Dear Jerkface: You Have The Face Of A Jerk.

The above is like going to university. It was not even a good idea at the time. Why do I go to university? I have no idea, but I am going to destroy it very, very soon.
Today I called said university to book some concert tickets. I had not known that I needed to buy said tickets until today, so I called and left a polite, music student, message on the answering machine saying so, and even though the reservation line is now closed, please could I reserve a ticket?
Soon after, I received a phone call.
Evil Sea Beast 3000: "Is this Anna*?"
Anna: "Yes."
Evil Sea Beast 3000: *in bitter tones* "I am so very surprised that you hadn't heard about the concert. It's been on the noticed board for weeks, and in the newsletter."
Anna: *Trying to explain*: "Well, you see, in the band I'm in we weren't actually told that we needed to attend the concert until--"
Evil Sea Beast 3000: *Giant sigh* "FINE, we'll just book you a ticket. How do you spell your last name?"
Anna: "H-Y-D-E---**"
Evil Sea Beast *huffily* "Is that an I for 'ice'?"
Anna: "No, a Y for yell."
ESB3000: "An I....?"
Anna: "No, a Y."
ESB3000: "Right. Fine. You must pick up your tickets in the specified time or they will be given to someone else. Goodbye."
Anna: "Good-- *phone hangs up*"

I hate people. So in my sleep deprived, uni-stressed state, I had a little sook to myself. I have found two ways to combat this stressed, weepy state:
1. As above, imagining said Evil Sea Beast 3000 (or ESB3000) as a robotic sea beast death machine who I will destroy with my iron fist of justice and sarcasm.
2. I am working at my receptionist job tonight. This is no fun, but it does mean that there is a giant bowl of chocolates precariously balanced on the desk I sit at. I WILL EAT EVERY SINGLE ONE. And the sea beast will get none. Also, a reliable source tells me the Sea Beast has Sea Beast Cooties. Hey, I'm only sharing the facts guys.

Anyway. Also, I drove my "significant other" to uni today. This was fine, except LATROBE IS A LABYRINTH OF DEATH. And when I say "LABYRINTH OF DEATH" I mean that it is a labyrinth devoid of David Bowie, which is the ONLY KIND of labyrinth I am interested in.
So I drove in to the car park, (and prior to this driving a few kilometres the wrong way down Plenty Road (Have you ever been on Plenty road? It is similar to the Labyrinth of Death, except it is less like a labyrinth, more like a road, and more seriously fucking confusing)) and dropped off "Significant Other (TM)" and then decided I was going to drive back out and get on to Plenty Road again. But Latrobe was all: "HAHAHA I HAVE YOU IN MY CLUTCHES THERE IS NO ESCAPE FROM MY CARPARK OF ETERNAL DOOM. YOU CANNOT MAKE A RIGHT HAND TURN ANYWHERE TO GET BACK TO WHERE YOU WERE, MORTAL!!!" So I was all: "Motherfucker". Anyway. In the end I got myself lost in the badarse backstreets of Bundoora (I am so good at alliteration), and then had to drive several kilometres back again in order to find my way home.
Conclusion: Latrobe has less seabeasts than my university, but is also significantly devoid of A) David Bowie B) right hand turns and C) Any logic at all.
Also joining my patented List of Things I Hate list super list list, is the new Kinder Surprise advertisement on TV. Have you seen said ad? If you have, you must understand exactly why it so infuriates me. The premise of the ad is this:
1. Father leaves work early.
2. Father arrives at French primary school (I assume he actually lives in France too, unless he has super powers and can fly as fast as Superman, or whichever superhero flies fast, but I don't think he does because he looks like a loser and not even vaguely like a super fast superhero).
3. Father humourously holds up newspaper over his face, on which the word "Surprise!" is printed, to hide from son who is exiting said primary school.
4. Son is mildly confused, until he notices the strategically placed "Surprise!" and his father appears (humourously) from behind the newspaper.
5. Child shrieks "Papa!" and looks gleeful.
6. Father gives son Kinder Surprise chocolate, which apparently contains that "great milky chocolate taste".
7. Father and son are a Happy Family (TM).

