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...