There Will Be Bollywood

Apologies to our readers first and foremost for being to cbf-ed to blog. Let me tell you about my day. Today my friends and I went to the university for O-week! Oh my goodness I am so ridiculously excited. So I walk in and the first thing that I sign is a petition for the Marxism club against the mandatory detention of refugees. Think what you will, but I believe refugees do deserve fair treatment. Well, actually, I was forced to sign it by raging socialists who then asked me whether or not I am left wing. He then proceeded to try and sell me the Socialist Alternative at which point I ran away, citing 'I'm out of money at the moment'. But really, I had $20 to blow on souvlakis.. a much more worthy cause. I made sure I didn't pass that tent again for the whole day. The very first thing I do at university is declare my communism and attend a Study Abroad Exchange Program session, pointing out my interest in studying at Hanoi University.

Other than that, we carried out some serious investigation regarding my ex-physics teacher's Bollywood movie stint. He claims he doesn't remember the name of the film, only that it was made in 2003. Now, I'm pretty sure Bollywood makes around about a hundred thousand movies a year, so as you can imagine, finding a Bollywood movie with Mr Dunne in it made in 2003 is virtually an impossible task. Now, I really brought up the topic of Bollywood just to say how much I love it. I just love it. I grew up with it. I know all the songs, all the dance moves. The golden age for Bollywood movies was really the 1990s. There are a few gems scattered throughout the naughties. But, I happened to stumble across what I think is surely a contestant for the Foreign Film category at the Oscars. It deserves a lot more praise than I could possibly give it. Please, see for yourselves:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zP7gAJSmFUU

There are some definite awards ready for that movie.

Anyways, dinner's ready so I have to eat it. There is such an amazing Bollywood post coming for our vast following.

Nahila

My apologies for the Australia Day post if anyone was particularly offended by it.
I do not promote racism of any sort, and may all offended parties understand that I had created that post in the mood of Australia Day.
I probably should not have worded it as such, but it's already posted.
The Australia Day spirit can be summed up by enjoying the beautiful people, the beautiful country, the beach, a pool, a lamb chop, a steak, a beer, the triple j hottest one hundred, cricket and being Australian under the Australian sun.

Fool? Cool? ...Fool.

What is cool? Our lives are primarily governed by trends. I mean Nahila and I are constantly raving on about hipsters and how we, just quietly, want them all to die. But they're only hipsters because they think they're so fucking cool when they're not at all, but who are we to decide what is cool? Because in all seriousness, hipsters aside, cool is completely relative. For example, what your mother thinks is cool might not at all be what you think is cool, but may be very similar to what I think is cool. When you were 5, what your G-ma thought was cool, you might've thought was lame, but now that you're a hipster indie wanker, you're all into the vintage (and not the amazing 1950's Chanel genuine leather handbag kind of vintage, the ugly Supre floral print mid-drift tie up collar shirt made by poor asian infants kind of vintage) shit.

Of late, what seems to be cool is taking copious amounts of drugs and sniffing cocaine before drinking orange juice for breakfast- now that is waking up feeling like P-Diddy. The other day someone actually peer-pressured a friend of mine into taking a miscellaneous pill. I mean, he took it not because he wanted to, but because he solely wanted to be cool, I imagine. Is this what cool has turned into? Fuck with a capital F. If that is cool, then let's give up. Just take me to Texas, give me a massacre and I'll have a legitimate excuse to stop trying.

While other/most people oblivious to the existence of mirrors, or any reflective surface, continue to believe that following the totez hawt trend of taking hard drugs and the aforementioned high-waisted denim pussy helmets and the mid-I'm-fat-and-12-and-I-have-a-belly-button-piercing-that's-unfortunately-hidden-by-my-cellulite-drift tops are cool, I (an obviously lesser being) throw on a dress and a pair of boots and wake up in the morning feeling like a, without being completely vain, a mother-fucking model. And hey, I still have my brain-cells.

