“She looks lovely.”

.. ..

Dad, his two brothers, and my grandparents return from the chapel, empty except for a now-closed casket, and my Grandma says this, choked up, like she doesn’t actually want to say anything. I briefly imagine how lovely she probably does look, but quickly distract myself by staring at a painting of a rose with curly italic writing in the background. I don’t want to imagine; that’s why I stayed in here.

.. ..

I’m wearing a black woollen dress, one which is way too warm for the weather, and scratchy when not paired with an undershirt or tights. It feels right though, to be uncomfortable when the atmosphere is just that. My family, a group of friendly, good-humoured Brits with more than enough well-practiced stoicism, are now wearing emotion on their sleeves, collars, all the way down to scuffed dress-shoes that none of us usually wear. We’re all holding cards with Catholic images on the front, inside of them a short memorial that I glanced over but stopped reading after seeing my name; I don’t like being a part of this. I don’t like reality, not now.

.. ..

I can see people arriving outside; I don’t recognise any of them, but I know they are her colleagues, her life-long friends, her everything. And she was theirs. I wonder how many of them have smiled since it happened. Or how many of them, like me, have taken a coward’s way out and just gone on with life like it hasn’t happened and we’re all just here, in the foyer of a funeral parlour, waiting to file into the chapel, just because we feel like it.

.. ..

The furniture in here is exquisite, and Mum points this out, probably just as something to say, but then my sister says she’ll try and chuck one of the couches into the trailer before we leave, and the conversation becomes a suitable distraction. But the furniture is also extremely sombre, immaculately clean, and in just the right colours that would only ever be suited to the room it’s currently in. Even the carpet is almost depressingly suited to the circumstances, but I take all this in to pass the time, while people file in next door and stare at the casket while my family stands around, having established that we’ll be the last to step in.

.. ..

My three tiny cousins sit together on one of the couches, wearing only vaguely appropriate outfits matched with sandals and socks with lace around the edges. They read quietly from picture books that their mum has, smartly, I think, prepared for them. They don’t understand this, and it’s best to not try and force them to. They are holding flowers, but they’re brightly coloured and not at all the kind of flowers you see at a funeral. Perfect, as they are spun around in little fingers, flicked over pink, cotton-clad shoulders in innocent, sibling rivalry as they banter the same way they always do, and I am jealous that they can be like that while we all understand perfectly what happened, what’s going on, and why we’re here.

.. ..

The doors to the chapel open. I feel like they should have squeak, but they don’t. We file in, and it feels rehearsed even though it isn’t, and the music playing is so familiar but I can’t register it. I slide into a chair at the end of the aisle, next to Mum, and stare around the room, not wanting to look at anyone, but not wanting to look ahead at the pristine casket that I already caught a glimpse of, and not wanting to look at the screen on the wall which is projecting a memorial image. But I have to look somewhere.

.. ..

And as I vaguely listen to the funeral director, and begin to pay a bit more attention as Dad and his two brothers, her brothers, stand up behind the podium to say their respective pieces, I take everything in. The deeply lacquered casket, the bundle of flowers sitting on top, and behind me, the huge turn out of people, none of whom seem like that distant relative who doesn’t actually know her, but rather all of whom seem like close, personal friends.

.. ..

Further on in the service, I take in the way the priest seems to have a similar lump in his throat to the rest of us, and I feel a strange sort of pride, knowing that this priest, who has heard hundreds of eulogies before, (and while I have no idea if you could ever get used to witnessing such pain every day) still speaks as if he knows exactly what this world is losing, and is feeling it just as we are.

.. ..

And finally, I take in the way my family, who fill the two rows of seats up front, have such distinctively similar features; dark hair, big, blue eyes, pale skin. And I finally look at the projection screen, upon which is a photo, with a caption saying her name, and dates of both birth and death, and underneath that, ‘Aged 41 Years’, a reminder that she was the youngest of her family, too young to go this way. But, I look past that, and see her, with her dark hair, big, blue eyes, and pale skin.

