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No responsibility will be accepted by the author for the wastage of your valuable time whilst reading this. Any claims that she has forced you to visit this site in order to inflate her ego will go ignored, and will only go to show your vulnerability to the author's exceptional persuasive skills as developed in Year 12 English. That is all.

True to form as always, my laziness has prevented me from chronicling any adventure since July. However, with the Actuarial Students' Society Vision 2009 publication almost as barren as Julia Gillard in terms of articles, I was requested as la señorita presidente and the Face of the ASS for 2010 to pen an article for sponsors and students. Yes, finally an opportunity to inflate my ego by other means than coercing visitors to The Blahg. However, I must admit that it was a struggle to churn out a piece without baring my slothly (aka unemployable) characteristics.

So, in an attempt to appear like a diligent blogger, I've decided to post my article up.

The 2010 President's Vision: Actuaries Who Are Actuarially Cool

As a self-professed maths nerd, the doting mother of four calculators and someone who regularly uses “nerd” as a verb, I feel no shame in proclaiming that nerd jokes are my guilty pleasure. Whether it is milking puns out of π or chuckling at esoteric calculus jokes, academic humour is a favourite pastime of yours truly. However, a Google trawl of the phrase “actuarial jokes” cements popular belief that actuaries are nothing more than a bunch of nerds who deify the mathematical rock star Terence Tao, hover around as if they have attained their personal nirvana in annuity evaluation and think that being sexy is to be the secant of c.

I beg to differ. Whilst I concede that I am in possession of a T-shirt with “sec(c)” unabashedly emblazoned across my bust, I am an average uni student. I am willing to admit that like most of my peers, I derive great joy from dissecting the latest Gossip Girl scandals; watching semi-inebriated friends at karaoke screech 90s anthems into tortured microphones; engorging myself on Real Food in the CBD (in lieu of indigestible Union House food); going on road trips with music blaring at full volume; pending hours entangled in the time-engulfing black hole that is Youtube; or joining a taskforce of girlfriends, arming ourselves with measly student wages and stimulating the economy at Chadstone. That’s right: actuaries are capable of having fun, and do have a normal life outside pricing fixed interest investments. Moreover, being in the company of extremely intelligent individuals is definitely more conducive to producing witty repartee, which I can say goes beyond merely poking fun at our society’s (un)fortunate acronym.

As the President-Elect of the Actuarial Students’ Society, I am hoping to remedy the public misconception that actuaries are human calculators with the personality of a park bench and the heart of a Connex inspector. With the creation of a brand-spanking new Sponsorship Officer position and an overhaul of committee members’ roles and responsibilities, the society’s 2010 Committee has a clearer vision than ever to work efficiently and seamlessly, to forge links between sponsors and students and fund a barrage of exciting new social events next year.

Sponsors are integral to our society’s operation (10 actuarial points to those who were instantly reminded of calculus), so we will ensure that by supporting the society, strong relationships will be built to provide company promotion, exposure to a pool of highly talented and promising students as well as involvement in students’ university lives through a series of social and careers events. Students will be informed of the opportunities available to them as they are released from the fetters of structured education and commence working in the Real World (unless they’ve already had a brief tryst with McDonalds or Kmart – though some don’t like to admit it on their résumés).

Moreover, with the help of our sponsors, we aim to fulfil our role as a student society, which is essentially to build bridges, bring together and involve fellow actuaries through the organisation of more events. The society works to encourage actuarial students to befriend something besides our heaven-bestowed non-programmable calculators. Hence, I’m eagerly looking forward to next year, as the Actuarial Students’ Society will debunk the erroneous public idea that "actuarial jokes" are oxymoronic, and that actuaries are as cool as a solar-powered sauna on the surface of the sun.

PS. To spare you the troubles of Googling “actuarial jokes”, I decided to provide you with a particular highlight:
Q: What is the difference between an Actuary and an Accountant?
A: About 25 grand.

