Thursday, December 31, 2009

New Year!

Greetings!

From everyone here at TEotA (and by 'everyone' I really mean just me, and by TEotA I just realised that I've coined a really weird acronym for my blog that sounds like an alien name from Avatar) we wish you a very Happy New Year and a fantastic 2010.

(And I'm dropping the royal 'we' now as this is just getting too confusing.)

Anyway- thank you to anyone who's perused, browsed, followed or stumbled across this blog, to anyone who's ever left a comment or even just browsed anonymously, and to those whose own blogs have given me inspiration in the past year. Your support means a lot :)

Have a safe NYE, and I'll see y'all in 2010!!!

xox

Daph

Wednesday, December 9, 2009

Why My Family Is Awesome



Came home from work the other day and found that my family were celebrating my exam results :D

(For any international readers- my mother absolutely loves puns, and those little round candies around the edge are called 'Smarties'. The rest of the joke is pretty much self-explanatory :P)

Tuesday, December 1, 2009

Kickstart

I'm kickstarting my blog back into action, because I tend to have a bad habit of neglecting my blog for a month or two on end- and my poor little corner of cyberspace is left to sit fallow for a bit, until a spell of I need to blog sorta moseys on over and whacks me with a little prodding stick, and my fingers hit the keys.

Oddly enough, in this case it was John Mayer who inspired this update.

Yes. John Mayer.

Okay, okay, I know he's mostly in the tabloids for his reputation as a ladies' man, and I confess that I had not purchased a single one of his albums up until last week- but I heard Who Says a few weeks ago, and something in that prompted me to buy his new album, Battle Studies. And so I did. And I have to say that it's a beautiful album- simple, yet somewhat exquisite in its crafting.

I buy albums for different reasons. I have a strange fondness for commerically crafted pop- I love the familiar four-chord progression of a predictable ballad. For me, it's like having the aural equivalent of a nice warm comfort blanket. This is why you'll find that quite a few of the CDs on my shelf are of ex-Idols (Kelly Clarkson, Jessica Mauboy, Jordin Sparks). The cornier the ballad, the better. I also love hip hop/rap. Jay-Z's The Blueprint 3 was one of my favourite albums this year.

Sometimes, however, you find albums that speak to you, the ones where you connect on some strange level. I think Battle Studies has fallen into this category, along with Anna Nalick's Wreck of the Day.

Anyway, my long and rambling point was that I got onto John Mayer's website and onto his blog (and say what you want about the guy, but he has a wicked sense of humour- there's a video of him attempting to mix some hip hop where his lyrics consist solely of "I like sex, and I'm good at it...I like sex, and I'm good at it...") and he had this post
here.

In case you don't read it (and in case you're bored of what seems so far to be a John Mayer plug), he was talking about conscious composition, and the importance of it in keeping him focussed and able to keep writing. That got me thinking about how much of what can be loosely deemed as the 'creative process' is a product of conscious, focussed thought. Most people would agree that overthinking a situation can have detrimental consequences, and perhaps too much of this self-awareness can have a negative effect on creativity as well. There's no doubt that most of my planned, considered essays have failed where my last-minute, hysterically-written essays have succeeded beyond even my most optimistic expectations.

One of my university tutors, a poet, once described the creative writing process as almost being in a different state of consciousness, where you let go of all your preconceptions and inhibitions (or words to that effect). This always reminds me of Samuel Coleridge- as the story goes, Coleridge saw the course of an epic poem in a dream, and as soon as he woke up, he started to write the entire thing down before he forgot it. Unfortunately for him, a person on business from Porlock came and interrupted him, so he never got to finish it. The poem was called Kubla Khan, and if you ever hear the expression, "person from Porlock", that's where it originated from. (Hopefully you're not being described as one, as I don't think the expression is meant to be terribly flattering in its present form.)

There is also a theory that this 'dream' of Coleridge's was actually an opium-induced haze, but regardless of what it was, it was still an altered state of consciousness which seemed to spark this sudden burst of creative brilliance. And quite a few writers were high as a kite when they wrote their own works of literary genius.

Then again, writing cannot be easily read without structure, and a melody line can't just run without some semblance of rhythm, so an element of technicality and conscious thought is required. I'm just curious as to whether the creative process depends on being able to suspend reality, or alter our perception of our current reality, in order to really work.

And perhaps that is why so many artists are crazy.

And that's my random thought of the evening :)

Monday, October 19, 2009

The Waiting Game Sucks

Earlier this evening, my Arts tutor sent out a group e-mail explaining that by midnight tonight, we would all get an e-mail with our marks and feedback for the subject.

It is now 11:51 p.m, and if you think that I'm sad enough to sit by the computer hitting F5 on my browser for 20 minutes while blogging about the whole sorry experience...

