The Advantages Of Sleeping Naked

Today, against my better judgement, I sat down and watched a Kendra marathon. For those of you not lame enough to be addicted to the E! Channel, Kendra (Wilkinson) is one of Hugh Hefner's ex-girlfriends. Other than that, who is she? What has she done to be famous? Why does she have her own TV show? I have no idea.
Anyway like I said, I've been watching this show pretty much all day. I'm still not sure how I feel about it; it fills me with equal parts amusement and disgust. The best part is Kendra's laugh. It's so manic and loud and mannish, it makes me feel a little better about having my own crazy style of laughter. The worst part is the closing credits. Oh, the closing credits. They are so bad. So so bad. They make me want to tear out my own eyes and eat them. Or have the skin slowly peeled from my face. Or stab myself in the neck with a sharpened carrot. I think, honestly, I think performing open heart surgery on myself would be less painful than watching the Kendra closing credits. They are that bad. Basically it's Kendra, dressed in several different outfits, shaking her groove thing to some horrible custom-made theme song. It's the outfits that get me; they're all regular clothes, and then one is a golf outfit. What? Why? Why is this woman wearing a golf outfit? Does she play golf? Does she like golf? Does she know what golf is? I watched at least 6 hours of this show today, and didn't see anything that would allow me to answer any of those questions with a yes.
Sigh.
One thing I found really confusing was when Kendra and her fiance moved into their new house, and they had a stripper pole installed in the middle of the living room. Now, I'm all for a good stripper pole...but, in the middle of the living room? Seriously?? That can't be convienient. This thing goes from floor to ceiling, yo. What happens if you get up in the middle of the night needing a glass of water? I don't know about anyone else, but I just know 9 times out of 10, I'd coathanger myself on that bad boy trying to avoid it in the dark. On the other hand though, they probably both have dynamite abs.

On a completely different note, my sister recently bought a new car. Or new-old car, I suppose is the correct term, since it's second-hand. Or actually third-hand. It was our older sister's husband's first, then our brother's, and now it's hers. Now that's what I call keeping it in the family. Maybe one day it'll be mine. You know, if I ever quit running over cops for long enough to get my license. Ahh, probably not.
Anyway, Catherine must have been in a good mood on the day she brought it home, since she allowed me to name it. Him. His name is Marley - after Bob Marley, not the dog from that Jennifer Aniston movie. Here's how I came up with it:
The number plate is BEN-469
BEN is short for BENJAMIN
If you take the BEN out of BENJAMIN, you get JAMIN
JAMMIN' is a song by BOB MARLEY
If you take the BOB out of BOB MARLEY, you get MARLEY
Get it?

Okay, back to Kendra. One of Kendra's dumbass playboy bunny friends just made probably the smartest comment I have ever heard in my life:

Dumbass Playboy Bunny Friend: I could never sleep naked. I just think about robbers. I don't wanna be naked when a robber comes in - I need to get the f*** out of there!!

Hahaha. So true. In my case though, I think being naked would actually work to my advantage. Like, I think for a robber, seeing my bare butt would be more frightening than seeing me holding a cricket bat like a weapon, or calling the cops, or whatever. Yeah! Forget home security systems, I'm just gonna run around naked all the time!
Ha. Oh, man. I'm such an idiot.

How do you spell 'Totally Awesome'? P-A-R-K-L-I-F-E

So hey, Park Life happened this weekend.
I'm not hugely experienced with the whole music festival thing, but I still feel pretty confident in putting it out there that this was the most freakin' fantastic festival ever. No, you know what? I'm gonna go a step further; it was the most freakin' fantastic day ever, music festival or not.
Anyway...I was going to do a total play-by-play - you know, recount the whole thing for you in detail - but then I remembered that I'm the laziest person in the universe, and I'd much rather waste my time reading OK!, or watching that reality show about the Kardashian family. So you'll have to make do with the highlights. In point form.

• Waking up an hour late thanks to daylight saving. Huh? What? Who knew it was daylight saving? Everyone except me, apparently. And Cecil, who rang to ask, in a slightly panicked voice "Dude, does your clock say it's 20 to 9 too?"
• Starting the day with a healthy and nutritious breakfast of potato salad and tequila. Our parents would be so proud.
• Two words: La Roux. Or is that one word? Since it's technically her name...well, whatever, that's not important. The point is, watch out Alex Kerr - you've now got serious competition for the title of 'Jacki Trew's Favourite Ranga'.
• Cecil trying to speed up the entry process by pretending I was pregnant:
  
  Cecil: (Yelling and pushing through the crowd) Hey! Move! Where's the pregnancy line?
  Random Girl: (Looking at me) Are you pregnant? Ohhhhhh, devo.
  
  Hahaha. I am not even kidding. The best part was that despite clearly being stoned out of her mind, she sounded totally sincere. Like, she actually believed I was pregnant. And she was actually devo about it.
• A brief wave of nausea that hit at around 2pm, reminding us that tequila shots before 10am are never a good idea. Well, lesson learned.
• Getting lifted up on some guys shoulders at Busy P, one of whom had just re-pierced his own tongue with a random chicks belly-button ring. Yeah, at first I was like "Whoa, hardcore", but the more I thought about it, I was like "Whoa, unhygenic".
• Getting accosted by a drunken Frenchman who accidentally burned Gemma's thigh with the butt of his cigarette before announcing his plan to create some sort of bionic woman using Elle's face, Gemma's legs and my upper body.
• Empire Of The Sun pausing mid-set to have some sort of insane asthma attack. Seriously. For two minutes, it was just silence and heavy breathing. I think it was actually part of the performance, but it sure sounded weird. Like, the guy next to me turned to ask "Do you think he has emphysema?"
• The closing performance: La Roux. Yeah, I know I already talked about her. So sue me - she was so flippin' crazy-good, she deserves two dot points. I don't even know how to describe how good she was. Even 'disco fabulous' doesn't cover it. My favourite part was the bass, which was so heavy you could actually feel your organs rattling around in your chest. I remember thinking to myself "I'm probably having a heart attack right now but I don't care; this would be such a cool way to die." Ha.

And so on. The whole Cecil/Stoned Chick/Pregnancy Line thing took out "Moment of the Day", until the very end of the night, when Elle, Gem and Mischa dropped me home, and while walking up my pitch-black front path, I was attacked by a bat. Classic.

Octoberfest

It's officially October, yo! You know what that means?

• 3 months til Christmas
• 6 months til my birthday
• 9 months til Wentworth's birthday
• 12 months til the wedding

Ha. Okay, obviously that last one is a bit of a fabrication - I couldn't possibly plan my perfect wedding in just 12 months. Plus everyone knows I want to get married in Summer, not Spring.
Anyway, yeah, it's October, and I've decided to celebrate by adding a new feature to my blog...just scroll down and look to your right for "Greatest Hits", a compilation of (what I believe to be) my best posts to date. Really, just dynamite stuff.
Paramount? No
Pointless? Yes
Entertaining? Well...that's up to you guys.

Welcome Home Gemmy!!

