You’re Not A Teenager, So Don’t Act Like One

I think that I am nursing the beginnings of an impossible crush.
It’s slightly morally ambiguous, but probably leans closer to the territory of breaking girl code.
I think I like it, despite its fleeting nature.
It’s weird. I never thought that I’d be into blonds.

It’s Not Love, No It’s Nothing Like That

Ahhh, so I’ve finnnnallly finished my first week of uni.
My first second year of uni, actually.
The unnecessary consonants are there because ten hours of uni is such a lot to get through, isn’t it? Gosh.

I am now learning the German, and I’d sprinkle this post with examples of my new found skills, except that right now I don’t have any. How much can you learn in ten hours? Well, actually really two, but you know, still.

My classes are so weird because this is really the first time that I’ve been in any kind of contact with people that don’t do my course. Not that that’s a bad thing, but it’s weird. Usually there’s a handful of people I know, and another handful or so of faces that I recognise, but now it’s a whole mess of people that I’ve never seen in my life. It’s kind of nice, because I’m not automatically the oldest person in the room anymore.

My first German class was mostly administrative, but we did have to just write down everything we knew. I was filling out the sheet with a girl sitting next to me, and she said “There’s that band from Germany, what are they called?” and I was so sure that she was about to say Rammstein, or something, and then she said “Yeah, Franz Ferdinand!” And I don’t think I talked any more after that.
Honestly!

My Foundations of International Studies tutorial was even more diverse, because not only were these people from other faculties, but also from other languages. I was slightly jealous every time someone said that they did French, but I’m still pretty keen to become a proper German anyway.
We had to get into groups of three, and the few people I did know were from my faculty, and we were supposed to be in completely diverse groups, so I was a bit hesitant. Until this guy came over and yelled at me “I like the look of you!” and became my first group member (of Team Planes, no less). He then accosted this poor, adorable guy sitting nearby and we were set.
Eek. Except afterwards, I walked out of the building with the second guy and he told me that he’d been in a group with the scary one last year, and that he organised the group pretty well even if he was a bit full on.
Still, hurrah. Seems someone likes the look of me. It still counts, even if it was a giant gay guy (mature age student, no less).

Yesterday was so great, though. My friends finally returned to the Motherland, and en masse, we went to the Sydney Uni O Week stalls. I haven’t seen them since forever, and I’m so glad they’re back. The O Week stalls, however, were totally lame. People accosted me trying to get me to buy prepaid visa cards and student discounted Windows packages.
Some girl made us all sit in a chair to get a photo taken, and then another guy told us to all get up while he took a photo. I was confused, and a bit miffed since I just wanted to eat the Kinder Surprise that I got from the Broadway stall. Mmm Kinder Surprise.
Stupid Sydney Uni.

I went back to Sancta where I sat in my friend’s room by the window watching all the little Freshers stumble blindly through their O Week in the college quad. It was kind of fun. My little (but giant) brother was there amongst the other drunkards, and it was kind of funny to see him. He looked up at one point, and saw me actually, which was embarrassing, because I have been meaning to not see him until Sydney Uni actually starts.
He called me this morning, and we had a rambling chat about stuff (though Lord knows what), and he sounded so terrible. In a good way, I think, because he had fun getting so wrecked.
He’s going on a harbour cruise tonight, so if you see some ridiculously dressed boys running down George Street tonight, I’d assume that he’s one of them.

I think it’s going to be nice to have him in Sydney. I didn’t really think that I’d see him very often, but maybe I will see him every now and again. I guess it’s just nice to have some sort of familial ties closer to me than a three hour train ride.

Yes, well I guess that’s really all I have. Hurrah!

Development not so Arrested

http://perezhilton.com/2009-02-24-development-arrested-no-longer-michael-ceras-on-board-for-film

Hurrah!

All The Clever Things I Should Say To You, They Got Stuck Somewhere

…Stuck between me and you.
Whoa oh oh what the hell do I do this for?

I start uni in like, eek, an hour and 18 minutes. How exciting! I’m excited.
I’m kind of not ENTIRELY excited, but that’s just because I can’t find a book bag that I like. It seems so silly, but my German text book is way heavy!
Anyway, so I’m PUMPED. Ish. I think it’s nervous excitement, maybe. I don’t even know where to go properly.

