"More Water"- Winning an argument with the workings of Father Ted and the Cats bottom.

The internet hates me. Seriously, it does, any technology hates me especially the internet and these things called computers, complicated stuff I tell you.

So my dad thought he'd be the clever man and get the internet up and running. Instead the whole thing failed due to the fact hes a plonker with technology, like me, but thinks hes not, leaving me muttering under my breath and banging on the keyboard, my usual technique for getting things working (case in point: broken USB port with the insides completely torn apart. To the point of in fact crashing the computer when inserted, beeping profusely and generally looking like the end of the world, the computer that now sits beside me unused, still broken four months later) . He then smugly stated that "well, my internet is working" and came into my room to work his magic hands.

I screamed "I've got my internet".

To which he said "ohhh to be sure, to be sure, the wee lass has got her internet"

This is a recurring occurrence, since living here my accent has gone off the rails. I say "yeah" at nearly the end of every sentence, or statement, or question or practically anything. I say "tortoise" like a Welsh person after repeating it constantly after watching "Mine all Mine" when he smuggles in tortoises. And sometimes my accent just goes odd, this could be because of imitating accents on shows after people say stuff, anything, like my Eastenders period which was painfully horrific ("innit, though?") or miming Audrey Hepburn in Funny Face, a rather nice comparison to Stacey.

So my father runs out of the room shouting "to be sure, to be sure, ohhhh the lass she got her internet, aiiiyy the wee lass" and something to do with potatoes as I hit and, screamed and called him "with plague".

As my father jigged out of the room he repeated his "wee lass" routine until he got down the end and cackled with my mother over my funny accent. Hearing this I shouted "my friend said no one says "to be sure, to be sure" in Ireland!" sounding distinctly like my former five year old self.

My mother replied with "I'm pretty sure they do on Father Ted".

Well, I guess the accent is better than my father winning every argument by pretending to be the cat. Speaking as the cat, even as my cat sits there licking his ass or is asleep. The cats voice a high pitched version of his own produced from the corner of his half closed mouth, in fact, rather obviously open, his attempt at ventriloquism. Never the less, he still wins arguments by talking from the cats arse and even has conversations with him stating "Scratchy is the only intelligent life around this place", "including yourself?". "Yep", "well, thats about right".

"Shake it like a polaroid picture"- doing so in fact harms your print

You're no flower anymore

My Friend the Chocolate Cake.

Clowns

Inspired by Alison Goldfrapp, who never, ever ages.

This intrigued me to no end

Get your Skag and lets go.

"Oh you want to start a book club with her?"

I love, love, love this movie, even if its a whole bunch of lies manufactured to help "indifferent" girls like me.

I will have the last laugh when I have achieved night vision.

Questions I have encountered on being Vegetarian:

"You don't eat meat?"
"No, no meat"
"Chicken"
"No, nothing from animals."
"Okay, seafood then."
"No, no meat, nothing, just vegetables."
"You want gravy?"
"No. Thanks."
"You no hungry?"

"You're on a deserted island and theres no coconuts, will you eat the animals and fishes around you?"

"Would you eat a person?" ("Yes, I have nothing against cannibalism")

"What if someone tricks you that the chicken they're eating is tofu, would you eat it? And you have no idea that they're eating meat, you think its tofu, would you eat it?"

"If your in a room with your cat and your going to die of starvation would you eat your cat?"

To continue onto from my "no" answer that if I did eat the cat I would still die of starvation, what kind of question is that, "would you eat your cat?":

"Is your cat meaty?"

"Could you get a good meal from your cat?"

"What if you eat your cat and then your let out of the room?" ("What, like Saw?" "Yeh! Exactly!")

"What if theres a nerve gas that if you don't eat your cat you'll die?"

"What if your cat is the anti to the gas, that if you suck its blood then you will live?"

I stated I would suck on my cats arm. Then they all thought I was gross, after that kind of question you're forced into it.

After that, I found this article on the almighty "Slink", which I only go to to read "The Don Juans" views on moths with special powers.

