Wednesday, March 30, 2011

Tales Of A Teenage Blogger: Update

So remember when I said I was going to try writing a book?
Well, that's happening.
It's kind of slow-going at the moment.  Mainly because I've got 21 years of ridiculousness to sift through, and also because I don't have a computer, so everythings written on post-its and pieces of scrap paper.  Oh, yes.  This is what it looks like when Jacki Trew decides to become an author:
I'm nothing if not professional.
Anyway, here's the thing:  If you don't want to be in the book, I suggest you let me know now.  I don't mean to get all Taylor Swift on everyone's ass, but if I know you and have hung out with you for more than five minutes at some point over the last 21 years, chances are you will make an appearance in the book.  If we went to school together, you'll be in the book.  If we've broken the law together, you'll be in the book.  If you've ever worked with me, gone on holidays with me, given birth to me or been drunk with me, you will be in the book.  If you've made me laugh, you will be in the book.  And if you've totally fucked me over, you will be in the book.
That last one sounds odd I know, but trust me.  If nothing else, I've been blessed with the ability to turn pretty much any situation into an amusing anecdote.  Even heartbreak.  Actually with heartbreak it's not that hard - you just make self-deprecating jokes and keep repeating the phrase "maybe one day his balls will grow back".

On a related note, part of writing a book includes coming up with a good title.  So here's what I've got so far:
  • Caffeine And Cynicism (which sounds oddly familiar)
  • Book By Popular Demand (get it?  do you get it?)
  • Maybe One Day His Balls Will Grow Back
I'm only kidding about the last one. 
Or am I?

Double Death

Speaking of food...

I was in the midst of my daily Yahoo perusal yesterday, when I stumbled onto this little article.  Good Lord that is one nasty-looking hamburger.  And when I say 'nasty', I mean it in every sense of the word.  That burger looks like it has a nasty personality.  I bet that burger was a bully in high school.  It probably makes racist jokes, too.  About dead babies.  Racist dead baby jokes.  It never calls it's mother, even on Christmas or her birthday.  And last Halloween, the burger dressed up as Hitler and egged every house in the neighbourhood.

In all seriousness though, what the hell is going on over at KFC headquarters?  Colonel Sanders, I'm talking to you.  Get it together, dude!  Haven't you heard that fast food high in saturated fats can cause health problems like diabetes?  This hamburger IS diabetes.  I only looked at a photo of it on the internet...I have diabetes now.  That's a slight exaggeration, but you know what I mean.  All I'm saying is I would think twice before ordering this off the menu, because if and when you do, you're gonna have to deal with a myriad of health problems, the very least of which will be a case of explosive diarrhea.
My favourite thing about the article is the author and his use of the word "horrifying".
"Two-thirds of men and more than half of women are overweight. We don't need more of these sorts of things. It's horrifying," Dr Stanton told News Ltd.

Like the burger has committed homocide.  Or has a lead role in a new horror film:
I Know What You Ate Last Summer - starring Tom Cruise and Anne Hathaway.  And introducing The Double Downer as 'Creepy Serial Killer In Hooded Cloak'.
Oh.  Did I not mention that's what KFC is calling this monstrosity?  The 'Double Downer'.  If there is a more perfect euphamism for death than that, it's not one I know about.
And it doesn't even look good in the promotional picture!  I know it's ridiculous that I'm still talking about this, and I don't care.  I generally think all fast food is repulsive, but at least McDonalds etc make an effort to trick us into submission with photoshop and good lighting.  I know it's not, but if you believe the commercial, a salad sandwich from Maccas actually looks like a salad sandwich.  The first thing I thought when I saw the Double Downer was "Did somebody already eat that?".  Well, no, okay, that was my second thought.  My first was actually "Aaaaand...diabetes."

A Train, Champagne And Me. Setting Myself On Fire.

Let's get right to it, because I haven't had time to blog since Sunday, and it's been an eventful two days.
LADY GAGA'S BIRTHDAY.  I, umm...honestly, there is no way to sum up my excitement in just one sentence.  On Monday morning, the inside of my head looked like this:
Remember back when I used to celebrate Wentworth Miller's birthday every year?  Lady GaGa is the new Wentworth Miller.  Only I don't want to bang her, I just think it'd be cool if we hung out and watched Grey's Anatomy every once in a while.  GaGa seems like a McSteamy fan.

The best thing about having to go to work on Lady GaGa's birthday is that I work with two particular people:
One is probably one of the most stubborn, opinionated and well-researched men I have ever met in my life, who (after watching the video for Born This Way) decided The Big G had lost her touch, copied Madonna, and completely forfeited originality.
The Other is my best friend and as goo-goo over GaGa as I am.
On your marks, get set, argue.  And since all three of us are borderline alcoholics (I kid) who love yelling at each other in public, we decided the best way to celebrate March 28th was at the pub, with two bottles of champagne and a heated debate:

Is Lady GaGa One Of The Most Original, Inspiring And Geniunely Talented Artists Of Our Generation?  Or Just Some Dick In A Wig With Prosthetic Shoulder Pads?

We didn't stop yelling for an hour and forty five minutes.
All in good fun of course, but towards the end I think even the dude behind the bar was getting a bit fed up.  He didn't actually say anything, but when I went up for the third round, it kind of felt like he was screaming at me with his eyes:
"If you three don't shut up about Lady GaGa, I'm gonna straight up murder everyone in this pub.
Kidding!  Aha!  Ahaha!  Seriously though, one more comment and you're all cut off."
So we shut up about Lady GaGa.  There was no resolution, but at around 7:30 someone randomly brought up Eminem and our debate was forgotten in the rush to find a high-resolution copy of the new Dr Dre video on Youtube.  Never in my life have I been more thankful for my short attention span, or the invention of the iPhone 4.