...then you're right.

*twiddles thumbs*

Saturday, October 3, 2009

The Devil's Marsupial

I hate possums.

Most people look at their tiny little faces, their cute furry noses, and think aww.

I look at them, and think THIS:



Look at his demonic eyes. The pink, twitchy nose. The cold, calculating expression of a KILLER. (Feel free to click on that picture and view it in its full horror.)



Look at that butt. Look at that massive possum ass. Look at Mr and Mrs Psycho Killer, lurking behind the door. You want to know why I hate possums?

Look at the picture. Those are my boots. Those are my black MG boots right before their retirement, and those are my friend's runners being held hostage by the little blighters. And those were the two huge monostrosities, the devil's marsupials, who were holding us under siege in our teepee in Tasmania when all I wanted to do was BRUSH MY TEETH.


IS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK, YOU ACCURSED ANIMAL? CAN I NOT PRACTISE NORMAL DENTAL HYGIENE IN THE MIDDLE OF A BUSH RETREAT WITHOUT YOU STALKING AT MY HEELS?!

Do you remember me, demon possum spawn? My (braver) friend Kris tried clapping her runners at you. She almost threw a shoe at you. She hollered. And yelled. And you stood your ground, anchored by some kind of evil spirit force.

And I was so traumatised that I was forced to revert to one of my most basic and favoured coping mechanisms.


(Photography Credit: my friend Kris. I still cop flak from her every time the 'P' word is mentioned.)

(And yes, that is actually me. Behold the brave and valiant author of this noble blog.)

More proof of demonic possession, again FROM THE SAME TRIP. ON THE SAME NIGHT.



ALL YOUR PANS ARE BELONG TO US.

So as you can see, friends, I am not exactly a fan of trichosurus vulpecula. Or as I prefer, demonicus furrecula.

Possums just enjoy making my life miserable. Because why else would they start MATING IN THE CEILING OF MY HOUSE DURING EXAM TIME?

Exam time is stressful. Law school is stressful. All of this is stressful enough without having THUMP THUMP THUMP HISS SQUAWK THUMP THUMP *RABID POSSUM NOISE* THUMP THUMP SNARL HISS HISS HISS THUMP THWACK echoing in the roof.

Earlier today, my father conceded that perhaps it was time he called in someone to get rid of the possums before they caused any structural damage to the house, or caused insomnia.

Unfortunately, in the temporal space between 2 p.m and 7 p.m, he got on Google and discovered that there are entire forum threads devoted to the best methods of flushing out possums. My father enjoys a challenge. Possibly even more than that, he also enjoys saving money. The very concept of DIY Possum Extraction proved to be almost irresistible in combining two of his favourite things. This is why he was quite happy to spend half the afternoon bashing at the walls, climbing up on the roof, checking for possum holes and trawling the 'net for tips. Apparently one such tip on flushing possums out involves using moth balls, or any kinds of incense.

And this is why the downstairs guest bathroom now has a saucer of burning incense perched atop the shower, with the the ceiling fan plate removed and the exhaust turned on, with incense wafting up into the roof cavity.

And this is why the downstairs guest bathroom currently smells like a Chinese temple.

My father thinks he has won this battle. But we shall not underestimate our enemy.

The war has only just begun.


Monday, September 7, 2009

Culinary Disasters #1

Twenty minutes ago, I thought I detected a rather unpleasant burning smell.

It took a few seconds of bemused deliberation until the colloquial penny dropped...and I bolted downstairs to find out exactly what happens when you leave a pot of homebrand pasta boiling for forty-five minutes in a small pot.

The answer = half a centimetre of charcoal.

So I'm timing myself as I write this post, because it's already 1 a.m and that pasta was actually meant to be for my lunch tomorrow- well, today I suppose- so it's going to be an even later night than per usual, and now I can't make fun of my Dad's Great Pudding Explosion so much anymore.

Cooking FAIL.

I partially blame my sister. She initiated a spontaneous game of charades at midnight and so whilst I was earnestly pretending to be a house, then pretending to be an arsonist burning down the house (it was 'song names') my own flame-related disaster was merrily boiling away downstairs.

Irony FOR THE WIN.

And this is why being a crazy cat lady will be so much easier when I'm older. All you need to do is get a spoon and scoop out some jellied fish into a bowl (or one large feeding platter for my one hundred and twenty-six feline friends) and that's it. No preparation required.

Although knowing me, I'll probably end up snapping the pull ring off or something and then the cats will all turn on me and it'll be me fighting against a swarm of 126 cats and I'll run out screaming into the street clutching a can of Snappy Tom with cats clinging to my cardigan as I scream incoherently with several sets of claws in my face.

*coughs*

Righto, down to check on Pasta V2.0...

