Waiting on my world to change

This morning I realised; not only is 2011 completely out of my control, my fate entirely in the hands of others; but I have absolutely no contingency plans.

Well thats not entirely true;
if my book doesn't get picked up, I guess I'll go back to school
if my business proposal doesn't get accepted, I guess I'll go back to school.

But God, the other options seem so much more exciting.

I know I've done everything I can already. I wrote the book. I sent a killer letter to the publishers. I wrote the business plan. I attended the meetings. I'm pretty happy with everything I've done. But if they don't like it? Then it was all for nothing. And I'm at my all too familiar 'square one'.


Every now and again (usually around Dec/Jan every year... funny that) I have a huge anxiety attack about what I'm doing - or not doing. This year is no different. I have limited funds - thanks to an international holiday I still haven't paid myself back for. I have a job with NO stability, and I have a million different ideas, none I can settle on, or make happen myself.

And every year I remind myself - hey, this year turned out alright. So take one foot, place it in front of the other, and repeat, until you end up somewhere.

That's the beauty of life. It's the things you don't expect, you don't plan for, that take you somewhere amazing.

Bring it on fate/universe/spirit-guide/karma. I trust you.

And besides, I love school.

... and they said it wouldn't last.

This week I'm using my blog for something completely self-serving: I'm paying tribute to two of my favourite boys: Tim & Anthony.

Today is their 12 month anniversary and I couldn't be happier for them. Now I know we all have battles in relationships. All of us struggle, act irrational, act crazy even because of this little thing called 'love' that takes us over. But wow - do these boys have to fight.

I've always had issues with the concept of love. Why? Because it's so undefinable. I love food. I love New York City. I love my dogs. I love books. I love James. I love lentil pie. I love my brother. I love my colleagues. I love the Beckhams. I love my parents, but in completely different ways.

See the point I'm making? It's all love, and I won't back down from that. And I will never let anyone legitimise the love I feel for all the above listed items.

The time I've spent watching Tim & Anthony fall in love over and over, deeper and deeper has been an absolute privilege (well, mostly - I make sure Tim knows when I don't appreciate it...). The times I catch their stolen looks, hear their silly giggles, see them in matching outfits - hell, it's awesome.

I love these boys. And I will spend the rest of my life fighting for the right for their love to be as legitimate as any other.

I'm so proud of you both, every day. You are true heroes, and make the rest of us look like wimps.

Happy Anniversary. I love you Xxx

I'm kind of a nerd.

I am an education junkie. I danced out of my year 12 exams swearing "I'd never do that again". Then 6 months later I enrolled in TAFE. Then I got bored and went to Uni. Then I finished my degree, tried working for a bit, but got bored and went back to TAFE for something new.

I'm trying to appropriately set the scene for what I'm about to say.

I LOVE school. I LOVE learning. I love the feeling you get when you master something, or solve something, or finish something. I wrote a 62000 word novel in 6 months. I bloody love working hard and 'bettering myself'.

But there is something that I hate, more than anything. More than full-time work, and that's saying something.

Homework for the sake of homework.

Today, I have spent 4 hours searching for 'errors' in bad publications. I am required to submit a scrapbook of 40 spelling or grammar errors for 10% of my grade for the year.

Things I hate about this:

1 - It's tedious

2 - It's a waste of time

3 - I'm not learning a thing

4 - I'm having to read MX and the Leader and Twilight

After 4 hours, I have found 6 errors.

During my holiday in Queensland, I had a write a Newsletter for a pretend company. I had to write a book review for a pretend newspaper. My favourite waste of time assignment this year was a 5 minute presentation on a topic of my choice to an audience of my choice.

To prove my point to the teacher of just how dumb an exercise it was, I showed the class pictures of Shaun, my puppy. She didn't get the point. She gave me a distinction.

It's for this reason, and many more, I won't be spending next year in full-time education. I will continue to study, but only the classes that don't waste my time.

But I will miss the delights of AUSTUDY. Newstart is a bitch.

