A MEATBALL JUST BURNED THE ROOF OF MY MOUTH

So, I haven’t written on this thing is ages. There just isnt anything to write about and everything just ends up in some heinous angry rant anyways. I’m pretty useless at everything I’ve attempted this year. I’m a emotionally retarded wanker. My wrist smells like I’ve got some indian essence on it. Ew, that’s gross. I still haven’t got myself a job. I’m trying to diet, although I don’t think it’s even going well. I’m still ugly and poor, I’ve still got dandruff and I smell like tuna. My room is a mess, the top two subjects in this gay-ass household is the dying dog and the bloody cafe consent issues (get a room), and I can’t drive for shit (or some people say). I am depressed! I’m fat and all I think about is becoming a long-legged beauty in distressed skinny jeans, wearing a loose, low cut top with no bra underneath. Like you see in the magazines. Every single magazine. But here I am, logging onto Facebook 6 times a day and finding nothing. It is shit depressing.

FEARFUL

Fear is no good feeling. It ravages you in a way that you can’t explain. It makes what exists a harder reality. It eats you and it toys you around. It makes what could have potentially been good, a living disaster. Fear is an enemy and you can be sucked deep into it as quick as anything.

I know right now that fear has taken hold. I just wish I could breathe a sigh of air, to get all these bad, worrisome feelings out and have some assurance. But nothing can be assured right now. I want comfort and the hope to bring in the thing that is not existing right now.

I feel like life is gonna get worse. It’s just like one of those times where you don’t understand how depressing life is until you pull through that moment. And I feel like I am seeping into the darkness, deeper and deeper. Not coming out of it. I feel like God has ridiculed me.

CRAZY WIND

Right. So…yes…what…..how…why?

OK, so I’m bored. You know, I’ve managed to keep my room moderately tidy. I hate that word. Moderately. Is that even a word? So I spent yesterday watching clips of THE STRANGERS and THE BLACK BALLOON. Yes, Gemma Ward movies. THE BLACK BALLOON  was the most heartbreaking and tearful movie ever. Probably just as much as THE BUTTERFLY EFFECT. Screw that film, I hate Ashton Kutcher anyway. Bu this film, it was the most close to reality film I’ve ever seen. Well yeah, Aussie accents are similar to Kiwis’ and the whole typical average suburbia and suburban school thing totally hit home. Not to mention, the type of parents and going to the supermarket and all that. I think the only thing that was really out of place was Gemma Ward and her face and body. You will never see some girl like her in my suburb. Ever. If I did, I would do my best to befriend her immediately. But for all that goes for annoying neighbours who shriek at the top of their voices, oldies with their gardening hoses, supermarket tantrums, bullies and bitch PE teachers, it’s all pretty much relative to what I have seen. And of course, the producer would of really aimed to put the whole average as a piece of Vegemite sandwich essence into it. There are so many of us suffering from that suburbia depressing downfall. Some of us have to face it every single day. I do. It’s all about the go-find-yourself-something-to-do syndrome when really, there isn’t anything to begin with. Fuck it. That’s what you’re thinking every day. Cos I definitely am. That’s why I wake up at 12:20pm every day with no clue in the world what to do.