Our floor party is next week, and I think that it will be much better than the last one I went to since our RN is super nice, and he probably won’t make us do ‘rape’ themed charades. And we’re making pizzas.

People think I’m crazy, but I think that talking about the Beatles is a good sign of compatability. Last time I talked about the Beatles was especially nice, because I didn’t even bring it up.
Except that for the last few days, it has left me humming the Thomas the Tank Engine theme.
It doesn’t have to make sense.

I am going to go to the moonlight cinema, finally. It’s mostly because I found someone to go with that doesn’t seem to hate me, that doesn’t seem to feel strained having me around, that doesn’t seem to think that I’m a completely unecessary person.
It’s nice, you know, not to feel like such a burden sometimes.

I like to analyse word choice, as if everyone’s arbitrary choices are all Freudian slips. It’s fun, you know?
Like, what does ’scared’ even mean? Why would someone even be ’scared’?

I’m so nervous, Oh, I don’t know what to do.

Sometimes I think I want to just ignore it all, but really I just wish it was better.
I just wish someone else would fix it. I don’t think it’s mine.

This River Is Wild

Today was such a suprisingly sunny one.
I went to Tropfest, and although leaving my building saw the sky stained with an unpromising mix of greys and slurries, the heavens shined on the Domain.
Despite having a four hour wait ahead, the blow was slightly softened by a shiny new lawn chair that I won. The pain in my back was also slightly alleviated.
It was SO nice because I was talking to some new girls, and then some older girls, and then my favourite girl from the ferry.
The movies started in dusk, and they were so good. I can’t believe how good. I wish I did MAP, just so I could make films. I wish I was that talented (this admission would suggest to my Dad that I have low self esteem, rather than me admitting fault).
I loved Being Carl Williams, ohmigosh. I kind of have a crush. On more than one person involved, actually.
The winner was pretty standard, just like last year, I think. Except it was still nice.

It got a bit cold, and my legs got a bit cramped, but overall it was a bit nice.

I’ve been thinking, actually.
I walked out on a discussion that I’m sure should have been a fight.
I may have been slightly more miffed than I have previously admitted to. I’m not even sure why. I just started thinking that I should be more mad, and that I wanted to be more mad, and that really, I was more mad.
Silence from me may leave some people cold, and I’m sorry, but avoiding things for a bit isn’t quite the same, is it? It’s not supposed to be. I think I’m kind of confused, and so I just want to sit over here for a little while.
If the problem was my passive behaviour, and apparent neediness, then surely I’m not going to solve anything by turning the other cheek, really.
I’m not sure if anyone will make sense of this really. Probably doesn’t matter anyway.

NB: THERE IS BEAUTY IN GODDAMN SILENCE.

Okay, You’re Kind Of Sexy, But You’re Not Really Special

I had a monster sleep, and I woke up, and I realised that I completely forgot to mention the absolute best (well, kind of funny) bits of yesterday.

My bus trip home wasn’t quite the one that I had anticipated, so I ended up on George Street during peak hour. Millions of people, yes. And a tour guide holding up a pole with a koala on top that signaled for thousands of asian tourists to ram into me.

After a good seven buses passed, there was finally a four one three, and although it wasn’t quite the four one two that used to make me so happy, it was a pretty nice bus. I used my psychic mind powers and made it stop right at the very front of me, and success! I got a seat, and stuff.

The best part was when this old guy sat next to me, and you could TELL he was old because of his safari suit, and wrinkles, and such. The BEST part was that he was wearing the MOST ridiculous wig that I have ever seen. It was like Bowlchop: The Wig. It was like his head had somehow sprouted acrylic. It was like Martha pretending to be bald in Home and Away by wearing a scarf on her head, except you can still see the hair sprouting out. OH my gosh.

It was pretty good. I like toupees, because I once watched this documentary called Toupee: The Documentary, and it was, well, enlightening to say the least. I had to be careful not to stare, because although I was wearing glasses, they weren’t my sunglasses.

