"I don't think that being a strong person is about ignoring your emotions and fighting your feelings. Putting on a brave face doesn't mean you're a brave person. That's why everybody in my life knows everything that I'm going through. I can't hide anything from them. People need to realise that being open isn't the same as being weak."

- Taylor Swift

Thursday, July 30, 2009

Stupid Girls


A Message to All Haters:

Nigahiga took the words right out of my mouth. I love it when people do that. Saves me time.

Dem Hypocrites called ADULTS.

Adults only like science when it involves abusing kids 'in the name of education'. You know, stupid things like periodic tables and the anatomy of an atom and all those psycho things that we'll never need to learn, but they make us learn anyway. When it comes to science that actually might make our lives a bit easier, they turn a deaf ear. 'Stop making excuses' they say. 'That's not proper science'.

But, you see, it's scientifically proven that the teenage body clock is wired differently to a child's - as we physically mature, we are programmed to fall asleep and wake up earlier - amazing, isn't it! Not really. We've known it for ages. So have adults, only they choose to ignore it.

So trying to get to sleep at nine and waking up at six is really going against the grain - seriously. Tossing and turning in bed, wide awake, while you could be doing something useful, is just weird. Trying to catch a bus and concentrate at school whilst fighting the urge to fall asleep is just plain stupid. No self-respecting adult does that. No self-respecting teenager does that either.

See, that's science. If they want me to like science, well, I'll bloody like science. But I like this science too. It's not my fault if they don't.

And male teachers. They don't let girls out for toilet breaks, and they blow their top every time we lose our temper. I mean, if we blew our tops every time *they* lost their tempers we might as well keep our tops permanently off (hah, nice imagery. I didn't mean it like that). It's called flipping PMS dude, and men are ***king lucky they don't get it. The least they could do is respect us.

And, worse, my year co-ordinator thinks he's the *exception*. He makes up all these crazy rules that everyone has to follow, except him. He walks around, breaking all the rules, talking on his phone, leaving the classroom and being disorganized to boot, and he says it's okay because he's the excpetion.

Based on this investigation, and with the results gathered in this experiment, I conclude that my hypothesis is correct and that all adults are hypocrites!

Everything that goes wrong, adults blame on kids. Why can't they take their own advice, and do what they tell us to do: take responsibility and quit making up excuses. Do you know how many times I get told that? Millions of times. A day. Every time I say that to adults, they blow their top. What? They're allowed to say 'bleurgh I'm feeling a little off today' and I'm not allowed to not function at choir because it's at four and that's my FEED ME OR DIE time?

I rest my case. Adults are hypocrites.

Wednesday, July 29, 2009

Tribute to Nigahiga

One of my other favourite vloggers/youtube comedians, Nigahiga. He's superkalifriggin awesome. Here's his latest, and one of my favourites:

Oh, and this one. It's called 'Tweet Whore'. I have no objections to the word 'whore' now - I've been toughened up by my year nine English class. We're studying The Odyssey so it's used on a regular basis. Tweet, by the way, is referring to Twitter. Everyone's saying I should get twitter, but I'll do it the old fashioned way. Blog on.

Can we let this feminist thing rest already?

Align RightObviously not.

This is in response to a comment that has been posted on one of my latest posts 'The Feminist Argument'. Yes, I get an automatic email update the moment someone comments on my blog, so I know all these things.

I don't want to keep repeating myself - it's boring. It's boring for me to write and even more boring to read. I am a feminist. I believe that gender equality has come a long way but can go a lot further, and that feminism is essential to an open-minded, modern society. And, truth be told, I don't give a shit whether you're with me or not.

I also don't think that all men are rascist, sexist, discriminating chauvinistic bastards - although I know that a lot of my posts may sound that way. I love men, and I know a lot of great men - my father, for example, and some (STRONG emphasis on SOME not ALL) of my teachers, etc. But I have had a lot of bad experiences at the hands of men, all because of my race, my gender, my appearance, or a combination of the three. I can't ignore that, because it's a big part of my life - and a primary source of all my pain. And it's not all 1900's - there is a big myth that male chauvinism is just a thing of the past, but that's not true. Every year, even in this day and age, women are tortured, murdered, beaten, raped, and abused, just because they are women. Sex selective abortions continue to this day, as does bride-burning and all that. Just because they were women.

I hope no-one else has a problem with my beliefs any more, because, as I said, if you do, then get off my blog. I don't want to keep repeating myself for people who interfere with my private world. I want to blog about interesting things.

Oh, and by the way, Happy birthday to Marta, one of my classmates who turns 13 today. We all love you Marta! - oh, and by the way, you're sports back is still in the girl's changerooms ;D

Tuesday, July 28, 2009

Princess Mary and Me

This is my history side coming through - it's from that series I was talking about in one of the previous posts. I love the Tudors

In this clip, Princess Mary, the King's daughter meets and falls in love with the Duke of Bavaria, the Queen's cousin - the only thing that seems to come between them is religion. But then he is suddenly sent away as her father does not approve of their relationship, and Mary attempts to stay calm and ease the Queen's guilt by saying that she would never have married him, because of their differences in faith.

I love the series, or what I've watched of it, anyway, but I particularly love Sarah Bolger's performance of Princess Mary - everyone thinks of her as some mass murdering witch, but she's not, really - she was just a very passionate person who was in the wrong place at the wrong time doing the wrong thing...and had the wrong father. Believe me, if I were her, I doubt anyone in England would have survived.

I don't think I've come across a flirtation of Princess Mary with a Duke of Bavaria, but I like this clip nonetheless. Mary reminds me of, well, me. Only my Bavarian dukes aren't sent away...they leave on their own account.

Show Off.

There's a difference between showing off and simply admitting you're smart.
There is no difference between admitting you're smart and admitting you're good at football.
Showing off is lying, saying you are what you aren't,
Admitting is simply stating the truth.
I thought stating the truth was good,
And lying was bad,
So why do they make me lie,
And punish me when I say the truth?
Why am I in the wrong?

Day Job

We were discussing TEE subjects at lunch today and I mentioned that I was dropping out of maths and science for TEE, which is our university entrance exam that you start preparing for in year eleven. Everyone was looking at me as though I'd just admitted I was a mass murderer or something.

"How are you going to get to uni?" they asked. I explained patiently that you can pass high school and get into uni without maths or science. They still looked worried.

"Most courses have prerequisites, you know" they said. I explained that none of the courses that required maths or science were on my list.

"So what do you want to be when you graduate?" they asked. Housecleaner. Shoe shiner. What else did they think?

"A writer", I said, getting annoyed now. Hadn't I just mentioned a godzillion times that writing is the ONLY thing I am good at?

"Yeah, but what about your day job?"

I blew it then. Day job. Not every writer needs a day job. And getting a day job before you've even *tried* to publish a book is just admitting that you're a pathetic writer, and that you know you can't support yourself with your writing. That's not me.

And it's always writers that have to get the day job. Why do people have such a low opinion of writers? You pick up the nearest book to you and see if you can write shit like that. No. It's hard. Bloody hard.

