad is such a space cadet most of the time, he probably didn't even realise he was on TV. Still.
I am so bummed out, I'm actually considering filling an old car with joints and cocaine, putting the headlights on high-beam and driving down the Pacific Highway at 140km/h just to get on Highway Patrol. Even then though, they'd probably blur my face out. Also I don't own an old car. And I really wouldn't know where to get any joints, let alone cocaine.
Never mind - there'll be plenty of TV ops once I'm married to Wentworth.

Cry Me A River

Holy bananas, I can't stop crying.
Ok, crying is a bit dramatic. Actually, my eyes are just watering real bad. Real real bad. My peepers, they are a-gushing, yo. Remember that Justin Timberlake song, Cry Me A River? I used to think that concept was idiotic and unrealistic. Well, not anymore. Forget about water restrictions or whatever, I could seriously wash a car with my tears right now.
And it sucks. Really, it does - mainly because I have no idea whats causing the watering, and am therefore powerless to stop it. Also because it's totally getting in the way of my usual nighttime activities: I can't read because the pages of my book would get wet. I can't watch TV because the images are all blurry. I can't go to bed, because if I lay down, I'll literally be in danger of drowning in my own tears. Is there a worse way to die than that? Having the breath sucked out of your lungs by the family cat, maybe. Otherwise, no.

My laptop! She lives!
Yeah, baby! Can you tell how friggin excited I am? Can you? Look at all those exclamation marks!! If that doesn't spell excitement, I honestly don't know what does. But yes, yes, it's true: my computer is fixed, fully functional, and back with a vengence. I'd say get ready for bi-daily pointless posts on anything from bad sushi to Wentworth Miller's chest hair pattern, but if you read this blog on at least a semi-regular basis then you're probably already used to that kind of thing. So there's really no need.

I'm going to make this quick, because Bones is on in 5 minutes, and I don't want to miss any. It's an episode I've already seen, but honestly I don't care because Cindy Lauper guest stars, and in my book that warrants an uninterrupted second viewing.
Oh, alright. Third viewing.

Yesterday afternoon, in my seemingly on-going quest to achieve Death By Calories, I made an Oreo cookie cheesecake. Oh, hell yes. So here's a list of what I've discovered about Oreo cookie cheesecakes:

• I would like to lay down in a bed of them and roll around.

That is all. Coincidentally - speaking of laying down in a bed and rolling around, I mean - I'm taking a little trip to Mobile Computers tomorrow morning, and if my laptop is funally functional, I'll be more than happy to lay down in a bed and roll around with the guy responsible.
No, only kidding - that's an activity I reserve solely for Wentworth. But Computer Dude can look forward to a handshake and a smile at the very least. If he's actually fixed my computer, that is; if not, I'll just kick him in the crotch and steal his wallet.
Yeah. Yeah! I find that to be a good solution to most of my problems.
Alright, enough. Cindy Lauper awaits!!

Alot Of Pointless Chatter About Movies

I don't really know what to say. Am I running out of things to blog about? Well, no. But I just saw on the news that a couple of days ago, some baby got run over by a train and survived.
Dude. My biggest achievement in the last couple of days was fixing our DVD player; at the time it was pretty impressive, but now it just seems kind of mediocre. Thanks, train-defeating baby. Thanks alot.

I watched The Shawshank Redemption today. At least, I tried to watch it. I always wanted to, partially because it seems like one of those critically-acclaimed-type movies that you feel smarter having watched (like Citizen Kane or The Hours), but also because it's set in a prison, and anything that's set in a prison reminds me of Wentworth Miller/Prison Break, and anything that reminds me of Wentworth Miller/Prison Break makes me happier than this guy:

