Hello darkness, my old friend

Lately I’ve been making myself sit down at some stage during the week and actually put some thought into these things instead of leaving them until the last minute, but the dodgy last minute ones that I think are complete balls seem to be the ones that you people like (ahaha you like balls), so I’m trying not to feel too bad about scrapping the depressing piece of shite I wrote yesterday while I was in a bit of a mood. I knew it was a particularly bad one because I had Billy Joel’s Vienna playing on repeat for about two hours. Even though it was written about ten years before I was born, I’m pretty sure THISSONGISABOUTME, and it’s nice to know that Billy cares (that’s ‘Mr Joel’ to you. You don’t know him like I know him). Then instead of finishing my last assignment for the year, I found a website where you can play everybody’s favourite MS-DOS game, Commander Keen. So I did that for three hours. It made my eyes hurt. I kept dying on the ice level. Bloody ice level.

That was when I tried to write something, and all that came out was me bitching about sleep deprivation and just general not-being-good-at-life type stuff. The good news is that today, I feel better. After work I went to Borders and found they were chucking out all their CDs for $5. For the non-Aussie people, in your currency that’s the equivalent of, like, for free. Unless you’re from New Zealand. Then it’s more like $6,000. They didn’t have a lot left, but I did find two copies of an album by a friend of mine which I kindly moved to the front of the stack (you’re welcome) then proceeded to the checkout with The Essential Simon and Garfunkel (get the blog title? Geddit? Shut up, it's genius (There’s been a lot of brackets today, eh?)) and Doris Day’s Greatest Hits. The trendy hipster dude behind the counter looked at my selections, then gave me this look --> O_o which only added fuel to the fire of my anti hipsters-who-work-in-shops-that-I-go-to campaign. I started it last year when I paid for some DVDs with a credit card, and after looking at my signature, the guy looked back up at me and said ‘You know it’s supposed to be something people can’t copy, right?’ Filthy hipster scum.

So now I’m sitting here with a Simon and Garfunkel CD in front of me, staring at the cover, trying to figure out who was supposed to be the good looking one. I reckon Garfunkel, if you got him a hat.

The clean up

Last weekend I attempted to clean my room. I say 'attempted' because after a solid four hours, it didn't look any better. I knew it wasn't a one day job when I started, but I still felt like I hadn't achieved anything.

To paint some kind of picture for you, the last time I cleaned it was before Christmas 2009. My clothes were in a massive pile by the TV, and everything else was in a longer, but not-as-high pile on the opposite side of the room.

(Think this, but tenfold)

The reason I hadn't bothered to clean it at any point throughout the year is because I have been me for long enough now to know that when I do clean it, it will somehow magically become messy again three days later, and I'll end up sitting on my bed, looking at it, thinking 'how does this keep happening?'

.

The trick to maintaining your status as a fully-functional human being while living in such a state is something I like to call 'footholes.' These are small gaps in between the crap on your floor that your foot will fit in. An alternative name for them is 'the only bits of visable carpet.' I like to place a series of footholes across the floor like stepping stones so I can use them to travel from the door to the bed without tripping, falling, and drowning face down in a pile of old magazines.

But don't I hate living this way? No. I like to keep it messy on the off chance that a serial killer comes into my room at night. There's no way that bastard is getting all the way from the door to the bed without tripping over one of the many piles of clothes/cds/dvds/important papers/stuff I still haven't got around to throwing out/scarves (I don't know why I keep buying these) which will then make enough noise to wake me up and give me a chance to arm myself with something that can be used as a weapon. And on top of that, when I put stuff away, I forget where it is. But when the room is messy, I know where everything is: on the floor.

The day wasn't a complete failure though. I cleared out all the clothes from my wardrobe and draws that I don't wear anymore and put all the wearable items that had been living on the floor since last Christmas into the now available space. This was a bad move.

• Massive pile of clothes on the floor = everything is visable and easy to access.
• Clothing put away in the wardrobe = I don't have the energy in the mornings to open a door, and have just been putting yesterday's jeans back on again. For the whole week.

If there's one lesson I can pass on to you, it is this: A drawer puts one too many obsticles between you and your clean t-shirts.

i can has blogz

From: laurenhateslolcats@hotmail.com
To: lolcats@icanhasemail.com
Subject: A few things...

Dear lolcats,

Stop taking up valuable internet space. That space could be better used for porn, whatever social networking site takes over from Facebook, or anything that isn't photos of cats with badly spelled captions. I realise it must be hard to type when you don't have fingers, but I think I could do a better job if I just mashed the keyboard with my forehead like so: hjnbb.

Does anyone really care if a cat has a cheese burger? If you go through the drive-thru one night in your run-down car and pay for it with the money you've made working part time at the supermarket while you're trying to put yourself through school and support your three kids who all have terrible incurable illnesses and require more time than you can give them because you're a single parent and your life is too demanding, then and only then will I be impressed by your so called 'cheez' burger.

Stop prancing around saying 'Look at me! Aren't I cute?' (I have taken the liberty of correcting the spelling). No. No you are not cute. Meercats are cute. Baby elephants are cute. That guy with the lip ring who came into my work everyday when I worked in Hawthorn is cute. Cats are not cute. Especially the freaky hairless ones that haunt my dreams with their smooth skin and their cold, dead eyes.