Normal glasses are kind of dangerous, I think, because they make me feel like I’m wearing uber lame ray bans, and that I can stare and not be recognised to my heart’s content.
Not True.

I was trying to read this book at this bus stop yesterday that I have been trying to read since this time last year. After I’d opened it, and tried to find my place I stumbled across a fluorescent pink post-it stuck into the middle of a page.
It was so nice! Someone left me a secret note to find later. Probably not this much later, but still.
Secret happy notes from past people are brill. Yes.

Apparently, after one litre of whiskey (I assume that it was duty free), Tom decided that it would be a good time to call Yizzie, so he did.
He called to set up his Second Best Friend with one of my friends, and it was funny, but then he said that he was setting his Second Best Friend with one of my friends and not me was because if his Second Best Friend touched me then he would have to stab his Second Best Friend in the face.
It’s a bit late, though. His Second Best Friend already did.

I always think it’s funny when Tom decides to become kind of an over protective brother, especially in a way that doesn’t lead to him talking to me over skype, and repeatedly telling me that “YOU ARE BEING USED.” And then telling Mum about it later.
Although, I guess it’s largely the same thing. Still funny. Kind of nice.
He said that he’s going to get me and Jimbo drunk, and although I can’t stomach alcohol in super big quantities, I believe him. He has that kind of power over his siblings.

To end this, I could break out an overused Eleanor Roosevelt quote like I’m in the Princess Diaries, but just because I’m mad at myself for giving consent, I don’t think that it’s helping my cause to take the blame.
This isn’t my fault. I’m not a fricking carpet.

Yeah, I Need A Scapegoat Now

So, there are some things making me angry.
Like how I’m only getting best of Sunday Night Safran podcasts, now.
Like how fire alarms mean that I don’t sleep.
Like how I just don’t sleep properly sometimes anyway.
Like how I haven’t slept properly in days and EEK EEK (like the stabbing sound in a Hitchcock film).

Some things that don’t make me angry, though, are the nice people at the magazine that I’m doing work experience with. They took me shopping at lunch time, and they bought me chocolates, and champagne, and are going to give me books to read and review. And free books if I should want to take them.
Free books are almost the greatest thing ever.
Perhaps the only greater thing than free books would be free second hand books. They smell so good.
Perhaps the only thing greater than free second hand books that smell so good would be a room full of shelves and piles of free second hand books that smell so good, and also double as a bed because mmm, sweet literary dreams.

Anyway, so I’m pretty chuffed about what I’m doing right now. And hurrah! Although, I am slightly confused by buses, but that’s okay.

I’m stupid so angry that I’m not even hungry, and food makes me think “ick” and not “yum”. I’m so stupid angry about that because I have jelly in my fridge and jelly is delicious when made correctly.
I love jelly, but jelly has a habit of sliding down your throat in a way that may normally make you think “yum slidy”, but at other times feels just like your stomach sinking.
Sinking stomachs make me so stupid angry.

I’m so stupid angry and I’m not even stupid sure of why.
I have a sinking bad jelly day stomach feeling that I’m so mad because I’m mostly mad at me.
I don’t like being mad at me, sometimes I even like me, so I might just be stupid angry with little to no discretion.
Angry tastes like happy. I mean, sad tastes alot like happy.

I’m not really sad though, and maybe not even angry.
But I am DEFINITELY NOT YOUR CHUMP.

Tomorrow I am excited because tomorrow I am going to play at the markets with my friends, AND NO I DO NOT MEAN MY DOG.

I watched Oprah yesterday because my well-laid plans were slightly sucker punched because people are always late.
Oprah is the stupid God of American house wives, and it was her birthday, and I bet that the audience was mad pissed because they didn’t get new cars on their way out.
Oprah was talking about people who got raped but shouldna got raped because you have to listen to your gut.
Or, as Oprah puts it, you gotta listen to your “HHHHMMMM” moment.

I don’t want to sound like I’m agreeing with Oprah but I’m feeling kind of sucker punched because I now realise I missed my “HMMMMMMMs” and I feel like a right goose. It makes me mad to think that I let things fester to a point where I feel like I’m the stupid one.
And I’m not stupid. And I’m not needy. And I don’t like people making me feel bad. And people who make me feel bad should feel bad.