And heres my find:

"There's also the general rule that people will always tease those who are different. Plus the fact that vegetarians are one of the few remaining acceptable targets for discriminatory abuse, along with gingers and the French.

Slink Note: If you are ginger and/or French, on behalf of Kevin, we are sorry."

I am ginger.

Bastards.

10am Automatic Adelaide

After eight years I finally returned to my home. It always seemed a lot bigger, amazingly enormous but I guess I was amazingly short, so it all makes sense in the end.

I found all this stuff that we hurriedly packed up before we left, stuff I thought was of much value and was greatly needed for my return home. Now I look at it and its honestly a bunch of crap. There used to be this place called the Plaster Fun House, the title makes me laugh now, plaster and fun in the same sentence, but moving on, once we left, my brother and I it shut down. And I can see why, we practically funded the joint. My wardrobe housed about 600 different plaster objects, angry, transvestite looking fairies (my creation) to Fred the Dinosaur (my brothers collection) to mutated, purple horses (my creation). Each item just as badly painted as the next, at the time I thought I was supreme, now it looks like an intoxicated painter has thrown up upon a poorly made plaster kitten hugging a puppy and just for effect added glitter and feathers. It was all a bit upsetting really. Not as upsetting as finding my collection of "IMPORTANT TINGS OF CATLIN". This "secret" box contained a notepad in which I asked myself questions such as "Who are your friends?" (This greatly saddened me) to which I replied Hannah and Courtney. Throughout the "secret" notepad Courtney had drawn and written things. I could not remember who Courtney was, who the heck was Courtney? I asked my mother and still no answer. Then, I came to the memory of having an imaginary squirrel friend (don't mock me, I watched a lot of Farthing woods, or as my brother cleverly created "Farting Woods", I was influenced) called Courtney. Apparently Courtney could draw rabbits, and what seemed better than myself as each page showed a masterpiece signed Courtney and this crappy piece-a-crap next to it signed by: CAtLiN. Courtney owned me and she didn't even exist! (Hannah, I'm not quite sure about this Courtney, who the heck is she? Maybe she is real, maybe she is not, in fact, a squirrel)


The box also contained antenna with hearts on the end, a broken music box with kitschy kittens painted on the top (I remember pulling out the ballet dancer to see if she could dance by herself. She couldn't.), a picture of myself being mauled by Bugs Bunny and a book my father and I created. The book depicted drawings I had created and my fathers story next to it. In one drawing there shows a cat, next to it the caption reads "This is a yellow cat. No one likes the yellow cat because he keeps going around kissing everyone". I'm not quite sure if I or my father came up with this poetic little piece of writing but psychologist would have a field day with that."The patient has problems with intimacy".

The thing was, Adelaide was and is, freezing. Leaving me scrounging around to find things to wear to sleep in when it reached a painful six degrees. Heres what I developed.

I've outdone myself. Thankfully I only slept in this at night (accompanied by a woolen jumper, a sleeping bag, a rug and a quilt). I call it bogan chic yet that would in a sense, be an insult to the many millions of bogans that inhabit Adelaide. Let me explain, there seems to be about four main groups in Adelaide at this stage in time, Bogans, Sikhs, "Men in Suits" and Emos.

Let me put it into perspective. I get on the bus, and of course, being Adelaide you don't need a family reunion, you jsut get on a bus, and go sit next to my uncle, because it jsut so happens he was also on the bus. Once on the bus my uncle and I begin to laugh as three Sikh men are loudly grooving to Bollywood music on their phone. This continues for the entire bus ride that at some points, disgruntled old women tutted to the "bbbbRAANNNNGGGGGGGAAAAA" part comes on, that in a movie, would have the Bollywood hero, gut and moustache flying, wooing his love. Then a couple of emo lads stumbled aboard, unable to locate their seats due to their gelled mop hair, they eventually sat down and talked using "like" as an adjective, noun and adverb. Lastly a girl got on the bus, in what was keyed fashionable by the almighty Supre and Dolly, hipsters, singlet and small jacket with faux fur. Her hair was parted with a side fringe and didn't move, never, never ever, her hair defied the laws of gravity. So this "young thing" sits down and this poor lad, who I thought was a "Man in Suit" starts this conversation with her, obviously extremely keen (note, not "Man in Suit"). The girl talks about how she was pissed Friday and asleep in a gutter after she walked for "like, 6 billion miles", pissed Saturday and tried to drive her car but fell asleep on the steering wheel and pissed Sunday because usually she can't but Monday was a public holiday, ah! So the logic does exist to it, its not just "get pissed". Eventually after explaining her "whirl wind" weekend the guy asks about her course, if not a little to eager to keep the conversation going. "Oh, I'm doing a prac at the hospital tomorrow". She was training to be a nurse. I'm glad my life is in such good hands, that of which stated "so hes all, I'm gonna make out with Tracey cause your a slag, and I'm all like alright, I'm a slag".


