OH HELLO BLOG CREATURES FROM THE OTHERWORLDS AND PLACES OF THE THINGS WITH THE STUFF AND ALL THAT LACK OF GRAVITY AND STARS.
Or whatever. Man, I don't know you. If you'd just let our love grow tall, like that song says, by someone I can't remember, then we could truly get to know each other.
Alternately, I could just hate on everyone in the galaxy. That works too.
ANYWAY. HOW ARE YOU?!?!?!
I have been a long time gone from the blogosphere, and I wish I could say I've been doing something Excellent, and Exciting, and Adventurous, but mostly my holidays have consisted of the following:
-Playing Pokemon Red on Gameboy Colour. Oh yes. Look at me being indie. Sometimes I even wear oversized cardigans and boots and too much jewellery and listen to Bright Eyes and feel melancholic on trains in the dying sunlight.
Mostly I just get shitty at water pokemon though. WHO THE FUCK EVEN CHOOSES SQUIRTLE, EVERYONE KNOWS HE'S LIKE THE MILHOUSE OF THE POKEMON WORLD.
"QUIET CHILDREN! NO ONE LIKES MILHOUSE!"
- Eating. During semester, my life consists of living entirely on A) Caffeine B) Sugar and C)..... no that's about it. Caffeine and Sugar. In fact, I generally just subsist on double shot lattes and stumble around uni in a confused hallucination-filled stupor, occasionally scoffing sour peach hearts. MY LIFE - IT IS PRODUCTIVE. Thus, I generally lose about 5 kilos a semester, until it gets to holidays and I eat everything in sight 16 hours of the day.
As you might have gathered from previous posts, I have the scrawny underfed body shape of a newly born sparrow (incidentally, I also have the high-pitched shrieky voice of one). The point being, when I lose 5 kilos, I weigh approximately... not much, and also I wake up four days of the week at 6am for work/uni, so the bags under my eyes and general twitchy limbs make me look a little like an emaciated smack addict (I also function like one - see: jumpy, constantly craving something (not actually smack, just to clarify), bony, easily angered). ON THE UPSIDE. it has been holidays for approx. three months, and I now have some manner of body weight! EXCITING. ROUND OF APPLAUSE, LOUD NOISES, ETC ALL PRAISE ME. In order for this to happen I have eaten a world of food. A WORLD OF FOOD.
- Planning my 21st - I am entering the phase of Being Mature and Responsible for My Life and My Choices. I can drive a car. I can legally purchase alcohol and cigarettes. I wear make up every day. I wear high heels most days. I have two jobs and am nearing the end of my University Degree (TM). I make professional phone calls at my work. I am trying to find better paying jobs.
I FUCKING HATE GROWING UP. Man. The responsibility is something I have never been cut out for (things I am cut out for: sleep, eating, boozing, kissing, playing pokemon, facebooking, falling over things). And I have no idea how to deal with it. However, I have decided that the best way to ignore it is to throw a party and drink my memory away.
I feel I've made a fairly good start on this so far.
My friend P recently suggested my autobiography will be titled "Anna Hyde: I Was So Hungover".
IT'S FUNNY 'CAUSE IT'S TRUE.
- Catching up with The Boyfriend - The Boyfriend, B, was back in Melbourne for most of the holidays. I say "most" because B is some sort of musical freak boy who plays gigs everywhere and would often leave the state for a few days anyway. But we did get to catch up on a lot of things while he was here, being: Back to the Future Marathon (we both have crushes on Michael J Fox), the Sean Connery James Bond films (B has a crush on Sean Connery), swimming in the ocean in a ridiculously cheesy romantic manner, drinking, driving (not simultaneously), playing card games, mocking each other, and, obviously, the sex.
THIS WAS PLEASING TO ME. However, now B has gone back to Sydney and I probably won't see him for around a month or so. Which is much less pleasing to me. And also somewhat bizarrely, my fellow blogger, Damacus (whose real name, incidentally, is the same as B's) has moved away recently to the same state.