.. ..

She looks lovely.  

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
For Rebecca Mary Lawrence
2/11/67- 4/11/2008

It's been five years.
Nearly six, in fact.
Nearly a third of my life.
So, time to do something about it, don't you think?
x

I feel like revamping my Myspace 'About Me', but I don't have, for once, the inspiration to write something particularly fantastic about meself.

So.

I'd like everyone who reads this to write a small passage about me, to me. Either in a blog comment, or a message, whatever. Then I'll select pieces I like from each, and make them my About Me, quoting the writers where due.

It's sort of like a Truth Box, only with obligational tact =D
Now, chop chop ^^

I am going to compose a lists of books I intend to read. Mostly so I don't forget, really. Plus, I feel like writing a list, and there's no reason why I can't indulge that.

* 'A Clockwork Orange' by Anthony Burgess (done)
* 'Trainspotting' by Irvine Welsh
* 'When You Are Engulfed by Flames' by David Sedaris (done)
* 'Children Playing Before a Statue of Hercules' edited by David Sedaris (done)
* 'Kafka on the Shore' by Murakami Haruki
* 'Brave New World' by Aldous Huxley
* 'Nineteen Eighty Four' by George Orwell
* 'The Shining' by Stephen King (currently reading)
* 'I Am Legend' by Richard Matheson
* 'Memoirs of a Geisha' by Arthur Golden
* 'The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy' Douglas Adams
* 'Perfume' Patrick Suskind
* 'Twilight' by Stephenie Meyer
* 'Chocolat' by Joanne Harris
* 'The Other Boleyn Girl' by Phillipa Gregory
* 'Running With Scissors' by Augusten Burroughs (done)
* 'I Was Told There'd Be Cake' by Sloane Crosley
* 'Choke' by Chuck Palahniuk
* 'Snuff' by Chuck Palahniuk
* 'The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test' by Tom Wolfe
* 'Vernon God Little' by DBC Pierre (done)

I think that should keep me going for a little while. Some are ones that I feel I should have read by now, others are ones that I've had recommended, and a large amount of them are from the Borders Must Have Must Read list, which I trust because of my intense love for the store. Pretty sure they're all obtainable, and I indulged in previews on Amazon so I'm not just pulling this list out of nowhere =)

They shall be crossed off as they are read.

Cheers dears,

Erin x


Oh, and I know the Hitchikers Guide to the Galaxy is a series. I'm borrowing them all off Katie at some point. I just couldn't be bothered writing each title down =P

Friday, I spent many hours in town, at the Tuxedo Cat, with Katie, Orlando and Kieran. Then we met Adrian and Daniel at the train station and drove back to my house where we proceeded to drink at a park and make blanket forts, before crashing at 2am in my tiny cramped room.

Saturday, everyone had to piss off early for various commitments, save for Katie and Orlando who floated about in a hungover sort of way for a few hours, before I went to work for a five-hour shift. I came home to Katie still being at my house, and not long after she left, Kaz arrived for a slightly extended visit, where we watched Scrubs, predictably, and crashed fairly early due to neither of us having slept the night before.

Sunday, Kaz and I indulged in some of the best hot chips I’ve had in a long time, before taking advantage of my employee tickets and saw The Other Boleyn Girl in a cinema full of old, talkative ladies. We then came home and proceeded to text Kieran in an annoying way for a couple of hours from both of our phones, before watching more Scrubs, and sleeping.

Basically, a very good weekend, summed up by the fact that the Crows won, and Port lost. If nothing else, that is solace, but hey, it was good without that.

Just thought I’d mention that sometimes I’m not angst-ridden loser.
=)
Breadsticks and Jasmisc,
Erin

Thank you for asking, sweet Blog.

