A Love Affair With Hotel Rooms

(In which Laura posts a lot of photos with a red tinge)

Tonight shall be the last night spent in a room that is not my own. (For a while at least. Maybe. ) Leaving Bangkok tomorrow and back to HK. I'm so excited for August, holy shit. I love my family dearly but I am a fond advocate of PERSONAL SPACE™ and I have been slightly missing the comforts of my room. Or at least the part where I spend 14 hours a day sitting in there alone.


Bangkok is... idk. It's a hard place to describe. It is both seedy and posh and busy and the traffic makes me want to smack my head into a wall repeatedly and it's just a mixture of upper-class malls and cheap street stalls.

Bangkok has been shopping. As a girl, this should have made me very happy, but along with my innate female love of buying new material products for myself, I also possess the world's shittiest attention span. My sister, the material queen, was all too happy to spend hours and hours wandering around malls to my distaste. My sister, thirteen years old and the female who wears the least amount of makeup in the house, ironically also bought enough beauty products and cosmetics to makeover a small town.

My sister, thirteen years old, also spent 20 minutes looking at Victoria's Secret stuff whilst I, seventeen years old, fawned over cat pillows. (I will not list here the things I would do for a cat pillow.)


Supporting evidence. She-is-a-brand-whore vs. my whatever-fucking-works mentality. I did have to cave in and buy some new makeup now, because my selfish non-makeup wearing but addicted to makeup sister did not pack her eye makeup to bring on holiday. This posed a problem for me as I've been stealing and using all her eye makeup for the last few months.

I very rarely splurge and go clothes shopping back home. I'll buy maybe a piece or two a month. This usually comes down to my ~alt*~indieness,*~ because the 'teen clothing stores' back home pretty much are the staples of everyone's wardrobes back there. Walking into one of the stores, you could probably identify every piece of clothing there by someone who's worn it to school. (This is actually one of the games I play when i'm dragged into one of these stores. Second most played, after "Wtf why would anyone wear that?")

I'm not even in school anymore, (hah,) so this matters less, but I still am pretty fussy over this. Therefore, I did treat myself to a few things from here and there, and I may have drawn a few funny looks for rearranging the furniture in forever 21 because I was too frigging short to reach the top shelf.



I WAS planning a post concerning all my hauls and whatnot, but my mother is absolutely neurotic about the suitcases and packing - fair enough, I guess someone has to do it - and has been obsessively packing since we arrived. She has also spent the last few hours coming into our room in 15 minute or so intervals to remind us not to buy anymore shampoos and conditioners (my one weaknes) and whatnot because the bags are getting heavy.



Today's attire feat. me pulling idiotic faces in the mirror.

I bought a lot more casual summer stuff, which is good because my wardrobe was really more tailored to winter, because up until recently, I used to wear only jeans. (I know, god, I was one of those people.)

So the end of a holiday usually calls for some sort of reflection, but I've used up all my reflectives filling in all those dumb things at school. It was nice and I had fun but some bits were boring and the beach still sucks and all my friends were at home. Is that sufficient?

Bands & Albums I Am Loving Right Now: Summer Edition

I have yet to do it, but I have planned an article called 'My Top Favourite Bands Of All Time' However, I have decided to write this one first because (a) it is summer currently, and (b) my day-to-day music changes as often as my hair colour. My Top Favourite bands are so named as they have been the same bands I've adored for god knows how long and that likely won't be changing soon, so I can write about them at any time.

Summer brings to mind summery, (uh, duh,) light pop music. I tend to shift from the darker indie-rock and alternative tunes of Winter to lighter powerpop and mellowed-out indie music. Examine the charts: pop singers, (think Katy Perry, Britney etcetera. I'm talking those who do dancey-sing-a-long type music, as opposed to the actual meaning of 'pop' as 'popular,') tend to release summer albums and singles around summer, pitting their songs against each other in an attempt to be crowned singer of the 'summer anthem,' because it works. The freedom from school/university/work (maybe,) and better weather (maybe,) just brings up a lighter mood and a lot of people just want to dance to something light and poppy.

Anyway, here is my current summer list of Good Bands/Songs:

(1) The Format - Dog Problems (Or any of their albums, to be honest.)

I could fangirl over Nate Ruess's vocals for the rest of my life. Not only do his high notes make me shiver, but his voice is perfectly light and good for summer. Combine that with the quirky, adorable lyrics and instrumentation and I've just fallen in love with this album and band.
Personal Favourites: Snails, Dead End, Dog Problems, Time Bomb, She Doesn't Get it. (You get the picture.)
Bonus Mention: The Format have broken up, but Nate's new band Fun. is also good. I was listening to them in winter though so I did not give them an entry.


(2) The Fratellis - Costello Music

A lot of you will know The Fratellis through either 'Flathead' or 'Chelsea Dagger' I've only recently started listening to the whole album and I haven't really stopped. I don't even know what genre this is but I fucking love it. Their music is so sassy. So fun to sing along to and so fun just to listen to.
Personal Favourites: For The Girl, Vince The Lovable Stoner, Chelsea Dagger (duh.)