And I mean, that's a pretty happy guy. Can't you tell?
Anyway I'm not sure how long into the movie I got before I realised it really had nothing to do with Wentworth Miller - probably around the point where the protagonist is gang-raped by a band of man-hungry prisoners. And I didn't last much longer than that. I might have actually stuck around for the rest, if it weren't for the fact that my dad was watching it with me.
Yeah. By myself, fine - but there is something acutely uncomfortable about watching a guy get gang-raped with your father in the room. Really, I wouldn't recommend it.
But anyway. I didn't finish Shawshank, I haven't seen Citizen Kane or The Hours, and at college on friday I had a brain-freeze while adding some measurements together, and forgot how to carry the one. So right now I'm not feeling too intelligent.
Hey, speaking of movies and not feeling too intelligent, I watched Dodgeball last night. Now that I've actually typed out that segue, I'm aware of how terrible it is, but hey - it worked in my head, so I'm leaving it. Anyway, I have nothing interesting to say about Dodgeball, except that it'd been a while since I'd seen it, and I'd kind of forgotten how funny it is. I especially liked this line:

White Goodman: Oh, hello Kate. I wasn't aware I was paying you to 'socialise'.
Kate: You're not - I'm off the clock.
White Goodman: Well isn't that convenient for you. And the clock.

Ha. Haha. I don't know why, but that made me laugh. Then again, I am a laugh whore, remember?
Before Dodgeball, I watched X-Men 3. I know what you're thinking - Wow, for someone who has 2 college assessments and a clothing collection due in less than two months, you sure watch alot of TV. Well, my answer to you is this: SHUT YOUR PIE HOLES, I DO WHAT I WANT!
Anyway, my mum watched X-Men 3 with me. Whenever my mum watches a movie with me, the same thing happens; I spend the whole time caught between feelings of amusement and utter rage at her reactions to whatever is happening on the screen. For example, you know that scene where Jean Grey morphs into Phoenix, and her eyes go all black, and her skin turns kind of maroonish and veiny and stuff? This is a normal persons response:

Normal Person: (Silently terrified)

And this is my mum:

Mum: Well, she needs a facial, doesn't she?

I tell you, listening to that woman is almost better than watching the movie itself.
Right. Now I've run out of pointless things to blog about, so I'm off. Hopefully by tomorrow something more exciting than fixing a DVD player or not finishing a movie will have happened to me. Maybe I'll go back in time by 19 years and get run over by a train - fingers crossed!

Yesterday on the bus, a woman fell asleep with her head on my shoulder.
Sigh.
I hate that.
Not people falling asleep on my shoulder. No, I am all about people falling asleep on my shoulder, if I know them. But if I don't, there's no way. It's creepy. It's unhygenic - I mean, I don't know who has swine flu or leprosy or dandruff or whatever. Keep your craniums to yourselves, strangers!!
Anyway, this woman got her own back; since she was asleep, she missed her stop. Eventually she woke up and noticed, and started freaking out. Gold. I'm not even going to pretend I didn't feel a tiny glimmer of satisfaction. It's kind of mean, yeah, but hey - that's what you get for trying to spread leprosy.

Catherine and Jacki: Take Sydney

Is anyone else of the opinion that my sister and I should have our own reality show?
Probably not.
Maybe our mother, if she thought it meant we'd be making enough money to move out, and she could finally retire and buy a house in Avalon. Anyone else? I don't think so. But there should be! Here's a potential episode:

