It's My Birthday - Stop Being Such A Square

Oh my God, you guys, how did I blog about Funnel-Web spiders before this??

Never mind.

So here's the thing.  I don't know if anyone is aware of this, but exactly 21 years, 11 months and 5 days ago (as of the time of this post), two awesome parents gave birth to an equally awesome little girl*.  And then, around 13 days later, my parents gave birth to me.

*Anyone who guesses the identity of the equally awesome little girl will win nothing.  I am thousands of dollars in debt.

My point is, the date of my fourth 18th birthday is fast approaching.  So you'd better get off the fucking couch and find your Giant Disco Ball costumes, because I am not turning 18 again unless it's in a room full of people who look as stupid as me.  Kidding!  Actually, I'm not quite sure how I want to celebrate my birthday yet.  Should I have a theme?  Should I not have a theme?  Should we go out?  Should we stay in the apartment?  Should I bother inviting Wentworth Miller again?

Maybe I could hire a party planner.  Party Planners would love me.  I would be the easiest client ever.  They don't even have to talk to me - I can fit all my party requirements on a post it:

Anyway.  March 10th - that's the date.  If you like disco, tequila and/or nudity, save it.  If not, stop being such a square.  It's my birthday.

The Funnel-Web Epidemic

One of my Mother's favourite and most bizarre habits is calling me up and telling me (in detail) about the most recent wild animal she has found floating in her pool.  This is usually pretty enjoyable  for me...unless of course the animal in question is one of these:

There's not a lot that scares me these days.  That's not to say I'm this super-macho crazy-brave chick who grabs life by the balls and says 'Get me some BBQ sauce and I swear to God I will eat these right in front of you!'

No.

In real life, the fact is that I'm simply too much of an idiot to realise when I'm in a situation where I should be scared.  That; and until recently I was the emotional equivalent of a serial killer clown.  What?  I never said the truth was glamorous!  But it's the truth.  I feel I should also set the record straight by pointing out that I would never eat balls.

Unless they were served with BBQ sauce.

Anyway, what was I saying?  Oh yeah.  Spiders.  Spiders, on the other hand, DO scare me.  So when Mum called up the other week to ramble about the Funnel-Web she found on the swimming pool floor, it had some long-lasting effects.  Here's a brief summary of what she told me:

1. 'I found a Funnel-Web in the pool'

Great.  Thanks, Mum.  This is the pool I grew up swimming around, sunbaking next to, attempting to wind-surf in...and you're only just warning me about the Funnel-Webs now?  Top-notch parenting.  This only cements my theory that every one of my relatives is or has been trying to kill me for the past 21 years.  

2. 'Funnel-Webs can breathe under water'

Fuck.  I knew they were dangerous, but I wasn't aware that we were dealing with the Chuck Norris of arachnids.  They can BREATHE UNDER WATER?  And they're poisonous.  THEY CAN BREATHE UNDER WATER AND THEY'RE POISONOUS.  It's like a Brown snake had crazy condomless sex with a Great White one Saturday night:

Oh man, and that's the other thing!!!

3. 'No Jacki, Funnel-Webs don't look the way you think they do.'

This might sound weird, especially considering that I've lived in Sydney, Australia for my whole life, but I've never actually SEEN a Funnel-Web in the flesh.  I read about them as a kid though, so I was under the impression that they were easily distinguishable based on their main physical traits:

- Huge

- Terrifying

- Using their keen intellect to break through my bedroom window

Turns out I'm wrong, on all three accounts.  They're not huge, they're tiny.  And (by extension) not really that terrifying.  The bedroom window thing I'm actually not 100% on.  I installed an extra lock, just in case.  My point is, I realised that I have almost no idea what a Funnel-Web actually looks like in person.  So now every time I see any spider, I find myself wondering...is that a Funnel-Web?

I know that's irrelevant, and I don't care.  All this Funnel-Web talk was starting to get me down.  LAPTOP!!  Alright, now I think this blog has gone on long enough.  To recap:

• Funnel-Webs suck
• My family are trying to kill me
• I have a laptop 

Eh.  You win some, you lose some.

It's About A Kitchen, And It Fucking Rules

You guys, something incredible just happened.  You know how sometimes you have those moments in life where you think...If only someone was filming me right now, I'd have all the ingredients for a viral hit on YouTube.

We've all had one of those moments.