I then exited the bus and was painfully stood up but never the less, I'm over it, right after I hunt that person down and hurt them in excruciatingly painful ways, like that of Johnny, the Homicidal Maniac. Then I'll be fine. Instead, I located my way around Adelaide (after sitting for ages with a hobo. I kid you not, a fricking hobo, bloody hell) , which I usually fail to do, unable to locate even the Malls Balls, the obvious mirrored balls that used to attract children now attract drug traders and religious girls with constant creepy smiles on their faces, staring right at you, in some ways scarier than the drug traders who were clean cut, smooth students with nice hair. I found the best record shop in Adelaide, Big Star, thankfully this time I restrained myself and did not pick up every single free catalogue they have lying on the floor. This comes as a result from my last experience where I picked up all catalogues including "Feast". Unknown to me, simply acting upon the pretty heart shape on the cover, I picked it up, not knowing that it was a magazine specifically created for gays or lesbians. Walking up to the counter, where an interesting looking man served me I got the slow smile as I placed my catalogues on the counter to pay. After having it prominently displayed in my bag for the entire day, getting on the bus home I flipped through to wonder why constant transvestites and rainbows were featured, lastly the "gay pride" gave me my answer. I quickly stuffed the suspicious article to the back of my bag, checked around and instead read "Rip it Up". I felt wronged, my need for free stuff had let me down, never had this happened before.

Recently in an English exam we had to write about memories as a child. My memories all stem from my home and its odd that I'm coming back to a place I lived as a child as a young women. In the exam I wrote "I believed him, (about fairies coming at night, the basis of my story) due to the understanding that all good things came at night, Father Christmas, The Tooth Fairy and chocolate delivered by over sized bunnies", and thats how I thought. For example things I greatly valued, plastic heart antenna, now mean nothing to me, I am going back a completely different person. Its a tad scary. Anyway, heres some old memories. Ugh, we're so old.

HILLS MONTERSSORI SCHOOL REUNION!

Elevator Music

Well heres photographs from the following month from my ever faithful photo drive, Kingston. Dead set, its comes up with "Kingston", hes a Butler.

The real face of Disney. Seriously, would you want to sleep next to that thing? It looks like the precursor to Chucky. The one on the far (gets out hands and produces L shapes) right is French Mickey. Porquoi? He had a moustache. Yes, Disney is in now way stereotypical. As shown in High School Musical, the British truly are nice people and no, the Americans do not always have to win.

I know its racist, but isn't that simply fantastic phrase, "Golly its good", with a golly-wog, whoever thought of that is just, sheesh, I would shake their hand.

Heck yes.
For Kellatron, even if you are "snarky"

Its a white rabbit. Minus melamine.

Pass this on! Its a cracker!

I received this in an email. I found this incredibly funny. But I also think my 'fraid not/frayed knot joke is the work of pure genius, so I guess I'm no judge.

And finally the week comes to an end. I had a deep emotional experience today, thank you Kirra.

So two more exams, thankfully, as my attention is fading away rapidly.In the last exam I found myself humming "Big Girls Don't Cry" to which I condemned, "back demon, back" in my head and desperately tried to change to "Boys Don't Cry". Basically I wasn't concentrating too hard on the exam. Which may have caused me to not read the question correctly and just write about any artist I knew, such as Dali, just because I knew his life story and Pierre-Auguste Renoir so I could make a critical quote (phwoar!). I mentioned him painting his elbows blue, which he truly did do, so, c'mon, he has to give me marks for that, and I did study him. Just in my own time.

