September 04, 2002 @ 12:57 a.m.
Any Thirst, Only Camel Toe

I found out today that I am officially suffering from exhaustion. Ooh-er. I suppose that means I'd better lay off my wild lifestyle of late-night homework binges and craaaaaaazy weekends where I sometimes leave the house up to three times in that mere two days. I should probably look at changing my social circle somewhat, too. Relationships seem to have soured somewhat. The computer, the TV and my CD collection seem less eager to see me now than they once did.

Has anyone but me noticed that the popularity of jelly (or jello if you prefer) wrestling seems to have died out in the past few years? I am greatly perturbed by this fact. Unless it's just been pushed underground? But no. I can't believe that. I can't believe a country like Australia would push the fine art that is jelly wrestling underground whilst allowing the fuckomenon that is Popstars to keep right on existing. Actually, you know, I can believe that after all.

Fuck it, I'm emigrating. I don't care where I go. First person to offer me a couch in their home country (preferably a couch that belongs to them or that they at least have some sort of claim to) gets to have me as a financially dependent houseguest until I get bored of you and your stupid foreign ways and fuck off back home again. How can you possibly resist?

I ask about the jelly wrestling because somehow it is related to the feelings of discontent I have with certain areas of my life at the moment. I'm not sure how. It just is. Perhaps because I feel settled in routine and that's freaking me out - I wake up knowing almost exactly what each day is going to bring, and FUCK IT! I'm nineteen and sluttish and should be out there having adventures! And possibly STD medication (see self-description point two)!

It's majorly because of work. I really am leaving this time, honest. Although probably not for a while yet. I'm not sure my poor fragile little mind can deal with more effort and change at the moment. I'm thinking that since I've about six weeks of semester left, I'll hang it out until then, and play jobsearch afterwards. I want the kind of job that the porn shop promised to be and was for a while but now isn't because I'm bored: not necessarily interesting in and of itself, but providing the necessary means for interesting interactions with the world at large (or is that 'enlarged'?). I may relinquish this desire and go back to bar work instead, because there's a certain morbid satisfaction to be gained in wiping down the bar whilst watching someone sob into his Guinness.

Plus, I get sick of the unwilling people dragged into the shop by their friends/partners muttering about the poor exploited women in the videos and occasionally shooting me Very Nasty Looks like I am personally responsible for this. This pisses me off no end. I mean, these chicks are earning a couple of grand per scene (even more if you convert their American-dollar earnings into measly Australian pesos), I'm on fifteen-fucking-fifty (Australian pesos) an hour with no fucking employee rights because work doesn't hire people as part time staff, only as casuals, and the porn stars are the ones who are being exploited?

Phew. You're lucky I don't hang out with the Socialist Alternative crowd at Uni. Actually, so are they: upper-middleclass whiteboy socialism is one of the few things that can still inspire me to fits of violent rage in these, my calm and ancient days.

Random Tidbit of Sharehouse Fun: Today Annabelle bought a trashgossip magazine, which I wasted no time in approptiating in order to catch up on some vital pieces of gossip (tomorrow's task: draw moustaches on the irritating celebrities). Because I am the sort of kid who always stole other kids' lolly supplies, I started doing the entertainment-themed crossword. Some stupid TV show was on - a talk panel type thing about what Australian women supposedly want in this day and age. Four of the Five were present. It was was one of those bonding moments: Annabelle having a nailpolish crisis; Deirdre and Eliza having a political argument with the teev, which was refusing to answer back; and yours truly curled into an armchair staring with consternation at the misappropriated (ooh, me use big words lots!) crossword and realising how out of the loop I am when it comes to all things Who Weekly. Conversation loops and circles, largely ignored by me apart from the occasional insightful comment ("Hey! There's paint on the ceiling!") or remarkably offensive comment (what, you think I save them for here? Hell no - I am markedly more puerile and horrendous in real life. Online is where I wear pigtails and talk nicely to your mother). And a scream of "SHERBET!" during a particularly heated political debate, during which I have finally remember the name of the great Darryl Braithwaite's former band. Derision is flung in my direction. Deb arrives home with guest in tow. I like guest because guest has a fingermonkey. I want a fingermonkey too.

You know, when I started typing that anecdote, there was a point somewhere. Oh well.

Today I decided to buy a kebab for lunch from the new cafe that has opened in the plaza where I do my grocery shopping. Kebab itself turned out to be most disappointing, but staff were interesting. I have decided it is the Kebab House of Iniquity. The female staff were all of very above average looks (even the old one; I now fear letting my granny-chasing boyfriend walk past the KHoI lest I be unceremoniously dumped in a frenzy of support-hose lust). They were all extremely heavily made up and jewellried, and whilst having to wear a uniform shirt, managed to express their individuality in their choice of pants. The girl who served me was sweet and in hipsters, but I kind of regretted not being served by the girl in the black slacks with the really obvious case of camel toe. I find camel toe endlessly amusing, and was somewhat surprised to be confronted by it whilst waiting for my meal. Of course, walking away with my lunch, my mind immediately kicked into smut mode, and I started thinking up camel-toe related slogans ("Camel Toe: the perfect accompaniment for every meal!"). I think I'll go back there tomorrow and pitch some of them at the cafe owner (although it's possible "I feel like Camel Toe tonight!" might risk infringement of copyright). I could do with some extra cash.

Wow, two updates in two days, and one more not too many days before that! This is exhausting! It's like having sex, only someone besides me is getting something out of it.

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