(3) Marina & The Diamonds - The Family Jewels

Not conventional 'pop' music, but pretty fantastic either way. Asides from my massive girl-crush on Marina, her songs, (a lot of which also serve as commentaries on society and the like which I really like,) are upbeat, solid, and just really good to my ears. It's just such a fun album.
Personal Favourites: Hollywood, Mowgli's Road, Are You Satisfied


(4) Miniature Tigers - Tell It To The Volcano

This is such an adorable, upbeat album that every song just fills me with so much love and for a moment - whilst I'm listening to one of their songs - I think I can never be sad again. I really just want to make adorable music videos to every single one of these songs.
Personal Favourites: Cannibal Queen, The Wolf, Tchaikovsky and Solitude



(5) Eisley - Combinations

Nothing of mine has any consistency, including my Summer Band List. Eisley is perhaps not the summer-y pop you'd be thinking of listening to, but you should. I've known them and a few songs for a while, and then randomly decided to go through the album and boom, hooked. Most of the songs are light and have a lovely breezy floating-on-water-feel and makes me think of grass and sentimental shit. Nice sunset/sunrise/day music.
Personal Favourites: Telescope Eyes, Golly Sandra, Marvelous Things.

Kids And Candy

Something shocking appears to have happened.

This blog is not the first. When I started this blog, I was not a aspiring blogger tentatively dipping her feet into the sea of documenting my life. I have in the past, to continue the water metaphor now that I've started, thrown myself headfirst off a cliff into the sea, promptly swam to shore, and then kept going back and forth.

This time, it appears I have been successful.

Maybe I am speaking too soon. Maybe this will be my last entry for a month, two, a year, forever. But glancing down that cute sidebar on the left, right, whatever-it-depends-on-which-way-you-look-at-it-either-way, my updates are becoming more and more per month. (Yes, my new obsessions in writing long, pretentious articles do so count as updates.)

My previous record, was I think, perhaps three entries. Maybe four. Therefore, over thirty entries is an interesting milestone, because holy shit, even I didn't think I'd keep this up. I have tried ranting blogs, private blogs, funny blogs, feature blogs, picture blogs with cute drawings and none have stayed with me.

Whether anyone reads my ramblings, I do not know. I do not care to know. As mentioned here, I blog to blog and for my future entertainment because I find a ridiculous amount of joy in reading back on my old stuff and just laughing at myself.

And now, as I head off on my next new adventure on the other side of the world for The Next Big Step in my formal education, university, I should have plenty of interesting (to me,) content and thoughts in general to spill out over the keyboard. Because I am a relatively pathetic person, I am really hoping to keep this up, because I am already anticipating with glee the hobby that will become me in my second year of university reading back on my freshman year thoughts and predictions. God, I'm so easily amused.

I do, however, have to admit that I've grown slightly attached to my little bit of space on the internet. Yes, this is what it would look like if my mind digitalized itself and threw up everywhere. I am neither consistent or logical. But this is pretty much the truth. (Unless it's a fictional article and in that case I guess it's a lie.)

So, in celebration of thirty-two-entries, I am going to place here an introduction. Because I am a terrible person, it is not even an introduction specifically written for this exciting and monumental event. No, it is a recycled introduction from one of my older blogs which is (a) from last summer, and (b) not SO awful that I am too embarrassed to paste it there.

Therefore:

I have always sucked majorly at introductions.

For starters, I never know what to introduce. Should I tell people about my interests or my personality? My positive points or the parts that suck? Or maybe I could launch into one of my more eccentric theories, or a heavily exaggerated story about what happened yesterday, and let you reach the conclusion that I am insane on your own.

Or, even better, I could ditch the introduction and simply attach a warning sign. One of my better ideas, as it would stop my dreaded and frequent encounters with slow walkers, and would allow me to pick friends who don't talk in cinemas.

I have attempted many times to keep a blog. I think 5 entries was the record. Each entry also started with "Oops I haven't updated in a while," because I'm sure my large following of dedicated readers (read: none) were peeing themselves in a frenzy to know where I'd gone and WHY I'D STOPPED UPDATING MY BLOG (i.e. no one cared and I, being a loser, felt inadequate and gave up)

I have also started many, many projects. Some of the lucky, rare exceptions, managed to actually go somewhere, before sinking back into the limbo of "Ideas and things that could have happened if Laura weren't too lazy."

So: Hi, I'm Laura and I'm really lazy.


I decided to create this blog-picture-thing because:

• I have self-diagnosed myself as extremely witty™, and therefore need to share this with the cyberworld.
• I like to doodle. Especially stick figures. Especially stick figures mocking myself. Go figure. Now this sentence sounds stupid because the word 'figure' is in it three times, once not being used for syntactic parallelism.
• I have nothing better to do.

I will spare you details of my real life. It is mundane and uninteresting. You will, however, probably get glimpses of it (or perhaps more), as this blog is, um, a blog about my mundane and uninteresting life.