Please stop being in my email inbox.
Thanks.
Lauren



From: lolcats@icanhasemail.com
To: laurenhateslolcats@hotmail.com
Subject: RE: A few things...

o hay!

i has read ur email and it hurt mah feelingz! :( sorry dat u feel dis way, but wot we do iz nun of ur bizness LOL!!1

u r meanz. ima cum 2 ur house n eat ur foodz! baiiiii!!!



To: lolcats@icanhasemail.com
From: laurenhateslolcats@hotmail.com
Subject: RE: RE: A few things...

In response to your somewhat threatening email, I am pleased to inform you that I have come up with an intellegent and sOOper awesome alternative to you and your kind. He has a monocle. BAIIII!!!

Lauren’s Book Club 2.0

It’s been a while, but we’re going to take a look at another alleged ‘classic’ and the madness that exists between its pages.

Shel Silverstein – The Giving Tree

‘Once there was a tree, and she loved a little boy.’ And so begins the truly tragic tale of a tree with dangerously low self esteem. People seem to think that this story is all about the spirit of giving. People are wrong.

WARNING SIGNS OF AN ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIP:
He carves his initials into you
He brings his new girlfriend around just to rub it in your face
He leaves you, then comes back asking for money
He takes your sweet, sweet, juicy fruit
He cuts off your arms
He dismembers you with a chainsaw and leaves your stump in the forest
He goes to the forest and sits on your stump

Ok, so the boy is selfish. We see this at the beginning of the book where as a child, one of his favourite games to play with the tree is Hide and Seek. This game puts the tree at an extreme disadvantage, since she is rooted to the ground and therefore unable to hide, or in fact, seek. If the boy was a true friend, he would have been up for the occasional game of ‘pretend to be a tree.’ But she plays Hide and Seek anyway, because it makes him happy.

Over the next few years the boy comes and goes as he pleases. He takes her apples for his own financial gain, builds a house out of her branches, and uses her body for a boat. Considering he took more wood for the boat than he did for the house, I’m guessing it was a pretty kick ass boat. Or a really shitty house. But despite the emotional and physical damage his selfish and violent behavior is doing to her, the tree tolerates it. Because it makes him happy.

The boy comes back for the last time as a tired old man. The tree has nothing left to give him, as he has bled her dry. So he just sits. And this makes her happy, ALLEGEDLY.

Due to the size of the tree, it is apparent that she has been around for quite some time before the boy enters her life (I tried to count the rings on her stump but went blind in the process), and one is left wondering what incidents occurred in her past that have left her with such low self esteem. Maybe she’s just lonely in that forest? Maybe the whole situation could have been avoided if someone had planted a redwood nearby? Redwoods, afterall, being the tallest and sexiest of the tree community.

I have never liked this book. Even when I was little there was something about it that didn’t sit right with me. There is no happy ending for our damsel in distress. It’s not a tale of friendship or giving, but one of undeserved unconditional love from a magical talking tree that somehow still manages to speak after it has been cruelly disfigured.

Why can't I... think of a title?

Hello, and welcome to ‘Typing things into the Google search box and waiting to see what suggestions it offers you.’ In this, the first instalment of ‘Typing things into the Google search box and waiting to see what suggestions it offers you,’ we’ll be typing ‘Why can’t I’ into the Google search box and waiting to see what suggestions it offers us. Quick, to the Google machine!

Why can’t I… Own a Canadian
I initially thought it was a bit suss that this is the most popular suggestion. How many people want to own Canadians? Then I Googled it and found out it’s actually quite awesome and possibly stolen from The West Wing. Go have a read here. Then enslave someone.

Why can’t I… Lose weight
SHUT UP! You look fantastic! For real. Don’t change a thing. I love you. Please keep reading my blog.

Why can’t I… Sleep
Because you’re distracted by all the overpowering mental stimulation that is my blog. It’s hard to sleep when you’re worrying about things like how politics relate to Sesame Street. Luckily, I'm here to solve these problems for you. You're welcome.

Why can’t I… Lyrics
Any song that opens with the lines ‘Get a load of me, Get a load of you’ doesn’t deserve to be Googled. (I may or may not have taped this song off the radio when it first came out) (By that, I mean I did)

Why can’t I… Get a job
If I knew the answer to this, I wouldn’t still be working for the same company that gave me my first job.

Why can’t I… Be you lyrics
It’s catchy as hell, but from what I gather, this song is an ode to cannibalism. Let’s face it, Robert Smith looks like he’d be up for it. WOO, THE CURE!

Why can’t I… Get pregnant
What am I, a doctor?

Why can’t I… Get a boyfriend
Good question, internet! I personally have received only two, yes, TWO honest answers to this question in regards to my own situation. The first young gentleman told me ‘You’re too much of a dude.’ The second said that I was ‘Intimidating,’ and I was all ‘Oh my god, what? As if. I’ll punch you in the face for saying that.’

Why can’t I… Cry
This one upset me a little until I found the result TOM JONES - WHY CAN’T I CRY LYRICS and I smiled because it made me think of old ladies throwing giant underwear around in public.