Thursday, May 29, 2008

Top Five Australian Reality TV Shows.

(5) The Biggest Loser

(4) The Chopping Block

(3) Australia's Got Talent - so true.

(2) So You Think You Can Dance, Australia.

(1) It Takes Two

Wednesday, May 28, 2008

A Note to Self

It's possible I over use exclamation points.

You Want a Piece of Me? Wanna Dance?

I talk about college a lot. I dare you to ask me if I liked college. I have no qualms in totally bashing MHC. I justify this by noting that it was where I spent the last four years of my life, my adult life. It's where I learned important lessons about friendships, alcohol, and singing in the car. It's where I was the most depressed I've ever been in my entire life, and the place where I felt the most alienated and alone. There is a lot of hate.

And yet.

When I saw a girl in a Smith sweatshirt a couple of weeks ago, I immediately got a little giddy.

"did you go to Smith?"

Stares blankly, "yes"

"I went to Mount Holyoke"


"yeah, class of 2007"

We then played a little bit of the do-you-know-this-person game. But it turns we have no friends in common. Then she said, "I've heard that Smith is more for serious students, it's a little more, you know, hard."

what? what? what? Immediately, a bunch of love for MHC just poured out of my mouth "I wouldn't say that at all. In fact, if I were to guess at any differences between MHC and Smith I'd say that different types of girls attend both institutions; I wouldn't make any judgements based on the academic integrity of either of them, except they are both extremely challenging and rewarding." In other words, I was all "I hope you know some Mexican Judo cuz you don't know who you messin' with homes. If you wanna dance - let's dance."

No one talks trash about the sisterhood.

Monday, May 26, 2008

The Date

I am sure you are all at the edge of your seats waiting to here about The Date. Well internets, sit back and relax, because there is not too much to tell.

In the midst of my pre-date freak out I emailed a close college friend of mine to find out what her rules of dating were (because shockingly, the internet had very little to offer). Her basic two rules were this (1) dress so you’re comfortable whatever skirt/pants sexamble you decide on and (2) don’t sleep with him on the first date (done and done).

Bobo and I have a not-so-long-standing rule of No Movies On First Dates. “Well done for breaking that one right away DB” was my initial thought. However, by utilizing a technicality in the No Movies Rule, I actually didn’t break it. Because you see, the showing of Indy that we wanted sold out before we got there; which meant that we had 3 hours before the next showing to go on two different dates.

First we had orgasmically delicious hot chocolate (took the sex out of the equation immediately).

Then, we went up to the Rialto Tower and saw a 360-degree view of the city. When my parents came to visit me in Melbourne in 2006, we went up there too. They show this 10-minute movie displaying all of Melbourne’s most fabulous sights. When I went with my parents I was so distraught with the fact that I had to leave Australia that I actually cried. I told Not Daniel or Eric that story before we got there, and at the end of the movie he looked at me and said, “Do I see tears.” Cheeky bastard.

I think the Rialto Tower at night was a little more romantic than either of us were really prepared for. I mean, night time looking at out at the city, spying on people in the ferris wheel with high powered binoculars, all the pretty twinkling lights…it was cliché—and a bit over the top.

Anyhoo, then he and I walked back to the movie theatre. As we sat waiting for the movie to begin, we talked about baseball. I have to marvel at how this life of mine has panned out. I never would have guessed that at 22, I would be sitting by a clock discussing the Red Sox with a German guy in Melbourne. And I couldn’t be happier.

So finally we commenced date 3, Indiana Jones.

Nearly six hours after our date began, I called a cab and went home.

To be honest, I am still not sure if it was a date or not. Boys should come with guidebooks. About an hour into Indy, I started panicking about the goodnight kiss – would there be one? What if I’ve forgotten how? I hope, maybe, there isn’t one? Because I seriously can’t handle that right now. Can he hear my inner monologue? I had myself in such a tizzy that I actually got nauseous, well done me.*

*Yes, I am perfectly aware that I haven’t disclosed any information about whether the kiss did or did not take place (I am a lady – we don’t kiss and tell…or is that we don’t kiss at all? Rules have so many caveats in them these days).

Friday, May 23, 2008

Something you didn't know about me

Google Chat = international joy

this morning while I was exploring the curly cue that sticks straight up to the sky
as if to say "newton - gravity is a hoax"

Bobo: hahhaahhaha

Me: and I was making Elvis sneers into the mirror.

Bobo: I loved that part of the email haha

Me: turns out that my eye twitches when I imitate Elvis.

Bobo: did you really because that would make it better

me: honey, I couldn't make this stuff up. seriously my left eye gets all twitchery when I sneer Elvis -style.