And okay. So most of this is bearable, until you hear the jingle, which is to the degree of:
"To make a great surprise,
You take a day with no surprise,
You become the surprise.
And now the surprise of the day.
Something, something surprise surprise
Great Kinder surprise
Surprise surprise
Surprise.
SURPRISE surprise surprise
Surprise."

I NO LONGER HAVE ANY CONCEPTION OF WHAT THAT WORD MEANS.
The worst part is, Kinder Surprise is exceptionally delicious. Now I cannot eat one without wanting to stab a pencil through my temple.
This is unfortunate.

Anyway. So the moral of this blog is:
I don't like you.
You don't like me.
That is all








(also, I heard from a reliable source that you have sea beast cooties.)

All the best,
Anna.

* Name has been strategically changed to protect identity.
* Last name has been strategically changed for the same reason. Also because I think it ups my street cred.
Yo dawg. I could bust a cap in yo' ass any day.

"Pleased to meet you. My name is Vanslow and I am 3 months old"

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3


Ok, so whilst in a waiting room yesterday, I overheard two mothers, discussing the gurgling, drooling little things propped up on their knees.


Mother one: 'Yes well, little Jarvis here is a very good sleeper, he never wakes us up during the night. In fact he sleeps the whole night through usually.'

Mother two: 'Oh well Atticus is pretty good, Bill and I have only ever had to wake up for him a few times.'


No, calm down a second, this is not some writing about how well children sleep, and how best to appease their little faces. Read again.

Jarvis.

And Atticus.

Now, normally I would applaud these two mothers for their excellent choice in names. But it was pretty clear they were just trying to be 'hip' mothers. Just so they could go to their 'post-baby-work-out-clubs' and discuss how little Arwen and Omar are handling their stewed pairs. I mean, to me, this sounds like two little manchilds are sitting at a table with the New Yorke Times, dribbling pulverised food down their faces while discussing the awful fall in the stock market. And this seems anything but sophisticated and austere.

More to the point. Imagine a baby Jarvis.

Would he sit in his high chair and demand mother to bring him his crayons so he could compose such wonders like 'Sorted for E's & Wizz'? Or 'This is Hardcore'? He's a little young, don't you think?

And his solo album. His SOLO album (which is the best thing ever by the way).

How did this come about? Was there an argument at playgroup over who could play with the little colourful boom box stereo (with detachable microphone)? I guess all bands have their musical differences.

To be honest, I don't think I'd name my child Jarvis, unless I thought he would be one day able to write an entire song based around the line 'Fat children took my life'. And if, at the age of three months, he could...what more reason to shove him into the spotlight and hope he one day shaves his head in public and attacks cars with umbrellas. I mean, I know in his song Babies Jarvis says 'Oh I want to take you home. I want to give you children' but it doesn't mean you should take said children and give them names like *Vanslow Chay Barker.



x


P.S, taking children is wrong.




*(Yes, suggested by a baby-names website)

"Teeheehee - I've got a porsche!"

The above is kind of why I am not sure why I attend the uni I attend. If you watch the episode of "The Young Ones" in which they participate in University Challenge, you will most likely understand many of the people in my course.
Okay, no, so it's not quite that bad, but I am getting sick of the Gucci handbags and the iphones.
Also, we finished watching the film we've been studying in French yesterday. Which means essentially that we now have to pay attention and start answering my tutor's questions. I gag in horror at this. QUELLE HORREUR.
I will respond: "Bonjour Monsieur Henry. Je pense que tu es un homme genial, mais je ne comprends pas tous les mots qui vous disez. C'est une probleme, n'est-ce pas?"
Also, the film "Lacombe Lucien", finished in an entirely innapropriate way. Basically, it's about a 17-year-old French boy who lives on a farm. He somehow (the "how" is never established - he basically stumbles upon a mansion and the german police are all: "Man you are le cool work for le us") ends up working for the Germans, but then falls in love with a Jewish girl. Eventually he saves his girlfriend and her grandmother from being killed, and they go and live on his old abandoned farm. Then, the film finishes on this romantic image of them lying in the grass at dusk and text appears over the top of said image saying: "Lacombe Lucien was found guilty and sentenced to death by firing squad in 1944". Obviously in French, but I can't be bothered working out how to translate that.
Blergh.
So anyway. Not that I cared that much, because Lucien was creepy, and also a massive jerkface with the face of a jerk, but way to kill the moment, Mr Movie.
But anyway, tomorrow is coffee and cake day at Brunetti's! This is so exciting - you have no idea. Girl on the run and I gorge ourselves on cakes piled high with chocolate sculptures and sit outside on Lygon St and MOCK EVERYONE WHO IS SMALLER AND WEAKER THAN US.
Or I do... internally. Girl on the run probably doesn't, because she is much nicer than me.
In conclusion, "The Young Ones" and "cake and coffee" solve all of life's problems. The French language and university in general solve considerably less.
I love you like fireworks.
Anna xx