Friday, August 7, 2009

Don't Phunk With My Heart

Yesterday I went to see my GP over a few minor concerns with what Captain Jack Sparrow would fondly refer to as his "thump thump."

My thump-thump has been...well, thumping rather erratically recently so I figured it was better to veer on the side of caution and see a doctor. However, I couldn't help but feel like a bit of hypochondriac when I was sitting in the office trying to explain exactly what was freaking me out.

In layman's terms, I believe I garbled out, "It sometimes it goes thump...thump...thump...paaaause...gurgle.....thump thump...."

And all credit to my doctor, I think he managed to decipher this (including my lame tapping demonstration on his desk). He said it could be a combination of factors, including lack of sleep, caffeine, stress, thyroid problems, or heart defects (tick tick tick for the first three) and then followed it up with the cheerful question, "Has anyone in your family ever dropped dead for no apparent reason?"

To which I said that there was no history of Long QT or anything like that, which made him ask me if I'd been Googling. To this, I indignantly replied that no, I was not one of those people who print out a whole list of their symptoms off Ask Jeeves and take them into their doctor....but I sort of left off the fact that I learnt about Long QT Syndrome from a storyline on Neighbours.


Anyway, he then ordered a blood test and an electrocardiogram (ECG) and I toddled off next door to get all the Pathology stuff done.

And then as I was sitting there holding my waiting line number, I realised that this was my first ever blood test.

Eep.

I'm not good with blood. I don't dissolve into hysterics, I don't scream, and I don't faint, but I dislike needles immensely. I can normally sit there quite calmly but there is generally a lot of panicking beforehand. Fortunately, I only had seven minutes of panicking before the nurse was passing me vials.

Vials.

Vials in which to hold my blood.

Oh, God.

See, there's just something about the thought of blood being drawn from my body which makes me very very uneasy. When the nurse actually stuck the needle into my skin I was fine, but then I heard this gurgling as my blood was being drawn up the syringe and all I could think of was
AAARRRRGGH! AAARGGGGGH! AAARGGGGGHH! AARGGGGH! AAARGGGGGH! AARRGGGGH!!!!!

I tried to toughen myself up my doing Work Experience seven years ago at a veterinary clinic. And I found out that I'm okay with operations, and blood, and seeing a dog's innards on the operating table, and having the vet chat happily about his new Lord of the Rings DVD with collectible Gollum figure while his scalpel was poking at an infected doggy spleen in front of him...but when it comes to things like papercuts or needles on humans it's something different altogether.

What I did do was concentrate very very hard on the radio that was playing some kind of obnoxious ad for Harvey Norman. So I sat there and focussed on the fact that Harvey Norman were having some kind of sale, and this sale was offering 24 months interest-free....that's right, 24 months interest-free and that this had nothing to do with the gurgling...OMG PLEASE STOP THE GURGLING...of my blood being drawn up into a needle.

It was over quicker than I expected, so then I had to lie down while the nurse ran SANDPAPER over my skin and stuck electrodes to it. Then she began clipping leads to all these electrodes, so I felt like one big human component switch as she plugged me into the ECG machine thingy.

So now I'm waiting on the test results. On the upside, my doctor didn't tell me to lay off caffeine or anything like that, which was quite a relief, so I had two very large cups of coffee in the afternoon. The nurse sternly told me that I wasn't allowed to lift anything heavy with my left arm for the rest of the day (where the blood had been drawn) and as I rose to shove my tote bag over my left shoulder she squawked at me "I hope you're not going to put that on that arm! Put it on the other one!"

This made things quite irritating when I had to go to work in the afternoon...I ended up dragging out a 700VA uninterruptible power supply out using only my right arm, and that was all kinds of not-fun. And because I am physically uncoordinated and have issues wearing things over my right arm, I accidentally smashed into the toy keyboard stand at work on my way out and knocked the entire thing over with my handbag.

Obviously I'm not an ambi-wearer.

But since I have no restrictions on my caffeine intake as yet, I'm going to go and have a nice afternoon coffee :)

Mmmm. Coffee. How I thump thump thee.

Saturday, June 20, 2009

Why I Should Be Cast as Kitana...(are you listening, McG?)

I pulled my pyjama top over my face earlier this evening- I don't know why, I just felt like annoying my sister while she was using the bathroom mirror, and pretending to be a masked bandit in bright pink Chupa Chup PJs and waving my hands in the air behind her head just seemed the best way to go about it- when I realised something.

I could totally be Kitana if they ever made another horrible Mortal Kombat movie.



(Kitana always wears a mask that hides everything but her eyes. Thus, it hit me like a lightning bolt when I was mucking around in the mirror.)

