Tuesday, December 14, 2010
I don't know which words'll describe how sick I'm feeling right now, but "as a dog" just isn't gonna cut it. What animal gets sicker than a dog? Cat? Ferret? Great White Shark with a rope around its tail being dragged backwards though the Pacific Ocean?
That'll do it.
I'm sick as a Great White Shark with a rope around its tail being dragged backwards through the Pacific Ocean. And for the second time in one week? Let me explain...
In a bid to gain some semblance of culinary skill that - no point in lying about it - I can use to impress The Navy Man next time he's over for dinner, I've become a little more creative with my cooking lately. I don't know what made me think I could get away with this. Really? Really I'm the kind of person who shouldn't even be allowed IN a kitchen, let alone left in charge of any meal which doesn't involve the words "ham" and "sandwich". And I learnt this the hard way, on Saturday night, when my attempt at Thai red curry and rice with brocolli and potatoes left me wrapped around the toilet at 2 in the morning.
Naturally, I decided to try again last night. And the results? Well on the plus side, I can now modify my potential career search to exclude the entire food industry. Or any industry involving chickens. On the negative side though...well, you can guess the negative side.
Monday, December 06, 2010
Well...pretty much, anyway.
So then came around 24 hours of very official Navy business which I'm not allowed to talk about. "Very official Navy business which I'm not allowed to talk about" here meaning "My parents read this blog, do you really think I'm going to post all the details of a reunion that was 3 months in the making on the internet?". No, no I'm not.
On Thursday morning I - by some miracle - actually got to work on time. And then it was only 8 and half hours of towel-folding hell until Thursday night, AKA Alex's birthday celebrations at the pub, which may or may not have lasted until 230 in the morning and culminated with all of us being forcibly removed from The Longueville Hotel. May or may not. I'm not saying anything. But, uh, yeah, they kicked us out. And it was hilarious.
On Friday I had work again, and this time was surprised at about 3 in the afternoon with a little visit from The Navy Man himself. The Navy Man himself and 2 huge bunches of flowers. The Navy Man himself and 2 huge bunches of flowers and one of them was for Alex because it was her birthday. Did I mention that this was a surprise? Or that The Navy Man and Alex have never actually met before? Yes, I hit the jackpot alright. If you didn't already hate me for penning such a ridiculous blog, you might want to start now for somehow snagging the Macquarie Dictionary's definition of a perfect man. Don't believe me? Well you will. Because on Saturday night I went to a dress-up 21st as (who else?) Lady GaGa:
And he went as my backup dancer.
Check. And. Mate.
Saturday, November 27, 2010
Don't get me wrong, I love summer. And bikinis. And shopping. And any excuse to combine all three. But lately it's like...somewhere along the line, bikini shopping became less of a fun and exciting experience, and more of a covert mission to get in and out of the changing room as fast as possible without succumbing to the urge to kill myself. I don't know who decided that fluorescent lighting was the perfect choice for a room where women spend the majority of their time half naked and standing in front of a mirror, but I would love to find out.
Then, on top of the whole 'I'm-starting-to-resemble-some-sort-of-overweight-deep-sea-creature-and-these-dressing-room-lights-aren't-doing-anything-to-help-my-feelings-about-it' thing, they have GUYS milling around the store to help you choose. Which wouldn't be so bad. Except that the guys in the store I happened to choose all looked like this:
I mean, come on. Talk about a need to impress.
I'm kidding of course - there's only two men in my life I feel the need to impress; and since one of them is currently 4000km away and the other is a gay fictional character from a TV show that ended almost 3 years ago, I wasn't that worried about the dude trying to sell me a bikini. I'm just saying.
Regardless, it's hard to imagine a product more ridiculous than this. I mean, mini-brush with freshening bead?? Normally I am a huge fan of any person, place or thing that comes with the prefix 'mini', but this is going too far. Have you seen the commercial? With the girl brushing her teeth in the middle of a nightclub? Please. I'm not a violent person by nature, but if I ever saw someone actually using one of these things in public...well, they wouldn't be using one ever again, if you know what I mean.
They wouldn't have any reason to be using on ever again, if you know what I mean.
I'd rip their teeth out of their fucking head, if you know what I mean.
Anyway. Now that I'm done talking about that, let's have a laugh at my expense. Does anyone else ever find themselves so amusing that they take screencaps of their own text message conversations and post them on the internet? Yeah, me neither. Except for right now:
If this hairdressing thing doesn't work out, I'm definitely investigating a career in reality TV. After all, if Paris Hilton can get America to sit through an entire season of her pretending to find a new best friend, there's gotta be at least 10 people in the world who are bored/stupid/inebriated enough to watch me and my sister strap a size 35 Officer's Cap to our dog's head and march him around the house while humming the theme song to Sea Patrol. Not that we actually did that. I'm just saying.
Monday, November 15, 2010
Holy shit, Jersey Shore. I almost feel like that's what they should change the name to. Holy Shit, Jersey Shore. Because every time one of these total Freak Of The Weeks opens their mouth to say anything, THAT'S what I'm thinking. How can REAL 20-something-year-old people be so stupid? So superficial? So...mind-numbingly ridiculous??!!
I have never felt love like this in my life.