Infinite possibilities for annoyance.

So i am now in my second week of studying arts at the wondrous institution that is LaTrobe University (and not a certain elitist/facist breeding ground that invites some to "dream large"). Now, so far this has only meant that i have gone through a couple "buy-5-get-one-free" cards at the coffee shop and meandered through the many levels of the library - occasionally thinking "its time for my one (of two) lectures today" and "good thing i have wednesday and friday off, this whole 12 contact hours is just painful". This was a good system. Nay. This was a FANTASTIC system. I enjoyed casually strolling into a remarkably fantastic politics lecture (though sadly missing the cinema screening in doing so - those pesky clashes) or watching my philosophy professor getting confused in the middle of his "Dr. Who/Timetravel lecture" because a slide involving a single Tomato came up in his powerpoint.

Let me just stop to properly document this moment of complete and utter win for you all. So we were sitting there listening to the scottish (thus amazing accent involving the use of the word "to-MAH-to" a lot) professor discussing time travel and the logic behind it and such. This did involve many a picture/whimsical talk about Dr. Who and the Tardis and did culminate in actually reading an exert of a text called "Who is Dr. Who's Father?", which was amazing. But to ruin it all for you: He is his own father. Anyway, we were going along quite nicely and casually - then BAM! the next slide is simply that of a red tomato. The lecturer looks perplexed, and after a few moments simply says: "this is a red to-MAH-to. It looks like a nice to-MAH-to. I would like to eat it personally. However, this doesn't explain why it is here. Maybe i'll remember after the lecture and time-travel back to this point and tell you all". HE then proceeded to look around to see if he "was sitting somewhere else ready to come up and explain it to us". And then he continued merrily along, stopping to laugh many times.

I love this man.

But back to the interruption of such amazing times like these. They were combined with something i like to call TUTES (or "tutorials" for those out of the loop). This is the "practical" side of the arts degree: where you talk and ask questions and balh blah blah blah. Now i don't have a problem with this system. Nay. It is a FINE system.
I do, however, have a problem with one person in my "introduction to screen analysis" tute. Let me tell you about unknown name girl (whose name escapes me and shall now be known as "Shitty Film Girlman" - Or the "SFG" for short). This girl - who claims to have "seen every movie" - unfortunately had the opportunity to introduce herself to the class today.

For you reading pleasure i have prepared a rendition of her little introduction for you (as i remember it)(please imagine a high pitched whine for the voice):

SFG: ILIKEFILMSANDITHINKI'VESEENABOUTEVERYFILMASIWANTTO
BEASCREENWRITERBUTPEOPLETELLMETHAT'STOOHARDANDILIKE
MOVIESANDFILMSAREGOODTOOBUTTHENI BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH AJSHDJKHADGGHSFGHJSVF*please note that now she has broken and begins to forth at the mouth and comment on other people's choice in movies*.

I may have exaggerated a little bit.

But the moral is that the SFG (who is not actually a "sarcastically friendly giant" - which i do wish she was) will infuriate me and ruin uni for the next 11 - 12 (i don't really remember) weeks. If i don't destroy her. So now i shall obviously design a poll where you shall all vote for the best method of destruction.


