Saturday, December 19, 2009

Someone to share this love with.

Sometimes I think I completely understand relationships and other times I know I have absolutely no idea.

I have no social skills but I love hugs. I like human contact. I like jokes with people and laughing too hard at things. I love when you're close enough to someone that tears don't make it awkward but can be shared and understood.

I am trying to navigate my way through the different sorts of humans you come into contact with in the different sorts of ways on the different sorts of days. Quiet people. Boisterous people. People who are talkative one day and silent the next. Or those who like you one day and don't the next.

Workmates. Friends. Family. Friends of friends.

I feel like I'm drowning sometimes when I'm too tired or inexperienced to know how to talk to people. Even when I'm treading water and getting along with people; I know that it's only a couple of words, the wrong tone, the way I look a little bit confused at something that was said...

How do you make it work? Find people to complete you and the person you're trying to be, round out your projection of self? I wish I knew how to feel secure around people but ultimately that sort of security is an illusion.

Improvement is the ultimate goal in anything in life so relationships have to be a part of that. Evolution of friendships is necessary, I suppose. We have to feel lost and unsure around each other in order for that progress to occur, in order to get closer or even to find new, better companions than those we can't seem to relate to no matter how hard we try.

I have to believe that feeling of insecurity has a purpose. Otherwise I'm just inept. I prefer to think this way, that love and friendship and understanding are achievable only through uncertainty and that through that uncertainty we can feel bonded with one another. Our angst and worry and little failures- with people and communication and relating to each other- all lead to a better future where we are happy and loved better for all of our fear and pain.

And if I'm wrong... well, I'd prefer that you didn't tell me.

Sunday, December 6, 2009

I am displaced.

When I was fourteen, I was older than I am now. I was someone who had done too much and hurt inside. I had learnt life lessons too quickly and I wasn't ready for that knowledge. Eventually, I buried it deep inside myself until I was ready to reclaim it and acknowledge who I am.

It was a strange year for me when I discovered things I was too young to properly comprehend. Love was the main thing but there were others. Life. Consciousness. Friendship. Acceptance. Innocence. Time.

I managed to distance myself from everyone who truly loved me. The people who could hold my hand forever and be comfortable in the warmth of us. Not the ones who were on fire and itching to keep moving and who burned me in their haste toward better things. But that's not fair. I was in a hurry, too.

I fell in love that year. I spent until now deciding whether that was true, and if it was, if I could deal with what that meant. I'm still not okay with the way I treated her or myself. We could only have existed as what we were, who we were, in that time. Our attempts since then to be around each other have always failed, probably because pain is the one emotion that never eases. It only gets submerged from time to time; still in tact, but sunk beneath the surface. When you're afraid of who you are, and what you've done, moving on feels impossible.

Which is why I retreated. I lost the friends I worked so hard to accrue. Or the friend, really. I became reliable, simple, pure. I ignored adolescence and focussed on being a unique blend of child and adult; at this I failed, miserably.

Having a breakdown at age fifteen is not great, but neither am I.

The entirety of "I" is a pretty big concept for a little girl. And I was very little, really. Being drawn to people who are bad for you, or who you're taught are bad for you, is the key to breaking your own heart. I did that so many times that my head gave way before my heart could. When my mind came to terms with how to deal with my self destructive behaviour, I was able to decide how to deal with the emotions that went with it.

My solution was to be boring. As boring as possible. Part of that was this; writing about these things like they're not real and I'm just a teenager prone to discussing their life online in a highly stylised way.

Some of my best friends, the ones who've known me since then, wouldn't believe the person that I was- or the things that I did- when I told them. Every now and then I feel my palms sweating a little and I know that it wasn't a dream and for a while that was the girl I was. But for the most part, I'm working to make that chunk of the past smaller, day by day. Because from a distance, even the whole world looks small; even my whole world at age fourteen. And I can see myself waving goodbye.

Saturday, December 5, 2009

With the venomous kiss you gave me.

Ash's LJ entry got me in the mood for HIM. Goth, adolescent angst music still appeals; so sue me.

There are so many things I could write about so I'ma pick whatever falls into my head as I go and everything else can get left out and just deal with it as best it can until it grows up and can afford the counselling sessions that'll help it finally recover emotionally. That was a longwinded joke and not a very funny one so I should probz just get right into the proper blogging, yes? Good, let's go.

My work had its annual Christmas party last night so that was bucket loads of fun. There was some truly awful, cheap alcohol being served all night along with the massive awkwardness of an "intimate" end-of-year party for a large company of people that is inevitably rather clique-y. However, even my rather aggressive and domineering negative side can't ignore the fact that I really enjoyed myself.

I finally achieved one of my- more recent- life goals and received a real hug from Allison. I really love that girl, from her accent to her stylish yet affordable boots. I also got to watch Annie down her weight in beer. I know she weighs about thirty grams but, still, she was going for it. And a whole lot of people who are normally rather reserved got royally sloshed and started chatting to me and everybody else about everything from travelling to high school bullying to wait staff with crushes on ... well, the object of their affection was much debated all evening.

So that was my Friday night. Saturday morning was far more subdued.

Julia and I went to market and purchased lots of things; among the more interesting of our conquests were a finger puppet, elephant-shaped keyring and a dress- gasp!- for none other than Hannah herself. Oh, and we had a friand with ingredients including, but not limited to; chilli, beetroot and belgian chocolate. It was a great morning and really needs no explanation other than; I love Julia, I love vegan food, I love quirky clothing, I love markets, I love Saturday mornings and I love hippies. This particular morning had all of these things in abundance and thus, I have had a really good first-half-of-weekend.

Oh, and before I forget (HA! Never going to happen, actually);

While at the market, Julia decided to go taste some hot sauces at one stall. This young boy was manning the place and his old man told him to warn "the lady" about how to pace herself with the sauces but the boy stayed silent for a minute or two with no explanation about any of the products. Julia tried one such item called "Dragon's Blood" with a heat rating of "10/10" - she ignored me when I suggested starting with the "2/10" range- and complained after having one or two drops that she needed more because it did nothing for her. So, a good dollop later, we discover that the boy behind the counter actually has a voice when he says "it takes two minutes to reach full hotness". Julia's eyes widen as quickly as a VCE student's waistline during exam period and for the next couple of minutes she gets steadily more teary eyed and starts coughing.

I am beginning to hope this guy is actually an adolescent descendant of a native American tribe where the men turn into werewolves so that he can reach full physical maturity, develop an awesome personality and confess a strong attachment to me and my weird emotional screwed-upedness; all so I can marry him today for being so thoroughly spot on with his timing. Then the kid just smiles, watches Julia take a swig from her drink bottle and says "Water makes it worse."

Tuesday, December 1, 2009

It's not faith if, if you use your eyes.

I thought after my last- very ugly- post (I read it back and wanted to cut off my own fingers to stop myself ever writing anything so vitriolic ever again. Ugh, it was bad. Apologies.), I might try writing about less... stupid? topics.

My life is nice and boring right now. Work and seeing friends. Every now and then I know I really am inhabiting my "old lady" moniker when I get really happy in my battiness.

I've started talking to the characters in the books that I'm reading when there's no one else in the settlement room with me. I giddily drink in the smell of pine leaves in buildings prematurely decorated for Christmas. And I lament my aching feet to anyone that will listen.

Oh, and just to be uber positive in this entry; here is an overdue quote for you (from last week).


"It's the awesome threesome!" - Amanda at work describing me, Annie and Allison. I do love those girls.

Saturday, November 28, 2009

Why was I the last to know?

Friday night was interesting. I was determined not to write about it because my mother considered me horrible and judgemental but, hey, I've always been a 70-year-old in a teenager's body in terms of grumpiness and whatnot; why end such a marvellous tradition?

A family friend who is exactly one day older than me is leaving the country to go work in the ski fields of Canada so he was having a goodbye celebration at his house. Our mothers have been close friends since they were in their twenties so we've always sort of had that "go play together... seriously, I don't care if there is nothing to say- make it work!" thing going on. Sam is a lovely guy so that makes things easier.

What makes things a wee bit awkward in the relationship between our families is the difference in wealth. See, his parents each make a stackload of money while mine have stuck to their lower-middle class roots. It means that outings and stuff are always awkward because they want to pay for us to experience luxury and my family are just not okay with mooching off others. And it means that while I was always sent to public schools by a staunchly left-wing mother, Sam and his little brother, Oscar, went to one of the most expensive private schools in the city.

This leads me to Friday night. At his farewell party, Sam was hanging with all of his school friends. I try as hard as I can not to judge people based on their background or where they went to school. And, who knows, these kids might have been exactly the same no matter where they'd been sent to school. But I doubt it. All they could talk about was alcohol, kissing girls (and boys, interestingly enough), schoolies, alcohol, marijuana, schoolies, alcohol... the list goes on, in a similar fashion. Sam's mother, Therese, informed us that we should consider ourselves lucky that at 6 in the evening, the boys were only drinking copious amounts of beer and not also getting stoned as was their normal habit. Therese was determined that I go "talk with the young people" but, unfortunately, I have very limited experience where schoolies, alcohol and marijuana are involved. Kissing girls on the other hand... I kid, I kid.

I sat there for an hour but try as I might, I could not either find anything I could contribute to the conversation or a way to look interested. I found myself staring at the "intellectual" of the group who one girl complained "used too many big words" (I think he put "sarcastic" in a sentence at some point) and being amused at his Julius Caesar haircut and tortoise shell glasses. Who says money can't buy class?

That last sentence pretty much sums up everything I thought about the entire group until I was able to leave, around three hours later, after having one semi-decent conversation with a newcomer (thus a sober participant in the party, at least at first) about his geographical origins; he was from Europe so I picked his brain about it... because I could/had to in order to keep myself awake.

I know this all comes off as incredibly conceited and judgemental but I can't help but wonder about two things;

a) what happened to me to make me despise people with money, especially teenagers, so much that I couldn't bring myself to try and communicate with them rather than ridicule them in my blog

b) why these kids are destined to have great lives with lots of success and a feeling that they somehow earnt it despite the fact they'll essentially be buying their way into a distinguished University course and thus to the top of the socio-economic order. At least I can already guess what substances these eventual doctors and solicitors will be spending their "hard earned" cash on at the end of the day.