How not to be dumb #1

Today I broke my golden rule: never run for a train, you look like an idiot.

Even though I've been living in Brunswick for over 18 months, I got my timetable mixed up and arrived just as the train was departing.

There was the momentary "will I, won't I" question followed by the wrong choice: I will.

Train drivers must fucking love checking their rear vision mirrors to see the disapointment dance of not-passengers when the train pulls away.

It's an awkward moment, always shared with a person you made eye contact with on the other side of the glass in the hope that connection could break down walls. Or open doors at least.

You know what? I was right to make that rule. I've had a lovely 15 min rest at the station enjoying the sun and now get to make a grand entrance to class.

Being late makes you cool.

Running for the trains makes you dumb.

That's my lesson #1 for you

And you can quote me on that.

Lately I've been stuck on a really big question:

Is who I am today the person I want to be forever?

I've just finished my book, about faith, hope and love in a broken world. My story is fiction, but the premise is not. I've thought long and hard about the importance of faith, the institution of religion, the value of family and friendship and making peace with God.

Here's the thing though; five years ago, I believed something completely different. Can I submit my book for publishing, knowing that I could be quoted on things I've later changed my mind about?

The way I see it, life is a journey. There are no black and white answers. We take the situations we're presented and we shape our values daily. There are a million things that could happen in the future to change how I see the world, and I find that incredibly exciting.

So no; I don't want to be this person forever. I hope I never stop growing, learning and challenging. I just pray, that by putting my ideas on paper, I still have permission to re-shape them whenever and however I see fit.

Because what is life, if not a journey? And how can we change the world, if we're not allowed to change ourselves? And how can we live at peace if we can't accept our differences?

Or maybe I'm just being paranoid.

Love.

Life in the Sunshine (Coast)

Its was the holiday I would boast about for months: House-sitting my parents gorgeous new apartment on the waterfront of Alexandra Headland. Two weeks, me, Coco, Diana & Prince, and the amazing Sunshine Coast sun.

Turns out, Sunshine Coast holidays aren't as fun without the sun. And cats and dogs, as much as you love them, aren't nearly as cool as your friends who all happen to be visiting Melbourne while you are away.

Is it true? Is the grass always greener?

It was sunny and Grand Final mania in Melbourne on the weekend. I was at my Grandpa's eating rice crackers under the over cast sky.

One night I went to the pub by myself because I was bored and wanted someone to talk to. My friends from Tassie were playing a gig at the Espy; not to mention the weekend before my friends from Sydney playing their EP launch at the Northcote Social Club.

I don't want to sound ungrateful, I'm in the most amazing place, with the most amazing little pets to keep me both company.. and busy. But what is life, if you aren't with your friends?

I always thought I was super independent, traveled alone, enjoyed dinners for one, but I have to confess, my nights always end with a text, or a call to someone saying 'I wish you were there.'

Let's face it, life is better with the people you love.

So my Melbourne darlings, I look forward to seeing you soon. And a whole lot more of you.

XXX

Jesus, Boys & Life In-between

We’d been at the club thirty minutes when I remembered what I cheap drunk I was.

‘I’m pretty pissed,’ I slurred to the boys. ‘I’m gonna go for a walk, get some air or something.’

‘Want me to come?’ asked Dave sweetly. Sweetly; because I knew how desperate he was for a minute alone with his man. I’d banned them from making out in front of me for the evening, determined not to be third wheel.

‘No,’ I managed to say, surprised by how difficult it was. ‘I’m fine.’

‘Ten minutes and we come find you!’ called Andrew as I walked away, waving his concerns off.

I went to the girls toilet and splashed water on my face. Who thought drinking was fun? I looked like a hooker and I felt sick as a dog. There were two very drunk, very young girls sharing the mirror with me.

‘Oh my God, did you see what she’s wearing?’

‘She is way too fat for that dress.’

‘I saw her and I was like, ew, put on some tights.’

‘Put on some control briefs.’

‘Control briefs! Ew!’

‘Excuse me,’ I said, trying to reach for the hand towel.

