Tuesday, March 28
Apparently, it's considered a crime on the 'lower end of the scale' when a man touches a female's breast.
Breast or not, cultural difference notwithstanding, i think the Victorian magistrate has gotten it wrong for once. It sends out the wrong signals to would-be molesters and sexual offenders in Victoria.
While i'm at it, i'm going to head out and find myself a breast to grab.
Coming from Singapore, i can claim a cultural difference too.
So, anyone wants their breast to be grabbed at?
Monday, March 27
If the title didn't make any sense to you, please stop reading.
On the way home from work last week, i was walking behind this bloke with the top end of the Decepticon tatoo sticking out behind his tee. I stopped him and talked about his tatoo for abit. Turns out his mate's a tatoo artist in Europe, he's a Transformers fan, he wanted a Decepticon tat and bang! Free-of-charge. Meh, why can't i have friends like him.
What a cool bloke. Journeys home at 11.30pm should always be like this.
I hate fat people. They're inconsiderate.
On my way to uni last morning week, i was presented with the oasis of an empty seat in a packed tram. We all know what it's like in rush hour traffic. Everyone's trying to save the world and the world ends tomorrow. So like what every other civic-conscious Melburnian would do, i sat down. Fuck the old fogies, the handicapped or the pregnants. I saw the seat first.
That was my big mistake numero uno. Mistake number two was not standing up and leave.
You see, i'd sat next to this fat excuse of a human being. For the entire journey i was hanging half my posterior off the seat. If i had sat on the inside against the window, i would have been squashed. Why go to the mosh pit when you have first-hand experience in the tram?
It hasn't been a good week for me and fat people. Last weekend at work i had a fat supervisor loafing around with her boobs hanging by her hips. Now it's a fat bloke acting like it's our fault that the seats aren't big enough.
There should be a fat form of public transport. A fat tram. A fat bus. A fat train. Skinny people (read: regular sized please, no upsize) like you and i will get on the regular bus. Where regular folks sit as and when they please. Without the fear of an uncomfortable buttock.
Them fat people won't just get on a fat vehicle. The vehicle has to be specially equipped and reinforced to accomodate fat people. You see, fat people have special needs. They think that it's the whole world's fault that everything isn't a McMansion, a McBook or a McToiletSeat. Why not just upsize everything when you're presented with an orgy of sizes in a supermarket? Why buy a 600ml apple juice when a 2 liter juice sits next to it? Why the 75ml yogurt when the 230ml yogurt's in the upper shelf? We already have large cars, large clothes and larger-than life personalities. Heck, we have blokes who're into fat porn.
To make the fat people's journey more exciting, the fat vehicle will be equipped with a 50inch big screen tv showing Australia's The Biggest Loser. On reruns. With highlights. On a side note, does anyone think that the host needs to lose some weight too?
Come to think of it, we're surrounded by fat people. We just choose to filter them out from our peripheral vision. Fat people are ungainly. Mostly, they smell. And they obscure our vision. They take up too much space.
Fat people are also really lucky. When they travel on a plane, they pay the same price as a skinny bloke like me on Economy class. What the fuck? Shouldn't they pay twice the price? Or thrice the price? Perhaps airlines should start charging excess body weight instead of excess baggage weight. That would ease the load of planes and potential delays with luggage.
And if you're really unlucky, you're seated next to a fat person on a direct flight to Los Angeles from Sydney. Fuck. The fat person's ass on your seat. You can't move as the pretty lady sitting next to you is fast asleep. What do you do? Don't even get me started if the fat person farts.
Skinny people should start standing for themselves. I say we start a movement to educate skinny people on their rights. For far too long fat people have had too many priveleges that only skinny people should have. Why must we pay 50 cents more for a large fries and Coke when we can't finish the meal itself? Why can't we reduce the price of the meal by 50 cents if we choose to DOWNsize the meal?
Why is everyone buying SUVs and MPVs when the family consists only of Father, Mother, Son and Dog? Whatever happened to the small cars that are road friendly and do not burn a hole in your wallet?
The world needs less fat people. I'm not asking for a diabolical change. It's not finding W.M.D in Iraq. It's just fat people.
Sunday, March 26
What really goes on in Greta's head? That pretty demeanour and blonde hair 'that goes on forever' must hide a secret or two. adrock2xander tries to decipher.
