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.
Showing posts with label rant. Show all posts
Showing posts with label rant. Show all posts
Thursday, May 10
Tuesday, April 17
The Dark Side of the Toorak Mummies
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:
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.
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.
Wednesday, March 14
She Strikes Again
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.
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.
Saturday, January 27
Anger!
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!
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!
Saturday, January 6
Cough, Splutter
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!
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!
Friday, December 8
New Dress(es)
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.
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.
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