Do you know what I think is cool?
Today I said to a friend: "My eye is itchy", to which he replied, "Bite it".
A Grumpy Old Man says: (6:26:23 PM)
what's your blog url
Naushin says: (6:26:32 PM)
In a minute
A Grumpy Old Man says: (6:26:38 PM)
now!
A Grumpy Old Man says: (6:26:46 PM)
I'm a demanding little princess
A Grumpy Old Man says: (6:36:57 PM)
I've got a pocket got a pocket full of sunshine
This friend says what he wants, whenever he wants and he does not give a shit. He wants to have hair like Mötley Crüe. This makes him cool. This isn't to say that everyone who doesn't give a shit is cool. Par exemple, Tony Abbott fundraises money for his campaign during a Flood Crisis and doesn't give a shit, and he's just about as cool as homeless residual AIDS semen. Oh so graphic.
The other day, my friend was telling me about his hair: "I fucking hate my hair. It's fucking disgusting. It does not do anything", as he tossed his hair left and right upwards and downwards occasionally describing himself as "Hot", "Sexy", "Now I look like Shay" and "This would be appropriate if I were to star in Sharkboy and Lava-girl". Anyway he ended up shaving it and doesn't give a shit. In fact he probably thinks it's cool, and I bet it is.

In my eyes, being cool means being able to walk around wearing whatever you want, whatever you think is amazing, listening to whatever you think is great as loud as you want, and having you hair any way you want it, as long as YOU think it's cool. As long as you like it. As long as you don't give a shit.
For example: Nahila likes Lady Gaga and the occasional Katy Perry. Not to mention her total obsession for Beyonce. Now all you indie fuckers may think this is gay (another bone to pick. Don't use gay. Just don't say things are 'gay', before you think of saying something is 'gay', think to yourself, is this actually homosexual. Like the Kookaburra sitting in the old gum tree, rah rah rah gay his life must be. He's either very jolly or a raging homosexual. You decide) but Nahila likes it, and doesn't give a shit. This makes her cool.
"Opinions are great. I love opinions. People should have an opinion about everything."
The people who I admire because they don't give a shit, and have never given a shit, may just be the ones you think are randoms walking on the streets who are "Oh my god look at what they're wearing!!".

But I don't really give a shit.

An insightfully long post,
Naushin.

Schindler's Angle

Yesterday my friends and I went to the university just to go on some tours and to get our ID cards done. I, being the organised person I am, got mine done the day before. No need to know why. Whilst waiting for my friends awkwardly in the chairs set up by the door, a guy came and sat down next to me. In an effort to seem cooler than I already am, I got out my phone to try and connect to the university wifi. But then I felt so rude because only mean people do that! So I began talking to him and found out he was from Canada! I was like oh my this is so fly like a g6. In my head of course, you don't say that sort of stuff out loud.

After trying to get my male friends to hit on high school girls, we started discussing what our angles would be to maximise our intake of poon tang. Pat decided he would sign up for a course in amateur photography, so that he could ask Arts girls to 'model' for him. I of course would serve as his winglady, and at this, he did shed a tear. This was his angle because we figured that Arts girls would be easier and none of them would be smarter than him. We decided that Scott would be the hipster in distress (should I roll up my pants once or twice?!) or he would be the silent broody type and get all the poon tang available in chemical engineering. For Sean, we decided to start a rumour about a guy with a ginormous penis around the Arts faculty with the last name Long. Then, when he enters the Red Room and introduces himself as Sean Long and tries to pick up girls by saying things about comupters, all the ladies who are slightly intellectually challenged will think he is a genius with a giant penis.

And what would be my angle you ask? Well, my angle is that I am a caramel goddess. And I'll get all the male poon tang in the Hawken engineering building. In addition to the engineering poon tang, I'd also manage to get some economics poon tang.

Oh and before I go, I must apologise to our vast following for not updating more regularly. Soz mates.

Nahila

P.S. I haven't said anything about hipsters yet! So, I saw alteast a billion hipsters yesterday. Delicious.