I got up this morning with my lover's arms around me. His morning breath had whispered 'Good Morning'. Music to my ears. If only he knew.
I stepped out of the shower naked, smelling like vanilla. He was still in bed, half-asleep. I open the curtains. The light fell onto his torso. Oh the delight. If only he knew.
I hate my wardrobe. What to wear? I hate mornings in the university. Everyone's so alert. I just want to laze in bed. With my lover. If only he knew.
If only he made me breakfast! I'm hungry. Does this orange top go well with my brown bag? Seth's class bores the hell out of me. The class has no direction. He looks so serious. Does he ever laugh? He looks like a psycopathic killer. Maybe he should grow some hair. Bald men scare me. I hate my lover's hairy arms. He should shave. If only he knew.
The walk to uni. Oh how i love living in college. All the brouhaha and hustle and bustle. I can still sleep in while my friends struggle with 7am wake ups. Waking up to my lover's loving cuddles. If only he knew.
What should i do with the money i made from selling the dress? eBay is awesome. It's a pretty dress. Hard to believe i've outgrown it. Am i fat? Why does my lover still want me then? Well is he lying just to please me? If only he knew.
Tuesday, March 21
After months of deliberation I'm shifting from dodgy Blogger to a more professional host. I've simply outgrown Blogger and the juvenile format. 2.5 years on Blogger is far too long to be experimenting with blogging. Time to be taken seriously and start my own domain.
I've started up a trial 30-day blog on TypePad. Outrageous. Beautiful. Misfit. Typepad Style. Should all go well i'll be moving on to full on to Quicktime videos and audio clips.
Of course the meat and potatoes of my blog, the text, will still exist. No fretting there readers.
Dearest Supervisor of MCG Retail outlet stall ##,
i hate it when you apologise to me when i'm trying to manouveur a carton of frozen chips and 4 large packets of processed hot dogs. The outlet is fucking swamped, we are undermanned, everything is in disarray, and your fat fucking arse, sagging boobs and swollen body is in my way. I can't get through.
Do not apologise to me when i say "Excuse me." It is not my fault that i can't get through. If you were slimmer like yesterday's supervisor, i would have cartwheeled through.
The chips need to be bucketed, the hotdogs need to be bagged, the coffees need to be made, and the customers are impatient. Seriously, lose some weight and you could perhaps do something useful instead of standing around acting all 'supervisory'.
Overworked and Underpaid
Sunday, March 19
adrock2xander found a meaning in life through school bullies in his early teens. He not only drew strength and inspiration from his traumatic experience, but used it to overcome a physical disability. This is his story.
"There was one card game in which I always came second best. My siblings and friends took the spoils as I struggled to say "S-s-s-s-s-s-s...nap!"
- Alan Badmington
Readers will be hard pressed to believe this, but i am a silent sufferer of stammering and stuttering.
Believe it or not, i was an incredibly shy and introverted kid. Growing up, and right through high school, i was often picked on, teased, beaten up and ignored due to my speech impediment.
I was 8 years old when i discovered i had problems speaking. I had stood up on my teacher's request to answer a question she had written on the blackboard. I remembered standing there, with the ethos in my mind, but my mouth and tongue was unable to translate thoughts from my neurons into speech. Curiously, when i did manage to utter the answer, the sentence came out gibberish, as i repeated the same word 3 or 4 times over. And over.
The embarrassment, hurt, pain and the din of the wall-to-wall laughter of the class became part of my everyday life for the next 10 years.
Until several years ago my parents have lived in the dark about my condition and appalling social conditions in school. I absolutely hated and dreaded each passing day in school.
Classmates would ignore me, choosing not to sit with me, or on odd occassions where information was needed, gave me the third degree. Seniors in school would often bully me into submission. I was the scapegoat for many uniformed and sports clubs who had no one to pick on. My Scout leaders would speak to me in a dialect despite knowing i speak only Mandarin or English. Rumors were passed around in school about my 'arrogance' and 'know-it-all attitude' and i was beaten up or abused many times by my 'friends.' I was passed over in many social gatherings and nights out becaused i was 'uncool'.
I would have grown old and died single, friendless and penniless. Until i stumbled upon something within me i never thought about.