(Scene: We're shopping in Spotlight, and I've just found Catherine loitering in the christmas decorations aisle)
Jacki: What the hell are you doing in this aisle?
(Oh, okay, I should explain: earlier, Catherine had expressed an intense loathing of all Christmas-related decorations, on account of their 'garish-ness')
Catherine: ...I don't know. (Points to a Santa hat emblazoned with the phrase 'Ba-humbug') What does Ba-humbug mean?
Jacki: I'm not sure. I think it's one of those made up phrases, like meshugenah.
Catherine: Meshugenah? What does that mean?
Jacki: I don't know. 'Crazy shit'? It's Yiddish.
Catherine: You're Yiddish.
Jacki: Well if I'm Yiddish, so are you - we're related.
Catherine: (Points to a pile of tinsle in an obvious attempt to distract me from the fact that she has lost the previous argument) Pink tinsle? When the f*** did pink become a Christmas colour?
Jacki: Dude, don't swear. There's kids in here.
Catherine: You swear all the time!
Jacki: Not in front of kids!
Catherine: You swore in front of Sean the other day!
Jacki: Yeah, well...
(Awkward silence)
Catherine: Lets get out of here, I farted.
(Later, at the checkout)
Jacki: (Points to some square stickers) Hey, these are cool!
Catherine: They're square and ugly.
Jacki: (Points to some round stickers) These are cool too.
Catherine: They're round and ugly.
Jacki: You know what else is round and ugly? Your face.
Catherine: (Holds up two 'make your own keyring' packs, one snake-shaped and one dragonfly-shaped) Which one should I get?
Jacki: Neither, they're both stupid - like you.
Catherine: (Looks wounded)
Jacki: Oh, alright. Get the dragonfly.
Catherine: Yay! (Puts on top of my purchases)
Jacki: I'm not paying for that.
Catherine: I know, I'll pay. (Pause). Actually, no, can you pay?
Jacki: No!
Catherine: You have to! You owe me money!
Jacki: What? No I don't!
Catherine: Yeah you do! Remember last time we split the cost of the groceries, and you thought you paid for half, but you didn't, and as we were walking out of Coles I said "Hey, you still owe me seven bucks" and you said "Yeah, I'll pay you back later, I promise", and then you didn't!!
Jacki: You made that up!
Catherine: Why would I make that up?
Jacki: So I'd pay for your crappy keyring!!
Catherine: Oh look, the registers open! (Slides my stuff in front of the cashier and puts the keyring on top)

Right? Right?? And I know I'm not the only one who finds that entertaining, because as it was playing out (oh yes, that conversation actually happened), both the cashier I mentioned and the family in front of us were pissing themselves.
Gold.
Alternatively, someone could just film the two of us sitting around playing a marathon game of 'Would you rather...?':

Jacki: Would you rather I sat by your bed all night flicking the light switch on and off, OR if sat by your clock all night, and every time the time changed, I read it out in a really loud alien voice?
Catherine: You are the weirdest person ever.
Jacki: That's not an answer!

Catherine: Would you rather watch Wentworth Miller get married to someone else, knowing he would never leave them, OR watch him die?
Jacki: Wentworth Miller die? Don't even SAY something like that!!

Jacki: Would you rather rape the cat, OR contract herpes from Paul Walker?
Catherine: How about, would I rather contract herpes from the cat or rape Paul Walker?
Jacki: You can't rape the willing.
Catherine: Damn straight!!

Oh man. You can't make that stuff up.

I'm Jacki Trew, and I'm a laughaholic

I finally found out what kind of whore I am!!
Oh, man. That sounded terrible. Sorry, Mum.
But you know, the other day I was entertaining the idea that I'd become a Blog Whore... I've since decided this is very much untrue, on account of the fact that I've been blogging here for over 5 years, only pausing once for a brief flirtation with MSN Live Space - If that's not a monogamous relationship, I don't know what is.
Or should I say moBLOGamous relationship ;)
I shouldn't?
Fair enough.
Anyway, where was I?
Oh yeah. So I'm not a Blog Whore, but here's what I discovered:
I, Jacki Sarah Trew, am a Laugh Whore.
I am. I really am. Warning, comedians and alike: don't feel too good about yourselves when I laugh at one of your jokes, because I am way loose with the laughter. I give it away too easy. I laugh at pretty much everything - even the stuff you're not supposed to laugh at.
ESPECIALLY the stuff you're not supposed to laugh at. Like, when I was watching this DVD (can you guess which?) commentary last night: all the guy did was say "Cats suck" and I was in hysterics for like, 20 minutes.
...Alright, to be fair, my own cat walking past at that very second while giving me the filthiest look she could muster probably made it a bit funnier.
But still.
So thats it: I'm Jacki Trew, and I'm a laughaholic. (That was for Mum - 'laughaholic' sounds so much more ladylike than 'laugh whore', don't you think?)