I'ma go hate myself some more now. Thanks for reading.

Friday, November 27, 2009

7 things.

Some stuff you may or may not know about me. Because a regular blog post felt irregular today, for some reason.

1. Learning about young celebrities is a weird sort of hobby of mine. People think that when I talk about these popstars I am joking or being ironic but I'm not. They fascinate me.

2. I like pineapple juice but I can't stand the texture of pineapple itself.

3. I'm too chicken to go see a movie on my own but I really want to(that one was for you, Annie).

4. I have a good deal of my friend's property on my floor and soon enough it's going to feel like home when I trip over a bag of her CDs in the morning on the way out of my room. Seriously, I'm getting rather attached to the bags of stuff. Little tykes.

5. I worry sometimes that my sarcastic voice is becoming my real voice, both in my mind and in the minds of the people around me, and that one day I will wake up and actually be that racist, sexist, homophobic, mean etc.

6. I'm not ambidextrous but I use cutlery like a left-hander and write with my right hand.

7. I don't think Flight of the Conchords is all that funny. I put that last because I knew that approximately thirty seconds after I wrote it, I would be hunted down and forced to say that its unachieved potential and limited premise as a comedy is actually a total hoot.

Saturday, November 21, 2009

Let the spirit move me.

I'm finished exams so all that's left to do is wait until results time to find out if I passed everything. I have sorted out work- the best I can- so I have some solid hours on which to build in terms of saving up money for next year. I'm methodically creating time in which to catch up with friends.

And here's where the regular, everyday stuff ends. By the end of this weird rant you'll be begging for the mundane. But then that would be me assuming I'm not incredibly predictable and we know that's not true. So perhaps this is more normal than anything. Oh well, here I go.

My best friend's mother's birthday party was tonight. Kat's Mum, Alex, is a fantastic woman in every way. She is physically stunning, she is brave, she's smart, she's creative and she's kind. Of course her friends and family adore her. So this was a lovely party of people just wanting to honour someone who embodies what we all want to be which is undeniably beautiful.

Alex's husband- Kat's father, Joe- said the most wonderful thing when giving a speech. He said to Alex; "I don't just love you. I like you, too." And that's what makes a relationship last, isn't it? Any relationship, really. It's when you don't just love someone. You don't just have a history and heart in common. Your relationship is as alive as when you didn't know them but you wanted to. It grows and it changes and it surprises you and so do they. They make you laugh and smile and cry and curse.

Love is a dull thing. It's an ongoing feeling that is stable and simple when it's there and similarly uncomplicated when it's gone. Like is how we fill our days. It's the hurried conversation between people who trip over topics on their way to learning more about someone, be it for the first time or just the first time in a day or two. Like is the smell of someone's clothing when you hug them. Like is the way you feel about someone the second after they make a good joke or reach out for your hand or miss the food stuck on their chin when they swipe at it with their hand.

I love so many people who have moved in and out of my life but from year to year there are always a finite amount of people who I like. And I am certain there are a smaller number of people who like me, too. But as long as we have that, we know we have it in us to stick together.

Baker is coming to visit tomorrow just 'cause. I love that. And I like him.

Sunday, November 15, 2009

2am and she calls me 'cause I'm still awake.

I get really productive about three hours past my bedtime. Tonight, or this morning, I discovered just how much one can get done when drowsiness doesn't kick in when it should. I always get good at things right about the time I should be focussing on something else. For instance, I am blogging a lot currently because a) there is nothing left to tidy in my bedroom and b) I am supposed to be studying for exams. I never thought I'd be writing much in this blog because, seriously, 'sif my life is interesting. I resolved to be committed anyway, in spite of my lack of inspiration and poor history with follow-through, and here we are. I've written so much here this week I think my journal is going to get suspicious and hire a Private Investigator to tail me.

I have everything organised for tomorrow and, at this rate, I'm going to be awake to greet it. I hope my passport arrives. I hope Julia isn't disgusted by my home and hostessing skillz, respectively. I hope I get a lot of study done and have some fun in the process (HA!). And I hope I can get some work options lined up.

I am so sleepy right now, finally, and am watching Gabrielle and some adorable little punk girl get cornered by a gang of greedy men (is there any other kind? Don't answer that with a "hey!" or I might have to apologise for my lazy and unfunny generalisation). If this beautiful drooping of my eyelids gets any more intense, I might be forced to retire to the Land of Nod and give up on completing minor projects tonight. Oh, what we do for sleep.

Saturday, November 14, 2009

To conquer others is to have power. To conquer yourself...

I could spend less time criticising others and more time improving myself but what fun would that be?

I was so angry when I read a girl's comment on Facebook comparing Kristen Stewart's acting performance in Twilight to the way someone with Down Syndrome behaves. So it's not enough that anti-semitism and homophobia are common inspirations for insults, now we have to bring in people born with debilitating intellectual and physical attributes? Someone pointed out to me recently that I used the word "lame" on this blog and for that I am truly sorry. If it could ever upset someone the way that one sentence written on a website for the entire world to see upset me then ... well, I don't even know how it would make me feel. I can't fathom the kind of pain this abuse of language inflicts on others.

And I can't continue to smile and nod and go against my nature simply because I think it will help my life and make things easier for me. The honour in that is non-existent. Recently I just stood by and listened to a woman at work talk about how homeless people don't try hard enough and I hated myself for doing so. Like all of the other people who were a part of that discussion I ignored her statement; I just went on talking and acted as though I'd accepted what she said as though there was nothing wrong with her viewpoint. I don't normally assume the "I'm right, you're wrong" perspective but in situations like this I don't think a generalisation like that woman's has any real validity. I should have opposed her but selfishness and a distorted idea of self-preservation had me holding my tongue.

I don't understand how comparing someone to a person with Down's Syndrome is funny. I also don't understand how it is an insult. I mean, my nephew is just one of the many incredible people who has this condition and, frankly, anyone being placed in the same category has no right to feel slighted. Similarly, to say making a home for yourself on the streets every day and every night is easier than living with the security and comfort of having a house and all the security that goes with it is beyond forgivable.

My anger does not make me an ideal candidate for discussing this, only a very willing one. I'm afraid of the words I will use if I end up confronting people about the way they talk and the people it affects. I have to hope that I can keep my composure long enough to articulate my viewpoint without giving in and being aggressive and, above all, offensive; the same crime I have charged them with.

As I said before, I am far from innocent. Perhaps my anger would have been better off directed at myself. But I did what I always do which is work through my emotions through writing about them and hopefully discovering a way to be less ... thoroughly insane in the process.

Friday, November 13, 2009

Kiss me goodbye.

Some stuff I forgot to write in the late hours of last night or didn't feel comfortable bringing up online until nowish.

Watched Glee the other night and it made me cry for the first time. That show don't normally hit so many soft spots at once but this episode went all out. Maybe it was also the lack of sleep I had the night before or the emotional stuff that follows neurotic teenage girls like me around. The reason behind conspicuously casting so many minorities in lead roles became clear around the same time Kurt and his Dad had me blinking furiously and saying "it's just hayfever" through my sleeve.

I guess I'm a little overemotional for other reasons, also. I could resist explaining because writing this stuff in a blog is like yelling "You're making a scene! I can't believe you're doing this in public! People are listening!" on a crowded train or something. But what the hell.

It's probably difficult to discover this, what with my amazing powers of disguise, but I'm a highly insecure, neurotic, extra-strength crazy person. As such, when people just disappear from my life or grow distant, I stop talking and get paranoid and just all-around hurt. Never mind that I can often treat other people like they don't matter without breaking a sweat. Avoid my questions or stop saying "hey" to me frequently and I lose it. But I don't tend to move closer to people and try to discover why they hate me all of a sudden. Because, obviously, it's all about me and has very little to do with them. Instead, I hide behing nonchalance and then get flabbergasted when they say "I thought you didn't care anymore". What gave you that impression?

Well, my amazing skillz with people have brought me some great rewards lately. Not the least of which is two friends being deeply unhappy while I'm nowhere to be seen. Obviously dealing with the much larger issue of why neither of them trust me enough to open up. Those selfish bitches. How could they do this to me?

...basically, I'm blogging about being a teenage girl. Tune in next time, folks, for more excitement. Blerg.

I wanna ... tear up the sky with you.

It seems that I'm a commitment-phobic blogger. Every time it seems like I'm getting into a rhythm I sort of drop off the face of the earth. Then I start again. Maybe one day I'll settle down and face my posting insecurities but for now I'm doomed to keep avoiding blogging until it breaks up with me out of frustration.

The truth is that "stuff is happening!", as Liz Lemon would say, and I really wanted to write about it. I worry about who is reading, which is ironic because the point of blogging is to let the world know your thoughts and not consider who may or may not constitute the world. I also worry about school and, despite my Olympic-level procrastination, get preoccupied with studying. And- this is what I want to write about in this post- I worry about work and money for the oh-so-impulsive trip.

So I have a job already but I am a casual there so I have no fixed hours and, of course, I am paid only for the hours and minutes I am working and not a second longer and have no real rights as an employee (just as the company has no real rights in relation to me). All of this I happily accept but I asked my boss a while ago if there could perhaps be other work for me in the next couple of months and she called me asking if I wanted to take over a full time position for late November through Christmas. I accepted the offer but recently my boss was forced to rescind this offer when one of the key accounts transitioned from us to another company quicker than expected and all the work dried up. I understand this but I was disappointed nonetheless as I had stopped looking for work in the belief I had a sufficient position.

This is where the fun part comes in.

My father took my mild disappointment and ended up explaining the situation quite bitterly to a colleague at work. The issue is that the office is made up of cubicles so one of my boss's friends overheard my father's creative interpretation of what had occurred. I have no idea where this will go but I was sort of miffed that it would now appear that I was faking the pleasantness on the phone when informed that the job I'd been given was no longer a- no pun intended- workable thing. However, Dad redeemed himself by talking me up to a whole lot of other companies around the settlement traps and apparently there are three or more places that may be interested in me. So I'm going to see where this leads me, as well as keeping an eye or three on the newspaper listings for any and all full time jobs available to someone with nothing to offer but a graduation certificate and a clean pair of socks.

