So I was driving those million kilometres to work the other day when I noticed the car in front of me had a sticker. Some may call it tailgating but I was just trying to read what it said...
"Men are Idiots. I divorced their king."
Wow. Talk about bitter.
I contemplated driving up beside her and asking her how the other team was going but I thought it was better that I just assumed such things.
Anyone who has those kind of stickers on the back of their cars are giving us permission to judge them. Right?
Right.
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Probably Why I Do Art
I don't actually have anything to write about. I just need something do fill in my time as a captive, locked in my room with the cleaners son outside vacuuming the floor.
I also feel bad about it every single week i'm on holidays and at home because for one, my floor is never vacuumable as you generally can't see it and two, because I should really be doing the cleaning. Although saying that, the family has all come to terms with the fact that we're sucky cleaners (except mum who is a super cleaning freak) so really a cleaner is the best option as it keeps everyone happy and mum less stressed!
In other news I was lying in bed last night and thinking about the lights in my room. I have four halogens, two over my desk and two over my bed. For years I asked if i could get a light switch from my bed to turn off these lights so that when reading in bed was finished I wouldn't have to venture out into the cold air and turn them off.
It never worked.
But said halogens made me very confused and curious for a long time. You see, a few years ago we had an extension on our house which was fantastic as my brother and I now have a separate part of the house to retire to where the parents do not come in and tell us we are being too loud.
When construction started my brother and I used to rollerblade on the slab and then when the wooden foundations went up we thought it was even better because then there were obstacles.
The original part of the house is double brick, but that didn't continue into the extension (well interior wall wise anyway) Gyprock was substituted as in most housing cases and at first the wall between my brothers room and mine was AWESOME.
We could talk through it and best of all make awesome secret knocks!
Years went by and as we got computers in our rooms and started to listen to music, that gyprock wall got less and less awesome.
Today it is a pain in the arse. My brother and I listen to very different music and so as I put my volume onto maximum the bass of his crappy RnB/ Pop/Whateverthehellitis booms through that wonderful wall and reverberates around the room.
What's even worse is that his desk is on the wall right next to my bed. He also goes to sleep hours later than me.
So as I'm lying there, listening to the tapping of his keyboard and occasional chuckle, I look up at the ceiling and see the halogens in my room glowing, as if they got so hot while they were on they're still red hot and cooling down.
I wait a while but the glow doesn't go, they don't seem to cool down. I fall asleep perplexed and when I wake up and in the morning they are back to normal.
This goes on for at least a year, until one day, as I'm lying in bed my brother also decides to go to bed and turns his light off.
The glowing stops.
And everything makes sense.
I also feel bad about it every single week i'm on holidays and at home because for one, my floor is never vacuumable as you generally can't see it and two, because I should really be doing the cleaning. Although saying that, the family has all come to terms with the fact that we're sucky cleaners (except mum who is a super cleaning freak) so really a cleaner is the best option as it keeps everyone happy and mum less stressed!
In other news I was lying in bed last night and thinking about the lights in my room. I have four halogens, two over my desk and two over my bed. For years I asked if i could get a light switch from my bed to turn off these lights so that when reading in bed was finished I wouldn't have to venture out into the cold air and turn them off.
It never worked.
But said halogens made me very confused and curious for a long time. You see, a few years ago we had an extension on our house which was fantastic as my brother and I now have a separate part of the house to retire to where the parents do not come in and tell us we are being too loud.
When construction started my brother and I used to rollerblade on the slab and then when the wooden foundations went up we thought it was even better because then there were obstacles.
The original part of the house is double brick, but that didn't continue into the extension (well interior wall wise anyway) Gyprock was substituted as in most housing cases and at first the wall between my brothers room and mine was AWESOME.
We could talk through it and best of all make awesome secret knocks!
Years went by and as we got computers in our rooms and started to listen to music, that gyprock wall got less and less awesome.
Today it is a pain in the arse. My brother and I listen to very different music and so as I put my volume onto maximum the bass of his crappy RnB/ Pop/Whateverthehellitis booms through that wonderful wall and reverberates around the room.
What's even worse is that his desk is on the wall right next to my bed. He also goes to sleep hours later than me.
So as I'm lying there, listening to the tapping of his keyboard and occasional chuckle, I look up at the ceiling and see the halogens in my room glowing, as if they got so hot while they were on they're still red hot and cooling down.
I wait a while but the glow doesn't go, they don't seem to cool down. I fall asleep perplexed and when I wake up and in the morning they are back to normal.
This goes on for at least a year, until one day, as I'm lying in bed my brother also decides to go to bed and turns his light off.
The glowing stops.
And everything makes sense.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Catering for Idiots
Here are a few things i've noticed working in hospitality.
1) People asking me what kind of wine it is i'm serving and me on occasion making it up. But generally no one is a connoisseur and I get away with it.
Client: "What red is this?"
Me: "uh.. Pinot Noir?"
Client: "Oh that's my favourite!"
2) People who ask what kind of canapes you're serving when you know they're going to eat it anyway.
3) People, more specifically women who go "oh I couldn't possibly eat that!" yet they're desperately trying to contain their salivating tongue, their eyes can't break contact from the shiny tray and they shove their hands in their pockets/purses/behind their backs as they twitch, craving that tasty tasty deep fried spring roll. (This generally happens in a large group of females and/or one female in large group of males. )
JUST EAT THE DAMN THING.
4) People ordering coffee. Now we all know there are a range of coffees to choose from. For example, I am quite partial to a cappuccino.