"Nerds don't know they're nerds, if they did, the world couldn't function".

And who encrypts?

Rupert Giles!

I also found myself pondering on the properties of cream cheese. Is it cheese or is it cream? How very utterly confusing. Is it carrot or is it cake?

Besides that we discussed our favourite chat up lines today in our intense hardcore study session. Mine include:

"Fat penguins....Just a way to break the ice"

"That shirt is very becoming on you. If I was on you, I'd be coming too"

"The word of the day is legs. Lets go back to mine and spread the word"

I told these to my friend and he stated I'd changed and was no longer innocent. What is this, a conspiracy? I am innocent, I may not be five with a flat nose therefore proving the existence of evolution, but I am innocent.

Kirra's favourite is "if I said you had a nice body, would you hold it against me". And guess what, I just go it. At that precise moment, after years of hearing it I finally got it.

This coincides with my brothers statement of "are you just stupid at home or at school as well?" (this came when I frustrated, told him the fridge, that had remained in that position for about 20 years before and the switch created for the purpose of the fridge, didn't work and the plug didn't plug in after about 20 minutes of trying to plug the fridge in. My brother came and turned the plug around and lodged it in. He then did the impression of a retarded child trying to get circle into triangle, told me it was me and walked off. I guess it didn't help that when his friends came around I poured him a glass of chocolate milk, pestered his friends asking them if they want chocolate milk, sounding like the toaster in Red Dwarf and sent him out the door with muffins and half a bottle of wine. I don't make a good impression). So there you go dear brother, school as well.

Plus I added in the "It's Time" campaign into my answer. I said I would and I said Whitlam was hip. (Intended African American slang-TRUE DAT!)

Now to study as opposed to my parents teacher interview ("Oh Catlin says that healths the subject where she doesn't do anything, its her laid back time".) I am to work and learn the wonders of the difference between contraception and protection and the term "sexually active".

To all those history students out there

This is for you.


As stated, if Obama got this groove on he could rule the world, just like Whitlam.

What the Candy Man can

Experiments funded by Mars(Snickers, M and Ms, Skittles):

* Rats have been force-fed chocolate chemicals and had needles jabbed directly into their still beating hearts.
* Rabbits have been cut apart to determine the effects of cocoa on muscle tissue.
* Guinea pigs have had cocoa ingredients injected into arteries in their necks to measure the impact on their blood pressure.

And these are only a few of the tests that Mars has funded. Perhaps most disturbingly of all, not one of Mars' experiments on animals is required by law.

At least I can hide with the badgers

Ah, children. A woman knows all about her children.
She knows about dental appointments and romances, best friends,foods, secret fears hopes and dreams.

A man is vaguely aware of some short people living in the house.


A friend sent this, it slightly pissed me off because it said that men were the far superior species because of their inadequacy and due to the fact they refer to themselves as "Fat Boy" therefore proving them to be more laid back (no, its just because they cannot remember their names) and don't divide the bill equally, each putting in 20 bucks for a 30 buck meal for three (this is due to the fact they cannot divide, not because they're bloody laid back) but this one caused me to laugh because I am blessed with chronic shortness. Once taller than my friends, I am now a true definition of the Australian term "short ass".

I know when to go out, I know when to stay in

Yet, I cannot complete the end of this beginning (thats a tad odd isn't the end of this beginning, sounds highly philosophical or just like someone with very bad ways of expression) to this amazing song, because, sadly, I don't get things done.

Anyway, heres what I have been doing instead, tubing, sadly not into the realms of London Below, but never less, check out these finds.

Rosin Murphy- "You Know Me Better"
I have recently acquired a taste for electro music. It sickens me, as I used to oppose it so much, but I'm quite into that "stuff" at the moment, the whole synth bit, Ladyhawke kind of thing, although this greatly differs. This is Rosin Murphy previously from Moloko (remember, "Sing it Back", dominating the Triple J airwaves for a good reason, its so damn catchy). The main drawing power for this song for me is the fact the video is based on the works of Cindy Sherman, its rather fantastic.

