tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62612549142804647412024-03-06T16:40:50.368+10:00girl with a top knota blog by sarahsarah.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14455110995370886126noreply@blogger.comBlogger72125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6261254914280464741.post-70471826825591251802013-08-01T21:04:00.001+10:002013-08-01T21:04:21.366+10:00Werking Gal<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
<br />
In the course of approximately two and a half years, I have been employed by seven different companies (one of which I am still a not really kind of slave for, depending on whether you count <a href="http://pinterest.com/sarahesimpkins/boards/" target="_blank">pinning</a> as a job). Yet after bouncing about in the bliss that is practically unemployment, I have just realised that wait I need moneys and cents to pay baristas, bus drivers and book shop owners. Not having a reliable source of income is quickly becoming very inconvenient. Add in the fact that I am a student, and you have yourself the painful embodiment of a stereotype (#unilyf). What is life.<br />
<br />
A word to all of the prospective employers I have emailed, called and flashed my very best Pan Am smile at. For you, I have suffered. I have painfully sought the hell out of Seek.com. I have spent immense amounts of time attempting to advertise myself adequately, without wandering off past the dreaded border of excellent employee material and into the land of absolute wankerdom. I have called your phone numbers with prepared questions in my head, even though I would rather eat my own freshly boiled hair. And yet here I am still, jobless and edging ever so closer to penniless. What exactly is it that you want from me?<br />
<br />
I think I can confidently say that I am a competent member of the human race. I have never engaged in taboo activities that society frowns upon (incest, cannibalism, wearing crocs or fleece) and I only have a few conditions I swear. I want some hours that don't clash with my hectic science degree time eating timetable. And I want at least the minimum salary for my age. TWO REQUIREMENTS. Why is this hard? I want to make this work, (pun not intended) but you are clearly too busy never replying to me. What is with that? Why is that I won't ever even receive a memo noting "you didn't make the fit sorrynotsorry"? It's not hard to not be a terrible human being and just allow me the courtesy of knowing that you weren't feeling the font on my resume.<br />
<br />
I genuinely wish that I didn't value dem dollas as much as I do. That's what leads to this misery. I would probably be a lot happier if I casted off all material cravings, dropped out of uni, forgot about my caffeine habit and galavanted towards the nearest street corner with some shoe polish and a sign saying 'GUD TYM 4 $$$'. But then I probably wouldn't have internet or deodorant or a regular intake of gum and what kind of existence is that. (not one I can easily leap balls deep into)<br />
<br />
So here's to my unemployment. May it end soon. Then I can start complaining about my job, rather than my lacking of one, because I would sincerely prefer that. Or I could do a Frida and find me a wealthy bachelor while chanting maniacally MONEY MONEY MONEY. Then I probably would only complain about my not owing a holiday home in Southern France.<br />
<br />
UPDATE: I have a job interview tomorrow. Piss on your dog and wish me luck.</div>
sarah.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14455110995370886126noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6261254914280464741.post-82890162436102270932013-07-05T00:35:00.001+10:002013-07-05T00:37:42.650+10:00Things I Have Learnt In the Past Few Months...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li>Being broke is not fun. Love may be all you need, but it sure as hell will not buy you a decent cup of coffee.</li>
<li>University is hard work if you are a science student. For a lazy person like me, this will induce a lot of questions of WHY and HOW and WHY. Then I'll remember that I don't know what else I could do that could contribute towards a future I may actually like. It would be an existential crisis, but half the time I am either too tired or don't care enough about anything to call it a crisis per say. It's a dilemma, certainly. I should probably figure this out.</li>
<li>If you want to know who your real friends are when you have left school, wait until your birthday and see who still feels compelled to write two letters (hb) and a smiley if they especially like you. If you are like me, that will be less than half of the wishes you would have received while you were still in school. Is this is a bad thing? I personally don't really think so, but you may disagree and face a great reality shock.</li>
<li>Making friends out of school is hard. Like, you can't just walk up to anyone anymore and say wanna be friends? and then follow them around everywhere. Shit is complicated now. People are still as rude as Hitler too; for some reason I frequently forget that arseholes also graduate. They tend not to magically evaporate into sad post school shadows. </li>
<li>A year ago I suspected that the curse of humanity are stupid people. I was right.</li>
<li>Turning 18 does not magically transform you into a being of pure maturity and adulthood. People will not automatically respect your opinions and values (especially if you are a girl). I still laugh at poo jokes. And <i>Adventure Time</i> is still the best thing since David Bowie.</li>
<li>Coffee is god. </li>
</ul>
</div>
sarah.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14455110995370886126noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6261254914280464741.post-79565617106319410962013-03-15T20:19:00.001+10:002013-03-15T20:20:36.173+10:00No Flowers Please<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Please note: Never in my existence have I received a luxurious bouquet.
I was given a single rose once. I probably would have appreciated it more if a
greater percentage of it was not wilting and also not pricking me with great
bloody thorns. The below is just an imagined response. Take it as you will.</div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #343434; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">Oh you bought me flowers? You shouldn’t
have. No really, this is a shit gift. In my humble opinion, you are paying a
lot more than necessary for some decapitated plants wrapped in flattened dead
trees. (aka paper) They also don’t stay in that fascinatingly pristine state
for long. Like a lot of deceased entities, they start to deteriorate and become
a lesser version of themselves. You know, just like a corpse. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #343434; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">Is this bouquet really an accurate
representation of what you happen to think of me? Of our relationship? Well
shit son, it better not be. Oh you got them because they’re pretty? What are
you attempting to articulate, that our companionship seems fetching, but has a
doomed fate? That this friendship is already dead? That we may as well envelop
it within more departed comradeships? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #343434; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">Let me pull a Pauline Hanson on you and
shamelessly gripe for truth. PLEASE EXPLAIN. Because I cannot understand why
you have given me these blossoms of blunder. I have no damage on potted plants,
as they are still of this world and shall be for quite some time. Nor do I have
a problem with floral prints in general. I agree with many humans on this
point, flowers are picturesque at the very least. However when you wrench them
out of their homes in the soil and shove them into my hands, how the hell do
you expect to interpret your actions? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #343434; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">Do not even consider the plastic
alternative. Oh yes, they’ll last for eons. So will a synthetic model of a
corpse. Or an ex-parrot that has survived the process of taxidermy. Or Edward
fucking Cullen. If I have not yet rendered this clearly to you; you are still
retrieving a model of something that shits me very much so. A garland of dead
pieces of garden only exemplifies how much of a fail at being a person you are.