But when this happens:
Me: Would you like a tea of coffee?
Client: Coffee.
Me: What kind of coffee?
Client: *slightly annoyed* Coffee.
Me: *also slightly annoyed* Yes, but what kind of coffee would you like Madam??
Client: Oh uh. Flat white.
You make me angry.
Now all these are pretty standard observations but what I don't understand is how this happens.
5) A lady approaches me while I have a tray full of red and white wine. As she grabs a white wine and is lifting it off my tray she asks "Is this white wine?"
1) People asking me what kind of wine it is i'm serving and me on occasion making it up. But generally no one is a connoisseur and I get away with it.
Client: "What red is this?"
Me: "uh.. Pinot Noir?"
Client: "Oh that's my favourite!"
2) People who ask what kind of canapes you're serving when you know they're going to eat it anyway.
3) People, more specifically women who go "oh I couldn't possibly eat that!" yet they're desperately trying to contain their salivating tongue, their eyes can't break contact from the shiny tray and they shove their hands in their pockets/purses/behind their backs as they twitch, craving that tasty tasty deep fried spring roll. (This generally happens in a large group of females and/or one female in large group of males. )
JUST EAT THE DAMN THING.
4) People ordering coffee. Now we all know there are a range of coffees to choose from. For example, I am quite partial to a cappuccino.
But when this happens:
Me: Would you like a tea of coffee?
Client: Coffee.
Me: What kind of coffee?
Client: *slightly annoyed* Coffee.
Me: *also slightly annoyed* Yes, but what kind of coffee would you like Madam??
Client: Oh uh. Flat white.
You make me angry.
Now all these are pretty standard observations but what I don't understand is how this happens.
5) A lady approaches me while I have a tray full of red and white wine. As she grabs a white wine and is lifting it off my tray she asks "Is this white wine?"
Thursday, June 17, 2010
You Know What Sexy Undies Mean...
So uh, i went and bought new undies today. Quite nice ones because they were 25% off. However Myer has recently been undergoing some renovation which somehow translates to being short of staff. Anyway the counter at the deepest darkest corner of the lower floor lingerie was empty so I ventured into the bedding section's one. No one there either until I see a huge nest of hair bobbing my way saying "i'll be there in a second!"
All of a sudden some guy (who also seemed to work there) comes rushing past her and towards me. Now the good thing was that I was going to be able to pay and go do something better with my time but at the same time this rather unfortunately blotchy faced man (no, it wasn't a birth mark if you're thinking i'm being unnecessarily rude) is handling said undies.
And all the while i'm thinking to myself - if i'm thinking about him thinking about wearing these... What the hell must he be thinking?!
All of a sudden some guy (who also seemed to work there) comes rushing past her and towards me. Now the good thing was that I was going to be able to pay and go do something better with my time but at the same time this rather unfortunately blotchy faced man (no, it wasn't a birth mark if you're thinking i'm being unnecessarily rude) is handling said undies.
And all the while i'm thinking to myself - if i'm thinking about him thinking about wearing these... What the hell must he be thinking?!
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Miaow
As I scanned over my screen at all the tabs I have open and the bookmarks I have to bookmark I came back to this, sweet blog. And found that there was shite all over the front of it.
So clean up starts with a new post.
It was semi officially the first day of my sweeet sweet six weeks of holidays yesterday. I had to get up early to umpire for a hockey mate but when i arrived to the oval of half frozen grass and scattered goal posts, it was barren.. of everyone. I went home and found that there were no hockey matches for the June Long Weekend. So being cold outside and the bed and couch being both equally comfy and warm, I found myself going from one to the other to nap. For the rest of the day. My cat also joined me on the couch - I was the big spoon.
So clean up starts with a new post.
It was semi officially the first day of my sweeet sweet six weeks of holidays yesterday. I had to get up early to umpire for a hockey mate but when i arrived to the oval of half frozen grass and scattered goal posts, it was barren.. of everyone. I went home and found that there were no hockey matches for the June Long Weekend. So being cold outside and the bed and couch being both equally comfy and warm, I found myself going from one to the other to nap. For the rest of the day. My cat also joined me on the couch - I was the big spoon.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Oh uh... You Don't Want to Sit on That Stool...
So i'm sitting here, innocently at my dad's computer (it's running faster than mine and thus keeping me fitter) when curiosity gets the better of me and I see two paintbrushes. "Excellent!" I think as my teacher has told me that i'll be needing some for hand toning prints tomorrow at Uni. There are also two bright blue plastic bags underneath them. "What could they be for? Oh look, a set of instructions..."
Real all instructions before beginning:
SAMPLE 1 - Your first bowel movement
1- Take these instructions, Brush kit and Test Card into the bathroom.
Flush the toilet BEFORE your bowel movement.
2- After your bowel movement .DO NOT PLACED USED TOILET PAPER IN THE TOILET BOWL. Instead use one of the BLUE waste bags from the Brush kit envelope. DO NOT FLUSH THE TOILET.
3- Life the flap marked "life here for SAMPLE 1" on the test Card to uncover the small white square marked "SAMPLE 1"
4- Using one of the blue brushes swirl the brush in the toilet water around and above the stool.
5- Transfer the toilet WATER sample by placing the bristles of the brush on to the small white square on the Test Card and hold for 5 seconds.
DO NOT place any faeces on the Test card.
6- Close the flap back over SAMPLE 1 and stick it down using one of the barcode labels located on theback of this page. Throw the used blue brush in the bin.
