My awesome dream.

I had a dream that I'd gone "into town" to buy some paint brushes, a magazine and Simon Pegg's autobiography. While waiting to catch the bus back home, I realise I am staring at Edgar Wright. Like, RIGHT IN THE FACE. I get embarrassed and try to be cool about the fact that Edgar Wright is waiting for a bus at my bus stop. The bus comes, we get on the bus and I go to sit right up the back and next to the window. Edgar Wright also decides to sit up the back but near the other window. There I am, sitting awkwardly, clutching my plastic bag of paint brushes and shit until one end of one of the paintbrushes tears through the plastic bag. Edgar Wright looks annoyed. I had been wondering if I should say something to him but I'm too scared now. I pissed off Edgar Wright D:

Then I think about it. I have one of my most favourite directors, sitting a meter away from me and I'm not going to say anything? Really Joyeeta? Really? It was, for some reason, really important to me that he know how much his work has meant to me and how much joy they've given me when I thought nothing could make me feel better. "Um... excuse me?" I say. Edgar Wright looks at me tiredly. "Can I tell you something?" I ask, completely petrified now.
"Is it something I've heard before?"
"Sorry?"
"Is it something I've already heard from someone else?" This guy was starting to sound like a dick.
"Like what?" I ask.
"Like, I'm your biggest fan, can I have an autograph? A picture? The clothes Of your back? Rah rah rah."
"Well, I'd never say I'm your biggest fan because I've never been able to sit through a Star Wars film but most people who are fond of you, Simon Pegg and Nick Frost love it or if they don't love it, they'll make an attempt to love it. I just wanted to say that Shaun of the Dead is one of those movies that make me laugh and feel good when I feel like huge pile of shit and the amount love and care you put into Spaced makes me feel wonderful. That's all." I feel like I'm going to hurl and turn to face the window, all shaking and shit. Edgar Wright is a dick.

"What've you got in your bag?" Edgar Wright asks. I can't say anything, I am too mortified. "I can see Simon's book in there, have you read any of it?" I shake my head. "It's complete bollocks." Edgar Wright says. We're laughing and he offers to put my stuff in his bag because mine is torn. Then suddenly, fuck me dead, Simon Pegg and Nick Frost get on the bus and come and sit up the back. I am really really going to throw up now. Simon Pegg sits next to me, he has got his Shaun of the Dead costume on and I want his babies. He's got red on him. "He's in the shittest mood." says Nick Frost. I want to sit next to Nick Frost. He looks really nice and Simon Pegg is making me all sorts of nervous. Here the dream is kind of blurry. I think the three of them were talking to each other about movie things and I just tried to stay conscious. The three of them got off at the same bus stop and Edgar Wright handed me back my stuff in my ripped bag and told me he'd find me on twitter.

I get home and I realise Simon Pegg's book had fallen out of my shitty bag and a couple of paint brushes were missing. I'm a bit sad about the book but at least I got to meet three of my most fave peeps evz. I hop on twitter to tell the world about it and there's a DM from Edgar Wright saying he found my paintbrushes in his bag and did I want to pick them up from his place. HELLZ YES I DID.

I go to Edgar Wright's house and he's playing with a bunch of kids. Are they his? Iono. Does he have kids irl? Anyway, he gives me my paintbrushes and asks how I'm liking Nerd Do Well and I tell him all sadfase-ly that I lost it. He then takes out a $100 note and says "Well, we'll just have to get you the super extra awesome embossed edition! Let's go buy shit!"

And then I woke up with the biggest shit eating grin on my face. LE SIGH! It had felt so real. If only :c

Ambrosio

I'm writing an essay on a literary character who, because he was separated from his mother as a child, can't differentiate between motherly love and erotic love. He projects a maternal image onto women he finds sexually attractive which in turn creates severe sexual displacement and he ends up killing them since they obviously can't give him the kind of mother/son relationship he's looking for.

Not sure if it's fitting or just plain sick that it's Mother's Day today. BYE!

"Why do you wear dead people's clothes?"

This is a question my father asks me frequently because of my love for op-shopping. A love he loathes. It's so much more fun than normal shopping though! In a normal shop you look at racks and racks of the same clothes and then, with me anyway, they either fit awkwardly or don't fit at all and then I leave frustrated out of my wits. Don't get me wrong; I'll buy a cute basic shirt from temt (yeah, I know), a basic solid dress from Kmart (I KNOW, I KNOW) and definitely pants come from your everyday stores but I get way more excited going bargain hunting in weird smelling stores with old ladies in odd jumpers, sitting behind the counter.

I have to confess, however, that I'm not especially good at op-shopping. My skillz have improved, yes, but I have spent much moniez on stuff I don't wear because it looked "interesting" at the time but then I have nothing to wear it with or it wasn't really that great to begin with. And that's the thing with thrifting/op-shopping/whatever-you want-to-call-it, sometimes I have a vague idea of what I want but most of the times I'll walk in, something will catch my and I'll just buy it and figure out what I want to do with it later. THAT IS FUN! Is it not? Is it not?

