Tea. Sleeping Kittens. The Smell of Old Books. Expensive Cheese. Painted Toenails. Lounging Around. Coffee Beans. Weddings. Poached Eggs. Napping. Candles. Secrets. Photographs. Harry Potter. Sex. Hand Holding. Fabulous Hair. Ribbons. Dinosaurs. Rage comics. Air Guitar. Montages. Swooning. Red Grapes. Sleeping. Paper Bags. Stockings. Canvas. Daydreaming. Piles of Book's. Cheap Dvd's. Cheeky Emails. Hand-made anythings. Whispering. Red Hair. Roller Derby. Jam. Laughing. Raspberry Lollies. Hugs. Letter's. Family. Batman. Flowers. Avocado. Art. Text's. Love.

Wednesday, April 30, 2008

Fish Tales.

I think i may be cursed when it comes to owning a fish of any kind.

It started off many moons ago when we used to have a large tank filled with a million fish in our family home. Naturally being a brat of a child i got a small bowl and was allowed to pick one of the fish to keep in my room as a pet.
I did, and i loved this little black fish immensely for a whole week.
Then i found it floating belly up in it's bowl, unawares that it was the beginning of a long and hate-filled relationship with pet fish. (cause of death? I MAY have left the glass bowl on the window sill, in full sunlight.)

Fast forward a few years, my lovely friends decided to gt me two goldfish for my eighteenth birthday, so i had these two cute little fish, a pretty glass bowl, and awesome glittery gravelly stuff at the bottom, it was a perfectly innocent present, really.
These fish lasted two days. TWO DAYS and they were belly up. SO naturally i assumed something on the water, not my newly cursed affiliation with fish-folk, Off to the pet store i trotted - $50 later, two new (better) goldfish, a filter system, water cleansing droplets and a self feeding cube, Laura was under the impression she was now the master of fish kind.
Waking up the next morning to find that the new, (better?) fish were dead caused mass tantrums and tears.
But i still soldiered on, bought new cleaner equipment, a PH neutralising set, new pipes for the filter etc etc etc.
Oh, two more fish also.

These poor buggers didn't last a day, i got home from work to find my mum walking out from the toilet with my empty fish bowl and a sad look on her face.
I even got the "maybe fish just ain't for you Laura" speech. Cue - Fucking two year olds can own goldfish. Why. Cant. I? tantrum.
I'm all class.
BUT NO! i would not give up. I took the whole tank, the crate of fish equipment, blah blah blah to the pet shop, we cleansed, neutralised, aerated that tank to perfection, put in two more fish and away i went.
Four days these little ones lasted. By this time i was torn between having nightmares for creating a Goldfish Holocaust in my room, and the need for a fish to live longer than a week in my presence.
Long LONG story short, i went through FIFTEEN fish before my friend sheepishly admitted that she had bought the gravel from a $2 shop.
Crappy gravel had been poisoning my fish. It wasn't me! I could sleep at night again.
Or could i?

When i moved out for the first time, i sort of went on a pet rampage, one of the pets i purchased was Boogers the Black Moor (those googly eyed bastard fish) I had erased the Great Fish Genocide from my memory and started a fresh, new bowl, new house, new fish-murder free life.
Now Boogers bless him, lasted a month, he was a tank of a fish. His last few remaining days on our noble land he sort of swam in retarded circles, half floating, half desperately trying to scrabble to the bottom of the tank.
A thousand visits to the pet shop later, I think I'm the only person in history to tearfully turn up at the veterinary surgery and ask for my goldfish to be humanly euthanized. (Even the Vet had no idea what was wrong with Boogers).

