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.