Now, as an amateur to introductions, I am of the opinion this has been a quality introduction post. However, due to my place as a newbie on the introduction hierarchy, it may be that this introduction post has greatly displeased the introduction post gods and I will be struck down once I click "publish post."

Nevertheless, it is a risk I will take.

I Am A Walking Contradiction (TL;DR)

You know you’re attempting to write too many thought-provoking (see: attempting) articles when you start using second person all the – oh shit.

I have come to realise that my blog has recently become less about me and more about my ramblings, which tend to focus on things other than me. Unfortunately for those who were thinking that this signified the end of my self-centeredness, I have decided that, for at least this article, I will try and make it more personal. I am aware that yes-it’s-my-blog-I-can-post-whatever-I-fucking-want-deal-with-it etcetera, etcetera, but when I read other people’s articles and ramblings and thoughts, I’m always more drawn to the ones based on personal experiences and with just a more personal approach.

This may be because of the usual mantra: the most special thing we have is that we are the only one like us blah blah blah therefore the best way to be distinctive is to write about personal stuff. This is, of course, not strictly true for all; there are many distinctive writers who have their own styles and can write based entirely on fiction. I believe that for me, a not-average-but-not-particularly-special teenage girl, my own experiences and personality add some – flourish – to my writing. This is almost an exercise in self-discovery, except I probably will make no new discoveries or suddenly answer a question about myself. I’m just writing for the sake of writing about myself. (Welcome back, self-centeredness!) If you, for some reason, wish to know all about a relatively boring teenage girl, read ahead. If not, do not and thank you and come again.

Rant aside, I shall now ruminate:

(1) For an individualist, I certainly do conform.

I have many thoughts on the paradox that is ‘mainstream-is-the-new-indie,’ but due to my lacking of the ability to condense written thoughts into a concise, engaging length, I shall save them for another article. (Real reason: a blown fuse resulting in the loss of the few paragraphs I’d typed up on this matter means I refuse to write about the matter again for at least a little while.)

I do have an interest in the media and particularly media influence; I’m hoping to work in the industry someday and generally like to make observations and debate the big issues and commonly discussed topics such as the power of the media etcetera. I’ve studied both media and psychology and whilst not a professional or somewhat on any level, I’d like to think I can appreciate the ideas of conformity and the human psych.

On top of that, I am, if you have not already gathered, quite opinionated. I am relatively vocal on voicing these opinions and like to think I’ve developed the ability to think for myself. I am not easily swayed by ‘peer-pressure’ in terms of what to think and do, (this may be down to my extreme stubbornness, however.)

I think about it this way: despite my small additions to my appearance in my attempts to distinguish myself, (linked to number (2) which discusses my superiority complex,) I still attempt to conform to the general standards of beauty. Why do I wear make up and exercise and brush my hair and attempt not to look like a total eyesore? Because if I really wanted to distinguish myself, surely I wouldn’t bother at all to fit in with the loose beauty standards I do kind of fit into. I could argue that I am doing all these things for myself, and for my own standards, but this brings up a new question: who has set my standards of beauty?

For someone who is so critical of the idea of conforming and not-thinking-for-onself, I have probably allowed myself to be brainwashed in my own way. I may scoff at the cookie-cutter girls on the streets wearing the exact same clothes mirrored in the shop fronts, but then I realise that I’m exactly the same but in my own way. I’m simply conforming to a different set of standards.

Perhaps there is no such thing as total non-conformity.

(2) My Superior Complex Vs. My Self Esteem

Anyone who has the displeasure of knowing me in real life may have, with reason, formed the opinion that I have an awful superiority complex. I have been told by several people, not limited to friends and parents, that I can come across as incredibly condescending; I tend to treat people like they’re stupid.

(This is an awful way to describe myself, but I wouldn’t be honest if I did not admit this and this is my fucking blog.)

It is most likely a combination of the following things: my impatience and my ability to process information quite quickly. These two things combined mean that someone repeating the same point again and again is my idea of a nightmare. You know that one person who is really, really slow at telling a story? They sort of start, mull around the details, think to themselves aloud, and continuously repeat points with the, “Yeah, so like I said, the door was red, and –”? Whilst the time drags slowly for all of us, it will literally drive me into saying, “yes, the door was red, we get it.”

On top of that, I have an awful habit of feeding people their sentences. I literally try to put words into people’s mouths because I am constantly under the impression that I know what they are going to say and oh my god they are saying it too slowly. Humans like to be able to predict behaviour: I perhaps take this to the extreme.

Despite all this, and whilst I may act like I’m smarter and better than everyone else and a fucking psychic to boot, this completely contradicts my lack of self-esteem.

Maybe it is all one circle: perhaps my superiority complex is a result of my critical nature, and the strongest recipient of my criticism is, of course, myself. Those who think I am unreasonably critical on other people should hear the shit I give myself. I know, everyone does it. We’re all unreasonably mean to ourselves. (Well, not all of us. But those who are the complete opposite aren’t entirely likable either. Perhaps a balance is needed. Noted.)