I have given this considered, educated thought (mostly because the alternative to this train of thought was going back to a large pile of legislation and national employment standards) and have come up with the following reasons why I could totally be cast as Kitana:

1) I'm Asian. She's Asian. In fact, Kristin Kreuk got cast as Chun-Li for Street Fighter and she's only half-Asian. Therefore, am TWICE AS QUALIFIED as Kristin Kreuk for this role. (Am still irritated at Kristin Kreuk and the fact that she got to star as the love interest of Tom Welling AND Jensen Ackles in Smallville. That's just plain greedy.)

2. Drop-dead gorgeousness is not a deciding factor. She wears a mask over most of her face.

3. Even acting is not an issue. Of course, I do have the unrivalled experience of having a minor speaking part in my Year Six school play, but at any rate, Kitana's voice comes out muffled in MK v DC...quite possibly due to having an entire scrap of blue fabric plastered to her jaw. So I could botch my lines and no one would notice!

4. I really like the colour blue. It's meant to be.

5. KISS OF DEATH! KISS OF DEATH!

And as you can see, my study for the next exam is not going so well....:P

Thursday, June 18, 2009

It's What I Go To Work For

GFC.

It always takes me a little mental minute to process acronyms. Whenever someone mentions the GFC my brain kicks into overdrive. Does it stand for Games For Consoles? Gluten Free Cooking? Grease Fried Chips?

Alas, the rather prosaic answer is the Global Financial Crisis. Nothing quite so fun as the other food-related alternatives my mind tossed up.

Anyway, the 'GFC' has meant that consumer spending has dropped, which means that retail stores are laying off staff, cutting hours and slashing wage budgets. Which means that when I walked into work today for my first shift in two weeks, I was apologetically informed that I wouldn't get another shift until the 10th of July. And this shift would be a grand total of three hours. Huzzah.

However, given the lack of consumer enthusiasm, it meant that my Thursday night shift was very very quiet. This was basically my night:

(M is my Manager, AM the Assistant Manager, 3IC the third-in-charge).

5:45 p.m- Arrive early for shift. AM has downloaded two episodes of Season Four of Supernatural on his iPhone for my viewing pleasure, so I stand in the backroom annoying M, making little squeaky noises when the little Jensen Ackles on screen lifts up his shirt. I get an inordinate amount of pleasure turning the iPhone upside-down so the image rotates too. Why doesn't everything come with built-in accelerators?!

5:55 p.m- M and AM start humming. They enjoy stringing my name along to the Spiderman theme, probably because my full name has three syllables and the tune is as catchy as anything.

6:00 p.m- Shift starts. 3IC is having a teary argument because apparently the Area Manager noticed her very frayed pants hems and told M that 3IC must buy new ones. M informs 3IC that if she doesn't get new pants and comply with uniform standards he can send her home for her next shift. 3IC threatens to call the Union, because obviously the Union does not have better things to do with its time than look at people's trousers.

6:25 p.m- M gives 3IC way too much leeway. I make a mental note that tears will get you out of anything. M and 3IC leave.

6:45 p.m- Colleague is stuck with an Asian woman and her two kids trying to haggle down the price of some kind of robot kit with Bluetooth capabilities. In three years, I have never seen a customer successfully put that thing together. The control box always karks it or something.

7:00 p.m- Am stuck with someone looking for Components. Crap it.

7:05 p.m- Have located a crystal earpiece, but am now combing the Components area for bloody ferrite rods.

7:10 p.m- I emerge triumpantly from the midst of fuses and resistors with three ferrite rods, only to be told that they're not suitable because they lack coils. Why do ferrite rods have coils?! It's a rod! It's ferrite! Why add coils to it's rodly goodness? AARGH.

7:15 p.m- Am now stuck looking in the diodes section for some kind of obscure diode. I hate diodes.

7:18 p.m- Asian woman still haggling.

7:20 p.m- Find a dude roaming the tools section looking for an AV switch. Dump him in front of the right section while discreetly checking him out. Final verdict: nah.

7:25 p.m- Asian woman still haggling.

7:30 p.m- Another customer wants to know if he can ask a tricky question. I say sure- he's holding a SCART-3RGB adaptor, it's not like there's anything else he needs to know about. Except:

"Is it bi-directional?"

EH?!

7:32 p.m- Apparently bi-directional is just a fancy name for input/output. Point-of-Sale database, how I love thee.

7:45 p.m- Boss brings me giant coffee, latte with two sugars. Wish my favourite barista was working so we could bitch about the trials of law school during the coffee-making process. Ooh, it's a large coffee. Daphne the Caffeine Squirrel ain't gettin' any sleep tonight.