So, Gemma got home from America today.
Hooray! Huzzah! H...appy days!
I don't think I've ever been more excited, except for maybe the time Julia and I saw Beyonce, or when they came out with a new flavour of Mother.
But, yeah, great day. Even despite the fact that I was crudely awakened by the sound of my alarm clock this morning, and had to drag myself out of bed and into Elle's car and drive (well, get driven) to the airport, all before 6:30am (6:30 am. Like, my usual bedtime). It was worth it, just to see Gemma's sweet mug for the first time in 3 and a half months. Oh, and also because the whole process of getting to the airport/finding the right terminal/waiting for Gemma might just have been the funniest experience of my life:

(Entering the airport)
Ellen: So does anyone know which terminal she's arriving in?
Em and Jacki: Nope
Ellen: Her flight number?
Em and Jacki: Nope
Ellen: Okay how about where she's flying in from?
Em: Oh! Oh! I know! America!
Jacki: Yeah but where in America? I mean, it's a pretty big place, right?

Haha. Right? We sound so smart. Oh, and like really great friends, too:

(Sitting in the terminal)
Ellen: How long has it been?
Em: Like...
Jacki: 20 minutes?
Em: Longer than that!
Jacki: Really?
Ellen: I could have slept in!
Em: And I need to pee!
Jacki: If she's not here in 20 minutes, we're just taking a random home.

Don't worry, we didn't actually kidnap any randoms from the airport - we came pretty close, but Gem turned up just in time to stop us. Anyway, then we drove home and cooked bacon and eggs, watched Buffy while wearing Hooters t-shirts, debated the pros and cons of sleeping naked, marvelled over the fact that we were:
a) Awake before 10 in the morning
b) Eating a proper cooked breakfast
c) Actually dressed while doing so
Huh?? Huh?? That's like the trifecta!! I don't think I've ever hit that before!! I felt so grown up for a moment. Then somebody made a joke about chocolate vaginas, and I turned back into a teenager. Oh well.

So all in all, it was shaping up to be a pretty kick-ass day...until I got home and developed the worst head-ache known to man, which I'm not going to talk about because I don't want to poison this otherwise delightful post - except to say that it feels like a thousand miniature elephants are living inside my skull, and they're all taking a dump at the same time.
Oh, yeah. Ouch.

For those of you not lame enough to be reading Perez Hilton on a Sunday morning, RottenTomatoes.com has just released their list of the "Worst 100 Movies Of The Last Decade". I'd love to type them all out for you to read, I really would, but I'm afraid it might damage my reputation as Laziest Person On Earth. So you're just getting the top 10:

10. Witless Protection (2008)

9. Redline (2007)

8. 3 Strikes (2000)

7. Strange Wilderness (2008)

6. Superbabies: Baby Geniuses 2 (2004)

5. National Lampoon's Gold Diggers (2004)

4. King's Ransom (2005)

3. Pinnochio (2002)

2. One Missed Call (2008)

1. Ballistic: Eks VS Sever (2002)

Huh. Okay. I think a more accurate title would have been "Most Obscure 100 Movies Of The Last Decade". Or maybe "Worst 100 Movies Of The Last Decade, Out Of All The Movies That Nobody Has Ever Seen Or Heard Of". Seriously. Has anyone seen any of these? Or even heard about them? Because I sure haven't, and let me tell you, I'm no stranger to shitty movies. I've seen ALL the Bring It On sequels, AND Deck Dogz - twice. Hell, I actually OWN Wrong Turn on DVD.
Still, this list totally disappoints. And not just because they made fun of The Celestine Prophecy starring Sarah Wayne Callies, who I love since she played the role of drug-addicted-doctor-possessing-the-ability-to-come-back-from-the-dead-slash-Wentworth-Miller's-love-interest on Prison Break (did you really think I could get through an entire post without mentioning Wentworth? Did you? Did you?). So, in turn, I decided to make my own list, which I like to call:

BEST 10 Movies Of The Last Decade, Out Of All The Movies That Nobody Has Ever Seen Or Heard Of
(Yeah. BEST. Because unlike the people at Rotten Tomatoes, I'm a glass-half-full kind of girl)

10. Drop Dead Gorgeous (1999)

I'm not sure if this movie is supposed to be dramatic or a satire, but Kirsten Dunst tapdancing down a highway will entertain me any day of the week.

9. Boogeyman (2005)

This movie is crazy-stupid. Plus I think 'boogeyman' is actually a spelling error. But it stars Emily Deschanel and the older brother from 7th Heaven, and I just can't resist.

8. One Night The Moon (2001)

Try to not be entertained by this movie. Just try. Can I get an 'amen', Roseville College class of 2007?

7. I'll Always Know What You Did Last Summer (2006)

Ah yes, the little known sequel to the sequel (to the sequel?), starring none of the original actors and following none of the original plotlines; that ALWAYS spells good movie.

6. Empire Records (1995)

Okay I know 1995 is technically outside the realms of 'last decade', but who can resist a young Liv Tyler, or Robin Tunney with a shaved head?

5. Black Sheep (2006)

Ill-educated farm-hands with Kiwi accents getting attacked by rabid animals and turning against each other to see who can rape the most sheep before they all die a horrible, horrible death? Classic!!

4. He Died With A Felafel In His Hand (2001)

Okay, confession: I've never actually seen this movie. But with a title like that, you just KNOW it's gonna be good.

3. Teeth (2007)

Oh my gosh. A girl born with a full set of fanny-fangs, who turns her life of celibacy around in order to become a rapist-killer? This is female-empowerment at it's best.

2. Wrong Turn (2003)

Hot guys, sexual references, amazing scenery, three-fingered inbred mutants...What's not to like?

1. The Human Stain (2003)

I could talk about this movie for days, but in order to save time, I'm going to sum it up for you in two words: Shirtless. Wentworth.

Happy viewing!!

Since we haven't bothered to do it yet, let's talk about the crazy weather this week.

Oh and yeah. When I say 'talk about the crazy weather this week', what I really mean is 'listen to me rant about Wednesday morning's insane orange dust storm/fog storm/dust fog/WHATEVER THE HELL THAT WAS for, like, 3 paragraphs'. Ready?

So alright. Did anyone else wake up at 5:30 in the morning, peer out the window and react like this:

Haha. Okay, obviously I'm kidding; I didn't really scream. Also I'm not a chimp. At least, physically I'm not. Mentally? Well...that's another story. Anyway, not the point. The point is, while I may not have morphed into a primate and shrieked the house down, my reaction was still pretty intense. Well, intense might be a bit strong - it was dramatic. Well, dramatic might be a bit strong - it was...okay you know what? I'll let you decide for yourselves.

Jacki Trew's Thought Process Upon Waking On Wednesday Morning:
"Huh. I guess the sky's orange today."
Then...
"Holy crap! The sky's orange today!"
Then...
"It's probably a fire or something."
Then...
"Or maybe I really am crazy."
Then...
"Or maybe the world is ending."
Then...
"Holy crap! The world is ending!"
Then...
"Eh. I had a good run."

Ha. Wow. I kind of totally sound like an idiot. On the other hand, though, it's really quite impressive that my mind was able to conjure so many words at such an early hour. I mean, 5:30? In the morning? As a rule, I generally don't do ANY thinking at 5:30 in the morning. And if I do, it's not about the end of the world. It's about this:

Oh, my. Alright, signing off. I've got some "thinking" to do.

Welcome home, Chate. Here's what you missed:

If you didn't already know, my sister ran off to Bali or Singapore or Hong Kong or, well, some country with at least one coastline a couple of weeks ago, once again leaving me completely alone with our parents and no buffer. But that's not important. The important thing is that she'll finally be home in a couple of hours, and it's up to me, her worldly, educated, eloquent and insightful younger sister, to fill her in on what's been happening in her absence.
Oh yeah, baby.
And yes, I could have, probably should have done this in private, but I decided to publish it in a public forum because last time I did a 'Welcome home, Chate. Here's what you missed', her response was this:

Catherine: That was the most disturbing thing I have ever read.

