Finally...

I'm not a heartless bitch.

(Well, not to my friends, at least.)

Two days ago I realised that I won't be going to school with my favourite friends any longer (no shit, Giang). It quite upsetting because the whole gravity of the situation had just come down on me: I won't be able to spaz to Katrina and George about cool things, Jo won't hold my arm, Tricia don't be a bitch, I won't discuss fics and sex with Ann and Anna, I won't be bullied by Dieu, Huyen Do and Emily's perpetual entertainment, I won't witness Marivic's and Krystal's inevitable stupidity, Yolanda, Tricia, ,and Anna, won't play the piano for me, won't be able to make fun of the way Yolanda and Jessie eat their jelly, we won't share food, or have awesome bludge viet lessons, or ridiculously bittersweet sose lessons.

I cried. See, not a heartless bitch.

On the last day of school, so many people were crying. Even the people that I wern't very close to. Despite the fact that that day I felt so absolutely loved and everyone was bawling, I was thinking 'hey, it's not too bad. It's just the holidays; I'll be back next year'. But I won't be back next year. I'll be off at another school where I'll have to actually put effort into my studies.

I rarely have contact with Katrina over the internet and whenever I have something cool to tell her about I always tell her as soon as we're at school. How will we do that now? I mean, I love all my friends, but Katrina and I talk most about most things. It's not that she's above everyone else, it's just that it's Katrina. Who else is going to understand what I say and listen to me go insane about something cool? She almost brought me to tears when she cried on the last day of school, even if I wasn't sure why she was crying and why it had hit me so hard. I didn't think me leaving would be that hard for her. She would always hit me and then say 'why are you leaving me, you bitch? Who am I going to have to talk to?'. I always thought, 'dude, you've got everyone else', but now I'm thinking who am I going to talk to?

It's inevitable that I'm going to make new friends next year, and even though I want to make really, really good (male) friends, I don't want them to replace everyone at olsh. I don't want them to feel that they've been replaced either.

And what about teachers? Mr. Fletcher, Mrs. Alexander and Mr. Barker will be sorely missed.

Next year I'll find photos of everyone on facebook of them at retreat, excursions and any other times they decide to photograph their insanity. When I see them they're going to talk heaps about things that I don't know about and it'll be weird (sorry, Dianna. You probably feel that way too). When that happens, I'll feel really dampened and morose.

Sigh.. I'm really excited for next year, but I will definitely miss those insane bitches like crazy (Dianna, I miss you, too).

What can I say? I'm besotted with those fools, and there's nothing you can do about it.

P.S.: Yolanda and Jessie give the warmest hugs, even if they do strangle me sometimes.

It's career advice, but this really counts for everything

Career advice from Charlie Hoehn:

"And therein lies the best career advice I could possibly dispense: just DO things. Chase after the things that interest you and make you happy. Stop acting like you have a set path, because you don’t. No one does. You shouldn’t be trying to check off the boxes of life; they aren’t real and they were created by other people, not you. There is no explicit path I’m following, and I’m not walking in anyone else’s footsteps. I’m making it up as I go."

(thanks, swissmiss)

Feeling guilty?

On Saturday Mother and I went to the city and came home with my christmas/birthday present: an Oroton purse that we got for $161.95 (a portion of the RRP). It's a very nice purse; genuine brown leather, interesting details, clutch-y.

Although, I wanted the other $40 purse (that wasn't as nice), Mother insisted that I choose between two very expensive designer purses. It was like locking a kid into a candy store and saying "no, you're not getting out of they're until you consume as much candy as you please!", so of-bloody-course I chose the nice, expensive, Oroton purse (guiltguiltguilt).

We arrive home and my auntie from Vietnam admires my purse and asks for the price. I sheepishly answer. She then proceeds to tell me that $160 dollars for her family in Vietnam would mean that they could live lavishly for a month.

The guilt is still gnawing at me.

And today I ignored her when she told me to so the washing. I'm such a horrible person, and I'm not even doing anything about it. That's makes me extra horrible.

guiltguiltguilt!