I've had one.

Have you had one?  Think of a moment.  Think of it.  Okay, got that moment?  I'm guessing it's pretty good, right?  Well, this is how good my moment was:

MY MOMENT WOULD KICK YOUR MOMENTS ASS!

My moment also needs a serious eyebrow wax, but whatever.  Anyway.  Unfortunately, I don't have a cameraman following me around 24/7 recording my every move and posting it on the internet.  You know...yet.  Instead, here is an accurate life drawing of what happened:

I'm calling it Here, Have A Laptop - A Still Life In Paint.

So now we have not one but TWO kickass laptops in the apartment, which is great.  Because everyone knows that all the best things come in pairs:

• High heels
• Married people named Julia and Nathan
• Testicles

I'm sure there are more, but those are my favourites.

Speaking of things that are my favourites, does anyone else know what TV show started airing again tonight?  Let me give you a hint...it's about a kitchen, and it fucking rules. 

 My Kitchen Rules is probably one of the best reality series ever, and here's why:

• It's funny
• It's fast-paced
• There's usually at least one team made up of hot guys
• I am an idiot who thinks that the meaning of 'osmosis' is 'you can become a chef by watching TV'.

The new season looks to be a pretty entertaining ride.  This guy scored points with me right off the bat:

 Mostly because he looks like a younger/Greek/well-moustached version of my Dad, but also because I will instantly fall in love with any man willing to shove an entire chilli into his mouth.  So this dude = early favourite.  This chick, not so much:

I understand that every competition needs a spoilt, bitchy, baby-voiced and condescending character.  It's when she also wears pink heels and carries a small dog around in a handbag that really annoys me.  This girl did both, and then asked the French judge Manu if 'he was actually French or just pretending to impress everyone'.

...

NOBODY INSULTS MANU.

NOBODY!!!

So she's officially this season's Sun, despite the fact that Sun was about 40 years older and competing on Masterchef, not My Kitchen Rules.  Whatever, all I mean to say is that if either or both of them were unfortunate enough to have their heads set on fire in a freak bacon-frying incident, it wouldn't be that great of a loss.

Stay tuned for more hilarious recaps of My Kitchen Rules, most of which will involve me insulting any competitor who isn't wildly attractive or from NSW.

Snake Sex Is So Much Better With Friends

I know I've already talked about this, but I want to reiterate.
Dolphins SUCK.
And here's why:

Need I say more?

Speaking of YouTube videos that show animals doing absolutely unspeakable things - Elle, Gem, Mischa, Jane, Aaron and I spent the better half of last Saturday night Googling that very phrase.  In the middle of Chelsea Bar.  While drinking.
Yes.  I'm thinking the same thing as you; thank God I found these people in high school.  If not, by now I'd definitely be the kind of crazy person who stays home by themselves at night Googling 'Octopus Porn'.  And I can't imagine anything worse than having to watch THIS kind of stuff on my own:

Snake sex is so much better with friends.
Thankfully, Roseville College seems to have harboured a group of girls who are just as emotionally retarded as me:

...Maybe more so.

On a completely different note, since Alex and Richie are taking a Central Coast getaway this week, Boyfriend is staying at the Cope Street apartment in a gallant effort to keep me from dying of boredom.  Romantic, no? 
No.
Here is a brief excerpt from our first night 'living together':

(massive pause)
Boyfriend: Wanna research male escort groups?
Me: Hell yes.

We're an unusual couple.
Anyway.
I know I've never actually lived with a guy before, and I know it's only been a week, but I can already tell you one thing with 100% confidence:

Shaving cream.  No no, not just shaving cream.  Menthol shaving cream.  It felt like my legs were brushing their teeth.  I'll admit at first I felt pretty weird about it - mostly because I was also shaving my legs with a men's razor.  Remember that time I decided to try buying a guy's razor blade because of my theory that they give a closer shave?  They do, and I'm a genius, but still.  First the Gilette, now I'm using menthol shaving cream...I'm either on the cusp of discovering the best beauty secret since Sally Hansen's airbrush spray, or I'm a gay guy trapped in a woman's body.  Either way, my legs look fabulous.

The Wedding Where Some Crazy Chick Was The MC And It Was Totally Awesome Even If My Sister Doesn't Think So

And how is it, you may be asking, that I am able to blog at 8:16pm on a Tuesday night?
Well.
ITS BECAUSE ALEX AND I GOT A COMPUTER FOR THE APARTMENT!!!