A Note to Self

Reading about climate change and democracy is incredibly more difficult when you have more pressing things on your mind, like "is that guy's bracelet made out of bike parts?"

Wednesday, May 21, 2008

A text conversation of wild west proportions:

Jess: U didn't! Good on U! Im sure u were all james dean about it. I miss your pants.

Me: ..If james dean was totally awkward and weird when he picked up men then yes.

Jess: the best of my knowledge that is exactly what james dean was like.

Me: Poor dean and his unsuave homosexual ways.

Jess: Yeah, poor james. He hardly pulled any men. Snap!

Tuesday, May 20, 2008

And Then I Blacked Out.

I didn't really black out. No one get excited.

It's possible I asked a boy out on a date. Or maybe he asked me? Or perhaps it was some kind of mutual asking. The truth is I remember how the conversation started and I remember exchanging phone numbers. But the part in the middle where the decision was made to go see Indiana Jones over the weekend is a bit fuzzy.

Perhaps due to the warmth in his eyes?

Whenever I interact with the fellas (which clearly isn't all that often, since I refer to them as "fellas"), I always feel like they totally know what they are doing and I haven't been sent the memo. They are cool, calm, collected. I am flailing, freaking out, and frayed around the edges.

How do I know this is a date? It is totally possible that he is all, "yay! made new friend" while I am naming our hypothetical adopted children (Avery and Charlie - perhaps regardless of sex). And that sounds cliche, and it is.

This is my first date since...2006, if it is a date. WHY AREN'T THERE RULES.

It's so unfortunate that the only person who knows is this guy. I can ask all my friends what they think, and we can obsess over it (which we will, because uh, its my first date since 2006) for ever but Mr. Dude is the only one with the answer.

I read in a book (or movie? or magazine?) that the girl felt like she was in a play where the guy knew all the lines and she was thrown in without knowing any stage direction, lines, plot, ANYTHING. It's such an accurate description.

Is it just that boys don't talk about how nervous and confused they are; and subsequently are better at hiding it? Does anyone have the answers?

This is the kind of stuff I feel like I should have learned in high school or at MHC, you know how to be social with The Men. Instead, I have 512 unanswered questions about what I should wear, what this means, and what i want to mean, and what he wants to mean, and why when my building has 2 elevators they have to fix both at once so that I will have to walk up 20 flights of stairs to get to my apartment if I want to go back before 5, and whether I should trust the fruit in Fiji, and what shoes should I wear on this date, and should I take another dance class, and dear lord are we already playing games, can you ever not play games, no seriously what should I wear?

Sunday, May 18, 2008

Unaccostumed to City Living

Now that I live in a city and have to deal with people on daily basis, I am frequently distraught and thrilled by human acts. I will frequently give up my seat to anyone who just looks tired on the tram. And I am amazed by the small acts of kindness that the Australian public show on a moment-to-moment basis on the public transport. A young man last week who was bopping to music on his Ipod noticed as we approached a stop that an elderly gentleman was pushing a heavy looking grocery cart. The young man stood up and unceremoniously helped the gentleman lift the cart up the steps onto the tram. I fell a little bit in love.

I am taking a dance class in Fitzroy/Brunswick. It’s from 7:30-8:30 at night in a part of town that I am not overly comfortable being in. The trams run infrequently after 7; and I am always concerned that I’ll be left out in this poorly lit street indefinitely. On Thursday night, a man was sitting at the tram stop hacking up phlegm and shovelling Thai curry and rice into his mouth. A young Indian man was talking on the phone and waiting for the tram also. The Thai eating man started to scream profanities at the Indian telling him to go home, mate, to leave the country. Rice spewing out of his mouth as he angrily repeated his sentiments to the poor Indian.

My discomfort was acute. My imagination running worst case scenarios in my head of how this possibly could end. The poor Indian guy looking hurt and disgruntled while the clearly brain-addled old man worked himself up into a rage.

The old man finally stood up, screaming at the Indian to “get the fuck out of this country.” The Indian started to walk away, and for a brief moment I was standing between them. I wish I could say I did something heroic. That I looked the old man in the eye and told him to sit back down, or that I somehow deflated the situation. But I didn’t. I looked down until I noticed that the tram had arrived, and watched as the Indian and I rushed to get on it. The old man screaming after the quickly departing tram.

When I got back to my apartment, alarmed, disgruntled, and utterly exhausted. I changed into my pajamas. As I took my shirt off, a clump of rice fell off my shoulder. Proof that no one left that particular street corner without being permanently stained.