Especially if they are fake. To you I say, fuck your flowers. Good day sir.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #343434; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Please also note: above becomes irrelevant if flowers in question are
peonies.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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sarah.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14455110995370886126noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6261254914280464741.post-52608898875612414832013-02-18T16:07:00.002+10:002013-02-18T16:10:00.473+10:00Quick Tips for Surviving University<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
Congratulations! If you are reading this with the intention of becoming a fully fledged university bawus, it can be presumed that you were accepted into a tertiary education institute. Ku-fucking-dos goes to you my friend. Now you are entering into a stage where you are willingly prolonging your schooling years. In case it wasn't made clear to you, university is voluntary. You have already completed the legally required formal schooling.<br />
<br />
Now that we have dispensed of the unnecessary crowd, let's continue. Supposing you are studying a degree that holds a certain level of employability (so not an arts degree) you will hopefully be working in a relevant field, with a higher pay-packet than what you would have otherwise received. This will be incredibly useful when paying off all of your atrociously immense student loans.<br />
<br />
Otherwise, I have put together an amateur's guide for attaining prosperity at uni. Keep in mind that I am a first year student, who has not yet been to my first class. It's obvi that I not only hold, but I carved the keys to the door of success. Hey, I survived the final year of high school and I have watched <i>Legally Blonde</i> enough times to gain a legit expertise. So, here we go.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimkEh6_s6VP7FoKln8cyluFQkwCJv06ck0q4uZdlcdVBTydQ2veaVs1F3jmGQvpwB1SVxegvYACxZ2dpAoQh-wfwnBDugjf8cP1t_lVRrnw2g1dPaRYwsHS8CYsl8Khjxr1_mZuDODHe8e/s1600/Harvard-elle-woods-2110385-300-449-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimkEh6_s6VP7FoKln8cyluFQkwCJv06ck0q4uZdlcdVBTydQ2veaVs1F3jmGQvpwB1SVxegvYACxZ2dpAoQh-wfwnBDugjf8cP1t_lVRrnw2g1dPaRYwsHS8CYsl8Khjxr1_mZuDODHe8e/s1600/Harvard-elle-woods-2110385-300-449-1.jpg" /></a><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">1. Like the <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: grey; font-weight: bold; line-height: 14px;"><a aria-controls="js_6" aria-haspopup="true" aria-owns="js_6" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/page.php?id=260759117389871" href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/Undergraduate-Quick-Tips-From-Previous-First-Year-Students/260759117389871?ref=stream" id="js_7" style="color: #3b5998; cursor: pointer; text-decoration: none;">Undergraduate Quick Tips - From Previous First Year Students</a> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;">page on Facebook. This collection of wisdom comes the creator/s (?) of the infamous </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3b5998; cursor: pointer; font-family: inherit; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;"><a data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/page.php?id=116784175135583" href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/Schoolies-Quick-Tips-From-Previous-Grade-12-Students/116784175135583" style="color: #3b5998; cursor: pointer; text-decoration: none;">Schoolies Quick Tips - From Previous Grade 12 Students</a> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="cursor: pointer; font-family: inherit; text-decoration: none;">and<b style="color: #3b5998;"> </b></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: grey; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 14px;"><a aria-controls="js_36" aria-haspopup="true" aria-owns="js_36" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/page.php?id=461358463886846" href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/QCS-Quick-Tips-From-Previous-Grade-12-Students/461358463886846?ref=stream" id="js_37" style="color: #3b5998; cursor: pointer; text-decoration: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">QCS Quick Tips - From Previous Grade 12 Students</span></a></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="cursor: pointer; font-family: inherit; text-decoration: none;">pages. You know this is le<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">git. In fact, for any well wishing student, this will be your Bible. With nuggets of wholesome truth such as "</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">Ginger kids are actually not allowed to graduate from any educational institution in Australia</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 14px;">", it's not only irresistible, it's essential.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 14px;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">2. Actually refuse to investigate the finer details of your degree. Your catchphrase should now be "what the shit is a major?" People will realise that you're a lewse bastard and instantly want to be your friend. Even your professors won't be able to help themselves from falling for the fine individual you are. The fact that you're flawed only adds to your entire demeanour.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">3. Don the appropriate gear to create the whole "I'm a very serious student" aura. At the very least, chunky specs are absolutely mandatory.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">4. It is not necessary to attend all lectures and tutorials. You must however be present at all toga parties, ready to rock out with your very best cake face and bed sheet. Have an exam the next day? No worries, have another rum and coke. You are not honestly prepared for the real world until you have completed a three hour exam with an ample hangover.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">5. Instead of buying textbooks and watching hundreds of dollar disparate, chat up the unknowing person next to you and photocopy the pages necessary from their edition. This should probably only cost you half of what it should have, with only ten times the amount of effort. Repeat this process for all of your courses. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="cursor: pointer; font-family: inherit; text-decoration: none;">6. Always remember the golden rule. May Daria bless you. </span></span><br />
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sarah.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14455110995370886126noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6261254914280464741.post-63808268368991235222013-02-16T14:23:00.001+10:002013-02-16T14:23:26.242+10:00Homebodies<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4tIAI97IfMGxZXjBRwrKuvm37YrgVlLbxmWHgKS_TM8IEDM9FdPSrcBr2gcxwCLB0XetCyuCNSHolOKemF-oO3v3pQYPPKKbNccp92qa1Oj0IJkFe0uyXrnYWpKYzd5ckNa-hUW51BVuh/s1600/tumblr_m9d5haKBND1qm412io1_500_large.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4tIAI97IfMGxZXjBRwrKuvm37YrgVlLbxmWHgKS_TM8IEDM9FdPSrcBr2gcxwCLB0XetCyuCNSHolOKemF-oO3v3pQYPPKKbNccp92qa1Oj0IJkFe0uyXrnYWpKYzd5ckNa-hUW51BVuh/s1600/tumblr_m9d5haKBND1qm412io1_500_large.jpg" /></a></div>
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At homesome on your lonesome? No worries, here are twelve tracks to groove to this fine night. Feat. Redcoats, Feed Me & Crystal Fighters and Noah and the Whale along with many others.<br />
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<iframe height="250" src="http://8tracks.com/mixes/1361566/player_v3_universal" style="border: 0px none;" width="300"></iframe>
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<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=6261254914280464741">Homebodies</a> from <a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=6261254914280464741">girlwithatopknot</a> on <a href="http://8tracks.com/">8tracks Radio</a>. Cover art found via weheartit</div>
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sarah.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14455110995370886126noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6261254914280464741.post-56980535038780751052013-02-15T20:36:00.000+10:002013-02-15T20:47:24.689+10:00A Face for a Funeral<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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As it was, I was cruising through the Brisbane CBD when I happened to perceive an immense curiosity. Personally I was too mortified to even think of capturing a digital image to show you, so you're actually just going to utilise some brain tissue and IMAGINE IT. It was an amply sized billboard advertising a funeral service. Upon the left of it, was an elderly lady posed with both hands underneath in an angel pose, with a transcendent smile paused on her lips, and her eyes closed as if she was dreaming of better days.<br />
<br />
Usually, along with the rest of the human population I would think nothing of it and continue on through my day. Yet it just so happened that the particular photo they used of the eerily tranquil woman provoked my brain into multiple question mode. What was she thinking when she posed for it? How did this company sell the position to her? Was she a past client of theirs? What are the legal and moral ethics of utilising the image of a potentially deceased person for a billboard? Would that mean that they would not owe her any funds for her modelling services due to her untimely death? Holy fuck, was she even alive when the photograph was captured?<br />
<br />
What is simply an image of a sleepy elderly lady had potentially disturbed me for life. Assuming that she consented to the use of the image, what would make the poor old dear agree to the whole situation? Yes please, I would like to represent a satisfied corpse, who was entirely placated by my excellent funeral services. I mean, yes please I would like to represent a service for dead people and alive people who knew dead people. It's not completely jocular is it? Imagine this person disclosing to her friends over some dry Arnotts biccies and cups of Earl Grey about how she was a model.<br />
<br />
"Oh yes Marjorie, I saw you on the billboard in front of St. Stephens"-<br />
"Yes Gladys. I'm a model now."<br />
"How marvellous!"<br />
<br />
Yes how bloody brilliant, Marjorie is now a model of those who passed on to God knows where. It frightens me that someone would be so openly accepting to include their face onto an entity such as this. I keep striving to resolve it in my mind, but all that results are more questions, that refuse to peacefully fade away (much unlike Marjorie). And then, there in bold is the disdainful question of why do I care so much. Perhaps, I would like to think that none of this is foreseeable in my own future. That I will never become a dreary angel of death. All the same, maybe it is the most reckless and audacious thing that I could do as an elder. Messing with death- isn't that something that young people defiantly do whilst they still feel invincible? I guess that this is just a way to present both society and the Grim Reaper with the middle finger, before finally departing off into the sunset that is the afterlife. I honestly do think I could elatedly rest in peace with that in mind.</div>