And alright, if I'm being strictly accurate (which is new for me, so give me some credit), the computer really only belongs to Alex.  Plus it's not exactly new...we've had it for about a month.
BUT STILL!
Because really, when you think about it - since Alex is pretty much my wife - I'd like to think that what is hers is mine.  And the only people who actually know that it's taken me this long to blog on my OWN computer in my OWN apartment are Catherine and Boyfriend...and both of them think I'm an idiot anyway.
SO IT ALL WORKS OUT!
AND WE HAVE A COMPUTER!


I love having a computer in the apartment.  I really do.  I think, actually, there are only 4 things I love more than having a computer in the apartment:
1) Toasted cheese sandwiches
2) The feeling of self-satisfaction when I make someone laugh
3) Dirty Dancing
4) Julia and Nathan's wedding.
Huh.  Look at that.  A perfect segue.  Because the next thing I had planned to post about was...

JULIA AND NATHAN'S WEDDING, AKA WEDDING OF THE CENTURY, AKA THE WEDDING WHERE SOME CRAZY CHICK WAS THE MC AND IT WAS TOTALLY AWESOME EVEN IF MY SISTER DOESN'T THINK SO

I've been thinking about how to do this justice.  A literary description of Julia and Nathan's wedding, that is.  It's pretty important to me, because I'm almost 100% certain that at some point in time this will be read by Ryan Reynolds, and he'll probably be basing his decision of whether or not to seduce me on how much I can make him laugh with my witty anecdotes and charming recounts.  Luckily for Ryan, I am the kind of person who works well under pressure. 

Let's start with the ceremony.  About the ceremony, there are 3 things you need to know:

1) I cried

2) She was the most beautiful bride I have ever seen in my life (and I've seen the episode of Home and Away when Hayley married Noah, TWICE)

3) I cried

I'm not usually a cryer (crier?), but there's something about seeing the girl who's been your best friend for the past 16 years in a wedding dress - my face looked like Niagara Falls, only wetter.  I think the people behind me actually had to put raincoats on.  So that was fun.  My other favourite part was the singing...there were 3 or 4 songs performed by a fantastic band (vocals lead by one of my other best friends, Issy), and the entire congregation was expected to sing along.  The only problem was that neither I (nor any of the people around me) knew any of the songs.  Oh wait, I'm sorry, did I say problem?  What I really meant was 'the part that made it completely amazing and memorable'.  There is nothing funnier than a large group of people attempting to sing along to a song they have never heard before.  It kind of made me wish there was a camera-man focusing on individual people and projecting their images onto a big screen behind the bride and groom.  

Oh well.

Maybe at my wedding.

A group of Greenwich Public Alumni after the ceremony.  From left to right; Alex, My big sister, me, The Most Beautiful Bride Who Ever Was, Robbie, Jess, Madi, Morto and Issy.

Now, where was I?

Between the ceremony and the reception there was a bit of a gap - most people I know filled this by either drinking at a local pub (e.g. Boyfriend), or by going home to change outfits on account of the fact that they'd acted like a total unco and spilled Red Bull jelly all over their original dress (e.g. Catherine).  Being that I was both MC and Totally Eager To Involve Myself In This Wedding As Much As Possible, I had been given the task of transporting Julia and Nathan's bags (for the honeymoon) from the Church to their hotel room - without informing anyone of their hotel room location.  And OH MY GOD, did I take my job seriously.  Maybe a little too seriously...my Dad had offered to drive me to the hotel in question, but he was a little confused when I informed him that 'the hotel in question' was a secret which I'd promised not to tell. I did end up telling him eventually, but only after he'd promised to give me $8 billion dollars AND the keys to Mum's 4-wheel drive if he ever revealed the location.

He did not.

Now, to the reception.

I was in the middle of my second champagne when I realised that - shit  - I was the MC and - shit - I was expected to (eloquently) speak several times in front of a large group of people and - SHIT - both the bride and groom and (come to think of it) the DJ, Photographer and Manager were expecting ME to co-ordinate them for the rest of the evening.  Needless to say I put on my 'sensible' cap, stopped drinking champagne, and started taking shots of tequila.  I think it worked out well:

Me and Morto; and Our Enthusiasm, which I think deserves its own caption.

