Dot and Mars: You can't stop us, cause we like doing it

2011-07-19T22:44:00.003+10:00

There are some things in life, i have no intention of ever being a part of... and it's become pretty clear this week how many of these things there actually are, after the MANIA surrounding the last Harry Potter. And thus, a list:

Things I hate and will never get involved in:

Harry Potter - books and/or movies
I hate this shit, i dont even really know what it is other than a kid who does spells or something. I imagine it to be a bit like Sabrina the Teenage Witch (which i also hate). I hate the word 'Hogwarts' - what is that?! Sounds like quite a bad STD.

Twilight - books and/or movies
This also extends to True Blood. I will never have anything to do with any vampire shows. I never watched Buffy, and I'll never watch these; they are shit.

I also have no interest in Game of Thrones. I dont understand it, therefore I dont like it.

Any cartoon move
Shrek, Nemo, that horse movie, Penguins, Ice Age. The more people go on about how great they are, the more sure you can be that i will never watch any of them.

Masterchef, the Block, the Renovators, Design team
Any of these 'reality' shows currently being whored. I will never watch any of those either.

Can of Worms
Stupid man's Q and A. I will never watch it. I include in this category that horrible show called My Generation or something. The show is vetoed on the grounds of Josh Thomas (insipid), Amanda Kellar (boring) and Charlie Pickering who is an actual idiot. This also extends to the 7pm project. Carrie Bickmore is also on the list of TEDIOUS individuals with nothing to say - this leads me to Rove and any Rove-related production. I hate them all.

So in conculstion (for now):
No wizzards, dragons, witches, vampires... no vampire porm, no medievil knights, no 'reality tv' with bogan contestants which is just one giant advert. Nothing to do with Rove, Shaun Micalif or anyone related to them. No cartoons. No Family Guy, Southpark, American Dad. No Shrek, Nemo, Ice Age. But mostly, no wizzards or vampires.

Harry Potter; i shit on your face.

Yeah.

2011-06-08T19:42:00.006+10:00

Did you know, Internet, that i am a travel agent? I dont know if you do know that, i havent spoken about work (or anything really) for a while.

ANYWAY, some times my job is pretty fun... though most of the time, it's a total pain in the arse with not all that much of a reward. People working in Safeway earn more than most of us. You see, we get to do all the boring bits for people... and then they get to go off and do all the good stuff. The greatest irony of all is perhaps how unfortunate it is that people who love travel soooo much, actually can't afford to go anywhere ever again, once they start working in the travel industry.

Everyone thinks... ohhh, you're a travel agent, you must get heaps of free holidays... Hmm, not quite. Occasionally you will win an incentive, and get a free holiday... but because we work on commission, the time you take off to go on said holiday, ends up costing you more than you physically spend. You end up missing the majority of the month you're away and therefore, dont make budget and wont get a bonus that month.

So, it's easy to get a but cynical about the old job... a bit jaded and perhaps even bitter. This may surprise you, but people are MEAN when they're going on holidays! They're mean about money, they speak to you like shit and threaten 'legal action' (my favourite) when you tell them they can't do something they want to. Nothing is ever their fault. They complain. They want compensation. And it really takes the fun out of everything...

Oh, so you want to go do your working visa in the UK?
Oh, so you want to backpack around Europe?
Oh, so Cambodia changed your life?
Oh, so you're going to Vegas to party?
Oh, so you're going to price beat me? On what, a Virgin Blue flight to Cairns?
Oh, you're going to go work on the ski fields in Canada?
Oh, you want a package to Phuket?
Oh, BALI?
Oh, you want a ski package in Queenstown?
Oh, you're doing the Inca trail?
Oh, you want to go to NYC on NYE?
Oh, you're going to Carnivale?
Oh, a full moon party!
Oh, you want to go from Hanoi to Ho Chi Minh?
Oh, you're a student going back to Delhi? You want it what...? Cheap?!
Oh, BANGKOK!
Oh, LA!
Oh, LONDON!
Oh, BUENOS AIRIES!

OH!!!!!!!!! HAVE ANY OF YOU EVER HAD AN ORIGINAL IDEA EVER?!

I'm yet to meet anyone who's not passionate about travel. Everyone wants to go somewhere, it'd have to be pretty rare for someone to go somewhere, hate it and never leave home again... But, like anything good... when you're around it all the time, it gets a bit shit.

HOWEVER! Every now and again, I get a glimmer of the passion I once had for the whole deal. I get a little bit excited about a destination... I realise I dont know it all, haven't heard it all before and something really tickles my fancy. And today, it was Africa.

I don't even like animals, but the thought of going on one of those 4 wheel drive trucks and camping in that Ngorongoro crater thing, and seeing the rhinos and elephants and zebras and giraffes n shit got me all keen. I looked up flights, worked out how I was gonna get there and where i was gonna go.

3 weeks teaching English in Tanzania, a week or two at an orphanage in Mozambique, a trip to Cape Town, a safari, see the colourful Masai Mara, hear the animals at night, as i live amongst them, see the pink flamingos things and just be in awe of nature. Witness a cheetah chase down an antelope, see a baby elephant following its family along, hear an elephant trumpet, watch a giraffe gallop with its buckled legs... and at the end, 5 days in Zanzibar. It was going to be great!

Then I got a call, and it was some fuckwit who'd missed his flight yesterday... and i was back to being bitter again.

2011-06-02T20:24:00.004+10:00

I'm moving! A-fucking-gain.

When Dot and I lived together, we did so for 2.5 years. That's quite a while. Since moving from that house, I have moved nine times... in 3.5 years. And tomorrow, makes number 10!

Fucking ridiculous.

I'm gonna miss this little flat, it's only really just started to feel like home. For the first six months, I didnt even really bother to unpack... I finally did unpack and about a month later, got a call from my estate agent saying that the landlord was selling the property. Yaaaaay for Marsy.

So here's the stats, for Normanby St Prahran.

Dangerous drunken wobbles on the third floor balcony x2
Blokes (official count) x3
Saturday nights in since moving here x6
Episodes of the original 90210 watched since living here x82
Heard the neighbours fucking x14
Saw the dude across the way sitting naked on his (white) couch, lights on x6
Times I've see aforementioned dude having a pull x2
Caught the tram home drunk and missed the stop x4
Parties x1
Houseguests x4
Burned dinners x17
Cold showers x3
Spiders x1
Mice x0
Murdered house-plants x1
Number of times i've left the oven on overnight x22
Months with only channel 10 available x4

I think that's about it. Better luck next time, eh...

2011-05-29T21:43:00.005+10:00

Went out last night with a chick i know who can only really be described as an ABSOLUTE IMBECILE.

I don't know how she's come to be a constant character in my life; but she has... What are you meant to do if someone rings you up on a Tuesday to ask you to go out on Saturday night? There's only so many excuses you can come up with!

Anyway, so i had to go. This chick has no conversation at all... she's no real interests and certainly no intelligence... so spending time with her is always thoroughly tedious and inevitably, the conversation always seems to end up being about sex. Which is fine i guess, i like to make rude jokes as much as the next person. But she goes on. and on. and on. about such shit and like, i get it! I had sex once, i know how it's done and at this late stage, it really is... quite boring.

It's like people who go out and while they're supposed be be having fun, they're just sitting around talking about how fucked up they got and how much fun they had last time. It's retarded. Get fucked up now! Have fun now!

Last night there was a new dude in the mix, he was a mincing little queen and i didn't like him. Not cause he was a mincing queen, just because he was a sly little fucker. So between him and Miss Piggy, all they spoke about was sex; or more specifically, bum sex. The ups, downs, ins and outs, of bum sex. In great detail.

DO I CARE.

Anyway, the jewel in the crown of Saturday night had to be when Miss Piggy told us about the one time she'd had bum sex, and how her boyfriend at the time was hung like a donkey and that's why it was the first and last time she'd ever done it. She didn't want to do it, but they'd been going out and year and he was pestering her to do it. So she agreed when he said he'd buy her a new pair of trainers. TRAINERS!

She had pimped her arse out for a pair of shoes, and she was actually telling us about this.

I despair.

Worst Saturday night ever.

2011-04-05T22:27:00.003+10:00

Had a coversation with Lisa tonight, my now 7 year old god daughter.

Her - I'm going to be a nurse when i grow up

Me - That's great sweetheart, you need to be good a maths...

Her - I'm good at maths!

Me - Well good for you

Her - What are you going to be?

Me - Well i'm already a grown up... so I'm doing it. This is it.

Her - *pauses*...

Her - So... *processing*... nothing?

Thanks kid, you can fuck off now.

2011-03-15T19:16:00.005+11:00

Last week i decided i had the hotts for someone... but it was weird, cause he wasn't hott. He looked like a bird.

So i was a bit surprised by these sudden feelings; i thought i was more shallow than that...

Anyway, that didn't last long and this week i'm over it. There was a small window of opportunity for birdman, and he missed it.

Back to status quo.

2011-03-06T20:39:00.006+11:00

Hi internet. I've been thinking again...

Ever since i was about... 20, i reckon... i wanted a baby. The husband was only ever the means to the ultimate end of baby. However, as more and more of my friends sink futher into what they call life, with their mortgages, husbands, babies (now multiple!) and all that, i am thinking this path in life just aint for me. No shit.

Thing is right, i go out. Like, all the time... and that's what i like doing... coming and going, doing whatever i like. I go out, have fun, get wasted, talk shit... that's it. To the extent where whenever i have some sort of obligation or something, i get really shitty. Dont wanna go.

Imagine have an obligation every day of the week to some... parasite. No thanks.

So this new revelation is a bit of a concern, cause for the last 10 years it's been like i was working towards something. Not sure how exactly i was working towards it, just marking time really till it was ok for me to start to breed. Either i got so old i had to just go for it, got knocked up accidentally or the most unlikely of all scenarios; i actually found a husband for real. But since ive decided breeding is a bit of a crap idea... now what?

Just continue to shop, booze, piss money away, fuck arse around... and before you know it, i'm one of those old hag bitches hanging around bars trying to pick up married men. Hmmm. Is this it now i've removed the idea of what i thought i was put on this earth to do?

So i'm concerned.

2011-01-04T22:00:00.007+11:00

It's the constitution. It's MABO. It's just... the vibe.

Went to the dentist a couple of weeks ago, for what I thought was going to be a simple cut and polish, ya know. Dude is a new dentist (for me). Had an unfortunate incident with my last dentist over, well... not paying the bill in a timely fashion. So seeing as this guy had been our family dentist for 20 years or something, he just thought he'd ring my dad up and ask him to pay for me. Even though i was 26. And not living at home. And not having seen or spoken to my dad for 2 years. Good one, dentist - could have just sent me a threat of legal action letter and I'd have paid.

ANYWAY, new dentist. Turns out you don't just go and get your teeth cleaned; you need to do things in order.

1. Go for assessment - real dentist looks and records what's going on in the gob. 'Fillings in 5M, 3I... small chip on 8U... Discolouration on 7D, 4Q and 8P' he dictates to the nurse... 'Are you a smoker?' he asks me - redundant question I would have thought. None the less, I try to respond to his enquiry as best I can, considering his blue-gloved hand is stretching my mouth wider than it's ever been stretched before. Response is something vague like 'I used to be', but he knows. He knows the truth.