Being the dynamic creatures we are, humans do switch between moods and personalities even, I am aware. What baffles me, however, is that these two co-exist. How that even makes sense, I don’t know. It’s sort of a I’m-so-fucking-stupid-but-oh-my-god-everyone-here-is-so-dumb-I’m-smarter-than-them-all. And then I think I’m a bad person because I’m criticizing everyone else, (self-esteem,) and then I console myself by saying that everyone else is worse. (superiority.) Vicious circle.

(3) Confidently Shy

Could almost go hand in hand with number (2): public perceptions of me vs. how I actually am.

I have no fear of public speaking; never had and probably never will. It doesn’t matter if I have not prepared anything or that I am the worst improv-speaking on Earth. I have no problems with making a fool out of myself in front of 100, 1000, and although I haven’t done it, I probably wouldn’t mind 10,000 people either.

Every time that is brought up, everyone seems to say something along the lines of: ‘Wow! You were so confident up there!’ If this person is not a friend of mine, I will then partake in perhaps the strangest behaviour considering that I was just complimented on confidence: I will turn red and murmur something, or just smile awkwardly. Fuck this shit, I’m really shy!

No one believes that you’re shy if you’re loud. I am very loud. I also can talk a mile a minute and barely need to stop to breathe. We’ve all seen those people; they just radiate confidence, don’t they?

But no, I’m really awkward and shy and social situations just make me so nervous. From a young age, however, I’ve trained myself to act like I’m completely unfazed. Unfortunately, the amount of time I’ve spent pretending not be awkward has not made me any better at it and in certain situations, I am completely certain (this may be social paranoia or maybe my friends are just being nice when they assure me I did not make a complete ass out of myself,) that it’s very clear that I am very uncomfortable.

Then comes the fucking babbling. It’s like I’m drunk without being on alcohol – everything and anything will just come out my mouth because my dumbass brain, apparently so good at processing information, (see (2),) doesn’t seem to understand that ranting about mime sub-groups or the alternative uses of apples is not necessarily preferable to an awkward silence. Most people probably would prefer the awkward silence, because it probably would be less awkward than the one that befalls the group once I run out of things to say.

(4) Bitchy Feminist (But I’m Also Sweet)

To start this off: I would not consider myself a feminist. I have a massive independent streak that I would probably have regardless of gender, and if anyone asked, I would sum it up like this: I care less about you insulting my gender, and more about a personal insult to me. Yes, someone insulting my gender is insulting me, but putting a blanket over half the world’s population and making a statement about them does not affect me too much; in that group, there will be people who stand to said statement.

If you insult me personally based on my gender on the other hand, I will hit back.

Like I said; my independent streak means I like to do things for myself. I plan on getting a well-paid job and being able to support myself. I have not even entertained the notion of being a housewife for more than three seconds because it is that laughable. (Can be summed up by: I am an aggressive bitch who hates kids.) My authoritarian personality also means I can 100% see myself bossing around some poor souls quite happily in the future.

Stereotypical bad film/tv. show bitch female boss, right?

Therefore, perhaps the most surprising to some is that I can be pretty – girly – and even – sweet.

I’ve always been surprised that someone as aggressive as me gets called cute as many times as I do. (This is not a boast, but simply pointing out, I swear.) And I can somewhat back up this statement, because if I rack my memory, I can definitely find times where I’ve been really sweet. They are dispersed quite evenly amongst the times where I’ve been bitchy.

It’s not even a case of me being bitchy to some and nice to others, because everyone does that. I apparently and fairly provide all my peers with an equal dose of bitchiness and sweetness. (This bitchiness is not exactly to them, but it’s my more aggressive, ‘hard’ side, I suppose.)

This bitchy side also works hard to keep a very tough mental state: I do not need anyone. (See: independent streak.) My friends are acquaintances and boys are all dumb and my family just hold me back.

And then in conjunction to that, is the bit of me that stays up ‘til ridiculous hours giggling with my friends, and I printscreen funny conversations and read back on them later and laugh. Compliments from cute boys make me blush and they’re not MEANT to because FUCK BLUSHING, BLUSHING IS FOR SILLY GIRLY GIRLS AND NEXT THING I’LL BE SWOONING OR – but I do, and for god’s sake now I’m giggling like a stupid schoolgirl.

I think the length of this article really stands a testament to how little I understand myself; and obviously I wouldn’t know because I am me, but when writing something like this, just discussing your different, contrasting personality traits, you really realise how dynamic people are. Maybe I’m just an unpredictable mess, or maybe everyone else is just way better at controlling the parts of themselves they present, (believe me, if awkward-shy-babbler-laura never came out again, I would be very happy.)

I will end with this: fuck it, another contradiction. For someone who hates revealing anything to people, I sure can talk about myself a whole fucking lot.

30 Minutes In Vietnam

Copy and pasted from an inbox message to a friend upon my arrival in Vietnam:

(1) There are a shitload of hat shops. Within half an hour, I have seen a minimum of 20 hat shops. They all sell big, colourful sunhats and they all look the same but they're different shops and it's very confusing.