In Secondary 2, aged 14, i discovered i had an aptitude for the English language. Not only was i able to spell and write better than many of my peers, i had unknowingly developed a penchance for reading all kinds of crap. Science fiction. Thrillers. General knowledge. Politics. Sports. You get the picture.
The students in my high school were generally lower-middle class, and dialects and Mandarin were more commonly used in their homes. I decided to use English as my weapon of choice. Something to defend myself against my enemy. The enemy in me. As much as i was bitter and angry at my isolation in school, i knew it had everything to do with my disability. I have to learn to confront my inner demons before i take on my bullies. So i decided to take it out on myself. Forcibly and literally.
For months, i devoured every reading material i could get my hands onto. I forced myself to speak up in public. I tried with varying degree of success to be a wisecrack (mostly i failed). Shamelessly, i attempted to be the center of attention. I knew the only way to defeat my disability was to be everything i wasn't. Step out of my comfort zone. My security area. My safe haven. Tackling my shyness and inability to mingle with crowds was my Speech Potion No. 9.
Stuttering and stammering does have its lighter side. There're just as many patient folks out there who're sympathetic to your course as are ignorant, rash bullies. A phase i went through while trying to disguise my disability was attempting to speak quickly. Really quickly. So much so that i lose my train of thought and begin to stutter and stammer quickly. Really quickly. I've sparked off racucous rounds of laughter from complete strangers to close friends. Quite charming indeed. I'm not going back there though.
Putting youself out there for everyone to see and be talked about took a lot of guts on my part. There's something about finding humour in speech impediment and strength from uncompromising situations that i find really settling. Some of more famous personalities who previously suffered stuttering/stammering are Sylvestor Stallone and Bruce Willis. Interestingly, they're all action stars.
These days, i only smile at the tears i wept many years ago. There's barely any trace of my disability. I still stutter and stammer when i get nervous. In fact, i was stuttering over the weekend.
Overcoming life's daunting challenges, regardless of the effort needed, as it plays its cards out does have its redeeming effects. For every heckle, punch and middle finger i took, i became stronger, wiser and calmer.
You can hear me on radio every Thursday on Melbourne community radio Southern FM 88.3 from 5-6pm. The station broadcasts from Mentone to Brighton and back. Tune in for an hour of light-hearted banter and weekly highlights in Melbourne. Try to catch me stutter or stammer!
Friday, March 17
In December 1999 adrock2xander was arrested by the police for *offence has been removed for private reasons*. In a Writing Media Text tutorial this week, he was instructed to write and detail an episode or incident that represents a change in his life. This is an excerpt from the episode.
A dark, musty smell resonated from the corner. Black and gray stains, visible from afar were splashed across the walls. It was oily. No attempts to cleain it was undertaken.
I sat on the ground and without flinching, rested my back against the wall. It felt good. My body needed it. But my mind was still swollen with thoughts of getting out.
I stared across the room. The taps sits next to the toilet bowl. The squating kind. I noticed the young man drinking water from the tap. A filthy, greenish-gold tap. I'm thirsty.
The air stank of sweat. Humidity was swolling us up. If only i could drink my pespiration. It's really hot.
Roland sat despondantly next to me. I didn't like one bit of him. Or his odor. Did someone spew on him? Why didn't they clean him up? I'm aghast. And it didn't help that he follows me around like a chia pet with human needs.
"Why are you following me?" I asked.
"You look like a good guy," he replied.
I was amazed, "I'm in here, am i not?"
"Still look like a good guy," he said.
I remained in there for 22 hours. The horrors that spoke to me within those walls, i'd never forget. The memories that cried foul to me since then, i'd always remember. I'll never forget my youth.
After 10 months of wheeling and dealing, numerous court adjournes and restricted movements within Singapore, adrock2xander is a free man. If you see him in uni, stop and buy him a coffee. If he's in a good mood and gets along well with you, he'll tell you what really happened.
I got stopped by 2 cops early Thursday morning.
It was 12.15am at Flinders Street Station. It was still an anthill of activiy. Throngs of crowds - post Commonwealth Games Opening Ceremony no doubt - lingered around the station and concourse, generally minding their own business. I'd noticed the increased police and security presence in the area and decided to take some pictures to show the Howard Government's conceited effort to show how Melbourne truly is a world class city. (
With camera in hand, i walked around the station snapping shots of the cops, and decided to play around with the camera functions. Switching from Vivid shots to B/W shots while focusing manually, i stood still and focused on a group of cops chatting to themselves. Before i knew, 2 of them filtered towards me and surrounded me. My alarm bells rang off. I switched to DEFCON 3 and took evasive action.
