Oh, how have I not blogged about this sooner?
Did anyone else catch the last 5 minutes of Today Tonight before Home and Away started (yes, clearly I have my priorities sorted) and happen to catch that thing about Ivan Milat and another dead body being found in the Belangelo State Forest?
Let me say that again.
IVAN MILAT. And ANOTHER BODY. In the BELANGELO STATE FOREST.
...
Alright.
Everyone's thinking it, I'm just gonna say it: IS IVAN MILAT VOLDEMORT'S TWIN, OR WHAT? I mean come ON! The man is two hundred years old. And he's been in prison for what, half that time? HOW IS HE STILL KILLING PEOPLE??
Okay, and yes, I know. It's not that he's still killing people, it's just that they haven't found all the people he killed before they caught him yet. I'm smart enough to have figured that out. Not smart enough to realise that Voldemort isn't actually real, but hey, you can't win every battle. That doesn't worry me. No, what I'm actually concerned about is that my second thought when I first saw this news piece (I mean, AFTER the whole Ivan/Voldemort comparison) was something along the lines of Hey, weren't you voted Most Likely To Be Killed By Ivan Milat in high school? Huh? Wasn't that you, Jacqueline Sarah Trew? Wasn't it? Closely followed by my third thought, which went a little like this: Aww, shit.
If there is a worse way to die than being slaughtered by Ivan Milat, I'd like to know about it. I'm sorry, did I say 'know about'? What I really meant was 'volunteer for'. Anything, anything is better than death-by-Ivan. Fire? No problem. Suffocation? Whatever. Sharks? No big deal. I would literally soak my legs overnight in a soy sauce marinade and offer them to the next Great White I came across if it meant avoiding an encounter with Ivan Milat. That sounds crazy, right? WRONG. It doesn't sound crazy. And if you disagree with me, then you are an idiot who has clearly never sat through Wolf Creek. Watch that - then get back to me.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Don't Call Me Ma'am
Initially, I wasn't going to blog about this because I thought it might get me in trouble. But hey. It's my day off, I'm bored, I'm waiting for Home and Away to start, and (let's be honest) I'm the kind of idiot who doesn't care about trouble, as long as it gives her a laugh.
So here we go.
This probably sounds weird coming from someone who works in hospitality/publishes her every thought on a public blog/craves human attention/is thinking about starting a hug schedule with her friends...but sometimes I hate people. Well...hate is such a strong word. So maybe I don't hate them as much as I want to punch them repeatedly in the groin every 8 seconds for the next 14 years. It's not all the time. In fact, I hardly ever hate people at all. But sometimes, maybe twice a year, I'll have a day where I come across someone who is enough of an asshole that I would gladly stab myself in the face with a blunt pencil just to avoid all interaction with them.
Today was that day.
Being that The Navy Man is very busy saving the world, and I am a lowly hairdresser's assistant's assistant, today I had some errands to run that had nothing to do with me and everything to do with the Naval Uniform store on Cowper Wharf Rd. Also known as 'Glendinnings Menswear'. Yes. I don't understand the name, and I'm not going to pretend that I want to. It is what it is. Anyway, the whole escapade started off well enough, mostly due to the fact that I somehow managed to navigate myself all the way there without getting lost ONCE. AND I found a parking spot within 5 minutes. From the moment I walked through the door, though, it all went downhill. Because this was me:
Jacki: Good morning!
And this was the facial expression of every dude in that place:
Ha.
Haha.
To be fair, I don't exactly look like the kind of girl who belongs in a Naval Uniform store. But to be even fairer, these guys were total dicks. It took me almost 20 minutes to convey that all I needed was a white officer's shirt and a replacement badge for one of NM's hats (which I even offered to pay for, EVEN THOUGH it was a REPLACEMENT for the BROKEN badge they had already given him), and another 20 for the guy behind the counter to figure out how the eftpos machine operated. And then, just when I thought the horror was over, this happened:
Dude: Anything else?
Jacki: Oh yeah. My boyfriend asked if you could pin the new badge onto the hat for him.
Dude: Sorry ma'am, can't do it. It just pins on. If your boyfriend can't figure out how to do it, he shouldn't be in the Navy.
Okay.
First of all dude, you are a hundred years old. Don't call me ma'am. Second of all, if it's that easy, why can't you do it for him? And third, kindly shove your head up your ass. The only reason you work in this store is because YOU weren't smart enough to actually be in the Navy. 20 minutes to work out the eftpos? Give me a break.
I don't know why this is getting me all riled up. I think it probably has more to do with the fact that I'm still waiting for my dinner to be ready than anything else. I've also had quite a bit of sugar today. I've just remembered I have to go to work tomorrow. And I kind of have to pee. Still, there was one positive thing amongst this whole mess, and that's that the badge they gave me to replace NM's broken one? Was also broken. Which I know doesn't sound like a positive thing...but now I can say that even though I spent all afternoon trying to fix it myself and at one point accidentally super-glued my hand to the couch, I'm still smarter than the uniform store guy.
And that's something.
So here we go.
This probably sounds weird coming from someone who works in hospitality/publishes her every thought on a public blog/craves human attention/is thinking about starting a hug schedule with her friends...but sometimes I hate people. Well...hate is such a strong word. So maybe I don't hate them as much as I want to punch them repeatedly in the groin every 8 seconds for the next 14 years. It's not all the time. In fact, I hardly ever hate people at all. But sometimes, maybe twice a year, I'll have a day where I come across someone who is enough of an asshole that I would gladly stab myself in the face with a blunt pencil just to avoid all interaction with them.
Today was that day.
Being that The Navy Man is very busy saving the world, and I am a lowly hairdresser's assistant's assistant, today I had some errands to run that had nothing to do with me and everything to do with the Naval Uniform store on Cowper Wharf Rd. Also known as 'Glendinnings Menswear'. Yes. I don't understand the name, and I'm not going to pretend that I want to. It is what it is. Anyway, the whole escapade started off well enough, mostly due to the fact that I somehow managed to navigate myself all the way there without getting lost ONCE. AND I found a parking spot within 5 minutes. From the moment I walked through the door, though, it all went downhill. Because this was me:
Jacki: Good morning!
And this was the facial expression of every dude in that place:
Ha.
Haha.
To be fair, I don't exactly look like the kind of girl who belongs in a Naval Uniform store. But to be even fairer, these guys were total dicks. It took me almost 20 minutes to convey that all I needed was a white officer's shirt and a replacement badge for one of NM's hats (which I even offered to pay for, EVEN THOUGH it was a REPLACEMENT for the BROKEN badge they had already given him), and another 20 for the guy behind the counter to figure out how the eftpos machine operated. And then, just when I thought the horror was over, this happened:
Dude: Anything else?
Jacki: Oh yeah. My boyfriend asked if you could pin the new badge onto the hat for him.
Dude: Sorry ma'am, can't do it. It just pins on. If your boyfriend can't figure out how to do it, he shouldn't be in the Navy.
Okay.
First of all dude, you are a hundred years old. Don't call me ma'am. Second of all, if it's that easy, why can't you do it for him? And third, kindly shove your head up your ass. The only reason you work in this store is because YOU weren't smart enough to actually be in the Navy. 20 minutes to work out the eftpos? Give me a break.
I don't know why this is getting me all riled up. I think it probably has more to do with the fact that I'm still waiting for my dinner to be ready than anything else. I've also had quite a bit of sugar today. I've just remembered I have to go to work tomorrow. And I kind of have to pee. Still, there was one positive thing amongst this whole mess, and that's that the badge they gave me to replace NM's broken one? Was also broken. Which I know doesn't sound like a positive thing...but now I can say that even though I spent all afternoon trying to fix it myself and at one point accidentally super-glued my hand to the couch, I'm still smarter than the uniform store guy.
And that's something.
Monday, August 30, 2010
The Longest Pause Yet
Here's a question: When did 'gmail' become popular? Huh? Is this just me? Am I so behind the times that everyone else bailed on hotmail and I didn't notice? When did this happen? Where was I? And don't you dare say probably in the midst of a four-hour Prison Break marathon, because I haven't done one of those in at LEAST two months.
Apart from last Sunday, that is.
But still! Gmail? Really? And here's how I know: every new client that comes into Toni&Guy has to fill out a personal detail questionnaire. I, being the lowly assistant-who-isn't-really-an-assistant-on-account-of-the-fact-that-she's-openly-looking-for-another-job, get the wonderful task of entering all these details into the computer. And I don't wanna make it seem like the kind of loser who stands around counting the number of gmail users VS the number of hotmail users...but lets just say if I had a dollar for every gmail address I've typed, I'd have eight hundred and twenty seven dollars.
Speaking of Toni&Guy...a bunch of us who work there went out on Saturday night to mourn Francesco's leaving. That's right, I said leaving. As in leaving. As in going away. For a while. And while it's true that he'll come back eventually, it's only for like 6 days until he flies on home to Italy; a fact I would be way angrier/more upset about had he not given me his Italian espresso maker as a parting gift. That's not to say I wasn't upset at all, but it's been pretty hard for me to express any kind of emotion since they cancelled Prison Break. Being dead on the inside will do that to you. Still. I'll miss you, Frisky Dingo. And not just because of the free haircuts.
...
Although that's mostly it.
Speaking of men who'll be missed, let's talk about The Navy Man and his little going away party. Apparently all the men in my life have met and decided that this week it might be amusing to pack up their lives in Sydney and abandon me for four months. And yes, by 'all the men in my life' what I really mean is 'Francesco and The Navy Man'.