Well.
I don't know about you guys, but when regular people say 'disturbing', I hear 'hilarious'. And hilarity is meant to be shared. So here goes. Welcome home, Chate. Here's what you missed:

Okay first of all don't ask me for Home and Away updates, because I've hardly watched it since you left. What? Huh? Haven't watched it since you left?! It sounds insane, I know, and it is, but so am I, and other than that, I don't have an explanation. All I can give you is that Miles finally found out about Nicole and Sid, flipped his lid and pushed Sid into a pool, there's a new kid called Romeo in town, and that rapist dude who supposedly fathered Ruby got stabbed to death. Gasp! Whodunnit? I can honestly say I don't care.
In other TV/celebrity news, Anthony won Project Runway, Kanye West totally lost his shit at the VMA's, I discovered an awesome horror/comedy called The Signal, Lady Gaga bled to death on stage, Crazy-Eyes-Casey was eliminated from Idol, Kevin Rudd dropped the f-bomb in parliament, I almost completely finished the TV-Guide crossword TWICE, and America's Next Top Model was so boring I fell asleep during panel.
Some dude from Harris came to give all our computers a once-over and in what has to be the most baffling discovery ever, found that MINE was actually the least totally-f'ed-by-viruses-slash-illegally-downloaded-music. Guess who's was the worst? I'll give you a clue: her name starts with C, and ends with E. Oh, and you see her face every morning when you look in the mirror.
Can you guess? Can you guess? Never mind, I'll just say: It's you.
Once the internet was restored, Mum got onto my blog, read it, laughed and then lectured me for 10 minutes on how un-lady-like it is to invite those who don't agree with my opinion on red-heads to "suck my dick". Well, whatever.
Hmm, what else? I finally bought clear nailpolish that isn't equal in consistency to maple syrup. Yay for me! Julia and I saw Beyonce live. Yayer for me!
Someone switched Dad's phone to predictive text and he completely freaked out and got all flustered everytime he tried to message someone: "Why can't I type 'cheque'? No, I typed all the letters and it just came out as a huge jumble. How do I fix this stupid thing? CAN SOMEBODY HELP ME?!"
Hahaha. That was awesome.
We lost netball but it was a good game - I didn't trip over anyone, or even myself, not once. We had a picnic at college. I saw a guy that looked like Voldemort on the bus. Vandy went out to dinner for Casey and Lauren's birthday. I bought a new shirt. One day it was so hot, I actually went for a swim in the pool; it was kind of freezing and short-lived once I remembered how afraid I am of pool-sharks, but nice all the same. Rove turned 10, I spent an awkward coffee break trying to explain the actual meaning of the word 'douche' to half my class on friday and, oh yeah, I'M READY TO DIE BECAUSE WE GOT PRISON BREAK SEASON 4 ON DVD!!!
And on that note, I'll have to stop. I can't even write the words 'Prison', 'Break', or 'DVD' without being overcome with the need to hit play and stare into Wentworth's eyes for a solid 40 minutes and 32 seconds - if you want to know more, you're just going to have to ask me.
Later!!

Shower Thoughts #32

How old is Hugh Hefner?

WARNING: The following post is offensive/not suitable for old people

So, you know how I am totally age-ist? Like, I don't exactly have the best relationship with old people?
Well it turns out they don't like me so much either!
I was getting on the bus yesterday afternoon with Charlotte and Lucinda, and we sat down in the four-seater with an old lady. For those of you that don't catch buses and therefore have no idea what a four-seater is, here's a diagram:

As in, we are facing each other.
Anyway, as soon as the three of us sat down, the Old Bag make this huge show of being annoyed, rolling her eyes and staring out the window and making this weird 'UGGHH' noise.
...
Um...What?! Come on lady, it's a bus - if you don't wanna sit next to someone, then don't sit down! I didn't even touch her, nor did any of the ten thousand bags I cart to and from college every friday, and still she makes this massive deal out of having to share the four-seater with us.
Bitch, please - if anyone should be upset, it should be me, about having to sit next to you.
Haha alright, that was a bit mean. But she started it!

Huh. Here's a thought I just had: In like 80 years or whatever, when I'm an old person, am I going to pay myself out or mentally punch myself in the face every time I walk past a mirror?
Because that would be hilarious.

Jacki VS Teacher: Awkward Moment #2

Tom: (Jokingly) Celyna got stabbed!
Jacki: (Turning in surprise) What?!
Celyna: No, I just pricked myself with a pin

(5 minutes later)

Tom: Hey Celyna, is it possible to get expelled from FBI?
Celyna: I don't think so. You'd have to do something pretty bad
Jacki: What if I stabbed you for real? Like, for real
(silence)
Celyna: I...I think you'd be in a bit more trouble than just getting expelled
Jacki: Oh, okay. I'll try to hold back then
(Tom laughs. Celyna looks totally freaked out. Gold)

I definitely wasn't ready for that jelly

Prepare yourselves for the blog of the century people, because this one's about yesterday and last night and the fact that JULIA AND I WERE IN THE SAME ROOM AS BEYONCE FOR, LIKE, 4 HOURS!
Ohhhh my gosh.
Alright give me a moment, I don't think I'm over it yet.
...
Okay, moments over.
Seriously though, I can't think of one bad thing about last night. It was awesome, epic, amazing, fabulous, disco fabulous, right from the very beginning. The very beginning. Mainly because the very beginning involved a conversation with my Dad that went something like this:

Dad: Are you going out?
Jacki: Yep
Dad: Where you going?
Jacki: Beyonce
Dad: (Pause) Beyonce?!
Jacki: ...Yeah
Dad: You're going to see Beyonce??
Jacki: ...Yeah
Dad: You're going to see Beyonce...Live??
Jacki: I surely am
Dad: Oh! I knew you were going but I didn't know it was tonight. Oh how fabulous! I'm so jealous!

...Huh. I'm not really sure what to think about that. Nor what I'm more disturbed about: Dad's casual use of the word 'fabulous', or the fact that he may have been more excited about Beyonce than I was - and make no mistake, I was pretty flippin' excited.
Anyway.
A quick drive and two train rides later Julia and I arrived at Olympic Park, and entered the arena to the sound of what? Who? Oh, only Jessica Mauboy.
Oh yeah - Jessica Mauboy.
Sweet niblets! Who even knew she was coming? I surely didn't! And judging by Julia's reaction, neither did she:





Ha. Julia loves Jessica Mauboy. Can you tell? I'm no die-hard fan, but let me tell you, the girl can sing. And rock a pair of thigh-high boots like nobody's business.
It was during JM's performance that we noticed a guy several rows in front of us, who will hereforth be referred to as 'Crazy Dancing Guy'. I don't think I need to explain what he was doing - the name does it for me. But yeah, he was rocking out. Maybe harder than I've ever seen anyone rock out. Ha.
Okay so the next supporting act was Flo Rida. Here is my favourite moment from that performance:



(Guy comes on stage and everyone cheers)
"Flo Rida": What's up Sydneeeeyyyy?
Sydney: Woooooo!
"Flo Rida": Sydney I wanna get excited and I need you to help me out, so can you do that? When I say 'Flo', you say 'Rida'. FLO!
Sydney: RIDA!
"Flo Rida": FLO!
Sydney: RIDA!
"Flo Rida": When I say 'Rida', you say 'Flo'. RIDA!
Sydney: FLO!
"Flo Rida": RIDA!
Sydney: FLO!
"Flo Rida": Alright now Sydney, give it up, for FLO RIDAAAAAAA!
(Julia and I turn to each other with confused looks on our faces and I kid you not, at the same time both said:)
Jacki: Oh! I thought that guy -
Julia: Isn't he Flo Rida?
Man We Thought Was "Flo Rida" But Actually Turned Out To Just Be Some Random: Here he is, Sydney. FLO RIDAAAAAA!
(The real Flo Rida comes out on stage and the whole crowd goes wild - except for Julia and I because we're still laughing at each other.)
Jacki: (Between hysterics) This is so going on my blog!

