Pajama Empress

Moved!

2007-05-10T23:22:00.000+10:00

It's been fun, but I decided to up and move the whole thing to Wordpress.

Check it out - the NEW Pajama Empress.

So, all three of you, update your links and comment at my new digs!

Piazza New York Catcher

2007-05-10T17:06:00.000+10:00

Elope with me Miss Private and we'll sail around the world
I will be your Ferdinand and you my wayward girl
How many nights of talking in hotel rooms can you take?
How many nights of limping round on pagan holidays?
Oh, elope with me in private and we'll set something ablaze
A trail for the devil to erase

- Belle and Sebastian, Piazza New York Catcher from Dear Catastrophe Waitress

I'm making biscuits! It's tremendously exciting; they are little butter biscuits infused with white tea, pear and a touch of vanilla. They are in the oven right now, though probably not cooking evenly because I am constantly opening the door to check on them. Hopefully I can sample one and give a report before the end of the post.

My Dad is going out on a date. I suppose it's more promising than drinking by oneself and listening to excess Pink Floyd. He's going out for coffee with "someone", which is a dead giveaway - when he first told us that his then-girlfriend was spending the summer with him, he told us that a gender neutral "colleague" was staying with him for a while. Maybe not so mature, but at least I can read him now.
But I must admit apprehension to all these new developments. In the space of a year we gained a step-mother then lost her again, after dealing with the breakup of our parents, the affair, the divorce, yada yada. It is a lot to bear, not sure how easy it will be to just deal with more tumult.

Ok, I tasted the cookies. They came out of the oven about five minutes ago, so they're still very hot. I bit into it: it was light, crumbly and buttery, like shortbread or a yo-yo biscuit. The flavours of pear and white tea had infused into the dough fabulously, giving it a delicate floral bitterness and the pear gave a little tangy kick - ah! I'm so proud! I could never cook, and now I have managed to make three great things in as many days.

Apart from all that, my efforts at essay writing have been absolutely thwarted by creative aspirations. The projects in my head at the moment are:

Some landscapes, acrylic on canvas, for the upstairs of my house - probably about seven of them in two different styles. We're going for a Colonial-meets-jungle tree house theme in the apartment, so they'll be in shades of beige, olive, chocolate, gunmetal, et cetera. Half the paintings will be for the living room; these will be moody 'scapes of grasslands, playing on the horizon line and distribution of light. The other half of the paintings will be cream and chocolate detailed line paintings of dead trees, focusing mainly on complexity of line. Cheerful, huh?
I've always had a rather candy coloured bedroom, and I doubt that is going to change anytime soon. So, candy coloured artwork; probably about 3 or 4. Coloured pencil, watercolour, acrylic and fabric/paper collaged parts. They'll be abstract, detailed, lines and dots and shading - my Mum used to draw randomly when she was on the phone, filling up the backs of envelopes and the tops of electricity bills with beautiful little patterns, so they are my inspiration. In shades of tangerine, wasabi, raspberry sorbet, 'yummy' blue, violets in the rain, straw yellow, jade... et cetera.
Last night a story came to me. Something about a young man without much sense of direction trying to find an elderly brothel owner who answers only to Madame Du Barry because of a link she may or may not have to his vegetable father. Set in France, in 1896. No, there will be no consumptive tarts-with-hearts alla Moulin Rouge, La traviata or La Dame Aux Camilles. Mmm, this idea really needs to be workshopped. All I have right now is the characters, not so much plot.
I need to do the illustrations for Scala and Soldad. The graphics are half-done, but the pictures for the actual story are being a bit more difficult than I thought they would be!
In my sketch book there are some little drawings I did a year ago; a little monkey in overalls called Troy, a bunny in a pinafore called Lillian, a dinosaur with a vest called Bert.. there are some more too. I was thinking about actually making them, as little soft toys. May is the worst month in the world to be unemployed (so many birthdays, Mother's day, my two and a half year anniversary..) so maybe soft toys are the answer!

I have all these ideas that I am ready to pursue with gusto, but which one? And there is the small issue of an overdue essay on Wittgenstein that I promised Lucien I'd finish before Saturday.. woe.

Oh! Have you ever had a 'friendship crush'? Or did I just coin the term? Well, I'll explain it.
A crush works in the way that you are intrigued, fascinated, interested, attracted to someone in the hope that you can have some sort of a romantic relationship with them. I suppose a friendship crush is where you meet/see someone and feel the same sorts of things; fascination, intrigue, admiration, attraction. But instead of being romantic feelings, they are platonic - instead of the person being the object of your affection, they are the object of your admiration - instead of wanting to love them and be loved, you want to be their friend and earn their respect.

I have a couple of friendship crushes at the moment. It's such an odd concept to try to describe to someone, and I am always scared that they will think I am a stalker.

Sexuality Sucks, Part I

2007-05-10T13:02:00.000+10:00

Something is plaguing me!

...

In terms of physical appearance, there is a huge difference in me depending on whether I try or not. Most days I don't - I will go to the supermarket or traipse off to university wearing no makeup, hair scraped into a half-hearted ponytail, old high school rugby jumper that would be big enough for three of me. It is hideously unattractive, but I can't be bothered with anything more the majority of the time.
When I do try, I will actually brush my hair, maybe put lip gloss and mascara on, put together an outfit rather than just wearing clothes. The differences seem inconsequential, after all, when I 'dress up' I'm certainly not Oscar-ready. But the feeling of being slightly more attractive seems to fuel up other aspects of me: I stand up taller, I smile more, I feel more confident, feminine and capable.

Now confusion sets in: we have established that I am capable of looking bad and slightly alright depending on how hard I try. I am also one of those poor girls who manage to get preyed upon by seedy old (and young) men constantly. But there is no easily ascertainable correlation between whether this happens when I'm 'hot' or 'not'.

When I was about 15, I had to come to Melbourne for an appointment, catching public transport and everything. I ended up getting hideously lost on Collins Street (so clueless..) and wandering up and down, looking visibly distressed. Enter self-styled 'savior' - a suave but overly flashy Italian man in an expensive suit and even more expensive car. He looked so.. rich, except for touches of crassness - fluffy dice, unruly eyebrows, too shiny and gold watch. He pulled his car up to the side of the road, calling out, "Hey darling." I kept walking. "Hey, sweetheart, I won't bite."
I kept walking straight ahead, but still didn't know where to go. Eventually I turned back to him and walked over to his open window. "Hi, I'm not from around here, and I'm so lost.. can you please help me?"
"Sure, get in and I'll take you wherever you need to go."
"No thank you, I just need to know how to get to Flinders Street station."
"Please baby, you're beautiful, I just want to get to know you. We can go to the beach, I'll take you shopping, you're so gorgeous, don't run away." At this point he reached up and stroked my cheek. Tears just started falling - fear and confusion was coursing through me, and I didn't know how to escape.
"No, I can't. I just need to know how to get to Flinders Street station."
"Turn right at the traffic lights." He pulled out from the curb and u-turned, but I noticed him driving very slowly and watching me from the other side of the road. Each time I looked up, he would nod or smile at me. So I ran away through alleys and side streets, eventually getting myself even more lost. For the record, I was 3 hours late to the appointment.
On this particular day I had come to Melbourne straight after working my old job at the theatre school - I was wearing grubby black overly stretched dance clothes, falling off my shoulders like garbage bags, I was pale and gaunt, looking like a frightened mouse. Attractive? I should think not.

Fast forward to last Christmas, my Myer days. I adored that job (and want it back!), and it showed in the way I presented myself. I wore stilettos despite the fact that I could barely walk at the end of the day, I would wear black dresses to work that bordered on corporate-sexy, always perfect makeup, always shiny perfect hair. I tried really hard.
But nobody really noticed. Even walking home from work late at night, despite looking hot, nobody approached me.

Which leads me to think: could confidence be a scary thing? It seems often that the times when I am picked on the most are when I appear most vulnerable.
Analogy: imagine two equally gorgeous women in a club, scouting for a man to buy them a drink. One is obviously a prostitute, the other is obviously a lawyer. Comment call - how do you think that men would treat these respective women?

Part Two will discuss.. other stuff.

Elle is taking black and white photos of Lucien and I for a media project on the weekend. She even said she'd edit out the pimple on my jaw! Ha, but they should be hot. If she lets me, I will post them.

Little Poems

2007-05-10T00:00:00.000+10:00

My Dad is sitting outside on the balcony in the dark, drinking cheap wine and listening to Pink Floyd on a discman really loudly. It's slightly worrying. He was doing the same thing inside earlier, and this has pretty much been the blueprint for how he spends his nights for the last week or so.
It has recently come out (officially) that he and his wife of almost a year had split up, sometime right after Christmas. I met with Scarlett, my ex-step-sister, at a tram stop by the river. She seemed nonplussed by the whole thing, even revealing that her Mom took "like fifty pills" the day after Christmas.
I worry for him.

After dinner, my brain started itching. Words started battering the inside of my skull like fireworks; they needed to go somewhere. So I wrote two poems. Here they are.

The Sea Indoors

I thrash
Mackerel in a net
Balloon on the moon
My body is tethered and rubber banded into place
Motion is fixed in a slow, furious struggle against the line that separates us

I arch
Practicing a type of pain
I am not myself
As much as I am a mere part of everyone else
Slow winds shake through the concrete wasteland
Rippling unfortunate white trousers nearby and tickling my throat
Bared for the slaughter, if you dare

I decay
Gasping desperation
Hot tulips blister behind eyelids
An agile audience only an arm-span away
But there is an ocean between us as I sink amongst the sirens
Adopt me as your sister and I will be home

I surge
Snapping back
The lofty bedlam floats above
Livid blue babies mock and speak in mature vindictiveness
Snap at my heels but you will not have me, I cry fruitlessly
For my voice will bend and dissolve, and be only for me

Traipsing Off the Cliff

Leave me in my shell a bit longer? I am only
half-baked, and chill will swoop like an eagle
should I venture from safety into your jungles.
Come and rain your love down on me
so I might benefit from the vitamins. Rouse me,
my bones lay just beneath the surface, my love
the only red thing left from my collection.
That bicycle, that hair ribbon, that insouciant mouth
could be a liability or a pleasure, if you would stop
and rouse my bones. Sometimes you whisper
my dreams back at me, so much more real than
when I entrusted them to you. Let’s make them seven
of the seventh-seven like me, red like me, then
perhaps they can live in me, my love-dream.

Hand me pane e burro any day over this, grey
patterings, frightening me away from rest.
Why such flowings now? Months and days of
drought striking without consideration; now milk
and honey twenty-four-seven. Hopes and minds
reveal their fecundity without mercy. I know it’s
disappointing, my love. Your little one is no Atlas;
her shoulders shrink and snap like glass filigree.
If only this, if only that. She doesn’t try hard enough.
Peel her and maybe a diamond? No, I’m full of coal
and all the bitterness of generations, pent up in blood and
pretension. Why so close and unyielding, yet you are so far?
When you sleep, I swoon over your eyelashes. I could pass
a whole winter alone, but not this single week without you.

Reconnecting with the Kitchen God

2007-05-09T13:44:00.000+10:00

Last night I was seized by a unshakable desire to cook something; I wasn't actually hungry, I just needed to do something. So I made Clotilde's gorgeous Soupe de Courgette au Sésame, which was beautiful - I ran into an unforeseen obstacle when I had to find tahini at the supermarket though, they only had really huge expensive jars, and black sesame seeds? Fuhgettaboutit. I also threw together some scones, with caramelised onions, lots of parsley and some delicious crumbly red cheddar.
All in all, a successful expedition into the kitchen. I took photos, but it seems food photography is not really my forte.. they are too bad to post.

Sunspotted

2007-05-07T23:25:00.000+10:00

I have freckles. Fawkes noticed them the other day, very light and small, peppered across my collarbone. I have a couple of obvious ones on my face, but they probably fall into the category of beauty spots. My little-little sister Katy has blonder hair than any of us, and freckles all over her face - she hates them passionately and bemoans their presence like they are some kind of social liability. I think they are cute, and I'm proud to have some now.

Dad has caught on to my current state of mind, I think. He woke me up early this morning for bike riding (wrecked!), took me to the European Cafe for crumpets and grapefruit juice, then took me to a two hour yoga class (wrecked again!), and made spaghetti for dinner. The exercise was welcome; often the only reason I don't like going running is because it means I have to be by myself, alone with my head for an hour or more. There are lots of distractions at home, but running along the river in the cold means that I am submitting myself to whatever mental brutality my mind cares to dish out that particular day.

It's May, which means audition time. On the cards right now is an audition for an agency, a 1896 French absurdist play called King Turd the Great (I kid you not), Romeo and Juliet, an independent film called Boneyard, and soon The Wizard of Oz and The Mikado. Probably more coming up, but some haven't been formally announced yet. The plan is to audition for all of them, then pick and choose amongst whatever parts I manage to get, which is slightly unfair to companies but fabulous for me. More news soon, hopefully, when it all starts happening.

Blah, ok, I'm not going to be verbose or interesting tonight. I am physically tired in a satisfied way, which is so much better than the sickly out-of-it feelings of the last couple of weeks, and there is chocolate honey nougat icecream in the freezer just begging to be eaten. 'Till next time.

New Project

2007-05-05T14:15:00.000+10:00

Yes, this will still be my personal journal, but I am starting a new project.

The Frilliant Adventures of Scala and Soldad

It's a children's story series that will be updated regularly via the web, featuring character I first drew in high school: Scala the Scorpion and Soldad the Snail. As the title indicates, they have all kinds of 'frilliant' adventures which will occur in an episodic format with illustrations. I have already written a couple of stories for it, but the illustrations are still in the works.

Will be launched soon, with spiffy new graphics, cute stories and fun illustrations!

Antoinette and Other Things

2007-05-05T01:51:00.000+10:00

Less than two weeks until Marie Antoinette comes out at Blockbuster. It's embarrassing how excited I am.
The film had mixed reactions when it came out, as did Antonia Fraser's take on the Austrian Queen of France when she wrote her biography. The people who disliked the film attacked the lack of narrative and dialogue, the unusual and sudden ending point, the endless scenes of frivolity, and the modern soundtrack. Usually I would try to be diplomatic and at least consider their collective point of view, but it just seems so petty for them to criticize Fraser's opinion on Antoinette and indirectly Sofia Coppola's film making abilities just because they don't agree with what is being said.

Last year I wrote an essay on Antoinette, taking a rather sympathetic view - the main conflict of the essay was about the reality of her character versus public opinion. It was a great essay, but I definitely took a softer view on her than did most historians. I suppose I know a little bit of what it feels like to be young, naive and impressionable, and thrust into unforgiving circumstances far away from the people who have previously been your everything.

Someone who wishes not to be named and I made a sparkler bomb tonight. It was his idea, completely - we ventured to the supermarket and bought half a million packets of sparklers before taking them home and grinding the powder off them. It felt so dangerous; making a bomb in my kitchen. We filled an empty V can up with this explosive powder and set a sparkler in the can with melted wax to act as a fuse. It was brilliant! Hopefully a youtube link will be coming along soon - yes, he filmed it. I was less concerned with cinematography and more with flying shrapnel.

Adventures of the last couple of days have made me realize how much I need a pet. I met a boxer pup called Jasper in the storms of Thursday and hugged him until he was happy again, then tonight was brightened by meeting darling puppy Lucy and her adorable little padded coat in the Vietnamese district. My beautiful little cloud leopard still hasn't come back, and despite one brief sighting, she has been completely absent from my apartment block. She may actually have an owner rather than being a stray as I previously thought.
I want a puppy or a kitten though. To lavish affection upon, to keep me company when everybody has gone out, to sleep on the end of my bed, to take care of and feel responsible for, to make me actually get up in the morning, to love me whether I am grouchy or ugly or fat or sad or whatever. As soon as my Dad finds a new place, I am scouting the trading post for any free to a good home kittens; a puppy might be a bit too much work for me right now.

I have to share something I found today. When I turned 18, Lucien gave me (among other things) a little illustrated dictionary that he made for me, capturing the little inside jokes and strange phrases we used constantly. He also did a little definition of me:

My girl. Elusive and can be difficult to spot, especially during the school year. Tread lightly and be careful not to disturb her fragile constitution. However, when she smiles and laughs there is no greater joy in the world. Catch her if you can and never let her go!

On the opposite page is a little stick figure drawing of a girl, in a skirt with a big smile on her face. Written above is this - "Rosie (may not be to scale)". Written below the picture is this - "(but might be...)" which is funny because I am small. Finding this and reading it today injected some well needed warm fuzzies into my day.. it will sound gushy and stupid, but I often forget how lucky I am to be loved by such a brilliantly wonderful guy.

Random snippers: the lead singer of Maroon 5 scares me; his voice is so high and nasal, and his facial expression never changes.
I'm in love with Kevin Rudd, even more than I loved Bill Clinton back in the day.
Bamboo shoots are clearly the best food ever. I used to eat them straight out of the jar when I was little; we might see a return to that.
I realized I can actually wear my new pale pink dress somewhere, in a few weeks to Beauty and the Beast, so I should really make a sash for it.
Now that I have a Plan A and a Plan B, Plan C is to be some sort of aid worker helping out in Africa or rural Asian communities.
Florists should grow and sell dandelions, not the plain little yellow flowers but the big fluffy heads full of parachuted seeds, because they are very beautiful. I have a tiny swatch of creamy coffee coloured fabric that I saved from the rubbish because it had dandelions on it.
I have taken to watching SBS in the middle of the night when they do the worldwide weather, because I love the classical music they play - right now it is an album called "Finlandia: The Mystery and Magic of Sibelius", so beautiful, especially this violin solo that is playing right now. I want the cd.
I feel so damn bad-ass for being a sparkler bomb terrorist tonight. Ha, I mentioned 'terrorist' and 'bomb' in my post - just watch the appropriate Australian authorities pounce. Apparently they monitor all text messages now.

Enough. Due to an unfortunate incident involving my foot and the dry-cleaning bag on my bedroom floor, and then my head and the concrete wall, I have had a bad headache in a certain spot for the last 24 hours. It's bedtime.

Reinvention

2007-04-27T14:11:00.000+10:00

Something bad happened yesterday, seemingly a minor setback. My former-soon-to-be employer got rid of me, I'm not even sure why, after fucking two months of stringing me along and pushing back my start date.
I am feeling like a fool for believing that something would work out so easily for me, and absolutely humiliated that I could just be dropped for seemingly no reason.

The fact that I have to find a job all over again is merely annoying, along with the fact that I will be poor for another month. But the thing that makes me want to scream and kick things is that I seriously believed that my luck was changing and that things wouldn't be such a fight for once. Ever since I moved to Melbourne by myself, I have worked a string of horrible jobs with bosses who were verbally abusive, didn't pay me, made me work until 2am on a school night, et cetera. Myer was one saving grace, but sadly cut short due to changes in management. Actually being financially independent has been one of the biggest, stressiest things in my life for the last year and a half. I thought I was turning a corner. Alas, no.

Enough on that, one good thing about adversity is that it inspires one to work harder. And as Fawkes suggested, I could use this as impetus to reinvent myself.

This is the list of things I wrote last night:

I want to clean my room and make it a nice space where I can breathe and sleep and study and be happy.

I want to do my schoolwork well and efficiently so that it does not consume my time.

I want to find a job that I can work three or four days a week, something that is challenging and fun with a good culture, something that relates to things I want to do in the future.

I want to start contributing to Farrago, Broad Lit and some other publications.

I want to be thin, beautiful, with striking eyes, pale skin, red lips and masses of dark hair, the kind of beauty that can strike a man down in the street.

I want to dress like a goddess, a muse, an artist, a geisha, a feminist, a mermaid, a debutante or a dominatrix depending on my mood and not let myself be too scared.

I want to have time to paint and sculpt again and be recognized as a saleable artist.

I want to draw and bring out a range of greeting cards and stationary featuring my illustrations.

I want to model for a life drawing class and for photographers, and feel genuinely comfortable and proud of my naked body.

I want to be able to play Bruch's violin concertos, dance en pointe, get my Chinese and French language skills up to 'fluent' and buy a piano for my apartment.

I want to buy a kitten and take care of her.

I want to get a column on The Age online, get work experience with Frankie magazine, become a contributor to Salon.com and be recognised as a decent writer.

I want to be proud of myself and confident in my brilliance, and next time I face a bitch like Jane Angel telling me my worth, I will tell her in the most eloquent language I can exactly what I think of her and cut her to size.

Done. Unfortunately I can't do these things today.. my brain is not quite allowing me to be positive or action-oriented right now. It's a day for laying in bed, frowning, aching for action but not having the drive. My body feels like it is in the grip of a bad virus, there is no energy to go around and everything aches.

I need a day or two, then it will begin.

Gutted

2007-04-26T19:22:00.000+10:00

When I worked at the ice cream shop on the little island on the Yarra, I arrived early one morning to find three young boys catching fish. They cast shabby rods like pros, calmly waiting before hauling in pitiful little flat silver fish.

The fish would flip around on the concrete for a minute before the boy would step on the fish and yank the hook out, ready for another go. The fish was then left on the cold pavement, glaring up at the ceiling and bleeding everywhere, giving an occasional shudder or convulsion. The boys caught one each then called it a day, leaving with their still-breathing fish wrapped up in a newspaper. The blood pooled and spattered and smeared over the ground, so my boss washed it away with a hose.

Right now, I am those fish.

Possums

2007-04-25T23:41:00.000+10:00

The little possums came to visit tonight, in a rather alarming fashion. I had not fed them for a couple of days and they were obviously hungry. As soon as I opened the balcony door they came scampering up to me, sniffing my shoes and clawing at my ankles.

It's a mother and her baby, except the baby is getting bigger all the time. When I first moved in, she was still but a fist-sized mousy thing living solely in her mother's pouch. Gradually she started crawling out and surveying things, but nowadays her sole mode of transportation is by clinging to her mother's back. Her mother is smaller than a very small cat or a large rabbit, and the baby is about half her size.

I gave them four slices of bread, six multigrain crispbreads, a mandarin, a beurre bosc pear and two weetbix spread thickly with peanut butter. They devoured everything. They had more to eat today than I did... I've been fussy today.

My soon-to-be employer has cancelled my first two shifts that were meant to be happening this Friday and Saturday.. apparently they are running behind schedule. They are racing to open the store for May 10th; it's not going to happen. It is angering in some ways. They hired everybody almost two months ago, and in this time our starting date has been pushed forward about five times - finding other real employment during this time has not really been an option.
Now, I have rent, an electricity bill and a phone bill due by Friday. I had actually put money aside for it all, for once, and now it is still not enough. And I am still fuming over the fricking $120 prescription that ruined all my planning.

My mind is turning to creative ways of making money that involve my (lack of) talents. Nothing comes. Something:
- modelling for life drawing classes
- getting a busking license and dusting off my vocal cords
- writing a story and magically getting published by Thursday night
- getting some nice paper and painting something on it...
-...?
Or there is always losing a million pounds, dyeing myself orange and becoming an exotic dancer. I actually read the recruitment section on the website of a men's club. It sounds so easy; they do not mention once what would be expected of you except to "be yourself!" and raves about all their services and benefits for their girls. Alas, I do not have the confidence nor the body/height to do that.
I would also probably have an anxiety that one day somebody I knew would come walking through the door. Likely a seedy uncle, but the real fear would be that it would be my father. So, that brilliant idea is dead.

Concluding remarks: Rhubarb is gross tasting, affection is lacking in my week, I can't believe that Channel Ten pulled Letterman for Big Brother: Up Late, and my cloud leopard is nowhere to be found. She mustn't love me as much as I love her.

Disaster and a Salamander

2007-04-24T11:51:00.000+10:00

I left 40 minutes early to get to my training session last night, so eager to make a good impression and pretend like I really cared about whatever a Bugaboo is.
I caught the wrong tram. I realised too late, had to catch the tram back and then I caught another tram. This tram did indeed take me to Burwood Road, but only 100 - the number I wanted was more like 800. I started walking, getting later and later all the time, when I noticed a train line directly behind the street. I caught the train for two stops, got off and found myself in a completely different suburb.

By this stage I was 40 minutes late and I gave up and came home.

I didn't dream last night, but I stayed awake for too long staring at the dark shapes in my room. Without my glasses (which I never wear) I can barely see anything in the dark, but my imagination fills the blanks. The black kimono hung up on the back of my door turned into a long-haired ghost glaring at me and waiting to pounce. The radiator resembled an immensely fat metallic caterpillar gobbling up the shoes and books on the floor.
I pulled the blankets up close and surveyed the room with a sort of frightened intrigue - I have always been afraid of the dark to some degree.

When I was little, I used to imagine that ghosts, monsters, murderers, robbers or whatever was lurking in my room could sense fear. I would go out of my way to appear normal and asleep when really I was terrified. One night as an 8 year old, I was reading Oliver Twist when I was sure that I saw something moving near the far corner of my bed. I was so scared that I just kept reading, pretending not to have noticed, trying not to give myself away. I finished the book in a couple of hours and then was struck with a problem - what was the 'normal' thing to do? I read the whole book again. The whole time I was sweating like crazy and the room started really smelling bad. Not like body odour, but like burnt toast. Is this the smell of the fear of an 8 year old girl?

Eventually a huge salamander jumped on my window, causing me to scream and go tearing down the hall to my parents room.

Afternoon, Only Just Waking Up

2007-04-23T15:32:00.000+10:00

On television, there was just an ad for a mobile ringtone that can't be heard by 'parents and teachers'. I can't hear it, yet I don't fit into either of those categories. Slightly depressing.. I suppose this means that, physically at least, my teenage years are over.

Lucien put a spanner in my new attempts at having scheduled days - on Saturday night he summoned me out of my pajamas and into a dry martini as he celebrated with his jiu-jitsu buddies post-competition. Being drugged up to my eyeballs on prescription medications, I just teetered, nodded, spoke too fast and flailed my arms about. I didn't actually drink anything, but I'm quite sure I looked drunk.

The reason for the drugs was a multi-day headache, stemming from my upper jaws. Wisdom teeth, perhaps? It's my reluctant guess. But it hurts, a lot, and I haven't been a happy madame for the last three or four days.

Tonight is a training night for my new job. We're learning all about the features of Bugaboo prams - I feel like a soon to be mother going to those information group-love sessions. The other people who will be there are going to confirm that too.
Last time I met with them, it was an initiation night for us to talk about the aims of the new store, et cetera. After the wine, mini sandwiches, speeches and introductions, people began chatting. I joined a couple of groups, figuring I could widen the scope of potential friends. Almost everybody started chatting about their kids, leaving me out of the loop. Not just their kids, but details of their pregnancies, what lactating breasts do, how children learn to use the toilet... it shocked me that these people would share intimate details of their and their children's bodily functions within 20 minutes of meeting each other. C'est la vie, I suppose this is the kind of person I'll be dealing with from now on.

Last night as Lucien lounged in my bed glued to a book, I was upstairs reluctantly being talked to on IM by his twin brother. He wondered what his brother was doing, and I told him that he was in bed reading Wuthering Heights. This is hardly an obscure work, so I was naturally shocked when James asked "Oh, what's that about?". After I told him, he asked if there was a film of it.
Ugh - I can see it now - he will seek out the film and watch it, then wish to discuss the literary merits of WH with us based on his viewing, and suddenly profess to be incredibly interested in literature. When Lucien played Courfeyrac in Les Miserables, James became obsessed. He watched a film version over and over, and assaulted everyone's eardrums by playing On My Own on his flute constantly. The part that also annoyed me was that he presumed to be on a similar level of 'expertise' on the subject as people who had read the book, studied the history and been in the musical. Now with my beloved Wuthering Heights, I am afraid that he will do the same.

Two girls in Belgrave killed themselves in a suicide pact. Now the current affairs shows are cashing in, having heavily edited interviews with psychologists warning that every teenager is at risk and that there are 'warning signs' to look out for. The media reaction wreaks of The Virgin Suicides, I can just smell the concerned parent's groups. I'm not exactly sure what I think about suicide, but I know that it is probably radically against the status quo. It's sad for the people they know, but it is a perfectly valid way of dying, perhaps even less tragic than other ways because they chose it.

I want a cat, or a puppy. Anzac day is Wednesday, and I will be spending it alone. Doing housework all day would be more bearable if there was some other creature to bask in the cleanliness I could create.

Lucien expressed surprise at how smooth my back was last night. I hadn't noticed until he said anything - perhaps it is the kind of thing that you need a before and after photo to tell the difference. Apparently I used to have acne on my back, and now it is "perfect". Nice to be called perfect, especially by one's boyfriend. But coming from someone wearing love-goggles, maybe it doesn't mean as much.
I think my body is growing tired of eating. Do people's metabolisms routinely change for no apparent reason? I hope mine has. My starving artist status doesn't quite work with my current level of .. 'curviness'.

HNT #4 - Maria Callas

2007-04-19T18:50:00.000+10:00

I have shed my inhibition - I will post my face, only when it is obscured in some way. In the beret shot, it was my fringe and sidelong glance; in this one, there is something off happening with lights and mirrors.

This is one of the oddest pictures of me, so I better explain it a little. I had just got out of the shower, put on some lip gloss as I was going to work. My hair is all up in a pink towel, and I noticed that the room was full of really bright light.

I was doing typical myspace style shots in the mirror, and this photo was a test to see what angles would be best so I have no real expression. But for some reason, it came out with this bizarre darkness above my head and green tones decending into my eyes. My eyebrows too, which normally are not particular conspicuous, have reached Maria Callas proportions.

