Let's Pretend That It Was Perfect

Before I tell my Soundwave tale, I would like to note that I'm not trying to be a smug name dropper. Granted, most of you who read this blog either don't know or don't care about the musicians I'll mention, but for those of you who do, I assure you I'm not trying to rub it in anyone's face. Yes, I got to meet some cool people, but my life is not glamorous. I spent five hours last night creating a character for Dungeons and Dragons because the guys I live with were short a player and begged me to join them. I have transcended my already very high level of geekiness.

Soundwave started with a photographer friend and I being told the media entrance was all the way down at the third gate. Walking down there, we noticed that a Gun and Ammunition Show was being held across the street and this worried us considerably. At Gate 3, we were told it was really Gate 1.2 we wanted, the very gate that directed us to this place. Frustrated, we trudged up the hill, past the angry looking gun nuts again, and politely explained our situation to the man at the door. With much difficulty, we figured out where we were supposed to go with only ten minutes to spare until the first sets were due to start. My friend was one of only three lucky photographers with permission to take pictures of Nine Inch Nails and we giddily shared a quick unprofessional 'OMG WE GET TO DO THIS AS OUR JOB EEEEEEEE!' moment. But then the woman with the list informed me I was not down for a media pass. I freaked out and tried calling Jenn Enders (Ace Enders' wife who had called me earlier to confirm my interview) but it went to voicemail. Ace was playing in a few minutes, so I had no choice but to shell out entirely too much money for a ticket. Yay Ramen for the next month.

I ran through the crowd of every punk, emo and goth in Queensland to Ace's stage where I managed to catch the majority of his set. Phew. My interview was to take place at 2 pm but I didn't know where I should meet them. I asked the security guard if he knew and he went to check, leaving me standing next to the stage as the crew set up for Jacks Mannequin. Then I realized that a girl in the front row was taking pictures of me. "Oh God," I thought, "Please don't let her think I'm somebody important just because I'm standing backstage." Nope, she was taking pictures of Andrew McMahon and the other members of Jacks Mannequin who were right next to me and I totally didn't realize it for five minutes. Figuring they'd know where Ace was, I asked their bassist if he'd seen him. He hadn't, then offered me some of the iced tea he was drinking. It was a sweltering day and I wasn't about to turn down a chance to make the joke that I'd swapped spit with the bassist of Jacks Mannequin, so I accepted. After taking a few huge gulps I realized it was iced tea of the Long Island variety. I'd basically just taken the equivalent of three shots of rum and vodka. At 1:30 pm. On a hot day. With an empty stomach. I knew that in about ten minutes I would be, erm, just a bit tipsy. Oh crap oh crap.

I tried calling Jenn again to see if maybe I could reschedule the time for my interview. Still her voicemail. Thus began my search for the Enders backstage at Soundwave where I technically wasn't authorized to be. The 'iced tea' kicked in somewhere right before asking the dreadlocked guy from Moneen. Who when he said he hadn't seen Ace, I responded with "Raaaah, f*** my life!" and a little kick to the air. Moneen guy about peed himself laughing at me. AWESOME. But the absolute best was when I saw Keith Buckley (the Every Time I Die singer, not the actor from James Bond).



KEITH BUCKLEYYYYYYYY!





RANDOM CHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIICK!






Have you seen Ace?





Frehley?!






Enders.





Game?!






Ace Enders. He used to be in The Early November.





Oh! That Ace. No, haven't, sorry. What band is he in now?






Um, Ace Enders. It's pretty much just him solo.





Hahahahaha. Hey, are you drunk?






Slightly. By accident.





Hahaha. ME TOO! On purpose though. Australia is awesome!



*High five*

We should have our own comedy routine. I wish I could've talked to him more, especially about the hilarious column he writes for Alternative Press, but he had to go. I would also like to point out that Keith has one of the strangest tattoos I've ever seen: Spock crying because he doesn't have a mustache.

Eventually I found Ace and Jenn, but they were all "Let's do this interview!" before I could ask them if we could move it to later. So I interviewed Ace Enders, the former lead singer of one of my favourite bands, in a less than desired state. Needless to say, it didn't go as planned and I slightly made a fool of myself. Maybe it wasn't all that bad, but I can't bring myself to listen to the recording just yet. I know I said 'magician' instead of 'musician' several times and fumbled with my recorder because it kept beeping at me. I also made a really really dumb pun that caused him to give me that 'No, please don't' look. Then we were cut short because Jacks Mannequin finally took the stage and were super loud. On the verge of tears from screwing my interview up, I stood with The Audition and watched Jacks Mannequin play. Emo times three! A choice observation from my notebook that I don't remember writing: "Lead singer of Audition has a huge mouth. Like, an Aerosmith sized gob. Whoa."

Not wanting to waste the fact that I was miraculously still backstage, I took the opportunity to wander and somehow got recruited by the catering crew for an hour. This was a lot more interesting than it seems because I got to see the lists of 'requirements' aka the food and drink bands demand be in their trailers/tents. I also got to deliver some of them. The smaller acts shared tents and just asked for some bottled water plus a deli platter or fruit & veggie tray. The guys from Horse the Band even picked their own food up, which was considerate of them. Bands higher up on the bill had a trailer to themselves and some unusual requests. I helped deliver Red Jumpsuit Apparatus their box of goodies and had to explain to them that in Australia, light beer means a beer that is lighter in colour and flavour, not low cal as Americans think of it. You heard it here first, folks, Red Jumpsuit Apparatus are a bit diva-ish. I am chock full of industry secrets.

After getting a 'Local Crew' wristband that would ensure I could get backstage again (which I unfortunately didn't get the chance to go back and use), I ventured back out to see Underoath. It ended up being more like hearing Underoath, because the crowd prevented me from actually seeing the band. I couldn't deal with that and headed towards another stage. On my way I ran into Craig Owens and chatted with him shortly then got a picture. I didn't want to bother him much, otherwise I could've talked to him all day. In person, he looks so much like Dominic Monaghan. Whom I also love. *sigh* There was a small crowd for Rival Schools, so I got a front row spot which I held through Hellogoodbye, Funeral For a Friend, and Chiodos. Standing in the same place for over four hours was well worth it, I've wanted to see Hellogoodbye for several years and Chiodos was undoubtedly the best set of the day. They even played the song I suggested to Craig (I won't say which, but if you know me you can probably guess). Usually being front row causes me ridiculous injury but this time it actually saved me because instead of pushing towards the front, people did a Wall of Death. Which is where the crowd splits at the middle then runs towards each other and start punching. Why people do this, I do not know. I just watch.

