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
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
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.
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.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
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.
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.
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.
Monday, February 14, 2011
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.
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.
Monday, February 7, 2011
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.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
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
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
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