I didn't plan to bore you all with another rant about My Kitchen Rules, but I gotta say this one thing:
On last night's episode, the contestants challenge was to cook a meal in "the world's tiniest kitchen", aboard the Ghan (which, for those of you living under a rock, is that famous train which travels from Darwin to Alice Springs).
About seven minutes into the show, I heard this come out of someone's mouth:
"The Ghan really is 5-star luxury, and I want to make some 5-star food."
I respectfully disagree.
Is the Ghan nice?  I have no doubt.  Is it fancy?  I'm sure it is.  Is the trip 100% enjoyable?  Well, you'd have to ask one of the passengers.  But 5-star luxury is a term I reserve for the kind of hotel that has 24-hour room service and Hugh Jackman on staff to give me a full-body massage.  As nice as it is (and I'm sure it's VERY nice), this train is not 5-star luxury.
Want to know why?
Because it's a train.
And I get that I probably sound like a bit of a snob right now, so let me assure you that isn't the case: this whole thought process went down as I was watching MKR, in my undies, with a six-dollar bottle of wine.
I don't think so.
Regardless, it was a pretty impressive challenge, and I give my respect to the contestants.  Wholeheartedly.  I can only imagine three possible outcomes should I attempt to cook for twelve people in a train kitchen, and all of them involve me accidentally setting myself on fire.  I'm lucky if I can manage a meal for one person in my own kitchen without accidentally setting myself on fire.  In fact, I'm like 60% positive that's how I will eventually meet my own demise.  My tombstone will read:
Jacki Trew, friend to all.
She loved disco,
and accidentally set herself on fire.

Sunday, March 27, 2011

Party Of One

Alright, alright, alright.  I'm sure you've all been waiting for this.
Let's talk about voting.

Like most of NSW, I got my democracy on yesterday morning.  Oh, yeah, that is the cool way to tell people that you voted now.  Tell them you got your democracy on.  Yeah.  You like that?  I came up with it.  But I'm not greedy, so I'll let you guys use it.  Go ahead.  You are welcome.
So here's what scares me about democracy: I am an idiot.  I know this.  If you don't believe me, I suggest you re-read the first paragraph of this post.  People like me should not be given a say in the future and well-being of this nation.  That being said, I'm pretty sure if I wasn't a semi-broke and completely talentless receptionist, I'd at least be in the running for Prime Minister of the Universe.  Yes you read that correctly.  My first act as PM would be to abolish parking ticket laws.  I would then appoint Wentworth Miller from Prison Break as my sexretary.  Vote 1 Jacki Trew!!

To me, voting is know how sometimes you get home after a night out, and you're kind of drunk, and you feel like cooking something?  And then the next morning you wake up feeling like shit?  You feel like shit and there's an empty bowl on the nightstand, so you know you ate something but you're not sure what it was, only that it was probably comprised of 2 or 3 random ingredients that no meal should EVER be comprised of?
That's kind of like voting.
First off, I've got no idea what I'm doing.  I'm totally clueless.  Totally clueless and yet at the same time, MORE ENTHUSIASTIC THAN I HAVE EVER BEEN ABOUT ANYTHING IN MY LIFE!
Drunk cooking!
I mean, uh, Democracy! 
Do you know how early I woke up yesterday morning?  It was almost kind of still dark outside!  There's very few things that'll get me out of bed at all, let alone at that time of the day.  When our fire alarm went off at 12:30 on Saturday morning, this was my thought process:

What is that?  Is that an alarm?
Is that the FIRE alarm?
Ah, fuck it.

And yet there I was, standing in line to vote when the sun wasn't even warm yet.
Now, I'm not the world's greatest cook, but one thing I can say is that I know my way around a kitchen.  Unless, of course, I am drunk.  At 2 in the morning, the kitchen is a whole different ballgame, and I am NOT one of the most valuable players.  Same with voting.  Even though I've done it before, I'm never 100% sure of what I'm supposed to be doing.  Do I line up?  Where's the line?  Do I need ID?  Did I bring ID?  Where do I put the voting ballot?  Where do I sign in?  Where am I??
The voting ballot thing is completely true.  Last time I voted I was so embarassed about not knowing where to go that I waited until the woman next to me had finished filling out her ballot, and then followed her out of the voting room.  The worst part is that she turned out to be one of these douchebags who actually reads the whole ballot before filling it out.  I mean come on, lady!  I don't have time for you to read about Ivan Milat's sisters party for Gun Control.  Just tick a damn box!

I make jokes, but voting (like cooking while under the influence) is a serious matter, and an experience that you probably want to keep to yourself.  Just like I don't share my receipe for capsicum-banger pasta sauce, I wouldn't go running around Lane Cove telling everyone who I just voted for.  Unless it was the Communist Party, because you just know that's the kind of thing that'll go down well with most people.
I kid.
You might be pleased to hear that I once again decided against voting for the Communist Party.  Why would I, when there are so many more hilarious parties to choose from?
  • The Sex Party
  • The Fishing Party
  • The Anti-Parking Meter Party
  • The 'We Like To Party' Party
  • The 'Jacki Trew's Blog Is Horrendous' Party
  • The 'Fuck You, My Blog Is Awesome!' Party
I'm pretty sure only two of those are real.  But you get the picture.

Sorry I Swore. Shit!

Usually if I'm blogging about a celebrity, it's only because
a) They bare a slight resemblance to one of my friends, or

b) I'd like to marry them.
Today, I'll make an exception.  Because when I was flipping channels in a Redbull/malibu-and-coke induced high last night, I landed on the E! Channel, and a little program entitled..

50 Most Insane Celebrity Oops

I am in heaven.  If there's one thing I love more than collecting pointless and seemingly random facts about the celebrities we all know and love, its the knowledge that I am purposefully killing my own brain cells.  This show allowed me to enjoy both at once.
So, 50 Most Insane Celebrity Oops - basically just a 2-hour countdown of the 50 funniest screw ups by famous people that have occured over the past 4 or 5 years.  To set the tone, I will tell you number 50: That Time Christian Bale Went Ape Shit At A Light And Sound Guy For Walking In Front Of Him On The Set Of Some Movie.  And fair enough.  I know he was Batman, but Christian Bale scares the living shit out of me.  You might remember when I spoke about my fear of Alec Baldwin climbing through a TV screen and murdering me with an axe?  I would rather deal with that on a weekly basis than face Christian Bale.  Have you seen this guy?
Wait, shit, no.  Wrong photo.

Now that's what I'm talking about.