People who take a liking to me always seem to be disappointed that I want to be a writer, with my backup plans including acting and journalism. I can't see why - I would be perfectly happy to introduce myself as a writer or a journalist or an actress - it's not like I'm introducing myself as a prostitute or something. What do they want me to be? Professor extrodinaire? That's not me. I can't stand the thought of being in a school or institution of any sort after I graduate. I hate school. I hate the idea of having to listen to people, especially in things I don't like and aren't good at. I get bullied at school. Teased. Blackmailed. If they think I'm gonna be some professor holed up in some university, then they thought wrong.

Besides, it's my life, isn't it? I never tell anyone not to do, at least not seriously, anyway. I can do what I want - that's the definition of independence, isn't it? If I were good at sport everyone would support me if I became what was obvious, a sportswoman, but I'm not. I'm a writer, and everyone has so much faith in me they think I need a bloody day job.

You never hear of other people having day jobs. You never hear a doctor saying 'Oh yeah, I'm a doctor...but I stack shelves in Coles as well, just to make ends meet'. I mean, why writers?

Writers have power. Power we like to wield and abuse. Power you don't want to mess with.

Sunday, July 26, 2009

Rascist Bastards Can Go to Hell.

There are only three things that cause me to swear: stubbing my toe really hard, teachers that are reincarnations of the Devil and RASCISM.

I went on Yahoo Answers just then - I know, inner nerd - and there was this guy going on and on about how Asians bleach their skin and enlarge their eyes, and it's because the whites are the best and beautifullest of us all and all that crap. He wounded up with saying that he hated 'squinty eyes' and that we should all go f**k ourselves and go back to China.

Well, you got one thing wrong, mister. I don't understand why all these white people burn themselves to a crisp just to get a tan, just like us. You just abuse us to make yourself feel good because you can't make yourself feel good by your own talents, because they're f**king non existant. You're so f**king insecure that you have to say all this shit about us, just to feel better about your sorry, miserable life.

That's not going to stop me. I'm Asian, and proud of it. I'm f**king proud of being Asian. And I were white, I'd be f**king ashamed that I was the same race as you, mister 'I hate squinty eyes'. How can you be so proud of the fact you hate one of the greatest civilizations of all time? You look at all the mistakes white people have done - the stolen generation, black slavery - and you say that whites are so much better than me.

Well, f**k that. I am not going to spend my life being a colour.

Saturday, July 25, 2009

I Have.

I have a weapon,
It's a secret between you and I;
It's a weapon of mass destruction,
The only person who knows it's real power is I.

I have a passion,
It's my solace when I cry;
No-one knows it's power,
No-one, but I.

I have a posession,
I guard it with my life;
Nobody truly appreciates it,
Nobody, except I.

And what is my weapon, you say?
What is my passion?
What is this posession I so zealously protect?
It's my writing, I say,
It's a powerful addiction;
Except for this, I am just like you,
This makes me different from the rest.

Things I Don't Get.

This world is such a strange place. Why do people do these things? These are a few of the many things I don't get:

Why did they cast such a beautiful actress as Anne of Cleves in The Tudors?. Anne is supposed to look like a horse - Henry VIII called her a 'Flanders Mare' and divorced her simply because she was strange and ugly (men haven't changed that much - if they had I would have a boyfriend). She's supposed to be ugly. In the series, she looks like a freakin supermodel.

Henry VIII is meant to be a redhead. In the new movie, The Other Boleyn Girl, he has very dark brown hair - almost black. Wtf?

Why do guys write such gooey romantic songs and croon them in a gooey romantic voice and make all us girls think that guys actually like gooey romantic stuff? Like Enrique Iggy-whatsie's (I can never spell his name) song 'Escape', which says 'you can run, you can hide, but you can't escape my love' about a zillion times - when do guys actually do that? It should be more like 'I will run, I will hide, because I hate your guts'. Because that's all I seem to get out of guys.

Why do men wear really crap deodorant and think it's so cool? It's disgusting. At least girl's deodorant is based on nice, sweet-smelling perfumes - men's deodorant smells like dog poo. Seriously. And there was this guy in my old school, he used to come to school with sunscreen half-smeared on his face every day, even when it was like raining cats and dogs. He thought it was so cool, but he looked like such an idiot. He was trying to hit on all the girls - it was actually really funny.

Has anyone ever seen those adverts in the margins of some websites of 'sexy singles in your area'? None of those 'sexy singles' were sexy, or in my area, and I doubt any of them are single.

Why do authors bother making up characters like Edward Cullen? I mean, don't get me wrong, I love Edward Cullen, but he's a slow form of torture - he's so perfect. You read about all these romantic things he does and how sexily old-fashioned he is and all of that crap, and I'm like 'if I ever meet a guy like that I'll eat my dog'.

The things that other people don't get that I do:

Why Hitler, Pol-Pot and Mao are all men - because women aren't generally the mass murdering, insane psychopathic type, you know? And, at any rate, even if we were we weren't allowed to - because we were too busy being obedient and humble and all that crap to mass murdering insane psychopathic MALE idiots.

Why we do maths and science - because otherwise the unemployment rate would hit the roof.

Why pi is called pi - because the crazy weirdo who thought of it was hungry and can't spell.

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

This New TV Show.

There's this new show that's premiering tonight on TV called World's Strictest Parents - where unruly Australian teenagers - most of them smoking, drinking, teenage high-school dropouts - are sent abroad to live with the world's strictest families.

There was a lot of publicity of it - on current affair shows, for example, like the one I just watched before dinner. But the thing is, they always blame the kids for their behaviour - when the true blame lies with the parents.

Murderers are not born murderers, criminals are not born criminals, and fugitives are not born fugitives. You are whatever your parents allow you to be - either opinionated and rebellious, like me, or good and obedient and piously religious, like some of my friends, or mad and wild and completely mucked up - like these kids. It's so easy for parents to do the worst possible job with their kids and say it's all their fault.

Because, let's face it. Kids are kids. Kids need parents and friends and teachers to help them. Maybe once in a while a kid can brave the world on his own, but the ugly truth is, we're kids. You've been on this sad world a hell of a lot longer than us, and when we come in we generally assume that you know better than we do. Obviously we got that wrong, and the least you could do is set that straight.

That's why I have such a huge problem with bad teachers. I am not one of those psycho-genius peoples that can get straight A+++ in three grades above their standard year with a drunk cow for a teacher. I am a terrible student. I admit that I get bored easily, and that drives teachers mad. But what I cannot stand are bad teachers - the kind of teachers that don't teach because they want to, but because they can't do anything else - and they just want a 'nice, easy job'. Here in Australia you don't even need to pass high school to get into teachers college - and these are the people that are teaching the next generation. No-wonder the world is going all kablooey.

Teachers complain that they don't get any rights and their pay is not high enough, but seriously, they can't complain. If they don't like teaching and don't want to teach, for heaven's sake don't teach. Do you think we want people to pay you to give us hell? They don't pay us to endure you but somehow they pay you to act like the devil. Teaching used to be one of the most sacred and revered professions, with only the most elite and finest individuals deemed suitable for the job. Now any old hickey can stand in front of a classroom garbaging on about stuff we know and he doesn't.