Honestly? I don't know what I want.
Except for one thing.
I'd like someone to hunt me down some Fanta Grape.
It'd give me a rush of nostalgia you wouldn't be able to comprehend.
Surely you can get it somewhere here, an Asian grocer, a wonderful, wonderful mainstream supermarket?
I'm sure you can.
So, hop to it!

That's all.
Erin x

It's a weird feeling, going back to school by will. Like, it's gotten to the point where I no longer have any obligation to ever go there again, so going there today was like going to work even though you're not getting paid.

I mean, I didn't do any work. But I was still there.

It was quite fun, though. We caught up with all the teachers, and they're still in last-year mode, so they haven't forgotten us yet. Katie and I walked down the halls with Visitor stickers on, walking into classes and interrupting lessons in order to talk to our teachers, and it was a pretty cool feeling.

Weird though.

I never have to go back.

But at the same time, there is absolutely nothing stopping me from signing in as a visitor every day for the next thirty years. Except for a pending restraining order. Can an entire school file for one of those?

I had to explain at least ten times that no, I didn't apply for Uni, and the words have now begun to feel raw on my tongue. It was interesting though, because each and every teacher that asked me about my future was pretty disappointed. But the whole 'year off' thing seemed to make them happy. Like I might go back or something.

Maybe I will, maybe I won't.

In town, before we went down to the school, Katie and I took advantage of the fact that Hungry Jacks has finally seen fit to reintroduce the Whopper Jr Summer Stunner deals, instead of the stupid cheeseburger ones. The sucky thing is though, if you don't buy them from the store then take them home and freeze the Storm dessert for later, you end up eating it first, lest it melt and become a waste of good pig-fat icecream, and you don't feel like eating the rest of your food. So in the end, I only got through half the icecream, half the burger and half the fries. Finished the drink though, coz you can carry those around. Felt like a waste though.

The onion in my yakisoba looks like octopus legs. How off-putting.

On a different note, Katie and I were sitting on the bus today and were trying to remember all the things that have happened over the years that make us laugh out loud to think about, even when we're sitting on our own doing nothing. Or when you're sitting on a bus, minding your own business, but trying to hold back a smirk and looking more like an insane person than you care to.

Things like, say, in year nine when Katie and I stood at the bus stop and stated, 'Wouldn't it be funny if the bus didn't stop?' and watched helplessly as it sped past us, not even sparing a glance. That kept me going for two years, now it's just a bit of nostalgia.

Or, like the time I, thinking I was stopping Kieran from getting tangled in his headphones, picked them up from their perch on the computer chair and dropped them onto the ground, earning a shocked stare as he picked them up. "Wow. Why would you do that?" Hahaha. Still makes me laugh for some reason.

Or finally, the time at Schoolies, when we were at the beach and Adrian snapped at Daniel's lack of cooperation- "Six years of friendship, man! SIX YEARS! All I wanted, was to make a dick. Out of sand. And put it near your mouth. That's ALL I WANTED!"

It's fun to have those moments in your mind, because no matter how upset you are over something, you can just think of them and you at least release a giggle. All that's left to do now, really, is find out why there is such a huge gap between these moments. The first one was in year 9, and the other two were in year 12. Did I not experience joy for three years? I don't remember, it's all a blur.

What makes you laugh out loud?
Or, 'LOL', as the kids are saying these days.
xx

Why is it that the only person that seems to be able to change her home page theme on Myspace is Katie?

To be fair, I don't actually mind so much since I use the classic skin anyway, but I just felt like starting my blog with something argumentative and bitter-sounding. There have been no blogs from me since Schoolies, so I want to make some controversy so there's something for me to write about.

You know, because I'm not blessed with one of those.. imagination... things.

Rather, I'm just confused that even though I've been out practically every day, nothing blog-worthy has happened. Usually at least -something- happens that causes either me or Katie to say, 'this is SO going into a blog,' simply because we are that lame.

Oh. I know. I can review a movie. Good idea, Erin.

------------------
'Juno', as reviewed by Erin Lawrence.

