Toot-toot, beep-beep, yeah.

Hello.
So I've had my license for a while now, and Englebert Humperdinck and I (if you have seen Eddie Izzard's "Dress To Kill" you will understand the name) have had many joyous adventures. We have also had many not-so-joyous adventures, often at the hands of other wanky drivers.
Here is something they do not tell you when you get your licence (actually they do not tell you anything when you get your licence, it's kind of like: "Here is your piece of plastic. Try not to die."):
-Every single other driver ever is an idiot.
-It is possible that you are an idiot to every single other driver.
(However, in my case, this is incorrect: i am always a perfect driver and everyone else is a moron).
Anyway. So in my recent huffiness with wanky driving, I offer you my Patented Guide to Wanky Drivers:

Wanky Driver #1: Fancy expensive car, heightened self-importance, mid-life crisis.
Usually driving a) a BMW b) a Mercedes Benz or c) a Jaguar. Usually a middle aged business man either a) in a big rush, or b) going unnecessarily slowly as to not build up too much wind resistence for the fact that it may leave a slight mark on the paint job. This person will usually tailgate you the whole way to your destination, and when you slow down by five kilometres to make a 90 degree turn into a street, will honk and abuse you for delaying him. Alternately will be driving ahead of you at approximately 11 kilometres per hour, and will slow down ten of these when any occasion arises in which circumstances change (i.e. left turn, right turn, roundabout, slight curve in the road, airplane flying overhead, slight breeze, drop of rain, someone playing a lute in Sweden, person wearing pink shoes on another continent.)

Wanky Driver #2: Beaten up Skyline or Commodore, terrible music at brain damaging frequency (music itself is generally brain-damaging in nature), travels very, very fast, constantly tailgating.
This is usually a P-plater. I myself am a P-plater, but this doesn't stop me from hating other P-platers (just like being a uni student doesn't stop me from hating other uni students, being a commuter doesn't stop me from hating other commuters, and being a human doesn't stop me hating other humans). Usually they will tailgate you as closely as possible with rubbish music blaring, until they are able to overtake you, at which point they will drive away as quickly as possible, until they are stopped at traffic lights and you again draw level with them. They continue to rev engine and crawl over crossing lines until the lights change, and they squeal and drive off as quickly as possible. They will also be the drivers who, if you ever happen to be a lone female waiting for a lift in Greensborough (this is without recommendation in any way, shape or form) will beep at you, pull a kissing face, and laughing raucously to themselves. However, if you encounter their female counterpart, usually the car comes with Playboy Merchandise and less sexual harrassment.

Wanky Driver #3: Bus Driver, inability to see in mirrors, so therefore guesses when cars are coming if they are changing lanes, constantly enraged.
If you make a lane change in front of them they will abuse you with many hand gestures and beetroot complexion. If you are driving down a street at 70 kilometres they will decide to change into your lane assuming you are not there, and then abuse you when you scoot past before they crush you to death. Generally desirous of destroying all mankind, or has Grandeur complex in which they are SuperBusMan: Modern Day Public Transport Hero. Sometimes both.

Wanky Driver #4: Irritated Businesswoman, small efficient car.
Persona as follows: WHY ARE YOU NOT GOING FAST ENOUGH DEAR GOD I AM SO LATE WHY ARE YOU STOPPING THE LIGHTS ONLY JUST TURNED RED I AM SO LATE IF I AM LATE THE WORLD WILL END AND I WILL DIE HURRY UP OR I WILL RAM YOU.

Wanky Driver #5: Truck Driver, not so much desirous of ending mankind (see: Bus Driver) as is completely indifferent to mankind, and anyone on the road.
Truck Driver will most likely be encountered on a) Freeway, or b) Western Ringroad. Will not care if you are in their lane, next to them, in front or behind them, underneath their tyres, crushed between them and a wall etc. etc. Possibly due to excessive consumption of no-doz, or inherently in a perpetual state of half-sleep.

These are just some of the wanky drivers you will encounter. So if you manage to survive being crushed, having your spirit broken, or indeed becoming a wanky driver, I wish you happy driving. AND GET OUT OF MY LANE DEAR GOD I AM SO LATE.

Bye.
Anna.
xx

Why does the universe hate me?