I went to Shelley's birthday celebrations tonight and they were amazing, just like her. Was there a birthday cake? A Jaffa-flavoured birthday cake? A giant cupcake-shaped, Jaffa-flavoured birthday cake? Why, yes, we had one of those, thank you for asking. Shelley's family and friends- friends who seem more like family- are lovely and it was the sort of gathering that leaves you with a warm feeling in your belly, although that last part may have been aided by that sip of Tam's Long Island Ice Tea that I had.

So tomorrow I really have to start studying. My business law exam is in a few days and, job hunting aside, I really have no excuse to fail this one.

Monday, November 2, 2009

Everything you do is simply kissable.

Or not.

Trying to get a passport organised today was death. I know I shouldn't complain because this is, literally, the only way to get overseas. But two trips to the Post Office for interviews and two rejections for stupid reasons later and I'm losing my oh-so-famous cool. Why must one have a driver's licence to avoid all this extra paperwork? So if private transport isn't my number one concern I have to deal with all this extra identity verification shit even after all the Keypass, bank statement, Medicare card, account card, birth certificate, mother's birth certificate etc. drama? Yay for the age of technology, identity theft and suspicion.

Other than that life is fine. I mean, it's only life, right? It's not something you can choreograph or fix or refine. I spend a lot of my day being wasteful, like today when I tried to make something happen that obviously wasn't meant to be. But I have to reconcile myself with the fact that things will be how they be and if I don't understand or appreciate it at the time I will later because something, somehow, will be fixed or improved or created or prevented or enhanced by every second I feel I've squandered. Even regrets are really just residual hurt or anger. Everyone knows life goes the way it goes and in some way or another we all learn to embrace what happens. I spent a day of my life on this paperwork/passport/stress/bureaucracy that was never going to work in my favour. I'm sure it's taught me something, but maybe I need to learn something else before I can comprehend this lesson properly. So tomorrow is probably "An Introduction to Ink Smudges on Passport Photographs". Wait, that was yesterday. I guess I should go check my timetable...

Saturday, October 31, 2009

I am not your consolation prize.

Watching one of my favourite movies ever, When Harry Met Sally. It's an irrational love, really (although I think pretty much all love is irrational; delightfully so) but I honestly just adore it. I love the humour. I love the softness of Meg Ryan's face when she delivers all her love-y lines. I love that Baker bought me the film's soundtrack for my birthday this year. I love the humour of the film and how it always makes me laugh even though I must know every word of dialogue off-by-heart already.

I went to World Vegan Day celebrations today with Julia. We bought foodz (lots)and were accosted by a couple of wacky, overzealous stall attendants (and some pretty cool ones). Coconut chocolate vegan ice-cream! Good day. And Julia's heaps of fun. We've gotten pretty tight pretty quick, and we keep just hanging out on a moment's notice at really cool places and having a great time. It's like dating except we're friends. Friend dating! Yeah, I'm still a little high on the sugar from today and the happiness of WHMS.

But I should hop to it 'cause Kat'll be here soon and we're going to have an awesome dinner involving hummus, yummy bread and vegies. Yes, I know; five hundred free samples, a buffet lunch and a large serving of ice-cream later and I'm still hungry. Go figure.

Oh, and because I forgot to post it last time, this is from Friday night:


"I'm going to smoke... at you... later." - Maddee

Friday, October 30, 2009

We don't need no.

I had to write an essay a few weeks back on the topic of identities and how they're expressed, or not expressed, through how we use language. It was an interesting exercise and by the end of it I had basically decided I was as close to proud of my essay as I could get. I showed it to a friend, Denise. At the end of it she told me she could barely understand the essay because of the way I used language; it seemed designed to exclude people not university educated.

Despite all the snide remarks I've made all year about the University snobs (post-grad students who work as tutors but talk like they're of noble blood etc.) I have become a part of that world. It's who I am now whether I like it or not and the way I write essays and approach the world and speak about issues is so strongly informed by the privilege and density and utter wankerousness of the atmosphere I'm in at University. The further I go into this degree, the more I think I might not end up somewhere I like. Or I might lose too much of myself to recognise when I've become someone who prizes sounding smart more than making a worthwhile point or who would rather live in borderline poverty and continue studying into my thirties than actually enter the world as an adult and function independently.

I've always been that kid that can't adjust to different social situations. I'm as likely to attempt to use four syllable words during a party as in the middle of a class debate. If I stick around at Uni, will I have any hope of having friends who aren't as over educated and under experienced as I am? Will I ever contribute to the world rather than continue to live in some freaky University clean room?

When I write about identities and language, I worry that the one I'm creating for myself with every subsequent word is one I'll wish I'd never expressed.

Sunday, October 25, 2009

'Cause you're hot then you're cold.

So I went to the Prom on Friday night with a really pretty girl. The best friend, of course. She wore a bright pink dress and her hair was rather big which was perfect due to the '80s theme. I was dressed as a sort of bastardised Madonna which, unfortunately, will be recorded forever on in some horrible photos. But it was a great time and I'm really glad we went. It's the first Uni related event I've been to which is rather pathetic seeing as I'm over three quarters of the way through my first year.

Speaking of, I have now officially applied twice for a Leave of Absence from second year. So next year I am no longer a Uni student, I am simply Hannah. And hopefully I can be simply me in the northern hemisphere for a decent chunk of that year. Everyone is laughing at me right now, with my wacky travel plans. I wish I could put a 'but' at the end of that but I can't. I'm laughing at me too. I'ma go anyway though. We'll see how I do when I try to be impulsive.

There are some people I am missing a lot. I've been busy lately but they're who I think of whenever I have time. Even when I don't. They make a lot of things easier just by being around. When they're not there I feel myself crumbling around the edges a little bit. And when they come back I feel things come back together. It sounds melodramatic but being with them, holding them, talking to them; it reminds me of who I am. Mainly because they're the kind of people who would never forget. That's how you get better; you spend time with people who are better. And my people are ... well, they're the best. I miss you all.

Monday, October 19, 2009

I'm surrounded by your embrace.

The obsession with Glee continues. The show just fills me with sunshine. I am sort of a closet optimist, even after graduating high school, and it gives me hope for the sort of happiness achievable for young people. It reminds me a bit of when Book Club was nice. But that's a story for another time.

So work friends were teasing me about my non-existent boyfriend the other day (the bearded, biker one who I'm going to Europe with after meeting him a week ago) and I started thinking about the important men in my life. I can literally count them on one hand. I can't help if going to a girls' school and lacking interest in guys who can't string a sentence together (which is about 75% of them after the age of 13) means I don't really know many people of the opposite sex very well.

Two of my best friends are guys, but they've been around for so long that they don't really have a gendered aspect when I consider them as companions. Like my long term female friends, they're just friends. The only good use for boy friends as opposed to just friends is that boy friends are taller than I am which is more than I can say for most of my lady pals. Which is handy when I feel like leaping into their arms in an aggressive hug. Perhaps I should reconsider how often I do that? Hmm. Nah. Nick and Baker feel like home by now, though. Hugging them is like lounging on my couch. Just something comforting I like to do when I need some rest.

And then there's dear old Dad. He's easy to get along with half the time and excruciatingly difficult the rest of the time. But then, so am I. He was already forty when I was born so he got something of a jump start on the grumpy old man thing people find so frustrating/adorable in later life. I kind of like that, due to my older sister, my father was a Grumpa while I was still in high school. That being said, it also explains his persistent irritability and random acts of generousness associated with kindly older relatives.

It is a bit odd that these are the only men I spend any real time with. But what do I need more for? I figure there's no reason to create a need. If I meet someone awesome enough the need will just sort of form itself. Adolescence is coming to a close for me, I'm travelling next year and I'm sure all of my neuroses and prejudices are just waiting for the right Mr. Darcy (or Wickham, even) to break them down.

I mean, who says men and women can't be friends?

Saturday, October 17, 2009

What do you say to taking chances?

I spent yesterday at Baker's. We watched Buffy with his little sister and I stuffed my face with cookies. It sounds mediocre but it was actually really great, something I never get the chance to do with him (and his sister, I guess). I hug him and I feel whole; a way I always promised never to feel because of another person. My happiness is not dependent on anyone else, I said, but this is the good kind of dependent happiness. He's just comfortable and I forget how much until I get to spend some time with him again and then everything just feels better. It helps to know he's the epitome of wonderful, someone who would never take advantage of the way I rely on him. He's just my very favourite boy, I guess.

So researching this Europe/North America/wherever trip is both heartening and terrifying. So it turns out I have no money but apparently this need not be an issue (yet). I'm awfully curious as to how my plans are going to pan out. For the time being, I should probably just enjoy my Baker hugs.

Saturday, October 10, 2009

Drumroll, please.

So I've been talking to my friend, Zoe, and we've decided that we're travelling next year. Like, travelling travelling. What about school, you ask? We're deferring. What about money, you ask? We're ... working on it.

We've barely talked about it, my parents barely know what I'm on about and I barely know what I'm doing. I just know I've finally found a willing victim with whom to travel the globe and I'm gonna go ahead and do it.

And here, for the world to see, is my- far from perfect- preliminary list of countries I'd like to visit. It's weird. It's too ambitious. It's too long. It's too many things. But it's mine.

Le list:


Friday, October 2, 2009

You think this is hard?

Hmm. So I'ma put this out there. I love Glee. I am a "Gleek" (as in, a Glee geek, not the sort of spit that happens when you yawn). I adore the show in spite of all the cliches and flaws. Masssive girl crush on Rachel Berry (referring to character, not actress. See also: my eternal love for Maxwell Sheffield). Hayley and I had a blast watching the show last night so that's another point in its favour. I also sort of was a Gleek in high school.