I want to build some sort of size-alteration machine, shrink these people down to ant-size, and carry them around in my purse. Especially Pauly D. I know everyone loves Snooki, but Pauly D is my favourite. How can he not be? Having a name like 'Pauly D' is a pretty big victory in itself, and then you consider his hairdo:Who needs bench space when you can carry something like that around in your handbag? I'd never have to ask for a coaster again!
That's about all I've got for today. I do have another exciting piece of info up my sleeve, but in the interest of not jinxing myself and ruining the whole thing, I'm not gonna say too much. Just this:
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Nah, I'm joking of course. Aunt Suzie didn't melt. I actually don't even have an Aunt Suzie. That I'm aware of. But you get it. If I did have an Aunt Suzie, I'm pretty sure she would have never seen it coming. And I'm even more sure that she would have melted. Today. Because of the heat. Because it is THAT g-darn hot.
On a semi-related note, this is the third and next-to-final time I'm gonna ask you all what you want for Christmas. I say semi-related because what I would like is to have lots of sex and babies with Florence And The Machine, who I was just talking about. Or, you know, at least see her in concert. But yeah. Requests? Suggestions? Straight-out demands? Get in quick, before I spend next weeks pay on another piercing. Seriously, my Mum will REALLY appreciate it.
So two things:
First of all, sorry; because I know - I know - it's been a disgustingly long time since my last update. For that I apologise. And secondly, sorry again; for being enough of a dick to assume that anyone is affected whatsoever by my blogs or lack thereof.
Apart from the people I pay, of course.
So I've been having a lot of whacked-out dreams lately. And if reading that last sentence is giving you a bit of deja-vu, don't freak out. You're not mad, you're not crazy. I've blogged about this before. Twice. So probably I should get off my ass and go find new blog material, but whatever. It's Sunday. I'll get off my ass tomorrow.
Anyway, I don't know what it is, but I seem to be in the middle of what I've come to know as My Demented Dream Cycle. Which wouldn't be so bad, except that Demented Dream Cycles are apparently the kind that last for 8 years at a time. My God. Is this just part of my gradual descent into total madness, or has Mum been lacing my cereal with crystal meth again? I don't know. All I have to say is that if MTV knew how many times Dream Jacki has been pregnant, arrested, stalked by serial killer clowns or medically transformed into a man, they would SO be giving me my own reality show right about now. And I'm kidding about the crystal meth - everyone knows my Mum prefers coke.
Speaking of my Mum (and, by extension, my Dad)...the two of them went to Orange this weekend and left me in charge of the house. Wow. Trust. I'm feeling it. And what better way to celebrate than by blowing a week's wage on alcohol and inviting half of Longueville over for a pool party? I'm kidding of course. I mean, I did have Gem, Kat and Janey over, but half of Longueville? Please. My neighbours are three hundred years old. And nothing says 'party pooper' like dentures and a custom-made walking frame. Although I'm sure they really enjoyed our backyard rendition of Baz Luhrmann's Elephant Love Medley at 2 in the morning. And listening to conversations like this:
Kat: Damnit, why don't my parents ever go away for the weekend? It's like they don't like each other enough to spend that much time together alone.
Jane: Mine either, it's so annoying.
Jacki: Yeah, I guess I'm just lucky - my parents love each other, it's just me and Catherine they wanna get away from.
Jacki: Okay, to be fair...it's mostly me.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Monday, October 18, 2010
Well, shit. Thanks Mum. I honestly don't know what's more depressing - already owning half the makeup in the Avon catalogue, or the fact that your mother thinks you need more.
In other news, HOLY SHIT SEA PATROL IS AWESOME. I know, it's weird, and mostly because not 4 posts ago I had only just watched my first episode and described it as 'um, kind of surprisingly entertaining', but since then I've discovered seasons 2 and 3. And this guy:
I mean come on. Tell me I'm not the only one who thinks Billy 'Spider' Webb looks kind of familiar. And not just because of the uniform.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
I know. I am literally in awe of these people. And whatever-it-is that they've been smoking. That is all.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
My family is kind of retarded.
Anyway, yeah. Dining room = practically a ghost town. The last time I remember ANYONE eating in there was about 4 months ago when The Navy Man's family came over for dinner, which I guess makes sense, since I think my parents were hoping that the egg cups would distract them from the fact that their only son was knowingly dating a crazy person. I'm not too sure that it worked.
'The Strange Woman' turned out to be an old friend of Mum's from Western Australia. Excellent. I love it when my parents invite their old friends over for dinner. Mostly because there's always some sort of dessert involved, but also because 'old friends' tend to ask questions about your children. And while my parents have no difficulty with talking about Catherine-The-Golden-Child-Trew, they never seem to know quite what to say about me...
The Strange Woman: And what about your other daughter...Jacki?
Mum: Oh, she...
Mum: She likes fashion.
Dad: Yes! That's right, fashion! She likes fashion!
The Strange Woman: And is she any good at it?
Dad: Oh, well, yes. I suppose. She always chooses interesting outfits. Sometimes they work, sometimes they don't...
Mum: She likes to write.
Dad: She has this internet blog, have you heard of blogging?
The Strange Woman: Oh, yes. But I never quite understood why people did it.
Dad: Yeah, neither do we. She kind of just narrates her own life. She has a very...strange sense of humour.
