Back to school

This week marked my second week back in the classroom after that whole ditching-school-to-run-away-to-the-other-side-of-the-world-for-a-bit incident from earlier in the year. I went back with the best of intentions. This time it was going to be different. This time I was actually going to get my homework done. I was going to be a good little writing student and work on my novel every day.

So far, we have seen no evidence of this.

Wednesday afternoon I got home from work and decided I was going to do some writing. Here’s how the afternoon/evening unfolded:
2:00 – Turn computer on, check email and log in to Facebook.
3:00 – Still on Facebook.
4:00 – Facebook.
5:00 – Decide it’s time for a Youtube break.
6:00 – More Youtube.
7:00 – Stop for dinner, then a quick shower, then back to Facebook.
8:00 – See a picture of Dr Phil without a moustache, need some time to recover.
9:00 – It is now officially past my bed time. Writing will have to wait until tomorrow. Go to bed.

Thursday – Class, then Facebook.

However, I have chosen not accept responsibility for this - as that would involve a level of maturity that I do not yet possess - and tell anyone who asks that I’m a victim of the times. Back in the day, university students had to use their imaginations to procrastinate. Now we have the internet and all the joy and magic that comes with it. Not to mention the short attention span. I was so distracted yesterday afternoon that after using the Nutella, instead of putting the jar back in the cupboard, I attempted to place it in the dishwasher.

It’s ok though, I’m going to get some work done this weekend. But I’m also a little bit over that novel I’m reading, so I should buckle down and get it finished so I can move on to another book. You know, my room’s pretty messy too, I need to have a massive cleanout. Oh yeah, and those DVDs I borrowed from my brother, I should probably watch those so I can return them. What? It’s Monday again? Brilliant.

The eleven people you see at every gig

The tall guy
Defining characteristics: he is tall.
Location: standing right in front of you.

The guy who yells the words to the song louder than the music coming through the speakers
Defining characteristics: wearing the band t-shirt, has his fist in the air, is extremely sweaty. Like, really, really sweaty. Looks like he’s been pushed in a swimming pool kind of sweaty.
Location: right beside your ear.

The girl who won’t stop going ‘WOO!’
Defining characteristics: she won’t shut the eff up.
Location: right beside your other ear.

The tragic old guy who can’t let go of his youth
Defining characteristics: tries to dress hip, keeps talking to the kids about music and wondering why they’re trying to get away from him.
Location: too close to the kids.

The old guy who is genuinely interested in the band
Defining characteristics: has a drink in his hand, nods his head to the music, has a look of defeat on his face over the knowledge that he is constantly being mistaken for the tragic old guy.
Location: standing around at the back.

The boyfriend/girlfriend who has been dragged along unwillingly by their partner
Defining characteristics: an extreme look of boredom. Unless their other half is looking their way, then they’re faking a smile. Poorly.
Location: right beside someone who looks excited.

The security guard who thinks he’s tough
Defining characteristics: built, but only about 5 feet tall and clearly suffering from short man syndrome.
Location: at the front giving the stink eye to anyone who dared to bring a camera.

The guy who smacks you in the head every time he puts his hands up in the air (and waves them like he just doesn’t care)
Defining characteristics: has his arms up. Smells like a dickhead. Because he is.
Location: right behind you.

The girl who only came to see the support band and thinks she’s better than you because she only came to see the support band
Defining characteristics: talks down to you between each band's set.
Location: hopefully outside soon.

The crowd surfer
Defining characteristics: most likely male, shirtless and missing a shoe.
Location: right on top of you. Unless people dropped him. Then he’s probably on the floor.

You
Defining characteristics: love the band, really want to enjoy yourself, but quietly hating all the people around you.
Location: behind the tall guy, right between the guy who sings too loud and the girl who keeps squealing, underneath the crowd surfer, getting smacked in the back of the head.

Lauren’s Book Club: Where Wally is (and what he’s keeping from us)

Books! Woo! Reading! Yeah!