Wednesday, May 14, 2008

The Bag Nazi

For the past two days, I've been going to the state library to study. And I've been able to work surprisingly well here. Surprising because I do not work sitting at desks. That is not how I roll, usually. Usually, I am wrapped in blankets on my bed perched amongst pillows, cradling my computer on my lap - I mean its called a laptop for a reason, no?- books lying everywhere, and that is where I piece together coherent thoughts. Okay, so that is where I attempt to string together ideas.

The state library is a magnificent building in the middle of the city. It is a library where one is actually not allowed to take books out. Is it really a library then?

The library also has strict rules about what is allowed into the building. Things like liquids and food are no-no's. The size of one's bag is also under strict surveillance by two security guards at the entrance.

I don't like to use this term lightly, but they are bag nazis. A couple of weeks ago, Jess and I walked into the library. My bag was smaller than Jess's and had significantly less stuff in it. However, my bag was deemed unacceptable and Jess's bag was fine. Furthermore, they suggest that if you are carrying a cloth tote, to just remove the stuff in the bag, fold the bag up, carry the stuff and then precede through the doors. It takes everything in my power to not demand they come up with system. I DEMAND IT.

Awhile ago, Practically-Perfect did a "5 things" meme; mine is going to (hopefully) reside semi-permanently on right. She requested that I list something weird about me and food - as if i could choose just one!

Monday, May 12, 2008

Oh Shirley Temple

So I've been meaning to post this since Friday when the shocking resemblance occurred, however I ran into technical difficulties. Namely, this month my roommate and I have used too much internet. I blame myself - as I have been obsessively watching whole movies and tv shows on you tube. Bobo is certainly partly to blame, she's the one who told me that Anne of Green Gables (1 & 2) were, in their entirety, on you tube. Do know how many hours of you tube watching that is? at least 6! goodness.

Anyway, so now I am the library. to work on an essay and to update you on the fact that I have curly hair. No really! And this curly hair can give me a shocking resemblance to the famous Shirley Temple. Check it!

Okay, so this photo is a little washed out my eyes are possibly big enough to actually have teeth. But my hair looks to pretty!

Uncanny right?

Thursday, May 08, 2008


A nine year old boy with breasts winked provocatively at me today. Public transport just isn't safe for the young ladies.

With all that oogling.

Wednesday, May 07, 2008

The Sneeze Heard Around the World

When I sneeze, people laugh.

And that's cool.

I wish I could properly inform you of the sound of this sneeze. But to me it just sounds loud. Apparently, others find it endearing.

I am pretty sure in high school I won an award once based solely on my sneeze. My adviser spent minutes telling everyone what I lovely person I was; then spent an equal amount of time gushing about how cute my sneeze was. It's a sneeze, people!

Well, Monday, I was in class with this boy whose name isn't Daniel or Eric. He and I sit next to each other every week. And its possible I have a little crush on him despite his unfortunate facial hair. Well, this week while the professor was talking, I sneezed. Which is mortifying enough, I always try to sneeze into my elbow (its best for germs you know!), but one can't always help projectile sneeze spit. Plus, due to the loud squeeky nature of said sneeze - it tends to attract attention - everyone in the class looked at me.

I giggled nervously and muttered "excuse me" under my breath. Boy whose name isn't Daniel or Eric turned looked at me and said "cute." I felt the blood creeping up my neck and setting fire to my cheeks - the dreaded blush. Luckily he turned back to the lecturer, while I furiously took notes trying to hide my crimson face.

Sunday, May 04, 2008

A Note to Self

Next time I see a famous person on the streets of Melbourne, I'll try to fight the impulse to stare awkwardly and say "So, you think you can dance?"

Don't Be Scared

I would like it to be said, that I have no problem with you eating meat. I do have a problem with going to the supermarket and having someone chase after me with rack of something-or-0ther.

My parents are contemplating getting chickens. This idea is toyed with at least once every two years at my house. The problem is this: we don't actually eat chicken, so what do you do with the hens that are too old to lay eggs? My dad and I discussed this the other day, we do feed our dog chicken (we make our own dog food and keep meat in the house just for him - I can hear a chorus of "spoiled" from here) but I cannot imagine my dad hurling a knife to chop off some chicken's poor neck. No, No, No!

As we discussed it we brainstormed ideas like drive the elderly chickens to a neighboring farm and having them kill them for us and then we'd be able to feed it to our puppy. My dad was fond of the idea of just letting the chickens frolic around our yard into they passed away on their own - years from now some one will come upon our land to find loving tombstones with eulogies to our feathered egg giving friends! Oy. Then he mentioned that there is actually a guy with a truck who drives around and kills livestock for the faint hearted; my dad followed that with "he has a whole little processing plant in the back of his pick up!"

Is that not terribly disturbing to you? A processing plant! Isn't that a little Halloween 45?