Thanks, Dad! Feeling the love. Although I guess in the grand scheme of things, hiding in the kitchen and eavesdropping on your parents dinner conversation so that you can later publish it on the internet is probably one of those things that most people would consider strange.
So fair call.
Speaking of things that most people would consider strange, I watched an episode of Sea Patrol on the Universal channel this morning, and now I'm hooked. This is confusing for two reasons:
1) Australian-made dramas are pretty high on my list of 'Shit That Makes Me Want To Stab Myself'. Also,
2) Sea Patrol? No offense to anyone protecting the country from asylum seekers or illegal fisherman or whatever; I'm sure your job is EXTREMELY interesting...but if I'm going to sit down and sacrifice an hour of my life for anything on TV, it better involve David Tennant time-travelling in a little blue box, or one of the Kardashians.
Still. I thought I'd give it a go, mostly in a last-ditch attempt to become more Navy-Literate. Seeings as I have both a sister and a boyfriend in the Navy, it's getting kind of embarassing that I get confused between 'port' and 'starboard'. Not to mention the fact that I still can't say the words 'seaman' or 'rear admiral' without giggling. Although that's not really a fair test - seaman is hilarious. Anyway, despite my pre-concieved notions, Sea Patrol turned out to be surprisingly entertaining. Although I suspect that has less to do with the whole 'Navy' aspect, and more to do with the fact that I'm only a few episodes in and two of the officers are already hooking up. After all, if life (and my 5-year obsession with Prison Break) has taught us anything, it's that there's nothing I enjoy more than a good love story...except a good 'Lets Bone Even Though We're Not Supposed To' story.
Monday, October 11, 2010
- I'm not learning a skill
- There's no chance of promotion
- I'm on my feet for 9+ hours a day
- I'm constantly exhausted
- I have to deal with bitchy clients, and
- The pay is $6 an hour
Still...the people I work with, the music we play, and the fact that just going to work means I can drink as much of the salon's coffee as I want somehow makes up for it. I just can't help myself.
I fucking LOVE my job.
Of course, knowing (as I now do) that my parents plan on selling our house and moving to Avalon makes me realise that yeah, eventually I'll have to locate my last shred of self-respect and get a job that actually pays above minimum wage. For now though, I'll take the 6 bucks an hour. Especially since it means I get to enjoy perks like this:
Fame! The Musical. For free.
One more time? That's Fame! The Musical.
I can say with 85% honesty that I have never been more excited about anything in my life. I feel like 85 is pretty fair: 10% belongs to The Navy Man's homecoming, and 5 is for the first time I tasted peach schnapps. Still, you get it - I was pretty g-darn psyched for this musical. And I was certainly not disappointed. The dancing was awesome, the singing was amazing, the music was disco...mostly though, it was about this: Did someone say frozen daquiris that came served in flashing martini glasses which we proceeded to steal from The Capitol Theatre? Yes, yes they did. And that someone was me. Did I say 85% excited? This may have just bumped it up to 90. Then, after the excitement that was Fame! The Musical, Alex and I decided to do what any sophisticated 20-year-old employees of one of the largest and most lucrative hairdressing companies in Australia would do...we went to the pub and drank Jim Beam out of our stolen glasses. Because nothing says 'sophisticated' like bourbon and coke, especially when you're sipping it from a plastic battery-powered martini glass that glows in the dark.
But the night didn't end there.
2 hours and around 5 (by which I mean 'closer to 7...or 8') drinks later, we ended up at The North Sydney League's Club in Cammeray. This was hilarious for several reasons:
1) Have you been to The North Sydney League's Club? For your sake, I hope not. Besides employees, the only people in there are gambling addicts who want to waste thousands of dollars on the pokies but have been systematically banned from every other casino in Sydney. Or alcoholics who come to hit on women and - after realising that there are none - end up drowning their sorrows at the bar. Or...Alex and I. It's honest to God the most depressing place I've ever been in my life. The music was depressing. The bitch at the front desk was depressing. The poor excuse for a beer garden was depressing. Even the decor was depressing. I've never even considered the idea of suicide, but just stepping through the front doors of this place had me making a list of quick and painless ways to end my own life. And so naturally...
2) I became a member.
$10? Totally worth it. This act of stupidity is going to keep me amused for at LEAST 12 months. Which, coincidentally, is the exact length of membership time I recieved for said $10. And did I mention the members-only discount? There's a members-only discount! Sure, having this card means I'll be sacrificing a little more of my dignity each time somebody opens my wallet and sees it sitting there...but hey. I've been spending every weekend since my 17th birthday chipping away at my dignity anyway, right? So this doesn't really make that much of a difference.
Tuesday, October 05, 2010
I can't decide my favourite part...that we listened to Cut Copy and watched How I Met Your Mother while doing so, that the vodka was fairy floss flavoured and fluorescent pink, or that my Mum and Dad sat back and watched the whole thing happen without batting an eyelid - except at around 11am, when they suggested we cut the vodka with a bottle of champagne.
Although that's mostly it.