The image above is now one of my favorite television shows (with one spanking good movie!) and yet it's television life was cut terribly short. As we all know Joss Whedon is the best creator in the history of television (GOD DAMN BUFFY BISHES!!!) and yet the television companies were like "ho ho ho this just won't sell enough EVEN THOUGH THOUSANDS OF PEOPLE PETITIONED AGAINST IT'S CANCELLATION AND RAISED SO MUCH GOD DAMNED MONEYYYY!!!" they were also like "why is it not attracting enough viewers when its on its prime time slot of 11:30 wednesday nights?!?! BECAUSE ITS SUCH A GOOD TIME SLOT!!" So thus the show was canceled even though it was so very very amazing.

But then (Shock!) they made the "Serenity" movie and everyone was like :O! Does this mean new season?!?!? NO! it just meant movie (which was spankingly good!) but no new season. It broke my heart and now Joss is just left writing the Buffy/Angel comics (which are pretty good - i haven't read the last 6 or so) and occasionally releasing a firefly comic (ONLY 3 GOD DAMNED ISSUES?!?!? WHYYYY!!??!?). I hate everything at the moment. ESPECIALLY YOU TELEVISION!! WHY TAKE MY FUTURISTIC WESTERN SHOW WITH PERFECT CHARACTERIZATION AND EMOTIONAL STORIES AWAY FROM ME!??!?!? WHY!?!??!?

He got joo-joo eyeball. He one holy roller.

Mmmmmmmbeatles.
Bonjour. There have been no posts on here since forevvvvver.
How are you?
Here is what is happening to me:
- I AM GOING HOT AIR BALLOONING IN FOUR DAYS (assuming the weather stays nice).
- My stomach kind of wants to kill me to today. I am not sure if it will succeed. Perhaps if I keep punching myself in the stomach it will not succeed. I will tell you if I make any progress.
- I have a week off from uni! This is wonderful.
- Although I have not done any homework for three days, and I feel exceptionally guilty. I may have to start a linguistics assignment soon and tell you all about postalveolar fricatives and glottal stops and dipthongs.
- Tomorrow I am going op-shopping and coffeeing. I am considering making cupcakes to celebrate this occasion.
- UNIVERSITY IS STUPID AND IT IS JUST LIKE HIGH SCHOOL BUT I KNOW LESS PEOPLE.

Anyway. How are you? I've had quite an excellent Easter weekend. On Thursday, I finished uni at 6.30, and got lost somewhere around Alexandra Parade with two of my favourite people, then went to Vegie Bar and ate huge amounts of food with organic ginger beer, then went to the Toff and drank gin and cranberry (Aawa, this is a stupid drink. WHY MUST YOU RECOMMEND IT TO ME???), then went to the lustre lounge and drank malibu and pineapple and wine, and then ate churros, and then got on the last train and realised my ridiculously weak bladder demanded I drag everyone off the train, wandered around Westgarth, and caught a taxi home.
ADVENTURES.
Also, I went shopping and bought many things I didn't need with my mother (green pocket mirror with elephant on the front, anyone?), and drank pure chocolate. PURE CHOCOLATE.
Thus, my stomach hates me. I have had too much booze and chocolate this weekend.
Anyway. Actually, I think I might go make cupcakes. I have nothing to say, really. OH EXCEPT THAT I ATTRACT CRAZY SLEAZES.
Case in fact: a middle aged, somewhat goofy man whom I spoke to for fifteen minutes on a train two months ago because he needed directions, tracked down my sodding email (despite the fact that my email is only the first letter of my first name and my entire last name and HE DID NOT KNOW MY LAST NAME AND THERE IS NO WAY TO VIEW MY EMAIL IF YOU DO NOT BELONG TO MY UNIVERSITY) to email me his best wishes! DOUBLE YOU TEE EFF.
Double case in fact: I often receive calls from perverts I do not know who ask me to perform sexual tasks on them.
Do I have something tattooed on my forehead? Do I scream "Creepy Older Men Magnet: Now Taking Your Gratuitous Sexual Orders" by the way I dress?
I think not, but you be the judge.
Have a wonderful week.
I love you****

Anna xx

**** Amount of love subject to change.

P.S. I forgot to mention! I found The Beatles thimbles and egg holders in an Antique store today. Best thing ever? I think so!
P.P.S. Forgetting it was Easter weekend, I wore my unethical (but birthday present, and beautiful) angora scarf yesterday (i.e. rabbit scarf). I felt guilty every time someone was all: "What a wonderful scarf!!! What is it made of????"
"Uhh.... So about that..."

P.P.P.S. OH MY GOD THE BEST THING EVER JUST HAPPENED TO ME. I logged into Flickr, and it always greets me in a different language? And it was all: "O HAI ANNA! Now you know how to greet people in LOLSPEAK!"
AHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAH. Ah. My day just keeps getting better.

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").