But still! Considering I spend 70% of my life at work, 15% in an assortment of coffee shops, 9% in the company of Navy Man himself and the rest of the time in bed, those are all the men in my life. And they're BOTH leaving, in the SAME week? What, did they plan it? It's times like this that I really find myself wishing I was Sabrina The Teenage Witch and harboured the ability to build a date out of playdoh and magic. I also think it'd be quite cool to have a talking cat.
The one positive that comes out of all this though, is that by NM leaving for four months, it gives me a chance to become as much of a Dr Who nerd as he is. Not that I am super-enthusiastic about the sci-fi genre, but I'm already almost comically terrible in the girlfriend department - and while The Navy Man is very good about ignoring this, my lack of Dr Who knowledge is a constant source of disappointment for him. I can tell:
Jacki: So the Doctor changes his face sometimes?
NM: Well...kind of. Yes. Lets just say so, because it's the simplest explanation.
Jacki: So the current Doctor is the one who was in the weeping angels episode?
NM: Yes.
Jacki: And the Doctor before that was David Tennant?
NM: Yes.
Jacki: And the Doctor before that was the one with the leather jacket?
NM: (trying not to laugh) Yes.
Jacki: Well I hate the leather-jacket Doctor.
PAUSE
Jacki: I just...because he thinks he can pull off the leather jacket.
PAUSE
Jacki: Which he can't.
LONG PAUSE
Jacki: And he's also old.
LONGER PAUSE
Jacki: And old people freak me out.
LONGEST PAUSE
Jacki: So yeah...that's...that pretty much sums up my reasons for...not...liking him.
THE LONGEST PAUSE YET
NM: I feel really sorry for you.
Well, whatever! I was right. He couldn't pull off that leather jacket, and I don't even feel bad saying it. Although that's mostly because The Navy Man hardly ever reads this blog, and even if he did, I'm pretty sure it's still impossible to punch someone in the face via The Internet. If in 5 years you see me walking down the street with an inexplicable bruise on my face, you'll know what happened. But until then, I feel pretty safe. Nevertheless, I'm seriously toying with the idea of quitting work altogether and just spending the next four months in front of the TV watching Dr Who. Perhaps I will take the occasional break to read about Dr Who, or play with my Dr Who figurines. If they invent a Dr Who cereal, I'm sure I will eat it for breakfast. And by the time Navy Man returns from his adventures at sea, I won't just know everything about Dr Who, I will BE Dr Who.
And then he'll HAVE to agree with me about the leather jacket.
Apart from last Sunday, that is.
But still! Gmail? Really? And here's how I know: every new client that comes into Toni&Guy has to fill out a personal detail questionnaire. I, being the lowly assistant-who-isn't-really-an-assistant-on-account-of-the-fact-that-she's-openly-looking-for-another-job, get the wonderful task of entering all these details into the computer. And I don't wanna make it seem like the kind of loser who stands around counting the number of gmail users VS the number of hotmail users...but lets just say if I had a dollar for every gmail address I've typed, I'd have eight hundred and twenty seven dollars.
Speaking of Toni&Guy...a bunch of us who work there went out on Saturday night to mourn Francesco's leaving. That's right, I said leaving. As in leaving. As in going away. For a while. And while it's true that he'll come back eventually, it's only for like 6 days until he flies on home to Italy; a fact I would be way angrier/more upset about had he not given me his Italian espresso maker as a parting gift. That's not to say I wasn't upset at all, but it's been pretty hard for me to express any kind of emotion since they cancelled Prison Break. Being dead on the inside will do that to you. Still. I'll miss you, Frisky Dingo. And not just because of the free haircuts.
...
Although that's mostly it.
Speaking of men who'll be missed, let's talk about The Navy Man and his little going away party. Apparently all the men in my life have met and decided that this week it might be amusing to pack up their lives in Sydney and abandon me for four months. And yes, by 'all the men in my life' what I really mean is 'Francesco and The Navy Man'.
But still! Considering I spend 70% of my life at work, 15% in an assortment of coffee shops, 9% in the company of Navy Man himself and the rest of the time in bed, those are all the men in my life. And they're BOTH leaving, in the SAME week? What, did they plan it? It's times like this that I really find myself wishing I was Sabrina The Teenage Witch and harboured the ability to build a date out of playdoh and magic. I also think it'd be quite cool to have a talking cat.
The one positive that comes out of all this though, is that by NM leaving for four months, it gives me a chance to become as much of a Dr Who nerd as he is. Not that I am super-enthusiastic about the sci-fi genre, but I'm already almost comically terrible in the girlfriend department - and while The Navy Man is very good about ignoring this, my lack of Dr Who knowledge is a constant source of disappointment for him. I can tell:
Jacki: So the Doctor changes his face sometimes?
NM: Well...kind of. Yes. Lets just say so, because it's the simplest explanation.
Jacki: So the current Doctor is the one who was in the weeping angels episode?
NM: Yes.
Jacki: And the Doctor before that was David Tennant?
NM: Yes.
Jacki: And the Doctor before that was the one with the leather jacket?
NM: (trying not to laugh) Yes.
Jacki: Well I hate the leather-jacket Doctor.
PAUSE
Jacki: I just...because he thinks he can pull off the leather jacket.
PAUSE
Jacki: Which he can't.
LONG PAUSE
Jacki: And he's also old.
LONGER PAUSE
Jacki: And old people freak me out.
LONGEST PAUSE
Jacki: So yeah...that's...that pretty much sums up my reasons for...not...liking him.
THE LONGEST PAUSE YET
NM: I feel really sorry for you.
Well, whatever! I was right. He couldn't pull off that leather jacket, and I don't even feel bad saying it. Although that's mostly because The Navy Man hardly ever reads this blog, and even if he did, I'm pretty sure it's still impossible to punch someone in the face via The Internet. If in 5 years you see me walking down the street with an inexplicable bruise on my face, you'll know what happened. But until then, I feel pretty safe. Nevertheless, I'm seriously toying with the idea of quitting work altogether and just spending the next four months in front of the TV watching Dr Who. Perhaps I will take the occasional break to read about Dr Who, or play with my Dr Who figurines. If they invent a Dr Who cereal, I'm sure I will eat it for breakfast. And by the time Navy Man returns from his adventures at sea, I won't just know everything about Dr Who, I will BE Dr Who.
And then he'll HAVE to agree with me about the leather jacket.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Happy Birthday Catherine! 22 Years Young!
Well well well, what have we here?
Long time no blog, my friends.
Long.
Time.
No.
Blog.
So, is it just me, or is this 'election' mess fast becoming the most annoying news topic on the planet? Julia Gillard, Tony Abbott, Jacki Trew...who cares? Just pick one already! I'm kidding about the Jacki Trew part of course. No, I am not in the running to become the next Prime Minister of Australia. Not this year, anyway. But come 2013...
What really bugs me about the whole situation is that this was the first time I'd voted. Like, ever. And sure, I had no idea what I was doing and thus may or may not have spend an extra seven minutes in the poll booth trying to decide whether voting for the Communist Party as a joke was actually funny or just plain stupid, but still. If there's a worse way to lose your Voting Virginity than this, I don't know about it.
Right. Well, that's about all I've got to say for tonight, except for that I'm watching the third Lord Of The Rings movie right now, and boy is Gollum/Smeagol a total asshole or what? There's only one bigger asshole than Gollum in this movie, and that's the giant cave-dwelling spider who tries to eat Frodo. Then again, maybe not. After all, it's a giant fucking spider that lives in a cave. If it didn't try to eat someone, it'd just be weird.
Speaking of giant fucking spiders who live in caves, it's my big sister Catherine's birthday today. I'll write more late, but for now I'll leave it at Happy Birthday, Catherine! 22 years young! May your cave remain comfortable and your fangs venemous. And please don't eat me.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Catherine's Birthday Blog - Part Two
"Alcoholics In Training"
Maybe the term 'alcoholic' is a little strong, but it's fair to say that my sister and I come from a long line of enthusiastic drinkers. One of my earliest memories is of a family Christmas party during which my Uncle John handed everyone their presents from under the tree upon arrival, then got drunk and proceeded to accuse us all of "stealing his shit". I'm sorry, did I say earliest memory? I think what I meant to say was fondest.
Despite this however, I've only witnessed the phenomenon that is Drunk Catherine Trew around 3 times in my life. And 2 out of those 3 times, I myself was intoxicated enough for her to actually appear sober.
But while I've never really experienced it myself, I've certainly heard stories. Stories about Malaysian night clubs, about lost hotel room keys, about walking home from the beach at 3:30 in the morning...one of my favourites involves our front yard, Catherine, and a 24-pack of passionfruit flavoured UDL. Use your imaginations people, because I'm not allowed to retell that one here.
Our parents are engaged in a fairly benevolent relationship with The Wine Society, which neither Catherine or I have inherited. In fact, as far as alcohol is concerned, we couldn't be more different - she being a beer/mixer/rum-and-coke kind of girl, and me being pretty much unreceptive of anything that isn't served in a shotglass with salt on the rim. Nevertheless, this hasn't stopped her from attempting to further my education in the field of drinking. And I have to admit, she's given me some fairly sound advice...like, that blueberry-flavoured Pulse is not acceptable once you pass the age of 18. That red wine and diet coke are two substances which should NEVER be mixed. And that despite having the word 'gay' in it's name, Mount Gay rum is not going to result in a better night than any other label of rum on the market.
Except of course, for Bundaberg, which everyone knows tastes like shit.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Men Are From Mars, Women Are Confused
Jacki: So you got a new laptop.