I believe that venting will help me just now, but won’t so much be helping to resolve things. Sucker punch.

Anyway, so really, what I’m clearly saying is that everything is groovy cool cats, and la la la.
Just now I’ll probably just go to sleep and consult my guttural HMMMMMs and be happy and la la la it tastes just like sad.

But I Only Smoke When I’m With You

I hate that you can’t hide from yourself because it’s 1am and I should be worried about other, more relevant things.

I was picking out apples in the grocery aisle with my Mum when I realised what I had to do, even if mostly I didn’t want to.
Talking about things might be an appropriate, if also quite novel step, but I know it can’t make everything better.
I think that even if I want things to improve, right now I just want to be angry.

Sometimes I think I have a catchphrase, and I want to scream it.
You. Are. Not. Better. Than. Me.
Ugh, and it drives me crazy.

The Butterflies Are Passive Aggressive

I think that the things I dream about are funny, and don’t really mean anything. 
At the same time, though, I find it interesting to think about which of the things that my subconscious has managed to drag up into technicolour. (I think you’re supposed to dream in black and white, but I’m sure that I don’t).

I mean, I always have the dreams about big things. Like, the first day of school, of uni, of work, of a meeting, of travelling, &tc, &tc. They’re partly the reason for my (purported) perpetual punctuality. It’s just that dreaming about less (openly) significant things often leads to more exciting tangents.

Last night I dreamt about being in a cafe with someone.
Apart from the fact that I was quietly delighted to be dreaming about him, it wasn’t that weird. I just found that the cafe that we were sitting in to be odd since I couldn’t immediately place it.

You never really completely develop your own scenery in dreams, I think, and if you contemplate it for just a moment, you’ll realise what reality you’ve created for yourself. Where you are is infinitely more interesting than who you are with, half the time.

Once I was sitting in choir daydreaming, and the conductor was talking about washing up (Lord knows why), and I imagined him in this kitchen as he did the dishes. His boyfriend dried. It was pretty instantaneous, and the only thing that I knew about him outside of choir was that my Mum gave him a black eye with a hockey ball as he reffed her game. Then I realised that I was picturing the kitchen from my old Girl Guides hall.
I always thought that that was weird, since I’ve never pictured the hall as any kind of homely place.

Anyway, so I guess it’s not so fascinating for me to describe my adolescent day dreams, especially when they’re so mundane (not even a hint of sexual confusion).
I just am kind of still trying to work out which cafe that I was sitting in with him, and where I had bothered to pour my heart out (in an utterly abstract way, as is required of dreams) over coffee.
Really, it doesn’t matter, but I think that it’s interesting to trace where things come from. The best that I can conclude is that it’s the amalgamation of the window seat I like at Well Connected (as long as I’m not eating, since those tables are tiny, and food is more than likely to flip on top of me), and a fifties diner that was in a movie I saw a few weeks ago. Furthermore, I think that the reason I imagined the diner from Ghost World was because it had Scarlett Johansson in it, and then I saw that other movie that just came out with her in it. Does that even make sense?
The links are completely arbitrary, and like with anything else, you can read forever in between the lines.

Though, that’s why I like them.

 I have this theory that thinking that things will work out pretty much invariably means that they do.
I like it, since so far it’s pretty true.

This week, I have been properly alone with my family overseas, and I have been living (and supposedly looking after the animals) on a new farm. One that I’m not completely accustomed to.
So many things have gone wrong, and for someone that considers herself pretty much a city kind of girl, I have had to touch a frickload of animals. Not the nice Labrador kinds, either.
Pipes broke, and fences snapped, and plants were torn up (just a little), but whatever. It’s all going to work out, right, if I say so?
Well, yeah. It did. Not that there was any reason for it to, but it did.
The fence got fixed, and so did the pipes, and the gate got shut before the horses hit the road, and before I’d even woken up.
More impressively, despite being somewhat allergic to the lovely pink and zebra lady gumboots, I found it necessary to wear them since the Hunter Valley got hit with an incredible nine inches of rain, and the ground got covered in an impressive few inches of mud. And the dermatitis went away.
So, since I kept wearing them, my feet got better. (This is definitely a bad thing to think, because it tempts me to try Keds, and Keds are close to being my arch nemesis).