Saw a few more bands after that, nothing spectacular, then I watched NIN from very far away sitting on a bench with a friend. I was so exhausted I fell asleep during 'Head Like a Hole,' something you'd think would be physically impossible. My day still wasn't over, I was invited to the after party at Rosies. Granted, I was sitting down for most of that. It was okay, Jimmy Pop from Bloodhound Gang DJed and I was going to introduce myself as a fellow Philadelphian, but my friend said Jimmy licked his face when he said hello, so I decided against it. A few other musicians showed up, Keith Buckley was apparently in the VIP room for a bit and I'm pretty sure I saw one of the guys from Houston Calls hanging out with the ginger one from Forever the Sickest Kids. The latter is a really bad dancer, haha.

So there you go. Another patented 'How the Hell Does Danielle Always Manage to Get Into Those Sorts of Situations?!' story. Hope you enjoyed it. I'll eventually put up my interview with Ace, if I ever get up the nerve to transcribe it. :/

Sting Would Have None of This Behaviour

I wish I had a real update, but no, things are dreadfully boring here. I've been cooped up the majority of the weekend because I haven't been feeling so well. But my Snood score is better than ever!

Anyway, I just thought you would all appreciate this. I usually walk by there every day and am a bit sad I missed witnessing such an ironic event. Knowing the local media, this is going to be on the front page of the news tomorrow and 'breaking developments' will pop up the rest of the month. Hooray?

P.S. I also get much amusement by turning the sound up on my computer and startling my flatmate with this.

AAUUUGH!

Watching Alfred Hitchcock movies alone on a Friday night is never a good idea, but I’m a stubborn idiot who felt the urge to see ‘The Birds,’ so that’s precisely what I did. I was camped out in the living room area, where I spend significantly more time now that the entire flat is essentially all mine and because of its close proximity to the kitchen. Pausing to put on an avocado face mask in the bathroom (embarrassing to admit I actually do that sort of thing occasionally), I come back out to find both doors to the balcony wide open. Commence panic. Closing and locking them, I decide to make a cup of tea to calm myself. That and should anyone have snuck in, I can also use the hot water to scald attackers.

But the water had not yet boiled when I heard a door click and footsteps. Three terrifying seconds later I found myself face to face with two guys and a girl, all of us screaming in shock. Before I could get up the courage to ask what the hell was going on, the girl angrily said, “Where is my cake?” This was not what I had expected to hear, so I just stared at her stupidly. Here I was in a bathrobe and produce smeared on my face encountering trespassing strangers wanting random food. The whole situation was like a cliche scene from a Disney Channel movie. All I could say was the very lame, “Actual baked good or like, the band?” I had also considered telling her I’d buy her some if she please didn’t kill or rob me. “It was in the freezer,” she yelled. Oh yeah, there had been a half loaf of pound cake in the freezer, I remembered it now. But I ate that two weeks ago because it was nearing its expiration date and was obviously unclaimed. “You’re the British girl!” I exclaimed, it all finally clicking, “I thought you moved out forever ago.” She explained that she had moved all her things to her boyfriend’s apartment two floors up, but on paper she still lived here. “But the other day I remembered I’d left that cake and now I want it.” It’s been over a month since I’ve seen this girl, I don’t even know her name and now I’m being harassed for something as incredibly stupid as this.

“What’s that black shit on your face and why’s it stank in here?” asked one of the two guys, whom I can only assume were her boyfriend and um, some other guy. “Avocado oxidizes. And the microwave spontaneously combusted a few days ago.” I stammered. Both statements are true answers to his questions, but I didn’t exactly phrase it the right way. The other night I was reading and looked over to see noxious fumes emanating from the empty microwave. Thank goodness I had an already wet tea towel nearby to throw on it and cease the flames, then fanned most of the smoke out so I didn't set off the alarm. I sprayed lots of air freshener, but it’s a bit difficult to get that lingering scent of burnt plastic appliance death. So now my toaster has been kidnapped and my microwave has gone the way of a Spinal Tap drummer. Hopefully the stove top, electric kettle and refrigerator stay loyal to me.

“Yeah, the microwave did that to me once.” British girl said poutily, then she and her dudes left with that. Thanks for scaring the bejeezus out of me, making slightly threatening demands, and not previously warning me about faulty wired deathtraps in our kitchen! After a few minutes processing that whole debacle, I went back to watching Tippi Hedren being dive-bombed by crows.

Sitting on the dock of the (Byron) Bay- Part 2

Day two in Byron commenced with me sleepily pouring an instant coffee packet into my cup of tea thinking it was sugar, then spitting said concoction all over the kitchen. T, who by some miracle didn’t have a hangover, was watching TV with a middle aged Irish woman that was also annoyingly upbeat at such an early hour. As T tends to do, this woman became her new best friend within minutes of meeting. Soon, the Irish woman was demonstrating her clog dancing for us. I stared, trying to stay awake during her spontaneous talent show, then she announced she was going to get her violin out for an extra treat. Because there’s nothing better than playing a scratchy rendition of an Irish jig for people you just met at 7:00 am. I’m sure the people who were still asleep especially appreciated it. T gave a standing applause and exclaimed, “Omigosh, could I have just like, one quarter of your energy?” I choked on my tea. I know what T meant, but the way she phrased it seemed like she was asking the woman if she could siphon a bit of her soul. If someone had asked me that, I’d instantly be disturbed, but the Irish woman laughed and said “Sure!” She then grabbed T’s hands and made a “swoooop” noise. It was like watching an overly enthusiastic version of the Wonder Twins. I loudly announced I was hungry, in hopes C would come out of the room and we could finally go to breakfast, leaving the madness behind.

Breakfast consisted of a delicious smoothie and T rambling on about how awesome the Irish woman is, like she’d known her for years instead of a half hour. We parted ways with C (she was going snorkeling) and headed for the tour bus that was taking us to a ‘genuine hippie town’ called Nimbin, which T could barely contain her excitement about. I’m quite accustomed to seeing hippies and therefore don’t find them as novel as T does, but the description on the tour pamphlet sounded fun. Plus, I don’t know how to swim, so I couldn’t go with C. The driver/ guide was awesome and played music he’d perfected to go along with the ride. Looking out the window at beautiful Australian countryside landscapes while listening to Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young is indeed oddly fitting. I noticed T had her iPod headphones in, listening to Brittany Spears. “Dammit,” I said, snatching it from her and throwing it into my bag, “You want hippies, you listen to their music!”

About a mile outside of Nimbin, the driver pulled over and asked if anyone was an undercover cop. “You have to admit you are if asked,” he said, matter of factly. Nobody was, and he went into a long prepared story about marijuana and the laws of Australia. I had an idea what was getting on, but T was frantic. We finally drove into Nimbin, an incredibly small town in the middle of nowhere. Yup, it was essentially a tourist spot for people looking to easily score pot. T became so paranoid, you’d think she was on the stuff herself. “THESE AREN’T HIPPIES! THEY’RE... THEY’RE... DRUGGIES!” she hissed, clinging to my arm. I told her that druggies evokes the idea of a heroin addict passed out in an alley, these people around us were merely stoners. She didn’t care, they were the same in her eyes. Now, I don’t smoke pot, but in my opinion, it isn’t a big deal and T was way overreacting. One of my favourite moments was when a groovy older woman with silver hair in pigtails came up to us offering us cake and cookies. I politely declined and T said, “Hey, you didn’t ask me! I want cake!” I laughed, “Not that kind of cake.” T got all wide eyed, the concept of drugs in baked goods was clearly unknown to her. “That cool old lady, she was trying to sell us POT in CAKE?! How was I supposed to know that? I’m not from Philadelphia like you.” T has never been to Philly, but for some reason she thinks it’s this crazy place straight out of Grand Theft Auto and it’s a miracle I’ve survived the rough and tumble streets for so long.