I don't tend to take the plunge and actually fork out $11 to see a movie. Most of the time I wait for the DVD and hope that the novelty of being able to walk in and out and talk at my own leisure will bring up the quality of films that may not live up to my expectations.

But, for some reason or another, perhaps because I have so much faith in Ellen Page as an actress, I decided to go see Juno at the Nova. Also, I hadn't ever been to the Nova, and I'd heard good things. So, anyway, Katie and I went to see Juno, and before the movie even began, I was in a good mood because I love watching trailers.

Anyone who has watched TV in the last two weeks will already have been bombarded with the trailer, and will know that it's about a girl who got knocked up by a sweet, strangely attractive nerdy kid in gold shorts. From there, the movie documents Juno's journey into motherhood, or rather the journey to find a couple to adopt her baby.

The movie received 8.4/10 on IMDB, which is pretty impressive for, well, anything, so I was a little skeptical, going into the theatre with such high expectations, placed upon me by random viewers from around the world. Possibly the same viewers who saw fit to rate the Nazi zombie movie Shock Waves as 5.6/10, which is implying that you'll finish that film feeling like you've watched something of, at the very least, average quality. My faith in humankind has been skewed more by that rating than pretty much any evidence of wrong-doing I've seen in my near 18 years of life.

But, steering away from grindhouse cinema, and back to Juno, I'll talk about the one thing that bothered me about this otherwise brilliant movie; the dialogue. While it earned enough laughs from the audience, enough in fact to keep me from hearing the next ten seconds of the film, the dialogue almost crossed the line from charming and quirky, to pretentious. Now, I've never been particularly good at using the word 'pretentious' in a sentence so forgive me if my using it is in any way incorrect, but the dialogue, while funny and fresh amongst cinema-goers, it is as such because it's almost unbelievable. Of course, it's a movie, so it's allowed to take artistic liberty with what its characters say, but the day I ever hear any of my friends or even close acquaintences exlaim, 'honest to blog?' is the day I ensure that whoever says it is unable to reproduce. No one says that. No one.

But maybe that's what gives the movie its charm, the fact that the characters are so unlike anyone you've ever seen. If you knew the people in this movie, you'd probably hate them, but on the cinema screen they're fun, hilarious, and somehow believable. But only just. I think if I didn't already spend my time with people who use the word 'fair' as an adjective, and say 'lol' out loud, I might be a little more critical.

The dialogue is almost over-the-top. But only almost. Which is lucky, because that could ultimately make the difference between Juno being a good movie, and Juno being a brilliant movie. It was brilliant. The acting was fantastic, all the sets were colourful and happy, the soundtrack was unqiue and you left the cinema feeling fuzzy. In fact, I didn't want to leave the cinema for awhile, because the outside world wouldn't BE so fuzzy. Michael Cera plays the male lead so well, making every girl present want to go out and find an innocent boy to corrupt. Or is that just me?

I'll give it a 9/10, because nothing's perfect and I won't start pretending it is. But it's damn close.

--------------------------------

Wow, talk about a long movie review. Pretty sure that's not a career path for me. It'd be fun though, I'd get to watch lots of movies for free.

It's Australia Day this weekend. On the TV they had this big, long, patriotic ad about how one day isn't long enough to observe our country's coming of federation or whatever it is, and how we should take a week off, making it Australia Week.

Can anyone actually get away with bunking off for a week, now that the TV has technically made it legit? Or am I stupid for even thinking that? Just a thought, really.

I plan to eat something Australian over the weekend. I really can't think of any other way to observe it. Outside of the traditional barbeque idea. Does anyone even HAVE a barbeque? I do. Whatever, don't come here. Last year, Katie painted an Australian flag on my face, but did it backwards so the Union Jack was on the wrong side. She called me a Commie. Even though she did it.

