Monday, 30 December 2013

How To Nail a New Year's Resolution

Anyone who knows me will probably tell you that I'm not quite ready to become a self-help columnist. They're totally right. However, I've become so tired of the failed institution of new year's resolutions that I'm breaking my silence on the matter. Here's a few tips I rehashed from my sales days that may or may not help you get healthy / save money / quit dealing crack this New Year.

Be Specific
Deciding to be healthy or mature isn't good enough. You need to decide how you're going to be healthy – eat organic, quit smoking or exercise more. Plan how you're going to improve your maturity. Are you going to stop laughing at the word 'penis' or refrain from squabbling with the neighbourhood kids? How can you expect yourself to achieve something if you don't know exactly what you want to achieve?

Be Realistic
No, you cannot be the first to discover an actual unicorn. If this was possible, myself or Alexa Chung would have beat you to it. In all seriousness though, you can't resolve to become an olympic runner or investment banker if you have no prior training in the field. Get serious pal. If that's really what you want to do, start with a gym membership or enrol in the required degree. If you're reading my blog, you probably live in a first world country which means you're never too old to go back to school.

Measure Your Progress
Instead of just planning to save money, keep a budget. This will prevent you from using a 'gift with purchase' to justify the three cute dresses you bought. If you decide you want to get fit, measure how long you can work out for to start with so you'll see your improvements. If not, it would be like wanting to lose weight without knowing your starting weight or measurements – redic!

Set a Timeline
Making the decision to change your lifestyle is a long-term goal. However, most new years resolutions only last for a month or two – if you're super dedicated. If you set a timeline for what you want to achieve, chances are, your motivation will increase as the deadline looms closer. Saying you want to travel is fine but deciding you're going to travel before you turn 30 paints a clearer picture in your mind. Before you know it, you'll be playing Black Jack in Monaco.

If, by some miracle, you've made it to the end of my preachy rant without google imaging unicorns, you may be wondering what my new year's resolution is. This year, I've decided to keep writing my weekly blog for the next three months. By the end of March, I need to figure out if it's something I want to get serious about and purchase a domain name.

Hopefully this amateur advice will provide you with some assistance on your quest for self improvement. At the very least, I hope it doesn't hinder your attempts or make you want to stab me. Thanks for reading over the last six months, I shall speak to you all in 2014... unless I die from my hangover.

Monday, 16 December 2013

Selfie Culture… Scary Stuff

I'll admit that I've taken a few selfies in my time. Not nearly as many as most Gen Ys but I'm certainly guilty nonetheless. When I take selfies, I try to make them look like Alexa Chung's... confident and mildly artsy. Instead, they usually end up looking about as flattering as Miley Cyrus' (without the tongue). Hopefully, the amount of selfies I take wouldn't increase too much if I was actually good at it but who knows? I'm kind of in love with myself. 

Weather you like it or not, it's time to accept that the term selfie has not only been added to the Oxford Dictionary, it's their word of the year for 2013. Selfie is defined as:

A photograph one has taken of oneself, typically one taken with a smartphone or webcam and uploaded to a social media website.

Not only is it a photo taken of yourself, it's taken with the intention of showing it to the world. This is the interesting part. The only explanation I can come to is that we are seeking the approval of our peers, who's opinions are purely based on the way we look. This is kind of scary.

Worse still, instead of society frowning upon this trend like they did with sexting, they're embracing it like YouTube “How To” videos. What's up with that? Selfies are not a learning tool, nor do they teach you how to perform difficult tasks when you're too stubborn to ask for help.

I thought the leaders and influential figureheads of modern society would see right through this international phase of narcissism. Perhaps they could inspire youths to look beyond this culture of peer-based approval to find self acceptance. Sadly, this is not the case. It turns out the most successful and influential people in the first world also love a bit of selfie action... I'm looking at you, Obama.

With the majority of the world embracing this trend, it makes me wonder where it will lead us. In decades to come, I think we can find ourselves in either of two situations. Firstly, the world could continue to embrace selfies and explode into one massive ball of narcissism. Secondly, the next generation could look back on the trend and cringe in a similar fashion to the sartorial choices of the 80s.

Thankfully, I think the second scenario is far more likely to occur. Maybe this culture of self indulgence will inspire the next generation to view such acts as lame and unnecessary. Perhaps they'll look back on these times and make fun of our narcissism.