When I was fourteen I sang in the middle school talent contest. A capella seemed like a good idea at the time (yeah, I was that girl). It was a two-day competition and I did happen to win my day's contest. That being said, I think I performed on the day of both lesser entrants and overall talent. I definitely ain't a singer; people just tend to admire the brave stupidity, I think.

One of my proudest *cough* moments was performing as a nun in the Sound of Music. The one with glasses, in case you were wondering. I ended up being the one with no microphone (there was a shortage and I'm a self-sacrificing Sister if there ever were one) which I think was a mercy for me- and the audience- in the end.

I also adore musicals, their trivia, anything involving good singing (no, I don't include Australian Idol in that category), stage shows ... I sirpoze I was destined to adore Glee for being an idealised version of everything I wanted at high school. If I'm honest it's the sort of thing I'd want now if I had the time or the talent for it.

And I am a Gleek, I just never joined Glee Club.

Friday, September 25, 2009

I wouldn't belong to any club that would have me as a member.

So there's this Creative Writing Club that my friend Krystal started ages back where she invites people over to her place and, allegedly, they talk about creative projects (not just writing but photography, songwriting, painting etc). I don't normally go but last time I did (and brought a new friend; Andrea) and it was splendid. Didn't really relate, whatsoever, to projects or pieces we had created. It was, however, very constructive in its own way.

For one, Julia made around five kinds of delicious treats (the most scrumptious, in my humble opinion, being vegan chocolate cheesecake. Then again, I wasn't around to try the fondue). We all just chatted, watched youtube videos and got to know each other (a unique gift of Krystal's being the ablity to put a whole lot of- mostly- strangers together in a room and get them chatting like friends in about three minutes). We didn't get to the writing stuff but I figure we have plenty of time for that. Because, yes, I really do plan to go again. I had a lovely evening (and this was it).

I guess I've been behaving a little out of character lately. Hannah, the I'm only when it happy when it rains girl, seems to be coping with an existent social life. I liked the other night because there was no drinking; no pretense; no pretend maturity or coolness (I know my use of the word 'coolness' indicates just how little 'cool' I possess myself). This is the sort of thing I want to spend my time doing, if I'm not going to do what was expected of me and become a hermit. There isn't really a punchline to this one, guys, just someone who thinks; If this is friendship, and being 'social', well, I guess I'll stay for cake.

What? You know what they say. That Hannah; she's a marshmallow.

Wednesday, September 23, 2009

Through my eyes, looks so pretty.

I had big plans this holidays. Picnics. Bike rides. Movies. Walks. Shopping. Okay, maybe not big plans but snack sized, at least. I hoped to do things involving sunscreen and summer dresses, popcorn and ticket stubs, sneakers and ... well, you get the picture. I also planned to study a little and take the pressure off when I got back to school.

If any of these things actually occurred in the last five days, I don't believe I was around to witness it. Why am I so incapable of actually doing something with my spare time? I seem to just bum around constantly. I get so little done. I know recreation isn't something that should be measured and achieved but somehow it ends up feeling like it is. It's like I'm failing at whimsy, or something.

So I've been making more plans. Ones written in pen, not skywriting that blows away with the next breeze. Come the next seven days, I'ma have something to actually report about "what I did on the holidays".

So don't go away, 'kay? I'll be right back.

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

No, Ted, brunch is not cool.

I bought Harry Potter glasses today. They're awe-wait for it-some and I heart them. I'm waiting for the lenses to be put into them so they should hit the streets on my oh-so-lucky nose in around seven days.

As you can probably tell by the above sentence, How I Met Your Mother is back. Back on TV, back in my life, back in my heart. Shouldn't make me this happy but it does. Some serious increases in production value contrast with the somewhat lacklustre acting performances of the cast in the first episode. Is okay, living vicariously through Barney and Robin is still easy.

Oh, and man, sexual orientation is a hot topic lately. So here's a recap of what I think. I don't agree with gay marriage purely because I don't agree with marriage. Thus I still love Ellen and rainbows so no need to kill me using only the extraordinary brute power of your political correctness.I do support whoever in my life, for whatever reason, decides their previously assumed sexual identity is no longer who they are. Love is love and my love for you is the same regardless of whom you fall in love with. I dislike Perez Hilton regardless of... anything, really.

Oh, oh, speaking of irrational loves (like that of HIMYM and Harry Potter glasses); I've recovered all of my old music. Well, most of it. Currently enjoying Avril and hating myself for it. Yep, my life rules.

She's one of those girls, nothing but trouble
Just one look and now you're seeing double...


Saturday, September 19, 2009

I don't know what's right and what's real.

I'm trying to write again. Like the old days (if you laughed hysterically at that, well, that's fair).

Sample 1 of my new attempts at writing:

tender hands caressed her eyes
tears simmered slyly, unmasking mute cries
They circled, sweating unrest
limbs held still; blistered; blessed
onto her They wrote a script
blood slithered out
as one, They sipped.

Can't think of a title yet. Hmph. Let me know your thoughts if you have any.

Thursday, September 17, 2009

So far so great.

I hit a pedestrian. Or, more, a pedestrian hit me.

It all sounds rather Rory Gilmore but seriously; it wasn't my fault. I was riding in the rain which already spelled trouble. Plus, I was riding through the city which- not to invoke Macbeth but here I go- spelled double trouble. My brakes had already proved practically useless when cars crossed into the bicycle lane just for kicks (oh, how I adore those little two-tonne scamps!) so I was going pretty slowly to avoid, you know, dying.

I'm coming up on Melbourne Central where the traffic lights are problematic and the pedestrians jaywalk like nobody's business. And suddenly, despite his red light and my green one, a pedestrian steps out in front of me while looking in the opposite direction. Smack! I must have been thrown neck first into this guy because shortly afterward I started coughing and feeling like I couldn't breathe. Aside from my life threatening winding, though, I was pretty worried about him. But he was still standing and as soon as I asked him if he was okay he'd asked me about five times and was still going. We just reassured each other for about thirty seconds that we were both fine, whereupon he kept walking across the road and I sat there in the rain waiting for the green light to return to me, its passionately lonely former lover.

Once we were reunited, I continued riding and let the soreness set in after the adrenaline wore off. My life is so interesting and fun.

Monday, September 7, 2009

You just might need dynamite.

Been busy lately. Avoiding full sentences. Avoiding lots of stuff. But no longer.

I'm here. Present. Reporting for duty. Punching in. Whatever.

Every weekend has brought another party or three, which is loverly but sometimes one wants to curl up on the couch with a cup of tea, unpause the DVD player and continue watching a Judy Garland movie. Lame? Perhaps, but it's me, it's what I do, and I miss it. I haven't been reading much lately, either, which sucks because I had so many big plans. I still have an unopened copy of Sylvia Plath's journals sitting beside my bed (bigger than a bible and something I'm far more likely to worship). And I never write anymore. Not poems, not autobiographical snippets, not short stories, nothing. This isn't exactly a ginormous loss to the world, I know, but it did wonders for my sanity. Online visits are fewer and fewer for me. I miss anyone I don't have a tutorial with or sit with at lunchtimes. Cooking doesn't seem to be happening; I ate a meal out of a packet the other day (*shudder* ...although it was quite alright as far as Indian food goes).

I'm being more who people want me to be; my family are stunned but ecstatic when I come home from a night out partying and drinking, friends are amused and intrigued by my newfound social life, I have more in common with people I meet. And yet... I don't feel like me. And in weird ways it shows. I don't go out at night; I have nothing to wear to clubs and parties. I don't go out to eat; I sit and drink tea or water and then grab a burger on the way home. I start talking excitedly with people about University and TV shows when I should be ordering a drink.

And I miss my place on the couch, and my mug, and my movie. And yet I don't return to them. Someone once called me an enigma. I wonder, were Winston Churchill to observe me, what he would say.

Sunday, August 30, 2009

I get by with a little help.

So I'm coming up on three quarters of the way through the academic year. University's been, well, rather neutral to me. One thing I can boast about, though, is the great friends I have accrued.

Krystal gives me hugs with sides of cuddles. We bonded over steaming plates of dhal. No joke. And in a few measly weeks she was a substantial part of the highlight of my day (it's divided into sections, see). Another decent chunk of said highlight is Michelle, who I've written about before. Who will I share a slice of citrus cake with when she's not around? Not to forget Maddee, who I still owe about two point four Woody Allen films at my place. Preferably while eating chocolate pudding. Oh, plus the beautiful Olle who is incredibly patient with me on the dance floor even though I am so unco-ordinated I might just, literally, bring him down to my level ( level being the floor. Get it? Get it?) Oh, and Natty who gets frustrated with me for telling her she's like Cassie from Skins ("No, she's a nutter!) but is still the sweetest British chick I've ever met. Daphne, Little Miss anti-Chatterbox who takes six weeks to speak up in out Literature tutorial and stuns the room with her musings on Sylvia Plath. Aha, I also just recalled how when I gave her a birthday cupcake she messaged me later to say "thanks" for the fifth time. I also met Shelley's best friend, Bree, by accident outside a lecture and discovered how much we have in common; from our love/hatred for the Twilight series to our test scores.

Basically this post is about bragging. Check out all the awesome people I get to hang out with in exchange for the wankerous, stressful, ridiculous, wonderful situation that is an Arts degree at University. It's been less than a year but they seem to make everything worth it. Scratch that. They definitely make everything worth it.

Friday, August 21, 2009

She's my superior.

There's nothing like having to blog for a school assignment to make you want to blog for fun. And, of course, my blog is destined to be a bit of a non sequitur. So just deal with it.

Watching Never Been Kissed on TV and weird things pop into my head. I like little things about the movie and the '90s, by extension. I like that people wore really odd lipsticks; purple, white, sparkly etc. I like that whether you were a dork or trendy, every girl wore clothes that made them look like little girls. I just really like the lack of pretension in that era. These days clothes and fashion and make-up are all corrupt, so obviously an equation we all have to figure out before we can present ourselves to the world. The '90s was grunge. It was the dribs and drabs left over from the '80s. Shapeless sacks of dresses and skirts teamed with big hair and apathy. Girls with curves wearing high waisted stuff that showed them off. Denim. Flannel. Boots. Love.