SAMPLE 2- Your second sample must be from a different bowel movement.
"and soo.. do I repeat the first 6 steps??"
I wish you could see the picture for number four. Also, I wonder how many times someone's stuck the brush in the water and gone "aw shit. I got shit in it."
Would they go to the bathroom and clean it and come back? Would they smear that white square with poo and be done with it?
So many questions...
But it's for bowel cancer sooo. GOOD ON ONE OF MY FAMILY MEMBERS WHO I WILL NOT MENTION.
Real all instructions before beginning:
SAMPLE 1 - Your first bowel movement
1- Take these instructions, Brush kit and Test Card into the bathroom.
Flush the toilet BEFORE your bowel movement.
2- After your bowel movement .DO NOT PLACED USED TOILET PAPER IN THE TOILET BOWL. Instead use one of the BLUE waste bags from the Brush kit envelope. DO NOT FLUSH THE TOILET.
3- Life the flap marked "life here for SAMPLE 1" on the test Card to uncover the small white square marked "SAMPLE 1"
4- Using one of the blue brushes swirl the brush in the toilet water around and above the stool.
5- Transfer the toilet WATER sample by placing the bristles of the brush on to the small white square on the Test Card and hold for 5 seconds.
DO NOT place any faeces on the Test card.
6- Close the flap back over SAMPLE 1 and stick it down using one of the barcode labels located on theback of this page. Throw the used blue brush in the bin.
SAMPLE 2- Your second sample must be from a different bowel movement.
"and soo.. do I repeat the first 6 steps??"
I wish you could see the picture for number four. Also, I wonder how many times someone's stuck the brush in the water and gone "aw shit. I got shit in it."
Would they go to the bathroom and clean it and come back? Would they smear that white square with poo and be done with it?
So many questions...
But it's for bowel cancer sooo. GOOD ON ONE OF MY FAMILY MEMBERS WHO I WILL NOT MENTION.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Burning the House Down
So once again it has been a while, actually that's a lie, it hasn't been that long.
Starting again!
Nothing exciting ever happens at my house. Except for dinner. Because that's always exciting. And it seems that it was even more so last night. Pyrotechnics dare I say, would be proud of my mum's performance.
I went to hockey for a whole hour and come back to find mum running her arm under the tap in the kitchen and muttering something about going to the hospital to get it checked out.
Before I could even ask what happened mum starts raving about how she plugged in the gas, turned it on and POOF a raging inferno engulfs the BBQ.
My brother avoiding all kitchen contact (besides eating) was sitting in his room with his new noise canceling headphones on and thought to himself as he heard muffled screams "gee Mum is yelling unusually loudly... I thought I already put the dishes away?" However, being the mamma's boy he is, ventured to the kitchen to find mum battling flames.
Now we have three hoses situated around the house - One is in the front garden, one is near the back door, and one is next to the courtyard where the BBQ is.
Harry chose to get the one in the front garden.
Kidding.
But he did get the one near the backdoor and ran all the way around the house to discover the courtyard one.
After successfully dousing the flames 000 was called and not one, but TWO fire engines turned up with not two,but SIX "quite attractive" (quoted from mum) firemen.
Mum realised that the chicken drumsticks headed for the BBQ were not going to be cooking there and put them in the oven.
Dad got home from work and was thinking that it was the neighbors.
And then I got home and found that I'd missed the whole thing.
But the best part about it all - Dinner was still served on time.
Starting again!
Nothing exciting ever happens at my house. Except for dinner. Because that's always exciting. And it seems that it was even more so last night. Pyrotechnics dare I say, would be proud of my mum's performance.
I went to hockey for a whole hour and come back to find mum running her arm under the tap in the kitchen and muttering something about going to the hospital to get it checked out.
Before I could even ask what happened mum starts raving about how she plugged in the gas, turned it on and POOF a raging inferno engulfs the BBQ.
My brother avoiding all kitchen contact (besides eating) was sitting in his room with his new noise canceling headphones on and thought to himself as he heard muffled screams "gee Mum is yelling unusually loudly... I thought I already put the dishes away?" However, being the mamma's boy he is, ventured to the kitchen to find mum battling flames.
Now we have three hoses situated around the house - One is in the front garden, one is near the back door, and one is next to the courtyard where the BBQ is.
Harry chose to get the one in the front garden.
Kidding.
But he did get the one near the backdoor and ran all the way around the house to discover the courtyard one.
After successfully dousing the flames 000 was called and not one, but TWO fire engines turned up with not two,but SIX "quite attractive" (quoted from mum) firemen.
Mum realised that the chicken drumsticks headed for the BBQ were not going to be cooking there and put them in the oven.
Dad got home from work and was thinking that it was the neighbors.
And then I got home and found that I'd missed the whole thing.
But the best part about it all - Dinner was still served on time.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Jacob and Keens Joint Party
Mary Jane is looking fine tonight.
She's wearing her favourite green dress and made her eyes extra smokey.
Jacob welcomes her handing her a glass as Keen sidles up to say hi. The others look on with eager curiosity.
"How's it going Mary?" Keen says, a twinkle in his eye.
"Not bad not bad, the place looks amazing!" Mary smiles around the room.
"Here let me introduce you to our friends."
Mary is whisked around the room by Keen, his arm around her waist, letting her go only for quick hugs.
Tou holds their embrace for just a little too long and Heet tries to get in on the action.