Now, I don't wanna make anyone who wasn't sitting on my table feel bad or jealous or that they missed out on some kind of experience or anything, but MY TABLE WAS THE GREATEST TABLE THAT HAS EVER BEEN ASSEMBLED AT ANY WEDDING IN THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD.  And that includes the dream wedding that I had to Wentworth Miller where he, I, Freddie Mercury, Baz Luhrmann and Hugh Jackman were all seated together.  The best part was that Catherine and Boyfriend had been placed next to each other, and it took about 8 minutes for me to realise that she was kind of in love with him:

The only time my sister has ever been jealous of me.

Speaking of my sister, you know this MUST have been the greatest wedding in history, because she was in a great mood for pretty much the entire night.  How great?  Great enough to sit still for a photo with me:

Catherine and Jacki Trew; both smiling nicely for the camera at once.  A moment in history.

Now on a serious note, remember when I said that Julia was the most beautiful bride the world has ever seen?  I forgot to mention Nathan, the gorgeous groom:

A weaker woman would have jizzed their pants at the sight of it.  Luckily I have an enormous amount of control.

So, um, what was after the First Dance again?  Oh yeah.  The bouquet toss.  I counted myself out of this particular event, both because I have almost no chance of getting married and because the only thing that scares me more than a huge group of violently shrieking girls is the idea of being murdered by Ivan Milat.  So no, I did not catch the bouquet.  Neither did Boyfriend.  Actually it was my friend Beth.  Surprising, considering by that stage she was drunk enough to pretend I was her date for the night:

Beth and I have our 'first dance' as a married couple.  It was magical.

Beth wasn't the only one lucky enough to dance with me that night:

5 minutes into my marriage with Beth, I cheat on her with Gemma.  

By this stage in the evening, I was pretty much done with my duties as MC.  And at around 10:30, the bride and groom made their official exit, so I could feel free to relax and um - how do you say it?  Get completely hammered.  Screw acting like a mature and responsible adult; if I want to sit on a chair in the middle of the dance floor, I'm gonna do it!!!

This photo was taken about 3 seconds before Beth gave me a lap dance.  What did I tell you?  Best wedding ever.

Just like I wasn't sure how to start this post, I'm not exactly certain how I should END my recount of The Greatest Wedding In History.  Maybe by saying that 'The Greatest Wedding In History' doesn't do this wedding justice?  Maybe by telling you that Gemma and I had to be forcibly removed from the dance floor at ten past eleven.  Really though, I don't think there's any proper way to do it.  Except with this photo:

Because it's cute and I had no excuse to post it anywhere else.  Plus, this is my blog and I'll do what I want.  Bitches.

Happy Marriage, Julia and Nathan.  May you live a long and wonderful life together in your fabulous new apartment; which I plan to crash in every Saturday night from here until the end of eternity.  XXX.  Jacki.

Jacki Trew: Suggested Google Search

I'm a little concerned with the manner in which celebrities are naming their kids these days.  It's, um, how do I word this delicately?  Fucking insane.  Beyonce just had her baby, right?  Blue Ivy.  Blue Ivy?  Both nice, normal words - separately.  Together, they kind of sound like a euphamism for 'yeast infection'.Here are some of the other crazy celebrity baby names I found on Google:

• Pilot Inspektor (Jason Lee's son)
• Buddy Bear (Jamie Oliver's son)
• Blue Angel (The Edge's daughter)
• Princess Tiaamii (Katie Price's daughter)
• Sage Moonblood (Sylvester Stallone's daughter)
• Diva Muffin (Frank Zappa's...I have no idea)

Frankly, this annoys me.  I'm annoyed.  Don't these famous people realise that there are normal, UNfamous losers out here who would love to give their kids a crazy name too?  Now when I name my son Wentworth Danger Austin-Powers Trew, people are gonna think I was just copying Russell Brand or whoever else comes up with it first!  Talk about unfair.
...I'm kidding of course.  Everybody knows I'm not allowed to have kids.