Oh, and the DVD commentary? It was Prison Break. Duh.

Dude I don't know what my unconcious-self was smoking last night, but I had some seriously wacked-out dreams, yo.
First off, I dreamed that I was at the airport with Ellen, and my iPod stopped working. Huh. Okay, I guess that one isn't too far-fetched. I mean, it's not as if I haven't broken like, 10 DILLION iPods in my lifetime. I've also been known to visit the airport. And I am friends with Ellen...Let's move on.
Second off (is that a real phrase? I'm not sure), I dreamed that I was one of the characters in Prison Break. I don't remember too much of this dream, except for a scene where I was hiding in a toilet stall, listening to Michael (that's Wentworths character) and Lincoln (that's Dominic Purcell's character) have a massive fight. I remember Lincoln throwing up and running away, and then Michael handing me a green t-shirt over the top of the door and saying "Here, I thought you might like this." Hmmm....Lincoln throwing up was confusing, and I didn't really understand the green t-shirt moment, but seeings as Wentworth is (in one way or another) involved in most of my dreams, I guess this one isn't that weird either.
Right.
I guess the only dream actually strange enough to warrant a blog was the third one, where I sent myself back in time by 4 hours, and then attended a high school formal with my past-self as my date. Oh, my gosh. And I know how crazy this is going to make me sound, but I was like, the best date ever - my past-self and I kept sneaking up on people and sitting on either side of them, then saying the exact same thing at the exact same time...it totally freaked them out!! Hiiilarious!
Sigh.
This is just another one of those times when I (like Emma Gilmore) wish that Hogwarts was actually real, that I actually lived there, and that such magic existed as would actually allow me to date myself.

So it turns out, there is someone more insane than me - this guy:

Donald Earl Fite III, who sought revenge on his ex-girlfriend by stabbing her pet fish to death.
I mean. Who does that? Can...I can't even imagine how that would go down. But yeah, yeah, it happened. And, okay, I haven't even told you the best part: the ex-girlfriend is demanding that he pay for her to get a tattoo of said fish.
In memoriam.
Oh, my gosh. Is this not the funniest thing you have ever heard? For today, at least? And just so you know - no, I didn't go looking for and find this guy on my own. There was an article about it on the ninemsn.com.au website. I'm not THAT big of a weirdo; I only Google-stalk people I like.

Anyway, there are a multitude of things about this guy that kind of totally freak me out - not the least of which is the alarming similarity between his full name and Wentworth Earl Miller III's - but still...it's kind of comforting to know there are crazier crazies than me out there. Yeah, maybe "Craziest Crazy" would be a nice trophy to have, but I'm really not comfortable with stabbing a fish to get it.

And yeah - Wentworth Earl Miller III. I am not even kidding.

Shower Thoughts #33

"Duel" is a tricky word for me.
Is it pronounced like "dwell", or like "jewel"? Or is it neither of those? I need to know because whenever I'm reading and it comes up, I get totally distracted and end up wasting like, 40 minutes pondering over the articulation. Which I suppose wouldn't be that big of a deal, except that I'm re-reading Harry Potter at the moment. Have you ever read Harry Potter? Do you know how often the word "duel" appears in that book? Pretty much every third sentence, that's how often.

Harry braced himself, preparing for the oncoming duel against Malfoy.

It was hard to believe that he had barely been at Hogwarts for 2 months, and Harry had already been challenged to his first duel.

"Hermione?" "Yes Ron?" "Just out of curiosity, how do you pronounce 'duel'?" Hermione opened her mouth to respond, but before she could utter a single word, Lord Voldemort cast a blanket spell that killed every English-speaking human on earth, effectively eliminating the chance of anyone ever finding out the true pronunciation of the word 'duel'.

