COD Sandwiches

~Viewer Discretion~


If you are a male : pause your game of COD and continue reading.
If you a not a male (AKA female, the inferior race) : get back into the kitchen, women can't read anyway.


Does that sound familiar?

We are so immersed into casual sexism these days, that we barely notice it, and if we did, we probably would think nothing of it. You may just think it's all fun and games, but when does it become more than just a joke? Do we really live in a world where it is acceptable for men to play video games all day whilst their female significant others slave away in the kitchen (often making sandwiches), and only leave the vicinity of the kitchen to perform blow jobs and/or other various activities? Seriously, I know a girl, two years older than me, who does all the housework, cleaning, everything and gives a boyfriend a blow job everyday. And what does he do in return? He pays the rent, of course.
Even Facebook is sexist, groups like this:
"All Women Are Equal And Deserve Respect LOL jk Get Back In The Kitchen!"

"Women cant drive? Its okay, theres no road between the kitchen and bedroom"

"Thanks to Julia Gillard, women now believe they can leave the kitchen."

"I love you,...LOL Jks get on your knees"

and it goes on and on.

So maybe the first few times it was funny, but now it is becoming tiring and slightly insulting. And I don't get the association with women and "the kitchen", I'm pretty sure a lot of men go into the kitchen too. You know, to eat? Snack, rummage in cupboards, make a mess. My brother only abandons his game of Halo to go into the kitchen and cook food. Yes, he can cook. Not very well, but he can. My father is regularly in the kitchen, most of the time he is searching for chocolate, but he should have learnt by now that my stepmum hides it in the laundry or in the liquor cabinet. And guess what? My stepdad makes his OWN sandwiches. OMG.

I think there was supposed to be some sort of moral in this blog, but I lost track of my rambling awhile ago.

Just remember, women were destined for a life outside the kitchen, but the kitchen is also where the knives, scissors and various chemicals are stored. Just keep that in mind girls.

Tis' the season to be jolly

When I created this blog, it was with the intention of posting amusing (I hope) events that occur in my life. Which is why, I guess, I have to write about Christmas.

Now Christmas is a season of mixed blessings for me. Of course the presents appeal, but the rampant consumerism, the awkward first hour of family get-togethers where children annoyingly hover for food and parents hastily drown their first glass of wine do not. But when did Christmas suddenly loose its magic? What happened to the Christmas eve nerves, hanging the stockings and leaving cookies out for Santa? Christmas went from a festive, joyful day to a bankrupting, over eating and listening adults talking about pregnancy and work kind of day.
There are always relatives you don't know asking about school (which is a subject that you'd least like to talk about), no one else your age to converse with and the sickening smell of pork fat circulating around the house. It is ALWAYS hot, no exception and unless your blessed with a relative that owns a pool, you are going to be suffering.
I miss the Christmas carols, candy canes, simplicity, Santa and having more fun opening the presents than the actual presents themselves.

Not to end this blog on a sad, nostalgic note- 

He sees you when you're sleeping
He knows when you're awake
He knows if you've been bad or good

(is it just me or does santa sound like a stalker? it makes me feel like im on the Truman show or something...be afraid..santa is watching you!)

facebook

I have an addiction.
It is not an addiction to alcohol, drugs, cigarettes, coffee or even sex.
I have an addiction to facebook.
And the alarming reality is- I am not the only one.

Let us examine this situation for a second, from a non-biased, non-self involved point of view, shall we?
So basically, millions of people around the world, post their identity on the Internet, free for anybody to see and access information, submit photos which will become the property of an online organisation, permanently. The new profile system gives teenagers the opportunity to show what school they attend and where they work, seemingly handing information to all those pedophiles out there like giving salad to a fat kid.
It just doesn't seem right.
It is quite easy for anybody to find out your whole life story, from who your parents are, where you go to school, where you work, where you like to go, who you got drunk with last night...
I mean, if I was a pedo, I wouldn't waste my time hanging out in the bushes near the local playground next to my white van, armed with candy, ready to pick up some innocent little kids.

Hell no! I would log straight onto facebook, make my dp a hot guy/girl and add anyone I wanted to, like a kid in a candy store (ok enough with the kid analogies). Then I could stalk their albums of them in "candid" shots, only wearing underwear, the traditional standing-in-front-of-a-mirror-with-my-iphone-wow-I'm-awesome-pose, the obvious natural concealer-on-the-lips-shot and the terribly photoshoped on microsoft paint/photoshop so that you look more fake then a figurine in a wax museum.

I think you may get the message.
And I think I may need to get off facebook and stop imagining my life as a pedo.

dear girls, we did not ask you to advertise our phones in such a tacky and unattractive fashion, sincerely, phone companies.

OMG HOLIDAYSSS

AAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
the sigh of freedom/relaxation/contemplation/happiness/calmness/zen/peace/emancipation/constipation
AHEM
You get the point.
So now it's summer holidays, (yay!) which only came after:
fourteen exams
a year at school
a year of waking up at seven
a year of wearing my amish pre-eighteenth century uniform
a year of pointless accounting classes in which Sarah decided to shave off her skin using her scissors
ten days in the bush wiping my ass with a leaf
three or four compolsary events that were not attended
a year of watching Katherine be creepy with Mr Gill
a year of putting up with a certain math's teacher's PMS-ing
a term of lawn bowls
a year begging for curry in indonesian
ten minutes of being yelled at by mrs shotch for calling Ashton a ranga
ten minutes of cleaning my mouldy/infested/biohazardous locker
a year of buying nestea/lipton/springvalley tea to get me through my classes
a year of stealing food off poor unsuspecting Chanelle
a year of making things awkward
a year of putting up with Ms Cheng's useless emails filling up my inbox.
ten minutes of being yelled at by the IT guys for disrupting their recess
a bruise on the head from emma's attempted rape
a year of awkward ranga/indian/asian/slut jokes that probably were not funny.

Now, I say bring on year twelve.
LOL JKS After a year like that I'm dropping school and becoming a prostitute.
See you around.