So all this takes about 20 mins of poking around and talking in code, until he finally takes his blue-gloved hand out of my mouth and addresses me; 'You need a filling'. Not surprising, but still terrifying. 'Oh' I say, feigning bewilderment in a how could this beeeeee kind of way, 'but nothing hurts', I continue.

He picks up his little mirror on the end of a stick, pulls down the mirror from the roof and asks me to open wide again. 'Look!' he says 'You could drive a bus through there!'.

I am mortified.

Okay, thinks I... this doesn't hurt, I've kinda known there must be a filling coming for a while, I'm just gonna risk it, see how long I can go before it really hurts and I really have to pay it attention. It's going to cost money, it's going to hurt. I'm just leave it and see what happens, who knows, it might even fix itself!

Then dentist dude pipes up again... 'I'm getting the vibe off you'...
'Vibe?' Questions I.

This is not the first time someone has got an indescribable 'vibe' off me. Once I lived in a share house and we had a new housemate move in one evening, Italian chap, quite all right... anyway, I got up in the morning and he'd cleared out after only one night. The landlord later rang to let me know it was because he didn't like my vibe. I've never quite understood this.

Anyway, 'Vibe?' Questions I...
'I am getting the vibe off you that you're not going to come back' he says in quite an accusing manner, i thought...

New Dentist is on to me.

'Uh, no, i'm totally coming back!' I begin to over compensate...
'Tell you what, we don't usually do this... but I can do the filling now if you like' he says to me.

My heart begins to thump. I break into a cold sweat.

'Uh uh uh, no, I can't... I have to get back to work! I have to be home for dinner! I have to drive, you're going to need to sedate me....*nervous laugh*! The over compensation continues.

So I didn't get the filling done, and now I've ruined this dentist too and he thinks I'm a raving lunatic. Instead, I decided to make ANOTHER appointment (only another $133) to get the teeth cleaned, but I've promised myself that this filling will be done before i'm 30! BEFORE!*

* I have 39 days to get my shit together

2011-01-02T19:41:00.002+11:00

Okay, I'm starting the year as I mean to go on. (Yesterday, the official first day of the year, doesn't count; I was hung like a dog and when I eventually tried to go to sleep I was sort of half dreaming (hallucinating?) that my head was really small and shrinking - SCARY). Anyway, today has been far more productive.

I cleaned my tip of a flat, what can i say; I am possibly the least tidy person you know. I am one of the world's great dumpers. So, first goal for the new year...

Keep nice house.

On that topic, I was given a Filofax for Christmas (it's pink), so I just filled in everyone's birthdays in there as well as all the January stuff I have just been trying not to forget about until now. (V busy, FYI).

A bit of organisation, please.

So those are the two main things. They might sound simple, but they are two of the things that get left behind sometimes.

Late last year after a couple of regretable incidents, I decided to go off the booze, fags and give up the party for a month, replacing it all with healthy living and gym time. It wasn't massively successful (in that i didn't lose 20kgs in a month), though it was a lot easier than i thought it was going to be. That said, ever since that month ended, I have been on turbo. Boozing and gutsing with no restraint, partying like it's 1999... which has been fun, but it's leading to a couple of issues. So number three...

Take it easy on the booze.

Other things I'm half interested in and would like to get done this year:

Become certified diver
Sort photos and get interesting ones printed
Finish acquiring furniture for flat and stop using boxes as coffee table
Plan wicked 3oth b'day
Take better care of finances
Reach peak physical fitness (just a little one for last)

Wish me luck!

2010-12-01T22:18:00.004+11:00

Dear Dottie,

Long time no hear, hope you have not been met with any bother while in Korea.

Anyway, you missed a great party - Kiki got married to Aphrodite on the weekend and I was reminded of two things:

1. the existence of this blog...

i've been reading through a whole heap of old stuff and FUCK! what a tedious, whinging bitch i am!

and also...

2. this haiku you wrote only three short years ago

30 October 2007

yo aphrodite,
rooting kiki? too bad he's...
got the yogurt dick.

(dedicated to Mars as her worlds collide)

It's really sweet, and still so relevant.

Come home soon for a visit will you, its been a year since the warm handshake.

Love you on Wednesdays

Marsy xxx

2010-08-16T23:10:00.002+10:00

*tap tap tap*

Is this thing still on?

Hi there! I'm Mars, of the formally semi-famous, semi-fabulous and almost completely inept bloggers, Dot and Mars duo.

Dot thinks we should delete the blog... but i still have stuff to say. SO MUCH STUFF TO SAY.

Will try to be better and say it soon.

2010-04-06T23:45:00.002+10:00

I've taken a new tactic in the Hunt for a Husband (1999-)2010.

Found this ring in amongst my belongings over the weekend that looks a bit like an engagment ring. So I'm wearing it on my ring finger to see if that brings about any change to the current trend of tumbleweeds.

Will report back with findings.

2010-04-05T04:14:00.002+10:00

Thank God!

2010-03-16T13:44:00.003+11:00

FYI MARS

Before you ask: I didn't get the job.

Have not been officially told this yet however I did overhear boss today (I volunteer at organization one day a week) calling someone else's references.

How can I not get a job I have already been doing for free for two months?!?!?!

Oh well. If I was happy in my career (and you were happy in love), we wouldn't be Dot and Mars, would we?

2010-03-09T22:26:00.000+11:00

My new venture...

2010-03-08T01:19:00.003+11:00

Right. It's 0119 hours, Monday 08 March and i'm on the internet dating site again, poking around. What i'm now wondering is what i'm up against... Y'know, who are these chicks?

My friend said to me (bless her) after the FOUR!!! rejections, that maybe these blokes all think i am out of their league so they didn't bother with me. I did laugh at the time, but now i'm wondering who exactly is in my league.

I had a look at the other girls my age and let's face it, they're as thoroughly standard as I am. One thing i have noticed though is that i am getting a lot of interest from older dudes - so now I wonder if my pool (27-33 year olds) are all after the 19-24 year olds. Of course they are! Who am i kidding? Who wants a frumpy almost 30 year old with a bit of life experience under her belt and those annoying standards and expectations of you, when you could have a giggling, firm, 22 year old?

No one, that's who.

Anyway, i have proof of none of this but i am looking to further investigate my theory and to find out what my league is. Where do i belong, internet?

Would it be completely wrong to set up as a profile as a man just to see where it's all at? Just for research - promise.

2010-03-04T23:38:00.005+11:00

What's shitting you today, Mars?

We all know my somewhat checkered past where housemates are concerned, correct? Basically, I have lived with over 30 people in my time and have ended up passionately hating every single one of them except for two. This is not a good ratio.

So, when looking for my latest victim, I thought I was being scrupulous, wary even, having learned from lessons passed.

No Emos
No lesbians
No one who never leaves the house
No one who has a pet
No one with a debilitating 'illness'
No unemployed
No dirty, lazy, noisy
No bossy
No vegetarians
No Christians
And lastly, NO ONE WITH A BOY/GIRL FRIEND

But I was rushed into moving out of the pars house and appear to have made an error in judgement. It would appear that I have moved in with someone who has a perpetually present, imp of a boyfriend.

UH-OH!

My (official) housemate is actually really nice, I like her a lot and i'm trying to just GET A FUCKING LIFE! and not let Impy bother me. But last night, it did bother me... She wasn't even home and and he turned up about half past 10. I heard knocking on the front door while I was in the shower, and figured it could only be one person... so I carried on with my shower, hoping he'd think no one was home and just LEAVE.

But alas, he was not to be deterred! I left him knocking on that front door for 15 minutes, long after I'd finished my shower... I hid out in the bathroom (which you can see the door of from the front door) for ages... Eventually I got sick of being held captive in my own bathroom and went to exit the bathroom and had no choice but to let him in. So in he came, went and turned the tv and a/c on, made himself something to eat then went and had a shower.

This wouldn't bother me so much if it didn't happen every day... I really am TRYING to be reasonable about this - I dont want to hate someone. Internet, you have to believe me for once.

2010-02-28T23:35:00.005+11:00

Question: How shit are blokes?

I've always been single, as long as I can remember - my whole adult life... ever since I've been me. And over the years i've phased in and out of desperate obession over finding 'the one' (any one!) to genuine disregard for all things carrying a doodle; apathy towards them, gross cynicism at the thought of any relationship, outright contempt even, in some situations.

And i guess the only real explanation i can give for these mood swings is that they have been dependant on my headspace at the time. If life is going well and i'm happy - men? who needs em! When things are a bit poo - where is he?! If he were here, my life wouldn't be so shit. AND SO ON AND ON AND ON AND ON AND ON.

Anyway, after a somewhat turbulent six months or so, i have really chilled the fuck out about the whole scenario... it will happen eventually (surely!), you cant rush true love, but i guess you can be open towards suggestion... which is the approach i'm taking at the moment.

I've always considered internet dating the absolute final frontier; something you do when you're outta real life ideas... i mean, if you cant find someone on the internet - and let's face it, everyone's on the internet - where to from there? You're screwed. And i've never wanted to use my last chance, my get out of jail free card... just yet.

BUT, a friend of mine has been trawling the internet dating sites, and although she's not found anyone she's happy to settle down with, she's had a reasonable amount of success in finding dates and meeting new people, which i guess is as much as you can really ask from the things. And it is this particular scenario which has perked my curiosity - so... never one to ever be left behind by the crowd, i wrote a ridiculous profile thing about the enjoyment i get from eating beetroot and cheese (though not at the same time unless in a hamburger), put up the first picture i came across and with a more than generous pinch of salt, joined the dating site.

I know, i'm embarrassed for me too.

My findings so far are that a lot of people take this shopping for a 'life partner' very seriously. Personally, i find it all a bit gross - a highly judgemental business, just flicking through people's pictures (the ones they've so carefully chosen - there's me with my dog, there's 'wacky' me, there's me out for beers with my mates, there's me at the top of a mountain, there's me on holiday in thailand) and dismissing an entire person on the way he's got his socks pulled up too high, his collar popped or - if you've really giving him a chance and he's passed the scathing picture testing and you actually read his profile - you're presented with an absolute plethora of things to pick wrong with him... He can't tell there from their from they're, his favourite movie is the Shawshank Redemption, he loves pets, he brags that he 'doesn't really read' - the list goes on...

Anyway, the point of this story is to basically say that i guess i'm not doing it right (story of my life!)... i did the profile, added the photo and the next step was to send little pre-forma messages to people. So i chose about six of the twenty profiles i looked at (all with pictures, of course) and sent them a 'kiss'; You sound really interesting, i think we have a lot in common.

Who knows if we really do have anything in common - basically what i was saying was - you can spell, and i like the look of your picture - do you like the look of my picture and find my profile similarly pleasing on a completely superficial level, also? And well, turns out THEY DON'T as i got FOUR rejections! FOUR!!!!! Out of six!!!! And the other two never even replied!

Day after day my inbox had another pre-forma remark from one of these four anomalies; I wish you well in your search, but i dont think it would work out between us'. HOW CAN YOU POSSIBLY KNOW THIS?! And i'd deleted these with greater vigour and disgust each day. The system is obviously flawed - i know for a fact i'm not that bad.

And therefore...

Answer: Infinity

2010-01-21T11:36:00.003+11:00

The kcnshop virus attack!

