Baby Names And Bad Movies

I feel like shit at the moment, so I was thinking about going to bed. But even though I've been struck down with a harsh and rare case of the Avian Flu (I am assuming), it's only 9:34 and it's Saturday night, so I think going to bed is actually the last thing that's gonna make me feel better.
Let's talk about baby names.

Is it totally weird that while having a baby (behind post offices and the idea of being raped by a dolphin) is one of the scariest things in the world to me, I've already picked out the names of my hypothetical children? I mean, these are probably just going to end up on the nametags of some very well loved cats, but still. I feel it's important to announce what you want now - because you never know when your older sister is going to get herself knocked up, un-knowingly steal your favourite baby name and make everything awkward.
I'm just being well prepared. And for the record Catherine, Wentworth and Stella are TOTALLY out of bounds. You have been warned.
I don't understand this celebrity trend of insane baby names. I know my Wentworth fixation doesn't make it look that way, but come on. Wentworth? At least it's a real name! At least it's easy to spell! At least there's no 'Prince' or 'Princess' in front of it! At least...no, you know what? If it's coming out of my vagina, then I get to name it. No arguments.
Wow, I'm moody tonight.
It's really only because I'm sick. And I'm tired. And (here comes a hideously uncool 90's reference for your reading pleasure) in the words of Anastasia, I'm sick and tired of being sick and tired.
...
Did you get it? The reference? Did you get it? If you did, congratulations - you are as lame as me. If not, watch this. Then pull your head out of your ass and go research the 90's. They're awesome.
Another reason I'm moody? I just got done watching the 'cinematic masterpiece' that is Dear John. Just in case you didn't happen to read my last post about the movie Dear John, or if the sarcasm indicated by my use of inverted commas wasn't obvious enough for you...I think my review read something along the lines of...

"Dear John is the biggest piece of shit I have seen at the movies this year."

Incredibly, that still stands true. I say incredibly, because I just saw Twilight: Eclipse a couple of weeks ago. That was bad, but Dear John? Let me put it this way:

Dear John,

You suck.

Sincerely,
Jacki Trew

Ha. I'm hilarious. But alright, enough with the terrible Dear John jokes. I know what you're all wondering: if I hate it so much, why did I watch it again? Well, because I'm an idiot, that's why. And because my sister was home for the weekend, and SHE wanted to watch it. Oh, and I suppose because of this:

What? So he's no Navy Man, but I'm only human. And I'm sick. And as it turns out, Channing Tatum + mint icecream + high doses of cold and flu medicine = a pretty good time.

Wentworth Miller's Penis

Well, it finally happened. 3 months, 12 weeks, 5 staff meetings, 24 hair models, 52 walks to Lane Cove and approximately one BILLION cups of coffee, and it finally happened.
Full time work has brought me down.
I don't feel too bad about it. I think I kept going as long as I could. But there's a time in every apprentice hairdresser's life when they look around themselves, see what they're doing, and realise that coughing half their internal organs onto the client who's hair they're shampooing is just not appropriate. And for me, that time came yesterday. So the bad news is that (and of course, this is not a Jacki-Trew-In-Drama-Queen-Mode exaggeration at all) I'm probably going to die. But the GOOD news is that before I do, I've got some time off. And I'm going to use it to blog.
Aww yeah. You're welcome, Planet Earth. For both things.