7:50 p.m- AM hooks up his iPhone to a 22" Samsung in the back room and Jensen's glorious visage fills the screen. Were my life a Stephenie Meyer novel, I would be gasping at his smouldering dark eyes and chiselled chest, thinking how sweet and intoxicating his breath would be and bemoaning my own feeble insignificance next to his heartbreaking beauty.

AM tells me to stop drooling.

7:53 p.m- Jensen is sharpening a knife. How manly he looks in his singlet and his gun arsenal.

7:54 p.m- AM asks me if I can blow up some more balloons for the sale display.

7:56 p.m- Have filled the last two minutes with blow-related jokes.

7:59 p.m- I attempt to earnestly give a brief etymology lesson to AM by arguing that the word 'erect' cannot be used in relation to a balloon, as 'erect' implies something being built from foundations or rising up, and really, the word 'inflate' is more appropriate. What can't you do with a B.A in English?

8:00 p.m- AM decides to test out iPhone and component cable on a larger LCD screen. Am impressed that such a compressed file can be shown in clear 576p. Have reevaluated my scorn of the iPhone, but I still wouldn't get one.

8:30 p.m- Remember that my coffee is still sitting out the back. Coffee is duly sculled, luke-warm and all, but still coffee.

8:45 p.m- Almost home time!

9:00 p.m- End of shift.

And they pay me $21/hr for this* :D

*Well, in the good old days when I had weekly shifts

Tuesday, May 26, 2009

Attention Span FAIL...

My attention span has actually decreased from when I was a kid.

I used to be able to sit through long, painful school assemblies. Chapel, every week (although I once copped detention for sliding with my friends on the pews.) Speech Nights. Double periods, sometimes triple- of the same class. Hours of let's-go-through-every-line-of-Romeo-and-Juliet in English. Yet now, I am unable to sustain my concentration for more than 20 minutes at a time.

And just to prove a point, I am writing this in the middle of my Equity lecture.

It's only one and a half hours and I am so painfully bored that I have actually exhausted the distractions of all other websites, including Facebook.

Currently, the lecturer is talking about 'equitable monetary remedies' and I am blogging about not paying attention.

Sigh.

Monday, May 18, 2009

Beast

I am currently hibernating in my Study Cave.

My Study Cave generally looks like the kind of underground lair that you see in horror films- where the creature drags the remains of their meal and lets it rot in the corner while it goes out to kill more innocents. Currently, my Study Cave looks like I've gone out, killed something, dragged it back and fed it to my young because there are piles of clothes forming a strange kind of nest around my bed and coffee cups strewn all over the desk.

(Rule Number One of my studying habits: if it requires more work than adding boiling water, don't drink it.)

Anyway, one of the main rules that outsiders must understand is that when the Beast is studying, the Beast does not enjoy having unannounced visits by stray humans such as the "Have you ever considered switching from Tru Energy to AGL?" man, the "Have you ever considered switching from AGL to Tru Energy?" man, and the Avon Representative (the latter of which has been taken care of. Permanently.)

This is mainly because on Study Days, the Beast finds getting out of her pyjamas is a pointless exercise and that makeup is not necessary if her waking hours are spent in the Study Cave. Therefore, the Beast looks like...a beast. Especially when she wakes up.

In my Beast form, I have already managed to permanently frighten off the Avon cosmetics representative- all it took was a 9 a.m visit with unbrushed hair with no makeup and my bunny pyjamas squinting at the hideous sun behind the Avon lady's head...(plus I generally can only splutter out monosyllables before 10 a.m) and from now on, she just leaves the catalogue at the doorstep before presumably running for her life. I think she now understands that sometimes, there are faces that cosmetics just can't fix.

So this morning I heard the doorbell ring. My sister had just left two minutes before, so I assumed she'd forgotten something and come back for it.

So I stumbled downstairs to the door in my little Soho cotton stripey PJs and my V-neck pullover and made my way to the door. When I opened it, I realised that:

(a) if I'd had put my glasses on I probably would have seen that this was NOT my sister; and that
(b) I was about to encounter another species of stray human that would have to be taught a lesson.

"Hello," the human said. He was medium height, skinny, male, probably would have been quite attractive looking if I'd had corrective lenses of some sort over my eyes, except all I saw was a tall blur in a suit.

"Hello." That's it. Be the sparkling conversationalist that you are before luring him into a false sense of security...then we rip out his innards. Bwah hah hah.

"How are you this morning?"

"Good." Very good, in fact, human. How would you like to be strung upside down by your ankles while I GO BACK TO BED?

"I'm from...*insert agency here* and we just sold a house in your area for a very good price, and I was wondering whether you were interested at all in putting up your house for..."

He trailed off as I squinted at him.

Boy am I good at that. I really think that being Asian lends my eye-squints an extra squinty charm.