The '90s was simplicity. It will only feel that way now, I'm certain it didn't feel that way then. But watching this movie makes me yearn for big glasses, ugly haircuts and brightly coloured, novelty sized backpacks.

That is all.

Saturday, August 15, 2009

Well, women in London must have learned not to breathe.

So I bought a corset on Saturday. From a fetish/lingerie/sex shop. You can tell, too, because it has an easy access zip. But before you judge me, let me explain. I was invited to a Sweeney Todd-themed birthday party and I've never seen the musical or the movie. Google image it and you'll find a lot of Mrs. Lovetts in corsets and gothic clothing. I always sort of wanted a corset so I sort of decided to purchase one and wear it with a combination of my old goth stuff, some of my mother's wackier clothing items and black things I would normally team with something colourful.

...aha. Just a funny aside: my sister just got busted for claiming to be at a Cosi rehearsal (her high school's current production) while actually- now here is a shocker- being out with the boyfriend. If only I thought this would encourage my parents to discipline her. Ah, well.

So anyhow: Sweeney Todd costume. I bought the corset, assembled the outfit and made a pie before heading out to this party. I get there and am apparently one who took the theme a bit more seriously than others. I suppose the bright side is I have a pretty new corset.

Another hilarious occurrence in relation to this party was when I was covering my eyes while we actually watched Sweeney Todd on DVD and thought everyone was moaning and uncomfortable and covering their mouths and noses because of the gore. No, the film did not disturb them (which sort of disturbs me). An intoxicated youth of the "wasted" variety had emptied her stomach all over the floor, her costume and (most unfortunately) some of her hair during a particularly hectic throat-slitting montage of the movie. Silly me for thinking the most unfortunate thing I would see that night was gallons of faux blood shooting out of a poor extra's throat toward the unsuspecting camera.

I could describe Friday's loverly Beatles-themed party but it was quite a charming affair and, if we're honest, there is never much to report when a party goes perfectly to plan. We giggled a lot? There was good music? I got a ride home? My, this sure is a dull paragraph. Oh, but let me tell you about the fingers we found in the pies on Saturday....


Allison would like me to mention she is not a spendthrift or fashion-dependent bimbo. She brings her lunch to University from home every day (except for one, thus far) and has resolved to shop less. Allison, my dear, you are also a fantastic listener who puts up with all of my silly jokes and references as well as being an exceptionally talented student and settlements clerk. You have a fabulous sense of humour, are always smiling and I think you're a very generous, kind sort of person.

Saturday, August 8, 2009

There's no Snoopy dance but...

I guess that I'm making up for the last few weeks by posting every day. The subject of today's blog: my best friend in the whole wide world. She's coming over in a couple of hours so I started cleaning my room in preparation (I know, right; she's a lucky girl) and found some stuff. You know the kind. Nostalgia inducing, bittersweet memory stuff. I have a best friend who has bought me gifts all over the world, that I carried around with me until it became obscene. A keyring pen from Germany I used until I'd rubbed off the decoration on the outside. Another keyring from Seattle, as well as a pen (just to keep the theme) that lit up when you wrote with it. Evidently the only thing I've tidied thus far is my desk. I'm sure I'll rediscover more gifts shortly when I move onto my bookshelf. I remember how much I missed Kat when she went overseas when we were twelve. I spent over a month waiting for postcards and trying to fill my days. I should have known then that, at twelve years old, I'd found the best best friend in the world.

Kat and I were destined to at least be acquaintances far earlier than we actually met. We were both friends with a boy living around the corner from me, along with her twin and another girl, Lucy, and as soon as we all got the acceptance letter from our high school it was decided we would all be great chums. I'd like to say we had a lot to say to each other the first day we met but the truth is it wasn't that memorable. The four of us caught the train together in the morning, awkward little pre-pubescents in oversized uniforms, and one day something clicked. Kat and I had the same orthodontic equipment fixing our teeth and from the crazy random happenstance that helped us figure this out we suddenly had plenty to talk about.

Dinners, trips to markets and swimming pools, movie nights followed. Impromptu study sessions on the train (I holding the cue cards, Kat guessing the answers) led to gossip sessions and so on. Our mothers met and became close friends. Kat became a beautiful young woman far too cool to hang out with a nerdy misfit like myself. It didn't stop her from doing so, though. By the time we graduated high school we'd been through boyfriends (hers) and breakdowns (mine)and were completely different people to when we started. The only thing that still made sense from the time we were twelve was that we were friends.

Kat, fittingly, got a job at a swanky department store and six months later is already being promoted to supervisor. Her gorgeousness, intense work ethic and sunny nature ensured she could succeed wherever she chose to be. In between sleeping through lectures and having no life, I see Kat. Sometimes she's the only friend I see outside of University and work for a month. Somehow that feels okay.

The best friend is leaving me again soon, albeit briefly, to go overseas for about a month. I'm starting to feel twelve again. I wonder what I'll do for fun while she's gone...

I am Heathcliff.

School seems to infiltrate everything. Especially with me. I can't live in the world without relating it back to what I was told by this teacher or that textbook. I quote everything. Nothing I say is mine. I'm made of other people's ideas.

I argue with my mother about Kyle Sandilands and it becomes a question of media censorship and the idea of uses and gratifications (I say there should be no editing or delay because people have a right to both hear and be heard when it comes to self expression, Michelle says that if someone is being thoroughly outrageous editing is important). I'm regurgitating other people's arguments: think Marilyn Manson and Michael Moore, among others, in Bowling for Columbine. Or, basically, the summary by Evelyn Beatrice Hall of Voltaire's conviction: "I disagree with what you say but I will defend to the death your right to say it."

I discuss the situation my father and I share at work with Annie and it becomes some revision of Goffman's Front stage, Backstage theory. I bring up Anthropology practices while shopping for vegetables at the market. I quote novels when people ask me how I feel.

I can't help but assume that I'll never say anything as well as someone else will. Why try and compete? Maybe T.S. Eliot had a good thing going with the Waste Land. If I beg, borrow and cadge other people's phrases, perhaps I'll seem brilliant and not just plain boring.

So when I try to explain how and why I always express myself with other people's words ... I'll use other people's words.

Friday, August 7, 2009


Friday night and home watching TV. There is a pile of textbooks taunting me on the opposite chair and I'm on my second cup of tea. I haven't bought my cats yet because I'm allergic- apparently because I wasn't breast fed- but I plan to overcome that obstacle and achieve my full potential.

I'm reading Rebecca at the moment and it is heartbreakingly passionate and romantic. It's the thousandth reworking of Beauty and the Beast (see: Jane Eyre) but the talent of Daphne du Maurier makes it all seem so specific and precise. Like, this story could only have happened at this time, in this place, with these people. Sometimes I wonder if, though love stories are eternal, my own will feel immediate and original like that.

The sister's boyfriend is staying over tonight which means he'll probably be around for most of tomorrow. Hence I have begun planning my getaway but all I can think of to do on a Saturday is go to a library and study. I know; "pathetic" as a general concept is embarrassed by my behaviour.

This post sucks. I guess I'll have to use my endless hours at the local library tomorrow to write another one.

Saturday, July 25, 2009

Kitch Lit.

I haven't updated in a while and I am uber tired so this'll be a rather untidy and possibly overlong post. Deal with it, hag. Yes, Annie, that last sentence was directed at you.

This is absurdly minute as far as irritating things go but I'ma blog about it anyway just because I can. I am a vegan and thus use vegan cookbooks. So far, so semi-good (I know I just lost most people at "vegan", let alone "cookbook", but bear with me). But every time the cookbook says "almond essence", "pine nuts", "peanut oil" et cetera I have to substitute stuff 'cause I happen to be allergic to nuts. And I can't help thinking I'm altering, perhaps too much so, the flavour or texture or general character of certain dishes. Like this batch of chocolate-raspberry cookies I made using coconut essence instead of the aforementioned almond. I couldn't taste the raspberry; I just got the added bonus of nervous worry about getting raspberry seeds in my gaping- wisdom teeth related- wounds. Don't get me started on the pesto issues...

Since workmates read this thing now I'ma give them a shout out. Sirpozedly I don't mention work in my blog much so here we go. Casual settlements clerk. Yes, I got an ENTER that assured my seeming attractive so far as young employees go but now I actually work there people know I'm actually a total ditz. But aside from my being a wee bit of a silly lass, I have some loverly friends there. If you're reading this guys, I really do appreciate you. I like Allison's shopping addiction and the adorable outfits that result (I really do love those shoes). I like that Annie walked halfway to the train station with me the other day so I wouldn't complain about her ditching me to go home to surprise her Mum. I like Jason's being uber smart and driven but also really modest so it takes half a day of me badgering him before he tells me he aced last semester at Uni.

I had another movie night Friday the other night, this time with Maddee, and it was great. Manhattan was a really funny and sort of creepy/sweet movie where this 42 year old guy is in love with a 17 year old girl. Sounds interesting enough until I tell you that Maddee and I watched Juno directly afterward where a 16 year old girl is hitting on her middle aged teacher; "I love Woody Allen". Hello?! I tried saying this to all these people and no-one really got my point until I finally told my Dad (who loves Woody Allen films, actually named me after one, but thinks the guy himself is a total creep) and he did that cheeky grin he does. Great guy, my Dad.

So speaking of this weird film immersion thing I've been doing recently- seriously, it's basically been my life of late- I'm rather sorry I paid to watch Baby Mama. Only $1, mind, but it was still a waste. Note to self: never, ever, go watch a film just because Tina Fey is in it unless you're completely sure she wrote it herself.

On that note, I'ma go do that white, middle class girl thing I do so well where I have the absolute best time shopping at Officeworks.


"That's generally what happens next in an argument between males." - Maddee.

"Ass-tet-ick... is that the word?"- Annie.

Saturday, July 18, 2009

Music's in my soul.

I ditched the Austen plan rather quickly this week due to the amount of awesomeness flooding each day (sandbags just weren't working. And when in Rome; do as the characters in Housekeeping do). So splashing around in all the good times I kind of ignored the literature and embraced the adolescence.