Nimbin is best explained by the following pictures I took in the strange town ‘museum,’ a wonderful place full of random crap that creeped T out and made me giggle. Sadly, I couldn’t get a good quality photo of the black light room plastered with glowing velvet Unicorn and mushroom posters.

Dinosaurs, the Virgin Mary, an X-Files type of slogan, and a disembodied Bart Simpson head in the background. Quite possibly the best ‘museum installation’ I have ever seen.
We spent the remaining time eating goats milk ice cream (better than it sounds and T made me try it first in case it was ‘laced with something’) under a tent watching a guy with a banjo called Old Dan play weird songs. First he treated us to a version of ‘Honky Tonk Badonkadonk,’ then an original ditty that made me laugh so hard I wrote down the lyrics:
“My secret lover has a filmy negligee/
When our love was over, she said I didn’t have to pay/
I asked her why our love time was free/
Then she said, ‘Sealey’s Mattress sponsors me.’”

Back on the bus, T couldn’t wait to leave ‘the druggies’ and I chuckled, wondering how long it would take her to realize a good 80% of our fellow passengers were baked out of their minds. One Japanese girl sitting in front of us fell asleep and woke up repeatedly like she had narcolepsy, then stared at her hand for fifteen minutes. We drove through the rainforest on our way to a waterfall and the driver played a techno song because they used to have raves in the forest and the loud music was the only way you could find where the party was located. The techno music had a particularly interesting affect on the reefer crew. I think one of the reasons I don’t drink much or do drugs is that I get a lot more enjoyment out of watching other people who are drunk or stoned. It just amuses me way more than it should. I kind of wish I had let T get that piece of cake, as a sort of evil experiment to see how she’d react, but then again, she probably would’ve just been extra annoying. The waterfall was beautiful, but after I got a few pictures, it began pouring.

Our next stop was a random fellow’s macadamia nut farm, but because of the rain, we were unable to go anywhere on his property but a little cabin overlooking a pond. This is what greeted us on our way to the cabin:

He informed us these heaps of artistically arranged junk have been in the works for the thirty years he’s lived in Australia. Originally from somewhere in New York, he asked if there were any other Americans in the group. T, a couple from California, and I raised our hands. “I bet you’re all glad Obama won the election! Maybe now I can go back and visit the US again!” he bellowed. T winced a bit and diverted her gaze. I cracked a macadamia nut and willed the old hippie to notice her expression. “Why that look? You vote for Nader?” he asked. I could barely contain my excitement. T vs. Old Hippie Smackdown 2008! “Yeah.” she lied, knowing very well what would happen if she told the truth. Dammit. The last time she got in an argument about politics, her opposition asked what a “bright young woman like her would be doing voting McCain” and her defense was the dazzling gem of a comeback “Heidi and LC from ‘The Hills’ are voting for him too!” Disappointed, I ate more macadamia nuts than I’ve probably had in my entire life and took more photos.

This picture isn’t blurry because of my camera, but because that’s just how incredibly hard the rain was falling.

The ride back to Byron Bay was filled with even more excellent music and then we ran back to the share house shrieking after getting dropped off in the peak of bad weather. C had a good time and her session fortunately ended before the storm hit. Walking home, she discovered Cheeky Monkeys wasn’t open that night, so we opted for Japanese food instead. Back at the share house, it was more story time and violin recital with crazy Irish lady, her German friend occasionally chipping in sarcastically. “Is she always like this?” I asked in German, not wanting to offend the Irish woman. The German woman sighed and nodded. Oooh, I know all too well how German lady feels. My friendship with T is very much like that of Daria and Quinn Morgendorfer, minus the sister part. I once pointed this out to T, who of course had no idea what I was referring to. I showed her a few episodes and her response was the very appropriate, “You’re right! That’s soooo totally us!”

Day three was spent wandering a huge artist community in the cold rain looking for a particular glass artist T’s Mom once saw on TV. It sounds like a lot of interesting stories could come from that, but nope. Barely anything was open and when we finally found the place, T marveled at everything in there, but ended up not buying anything. I would have yelled at her, but I was too cold. The two and a half hour bus ride to Brisbane made me car sick and I had a grand ol’ time holding back vomit for two of those hours. Do you know how disgusting/painful that is? Very much so on both counts. So there you go, Byron Bay was not quite the beachy vacation I’d hoped, but it was certainly interesting save for the last day. T still tells me she misses the Irish woman, by the way.

Sitting on the dock of the (Byron) Bay- Part 1

I'm finally getting around to writing about Byron Bay, which is funny considering it's not like I've had anything important keeping me from it. It's just a loooong story to write and I'd rather watch DVDs of 'Miss Marple Mysteries' while eating oatmeal. Because I'm 70.

Now before I start, I have been repeatedly told by one of my travel companions, "Omigawd, don't tell people about what we did on that trip!" Which makes it sound like we were on Girls Gone Wild or killed a dolphin with a speargun then sold it to a tuna company. There was nothing of that sort, the trip was PG-13 at worst, this particular friend is just very paranoid and Republican. Actually, both the girls (who I will refer to as T and C since they're so freaked out about even their first names being used) I went with are Republican. Not that it matters or I care, it's just hilarious going to one of the hippie capitals of the world with a bunch of conservatives.

Anyway, the trip started from Surfers Paradise, where T and I met up with C. They forced me to go to a super seedy club called 'Bedroom' where there are actual beds for people to lie down and make out/grope/whatever on. Classy! They played all the songs I hate, and I literally spent the entire time standing with my arms crossed looking grumpy while T and C danced around me. Of course there were the guys (and in one case, a really drunk girl) who pulled the whole, "Come ooon, smile! Dance! " I gave them the death glare and they backed the hell off. The only time I danced that night was when they played a Calvin Harris song and 'What is Love?' You know a club is playing terrible music when you think "Thank God for Haddaway!" If for some reason I ever become a spy and end up captured in enemy territory, all they'd have to do to torture me is recreate that place.

Later on, I was straightening the coasters on a nearby table and one of the waitresses (whose uniform is basically a corset, panties, and garters) got mad at me because making the coasters presentable is part of her job. So I messed them up again and she yelled at me even more. Not only am I the worst friend to go to a typical dance club with, but I may also be the only person whose slight OCD tendencies end up getting a Pussycat Doll wannabe angry. Fed up, I told T and C I'd meet them in an hour or so and went outside to take a walk on the beach. On my way there, I saw a snake trying to break into a poor cockatoo's cage. Don't believe me?