The Displacements- "Frontline Hearts"
Oh god! The beginning of this blew me away, it reminded me of Joy Division, The Cure a sort of mixed punch of all of those tunes around then. Then I thought shit! Is that the bloke from "Angus, Thongs and Perfect Snogging"? But no, thank god, just bad lighting. This song is positively amazing, this is for the repeat list, in which one song I play on repeat, constantly and still never sicken of it.

White Williams -"Violator"
Again, the synth, if not for the end I could imagine this song being something you play behind doing average activities or not so average activities. Its rather catchy, like "ch-ch-changes" but saying "vi-vi-violator". Maybe at the end the average activities have turned into some kind of riot! (Child on lemonade dance ensue)

The Lodger- "The Good Old Days"
This is so sweet, the just look the regular blokes you get down at the shops, adorable aren't they?The music is a tickling fantastic, inspiring me to get up and try and dance naturally, fail, but still continue, its that good. The video is sweet, too, like a permanent 60's filter over it and everythings orange! C'mon what more can you ask for! I'm inspired to hug someone due to this song.

The Popguns- "Someone You Love"
A sort of softer The Cranberries, to put it into context. Its the sort of stuff you listen to as an angsty teenage girl that still wants harmony. Shoegazer period, like the Pale Saints, 1989 I think. From this I was linked to the Hollow Men- "November Comes", which just made me laugh, but its a delight to watch.

Winter Hours- "Wait Till The Morning"
Its deeply romantic poetry in an amazing song, it sort of reminds me of The Church, for reasons beyond me, I love it, the videos in black and white and the cut out bits cause you to ponder the meaning of life and cold frosty mornings.

And lastly, a video I sourced after Triple J's morning show, did you know theres a channel now thats basically just Triple J in Australia? I'm thinking "holy shit! What other wonders are on TV in Australia?" After that I was greeted with Top Gear Australia, proving us to be truly the convicts we are. Because we steal. And not even that well. But anyway, heres Augie March.

Augie March- "Pennywhistle"
My gran and I sat there watching this video (my gran is what can be considered as "hip", she listens to Lily Allen but refers to her as "the lovely girl with the pretty dresses".) she defined it as a good song because it caused her foot to involuntarily start tapping. The song is worthy of foot tapping thats for sure but the video is hilarious as well, especially when he beats the whistle blowing boy up, thats ace.

So, now I shall start working, I was meant to start at two. Its six. Procrastinators of the world unite but later, yeh?

I'm talking about peace of mind

"In the high school of Australia, Tasmania lurks down by the bins, watching beautiful Melbourne and Sydney laugh and frolic, hoping the even weird kid Adelaide will sit next to it at lunchtime" - Justin Heazlewood

So thats what we are? Weird kid Adelaide? I understand that this piece is being derogatory to Tasmania, but please, weird kid Adelaide? At least Tasmania is the mutt of the pack and people at least know it. Adelaides the weird one that no one know about, thats meek and mild relying upon penguins for tourism. When a cab driver asked me where I was from, I joyfully announced "Adelaide" to a response of "in Africa? Arr..". Shocked, I mumbled, "no..Australia?" (wondering if such was also known). To which he happily told me his son lives in Perth, as do most taxi drivers have done since. I am amazed how many cab drivers have sons or family in Perth. The figures are outstanding, 4 out of 5 times I tell you. The money must be good, if everything falls out and I can't even get a job driving baggage around at airports (which the only real thrilling thing is the understated power of driving those buggies and beeping at those ponces in first class) I will become a cab driver. I may not have job satisfaction but at least the moneys good. I am chronically lost in about every place I ever go to but I can work around this.

So Adelaide, its the place known for churches and old people and thats about it. I know this due to the creativity of the students in my year who constantly repeat this fact as their number one insult to me and my home town. Yet, surprisingly, you ignorant fools, there is more to Adelaide. Why yes, we are the creepy murder capital of the world, as quoted by "Dexter", we own Italian Spiderman and Vampire lawyers and...wine. Inspired? I know I am.

