tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22638986854473543852024-03-06T00:28:16.083+02:00Dasia has a blogI read, I write, I review, I rant. It's all quite whimsical.Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14566791637480857887noreply@blogger.comBlogger101125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2263898685447354385.post-22822893229386738772016-04-28T14:35:00.005+02:002016-04-28T14:35:52.309+02:00A whole new worldHey there, blog wanderer!<br />
<br />
Thanks for visiting, but if you're looking for something a little fresher, go visit my new site <a href="http://thatdasia.com/">ThatDasia.com</a>.<br />
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<a href="http://www.thatdasia.com/" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgZGS4vnf2ajUFqkddlJYV9PX7WMGvRs-KzQHSptZj3Eb0T2WyzA7LEXCtbHWq4op7GOwIY-SDAZBMgFEmq1tFDASv-c1b3fY75sLlVgd2QfT8Sd07ff79Zky5hTyBRcoDzAYITVZTSrY/s1600/ThatDasia_Logo.png" /></a></div>
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<br />
Here you'll find my YouTube videos, new blog posts, reviews, social media insights and even my freelance offerings.<br />
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See you there!<br />
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<br />Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14566791637480857887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2263898685447354385.post-401522462822791302014-09-03T22:04:00.000+02:002014-09-03T22:04:39.273+02:00Here's the thing about being an oddballI'm pretty weird.<br />
<br />
I don't say that in a twitter-bio "I'm soooo crazy!" kind of way. My weirdness is a practical part of my everyday life. For the most part, I'm a fan of my eccentricities, but they do come with a stock standard amount of bullshit.<br />
<br />
I can't take credit for some of my weirdness: my ridiculous name, or my Russian heritage. Some of my weirdness is intentional: the way I sometimes dress, the things I choose to say or post, my hair (which was between purple, blue and green for the better part of the past year.) Still other bits of me, I'm not even sure of: my accent, for example. Did I choose not to acclimatise to the other kids' way of talking in Grade 1, because I'd decided I was a special BAMF whose cartoon voice was totes adorbs? I don't remember. I just know if I try to do a South African accent now, I sound like I've had a stroke.<br />
<br />
I also walk funny. I walk a little splay-footed, and apparently I have a 'bouncy' walk. And I walk on my tip toes a lot of the time. I DON'T KNOW WHY. STOP ASKING.<br />
<br />
Ahem.<br />
<br />
Just for the peace of mind of those who actually know me ( so 98% of my blog audience [the other 2% is google traffic looking for naked <a href="http://dasiahasablog.blogspot.com/2011/11/heres-thing-about-misha-collins.html" target="_blank">Misha Collins pictures</a>]) I don't feel seething hatred every time you ask me about my idiosyncrasies. People are naturally curious and I get that. I get hella curious about other people. But I only ask them about their weirdness once I've put in the time to get to know them.<br />
<br />
What does inspire seething hatred is this:<br />
<br />
People who think, because I am strange, that they're entitled to a performance.<br />
<br />
"Pronounce your name for me?" is a constant one. I mostly get it from people behind computers needing to fill out forms. They can see it clearly, all they need to do is type it in. But no. They want me to say it. Because it's weird! Wow! Here I am, saying my own name over and over like a fucking Pokemon.<br />
<br />
See, just because I disrupt your sense of order doesn't mean I'm a fucking exotic bird you have to interrogate (who the fuck would interrogate a bird anyway?) to find out its origins and reason for being. You are not a customs official at the aviary border patrol.<br />
<br />
"Why is your hair purple?" It's genetic. No seriously, what am I supposed to say? Because I'm protesting the abuse of lavender fields? Do other people have compelling reasons for dyeing their hair? Not one single fucker asked me why my hair was red. Or brown. Or blonde (though somebody should have, that was a bleak couple of months.)<br />
<br />
"You're Russian? Say something in Russian!"<br />
Okay. Dance, monkey! Dance!<br />
"That was English..."<br />
Yeah.<br />
<br />
"Why are you walking on your tiptoes?" BECAUSE THE FLOOR IS LAVA. No seriously, I have no idea why I do this. And. It. Doesn't. Matter.<br />
<br />
Seriously. None of this matters. It's all just different flavours of the same uncomfortable one-sided conversation. "You're disrupting my sense of order! Explain yourself so I can categorise you!"<br />
<br />
I'm still working on a not-ridiculously-rude way to opt out of these interactions. Like, maybe pulling my shirt over my head and hovering away?<br /><br />Suggestions welcome.<br />
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<br />Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14566791637480857887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2263898685447354385.post-67621699093715466672014-07-20T22:52:00.000+02:002014-07-20T22:52:17.477+02:00How to give up on thingsSo much for a month of bloggery right?<br />
<br />
At least I have an excuse this time - I'm back in the real world as a full-time worker bee person.<br />
<br />
I'm at a very exciting and forward-thinking company now, and it's getting me thinking about all sorts of new ideas for my own writing / creative pursuits. Problem is: following through. It's a bitch.<br />
<br />
So if you have any ideas on how to NOT give up on things, leave them in the comments. Which I will totally read all the way through. Promise.Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14566791637480857887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2263898685447354385.post-66614375381714275992014-07-04T00:03:00.000+02:002014-07-04T00:03:37.150+02:00Poltergeists vs. kitchen scissors"You're all gonna die in there! All of you! You are gonna die!" - Kane, Poltergeist II.<br />
<br />
Poltergeist II was a really bad movie.<br />
<br />
I pulled that poetic quote from<a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0091778/trivia?tab=qt&ref_=tt_trv_qu" target="_blank"> IMDb</a> because I have almost no memory of Poltergeist II. I watched it when I was about seven or eight years old. It was a textbook case of I-wanna-watch-this-because-I'm-brave-no-wait-dear-God-this-is-traumatizing-I'll-stop-watching-before-I-get-scarred-forever-too-late.<br />
<br />
Fast forward almost two decades, and this is what I've spent my late evening tweeting:<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="twitter-tweet" lang="en">
I could never live alone. Coming home to an empty house = murderers in every room until inspection proves otherwise.<br />
— Dasia (@awkwardoptimist) <a href="https://twitter.com/awkwardoptimist/statuses/484795047737430016">July 3, 2014</a></blockquote>
Full disclosure: I started tweeting to distract myself because by then I needed to pee.<br />
<script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//platform.twitter.com/widgets.js"></script>
<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="twitter-tweet" lang="en">
I am currently in the well-lit lounge looking at hedgehog gifs on my phone, working up the nerve to go down the hall / face demon murderer<br />
— Dasia (@awkwardoptimist) <a href="https://twitter.com/awkwardoptimist/statuses/484795935570919426">July 3, 2014</a></blockquote>
In my mind, murderers and demons are interchangeable and equally plausible threats.<br />
<blockquote class="twitter-tweet" lang="en">
<blockquote class="twitter-tweet" lang="en">
So I got home 15 minutes ago, if there were psychos here they would've come out by now right? I even asked them to<br />
— Dasia (@awkwardoptimist) <a href="https://twitter.com/awkwardoptimist/statuses/484797211499167744">July 3, 2014</a></blockquote>
</blockquote>
My exact words were, "Uh, so if there are any murderers or rapists around, could you make yourself known? Thanks..." and then legitimately waiting for a response. Holding kitchen scissors. I went for kitchen scissors because I felt like a knife was just overly dramatic, and if someone walked in on me I could always suddenly pretend to be making a salad or something.<br />
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<blockquote class="twitter-tweet" lang="en">
<script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//platform.twitter.com/widgets.js"></script>
<br />
<blockquote class="twitter-tweet" lang="en">
Man if I really do get murdered tonight, these tweets are SO getting me on Buzzfeed<br />
— Dasia (@awkwardoptimist) <a href="https://twitter.com/awkwardoptimist/statuses/484797435697324032">July 3, 2014</a></blockquote>
</blockquote>
<i>Girl Has Most Ironic Death Ever. </i><br />
<blockquote class="twitter-tweet" lang="en">
<script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//platform.twitter.com/widgets.js"></script>
<br />
<blockquote class="twitter-tweet" lang="en">
Now I feel like I should keep tweeting to prove I'm not dead. Oh wait, that's how I always feel!<br />
— Dasia (@awkwardoptimist) <a href="https://twitter.com/awkwardoptimist/statuses/484803695272415232">July 3, 2014</a></blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
Aaand we're back to regularly scheduled programming.<br />
<br />
Poltergiest II probably didn't break my brain and turn me from a rowdy, confident kid into a ball of anxiety who couldn't be left in a room alone. But it certainly didn't help. Something about the way a normal big-haired 80's family had their everyday life invaded by unexpected, sticky, horrible things definitely stuck with me.<br />
<br />
And today's Writers' Boot Camp prompt is "one of my greatest fears."<br />
<br />
So my biggest fear - well, besides the existential stuff like never making a mark on the world - certainly my biggest-by-volume fear is the strange intruding on the familiar. A sudden grab, an unexpected voice, a pair of blinking unfamiliar eyes looming in the dark. Typical Stephen King stuff.<br />
<br />
You know they say people spend most of their lives worrying about stuff that'll never happen? Maybe. But come on. If there were a psycho in my shower, I'd rather slam on the lights and walk confidently into the room holding kitchen scissors than just kinda assume everything will be fine.<br />
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Psychos are shit-scared of kitchen scissors. Everyone knows that.Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14566791637480857887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2263898685447354385.post-82663400083008131472014-07-02T12:39:00.001+02:002014-07-02T12:39:44.315+02:00And when I see how sad you are, it sorta makes me happyLong-time readers of this blog may remember that I've<a href="http://dasiahasablog.blogspot.com/2012/01/fascinating-glimpse-into-psychology-of.html" target="_blank"> discussed my favourite words before</a>, which led to a <a href="http://www.quickmeme.com/meme/3t6iyw" target="_blank">tiny meme</a>,<a href="http://tamiclayton.wordpress.com/2012/04/14/letters-from-benedict-on-weequashing-the-playlist/" target="_blank"> hilariously odd offshoot posts</a> and my blog ranking quite highly on Google for the keyphrase "Benedict Cumberbatch weequashing."<br />
<br />
But it's been two years since that post, and my Writers' Boot Camp challenge today is to list my top five favourite words. So, putting aside Benedict Cumberbatch weequashing in crisp twilight (for just a minute) here they are. In no particular order.<br />
<br />
<b>Just</b><br />
<br />
Just like, just let me tell you this one thing. It's just that I just love the word just and I just can't help myself when I'm just writing or whatever to just slip justs in wherever they just might be.<br />
<br />
Editing for me is <strike>just</strike> about 80% just-removal. And 15% wondering why I didn't <strike>just</strike> study engineering so I could <strike>just </strike>have a real job by now. And <strike>just</strike> 5% actual work.<br />
<br />
What is it about the word 'just' that's so appealing to my unconscious brain? Is it a verbal act of minimizing, making my words and ideas smaller and less significant, (it's not an idea, it's <i>just</i> an idea)? Or maybe it's about justice, stating that my words are fair and just and RIGHT.<br />
<br />
Whatever the root, it's <strike>just</strike> annoying.<br />
<br />
<b>Direwolf</b><br />
<br />
Yes, I've been watching a lot of Game of Thrones. And I'd probably be a Stark because I enjoy bulky layers and I'm really rubbish at staying alive. But come on, doesn't the word <i>direwolf</i> send a shiver down your spine? Doesn't it instantly invoke fear, respect and awe?<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6myTKjfw0lU4oBCUtXvKu9aV-XEUnTISuX67YXRIDb_Tvv54-qNS_wSLWSBszjapX8Fwx1_PrOktfYhR-NOjHb-9N0IHJf_nv4MKiSO2piOx3UkXO77mgIQlSnf6zpsE1j6Jlyp1CMzc/s1600/direwolfstillHBO.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6myTKjfw0lU4oBCUtXvKu9aV-XEUnTISuX67YXRIDb_Tvv54-qNS_wSLWSBszjapX8Fwx1_PrOktfYhR-NOjHb-9N0IHJf_nv4MKiSO2piOx3UkXO77mgIQlSnf6zpsE1j6Jlyp1CMzc/s1600/direwolfstillHBO.jpg" height="265" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Who's a bloodthirsty puppy? Who's an awe-inspiring fluff? You are! Yes you are!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Also, <a href="http://theamericanalsatian.tripod.com/direwolfproject/" target="_blank">you can buy a direwolf now</a>. Okay, you can buy a giant grey Alsatian, but STILL.<br />
<br />
<b>Facetious</b><br />
<br />
Means "treating serious issues with deliberately inappropriate humour." Which is what I do best. I was never quite sure what this meant until about a year ago, and now it's one of my favourite words. It feels really fun to say. FUH SEE SHUSS. You could definitely incorporate that into a killer rap. Also, it's fun to just drop it into casual conversation when you can tell the other person isn't QUITE sure what it means but just kinda rolls with it and pretends that they do.<br />
<br />
<b>Schadenfreude</b><br />
<br />
<a href="http://youtu.be/nCQGQ5qBQTA" target="_blank">Just listen to this</a>. I can't really make a stronger case for this beautifully cruel German word. The title of this post is from the opening lines of this song. I'll be forever grateful to<a href="http://linguisticali.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"> Ali</a> for introducing me to Avenue Q.<br />
<br />
<b>Monkey</b><br />
<br />
Pet names are gross, aren't they? Love is gross. Gross and awesome. (Don't worry, I have an equally ridiculous pet name for him.)<br />
<br />
So I guess my favourite sentence would be something like <b>"Not to be facetious, but I just get schadenfreude when that monkey just rides his direwolf."</b><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe1eYewRJUtrorYYnGkc3o50bETph_M8ip7ULF8SFPrhGCjG_En77oc3jxoVl0YZ-nyzPf7wQyG2FnT6Kl50p6NNz6HoaHI5FRTUJ-zM_ezxXu6ZP1IS3D7PKsm0Nce3M6-QAItpoEFcs/s1600/monkeyridingpigzoom.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe1eYewRJUtrorYYnGkc3o50bETph_M8ip7ULF8SFPrhGCjG_En77oc3jxoVl0YZ-nyzPf7wQyG2FnT6Kl50p6NNz6HoaHI5FRTUJ-zM_ezxXu6ZP1IS3D7PKsm0Nce3M6-QAItpoEFcs/s1600/monkeyridingpigzoom.png" height="297" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">THEY CALL HIM THE YOUNG WOLF.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br />Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14566791637480857887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2263898685447354385.post-42944075398269646652014-07-01T13:11:00.000+02:002014-07-01T13:14:44.327+02:00A blogging challenge and deathbed confessionsIt's July! I'm still reminding myself to buy 2013's Christmas presents. How is it July even.<br />