WHY FOR, Bs!!!!??? WHY FOR YOU ALL LEAVE ME?!?!??!
I lose all my bs, and am left only with the rest of the alphabet.
Over the course of the holidays I also realised something that I never thought I would (that was a very bad sentence, and for this I apologise, but my sinuses are about to eat the rest of my face in some sort of rebellion against being held captive in my skull, and TAKE PITY ON ME, I DON'T EVEN DO A DEGREE THAT REQUIRES STANDARD WRITING SKILLS).
I'm not sure about you, but often in the past I've seen couples wandering around, holding hands, looking very much in love, et.c etc. vom in my mouth. Although I've occasionally noticed those vaguely unsettling situations where the woman is a fair amount taller than the man.
There is nothing wrong with this. Not even a little bit. But still, I'd often look at those couples and think, "But... doesn't he feel... emasculated? And... how does that even WORK?"
I thought these things, quietly, to myself, until I realised something lately.
I have a penchant for wearing ridiculous heels. I mean, 6 days out of seven, I wear 2 - 5 inch heels in everyday life. B is approximately an inch taller than me.
DO YOU SEE WHAT I'M GETTING AT??!?!?!
When I wear heels, I am gargantuan tall giraffe woman who towers over my boyfriend....
...
...
...
And I don't hate it. I find it fantastically funny being able to look over his head in my 5 inch heels.
And while it's kind of nice to be the short one, like it's kind of nice to be the little spoon and feel all protected and stuff, it's also nice to be all: "YO, I BE AN IN-DE-PEN-DANT WO-MAN BITCHEZ. Hear me roar in my tallness and almighty power of awesome height etc. etc."
Sometimes, you learn things.
Finally, on a closing note, I discovered something extremely unsettling in my work's kitchen tonight. My boss is a health food freak. One of those people who drink "Tasty, Healthy Shakes" and eat "Delicious, Nutritious Food Bar Replacement Foodstuffs" instead of eating Real Food (TM) for meals. Apparently his healthy obsession extends to removing sugar and caffeine from his diet. This sickens and repulses me for obvious reasons, but as I went to make a coffee tonight I discovered "Caro: Delicious Cereal Beverage".
What is a Delicious Cereal Beverage you ask? What does it do? What does it taste like? How does it work? Isn't it an oxymoron in itself? Why does it exist and what twisted individual decided to make a drink lacking in anything that tastes vaguely okay that is also part food through some confusing system I can't possibly understand?
These questions: they will be spoken throughout the universe forever more.
xx
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Things I can do with one arm part 2
Hello happy campers! Yes, I'm back with more things I can do with one arm! I know you are all dying for an update on the health and strength status of my body. I know you are all wondering what I have in store for you! So what can I NOW do with one hand after a three weeks of being in a cast? Let's see...
GO ON CAMP.
I still managed to attend a week long camp which involved lots of lifting (with one hand) and getting wet (with a purple, scented plastic bag on my arm). It was really difficult but I got through the whole week somehow.
SEW TOGETHER KNITTED SQUARES TO MAKE A BLANKET.
On camp, the JFS were given three huge bags of squares to sew together (4x4) to make blankets for poor babies in India. I managed to make two because I am a compassionate person, obviously.
WORK ON EXPRESS REGISTERS.
That's right people, Renji is moving up in the world of Safeway and can now work not only on self serve, but also on the 12 items or less register (with one hand). Customers thought I was a bit slow but I thought I was doing a fairly good job with only half of my appropriate bagging limbs working.
FEED THE DOG.
My dog is on a special diet of kangaroo meat because the vet thinks she is allergic to some of her food. Kangaroo mince is gross and sticky and hard to get out of a bag with one hand. Her antihistamine tablets are also hard to put into little kangaroo treats so she wont notice them, but you know what? I did it! She ate those damn pills and her kangaroo meat looked delicious (to her) in her bowl. She still loves me!
COOK PASTA.