After Midnight Juggernauts, we considered swimming across Kippax Lake to get to the Jagermeister Tent, but ended up walking instead. The lake looked pretty dirty. And wide. Plus there were a myriad of signs posted around it promising that anyone who so much as looked at the water would be escorted off the premesis. Immediately. I don't know if there's a word for 'the opposite of disco fabulous', but I'm pretty sure getting kicked out of Parklife BEFORE the Jager Tent would be a perfect definition. Anyway, Casa de Jagermeister was everything you'd expect it to be and more. And by 'more', I mean this:
Pardon my poor photography skills, but is that a Jagermeister tattoo?
Yes it is.
After Jager, before dinner and just around the time the sun went down came the highlight of my life - aka Missy Elliot - where we were groped by/lifted onto the shoulders of the three random dudes in front of us, and then watched as Miss E and her glow-band wearing backup dancers made a musical tribute to Michael Jackson and that chick from TLC who died in a plane crash. At this point we were onto our 6th consecutive hour of dancing and were being fuelled by little more than German alcohol and Red Bull, and we didn't even care. If there is a stronger natural stimulant than Missy Elliot wearing a sequined Michael Jackson t-shirt, it's not one I know about.
About an hour and a half later, we decided to finish the night off with Groove Armada. I'm a bit tired and this post is turning out to be kind of epic, so I'm not going to go on and on about it - except to say that I woke up at 10am on Monday morning, and my ears were still ringing. And there were lasers. And it rained. As we were dancing. To Groove Armada. With lasers. In the rain.
It was in that moment I discovered a profound truth; a penis is not necessary to achieve an orgasm. Twice.
After that, we were - to put it eloquently - pretty much fucked. And so, in the perfect ending to the perfect day, we packed up our sunglasses and what little money we had left, had one last drink, and caught the train back to St Leonards while reading a free copy of FHM we'd picked up. It was strangely insightful.
Until next year, that's about it. Parklife Sydney, October 3rd. Greatest day of 2010.
(Until The Navy Man comes back).
Monday, October 04, 2010
So, just because I have nothing else to blog about right now (the EPIC post detailing every second of Parklife will come later, when I've had more sleep and less Jagermeister), here are are a few phrases that I personally feel should never be said by any human raised or living in a 'regular' environment. All have come out of my mouth at some point during the last 24 hours.
"Can somebody wipe the cat hair off the stove? I'm trying to cook dinner."
"I want Flight Facilities to play at my wedding reception. Couples will be boning on the dance floor and I won't even care."
"If it's any less disgusting, I WASHED his undies before I wore them as pajama pants."
"Do you want Captain Morgan's in yours, or are we having a sober lunch?"
"If it's between The Ugly Truth and The Bounty Hunter, I choose The Ugly Truth. I had a threesome dream involving Jennifer Aniston the other night, so watching her on TV makes me feel VERY uncomfortable at the moment."
Sunday, September 26, 2010
I wake up in the morning - it's on TV.
I come home after work at night - it's on TV.
I stumble down for a toasted ham and cheese at 3am - it's on TV.
The second worst part is that it's hosted and narrated by these two British dudes. Normally I'm a huge fan of British people and all they have to offer, but these guys and their snotty accents make me wanna take those ham and cheeses I was just talking about and SHOVE them into my EARS. And the first worst part? Well it was playing this afternoon (of course it was), and I happened to catch one of the hosts talking about a couple who'd sold their family home in 2006 and spent the last 4 years trying to find another one which measured up. And then THIS happened:
Dad: Well if they loved their old family home so much, why did they move in the first place?
Jacki: Because they're dumb as fuck, that's why.
Dad: No, dear, it's okay. (Sighs heavily) She's right.
Is there anything better than the knowledge that - after tolerating two straight decades of poor language - your parents have finally given up on you?
I feel so proud.
Honestly, I can't understand why more vampire movies don't turn out like this. Sharp teeth, severed heads, and cars being lit on fire. When I think 'vampire movie', that's what I see. But apart from this one, the last THREE that I've seen have had an underlying story about - of all things - love. Please. If I wanted to sit and listen to two people pretending to fall in love, I'd just watch The Bachelor like everyone else.
I really don't have anything left to say about this movie, so now I'm going to talk about high school. Elle, Jane and I were listening to Stars the other night and thinking about how funny it would be to time-travel back to 2007 and watch our past selves struggling through year 12. Because as moronic as I am now, I'm pretty sure it doesn't hold a candle to what I was like in high school:
1) I didn't drink coffee
2) I wrote an essay on Prison Break for my HSC English exam
3) I didn't drink coffee
I'm way more smarter these days.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
He's not, but I'm an excellent actress.
Sigh. All that insanity, just wasted. I'd probably be more upset about this whole thing if my insanity supply wasn't unlimited, but still. Good one, Tom. Thanks to you, I had to spend my day at work actually working. I hate it when that happens!
Nothing springs to mind.
Monday, September 20, 2010
A Message For Navy Man Which Elle, Mischa And Julia Will Also Appreciate...Jane, You Won't Be Impressed
Headless man in business attire? Call me crazy, but I don't exactly feel threatened. It sounds like I'm mocking the hell out of this show, but really, I'm not. These are just the kinds of thoughts I have; I genuinely am this stupid. Luckily for me, I have a Navy Man who is both enough of a nerd to know the answers to all these questions, AND enough of a law-abiding citizen to know that he legally can't kill me for asking them.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
I made a real commitment to eat a proper breakfast every single day last week. Which doesn't really sound like that big of a deal, as far as real commitments go. But it will. Once I explain how my body works.