<br />
The lovely <a href="https://twitter.com/loftyrox" target="_blank">Roxana</a>, with whom I used to work, has invited me to join <a href="https://twitter.com/Writersbootcmp" target="_blank">Writers' Boot Camp</a> this month. That means 60 minutes of blogging for every day in July.<br />
<br />
I'm not usually up for these meme-like challenges, but looking through the posts people have already put up today, I got all inspired and I figured - why the hell not? (Which is obviously how all great creative ventures start.)<br />
<br />
So here goes. Day one's topic:<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Even if you know me well, you don't know this.</span><br />
<br />
I have freckles!<br />
<br />
Wait...<br />
<br />
I'm awkward!<br />
<br />
Um...<br />
<br />
I shot a man in Reno just to watch him die?<br />
<br />
Sorry internet, I have no deathbed (blogbed?) confessions. I'm incredibly lucky to have a handful of truly close, loving relationships and if you know me well - then - here I am! (Don't tread on me.)<br />
<br />
But obviously, I'd like to share <i>something</i> in this post. So here it is - not a confession so much as a question mark, a parallel universe, a what-if.<br />
<br />
<b>I've always wondered if I could have made it in the performing arts. </b><br />
<br />
I understand if that dorky little thought made you chuckle. If you know me, you know I'm one of the most awkward, self-conscious people in the world. I can barely make eye contact with people, and I can't remember a time when anxiety wasn't my constant companion. That's why I love writing! You can backspace, edit, and construct a confident tone even if you <i>actually</i> feel like your insides are being microwaved.<br />
<br />
So you might wonder why on earth I'd think performance wouldn't be my worst nightmare.<br />
<br />
You know what's weird? Probably my favourite memory from high school was being a co-MC of our grade eight play. I was on stage for maybe a minute, I messed up, and afterwards someone told me I sucked - but it was SO MUCH FUN. I felt completely at home on that stage. I laughed off my mistake and a hall full of bored parents even cheered for us! I mean, how cool is that?<br />
<br />
If some angelic sponsor descended into my life and let me go back to varsity for another degree, I'd study drama or music. Maybe it's the compelling secret urge of every insecure introvert to be the centre of attention. Maybe I would just love more storytelling skills. It's probably a little bit of both. With a massive wad of Gen Y entitlement to fame and fortune stuck in the middle.<br />
<br />
So there it is, something you probably didn't know about me! It's not so much a regret - I don't honestly think I would be incredible at acting, or singing, or stand-up - but it's a little something about me that I don't usually share.<br />
<br />
I've always toyed with the idea of having a youtube channel, and discovering <a href="https://www.youtube.com/user/AnnaAkana" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Anna Akana</a> has re-ignited that urge. But I honestly don't know what I could do with video that I couldn't do better with writing. Except maybe karaoke. And drunk makeup tutorials. And drunk karaoke.<br />
<br />
Wait, all karaoke is drunk.<br />
<br />
Nevermind.<br />
<br />
<br />Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14566791637480857887noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2263898685447354385.post-73602752610912593812014-05-16T15:48:00.002+02:002014-05-16T15:48:46.636+02:00HappyThankYouBeerPlease - a sneak peek at Beer House FourwaysYou know the old adage, "Don't go to Fourways on purpose"? No? Is that just something I say to myself? Right. <br />
<br />
Well, Fourways has never been my favourite place - it's crowded, the drivers are mean, and the fake sky at Monte Casino gives me Truman Show anxiety.<br />
<br />
But the other day I was invited - in my capacity as Dasia of Dasia Has A Blog, monger of puns, slayer of <a href="http://dasiahasablog.blogspot.com/2011/12/divine-series-snarky-review.html" target="_blank">webseries</a>, queen of the <a href="http://dasiahasablog.blogspot.com/2014/02/how-dare-she-be-fat-and-unashamed-note.html" target="_blank">scandals</a> and the<a href="http://dasiahasablog.blogspot.com/2012/01/heres-thing-about-benedict-cumberbatch.html" target="_blank"> first Ben</a> - to the roof wetting of a new <a href="http://www.beerhouse.co.za/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Beer House</a> establishment in - you guessed it - Fourways.<br />
<br />
And so, to the not-so-old adage of "Don't go to Fourways on purpose", I said, "Screw you - FREE BEER!"<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikVkIm2NLcTEnNXdcv03IJSQ5dLo4PpwDnz5cPdhRIue57nnb7kTqcpSh2_WTEhsRx_LGuE3M8u8YqG_FselStMGwKBcUFyfv_kvZVnCsY-k7tnMSvY6L_SiTMPUV4CSSrk-Cj5JNNUx8/s1600/beer2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikVkIm2NLcTEnNXdcv03IJSQ5dLo4PpwDnz5cPdhRIue57nnb7kTqcpSh2_WTEhsRx_LGuE3M8u8YqG_FselStMGwKBcUFyfv_kvZVnCsY-k7tnMSvY6L_SiTMPUV4CSSrk-Cj5JNNUx8/s1600/beer2.jpg" height="265" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of my favourite things under the sub-category of FREE STUFF.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Beer House, like most cool hipsterish things, is originally a Cape Town brand. How will they fare in heartless, stingy Joburg? Pretty well, I think. They've got a brilliant location - big and airy, it used to be a Keg apparently - in Pineslopes Centre, right next to Stones. With Billy The Bum's in the same centre, Beer House is the prime spot to chill away from the randy teenagers of Stones and the bad decisions of Billy's. Or at least get the night going at a place where you can actually hear your friends talk. (God, I'm old.)<br />
<br />
This isn't even the free beer talking (anymore) - I seriously can't wait to go to this place once it opens. They have a huge selection of craft beers (99 bottles on the wall, 20 on tap - it's like a beer fest that's on ALL THE TIME) and though I've got the refined palate of a raccoon, the sheer variety gets me giddy. The people who run it are super friendly and very knowledgeable, sending me straight to a brilliant brew after my nearly-useless hint of "Um, I don't hate Amstel? I drink Corona on pay day?" <br />
<br />
No, of course I don't remember which one I had. It was the tap on the left, okay?<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmx8mFMeAEqqPb-KGlXhrT2wkEFC0M0UsGVtzsKgn80rR-8YRpU4BU9a4O6iy6-u2rzNd7eROtivR50Y3dbNUO_1uew5m2FmcFio1ad5hpIsS6nEuqwamT4PS_C92ecljlr0UMq5D4BXw/s1600/beer1.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmx8mFMeAEqqPb-KGlXhrT2wkEFC0M0UsGVtzsKgn80rR-8YRpU4BU9a4O6iy6-u2rzNd7eROtivR50Y3dbNUO_1uew5m2FmcFio1ad5hpIsS6nEuqwamT4PS_C92ecljlr0UMq5D4BXw/s1600/beer1.jpg" height="400" width="265" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Don't hold me to that. Might've been on the right.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
So 'roof wetting' is one of those weird terms that nobody really knows the origin of (I googled it and the closest answer I got was "In Bermuda, they used to wet the roof..." wow, internet, you're the best.) But basically it was a first peek at the unfinished venue. They're planning to open mid-July 2014. You can keep up with Beer House on twitter <a href="https://twitter.com/BEERHOUSE4ways" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">@BEERHOUSE4ways</a> and on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/BeerhouseSA" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Facebook</a> for burly beerly goodness.<br />
<br />
My night at Beer House was such fun, I've decided to do more reviews of eateries and drinkeries around Joburg (it's part of my plan to blog more in general.) So keep up with me by <a href="https://www.facebook.com/dasiahasablog" target="_blank">liking my Facebook page</a> for new posts.<br />
And comment below or <a href="http://dasiahasablog.blogspot.com/p/contact-connect.html" target="_blank">drop me a line</a> with suggestions for places I should review! <br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">*Images used in this post belong to Beer House, but I totally got permission to use them because I'm "press", b<span style="font-size: xx-small;">itches</span> :)</span>Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14566791637480857887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2263898685447354385.post-59928910113334748222014-04-03T12:07:00.000+02:002014-04-03T12:07:33.848+02:003 Fun and Easy Ways to make Social Media Managers Hate You<div class="MsoNormal">
You might think a big business’ social media just <i>happens</i>, like rain or Saw sequels. But
there are thousands of disgruntled Humanities majors who got swept up into the
role of <strike>brand bitch</strike> social media manager because their life’s
biggest achievement is their facebook profile, and that’s something you can put
on a CV now.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Here’s how to make them hate you.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>#1: Assume the social staff own the company</b><o:p></o:p></div>
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CEOs spent their time racing <a href="http://youtu.be/JSkvW2uO0DI">radio controlled sharks</a> and <a href="http://www.thisiswhyimbroke.com/gold-rolling-papers">rolling gold blunts</a>,
right? Wrong. They’re painstakingly replying to every single dumb question on
their company’s facebook page.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipLJnZkQgHlhuFezyQ-_WuC78gOUYjBBsL7c1s3vsZ2WruKiYK3v0B6NNaQOywshlWGohGqNjIYdYHitCf1njZNzKFP7J6-9ckFvsfvOnmZ_A7zSMFHChkntKiRZW5p_x_3F-fvw1e384/s1600/oUo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipLJnZkQgHlhuFezyQ-_WuC78gOUYjBBsL7c1s3vsZ2WruKiYK3v0B6NNaQOywshlWGohGqNjIYdYHitCf1njZNzKFP7J6-9ckFvsfvOnmZ_A7zSMFHChkntKiRZW5p_x_3F-fvw1e384/s1600/oUo.jpg" /></a></div>
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<b>#2: Be in a demographic that can’t spell</b></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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I’ve worked on brands who try to speak to the youth of
the world by saying ‘da’ instead of ‘the’. Sadly, these brands often have no
idea how anyone actually talks, so writing with their style feels less like a
dialect and more like a speech impediment. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUKYqGMWq7Q9S5b4lM4HfalLx_MJxPnc2vdznGdnHvKFYjb6zw8-MNcTHDiSf1qDPeEEuhwHfIkvpM68SBDz3VlrfvmNtdvQrH82z1h7mOJ2kLsBiuJdyIh0W21xi-v5tl4kPQ-nFAwXY/s1600/kip.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUKYqGMWq7Q9S5b4lM4HfalLx_MJxPnc2vdznGdnHvKFYjb6zw8-MNcTHDiSf1qDPeEEuhwHfIkvpM68SBDz3VlrfvmNtdvQrH82z1h7mOJ2kLsBiuJdyIh0W21xi-v5tl4kPQ-nFAwXY/s1600/kip.jpg" /></a></div>
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<b>#3: Be a sore loser. And a sore winner.</b></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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Brands love running contests, it’s the easiest way to get
the <s>unwashed masses</s> valued consumers to engage with them.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Sadly, most people who enter contests on social media are
not usually… well… they’re not the kind of people you’d nominate to be humanity’s
ambassadors to an alien race. Unless the aliens came over because they heard
Human Nuggets were delicious and nutritious.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Sore losers love to cry foul because no fair and just
universe would keep them apart from that random thing they want for free.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixhI73tB1awQawstYoOsQNx-1sNQZAo7kyo-Lh73QqIS_vJdgFEG-vjZePmCodPosUR7t-BvIOsGPDTLAzqLQzEU5UPuI7F6YlPS58FOfmPZ1srcoG-kmuSTgPL1KEQSjv01rcZA6nvf8/s1600/sonof.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixhI73tB1awQawstYoOsQNx-1sNQZAo7kyo-Lh73QqIS_vJdgFEG-vjZePmCodPosUR7t-BvIOsGPDTLAzqLQzEU5UPuI7F6YlPS58FOfmPZ1srcoG-kmuSTgPL1KEQSjv01rcZA6nvf8/s1600/sonof.jpg" /></a></div>
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And if you think losers are bad, you should see the winners<o:p></o:p></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjck9e46R-OdQNHbBgg7_TLrP4FcTI0bDWUR4Pamubt1hwpaaBBHca2At4Yd7Ri1XjiF3nCdI8yUhsG4DBcH6YQj-iTr3FVK34WHpdK5vW7ZrWNVpivab60W_NI5hdMvTkLKZU0Lp_6qoo/s1600/lulu.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjck9e46R-OdQNHbBgg7_TLrP4FcTI0bDWUR4Pamubt1hwpaaBBHca2At4Yd7Ri1XjiF3nCdI8yUhsG4DBcH6YQj-iTr3FVK34WHpdK5vW7ZrWNVpivab60W_NI5hdMvTkLKZU0Lp_6qoo/s1600/lulu.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Never like your own post. It's like high-fiving yourself in the mirror while taking a selfie.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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And here's a pro tip if these don't work: if you really, really want to make a social media manager hate you, just remind them that they'll probably never make a living from their scathingly witty blog. :(</div>
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Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14566791637480857887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2263898685447354385.post-18784892996010490502014-02-20T11:29:00.000+02:002014-02-20T11:29:38.801+02:00"How dare she be fat and unashamed?" A note to haters.Today, this showed up in my facebook feed:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3enf-bj6CfK8pnWsGYhpj2mODEcQXwCCtOts9R6qZMo7cS5mwq5a7hZDg35ikb0I4zj79ysTd8JNE-z7H-WpFuIsh5G9BHD6LrsobwarEhD3OmN10OrSHZUsYRh60MRHJgWT864uf180/s1600/plus.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3enf-bj6CfK8pnWsGYhpj2mODEcQXwCCtOts9R6qZMo7cS5mwq5a7hZDg35ikb0I4zj79ysTd8JNE-z7H-WpFuIsh5G9BHD6LrsobwarEhD3OmN10OrSHZUsYRh60MRHJgWT864uf180/s1600/plus.PNG" /></a></div>
<br />
Here's the criminally accepting post: "<a href="http://theplussizelife.blogspot.com/2014/02/its-okay-to-be-fat-no-really.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">It's okay to be fat. No, really.</a>" by the beautiful Tess Munster.<br />
<br />
I see body-positive posts in my news feed now and then, and it's nice. <b>The comments, however, are not usually that nice.</b><br />
<br />
It wasn't long before a comment sprung up that said, <b>"But being fat really is unhealthy!" </b><br />
<br />
The comment thread went downhill almost immediately, going from "I disagree" to "You don't know my life, <b>fuck you!</b>" in a couple of minutes. I didn't participate because, well, I was eating all this popcorn...<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_bBQEJPWOu9OSe3wNt2TQT_d4gTvpv1i_sOZEL1NZQ56efdL35JDlAWZMRAl5v1syB2gMdhvHtAWJXMIJ2wgQqr39cD4uyX3sNKHkCZY_4qENnzwiPB-D7D9vUsE3Uo6Gc_qvUvIU4dA/s1600/popcorn-go.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_bBQEJPWOu9OSe3wNt2TQT_d4gTvpv1i_sOZEL1NZQ56efdL35JDlAWZMRAl5v1syB2gMdhvHtAWJXMIJ2wgQqr39cD4uyX3sNKHkCZY_4qENnzwiPB-D7D9vUsE3Uo6Gc_qvUvIU4dA/s1600/popcorn-go.gif" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">OKAY I'M READY FOR INTERNET CATTINESS NOW</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I started typing a comment though, and it turned into the post you see here.<br />