-Señorita Mel

Labels: Maths, Uni, Work

6 comment(s)

Fellow sloths, it's been one and a half years since my torrid affair with a faceless beast commonly referred to as a VCE English Essay; instead, I have been growing intimate with a very eligible Bachelor of Commerce. Hence, I fear that any last vestiges of linguistic flair will be strapped to a cinder block and plunged into a sea of syntax-abusive, Louis-Vuitton-toting fobs. Indeed, a cursory skim of my blog visitor statistics showed that my blog was somehow referred to by a Google search for "不会说英文了 anymore", which translates to "can't speak English anymore". Encouraging.
So here's hoping that blahging will be the buoy to my floundering English skills, such that 我会说英文.

Anyway, preamble aside, I am currently approaching the tail end of holidays: the sweet sweet reprieve after the exam period, which I will 'affectionately' remember as an era of doom, death, despair and distributions. Unfortunately, I'm currently finding myself in a state of penury.

Inspired by The Breakfast Blog and spurred by shameless food porn on Masterchef, I have found a new hobby in splurging on ambrosial brunches with Swee: the only one crazy enough to pay more than $5.95 for breakfast. In a sadistic twist, I have posted the tantalising food porn on Facebook for those missing out. I went on a trip to Lorne with the lovely Monass kids last week, and had the time of my life playing Monopoly, Sardines and watching inebriated friends play Kings; had the occasional (but expensive) jaunt to DFO; bought a new pair of Bvlgari ubernerd glasses; attended a vintage clothing market with Ciara in the hallowed, diamond-encrusted suburb of Camberwell; watched Harry Potter (nerd brigade unite) and Transformers amidst an audience of edacious pubescent boys (who got their $15.50 worth in Megan Fox's décolletage).

Hence, it's not hard to figure out why here I am sitting here whittling through the rest of the winter break with little more than an empty wallet and an unabated internet habit to keep me warm.

-Meli$$a

PS. Somehow, my blog was also referred to by a Facebook group entitled "Sexcellent". Well isn't that sexciting?

Labels: Blog, Meh

0 comment(s)

Humans are selfish, hedonistic creatures; incontrovertibly and immutably. But let it be known that I am not jaded nor condemnatory.

As much as our individual creeds may vary, we all have one united objective: to maximise our happiness. All humans are equipped with the reasoning skills to assess pros and cons, and will make the most rational decision to bring the greatest expected benefit to them. Such benefits may be “selfless” in that others may benefit more than you (especially in a material sense); however, the inherent sense of satisfaction or enjoyment you may feel from helping others still offers a personal happiness that outranks other alternatives. This is essentially selfishness, but not in the awful, heartless meaning that is propagated. After talking to Brendan yesterday about his involvement with the Oaktree foundation, he admitted that his involvement was ultimately selfish, due to the intrinsic joy he derives from helping others. This is a case in point: selflessness and selfishness coincide.

Moreover, whilst one may extract happiness from a morally sound life devoted to God, another may flourish in the shallow thrills of promiscuity, booze or hard drugs. The latter may be called to mind when hedonism is mentioned; however, both are hedonistic. Perhaps one is seen as more “morally degenerate” than the other, but apart from different preferences, the actions are identical: the pursuit of happiness.

There is nothing wrong with selfishness and hedonism: they are fundamental pillars of human nature. Rather, it is our methods to achieve them that may be condemned.

-Mel

Labels: Ramblings

2 comment(s)

The prospect of epically failing second year university exams is again looming, and I am feeling much like a married man whose wife is commencing her monthly menstrual cycle: dread, coupled with the irrepressible urge to escape the house and lament in the company of similarly doomed friends. So, I have retaliated in the all-too familiar way: by retreating into my niche in cyberspace and venting completely irrelevant pet-hates in a burst of glorious procrastination.

