10 The Weird and not-so-Wonderful Things About Me

Mood: full
Listening to: 'Promise' from the OST of Yi San
Hungry for: more kimchi jiggae!...it's a korean thing...
Bella says: 'can i have some scotch fillet too?'

1. I'm really, really, *really* lazy - I'm serious, it freaks me out how lazy I am. I should really decrease the times I say 'meh, buh,whatevs, man.'

2. I'm really, really, *really* picky - my reading list is, like, massively short, because I'm really fussy about what I read. It just has to be right, you know? Like, easy to read and deep and meaningful as well.

3. I really can't be bothered reading blogs - I know, I'm a blogger, but I really can't read many blogs. The exception? Guess Who's blog, of course, because she and I both moan about the same school and I know what she's talking about and where she's coming from. I know blogs are meant to be all about learning from other people's perspectives, but seriously, I'm hopeless at following blogs - mostly because I simply can't take it in - weird, eh? You'd think a blogger would be a bit better at reading blogs, but no. I love vlogs, though.

4. I am about as fit as a hippo and as flexible as a lump of cement - I'm not joking. I said hippo, because occasionally I can run really, really, fast...for about three milliseconds, then I spend about twenty light years recuperating in my own little mud puddle of a life. As for the flexibility thing, well, put it this way: IF YOU WERE A CYBORG THEN YOU WOULDN'T BE FLEXIBLE EITHER!!!

5. I'm a cyborg - seriously! The official definition of a cyborg is an organism that has both artificial and natural systems, and that is true. I have a pacemaker, and even though I'm not so dependent on it as I used to be, there was one point in my life I quite literally could not live without it.

6. I can't stand bad anologies - I was watching yet another sport report on our EPIC FAIL SOCCER WORLD CUP LOSS AGAINST GERMANY, and the commentator was making a really stupid anology about how watching Germany play was like 'being inside your mouth when a dentist is working on your teeth'. I mean, seriously? What the hell does that mean?

7. When I'm stressed or pissed off I start swearing in Korean - it's a bad habit of mine. I know a tiny smidge of Korean, mostly completely out-of-date phrases used by the Joseon Dynasty Court (I watch heaps of historical prime-time series) and swear words. If I' m really pissed off, I'll veer off from Korean and start screaming absolute jargon...and then you'll know I'm REALLY mad.

8. I make funny faces when I'm having a brain fart - like, seriously funny faces.

9. I have a really shit short term memory - I can't stand knowing a word but not knowing what it means, or watching half a movie, or even hearing about a movie, and not knowing what happens. So it'll occur to me to look it up on the internet, so I'll go upstairs, coax and threaten my computer into behaving and then by the time I have Wikipedia loaded, I've completely forgotten what I wanted to look up. Annoying.

10. I get major stage fright. Weird, eh? You wouldn't think someone with insanity levels like mine would get stage fright. But I do.

RADICAL NEW LAYOUT

Mood: meh
Listening to: 'Tangled Up In Me' by Skye Sweetnam
Hungry for: pizza
Bella says: 'I...want...pizza...'

Radical new layout everybody!

Blogger has got some new super cool designs, thought I'd try this one out. I love changing my blog with my mood - at the moment I'm feeling quite nerdy and proud of it, hence the schoolish background. Oh, and I'm a bit tomboyish at the moment, too, despite the fact I'm wearing German lace stockings.

Would love feedback although, knowing me, I won't listen to it. I know some things are a little hard to read, but I haven't quite figured out the mechanics of the new template designer. I've reverted back to my renegade colours of blue, red and silver - sorry if you liked the other pretty colours, but renegade is where I belong.

Also, I have no idea who Guess Who is. Any hints would be gladly appreciated.

Accidents

Mood: cold
Listening to: 'My Happy Ending' by Avril Lavigne
Hungry for: horlicks!
Bella says: 'Cold, curl up into tight ball....even colder, curl up into an even tighter ball...'

People rely too much on accidents.

Accidents are actually quite helpful, you know. How to sound modest after your ship comes in? 'It was an accident'. How to not look like a tard after something goes massive kapoof in your face? 'It was an accident'.

People contribute everything to accidents. Career boosts, moments when dreams come true, winning something huge. If you don't, then you have an ego problem. Society wants us all to be klutzes and just trip into life.

I may be a klutz when it comes to me and not knocking over things, but I'm not a klutz at life. When things go bad, then they're my fault, or they're events out of my control - like, things genuinely out of my control, like the fact I was born with congenital heart defects. When things go right, then it's all me and my beautiful family. No accidents.

Oh, and, of course, teenage pregnancies are all 'accidents'. What kind of bull is that? Do babies fall out of the sky? 'Woops' said God 'I musta dropped that one a bit too early'? A bad choice made when young and boozy is still a choice. Sure, accidents happen. But that wasn't an accident.