<br />
And<b> this is what I want to say</b> to everyone who jumps from "obesity is linked with disease" to "NO FAT GIRL IS EVER ALLOWED TO LIKE HERSELF, GROSS!"<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Sup boo. Just because obesity is linked with disease doesn't mean every fat person's unhealthy. Just like alcohol is linked with disease, but not every person who drinks is going to die of liver failure.</span></b><br />
<br />
So before you get all "OMG, Adele or whoever can't just go around being fat and happy because she's PROMOTING AN UNHEALTHY LIFESTYLE" just take a breath. Ask yourself how much of that response comes from your culture's innate belief that every woman's worth is based on her looks. Why you feel every woman's body is in the public domain, up for debate. That just by existing she's "fair game" to hateful, baseless criticism. Why you feel she needs to be controlled and put in her place (the chubby corner of shame.) Why it's a crime for a woman to be fat and okay with herself.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGUrX7ud1gnR9E-PGqbZ3u-BGSLWRZNOryeLC9T1WbqegAV5Br0SOtJDRQYQxB6xxKKugiDtm4Wzjgvs224bvXjMvbC6HzBLk_7dKGcNw7acGs6d2xoOeypFXF5Y5i1C0K3Awxmpmu4kk/s1600/adele-wm9002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGUrX7ud1gnR9E-PGqbZ3u-BGSLWRZNOryeLC9T1WbqegAV5Br0SOtJDRQYQxB6xxKKugiDtm4Wzjgvs224bvXjMvbC6HzBLk_7dKGcNw7acGs6d2xoOeypFXF5Y5i1C0K3Awxmpmu4kk/s1600/adele-wm9002.jpg" height="257" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">DAMN IT ADELE YOU'RE BEING UNGOVERNABLE</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
When was the last time a plus-size blogger told all her followers to go binge at McDonald's?<br />
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Oh, <b>you don't follow plus-size bloggers</b>? You just saw a picture of a gorgeous lady showing her belly that ISN'T CONCAVE OR CUT WITH ABS OMG EW and decided you know everything about her?<br />
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How much of what you assume about her is based on the negative stereotypes that INDUSTRIES have put in your head? The <b>black-and-white "before" shots</b> of sweaty, unhappy fat people in baggy clothes eating greasy fries in infomercials. Is that reality? Or is that a caricature that's meant to create an emotional need for the ThunderThighZapper 3000 or whatever?<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMOa5vsGuerpVsMVtzoDBJOfzmfWy9Zg1NwfYHPyCYVbJh-KawQMZ1ycc-uxB3WCzJvEpNJJIC-FKxwCBOwQxGhxyJkUJFwvhtDAF6SiMGU-yRyBab-LmsMOn9R1KOn9a_DyrtXVE9e40/s1600/spices.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMOa5vsGuerpVsMVtzoDBJOfzmfWy9Zg1NwfYHPyCYVbJh-KawQMZ1ycc-uxB3WCzJvEpNJJIC-FKxwCBOwQxGhxyJkUJFwvhtDAF6SiMGU-yRyBab-LmsMOn9R1KOn9a_DyrtXVE9e40/s1600/spices.gif" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://mashable.com/2013/03/24/infomercial-gif/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Infomercials</a> <span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 16.1200008392334px; text-align: left;">≠</span> real life. Srsly. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
So who is that belief serving exactly? Does it make you happy to be judgemental and alienating? Maybe. Does it shame your fat 'friends' into changing? Nope.<br />
<br />
Does it make you more likely to reach for Green Tea Slimming Pills when you're at the pharmacy? More likely to buy LuluLemon yoga pants? More likely to sign up with a personal trainer at the gym?<br />
<br />
Ding ding ding.<b> You've just let consumerism swallow your empathy.</b><br />
<br />
But wait, there's more!<br />
<br />
Maybe you CARE. Maybe you're worried for them,<b> lying awake at night freaking out</b> about all these not-skinny people. How can they walk around and be okay with themselves when they're just so... WRONG?<br />
<br />
Maybe you used to be bigger, and losing weight made you happier, so you're just spreading the love? Mm hmm, except that<b> having a personal weight loss experience doesn't make you a doctor</b>, or a psychologist, or suddenly give you the holy scrolls of truth about every fat person ever. It doesn't give you the right to try shame and silence those who have different bodies from you. It's the equivalent of "<b>But I have black friends, so I can't be racist!</b>" and it doesn't work.<br />
<br />
Be honest. How much of your "concern" about fat people - fat women, really, because<b> nobody ever debated James Gandolfini's right to exist </b>and be okay with himself when he was alive - is a habit? A mindless carrying on of society's mission to view women as objects. If those objects aren't built right, it makes sense shame them into conforming <b>or at least shutting up</b>, right?<br />
<br />
I suppose each person is going to answer these questions differently. The important thing is to question yourself,<b> question your beliefs</b>, research your facts, poke holes in your own arguments before you present them to the world as absolute truth.<br />
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And while you're doing that, all the <b>happy fat girls</b> are just going to be out there in the world, frolicking about with their ungovernable thighs, having way more fun than you.<br />
<br />Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14566791637480857887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2263898685447354385.post-26715962057442808632014-01-27T15:47:00.000+02:002014-01-27T16:25:56.876+02:00My Sherlock Season 3 Feelings<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">Mediocre as fuck.</span></div>
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I can't even with this shit. So I'm gonna express myself through gifs.</div>
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[Disclaimer: I watched each episode once before posting, so this isn't going to have spoilers because I can't even remember WTF pissed me off. BUT THESE ARE MY FEELINGS.]</div>
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So I guess the writers just looked at the style, the characters, the quality of the show and said </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijrA0_Xf5NjShnOXyGOA-w9ArlmLqOcWIt0beIrdRzMlqMOrfDGhdCZUFjCNQQmKNC2Bck8ygrA29Z1yjsW8rHOIvTRuaRfd-ISMiD2dxvD0POE091qNKqAjQ5V3-_tp8Eu0LjNDq-x70/s1600/tumblr_mpgzbg2U291qj3w3ao1_500.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijrA0_Xf5NjShnOXyGOA-w9ArlmLqOcWIt0beIrdRzMlqMOrfDGhdCZUFjCNQQmKNC2Bck8ygrA29Z1yjsW8rHOIvTRuaRfd-ISMiD2dxvD0POE091qNKqAjQ5V3-_tp8Eu0LjNDq-x70/s1600/tumblr_mpgzbg2U291qj3w3ao1_500.gif" /></a></div>
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And I'm just sitting there watching like </div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR39OqUNjBl5AI7HBdmUYxvDd-YdbQy2jmKpT4mlu5HY6Imk-iobVrbdHsH68PRF9SngHGoBxCjqNCS3WOCuTV2JnnXo91W1WQ5eyn67nzyq8uoR2jsB-EkAEsLkMaMRQYnXaYtYopxw4/s1600/ku-medium.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR39OqUNjBl5AI7HBdmUYxvDd-YdbQy2jmKpT4mlu5HY6Imk-iobVrbdHsH68PRF9SngHGoBxCjqNCS3WOCuTV2JnnXo91W1WQ5eyn67nzyq8uoR2jsB-EkAEsLkMaMRQYnXaYtYopxw4/s1600/ku-medium.gif" /></a></div>
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So this is what I have to say to whomever's fault it was that this season was horrific:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5SSr-5WsNXe99W9fyC7Mm5afrRyJIH0dIvyoHjcu_9Zzm1A7DL3PiZsv2k8WiLOX-dyQSYIXo77t4XyItoFGiGIlFE8_vAE_0MXGuPOerP_4djrH7FyY54VD3qXI74ibVT1JqVY4sgwk/s1600/anigif_enhanced-buzz-8289-1371063759-25.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5SSr-5WsNXe99W9fyC7Mm5afrRyJIH0dIvyoHjcu_9Zzm1A7DL3PiZsv2k8WiLOX-dyQSYIXo77t4XyItoFGiGIlFE8_vAE_0MXGuPOerP_4djrH7FyY54VD3qXI74ibVT1JqVY4sgwk/s1600/anigif_enhanced-buzz-8289-1371063759-25.gif" /></a></div>
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yeah, you, assbutt.</div>
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Just because you have Benedict Cumberbatch strutting around all like</div>
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And Martin Freeman making me feel all</div>
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Doesn't mean you can do a half-assed version of a script that has so many plotholes in it, it may as well have been crocheted. That leaves so many questions unanswered, it may have been a - uh - a QUESTION PARADE.</div>
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When I could keep my eyes open, the only thing I kept thinking was</div>
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And WHERE THE HELL IS PAUL McGUIGAN. The phenomenal director made Sherlock the most eye-fuckable show on TV ever. And he was nowhere to be seen. By the end of the season, the show doesn't even LOOK like Sherlock anymore. UUUUGH.</div>
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I just.... man. I feel like everyone phoned it in. </div>
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Sherlock was the ONLY show that could keep me enthralled for 90 goddamn minutes. But by the half hour mark of each episode I was just like</div>
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Well, I guess it's better to have a BRILLIANT show deteriorate into mediocrity than to be cut off in its prime. Right? I guess it's a bit pointless to criticise it now, because they're going to keep making it until it gets so bad that the cast refuse to perform the terrible scripts (hey, <a href="http://www.digitalspy.co.uk/tv/news/a44676/wanamaker-criticises-my-family.html" target="_blank">that happens</a>.) So this blog post is one big moo point.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwAHhmFExyCOqzk89zKLc8Q7fs9EMnOFVU1jNerF-nVS6yEVVF64tzV8xSzJ5STvLxCHhqS_eVjB7H_T4bJXOAJLMbWotmhOfTkH2i8OWSmE5Li0ViMHCJ66V62LHO9UP_rwyIvF2qVio/s1600/anigif_enhanced-buzz-16615-1385498150-8.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwAHhmFExyCOqzk89zKLc8Q7fs9EMnOFVU1jNerF-nVS6yEVVF64tzV8xSzJ5STvLxCHhqS_eVjB7H_T4bJXOAJLMbWotmhOfTkH2i8OWSmE5Li0ViMHCJ66V62LHO9UP_rwyIvF2qVio/s1600/anigif_enhanced-buzz-16615-1385498150-8.gif" /></a></div>
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But hey, even though I pretty much hated the third season, the first two are still my religion. And Benedict Cumberbatch is still made of sexual rainbows.</div>
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So if you're gonna call me a hater, go ahead</div>
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And anyone who tells me that Elementary is better? My reaction is, and always will be:</div>
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And yeah, of course I'm going to keep watching until this show goes down in flames. If only to blog about the fall.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeuzknPoyqsMt5ylP-nzzmnZwCHsdWZcD_T5MX9lIOhfgyL474qIvORflsYwj7UvnJvtj8e3L7KEjQMtfsZ3uUG1ehklVRyi3bLtjcy386Xp60WD0QMA_cQYPfoaWyN5vzYLidvtFeit4/s1600/dTBOTS4.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeuzknPoyqsMt5ylP-nzzmnZwCHsdWZcD_T5MX9lIOhfgyL474qIvORflsYwj7UvnJvtj8e3L7KEjQMtfsZ3uUG1ehklVRyi3bLtjcy386Xp60WD0QMA_cQYPfoaWyN5vzYLidvtFeit4/s1600/dTBOTS4.gif" /></a></div>
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Because why? Because BENEDICT CUMBERBATCH.</div>
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Yup.</div>
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Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14566791637480857887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2263898685447354385.post-84386858893200711822013-12-21T19:51:00.001+02:002013-12-21T19:51:54.593+02:00Hey internet, what should I do with my life? No, seriously.It's been a bit of a mad year. I started driving, changed jobs twice, met a human, moved out of home and in with said human, and LOOK PURPLE HAIR!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: start;">PURPLE HAIR IS PURPLE AND IT IS ON MY (ALSO STAINED PURPLE) HEAD.</span></td></tr>
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(Sorry for the terrible webcam selfie, but my camera was stolen and I don't know how to internet anymore.)<br />
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This year has been exhausting and uplifting and good-weird and bad-weird. I was diagnosed with chronic fatigue, which came from a combination of stress and anaemia. While taking iron supplements took the edge off (pills are the best!) I was still all<b> uuuuugh</b>, you know? Moving from spammy copywriting to being a downright content mill to doing social media full time - all within four months - was intense. And all that moving didn't make me happy, because I kept moving AWAY from stuff - horrible management, crazy output goals, soulless companies. The usual.<br />
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After a year of changes, <b>I now realize something BIG needs to change</b>. Not just the thing I do every day, but how I feel about it, you know?<br />
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I don't want to be stressed every day. I don't want to cringe or roll my eyes when I think of my job. I don't want to sit in the same chair for hours, browsing Buzzfeed and waiting for the work day to end so my life can start. I want to be doing something that matters, and moving towards something rather than treading water and paying rent, man.<br />
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And maybe it's immature, unrealistic, selfish and arrogant to want more than that - after all, <b>I am no special snowflake</b>. I recognise this. I'm just another mildly talented, undisciplined twenty-something with a caffeine abuse problem.<br />
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But, despite all my grumblings, <b>I'm an optimist</b>. And I'm going to at least TRY to find fulfilling work. So I started researching what makes people not hate their jobs. The fabulous <a href="http://www.brainpickings.org/" target="_blank">Brain Pickings</a> directed me to this <a href="http://www.brainpickings.org/index.php/2013/04/23/how-to-find-fulfilling-work-roman-krznaric/" target="_blank">imperfect but helpful book</a>. And it has an exercise in it that I can't do on my own, boo!<br />
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<b>So this is the part where I ask for your help.</b><br />
<br />
Oh wise, clever, sexy internet, please take a few minutes to read the thing below and tell me what you think.<br />
<br />
This is basically a personal job ad - like a dating profile but less for finding suitable grope partners and more for finding a career path that doesn't make me want to cry in the office bathroom.<br />
<br />
What I'd like you to do is read the thing, give it a bit of a think, and suggest 2 or 3 specific careers that you think match the description. (You need no qualifications to give your opinion - I just need may different voices with many different points of view.) It doesn't matter if I have the experience or education to actually do that job, just that you think it'd suit me.<br />
<br />
Comment with your suggestions and it'll help me SOOO MUCH in deciding what the hell I want to do with myself next year.<br />
<br />
Okay, enough foreplay, here's the thing: <span style="font-size: xx-small;">(that's what she said)</span><br />
<br />
<i><br /></i>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><b>Slightly nuts young woman seeks fulfilling employment. </b></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Talents include:</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<ul>