There are only three op-shops in Albury and they are mostly over priced. I've heard that over the bridge, in Wodonga, there's a glorious GIANT Salvo's simply WAITING to be pillaged. I shall investigate this soon! Oh, and one other problem: I have found some very unique and totally awesome pieces but I am afraid of wearing them in Albury. I generally don't like to draw attention to myself in any way and wearing the awesome massive bright red pants that I found for a dollar to work or uni would certainly garner looks I am not ready to deal with. I can't wait to graduate and move away! :) (Oh, I yearn for the day I will actually sound twenty-two and not eighteen!)

Okay, so, this is supposed to be an outfit post. Urghhh. I feel like a tool doing this and not because I think badly of outfit posts. I love outfit posts and maybe I kind of feel like the stuff I wear is not really worth showing. BUT ANYWAY WHATEVER SHUT UP, JOYEETA.

Here's what I wore to werq today:

 

 I really like this dress. Sometimes it looks like a van Gogh painting to me. See how the swirly blue-toned colours are playing with little twirls of yellow and white (<-- technical "art" speak)? Pretty! It's actually a skirt that came with a green jacket-y/blazer thing (that I haven't worn yet) and I was going to have it taken up but inspiration struck and now it has become one of my very favourite dresses :) I think this is where I break down my outfit and stuff...

Dress: thrifted skirt worn as a dress.

Belt: awesome fishie belt also thrifted. I'm going to post a close-up picture of it and you mightn't be able to see it but the buckle is a bright gold and enamel with swirly cream coloured eyes and fins and kind of sparkly. I dunno. It's pretty great though.

Cardigan: I bought this from a place called Bongo Bazaar in Bangladesh which is sort of like Trade Secrets but instead of a store it's more like a labyrinth of stalls and there is much haggling thus making it a bajillion times cheaper than Trade Secrets! I wear it alllllll the timeeeeeeee. So comfy and basic and it goes with errthang. (note: sometimes I break into misguided ebonics)

Tights:  probably from Safeway (I'm probs breaking some sort of cardinal rule of outfit blogging by admitting I buy hosiery from Safeway).

Shoes: I got them at Bakers from when I went to America. It was a last minute very haphazard purchase but I loves them nao :D

Earrings: not visible in the picture but I wore unicorn earrings from Diva.

Shall we take a gander at some close ups? (Yes, we shall)

Kinda van Gogh-y, non?

I can't rotate this for some reason. stupid technology! :(

It's nothing extraordinary but most of this outfit was super cheap and just kinda pretty and stuff. Man. Now I feel like it's totes boring. WHATEVER, I NEED TO STOP BEING SO NEUROTIC CAPSLOCK! Also, Excuse the hair.

OH, I stayed up late and watched Avatar for the first time (half of it anyway) and I haz muy regretz because not only was it terrible but it made me a zombie for work and then I undercharged a lady and everything was going wrong so then I just read a book and waited for 4pm and had awesome e-mail times with my twin-frandship Michael who is probably reading this. HI MICHAEL!

Anyhoodlink, I have to go eat some fried sweet potatoes now. BYE!

His heart was a purple castle

Little Jean-Baptiste
Drunk as a skunk
Face down on
A purple couch

Little Jean-Baptiste
The private Jean-Baptiste
Prince of muck
Said it was so

Little Jean-Baptiste
Drowning in fog
Vomited himself
Back to the world

Little Jean-Baptiste
The silent tick
Compass nose
Scentless soul

Little Jean-Baptiste
John the frog
Cloaked himself to
Fool the world

I've never worn a bikini...

In fact, I haven't worn a swimsuit of any kind since I was *thinks* twelve. Maybe thirteen. There were two main reasons for this: firstly, my crippling self-consciousness and secondly, my parents insisted that I COVER. UP. Not because they were worried about skin cancer or other forms of sun damage; it was all a matter of modesty. They were hardcore. I used to have to wear baggy t-shirts and vests OVER them because I had DDs by the time I started high school and breasts are shameful, don'tcha know? MOULDED BY THE VERY HANDS OF SATAN HIMSELF. Even now my mum looks at me in disgust and shakes her head like it's my fault I have G-cup monstrosities on my chest that have given me unsightly strech marks and back pains so severe, sometimes I can't sleep at night. I HAVE GROWN THESE BOULDERS JUST TO SPITE YOU MOTHER! HA HA HA! (I realise this whole paragraph makes me sound super deranged and affected but I am used to the looks and all that so most of this is just in jest) Anyway, I can't even swim really, so what's the point of putting on a swimsuit to DROWN in? There you go, fun fact about me: I cannot swim very well. DESPITE MY VERY OWN FLOTATION DEVICES! TROLOLOLOLOLOLOOO! I don't enjoy my breasts. Just sayin'. Also, while I'm just sayin', even though I can't swim too well, I LOVE the beach and I have a very weak spot for the ocean. That point of note is kind of relevant to the next part of the post.