I had no idea what to do, I mean, throwing something at the snake is cruel and could also make it leap at my face. But I didn't want the bird's owner to come out the next morning to find feathers and a fat snake in the cage. So I took several pictures hoping the flash would confuse the snake, then ran away terrified. Might I add, I had no alcohol this entire evening, I'm just naturally indecisive and a bit stupid in certain situations.

After a wonderful beginning such as that, who knew what the next few days could have in store? (Hint: Many more awkward occurrences! This blog has the name for a reason.) T and C forgot to tell the Greyhound bus driver to wait for me while I got my ticket and it almost left without me. Thanks guys! They also sat together, leaving me next to a girl who spent most of the ride obsessing over my bag (which I made myself a few years ago). She even took a picture of it. It was simultaneously flattering and creepy. After dropping our things off at the awesome share house, we went to the beach in search of a lighthouse C insisted we visit. Have you ever gone to Washington DC and seen the monuments at the other side of the mall, then decided to walk because it doesn't seem too far away? But it's really 20 times the distance than you estimated. This lighthouse was like that.The following pictures are beautiful, yes, but they were taken over the course of a journey which took two and a half more hiking hours than estimated.

There was no way around these rocks, so we had to wade through a pool of knee deep water. It reminded me of when you have to ford the river in 'Oregon Trail.'

The lighthouse was nothing compared to the many Cape May and Jersey shore lighthouses I've been forced to see as the child of an architect. But it overlooked a nice view and I spotted some manta rays in the water below. (Insert horrible Steve Irwin death joke here)

It ended up being a good thing that we spent most of that first day outdoors, because the rest of the weekend consisted of torrential downpours leading to floods in parts of Queensland. That night, T wanted to go to a bar/restaurant called the 'Cheeky Monkey' because someone told her she'd love it. I prayed it wasn't another 'Bedroom.' To enter, you must choose between "Door #1: For sex kittens, groove masters, rebels, and bombshells" and "Door #2: For porn stars, secret service, show ponies, and comedians." I chose #1 purely for the rebel, but being a groove master would be pretty awesome too. If that wasn't fun enough already, a cheerful hostess gave each of us four raffle tickets, saying we're bound to win something between the three of us and asked if we'd like to order a slice of raspberry cheesecake for only $3. I was sold. Originally we were going to stay for an hour or so, but we ended up spending a good five hours there. Everything about 'Cheeky Monkey' was bizarrely mesmerizing. There was a raffle or stupid contest every half hour and in between, they projected music videos (of actual good songs with enough variety to make T, C, and I all happy, a rare event considering we each have vastly different tastes in music) on the wall. One of the better contests was seeing how many clothes pins this guy could put on his face while they played 'Take on Me' by A-Ha for no real reason.

I think it was 33 pins and he won surfing lessons, a mighty fine prize. One of my raffle tickets was called and I thankfully didn't have to do anything embarrassing. I got a $20 bar tab, woo. We decided to use it the next night since it was good for the rest of the week, but then C had a raffle ticket called and she won a $50 tab that had to be used up that night. Hahaha, OH NO! C and I don't drink much and the drinks we like are a bit more expensive anyway, so we each only had two. But ooooh T... She was a bit special that night.

C and I thought maybe we should head back, but then they announced the 'Male Strip contest' coming up. T told me she would bite me if we didn't stay for that. That was interesting, to say the least. Nothing full monty, but still blush-worthy, especially since the majority of the participants were 17 and 18 year old guys on Schoolies (the Australian equivalent of Senior Week). The best parts were T's reaction and that they made one poor kid strip to 'Barbie Girl.' We managed to get T back to the share house and I gave my $20 card to a German woman in the room next to ours.

I'm stopping here for now and I'll post the second half tomorrow. Go rest your eyes.

P.S. The guy on the computer next to me is practically screaming, "WAKEY WAKEY! SHAKEY SHAKEY! WHY DO YOU TAKE THIRTY YEARS TO LOAD?" at his computer. I'm trying very hard not to laugh.

This is the Final Countdooooooooooown!

Sometime earlier this week I was supposed to post about a particularly odd occurrence I had last Saturday, but what I have written up and ready to go makes little sense without the photos we took. Photos that are on my friend’s camera because mine is apparently operable by my hands only. She was supposed to e-mail them to me but keeps forgetting so you might not get to read that story for some time.

But worry not, I just returned from an equally stupid and embarrassing ordeal! My three and a half hour long Japanese Popular culture final. Nobody likes finals other than the fact that they signify the end of that particular course, but I especially can’t stand them because I seem to have things constantly go wrong on finals days. Last year, the train back to school from my internship in the city was stopped because of a stabbing (welcome to life in Philly!) two stations before mine, forcing me to take a bus then walk a few miles with a heavy backpack. I got in ten minutes before it was time for the exam and said final ended up giving me a mild case of carpal tunnel syndrome.

Today wasn’t physically as troublesome, but equally stressful. I got to the testing room twenty minutes early and chatted with two guys from my study group. Before I go on, I should mention that this class is basically Japanese students expecting an easy A, a bunch of cute nerdy guys, a girl with a huge tattoo of the Transformers symbol on her arm, and myself sitting around talking about things like ‘Battle Royale’ and J-punk. So basically one of my favourite University courses ever. I talked with the guys, sad that this is probably the last time I’ll see them again and just as I thought, “Oh duh, ask them for their e-mail!” the test administrator entered the room. Dammit. They allotted ten minutes for looking through the questions and being a quick reader, I spent a good eight minutes of this time ogling my crush’s strangely attractive new Wolverine-esque facial hair. He’s attractive, I swear it! Stop picturing a mutton chopped 18th-century geezer. He first got my attention the day he practically lead the discussion on Miyazaki films AND did so wearing a Horrors shirt. You instantly get points in my book for being a fellow fan of a band I love, especially bands barely anyone else seems to know about. Many a time I’ve terrified people by running across the street towards them yelling, “AHHH! I WAS AT THAT CONCERT TOO!”

Getting back on point, it final-ly (har har) started and I got past the vocabulary section to the essays. But halfway through my second essay, the nib of my mechanical pencil simply broke off. I had not anticipate this, as it’s never happened to me before and I thought it was a fairly solid pencil. I started to panic, shoving it back in with no avail and then opened the little canister of pencil lead to see if it was possible to write with only them. The answer is no, they snap in half, which is why you need the mechanical pencil nib to hold them in place. Arrrgh! I look around nervously and see that some students are using pens in their blue books. Since when were you allowed to use pens? I raised my hand to see if I could ask one of the two test administrators to let me get a pen from my bag. The closest one had seen me freaking out internally at my pencil, but gave me an evil smirk instead of any help. NOOO! “Relax, “I thought, “Ogle the cute guy for a bit, then try again.” That worked and I retrieved my pen, huzzah! I continued working, but after a few sentences, realized the pen was running out of ink. Why was I carrying a pen with barely any ink?! I don’t even recall using this particular one much at all! So an essay and a half of a final worth 40% of my overall grade was written in decreasingly visible ink. Near the end of the essay on the Takarazuka Revue (which I’ve included a link of the wikipedia definition for because it’s hilarious/awesome) the pen died fully and I scratched, “Sorry no conclusion, my pen’s life has ended” into my already suffering paper. Fortunately my professor has a good sense of humour and will hopefully understand, but I still slightly regret doing that now.