I need caffeine to live. And that pretty much sums it up. I know my driver's license classifies me as an organ doner, but I'm not so sure that it should - all they're gonna find when they cut me open is a bunch of lollypop wrappers and an empty Starbucks takeaway cup. And maybe that giant piece of strawberry bubblegum my sister convinced me to swallow when I was nine.
Anyway, you get it. So seven days of healthy eating was a pretty big deal. The only problem is that in my bid to become more healthy and less of a poster child for caffeine addiction, I've become completely dependant on breakfast food.
Trust me to take something as regular and mundane as eating breakfast and turn it into yet another ridiculous obsession. But I can't stop! You know what I had for breakfast yesterday? Cereal. And for lunch? Raisin toast. And for dinner?!? Well, I didn't have dinner, I was at a 21st. But when I got home and felt like a snack?? VEGEMITE TOAST. So, conclusion? I'm an idiot. What else is new?
Speaking of me being an idiot, I'm sitting at home on my day off right now and watching Pearl Harbour. Which, considering the fact that I'm, let's say, extremely close to not one but TWO people in the Navy is either the dumbest thing I could possibly do or...no, that's it. It's the dumbest thing I could possibly do. What, watching The Hurt Locker wasn't traumatising enough, I have to track down an actual Navy-related war movie? Where both of the main characters DIE? And sure, one of them miraculously comes back from the dead - only it's the WRONG ONE! It just goes to show that karma really is a bitch, and that you can't love two guys at once; even if you truly believe that one of them's dead. Especially if the two guys in question are childhood friends. And ESPECIALLY if there's a war going on. I don't know what other messages the director of Pearl Harbour was trying to get across, but I heard that one loud and clear.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Cher is a douche.
So yeah, Oprah Winfrey, coming to Sydney. And bringing 300 of her 'closest personal viewers' with her. If there is a better definition for oxymoron than 'closest personal viewers', I'd like to know about it. Oprah Winfrey, you are an idiot.
The worst part about this whole thing (I mean, aside from the fact that no matter which city she chooses to broadcast her show from, I will probably be able to hear her screaming at the audience from my house) is that I just heard 2 radio announcers talking about how this is "the greatest event relating to Australian tourism in the last 26 years".
Alright. I don't know where they got the figure 26 from, but that's erroneous. THE GREATEST EVENT RELATING TO AUSTRALIAN TOURISM IN THE LAST 26 YEARS??? ARE THEY KIDDING??
At first I thought they were. I even laughed. There's nothing like a little afternoon sarcasm at Oprah Winfrey's expense to put a smile on my face. But then they kept talking! Talking about how amazing it was, how fortunate it was, and how generous of Oprah Winfrey to allow our teeny tiny country to take part in her apparent quest for universal domination. I don't know who these radio announcers were, but the two of them are now about as high on my People I Need To Track Down And Kick In The Ass list as Cher. I swear to God that when one of them compared Oprah Winfrey's trip down under to the Sydney 2000 Olympics, part of me died. Really? Oprah Winfrey is the same as ours being "the best Olympics ever"? REALLY?!
Honestly - and I don't even care if this makes me sound less like a woman than the time I told my boyfriend that the easiest way to have a threesome was to 'bone a pregnant chick' - I could care less about Oprah Winfrey. OR her day-time talk show. The only way her visit to Sydney is going to ignite any amount of interest in me is if she somehow manages to transfigure herself into Wentworth Miller before she gets on the plane. I don't exactly know why I'm being so mean about this, but I'm alone, practically broke, have no idea what I'm doing with my life and still owe $900 on my car payments, so I feel like everyone should just roll with me today.
Oprah Winfrey? I don't think so. On the other hand, if it was Ellen Degeneres...
Which, by the way, I totally won.
Still. There's nothing like finding yourself on the brink of a nervous breakdown on account of something utterly trivial and meaningless to remind you that yes, you are in fact a woman.
Having breasts also helps.
On a completely unrelated note, has anyone here seen The Hurt Locker? I'm inexplicably curious about it. I don't know; something about the way it completely destroyed Avatar at the Oscars this year just makes me go hmmm...And have you seen this promotional poster??
It doesn't happen often, but whenever the words 'fire' and 'orgasm' happen to cross paths in my mind, that's what it looks like. I gotta see this movie. Which I know sounds weird, especially considering my total abhorrence for war/guns/violence, but hey. Just because I hate automatic weapons doesn't mean I won't enjoy watching some hot guy playing with one. Why do you think I found a boyfriend in the armed services? And any movie that's in direct competition with James Cameron/Avatar is pretty high on my list of priorities. I know the whole Avatar craze was almost a year ago now, but in between work, sleep, and watching every episode of Dr Who in an attempt to out-nerd The Navy Man, I don't have alot going on in my life right now.
So yeah. If you've seen The Hurt Locker, give me a call. And if you haven't, give me a call anyway. I'm so desperately lonely.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
So apparently it's September. No, not just September. It's mid-September. Would somebody care to explain how that happened? Because I sure as hell don't know. One minute it's so cold I'm toying with the idea of wearing thermals under my jeans to work, the next it's warm enough for me to start sleeping naked again.