Navy Man: Yep.
Jacki: That's pretty fancy.
Navy Man: Yep.
Jacki: What's her name?
Navy Man: Wha...I don't know.
Jacki: You mean you're not going to name her?
Navy Man: Why would I?
Jacki: So you have something to yell out when she malfunctions, of course.
Navy Man: I'll just call her 'Navy Man's PC' - that way she's mine, and she can't cheat on me.
Jacki: Oh, she wouldn't cheat on you. She loves you.
Navy Man: Yeah, plus she's a filthy whore that no other man would take.
(pause)
Jacki: Okay, I was using the computer as a metaphor for, you know, me. Please tell me you weren't.
Navy Man: Yep.
Jacki: That's pretty fancy.
Navy Man: Yep.
Jacki: What's her name?
Navy Man: Wha...I don't know.
Jacki: You mean you're not going to name her?
Navy Man: Why would I?
Jacki: So you have something to yell out when she malfunctions, of course.
Navy Man: I'll just call her 'Navy Man's PC' - that way she's mine, and she can't cheat on me.
Jacki: Oh, she wouldn't cheat on you. She loves you.
Navy Man: Yeah, plus she's a filthy whore that no other man would take.
(pause)
Jacki: Okay, I was using the computer as a metaphor for, you know, me. Please tell me you weren't.
Catherine's Birthday Blog - Part One
"Love You To Death"
Like any pair of self-respecting sisters, Catherine and I have tried to kill each other on several occasions. The first attempt (that I am aware of) involved a then-5-year-old Catherine feeding me a chocolate biscuit which contained enough crushed peanuts to bring down Mickey Rourke. Assuming, of course, that Mickey Rourke is (like me) allergic to to peanuts. He probably isnt, but since I've already blogged about that particular incident, I'm not going to go on about it.
Over the next few years, Catherine would attempt a number of homicides, all of which shared a common theme of "my little sister is deathly allergic to nuts, and it would be too bloody easy to take advantage".
Really, Catherine?
Really?
To be honest, I wasn't so much annoyed by the fact that she was repeatedly trying to end my life as I was disgusted by the unoriginality with which she was going about it. And I'm allowed to say that - because the last big fight I remember involved me throwing a full-sized watermelon at her head.
Now, don't get me wrong. It's not that we don't love each other. Because of course we DO - it's just a different KIND of love. You know, like, less in the way that we actually love each other, and more in the way that it's convenient to know someone you can always borrow money from. I've also never met another person with whom I am so eye-to-eye on the whole Team Edward VS Team Jacob thing. There are some bonds which run even deeper than blood, and I'm fairly certain that's one of them.
We're also united by a penchant for bad movies and mint flavoured icecream, and by the theory that when it comes to the electing of our nation's next leader, it's always best to just vote for whichever candidate has the most amusing surname.
Don't tell our parents.
That Guy I Used To Have A Massive Crush On
Holy crap, you guys. I know it's not in my usual style to blog about celebrities who aren't That Guy I Used To Have A Massive Crush On, but look what Hermione Granger did to her hair:
Wowza. I'm half shocked, half impressed, half concerned that her neighbours and husband are planning on force-feeding her some herbal concoction that'll cause her to give birth to the spawn of satan. Not as concerned as I am about my own mathematical skills, but still.
Wowza. I'm half shocked, half impressed, half concerned that her neighbours and husband are planning on force-feeding her some herbal concoction that'll cause her to give birth to the spawn of satan. Not as concerned as I am about my own mathematical skills, but still. I'm not a huge fan of super-short hair, but I'm probably prejudiced on account of my own experience with it. After all, you don't spend the better part of 2 years looking like Richard Simmon's less-attractive sister without forming some sort of biased opinion. But she looks good. Like the love child of Twiggy and Mia Farrow in Rosemary's Baby. Only without the satanic undertones. So kudos, Hermione, on the new haircut. And sorry about not knowing your actual name.
In other news, since I have a day off and a couple of spare minutes, I've been thinking about giving my blog a makeover. Yeah. It was either that or give myself a makeover - but since sometimes you just have to look at a situation and realise that it's not going to get any better, my blog won out. Suggestions?
So, maybe this is your first time at www.jackiiscrazy.blogspot.com, or maybe you just haven't been listening. Either way - if that's the case, you won't know much about this little lady:
(Don't worry, that cat had given it's full consent before the picture was taken). The lady in question is Catherine Elizabeth Trew, aka My Older Sister. Or to be more specific, My Older Sister who happens to be turning 22 later this month. And while I could have gone the traditional route and gotten her a book or a DVD or an 'I Heart Big Sister' charm for her Pandora bracelet, I decided on a birthday present that's much more meaningful: a 3-part blog in which I expose all her secrets and post photos of her dancing naked on our back veranda.
I'm kidding about the secrets and the naked thing of course, but the blog will be real. And almost semi-amusing. And I will more likely than not recieve a punch in the face for writing it. But since there's more to Catherine Trew than just the 20-something-year-old who hates broccoli and likes reading non-fiction and has a weirdly sexual relationship with our pet cat, I feel compelled to tell her story. Or at least, a small portion of it.
Coming soon!
Sunday, August 08, 2010
And So The ReviewEE Becomes The ReviewER
Is anyone else here enough of a pathetic weirdo to read the comments on their own blog?
...
No? Just me?
Well alright then.
Still. Regardless of whether or not it makes me look like the kind of idiot who trolls their own website, this recent one caught my eye:
Talk trash about me all you want, buddy, but bad-mouthing Kylie Minogue? You just lost the respect of not only me, but at least half the gay population of Planet Earth. AND Julia Hirst. Oh, and since you asked so nicely, it's 2010 - the tenth year in a decade during which Kylie staged a comeback, performed on four world tours, beat breast cancer and sold over 68 million records. Basically, Scorpio? If Kylie Minogue had a penis, she would probably be requesting that you suck on it right now.
Now, where was I?
After he'd finished chanelling his intense but inexplicable hate of the world through my blog, and offered to do humanity a service by 'hopping a flight to Sydney, tracking me down and kicking the teeth out of my head', Mr Woperchild seemed to run out of steam. That's when he offered me this tiny gift:
At some point along the way she found a voice. Sure, that voice talks way too much about things I don’t give a rat’s ass about – reality TV, actors over whom she is swooning, being a semi-responsible adult, etc. – but it is still an amusing voice at times. A slightly skewed perspective on her life, which is pretty normal and ordinary, and that skewed perspective takes the boring and mundane and makes it somewhat worth reading about.
Ahhh, that's better. There's nothing like a scathingly backhanded almost-compliment to make you feel good about yourself. I am kidding of course - that last paragraph made me cry into my cereal this morning. But it's not all bad news. Because if you happen to head over to Ask And You Shall Recieve and peruse my little critique yourself, you'll see that the post in specific which Scorpio Woperchild finds amusing? Just happens to be the one about dolphins and the fact that they gang-rape each other. And any freak of the week who could picture that kind of horror and still laugh is obviously not worth listening to.
So thanks for the advice, Scorpio, really. But I think I'm in the same boat as Kylie Minogue now.
...
No? Just me?
Well alright then.
Still. Regardless of whether or not it makes me look like the kind of idiot who trolls their own website, this recent one caught my eye:
Now, I don't know who this Scorpio Woperchild is, nor do I recall asking for a review, nor can I fathom the idea that there are people - fully grown, adult people - out there who have enough time to sit and type and cast judgement on the insane rantings of a 20-year-old girl from Australia...but there's no such thing as bad publicity, right? So I took a wander over to Ask And You Shall Recieve, and read my review.
In hindsight, it wasn't such a great idea. And by 'wasn't such a great', what I really mean is 'was a pretty fucking stupid'. The URL of this website alone should have been enough of a clue. Let's just say it's a good thing I already know how much of a moron I am, AND that I have enough self-confidence to ignore the opinions of a man who apparently thinks of himself as a character from Harry Potter. It's also pretty convenient that I'm currently in the market for a new asshole - because Mr 'Scorpio Woperchild' tore me one alright. Check it out:
For starters, Jacki Trew’s delightful little blog is titled "Insanity Now Has a Website" and the URL is JackiIsCrazy.blogspot.com. When you are 15 years old, calling yourself CRAZY or INSANE feels like a logical choice. You feel like you don’t fit in. You feel weird all the time. Maybe you’re moody. Maybe you’re filled with rage. Maybe you are really unpredictable. And yeah, that feels pretty crazy at the time.
But then months pass and soon you realize that this is normal – everyone feels this way – and you are no more crazy than the next very average student treading the halls of your school. And by the time you’re 16 or so, you no longer think it’s cool to call yourself Crazy or Insane.
Insanity Now Has a Website? I don't fucking think so.
Yeah. Ouch.
He then goes on to berate my constant use of the term 'insanity' and it's many variations - crazy, weird, off-my-fucking-nut, etc etc - my colour scheme, my obsession with reality tv, and the fact that I insist on having autoplay music in my sidebar.
Which is all fine.
Or at least, it WAS. Until this happened:
Talk trash about me all you want, buddy, but bad-mouthing Kylie Minogue? You just lost the respect of not only me, but at least half the gay population of Planet Earth. AND Julia Hirst. Oh, and since you asked so nicely, it's 2010 - the tenth year in a decade during which Kylie staged a comeback, performed on four world tours, beat breast cancer and sold over 68 million records. Basically, Scorpio? If Kylie Minogue had a penis, she would probably be requesting that you suck on it right now.
Now, where was I?