I'm pretty much taking drugs.

I don't think mango should be a fruit. In all honesty, I feel like mangoes are just too amazing to be fruits. Every time I'm eating something amazing, eg: lollies, chocolate, an entire cake to myself, I feel like I'm committing some sort of heinous crime and that I should be put away in a fatty ass prison where all the guards are skinny bitches and force you to do exercise lest they rape you into the night as you sleep and cry and dream of a better time that once was before the lollies, chocolate and entire cake to yourself. But with mangoes, it's just not the case.
I don't know if it's the same for everybody (although I don't have the slightest doubt in my mind that it isn't, as anyone who doesn't like mangoes probably doesn't even have any fucking taste buds and this disorder mustn't be blamed on the mangoes themselves) but mango is just amazing. During the mango season, I actually had like 4 mangoes a day, and I was like this is so awesome, I'm getting so fat, but I wasn't. If anything, I was surpassing the daily intake of fruit by 100%.
In fact the feeling that I achieve when eating a mango is probably the same as a heroin addict achieves when shooting up for the first time in 5 minutes- that of pure satisfaction. Hence the title of this post- I'm pretty much taking drugs. I love fruit. If I could just sit and eat fruit all day I would. I love fruit. I love it. I love mangoes.
I'm fucking addicted to mangoes. If you give me one million mangoes to eat for the rest of my life, I will eat them, happily. I will make love to mangoes and have beautiful mango babies.
This was a very boring post, I know. I'm sharing my love with you, of mangoes.

Lotta mangoes,
Naushin.

PS: I got a job at a fruit store.

GnomeCARE

The other night, I arrived home to find a magazine on my doorstep. It was called HomeCARE- "We Bring the Store to Your Door!" Which for some reason needed to all be in capitals.

After browsing through this magazine, I quickly realised it was created for those who have no hands, no legs and simply have never lived in this planet we call Earth. I mean some of these items might have been exciting if I just had a ridiculous amount of money (I'm talking like Septillion dollars) that I could really afford to waste, REALLY JUST WASTE my money on this bullshit, but I don't have Septillion dollars, and I have hands! Let me provide you with some bright evidence.

Exhibit A:
Handy Jar Openers because I'm elderly and have never been able to open a jar of Vegemite. Just $9.90, the price to feed an African child for 9.9 days.

Exhibit B:
Microfibre Fruit Cloth because my hands burn when I touch apples.
$5.90- The amount Jack would have received if he sold his magic beans.

Exhibit C: A close second
Ladies Tool Set because the world is sexist.
Fuck the tool set, I want a vibrator: $19.90

Exhibit D:
Dolphin Drawer Knobs because I'm gay.
$4.90: Buy Ke$ha on a good day.

Exhibit E: My personal favourite
Crush cans with ease- fit more into your recycling bin... no comment.
$22.90- The price of a small farm barn.

Now I know there's not much of me in this post... but I felt like these images were enough. You're welcome world,
Naushin.

PS: I really hope HomeCARE doesn't sue me. If they do, I'll tell them I did it because they're a menace to the universe.

A Clockwork Post

Hello readers. Firstly I must apologise to our thousands of followers for my lack of posts. I would give a reason but I just keep getting distracted by the commercials in between an old episode of How I Met Your Mother. First it was Sex and the City, then an ad for cold sore creams. Right now I'm watching Arena +2 and this channel could possibly have the worst ad breaks of all the channels on Foxtel. They are like ten minutes long. You could go downstairs, make yourself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, eat it, make some tea and let it brew for 4 minutes, drink the tea and cut your finger nails and still find that the ad break has not yet finished.