(2) I have a strange feeling that I'm not going to leave this place. The roads are insane. It's apparently super, super hard to walk across a road here and I can see why. I have never been so terrified for my life inside of a car. I have been in vietnam less than half an hour and our car has already hit someone on a motorbike... (only the window but Jesus Christ this guy was driving in the lane going the other way.)

(3) Facebook is blocked here and I've had to play that stupid identify-your-friends game because they don't believe its me and it was fun at first and then it just got boring. And now I fucking HATE people who tag others in photos when it's not them. That's a fucking shoe, you tell ME who it's meant to be.

(4) I had a really good flight. I drew faces on the puke-bags and made the perfect paper pellet which I chucked across the plane at my dad to get his attention because I wanted his puke-bag too. It was the first time I'd ever wished for a kid behind me so I could've slowly slid angry-puke-bag over the seat and scared the crap out of them.

Sunshine Dust

Leaving Hua Hin and heading to Vietnam today (and thank god too.) Hua Hin is nice enough, but it's really more a place for relaxation by other people's standards. (Yes, including beaches.) Because I am quite a hyper-kinetic person, my idea of 'relaxation' usually includes doing three or four things at once; and therefore lying by the side of a pool just doesn't quite cut it.

In this kind of scenario, you have to find other things to do. My life has been reduced to learning rap songs, writing articles (hence the sudden prominence of them here,) living on the internet (two points: (a) thank god there is internet access here, and (b) my number one activity at home anyway,) and watching cooking contest shows whenever my parents have them on.


Vietnam looks more promising for a number of reasons: (1) we are going to be there for two full days, which strongly reduces the chance of me getting very bored as my boredom grows exponentially based on how long I am stuck in a place for. (2) we've never been there before and that combined with the fact there are actually more sightseeing things to do means at least I won't be going to the fucking beach again.

Following Vietnam is Bangkok, and this is what my shopaholic sister and mother are excited for, and where they will blow all their money, whilst my dad will stand there and promptly take up a "I am bored as hell" expression on his face.

Another thing I have been doing to pass the time is planning August. This is pumped up to be the best month of the summer, (by me of course) and now my iCal reflects that as well. My friend Portia is coming, it's my best friend Esme's birthday, and although people are coming and going, it's a pretty good crowd that will be there.


Just thought this was pretty insane. It looks like two places.

With that being said, a three hour drive awaits along with a god-knows-how-long plane ride, (not long, but with my attention span.) About time to pack up the rest of the crap that's managed to spread itself around since we've gotten here.

On Blogging

The internet machine gave birth to a monster: the blogging community. The rise of social media in the recent years has grown so fast – long gone is the misconception of the internet as a dangerous place full of “chat rooms,” in which “bad men” inhabited, ready to snatch you up before you even finished typing up a “Hi!”

Instead, this generation of digital natives live and breathe wi-fi. Your favourite restaurant now tells you to ‘Like’ them on Facebook. Young girls are now the most interested party in photography – as evidenced by their many albums showing the world how much fun they’re having. But whilst this article appears to be shaping up to be a rant concerning how the internet is changing everyday behaviour, I will actually pull it back to the first point: the rising prominence of bloggers.

Less and less rare nowadays is the teen blogger. What may have started out as someone with a passion and interest in writing, who moved from the outdated ‘diary’ to an online site, has evolved into anyone with access to a computer and the ability to pick a username on a blogging site – look how easy it is! Just click and post!

This is by no means, a critique of the community or the easiness of sharing your life nowadays – as an amateur ‘blogger,’ or as I prefer, someone who writes about stuff just because I can, I don’t really have much room to talk. Instead, these are just my ruminations on blogging and sharing bits and pieces of your life on the internet.

(1) Purpose.
Whilst I am not doubting the genuine intentions of many people, there must be a few bloggers out there who started out in attempt to get attention online. Fashion bloggers in particular have become particularly renown in the last few years, with many able to make a living, or at least climb a few rungs on the ladder through their blog popularity. Most of these bloggers did not start out with those intentions however. The majority of them have genuine interest and passion in what they do, and through a combination of interesting content, good writing skills, and dedication, managed to gain a large reader-base, and for good reason. Their success, however, gives way to a whole legion of copycat bloggers who post the same things and copy the same writing mannerisms and try very hard to reach the same level of acclaim. These blogs are promptly abandoned after a month, when the owner checks the stats and realises that they have failed to gather up more than 20 hits.

There are the bloggers who blog to blog. To share their experiences and life. For other people, whether it be strangers or friends, or themselves. I fall into the latter category: my main purpose and interest in writing records of my thoughts and life is to be able to read back on them later.

(2) Development.
Therefore, one of the best things about archiving is that you can pretty much track any development and changes. There will always be those earlier entries that make you physically cringe and you cry “How could I have been so stupid, WOW.” But resist that urge to delete, or edit that entry – you will eventually get over the shame and find it really, really funny later on. You will share this entry with your friends and you will all howl with laughter about how sad you were back then.