Whatever the outcome, I think we all (myself included) need to relax on the snapping situation. If you wake up with an amazing head of Serena Van-der-Woodsen style hair one morning, sure, take a selfie. If you take selfies with blank expressions and trampy make up, your old school friends and in-laws probably don't want to see it in their news feed.

Saturday, 7 December 2013

The Morning After

I'm laying on the hard wood floor of my apartment because this is where my blanket is. I don't know how or why it got here but I'm ok with it. My cat is meowing relentlessly and sniffing my face. My only assumption is that she's trying to make sure I'm alive. Isn't she a darling?

Last night was the work Christmas party. Contrary to my preliminary fears, I don't think I did anything to embarrass myself. Winning.

Friday, 29 November 2013

Seven Reasons Why Being a Zombie Would be the Bomb Diggity

In every movie, the zombie is always the bad guy. Sure, they eat people's brains and walk around like mad creepers but maybe it's not that bad when you're on their team. Before you write me off as crazy, here's a few points to consider...

Zombies never look stressed
You could spend days discussing the different interpretations of this creature however, I am yet to find a movie that shows a zombie rushing to work or studying for an exam. They're always just hanging out, dragging the chain. I've never tried drugs myself but they remind me of the stoners that would wander around my high school saying words like “maaaaan” and “baaaaaked”.

Goodbye, beauty regime!
Zombies have absolutely no need to cleanse, tone, exfoliate or moisturise. In fact, they never wash, blow dry or straighten their hair either. Nor do they have to muster the courage to remove the hair from the shower drain. Imagine how many extra hours they have to wander the streets, groaning like dying goats. No wonder they're never stressed.

No more washing your clothes
Ironing and hanging up clothes doesn't bother me that much because I rarely do it but I'd be keen to trade eating chocolate for brains if it meant I never had to sort another load of darks and whites. Being a zombie means you can literally wear the same outfit forever. Lets hope no one falls for one of those short lived trends when choosing their zombie attire. If I had to look at teenage zombies walking around with their butts hanging out of their shorts for all eternity, I'd eat my own brain... if zombies have them.

They can never lose arguments
Sure, they'll never win them either but no one can argue with someone who's only response is “uuuurghh”. For people like me who are terrified of confrontation, this sounds like a dream come true. In most zombie movies, they aren't shown in any kind of uncomfortable social scenes. Awkward situations happen to me almost hourly on a regular day... sometimes I don't even understand why I blush. I don't know about you but this is a particularly appealing point for me.

It's not weird when your zombie pals don't laugh at your jokes
Depending on what movie you're thinking of, chances are the zombies can't actually make jokes. Imagine how cool it would be if they could and the awkward silence and crickets in the background were normal? I spend about a quarter of my life making unfunny jokes and another tenth pretending to laugh at other people's. Not in a mean way, I'm just trying to be nice. It would be awesome if I didn't have to worry about this.

It wouldn't be rude to ignore your neighbours
I've said before that I have adorable neighbours and I stand by it. There are a few though, that I'd rather not mumble a 'hello' to while walking past as fast as possible. Zombies have no need to avoid eye contact at the supermarket or local cafes either. Not only do they not use manners, they don't buy food which rules out both scenarios.

Being a zombie is a career
You would never have to answer questions like “what do you want to be in life?”. Hallelujah! You may feel a slight sadness at not being able to reach your goals but just eat some brains and it'll pass. If not, you'll have all eternity to come to terms with your failed dreams of being a fashion designer / evil genius / hair dresser.

So there you have it folks. It might pay to rethink you position on resisting a potential zombie apocalypse. I'd much prefer to be a zombie than deal with an I am Legend situation... safety in numbers. Call me a sheep if you like. I'll just snack on your brains for afternoon tea, mother f******.

Friday, 22 November 2013

PMS Rage

This isn't some kind of feminism article, nor is it meant to empower the 'psycho menstruating woman' stereotype. This is simply a way for me to vent my hormonal furore without resorting to the verbal / physical abuse of another human being.

As I'm writing this, there's a little puppy standing in front of me. She refuses to move no matter how much her owners call her name and pull on her lead. I look up at the dog and don't even feel the urge to smile. Instead, I silently curse it for drawing the owner's attention to me. I'm sitting on a park bench dressed in all black including a wide brimmed hat and dark glasses. To my left is a black handbag. To my right, an open bottle of cider. If my open laptop and closed body language doesn't send caution signals to the world, the big 'fuck off' splashed across my face surely would.