An ad just played on TV, one about melanoma. The spokesman said its our national cancer. Well, that's patriotism if I've ever seen it, I got sunburned to a crisp yesterday and am really feeling the love for my country. Fuck you, Australia.

On that note, I'm going to apologise for this useless blog, but still post it because I have nothing else to do.


Oh, and Rest in Peace, Heath Ledger.
I'll probably cry next time I watch 10 Things I Hate About You.
Lest we forget.



Cheers dears,
Erin x

And what have we done?
Well, I'm glad you asked!
 
The statistics are as follows:

During the week, from Wednesday the 21st to Friday the 30th, 186 cans of drink were consumed, along with 206 small glass bottles, 24 bottles of spirits, and 34 plastic bottles and cartons.

If you consider these figures, you can calculate that the number of standard drinks consumed over this week is around about 1137. Furthermore, if you consider that at any one time, there may have been 20 people, using that figure, the average amount of standard drinks consumed by each person staying at the domicile can be assumed to be 56.85, approximately.

Man, you fucking alcoholics.

Kieran and I may well have dragged this number down, probably consuming, combined, no more than 20 drinks. But, regardless, it is a startling and interesting figure. And it may well be a good start to my blog about Schoolies 2007.

Callan and Daniel arrived on Wednesday night, making the trip in what they insist was no longer than 40 minutes. Fucking liars. They pitched what was to be referred to as The Mansion, and cracked open the first drinks of Schoolies, at my shack in Goolwa Beach.

Adrian, Kaz and I were the next to arrive. Armed with cartons of alcohol and more importantly, a key to the shack, we arrived in style and with desires to immediately start drinking. Hence the reason that by four in the afternoon, a frighteningly high level of alcohol was already coursing through the veins of the first Schoolies arrivers, due to the additive of Tooheys Extra Dry's to a regular game of Texas Hold'em.





Note, in the above picture, that you can actually see the floor? It was a lovely floor, I missed it for a long time. Where did the floor go, you might ask? Well, it was lost in the great avalanche of November 2007. Within a day, it was covered in dishes, and the personal effects of many tenants in the house. By the time the weekend approached, it was lived in and littered with flies.



There really is no photo that can truly demonstrate the extent to which the house was utterly trashed. But this one does it to the best of its ability; it shows guitars, bags, the TV showing the aftermath of an F Zero X race, and Daniel and Pete wading through it all to get ready for the day's activities.

Now, what did we eat? We couldn't have eaten crap all day, every day, surely? Well, yes, we surely could. Over the course of the week, approximately 85 packets of Mi Goreng were consumed, along with at least 15 packets of Easy Mac, five bags of assorted Halloween confectionary, and too many packets of chips. Feast your eyes on the cupboard that may well be the food equivalent of a night of hot, passionate sex.




Now, the reason we were at this shack, despite the fact that I own it and therefore should be up there every weekend, but managed to neglect it for a year, was to attend the Schoolies Festival. We all paid the ridiculously large price to enter the festival, despite using very little of the exclusive Schoolies stuff like dancing tents (they played shit music and smelled worse than the shack). The only reason I don't feel completely ripped off is because I was able to bus back and forth without giving an arm and a leg.It'd be adding insult to injury if any of us were forced to pay $10 a trip while drunk off our nuts or in possession of a massively swollen ankle, both of which occurred over the weekend.

We met some interesting characters at Schoolies, including a lovely Yiros cart man who we gave great business to, and in return received a rainbow hat. We also met this guy, from Mount Gambier. His name is Ben and he has fantastic clothes.




Back at the shack, we were not limited to our original visitors. Other visitors from the nearby St Michaels house, and the slightly further away Unley house, and ever so briefly, the Charles Campbell house, made the week that much more interesting, as the minute you thought that maybe you needed yet another new face, at least five would walk through the door, uninvited but definitely welcome. See below for an example of how visitors to the shack were treated upon arrival.