Aha. That might have been the best moment of my life.
Oh, until an hour or so later, when Beyonce came on stage. I'm not going to describe the whole concert in a play-by-play fashion because honestly, my sub-standard writing just won't do it justice. But I will give you my favourite moments:

• The dedication to Michael Jackson
• Julia and I talking about how hot the Lenny-Kravitz-looking guitar player was for like 10 minutes, and then realising it was a woman
• Beyonce's legs

And I'm going to stop there, because if I don't, this post will never end. Basically though? Beyonce is the female Wentworth. And that's all I have to say about that.

81 hours of Wentworth

PRISON BREAK SEASON 4!!
PRISON BREAK SEASON 4!!
PRISON BREAK SEASON 4!!
I got it! I got it! I got it!

Ohh my gosh. I officially own every episode of Prison Break ever made. Plus all the deleted scenes and audio commentaries and special featurettes AND the speical movie-length episode they made to conclude the entire series.
...
Has anyone anywhere ever been this happy? I don't think so. Well, Edward Cullen on his wedding day maybe. But apart from that, no! Seriously, just throw me in my coffin now with these DVDs and I'll die a happy woman. And yeah, I realise that apart from Chate and Milky Nips, I'm pretty much the only person that watches/cares about Prison Break, but I'm so freaking beatific that I just don't give a shit.
WENTWORTH WENTWORTH WENTWORTH!!!

Phillip Trew: King of Tangents

Oh, my gosh, my Dad is insane.
I can't talk to him! I really can't! It makes me crazy! See, because it's actually impossible to have a normal conversation with Phillip Trew. You can't ask him a single question without sending him on some rambling 10-minute tangent that has nothing to do with anything. Like this afternoon for instance:

Jacki: If you worked at a circus, would you rather be a lion tamer or a trapeze artist?

Okay, lets pause for a second, because I know that sounds like a really random thing to ask. But I have this weird fixation with playing 'Would you rather...?', especially with my parents because they get really freaked out by some of the questions I come up with, and it's hilarious. Anyway, back to the conversation...

Jacki: If you worked at a circus, would you rather be a lion tamer or a trapeze artist?
Mum: Lion tamer
Dad: Do circuses even exist anymore?
Jacki: Sure, there's Cirque du Soleil
Dad: But do they have lion tamers?
Jacki: You know, probably not. Nobody wants to pay money to see some guy getting mauled by a lion - if you want to see that, just turn on the TV.
Dad: Yeah, I saw that on TV the other day!
Jacki: What, a guy getting mauled by a lion?
Dad: Yes!
Jacki: (Baffled) What were you watching?
WARNING: TANGENT STARTING...
Dad: Well it was when we were in Perth, you know. The first place we stayed at had a nice TV, and it had...what channels did it have? Win, GWin, Channel 10 and ABC. The next place we stayed, in a town called Pemberton, it had those channels and the Foxtel sports channels too. Then we went to a place called...

See, that's when I tuned out. I kind of just stared into space for the next 15 minutes (15 minutes - who talks about hotel TV services for 15 minutes??!!) while Dad rambled on and on and on about who knows what, then came back to this:

Dad: And the last place we stayed at was a 5 star resort, but I wouldn't have given it 5 stars. The only thing in the room beside the bed was a chair. And the TV was so old! Usually in 5 star resorts they have a plasma or a flat-screen, but not this place, no...

Off he went again. Oh my gosh. Luckily, he didn't seem to realise that I had completely checked out. To be honest, I probably could have left the room and it wouldn't have stopped him. In situations like these, there's only one way to shut my Dad up; you have to shock him into silence, then run away as fast as you can, before he starts up again:

Dad: ...so because there was only one chair in the room, and your mother took it, I had nowhere to sit, so I had to -
Jacki: Hey Dad, would you rather eat the cat or the dog? And imagine if you don't eat at least one of them, Mum and I will both die.
Dad: (Pause) What?!
Jacki: Gotta go! (Runs off)

Oh yeah. Works every time.

Okay, I've kept my mouth shut about this for a while, but try as I might, I can't restrain myself any longer.

I need to vent about my issues with 5 Chewing Gum.

First of all, what's with the flavours? Cobalt? Electro? Flare?
What is this insanity? Are those names actually supposed to be appealing? Because they're not! Here's what I think when I hear them:
Electro - It's like chewing on a live extension cord!
Flare - It's like eating embers straight out of the BBQ!
Cobalt - It's a colour, not a flavour!

Also, lets talk about the commercial. I don't know about anyone else, but it gave me the clear impression that chewing 5 Gum would feel like riding the worlds most insane rollercoaster. Yeah, that's what I got. So as you can imagine, I was pretty flippin' excited.
And pretty flippin' disappointed. Chewing 5 Gum isn't like riding the worlds most insane rollercoaster. It's not like riding any kind of rollercoaster. You want to know what it's like?
It's like chewing gum.
That tastes faintly of extension cords.
No, I'm only kidding. It actually just tastes like regular peppermint. But the thing about it not feeling like riding a rollercoaster is completely true. It's no more exciting than regular chewing gum. In fact, it may be less exciting than regular gum.

Anyway, that's it. Don't buy 5 Chewing Gum! You've all been warned.

Alex Kerr: A Dedication

So.
Continuing once again in my tradition of dedicating posts to seemingly random people on their birthdays, here is a post dedicated to Alex Kerr. In honour of her birthday.