‘Oh my God, have you been crying?’ one of them asked me.

‘No, I’m just tired,’ I said, humiliated.

‘Here. Let me fix you up.’

After ten minutes of make-up and hair spray and gossip, I almost felt eighteen again, and I certainly looked it.

‘Thanks,’ I said sheepishly. ‘I feel better.’

‘You’re welcome. You’re totally hot.’

Oh, the days of our youth, I thought to myself. Maybe my life would have been different if I’d spent my formative years bitching in the girls’ toilets in clubs instead of leading prayer meetings. I could have got it all out of my system by now. I decided then and there I was too old, and too drunk to stay, so I went to find the boys to tell them I was heading home.

‘Sarah!’ I heard from the crowd. I turned around and couldn’t see anyone, so I kept looking for Dave and Andrew.

‘Sarah!’ The voice was getting closer, but I still couldn’t see who it belonged to. Hell, ‘Sarah’ isn’t the most uncommon name.

‘Sarah! Stop!’ Now I knew it was for me, and I knew who it belonged to. The last person I wanted to see out the first night I’d drunk in six months.

I turned around and shot him the angriest look I had.

‘What?’ I yelled.

‘I just wanted to say hi,’ Will said sheepishly.

‘Hi. I’m looking for Dave and Andrew,’ I said turning away.

‘Wait,’ he said, grabbing me on the arm. ‘They’re outside. I was just getting us another round of drinks. You want one?’

No. No would have been the correct answer. I was drunk. I was tired. I was old. I wanted to go home.

‘Sure,’ I shrugged.

Sure? I could have hit myself.

I followed Will back to the bar and waited in the pack for service.

‘You look good tonight,’ he yelled in my ear.

‘You can thank Britney and Christina for that.’

‘Huh?’

I shook my head. I couldn’t be bothered telling him about my run in with teen pop sensationalists. In fact, I didn’t know why I was talking to him at all. Here I was, standing in a crowded room ordering drinks with the one person who continues to ruin my life. I was done being polite.

‘I’m going,’ I yelled, trying to push my way back out of the queue.

‘Sarah, wait!’ he called, but I ignored him. What could there possibly be left to say?

‘Sarah!’

I started running, pushing my way through people, wishing I was anywhere else in the world than a crowded club in the city with a million people determined to get in my way.

I was out the front before he caught up with me.

‘Sarah, wait!’

I couldn’t run anymore. I had to face this.

‘How dare you!’ I screamed. ‘How dare you come up to me and act like we’re friends after everything you’ve done in the last twelve months?’

I expected him to play dumb. To ask what I meant. What I was talking about. This was Will, the boy who didn’t believe he’d ever done anything wrong in his life. I was ready to list off every incident of him being a fuck-wit in the time we’d known each other when he grabbed me and pulled me close.

‘Because I’m in love with you, Sarah. And I can’t get over you.’

I did the only thing I could think of. I slapped him across the face. It was very Melrose Place of me, and I’m a little embarrassed to recount it. But I slapped him, and ran away. Only I didn’t have a plan, or anywhere to run. So I hid down the next alley, and it took him all of ten seconds to find me.

‘I’m sorry I slapped you,’ I said quietly, crying now.

‘I’m sorry I ever let you go,’ he said, and I realised he was crying too. He sat down with me behind the dumpster and put his arm around my shoulder.

Then I kissed him. I need to be very clear on that. I wasn’t seduced, or taken advantage of. I was approached by desperate love, and I said yes.

finding love in the most unexpected places.

Every young girl has dreams of falling in love. We picture our handsome husband, perfect wedding, amazing wedding dress. Most of us know as we get older, our ideas about what 'handsome', 'perfect' and 'amazing' are change somewhat. Things become more practical, more logical. Instead of family and babies, we think about careers, money, stability.

Today, I found a new love. At Godfreys.

I'd been putting it off for years, my old vacuum used to be excellent, and I kept believing it would make a comeback. I was incredibly defensive when a housemate would suggest we borrow someone else's vacuum. I'd offer to lend it to people and be offended when they declined.