So I was at my parents house to do a bit of washing the other day ('bit' here meaning 'it probably would have been easier to just go out and buy all new clothes'), and while I was waiting for the second spin cycle to finish, I ended up sitting down and watching Packed To The Rafters for the better half of about 3 hours.  I really have nothing else to say about that, except that it's probably the first clear sign that I am turning into my Mother.  So if I'm still alive in 30-odd years, I'm gonna be 5 foot 7, addicted to Aussie dramas and a nurse.  I'll also have two charming daughters, one of whom will be hugely successful; the other will be a 21-year-old piece of shit who spends her time blogging about how she's addicted to Prison Break and will probably end up just like me.  Television addiction - it's a vicious cycle.

Speaking of television, you know what show is the most awkward on TV right now?  The most recent series of Kourtney and Kim Take New York.  I don't have Foxtel at home, so I see every trip to Mum and Dad's as an opportunity to catch up on my E! channel obsession, and that show seems to be all that's playing right now.  I know the Kardashians appear to be filming each other 24 hours a day, 365 days a year, and it gets a little confusing - basically, this particular series is made up of the stuff they filmed between Kim Kardashian's honeymoon...and her divorce.  And yes.  It is EXACTLY as awkward as that last sentence I typed implies. 
Now.
What else can I talk about?
While waiting for a YouTube video to load just now, I decided to Google myself.  Yeah, that happened.  Which is especially embarassing if you consider that I am neither drunk, nor working on a talk show.  BUT.  In case you were wondering, here is what happens when you Google 'Jacki Trew':

Is that not clear?  Let me just outline what you all need to be focusing on:

That's right, my friends.  I...am a suggested Google search.
Look.  I know I'm young, I'm not even halfway through my life, there's probably much that I am yet to achieve...fuck that.  I'm gonna say it:  THIS IS THE GREATEST MOMENT OF MY LIFE.  I'm not even sure how this happened, especially since I'm pretty sure the only people who read my blog on a regular basis are Alex, Richie and Jane.  And sometimes Boyfriend, if he's too busy to actually see me in the flesh.  No matter.  I'm on Google!  GOOGLE!  I've achieved something!  I'm a blogger!  And - most importantly - I finally have something cool to put on my gravestone:

Wedding Of The Century - Part 1

Good evening, Blogosphere.   
I wasn't invited when Lamar Odom married Kim Kardashian's little sister, and they didn't ask me to MC the reception, so I feel pretty confident in calling Julia and Nathan's nuptials (on Saturday) The Wedding Of The Century.  First of all, did you see the weather on Saturday?  Stunning.  Second of all, has there ever been any couple more suited to marry each other than Julia and Nathan?  Meryl Streep and me, maybe.  Otherwise no.  And third of all:

(I don't know if you can see this, but there's an open bar in the background of that photograph).

Kidding, Julia!  It was a beautiful wedding.

But in order to really blog about TWOTC (and to do it justice), I'm gonna have to be 3 things:
1) Using a computer that runs faster than a 3-legged elephant on crutches
2) Using a computer I actually own, and
3) Not drunk
Woops!  Thank goodness I'm used to failing tests.  Rest assured, there is a wedding blog on the way; and when it arrives, it's going to be long-winded and ridiculously detailed enough that Julia herself won't even want to read it.  I mean, more than 3 or 4 times anyway.

I honestly can't remember the last time I made and actually kept a New Years Resolution.  There are 2 main reasons for this:

1) I believe that if you make a resolution, you're pretty much cementing the fact that it won't last/succeed/come true.  As soon as you promise yourself something, you will fail.  Isn't the saying 'Good things come to those who wait'?  Why, then, would you go chasing after your dreams and publicly declaring that they will come true?  Keep quiet, I say, and you might have a fleeting chance at happiness.  Plus, it's just depressing to hear everyone else talking about how much tequila they're not going to drink with me this year.
2) Fuckin' lazy.

For someone who naturally wakes up at 6:30 on Sunday mornings with enough energy to take down 3 basketball players, I'm almost extraordinarily lazy.  Don't believe me?  Let's recap on what I wrote a moment ago...

2) Fuckin' lazy.

See what I mean?  You know when you can't even be bothered to type the last letter in the word 'fucking', you've got a bit of an issue.  Of course, you might say that by typing out a whole explanation as to why I actually wrote fuckin' instead of fuckinG, I've effectively counteracted the whole laziness factor.  And that'd probably be true - if I weren't typing this while lying on the couch, watching old episodes of How I Met Your Mother out of the corner of my eye because I can't be bothered to focus properly on one thing.
Oh.
And I'm also in my underwear.