I guess people who blog don't watch television and blog. Obviously. Because hipsters who blog never ever have posts about their favourite television shows. Of course they post about their favourite movies and books. Or how much they supposedly love Andy Warhol. And his philosophy and film. I actually do really love Andy Warhol. My year 10 art teacher (Mr Quaid - g-est teacher I've ever had) saw me at the exhibition in 2008 and when school started he was all 'So, this term, Nahila is going to get straight As because she was the only one I saw at the Andy Warhol exhibition.' And so the whole class was like 'wahh I went I want an A!'. And Mr Quaid said 'You can all bask in Nahila's brilliant, glorious light, because she is now my favourite student.' And then, when he went to hand out the assignment for the term, he got to me and got down on one knee and presented the assignment to me. Oh man I loved that art class. Seriously, he's even said to us 'the class I have now is just so dumb. You guys were the best.' True story.



I've realised that film and television is a recurring theme in my posts. I should post about more things. Maybe it should be like an american teenager's note pad, with doodles of 'Mrs Aaron Samuels' all through the notes.



Or like a cliched 1980s teen movie! 'I like this guy but he doesn't know I exist! And my science teacher totally does not get me.' But I can't do that anymore because I don't go to school! Whatever will I blog about? Macca's feeds?!


Well, wasn't this a great post!


Nahila

Reco-benders

ME: One hundred and seventy five.

SXCB3B4LYF hipster
Recommends jumping off shit into miscellaneous bodies of water in the summertime.
So I did this several times this summer. It was amazing. It's surprising how different things look from high up. "Everything looks perfect from far away." So I decided to see what other perspectives I could discover when I asked one simple question to a few friends. Check it out, they want you to love life.

Shilpi (MUM) Rahman: Forty-five
Singer and mother of two
Recommends falling in love and staying there.

Silas Voerman: Seventeen
Pornstar
Recommends sex.

Rohit Biswas: Seventeen

Transformer
Recommends a spliff.

Khilan Shukla: Seventeen
Mayhem
Recommends a roadtrip with lots of pizza and free Tabasco sauce!!

Rudolf Ondrich: Eighteen
Classical Music Enthusiast
Recommends the first movement from Widors' Organ Symphony No. 9 in C minor.

Shiva Ramasamy: Seventeen
Waterfall climber
Recommends climbing waterfalls.

Devak Bhika: Seventeen
Ziyaad's bitch
Recommends getting your P's.

Intisar Gaylord: Eighteen
Percussionist
Recommends seeing the world.

Shay White: Seventeen
Balla
Recommends being better than everything.

Jack Amazing Cornwell: Seventeen
M4D R4V3R B01
Recommends getting together with good friends and a big bottle of vodka, losing your inhibitions and your shirt, and cutting loose to the classics you play alone at home in your earphones next to your dad while he's watching the footy - Girls Just Want To Have Fun, Holiday, Locomotion - you know the ones.

Moonira Mamoon: Sixteen
Singer/Songwriter
Recommends making your own rules and living with NO regrets. "Yeah!"

Libby White: Eighteen
And I think I would say my profession is full-time naff-ster? Whatever the noun for being naff is. Point made.
Recommends eating whatever you like and screwing the consequences.

Shalini Ramjee: Sixteen
Speech Pathologist
Recommends going somewhere isolated and screaming as loud as you can.

Eesha Don't Know: Seventeen
Artiste
Recommends backpacking.

Annabel Walker: Seventeen
Sex Goddess. "Definition of sexy. Look in the Dictionary, I'm there."
Recommends eating food like there's no such thing as carbs.

Namira Rahman: Fifteen "I'm 37, but we all know I look at least 25."
Balloon Modeller "- but not a clown. Many people get that wrong by making an assumption as vile as that and I do not like it."
Recommends having fun with friends and family and laughing, also loving yourself (and yes, in the self absorbed way).

Lucas Thrush: Seventeen "years young"
Professional Monopoly Player
Recommends hating death "Oh my God I'm a fucking philosopher!"

Keegan Miskiminiminmin: Sixteen
Mad dog
Recommends not planning anything.

Harry Handsome Neale: Seventeen going on Forty
Professional Bad Ideas Man
Recommends finding yourself some cereal, a TV show and plenty of free time to enjoy it.