Recent pet-hates include:

Hideous Facebook friends publicly becoming fans of “Spooning” or “Naked Cuddling” invites the kind of imagery that is better left to dirty old men and Twilight fan-fiction sites.
Shameless tweens substituting “omg” with “ome”, which stands for “Oh My Edward”. Apparently God is to the Pope as Edward Cullen is to every female under the age of fifteen. Although Mrs Collin failed to convert me during my PLC heyday, I am pretty sure that God does not drive a Volvo, does not sleep over in women’s bedrooms without the knowledge of their fathers, and DOES wash his hair. Moreover, comments such as “STFU BIATCHZZ, EDWARD CULLEN WAS MINEEE FIRSTTTTTTTT XoX MrS CuLL3n” or “Whoever comes onto this fansite and says my beloved Edward isn’t real is a sick mofo.” are frightening.
Facebook friends monopolising my pristine news feed with countless quiz results. I have resorted to hiding particular culprits from my feed whose “best sexual position” I prefer to be left unpublished. If Facebook continues to allow such inappropriate behaviour, they will kill social networking like video killed the radio star. Please be responsible and choose the Skip button!
Promptly commenting or Liking a status, only to have the person comment on your stalkerish speed of reply. Well I apologise for appreciating whatever you posted on the home page, which I just so happened to be reading at the time.
Listening to music on my laptop and forgetting I have my earphones in, but realising when I get up, walk away and drag my computer with me by the ears.
Train perverts and their not-so-subtle once-overs. Reflector sunglasses invite instant suspicion, and from experience, fourth carriage is particularly sleazy.
AMI premature ejaculation advertisements, especially in the car with Conservative Asian Parents. Imagine a parent turning up the volume during the news, only to have it superseded by a clearly enunciated “Do you suffer from premature ejaculation?” They do not turn down the volume because it means acknowledging the existence of the ad, nor can they make coherent conversation over the top of the ad due to its volume. Hence, you’re trapped in a silent car with your parents with “LONGER LASTING SEX” blaring unabashedly over the radio. The end of the ad is greeted with a collective inhale, as the parent oh-so-subtly turns down the volume and tries to fill the quietness with a lame attempt at conversation. Ah, awkwardness abound.
Parental sarcasm after midnight. In fact, parental sarcasm, period. Comments such as “how about you talk to more people on MSN; that’d surely increase your mark” while I am studying for a mid-semester exam, or “drive faster; I have life and car insurance” while I am actually driving safely is not appreciated.
Asking a MHSer to burn the MATLAB program for me, only to receive the DVD clearly labelled “NUDE EROTIC GAY WRESTLING VOLUME 17: OILED UP. Property of Melissa Tam” in permanent black marker. It was even worse when my loving parents discovered the disc while rifling through my bag for incriminating items... while I was asleep.
Uneducated patrons walking into a Thai restaurant, demanding Singaporean noodles and acting disgruntled when we tell them that Singapore and Thailand are located on entirely different land masses. Yes, how dare we have the nerve to serve Thai cuisine at a Thai restaurant! You’d think that such stupid people would have been long weeded out of humanity by Darwin’s natural selection.
Searching for lecture notes, only to find that they are a) right in front of you, b) already in your hands, or c) are accidentally stapled them to the back of the lecture notes in your hands.

And finally:

Spending a few hours of precious study time composing a post that confirms that I am a human FML.

-FMEL

Labels: Rants, Society, Uni

2 comment(s)

I must confess that my holiday-induced torpor has prevented me from reading the news as religiously as I did last year. Instead, I have been gorging myself on season after season of Gossip Girl (the reincarnate of The OC, for those who are pop-culturally-deprived); falling asleep under UV-heavy sunshine; throwing pillows at my ceiling as a pathetic form of exercise; and crediting my bank account on several shopping trips and eBay trawls. However, breaking my vow to follow the news incurred a dose of cosmic justice when a customer mentioned the Thailand airport incident at the restaurant:

Bored Customer: So… have you got any family in Thailand?

Me: No; unfortunately, my networks don’t extend to Thailand.

Bored: Oh you don’t know anyone over there? Aren’t you worried about what’s happening there?

Me: (Completely lost) Oh yes… but I hope it’ll work out soon…

Bored: Well it hasn’t so far.

Me: Well… the government should… handle things.

*Uncomfortable pause*.