This photo reminds me of the song "La Mama Morte", because of the Maria Callas association but also the expression on my face. It looks distant, sad, introspective.. it's also funny how my eyes are set in such moody colours, then the rest of my face is so candy-ish. I like it.

Implications

2007-04-19T00:38:00.000+10:00

Doing what seems to be the normal thing, I decided I should probably write something about what happened at Virginia Tech. I'm going to cross post this to a school blog I contribute to, so don't fret about issues of authorship - it's the same person. One thing that I would like to mention though, before I dive in, is that any mention to US 'culture' is not definitive - seriously, different suburbs are like different worlds in North America, so to judge the country as a whole is a dangerous area. However, there are some inherent differences between Australia that I will try to point out, but yes - I realise that there will be a million exceptions to every rule.

The shootings at Virginia Tech are undoubtedly tragic. I will admit that I cried - after seeing a picture on the news of the second person killed. It is said that he was trying to help the first victim as she was dying before he was gunned down. Then came the journalistic kicker - "He was a month away from graduating."
What power - suddenly a point of commonality was offered up. Watching the news, it is very easy to forget the gravity of unnecessary death, pain and injustice. Every day there are reports of gruesome murders in the next suburb, suicide bombers in Iraq, rapists, paedophiles, et cetera. The worst part is that every day I feel less and less.

But there was something different about seeing his smiling photo, knowing he was a student and realising that we are the same - two young people hoping that our hard work will pay off, hoping their is a place for us in the world and looking forward to it. Then I realised that we were the same person, and now everything he had to look forward to and hope for has been cruelly snatched from him. It's not fair, it's unnecessary, and I am so angry and sad that this happened to him and the other victims.

However, there was a double-edged sword in this tragedy. The media has been quick to jump on the shooter, Cho Seung-Hui. In what seems to be some attempt to explain or even justify what happened, journalists have dug up testimonies and personal writings of his so as to paint him as a thoroughly 'evil' person. The public's common logic will latch onto the idea, and process it as this: Evil person does evil things, fact of life. But there are some much more important issues at play here, relating to the 'why' and the 'what now?'

What drove this man to commit this act? Apart from the 'evil' theory that seems to be saturating most mainstream press, there have been reports that he was delusional, psychotic and paranoid. It's reasonable for one to argue that you would have to be to commit such acts, but the fact that somebody could get to such a point indicates a fatal flaw in mental health treatment and management programs. I'm not here to bash the US; mental health is an area that is greeted with doubt and a rather laissez-faire approach by most countries. But at some point we have to realise that contrary to what Tom Cruise may think, vitamins and sunshine do not a healthy mind make if there is a problem with brain chemistry.
Scientists have examined the brains of healthy individuals and compared them with patients affected with various mental health disorders, such as schizophrenia, anorexia, depression, bipolar, and others. What they found is that there are physical changes to the brain relating to the disorder - in some, parts of the brain have shrunken, in others there is decreased electromagnetic activity, others a lack of certain vital chemicals and hormones.
Medication is useful in treating mental health issues, especially when combined with things like cognitive therapy, behavioural therapy and counselling. Whatever school of thought you like, treatment of some kind is the best way to get better. But what happens to those who, like students, can't afford treatment? Or people whose illnesses have isolated them and impaired their judgment to the point where they can't seek it out for themselves?
The unfortunate thing is that mental health is not just a problem for governments and health professionals, it is a problem for everybody in every community. In news reports, teachers and classmates have stepped forward voicing their 'fear' of Cho Seung-Hui - telling how students felt afraid of him, how he wrote plays about his hatred of his classmates, stalked some female classmates and set fire to a dorm room. Teachers, classmates, family - did these people not feel it was their responsibility to make sure he got help? Reports are coming out that he was taking anti-depressants, meaning that he was seeing either a shrink or a doctor - how come this medical professional did not realise something dire was happening and take action? We can't ask the governments for better mental health programs and resources if the people who really need them are not even going to use them, either because they think they don't need them, or the people around them don't care enough to make sure they get help.

The next issue that comes up is that of guns. I understand that it is a constitutional right of American people to possess a firearm for their protection, but this is clearly outdated - it's not cowboys and Indians anymore. George W. Bush seemed eager to avoid the issue of gun control in his reaction to the issue, and I don't blame him. If he were to say something along the lines of guns being only allowed for sporting, law enforcement and agricultural purposes, I'm sure some of his fellow Texans would personally come all the way up to the White House and shoot him (sorry Cherie). Guns are a far more accepted part of American culture than they are in many other countries, but at some point people have to realise that this is not necessarily a good thing. Having lethal weapons so easily available and so plentiful has potential for disaster, especially if the relative stability of the United States should ever dissolve into something like we are seeing in the Middle East. I sincerely hope that whoever gets voted in next time has the courage to reform gun laws, so that lives can be spared.

The last issue I'll touch on is that of racial/cultural stereotyping. The shootings happened, then I found out that the shooter was Asian. Oh boy. I could just imagine what the popular public response would be - don't tighten gun laws or address mental health infrastructure, let's get rid of international students! Just as September 11 injected prejudice, fear and hatred worldwide and created new generations of Islamophobes, my concern is that the foreign origins of the shooter will encourage yet more malevolence. Cho Seung-Hui hailed from South Korea, but had lived in America since he was 8 years old. The Bush administration has targetted North Korea as the next 'problem area' after Iraq, and unfortunately many people don't really understand the difference between North and South Korea. Will Cho Seung-Hui's acts be taken as an act of hatred towards the ways of the West from 'Korea'? Will he be unwittingly adopted as the poster-child of the enemy?

It is too soon to know what sort of implications are going rise from what just happened at Virginia Tech; whether the Bush administration will finally understand the consequences of the 'gun culture' they are so reluctant to reject, whether people will finally understand the severe consequences of their inaction and apathy towards mental illness in their communities, whether Cho Seung-Hui's terrible acts will signal a more intense wave of hatred and misunderstanding. But we can know the gravity of what was lost on Monday - not just people's lives, but all their hopes and optimism for what the future had in store for them.

Insomnia

2007-04-17T16:09:00.000+10:00

The song I'm listening to right now is bad. I'm not sure why it's on my 'Pod.. I must have accidentally got some of Ellen's music.

Push me, and then just touch me,
Til I can get my satisfaction,
Satisfaction
Satisfaction
Satisfaction
Push, push, push, push
Push, push, push, push

Can anybody tell me what this means? It seems rather dirty.

Last night consisted of a disjointed 6 hours sleep; not great for a girl who usually requires 9 simply to function. Despite this, I managed to make some excellent progress on my essay - pity it was due yesterday and probably won't get handed in until tomorrow. Woe is my academic career.

The Dark Side of the Toorak Mummies

2007-04-17T00:47:00.000+10:00

An Arts degree can do terrible things to a person. With only 12 hours of classes a week, I spend more time than is right feeling like I'm on holidays. This has advantages: I generally wake up at noon (except for my sole 11am start), have four days to make money like a mad woman and thus expand my DVD collection, and I have a lot more scope than the average person to schedule a day of nothingness.
But there is a downfall. When having so few real commitments, one can fall into the habit of watching daytime television.

It is tragic indeed, but at least I can say that I occasionally learn something.
From Oprah Winfrey and her guest Dr. Mehmet Oz, I learnt that walnuts contain an appetite suppressant, I should eat more tomatoes and that my waist size is well within the healthy limits.
Trading Spouses has really given me insight into the huge class and race divisions present in North America.
Ready Steady Cook has taught me not to be afraid of fennel and to embrace zucchini flowers.

One show I have learnt nothing from whatsoever is The Catch-Up. Oh, correction - it may just have taught my brain how to transform itself into a noxious oozing goo. Australia has a bad habit of taking successful US and creating an "Australian version" that is rejected by the public in two minutes flat. It happened disastrously with Australian Queer Eye and Australian What Not To Wear... both cringeworthy endeavours.

So The Catch-Up is being positioned as something like The View (that Rosie O'Donnell show), with less spice. The women involved are Libbi Gorr, Mary Moody, Zoe Sheridan and Lisa Oldfield. Their claims to fame? A writer/comedienne, a journalist, a radio presenter and *cough* the wife of the politician who slept with Pauline Hanson. The producers of this show are obviously trying to position these women as 'everywoman'; representing different age groups, different hair colours, different favourite designers, different husbands, different shoe sizes.. oh the depth! So I decided we could give them Spice Girls-esque names:
Libbi Gorr aka Substance Spice: This woman is actually interesting. Back in the 90's she was working with Magda Szubanski on comic endeavours and had us all laughing with her character 'Elle McFeast'. She is funny, she is talented, she is very, very smart. Unfortunately she is also Australia's Kirsty Alley replacement as the face of Jenny Craig, which almost cancels out all the positive things about her. Libbi Gore would be the saving grace of this show, but unfortunately even she can't stand up to the utter rubbish spouted by the others at every available opportunity.

Mary Moody aka Dried-Up Prune Spice: The owner of outdated prejudices, unpopular and unconsidered opinions, and the worst of all - a wardrobe more suited to a firm-breasted 20 year old. Mary reminds me of a horrible assistant principal I had in high school - sweet mannered but ineffectual, married to convention and protocol, narrow-minded and very comfortable in her social strata. Not one to push boundaries or question unfair procedures. She would do nicely as a nosy but caring next door neighbour, but she must do this first: stop, please, stop exposing that grandmotherly bosom on national television. It's indecent.

Zoe Sheridan aka Actually a Baby Spice: Admittedly, she is quite a bit older than me, but it doesn't show. She seems like the type to fail an 8th grade reading test. I'm not quite sure what function she fulfils - in one of my favourite The Catch-Up moments she offered the following line to man grieving over the loss of his young daughter - "Let's face it, when we die we're just worm food anyway.." Zero tact, even less brain power. Her list of former credits show that she has a talent in hosting countdown shows on radio. What a mind, what a mind.

Lisa Oldfield aka Bland/Real(?) Spice: Once again, I am at a loss as to why this woman is included in the line-up. Her 'fame' stems from the fact that her husband had a relationship with Pauline Hanson in her heyday, a fact that he vehemently denies. The others tout trumped up biographies, labelling themselves 'adventure, mother, writer, director' et cetera. But Lisa has no such trimmings, she even lists her HSC score and her part-time job as the most defining aspects of her personality. Perhaps this isn't blandness, it could be honesty. She also mentions her battles with facial cancer and depression. Unfortunately, any integrity or depth this woman possesses is lost on the excruciating show content.

These woman are positioned for us to accept them as we accept our sister, our best friend, our mother, our daughter, et cetera - the show is based on a premise of female solidarity that is well and truly alive in Western culture. But it falls so far short.
Every female group, whether bound by blood or friendship, is intrinsically different from the next. These differences stem from a million different areas - the dynamics of personalities within the group, socio-economic grouping, upbringing, education, political affiliation, similarity of ambitions or direction, et cetera. As an example, I'll use a female group I am part of.

A sort of variant on the 'Ya-Ya' sisterhood has managed to spring up on my Mother's side of the family. My Aunt Antoinette heads this league, along with another Aunt and her best friend. There are rules, a hierarchy, shared interests, commonality of upbringing circumstances, a mixture of young and old, those who are related and those who are friends. It's great fun; we sit around a couple of times a year, drinking tea, doing each other's nails, gossiping dreadfully and eating enough chocolate, cream puffs, muffins, doughnuts and cookies to solve third world hunger. We also get down to the secret sharing - the cement of this sisterhood.

The Catch-Up is trying, unsuccessfully, to mimic this organic bonding of sisterhood. But by trying to appeal to every woman, they effectively lose every woman - the sisterly group scenario simply doesn't gel on television, but even if it did, it would fail to work unless it entertained some sense of exclusivity.

While researching the show so I could write about it, I chanced upon an article in The Age written along a similar vein. Marieke Hardy is much less scathing but much funnier than I, so check it out.

There are so many things wrong with the show, I don't know where to begin. So I'll start with the website. I hadn't previously seen this, but it opens up a whole new can of vapidity.

These, according to the website, are the 'hot topics' that women want to know about and discuss:
- Measuring Success: Do Diets Really Work?
- Disciplining Difficult Teens: Is Tough Love the Answer?
- Many people use their phones as an address book, without writing down contact details elsewhere. But what happens when you lose your mobile phone?
- Should Australia deny entry to all HIV-positive immigrants? (sadly enough, the poll stands at 85% for 'yes')
- How to discuss embarrassing problems with your doctor.

Wow. I know that these are really the foremost things on my mind.

There is also the absolute killer column on their website called Sexless in the Suburbs, waxing lyrical about the joys of both sex and parenthood. Excusez-moi? Do my ears deceive me? Apart from the fact that one leads to the other, those two tend to be mutually exclusive - even the title of the column alludes to that. The current topic being addressed by the column is "what should be in the Sex and the City movie?". I will admit it - I am VERY interested in that.
But the scenarios that Ms Belinda Cole (who?) comes up with are very frightening.

"Now I have two kids and live in the suburbs myself, I have to wonder; how are Carrie and her skinny friends going to stay relevant in the planned movie version of the series?" Unfortunately for you, Ms Cole, staying relevant does not mean staying relevant to you. Ultimately it wasn't the aim of the SATC girls to get married and have babies - some did, but they all wished simply to find the perfect man and have a relationship that worked. You may have chosen to live in the suburbs and have babies, but for every 'you' who threw it away, there are a hundred girls waiting in the wings hungry for everything those girls stood for. I guess I'm one of those hungry girls. Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte and Miranda are incredibly relevant to us.

Sidenote: Writing that just reminded me of a Simpsons episode where Patty and Selma sat down to watch 'Nookie in New York', a parody of SATC. They describe it as "four single girls who act like gay men", and later sigh contentedly and say, "It's so like our lives!"

Ms Cole probably did believe whole-heartedly that SATC was just like her life before she 'grew up'. But now her priorities have changed:

[I would like to see] Carrie finally discovers that happiness does not come from
the man she has, the friends she has, or even from a pair of extremely expensive
shoes but from the look in her children’s eyes when they are laughing. ..Sex
& the City gave single, independently-minded women, sassy role models and
hallelujah to that but I wonder if anyone will ever do the same for us mums...
If Carrie does decide to settle down, I wish her the best of luck. I hope she
finds contentment and happiness and realizes that motherhood can actually make
you fiercer, sharper and even, funnier.

Cole has hit the nail on the head for me and doesn't even realise it. The SATC girls are role models for independently-minded, single, sassy women - she may have formerly belonged to that group, but she has obviously shirked it now. Why should Carrie then do the same? She has ups and downs during the show, but ultimately she seems happy with her life - there is no need for her to get married or have children to be happy. Independence can be just as rewarding as the husband, kids, dog and picket fence - something that a lot of gushing 'yummy mummies' are very scared to admit.

Erk. I'm spent. This rant is partly brought on by appalling daytime tv, but exasperated by the fact that I will be working at a baby goods store in about a week, surrounded by the exact types that I have grown to detest so much. Wish me luck. No, wish me survival.

Fashion Zoo

2007-04-15T22:58:00.000+10:00

I'm full of Mexican food and mocktails; quite content (see photo, right). Dinner at Montezumas on Bridge Road with Paul after a day of gallavanting? Happy ending to a day that began with a less than happy outlook.

Not sure why, but this morning was not as sunny inside as it was outside. I decided I needed something to cheer me up and picked Fawkes as the likely accomplice for a trip to the Crabapple Bakery for a cupcake. Unfortunately he couldn't be swayed - I jumped on his bed, said "Please" in a million different ways, changed into a cute little red-and-denim Parisian ensemble to try to sway him. It didn't work, so he suggested I take my iPod in place of a playmate.

Disaster struck - iPod was playing dead. Nothing would revive him, so I set off feeling despondent and cursed. Paul was promptly messaged and we caught up in Prahran for some fun at the Chapel St Bazaar which I am ashamed to say I had never visited before. It was brilliant, I saw more than a few vintage red telephones that I needed, except for the price tags..

But once again my fashion-phobias were tested. I ended strutting out of the house wearing my new trenchcoat over jeans and a black petticoat (worn as a dress), with my ruby slippers, red beret and red lipstick. I was angling for 'quirky-cute-French' and did a little social experiment.

For part of the day I hunched my shoulders, frowned, looked at the ground, tugged at my clothes and exuded uncomfortable, vulnerable vibes. For the other part (when I was with Paul), I practically danced down the street, smiling, laughing, standing completely upright and basically being confident and exuding happy and pretty. The way that people reacted to me did change quite a bit - it seems that seeming vulnerability invites judgment and antipathy more than confidence does. Another thing I noticed was that the people who gave looks of approval were the ones who I would consider well-dressed, whereas girls who had obviously fallen prey to phenomenons such as the 'muffin top' were the ones who reacted with disdain. I'm not quite sure what this all means, but I realising in my crusade to understand street fashion and aethetics that you simply can't please everybody.

Too late, bedtime. Oh, and a sidenote - Demosthenes, if you read this, email me!

Materialistic? Me? Never!

2007-04-14T20:45:00.000+10:00

I went shopping yesterday, in a big way. It was magnificent, especially after a year and a half of doing no such thing. So, here is what I bought: a pair of cute indigo straight-leg jeans, a crayon pink swing cardigan, a creamy-beige trenchcoat with a cinched waist and full skirt, some pretty necklaces and bangles, an in-tray and an out-tray for my desk, some embroidered silk shoes and a shiny new clear umbrella alla Lost in Translation. Now I just have to buy the perfect boots and some new underwear then I'll be set. Until midyear sales...

But buying some new clothes from relatively mainstream brands comes with a problem. The last couple of years of my life my fashion sense has adhered to the 'starving artist' ideal - op-shops, vintage, hand-me-downs, and random handmade things. People have commented on my eclectic taste, but honestly I was just scraping clothes off my bedroom floor, then slapping them on along with a "I don't care what I look like" sign on my forehead.
Last night in my oh-so-cute cardigan, spiffy new jeans and a pair of gorgeous little red sparkly ballet slippers I bought last week, I felt like I was suddenly under intense scrutiny. Women do dress for other women, and with my warning label removed I was suddenly up for judgment - like a World of Warcraft character who flags themselves for player vs. player combat, I had a reasonable chance of being slain.
I guess having been out of the loop for such a long time, I am feeling a little clueless. I bought what I liked with little regard to popular fashion, and now I am wondering whether or not I have the confidence to pull it off.

I saw a man today wearing tight, white leather pants with orange swirls and an aqua canvas crotch. He also happened to look suspiciously like George Michael. But he didn't care what anybody thought and swanned around like he was gorgeous, and the charisma oozed. I'm wondering more and more how much of the way you look is based on your skin, your hair, your clothes, and how much is based on your innate style - how you 'work' it?

Right now I am supposed to be working feverishly on my Literature and Cinema essays, due on Monday, but I'm somewhat lacking in motivation. My Lit essay is practically writing itself, so I should be alright.
But woe is me - what a drag two/three impending due dates can have on a girl's weekend! Suki invited me over for a sleepover where we were going to make nachos and watch every episode of The Extra. It would have been brilliant. Perhaps the reason why I am now shirking my work a little is because I'm mad at it, for denying my fun.

Lucien visited me last night. He had a party with some of his law friends at the Belgian Beer Café and came home drunk on cherry flavoured beer. I was less than impressed and shunned him somewhat by going to sleep. In the morning I was surprised by a big bunch of white tulips - he snuck out in the morning before I woke up to go get them. It was so sweet, and unexpected.

Consequently, I was officially in a good mood, so we jetted off up Bridge Road to go hunting for some brunch. After walking past lots of beautiful, atmospheric restaurants and cafés, we settled on an incredibly cheap, tiny one with laminex tables and yellow plastic chairs. I was dubious, but we ended up having a lot of fun. Here is Lucien tucking into the greasefest he ordered - toast with fried eggs, bacon, sausage, mushroom and onion.

There isn't an accompanying photo of me though, but I was munching on sourdough toast topped with spinach, scrambled eggs, smoked salmon and hollandaise sauce... exactly what a girl needs on a Saturday morning! Note: he isn't actually fat or hunchbacked, he was just being silly - in the photo he is pulling a silly face as well.

Seeing as I am in the spirit of photos, here's one of me. Ignore the greasy hair - this was Christmas morning at 3am, and I had spent the previous 7 hours making ridiculous amounts of sushi and pork dumplings.

I love this photo because I was unaware, half asleep and genuinely smiling.. I guess it shows the real me more than any posed photo. Enough, bed time.

Sick

2007-04-12T14:05:00.000+10:00

Ergh. Something bad happened last night.

Normally I'm alright with a couple of drinks; I will get happily tipsy, fall over a little more than usual, then sleep like a baby. Last night was not one of those nights.

I had three cocktails with Lucien but I fear I must have drunk them too quickly. I spent hours, from 1am to about 6am, kneeling on the cold tiles of the bathroom whilst hunched over the toilet. Not ladylike, definitely not fun. The only good part was when I discovered I look quite attractive in a cold sweat. My face was the colour of bleached bone literally, but my skin was all smooth and dewy. Short lived though, I look disgusting today.
I'm suspecting that there may have been a bug involved, or maybe some disagreeable food.. because I wouldn't usually react that way to alcohol.

Rather than crawling back into bed and waking Lucien (again), I managed to manoeuvre myself upstairs where I fell asleep on the sofa with a bucket next to me.

After having my body reject practically everything I ate yesterday, I am trying to consume enough salt, sugar and calories to make myself feel a little better - the problem now is just feeling absolutely drained. I hate being sick, but usually it's the flu... being 'stomach sick' is horrible too.

Mini-Break

2007-04-08T23:32:00.000+10:00

I’m laying in bed, sandwiched between sheets with a thread count several hundreds higher than the balance of my bank account, licking crumbs of Krispy Kreme glaze off my fingers and recovering from a Season 2 Sex and the City mini-marathon and thinking about how it is less than 24 hours until my huggle-bunny joins me and we can go frolicking and getting up to all kinds of mischief in the woods.... This is decadence.

It’s Easter, and it seems every year at this time I take a week long sojourn to the country; to eat extravagantly and constantly, put on pretty dresses and makeup everyday for nobody in particular, gossip continuously and consume unnatural amounts of chocolate. Such a description can only fit one place – Aunty Antoinette’s house.

It is nice to be spoiled sometimes. Even if it means I will return to Melbourne several pounds heavier than previously. Hopefully this will not happen – there is a treadmill here, and exercise bike and one of those jiggly things that you strap on and it ‘jiggles’ your fat away. They are all about to become my new best friends for the next three days, along with this laptop. I have been absent for a while, so here comes a big ol’ blog entry long enough to tide anybody over until I have more time and resources.

Something weird was happening here. For practically my entire existence, my Mother’s side of the family (Antoinette is my Mom’s sister) were all older than me and my siblings. We were the babies.
Now my Mom’s younger brothers have started having children, and it is hell. There were three little boys aged about 5, 4 and 3 and a 1 and a ½ year old girl. I suddenly feel a pang of guilt for having inflicted myself on my older cousins when I was between the ages of 1 and 6. It was detestable, but luckily all the children have gone now.

While they were all here though, it just confirmed once again in my head why I will never be a mother. The children just grated on my nerves. They would throw sandwiches on the floor and I wanted to yell at them for being so inconsiderate. They slapped and poked at my puppy until she growled at them, then she had to go outside. They climbed all over me, they decided what movie we watched, they smelt, they put paint everywhere and smeared chocolatey fingers over everything that would stay still.
But the worst part was their parents. Their parents are quite a bit younger than my Mom and some of the other siblings, so I always considered them a bit more fun. But honestly, I am secretly wondering whether parenthood actually has the effect of converting ones brain into mere gray mush. Sitting around the table, basking in afternoon sunshine and sipping Semillon, conversations would formerly revolve around… well, interesting things. Now it’s all crèche, toilet-training, stretch marks, et cetera. It is as if their children have become the only thing they think about. And even the rare, interesting conversations are brought to screeching halts with a, “Oh my God, Tommy, stop throwing pinecones at that bull!” or “Damn, her diaper is leaking again, can you change that honey?” Formerly intelligent, engaging people have become insipid sycophants, pandering to the needs of a small, inconsiderate, self-centred, unintelligent semi-being.

Sorry to everybody with parental aspirations. I suppose I’m just not built that way. My uncle challenged me today with the usual, “Oh, you’ll change your mind. Hormones will kick in and you’ll be baby-mad.” I guess I’m just going to have to disappoint everybody. There are reasons other than my severe dislike of children and babies which contribute to my sentiments. I, coupled with anybody with even slightly iffy genes in the mental health department, would produce the most genetically doomed child ever to exist. I am also an inherently selfish, sometimes unstable person prone to being jealous and holding a grudge – making me very bad parent material. Then there is the fact that I am pursuing a career where I would never get to do those little things that are oh-so-important in raising a child, so I would end up hating the thing once it grew up. All in all, even if I wanted to have children it would still be a bad idea.

So, there is only one thing to do: I hereby declare, adamantly, that I will never, ever have children.

Now, on to things that actually deserve to be written about! (here is the point where everybody who ever read this journal subjugates me to the ‘bitch’ list)…

I am already somewhat on the bitch list with my family though. At least for this weekend. In the long and tedious car ride to the house, several things happened and limits were pushed until I accidentally slapped my younger sister in the face. I had spent 36 hours being her servant, doing everything in my power to make her happy. I let her do a whole bunch of things in my house, I let her have grilled cheese sandwiches after she had refused to eat dinner, I put very subtle caramel streaks in her hair to cheer her up and I spent $50 on doughnuts to appease her. I won’t even go into what she did to me in return, but I can say that she probably would have treated Bush with more respect. So I lashed out - I meant to just push her shoulder roughly enough for her to get the point, but it was dark and the road was bumpy. I gave my 12 year old sister a black eye. Not exactly the proudest moment of my life. I since apologized though and she’s currently reading my books, eating my chocolate and in bed with me and our puppy about to watch a film with me. So I may be a bitch, but I can say sorry.

I was unsuccessful with The Grapes of Wrath. A year ago, I would have been devastated for weeks; crying to everybody I knew and trying to rationalize it in my head with a million different scenarios resulting in them picking someone else who was obviously inferior to me.
Last Thursday came and went. I checked my email a couple of times, sighed, and moved on. Afterwards I managed to say to Lucien, “That sucks,” but didn’t really think about it after that. I was proud.

The other day, Paul and I were discussing over pizza the role of emotions in how we live our lives. He told me of how easy it was for him to practice emotional detachment, whereas I had to confess to being completely ruled by my emotions. It is so stereotypical for a woman and I detest living up to it, but I am ruled by what my heart wants, what my heart tells me to do, et cetera. I am putting in a concerted effort to be a little less affected by everything though, and I think my ‘disappointment’ in not getting Rose of Sharon reflected that. I did want the part, it was a blow not to get it, but I moved on quickly and painlessly. Never before in my life would I have been able to say that, and mean it wholeheartedly.

On to issues less… well, deep, I have discovered a place that is becoming a bit of a haunt. Boheme on Bridge Road is a café-restaurant-bar that I am growing to like a lot. It is light, bright with incredibly high ceilings. They are unpretentious and very casual (something I am very glad of when it is so close to my house – it’s a place I can be seen with no makeup and bad hair days), like an upmarket pub with an emphasis on the food and coffee rather than the drinks. Lucien and I ended up there last weekend whilst looking for dinner; predictably, he ordered a meat-and-everything type pizza in the largest size they had. He was starving and not in the mood to order something subtle or something to enjoy on a sensual level. He just wanted his stomach to be filled as quickly as possible. I ordered a pizza too, and it was divine. Layered with fresh tomato, torn basil leaves, fresh mozzarella, drizzled with olive oil and cracked black pepper, it was topped with huge king prawns and scallops. I have never previously liked scallops, but these were lovely and quite edible!

I am aching to get out and experience more things; visit galleries I have never been to, drink red wine until I actually enjoy it, go to the Melbourne Museum, do things like go to random film festivals or exhibition launches, shop at the Prahran market every time I need food rather than paying three times as much at Safeway for substandard produce, actually go out with old friends for beer and buffalo wings rather than just talk about it. But there is the issue of means. I am realizing more and more that almost everybody I know has been… supported in some way. They live at home, their parents pay their rent, for their books, for their tuition, they have charge cards or trust funds, et cetera. My sometimes best friend Tasi seems to live on another planet nowadays, and is a good example of this divide. She drives a BMW and until recently lived at a $16000-a-year-plus residential college at university, which her parents paid for, of course. During her time at university, she decided she didn’t have enough time to get a job. She then whined to me, expecting real sympathy for the ‘tragedy’ that had befallen her – she had to do bourbon and cokes at her place before she went clubbing, because drinks at the clubs were just so expensive and she couldn’t afford to get drunk there. I think it was at this moment that I realized that the growing divide between us was insurmountable, unless she grew up or I went crazy.

Nowadays she doesn’t go to university anymore and doesn’t understand why her Mom won’t pay her credit card bills anymore. Also, despite living in a perfectly positioned and comfortable home, Tasi wants to move out and is angry that her Mom won’t pay the rent. I hope that the experience of having to work two jobs simply to pay the rent (with no money left over even for ‘pre-drinking’ let alone going out) will bring her down to earth a little and make her realize how ridiculously easy she had everything before she threw it away.

Meanwhile, I am trying to get on my feet in a way that I have never been before. I’m not sure whether I already talked about this, but I got a job. Irony of the century; I will be selling baby goods. But the pay is good for retail, I will be working three daytime shifts a week and it seems to be a quite secure working environment. I am hoping to eventually wangle my way into becoming Assistant Visual Merchandiser or something that I would actually be talented at. Simultaneously, I am halfway through the recruitment process for the cinema at the Jam Factory. Very hopeful – I volunteered myself for lots and lots of night shifts, if I’m successful.