OMG. That whole PE teacher representation thing was right on the money, I’m telling you. And I feel it even more cos the swimming pool was just one of my many lack of efforts and talents. You would never understand how much I detested PE teachers. Of course, I can’t blame them for my shit presence but female PE teachers freak the shit out of me OK!? The way that they are sooooo uptight, so heinous, so blonde, sooooooo biased about everything. Screw them and their lanyards, their brand ugly clothing, their heinous ponytails and their nasty nasal voices. That is exactly what NZ PE teachers are. And after watching that film, I’m just gonna say that it’s the same for the Aussieland as well. You would not understand my fear for PE. The teacher was this demon. At least her aura projected it. And you know what? I really cared for what she thought of me sometimes. Because the younger, blonder and more narcissistic teachers are, they are bound to make you feel like some failing, embarassment of an arse. OMG, I am just reviewing my tragic days in my mind. They send the biggest chills down my spine. I just wish I never went through that. It was the worst thing ever. It practically caves my head in, just thinking about it. And if there is anybody in my position right now, at this very secoond, then I suggest: RUN!!!!!!!!!!! Run away or else you will face what I faced and it will godright scar you for the rest of your life. Life is hard enough without having to go through those extra pains. PUBERTY IS A BITCH. I can’t express it even more. But of course, there are people who never have had to go through the gawkiness of puberty. Some people just develop beautifully and gracefully and I can’t understand why that is. If only I had known the secret. Well, I still don’t and I never will, so let’s move on from that. I can still see the PE teachers facials in my mind. The look of disappointment. of the cackling, the pity, the god-you’re-such-an-ugly-failing-bitch. I know I can easily dig up pics of these bitches online right now. But I’m not. And if I ever see these people ever again in somewhere typical like Taka Central, then I will toss my head and make sure that my years of humiliation are way over. OK, maybe not exactly. But definitely those puberty years. And I know that they will be the cellulite-ridden, short, sunburnt blondes who should just give up their jobs for something else.

I can’t wait for that day. Really can’t. The day of vengeance.

PRIME EXAMPLE OFF GOOGLE IMAGES. THIS IT SOME SCARY SHIT.

I DON’T UNDERSTAND WHAT LIFE IS ALL ABOUT!

OK, let’s be honest, the reason that I am hardly ever writing on this gay, unvisited blog anymore  is cos writing rants about shit and the other shit that is accumulating in my arsehole existence is just DEPRESSING and even knowing that I have this ‘All up my neck of the woods’ blog about my misfortunates is pretty reeeeetarded. I’m just talking to a brick wall, writing all this shit when karma is such a bitch. I don’t even get back anything for the niceness which I have given out. People say that you shouldn’t expect anything for anything you do. Well, I used to believe in that and never did, but now, I am wondering where that long overdue karma for me is. Did it get lost in the mail? Did whoever makes this thing called karma decide that it wasn’t for me? Life is a bitch without even thinking pessimisticly. My looks are enough to say that ‘God’ spent absolutely no time on me. My life is a shambles. I do not understand the meaning of going through this absolutely silly existence. I feel like I have been pushed onto the ‘Ridiculous Shitty Train’ and have become enveloped in a world where nothing good happens for no reason whatsoever. Access. Access is something that is just not accessible whatsoever. You think the words ‘lucky’or ‘convenient’ applies to my life? It never has. Everything has been out of my league. I feel like I’ve been pushed into a corner.

Like today, I was cleaning my room. Ha. Yes, for once,my day had come to clean my filthy, mould-ass room. And I’m even cleaning it on a day where the weather is humid and muggy as shit. My hair sticks to my forehead, I’m sweating, I feel bloated, and I’ve got my lights on in the afternoon. And right after I did my very best to clean things, I decide to push out the ugly piece of furniture with ugly red knobs out of my miniscule room and into the part of the hallway which leads into my room. All of a sudden, my room looks better. Not at all flash, but definitely better than what I knew. So now, I can put a chair at my desk and actually put my laptop on the desk and type out the shit I am typing right now. This is probably the first time I’ve actually used my computer on my desk in ages. My desk is usuallya dumping zone for the shit that has no home.

But then all of a sudden, the typical parentals come along and tell me that the ugly piece of furniture which I just moved out of my room can’t be there. And then they start ranting on about how it actuallycan fit into my room and how my bed is too big and much space there actually is to my room. What the fuck. THERE JUST AIN’T. I hate it when people make it like this tinsy winsy space which I have inhabited my whole life is actually big. Get a life!!!!! This is a freaking kid’s room. It ain’t some wannabe fashionista’s room. Nowhere near. My wardrobe is probably a metre in length and half a metre in width. I cannot fit my 5-minute fashion from Supre in there! I wanna redecorate my room but this is just killing it. There’s no use in starting something on a room that is just already yuck. It’s like, you can’t take heaps of makeup and make a retarded face like mine into freaking Lily Donaldson. Ugly ducklings will never be swans. Get the fuck over it. This shit ghetto will never be New York. And then the parentals start going on about how they’re gonna attempt to put back that ugly furniture in my room which is crying out for breathing space. No way. If I do, then I know my room is gonna become a filthy dump again. Like it always has!!! I’m listening to my Shania Twain CD right now and I just wish I was living in the countryside.