sarah.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14455110995370886126noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6261254914280464741.post-25084033750520216162013-02-10T20:53:00.001+10:002013-03-15T20:27:44.567+10:00Alone Again<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://weheartit.com/entry/45551918/via/livingmisery" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyRRlM65snVvgDFcI1wTrae3-1s10Z2906EWvb2yjdf9eYGGOrBfaPoykLRNhOic-oA4ZYLFWoH58D7wv1cFnbpL-LCh2dLnv5A1T6xIHYLCh1OI2JFpC8erS_MskQ3WcWpb-AimGAnDij/s1600/tumblr_mei82hMaWM1rwydvgo1_500_large.png" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #343434; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #343434; font-family: inherit; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">For the eighteenth Valentines Day in a
row, I will be solitary. I will not consider myself alone. Yet in the
typical V Day stance, I will be. My relationship status as displayed on
Facebook as it has been for the last five years, will be ‘single’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #343434; font-family: inherit; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">I never have been really sure how to
react to the lurve day hype that arrives as January departs. People talk about
their plans. Buy shit. It has never affected me personally. My parents don’t
even participate in it (Dad believes Valentine’s Day is another “goddamn”
American corporate scheme to gain international control). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #343434; font-family: inherit; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">Yet every year, again and again,
individuals around me moan about oh how they’re single yet again on the dreaded
day and that their life has no meaning and how they are doomed to be forever
alone. Every single year, (and every other day) I am forced to empathize with
these people like I give a frazzling fuck. Fine. Yes I am in their exact
situation; I know the single blues like the bloody crazy cat lady on the
Simpsons. And because of their not being able to handle their lonesomeness,
something that had little impact on my existence has now instead transformed it
to shit. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #343434; font-family: inherit; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">This is only becomes depressingly worse
when you consider my gender, along with the fact that I have a multitude friends
that share my gender. I am not meaning to stereotype here, but lonely teenage
girls are the scum of the earth come February. If not the whole population of
them, the majority. Their incessant whines of “omg does he lyk meh” are enough
to render a bystander into a state of considerable mental damage. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #343434; font-family: inherit; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">Towards the end of high school, my grade
was forced into Mean Girlseque workshop confronting the future and fears and
feels. At one point we were to anonymously submit genuine anxieties of ours,
which were then read aloud. Amongst the reasonably terrifying statements, there
was one that went along the lines of “I AM NEVER GOING TO FIND SOMEBODY TO LOVE
ME”. And apparently this was shockingly relatable. And the only real
consolation for this is that someone will love you eventually. It just hasn’t
happened yet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #343434; font-family: inherit; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">Pardon moi? Whatever happened to
everyone jumping on Beyonce’s empowered wagon and waving their hands sassily in
people’s faces and embracing all the single ladies? To everyone repeating said
gesture and exclaiming that like The Pussycat Dolls, they don’t need a man? Was that just a cute trend and not a resonating truth for you
all?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #343434; font-family: inherit; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
actually cannot understand why we so often define ourselves by other people. As
depressing as this sounds, you are born alone. Your soul mate is not immediately
allocated to you. If you cannot exist as an individual, oh how life will seem
to endlessly shit on you. Honestly though, you are you. You are not the
relationship status looming on your Facebook profile. You are you and that to
me matters more than who you happen to (or not to) spoon at night. Why should
we be made to feel descending qualms for not having someone to constantly swap
saliva with?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #343434; font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">This Valentine’s Day, I refuse to be made to feel inferior to any pair
of face licking deviants. February 14th to me will just be another day just
like its 364 brothers and sisters of the year. I will continue to exist, just
as I always have. I am me. An individual. Not a half of two names jokingly
merged together. But a whole.</span><!--EndFragment-->
</div>
sarah.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14455110995370886126noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6261254914280464741.post-74281691895790560982013-02-02T23:17:00.003+10:002013-02-03T00:47:39.089+10:00Top Knot Issue #2<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLC4Rpdywwn_szvBZ9-r6D5lHDFwVml0M0a8ufiUpvnNI5APz6SR3_FWHIqyGQJ5Iyl7lDlpQ9Lqw0u371u-qvZV3scIHmDsMri9HOTx9EdAbBd3eiQ7Y1ZocAbfcy-nQgLRtVwluv9IQ7/s1600/Scan+18.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLC4Rpdywwn_szvBZ9-r6D5lHDFwVml0M0a8ufiUpvnNI5APz6SR3_FWHIqyGQJ5Iyl7lDlpQ9Lqw0u371u-qvZV3scIHmDsMri9HOTx9EdAbBd3eiQ7Y1ZocAbfcy-nQgLRtVwluv9IQ7/s1600/Scan+18.jpeg" /></a></div>
<br />
The blood, sweat and tears of a towering top knot went into this. The <a href="https://docs.google.com/uc?id=0By0hmsl-1WPjRlVFdkQtXzhTZms&export=dow%E2%80%A6" target="_blank"><i>Top Knot Issue </i>zine<i> </i>of January 2013</a> is centred about (woah drumroll) beginnings. Yes, I do own a Gregorian calendar and I am able to understand it and I do happen know it is February already. To you I say, bah. Humbug. The February zine will appear in due time, but why not enjoy lovely little January?<br />
<br />
Inside are an assortment of tidbits exploring the new, acknowledging the old and just existing an excellent mutha 'ucker of totally raw print. Everything is new, unknown, foreign and just beginning or at
the least, new to me and/or you. There's some little and some ample self realisations, a shiteload of reviews and a good solid amount of purty piccies. No. 2 holds close links to her younger sister in upholding some Top Knot family traditions. Although the zine has expanded, literally. Now A5 size, and now spanning over 28 pages (not including front and back covers). Take a peek.<br />
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<a href="https://docs.google.com/uc?id=0By0hmsl-1WPjRlVFdkQtXzhTZms&export=dow%E2%80%A6" target="_blank">Oh, you wanted to peek at the whole thing?</a> Stride ahead my friend and clicky, it's absolutely 100% free. This is your favourite bunned belle Sarah, signing out. Kisses<br />
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PS. A more printer ideal version is coming. Wooooh kthnxbai<br />
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sarah.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14455110995370886126noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6261254914280464741.post-57263148381640431462013-01-19T00:30:00.001+10:002013-01-20T00:00:53.985+10:00Where Was I?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://weheartit.com/entry/45160566/via/girlwithatopknot" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheeP8hyI2EVecUOl671b6Bo69AvNSxGDI0lTD0uYLMi_WbsMFKgzXXyiTipicFQ67a7lZGNUNy5-nqV-Ce7KUiEATYOrEordOG4nuUXOVgBWV831JWeDRPVKA60_6AqFz1ZV61cQaYnMbA/s1600/tumblr_m3q545lYcM1qk1tl8o1_500_large.png" /></a></div>
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Where was I? In the <i>Cotton On</i> outlet in Tawa, Wellington picking up some crazy bargains. I find a super neon green alarm clock for $5 along with a pair of functional and fashionable boots for another five, to replace the $10 pair I had just misplaced on the train below my seat. My young male cousins are discovering the joys of shopping and fashion through the guidance of my younger sister. "Stay away from the v-necks," she alerts them. "And put down that disgusting purple shirt, you're already wearing skinny jeans. Who do you think you are, Justin Bieber?"<br />
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Where was I? Standing amongst a progression in a Catholic church in Wellington, silently calculating the percentage of people wearing white in half of the pews, in a half arsed attempt to distract my mind from the temptation of delicious sleep. My aunt had invited my mother, sister and me and my mum leaps at any chance to fulfil the lack of religion she has in her life that came with marrying my father. I honestly thought that any association that I had with Catholicism ended with my graduating from a Catholic girls school. Apparently not.<br />
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Where was I? Eating a freshly made lemon crepe from a man who had told me that he was from the south of France, that Wellington is a dead city, that he prefers Australia to New Zealand, loves Melbourne and he hopes to live there. He glances hopefully to me, receiving my conversational input. It's strange, these looks; they seem like something more than polite or innocent eye contact. But he had a strong accent and the stall's music blasted boisterously. Half of the time, I actually had no strong impression of what he was enthusiastically telling me. My sister performs like the perfect social player she is: nodding, smiling giving input, etc. I think to myself oh thank god she's here with her obvious comprehension. Later, my sister told me that she had no idea what he was saying and oh thank god I was there, with my obvious comprehension. When presenting my sister with the first of the crepes, he cacks himself at her overtly jocose expression. He guesses correctly that she is the youngest and continues to chuckle through his work. I realise how numb I've become to not only my sister's quirks, but also my own.<br />