Sporadic thoughts:

I’m onto my
third cup of tea
(two sugars and
milk, please.)

I’m onto my
second one-true-love
(mysterious, dark and
some wit, please.)

I’m onto my
sixth Panadol
(bloody headache,
go away, please.)

My mother

This is not another pointless rant.

Right now, I am blogging from my phone in my car outside of church. I
just had my guitar lesson and mother said that she can't drop home
because she'll be late for church - we had enough time to go to the
shops though.

I don't know who it is, but my mother always talks to this one person
on her second secret phone that my dad doesn't know about. Like I
said, I don't know who it is, but she talks to him like my sister
talks to her 6 year boyfriend.

Please, lady, I'm not that naive, and without validation, I'm just
assuming the worst.

Things I expect from my mother:
- feed my family
- pay the bills
- pick me up from shool whe the weather is bad
- shower my siblings and me material love

My mum says she loves my siblings and me. I don't doubt that. It's
just that it'd be nice if she could show us that with hugs and kisses
and actually saying so, not bloody 10 laptops, 2 iPhones, LCD tvs and
new clothes. None of us care about material love.

I think if my mum actually loved me like she should, I would actually
be able to say 'I love you' for once. It's just to weird for my
siblings to say that - even if it's just about our favourite movie.
The only time I hear one of my siblings say 'I love you' is when my
sister says it to her boyfriend.

And yet, my mother is able to flirt shamelessly and be all lovey dovey
to this stranger on the phone.

It's a lost cause. My siblings and I are all square-eyed, cold hearted
bastards. Even my baby pooti.

I can't say I'm depressed or angry or anything really. I know that my
beautiful friends and anyone else reading this probably has actual
problems unlike me and my petty complaining.

I'm sorry of this offends because you're going though someting really
horrible now. I really do send you my love.

I must go. Mother has just walked into the car on the phone again. I
hope we have a minor crash because of her on the phone while driving.
Sent from my iPhone

Nightlight: A Twilight Parody

Lol, I was in Angus & Robertsons today when I swaw this:

“About three things I was absolutely certain.

First, Edwart was most likely my soul mate, maybe. 

Second, there was a vampire part of him–which I assumed was wildly out of his control–that wanted me dead. 

And third, I unconditionally, irrevocably, impenetrably, heterogeneously, gynecologically, and disreputably wished he had kissed me."

Having read the Twilight Saga myself, I do believe that it is ripe for ridicule, and Nightlight does a hilariours job at it. Complete with creepy stalker-like behaviour, vampire proms and humour, Nightlight is an insulting parody of Twilight with sequels coming soon. Belle Goose is confused as to why the super-hot Edwart Mullen never eats. She soon discovers that Edwart is a vampire after he saved her from a showball and spending the rest of the book trying to get him to kiss her.

Juvenile? Maybe, but I couldn’t help snickering at this parody of Twilight, written by the Harvard Lampoon. I wouldn’t pay $16.99 for the whole thing, but if I cared more about Twilight…maybe.

Anyway, here's an excerpt:

********************

It was then that I saw him. He was sitting at a table all by himself, not even eating. He had an entire tray of baked potatoes in front of him and still, he did not touch a single one. How could a human have his pick of baked potatoes and resist them all? Even odder, he hadn’t noticed me, Belle Goose, future Academy Award winner.

A computer sat before him on the table. He stared intently at the screen, narrowing his eyes into slits and concentrating those slits on the screen as if the only thing that mattered to him was physically dominating that screen. He was muscular, like a man who could pin you up against the wall as easily as a poster, yet lean, like a man who would rather cradle you in his arms. He had reddish, blonde-brown hair that was groomed heterosexually. He looked older than the other boys in the room—maybe not as old as God or my father, but certainly a viable replacement. Imagine if you took every woman’s idea of a hot guy and averaged it out into one man. This was that man.

“What is that?” I asked, knowing that whatever it was it wasn’t avian.

“That’s Edwart Mullen,” Lucy said.

