Disco Fahrrad

Taken with my Colorsplash- January ‘11.


Am starting to feel nostalgic again. Some days it feels like the past nine months never actually happened. A glitch in my system. 

These were the woods that I used to walk through nearly every day to get to Universität Konstanz and its awesome Mensa. The student housing I stayed at was located on the edge of this forest. It was beautiful and so, so calming; have yet to find anything like it.
(Regardless of the rapists and horny men that supposedly hid/slept/ate and molested several women behind several trees.)

Although cliche meaning-of-life sh-t aside, that track was dangerous during the Winter. The ice killed me; my ass was black and blue during the whole of December.

Proper practice for bobsledding though. But without the sleigh. And the helmet. 
And the spandex.  

Double the awesomeness. 
Would soil myself out of pure joy if I ever saw this. 
Yum.  

Now if only the tampon was real. 
Periods would be so awesome. 

(via colorsnotfound)

Currently in my last year at university with no idea of what I’ll be doing after it all ends. I was always such a prepared kid. Chose my intended university degree when I was in Year 4 (chose many, many times), decided on a career when I was in Year 6 (decided many, many times), planned my future wedding in Year 8 (yet to find the groom), looked into foster parenting and adoption in Year 9 (still adamant about that), and wrote my will in Year 10. On a tissue paper. Which I have lost.

But I hate myself because whenever I finally reach a milestone, I turn out to be so annoyingly indecisive.
After all that degree analysis done in primary school I ended up doing an ‘eeny meeny miny mo’ a day before the UAC deadline. F-ck, I was even considering studying architecture for a while regardless of my math-failing skills. 
(Came 35th out of 37 in Senior Mathematics. The 37th student was a a year long no-show. Win.) 
I’m even considering studying something else after this year because I know that a writing degree will get me nowhere. Archaeology perhaps?

Regardless of this shit, here’s what’s on agenda for the rest of my unemployed/student-like year:
- Need to go for an interview next month, where if I’m lucky, I’ll get an internship where I live in outback Australia for 5-6 weeks. Hella excited for this one, has me drooling as it combines history, museum studies, cultural studies and writing. Success? Unlikely. Will let you know.
- Going to Indonesia in late June for some conference that the University is sending me to. Success? Don’t really care, all expenses paid, ready to mooch. 
- If it all goes according to plan and my unemployed ass becomes employed, there’s the high possibility that my sister and I shall be visiting the US of A in October. Hello Key West.

No really, hello Key West.
Success? Highly necessary.

Already have high plans for that long ass bridge in Florida to be featured in my next Facebook profile picture. Which I just remembered that I deactivated. But will most probably re-activate tomorrow. 
Tonight. 

I will try to translate the purpose and content of this post.
Trying to feel better about my shacking self when I am the most anti-social and unmotivated being that I have ever been. 
My sister recently mentioned a facebook group that I should consider joining after I get back into the Social Media game:
“My bin goes out more than I do.”

F-cking A. 

I’ve always had enormous boobs. Godzilla-sized ones that I (and many others) considered as bizarre as they were so out of proportion to the rest of my body. For many years I’ve tried to convince myself that they were great, that I loved every inch of them, that I should be f-cking kissing my genetics in praise because it was because of these DD/F/E babies (sizes vary according to brands) that I was bringing all the boys to the yard. 

But I’ve stopped lying to myself. So here goes the proposed plan; a breast reduction within the next two years. Desired size- a C cup. Gosh, just thinking of the possibilities is making me drool. Having my boobs that size doesn’t even seem fathomable. Such a foreign concept.
But I want it so bad. 

People are quoting Superbad, saying that I’m slapping God in the face for what I am considering of doing, that I should just crawl back up my mother’s vagina. But then I want to faffing roundhouse kick everyone in return because they have the fortune of a painless back/neck/shoulders. God invented plastic surgery for a reason. Along with a potato masher.
That utensil kills my life, and in a good way.

Definitely being a jealous bitch at the moment. 

Excited and scared shitless to tell the parental unit. Will document their reactions later.

That photo made me nauseous. Like that rollercoaster I went to in Europa-Park, where I was fearing for the Swiss little girl- who with her German clothes- had the awesome fortune to be seated in front of me. Totally held it in for my sake. Didn’t want to revisit an incident many years ago when my family and I had moved into a tiny apartment after we first arrived in Australia. My sister slept in the top bunk, her head always poking over the edge as she continuously tried to scare me during the night. Chucky, that stupid shit, killed my life. (Once she even took my favourite doll Elise, chopped off her long hair, renamed her ‘Ms Chucky getting lucky’ and got our neighbour to tattoo the doll’s face with those stupid Halloween stick-ons. That thing has been living in my wardrobe ever since.)
Nevertheless, unaware of the concept of physics I continuously tried to spit up at her, only to have the blob of saliva fall in one of my eyes.

Every single f-cking time.

Basically, I was born an idiot. A characteristic that stuck with me throughout my life, regardless of my parents’ hope that slowly withered away to nothing. 

 

So God created the Earth and Eve was f-cking hungry so she bit out a chunk and where the faff was Adam during all of this, actually didn’t Eve holla and he came running? and obviously I haven’t read the bible. 

Oh, and there was a snake. 
That wasn’t really a snake? 

Dear Vogue/Anna Wintour/Willy Wonka,

If I wanted to view a multitude of advertisements, I’d watch the commercials instead. 

Plus, they’re free.

Cheers.  

betterbooktitles:

James Joyce: Ulysses

Moustacha, reppin’ the porn-stache.  

US led warplanes are currently dropping uranium bombs on Libya. Safety of civilians, what? More like a monetary massacre. 

 All those in amazement at the revolutions in the Middle East/North africa, need to think again. The real action or purpose of the coalition is so transparent. 

$$$ 

I made my mother cry today. I think this is the seventh time in my life so far. 
And yet, this time I really thought it was over nothing, the same stupid shit that always seems to spew out of my mouth. 

So I can’t figure out if she’s becoming more sensitive as she’s slowly getting older, or whether I’ve become even more of a bitch to her without realising. 

 I don’t think I prefer of those options. 

-Photography by Francois-Xavier Marciat

I think we’ve all shared the opinion that things get less exciting as we progress further and further into adulthood. What had initially, all those years ago, made us piss our panties from excitement (or in my case, vomit six buckets during my sixth birthday) gradually transformed into something tiresome and financially draining. A loveless task.

But I’ve figured out the individuals behind this massacre of dreams and expectations.
The parental unit.



Flashback to when I turned five and I was gifted with a bike, my favourite plush panda Berchen (who is still alive and residing in my bed) along with a million other toys, clothes and lollies. I was like a Dudley Dursley, counting my gift supplies every year and awaiting an increase.


Fast forward to two days ago, when I left the teens and finally turned twenty.
I received a T-Shirt and a nut cracker.


A nut cracker. 

I’m going to burn the steel, the metal or whatever the faff the cracker is made out of, and sell it. Goodbye poor student status. 

Stuxnet.

“If plants could talk, then this tree would be the one whose story I would listen to. In WW2 it was the hanging tree. The Nazis strung up Partisans. Later, Partisans hung traitors from this tree. It was left standing as a monument to these injustices. After the (Chernobyl) accident it became a dual memorial and the symbol of the Chernobyl tragedy. It has since fallen and was replaced with a shiny aluminium tree…which may be a shrine to things that never die. Like mass stupidity.”

Caption and photography by Richard Wilson.