The last  night of the festival mainly consisted of us singing along to a guitar played by a member of the Green Team, and hunting down food in it's most beautiful form: KFC. Such endeavours lead to sexualities being questioned. How? Well, the following picture tells all.




Of course, the festival, of which was held in an official Dry Zone, wouldn't be complete if the vast majority of festival goers were completely tanked. Some of the most graceful, beautiful and classy photos were taken at this point in time, where my friends were undoubtably at their most photogenic.




There were points in time where we all just crashed. Non-stop partying, fuelled by only alcohol and good intentions (mixed ever so slightly with the urge to destroy, but only slightly) tends to tire out even the strongest, and often these strongest were reduced to a heap on the doorstep.




I don't know why it was decided that it had to happen, but before Schoolies even began, a Mexican Stereotype Night was planned. Katie, Samantha and I kicked all the drunkards out of the kitchen and cooked up the one and only communal meal of the trip: Tacos and Nachos. The night was improved by four boys who took the initiative to really become Mexican, with ponchos, moustaches and enough bad jokes to last a lifetime.




The week was not without its issues. Us city folk don't quite appreciate the novelty of communal sewerage, and as such were unable to comprehend the despairing visual of the septic tank overflowing in the front yard. However, by the time Kie, Kaz and Adrian had ventured over to the St Michael's house to bring back water for the tribe, the hose attached to the tank was uncoiled and everything was back to normal, except this time the grass in the back yard was a bit soggier. In the meantime, those who wished to use the toilet were scared away with an alarmingly effective sign.




We reached new levels of creativity up there, too. Who says learning ends in the classroom? A captivatingly epic sport was born, with Adrian and Kie leading the ranks, and we can only sit and wait for a millionaire to come and fund it as a national past-time. Along with this, were a number of alcoholic creations. Mixing whatever spirit you had at your disposal, in this case I believe it was Ouzo or Sambuca, as well as chopped apples and lemonade, apparently makes a decent cocktail, in terms of both appearance and taste. Also, those who think that Vodka mixers don't freeze, are WRONG. Rather, they turn into what we named a Red Bearsicle.




There are some things that you can only truly get away with at Schoolies. For example, downing an entire bottle of Tequila, and trying to walk to a bus stop holding a chopping board, a knife, a salt shaker, and wedges of soggy lime is something that in any other situation you may be called a complete fucking idiot. This time around? The goods were calmly confiscated and laughed about. Also, the idea that a number of males could dress more skankily than any of the girls, for a night, and not be lacking in respect or masculinity (much), is something that once again is probably only possible to this degree, at Schoolies. Regardless of this lack of inhibition or simply the desire to go completely fucking mad, there are some things that I think we all could have lived, happily might I add, without seeing.




Words can't sum up this week. Pictures can't either, though they very nearly can. Their shortcomings are only found in that my camera batteries ran out. The week was captured on camera, but so much of it is a blur, that only a select few of us would be able to actually recall when any of this happened. If we even choose to trust photos, I mean who's to say that they aren't lying to us, laughing behind our backs?

A huge group of strangers came together, in what could have turned out to be a massacre of the bloodiest kind. Instead, we got along like a house on fire, luckily without the fire. We represented 5 schools; Charles Campbell Secondary School, Woodville High School, Unley High School, Glenunga International High School, and St Michael's College, and came out feeling like we'd attended the same ones for five years.

We have come out of this experience with what some may call wisdom, but what some others may just call some pretty fucking annoying phrases. We all have Callan to thank for that. We know some random new facts, due to a Zoo magazine that circulated throughout the week when no one was providing decent enough entertainment, and most of us came out with at least one victory against me in F Zero X, which I suppose shows exactly how much people became attached to the Nintendo. We also came out with Turbo Mode on Golden Eye.

In the corniest of conclusions, look upon the group of high school graduates who spent a week in each other's company in a three bedroom shack in a small country town. Truly a feat only manageable by the truly awesome, and one that will be in our memories forever, unless of course we forget.