Booyah.

Anyway, where was I?  New Years Resolutions.  Does anyone make them anymore?  Last time I did, I was 15 years old and declaring that 2006 would be the 'Year Of Love'.  Wanna know what happened in 2006?  Well, plenty I guess.  But wanna know who I did it with?  No one.  Year Of Love? 
This is why I hate resolutions.

There is one thing that I enjoy about New Years Eve, however, and that's my annual 'It's The End Of The Year, Let's Sum It Up By Answering A Bunch Of Numerous And Seemingly Random Questions' post.  I've done this for the past 3 or 4 years running:

• In 2008.
• And 2009...
• Oh.  I guess 2010 missed out.  Apparently my last post of the Noughties was about the food poisoning I gave myself with a home-made Thai curry.  Go figure.

Anyway.  To comemorate the ending of one year, and the beginning of another (during which we will apparently all perish with the ending of the world, cheers Mayans), here are 10 random questions - thoughtfully provided by the only people on Earth who come close to being as ridiculous as me.  Mum and Dad.

Question 1: Can you bake a cake?
I used to think so, but no.  The last time I attempted was way back in October for my Mum's birthday and the result was, um, how do I word this?  A colossal failure.  Alex had given me the recipe for an English sponge cake which sounded simple enough and had the least amount of ingredients I think I've ever seen for a single dessert.  Well, 'simple' was the operative word.  'Operative' here meaning 'A fucking lie'.  Despite following the recipe to a T, and leaving it in the oven for the EXACT amount of time specified, the whole thing collapsed as soon as I attempted to flip it out of the tin.  Thankfully what I lack in cake-making skills, I more than make up for with the ability to cover my own stupid mistakes, and the English sponge cake became a Violet Crumble and Sponge Cake Trife.  Wow, I just realised how long I've been talking about this.  To cut a long story short, Violet Crumbles are the answer to 90% of Life's questions - as long as the only thing Life asks you about is your Mother's birthday cake.

Question Two: What was your greatest achievement in 2011?
Moving out.  Or finally deciding to deal with my irrational fear of the Post Office.

Question Three: What was the worst thing to happen to you in 2011?
Well on a depressing note, I had my heart broken for the SECOND time, and I lost my mobile phone along with all my contacts, photographs and music.  But if you look on the positive side, both of those stories turned out to be hilarious anecdotes that I will probably end up having written on my tombstone.  You know.  Because even mourners need a good laugh.

Question Four:  If you had to - if you had to - make a Resolution for the New Year, what would it be?
I resolve to stop spending all my money on party drinks; straight vodka is much healthier.

Question Five: Where would you like to visit in 2012?
Panama.  I don't know why you guys keep asking me this; it's the same answer every year.

Question Six: What was the best day of 2011?
Wow, tough question.  Christmas is always up there, and this years was no exception.  But then there's also the weekend we spent at the Shangri-La for Alex's 21st birthday to consider.  Or the day I moved into my new apartment.  Or my 21st birthday, when Elle and Gemma ran to Woolworths for a 30-pack of mini cupcakes and had the whole pub sing Happy Birthday to me.  I guess all of those are the 'best days' of 2011.  Yeah.  Them, or that Wednesday when I found $2 in the keybox of my locker at the gym.

Question Seven: What would you be sadder about?  Ben dying, or Nathan moving overseas?
Mum, I don't watch Packed To The Rafters.  You know this.

Question Eight: Do you plan on blogging in 2012?
Oh, heck yes.

Question Nine:  If yes, will you cut down on the swearing?
Oh, fuck no.

And Finally, Question Ten: Why are you such an idiot?
Oh, that's easy.  Because I'm Jacki Trew.

When Conversations With Dad Take An Awkward Turn...

Scene: Dad and I are sitting on the couch watching a TV commercial for the 'Genie Bra'.

Dad: Okay, wow.  I'll take three.
Me: You'll take three of what?
Dad: Three Genie Bras.
Me: Um..why?
Dad: They look great!
Me: I'm glad you brought this up.  No, they're not great.  They're ugly and pointless and expensive.
Dad: How much?
Me: Like 80 bucks each!
Dad: But...look at them!  So versatile!  You can use it as a sports bra, a normal bra, a training bra...
Me: Dad do you even know what a training bra is?
Dad: I think so.  Do you girls wear training bras?
Me: Dad, I'm 21.  We're past the 'training' stage.  I play for the All Stars now.
Dad: What?
Me: Oh my God.