At 6:08 this morning someone in Beijing with the IP address of 115.49.88.66 hacked into my gmail! The sneaky little bugger then sent the following message to every single person I have ever emailed from my current account:

hi
How is everything going?
I want to share something with you ： http://www.kcnshop.com/
On this website ,you can find many new and origianl electronic
products .Because of New Year 2010, they are holding sales promotion
activity, all the product are sold at a discount.
And i have bought some products from this web, low cost and good
quality ,and the delivery is on time .
If you need some, visit this website . Hurry up,because the promotion
activity only keeps 1 month .
Hope everything goes well.
Greetings!

I am indignant, annoyed and a little bit amused. Firstly, I thought gmail was invincible. How could google let this happen?!?!?! It is disappointing to learn that the grand poo-bah of tech companies is only human after all. And possibly not even that.

My inbox is currently junked up with "delivery failed" messages, and buried amongst all this are a few real notes from friends. Most people are enjoying my embarrassment - haha, Dot has moved into the spamming business, good luck selling those "low cost and good quality" products! However, I have also received (so far) two lovely sincere messages from long lost friends (who both speak English as a second language) thanking me for the "good information". I am going to have to spend the next few days setting everyone straight...

I am not a spammer! Greetings!
______

PS - Remember Elaine, the girl I've been avoiding for two years which has really been quite easy because she lives in Tel Aviv? When my spam hit her inbox I got an automated out of office reply (good!), however the interesting thing about it is it was sent from Rabbi Elaine Solomon. How about that? She's now a rabbi.

2010-01-08T22:14:00.003+11:00

I've been home almost two months now, and as all penniless 28 year old gypsies do after they've been gallavanting all over the world - i've moved back in with my parents. And i'm going slowly insane.

I guess the main difference i'm noticing is that i appear to be reverting back into my teenage-self. Calls between upstairs and out in the backyard somewhere of MAAAAAAAAAAAH-UUUUM! echo through the suburbs.

So balance in the universe has once again been restored, and I am Kimmy again, more than ever.

And I hate it... but try as i might, i cant shake any of it.

2010-01-02T10:00:00.006+11:00

The anti-resolution list: a list of things i wont be doing in the new year.

First and foremost, let's get this out of the way and then move on - I wont be giving up smoking. I like it, and the phase will pass (just like all my other phases), so that's that.

I probably wont join a gym at any point

I have no intention of thinking positively or trying to be 'upbeat' - what can i say, it's just not me

I am probably not going to try any more at work than the bare minimum dictates

There's a good chance i wont update this blog with any more frequency

It's unlikely that i will learn to use the camera i just bought

I wont stop spying on people it only ever upsets me to spy on, on facebook

I wont lost 10kg

And i definitely wont be complaining any less than usual

However, in the words of my good friend Dot, Happy New Beer!

2009-11-01T13:08:00.002+11:00

Dear Mars,

Shall I great you with a hug or a warm handshake?

Luv Dot

2009-10-22T06:35:00.002+11:00

My Life as a Jerk (Phase 47.8.8): Voluntary Unemployment
Day three

Last Friday, i got to do something all of us dream of, but very few of us are ever actually in a position to go through with; i walked out on my job. I took umbrage to something someone said to me, i carefully considered my options and decided with a certain level of glee that the job was more hassle than it was worth.

I'd handed my notice in and had two weeks left to work - no problem i thought, i'll change my flights and just leave Manchester a little earlier. But, as most would recognise by now, my life is nothing if not an absolute comedy of errors, and after i left work for the last time on Friday a smile so large across my stupid gob, i thought i was unstoppable. Till i got to Flight Centre and was duely informed that there was no availability to change my flights to any sooner than the date i had booked.

MASSIVE BACKFIRE.

So now i'm left in this stinking city, with absolutely nothing to do, no inclination to be here, killing time and wasting money for another two whole weeks. Good one, asshole.

So today is Day Three of official unemployment, and i notice things are on the rapid decline. Monday started off pretty well, i went out for the whole day and met a friend for lunch, went on a massive walk and then went for pints in the evening. Yesterday, i went and met a friend in town for a coffee in the afternoon and picked up some supermarket shopping. Today, however, ambitious plans of climbing Snowdon were dashed early on, it's now 9.16pm and i've not even made it out of bed.

In an hour it's acceptable to go to sleep again.

Desperate for something to do (before i began this blog post), i googled the time in NYC to see if it was an appropriate time to harass Dot (god knows, my correspondence with everyone else on the internet today has been... thorough) - it wasn't an appropriate time, however i notice a link to a live webcam in Times Square.

As i realised i'd just lost 20 minutes of my life, eyes glazed over, watching the traffic in Time Square subconsciously wishing for a car crash with a couple of taxis, or better yet, a plane to fly in that building just as i was watching it - i realised that it had gone too far. Already, after only three days.

Tomorrow i must leave the house. At the very least, i must leave the bed.

The bed's not even that good any more, in fact. Never have i felt more like a squatter than i did after coming home on monday evening to find the stilts of my make shift bed; vanished. The stilts, giant vat-like barrels which used to contain Kashmir's best Mango Chutney. I'm not even joking. So I now appear to be left with a mattress on the floor, and after watching the BBC's three part documentary this week on the life of Gandhi, i feel more akin to him than ever before. A mattress on the ground; i am either a squatter, or a martyr for the cause of the impoverished.

2009-10-15T11:08:00.005+11:00

My neighbour is a weird guy called Guy*

When Blane and I moved into our new apartment we noticed that the guy who lives in the apartment with a his front door opposite our front door had a sign up saying, "Under Surveillance".

I asked our landlord what this was about and he said, "That's Guy. He's a little bit odd. Don't worry about him. He won't give you any trouble. He doesn't have any surveillance equipment. He is not spying. Although, make sure you get some curtains up. Do you have curtains? I can lend you some sheets. Get curtains. But don't worry about him."

Our kitchen window is directly opposite Guy's kitchen window (it's looking into one of those narrow lightless air shafts you find in New York and Hong Kong and other busted cities). We took our landlord's advice and put curtains up very quickly.

We've been living here a month now and I DO get the feeling whenever I go out the front door that I'm being surveillanced.

On Monday there was a new sign in the hallway. Not on Guy's door, but on the wall between both our doors. It read:

Hot water turned off on Friday at 6.15pm without 24 hours notice.

I knew instantly it was a Guy sign and, because it wasn't on his front door but in a communal area, I tore it down. It was a stupid sign and it annoyed me. If he has a problem with the hot water then he should see the landlord (who has his office downstairs) and not leave anonymous signs posted on the top floor where the landlord will never see.

Creepy Guy was probably peeping out his peep hole and saw it was me who took the sign down.

On Tuesday Guy had a new sign on his door, this one written in big red capital letters, "RENT STRIKE!"

Oh dear.

This morning when I went to work there was NO sign on Guy's door. Good sign...

But when I came home from work tonight I noticed something strange above my own front door...

What is that?!?!?!

So, now WHACK Guy is mad about the heat not being turned on** and he's putting signs on the ceiling above my front door... WHY WHY WHY?

I instantly took photos of the sign and then knocked it down with a broom. I'm sure that Guy watched the whole thing stationed behind his front door watching through the peep hole. I don't care. I hope that seeing me take photos makes HIM paranoid.

Just like he is making ME paranoid.

Damn, it's a paranoid off!

May the most delusional person win...

__________
*Name not changed
** It was 14C today! What kind of idiot wants the heat on when it's sunny and 14C?

2009-10-08T05:43:00.002+11:00

Mars: Reigned in by the long arm of the law (at last)

I had an encounter with law enforcement official today. I'd had my lunch, had my sit in the sun, sent a few texts and chain smoked for a bit then heard the clock at the town hall strike two... so proceeded to make my way back to the office. Across the road.

'Er, 'scuse me' i hear this authoritarian say, as i turn around a sour look (my current permanent disposition) on my face. I give him the look of 'WOT?', not needing real words...
'You shouldn't be crossing the road here'... he begins... 'you should be crossing at the lights'.
Too stupid to get immediately indignant, i casually spat 'sorry' and continued on my way.

It's only now that i'm annoyed. Not annoyed at him having a go at me really, more annoyed at myself for apologising. To him. It's like i said sorry to him, personally. As though i may have offended him.

Cant believe i let that one slip, to be honest...

2009-09-12T18:45:00.003+10:00

Sometimes, good stuff happens. And this week, i got back a roll of film with a photo i had taken weeks earlier, and i'm thoroughly impressed with one picture, especially.

Last year i did a few posts mentioning Manchester Town Hall and how i love it. Every lunch time, i sit in Albert Square and watch the world go by, listening to the clock gong on the quarter to and quarter past hours. One day i'll get around to actually going in there... but for the time being, i'll just continue to enjoy the outside.

You just dont get stuff like that in Melbourne, and every day i am reminded of why i love Manchester and England.

2009-08-25T10:44:00.003+10:00

What this receptionist reads online inbetween greeting clients and screening calls...

Weird: The kilogram is in danger
No, this doesn't mean we are converting back to the imperial system. It means that original metal cylinder that was used to determine an exact kilogram has changed weight:

...the official kilogram is kept locked inside a secured vault at the International Bureau of Weights and Measures near Paris. Scientists are so paranoid that they've only taken it out on three occasions: in 1889, 1946 and 1989. Each time, they've compared it to a set of copies. In 1889, the copies and the kilogram weighed the same, but by 1989, they had drifted apart. Based on the data, the kilogram appears to weigh slightly less than the copies.

What this means is the kilogram must be "redefined". How weird?

Wrong: Murder victim is identified by the serial number in her breast implants

Reality teevee slime, Ryan Jenkins, murdered his bikini model wife, Jasmine Fiore (I'm not even going to bother with the 'allegedly' here). Jenkins then escaped to Canada via a black SUV and a speedboat called 'Night Ride Her'. Royal Canadian Mounted Police tracked him to the 'Thunder Bird Motel' in a town called 'Hope' where they found his dead body hanging from a clothing rack on Sunday.

Pretty sensational stuff. However, the really disturbing part is:

Authorities say Jenkins killed Fiore, 28, and removed her fingers and teeth, evidently to conceal her identity. Police allege that he then stuffed the swimsuit model's body in a suitcase and dumped it in a Buena Park trash bin. It was found by a man combing the trash for recyclables.

Authorities were able to identify Fiore, who sometimes used the last name Kinkade, based only on a serial number found on a breast implant, according to the Orange County district attorney's office.

Murder and mutilation. It seems fair to say Fiore's body is what attracted Jenkin's to her (they got married after knowing each other for two days). Jenkin's then took Fiore's body and destroyed it.

At the end of her life, this poor woman's identity is located in her breast implant. So sad and dehumanizing.

2009-08-19T11:43:00.001+10:00

Mission to Mars - Part One

In an attempt to occupy some of my time, and try to make myself feel a bit better after Bust Up 2009 - i did the most predictable thing ever and started doing what can only be described as exercise.