After he'd finished chanelling his intense but inexplicable hate of the world through my blog, and offered to do humanity a service by 'hopping a flight to Sydney, tracking me down and kicking the teeth out of my head', Mr Woperchild seemed to run out of steam. That's when he offered me this tiny gift:
At some point along the way she found a voice. Sure, that voice talks way too much about things I don’t give a rat’s ass about – reality TV, actors over whom she is swooning, being a semi-responsible adult, etc. – but it is still an amusing voice at times. A slightly skewed perspective on her life, which is pretty normal and ordinary, and that skewed perspective takes the boring and mundane and makes it somewhat worth reading about.
Ahhh, that's better. There's nothing like a scathingly backhanded almost-compliment to make you feel good about yourself. I am kidding of course - that last paragraph made me cry into my cereal this morning. But it's not all bad news. Because if you happen to head over to Ask And You Shall Recieve and peruse my little critique yourself, you'll see that the post in specific which Scorpio Woperchild finds amusing? Just happens to be the one about dolphins and the fact that they gang-rape each other. And any freak of the week who could picture that kind of horror and still laugh is obviously not worth listening to.
So thanks for the advice, Scorpio, really. But I think I'm in the same boat as Kylie Minogue now.
Australia's Next Top Employee
I've got pretty much nothing this week.
My search for a new job continues. I mean, Jane and I did make a late-night decision to start a bohemian tea-house where people can come and eat and play music and make art and not wear shoes and drink alcohol after dark...but still. It's always nice to have a backup plan which DOESN'T involve bankruptcy. Just in case. I also have a feeling that only hiring our friends and then paying them with 'love' might be illegal.
I sometimes get the feeling that I might have fared better in the 1940's. No, the 50's. 60's? Well, whatever decade it was when the title 'successful woman' had only two prerequisites:
1) The ability to bake a perfect mud cake, and
2) A vagina
I can bake. I'm a great baker. And I've got a vagina. And - as evidenced by a string of genital-themed birthday cakes my friends and I enjoyed in our final year of high school - I'm not afraid to combine the two. Were this the 1950's, I'd be Prime Minister by now. As it is, however, I'm just a TEMPORARILY employed salon assistant who gets paid 6 bucks an hour to sweep up hair. And while it helps to have friends, family and a somewhat delusional officer of the Australian Navy around to make suggestions, it doesn't help when they make suggestions like this:
And he'll totally believe you.
My search for a new job continues. I mean, Jane and I did make a late-night decision to start a bohemian tea-house where people can come and eat and play music and make art and not wear shoes and drink alcohol after dark...but still. It's always nice to have a backup plan which DOESN'T involve bankruptcy. Just in case. I also have a feeling that only hiring our friends and then paying them with 'love' might be illegal.
I sometimes get the feeling that I might have fared better in the 1940's. No, the 50's. 60's? Well, whatever decade it was when the title 'successful woman' had only two prerequisites:
1) The ability to bake a perfect mud cake, and
2) A vagina
I can bake. I'm a great baker. And I've got a vagina. And - as evidenced by a string of genital-themed birthday cakes my friends and I enjoyed in our final year of high school - I'm not afraid to combine the two. Were this the 1950's, I'd be Prime Minister by now. As it is, however, I'm just a TEMPORARILY employed salon assistant who gets paid 6 bucks an hour to sweep up hair. And while it helps to have friends, family and a somewhat delusional officer of the Australian Navy around to make suggestions, it doesn't help when they make suggestions like this:
"Maybe you should just be a street urchin. You know, sit on your ass and do nothing all day - you're great at that."
I know. Thanks alot, Dad. I love you too.
Speaking of things I'm great at...oh, you know what? That segue doesn't really apply, since what I wanted to talk about next was driving. And while the lovely Julia Hirst is adamant that I possess excellent driving skills, others disagree. And Julia is lying. Here's what happened last night:
The Navy Man wanted to take me for dinner with his friend Doug, and Doug's girlfriend Kara. Since Doug and Kara didn't have a car between them, we let them pick the venue; Stanley St in Darlinghurst, for those of you playing at home. As for us? Well, since NM wasn't feeling 100% and I had just suffered through the kind of day at work for which the phrase 'hell on earth' was invented, it was decided that he would drive my car, while I navigated/drank my body weight in tequila.
MISTAKE NUMBER 1.
I don't remember who's idea it was to rely solely on the directing skills of my iPhone and google maps, but it was a bad one. It took approximately 11 minutes to get from this:
"Dude, I TOTALLY know how to get there."
To this:
"Okay, we're a little off track, but we're not lost, we're DEFINITELY not lost."
And then eventually to this:
"Yeah, we're fucked."
Oh yes.
I think my favourite part - aside from the sudden realisation that I am without a doubt the most useless human being on the planet - was the traffic jam that I inadvertantly caused us to sit in for almost 25 minutes. Especially since the term 'traffic jam' just happens to be at the very top of one of Navy Man's lists; a list so appropriately titled "Things Which Send Navy Man Into A White Hot Frenzy Of Rage". I now know how to say the word 'shit' in 11 different languages.
Still. So maybe we were 45 minutes late, maybe I made myself look like an idiot, maybe I've given The Navy Man something to hold over my head for the rest of our lives, but still. It could have been alot worse...Because I've discovered something great about having a boyfriend from out-of-town, and that's that when you and your shitty navigational skills end up on the Eastern Distributor heading for the airport, you can just say stuff like this:
Jacki: Well, we're near Maroubra. That's not far away at all!And he'll totally believe you.
Thursday, August 05, 2010
Hire Me!
You guys, Lane Cove is actually insane.
I'm not kidding! It's crazy! And I can't believe it's taken me this long to notice!! I guess it's just one of those things - you never notice that the suburb you live in is like one big out-patient mental hospital until you get a job in a hairdresser on the main street and spend half your days staring through the front window at all the freaks walking past.
Yesterday, for example, I saw a woman sitting outside the cafe next door eating cereal out of a red tupperware container. That in itself is an oddity, but the weirdest part was actually HOW she was eating the cereal, and that was in a manner that I can only describe as furious. It was like she was angry at the cereal. Not just the cereal - it was like she was angry at the WORLD. At one point she accidentally spilled some milk on herself, and I swear to God I thought she was going to turn around and punch the guy behind her in the windpipe. It was mesmerising. I don't know how many phonecalls went unanswered as I stood there with bated breath, just waiting for this woman to pull out a machete and stab everyone within reach. But I'm guessing it was alot.
I'm terrible at my job.
Speaking of being terrible at my job...four or five more weeks and I'm going to have to find something else to be terrible at. And just for the record, I wasn't fired. It's not that I don't love Toni&Guy, it's just that I'm pretty useless at everything I do. And while there are some jobs that it's okay to be useless at, it turns out that 'hairdresser' just isn't one of them. People tend to notice when you accidentally-on-purpose shave the words peace, love, disco into the hair on the back of their head. And by 'notice' what I really mean is 'totally freak out'. But whatever. Aside from that little mishap, and the whole neglecting-work-in-order-to-stare-at-crazy-people-eating-cereal-at-the-cafe-next-door thing, AND the fact that I was late for our last staff meeting because I was watching an episode of The Real Housewives of NYC and didn't want to miss the end, I must have done SOMETHING right, because they're letting me stay until I find a new job. Isn't that nice?
So the downside is that - once again - I'm jobless, broke, have no talents or direction to speak of, I'm almost 100% unqualified and I owe my parents two thousand dollars. But the UPside is...
Aw, crap.
Still. I'm not worried. Well, maybe a little bit. Probably not as worried as I should be. Certainly not as worried as The Navy Man is. But it's all good. After all, if life and the cast of Laguna Beach has taught us anything, it's that even the biggest idiots on the planet are capable of finding a job. Also that I should probably stop basing my major life decisions on a mediocre reality show that ended 4 years ago. But mainly the first thing.
Hire me!
I'm not kidding! It's crazy! And I can't believe it's taken me this long to notice!! I guess it's just one of those things - you never notice that the suburb you live in is like one big out-patient mental hospital until you get a job in a hairdresser on the main street and spend half your days staring through the front window at all the freaks walking past.
Yesterday, for example, I saw a woman sitting outside the cafe next door eating cereal out of a red tupperware container. That in itself is an oddity, but the weirdest part was actually HOW she was eating the cereal, and that was in a manner that I can only describe as furious. It was like she was angry at the cereal. Not just the cereal - it was like she was angry at the WORLD. At one point she accidentally spilled some milk on herself, and I swear to God I thought she was going to turn around and punch the guy behind her in the windpipe. It was mesmerising. I don't know how many phonecalls went unanswered as I stood there with bated breath, just waiting for this woman to pull out a machete and stab everyone within reach. But I'm guessing it was alot.
I'm terrible at my job.
Speaking of being terrible at my job...four or five more weeks and I'm going to have to find something else to be terrible at. And just for the record, I wasn't fired. It's not that I don't love Toni&Guy, it's just that I'm pretty useless at everything I do. And while there are some jobs that it's okay to be useless at, it turns out that 'hairdresser' just isn't one of them. People tend to notice when you accidentally-on-purpose shave the words peace, love, disco into the hair on the back of their head. And by 'notice' what I really mean is 'totally freak out'. But whatever. Aside from that little mishap, and the whole neglecting-work-in-order-to-stare-at-crazy-people-eating-cereal-at-the-cafe-next-door thing, AND the fact that I was late for our last staff meeting because I was watching an episode of The Real Housewives of NYC and didn't want to miss the end, I must have done SOMETHING right, because they're letting me stay until I find a new job. Isn't that nice?