Keen doesn't like what he sees and throws a punch at Tou.
Just as his fist makes contact with Tou's face, the door bursts open and Giggles arrives followed by Little Creatures, oblivious to the drama as they loop around the room to make themselves known. She see's Mary and runs over, together their presence seems to distract Tou and Keen and Heet dissapears to the loo.
Rock starts to shout and the party gets a little wild.
Con, Dom and Richard take Fanny into the spare room. Through the gloom they find Gooney experimenting with Mr Noir on the bed. Richard and Fanny laugh and stagger away leaving Con and Dom pulling out their phones to film.
Jack and Daniel head out to the garden when they have an epiphany about how to kill Kenny and then dump him in Jacob's creek.
The moonshine is strong and they're momentarily distracted to see James Squire peeing on the fence.
Mr Fosters sticks his head over the fence to yell profanities and back in the house everything is great... until Munchies arrives.
He catches Mary's eyes and the room stands still. Striding with confidence he sweeps Mary off her feet. They dance as if they're one person and Jim beams at them until getting thoroughly confused, walking off to sit in a corner to comprehend such complexities.
She smiles seductively. "Well hello stranger."
A thunderous grumble rolls around the room.
"Any one seen Chip?"
She's wearing her favourite green dress and made her eyes extra smokey.
Jacob welcomes her handing her a glass as Keen sidles up to say hi. The others look on with eager curiosity.
"How's it going Mary?" Keen says, a twinkle in his eye.
"Not bad not bad, the place looks amazing!" Mary smiles around the room.
"Here let me introduce you to our friends."
Mary is whisked around the room by Keen, his arm around her waist, letting her go only for quick hugs.
Tou holds their embrace for just a little too long and Heet tries to get in on the action.
Keen doesn't like what he sees and throws a punch at Tou.
Just as his fist makes contact with Tou's face, the door bursts open and Giggles arrives followed by Little Creatures, oblivious to the drama as they loop around the room to make themselves known. She see's Mary and runs over, together their presence seems to distract Tou and Keen and Heet dissapears to the loo.
Rock starts to shout and the party gets a little wild.
Con, Dom and Richard take Fanny into the spare room. Through the gloom they find Gooney experimenting with Mr Noir on the bed. Richard and Fanny laugh and stagger away leaving Con and Dom pulling out their phones to film.
Jack and Daniel head out to the garden when they have an epiphany about how to kill Kenny and then dump him in Jacob's creek.
The moonshine is strong and they're momentarily distracted to see James Squire peeing on the fence.
Mr Fosters sticks his head over the fence to yell profanities and back in the house everything is great... until Munchies arrives.
He catches Mary's eyes and the room stands still. Striding with confidence he sweeps Mary off her feet. They dance as if they're one person and Jim beams at them until getting thoroughly confused, walking off to sit in a corner to comprehend such complexities.
She smiles seductively. "Well hello stranger."
A thunderous grumble rolls around the room.
"Any one seen Chip?"
Monday, March 8, 2010
Too Much Reality TV and Things I'd Rather Not Know About
I'm watching too much reality TV.
The realisation hit when I woke up this morning in a sweat because i'd just dreamt I had a baby. And when I say "had a baby" I mean being 19, single with a frigging baby. I was waiting for Ashton Kutcher to tell me that i'd been "Punk'd" but I woke up instead.
I've come to the conclusion that it must of been because I was watching 16 and pregnant and Punk'd and I think it's my subconcious telling me how shit it would be to get pregnant.
Gee, thanks brain.
On a lighter note though, i've been watching Supersize Vs Super Skinny which has made me feel even better about myself.
Now to MY reality.
I have been fortunate enough to have parents that are still together. So together it seems that in their older age they've started acting as if they are newly weds. Generally I can put up with a little PDA-age here and there but when they start dropping "jokes" that elude to them having sex, I have to leave the room.
I know I should be happy for such a marriage but no child needs nor wants to know that their parents are sexually active. Still.
Dad just bought a new car.
Mum just made a "joke".
I won't be sitting in the backseat of that car. Ever.
The realisation hit when I woke up this morning in a sweat because i'd just dreamt I had a baby. And when I say "had a baby" I mean being 19, single with a frigging baby. I was waiting for Ashton Kutcher to tell me that i'd been "Punk'd" but I woke up instead.
I've come to the conclusion that it must of been because I was watching 16 and pregnant and Punk'd and I think it's my subconcious telling me how shit it would be to get pregnant.
Gee, thanks brain.
On a lighter note though, i've been watching Supersize Vs Super Skinny which has made me feel even better about myself.
Now to MY reality.
I have been fortunate enough to have parents that are still together. So together it seems that in their older age they've started acting as if they are newly weds. Generally I can put up with a little PDA-age here and there but when they start dropping "jokes" that elude to them having sex, I have to leave the room.
I know I should be happy for such a marriage but no child needs nor wants to know that their parents are sexually active. Still.
Dad just bought a new car.
Mum just made a "joke".
I won't be sitting in the backseat of that car. Ever.
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Money, Men, and Mr Plod
I'm getting into the swing of things at Uni now. It's not all so confusing and i've accepted that i've pretty much given the art school full custody of my wallet. Someone also thought they'd take my sunnies as well so at the moment I look all squinty when I walk outside.
It's weird to find myself not having much money anymore. I've had to start thinking about things like "do I really need that coffee/petrol/cute dress/stiff drink?" and generally to get me through the week, the answer is yes. Sooooo I guess i'm not really thinking too hard about it... but i'm trying.