Ok, I can't really COOK pasta, but dad left the sauce in a pot and I put the boiling water in another pot and added some pasta and waited for it to not be hard and fragile so it could be eaten by my family. I think that was an ok effort in helping around the house. It was the most delicious pasta EVER! (But not really because it was just ragout instead of something super interesting, although I love ragout)
MAKE A SANDWICH.
I was at work today and I needed to eat some lunch, so I bought a roll, some Dodoni fetta (only the best), and some salami. I then discovered that cutting a roll in half with one hand is incredibly difficult but after much struggling I managed to cut it in half to fill it with the deliciousness that I had prepared for it. It took ages but it was definitely worth the struggle because it was an amazing roll/sandwich.
So I apologise for the lack of any interesting stuff that I can do with one arm; I didn't really try anything that dramatic or difficult because my arm hurts. This time however, I will set myself a challenge for next week that I will make a report on (whether success of failure) in my next blog along with any other little victories I have over my heavy, dead arm. This week's challenge: clean my room. Cleaning my room is not a big deal for me as usually it is spotless and everything is in its correct place (nothing is homeless), but with a broken arm it is incredibly hard to clean. At the moment it is littered with my luggage from camp, my luggage from Sydney, my dirty laundry, my clean laundry, and just things that were too hard to put away. With my recovering arm I think I can do it this week! Stay tuned for the report on this challenge, accompanied by entertaining photos no doubt. Thanks for reading.
-Renji
GO ON CAMP.
I still managed to attend a week long camp which involved lots of lifting (with one hand) and getting wet (with a purple, scented plastic bag on my arm). It was really difficult but I got through the whole week somehow.
SEW TOGETHER KNITTED SQUARES TO MAKE A BLANKET.
On camp, the JFS were given three huge bags of squares to sew together (4x4) to make blankets for poor babies in India. I managed to make two because I am a compassionate person, obviously.
WORK ON EXPRESS REGISTERS.
That's right people, Renji is moving up in the world of Safeway and can now work not only on self serve, but also on the 12 items or less register (with one hand). Customers thought I was a bit slow but I thought I was doing a fairly good job with only half of my appropriate bagging limbs working.
FEED THE DOG.
My dog is on a special diet of kangaroo meat because the vet thinks she is allergic to some of her food. Kangaroo mince is gross and sticky and hard to get out of a bag with one hand. Her antihistamine tablets are also hard to put into little kangaroo treats so she wont notice them, but you know what? I did it! She ate those damn pills and her kangaroo meat looked delicious (to her) in her bowl. She still loves me!
COOK PASTA.
Ok, I can't really COOK pasta, but dad left the sauce in a pot and I put the boiling water in another pot and added some pasta and waited for it to not be hard and fragile so it could be eaten by my family. I think that was an ok effort in helping around the house. It was the most delicious pasta EVER! (But not really because it was just ragout instead of something super interesting, although I love ragout)
MAKE A SANDWICH.
I was at work today and I needed to eat some lunch, so I bought a roll, some Dodoni fetta (only the best), and some salami. I then discovered that cutting a roll in half with one hand is incredibly difficult but after much struggling I managed to cut it in half to fill it with the deliciousness that I had prepared for it. It took ages but it was definitely worth the struggle because it was an amazing roll/sandwich.
So I apologise for the lack of any interesting stuff that I can do with one arm; I didn't really try anything that dramatic or difficult because my arm hurts. This time however, I will set myself a challenge for next week that I will make a report on (whether success of failure) in my next blog along with any other little victories I have over my heavy, dead arm. This week's challenge: clean my room. Cleaning my room is not a big deal for me as usually it is spotless and everything is in its correct place (nothing is homeless), but with a broken arm it is incredibly hard to clean. At the moment it is littered with my luggage from camp, my luggage from Sydney, my dirty laundry, my clean laundry, and just things that were too hard to put away. With my recovering arm I think I can do it this week! Stay tuned for the report on this challenge, accompanied by entertaining photos no doubt. Thanks for reading.