My school is an elite school, but some of the teachers are really not elite. Some of them, a vast majority of them, are absolutely brilliant - they're funny, energetic, exciting and inspiring - without overkilling it. But there are a few that cannot stand bright students - which isn't all that good, because every single student from the years 8-10 are selected for their academic ability - so if they like those nice, normal, boring, average students, there aren't that many of them in my school.

The reason why some teachers cannot stand bright students is just that - it's because we are bright. Some teachers are just in it because they like the authority teaching gives them - they get to boss somebody around, even if it's just a handful of students. And we are a handful, really. We constantly need extra work, meaning extra time and extra patience. We're easily bored, easy to fustrate and get fustrated with, and quick to accuse, see flaws that so often come up. And it's not our fault, not really - it's hard not to be bored when some freak is trying to teach us the same thing for the six billionth time, and it's horribly fustrating. Some teachers love the challenge, and we get along well with them - in many ways, we worship the ground some of them walk on. Others simply can't stand it, and they really shouldn't be at our school, because things aren't going to get any easier for them - or for us.

As for teacher rights, well, they can hardly complain. They can do whatever they want, dress however they like, have a nice cosy staff room where they can sip hot drinks and eat hot food whilst we freeze out in the rain - they've kicked us out of the building for some reason or another again - eating soggy sandwiches. Lovely. I can totally see who gets the better deal here.

And pay - pay! Honestly. Last year two teachers (one of which drove a BMW, another a SAAB) flew BUSINESS CLASS to SINGAPORE, VIETNAM, THAILAND AND CAMBODIA, where they stayed in five-class hotels and went designer-brand shopping. Yup. They're so totally desperate for money.

And for all the ridiculous rules teachers set, they don't follow them. Teachers wear elegant lace pantyhose and delicate high heels whilst we wear frumpy opaque stockings and bulky shoes from hell. Teachers answer their phones and TALK ON THEM in class, and go completely outta their tree if our phone so much buzzes in class.

Anyway, to other news:

School is going fine - we're doing...well, more understandable stuff in science, although my teacher's behaviour is far from understandable. Maths is fine, as usual.

A shout out to Lucy, Celeste and Eleanor, my friends who are supposedly reading my blog - love ya, guys. If you love me back, you'll get a google account and follow officially...

Monday, July 20, 2009

You guys are so sweet.

I read all your comments, guys - they're really sweet.

Anonymous - is that you, Caitlin?

Glad the chauvinist has stopped polluting my blog.

Most people wonder why I skip grades - and I can see why, especially as I am not a all-rounder student. The reason why I do is because if I don't skip grades, I'd be bored in half my subjects and failing half my subjects. If I skip grades, at least I'll be enjoying the challenge of a harder class (instead of fighting the temptation to fall asleep) for half of my subjects, and...well, I'll work on the failing bit. Lol.

Greetings from a feminist,

P.S I know you guys know me, but I'd appreciate it if you try and avoid using my name - privacy reasons. Thanks xox.

Saturday, July 18, 2009

Thank Heaven for That.

Oh, goody, the masculist is off my blog.

I have nothing against masculists who, maturely and sensibly, argue their point, and either claim success modestly, accept defeat graciously and agree to compromises agreeably, just like all feminists do when arguing with a masculinist like that. I really have nothing against masculism, because everyone is entitled to their opinion - if they really think that men get it worst off, then it doesn't bother me.

What does bother me is when masculists - sexist, immature masculists - attack feminists who simply want to argue their point and make some progress in women's rights, accuse us for everything we should be accusing them of.

And yeah, then I do get a bit pissed. What the hell is their problem? I'm a feminist, and proud of it. But that's my problem. If you're a masculist, or whatever, that's not my problem, as long as you don't annoy me. If you annoy me then yeah, it is my problem. I have the right to say what I like and like what I say without criticism. That's the best thing about being Australian - if there's one Australian trait the entire world should pick up on, it's that.

There is this rule that I've been taught that you don't laugh at a gay man, unless he laughs at you for being straight. That's how I run, really - I'm me, you're you, and as long as it doesn't interfere with what we are then it doesn't really matter.

Anyway, enough of that. I'm tired of pointing out the obvious to someone who is convinced that I am sexist. If he thinks I'm sexist, and he convinces himself that I'm sexist, then I will be sexist in his eyes.

I've never pretended that I'm any good at taking criticism - especially uncalled for criticism, like Manifold's. I don't know whether that's my personality or my age, but that's just me. I consider it my strength and my flaw.

Why? Well, because, from experience, of you accept criticism or advice, you get all the shame and none of the fame, so to speak. If someone tells you to do something a different way and you listen to them, either they will get all the praise is it turns out good, or you will get all the blame if it turns out wrong. However, if you do it your own way, you take the credit for it all - good and bad.

Back to normal stuff now.

In other news, I am slowly getting through my homework - maths is a torture, but at least it's almost done. Maths is something I simply cannot get - especially advanced maths. Who needs to know anything beyond addition and subtraction and multiplication and division if you're like me, and not interested in doing anything remotely connected to maths? All I need maths for is shopping - to spot out the best bargains. You don't need pi and square roots and linear relationships for that.

But anyway. I need a grade ten diploma in maths before I can drop it. I'm looking forward to year eleven and twelve - because that's when I chose my own subjects - I don't have to do anything I don't want to do - all they force is English, which I gladly take, and Sport, which I'll endure because I have to sit out all the rough games anyway.

My English essay is a lot more fun to write - everyone thinks I'm mad, but it really is. It's a very long essay - it's a big project, with no word limit - and I've chosen the topic well, because feminist literary criticism is what I'm passionate about. Basically, in the essay, I connect the misogyny in literature to the anti-feminism found in society and religion. Lots of fun. My teacher is a feminist and all the girls in my class are feminist, so we all get along well. There's only one masculist guy but he has no proper argument - the Odyssey is so biased that it is impossible to get a good masculist argument out of it.

Another update - this time more blog related. Some time this year this tacky layout will be replaced by an awesome one by my friend nurul - that's noodlepop! in my followers if you want to know. She used to be a blogger but she's stopped now, and she's being a darling and helping me do a new blog layout, because I'm hopeless with that kind of thing. Don't worry. She's getting paid.

Friday, July 17, 2009

...if you still don't like me, then seriously get off my blog.

Oh, I read that article, Manifold.

That is the sad result of men being...well, men, really. Those poor boys.

Men drive men into doing crazy things. Men drive women into doing crazy things. And, sure, women drive women into doing crazy things, but I'm pretty sure that's limited to makeup.

You get a story like that, Manifold, maybe once in a while. Wherelse when do I hear about anti-woman predjudice? Every day. On the internet, on the news, even in my own school. Anti-masculism is far from that widespread - and, as I said, most of it is brought upon men themselves.

But you have to see, Manifold, that this is my blog, and, as a free Australian, I have the right to say what I want and be proud of my opinion. That's how I've been brought up. Sorry.

I know I cannot argue that every man is against every woman, because that is not true. But that does not mean that we must pretend that everything is all good and bliss, because that is not true, and we certainly cannot say that men, as a general, are predjudiced against by women.

So if you don't like me or my opinions, please, stop annoying me and annoying yourself by annoying me. I can say what I want.