Life is not an accident. Fame and fortune is not an accident. Shit isn't an accident. Most things in our world are not accidental, so we've got to stop pretending they are. I'm sick of people contributing things, both good and bad, of their own doing, to be the work of God, of nature, of accidents, of karma, fortune, luck. It's not. We are human beings and life is the beautiful gift we are bestowed with, and trusting it to any of these non-existant, fleeting and untrustworthy things is like throwing a baby off a roof and just hoping that someone will catch it. The only way your baby - your life - is going to be safe and productive is when it is safe in your arms, under your care, always in your sight. Blaming and contributing things to stuff like religion, booze and luck is not taking responsibility for you and yours.

Take the pain, feel the pain, live life, love life.

Our. Psycho. Police Minister.

Mood: flipped off
Listening to: 'Never Let You Go' by Justin Bieber (someone also has to sing this for me on a Valentine's Day)
Hungry for: lunch
Bella says: 'I LOVE WATCHING TOP GEAR WITH MUMMY!!!!'

There is a desperate shortage of 'lollypop men' in Australia.

Which is understandable. I mean, who wants to receive a lousy wage to wear a hideous fluorescent vest and wave a lollypop around so some dinky kids can cross the road?

Not many people.

Due to the shortage of traffic wardens, police are often (quote) 'forced' to stand in.

And because this is 'so desperately inappropriate', the police minister wants to get high school seniors to do the job - WITHOUT PAY.

What the buck?

I mean, it's not like TEE students have eons of spare time, you know. And no teenager worth their salt is going to do a job that involves marshalling snotty schoolkids and potentially getting hit by hoons for not a single bleeding cent. I mean, what is he thinking? Is our tragic academic reputation not bad enough already? Do they not know that there is actually some of us who have a life? Do they actually think we're going to volunteer to help a flipping government that spends more money on sports stadiums then women's health and education put together?

I'll tell you something, police minister. Get a flipping life. We're students - we have to save this bloody planet because you bleeding old farts have flipping killed it. You want us to be traffic wardens? You want us, the bright new generation, to get run over by flipping hoons? And you don't even want to give us and bloody money for it? What are we? Slaves?

This is going too far. I can't believe that this government, far from helping the next generation, is exploiting it. We're kids - not irresponsible flipping on the dole. So don't treat us like we are.

Growing Up.

I think I'm recovering from being a makeup addict.

I first discovered makeup when I was about eleven. It was about the first time I found out about boys, and how, if you're lucky, they like you and kiss your cheek, and the first time I found out about periods and pimples. Eleven is a young age to find out about this sort of stuff. But when I was a child, that was the norm. We get thrown into adulthood so early, whilst adults are insisting we act like children when it's too late, we're already past that, and then we have to figure out things by ourselves.

Before eleven, I was a happy child. Optimistic. It was before a time when I didn't doubt myself. It was a time when trifle things like boys and friends didn't really matter to me. My whole world was filled with books - endlessly books. The joys in my life were simple joys, fulfilling joys. A soft bed after a long day, hot food after a day of choking down sandwiches, my mother's soft, warm hugs.

I wish my life went back to then.

Starting from eleven, I truly began to hate myself. Before then, it never really occured to me that I was, school-world speaking, so many social classes lower than some of my peers. I lived in a world where I came first in everything I wanted to come first in, like reading class and spelling bees, and last in everything I didn't care about, like math. But when I was eleven there it was a whole new experience - I was last, and I so desperately, desperately, wanted to be first.

It was then I became obsessed with how I looked. I played endlessly with my hair. I'd badger my mother for makeup and carefully, religiously, smear it on my face every day. I worried about how my stomach stuck out, the random marks on my newly-enormous hips, my crooked teeth, my small Asian eyes. I was one of the first in my class to discover the joy of acne, so I also became one of the first in my class to wear makeup. Ignorant to the fact in three years time every girl worth her salt would have a compact mirror and a black kohl pencil in their pockets wherever they went, I fast grew a reputation as a slut, and some kind of desperate crazy person - all because I had lipgloss and sanitary pads in my bag and no-one else did.

That's how my makeup obsession started.

Don't get me wrong, I still love makeup. I'm a lot better at it now then when I was eleven, and I'm much better equipped. But until quite recently, I wouldn't leave the house unless I had something on my face - even just going out to get groceries with ma I would dab powder on my nose and concealer on my zits and rim my eyes with kohl.

It wasn't healthy, the way I obsessed over my looks - but I was pressured. I was insanely jealous of those pretty girls who seemed to get away without wearing makeup, and they were the girls who often teased me about my gratitious cosmetic use. They were the kind of girls who thought that you must have done something dreadful to get zits on your nose, and you must commited an unspeakable sin to have my 'squinty eyes', as they called them. And the endless frustration of the lack of attention from boys - how it tormented me! I spent a good three years pining for some boy, any boy, to take any kind of attention to me.