Anyway I read somewhere that two small cups of coffee a day is good for your metabolism so i'm just sticking with that.
Also, being the little eco friendly person I am, have started riding to school although I haven't quite mastered the "if it rains, what do I do?" Stage. It's a work in progress.
Now being one of these bike riders means that I have two options - I could be the cool kid who doesn't wear a helmet and rolls into school with free flowing locks, or choose to be the kid who likes their brain and protects it with a rather unattractive, hair flattening/birds nesting device some refer to as a helmet.
I choose the latter because I care about my brain and not so much about the hair. (That's such a lie but I'm hoping "helmet hair" will catch on)
My dad always taught me as I was growing up to wear a helmet and although I took his advice most times while I was overseas I did not wear one. No one else was wearing them okay?
The most dangerous place to ride I guess would have to be Thailand. No one wears helmets around there and seldom even ones for motorcycles. (and have you seen how they drive??)
So as my hair whipped me in the face floated around my head I felt young and free.
Coming back to Canberra and riding to school I thought i'd do the sensible thing and wear the helmet. To try and make up for the 15 minutes under the sweaty thing, when I roll up into the carpark of the art school I tend to take it off and shake my silky locks to an acceptable resemblance of hair that sits nicely on ones head.
HOWEVER, yesterday as I rolled up into the carpark, duely noting the police car pulling slowly away, and took my helmet off about 5 metres from the bit where the asphalt turns into the brick thoroughfare and into my sancuary, mid shake, what should I hear but the siren of the police mobile and him coming towards me.
Shit.
One with a more daring air would probably think it's to do with a car and ride swiftly away into the saftey of that sweet, sweet brick path but no. Not me. Reluctantly I "pulled over" and waited for him to get out.
Mr Plod: "Why are you riding your bike on a public road without a helmet?"
Me: "Uh I just took my helmet off...?"
Mr Plod: "Why are you riding your bike on a public road without a helmet?"
Me: "I just took my helmet off??"
Mr Plod: "Can I see some ID please?"
Mr Plod: "Where are your classes?"
Me: "Just there."
Mr Plod:"You know this is a $74 fine."
Well I do now. Frig, think of all the coffee!
I look around and there are a couple of people walking past and giving me a sypathetic, confused look.
Me: "Right. Okay."
Mr Plod: "I'm going to let you off with a warning this time, because your class is just there but next time." Dum dum DUMMMMMMMM
Me: "Thanks."
Mr Plod: "So you either put your helmet back on and ride to class or you walk your bike the rest of the way."
Thanks asshole.
A teacher from the sculpture department came up to me after and said that he'd challenge that because it's not actually a "Public road" it's a carpark. I said thanks and walked on and then another lady put in, "He's probably having a slow morning."
Why is it that there are so many other people out there who don't wear helmets, talk on their mobiles whilst driving and do drugs and people like me, very very broke people like me, cop (pardon the pun) shite like this?
I decided to spend the $74 (+$212) on a camera instead...
My brother paid for it.
It's weird to find myself not having much money anymore. I've had to start thinking about things like "do I really need that coffee/petrol/cute dress/stiff drink?" and generally to get me through the week, the answer is yes. Sooooo I guess i'm not really thinking too hard about it... but i'm trying.
Anyway I read somewhere that two small cups of coffee a day is good for your metabolism so i'm just sticking with that.
Also, being the little eco friendly person I am, have started riding to school although I haven't quite mastered the "if it rains, what do I do?" Stage. It's a work in progress.
Now being one of these bike riders means that I have two options - I could be the cool kid who doesn't wear a helmet and rolls into school with free flowing locks, or choose to be the kid who likes their brain and protects it with a rather unattractive, hair flattening/birds nesting device some refer to as a helmet.
I choose the latter because I care about my brain and not so much about the hair. (That's such a lie but I'm hoping "helmet hair" will catch on)
My dad always taught me as I was growing up to wear a helmet and although I took his advice most times while I was overseas I did not wear one. No one else was wearing them okay?
The most dangerous place to ride I guess would have to be Thailand. No one wears helmets around there and seldom even ones for motorcycles. (and have you seen how they drive??)
So as my hair whipped me in the face floated around my head I felt young and free.
Coming back to Canberra and riding to school I thought i'd do the sensible thing and wear the helmet. To try and make up for the 15 minutes under the sweaty thing, when I roll up into the carpark of the art school I tend to take it off and shake my silky locks to an acceptable resemblance of hair that sits nicely on ones head.
HOWEVER, yesterday as I rolled up into the carpark, duely noting the police car pulling slowly away, and took my helmet off about 5 metres from the bit where the asphalt turns into the brick thoroughfare and into my sancuary, mid shake, what should I hear but the siren of the police mobile and him coming towards me.
Shit.
One with a more daring air would probably think it's to do with a car and ride swiftly away into the saftey of that sweet, sweet brick path but no. Not me. Reluctantly I "pulled over" and waited for him to get out.
Mr Plod: "Why are you riding your bike on a public road without a helmet?"
Me: "Uh I just took my helmet off...?"
Mr Plod: "Why are you riding your bike on a public road without a helmet?"
Me: "I just took my helmet off??"
Mr Plod: "Can I see some ID please?"
Mr Plod: "Where are your classes?"
Me: "Just there."
Mr Plod:"You know this is a $74 fine."
Well I do now. Frig, think of all the coffee!
