''Omg I love my baby sooooo much'' 9:24am
''I can't believe you did that. Such an ass. Get fucked'' 4:01pm
''Cant wait to see you tonight '' 8:13pm
These are the words of young women the world over, all active in loving, yet emotionally fluctuating relationships. Never afraid of a good PDA, these girls provide pure comic gold for their friends and followers in social cyber space.
One particular young lass I used to go to highschool with appears to be in a 'love/hate/love' connection rather than the normal 'love' type of relationship.
Almost every day, this status updating addict will express four seasons worth of emotions, all subtly directed at her other half. Of course, she has never named the person who has caused her the heartache/sporadic act of declared gratefullness, however, just quietly, I'm sure we social networking junkies all know who she is referencing...
This woman intrigues me. I don't understand how she can critise her partner and call him a ''fucking dickhead'' yet, two hours later affectionately declare just how much she loves her man, how sexy, how wonderful, how smart etc. he is.
Sometimes I really want to slap this girl and tell her to contain her ridiculously idiodic updates to herself, all in the form of a sarcastic comment that, only the girl's close friends would suggest in the tone of a light hearted joke:
''How could you do this to me?'' 11:58pm
''Because your a stupid whipped mole?''
''Babe, I love you more than words can express'' 10:17am
''Really? Then why post this. Geez, way to waste a perfectly good spot of social comment!''
''Don't know if I can trust you...'' 1:10pm
''No, you can't. Just quietly I'm sitting at my computer copying and pasting ripped pictures into a paint document and doodling nazi moustaches on your chubby little face. Also contemplating a mass photocopy sesh...''
What really intrigues me, is this lovely lady's motives in being so public. What does she expect to gain from it all? The confidence and esteem of saying what she feels half assed? Does she hope that her boyfriend will be the envitable romeo and confess his sincere apologies for tugging her sensitive (putting it nicely) heartstrings? Or does she expect a Facebook fairy godmother to magically click her networking heels and provide a key to the door that is the meaning of life, and casually throw in a karma sutra novel to, at the very least, satisfy this girl's physical desires?
No, in fact it's none of these. Several loyal friends concregate with her, several aunties provide advice and encouragement to her upside down dramas like she is a mini Schappelle Corbey in a death trial and her idiodic, albeit helpless, biffle continues to post that slightly promiscuous, love dovey appreciation shit. While in the meantime, one time acquaintances such as myself, toy with the idea of deleting her off our news feeds, or off our friends lists all together. I haven't pursued that option to the fullest- having found an example of a modern day primadonna; a damsel in distress, having trouble in the ultimate paradise. Instead of clicking of the button of the mouse, I have a giggle at this type of girl. Sad, soppy and the ultimate tragic pushover, with a fugly boyfriend....
But who am I to judge these once known strangers? I'm sure her dim witted boyfriend has a ''great'' personality, and good for them for being so dramatically in love. ''As long as their happy'' my father always says.....
Happy? That was 5 hours ago.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Thursday, May 6, 2010
First Impressions
It's been nearly one year since I embarked upon the adventure of my life.
It was around this time last year that my bank account was starting to flex it's potential, daily to-do lists were being scribbled as I commuted to and from works and the excitment begun to loom.
I remember walking through the red carpeted lined international gate and turning to wave one final goodbye at my parents and friends. Filled with happiness and uncertainty, I clung onto my passport and stumbled through security before walking through the duty free hall, completley in awe of the volume of goods stocked upon the rows of shiny white shelves and cabinets.
The nervousness I felt minutes before I boarded CX 104 Hong Kong was intense. I was out on my own, ready for an epic 10 weeks of euro exploration!
Upon arrival at Heathrow Airport, I walked off the plane with relief. 24 hours in transit had played havoc with my body and mind. I felt a slight cold sweat and had an intense urge to brush my teeth to rid of the horrible aftertaste of the poor plane food. I headed straight to the bathroom and slapped intensive moisturiser upon my face, having endured the dry cabin.
After hauling my backpack from the carosuel I wobbled my self and my new turtlesque baggage to the tube station - The oyster card confused me at first, but this was my first exchange of words with a true Londoner. I sat inside the red, white and blue carraige and rode the train to Kings Cross St. Pancras.
8am on a relatively warm thursday morning, I observed the office workers standing gleefully infront of me. Reading papers, ipods pumping music and white shirts crisply ironed as the train raced past lines and lines of streets with connected townhouses - chimnies and tv aerials highlighting the tiled roofs.
Walking off the train, the colours of the tube signs above excited me - grey for Jubilee line, pink for Hammersmith, Black for Northern, brown for Bakerloo, blue for Piccadilly, Yellow for circle, Green for District, baby blue for Waterloo and City and red for Central lines. The Tube map initself is a british icon...!
I walked up the stairs of the station, jetlagged and weary, and was greeted with hustling Euston Road. Men in suits scurrying past with breifcases, tradies (both of young and fit and old and plump physiques) in orange overalls working the road sides like a good chap, and newspaper vendors flogging the day's tabloids.
Euston Road was, too, in a state of communal chaos: red double decker buses raced with cars and black cabs, as pedestrians strutted over the faded road crossing instructions painted beneath their clob stomping heels.
A first impression I will never forget; London, how I miss you so...
It was around this time last year that my bank account was starting to flex it's potential, daily to-do lists were being scribbled as I commuted to and from works and the excitment begun to loom.
I remember walking through the red carpeted lined international gate and turning to wave one final goodbye at my parents and friends. Filled with happiness and uncertainty, I clung onto my passport and stumbled through security before walking through the duty free hall, completley in awe of the volume of goods stocked upon the rows of shiny white shelves and cabinets.
The nervousness I felt minutes before I boarded CX 104 Hong Kong was intense. I was out on my own, ready for an epic 10 weeks of euro exploration!
Upon arrival at Heathrow Airport, I walked off the plane with relief. 24 hours in transit had played havoc with my body and mind. I felt a slight cold sweat and had an intense urge to brush my teeth to rid of the horrible aftertaste of the poor plane food. I headed straight to the bathroom and slapped intensive moisturiser upon my face, having endured the dry cabin.
After hauling my backpack from the carosuel I wobbled my self and my new turtlesque baggage to the tube station - The oyster card confused me at first, but this was my first exchange of words with a true Londoner. I sat inside the red, white and blue carraige and rode the train to Kings Cross St. Pancras.
8am on a relatively warm thursday morning, I observed the office workers standing gleefully infront of me. Reading papers, ipods pumping music and white shirts crisply ironed as the train raced past lines and lines of streets with connected townhouses - chimnies and tv aerials highlighting the tiled roofs.
Walking off the train, the colours of the tube signs above excited me - grey for Jubilee line, pink for Hammersmith, Black for Northern, brown for Bakerloo, blue for Piccadilly, Yellow for circle, Green for District, baby blue for Waterloo and City and red for Central lines. The Tube map initself is a british icon...!
I walked up the stairs of the station, jetlagged and weary, and was greeted with hustling Euston Road. Men in suits scurrying past with breifcases, tradies (both of young and fit and old and plump physiques) in orange overalls working the road sides like a good chap, and newspaper vendors flogging the day's tabloids.
Euston Road was, too, in a state of communal chaos: red double decker buses raced with cars and black cabs, as pedestrians strutted over the faded road crossing instructions painted beneath their clob stomping heels.
A first impression I will never forget; London, how I miss you so...
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