In typing this, I was suddenly reminded by a comparison that Lucien once made. Upon watching Bridget Jones’s Diary, he laughed and said, “Oh, you two are like the same person!” This was a crushing blow; she is undoubtedly endearing, but ultimately it is not a favorable comparison.
But I see his point. For Bridget, she measured her life in pounds of lard, cigarettes smoked and alcohol consumed. I suppose I measure my life and progress too… let’s see. There is my job and how wealthy/non-impoverished it can allow me to be, being happy with my body and feeling occasionally beautiful, being academically brilliant (bah), my relationship with my darling boyfriend, my social life with friends (do I hear a death rattle?), how well I feel I am progressing with my brilliant career, et cetera.

So, in time the issue of capital will sort itself out, and I will feel better than all those people who can live at home or be supported by their parents because I will have worked harder for what I get.
Easter has been a hurdle in becoming Claudia Schiffer’s younger, thinner sister, but I will be back to my hour of exercise a day and no junk food routine tomorrow. I will go and actually get some things for my face so I don’t turn into a prune before I’m 30.
Essays are coming along, albeit slowly, but I am ahead of schedule and full of ideas. Words are flowing and I am so pleased with my brain right now.
Lucien will be here tomorrow night with bells on, and I am getting some ideas together for our little 2 ½ year anniversary weekend away.
Suki asked me to Click Click and I couldn’t make it, but I am determined to have her over for (this is sad, but we love it) a pint and trivia at the pub. Also planning on seeing about yum cha with Daniel, Lucien and Benjamin… could prove to be a stroke of brilliance. There is also a high likelihood that I will be somehow spiriting Paul away to my hometown for a trip down the coast.
As for career, well, I can’t force things. But I can try to create some luck for myself. I will continue hassling agents until they give me a go, I will continue going along to random auditions for theatre and film, and I will continue saving for the course at the Victorian College of the Arts.

I suppose measuring myself in these areas allows me a sense of achievement about myself that I couldn’t otherwise find.

This has been a huge entry… writing about myself is probably more interesting for me than it is for you to read, so I’ll try in future to either be interesting or talk about something else. Journalism/writing is my back-up career of sorts, so I guess I should try harder to be engaging. We’ll see.

But until then, I apologize in advance for writing trash.

Dial-up!

2007-04-04T15:09:00.000+10:00

It's so amusing.. I haven't had dial-up internet since 1999. I realised my Dad actually still had a dial-up account that he accessed on his laptop, so now the phone line is plugged into my laptop. Brilliant! Now I can type, check email, et cetera. Life is sweet, but I am still incredibly amused by the fact that I am using dial-up.

Spent a day of gallavanting with Paul yesterday.. very fun. We watched one of my new favourite films, Hot Fuzz, and wandered and ate pizza. A gorgeous way to spend a day when one is meant to be at classes! Oh well - some classes as just meant to be missed. Especially when they will be spent discussing the differences between pictures, symbols, propositions, signs, logic, unlogic, reality.. et cetera. I'm really not sure why I chose to study an entire semester of the philosophy of Ludwig Wittgenstein. His work is set out numerically in very short sentences, which I am thankful for, but it is still a lot to grasp. The worst part is that I have to write an essay on it soon.. but I have three other essays to worry about first.

I also auditioned for The Grapes of Wrath, for the character Rose of Sharon. I walked in and read the scene where Rose dreams out loud about her new life with Connie in the city. The director said, "Great, that was great, can you read it one more time and try to make it a bit more ... earthy? I mean, don't make her dumb, but just make it a bit clearer that she's not educated." So, I was louder, a littler coarser, scratched my elbow and put a little bit more of a boyish twang in my voice. The director said, "Fantastic, that was perfect. You can go."
So, I have absolutely no idea how I went! Then a younger man took my photo, and I commented that I had just had the shortest audition of my life. He said that the longer auditions were usually the ones where the actors were having the most trouble. I thought about the woman who was directly before me, auditioning for Ma... she was in there for 15 minutes.

We'll see how it goes, I'll know by tomorrow.

Something very exciting is happening though. Later this year around October, there will be a federal election - the first one I can vote on. And unlike most people my age, I am actually incredibly excited about that. John Howard has stirred my ire for a long time. Certainly I will admit that he is a formidable force in politics, but I am far from trusting him. In his later years, he has come across more and more as sneaky, cunning, hypocritical, nasty and self-interested, mostly as he has tried to cover scandal after scandal. Unfortunately for us, the opposition usually wasn't much better - Kim Beazley and Mark Latham were hardly model citizens.

Now there is someone I actually like and trust, who I hope will be the Prime Minister by the end of the year. But more about him and how I met him next time!....

Not Dead

2007-03-30T21:42:00.000+10:00

I have four major essays due. I have a BIG audition tomorrow, and a very scary one the day after. Lucien and a darling litle kitten that we found are waiting downstairs for me to practice my monologues and lines with, so I mustn't tarry.

Working on some big posts though, in hard copy. Will be transcribed within the week!

She Strikes Again

2007-03-14T18:43:00.000+11:00

Today was oh-so-productive. I rescheduled a job interview for Friday morning, I went to an interview with a talent agent who liked me and wants to get photos done asap, then I headed off to university to do a three-week acting workshop I signed up for.

Disaster struck. I was ten minutes late to class due to some trams breaking down, and as I ran up to the closed door I heard them doing an exercise inside. A name-learning exercise. I heard names like Oscar and Leah, and then the dreaded one. The name of my absolute rival. My stomach turned and I suddenly found myself physically unable to go inside. My spirits fell a million kilometers and I skulked off to console myself with a bubble tea.
I simply cannot live in the same city as her and go to the same university as her.

We were in high school together for a year, and this is what really cemented my opinion of her. She came into our drama class, appearing fun and bubbly. She wanted to hug everybody as soon as she met them and was incredibly friendly. Then I noticed that when I was working with her, she would bitch about everybody else. From others in the class, I found out that she did exactly the same with them. She was two-faced, conceited and nasty, but we let it slide and continued being nice and civil to her.
It got worse though, and she started making comments continually implying that she was somehow 'above' the rest of the class. She was/is a good, if rather limited, actress but it was uncalled for.. especially in a learning environment.
Finally, everything came to a head when we were preparing our Year 12 Drama solos. These were an incredibly big deal... we had to think up and write a 7 minute piece to adhere to a very strict and detailed structure, then perform it for a panel of three judges. Very difficult. It was the day before our exam and we were having final individual run-throughs with our teacher; tensions were running high and everybody was on edge, but what she said was uncalled for.
Our teacher, Kath, had been incredibly supportive of us and had gone beyond what she was expected to do as our teacher. She had donated her lunchtimes, hours after school and numerous spares in between classes to help us prepare for the exam. Especially for my rival, who asked for more help than any of us and received it without a hint of gratitude.
Prior to her run-through, she began a whiny outpouring to everybody else in the rehearsal room. "This is so annoying, I knew I should have gone to (random private school in my town). The quality of teaching here is so bad, especially in Drama. Well, I'm sure that you will all understand if you get C's and D's, because that's just your standard.. but my work is really deserving of an A+ and I just know that I'm not going to get it because she didn't help me enough. I just know that I am going to fail because Ms. C didn't help me enough. It's like she doesn't even care..." Et cetera, ad nauseum. Everybody was ready to punch her - we were silently and diligently rehearsing while she raved about our quite extraordinary Drama teacher.

So I yelled at her. I told her that she was full of herself, she wasn't nearly as talented as she thought she was and that we were all sick to death of her backstabbing and bitchiness. I told her that she got more help than anybody and should be thankful.
I don't yell at people very often, and this overwhelming need to yell at her made me quite upset.. so I ran away and hid in a tree at the park until the rest of the girls in the class came to find me and give me high-fives.
What did my rival do after I yelled at her? She looked around the room and said, "Oh.. was that directed at me?"

Gah. I can't handle her encroaching on every dramatic pursuit I try for in this place.

Wide Academic Sea

2007-03-13T21:09:00.000+11:00

Just had a very lonely day. I caught the tram to uni, went to a lecture, went to another lecture, sat in the hallway reading, got a non-fat hot chocolate that burnt my tongue, sent emails, ate my lunch on the lawn behind the Asia Centre and shared crumbs with a very cute bird. I was alone all day, despite being surrounded by thousands of people with all their friends. University is an incredbly isolated place, and there isn't much scope for reserved, inhibited people who aren't gay, Christian, feminists, socialists or sci-fi addicts to make friends. I did meet somebody though. In my literature class, I started talking to a girl called Georgiana. We have practically nothing in common other than our shyness and inability to make instant friends, but we're clinging to each other so we don't drown. Luckily she is in my Shakespeare class as well.

Other than that, I am madly trying to audition for things. Nervewracking to say the least, I have an audition for The Importance of Being Earnest this Saturday. I'm gunning for Cecily - she suits me physically, I think. I have a rather open, innocent and almost childlike face, I am short and I have a rather high-pitched sweet sort of voice. And as much fun as playing Gwendolen would be, I am simply too young.
Other than that, The Grapes of Wrath is coming up soon, as are an absurdist production and a Shakespearean production. Anything is good.
Oh! I applied for an agency. Hopefully (VERY HOPEFULLY) they will grant me an audition in April. Then I have to wow their pants off and they will get me jobs! As a sort of back-up, I have an interview with some people at another agency tomorrow. These people are less 'dramatic actors' type representation, and more just people for television commercials and extras for movies and television shows. Not my thing, but I suppose saying "Also has appeared in various TVCs" on my resume is better than nothing.

Something I was thinking about a lot today has absolutely nothing to do with the proceeding paragraphs, but I thought I should include it nonetheless. I even wrote a sort of mock-up in my exercise book of what I would write on this subject, but I'm ad-libbing here.
Last year, I had a tutor who I would consider a kindred spirit. I suddenly remembered him today as I walked past where his office used to be and wondered whether or not I'd ever see him again, and again when I was sitting in the hall, wondering whether he would pass, wondering whether he would even acknowledge me. He tutored me in my philosophy subject and was practically one of the only things that could get a smile out of me for the entirety of last year. He encouraged his students to email him some thoughts and questions each week so he could tell we were actually thinking about things. My pieces eventually turned into mammoth efforts asking questions about every facet of philosophical enquiry that we would bat back and forth like tennis.
There was one event that was the only time that somebody at university really reached out to me, and I was thinking about it today. I had an essay on Soren Kierkegaard that was already overdue by days and I had done very little. I came to his office shaking like a leaf with eyes red from crying, and he whisked me away to one of the brilliant staff lounges overlooking the beautiful avenue on South Lawn. He offered nearly two hours of his time, tissues, tea, and words of advice, wisdom and genuine warmth... enough to lift me out of the depths of despair. I finished the essay the next day and handed it in to receive a high distinction, unfortunately marred by the late penalty.
When that semester was over, I continued to email him but was.. 'shrugged'. To him, tutoring was just a job and I was just a student. That is obviously the way that it works and I really shouldn't have expected any more, but I didn't realise that it would be like that. So, my friendship was cut-off, I was underestimated and undervalued and I lost somebody who could have been an incredibly friend and verbal sparring partner. Anybody reading this would think that I was in love with him, but that wasn't the case - he was somebody who I connected with more than all my annoying pretentious peers, and he was the first and only person to really reach out to me when I needed a friend. So now, I don't even know whether the mysterious Zach Weber is even still at the university, let alone in the country. So I guess this will be one of those people whose presence, albeit brief, makes all the difference in my life.

Just Keep Swimming, Just Keep Swimming...

2007-03-09T20:38:00.000+11:00

Things could be so much more simple than this. Right now I'm trying to get some photos and a resume from my laptop (no internet access) to my Dad's laptop (with dial-up, which is thrilling me more than I can say). Now: think up the most contrived and complicated way that I could possibly transfer these files, add a couple of steps and you might be close to what I am doing right now. It involves 3 1/2 inch floppy disks and trying to find non-existent USB ports.

The best part is that I am doing this so I can send snapshots of me (too poor currently for professional headshots) and my oh-so-slick resume (which doesn't actually have more than 10 credits) to poor student and independent filmmakers who can't afford to pay me even if I get the job, and will probably turn me away anyway. Such is life, but it sucks just a bit. I would prefer a great deal if I had an agent doing all this running around for me and actually having access to the 'real' casting calls. Sigh. In time, I suppose.

It is just very frustrating to sift through the limited number of non-agent casting notices for my state and see that practically all of them only want male actors, and the only female actors wanted are either middle aged or elderly.

Other than that, things are whirring away. Lucien is coming up to visit me tonight, which shall be grand. I haven't seen him for a whole week, which is a long time considering we were practically living in the same building for most of the holidays. There will be hugging and playing and much watching of films, but alas... no chocolate. I'm actually serious for once! I've been eating very very very healthily and trying to do at least 30 minutes of cardio and 30 minutes of ballet or pilates based body weight exercises every day. So far I lost about 1kg in 5 days.. which I suppose is good. But I still wish this process would happen faster.

The theme of the moment seems to be "work hard now, results later". In the way I look, my acting 'career', school, et cetera. I'm sure I'll feel great when I actually achieve something, but it all seems so far away right now.

Maybe something great and unexpected is just around the corner. Hopefully.

Disconnected

2007-02-27T14:56:00.000+11:00

Alas, I am finding myself without internet for the first time in ten years. It's .... well, honestly not as bad as I thought it would be. Instead of spending hours looking up things as banal as 'funny pictures of Chuck Norris', I'm doing more important things.. like,.. sleeping?

Ok, so I am really missing blogging and being able to check my email multiple times a day. But life goes on, and when I get a real job, I'll be able to get the internet.
So here is everything in dot-point form:

I am quite possibly not going back to university this semester - I haven't decided but I'm definitely leaning towards taking the semester off.
Certain film star is still quite married, much to my disappointment.
I'm not a film star yet - but I had a really brilliant audition that made me feel better.
I promise to get the internet as soon as possible.

Heartbreak!

2007-02-12T15:33:00.000+11:00

Dear readers, after last post I was jubilant. I had a plan, I knew where I was going, and was excited about getting there. Everything is still very much in motion except for one small, tragic thing that I did not forsee.

Certain Film Star is already married.

Oh. Damn. Big. Sigh.

I spent a night lamenting the loss of my future soulmate, when I realised that it is silly to be sad. The odds are simply stacked against his wife - the divorce rate in the United States currently stands at 49%.
If they don't get divorced, she is quite a bit younger than him and I'm sure once her career takes off, she will be seduced by the lure of all the hot young things in Hollywood.
Also, there are any number of 'accidents' that could happen - cars, planes, jet-skis... and half a million diseases she could contract.
Or Certain Film Star, harking back to his days as a serial womaniser, might grow tired of her and move on.
Or she might realise that she's actually attacted to woman, or animals.
All these possibilities add up to one glorious conclusion - I mustn't lose hope!

Hurtling Along

2007-02-10T20:46:00.000+11:00

I feel like a snowball rushing down a mountain, picking up tremendous speed and getting bigger and bigger as I go along. No, I'm not getting fat (quite the opposite, actually) but things are beginning to kick into a much faster, much more furious pace. I'm handling it all quite well, and very proud of myself!

I've had a bit of a revelation in terms of my acting career. Until now, it has always been a case of "I'm going to be an actress when I grow up". I'm 19 and a half, I think that if there was ever a time for me to grow up.. now is it. I can't just keep waiting for things to happen; so I'm going to make them happen.

So.. new goals in life: 1) Become the bestest actress in the world.
2) Become successful in my art, moving to LA and doing great films
3) Marry *certain film star*
He's only.. about 27 years older than me! I think this is perfectly reasonable (Mum, who is 30 years older than me, disagrees)!

It's very simplistic, but I need to start working harder. There are a billion struggling 'talented' actors for every successful, well-regarded one, and I don't want to be one of that group. This post is probably much more helpful for me than entertaining for you to read, sorry.

In other news, I am officially moving on Tuesday. Nowhere near being completely packed, though it should all come together pretty quickly. So much of the things in my room are just junk that will be thrown away, so I'm not sure there is that much left to pack. Shall be fun, I love having a new room!

In other other news, something rather bad happened. My Dad and his wife split up, after only about 6 months of marriage. As much as I dislike the idea of my father being with a woman who is not my mother, I was sort of happy that he had found someone who made him happy. That way I didn't have to worry anymore about him being lonely or sad.
Apparently his wife was absolutely vicious and hurt him a lot in the last couple of months, so hopefully it's for the best. I'm just not feeling too good about the whole deal, and suddenly feeling incredibly obliged to take my Dad out to the theatre.

My stomach is rumbling. I've been ignoring it all day. I'm on a weight-loss crusade, and I will not rest until I am a mere slip of my former self. Right now I am best classed as curvaceous - no, not 'curvaceous' in the way that fat women say they are because saying "I'm fat" isn't quite as alluring on dating sites, but actually curvaceous. I simply do not like it, that's all.
So today I have drunk a LOT of water, had two pieces of organic millet bread toast with ginger marmalade, a small bowl of miso soup and four prawn and lettuce rice paper rolls. Erk, doesn't sound like a proper meal let alone a whole day's worth of food. Oh well, this is the way I will have to get used to eating.

My, this post has been boring. I'm on a self-improvement empowerment spree and I suppose this blog is getting swept along for the ride. At least I'll have a couple of people saying "Go Rose!" or scolding me if I ever pause in my quests to be thin, a movie star and Mrs. *certain film star*.

HNT #3

2007-02-08T11:56:00.000+11:00

Wearing the fishnets that graced my legs as I played a Can-Can dancer in Annie Get Your Gun!

Starstruck

2007-02-07T12:17:00.000+11:00

I saw Asher Keddie at the supermarket!

...

Well, for those of you who don't know (and I don't really expect you all to know), Asher Keddie is an Australian actress who I have seen perform a couple of times (pictured right with some man wearing waaay too much makeup). She's currently making it in television, working on Love My Way, but she has also done a lot of really good theatre. The Ishmael Club, Cyrano de Bergerac, Les Liaisons Dangereuses, plus things that I didn't see like Chekhov, Williamson, et cetera.
To be fair, I did see two of her plays in VCE and was rather merciless when picking apart her performance. Perhaps I don't agree with her interpretation all the time, but I certainly admire the way she is climbing her way up the dramatic hierarchy in Australia. She is doing what I wish I was doing already, and hope to be doing very very soon.

Anyway, back to the supermarket. I was standing there with my Mum, waiting at the checkout. There was a thin blonde woman with BIG sunglasses on in front of us; she looked familiar but I wasn't sure where from. I subtly studied her for a little while until it hit me - "Oh my God Mum, that's Asher Keddie!!!". Whispered, of course. I was literally a metre and a half away from this woman that I had previously only seen from .. well, lots of metres as she performed on a stage and I merely watched. I was terrified that it might not be her, but then I noticed she was wearing a little diamante 'A' intial necklace. The deal was sealed - it was definitely Asher Keddie.
She was buying, among other things, juice and toilet paper. A lot of toilet paper. I'm not sure why she should need so much - perhaps she's going to a fancy dress party as a mummy? Or maybe she wants to toilet-paper someone's house? I don't know, but my brush with local semi-celebrity was enough excitement for one day!

Rosie-Mellow

2007-02-01T15:30:00.000+11:00

Having a mellow day. Suffering from.. ahem, womanly issues and the best thing to do seems to be to curl up with a book, listen to some great music and doze until Lucien gets home to huggle me better.

To make myself feel better, I went to my local bohemian restaurant/bar/cafe, Tom Phat. I had a salad composed of poached chicken, bean shoots, green and red cabbage, cashews, Thai basil, mint and chilli.. with a hot tom yun goon soupy mixture thrown over the top with extra basil and mint for good measure. It was divine, and has replaced the salmon gravlax at the European Cafe as my absolute favourite dish.

Now, just flapping around doing next to nothing, waiting for my gorgeous boyfriend to come home and hug me better.

Pointless post, maybe?

A Date with a Pot of Wax

2007-01-29T23:12:00.000+11:00

I did it. I talked about it a couple of posts ago, but ended up chickening out twice. But today I went through with it.
I got a brazilian wax. For anyone who wants to be spared the gritty details, skip the next paragraph! It was shockingly painful; now I'm not actually sure why I got it. My friend Louise got one done last year before jetting off to Thailand with her boyfriend. She was absolutely determined, a far cry from her former feminist ravings of it being 'de-womanising'. Maybe it is, but I definitely feel more girly. I feel like something more teen-ish, cute, young and fun. I guess I feel like it suits my age more.
It's been a feeling, all through my 'teenage years', that I'm not really living the way I should be. I feel older than I am, in the way I act, the things I like, the people I like.. but I'm not emotionally mature enough to really pursue them and fit in... going on a tangent.
In conclusion, the wax hurt like hell. But I'll do it again!

On other news, I have an apartment! I know I've already said it - it may not be new news, but it's great news. I've been rejoicing constantly about this since I found out, but now comes the two-week wait until I can move in. The anticipation is killing me. I can't wait to put my posters up, hang my pictures, make my bed in my new room, eat out of pizza boxes on the floor for lack of furniture.. actually, that last one isn't so great. But I'm excited nonetheless.
It's in Richmond, right near a lot of my favourite places. It's near my shrink which is always good, near the Vietnamese fresh markets and restaurants on Victoria Street, near Chapel Street (fashion! clubs! random midnight fun!), Bridge Road (cheap fashion!), Swan Street (homewares), the river which I like to run along and .. best of all... IKEA! I will be in heart-shaped ice cube tray heaven!

Something else that has been weighing on my mind a bit lately is the way I look. Jumping on the scales the other day, it hit me that I am the heaviest I have ever been. I don't look it - I have certainly looked fatter than this before, but it's a worry. I don't look fat, I probably don't even look overweight, but my body is a weight that doesn't make me feel good, or thin. So I have to do something about it. Something big.
I've been working out a lot, trying to do at least an hour of exercise a day. Let's see if this works.

Anyway, midafternoon naptime!

One More Thing...

2007-01-27T15:35:00.000+11:00

Comments actually do serve a purpose - they let me know that people do read this, and make me feel I should continue this. So maybe be a little more forthcoming?

Anger!

2007-01-27T14:59:00.000+11:00

The days of the last few weeks are blurring together in a weird sort of monotony - it's not necessarily a bad thing, it's just nothing is really happening. Sleeping and eating and showering form the biggest events of my days, horrifyingly enough, though I think this recharge time was needed.

Moving! In the next couple of weeks.. probably around the 20th of February. Into a beautiful apartment in Richmond, right next to the Yarra. It has two bedrooms, a study, two bathrooms, open plan living and a huge balcony. There is also a pool in the complex! It sounds much more exciting and exotic than the type of apartment that a student should have though.. and it is. Shall be an absolutely brilliant place to live; it's also very close to Bridge Road and Swan Street, so it should be a breeze getting some job in a boutique or gallery. There are signs up everywhere, and I have retail experience now!
Plus I need some sort of income now that Myer have unceremoniously decided not to keep on the 80% of Christmas staff, as they promised when I was employed. Sucks to trust what the management say, I guess.

Australia Day came and went without ceremony. Lucien played World of Warcraft all day, so I spent the day doing deliciously decadent 'me' things.. like covering my face in green clay that smelt good enough to eat, rubbing different types of moisturiser into different parts of my body, painting my nails, reading Vogue, doing sit-ups and stretches and.. (guiltily) eating this beautiful chocolate. Actually I ate it the night before, but the wrapper was still laying on the desk in the morning! It's called Intense Orange by Lindt, from the supermarket - dark chocolate with slivers of almonds, infused with orange. It was lovely, and I'm not even usually a big wrap for dark chocolate.
Lucien has annoyed me a lot lately.. and yes, I can write this with complete confidence that he won't read it because he wouldn't dare pry himself away from World of Warcraft. That is pretty much the reason for my annoyance. I will admit that I have dabbled in the game and do play occassionally - when he is at work. I think this is acceptable; it doesn't impinge on life this way, it's simply a way to pass the time. However, Lucien tends to be a bit obsessive. In the past he has stayed up all night trying to hand in that quest or get that monster, and every time his subscription ran out he'd vow to be smarter about it in the future. This time is different - he is bestowing a level of importance on this game that is unprecedented. He plays it when he gets home from work until he goes to sleep. On weekends, he plays when he wakes up, maybe goes to find some lunch with me and then plays again until he sleeps. I feel.. not neglected, but angry that a stupid game (that is all it really is) could completely usurp the position I hold in Lucien's list of priorities. He seems to think it's alright for him to play for hours at a time while I simply wait around for him, just so long as he gives me a hug or smiles at me once in a while. It's not nice, and whenever questioned about it, he is so .. well, deluded about how much time and energy he does actually put into it that we end up fighting. It's not a good state of affairs.. I'm wondering if I could sneak onto his account and act like a total prick and get him banned or something. Or.. maybe I'll just make him read this.

So in the spirit of protest, I up-and-left for the weekend to go back to my Mum's house. Protest directed partly towards Lucien, partly toward idiot housemate. Muhahmed, I think I mentioned him in a previous post.
He is the world biggest wastrel, turning on every single light switch in the house and leaving them on. While Victoria is in the middle of a dire drought, he left the taps running hard for 10 minutes while he shaved, while I was waiting for him to get out of the bathroom so I could have a shower. Then he had the nerve to get angry at me when I tried to have a shower, saying that he had wanted to have a shower first. I should have stood up for myself, but no, I was so angry that I could not speak - I simply went back to my room and screamed in a pillow.
He also stole my fan, which Lucien managed to get back through his powers of negotiation, and used ALL of my washing detergent. And when his scary, fat, rich relatives from Cyprus came over he showed them my room. MY room - the one full of boxes and suitcases full of clothes and everything in various stages of being packed. They laughed and muttered and exchanged glances. Grrr..
And he's constantly having loud conversations on the phone in the kitchen, not just loud but literally shouting into the phone. At any hour of the day or night that he chooses.
He has no respect for women at all, expects me to clean up after him and openly stares at me whenever I bend over. So many more horrible things...

Ok, I think I'm done now. He irks me - I used to have some sort of respect for him for trying to improve his English skills and endeavouring to get a job, but I've realised he really is just a vile human being, the type that makes a pig seem civillized.

I feel slightly better now!

HNT #2

2007-01-18T13:09:00.000+11:00

Gratuitous boob shot, I know. It's a photo I took a couple of weeks ago to 'hide' on Lucien's computer for him. But luckily he has expressed interest in helping take some pictures for this little endeavour.. lucky me. Maybe lucky you?

Self-Improvement + Sharks

2007-01-12T15:09:00.000+11:00

I just realised that all the little tiny blonde hairs growing on my forearms don't match. On one arm, they follow some sort of pattern and grow in unison away from the 'inside' - if that makes even the slightest bit of sense. On the other arm, there is less hair but it is just a bit crazy. It's all growing in different directions and the hairs are different lengths. Why, oh why?
I only waxed my arms once, when I was about 14 and I got over-enthusiastic with the novelty of hair removal. I got bruises from waxing - who gets that? It was the height of stupidity, with a dash of humiliation for whenever people asked who'd been beating me up.

Tomorrow I'm going for a much bigger, scarier waxing job. A lot of my friends have it done regularly and assure me that it isn't quite as bad as you would imagine. I'm not convinced, but hey, I want to experience everything once. Perhaps I'll post a little account of what happened for all those brazillian wax virgins. I won't be one tomorrow.. eek.

Hold the phone - something awesome was on the news as I was eating my lunch today. Amongst the regular war on terror updates and the reassuring message that the escaped sex offenders from my suburb were actually caught, there was a reported sighting of a shark in the Yarra River. The Yarra runs straight through Melbourne and is a horribly polluted mess, as are most major rivers that run through large metropolitan areas nowadays (sad), but apparently it's increasing salinity has meant that a shark felt at home enough to swim through it.
So, if you ever fall into the Yarra after a crazy night on the town, your major worry won't be rats, filth or ruining your new shoes anymore.

Lucien was sick today. How much of it was actually feeling ill I'm not sure - he has a big presentation to give tomorrow on ethics, politics and human rights, and there are also a million and one internship applications staring at him with due dates edging closer all the time.
I've been at my Mom's house visiting and generally mooching off the social contact and, well, food that being at home brings. Poor Lucien is stuck in the city with nobody to look after him.

Last year, one of the hardest things about living away from home was the fact that there was nobody to look after me when I was sick. Having my manked immune system, I get sick often. Probably chest/sinus/throat infections about 10-11 times a year, and this regular pattern is peppered with viruses and other lovely things, not to mention the joy that is post-viral fatigue. It seems that whenever I get it, it's worse than the last time, like my body just doesn't ever completely recover from the last bout of whatever. I like filling my life and schedule up with as many interesting and fulfilling things as I can, which is completely out of sync with what my body wants.
Being sick when nobody is around is possibly one of the worst punishments ever. I don't want somebody waiting on me and responding to my every beck and call, but it's nice to know that there is somebody in the next room who can give you a hug if you need it, or drive you to the doctors if it gets really bad. But being alone, and unable to do anything or even sleep through it, is horrible.

How did I get onto such a depressing topic? Oh Lucien, right. Well, he called and he has hauled himself onto a train so he can come home to his parents for a weekend of recuperation and TLC. Good.

A nap would be divine right now, but a horde of aunties are coming around for afternoon tea shortly. Mother is out getting supplies and I'm supposed to be making sure everything looks nice. But an afternoon nap...?