PS: I'm not actually going to make the pole because:

A) I've already decided that i will just put on Ben-Hur and she will die of starvation/dehydration/sleep-deprivation/what-have-you before the film will be even half way through (WHO MAKES A FILM THAT LONG?!?!).
B) Obviously this would cause an even larger feud between lovely AnnaHyde (or as most will know her now "CrapyHyde") and the equally lovely Mr. Fancy (or as we now know him: "Mr. Incredibly cool n' Fancy").

Sorry, I am a vegetarian... No I do not eat chicken.

Ok children, this is just a big excuse for me to rant really.

I mean, you don't even have to bother reading it if you don't want to.

I just need to get this settled.

So, I have been vegetarian for about five years. And for about five years, I have been asked questions so infuriating that I have had trouble calming my gentle little vegetarian self.

For example, the most commonly suggested solution to finding me something to eat at various occasions is:
"Oh, I have some fish. I can cook that for you? No? Oh, well help yourself to the tuna in the cupboard"

NO. Why would I eat fish? Fish are animals. They breath. Maybe under water, yes. They think, if only to forget it three seconds later. But, let's say I have a friend, Gordan. Gordan has an appaling memory. Today I told him to take the rubbish out. A few seconds later, he had already forgotten, and his mind had moved on to other more important topics, such as '...I wonder if there's still crumpets left for breakfast..?'

...

EAT HIM. HE IS VERY MUCH INFERIOR TO MY SHORT TERM MEMORY CAPACITY OF APPROXIMATELY EIGHT ITEMS FOR APPROXIMATELY THIRTY SECONDS.

Go on, cook him up.

So, no. I don't eat fish. In my opinion, a vegetarian who claims to still eat fish, is not a vegetarian.

They are just a picky eater, whose mother indulges with her home cooked meals for diddums.

Upon travelling to another country, I attended a restaurant which was serving a set menu. After finding out that I am was a vegetarian, a - collective noun - of waiters whisped over to me to ask, of course, whether I eat fish.

No.

But, these clever servers of fine food came up with a wonderful solution.

I was presented with a very, very large bowl, of Sauerkraut. Mmm, tasty. For those of you who haven't had the delight of meeting my good friend Sauerkraut, he is basically comprised of minced cabbage, preserved in a jar. Wait a second, not basically. Completely. And so, as the bowl was presented in front of me, I had all three waiters standing behind me anxiously, watching, to see if they had done well. It was a little like one of those gameshows where the contestent is provided with the remnants of some dead sea-creature, and spurred on to eat it as quickly, and vomit inducingly as possible. Then they win a trip to a moderately priced hotel in the foothills of Canada.

Where is my trip to a moderately priced hotel in the foothills of Canada?

I ate way more Sauerkraut than is reccomended by the German-food-consumption advisory board. I'm not sure if they actually exist, really, but I'm sure they'd be appalled by what I was put through by their main export.

Let's skip forward about two years.

For unexplainabale reasons, I was presented with the task of cooking my own meal at another's house. They, were consuming steak. Lot's of steak, blood-oozing-onto-plate-while-eating sort of steak. And so, to save on washing up, it was suggested that I use the oil left in the frying pan to cook my omlette. Blood infused oil. And when I suggested I just give it a little wash, and perhaps some fresh oil, I was looked at like an overly pedantic 'individual with a cause'.

So there you have it. Perhaps I should create a little summary, for your benefit. So as not to be on the receiving end of vegetarian-wrath in the future.

1. No, I don't eat chicken. Just because it doesn't have visible blood, doesn't mean it wasn't once alive.

2. Tuna is fish. Yeah, it's mass-imported/exported etc, but just because there's more of them, doesn't mean I should find them tasty.

3. Barbequers-beware: Vegetarians get a little antsy when you cook their vege-burgers touching your steak. A little like you'd get a little antsy if I spat in your face and said 'oh it's ok, it's only -just- touching you. Just avoid that bit of your face for now'.

4. No I will not just 'pick the bits of chicken out' (refer to rule 3)

5. Just because I am a vegetarian, doesn't mean I love all animals. I have a pet dog, and it is ugly as heck. BUT that doesn't mean I'm free to consume it. Quite the contrary. Well, it's not free to consume me. We live on a basic idea that if we don't consume each other and keep out of eachother's faces, all is good in the world.