So I know I'm about a week late, but Merry Christmas everyone.  And (I suppose), Happy New Year.  As anyone who knows me knows, I'm usually pretty anti-NYE, but this year I had a good one.  Despite having to wait at Wynyard station by myself for 45 minutes, being locked out of a train and ending up WALKING home from Lavender Bay at 2 o'clock in the morning.  While annoying, that stuff is pretty easy to get over if you consider that I also got to sit in a park and drink vodka while watching a guy named Woody try to convince every girl he met to kiss him at midnight with the promise of $10 and no STDs.
Anyway, what was I saying?  Oh, yeah, Christmas.  Late or not, it's still nice to hear.  Plus, I am a firm believer in the idea that Christmas hasn't officially ended until the tree in the living room gets taken down.  Which in my case is a task that usually gets left until mid-February.  So again, Merry Christmas everyone. 
It's gonna last a while.

In Christmas-related news, I'd like to post the following public letter to all books in existance:

Dear Books,
Check out what Mum and Dad got me for Christmas:

SUCK IT.
Regards,
Jacki Trew.

Awesome, right? 
Awesome.
RIGHT?!  Not that I'll be rushing to throw away the books I already own or anything, but there's something delightfully apathetic about the whole idea of a touch-screen novel.  Do you know, you can skip from chapter to chapter with just the touch of a button?  And to think, all these years I've been using my hands to turn pages like a sucker.  Well no more.  From now on, the only workout my fingers are going to get will be from lifting a glass of champagne - and if I can eventually find a long enough straw, they won't even have to do that.  The future is bright, my friends.  Mostly because of the fluorescent lighting they use at the psychiatric ward I am bound to end up in.

In terms of other Christmas presents, I was spoiled rotten this year.  Anyone who's friends with me on Facebook will have already seen the multiple photos I posted of the antique manicure set that Alex got for me.  Among other things, I also recieved copious amounts of alcohol and credit for the iTunes music store; perfect gifts for an alcoholic who recently lost her iPhone and every one of the 2000 songs stored on it.  What else?  Oh!  One of my favourite presents came from Boyfriend, who gave me 3 blank notebooks and a copy of Edward Scissorhands on DVD - Edward Scissorshands because I'd mentioned a few days earlier that it was probably my fourth favourite movie of all time, and the blank notebooks (in his words) to 'encourage my writing habit'.  This excited me for 2 reasons:
1) Most guys who read anything I've written think I'm either crazy or on some pretty strong medication.  And
2) ...Most guys who read anything I've written think I'm either crazy or on some pretty strong medication.
Here's a guy who has not only read most of my blogs AND still agreed to hang out with me after...but he's actually encouraging this madness?  I know what you're thinking, and the answer is yes.  He's crazy.  Or on some pretty strong medication.

Alright.  Now that I'm done being all disgusting and romantic, lets talk about marriage.  For those of you not in the know, two of my mates Julia and Nathan are getting their wed-lock on this Saturday.  That in itself is exciting enough news, but there's one more thing that will make theirs the Wedding Of The Century, and thats the 3-tiered wedding cake Julia showed me a photo of last week.  Because who doesn't love a good wedding cake, right?  Oh, also, I hope you're coming to the reception, because

I'm the MC, bitches!!!

MC.  Master of Ceremonies.  Do you know what this means?  Do you know what this means? Crystal-Meth jokes, and lots of 'em!

Kidding.

One thing it does mean is that I'll be handed a microphone and asked to introduce the newly-married couple as they enter the reception room.  In whichever manner I so choose.  Right now I'm tossing up between 'Oprah Winfrey' and 'That Guy Who Yells Get Ready To Rumble At The Beginning Of Boxing Matches'.  It's a tough call - I think Oprah is the obvious choice, but I'd have to fly up onto the stage via jetpack and start handing out free Cadillacs to all the guests in order to really nail the imitation.  Do-able, but I might have trouble getting my hands on a jetpack by Saturday.

The other reason I'm excited is finally having an opportunity to demonstrate my collection of wedding/marriage-related puns and jokes; most of which have been stolen from 90's rom-coms and old episodes of Friends.  Knock knock.  Who's there?

I'll tell you at the wedding.