Edwart. I had never met a boy named Edwart before. Actually, I had never met any human named Edwart before. It was a funny sounding name. Much funnier than Edward.

As we sat there, gazing at him for what seemed like hours but couldn’t have been more than the entire lunch period, his eyes suddenly flicked toward me, slithering over my face and boring into my heart like fangs. Then in a flash they went back to glowering at that screen. 

“He moved here two years ago from Alaska,” she said.

So not only was he pale like me, but he was also an outsider from a state that begins with an “A.” I felt a surge of empathy. I had never felt a connection like this before.

“That boy’s not worth your time,” she said wrongly. “Edwart doesn’t date.” 

I smirked inwardly and snorted outwardly. So, I would be his first girlfriend.

********************

Let us go to Paris!

Can I say I love Wendy Bevan?! She takes stunning polaroids. So pale and original and slightly frightening in some...

 

 

Yes, and I'll be hoping to attend the So Frenchy, So Chic, So L!ve concert  this month!

I am in absolute love with those bands. Go Cocoon!

Semi-rant:

So, I got a letter from Google today informing me that I am a State/Territory Finalist for the Doodle4Google competition. It was cool. I also went to the city after school today to buy shoes. They cost about 60$.
Got home, was tired, left Doodle4Google certificate on kitchen table. After a while mother left and so I put it in my bag so it's kept safe.


Ten minutes later after I had checked with the Doodle4Google site about what being a State/Territory finalist meant (it's not very great so I was a bit bummed):
Mother: Where's your certificate thing?
Moi: It's nothing important.
Mother: Where is it? I want to see it.
Moi: You don't need to; it's not important.


Mother then throws an outrageous fit about me not showing her so I walk to my bag to retrieve it, but Mother has already walked off after kicked my new shoes across the room. So I put the Google thing on the computer table and think 'okay, whatever, she can cool off' and went into the lounge room and played bejeweled on my phone.

Mother comes into the lounge room and rants about how I can ask for anything I want, but I don't even show her my achievements. "It's on the table", I say. "I don't care!", Mother replies. Then she proceeds to grab the letter and rip it up.

My older sister Ann says that she can't do that to my things and that she is being unreasonable. Again, Mother goes off and screams about I learnt to be such a bitch from Ann. I had the urge to shout "and where do you think she learnt that from?".

I decided then to block out her incessant bitching and concentrated on holding back the damn water works.


The really sad thing is that none of us are affected by Mother's outbursts. It's part of our daily routine.


Blah! I have been refraining to swear (too much) lately! Proud, anyone?
By the way, loving the song Waltz#2 by Elliott Smith.

Serge Gainsbourg lovin'

Heavenly death

Click to enlarge.

Kudos to "There is a Light That Never Goes Out" by The Smiths

Here I am

Click to enlarge

Apologies for the chicken scrawl

Click on image to enlarge.

Here's a thought...

How do they 'lab test' toilet paper?

TIM BURTON'S MAGICAL FASHION

In the latest issue of Harpers Bazaar, these photos were taken by Tim Walker to celebrate the genius that is Tim Burton. Delightfully dark! I love it.


Full shoot here.

Show and tell

Success! I've taught myself how to play both the melody and chords of Qelqu'un M'a Dit by Carla Bruni on guitar. Such a lovely song with equally lovely lyrics. For some reason unknown, blogger won't allow me to upload videos.

My brothers have gotten me really into Plants vs. Zombies. It's a game where you protect your brains from zombies with various plants that shoot peas and butter. Quite fun and time consuming.

One more thing. New story at fictionpress: Post Mortem. The formatting is sucks bullocks, as does fictionpress. Best read in either 1/2 or 3/4 view. Read and review!

Gracias!

I’m just glad I’m ovulating.

It’s the first Monday of the holidays and my family and I did a bit of light gardening.

Yeah, gardening isn’t so bad. Sometimes I even enjoy it.

Except it wasn’t a bit of light gardening. It wasn’t even a damn garden. It was a fucking monstrosity of a jungle. A jungle made purely of weeds, snails, hairy-gary caterpillars, poison ivy, and other itchy, gross things. The bloody weeds were so tall that some might even consider them trees!