Alex. Alex Kerr. Alex Anne Kerr.
Alex Anne Kerr, or as I refer to her, Alex Alex, is quite a cool person. Of course, when I say 'quite a cool person', what I really mean is 'legendary, absolutely legendary, so much so that I often wish my own sister would swap places with her'.
But, you know. I don't want to appear too obsessed.
Right. Here's the deal: Alex Alex became friends with my sister (Catherine, who you guys know, you've been there) in like, Kindergarten. So, about a hundred years ago. But when did I meet Alex Alex? You know what, I can't remember. I gave up that memory to make space for Journey lyrics and mental images of Wentworth Miller's face. Whatever, the important thing is, we met. We met, we talked, we laughed, we established that I was insane and she was relatively normal but able to tolerate me, and a beautiful friendship was formed.
There are alot of great things about Alex Alex. Foremost is that she has red hair. Oh yeah, she has red hair. She's a Ranga. I love Rangas. Everyone does. Even people who say they don't. If someone says to you "I hate Rangas", you just know they're lying. It's impossible to hate a Ranga - and why would you? They're so funny. They blush so easily, they usually have freckles, they get sunburn if they're exposed to sunlight for more than 45 seconds...plus, let's face it, the word Ranga is just plain fun to say. Shame on you people who pretend to hate Rangas! Shame on you! They do nothing but provide us with laughter and joy and someone to make fun of! Oh my gosh, how long have I been talking about this? Okay, enough about Rangas. Let's just conclude by saying they are awesome and hilarious and anyone who thinks otherwise can suck my dick.
Okay, I don't have a dick. Man, I am getting way off topic here!
More about Alex Alex:
Her birthday is today. The 8th of September. You know who else has a birthday today? Pink. And the kid who did the voice of Simba in The Lion King. So that's exciting. For her.
Alex drives a little blue car. She drove it to my house yesterday - she said the reason was to return our stereo system which she borrowed for her 21st party, but I'm pretty sure that was just an excuse to come visit me. Actually, speaking of her 21st party, it was like 3 days ago. I got her a pretty kick-ass present. Oh, and I wrote her a pretty kick-ass card. Well, I thought it was kick-ass; her family didn't seem to agree. I'll let you guys judge for yourselves:


Alex Alex,

Happy Birthday, homeskillet! And I love you! THIS much! If you were 6 inches taller, 16 years older and covered in tattoos, I would do you. Oh hey, you know what? Since it's your birthday, I'll do you anyway. EVEN THOUGH you didn't invite me to your party and I practically had to have your gift smuggled in. Whatever. I'll be hosting my own party for you tonight...it's in my pants. Feel free to drop by.

By the way, I'm totally kidding. Still, inappropriate lesbian jokes aside, I really do think you might be one of the coolest people I know - and not JUST because you read my blog on a semi-regular basis. Although that is a large part of it.

Happy birthday, dude. Xxx Jacki


Kick-ass, right? Apparently her parents now think I'm a lesbian. What?! Hello, I said inappropriate lesbian jokes. As in, I'm joking! Plus, you would think the fact that the front of the card looked like this would throw them off:

Well, whatever.
Alex likes Harry Potter. More than Twilight. I know she hasn't actually seen or read The Twilight Series, but I honestly don't know how that's possible. I mean yeah Harry Potter is epic, but Twilight has Rob Pattinson, who is second only to Wentworth Miller on the Jacki-Trew-Hotness-Scale. Well, to each their own I suppose.
Alex is pretty smart. She's taught me lots of cool shit over the years, like where Glasgow is, and why you should never drink four glasses of champagne in a row. More recently, she taught me about Silent Library, this totally ace Japanese game show which involves people physically maiming themselves in public libraries and having to remain completely silent while doing so. I recommend it to all of you. Oh, she also taught me not to eat liquor chocolates before driving, because you can actually get drunk on them. Well, drunk enough to lose your license at least.
Speaking of getting drunk, Alex has a brother. That segue might seem completely random, but there are seven people who attended a post-Greenwich Village Games cocktail party at my house last december, and all of them can attest to the fact that it very much isn't. That is a story for another day, but yes, Alex has a brother. Robbie. Robert. Rob. Bob. Whatever. I don't know his middle name, so I'm going to make one up: Bertrand. Ha! So, Alex has a brother. Robert Bertrand Kerr. He's my friend too, although I think he finds my insanity tiresome at times. Still, he's also quite cool - it must run in their family. We've had some good times, like one night when we watched Texas Chainsaw Massacre and I got so scared I almost crapped myself. Which I know doesn't sound like such a good time, but as horrible as it is, there's something strangely hilarious about that movie. So yeah, this is my shout-out to Robbie, even though I sincerely doubt he will ever find it - he doesn't seem like the kind of guy who sits around Googling stuff like 'Celebrity Doppelganger Theory' or 'Shower Thoughts' or 'Jacki Trew + Wentworth Miller'.
Still. Robbie! What's up dude?

Alright, what's next? Actually, I might end it here. This post is getting pretty flippin' epic - any longer and I'll be crossing into stalker territory. And that's an area I save specifically for Wentworth.
So, in conclusion:
Alex = cool
Wentworth = hot
Jacki = crazy
This post = pointless
But Happy Birthday, Alex. And please tell your family that I'm not a lesbian.
Love, Jacki.

Is Black Hawk Down the best movie EVER?

So today, when I was done lying on the bathroom floor wrapped around the toilet (more about that later), I decided to watch Black Hawk Down.
Which isn't really so weird, I guess. What's weird is that, before today, I'd never seen Black Hawk Down.
I don't know why. It seems to be one of those movies that everyone has seen. You know, like Love Actually. Or Grease. Oh man, I love Grease. Anyway I'm totally dev that I hadn't seen it before now, because here's something I learned while watching Black Hawk Down:

Black Hawk Down is the best movie EVER

Well, alright. That's a pretty dramatic thing to say. So maybe it's not the best movie ever (I mean it's pretty hard to compete against stuff like Moulin Rouge and Tropic Thunder, and you know the only way Dirty Dancing will get knocked out of first place is if someone actually makes a film about Wentworth and I getting married) but still.

I was suitable impressed. And not just because the entire cast seemed to be made up of my own personal former celebrity crushes. Let's recap, shall we?

• Orlando Bloom
• Eric Bana
• Ewan McGregor
• Josh Harnett
• That guy from Fantastic Four

Oh, AND William Fichner, who I love because he has totally crazy eyes, and because he was in Prison Break with My One And Only.
So, add all of that to the fact that there's gunfire and explosions AND hilarious haircuts, and you've got yourself a pretty kick-ass movie. But I decided to upgrade it from kick-ass to best movie EVER? because right in the middle, I had this epiphany:

Wentworth Miller knows William Fichtner
William Fichtner knows Eric Bana
Eric Bana knows Jacki Trew

Right? Right??
The moment I formed that connection...well, I honestly wish you all could have been there. It was explosively insane. Even by my standards.

Quote Of The Day

"If there's one thing no girl can resist, it's a stripper pole."

- Holly Madison, former playmate and girlfriend of Hugh Hefner

Um, yeah. I respectfully disagree.

Jacki Vs Teacher: Awkward Moment #1

Jacki: (Presenting Celyna, my college teacher, with a half finished corset-bra) Celyna! What do you think? Do you like it? Do you love it? Are you going to wear it to your wedding?
Celyna: (Looking faintly disturbed) It's good. But no, I don't think so.
Jacki: Oh. Well, can I wear it to your wedding?
Celyna: Jacki, you aren't invited to my wedding (Walks away)

(Pause)

Jacki: Well. That sucks for me.

Wow. It's been almost 2 seconds since I last blogged - better get on that.
Ok, so three things:
1) Anyone trying to contact me on Facebook, sorry, but my computer is going through some phase where it refuses to open that particular website. Everything else is fine, but Facebook is a definite no-no. I don't mind so much - I've learnt to deal with my laptop's increasing moodswings. But if you were thinking about writing on my wall, don't bother; my computer will probably explode. Yours might too. Just give me a phone call.

