So I started getting a little bit desparate for a job the other day. After a whole week (ooh so long) of applying for fashion retail jobs and hearing nothing, I gave up a little bit. I applied for some call centres.
I wanted to avoid going back to sales but nothing wa sbiting and I'm getting poorer by the second. I borrowed $10 off my mum yesterday. $10! I'm so broke that having $10 is a relief!
Anyway, as things often happen, I applied for the call centres on Thursday, and got a call 8am the next mornbing- not asking me to come in for an interview, oh no. Asking me to start monday. I went in that afternoon to sign everything and give my pay details and I'll soon be working 9-5, what a way to make a living.
The best bit is, I finish at 1pm on Fridays for some reason. Party! AND it's in Chatswood, so Thursday nights will be shopping time :) I may have to stop using the word "chat" for fear of offending the locals, I'm not sure if that word exists there.
I think J is feeling ignored. He just put his hands over my ears, but I heard him whisper "i hate you," despite his denials. Strange lad.
With money on the way, I'm finally feeling the joy of Summer (not that it even is Summer, but Spring is just Summer with more rain anyway...) And it's my birthday in a week, which means presents and moneyz and foods.
-m xx
Friday, November 12, 2010
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
I know I shouldn't laugh...
But it's funny. So I'm gunna.
It just gets worse and worse as she keeps trying...
It just gets worse and worse as she keeps trying...
Tuesday, November 09, 2010
Night Terrors
I had a wee spot of trouble in the sleep department last night.
Firstly, I stupidly allowed my thoughts to wander over to the terrifying realm of "Paranormal Activity." Now, I'm not irrational enough to actively be frightened of a demon dragging me out of bed, but running scenes through your head can still freak you out. Enough to be too scared to change my bed position despite huge discomfort.
Of course, every sound made by the house or floating in from outside made me jump. And then I started thinking about burglars and how I don't care if they rob me, as long as I can sleep through it. Then of course i remembered my cameras were in the loungeroom, prime target for any burglars that might happen to call.
Then, when I stopped freaking out and was about to fall asleep, I felt my hair move and my scalp shiver as if something was crawling on my head. It felt like something had crawled from the start of my hair line to my crown. That something felt like it was quite large, with a lot of legs. Now, immediately, I assumed I had a cockroach crawling through my hair. Bad business indeed. I have an irrational fear of cockroaches. I think it's their legs but anyway, as small and pathetic as they are, I was petrified by the thought that there was one on me.
So that was me. Lying there. Too afraid to move. At all. My heart was pounding so loud that I began to fear that would somehow disturb the cockroach which then made my heart pound more. See, I have a horrid, disabling fear of having cockroaches on me in my sleep. So much so, that when I'm awake, any movement of my hair, or soft scuttling noise drives me to this paranoia and fear that has me pinned to my bed, terrified to have the thing on me but too terrified to get it off, because then it might get on my hand or under my shirt or lost somewhere in the folds of my bed and I might have to feel it's disgusting scuttly legs scuttling all over me. Or, worse still, it could be the worst kind of cockroach. The kind that come out in summer. The kind that's impossibly large, impossibly black and as soon as you work up the courage to fetch the bug spray and aim, it confirms your worst fears. The mother fucker can fly. There isn't much in this world that terrifies me more than a flying cockroach. In my room. On me. Except maybe clowns...
I lay there, not moving, for ten minutes. It felt like hours. My brain was doing a vicious cycle. "I'm sure it was just my hair moving." "For so long? It was a cockroach. Or, I could be lucky, it could be a poisonous spider" "But why has it stopped moving, then?" "Maybe it's laying eggs..." "Maybe it already crawled off me? If I just shift my head ever so slightly, to see if anything moves..." "Oh god I can feel it's weight, it's still there. Don't move" "But now it's on me? I can't exactly jsut ignore it and go to sleep" "Well you could..." "No. I should just shake my head wildly and it'll be flung accross the room!" "Or it'll fall in your bed...." "..."
At this point, I got desperate. Finally, my brain came to a new possible solution. A beacon of hope. My sister, asleep in the next room. Pathetically, too scared to raise my voice above a whisper, I "called out to her" (read: whispered to noone but myself). "Steeeepppph...... Steeeeeppppphhhh....... Steeeeepppphhh?!"