It's taken me a little while, but I've weaned myself off makeup. I've accepted how I look without it - I've accepted my small eyes, my spotty brown face, my snub nose. But do you know what? I've been weaning myself off makeup, and boys, subconciously. I only realized that I had gotten over my makeup obsession when I was taking off my makeup just now, after a concert (everyone wears makeup for concerts), and as I was wiping off the makeup I was like 'Wow, I don't look like a demon. So what was all the fuss about?'. The same with boys - I've kind of resigned myself to the fact that all the single boys in my school are single for a reason.

Of course, there are some things I'll never grow out of. I'll never be able to put down and step away from my precious little pot of black gel eyeliner for good. I'll never not cry over a boy again, and I'll always gobble up rom-coms and romantic fiction and have a little blue moment, wishing I was Clare Abshire, wishing I was Bella Swan, wishing I was Elizabeth Bennet. But hey, one day I'll meet my Henry DeTamble. One day I'll meet my Edward Cullen, my Mr Darcy. And I'm gonna meet him and he's gonna love me without makeup on. Because as much as I want love now, I've learned the hard way not to accept second-best. I want someone to want me for me, not the mascara I wear.

So I'm gonna wait. And while I'm waiting, I'm gonna be happy. I'm gonna live life, and forget about boys until they can't forget about me. I've promised myself that. Do you know why? Because I deserve it.

Eurovision and LADY RENEGADE WENT PARASAILING

Mood: examed out.
Listening to: 'Fairytale' by Alexander Rybak
Hungry for: ???
Bella says: 'i have just stolen mummy's new fluffy green bathrobe...mwaruffruffruff).

Eurovision wasn't so brilliant this year. There was nothing, you know, KAPOW about it. It was okay.

I still prefer Alexander Rybak's legendary performance of 'Fairytale'. It just hits the spot, you know? Like, there's no psycho costume or gate crasher (did anyone see the gate crasher into Spain's performance this year), just good, old fashioned folk music and dancing. And his violin playing encompasses all I believe in when it comes to good violin playing - lots of soul, lots of flair, and absolutely rubbish technique (my violin teacher might have cheerfully killed him). Oh, and not to mention he's really tall, super cute and his accent is AMAZING.

Anyway. Lady Renegade went parasailing on the weekend.

I may not look like it, but I actually have penchant for extreme sports. I love skiing, which is unfortunate because here in Australia we don't really get a whole lot of snow, and when I went to hospital I completely exhausted myself on the ski simulator the first day I got out of bed (not the best idea, when you've just had major heart surgery). But I've found my new love: parasailing.

Basically, you get put onto a boat with a whole lot of other nervous people, with a harness and a lifejacket on. This harness is different, however, because it has an additional flap that is wide enough to sit on, like the seat of a strap swing. The boat zooms out of the port and into an open patch of sea, and then they let the paraschute fly, and wait till it's flying nice and straight. Then you strip your shoes and socks off, climb onto the back of the boat, which is just a ramp sloping down towards the water (this is whilst the boat is still at full-speed, and the dude clips you on to the paraschute, then they release the rope for about 100 metres, and then you're in the air! It's amazing. Lots of fun. There's no skill involved, you just enjoy the view and piss your pants in fright. Sometimes they slow the boat down so that you drop towards the water and get a bit wet, which is lots of fun.

My sister and I flew tandem, which meant that she was in the normal clip position and I was in front of her. Have you ever had someone's knees bash into your backside every three seconds for ten minutes? We were like all nervous and freezing and chatty, it was so funny.

I can now say that I have flown like a bird, across the sky. I felt so free, 100 metres above Fremantle. There's no feeling like soaring in the air, the danger of falling, the thrill of flying.

privacy notice.

I have just deleted all comment posts I could find that featured my real name and the names of other people in a negative light.

For privacy reasons (and so my school doesn't burn me alive), please do not post any real names, especially my name, any surnames, or any names in a context that could be seen as negative or offensive.

All comments that do contain improper uses of real names will be deleted.

Thanks,
Lady Renegade.

That Kind of Girl

Mood: invisible
Listening to: 'Forever and Always' by Taylor Swift
Hungry for: milk
Bella says: 'heehee warm fuzzy blanket..'

I never thought I'd meet this kind of girl.

She's a girl straight from those movies. Regina George, off the silver screen and in the Drama Theatre at school.

If you go to my school, you should have a pretty good idea who I'm talking about.

She's a fascinating specimen - a kind of solid, horrifying yet strangely fascinating proof that those movies we watch when lamenting bad boyfriends and gorging on cookie-dough icecream really are based on some small truth. The kind of girl who struts around like she owns the place, has her own little minions carefully structured in a precise yet fragile hierachy, saying whatever she likes to whoever she likes. The Queen Bee, or, as we like to put it, The Bitch.