Last night, for instance, I had friends over. They enjoyed my cooking, I enjoyed their company and one stayed over. Yes, you guessed it, sleepover shenanigans ensued. Remember Michelle? Well, she's a massive fan of the crappy movies. It's like we're soulmates. That or teenage girls. We kind of spent the night eating cupcakes and watching High School Musical 2, Camp Rock and lots of Gilmore Girls. And when we woke up in the morning, we did some more of the same.

You see my dilemma, don't you? And thus, other than a brief comparison of my parents to Mr. and Mrs. Bennet (kindly meant, I assure you) in conversation, I haven't spent an awfully significant amount of time reading Jane Austen's masterpieces. I may or may not try again (which is an attitude I should probably apply to this lazy and inconclusive blog post) so stay tuned for that one.

Oh. Um. I sort of showed symptoms of a slight crush on Joe Jonas during Camp Rock. Don't worry, I called my Doctor and he recommended that, at this stage, what we should focus on is what quality of life is possible.

Saturday, July 11, 2009

Picture this:

Hannah sitting at home in an oversized boys' t-shirt and old, baggy school trackpants. No, not sitting, crawling on all-fours across her bedroom floor like a ferret excessively interested in DVDs (the ones she's arranging and searching through). She decides to look up a vegan brownie recipe online and pulls out a piece of paper. Needing something to lean on, she finds a small notebook in one of the many wooden tables/dressers/desks she has cluttering her room. Finishes writing out the recipe and flicks open the cover of said notebook. Finds three pieces of writing from two years ago. Gets on her laptop to post one online.

I've watched you mourn the loss of your best friend for two years. I've only begun to mourn the loss of mine, and you won't even notice until I am so torn at the seams that I stop being your cushion against the blows the world gives you. It's just the same truth I relearn all the time; no one catches me when I'm falling. It's when the crack of me hitting the ground wakes them up that they realise they need to scrape me off the pavement and rebuild me. But they settle for superglue and awkward smiles instead.

And there you have the early part of my Saturday evening. Emo, innit?

Friday, July 10, 2009

Let's get rich and buy our parents homes in the south of France.

Here's your headline: Hannah lets workmates harass her into admitting her online obsessiveness.Doesn't exactly roll off the tongue but it is what happened.

In fact, they're probably reading this right now.

...bored now.

Anyway, my major social breakthrough is of no interest to the people who've signed up to read about the inane details of my life. You'd much rather read about the time I met Megan Fox. Too bad. You read about the first thing.

Sunday, July 5, 2009

I think I'm having a thought.

Reading snippets of Pride and Prejudice and Zombies in between birthday parties and anaesthesia has inspired me. Starting next Sunday (it seems a fitting time) I am going to attempt to read, in a single week, all six of Jane Austen's completed novels. I know she has around three unfinished works but who can be bothered? I think it would be a nice way to spend some of my midwinter break and you know I'm a screwed up teenager when, upon reading of a country dance interrupted by zombies, I think "But what was Mr. Darcy going to do next?!" I've read Northanger Abbey and Pride and Prejudice before, and have read the first parts of Sense and Sensibility and Emma, but I think the re-reading will be good for me. Be prepared to be utterly bored by me next week. Well, moreso.

In other news, Maddee came over today which was loverly. I am still amazed that after being ready to have my jaw amputated on Thursday I can possibly be feeling this good now. Still in pain and very aware and proud of my stitches, but I was all cheeriness today ('cept for mealtimes... I bear a distinct resemblance to Homer Simpson at that point. Food should be revered in silence.) and I think we had a nice day. Watching Buffy, making BBQ tofu and chatting about weird adolescences. Yay for Sunday.

I better go read a fantasy novel with a cliched cover. Yes, that is the criteria by which I am judging it, shut up! I promised to indulge Trina and Sarah. Watch me be a mediocre friend and grumble while reading it. No, really, do. I'm something of an exhibitionist.

Saturday, July 4, 2009

I wanna come down and walk around your mind.

Aha. So the ridiculousness of the sister's Friday night basketball reached new levels recently when they found out that next week's game is at a holiday town. That's right, somewhere people often vacation at because it's far enough out of the city to be a novelty is the location of an early evening basketball game. Can you hear all the working parents saying "yay"? I love the optimism of my cousin's wife when Mother said "So next week we're going to Corio Bay...": "Oh, are you going on holiday?!" Just thought I'd start the post with that because I'm the only member of the family not into the basketball thing so I am laughing- perhaps a little harder than I should be- at the misfortune of my kin.

I feel I should finish some of my afore-posted-about stories of birthdays and pain. Very separate topics, mind, which is a nice change considering my experiences of previous years. So we had the "family" birthday gathering last Sunday (the prophecy predicted I would meet my doom on Monday so it doubled as a "take a good look at her now" sort of deal) which was nice and heartwarming and all that. Babies were everywhere, as were gorgeous presents (among my favourites: a vegan cookbook, a JB voucher- they seem to be my kryptonite- and a ring from a makeshift Aunt that she bought for herself when she was newly 18).

And then there was surgery. Can I state for the record that I hate general anaesthetic? My reasons are many. The first: I don't cope well when I'm not allowed to eat. The second: I cope worse when I'm not allowed to drink. A mug is basically an extension of my arm when I'm home but I spent all of Monday morning lying in bed watching DVDs, terrified to get up because I knew I'd absentmindedly make myself a cup of tea. The third: the anaesthetist was so casual about the amount of things he was sticking in my arm. I wasn't sure if I was being executed, getting high or being put to sleep because he was so bloody neutral about it all. The fourth: I woke up someone who was fascinated by my IV. The nurses just sort of smirked knowingly at me while I rediscovered my inner stoner. Oh, and now, a week later (though this is probably due to my likely current state of iron deficiency) I still have track mark. Singular. Yep. Hannah = worst junkie ever.

I will say for this whole experience, though, that Mother is a Goddess. Sometimes I would have trudged out to the kitchen to take painkillers and she would see the grimace that was practically painted on my face: "Do you want to come and sit with me for a little while?" "...yes." I guess the comfort of your Mum's hugs never really wears off. And on Tuesday when I was absolutely starving and hadn't been able to eat anything not bearing a striking resemblance to gruel, I held out a recipe book open at the page for potato and leek soup and she just said "okay". And damn, if it weren't the best potato and leek soup I ever ate. Last night we sat and watched an old musical on DVD together. What's funny is that we never would have done it if I hadn't been so debilitated, and Alice hadn't been out, and Michelle wasn't too tired to do anything else, and basketball hadn't been on hiatus etc. etc. But we both agreed it was the best Friday night we'd had in a while.

I'm liking this post thus far. Someone said recently that they couldn't keep a blog because their life was so boring and they wouldn't know what to write about. But I guess I like having a blog, and knowing at least one person is reading, because it's encouragement to look at your life creatively and try to find positive aspects of it. I mean, it would be arrogant to assume my life is so very interesting that you should take time out of your own to read about it. But you do, for whatever reason, and I suppose for my own sake and yours I try to edit my experiences into something pleasant to read about. And, really, life is quite pleasant. So wewt for blogging, for the perspective it gives me, and for my inflated sense of self importance that inspires me to write such fluff.

Um, my legs hurt as they normally would the day or so after exercise. Having been basically bedridden for a week, I say "huh?"



"I'm a little vegetarian."- Erin (one of the wee bonnie lasses I call "cousin").

Wednesday, July 1, 2009

The cheque from the Tooth Fairy must've got lost in the mail.

Note to self: don't watch funny shows when your mouth hurts. Laughing doesn't cure everything and just because Rebel Wilson is normally a terrible performer doesn't mean this won't be the time she showcases a spasm or two of wit. But let's rewind.

I haven't posted anything recently which is partially due to my getting my wisdom teeth out on Monday. Since then I've been drugged up quite a lot (my current status: drowsy and dizzy) and/or in sufficient amounts of pain and thus this is my first post in a while.

We were given instructions about medication that led me to believe I'd OD or something if I had any more than one painkiller (extremely strong, mind you, and capable of sending me to sleep for hours at a time)except that I was still sort of -how you say?- extremely uncomfortable. One phone call later and I found out that despite the ever humiliating act of having to be weighed at the hospital (leave me alone; my middle class, white femaleness is allowed to rear its ugly head sometimes) the nurses/doctors/anaesthetist had forgotten to mention that with my weight I could be taking another two painkillers on top of the sleep-inducing mega-drug. Since then I have been much merrier and gratefully rediscovering the ability to chew.

While I would love to write more, my head is currently protesting my semi-vertical seating position so I'ma go sleep off some of this dizziness and come back later to talk about the rest of my fascinating, cookie-cutter post-op experience. I know, wisdom teeth + pain = unusual and interesting reading. Stay tuned to see if Hannah makes it, kids.

Saturday, June 27, 2009

My position is tragic.

Dear you,

Do yourself a favour. Don't talk to me. Don't love me. I've been known to- in jest- make people promise not to fall in love with me. This time I'm serious though. I suck people in with the crazy and that is exactly what makes people wish they could get out. Here's me trying to explain: I manipulate people emotionally without realising I'm doing it. And when, once in a blue moon, someone genuinely does love me: I tend to push them away and/or screw up their life at the same time. Don't come to me for advice, don't joke about wanting to be with me and don't let me cry on your shoulder. Somehow all of those things lead to me emotionally sucker punching people. And your emotions have such a nice nose. I'd hate to make it bleed.

All this sounds incredibly conceited. I don't think all that many people love me, and fewer people still allow me to manipulate them. The ones that do are usually too loving and trusting to see me coming which makes me feel just wonderful. I guess you only need to see one person who distances themselves from you due to residual hurt and resentment in order to feel the need to warn others. Especially others you feel strangely connected to after a really short period of acquaintance. Am I being too specific? Silly me. I forgot it was "Vague, non-descript, ambiguous" day online.