I’m actually traveling for once this weekend, over to Byron Bay after spending tonight at the Gold Coast. I look forward to attempting surfing again, but dread the thousand more freckles bound to form as a result. The other day, Elle commented that my arms were starting to look a bit tan, but then as she came closer, she realized that at a distance, my freckles sort of meld together giving the illusion of tan. Curse my Scottish paleness.

You cant go wrong, come on skank along!

It's official, nobody in my flat physically talks to one another anymore except for Ellie and I. Nick will instant message me from five feet down the hall just to say 'hello,' or as he says, "Morning!" (no matter what time of day it is). And even worse than that is the dreaded note on the fridge. Instead of knocking on everyone's door around 7 pm when all are guaranteed to be present and awake to call a flat meeting, they write an incredibly rude open notice. Now, I don't mind if it's just something along the lines of, "Could whoever's turn it is to take out the trash this week please do so? Thanks!" Those are friendly reminders and make perfect sense. But last night someone put up a wonderful jem the censored version of which basically states that if the note writer ever finds out who keeps using up the ice and not refilling the tray, they will make icecubes from their blood. I haven't used a single ice cube my entire time here, but the anger of that note made me dump all the ice cubes down the sink and leave the trays empty in the freezer. Just because they went about trying to solve a stupidly easy problem that doesn't matter much anyway with violent fingerpointing. No need to call in Miss Marple or a hitman. It's like Dylan Moran said in his stand-up act, "You want to write a note back to those types of flatmates and say, 'Dear Complaining One, NOBODY LIKES YOU.'"

On a lighter subject where I'm not being a hypocrite by whining about how annoying passive-aggressive proclamations from my flatmates are, I managed to get out for once this weekend. I went with a friend to a place we'd gone to once before, but only for an hour. This time we got there at 9:30ish, stayed quite late and thus were able to see two bands play before the DJ set. To give an idea how this place is set up, they play indie and alternative rock upstairs, then downstairs is split between the main room (which has the live bands and then usually plays ska, punk, and some hardcore afterwards) and the incredibly fascinating pop/hip-hop room. I literally stood by the pool tables for half an hour with my one friend (who is also from a large American city) cracking up watching all these drunk Australian hipsters/punks/emos/whatevers trying to dance to things like 50 Cent and Lil Mama. He turned to me and said, "Wow, I feel like Ving Rhames compared to these kids!" Which is saying quite a lot considering the two of us are pretty darn white. I wish I had video of it, words can't describe the hilarity factor... Then we went and skanked in the other room (for those of you not aware, skanking isn't what it sounds like, it's the type of weird dancing you do when a ska song is playing), where at least we knew we looked silly when we danced.

These obviously aren't any of the people that I'm talking about, but it's the closest I could find, so I'll leave it up to you to decide who looked stupider:
Hipsters who think they're gangstas (just imagine whats going on in the video but on a greater scale and throw in some punk/emo kids to boot)



Vs. My friends and I skanking way too enthusiastically (exactly like these guys are, but not out in random public places)

It's a fresh spring, so let's sing...

I feel bad I haven't updated recently, but the Internet connection in my flat has been pretty crappy lately. Believe me, I wish it wasn't, because this past week was Spring Break. Something I didn't realize until my one flatmate left for home and I asked why. Which means I basically had no plans at all until Friday. D'oh. I spent time with friends (We went to a ginger factory. Yup. Not as lame as it sounds but still a bit funny considering everyone else there were little kids and their grandparents), wandered around, went thrift shopping, and watched random movies on TV with one of the three remaining flatmates who stayed. I also wasted the one day the Internet actually decided to work on figuring out how to fool the NBC website into thinking my computer was still in the US so I could watch the new episodes of Heroes. I lead a sad, nerdy life.

Then Friday finally came, the day I'd looked forward to all week. Why? Because I had my very first band interview with the wonderful Yeasayer! Unfortunately, everything before the interview went horribly wrong. Even though I took an extra early bus, it got caught in traffic and made me late, then when I got into work, the manager was angry not just about that, but that I didn't call him to let him know. See, I don't have a cell phone over here. I really don't need one because I'd only ever call three people in Australia and I have a phone in my room for that. Then I use Skype for everyone back home. Plus, I never really liked using mobile phones anyway. My manager thought this was sacrilegious apparently, and continued to tell everyone in the same tone one would use when saying "Can you believe she doesn't think the Earth is round? Get with the times!" This did not help my nerves and I bumbled a tiny bit the rest of my shift (though they were all small beginners mistakes, as is understandable). Right before I was to clock out, I grabbed a glass from the dishwasher without realizing it was broken and gashed my hand. Bleeding and freaking out, I ran to take care of it and while doing so, the manager and owner basically told me I was fired. Because of prejudice against non-cell phone users and because I was "late and will be again because that's how Taurus' are." Yup, I was fired preemptively (the owner is a 'psychic,' remember?) due to the fact I'd be late in the future.

I was extra freaked out about doing the interview an hour and a half after being fired, but the guys were incredibly nice. I met them all, but only interviewed their lead singer, Chris Keating. We had a fun twenty minute chat, which I've been working to transcribe and its been a pain in the arse. I hate how my voice sounds when its recorded and I also don't like hearing how many times I said, "Really?! No way!" or "Cooool!" during our conversation. Diane Sawyer I am not. The rest of the day was okay, I sat in a coffee shop and read for a while. I lost some enthusiasm for the concert because I kept thinking about my job, but it was a fun show. Well, fun other than a really drunk girl falling over on me while she was dancing a bit too much to '2080' and causing me to hurt my leg. So many injuries in one day, yeesh. I'll put up gig photos, a short review, and maybe even the interview here in a few days. I just have to hear from my editor and see what he needs.

For now, I'll leave you (since a lot of you probably don't even know who they are) with Yeasayer doing an impromptu acapella set in the Paris subway. Trust me, this is awesome and I gushed about it a bit to Chris and he was like, "Yeah, it was pretty cool, but I hate all that rambling I do in the beginning." So you guys have Chris' permission to skip ahead to the actual singing a minute and fifteen seconds in, haha.

Finally, finally, finally I was forced to face...

Gee, Brain. What are we going to do tonight?
The same thing we do every night, Pinky. Try to take over the world... of graffiti. Then try to convince Danielle to do something other than schoolwork or watching movies!