Do you know what pisses those kinds of girls off the most? When nerds get what they want. The lead drama role, the attention of that single hot dude - anything. Everything is hers, and anything nerds get is not theirs to take - it's all her property.

These girls used to dominate my life. I used to want to be her, or one of her minions. They used to trample all over me, my life, and my pride. But now I just find her really funny. It's amazing how she thinks the outside world really cares about who's dated who and who's friends with who. It's really hilarious watching her fume in her pathetic way.

I guess you should feel sorry for her. But to be honest, I don't really thing she deserves my pity.

Winter

Mood: cold
Listening to: 'Promise' from Yi San
Hungry for: warmth
Bella says: 'c-c-c-c-c-c-c-cold'

Winter has crept into Perth a few weeks too early.

It's bitterly cold. To Australian standards, anyway.

What's the best thing about winter? Nice, hot food. Piping hot baths (if you add herbs and salt you can have boiled Lady Renegade for supper). Not having to religiously shave legs. Smokey, dramatic makeup. Thick fluffy sweaters. Endless hours spent in the library whilst it's pouring buckets outside.

The worst thing about winter? Those days that mock you. Despite popular belief, I am actually quite tolerant of cold - providing that there is some visual signs of cold, like gloomy clouds or raging storms or bucketfuls of pelting rain. I can endure below freezing provided that there's at least a light dusting of snow.

But I can't stand those days when the sun glares at you, the sky is cloudless and a deep blue, and it's F**KING FREEZING. They're the most horrible days. You stand in the sun and pray for it to warm you, but it doesn't, it just blinds you. I really, truly, hate those days.

There are other bad things about winter as well. Sundresses stare at you sadly whilst you dig for your jeans. Getting out of bed at six in the morning feels as natural as waking up at midnight and realizing you're naked in an igloo in the middle of a snowstorm somewhere in the Arctic Circle. Sometimes your fingers get so cold you just want to amputate them. Swearing at your sandwiches hoping that they'll somehow buckle under the pressure and turn into a proper meal. Walking past the canteen and SMELLING THE HOT FOOD....and then realizing you're too poor to afford paying like a squillion dollars for a centimetre square of lasagne.

But we are weird creatures, you know. Brunettes crave blonde hair, blondes crave brown hair. Men wish to be women and women wish to be men. When it's winter we want it to be summer, when it's summer we want it to be winter. When we've got nothing to do we're 'bored' but when we've got stuff to do we're 'stressed'. When we fail a test we're sad, when we pass a test we wish that we had done better. We're never happy with ourselves, or each other, or the world.

Recognition

Mood: meh
Listening to: 'Prommise' from Yi San (ADDICTED)
Hungry for: meh
Bella says: 'bah skye's stolen my blankie againn....oh well i'll just steal grandaddy's chair then'

People live for many things. Some live for love, some for hate. Some live for revenge, for money, for glory, for fame. I live for recognition.

In primary school, my achievements were always overlooked. They did not want to make the other children feel bad, they said. It wasn't fair that I got awards when other children just watched. But did they ever think about how that made me feel? The disappointment after hours upon hours of hard work come to nothing? My primary school was truly utalitarian - they were willing to sacrifice the happiness of one lonely little girl for those who were freely recognised for their sporting talents.

I don't mind that I never get paid for anything. I don't mind when people ask me to go out of my way to do things. But I expect to gain something from that. Some say that I love the attention, but the truth is, I simply love being recognised. When I work towards something, I don't want to work towards nothing - even just a smile or a thanks makes anything worth doing. All I ever wanted was some respect, some acknowledgement, for what I could do. I have learned not to be a sour grape and I now I always acknowledge the achievements of others, so why can't they just be happy for me?

In high school, everything has changed. Everything is a competition - it makes us work harder. And I love it. There is nothing like the sting of losing to really get you going. And there is nothing like having your name printed on the newsletters, on the noticeboards, on the concert programmes. There is nothing quite like having your name called out and taking a bow.

With every competition, there are always winners. I believe that winners not only win the competition, but have the right to win respect and rewards for their efforts. To fear losing is weak, and to protect children from losing is foolish - especially at the cost of another child's happiness. Children need to learn how to lose, and how it feels to lose badly. It's a harsh world out there, and it's irresponsible not to prepare children for the ups and downs of life. I believe that children these days are too cushioned from reality. They're never told what they're good at, and what they're bad at. They have no sense of direction at all in life. They have no grasp of reality, of the possible and the improbable. They have no goals, they have no respect for their own talents and the talents of others, they have no dreams, they die with unfulfilled destinies. You cannot blame these directionless children for their lack of drive - I blame the adults around them, the people who knew better but did not educate them about life ahead for the sake of preventing a few childhood tears.