Previously unchartered territory for little Mars... i never really knew what this exercise thing actually entailed, but was accutely aware that i didnt like it one little bit. Initially i started going for really long walks to try and clear my head... mostly at night. I'm not sure why, but surprisingly, i started to enjoy it. Maybe it was a sense of recklessness, wandering around the dodgey area i live in, late at night and on my own... maybe it was the fresh air or maybe it was the fact that i'd managed to haul myself out of bed that day and considered it Achievement 101. I dont know - but after a couple of weeks, i cant say i started to look or feel like Jane Fonda, but i did start to feel slightly fitter (i think - cant be sure as i'd never know 'fit' before).

With this new found confidence and highly unexpected motivation, i decided to take this latest 5-minutes-on-the-brain crack pot idea (yes, fitness) to the next level... though rather than join a gym like a normal person, start walking to and from work or go swimming once a week in the local pool - i decided to join British Military Fitness.

I know, i am a moron...

2009-08-19T11:17:00.002+10:00

List of things I hope to achieve by next year*

Get job
Get job I like
Get job I like that lasts more than six months
To be honest, lose five kilos off bum and hips
Write more about art
Write novel about a vampire
Get something published about anything
Be more confrontational with people who are horrible (racist, sexist, etc)
Go swimming regularly
Get haircut
Buy a computer (and give Blane back his ruined one!)
Buy an Ipod (and start listening to music again!)
Buy decent camera (and document this cool period of life... I live in New York!)
Read more brain books (and less trash!)
Communicate more with Dad and Brother (The women in my family are easy! The men not so much...)
Take drawing classes
Visit the Kluge Ruhe museum
Go camping
See more opera
See Shakespeare in the Park
Travel with Mars somewhere in the world...

_________________

* Dear Mars, maybe you should make a 'what I'd like list' and forget the 'what I ain't got list'?

2009-08-15T01:58:00.001+10:00

List of things i wish i'd done by now

had baby
lost 25kg
had v romantic and torrid love affair first marriage
been to africa
seen more of my grandparents
never fallen out with my brother for 18 months
finished uni
forged a career
come up with a plan and stuck to it
found the love of my life

I wrote that list on 15th October 2008.

Good to see some things never change...

2009-08-13T00:10:00.004+10:00

Potty Talk

1.

On the weekend my neighbour, Enin, got himself drunk and locked out of his apartment. This has happened before. I came home around 10pm and found Enin lurking in the corridor. He asked sheepishly/slurrishly if he could climb through my kitchen window (and into his courtyard and into his backdoor). I said fine.

Enin got through the window reasonable gracefully considering he had to climb over a stove having drunk two thirds of a bottle of French potato vodka.

From his backyard he yelled "Thank-you!" to me. He then added, "Come over for a drink! I've got French potato vodka and will invite the girls from upstairs!"

How could I refuse?

I went next door to meet Melissa and Rorie, 'the girls from upstairs'. Apparently they had helped Enin by buzzing him into the building. We were all a little excited to be having an impromptu party and instantly got to gossiping about the building and neighourhood. Enin made us vodka and coconut water cocktails, which helped us getting to know each other even more.

Eventually the gossip turned personal with Enin proposing the question to the group, "What do you want out of life? What does it all boil down to? What is most meaningful to you?"

Melissa answered with drunken poetry, "To love and be loved."

Rorie agreed and added, "To laugh as much as possible."

I agreed.

Enin was not happy with our answers, "No, I mean what experience is most meaningful. Not something general. Something specific, something that sums up your purpose in life..."

"Well, what is your answer then?" I asked. It was obvious he wanted to tell us.

"All I want," He said, "The one thing I want... is to cum really hard."

Silence.

Enin mistook our silence for not understanding. So he repeated, "Cum. Really. Hard. That is all I want from life. I mean, isn't it the greatest? When I'm fucking a girl my mind is so focused-"

"Gotta go!" Melissa suddenly remembered she had to get up early the next day. Rorie and I suddenly remember this too. We thanked Enin for the drinks, wished him goodnight and hurried back to our apartments.

2.

Today, just as I was leaving the office, Brad from upstairs buzzed reception asking me if I'd seen Bradina.

I said, "I'll take a quick look around the office on my way out."

I found Bradina easily, sitting at a table in the kitchen chatting to two other staff members. I said to Bradina, "Sorry to interrupt, but Brad is looking for you upstairs."

Before Bradina could reply, the staff member sitting at the table with his back to me turned around. It was Mr. Poobar!

Mr. Poobar said, "Tell Brad to suck cock. Bradina will call him when I'm finished with her."

Everyone sitting at the table laughed. I laughed also, but it was a nervous laugh.

I went back to reception and called Brad, "Bradina is talking to Mr. Poobar. Mr. Poobar said something I won't repeat. Bradina will call you when they're finished."

***

Neither Enin or Mr. Poobar's comments were massively offensive. However, the context was so completely wrong that I felt confronted by them.

It is not appropriate to talk about 'cumming really hard' with three girls you've met for the first time in your house.
It is not appropriate to talk about 'sucking cock' with junior member of your staff you are meeting for the first time. And, BONUS, it is demeaning to them to ask them to repeat your comments.

I'm not the appropriate police. Actually, I am the appropriate police. That's exactly what I am. And I am on patrol. These are not comments that fail because I don't have a sense of humour. They are comments that are simply offensive... and their perpetrators need to be brought to justice!

I have more to discuss on this topic (Is it sexual harassment? Why do I often feel like I'm being shamed for refusing to use porn type language, 'cum' 'cock' 'fuck' etc.? Isn't there something wrong with an Apatowian 'so wrong it's right' sense of humour that is legitizmising crude sexual language?). However, I'll stop now because I already feel like I'm going to be labeled as some prude spinster who is too fragile for this harsh world...

And golly gosh, maybe I am.

2009-08-10T11:29:00.006+10:00

An blanket apology to all the good-looking people of the world...

New temp assignment is working the reception desk at Kitten Advertising. It's a very slick company that does heaps of fashion and luxury product (chocolates, jewelery, hotels, etc.) ads. I sit in a large white room behind a little gray desk that has a massive orchid perched on top of it. My job is the usual answering phones, ordering messengers ('couriers' in Australian talk), and greeting clients. What is unique to this job is the amount of baby-sitting 'high-profile' clients I do.

Obviously the ad industry is all about appearances. Clients are always 'high-profile'. They always need ice water, coffee, cupcakes, cheek-kisses, and spotless conference rooms. High-profile clients are also babies that aren't allowed to think for themselves, and when they are made to they go, 'WAHHHHHH!'

Yesterday Mr. High Profile client came to reception for a meeting with Mr. Poobar upstairs. Mr. Poobar was on the phone at the time so I asked Mr. High Profile to wait a minute. Mr. High Profile didn't want to wait, he wanted Mr. Poobar now! I was in the middle of trying to calm Mr. High Profile down ("Coffee? Water? We have yummy cupcakes in the kitchen if you'd like one!") when the reception phone rang. I then got tangled up in some issue with another high-profile client on the phone and while I was distracted Mr. High Profile sneaked out of reception and got himself into the stairwell. He thought he'd find Mr. Poobar for himself!

I instantly messaged upstairs to warn them Mr. High Profile was on his way up. This sent the upstairs staff into a complete panic, "Why did you make him take the stairs!?!"
"I didn't make him, he snuck away when I wasn't watching!"
"Well, where is he!!!"
"I don't know, going up the stairs I suppose..."
"Oh my god!"

Two interns were quickly dispatched into the stair well to search for Mr. High Profile. One went up, the other went down. Both came back two minutes later to report they couldn't find Mr. High Profile. They were dispatched again with the directive, "Find him!"

Five minutes later it was noticed Mr. High Profile was already in Mr. Poobar's office, chatting happily with him.

The funny thing is, high-profile clients are just regular people. They are the man on the street with pants that are too short and the woman on the train who has a run in her stockings. They come into reception sweaty and red, making obvious comments about the humidity outside. Superficially, they are not impressive people.

A lot of models also come into Kitten Advertising for castings. It interests me how badly, compared to the high-profiles, they are treated. These beautiful perfect people are kept waiting in reception for ages. Then eventually the art buyer's assistant's assistant will come out and say in a rush, "Let me see your book! What's your jean size? How tall are you? Is your hair naturally straight? Okay, take these jeans into the bathroom and put them on. Then meet me in the conference room and I'll take your photo."

The new face of something
(the model is too young to have her identity revealed in such a low-brow forum as this blog)

As I type this two other-worldly models are sitting in front of me. They are 17 year old twins with red hair. They are from that place in Eastern Europe where 5 foot 10 inches tall with size 26 jeans is normal. They've been waiting 15 minutes for their casting.

If I saw these models on the street I'd think, 'Wow, you look amazing!' But when I see these models trot off to the toilet to try on jeans that twenty girls before them have tried on, then the word 'amazing' does not come to mind.

Models are an easy target. I've made plenty of dumb-model comments that were born from a mix of jealously and the fact models really are immature kids. However, sitting at reception all week I've really began to understand the reality of how unglamorous modeling is. These people are treated so badly. They have no (little) control over their success/failure. They just bounce around the city from one cold judgment to the next.

To witness the behind-the-scenes life of modeling makes me really sympathize for the real babies of the ad industry.

And I just want to offer these poor good-looking freaks a cupcake.

2009-08-05T00:41:00.002+10:00

Trudging all over the city this weekend = two minor celebrity sightings!

On Saturday, Blane and I took a turn about the Financial District with a charming realty broker called Jesse.

Our apartment lease ends in four weeks so, under much pressure to find a new home, we were testing out down downtown for some down deals on studios with WATERFRONT VIEWS!!!!!!!!!!!! (That’s the way realty brokers talk.) Apparently the mammoth residential buildings in the Financial District are currently having trouble finding residents to fill their super-slick apartments (after all the super-slick finance dudes were fired late last year). Prices on apartments are PRICE TO MOVED, which just about brings a tiny little closet-size (COSY!) studio into our price range.

While wandering down Wall Street we had one of the most boring celebrity sightings possible, walking past this man:

I had no idea who he was. Blane, however, was mildly mildly interested to recognize James Altucher, the television talking-head who specializes in bringing the technical strategies used by hedge fund managers to the general public…. sdjhfouwiedivfu

Sorry, I fell asleep and my giant breasts just hit the keyboard.

Anyway, after Jesse showed us about twelve different apartments (which, after seeing only one, all started to look the same) we decided the Financial District was not for us. It’s too impersonal, too concrete, too suits. Basically, it’s too James Altucher.

On Sunday, Blane and I adjusted our apartment hunt to focus on the East Village. After the exhausting Financial District marathon of LUXERY STUDIO!!!!! after LUXERY STUDIO!!!!!, we decided we needed to more selective.

After looking at every single listing on Craigslist we found one apartment that actually seemed like a good deal. There was an Open House for it at 2pm, so we headed over to 10th Street and First Avenue to meet Cory the Sleazy Broker; blonde tips in his hair, sunglasses indoors (and at night obviously). We arrived at 2.15pm to find one girl already waiting out the front of the building. Cory arrived five minutes later and took us all up to the fifth floor.

The apartment was lovely! I spent about one minute looking at it before whispering to Blane, “We need to apply for this one before that girl does!” After getting a brief nod of affirmation from Blane, I walked over to Cory the Sleazy Broker.