But today, we had our last fight. I put her in the car and made the drive.

I knew when I saw my new love, she was the one. Champagne body, clear tube, small swivel head. No more fights with filters or coat-hangers.

It wasn't the love I'd dreamed of as a little girl, but it was real.

Today I learnt to let go of the things in my life that are broken, but I stubbornly keep believing in:

The set-top box in my linen cupboard that doesn't turn on.

The toaster in the garage with the switch that needs to be held in place.

The beautiful cream couch that is now grey.

The rubbish bin with the broken lid.

Who am I kidding? I just spend $300 of my tax return on a vacuum.

One of the boys can buy a bin.

Why Stupid People Make Me A Bad Person

Firstly, I should clarify what I mean by 'stupid'. I'm talking about those people you meet who are so arrogantly ignorant as to social skills, or any real perception of their place in society. Now that I'm a student again, I'm finding these people everywhere. In my class, in the cafeteria, on the trains to and fro.

The real problem isn't these people, though. They're fine with their ignorance. They find themselves highly intelligent, highly amusing people and they dont realise, or particularly care no-one else does. The problem here is the monster I turn into when left in close quarters with these people.

I like to think of myself as tolerant, kind, non-judgemental. Hell, I've done and seen enough in my life to allow people the right to make their own choices. But these people, these people I want to kill. Seriously. Anyone who refers to themselves as 'class clown' but can't crack a joke, anyone who is determined to 'fight it out' with a teacher, anyone who insits on boring large groups of people by takling loudly about some dribble, these people make me angry. And proper angry.

I sit there and bitch and moan to anyone who will listen about how much they are annoying me. I make fun of them to their faces, but still they think I'm enjoying their company. I become a bad person.

So what's worse? Being arrogantly ignorant, or just being a bitch?

I know the answer, I just dont know how to help it.

God, they're annoying.

mid-20s crisis

This year is my high-school 10 year reunion, which means I'm old enough to be invited to a 10 year reunion. My facebook has subsequently been inundated with friend requests from my class of 2000 and its super exciting to see what they are all up to. (except now I think facebook has destroyed the concept of the 10 year reunion, we already know who's married, who's fat, who's successful)

Most of the time, I can convince myself I'm happy where I am in life. I decided not to follow the career path led to me by my initial degree, and am now back to full-time study and working in a pub. And it feels good, knowing I'm young and can keep deciding what my dream is, and it doesn't matter how much time it wastes.

But every now and again, I see someone has had another baby, or gorgeous wedding photos, or some amazing job overseas, and I wonder if I've made the right choice.

Why are decisions always perfect on their own, but qualified against others we question them?

One girl in my old class is married with five kids. Five! I think I'm grown up for adopting a dog. Is 30 really the new 20? Or am I deluding myself I can keep on wasting time and get a 'real' job later?

But its okay, really. I know I'm happy, thats the main thing. I love James, I love Shaun, my job, my school. And if I'd taken the 'real' job in the first place I'd never have gotten to find out what I really love, or who I really am.

Besides, if I was in Hollywood, I'd be 40 before I'd be expected to get married and have kids.

Maybe I'll move to LA. Or New York. That sounds grown up.

no pain = no gain. whose dumb idea was that?

James brought me a guitar for our anniversary. Best present ever. I've been a crap player my whole life and now have the means to get better. But to anyone who's played their first steel string before, you'll know what I mean when I say they bloody hurt! 

James told me not to worry, my fingers would toughen up and it wouldn't hurt anymore. And he was right, as usual. My fingers are already callousing. 

It got me thinking though, how much in life must we suffer through in the promise it'll stop hurting? 

There's the obvious one, break ups. You know it'll stop hurting eventually, but the mean time is a bitch. 

Headaches. Noones ever died from one (don't quote me on that, I'm totally just guessing for effect) but that time waiting for the panadol to kick in is shithouse. You've paid good money for pain relief, why the delay? 