So the downside is that - once again - I'm jobless, broke, have no talents or direction to speak of, I'm almost 100% unqualified and I owe my parents two thousand dollars. But the UPside is...
Aw, crap.
Still. I'm not worried. Well, maybe a little bit. Probably not as worried as I should be. Certainly not as worried as The Navy Man is. But it's all good. After all, if life and the cast of Laguna Beach has taught us anything, it's that even the biggest idiots on the planet are capable of finding a job. Also that I should probably stop basing my major life decisions on a mediocre reality show that ended 4 years ago. But mainly the first thing.
Hire me!
Sunday, August 01, 2010
TV, Mel, Pie Charts And My Ability To Love
I am simultaneously amused and horrified by my own addiction to reality TV. I mean on the one hand, when I find myself awake at 2:30 in the morning just so I can tune into the E! Channel and find out whether or not Kim Kardashian's sister will get back together with whatever-his-name-is, I have to question my own sanity. Kim Kardashian's sister? Whatever-his-name-is? How much do I really need to know about these people? It's a sick and twisted comment on society that we spend more time watching other people live their lives than we do actually living our own. Not to mention the fact that the only reason people like the Kardashians are famous is because of their money. And/or their giant asses. Really, when I think about it, I should be ashamed of myself for wasting my time with this crap.
Mum: Have you been working out?
On the other hand though...reality TV is fucking awesome.
Have you guys seen this show Pretty Wild? Oh my goodness. I have no clue who these people are, nor why they're famous, NOR whose insane idea it was to give them their own show (by the way whoever-you-are, I thank you from the bottom of my blackened heart)...but I can say with almost complete sincerety that I have never been more entertained/disgusted by three teenage Hollywood brats and their crazy new-age mother in my life. Why? Well, here's a sample conversation between Mum and Daughter Number One:
Mum: Have you been working out?
Daughter Number One: Yeah! I've been working out alot, and dancing.
Mum: You look amazing.
Daughter Number One: Thanks!
Mum: And no one has breasts like you.
Daughter Number One: Thanks!
(Pause)
Mum: Wanna take some naked photographs?
Mum: Wanna take some naked photographs?
When I first saw that episode, I didn't know whether to laugh, cry, or throw up. In the end I decided to go with a combination of all three. It was unfortunate. Still, you have to admit that conversation is pretty hilarious. Disturbing, yes. Illegal, almost certainly. But hilarious.
On a completely different note, last night I attended the 21st birthday of a very special lady who goes by the name of Mel Amon. Happy belated birthday, Mel! And I love you, even more than I love reality TV.
See? Because if you can't trust a pie chart I made using the 'Kids Zone' website, what the hell can you trust?
Why, Universe? Why?
So I just painted my nails green.
That's a pretty boring thing to say - especially if you consider the fact that not 10 posts ago I was talking about animals and the possibility that they engage in anal sex - but it's Sunday, the day of rest, and I'm tired. If you have a problem with this, I invite you to kiss my ass.
Speaking of asses...I've got a pain in mine, since my computer has decided to quit functioning normally and will now only turn on for around 7 minutes at a time. Really. I think I've probably got about 80 seconds to finish writing this post. It's so convenient. The real kicker is that this isn't even my computer - it's Catherine's. When she bought a new laptop, she gave me her old one. Why? Because mine had decided to quit functioning normally and would only turn on for around 7 minutes at a time.
...
Okay.
WHY, UNIVERSE? WHY? WHY ARE YOU SO DETERMINED TO KICK ME IN THE VAGINA?
Is this just it? Is it my lot in life to be surrounded by poorly-performing electrical equipment? Because I'm not just talking about the computers. Let's not forget the 2 hair straighteners, the 4 mobile phones, the curling iron, the DVD player, the electric nail drier, the sandwich maker, the shower radio or any of the countless iPods I went through in high school. Plus there's that whole thing that happened with my iPhone last month. This can't just be me. This has to have something to do with a higher power trying to piss me off, right? I can't be that much of a careless idiot, can I?
Don't answer that.
That's a pretty boring thing to say - especially if you consider the fact that not 10 posts ago I was talking about animals and the possibility that they engage in anal sex - but it's Sunday, the day of rest, and I'm tired. If you have a problem with this, I invite you to kiss my ass.
Speaking of asses...I've got a pain in mine, since my computer has decided to quit functioning normally and will now only turn on for around 7 minutes at a time. Really. I think I've probably got about 80 seconds to finish writing this post. It's so convenient. The real kicker is that this isn't even my computer - it's Catherine's. When she bought a new laptop, she gave me her old one. Why? Because mine had decided to quit functioning normally and would only turn on for around 7 minutes at a time.
...
Okay.
WHY, UNIVERSE? WHY? WHY ARE YOU SO DETERMINED TO KICK ME IN THE VAGINA?
Is this just it? Is it my lot in life to be surrounded by poorly-performing electrical equipment? Because I'm not just talking about the computers. Let's not forget the 2 hair straighteners, the 4 mobile phones, the curling iron, the DVD player, the electric nail drier, the sandwich maker, the shower radio or any of the countless iPods I went through in high school. Plus there's that whole thing that happened with my iPhone last month. This can't just be me. This has to have something to do with a higher power trying to piss me off, right? I can't be that much of a careless idiot, can I?
Don't answer that.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Baby Names And Bad Movies
I feel like shit at the moment, so I was thinking about going to bed. But even though I've been struck down with a harsh and rare case of the Avian Flu (I am assuming), it's only 9:34 and it's Saturday night, so I think going to bed is actually the last thing that's gonna make me feel better.
Let's talk about baby names.
Is it totally weird that while having a baby (behind post offices and the idea of being raped by a dolphin) is one of the scariest things in the world to me, I've already picked out the names of my hypothetical children? I mean, these are probably just going to end up on the nametags of some very well loved cats, but still. I feel it's important to announce what you want now - because you never know when your older sister is going to get herself knocked up, un-knowingly steal your favourite baby name and make everything awkward.
I'm just being well prepared. And for the record Catherine, Wentworth and Stella are TOTALLY out of bounds. You have been warned.
I don't understand this celebrity trend of insane baby names. I know my Wentworth fixation doesn't make it look that way, but come on. Wentworth? At least it's a real name! At least it's easy to spell! At least there's no 'Prince' or 'Princess' in front of it! At least...no, you know what? If it's coming out of my vagina, then I get to name it. No arguments.
Wow, I'm moody tonight.
It's really only because I'm sick. And I'm tired. And (here comes a hideously uncool 90's reference for your reading pleasure) in the words of Anastasia, I'm sick and tired of being sick and tired.
...
Did you get it? The reference? Did you get it? If you did, congratulations - you are as lame as me. If not, watch this. Then pull your head out of your ass and go research the 90's. They're awesome.
Another reason I'm moody? I just got done watching the 'cinematic masterpiece' that is Dear John. Just in case you didn't happen to read my last post about the movie Dear John, or if the sarcasm indicated by my use of inverted commas wasn't obvious enough for you...I think my review read something along the lines of...
Let's talk about baby names.
Is it totally weird that while having a baby (behind post offices and the idea of being raped by a dolphin) is one of the scariest things in the world to me, I've already picked out the names of my hypothetical children? I mean, these are probably just going to end up on the nametags of some very well loved cats, but still. I feel it's important to announce what you want now - because you never know when your older sister is going to get herself knocked up, un-knowingly steal your favourite baby name and make everything awkward.
I'm just being well prepared. And for the record Catherine, Wentworth and Stella are TOTALLY out of bounds. You have been warned.
I don't understand this celebrity trend of insane baby names. I know my Wentworth fixation doesn't make it look that way, but come on. Wentworth? At least it's a real name! At least it's easy to spell! At least there's no 'Prince' or 'Princess' in front of it! At least...no, you know what? If it's coming out of my vagina, then I get to name it. No arguments.
Wow, I'm moody tonight.
It's really only because I'm sick. And I'm tired. And (here comes a hideously uncool 90's reference for your reading pleasure) in the words of Anastasia, I'm sick and tired of being sick and tired.
...
Did you get it? The reference? Did you get it? If you did, congratulations - you are as lame as me. If not, watch this. Then pull your head out of your ass and go research the 90's. They're awesome.
Another reason I'm moody? I just got done watching the 'cinematic masterpiece' that is Dear John. Just in case you didn't happen to read my last post about the movie Dear John, or if the sarcasm indicated by my use of inverted commas wasn't obvious enough for you...I think my review read something along the lines of...
"Dear John is the biggest piece of shit I have seen at the movies this year."
Incredibly, that still stands true. I say incredibly, because I just saw Twilight: Eclipse a couple of weeks ago. That was bad, but Dear John? Let me put it this way:
Dear John,
You suck.
Sincerely,
Jacki Trew
Jacki Trew
Ha. I'm hilarious. But alright, enough with the terrible Dear John jokes. I know what you're all wondering: if I hate it so much, why did I watch it again? Well, because I'm an idiot, that's why. And because my sister was home for the weekend, and SHE wanted to watch it. Oh, and I suppose because of this:
What? So he's no Navy Man, but I'm only human. And I'm sick. And as it turns out, Channing Tatum + mint icecream + high doses of cold and flu medicine = a pretty good time.
Friday, July 23, 2010
Wentworth Miller's Penis
Well, it finally happened. 3 months, 12 weeks, 5 staff meetings, 24 hair models, 52 walks to Lane Cove and approximately one BILLION cups of coffee, and it finally happened.
Full time work has brought me down.