So I don’t know what to say. My room is an arse and so is my life. I feel like getting on my high horse and galloping away to the hills. And live in a beautiful country house and bake cookies and go to the beach and continue to listen to my Shania Twain CD. That’s what listening to Shania makes me wanna do! She inspires me to become a country bumpkin. Shania Twain, if you are reading this right now, tell me I should become a country bumpkin! I sure don’t have a house in the deep south but that don’t mean…………..OK, WTF????? I really am drifting off.

OK, this is really hot. Shania just about to get onto her high horse. This is how I want to live my life right at this second.

SHIT, I’VE GOT BAD B.O!!!

I smell horrendous. Well, at least my armpits do. Why do armpits smell so bad? Imean, sweat which you excrete out of your chest don’t smell as bad. And deodorant just makes it worse! And deodorant leaves that gross yellowish mark on your white shirt which is absolutely dee-sgusting. I also have disgusting armpit hair which grows and grows and I can never get a close enough shave. And I’m not gonna wait till it’s long enough for me to wax off. No fucking thanks.

I just had two large chunks of beef lasagne. It tasted fabuloussssss though. Nothing is better than tucking into that undeniably amazing pasta. But calorie overload, I have to mention. I usually only have one slice due to my impending broadness, but today, I just needed to eat two. I’ve been naughty these days. I think I’ve just given up on the fact that my bone structure ain’t gonna change. I had milk today. And yesterday as well as two times before that. And I had two vegemite and cheese sandwiches yesterday. And a ham and cheese melt the day before. I really am a bitch. I had 3 toffee pops, one jaffa biscuit as well as a whole bunch of those gingerbread cookies yesterday. I’m gonna stop that. I’m gonna stop eating sugar. OK????????

O MY GOD. O MY GOD. MELTED CHEESE IS YOUR ASS' WORST ENEMY.

I AM SO JEALOUS OF PEOPLE WITH AMAZING FASHION BLOGS

Honestly. People who have the skill, money, beauty and ability to operate a fashion blog are such geniuses. I don’t mean to sound like a pessimistic, dumbing-myself-down bitch here, but I don’t think that I could even begin a fashion blog. I mean, hello, look at me. FUG-LY…… HAHAHA. Not just my personal appearance, but a lot of things in my life. That’s why I love photography (well, if you can call pointing and shooting at some XXL beach bums a type of photography), cos it allows to create something that may be untrue or just fantasised. OK, that did not make sense, but it is hard to explain. I mean, I could stand in front of a Remuera house and take a pic of myself and then imagine that I live in that house. Gahhhhhh. What a dumb example.

So I was reading this one girl’s blog today and it totally makes sense the type of people who can make successful blogs. This girl had an amazing house, as she took pics of herself in her bedroom (big), library (big), living room and kitchen (big), and by her garden and pool (what more could you possibly have???). Not to mention, she was thin (as in, backbone sticking out and no boobs), she could sew well and her mother has an amazing wardrobe and is possibly in the fashion in-the-know. And then when I read further, it goes on about how she and her mum go shopping, eat out at healthy places and go see romantic films together. This girl goes and buys stuff from the internet, gets her dad’s hand-me-downs an just oozes fabulosity to the brim. She shops at chain stores and makes them look expensive. She drinks green tea, she eats sushi. She makes going to the sushi bar sound fabulous, even the matter of wearing clothes everyday sound fabulous. She takes pics of herself before going to school in her perfectly-pruned garden. She just makes life sound easy and fab. She just possesses the ingredients to make a catchy blog.