Hence, in a thinly veiled attempt to look like I know what I’m talking about, I found myself flipping through The Age. Skimming the Odd Spot and comics, I was rewarded handsomely for my efforts when the sweet, sweet words “TOMMY HILFIGER WAREHOUSE SALE” blared in regal red and blue. Salivating at the 50% storewide discount on offer, I managed to entice devout TH followers Van, Swee and Anthony to come along.

However, I had a few qualms:

The seemingly God-sent sale would turn out to be too good to be true, and the sale was really meant to start at 8am on December 4^th, 2009, rather than 2008.
Fashionistas and The Age readers are not mutually exclusive, and all sizes below XXXL would be devoured within the first ten minutes of the sale.
As the sale was located in none other than Richmond, I could very well be leading my friends to a warehouse filled with nothing but underworld gangsters, who placed the ad in The Age for the sole purposes of harvesting organs and trading them with China for cocaine.
The claim “SHIRTS FROM $40” means that there would be a single shirt in the entire warehouse at $40, and it’d be a horrific eyesore either suited for Mardi Gras or a washed-up-rock-star uncle that fronted an unpopular 60s band.

Nonetheless, in spite of sleeping through my alarm as per usual, we arrived at a warehouse filled with ample stock of XS and S. Absolutely euphoric, all of us splurged on shirts and polos, even if that meant committing the sartorial felony of buying a shirt that a friend already owns (albeit for a wonderfully cheaper price). For all those budding economists, the additional $170 of expenditure appearing in Australia’s National Accounts this period is thanks to none other than Melissa Tam, at the expense of her depressingly light wallet. However, the girls were extravagantly out-shopped by Anthony, under the claim that he was “buying presents for friends”. Needless to say, his wardrobe choices at uni next year will be scrutinised, particularly for the women’s cardigan and polo that he “purchased for Anna”.

On another note, I have a gripe about Asians. We are notorious for stinginess and other similarly infuriating behaviours, and this claim was certainly cemented when I was buying basil for the restaurant yesterday. As the boss was serving me, the Asian lady behind me in the queue managed to carry out a conversation with the boss and complete her entire transaction before I even paid my money, saving herself a grand total of 30 seconds. And if you are unable to figure out how that is physically possible, you clearly haven’t spent enough time at Box Hill Central. Annoyingly, she seemed oblivious to the look of disgust I shot at her. However, I must admit that the trademark Asian slit eyes aren’t particularly effective at conveying or perceiving emotion – for obvious reasons.

- The Spendthrift Sloth

Quotes of the Day:

“I finally know what it feels like to be a girl.” – Brendan, finally castrated.

“I like my men like I like my wine. OLD.” – Van the Tomb Raider.

“Omg Mel I’m sooo screwed. Why do I only like MEN?” – Van, who perhaps needs to spend more time with girl-schoolers, cough.

Labels: Outings, Rants

2 comment(s)

I must confess that I am incredibly reluctant to yet again declare my commitment to blogging. I’ve become somewhat of a blog pimp, in that I find myself seduced by a fleeting passion for blogging, but then losing interest and finding myself settling back into the realms of Facebook and MSN within a matter of days. However, with Brendan running a spectacularly zealous advertising campaign for his blog, I feel the need to grab the narcoleptic creature that is my blog, shake it violently from its slumber and mount the blogging bandwagon. Surely it would be more intellectually stimulating than the Minesweeper related outbursts. After all, I must roll back the fobbiness that has been installed into me during this year, before I commit grammatical felonies and drown in an overabundance of tildes~~~ ^_^

Curiously, I find myself in roughly the same position as last year – at the mercy of the whip-brandishing torturer that goes by the name of Mathematics. As much as others would suggest otherwise, we have never gotten along well, and are not on talking terms at the moment. Therefore, I am seeking refuge in a rebound relationship with my blog – so rebound such that no kinetic energy has been lost.