While taking a small sip from my drink, I notice the soft afternoon sunlight beaming down from behind the trees. I realise that despite my best efforts, the world is still happy. I hear two girls chattering behind me as they walk. I imagine they're best friends who often exercise together, I bet they take turns encouraging each other on the afternoons they don't feel like walking. Even though I quite enjoy going for a run myself, the thought of these two being so supportive and healthy makes me sick.

I make a move to conceal my cider between myself and my bag as a police van drives behind me. In doing so, I notice the sun beams have dimmed. This makes me feel relieved. Then I hear the footsteps of heels behind me and see a lady with a pram. I instantly think of her as 'The Enemy'. The same goes for the guy running 100m lengths across the park. How dare he work hard towards goals and feel such motivation? Fucker. I bet he's going places in life. Some say I am as well. People tell me I have the world at my feet but I certainly don't feel like it today.

It's not a bad day, work actually went quite fast and I got to speak with my best friend. Sure, some things annoyed me throughout the day but that happens to everyone. Nothing in particular happened that would warrant such a bad mood. I do however, relish indulging my feelings to write this. Usually I try to stay calm and remind myself that my anger is caused by the hormones of my mensie. Not today though.

Oh crap, I just spotted the couple with the dog heading back towards me. How can they not have been scared off by my evil internal monologue? I hope to god they don't talk to me. “Fuck off dog, I don't care how cute you are” I think as it stares at me while strolling past, breathing in the fresh air.

The sun has now brightened again and is beaming happiness down on this inner city parkland. I look up to realise that among all the happy looking people chatting and exercising, it's me, the one hating everything that dares soak up it's warm embrace. Maybe there's hope for me yet. Ouch! By enjoying the sun's warm glow, I just hurt my eyes. I've been deceived by it's joyous rays. I guess everyone else was smart enough not to be drawn in by it's picture perfect happiness. Now I feel like a dumb arse.

While still reeling from the pain I lay my eyes on a sight so repulsive, I screw up my face in disgust. There's a couple dawdling across the park, holding hands and sharing the stories of their respective days. Eww. Beyond them is a couple with their baby in one of those chest carrier harness things. They're playing happy families... smiling, hugging and such. I've seen enough!

Then to the right, I see a girl sitting alone on a blanket. She's sitting cross legged, engrossed in whatever is on the screen of her laptop. I can't help but feel as though we're two females strangers, yet we are one and the same this afternoon. I imagine that she too, is experiencing the perils of the mensie. Realistically, this stranger could just be studying for an exam or updating her Facebook status. In my mind though, she's writing similar things to me and feeling as though she has an alien inside of her, clawing at her insides creating relentless paint and anger.

This is why girls often get along so well. We've all been there.

Sunday, 10 November 2013

The Ups and Downs of Being a Dreamer

Being a bit of a dreamer makes me somewhat more susceptible to disappointment. I just can't help but imagine the best outcome for every situation and somehow, convince myself that it's the only possibility. On the other hand, I know there's also major positives to having the ability to dream big. For example if you don't know what you want most out of life, how can you expect to get it?

My first real disappointment came in June 2012 when I achieved my goal of visiting New York City. For years I wanted to experience the craziness and endless possibilities the city had to offer. So much so, that I became obsessed with shows like How I Met Your Mother and Gossip Girl. Epic fail bro.

Not only was I devastated to discover that McLaren's bar is actually called McGee's in real life, I completely forgot to expect that HIMYM was filmed in L.A. like almost everything else outside of Bollywood. After eventually discovering that basic piece of trivia, I set my sights on a real life Gossip Girl experience... don't hate me, I was a 20 year old girl. What more can you expect?

Eighteen months later I arrived at JFK and was greeted by many shady looking characters while I waited for my then-boyfriend to pick me up. I should clarify: I'm not one of those internet dating types, nor do I get involved with people in other countries. He was Australian and had flown over before me to see more of America with his friend. My point is, from the minute I stepped off the plane, things weren't as I had imagined.

Sorry but I have to interrupt this story to share a super awkward experience with you. As I'm writing this, I'm sitting on my balcony. In the apartment building next door, there's a group of people singing a terrible rendition of Pump up the Jam... you know, that old school 90s hit. There's quite a lot of shrieking involved. I feel really embarrassed for them. Anyway...

Going to New York with the expectation of having an experience similar to Serena van der Woodsen's life was obviously a very naive thing to do. Nevertheless, somehow I'd convinced myself I was stepping into a magical fairy tail when I was actually entering one of the scariest places a germophobe can visit in a first world country.

