TWEEEEEEET.

Yes, like the rest of my vocation I have become 'twitteriffic'.

twitter.com/emmaology

twit at me!

I'm sorry, but using old, foreign or interest specific words in day to day conversation doesn't make you smarter.

Coming back from the gargantuan four months of holidays was a bit strenuous on my brain.
Remembering how to take notes, not fall asleep during lectures and figuring out unspoken seating arrangements in all of my lectures and tutorials.
Maybe my peers are feeling the stress of switching on the academic frame of mind and need to validate their place as one of the 'smartie pants' at uni.
The point is people keep trying to validate their intelligence to me via hallway/elevator post-class conversation. They slip in some vague or obscure word, I think, in the hope that I will say "what's_____?" and they can smugly reply "blahityblah".

OH NOOO, I'M NOT AS SMART AS YOU IN THE PARTICULAR DISCOURSE YOU ARE REFERRING TO!

When I'm having a conversation with those who aren't other journalism students, I don't pull industry specific words out my butt, such as 'par' 'inverted pyramid' or 'slug'.

Ahhhh, I feel better.

Peaking too early.

I never ever get friday/saturday off. Except for this weekend.
'WOOOOO PARTY TIME' thought the little voice inside my head. The plan was to get my drink on and have a swell time. I was bound to have hilarious drunken stories for my monday morning 'how was your weekend?' quiz.

Friday night? Gallery opening with many a performance and free cider for all!
But uh-oh, it's an invite only gig and I wasn't one of lucky few. D: I moped around watching the new season of Skins, which was as disappointing as my night was becoming. I called friends in desperation, but they had their own things going on with GURRL-frangs, work and you're-not-really-invited-parties. I sat on my balcony looking out to the world, contemplating the totally hip night others were bound to have.
Then came my knight in shining armour.
"Do you want to hang out?"
"YES!!!!!" (said a little too desperately, cutting him off halfway through)
We got pizza, drank wine and watched Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire and Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.
Goddam Hermione's eyebrows just don't stop.
Decent night in.

On Saturday the night began well.
A few balcony beers with my housey-mate, singing and dancing to Robyn with a trip to the bottle-o.
Friends and friends-of-friends began arriving and eventually my 1.5mx3m balcony became too small for the ten of us. So we moved the party to the back yard. Suddenly I get all droopy-eyed and sleepy and I'm fairly sure it was altitude sickness.
I'm not pointing fingers, but one of my housemates may have also jinxed it by setting out some milestones for the night. Beers at home, move on to a bar/somewhere in the city, watch him hit on a girl and get rejected.
What should have ended in getting a drunken kebab in actuality turned out to be yours truly slithering upstairs at about 11:30 and promptly falling asleep.

I think the moral of my weekend is that I'm all burnt out.
The sad truth is that I peaked at 16.
I was the life of the party.
Sculling vodka like a eighty-year-old Russian and being an integral feature of party dramas.
Samurai swords, early morning treks, hiding from the po-po.

Maybe because drinking was illegal back in the day it seemed more hardcore, rebellious or dangerous. It wasn't so easy and so planning to get alcohol, getting alcohol and drinking alcohol was an adventure.

I'm contemplating taking up knitting, purchasing a rocking chair and use the phrase 'kids these days' more often.

Alice in not-so-wonderful-wonderland.

I've realised how much of a jip 3D movies are.
For the first 15 minutes they throw a whole lot of junk at you to ensure you think that extra $10 bux you just spent was worth it. And just when you start thinking 'Wow! IMAX is awesome' the 3D ends, suddenly reappearing in the last 10 minutes.

I wish they were more like the T-rex dinosaur made-for-3D-movie I saw at IMAX in Brisbane when i was 8. Shit flew into your face like it was nobody's business.

Maybe I'll send this to Tim Burton.
3D 101

NEEDS: a steady flow of the hot stuff.

Living in the first world is amazing.
Yeah, I've never lived anywhere else, but last week I had a glimpse of living in the third world. My house was practically stricken with poverty, political instability, dodgy infrastructure, ill-health and a lacking amenities.
That's right, my pilot light on the hot water heating gadget thing went out.
Turmoil!
I boiled water to wash the dishes, I groaned at the thought of showering and screamed with agony every time I attempted to wash my hair. It's no wonder I was late for the early-morning classes last week, I had to contemplate whether an ice cold shower was worth it or if I held off for one more day anyone would notice the grease stain on my leg from my bike chain that was clinging on for the third day running.
No one did.

And if you compare our Real Estate agent to a Prime Minister or President, it was pretty much experiencing corrupt government. The fire went out on Saturday night and when I visited the office on Tuesday I was told that we were too stupid to use a pilot light. Fair enough, we are three girls and one very lovely but not-so-experienced-in-fixing-things boy (LOVE YOU Kiki).
But after twenty goes, I was sure we weren't that incompetent.
We had to call about ten times over two days before they agreed to send someone over. And if it turned out we WERE that ditzy, we had to fork out $130. SAD FACE.

Turns out we don't fail at life quite that much. There was 'gunk' clogging up the gas.
TAAADAAA.

NEVER UNDERESTIMATE HOW EXTRAORDINARY HOT WATER IS.
It is f**king amazing.
(I may or may not have sat down in the shower for a good ten minutes splashing, swishing, clapping and gurgling the stuff yesterday morning)

I'm not usually one to throw my beliefs down your throat, but...

I recently saw this documentary called Meet your Meat on YouTube, which got the vegetarian inside of me to yell and scream. I've been vegetarian for a large part of my life, and more solidly for about the past 4 years.

I mostly argue that my reason for being vegetarian is mostly the ecological impact of growing and distributing meat- grow grains to feed the cows/hens/sheep/pigs to feed the human and all the CO2 the animals emit themselves. However, after watching this I found it difficult not to feel a little bit more vindicated for not being in the torturous slaughtering process that is the life of a meat eater.

I'm not sure if the conditions are the same in Australia and I'm guessing the makers were selective about what they put into this documentary, but regardless, no one should be subject to this. Animals need not be bred and suffer so painfully just to die, right at the moment we decide them to.





Also, I'm thinking of getting a pet chicken but am unsure about how that would go in inner-city Melbourne... any thoughts?

Labiaplasty. AH.

Wednesday nights on ABC tend to lead to some serious couch sloshing.
New Inventors followed by Spicks and Specks, the IT Crowd and Hungry Beast (and if you're up for it At the Movies).
Last night was no exception.
New Inventors gave us the wonders of a sheep shearer's back problems and the ShearEzy. It's like a baby change table, except for shearing sheep. I just want them to use wipes and talcum powder to give the sheep that soft-as-a-baby's-bum aftershave feeling.
http://www.abc.net.au/tv/newinventors/txt/s2831477.htm

Spicks and Specks invented in a new bike for their peddlin' the record game (I'm not sure exactly what it's called) and the IT crowd let us know 'the internet' is actually a very light little metal box which is permanently atop Big Ben.

But the highlight of the evening was Hungry Beast's special on Labiaplasty. It is plastic surgery's excuse for female genital mutilation.
I am so sorry.




I watched that while eating samosas loving deep fried by my housemate. They will never give me the same satisfaction ever again.

Also, if you have the guts google 'Vajdazzling'.