2) My sewing-machine-poltergeist has followed me to school. And I am not even kidding. Okay so the other day I just sitting there, you know, all innocently, working on a shirt. I put my foot on the pedal, and the machine sewed for a few seconds, and then stopped. Huh? What? So I'm pressing on the pedal and making 'Why isn't the machine working?' gestures, and then Celyna (my teacher) comes up behind me and is all "Your machine's turned off, idiot."
Okay, actually what she said was "Your machine's turned off." But you could totally tell she was adding the 'idiot' part in her head. Anyway...
Off? It was off? BUT IT WAS JUST SEWING, LIKE ONE SECOND AGO!!!
There was only one possible solution - IT WAS THE SEWING-MACHINE-POLTERGEIST!!
So then of course I completely abandoned my assignment and sat around talking about my poltergeist theory to just about anyone who would listen. And now they all think I'm crazy. I mean, more so than before.

3) I had netball last night. It was the usual embarrassing affair - not because of my team, oh no, they're fantastic, but rather because I couldn't seem to gain control over my own legs. Honestly, by the end of the game it was getting ridiculous. Who trips over themselves? I'm all for tripping over someone else, that could happen to anyone. But I trip over myself. Like, I'll be standing COMPLETELY alone, with nobody around me, and somehow my legs get all tangled up in each other. It happened twice last night, much to the delight of the spectactors I'm sure.
Ah well, I guess it's not that bad. What did I lose really, except my last shred of dignity and all the skin on my left knee? Nothing I can't live without.

Talent Epiphany

So you know how I'm always whinging about how everyone has a talent except for me? Like, some people can play piano, some people can run marathons, some people can perform emergency throat surgery, some people can make really good brownies...etc etc. But try as I might, I can't do any of those things.
Well, except for the throat surgery - I'm a total whizz at throat surgery.
Still, aside from that, there's not much I'm good at. At least, that's what I thought. UNTIL NOW.
Because you know what I've realised? I am talented. I do have talents. Here is my talent epiphany:

I have all the talents that nobody else wants

Right? Right?? Let me explain.

If the world were a department store and talents could be purchased, I would be the crazy bag lady digging through the bargain bin in the corner. While everyone else was toting Intelligence, Musical Talent or Creativity toward the change rooms, I'd be at the checkout buying The Ability To Chew Gum And Eat Chocolate At The Same Time without even bothering to try it on first.

Maybe you know every element on the periodic table. So what? I know the words to every song on Michael Jackson's Thriller album.

Maybe you can sail and windsurf and bodyboard and know how to build your own outboard motor. So what?! I can paint my toenails in a moving car without smudging them.

And yeah, to any normal person, this kind of realisation would probably result in depression rather than excitement. But hey, a talent is a talent. Plus, since when have I been normal?

So, I just heard that the good people of Canberra have officially banned the selling/recreational use of fireworks.
Huh.
Congratulations, Government of Australia - your capital city just got even shittier!

Really though. I don't get it. I don't. I just don't get it. As if Canberra wasn't sucky enough, now they've gone and made the ONLY decent thing to do there illegal. Well, okay, one of the TWO decent things to do; I'm not going to pretend I don't love playing on the Sperm ride at Questacon. But still.
Fireworks.
Canberra.
Illegal.
And it's the worst kind of illegal, too. It's not like j-walking or homocide; you know, those are the types of crimes you can potentially get away with. But illegally setting off fireworks? Give me ONE possible scenario where you could get away with that.
...
...
See? It's impossible! Because there's no way to do it without someone seeing!
Unless, you know, your parents are cool with you setting the house on fire. In that case, grab some Catherine Wheels, lock yourself in the bathroom and go to town.
But just what are the rest of us supposed to do? I guess watching the Harbour Bridge ceremonially burst into flames once every 12 months is going to have to do.

Quote of the CENTURY

Catherine Trew: Okay this is really embarrassing, but the other day I drove past this building with a sign on the front that said 'Aquarium', and I was like, what the hell is an Aqua Reeyum?

WARNING: The following blog is the result of a massive caffeine overdose

Okay, you know what makes me mad?
When the bottom of the strawberry punnet doesn't have holes in it.
Oh. My gosh. It makes me CRAZY!!! Because anyone who's anyone knows that before you eat a strawberry, you have to wash it. Otherwise who knows what you could be eating - Pesticides? Insect feces? Essence of swine flu??? ANYTHING!!
So yeah, you have to wash the strawberries before you eat them. Which I am totally cool with, by the way.
EXCEPT when there aren't any holes in the bottom of the punnet.
See, the easiest way to wash the strawberries is all at once - leave them in the box, and fill it with water. They'll all be washed at the same time, and the water drains out the bottom through these handy little holes. Simple, easy, effective.
EXCEPT when there aren't any holes in the bottom of the punnet.
Because then, instead of letting the water drain out the bottom, you have to tip it upside down, let the water drain, and try to keep the strawberries from falling out ALL AT THE SAME TIME!
It's crazy! CRAZY!!! Like these strawberries I had today. Strawberries from Noosa. What, they think just because they're from Noosa, they don't have to put holes in the bottom of their strawberry punnets? Huh? Huh?
Well guess what?? THEY DO! Because when they don't, it makes me want to gouge out my own eyes and feed them to a pack of rabid dogs.
Huh. Right, okay, no. That might be a bit dramatic. But it's still annoying! Those Noosa strawberry makers need to either put holes in the bottom of their punnets, or make sure the strawberries are pre-washed when I get them. I don't know how they'd do that, but hey - they figured out how to grow strawberries, so I'm sure they can think of something.
Alright, I'm done. End of rant.
For now.

The Celebrity Doppelganger Theory strikes back - for like, the fourth time

Yeah, I'm still talking about The Celebrity Doppelganger Theory. Whatever, man. I don't have a lot going on right now.
Except that actually, I totally do. This just in: I found two more Celebrity Doppelgangers in the last week alone! TWO DG'S IN ONE WEEK! That's crazy talk! Crazy but true.
Kind of like me.
Haha. Get it? Because I'm crazy, and my last name is Trew.
...
I'm pretty sure I've made that joke before, but I don't care. It's still awesome.
Speaking of awesome, here are my two new AWESOME Doppelgangers:

• Mischa Ummmm-I-Don't-Actually-Know-His-Last-Name-But-He's-Elle's-Boyfriend-And-I-Went-To-His-House-This-One-Time-So-You-Know-I-Consider-Us-Tight-Enough-That-I-Can-Write-About-Him-On-My-Blog-Without-Feeling-Awkward-About-It = Mark Ruffalo
• Our waiter at Harbourview Restaurant the other night = Liam Neeson

Well, a young Liam Neeson. A young Liam Neeson with very short hair. Seriously though. Seriously. He had the accent and everything!! I pointed it out like 2 minutes after we sat down, and the four of us spent the rest of the night addressing him as 'Liam'. He probably thought we were all nuts. No, he definitely thought we were all nuts. Which, I guess, we are.
Oh, except me. I'm allergic. I'll be a chickpea.
But yeah, long story short, I think we freaked him out pretty good. Like, there was the whole 'calling him Liam even though his name was actually Steve or whatever' thing. Plus every time he left our table I would start ranting about how The Celebrity Doppelganger Theory was going to win me the Nobel Peace Prize. Then Catherine would start ranting over the top of me about how there is nothing remotely noble or peaceful about The Celebrity Doppelganger Theory. Then Mum would start ranting over the top of Catherine about how it's Nobel, not noble, and that being noble really has nothing to do with it. Then Dad would start ranting over the top of all three of us about how good the calamari was.
Yeah.
All in all, a pretty regular dinner for the Trew family.

I smile because she's my sister. I laugh because there's nothing she can do about it.

