Antoinette and Other Things

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Afternoon, Only Just Waking Up

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Materialistic? Me? Never!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mini-Break

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Anger!

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

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

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

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

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

I feel slightly better now!

Dining Horror and the Politics of Christmas

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

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

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

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

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