No reply. I was on my own. I lay there, motionless. Torturing myself for a while longer. Rethinking my position on marriage. Perhaps I could have a prenup stating that my husband's only duty was to defend me from 6 legged beasts? Eventually I had to admit it. I couldn't just lie there and wait for the thing to move again. What if ti crawled on my face? Or down my neck? Or IN MY EAR? I had to do something. Slowly, I shifted my body so I was lifted slightly off the pillow. Then, after a moments hesitation, I simultaneously jumped upright and violently shook my head around like a total loon. I scraped at my hair, in case the violent head motion wasn't enough to dislodge the thing. Thankfully, not scuttly legs wrapped themselves around my fingers.
I jumped over to my light and switched it on. I saw nothing. I shook my head again, just in case. I ran my fingers through my hair again, just in case. I searched my bed. I looked around the room at large. Nothing. I sat there for a while, still shaking, my leg muscles aching from being tensed up for so long. Still nothing. I grabbed a book- "Last Chance Saloon" by Marienne Keyes. Good, funny chick lit. But with real themes, to properly consume my attention. I pressed play on the CD player. I needed to pee but was too scared to leave my room and enter the dark scary hallway. I left the light on.
Eventually, some time between 2 and 3am, I fell asleep. I woke up at 7:30am. The light was still on. I realised I'd slept with the light on. I'm sure I would have jumped into bed with my mother if I hadn't been too scared to leave my well lit, cockroach, demon and burglar free room. I am 18 years old. And the thought of a cockroach crawling on my head in the darkness scared the nights sleep out of me. What's more, the thought of the roach was far more frightening than burglars or invisible demons.
I am officially neurotic.
Firstly, I stupidly allowed my thoughts to wander over to the terrifying realm of "Paranormal Activity." Now, I'm not irrational enough to actively be frightened of a demon dragging me out of bed, but running scenes through your head can still freak you out. Enough to be too scared to change my bed position despite huge discomfort.
Of course, every sound made by the house or floating in from outside made me jump. And then I started thinking about burglars and how I don't care if they rob me, as long as I can sleep through it. Then of course i remembered my cameras were in the loungeroom, prime target for any burglars that might happen to call.
Then, when I stopped freaking out and was about to fall asleep, I felt my hair move and my scalp shiver as if something was crawling on my head. It felt like something had crawled from the start of my hair line to my crown. That something felt like it was quite large, with a lot of legs. Now, immediately, I assumed I had a cockroach crawling through my hair. Bad business indeed. I have an irrational fear of cockroaches. I think it's their legs but anyway, as small and pathetic as they are, I was petrified by the thought that there was one on me.
Cockroach, as it is and should be. Dead.
Cockroach, magnified by my immagination.
He's planning to murder your entire family.
Right after he hacks into your facebook and lays eggs in your hair.
Pure evil...
So that was me. Lying there. Too afraid to move. At all. My heart was pounding so loud that I began to fear that would somehow disturb the cockroach which then made my heart pound more. See, I have a horrid, disabling fear of having cockroaches on me in my sleep. So much so, that when I'm awake, any movement of my hair, or soft scuttling noise drives me to this paranoia and fear that has me pinned to my bed, terrified to have the thing on me but too terrified to get it off, because then it might get on my hand or under my shirt or lost somewhere in the folds of my bed and I might have to feel it's disgusting scuttly legs scuttling all over me. Or, worse still, it could be the worst kind of cockroach. The kind that come out in summer. The kind that's impossibly large, impossibly black and as soon as you work up the courage to fetch the bug spray and aim, it confirms your worst fears. The mother fucker can fly. There isn't much in this world that terrifies me more than a flying cockroach. In my room. On me. Except maybe clowns...
Me, but black, attempting to fight off the horrid beast only to discover its secret weapon of flight.
(...Possibly a scene from "That's so Raven"?)