No rest for the wicked.

HNT #1

2007-01-11T21:32:00.000+11:00

I jumped on the bandwagon. But can I think of a better way to get my kit off than in front of strangers? Especially those that I can show the not-so-bad bits too, without having to accept their judgment if I don't want to?

Yes, it's a pretty poor effort for a first go. Oh well, until next Thursday!

Cough, Splutter

2007-01-06T01:58:00.000+11:00

Somehow managing to get less-than-healthy, again. I've had a rather bad cough and sore throat all day, though I suspect it may be from excess consumption of glitter. The Christmas department at Myer is still up and running, and becoming a more bizarre place to be as the days go on. People are coming in and complaining that we don't have enough stock left - it's not Christmas anymore, people. They are honestly starting their Christmas shopping in January. It's beyond belief.

Certain supermarkets are already selling hot cross buns. Despite the fact that any bun on the shelves right now will be well and truly dead by the time it's actually Easter. I know people like to be prepared and avoid the rush, but this is insane.

Besides my disdain for retail practices, work is much fun. I had some fun and lovely conversations with a young (well, a lot older than me) man today - he manages another department, but was working in mine to make up numbers. Despite being almost the polar opposite of my usual type (he is barely taller than me, slender, long sandy blonde hair, a million piercings and a strange goatee, and constantly dressed like some strange emo homeboy that got mixed up in punk rock and fond of annoying me any chance he gets, especially in an Elmo voice), he is quite lovely. Let's call him Billy. Not sure whether this is a 'friendship crush' or whether it is even slightly rose-tinged, but we'll see. Lucien and I came to a sort of 'seeing other people' arrangement, but I still feel wrong about even admitting out loud to crushing on somebody who isn't my boyfriend. And even worse about admitting that if Billy were to make a move, I'm not sure I would resist him. Ah, if only I could be one of those charmed creatures who can breeze through life without ever feeling the pangs of guilt, uncertainty or regret.

And there is a dangerous twist of fate - next Saturday, the cool people from my department are running off to the far-eastern suburbs for an afternoon-evening of drinking and possible debauchery. And a lot of Jagerbombs. Billy will be there, as will I. Treading thin ice! Perhaps I should take Lucien with me to the party, as a sure safeguard. Ah - stress!

By the way, a random note: Lucien protested to his online psuedonym - "Why didn't you just call me Lucifer?". I happen to think Lucien is a cool name, like a slightly French version of like Lucius Malfoy (who I have an unreasonably ardent crush on, considering his fictional status). Keep in mind, I think Judas is a perfectly lovely name for a boy.. if only it weren't for all those unfair connotations.

Bleh, too late - I'm going to bed. Not going to be able to sleep in this heat, but I'll have to try. Going surfing tomorrow!

Resolutions

2007-01-02T02:18:00.000+11:00

Last year my resolutions were rather mundane. Lose weight. Get a tan. Be nice to Lucien. Find a cool job. Et cetera. They were short sentences without reason or a plan for reaching the ultimate goals, so this year is a bit different. 2006 was possibly the worst year of my short life; moving out of home into the House of Mirth, trying to cope with university, suffering horrible jobs and temporary unemployment, trials and tribulations with Lucien and not a great deal of support from people around me.
So the objective of 2007 will be for me to stand proudly on my own two feet, and the theme is thus independence.

I will take care of myself, physically and mentally, so that I don't spiral out of control. So no more junk food, or nights of not sleeping, or days of letting myself get depressed. Instead of letting these things happen, I will actively seek good things that will bring both short and long term gain for me.
I need to have more confidence in myself and my abilities and try not to let it waver, because I am healthy, young, intelligent and probably mildly attractive - there is absolutely no reason why I shouldn't be setting the world on fire right now. To do this, I suppose if I start acting as if I am confident and self-assured, it will eventually become ingrained in me.
Becoming more organised will be a priority. Little things like taking off my makeup before I go to bed or putting my socks in the laundry basket, up to bigger things like actually writing down when I have to work, and making sure I keep appointments. I've taken the first step - I bought a big week-by-week diary and intend to use it well.

And now some little ones:

No more self-deprecation.
Regular goal setting sessions with myself so I can see where I'm going.
Spending less time stressing out about what might happen, and more time just doing it.
More photos on my blog.
Getting haircuts regularly rather than waiting until I look like a drowned rat and panicking.
Taking chances.
Not telling my parents everything; it's not necessary, so I don't have to.
Keeping my own secrets strictly to myself, and not feeling I have to get everybody else's approval.

There. Done, I think. I'm sure I'll think of some more. Hopefully this is the year where I will actually make the leap from being a confused teenager with erratic moods to young lady rewriting all the rules.

Period of Lull

2006-12-30T15:14:00.000+11:00

It's that strange limbo week between Christmas and New Year. I have been basically flopping around my house, my mother's house, my friends houses.. post-viral fatigue has rather knocked me off my feet. About Christmas? Well.. it was interesting. A whole lot of stress and not a lot of fun. I don't even know if people like the presents that I gave them... but I got my digital camera. So expect some interesting photos soon enough.

Yes, I will be jumping on the Half Naked Thursday bandwagon!

Alas - internet connection is too slow for me to include many intertextual references in this entry, so I'll just give a general point in the direction of all of the thousands of articles about Saddam Hussein's execution. I'm not sure how I feel about it yet, but it's definitely one of those events that will be remembered for a long time.

Dining Horror and the Politics of Christmas

2006-12-24T17:13:00.000+11:00

Last night, Lucien and I went to see Casino Royale. I won't spoil anything here, except to say that it was fantastic. Daniel Craig was brilliant as Bond, and by the end of the opening titles I was already in raptures. Go see it, preferrably multiple times!

The film was great, but unfortunately it was preceeded by a pretty disappointing dining experience. We went to La Porchetta for some pizza and pasta before the movie, hoping it would be quick and cheap. It was both of those things, but was it too much to ask for some service? Maybe I'm just being catty, but it wasn't a very good experience. My blood orange granita didn't have a straw, which I let slide and simply ate it with a spoon. Then as our meals arrived, they didn't bother giving us any cutlery. Later as we asked for some ice water, they unceremoniously plonked a bottle on our table without even looking to see whether we had any glasses.
But the low point was my actual meal. Lucien ordered a pizza, but I chose pasta - gnocchi with a salmon, spring onion and capers in a cream and white wine reduction. I had it another time, and it was delicious - several biggish chunks of perfectly cooked salmon (i.e. just undercooked) in a delicate aromatic sauce, highlighted by the sharpness of the spring onions and capers and piquant little sparks of black pepper. The sauce wasn't overpowering, nor was there too much of it: it simply coated the pasta, and that was all - it was great.
The dish I was presented with last night was an entirely different story. The gnocchi was literally swimming in an orangey, oily cream sauce, surrounded by tiny little flakes of greyish overcooked salmon, maybe two or three little pieces of practically chargrilled spring onion, and there were a couple of capers thrown on top. I was amazed, and I actually said to the girl, "I'm sorry, I ordered the salmon gnocchi."
To this she replied, in a rather bratty manner, "Um, that's it."
I sort of looked at her incredulously, and she grabbed the plate and offered to check with her manager. I felt a little bad for complaining, but I felt even worse when she brought back the same plate and roughly put it on the table in front of me and said, "That's it.
Ahhhhhhhhhhh!!!! I was so annoyed at the service to begin with, but then they served me what looked like the scrapings from a hundred other plates heated up! I got angry, but for Lucien's sake and because we had a movie to see, I didn't argue the point. But that's the last they'll see of me.

In other news, it's Christmas tomorrow, though it's strangely getting less exciting and more stressful as I'm getting older. I have spent more money than I have on presents for everybody, and now I have to work a rather long and stressful shift on Boxing Day. I have been sick for the last week (viral tonilitis) so there has been little/no work, but from Christmas to New Year's Eve, I'll be flat out. Oh well, I'll make lots of money. And money equals pretty dresses, cocktails with friends, moving into a my own proper house, maybe going overseas somewhere next year. Oh, and the boring things like school books and student union fees. Mmm.

Lucien is having Christmas with the extended family at his house tomorrow. His little sister is bringing her boyfriend of about a month, so it finally occurred to Lucien that it might be an idea to invite his girlfriend of two years along. Unfortunately I can't go, but I don't think they'd like me anyway. In situations with strangers, it is very easy to 'trump' myself up.. and make myself appear bigger, better and brighter than I actually am. For example; I am not a shopgirl, I work for Myer Melbourne, and I'm not a first year Arts student at Melbourne Uni, I'm currently completing a Bachelor of Arts at the University of Melbourne, and I'm an aspiring actress, I already am an actress. Subtle word games and mental shifts. But for Lucien's family, even the exaggerations that are verging on being lies wouldn't cut it. They're incredibly.. well, not arrogant, but perhaps judgmental. Despite the fact that Lucien is absolutely smitten with me, I am simply not good enough for his family. Not that any of them are doing anything that I would really look up to or admire. But enough on that, Lucien might get annoyed if he reads this.

The rest of Christmas Eve, for me, will be spent rugged up. I'm not well and I'm afraid that I have been acting as if I'm perfectly well. It's catching up with me faster than the antibiotics can work, so I'm feeling quite bad. So the rest of the night will be spent in pajamas with my little pink slipper-socks, laying under a quilt and watching Christmas movies. Quite possibly eating chocolates as well. Hope you all have a similarly nice Christmas Eve, and a wonderful day tomorrow. Visit your families, eat food that you shouldn't, make merry and smile so much that your face hurts!

Social Butterfly

2006-12-18T22:36:00.000+11:00

Made a trip back to my home town on the weekend to do some catching up with family and friends. I ended up meeting quite a few new people, and much to my surprise, I wasn't half as shy or awkward or weird as I normally am. I was actually holding my own with people in an entirely different age group - it was bizarre, but it made me acutely aware of how quickly I am changing from a little girl into a grown adult.

Fawkes took me out to meet Luka, the possible third housemate in the burgeoning moving adventure. I imagined a fairly casual affair, but it was a tad more nerve wracking. Instead of just going out for coffee or whatever, we went out to a waterfront restaurant with Luka, his girlfriend, another friend Jim, and his girlfriend. Being the only non-girlfriend girl there, assumptions were made but quickly corrected. One of the girlfriends seemed to be an avid smoker, so we sat out in the sun for the three or so hours.. wreaking havoc on my skin, and that of our red-headed, fair skin with freckles Fawkes. Drinking for hours in the midday sun is not really something that people our complexion should do.

The thing that struck me the type of conversations that I ended up having; everything felt so adult. The topics were things my parents might have talked to their friends about, and the manner was so practiced. There was no awkwardness or teenage stupidity that is a given with most of my friends who are my own age. The people I was with were only about 6 to 7 years older than me, and I'd like to hope that I held my own with them. One of them asked me straight out how old I was, to which I had to reply with a hushed, "Nineteen," but the others seemed to guess I was around their age. I felt like a secret agent or something, playing a part and pretending to be oh-so-knowledgeable and worldly, just like them. Hopefully it worked.

Another thing I ended up doing was going to a lounge in Flinders Lane called the Purple Emerald, to see Lucien's friend's band play. They were a lovely cute ska-ish band, playing in a tiny, packed and cosy bar. We sat around drinking till the small hours of the morning, and I seemed to be Miss Popular. It astounded me, maybe everybody was drunk, but I seemed to be hot property. I went off to the bathroom at one point, and Lucien's friends turned around and said, "You have such a hot, sexy girlfriend. We finally have respect for you!". My ego was stroked, but no-one's was more than Lucien - he practically could have burst with pride. I will admit that I don't like being identified with those terms, I'd prefer to be admired for being smart, or sparkly, or interesting. But it made Lucien happy. Mmm.. this issue requires more thought - self-discovery going on, and I'm freaking out!!!..

(I've had my weird moment now).

After lunch on Sunday with Fawkes, more fun was had - got some Christmas shopping done and spent waaaaay too much money, rode the new huge Ferris wheel on the waterfront, and saw Borat. I will admit that I was initially skeptical about the merit of this film, guessing it would be the same low humour that rakes in the box office dollars time and time again for film companies trying to make a buck without actually doing any real work. I figured it would be vulgar farce, but it surprised me. On the advice of my little sister, I talked Fawkes into coming to see it with me.
It was fantastic. Firstly, I have to applaud how funny it was. It was hilarious. During the naked wrestling scene, I laughed so hard that I had tears. It really was a laugh a minute, but quality laughs rather than set-up, cliche humour.
But the thing that stunned me and made me walk away feeling like it was a really good film was the revealing way it captured a slice of American culture and society. Borat's dealings with people were set up to be humourous, but often portrayed a pretty shocking view of certain groups of American people. It's funny that people were complaining about the portrayal of Kazakhstan when America was represented so horrifyingly and worst of all, honestly. To anybody who has seen the film, did it not strike you as shocking that the woman at the dinner party would even show Borat's character in detail exactly how you go to the toilet in Western countries, but could not tolerate the presence of an African-American prostitute - even one who did appear to be quite mild-mannered, polite and even sweet? Or the way that the fans at the rodeo clapped and cheered when Borat naively declared his hope that Bush would drink the blood of Iraqi women and children? Or when that man actually said that he was hoping that they would bring in laws to hang homosexuals?
I thought it was Borat's major strength to be able to carry such heavy political and social sentiments, whilst remaining ridiculously funny. I adored it, can't wait to get it on DVD.

Now back in Melbourne, and feeling a little worse for wear. I'm hoping this isn't a return of the dreaded glandular fever that haunted me all through my final two years of high school, but I have to say that it feels similar. After napping and having some noodles this afternoon, things felt a bit better, but I seem to be slipping into the same malaise now. Oh well. Think positive. If I act like I'm healthy and well and fine, hopefully that will be enough (plus some vitamins) to fend off sickness.

Moving - Part II

2006-12-13T22:49:00.000+11:00

Well, not moving. Or at least not moving in the format previously specified. Will pulled out. In a particularly pathetic way. I have to say I am incredibly disappointed in him - when we first came to Melbourne, he was so juvenile, so bratty. I thought that he had grown a bit as a person, but it seems no. He's willing to stay here in a bad environment and just 'cruise' along, rather than strive for something better. Oh well, it's his loss.

Anyway, one obstacle isn't enough to stop me. Fawkes is still keen, assuming that he gets the job he almost has (finding out on Thursday next week). If that is all ok, then we have very little to worry about, except finding an awesome house post haste!

I'm just so excited about finally getting out of this hell-hole, and being in a place where I am surrounded by a select number of people who I share with, as opposed to this hierarchical arrangement. A place where I can have a say in the happenings and goings-on, where I can relax about leaving my stuff in the fridge or my soap in the shower and not having people throw it away. A place where I won't get unjustly yelled at and blamed for every bit of mess. Somewhere nice and somewhere that I can actually call home, rather than 'that place where I stay in Melbourne'.

The future looks bright, and even the darker bits seem surmountable.

Drinks?

2006-12-11T19:49:00.000+11:00

It signals a new era:
There comes a time in a girl's life where she is not a lowly student struggling to pay the rent and study, but a young woman flitting about town like the social butterfly that has been hiding inside a cocoon for so long.
Instead of sitting at home watching Scrubs in pajamas and eating noodles out of the box, here comes a new Rose, going out for 'drinks' on both Wednesday and Friday nights this week with her work mates from Myer.

Now comes the stressful part - what to wear? How much to drink? What sorts of conversational topics are alright? So many ways in which I could potentially screw things up.
The plan so far is to drink one cocktail very slowly (so I don't get silly, but enough to make me relax), talk on general topics so I can get to know people, and wear what I wore to work but perhaps with a pretty necklace, some different makeup and nicer shoes. Now all I have to do is stress less.

I've been thinking a lot about myself in a social context lately. I barely have a friend in Melbourne, other than some who I am sorry to say that I neglect. If I were to have a party, I would have nobody to invite. It's sad, but it's true and I want to work on fixing that. I think I need to open up to people and stop being so shy and elusive. People get tired of having to chase me and give up; so I'll make myself a little easier to catch. I'll also be braver.. talk to strangers in the cafeteria at work, on the train, and at drinks on Wednesday and Friday. I'll also have to try harder; not forget birthdays, or to return calls - to initiate social activity rather than to wait for it to fall on my doorstep.

Moving (hopefully)

2006-12-11T17:34:00.001+11:00

What a waste of a day. I woke up at about 1pm, walked to the shops and shared some KFC with Will (what a gourmet treats, bleh) and procrastinated.. procrastinated again, and then procrastinated just a little more. I was meant to go home to my family for the day, staying until tomorrow. I was meant to be giving my little sister her birthday present early, and making industrial amounts of shortbread for everybody I know. I was also meant to be meeting up with a friend, Fawkes, to discuss the moving in together we are hopefully going to be able to organise.

The plan as it stands: Will, Fawkes and I will be going to have a look at a house on Wednesday night. It's a three bedroom terrace house in Fitzroy, close to Brunswick Street. One of the major draw points for the boys is that it is a mere 200 metres or so from a pub. Hopefully it will be nice. Hopefully our application will be accepted above any others received. Hopefully it will work out.

I'm investing a lot of hope in this venture. I'm so eager to get out of my house, and building my hopes up to this level is bound for disaster.

New Dress(es)

2006-12-08T22:28:00.000+11:00

I bought a dress today. I love describing clothing, so I'll tell you about this one and the one I bought last week. Shouldn't be buying dresses right now - I have started at Myer, but I haven't been paid yet!

My last-week dress is shortish and full, made from cotton. It has thin straps that tie into bows at my shoulders and it is a sort of faded apple green with peachy coloured flowers on it. It comes in at the waist and flares out to end just below my knees.

My today dress is cream coloured cotton, and a similar shape to the last dress but much longer. This dress finishes mid-calf. The bodice and hem have periwinkle ribbon edging, matching the periwinkle sash. The dress has large (maybe 6 or 7 centimetres in diameter) polka dots on it in orange, navy, grey, green, and mustard yellow. The colours sound like they don't go together, but it makes me think of a faded rainbow.

I'll draw some little graphics of each of them for you, I think. I'm thinking about adding some tea-dyed broderie anglaise to the bottom of each of them, because I'm hopelessly addicted to floaty dresses and skirts edged with lacey stuff.

Working at Myer is fun, but exhausting. You sort of have to grit your teeth and count down the hours to each break. So far I've worked 3 shifts, and I have a slightly crazy shift tomorrow. 9am until 7pm. Because it's Christmas, and I'm working in the Christmas department too, it will be mayhem. It's already slightly crazy during weekdays. I'm oh-so-slightly worried - I'm kind of slow at the moment, because I'm not confident at all about my ability to work the cash registers. Hopefully they'll recognise that I'm not going to be that much help in that regard, and make me just stock shelves. I did that today and it's so much easier - I even got a nice workout in my thighs and butt from so much squatting and crouching. And it definitely gave my feet a rest, which was much appreciated! They are currently all bruised and rubbed raw.

As I was leaving tonight on my way to the Hyatt, I was walking behind a couple and their daughter. One thing that struck me as completely odd was the fact that their daughter was on a leash. Yes, a leash. She was strapped into a little black harness with a leash attached being held by her dad. The worst part to behold was that this little girl kept trying to hold on to his hand, but he would pull his hand out of reach and make 'shoo-ing' gestures at her while he and his plastic woman strutted down the street.
This shocked and astounded me. Not because I'd never seen a child-leash before, but because of how... unwanted this little girl must be feeling. I don't want children and I never have, and although part of that comes from purely selfish reasons, one important thing is that I don't think I have got what it takes to provide for a child. Not in a financial way, but I wouldn't be a good mother. I am not someone who can devote time and attention, someone that a child could look up to as a model for their own behaviour, someone who could help their child with homework and guide them through moral dillemas, someone who could love unconditionally and always have time. I'm selfish, and the task of keeping myself sane is something that requires so much effort that there simply would not be enough left over for a child. But I am glad that I can acknowledge this.
These people were treating their child like a person would treat a puppy that couldn't be left at home by itself, so they had to begrudgingly take it along with them (mind you, I would treat a dog with a lot less contempt than they showed for their daughter). The responsibility that goes with having a child is so much more than making sure they have clothes, food and schooling; a parent should be someone who makes an everlasting impression on their child, in the best possible way - they should be someone that their child can look up to, learn from and be able to turn to for advice, guidance and support. If people aren't ready for this, why on earth do they do it? Abortion is not that hard; people should wait until they are responsible enough for children, or not have them at all.. rather than putting children through pain, confusion and isolation.

I'm going to get flamed badly for that.

Personality Crisis

2006-12-05T19:02:00.000+11:00

When I was in Year 12, the stress and Spartan regime of study, study, and more study really got to me. Not that I did all the studying I should have... but as any procrastinator would know, not doing school work can be a lot more stressful than actually doing it.
At the time, I told Lucien that I felt like my personality was 'fading'. Everything fun, or interesting or unique about me was just being zapped out of me, until I was just bland and dull.

It's happening again.

Cookie Dough

2006-12-05T02:49:00.000+11:00

Whoever invented cookie dough, ready-made in a tube, should be shot. It is the reason that I currently feel sick and guilty and pathetic. Or maybe I should be shot for buying it at 2am and eating a fifth of the stick.

And Lucien said that I looked so thin today. I suppose that will all be changed by tomorrow morning.

Apart from random melancholy, today was rather alright. I started at Myer, in the Christmas department. They told me it would be busy, but I had no idea it would be this busy. There was a cue of about thirty people at each register when I started, and it didn't let up for two hours. Eventually it calmed down, and I could start doing some transactions all by myself. Tragedy struck at 5:40pm, just a little before I was meant to finish. I was carrying a box and I managed to walk briskly into the solid platform-stand, resulting in a mighty lump and cut on my shin.
Anybody who has hurt their shin would know, it hurts a lot. Not only are you hurting skin and the tissue underneath, but you hit bone as well. I told myself I was ok, but after about 15 minutes I had to tell my manager. She gasped and rushed me off to the staff room, called the floor manager and a first aid person. There were ice packs and incident reports, but I'm fine. There is so much fuss over OH&S, but I suppose it's for everyone's good.

It still hurts though. It's so swollen that it sort of 'jiggles' whenever I take a step. I've been walking very slowly and carefully.

I'm a Rabbit I'm a Fox

2006-11-27T17:42:00.000+11:00

New favourite song: "I'm a Rabbit I'm a Fox" by Laura Jean. I don't know anything about her, and I haven't heard any other songs - I just came across the song on a friend's MySpace. I adore it, you can download it at her website.

I got sunburnt today. Will and I went to the pool for some exercise. Got some, but I am suddenly seeing faint freckles all over my face for the first time since I was about 8. I suppose I am doomed to being forever fair-skinned, without a hope of sunbathing without freckles, sunburn and general damage. It's just so odd, looking in the mirror and seeing strange little dots all over my face. Only on my face. My shoulders and chest are just pink, but my face has added pigmentation. Strange.

Today was an almost waste of space. I had a job trial at a café in Richmond at 11am, but before that, I called Myer to check the score. They told me that I was in the system now, and somebody would be calling me in the next couple of days to let me know that I was on next week's roster. Good. Making some progress here. For those not in the know, Myer managed to lose or destroy my tax file form twice.. and due to my lateness in handing in the form, my name is taking some time to get into the system. Right. Well, hopefully I'll be a working class girl next week.. raking it in. I need to. I just discovered the acting course I want to do next year will cost around about $4000.

It's hot, I'm sunburnt, Lucien is off doing jiujitsu. I think it's nap time.

Bounce Me Higher

2006-11-24T03:14:00.000+11:00

I guess I'm in recovery mode. Came close to a relapse, but no cigar - I won the battle this time. To admit this, I'm not saying that everything is peaches and cream, because that is so far from the truth that it is laughable. But things will be improving, and I am feeling more optimistic about it now.

Had to be said. I never intended this journal to become the scrapheap of my mental health issues and self-help mantras; I pulled the plug on my former journal because it became just that. However, sometimes writing something down makes it solid. "I will get better" in my head can just as easily change to "I'm fat" or "University is too hard" or "My father doesn't love me". But the same sentence written down can't morph into something bad unless I let it.

So I won't.

Oh, I decided not to audition for Beauty and the Beast. Auditions were encroaching, and I had a particularly hard week leading up to the audition weekend. I eventually decided that it was too much effort, pain, money and time for such little reward - with politics the way they are, there was no chance and no way that I would possibly get Belle. I might have gotten ensemble, but things are complicated and it would have been given begrudgingly.
I have decided a better option is to try for The Pajama Game, being put on by UMMTA, the University of Melbourne Musical Theatre Association. I might have a chance at a role, it will be closer to my base of operations and who knows.. I might even make some friends at uni.

When I was littler, my family would go to Apollo Bay for two weeks every summer. We'd stay there with most of my extended family (Dad's side) in this big, old beach house. There was a huge willow tree in the backyard with some kind of raft nailed to the branches - our treehouse. Nobody worried that we'd fall out of the tree or get polio from rusty nails. There were chickens in a little run at the back of the yard, and sometimes they would jump the fence. We would chase them with sticks until they got scared enough to jump back into their run.
Each day all of us children would go to the beach as soon as we'd been slathered in sunscreen, and swim and play all day until we were so tired we could do nothing but drag ourselves home to bed. We'd peel our sunburnt skin off and compare it, and poke our hungover uncle asleep under the pool table. We would beg the adults for money to run off to the carnival or buy fish and chips.
But the best part was the trampolines. Every summer, the highlight for me was going trampolining - usually we'd only do it once, but I would look forward to going to Apollo Bay all year because of the trampolines. They were big, Olympic sized trampolines set into the ground so I couldn't fall off and hurt myself. I would jump until I felt sick, whirling, flipping, somersaulting.. screaming and laughing the whole time. I loved the way my hair would swish around my face and I was weightless for a couple of seconds. Adrenaline and endorphines galore. I loved it when my knees would buckle after being on it for ages; I'd land on my feet and crumple down to my knees and fall over on the trampoline.. a giggling, jiggling mess of a girl in socks and leggings. I loved it.

I'm beginning to crave it again. Definitely literally, but maybe figuratively as well. I want things to happen. Good things. Things that are so intensely wonderful they make me laugh and fall over. Things that make me smile until my face hurts, and I feel like my chest is going to burst open and rain little love-hearts, stars and flowers on everyone.

My shrink suggested today that I should take a.. patron of sorts. Perhaps an older man to provide some sense of companionship, in exchange for some sort of sponsorship. Nothing sexual, nothing untoward, nothing like that at all. Nothing that Lucien would have a problem with, of course. I suppose I'll have to explore the option further with my shrink, he said there were more people looking for that type of companionship than I would think. The idea freaks me out somewhat, I suppose I have changed a lot in recent times. Lots of things that I thought I'd never be able to do are suddenly things that I have done without looking back. I guess I'm growing up a bit.

Bubble-Wrapped

2006-11-23T13:09:00.000+11:00

Posts have been sporadic, I know, and I'm sorry for it. This journal of sorts is a bit of a release for me as well as an exercise in brevity+quality rather than length+rambling (you can see I am losing the battle!). And I guess I sort of hope that you enjoy reading it too.

Lately has been .. strange. I won't go into too many details, but I'm currently not so well. On the brink of mental breakdown, I have had two people looking after me 24 hours a day for the last week. Now they have both left and it's violently quiet. I don't think my shrink would be very happy if he knew I was being left alone right now; he's up to seeing me every second day. It's all a bit full-on.

And on to happier topics of conversation! I realised I hadn't been doing anywhere near as much roaming around Melbourne as before, so I took it upon myself to do it all at once. Fabulous for my mood, bad for my figure and purse. Seraph and I went to San Churro Chocolateria on Monday. We both ordered some type of delicious white chocolate shake (mine was white chocolate and berry), and shared a plate of churros (see right) with chocolate ganache. It really says something about a churro when you have to drink a chocolate milkshake to cut the sweetness and richness! We walked away with full tummies and big smiles; as 'gourmet' churros go, these were awesome.
A couple of days later whilst at the Queen Victoria Market, we got some more churros. These were less the 'served on a beautiful plate' type, and more the 'shoved in a paper bag with a clump of icing sugar' type. But they were still lovely. It's worrying that I should be addicted to something so fried and decadent. Oh well!

The last couple of days have been rather hot, so on Tuesday Lucien, Seraph, Will and I all headed off on the 96 tram to St Kilda Beach. It was lovely - there was cloud cover, but it was still hot and windy. The water was ice cold, which Lucien couldn't handle, but I was in love with the contrast. We played with a ball, and splashed around and had fun until we noticed some wind whipping across the water. It was coming towards us, but we ignored it. Suddenly on what had been absolutely calm, glassy water, diagonal waves were coming in towards us. As we looked up on the beach, the wind was fierce; the entire top layer of sand was hurtling down the beachfront, collecting items of clothing and towels as it went. People were screaming and running, but of course, we were in the water and couldn't feel a thing.
So, we decided to make a run for our stuff and get out of the water before the storm hit. The dash across the sand to get our towels was painful; the sand was hitting my calves like needles and the wind was so strong that it knocked me over a couple of times. We ran with all our stuff up to a grassy area and crouched with towels on our heads. Eventually the squall stopped, but storm clouds were still looming angrily, so we left in favour of fish and chips. Very exciting... even if it did put an end to all my splashing and diving and pretending to be a mermaid in a black tankini.