While I did enjoy my trip, the experience taught me that it was time to separate my dreaming from my real life, which I managed to do. Then this week I found myself living a life I had wanted but never thought possible: living in New Farm by myself, with a job I enjoy, driving an Alfa Romeo. Throw in my own TV show, a French boyfriend and a yacht off the coast of Cannes and that's my life complete.

Before reaching them, my aspirations of going to New York, living where I do and having one of my dream cars all seemed as ridiculous and impossible as the goals I'm yet to achieve. The scenario I'm currently living has convinced me to once again, aim for my wildest dreams.

Then I came across the very real possibility of encountering a hot French boy... My best friend just moved into a new place and according to the real estate agent, a hot, single French guy in his mid-twenties lives next door. I guess time will tell weather or not my dreaming is a help or hinderance.

Sunday, 3 November 2013

The Mid-Mid-Twenties Crisis

I'm 23 years old, in 6 months I'll be 24. My age can be perceived in three ways. For those who are younger than me, they may see me as an adult who has her life together because I live out of home and don't exceed my phone plan each month. For those who are older than me, they see me as someone who has the world at her feet and endless opportunities yet to come, if only I could mature a bit more to make the most of them. Then there's my fellow early twenties peeps who will either be thrown into a state of emotional turmoil or experience an overwhelming sense of glory.

Why? You might ask... because we have an undying urge to achieve everything we can while we're young. Weather intended or not, this makes us competitive and unable to refrain from comparing our lives to our peer's. If we're winning the race of life achievements, it's great. If we aren't, we question our motivation, abilities and life choices.

The feelings of underachievement can lead to what I like to call a mid-mid-twenties crisis. I'll admit, the name needs a bit of work but in my experience, being 18 months away from turning 25 is scary. Regardless of what your goals are, there's no doubt you want them all crossed off the list by 30. That means you need to have about two thirds of them done by 25. Pressure much?

This sense of urgency causes some people to work even harder and burn out. Others feel discouraged and stop caring all together... goodbye success. Then there's the third option, those who try to maintain their sanity but act out in little bursts like blowing off work for a week to go to Jamaica or randomly buying a new car just because you're an adult and god dammit, you'll do what you want. Hello mid-mid-twenties crisis!

At the risk of sounding way more grown up than I am, we need to remember that we have at least another 45 years left in the workforce... plenty of time for achievement! I can't take credit for that, my friend Manda always says it. Anyway, that's enough time to excel in two or three different careers. For now, I'm happy to continue working in an oil refinery. Even though I have absolutely nothing to do with the cool stuff, it makes project administration much more interesting.

When I'm mature enough to take it seriously and actually finish the course, I'm going to go back to uni. If I'm still interested in refineries and if I think I'm smart enough, I'll study engineering. If not, perhaps I'll be more tolerant of teenagers by then and I can become an English teacher. Ultimately, I'd love to have a regular column in Frankie magazine too but I think I'll leave that on the day dreaming list for now.

My point is, we all need to chill the f*** out. Now is the time for travel, living in the city, drinking during the day and buying as many pretty dresses as you can afford because you may never look as good as you do right now. The next step is to make the transition into one of those people in their 30s who are still awesome. Not the ones that dress like teenagers but the ones that still have more to talk about than the younger generation's faults.

Once you've done everything else you wanted, it's time to master the role of the inappropriate grandparent. Don't pretend you aren't looking forward to this! After surviving all the years of political correctness and impeccable manners, it's time to let loose and demand free extra topping on your McDonalds sundae... you’ve earned it! There's so much more to life than the time it takes you to hit 25. Write these years off as a learning curve and who knows how much you'll accidentally achieve.

Tuesday, 29 October 2013

Blair Waldorf: Not Just an Evil Dictator

Fashion god, leader of mean girls or evil dictator... Blair Waldorf can be described as many things. People who'd be star struck by meeting Blair would feel just as excited about having King Jong-un over for Christmas Dinner. What I'm getting at here, is any girl with morals or a conscience would not call Blair an inspiration... until now. Thanks to the writers of Gossip Girl, I have been pulled out of a recent funk by the scripted wisdom of this evil genius.

So the story started in late June when I broke up with my boyfriend. We were together for 3.5 years and were best friends. Sadly, that's all we really were. It was time to face the fact that we were no longer romantically involved. At least that meant the break up could be amicable.

