Something very unfortunate happened yesterday.Mr Ipod died.Lets all grief for five seconds before moving on.
After falling 3 metres down from the gym locker the screen went blank and after two minutes a tiny picture of a small ipod with a sad face appeared-i rushed home to quickly see what the Apple site had to say about this peculiar occurence,there they posted several steps and guidelines to follow but all attempts at resuscitating Mr Ipod proved to be futile.I starred at the ipod for several seconds,and remembered how much persuasion went into coaxing my mum into buying it,and the many places it has followed me around as a faithful companion along with the many tunes stored inside which kept me warm in times of boredom and loneliness.
But mac pc's suck cos they're so hard to use.I hate them.Bah.
So Sha and I went down to Flinders street where the Apple Service Centre is located,and upon entering the store i recieved a sharp,piercing look from a blonde woman who was queing up for her turn.What happened next was unshocking-in what seemed to be an act of vicious kiasuness and shameless racism (i'm sure she would'nt have done the same if i wasn't a foreigner) she held both her arms up wide open to indicate that she was next in line.I proceeded to give her my best ''piss of you fugly idiot'' look and whispered some ludacris curses under my breath to which she responded to by flicking her long hair in my direction.Anyways,forget that bitch,the incoming nemesis had me more worried-the fast-talking teen behind the counter looked threatening,he looked like one of those people behind service counters who'd give million excuses to why they won't or can't replace your broken item-so i productively spent the entire two minutes waiting in line conjuring fake reasons that would convince the threatening teen to replace my broken ipod.When it finally came to my turn at the counter i was ready to shoot reason number one to three (before moving on to my final winning conclusion that would reinstate the fact that the ipod is wholly to blame for being broken and not me)-but when he asked ''what's wrong with your ipod'',i simply answered ''there's a sad face on it'' and miraculously,he took the ipod and sealed it in a white transparent bag and told me to come back in exactly 10 days to collect my brand new ipod.BLOODY IDIOT.Mwahahaha.It didn't require me to even lie to get a new ipod,thanks to this incompetent and lazy teen who was too busy sucking his lollipop to worry if i was actually to blame for the damage done to Mr Ipod.So i'm getting a brand new one soon-hura hura!
Hence the celebratory (is there even such a word?)mood!-coincidentally it was Jasmine's birthday yesterday,when we went out to Sofia for a fantastic (delicious+cheap=rare combo) meal after which we went around camwhoring as to have some fun laughing madly and taking advantage of Sue-Mae's camera which does wondeful miracles to us unphotogenics.Again i must say,that might not be a real word.Blagh.
We found this magic pole,where our inner dirty poledancers came out full force to pose and act all slutty-apparently i'm naturally not that slutty,since i don't look much like a poledancer in this picture.Well as i see it today's post has taught all of us three very unimportant lifelessons-
1.If you have a broken Ipod bring it to the service centre on Flinder's Street where the teen behind the counter will agree to replace your Ipod without question.
2.Too much calamari can cause temporary insanity.
3.Must listen to Sandi Thom's ''I wish i was a punk rocker'',Fergie's ''Fergilicious'' and Snow Patrol's ''Chasing Cars''.
The third one wasn't supposed to be there,but heck they're such great songs they belong on any list-and i'm starting a fund for the building to install some of those automatic spray anti-smelliness things as to prevent the corridors getting all stinky due to the effect of ''indians who smell like rubbish and are unaware of the invention of perfume walking around'' so have a heart and contribute some money for this worthy cause.