<li><i>Writing</i></li>
<li><i>Critical thinking</i></li>
<li><i>Events organisation</i></li>
<li><i>Doing
tomahawk stops on skates</i></li>
</ul>
<i>Job seeker is passionate about:</i><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<ul>
<li><i>Music</i></li>
<li><i>Damn good TV</i></li>
<li><i>Feminism</i></li>
<li><i>Puns</i></li>
<li><i>Roller derby</i></li>
<li><i>Communicating with the written word</i></li>
<li><i>Sleep</i></li>
</ul>
<i>Her personal qualities include:</i><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<ul>
<li><i> A love of learning</i></li>
<li><i>A desire to make a difference in the world (she strongly believes in the healing,
restorative power of art)</i></li>
<li><i>A love of animals</i></li>
<li><i>A dislike of direct sunlight</i></li>
<li><i>A binge/purge approach to productivity</i></li>
<li><i>Problems with authority</i></li>
<li><i>An editorial
eye</i></li>
<li><i>A loathing for half-assed work</i></li>
<li><i>A dislike of herding cats (aka telling people what to do)</i></li>
<li><i>Limited physical and emotional energy</i></li>
<li><i>Misanthropy</i></li>
<li><i>A playful nature</i></li>
<li><i>An internet addiction (she would prefer work that doesn’t
involve staring at computers – she’s sick of that)</i></li>
<li><i>Crazy hair. </i></li>
</ul>
<i>She’d love
to make enough money to be independent, buy nice food and not have to seek
dental treatment in back alleys. </i><br />
<br />
What would be a great job / career path for Slightly Nuts Young Woman? Comment below!<br />
<br />
<br />Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14566791637480857887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2263898685447354385.post-9504462867635362022013-08-25T00:30:00.001+02:002013-08-25T01:42:01.513+02:00Why the fuck should I care if anyone thinks I'm pretty?I was at a pub with some awesome people - five girls and one guy. He said he didn't really feel like 'one of the girls' so I lent him my alice band - which had a big black bow on it. (He totally worked it, for the record.)<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We had a few laughs and a little while later he handed it back. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Then some random middle-aged man came up to me and said, "Give him back the bow - he looks much cuter in it than you. No offence, hahaha!"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Naturally, I smiled. I do that when I'm nervous. <b>Then I told him to fuck off.</b> I do that when I'm not happy. And then, because he thought I was joking, I ignored him until he went away.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The conversation in our group was a bit stunted by that rude and awkward encounter, but it started to flow again. More jokes, more shots, more silly stories.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But I wanted to take the bow off.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b>I couldn't WAIT until I could take the bow off. </b></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
In fact, the only reason I didn't reach up and pulling it off right away was<b> anger</b>. Anger that some fucking random douche in a bar thought he could a) tell me what to do, b) insult me in front of my friends and c) make me feel like shit because...?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Because what? </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Because I let my mood - nay, my entire self esteem - be dictated by the whims of a random stranger.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Because it's<b> normal</b> for someone like me to feel completely collapsed by a smidgen of negative attention from someone like that.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Because he thought he - as a male or a white guy or king of the universe or whatever - believed he had the <b>right</b> to dictate how I should look. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Because every single day, society tells me that <b>I'm worthless unless someone thinks I'm pretty.</b></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And what the fuck is up with that?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I don't think I'm really under the thrall of mass media. I roll my eyes when big media posts a picture of a woman existing, and declares that she's<a href="http://www.dailymail.co.uk/tvshowbiz/article-2401299/Candice-Swanepoel-flaunts-toned-tummy-ranked-9th-Forbes-Highest-Paid-Models.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"> flaunting</a> or<a href="http://www.dailymail.co.uk/tvshowbiz/article-2401261/Rita-Ora-bares-cleavage-low-cut-blazer-city-stroll.html" target="_blank"> bravely baring</a> her body. Like every moment of a woman's life is spent trying to project her hotness to the general public. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Like the idea that a woman might just fucking BE instead of obsessing about how she looks is inconceivable.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But clearly, some of those messages stick like splinters in my subconscious. From Seventeen to CNN, every institution tells me: 'To justify your existence, you must be beautiful."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It's also something that bothers me about the fat positive* movement. Of course, as a fat girl I appreciate the acceptance and understanding that fat positivity brings. BUT it bothers me that so much fat positive stuff boils down to "Look - fat girls can be beautiful! Fat girls can be sexy! ALL THESE MEN approve of plus-size women! Yaaaay!" No. Not yay. Boo.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b>Boo for "but at least SOMEONE thinks you're pretty" being the bottom line.</b></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Boo for that raw inner nerve that's still struck by a random man being rude to me. That tiny belief that if only I were beautiful, I'd be safe. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
That nerve that's still there even though I know I am smart, talented, and loved. Even though I know in my head that I am a valuable human being who has a right to exist - no matter what I look like. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b>Confession:</b> I thought about ending this post with a picture of me in the offending big-bow alice band. It's tempting to end on a note of "But that guy was wrong, I DID look totally cute!" </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But I won't.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b>I don't have to prove to anybody that I'm pretty.</b></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I don't have to care.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I don't have to give my power away.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And I'm going to keep telling myself that, until that raw nerve is healed up by my self respect.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: x-small;">*Obviously this is only a single facet of the fat positive movement - and I do think it's important as a whole. I just think the "don't worry - fat girls can be pretty too!" thing is misguided.</span></div>
Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14566791637480857887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2263898685447354385.post-61930489635071660032013-07-27T22:11:00.001+02:002013-07-27T22:11:25.553+02:00Today in Things You Didn't Want to KnowI'm at a new job where I have to scour the internet for news - and I come across some pretty weird stuff.<br />
<br />
Like this shit:<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li><a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-scotland-tayside-central-23418126" target="_blank">Waste disposer's remorse</a> is no joke, son.</li>
<li>Gay guys should get the HPV vaccine so <a href="http://www.health24.com/Sex/News/Young-gay-men-need-HPV-vaccine-20130717" target="_blank">they don't get butt cancer</a>.</li>
<li>Bad guys have <a href="http://www.news24.com/SouthAfrica/News/Hijacked-cyanide-truck-still-missing-20130724" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">a shitload of cyanide in Pretoria</a>. I really don't want to stop and think what they're going to do with it, but isn't this how shitty cop movies start?</li>
<li>Fifty guys <a href="http://www.cbc.ca/news/health/story/2013/07/24/willpower-brain.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">watched some porn in an MRI machine</a> and now you can diet better. The research isn’t groundbreaking, but it’s weird to think
that somewhere out there, there’s a research assistant whose job was to
cross-classify porn according to kinks and hotness level.</li>
<li>The Arctic is holding in a burp that'll <a href="http://www.newscientist.com/article/dn23923-huge-methane-belch-in-arctic-could-cost-60-trillion.html#.UfJXT9I3DeA" target="_blank">speed global warming 35 years ahead</a>. RUDE. </li>
<li>And two weeks ago, a man in Israel was peeing when <a href="http://www.mirror.co.uk/news/weird-news/snake-bites-mans-penis-sits-2056830" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">a snake jumped out of the toilet and bit him on the penis</a>.</li>
</ul>
<br />
Beat that, <a href="http://www.fmylife.com/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">FML</a>. <br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14566791637480857887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2263898685447354385.post-55332557427526659332013-04-20T16:38:00.000+02:002013-04-20T16:38:33.408+02:00Tortured Nicolas Cage Puns > WorkSo this all started when my worky-friend <a href="http://sateacup.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Robyn</a> went off on holiday with her boyfriend and <i>didn't even take me with</i>. Rude!<br />
<br />
As is customary with our <strike>dorky</strike> awesome group of worker bees, we had to do something silly to her desk before she got back. As an example of the incredibly high standards at my office, here's what happened to my desk when I took two weeks off back in February:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIKfJSfwjZRflqf0B9bwL5t_6Jlmf9eDB0IRMzfI9AC0CXs1Q-WmYqAlIl8ZvZDXyziIt7GUA1E7pYHhQTcsPqQWp9UTm6B7iPElYmdzRBJL6XEScIJqYEfEM7kH5yGY4V6AqxM9lcsYE/s1600/IMG_20130304_100648.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIKfJSfwjZRflqf0B9bwL5t_6Jlmf9eDB0IRMzfI9AC0CXs1Q-WmYqAlIl8ZvZDXyziIt7GUA1E7pYHhQTcsPqQWp9UTm6B7iPElYmdzRBJL6XEScIJqYEfEM7kH5yGY4V6AqxM9lcsYE/s400/IMG_20130304_100648.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yes, that's a disco ball.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
The plot thickened when Robs announced that she got engaged on the last day of her holiday - now, her desk not only had to say "We're bitter that you went on holiday" but also "Congrats, dude!"<br />
<br />
And then, a beautiful pun was born.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4_ynl-QXVbSb1EAC5Cl7sHhh4SbUdRUq81aNIKTvek_aNPouZBRnxbAyKY29Kik9wjKgoFzWXTDXxXItckp4wNGIdlZoaCyCqXmaTAMwVjKuYuZhQEpaaJtx_xecLao9c6_hpPrVwsNE/s1600/congrats_encagement_front.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4_ynl-QXVbSb1EAC5Cl7sHhh4SbUdRUq81aNIKTvek_aNPouZBRnxbAyKY29Kik9wjKgoFzWXTDXxXItckp4wNGIdlZoaCyCqXmaTAMwVjKuYuZhQEpaaJtx_xecLao9c6_hpPrVwsNE/s640/congrats_encagement_front.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Congratulations on your enCAGEment!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Every inch of her workspace was diligently covered with a frighteningly enthusiastic Nicolas Cage! So simple yet so effective. I'm not ashamed to admit that I'm more proud of this project than any of the actual work I've done at this company. Well, maybe I'm a little ashamed. But I'm a copywriter, shame is part of the job description.<br />
<br />
After the big reveal and the explanation of the pun and then the dawn of realization and then the laughter, Robyn's desk went relatively back to normal, but there was one glaring problem.<br />
<br />
What does one do with around a hundred Nicolas Cages?<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsA_H0MhoJcixoJsqHGpEMHpc_TZxq14yXuxwk1oNFTWZX176BPJbAdlNW62kzScKSiN73OvwQA6KZbk5V_5nIrslJ2jMHD54uOTLJzdqWgvFP6NoARoG3Aw8VSj4z38na-Bslmi1hMZY/s1600/cage_surplus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsA_H0MhoJcixoJsqHGpEMHpc_TZxq14yXuxwk1oNFTWZX176BPJbAdlNW62kzScKSiN73OvwQA6KZbk5V_5nIrslJ2jMHD54uOTLJzdqWgvFP6NoARoG3Aw8VSj4z38na-Bslmi1hMZY/s640/cage_surplus.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A question many prank-inclined philosophers have battled with.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
At first they all got stuffed in the bottom drawer of my desk. But then... something started happening.<br />
<br />
<br />
It started off simply enough...<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCAOQAQoq9hNGEjHdKB7-Yb2VT5-fWAcFj4vOlQ-VzTMlRFfCapwvjlpdP4w3LJm6VpozaTACvHZlztbTEcRF6P40BeK_T7AqlBKE1BYUNk58YtVf3obTHwmsJj56udOrBdt5r3fhPjQE/s1600/nicolas_bird_cage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="406" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCAOQAQoq9hNGEjHdKB7-Yb2VT5-fWAcFj4vOlQ-VzTMlRFfCapwvjlpdP4w3LJm6VpozaTACvHZlztbTEcRF6P40BeK_T7AqlBKE1BYUNk58YtVf3obTHwmsJj56udOrBdt5r3fhPjQE/s640/nicolas_bird_cage.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">birdCAGE</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
Then it got kinda abstract...<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidpRMFHUkIgfJjC_ItPD2XeRYW9bvVBTQxgAfASOLIAZ4GFwO-eZ6cyudycGGIUKwTXzPuysfN90PlxE9lSM-N9L-YHaflBLrJ8KiBFOMZoubYfhp8W_Dq798ItrwguLwRYtWFd5s5Bv4/s1600/nicolas_Ncaged.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidpRMFHUkIgfJjC_ItPD2XeRYW9bvVBTQxgAfASOLIAZ4GFwO-eZ6cyudycGGIUKwTXzPuysfN90PlxE9lSM-N9L-YHaflBLrJ8KiBFOMZoubYfhp8W_Dq798ItrwguLwRYtWFd5s5Bv4/s640/nicolas_Ncaged.jpg" width="572" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">enCAGE... or N*Cage, if you prefer</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Then it got kinda meta...<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjsJisn6B5lsSEGmUWIW0ScaNqN5GEZq-sc8f5JnnT7OypD7SdYUDJtcMtj2v-8Koh_PDzsgUaEDoEHXapoqHKMyRD-ORPttGZvxXB9UqsQHnvnCsEMEDT2OtN-EHiCwo69l9X9tXWBYg/s1600/nicolas_cage_cage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjsJisn6B5lsSEGmUWIW0ScaNqN5GEZq-sc8f5JnnT7OypD7SdYUDJtcMtj2v-8Koh_PDzsgUaEDoEHXapoqHKMyRD-ORPttGZvxXB9UqsQHnvnCsEMEDT2OtN-EHiCwo69l9X9tXWBYg/s640/nicolas_cage_cage.jpg" width="534" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">CAGEbirdcage</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Then it got confusing...<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_MkBya0sijIhVE-QXqD70Zh8SHWmawM5xnHUM-aqscUdSOAqKF6JW1Q5VS7tr_Foj-SPQYGZqo-5cyjg2cHhH-lApELporWEvsZOt7k9pz_aO-6yZSo-AWXWn4i_Hm5NIWOhQHrIjc8Q/s1600/nicolas_bird_cage_caged.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_MkBya0sijIhVE-QXqD70Zh8SHWmawM5xnHUM-aqscUdSOAqKF6JW1Q5VS7tr_Foj-SPQYGZqo-5cyjg2cHhH-lApELporWEvsZOt7k9pz_aO-6yZSo-AWXWn4i_Hm5NIWOhQHrIjc8Q/s640/nicolas_bird_cage_caged.jpg" width="592" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">birdCAGE in a CAGEbirdcage</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I took some requests...<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5pjfuQBO0VfviAFU02sBm_8wEnCJRxJloQ2fy-n64BhmeCPyP4ohEWIwbfg9OcL8kSnPiaflpoujaF8RONiz5tkAELFImzfqa2JEtjUh2TOrQc5JUmdXlHm0FFTdq-zRr0PLFgRvCQZo/s1600/glass_cage_of_emotion.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5pjfuQBO0VfviAFU02sBm_8wEnCJRxJloQ2fy-n64BhmeCPyP4ohEWIwbfg9OcL8kSnPiaflpoujaF8RONiz5tkAELFImzfqa2JEtjUh2TOrQc5JUmdXlHm0FFTdq-zRr0PLFgRvCQZo/s640/glass_cage_of_emotion.jpg" width="448" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A glass CAGE of emotion</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