So let's finish with a little note on our friend Gordan.

Gordan suggested the other day that we have fish for lunch.

But Gordan, I said, I don't eat fish. I am a vegetarian.

Oh, say's Gordan.

... (one second passes)

... (two seconds have passed)

... (three seconds have now passed)

What about fish? Says Gordan, sincerely.

On further contemplation, perhaps I was a little harsh back there, when I suggested Gordan was worth salvaging.

You are, freely and wholely, allowed to consume him.

I hear he goes well with lime.

Mmmm, geschmackvoll.

<3

And further to my previous point.

Many of Everyone Is Mental's readers, recently, may have been wondering, upon reading Mr Fancy's latest post: "Why can Mr Fancy not write with proper grammar??"
This is indeed a problem, considering he recently changed my title to "CrapyHyde". Many of you I hear asking yourselves "What is this 'crapy' I am hearing of???"
Thus, I have taken it upon myself to determine the true meaning of the word "crapy".
"Crapy", I have deduced, is in fact the westernised version of the French word "crepey". Mr Fancy has wittily likened my persona to that of a crepe.
Wiktionary.org, defines a crêpe as:

1. A very thin pancake used for desserts.
2. (figuratively) Anything that is flat and round.
3. A thin, crinkled fabric made of silk or other fiber.

Wiktionary.org, defines the alternate spelling of crêpe, the word "crepe" as:
(Ireland) A death notice printed on white card with a background of black crepe paper or cloth, placed on a the door of a residence or business.

I therefore conclude that I am thin, weightless, free of sharp edges likely to cause physical harm, silky, manageable, jolly like the Irish, and pleasantly intimidating, see: The Grim Reaper.

Also, I only eat orphans on Wednesday evenings, and on special occasions.

AnnaHyde xx

a SUGAR cube!

Just because someone somewhere on this blog said that there should be images with "magic and whimsy". And Mr Fancy's image, while kind of amusing (although it must be said that, at least in public, AnnaHyde is much nicer-looking. Heh...heh. Hey AnnaHyde, please to not be punching me?) is, I feel, NOT MAGIC ENOUGH OR WHIMSICAL ENOUGH. So despite the lack of content to this post, please have some picture.

P.S. Apparently when I hear the words "magic and whimsy", the first thing I think of is William Beckett. Who knew? I guess it makes sense, though. I mean, look at him! He's like a unicorn would be if it were transformed into human form! And he is very pretty.
P.P.S. Plus, random boat action! Who wouldn't want in on that?!

AnnaHyde... more like like CrapyHyde!

Now while I will admit that the first half, if that, of CrapyHyde's post did actually make me laugh out loud (not as much as the infamous 'blue hog' incident, where I actually did laugh out loud, this time it was more like a murmur with humorous intentions), I then realized that I was being made an example of, and I did not like this, I did not this one little bit.

So in retaliation, I will now expose CrapyHyde for the villain that she is! 

Here is a list of FACTS relating to CrapyHyde:

1. She frequently lures young children into her gingerbread house, fattens them up with candy, then eats them. 

2. She regularly adopts baby orphans simply for the sick pleasure of telling them, when they are grown up, that they are adopted, then laughs at them, yelling 'no parents! no parents!' Then eats them.

3. She drowns puppies. Then eats them.

4. She pulls the wings of flies. Then eats them (the wings AND the flies)

5. The above picture is CrapyHyde in her true form.

There you have it folks. The REAL AnnaHyde. I'm sure you will now agree that her new nickname is justified. So, let's just see how loyal your army of voting slaves are now that they know the truth! 

I would also like to make it known the all the tests CrapyHyde claims that were done on my DNA are completely false, and were actually done on her-own DNA. Except the aftershave/perfume one, you can now purchase 'Essence of Fancy' at your local chemist.

Oh and also, one little thing, just for the record, I didn't vote for myself, I am yet to cast vote in fact. Currently the score is two to three, in favor of CrapyHyde (although this is most likely just a glitch in the programing). So, I could vote for myself, making it a tie, but now why would I do that? I would then be playing right into your hands, Crapy, proving your claims about me are true. So I won't. I will hold off my voting, and let you sit and bask in the false glory of being one tiny vote cooler than me, because mark my words, it will be very short lived.