"Excuse me mate, you're not allowed to take videos in the station." Cop 1 said.
"Oh i wasn't taking a video. I was playing around..."
I then realised the futility of the situation. No point explaining what i was doing with the camera, no chance they're camera fans! I immediately apologised.
"I'm sorry. I understand."
"I noticed you were taking pictures earlier but chose to ignore it. But you started to focus on us. With terrorism and all we can't take any chances." Cop 1 explained, his partner Cop 2 looking stern.
"I understand. I'll turn off the camera now."
"I'm letting you off this time. You'll need a permit to take videos in the station. Please do not do it again." Cop 1 warned me, and turned to walk away.
"Yes. Thanks a lot for understanding."
I was visibly relieved. For regular readers, you may know that i don't have a good relationship with law enforcers. They make me nervous. I'll explain a bit more in my next post.
When adrock2xander was lamenting the lack of security in Melbourne, he didn't mean to take it out on him!
I wonder why they let me off so easily. Because i'm Asian? Asians generally mind their own business and don't go around looking for trouble. Perhaps my appearance got me off easy for once? Or perhaps i was dressed in jeans, a jacket, had a pair of large headphones and looked generally well-presented? Maybe they're more wary of people of Middle-Eastern appearances? Guess i'll never know.
Thursday, March 16
You simply do not see any local football (soccer) fans in Melbourne. When Aussies talk about football codes, it's either Australian football or rugby. Pfft. Suck my dingdong weiner.
So imagine my surprise when i walked past a bloke in a Leeds United jersey with the name 'Hulse' emblazoned across the back of the jersey. I shouted out to him and exclaimed, "Hey Rob Hulse!"
Rob Hulse is a striker in the current Leeds United team. Big, tall and strong. The archtypical powerful forward who feeds off the crosses and through passes.
There's something about Leeds United fans around the world that bonds us together. We've seen the heights, and we've experienced the pits. The bloke Sean, and i stood and chatted for a minute or so about Leeds' promotion hopes, players and such.
It's unanimous. We both hate
Sean is a First Year student in Social Work.
Monday, March 13
Speaking of Stefanie, my South American girlfriend has sent some cheeky shots of her in lewd poses over the summer. Haha lady you're just milking compliments from me. You don't need anymore from me.
Go nuts photoshopping her head onto some nude, busty models guys. She'll most likely have a good laugh. She needs some anyway. Miss you heaps girlfriend.
I will be keeping the other pictures in my private collection. Someone will have it pry it from my dead, lifeless hands. Haha. *winks*
Sunday, March 12
I'm an English teacher. Of the non-teaching sort.
Twice in a week, i had to explain what 'Tell me about it' means to two people who hold dear to me. First, my beautiful friend Stefanie in Chile and second, my lovely cousin Dicey from Malaysia who's pursuing her Bachelors in Canada.
Cultural and locality differences aside, both ladies have two things in common. English is not their first language, and are constantly learning and surprising themselves with the depth and complexity of the language. They're also gutsy ladies who're blessed with the nerve to travel overseas and experience something 'different'.
Both women are more similar than i'd thought. Stefanie is by and large your everyday South American cowgirl. Growing up in Osorno and now residing in Santiago, she loves horses, Argentinean men and travelling. She's backpacked through Europe, went to Thailand and Indonesia on a whim, and has lived in Singapore for 5 months. All this with Spanish as her native language.
Dicey lives the dream many Malaysians pen their thoughts about. She lives in Hamilton, Ontario and loves her travelling, shopping and music. Her passport is a 'who's who' of a tourist's wet dream. Switzerland, Holland, Germany, France, England and now Canada. Don't get me started on Asia either. Amazingly, English is her third language.
English phrases, words and idioms we take for granted and use liberally on a daily basis are very much the chagrin of non-English speakers. Take, for example, 'Tell me about it'. As if on cue, Stefanie and Dicey both ask me 'tell you what?'