While squatting with various gardening utensils and butcher knives under the thicket of weeds, snails and caterpillars were inhabiting the taller half of the weeds and thus falling on us when we chopped their delicious-nutritious homes down.

I’m too tired to go into detail about this. Let’s just say that chopping down weeds taller than me in hay fever season in a yard that stretches over the majority of our approx. 2000m² land is nothing I ever want to do again. And it’s not even fucking finished!

Meh, I guess today wasn’t all bad. I did win a competition entitling me to a free professional photoshoot valued at 450$ and I received a letter that informed me that I have 35% discount of my school fee for next year (it’s not a damn scholarship, though. Damn those winners. Huyen included).

I’m just glad I’m ovulating and look somewhat nice today.

Fuck, fuck, fuckity, fuck!

I dropped my fucking Iphone in the water filled GUTTER!

Angry ranting

My internet is fucking sucks. It takes at least 3 minutes for a page to only load halfway and then my internet dies on me.

Let us bitch about my mother.

Okay, so, today I got home from school to find no one home and so I decided to watch some television. Mother calls (lol, that contact picture of mother) to ask if I want her to buy salami for lunch.

Motherbitch: Do you want me to buy salami for lunch tomorrow?

Me: I don’t really care. Ask Lam.

Motherbitch: What? I can’t hear you!

Me: (repeats myself, but louder)

Motherbitch: Don’t you dare speak to me like that! You’re so disrespectful (and then much swearing and accusing me of being a selfish bitch in viet ensues). When I get home you’re in big trouble!

And then I hang up and eventually then fall asleep on the couch. I then wake up to find mother standing over me with a large stick in hand and tells me to go to her room.

(cue the punishment, crazy asian bitch style)

Mother then proceeds to lecture me about what a horrible, disrespectful, ungrateful child I am. Screams about how I study religion in school but still act like a selfish bitch to her. That was when I decided to block her out.

Yes, I admit that I do speak to her rudely sometimes and that I put off doing chores, but I am a freaking 14 year old hormonal teen. I have the right to act like this to my mother despite the outcomes. Mother thinks that she has the 5 worst children on the world, but, really, she should be the one who is grateful that we are not sneaking out, skipping school, doing drugs, drinking and having unprotected sex! The majority of girls my age that I know do these things!

When I told mother that she just said that I should be more like Huyen.

Bitch, please. Huyen speaks to her mother in an even more disrespectful way than the way I do to you, and I know that she loves her mum!

Bloody fuck. Mother just called for me again. Leaving, bitches.

Sleep log

11:17pm
In bed and trying to ge some sleep. Currently blogging from my phone via email. I will be keeping a Sleep log of melyself tonight, because Dianna is insisting that I blog and writing about my sleep is as interesting as I will get. So anyway, this is very strange for me, as
I normally go to bed at at least 1am. My biological clock has changed
and I am not used to sleeping at this time. I also normally sleep for
only about 5 hours at a time. Anything above or below that will make
me drowsy the next day. I will stop writing for now and come back tothis later post when I either wake up or when I can no longer just lay
in the dark after I have unicorned myself out, lol. I predict that I
will continue writing this at around 12am.

11:43pm
I dozed off fo a bit and had a weird dream that I hardly remember:
Hermione, Draco and Blaise were in the prefects bathroom and Draco was waiting in a toilet cubicle while Blaise was trying to convince
Hermione to let Draco wear his bra. Lol, I think Draco conjured
himself a pair of breasts.
Anyway, back to my attempted sleep.

2:04am
Slept well, but have really bad stomach pains. Fuck, it hurts.

7am:
I'll get up in 20mins. Promise.

Thunder in my roof.

There is thunder in my roof.
Well, technically it's the fucking possums that live up there. They run around, screech and fight all night. Sometimes I hear something being dragged across the ceiling. Lol, it sounds like a corpse being dragged around. That would be freaky.

