25,000 students looking at my ‘talents’

Wednesday 24; March, 1999

My breasts are in depicted in this week’s Craccum. That’s not a quote, it’s just really exciting.

(yeah yeah, medium things amuse small minds and all that)

********

“Yours can be called the Odd Couple” Clare
I don’t like Wednesdays cos we have to walk all the way down Wakefield Street from the bus to get to the State Insurance Building and spend hours waiting for a lift, so I always seem to get to TV Production late and have to sit in a naff seat with naff people. I guess it was okay today though, cos we were just watching a documentary about documentaries the whole time. That was kinda cool actually, because it was made in 1985, and one of the things that it forecast was that in the future documentaries would start to be far more Reality Based TV sorta fly on the wall – as they are now. So GO the BBC.

Anyways, once that was over, I went to go meet up with people at a cafe. I got there early, so I umm aaah did a hideous thing. Yes, I read the Herald. Please don’t hit me. Oh no wait, I’m the one with the major problem with it. Phew. Then when they finally did show up, I had another coffee, to give me something to do while they talked about computer shit for like an hour straight. Then we went up to the craccum offices, and I was so excited to discover that the webshite column had a screenshot in it of my breast club page. I’m so proud. My brand new pickup line? “My breasts are in craccum”. The tutorial D boys were shocked by it. Well, all of them except Peter. He’s questioning his faith right now, and last night he even asked me if he could borrow Simon’s manson cd. I think he’s falling of the edge, man!

Anyways, after I left Craccum, I went up to the computer lab to try and do some more work on my goddam motherfucking essay. And I discovered that none of you had emailed me at my tech address, so I had to find other ways to kill time. I even got to be extreme enough to do a little bit of work! But that’s okay. Shirley was sitting at a computer across from me, and so I talked to her when I had questions about work, and emailed her when i wanted to bug her with trivial little bitches and moans about my morning. She told me to stop it because she was on a role. Luckily half an hour later she emailed me and asked if I wanted to go for lunch. She didn’t let me drink coke at lunch cos I was sorta spaced out from the two coffees and no-doze tablets I’d been taking. But she did lend me a dollar, so I guess that was okay.

Radio Production in the afternoon was really really amusing. We were learning how to do radio-telephone interviews (ie, the technical side of it – fuck asking real questions!) so we worked in partners. One person stayed in the classroom at the computer, and the other went and sat in someone’s office and rang them up. I was with Kate M, and we had the BEST gossipy session, that got recorded on Newsboss (computer program) and played back to most of the class. Nigel was like “wow Joanna, you amaze me that you can be that open and honest”. I was like “honey, that’s so nothing – I’d tell all that to a stranger on the street if they asked me the time”. During my interview with Kate, after she’d finished listening to MY stories (I’ll just say now that she sounds like Kerre Woodham) I asked her about her&brad. She denied everything, then played him back that bit of our conversation. Funny thing is that he didn’t laugh as hard as she did. So then we decided that we needed to start a new rumour, so we took turns calling each other up (so what if we were sitting next to one another – we had our own phonelines so we were damn well going to use them), and suggesting that “Nigel and Sacha pashed”.

Then I went home and did my essay. And cooked dinner. And watched Shorters and Friends. And did my essay. And listened to Leyton talk about washing powder for like ten minutes. And did my essay. And ate Richfields dark chocolate with macademia nuts that Simon brought me. I love him. However, I’m a trifle disturbed, because he sent this message to his UIN, using my ICQ UIN (in English, that means he sent a message to himself pretending it was from me):

“fuck yr cool, i love you so much
(that other guy) is a dumbass, i’m just trying to compensate for you
heh
fuck i love to heh
heh heh heh heh heh heh
HEH HEH HEH HEH HEH HEH HEH HEH HEH HEH”

Oh the perils of letting someone else touch my computer, eh?

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