Oh, and by the way, you are extremely sexist yourself (quote, "ignorant, arrogant, selfish women"). That I cannot tolerate.

If you don't like me, then get off my blog.

I'm not sexist. I love men. I think men are awesome and my guyfriends are my best friends in the world.

It's just the way some of them behave - like they're so good and women are so crap. And it's not just 19th century, it's everywhere, today.

Like my schools - they favour the male students, they always have. Girls somehow have to reach a higher standard for less reward. Why?

And then things get worse if you go to places like India or Afghanistan, where women are killed simply for being women. Sure, the worst of the Taliban regime may be over, but that doesn't mean that they're not still there and terrify half the population into keeping their daughters hidden.

I've had many bad experiences with boys, because they all thought they're so much better than me. So much better than a freaky litte Asian nerd girl and her little nerdy girl friends. I know most men aren't like that, and I know that they are changing, but that doesn't mean it's all good yet. Until every single woman is equal to every single man in every single country of the world, I'm still a bloody feminist.

And if you don't like me or my opinions, I don't care. I'm a free Australian; I can say what I want. So if you don't like my blog, I'm not changing one word of it. Get out of here if you don't like it. It's my blog. My writing. My life.

Thursday, July 16, 2009

The Feminist Argument.

I am a feminist. I think all modern women, to a certain extent, are feminists.

There are some inequalities that we cannot change - just as there are some things against men that they cannot change.

Feminism is not the campaigning for absolute control be handed over to women. Feminism is simply the campaigning for women's rights. Just simple things, like stopping women from being traded like possessions. Stopping violence against women. Preventing fear of women and a predjudiced dislike of women. Things like that.

And there are the subtle things as well, like women can't do any job that requires an excessive use of brain or brawn. Because, face the facts, we can do whatever men can do, plus more, just like men can do whatever women can do, plus more. Silly things like boys must wear blue and girls must wear pink, and the old-fashioned way that girls must cook and clean and wait on boys, like they did in the 1950's and some still do today.

And this is all because of the fact that men abuse their natural priveledges, like being slightly physically stronger than women. That doesn't mean that they're more intellectually advanced than us - far from it, in fact. Most husbands have the ability to beat the crap out of their wives, but that doesn't mean that it's right or that it should be allowed. That's like someone from a place where guns are allowed (cough America) that goes on a mass murdering rampage and then goes 'Well, I'm allowed to have a gun and I know how to use it, so it's all okay'. The world doesn't work like that.

Men bemoan little things, how they have to be tough and all masculine and all of that. But the sad thing is, men bring that on themselves, and upon other men. All the crazy expectations women live up to are *all* set by men. Contrary to popular belief, we *don't* care if you're not a body builder, and, by the way, body builder muscles are gross.

And if you think being a man is so hard, well you try being a woman. You try having to put up with all the crap that we do.

Wednesday, July 15, 2009

The Things We All Wish We Could Tell Guys...

...well, I'm just gonna go ahead and say them.

1. Muscle overload is gross.

Guys seriously overestimate how much muscle girls like. I mean seriously the bodybuilder thing is NOT A COOL LOOK. IT'S GROSS.

2. Prissiness is a huge turn-off.

It's okay to steal your girlfriend's concealer every once in a while. But having your own foundation, concealer, powder and eyeliner is just plain weird.

3. We're not sport obsessed.

Telling your date the 100 greatest soccer goals ever kicked by me is a surefire way to make sure she'll NEVER call back again...even if she does like sport.

4. We'll steal your clothes. Get over it.

Guys sweatshirts look so cool with skinny jeans...

5. Men's perfume stinks.

Those god-awful deodorants that smell like something you'll find in an unflushed toilet...you actually think we like them!?

7. Gross is not the new attractive.

Never was. Never will be.

8. Never suggest to tone down the wedding.

It has the same effects as calling it off.

9. You are her slave.

Yes, that's right.

10. Chest hair is godawful.

Pubescent boys always seem to bemoan the fact that they don't have chest hair. Don't. The gorrilla look is hideous.

Oh, by the way, if you're a guy and you didn't like that last point, I don't care. Guys don't shave anything except their face - even that is optional - wherelse girls have to be virtually hair free. So I don't have to like your orangutan fuzz.


Don't you hate it when you've got a godzillion friends and not one of you can go out with you?

I've got this spare student ticket for Harry Potter tomorrow, and now I'm going to wind up sitting with a whole bunch of my sister's friends, and my sister, without one person within a year of my age.


And it's not like last year, where I only had, what, three friends. Now I've got high school friends, primary school friends, sort of friends, frenemies...and not one of them can come. I got internet friends too, but it's no good asking someone to come all the way from America. Great. Brilliant. I feel so...loved.

Monday, July 13, 2009

Sorry to all my American friends...

...but this was just too damn funny to not post.

It's an old mail thing that I found in my inbox - it's basically mocking Americans. Please take it with good grace.


To the citizens of the United States of America from Her Sovereign Majesty Queen Elizabeth II.

In light of your failure in recent years to nominate competent candidates for President of the USA and thus to govern yourselves, we hereby give notice of the revocation of your independence, effective immediately. (You should look up 'revocation' in the Oxford English Dictionary.) Her Sovereign Majesty Queen Elizabeth II will resume monarchical duties over all states, commonwealths, and territories (except Kansas , which she does not fancy). Your new Prime Minister, Gordon Brown, will appoint a Governor for America without the need for further elections. Congress and the Senate will be disbanded. A questionnaire may be circulated next year to determine whether any of you noticed. To aid in the transition to a British Crown dependency, the following rules are introduced with immediate effect:

1. The letter 'U' will be reinstated in words such as 'colour,' 'favour,' 'labour' and 'neighbour.' Likewise, you will learn to spell 'doughnut' without skipping half the letters, and the suffix '-ize' will be replaced by the suffix '-ise.' Generally, you will be expected to raise your vocabulary to acceptable levels. (look up 'vocabulary').

2. Using the same twenty-seven words interspersed with filler noises such as ''like' and 'you know' is an unacceptable and inefficient form of communication. There is no such thing as U.S. English. We will let Microsoft know on your behalf. The Microsoft spell-checker will be adjusted to take into account the reinstated letter 'u'' and the elimination of '-ize.'

3. July 4th will no longer be celebrated as a holiday.

4. You will learn to resolve personal issues without using guns, lawyers, or therapists. The fact that you need so many lawyers and therapists shows that you're not quite ready to be independent. Guns should only be used for shooting grouse. If you can't sort things out without suing someone or speaking to a therapist,then you're not ready to shoot grouse.

5. Therefore, you will no longer be allowed to own or carry anything more dangerous than a vegetable peeler, although a permit will be required if you wish to carry a vegetable peeler in public.

6. All intersections will be replaced with roundabouts, and you will start driving on the left side with immediate effect. At the same time, you will go metric with immediate effect and without the benefit of conversion tables. Both roundabouts and metrication will help you understand the British sense of humour.

7. The former USA will adopt UK prices on petrol (which you have been calling gasoline) of roughly $10/US gallon. Get used to it.

8. You will learn to make real chips. Those things you call French fries are not real chips, and those things you insist on calling potato chips are properly called crisps. Real chips are thick cut, fried in animal fat, and dressed not with catsup but with vinegar.