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Where was I? Curled up with a book worm nibbled copy of Stephen King's <i>Christine, </i>in my oversized senior jersey and under a blanket, safe from the local daily hurricane winds. It's only one of the towering pile of cheap reads that I have snagged from Wellington op shops and second hand bookstores. I feel like a fully certified thrift shopper now, equal to the godly standards of Ryan Lewis and Macklemore (<i>Walk up in the club like what up I got a big cock/Nah I'm just pumped up by some shit from a thrift shop</i>). Honest to god though, this novel is fucking terrible. It reminds me of a <i>Goosebumps</i> book, one of those ones that everyone used to like in primary school. The plot is so basic I may as well have purchased a brain cell detonator instead and saved myself the trouble. At times, the carved paths in the book by some hungry insect fascinate me more than the actual text. They wind in and out of words, rendering some sentences into fragments and boring through several pages. I wake up later, dazed and as I rise yellowed flakes of <i>Christine</i> float onto the floor.<br />
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Where was I? Posing awkwardly with a stretched smile in front of a bathroom sink in the ladies' room of Wellington's Embassy cinema. This is no Myspace worthy bathroom mirror selfie. My mother was so exceedingly thrilled at being in a public toilet with plush carpet, wooden fixtures and detailed tiled walls she felt the need to document it. My sister and I beg her not to, as we stand together next to an apparent landmark for the twentieth time that day. We are in the most prestigious movie theatre in New Zealand, where an amazing and immense sculpture of Gandalf and the Hobbit Hole is plastered onto the front of the building and she wants to capture us in the loo. "It's so beautiful," she exclaims. It may be beautiful, but it still has the same purpose as any other thunderbox. People shit here.<br />
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Where was I? Listening to my eleven year old cousin excitedly tell my sister cheats on her Playstation as they squeal together in excitement while they venture through this fantasy world. I can't see them, but I can hear them through the thin walls. They keep me up until some ungodly hour in the morning. It is our last night in New Zealand and it is one of the few times that I think that this little girl is truly happy. Her older brothers are often together, grunting as a forms of communication while they are glued to their world champion boxing game on PS3. And then there's her. She's eleven and although I remember abandoning my soft toys before I was her age, I often see her hugging a withered woollen rabbit. She often keeps a false pretence of happiness before us, which barely shields her evident sadness. This girl is lonely and something is wrong. We discover just what later. However it is now, more than ever that I am thankful for my sister.<br />
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Where was I? In a shopping centre, with my mother and sister, struggling not to cry. We are finally back in Brisbane and as our internet at home likes to shit itself occasionally, we are forced to pursue the wonders of free wifi in public places. Usually we would have waited the revival of our interwebs but it is today that university offers come. My future is in cyberspace. So while my family has left me alone to discover my fate, I click away and discover it. It is an offer that I already know I have, from the email I received earlier. Yet I didn't know who from and what it was for and it is now that it is staring back at me from behind a glass screen. It is not the offer I wanted. I told myself it wouldn't happen, I tried to protect myself, but nothing could have softened this sting. Later, my mother is slow to move, slow to understand why I want to go home NOW. I blurt it out to my family, as I am failing to fake satisfaction. Although there are strangers surrounding us and I am striving against it, the tears come. While my sister holds me, my mum is horrendous at comforting me, just as she always has been. She doesn't understand and it takes her too long to succumb to my request to leave. I don't really know why I am crying - just maybe it's that I have never wanted anything more.<br />
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Where was I? Sitting behind my mac, typing furiously away. I hadn't blogged since last year. I had it in mind to be a better blogger in 2013. How so? With more substantial stuff, with stuff that is just more interesting, with stuff that I really do care for and mull over. I opened my laptop and I just let my fingers articulate the first thoughts in my head. They were of the last few weeks and of the weeks to come. I am now reconciled and ready to see that this year is perhaps maybe as memorable as it's successor, if not more. I hope. Could it be that the years are becoming shorter? I am only five months shy of 18 years old and already I feel that I am being swept into a perplexing cosmos where time is growing shorter and exponentially gains more value as it does so. Speak of the devil, it is past midnight here. I am working at my receptionist job in eight and a half hours.<br />
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Where was I? Bidding you adieu in the ending of this post. Until next time dear reader, I will be here.</div>
sarah.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14455110995370886126noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6261254914280464741.post-29948056478914731002012-12-13T20:04:00.003+10:002012-12-13T20:07:52.905+10:00I Love Glitter<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
My life sucks. I'm serious. I have a Saturday job and have been desperately seeking a secondary higher paying employment for a couple of weeks now (meaning I have close to no dollars in the bank), I have been out of hair conditioner for four days now and my Mother, as much as I love that woman, since becoming apparent mistress of the television remote, has been subjecting me to incessant blaring Korean soap operas. Ordinary soaps are terrible. Korean soaps are absolutely heinous.<br />
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My new found bliss after graduation in taking it easy and doing nothing, has become a nightmare of boredom in which I have to be as inventive as fucking Tracy McBean and figure out a way to entertain myself. Perhaps I am being a plain as white whiney bitch today, but I reject this system full heartedly. No, I cry. I am not Phineas and Ferb. I do not want to rise out of bed and create a trendy restaurant in my backyard while simultaneously wondering where is my pet platypus and when will my surly sister finally be pummelled by a rogue bus. There must be another way, an easier and more effective way to amuse my brain.<br />
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During a hysterical episode of <i>Dance Moms, </i>I discovered a temporary approach to my situation. I had been painting my toenails with freshly bought $2 gold glittery varnish from Kmart. If there is something that instantly generates a happy Sarah, it's glitter. To me, almost anything is improved with a coat of glitter. By this, I mean that it can either look fabulous and in that be a blatant improvement, or it can create a great visual felony which is so horrendous, it somehow crosses back into the realm of amazing. This prompted me to search online to produce evidence.<br />
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In my search, I found a blog under the name of <a href="http://glitteryshit.tumblr.com/" target="_blank">Glittery Shit</a> which I thought would produce some grouse results. Assumption proven.<br />
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Oh glitter. You are utterly splendid, you in your glinting majesty. You're quite a tease- sparkling wildly in the light and you have to power to not only be beautiful, but also to be quite grotesque. I love this. You're versatile. The multitude of pieces of you that make up a powerful body could be likened to that of a teamwork metaphor, which is fucking beautiful. You're like sand, glitter. Not many entities have this and for that, I salute you. You go glitter.</div>
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sarah.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14455110995370886126noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6261254914280464741.post-46698976150280283262012-12-12T17:47:00.001+10:002012-12-12T17:48:27.390+10:00Tumbling Down Tumblr: December<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I recently mentioned my newly found obsession of one of the greatest tools of procrastination: Tumblr. Sometimes, images win where words fail. That's the appeal in tumblr for me, where I become so enticed by a multitude of pictures, which maybe reflect just what kind of person I am. Have a taste of what I reblogged this month:<br />
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<h1 style="-webkit-transition-delay: initial; -webkit-transition-duration: 0.25s; -webkit-transition-property: all; -webkit-transition-timing-function: ease; font-size: 16px; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: 1px; line-height: 18px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<em style="-webkit-transition-delay: initial; -webkit-transition-duration: 0.25s; -webkit-transition-property: all; -webkit-transition-timing-function: ease; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-style: italic;">"I felt utterly alone, like I was the last person alive on Earth. I can’t describe that feeling of total loneliness. I just wanted to disappear into thin air and not think about anything."</em></h1>
<div style="-webkit-transition-delay: initial; -webkit-transition-duration: 0.25s; -webkit-transition-property: all; -webkit-transition-timing-function: ease; margin-bottom: 5px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 5px;">
- <em style="-webkit-transition-delay: initial; -webkit-transition-duration: 0.25s; -webkit-transition-property: all; -webkit-transition-timing-function: ease; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-style: italic;">Kafka on the Shore, </em>Haruki Murakami<br />
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<a href="http://girlwithatopknot.tumblr.com/" target="_blank">There's more where that came from.</a><br />
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sarah.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14455110995370886126noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6261254914280464741.post-83502278879581525152012-12-11T23:06:00.002+10:002012-12-11T23:19:53.337+10:00Apocalypse Now?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://weheartit.com/entry/44623379" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOqDgxXc6a6PA89PgihF2TQlhL5kPoxDSeN_KqGOiwUxiFH6vU85OvrOhxeZrb2tI0EaRRLXKuqXbTX3tRU9nCfC8wqPsO-El_PNy253G79TLjw0OapJXMay9PAXWKYjoHFY1ifJraUoCm/s1600/tumblr_me7ix6AhQF1rpjccgo1_500_large.png" /></a></div>