This is what would happen if I tried. Hi, today, I tried to buy some drapy tops and cardigans. Except my man shoulders and my boobs just get in the way of them looking good. Then I took pics of myself, but they looked horrendous. My double chin got in the way. A took a pic of myself in the shell-shaped container which babies use as a pool. Except I got stuck and worms were in there. Flies came and ruined me. Yech.

But I really wanna try. Maybe I should go and buy some items from the $2 shop and promote it as a trend-to-be. I don’t think so. Maybe jazz it up. No.

MY HEART BEGS FOR JAPAN

It really does. I seriously need to get back there. Funny, I my whole existence has been in NZ but Japan feels like home to me. I feel like I have been robbed of what could have been life for me if the parentals didn’t decide to move here. How comfortable in my own skin I could feel, how satisfied I could be. I wouldn’t have to be continuosly comparing myself to the blondes of NZ who I will never be. But Japanese people feel so foreign to me cos I don’t know any. That’s like saying, Kiwi people not knowing any other Kiwis. I feel like I”ve been left stranded in my own world where I just can’t get hold of somebody. The fact that I am here has scarred my mental wellbeing, for sure. I honestly cannot relate to these good ol’ Kiwis, but I also can’t relate to these Japanese people either. I have always felt like Kiwis are doing people like me a favour just by talking to us. I mean, why would you spend your breath and energy on a mentally unstable Japanese person with far too many hang-ups? Sometimes I don’t know what to think. My own mind scares me a lot of the time. Why do I think the way that I do????? What has influenced ths type of attitude???

But let me tell you, when I’m in Japan, I don’t feel like I am judged. Well, except for my hefty size maybe. Nobody in Japan has a bone structure like mine. There’s heaps of tall people, but not many broad people with boobs. When I was on the train with my cousin, I looked at the window reflection and it really looked like my shoulders were taking over the seats. What I am saying is, I don’t feel like I am judged in the way that my face doesn’t look abnormal and that I can think like Japan is my only existence. But of course, in the back of my mind, I know that I have to get back to this lonely suburbian Kiwi life where I just can’t relate to people. Where I feel guilty o just being here. Walking into a shop where all the assistants are pretty blondes is like interrupting a KKK meeting. OK, that’s too extreme!!! But I can’t rid myself of this behaviour and thinking. If some market researcher on the street speaks Chinese to me, assuming that I can’t understand english, then that infuriates me. Not only do they stereotype my ass, they fucking think I’m something I’m not. And then I hate myself for the rest of the week. But if I did answer to that market researcher, what am I gonna say??? “Uh hi, I can speak english, you know.”? “Uh, I’m actually Japanese.” ? “No sorry, not interested.”? And then they’d cackle and laugh. Some dick in intermediate laughed when he asked me if he could borrow my eraser and then when I answered in english, he cracked up, cos he didn’t think I could speak english since I was so shy.

Ridiculous. Ridiculous. All I wanna do is go and charge into Shibuya 109 right now. Ha ha, I definitely did not fit in there! This is another story, where even though I probably appeared to be Japanese, I didn’t look like one of those girls. In Shibuya, as you should already know, everybody dyes there hair brown/ blonde and has crazy make up and has amazingly slender bodies and different facial structure to traditional Japanese people. They live in their own world. And they like it and tourists like it as well. They are just a bunch of hot trendsetters which people are just amazed by. But going to that mall made me feel like how I feel when I walk into SUPRE where everybody inside are pretty blondes and exquisite redheads. I felt like a shame and people looked at me like a shame. It was like, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING HERE?????? It was like being back in highschool, being the geek of the class. At that moment I would of done anything to be a Shibuya girl myself. I just wanted to be one soooo much. It was a desperate heartache. They all seemed to have a story, and a mysteriousness to them which I just couldn’t emulate no matter how much I tried. I just wanted to throw away everything that had happened in my whole existence and replace it with this amazing fabulosity that I was viewing. I didn’t know a world like this existed. In my world, people live in suburbia, catch the bus to town and garden like grannies. People in my world don’t glam up. Going to Takapuna beach and eat a cheap ice cream at the mall is what they do. People sit at the foodcourt till late evening where all the food is going off and just linger in with random convos. IT’S NOT LIKE THAT IN SHIBUYA! The evening is when the day starts. The nightlife is the highlight of the 24 hours. People don’t sleep. People go out, have their booze, hang out, go shopping, eat the delicious food and just live amazingly.