Here's something I've been thinking about for a while: Wentworth Miller's penis.
Ha! I'm only kidding. There's only one penis I spend that much time thinking about, and that's the one I often imagine growing out of my sister's forehead. I only said the Wentworth Miller thing because I know if The Navy Man sees it, he'll get really pissed off and bring it up the next time I see him, thus proving that he actually reads/is totally addicted to my blog. Which will of course make me feel great about myself - because everyone knows that the foundation of any healthy relationship is an insane person with a laptop and a high-speed internet connection.
Now, what was I talking about again?
Oh right.
So here's something I've ACTUALLY been thinking about for a while: My 21st birthday.
First of all (because I just wanna get this out of the way) OHHH MY GOSH I HAVE TO TURN 21, SO OLD, I'M GOING TO BE SO OLD, PEOPLE ARE GOING TO START STANDING UP FOR ME ON THE BUS, I'M GOING TO HAVE TO BUY A WALKING FRAME, I SHOULD PROBABLY START PLANNING MY FUNERAL, HOLY CRAP THIS IS THE WORST THING THAT HAS EVER HAPPENED TO ANYONE, EVER.
Second of all, do you think I should have a party?
I love 21st's, but there's so much pressure. Where will it be? How many people are coming? Who's invited? Who's NOT invited? Is there a theme? What's the theme? What champagne are you going to drink? Which dress are you going to wear? How are you doing your hair? How are you doing your nails? How are you planning on killing yourself to avoid all this?
Wow, I'm very morbid today.
Anyway. Baaah, the pressure! I've been giving Madi not-so-subtle hints about what I really want to do for the past couple of months in the hopes that she'll just plan the whole thing for me, but I don't think it's working:

Jacki: Do you know what would be totally disco?
Madi: What?
Jacki: Going to Vegas for my 21st birthday.
Madi: That would be pretty cool.
Jacki: Yeah. And do you know what would make it even more amazing?
Madi: What?
Jacki: If like, someone else, like, I don't know, maybe my best friend, planned the whole thing for me so I didn't have to stress about it or freak out about it or, you know, have my head explode because of it.
Madi: You're right. That would make it more amazing.
Jacki: Yeah.
Madi: Hmm.
Jacki: Yeah.
(pause)
Madi: I'm not planning your 21st for you.
Jacki: Damnit!

Ha. Well, maybe Catherine'll do it. And yeah, you heard me right - Vegas, bitches! It's a high bar to set, but I'm pretty confident. My back up plan is to stay home and cry in the bathtub. Either way, you're all invited.

Magic Books, Making My Dinner And Mobile Speed Cameras

And now to continue with whatever-the-hell I was talking about this morning...

In addition to caffeine, Prison Break and sitting on the couch in my undies while wasting my money buying stuff I don't need, you know what I'm kind of totally addicted to? I'm not saying it's my absolute favourite book of all time or anything (how can it be, when there's no character named Captain Wentworth?), but The Time Traveller's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger is...well, about as good as a book can be, considering there's no character named Captain Wentworth. I'm not going to give away the story - partly because it's so complicated that I'd be here for 6 months if I even tried, and also because I'd like you all to tear your eyes away from Facebook for long enough to read it yourselves - but I will say this: if Eric Bana, The Bronte Sisters, William Shakespeare, whoever invented coffee and I all got together for a hypothetical crazy-drunk 7-way orgy, this book would be the result.
It's like magic.

On a completely unrelated note, does anyone here know the name of the person who invented white bread? Because I don't, but I'd really really love to track them down and personally thank them with a swift kick to the 'nads. That sounds oddly hostile, but let me explain:
I was making my dinner just now. A ham and cheese toasted sandwich, for those of you playing at home. I have this for dinner pretty much every night; mainly because it's fast and easy and the perfect meal for a girl who spends 80% of her life at work (the other 20% being divided between my bed, my car, and any mid-class establishment where alcohol is served), but also because I am the kind of weirdo who becomes 'addicted' to certain meals and won't eat anything but them for weeks and weeks and weeks on end until I decide I don't really like them that much after all, and never eat them again. Don't believe me? Here's the first page of my hit list:

• Maggie 2 minute noodles
• Nutri Grain
• Vegetarian hamburgers
• Milo cereal
• Bacon and egg muffins
• Calamari
• Butter chicken

Crazy, I know. Anyway as you might have guessed, I'm currently fixated by toasted sandwiches. Or to be more specific, ham and cheese toasted sandwiches on wholemeal grain bread. Tonight though, I decided to mix things up a little, and go with white bread instead.

MISTAKE.