The glitter glue and rolly-stamps did not go unused...<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2Dop_9aQYGDHCjanwHWpqMOKjDCd7bUxKuOE9xDgYeyz_4pEQLRSMz9vSOc_x7xvDJoKmnv-5T71quptEe_U1U5JXuv55o_Xjgx9eSKeqR-zlLbydghPPnaPsfzvOPZpVp_S0RenolfI/s1600/nicolas_rage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2Dop_9aQYGDHCjanwHWpqMOKjDCd7bUxKuOE9xDgYeyz_4pEQLRSMz9vSOc_x7xvDJoKmnv-5T71quptEe_U1U5JXuv55o_Xjgx9eSKeqR-zlLbydghPPnaPsfzvOPZpVp_S0RenolfI/s640/nicolas_rage.jpg" width="490" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nicolas RAGE</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
I'm sad to say I found this amusing for much longer than everyone else. The thought the magic had faded. BUT THE MAGIC WILL NEVER FADE.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoF_RzItgzQzzyWvgtlTEigiYWeQNcJux8jgIjTtDcb-F2I0voe5O2AZ9g5dKkYRC2Yl7R1xswWRws25WTvmyFvkheVWY5iAIm_5xokIgnOV_q4o44tZbSlpVLeJ-T0J3HGLTewEcIVkc/s1600/nicolas_mage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoF_RzItgzQzzyWvgtlTEigiYWeQNcJux8jgIjTtDcb-F2I0voe5O2AZ9g5dKkYRC2Yl7R1xswWRws25WTvmyFvkheVWY5iAIm_5xokIgnOV_q4o44tZbSlpVLeJ-T0J3HGLTewEcIVkc/s640/nicolas_mage.jpg" width="492" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not with the mighty powers of Nicolas MAGE</td></tr>
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Okay, maybe I went a little crazy there.<br />
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Do forgive me.<br />
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It's just a Cage I'm going through.Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14566791637480857887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2263898685447354385.post-11758726970314238912013-03-28T22:49:00.002+02:002013-03-28T22:49:45.681+02:00Lifehack! How to Break a Habit As I've said before, <a href="http://dasiahasablog.blogspot.com/2012/01/snarky-review-no-excuses-by-brian-tracy.html" target="_blank">I'm a loser</a> who's bad at life (not as bad as <a href="http://mashable.com/2013/03/24/infomercial-gif/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">some people</a>, but still pretty bad,) and that's why I read books with titles like <i>The No-Moving 100% Ice Cream Law Of Attraction Diet </i>and <i>Chicken Soup for the Twitter Addict's Broken Husk of a Soul</i>. I've probably read upwards of forty of these sorts of books and here is one of the three* that have actually <b>changed my life</b> in a tangible, positive way.<br />
<br />
It's called <b>The Power of Habit</b>, and it's AMAZING. Not only is it impeccably researched and well written, but it offers a fascinating combination of the science behind habits, and how to apply those lessons to make everyday life more awesome.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZtdcVkOaUdBLXE4gtQDpjV_qcJTl5xyEgEsA6mCMJ4B7WmoneOuJ4MIjPrwRwaAs19q4LdooMk0yZqqMbHStqiQkcaS7glvPq_L1FiYLwzECqTxuZM3L1ctaHAXYxLwtNMDG98dLukhA/s1600/power_of_habit_charles_duhigg.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZtdcVkOaUdBLXE4gtQDpjV_qcJTl5xyEgEsA6mCMJ4B7WmoneOuJ4MIjPrwRwaAs19q4LdooMk0yZqqMbHStqiQkcaS7glvPq_L1FiYLwzECqTxuZM3L1ctaHAXYxLwtNMDG98dLukhA/s640/power_of_habit_charles_duhigg.JPG" width="396" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Power Of Habit by Charles "the shiz" Duhigg. <br />I just made that nickname up but here's hoping it catches on.</td></tr>
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There are so many fun facts in this book it makes me want to cry, and Charles Duhigg's clear and engaging style made me fly through the 300-odd pages. I mean, when I learned that at least <b>60% of our behaviour is driven by habits</b> rather than conscious decision making? It blew my mind. The conscious 40% of it anyway. The other 60% was eating a cookie at the time.<br />
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So here's the coolest part of the book: <b>the habit loop</b>. Every habit comes in this structure and learning it basically lets you break habits and hack your life and win at everything!<br />
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How does it work? Basically, every habit consists of three elements:<br />
<br />
1. <b>Cue</b>: that thing that triggers the habit, like a certain time of day makes you want to have lunch or a looming sense of anxiety makes you want to check your phone so your hands look busy.<br />
2. <b>Routine</b>: the actual habit you act out, like smoking a cigarette or unlocking your phone and navigating to facebook (I do that so automatically I can be halfway through replying to a message before I realize I'm even on my phone.)<br />
3. <b>Reward</b>: what you're getting out of it, whether it's as vague as momentary distraction or as powerful as the dopamine rush of someone proposing to you on twitter.<br />
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As a rule, the cue will trigger a <b>craving</b> for the reward, and the routine is the <b>flexible part</b> which you can alter to make real, lasting changes.<br />
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It's really interesting to take a behaviour you want to change and <b>dissect it</b> into these three separate parts. Some habits are easier to analyse than others: if your cue is thirst, your routine is getting a glass of water and your reward is relief from dehydration. Bam!<br />
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Of course, nobody wants to break the habit of water drinking so let's go with something more interesting: <b>incessant phone checking.</b><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dopamine may stain some fabrics.</td></tr>
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Our <b>cue</b> here is a nagging little <b>anxiety</b>, which creates the craving for that <b>happy little rush</b> that social media provides. It's that craving that gets the habit loop rolling through the routine of checking your phone, and of course once the habit is established you're not in conscious decision mode anymore. The cue comes along, and just like a zombie, or a lab rat, or a soccer mom who's been sleep deprived for eight years, you <b>automatically act out the routine</b> in order to get your reward. In fact, the cue gets you excited about the reward so you get a pre-rush just starting the habit. It's like a little <b>shortcut</b> that your brain takes to save time. Isn't that amazing / terrifying?<br />
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Now that we've identified the habit, we have the power to <b>break it </b>- well, actually 'break' isn't the right word, because this habit's structure will always be in place: anxiety will always trigger a craving for relief and distraction.<br />
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It's the routine bit that we can <b>manipulate to get a better result</b>. See how the routine has a little dotted line surrounding it so you can cut it out? That means you can replace it with something else. The important part is that <b>the new routine is triggered by the same cue, and offers the same reward</b>. To mix metaphors, you're putting a different train on the same track in your brain! You're rewiring your powerful unconscious networks! You are the one, Neo!<br />
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It's fun to experiment with different routines until you find just the right one to hit that reward in the nuts. For our example, an <b>alternative</b> to checking your phone might be:<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>Having a glass of wine</li>
<li>Taking three deep breaths</li>
<li>Popping a happy pill</li>
<li>Pulling out a Moleskine notebook and writing a haiku about your feelings</li>
</ul>
<br />
As you can see, some of these solutions are better than others. But I included stuff like having a glass of wine to illustrate that the routine can have negative consequences but still serve to <b>satisfy the craving</b>. That explains why people who quit an addiction often replace it with another - because the craving has to be satisfied and the habit loop's already in place. But if you become conscious of it, you can replace the routine with something healthier and better for your liver.<br />
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And of course after you've changed the routines in your existing habits, you can create <b>wholly new habits</b> that have a much bigger chance of sticking around because you know how habits are structured. Your brain wires this stuff the same way every time: get yourself a clear cue, plan a sustainable routine and give yourself a powerful reward and see how much easier it is to make changes than when you're just white-knuckling it and hoping for the best.<br />
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Obviously this post is only scratching the surface of this cool concept but I hope it helps a bit and piques some interest in this whole process. If you dig it, I highly recommend <b><a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-Power-Habit-Business-ebook/dp/B0055PGUYU" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">The Power of Habit</a> </b>if you want to level up the train tracks of EXISTENCE.** Or if, like me, you just want to stop pulling your hair out or checking your phone so much.<br />
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Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to have a glass of wine while breathing deeply and writing a haiku about my feelings.<br />
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<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">*If you're wondering what the other two are: Follow Your Own North Star by Martha Beck, and A New Earth by Eckhart Tolle. Both brilliant.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">** Yes, I've mixed so many metaphors I seem to have ended up with a metaphor salad. All it's missing is the avo of truth.</span>Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14566791637480857887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2263898685447354385.post-27500976713669985242013-02-16T10:45:00.000+02:002013-02-16T11:24:35.349+02:00Sail: An Open Letter To Myself<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">(Disclaimer: I have never been sailing, nor do I have a clear idea of what a boat looks like. But just go with it.)</span></div>
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The more I stay here, the more I see that destiny is only the direction of the breeze.</div>
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It's up to you to hoist the sails, get on the water, build a fucking boat.</div>
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You could go your whole life procrastinating, letting your nerves and doubts keep you safe and sad.</div>
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Moving forward, getting something done, creating something worthwhile, is not something that happens <i>to</i> you.</div>
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It comes from hard, unsexy, uninspired <b>work</b>. It's about choosing a sense of accomplishment over comfort.</div>
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Comfort is lovely.</div>
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Comfort is a dangerous narcotic.</div>
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You must work on something that makes you happy, otherwise the work will exhaust you.</div>
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Everyone is built for something. Everyone has that thing that pushes all their happy buttons at once - being a stay at home parent, a game ranger, an entrepreneur. </div>
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But finding that thing doesn't mean being high all the time. It doesn't mean that confusion, frustration, or fear will never return.</div>
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Finding it just means that the wind is in your sails. That's a big deal, a big relief, a big chance to be the best person you can be.</div>
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But it's just that: a chance. Not a promise or a money-back guarantee.</div>
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Actually doing it, choosing the forward motion instead of fighting with your crew or bobbing around the water in a place that looks good enough.... that's up to you.</div>
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So go.</div>
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Sail.</div>
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Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14566791637480857887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2263898685447354385.post-82636145809948446552013-01-01T12:39:00.000+02:002013-01-01T12:44:00.218+02:00Big Bang's 'Fantastic Baby': The Only Song You Need In 2013I'm the first to admit that I don't really 'get' K-pop, but I think everyone needs the video for Big Bang's <b>Fantastic Baby </b>in their lives on a daily basis.<br />
<br />
Just look at it. Seriously. WATCH IT RIGHT NOW.<br />
<br />
I'll wait.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen" frameborder="0" height="360" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/AAbokV76tkU?rel=0" width="640"></iframe>
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Seriously, wasn't that just the best four minutes ever?<br />
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It's got everything you could possibly want in a music video. And in life:<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>Sassy half-English rap</li>
<li>Some sort of post-apocalyptic universe where music is apparently considered evil (so it's sort of like that town from <i>Footloose</i>, I guess?)</li>
<li>A disproportionate amount of eyeliner for a video starring zero women</li>
<li>One man's hair going from red to white to yellow to pink in the space of four minutes</li>
<li>Another man whose hair is as blue as the sky and as wavy as the ocean</li>
<li>Lip applique (again, no women star in this video)</li>
<li>A point (<a href="http://youtu.be/AAbokV76tkU?t=1m32s" target="_blank">1:32</a>) where I ALWAYS laugh out loud where a topless blonde man earnestly sings as he is chained to a wall (supposedly by the oppressive anti-music regime [or as they like to call themselves, the pro-talk-radio movement])</li>
<li>Outfits, sets and CROWNS so fabulously elaborate they must have been a designer's dream / nightmare</li>
<li>Pretty Korean boys</li>
<li>More pretty Korean boys</li>
<li>I mean, seriously, no amount of plastic surgery or photoshop will EVER make you as pretty as these Korean boys*</li>
</ul>
<br />
So I did a little research and the sassy rapper (the one in the beginning) is called G-Dragon and is kind of a big deal. I watched a few of his other videos and his sass is as boundless as his willingness to look silly. I heartily endorse him.<br />
<br />