I look around and there are a couple of people walking past and giving me a sypathetic, confused look.
Me: "Right. Okay."
Mr Plod: "I'm going to let you off with a warning this time, because your class is just there but next time." Dum dum DUMMMMMMMM
Me: "Thanks."
Mr Plod: "So you either put your helmet back on and ride to class or you walk your bike the rest of the way."
Thanks asshole.
A teacher from the sculpture department came up to me after and said that he'd challenge that because it's not actually a "Public road" it's a carpark. I said thanks and walked on and then another lady put in, "He's probably having a slow morning."
Why is it that there are so many other people out there who don't wear helmets, talk on their mobiles whilst driving and do drugs and people like me, very very broke people like me, cop (pardon the pun) shite like this?
I decided to spend the $74 (+$212) on a camera instead...
My brother paid for it.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Songs That Sing and Dominant Dorks
Are you ever concerned that you'll never find another favourite song to replace the one you've just played a thousand times and kinda wish it would still sing to you but just...doesn't?
As some people cling to those feel good love stories in movies, I am a sucker for a song with lyrics that relate to however I feel at the time.
Of course there are the songs that sing to me and don't necessarily say the right words, but if the notes are good, i'll take it.
A fine example of this would be my infatuation with "Before I Forget" or even "The Nameless" by that delightful band Slipknot. I'll admit they didn't sing so much as scream at me but that was during the heavy metal stage I went through in my early teens and at that point in life I was in everyway a typical angsty child, however unlike my other angsty counterparts I wore a façade resembling something like a unicorn that had recently vommited up a rainbow. All over me.
I liked colour okay?
I remember there was this one song in which there was a guitar rift so perfect to my ears that I actually went to the trouble of figuring out how the hell to use a music editor to cut it out and play that 10 second snip over and over and over again.*
So it makes me wonder what other people have as their little quirky interests or how far they will go to persue that perfect ideal or scene in the movie where the cheerleader just dumped Brad, the sportiest, sexiest boy in school because she really loves Nigel the school nerd.
*It was Dave Navarro's Avoiding the Angel at 3:13 if you're wondering.
As some people cling to those feel good love stories in movies, I am a sucker for a song with lyrics that relate to however I feel at the time.
Of course there are the songs that sing to me and don't necessarily say the right words, but if the notes are good, i'll take it.
A fine example of this would be my infatuation with "Before I Forget" or even "The Nameless" by that delightful band Slipknot. I'll admit they didn't sing so much as scream at me but that was during the heavy metal stage I went through in my early teens and at that point in life I was in everyway a typical angsty child, however unlike my other angsty counterparts I wore a façade resembling something like a unicorn that had recently vommited up a rainbow. All over me.
I liked colour okay?
I remember there was this one song in which there was a guitar rift so perfect to my ears that I actually went to the trouble of figuring out how the hell to use a music editor to cut it out and play that 10 second snip over and over and over again.*
So it makes me wonder what other people have as their little quirky interests or how far they will go to persue that perfect ideal or scene in the movie where the cheerleader just dumped Brad, the sportiest, sexiest boy in school because she really loves Nigel the school nerd.
*It was Dave Navarro's Avoiding the Angel at 3:13 if you're wondering.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
I'll Pay You To Take Your Clothes Off
On monday I started the first day of the next four years of my life. At Art School.
I am no longer a little embarrased to say it in front of my parents friends and scornful adults alike that I go to such a place and really, I shouldn't have been in the first place, it's pretty effing amazing.
Now this fateful monday leads me to write to you as one of the ladies who was luring us into being members of art clubs stood up and as an after thought added "One of the most enjoyable and worthwhile things I did when I was at Art school was life modelling. It gave me great confidence and good money. You also get to go all over Canberra for it!"
Now, I know what you're thinking '"Life modelling" is that a new word for prostitue or something?' and as much as one might assume such lude things, I assure you it isn't.
Although you get paid (quite handsomely) to go around Canberra and exhibit yourself to a room full of people while they violate you with their eyes and hands (stricly to paper of course) I was interested to know that there is a shortage of female models and there's a rumor going round about $50 an hour.
So I wondered to myself - Could I be so bold as to take my clothes off in front of a room of art students? And perhaps not even budding artists but the general public?
I put myself in my own shoes and know that I don't, or try as hard as possible not to judge the life models, they are afterall amazing, confident people. Then I thought about the fact that i'd be nude infront of my peers... and thoughts strayed to how long the course is...
And four years is just a little too long for everyone you know at school to know what your vagina looks like.
I am no longer a little embarrased to say it in front of my parents friends and scornful adults alike that I go to such a place and really, I shouldn't have been in the first place, it's pretty effing amazing.
Now this fateful monday leads me to write to you as one of the ladies who was luring us into being members of art clubs stood up and as an after thought added "One of the most enjoyable and worthwhile things I did when I was at Art school was life modelling. It gave me great confidence and good money. You also get to go all over Canberra for it!"
Now, I know what you're thinking '"Life modelling" is that a new word for prostitue or something?' and as much as one might assume such lude things, I assure you it isn't.
Although you get paid (quite handsomely) to go around Canberra and exhibit yourself to a room full of people while they violate you with their eyes and hands (stricly to paper of course) I was interested to know that there is a shortage of female models and there's a rumor going round about $50 an hour.
So I wondered to myself - Could I be so bold as to take my clothes off in front of a room of art students? And perhaps not even budding artists but the general public?