“What do you think?” Cory asked me.
“Uh, actually we’d like to apply for it.” I said.
“Great! Let’s go downstairs to talk.”
I turned to the girl and cajoled, “You didn’t want to apply for it did you?”
“Well, I only started looking today,” She replied.
“Yeah, you can’t choose the first one you see.”

The girl nodded, and I felt a bit low for taking advantage of her ignorance. The apartment seems like a steal: one bedroom, top floor, facing the street, beautiful old building, two big windows, two (now ornamental) fireplaces.

After a quick conversation with Cory, Blane and I walked back through the East Village to meet Cory at his office and put a deposit on the apartment. On our way we passed a group of girls sitting on their front stoop looking extra trendy and BAM! Second celebrity sighting. Sort of.

I see a lot of girls in New York who make me think, “You must be a model.” But this is the first instance where I’ve recognized one. Agyness Deyn. Ms. Uncompromising Hair.

A recent New York Times article describes her as, “genuinely sweet, sunny and slightly dim, her punkette look the thinnest candy coating over an interior filled primarily with airy, whipped pink goo and nuvo-hippie, gestalt-y wow-ness.”

This also describes how I think of the East Village. It’s stylish but in a candy-coated obvious way. I think once Blane and I move in we’ll learn to recognize the difference between the hipster icing and the old East Village; the one that was depicted in the flashy Broadway musical, ‘Rent’.

Okay, obviously I don’t know anything about the East Village.

But, Ms. Deyn,
Neighbour,
I am moving in.

2009-07-31T10:55:00.003+10:00

What I said in a job interview today:

Office manager: What salary do you expect to work for?

Me: Well, $xxxx would be my minimum.

Office manager: Yes, that's fair.

Me: However. Obviously, the higher the pay the higher my commitment to the company would be.

Office manager: *silence as my non-altruistic ambition rings greedily in her ears*

_________________

PS: Apart from that rotten clanger the interview went pretty well. I remain hopeful.

2009-07-26T23:48:00.003+10:00

The return from Mars

Whey!

It's been a while, eh. Not really sure where to pick up with this blog (which is probably why i've been avoiding it so long), so i will give a brief summation of where i'm at right now... both meta physically and mortally.

My mortal self is in Manchester. I returned back to Oz with a great song and dance back in April, only to decide within 24 hours of being back on home soil that it wasn't where i wanted to be. So after a three week 'holiday', i returned to Manchester on a wing and a prayer.

Reasons at the time of making this decision were probably quite sound, and after all that's happened recently, i don't regret it... I left Melbourne 18 months earlier, unhappy with my life, yet motivated to rebuild else-where. When time came to leave Manchester, i wasn't unhappy... i had a group of friends, one in particular i was very close to, a job i didn't hate and enough distance between my family and i to keep me in sound mind. It seemed obvious.

And now, here we are two months after my return, and i have slipped back into life as usual, yet so many things have turned upside down in the last six months, two months, two weeks... things i expected would remain have changed, the life i had this time 12 months ago, even one month ago is nothing but a distant memory and i feel like i've lost myself somewhere in the mix.

I left my heart in San Fransisco.
I left my head in 2008.

It's always difficult to lose a friend when it's a one sided falling out, and that's what has happened to me. Someone i considered a good friend, my best friend even, has dropped me like i'm hawt. Truth is, i think he's a bit lost himself, and i - through the sheer fact that i have been so close, available, willingly indulgent - seem to have become a bit of collateral loss. A friendship that went too far, got too intense and essentially, imploded. It's possible i wore him out. It's also possible he is just being a bit of a dick.

So what does every good woman do when they've been dropped (romantically or otherwise)? She turns on herself. And that's what i've done, oh boy... the last two weeks in my head have been a real party! I don't know if it's a party i've had to have - if fact, i'd probably have preferred to sit this one out, but it was a cracker, though i'm hoping the party's over now... all that remains is the red wine stains on the carpet, the cigarette ash on my coffee table and the half eaten kebab by my pillow (though secretly admit there's probably a lot more partying to be done).

Naturally, my instant reaction was to try and 'fix' things that had gone wrong. Blame myself, let others blame me, accept being yelled at, make excuses for those who don't deserve them, allow myself to be ignored and not only treated like rubbish once - but actually keep coming back for more! All in what is now obvious, a vein attempt to diffuse a situation. Calm things down, i thought, i'll stick up for myself later.

I never thought i could have stood for such treatment, to be honest... i've said it before - no middle, no half, no change of heart, people don't get many chances with me, however, a punishment must fit a crime and i kind of think with really good friends, i'm willing to give them a chance, time, whatever they need, if i've really annoyed them. And there's no doubt, in this situation, i really annoyed him. Whether he was justified in his reaction - well, it's subjective, but i don't think so. So i'm at the point now where i'm digging my heels in... how long am i supposed to persist for, in this situation?

After my return to Manchester, i faced a lot of questions from people at home, family and friends wanted to know what my plan was. Well, truth of the matter - there was no plan. I didn't know where i was going to live, if i was going to be able to get a job or how long i'd be staying for. These 'concerns' were aired in a ruthless manner - and not one to be told what to do by anyone, i completely withdrew to the point where i hadn't spoken to anyone from home, including my parents, until about a week or so ago.

These people are my friends. These people i ignored, the people who persisted in contacting me, the people who never stopped caring or worrying. These are my people, and van damn when it all turned to shit, if they weren't there for me. I guess what's most disappointing is that i thought he was one of those friends, not someone who was going to cause the anguish. Maybe i gave the friendship more credit than it deserved? Maybe he meant more to me than i ever meant to him?

So where am i left... i appear to be down one bezzie mate and suddenly have loads of time on my hands. Time to think (which is probably the last thing i should be doing) and i've forgotten what i used to do before my life became absorbed with this person. I used to read, i know that. And i believe i used to keep a blog. The blog i ignored, the blog that persisted in being the elephant in the room and the blog that never stopped caring or worrying!

I hope my friendship can be restored - i am hurt and i am angry, but i know i can get past those things at this stage. Above all, i miss my friend and want him back... but make no promises on this state of mind staying the way it is - i've not got much patience for being ignored and before too soon he may well end up with a brick through his front window.

It's nice to be back, bloggy.

2009-07-07T09:26:00.001+10:00

Tattoo Test

I'm very interested in tattoos. But I would never get one. I can't get one because I'm afflicted with a condition called 'change-mind-a-lot'. This condition seriously impairs my ability to make permanent decisions. I just don't like to commit (the only reason I got married was because my mum reassured me, "You can always get divorced if things don't work out." She knows.).

Anyway, I've been watching heaps of Miami Ink, LA Ink, and London Ink this weekend.

And now I really want a tattoo.

However, it's risky. I'm too fussy about lines and artwork and symmetrical positioning... I know if I got a tattoo it would be a disaster. The only way it would ever happen is if I could overcome the following issues:

1. I find an original design/drawing I really like and would be suitable for a tattoo. The test is if I decide I like it and then in six months decide I still like it (it has to be this long so I can work out if my tattoo choice is just a fashion-trend or not).

2. I can get some serious scientific proof that my tattoo will age well. I have freckly skin that burns and blotches easily. Not the best for long life tattoo clarity?

3. I find a great tattoo artist, or I learn to tattoo and do it myself. As someone who likes to draw a little bit, I don't really like the idea of someone else drawing on me. It would have to be an artist I really really really admire. Like maybe Manet. Or William Kentridge.

So, my tattoo is obviously not going to happen.

For example.

I saw this really cool tattoo on London Ink last night. A girl got her pet chickens tattooed on her arm. Which sounded weird at first, but the artist did a brilliant job. I was so surprised... he used this psychedelic coloring on a really stylized three-chicken design. I loved it.

But now, only twenty-four hours later my love is fading. It has no meaning (to me). It looks very nice, but not in a forever nice way.

My tattoo test for myself is to see if I still like this in six months time.

2009-07-06T05:31:00.002+10:00

The America In Me

It seems appropriate this 4th of July weekend to think about America from an egotistical point of view. How is this country is getting to me? How is this country getting into me? I’ve been living here almost a year now and, while my Aussie accent remains strong (Mum says so!), there are definitely a few areas I’ve compromised on.

So, to the list!

I am American because…
I say ‘cell’ phone.
I write the date backwards: 7/4/09 = 4th of July 2009
I’ve switched spelling (I did this one quick smart!)... ‘s’ to ‘z’, the archaic spelling for ‘color’ etc.
I’ve recently started adding the extra comma to separate list items (I don’t like doing this one, it just looks stupid… eg. Dot, Mars, Emo, and Sally had a big fight. However, this is the way they do it in America and I don’t want it to look like I cant grammar right.)
I wear ‘sweatpants’ and runners in public (I would never do this in Melbourne).
I like filter coffee better than espresso-based coffee.
I use expressions like “let’s make this happen” and “we need to motivate” (although I am being a little bit ironic when I do this).
I love bagels and cream cheese.
I read the New York Times and never even bother to check The Age online any more.

I am not American because…
I always convert the temperature to Celsius.
Measuring in inches and feet drives me nut (same with miles per hour).
I refuse to refer to anyone’s mother as ‘mom’.
I can’t write or speak about ‘our nation’. I’ll always say ‘in America’.
I will never go to the gym (I know people do this in Australia, but it’s a lot more popular in America).
I have no idea about all those M places (Minnesota, Missouri, Minneapolis). Where are they? Are they states or cities? Do people like living there?
I’m not afraid of the word ‘socialism’.
I still freak a little any time someone says to me 'God bless you' (and not because I just sneezed).

2009-06-26T10:40:00.002+10:00

Celebrity RIPs

Wow, I was just reading an article about Farrah Fawcett's fame. The journalist was really scrapping around trying to find 'highlights' in Fawcett's career. In the end the best she could say was, "Not all of her performances will stand the test of time, but what is worth remembering is how hard Farrah Fawcett tried."

Then my husband came home from work and asked me if I'd heard the big news.

"Farrah Fawcett died?" I guessed, half joking.

"No! Michael Jackson died," He replied.

"Wow!"

What is this feeling you have when someone really famous dies? It's like morbid excitement, and it's completely guilt free. Poor Michael, he was such weirdo, it's impossible to empathize with his life.

Although, Latoya will be sad. That makes me sad.

Anyway, there are a million things that can be said about Michael Jackson. I'm working reception at a law firm tomorrow, and I know what I'm going to be reading about all day...

Where does one begin to sum up his life?

2009-06-25T03:14:00.000+10:00

Are you there Brooklyn Museum? It's me, Dot.

The Brooklyn Museum's website is like water to my oil.

I've been trying for a year to access this website (not all the time, but once every couple of months) and my server just won't let me in. Very frustrating!

Can anyone else access it: http://www.brooklynmuseum.org/

I called up the museum to comment - because that's what I do these days - and the nice lady at the information desk told me no one had ever called up to complain about the website before. She thought I was some Luddite who didn't know how to use the internet and made me read out to her the exact web address I was typing in. w w w dot b r o o k etc.

What is going on? Is it just me, or does this website not work?

2009-06-17T08:22:00.002+10:00

No! Oh, no! It's not what you think! Noooo!

There must be a word of this feeling: when you have a delayed realization that somebody thinks you were doing something gross, which you weren't actually doing, but they've walked away from you thinking you were, and you suddenly realize what they must think, and you want to call them back and say, 'I wasn't just doing what you think I was doing!'