The other ridiculously pretty one (Mister Blue Hair) is called T.O.P, and I sincerely hope he was aware of how that sounds in English-speaking queer culture, and named himself that totally on purpose**. Because otherwise that'd be pretty embarrassing. But anyway, I checked and he isn't genetically engineered. ALLEGEDLY.***<br />
<br />
Hey wait, what if the music-haters in the video are actually a metaphor for North Korea? I watched a documentary that said every house in NK is fitted with a propaganda radio speaker thingy that can never be turned off! So... guys, <b>Fantastic Baby</b> is totally a veiled critique of totalitarianism. And talk radio.<br />
<br />
Hey, let's watch it again!<br />
<br />
BOOM SHAKA LAKA.<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen" frameborder="0" height="360" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/AAbokV76tkU?rel=0" width="640"></iframe>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-small;">*By 'you' I mean 'me'</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">** <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Top,_bottom_and_versatile" target="_blank">LOL</a></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">*** I googled "T.O.P. Korean rapper genetically engineered" and my computer froze and then google showed me a bunch of stuff about PSY and genetically modified crops. So let's just say there's no proof that he's NOT genetically engineered.</span>Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14566791637480857887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2263898685447354385.post-80070975462350078142012-07-24T13:45:00.000+02:002012-07-24T15:00:27.523+02:00The One Where John Finnemore Won't Lick My AutographSorry for the break in posting, <a href="http://dasiahasablog.blogspot.com/2012/07/open-letter-to-my-brain.html" target="_blank">the blobfish ate my brain</a>.<br />
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So guys, my <a href="http://linguisticali.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">awesome friend Ali</a> - whose <a href="http://linguisticali.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">blog</a> is kinda superior to mine seeing as she <a href="http://linguisticali.blogspot.com/2012/05/in-soviet-russia-sights-see-you.html" target="_blank">has adventures</a> and <a href="http://linguisticali.blogspot.com/2012/06/photos-not-feelings.html" target="_blank">posts pictures</a> and <a href="http://linguisticali.blogspot.com/2012/07/you-are-very-welcome-to-have-dishwasher.html" target="_blank">says clever things</a>, whereas I just watch tv and then BLOG ABOUT MY FEELINGS - just happened to inspire my incredible envy last weekend* by going to a recording of John Finnemore's Souvenir Programme.<br />
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Just in case you're not quite sure who John Finnemore is, LET ME TELL YOU. He is a comedian, writer and actor, who is hilarious and charming and intelligent and silly and sarcastic and wonderful. </div>
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<li><span style="background-color: white;">Go read his </span><a href="http://johnfinnemore.blogspot.com/" style="background-color: white;" target="_blank">adorable blog</a><span style="background-color: white;">.</span></li>
<li><span style="background-color: white;">Go get obsessed with </span><a href="http://youtu.be/n9rHXIvFzDc" style="background-color: white;" target="_blank">Cabin Pressure</a><span style="background-color: white;">, the best radio sitcom ever, which he writes and acts in.</span></li>
<li><span style="background-color: white;">Go learn the first season of</span><a href="http://youtu.be/VO1xDq2IU04" style="background-color: white;" target="_blank"> John Finnemore's Souvenir Programme</a><span style="background-color: white;"> off by heart</span><span style="background-color: white;">, which is a sketch show he writes and performs.</span></li>
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For the record, I introduced Ali to John Finnemore, which is the only way I could repay her for introducing me to Benedict Cumberbatch. Well, obviously not LITERALLY introduced. But you know, in that weird we-live-in-the-future way that makes you feel like you know celebrities by being constantly exposed to their work, so that you get so familiar with the concept of that person that you find yourself casually typing "Where EXACTLY does Benedict Cumberbatch live?" into google and not even feeling bad about it**. </div>
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I'd wanted to ask Ali to get me an autograph since I heard she'd got tickets to the show, but obviously I have all this awkwardness and self-loathing so I didn't say anything because I didn't want to inconvenience her or be disappointed or be a person who exists or whatever. PAIN IS REAL. Luckily alcohol came to the rescue, and after a Long Island ice tea roughly the size of my arm, Ali updated facebook saying she was off to the show, and I promptly commented: </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOJtpUI9XC5Gf_xsF753BQoTJpyrZZ6SkoYmaP3Yl9NpaOnNWeWi3UkWiTeYpdh4_8Drp7qtoVH8Z8pBy2rEzc1LKzFKPg26PxeAbHyvn9uylTm_1FeLH5ZEdkk9hbVbEKpf_acgtDLRw/s1600/have+fun.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOJtpUI9XC5Gf_xsF753BQoTJpyrZZ6SkoYmaP3Yl9NpaOnNWeWi3UkWiTeYpdh4_8Drp7qtoVH8Z8pBy2rEzc1LKzFKPg26PxeAbHyvn9uylTm_1FeLH5ZEdkk9hbVbEKpf_acgtDLRw/s1600/have+fun.bmp" /></a></div>
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I'm thankful to Ali for not only coming through, but actually risking a restraining order to get me a one-of-a-kind autograph! Starting what I hope will be a long and noble tradition of making celebrities uncomfortable, Ali promptly got <a href="http://linguisticali.blogspot.com/2012/07/be-kind-have-fun-and-carry-lemon.html" target="_blank">a normal autograph for herself</a> and a GLORIOUSLY INAPPROPRIATE ONE FOR ME: </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">To Dasia</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">All the best</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">No, of course I won't lick it!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">But still, all the best.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">John Finnemore</span></div>
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JOHN FINNEMORE.</div>
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WROTE MY NAME.</div>
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AND SPELT IT RIGHT.</div>
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AND REFUSED TO LICK IT. </div>
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THEY DON'T MAKE CAPS BIG ENOUGH TO EXPRESS THE ALLCAPINESS OF MY FEELINGS.</div>
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Doesn't he have lovely handwriting? He's the complete package.<span style="background-color: white;">I've never been an autograph person but I really see the appeal of it now. Maybe I'll start collecting written refusals to silly / inappropriate requests and could eventually build a gallery out of it: "The Hall Of Celebrity</span><span style="background-color: white;"> </span><i style="background-color: white;">No, Of Course I Won'ts</i><span style="background-color: white;">!" or something similarly cheesy and awesome.</span></div>
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Anyway, I really love that this actually happened because I'd gone out the night I found out about all this, and woke up on Sunday morning thoroughly believing that the autograph was just an awesome booze dream. So yay for good things that aren't booze dreams! <span style="background-color: white;">Ali's posting me the original, and I'm more nervous about this autograph being in the post than any certificate or degree I've ever gotten. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">Which is normal and healthy, right?*** </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">*It was actually the weekend before last - it took me a surprisingly long time to finish this post.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">**I felt a little bad about it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">*** They don't make rehab for fangirls, apparently.</span></div>Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14566791637480857887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2263898685447354385.post-80186365846478247922012-07-04T15:00:00.000+02:002012-07-04T15:01:13.675+02:00An Open Letter to my BrainDear Brain,<br />
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You are usually my favourite part of me. You are silly and sometimes can figure stuff out when there are no numbers involved in that stuff. You got me through university and even got me a job that doesn't involve working on docks or lugging coal. You almost always remember to get me fully clothed before I leave the house (yesterday was an exception, but at least I was wearing <a href="https://twitter.com/awkwardoptimist/status/220067798372712449" target="_blank">cute slippers</a>). You have an over-friendly relationship with Mouth, but we're working on that with our new friend, Social Filter.</div>
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So here's the thing, and this isn't a criticism but... sometimes you get distracted. Today we were supposed to be doing research for a graphic design article, and next thing I know you're cerebellum-deep in an article about blobfish. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDfPgH9rBeZfk5u8RQdnfcLfx051Wl3T2_uEoFM9Pv8RPOi_TBeP97xVxvTCbd-AX0j8i-i6zFCKEaiUvnHCf1hJ20q3km7sK2e47o82LipdPrlzImkNA-KLW0-RSAW-KPgyNGEQS_0A4/s1600/blobfish.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="243" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDfPgH9rBeZfk5u8RQdnfcLfx051Wl3T2_uEoFM9Pv8RPOi_TBeP97xVxvTCbd-AX0j8i-i6zFCKEaiUvnHCf1hJ20q3km7sK2e47o82LipdPrlzImkNA-KLW0-RSAW-KPgyNGEQS_0A4/s400/blobfish.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/picturegalleries/howaboutthat/7077472/Blobfish-worlds-most-miserable-looking-marine-animal-facing-exinction.html" target="_blank">An irrelevant blobfish.</a></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white;">Blobfish are not very well designed, graphically speaking. In fact, I'm not really sure how you got from the effects of the colour red in web design to wondering what's new in the world of blobfish. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">Maybe it's my own fault. I've enabled you. I've given you <a href="http://www.youtube.com/user/tedtalksdirector?feature=results_main" target="_blank">too</a> <a href="http://www.youtube.com/user/thnkrtv" target="_blank">much</a> <a href="http://www.brainpickings.org/" target="_blank">brain</a> <a href="http://listverse.com/" target="_blank">candy</a> and now I'm moaning about you being hyperactive. </span></div>
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There was about an hour between that last line and this one, where you followed every link in the 'too much brain candy' phrase and got lost in the big, shiny internet. That's exactly what I'm talking about! </div>
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Now, I'm not saying you should change. I think the fact that you find everything interesting is a credit to your brainfulness. <span style="background-color: white;">All I'm saying is that maybe there's something to be gained from concentrating on a topic for more than two minutes. Maybe all that wildly fascinating stuff that's calling your name now will still be there in an hou[NOTE FROM THE EDITOR: Brain is unable to finish this post because scientists have </span><a href="http://www.telegraph.co.uk/science/large-hadron-collider/9374788/Higgs-Boson-announcement-from-Cern-LIVE.html" style="background-color: white;" target="_blank">found the Higgs Boson thingy</a><span style="background-color: white;"> and everyone is excited. Brain isn't entirely sure what it is, but Brain knows that Higgs Boson is a big deal because it's been mentioned on Big Bang Theory. Now Brain needs to watch lots of youtube videos and read lots of twitter opinions because the Higgs Boson is now officially Brain's favourite boson.]</span></div>
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In other news, Body wants to <a href="http://youtu.be/12VUjgYMm1U" target="_blank">dance around</a>.</div>Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14566791637480857887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2263898685447354385.post-68935855059324847832012-06-19T13:41:00.000+02:002012-06-19T13:42:52.762+02:00My Blogging Life in Neil Patrick Harris GifsToday I saw this amazing list of<a href="http://www.ranker.com/list/the-best-neil-patrick-harris-gifs/robert-wabash?page=1" target="_blank"> Neil Patrick Harris gifs</a>, which spoke to me so deeply I had to make a post out of them. I'm probably doing this "When X happens, my reaction is Y" meme wrong, but I don't think there's police for that.<br />
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Enjoy!<br />
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So Here's My Blogging Life In NPH Gifs OMG</h2>
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When I realize someone other than my mom reads my blog </h3>
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When I blog about something and everyone assumes I'm an expert</h3>
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When I keep to my posting schedule</h3>
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When I think about monetizing </h3>
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When that post still has zero comments</h3>
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When some bitch has more followers than me</h3>
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When I get more followers than that bitch</h3>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQSg_sTWwTvNZ1s4krPITk_BkGrHow5G5sE7Qv-ka6T1RXUAo2nXoPC7weiP8PB_q6Q88VTg04v4rupqJcyKTF_P98krL3ENMCB0ssBENm3Invn6pqRFyeaNIP0zcCccqc00iA-BRTEs4/s1600/evil+laugh.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQSg_sTWwTvNZ1s4krPITk_BkGrHow5G5sE7Qv-ka6T1RXUAo2nXoPC7weiP8PB_q6Q88VTg04v4rupqJcyKTF_P98krL3ENMCB0ssBENm3Invn6pqRFyeaNIP0zcCccqc00iA-BRTEs4/s1600/evil+laugh.gif" /></a></div>
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When a commenter corrects me</h3>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh18ZgcA55YwvRJiIlu_7VOxniLyqmIvFdJLRX2lGDyzV29u6krpUBEiXCQxdoAynPl9VRw2TiKfBFBX2al1oWLHcibFN0Nmh5djjylzIabRldjWS-EwsFLr_SEGrzp_yWJUUVYPbh75iM/s1600/shooting.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh18ZgcA55YwvRJiIlu_7VOxniLyqmIvFdJLRX2lGDyzV29u6krpUBEiXCQxdoAynPl9VRw2TiKfBFBX2al1oWLHcibFN0Nmh5djjylzIabRldjWS-EwsFLr_SEGrzp_yWJUUVYPbh75iM/s1600/shooting.gif" /></a></div>
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When somebody finds my blog entertaining / helpful</h3>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF4CljrAtU0bSJSEuzxl_JDw6pEmpne_55RiFk_G24tnLynHl4ET5Lw9iV_k0dN9NoGB82h9LELouJXf1sgF8xHkVnKtkbQ_oAVgv6Grel4V4k2wYo9qMeR72Z5VjcE166GvOdSDFZilM/s1600/really.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF4CljrAtU0bSJSEuzxl_JDw6pEmpne_55RiFk_G24tnLynHl4ET5Lw9iV_k0dN9NoGB82h9LELouJXf1sgF8xHkVnKtkbQ_oAVgv6Grel4V4k2wYo9qMeR72Z5VjcE166GvOdSDFZilM/s1600/really.gif" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Really?</td></tr>