...Which, incidentally, I love.
But still! Mid-September? That's practically October. Which is mid-Spring. And mid-Spring? That's practically Summer.
And my legs are not ready for Summer.
On the plus side, Summer does mean one thing I love even more than sleeping nude, and that's Christmas. Oh, hell yeah. Tis the season, bitches. And I am pretty effing jolly. If there's anything negative about Christmas, it's not something I'm aware of. Chocolate for breakfast, presents, fairy lights, hot weather, the giant tree at Town Hall, Jesus...say something bad about Christmas. I dare you. And on a related note, I'm currently taking gift requests. I know it's early, but getting my Christmas shopping done now means more time to lie next to my pool and do nothing later. So tell me what you want, or all you'll be getting is a hug and a home-made card.
Not that that would be such a terrible punishment.
My hugs are awesome.
The first is that I invented a new hot beverage. That's right. Step aside, Gloria Jeans, because hot chocolate and a chai latte just made a porno together, and I was holding the video camera. I call it...The Hot Chaicolate.
The second is my discovery of the 2009 horror movie The Hills Run Red. This movie is so insane, I don't even know how to begin describing it. Here's what the Foxtel synopsis box had to say:
A film fanatic's obsession with finding the complete print of an infamous horror movie leads him and his friends to the woods where the picture was shot; but will they be it's next stars?
Okay. Obviously, this is going to be incredible. But, as I always do before surrendering myself to the television for 2 or more hours, I decided to consult IMDb.com for a little more info. Not that I really needed to; not only does the title/synopsis make this film sound like the love child of Wrong Turn and The Hills Have Eyes, but it also fills all three of my "Best Shitty Horror Movie" prerequisites:
1) Takes place in the woods
2) Straight to DVD, and
3) Stars Australian pop-star-turned-actress Sophie Monk as a drug addicted stripper.
I'm only joking about that last one being a 'prerequisite'. That was just a hilariously depressing bonus. And as if that's not enough, the killer is a physically mutilated recluse who runs around the woods wearing a porcelain dolls-head mask and is known to the public as 'Babyface'.
There are no words. As you can imagine, I was pretty psyched to watch this movie. There are so many questions! Sophie Monk, really? Why does the killer always have to be physically mutilated? And which chromosomally challenged writer came up with the porcelain dolls-head idea?
I get that I'm a bit of a dunce in the intelligence department, but even I don't understand why I keep watching these movies. If it weren't for my ongoing quest to find one that actually scares me (thus proving that I am indeed human and not dead on the inside, as some have insinuated), I would totally give up on horror movies altogether. Every time I see one, it's like a little more of my faith in humanity getting flushed down the toilet.
I mean, come on. It's the 21st century. You would think that by now, people might have enough sense to stay out of the fucking woods. Or - if they really feel the need to go camping in the middle of nowhere - they should at least bring a satellite phone. And a blow torch. But no. I've lost count of how many 'We Took A Weekend Trip To The Woods And Ended Up Being Chased Around By An Axe-Wielding Maniac' movies I've seen, but they're always the same. And the characters are always dumb enough to believe that all they need to survive is a video camera and a couple of tents.
Because as we all know, when you find yourself on the run from a serial killer, the first thing you wanna do is film yourself hiding from him in a tent.
There is one thing I'll give these horror movies though, and that's that they always make me think. One thought in particular - what the hell does Babyface do during his downtime? I'm assuming that 'The Woods' aren't exactly teeming with crowds of confused but attractive teenagers waiting to be chopped into pieces. Maybe in a perfect serial killers world, but not today. So what do Babyface and The Inbred Mutants from Wrong Turn do in between mass murders? Cook? Knit? Use Polly Pocket figurines to act out their favourite scenes from Prison Break? I don't know what's more disturbing, the fact that I don't know, or the fact that I want to know. It doesn't matter. They're both overshadowed by the fact that I saw the end of the movie, and it turns out that the physically mutilated 'Babyface' is actually Sophie Monks inbred son.
It's like I said. There are no words.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
So here's a question: Would anyone like to hire me? Hmm? Of course, by 'anyone', what I really mean is 'my current boss'. And by 'hire me', all I'm really saying is 'allow me to continue working at Toni&Guy under the pretence of being a studying apprentice, when really all I do is sweep the floors, drink coffee, read gossip magazines and fantasise about the look on The Navy Man's face should he return from his posting to find that I've cut off all my hair and dyed it turquoise
FYI, I imagine that would go something like this: Better not risk it.
In other news...I got nothing. That's literally how boring my life is at the moment. Even my parents have more going on than me. Oh, well that's not entirely true - this week, I discovered two things that the rest of the world was already aware of. The first is that the Dr Who television series is legendary.
I don't know how this happened, but I have somehow become addicted to a TV show that doesn't star Wentworth Miller. And is British. And about time travel. And that doesn't star Wentworth Miller. And did I mention that since it's on at 7 in the morning, I have to get up a whole HOUR earlier than I normally would, just to watch it? So you know it's gotta be good. And unlike most of the TV I watch, you actually have to use your brain to understand it; since it's so damn complicated, I can actually feel myself getting smarter with every new episode. It's like the cheapest school ever! Plus now I'm learning shit I can actually USE, like How To Save The World Should It Be Taken Over By One Of The Last Remaining Time Lords Who Is Posing As The Prime Minister Of Britain And For Some Reason Turned The Future Human Race Into A Fleet Of Flying Robots.