I lay there, not moving, for ten minutes. It felt like hours. My brain was doing a vicious cycle. "I'm sure it was just my hair moving." "For so long? It was a cockroach. Or, I could be lucky, it could be a poisonous spider" "But why has it stopped moving, then?" "Maybe it's laying eggs..." "Maybe it already crawled off me? If I just shift my head ever so slightly, to see if anything moves..." "Oh god I can feel it's weight, it's still there. Don't move" "But now it's on me? I can't exactly jsut ignore it and go to sleep" "Well you could..." "No. I should just shake my head wildly and it'll be flung accross the room!" "Or it'll fall in your bed...." "..."
At this point, I got desperate. Finally, my brain came to a new possible solution. A beacon of hope. My sister, asleep in the next room. Pathetically, too scared to raise my voice above a whisper, I "called out to her" (read: whispered to noone but myself). "Steeeepppph...... Steeeeeppppphhhh....... Steeeeepppphhh?!"
No reply. I was on my own. I lay there, motionless. Torturing myself for a while longer. Rethinking my position on marriage. Perhaps I could have a prenup stating that my husband's only duty was to defend me from 6 legged beasts? Eventually I had to admit it. I couldn't just lie there and wait for the thing to move again. What if ti crawled on my face? Or down my neck? Or IN MY EAR? I had to do something. Slowly, I shifted my body so I was lifted slightly off the pillow. Then, after a moments hesitation, I simultaneously jumped upright and violently shook my head around like a total loon. I scraped at my hair, in case the violent head motion wasn't enough to dislodge the thing. Thankfully, not scuttly legs wrapped themselves around my fingers.
I jumped over to my light and switched it on. I saw nothing. I shook my head again, just in case. I ran my fingers through my hair again, just in case. I searched my bed. I looked around the room at large. Nothing. I sat there for a while, still shaking, my leg muscles aching from being tensed up for so long. Still nothing. I grabbed a book- "Last Chance Saloon" by Marienne Keyes. Good, funny chick lit. But with real themes, to properly consume my attention. I pressed play on the CD player. I needed to pee but was too scared to leave my room and enter the dark scary hallway. I left the light on.
Eventually, some time between 2 and 3am, I fell asleep. I woke up at 7:30am. The light was still on. I realised I'd slept with the light on. I'm sure I would have jumped into bed with my mother if I hadn't been too scared to leave my well lit, cockroach, demon and burglar free room. I am 18 years old. And the thought of a cockroach crawling on my head in the darkness scared the nights sleep out of me. What's more, the thought of the roach was far more frightening than burglars or invisible demons.
I am officially neurotic.
untill something else interesting happens, like further signs of my descent into full blown insanity due to a queer combination of maddening boredom and crippling apathy
-m xx
Saturday, November 06, 2010
Changes
So you may notice the different layout. My header now has a spiffy photo! And I changed the colours to fit with it. And I finally deleted that music player. *Cue cheers from an unknown source*
I might get a new one... I might not. We'll see.
I also have a few ideas that are sure to be coming over the next few weeks, as well as some more schfotos.
Just call me Super Blogger.
UPDATE: as for my real life? Nothings happening. Job hunting on the interwebz, waiting for my phone to ring. Going to the movies tonight- I'm actually really excited because I haven't left my house since Friday. Which was only 2 days ago yes but I've got cabin fever already.
Oh and I changed the feed from my facebook photography page to my twitter, since I be tweetin now. We'll see how long that lasts.
I might get a new one... I might not. We'll see.
I also have a few ideas that are sure to be coming over the next few weeks, as well as some more schfotos.
Just call me Super Blogger.
UPDATE: as for my real life? Nothings happening. Job hunting on the interwebz, waiting for my phone to ring. Going to the movies tonight- I'm actually really excited because I haven't left my house since Friday. Which was only 2 days ago yes but I've got cabin fever already.
Oh and I changed the feed from my facebook photography page to my twitter, since I be tweetin now. We'll see how long that lasts.
Friday, November 05, 2010
Photos: Melbourne Cup
Can you hear the horses? 'Cause here they come.
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All photos taken by me, save for the group shot which obviously has me in it- taken by Mother Brown
I delivered.
-m xx
Smacked in the face by reality
Ouch.
My holiday officially ended on Thursday, after my return from Melbourne. Now, instead of living a life of spontaneity, cultural discovery (sort of) and shopping, I'm juggling job hunting, trying to make a decision about my studies, and an overwhelming temptation to abandon all of that and become a penniless drifter. But then, being penniless, I wouldn't have nice clothes. Or wine. So it's not really worth it at all.