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Oh, and when you make it to the end of this post</h3>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhodlOvKt5JFUamPkGpZJT1_7iJYfUJq6ZigeHbuqbUv94NJPDvD5-mMKvs8_4L5P9XFFuWKGYhEPG-lSO-BhbHRSnO4BEv7_FL0fhtOGPIPJx8cYRwr6-7pyN9JcJZ46dCmJCSWMMf0FI/s1600/highest+of+fives.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhodlOvKt5JFUamPkGpZJT1_7iJYfUJq6ZigeHbuqbUv94NJPDvD5-mMKvs8_4L5P9XFFuWKGYhEPG-lSO-BhbHRSnO4BEv7_FL0fhtOGPIPJx8cYRwr6-7pyN9JcJZ46dCmJCSWMMf0FI/s1600/highest+of+fives.gif" /></a></div>
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</h3>Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14566791637480857887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2263898685447354385.post-72012778378910166142012-06-09T14:34:00.000+02:002012-06-09T14:34:07.346+02:00My Wildly Improbable Birthday Wish ListFor my seventh birthday I asked for a dragon.<br />
<br />
I got this:<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZn8IGPVMpLytKCrVZw8xpDzwtjMK_Pe81HyJvs2CkBcOnZDgViuGMJtCHRNaaW11hIU-65nbn1Kti1NEF4bNcMqoMNrKJNjqrSDJfupd6mrahJJR4jaMfWmvWwGzadbNVpBQPFwtGN6Q/s1600/toysmith_stegosaurus_soft_play_dinosaur_toy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZn8IGPVMpLytKCrVZw8xpDzwtjMK_Pe81HyJvs2CkBcOnZDgViuGMJtCHRNaaW11hIU-65nbn1Kti1NEF4bNcMqoMNrKJNjqrSDJfupd6mrahJJR4jaMfWmvWwGzadbNVpBQPFwtGN6Q/s320/toysmith_stegosaurus_soft_play_dinosaur_toy.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bullshit.</td></tr>
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I guess it's a good thing. I learned early on that the stuff I <i>really</i> want (yeah, the stuff everyone <i>really wants</i>) isn't stuff you can just go to a mall and buy. That's what makes birthdays so awkward. You can't just give someone a Lose Ten Kilos coupon or a subscription to Levitation & Flying Magazine and call it a day. <br />
<br />
And since my birthday's in a week, those who love me enough to know that (without checking on facebook first) have been bugging me to tell them what I want. So here it is.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>My Wildly Improbable Birthday Wishlist</b></span></div>
<b><br /></b><br />
<b>1. A Car With An Engine And Wheels And Stuff</b><br />
<br />
I just got my learner's licence again (after letting the last one expire) and with a full-time job and hobbies that require me to Go Places, you can probably imagine how badly I want my own car.<br />
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For some reason, I really want a blue Hyundai Atos. Not really sure why, but since they came out I've had this weird little feeling that this is the car for me. Probably because it's small and cute and you just wanna boop its nose a little bit.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW1PcuOuI9bStZscZ8Em7diuWnJsbremNZMAjWYsVgoGkuOOthZHOr2HyDd5sFp3pZS-bGNHC2eJw1_7t2IQ0vWVBsmsU2A7Sk-kqZT9hW4V65JwWYT0SyD4vp2d9BRS3RHgGkHzchUQM/s1600/imghyundai+atos1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW1PcuOuI9bStZscZ8Em7diuWnJsbremNZMAjWYsVgoGkuOOthZHOr2HyDd5sFp3pZS-bGNHC2eJw1_7t2IQ0vWVBsmsU2A7Sk-kqZT9hW4V65JwWYT0SyD4vp2d9BRS3RHgGkHzchUQM/s400/imghyundai+atos1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">*boop!*</td></tr>
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Also, it comes in an Automatic, because seriously, fuck gears. I mean, I know it still has gears, but frankly I don't feel like I need to be involved in changing them. I trust the machines. Go Skynet!<br />
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<b>2. Mad Roller Derby Skills</b><br />
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Not only would I like to be able to stop without the aid of a wall or a friend who's going down with me, but I want to be bout-ready like RIGHT NOW. Unfortunately, turns out spending hours reading articles on derby isn't <i>quite </i>equivalent to a Matrix-style download of all the skills I need. Damn it, Skynet!<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdfNsv74ZWm0Bf8ZlJDUVniU6ozLKUZQ9ObQfHkvzWRyuW8x-7gmv5vVb1oxbJ2sBtsVA61TZDQRaHHGlQyxZ6UjXDZdg5p1zSVQrHH1W58q0qc2lU9ekQYE9A-SB7JV211G9l3yEUysU/s1600/skate_love.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="246" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdfNsv74ZWm0Bf8ZlJDUVniU6ozLKUZQ9ObQfHkvzWRyuW8x-7gmv5vVb1oxbJ2sBtsVA61TZDQRaHHGlQyxZ6UjXDZdg5p1zSVQrHH1W58q0qc2lU9ekQYE9A-SB7JV211G9l3yEUysU/s400/skate_love.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Apparently, whimsical socks are not enough to master a fast-paced contact sport.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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By the by, the league I'm in, the <a href="http://www.facebook.com/pages/C-Max-Roller-Derby-League/149098481787489" target="_blank">C-Max Roller Derby League</a>, is having their next bout on 28 July and I'll be there cheering on the mayhem! You should come!<br />
<br />
<b>3. The Opportunity To Be A Prodigy At Something</b><br />
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Since I turned 18 I have been super bummed about this. I will never be the <a href="http://youtu.be/ErMWX--UJZ4" target="_blank">ukulele boy</a> or the <a href="http://youtu.be/xPITHzdUUDk" target="_blank">tiny opera singer</a> or <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/S._E._Hinton" target="_blank">S.E. Hinton</a>, who wrote my favourite YA novel, <i>The Outsiders</i>, when she was 17. I'm turning 24, which is way past the prodigy expiration date.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifFOjXgZDx9eCOznSgInKKP-3E2dtsXGqbwnCtxrkrdyuekV6zCPdRP9B0oe16miHxFCLwuQrSK2sNGIcS1ii-I6ab0nAmoYSUvQJL_xyec_zK6u9r8Os2QvuwN-9SRq_gw0SbJSfJ6SI/s1600/Child-prodigy-Mozart.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="277" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifFOjXgZDx9eCOznSgInKKP-3E2dtsXGqbwnCtxrkrdyuekV6zCPdRP9B0oe16miHxFCLwuQrSK2sNGIcS1ii-I6ab0nAmoYSUvQJL_xyec_zK6u9r8Os2QvuwN-9SRq_gw0SbJSfJ6SI/s400/Child-prodigy-Mozart.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Show off.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Now I can only be an old-person prodigy, which isn't even actually a thing. But you know now and then there's a fluff story on the news like "Woah! This lady's like a million and she's rapping / teaching yoga / modelling for Victoria's Secret". So maybe if I take up bowls or collecting cats now, maybe I'll be considered a prodigy by the time I reach retirement age?<br />
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<b>4. Adamantium Teeth</b><br />
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Yeah, over the past year my sensitive teeth problem has gone from charming to WTactualF. So that's it, I want teeth made out of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Adamantium" target="_blank">adamantium</a>, which would probably give me a pretty street Lil' Wayne look so I don't see the downside.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgw2hSwHpZHdWbe-xyA4Y0DGSvsN-w1dB1yD6WULTsKQsu9kn-b7-5mjbuWtCCBljFfQb7Qg5o1akPBiCHHkjdMXu2zYaeunaA_Dj5VlonHkClPaN6O3i7CoZXlFkDVR2ZfWpDsMC-tBQ/s1600/grills-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="260" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgw2hSwHpZHdWbe-xyA4Y0DGSvsN-w1dB1yD6WULTsKQsu9kn-b7-5mjbuWtCCBljFfQb7Qg5o1akPBiCHHkjdMXu2zYaeunaA_Dj5VlonHkClPaN6O3i7CoZXlFkDVR2ZfWpDsMC-tBQ/s320/grills-3.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This would totally suit me.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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And hey, if I could get some retractable claws put in while I'm at the adamantium clinic, there go my cheese-slicing, vegetable-chopping and people-murdering woes!<br />
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<b>5. A Time-Turner</b><br />
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Mostly for napping, long lunches and extra reading time. And winning the lottery.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyoDbR21mbJwxv2WM7l0Aa-1J45rhpzP7ylL47zcsPXxtyz4nG6yFfSG524r7ZICVj3VcbmP3e21Ef1pd28WgqDqnmvEaiS0dXPuQ-MsDWbp9wcnYS6fHwLN7uZ51umI9wAo8LYWVBrmo/s1600/time+turner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyoDbR21mbJwxv2WM7l0Aa-1J45rhpzP7ylL47zcsPXxtyz4nG6yFfSG524r7ZICVj3VcbmP3e21Ef1pd28WgqDqnmvEaiS0dXPuQ-MsDWbp9wcnYS6fHwLN7uZ51umI9wAo8LYWVBrmo/s400/time+turner.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And high-fiving myself. Oh wait - would that break the universe?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Okay, apparently you can <a href="http://www.wbshop.com/product/harry+potter+collectible+sterling+silver+timeturner+by+noble+hpnbsstime.do" target="_blank">buy these</a> online. But it's just not the same if Professor McGonagall doesn't give it to you.<br />
<br />
That's what she said.<br />
<br />
Wait.<br />
<br />What?<br />
<br />
Aaaanyway, those are the things I <i>really </i>want for my birthday. But since my list ranges from the highly improbable to the downright impossible, I guess I may just have to settle for fuzzy socks. Or a <a href="http://www.squishable.com/pc/massive_squish_dragon_24/Big_Animals/Massive+Squishable+Dragon+Bean+Bag" target="_blank">dragon</a>.<br />
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<br />Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14566791637480857887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2263898685447354385.post-68775208233610404102012-06-04T14:58:00.003+02:002012-06-04T14:58:52.338+02:00The Agony and the Ecstasy of Russian HairdressersHere's the thing about being Russian. You're not allowed to do things the simple, rational way. You have to do them <b>The Russian Way</b>.<br />
<br />
Let me paint you a little picture. For a few years now, my family has been going to an amazing Russian hairdresser who also happens to be a maniac. Not to generalize that all Russian hairdressers are maniacs - it just seems like the hairdressing talent is in direct proportion to the crazy.<br />
<br />
In case any of my readers decide to become Russian through paperwork or surgery, I thought I should let you know the secret inner world of going to a Russian* hairdresser. <br />
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<b>A Russian hairdresser will cut your hair in her living room</b>. Salons are for "foreigners" (the generally accepted term for non-Russians - and yes, expats insist they live in a country full of "foreigners") and girls just starting out. If this woman can handle scissors without hurting herself, she'll have her schedule full of Russian women eager to get a <i>proper</i> haircut. <br />
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<b>A Russian hairdresser will cut like her work is about to be entered into the Microscopic Hairdressing Olympics</b>. This is probably the best thing about my last hairdresser - she did beautiful work, carefully sculpted to the last micrometre. For the record, speed doesn't count in the Microscopic Hairdressing Olympics. Which is why she'll - <br />
<br />
<b>Take three hours to do a trim</b>. No matter what time you go to the hairdresser, it'll be dark outside by the time you leave. This is one of the reasons I look like an overgrown hobo most of the time - getting my hair cut isn't a lunchtime errand. It's a<i> whole thing</i>. It's a couple of hours for me, a couple more for my mom, and I'm not even gonna go into how long my blonde sister takes - I think we had to camp out overnight when she first got her foils in. But hey, at least the hair dresser will:<br />
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<b>Be cool if you bring your own picnic basket</b> of food, drink and books for the long wait for freedom. Did I mention there's no TV and only a handful of Russian hairdressing magazines for entertainment? If you go without provisions, you're a dead man. I don't know why local people (perhaps more to the point - normal people) are weirded out if you bring your own food to these sorts of situations. Everyone's just supposed to starve and act happy with their rations of tea and Marie biscuits. That's not okay, comrades! We need sustenance for this five year plan! Which is made even longer because your hairdresser will...<br />
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<b>Stop mid-cut for a cigarette and a chat</b>. My sister and I aren't very chatty (my Russian skills aren't good enough to defend my life and my choices) so it's always mom's job to smoke and gossip in twenty-minute sessions. It doesn't really matter to the hairdresser whether she's mid-cut or not. She knows we're not going anywhere. Nobody gets off the rock. Nobody wants to get off the rock because the saltwater's gross, and your hairdresser will always...<br />
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<b>Treat every hair like precious silk</b>. Russian hairdressers have to study for two years before they get certified. They take this shit seriously. She'll refuse to do bleaching / dying that will leave your hair in a worse condition, even if it means giving up the money she would've gotten for that job. Local (normal? <i>human?!</i>) hairdressers, in my experience, take your money, screw your hair up and promise it'll be okay if you use this conditioner or buy that treatment. Which doesn't work. Your average hairdresser will be okay with smiling and taking your money, whereas...<br />
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<b>A Russian hairdresser will give you her unfiltered opinion about your life and your choices</b>. Spoiler alert: her opinion will never be a happy-clappy one. Everything from your skin to your career will be criticized, loudly and without regard to those silly little things called "feelings". Which you're not supposed to have anymore anyway, since they should have been killed by shopping and vodka a long time ago. It's okay, you're new. You'll learn. Hangovers are like boot camp for your liver.<br />
<br />
I went to a non-Russian hairdresser (gasp!) over the weekend because I was young and foolish and thought I didn't need to spend a day being judged, criticized and smoked on to look good. The local hairdresser took half an hour, she spoke to me like a normal person and not a criminally deranged toddler, and at the end of the day, my haircut was... meh. <b>Just meh.</b> Not fantastic. Not hideous. Just a normal, ordinary, "foreigner" haircut.<br />
<br />
Yes, I want to go back to my talented maniac of a Russian hairdresser. It's sort of like a <b>pilgrimage</b>: first you set off on the long journey there, (and of course a Russian hairdresser must always live at least
half an hour away from you). Then you followed by hours of verbal abuse, discomfort and
borderline-starvation (you'll never bring enough snacks. Ever.) But at the end of the day, you are renewed. And as you stumble home, emotionally broken but aesthetically bouncy, the bad stuff fades away and you're just left with a seriously kick-ass haircut.<br />
<br />
It may sound crazy to you. But that's The Russian Way. <br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">*I have a feeling this post will attract a lot of <i>Russian Bride For Yourself!</i> spam because I use the R word so frequently. </span>Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14566791637480857887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2263898685447354385.post-73226067537715467722012-05-27T18:21:00.000+02:002012-05-27T18:22:25.044+02:00How To Make A Green Smoothie That Doesn't Taste Like RegretI'm not exactly a health nut, but I do enjoy smugly saying <b>I drink a green smoothie every morning</b> because it makes people look at me like I've just said <b>I chew glass instead of flossing, it's better for the environment.</b><br />