Vikram Goodysomething: Seventeen
Training for the Marines
Recommends taking risks (not including rollercoasters)

Nahila Rahman: Seventeen "My age will some day be 30. And if i don't have what i want right now by then, then my ambitions and aspirations have changed. But i don't want them to! I have the G est life planned mate."
Hipster "My profession? It's simple. awesome is my occupation. Lol jks I'm not a cliche. My profession is being a hipster. All day, everyday. I am professionally known as hipsterlicious."
Recommends being selfless and kind. "That way you never feel bad about anything and hence you will never 'hate' life. BOOOOM."

Morgan McIntyre: Seventeen
Professional Procrastinator
Recommends spending as much time as possible in beautiful places with beautiful people, and reading as many beautiful books as you can get your hands on.

Ola Roman: Eighteen in two days!
Professional Procrastinator
Recommends listening to all that seemingly ridiculous advice that your parents gave when you were younger, which you grow up kicking yourself because you never listened, when you 'totally get it.'

Naomi Saif: Seventeen "The age in which you reap no benefits"
Existentialist
Recommends having low expectations about everything you do because that way you will rarely ever be disappointed and you'll usually be pleased with the outcome.

Joshua Toloui-Wallace: Old enough
Black belt in verbal (and visual) abuse.
Recommends exploring the world you live in, so you know what place, and which people, make you the happiest.

Nabhan Rahman: Twenty- two
Nature documentary Host
Recommends finding the girl and making nature documentaries with her.

Mashiat Karim: Nineteen
Student
Recommends a romantic evening with your husband watching a movie.

Jason Martin: A bit under 10 million. Minutes, that is.
Customer Service on a Local Scale.
Recommends doing the best at whatever you find yourself doing and continually looking for the smaller things in the big picture that make you laugh. Or slip at the sides from excessive chortling.

With love,
Naushin.

Lamb chops and throw ups

Okay, SO I haven't blogged in a while. It's called the UQ Task Wizard, it's keeping me busy.
Today is Australia day, and I'd like to talk just briefly, about nationalism. Now we all have it in us. You know, when you're overseas, and you have this urge to just call everyone mate, just because you can? And not even just mate, but MAYTE, just to really underpin the fact that you are in fact Australian. Have a giggle every time you get in a cab and the driver is actually an Indian man with a turban, when you're just sitting and watching tv and suddenly there's just this want to drink a beer or scream "JUST PASS IT TO THE BIG FUCKA YA FUCKIN' NOONGA!" I mean... what even is a Noonga? Seriously? So today, to celebrate the fact that I am Australian and fucking proud of it, I voyaged to Sunnybank to a friend's house. On the way, the cops pulled up next to me, said: "Hello, where are you off to today, and what's in the bag?" to which I replied, "Well, it's Australia day, so I'm off to eat lamb and spend my entire day in a pool. And in the bag is a towel, a camera and a bottle of water." After some official ID checking business, they let me go. There we, swam, played chicken, played ping pong, played beer pong, did shots to the shots song, ate lamb, ate steak, ate sausages and ate some fucking pineapples mate, and it was amazing. It was so amazing that I actually wore thongs on a train. Now for those of you who don't know me very well, I don't really wear thongs until I have to. I was wearing thongs. I had my fucking Australia flag towel, I had my fucking Triple J Hottest 100 playing at full volume from my phone, and I had my fucking Australia Day face on. The face that says "We're full. Fuck off." So in brief, I was in fact a bogan. But anything else would be just un-australian. Like eating chinese food on Australia day... I mean what would one call that kind of behaviour? Disgusting. So here I am, walking to 'Sevies' in thongs, a wet T-shirt from the bikini underneath, a bunch of mates, who were not wearing shoes wearing different Australia flag attire and were EXTREMELY drunk, thinking to myself: It's nationalism. It's fucking amazing. On my way home, dear Lucas walked me through the streets of Westend, in his Australia flag shorts, and his Australia flag bikini shirt, repeating things like "Why did you guys have to leave me with the vodka?" Anyway, my point is, and there is one I swear. I love Australia, I really fucking love it. It's beautiful, it's safe, it's amazing and everyone who lives there is in love with it, if not... just fuck off mate. And if loving Australia means I have to put on my bogan face, say 'fuck' every three and a half words and sing the National Anthem, in thongs, shorts and a singlet with a lamb chop in my left hand and my right wrapped around a mate, I'll fucking do it. I'll fucking do it every day of the fucking year. It's fucking nationalism mate, get it in ya!

