A bomb fell and this post came out

Now that I have a constant internet connection (read: my father has left :(, and has thusly bestowed unto me his modem which I will continue to use until Optus gets off their La-Z Reclining Couch (TM) and comes over to my house to hook me up with the intarwebs), I can finally update this dead wasteland.

I'm not sure what to update with though. I could write about what I've done about my holidays. But unless you find hibernation very interesting, I won't be doing that.

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What am I supposed to write about? My new house?

Oh yeah, my new house.

Well, I love it. =)

It has a staircase. A STAIRCASE! Oh, how I missed clambering up and down the stairs. And the bathroom has a REMOVABLE SHOWERHEAD. GOD, TECHNOLOGY, I LOVE YOU. Yes, my old house did not permit me to remove the showerhead. But now, my abilities have been restored to their former glory, and I can now REMOVE AND MANIPULTE THE SHOWERHEAD FOR MY EVIL PLANS.

...

I like removable showerheads, okay.

My room is awesome like no other. There's a window on the ceiling. THE CEILING. Of course, this makes it rather crappy in the morning, with the sun glaring straight down at me, crying, "ARISE FROM YOUR BED, ROANNE, AND BEGIN THE DAY WITH A SUNNY SMILE!" But it's nice in the afternoon, when you can sit underneath it and see the clouds roll by slowly.

I am such a sap.

Moving on...

My room's really bright at night though. Like, hardcore burn-out-your-eyes-with-a-bunch-of-nightlights bright. I like my nighttimes the way I like my coffee (well, if we were living in an alternate universe in which I actually liked coffee): as dark as the bitter depths of hell.

But hey, I can just shut my eyes and la-di-la, the brightness is gone.

Another major downpoint of my room is this: it's downstairs. And the toilet is upstairs. Yessir, this makes travelling to the Holy Sanctum a long journey. While my mom and sister can just step out of their door and hop over to the loo, I have to straggle up the stairs to relieve myself.

Oh, how I suffer. Woe. Woe. Woe.

Oh, punch me. =)

Walls are absurdly thin, and any conversation from anywhere in this house can be heard from anywhere else, shattering any remote fragment of privacy possible. But I'm okay with that, too. Why complain, I'm happy overall. This house is kickass.

My father brought many things with him here, mostly furniture and new replacements. Actually, how the hell did he manage to carry all those things to and fro the airport? BY HIMSELF?

Holy crap, my father is Superman.

Note to self: investigate this further.

He brought a gift for me as well. A watch. A very glamorous watch. I love it.

My whole family is big on watches. My dad has one. My mom has one. My sister has one. And they never go anywhere without it. Well, anywhere important, I mean. They're not going to strap on their watches to go to the toilet or anything. That'd just be silly.

Har har.

So anyway, I was the only member of the Lau clan not in possession of any fine timepieces. My father decided to give me a watch to commemorate my......

.....

.....

Actually, he had no reasons for giving me this watch. We were in Taiwan in January when he saw the ad on TV for this watch. And then he called me over and asked, "Eh, that watch. You like? Want?"

To which I replied, "AWEIFJAOWEFJ SEXY OMG YES."

So he ordered it, but only received it after I had returned to Australia.

And now, it's sitting pretty on my arm.

Let me tell you, this is not a girly watch. It's a huge watch. It's bigger than my sister's or my mother's. No, scratch that -- it's bigger than my sister and mother's watches combined.

I always thought those small watches were cute and very pretty. I now see the error of my ways though. Big watches are AWESOME. No squinting at the clockface, trying to deem whether it's 4 or 5 o'clock, no trying to figure out which is the minute and hour hand!

Maybe my eyesight just sucks?

So yes, it's a big kickass watch I own. Leather strap, gold, huge numerals (only multiples of three's present! All other numbers are clearly useless), shiny bling, and sheer class embodied in this sophisticated timepiece.

It doesn't run on batteries. It runs on magic. Okay, it runs on...um...mechanical energy? Screw it, I've forgotten everything I learnt in science. Um, I think it's mechanical energy. You shake your hand, some thing swings around in the back, which gives energy to the little ticker, which turns the gears?

...that's mechanical energy, yes?

...anyway...the point is, it lacks a battery. Which actually kind means I have to keep swinging my hand around, or else the clock will stop running. Well, maybe not so dire, but I have to move it at least once every ~8 hours or so. And I'm pretty confident that I move my hands a lot more times than once every eight hours.

Pretty darn confident, sir.

The back's transparent, which lets you see into the inner workings of the watch. Pretty rocking, I think.

Did I seriously spend a whole huge chunk of paragraphs talking about my watch?

...Really?

Wow. I'm really procrastinating from my work here.

Summary of post: Optus blows like the wind, removable showerheads are my reason for living, my father is Superman, I'm madly in love with my new watch and am going to procreate with it.

Oh, and, like, my watch is Gucci. Oohhhhhhhh~~

(have a safe trip, father <3)