THE CITY HAD NO PHOTO OPPS-I AM DISAPPOINTED!

I really am. I thought the city would provide me with a few decents shots but no, I didn’t even get my camera out cos there were no good subjects! Most people were just plain boring. Like the ones on the beach. I saw this really pretty Asian girl at the Japanese store though. She could have been half caste. She was slim and tall and had a really nice face. I just wanted to get out my camera and snap her but it wasn’t the right opportunity at all, and people would definitely think that I’m some bitchboobs stalker or something. She reminded me of one of those hot Eurasian chicks you see in JJ Magazine. The ones which I envy to the core.

Apart from that, I was bored to tears. I could of just knocked myself out from boredom. I hate shop window reflections. Just constantly reminds me how fat and short my legs are. I’ve heard short thighs means you just might get diabetes. Not surprised. And then you go to the bookstores and look at magazines of skinnyand pretty people and feel like the ugliest bitchboobs alive. And then you see the amazing photography and realise that you’re not even in the position to be taking the photos. Help me Mum.

TAKING PHOTOS OF STRANGERS……

…….IS MY NEW OBSESSION!!!!!!!!!

What can I say? It is a satisfying way to feel like you’re doing something that includes the society but they don’t know about it. It’s sneaky. It’s difficult. But once you’re sitting in your room photoshopping the pics you took that same afternoon, you feel completely self-content. Okay, maybe not. But taking pics of strangers makes you feel slightly like you’re doing something rebellious and you’ve got the proof right in your camera.

The thing is, I’ve only just started. And started means that I haven’t exactly gone to the places where I could possibly get some nice pics. I’ve only been to the beach and the park. And of course, most people who go there aren’t really photogenic. I hate that word cos I used to use it without knowing what it meant. I just need to get shots of hot bodies and pretty faces cos I had to spend yesterday editing off this lady’s cellulite cos it was sooooo visible, even from far away. And everybody who was at the beach were those big family crowds where they’ve got the volleyball net up and the barbie and the 24-pack sodas. That doesn’t interest me. I need to get unique photos. Ones that could cut it in a fashion magazine. But of course, as I’m too scared of getting beaten down with a cricket bat, I’ve only taken low grade pics of anybody who comes along.

What I really want is a few pretty models that would offer to pose for close ups and shit. The thing is, I only have a digital camera. not a DSLR like I really, really want and am determined to get. I watched a movie, where a guy takes photos of hot girls. I wanna be the one taking hot photos. I wanna do fashion photography.

This is pretty typical for a typical beach. Not satisfied yet.

Too easy and typical.

Shit this sucks

HOW LONG DOES IT TAKE FOR AN EPISODE OF UGLY BETTY TO DOWNLOAD???

Honestly, I have been waiting well over 2 hours for a 41 minute episode to show itself in full and I am getting nowhere. Why?????? In the meanwhile, I am doing everything to keep myself entertained from listening to angry-angus songs on Limewire to googling Shania Twain to trying to make my bed. The delight of my day tomorrow (sarcasm here) is to go to the supermarket at 10am and it’s 12:40am and I’m getting nowhere. I’m tired but I am more tired of thinking, of waiting, of wishing.

I watched that movie CHERRY CRUSH today. I liked it. It wasn’t even scary, which was good considering the nightmares of Japanese girls trying to kill me is still haunting me. And that movie DANIKA fucking scared the shit outta me. I so wanna be a fashion photographer. I just wish I had the people to shoot. I so admired the guy in the film. He took such beautiful pics and he was troubled and I felt like I understood him in some way. Except I’m not privileged like him. But I would love to be taking photos of people and editing them and analysing the beauty in them. It would be amazing. And for people to look at it and love it.