Sunday, April 18
11:28 am
follow the killer rabbit
you know, watching monty python again makes me realise how much i've grown. where past pet would have laughed, present pet (otherwise known as 'pet') simply cocks a jaded eyebrow and... oh who am i kidding? that show rocks like a fogged up car on a saturday night. plus: dvd extras! i am agog with geeker joy. oh daniel you old sod, where have you disappeared to? singalongs with the benedictine monks just aren't the same without you.
today's theme, if it hasn't already been made clear, is random blasts from the past.
so, the 3 hour post-crim chat with Wyn was a swirling maelstrom of fun. raging paranoia always gives that added oomph to a conversation, y'know? and here of course i refer to the unpleasant news regarding control groups in the gep. what's that, you say? well, word on the highly esoteric (read: dweeby) grapevine is that They dumped some non-qualifiers into the gep, while leaving a qualified few out as part of a control group to test the extent of the program's worth. damn Them for fueling the suspicions i've had all along! still, it's great to finally have an explanation for the presence of certain lurching troglodytes in the program. now if only we could find one for diane tucker.
and to convert any remaining unbelievers out there as to my gep related square peggedness, i have to say, i'm genuinely looking forward to the premiere of mean girls. oh, come on, what's not to adore? bitchy girls, bitching in pink! you hoard that shameful love like you do the bring it on dvd, admit it. and while you're at it, own up, those of you who didn't get the horatio thing. yeah, keep those hands up while i count.
really, you'd think that exam woes would feature somewhere in this post. but since the only story i can think of right now involves the unfortunate sentence "i'm a stress pooer" as an opener, i think we'll just skip that and segue nicely into New Class Trepidation instead. no small wonder i'm feeling this way, because as far as classes go, you could do a lot worse than the one i got. not to get mired in the mush, but i'm gonna miss the hell outta you guys. and by "guys", i mean "people who have never once attempted to molest my scalp" (i don't even count the other one as part of the class, so yeah). no worries though, we've still got that love boat/amazing race hybrid contest to look forward to.
and in the sibilant sentence of the day,
my class kicks your class's ass!
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Saturday, April 10
1:07 pm
next up: round the bend
so rock climbing was fun and a half. the best female climbing buddies, i think, are slightly giggly, but not giggly enough to venture into "what do you mean it's dangerous to let go like that? i almost broke a nail! my manicure was in danger!" territory. in other words, the best female climbing buddies are those that can climb, just not better than you. the best male climbing buddies are those that are poor enough at math to not realise that
male + many(females) + rock climbing = male + belaying + all the damn time.
i had the best climbing buddies!
despite the all female entourage (i've got my eye on The Prom Prince for next time though. shh!), and the occasional venture into nail-break territory ("ooh, ooh, i want a picture of me on the way down!", "i feel like a grand piano!", "okay, now belayers strike a pose!"), all of us managed to make it, at very least, up wall 5 more than once, which is more than what i can say for the guys beside us. guys? it's really embarrassing to get shown up by a bunch of girls, especially when the girls in question include Mrs. Polar née UN Diplomat and her masseuse-manager friend L.
Snookums and i got stuck belaying the rock climbing virgins, and i must say, i was seriously fighting the urge to yell, "put on a few marriage pounds there, haven't you?" up to Mrs. Polar. i kid, i only flew a metre off the ground when she let go because she's taller and therefore bigger. put away the knife, honey!
anyhow, this morning i pranced to the mirror upon waking and to my disappointment i didn't look half as muscly as i felt. and here the definition of feeling muscly is "knowing that muscles are there because they sure as hell ache like they're there". oh well. i'm all excited about climbing again but next week is water week (wakeboarding... echh) and i'm facing a definite lack of climbing buddies. anyone?
speaking of muscles, the topic for today is superpowers, and the want of. i desire the ability to make days Days. you know, the same superpower that companies like hallmark seem to possess ("Happy Bipolar Thrice-Divorced Grandmother's Day!"). come to think of it, i believe governments across the world have already obtained and are masters of that power. witness: international year of the family. year, no less.
oh grand masters, take this little grasshopper in so she may learn from the best.
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Thursday, April 8
9:58 pm
interlude
LamarTheShirtless (1:09 AM) :
giggling schoolchildren that we were..trying to trick Ms. M into doing the name game with "chuck"
estellathemilkythighedmaiden (1:10 AM) :
and now, as adults? we try and get em to do it with "horatio".