Lucien has moved up to Melbourne with me for a couple of weeks while he has a summer clerkship at a law firm. I'm not sure how I feel about this.. I should be bursting with joy that my boyfriend, who I'm usually seperated from, will be living just a couple of metres down the hall. However, it has come with it's own little set of problems. Eating is one of them. Being a semi-unemployed student, I am quite regularly poor. This means eating relatively well at the beginning of the fortnight and then slowly as my resources dry up, resorting to having ryvitas and cheese or two-minute noodles as a meal. For days on end.
However, Lucien does not have this fund problem. So it's a bit much to expect that we can take turns in buying food and cooking, because I am simply too poor. But for him to chip in more or even pay for things, I don't like it - even though I'm barely scraping by, I like to hold on to the small vestiges of independence that I have. So it's an issue.
Another one is mess. Lucien has never really moved out of home before, nor has he ever lived in an environment where his mother doesn't do EVERYTHING. I mean everything. I am sure she would brush his teeth for him if she could. It's all very caring and everything, but he doesn't seem to get how suffocating it is. Anyway, because he rarely has to do much work around his house, he doesn't seem to get the whole 'clean up after yourself' thing. My house is a disaster right now, and although none of the mess is mine, it's very disheartening to find half a dozen empty bowls with traces of custard (Lucien likes custard as a mid-study snack) and a housemate glaring at me to clean it up. Little things, but they are irritating. I may be Lucien's girlfriend, but I am not his maid, and it makes me angry to think that all the other boys in my house truly believe that I should be cleaning up his mess.

Oh, in terms of housemates, we have some adjustments! If you have no idea what I'm talking about, see this post. Karin and Clark have moved out to much hearty celebration, whereas Raj left in the night without even telling us he was leaving. So, introducing the new recruits:

Muhammed - Overgrown man-child with no social skills. His irritating habits include turning every single light and fan in the house on and leaving them on, leaving taps running (hello? water restrictions?) and leaving a piece of fish in the fridge for several weeks. Apparently in his country it's ok to whistle at a girl or snap your fingers at them to get their attention, and he has already made some just fabulous comments about me - "Why you eating all the time?" - "Because you stress me out!"

Rick - Token gay emo man. Why token? Because he inflicts it on himself. He has the quasi-American-effeminate voice thing going on, and a penchant for peppermint tea. All in all, he's quite nice, but very shy. However, his hypochondria is tending to get on my nerves. Every passing conversation in the hallway or over the kettle has been about his migraines, his supposed glandular, his chronic fatigue, his insomnia, his anaemia, etc. He has covered his door in amateurish pastel drawings with captions like "You will haunt my heart forever" etc.

In a week or so, we're about to get another one, a young lady called Tina. And some karate people from Okinawa. And how many rooms are left?.. - one. This will be very interesting.

Legend of the Dog-Faced Woman

2006-10-29T19:56:00.000+11:00

My aunt. I shudder at the very thought of her.. she's horrible.
Picture this - a short, wide middle-aged woman who lives in regional Victoria. In an effort to be 'trendy', she has orangey straightened hair cut in layers around her shoulders, clashing nastily with her rosacea-ravaged skin. She never wears any makeup and dresses in anything neutral coloured, box-shaped or masculine. Her voice is enough to strip the paint or flesh from anything and send me into spasms... but the worst part is what comes out of her mouth.
Never before have I met anybody so pig-headed, small-minded, selfish, stupid, unreasonably arrogant, racist, rude and idiotic as her. She's quite simply a waste of space.

Today at my cousin's birthday party, we were sitting on the patio talking about Al Gore. My Dad was telling the others about his views and what he had seen in An Inconvenient Truth about global warming. My Dad actually works in sustainable energy and has the EPA's phone number on speed dial, so it's all very relevant for him. He was talking about how dire things would be if the ice cap on top of Greenland did slip, how it would trigger major tsunamis that would affect countries next to the Atlantic, how the sea would rise 20ft resulting in many major city centres being underwater.
All my Aunt asked was, "What about R___ [the regional town she lives in]? Will it be underwater?".
My Dad said, "Probably not, it's a fair way above sea level."
She started laughing and said, "Good, because that's all I care about. Ha, imagine that.. I'd have a beach front property! Wonder how much that'd sell for.. two acres right on the beach!" She then started laughing.
I looked at her like she'd just shot baby Jesus in the head, and my other Aunts clued in and told her to shut up. What a cow and a half.. I couldn't believe that anybody could be so callous and stupid.

More happened though.. I have a new cousin, who I did not know about. She is apparently a couple of weeks old, and absolutely tiny. Everybody was commenting on how much weight she'd put on, and I felt sick. She was miniscule and very frail looking - her mother smoked and drank copiously all through the pregnancy. It's disgusting. She shouldn't have been allowed to have a child. At the gathering, she just foisted her baby off onto everybody else and sat around outside smoking and drinking again. Unbelievable.
It's petty, I know, but I am annoyed that she and I share the same middle name - Rose (yes, Rose is my middle name in real life). My grandmother's middle name is Rose, her daughter is called Rosemarie, and I (her granddaughter) has Rose as my middle name. When my parents had me, they asked my grandmother if they could use the name as a way of honouring her. Since me, two more of her granddaughters have had Rose as their middle name.. without asking, and it's ticking me off.

Grrr! Bad vibes everywhere!

Here We Go Again

2006-10-24T22:53:00.000+10:00

After such an abysmal time doing Anything Goes, I'm gearing up for another round of self-destruction. I'm auditioning for Beauty and the Beast.
The hope behind this decision is that it will wash away the bad taste brought about by my last show; I'll be doing something I believe in, I'll be appreciated, I'll be surrounded by hard-working and professional people for once and hopefully I'll be in a role that I can really flex my performing muscles. I'm gunning for Belle, but hundreds of girls will be, no doubt. None of the other female roles really suit me.. the Silly Girls call for busty and flamboyant girls. I am certainly busty and sometimes flamboyant, but Lucien noted that it's in a way that somehow doesn't compare to certain other individuals in town - they look like sex objects you'd see in a magazine, I apparently just look 'nice' and elegant. The role of Babette would be fun, except my dancing would probably not be up to scratch after being out of it for so long. Too young to play Madame des Grande Bouche or Mrs. Potts... I suppose I could play the Enchantress, but she's usually just a member of the ensemble and doesn't speak, doesn't sing, doesn't dance. Head a-splode!

So, the plan is to tailor my audition song and monologue towards Belle. Of the characters in the show, she suits me to a tee, but she also will be the most difficult to get. But we'll see.

Tomorrow is the last day of school. I'm freaking out - I have an assignment due in eight days and I haven't seen the film that I have to write on yet. Very worrying. A couple of days later, I have another essay due.. then I have to do a philosophy exam. Eek.

I had my first day with Myer today... actually, it was still training, but it was so strange and nice! I rocked up in a suit, shock horror, despite the fact that everybody else was dressed quite casually. One girl even turned up with jeans and converse on, for her first day at a job where the preferred dress is very clearly stated. She didn't even try, but she ended up being quite annoying and argumentative so I disregarded any sympathy I had previously felt for her. We sat in the 'Learning Institute' from 9am to 5:30pm, but it felt so much longer. I suddenly remembered everything that high school felt like.. the minutes that felt like hours and the times when you seriously wondered whether or not the clock was going backwards. A couple of times I actually caught myself blinking so heavily that I would almost fall asleep.
It wasn't all doom and gloom though - after the actual training day, I went to visit my department and introduce myself to my manager. She wasn't there, but I met a nice boy who is working in the same place as me and only started yesterday. Everybody in there seemed to have a less strict, more jolly idea of uniform. Instead of everybody wearing suits, the girls I saw were wearing variations on this theme - black pinafore dresses with white tops, curls in their hair and glitter on their faces. I later discovered from the nice boy that everybody gets covered in the glitter just from being on that particular floor. It was great fun and it felt so magical just being there. It will be so lovely, being surrounded by magic and Santa and trees and snow and glitter and fun and joy for a couple of months.
Ah! Excitement!

I am still bemoaning the loss of Olympia Manet. Where is she? I hope all is well, but I am suspecting the worst. My mind is flying to the worst case scenarios - maybe a crime of passion was committed after a client read Postmodern Courtesan. Maybe she is sick. Maybe, maybe, maybe. I am hoping that it is something fairly .. well, innocuous - like she had a change of career, or she fell in love and decided to shed her former life, or she just had a close call with someone discovering her identity and decided to discontinue her intrigues. I just hope she's ok, and if she reads this for some odd reason, good luck Olympia.

I almost got 'done' by tram inspectors today. I bought a daily concession card to travel into the city for work and out again when I was done. On my way back home, I was asked to show my ticket - which I did. They asked to see my concession card, and I thought, "Sure thing". Reached into my coin purse.. where is it? I hunted around in my bag, getting frantic, couldn't find it. I had it this morning and it doesn't seem to have fallen into my bag and tucked itself into a book or anything. I have absolutely no idea what I have done with it. Luckily for me, the ticket inspector was a young woman who saw how flustered I was getting and said, "Look, don't worry about it. I could fine you, but they're already busy at the other end [of the tram] so they're not going to notice. I'm just going to walk away." I whispered thank you, and couldn't believe my luck.. first at being so unlucky to lose my concession card, then to be so lucky to have such an understanding ticket inspector.
Now.. the tricky part comes in trying to get a new concession card. This would be easy if it were one of the tertiary travel ones, but no - my particular concession card was also my health care card, and I certainly can't pay full price for all my prescriptions. So, I'm in dire straights. Must find replacement!

Spending a Summer Wasting

2006-10-17T15:11:00.000+10:00

I have a couple of days in between shows, and I literally feel like I'm wasting away. I'm not sure whether it's coming down from such an adrenaline kick during last weekends' run, or whether I'm coming down with something, but I am feeling incredibly lethargic. And sinus-y, sore throat-y and muscle ache-y. Woe...

Oh well! I'm tremendously excited about going on the bike again on Thursday. I found my old Doc Martens and made sure they still fitted me, and on Thursday morning I'm going op-shopping for a pair of jeans (I only have stiff, tight 'girly' jeans, that I fear would be incredibly uncomfortable). Though it is not without an ounce of guilt. My Dad told me today that he didn't want me to die, and therefore didn't want me going on a motorbike again, no matter how experienced the rider was. I don't want to go against him, and I know it is probably dangerous, but it's so fun!

Mmm.. let's not talk about that again. This morning I had to rush into the city at an ungodly hour to get some tickets to see Al Gore. I'm not sure exactly what he is speaking on, but my Dad said, "Get tickets, ask questions later". The tickets were free, but limited to 4 per person, so he enlisted me to get some for my shrink who is overseas.
To congratulate me on my sterling effort of getting up before noon, my Dad took me out to breakfast at Bistro d'Orsay, across the road from the Regent Theatre. Being brave, I decided to do something I haven't done in probably more than 15 years. I ate egg. Yes, it was that shocking for me too.. but it was actually quite nice. Mind you, I took the easy choice by opting for scrambled eggs on ciabatta with bacon, rather than something as threatening as a poached egg staring up at me. But it was nice! I think I'll have to figure out how to make it myself, as good as they did.

Anyway, it's ridiculously hot in my bedroom, so I think it's time to put some clothes on and run around. Ciao!

Frenzy x 10

2006-10-16T14:54:00.000+10:00

What a long time between posts, and what a lot has transpired. It would be far to much for me to detail every single little thing, so I'll give you a context and then give little snippets of the events surrounding the last couple of weeks. Here we go!

Last week was production week, leading up to opening night on Friday. From Tuesday onwards, we worked our butts off every single night from 6pm till 11pm, before getting kicked out of the theatre and having to continue notes and revisions at the local all-nighter pizza place. I would take off my makeup at night and wake up with the horrid oil-based orangey foundation still clinging to my face in the morning, no matter how hard I thought I had scrubbed. It was hellish... especially the absolute bitchiness that was going on backstage constantly. Let the snippets of heaven and hell begin.

The first big issue began when I had a little 'constructive criticism' concerning a costume. Originally I was given a ghastly blue dress full of shoulder pads, then an ugly purple dress I simply could not breathe in, and then.. worst of all, a wine-coloured polyester sack. Literally, this was a drop waisted dress with long sleeves and a high neck, possibly the least flattering thing ever for somebody with a pronounced hourglass shape. The fabric hits the slightest curve on my body and falls straight down.. now it's worse - due to an issue with static electricity, we sprayed it, leaving huge stains. Just peachy.
I brought in a dress that had belonged to my mother; she bought it from an op shop when she was 13, and it is clearly a 1930's dress. It's beautiful - black matte organza with a subtle cream pattern of wisteria, slightly off the shoulder, high waisted, completely sheer (needs a black slip underneath). On all accounts, it was perfect. All accounts except for the costumes ladies who denounced it as 'not the right era'. Hello? It was actually made in the right era, then they handed me that polyester abomination with a dropped waist? That was a hallmark of the 20's.. grrrr.

Eventually I was told to ask the director what he thought of the polyester dress. He basically unloaded on me, saying that I was being ridiculous, precious, I needed to be a team player and get over it. Concluding words: "If you don't wear what you're given, you're out of the show. Simple as that." Bastard..
The worst part is that many people were having issues with their costumes. My friend Carmel, who taps in the show, was asking him if she could wear an alternate costume - her reason was admittedly much better than mine. She has a rather energetic dance in one scene, then has to run off and get changed for the beginning of the very next scene into a heavy full length coat with about 30 buttons down the front. As soon as this short scene is over, she has to run around for the next scene and get into another costume, in which she has the tap for several minutes. After a couple of rehearsals, she realised it wasn't working - she couldn't breathe and almost passed out on stage. And the directors' answer to this issue? "Well, you'll just have to deal with it." He has been a complete prick to everybody who has had the decency to ask him about anything - lots of people have changed their costumes without telling anybody and nobody is any wiser. It sucks to be punished for common decency.

Another bad thing that happened was the beginning of what will be an ongoing battle between Regina and I. I think I mentioned her in another post - she considers herself Queen of theatre in our town. In actuality, she is not a particularly good actor, singer or dancer, but people clamour for her attention and approval nonetheless. She only casts her friends and criticises anybody who isn't a friend. Unfortunately, I have managed to capture her ire.
When running through notes after a rehearsal, the director mentioned something about an ensemble reaction (a strategically placed "Awww!"). Clearly, he was wrong.. he was simply missing a part of the script and making a logical jump which didn't make any sense. And I had the gall to challenge him. In the nicest possible way of course. "But Billy is still in disguise at this point and he has just broken up the marriage. Why should this be a good thing? We are still thinking that he's some random Chinese convict bride-stealer?" The director stood there, his mouth gaping open like a stunned mullet. He was wrong, he knew it, he didn't want to admit it. So Regina, who isn't the director, she isn't even in the show, jumped up and started shouting, "Look, this is pathetic. You need to learn to take direction, this is the biggest problem in the show... none of you know how to take direction. This is one of the worst casts ever because you're all so arrogant to assume you can do a better job than him, and you can't." Instead of running out of the room, or crying, or yelling at her and telling her that I hoped she died from syphillis, I simply stood calmly.
The worst part came afterwards. I was waiting to go onstage when she came strolling up behind me - "That wasn't just for you, it was for everybody. But don't ever talk back to your director."
"It was an innocent question and I was right. Everybody knows that I am write, and he hasn't got the guts to admit it."
Regina shrugged, rolled her eyes and stalked off, not before I delivered this line in my most cutting, spiteful voice: "You're not the director, Regina. Get over yourself".
Ooooooh.

It has all been a bit stressful. It's hard to fake such exuberance and absolute frenetic joy onstage when all you want to do is kill people and cry as soon as you get off. But Lucien has been lovely.. he supported me the whole way through and has stood up for me quite a bit. He has dealt with me sobbing hysterically in the pizza restaurant carpack at 1am, struggling like a frantic bird as he tries to calm me down. He has dealt with all the hate flying around backstage and tried as much as he could to shield me from it. It has been lovely, and I haven't always been in the right state to appreciate it, but it has meant a lot to me.

Another thing that has been nice is re-establishing old friendships. Benjamin is becoming a best friend again.. he came over to do some weight training, then we went for dinner at Stalactites last night. Only place open at midnight on a Sunday! I have also made new friends, one in the form of the black-wearing, motorcycle-riding dark shadowy ninja, Seraph. I suppose I should call him by his online handle rather than creating a new psuedonym for him, so Seraph it is. Apparently we met at a particularly geeky gaming cafe two years ago - he remembers it with such clarity, it scared me a little. Lucien took me to the cafe late at night after a rehearsal, and I was wearing a full pink skirt and a pink cardigan. Perfect for hanging with the guys.. *laughs*. Seraph remembered it, and I can vaguely recollect him helping me to play a game while Lucien was neglecting me. Strange.. I was so much younger then, in so many ways, now we've met again.
He took me out during one of the after-show parties for a ride on his motorcycle, which was one of the most exhilarating experiences of my life. I loved it.. I love the wind whipping around me, the feeling of moving so fast (180kph, don't tell!), and clinging on for dear life, feeling like I was simply going to hit the road at any given corner. It felt like being on a rollercoaster, and I adored it. He is picking me up on Thursday in Melbourne to take me back to our town for the next run of shows.. meaning riding on the highway for more than an hour. I'm so excited.. I want it to be Thursday now!

Unfortunately, making new friends is not without its disadvantages. Theatre people are notorious for the gossip and rumours that can spring from nowhere. Despite making a big show of the fact that I was in fact going on a motorbike for the ride rather than the company (though that was fun too), rumour has started that Seraph and I left the party for a 45 minute long romp in the bushes somewhere. One of my less-liked castmates actually asked me at the next party (it is a long string of parties punctuated by actual shows) if I had fun "bonking on a bike". In front of everybody. Luckily, the absolute spite spreading around the cast has given a good education in preparing razor-sharp retorts, so I gave some cuttingly clever comeback and that was that. I just despise the idea that people think I am as.. well, loose-moralled as a lot of them are. It's funny that there is a very high proportion of Christians in the theatrical circles, considering some of their drunken, vulgar, promiscuous behaviour. And here I am, the atheist who barely drinks and only sleeps with my long-term boyfriend. Go figure.

There are a few more shows to go - one each on Thursday night, Friday night and Saturday afternoon. Then packing up everything in the theatre and more partying. I'm making a concerted effort to be sociable.. I'm usually reknowned in these circles for not turning up to all the parties and post-show 'piss-ups'. I have made an effort this time, but I am yet to see whether it's worth it.

One more week of hyperactivity and then I'm all yours.

Tower of Pisa

2006-10-07T17:22:00.000+10:00

Leaning dangerously to one side, increasing the likelihood of a tumble each second. Lurching ominously, because the foundations are shifting and sinking beneath her. One day she will fall, and everybody will suddenly jump up and say, "Damn. I should have seen it coming."

Being cryptic.

Anything Goes opens next week, Friday 13th (ha). Call 5225 1200 for tickets if you want to come. Feel like spending $30 to watch good (debatable) theatre? If that phone number looks nonsensical to you, then you are probably too far away from the theatre to actually come, so don't worry about it! As for me, I'm barely in the show, so it's probably not a very good exercise in stalking.

Enough. iLectures to listen to and essays to write.

Rocket Man

2006-10-04T15:13:00.000+10:00

Listening to a lot of Kate Bush right now. My new 'Pod has become my best friend, especially in view of the events of late. I'm sick, overworked, freaking out about the pressures of uni and less than a week out of theatre. Things are coming together in a mighty crescendo, and it's worrying.

But today is such a nice day, I'll pretend nothing is wrong.

Today is 30°, yet tomorrow is supposed not to get past 18°. We have a total fire ban today in most parts of Victoria, yet tomorrow I'll probably be freezing various extremities off. What is going on?

I'm also wondering/worrying where the lovely Miss Olympia Manet has gone too.. her website Postmodern Courtesan has been offline for a couple of weeks now. I was hoping she'd reappear, but alas, no such luck. As usual, my mind is flying to worst case scenarios. I just hope nothing so bad has happened to her. Olympia's journal really was a pleasure to read and was one of my favourites.

No more today. We'll see how inspired I feel tomorrow.

Wishing and Hoping

2006-09-24T19:05:00.000+10:00

Ahhhh! I just got back from a gruelling 6 hours of rehearsing in a draughty shed where it would have been lucky to be 10°C. It wasn't very nice, and it was so far away from any sort of retail strip that I couldn't just run out in the rain during our 5 minute break for food. But oh, how wonderful!

Today I got to play Hope. Hope Harcourt, the debutante is the role in Anything Goes that I have been understudying since the rehearsal period started in July. It has been ridiculously bad - travelling back and forth between Melbourne and rehearsals three times a week for practically nothing. As the understudy, that means I can't have a very good role in the rest of the show unless I have to be pulled out to play my character instead. But now suddenly, it's worth something.
I knew every line, I sang every song (even though I was gasping and coughing whenever I wasn't on stage), I even danced the entire Delovely dance without missing a step. It was great.. I was so surprised at myself, I haven't really acted in anything for a long time. University and VCE got in the way, as much as I hated it, and this is reminding me how much I adore it. Lots of people commented on how surprised they were on how much work I'd put into it and the director came up and told me I was doing a 'beautiful' job. Tremendously exciting - what was even better was seeing all the committee members watching me. They are the people who prevented me getting the actual role, because I wasn't experienced enough, and now they're seeing me doing an awesome job. So HA! Give me a role in the next show!

Sorry, I'm just so happy and excited and glad and relieved... more updates soon! I have to do the same thing again on Tuesday and Thursday!

The Den of Slack

2006-09-23T11:33:00.000+10:00

Another post devoted to bemoaning the sorry state of my habitat. Sorry. I guess I'm just procrastinating about going in to university on a Saturday to photocopy a small rainforest worth of paper. But there are certain things 'going down' in Brunswick at the moment that are playing on my mind.

Karin and Clarke are moving out today. Horray, but not - this practically decimates the female population of the house. Although Karin can be a rather painful person to be around, our collective femaleness I think helps calm down the absolute testosterone that is otherwise bouncing around in here. I fear my inner-city home is about to become the ultimate den of slack - the bachelor pad.

For a week and a half, I have been either at my Dad's house or at my Mom's, generally being the annoying grown-up offspring who comes home and lives in their pajamas, makes a mess in their old room, sleeps till noon, eats everything in sight and responds in monosyllabic grunts. Needing to gather some materials for a research assignment, I had to venture back last night. On my homecoming I was greeted by a half-metre high pile of dishes and a house full of blowflies. No, I'm not talking about my housemates, I'm talking about the abnormally big, loud scary black flies that seem to be attracted by filth in it's many incarnations.
The thought of frequenting the common areas much longer was too much to bear, so I retreated to my room. The horror! Underneath my half-open window was grit and dust, which was strange. Then I noticed some grey feathers laying around near my door. A pigeon was in my room!

Of course, I couldn't bare to sleep in there. What if it was still in there, hiding somewhere? What if it hadn't been able to figure out the escape route and had crawled somewhere to die? All these thoughts were running through my head, and I felt physically uneasy just being in the room. I despise pigeons, a lot. They're so creepy and disease-ridden and weird. There are so many of them in the city, they are the worst kind of vermin. Like rats with wings.
So I was too scared to sleep in there - I had to sleep on the couch. Joy.

Upon waking up, I could see even more grossness that I wasn't able to quite discern in nighttime light. I couldn't find a clean spot on the bench to put my glass this morning as I was pouring juice. Argh!

So I'm apartment looking. And I'm looking for one cheap enough that I can afford it whether or not Lucien goes in with me.

Boys Don't Cry

2006-09-16T10:22:00.000+10:00

As you can tell, I'm currently listening to the The Cure. Now it has changed to The Clash.
I'm in the process of deciding what music I'll put on my new 'Pod, whose name is Shibuya. Yes, I'm giving it a name - it was the 'cool' thing to do in high school, so I'll continue it. My friends had Sebastian the 4th generation iPod, Igby the 3rd generation, Donnie the 1st generation wasabi green iPod mini. Introducing, Shibuya the 2nd generation pink iPod nano. Yay!
I'm sorting my music before putting it on there because I have a lot of junk. Do I ever want to listen to I Only Wanna Be With You by Samantha Fox again? How 'bout all those fairly random clips of me singing? Do I want to listen to all that? Not a chance, so why put it on there?
I'm so excited!
Now we're onto Norah Jones. Mmm.

It's funny that when mp3 players first really hit the market, I jumped on it. Normally I'm one to wait a while until technology get better and prices go down, but for some reason I just wanted one straight away. The result is sitting in front of me right now - a Creative Nomad MuVo player, 64mb. And guess how much it cost me! $150, for what is effectively junk nowadays. It's amusing/frustrating.
I think I've given Apple sufficient time - after all, I'm getting a second gen nano, rather than those first gen ones that simply snapped as soon as you put them in your pocket.

I had a big list of observations to post here, but I lost the list. I've forgotten most of them, so I'll type what I can remember:
- I went to McDonalds yesterday afternoon, famished and needing to rest my weary lungs after being unceremoniously dumped in the city by my father. I took my little ElMaco burger upstairs to see one of the saddest collections of people ever (myself included). Let me stereotype them: there was the overweight, unattractive office clerk/secretary reading a romance novel whilst chowing down a large Big Mac meal with two burgers (ouch), a man in a suit with a briefcase and a bald spot, trying to conceal the dirty magazine he was reading by tucking it into something finance-related while he sipped his thick shake, a scraggly single mother with about 4 radically different looking children running riot everywhere as she yelled at them ("Cartier! Chanel, stop that! Come here Houston"), an elderly couple complaining about how hot their chips were, two ethnic men having a business meeting loudly in a foreign language! I was sad too, sitting by the window overlooking Elizabeth Street, coughing up various internal organs and car parts, surrounded by bags and wilting birthday roses, staring hopefully at my mobile phone. The scene was set against Coldplay and the hum of almost-peak hour traffic below. Oddly surreal, and kind of pathetic.
Maybe I'll have to go to McDonalds more often. On.. uh.. research. Yep.

We're on to Pink Floyd now.. Dark Side of the Moon. I love it.

Ahh! Another observation - I was sitting in a café in Richmond yesterday afternoon waiting to go to the Shrink. I had some lovely tea, Frutti-Tutti it was called.. so I was just sitting there, dreaming, soaking up the warmth of the day and the relaxed hum of my surroundings. I was rudely awakened by this horrible woman who came into the shop like the Queen of Sheba. I have a feeling she may be somebody from television; she looked kind of familiar. Maybe C-grade Australian celebrity, or even D-grade. She was talking loudly to the simpering pansy-man at her side who was clamouring and gushing. She marched over to the counter and I'll write the rest like a script. Let's call her Dominique (don't know her real name).

Dominique: Is your coffee decaf?
Barista: Yes, we have decaffeinated coffee available.
Dominique: And are you sure it has absolutely no caffeine in it? Because oh my God!
(to the entire cafe, loudly and obnoxiously) I drank a cup of coffee this morning and I had heart palpitations for 4 hours! Caffeine just does that to me, I'm a very sensitive person. I mean, if I don't eat a macrobiotic diet then I just feel so lethargic, you know? So can you please check with your manager, or maybe even call the supplier to make sure it has no caffeine in it, thank you! (turns from the bar, sniffing loudly and begans engaging in inane prattle with the pansy-man)
Barista: .... certainly. (she talks to the manager, then returns) Yes, the decaffeinated coffee has no caffeine in it.
Dominique: Did you check with the supplier?
Barista: I asked my manager who has worked with coffee for the last 25 years.
Dominique: Well, I want you to call the supplier and ask them, there's a good girl.
Barista: (looks visibly angry but obliges. minutes later returns to the bar. her cynicism and annoyance is showing in her voice now, but Dominique is oblivious) Alright, I spoke to the supplier and they assured me that there is no caffeine in the decaffeinated coffee.
Dominique: (looks the barista up and down, narrowing her eyes and taking off her sunglasses) Well, I'm sorry, the last time I drank decaffeinated coffee today, it obviously still had caffeine in it. I mean, I was having heart palpitations for 5 hours! It was so bad I was wondering whether I should call an ambulance or not! And to think, that somebody sold me decaffeinated coffee that still had caffeine in it, when this is what it can do to sensitive people like me!
Barista: (looks at her incredulously and sort of throws her hands up in the air)
Dominique: So I'll just get a lemon, lime and bitters.
Pansy-man: I'll get a flat white.
Dominique: Ohhh! Hold on a minute, I didn't mean one from the fridge. No, can you please make one for me? A fresh one?
Barista: Alright.. (she begins mixing one)
Dominique: (has begun loudly talking to Pansy-man once again, before she casts a glance back at the drink which has been made by now, along with the flat white) Oh my God! You didn't put lemonade in that did you?
Barista: Yes, it's lemon-lime syrup, lemonade and bitters. Is there a problem with that?
Dominique: Well yes! There is just too much sugar in that for me! Last time I had a Coke, there was just so much sugar that my blood sugar levels went through the roof! How am I supposed to work when I can't even stand up, I said to my boss. I'm just such a sensitive person! On my last cup of coffee today, I had heart palpitations for 6 hours! So, can you make one with just soda water, lemon-lime and bitters? Oh and crushed ice and a slice of lime. Oh, and can you hurry up, for God's sake - I have already been standing here for 15 minutes and I have an appointment in 10.
Pansy-man: Can you make me a new coffee? This one is cold.

I felt like strangling these two and giving the poor barista a big bunch of flowers. It was absurd.. I stuck around, sipping my tea slowly enough to watch all this unfold, but as soon Dominique and Pansy-man sat down, she noticed me glaring at her.. so I ran away.
Ahh, the stupidity of it all. I wish I had an underground magical mystery man, like Amelie has when she confronts Collignon - a person to say, "At least you'll never be a vegetable, even artichokes have hearts!" so I can repeat it. I would have loved to have said something malicious to this horrible woman..