-Renji
Friday, January 14, 2011
Things I can do with one arm
Hi there kids of Blogville! I have a rather funny story to tell you involving rollerblades and a broken arm... Well that's the whole story really (damn I wanted it to sound more interesting on paper). I, the invincible Lieutenant Renji, am facing a minor setback of a snapped radius that was pushed towards my elbow and had to be yanked into place by a doctor; anaesthetic you ask? Lieutenant Renji has no need for numbness, a person so tough can withstand the pain of bones moving inside them! Anyway, after a week and a half of difficulty with general things in life I have learned to do a few things with one arm and I have decided that everyone wants to hear about my great achievements as I discover little by little the boring, everyday things that I am able to do while covered in plaster.
Use the computer.
My typing skills were already so great that I was able to type with one hand on the first try, which was as soon as I got home from the hospital so I could Facebook all my friends to see who would be first to shotgun writing "milpool" on the cast.
Write a blog.
Evidently I am able to write a blog.
Fold clothes.
At first it was incredibly hard to clean my room and put away my clothes, but with the help of my teeth and a bed I am able to manoeuvre a tshirt into a perfectly folded position only to find that I am unable to put it back into its proper colour coordinated spot because I cant lift up the other shirts while holding the folded one. Soon I will learn to satisfy my OCD. PURPLE DOESN'T GO NEXT TO RED!
Open bottles.
That's right folks, with the combined power of my thighs and my right hand I can open a bottle from the fridge and pour myself a refreshing drink! Simply delicious.
Play UNO.
This involves teeth and some clever card placement. I am yet to play it completely without the help of someone else but I will get there; my sister is sick of taking cards out of my mouth that lead to her UNO demise!
Take photos.
Well I actually did this with the hand on my broken arm (obviously since my other arm is not in it) and it really hurt, but I am committed to the blog!
That's all for now, stay tuned for more things I can do with one arm, brought to you as I discover them myself. I'm sure they will get more impressive... well I hope. Thanks for reading.
-Renji
Thursday, January 6, 2011
WISH (I) WERE (THERE)
Good evening everybody.
I get the sense that I haven't been pulling my weight around here lately what with less posts and a failure to show up at all blog related functions. So this is my post. It is not a very well constructed post. It is not a very well written post. It's mine.
Like always the end of the year always seems to be a crescendo of weirdness. Just weirdness. Weird in that you do, see and think things you normally wouldn't. I don't know if this is the same for anyone else but I get really weirded out by the last couple of weeks of a year.
Yeah. I don't know where I'm going with this. I haven't thought this through at all, so I apologise, but this will be more like reading the frantic notes I've scrawled in my life's margins...
Well, I thought after Christmas that I was really getting sick of my house. Too many things. Too many gifts, too many photos... too many dreams and too many worries. Too much of the past and future, none of the present. I could say something annoying like you can only get self realisation out of pockets of occurrent experience or something, but that wouldn't be true. It wasn't something I'd thought about. I decided I'd pack a bag and head out for a week. Because what was the alternative? What was the worst that could happen?
I'm already rereading this post. Trying to think where I want to steer it. Away from some rocks, towards a light... maybe give up and run it aground here. I'm thinking, maybe this is why nobody ever wants the truth. Because it's nothing. It's definite. It's the truth, there's no way around it. It's like the cuckoo's egg hatching and pushing the others out of the nest. When you get the truth you don't get anything else... just this bigger, uglier, hungrier mouth to feed.
Well, I did some things. That's what I did. I spent time with some people, said goodbye, made my way to my next destination, rinse. repeat. rinse. repeat. It's boring. Like doing the dishes.
Boring.
Simple.
Nice.
I suppose I liked the travelling. I like train rides. Not many people talk on a train, and when they do it's pretty black and white. One hand is the people travelling in a group who send out where they're going and for what little reasoning and the ones who bridge the gap and talk to other travellers about the places they've been. I like conversations. More other people's than my own.