There must be a word for that.

For example.

I went to the laundromat today. I did a nice little half-load of laundry (it's good to be on top of these things and have your favorite underwear on stand-by for that last-minute job interview you get called in for...). Once everything was done I stuffed the clean clothes into my laundry bag. I never sort and fold at the laundromat because the lady who works at there doesn't like me, so I don't dilly-dally. These days I like to wash, dry, smash, grab, stuff laundry into mesh bag and run out.

On my way home I passed my favorite little wine store. It's one of those places run by a real New Yorker, who has been in the neighborhood forever. If a Wine Megamart ever tried to open next door, and put her out of business, the whole neighborhood would boycott Megamart, and then Hollywood would make a movie out of the boycott staring Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan.

I decided to go to Kathleen's Wine and buy a little something to go with dinner. I entered the store, which is really small, and put my laundry bag on the counter while I browsed. After selecting my wine I returned to the counter to pay.

Kathleen gave me a really icky look. I didn't understand why. She is normally super friendly, but today she was cold cold cold. I tried to engage her by making bland comment about the rain. But she ignored it!

In the end I just paid for the wine, grabbed my laundry and left.

It was only once I was out of the store that I realized that Kathleen thought I'd left my dirty laundry - in its see-through mesh bag, exposing a whole heap of colored cotton underwear - on her counter. No wonder she was dark at me.

I didn't just do what you think I just did! It was clean laundry!

Now the lady at the laundromat and Kathleen of Kathleen's Wines don't like me.

(See below for another example of that feeling you get when you realize somebody thinks you were doing something gross, which you weren't actually doing, but they've walked away from you thinking you were, and you suddenly realize what they must think, and you want to call them back and say, 'I wasn't just doing what you think I was doing!')

I am not an animal either!

2009-06-13T13:09:00.003+10:00

Blogging Fox News Style

Breaking News
I just realised the job application I sent out today began with the sentence, "I am wish to apply for the position of Administrator" Idiot! I don't deserve employment!

Latest News
My lovely neighbours - Enin and the French girl - have brought a massive new sound system for their teevee. Tonight they watching something that sounds like Jurassic Park. Every time a dinosaur takes a step my bedroom rumbles like I live next door to an elevated train line. Just like Elwood in the Blues Brothers, only his apartment was bigger.

Current News
I'm temping again as receptionist at the property management company. When I left the office today my supervisor said to me, "Good-luck kid!"

Not My News
Mars is back in Manchester. She returned briefly to Australia last month and decided it wasn't for her. After completing, what she describes as, 'the world's biggest u-turn', she is currently back in the UK working a (sort-of-legal) position on the phones. She'll probably yell at me for blogging this. However, I suspect she no longer even reads this blog... testing... testing... are you there Mars?

2009-06-05T05:23:00.008+10:00

I always knew those PETA people were stupid...

But it turns out they are also opportunistic, fundamentalist, heartless... blahs! I have no words.

Here's why:

PETA's latest ad campaign in Wichita seeks to capitalize on the shooting death of abortion doctor George Tiller in order to promote animal rights.

The bully brains of PETA's Wichita chapter are seeking to display billboards that urge both pro-choice and pro-life proponents to, simply, go vegetarian.

Here are the two ads:

Lindsay Rajt, the campaign manager for PETA, openly admits these ads were inspired by Tiller's death.

Rajt says, "While our hearts go out to the family and friends of George Tiller, we are hoping that these billboards will make those who are rightly shocked by his murder sit up and realize that behind closed doors, millions of animals are suffering every day, and that we as individuals can help to reduce the amount of violence and suffering in the world."

This group will do anything for attention.

We've all seen the ads of pretty celebrities posing nude for a cause, but other acts of ridiculousness PETA has stooped to included campaigning the town of Hamburg, New York to change its name to Veggieburg, and creating a 'Got Beer?' ad that encouraged college students to replace their milk mustaches with foam ones.

These campaigns are fluffy. They convey the idea that going vegetarian (or vegan, preferably) is a lifestyle choice. It is fun, and sometimes funny, and will make you feel good.

Yet, PETA have also constantly produced shock-material; the kind of ads that punch you in the face and scream, 'Murderer!'

In 2003, PETA held an exhibition 'Holocaust on a Plate' that juxtaposed images of people in concentration camps with pictures of animals on farms. In 2005, the 'Are Animals the New Slaves?' campaign compared images of slaves with chained animals.

How can an organization reconcile the meanings behind such overarching eclectic imagery? It's a mess. A moral mess of a message that comes out loud, shrill and stupefying:

Take your clothes off if you're sexy, don't wear fur and be sexy.
Fight for the rights of those who have been oppressed - the victims of war, slavery, labor abuse, discrimination - as embodied today by the little chickies.
Your fisherman Daddy is a murderer.
Your nostalgia for visiting the circus as a child is cruel.
Your abuse of alcohol is fine, just don't drink milk.

And now,

Your decision to have an abortion has nothing to do with the ethical treatment of animals. However, if you're feeling unsure you can ease your heart a little by choosing to be vegetarian.

Shut-up, PETA!!!!! Shut-up! Shut-up! Shut-up!

Shut-up and listen to me... I will neither 'choose' nor 'go' vegetarian. I have thought about it in the past (on grounds of the environmental damage caused by those farting cows) but now I won't. You've bullied me into stubborn irrationality.

PETA, you've yelled at people for too long. You've pranced around naked, making meat-eaters feel ugly and overweight. You hate us, yet you are obsessed with us. And now, you are daring to pull the memory of George Tillers into your self-righteous world.

GO AWAY PETA! Go and play with your baby kittens and your plastic sandals. Don't you dare turn the issue of abortion into a 'facade' for shock-tactic techniques that service your own agenda.

That's really... ah! Again, I have no words.

2009-05-30T02:44:00.007+10:00

I'm not doing it!

So, re: stupid interview for fake-job I didn't even want...

On Tuesday morning I sent a typically insipid email to Ms Manager saying, "I'm sorry I missed you again on Sunday. I'm still happy to meet you at the office. What time would suit you?"

Ms Manager replied immediately saying, "I have an appointment at 2pm on Friday. But I can meet you after at 4pm at the office."

Danger! Danger! It's Tuesday morning and she wants to set-up an interview for Friday afternoon? An interview directly after another appointment? All the signs suggested FLAKE-OUT potential was extremely high.

However, I replied, "Blah blah blah... great, see you then."

Then, today, Friday, at 1pm, Ms Manager called me. She said, "I am not going to office today. But you can meet me down stairs."

I said, "You mean downtown?"

She said, "Yes. At my apartment."

I said, "You know... I don't think I'm interested any more. This is becoming a little bit silly. Thanks for your time."

She said, sounding a little bit surprised, "Oh... okay."

I said, "Yeah. Thanks. Bye!"

THE END. NO MORE!

I don't care. I had just finished getting dressed and doing hair, make-up etc, and then to find out she didn't even BOTHER to open the office today. Well, I can't be BOTHERED going downtown.

My only regret is I didn't use stronger language when withdrawing my interest. "This is a little bit silly..."

Come on, Dot! Grow some George Costanzas.

2009-05-28T06:21:00.004+10:00

Latoya doesn't live here any more...

I got a new cell/mobile number about a year ago. It's about the fifth number I've had over the past eight years. I'm not precious about keeping old numbers and am quite happy to let them expire and die along with junky phones they inhabit.

However, a problem with having had so many phone numbers is they become quite difficult to remember. So, now, whenever I get a new one I like to ask for an "easy number". This means something with a sequence of repeating or patterning numbers. Obviously.

My latest number is great. It's all 6's and 4's and 3's and 0's. And that's all.

However, when I got my little Sim mate home and plugged him in I realized pretty quickly that T-Mobile had given me a recycled number. The phone immediately started ringing with people requesting to speak to Latoya.

Latoya.

At first I thought that setting up my voicemail and telling all unknown numbers that 'This is Dot' would get the message across. However, a year later, people are still ringing for Latoya.

It's sometimes annoying when Latoya's friends ring late at night. Which they do a lot. It's also frustrating when I see 'unknown number' and get excited thinking it's a potential employer, so I answer the phone in my most chirpy upbeat voice, only to hear a dial tone.

However. In general I am becoming more and more interested in the mysterious Latoya, and have collected clues trying to work out who she is. Let me paint a Latoya picture.

Firstly, you can guess what she looks like.

Peak Latoya

Next, I know that Latoya is very social because she gets calls all the time.

I know that it was Latoya's birthday last week. She got a text message from a cousin saying, "Happy 30 Birthday Cuz!"

I know that a lot of Latoya's friends don't speak English because sometimes when I try to explain - this is not Latoya's number! - they say something in Spanish and then hang up and then ring back and then hang up.

I know that one of Latoya's friends isn't very nice because he once left a message on my voicemail saying, "Latoya, ah wan' chew to get me some cigerettes." He's also not very smart because my voicemail clearly says, "Hi, you've called Dot..."

I know that Latoya may be involved with gangs because on Halloween last year I got a text message saying, "Warning. Don't go out tonight. Blood and Crips are having initiation."

So, that's the evidence.

And I am afraid I have come to the conclusion that Latoya was a prostitute and she is dead.

She gets so many calls from different people, at all times, that I'm guessing her number is listed somewhere for 'exotic services'. Also, I reckon that the bastard who wanted her to "get me some cigerettes" was her pimp. Who else would assume ownership of someone's services like that? Also, the Bloods and the Crips text implies she was close to/involed with very very scary crowds.

As for the 'happy birthday' message: that was from a mourning family member who shoots a text message into the void each year on Latoya's birthday. One for the homegirl...

Rest in Peace Latoya. You had an easy number, and now it's mine.

2009-05-27T02:15:00.003+10:00

Isn't is stupid that, at 28 years old, I am applying for internships?

If I had never left the wonderful country of Oz I would not be in this predicament. My career would, most likely, have started two years ago and continued on a straight and narrow path of increasing responsibilities, salary and fancy job titles.

However, I met an American man who tempted me to New York where I thought my good career could be made, like all American things, bigger, better and with more branding power.

Unfortunately there is 280 million extra people in America, and a Recession, and a way of doing things that I just can't get used to. Lots of people are giving me advice on how to get a job in These Competitive Times with ideas of 'find a mentor', 'exploit old contacts', 'use the side-door entrance', and always 'hustle hustle hustle'.

Brantley Foster shows us how to hustle and become a Carlton Whitfield

But, what if I don't have the charm and smirk to pull of a hustle? I'm more the stoic stuffy type; I can't 'sell myself', so instead I have this (deluded) idea that by writing a good application letter and backing it up with a solid resume, I should at least land myself a few interviews.

But it's never quite that straight-forward.

I had a job interview last Wednesday. The position was 'unpaid intern', which I normal don't apply for. However, the job description also mentioned, 'with potential for paid employment after two months in the position of Executive Assistant to the Director'. Haha. Such. A. Joke. What a tease! What a nasty sly mean low-down son of a... Slave labour! (BTW: This is the direction Australia was headed with Work Choices... your rights at work ARE worth fighting for!)

Anyway, it was my first interview since getting back from Australia (not including temp work) so I thought I should just go and at least try out a new 'job interview' outfit.