Naushin.

Oh Shit, I almost forgot... PLEASE WATCH THIS VIDEO!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F4AchHTN-XQ
Summing up Australia Day in one line:
"Gonna get me holden with me mates and me VB, gonna get some fuckin' plastic flags- crazy clarks, gonna stick em out the windows of me holden, gonna leave em there till fucking October!"

Sleepless in One Tree Hill

One Tree Hill has to be one of the greatest television shows in the history of image and video capture (other than The Hills, of course). I'm serious. Let me sample some dialogue for our vast and expansive following -

*Felix and Anna (brother/sister) discussing Anna chilling with Lucas (the slutty protagonist)*

Felix: so, do you like the guy?
Anna: I don't know, it was the first date!
Felix: half of the kids in this town were conceived on the first date!

Lines like these really make an ordinary television show into a slightly less ordinary show. But what honestly keeps me watching, other than the suspensful and utterly unpredictable storylines, are the characters. The male ones. The good-looking males. Chad Michael Murray and James Lafferty to be specific.


I love getting into shows that are very cheesy and typically girly that some people are too indie to watch. Actually, i'm not really sure that hipsters watch TV. Maybe they watch it on a set from the '60s, to hipster up their otherwise mundane indie lives.

Speaking of hipsters, today I went out wearing long pants. It was rather humid and hot outdoors, so naturally, I saw legs everywhere. The same midriff shirt, short short short shorts and boots also made their indie appearance. It's pretty gross. Like Jenny Humphrey from Gossip Girl. Or, more commonly known as Taylor Momsen. She has a band too. I had a hearty chuckle.

Well, I better get back to pretending to read Nietzsche and knowing all about his books and shit,

Nahila.

P.S. To the hundreds of millions of followers who avidly read this blog (hahah), you are welcome. Two posts in one night, WHAT UP!

Raiders of the Teenage Uterus

Right this very moment, I am watching Underage & Pregnant, a show that airs on Foxtel’s Lifestyle YOU channel. Now, as the title suggests, it is about children having children.

These days, I have found that most people have children for selfish reasons. I mean, its different in a country where having children means having someone to take care of the parent and whatever else needs taking care. But in a country as well off as ours, we don’t really need to do that. Then again, it is not my place to say anything like that.

Lots of people have babies to carry on the family name like King Henry VIII (though, as a king, he was a tiny bit obsessed with this). A lot of people have babies out of love for one another. Personally, I feel that a baby is the biggest sign of love you can show a person or give to a person. A lot of people are perfectly happy without any babies. A lot of babies borne to teenagers are accidents. If they’re not accidents however, that is fairly fucked. Especially if the teenager wanting to have a baby drinks and smokes irresponsibly. How can somebody who doesn’t look after their own body look after the body of somebody else? What kind of a life are they setting up for their baby? It’s truly an example of how selfish teenagers can actually be.

But, the teenagers who accidently get preggers have it the hardest, as I am seeing in Underage & Pregnant. One girl had to move out of home because of her pregnancy as a premeditated punishment enforced by her parents. She had to live alone on social welfare payments. But the nice thing was that she realised that having a baby makes you do things for the baby and in turn makes you less selfish. Another said how proud she was of her support network. Really, I want to praise teenage mums who take good care of their babies. It takes so much more strength and courage that I knew of. But for me, I don’t really plan on intercourse too soon so no one will be raiding this teenage uterus! YEAH!

