An interesting thing happened today, blue eye shadow girl actually walked past me on the way to her lunch break, the first time I hadn't seen her locked behind the eternal hell of the lay by section. I'd love to say I struck up a conversation, but of course, I didn't. Oh well, I blame my eagerness to get to a 25% off book sale. Damn this obsession with factual books that teach me things.
I'll get right to the point on this - I only ever, ever read books that can teach me something. I'm not into the Illuminati or that giant lizards will rule the earth, don't worry, but books that teach me, say, how a certain toy promotion worked while another one failed, or how certain strands of religion evolved into commercial considerations. Sure, you can read your Rebus or your SAS based thrillers, but what do you learn? Far better to sit down with the Shatner book and learn about how his missus died in mysterious circumstances. Rebus, I mean really, what can you learn? Several slang Scottish words? Please, I ken your puddock been spruiket cos yer feet are awfa groggy. Anyway, the exact circumstances how I came to own the books on my bookshelf are possibly lost to time but my princess like nature (my dad says continually I have a "big stupid coupon" when I'm a huff) and self obsessed lead someone, as a joke, to buy me "The Ultimate Guide to Mary Kate and Ashley" since I was a diva just like them. Since this was a novelty item, I'd put in my cupboard next to the Snowball that swears when you shake it. Reading it today, even though 1/2 the book is taken up with a horrendous fiction story about a horse and magic show, it is the kind of philosophical document that really makes you question yourself, and no, I'm not being ironic. The book is filled with personal questions that really analyse the inner psyche. It's a little bit like when you are stoned (I'd imagine) late at night and you debate how incredibly gay the man in the Bundy Rum ad who gets the personal details of the referee is. Seriously, that guy is on BigGayBears.com, he really is. What is with that guy? Why have we gone from 5 Cougars girl to him? A PC conversion? Odd.
Oh yeah, the book. Let's delve into some questions.
(Keep in mind this book was released in 2004, so they are awkwardly between the good girl and "skagged out vages" (c Tony Martin) phase of their careers. As if to underline this point, the book has a number of mentions of the horrendously awkward "New York Minute", a feel good family film with about 25 shots of them having showers)
Your idea of a perfect lunch is - a) chips, chips, chips! b) a tuna sandwich with a yogurt and an apple or c) burgers - but you have a salad too
I didn't really like any of these choices, but I picked a. According to the girls, this means that basically I am a fat load, and in any of their films, were I a girl, I'd only be in the film to have a milkshake poured over my head. Eating chips is doing nothing for my social standing according to the girls. If I spent more time on the treadmill and eating fish, I'd be cool enough to hang with the girls and get my groove on. Given I've written this post in my pyjamas and Lisbon Lions tracksuit top, they may have a point. All of which really is a harsh judgement to draw from the fact someone likes chips. They may just me a massive Eric Astrada fan. (If in doubt, end on an Eric Astrada reference).
You're Snow White and your stepmum is spending ages with the magic mirror - do you a) Get the mirror to tell you you're way more gorgeous: b) Lure her away with a treat like a nice juicy apple or c) Run off to the woods in a sulk with seven short guys who think you're cool?
You don't know how happy I was that someone slipped a stoner conversation into the middle of a Mary Kate and Ashley book. I wasn't even wanting to read the context of this question, I just liked the idea of how amazingly random it was. I think this bit was written by the manatees who write Family Guy. For the record, I chose c, because I'm a princess and I would always sulk, although I find midgets really creepy. This apparently means for some reason my family is always giving me grief and are stealing choccie biccies from the tin. If I sit and calmly reason with them, it'll all work out. I thought about this, but I think if I sit my Dad down and say "I really think you should stop mentioning my big stupid cushion", it's not going to help...
There's a whole and entire section on numerology, astrology, and what to do when your boyfriend ODs...oh wait, that was the Herald Sun that published that a, b, c. I think the motto is, burgers are safer than drugs, and anything can happen in a New York Minute.