Except that when I got to the office for midday appointment it was closed.

I called and left a nice message on the answering machine, "Sorry to miss you... I assume there's been a misunderstanding... I hope I get the chance to meet you soon..."

Later that evening I got an email from the office manager apologizing for 'missing me'. She said she had to run out for an urgent appointment. Fine. Manager then suggested I could come for an interview 'Sunday at the office' or 'Monday at my apartment'. Both options seemed really weird. I opted for the 'Sunday at the office' rather than having to mess with a split-personility of being a friendly well-mannered guest and an enthusiatic proffessional applicant in her apartment.

So I went to interview on Sunday and found the office closed again.

I left another message on the office answering machine (with only a slight slight expression of my annoyance), "Sorry to miss you... I assume there's been a misunderstanding again... I hope I get the chance to meet you soon...".

When I got home I found an email waiting for me from the manager. She said she had been feeling ill and closed up the office early. She would be at home all Sunday evening and Monday and I was welcome to drop around if I had the time.

This is where I am now, and I'm not sure how to proceed.

There's so many things that are odd about this situation, yet who am I to criticise a potential employer? Although, it doesn't feel like I'm setting up a job interview any more, it feels like trying to arrange a time for a tea party with a flakey friend.

This company is obviously a joke. I recognize the sloppy style. Someone with a little bit of money is dabbling with their 'own business'. They've got the website and the office space set-up... but can't quite seem to get production moving (as this is when the real work is required). They are lazy and are doomed to fail.

However this doesn't necessarily mean they won't be good (short-term) employers. I have worked for dying companies before, and the dumb perseverance of some people to keep operations running, despite all lack of ability and network, can create great places for a 'young gun' to take on oodles of responsibly. Of course, I prefer to work for smart people, however the experiences of working in a stupid office can be very enlightening in a trial-by-fire kind of way.

Do I bother to reschedule interview? Do I want this ridiculous unpaid job? Can I afford to be fussy?

Can my self-esteem afford to sit interview and then not get job?

What would Carlton Whitfield do?

2009-05-27T01:29:00.002+10:00

Job list revised...

1. Apply for jobs (ongoing)
2. Find new apartment (for same or lesser rent yet with more space and natural light)
3. Laundry
4. Write great work of fiction
5. Email temp agency, "Hi, thanks for placing me at the blah blah assignment last week. I really enjoyed it and look forward to being placed at blah blah blah again."
6. Go for a run!
7. Email all those friends you barely have anymore because you hardly ever email them
8. Blog about something (other than this)
9. Re-order 'to do' list and with more realistic sense of priorities

Achieved over last four days...

1. Applied for internship (got a fab reference from ex-employer, now I'm just worried my essays on 'why I'd be a great intern for blah blah' weren't good enough...)
2. True Blood is available on Netflix... next in queue and I can't wait!
3. Chased up paychecks... $321 is all mine!

2009-05-20T08:51:00.002+10:00

The guilt list...

Dear Dot,
Stop wasting time roving all over the internet reading Wikipedia discussion pages and GET A MOVE ON WITH YOUR LIFE!
Love Dot
PS - I'm going to be checking up on your regularly, so you'd better achieve something.

1. Apply for jobs (ongoing)
2. Find new apartment (for same or lesser rent yet with more space and natural light)
3. Apply for the internship (the holy grail of all internships... it's a 12-month PAID one... application deadline 26th May... needs to be in post 25th May AT THE LATEST)
a.) Write three stupid essays
b.) Fill in application form and copy academic transcripts
c.) Get reference from old boss (most important!)
4. Write great work of fiction; semi-autobiographical, horror, comedy (mimic the character observations of Alison Lurie, the wit of Janet Evanovich, the imagination of Ursula Le Guin, the prose of Margaret Atwood and the commercial success of Stephanie Meyer)
5. Chase up paychecks... you are not working temp jobs solely for anthropological observations on the modern work place. NEED $$$.
6. Loose 2 kilos: 1 from stomach and 1 from bum
7. Email all those friends you barely have anymore because you hardly ever email them
8. Find way to watch first series of True Blood for free (library? Netflix?)
9. Re-order 'to do' list and with more realistic sense of priorities

2009-05-16T08:08:00.003+10:00

Friday afternoon drama (overheard from the reception desk...)

THE CAST
Harry: office slub, thirty-something, hapless...
Deb: office manager, late-twenties, not afraid to yell at someone, single
Tom: office goomba, late-twenties, single

ACT ONE

Harry: She sent me a text message saying, "Let's go to Blue Water Grill tonight." But I had just eaten a turkey burger for lunch and didn't feel like a big meal, so I wrote back to her and said, "Nah, I just had a big meal. Maybe we could do something 'lighter' and keep it low-key."

Tom: Wrong! Now she'll think you're cheap.

Harry: I'm not cheap, I just didn't want a big meal.

Tom: You didn't want to pay for another two big meals.

Harry: I'm not cheap! Anyway, so she texted me back and suggested another blow-out kind of restaurant. So I texted her and said, "I'm really not hungry. How about we meet at _____ [pizza place] in the East Village. If you don't like it we can go for a walk and find something else."

Deb: Uh oh. How did she reply?

Harry: She wrote to me and said, "The second date is all about ambiance. Simple is later in dating. Maybe another time. Bye."

Tom: She thinks you're cheap!

Deb: This is what girls want, Harry.

Harry: But she told me she ate Indian for lunch. What is she, a horse? She wants wine and steak after Indian for lunch? That's like 4000 calories a day!

Deb: But Harold, it's not about what you want. You're taking the girl out. It's not a mutual date.

Tom: Harry, you're becoming a weamb, know what that is? A woman inside a man's body.
Don't text her again. She's already pissed. Call her next week.

Harry: 4000 calories a day! I can't get over it. And really, 'simple is later in dating'? Who says?

Deb: The girl says. And she has a point.

ACT TWO

Blah, blah... 5pm and I went home.

I giggled so much overhearing the above exchange. Harry did seem like a bit of a cheapskate, it was obvious he didn't want to pay for his date's meal at an expensive restaurant. And Deb and Tom's theatrical reactions matched Harry's indignation.

However, as I wrote down the conversation (to email it to myself for blog fodder = nerd), I got to musing on the world of Tom, Deb and Harry and I think this conversation really showcases a uniquely American (New-York?), and also quite nasty, side of dating.

1. The guy will pay
It's nice if the guy pays. It's nice if the girl pays. But surely, particularly on the second date when you don't know the other person very well, you would just split the bill? Or, if things go well, one person pays and the other person says, "Thank-you, I'll buy next time."

2. "the second date is about ambiance"
Blegh! That could be a line out of Seinfeld. Or even Sex in the City. It's just so cheesy, and Harry's girl's idea of 'ambiance' seems so cliched; steak, wine and jazz. Why not just skip straight to the marriage proposal up the Eiffel Tower?

3. "it's not a mutual date"
And a girl said this! There really are girls out there who's definition of an ideal partner is "treats me like a princess". Who cares about the guy's personality? As long as he brings you flowers, compliments the colour of your lip gloss and agrees with everything you say then he's perfect.

4. a man trapped in a woman's body = a pathetic man
Poor men! Poor women! Of course, the foremost implication is women are inferior. However, how is a man supposed to respond? It's a trap, for a man to either agree or disagree with this analogy he is confirming it as valid, ie, 'Oh no, I'm a manly man, and I'll prove it but doing the exact opposite of what you think I'll do!" or 'Oh yes, I count calories and expect to go dutch on the bill, so I guess that means I'm effeminte and therefore quite effete and therefore a horrible being with no use on this planet by your implication...'

Dating? I don't think people in Australia 'date' as much as they do in America. It's more about an informal 'hook-up' between friends, rather than a staged outing with rules and regulations.*

Anyway, I might be completely naive, but I think I'll stick with one night stands and marriage.

______
*Actually, this could be why Australia has never really produced any meaty scripted teevee shows (eg. sitcoms or dramas) about 20 & 30 somethings just finding their way through relationships. There's just not enough dating convention for writers to explore? 'Secret Life of Us' is the best example I can think of... Or, maybe it is just an issue of money, and population size, and people prefering shows about hospitals and police stations and court houses.

2009-05-15T11:05:00.000+10:00

This is sort of funny if you've been sitting in a windowless room all day...

Someone just called the reception wanting the "complaints department". Before I even had a chance to transfer their call to 'viewer services' they were off on their rant:

Loyal viewer: Do you do the cooking show? And those home shows? Well, first I just want to say the candles along the wall were ridiculous. That's so dangerous! I can not believe you did that! Also, about the cooking show. When the hosts have the long hair and the cleavage... it's disgusting. It's dangerous and disgusting. You shouldn't be showing cleavage on a cooking show. It's not healthy. Also, I tried to find a phone number on your website and I couldn't. It's very difficult to understand.

Dot: Thank-you for your feedback.

Loyal viewer: So, can you tell someone what I just said?

Dot: You can tell someone yourself. I can transfer you to our-

Loyal viewer: Oh no, that's fine. Just so long as you tell someone. Thank-you, good-bye.

Dot: Okay, bye.

So, now I'm telling someone. I'm telling the blog-o-sphere, and the blog-o-sphere is going to take this information was say... WUUUAAAHHHHH. (That's my interpretation of hot air blowing around a desert.)

2009-05-15T09:06:00.006+10:00

Hello from the reception desk of a cable teevee network!

I was up for the challenge when I got the urgent call this morning for a last-minute job. My temp Counselor was quite dramatic, "This is your mission, if you choose to accept it..." And I was all, "I'm on the job! You can count on me!"

Dress code: "It's a very relaxed office, so you can dress casual. In fact, they'll look at you funny if you show up with a blazer or suit jacket. Of course, no jeans."

No jeans, no blazer, no suit jacket... didn't leave me many options. Blazer with jeans is my definition of 'office casual'. So, I ended up having to flip the outfit and wear suit pants with a cardi. Boring!

However, when I arrived at the office I found I fit right in. Everyone here is dressed in the black pants and cardi look. Many of them have slobbed it down even further with white sneakers (I'm sure they have their work shoes sitting under their desks, they just don't bother swapping over). It's quite disappointing. I was really expecting the world of cable teevee to be more glamorous... Unfortunately, it's more Wayne's World.

And then...

The fashion police rang: Marc Jacobs!

It was very exciting.

Here's what happened:

Marc: Hi, this is Marc Jacobs. Can I please speak to blah blah?

Dot: I'm sorry, who?

Marc: Blah Brown.

Dot: I'm sorry, did you say Mar... Brown?

Marc: No, Mar-gar-et Brown.

Dot: Oh! Sure, one moment I'll transfer you...

[I put Marc Jacobs on hold and searched frantically through staff lists. I couldn't find Margaret Brown anywhere. I returned to Marc.]

Dot: Hello, are you still there?

Marc: Yes.

Dot: I can't find Margaret Brown on my staff list. Which office does she work in?

Marc: She works in the interactive division.

Dot: Okay, one moment...

[I put Marc on hold again and called the office manager.]

Dot: Deni, I've got Marc Jacobs on hold and he wants to speak to Margaret Brown and I can't find her extension anywhere!

Deni: He wants Margaret Braun.

Dot: Ohhhhh, thanks.

