Boys And Bikinis

Just for a second, can we talk about how much of a freaking mission it is to buy a bikini these days?Holy balls.
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.
Sigh.
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.
Ha.
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.

Holy crap, so much to blog about. Promotions at work, the possibility of me moving out, Navy Man's homecoming...let's start with this though:

Colgate Wisp. Have you guys heard about these? They're like mini toothbrushes with built-in toothpaste that you carry around in your handbag. What? Why? Who buys these? Woman who want to have dinner at The International House of Garlic and Tuna Fish and then make out with their boyfriends afterwards, I guess. Maybe they're intended for anyone with a teeth-cleaning-related OCD. Or maybe for this guy:

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.

Holy Shit, Jersey Shore!

So apparently I have MTV now. What? I don't know. My parents bit the bullet and signed us up for Foxtel like 6 years ago, but never have I ever experienced the wonder that is MTV. I guess our Foxtel package just didn't include it. Shocking, I know. The worst part was that even though we didn't have access to MTV, it still showed up on the on-screen TV Guide; so I knew when there was going to be a 16 and Pregnant marathon followed by four episodes of Room Raiders, but I still couldn't enjoy it. And if there is a worse form of torture than THAT, it's not one I know about. Now, though, that's all in the past..and today I sat down and wasted the first half of my Monday morning with this:

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!

Anyway.
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:

Let's talk about how hot it is.

...

It's pretty g-darn hot! I don't wanna get all dramatic on everyone's ass, but pretty much:

Poor Aunt Suzie. She never saw it coming.
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.

My God, I'm an idiot sometimes.

Speaking of idiots, Justin Bieber. Beiber? Beeber? Who gives a crap. Speaking of idiots, That Annoying 12-Year-Old Who Thinks He Can Sing. Honestly? I mean, honestly? Thinking about people like Justin B-Whatever and the fact that he's making three hundred and fifty billion dollars a minute (I'm assuming) to fly around the country singing about babies and girls and making babies with girls and girls making babies with other girls (or whatever it is the kids are singing about these days) makes my soul weep into its cornflakes every morning. Three hundred and fifty BILLION dollars? A MINUTE? I'm sure he's not completely talentless - I'll concede that he can sing better than me, though that's not really a fair test since plastic lawn gnomes can sing better than me - but that's ridiculous. I can only hope he uses some of that money to buy himself a clue. And a haircut that doesn't require his mother's largest cooking bowl.

Now what else can we talk about? I guess this is usually the part where I [insert sarcastic comments about how great it is to make less than $260 a week working full time] but I'm actually loving work at the moment. What can I say? The place makes me happy, despite having a surface area that's 89% reflective. I mean, NOBODY should have to look at themselves that much, let alone someone with a face like mine. But for reals yo, I'm pretty keen on T&G lately. And no, it's not just because of the iTunes playlist Alex and I created on the reception computer that's pretty much ALL Florence And The Machine/Michael Jackson. It's also because there's a pub across the road that serves Slate and Cokes.

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.

Everyone Knows My Mum Prefers Coke

Hey world. Me again.
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.
(pause)
Jacki: Okay, to be fair...it's mostly me.

Quote Of The Day

"Um, can I ask a question? Why no blog lately? I'm not angry...just disappointed."

He loves me.