As we were really just friends anyway, I didn't miss him in the way you'd usually miss an ex. I just felt a little sad because I'd lost the friend who knew me the best. Anyone would miss such a person. Not only was I dealing with this loss, I was also confused because I didn't know why I missed someone I wasn't even really with for the last year or so. Then, thanks to Blair Waldorf, I had an epiphany.

In the first season, Blair explains her parent's divorce to Serina who ran away to boarding school for a year. She sums up her Mum perfectly:

“So my Dad left her for another man... She lost fifteen pounds and got an eye lift. It's been good for her.”

It was Blair's matter-of-fact statement and blank facial expression that pulled me out of my sad state. Scratch that – sad is an exaggeration. Maybe you would call it “not quite loving absolutely everything about life”. Whatever it is, Blair Waldorf inspired me to get over it with a little variation of this line: “So we broke up. I lost five kilos and moved to New Farm. It's been good for me”.

Talk about timing... why didn't I have this epiphany while I was dreading the inevitable questioning of my break up? In the early days of my newly found singledom, I had to dodge endless questions whilst choking back tears. If I had this matter-of-fact, careless response, people would have been given enough information to leave me alone without me getting upset.

Up until a couple of days ago, I was adjusted to my new life and doing well except for missing the bond I had with my ex. Thanks to Blair's careless evaluation of her mother's emotional state, mine has improved to a point where I'm happy with every aspect of my life. Sure, I'm no closer to seeing France than I was last week, nor do I own an Alfa Romeo or Audi TT. Regardless of my materialistic goals, I'm happier and healthier than I was last Tuesday night. Is that not the true meaning of growth and progression? I've nailed it!

Saturday, 19 October 2013

I Just Realised I'm Holly Golightly

After consuming more alcohol than I should before sunset and spending the evening with a boy I'm not entirely fascinated with, I went home to watch a movie: Breakfast at Tiffany's. It's now 2:38 am and I am wide awake after making this startling yet amusing discovery. Before I elaborate any further, I shall state that I have never accepted $50 for the powder room, nor have I assisted in passing cryptic messages between members of the Mafia.

I guess in the grand scheme of things I won't end up like Holly but my current situation seems to pose a great deal of resemblance to her own. For starters, I live alone with a cat in a tiny apartment in the inner city suburbs. I always make the effort to look classic and well put together even though I don't have the most impressive bank account.

For a reason I can't seem to identify, I can never quite look after myself properly. I do try but it just seems so difficult to cook and tidy my apartment. I'm surviving just fine and I'm determined to do things on my own but I'm not too sure how long I'll be able to survive on crackers and takeaway. I've been meaning to look into vegetables for a while now.

Then there's the prelude. I also grew up in a less than glamourous area and moved away as soon as I was old enough. These days, I don't keep in contact with anyone from the area, including family members. I suppose I have changed a lot since I left, as I'm sure everyone else has. If my family came to find me, they may as well call me by a different name as I am certainly a different person to the girl they knew.

My day was one that Holly would have experienced numerous times before. I was at an event during the day and began drinking. When I got home I had a few hours between engagements so I did one of my favourite things: cider in New Farm Park. Much like Holly's love affair with Tiffany's, New Farm Park makes me feel like nothing bad could happen there. Even if you're on your own you can sit on a blanket, read and watch all the families and groups of friends having fun. Everyone is always so happy, it looks like a Hallmark ad.

When evening came, I hung out with a boy who makes me feel somewhat like Holly does about her string of male suitors. He's an absolutely lovely person but I'm certainly not crazy about him. I have a sneaking suspicion that if I kept him around long enough, he'd turn into a rat like the rest of them. We had a nice evening but I won't be seeing him again.

That brings me to the present moment. After watching Breakfast at Tiffany's when I got home, I am now sitting on my bed typing this. Sitting next to me is a bottle of S. Pellegrino which I am drinking from a martini glass. Like Holly, this may appear to be mildly fabulous but the truth is, I can't afford the best of everything. I splurge on the best sparkling water because it cures hang overs. As for the martini glass, they're stored on the shelf below my regular glasses so I usually use them instead as it requires less effort.

As for Holly being slightly erratic and a little bit fake, I can definitely relate. If I'm not focusing on work, my imagination takes over and before I know it I'm off in la la land riding unicorns and eating fairy floss clouds. It really does make it hard to keep track of things. I often project a certain persona too. Not one that isn't accurate. It's more like the person I'd rather be than the one I actually am. For example, I make the effort to be happy and excited when most of the time I'd rather be asleep.