Today Tonight. You know every day at 7pm it's over, yet it still hurts everytime you turn on channel 7 and it's playing. 

Rules of karma, Murphy's Law, unnecessary time in suffering. 

Whoever is responsible for this travesty needs a bullet. But they'd use it to shoot a kitten or something, most probably. 

Declaring war with McDonalds

Okay here's the back story:

1- Out with James for our one year (we made it!), caught a cab home, saw the shinning golden arches and thought why the hell not?
2- I've been a strict vegetarian for over two years.

LC- Hi, can I please order a small cheeseburger meal, without meat, and an apple pie?
MD- No meat?
LC- That's correct
•time passes•
MD- small cheeseburger, no pattie?
LC- Great! Is there an apple pie too?
MD- I forgot. That's an extra $2.40
LC- Wow, that's expensive! They used to be $1!
MD- They went up (no shit, Sherlock)
LC- Do I get my drink too?
MD- Oh yeah. (If sober, I would have been a bit more sus by this point. But I was hungry)

So eventually I joined James outside, ripped the burger in half and took one big jumbo bite, forgetting to chew and swallowed the baby. (If you've seen me eat drunk before I'm sure you're imagining this acurately.)

You can guess the rest. The premise was there from the beginning.

LC- So yeah, my cheeseburger had meat in it. I'm a vegetarian.
MD- Sorry about that. I'll get you another.
LC- Are you the manager?
MD nods
LC- Do you have any idea how big a deal this is?
MD- I understand, I'm a vegetarian too. Have a medium fries.

The next part of the story is pretty embarrassing, I'll skim over it but basically involved a lot of tears and trying to make myself vomit and failing.

Here's the point of all this.

1- If I was going to return to the meat, it would never come from McDonalds.
2- Those frozen processed offal beef patties taste like arsehole. Serously. Have a break for a few months and when you try one you'll never want one again.
3- I don't want free stuff from McDonalds (James' first idea).

So I need your advice. Do I sue them? Write an angry email? Storm their restaurants? Or admit no self respecting human should go there for food in the first place and cut my losses?

Sigh. Two years to waste it on a fucking cheeseburger. It's like ending Dry July on a goon bag. I feel so cheated.

my loss, my gain. a tale of optimism

After denying it for the last 36 hours, it's time to admit; I no longer have my mobile phone. I simply refused to me one of those people who exclaim 'somebody stole it!' but it's, sigh, looking more and more likely.

As I'm at a point in my life where I'm searching for the silver lining, I'm pleased to announce, my loss comes with a gain.

To quote my friend Steve, when I was furiously hunting for it during our housewarming party on Friday night: 'but you don't even like it'.

Which is true. It's a piece of crap and I regretted not buying an iPhone 17 months ago, 16 1/2 months ago. Alas, I'm a woman of my contract (slash student, who can't afford to break it), so I have held on to my 'piece of crap', and mildly lusted after an iPhone at every available moment.

It's not even the first time my phone went 'missing'. In fact, last time I was so pleased that I could finally be financially irresponsible enough to add to my monthly expenses. And mildly disappointed when Steve had it in his pocket.

One of the men I work with refused to get an iPhone, simply because it was made by Apple. Now if you know me, you'd know brands don't mean a thing to me. So it goes both ways. I wont buy something just because it's a brand, so I wont not buy something just because it's a brand. And iPhones are fabulous.

So forgive me if i've been ignoring you, someone stole my phone.

And if it just happened to fall in your handbag, no hard feelings. I'm finally getting an iPhone.

And just when they've dropped the price. You bloody rippa.