But onto something much much lighter, it’s now time for Celebrity Wifeswap! Lifestyle YOU have some real gems. I never knew this of course because I’m always too busy watching Sex and the City and the Princess Diaries and reading Nietzsche, Beatnik poetry and my thesaurus. I never get anything done. Nietzsche always hogs my listening-to-indie music time.



Now, this dashing young man is Nietzsche. I totes know all about pretending to know about him.

Oh man this post is way too deep to be from me,
Nahila

P.S. Maybe I’ll cook up another post that’s funny. About cellulite or hipsters maybe.

"Wearable Herpes" - Jack Cornwell 2011

I cleaned my room. While cleaning my room, I was on MSN obviously. Talking on MSN, a dear friend of mine told me about how his room almost mirrored the state of my room, in that he was cleaning out his cupboard, and among his old clothes he found what is known as a Rash Shirt. For those of you who are not aware, Rash shirts are possibly the ugliest items of clothing in the history of the Universe. "They even sound sexy right? Kind of like a wearable herpes." Check it out:
http://www.buy-rash-guards.com/rashguards-blog/category/rashguards/rashguard-women/
OK ladies – this is your lucky week: Now thru this Friday we’re putting ALL of our women’s rash guards on sale!!
Never has the word lucky been misused so greatly, never has an item of clothing looked so disgusting on a human being. Just because they're sunsmart, does not mean you should wear them. This is a classic situation of dressing for appearances or dressing for comfort. I fucking hate rash shirts. In fact every time I see a person in a rash shirt I immediately judge. IMMEDIATELY. My brain screams GOOBER and my intestines churn and my arms want to pick up a rocket launcher and blow that bitch to pieces. Next time you see a complete convict in a rash shirt, just punch them in the face and throw their sunsmartness in a shredder.

Cleaning Room Update.

I HAVE NEVER BEEN LESS MOTIVATED TO DO SOMETHING!

Future tense

I've been cleaning my room for 4 days. Each day my mother comes into my room, asks: "So how much have you cleaned today?" To which I reply, "... I put my dresses in my closet." If you recall, I cursed being a lazy person complaining it was a curse bestowed upon me as a young infant by the gods themselves. But here I am, wondering what to post today, looking at my room and cringing in disgust. But what amazes me is the amount of times I look at my room, cringe in disgust and then just continue on with how I was. Sometimes I don't even come in the room. I was going out, and I needed a specific pair of shoes, I came to the door of my room, and just subconsciously told my feet to come back later. I really do put the pro, in procrastination. I'm really not even sure it should be called procrastination... it's a greater existence in my life. I swear it has a heartbeat.
Anyway, what this made me think about... was my future. In a few years I will have moved out and I will probably have my own job. What kind of person am I going to be? Am I going to be one that leaves piles and piles of plates in the sink until they grow a mould that releases with it an inescapable odour so potent it causes the dishes themselves to break in an attempt at suicide? Or will I step up to the plate (see what I did there?) and take responsibility for the dishes? What would you do?
To this moment, I haven't the answer. But seriously, I'm 17, I'm only just starting Uni, I need to live my life carefree of dishes and clothes and flipping responsibility. I like finding what to wear on the floor and I like not even noticing when I choose to procrastinate. But what I love more than anything else, is a somewhat sense of freedom that accompanies this bogan untidiness. And I know my room is atrociously messy, but you know what: dinner awaits, so I'll fucking clean it tomorrow bitch.

A boring post from an even more boring person,
Naushin.

Memoirs of a Pussy Helmet

I noticed that in my last post i made some spelling mistakes. Sozza mates. And also, total lols for Naushin's post. Oh man, seriously, i also cannot comprehend what hijacks the way these people think. But i must say how courageous these people are. Flaunting their cellulite all about the place. Which reminds me, the other day my sister and i were in Officeworks when we were confronted by two bogans. Now, this was odd at first because bogans aren't allowed in Officeworks. You would never ever see Jaydos hitting up the mechanical pencil isle, because HE DOESN'T HAVE AN EDUCATION. Although, his tips for how to make the most of festival season are ridiculously informative. Now, this was not all. They started singing Pink. It was like an episode of Freshwater Blue. I didn't know what to do. My sister and i were so confused. And this relates to cellulite because they were rocking the pussy helmets. Sometimes i just wish that some people would cover up and leave some things to the imagination.

