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Once again I have been a bad blogger, a very bad blogger. Once again, we can blame law school, and it’s cold, darker-than-black, evil, uncaring, unspare-time-allowing heart. (and a little of real life law)

I have a tort law assignment due in two days and have found myself consumed by a world of negligence, salient features, farfetched fancifulness and a hypothetical idiot named Dr Singh who announced his hypothetical ‘funny turns’, senile, stroke victim patient, Anton, fit to drive a motor vehicle – who consequently crashed his car with his hypothetical idiot ‘my husband is the best driver’ wife, Ludwika, who fractured her elderly hip and suffered severe, old lady neck injuries.

Oh yeah, and I have to represent the idiot hypothetical doctor, by the way.

I can’t help but feel 100% complete sympathy towards poor hypothetical Anton – stuck with a shit hypothetical doctor who is literally ‘practising’ medicine and a retarded hypothetical wife who is clearly just as senile as her hypothetical husband if she thinks he’s ok to drive.

Really, it’s just as much her hypothetical fault as the hypothetical doctors, but I can’t say that, can I? About a poor old hypothetical woman who was probably ‘just supporting’ her hypothetical senile husband.

This whole hypothetical legal case thing is really beginning to hypothetically shit a hypothetical me.

And yet on Saturday at work, I watched as a senile old man – just like hypothetical Anton – reverse his car into the Dome cafe next to work and then accelerate forwards directly into a very expensive, very silver FWD parked opposite. Which makes this whole hypothetical tort law assignment feel oh so less hypothetical and oh so much more real and creepy…

That and the bubble that is Napoleon Street, Cottesloe was completely burst by that little incident – a metaphor for the lives of the rich bubble-people who regular the area, perhaps? 😛

My poor little bubble, I love it so.

Later that night, I was driving on the Freeway with a broken tail light, heavily dented bumper bar, only one (incorrect) P plate displayed and no license on me – only to be pulled over by the cops for “going 90kms in a 100km zone, ma’am”.

…WHAT THE FUCK? Seriously! Did he not notice the botched brown-packing tape job I’d done in an attempt to salvage my tail light from the 5km reverse crash into a pole a few weeks prior? And how did he NOT notice I was missing a P plate? That’s a $50 fine within itself!

The cop also asked me if I’d been drinking, but failed to breatho me, and was more than happy to take my simple proof-of-age card as sufficient ID.

He didn’t fine me either – although I’m still paranoid he’s going to pounce a mail-fine on me and take my not-even six month old probationary license away from me… I might go join witness protection, just incase. 😛

The icing on the cake is a triple shot macchiato that I had two sips of the other day, which causes my heart to beat like a strobe light at full speed for a full seven hours after. I swore I was going to have a bloody stroke like my hypothetical senile tort law man, Anton. Freaked me out. Coffee that strong should be illegal, or atleast come with some kind of the-barista-who-concocted-this-vile-death-drink-holds-no-liability-if-you-die legal warning note on the cup. Really!

So yes, as you can see, the law – in its various realistic and hypothetical forms – has consumed my every waking moment since my last post and is completely and utterly to blame for my neglecting you. Please don’t sue me.

xoxo

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I realie it’s been a while since my last post. I must admit, I have been a bit preoccupied with uni, specifically Prosh on April Fools Day and following that, Prosh-recovery, which took a while.

However, at the same time, my interwebs hasn’t been the best of friends and I’ve had issues trying to get my blog open to post something for all you, my lovely readers/creepy psychotic fans. 🙂

I guess what I should do is talk about Prosh. (as I’m still looking into a conclusion for my last post.) Prosh is very near and dear to me and this was my third year around putting myself through the torture and hell of dragging myself out of bed at 4am to swarm the streets of Perth city with my fellow UWA students in ridiculous constumes, selling parody newspapers to raise money for charity.

If you don’t know what Prosh is, feel free to enlighten yourself at this interwebial location. It’s really a fun day – and the absolute best and most awesome reason to go to UWA! Yay us!

Ok, let’s begin with my costume. I had alot of trouble deciding on something, having dressed up as a nun in my first year, and as a Vegas showgirl (complete with feathery bum feature) my second time around.

Eventually it was dear lovely Caro P who gave me the most epic idea ever: dinosaur.

I set about building a dinosaur with papermache. I had epic plans for my dinosaur, however after a week of hard arts and crafting, he still wasn’t quite complete. (But you wait! He will be the most insane dinosaur you’ve ever seen when I’m finished with him!) Of course, as I had not completed him, I could not paint him. So I revamped my idea a little, made myself a tail and scales out of newspaper and ended up proshing as a “Proshasaraus” – a rare, not-yet extinct dinosaur who is made entirely out of newspapers and (due to the fact his jaw broke on my way to uni) brown packing tape. I felt it was quite fitting, selling newspapers whilst covered in them.

This was the end result:

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fig 1: epic proshasaraus proshing in the most proshy way possible!

