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.