Katrina wants to post some of my work onto Soompi. It'd be cool if people liked and talked to others about my work. My work could be famous over the net. And I would stay anonymous and not talk to people, so Katrina would handle all my ranging fan who love orgasmic angst (yeah, totally, in my wet dreams). But I'm still giving her permission to post my work on Soompi, as long as my sister doesn't find it and that its always credited back to me (love me!).

Ohmygod, I can hear the freaking possums claws scratching in my roof. Let's kill it.

I want a Keel's Simple Dairy and something good to read or maybe just some GODDAMN UPDATES!

That is all.

Hello, Dianna

I’m so fucking nervous.

There are so many too smart people that applied for the scholarship. Frick, some really Asian dude got bloody 100%. I don’t even know him and I already hate him, lol. Two of my close friends are in the top 6 out of 55 applicants. I feel fine about the interview tomorrow and my statement, but I dread the day in the upcoming holidays when I get a letter informing me whether I received the scholarship or not. I can just imagine myself holding that letter, fretting about opening it (that’s if mother hasn’t already). I don’t think I’ll be disappointed if I don’t get the scholarship because I’m not expecting myself to (and that’s not because of low self-esteem; there are some freaking prodigy geniuses that applied). I think I’ll be immensely [insert word that defines how I would feel here].

It’s not fair! Some kids are just applying for the scholarship because they (or their ‘rents) want to see if they’re smart enough for something as prestigious as a scholarship at an equally prestigious school. Some people actually need financial help to attend a school that costs eleven fucking thousand a year!

Damn bitches.

Because I know

Because I know, if it was ever a choice between me and her, it'd be her in a heartbeat.

I'd rather have you broken and angry and hateful, than not have you at all.

Feel free to not read this.

Dianna, this is raw, unabridged, quick and short.

I’m always there for you. You confide in me and use me as your mental and literal punching bag. I help you see things in a different light. I make you feel special. I support you and your twisted crushes. I’m there for you in spirit when you’re at school. You whine to me about your insecurities. You cry to me about your schooling woes. You snap hideous photos of me. You make me cry with all your sweet fluffiness. You’re too rough with my guitar. You are the worst arm holder. Your parents are kinky, freaky bitches. You have such low self-esteem. You are insane, inane and inglorious. You make me write stupid corny things about you. You make me exasperated and talk to you like a five year-old. You’re making me bore any other person that may be reading this. And you’re just so Dianna-ish that this list will never end.

I like doing these things for you. It makes me feel all high and mighty. But there’s one thing that you do for me that would not make me myself otherwise.

You make me fun.

Imagine me without you, lol. I’d be the most emo bitch anyone has ever crossed.

(Barf! at the fluffiness of this all!)

Profanity

I know I’m only 14,

but I think I struggle in saying love.

(It took me too much effort to write that word down)

I don’t like saying it, I don’t like writing it, I don’t like thinking it.

I know people love things everywhere. Significant others, family, friends, animals, others.


love  [luhv] noun, verb, loved, lov⋅ing.
–noun

1. a profoundly tender, passionate affection for another person.
2. a feeling of warm personal attachment or deep affection, as for a parent, child, or friend.
3. sexual passion or desire.

I know those things are possible, but does love feel the same for everyone?

I’ve watched, read many love scenes between two people, and when it’s a good movie or really well written, this thumping, aching feeling consumes my entire being. It’s impossible to ignore and does not cease until the lovey-dovey scene is over. Sometimes it’s a dull throbbing in my chest and other times – most times – it’s an insane, shock of feeling that rushes to my nerves that will not emit until it’s satisfied (self love, lol).

Albeit, it happens rarely because it’s isn’t often that I come across that would make me feel like that.

And I would describe all these things to be painful.

If this is what love feels like, then I don’t know how people can live with it. I can’t even imagine it. Loving someone so dearly that it hurts should be unbearable.

That’s why I’m so curious about whether this is what love feels like to other people – men especially.