I put myself in my own shoes and know that I don't, or try as hard as possible not to judge the life models, they are afterall amazing, confident people. Then I thought about the fact that i'd be nude infront of my peers... and thoughts strayed to how long the course is...
And four years is just a little too long for everyone you know at school to know what your vagina looks like.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
My Last Name's "Yomumma" Like The Woman I Had Sex With Last Night...
For a long time I thought if I ever became famous I would use my mum's maiden name, Bortolussi, which is Italian and back then, far more appealing to me than Orme.
I think at least once in a lifetime one goes through a stage where they don't particularly like their name. Be it their first, middle or last name. I was fortunate enough to go through the stage of not liking my middle or last.
Now over the years i've had to explain how to pronounce my last name to the friends, new teachers, boss's etc etc I meet.
I've been called Alex Ormie, Orm-ay and my favourite "ohm" like that symbol in buddism for meditation.
But no - my last name's Orme, like Warm."
I was wondering recently how other people would discribe their names. Like "My name's Ward - like a hospital ward" or "My name's "Yomumma" like the woman I had sex with last night."
And what about those really unfortunate people with both their first and last name creating something like "Ben Dover" or "Dick Hertz"? I guess it goes without saying that these are either the really genuine people in life who have laughed their way through school and out into the real world and are shaking their heads and saying "thanks mum and dad for thinking I could be so strong!" or they're in jail for murder.
At least the only clarification they'll have to give is after a slap to the face or "Are you okay?". (and maybe if Ben is lucky someone will oblige)
Alex Orme isn't the worst thing to be called... compared to some, i'd say i'm pretty lucky. I also thought it was pretty cool when my boss said she liked it because it reminded her of a ball.
I guess my thoughts have changed in the name department but I still want to be famous.
I think at least once in a lifetime one goes through a stage where they don't particularly like their name. Be it their first, middle or last name. I was fortunate enough to go through the stage of not liking my middle or last.
Now over the years i've had to explain how to pronounce my last name to the friends, new teachers, boss's etc etc I meet.
I've been called Alex Ormie, Orm-ay and my favourite "ohm" like that symbol in buddism for meditation.
But no - my last name's Orme, like Warm."
I was wondering recently how other people would discribe their names. Like "My name's Ward - like a hospital ward" or "My name's "Yomumma" like the woman I had sex with last night."
And what about those really unfortunate people with both their first and last name creating something like "Ben Dover" or "Dick Hertz"? I guess it goes without saying that these are either the really genuine people in life who have laughed their way through school and out into the real world and are shaking their heads and saying "thanks mum and dad for thinking I could be so strong!" or they're in jail for murder.
At least the only clarification they'll have to give is after a slap to the face or "Are you okay?". (and maybe if Ben is lucky someone will oblige)
Alex Orme isn't the worst thing to be called... compared to some, i'd say i'm pretty lucky. I also thought it was pretty cool when my boss said she liked it because it reminded her of a ball.
I guess my thoughts have changed in the name department but I still want to be famous.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Valentines Is Coming, Have You Got Your Man/Woman?
I've never really liked Valentines day. The day most single ladies and gents out there would rather forget and hunker down with a good horror movie than see all the lovey dovey couples flaunting themselves out in the more often than not, bright sunshine.
I could blame it on the minor detail that i've never had a significant other to share the experience with, except once, four years ago. (and i'm definately not saying that was a bad time) But four years on and four Valentines days to watch progressively more gorey horros or my friends getting roses and chocolates and doted apon, perhaps all my tolerance has run out and maybe I am a little jealous. Maybe.
Honestly though, I don't think it has anything to do with my lack of love but the pressure that's put on the day to be the most romantic. I think romantic would be doing somemthing special the day after or day before if you're greedy. Celebrate everyday rather than have all the pressure on that poor Febuary 14th to shower your girlfriend/boyfriend/wife/husband/mistress/gardener with what you feel.
Do people really need the day to remind them that they actually love someone and should probably show them?
Which reminds me -does anyone have a place free for me to watch a DVD? My parents have kicked me out of the house for sunday...
I could blame it on the minor detail that i've never had a significant other to share the experience with, except once, four years ago. (and i'm definately not saying that was a bad time) But four years on and four Valentines days to watch progressively more gorey horros or my friends getting roses and chocolates and doted apon, perhaps all my tolerance has run out and maybe I am a little jealous. Maybe.
Honestly though, I don't think it has anything to do with my lack of love but the pressure that's put on the day to be the most romantic. I think romantic would be doing somemthing special the day after or day before if you're greedy. Celebrate everyday rather than have all the pressure on that poor Febuary 14th to shower your girlfriend/boyfriend/wife/husband/mistress/gardener with what you feel.
Do people really need the day to remind them that they actually love someone and should probably show them?
Which reminds me -does anyone have a place free for me to watch a DVD? My parents have kicked me out of the house for sunday...
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
The Poorly Pallid
I finally got a chance to earn some money last week and watch the cricket at the same time. Would be pretty good if I actually enjoyed cricket but at $20 an hour, I wasn't complaining.
Now generally I wouldn't call myself pasty, and even though I have just spent the last four months rugged up to my eyeballs in Europe, I think I got a chance to change at least one shade darker in the three weeks I spent in Thailand before I came back here.
Look at me flaunting my travels.. what a wanker.
I digress. I came home to be compared to my mum who, fair enough, had just spent two weeks at the beach and doesn't believe in sunscreen "It'll give you cancer before you get skincancer!" So of course I was of pallid complexion in comparison, but if you looked at my brother i'm not sure the sun likes him that much, if you catch my drift.
