I am not a serious moments kind of gal. I've tried. I have. But serious moments make me cringe, and cringing just  takes the whole seriousness away, so basically we're back to square one.

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If you were me, you might get the idea that wild animals kind of hate my guts.

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The way I see it, there are three types of blogs.

1. The Diary Style. Normally daily, just titbits of the authors life. To tell you the truth, it only really works if you have an interesting and awe-inspiring life. Which sadly, I do not. It would mostly involve a lot of complaining about assignments, some stuff about the weather and many mentions of chocolate.

2. The Comment Style. Commenting on current stuff, mostly celebrities, movies, etc. All well and good, but what happens if you don't have a strong opinion on something? What happens if you are interested to see New Moon, but aren't queueing up for the midnight session? Or, yeah, Miley Cyrus pisses you off, but you kind of like her songs?

 3. The Funny Style. Just plain hilarity. Completely random things that make you laugh. The last, and possibly the hardest, blog. 'Cos basically, you just need to be freaking funny. Which again, I am not.

And then there's me. Hm. Random writing that I'm not even sure people actually read (although I do have four followers - thankyou so much guys, I think you may be clinically insane, but thankyou!) and I have constant arguments in my head about actually writing. (No, seriously, you think those two little people on your shoulders doesn't actually happen, I have news for you.) (It does.)

I think I've proved my point by writing a blog about writing other blogs. Makes sense, right?

xx Miss Moi

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Do you ever have one thing among all the craziness that makes you just step back and go 'wow'. Mine are normally really stupid little things that actually mean nothing but that take me by total surprise.

Example One: Allow me to introduce Person A. Person A enjoys Pina Coladas and getting caught in the rain. Okay, in actual fact Person A is simply a guy at my school, you know the type, never do any work, always mess around and are most likely doing some kind of drugs.

So, as the story goes, I am sitting on a couch in the Library during a free period, quietly minding my own business when KAZAAM! my pencil case and all my other books go flying off my seat. I'm putting the books on my lap away so I can lean down and get it (a massive task as I always seems to have ten billion, after starting off with one...) when Person A, sitting on the couch next to me, leans down and picks them up for me. It literally caught my breath a little. And no, not because we had a Hollywood moment where I look up and he's leaning into me. Just because it was the absolute last thing I expected someone like Person A to do. Maybe snigger to his mates or make some joke about being 'un-co', but never actually help me. And it made me think; would I do the same if it happened to him. Most likely, no. Because I'd written him off as a tool. It made my day.

xx Miss Moi

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I love lists. If you say that you don't like lists, then you're in serious list denial and need to go write a list about it. Everyone makes lists, from the mega, i.e. 100 things to do before I die (number one, meet Zac Efron) - to the not so mega, i.e. things to buy at the supermarket (number one, Zac Efron). They help put our lives in order. When things get way to stressful, write a list about and suddenly everything is in one neat, orderly package. What's not to like?

Many magazines, TV shows and movies throughout the ages have used lists to try and make people laugh, bring up ratings and basically fill in that extra page on the back of their magazine. I personally love Jamie's list in A Walk To Remember, but the unreputed master of list making must of course be David Letterman. His 'Top Ten' Lists are legendary and give inspiration to us lowly listmakers. My personal favourite is his "Top Ten George Bush Moments", at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9w73dVVPRk0. It's a list AND it insults George Bush! Snaps!

Now, here is where my previous promise comes into play. You know, about making my blogs a bit more personal and trying to shift that hazy mist that always seems to develop whenever I start to mention anything whatsoever actually about me. I could continue this blog by putting in some funny lists off Google, but no, I'm going to tell you the start of my list of Things To Do Before I Die. It's very dodgy and nowhere near completion. Here goes, in no particular order...

1. Swim with a dolphin
2. Take the next to taxi to the airport and catch the next plane leaving
3. Run a marathon
4. Go parachuting
5. Plant a tree
6. Do standup
7. Bungee jumop
8. Learn to fly a plane
9. Go in a hot air balloon
10. Ride a camel along a beach
11. Make a meal from only the ingredients in my backyard
12. Teach someone to read
13. Go stargazing
14. Have my portrait painted
15. Go to the opening night of a ballet
16. Be in three places at once
17. Go to my school's 20th reunion
18. Shower under a waterfall
19. Fall in love
20. Have my heart broken
21. Learn to yodel
22. Jet ski
23. Learn a foreign language
24. Go skinny-dipping at midnight
25. Send a message in a bottle
26. Learn to ballroom dance
27. Write a novel
28. Experience weightlessness
29. Drive across Australia from coast to coast
30. Sleep on a beach under the stars
31. Drive a convertible with the top down
32. Have a midlife crisis
33. Scuba dive
34. Go to a football match
35. Go to a rock concert
36. Visit every continent on the planet

Any suggestions? What's on your list?

xx Miss Moi

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I realise I have no right to sit here and write another blog. I have abandoned you for far too long to ever show my face in this town again. I am an outcast, a shunned, an 'omg, what is she doing here?'