Alot of the show was about celebrity wardrobe malfunctions.  Please.  My wardrobe malfunctions every morning on the way to work, and nobody ever put me on a TV show.  I know I'm not famous or anything, but still.  The only difference between an upskirt of me and one of Britney Spears is that I wear undies and don't have an STD.  I know what I'd rather look at!
Alright I'm bored of this.  Let's talk about magic.
I was at the pub with Alex and her boyfriend Richie last night when the subject of Harry Potter came up.  This didn't surprise me, because when Alex, Richie and I are at the pub together, we will invariably end up having one of four conversations:
1) Harry Potter
2) How awesome our apartment will be
3) Whichever one of Richie's friends he is currently trying to set me up with
4) Vagina
Here's something kind of embarassing I admitted after two drinks: When I was a kid, I TOTALLY believed Harry Potter was real.  Like, to the point where I was 10 years old and waiting for my letter from Hogwarts.  Was anyone else this deluded as a pre-teen?  My letter never came (your loss, Dumbledore!), which I guess just makes me a Muggle.  Uhh, I mean, idiot.  In hindsight it's probably for the best, because I don't think I would have fared very well at Hogwarts - mainly on account of my name (which is fine for everyday life, but sounds totally boring when you're in a classroom with Draco, Hermione and Luna), but also because I can see myself trying to play a game that involves four balls and flying broomsticks, and I know it doesn't end well.

Now back to the Celebrity Oops.  You know what else was on there like, at least three times?  Singers falling over on stage.  Again, please.  I also fall over EVERY MORNING on my way to work.  And I STILL haven't been offered my own show on the E! Channel.  Admittedly though, I did enjoy this part of the show.  Especially the dialogue from Pink falling over on stage:

Pink: No, no, no, no!  Oh fuck!  That hurt like a motherfucker!  Sorry I'm cursing, but you know..

Interesting.  Here is some similar dialogue that took place between me and my Mum last night, when we were trying to catch the possum caught in our roof:

Me: Fuck!
Mum: What?
Me: No, nothing.  Except holy fuck this is a big fucking possum.
Mum: Jacki...
Me: Yeah sorry I swore. (possum makes a squeaking noise) Shit!!

This only cements my theory that I am exactly like Pink and should quit my job to become an aspiring pop/rock star immediately.

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

Apartment Watch 2011

I am currently in the market for a 2-bedroom apartment.  So if you have one, or know of anyone else who does, let me know.  I'll take anything.  I'm not fussy.  As long as there's a balcony and a carspace, a nice bathroom, and the kitchen decor matches the Maxwell&Williams utensils that Alex and I have already bought, I'll be happy.
As you might have deduced, I'm pretty excited about the prospect of finally moving out.  I think (if you're my boss, ignore this next sentence) I spend more time at work on than I do actually working.  I'm calling this Apartment Watch '11.
Anyway - like I said a few posts ago - I hope to have relocated by the end of May, so if you'd like one last opportunity to come over and swim in my pool, hang out in my childhood room, steal my WiFi, drink my wine and jump on my parents bed, you'd better do it soon.  Alternatively, if you are the person who left a pile of laundry and shit in my room around a month ago, you might want to grow some balls and come pick it up.  You know who you are; you used to really love it when I wore my purple novelty eyeglasses in public, remember?  Yes, you!  Come on dude.  I barely have enough room for my own laundry and shit.

The best part about Alex and I and our preparations for the big move is how adult we are being about the whole process.  For example, we made sure to secure an iceless wine cooler and bottle of champagne to drink on our first night in the new apartment before we even started house-hunting.  Clearly, we have our priorities in order.
Here is an amusing conversation that look place at my work last weekend:

MJ: There's something different about you today.
Me: What?
MJ: I don't know, it's...I can't find the words.
Me: It's indescribable?
MJ: I can't think of the words to explain it.
Me: Oh, so it's ineffable.
MJ: No, I wouldn't say you're uneffable...
Me: In.  Ineffable.  It means you can't explain something.
MJ: Yeah right.
Me: I swear, that's a real word!  Google that shit.
MJ:  You just like saying the word 'effable'.
Me: Well who doesn't?
MJ: I know I do!
Phillip: (to a client) I'm really sorry about them.

Working with people whose social boundaries are seemingly limitless is great.  There's nothing I appreciate more than honesty, and nothing that feels better than a co-worker informing you that you could use a little plastic surgery:

MJ: My friend got a nose job, it looks great.  Want to see a before and after photo?
Me: Yeah!  (Sees photo)  Oh, okay, yeah.  But I kind of like her 'before' nose.
MJ:  Well, you're only seeing it from the side.  From the front it was huge.
Me: (Jokingly) Like mine?
MJ: (Without a hint of hesitation) Yeah!
Me: (Again, jokingly) Are you saying I need plastic surgery?
MJ: (Sensing things are about to get awkward but unable to stop himself) wouldn't hurt.

Luckily, I've gotten used to comments like these and am now able to just laugh them off.  I have an enormous sense of humour.  I keep it in my nose.

Tales Of A Teenage Blogger. By Jacki Trew.

Would I look like a total idiot with earmuffs?
I kind of want earmuffs.

In other news, I have decided to try my hand at writing book.  Again.  If you have known me for a while, you will know that I tried this once before, back when I was around 19 years old and not nearly as hilarious* as I am now.

*Here meaning: foolish, desperate for cash.

Unlike my last attempt, I'm convinced this is what will make me my first million.  100%.  Kind of.  I mean, a bit.  The same way I was convinced it was me who came up with the idea for vending machines that dispense clean underwear.  Pretty much, I am just pretending to be an author until my brain finally kicks into adult mode and tells me what I actually want to do with my life.  Anyway, give me your thoughts - would you pay upwards of $15.95 for a couple hundred pages with my name on the front cover?  Here is a potential mock-up to get you in the mood:

I was drinking a cup of coffee on my balcony last night when I noticed my neighbour had decided to go swimming in his underwear.  I really don't have anything else to say about that.  It just seems like the kind of thing I would tell you if we were talking on the phone or whatever.