That's right, everyone. I actually went out and had fun this weekend instead of being my usual hermit self! Huzzah! I worked on Friday morning, then left all giddy with my first pay in hand. So of course I went to Queen St. to spend half of it, ha. It was 'Talk Like a Pirate Day' and there were a few people dressed up, including this one lady who had THE coolest swashbuckler outfit I've ever seen. It looked like it could've been stolen from Kiera Knightly's 'Pirates of the Caribbean' wardrobe. I was really tempted to ask her if I could take a photo, but I got lily-livered. Then I walked around taking pictures of the cool graffiti and sticker art in the city. I also had at least eight lizards of varying sizes cross my path, including this fella who let me go camera happy on him.
Every time I saw an iguana or lizard I said, "OH MY GOD! LOOK AT IT! WHOA!" to nobody in particular, causing passersby to either question my sanity or know immediately I'm not from around here. Speaking of crazy visitors, looky what I found:
And here I thought he was down in Georgia! (For those of you that don't get it, that's a nerdy music joke, not a diss at the South)

Later that night I was ready to settle down for a Cameron Crowe marathon, but Alexa called and told me to get ready for a trip to the Gold Coast. Her super rich cousin was having his birthday party in the penthouse of the tallest building on Surfers Paradise over the course of four days and originally Alexa wanted to go Saturday (when I had work). She found out that Saturday he was going to have 70 people there and Friday was a calmer total of 20, so they decided to change nights last minute. The majority of the car ride up was spent by Alexa's recently engaged (at 18!) friend saying, "Ooh, I want to have my wedding reception there!" to practically every three or four star restaurant we passed. Then we reached the Huge Fancypants Hotel I Can't Remember the Name of.
I apologize for the bad quality, but my flash wasn't working for some annoying reason. Everyone at the party was pretty drunk when we got there, so we broke off from the main group and sat in one of the seven (thats how big it was!) bedrooms admiring the view and sipping some rum & orange juice in honour of pirates. Get it? The orange juice is to prevent scurvy! Anyhoo, the view was astounding and slightly reminds me of Atlantic City.We joined the rest of the party again only to find them talking about cartoons and a guy with dreadlocks screaming, "LETS GO GET ICE CREAAAAAAAM!" So, we opted to leave and go to a club that Constantly Planning Her Wedding Girl was raving about. They stamp your arm with a huge red 'SIN' when you enter (the place was called 'Sin City,' kind of a tacky name). How very Nathaniel Hawthorne. We didn't stay there for long, but it was fun enough. The ride back home was spent mostly by me singing along to Kings of Leon songs on the radio and obsessing about how they're not only one of the greatest contemporary bands but also the best looking family in music (which they totally are, even back a few years ago when they were in their '70s hair and too much flannel phase). Yes, I realize how pathetic it is that my conversations tend to revert to the topic of cute boys, bands, or cute boys in bands.

Saturday was my first time working movie night, which was awesome. The movie was 'East of Eden,' one of my favourites and it was hosted by a fabulous tranny who was just a bit tipsy. Oh boy, was that interesting. I kept getting called 'Raquel, Darling' and had to deal with a lot of gossip. I was supposed to meet up with friends later, but some bad directions and an idiot cabbie later, I found out I was only a five minute walk away. This really got me angry, because I should've known it was going to happen, I consistently get terrible taxi drivers. Then I get there and find my friends left. ARG! But fortunately I knew she lived nearby and remembered how to get there. I also had a cute guy come up to me and ask to help settle a bet with his friend for $10 that he couldn't get a random pretty girl to kiss him on the cheek. And yes, I gladly helped, teehee. I found Angie's house and we watched a DVD of Adam and the Ants videos (her favourite), exchanged concert stories, and all that fun stuff. She invited me to go to the beach with her posse next weekend, so it looks like I'll actually have something to write about then too, yay!

I finally got a steady social life over here, aren't you all proud?

Why can't we be friends?

Well, I tried, I really did, but thanks to the Josh Pyke concert I wanted to go to being sold out, the outdoor Operator Please concert being rained out, and my flatmates boyfriend issues causing all other plans to be drama-ed out, I spent yet another weekend doing nothing. However, my first day of work went well, so yay, but not much to really go into about that.

Don't get me wrong, as I've said many times, I like my flatmates a lot, but it always sucks being the only single friend. Especially when you're trying to comfort them and they basically tell you that they appreciate the sentiment, but I shouldn't give advice when I've never been in a relationship. Ouch. Speaking of friends, all they wanted to do was watch the sitcom of that very name which I've never been too keen on. Maybe its because I was only eleven when everyone was getting Rachel haircuts or perhaps its because I know there is no way they could ever afford an apartment that size in Greenwich Village, but I just don't find "Friends" that funny. Naturally, they had to do the whole "Oh, I'm such a Monica type of person!" thing and I was instantly labeled Phoebe. Figures I'm the kooky and artsy yet street smart one who marries a gay Canadian ice dancer so he can get his green card.

But seriously, I know I should be trying to make more friends so I don't have to rely on the same people when I want to actually go somewhere or do something. I'm just not very good at making friends the traditional way. Most of the people I've known for several years will tell you about the strange circumstances under which we met. For example, when I hit Paige in the face with my sock at a sleepover five minutes after being introduced to her and we're still close over seven years later. Or how my Mom made me carpool with Jenna because we both liked Tamora Pierce books and after a few quiet rides I broke the ice by comparing a picture of a bald man's head on the back of a bus to a cheese knish. I'm just not very good at 'get to know you small talk.' The other day, I got into a conversation with my Screenwriting classmate about 'The Sixth Sense' and I literally followed her onto her bus just so I could keep talking with her. It wasn't the bus I needed (though I told her it was) but it went close enough to where I live and I got home an hour later than usual because of it. I think I may have weirded her out, but I have that effect on lots of people.

In a similar vein, a few weeks ago my flatmates dragged me to (eurgh) Pub Night, which I can't stand. This guy told me he was from Stewart Island, adding that I'd probably never even heard of it. But I knew exactly where it was, I told him, and he was very impressed. "Well," I said, "I'm good at geography. Not so much capitals outside of the US and Europe, but the basic 'where countries are' for everywhere else at least, you know?" I then went on a long tangent about how as a child, I loved 'Where in the World is Carmen San Diego?' while all the other kids adored that annoying math game '24,' which we were forced to play in school. I spent my time playing the 'Carmen San Diego' computer game instead of studying for the '24' tournament and I lost in the first round. Kids laughed but I told them I was going on the 'Carmen San Diego' game show and winning a real prize, on national TV none the less. Unfortunately the show ended right before I was old enough to qualify and I was devastated, but my geography skills stayed with me. The guy looked at me and went "Okayyyy, I'm going to the bar..." Later my flatmate informed me that he was trying to flirt. Dammit. Always a Phoebe, I guess.