On both occasions i've had to stifle a little chuckle. I was just glad that it was only 'Tell me about it' i had to define. Imagine if it were 'The whole nine yards', 'Mum's the word' or the really bizzare, 'Get up on the wrong side of the bed'. Where should i start? Haha.
Both ladies are eager learners and aren't the least bit embarrassed when they're unsure. I've had Dicey asking me random questions on MSN for English assistance and Stefanie using opportunities to practice her English with me. I'm all for questions and conversations. Ask and blabber away! Just one note ladies: My blog isn't the New Testament for English. Read it for a laugh but please do not pick up the little nuances. Terrible grammar, spelling and punctuation. You're better off reading the daily papers.
That's not to say i'm not qualified to suggest reading material. For anyone who're keen on improving your spoken and written English, i strongly recommend comics as your sparring partner.
No you didn't read wrong. I grew up on comics. One of my fondest memory of reading/learning English was sitting in the family couch in the late 1980s with a giant hardcover copy of The Amazing Spiderman issue 1-49. While i was cheering and rooting for every decision Peter Parker makes, i was also busy making observations and studying the American lingo and 'spoken' English.
"Comics also play a crucial role in expanding the student’s vocabulary. In fact, comics can introduce them to non-standard words and phrases which are not typically found in traditional text books. For example, comics tend to utilize daily language commonly used in conversation such as slang, idioms, onomatopoeia, abbreviations, etc. Mastering these aspects of the English language is important for assimilating into a new culture."I've found an interesting link that describes how comics can and will aid anyone with a keen interest in English. The quote above was taken from the link. Come to think about it i'm amazed at how comics almost single-handedly kick-started my lifetime quest for English perfection. Stranger things have happened.
Keep learning and speaking ladies. The seeds you sow now are bitter, but the fruits will be sweet.
Do you need me to explain that as well? *chuckles*
Saturday, March 11
Tickets for Melbourne's Commonwealth Games 2006 are going for A$420 - A$590 a pop. That's simply daylight robbery with a murder thrown in.
So why bother paying that obscene amount of money when i'm involved in the Opening Ceremony rehearsal. Save the money and buy youself something nice.
The stadium was a quarter full, and it took me 30 minutes to walk out of the stadium grounds. I'm bracing for armageddon next week when i report for work and likewise, finish work. Going home will be a complete nightmare.
RMIT's latest publicity stunt had us folks wondering what they've ingested. I had to take the picture first and ask questions later. Any ideas?
Friday, March 10
This article is published in March's edition of Catalyst, a RMIT Student Union magazine.
You can always count on the Howard Government and her lesser Parliament evils for a weekly dose of humour. If it isn’t their staunch support of President Shrub and American policies, it’s the Average White Band kickback scandal. Just this week the State Government has announced that it will install an additional 330 cubicles and urinals to existing toilets around inner Melbourne to accommodate the expected surge in visitors come Commonwealth Games.
I shook my head in disbelief and chuckled, “Why fix the bladder problem when they can’t even board a train or tram?”
For the last decade Melbourne has rode the wave of egoism after being tagged as the ‘Most Liveable City in the World.” I suppose 2006 is the year Melbourne sheds that tag and accepts the award for ‘Most Frustrating City to Travel In.”
Melbourne’s reliable and efficient public transport system is very much the nadir of an average, middle-class Melburnian’s nightmare. A system that was created over a century ago, trains that arrive infrequently and trams that derail as and when it chooses. Buses do not ply popular routes, and commuters pay an exaggerated fare system that does not justify the distance travelled.
What choice do these people have when prices of petrol are backflipping out of control and cars spend more time an an intersection than the parking garage?
It’s interesting to note that the Melbourne tram system was never intended for ferrying large number of people. Built in 1885, trams shuttle men heading to work from the suburbs into the city in the mornings and back home in the evenings. The city planners could not have foreseen and were completely unprepared for an explosion in population growth in the 20th century.
Trams and trains began to ferry women and children shuttling from one suburb into another suburb. People used public transport to visit families and friends living across the city. Your Regular Joe-Next-Door took the train to get to the city on weekends to relax. The population of Melbourne of increased exponentially over the last 150 years, yet Melbourne’s public transport still retain that 19th century “No worries, mate” urgency, charm and all.