Remember at the beginning of this story, how I said I was making my dinner 'just now'? That was a lie. I wasn't making my dinner just now. I made my dinner 2 hours ago. I guess the reason I got mixed up is because I CAN STILL FEEL THAT DAMN WHITE BREAD SLIDING DOWN MY OESOPHAGUS. Oh, my gosh. Is this all white bread, or does my Mum buy the brand that contains mercury? I have never eaten anything like that in my life. It tasted like a ham-and-cheese-flavoured brick. Only heavier, and less delicious. And I've been walking around bent over double like a 76-year-old man ever since, because it hurts to stand up straight. Conclusion: my dinner is eating me from the inside out. Second conclusion: white bread is what they use to make sandwiches in hell.

Now, what else can I talk about? Oh. Have you guys heard about these new mobile speed cameras? Talk about annoying! The whole idea of speed cameras is that they aren't mobile; that way, you can memorise exactly where they are and feel free to break the speed limit in between them. Well. That might not be the whole idea behind speed cameras. But I'm pretty sure that's the GIST of it. Now, though? I have to obey the speed limit ALL THE TIME. Which is especially irritating considering the fact that I travel over the bridge at least 2 times a week these days in order to visit The Navy Man. By the way dude (in case you're reading this), THAT'S the reason I'm always late. It has nothing to do with me stopping at every petrol station along the way for Red Bull and lollypops. Nothing at all.

HIDDEN POSTAGE FEES

So.

Since today I'm the proud and appreciative owner of a sleep-in, and last night I was too exhausted to do anything but drink coffee and fall asleep on the couch in my work clothes, I've decided to do something I haven't been able to do in months.
I'm going to blog.
In the morning.
BEFORE work.
Try not to spontaneously combust, planet earth. I am just as freaked out and excited as you.
Alright?
Let's get this party started.
So, remember way back when I said last night I was too exhausted to do anything but drink coffee and fall asleep on the couch in my work clothes? Yeah, that was a lie. True, I did come home from work and pass out in front of the TV for a few hours, but when I woke up I got started on what I like to think of as my new favourite hobby: Ordering Shit Off The Internet.
Ohhh, mercy. Here's what I love about internet shopping:

• It's fun
• It's fast
• You find stuff you never even knew existed
• You can watch Prison Break at the same time
• You can do it in your undies (especially appreciated since I tried this in Westfield one time and it didn't work out so well)

Overall, the experience is pretty orgasmic. Except for ONE thing. Here's what I DON'T love about internet shopping:HIDDEN POSTAGE FEES.
And okay, I get that I'm being naive, and that postage + handling is a pretty basic concept which almost everyone knows about, and that I probably should just pull my head out of my ass and quit complaining...but give me a break! $35.70?! I should anticipate the postage costing more than TWICE THE AMOUNT OF THE ACTUAL PURCHASE???
Ugh.
The best part about this whole thing (and by 'best' what I really mean is 'the part that makes me want to kill myself and everyone around me') is that I wasn't TOLD about the hidden postage fees until AFTER I'd already paid them. Hence the term hidden postage fees. Is that even legal? Can they even do that? If I wasn't the laziest and most irresponsible person on the planet, I would so be doing something about this. Well...I'd at least think about doing something. Well...oh, who am I kidding. I don't care. In fact, I'm ordering MORE shit off the internet right now.
Happy shopping, suckers!

Satan? Is That You?

Sup, universe. Let's talk about the weekend. No, scrap that actually. First, I wanna talk about this dude:

Satan? Is that you?

And okay, it's like 78% true that I probably wouldn't even KNOW how much of a douche-bag Mel Gibson has turned into over the last few years if I wasn't enough of a douche-bag myself to be reading Perez Hilton's blog 5 times a week, but still. The only thing that disturbs me more than that photo is the fact that Kim Kardashian gets paid $20,000 for every episode of Keeping Up With The Kardashians.

I know.

What?! $20,000?! And I get a measly 6 bucks an hour? Now, I'm not saying I'm more entertaining or talented than Kim Kardashian, nor that I should be getting paid upwards of $20,000 a day to sweep up hair, but...no, wait. That's EXACTLY what I'm saying.

Moving on.