PS I have yet received no money from Apple for this blog. But I'll print it off and take it in with me to the shop tomorrow. Wish me luck

Parenthood #101

I've been a mum for nearly two weeks now, so I believe I have a lot of advice to any of you out there deciding whether parenthood is for you:

1. My baby is the cutest in the world, so be prepared to spend the rest of your life disappointed you didn't get mine.
2. I'm really tired.
3. My hair is falling out. Not from stress, but because Shaun keeps eating it.
4. If you want to be favourite parent, you have to be prepared to work against the other parent/s.
5. Babies are expensive. Hidden costs = many.
6. Diarrhea is never fun. No matter how much you love your baby. And it smells really bad.
7. Sometimes you forget to feed them, and this makes you feel guilty.
8. No other cuddle will ever be as good as that from your baby.
9. You get to have lots of quality nap time.
10. Shaun is gorgeous, right? As is you don't have a puppy.

Social Anarchy

I had a friend once talk to me years ago about the anti-piracy ads at the beginning of DVD's.You know the ones, where they're telling you what you wouldn't do?

He told me that simply being told he wouldn't steal a handbag, he wouldn't steal a car, he wouldn't steal a movie made him tempted to do it. He'd never had any motivation to steal anything before, but who's this dick head in the t.v. telling me what I would and wouldn't do?

I never forgot the conversation, because it made me laugh, but also made me wonder if he was right. How often do we do things just because we're told not to?

It's like the fruit in the garden on Eden, really. If you were told you could eat from any tree in the world, except one, and no one was looking, you'd want to sneak a bite, right?

Lately I've discovered my own anarchist. And it's all because of those stickers they put on the double toilet rolls in public toilets, telling you 'use this roll first.'

It started simply enough, I used the opposite roll they told me to. I mean, I have access to both rolls, and I have entirely no idea why one would be more important to finish first.

But then I got carried away. You can move those babies.

So here's my challenge to you my followers: Next time your in a public toot and see a double roll holder telling you what to do, show it who's boss and move the sticker across to the other roll.

It's probably the most rebellious, and most liberating thing you'll ever do.

the 11 month itch

With James and my one year anniversary fast approaching, this week has had me thinking about relationships. We spent the weekend together in Tassie, and got a good dose of variety. We had a friend who was getting divorced, friends who were heading towards their 10 year anniversary and a friend contemplating whether or not to move in with her partner.

It wasn't until I started making plans with James for our July 25 do that I started to panic about it. I've never made it to a year with a boy before. Granted I've never had a boyfriend as fabulous as James, but I've come close, only to have relationships end at the 11 month mark. Does this mean something? Is one year a milestone I'm scared to land on? Because I'm certainly freaking out about it.

My beautiful girlfriend, who will remain unnamed, loves her boyfriend to bits. She's so happy with him, he's so lovely to her. But she's not ready to give up all her own space. Seriously, never having the bed to yourself? Never stretching out just because you can and it feels great? Never getting to stay up till 3am watching Dawson's Creek re-runs? Who can blame her.

All I can decide, and I'm feeling very Carrie Bradshaw right now, is that for a relationship to work, it has to work for you. It's not about time, or space, or expectations. Its about what makes you happy. And as long as James keeps on being this damn cute, I'm gonna hang in there, regardless of my neuroses. Because thats whats important.

Moving house?

Tim and I have recently started the far too exciting activity of packing.

Now all our Brunswick West dinner party fans dont fret, we're not leaving the Bruns. In fact were not even leaving the Pears. We're moving 5 houses down the street.

Joke of course being, you need to pack just as many boxes to move 5 houses as you do interstate. Shame.

Anyway, the point is that I realised moving felt a little too familiar. I mean, this is about to be Tim's 3rd home. I did the math, it's my 19th.

Its true. And to make it more fun, 12 of those houses have been in the last 7 years.

Regardless of the stats that suggest I must be an intolerable roomie, I'd like to point out, Tim is coming with me. We're just moving on to bigger and better things. And by that I mean a bigger garage, bigger bedrooms, my friend Steve (discussed previously) and a puppy; Shaun Barack Obama Muir-Clark. (We haven't met him yet, just named him. If you know a puppy who needs a good home, hit me up.)

So here's to packing, moving, unpacking and all the shit times in between. Here's to my dad, who celebrated my interstate departure by declaring he'd never have to help me move house again, and to my boyfriend James, who has a van.

