You know, it’s funny...

A word of advice, when undressing manikins, it’s not a good idea to name them. Addressing the manikin, “Hey sexy,” whilst tearing his pants off in the sight and hearing range of customers lends itself to slightly perverse interpretations. It also doesn’t make it any less weird when you have your head in Bob’s chest, your hands on his arse and you’re staggering backwards up the stairs panting. I don’t know, perhaps it’s only me who found the situation funny; the raised eyebrows of my customers led me to believe they only found it inappropriate.

Incidentally, the “Jesus died to save your soul” so “repent ye sinner,” lest you suffer “eternal damnation” for “all of fiery eternity” in the “rages of hell” yadayada missionary van that roars around the streets honking its horn went passed 8 times after that incident. Coincidence?

Just to clarify, I’m not attracted to plastic people.

In other news, I’m leaving oranges behind me wherever I go. I take them with me in good stead for a healthy diet and invariably do not eat them because I can’t be bothered cutting it up, getting all sticky and having shit stuck in my teeth, and so it’s left alone and partially damaged in the sandy corner of my bag, behind a pile of papers on my desk, turning into an icicle in the over enthusiastic fridge at work or silently rotting in the passenger seat of the car... It’s sad really and a phenomenal waste of fruit. So I went about and collected them up, dusted them off and put them back in the fridge.

Have you ever wondered where that orange you’re eating has been?

Forms. Application forms, cancelation forms, registration forms, enrolment forms; they are all different and yet more or less the same thing and yet if you don’t have the correct one the lady behind the counter will scowl at you and if you use blue ink when it clearly states black she’ll know what a no-hoper-arts-student you must be and if you tick where you are supposed to cross? Well how in the heck will they ever be able to figure out what you really mean?!?! Thus, when filling out a basic heres-my-credit-card-details-take-my-money-you-bastard-governement form just recently I started to draw a cross in the specific box, before realising to my horror that unlike the previous form from the same government department, this one required a tick. Panicking, I decided to add a line at the top, to make it look more tick like. The result was an upside down, back to front tick which looked retarded, to be as politically incorrect as possible, and so I sighed and decided it may as well be a cross after all, drew another line before realising with a shock that it was now beginning to look all too much like a swastika..... oh dear.

Apparently I’ve lost weight, through absolutely no fault of my own. I’ve noticed because I’ve gone down a belt notch and because nice, friendly, observant people keep mentioning it.
“Wow, you’re looking slim,” they muse. “Yep. A diet of stress and heartache will do that to ya’” I laugh.“Oh, that’s no good, hope you’re feeling better?” they respond, taken aback.“What, you want me to get fat again, is that what you’re saying?”

Some people just cannot take a compliment.

Talking about talking, as a student there’s a question I get asked a lot. What is it, people would like to know, that I will do after I graduate. Where am I headed, what’s my grand plan, my ultimate scheme for world domination per say.

“Well I majored in German and History.”
”Oh, so you’re going to be a German history teacher?”
“No.”
“A historian in Germany?”
“No.”
“A German historian?”
Sigh.

There’s probably only one thing I’ve become sure of lately and that is that I am not cut out for academia. It’s just so frightfully hard not to laugh in the midst of a serious historiographical discussion on the merit of theory vs. facts when the person next to you claims to have independently disproven 200 years of historical consensus with her honours thesis on the anti-something sentiment in England between 1641 and 1643 *inhale* and your finger is throbbing because a Kookaburra stole your muesli bar, the rest of which is melting in your pocket while your stomach growls audibly.

Then they ask you for your opinion and being always prone to say the smartest most intellectually stimulating thing you can,you state that you’re not entirely sure of the worth this wordy, dry and boring reading may have, but at least this historian is better looking than the previous one.

Kookaburra sits in the old gum tree, merry merry king of the bush is he.That arsehole.

And if you’re not yet “riding the roflcopter” so to speak I’ve got one last, random, incoherent but potentially funny anecdote to share with you. It may or may not have become apparent to you, but the last few weeks in Lea’s world have been full of angsty angsty angst, the culmination of which is anger, frustration and hateful inner currents. As I have stormed about dramatically this past week I have pulled a muscle kick starting my scooter, burst the blood blister I got from a particular kookaburra attack, lost my pen, glared vehemently into space and caused myself a decent bruise on top of my head from throwing myself against immovable objects. Suffice to say I’ve had my knickers in a bit of a twist. In fact, yesterday I actually discovered that they were literally on inside out. I know, I know, TMI right? Well take it from me folks, realising you have been wearing your undies inside out all day is both hilarious and frightfully scary.

It was then that it occurred to me that I might actually be weird. But that’s never stopped my before, so here’s a tip that will definitely save your life, put your undies on inside out and get out there and laugh.