Anyway, this is not the best part of my think positive story.

Firstly, I realise that the following anecdote is already so so embarrassing, and I was so so embarrassed at the time that I wanted to cry, and well, okay.
I left my house at 9.30am to go see a movie, which is weird enough, except that it was a Saturday, and it was a Valentines Day Saturday, and I was alone, but shut up! I have my reasons. I think.
I got back to my car at 12.00pm and oh dear God, my car wouldn’t start. Frick. And it was oh my God pouring. And my whole family is oh my God overseas. Who the frick do I call?
Well, so I ended up calling NRMA, but it was so fricking rainy and I knew that they would be crazy busy. Except that the nicest ever man was there within 30 minutes, and he fixed my car within about 35, and I was driving home in 36, and it was so incredibly embarrassing, but I didn’t even see anyone that I knew. Success!
Now, here is the power of positive thinking!
Except, I know what you’re thinking, you’re thinking ‘How Does It Count As Working Out If You Let Your Silly Car Battery Go Silly Flat In A Silly Carpark And Had To Wait Around A Silly Half Hour?’ but then, oh my gosh, here’s the best part.
The whole reason I went to the cinema at 9.30am was because my Mum’s cleaner was coming at 10am, and I didn’t want to spend three hours talking to her about how she doesn’t like my brothers, or how she had to warn Jimbo not to deflower her sixteen year old daughter (apparently this was going to happen while she was cleaning the house, or something), or how Tom is so weird for sunbaking in the middle of winter (although, it’s true).
So I went to a movie, and stayed away. The movie I went to see only took 2 hours, and the drive home took 30 minutes (ahhaha I live so far away from civilisation), and I know that you mathematicians are picking up on what I’m saying here.
The 36 minutes that I wasted by flattening my car battery in a rainy carpark actually meant that I succeeded in my initial task, and once again, the universe makes sense.

Brill.

The even better story that I have is about my cat, who ran away in November. I was pretty bummed, he was getting old, and much less mean.
We had this dog that ran away into the wilderness, and was never to be heard from again. Until a year later, when he reappeared, and immediately demanded that we love him again. I figured that cats are more direction savvy than dogs, though, so I thought that I’d give him a year before he came back.
No one believed me. Everyone thought that he ran away, and got eaten by foxes (but I knew this not to be true since foxes are lovely and adorable and wear darling little stockings and therefore wouldn’t eat my cat).

Today, however, once again, I was proved to be right. Success.
Even better, he came back when I was home, so that I could make sure that everyone knew I was right.
Even better than that, he is actually pretty well behaved for a cat that has been missing in the bush for three months. You’d expect him to be crazy, but he just seemed lonely, and is happy to sleep on the floor under my Mum’s bed.
Anyway, success.
Think Positively, Bitches.

Sometimes I think I’m going crazy, because things maybe shouldn’t work out like this.
I know that I think about things too much, but I like to picture the way that things will unfold, and okay, sometimes maybe I can be a little obsessive about it.
The thing is, though, that so far, it’s turning out to be pretty much following the rough path that I’d expect it to. Which is silly, because why should life work out like it’s been planned? I know I’m probably not right, but sometimes it’s comforting to know that things are going to work out.

It’s like Stupid Bella Swan in Twilight, who becomes a Vampire, and shocks everyone by immediately being perfect. Stupid Bella Swan who doesn’t go blood crazy, or anything crazy, and is just stupid living her (and every other insane devotee’s) dream.

If Stephenie Meyer has taught me anything (apart from the fact that changing the spelling of my name to Elezebeth would make me look like white trash), it is that if I ever want to become a Vampire, the power of positive thinking will mean that I become a perfect one. To me, however, this means that I wouldn’t follow the stupid Vampire lore that she chose to recreate to the point where it actually has little to no point.

Anyway, since this has largely turned into an essay, I’ll leave whoever actually finishes this with a secret.
Ummm.. I have webbed toes. I’m a freak.

Also, I’m sorry if I sound like the Secret. I just realised, and it kind of freaks me out a little bit more every time.