Whenever I try to write about emotions I always end up sounding like one of Joey Potter's angsty monologues and I hate that. I just like you too much. Way, way, way too much. You have an amazing personality. You're friendly. You're pretty. Oh boy, are you pretty. You're fond of me. You're everything I'm missing. And everything I don't deserve.

Do yourself a favour and don't love me. Because I already love you way too much for your own good. And probably my own, too.

NB. I am really, really tired. This won't make any sense in the morning, will it?

Sunday, June 21, 2009

And you're not invited.

So I'm trying to study for Democracy exam (entails 3 essays over 2 hours and counts for 50% of my grade. Are you as flustered by all those numbers as I am? Good.) and I'm sort of thrown by the sudden disappearance of the wankerous vocabulary I've come to rely on. Exhibit A: a sample from the essay I wrote earlier in the semester; "The Charter's internal sexism and external reliance on representation could not negate its significance as a document capable of revealing democracy's susceptibility, as a concept and a reality, to evolution." Exhibit B: someone's annotation on my Creative Writing draft after workshopping "...I know you like using big words but would [insert character's name]?" So where the hell are my freakin' big words, I ask you?! I hope I come up with something better tomorrow.

I've been living off the baked goods I made for the party on Saturday so at the moment I'm on my third cookie of the day. Don't even get started on cake, birthday or cup. It's a sickness, really. But I'll be baking some more next Saturday on account of the "family" Birthday gathering my mother wants to have which, I must admit, I am rather tickled by for a number of reasons:

1)I've always been a bit unimpressed by the concept of cousins. You know, people talking about/hanging with/abiding their cousins. It all just seemed odd to me because my father's side of the family kind of didn't exist to me for most of my life and my mother's family, while nice, are very different to us strange, complex, liberal city slickers. But, of late, we've been doing the whole solving-issues-with-estranged-relatives thing and one of the casualties of this process have been my cousin Bernie and his family. He has a semi-vego wife who is nice about my cooking, a nine year old daughter who likes to talk to me about school and a four(ish) year old daughter who draws me pictures. Oh, and Bernie himself is uber nice and charming. What's not to love? So yeah, I find myself enthusiastically uttering phrases that used to make my skin crawl like "My cousins are coming over!", "My cousins called to wish me a Happy Birthday!" etc. Needless to say, the new favourite relatives are coming over next Sunday to celebrate my newfound old age.

2) I'm getting my wisdom teeth out the next day. So the little shindig doubles as an "in-case-you-don't-wake-up-from-the-general-anaesthetic"/"good-luck-with-the-whole-eating-old-people-food-for-a-week" party.

3) I am actually really sick of baking right now. It was sort of a marathon measure-whisk-pour-cook fest last week. But nobody in my house can really cook like I can (I know, don't you love the exaggerated sense of self importance?) and I abhor most things store-bought. So I'ma bake some cupcakes for the littleys and scones for ... everyone else.

I better go actually study. Oh, I guess I ought to add this next thing as a new section of le blog.


"My mother has a problem with my Monday night drinking." - Marlowe.

"It makes me sad when they sweep up the leaves."- Ash.

"Your Dad's really funny."- every young woman I work with *sigh*

'til next time, children.

Saturday, June 20, 2009

Beautiful garbage, beautiful dresses.

So I'm 18. And technically have been for around 24 hours now. I was born at 11:30am on the dot (caesarean sections are all about the punctuality). It is currently 11:44am. I feel basically the same.

Here's a breakdown of yesterday. Woke up at 10, made lamington muffins while I should have been eating breakfast and just cooked like crazy for ages. My family gave me a cheque for enough money to make me blush so I made a work-related joke to my Dad ("you'll have to help me with the banking!" *wink*) which received a poor response. Got everything ready for a couple of hours before being surprised in the act of making the world's worst playlist by guests/helpers arriving. They helped me decorate...okay, they did the decorating and I watched. The party got underway and was lovely, some of my work and Uni friends were a little tentative (Tamaly grabbed my legs until I fell over at one point. I was wearing a mini-skirt and thus was absolutely mortified). But still, t'was good. People drifted in and out until after cake when the remainder of the party headed down to the train station (we were "going out").

No sooner than I had walked away from the bar to sit down than I spilled some of the cocktail on myself. It seemed fitting for my first legal drink to be adorning my coat. We drank for a while, one of our party left us and then we headed off to pretty much the only club we could think of. We paid a thoroughly exorbitant cover fee just so Kat and I could dance (I love that my best friend thinks the same way I do about what we want to do). Marlowe protested ("I don't dance.") but finally agreed so for about an hour we danced to awful techno music in a dark, loud, overcrowded club and it actually felt good (Side note: Marlowe was the cutest dancer). Oh, another highlight was the security guards at both the bar and the club begrudgingly wishing me a happy birthday after checking the date both in their head and out loud while studying my ID card. It seemed like every single girl in le Club was exactly the same person in the same outfit with the same hair and same demeanour. I felt both under and over dressed. In a comical way, I assure you ;)

In summary, my 18th was both under and over whelming in the best possible way. I got home shortly after 1am and saw a wrapped present on my dresser. A small card with it, from my sister said "Happy Birthday Hannah!!! Hope you enjoy your gift and the rest of your life Love, Aly xoxoxoxo". Above this note, hastily scrawled, "I walked into your room to put this in there. I discovered that you already have what I am giving you. I have included the receipt so you can exchange this present for something else that is equally desirable xoxo". Taped to the present was a JB receipt for a Russell Brand DVD that Ash just recently leant me. My heart warmed at that moment, so I hopped into bed to read Maidi's gift (Pride and Prejudice and Zombies) and went to sleep feeling rather smug.

Oh, my Dad's getting counselling. He and my mother talked for a while, he cried and he's agreed to get help. Just thought I'd let you know.

Tuesday, June 16, 2009

Do I wanna throw away the key?

Rewind my life a day or two. I was so happy. For instance, my Sunday kind of kicked arse.

I woke up around midday. I know, great start. Picked up the newspaper, saw my favourite cinema was showing a preview screening of the Proposal and decided on my plans for the day. One phonecall, a leisurely afternoon breakfast and a train trip later; I met Michelle in the city ready to show her 'round my hood. We stopped in the supermarket to stock up on sugary snacks for the cinema before getting a train to Northcote.

I should take a moment to talk about how great Michelle is. She's a rural student living in the city on a scholarship so she lives in a room off campus the size of my thumbnail and she has back problems to complicate things further. And she is the nicest, most upbeat and easy-going person I have met. She says adorable stuff like "the only thing I don't like about international students is that they leave" and when asked whether she has preferences for dinner she says "I'm open to new flavours". And when I call her at midday on a Sunday asking her to a movie that afternoon (which I prefaced with "it looks deliciously awful") she gets just as excited as I am.

So Michelle and I went to this movie and actually laughed with it, not at it, and got all mushy (as girls tend to) when it's all over and walked down the stairs from the theatre raving about our favourite parts. I took her across the road to get a drink and chat and we covered pretty much everything from school to family to friends. We giggled and chatted at the train station until her train came to take her back to the city. And then, because the train station was dark and quiet and forboding, I started dancing on a bench to Walking on Sunshine.

I had reached dangerously high levels of psychitude. I was ecstatic. Assignments were behind me. My birthday's coming up. I'm young. Woooo!

So writing about this gave me a sort of thought. Let's pretend Monday didn't exist. Ditto Tuesday. All there is: a phenomenal Sunday afternoon.

Oh, amusing moment recollection. When Ryan Reynolds removed his shirt, the cinema was silent until a particularly obnoxious teenage girl in one of the back rows (who was boldened, perhaps too much so, by large amounts of sugar and hype) called "Oh yeah." One clue: it wasn't Michelle.

Monday, June 15, 2009

Like tryin' to tell a stranger 'bout rock'n'roll.

The order in which I do emotions:

1) Experience them.
2) Write about them online.
3) Deal with them.

A very set order these days, it seems.

I would use neutral language and all that except it seems everyone everywhere knows about my life so what are a few online readers?

So let's start at the very beginning. My Dad's been doing property settlements for over thirty years. He's like the Yoda of a very small industry where everyone knows each other. Seriously, it's a very backward and inbred community. I say this with love because I work in the industry too, as of a few months ago, and I'm actually quite fond of it and my job.

The one problem with such an incestuous community, though, is that everyone knows everyone else's business. All the time. My Dad and I didn't go into work due to H1N1 related issues for a week and everyone knew about it despite there being a very boring, non-descript party line about us just taking the week off.

So now you have three clues. I work with him. It's a small industry. And everyone knows everyone's business.

So the next piece of the puzzle is that my Dad likes to drink. To an embarrassing degree. Like, long winded stories and falling over and needing people to help him home and smelling like those aliens from the Simpsons hosed him down with alcohol so no one would believe he was abducted.

People at work like to make jokes to me about said drinking. And about the way my mother guilt trips my Dad about it. And about how he'd rather hit the pub to drink alone for an hour or two than come home with me at night.

Occupational hazard, I guess.

Tonight my father came home drunk again. For the first time this week, granted, but it is only Monday. My mother lost it at him considering she'd only just gotten off work (he finishes at least an hour earlier than she does) and she'd walked the dog, tidied the house and cooked them both dinner. My father, the eloquent speaker he is when he's intoxicated, started repeating the "F" word over and over again as loud as he could, threw his work bag to the side and stormed out of the house, slamming the door and calling "Goodnight" as he left. I presume he went back to the pub, probably to tell his workmates all about it. Or, at least, to infer it with his very subtle body language. I don't know if or when he's coming home this time.

I'm horrified, naturally. But the worst part of all this? Definitely that I'll have to go into work on Friday and there will be more jokes. Or worse, concerned whispers. I was hoping the thing they'd all be talking about is that I'm finally 18 this weekend. But hey, I've figured out that you don't get to choose why you're this week's gossip.

Thursday, June 11, 2009

I need a change of skin.

So I barely managed to get one of my assignments done this semester which sounds harmless except it was worth 50% of my grade and it's the Univeristy of Melbourne so the standard is offensively high. I'm truly appalled by the quality of work, really. Like, overachievers not-so-anonymous much?