EDIT: This is for those of you that don't know/remember what I'm talking about. Look at how high tech those animations are, haha. And I love that the roach is named Kafka. Boy, did I want to wear one of those neon fedoras and ACME Crimenet ketchup & mustard coloured blazers so badly! *sigh*

Time flies by like fly time

This week went by waaaaay too fast. Maybe it's because the seasons have changed so drastically here, we've been getting spring showers already and winter just ended a few days ago. I still get confused by the opposite seasons. Because of said rain, I was forced to stay inside a bit, but I made sure to watch Australian Idol and read old issues of an amazing Aussie magazine called Frankie. Now, I can't stand American Idol, but find myself addicted to the Australian version. There is significantly more talent, variety of music styles, and the judges actually have more constructive criticism than "A bit pitchy, dawg!" Plus, almost every contestant knows how to play at least one instrument in addition to being able to sing well. See, I'm still experiencing Australian culture even though I'm indoors! Once the weather is better, I promise to be more interesting.

I've been here a week or so shy of two months time, but for some reason this week was particularly full of people asking me questions about America. For starters, I'm shocked how little about American geography most people I've met here know. Only one person knew right away where I meant when I said Pennsylvania. It's not like it's even an obscure state! I always hear on the news that America is the stupid one where lots of kids don't know even their own state capital and other countries around the world shame us in the US History and Geography department. But I had a guy as me if Philadelphia was "near Chicago, you know, that state where the Pilgrims landed, right?" Just explaining where exactly I'm from is frustrating enough sometimes, but then I get the same top five "oooh, I've always wanted to know this about America" questions:
1. What's New York City like?
2. Is high school in America just like in the movies and TV?
3. Do you see famous people like all the time?
4. Have you ever been mugged/ have you ever seen someone get shot?
5. Do people from the South/New York/Boston/etc. really talk in those exaggerated accents?

And I usually give the same answers every time:
1. It's so big that this question is incredibly vague. I've only been to three of the five boroughs [explains and names boroughs] and I still can't begin to describe just Brooklyn in itself. But New York City is awesome, though I personally don't think I could live there. You should try and visit it for yourself. It's not anywhere near as dangerous as TV and movies make it seem.
2. Not at all. Though I'm sure there are rich California kids who have amazing courtyards they're allowed to eat fabulous lunches in. The closest thing to my high school experience would be an updated version of 'Daria' mixed with 'Freaks and Geeks,' maybe a bit of 'Pete and Pete' thrown in. [That's right, my life was and still is more of a weird, under-rated comedy than a drama or coming of age romance.]
3. I see and have met lots of musicians that I find famous, but the only really famous person lots of people would be familiar with I've seen in Philly is Jay McCarroll, who won the first season of Project Runway. So no, not really. Only B and C-List folks.
4. Um, no. I know people who have though. And if I had, I don't think I would want talk about it.
5. Yes, but not everyone obviously. I don't sound like I'm from Philly at all, thank goodness. My vote for weirdest American regional accents go to Long Island and Wisconsin. [Then I do my impressions of said accents. No offense to people from those areas!]

I can understand people being intrigued by the fact I'm from America and don't mind answering their questions, but sometimes I hate that I'm 'The American.' Would people still be interested in talking to me if I wasn't from a place that's novel to them? Do they make assumptions about me based on my accent? Sometimes I want to put on a British accent and see if I'm treated the same way. When I was in Scotland, there were a whole bunch of other Americans, but here I'm one of three that I know of on the entire campus. The other two are from New Hampshire and Colorado, so they aren't as close to the big cities as I am. Fortunately I haven't had anyone insult me for being American, but I still can't help but think the big "I'm from a famous American city!" sign that seems to be on me overshadows everything else about myself.

Oh, down to the river we ride...

Yet another mistake was pointed out to me (thanks Becky!), so now everyone can comment on my posts. I have no idea why it was set so only people with Blogger accounts could respond. Sorry!

Riverfest is going on all week in the city, but having gone both Friday and Saturday, I'd say the only day anything interesting took place was yesterday. Friday, a group of friends and I just wandered around looking for something to do besides shop and eat food. We passed by Hungry Jacks (what they call Burger King here for some reason) several times throughout the day and the same group of bored looking goth kids were always sitting outside. I had to wonder why this was their choice place to mope. Did Robert Smith get onion rings there once? Maybe some day I'll go over and ask them. More aimless walking in search of a Riverfest event, but the only noteworthy thing that happened was passing Hare Krishnas and being given pamphlets by the Socialist Youth Society. Nothing like being told you should consider a new religion and political party by people on the street!

Back at the flat later that night, I stayed up to finally watch a few hours of Rage. Rage is an uninterrupted six hours of music videos shown late at night on weekends. So clearly, this was a bit like heaven to me.

Haha, look at my happy little face! And please ignore my horrible attempt to grey out my flat's disgusting and ugly sofa set. It looks like someone trash picked it from a crack house. Needless to say, I never sit on it. Anyway, I was so excited to watch full videos that have more than just a band playing in a field or a rapper with some booty-shakin' hos (yeah, I'm looking at you, modern MTV and VH1 when you actually take time off from awful reality shows to screen a few videos). The absolute best one of the night was a song that I've heard before, but never seen the video of. It's called 'Letter from God to Man,' by the British rappers Dan le Sac Vs Scroobius Pip. Believe me, it's outstanding and not really as religious the title implies.

I know it's a bit difficult to understand his accent sometimes, so here are the lyrics. Seriously, I was watching this at around 3 am, on the verge of sobbing. Then it changed to The Kooks and my flatmate walked in to get a glass of water and looked at me weird, wondering why I was so misty-eyed over a bunch of rock stars in tight pants flirting with models.

Riverfest Saturday was a bit more impressive because that night was Riverfire and entirely too many people were walking around. So we opted to spend most of the day in the Science Center and Art Museum. They were both pretty neat, though I was creeped out at the sheer amount of taxidermied animals the Science Center had on display. What made it weirder was that every single one had it's cause of death underneath it. I realize that's so nobody thinks they were killed just to be stuffed, but do I really need to know this poor wombat died from impacted bowels? We waited in ridiculously long lines to get dinner, then at 7 a huge fire-spurting plane flew past way too low, scaring the bejeezus out of me and letting everyone know the fireworks were about to begin.

Unfortunately, I did not get to enjoy the display as much as I'd like to because a third of the crowd were taking pictures. Some using their flash. I wanted to scream, "Put your damn cameras down and enjoy the fireworks! Don't you realize your photos are going to suck anyway?" I was so angry that all these people were taking shots that were of the dark sky and one little green spark, then turning to each other and going, "Oooh, that's a good one!" WATCH THE FIREWORKS! Don't take pictures so you can instantly reminisce about that red heart shaped one and miss two minutes of other fireworks in doing so! I mean, I love to take photos and understand that they want to capture their beauty. But take a few really great pictures if you can, then put the camera away. Taking several bad pictures a minute for the entire half-hour fireworks show is just stupid. Since when did photography become about quantity over quality? Grump, grump, grump. Sorry for the rant, it just really annoyed me that I waited all day and people were ruining the show for me.