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It is Tuesday, 11 December, 2012. There are 10 days until the supposed end. People have started to panic. I have read statuses on Facebook asking if anyone would like to spend the next two weeks swapping saliva and being impregnated (or whatever they need a boyfriend for) and I have read job adverts (hopefully) jokingly implying that all applicants should hurry before the world ends. Soon, I suspect that there will be shortages of canned food, torches and battery powered radios. Or maybe not. Y2K was only a decade ago. Hopefully the majority of the human race can remember it and maybe overlook the terribly misinterpreted message of the Maya.<br />
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I do have one word to equate all of this apocalyptic bullshit to. Hollywood. The film industry has fed off our fear, like one giant crooked dementor, raging not for our souls, but for our attention and our money. Yet if you know me, you'll know if there's one thing I love, it's irony. This apocalyptic season, I plan on watching only the finest in dystopia, delivered by Hollywood itself. In order to find the biggest and the best I asked the only the biggest and best experts. Not really, I just asked some blogger gal pals over Facebook.<br />
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<a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0319262/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://t1.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTh7ZvHaeAcP9-8iSlkSwGX3ohFOU0OteFs8yHIrqR42hxO0pHuIZHcwXsE" width="132" /></a><a href="http://t1.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSGJysd0u_zJ8-tNzZ0J0DlHLMCC2bbYKowsnj0DKFay3KUtgkeBKZGpVJm" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><img border="0" height="200" src="http://t1.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSGJysd0u_zJ8-tNzZ0J0DlHLMCC2bbYKowsnj0DKFay3KUtgkeBKZGpVJm" width="135" /><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/thumb/0/08/Knowingposter08.jpg/220px-Knowingposter08.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/thumb/0/08/Knowingposter08.jpg/220px-Knowingposter08.jpg" width="135" /></a><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/thumb/d/dd/2012_Poster.jpg/220px-2012_Poster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/thumb/d/dd/2012_Poster.jpg/220px-2012_Poster.jpg" width="134" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://moolol-moolol.blogspot.com.au/">MEG</a>: The Day After Tomorrow which I don't remember seeing but the ads used to freak me out a lot. 2012 was cool because of the hot Russian dude but other than that was shit. Do zombie apocalypse sort of movies count as the end of the world?</div>
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<a href="http://wannabebloggerwithimagination.blogspot.com.au/">ELLEN</a>: The movie Knowing... It's like a scifi movie but it's about the world ending and these <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 14px;">people's children being the next generations adam and eve. It's a Nicholas Cage film, enough said.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><a href="http://moolol-moolol.blogspot.com.au/" target="_blank">MEG</a>:</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 14px;"> <i>28 Days Later</i> is pretty cool. The main character is a complete idiot and he probably should have died but the zombies were cool. Looking forward to when I get around to watching <i>28 Weeks Later</i>. </span></span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span id=".reactRoot[87].[1][2][1]{comment389253941155331_389267627820629}..[1]..[1]..[0].[0][2]..[2]">Zombieland was amusing. Cool take on the whole zombie virus thing really. </span><br id=".reactRoot[87].[1][2][1]{comment389253941155331_389267627820629}..[1]..[1]..[0].[0][2]..[3]" /><span id=".reactRoot[87].[1][2][1]{comment389253941155331_389267627820629}..[1]..[1]..[0].[0][2]..[4]">I can't think of anymore off the top of my head right now...</span><br id=".reactRoot[87].[1][2][1]{comment389253941155331_389267627820629}..[1]..[1]..[0].[0][2]..[5]" /><span id=".reactRoot[87].[1][2][1]{comment389253941155331_389267627820629}..[1]..[1]..[0].[0][2]..[6]">Ellen, that sounds cool</span></span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;">SARAH: </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 14px;">Yeah, dystopia + bible references + incest + Nicholas Cage = quite a watch. (Ellen liked this)</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><a href="http://myuneventfulyouth.blogspot.com.au/" target="_blank">ELLA</a>: H</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 14px;">ow about the movie M<i>elancholia</i> and <i>Another Earth</i>?</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><a href="http://wannabebloggerwithimagination.blogspot.com.au/" target="_blank">ELLEN</a>: </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 14px;"><i>Melancholia</i> is amazing!</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;">SARAH: </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 14px;">What's <i>Melancholia </i>about?</span></span></div>
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<a href="http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/dogma/" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://content9.flixster.com/movie/26/81/268119_det.jpg" width="139" /></a> <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1527186/" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://t2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcT4PAgaGzEhSQSb25tVmmlKb5x98EWLXabP8bQdMj2Tk65dd2_wsYfo8ZZE" width="135" /></a><a href="http://ia.media-imdb.com/images/M/MV5BMTUxMjc2MTcxNV5BMl5BanBnXkFtZTcwMzgzOTY0MQ@@._V1._SY317_CR0,0,214,317_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://ia.media-imdb.com/images/M/MV5BMTUxMjc2MTcxNV5BMl5BanBnXkFtZTcwMzgzOTY0MQ@@._V1._SY317_CR0,0,214,317_.jpg" width="135" /></a><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1549572/" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://t2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcRaWxxasdygznhJdNdr8bNgRfJx5iOvNUwBKZLsRlJMw5YbsG5gFQEBOwYZ7w" width="135" /></a> </div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><a href="http://moolol-moolol.blogspot.com.au/" target="_blank">MEG</a>: </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 14px;">I want to see that! Sarah, this is what IMDb says it's about: "Two sisters find their already strained relationship challenged as a mysterious new planet threatens to collide with the Earth." </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 14px;">Also, I think that <i>Dogma</i> can totally fit this criteria</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">[NB Meg and I are both <i>Dogma</i> fanatics. As far as we're both concerned, it's gospel. Any <i>Dogma</i> reference is a fabulous reference.]</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 14px;">SARAH: </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 14px;">Totally. If there was going to be an apocalypse, I'd like to think that two fallen angels named Matt Damon and Ben Affleck had something to do with it.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 14px;"><a href="http://moolol-moolol.blogspot.com.au/" target="_blank">MEG</a>: </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 14px;">And that Chris Rock, Jay and Silent Bob and Alan Rickman would be part of a team trying to stop it.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">SARAH: Don't forget Salma Hayek.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 14px;"><a href="http://moolol-moolol.blogspot.com.au/" target="_blank">MEG</a>: </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 14px;">How did I forget Salma? I wish I was a prophet so I could hang with Jay and Bob</span></span></div>
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<a href="http://weheartit.com/entry/44591526/via/girlwithatopknot" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="http://data.whicdn.com/images/44591526/tumblr_mdxc9kxdLI1qhnavvo1_500_large.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 14px;">SARAH: </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 14px;">I know right! Although Jay and Silent Bob would hit on you constantly. Those boys are desperate for some skirt</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 14px;"><a href="http://moolol-moolol.blogspot.com.au/" target="_blank">MEG</a>: </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 14px;">Yeah but I would find them some skirt elsewhere and we would all basically become bros that spread the word of God and stop Matt Damon and Ben Affleck from destroying the world.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 14px;">SARAH: </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 14px;"><span id=".reactRoot[87].[1][2][1]{comment389253941155331_391310167616375}..[1]..[1]..[0].[0][1]"> </span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[87].[1][2][1]{comment389253941155331_391310167616375}..[1]..[1]..[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[87].[1][2][1]{comment389253941155331_391310167616375}..[1]..[1]..[0].[0][2]."><span id=".reactRoot[87].[1][2][1]{comment389253941155331_391310167616375}..[1]..[1]..[0].[0][2]..[0]">I just want to be God in that movie. You know when you see God and (s)he is just smelling flowers and doing cartwheels?</span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 14px;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[87].[1][2][1]{comment389253941155331_391310167616375}..[1]..[1]..[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[87].[1][2][1]{comment389253941155331_391310167616375}..[1]..[1]..[0].[0][2]."><span id=".reactRoot[87].[1][2][1]{comment389253941155331_391310167616375}..[1]..[1]..[0].[0][2]..[0]"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 14px;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[87].[1][2][1]{comment389253941155331_391310167616375}..[1]..[1]..[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[87].[1][2][1]{comment389253941155331_391310167616375}..[1]..[1]..[0].[0][2]."><span id=".reactRoot[87].[1][2][1]{comment389253941155331_391310167616375}..[1]..[1]..[0].[0][2]..[0]"><a href="http://moolol-moolol.blogspot.com.au/" target="_blank">MEG</a>: </span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 14px;">I think that is exactly what God should be like. I feel like watching it again but I won't because I will save it for rainbow pancakes.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 14px;">SARAH: </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 14px;">I am so pumped for rainbow pancakes at yours. I seriously do bags a pink one, otherwise there will be an apocalypse.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">After this exchange, I watched the other film that Ella had mentioned, <i>Another Earth</i>. It had a promising central concept as mentioned in the title. There is another planet, that is exactly like Earth. It is discovered that everyone has a twin living on Earth 2 that is identical in every way, even in their past lives. WHAT. However, I had mixed feelings upon the ending credits. If you don't appreciate a very gradual movement in plot and action, this film is definitely not for you. In that, it will slowly tear at your fast paced or even merely moving loving self. Note that it does break the criteria by not portraying an end of planet Earth.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Otherwise, I wish all the very best for the 'end' and the actual end of the year. Have a very happy apocalypse!</span></span></div>