When asked why was I coming back, Adelaide must seem like a hole to Singapore, I said "no, Adelaide has nice...lighting"

And thats all I could think of.

Truthfully I do love my little hole, I love the weird ones, just not Tasmania, they're all inbred.

She needs a face lift

Banksy's new work in New York "The Village Pet Store and Charcoal Grill", finishing on October 31st. Depicting social commentary on a number of animal abuse issues, such as animal testing, mass culling of chickens for groups like McDonalds and general eating of animals. The animals are electronically created and the life likeness, especially that of the monkey, is shockingly accurate, almost creepily so. If this is what Banksy spends his money from the Pitts, then I have no objections. My favourite by far is the rabbit looking at itself in the mirror.

Theres a video on the internet where someone is laughing and saying "I don't get this one but that rabbit is more classier than I'll ever be". You got it. They were Americans.

I Know, I Know, its Serious

I have a problem. Not like your usual teenage problems, no drugs (as explained before, after not much sleep, I become almost drugged. I do stupid things, like explaining my theory that groups of fish should be called "fosh". This is particularly hilarious when trying to explain to New Zealanders. They think you're taking the piss. My mother often thinks I am pissed, its all a bit of a mess really.), no sex and not much rock n' roll.

So whats my problem?

I'm a sleepaholic. I am addicted to sleep.

I can't help it. Recent trends in my life show that I'm addicted. I crave sleep, I sit there and think of how nice it would be to be sleeping. I think of lying down on clean sheets, of the joys of closing my eyes, I close my eyes for brief seconds, hoping no one will notice, I think of pillows, lovely, puffy pillows. With feathers. And I'm doing it now. This, my friends, often fails me in normal life situations.

For instance, my 6pm nap (this is not usual, I have not yet turned into my grandmother. Although I am well on the way. I wear cardigans, whine about being cold and back ache and knit. I'm waiting for some young hip thing, with a name like Cindy, because really, all hip things have a name that seems to end in Y, to take my body and use it to its full potential. Getting smashed, knowing the Soulja boy dance and listening to the music of Snoop Doggy Dog.) on a Saturday turned into a 16 hour snooze. All I remember was standing up to turn off my music and then going out cold. only to be awoken at what I thought was 5am. Mumbling "bloody hell, who smses at 5am" (besides Kirra, asking when a concert would be, well not in the next two hours, when I was sleeping- just kidding) before dropping like a dead man yet again. I later checked my phone after my semi-coma to see it was sent at 11:34pm, asking to go dress shopping.For some odd reason, I declined.

Often my sleep addiction can lead to troubles in class. Particularly in Science, in the midst of a fascinating video ("Hi! I'm Tony, the Y Chromosome! Let me show you around a cell!", by golly! Yes please!)I find myself slowly falling asleep. To aid myself I have come up with a genius plan. So to look like I am paying attention to Tony, the excited, some what despite his Y Chromosome, gender confused chromosome, I cover one eye with my hand. Therefore I am half sleeping, I am fooling them all! No, unlike the rest of my class, who simply sleep, I achieve both, sleep and seemingly paying attention. I explained this theory to my attentive audience. The response was negative. Although this could have gone hand in hand with my theory of "fosh", I don't think I could ever redeem myself from such theory.

But heres my other theory (Yes, the science blood does not run through this one). If I am sleeping, I'm not eating, therefore, its like a diet program. My sleep is also pretty intense, I often sleep in some sort of yoga position or else find myself upside down (I tried to stop this. Some folk legend I saw on the ABC channel as a kid said if you sleep upside down you give birth to a hedgehog baby. I remember the image of the baby, some odd man dressed as a hedgehog wailing. I have been scared ever since.). Strangely no book deals have come through, but I am sure, once they catch on, it'll be bigger than Atkins.

I explained this to my mother, to explain the seriousness of my problem. She stated I was simply lazy. "Laziness it not serious, its teenage".

Shes in denial.