Today I slept in and am continuing work on a paper for World History, super exciting stuff! Tomorrow is the start of September, maybe I'll be a bit more interesting in the new month. Hope everyone has a good Labor Day! I won't because I don't get the day off. :[

Hot Glam! (I Love You So)

Oh wow, I just realized one of my favourite blogs, Popserious put me on their blogroll! Right at the top too, because it's alphabetical order, but that means I'm above Best Week Ever and Boing Boing! Whoa! Thanks guys, you're awesome! Godspeed You! Black Emperor, Airplane!, !!!, Oh the Places You’ll Go!, and a whole bunch more exclamation points! I'll stop now. I think that last sentence made my spell check have a nervous breakdown.

Also, my Mom pointed out to me that I accidentally had last week's entry as August 13th, when it was really the 20th. So that's fixed now, thanks to the observational powers of Editor Mom. See, all those years of me asking her to proofread my essays payed off.

I make a point of checking a few Philly news sites every day just because I like to keep up on what's going on back home. The last thing I saw on Australian news regarding PA was about the Phoenixville Blob Festival. But it was this piece of (where else but) New Jersey news that made me laugh. Oh you Joize kids and your shenanigans, how I miss you. When I saw that headline, I half expected it to be the group of guys I lived next to last year. They were in the martial arts club and would all stand up then bow at the same time after finishing meals in the dining hall. That was a bit weird, but the Ninjas were nice guys and I never had to worry about my room getting robbed.

Unfortunately my neighbors this year aren't so respectful. Well, just the one. As I said before, all my flatmates are wonderful, but it's the guy who lives below me that's in for a fight. Usually people have to complain because the person above them is blasting music and it's going through the ceiling. I have the reverse problem. To try and handle it politely, I went on the school's chat room because he's constantly on it. I figured it was an easy way to let him know he should turn his music down, but then I didn't think over the fact I was talking to a college chat room full of 18-year-old boys...

Dani: Pace... It’s past midnight. Also, this is like the 10th time today you've played 99 Luft balloons. Could you please turn it down?
Void: stick a luft balloon in his pooper. then inflate it.
Dani: No... I just want him to know his music is way too loud and way too crappy.
Morven: put your vagina on the floor and enjoy it.
Void: pace, can you hear the vagina on your ceiling?
Pace: yeah, its hot. NANANANAAAA 99 LUFTBALLOONSSSSSS
Dani: Listen closer and you'll realize it's my fist.
Pace: hahaha, haha my window aint even open. must be loud.
Dani: Yes, yes it is. That's my point. I have to sleep.
Pace: 99 luftballons cued for 7:40 am
Dani: I'll be up then anyway. HA. And you're just lucky I don't have speakers myself.
Pace: *points speakers upwards*

This went back and forth for a few more minutes, with them getting progressively more lewd and I finally left because got sick of trying to reason with such idiocy. Fortunately, the RA came and made Pace turn off his music shortly after that. They must've heard it themselves because I didn't even call them. But they apparently continued the stupid 'vagina on the floor' thing in the chat long after I left. My one computer savvy flatmate saw that they were being jerks and used a secret trick to kick them off the server for two hours. Thanks man!

EDIT: Pace and my flatmate Gus are good friends that go way back, which means Gus is trusted enough to have a copy of Pace's key. He's also pretty sure of the password to Pace's computer. Did I mention Gus lives right across from me and has to get up really early, so he hates when Pace blasts music too? Next time it happens or Pace is rude to me, Gus and I are going into his room, deleting all the songs he blares repeatedly, and downloading every single Yanni, Goo Goo Dolls, and Jonas Brothers song in their place.

Despite that one annoyance, I had a great weekend. I went to a Glam Rock themed party (I was supposed to be Debbie Harry, but it didn't quite work considering I don't have blond hair or look anything like her) and got to hang out with a fun bunch of punk kids in hilarious outfits. The party was in a cute little rented Russian hall that had pictures of Catherine the Great and Leo Tolstoy. It looked like a babushka's house. Even better, it was directly across the street from the AFL (Australian Football League) stadium. The AFL fans sure were taken aback when they saw a bunch of 20-somethings dressed up as Iggy Pop, Debbie Harry, Marc Bolan, Ziggy Stardust, and Suzi Quatro going into a Russian hall. COMMUNISM! After about two hours of dancing to glam, we decided to just play what we normally listen to, and by the end of the night, we were dancing (in the same way they do in this video) to our favourite Eurovision song:
We then decided to go outside and somehow our conversation turned to jingles from several years ago. Iggy (I don't remember half the real names of these people, mostly because they were introduced to me as their character) was saying he remembered one that had a fat kid saying some phone number over and over. Naturally, we had to call the number to see if the fat kid answered. Apparently that number is now the hotline for a radio station and the operator asked Iggy what he wanted to talk about. "Um, life... Love... How my stupid girlfriend just ran off with the fat kid and took the dog with her. Now I only have the cat, who hates me." Either the story sold them or they were desperate for callers at 1:45 am, because we got put on air. We practically died laughing. Nobody has any idea what station we even called.

SECOND EDIT: At first I didn't put any pictures from the party for some reason, but now I've been told I can't describe a party like that and not provide visuals.

Angie should be a magician's assistant! I love Dennis' expression in the background, haha.

Dancing up a storm, a rather silly looking dance storm. This photo gives you the idea of all the crazy Russian paintings and memorabilia on the walls. That's me on the right in the black tutu and silver top that makes me look like a ballet baked potato. As I looked through pictures I realized that almost every single picture (such as this one) I'm in has me holding a beer. It makes me look like a complete alco, but it's actually the same beer I held all night. Because all they had was beer, which I am not a fan of. Too much carbonation and the taste doesn't appeal to me. So the entire night I took about three sips, yet I kept it with me because I didn't want to be rude. I'm the exact same way with soda. I've probably drank one can of Pepsi in my whole life. I realize that nobody would take offense to me disliking their beloved 'beeah,' but I always worry and over-think things like that.

This guy ('Marc Bolan') stayed in Glam Rock mode all night, he's my hero.

I should really know all their names, I'm terrible... I only know the one to the right who looks more like a member of Panic at the Disco is Rhys, because that's a pretty memorable name. Dude in the middle is so a rockabilly version of David Bowie! I have to laugh how he's posing tough with a clenched fist when he's wearing heavy makeup and the other two are flaunting it for the camera.

That's about it for now, nothing else interesting with me other than I'm a huge nerd and have been watching Mystery Science Theater 3000. Oh wow, the Australian news just said that "Jimmy Page from The Who played at the Olympics closing festival last night." It's called fact checkers, good job.