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sarah.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14455110995370886126noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6261254914280464741.post-60036038908278894572012-12-10T22:42:00.000+10:002012-12-10T22:44:55.011+10:00Favourite Things Vol. 1<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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"You always say that," my sister noted.</div>
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"What?" I said.</div>
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"'It's my favourite'," she said. "Favourite what?"</div>
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We were watching a television commercial for some dolls. I forget the brand, but there were little girls commenting on how fabulous these plastic skanks were. My sister was right though. She was insultingly likening me to a six year old, but she was right. I like my favourites and I like exclaiming them to others. So in true Sezza fashion, I'd like to extend this pleasure to my blog. These are a few of my favourite things that have made my day.</div>
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Admittedly, twitter is one of the things I don't perceive a viable purpose for. It honestly is even more self indulgent than googling your own name. Yet sometimes, it pops out with some good stuff. You just have to look to Rihanna for some golden words of wisdom.</div>
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<a href="http://girlwithatopknot.tumblr.com/post/36998441451/1stclasspussy-in-these-hard-times-i-look-to" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij_y6vcoYzxe5Xej6XHd1f7dHsHH1lpodCCHsoasxzdwi24dqK8LJ6GKBGZSJrx3b7IXbYS2r6mZSDdiLI7cFcCVvcxNZvsdvQ6PtmxSN-yHRhALCHenHTKRgIE0DZ4g2r82Mkpz4QKtyQ/s1600/tumblr_mec9hnMfAr1qmno9jo1_400.png" /></a></div>
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Seriously though, there is some magical stuff on twitter. Emma Watson, Simon Pegg and Barack Obama will show you that.</div>
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<a href="http://girlwithatopknot.tumblr.com/post/36998014359/santasnaping-if-you-dont-like-emma-you-are" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_me5av4J6Zm1ra6sldo1_400.png" /></a></div>
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Twitter even illuminates ways in which trolls and haterz can further torment you. In such times, how should we react?</div>
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I'm considering creating a twitter account now, if only for the purpose of further seeking the silver lining in humanity's existence.</div>
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sarah.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14455110995370886126noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6261254914280464741.post-47786505208596616092012-12-10T21:50:00.001+10:002012-12-10T21:50:44.871+10:00What is Life? What is Blogging?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://weheartit.com/entry/30527688/via/girlwithatopknot" target="_blank"><br /><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrI1pJQD6talP5PcOzhxjz9Pq5RcroCZxMon0J107-EGsVtugRbHS_MACfVYsLGIUas4_einnUsYxZc5yS7uZuqHlMjlC0-DFWGQx6d5odwLibOJ5s1kThR8eBNxuHn2N_Il-fIdfpDaag/s1600/tumblr_m5f3xe0fwz1qagrqro1_500_large.png" /></a></div>
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Hello blogtopia. Miss me? I missed you. Well, I lie. I didn't really, I just experienced strange pangs of guilt whenever I suddenly thought of you. In the whole week since I spoke to you, I could have written, but I just didn't. In a sense I feel like I shouldn't be immersed in such emotion. This is MY blog. I own you. These roles cannot and should not be reversed. Besides, I have close to no faithful followers that I know of.<br />
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I also have felt peculiar when indulging in my latest addiction, <a href="http://girlwithatopknot.tumblr.com/" target="_blank">Tumblr</a>. I do still keep my prior view that Tumblr is one of the many greatly useless predicaments of our generation and yet now I am a constant scroller and reblogger. My life is proving again and again to be a fucking paradox; I do this also when I am a vegetarian that only wears leather but loves it and I contradict myself in basically everything else I do. While I am posting images of interest on the other site, I keep thinking of you, dear blog, you with your great many rambling and ageing posts and melancholiness almost eats me. After about a month of tumbling down Tumblr, I have gained 14 followers, a step up from my 3 followers on Blogger. This is not quite at my Pinterest fanbase, but what I can say. <a href="http://pinterest.com/ohsarah/products-i-love/" target="_blank">Pinners be batshit crazy</a>.<br />
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Sometimes I feel like I am not worthy of a blog. Blogs are for interesting people with interesting lives and do interesting things. I mean, just look at <a href="http://www.thestylerookie.com/" target="_blank">Tavi Genison</a>, <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; line-height: 16px;"><em style="color: black; font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://www.manrepeller.com/" target="_blank">Leandra Medine</a>, <a href="http://unscientificresearch.blogspot.com.au/" target="_blank">Kobi Blake-Craig</a>... </span></em></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; line-height: 16px;"><em style="color: black; font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">However on second thoughts, I think that this may be false. Blogging is for people with internet connections and a genuine interest in what lies in cyberspace. Blogs are not really for individuals who are necessarily fascinating. They are for people with captivating things to exclaim to the digital world and who are able to express themselves fabulously. (Yay being articulate) Blogs are for everyone and they are outlets for us, the next best thing to a battered journal or a wall in a public toilet. The world may not actually care about what you have to proclaim. Yet that should never matter. Sometimes you may need to publicly declare something, if only to yourself. </span></em></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; line-height: 16px;"><em style="color: black; font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I can fulfil this criteria. I can talk needlessly about topics of questionable relevancy even if no one will listen. I didn't start my blog for a group of readers, I started it for me. Even I resemble something like a digital ranting stranger usually found in the depths of public transport that obnoxiously notify you of their conspiracy theories, I am sorry. This is my domain and I welcome you into it. Just brace yourselves. I am a bloggress out to satisfy herself and not always you with my keyboard. Selfish, I know. Coerce all of your friends, family and crazy fellow public transport riders to religiously follow me and I might change my mind. Maybe. Tata, I must dash off into the material world. </span></em></span></div>
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sarah.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14455110995370886126noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6261254914280464741.post-3028431244443465742012-12-04T21:51:00.000+10:002012-12-04T21:52:03.811+10:00Doing it in Style: Anklet Me<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Over here in the southern hemisphere, summer has arrived. Sweat inducing, sunburn spreading, humid and hazy summer has arrived. In such weather, less clothes are in call. This means more exposure of flesh and more notably, of leggy leggy leggy legs. Why not decorate your fine stems with little anklets? If you are like me, this activity will lend a way to temporarily escape your easily found boredom and to possibly start conversation (especially when near girls - bitches love anklets). If you are clever, you may use this as a way of producing cash (again, bitches love anklets). I don't know and I don't care how you'll use this information, but here. Let me show you.<br />
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1. You'll need three bits of embroidery thread, each approximately 1.4 metres long (this is a rough figure, you may change it to suit). You can find floss easily at a craft store or have a dig in your local Vinnies. Cut them in half. You should now have six threads.</div>
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2. Lay them all out together. Tie a knot about 4cm from the top. Do a double knot, it'll be more secure.<br />
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3. Now separate your strands. Grab one, and using this fine individual, tie a knot around the rest of its brothers.<br />
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4. Repeat step 3, nine more times. Or however many times you want. I am not the knotting police, I don't actually care. Whatever. After this, separate the strands into three (you may do it in colours if you wish) and then braid it until it is long as your knotted section.<br />
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5. Repeat steps 3-4 until you reach your desired length. Finally, tie a concluding double knot just like your initial double knot. Trim off excess floss.<br />
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6. Tie around your ankle. Done! Now go my son, go create more anklet children. You may adapt this technique to create bracelets, shoelaces, headbands, etc. Just don't use it to floss your teeth, because that is just nasty.</div>
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sarah.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14455110995370886126noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6261254914280464741.post-10356334316965080602012-12-02T17:49:00.002+10:002012-12-02T17:52:51.793+10:00Zine alert: Top Knot Issue no. 1<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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In case you were not arsed to read through yesterday's lengthy post- here is a desperate alert to the fact that I have a <a href="https://docs.google.com/uc?id=0By0hmsl-1WPjdG5NU3lHT2VxRlk&export=download" target="_blank">zine that is now available to download</a>. You guys, a zine! Sarah out.</div>