So my regular travel update is a wee bit redundant now that I'm no longer travelling and this is no longer a travel blog. Not to mention, with my onslaught of blog posts in the last few days of my trip it's not really neccessary. Plus, I can't be bothered going to find my note book. So it is officially completed as of... NOW.
Welcome to my no-longer-travel-and-restored-to-previous-role-of-whatever-I-feel-like-posting-about-but-mostly-shoes blog. I hope it meets your expectations of non-travel related stuff. If you have any. I know I personally have missed it. I've also learned that schedules don't really work for me. I can't force myself to be in the right mind-frame for blogging and most of my Sunday updates were no where near as witty/amusing/entertaining/frivolous as they should have been. Now, this should return in full force!
In my first few days home I spent a lot of time with J. and caught up with some other friends over schnitzel, lemon lime and bitters and refusing to pay cover charges among other things. Getting dressed every day was a major challenge. I actually "had" to buy a new shirt just to have something to wear on Friday night. Poor me.
On Saturday I went down to Melbourne. On the train heading for the airport, I received a phone call. From whom, you wonder? The airport. Qantas to be more specific. They had my luggage and were hoping to deliver it. Well, they weren't willing to deliver it as far as the domestic terminal, but of course I was able to pay an extra $5 to get the train to the international terminal to pick it up. Bastards. So I had clothes! Unfortunately most of them were dirty so getting dressed didn't get much easier. The few days down south were spent mostly in stores, searching for my Melbourne Cup dress. The Tuesday of course was spent at Flemington, in a flurry of rain, horses, photos, yellowglen, mud and ruining my Mimco shoes. Oh no, I'll have to find a suitable replacement pair!
On the Wednesday we went to Hairspray at the Princess Theatre. It's incredible how much stage production has progressed with technology. I mean, when Tracy opened the curtains to her bedroom window in the opening number, Good Morning Baltimore, she merely made swiping motions on a PICTURE of a window on a COMPUTERISED SCREEN and the curtains swished open. Magnificent. Anyway, it was a really good show and I recommend it to anyone who's a fan. Even if you're not. You should be, it's awesome! Who doesn't like musicals about racial descrimination on TV in the 60s, a girl's struggle to fit in and budding romances between teens?
Unfortunately that night it was onto the plane and back to real life. For who knows how long? I'm looking at study options other than the obvious one of enrolling into the Fine Arts course I deferred last year. I mean, it seems like a bit of a waste of time to spend 3-4 years (more if I decide to take a break) studying full time, to get a degree that has some photography in it but a whole lot of other stuff I don't NEED, when I could just spend two years at TAFE and get a full diploma in photoimaging. Especially since I'm planning on doing some form of Fashion Business studies afetrwards, which could mean I'd spend 5 years studying if I went to uni. When I could spend one year doing my Certificate IV and then hopefully find some part time photography work while I do my Diploma. That and I can't remember my loging details for UNSW and nor can I find them anywhere and nor is there a "I forgot my usename" button (stupid.) so I can't enroll at this point, anyway.
Here, have a picture:
(please ignore the fuzz in the corner. It's someone's fascinator. Large lens in big crowds...)
All for now, some Europe and after photos coming soon I promise!
-m xx
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Fuck you, Qantas
OK so maybe that's a bit harsh, I don't know whether Qantas is to blame for my current predicament. It's horrifying, absolutely horrifying. Nothing compares to this torture.
I arrived home on Tuesday at about 6:15am. At 7am, I finally got through customs (Sydney airport- I hate you) and to my baggage carousel. Number 13. My bag was not circling joyfully around on the bag-travellator. I assumed it to be late. But soon, no more bags were coming out. Calmly, I wandered around the carousel, in case I'd missed it. Nothing.
I had arrived in Sydney. My bag had not.
Yesterday afternoon, I still hadn't heard from the airport. I rang them. They did not have my bag. I was told they would send out an alert with a description of my bag and call me the second it arrived. I'm still waiting for that call, 51 hours after I landed. I can only hope they're picking up the phone and dialling my number right now, because... oh I can hardly say it... I. Have. No. Clothes.