You may or may not have realised that the majority of similarities between Miss Golighty and myself are actually faults. These faults have been making me feel rather unhappy of late. It's nice to know that my faults are the same as one of the most glamourous, iconic characters of the 1900s. This is yet another reason why I should have my own TV show!

Sunday, 6 October 2013

Twelve Life Lessons I Learnt From Clueless

We've all seen it at least once. Weather or not you can admit to yourself that you love it is a different story but no one can deny the hilarious quotes and ground breaking fashion that pioneered the post-grunge trends of the late 90s. Clueless may not be right up there with the Macquarie Dictionary when it comes to educational value but there's a few gems in there that everyone should be aware of.

If it's a concussion, you have to keep her concious, okay? Ask her questions.”
Even if you didn't like the storyline, you got yourself some free first aid training when Tai took a clog to the head at the Val party. I also have to give credit to Heath Ledger and 10 Things I Hate About You for reiterating this valuable lesson four years later.

In some parts of the universe – maybe not in contempo-casual – but in some parts, it's considered cool to know what's going on in the world.”
I will admit that I'm not the most informed person when it comes to current events but thanks to Josh's post-adolescent idealistic phase, I often get the desire to check out the ninemsn news page before I head to the celebrity gossip site (no need to judge me, I already loath myself for this addiction). At least it's not Ren & Stimpy.

On top of everything else, I had the driving test so I had to find my most capable looking ensemble.”
Dress for success people! Make sure your white collarless shirt from Fred Segal isn't at the dry cleaners the next time you have an important business meeting. You don't want to be stuck wearing a baby blue miniskirt and white over the knee socks.

What the man needs is a good, healthy boinkfest.”
I'm certainly not encouraging my readers to turn to a life of sex addiction but I do agree that sometimes, you just need to release some built up tension. No one wants to end up as grumpy as Mr Hall is before he hooks up with Miss Geist.

Legs crossed towards each other – that's an unequivocal sex invite.”
Obviously, you're able to face someone while your legs are crossed without your body language screaming “BONE ME!”. However, I am still painfully aware of this quote every time I realise I have my legs crossed in public. Then I hope the person they were facing doesn't remember every word from the movie. I usually have to pretend my face isn't red too.

It is one thing to spark up a doobie and get laced at parties but it is quite another to be fried all day.”
Although I've never actually been stoned, Cher always pops into my head when I feel like having a quiet drink on a week night. I may or may not have her to thank for never developing a substance abuse problem.

'Tis a far better thing doing stuff for other people.”
If Cher didn't read that book in ninth grade, I may not have a conscience today. Even though it's not completely selfless, I do enjoy doing good deeds when I feel crap about myself. It's the easiest way to feel better.

She's a full on Monet.”
From far away it's ok but up close it's a big old mess! Amber is a constant reminder that stealing Cher's dress out of the laundry and wearing it to a party will not fix your ugly face. I have a hunch you're thinking of a Monet you know right now.

Actually, going all the way is like, a really big decision. I can't believe I was so capricious about it.”
Thanks to Cher's epic fail with a gay boy named Christian, I learned at the tender age of five that losing your virginity was, like, a big thing. Even if I didn't know what virginity was then. I can confirm that when the time came, I remembered these words and they served me well.

Count to 100. Thank you.”
When mugging Cher in Sun Valley, the mugger has the decency to say thank you after stealing her phone, purse and forcing her to ruin her dress. If this crack head can use manners, there is absolutely no reason for anyone else to forget them... somehow, I still do though.

Why am I even listening to you? You're a virgin who can't drive.”
I guess younger people learnt this from the cinematic masterpiece of Mean Girls but for us 90's kids, Tai's brutal burn was a lesson that words can hurt and you should choose them wisely. If not, you will be in total agony for a week before making up with your bestie at a skateboarding competition.

I am majorly, totally, butt crazy in love with Josh. Now I don't know how to act around him.”
This quote has literally stunted my social growth. If I decide I like a boy, I can't talk to him in person unless I'm drunk. It's not as bad as Raj from Big Bang Theory but I blush and I can't think of anything to say. Having said that, I usually blush at least four times a day for other reasons so what's one more, right?