(3) Finding Your “Voice.’’
Hand in hand with your – mental – development is your writing development and change. You may find your writing style growing and changing all the time. You start writing with a more distinctive style and, particularly if you didn’t write frequently before, you’ll start using certain sentence structures and layout styles more – they become your thing. (Based on a true story, if you can gather from my love of hyphens.)

(4) Sharing Information.
This is the really, really strange part for me. I am, by nature, an introvert. I dislike sharing information about myself. I don’t like telling people about my day. I just do not like the notion of people knowing too much about me in person.

But over a screen, I’m somehow okay with typing up How I Feel About X and Everything I Did Last Night In Excruciating Detail, and I don’t even care if people I know in real life read this. Why is it even so different? As far as I can tell, I am not too different online than in real life – although online tends to minimize the fact that I am a walking awkward moment and really boosts my eloquence, as it cancels out the ‘smart thoughts filter’ in my mouth that prevents anything articulate from making an appearance in conversations.

Does sharing all this stuff online make me a more open person in real life? Nope. I still stumble over my words like no other and can never for the life for me come up with quick witticisms or retorts like I do when I argue over the internet, (something at which I should really be given a trophy for, to be honest.) I still occasionally sit in silence during an outing and I still always think too much – at least now, however, I will go home and type it up.

When The Internet Is Down

(Based On a True Story)

Wait. Why isn’t facebook working? Refresh. Refresh. Refresh with a variety of methods: manually, the little button next to the URL bar. F5. Type in the address again and click enter close to a million times.

Okay fine. Google. Google always works. If google is down, it’s the internet – ah, nope. This page cannot be found. I resist the temptation to shout “WELL, FIND IT THEN,” and aim to resolve this issue in a mature, adult-like manner.

I continue on my quest and open up network preferences. For someone who spends so much time on the internet, I sure am pretty dumb at it. I change a few settings – I don’t know what this means but I’ll change it? – and then change them right back because the internet was working earlier, and I sure as hell didn’t touch anything. What gives?

Next is the cross-check. I shout across the room to my sister, “IS INTERNET WORKING FOR YOU?” She doesn’t reply but one glance at her screen shows her playing brainless games on neopets.com. It’s blatantly discrimination now.

Backtrack to network preferences. Stare at it and close it again. Mounting frustration.

Turn off the airport. Wait three seconds. Turn it on again. As if that changes anything. Repeat this several times.

And then comes the part where I give up. I sadly close the web browser and open up – get off the computer? No. That would just be dumb, - my browser and photo editing program and photo software and calendar and Microsoft word. Time to rearrange all my files. Rename ‘lol.png’ and ‘ajskfgahsfsaf.doc’ so I actually know what said files are. Edit photos – the same photo several ways, just because I can. Take photos of yourself until the sight of your face just depresses you. Open up Microsoft word and type up an article about what you do when the internet is down.

Routinely open up firefox and refresh. Nope. Still nothing. Back to moving my files. Edit this photo with a pink tinge. Type up more thoughts and try to be funny but you’re really just annoyed so it all comes out as a rant.

And then when it finally comes back, I breathe a sigh of relief. I can finally respond to all those notifications, emails! I can explain and apologize to all those people wondering where I’d gone – it wasn’t me, the internet was down.

I click through tabs of no updates and realise that after all that, I’m just going to revert back to what I was doing before, and I happily continue colour-coding folders on my desktop.

Why I Hate The Beach

Beaches are often viewed as the prime example of ‘paradise.’ The ‘Relaxing Getaway Vacation’ billboard comes with a photo of white sand, blue sky, and blue-r sea. Nothing says a holiday like relaxing in a tropical paradise, tanning your worries away, right?

Except no, I really cannot stand the beach. Instead of relaxing me, it stresses me out. Instead of looking forward to the beach, I end up working myself up into an apoplexy thinking about how much I hate it.

And when I bitterly spit out my opinions on what is my idea of hell, I am always met with the surprised exclamation: “How can you hate the beach?! Why don’t you like it?!” So surprisingly different is my opinion from (at least of those I have encountered,) the majority of people, is that I now feel required to type out and explain the reasons why you will have to drag me, pay me, or bribe me, before I set foot on sand.

(1) Sand is a stupid bitch. Dry? It gets everywhere. Nowhere is safe. It will work its fiendish way into your electronics, rendering them useless. It will sneak, if you are stupid enough to wear them, into your close-toed shoes and remain there forever. Wet? It will get everywhere and stick to everywhere. It will get in your swimsuit, in your hair, on your feet. It will, over time, dry, and as we know, dry sand is just as dumb as wet sand. It will come home with you. You cannot escape the inevitable: upon finally arriving home, you will deposit what seems like half the beach into your house. Every possession you brought to the beach has been afflicted. Your drains are clogged with mud. Wherever you step, you will feel them; the minuscule particles that never go away.