But I must get down on bended knee and beg for your forgiveness. I have no excuse; no dog has mutilated me, no guy crushed my heart, no assignment kept me in my room for weeks. Hell, I've been on holidays for a week now! I am going to be blatantly honest with you - I, Miss Moi, ran out of things to say. There, it's out. I can't take it back now. I know you never thought it could be true, but alas, it is. I know it's spinning your world off it's axis but they are no other reasons. I simply had nothing to talk about.

Here's where you get rewarded for coming back and reading this - I now do! I went off for three long weeks and searched for things to say, for the meaning of life and all that jazz. And now I'm back and I'm going to do the only thing I know how - I'm going to blog about it. Don't expect daily monologues, just some good old-fashioned blogging. It's going to be a bit less impersonal and you may actually find out somethings about me (shock, horror). Thankyou for weathering out the storm. You shall be rewarded.

xx Miss Moi

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Why is it that random stangers feel the need to ask you about you want to do with the rest of your life?

As soon as the words slip your lips that you're in highschool, the automatic question is "what do you want to do when you finish?" For the o.oooo1% of us who have actually figured this, sure, that's great. But for the other lot, who are just trying to get through their next assignment let alone thinking about possibly the biggest decision of our young lives, well, it leads to some awkward fumbling and slurred sentences. What amazes me is the range of people who ask you this - while working at the supermarket the other day, I was asked the very question by a random lady buying cornflakes. I mean, come on, do you really think I'm going to have a heart to heart over a cash register?

The generic answer is, of course, "I'm still deciding between some different pathways". It's always a winner, as it lets people think you're really intellectual and mature, while those pathways actually include the escape exits - front or back, which should I choose? But of course, this all collapses if they ask which pathways they might be. We've already had a discussion (okay, me rambling for half a page) about awkward silences, and this is another surefire way to create one. You may be thinking 'is this girl socially challenged?', but I assure you, I'm not. I am perfectly able to create conversation. But come on. This is extreme circumstances. Bluffing can of course be used, in which the anwerer comes up with a random career path they have no real intention of following, but sounds real enough. My personal favourite is "something in Public Relations". If anyone can tell me what this actually is, I'll give you 50 bucks*.

Alas, after many trials and errors, I have come to the conclusion that there is no safe answer and mostly end up just saying "I don't know". This either has one of two reactions; a sympathetic nod, complete with head lean, or a half hour rant about how today's society is corrupting our youth. Neither are exactly optimal responses, but will have to do under the circumstances.

But for you, my dear readers, I will try to answer this century-old question as truthfully as I can. When I finish school I want to travel for a ridiculously long time, living on nothing more than a shoestring and go into complete denial about any responsibility or choices I have to makes. There. I'm sure my 90-year-old grandfather will just love that.

xx Miss Moi

*Okay, I admit I was bit dramatic. No, I will not be giving anyone $50. Sorry to get your hopes up ;)

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Everyone has had at least one bad haircut, so you know the feeling that your entire world is collapsing because you share some uncanny resemblances to a poodle.

I have been lucky enough to have had very little bad haircuts, a part from a few manic streaks that, instead of disappearing, turned a weird shade of orange. But this all changed when I decided to get a ‘quick trim’ while getting my hair straightened at the hairdressers. I’ll let you in on a little secret about my hair; there is no ‘quick trim’. As much as I love my hair, there is so much of it that it often blows out to insane proportions and I wonder how I manage to hold my head up with so much weight on it. The poor hairdresser looked at it with obvious terror in her eyes, but bravely set to work. I told her I normally have a side fringe type thing (really just a cowlick gone wrong), and she swept it all to side. This whole fiasco is really my fault, because it is at this point that I should’ve stepped in and said something, but instead I quietly nodded as she snipped along this line. She then asked me to style my hair as I normally would, and in doing so I saw with great terror the small tuft of hair popping up. I’ll be the first to admit it, I am an extremely dramatic person and I had to fight hard to hold back tears as she tried to flatten, spray and eventually just chop at this horrible mess. After smiling my way out of the shop, I sat in tears on my bed and refused to speak to anyone, mourning the loss of my perfect hair and devising ways to avoid being seen with it. Running away and joining the circus crossed my mind. I could be part of their freak show, "The Girl with the Demented Hair".

After a few hours of private contemplation, I realised I might have slightly been overreacting. It was nothing some careful handy work with a straightening iron and a can of hair spray couldn‘t fix - but people don’t seem to realise the great importance hair is to us. Celebrities and everyday people alike spend hundreds of dollars to get the perfectly ‘natural’ hair. There are scientific methods to do just about anything to your hair, from making it straight to curly, long to short, frizzy to smooth, and everything in between. But there is one thing that can’t be changed - the fateful snip snip of the scissors and the disgusting mess you’re left with. Oh well, maybe poodle’s coming back in.

xx Miss Moi

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