9. The cold, tasteless stuff you insist on calling beer is not actually beer at all. Henceforth, only proper British Bitter will be referred to as beer, and European brews of known and accepted provenance will be referred to as Lager. Australian beer is also acceptable, as they are pound for pound the greatest sporting nation on earth, and it can only be due to the beer. They are also part of the British Commonwealth - see what it did for them. American brands will be referred to as Near-Frozen Gnat's Urine, so that all can be sold without risk of further confusion.

10. Hollywood will be required occasionally to cast English actors as good guys. Hollywood will also be required to cast English actors to play English characters. Watching Andie Macdowell attempt English dialogue in Four Weddings and a Funeral was an experience akin to having one's ears removed with a cheese grater.

11. You will cease playing American football. There is only one kind of proper football; you call it soccer. Those of you brave enough will, in time, be allowed to play rugby (which has some similarities to American football, but does not involve stopping for a rest every twenty seconds or wearing full kevlar body armour like a bunch of nancies).

12. Further, you will stop playing baseball. It is not reasonable to host an event called the World Series for a game which is not played outside of America . Since only 2.1% of you are aware there is a world beyond your borders, your error is understandable. You will learn cricket, and we will let you face the Aussies first, to take the sting out of their deliveries.

13. You must tell us who killed JFK. It's been driving us mad.

14. An internal revenue agent (i.e. tax collector) from Her Majesty's Government will be with you shortly to ensure the acquisition of all monies due (backdated to 1776).

15. Daily Tea Time begins promptly at 4 p.m. with proper cups, with saucers, and never mugs, with high quality biscuits (cookies) and cakes; plus strawberries (with cream) when in season.

God Save the Queen!

PS: Only share this with friends who have a good sense of humour (NOT humor)!

Hope you guys enjoyed that and have a good sense of humor humour.

Sunday, July 12, 2009

Dude, Get the Facts Right!

There's been a lot of coverage about Michael Jackson's death, memorial, legacy, etc lately. But what I've noticed is that the statistics vary from newsroom to newsroom.

I have six channels on my TV - I know, in Asia and probably America there are probably millions of channels, but people here who don't have Foxtel (which is like cable) only have between four to seven channels. I have ABC 1, ABC 2, SBS, One HD, Seven and Nine. Out of those six channels, four of them have daily news.

And each one of them told a different story.

Some said that there were 20,000 fans that were allowed to sit in the Staples Centre or whatever it's called for Michael Jackson's memorial.

Others said 18,000.
Or 17,000.
Or 19,000.
Or 17,500
Or 22,000.

The list goes on.

I mean, can't they get it right? It's just a statistic, for crying out loud. I can see how words can morph, eg:

a little bit
a bit
a vast amount

but seriously, how can a number morph so many times!?

I dunno. It's kinda funny.

Another thing. CelebrityFix has been stuck on the same bulletin for two days now: the one where Kristen Stewart complains she's getting hate mail from Robert Pattinson's fans about how she might be up the duff wit his baby. Two days, dammit, with no fresh goss. And NO-ONE'S COMMENTING, AND NO-ONE'S SENDING EMAILS!!! GAAAHHHH!!!

It's very easy to feel prehistoric and isolated here, in the most isolated capital city in the world.

Saturday, July 11, 2009

Arwen/Aragorn/Eowyn - Never Again

I love this video. I wish I could do this to...oh, I don't know...BSC?

It's an Arwen-Aragorn-Eowyn (Lord of the Rings). I love how Arwen gets her revenge - Aragorn looks positively demented in some scenes. Mwahahaha...

Update: I know some people aren't familiar with Lord of the Rings, so here's a brief description.

Arwen/Aragorn/Eowyn's story is basically like this (in the real version)

Arwen and Aragorn are in love and are pledged to each other, but in order to marry him Arwen, as a half-elf, must chose a mortal life, and forgo her chance at immortality. Her father (the half-elven king, Elrond) does not allow her to become human and marry Aragorn until Aragorn has successfully taken the Ring to this volcano to be destroyed and realizes his destiny as King of Gondor. Aragorn leaves to make the journey with eight other companions, leaving Arwen behind with her father at Rivendell, the half-elven kingdom.

Whilst Aragorn is on his travels, he goes to Rohan, a kingdom known for their horses and warfare. There he meets Eowyn (ey-oh-win), a Rohirrim princess, who is fustrated with the demure duties she is given as a woman and dreams of riding into war alongside her brother, Eomer (ey-oh-mair - he's played by the absolutely gorgeous KARL URBAN!!!). When Eowyn meets Aragorn, she is jealous and in awe of his many opportunities and skills in battle, and thinks she is in love with him. Aragorn knows that she is simply in love with his warrior-like image, and wishes it were her own, and that he cannot return her feelings as he is pledged to Arwen.

In the end, though, it all works out. Eowyn sneaks into the battle ranks and wins honour and glory in battle, and later meets and falls in love with Faramir, a Gondorian prince who serves as Steward of Gondor. They eventually get married and have a son.

Aragorn completes his mission, becomes King of Gondor, and marries Arwen. As a mortal, he eventually dies (at like 210 years old after a 120 year rule) and Arwen dies of heartbreak and loneliness a year later.


The video's storyline, I think, is much more interesting.

Aragorn and Arwen are in a happy relationship when he leaves her for Eowyn. He writes her a letter explaining why he has done what he has done and how he is sorry, but Arwen burns the letter, unread, knowing what it would say and refusing to accept his apologies. Aragorn then has a relationship with Eowyn, but is haunted by dreams and images of Arwen. Eventually, Aragorn gets bored of Eowyn and leaves her, leaving her heartbroken. He returns to Arwen, but she refuses to take him back.


The song is 'Never Again' by Kelly Clarkson.

Friday, July 10, 2009

Life sucks sometimes...

I don't get it. All mathematicians have to do is be good at maths. They can be great even if people don't like, or get, the work that they do.

So why do writers have to be people-pleasers? I could be the best writer in the universe and I could be a penniless unemployed if no-one likes the topics I write on.

And I'm not stupid - after thirteen years of being me, I know I'm not a people-pleaser. I have people who hate my guts and teachers who seem to be born to raise hell. I am no stranger to enemies. I get that.

If I were a mathematician or scientist, that wouldn't be a problem. I'd just pi my way to the top.

But I'm not a mathematician. I'm me.

And if the world doesn't like that, I can't just say 'who gives a shit' anymore. My life depends on what people think. It's all I have.

Wednesday, July 08, 2009

Death by Homework.

Sounds great, doesn't it? No passion-filled crime of unrequited love and bitter jealousy, just...

drowned in math sheets.

Tuesday, July 07, 2009

Those Dramas.

I love Korean dramas. I think they're much better than Aussie ones - seriously. But there's always this part that bugs me.

There's always three characters in this scenario - the guy, the girl that he likes that no-one else likes, and the other girl they want him to go out with but she's a complete bitch.

And it's always the parents and grandparents that are bugging this poor guy to go out with the second girl, and eventually, one of the three commits suicide.