Anyway, 'tis late and I must go breakfast-hunting.

PS: I was just trawling through Wikipedia when I chanced upon some take-away food that was a big part of my childhood, Mos Burgers! It was a Japanese fast food chain in Taipei, where they would see all kinds of awesome rice patty teriyaki burgers.. yum! I want them to come to Melbourne!
I think I'll send them an email.

Wish I Had A Window

2006-09-15T12:26:00.000+10:00

The subject line of this post is designed to be sung to the song "If I Were a Rich Girl" or "If I Were a Rich Man" by Gwen Stefani and from Fiddler on the Roof respectively. Followed by 'lalalalalalalalalalalalalala' - yes, I counted, and it is the exact number of 'la's!
Why do I wish I had a window? My bedroom in Brunswick has the tiniest of pathetic windows, just big enough for me to fit through and it faces up at the sky. Boring. It's so tiny and exposed that I have the shutter drawn always, otherwise I just get this blinding beam of white light falling through.
When I lived in my favourite house in Caroline Street, I had a wall of windows. Literally. One entire wall was full-length windows that opened up onto a courtyard filled with roses, lavendar and a nice shady tree in the middle. It was beautiful; the wind would drift in carrying the scent of flowers and summer, lifting my sheer white curtains and just filling my room with 'happy'. Because I had so much window space, I took to using one of them as a whiteboard - I'd write and drawing over the window with red lipstick which cast the most intriguing shadows of backwards words on my bed. Unfortunately since then, I have moved twice and am now facing the worst window situation ever. Tiny window facing the morning sun and nothing else, a view of all the corrugated iron and cement roofs in Brunswick and the smell of traffic and industry wafting into my humble abode. Ick.

Right now, I'm at my Dad's apartment in Richmond, overlooking the river. It's glorious.. I feel like I'm living in a treehouse. Huge windows on every external wall, trees and birds and flowers everywhere to be seen, sunshine and fresh air streaming into the house through open windows. I feel ridiculously unwell, but it's nice to be surrounded by something so nice.

Over the next couple of months, I'm apartment-hunting. The House of Mirth is good fun to write about, but unbearable. I simply can't handle it. I can't handle the XBox being on so loud until all hours of the night. I can't handle listening to Raj having loud sex every single night. I can't handle the Neanderthal, full stop. I can't handle the fact that whenever I buy food, someone eats it or throws it out. I can't handle the lack of space. I can't handle being kicked out of my own living room whenever Karin and Clarke decide to be space-sucking lumps. I can't handle the greasy dishes that just get put back into the cupboard. I can't handle idiots who don't know how to answer the intercom or the phone, making me run from the other end of the house in my underwear for it when they were in the same room. I can't handle the way they eat like loud, obnoxious pigs.. it makes me feel ill. I can't handle being picked on for being a girl, liking pink, not being a goth, being a 'jaffie' (college freshman), etc etc.
I've had enough, so I'm moving out.

I think my Mom is giving me a white dinner set as a birthday present, and my Aunt already sent down boxes and boxes of kitchen utensils she doesn't need anymore. It's kind of funny - she's a millionaire and has far too much stuff, but did she really think that I needed 24 champagne flutes? Oh well, I'm amused but I won't complain.

Nothing has yet been written about the birthday, I'll write it up as a story/fairy tale for next time. I'm feverish and coughing up a lung right now, so I'll get back to bed. Adios amigos.

It's My Birthday

2006-09-13T02:54:00.000+10:00

If I weren't lying in bed surrounded by a sea of used tissues, I'd be dancing.
If it weren't 3am and my head is so stuffed up that I can't see straight, I'd be eating cake.
If Lucien weren't sick too and hadn't decided not to visit me, I'd be receiving a big bunch of flowers.
If it weren't my birthday, I'd have no reason to feel disappointed for circumstances being so unfavourable.

But it is my birthday. Paul just ditched me on MSN, I suppose he can't help a used-up laptop battery. I can hear Raj and the Neanderthal snoring in their respective rooms along with traffic on Sydney Road. The city really does never sleep..

It's kind of gutting to think about it, but I just realised that never have I had a birthday before where I have been -
a) away from my family, and stuck in a horrid place full of neanderthals
b) completely isolated from my friends
c) feverish, sniffly, sore throated and generally blah
d) feeling like I'd rather be in Molvanîa

In a previous post, I outlined my 'miserable' birthday - involving a pajama party, Thai food, movies and generally relaxing and pampering myself. Even that, which I dreamed up as the most Bridget Jones thing ever, would be better than this. Lying in bed away from everybody and feeling like an utter mankfest.

Meh. This sucks. There probably won't be another post here for a few days at least.. not a happy girl.

I will leave you with my most favourite poem in the entire world. It is of a fictional poet, and it serves as the introduction of my favourite book, The Great Gatsby.

Then wear the gold hat, if that will move her;
if you can bounce high, bounce for her too,
Till she cry "Lover, gold-hatted, high-bouncing lover,
I must have you!"
- Thomas Parke D'Invilliers

Jai Guru Deva

2006-09-12T11:31:00.000+10:00

That's the line from Across the Universe by the Beatles that everybody messes up. Always. They either say it vaguely and pretend they know what they're singing, skip over it entirely or invent some weird English approximation. I think it's like a chant/saying from Hare Krishna or some other Eastern religion, meaning something peaceful.
That song is one of my favourites, though I will be a brat and say that I like the Fiona Apple version even better. The Beatles version has a certain rough 'unfinished' aspect to it, whereas Fiona's drifts along sleepily like the perfect pensive music. No, the lyrics don't make a great deal of sense but it's easy to listen to that song and feel even for a moment that you have all the answers in your pocket.

I spoke to Darcy Quinn yesterday. ~~It's been a while~~.. it's been a ridiculously long time. Despite our friendship, there was only rivalry in Year 12. Constantly trying to outdo each other in everything, even in social situations. We are incredibly similar in some regards but we differ in some ways that give her a distinct advantage. Yet she has always considered me a 'threat' to her greatness. It's kind of amusing considering that after everything, she got dux of the college and I got a measly score that didn't even break into the 90s.
I have always had that peculiar relationship with her. In even the smallest things between us, there would be competition.In real life, we have the same first initial and the same middle name, so we devised a monogram that managed to encompass us - and proceeded to graffiti it oh-so-subtly in tiny letter in random places throughout the school. We would bounce off each other's creativity and ingenuity, having enormous fun with each other, but then it all became more guarded. We were purposely aloof with each other, I don't even know what we were trying to prove. I would get angry when she'd sit plugged into her iPod ignoring everybody, she'd get angry when I would flit off to lunchtime rehearsals or go to the park during lunches rather than spending time with her. It was very strange, like very calculated psychological warfare between two people who actually click and know each other better than most. It wasn't even malicious, it was just tricky.
But now I have a feeling that it has changed. I spoke to Darcy yesterday after a break of about 7 months. We used to see each other everyday. We spoke of her moving to Melbourne, me studying Literature, her seeing a lovely young guy who used to work in the record store, me turning 19 in a couple of days, etc. We had a good conversation without a hint of competition, just an actual desire to see each other again and play! Maybe things will work out. I know that Darcy and I will always be competitive, but perhaps this is a sign that we are growing up enough to realise that it's better being friends than rivals.

Tomorrow everything will be changed.. I'll be 19. Nineteen. That's a year away from 20, signalling the end of being a teenager. Teen culture, throughout the eras, has always been so magical - unfortunately nowadays it's a bit manked, for lack of a better word. Stupid emo kids, they have ruined it for everybody... being an emo teenager is possibly The Worst Thing Ever. Not only are you despised for being so attention-seeking and ridiculous, you're too busy forcing yourself to be miserable and hating the world that you can't even have any fun. Plus, when every silly little brat runs around telling everybody who depressed and suicidal they are, it takes the seriousness away from people who actually have a mental illness, but I'll continue that rant later. Being a teenager used to be something magical, especially for girls. Some teens that were pretty damn cool were those such as Arlene and Betsy (left), in the movie Dick, and all the girls from The Virgin Suicides (yes, they died, but who doesn't? - there picture is above at the start of the post). They are beautiful, free and magical - they inspire a sense of wonder and intrigue in everybody they meet. I want to be like that, but alas, I only have a year and a day left to be a teenager.

Oh, another good thing about being a teenager is that you're allowed to have silly crushes. Like on this fellow to the right - Trip Fontaine, played by Josh Hartnett. *dies*

I suppose he is the male equivalent - also beautiful, free and magical. Trip Fontaine, as a character is also accompanied by some pretty cool music by Heart and Air in the film, which is always good.

If I had theme music, it would change by the minute. Right now, I think I would be accompanied by Surfing on a Rocket by Air. This morning the song would have been Crazy on You by Heart. Later, I think it will be Last Goodbye by Jeff Buckley. Or maybe Sweet November by Sarah Blasko. I think I need a speaker system installed somewhere on me.. like little speakers that sit on my shoulders or something, so everybody else can hear the music that should accompany me!

Getting back to where I was before, emo kids. I dislike labels and imposing them on yourself in the first place, but it makes me even more angry when people deliberately join a clique in order to express their 'individuality'. It doesn't make any sense at all.
My little sister is verging on being like that. She's trying for dreadlocks, wears a lot of black and a lot of very provocative clothes, wants everything pierced and tattooed, swears constantly, listens to 'hardcore' music constantly, smokes pot, gets drunk every weekend, sneaks out in the middle of the night, etc. I don't even want to know about the rest - she hangs around with a very sexually experienced crowd. At least she's kept her cynical, sardonic sense of humour rather than submitting to the whole 'f*ck the world', 'damn the man', 'my heart has been stepped on by society' outlook.
Bad things happen to people, I know, but I can't understand people taking such ridiculously sucky attitudes. Life hurts, people aren't nice, fate can deliver some cutting blows and bad things happen. It's definitely ok to be sad, but to let bad things translate into your entire outlook on life forever is just pathetic. It really is.

The word 'depression' and its associated terms are flung around far too much. Leave it for the people who are actually suffering from it. Maybe one day you will too and you'll realise how petty it was all those times you said you were depressed, and how it's not a patch on what you feel when you actually are.

Ok, rant over.

It's my birthday tomorrow, and I feel like junk. Nothing is going to work out the way I hoped it would - my friends aren't around, Lucien barely has enough time to see me, I'm getting a cold (again, I'm losing count of how many I've had), etc. But I'm trying. I'm cleaning my bedroom and buying flowers to make it smell nice. I have chosen one of my favourite most magical outfits to wear; antique pale aqua sundress and pink short-sleeved cardigan. Every time I see a mirror I flash a smile at myself - it's forced and my eyes don't seem to mean it, but I'm really trying. I hate being miserable, it isn't something I'd ever willingly inflict on myself - it just happens without warning. That's why I am trying so hard.. I want to smile lots on my birthday and mean it.

Gone Through Brimstone, And I've Been Through The Fire

2006-09-10T23:12:00.000+10:00

Today was ridiculous. By ridiculous, I don't mean ironic or strangely amusing. I mean it was downright ridiculously annoying, frustrating and an absolute waste of time. I suppose it was absurd. I'm not a happy girl.

It's funny how when you're on stage, it is possibly one of the most glamorous things ever. You're dripping in red lipstick, sparkling like a diamond and singing your heart out. Today was not glamorous. My legs and feet are killing me from teetering on stilettos ALL day. I'm covered in red marks from being poked and prodded and accidentally impaled on safety pins. I feel under-appreciated and exploited.. and it's just about to get a whole lot worse.

Today we had the costume call, makeup workshop and citzprobe for Anything Goes. Some definitions are in order:

Costume Call - putting on your various costumes in order of scenes and then standing in a long line. One at a time you are asked to step forward, do a twirl and then stand there for five minutes while the directors loudly scrutinize you. "No, it's too tight around her bust. That colour makes him look like he has jaundice. Can we find something that doesn't make her look like an elephant?" are commonly heard comments, along with being yelled at for pairing a white hat with a cream belt, black shoes with navy gloves, not wearing your pants on your waist, etc. Imagine doing that for 3 and a half hours, whilst starving, sleepy and freezing cold. Seeing so many other girls naked made me feel like a concentration camp inmate.

Makeup Workshop - being told what I already know. Sure, it's valuable for the newbies and for the dancers, but do I really need to sit on a cold, hard wooden floor for hours watching someone put on makeup and contradicting themselves whenever they are asked a question about style and the 1930's?

Citzprobe - this one isn't actually so bad; usually it's one of my favourite parts of the rehearsal period. Basically, it's a sit down and sing with the orchestra... which is usually enjoyable. Not so enjoyable when you have a gaggle of male tappers sitting behind you banging their feet on the floor whilst sitting down. I glared at them and told them off, which has now confirmed my 'bitch' status in the cast. I know it's amateur theatre, but that doesn't mean that we shouldn't behave professionally. Then Regina turned up. She's generally considered the Queen Bitch of theatre in my town, and she's not even in the show - she just came along to be a brat, smoke, drink coffee and annoy people. Grr!

So all in all, the 7 hours spent today achieved very little. My costumes are.. let's not even talk about that. The Nazi costume designers jumped on everything and now I have a completely new wardrobe for the show. My evening wear looks like an ugly mauve (least favourite colour EVER) curtain from the '70s, and the costume ladies had the gall to take my hat (one that actually belongs to me) and plonk it on somebody elses' head. It seems like they're on a mission to make me as look as ugly as possible. Oh well, I actually own a beautiful original 1930's black dress that I'm going to wear for the evening scenes, whether they like it or not.

Here is the moment where I take a deep breath. And continue!
Things were winding up when some scuffle erupted outside the sound studio - I'm not even sure what happened as I was inside talking to Annie-Mae (the girl I'm understudying), but it involved Ross running up behind Lucien and punching him in the head. Lucien swiftly brought Ross to the ground (not injuring him, but just 'apprehending' him), to which Regina said, "Well done Ross, who hasn't wanted to punch him?". It was surreal - these theatre people have previously been like a family of great friends to me. Now suddenly civil war was breaking out among the ranks.

We left quickly and I decided, spur of the moment, to go on a mini-adventure with Benjamin and Drake (Lucien couldn't come - he was too furious, so he went home). It started out alright - shooting down the highway in a cool British car with sports car suspension, listening to extremely bad quality AM radio, Drake smoking and yelling at other drivers in his carefully cultivated quasi-English queer accent, Benjamin spitting out innuendo about me and all the dancers in our itty-bitty costumes. We were following a car that had two of the tappers from the show in it; they promised us some kind of fun, so we chased the opportunity. We got to our destination and managed to sneak past the ticket desk, avoiding paying a $6 (ha!) ticket price, and I found myself at the dancing section of an Eisteddfod. Eek.
We sat through an hour and a half of amateur ballerinas doing nothing of consequence in pretty tutus. It was possibly the most boring thing on a stage that I have willingly put myself through. Don't get me wrong, I adore going to the ballet, but this was just boring. These girls had fabulous technique and they smiled a lot, and hell, they even kept dancing in time when their cds skipped, but it was just boring. Dancing isn't just about being able to do it, it's also about creating engaging choreography that tells a story and being able to act it convincingly. These were just pretty young women jumping about, occasionally pirouetting, do lots of relevés and smiling so much that their faces hurt.

The interesting part came when the tapping troupe section came on. There were two groups from the dance school which is 'home base' for a lot of the dancers in Anything Goes. I suppose that by supporting them I was at least trying to be amiable and friendly. We watched, and finally, there was some diversity and passion. We saw girls in black and white with tilted hats, scarlet showgirls, what looked like the cast of a Gap commercial, black and silver showgirls, purple showgirls, golden showgirls. Etc. You get the idea - the average female costume consisted of a leotard with several kilos of sequins, fishnet stockings, tap shoes and some sort of hat or feathery thing in their hair.
In the end it was quite good - I think the tappers thought a lot more about their choreography than the ballerinas did. I enjoyed it, but *sigh* - the rest of the day seems like the ultimate waste of time, energy, emotions. Not a happy girl.

Lost in Chinatown

2006-09-08T01:16:00.000+10:00

It was a nice evening. The kind that puts you into a happy daze where you wish blindly that things could stay as they were forever, despite the fact that you'd eventually get bored and they wouldn't seem so wonderful if you always had them. But it was nice, especially nice to spend pleasurable time with people who recently my relationships with have been so frought with disappointment. Namely, Dad and Lucien.

Scarlett doesn't count - she was there, but she's still a brat. Oh, in case you didn't realise.. she's his step-daughter, rather than his wife. His wife, Selena, has had to fly back to HK to finish up business before she transfers down to the Melbourne office.

Dad called me in the afternoon asking if I wanted to go to a lecture. Why not? Topic - peak oil consumption and how governments and individuals should respond. Not exactly my cup of tea, but I decided it was worth sitting through it to please my Dad. Lucien and I arrived late, sneaking in and taking seats apart from each other. Instead of dozing on his shoulder, I actually had to look interested which somehow transformed itself into actual interest.
One of the experts was asked a question on how rising fuel prices in response to the burgeoning oil shortage would affect industries that rely on it (i.e. aviation, product distribution, etc) in the long run, and was wondering what solutions might be in order. The answer ran somewhere along the lines of individuals having to pay extremely exorbitant prices for these 'luxuries' and going back to grassroots production; as in growing food in their back gardens and limiting travel dramatically.
Everybody was sort of nodding their heads in agreement, but I was secretly wondering how many of them actually realised how it would affect them. Would they be willing to give up their company cars and overseas vacations, or even down to smaller things like abstaining from any non-local fruit in their smoothies? I watched the Arts Centre glittering in the background and found myself thinking about how much longer an economy such as ours could really exist on such a rapidly disappearing resource, when everybody seemingly has the right attitude but nobody wants to make sacrifices.
I will be the first to admit that I don't want to make these sacrifices - I like travelling and drinking imported tea, as well as having the freedom to be able to buy things rather than have to grow them in my backyard. It's selfish when there are people who would feel as if all their Christmasses came at once if they could grow their own food, but this is the way I have become by conditioning. We don't appreciate how great our lives and our possibilities are - nor do will we admit how difficult it would be to give them up.
Too many thoughts.. to sum up, I dislike what capitalism does to huge groups of people, but I will recognise that it does some pretty nice things for me. I wish it could do these things for everybody, but if it did, then the system would cease to function. Therefore it is up to me, being in the advantaged group, to take care of and try to help the less advantaged!

Ok, enough of that strange serious deviation from the normal fluff of this journal. After the lecture, I was kind of quietly pondering as I was whisked along to Chinatown. I adore Chinatown, it reminds me of growing up in Taiwan. The smells of strange alleyways, the neon signs, the tanks full of fish staring grimly out at potential diners, the roaming gangs and occasional harajuku girls giggling on corners. It speaks to me, and I understand it. The four of us wandered into a restaurant called Kun Ming (I think) and proceeded to devour some truly awesome Cantonese food: sweet and sour pork, black bean beef, sauteed chicken in satay sauce and prawns with ginger and shallots. I chose the last dish, which was to die for - prawns cooked just enough to make them practically 'pop' juicily as you bite into them, complemented perfectly with the sharpness of the ginger and the subtle flavour of the shallots. We drank Jasmine tea and spoke to each other in broken Chinese for half the time.
The method of conversation got quite a few stares from the people at the table next to us. They weren't my favourite type of people - the man looked like the type who would visit Thailand simply to sample the women. His enormous belly bumped dangerously against the table each time he moved, and in the first five minutes of being there he managed to: a) speak very slowly to the English-speaking Maître d' as though he was a small child, b) glance none too subtly at my breasts on several occasions, and c) come up with the grossest mispronounciations of simple psuedo-Asian words (i.e. satay). The wife reminded me of a hen or a pigeon in her mannerisms and the way she spoke; sharp, inconsequential and fussy. They were clearly an absolute joy to be seated near.

We managed to enjoy ourselves despite the ogres - luckily they arrived just as we were finishing. As we were walking out, we stopped to take a gander at the poor fish awaiting their fate. My Dad pointed at the lobsters and said, "Look, they've made a little sign saying 'Try the fish!'"
My response: I peered into the tank with wide eyes, asking very serious, "Where?". It was a very 'self-inflicted slap to the forehead' moment.

It may seem like simply a nice night out, but there is one thing I deliberately left out - any kind of animosity between the members of our party. I left it out because there was none. In the past, my Dad has been rather vicious - I suppose it's part of coming to terms with the fact that his daughter is growing up. This has ranged from calling me a disappointment, to saying that my degree-in-progress won't be worth anything so I should give up now, to saying that I might as well just be a check-out chick forever because I won't amount to anything better. I think he's Bipolar sometimes. Seriously.
Lucien has also been a prime source of criticism lately. If I had relied on him for all of my self-esteem and my entire perception of myself... it wouldn't be good. I must take some pride in being a little more sturdy than usual.
But last night, they were both lovely.

We parted ways after that - Dad and Scarlett went back to their house Lucien and I wandering back home through arcades of Asian teens playing video games and munching on things on sticks. We walked silently, holding hands, and I felt as though I was walking alone. Not in a bad way, but in the type of way where you just take everything in and don't have share it with the person you are with. We just drifted receptively, I suppose.

Lovely, nice, great - such boring adjectives. But what else can you say? What other words really signifies that kind of contentedness? I imagine a kitten, dozing on a rug in front of a fire, sleepily batting a ball of yarn around - possibly the definition of this nice, lovely, great, contented feeling that seemed to permeate every aspect of that enchanted night.

Casting Call

2006-09-05T20:25:00.000+10:00

I was wandering around IMDB when the thought occurred to me - Who would play my housemates if they ever made a film about it? So here are the headshots and character biographies for each of them! Rose's House of Mirth - the motion picture! Keep in mind that my actual housemates aren't half as attractive as the people playing them.

Anya - A talented and bright young woman, achieving great things despite the many obstacles that befall her. Anya is a psychologist working with some of the city's more marginalised population as a drug and alcohol counsellor. She pairs her emotionally draining job with a rigorous martial arts training schedule. She has travelled all over the world for karate competitions, winning most of them. Despite her superwoman attitude, Anya is unfortunately plagued by health issues brought on by years of turning to rather radical means to keep her weight category down for karate competitions. She isn't there much.

Clark - His photo shows a rare light-hearted moment, as most things for Clark are doom and gloom. He has no qualms about inflicting his 'gothicness' on everybody and everything, dissing everything mainstream regardless of its actual value and often taking a 'gother-than-thou' attitude. Clark's hobbies are playing bad music on an unplugged electric guitar, painting his fingernails black on weekends and ranting about world religions he knows little about. His sense of humour seems directed entirely towards dissing 'emos', despite the fact that he in fact is one. His girlfriend Karin rules over him with an iron fist, and he is often seen running from one end of the house to the other as soon as she calls.

Karin - This photo was actually taken 12 months ago before the astonishing weight gain that now has Karin needing a size 16. Her appearance suggests that she works in the adult industry, and why yes, she does! Karin works in administration for a pornography company, often having trouble separating her occupational and personal life. She can be domineering and bossy, ordering her boyfriend Clark around and treating him like a combination between a servant and a small child. Despite her proportions, she fancies herself a dancer and often lectures Rose about proper technique (despite the fact that Rose is a dancer).

Raj - A serial polygamist from provincial India who somehow manages to juggle: a) a full-time job as a chef, b) a full-time IT degree, and c) at least three different girls who all think they are his one and only girlfriend. Raj is best known for antics such as putting a container of cream into his cupboard and finding it by smell, and leaving seafood mix in a colander on the bench. When he is not creating health hazards in the kitchen, Raj likes to talk loudly on his phone at 3am and sing along with Indian pop music. Another variation on the theme of 'loud', Raj also likes to keep Rose awake with the sounds of loud sex.

Will - The stereotypical country boy, and my favourite housemate. He owns more hair products than all the girls in the house put together and has a 30 minute beautification routine. Studying first year aeronautical engineering at RMIT, he moonlights as a dishwasher for the restaurant where Raj works. Will is famous for getting drunk, smashing a light bulb with his crotch and falling from the mezzanine in his first week living here. He has been unanimously voted the most sexually frustrated housemate by all living here, over his sad attempts to pick up 16 year old girls - "Hey, they're only 2 years younger than me!"

Steven - Often described as a "vulgar hobbit", Steven has more hair on his feet than the average armpit. Fond of sausages with mashed potatoes and gravy, he makes this dish approximately 4 or 5 times a week on average. Steven works in telecommunications when he is not completing his PhD, which is his third or fourth degree. One of his favourite pastimes, when he is not having violent relations with unattractive goth girls, is using big words - his current favourite is 'parsimonious'. Steven has shown a softer side in recent times, becoming an uncle for the first time to a beautiful baby girl. The stench of his feet could kill an elephant.

Toby - Only lives here a couple of nights a week, but is a welcome presence in the House of Mirth. Reportedly once stole a teaspoon from a $2 shop. He does approximately 5 loads of washing every week due to his rather physical job that makes him smelly (I don't know what it is, other than that it involves a ladder). Articulate, but has a bad habit of talking down to people younger than himself (namely me) as if they were stupid. Toby gives incredible massages and has put Anya and Rose to sleep several times with his magic fingers. Can sometimes be apathetic to the point of infuriating others around him, but definitely one of the better housemates.

And finally.. The Neanderthal - Unfortunately this picture is not a true representation of the true horror that lurks in Room 6. This creature is crass, rude and scarily interested in child pornography. Somehow he managed to get a blonde Swedish nymphette girlfriend, too bad she lives in Sweden - don't they have men over there? The most commonly used words in his vocabulary are expletives, save for "Eh, choice mate. It's f-cken choice, buddy" which is injected after every single sentence. He also listens to psuedo-rap r&b techno music which he feels the need to play on the DVD player every single day, loud enough to let everybody in Brunswick know what shoddy taste he has. I hate him - he's the reason why I need a meat cleaver. Right now.

After compiling the cast of character, it occurred to me.. who should play me? Here is my shortlist:
I think I'm leaning towards Scarlett Johansson - she'd have to go brunette though. Winona Ryder looks a bit too angsty, and Audrey Tautou is just too sassy and cool to play me.

Mm, so the film has been cast, but alas - we haven't got a real story yet. I wonder which studio is going to back me! Hahaha..

If You Pop That Gum One More Time...

2006-09-04T23:54:00.000+10:00

That's it - breaking point. My housemate is a twat.
This we already knew, but today The Neanderthal revealed himself to be the malicious, hate-mongering inbred halfwit that I have suspected all along. He picked a fight with me. In my right mind, I would have delivered some retort so razor sharp that his ego would have been sliced, diced, filleted and arranged artistically on a plate then served up to him with some kind of exotic sauce. Alas, today was not one of those days.
He went to buy cigarettes from the supermarket without any ID, and came home raving about the "idiot girl" who wouldn't give them to him, then gave us an account of how he yelled at and belittled her. Me, sitting on the floor with coloured pencils and sketch book looking as innocent and innocuous as a lamb in my little blue floral dress.. well, I piped up. "It's not her fault you know. The supermarket and the government make those policies, they have to ask everyone who looks under 30. You only had to walk a block to come back and get your ID anyway. Get over it." Big mistake. I ended up being yelled at by a 120kg, muscle-bound 6'5" man, who called me various expletives and stormed away. I seriously thought he was going to get physical for a second.. he was so riled that somebody actually talked back for once, his shoulders twitched a bit and his fists and jaw were clenched, but he just took a deep breath. When he came back with his cigarettes, he made a big point of ignoring me, yet talking about "little Miss Bitch" in front of me like I wasn't there. Everybody else in the house has, so far, put up with his loudness, rudeness, messiness, vileness, etc etc. But I fear that now it's war, and he has me firmly targetted as 'the enemy'.

It's not nice. I want to go home to my Mom's house now, but I have class tomorrow. I'll admit it - I'm a bit scared about the prospect of being alone in the house with him. He is the kind of man who could kill me with his bare hands if he wanted to - not suggesting that he will, but I barely know him and I have become the object of his ire. I have to get out of here.

Some alrightish things have happened today though. I've had a bit of a cooking day - I'm penniless until tomorrow, so I had to let the limited things in my cupboard and freezer inspire me. For lunch, I made some spinach, pecorino and pea risotto. It was actually rather nice, but alas.. I was sort of guessing measurements and I ended up with so little it was barely worth all the time and effort. For dinner, I cooked for Will and I (feeling charitable to the poor undomesticated male!) - I made a sort of thrown together fried rice with rather random ingredients in it.
My stint as a chef was not without drama though - as I was trying to sautee some onion and garlic, Will managed to drop an entire full bottle of Coke on the floor. On my feet. As I was cooking! He went scrambling for a mop, so I had to endure having my feet mopped by a gross, cold and possibly mouldy mop. As soon as the Coke was cleaned up, I ran off to rinse my feet in the shower.. but I left the heat on! The smoke alarm went off (I'm good at that) and it ended up being the tiniest bit burnt. Still edible, fortunately.

Suki isn't talking to me and I have no idea why. It hurts.

Nothing about me is working. My hair is .. well, manked. My skin is bad. My brain doesn't seem to be working properly. My boyfriend is being distant, in all sorts of ways. My friends are further away from me than ever. My bedroom is a cesspool of indifference. Almost nothing seems to be of joy at the moment, everything is grey. It is weird how things can flip so rapidly in just a matter of hours... after getting home last night, I pretty much retired to my room without doing much or talking to anyone. It was just too much - I had nothing left for anybody.