Now if I can trouble you to think back to Cher's debate over Haitian asylum seekers:

And in conclusion, may I please remind you that it does not say RSVP on the Statue of Liberty!

Monday, 9 September 2013

Cliche Cat Video

So I'm well aware that posting this will cement my status as a crazy cat lady but you have to check out this video. She climbs the ladder up to my bed!


Friday, 26 July 2013

The Day Off

So Wednesday afternoon I did something I never do. I asked for a day of annual leave for the coming Friday. I'm not particularly sure why but this is something I don't do very often. When my friends talk of going away, I always plan to leave the Friday after work and return the Sunday night. Also the last two times I put in for holidays, I had to cancel them because my trips didn't end up happening... Check my previous posts for that depressing monologue.

The reason I requested to have a day off was because I was feeling very run down and was getting symptoms of a cold. I have no idea why I can't just have a sick day like everyone else. It just makes me anxious. This may have something to do with a woman I used to work with always creating some sort of shit storm when I would have time off. I guess taking it out of my annual leave makes me feel less guilty. Anyway...

My three day weekend began by coming home on the Thursday afternoon and going straight to bed. I had a list of things I planned to do that night but instead, I napped for bit. Then woke up for chocolate and sakatas. Then back to bed. Today was a little more productive. I got rid of my old bed, built my cat a ramp up to my bunk bed and went on an adventure in my new neighbourhood.

This is where shit gets real... I decided to go for a walk to the Valley to get Oporto. For those of you who aren't familiar with Brisbane or my favourite fast food outlet, Oporto is just another burger place but I really like their wraps and the Valley is right next to the suburb I live in. It's known for it's night life mostly but there are also a few famous stories of the crazy people who hang out there during the day. I hadn't ever encountered them until today.

So the walk there was great. The only issue was I had to cross the street because there was a lady standing right in the middle of the path, staring me down... just something you do when you live off the government I guess. She probably had a lot of time to kill. When I reached the Valley, I noticed a lot of regular people but also a few of the crazies I'd heard stories of. By the time I reached Oporto, I was in full internal freak out mode. My exterior was calm and blank faced but inside I was taking note of where the police officers were and how difficult it would be for me to get their attention.

I ended up downing the wrap and stashing the chips in my bag for when I'd safely made it home... or to use them to barter my way out of some kind of low key potential hostage situation I may encounter. Then I found the bus stop, successfully avoided eye contact with a girl I new and jumped on the bus. You know when the bus starts to take off and you get that minor panic to find a seat before you fall over? Well I saw two spare seats. They were both next to other people, one was in front of the other. For some reason, my split second decision landed me next to someone I'm pretty sure was a drug addict instead of the business man in the seat behind.

I don't usually ride the bus so I always get the feeling that every other person on there is a seasoned pro and they can tell I'm a novice. So the bus ride started off with me not wanting to fully commit to the seat I had chosen, fearing it would anger the suspected drug addict. I nearly fell off it twice. After a while the seat in front of me became completely free, I wouldn't have to sit next to anyone if I could manage to move without looking too rude.

The move was successful but then I realised that sitting in front of me now, was a man so strange that I couldn't even stereotype him to make myself feel safer. I know it's terrible but I really freak out in these kinds of situations. He was too clean to look homeless, too dirty to look like he had a job, too old to be a student and didn't smell like an alcoholic. The reason for yet another internal freak out was the fact that he was staring at me and singing in another tongue. All I could do was copy the stoney, blank expression I had learned from the other seasoned travellers on public transport.

The next thing I new, the bus was stopping and a whole bunch of people including the man I had stereotyped as a drug addict were getting off. I made another split second decision: get off the bus at a random stop to avoid being left alone with the singing creeper. I jumped up at the last second, fearing that he may also get off the bus and follow me to my home. So I started walking down the street behind someone I had decided was a drug addict and it was almost dark. I even had to get google maps to figure out where the hell I was and how to get home. I decided I would allow myself ten minutes to reach the safety of my front door. Looking back, I realise I had no control over this. Thank god for sheer luck!

Once my maps have finally loaded, I realise I was on my street! I was about 100m from my house, still walking behind the drug addict. The next thing I knew, he's disappeared. I looked around, up driveways and behind fences as I passed. There was no sign of this guy anywhere. Oh well, I could see my house by now. I made it up the front stairs, down the corridor and into my apartment. Thank god! It's now Friday night, I'm sitting at home in my pyjamas and after the day I've had, there's no where else I'd rather be!