You know WHY I have no clothes? They're either in my suitcase, in the two postal boxes that have yet to arrive from various parts of Europe, OR at my mother's house. To which I have no key. It's on my bed. In my bedroom. IN MY MOTHER'S HOUSE! We have house sitters, so even if my dear sister had remembered to leave me her key this morning like I asked her to, I couldn't just waltz on up the hill. I'd have to RING AND CHECK first. Check with the people staying in my house if I can come over and get clothes. How's that for irritating?
AND I'm going out to dinner tonight. AND because I have a few nights planned with my friends this week, I had outfits roughly planned simply because I hate getting dressed then realising the next day that the shirt/skirt/hat/jacket I wore last night would be WAY better with tonight's outfit etc. So, even if I do get to my clothes at my mother's house, or alternatively buy more clothes with the money I don't really have, I won't be happy. I just got back from Europe. I'm meant to be wearing awesome Europey clothes. Even if I get this AWESOME cut out blouse from Sportsgirl that I want, It'll be like "oooh where'd you buy that? Paris?" "Nope. Top Ryde."
Honestly. Something really awesome must be about to happen to me because I have been REALLY ridiculously unlucky over the last few months. This time it's not even due to some mistake of my own! But it kills me because my bag could still be in Frankfurt for all I know, and I might not get it before I got to Melbourne. And I can deal with having to come up with a new outfit for tonight, but two night's in a row is just gunna be a bit infuriating. Clothes make the man, and if I'm not entirely happy with how I look, it really puts a downer on my mood.
So, I'm sure you've realised I'm just too DISTRAUGHT to give you the Europe update you deserve. I'm gunna go re-dye my hair (thank god. It's like the colour the milk goes when you eat cocoa pops. That weird pinky brown?) and watch Top Model.
-m xx
I arrived home on Tuesday at about 6:15am. At 7am, I finally got through customs (Sydney airport- I hate you) and to my baggage carousel. Number 13. My bag was not circling joyfully around on the bag-travellator. I assumed it to be late. But soon, no more bags were coming out. Calmly, I wandered around the carousel, in case I'd missed it. Nothing.
I had arrived in Sydney. My bag had not.
Yesterday afternoon, I still hadn't heard from the airport. I rang them. They did not have my bag. I was told they would send out an alert with a description of my bag and call me the second it arrived. I'm still waiting for that call, 51 hours after I landed. I can only hope they're picking up the phone and dialling my number right now, because... oh I can hardly say it... I. Have. No. Clothes.
You know WHY I have no clothes? They're either in my suitcase, in the two postal boxes that have yet to arrive from various parts of Europe, OR at my mother's house. To which I have no key. It's on my bed. In my bedroom. IN MY MOTHER'S HOUSE! We have house sitters, so even if my dear sister had remembered to leave me her key this morning like I asked her to, I couldn't just waltz on up the hill. I'd have to RING AND CHECK first. Check with the people staying in my house if I can come over and get clothes. How's that for irritating?
AND I'm going out to dinner tonight. AND because I have a few nights planned with my friends this week, I had outfits roughly planned simply because I hate getting dressed then realising the next day that the shirt/skirt/hat/jacket I wore last night would be WAY better with tonight's outfit etc. So, even if I do get to my clothes at my mother's house, or alternatively buy more clothes with the money I don't really have, I won't be happy. I just got back from Europe. I'm meant to be wearing awesome Europey clothes. Even if I get this AWESOME cut out blouse from Sportsgirl that I want, It'll be like "oooh where'd you buy that? Paris?" "Nope. Top Ryde."
Honestly. Something really awesome must be about to happen to me because I have been REALLY ridiculously unlucky over the last few months. This time it's not even due to some mistake of my own! But it kills me because my bag could still be in Frankfurt for all I know, and I might not get it before I got to Melbourne. And I can deal with having to come up with a new outfit for tonight, but two night's in a row is just gunna be a bit infuriating. Clothes make the man, and if I'm not entirely happy with how I look, it really puts a downer on my mood.
So, I'm sure you've realised I'm just too DISTRAUGHT to give you the Europe update you deserve. I'm gunna go re-dye my hair (thank god. It's like the colour the milk goes when you eat cocoa pops. That weird pinky brown?) and watch Top Model.
-m xx
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