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sarah.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14455110995370886126noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6261254914280464741.post-69700435248122795122012-12-01T10:47:00.000+10:002012-12-01T20:24:11.223+10:00Pinch and a Punch on the First Day of the Month: December<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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For me, December has always been and will continue to be quite a month. Being in Australia, another school year will be out, with the internal embodiment of Zac Efron and Vanessa Hudgens in a High School Musicalesque echoing chorus of "Summer. Summer. Summer..." (Please tell me I am not the only person who does that.) It's time to increase our risk of skin cancer diagnosis and to rock up the beach, or to find sanctuary in the air conditioned cinemas, or to take on what I find to be the true holiday spirit and to eat a substantial amount of heavenly food. I find now that when I engage in social outings, my friends and I will plan our get togethers around food. Yum food. Oh a side note, I somehow always find myself embracing and then quickly abandoning a new year's resolution of 'being healthy'.<br />
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December is also a blatant month of traditions. Sure, everyone shares Christmas and New Years' together and we meet up with our families and give and receive presents. Yet in this month, I like to embrace my own personal traditions. Every Christmas since I was 15 (which sounds impressive until you consider my current age, 17) I have read only the most beautiful novel, Mark Zusak's <i>The Book Thief</i>. I adopted this tradition after viewing some god awful film with Sandra Bullock being a conceited bitch to Ryan Reynolds. (<i>The Proposal?</i>) Irrespective, it's a smashing custom and nothing that is not really related to the silly season says Christmas to me like <i>The Book Thief</i>. This is fitting, as I kind of despise all Christmas related books/films. <i>With the Christmas spirit restored, Santa and the reindeer were able to give all the girls and boys their</i> go suck a dick. Nothing screams inadequate and unoriginal like a good old Christmas film. There are only a golden few that are bearable, like <i>Love Actually</i> and <i>It's a Wonderful Life</i> and ...<br />
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This is why every year, my family watches <i>The Godfather. </i>It's an offer we can never refuse (geddit) and in it there's traditions of our own. My father will always offer his own commentary, but wait, in a terrible European impression while coming to the apparent realisation that he is the Don.<br />
"I am the Don." (in a classic murder of the Sicilian accent)<br />
"You are not the Don Dad."<br />
"Oh but <i>si</i>, I am."<br />
In the words of Natalie Tran, "I could cut off your lips..."<br />
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Earlier then this, however, when Don Corleone and his daughter waltz together at her wedding, Dad will lean in and verify that something identical will occur at my own matrimonial affair. He never senses my sky braising raised eyebrow. Meanwhile, my mother will have already left to attend to another matter, so as to avoid the 'violent'. If she stays as long as the (SPOILER) horse's head, she will have already winced and moaned enough to derive anyone of their sanity. (For fuck's sake, it's a movie about the Mafia)<br />
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This year, I am especially excited for December 21. Regardless of whether Hollywood's and the New Age movement's interpretation of the Mayan calendar ending really was legit, I cannot wait to see individuals acting like lunatics. If there is a time that #YOLO will be recklessly embraced, it'll be then. December 21 will be the day of desperate desperate people and it will also be the perfect day for people like me; cynics who have a healthy sense of irony to watch the blockbuster <i>2012. </i><br />
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With endings, there also comes its bina<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">ry opposite beginnings. Starts, firsts, establishments, etc. As this year is ending, I have decided to create my very first <a href="https://docs.google.com/open?id=0By0hmsl-1WPjdG5NU3lHT2VxRlk" target="_blank">zine</a><i>, </i>just a little something to enjoy in all physicality. <b><a href="https://docs.google.com/open?id=0By0hmsl-1WPjdG5NU3lHT2VxRlk" target="_blank">Top Knot Issue</a> </b>is a bonus for <b>girl with a top knot</b> readers and it is just a little glance into what December means for both me and you. There's insights from Kobi, an
amateur’s survival guide for the end of the world and a vision of my/girl with a top knot's future. </span><br />
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It's fun. It's double sided. And it costs zilch. Except for a tree's life. Can you handle that? You also need to fold it a couple of times and to give it a little snip. Please refer to <a href="http://rookiemag.com/2012/05/how-to-make-a-zine/" target="_blank">this tutorial</a>. If you follow it correctly, you'll have a mini me of books. <a href="https://docs.google.com/open?id=0By0hmsl-1WPjdG5NU3lHT2VxRlk" target="_blank">You should defs get into it right away</a>.<br />
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It's in December that we all realise that another year has trickled away from underneath us and each year it seems to gain more momentum. 2012 is ending, and quickly. Bring on 2013, I say. Bring on the end and bring on the beginning. For all we know, <a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ciframe%20width=%22420%22%20height=%22315%22%20src=%22http://www.youtube.com/embed/GdWZTDxYOq8%22%20frameborder=%220%22%20allowfullscreen%3E%3C/iframe%3E" target="_blank">this could be the start of something new</a>.<br />
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May Santa Somehow Break Into Your House and Deliver All That You Desire Under Your Tree,<br />
girl with a top knot x<br />
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sarah.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14455110995370886126noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6261254914280464741.post-53285313853134118102012-11-16T19:50:00.002+10:002012-11-16T19:51:09.631+10:00Hold Tight<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://8tracks.com/girlwithatopknot/hold-tight">Hold Tight</a> from <a href="http://8tracks.com/girlwithatopknot">girlwithatopknot</a> on <a href="http://8tracks.com/">8tracks Radio</a>. Cover art via weheartit.</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Eight tracks to help you get through it, whatever 'it' is. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;">Featuring <a href="http://8tracks.com/mixes/songs/Dave%20Dee,%20Dozy,%20Beaky,%20Mick%20&%20Tich" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; color: #2c4d96; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;" title="Search for mixes with Dave Dee, Dozy, Beaky, Mick &amp; Tich">Dave Dee, Dozy, Beaky, Mick & Tich</a>; <a href="http://8tracks.com/mixes/songs/Jonathon%20Richman" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; color: #2c4d96; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;" title="Search for mixes with Jonathon Richman">Jonathon Richman</a>, <a href="http://8tracks.com/mixes/songs/Madonna" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; color: #2c4d96; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;" title="Search for mixes with Madonna">K</a>aty Perry and many more.</span></span><br />
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sarah.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14455110995370886126noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6261254914280464741.post-29063123243692158212012-11-16T19:34:00.001+10:002012-11-16T19:36:12.737+10:00When the End is a Beginning<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">weheartit</td></tr>
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I don't really need to explain myself to you- I only have a couple of regular readers and they know me personally. Hold tight though, allow me this vanity. I haven't blogged in a while because I fell in life, hard. This year has been what I feel to be one of the most defining years of my lifetime. It was the final year of my formal schooling education - the last year of high school. I only graduated last night and after returning today from a data check, I hung my school uniform up. I sat on my bed and I continued to gaze at it. I will never wear a school uniform again. I will never chuck it on, hurriedly brush my teeth and run up to homeroom with my sister again.<br />
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I've said my goodbyes, given and received the gifts, belted out my school hymn, I've even gotten a little teary. Yet nothing about this feels quite real and I still feel like next year, I'll be doing it all over again. While school was a massive pain in the arse, it was what dominated my life for the last 12 years. Everything revolved around study, school and assignments. And while I hated it, I think I also really appreciated it and what it gave me.<br />
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My last five years at my high school have helped shape me into the person I am now and honestly, I like my (current) 17 year self. I think my 12 year old self was a little a shit. Thankfully, that's changed. It's been the people I've met and the experiences that have moulded me and who I will be. It could never last and I'm glad that I made it right through to the end.<br />
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I'll let you in on a secret: I'm kind of scared. Scared of what is ahead, because I have no idea of what exactly is ahead. However, I am also estatically excited. I feel like a cheesy metaphor is only fitting: it's like a fresh and blank notebook, anything can be written. As Natasha liked to say, <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b7k0a5hYnSI" target="_blank">I am unwritten</a>. It's in the end of this era, our era, we will all find a new beginning.<br />
Graduating class of 2012. We did it.</div>
sarah.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14455110995370886126noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6261254914280464741.post-91152259232292708722012-10-23T15:58:00.000+10:002012-10-23T15:58:53.969+10:00Secret Diary of GTK: mushrooms, moustaches and seahorses<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Should we try to psycho analyse these? You'll probably draw the conclusion that Sarah is a weirdo. Yet I already knew that. What a waste of time.<br />
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You know you love me,<br />
xoxo girl with a top knot<br />