I read this in a monotone in my head. I'm starting to question whether or not I want to keep typing. Now I know the little pieces I'm saying. I think I'm starting to see the picture they'll make when I fit them together. But I'm still hesitant. This is inside my head. This is probably not where it belongs. It might not be understood properly... or worse, it might not even want to be understood. Scenarios float up from murky depths to the surface of my mind. Now I see separate thoughts... how do I say it?... separated from the rest. To mingle with the thoughts of others. I could be judged... I don't care much about that. I could be similar though. These could be the inner workings of someone else. If so, why do I type mine out? Am I allowed to do that? Is it right? What justifies my... hmmm... I don't think this is sadness, or happiness... it's not really expressive, it's just vague. Well, why do I type this when noone else will? What makes me special? I don't know how to say it any better...
On one of the trains I caught I sat opposite a girl in goth makeup. This was at the onset of a four hour trip, shortly before this my MP3 player died... and if I remember I'd been wanting all day to listen to one song. Astronomy Domine, by Pink Floyd. I wanted to hear the first verse specifically.
Lime and limpid green
a second scene,
A fight between the blue
you once knew.
Floating down the sound resounds
Around the icy waters underground
Jupiter and Saturn
Oberon Miranda and Titania
Neptune Titan
Stars can frighten
I like the alliteration, I like the names and I like the image it makes in your head. Well, I wasn't afforded this liberty and it would be days before I'd hear the song again. I knew to entertain myself I'd be reliant on sketching, writing, reading, looking out the window and succinct glances at other travellers. The goth girl's story was already writing itself in my head...
It was a crude translation.
I saw a desire to fit in.
Three phone conversations in ten minutes later I saw the desire was met in her. Desires go when they're attained.
I saw a precisely constructed caricature of alienation and moroseness.
The fact that she was having unrestrained fits of laughter a podcast she listened to made me see no fear of happiness.
I liked being wrong.
I also liked seeing the young couple who boarded wearing peacock feathers in their hats and the old cowboy guy they traded travelling stories with.
I hate this post now. I hate it because I don't even know what it's saying. Right now there is no fleeting glimpse of something. It's just words. They aren't making me think anything, I'm not attached to them, they don't make me feel good.
The simplicity of travelling is brilliant. You only carry what you know is your life with you. Everything you find you get attached to. Everything that isn't worthwhile either remains where you came from or at your destination. It's freedom. You don't have all the good things at your fingertips, of course, but you can't find a luggage rack for what's really tied to your neck. In a way, past and future lay themselves out clearly for you to really look at.
I want to end this now. I don't want to write anymore. I can't think. I can't do it. I don't know what I'm saying. No, now I do know what I'm trying to say, and how I'm trying to write it. But the last piece can't be written down. Can't be written down yet. The last piece is up to whoever reads this. I'm sorry if it's cryptic and annoying, there's no ulterior motive behind it. It just came out and put itself together. Don't be intimidated. You're not intimidated by stupidity, why be intimidated by something else uninspired and unplanned?
Right now things are just happening. All cause and effect crumbles in this overlap of years
'It was me, waiting for me'
Tongs away... to the last piece of post... hehe
I get the sense that I haven't been pulling my weight around here lately what with less posts and a failure to show up at all blog related functions. So this is my post. It is not a very well constructed post. It is not a very well written post. It's mine.
Like always the end of the year always seems to be a crescendo of weirdness. Just weirdness. Weird in that you do, see and think things you normally wouldn't. I don't know if this is the same for anyone else but I get really weirded out by the last couple of weeks of a year.
Yeah. I don't know where I'm going with this. I haven't thought this through at all, so I apologise, but this will be more like reading the frantic notes I've scrawled in my life's margins...
Well, I thought after Christmas that I was really getting sick of my house. Too many things. Too many gifts, too many photos... too many dreams and too many worries. Too much of the past and future, none of the present. I could say something annoying like you can only get self realisation out of pockets of occurrent experience or something, but that wouldn't be true. It wasn't something I'd thought about. I decided I'd pack a bag and head out for a week. Because what was the alternative? What was the worst that could happen?