Mr Fancy is the real coolest member of Everyone Is Mental. You'll see, you'll all see!

Chacun est Fou

I would like to clarify the following WILD and CRAZY claim made by certain members of the Everyone Is Mental team of recent times:
WILD CLAIM: "Mr Fancy Is The Coolest":
After many months of intense research and clinical trials involving taking a sample of Mr Fancy's DNA and placing it in front of participants of the clinical trial, as well as adding it to their drinks, turning it into an effective aftershave/perfume and placing it on an empty canvas, framing it, and placing it into a contemporary art gallery, I can officially state that results of said trial have categorically proved that Mr Fancy is not (as was previously claimed), "The Coolest". Wearers of the aftershave/perfume found, in fact, that their coolness levels decreased upon application. The room displaying DNA OF MR FANCY (the contemporary artwork) was rarely visited by living humans (particularly popular, however, with organisms and creepy crawly things), and the drinks, while highly potent and frequently humour inducing, most definitely lowered the level of coolness in drinkers. Yes, that is right readers. You were duped. Mr Fancy is not the coolest.
I would also like to suggest that the poll "Who is the coolest blogger of Everyone Is Mental?" is exceptionally biased. Mr Fancy, I have noted, votes for himself (and this we can factually state, due to the fact that he is not the coolest, and therefore, no one would vote for him). This is something that I myself would never, ever do (AnnaHyde and Mr Fancy are now tied at 50%. Due to the fact that the hypothetical "person" who voted for AnnaHyde can only vote once, please help AnnaHyde, the generous blogger who would never stoop so low as to vote for herself, by voting for her, so that she can stop writing in third person).
Anyway. I am terribly sorry for this tirade against Mr Fancy, but it had to be done. SUCH FALACIES! But to honest, also, I actually like Mr Fancy in real life. He is affable and witty and extremely humurous. He has a very funny pet greyhound. His father has an excellent accent and listens to Kraftwerk. He is indeed an excellent person!
However, due to our test results, we cannot assert his status as "coolest".
Please cease and desist Mr Fancy.
All the best,
Anna.
P.S. I am sorry. I got home half an hour ago and hadn't eaten since breakfast.
P.P.S. The above picture demonstrates how I love Rilakkuma (Relax Bear) more than life.
P.P.P.S. If you like it then you should've put a ring on it.

Meeting People Is (n't) Easy

Ok, so a little intervention about how I fail to communicate with others. Speak up.
Again, these things have actually happened. I probably shouldn't mention that to you, reader, because it will make me seem more like the recluse I am.

And god, we wouldn't want you to know that, would we?

Our first scene is set, at the ever-awkward Orientation week, AKA, O-Week. The 'O' you will find, has signifigance later on (other than the obvious signifigance of being the beginning letter of the word orientation). Yes? Good, you're keeping up.

To add to the already extreme levels of awkward, it is suggested that our little tight-knit* group of o-week troopers play a game called 'speed dating'.

Me: Oh gee, speed-dating, what fun! Gosh, how awkward, I feel like I hardly know you, but, here we are!

(STAGE DIRECTION)

Pause for apprieciative laugh

Give up already, they don't find you funny

O-Week Trooper One: '... So, I study engineering. I got an ENTER of 97, and I hope to complete an honours year, and someday work with the worlds greatest upcoming scientists.'

Me: 'I don't really like Science.'

O-Week Trooper One: 'But you're doing a science degree.'
Me: 'Really?'

O-Week Trooper One: '...'

Me: '... Kidding. What do you do outside of uni?'
O-Week Trooper One: 'I work out alot.'

Me: (running out of small talk) 'Oh, well I guess you could join the gym here then?'
O-Week Trooper One: 'No.'

Me: 'Oh.' (I told you it would be signifigant later on. I just didn't say how signifigant)

(STAGE DIRECTION) moves to the left, to meet the next happy camper.

Happy Camper: 'Hello, pleased to meet you'.