I mean, what business is it of the gramps who he dates? I have great respect for the elderly - but seriously, their time has come and gone, and although age may be wisdom, some of them are seriously behind the time and all their good intentions go the wrong way. And who cares if, once in a blue moon, the guy makes a mistake? Divorce isn't so hard these days.

The older generations think that they know everything about love, because they've 'been there, done that' so to speak, but times change rapidly these days. And it's always a point in these Korean dramas. And, somehow, the older generation never feels sorry for interfering with these kind of things. Even at the poor guy's funeral they'd be like 'How I wish he'd married that girl we all like.'

Sigh. So cliche.

So real.

Monday, July 06, 2009

The Downside of being a Movie Freak.

I love movies. It hasn't always been that way, though.

Up until I was about seven I used to be *terrified* of movies - because at that time they always made us watch animated films, and you know what animated films are like - the colours, the really spooky music...

I still don't like animated films that much.

But I do love movies now. Love 'em. Love them to the point of insanity, really.

The problem is, once I watch a movie, or a movie series, that I really like, I get obsessed, I find out every possible detail about any possible thing that is related to the movie, and drill it into some poor unsuspecting victim - my poor mother is my usual target - and I quote them an awful lot.

Only the problem is, when I quote something like Lord of the Rings, the only people who get it are boys, who think I'm nuts, or...actually, no-one else. Apparently it's not cool to watch Lord of the Rings any more.

To back that up, I'm going to post another video - another communitychannel thing - called 'my precious'. I wish I had the courage to shove my fat ugly face in front of a camera so I could vlog for you, but anyway...natalie's much more entetaining...


Whoever Invented DVD Region Codes Was A Prat.

Seriously. Because now I have three bum DVDs. Great. Brilliant.

I mean, what is the point? Why does Australia have to be all 200l8 and the rest of the world has to be so high tech? It's always like that. It's so unfair. The technology here is so primitive, and it's ALL THEIR BLOODY FAULT.


200l8, by the way, is a new term I've coined from this song I heard - I think it's black eyed peas or something. it means 'two thousand and late', like, a pun on 2008, and...

I'm gonna go. KaPow.

Sunday, July 05, 2009

More Videos! (My Totally Awesome PRETTY Friends)

I really hope you guys don't mind me doing this...but you put the vid on youtube, right? So I'm allowed to put it on my blog, right? I hope so. If you really don't like me putting this here, please don't be mad, just tell me and I'll take it off straight away. Thanks.

These are two of my best buddies dancing - they're awesome, you can say bad things about me but do *not* say bad things about my friends. I'm not in the vid - I'd ruin the shit out of it - but anyways...here it is:

No mean comments, please. Btw, there's a scene where it looks like one of the girls isn't wearing any pants, but she is - they're shorts but her top is too long so it covers most of them.


Lots of people have been bugging me to start vlogging (video blogging).

But I hate to break it to you guys, but I can't vlog. Seriously.

Well, for one, I think my writing is a lot more entertaining than seeing my fat ugly face in a video doing all the ranting. Seriously. I'm not a pretty sight, and I'm pretty hopeless at Photoshop, which I don't have at home. And I have the most revolting voice - too low, and I cough a lot and stutter even more and talk super fast. I also don't have a video camera, so the chances of me successfully making a watchable video is zilch.

I am also hopeless at loading videos onto my blog - because every time I try, it just doesn't work, because all the videos I want to load have their embing disabled. I can't even load a *picture* onto this thing - I tried loading a picture of Eomer on to one of my posts so I could show you guys how hot he is, but it didn't work. I can't do anything on the computer except boring old writing. Sorry guys, that's just how I roll.

And it takes so much time making a video - you have to film it over and over and over again because you mess up so many times, or you've accidentally said something that's not PG. And seriously, time is something I don't have. I blog whenever I can - before school, while eating, just before bed, whilst I'm trying to research or do homework - and I'm not normally in the best shape whilst I blog. I'm always either stuffing my face with food, or in my pajamas or in my school uniform (if I vlog about the stuff I blog about whilst wearing school uniform I am *dead*) with my makeup sliding off and my hair in a complete mess and...yeah, not pretty. It'd be like the Bride of Frankenstein ranting about misogynistic, pessimistic, narcassawhatsits teachers.

So, it's just going to stay a boring old blog.

But I do have some things for you guys if you *seriously* want to see a vlog, although it's not by me. There's a vlogger on youtube called Natalie Tran, who has her own vlogging channel called communitychannel. She's a university student in Sydney and her vlogs are heaps funny - I spend ages watching them. I don't know her personally, but she's totally cool. My favourite? this one:


Another reason why I love her videos is that they're EMBED, so I HAVE SUCCESSFULLY LOADED A VIDEO ONTO MY BLOG!!! WHOOT!!!

But I love this particular one because I do that all the time. I have this voice recorder thingy on my phone, and if you see me walking around looking like an idiot talking to my phone, it's because I'm ranting about something - like nosy teachers - or I'm dictating what I should write. Her voiceover is pretty much what I chat to my phone about. And my phone listens patiently, recording down every word I say, whilst all the seniors look at me like 'What a freak'. I have now found an ingenious new way to overcome this - I hold my phone to my ear so it looks like I'm actually using it properly, but then I have to stop every now and then so that people think the nonexistant person on the other line is having their chance to talk. It's exhausting, you know, and my life would be a whole lot easier if talking to phones was considered normal.

Her videos aren't normally like this, btw. But they're all pretty funny. Here's another one:


The Asian girl is her, btw.

I am still up to my earlobes in homework, even though I've done quite a bit: I've finished my French and one of my English papers, and I'm about half way through my technology powerpoint. That's the other thing I wanted to talk about.


There is really no point teaching me Computing. I mean, seriously, I suck. I know a bit of html, but no, we're not learning html - we're learning how to touch type. If there's one thing I can do in this world, it's touch type. My record is eighty, my average is fifty, and I never get below forty (that's words per minute). So teaching me to touch type is an utter waste of time. Every time I write my score down on the score sheet, my teacher looks at me suspiciously as though I've found some way to cheat the system or something. I haven't. I just blog a lot and type a lot and as of consequence, I happen to type at a freakishly inhuman speed.

And we're learning powerpoint. Seriously, I've been powerpointing ever since I was five years old - who hasn't? There's nothing really to learn in Powerpoint - anyone can pull together a powerpoint presentation, it's not hard. Oh, we're learning flash as well - although I fail to see the point in animating a ball. We're also learning how to use Windows Movie Maker, only we get the exact same results that we would have gotten on power point because our teacher doesn't know how to use Windows Movie Maker, therefore there's not much she can teach us.


Note - I do not own these videos or YouTube. I do not know Natalie Tran personally nor am I associated with communitychannel in any way. For any enquiries please post a comment or email me at geesycheesydarita@gmail.com. Please no abuse or vandalism, please.

Why they Call These Holidays I Have No Idea...

They should call them 'Finish Your Homework NOW or Die days'.

Yes, school's out, but I'm not really enjoying myself.

For one thing I feel horribly, utterly, fat. Seriously. I've been eating like a pig and now, I can't even walk up two flights of stairs without my heart stopping momentarily. I forgot I had maths after lunch one time, so I wasn't waiting in the East Building like I should of, but I was outside chatting to my friends. When the bell went, I went 'shit!', and consequently tried to run up two flights of stairs and down a corridor.