Always a handy skill to have.
The second thing I've discovered is that banana bread is the most delicious food in this universe. I know (mostly in part to a childhood viewing of Moulin Rouge) I always said I'd never allow myself to fall in love, but there are some things in life you just can't fight. And the undeniable connection between myself and banana bread is one of those things. If there is a more depressing sentence in existance than the one I've just written, I'd like to know about it. And yet, I don't care. So, since I hate uni and I can't join the armed forces and I've recently decided that my current apprenticeship just isn't for me, it has become my greatest ambition in life to bake a banana bread couch, and sit on it while I watch every episode of Dr Who ever made.
Good luck to me!
Thursday, September 09, 2010
Me: Yeah. We're fully booked for the rest of the afternoon.
Random Dude: Yeah...I bet you do alot of blow jobs here, don't you?
Me: You...you mean blow dries?
Random Dude: Yeah. Yeah, that's what I meant.
Sometimes, I fucking love my job.
Friday, September 03, 2010
Well! I thought. Isn't that nice? A thoughtful warning for those of us who possess less-than-satisfactory coordination when it comes to sharp objects! If only this had come a week earlier, before I accidentally took a chunk out of my bicep with the box-cutter while unpacking an order of shampoo. But still. Very thoughtful. Very very thoughtful.
Then I took a look at the writing below the 'warning':
As in, Schibello Coffee.
As in, This box is packed with plastic bags of Schibello Coffee.
As in, This box is packed with plastic bags of Schibello Coffee; don't use a knife to cut the box, or else you will probably break one of the bags and coffee will fly everywhere.
As in, These are simple unpacking instructions. NOT a health and safety warning. Jacki Trew, you are a moron. Learn how to handle a knife, you dunce.
Ever get the feeling that you've just been outwitted by a cardboard box? It's not pleasant.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Did anyone else catch the last 5 minutes of Today Tonight before Home and Away started (yes, clearly I have my priorities sorted) and happen to catch that thing about Ivan Milat and another dead body being found in the Belangelo State Forest?
Let me say that again.
IVAN MILAT. And ANOTHER BODY. In the BELANGELO STATE FOREST.
Everyone's thinking it, I'm just gonna say it: IS IVAN MILAT VOLDEMORT'S TWIN, OR WHAT? I mean come ON! The man is two hundred years old. And he's been in prison for what, half that time? HOW IS HE STILL KILLING PEOPLE??
Okay, and yes, I know. It's not that he's still killing people, it's just that they haven't found all the people he killed before they caught him yet. I'm smart enough to have figured that out. Not smart enough to realise that Voldemort isn't actually real, but hey, you can't win every battle. That doesn't worry me. No, what I'm actually concerned about is that my second thought when I first saw this news piece (I mean, AFTER the whole Ivan/Voldemort comparison) was something along the lines of Hey, weren't you voted Most Likely To Be Killed By Ivan Milat in high school? Huh? Wasn't that you, Jacqueline Sarah Trew? Wasn't it? Closely followed by my third thought, which went a little like this: Aww, shit.
If there is a worse way to die than being slaughtered by Ivan Milat, I'd like to know about it. I'm sorry, did I say 'know about'? What I really meant was 'volunteer for'. Anything, anything is better than death-by-Ivan. Fire? No problem. Suffocation? Whatever. Sharks? No big deal. I would literally soak my legs overnight in a soy sauce marinade and offer them to the next Great White I came across if it meant avoiding an encounter with Ivan Milat. That sounds crazy, right? WRONG. It doesn't sound crazy. And if you disagree with me, then you are an idiot who has clearly never sat through Wolf Creek. Watch that - then get back to me.
So here we go.
This probably sounds weird coming from someone who works in hospitality/publishes her every thought on a public blog/craves human attention/is thinking about starting a hug schedule with her friends...but sometimes I hate people. Well...hate is such a strong word. So maybe I don't hate them as much as I want to punch them repeatedly in the groin every 8 seconds for the next 14 years. It's not all the time. In fact, I hardly ever hate people at all. But sometimes, maybe twice a year, I'll have a day where I come across someone who is enough of an asshole that I would gladly stab myself in the face with a blunt pencil just to avoid all interaction with them.
Today was that day.
Being that The Navy Man is very busy saving the world, and I am a lowly hairdresser's assistant's assistant, today I had some errands to run that had nothing to do with me and everything to do with the Naval Uniform store on Cowper Wharf Rd. Also known as 'Glendinnings Menswear'. Yes. I don't understand the name, and I'm not going to pretend that I want to. It is what it is. Anyway, the whole escapade started off well enough, mostly due to the fact that I somehow managed to navigate myself all the way there without getting lost ONCE. AND I found a parking spot within 5 minutes. From the moment I walked through the door, though, it all went downhill. Because this was me:
Jacki: Good morning!