I'm already rereading this post. Trying to think where I want to steer it. Away from some rocks, towards a light... maybe give up and run it aground here. I'm thinking, maybe this is why nobody ever wants the truth. Because it's nothing. It's definite. It's the truth, there's no way around it. It's like the cuckoo's egg hatching and pushing the others out of the nest. When you get the truth you don't get anything else... just this bigger, uglier, hungrier mouth to feed.
Well, I did some things. That's what I did. I spent time with some people, said goodbye, made my way to my next destination, rinse. repeat. rinse. repeat. It's boring. Like doing the dishes.
Boring.
Simple.
Nice.
I suppose I liked the travelling. I like train rides. Not many people talk on a train, and when they do it's pretty black and white. One hand is the people travelling in a group who send out where they're going and for what little reasoning and the ones who bridge the gap and talk to other travellers about the places they've been. I like conversations. More other people's than my own.
I read this in a monotone in my head. I'm starting to question whether or not I want to keep typing. Now I know the little pieces I'm saying. I think I'm starting to see the picture they'll make when I fit them together. But I'm still hesitant. This is inside my head. This is probably not where it belongs. It might not be understood properly... or worse, it might not even want to be understood. Scenarios float up from murky depths to the surface of my mind. Now I see separate thoughts... how do I say it?... separated from the rest. To mingle with the thoughts of others. I could be judged... I don't care much about that. I could be similar though. These could be the inner workings of someone else. If so, why do I type mine out? Am I allowed to do that? Is it right? What justifies my... hmmm... I don't think this is sadness, or happiness... it's not really expressive, it's just vague. Well, why do I type this when noone else will? What makes me special? I don't know how to say it any better...
On one of the trains I caught I sat opposite a girl in goth makeup. This was at the onset of a four hour trip, shortly before this my MP3 player died... and if I remember I'd been wanting all day to listen to one song. Astronomy Domine, by Pink Floyd. I wanted to hear the first verse specifically.
Lime and limpid green
a second scene,
A fight between the blue
you once knew.
Floating down the sound resounds
Around the icy waters underground
Jupiter and Saturn
Oberon Miranda and Titania
Neptune Titan
Stars can frighten
I like the alliteration, I like the names and I like the image it makes in your head. Well, I wasn't afforded this liberty and it would be days before I'd hear the song again. I knew to entertain myself I'd be reliant on sketching, writing, reading, looking out the window and succinct glances at other travellers. The goth girl's story was already writing itself in my head...
It was a crude translation.
I saw a desire to fit in.
Three phone conversations in ten minutes later I saw the desire was met in her. Desires go when they're attained.
I saw a precisely constructed caricature of alienation and moroseness.
The fact that she was having unrestrained fits of laughter a podcast she listened to made me see no fear of happiness.
I liked being wrong.
I also liked seeing the young couple who boarded wearing peacock feathers in their hats and the old cowboy guy they traded travelling stories with.
I hate this post now. I hate it because I don't even know what it's saying. Right now there is no fleeting glimpse of something. It's just words. They aren't making me think anything, I'm not attached to them, they don't make me feel good.
The simplicity of travelling is brilliant. You only carry what you know is your life with you. Everything you find you get attached to. Everything that isn't worthwhile either remains where you came from or at your destination. It's freedom. You don't have all the good things at your fingertips, of course, but you can't find a luggage rack for what's really tied to your neck. In a way, past and future lay themselves out clearly for you to really look at.
I want to end this now. I don't want to write anymore. I can't think. I can't do it. I don't know what I'm saying. No, now I do know what I'm trying to say, and how I'm trying to write it. But the last piece can't be written down. Can't be written down yet. The last piece is up to whoever reads this. I'm sorry if it's cryptic and annoying, there's no ulterior motive behind it. It just came out and put itself together. Don't be intimidated. You're not intimidated by stupidity, why be intimidated by something else uninspired and unplanned?
Right now things are just happening. All cause and effect crumbles in this overlap of years
'It was me, waiting for me'
Tongs away... to the last piece of post... hehe
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