You see, if there's one thing to avoid when it comes to my maths teacher is being late. You *never* show up late to her classes unless you're feeling particularly suicidal, because chances of surviving being late to maths are minimal.

But we look like *idiots* when we run. Seriously. One thing, our uniform has like nix sport technology, so our skirts flap around and we look like...well, we look like great flying octopuses, that's what. And with super heavy, oversized bags and shoes that act like dead weights, we look really stupid. Not to mention we're really slow.

So I'm chugging up these stairs, wishing that I wasn't as unfit as I sadly was, and that these flights weren't as horribly long as they are. When I finally get up, I still have to race down the corridor with half a dozen other people who are late, and we all scream 'Get out of the way! We have Miss B!'

And, funnily, they do move out of the way. It's the only time you'll ever see a senior moving aside for a year eight. It's hilarious.

Another thing about my math teacher is that she gives a mountain of homework. Actually, they all do, but seriously, no-one does homework like my math teacher does.

So I'm back from my three week holiday, and I'm up to my earlobes with homework. Most of it is maths, but I got a fair share of English and other things as well.

Fun. Brilliant. And they're all like 'It's only a little bit, just take it easy'

Seriously. Define 'a little bit'. For one, it's not 'a little bit' so I have a lot of 'little bits' that aren't really little to do, and so now I'm drowning in homework.

I can see this is going to be a fun holiday. I have sixteen homework units to hand in, I have to read two books, watch two movies and write two essay papers.


happy holidays!

Wednesday, July 01, 2009

Rain Reposted!

I finally got my story back!

From my teacher, that is, not from the competition. Actually, the only way I'll hear from the competition is if I win, or come second or third.

I got 27/30 - which is a mark above A+. It's my highest mark yet and I'm so excited! I love my story to bits.

I'm posting it again with my teacher's edits, and some of my own edits - and I'm setting up a debate here, so if you don't vote by posting a comment then you guys seriously don't love me or my story anymore.

Anyway, here it is:


I love the rain. It's as though all the sadness in the world is finally released. I can feel the earth's sadness, and her sense of relief as all the grief in her heart is emptied at last. When it rains, it makes me feel less alone - like there is someone out there that is even more heartbroken than I am now, if that's even possible.


I don't know him very well - not very well at all, only that he's always surrounded by pretty girls and big, intimidating boys. They're always laughing, and I wish I could be with them, laugh with them. But I can't. The group is too big, and he's right in the centre of it. Instead, I stare at him from the safety of my own knit of friends - my best friend stares at me whilst I stare at the beautiful laughing boy.
"I don't know why you like him" he said, for the sixth time in ten minutes. "It's not right. He's too old for you".

I know Karl only speaks out of concern and his anxiety is not without reason, but I can't stop. This boy is like a drug.
"He's not that much older" I protest. "And at least he's not a pimplehead like you"
Karl grinned unashamedly, although the worry did not fully leave his eyes. He had seen me break down before, and it had completely freaked him out. And he wasn't stupid - he knew my obsession with this boy wasn't going to end prettily.
"Talking about what's not right" I continued to tease him. "Having a crush on a year nine isn't nearly as bad as you. Still got that picture of Carmen Electra under your pillow?"

Karl blushed deep red as I laughed and resumed staring at the boy.
"That's...not...the...same" Karl spluttered, and I smiled at myself as he continued to mutter incoherently.

The boy looked up at me for a memnt, and for a heartbeat, for one tiny fraction of a second, our eyes met. He smiled faintly, then turned his head to answer a question one of his impatient, pretty friends had asked him. My heart lurched to a standstill, the restarted violently, drumming a hundred miles an hour. I couldn't breathe for all the emotions rushing through me - breathtaking happiness, heartwrenching sadness, utter contentment and restless impatience, all engulfing me at the same time. I was only vaguely aware of the bell ringing.

"Time for maths" Karl said cheerfully as he stuffed my lunchbox in my bag for me. He slng it over his shoulder, carrying his own easily in one hand. He grabbed my hand and yanked sharply, pulling me out of my reverie.

Karl was a tall, gangly boy with a wicked sense of humour and some serious skin issues. Because he was so long and lanky, he was terribly uncoordinated, and his klutziness was part of his baby-faced charm. Our relationship was close, but strictly not romantic - we both spent our time chasing other people, and comforting each other every time we had our hearts broken. Despite the fact I knew this boy in the flesh, instead of Karl and his obsession with his poster of Carmen Electra, I probably knew him less than Karl knew his beloved picture.

School flew by in a blur - every time I passed the boy, my heart misbehaved wildly, and by the time I was over it Karl was looking at me with concern. After school, he herded me to the train station whilst I tripped around in a daze, as his gaze grew more and more concerned. He carefully steered me onto the train and into a seat when the ancient bucket of bolts finally came, but no sooner had I sat down my phone buzzed in my pocket.

'Hey sweetheart. How was skool?'

My heart spluttered hyperactively as I read through the message and started to text back as fast as I could. If Karl looked worried before, he was seriously alarmed now. He, like most other people, was afraid of what state I might be when my phone flirt was over.
"You're going to have to tell him who you are eventually" he warned me as I texted. "And chances are you're going to end up all over the place again. You scared the living daylights out of me last time"
"I know" I muttered distractedly as I hit 'send'. We sat in silence whilst I waited impatiently for him to reply.

'I wish u'd tell me who u r, honey. It'z drivin me crazy.'

I sighed. Out of all the messages the boy sent me, half of them were a variation of 'who are you?'

'U'd laugh at me if i told you' I texted back, wishing that were not the case. How I wish he'd be genuinely thrilled when he found out it was me.

'No, I won't. Scouts honour. Please tell me.'

Scout's honour. The old fashioned vow made me giggle. Karl looked at me anxiously.

'I g2g' I texted, unwilling to reveal to Karl how deep my phone relationship was - he was reading every word over my shoulder 'Talk 2 u soon'.

I don't entirely remember how I got home - I only dimply remembered Karl hugging me goodbye at the busport and then unbolting my front door twenty minutes later, but nothing in between. It must have been raining, because I was soaking wet and shivering in the hallway, although I can't recall being in the rain that day. Nonetheless, now I was cold, so I trouped off to the bathroom.

The hot water and lavender oil in my bathtub relaxed my muscles - probably a little too much, as I found it hard to get my arms to reach my head so I could shampoo my hair. My phone rested on the vanity unit, but, annoyingly, it remained still and silent. When I was done, I attempted to attack my growing pile of homework - but it was hard to concentrate on pi and square roots when waiting for a call.

This wasn't the first time I'd had this obsessive fixation over a boy - only this time was different because he didn't know my name, and it was all so mysterious, two anonymous texters. I had done this before - over the internet, by mail, and even in person, and it had all gone horribly wrong. After I had cried all the pain out of my heart - the blank disappoirntment, the cold rejection, the bitter resentment - I swore to myself that I would never let it happen again. But then I'd see a beautiful boy and step back into the trap again, deluding myself with things like 'this one is different' or 'this will end differently'. I forgot the pain that the end brought, and would only remember the thrill of love.