But enough about things that i dislike, because i would like to share with you some of the things that i love. For example, i love The Hills, i love Nanna's Hot Apple Pies and i love Jake Gyllenhaal. Oh what i would do to watch The Hills with a nice hot Nanna's Hot Apple Pie with Jake Gyllenhaal. That is the dream.

This doesn't really deserve to be a post on a blog,
Nahila

Cell-U-Slapper

Really I could just begin and end this post with a photograph of a total wanker in shortshorts, but what I would really like to know, is why. Why? Today, I was at Indooroopilly. Not the best place to be, I know. It does smell of slurry, and every second person is pre-teen rape-bait. But I was hungry. In my experience, in the history of my life, never have I heard of any such notion that the exposure of excess cellulite in, or even near public domain is even marginally acceptable. The mere sight of such indecency is enough to expel the contents of my stomach in a projectile manner. Why did I have to provide this image you ask? Well, we all think about it don't we. We all see fat sluts in denim underwear, and we think... Do you actually own a mirror? Is your mirror somewhat skewed in such a way to make you appear thinner than you are. Now don't get me wrong, more cushion for the pushin', but why expose the cellulite. Why? If you have an answer to this question please tell me. Moreover, if you know the designer of said denim underwear, the solution is plain and simple, I don't know why it's not been done yet, and I'm really confused as to why no one has publicly expressed this before: Just fuck them up.

A disgusted, Naushin.

No Country for Old Macca's Runs

Last night i attended a farewell party for an acquaintance whom we were farewelling. She was off to France for a year, and cordially invited me and some other people to farewell her. It was a lovely party.. held in a church hall. Decorated superbly i must add. So naturally, a few hours after my arrival, i was super keen for a macca's feed, and the McDonald's was only 100m down the road! It could not have been a more perfect time for a macca's run. Oh but wait, one minute flaw to this otherwise perfectly flawless plan: the McDonald's was closed. Now, i have lived in this area for a great majority of my whole life and never once has it been closed. And you can imagine my agony and sorrow upon hearing this fateful news because when The Gap McDonald's is closed, you know shits getting crazybeans. This agony was furthered by learning the closest open McDonald's was in Newmarket. Now, to go on a maaca's run halfway through a borderline mundane party is rude, but driving 15 minutes to the closest McDonald's is just unthinkably rude! It would have been awkies as well, they had a cake to cut and speeches and RAD music (luckily i was there for the cake because the it was delightful!). And it was alreadyawkward with Jesus around. So we decided against it and did the sensible thing: waiteduntil the party was over to hit up the Ashgrove Baskin and Robins. And it was delicious.

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This is the perfect example of a Nahila Story.

You know you do it.

It's not like I enjoy being an extremely lazy person, it's the way I've been manufactured as a human being. A message I received today: "What you doin tonight, wanna come hang at indro?" Brilliant spelling, I know. After contemplating pretending my phone was dead, cursing the fact that I have a phone in the first place and replying "Maybe. I'm at a friend's place. I'll text you if I'm coming later," I realised that I didn't even think a second before lying, but nor does anyone when they get that message. You're not a friends house, you're not at a party, you're not helping your mother or visiting your grandmother in hospital, you're at home, eating chips and watching Dreamcatcher for fucks sake. So I searched for my phone. 2.5 meters away. Why? Grabbed it and pained my thumbs into typing: "Not really I'm just at home eating and watching movies. Sorry! Maybe another time." To which I read a reply, a much deserved: "Bitch!" So next time someone texts you to come out, don't lie. Just tell them, you're a fat ass- and you're loving it.

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All my earthly love, Naushin.