"I just saw my neighbour going for a swim in his underwear."

It's unfortunate that I live next door to an elderly couple.

I'm Talking About Naked Windsurfing

I often have dreams about cutting my hair off.  I suppose I should call these nightmares.  Without my hair, I am not what one might call 'good-looking'.  That's not to say I am good-looking now, but with long hair at least I have something to cover the majority of my face.
I also have nightmares about being naked in really inappapropriate situations.
Apart from bed, bathroom and Elle and Mischa's living room, there are very few places I feel comfortable being naked.  I'm guessing everyone has had at least one 'I'm Naked At High School' dream, but that's not what I'm talking about.  I'm talking about naked windsurfing.  With Mike Tyson.  In Hawaii.  If you are a dream expert in any capacity, please email me, because I would love to know what this means.
Good morning, and welcome to another episode of Jacki Recaps Last Night's Episode Of My Kitchen Rules

So, the couple from Victoria.  I can never actually remember their real names, so I just call them The Serial Killers.  Nothing against couples or cooks or people from Victoria in general, but watching these two makes me genuinely fear for my own safety.  Especially the dude.  Every time he picks up a steak knife, I feel like there's a chance he might climb through the TV and stab me with it.  And no, there is no hyperbole in that sentence.
Last night's quick-fire challenge was one of my favourites to date.  By the way, is it totally annoying that I keep talking about this show?  Suck it.  Like I was saying, last night was awesome.  The first task was to create a canape in 30 minutes, which sounds easy enough except for the twist which was that the teams weren't allowed to cook together.  One person was given 15 minutes to start the dish, and the other got 15 minutes to finish.  For the 8 dillionth time since I became addicted, I found myself wishing I was a contestant on this show.  I imagine my discussion with the judges might go something like this:

French Judge:  Ahh, Jacki.
Me: Sup.
Aussie Judge: What have you got for us today?
Me: Well...that white crispy thing right there, that's toast.
French Judge: I see.  And what do you call this?
Me: Oh that?  That's Vegemite.

A winning combination.  The only person I would rather see compete on My Kitchen Rules than myself, is my Dad:

French Judge:  Hello Phil.
Dad: G'day.
Aussie Judge: So Phil, what have you decided to serve as your canape this evening?
Dad: What are you, blind?  That's called a beer.  Drink up boys.

Sunday, March 20, 2011

Now That's Good Television

Yawn.  Oh, hey, hello!
I was pretty tired last night.  Can't really explain why.  Our clients were just extra exhausting this week I guess.  It might have something to do with all that crystal meth I put in the salons coffee supply.  Or maybe there was just something in the Lane Cove air.
Probably the meth though.
Anyway like I just said, I was was pretty tired and it was a long week, so no going out for me.  I'm also extremely poor; another reason not to go out.  Saving money for an apartment kind of sucks.  I can see I'll just be spending friday nights at home getting hammered with my parents from now until I move out.

So I watched this movie last night called Long Weekend.  I IMDb'd it after and found out there are actually two movies with this title, so just in case you were planning on watching it, go for the 2008 version.  That's the one I'm talking about.  Although I feel like I should save you the trouble and tell you right now that this movie is one of the biggest pieces of shit I've ever seen.  Not the biggest piece.  I've seen Boytown, afterall.  But it was fairly horrendous.  I could feel my IQ dropping as I watched it.  Not good.  I spent 45 minutes on Thursday night trying to kill a cockroach with a stick of men's deodorant - I need all the IQ points I can get.
So the film was stupid.  And it was Australian.  I'm not saying the two are mutually exclusive, but come on.  Think about every Australian film you've seen in the last 10 years.  Now think about how many you considered stupid.  Now think about Chewbacca taking a dump.
Haha!  I made you think about Chewbacca taking a dump!  But yeah, the movies.  Most of them were stupid, am I right?  I'm right.  And if I'm not right, you need to sit yourself down and watch Boytown, pronto.
According to Wikipedia, Long Weekend is considered an "Ozploitation Film"; that's Wikispeak for "Australian Exploitation Film", which I assume just refers to a movie filmed in Australia, set in Australia, starring Australians, where alot of typical Australian shit goes down.  Meat pie eating, fly swatting, beer chugging, cricket watching, being viciously murdered by Ivan Milat-ing.
You know.  Just the usual. 
I wanted to be sure of this, so I Googled a list of other Ozploitation movies:
  • Undead
  • BMX Bandits
  • Daybreakers
  • Rogue
  • Wolf Creek
Huh.  So I guess "Ozploitation" is just a fancy term for "Movies About Australia And The Ways In Which You Will Meet Your Untimely Death If You Go There". 
Think about it - the vampires in Daybreakers?  The crocodile in Rogue?  The serial killer from Wolf Creek?  And let us not forget the horror that was Nicole Kidman's hair in BMX Bandits.