Finally, after an agonizing five-hour wait, my phone buzzed at 10:03.

'Hey, sorry about the wait. Mum forced me 2 go out 4 dinner with her bf'

I just gazed at the words, the words that had saved me from insanity. My maths lay abandoned on my table as I lolled on my bed, wishing that the words had a double meaning. My phone buzzed again.

We chatted a bit, about innocent stuff - school and homework and annoying teachers. But the mystery surronding my name was always in the offing. Finally, he caved.

'Can u please tell me who u r? I'm beggin u'

My reply consisted of only one flirtatious word: Guess.

'U always make me guess' he complained sixty-three seconds later.

'I no. It's very entertaining'

It took him a little while to reply to that one - I suppose he was trying to think of a girl that he hadn't already mentioned before.


I sighed, raw pain rippling through my heart. Leanne was bold, blonde, and beautiful. He could not have named a girl more different to me.

'Ur way off. Try again'

'I'm always way off. Sarah? Naomie? Cynthia?'

There was something different about that message - different to the sickly sweet persuasion that had filled his messages before. There was an undercurrent of...anger? Annoyance? I shook my head to get rid of the negative thought. I was reading too deep into a message that only comprised of seven words.

'No. Try again'

'Jessica. That's my last guess. Seriously. I'm running out of credit'

The abrupt change of mood in his messages was really scaring me. It was so sudden, and so unpredictable. I thought he was having just as much fun as I was, maybe even more so.

But I wasn't an idiot. It ended here.

'Fine. I'm the year eight kid in ur English class. I transferred a few weeks back'

My thumb hovered over the 'send' button. Could I push my luck a bit more? Tease him for just a little bit longer?

Something crashed downstairs, and my hand squeezed my phone instinctively. I watched numbly as the message sent.

The next ten minutes were the longest minutes of my life. If he was hoping for Leanne, then there was no way on earth he would be thrilled to find out it was just a scrummy year eight.

I wished I wasn't so worthless - I wish I was one of those girls who were desirable and attractive and wanted. I wanted to be one of those girls who were chased by boys, instead of me always doing the fruitless chasing. There's nothing wrong with me, but, apparently, there's nothing good about me either.

My obsession with this boy had been like an addiction to an illict drug. The thrill of my phone buzzing, his caller ID flashing across the screen, brought on a complete, ultimate high. It made me feel loved, cherished, wanted. Teasing him made me feel like I had complete and utter control, something I had never had before. It was as if nothing could go wrong.

But everything did. As usual.

My phone buzzed again, but it brought on no supernatural high. It was a devillish, cruel sound.

I cried for the first time over this boy as I read his reply.

My teacher wants me to end the story here - at a cliffhanger. But I somehow disagree. The last paragraph is the most beautiful and sad paragraph of the story, and it links all the rain into it - if I leave the last paragraph out, there's no point calling it 'Rain'. It doesn't make any sense.

Here's the last paragraph again, just to jog your memory:

I stood in the downpour, right in the centre of the oval. I could faintly hear people sniggering and lauging ath me, even through the roar of the heaven's aggressive tantrum. My phone lay open in my hand, getting destroyed by the rain. My hair hung limply around my shoulders, too soaked to be bullied by the wind that gushed past me, icy cold. But I barely registered the cold, or the wet. It didnt' really occur to me exactly how much of an idiot I looked, just staring into the sky. I could vaguely here the seniors jeering, the teachers yelling, but I didn't move. Disappointment and rejection kept me locked in place like a dead weight as I stood in the middle of the fierce storm.

I liked the rain. When the heavens cried so violently, no-one noticed my tears.

So, what do you think? Ending or no ending? PLEASE VOTE BY COMMENTING!!!

The story was inspired partly by one of my latest flirt-gone-wrongs (they never seem to end in flirt-gone-right), and the narrator (who is never named) is based on me. The boy (who is also never named) is based on a boy in my english class, plus some other boys I know. Karl is based on one of my friends, Kyle, although I made the friendship between Karl and the narrator much deeper and closer. The story is also based on Twilight, New Moon, Eclipse, Pride and Prejudice and Sense and Sensibility.

Nosy Teachers and Exciting Possibilities

Teachers are so nosy sometimes.

Personal notes are supposed to be private, right? Like, stuff you write for yourself, for your own learning. Stuff you can doodle and embellish on, and write little memos and fun little drawings.


Our teachers insist on inspecting our notes all the time. Especially my ******* teacher, and my French master. I mean, what's wrong with them? It's our notes you know, our life. What we write is none of their business.

They invade your private life as well - they want to know who's dating who, who broke up with who and why, and they make snide comments about things that are so two thousand and *late*. I mean, it's really hurtful when they make comments about boys that you've only just gotten over, or link you with your best mates - I mean, since when has it been a crime to have male friends? I love my guy friends, but that doesn't mean we're like all lovey-dovey. Why can't we just have normal, platonic friendships without getting teased? And from teachers, for crying out loud. So much for their anti-bullying campaigns - it's not even working on teachers, let alone students.

Why can't teachers just teach and shut up? I mean, I don't mind teachers that do extra to help you, but I can't stand teachers that go out of their way to make your life hell.

Like my ******* teacher. If I get in trouble, I get in even deeper trouble than the other students. He made me spit out my cough lolly during class. He said it was against school policy to eat during class, but I was like Hello? It's a *cough lolly*, not a three course banquet. None of my other teachers minded, not even my super-strict math teacher. If I were a teacher I'd much prefer a student inconspiciously sucking on lozenges then coughing her mouth out.

He's such a hypocrite as well - during class, he always goes out to his office to get things he forgets - once he went to his office *six times* in one lesson. If I forget something for one miserable day, he bites my head off. Him? He just saunters out of the classroom with a casual "Sorry" and it's all cool.

He's lost my homework as well - I am so peeved. He's given me hell for missing four miserable papers and now he's lost my latest one. He's not going to make me do it again - there is no way in hell I'm doing it again. He never makes any allowances or exceptions - even when I went to *hospital* and now I just have to be all cool with the fact he's lost my assignment before he's marked it. Well, I'm not. And if he can't find it, I demand full marks. It's not fair that he picks on me so bad - I know I'm not perfect, but, by God, he is a hell of a lot worse.

And he's got his facts all wrong too - he's droning on and on about how we have to do science for TEE - that's our university entrance exams we take at the end of year twelve - and I'm just like, what's wrong with you? The only subject that's compulsory is English, and the only other requirement is that you do something mathematical, scientific or technological as well. That means I can trade maths and science for cooking, which I am planning to do. SUCK ON THAT!!! I HATE YOU, ******* TEACHER!!! YOU DON'T HAVE THE RIGHT TO LIVE, LET ALONE TEACH!!!

On a lighter note, I'm so excited! I'm skipping a grade in another subject!

God, I sound like such a nerd. I'm not, honest. I just like skipping grades.

Next year I'm skipping a grade in Social Sciences, which is like history, law, politics, economics and geography. That's what I love about this school - you have so much freedom, you can tailor your courses to exactly what you want. Woohoo!