-The Spirited Sloth

Labels: Blog

1 comment(s)

In the frenzy leading up to the exams, I’ve had Matt not-so-subtly insert “99.95”, VCE references and whatnot into MSN conversations… even more than usual. My guess is that he’s either kindly reminding me of old VCE trauma, or it’s a manifestation of ENTER-related elitism that our beloved Dr He has drilled into him.
There are possibly two ways of determining whether you are elitist:
1) Your opinion of someone changes when you discover how ‘elite’ they actually are.
2) Your treatment of those who are not ‘elite’ – instant dismissal of their opinions screams elitism.
Contrary to popular (cough Asian) belief, however, there are many aspects to an individual apart from VCE performance – and therefore different types of elitism, or shallowness.

Physical Elitism
It’s undeniable that this is ubiquitous in our society. As much as we’d like to deny it, everybody is innately shallow to an extent. Besides, physical attraction is, in a way, an evolutionary device: those that lack a fine physical appearance – whether it is due to physical disability or a severe case of acne – fail to score chicks and reproduce. Hotties procreate with ease. Darwin’s natural selection at its most obvious.
Looks are an external shell created from luck, and will inevitably fade in time. So unfortunately, your hotness depends largely on the genetic lottery.

Intellectual Elitism
This is intellectual ‘shallowness’ as opposed to ‘usual shallowness’. Having a care factor directly proportional to someone’s VCE score a la Dr sHe is a dead giveaway.
It can be argued that there is a correlation between intelligence and ‘relatability’: intelligent people are arguably better at generating engaging conversations… or at least something beyond monosyllabic grunts and vacuous discussions about the latest Big Brother surprise twist. And if you’re unable to learn from someone, it is harder to have a meaningful relationship with them. To an extent, this justifies elitism and gravitation towards smarter people.
But assuming that shallowness is actually 'wrong' in the first place, society leads you to believe that intellectual shallowness is deeper than physical shallowness. What makes them different if it’s all ‘shallowness’ in the end?
The nature of looks and intelligence are starkly different. Intelligence is acquired through a mixture of talent and diligence. Some seem to be more naturally gifted; others simply work harder to excel. Although the genetic lottery is responsible for talent, a need for diligence always remains.
Moreover, intelligence once acquired will last a lifetime. It is largely a product of determination and hard work, such that admiration seems to be more justified and is seen by society to be looking ‘deeper’.

So what isn’t shallow? The usual answer is personality. Your personality is almost completely forged by you and your choices, rather than being automatically left to genes and chance. Granted, upbringing and environments do shape one’s personality. There is not one aspect of a person that is purely 100% autonomous, but personality seems to be the closest and therefore 'deepest' part of us.

Ultimately, being elitist is your own choice, and should not be criticised. But if you take things at face value, can that give you the greatest reward, or will you carelessly overlook something special?

Labels: Ramblings

0 comment(s)

Well, it has been over half a week since I was emancipated; however, it has been strangely anticlimactic. Despite going out more than I have at any time this year (which is basically anything above zilch), I still find myself at home wasting time on Facebook as 'one uber net junkie', as Timmy calls it. Before you judge me, however, I must say that it is immensely difficult to discard your surrogate social life, step out into the real world and pursue an actual life outside cyberspace. However, there were a few things that aroused some non-sexual excitement.

Firstly, Tuesday was my long-awaited learners' permit test. Having done several practice tests the night before, I was optimistic. However, I must advise future drivers NEVER to boast about your common sense when you so blatantly lack it.
The following is an excerpt from an MSN conversation, if you'll excuse the teenage profanities (I thought it was C):
mel says:
"when is a road likely to be most slippery"
A: when it hasnt rained for weeks
B: when it just started raining
C: when it has been raining for a long time
fkn hell waste of my energy studying for this shit
LOL FUCKING HELL WHAT THE FUCK
i got that question wrong
Van 大車 says:
HAHA
WTF mel
mel says:
*cries*
i cant believe that
note to self
dont ever brag about your non-existent common sense
sighhhhhhh
Van 大車 says:
haha
dw
dw
How absolutely humiliating that was. Even with several people's patient explanations, the Physics student failed to grasp the concept of a slippery road. However, I gleefully made my way to VicRoads for my 10:50am appointment (having memorised that the answer is B), and laughed at the poor souls who had been waiting many an hour for the sluggish service. I suppose it aptly reflects on how they'd like us to drive. How boring.