I grew naturally what Heidi Montag/Pratt/Whatever more or less sold her soul for.

The reason I bring up bikinis is because today at work, a tall and considerably handsome man in a lifeguard's uniform swaggered up to the counter and made eyes at me as my mother watched on. My mum came in and we were having a merry time chatting about nothing because no one was coming in at all and I was super bored. It's winter; who the fuck wants to buy sunnies in this kind of weather? Anyway, this guy comes up to me and this is the conversation that followed:
Me: Hey there, can I help you?
Him: Probably *flashes obviously-fixed-by-braces teeth*
Me: ... yes?
Him: Have you seen a show called Bondi Rescue?
Me: No, I haven't. (I have. Once.)
Him: Really? Don't you watch TV?
Me: No, I don't *sadly shaking my head* (I do. Sometimes. I mostly watch Neighbours and I Dream of Jeannie. Rest of my shows I watch on the interwebs like everyone else!)
Him: Well, it's a great show and we're looking for people to be in it *leans onto counter* wanna be on our show? 
At this point my mind does that J.D.-esque internal monologue slash crazy vision thing and I see myself in a red polka dotted two-piece, flailing about like an idiot in the sand, doing bizarrely vulgar poses. I have no idea why.
Me: No, thank you.
Him: *looks at me like I am crazy* Aw, why?
Me: I'm not a beach-y person. (OH BUT I AM! Remember what I said before about loving the beach and the ocean?!! OMG!)

Lifeguards: Type A

Lifeguards: Type B

I feel bad for disappointing the pretty man who thought he could charm me into buying raffle tickets. Apparently he was selling raffle tickets but I never got offered any. I think it may have had something to do with me saying NO to pretty much everything he said or asked. But then it got me thinking, there are often good looking guys promoting something or asking for money for one thing or the other and I feel like with girls like me (and by "me" I mean someone brown who isn't as awesome or pretty as Mindy Kaling Dx) and average people (average people are better than me, you guise, and extraordinary people will be the death of me), they lay it on thickkkkkk. It's like they're oozing "oooooh baby" from their very pores! It's gross and kind of insulting because it's almost like they think not only can they manipulate our sexual urges for their own purposes but are in fact doing us a favour by letting us think that we have a chance with them. When they approach "hot girls" though, the flirting is a lot less condescending. Even the trace of superiority in their smile is gone. Man, those I-know-I'm-out-of-your-league smiles. What is with those? They sometimes hurt my feelings but I am mostly used to them. I observe these things and then I annoy myself that I paid attention in the first place.

There was a two hour pause after the last paragraph where I sang many a Linkin Park song with my brother. Songs mostly from Hybrid Theory. I don't really listen to them any more but from the age of thirteen to about seventeen I was a girl obsessed. Linkin Park was my life, my love, my soul, my everything.

Heroes

I can't even begin to say how much I loved and adored them. Each album gained or purchased was a truly precious object. The first listen of an album was done in reverential silence and existed as a solitary experience. And yes, I'd cry doing it. Shuddup :/ I had mad love fo' shawty, on the real. I watched their DVDs over and over again, beyond obsessively. I dreamt of marrying Mike Shinoda. Once on the radio I won tickets to see them at the Livid Festival and my dad wouldn't let me go. I cried for a month and couldn't eat or sleep for ages after that. Around that time, one morning, I woke up with the biggest grin on my face because I'd had a dream that I was backstage at a LP concert and I was watching Chester sing the bridge of Papercut (2:09 on the video). I can still remember it. I could see the back of him, sweat pouring from his skinny little frame and a massive spotlight right on him as if he was singing right to god, if there was one. I woke up, so happy and exhilarated but then I realised it was a dream and that was THAT. Sadness.

 

I loved Hybrid Theory, Reanimation and Meteora but then they did that Collision Course thing with Jay-Z and it all just went downhill from there (they made songs to serenade The Baynis. COME ON!) and I stopped listening and grew the fuck up. It was sad to leave my youth behind but it's kind of amazing how not listening to LP was an instant lesson in maturity. Because at the end of the day they were whiny, complain-y suburban boys with no real background in hard-knockage (except for Chester). Most of them are musically pretty talented but I think they are kind of stuck in a weird tacky bubble of adolescence. I dunno.

Sell outs

Wow, this randomly turned into a post about Linkin Park. Totes unintentional. I'd just like to say that while my taste in music has improved drastically, I sometimes listen to them. I think they probably classify as a guilty pleasure but I think we can all agree that nostalgia is sometimes the safest place to hide and the best kind of comfort. Sometimes :)

Hopefully next time I will write about things more interesting than terrible music from the 00s and my tits. BYE!

I'm movin' to the country, I'm gonna eat a lotta peaches.

I'm writing a short story right now and its working title is King. I'm sure it won't give anything away but I have found this one hit wonder weirdly inspiring.

Blogging: round 2

So, I should try this again since I have a writing class this semester.