This weekend was Janey du Toit's long-awaited 21st party. Which, in true Janey-style, she decided to make a surprise. Only not for herself - but for everyone else. Brilliant. And I'm not just saying that because (behind Disco music, energy drinks and men in uniform) surprise parties might just be my favourite thing on the planet. I'm also saying it because it means last Saturday night, I unexpectedly found myself HERE. Absinthe Salon. The Salon That Serves Nothing But Absinthe. Which - for those of you playing at home - is German for Fucking Insane. Large quantities of high-percentage alcohol have never been so much fun; especially since between the two of them, Dante and The Navy Man seemed determined to sample everything on the menu. After just one drink, they decided to purchase an entire bottle together. After two, they wanted an Absinthe fountain. By the third, I'm pretty sure one of them had proposed marriage. And the other one may have been pregnant.
Good times.
After that, we ventured south (?) of Elizabeth Street for what Jane called 'The Best Chinese Food In Sydney', and then back to Dante's apartment for a game of (what else?) King's Cup. And that, boys and girls, is where the night ended. Not really, but for the sake of my parents, who are probably reading this blog, let's just say it is.

25 Things

Yes, it's another blog. That's three in one day. Jane, I can hear the sound of you thanking the universe that I'm sick enough to be stuck in bed with only my computer for entertainment from over here.
You're welcome.
Anyway. Does anyone remember when it was totally cool to fill out and re-post those '25 Things You Never Knew About Me' notes on Facebook?
...
Yeah, neither do I. Still, about a year and a half ago, I found myself filling one out. Let's take a trip down memory lane, shall we?

25 Things You Never Knew About Jacki Trew, Or Did Know But Pretended Not To Know Because They Weren't Worth Knowing...With Commentary By Jacki Trew.

1) I love Wentworth Miller. Though why I'm putting this in here I'm not really sure, since anyone who knows me already knows this. I do love him though. I am head over heels. People say to me 'are you totally crushed that Prison Break has been cancelled?'. And I am. I am crushed. But you know what, Wentworth Miller not being in Prison Break anymore means there is more chance of him being in a movie, and coming to Australia to scout talent. And then he'll find me. So I'm not SO crushed.
Wow, this WAS a long time ago. I'm not saying I don't still find Wentworth Miller extremely attractive, nor that I'm not still crushed that Prison Break was cancelled. And I'm also not implying that a certain Naval Officer has anything to do with it, but...Wentworth who?

2) I'm a Disco Freak. Like that. With the capital letters and everything. If I had myself a time machine, I'd travel back to the 70's and get my dance on at Studio 54. For real, yo. I love Disco so much I type it with a capital D. I'd like to take Disco out; show it a good time. Buy it dinner, take it home and fool around with it a little. See? Disco Freak.
While I may have cooled off on Wentworth Miller, Disco will always be the love of my life. Only now I think if I took Disco out to dinner, we might do a little more than fool around afterwards, if you know what I mean. Things might get crazy, if you know what I mean. I'd ask Disco to marry me, if you know what I mean.

3) I invented The Celebrity Doppelganger Theory. The Theory is that everybody - everybody in the world - has a celebrity that looks like them. At least a little bit. And it doesn't have to be the way you currently look; for example, my sister's CD (Celebrity Doppelganger, see how I shortened it?) is Adam Sandler's kid Sadie, who is like 3. But she looks the way Catherine looked when SHE was 3. So it works - get it?
I'm still proud of The CDGT. And I still think it works. AND I still think I'm getting a Nobel Peace Prize for it. Jacki Trew: Insane Since 1990.

4) I'm a tiny bit insane.
A tiny bit? I undersold myself.

5) I'm an "I Love You' whore - I give it away too easily. There aren't many things I don't love, but there are lots of things that don't love me.
Did I really write this in 2009? I lied!

6) I have 2 alter-egos called Christie Angel and Winnifred Jones. Christie Angel has a boyfriend called Chris Amf-Bowling and does magic tricks that will blow your freaking mind-hole. Winnifred Jones stays up til 5am and sleeps until 2 in the afternoon.
Christie Angel still blows my mind-hole from time to time. Since I started working full-time, I don't get to see so much of Winnifred Jones. Except on Sundays. Sunday is Winnifred Jones day.