See you all soon!
xox

Hey all!

Upon having Katie inspect my room today it came to my attention that there are a number of interesting little artefacts within my residence that should be left to those who are worthy in the event of my untimely death. It's probably a bad omen to even consider such things but just for the hell of it, or maybe to show off what few interesting things I have in my room, I'll write a short but distinguished list of who, at this moment in time, is privy to my most prized possessions. Feel free to comment me and ask that you be added to this list, after all it pretty much becomes a legal document upon my death and you don't want to miss out!

-Katie, upon my demise, will receive my Futaba Senior High School ring, received in Japan in 2005, with the words 'Simple in my virtue, strong in my study' or something to that effect, on the official school insignia. What it lacks in sentimental value it makes up for in awesome tackiness. She also will receive my copy of Chuck Palahniuk's 'Fight Club'. She will also become owner to my wakizashi, the threatening wooden cat that sits on my desk, my purple tights, and the mattress in my hallway. She also receives my Myspace password, after years of me knowing hers but refusing her mine. Visitation rights to the Kakashi plushie, ownership explained below, are also granted.

-Kasmira, upon my demise, will receive my drumming monkey named Chibi, my lemonade flavoured spray deodorant (it's an empty can unfortunately), and my book collection (minus Fight Club, which she has no rights to as Katie asked first). She also expressed the desire that the Cheezel Society that lives behind my bed be donated to science.

-George, upon my demise, will receive rights to my soul. Seems a bit excessive but I figure, so long as he doesn't hock it to the devil, all will be as it should. And if he sells it on the black market, he'll make a fair bit of dosh, because it's a fairly untainted little thing (well, depends what taints a soul, really) just waiting to be violated. Though, I'd rather he keep it in a jar somewhere. He also gains rights to the crazy Ramune bottle, of which there are thousands in the city, however none quite so mixed with essence of me. He also gains rights to my Kakashi plushie, being the only person who can love and care for him the way he deserves.

-Callan, upon my demise, will receive my hair. Which means I will need a wig if I am to have an open-casket wake. Electric blue? Right, thanks. He will also receive my spleen, an organ I don't particularly care about. The rest of my organs will be donated to science, and I don't trust him to do so.

-Kieran, upon my demise, will receive a My Scene doll named Hudson, due to his slightly disturbing desire to own something of mine that is girly, and useless to him. With Hudson comes a soccer ball, a plastic trophy and medal, a pair of shoes with built-in socks, a wife-beater, a layered shirt, and a pair of parachute pants.

-Marianna, upon my demise, will receive a My Scene doll named Chelsea, as I'm pretty sure it was supposed to be hers anyway, but it's not our fault her dog killed a cat and she comforted herself by opening up the box of My Scene dolls that were meant for me, thus nullifying our Christmas present giving that year. With Chelsea comes a hairbrush, a pair of ankle boots, a skirt, a tanktop and a jacket. She will also become owner to Mat the Mogu Cat, after the death of her identical cat Droppants. RIP Droppants.

-My sister Kate, upon my demise, will receive my iPod. She will surely wipe all the songs, but she will treat it well.

-Ben, upon my demise, will receive every bit of documentation with my name on it, so he can take on my identity and become a fraudulent, male Erin.

-Orlando, upon my demise, will receive my collection of manga, Japanese and English, as well as my Princess brand TV.

-Chad, upon my demise, will receive my brain. For whatever purposes he desires, though I'm not sure my mind could be an improvement, or be any way detrimental to his already insane little psyche. He will also receive my eye-balls, to do what he will, which may well be give them as a gift to Rylie. He also lays claim to my Scott Westerfield book, based on the fact that he once enjoyed a book by the same author. He will also become owner of my saxophone, so as to learn it and be good in a way I never was.

So many things to be claimed, hurry, don't miss out! Leave a comment and you'll be added.

Cheers, and see you soon, I do not intend on dying,
Sorry,
Erin x