(2) The sea is also a stupid bitch. Sure, the sea is at least, a way too cool off from number (3) Despite this, I will always, always prefer swimming in the comfort of a man-made, tile-bottomed pool. And why? Because of precisely the fact that it is a man-made, tile-bottomed pool.

The sea is natural. Residing within it, are a plethora of natural things. I remember fishing in the sea, (not sure how this came to be,) once in Australia, and a stingray swam by - this was before Steve Irwin's death - and it was the coolest thing I'd ever seen. In nature, however, there is the good, the bad, and the gross and dumb. We have all done it: you feel a slimy tentacle wrap itself around your leg and you scream bloody murder, it's a kraken and you are going to die. Your kraken turns out to be a piece of seaweed and you suddenly feel really stupid. (Feel free to replace with 'plastic bag' and 'jellyfish,' or substitute with the feeling of 'What the fuck did I just feel?')

Perhaps even more awful, however, is when you get out the water: salt water is awfully fucking sticky. And then, the water cycle has to bust in and help: the process that is evaporation leaves, of course, bloody salt particles all over (a) you, and (b) your hair. You are walking around with salt in your hair and it looks disgusting and I hate it.

(3) I hate the sun. Yes, it is the most important part of life and everything revolves around it. Whilst it provides energy to everything is the reason everything fucking works, it also has the side-effect of baking you into a crisp. As someone who both tans and burns incredibly easily, I have to manage two difficult situations: how to dress so no one can see the ridiculous compilation of different tan lines I have acquired, (what the hell was I wearing to create this shape on my back?) and getting yelled at by my family for using up all the sunscreen.

(4) The people there. Where are all the attractive people that were promised to us on the advertising billboard? Why is it that, instead of spending my day on the beach playing frisbee and volleyball with a bunch of fun, cute people that I've just met, I am consoling a stupid crying child because I accidentally stood on their stupid, (it was ugly anyway,) sandcastle?

Then there are, of course, the people who don't seem to be aware that other people can see them. If you're at the beach with your friends, they may, depending on what you find amusing, be a source of entertainment. I remember as an innocent nine year old, having my eyes scarred by a very tanned man in a neon green thong-type-thing. This was enough to send us into peals of laughter and we eagerly shared and recalled this story for the next few weeks because it was so funny and inappropriate.

Whilst it may be funny or entertaining, some of these questionable attires just are downright eyesores. You can close your eyes and turn away, but at the end of the day, you are always going to remember that neon green thong.

So there we have it: why I hate the beach. Why, when I hear the words 'Sand, sun and sea,' I think not of paradise, but of punishment. Why I will turn down your invitation without even considering for a second: at least I won’t be the one with sand all over my shit at the end of the day.

A Descent Into Teenage Alcoholism.

(Or The Story Of How I Conformed To The Teenage Stereotype)

There is an awful amount of emphasis on the teen drinking culture nowadays. It is referenced to in songs and movies as the division between the “cool kids” and “lame kids” in what is obviously a glorified and exaggerated way. It is the staple example the ‘la me kids’ use when they type up their blog posts about how they are different and not popular because they don’t ‘Drink and do drugs and have sex etc.’ It is the main basis for all the stories the ‘popular kids’ share in the cafeteria lines and during math classes with the ‘oh my god I was so wasted on Saturday and – ”

I grew up, not in Britain, but in what is relatively an international-culture-which-is- most-similar-to-British. Hong Kong is a busy-ass city. It doesn’t fucking sleep and neither does the party scene. The legal drinking age here is 18, meaning that some high school seniors can legally go get fucked off their faces. This is, I feel, an important point to make in distinguishing my own experiences from, say, the American teen. It is quite a bit easier to look 18 than 21.

CONFORMITY

There are the usual ingredients: You spend too much time getting ready, trying very hard to look like you didn’t spend too much time getting ready. (because that’s just so obvious!) You check your fake documentation several times and print off several copies just in case. You put everything in a little bag including your makeup because if your makeup is smudged and imperfect that will just make it obvious. (???) You play stupid songs on your stupid ‘party playlist’ as you get ready.

You take the bus with your friend. You go over everything. You meet up with others for pre-drinks. You’re already tipsy off pina coladas. You lurk outside the club, check the bouncer. You present your documentation. You turn to your friend, try to appear casual. He checks your face to see if it’s you – yes! This is good! – and motions you in. You did it! You’re inside!

You are high off elation and dance - not very well - and drink - perhaps a bit too much - and you turn to your friend several times and you giggle like conspirators because you did it. You are fucking in! Light-headed and bubble-brained and suddenly you are a really, really fucking good singer and everyone else there deserves to hear you sing right now, and very loudly. Fuck, you should record an album. You would do it right now but somehow you've spent all your money. One of your friends is repetitively bleating 'Time to go!' and you stay for four more 'One more song's. You giggle with your friend the whole way back – she’s more drunk than you – and everything is really funny.

You settle into this new arrangement quite well. You learn the best days to go, the fun crowd, what your limit is. You mellow out. You put more focus on the socializing aspect – your friends are fucking funny when they’re wasted. You don't spend as long getting ready and you don't dress up as much - because you realise that's what's really obvious.