(Happy Camper shakes hand, Me, awkwardly is not sure at first whether Happy Camper is going for a high five)**

Me: 'And the same goes for you.'

Happy Camper: 'I am a church leader for my local Christian centre.

Me: 'I collect teacups'

Happy Camper: 'I run a youth group, attended by all the local followers, we have a great time.'

Me: 'Oh, wait, did... did they tell us to move along? I'm sure they said it was time to change partners... lovely meeting you.'

(STAGE DIRECTION) Shoves the person to the left, out of the way, poste-haste

Ok, so, that was a given. Meeting fellow students is bound to turn up the odd absolute pratt. But there is more. Read on, if you will.

So, we know that the pur-chasing of goods involves a small amount of interaction, usually with the shop keep. Therefore, the aquisition of a cup of coffee, throws a small period of waiting next to said shop keep into the mix. Watch what happens.

Me: 'Hi, could I just grab a skinny-latte please?'***

Barrista: 'Well...'

Me: 'Actually, do you do vanilla lattes?'

Barrista, looks left, right, leans over the counter and looks me in the eye

Barrista: 'Just for you', *wink*

Me: 'Uhm, Ok actually, just a skinny latte then thanks.'

(STAGE DIRECTION) steps away from the counter, bumps into man in suit waiting for his short-black

Barrista: 'So, you look lovely. Where are you off to tonight? A work meeting?'

Me: 'Ahhh, no, just going out to see a band with friends.'

Barrista: 'Oh. So you're busy tonight. What are you doing later?'

Me: 'Uh, seeing...the band?'

Barrista: 'How old are you?'

Me: 'I...'

Skinny-vanilla-latte is placed on the counter

(STAGE DIRECTION) grabs the coffee, runs to friends, is creeped out and has the constant feeling of being watched

So, I guess you could say these events weren't really that awkward. But, in a public place, amongst public people, with my public-face on, it get's awkward. Publicly.

Or maybe I get awkward. Perhaps it's me, and not you, the general society. Perhaps read the next situation and decide for yourself.

At a supermarket, buying some orange juice, the following occurs. (If I could use the font they use at the bottom of the screen in Law and Order, believe me I would)

Me: 'Hi there, just this thanks.'

Check-out lady: 'That will be 2:49'****

Me: 'Oh, actually, can I use EFTPOS for that?'

Check-out lady: bluntly 'Swipe your card and select your account'

(STAGE DIRECTION) Swipes card and selects account obediantly

Waits, also in an obediant fashion

-the dubious tones of some dead singer float over the ocean of silence that seems to have engulfed me and my good friend, check out lady-

Check-out lady: 'Sigh, shuchu aw aster'

(STAGE DIRECTIONS) mishearing Check-out Lady, decides to use the appropriate substitution for these situations...

Me: 'Hahahaha, ahhhhhh' smiles alot

Exit

-Realises later that Check-out Lady had actually just said 'Sigh, such a waste' , reffering to the apparently covetable dead-singer's death-

In conclusion, life is an awkwardly constructed stage, made from milk-crates and a large piece of black material, tucked in and held up by thumbtacks.

And so, there is always an audience, watching, if only for the moment when you trip over and spectacularly bring down the theatre, in a cascade of milk-carrying containers and a piece of material that used to live in your grandmother's sewing room.

<3

* Oh god we were anything but tight-knit. I don't employ sarcasm well, so, you know, a little hint wont hurt.

** I'll tell you now, that does make for an awkward hand shake.

*** Yes I do feel like a fool when I order this. I know. Leave me be already.

****Apparently the qualifacations for supermarket work do NOT include year 5 mathematics essential, 'making decimals and fractions fun!'

BLOUTING.

Confused? Afraid? Excited? Infertile? Curious?

Well don't worry, because these are all completely normal reactions, except maybe the second, when proposed with the prospect of BLOUTING!

Wait a minute? Did he just what I though he did? He can't have... no one has proposed a Blouting in over ten thousand years... He can't possibly understand the consequences of such an outrageous proposal! Why the last poor soul to do such a courageously stupid thing met with a very sticky end.

Well, I am the infamous Mr Fancy, and I fear nothing, including sticky ends. 