In 2002 the State Government drew up bold plans for Melbourne’s future. The Government envisioned smooth flowing freeways with public transport connecting to all parts of the city infrastructure. They were even bold enough to call Melbourne the next Los Angeles. I don’t know what Transport Minister Peter Batchelor and his lackeys were smoking then, but I’ll sure like some too!
What audacity! Post-apocayptic Los Angeles more likely! I’ve never been to Los Angeles, but I’m sure Hollywood stars never arrive late for an audition.
We’d all like to see Mr Batchelor put his mouth to where the money is and start to see some improvements made on the public transport front. “Melbourne has one of the best public transport systems in the country, ” he claims. Sure, we’ll believe that.
Millions of dollars have been put into the fancy advertising and colourful billboards of the Commonwealth Games. For once we’ll love to see the same commitment and urgency put into a complete overhaul of the public transport system. They’ve been strangely subdued and flying under the radar, but my sixth sense tells me by the 3rd day of the Games Melburnans will be treated to a deluge of complaints to the letters editor of The Age with one gripe. I look forward to reading the 17 March edition.
Here’s to an awesome Games. Just remember to make a trip to the toilet before you leave.
John ‘adrock2xander’ Ng is a Second Year Professional Communications student. He still hasn’t been to Los Angeles.
Thursday, March 9
A man is waitin in a cafe for his girlfriend.
He is nervous.
She arrives late.
He asks her if he can borrow $100.
She is workin three jobs just to pay the rent.
"I hope im not too late. They're pushin me into a corner. I really need the drugs. Why cant they give me another week? I just need another week. I swear i'll pay up. Oh she's here. God she's gorgeous. I love her so much. I'd give her anything to her happiness. But why's she so late? She's 15 minutes late. Will i be 15 minutes late? Will they increase the price? Why can't she be on time? I'd have to ask now. She knows and understands my situation. She loves me and will help me. What? Why? I love you baby! Why cant you understand me? I really need this. Im payin for stuff too! That's not fair!"
"Sally was so nice. I really needed the shift. I'll have to invite her over for dinner one day. Damn it's almost 4.30. I hope baby doesnt mind. He'll understand. I miss him already. I wana give him a big kiss. He deserves it. Oh he looks worried. Why is he sittin in this corner? And he's still smokin! What? No! Is that why he asked to meet? He lied to me! No! Please darlin. Stop takin the drugs. I thought we talked about this. I love you so much. The drugs will kill you! They will kill you!"
Goin to the races is a tradition in Australia...it's in everyone's roots...cup names are named after themselves...very presumptuous indeed...in Melbourne it's the Melbourne Cup...and in Launceston it's the Launceston Cup...
Aussies need no invitation to be seen and to see on Cup day...98% of them dont even give a rat's ass bout the races...they're just there to look good and get really drunk...it's like...goin to the races is just another excuse to drink...gota love them Aussies...
These pictures are self-explanatory...one word: p-a-r-t-y...
We staggered home at 11pm after an incredibly late dinner of McDonalds and some silly half-drunk antics at Brad's...and if ive to defend myself again...i will. Here this: Brad you dingbat. It wasnt just one blueberry cruiser! xoxo.
All in all...it was a very pleasant trip...i had felt Melbourne-sick after day 3...afterall i was cut off from the outside world what with no internet connection or big city hustle and bustle...but incredibly it got really comfortable once i told myself im on a holiday..."That's what a holiday is all about! Leave your inhibitions behind!"
People claim time and time again that Tasmania is a hole and isnt worth a second look...i beg to differ...it is NOT the cultural backwater all mainlanders claim...yes there is Coles...there is running water...there's even a chemist here who stocked my Ventolin...now how can i argue against that?
Perhaps it's my big city upbringin...but the laid back life...slow pace of livin and being surrounded by Nature's wonders just serenades to you...i could have backflipped around in joy what with no traffic jams...smog and polution...im even thinkin of returnin as ive yet to visit Cradle Mountains and Hobart...call me crazy but Tasmania has found a fan in me...
Samantha's family has been too kind to accomodate me and i have nothin but nice things to say...in strangely morbid ways her family reminds me a lot of my family...Robert's your regular dad...man of few words...strong and silent...but loves a good joke...Debra's the fun-lovin mom...nothin really fazes her...she has my vote as she could tolerate my annoyin humour and irreverence...
