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!....
Showing posts with label friends. Show all posts
Showing posts with label friends. Show all posts
Wednesday, April 4
Monday, December 18
Social Butterfly
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.
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.
Wednesday, December 13
Moving - Part II
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.
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.
Monday, December 11
Drinks?
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.
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.
Thursday, November 23
Bubble-Wrapped
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.
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.
Tuesday, October 17
Spending a Summer Wasting
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!
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!
Monday, October 16
Frenzy x 10
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.
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.
Tuesday, September 12
Jai Guru Deva
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.
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.
Sunday, September 10
Gone Through Brimstone, And I've Been Through The Fire
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.
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.
Sunday, September 3
Adventures in Suburbia
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 Chapel 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!
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 Chapel 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!
Wednesday, August 30
One Day Until Spring
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