I don't feel too bad about it. I think I kept going as long as I could. But there's a time in every apprentice hairdresser's life when they look around themselves, see what they're doing, and realise that coughing half their internal organs onto the client who's hair they're shampooing is just not appropriate. And for me, that time came yesterday. So the bad news is that (and of course, this is not a Jacki-Trew-In-Drama-Queen-Mode exaggeration at all) I'm probably going to die. But the GOOD news is that before I do, I've got some time off. And I'm going to use it to blog.
Aww yeah. You're welcome, Planet Earth. For both things.
Here's something I've been thinking about for a while: Wentworth Miller's penis.
Ha! I'm only kidding. There's only one penis I spend that much time thinking about, and that's the one I often imagine growing out of my sister's forehead. I only said the Wentworth Miller thing because I know if The Navy Man sees it, he'll get really pissed off and bring it up the next time I see him, thus proving that he actually reads/is totally addicted to my blog. Which will of course make me feel great about myself - because everyone knows that the foundation of any healthy relationship is an insane person with a laptop and a high-speed internet connection.
Now, what was I talking about again?
Oh right.
So here's something I've ACTUALLY been thinking about for a while: My 21st birthday.
First of all (because I just wanna get this out of the way) OHHH MY GOSH I HAVE TO TURN 21, SO OLD, I'M GOING TO BE SO OLD, PEOPLE ARE GOING TO START STANDING UP FOR ME ON THE BUS, I'M GOING TO HAVE TO BUY A WALKING FRAME, I SHOULD PROBABLY START PLANNING MY FUNERAL, HOLY CRAP THIS IS THE WORST THING THAT HAS EVER HAPPENED TO ANYONE, EVER.
Second of all, do you think I should have a party?
I love 21st's, but there's so much pressure. Where will it be? How many people are coming? Who's invited? Who's NOT invited? Is there a theme? What's the theme? What champagne are you going to drink? Which dress are you going to wear? How are you doing your hair? How are you doing your nails? How are you planning on killing yourself to avoid all this?
Wow, I'm very morbid today.
Anyway. Baaah, the pressure! I've been giving Madi not-so-subtle hints about what I really want to do for the past couple of months in the hopes that she'll just plan the whole thing for me, but I don't think it's working:
Jacki: Do you know what would be totally disco?
Madi: What?
Jacki: Going to Vegas for my 21st birthday.
Madi: That would be pretty cool.
Jacki: Yeah. And do you know what would make it even more amazing?
Madi: What?
Jacki: If like, someone else, like, I don't know, maybe my best friend, planned the whole thing for me so I didn't have to stress about it or freak out about it or, you know, have my head explode because of it.
Madi: You're right. That would make it more amazing.
Jacki: Yeah.
Madi: Hmm.
Jacki: Yeah.
(pause)
Madi: I'm not planning your 21st for you.
Jacki: Damnit!
Ha. Well, maybe Catherine'll do it. And yeah, you heard me right - Vegas, bitches! It's a high bar to set, but I'm pretty confident. My back up plan is to stay home and cry in the bathtub. Either way, you're all invited.
Full time work has brought me down.
I don't feel too bad about it. I think I kept going as long as I could. But there's a time in every apprentice hairdresser's life when they look around themselves, see what they're doing, and realise that coughing half their internal organs onto the client who's hair they're shampooing is just not appropriate. And for me, that time came yesterday. So the bad news is that (and of course, this is not a Jacki-Trew-In-Drama-Queen-Mode exaggeration at all) I'm probably going to die. But the GOOD news is that before I do, I've got some time off. And I'm going to use it to blog.
Aww yeah. You're welcome, Planet Earth. For both things.
Here's something I've been thinking about for a while: Wentworth Miller's penis.
Ha! I'm only kidding. There's only one penis I spend that much time thinking about, and that's the one I often imagine growing out of my sister's forehead. I only said the Wentworth Miller thing because I know if The Navy Man sees it, he'll get really pissed off and bring it up the next time I see him, thus proving that he actually reads/is totally addicted to my blog. Which will of course make me feel great about myself - because everyone knows that the foundation of any healthy relationship is an insane person with a laptop and a high-speed internet connection.
Now, what was I talking about again?
Oh right.
So here's something I've ACTUALLY been thinking about for a while: My 21st birthday.
First of all (because I just wanna get this out of the way) OHHH MY GOSH I HAVE TO TURN 21, SO OLD, I'M GOING TO BE SO OLD, PEOPLE ARE GOING TO START STANDING UP FOR ME ON THE BUS, I'M GOING TO HAVE TO BUY A WALKING FRAME, I SHOULD PROBABLY START PLANNING MY FUNERAL, HOLY CRAP THIS IS THE WORST THING THAT HAS EVER HAPPENED TO ANYONE, EVER.
Second of all, do you think I should have a party?
I love 21st's, but there's so much pressure. Where will it be? How many people are coming? Who's invited? Who's NOT invited? Is there a theme? What's the theme? What champagne are you going to drink? Which dress are you going to wear? How are you doing your hair? How are you doing your nails? How are you planning on killing yourself to avoid all this?
Wow, I'm very morbid today.
Anyway. Baaah, the pressure! I've been giving Madi not-so-subtle hints about what I really want to do for the past couple of months in the hopes that she'll just plan the whole thing for me, but I don't think it's working:
Jacki: Do you know what would be totally disco?
Madi: What?
Jacki: Going to Vegas for my 21st birthday.
Madi: That would be pretty cool.
Jacki: Yeah. And do you know what would make it even more amazing?
Madi: What?
Jacki: If like, someone else, like, I don't know, maybe my best friend, planned the whole thing for me so I didn't have to stress about it or freak out about it or, you know, have my head explode because of it.
Madi: You're right. That would make it more amazing.
Jacki: Yeah.
Madi: Hmm.
Jacki: Yeah.
(pause)
Madi: I'm not planning your 21st for you.
Jacki: Damnit!
Ha. Well, maybe Catherine'll do it. And yeah, you heard me right - Vegas, bitches! It's a high bar to set, but I'm pretty confident. My back up plan is to stay home and cry in the bathtub. Either way, you're all invited.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Magic Books, Making My Dinner And Mobile Speed Cameras
And now to continue with whatever-the-hell I was talking about this morning...
In addition to caffeine, Prison Break and sitting on the couch in my undies while wasting my money buying stuff I don't need, you know what I'm kind of totally addicted to?
I'm not saying it's my absolute favourite book of all time or anything (how can it be, when there's no character named Captain Wentworth?), but The Time Traveller's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger is...well, about as good as a book can be, considering there's no character named Captain Wentworth. I'm not going to give away the story - partly because it's so complicated that I'd be here for 6 months if I even tried, and also because I'd like you all to tear your eyes away from Facebook for long enough to read it yourselves - but I will say this: if Eric Bana, The Bronte Sisters, William Shakespeare, whoever invented coffee and I all got together for a hypothetical crazy-drunk 7-way orgy, this book would be the result.
It's like magic.
On a completely unrelated note, does anyone here know the name of the person who invented white bread? Because I don't, but I'd really really love to track them down and personally thank them with a swift kick to the 'nads. That sounds oddly hostile, but let me explain:
I was making my dinner just now. A ham and cheese toasted sandwich, for those of you playing at home. I have this for dinner pretty much every night; mainly because it's fast and easy and the perfect meal for a girl who spends 80% of her life at work (the other 20% being divided between my bed, my car, and any mid-class establishment where alcohol is served), but also because I am the kind of weirdo who becomes 'addicted' to certain meals and won't eat anything but them for weeks and weeks and weeks on end until I decide I don't really like them that much after all, and never eat them again. Don't believe me? Here's the first page of my hit list:
In addition to caffeine, Prison Break and sitting on the couch in my undies while wasting my money buying stuff I don't need, you know what I'm kind of totally addicted to?
I'm not saying it's my absolute favourite book of all time or anything (how can it be, when there's no character named Captain Wentworth?), but The Time Traveller's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger is...well, about as good as a book can be, considering there's no character named Captain Wentworth. I'm not going to give away the story - partly because it's so complicated that I'd be here for 6 months if I even tried, and also because I'd like you all to tear your eyes away from Facebook for long enough to read it yourselves - but I will say this: if Eric Bana, The Bronte Sisters, William Shakespeare, whoever invented coffee and I all got together for a hypothetical crazy-drunk 7-way orgy, this book would be the result.It's like magic.
On a completely unrelated note, does anyone here know the name of the person who invented white bread? Because I don't, but I'd really really love to track them down and personally thank them with a swift kick to the 'nads. That sounds oddly hostile, but let me explain:
I was making my dinner just now. A ham and cheese toasted sandwich, for those of you playing at home. I have this for dinner pretty much every night; mainly because it's fast and easy and the perfect meal for a girl who spends 80% of her life at work (the other 20% being divided between my bed, my car, and any mid-class establishment where alcohol is served), but also because I am the kind of weirdo who becomes 'addicted' to certain meals and won't eat anything but them for weeks and weeks and weeks on end until I decide I don't really like them that much after all, and never eat them again. Don't believe me? Here's the first page of my hit list:
- Maggie 2 minute noodles
- Nutri Grain
- Vegetarian hamburgers
- Milo cereal
- Bacon and egg muffins
- Calamari
- Butter chicken
Crazy, I know. Anyway as you might have guessed, I'm currently fixated by toasted sandwiches. Or to be more specific, ham and cheese toasted sandwiches on wholemeal grain bread. Tonight though, I decided to mix things up a little, and go with white bread instead.