After Long Weekend, I watched a little diddy by the name of The Day The Earth Stood Still.  Going into it, I knew next to nothing about this movie, except that it stars Keanu Reeves.  I am one of maybe 6 people left on this plant who does not hate or feel sorry for Keanu.  Why do people dislike this guy?  He was Neo!  Or, for those of you who weren't nerdy enough to watch The Matrix in high school, he was the sexy badass cop who made out with Sandra Bullock in Speed!  And yet still, people make fun of the guy.  Weird.  If people are gonna make fun of anyone, it should be the dude who replaced him in Speed 2: Cruise Control.  Or Nicole Kidman in BMX Bandits.
So The Day The Earth Stood Still.  Also pretty shit, but Keanu was alright.  The real villain of the movie was Jaden Smith, AKA The Kid From The Pursuit Of Happyness, AKA Will Smith's offspring.  Nothing against the Smiths, but they seem like one of the most self-important families in Hollywood.  If I met Jaden Smith in the street, I have no doubt that he would kick me in the vagina and give me a lecture about what I could achieve if I only took my life more seriously.  Then his little sister would probably come and whip me in the face with her ponytail. 
The Smiths.
What a bunch of assholes.
Anyway, Earth Stood Still.  Is this the only movie where Keanu plays an alien?  I swear he has been an alien before.  Perhaps I'm just thinking of that scene in The Matrix where he comes out of the birthing pod, bald and all covered in slime.
Extra terrestrials are extra sexy.  The movie has a few characters other than The Alien Keanu.  There's Jaden Smith as The Littlest Asshole, of course.  And Jennifer Connolly (you might remember as one of the herion addicts from Requiem For A Dream, among other things), who plays his step-mother and is some sort of doctor genius.  I forget her real name, so we'll call her Doctor Heroin.
Doctor Heroin and a bunch of other science nerds are kidnapped in the middle of the night and taken to some secret service warehouse.  Why?  Well because there's a foreign object travelling through space that's about to make contact with and destroy the entire planet, of course!  And thus begins the start of every apocalypse-type film you've ever seen.
I almost changed the channel.
Everyone knows I love Armageddon, and even The Day After Tomorrow was okay, but if I wanted to see one more example of how the human race will be painfully and irrecovably eliminated, I'd just Google global warming.
Anyway, the mystery object turns out to be a giant ball of light filled with aliens.  Which sounds ludicrous, but that's the best way I can explain it:
Holy shit!  Did you guys know that aliens travelled in giant balls of light?  This is so much cooler than the spaceship from E.T!  The ball doesn't destroy the earth, but lands in the middle of Central Park where Doctor Heroin, the science nerds and a bunch of Army assholes are waiting for it.  I say Army assholes because when the first alien comes out to say hello, one of them shoots it.
Then after alot of yelling and swearing, they decide to take the alien (which kind of resembles a life-size gummy bear) to hospital.  So they're operating on the gummy bear when suddenly, it's skin starts falling off.  What?  Ew!  Except then, ALL the skin comes off, and underneath is - what do you know - Keanu Reeves.
I'm not gonna say this is the most ridiculous thing ever (especially having just watched Long Weekend), but it honestly baffles me what some of the folk in Hollywood are coming up with these days.
I guess one of the things that annoys me most about these invasion movies is that I don't understand why.  Why would the aliens invade earth?  Don't they know anything?  Earth is going to shit!  Hey aliens, wanna come live in Australia?  Go ahead!  Good luck without SPF 30, fuckers.  It's called the hole in the ozone layer.
That's where TDTESS is victorious though, because it's premise is that the aliens are invading earth to save it.  From the humans.  Original, no?  At the very least, it was a nice change from watching Bruce Willis blow up some asteroid.
One of the best things about TDTESS is that you could pretty much tell from the get-go that Doctor Heroin and The Alien Keanu were gonna make out at some stage  I love a good romance.  And, if shows like 3rd Rock From The Sun and Buffy The Vampire Slayer have taught us anything, it's that inter-species relationships are hilarious, and ALWAYS end well.  I also liked this scene at the beginning, where The Alien Keanu is being interrogated by Kathy Bates, who plays the US Secretary of Defense:

The Alien Keanu: There is a gathering of world leaders not far from here - I will explain my purpose to them.
Kathy Bates: I'm afraid that's not possible.  Perhaps you should explain yourself to me instead.
The Alien Keanu: Do you speak for the entire human race?
Kathy Bates: I speak for the President of the United States!

Excellent.  I was honestly surprised when she didn't end that last sentence with " I may as well be!".
I love it how America isn't even pretending to delegate anymore - they are on top and they fucking know it.  Although I have to give it to them, they know how to deal with a crisis situation.  Did you see how calmly Kathy Bates took the knowledge that earth was being exterminated by aliens?  If we ever get invaded for real, I'm flying straight to Hollywood.  Those celebrities can really handle their shit.
Other than that hilariously political exchange, my favourite dialogue came from the scene where Doctor Heroin comes downstairs to find The Alien Keanu making a toasted cheese sandwich at 2 in the morning:

Doctor Heroin: What the...what time is it?
The Alien Keanu: Uhh...I...2.  2am.
Doctor Heroin: What are you doing?
The Alien Keanu: Making a sandwich.
Doctor Heroin: But...why?
The Alien Keanu: Cause I wanted one.
Doctor Heroin: At 2 in the morning?
The Alien Keanu: Yeah.
Doctor Heroin: Right.
The Alien Keanu: Yeah.
Doctor Heroin: Are you stoned?

Now that's good television.

(Okay, so in that last scene, when I said 'Doctor Heroin' and 'The Alien Keanu', I may have been talking about 'My Mother' and 'I'.  I will let you decide who played which character.)

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

So apparently they just cast this dude to play the lead in the new Superman movie:
Okay, and yum.  But more importantly, is it just me or are there an insane amount of men playing Superman these days?  What is this, the twelfth dude?  Let's recap:
Christopher Reeve
Brandon Routh
Tom Welling
Okay so three.  Plus this new guy.  Still.  Basically all I'm trying to say is I don't understand why they keep making all these new Superman movies when it's pretty obvious to everyone that the originals will always kick ass.  Metaphorically, that is.  Superman would never actually kick someone in the ass.  He'd just beat them to death with his Dad's pick-up.

So what else is new?  The Superman thing is pretty much all I got today.  Oh.  I almost saw a baby get hit by a car last week.  What?  How did I not lead with this?
I was standing on one side of River Road West waiting for the lights to change when this woman with a pram wandered up on the opposite side.  So there's a baby in the pram.  I think she also had a toddler with her, and a dog.  Or two toddlers, one of whom was on a leash.  I wasn't looking that closely.  Anyway, I guess she forgot to lock the wheels on her pram, cause one moment it was parked next to her, the next it was rolling down the sidewalk into oncoming traffic.  God damn.  I don't even like babies and I can tell you this was one of the scariest road-related moments of my life, including that one time I did a complete 360 degree spin through a roundabout.
Thankfully the woman noticed and rescued her kid before it got, you know, hit by a semi-trailer.  But you could tell she was pretty much on the verge of shitting her pants.  I wanted to say something, but since I was on the other side of the road I just gave her a look like, 'Dude, your kid almost got hit by a truck!'.  And she gave me a look back, like 'I'm pretty much on the verge of shitting my pants!'.  Then the baby looked at both of us and said 'Two fucking adults and not one of you noticed until I was halfway down the road?  Get an education!  Damn!'.
I'm only kidding about that last part.
Babies can't talk.