Where’s Wally – Martin Handford

There was one question that plagued, baffled, and in some cases caused major eye strain to children in the early to mid nineties. What was that question, you ask? Well shut up for a second and I’ll tell you. The question was this: Just where, exactly, is Wally?

There he is. Yeah, over there in the stripy jumper. No not that one, over a little more to the left. Yeah, that’s him, the bugger in the glasses with the magic walking stick. I know, right? Apparently he knows a wizard.

That was an ordeal, wasn’t it? It’s a bit harsh how they make so many other people look like him. You would never see that many people wearing red and white striped jumpers in the real world.

Though we are led to believe that Wally’s whereabouts is the main issue here, these books tend to ask more questions than they answer. Why is he always hanging out in big crowds? Who is he hiding from? Why do the Americans call him ‘Waldo’? Does no one else think it’s odd that he has multiple identities? The man travels a lot, does this name issue not make it hard for him to get through passport control? Then there’s the confusing title Where’s Wally in Hollywood. Is the answer not in the question? He’s in Hollywood. Let the kids have a day off.

Why do we never see him working? What is his main source of income? How is he funding these trips? And why do we have to find him? How hard is it to inform a friend or relative of your travel plans? I’m not one to jump to conclusions, but I think it’s a safe to say he’s a drug mule. Has anyone actually checked what’s concealed inside this alleged ‘magic’ walking stick?

I find the whole situation to be quite suspicious.

Why is there never a double page spread of Wally sitting alone in his living room, kicking back in an armchair while reading a good book? Where’s Wally? There he is, enjoying a quiet night in. How about Where's Wally in the IT department? I know you shouldn't judge someone based on their appearance, but lets face it, if he did have a job it would be in IT.

I’ll tell you why we've never seen him taking part in these everyday activities: it’s because of the drugs.

Maybe he is a drug mule. Maybe I’m just jealous that he’s friends with a wizard and I still haven’t met one. Maybe he’s just a drawing that some guy did to sell some books. I guess we’ll never know.

But it’s most likely the drugs.

Alternative meal ideas for those who are home alone

2 minute noodles: because using the stove makes you feel like a proper grown up, and this is one of the two things you know how to cook.
Toast: the other thing you know how to cook. 2 minute noodles on toast: combine your skills and wear your genius hat!

Burnt hamburger: you’re happy with this, because you’ve finally gotten over your amazing ability to cook something that’s burnt on the outside and yet raw on the inside. This time it’s just burnt. This is a clear sign that you’re moving up in the world. HINT: try to convince yourself it’s just ‘well done.’ Vegetables that you didn’t heat up for long enough: apparently you need to microwave them for a little bit longer if you don’t want them to still be frozen in the middle.
And remember: ice cream is not just for dessert. It is a welcome addition to anything. ANYTHING.

Om nom nom

I exercised twice this week. Then I ate cheesecake. Both times.

For a few weeks now I’ve been trying to cut back on the amount of sugary/fatty/deep fried food items that I consume. It hasn’t gone well. To bring about a major change in eating habits is a big thing to ask of someone who considers cake to be a reasonable breakfast choice and who writes poetry about the joy that is bacon. To be honest, I was surprised my motivation lasted until the second day.

I’ve attempted health kicks before, and they’ve all met the same end. I make all these big plans about how and when I’m going to exercise and what I’m going to eat each day. But then I remember that it’s not only easier, but also more enjoyable, to sit on the couch and eat chips.

The trouble with cutting back on junk food is that it’s so gosh darn tasty. If we were really supposed to eat vegetables, they’d taste edible. Instead, they taste like a combination of feet, arse and disappointment.

Getting up for work at 4am requires quite a lot of coffee consumption, and I refuse to drink skim milk because it doesn’t have that magical creamy taste. As for soy milk, well, that’s an abomination that the world needs to be rid of. My job also involves spending a lot of time around donuts and muffins and more donuts and a manager who shows up to work and excitedly says ‘I made brownies!’ before producing a container of brownies. Then offering me brownies. Brownies made of massive amounts of chocolate and sugar and butter. Brownies that are dusted with cocoa. Brownies that are delicious. Brownies.