MISTAKE.
Remember at the beginning of this story, how I said I was making my dinner 'just now'? That was a lie. I wasn't making my dinner just now. I made my dinner 2 hours ago. I guess the reason I got mixed up is because I CAN STILL FEEL THAT DAMN WHITE BREAD SLIDING DOWN MY OESOPHAGUS. Oh, my gosh. Is this all white bread, or does my Mum buy the brand that contains mercury? I have never eaten anything like that in my life. It tasted like a ham-and-cheese-flavoured brick. Only heavier, and less delicious. And I've been walking around bent over double like a 76-year-old man ever since, because it hurts to stand up straight. Conclusion: my dinner is eating me from the inside out. Second conclusion: white bread is what they use to make sandwiches in hell.
Now, what else can I talk about? Oh. Have you guys heard about these new mobile speed cameras? Talk about annoying! The whole idea of speed cameras is that they aren't mobile; that way, you can memorise exactly where they are and feel free to break the speed limit in between them. Well. That might not be the whole idea behind speed cameras. But I'm pretty sure that's the GIST of it. Now, though? I have to obey the speed limit ALL THE TIME. Which is especially irritating considering the fact that I travel over the bridge at least 2 times a week these days in order to visit The Navy Man. By the way dude (in case you're reading this), THAT'S the reason I'm always late. It has nothing to do with me stopping at every petrol station along the way for Red Bull and lollypops. Nothing at all.
HIDDEN POSTAGE FEES
So.
Since today I'm the proud and appreciative owner of a sleep-in, and last night I was too exhausted to do anything but drink coffee and fall asleep on the couch in my work clothes, I've decided to do something I haven't been able to do in months.
I'm going to blog.
In the morning.
BEFORE work.
Try not to spontaneously combust, planet earth. I am just as freaked out and excited as you.
Alright?
Let's get this party started.
So, remember way back when I said last night I was too exhausted to do anything but drink coffee and fall asleep on the couch in my work clothes? Yeah, that was a lie. True, I did come home from work and pass out in front of the TV for a few hours, but when I woke up I got started on what I like to think of as my new favourite hobby: Ordering Shit Off The Internet.
Ohhh, mercy. Here's what I love about internet shopping:
Since today I'm the proud and appreciative owner of a sleep-in, and last night I was too exhausted to do anything but drink coffee and fall asleep on the couch in my work clothes, I've decided to do something I haven't been able to do in months.
I'm going to blog.
In the morning.
BEFORE work.
Try not to spontaneously combust, planet earth. I am just as freaked out and excited as you.
Alright?
Let's get this party started.
So, remember way back when I said last night I was too exhausted to do anything but drink coffee and fall asleep on the couch in my work clothes? Yeah, that was a lie. True, I did come home from work and pass out in front of the TV for a few hours, but when I woke up I got started on what I like to think of as my new favourite hobby: Ordering Shit Off The Internet.
Ohhh, mercy. Here's what I love about internet shopping:
- It's fun
- It's fast
- You find stuff you never even knew existed
- You can watch Prison Break at the same time
- You can do it in your undies (especially appreciated since I tried this in Westfield one time and it didn't work out so well)
Overall, the experience is pretty orgasmic. Except for ONE thing. Here's what I DON'T love about internet shopping:
HIDDEN POSTAGE FEES.
And okay, I get that I'm being naive, and that postage + handling is a pretty basic concept which almost everyone knows about, and that I probably should just pull my head out of my ass and quit complaining...but give me a break! $35.70?! I should anticipate the postage costing more than TWICE THE AMOUNT OF THE ACTUAL PURCHASE???
Ugh.
The best part about this whole thing (and by 'best' what I really mean is 'the part that makes me want to kill myself and everyone around me') is that I wasn't TOLD about the hidden postage fees until AFTER I'd already paid them. Hence the term hidden postage fees. Is that even legal? Can they even do that? If I wasn't the laziest and most irresponsible person on the planet, I would so be doing something about this. Well...I'd at least think about doing something. Well...oh, who am I kidding. I don't care. In fact, I'm ordering MORE shit off the internet right now.
Happy shopping, suckers!
Monday, July 19, 2010
Satan? Is That You?
Sup, universe. Let's talk about the weekend. No, scrap that actually. First, I wanna talk about this dude:
Good times.
After that, we ventured south (?) of Elizabeth Street for what Jane called 'The Best Chinese Food In Sydney', and then back to Dante's apartment for a game of (what else?) King's Cup. And that, boys and girls, is where the night ended. Not really, but for the sake of my parents, who are probably reading this blog, let's just say it is.
Satan? Is that you?
And okay, it's like 78% true that I probably wouldn't even KNOW how much of a douche-bag Mel Gibson has turned into over the last few years if I wasn't enough of a douche-bag myself to be reading Perez Hilton's blog 5 times a week, but still. The only thing that disturbs me more than that photo is the fact that Kim Kardashian gets paid $20,000 for every episode of Keeping Up With The Kardashians.
I know.
What?! $20,000?! And I get a measly 6 bucks an hour? Now, I'm not saying I'm more entertaining or talented than Kim Kardashian, nor that I should be getting paid upwards of $20,000 a day to sweep up hair, but...no, wait. That's EXACTLY what I'm saying.
Moving on.
This weekend was Janey du Toit's long-awaited 21st party. Which, in true Janey-style, she decided to make a surprise. Only not for herself - but for everyone else. Brilliant. And I'm not just saying that because (behind Disco music, energy drinks and men in uniform) surprise parties might just be my favourite thing on the planet. I'm also saying it because it means last Saturday night, I unexpectedly found myself HERE. Absinthe Salon. The Salon That Serves Nothing But Absinthe. Which - for those of you playing at home - is German for Fucking Insane. Large quantities of high-percentage alcohol have never been so much fun; especially since between the two of them, Dante and The Navy Man seemed determined to sample everything on the menu. After just one drink, they decided to purchase an entire bottle together. After two, they wanted an Absinthe fountain. By the third, I'm pretty sure one of them had proposed marriage. And the other one may have been pregnant.
Good times.
After that, we ventured south (?) of Elizabeth Street for what Jane called 'The Best Chinese Food In Sydney', and then back to Dante's apartment for a game of (what else?) King's Cup. And that, boys and girls, is where the night ended. Not really, but for the sake of my parents, who are probably reading this blog, let's just say it is.
Tuesday, July 06, 2010
25 Things
Yes, it's another blog. That's three in one day. Jane, I can hear the sound of you thanking the universe that I'm sick enough to be stuck in bed with only my computer for entertainment from over here.
You're welcome.
Anyway. Does anyone remember when it was totally cool to fill out and re-post those '25 Things You Never Knew About Me' notes on Facebook?
...
Yeah, neither do I. Still, about a year and a half ago, I found myself filling one out. Let's take a trip down memory lane, shall we?
1) I love Wentworth Miller. Though why I'm putting this in here I'm not really sure, since anyone who knows me already knows this. I do love him though. I am head over heels. People say to me 'are you totally crushed that Prison Break has been cancelled?'. And I am. I am crushed. But you know what, Wentworth Miller not being in Prison Break anymore means there is more chance of him being in a movie, and coming to Australia to scout talent. And then he'll find me. So I'm not SO crushed.
Wow, this WAS a long time ago. I'm not saying I don't still find Wentworth Miller extremely attractive, nor that I'm not still crushed that Prison Break was cancelled. And I'm also not implying that a certain Naval Officer has anything to do with it, but...Wentworth who?
2) I'm a Disco Freak. Like that. With the capital letters and everything. If I had myself a time machine, I'd travel back to the 70's and get my dance on at Studio 54. For real, yo. I love Disco so much I type it with a capital D. I'd like to take Disco out; show it a good time. Buy it dinner, take it home and fool around with it a little. See? Disco Freak.
While I may have cooled off on Wentworth Miller, Disco will always be the love of my life. Only now I think if I took Disco out to dinner, we might do a little more than fool around afterwards, if you know what I mean. Things might get crazy, if you know what I mean. I'd ask Disco to marry me, if you know what I mean.
3) I invented The Celebrity Doppelganger Theory. The Theory is that everybody - everybody in the world - has a celebrity that looks like them. At least a little bit. And it doesn't have to be the way you currently look; for example, my sister's CD (Celebrity Doppelganger, see how I shortened it?) is Adam Sandler's kid Sadie, who is like 3. But she looks the way Catherine looked when SHE was 3. So it works - get it?
I'm still proud of The CDGT. And I still think it works. AND I still think I'm getting a Nobel Peace Prize for it. Jacki Trew: Insane Since 1990.
4) I'm a tiny bit insane.
A tiny bit? I undersold myself.
5) I'm an "I Love You' whore - I give it away too easily. There aren't many things I don't love, but there are lots of things that don't love me.
Did I really write this in 2009? I lied!
6) I have 2 alter-egos called Christie Angel and Winnifred Jones. Christie Angel has a boyfriend called Chris Amf-Bowling and does magic tricks that will blow your freaking mind-hole. Winnifred Jones stays up til 5am and sleeps until 2 in the afternoon.
Christie Angel still blows my mind-hole from time to time. Since I started working full-time, I don't get to see so much of Winnifred Jones. Except on Sundays. Sunday is Winnifred Jones day.
7) I can't drive. I used to say 'Oh, I could drive, I just don't want to'. Then I had my first driving lesson. Now its 'I can't drive'.
Oh, hey, is there anyone who didn't know this yet - I GOT MY P'S!! Admittedly, though, the whole not-being-able-to-drive-very-well thing is still totally true. I'm not saying I'm the WORST driver on the road...but if that guy dies, then yeah, I'm taking the trophy.