So you know what makes me wonder?  The way you can use those little computer kiosks to check yourself in at the airport now.  Before you get to choosing your seat or whatever, there's always that screen with pictures of gas and poison and syringes and shit like, 'Are you carrying any of these contraband items?', to which everyone answers 'No, of course not!'.  I can't imagine anyone being dumb enough to admit to carrying contraband onto an aeroplane these days.

"Where's the pilot?  I just remembered I've got a pair of nail scissors up my ass, and I wanted to let him know."

Seriously though.  That's the best security we've got?  A computer screen honesty system?  I am so never getting on an aeroplane again.  Or at least if I do, I'm hiding a pair of nail scissors in my ass so I can fight off the real terrorists.

My Kitchen Sucks

Sooo, My Kitchen Rules.  I know I started talking about this a few days ago, but I didn't really have time to say much except something along the lines of 'Old people get humiliated!' and 'Holy shit it's awesome!'.  I can be extremely eloquent when I put my mind to it.  Anyway, did I mention that it's awesome?  Holy shit.  It's awesome.  I don't know if this is just me (probably not), but when I watch these reality competition shows, it totally inspires me to try whatever-it-is that's happening on screen.  Like, Project Runway gets me all excited to make clothes.  When I watch Shear Genius, I want to cut hair.  During Idol, I'm an aspiring singer.  The Amazing Race gets me all pumped to run around some field in Europe and get smashed in the face with a watermelon.  And So You Think You Can Dance?  No, I don't.  But I'mma shake my ass around the living room anyway!
My Kitchen Rules follows this same pattern.  It's 7:30?  It's Tuesday night?  Damn, lets do some cooking!  So last night I felt like pizza.  Being that my parents seem to survive almost solely on breakfast food these days and appear to have forgotten that I do still live here, our house is pretty lacking in basic pizza-related ingredients, but I wasn't about to let that stop me.  Obscure-Ingredients Pizza?  Challenge accepted!  So first I cooked some chicken with onions.  We didn't have any tomato paste, so what did I use on the base?  Aioli.  A-whati?  I have no idea, but it was in a jar, it was in the fridge, and the expiration date was still reasonable, so on it went.  And every pizza has cheese, right?  Let's throw some cheese on there.  Then I baked it for 10 minutes, pulled it out and poured sweet chilli sauce over the top.  The result...well, it looked interesting.  I can tell you now the only time I've ever been more inventive in the kitchen than this was one Saturday night after a few drinks when I invented a new flavour of pasta sauce called 'Capsicum Banger'.  Don't ask.
Anyway, back to the pizza - MKR was starting just as it came out of the oven, so I quickly cut it up and ate two pieces during the first segment.  Then, during the commercial break I went to the bathroom and shit three bricks.
No, okay, only kidding.  I'm a lady, and ladies never shit bricks.  But I certainly wasn't well.  Between the onions and the sweet chilli,, just no.  But I think it's safe to say I will never be a contestant on My Kitchen Rules.  Unless they do a series where every challenge is salmonella-related.  That, I would absolutely dominate.

I don't consider myself an expert on the English language, but I feel pretty consident when I say 'shit a brick' is one of the most disgusting phrases out there.  Hilarious, sure, but disgusting.  It's not something I use often.  Apart from two paragraphs ago.  Other than that, one of the last times I said it was almost three years ago in a text message to my friend Jordan:

Dude!  On my way to the tattoo place and shitting bricks!!

There was a five minute pause, then his response:

Well...make sure you clean up after yourself.

I think I actually threw up on my phone.  What a horrendous visual.  Maybe not as horrendous as the realisation that what began as an innocent post about reality cooking shows has now become a one-woman conversation about poo, but still.  I propose the expression 'shit a brick' be removed from the English dictionary altogether.  Or at least, restricted to use on the weekends.  And/or when you are about to get a tattoo for the first time.

Back to My Kitchen Rules.  On last night's episode, Sammy and Bella made a chocolate cake with silver leaf and fairy floss on it.  And in related news, I gave birth to a baby made out of happiness and lollipops.  Okay, a lie.  In all seriousness though, I can't remember the last time I actually ate dessert, but one look at this thing and I couldn't get off the couch for 15 minutes.  A food orgasm will do that to you.  Another thing I love about MKR?  This guy:
Sure, he's no Wentworth/Jackman hybrid, but have you heard this dude talk?  His voice is like the audio version of...well, giving birth to a baby made out of happiness and lollipops.  That may well be the strangest sentence I've ever written on this blog, but I stand by it.  And this will be the cake they serve at our wedding:
Apart from that wonder of a dessert, I'm not a huge fan of Team Sammy And Bella.  They're too...smiley all the time.  It creeps me out.  Plus they're sisters who actually like hanging out with each other, and that's a concept I simply do not have the life-knowledge to wrap my head around.  I like the NSW boys.  They're arguably the worst cooks on the show, but they chest-bump after each challenge, and I'm nothing if not a sucker for a good chest-bump.  One of my other favourite teams is the Asian Chick/Little White Guy combo.  They're hip.  They're fun.  By which I of course mean 'I spend half of every episode trying to pin down the guys sexual orientation'.  I haven't got very far yet.  My Mum (who I sometimes watch the show with) hates this couple because she thinks the chick is ugly.  For someone that gave birth to a girl whose general appearance fluctuates between 'dirty hippie' and 'victim of electrocution', my Mother can be pretty judgemental about people's looks.  Her disliking the Asian/White Guy team for this reason is almost as unreasonable as me hating The Butchers just because one of them has an annoying lisp.  Normally I am a huge fan of butchers and lisps, but I don't think the two should be combined.  It feels like a health-code violation.

Speaking of health-code violations, you may or may not be excited to learn that Alex and I are moving out together.  When?  Soon.  As much as I love my house and my parents, I've officially run out of closet space.  Plus I have a sneaking suspicion the family cat might be plotting my death.  So hopefully May?  Anyone who laughed at that butcher/lisp/healthcode joke I just told is awesome, and officially invited to the housewarming.  And everyone else is invited to give me money so I can buy a new computer to blog on. 