I hope i havnt left any upholstery upturned and apologise for sleepwalkin in my boxers...i certainly have no intentions of traumatisin the entire family...send my dry cleanin bill to your precious daughter while ya at it...she was the one who spilled ketchup on my suit...lol...
And until my next visit (with a driver's license in tow i promise), here's to more flatheads! *toasts*
Wednesday, March 8
The world Posh Spice aka Victoria Beckham lives in is a relatively blessed and charmed one...her husband is an overated footballer...she was a member of a terrible 5-piece band who liked askin what we really want (i'd like you to stfu)...and the last few years (read: im bored at home makin babies) has seen her likin to be seen in fashion shows for no apparent reason...
Rubbin shoulders with the glamorous haute couture folks has an inter-dimensional power over Victoria...she nows claims to be able a reputable fashion
She says: Visualise your overall look.
What she really means: I need a stylist to decide what to wear.
She says: Borrow from the 1950s era.
What she really means: My grandmother's wedding dress looks cool.
She says: Shop globally preferably from Japan and New York.
What she really means: If Godzilla and King Kong can do it, so can i.
She says: Keep a baggy Stella McCartney jumper dress handy for bad days.
What she really means: Alexander McQueen laughed at my fake boobs.
She says: Get the right bags, shoes or sunglasses.
What she really means: I'm insecure.
She says: Invest in timeless classics.
What she really means: Casablanca is a favorite movie of mine.
She says: Customise by cutting the waistband off jeans. Or wearing
What she really means: They go well with fake boobs.
She says: Dress from the inside out.
What she really means: I like lookin like Superman. Red underwear, cape and all.
She says: Trust in the opinions of few friends.
What she really means: I know im fat.
She says: Don't let it all hang out; it's much sexier to leave a little to the imagination.
What she really means: I wont forgive David for sleeping with adrock2xander.
Tuesday, March 7
After 5 days of constant travellin...i was glad to return to Hagley...Samantha's home will be my base of operations for the next 2 nights...honestly i'd grown tired of all the drivin and packin...Phileas Fogg would've been proud of me...
Instead of drivin west to Hagley via Campbell Town...we took the route less travelled and headed north...along the magnificent Tasmanian east coast and up the narrow, twisty roads of Mount Elephant...there...we stopped for elephants pancakes at the aptly named Mount Elephant Pancakes...
What a twisted sense of humour! It took me awhile to understand the last line. It looked remarkably like the English spoken back in Singapore...for several seconds i'd thought the country's embarrassin form of English had arrived in Tasmania...
Granted...they looked more like the European style crepes...i was thinkin more in line of the American style flapjacks...the pancakes in Mount Elephant come in two delectable choices: savoury (main course) or sweet (dessert)...Samantha went with a blueberry-ish ice cream pancake (sweet) with a coffee ("I've tasted better coffee," Samantha said) while i went with the chicken and mushroom pancake (savoury) with an apple cider. We had no complaints with the food...extremely tasty...i wasnt really hungry when we had stopped...but i almost ate the plate after the last morsel...Yummy!
From Elephant Pass...we plodded along in the Tasmanian heat...the summer sun in Tasmania (and Australia in general) is extremely glaring and hot...it's nothin like the 'thick and heavy' heat in tropical Singapore...i'd come to Australia thinkin ive conquered heat...but i was severely mistaken...ive learnt it the hard way over the last 13 months...so for most parts of the journey i had Samantha's jacket draped over my legs and had my hands placed in front of the air-conditionin...yes it was that hot...
About 30 minutes from Launceston sits an odd occurence...the folks who own this farm love replicatin amazin feats of architecture throughout the world with bales of hay...it's really quite amazin...apparently it changes seasonally/annually...for summer of 2005/6...it's the English Stonehenge and correct me if im wrong...Mexican Pyramids...
We arrived in Launceston in one piece (the heat was gettin to me though)...Samantha had errands to run...i found this self-automated toilet in the parkin grounds...i cant stress this enough...Melbourne needs more of this! Ive never seen one before...country bumpkin alert...
You press a button upon enterin and the door shuts ala Star Trek...music starts playin the moment the door closes...soothin classical filters through your ears...upon *insert toilet activity here* the toilet flushes automatically...cooolllllllllll...
More of these toilets in Victoria please...ive just about had enough with dodgy lookin underground toilets by the side of the road...
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