8) I was named after Jackie O, but there's no 'e' on the end of my name. Do you hear me? THERE IS NO 'E'.
There is never, has never been and WILL NEVER BE an e.
9) I am more scared of sharks in my pool than in the actual ocean. I've only ever met one other person who shares this fear. I think I have to marry her.
Now that I know the truth about dolphins, my irrational fear of pool-sharks has been rendered tame. I mean, how would YOU rather die?
10) Between the two of us, my sister and I have had almost every hairstyle its possible to have, including mohawks, bobs, and crazy curly hair down to the backs of our knees.
And when I finally muster up the courage to shave Catherine's head in her sleep one night, we can tick one more look off the list.
11) I have the same birthday as Osama Bin Laden, Sharon Stone and Chuck Norris.
And this just in - That Chick Who Once Played A Lesbian On The OC!!
12) The funnest thing I ever did was live in a house in Seattle for 2 weeks with Mel, Mai and 5 crazy college boys. Well, that, or The Quest For Wentworth
I think it's going to be a while before I do anything that'll knock these two out of first place.
13) My favourite song in the whole world is Midnight Train by Journey. If I ever get married, I'm going to dance my first dance to that song.
There, that's it. If I end up dancing my first dance to Midnight Train...THAT will be the funnest thing I ever did.
14) After I read Gone With the Wind, I took our bathroom curtains down and made a dress out of them. If you don't understand that, you need to go buy a copy of Gone With the Wind. Really. Do it now. You can finish reading this some other time.
I wholly agree with my past self. Read it. Read it now!
15) On the final assembly of year 6, I was given an award for 'sheer craziness' - I am not even kidding. I still have it.
I guess Mr Fitzpatrick really knew what he was talking about.
16) I'm impulsive. Sometimes I am way too impulsive. Example: I got my first 2 tattoos within like a month. Then I got a third one because 'my second one felt lonely'.
That's true! The fourth, fifth and sixth though, those were TOTALLY different.
17) My favourite thing to do in the whole world is make people laugh.
This will probably go on my tombstone. Well...this, or something about anal sex being funny.
18) When I grow up I want to live on a laneway called Fast Lane, because then people could say to me 'Hey, hows life in the Fast Lane?'
I wonder if theres a Fast Lane in Panama?
19) There are 7 people in the phone book with the same last name as me, and they are all in my family. Oh yeah. We're slowly taking over the world.
We're probably up to 10 by now.
20) When I was a baby, I looked like Ryan from The OC. I mean it. And it didn't help that my mother dressed me in a tiny little wifebeater. Not kidding - I have photos.
I said I had photos, and I deliver:
Ha! This isn't true. I mean, maybe it ONCE was, but I'm pretty sure Nicole Kidman reads my blog now. And thinks I'm awesome.
You're welcome.
Anyway. Does anyone remember when it was totally cool to fill out and re-post those '25 Things You Never Knew About Me' notes on Facebook?
...
Yeah, neither do I. Still, about a year and a half ago, I found myself filling one out. Let's take a trip down memory lane, shall we?
25 Things You Never Knew About Jacki Trew, Or Did Know But Pretended Not To Know Because They Weren't Worth Knowing...With Commentary By Jacki Trew.
1) I love Wentworth Miller. Though why I'm putting this in here I'm not really sure, since anyone who knows me already knows this. I do love him though. I am head over heels. People say to me 'are you totally crushed that Prison Break has been cancelled?'. And I am. I am crushed. But you know what, Wentworth Miller not being in Prison Break anymore means there is more chance of him being in a movie, and coming to Australia to scout talent. And then he'll find me. So I'm not SO crushed.
Wow, this WAS a long time ago. I'm not saying I don't still find Wentworth Miller extremely attractive, nor that I'm not still crushed that Prison Break was cancelled. And I'm also not implying that a certain Naval Officer has anything to do with it, but...Wentworth who?
2) I'm a Disco Freak. Like that. With the capital letters and everything. If I had myself a time machine, I'd travel back to the 70's and get my dance on at Studio 54. For real, yo. I love Disco so much I type it with a capital D. I'd like to take Disco out; show it a good time. Buy it dinner, take it home and fool around with it a little. See? Disco Freak.
While I may have cooled off on Wentworth Miller, Disco will always be the love of my life. Only now I think if I took Disco out to dinner, we might do a little more than fool around afterwards, if you know what I mean. Things might get crazy, if you know what I mean. I'd ask Disco to marry me, if you know what I mean.
3) I invented The Celebrity Doppelganger Theory. The Theory is that everybody - everybody in the world - has a celebrity that looks like them. At least a little bit. And it doesn't have to be the way you currently look; for example, my sister's CD (Celebrity Doppelganger, see how I shortened it?) is Adam Sandler's kid Sadie, who is like 3. But she looks the way Catherine looked when SHE was 3. So it works - get it?
I'm still proud of The CDGT. And I still think it works. AND I still think I'm getting a Nobel Peace Prize for it. Jacki Trew: Insane Since 1990.
4) I'm a tiny bit insane.
A tiny bit? I undersold myself.
5) I'm an "I Love You' whore - I give it away too easily. There aren't many things I don't love, but there are lots of things that don't love me.
Did I really write this in 2009? I lied!
6) I have 2 alter-egos called Christie Angel and Winnifred Jones. Christie Angel has a boyfriend called Chris Amf-Bowling and does magic tricks that will blow your freaking mind-hole. Winnifred Jones stays up til 5am and sleeps until 2 in the afternoon.
Christie Angel still blows my mind-hole from time to time. Since I started working full-time, I don't get to see so much of Winnifred Jones. Except on Sundays. Sunday is Winnifred Jones day.
7) I can't drive. I used to say 'Oh, I could drive, I just don't want to'. Then I had my first driving lesson. Now its 'I can't drive'.
Oh, hey, is there anyone who didn't know this yet - I GOT MY P'S!! Admittedly, though, the whole not-being-able-to-drive-very-well thing is still totally true. I'm not saying I'm the WORST driver on the road...but if that guy dies, then yeah, I'm taking the trophy.
8) I was named after Jackie O, but there's no 'e' on the end of my name. Do you hear me? THERE IS NO 'E'.
There is never, has never been and WILL NEVER BE an e.
9) I am more scared of sharks in my pool than in the actual ocean. I've only ever met one other person who shares this fear. I think I have to marry her.
Now that I know the truth about dolphins, my irrational fear of pool-sharks has been rendered tame. I mean, how would YOU rather die?
10) Between the two of us, my sister and I have had almost every hairstyle its possible to have, including mohawks, bobs, and crazy curly hair down to the backs of our knees.
And when I finally muster up the courage to shave Catherine's head in her sleep one night, we can tick one more look off the list.
11) I have the same birthday as Osama Bin Laden, Sharon Stone and Chuck Norris.
And this just in - That Chick Who Once Played A Lesbian On The OC!!
12) The funnest thing I ever did was live in a house in Seattle for 2 weeks with Mel, Mai and 5 crazy college boys. Well, that, or The Quest For Wentworth
I think it's going to be a while before I do anything that'll knock these two out of first place.
13) My favourite song in the whole world is Midnight Train by Journey. If I ever get married, I'm going to dance my first dance to that song.
There, that's it. If I end up dancing my first dance to Midnight Train...THAT will be the funnest thing I ever did.
14) After I read Gone With the Wind, I took our bathroom curtains down and made a dress out of them. If you don't understand that, you need to go buy a copy of Gone With the Wind. Really. Do it now. You can finish reading this some other time.
I wholly agree with my past self. Read it. Read it now!
15) On the final assembly of year 6, I was given an award for 'sheer craziness' - I am not even kidding. I still have it.
I guess Mr Fitzpatrick really knew what he was talking about.
16) I'm impulsive. Sometimes I am way too impulsive. Example: I got my first 2 tattoos within like a month. Then I got a third one because 'my second one felt lonely'.
That's true! The fourth, fifth and sixth though, those were TOTALLY different.
17) My favourite thing to do in the whole world is make people laugh.
This will probably go on my tombstone. Well...this, or something about anal sex being funny.
18) When I grow up I want to live on a laneway called Fast Lane, because then people could say to me 'Hey, hows life in the Fast Lane?'
I wonder if theres a Fast Lane in Panama?
19) There are 7 people in the phone book with the same last name as me, and they are all in my family. Oh yeah. We're slowly taking over the world.
We're probably up to 10 by now.
20) When I was a baby, I looked like Ryan from The OC. I mean it. And it didn't help that my mother dressed me in a tiny little wifebeater. Not kidding - I have photos.
I said I had photos, and I deliver:
Ha! This isn't true. I mean, maybe it ONCE was, but I'm pretty sure Nicole Kidman reads my blog now. And thinks I'm awesome.
22) Don't you think the voiceover at the train station sounds like Gretel Killeen?
I still maintain that this is true. It's not such a crazy thought, you know. She did get fired from Big Brother...
23) My biggest secret is that I love everything banana flavoured but I hate bananas
It's not such a secret anymore, is it?
24) When I was 6 years old, I was totally in love with Maxwell Sheffield. You know, from The Nanny? What a hunk, right?! That distinguished grey patch in his hair really did it for me. Yowzer!
Give me a break, okay? I hardly watched ANYTHING on TV apart from The Nanny. I had a very small sample of potential husbands.
And finally...
25) www.jackiiscrazy.blogspot.com
Still true. Always still true.
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