7) I can't drive. I used to say 'Oh, I could drive, I just don't want to'. Then I had my first driving lesson. Now its 'I can't drive'.
Oh, hey, is there anyone who didn't know this yet - I GOT MY P'S!! Admittedly, though, the whole not-being-able-to-drive-very-well thing is still totally true. I'm not saying I'm the WORST driver on the road...but if that guy dies, then yeah, I'm taking the trophy.

8) I was named after Jackie O, but there's no 'e' on the end of my name. Do you hear me? THERE IS NO 'E'.
There is never, has never been and WILL NEVER BE an e.

9) I am more scared of sharks in my pool than in the actual ocean. I've only ever met one other person who shares this fear. I think I have to marry her.
Now that I know the truth about dolphins, my irrational fear of pool-sharks has been rendered tame. I mean, how would YOU rather die?

10) Between the two of us, my sister and I have had almost every hairstyle its possible to have, including mohawks, bobs, and crazy curly hair down to the backs of our knees.
And when I finally muster up the courage to shave Catherine's head in her sleep one night, we can tick one more look off the list.

11) I have the same birthday as Osama Bin Laden, Sharon Stone and Chuck Norris.
And this just in - That Chick Who Once Played A Lesbian On The OC!!

12) The funnest thing I ever did was live in a house in Seattle for 2 weeks with Mel, Mai and 5 crazy college boys. Well, that, or The Quest For Wentworth
I think it's going to be a while before I do anything that'll knock these two out of first place.

13) My favourite song in the whole world is Midnight Train by Journey. If I ever get married, I'm going to dance my first dance to that song.
There, that's it. If I end up dancing my first dance to Midnight Train...THAT will be the funnest thing I ever did.

14) After I read Gone With the Wind, I took our bathroom curtains down and made a dress out of them. If you don't understand that, you need to go buy a copy of Gone With the Wind. Really. Do it now. You can finish reading this some other time.
I wholly agree with my past self. Read it. Read it now!

15) On the final assembly of year 6, I was given an award for 'sheer craziness' - I am not even kidding. I still have it.
I guess Mr Fitzpatrick really knew what he was talking about.

16) I'm impulsive. Sometimes I am way too impulsive. Example: I got my first 2 tattoos within like a month. Then I got a third one because 'my second one felt lonely'.
That's true! The fourth, fifth and sixth though, those were TOTALLY different.

17) My favourite thing to do in the whole world is make people laugh.
This will probably go on my tombstone. Well...this, or something about anal sex being funny.

18) When I grow up I want to live on a laneway called Fast Lane, because then people could say to me 'Hey, hows life in the Fast Lane?'
I wonder if theres a Fast Lane in Panama?

19) There are 7 people in the phone book with the same last name as me, and they are all in my family. Oh yeah. We're slowly taking over the world.
We're probably up to 10 by now.

20) When I was a baby, I looked like Ryan from The OC. I mean it. And it didn't help that my mother dressed me in a tiny little wifebeater. Not kidding - I have photos.
I said I had photos, and I deliver:

21) My claim to fame is that I grew up in the same house as Nicole Kidman. I feel like if I ever got to meet her, the first thing she would say to me would be "Hey! Quit telling people that since you live in my old house, I come over on weekends and we watch the sing-along version of Moulin Rouge together, OK? It's weird!'
Ha! This isn't true. I mean, maybe it ONCE was, but I'm pretty sure Nicole Kidman reads my blog now. And thinks I'm awesome.

22) Don't you think the voiceover at the train station sounds like Gretel Killeen?
I still maintain that this is true. It's not such a crazy thought, you know. She did get fired from Big Brother...

23) My biggest secret is that I love everything banana flavoured but I hate bananas
It's not such a secret anymore, is it?

24) When I was 6 years old, I was totally in love with Maxwell Sheffield. You know, from The Nanny? What a hunk, right?! That distinguished grey patch in his hair really did it for me. Yowzer!
Give me a break, okay? I hardly watched ANYTHING on TV apart from The Nanny. I had a very small sample of potential husbands.
And finally...