My main issue with getting fit is that if I’m outside exercising, I’m not inside playing tetris, and that bothers me.

FAQs (that may or may not have ever been asked)

Dear Lauren…

‘Where do your ideas come from?’
Jesus.

‘How many roads must a man walk down before you can call him a man?’
Now that question isn’t as simple as it may seem. There are far too many variables to give a single, solid answer. How long is each road? Is it a dirt road? What are the weather conditions? How many legs does the man have? Is he carrying something? What is the weight of the item or items he is carrying? What time of year is it? Is he wearing appropriate walking shoes? What’s his middle name?

‘What’s the deal with you and Mr Potato Head?’
He amuses me, alright? WHY IS THAT SO HARD FOR PEOPLE TO UNDERSTAND? That, and I like his sexy, potato shaped torso and his dark, mysterious eyes.

‘Is that one person from Guatemala still reading your blog?’
Not since the first time I mentioned them, no. Sorry Guatemalan person. If you come back, I promise to never mention you again.

‘Will we be seeing more of the overweight stripper Gassy Struts?’
I’m sure she’ll take it all off if you throw enough money at her. Television has lead me to believe this is what strippers do.

‘Where do you think your unhealthy obsession with bacon came from?’
As a child, did you ever see the movie Charlotte’s Web? That cartoon pig sure looked delicious.

‘Isn’t it your birthday soon?’
Yes. And now that you know, you have no excuse for not getting me a present. I enjoy cash, candy, shiny things and monkeys wearing people clothes (as in ‘miniature versions of clothes people would wear,’ not ‘clothes made out of people’).

‘When is your novel about the angel and the vampire who fall in love at wizard school coming out?’
When I have enough money to deal with the lawsuits. And when I’ve written it. Which I never will. Because it’ll take too long and Home and Away is on at 7:00.

‘Is ‘ejaculate’ really an alternate word for ‘cry’?’
YES! I’ve seen it in other books now! And it’s hilarious every time! eg. ‘He tried to stop her, but she ignored his ejaculations.’ Ahaha. Gold.

‘I’m a Nigerian Prince. Can I have your bank details?’
Yes.

‘Did you learn anything interesting today?’
I learned that people who are short on cash don’t appreciate it when you tell them they should sell one of their kidneys on the black market. ‘Prostitution’ is also not a valid suggestion, apparently.

‘Why are you still doing this?’
Why are you still reading it?

‘Have you ever considered adding more challenging books to your book club?’
You didn’t find The Very Hungry Caterpillar challenging? Expect a new addition to the book club just as soon as I uncover the mystery of Wally’s whereabouts.

Ode to bacon

This is a poem for the tastiest of meats,
one of the world’s most wonderful feats,
whose popularity I learned of last week,
when I blogged about it like a hungry freak.

You’re cut from a pig, then carefully treated.
With a beaming smile you are ecstatically greeted.
Your addictive flavour should be some kind of sin.
When I cook you in a frying pan, your oil spurts out and burns my skin.

I see you sitting there on my plate,
knowing that you’ll taste unbelievably great,
but you’re still too hot, I’ll have to wait.
More than once I’ve eaten you past your ‘use by’ date.

Your fat clogs my arteries, and yes, I know,
that because of you, to an early grave I shall go.
I like you when you’re soft, I like you when you’re crispy.
When you’re gone from my plate my eyes get all misty.

My bloated belly is a small price to pay,
for the constant burping that reminds me of you all day.
As the years go by, my love for you never weans.
Sometimes I eat so much that I suffer chest pains.

And so I have composed this poem,
So when asked how I feel, I can clearly show ‘em.
To eat you right now is one of my greatest wishes,
Because, old friend, you are spectacularly delicious.

Mmm. Bacon.