I continued my Death-By-Squint technique. This probably would have worked had I been a ninja. Or an assassin in black latex. Or Julia Gillard. But in my morning state, I just looked like I was half-stoned and trying to blink out some kind of flash code with my eyelids. I think that just confused him because he said, "Um...are your parents home?"

ARE MY PARENTS HOME?!

Excuse me, but I just turned 21! I'm a big girl! I'm an ADULT. A MATURE ADULT WHO JUST HAPPENS TO BE WEARING PASTEL STRIPEY PYJAMAS BECAUSE YOU THINK THAT EVERYONE IN THE WORLD ENJOYS WAKING UP BEFORE 10 A.M?!

Little girl? I'll show him little girl! So I called for backup, like the mature 21 year old I am.

"Daaaaddy!"

And I stomped off to let my father deal with him.

If he comes back, there will be a price to pay. And if he comes back during SWOTVAC, he will never cross our driveway again once the Harpy in Pink Flannelettes has seen to his trespassing.

Thursday, May 7, 2009

If You Seek Huxley

I smell like wet dog.

Possibly because for the last forty-five minutes, I have been chasing after one.

My sister had just shut the door to go to her night shift at 11 p.m when she opened the door again and shoved in a lost dog that she'd found roaming on the street- because not only is it cold, our area is prone to people hooning around the streets and it is not safe for a little pup to go trotting around at Hoon Happy Hour in suburbia.

Off she went to night shift, and I was left staring at this random, damp dog in the hallway.

And then I heard an outraged "Meow!" coming from the other side of the door where the cat was now demanding entrance.

Great.

Just great.

I had to let her in, and I quickly grabbed her before she could pad into the hallway, but halfway to the laundry and her basket, Huxley trotted into view. I had to leap away to separate them, because Anna stiffened in my grip and let loose the most venomous, furious hissy snarl that I've ever heard from her, and I hastily stuffed her in the study before a full-blown animal war took place.

The dog was obviously well-cared for, since he had a nice little collar and a registration tag and even a little bone-shaped engraved tag with a phone number and the name, "Huxley". (Most excellent name, by the way. A most excellent author who wrote a most excellent book. Classic.)

Rang the owner four times. No response.

Looked like Huxley was staying for the night.

This is Huxley, by the way, looking somewhat demonic:



(Don't you just love the digital era? One hour of lost-dog guardianship and I'm already uploading his image onto Blogger.)
Anyway, he LOOKS scary but he's actually a real sweetie. He also looks like a Maltese x Bichon Frise from this angle but he looks to me more like a Poodle x Bichon Frise because in reality, he's about twice the size as Maltese and the shape of his underbelly is oddly whippet-like. But you be the judge:



It soon became apparent that Huxley was hungry. Not having any dog food in the house, my mother cooked up a bit of chicken and rice, as I was slightly worried that the dog might be allergic to something, and then we'd have some kind of hideous anaphylatic fit on our hands without the canine version of an EpiPen. (Paranoid? Yes. But you never know...)

We lured Huxley into the spare bathroom with the food, left him an old bedsheet with a nice patch of old carpet, and some water before shutting the light off to let him sleep. Then I yanked the cat out from the study, dumped her in the laundry, and went upstairs.

Then I heard whining.

Then scratching.

Then meowing.

Then whining again.

Followed by more anxious scratching.

With more outraged meowing.

In the end, I finally had to move Huxley outside, because property damage to our door was not something I had factored in when sheltering the dog for the night. Huxley quite enjoyed taking a turn about the lawn- he attempted to pee in our vegetable patch, then in our rose bushes, and had a merry trot around the grounds.

Looking at his happy little doggy face, I really wanted to have a dog again. They're just so adorable and cute and happy.

Thanks to Huxley though, my studious efforts at doing my workplace law essay have been thwarted. I shall endeavour to change out of my now-smelling-like-wet-dog-pyjamas and attempt to locate Huxley's owners on the morrow.

Saturday, April 25, 2009

The Miracle Cure-All

Today, I had a headache. I blamed it on the early morning start at the legal centre and the fact that we had NO clients, so I was doing filework all morning, staring at the computer screen while trying to figure out how superannuation works in matters of divorce.

In the afternoon, I tried:

1. Drinking more water
2. Drinking green tea with lemon
3. Eating
4. Eating something with sugar
5. Eating something high in sodium
6. Eating something else just because I wanted to
7. Taking paracetamol
8. Playing Rainbox Six Vegas 2 and getting myself repeatedly killed
9. Eating (again)
10. Sprawling on my sister's bed interrupting her study session and thumping my head repeatedly on her mattress to the sound of my own wailing

Then I had to go to work.