So, to continue the tradition I started like 3 weeks ago, and also because she has actually refused - refused - to let me do a speech at her party (even though we both know it would be nothing short of, um, INCREDIBLE), here is my summary of the life and times of one Catherine Trew, in honour of her birthday.
...Which is today.

As much as she’d like to deny it, Catherine Trew is my sister. Yeah, she likes to joke about the possibility that there was an accidental mix-up with me and her real sister at the hospital the day I was born, but my parents are pretty adamant that we’re related.

Huh.

Well, you never know. If any tall, sporty, dark haired 19-year-olds who love sailing and never embarrass themselves in public turn up at our doorstep, we’ll know she was right.

Anyway.

Catherine’s full name is Catherine Elizabeth Trew. The first. She doesn’t get called that much, though. Mostly, she just gets called Catherine. Or Cat, by her friends. Or Cathy, by people who hate her. She also has a fairly sizable collection of ridiculous nicknames, most of them invented by me and/or my friends. They include (but are not limited to): Cathè, Chate, Cat Baloo, C-dog, Wee-Bag, Poo-Bag, Fart-Bag, Dick-Bag and Button. There was also a brief period where I refused to address her as anything other than ‘Bob Swarley’, but that’s a story for another day.

Catherine has lots of hobbies. Well, at least I think she does. I’m not entirely sure what they are, on account of her rule that I stay at least five feet away from her when we’re in public together.

Only kidding – its ten feet, not five.

One of Catherine’s favourite hobbies is sitting in her bedroom with her laptop and ignoring the rest of us. She also enjoys reading The Guinness Book of Records, tennis, and buying me lunch. Oh, and starting arguments. Catherine loves to argue with people, especially me. Which works out well, because I love arguing with her. Especially about stupid stuff, like:

• Whether or not I can be her Maid of Honour
• Which world war Gallipoli was in
• If ears are made of bone or cartilage
• Which one of us is the favourite daughter
• Whether or not coffins have handles on the sides
• Who the best James Bond actor is
• If walking can be considered exercise or not
• Whether or not I’m an idiot
• Whether or not she’s an idiot
• Who is hotter: Wentworth Miller or Michael Vartan

See? Completely stupid. Especially that last one, as everyone knows Wentworth Miller is superior to all other males on the planet.

Catherine always insists she’s winning the argument because she’s older, and therefore has more knowledge of the world. Of course this is ridiculous, since we all know the older you are, the closer you are to being senile and really having no clue about anything. So it’s pretty safe to assume that when Catherine and I are having an argument, I will win.

Sometimes I think Catherine might just be my favourite person in the world. Like when she pays for my coffee or drives me to netball. Other times, she’s just some dork who lives in the room next to me. Like when she tries to convince me to ring up telethons and donate money under the alias ‘Alotta Vagina’.

Yeah, she really did that. She can be kind of a dag when she wants to be – I guess that’s where I got it from.

For someone who can be kind of totally lame sometimes, my sister has some pretty legendary friends. Honourable mentions go out to Daniel ‘Milky Nips’ Watterson, Ali Chapman, Cecil Searle and The Alex’s (both Kerr and Brambley). If you’re one of the friends I didn’t just name, don’t feel bad – it just means you aren’t cool enough.

As far as members of the Trew family go, Catherine is fairly normal. Like, she doesn’t get attacked by exploding mailboxes and trip over random dogs on the footpath, the way some of us do. But when she gives in and temporarily allows my insanity to rub off on her, we have some pretty good times. We once made a four-tiered chocolate and vanilla mint MnM covered easter cake. We convinced our then-5-year-old neighbour to drink a combination of crushed flowers, hose water and lemonade. We invented ‘beaking’ and ‘full bushel’, concepts a little too r-rated to explain here, given that our parents will probably read this.

She taught me how to ride a bike, and plait my hair. I taught her how to paint her toenails without smudging them, and which energy drinks give you the biggest buzz.

I introduced her to The Twilight Series – She introduced me to Prison Break. I convinced her to pee on our lawn once. Well, the term ‘convinced’ might be a bit strong; she pretty much did it on her own. Her excuse was that we were locked out of the house and she hadn’t been to the toilet all day. Whatever! I think really, she just wanted to see what it would be like.

For two people who supposedly came from the same womb, Catherine and I are pretty different.

She likes blue; I like yellow. She’s a freak at geography; I don’t know how to read a street directory. She never wears high heels; I have 11 pairs. She likes sport. Oh, I like it too. I guess the difference there is that she’s actually good at sport, where as I can barely get through a 40 minute game of netball without tripping over the ball/myself/someone else. But yeah. Catherine likes sport.

Mostly sailing. Boy does she love sailing. It’s like she can’t get enough of it. Why doesn’t she just marry her boat and have swarms of human/yacht hybrid children already? I’m pretty sure she would if it weren’t for the fact that she doesn’t actually have her own boat at the moment. Plus it might be illegal. I’m not sure. She tried to teach me to sail once, only failing when I developed an irrational fear of 60-foot-long prehistoric sharks in the Lane Cove River, and refused to get into the boat.

That said, we’re similar in some ways. Like two peas in a terrible, terrible pod. We both like mint flavoured ice-cream and watch way too much TV. Our favourite song is Midnight Train by Journey. We love Home and Away and hate Neighbours. We have the same eyes. We would have the same nose, if mine was a little less crooked. And no offence Mum, but we both hate it when you make dinner in the crock pot.

Sometimes I think Catherine and I should have our own reality show. Imagine if we did – half the things that come out of her mouth would end up printed on t-shirts, I’m sure of it. I think it’s because half the things that come out of her mouth are insults directed at me, and for some reason, they always sound really funny:

“I wish you were more like an iPhone”

“You are so dumb it makes me angry”

“Hey Jacki – you’re adopted!”

I like being Catherine Trew’s sister.

I like that she never wears high heels and can’t hold grudges and that her scream sounds like Homer Simpson’s. I like that we have our own special language – nobody understands it when we say things like ‘foot five’, ‘BLTnChee’ or ‘steaksauce!!’, but it makes sense to us. I like that she let me name her car. I like her even though she refuses to listen to Michael Jackson or Nirvana, even though she lives to tease me, even though she hates it when I say ‘I love you!’

Yeah, I like her anyway. How can I not? She’s the Batman to my Robin. The Joey Tribbiani to my Chandler Bing. The Ben Affleck to my Matt Damon. The Lincoln Burrows to my Michael Scofield. Why are we always men? Whatever, not important.

Happy birthday Catherine. I love you, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

I babysat with Julia the other weekend, and it was pretty flippin' awesome. I've never babysat with anyone else before, but I've gotta say, it is SO much better than babysitting alone. First of all, it's way easier to put on a puppet show when there's two of you. Also, you don't have the problem of leaving the room for 5 minutes, then coming back to find the kid completely naked and in the process of smearing half their dinner over the living room wall.
Yeah, like I said. WAY better than being alone.
One of the highlights of the evening - for me at least - was the changing of the nappy. Which might sound weird. It should sound weird, because it IS weird. But all the kids I usually babysit are too old for nappies. I've never changed a nappy before! So sue me, I was excited!!
Anyway, Julia was the one who actually did it. I just observed. Like I said, I've never changed a nappy before; if I tried to do it, it would have ended up backwards or inside out, or on the kids head instead of his ass or something. So yeah, Julia was the one who did it. Once it was done, Lucas - that was the kids name, Lucas - ran off screaming, and the two of us stayed sitting on the floor for a few minutes. Then I made everything totally awkward by asking Julia if she'd ever had the urge to put on a nappy. You know, like after Lucas had been put to bed.
Oh, my gosh. Yeah.
I knew as soon as it came out of my mouth that I sounded totally nuts, but since Julia had made a joke about marinating steaks in menstrual fluid earlier in the evening, I figured we were pretty much even.
Anyway, she said no. When I got home, I asked my sister, and she also said no. I asked my Mum and she told me to "quit being so freaking weird all the time".
Interesting. When did my Mum start using the word freaking?
So I'm putting a question out there: Has anyone ever been babysitting, and had the urge to put on one of the kids nappies?
And you should know, I'm not saying that I do. Because I don't. I don't. I totally totally don't. I do NOT have the urge. But if you DO, then you might be almost as crazy as I am. So, like, we should be friends.