Alright, one of those isn't entirely accurate. Can you guess which it is? And then tell me how to say 'duel'?

Bearded Lollypop? Genius!

I've started and not finished like 3 different posts in the past 24 hours. I don't know what's going on with me, I'm just having issues committing to any one blog. Am I a blog whore now? This definitely feels like blog-whore-type behavior.

Sigh.

I guess I'm cool with that. Not that there's anything cool about being a whore, but, well, if I was going to be any kind of whore, I suppose Blog Whore would be my first preference. And whoa, this conversation just got way awkward, not only because I just capitalised the word 'whore' (I mean, that just feels wrong to me), but also because my Mum is probably reading this right now and going 'I knew we should have given her up for adoption'.

So, to recap, it's been barely 2 paragraphs and I've already offended:

a) My mother

b) Myself

c) Prostitutes

d) Humanity in general, I'm guessing

Wow. Good day for me.

Anyway as I was saying: 3 unfinished posts in the last day alone. The first was about how much I suck at baking brownies - and I do. I really do. Even if I follow the recipe instructions with exact precision, they always come out of the oven in one of two conditions:

1) Severely undercooked, like, to the point that the only way to consume them is through a straw

2) On fire.

The second was a pointless internal debate over whether Lady Gaga is trying to be Katy Perry, or Katy Perry is trying to be Lady Gaga. I mean, really, who even cares? They're both completely nuts. Whatever. End of story.

The third was the result of a little shameless late-night-surfing-the-archives-of-my-own-blog activity. Yeah, I do that. And good thing I do, because - hello, irony - it gave me something to blog about. Remember this birthday cake Catherine and I made for our friend Daniel a few months back?

Yeah, I know. We are fantastic. Anyway, not the point. The point is, I had several comments on this photo, but not ONE of them was about whats going on in the top right hand corner:

Yeah. That's a bearded lollypop, people. Not only is that hilarious, it's also incredibly strange. I don't know what's going on with you lot; either my readership is way lower than I thought (like, zero), or you've all become so accustomed to my weirdness that a lollypop with facial hair just isn't that big of a deal. Either way, I don't care, because I've just realised that my three previously abandoned blogs are now complete, and I'm off to celebrate with a chocolate icecream and 4 episodes of Prison Break.

Tata!

I was having a pretty slow day, but this excites me: If you go to the website for Drew Barrymore's new movie Whip It, you can enter your name into a generator and recieve your very own Roller-Derby alter-ego. Oh, my gosh - anyone who knows me knows I'm a HUGE fan of alter-egos, with the one exception of Beyonce's Sasha Fierce, who, if I'm honest, gives me the heebie-jeebies. But apart from that. LOVE them.
Anyway, my Roller-Derby name came out as Madame Wheelie-Feelgood. I would ask that you all address me as this from now on. Even better, do you know what my sisters came out as? King Crush. No, really.
King.
Crush.
Oh, man, Whip-It-Website-Roller-Derby-Name-Generator, you don't even know how on the money you are with that one.
Anyway, I should go - there's Greys Anatomy to be watched, chocolate to be eaten and schoolwork to be neglected.
Madame Wheelie-Feelgood - OUT!

Now that Prison Break is over, I feel like our Foxtel providers could cancel every channel on our service except for E! and I would still be totally satisfied. For serious. I am so addicted to almost every show on that channel. Not too addicted though - I learned my lesson with Prison Break; you can't get too attached, because TV shows eventually end, and not all of them are released on DVD.
E! is different though, because it's all harmless idiotic reality shows, and well, long story short, I tend to favour TV that doesn't require a whole lot of brain power these days. Plus, a reality show won't introduce you to the love of your life, string you along for 4 years, then get cancelled and break your heart.