The lady who served us was also excruciatingly slow. After resolutely avoiding eye contact and engaging in a conversation with her friend, she turned around, muttered to us in monotone and tapped my details into the computer with the dreaded 'two-finger-type'. LEARN TO TOUCHTYPE, WOMAN. After getting stuck and waiting for help from her colleague because another genius employee misspelled our home address, Mum and I were clearly unimpressed. Thus, we did the only thing Asians can do in such a situation: we bitched in Chinese right in front of her as she slaved away on the computer. Imagine the horror when we heard the ladies saying "Right, this girl's name is... Melissa... er, Yee... Chee... Tam...?"
"哎哟！这些死guai-lou，为什么她这样笨的?!"
"她真的好像个老人，真慢!"
It is important to note that it is customary for Asians to pass caustic comments with the sweetest of smiles taped across our faces. No, Asians indeed do not backstab; they simply plunge their verbal machetes right into your chest!

Moreover, there was a little laugh to be had at the girl next to me. When asked to read the second line on an alphabet chart for the eyetest, she seemed rather bamboozled, squinted and said "School's back on?" Although she was referring to the second advertising poster at the far end of the office, at least her eyesight was good.

If you are wondering, yes, I did pass my test. I answered one extremely dodgy parking times question incorrectly because IT HAD NO CORRECT ANSWER. Incoherent ranting aside, I got 97%, which means I must suffer eternal shame as compared to the majority of my friends, all of whom scored 100%. And yes, I did get an atrocious licence photo as usual, although it wasn't as much of an eyesore as my passport photo. Hurrah.

However, before I could even consider being a hazard to every human life on the road, I went shopping with Claudia with a stack of resumes kindly donated/forced out of Matt. Yes, mine was quite literally a virtual carbon copy of his. Though turned away by the bogan and skank stores and sent off with a smirk and roll of the eye, I was euphoric to find that all the Asian-owned stores seemed to be keen on my resume, due to the fabulous 'Asian Affinity'. Indeed, whenever in predominantly Western countries, if two Asians meet, they will invariably bond; look out for each other; meet up for some mahjong and dinner and then argue about who pays for it. It's a fact of life.

After returning home, I was further elated to find that my uncle had arrived, which meant that I could now go for my first drive. Bringing my wonderfully disgusting licence and purchasing L plates at the local $2 shop (as if you would buy the VicRoads one for $20 when you can buy a cheap lead-coated Chinese knockoff), I was driven to a small gravel carpark to practise. Although almost dying from the thrill of even sitting in the drivers' seat, it quickly gave way to panic as I couldn't turn the gear to Drive, and almost jerked into a pole. Lovely. However, this quickly subsided as I managed to circle the carpark several times with the nifty incentive of not killing my uncle.

That's right, although I had to endure a barrage of insults from obnoxious cousins during our family/staff dinner, I have yet to produce a fatality! Unless of course, you don't count the fact that my half-hour drive shortened my uncle's life by approximately ten years.

-Mel

Labels: Milestones, Outings, Society

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Saturday was our long-awaited Class of 2007 Graduation Dinner Dance at The Great Hall in Ivanhoe. After spending no less than two hours trying to cake my face with pore-clogging crud - yes, I am a makeup n00b - I sacrificed breathing and eating for an entire night by the simple act of zipping up my little red dress. Yes, the 'smile' in my photos is indeed a wince!

Unfortunately, the night's tacky C-grade theme "Celebrating with the Stars" gave way to a plethora of references to chemistry in our lovely principal Mrs Collin's speech: "each star is different. It has a different size, a different chemical composition, a different density. Like you girls." Hence, I feel the need to publicly declare that whoever wrote her speech needs to be shot. As if any sane woman would drag chemistry into our 'night-of-nights' after the trauma that was the VCE Chemistry Unit 4 Exam, especially in the 'magnificent' and 'wonderful' nasality of her voice.