Tuesday, March 08, 2011

Spontaneous Explosion

There's a pipe in the laneway behind my work that sometimes randomly spurts enormous jets of water all over anyone and everyone who happens to be standing nearby.
This is fucking ridiculous to me.
Sorry to swear, but saying it's just ridiculous doesn't feel like enough.  Explain yourself, pipe!  I don't know what's worse - getting hit in the face by a waterfall twice a day, or not being entirely sure where this water comes from.  Or if it's even water at all.  The only thing more ridiculous than this pipe is the fact that no matter how many times it spits water at me, I continue to eat my lunch in front of it every day.  And not just me - we all eat our lunch in front of it everyday.  It's like a game; you never know how long the stream will last, or how strong it will be, or if someone will walk out in the middle of a complete deluge and witness you and your lunch being soaked.  Again.  Who needs pokies?  This shit is better than gambling, and it's free -all you need is 45 minutes for lunch and an absurd personality.

In other news, I came home from work this afternoon to find my cat had been accidentally locked in the bathroom.  This was hilarious to me for two reasons:
1) She is a cat.
2) She'd been accidentally locked in the bathroom.
What's not to love about that scenario?  And before you get all animal-rights-activist-y on me, don't worry.  I'm pretty sure she wasn't even in there for that long.  There wasn't nearly enough damage to the blinds, for one thing.  I don't exactly know where they learned this, but when left alone, my animals have a tendency to completely annihialate everything in their path.  I can't tell you the amount of times I've had to reconstruct the main layout of my bedroom thanks to Nala's special feline-brand of PMS.  Or what about that Easter a few years back, when Oscar got into the pantry and consumed half our familys easter egg supply?  Yeah.  Aren't dogs supposed to be allergic to chocolate?  Mine isnt.  I actually think it enhanced his strength, at least if the way he defended the rest of those easter eggs is any indication. 
Pets are tricky, but my family seems to have a special knack for messing them up.  And when I say 'my family', I mean 'my sister and I'.  And when I say 'my sister and I', I mean 'me'.  What nine-year-old goes through four mice in the space of a fortnight?  Probably the same one that kept silkworms in her lunchbox, and whos first pet fish met it's untimely demise in a fashion that can only be described as 'spontaneous explosion'.  I get why my parents are so excited about the prospect of me finally moving out, but if you ask me, it's my animals who should be celebrating.  I just increased their life-expectancy, like, tenfold.

Sunday, March 06, 2011

Speaking Of Things That Have Almost Nothing To Do With What I Was Just Speaking About...

Happy Sunday, planet internet!
And I hope you're all having a great weekend.  Big plans?  My immune system and I decided to celebrate the first day of JACKI TREW'S 21ST BIRTHDAY WEEK EXTRAVAGANZA with a 39 degree fever and what I feel pretty confident in describing as the worst tummy ache in history - because it's not too often that I get sick, but when I do, I like to go all out.
Oh, it's so much fun.  Like, remember the time I got all whacked out on cough syrup and ended up hallucinating that my Dad was trying to sell me Pokemon cards that were made out of cheese?
The best part about being sick is that - no matter what the nature of my illness - it always ends up with me getting whacked out on cough syrup and hallucinating that my Dad is trying to sell me Pokemon cards made out of cheese.  I also love going to work when I feel like crap.  After all, who needs an actual doctor's appointment when you've got a 56-year-old client with a seemingly endless supply of unsolicited medical advice?  I can't remember exactly what I told this guy, but apparently I need to get my blood pressure checked and start taking iron supplements.  There's also a faint possibility that I don't have a liver - we're still waiting for the results on that one.

On a semi-related, I don't know if it was the fever or the fact that I'd consumed no less than seven coffees, or just my general idiocy, but last night I decided it'd be a good idea to cook pasta and watch The Hurt Locker.  I'm not sure how long you guys have been reading this blog or if you remember my last reaction to this particular movie...but it went a little something like this:

And - again - I don't know if it was the temperature, caffeine or stupidity, but this time?

Conclusion?  It's official.  I'm dead inside.  Either that or I really need to stop watching all those shows about forensic investigation on TV.  There's such a thing as being too desensitised to violence/gore/murder/bodies being stuffed into refrigerators and thrown over cliffs, and I think I might be there.  On the plus side, being the equivalent of an emotionless robot means less time wasted with being traumatised by war, and more time spent recognizing the truly awesome aspects of this movie.  Like the scene where Jeremy Renner takes his shirt off:
Speaking of things that have almost nothing to do with what I was just speaking about, HOLY SHIT MY KITCHEN RULES IS AMAZING.  Is this just me?  I know there's been chef-related reality series before this, but none of them have spoken to me on the same level as MKR.  I think it has something to do with the amount of elderly couples being humiliated on national television.

Wednesday, March 02, 2011

I don't know if you guys were aware of this, but I've been computer-less for the better half of this past year.  Well, no, okay.  Not totally computer-less.  I have a computer.  It just doesn't have internet, it's not connected to a printer, and it only stays on for 6 minutes at a time.  On second thoughts, it's not so much a computer as it is a $700 piece of shit that's ruining my life.  Anyway, that's one of the reasons for my recent Lack Of Blog; because whenever I want to post something, I have to come all the way downstairs and do it on my parents desktop.  Which wouldn't be so bad, except for the fact that my parents are a hundred years old and like going to bed before the sun goes down.  Because the computer is in their bedroom...and as committed as I am to this blog, it's kind of hard to write jokes about anal sex and lopsided nipples while your Dad is sleeping four feet away.
Anyway, the point is, I can't blog whenever I want.  And I especially can't blog in the middle of the night - which as anyone who knows me knows, is my peak ideas-for-blogs getting time.  Luckily, there's a solution to this problem and it's simple enough.  I've taken to carrying a pen around with me, and whenever an idea for a post pops into my head, I write it down on the first piece of paper I find.  I works out well, most of the time:  I mean on the plus side, I keep randomly finding completely nonsensical notes that I've written at like 4 in the morning, which never cease to crack me up.  On the minus side, my parents keep finding the same notes and are becoming increasingly convinced of my insanity.
You win some, you lose some.