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sarah.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14455110995370886126noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6261254914280464741.post-66000286435678640392012-10-22T17:12:00.001+10:002012-10-22T17:12:18.297+10:00That's What I Like About You<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<iframe height="250" src="http://8tracks.com/mixes/986025/player_v3_universal" style="border: 0px none;" width="300"></iframe> <br />
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<a href="http://8tracks.com/girlwithatopknot/that-s-what-i-like-about-you">That's What I Like About You</a> from <a href="http://8tracks.com/girlwithatopknot">girlwithatopknot</a> on <a href="http://8tracks.com/">8tracks Radio</a>. Cover art found via weheartit.</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 16px;">Ten tracks for canoodling with your beliked. Featuring The Romantics, <a href="http://8tracks.com/mixes/songs/Lana%20Del%20Ray" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; color: #2c4d96; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;" title="Search for mixes with Lana Del Ray">Lana Del Ray</a>,<a href="http://8tracks.com/mixes/songs/Calvin%20Harris" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; color: #2c4d96; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;" title="Search for mixes with Calvin Harris">Calvin Harris</a> and many others. Enjoy!</span><br />
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sarah.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14455110995370886126noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6261254914280464741.post-36602933758241905472012-10-22T14:04:00.003+10:002012-10-22T14:12:40.216+10:00LSP Forever<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">via weheartit</td></tr>
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A while ago, one of my daily stalks <a href="http://rookiemag.com/" target="_blank">Rookie</a> uploaded <a href="http://rookiemag.com/2012/09/ltbte-lsp/" target="_blank">a fabulous article</a> about one of my all time favourite fictional characters, Lumpy Space Princess. For me, it was almost like a disney dream come true. Rookie + LSP = Christmas in September for Sarah. No joke, I squealed with glee when I saw the title of the post. I promise you reader, I'll explain why I love Rookie another day. Right now, I am going to fangirl over Lumpy Space Princess.<br />
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If you have never experienced the pleasure of viewing Jake the dog's and Finn the human's antics in Cartoon Network's <i>Adventure Time</i>, you simply have not tasted pure joy. This show which first debuted in 2010, is a vivid cartoon which is set in the magical kingdom of Oo. I warn you, it is weird. It's wonderfully weird. You may scoff at my choice of optimum TV given that I hit double digits in my age a while ago; although as a friend of mine once said, there is so much appeal for older audiences as Finn and Jake speak like teenagers from the 90s. As anyone in Gen Y will tell you, I was yours at 90s.<br />
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<i>Adventure Time</i> explores all sorts of themes, like friendship and power and magic and it's always awesome fun. Finn and Jake interact with lots of interesting characters, including the lolly people (Peppermint Butler, Cinnamon Bun) and the many princesses (Princess Bubblegum, Hot Dog Princess, Turtle Princess, etc.) My favourite princess and character is you guessed it, LSP. Who is this woman, you demand to know. SHE is a levitating purple cloud that speaks in a jaded Valley Girl tone. Everything she says is an instant catchphrase, such as 'oh my glob', 'drama bomb' and 'lump off'. However, with an LSP catchphrase, it also appears as mandatory to say it in her fruity twang. It's all in the tone man. Just try to listen to anything she says without bursting into spontaneous laughter. All credit for this brilliant persona goes to Pendleton Ward, the show's creator, who I imagine to be right up there with certain voice gods like Christian Bale in Howl's Moving Castle and Seth Green.<br />
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LSP is a sassy gal with top confidence, although as revealed in later episodes, there are more layers to her exterior sass. She can also be quite sensitive (as shown above) and also quite passionate. If there's one thing that LSP is, it's passionate. She's passionate about her lumps, her school's weekly promcoming dance and she's passionate about life in general.<br />
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LSP is also a fantastic story teller. One always feels inclined to exclaim "oh my glob", when her dramatic retellings of her romance with ex boyfriend Brad. My favourite episode personally, is one where she is isolated in the wilderness and is taken in by wolves. LSP tells Jake and Finn about it, saying that "the Mama wolf was all like, 'we must take care of her, as if she were our own'. And the papa wolf was like 'this is a special child who needs special love because she's gonna be great when she grows up'".<br />
When hearing her recount of the event, Finn asks if they were talking wolves. "No," she replies. "They were normal wolves. I knew what they were thinking because of their body language."<br />
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The only complaint I have to make about <i>Adventure Time</i> is that LSP only appears in some episodes. When she does appear though, she makes the show. I guess she just adds to a long tradition of minor characters dominating their protagonist's narrative - just like in <i>Princess Bride </i>and <i>South Park. </i>Here's to LSP- may she continue to be as enlightening in further episodes.</div>
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sarah.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14455110995370886126noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6261254914280464741.post-64634690197189797002012-10-21T13:28:00.001+10:002012-10-21T13:32:30.530+10:00A Note on Siblings<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">via weheartit</td></tr>
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If there was one person I wanted in my life when I was growing up, it was a little brother. In my mind, he would be the the epitome of adorable, with chubby cheeks, a crooked smile and a slight lisp. He'd glance at me admiringly, thinking that I was cool in itself and hold tight at my hand when we went for our classic ice cream runs.<br />
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While I would envelop myself in this sweet daydream, I would also simultaneously ignore my younger sister and her whining cries of 'Saaawwwaaahh'. No offence to my girl Jess, but she could be a complete and utter shit. I mean, she did attempt to comb my hair between her toes. That was just one of her half brained antics. There is a reason that we still have regular disputes over what really are minuscule matters. (Bitch how hard is it to put my books back on my bookcase where you found them)<br />
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Nonetheless, I now consider her as my best friend/other half/homegirl/partner in crime/etc. I could not imagine life without the warming presence of my sister and without a doubt, she knows me better than I probably know myself. At her end of the spectrum, she never knew life without me to begin with, so I know that these feelings are mutual. We both eat unfeasible amounts of ice-cream together, we both cry at <i>Million Dollar Baby</i> together and we both love to rock out to some <a href="http://8tracks.com/girlwithatopknot" target="_blank">fabulous tunes</a> together. Until the end of time/ice cream, I know that we got each others' backs and nothing will change that.<br />
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sarah.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14455110995370886126noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6261254914280464741.post-44600286567539221062012-10-19T16:30:00.001+10:002012-10-19T16:34:36.271+10:00Greek it Up<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">via the guardian<br />
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If I was somehow forced into a time machine and pinged back into an ancient civilisation, I think I would totally check some Ancient Greece. They seemed like pretty cool and clever people, they came up with all kinds of things that I appreciate now, like democracy and the Olympics. Now everyone can vote and compete in both politics and athletics; that's nice. Ancient Greece was also the birthplace of other not so popular things like pythagoras (I like you pythagoras).<br />
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They also developed astronomy to <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">a mind blowing level, considering they didn't have Google. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;">Ponticus was the first to propose that Earth rotated about on an axis and </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Eratosthenes actually estimated the Earth's circumference quite accurately using the angles of SHADOWS. Don't ask me how this works, because I have no idea.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;">Other things the Great Greeks gave us: plumbing, medicine and vending machines. These people were tops.</span></span></div>
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sarah.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14455110995370886126noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6261254914280464741.post-32338729715533983352012-10-18T00:23:00.001+10:002012-10-19T16:36:24.121+10:00Bother Bother Bother: Memoirs of a Lazy Shit<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW2FB6gx97WUrQvVUKXaugI8SzaIzZFrvnaW_cwTCEvEu5L0yu55jVsbZyxgKlA2Vz0zwGOU9un2z8NYmJS8HaCJ0Am-l5zSuPhW_d2TUqruCIcv7R4qSr_iTqb-gGC4MsFa5PjAiUTx08/s1600/tumblr_madhrkTHne1qmzhmeo1_500_large.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW2FB6gx97WUrQvVUKXaugI8SzaIzZFrvnaW_cwTCEvEu5L0yu55jVsbZyxgKlA2Vz0zwGOU9un2z8NYmJS8HaCJ0Am-l5zSuPhW_d2TUqruCIcv7R4qSr_iTqb-gGC4MsFa5PjAiUTx08/s1600/tumblr_madhrkTHne1qmzhmeo1_500_large.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">this epitomization of laziness in feline form brought to you via the image bank of weheartit</td></tr>
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There aren't words to describe the scale of my laziness. I'm sorry for abandoning you for so long. Not you non-existant reader, the blog. To be fair though, I kind of went to Japan and I'm also currently experiencing the final stages of my high school career. Shit is going down and I'm not really sure how to face it. It's all so exciting and paralysing and heartbreaking and so many other conflicting emotions are raging through my bloodstream and I don't know how to take it and arghhhhh. So please don't hate me, you splendid outlet you. Have a cat piccy. I'll return with actual content soon.</div>
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sarah.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14455110995370886126noreply@blogger.com0