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.