Crap reality shows are great. Not only are they entertaining, but they totally make you feel smarter. Really! Especially that one chronicling the lives of Kim Kardashian's lesser known sisters, Kourtney and Khloe Take Miami. Or as it should be called, Kourtney And Khloe Make Their Living By Hosting A 3-Hour Radio Show Once A Week, Dropping In On Their Family-Owned Clothing Boutique To Boss Around The Employees, And Hosting The Occasional Tranny-Look-Alike Contest.
Oh my goodness that's good television. I love it. And watching them act so stupid makes me feel that much more intelligent! Like Kourtney and her asshole boyfriend, whose name currently escapes me. The two of them are idiots. Idiots. I don't understand why they're even dating; I mean, most of the time, it seems like they don't even like each other. Here's a prime example:

Kourtney: Did you become a member of terror squad?
Kourtney's Asshole Boyfriend: Did you become a member of 'I don't wear shirts that cover my boobs'?

And now they're having a baby together. Yeah. That's going to end well for everyone.

Auntie of the Year

My wireless internet connection isn't working, and it's making me crazy. I mean, more so than usual. But yeah, it's been out for almost a week. I would have blogged about this before now, but um
a) How does one blog without the internet? And
b) I'm extremely busy and important ('Extremely busy and important' here meaning 'A lazy shit')
Yeah. It sucks because the longer I go without internet, the more I want to blog about how annoyed I am that I have no internet. But because I have no internet, I'm unable to blog about how annoyed I am. And that makes me more annoyed - which, in turn, increases my desire to blog. Oh, my gosh. It's a vicious cycle of pointless rage - something I'm not unfamiliar with, as those of you who read this blog on a regular basis might have guessed.

In other news, my sister and I recently had one of our most intelligent and meaningful conversations to date:

Jacki: Dude, how freaky is it that one of us is probably going to have a kid some day?
Catherine: Totally.

Ha! Really though, is anyone else kind of terrified for my sisters' hypothetical future offspring? If my childhood memories are anything to go by, they're all getting helmets for their first birthdays. And some advice: Kids, if you're allergic to anything, don't fall asleep in your mothers' presence.
Jacki Trew - future Auntie of the Year.

Taco VS Taco

I never feel more simultaneously delighted and enraged than when I am eating a taco.
Let's be honest - tacos are pretty flippin' awesome. First of all there's the name. Taco. I mean, that's hilarious on its own. And then there's the contents; corn chips, meat, chili, vegetables, cheese...it's like every food group in one meal! One delicious meal, I might add. Yeah they're not that healthy, they've got that weird vaginal connotation, and if you eat just one too many, you risk spending the night hunched over a toilet, but still...I just can't seem to resist.

On the other hand, though.
Who invented the taco? Who was it? Huh? Huh? I only want to know so that I can hunt them down and smack their bottom, because seriously. Is there anything harder to eat than a taco? I say there isn't. Whenever I see one, I'm overcome with elation and desire and a mouthful of saliva, and at the same time, I know that buying/eating it is only going to end badly. I don't know what it is - the sharpness of the shell combined with the soggyness of the meat? The weird shape? The fact that I possess an unnatural determination to talk and eat at the same time? - but I swear, there is no way to eat a taco without:
a) Spilling on myself
b) Spilling on someone else
c) Spilling on both myself and someone else
d) Choking to death

So here are my thoughts...someone should invent the Bite-Sized Taco. Like a regular taco, except that the corn chip is a hollow enclosed sphere, and all the other ingredients are mixed together inside. Size-wise, it should be large enough that one can really appreciate all the different flavours and textures, but small enough that I won't choke to death should I choose to swallow it whole. Right? Right?!
Yeah. Someone should invent that. And by 'someone', I of course mean 'steal my idea and suffer my wrath, bitches'.
The Bite-Sized Taco - coming soon to an unlicensed truck-stop diner near you!

How On Earth Did I Make It Through High School?