This time i vowed never to own any sea-life again.
When i moved interstate i thought a little tank would brighten up my room.
The fish were fine, living a happy life for months and months. Then i got itchy feet. Thought that they needed SOMETHING ELSE. So i bought them real plants to aerate said tank.
They liked this, they loved this, they thrived. I was at peace.
Then i thought that they may need SOMETHING MORE. So i bought two cleaner snails, to get rid of tank mould and all those nasty things.
Six days after buying (the aptly names Pogo and Bundy) i came home to find one of the snails happily munching away on the struggling half dead body of fish number one. Fish number two was floating in the corner of the tank with half a head, and a snail doing a cannibalistic slow dance around it. Yes. I had purchased Serial Killer Snails.
When i moved from that place, i refused to take the snails.
(I never touched the tank after they had finished the remains of my beloved pets, they scared me. The only thing i did was buy a lid for the tank to ensure that i would not wake up to find them munching on my brains)

Two weeks ago i got two fish to celebrate me getting a new job and moving into a new house.
Fish number one lasted two days.
Fish two, who i refused to name for a whole week because i was convinced he was going to die, lasted 8 days.
RIP Matthew.

Please make a note of this people.
If i EVER mention that i might be getting a fish, feel free to punch me in the face.
I'm pretty sure i am fishes answer to the black plague.

End Rant.
Woe is me. I really want a fish.

Tuesday, April 29, 2008

Bam. Ego Boost.

So i just got my very first HD, in my Design class.
It was a making music visual presentation. Basically you pick a song and then you take telve photo's representing different design principles and bang them together in a powerpoint stlye presentation. There is also journal work and research blah blah blah. End of the day. I RULE.
Here is my awesome work. Because i am awesome.
The end.
I am so happy.

Colour Contrast.

Colour Contrast.

Deep Space.

Flat Space.

Focal Point.

Focal Point.

Leading the eye.

Repitition and Rythm.

Tonal Contrast.

Tonal Contrast.
SO i dig nature, n' shit.

I'm out.

Monday, April 28, 2008

I love a good party.

Here i am sitting on the balcony at Uni.
It's fucking freezing up here, but for some reason it is colder in the library.
I am now under the impression that the good folks at USC will die a horrible, melting type death if the temperature goes any higher than minus four degrees.
Seriously, most of my tutors stalk into a class room so high tech in regards to air conditioning that there are eskimo's camping under the tables and start sweating like the fatties off the biggest loser. It's a shame people.

I had a great weekend.
I love a good chance to dress up. So when i was given the chance to dress as a pirate and over-use phrases like 'YARRRRRRR!!!' and 'AVAST YE SCURVY DOG' I was all up on that.
So, Ness' Fairy party went quite well, most people dressed up, although i must say Kim and I went to the best effort, She as a fucking sexy police woman and me as a Pirate.

Told you. Sexy, eh? eh?
We didnt really know any of the people there, so proceeded to sit back and openly mock and judge each and every person that came through the door. Thankyou Vodka for boosting my self esteem to a point where all bets of modesty, and thinking before i speak were off.

The silly girl that i am, dove head first into a bottle of vodka, so when the time came for us to trek up to Florrie and grace Rachel's Welcome to Brisbane Party i was well and truely munted.
I am oh-so-ashamed to admit that i stumbled into Florrie street an utter wreck. Leaving Kim to her own devices with people she had barely even met, i started a drunken rampage that would last as long as i clung to my bottle of vodka.
I vaguely remember the pitying stares of my friends, because for once i was the disgusting drunk slurring bastard that people try to avoid.
I do apologise to all i may have mocked. To the friends of Jess' whose names i refused to learn, instead calling them 'jacket' and 'salt and vinegar' for the evening. To Jess for shunning and yelling at her the next morning when i was hunched over the toilet bowl decorating it lovingly. To my Juno DVD for throwing it to the ground and leaving it outside for the sun to destroy. To the French boys that were out the front for making them say 'Vagina" in French over and over again. (Then yelling at them because the French word for Vagina is 'Shat' which i find disgusting)
Hell, i am choosing to write off that whole evening. I have a whole lot of baking to do to make up for the train wreck of an evening.

It's Tuesday now. I am back on solid food, just. (Anything not resembling dry toast or tea threatens to come right back up)
Lesson learnt.

I kind of feel absolved.
Until Next time.