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Sunday, April 4
12:50 am
get down with your bad self
so, okay, like, some people? have like, told me to be less mean, and like, cheer up a bit? so after i like, totally raged at them and got over the hating myself, i decided, hey pet! they're right! you like, totally need to find the fun.
so like, instead of like, talking about the things that like, totally cheese me off? i'm going to talk about nails! 'cos like, mine? are so totally awesome! they're like, black, with pink and white polka dots on them? i mean, trendsetting much?
my brain aches, so that's enough of that. but just so you know, my nails really are black, with pink and white polka dots. and they are damn hell awesome.
ns needs to stop hassling me to umpire their Games of Evil Death. process it already: what you pay is not enough to make up for the inevitable hatred that will be directed my way if i agree to umpire for, say, nsl. you'd think umpiring a netball game would be less bile inducing than refereeing any rugby match. so not true. the rugby pitch is simply too big to hear or see the players (not the best promotion of my refereeing skills, i'm aware), and the coaches and idiot spectators sound and look like the tiny, insignificant, screechy specks they are. not so for netball! sometimes, coaches and idiot spectators stand inches behind you and feel that they should be umpiring instead. because, you know, those umpires only have two eyes and penalize our players for infringements we've never heard of, the incompetent fools.
i need a device that blares out appropriate phrases at offending parties. like FUCK OFF and GET A LIFE and GO FOR AN UMPIRING COURSE ALREADY. and as long as i'm dreaming, this device should also have a tracker that would trace offending parties from their blogs and smack them alongside their heads.
speaking of rugby, the highlight of my sad, sad week was procuring a new rugby ball. in the melee that was rugby zone finals (primary), no one noticed a small girl making off with her new pal gilbert. oh, the sru is a stingy sumbitch so stop looking at me like that.
and i know i've said this before, but cab drivers have a special hell set aside for them. one where the roads are lined with senior citizens driving at 10 below the speed limit, and every bend is littered with lawsuit-happy lawyers in big, expensive cars.
paul theroux is the guy i'm going to bed with tonight, and you seriously have to wonder why it isn't mill or hart or some other old man that will help in my monthly ohshitohshitit'sdueintenminutesandican'tgetacab ritual tomorrow.
No Old Masters existed in our museums, but we had Turner sunsets and Titian heavens, and I remarked that at least the world's clouds have not changed in the planet's history - sometimes I imagined our skies as Renaissance ceilings.
and i thought i was the only one who did that.
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Saturday, April 3
10:00 pm
this one's for all the ugly girls!
in defiance, once again, of all things good and wise, i was watching miss singapore universe; amazingly enough, this year something actually managed to distract me from focusing my considerable capacity for castigation on dense and dogfaced contestants.
kudos to a certain emcee (let's just call her "bitchelle bhoring") for proving to the world (as much as the audience of miss singapore universe may be considered "the world") that you can have a face like a frying pan, a voice like an illiterate gargling marbles, no capacity for witty repertoire whatsoever, and still get a job hosting a major event on primetime tv.
well, i'm sure it's a huge challenge, repeating the last word in gurmit's every sentence and laughing at your own "jokes", given that you have no discernible talent to begin with. just that you make it look so easy! oh, but you know what's not easy? making gurmit look like the intelligent one. so congratulations, bitchelle, for accomplishing so much in the space of two hours.
seriously, though. what does it say when every other presenter on the show speaks more intelligently and/or amusingly than both hosts (re: the 30 seconds of banter between that nora chick and andrea de cruz; all of the people that submitted questions for the q&a portion, including the seriously uncute primary 1 kid)?
in other news, you'll see i've taken the features section down. the tribe has spoken. and what with the cessation of boring classes, the need for pacman has lessened somewhat. besides, i've finally found a nifty script that randomly generates the crap i wrote for the "about" section to fill the gaping hole that pacman left. that a/s/l shit is just so passé, i tell you what you really need to know about me. so go ahead, click on that refresh button - i've included 13 snazzy facts so far. collect them all! trade them with your friends! start a drinking game! just remember to wash your hands after!
and the lesson for today, kiddos, is: never play chicken on a tiny two-man sailboat. sure, it's all fun and games till someone loses a torso. canvas-wise, the wind's been just peachy, though i have to ask - singing christopher cross's sailing while actually sailing is so incredibly lame that it's gone right round and emerged as cool, right?
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