And this was the facial expression of every dude in that place:
To be fair, I don't exactly look like the kind of girl who belongs in a Naval Uniform store. But to be even fairer, these guys were total dicks. It took me almost 20 minutes to convey that all I needed was a white officer's shirt and a replacement badge for one of NM's hats (which I even offered to pay for, EVEN THOUGH it was a REPLACEMENT for the BROKEN badge they had already given him), and another 20 for the guy behind the counter to figure out how the eftpos machine operated. And then, just when I thought the horror was over, this happened:
Dude: Anything else?
Jacki: Oh yeah. My boyfriend asked if you could pin the new badge onto the hat for him.
Dude: Sorry ma'am, can't do it. It just pins on. If your boyfriend can't figure out how to do it, he shouldn't be in the Navy.
First of all dude, you are a hundred years old. Don't call me ma'am. Second of all, if it's that easy, why can't you do it for him? And third, kindly shove your head up your ass. The only reason you work in this store is because YOU weren't smart enough to actually be in the Navy. 20 minutes to work out the eftpos? Give me a break.
I don't know why this is getting me all riled up. I think it probably has more to do with the fact that I'm still waiting for my dinner to be ready than anything else. I've also had quite a bit of sugar today. I've just remembered I have to go to work tomorrow. And I kind of have to pee. Still, there was one positive thing amongst this whole mess, and that's that the badge they gave me to replace NM's broken one? Was also broken. Which I know doesn't sound like a positive thing...but now I can say that even though I spent all afternoon trying to fix it myself and at one point accidentally super-glued my hand to the couch, I'm still smarter than the uniform store guy.
And that's something.
Monday, August 30, 2010
Apart from last Sunday, that is.
But still! Gmail? Really? And here's how I know: every new client that comes into Toni&Guy has to fill out a personal detail questionnaire. I, being the lowly assistant-who-isn't-really-an-assistant-on-account-of-the-fact-that-she's-openly-looking-for-another-job, get the wonderful task of entering all these details into the computer. And I don't wanna make it seem like the kind of loser who stands around counting the number of gmail users VS the number of hotmail users...but lets just say if I had a dollar for every gmail address I've typed, I'd have eight hundred and twenty seven dollars.
Speaking of Toni&Guy...a bunch of us who work there went out on Saturday night to mourn Francesco's leaving. That's right, I said leaving. As in leaving. As in going away. For a while. And while it's true that he'll come back eventually, it's only for like 6 days until he flies on home to Italy; a fact I would be way angrier/more upset about had he not given me his Italian espresso maker as a parting gift. That's not to say I wasn't upset at all, but it's been pretty hard for me to express any kind of emotion since they cancelled Prison Break. Being dead on the inside will do that to you. Still. I'll miss you, Frisky Dingo. And not just because of the free haircuts.
Although that's mostly it.
Speaking of men who'll be missed, let's talk about The Navy Man and his little going away party. Apparently all the men in my life have met and decided that this week it might be amusing to pack up their lives in Sydney and abandon me for four months. And yes, by 'all the men in my life' what I really mean is 'Francesco and The Navy Man'.
But still! Considering I spend 70% of my life at work, 15% in an assortment of coffee shops, 9% in the company of Navy Man himself and the rest of the time in bed, those are all the men in my life. And they're BOTH leaving, in the SAME week? What, did they plan it? It's times like this that I really find myself wishing I was Sabrina The Teenage Witch and harboured the ability to build a date out of playdoh and magic. I also think it'd be quite cool to have a talking cat.
The one positive that comes out of all this though, is that by NM leaving for four months, it gives me a chance to become as much of a Dr Who nerd as he is. Not that I am super-enthusiastic about the sci-fi genre, but I'm already almost comically terrible in the girlfriend department - and while The Navy Man is very good about ignoring this, my lack of Dr Who knowledge is a constant source of disappointment for him. I can tell:
Jacki: So the Doctor changes his face sometimes?
NM: Well...kind of. Yes. Lets just say so, because it's the simplest explanation.
Jacki: So the current Doctor is the one who was in the weeping angels episode?
Jacki: And the Doctor before that was David Tennant?
Jacki: And the Doctor before that was the one with the leather jacket?
NM: (trying not to laugh) Yes.
Jacki: Well I hate the leather-jacket Doctor.
Jacki: I just...because he thinks he can pull off the leather jacket.
Jacki: Which he can't.
Jacki: And he's also old.
Jacki: And old people freak me out.
Jacki: So yeah...that's...that pretty much sums up my reasons for...not...liking him.
THE LONGEST PAUSE YET
NM: I feel really sorry for you.
Well, whatever! I was right. He couldn't pull off that leather jacket, and I don't even feel bad saying it. Although that's mostly because The Navy Man hardly ever reads this blog, and even if he did, I'm pretty sure it's still impossible to punch someone in the face via The Internet. If in 5 years you see me walking down the street with an inexplicable bruise on my face, you'll know what happened. But until then, I feel pretty safe. Nevertheless, I'm seriously toying with the idea of quitting work altogether and just spending the next four months in front of the TV watching Dr Who. Perhaps I will take the occasional break to read about Dr Who, or play with my Dr Who figurines. If they invent a Dr Who cereal, I'm sure I will eat it for breakfast. And by the time Navy Man returns from his adventures at sea, I won't just know everything about Dr Who, I will BE Dr Who.
And then he'll HAVE to agree with me about the leather jacket.