As you can quite clearly see, he isn’t complete (as I mentioned), but is on the way to extraordinary epicness as a proper dinosaur mask/helmet when he is complete!

So let me talk you through the events of my third Prosh:

I was woken up by a phone call at 4:30am, I threw on my costume, brushed my teeth and walked down to campus. On the way, the jaw of my dinosaur broke. (He was repared later that day when the shops opened.)

Dance party’d on Oak Lawn (which began at 3am) until 6am. So much dance party love. Love dance party. Bet you’re jealous you didn’t dance party it up at 3am on the Oak Lawn. Yeah bet you are.

Here’s some photos to make you even more jealous:

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fig 2: Dance party before sunrise.

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fig 3: Dance party during sunrise.

Of course, dance party wouldn’t be complete without a smattering of very drunk, very naked boys running around campus at 4am, but I don’t wanna name and shame. 😛

After so much dance party, we jumped on the buses, hit the city (yes, in our wacky costumes) and got harassed by Tafe students who refused to buy a Prosh for charity because they’re just jealous they weren’t good enough to come to our uni. Obviously. 😛

Then we Proshessioned through the mall, to the steps outside the state library, where we had MORE DANCE PARTY at midday. So much dance party. Love dance party.

After that I went home and passed out. I was pooped.

More photos and excitingness to come!

Did you miss me? I was gone for a while there. As it was, I was swamped by life and almost forgot about my beloved little blog!

I really must complete my list of amazing things from Europe. There is so much more entertaining stuff to post! And it will kill the boredom between classes…

That’s right, this is my second week back at uni and I already hate Tort Law. I really do. Except Donoghue v Stevenson. If you don’t know what Donoghue v Stevenson is, then click on this link to become learned on one of the best cases ever in existence. (It didn’t make my earlier list cos it’s tort, not criminal.)

I am now a third year, this makes me feel ill and I am really not excited about my birthday that approaches. Twenteen is not an attractive age and I am doing everything to resist the coming of Sunday, when all Hades rises and I become that disgusting old age that has a 2 infront of it. *shudders*

Um… what else is there? Not a whole lot really, life has been relatively uneventful and there isn’t even anything hilarious for me to report upon!

Oh! I signed up to be group leader for next weeks history workshop presentation… Only to remember later that I am so unorganised I forgot that I was too unorganised to be a group leader! Tune in to Geography Lecture Theatre 1 at 10am next Tuesday to watch wrinkly old twenteen Georgia and her comradery of motley revolutionaries crash and burn!

This is all for now.

I promise more fun Europe pictures later.

xoxo.

I had an exam on Thursday, and let me tell you, it was a shocker. This was for Contemporary Political Theory, where we’ve been applying political philosophy to contentious issues, so I answered the question on abortion, who’s debate was better? Marquis or Tooley?

Now, if you remember from my earlier posts, Tooley is the one who says if you accept abortion, you accept infanticide, and I argued that infanticide doesn’t exist in the state of Western Australia.

Marquis trumps Tooley and his argument goes along the lines of “if you accept abortion, you accept euthanasia” or something like that. It’s complex and not as interesting as Tooley’s or Jarvis’ (Jarvis is the one where the magical violinist is plugged into your kidneys).

Anyways, the point of this post is that I had an unusual dream last night.

I dreamt that I got pregnant to someone who’d also taken the unit (this person didn’t have a name or face, but that says nothing because of the 60 people who take the unit, only about 10 show up on a weekly basis and only about 2 of them are boys so whatevs). ANYWAYS, as I was saying, I got pregnant in my dream and me and the nameless, faceless father sat there, deciding whether or not to abort the baby, based on the various arguments of Tooley, Jarvis and Marquis.

Now see THIS is what they mean when they talk about something “taking over your life”. Seriously, why would I base my decision to have a baby (if I were to fall pregnant) on the ridiculous arguments of three political philosophers?

I seriously need to get away from uni.

However, before I spend this week trying to cleanse my mind, body and soul of uni-related ridculouslness, I shall share this criminal case I recently learnt about:

Mr Langham bought a crossbow from a shop for $675. He changed his mind and took it back for a refund. Anyways, the shop would only give him store credit, and would not refund his money. Using some of the credit, he purchased a gun.

Later on, armed with the gun, Langham returned to the shop and held them up, demanding the balance of $301 back.

The shop assistants handed over $300, but Langham continued to demand that last dollar. (Would he have given them $4 change, had they handed over $305?)

Of course, Mr Langham was charged with armed robbery. But seriously, this has to be one of the funniest cases ever – all he wanted was his money back. Did he have a reasonable claim? Maybe.

Alright, that’s it for today, and I’m on uni-holidays for the next week, so I don’t know if I’ll have anything worth blogging over, but if you wanna do something for me, go sign the petition at http://www.savemidnightsun.com/home.aspx, so that MAYBE one day, us Twilighters will own our own copy of Midnight Sun, which we’re all so desperately hoping Meyer will change her mind on.

Thank you my choo choos!