Baby, I Love Your Way

Today I made a pretty good salad. Mmm salad.

I am a C student because I look like a C student, not because I deserve to be one.
Advice: Join the drama society. WTF?

I Know What You Want, You Want A Piece Of Me

I caught a Jet Cat to Manly, because the times were ten minutes to the left of our thoughts.
We bought some wine, and I waited in line, but got to the front three times before we bought anything.

Money! We needed money!
The automatic ATM machine was broken, but the bank left a helpful security guard behind closed (but openable) doors, so we went inside.
Brilliant, really, because we got money for our adventures from the convenience of a hole in a wall, and in our cleverness were soon followed by a lady in colourful skirts and various other drapery.

Security Guard: I like your skirt, lady.
Lady: Thank you, security guard. It sure is colourful and drapey.
Security Guard: Yes, I like your skirt because it covers you. You should be covered. It’s a nice skirt.

Oh dear. Three little white girls (plus a fourth, but she was unashamedly draped in cloth) in skirts and boots and heels. Just a few little words away from being called uncovered meat by the passive aggressive security guard.

Excuse me, I don’t like to feel like I’m a second class citizen because I’m not wearing a fricking burka. It would be more insulting for me to wear one anyway, probably. It’s not like anyone in the bank at 9pm was actually Muslim.

Otherwise, lovely night.

Except, I was petrified on the train home from Kings Cross, any second ready to curl into a ball, squeeze shut my eyes, and wait for the scary to disappear. Then I walked home, but the constant staccato of my boots provided enough false bravado.

Also, I like boys. They’re lovely.
The silly little monkeys made my day.

You Can Prop Me Up On The Table Like A Mannequin

Last night was so great.
I still have a heart that’s beating off key, and who could complain about that kind of exhilaration?

I’m actually having trouble believing this now, but it was just on Friday that I set out to Jack’s 19th (hahaha finally). The train was okay, it could have been worse. At least James was there, you know, to prevent me from having to sit next to some creepy people (rule of train: the person that sits next to you is always the creepiest one). It was packed!
Apparently I was taking in the trees throughout the entire ride, and although I remember looking out the window, I don’t really remember taking anything in, oops.

Jack’s Party Was Lovely.
Even with the threats of BW showing up. Luke did, actually, and although he’s awkward, the whole situation wasn’t awkward. Maybe, though, it’s because if I had tried anything, he wouldn’t have any particular objections anyway. Stupid.
It was so nice, though, with Awesome Matt Mckee, and Lucy and I don’t even know who was there anymore. It was everyone I’d want to see in Newcastle, but wouldn’t really  ever think of calling.
Grace and Abby and I had a nice chat in the park before some boys came and wrestled on the patchy grass. AHAHA. What is this? Did we all revert to high school?
I think, even if my high school was so terrible, that this reversion wasn’t at all so bad. At least for a few hours.
Some girl tried to tell me about a 1950s television starlet with no prompting (because they shared a name) and that my WONDERFUL UTS COURSE was not even second to the brilliance of communications at Western Sydney (AHAHAH. I don’t believe that I’ve ever heard someone praise UWS before).
Also, I was lying down, and Abby and Jack started wrestling on top of me, and it was painful. I was more worried, however, about getting covered in a surveyor pen, which sounds much scarier than a permanent marker just because of the fancy name.
I’ll survey YOU.

Back to reality, and we became the nonchalant nineteen year olds (MOST of us, anyway) you can’t help but love. We had a BIG breakfast, except for Jack whose big breakfast turned out to be GIGANTIC (He wasn’t even manly enough to finish it). It was so nice, I think that I miss Darby street, as ridiculous as that may sound. I mean, how can you miss it when you’re living right next to Glebe Pt Road? It’s like a naughty indulgence.

Rob drove! No train! James was clearly thrilled.
We went to my house first where Big Hels loaded me with food, including eggs from the Luckys. Her chickens. Chickens that are insane, but are also looking forward to me babysitting them soon.
I miss my poor baby, who is comfort eating without me.
There are distinct similarirites between McNaughtons, Labradors and Slugs, says my older brother. They can’t tell when they’re full.
It explains alot in my family, but mostly why Daisy is now a giant butterball. I still love her, but sleeping in my bed may become awkward. She’s so adorable.

Back to the road, and it was a magical ride with little to no traffic clouding the horizon.
We stopped off for a bit of Post Mix and tested the road trip playlists we’ve been so meticulous in crafting.

At home, there was nothing I would have liked more than to just sleep it all off, but I had another party to attend!
It was masquerade, Marie Antoinette and all that jazz, and despite being crazy from a lack of sleep, I was so glad to go and see my long forgotten, Missenden road buddies. I was also excited, because I had a beautiful lace butterfly with which to obscure my face, and who doesn’t like to look pretty for silly little reasons?

The whole thing was pretty brilliant, and everyone looked pretty.
This sounds terrible, especially with a distinct overabundance of girls (at an all girl college ball), but I may have unconsciously stole my friend’s date.
She DID say that he was allowed to flirt with one girl, but maybe he kind of abandoned her after a while. He kept asking me to CS on the DF, and then trying to mack in. Oops.
He was nice, very boarding school, and I think he liked me before he was drinking, even. I wasn’t drinking, however, and stuck to water after a few champagnes, because water doesn’t tend to leave me back in my bedroom barely conscious. Without any knowledge of getting there.
Gotta love that about the aqua vitae.

So, we danced, he kept trying to pull me in real close, but I just laughed as he got progressively more and more drunk, until eventually he got taken back to college and tucked away into someone’s bed.
I wonder if he’ll add me on Facebook. Haha.

He didn’t make it to Cargo, apparently.
I didn’t go to Cargo either, because I don’t really like Cargo, and all going would mean would be that I’d have to pay for a taxi to get home. So I ditched my date (the lovely Erin, who didn’t even make me put out), and I walked home through Victoria Park (a bad move at midnight) and almost went to bed.

I didn’t actually make it into my sheets until after three, but I’m not going to lie. It was well worth it.

So, that was my weekend.
What did you get up to?

You’re The Funny Little Frog In My Throat

This morning I woke to grey skies, a purply brick wall, and the always welcome strains of Stuart Murdoch on Triple J. Hurrah!

I also had somewhat of a revelation.
I just realised why my brothers always had these wonderful bands that I’d never heard of before when I was in high school. It didn’t help me in my insecurities to know that even musically they were much cooler than me.
In high school, while listening to ridiculous amounts of the Foo Fighters (although, it can’t have been all bad. I had Franz Ferdinand, I’m sure), I also managed to entirely avoid watching any of the OC.
Except, of course, the one where Marissa dies.

So, it turns out, watching it now, that the bands that I thought were quirky (hello Watchmen) and wonderful and perfect, were all coming to me from a little gated village with ridiculous sea views in California. Or at least the pseudo-television version of it.

I always found it incredible that the OC would have all the bands that I have come to adore, but it seems I am merely a second hand pawn of their shameless promotion (although, it’s not quite that bad).

At least I came by the Shins honestly, with my very own Natalie Portman to warn me that my life would change.

How Else Could You Tie My Head To The Sky?

Hey, do you know what else gives me goosebumps?

Sneezing. It’s weird, and I don’t really like being sick.

It’s weird because who gets goosebumps when it’s hot outside. It’s not hot anymore, so maybe it’s okay for something to induce them now.

It’s weird the same way that sun showers are, and eating fish and chips in the rain is, and it’s weird in the way that I really kind of like it, probably.

I don’t really like sneezing, but I like the goose pimples that can’t make sense in thirty degrees.