Perhaps as a consolation for a convenient reminder of our impending doom come December 17th (I reiterate, the speech writer needs to be shot), we did get some lovely showbags of we-would-have-chucked-it-out-anyway freebies, which included a black clutch, concealer and lip gloss (although one was an already opened 'Tester', which I'm planning to avoid lest I contract herpes), as well as a forest's worth of Christmas pamplets from Nutrimetics. Indeed, we do thank Nutrimetics for their generous donation! The food and music were rather impressive as well, and the band skilfully hopped from genre to genre, from Donna Summer to Santana.

In stark contrast, the colour scheme was rather frightening. Pardon me, but electric pink foil wrapped around chairs in bows is not only inconvenient but a horrendous eyesore. Speaking of eyesores, in spite of raising a few parental eyebrows as I tried to non-verbally communicate with Lora across the table (so basically, I flailed my arms around trying to catch her attention), my psychoticness was rivalled by traumatising images of Mandy perving on the band's singer and then pouncing on Bao... several times. Yes, in spite of the fact that Bao was 13 years old at the time, the concept of paedophilia didn't seem to faze Mandy, as she launched herself on him and kissed him/ate his ear several times throughout the night. Meanwhile, I thanked the stars for not bringing my brother to this orgy of Desperate PLC Chicks.

However, to be perfectly honest, a function such as a Graduation Dinner Dance is nothing but an excuse for hordes of dolled-up teenager girls to photowhore unabashedly. I challenge anyone to deny this, as I wipe the dots of light out of my eyes. The 270+ tagged photos of me on Facebook can only attest to this: I AM A PHOTOWHORE.

-Mel the Photowhore

PS. You know you're addicted to Facebook when you return home at 1am and cannot sleep for the rest of the night because you haven't uploaded your photos yet.

Labels: Outings, Rants, School

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Obstinately continuing with my 'strike' in a non-violent protest against my oppressors (The Parentals), I had eked out the last few days of existence clutching at the remnants of my social life... on MSN and Facebook. So, what does this 'strike' entail, you ask? Well, as a sixteen year old nerd, this involves spending all waking hours on the internet in order to repeatedly underline the fact that I NEED A SOCIAL LIFE; flatly refusing to do chores and find a job; bingeing on chocolate truffles in lieu of The Parentals' painstakingly home-cooked food; deliberately clicking a pen for half an hour to irritate them and sporadically retreating into my room to stare blankly at the ceiling whilst turning up classical music full blast. Yes, that's what I said. Whilst the common rebellious teen would seek solace in the likes of Nirvana, Linkin Park and such, the average nerd believes that the fiery first movement of the Moonlight Sonata is excitement enough. Any deviation from this would surely upset the structure of modern society, and that would be rather selfish of me.

However, after mentally and physically rotting for about 48 hours, I was emancipated from the shackles of the Asian-over-protectivism movement. Yes, whilst I was worryingly locked up in my room with Bach blaring on the radio and George Orwell in my hands, they vented their frustration rather vociferously at me through the door, luring me out with the slightest mention of 'going out'. After being bombarded with further horror stories of little girls' remains being fed to pigeons whilst their hair is auctioned on eBay China, we finally reached a compromise and I was allowed to go to Chadstone with Van.

Rather excited that this was, in fact, my first shopping trip to Chadstone (blasphemy by teenage standards, I know), I was driven by Mum to school to pick up my books and received a measly $56 for my pains; indeed, the other $100 went to the 'charitable' Parents' Association. Hurrah! However, this seemed to further raise Mum's spirits as she dropped me off at the bus stop, which conveniently coincided with an exclusive radio report on the poor soul who was stabbed to death in Box Hill (surprise surprise...). What a brilliant send off for the recently emancipated teenager.