Hey baby, busy on the 25th?

me and my bad luck

it's time for a tirade.

I am so done with people who always carry on about 'their bad luck'. No-one has bad luck, they are just stupid. I mean every one has bad luck from time to time, but if you put all your savings in an envelope in your handbag and leave it on the bar while you go to the toot, its probably going to be stolen. It's not 'your bad luck', it's your stupid head.

If you turn up late for work, drink on the job and leave abusive notes in the diary, you're probably going to be let go. It's not 'your bad luck', you're a fuck head.

My early christian development convinced me my words have the power of life and death. Speak bad luck over yourself, you'll be a twat. Decide things are going to go well for you, you'll make an effort to ensure that happens.

God they annoy me. Sort your life out. Karmas a bitch, but only if you were first.

Tales of a hypercondriac

Wednesday morning I woke up and I couldn't move. Literally, couldn't move. I was paralysed. Well, actually, no, I couldn't move my neck. But I did wake up James in a panic exclaiming "James, I can't move!"

He turned to me and asked me to wiggle my fingers. At this point, I knew I'd been acting like a drama queen. But it was so scary. So once I explained more conservatively I COULD move, just not my neck, he helped me sit up and assess the situation.

"You must have slept funny"

Slept funny? How can I wake up paralysed from funny sleep? Something was wrong, really wrong. I rang my boss and told him I couldn't move and probably wouldn't make my shift in 6hours, just a heads up.

I started to call my mum to ask weather I go to the chiropractor, or just straight to the ER. James suggested I wait a little and see if I start to feel better before I call my mother and send her into a panic.

Clearly James had no idea how serious this situation was, I was paralysed. Well, I couldn't move my neck. To one side.

To keep my boy happy looking after his crippled girlfriend, we ordered pizza from bed (I love dominos.com) and watched a horror movie.

By the end of our Keanu Reeves treat, I was getting bored and figured I'd give getting dressed a go. Did that, so decided I'd go into work after all.

Two hours later, my neck was fine.

I still think we should have called the ambulance. I mean, I do pay $60 per annum for membership.

Times when it's impossible to be feminine

#1 When you're suffering from explosive diarrhea

#2 When you sneeze and accidentally sneeze up snot

#3 When you sneeze and accidentally fart

#4 When someone is performing the hymlic maneuver on you

#5 When you slip on a road grate and land on your back

#6 When a child asks you why you have a moustache

#7 When you're drowning in quicksand

#8 When your dog humps your leg

#9 When competing in an all-you-can-eat-in-30-seconds event

#10 When you throw up in your lap

Hard Rubbish Week

Definitely my favourite part of Melbourne life, but this week hard rubbish has left me feeling a little sore.

See, on Monday, I was shopping with my friend Bek when I stumbled across a little piece of heaven. It was a bright purple, comfy as hell arm chair for $20. $20! bargain! I was so excited I rounded my boyfriend to come and collect it for me immediately. I took it home, so excited to show my housemates the treat I was to bring to their life.

It was magic. We all stood around the chair, admiring it, trying to fathom how somebody could discard it.

Well, whatever really. Because the next day I got a text from Tim, my favourite roomie, with a photo of a 3 seater sofa and 2 matching arm chairs discarded 4 houses down from us. I met him straight away after class and we took it home.

The problem was, now I felt ripped off for having paid $20 for my arm chair.

To make matters much worse, today when I set off down the street for a chocolate milk, I found not one, but 2 leather arm chairs waiting, no begging, for someone to take them home and love them.

Savers, go fuck yourself. I'm never paying money for your shit again.

My Friend Steve

Reasons why I like Steve:

1 - He looks like my brother

2 - He always brings alcohol

3 - He doesn't get angry at me for going to bed early

4 - He gave me the best job in the world

5 - He lets me drink on the job

6 - He picks me up when I'm too drunk to figure out how to call a cab

7 - He keeps my secrets

8 - He has a silly little face

9 - He dances

10 - He always says 'yes'. Even to going sailing with his brother at 7am Sunday morning