25) www.jackiiscrazy.blogspot.com
Still true. Always still true.

Surprise Butt Sex - Mum, You Might Not Wanna Read This One

A random thought: How come people who actually speak with a British accent always sound so smart, but people who only pretend to have one always sound like total douche-bags? That doesn't seem fair to me. I can't help it that my neglectful parents failed to raise me and my sister in the UK like a normal family! And now, thanks in part to my Australian upbringing and a slightly unhealthy addiction to Kath & Kim, I'll be a bogan forever. Oh, well. I suppose worse fates have been suffered. Also Mum, if you're reading this, I was totally kidding about the 'neglectful parents' thing. Please don't stop making dinner for me.

Now, to my friend Josh. Josh Davey. I decided to post about Josh for 2 reasons:
1) I feel bad that I didn't credit him with inventing The Incredible Hulk.
For those of you who didn't read my long weekend post, The Incredible Hulk was a cocktail I claimed to invent at Ellen's birthday pre-drink party. And the truth is I DID invent it...just not all of it. I mixed the drink, Josh created the name. It was originally called 'The Wentworth'. Aren't you glad he changed it? And also because...
2) Between the two of us, THIS is a normal conversation:
Jacki: Do you think animals have anal sex? Cause like...it's all about pleasure, obviously. But don't animals not have sex for pleasure? I gotta know!
Josh: Yeah, they do. When males rape each other, I guess. What a question! That's my best answer.
Jacki: Oh yeah, I totally forgot about surprise butt sex!
Josh: Surprise butt sex - otherwise known as changing lanes without indicating.
Jacki: Wow. Driving to work just got 10 times more interesting.
Josh: You aren't driving are you?
Jacki: Right now? No. I'm a terrible person, but not so terrible that I text people about anal sex while driving. By the way, that's totally going on my tombstone.

Yes. We are all class, and we know it.

Now We Both Sound Like 12-Year-Old Boys

MISSING - JACKI TREW'S VOICE.

Age: 20-odd years

Last Seen: On the dancefloor at The Crowie, last saturday night

Will Answer To: Pretty much anything, even comments that weren't directed at it.


Well, it finally happened. I finally talked myself hoarse. Or to be more accurate, talked/shouted/laughed/sang myself hoarse. Oh, my goodness. I haven't had a throat this sore since (insert dirty comment here). It hurts to talk. It hurts to swallow. It hurts to watch Two And A Half Men. It hurts to think about talking or swallowing or watching Two And A Half Men. The Two And A Half Men thing really has nothing to do with my sore throat, though. I just think Charlie Sheen is a bit of a douche.
...
I hate being sick.
I mean on the plus side, I get to spend the rest of this week surviving on a diet of mint icecream and lemon tea. But then there's the minus side - like the fact that I'll have to get up and go to work tomorrow, and everyone who calls to make an appointment is going to wonder why a hormonal 12-year-old boy is answering the phone at Toni&Guy. Because in the brief periods that I can actually get my voice to work, that's what I sound like. Testy-Pops and all. Trust me to be female and the only human being on the planet suffering through Testy-Pops without any of the fun of actual testicles. Or at least, what I'm ASSUMING to be fun about actual testicles. Although now that I think about it, having them doesn't seem like that much fun. Especially having them on the outside. I sure am glad to have a vagina, is basically what I'm trying to say.

On a completely unrelated note, something wonderful happened this past weekend. And I'm not talking about my discovery of the world's best sandwich filling combination. Well...I'm not just talking about that. Sidenote: cheese, lettuce, sweet chilli sauce and grilled whiting on grain bread = INCREDIBLE. But what I actually meant was my sister and The Navy Man moving to Sydney. And moreso, the fact that I was able to drive from their new base to my house without getting lost once. And moreso than THAT, the fact that somewhere between picking him up from the airport, driving him back to my house, and then dropping him off at an undisclosed location, I gave The Navy Man some of my throat sickness.
So now we both sound like 12-year-old boys. And it's hilarious.