Holy crap, am I on a blogathon today or what? Well, whatever. Not the point.
I was just going through some of my old school notes, you know, seeing what I could throw away, and I came across a class assignment that I'd written for English Extension 1, on the subject of The Bronte Family.
...Yeah. This is - and I kid you not - a direct quote:

"Anyway, the only cool thing about The Bronte Family is that they must have been on drugs or something, because Beth and I figured out that the mother, whose name was Maria, had two children called Maria and Elizabeth, and they had an aunt called Elizabeth, who was Maria's sister, and she also had a child called Maria, who had two children called Maria and Elizabeth. I mean, no one who is not on pot is stupid enough to name that many people in their family Maria and Elizabeth. Right?"

Oh man.
I'm awesome.

The Advantages Of Sleeping Naked

Today, against my better judgement, I sat down and watched a Kendra marathon. For those of you not lame enough to be addicted to the E! Channel, Kendra (Wilkinson) is one of Hugh Hefner's ex-girlfriends. Other than that, who is she? What has she done to be famous? Why does she have her own TV show? I have no idea.
Anyway like I said, I've been watching this show pretty much all day. I'm still not sure how I feel about it; it fills me with equal parts amusement and disgust. The best part is Kendra's laugh. It's so manic and loud and mannish, it makes me feel a little better about having my own crazy style of laughter. The worst part is the closing credits. Oh, the closing credits. They are so bad. So so bad. They make me want to tear out my own eyes and eat them. Or have the skin slowly peeled from my face. Or stab myself in the neck with a sharpened carrot. I think, honestly, I think performing open heart surgery on myself would be less painful than watching the Kendra closing credits. They are that bad. Basically it's Kendra, dressed in several different outfits, shaking her groove thing to some horrible custom-made theme song. It's the outfits that get me; they're all regular clothes, and then one is a golf outfit. What? Why? Why is this woman wearing a golf outfit? Does she play golf? Does she like golf? Does she know what golf is? I watched at least 6 hours of this show today, and didn't see anything that would allow me to answer any of those questions with a yes.
Sigh.
One thing I found really confusing was when Kendra and her fiance moved into their new house, and they had a stripper pole installed in the middle of the living room. Now, I'm all for a good stripper pole...but, in the middle of the living room? Seriously?? That can't be convienient. This thing goes from floor to ceiling, yo. What happens if you get up in the middle of the night needing a glass of water? I don't know about anyone else, but I just know 9 times out of 10, I'd coathanger myself on that bad boy trying to avoid it in the dark. On the other hand though, they probably both have dynamite abs.

On a completely different note, my sister recently bought a new car. Or new-old car, I suppose is the correct term, since it's second-hand. Or actually third-hand. It was our older sister's husband's first, then our brother's, and now it's hers. Now that's what I call keeping it in the family. Maybe one day it'll be mine. You know, if I ever quit running over cops for long enough to get my license. Ahh, probably not.
Anyway, Catherine must have been in a good mood on the day she brought it home, since she allowed me to name it. Him. His name is Marley - after Bob Marley, not the dog from that Jennifer Aniston movie. Here's how I came up with it:
The number plate is BEN-469
BEN is short for BENJAMIN
If you take the BEN out of BENJAMIN, you get JAMIN
JAMMIN' is a song by BOB MARLEY
If you take the BOB out of BOB MARLEY, you get MARLEY
Get it?

Okay, back to Kendra. One of Kendra's dumbass playboy bunny friends just made probably the smartest comment I have ever heard in my life:

Dumbass Playboy Bunny Friend: I could never sleep naked. I just think about robbers. I don't wanna be naked when a robber comes in - I need to get the f*** out of there!!

Hahaha. So true. In my case though, I think being naked would actually work to my advantage. Like, I think for a robber, seeing my bare butt would be more frightening than seeing me holding a cricket bat like a weapon, or calling the cops, or whatever. Yeah! Forget home security systems, I'm just gonna run around naked all the time!
Ha. Oh, man. I'm such an idiot.