While munching on an edible heart attack in the form of cow hooves and camel tongue (yes, I picked up a Hungry Jack's Bacon Deluxe on the way), I eventually reached Chaddy and headed into the Krispy Kreme store while waiting for Van. After getting a 'twinkle in the eye' (as Van calls it) whilst perving on an equally delicious assistant, I was mightily disappointed when I was served by a chick instead, gorging myself on an artery-clogging Original Clazed as consolation. Ah well. It's a sad sign of our society when we have to pay TWO DOLLARS for a bottle of water, but seeing as I needed to wash this fit-sized globule of saturated fat down, I headed into Coles. However, any bitterness towards capitalism was quickly extinguished when I realised that Coles Chadstone had automated checkouts! Marvelling at the wonder of it all as a cool female voice explained what I had to do, I punched the touch screen and panicked when I couldn't find the coin slot, much to the supervisor's amusement... as well as the several old grannies checking out effortlessly. Excuse me, but I'm from Knox; I do believe that automatically classes me as a country bumpkin.

When Van finally arrived, we headed into Myer for some high-class perfume whoring. Emerging with a poisonous concoction of perfumes all over my arms (and no, I'm not referring to Christian Dior), we entered a swanky tie store to find a tie for her brother and were promptly greeted by the HOTTEST CAUCASIAN MAN I HAVE EVER SEEN IN MY LIFE. Although the mantra "I must marry an Asian man lest I end up eating fish & chips for the rest of my life and get disowned by my Chinese parents" had been drilled into my skull from birth, not only did he have the looks and the charm of an Abercrombie model, but he was wearing a sharply tailored suit as well. An Abercrombie model in a suit... needless to say, I found it immensely difficult to prevent myself from swooning and blacking out on the floor (in his arms, if I had any luck). However, I was devastated when Van exasperatingly approached a second sales assistant instead - whether from intimidation by the Adonis-like figure before her or sheer stupidity (just joking, Van), I have yet to work out. Trying to endure heart palpitations as the assistant showed us a diversity of classy ties, I was again horrified when Van decided not satisfy Adonis by buying a tie from their store. However, the second we stepped out of the store, we gave each other a knowing glance, and as Van so eloquently put it, "I wanted to rape him". Hilarious.

Although I was hopelessly lost in the labyrinth that is Chaddy, Van navigated through the shops with ease. I managed to find the hottest pair of pointy pumps and pyjamas I had ever seen in my life, before going to the bowling alley to meet up with Van's Mazenod friends. Although refusing to place our dainty little feet in the festering-with-tinea bowling shoes, Van and I joined the non-Asian team, and were hence totally pwned by the fabled 'Asian Touch'. Although being recognised by my peers as unco and physically challenged, Van and I alternated turns, managed to beat her primary school friend Matt and scored TWO strikes. One wasn't even recognised by the glitchy system (it was a 'spare'), but I was euphoric. Gaffes included Van hitting the barrier with a potential strike before the pins were ready and someone knocking a pin into the gutter and jamming the system. However, we took advantage of this, as a gutterball bounced off it and managed to knock some pins over. Ah well, at least we managed to close the losing gap from 100 points to 50 by the second game...

After our games, we parted ways with the boys and dragged Matt (aka our husband-like-shopping-bag-carrier) along to Jadaiah. While Van searched for a cardigan, I tried on various sashes on my graduation dress, and both of us interrogated a harassed-looking Matt outside the changerooms with the cliched "oh my God, this makes me look fat, doesn't it?" Luckily for him, he was aware that the only acceptable answer that didn't involve getting stoned to death was a vigorous shake of the head. Feeling the pinch that only an Asian can feel when she watches her birthday hongbao stash dwindle before her eyes, I paid a hefty $25 for a black silk sash. Needing some makeup, we hopped over to Priceline to spend an excruciating hour caking our faces with ten different shades of foundation and forcing Matt to find us some Hollywood tape... much to his confusion. Indeed, men are not familiar with the complexities of cosmetics - when asked for mascara, Matt promptly returned with an eyelash curler. Only men.

However, it is unfair for us to say that all men are cosmetically challenged. Indeed, there was a creepy old Asian man perusing for a set of French nails with a rather bemused sales assistant... how... unusual.

-Mel

Labels: Outings, Rants

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