<br />
Green smoothies have gotten a bad rap for looking like portable swamps and tasting like socks. But I swear guys, this recipe is not only healthy, but <b>tastes good</b>. Now, I'm not saying it tastes good compared to steamed broccoli or lettuce tartar. I'm telling you: macaroni and cheese tastes good, toffee ice cream tastes good, and this green smoothie tastes good. <br />
<br />
It's pretty simple to make, too. It takes me <b>ten minutes</b> (including washing the blender) to make in the morning, and that's with my sloth-like agility. You may not have these ingredients in your fridge at the moment, but that's the great thing about shops existing.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Yummy Green Smoothie </span><br />
<br /></div>
(Serves 1, because let's face it, nobody's going to be asking for a glass until they taste yours and realize it's mindblowingly good.) <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ9lRk08_4oQjHII1AAlEZH7bNM6IWnefyOqSnMHjTBnT9reh-2TpwgFHd1BR0RYyZtZ8UywMylwa6tntnWyfaSVZ4xrtWk13_LAxmZvZrzhiSSATQj4OONdEmVF_LHOEXhJGGu0WBJxk/s1600/SAM_1410.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ9lRk08_4oQjHII1AAlEZH7bNM6IWnefyOqSnMHjTBnT9reh-2TpwgFHd1BR0RYyZtZ8UywMylwa6tntnWyfaSVZ4xrtWk13_LAxmZvZrzhiSSATQj4OONdEmVF_LHOEXhJGGu0WBJxk/s320/SAM_1410.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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You'll need:<br />
<ol>
<li>A blender (to mix it all together, not as an ingredient. That would be a bit chewy.)</li>
<li>Fruit juice, one cup (I use fruit cocktail, but apple tastes good too.)</li>
<li>Raw seed mix, one teaspoon (mine has sunflower, pumpkin, sesame, and flax seeds.)</li>
<li>Fresh cucumber, one mini (pickles don't count!)</li>
<li>Baby spinach, raw, three handfuls (this freezes well too.)</li>
<li>Fresh mint, raw, to taste (also freezes well, but if you can't find it, you could try mint essence. Mine's frozen, which is why it looks so black and sad in the picture. Still tastes awesome though!)</li>
</ol>
<br />
<b>Step 1</b>: Pour the glass of fruit juice into your blender and add a teaspoon of the seed mix.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT5Q4SUei4TLgrild70pjTi0g5_OZLxsbmNRGzLgAR30iOGsB0se1alXcR5C8MWggNwiSXH99vM35cMpNLn5_EZi_ekyEf10_9HJ4b3KWNKRJcNlfWEiX7pdFlsri3etiq82zcLChNPR0/s1600/SAM_1414.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT5Q4SUei4TLgrild70pjTi0g5_OZLxsbmNRGzLgAR30iOGsB0se1alXcR5C8MWggNwiSXH99vM35cMpNLn5_EZi_ekyEf10_9HJ4b3KWNKRJcNlfWEiX7pdFlsri3etiq82zcLChNPR0/s320/SAM_1414.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">*action shot!*</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<b>Warning:</b> DO NOT try to replace the fruit juice with water. It will negate the glorious balance of the universe and make your smoothie taste like cold, bitter, spinachy regret.<br />
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Blend on high to chop up the seeds. This is especially good for the flaxseeds, which are super-mega good for you but aren't broken down in your stomach unless they're crushed open first. The seeds help you to feel full with all the omega-3 fatty stuff. You can also replace them with a scoop of avo, which is quite lovely.<br />
<br />
<b>Step 2</b>: Turn the blender OFF first (if only I could send that piece of advice back to my past self) and add the baby spinach, mint and cucumber.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdJsk5eZIPK781pgvTQBp4lEuKtP35aM56mhkXXdAxAMPXL4iygkvIda2KYG72oEtuNVwQhlf0DJxeyfExulNcy9cyRunnzb3s_xDqrgs7A1mAA9NU5Xz9eQX2o4l6tivYptRYJVGpXvQ/s1600/SAM_1417.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdJsk5eZIPK781pgvTQBp4lEuKtP35aM56mhkXXdAxAMPXL4iygkvIda2KYG72oEtuNVwQhlf0DJxeyfExulNcy9cyRunnzb3s_xDqrgs7A1mAA9NU5Xz9eQX2o4l6tivYptRYJVGpXvQ/s320/SAM_1417.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If you can't find cucumbers, substitute with alien willy.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I use three sprigs of mint because I think mint is the best thing ever. Also it takes the slightly spinachy taste off the end result. Using baby spinach instead of regular means that there isn't much spinachy taste to begin with, and using fruit juice with a bit of orange involved takes it away completely.<br />
<br />
Blend on low for about a minute, until everything starts looking uniform.<br />
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<b>Step 3</b>: Pour back into the glass you used to measure the fruit juice (what, you think I was going to dirty an extra glass for no reason?) and enjoy!<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOY2ZwitzLTeFSmHpuU4fC9fNRZcpuM_2zFiyAqjZ2z86nVs_18t2Z3x-dtc7iLew6iJPjMfMHh28PvPbKTM565GrB2zyYpUF2tyQz0a61k_Mh4clvK9YMUQmiz7xD-f4Sl1UKtkRGRDs/s1600/SAM_1427.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOY2ZwitzLTeFSmHpuU4fC9fNRZcpuM_2zFiyAqjZ2z86nVs_18t2Z3x-dtc7iLew6iJPjMfMHh28PvPbKTM565GrB2zyYpUF2tyQz0a61k_Mh4clvK9YMUQmiz7xD-f4Sl1UKtkRGRDs/s320/SAM_1427.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Warning: Though this smoothie definitely tastes more like accomplishment than regret, there's no way to keep it from looking like a tiny, portable swamp. If left unattended, it may attract bog creatures.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6Nvt_FbYUWO_A1jgJFKKhqgdEksS3kk4WlComAjXwBVdRE7K8Sc3CgRmpDEfQMoZhZdSIxE4IXiQpQyEMAF_YJ89EKMp_KEZ6IZGzs362M7XHD3q6etA758M1XyA9RrNdohQR9-16Uls/s1600/SAM_1431.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6Nvt_FbYUWO_A1jgJFKKhqgdEksS3kk4WlComAjXwBVdRE7K8Sc3CgRmpDEfQMoZhZdSIxE4IXiQpQyEMAF_YJ89EKMp_KEZ6IZGzs362M7XHD3q6etA758M1XyA9RrNdohQR9-16Uls/s320/SAM_1431.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Be on the lookout for giant gangsta penguins, incontinent crocodiles and the Great Scuzzy Lion of Indifference.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgo-FDogGZRjXsVqOdqzvyM8PRjtz05oetBkzY8ClcmmfWYwxPCtP9_i9yAaFoOub1LuSZXTA-nYq5rqOvkiybsdL2NujwVPeYfxpdKDBNfLyc8IBUdXJ1hIXRB4mib752CMN9PzrvoJ8/s1600/SAM_1433.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgo-FDogGZRjXsVqOdqzvyM8PRjtz05oetBkzY8ClcmmfWYwxPCtP9_i9yAaFoOub1LuSZXTA-nYq5rqOvkiybsdL2NujwVPeYfxpdKDBNfLyc8IBUdXJ1hIXRB4mib752CMN9PzrvoJ8/s320/SAM_1433.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You may have to share.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14566791637480857887noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2263898685447354385.post-72681735021740351342012-04-29T17:12:00.001+02:002012-04-29T17:13:32.970+02:00Critical Drinking and other discoveriesI've been at my job for a month now.<br />
<br />
These are some things I've discovered.<br />
<br />
I wish we had one of those <i>Antique Roadshow</i> type shows so I could find out if these discoveries are worth anything...<br />
<br />
<b>1. Everyone is numb, and everyone's resigned to that fact.</b><br />
<br />
Though there are no sad little cubicles and flickering fluorescent lights, my job's still at an office and there are still the hum of monitors, bored sighs and and furtive glances for managers followed by monotonous gossip*.<br />
<br />
Back in the day, my young, impressionable, only slightly perverted mind saw <i>Joe Versus The Volcano</i> and believed that nine to five was just as may-as-well-commit-suicide-ish as Joe's experience at the beginning of the movie. But now that I know all about magical realism and have dealt with my crush on Tom Hanks, I know that it was ever so slightly exaggerated. But, like all bad-in-a-weird-but-kinda-good-way movies, it was based on truth, man.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRcyE1fDUtMQ7Dqrc_FNAy511nx6vy4hU2VfTZFEBKCJqgBPXyNi7pI1HdNP-RB1qFLKDV_9l_ZWaVJXckOhK5JzvP0Sn4xbW6lPfRTMYS1aC_dbzi_2Cm9LFU2CVSmbpk-Xz6FoNgV-k/s1600/joe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRcyE1fDUtMQ7Dqrc_FNAy511nx6vy4hU2VfTZFEBKCJqgBPXyNi7pI1HdNP-RB1qFLKDV_9l_ZWaVJXckOhK5JzvP0Sn4xbW6lPfRTMYS1aC_dbzi_2Cm9LFU2CVSmbpk-Xz6FoNgV-k/s400/joe.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fuck yeah corporate life.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
There must be some neurological speed camera that could measure how much duller I get throughout the week. On Monday I'm like Perky! Happy! Lunchtime already, woo! and by Thursday I'm like Oh. Hey. Yeah. No. Huh? No.<br />
<br />
<b>2. Pretending to work is even more tiring than actually working.</b><br />
<br />
You would think I'd have learned this in varsity, but when you're working on an essay and decide to take a 'refreshing study break', you can sit on the couch, eat ice cream and put in a Friends DVD. At work, if you're not in the mood to put in that last 45 minutes of effort before home-time, you can't just grab your Kindle and go chill on the couch in the lobby. Firstly, because there are always weird ladies sitting there and they never talk to each other, just glare at people and judge their vending-machine choices. Secondly, did I mention there are CAMERAS EVERYWHERE?<br />
<br />
So if you're not in the mood, the best you can do is sit at your desk and stare out of the window, wiggling your mouse now and then so that the screensaver doesn't come on. Yaaay.<br />
<br />
<b>3. I suddenly understand the appeal of going out every weekend and getting incredibly intoxicated.</b>**<br />
<br />
I call this Critical Drinking, because it's as close to critical thinking as I've gotten over the last few weeks, and by that third tequila it feels pretty critical. Red-wire blue-wire big red numbers COUNTING DOWN kinda critical.<br />
<br />
While I enjoy the odd party, I never really <i>got</i> clubbing until now: the loud music drowns out your thoughts, the dim lighting hides your flaws, and the alcohol makes you brave in a world full of limits. It's a strange alternate universe that serves as an antidote to the quiet, sensible sameness of what's become my everyday life.<br />
<br />
You know what else I didn't get until now? Hangovers. I had my first bona fide hangover the other day, and it was so unexpected that at first I didn't know what was going on. I woke up (at like, two in the afternoon) and thought MAN WHO MADE THE WORLD LOUDER, COME ON GUYS. NOT OKAY. It wasn't cute. Don't drink, kids. And if you do, take painkillers and a big glass of water before bed instead of falling asleep drunk like a dumbass.***<br />
<br />
<b>4. I actually sympathize with people who want to DO STUFF in their spare time.</b><br />
<br />
I still see myself as the mossy, fuzzy rock that rolls her eyes at all those rolling stones for having so much energy. But now that I HAVE to sit around and stare at a computer for most of the day, it's sort of lost its appeal as a low-impact hobby.<br />
<br />
I actually want to feel alive in my spare time. I'm exercising. I'm steaming veggies. I've signed up for roller derby, ffs. <i>Me</i>. Doing a <i>sport</i>. That requires a <i>mouth guard</i>.<br />
<br />
So that is the handful of unexpected discoveries I've made as I slowly morph into a tax-paying citizen. And they said <a href="http://yourtattoosucks.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/07/zones_tattoo_chart.png" target="_blank">it'd never happen because of my forearm tattoo</a>!<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">*I feel like my writing's gotten worse. FMWC. (that's <i>fuck my writing career</i>, y'all.)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">**I haven't been around cool kids in a while so I'm not sure if the term "wasted" is still in use.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">*** Somehow I don't think that clause is going to make it onto many high school sobriety pledges.</span>Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14566791637480857887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2263898685447354385.post-87910157071976962052012-04-22T16:40:00.000+02:002012-04-22T16:40:14.676+02:00I'M NOT A HOBO anymore.Hey guys! I'm back :)<br />
<br />
Quite a bit has happened during my hiatus, the biggest of which is that <b>I got a job</b>. Like, a real job that I have to brush my hair for. I'm a web copywriter for a company that owns a bunch of online casinos. So I'm spending my days writing gambling ebooks, updating news blogs, and sneaking lame puns into twitter updates. <br />
<br />
It's funny, because I haven't gambled since I was thirteen and lost R50 in that bullshit totally-rigged coin-pushy game in the arcade.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF3xlGspJUqrghSDGL0iv-PbWz1NGmoEBLmBSgX4E3a9hmF89PkgzmMxCbc_thX0EmR6o0rJ4Fm6dVG_mmfIXnWx9WRY12_Kigp5Db8ITu8Ky1row6s66HomBK85yOu6yVv9xoGuRoAHo/s1600/Coin-Pushers-or-the-Fair-Quarters-Game.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="273" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF3xlGspJUqrghSDGL0iv-PbWz1NGmoEBLmBSgX4E3a9hmF89PkgzmMxCbc_thX0EmR6o0rJ4Fm6dVG_mmfIXnWx9WRY12_Kigp5Db8ITu8Ky1row6s66HomBK85yOu6yVv9xoGuRoAHo/s400/Coin-Pushers-or-the-Fair-Quarters-Game.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I bite my thumb at you, <a href="http://mathoverflow.net/questions/75346/coin-pusher-game" target="_blank">coin pusher</a> of lies.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
And the more I research it, the dumber I think gambling is. Luckily, my <a href="http://dasiahasablog.blogspot.com/2011/12/why-i-love-my-job.html" target="_blank">retail experience</a> has taught me to sound cheerful about things that make me want to do some <b>recreational stabbing</b>. At least when it comes to gambling I'm still sort of meh about its lameness, as opposed to the fiery rage that paintings, posters and framing now inspire in me.<br />
<br />
People keep telling me that <b>I'm a grown-up now</b> that I've got a job. I can't totally agree with that, since I've already worn pyjamas under my work clothes for want of warm leggings (not that I'm a <a href="http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=never%20nude" target="_blank">never-nude</a>, though there are dozens of them! Dozens!) and my mommy still drives me everywhere because I'm too <strike>scared shitless</strike> highly evolved to learn how to drive. Though I'm technically more productive and less couch-potatoey than before, I don't feel any more adult-like now.<br />
<br />
Besides, I'm just into this whole capitalism thing for book- and tequila-money anyway. <br />
<br />
I can't get too specific about my job because a) THERE ARE CAMERAS EVERYWHERE, b) perhaps unwisely, I put a link to my blog into my CV just to prove that I've actually done something vaguely resembling writing over the past year and a half, and c) it's, uh, not very interesting. Suffice to say that the dress code is casual and the people are nice (quite nice. VERY NICE. So nice I'm worried they put Prozac in the water cooler,) so I'm happy I found it.<br />
<br />
Hopefully my future posts will be a bit more entertaining than this one. I just wanted to say that I'm back and will be updating once a week, and that I've missed blogging like crazy. I have so many things I want to squee and snark and muse over, so hold onto your fancy hats!<br />
<br />
And finally, I'd just like to say a huge<b> thank-you </b>to everyone who's followed this blog and stuck with me during my silence :) as ever, you guys rock!Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14566791637480857887noreply@blogger.com0