Now that I'm doing an average of 3-5 hours a week, instead of 30, I'm finding work much more relaxing- a sort of antidote to law school. Of course, working full-time in the holidays really did suck, so I suppose absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that jazz. I don't know how my managers put up with the weekly tirade that follows their innocent question of, "How's uni?"and I sure as hell don't know why they bother to listen, but it's nice to get an outside perspective on things.

Anyway, headache persisted until I was about to get another paracetamol from my bag- it's a giant tote that I discovered is actually giving me back pain in my left side, that's how much crap I stuff into it on a daily basis- when my assistant manager (bless him) shoved a $20 note and a loyalty card at me and told me to get coffee.

Coffee.

COFFEE.

So we got coffee.

And headache DISAPPEARED.

Gone. Dissipated. Goooooone.

Which just goes to show that coffee is a miracle panacea and the most amazing thing ever.

(And also why I'm awake and blogging at 12:48 a.m in the morning.)

And yes, this is yet another of my 'Coffee is the Best Thing Ever' posts...prepare to see quite a few of them in the lead-up to exams...

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

21 Going on 60

Boss: So what are you going to do today?

Me: Study. Oh, and Target are having a sale. On cardigans.

Silence.

I didn't mention, "And I need to buy toothpaste," because that would have just been WAY too much excitement for one afternoon. Although considering the way my social life is going (thank you, stupid workload that is threatening to break my fragile spirit) I might as well have said I was going to get soaking solution for my dentures before going off to play bingo, thank you very much.

Then I stood in front of the toothpaste aisle for 15 minutes (I was texting, in my defence) weighing up the advantages of Cool Mint with Mini Breath Strips versus the 12 Hour Antibacterial Protection offered by Colgate Total, just because handing over the $3.99 at the checkout meant that I had no more excuse to linger in the shopping centre- and that meant I had to go home and open my books and study, and hey, that didn't work either because I am now procrastinating by blogging.

Sigh.

Tuesday, March 24, 2009

Freecell and Snookums

I had seven hours of lectures today and I absorbed nothing.

There is a very good reason for this- several in fact, so I may as well break it down for you:
Lecture #1: Played Hearts on my eeePc for two hours

Lecture #2: Played Freecell in Equity for half an hour, then spent the remaining hour making a formula spreadsheet template to calculate just how much I spend on coffee each week. Luckily this is only Day One of the spreadsheet records, and even then I had to fight not to get a coffee half an hour ago, even though I had to pass the coffee place downstairs wafting the sweet sweet aroma as I miserably went up the escalators.

Lecture #3: Chose the stupidest spot to sit (middle row, right smack bang in front of lecturer) and almost fell asleep. Gave up on dignity and had a ten minute nap during the lecture break. Drooling over your eeePC is not a good look.

Lecture #4: By this point, I was in no mood to sit there and ponder the great intricacies of double-entrenched restrictive legislative procedures, so I did an entire cryptic crossword.

Lecture #4 was a Constitutional Law lecture. And unfortunately, I ended up sitting two rows behind The Lovey Dovey Couple.

Oh, you've seen them. Or people like them. Two inseparable things clinging to each other all the time...they're the kind of people who will make you swerve to the side and almost whack into a pole because they refuse to let go on each other's hands when walking in public, thus creating the dangerous kind of human barrier normally only seen in playground games of Chain Tiggy.

Not to mention the saccharine displays of public affection.

Kris and I had to put up with an entire semester of Property last year with Lovey Dovey Couple. Unfortunately, we ended up either sitting behind them or near them, or next to them, just because we are all creatures of habit and also, it's easier to sneak in late if you slip into the back row. I mean, they're nice people. Really. They just make me want to retch slightly.

Now I know what you're thinking. And I'd like to point out that I'm not the bitter, twisted little ball of cynicism you might think I am. I just find it extremely annoying having to sit behind two people who are cooing at each other FOR HOURS IN A LECTURE and tugging each other's noses.

*shudder*

See, there's cute. There's really cute. Then there's the so-cute-it's-bordering-on-obnoxious. And then the saccharine okay-just-stop-it-cos-it's-annoying-and-obnoxious. (See? I have a defined, objective scale.)

(There's also 'vaguely pathetic' which I sometimes employ when I'm listening to Richard Mercer's Love Song Dedications.)


Lesson to be learnt: PDAs are only bearable in the technological handheld device sense, or unless the object of your affection is Jensen Ackles.

I wouldn't begrudge anyone for that.

Monday, March 23, 2009

Week Four Breakdown

Congratulations, Law Faculty.

Taking four of your subjects concurrently has now accelerated my normal Week-Seven-Hysterical-Breakdown, so now I am experiencing the first stages of a panic attack in Week Four.

At this rate, next semester will see me hyperventilating into a bag in my very first class.