In the spirit of resenting my classmates' success, I'ma do the truly Uni student thing and change my mind about stuff. Constantly. Originally I wanted to major in Anthropology and Social Theory. Then I was double majoring in Anthro and English. Then Anthro and Sociology. Keep in mind, by the way, that I have yet to take a single class in Anthro or Sociology. And now, without a shred of information, I'ma try Cinema Studies. What can I say, Dawson Leery has nothing on me. At least I'm not a radical Liberal or experimenting with heterosexuality. I mean, really, put my standard, adolescent changeability into perspective.

Wednesday, June 10, 2009


Or, more accurately, 9:30-4:30. Working every day this week which is proving interesting.

I am so tired I have started making very stupid mistakes. Embarrassing, ridiculous mistakes. I spend half my time at work blushing. I'm flushed the other half of the time due to the over-heating in solicitor offices. So basically I'm just always red in the face.

I have no idea what I will wear tomorrow. I run out of "business-y" work clothes uber quick due to my having a very limited wardrobe mostly consisting of ill-fitting, second hand or cheap men's clothing and/or mini skirts. I know, I'm an enigma. Either way, practically nothing I own is appropriate for settlement rooms. Today I wore red tartan tights with knee high boots, a fugly black skirt I bought to portray an indie wanker in a school play and several layered black tops to try and look like something resembling a shirt or blouse (or at least something fashionable enough to suffice). Luckily, people thought my style was somewhat inspired. Now I know how fashion trends like bubble skirts or ankle boots get started; people get desperate and think "this will have to do". Shudder.

There is a shop on Bourke St between the office and the Commonwealth Bank that I always pass on my way to and fro. It's very cutesy and commercial but it has gorgeous cards and toys and parasols and one day I would really like to buy something from there. I could use a parasol. How else will people know I'm a lady?

I am so tired but I need to finish this essay and submit it (one day late, mind you) so that I can feel free for 5.7 days before the guilt grows too intense and I start studying for my exams. 'Til then; Huzzah.

Saturday, June 6, 2009

That's the way it is in Minnesota.

I guess the idea of not revealing personal information online is kind of ridiculous, especially in a blog. What do I write about if not the personal? And if I'ma start with the personal, I suppose I better write about the uber personal as well.

I blew off a party last night partially due to schoolwork. But that's not fair; I don't spend enough time doing schoolwork for that to be a valid excuse. I didn't go because sensitive, heterosexual males trust me too much.

But I digress. I spent the day trying to study and failing. So around the time it started getting dark (which is around 4, admittedly) I decided I couldn't be bothered going. There are too many things to deal with there. A friend I haven't seen in a month or so who at the best of times is awkward with me. Another friend who got dumped by a long term partner recently and needs some support from little old me. Too bad I'm emotionally bankrupt and unwilling to deal with the - quite reasonable- need for a friend right now. And then there's the final friend.

I've met one just like him recently. Someone who likes the look of me, befriends me and learns to trust me more than is humanly natural within a very short space of time. I mean, of course the feelings are reciprocated but that doesn't change how perilous it is. I'm great fun, sure, when all you want from me is friendship. I guess that's all I can say. To all the heterosexual male friends I have out there; don't want anything else from me. Don't see me as your only confidante, the only one you can trust, strangely perfect in a completely unattractive but safe sort of way.

So I blew off the party. And tried to keep studying, failed and then didn't sleep.

Friday, June 5, 2009

Tell me what to do, I'll find all the answers.

I don't like irritation. Kind of the definition I guess. But it appears I am easily irritated.

Things that irritate me:

* No matter how much my friends adore him; I can't seem to see Ville Valo as particularly profound. Nor Bam Margera.
* When people use the anonymity of the internet to be cruel to others.
* My own hypocrisy (see above).
* Dirty tissues. If I see them anywhere other than in a bin I am deeply upset.
* That soy milk costs extra. Lactose intolerance isn't a consumer preference. It's an allergy. Yay for the free market.
* In that vein; the four hundred thousand calls we have gotten in the last week from people wanting us to change our gas bill provider. That's right, not the gas provider, the freakin' bill provider. Ugh.
* That I thought this list blog worthy.

Party tomorrow night. Maybe. If I can finish my homework. How pathetic is that?

Monday, June 1, 2009

The girls (le disko).

When it's wintry and rainy; every afternoon at home feels like a Sunday. My whole family were home today which didn't ease the resemblance to the weekend. It feels like we should all be tired and grumpy which is dangerous because it means I get no study done and eat a lot and don't exercise. I am sensing the triumphant return of Fat Hannah.

Having said all that, I just sat here very contentedly for hours and ended up sipping tea and eating cake. If I'm honest, I really love Winter in many ways. Which is good, because today is the first day of Winter. I love the coats. I love the boots. I love the warm, fluffy things we wrap around our exremities to keep them warm. I love the slippery wet leaves that stick to each other and the ground (though they will all wash away very soon, leaving the carcasses of trees and bare pavement). Now I think about it; maybe our semester ends now for a reason. The university looks so gorgeous in Autumn with orange leaves decorating the campus and the wheels of our bikes (there are so many people on bikes at Uni!). Perhaps having class in Winter when the leaves are gone and we're all cold would ruin the gorgeous illusion. I don't think I've really paid attention to the campus in Spring. I will have to, next semester, and see if it is as picturesque :)

Oh, what else do I love about Winter? I love hot beverages (obviously). I love the way people's faces go red in some places and uber pale in others. I love the extra weight everyone gains by default. I love the various forms of physical and emotional hibernation we endure while we save all our strength for the trying times at school or work or whatever that strain our intellect.

This was fun :)

People keep asking me what I want for my birthday. Which, in the spirit of this wintry post, is the day before the Winter equinox. I keep saying cookie cutters. But there have to be other things I want. Hmm. I'll have to keep brainstorming. Aha. Brainstorming, get it? 'Cause it's winter?... Yeah, ignore the terrible pun. I'm not great with themes; once I pick one, everything seems to stick to it. Whether I mean it or not. I do it with everything. Like, if I decide that I'm going to wear something black and white then everything else I wear has to match. Like right now. I'm wearing a black top over a white one, a black and white skirt, black tights and black sneakers (with that weird white trim stuff). I had to co-ordinate everything. It's a sickness, really. Luckily sometimes I choose to be eclectic. It's hard to be a perfectionist about that. Well, unless you're Frasier Crane. But let's not get into my obsessions just yet...

Sunday, May 31, 2009

Have you ever been alone in a crowded room?

I like to re-use teabags. Like, one teabag to two cups of tea. I am a fan of refills, okay? I also try to take short showers (and fail miserably). I love cheese but I've been vegan since September - I miss parmesan like crazy. I'm a fan of self-righteous sacrifice, I suppose. Poor Earth, poor children in Africa, poor homeless person etc.; I'ma cut back so in some weird way they can have what I have. Affluence, boredom, a propensity (and ability) to over-eat. Yeah, likely.

Somehow I never managed to make much of a difference. The world and its inhabitants are still dying. And I ain't no skinny bitch, for all the vegan dieting and bike riding places.

That being said; I need new clothes. I want to go shopping which COULD prove difficult considering the recent quarantine of my sister with the whole swine flu pandemic. Work don't want me for a little while; how will I pay for my vanity? Granted, my accidentally giving swine flu to the pregant women and old men I am frequently in contact with at work could tarnish my image; no matter how trendy my new skirt is. But I really wish there wasn't such a strict budget considering just how dire my wardrobe situation is lately. I finally outgrew my "nothing but t-shirts!" phase but shirts with defined necklines and tailored seams cost a wee bit more. Damn my curves.

Shopping with me is an activity akin to a specifically awful kind of Chinese torture. I am so fussy. Even when gift shopping for other people I'm a perfectionist. And clothes shopping; ugh! I have a particularly frustratingly odd figure so I am always complaining. And, as in this blog, no one will or wants to listen.

So there're my thoughts for now. Fascinating, right?

Saturday, May 16, 2009

Of innocence and experience.

Everyone now and again I hear a song by one of the artists you introduced me to. It's when this occurs that I stop and wonder if I'll ever be able to breathe again. And then I do. It's then that I remember that this is the first time in a long time that I've missed you.

That's what happens, right? You love someone so much that being without them for a week, a day, an hour, feels unbearable. And then, a few months or years later, you're reminded of that feeling and you miss it so much. You miss the mutual obsession. But you also remember why the obsession ended.

I have so many memories of friends and ...others... that are like that. It's been so long since I thought they were worthy of being my whole world. The problem is; worthy or not, they were. And they still make up part of who I am.

Some days I pick up the phone to call you, or I laugh at something only you could recognise, or I crave the way we fit together when you hugged me.

Maybe one day you and I could be healthy. And we could be you and me again. I don't think so though. I can't be sure of this, but I think I'm right;
you've never missed watching movies with me in your room,
you've never missed late night, forbidden conversations online or on the phone
you've not really missed me.

Wednesday, May 13, 2009

No day but today.

My little sister has a new friend who lent her Rent on DVD which is lovely. However, my little sister also has a new friend who is a boy. You know the kind. Oh, and to complete the happy picture; he's the best friend's older brother. Yes, I said the word older. How did she inherit my Aunt's rebel gene? I mean, as I write this I am watching Rent, drinking tea and contemplating which homework to do first.

I turn 18 in a little over a month. I keep telling myself that as soon as that occurs; I become a more interesting and outgoing person. The ingredients for disappointment, I know, but if nothing else I am an experimental cook. Who knows, maybe I will make a good party girl. More than likely though it'll just mean I'll be buying the liquor for my sister and her friends. And the older boyfriend who may or may not be mysteriously neutered in his sleep by then.

I have a Tash fringe right now but I'm getting a hair cut tomorrow. Problem is that my hair dresser can be a wee bit unpredictable. He's been known to give me a side fringe and curl my hair when I go in wearing a band t-shirt and cargos. So I'ma wear really neutral stuff tomorrow so whatever hair do he gives me won't make me look ridiculous when I go directly to Uni afterward. Oh, who am I kidding? All hair styles look ridiculous on me.