So I was standing watching over my two corporate boxes and was next to another girl from the catering company when our boss man comes up and goes "Are you guys sisters?"
"Uh no..."
"Oh you guys look alike... Although you're (me) pasty. Wow, you're like the sick version of her."
"oh.. thanks?"
He laughs and walks away and the girl and I find ourselves a little confused and I'm feeling a little offended.
I was listening to a radio article on how the tan is still a popular thing to have being a girl. Only 1/3 of girls said that they'd rather be pas- i mean have no tan.
Would this encounter, for any other girl mean that they'd go out and get a tan?
If i'm anyone to go by, I'd say yes.
Now generally I wouldn't call myself pasty, and even though I have just spent the last four months rugged up to my eyeballs in Europe, I think I got a chance to change at least one shade darker in the three weeks I spent in Thailand before I came back here.
Look at me flaunting my travels.. what a wanker.
I digress. I came home to be compared to my mum who, fair enough, had just spent two weeks at the beach and doesn't believe in sunscreen "It'll give you cancer before you get skincancer!" So of course I was of pallid complexion in comparison, but if you looked at my brother i'm not sure the sun likes him that much, if you catch my drift.
So I was standing watching over my two corporate boxes and was next to another girl from the catering company when our boss man comes up and goes "Are you guys sisters?"
"Uh no..."
"Oh you guys look alike... Although you're (me) pasty. Wow, you're like the sick version of her."
"oh.. thanks?"
He laughs and walks away and the girl and I find ourselves a little confused and I'm feeling a little offended.
I was listening to a radio article on how the tan is still a popular thing to have being a girl. Only 1/3 of girls said that they'd rather be pas- i mean have no tan.
Would this encounter, for any other girl mean that they'd go out and get a tan?
If i'm anyone to go by, I'd say yes.
Monday, February 1, 2010
Do You Have Snow on your Christmas Cards?
Writing this after the festive period and being privileged enough to have had a wonderful 8 months travelling, I somehow found myself in England for Christmas. I got asked the usual questions “Do you ride kangaroos in Australia?” “Do you have snow on your Christmas cards?” and although I wasn’t lying when I answered, “Why yes! Yes we do!” (Well, to the second one anyway) From what I can remember in Australia, Christmas has always been associated with a Barbequed ham or turkey and the only “snow” we’ve had was the stuff mum scraped from the freezer.
So it got me wondering – why do we have snow and Santa in a heavy red coat with fur lining when clearly it’s hot at Christmas time?
The fact that I can buy a card depicting a toasty fire with stockings hanging precariously above it or that a snowman will come alive, dress up in my mum and dad’s clothes and fly me all over town* just seem a little pretentious to me.
Why are we trying to spend Christmas the way we can’t?
Perhaps Santa is self conscious in swimwear? He knows he can’t watch his weight because that mince pie slash biscuit slash beer (yeah, I used to leave Santa beer) is just so tempting and fair enough – it’s not every day the whole world leaves you free food.
Perhaps he couldn't bring himself to take off the love handle hider to make himself more easily believed by the people here in the southern hemisphere.
But you know those Christmas cards with Santa in swimming attire?(gawd forbid if he ever sported budgie smugglers), I’ve got my money riding on the belief they are the work of elf insiders wanting to make a few extra bucks on the side – (the cheeky buggers) - and what better way then to sell them to the countries which report how much dirt has fallen over the last month, rather than rain, which normal countries seem to receive on a considerably higher average.
And perhaps, in the light of the world financial crisis, that’s what it’s come down to -Candid shots of the jolly old fat man.
Either way, even they, true to our weather and time of the year, are far and few between, snowed under an abundance of winter themed rivals.
In reality I’m sure is that it’s just plain cheaper to import Christmas cards from the other side of the world… but where’s the fun in that?
Santa, if you’re reading this, I’d like a pony this year.
So it got me wondering – why do we have snow and Santa in a heavy red coat with fur lining when clearly it’s hot at Christmas time?
The fact that I can buy a card depicting a toasty fire with stockings hanging precariously above it or that a snowman will come alive, dress up in my mum and dad’s clothes and fly me all over town* just seem a little pretentious to me.
Why are we trying to spend Christmas the way we can’t?
Perhaps Santa is self conscious in swimwear? He knows he can’t watch his weight because that mince pie slash biscuit slash beer (yeah, I used to leave Santa beer) is just so tempting and fair enough – it’s not every day the whole world leaves you free food.
Perhaps he couldn't bring himself to take off the love handle hider to make himself more easily believed by the people here in the southern hemisphere.
But you know those Christmas cards with Santa in swimming attire?(gawd forbid if he ever sported budgie smugglers), I’ve got my money riding on the belief they are the work of elf insiders wanting to make a few extra bucks on the side – (the cheeky buggers) - and what better way then to sell them to the countries which report how much dirt has fallen over the last month, rather than rain, which normal countries seem to receive on a considerably higher average.
And perhaps, in the light of the world financial crisis, that’s what it’s come down to -Candid shots of the jolly old fat man.
Either way, even they, true to our weather and time of the year, are far and few between, snowed under an abundance of winter themed rivals.
In reality I’m sure is that it’s just plain cheaper to import Christmas cards from the other side of the world… but where’s the fun in that?
Santa, if you’re reading this, I’d like a pony this year.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)