6 days til Catherine's birthday, and there's a ghost in my sewing machine. For reals, yo.

First...whoa. Lets take a moment to acknowledge how long its been since I blogged. As much as I'd love to say it's because none of you have been commenting, and I decided the best punishment was withholding posts, we all know the actual reason is that I'm too boring, too lazy and too consumed with the task of sewing 8 kilometres of hideous green velvet curtains for my ex-boss. At least, I have been. UNTIL NOW.
Here's something blog worthy: It's my sister's 21st birthday in exactly...6 days! And her 21st party in exactly 8. Are you invited? All the cool kids are. If you're not, don't feel bad. It just means you aren't cool. And hey, I myself was probably only invited by default. You know, since I LIVE at the venue.
But yeah. Sister. Birthday. 6 days. And I don't wanna talk myself up or anything, but Catherine, if you're reading this you should get excited. Because the present I got for you, well, it might just be the best thing I have ever gotten anyone. It might just be the best thing ever. Like, the best thing in existence. Apart from Wentworth Miller. Wentworth Miller is the best thing in existence. But your present is a close second.

Okay, now that I'm done with my daily pointless-Wentworth-Miller-related-rant, I'm going to tell you about the ghost living in my sewing machine.
Yeah, there is a ghost living in my sewing machine. Or rather, a poltergeist. There is a poltergeist living in my sewing machine. I don't know if there's actually a difference between the two, but the word poltergeist is fun to say, so that's what I'm going with. Right, so, here's what happened. You guys know about how I'm sewing curtains for my ex-boss, right? If you don't, I'll fill you in:
I'm sewing curtains for my ex-boss.
Anyway, the machine I'm using is fairly old and temperamental, and if you leave it on for too long, it tends to get tired and heat up and explode into a thousand tiny pieces, killing everyone and everything within a 2km radius.
So I have to remember to turn it off when I'm not using it.
Right. So the other day I was sitting at the table next to the sewing machine, innocently pinning fabric, when I noticed it was making a sort of whirring noise. Which wouldn't have been so weird, except that it wasn't on. It was OFF.
And okay, that doesn't exactly say poltergeist.
But THEN, the whirring noise started getting louder. And louder. This is when I started to get concerned - Mum was going to be pretty pissed if half our neighbourhood was destroyed in a freak sewing machine explosion accident that I could potentially have prevented from happening. So I not only made sure the machine was switched off, but I turned it off at the powerpoint, and pulled out the plug.
But the whirring noise? IT JUST GOT LOUDER!!! And then?
And then?
And then, THE NEEDLE STARTED MOVING UP AND DOWN, ALL BY ITSELF.
Yeah.
I don't believe in all that supernatural stuff, but if that doesn't spell ghost-trapped-in-the-sewing-machine, I don't know what does.
Oh, and okay, let me just clarify one thing before I go. Yes, I am totally insane. I'm aware of that. Thanks.

The Adventures of Pig the Sloth

My goodness it's been a while since I blogged.
On the off chance that you've all forgotten just how insane I can be, I've found a little something that might remind you:
The other day I was rifling through all my old school work, looking for one of those plastic sleeve folders. You know, the kind you used to put assignments and stuff in? Well I needed one for my college patternmaking assessment, and since I'm too lazy/cheap to actually buy a new one, I figured I'd just take the school work out of an old one and reuse it.
Yeah.
Oh, and when I say 'old one', I really mean 'old one'. Like, really old. Really, REALLY old. It was so old, half the binder rings had snapped off, and the pages were stuck together with cobwebs. I think it was second hand the FIRST time I used it. Like, I think it was the folder that Abraham Lincoln used in high school.
Anyway, I don't know what Abe used it for, but I had a Year 7 art project in there. Oh, and something else...I don't know when or why or how this got in there, but alongside my finger paintings and scraffito art, I found a story written by myself, Kiera Roberts and Julia Hirst, aged 12.
Oh, my gosh. Yeah.
You know when you're little and you play that game where you write like 4 lines of a story and then fold the page over, and pass it to your friend, and they continue it, without looking at what you've already written?
Yeah. Yeah. It was one of those.
Ok, I hadn't even READ the thing yet and I was already excited. Those stories always end up being hilarious - even the ones that aren't written by three of the weirdest pre-teens to have ever graced the planet.
Okay, now. Since I've talked it up, I'm going to have to show you. For the sake of illustrating just who wrote what, I'll use this font for Kiera, this for Julia, and this for myself.
And here we go:

The Adventures of Pig the Sloth, by Kiera, Julia and Jacki

There once was a little sloth called Pig. Pig the Sloth loved eating and sleeping. He would get up in the morning, eat, sleep, have lunch, go back to sleep and eat. But one day, he decided to find out why he was called Pig the Sloth, not Sloth the Sloth or Pig the Pig.
He was called this because one night there was the moon, the stars, the milk, oh the milk, so much milk. Anyway, this resulted in his parents almost being the same age as him. So the only word they knew was 'Pig'. So they called him Pig. This made him sad, so he...
...jumped into a toilet and then he flushed. Pig died right then, or was it right now??? 'Oh well' he thought as he floated up to heaven. Then he got smushed by a plane, and then he died, but he had already died, so he double-died. That's bad.
Pig was sad because he was the only person or pig or sloth to double-die, but no one knew it, so he cried and in Timbuktu it started to rain. 'Ooooh!' said Mr Bob. 'I like rain!'
Webell came from nowhere and asked 'Do you want pie? HAVE PIE!'.
Pig was confused.
Pig was so confused that he died. But he had already died twice, so he triple-died. That's really bad.
Pig turned into a spasm-weirdo and started having spasms, muttering 'Pig, Sloth, Dead, Dead again, ooooh rain in Timbuktu lalalalala'. He went and joined spasm-watchers with Bobette, his spasmy teacher.
Yay! Go Pig Sloth! Everyone cried, and he started to go into a trance.
WEEEEEEEEE!
He went into a trance, and then fell into the Bible. Then he got killed by Jeeeebus.
But Jeeeebus wasn't actually in the Bible, so then he got confused and ran to the Spasm-Watchers Handbook, where 4 x dead Pigs and Bobs and Mrs Teachers and him all started partying.

The End.

Yeeaaahh.
It's probably not surprising that until mid-way through year 8, the only friends we had were each other. And Mel - she might have escaped the embarrassment of being involved in the writing of this story, but she was just as crazy as the rest of us. Is just as crazy as the rest of us.
Or whatever. The point is...well, there is no point. Really, is there ever a point?
No.