You, the big fat hypocrite, however, do pick up one habit you’ve always hated. You have become the story-recounterer. Suddenly, last night’s antics are the funniest thing in the world and you have to tell everyone who wasn’t there and everyone who was there because they’re so funny. You laugh at the stories of yourself because you’re a fucking good sport and because then you can laugh at your friend’s embarrassing moment because that’s fair.

You do make one solid promise to yourself: you will not be the facebook-party-photo girl. Ever.

Live From Thailand

Some background info:

We used to always go to Thailand when I was younger so we've been all over. Last few years, we stopped going as much because we pretty much got sick of it. This summer, we were thinking - or rather, my parents were thinking - of Rome, but due to a wedding in Europe next year anyway, we decided on a trip back to Thailand.

Hong kong to Phuket to Hua Hin to Vietnam to Bangkok to Hong Kong

Phuket was mainly beaches and shopping, despite my dad's wary impatience at the latter activity, and my blatant disgust for the former. I don't like beaches. They are a combination of everything I despise: people, sand, seawater and sun.



I sucked it up long enough, but 4 times in one week - more than I usually go in a year - got to me and I sulked in the heat a bit.

Oh, and we went parasailing which was pretty cute. I was kind of hoping for something to break so I could just parachute down into the water.


but it didn't happen.

We didn't actually stay ~in~ phuket town, but Patong city, which is full of nightlife and ladyboys and australians. My inner alchy lusted after the cheap drinks but this is er, a detox for me, (after last saturday's...whatever that was...) and instead settled for buying cheap stuff and stuffing myself - and then regretting it later.



Moved around twice. From a hotel in center of Patong to a friend's place at a golf resort. Ran around the golf course and got incredibly tired. Jumped in the pool in my underwear. Took photos.



Oh, and we watched Harry Potter in opening day in the nicest cinema ever, (included buffet, big plush chairs and blankets? yes please.) The blankets came in useful and I left several mascara stains on them as I actually managed to cry all my makeup off like a big wimp. There goes the end of my childhood...

Got back and wrote a heartfelt review - with a strong abundance of caps - to Esme and mourned the end of a series that had been with me for 10 years.


Went for a cute walk with my sister. Hid from passing golf carts, "We look so lame!" and spent all day in the pool. Almost drowned in the deep end because I was laughing too hard.





She can be quite nice (sometimes)




Flew to Bangkok and drove down to Hua Hin yesterday. This place is gorgeous, (another friend's house on a resort thing.) I bought cheap good conditioner and shampoo and this pleased me greatly because i have an irrational obsession with hair products. (My dye has faded and although I brought some, I think I should give it a break for now.)

The summer set's "Everything Fine" is the soundtrack of my summer.

I have a new love for feather earrings.

Spoken a fair bit to everyone back in Hong Kong. I left at quite an awkward time - everyone else is still there for now. Pretty excited to go back as well ~ will talk more about that later maybe. I haven't heard from my best friend for like 2 weeks. It sucks, I miss him.

I should probably get off the computer now.

Results

After a ridiculous one hour delay, our results were finally revealed to us.
Long story short I (a) got my diploma and (b) got enough points for Warwick :) Guess all that stalking the uni and planning the next four years of my life based around Warwick won't go to waste now!

Just a quick update. Stuffed myself full of sushi with Ali just now, and am heading to Thailand on Monday!

P.S. Redyed my hair wewww

Eggs

12.04AM 5th July 2011 and it is officially declared movie night.

So I sit here with my cold, (which has thankfully transferred from my head to my chest. Whilst this means i can't run or exercise, at least I don't - fingers crossed - have a stuffed nose which will then keep me up all night.)

In more depressing news, the reason for my impromptu movie-night-that-shall-keep-me-up-unreasonably-late is that tomorrow is the 6th. 6th = results day.
Tomorrow night:

Ultimate celebration (vs.) Ultimate Drowning of Sorrows

For this summer has been me thinking of university. Naturally. For anyone who's just graduated, ready to move on. Unlike those with unconditional offers, I am basing my hopes, dreams and eternal happiness on my potential conditional offer. As anyone could see, in descending chronological order: me getting my offer, me going for my interview, and me pondering my course, that I've really been thinking and planning.

And with results day so close, I am naturally going over every exam and every potential situation and what-ifs and having nightmares and I've managed to get myself sick from stress. The results come out at 8pm. Perfect time for either celebration/sorrow drowning straight after.

This wait is harder than christmas and I'm partaking in my usual time-passing tactics: sleep a lot, (hand in hand with illness regardless,) movies, doing stuff (which really is made up of nonstop university stalking,) and just stressing myself out and panicking.

I need to know my results. When I do I can plan. I can relax; I have put all my eggs in one basket. Not literally - I have my backup university. Backup plans. Trying to keep backup thoughts. But really, I've planned everything around this even though I'm wrecked with nervousness of my own ability.

Fuck, I need to stop pondering in circles. Updates tomorrow.