Speaking of losses, I experienced one on Saturday at work when our bathroom light stopped working.  It wasn't as much of a fail as that segue I just attempted, but still.  Worth a mention.  See, at work we have a very small bathroom.  Tiny.  And windowless.  So when the light stops working...well, it's less of a bathroom and more of a pitch-black chamber of dispair.
It was my boss who came up with the brilliant idea of sticking candles to the toilet tank.  And it was me who ruined it, with comments like this:

Client One: Umm...the candles in the bathroom went out...
Me: (Not wanting to burn myself by attempting to light them again) Oh, yeah.'ll be like an adventure.  Good luck!
Client One: (Silence)

Client Two (Who I Just So Happen To Have A Massive Schoolgirl Crush On): What's with the candles in the bathroom?
Me: Oh.  Oh yeah.  The lightbulb blew this morning, so the toilet is candlelit today.  I was peeing before, and I swear it was one of the most romantic moments of my damn life.
Client Two: (Silence)

Speaking of things going wrong at work, last week our smoke detector kept falling out of the ceiling, and yesterday I discovered why - there's some sort of animal living in the roof which is pushing it out.  How do I know this?  Because the last time it came out, I heard it being unscrewed from the inside - and then I saw something poking it's pink nose through the hole.
I'm convinced this is the same possum that lives in my attic at home and is constantly waking me up at 3 in the morning.  It's now following me to work.  Why?  Well, because I am a crazy person and that's the most reasonable conclusion for a crazy person to come to.  And also because the alternative is that Gollum is living in our ceiling.  Which - aside from being a serious health code violation - would totally freak me out.  Either way, this smoke detector thing is pretty annoying.  Not in comparison to the time some lady decided to hose the floors in the apartment above us, and the water came through our airconditioning vents, went all over the salon's plasma TV and almost electrocuted everyone in the building.  But still.  A possum?
That's annoying. 

Oscar Day '11 - My Review, Now With Pictures

Some Oscar thoughts:

So, what, Geoffrey Rush is like..bald now?

That's all.

I'm only kidding of course.  Though I have to admit, this year's Academy Awards weren't as exciting for me as they have been in the past.  Mainly all I want to say about them is that I'd like to marry this:
...while wearing this:
...and listening to any song performed by this:

I know.  Booooring.  So as much as I love James Franco and Florence Welch and the idea of actually being able to pull off a lavender-coloured dress, the 83rd Oscars didn't cut it for me.  Which is upsetting, because anyone who reads this blog on at least a semi-regular basis (Re: once a year, preferably in late February) will know that when it comes to awards season in Hollywood, I am six kinds of obsessed with an extra dash of crazy sauce.  So I made a list.  Here is everything that went wrong with the Oscars in 2011...

1. Meryl Streep Was AWOL
So what if she's getting older, is always nominated but never seems to win, and hasn't actually appeared on a movie screen since It's Complicated back in 2009?  Oscar Day without Meryl Streep is like my 21st birthday without tequila; it's boring, it's unnatural, and nobody's game enough to make inappropriate threesome jokes about Alec Baldwin.
2. All The Good Bits Got Cut
Thanks to me having a full time job (as part of my ongoing bid to convince the Lane Cove Real Estate Agents that I'm actually grown up enough to handle my own apartment and certainly wont be setting up a kiddie pool in the lounge room or drinking my coffee out of a glow-in-the-dark martini glass), I didn't get to watch the awards live this year.  Bummed.  Everyone knows the only way to see George Clooney's actual reactions to the jokes made about him is to watch the live telecast.  Ie the one that plays before he sneaks backstage and pays the censors to cut out the parts where he makes faces like this:

3. Nicole Kidman Wore This:

Just...just...NO.  And while we're on the topic of Australians, since when did Jacki Weaver start spelling her name the same way as me?  Because I swear she didn't always do the 'CKI-Without-An-E".  And while I'm insane and vindictive and probably should have been institutionalised by now, my Mother (who isn't) actually agrees with me.  Check MATE, Ms Weaver.  And quit trying to be me!
4. Melissa Leo Got In Trouble
Just for dropping the F Bomb in her acceptance speech.  Really, Academy Of Old Dudes Who Decide What The Best Movies Are?  Really?  I'm sorry, did I miss something?  Was the audience full of impressionable primary-schoolers this year?  Get over yourselves.  To be honest, I found the whole thing kind of charming.  And not just because I'm the kind of person who always imagines herself dropping the F Bomb in the most inappropriate of circumstances:
5. James Cameron Wasn't Nominated 10 Dillion Times.  Or To Be More Specific, James Cameron Didn't Lose 10 Dillion Times
In my eyes, the best Oscar Ceremony was the one in 2009.  Partially because that's the year Hugh Jackman hosted, and to me there is nothing funnier than the mental image of Wolverine partying backstage with Helen Mirren:
Mostly though, it's because 2009 will always be the year Avatar was totally ass-kicked by The Hurt Locker.  If you know me, you know two things:
1) I hate Avatar.  If I had balls, watching Avatar would be like getting kicked in the crotch.  I'm a girl, so I guess it's more like giving birth to a $500 million greenscreen.  Or something.  And
2) I always vouch for the underdog.
So while I've only been able to sit through The Hurt Locker once, and found the whole experience so traumatising I'm sure it's like 30% of the reason I'm unable to love, it was the underdog.  And it won.  And James Cameron cried like a little bitch baby...I'm assuming.  Probably not, but I like the idea of James Cameron crying like a little bitch baby.  Plus the chick who directed Hurt Locker is his ex-wife, and way hotter than his current wifeAND did I mention that she BEAT him?  If that doesn't spell entertainment, I honestly don't know what does.  This year though, there was no Avatar VS Hurt Locker/James Cameron VS Katherine Bigelow equivalent.  I had to settle for creating personal fueds between each of the actors in my head; which I can tell you now is not NEARLY as much fun.

That's it, really.  I can only hope next year shows an improvement.  By which I of course mean...I hope I'm hosting.