Sometimes I feel as though I only exist for other people. People call me things like "sparkly" and "vivacious", but those aren't really things that I can be by myself - I have to be sparkly or vivacious for other people. When they run away, what's left? An empty shell with the ability to be sparkly or vivacious, but nothing of substance? In Anne of Green Gables, Anne has an imaginary friend in a mirror who she talks to and calls a kindred spirit. Her name was Katie, I think. The bit that strikes me is that Katie is a reflection; one and the same person as Anne, and she can be a kindred spirit and a best friend. When I look in the mirror, I often see someone I detest or barely recognise. How could I want to be friends with this person, let alone consider them a kindred spirit? It makes me wonder why I do have any friends in the first place, then feel sorry for them for being landed with me.
How does one go about becoming friends with themself? In the past, I've always made an effort to change the girl in the mirror into someone I could admire. But it doesn't work. Lucien always accuses me of having a 'two steps forward, three steps back' approach to life - I'll achieve something, some little goal, then go back on my hard work by throwing my hands in the air and retreating at the first thing that cuts me down. My prospective imaginary friend (read - myself) is becoming less and less likeable every day, but it seems that becoming friends with her would be the only thing that could get her out of this horrible cycle. What an unfortunate situation.

I think too much.

YouTube of the Day: Actually I have two for you - one was recommended by Benjamin. The Blindfolded Pianist plays ALL of the Super Mario Bros themes. I love it!
This was recommended by Paul - Little Kids doing the Wassup thing. I'm not usually a big wrap for things featuring small children.. usually the only reason they are 'cute' is because they have small children in it, which doesn't really wash with me (don't like them). But this is kind of cool - "having a milk, watching the game".

So, I'll get back to the height of SAD - I took my old school edition The Merchant of Venice out of a box and started colouring in the black and white pictures with coloured pencils. It's ridiculous - Portia's all done up in a sea green gown, Bassanio is dressed in a similar colour scheme, and I'm trying to make Solanio and Salerio colour-coordinated. It really is sad. Not as sad as this is ironic though:

Bush Urges Nation To Be Quiet For A Minute While He Tries To Think

Memory Lane

2006-09-03T20:10:00.000+10:00

Another big day today, completing the fullest weekend I've had in a long time. It's definitely satisfying, but I'm so tired and needing that contemplation-reflection-imagination time that I usually take for granted. I wish I had a bath at my apartment, because taking a long, hot bath seems like it would be just the thing.

Ergh, my housemate just came home; singing loudly out of key, shouting, now going to the bathroom with the door open, swearing loudly and snarfling and snorting and spreading his filth and vibes of disgustingness everywhere. Horrible. Great, now he's making racist jokes. It's definitely time to move. I'm looking mostly at inner-city apartments and townhouses, but alas! I have nobody to share with. Last time I almost went into a share house with a friend ended in disaster, so there is the tiniest bit of worry tingeing what is otherwise a usually unwavering trust in the good in all people.
Grr.. now I have moved into my bedroom and I can hear him making fun of me and telling yet more racist jokes and tales of his various sexual encounters with prostitutes. Now, where is a bazooka that shoots poisonous nails and AIDS-infested broken glass when you need it?

Today was a family affair, which is strange considering my parents are divorced. We all went to see my little sister Ellen perform with her orchestra at the Royal South Street competitions in Ballarat. It was alright, but who won seemed to be completely arbitrary - the ensemble who won were definitely not the best. We saw a particularly awesome viola soloist, and heard the same piece (Intermezzo by von Chrysler - yes, I agree, what a name) about three times.
The original plan was to hit a delicatessen and go for a picnic, but we left out that one important detail - in Ballarat, it's always either stinking hot or freezing. Today it was the latter, and the first suggestion was McDonalds, so off we went. I protested. I lost!

After that, we split into two groups - my Mum, sisters and brother went home, and I went with my Dad, my grandmother (her name is Rose too) and Scarlett. I thought we were just driving back to Melbourne, but we definitely took the scenic route. We drove through Ballarat where she pointed out landmarks of her youth; the town hall where she made her debut at the Victory Ball, held when the war finally finished in 1945. She told me of people dancing in the streets and one young man who grabbed her and kissed her because he was so overcome with joy. We then drove to Learmonth, where we visited the house she grew up in and saw magnolia trees bigger than I have ever seen before. Grandma told stories about her childhood, about summers spent swimming at Lake Learmonth (picture left, in the 'good old days') - we went to visit it, and were shocked to find that it had all but dried up. There were a couple of puddles in it not much bigger than tennis courts, but the entire lake was dry. It was so sad to behold; the abandoned Lake Learmonth yacht club stood like an orphan, overlooking the dry lake bed that stretched almost to the horizon. Dad reassured me that it might fill up again one day, but it would take years of above average rainfall which is unfortunately unlikely.

We visited Creswick and then Daylesford to lay flowers on my great-grandmother's grave, and then my Grandma's best friend's grave. Wattles were blooming everywhere, like trees that had burst into riotous yellow fire, and daffodils were smiling up along the road the whole way. In our travels, we went back past the Ballarat Botanical Gardens and Grandma told me of the first time I went there. Picnics on the banks of Lake Wendouree are something that I remember distinctly from my childhood, and today I found out about my first ever time. I was only a few months old, and it was the height of summer - we had a heat wave that year, so it was unbearably hot. I was all dressed up in a pink sundress, pink bonnet and little pink cotton shoes. I was unanimously voted 'Princess of the Lake' by my aunts and uncles. Apparently that nickname stuck for years.. funny, I just don't remember it.

Eventually we made our way back to Grandma's house, building up a nice, cosy fire and sitting around munching on homemade yo-yo biscuits and drinking tea. Lovely. My Mum often urges me to see my grandmother, because she is quite old - she'll be 80 years old in January. It pains me to think that she is going to die one day, and not a far-off unimaginably distant day... but it makes me feel better to think that I do make effort to see her and make sure that she realises how much her family love her.

I have vowed never ever to have children, ever since I was about 5 years old. Lots of people say that, but believe me, I'm deadly serious: nothing ever could change my mind. I have possibly the worst genes in terms of certain health issues that anybody could give to a child - I don't want that responsibility of having created someone who is genetically doomed from day one. Also, I suppose I take a similar view of children as I do to .. well, dogs: why create one from scratch when there are so many needing love and attention out there already? I would never buy a puppy that had been specifically bred to be sold, I'd rather go to the pound and find one who was more in need. Likewise with kids, I'd rather adopt one than make one - why bring yet another child into the world when there are enough that need love and care already? Having said that, I'm far too selfish for children, so there!
But seeing my Grandmother, and the joy she gets from her 7 children and (counting..) 17 grandchildren.. maybe being old and alone is quite a disturbing reality. Maybe children are really like .. leaving a legacy. Maina Gielgud said something along the lines of this: Anybody can get married and have children, but very few people are able to find absolute fulfillment in other ways. (No quotation marks, because I can't remember the exact quote).

But I think that I will find another way to leave my mark, rather than getting married and having babies. Something that will help lots of people, rather than just a select group of brats who happened to belong to me for the first eighteen years of their lives.
Because I would rather adopt children than have children, and to be frank, I would rather adopt puppies than adopt children!

Adventures in Suburbia

2006-09-03T00:04:00.000+10:00

The last 30 or so hours have been a rollercoaster of non-stop fun.. I should be feeling guilty right now (for the amount of time I have spent not doing homework, for the calories consumed, for the missed phone calls, for the ridiculous amounts of money spent) but no - I just feel content. It's nice! This post will read like a blow-by-blow account, rather than anything fancy. Too much happened to elaborate on it.

I spent a blissfully blank Friday morning and afternoon - no class. I planned to donate blood on Bourke St, but they didn't have any appointments left (that's a job for next week). So I just lounged around in my underwear, chatting to Paul and listening to lovely music. Around 5pm I got dressed and sauntered down to Richmond for an appointment with the shrink - while I was waiting, I drew a picture of a rose garden for a man in the waiting room. He loved it, and it made me smile.

I was met by Lucien after the appointment who whisked me away to Chap el St, Prahran. The tram ride was eventful - it was one of those old W6-Class ones (see right) and it ended up breaking down for 15 minutes. A rude lout sitting near us spent the entire wait complaining loudly about the government and Connex, spouting rubbish like that they should pay for him to get a taxi because the tram broke down. I felt like slapping him. He just went on and on and on until I was seriously considering stabbing him in the head with my parasol.
We finally got to the Jam Factory where we were met by Benjamin (Lucien's best friend) and another friend, Ted. We ran to Friday's where we had cocktails - such fun! I had a Long Island Iced Tea and a Cosmopolitan; Lucien had a B-52 and a White Russian. Trés exciting, and enough to make me go silly.

Soon enough we were met by about.. 7 other friends. We had pancakes and then went to the cinema. Benjamin and I got into trouble for walking down the 'up' escalator. The stupid ticket girl came and said to us, "Either go up or down, but you can't just stand still," which made us laugh even harder. We finally got into the film, Snakes on a Plane, which I deemed to be brilliant fun. Sure, it was no intellectual masterpiece.. but it was the kind of film that appealed to my me-when-tipsy self. Benjamin, on the other hand, was mortally wounded by the fact that he had just paid $11 to see what he proclaimed to be "enough to make me want to die on the spot". We all responded in wildly varying ways, continuing to bicker for a long time afterwards.

By this time, it was 1am and we realised that public transport had ceased for the night. Everybody was in a bit of a state before they realised that Hawthorn (where most of them live) wasn't actually such a far walk from Chapel St. So they set off, leaving Lucien, Ted, Mark and I. Luckily, Mark had brought his car and was sober (red and fast!) so we piled in with the crazy idea of driving out to Narre Warren to hunt for Krispy Kreme doughnuts. We managed to get lost a number of times along the way, but it was all in good fun.

As we neared the fabled Krispy Kreme store, we noticed that there were lots of other cars that seemed to be going exactly the same way as we were. Then we saw it - 2:30am, and there would have been maybe 20 cars of people there. We got out to stretch our legs and managed to be approached by a gaggle of drugged-out emo teenagers. Dripping eyeliner and practically having sex with each other in the parking lot, they seemed to love me. I was wearing bright colours I suppose. They all wanted to hug me, so I doled out the hugs and then we ran away.

Between four people, we bought four dozen doughnuts. Forty-eight doughnuts. We carried the tower of boxes to a grassy hill where we sat and devoured about twenty of them. As fate would have it, there was a lone shopping trolley in the carpark. Lucien put me inside it (forcibly! - he grabbed me around the waist and flipped me over his shoulder, plonking me inside the steel contraption completely without my will, as I was screaming and probably waking up EVERYBODY in the Eastern suburbs) and took me for a 'spin', literally. He pushed me fast, then would stop suddenly, then spun me around in fast circles and managed to let the trolley almost fall over at one point. It was too much - the height of dignity came when I had to stumble away to be sick behind some bushes.

Delightful.

Lucien and I returned to my apartment where there was much hearty sleeping to be done. Alas, tragedy struck in the morning when ... the sun shone through my bedroom window directly onto my sleeping head! I wasn't a happy girl, especially when I woke up to see that I had terrible panda eyes and a hangover (oh the shame of getting a hangover after two cocktails..). I managed to grin and bear it, though I stayed in bed until 12 when my Dad called and adventures started all over again.

We met Dad and Scarlett at the Queen Victoria Market, where we enjoyed some awesome bratwurst. Saturated fat in a bun with onions on top was exactly what I needed, and everything seemed to get a bit brighter. It was a beautiful day with not-too-harsh sunshine and a lovely breeze.. I was wondering around in a tank top, flip-flops and a short skirt all day. My last post said something about the breeze feeling like it was kissing you, and today was the same. Too bad tomorrow will be cooler and I'll be stuck in bloody Ballarat (hear about it next time!).

We bid farewell to my Dad and then wandered into the city. We grabbed some old-fashioned lemonade from the Food Hall at Myer and then headed for the State Library, where we basked on the grass for almost an hour. Then came some more hunting of sorts - Lucien's mother called him with a request from his father about what he wanted for Father's Day (tomorrow, in Australia). Liquorice. So of course we had to find a Darrell Lea store, quick. We walked around for hours trying to find a store to no avail (despite the fact that there is one on Swanston as well as one on Elizabeth). After asking about four different people for directions and going to the post office to look them up in the Yellow Pages, we finally found them. Lucien bought his liquorice and we made our way back to my apartment as quick as we could.

A late-afternoon siesta was in order, which we embraced with much gusto. Laying around in the afternoon sun, listening the The Virgin Suicides soundtracks, wearing very little and just basking in stillness, silence and each other's company was a fabulous way to spend the next two hours. I was suddenly overcome by tiredness, so I gave Lucien permission to run away and had a cat-nap. When I woke, I found that Lucien had run down the street to the Green Refractory Café (on Sydney Road). We ended up having dinner there, sitting in a gorgeous little alleyway lit by the moon with the smell of grass and spring in the air, before heading home to our parents for the rest of the weekend.

Ahhhh.. there you go. That will probably be the most boring entry ever for anybody to read, but I just had to chronicle the craziness and jam-packed nature of this half-a-weekend. I'm the kind of girl who might feel overwhelmed if I had scheduled events on both days of the weekend, yet I managed to fit in enough adventure for a month. It's kind of nice; making the weekend interesting and full enough to make up for the weekly slog through school/work/whatever your nine-to-five.

Bring on next weekend!.. after a week-long recovery period!

Heatwave!

2006-08-31T14:16:00.000+10:00

I wish that I could post audio clips as the titles of my posts. My little 'Heatwave!' isn't just a word when sung by Martha and the Vandellas (right). The song actually has pretty.. well, boring lyrics, but the whole package is just deliciously Motown.

Today is rather hot, considering that it's still winter. It's 23 degrees Celcius outside, brilliant sunshine and windy. I was walking along the Yarra river near my Dad's house and the breeze was glorious. It was the kind of breeze that feels like it's kissing you all over.
People are sunbaking outside the State Library. Floaty skirts and sandals are suddenly appropriate. There is some kind of iron-stomach contest happening down on the Concrete Lawns at university.. everybody is standing around and laughing and cheering. I have a bird's eye view from the computing centre.
Last night on the news, meteorologists were talking about another El Nino pattern developing - despite having one a couple of years ago, it occurred 'out of phase' and this one will be bigger and badder than we've had in a while. Although that means warmer weather and probably getting sick less for me, it will also mean bushfires and drought. Mmmm.
When I was finishing primary school, Australia was in the middle of some of the worst droughts ever. I remember the water restrictions - pools and carwashes were out of operation, we were getting little spotfires in our garden because we couldn't water it, and the air constantly smelt like smoke from backburning meadows near my house. Scary.

I was at my Dad's house last night. Scarlett is still there, but her mother has gone back to Hong Kong for a while. We made fried rice and barbequed some honey soy chicken. Dad drank wine; Vivian and I found a strange bottle of soft drink called Diet Rozé. It was strange and all done up in fluorescent packaging, so we had to try it. The meal was so good.. really, I don't think anything compares to home-cooked, guily-pleasure food, especially homemade Chinese food.

Dad has chosen my birthday present. I haven't a clue what it is, other than that it isn't a digital camera or an iPod (damn). However, he gave me this clue - "It's something you've always wanted to do". My mind is flying towards all the possibilities, but the big thing that I have ALWAYS wanted to do seems just too left-field and extravagant even for my Dad. I have always wanted to go to Prague. In the depths of my 'illness', Dad promised me that once I got better he'd let me go to Prague on a holiday by myself. That was when I was 15, and although nobody considers me completely better, maybe now is the time he has in mind. But really.. sending your daughter to the other side of the world for her nineteenth birthday? It's incredibly extravagant, and I'm angry at myself for even thinking of it - because now when I get something else, no matter how incredible it is, it just won't compare to going to Prague.

Last night I was sleeping on the living room floor of my Dad's apartment when I noticed something creeping on the balcony. I crawled over, oh so subtly, and saw it was a possum. A cute pregnant female possum. She was sniffing around the barbeque for something to eat, so I put some bread and mandarin segments out for her. She didn't really trust me; she'd grab the food and then scurry back under the barbeque to eat it, but eventually she started staying out in the open. Then tragedy struck. I was cutting up an apple in the kitchen when I heard a commotion and some squealing sounds. I looked up just in time to see the possum and another possum chasing her away. Suddenly I felt terrible, like I had contributed to the possible injury of my darling possum by giving her food that would insight fighting. I put the apple out anyway, in case she came back later on and went to bed. Couldn't sleep though.

I am still worried about the possum. It's ridiculous, I went out onto the balcony this morning and the apple was still there. I looked around for any traces of blood or anything that would suggest the poor possum was injured - there was nothing. But something distracted me on my way back into the city - Krispy Kreme! There was a young Asian preppy couple sitting near me on the tram, carrying a big box of donuts and talking about the novelty of it all. I want some badly, but I really can't be bothered going all the way out to Fountain Gate to find them. At the moment, they only deliver in the Sydney area. When I was in the car with Benjamin and Lucien the other night, we actually decided that we should go get some at 11pm. Alas, we didn't - but I still want them! I think a store is opening up in Collins St soon enough, so I'll get them then. Or maybe I'll make someone who lives in the area get me some for my birthday! So silly..

Summer just does something to me. Makes me into a brighter, sparklier person for a few months before I descend into that sickly hell that is Winter. I know it's not here yet, but it feels a hell of a lot closer than it did a week ago.

Being Naughty With My Oven

2006-08-30T16:58:00.000+10:00

'What will your obituary say?' at QuizGalaxy.com

One Day Until Spring

2006-08-30T10:43:00.000+10:00

I started cleaning my bedroom today. It seems insignificant, but it is actually a huge undertaking. You can't see the carpet, you have to wade through knee-deep junk to actually even get to my bed, where you would be sleeping amongst school books, clothes and even my cd player lives on my bed sometimes.
So today I put every item of clothing on the floor, clean or dirty, into black garbage bags - I ended up with 5 of them. I always complain about having nothing to wear, despite having this many clothes... I think it's time for a purge. Op-shops, watch out! You're about to be innundated, my wardrobe is arriving on your doorsteps shortly!

There is a feeling of 'gotta do something' in the air at the moment. It's almost the census date for university, which means that I have to decide whether or not to pull out of my theatre class. I think the answer will be yes - there is no possible way that I can pass now.
I have been having major thoughts about university in general - I'm not sure it's the right place for me right now. This year has been an absolute mess. So many things that I assumed would fall into place just didn't - I'm always scraping to find photocopying money, I still don't have a laptop and I don't have any sort of social network. My house isn't the most ideal living environment. I'm still not used to the whole cooking for myself thing or organising food - for example, there have been entire weeks where I have only consumed fruit juice because I really don't know how to cook very well. I'm not settled enough to have regular music lessons or do any sort of organised exercise. Yet somehow I'm supposed to be pulling in the H1s when the rest of my life is in utter disarray.

I have a plan though - I've decided that next semester I should take a leave of absence. I can work, paint, cook, run around and generally spend a semester establishing some roots so I don't just blow away. I won't lose my scholarships. I haven't told my parents yet.

Benjamin is determined to see Snakes on a Plane. I will admit, I was incredibly skeptical but now that I understand it is kind of a joke that does take itself seriously.. it looks brilliant. I think we're going on Friday and trying to gather together as many people as possible for the outing. It seems like just the thing to warrant audience participation, popcorn throwing and lots of loud gasping and laughing.
Benjamin drove Lucien and I back to Melbourne last night after rehearsal. Trés fun! We bought popcorn chicken - I forgot how good it is, despite being absolutely oozing saturated fat and all kinds of chemical goodies. 'Tis strange, it's like everybody is moving either to Melbourne or at least moving. Nate just got a job as an IT engineer in the city, will be moving up shortly. I'd love to move in with him, but I really don't know whether it would be a fair pairing - an IT professional, and a struggling, scraping student. Someone who can afford so little for rent every week would just limit his opportunities, but we'll see. Lucien is probably moving up next year.

Ahh.. Hilde is in China for the rest of the year! Suki is working two or three jobs almost non-stop and can't see me, Maria just went to Greece and is planning to stay on in Europe at least till the end of the year, Louise moved to Brisbane and is planning to live in Thailand for at least some part of next year, Paul went to Philadelphia for the rest of the semester, Tasi just parties all night and sleeps all day, Lucien is a bit.. mmm, Audrey is too busy being a band-aid and young wild bohemian thing to have female friends that she isn't going to sleep with, Nate is in the new job honeymoon period, Benjamin is putting in the hard yards (it's the last six weeks of uni for him, EVER), Anne is busy running her own business, etc etc. It seems all of my friends are just so scattered at the moment - they're all floating around the world or their habits prevent them from being sociable. I miss them all.

It's my birthday in 14 days. I didn't do anything big last year, so I was planning on arranging something this year. Paintballing. Or laser challenge. Or a spring garden party. I don't know, but it doesn't seem worth it now. Practically everybody I'd want to invite is overseas or somehow unavailable. It's so depressing.. I think I'm going to have a me party. I'll buy some really nice bubble bath, pajamas and champagne bombs and a chick-flick. I'll curl my hair, wear pretty underwear with bows and lace and I'll paint my fingernails red. I'll make raspberry dacquiris. I'll have a one person slumber party and order Thai, to be delivered to my front door.
All by myself.
God, how depressing. Feels like Bridget Jones.

Maybe I'll get eaten by Alsatians too.

Pretty Silly

2006-08-28T11:29:00.000+10:00

"Come home and take me in your arms..." - that is the second line of the Marilyn Hacker sonnet I posted last week. In my lecture notes, this line is described as vernacular, uncouth and colloquial. All these words have such negative connotations, like somehow the line doesn't measure up to how high-brow a sonnet is supposed to be. But it's one of my favourite lines, because it is so honest. It sounds like one of those sentiments that just falls out of your mouth in words that weren't pre-empted, something that comes straight from your heart without having to be processed by the brain first. I like spontaneous yet truthful effusions!

Lucien and I went on a mission last night - biscuit and juice hunting at 1am. What is it about late at night that awakens something crazy in me? We danced and sang our way to the supermarket, literally, until we saw some scary goths shouting drunkenly at each other in the street. We ended up with so much more than we had anticipated on.. Lucien bought two packets of raspberry tartlets (urgh) and a litre of blood orange juice for me, and I bought a packet of Venetian biscuits (my favourite) and some pineapple-coconut juice. Late nights also inspire bad eating habits.. out of all the three packets of biscuits we bought, there is nothing left. We did share them with my housemate though, who shared the late-night study-fest as he worked on his PhD thesis thing.

I wish my name was Twyla. Twyla Tharp. She's the lady above, kicking her leg out with the insane dress.. isn't she elegantly wild? I want to be elegantly wild.. I want to be the kind of woman that people take black-and-white photographs of, and they become iconic. Like Gene Tierney. I suppose she's another person who I think is beautiful... there she is to the right, her gaze like pure sensuality. My aunt Marie-Therese once said that I reminded her a little of Gene Tierney, that in one of her earlier films we looked like twins. I wish I could be as beautiful as her.

No, I'm not gay. I just appreciate beauty in general, but these women.. it's more that I wish I were like them. Unwaveringly confident about my sex appeal, self-assured, etc. I'll work on that, and maybe just maybe, I'll join the Half-Naked Thursday crowd!
Or not.

Right now I'm wearing a white cotton skirt with lace and tulle around the bottom. It has a subtle navy and red pattern of cherry blossoms and bamboo on it, and it's kind of sheer and floaty. An older woman on the tram this morning commented on it, telling me how beautiful it was and how nice I looked in it. I thanked her and smiled, but after I stepped off the tram, I felt like laughing at the absurdity of it. I feel like the most unattractive girl in the world right now.. my hair is fluffy and won't sit right, my face looks washed out and pale, there is no colour in my cheeks.. blah blah blah.
But it was enough for that woman to say something nice to just make me feel almost slightly pretty for the briefest of moments.

Grey Skies Overhead

2006-08-26T14:55:00.000+10:00

Paul beat me to the punch, but did so more eloquently and imaginatively than I ever could. For details of our latest adventures, see his post!
It's just so tragic that as soon as I met him, he's leaving. And not for a little while.. forever (ok, well maybe a little less than forever). It will be unbearable.. like offering a blind person sight for a day and then taking it back, so they can spend every other day of their life feeling like it would never measure up to that one day.
Though Paul is definitely one to push the concept of fate and serendipity, so maybe it's for the best - leading to greater things later!

This weekend wasn't the greatest time to come home. My family seem to be spontaneously combusting.. right now, Ellen has run away for the weekend with random young hoons ("Full of sperm" - Larry Miller in 10 Things I Hate About You, see picture to the right), Vince is throwing a tantrum and refusing to go to Melbourne, Katie threw herself down the stairs and is giving an Academy Award winning performance on how 'injured' she is. Mom is at her wits end, understandably, but is taking it out on me. Feels like my life during high school all over again.
I'm hiding downstairs from all the yelling and fighting, but I haven't been immune by any stretch of the imagination. I have been criticised in none-too-polite language for: being a waste of space, being a disappointment, making a mess (I left my socks on the floor), etc. The worst part was when my Mom said, "Why did you bother coming here this weekend? There is no reason for you to be here, and you're just making everything worse."
So I'm not the happiest little girl in the world right now.

I will however make an effort to talk about happy things. Last night I spied a special edition green bag at the supermarket. It's not actually green - bright yellow with Radioactive Man from The Simpsons on it. I love it! It promptly became my bag-de-jour, accompanying me home this weekend.
I also found out which department I'll be working in at Myer - the Christmas department! Trés exciting. And yes, dear reader, I will probably be required to dress up as an elf at some point. There will be photos.

Uh. That's the best I can come up with. This weekend is almost doomed to be bad. It's cold, I'm not feeling very well at all, my family is on an absolute rampage, Lucien is busy, my head is inhabited by a now permanent dull ache, and my piano sounds very out of tune. I previously had so many wonderful plans that now seem so out of reach.

I was going to paint a picture on a canvas I brought back with me. I was going to wash all of my favourite clothes and pack them in a vintage suitcase and take pictures of it. I was going to take my puppy for a long walk by the river and have a picnic with her. I was going to sunbake on my back lawn. I was going to catch a bus into the city, buy some fabric and start work on the Magical Mystery Box (can't really talk about it - it's for someone who I know for sure reads this journal). I was going to invite Lucien over for a a two-person slumber party. I was going to find a stapler and some tape and make a Spring Racing Carnival outfit from newspaper. I was going to call Suki up for some Trivial Pursuit and noodles. I was going to make daisy chains in the meadow behind my house. I was going to make a mix tape for Paul, complete with narration. I was going to take a long hot bubble bath. I was going to make heart-shaped cookies with red icing for Lucien and then deliver them to him.

Alas. I'm not going to do anything now.
But at least this list is here for future reference. Maybe I'll do them once the storm passes.

Vampire Rose and the Champagne Bomb

2006-08-25T17:26:00.000+10:00

This morning I was absolutely shocked as to what greeted me when I glanced upon the mirror. I looked like a vampire. My skin was very smooth and cold, but deathly white and you could see every tiny vein. My eyes were sunken, with great dark marks around them (natural, I discovered after I washed last night's mascara off). My lips were as white as my skin, and my cheeks looked like pale, cold stone. It was shocking.
I suppose that is what pulling an insane all-nighter including trips to the beach (4 degrees Celcius!), getting locked out of my room and sleeping on the mezzanine in the cold does to you.

7 hours later, there's still no colour in me. People have actually gasped when the looked at me - I seriously look dead. I feel like I'm teetering on the brink of passing out. Not necessarily sick, but exhausted.

My mother has demanded that I come home this weekend, and I'm glad. Home-cooked food, blankets, my favourite pajamas, central heating, my puppy, and best of all my Mom to look after me.

Ooh! I bought a chocolate from Myer today.. called a Champagne Bomb. It was the most incredible thing I have ever tasted and I can't believe how good it is. I'm still in raptures over how wonderful it was.. it was like milk chocolate with white chocolate drizzled over it, filled with champagne creme and a champagne flavoured liquer sauce. To die for... get them at the Nina's Chocolates counter at the Myer Food Hall. Warning - they are incredibly alcoholic and about $80 a kilo, so one is probably enough!

Did You Love Well What Very Soon You Left?

2006-08-24T00:10:00.000+10:00

Did you love well what very soon you left,
Come home and take me in your arms and take
away this stomach ache, headache, heartache.
Never so full, I never was bereft
so utterly. The winter evenings drift
dark to the window. Not one word will make
you, where you are, turn in your day, or wake
from your night toward me. The only gift
I got to keep or give is what I've cried,
floodgates let down to mourning for the dead
chances, the end of being young,
for everyone I loved who really died.
I drank our one year out in brine instead
of honey from the seasons of your tongue.

- Marilyn Hacker, from Love, Death and the Changing of the Seasons

I like this sonnet. I'm trying to decide what my favourite from the book is, and this one is definitely shortlisted. Definitely read it - I wasn't such a fan of poetry before, but she has utterly captivated me.

Lucien came tonight. It wasn't quite the sunshine and rising crescendo of romantic music I had been hankering for, but lovely nonetheless. He's currently asleep in my bed, dreaming and keeping it warm for when I jump in beside him later. We went out for hippy vegetarian food and candlelight earlier and sat there staring at the table - I was headachey and he was dead tired after spending 5 hours on trains. Somehow with Lucien, the silences aren't bad or awkward.. he just holds my hand, kissing it every now and again, and we just relish being near each other. Time together is such a commodity.

I have to apologise for the last post.. just me feeling dangerous and fatalistic late at night.