I envy all people who can express love through film, words, song, etc. excellently. When they convey love it’s so pure, beautiful and strangely addicting. I could never express anything like that, and me trying will just be blasphemy and disgusting.

I have an uncanny love for angsty love stories (there that word is again, but is a different context. Is it really the same?). Things that have such passionate love but end in (the not clichéd) tragic way is what really gets that throbbing feeling going like rabbits. It’s so bittersweet, it’s lovely.

Unless I am wrong, of course, and am mistaking this feeling for something else.

So, I will end with a few love-related things:

My interpretation of love: addiction, adoration and devotion.

First Day of My Life by Bright Eyes

And, Dianna, I lo** you.

Starkidpotter tees!

This is the coolest.

And wearing this will also make me the coolest.

I want one.

Starkidpotter

Tuesday, Sept 1st, ’09, 7:58pm, 03

Why are they still living together? It’s not doing anyone any good.

Maybe they don’t want Thai growing up in a broken family. Although, that’s better than what he’s growing up in now.

Alcoholic, cheating, mother-fuckers.

Sunday, June 19th, ’09, 12.51am, 01

Just now, I have decided that I will forever keep a record of my thoughts/self. I’ll write whatever comes into mind down with as much honesty as I want and then re-read these posts and laugh at myself in the future.

I don’t know why, but lately I’ve been feeling really morose. It normally happens at around 1am. I have nothing to do, no one to talk to (as in social talk) and just no interest in anything at all. I’m even struggling to continue writing this post. Sure, I could practise guitar, housework, homework, read, brush my teeth, draw, but I just don’t want to do anything.

I feel like I’m wasting myself. I could be studying, working, helping, but I’m just sitting here procrastinating. I want to live so many live in many different countries with different people, different school, different jobs, different family, different appearance, different everything. I want to live my life, and I know I’m wasting it right now by procrastinating, but what can I do? I really can’t wait until I’m older.

Yes, I know. I am sounding really dramatic and making something out of nothing (making nothing out of nothing? There really is no outcome to my doing nothing), but I’m allowed to. I’m 14 and hormonal and want do to something fun. My idea of fun: night time, drinking too many cups of extra sweet Lipton Black tea, flipping the television channel from ABC to SBS, antique roadshow, watching documentaries, Triple J, cool movies, listening to classical/indie/alt/world music, eating fruit, fiction being alone.

“If you are lonely when you're alone, you are in bad company”      -- Jean-Paul Sartre

I quite like being alone. When I’m alone I can do what I want and be completely selfish. That’s why I’m always cooped up in my room.

Recent happenings: Mother had minor surgery on her hand (I don’t even know why. Some daughter I am), bought a guitar and taking lessons, reading My Sister’s Keeper by Jodi Picoult and The Messenger by Markus Zuask

I have a blog, but I don’t post things there much. This thing I’m writing now could be posted there, but there’s just this thing that keeps me from writing blogs. Sure, blogs are like an internet diary, but ‘blogging’ sort of defies the whole reason for a diary. In a diary you write down anything you want and it is kept a secret forever (unless your bitch of a sibling finds it and invade your privacy) and you can be yourself. Your diary is something that listens to you without interruption or judgement. It is always there when you need something to bitch to. However when blogging, your writing is posted on the net and your friends, family, strangers, paedophiles, stalkers have access to your personal everything. And when/if they do read it of course they’re going to judge you. So there you go. Why I don’t write blogs.

I guess me writing things on my laptop is somewhat of a compromise.

Currently, I have to read the book Peeling the Onions by some God-awful author whose name is not worth remembering for english class. Fuck, it’s so boring. It’s barely 200 pages, but it takes me over an hour to read one 10 paged chapter! This stupid bitch of a protagonist just thinks! Nothing happens in the story, it’s just her lame, clichéd, girly, 17 year old thinking. And somehow, my english teacher somehow finds this book fascinating.

Added Aug, 31st: I deleted a paragraph of a rant about a certain topic that was quite offensive. The whole paragraph in a sentence: I am an atheist, but respect others and their opinions.

How do I end this thing? Goodbye.