How do you spell 'Totally Awesome'? P-A-R-K-L-I-F-E

So hey, Park Life happened this weekend.
I'm not hugely experienced with the whole music festival thing, but I still feel pretty confident in putting it out there that this was the most freakin' fantastic festival ever. No, you know what? I'm gonna go a step further; it was the most freakin' fantastic day ever, music festival or not.
Anyway...I was going to do a total play-by-play - you know, recount the whole thing for you in detail - but then I remembered that I'm the laziest person in the universe, and I'd much rather waste my time reading OK!, or watching that reality show about the Kardashian family. So you'll have to make do with the highlights. In point form.

• Waking up an hour late thanks to daylight saving. Huh? What? Who knew it was daylight saving? Everyone except me, apparently. And Cecil, who rang to ask, in a slightly panicked voice "Dude, does your clock say it's 20 to 9 too?"
• Starting the day with a healthy and nutritious breakfast of potato salad and tequila. Our parents would be so proud.
• Two words: La Roux. Or is that one word? Since it's technically her name...well, whatever, that's not important. The point is, watch out Alex Kerr - you've now got serious competition for the title of 'Jacki Trew's Favourite Ranga'.
• Cecil trying to speed up the entry process by pretending I was pregnant:
  
  Cecil: (Yelling and pushing through the crowd) Hey! Move! Where's the pregnancy line?
  Random Girl: (Looking at me) Are you pregnant? Ohhhhhh, devo.
  
  Hahaha. I am not even kidding. The best part was that despite clearly being stoned out of her mind, she sounded totally sincere. Like, she actually believed I was pregnant. And she was actually devo about it.
• A brief wave of nausea that hit at around 2pm, reminding us that tequila shots before 10am are never a good idea. Well, lesson learned.
• Getting lifted up on some guys shoulders at Busy P, one of whom had just re-pierced his own tongue with a random chicks belly-button ring. Yeah, at first I was like "Whoa, hardcore", but the more I thought about it, I was like "Whoa, unhygenic".
• Getting accosted by a drunken Frenchman who accidentally burned Gemma's thigh with the butt of his cigarette before announcing his plan to create some sort of bionic woman using Elle's face, Gemma's legs and my upper body.
• Empire Of The Sun pausing mid-set to have some sort of insane asthma attack. Seriously. For two minutes, it was just silence and heavy breathing. I think it was actually part of the performance, but it sure sounded weird. Like, the guy next to me turned to ask "Do you think he has emphysema?"
• The closing performance: La Roux. Yeah, I know I already talked about her. So sue me - she was so flippin' crazy-good, she deserves two dot points. I don't even know how to describe how good she was. Even 'disco fabulous' doesn't cover it. My favourite part was the bass, which was so heavy you could actually feel your organs rattling around in your chest. I remember thinking to myself "I'm probably having a heart attack right now but I don't care; this would be such a cool way to die." Ha.

And so on. The whole Cecil/Stoned Chick/Pregnancy Line thing took out "Moment of the Day", until the very end of the night, when Elle, Gem and Mischa dropped me home, and while walking up my pitch-black front path, I was attacked by a bat. Classic.

Octoberfest

It's officially October, yo! You know what that means?

• 3 months til Christmas
• 6 months til my birthday
• 9 months til Wentworth's birthday
• 12 months til the wedding

Ha. Okay, obviously that last one is a bit of a fabrication - I couldn't possibly plan my perfect wedding in just 12 months. Plus everyone knows I want to get married in Summer, not Spring.
Anyway, yeah, it's October, and I've decided to celebrate by adding a new feature to my blog...just scroll down and look to your right for "Greatest Hits", a compilation of (what I believe to be) my best posts to date. Really, just dynamite stuff.
Paramount? No
Pointless? Yes
Entertaining? Well...that's up to you guys.