There have been times in my life when friends have mattered enormously to me. In spring 2003 I spent about three or four months at home - it was that or going to hospital, and my doctor feared that the latter would send me over the edge. So there was no school, no going out except for occassional outings to the supermarket with my Mom, no 'overly stimulating' media. I basically spent the entire time lounging around on a hammock in my backyard, reading my little horoscope book, listening to Pink Floyd and drawing pictures.
But I received letters. Every single day, something new would arrive in the letterbox or get passed on via my sister. And not just letters, I got disks full of interesting photos, cds of music to make me better, envelopes full of notes that had been passed in class, colouring books and crayons from Tasi. As soon as I was sick, there was an outpouring of love and support from everybody I could imagine. Even teachers who had been yelling at me only a week before were suddenly sending me cards and even beautiful picture books to 'make me better'. Before I had often felt that I didn't have a friend in the world, but suddenly I was reminded of how blessed I was.

I think that recently I have been reminded once again of how important friends are. On Monday night, I had such absolute fun with Paul.. it was brilliant. I was like a kid, running around and doing random adventurous things for kicks and smiling like an idiot the whole time. Hell, I even snorted black pepper just to see what would happen. Things like that don't happen when you are by yourself. I'm finding more and more now that I don't want to eat unless it's with someone else, or get dressed in the morning unless it's for someone. I miss my friends from high school, but we're scattered at the moment.. and there is never enough time/money/availability/whatever for us to play together. I wish that they would, on a complete whim, decide to come adventuring with me like Paul did. Because that is the way friends should be.

"well I was watching donnie darko but I got bored and tried on all my dresses, got depressed and came upstairs to wallow in sadness" - Suki just said this to me on msn. I felt horrid.. and I wished I could just erase the distance between us, go over to her house with chocolate and hugs and finish watching Donnie with her. So I promised to go for noodles with her at the Nash on trivia night and just beat the pants off everybody. Both of us were unfortunate guinea pigs in the accelerated program at my school, so our heads are full of useless knowledge that is only really good for trivia. Should be fun.. maybe I should get drunk. Suki hasn't seen me drunk yet.

Keri Smith has been inspiring me today. Check her out - the link to her Wish Jar Journal is in the side bar.

Des Perles de Pluie

2006-08-23T00:33:00.000+10:00

A phrase from one of my favourite songs, Ne Me Quitte Pas. Bic Runga does a particularly beautiful version of it on a live album, but it's hard to find. It only means 'drops of rain', but it sounds so nice to just run off the tip of your tongue. But simultaneously, I think is manages to convey a far more profound sense of wistful sorrow than the plain English 'drops of rain' could ever hope to evoke. Des perles de pluie.
I learnt French when I was overseas, for three years. Some phrases remain, like "J'aime la pomme de terre" (I like potato) and "Comment allez-vous?" (How do you do?). So many hours learning masculine and feminine, various ways to use verbs, etc.. and what do I have to show for it? I can't speak French, I can't even pretend or hope to be good at it. The whole thing absolutely smacks of mediocrity, which seems to be the central theme for my life.

Today hasn't been a very nice day. It hasn't even felt like a full day.. more like mismatched puzzle pieces. I honestly can't tell you whether something I recall from this morning actually happened this morning, or whether it's my mind remembering something from days ago and just blending everything together. I'm begging for a routine, something to regularly look forward to.

Sometimes, and today is one of them, I feel as though other people are the only thing that keep me from .. well, disappearing. Such cruel irony - that disappearing, usually considered an easy option or a release, would be the most difficult thing of all to actually do. I suppose making yourself disappear would be the ultimate selfish thing.. throwing yourself to oblivion without a care for how it might affect anybody else. Why does it have to be so hard?
For convenience, perhaps I should invent a machine. Once I step inside, it would alter past, present and future to a place where I didn't exist. Therefore nobody would feel the 'lack of me', nobody would have to arrange an appropriately ceremony, people's lives would be more full of the things they want to do rather than catering to the wishes of a particularly silly little girl. That creates a little issue - if I never existed, who would there be to push the button to permanently erase me? And if I couldn't push the button, how could I be erased in the first place? The cycle continues and there is still no solution. Not a permanent one, at least.

People like to imagine that dying is like going to sleep and never waking up. I'll go to bed now, and although I will probably wake up in the morning, at least for those precious few hours I will be blissfully and completely unaware of that unfortunate fact.

The Height of Dorkiness

2006-08-22T10:51:00.000+10:00

It just started raining! I was so over-excited that I typed this into my browser - http://www.blogger.com!
Alas, Firefox didn't quite share my enthusiasm for the exclamation mark...
But why am I so excited about it raining? Because the seasons are changing. Instead of it being bitterly cold icy rain, it's actually kind of nice.. the most subtle reminder that summer is coming.

Ahh, auditions for Beauty and the Beast are coming up soon. It's ridiculous - by the time they actually arrive, I will have been working myself up into a frenzy for so long that I'm bound to blow it. I am aiming for the role of Belle, and it's definitely a long shot. Song choice is bothering me though - if there are any musical theatrical people out there, help me out! I have narrowed it down to "The Beauty Is" from The Light in the Piazza, or "Meadowlark" from The Baker's Wife. The first one I suppose is better for showing off my upper range, but the second one has a lot more scope for emotional intensity.Can't decide... head exploded! Maybe I should just rehearse the living daylights out of both, then choose impulsively when I get in there.

The Onion would have to be one of my favourite websites, and this article was just priceless. Such seriousness!

Celebrity Launches Own-Breasts Awareness Campaign

Oh, another plug -
Jason turned me on to this - freaky little puppet man making a 'beat'. It's strangely hypnotic. Check it out!

The Dreaded 'M' Word

2006-08-22T02:07:00.000+10:00

Call me temperamental if you wish, but today I had just had enough of certain housemates. I got home to find the same old cesspool, inhabited by chauvanistic, racist and rude 'blokes'. I bared it for all of ten seconds before making more snide remarks and leaving. It's bitchy and I feel like such an overly-sensitive brat for just walking out, but I think they need to remember that a girl lives here too. It's not exactly welcoming to me for them to converse exclusively about parts of female anatomy and what they would like to do to them.

Today marked 21 months with Lucien. It is a long time. On the train this morning, I ran into my friend Jason who said, "21 months? It's been too long - break up or get married already." Sure, Jason is a bit of a dork whose track record with relationships is very sketchy, but he has a point. It is scary that I am being urged to consider the 'm' word by people, jokingly or not. I am 18 years old - sure, people would get married at 16 in the old days, but I'm far too young. It is hard to imagine how quickly girls would have to grow up back then, becoming wives and mothers before they had reached their twenties. Having to accept or reject a man that they would spend the rest of their life with, before they would have been old enough to drive, drink or vote - one of the most important things in their entire life, something that would eventually become a part of them and define their role.. and they were being encouraged and perhaps even pushed into it when barely out of training bras.
But I suppose for a woman in days gone by, a husband really was the only thing that there was to define you, unless you had other 'attributes'. In Jane Austen's Emma, the title character sees no shame in being single because of her respectability and wealth, but things are different for women in other positions (ie. Miss Bates). For Emma, being an old maid is not such a terrible fate if you have enough of your own 'steam' (wealth, title, status, etc) to support yourself as an outstanding member of society. It is a horrid thing to view a woman only in terms of her husband, or her father's wealth/title.. but things really were like that once.
I'd like to think that things have changed, but there is still so much more to be done. Once in a relationship, is a woman expected to cease being a separate entity? I couldn't be merely an attachment of someone else; I wouldn't take it. But a lot of people insinuate that such an arrangement is just the way that things ought to be.
For me, marriage is something that doesn't actually mean that much. It's just a word, a piece of paper. It can't keep people together if they don't love each other, and people can quite easily and happily stay together forever even if they are not married. So what is the point? I suppose being 'married' would just really confirm and slap a label on something that already was.

Lucien is managing to surprise me more and more, which is quite a feat for the boyfriend of a girl who demands surprise constantly. He's coming to visit me on Wednesday, planning to take me out for dinner and some other things that he is keeping under wraps. I'm looking forward to it so much... these last few weeks have not left much time for us. I'm actually quite proud of myself for taking it with such good nature - previously, I would have been a crumpled mess of a girl by this time, probably sobbing on the phone or desperately catching late trains to him. I think I'm doing well this time.

It was a glorious night tonight. Lucien was unfortunately detained - he had a major essay to hand in today, and has to give a big presentation on Wednesday. But I found a willing playmate once again in the form of Paul. I was dead-set on going for an adventure, but what we ended up doing was so much more fun than any traditional adrenaline-pumping activities. Yummy pizza with pumpkin and rocket, fascinating conversation over tea at the Westin, antics with a shopping trolley at the university. We got sort of yelled at by a drunk/drug-addled busker in the subway. We took some pictures of the clocktower in the dark.. it looked so beautiful with the nighttime clouds around it, reflecting in the moat (which I stupidly stuck my foot in to see how deep it was, making my foot slimy). I also came up with the brilliant idea of snorting ground pepper, just to see what would happen. Tres amusing for everybody around, I'm sure! But generally, the night was an absolute success. I drove Paul crazy with my indecisiveness though...
It turned out to be the most fun I have had in a long time.. reminding me a little of the type of fun I'd have with Louise when we'd get into crazy moods. I am a little sad that she decided to run away to Queensland, but I suppose that the lack of her has made me more likely to make other friends too! She'll be glad to come back and find me a little more independent.

Back at my apartment now, and it's not quite as bad as when I left. The boys were being relatively civil and even friendly - the main offender had already gone to bed by the time I got in (past 1am!).

The calm won't last though.. it never does.

A 'Sigh' Kind of Moment

2006-08-21T01:21:00.000+10:00

It's almost 2am and I'm still up and about. Freezing cold to the point where I can't quite feel my hands and feet. And I am listening the Mozart's Requiem on repeat - a surefire way to put myself in a melancholic mood. Why am I doing this to myself? I'm not sure, but it will definitely be bedtime soon, simply so I don't get sicker from being in the cold. Sleep would be nice, but I can't depend on getting any.

Rehearsals for Anything Goes are going nicely for most of those involved. We practiced a big ensemble number (I'd never learnt it before, but it was easy enough to pick up), but of course, something managed to go wrong. Feeling dizzy and somewhat nauseous from the medication that is supposed to be making me better, I fell off a chair that I was dancing on as I did a turn. Great fun. It wasn't too bad, some dancers managed to sort of catch me before I hit the ground.
Despite that, the day redeemed itself by offering some costume fittings. It's silly, but trying on costumes is possibly one of my favourite parts of the rehearsal process. And today's outfits were no exception. I have three costumes in the show - two daywear ensembles and an evening gown. I have only been fitted for the first two costumes so far - I'll describe them!

The first dress is a delightful little white dress, mid-calf length with a dropped waist. It has a navy blue band around the hips and some nice navy bands along the oversized collar. Basically, think cute sailor. I'll have to find a hat to go with this outfit, it's tremendously cute.
The second dress is red with tiny little white polka dots. It's longer, with a white sort of frill around the hem. The sleeves are tiny little buttoned-up things that look oh so elegant. It buttons up at the front and has a little white belt. I adore it!
I'm really really *really* hoping for a little red flapper dress for the second act.
There will definitely be some pictures coming.

I promised last post that I would enlighten you a little about this idea of 'tribes'. Well, it began when I met possibly one of the most wonderful, interesting, beautiful and magical friends of all time. We have fallen out of contact for the moment, but I just know we will meet up again one day. Anyway, this delightful individual was my Year 11 Drama teacher. Ophelia. She became a best friend for Louise and I, someone who we would jump at any opportunity to spend time with. One day, she told us of tribes - she confided in us because she just knew that we were from the same tribe. You know how people often say that soulmates are when a single soul dwells in two bodies? A tribe is like that, but on such a larger scale. Not all of the tribes are the same size, nor do the tribe's members have to be romantically in love in the same way as is expected of soulmates. It is just people who 'understand' each other on a scale that is barely tangible, people with that magical magnetism towards each other for reasons they can't comprehend - almost like there is a common element to unite a tribe, with a shard of it dwelling within each person...
This probably makes no sense. I think I'll have to draw a picture.

For the record, Lucien and I decided that we are from different tribes, but tribes which complement each other wonderfully.

Erk, it comes the time to go to bed. But not before the compulsory plug - Julian Nation. A lovely singer-songwriter I know. He's recently received some airplay on Triple J and FBi radio in Sydney, and just released his album "We Are All Writers" - available at Polyester on Brunswick Street or via www.bookclubrecords.com/. You know you want to! He's lovely.

Goodnight moon.

House of Mirth

2006-08-20T11:07:00.000+10:00

I've had enough - it's time to move. Yesterday I returned home not to the catastrophic mess that my house was, but something altogether worse. Bottle caps littering the floor, the sink full of dirty dishes, half-eaten meals sitting on the bench, dirty tea towels lying on the floor, week-old scraps of fast food hiding against the skirting board. And to top it off, two of my Neanderthal housemates were drinking to the point of drunkeness at 3pm whilst loudly playing Monopoly and berating everybody in sight. I copped a serve about being a first year, wearing a dress and having 'bad' taste in music, and once again they started on Will for the fact that he has basic hygiene and can speak understandably! I felt like screaming. I also felt like slapping them both and telling them exactly what I thought, but I did neither. I eventually made some snide remarks, grabbed enough stuff for the rest of the weekend and stormed out.

But enough on that. It is a ridiculous situation, and I'll be glad to get out of there.. but so many other lovely things happened before that nastiness. Let's start from the beginning.

Friday morning was divine. A perfect morning of pancakes, window shopping, random acts of kindness and the most wonderful type of company - Paul. I hadn't quite met him before other than seeing him around campus, but as he is leaving for Philadelphia quite soon, it had a sense of 'now or never'. I'll have to post more about this theory later, but he is definitely a member of my tribe. We had breakfast at Morgan's on Collins Street, then went window-shopping, visiting RetroStar (vintage clothes), Anton's (unusual haute couture) and Smiggle (stationary), which was torturous. So many beautiful things that I wanted, but alas! I haven't started properly at Myer yet, so I don't really have the funds to buy anything. But lots of fun was had nonetheless, especially when I tried on a particular crazy purple dress. It had puffed sleeves and a full skirt, with square pieces of lace sewn onto it, with ribbons everywhere. Paul has a photo of it, perhaps he'll publish it.

After the mid-morning sojourn, I headed to Carlton and then Richmond for various medical appointments. I have bronchitis (spelling?) at the moment, which is just peachy. And now the medication to make me better is making me dizzy and nauseous. Even better!

My Dad then picked me up to have dinner with him, and my new step-mother and step-sister. This was interesting - they only got married a week ago, and already the status quo is changing rapidly. The daughter, let's call her Scarlett, tends toward being a spoiled brat. She's the only child of a single mother who doubles as a business executive - Scarlett is very used to getting what she wants, and being a little cow about EVERYTHING. But there was a noticable change in the air.. suddenly she was not getting her way, and being ignored when she sulked.

Though apart from the absolute insolence that is my new step-sistet, I had a nice time. We went out for pasta in Kew and then took a walk around a very nice shop - Leo's Fine Food and Wine. I didn't end buying anything, but just being surrounded by such interesting things was a treat in itself. There was every type of tea you could imagine, packages of dried rosebuds to put in cocktails, kinds of pumpkins I'd never seen before, tiny roasting quails the size of your palm, and little biscuits that looked like sculptures. I felt like an explorer - a shop full of curiosities!

I ended up staying the night, and the next morning we went to the Richmond and then Queen Victoria Markets. I bought three particularly beautiful blood oranges to draw pictures of before eating, a pig's trotter for my puppy, a slice of French almond tarte to share with Lucien, and then - my bargain of the day! A fishmonger called out to me to buy the last of his mussels. $4 a kilo, so I obliged. He measured them out to a kilo, then added the rest of the mussels in the tray. It came to about 1.7kg, to which he remarked, "Well then, that's the biggest kilo I've ever sold!". So yes, dear reader, I scored a ridiculous amount of mussels for $4.
I took them home to my Mom, after the housemates debarkle - we sauteed them in butter, wine, garlic, ginger and chilli. So good! If only I could cook...

Such a nice weekend, now the week looks all the more dreary in comparison. Oh well, I'll keep my chin up.

One Hundred Things

2006-08-18T03:43:00.000+10:00

I noticed that lots of people have these '100 things' lists as a sort of glimpse into the random details of their personality. Here goes mine...

1. If I were a boy, my Mom was going to call me Eugene or Vincent.
2. As a small child, my family would spend two weeks every summer at Apollo Bay.
3. I grew up in Taiwan.
4. My hair is naturally dead straight, though it goes the slightest bit kinky when it has layers.
5. I have fairy lights in my bedroom. No, it's not as tacky as it sounds...
6. My parents are called Anne and Frank.
7. My siblings are Vince (17), Ellen (15) and Katie (12).
8. I don't like anchovies at all, or kalamata olives. They're just too salty.
9. My first big crush was on David Bowie. It lasted about 3 years.
10. I was 16 before my first kiss, given to me by my first 'boyfriend'. We went on to be partners for the debutante ball, breaking up half way through rehearsals. Almost 3 years later, we're good friends.

11. If I were the reincarnation of anybody famous in history, I'd be Marie-Antoinette.
12. I have very thin, delicate wrists and ankles. But I wish my jaw were more defined.
13. I'm a very cheap drunk - two, maybe three drinks are enough to make me silly.
14. For that reason, I prefer to buy an exquisite but expensive cocktail rather than multiples of cheap beer or wine.
15. As the title of this website suggests, I have a thing for pajamas. Very nice ones. I just can't stand sleeping naked or in an ugly old t-shirt.
16. I have a pathetic immune system and usually have a terrible time in winter. My eventual plan is to buy several houses and move back and forth so I can always follow summer.
17. I sang in front of 2000 people at a music festival when I was 12.
18. My eyes are very blue, but tend to change between blue-grey, blue-green, blue-violet depending on my mood and the lighting.
19. I have been told I look like a brunette Kirsten Dunst. I disagree.
20. One of my biggest fears is holding a goldfish in my hand. I'm just so scared that, if that happened, my hand would instinctively snap closed - squishing the fish.

21. I like wearing dresses, skirts and heels. It makes me feel feminine and pretty, but I'm not afraid to throw on sweatpants and trainers if the occassion calls for it.
22. I adore the European Cafe on Spring Street. They make an awesome dish called Salmon Gravlax (yes, I asked what the hell that meant too). It's like pickled, thinly sliced salmon, served with grilled ciabatta, avocado and chilli salsa and curly endive. Yum.
23. Take me to the opera and I will love you forever. I've only been a couple of times (La traviata and The Pearlfishers) but it's definitely the kind of thing to send me into raptures.
24. I like dress up parties. And hell, dressing up for no reason.
25. I own a lot of books. I had many to begin with, but each semester I have to buy at least 8 more for school.
26. I was 17 before I had enough confidence in my body to wear a bikini. Lucien was very happy.
27. I love Queer Eye for the Straight Guy, Extreme Makeover and What Not to Wear. It just makes me so happy to see people so genuinely happy after their lives have been made better.
28. In the Jolie-Aniston wars, I'm going for Camp Jolie. I don't like Jennifer Aniston. She's just so bland.
29. Yes, I went through a gothic stage. It lasted two weeks, and then I clicked on to how much I detested it.
30. Henceforth, I think that anybody who purposely puts a label on themselves (or behaves or dresses in such a way as to purposely attract a label) is silly. Can't people just be happy being themselves, rather than trying to conform to someone's standards and ideas of what is good?

31. I like wearing stockings. Unfortunately, I'm also quite clumsy, so they only usually last one or two wears before being ripped to shreds.
32. A big picture of me was in my local newspaper when I was performing 'Julia' in Nineteen Eighty-Four. I felt temporarily famous, especially when people recognised me.
33. Lucien and I first became a couple on November 21st 2004, at approximately 12:48pm.
34. I attended an all-girls high school.
35. I have a dog who lives with my Mom and siblings. She's adorable and very clever, despite being the fattest dog EVER.
36. I adore emotive classical music. In fact, I generally enjoy all art forms when they are 'lyrical'.
37. My favourite fruit is blood oranges, but I also love fresh figs, blueberries, peaches and champagne melon.
38. I have always wanted to learn to play the harp, and one day when I am wealthy enough in time and money, I will.
39. One of my favourite paintings is Waterhouse's Lady of Shalott. My mother has a copy hanging above her bed.
40. I have a terrible avoidant streak.

41. I generally wear a size 10 dress (in US terms, a size 6).
42. Despite learning for approximately 8 years, I can still only speak very basic Chinese.
43. I was an Arts Leader in my final year of high school, which entitled me to wear a spiffy little badge.
44. My hair grows ridiculously fast. I have to cut my fringe every week or so, and it once grew from a pixie cut to waist length in two years.
45. My vocal range stretches more than 3 octaves, from about F3 to around A6. But I am most comfortable as a soprano.
46. I cannot stand delustered satin. I was the only debutante in my set to have a dress made from a fabric that was not delustered satin.
47. I don't really drink coffee, except for the occasional latte.
48. But I do like tea! I like Earl Grey, but I also drink dandelion tea and like to finish the day with Celestial Seasons Sleepytime tea.
49. I have high cheekbones, and I'm slightly vain about them. In photos, I tend unconsciously suck my cheeks in to make them more noticeable. It's embarrassing when people let me know.
50. But I also have funny knees.

51. I like red with little white polka dots. I have a headband from Alannah Hill with that pattern.
52. Have never taken illicit drugs or smoked a cigarette, but I did once share a Cuban cigar with my Uncle. Surprisingly, it was enjoyable.
53. My secret shame - I can't drive! Not so secret at all though, I haven't even got my learner's permit.
54. I left my passport in someone's car and now I have no idea where it is or who is using it.
55. I love Oriental lillies, especially the very delicate pale pink ones. But I also love tulips, roses and poppies.
56. Skiing is probably my favourite sporting pursuit. When I was younger, my family would go every year for a week or two to Falls Creek.
57. I'm a bit of a speed demon. My friend Benjamin owns a red 1980's Japanese sports car - even being a passenger in that thing when he is driving is fantastic.
58. Between pirates and ninjas, pirates win. They are just so cool.
59. I love going to Mekong on Swanston St for Vietnamese beef pho soup by myself. I'll sit there with my huge bowl of soup, pouring over a script or a novel, pretending to be interesting enough to be seen by myself.
60. I like Commander Keen. Perhaps a little too much.

61. I bruise ridiculously easily and often find them on my body with no idea how I got them. I currently have a deep blue mark about the size of my palm on my leg.
62. This causes my Mom to worry that Lucien is abusive. Pfft!
63. Two of my cousins are relatively well known for their work in Australian television and miniseries. They are brother and sister.
64. I stress too much, about stupid things.
65. I have never been in a car accident, but we had a near miss once. The tyres fell off the car while it was taking a corner, and we went skidding and almost rolled down an embankment. Trés scary.
66. Unfortunately, I'm naturally quite pale. Fake tan doesn't quite cut it - no matter which brand I try, it always looks orange. So I use Johnson's Holiday Skin.
67. My fragrance de jour is Spirit of Moonflower from the Body Shop. It feels mysterious and 'dewy'.
68. I detest it when people automatically assume that I'm stupid because I am young, female and have a sense for the whimsical.
69. I am a terrible liar.
70. When I was about 11 years old, I wanted to be Geri Halliwell. Very scary.

71. My favourite actors are Meryl Streep, John Hurt, Ralph Fiennes and Glenn Close.
72. Yes, like a good wine, I think actors get better with age.
73. Once, after a big storm had left branches strewn over our front yard, my Dad helped me build a teepee out of them. We covered it in a tarpaulin and put a sleeping bag inside. It was my not-so-secret hideout for about a week until it started breaking.
74. I don't have very interesting heritage. My parents were both Australian, but there is Scottish, English, Swiss, Swedish and French a little further back.
75. I wear glasses. Or, I should wear glasses. I lost my pretty red ones that fitted and suited me, so I refuse to wear my old, ugly ones. Therefore, I can't see very well!
76. The above has taught me that I probably should get contacts.
77. My past jobs include assistant at a theatre school, ice-cream scooper, checkout chick and even factory worker. My Dad once employed my siblings and I to do some factory work as a school holidays job - $20 an hour, good fun!
78. Yes, I'm a Monty Python fan.
79. I don't buy newspapers, but I always steal the weekend magazine parts out when my Mum gets The Age.
80. I'm a bit of a sucker for shows like The Simpsons, Futurama, Family Guy etc. I can seriously see the same episode 12 times and still think it's funny.

81. The Scientology Chapter in Melbourne have my name, address and telephone number. I often get handwritten notes from them and pamphlets on how to 'get off drugs naturally' - because I take prescription medication.
82. I was actually friends with a lot of my teachers at high school. Having come to university, I'm astounded that so many lecturers are so condescending and arrogant.
83. Between Batman and Superman, Batman wins. Especially in Batman Returns.
84. I have a strange accent. My native Australian, but tinged with American (east coast), British and South African.
85. I have been using the internet since 1996.
86. My favourite numbers are 13, 7 and 73.
87. In my first ever job, I managed to slice my nose into three pieces. Luckily I recovered with not too much scarring and without needing plastic surgery.
88. I despise small children.
89. Unfortunately, I tend to have a 'all or nothing' attitude. It's a bad habit - if I can't do something perfectly, then I tend not to do it.
90. I think this is why I'm not doing so great at university - I know I can't score a perfect hundred, where I could at high school.

91. When I was 15, my IQ was measured to be between 145-155. I wonder if it has gone up or down.
92. I almost always sleep on my side, with my 'top' leg bent and my other leg straight.
93. I am passionate about the difference between "your" and "you're", as well as "they're", "there" and "their". It's probably a pet hate.
94. Despite this, I still have issues with apostrophes. Every single English teacher I've had has told me different rules.
95. I am quite naïve and I trust people too much. This has resulted in me being hurt several times, but alas, I always go back for more.
96. I can't wink.
97. Currently, I am wearing plain cotton aqua bikini cut underwear.
98. I have been described as sparkly, flippant, intense, flighty, moody and theatrical.. among other things.
99. I haven't had any lunch today and I am so hungry right now that my stomach feels like it's going to implode.
100. Coming up with one hundred things about myself was actually kind of difficult!

Terminally Creative

2006-08-18T03:00:00.000+10:00

Well, it's 3am on a Friday morning and I'm not asleep. No, I was sitting at the kitchen table cutting words out of the newspaper to make interesting and non-sensical sentences. I then turned to the real estate guide to make the biggest and best house imaginable out of pictures of ordinary houses. Both my creations are still sitting on the kitchen table waiting to be defiled by philistine housemates in the morning. 'Tis sad, but it is even sadder that I have to be up in time for breakfast in the city with a friend tomorrow morning. I hate early starts, but I suppose I should get used to them.

Will (housemate) and I watched V for Vendetta tonight. I saw it before at the cinema with Lucien (boyfriend) and thoroughly.. enjoyed is the wrong word. Rather, it stirred me. As a film, I liked the experience, but as a piece of culture or dare I say literature it was powerful. The story of Guy Fawkes was something I grew up with in Taiwan, and after having to delve so deeply into George Orwell's Nineteen Eighty-Four (I played Julia in a play version), it seemed to just mean something entirely deeper than any normal blockbuster-type film would. Plus Hugo Weaving gets major points for having such a sexy voice.

I forgot to eat dinner again tonight. I suppose it's something about living (practically) by myself. If I had Lucien here or friends constantly around to cook for, it would be something enjoyable. But althought I can see the point in cooking nutritious food for myself, I really can't be bothered. Tonight was half a cheeseburger, a glass of juice and some celery smeared with peanut butter. Healthy. I tried to make some pancakes, which resulted in setting off the smoke detector.. at 2am. Not a great idea when there are sleeping people who have to wake up in 3 or 4 hours.

Oh, and I have to share this - it kept me amused all day. Richard Cheese coupled with cheeky, childish animation is definitely a winner.

Introducing Rose

2006-08-15T14:50:00.001+10:00

Let's see..
About to turn 19 and being one of the city's newer residents, I'm a girl on a mission. To conquer Melbourne. Not with an arsenal of guns or by setting hearts alight (though the latter could be fun..), I just want to live and love the city. And tell you all about it

So, I might as well introduce myself. My name is Rose, I'm a recent high school graduate who decided to jump in the deep end - moving out and starting at the University of Melbourne (Arts), majoring in Philosophy and Literature. My place of residence is Brunswick, though I have a plan of moving to St Kilda sometime soon (closer to the beach, and near Luna Park which I adore). I have had the misfortune to be one of those terminally creative people, the kind who are so bursting with random spontaneous creativity that they never end up getting anything done. Tragedy indeed. For instance, I'm currently supposed to be writing an essay on Plato's theory of the Tripartite Soul (due yesterday). Mmm..

My passions apart from exploring the city, lie in generally 'arty' spheres (dare I call them 'lofty'?). I am a theatre brat, both watching and participating - currently I'm rehearsing for Cole Porter's Anything Goes, understudying the role of Hope Harcourt. I also like painting, playing piano and violin, travelling, shopping, socializing, cooking, listening to music, reading and occassionally being athletic. Currently, I'm deliriously in love with a delightful young man named Lucien - alas! He lives an hour from me, so we don't get to see each other so often, but when we do it's just glorious. I just got a job at Myer Bourke St, so more details as I know - I literally got the job today.

So make up a pitcher of some delectable cocktail, put on the jazz and put up your feet! Happy reading.