So with that established, I'll move on to more important things. Ok, so for those of you brain dead moron retards, who have breezed through life up until now with a blissful ignorance, and somehow have evaded the existence of Blouting, then shame on you, you dastardly, dastardly people. But fear not, for I shall enlighten you on all things Blouting:

Put simply, a Blouting is a Blog Outing. It is an event in which the members of a blog (generally only the most prestigious of blogs go on Bloutings, Everyone Is Mental for example) by some miracle, manage to pull themselves away from their computer screens, at which they have been blogging non stop for days, weeks, or even months, without taking a break for food, sleep, bodily waste disposal, or even procreation. They then gather together and perform some kind of pre-arranged recreational activity for the purposes of fun and socializing. To decide upon what kind of recreational activity the blog members will engage in, they discuss it amongst themselves in their respective blog, until a unanimous decision is reached.

That is what we will do here. That's right. Everyone Is Mental is going on a Blouting!

I'll allow for a minute or two for of rejoicing and the shouting of sayings such as "yaaay!", "wooopey!", or the less popular, "Bitch yeah, I'm going on a Blouting!!".

The above picture is one possibility for our Blouting. I'm talking IMAX!!

Now please use the space provided below to discuss Every Is Mental's first Blouting:

This is quite unfortunate really

So Death Cab For Cutie covered Bjork, right? Which I'm sure is awesome. That said, I never bothered listening to the cover, until deciding that maybe it would have a place on the dreamy mixtape. I mean, you mix Bjork's bizarreness/surrealism with Death Cab's gentleness/quasi-tranquility and you should get the perfect dreamscape, right? No. This song is just euurgh.

Don't get me wrong, I dig the Death Cab. I usually have no beef with them whatsoever. And "All is Full of Love" as presented by DCFC is, I'm sure, very lovely. I just can't get past the fact that it sounds...well, like Death Cab.

Seriously! It's really disconcerting! I know there's the whole thing about "making it your own", but in my mind there is a difference between "Death Cab do Bjork" and "Death Cab do Death Cab", or there should be.

This displeases me greatly. I was on a lyric site earlier, where someone was attempting to explain what they thought the song meant. Clearly worried about their explanation being convoluted, they said "The way DCFC say it is much better, that's why they're the songwriters."

...


...


I wept.

(not really.)

Missing the target audience yet again

Can I just take a moment here to talk about what is one of my favourite things in the entire world?

This is the Ryugyong Hotel.

It is also known as the "Phantom Hotel", "Phantom Pyramid", or - my favourite - the "Hotel of Doom". The Hotel of Doom. That should probably give you an idea of why I love it so, but it gets better.

It's one of the tallest buildings in the world. It's in Pyongyang, North Korea. Nobody knows why - it's not like anybody visits there (not being mean, that's actually true). Anyway, it was built as a hotel, obviously, but in 1992, five years and US$750,000,000 later, construction was halted. It has remained completely empty and unsafe to inhabit ever since. (Apparently in '08 construction resumed - however in '08 it also ceased to be one of my favourite things).

Now, okay, I realise I'm sounding like a giant nerd and this isn't interesting at all. What is fantastic, though, is North Korea's reaction to having an uninhabitable waste of resources sitting hideously in their capital city.


They decided to pretend it didn't exist.




...




No, really.

You weren't allowed to take photos of it. The government would regularly Photoshop it out of pictures, or crop it out. You weren't allowed to talk about it. They would actually just pretend that thing - scroll up and look at it again, and don't ask me how the person who took that photo managed to get out without getting into some serious business - isn't there at all. LOOK AT THE THING. IT'S HUGE. If you need a comparison, it's bigger than Q1 on the Gold Coast, which in turn is bigger than the Eureka Tower. Hey, also, check it out on Google Maps, you can scroll out basically forever and still see it - well, its shadow anyway - if you know where to look.

IT'S LIKE IGNORING ALL THEM BUSHFIRES. "No, okay, I am absolutely certain that your land was not burned by out-of-control wildfire. Charred and blackened, you say? Well, I'm sorry sir, maybe it was coyotes."