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.

She Strikes Again

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

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

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

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

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

Just Keep Swimming, Just Keep Swimming...

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

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

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

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

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

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

Disconnected

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

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

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

Self-Improvement + Sharks

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No rest for the wicked.

Resolutions

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

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

And now some little ones:

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

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

Period of Lull

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

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

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

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.

Personality Crisis

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

It's happening again.

Cookie Dough

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

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

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

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

I'm a Rabbit I'm a Fox

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

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

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

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

Bounce Me Higher

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

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

So I won't.

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

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

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

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

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!

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.

Tower of Pisa

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

Being cryptic.

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

Enough. iLectures to listen to and essays to write.

Rocket Man

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

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

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

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

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

Introducing Rose

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

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

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

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