Tuesday, March 10, 2009

A Litte Night Schadefreude

I haven't blogged in a while.

As in three months. Three and a half months even. And I don't really know why I stopped, but suddenly I wasn't getting that weird bloggy feeling when I hovered my mouse over the 'Publish Post' button. It didn't feel the same, somehow.

Well, screw that.

I'm back.

I do sincerely apologise for:

(a) my absence (well, if anyone missed me. anyway..I think I'm being rather presumptuous here); and

(b) leaving you with the saccharine taste of a Twilight-related blog entry as my last post. Please be assured that I was mostly cured of this smouldering-intense-amber-eyes phase after watching the Twilight movie, which is enough to make put anyone off Stephenie Meyer. Or teenagers. Or mascara.

So anyway, I figured that since I've been so slack in updating, I owe you at least some kind of humiliating story, or a little piece of schadenfreude to brighten up your day (if you enjoy painful or embarrassing things happening to other people...but I'm sure we all do, since the trash that is Australia's Funniest Home Videos is the top-rating program in peak TV season.)


So.


I've had a bad week. A very bad week. In fact, make that TWO very bad weeks, which can all be traced back to when I started university- I'm doing STRAIGHT LAW for every. single. unit. It's like the Four Subjects of the Apocalypse. Pestilence and Famine, meet your brothers-in-arms, Equity and Constitutional Law.

The most depressing thing about starting university (aside from my Arts-less course) was the fact that I had to face it all after coming back from the most amazing five days in Tasmania...and the dull knowledge that instead of eating fresh fried prawns on the dock in Hobart with Kris, I was stuck in a Constitutional Law lecture with only a slightly warm muesli bar for company.

So yes. I've done some stupid things this week as a result of this lack of sleep. Like hit my head on the sink tap. Like stab myself in the hand trying to recap my pen. Like lather my face in shampoo because I thought for a moment that it was cleanser. (I figured this out when I noticed the total lack of exfoliating beads.) Plus, I think I get extra bonus points for pissing off a nightclub bouncer when I gestured a bit too energetically and my phone flew out of its sleeve and smacked him in the chest. (He looked at me like I was a moron. Or dirt under his shoe. Then he just yanked my hand and stamped me a pass-out, and I scampered outta there.)

And just to top things off...

...I went shopping the other day for a few 21st presents. I decided to stop in and visit my old boss at his new store, so off I went to say hello. Although he wasn't in, I did manage to find a copy of Supernatural Season 3 for $20 less than RRP. This roughly equates to 16 episodes of Jensen Ackles. Sort of relaxing viewing if you take away all the screaming and the stabbing and the blood and the killing.

So anyway, I found my little DVD precious and dug out my wallet. On that day, I was pretty damn tired. And really not with it. So when I got to the counter, I looked up and wilted.

You see, my old boss happens to have a mixed bag of staff. I can only equate it to getting one of those random cellophane-tied candy bags at Christmas- most of them are full of weirdly wrapped chocolate that you're not quite sure about, but sometimes you get something that's Cadbury and actually is pretty good.

And this boy is like the brand-name Cadbury chocolate you find in that little bundle of cellophane.

Please keep in mind that I have only ever spoken to this person thrice, and all three times were when I was purchasing something so the conversation wasn't exactly scintillating. I just like stalking him with my eyes whenever I get something from that store. Because he's cute. And seriously, our company is not really into hiring guys that cute. Last hot casual I worked with was in February 2008.


But tiredness does stupid things to you.

And that is the only explanation I can give for the fact that I momentarily seemed to have lost my power of speech and my right hand was fucking SHAKING.

In fact, the whole exchange was just downright painful, as not only did I gape at him for a full three seconds before he scanned the DVD (oh come on, as if you wouldn't) and he read me the completely wrong price, which forced me to use my vocal cords and ask him to repeat it, which caused him to apologise and shake his head at his mistake, and then it took half a minute to choke out that yes, I would indeed like a small bag, and after this excruciating exchange in which I was mentally shouting at my larynx to operate properly, I rushed out.


Then I went to stare at 21st cards, wishing that I could just bash my head against the lavender and pink Hallmark stand.


Subtle-Perving FAIL.

So there you have it. It is now 1:27 a.m on the 18th of March (Happy Birthday, Loui!) and I can look forward to another night of about four hours sleep. To make my week even better, one of my teeth is impacting on the gum, and the reason I had 4 hours sleep was because I woke up in tears in the early hours of the morning with the right side of my mouth feeling like bloody murder.

The earliest dentist appointment I could get is Monday next week, and I swear, this is possibly the only time I've ever looked forward to having something done to my teeth.

(And so The Exaltation of the Average comes back from a brief hiatus...I promise the next update will be a lot quicker...)