[I returned to the man of patience]

Dot: Hello? Sorry for the wait, I'll transfer you now.

Marc: Wait!

Dot: Yes?

[I got all excited thinking Marc Jacobs wanted something from me...]

Marc: Can you please give me Margaret's direct line?

[I was sad to realise Marc wanted to bypass reception (and me) forever with Margaret's direct line.]

Dot: Sure. It's XXX-XXX-XXXX. I'll transfer you now.

Marc: Thank-you.

Goodbye Marc! I wanted to tell you that I brought a little Marc Jacobs knit sweater from ebay one time. It's blue with a patchwork design in pastel pink and yellow. My husband hates when I wear it with high-waisted jeans and pink cowboy boots, but I know that you'd appreciate it. I love you, Marc.

I was actually gmail chatting with Mars with Marc rang. Her response was typical, "Ask him if it's Marc for Marc Jacobs." Har-dee-har. Mars didn't even believe it was the Marc Jacobs. But surely it was. If you had the same name as someone famous you wouldn't just go around announcing yourself without explanation, would you? "Hi, this is George Bush, can I please speak to someone in advertising?"

Anyway, I type this at 1.30pm. Four hours to go. I think my day has peaked and it's all downhill from here...

Mr Patience and his most favourite receptionist at the "The Model as Muse" gala at the Costume Institute of the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

2009-05-14T03:10:00.002+10:00

NYC Temping Minefield

Back in New York. Unemployed and without funds. Once again, I've turned to temp employment to get me through this rough patch. And by 'rough patch' I mean 'nothing new in the career department'.

I've never been the temp in New York before. Generally my temp periods have come while in Australia trying to raise money for overseas trips. So temping has been a means to a $2000 plane ticket. This time, however, I'm the temp without a goal beyond the short-term feeding and clothing myself, which adds (subtracts?) a whole new level of shit-kicker to (from?) this practice.

Anyway, first assignment - hello from the reception desk of one of New York's largest property management companies! It's one of those reception desks that is downstairs in a lonely lobby, while all the real staff have offices upstairs. It's a plush place; leather couches, textured wallpaper and a curved staircase. Only, because this is the scumbag property scene of New York City, everything is done in miniature to save space. The lobby is about as big as a small single bedroom, there is no window and the ceiling is only 7 foot high, so I kind of feel like I'm sitting at a reception desk in the bowels of a luxury cruise liner.

Ahoy there, desperate renters of New York! Are ye looking for a land-lubbing bargain... argh, ye won't be findin' it here with prices starting at $2000 a month.

(The pirate talk is because pirates sometimes take holidays on the Superstar Gemini, you know, to have a break from the the looting and raping and visit some of the most enchanting destinations in the Asia-Pacific.)

Reception is one of my favourite temp jobs because:
a) I get to work autonomously, and
b) I generally get to play on the internet between phone calls.

Reception is also the temp job I'm worst at because:
a) I suffer from mild phone anxiety which means I panic slightly every time the phone rings
b) I'm useless at phone switchboards (I get "You just hung up on me!" as least few times a day), and
c) I have this strange Australian accent that some American's find incomprehensible

That's my job in a nutshell. It's only for a few days, then next week I'm going to be a 'line monitor' at a stationery trade show.

Hopefully I'll get to meet Michael Scott!

__________

NB: Mars is currently on long-service leave from the blog. She should be back in a few weeks after major life re-arrangement. Or, she may 'choose life' and jump ship altogether... and sail off to enchanting destinations in the Asia-Pacific.

2009-04-14T16:33:00.002+10:00

Dear Mars,

Are we still bloggers? Just wondering.

I'm going to be in Melbourne until the 2nd of May. When do you get back? This is not long enough to see you, is it? Well, like I said before I'm leaving TWO presents for you at my sister's house. One is something you can sit on and the other is something you can put things in. I hope these presents will be enough to maintain our fragile relationship.

I hope I'm not being insensitive again.

Luff Dot xx

PS - Bloggers roam the world! I just got back from a weekend in Sydney where I ran into Audrey Apple on a ferry (who normally lives in Adelaide) then at Melbourne airport I ran into Kiki (who normally lives in Perth). AND I think I may have been sitting next to Perez Hilton on the bus to Southland today.

2009-03-13T19:29:00.005+11:00

= ME

Can't blog.
Too busy looking at view.
Most beautiful country on earth.
Arnhem Land in wet season.
How did I end up here?
Little-bit long-story.

2009-03-08T00:35:00.001+11:00

Jade Goody.

England is obsessed with this individual at the moment... and so am i. Apparently she's going to die at any moment, which while tragic because of her age, actually doesn't afford me any particular sympathy toward the woman. In fact, i am having an extreme reaction towards her... while Sun readers 'leave Jade their special words of support', i sit back and vomit in my mouth.

The first problem i have with Jade Goody is that she shouldn't be famous in the first place. She is in my opinion, a vulgar human, and just because she's now terminally ill, doesn't really change that. If anything, it's actually accentuating her thorough vulgarity.

The fact that i even know what she's doing in these, 'her last weeks', is absolutely horrible. I can't understand why she doesn't have a bit of dignity and keep to herself about the matter. I dunno what she thinks, maybe that she's doing the world a favour 'raising awareness' about cervical cancer, and perhaps she is... but i doubt she's raising awareness so much as she's raising her bank balance. I mean, she admits she's selling her story to who ever will buy it in order to provide for her sons, but honestly... you really can't put a price on dignity, can you? What kid wants to grow up knowing that their mother basically sold herself while she was dying?

Fair enough, sell your wedding photos... if some one's dumb enough to buy them, fair dues. But honestly, baptising seven and five year old children is pretty weird... but have yourself baptised as well? Talk about covering all bases. And why, for the love of god, when it's still really quite cold in England, she's traipsing around Essex with no hat on that bald head of hers, is beyond me.

Vulgar in life, as well as near death... i don't know what more you'd expect i suppose. So i don't really have much sympathy for her, it is sad for those two kids, but honestly... what memory of herself is she leaving for them?

2009-03-04T10:28:00.007+11:00

There's a show on over here called Supersize vs Superskinny. Basically, they get a fatty and a skinny together, have them mincing around in some beige, baggy underwear and we all sit back and think how disgusting the fatty is. The premise of the show is that the fatty and skinny swap the meals they would normally eat for five days... the skinny moans about never being able eat all that food and the fatty waddles around talking about lap-band surgery.

Anyway, the point of this post wasn't necessarily to rant about the show and its 'point, laugh and pity the fatso' mentality...it's something even more disturbing, to be honest.

The opening credits of the show have all these bodies, fat and skinny, divided into three sections, spinning around making odd looking torsos. You never see the head of the body, and you never see any cock and/or balls, just some boobs (man or woman), some guts and a blurred out vadge.

QUELLO CHANNEL FOUR?

Please, a real vadge, or no vadge.

Let's face it, we're lead to believe a vadge is ugly, so best keep these things behind a fuzzy blurred pen and continue to make out (as we have been doing for at least the last 50 years) that we all look like Barbie dolls.

Not cool.

2009-03-04T10:07:00.006+11:00

I went to see a game show filmed. It was the greatest waste of three hours of my life.

But at least i got on teevee.

2009-02-24T04:56:00.004+11:00

Okay, less emo, more lists...

This is the list of things i want to see and do before i leave England...

Stonehenge
See my cousin's new baby in London
Caverns in the Peak District
Go to Wales... maybe Llandudno or maybe Snowdon
Yorkshire Dales
Visit my friend in Durham
Visit the walled cities of York and Chester
See a football match
Lyme Hall
Stockport air raid shelters
Undergroud tunnels of Manchester
Manchester cathederal
Whitby Abbey
Lakes District... maybe Windemere

I think that's pretty much it. What can i say, i am a nrrrrd and England still has a lot to offer me. Am sure i've missed a castle or two off the list... And only eight more weekends left to go...!

2009-02-23T10:20:00.004+11:00

Shades of grey
Do not exist
You're in my life
Or on my list
There is an on
There is an off
But what there's not
Is moderation
What there's not
Is selfish behaviour
What there's not
Is room for error
What there's not
Is anything other than
Black...
Or white

It's up
It's down
It's side to side
No middle
No half
No change of heart
I'll tell you once
You're in
Or you're out
You're for or against
No room for movement
No compromise
It's clear as day
There are no...
Shades of grey

2009-02-17T16:21:00.001+11:00

Hello Melbourne!

PS - Mars, I hate the new template. Can we please have black writing on white background at least?

2009-02-12T15:01:00.001+11:00

Goodbye New York...

2009-02-05T12:17:00.011+11:00

Why can't I be someone's protege?

What I really feel like right now is a good mentor. Or a role model. Or even just the privilege of being in the same room as someone who is really really smart.

Anyway, fake job (my so-called "internship") isn't going too well. It didn't get off to a great start with me deciding on the first day that everyone who worked at YYY Gallery was fairly not-smart. I know, this negative, judgmental, snot of an attitude will get me nowhere. But seriously, friendly but dumb.

The second thing I don't like about this fake job is that I'm not really needed. I keep running out of things do.

So the not-smart and the free-time combined has lead me to start snooping around the office. My favourite form of entertainment so far is reading through the sent email box. See below for an example of the kind of genius thinking that goes on in YYY Gallery.

. . . . I was looking at the website for the XXX Company and noticed that you have some artifacts and works from China. YYY Gallery has an exhibition up presently of two Chinese artists, Liu Jing and Li Qian. These two artist come from the Xinjiang province where they learned tribal dances, oral stories and carving. Liu Jing and Li Qian took these stories and dances and created pictorial documentation of their culture. These monumental linocuts are unrivaled in any culture of the world. Liu Jing created a 20 foot long linocut and Li Qian has created a number of large works including a 16 foot long work. Unfortunately I will not be able to send you images of the long works because email limits the amount of mega bites and reducing the images does not do them justice but I am sending some other works for you to get an idea. We have a catalog if you would be interested in seeing them all. The catalog has each image with its tribal story as well as background on each of the artists and their land. I am attaching a few images as well as the stories that go with them and the press release from the show here at the gallery.

Firstly no, I do not work in a Nigerian advance-fee fraud office. This email may sound like it was written by Mrs Mariam Abache, widow of the late Nigerian Head of State, General San Abacha, but it was not.

How many things are wrong with this email? Let me list the ways...

* The 'space, space, space, space, space' for a line-indent.
* The artists are described like singing, dancing monkeys, "Sing tribal songs, dance savage dances..."
* Mega bites? I took a mega bite of my sandwich and it was yum!
* Short sentences that still manage to sound awkward, "I am attaching a few images as well as the stories that go with them and the press release from the show here at the gallery."
* Long sentences that sound like rambling excuses, "Unfortunately I will not be able to send you images of the long works because email limits the amount of mega bites and reducing the images does not do them justice but I am sending some other works for you to get an idea."
* Even the double-space after each period annoys me!

The person who wrote this email is my superior. They earn money and have a job title that does not contain the word 'assistant'.

I'm thinking of going back to Australia for a little bit. Unemployment is taking the fun out of New York, and Melbourne's record-breaking heat wave is sounding quite nice from this grey slushie perspective.

_________________
PS - Mars, can you please start blogging again?

2009-01-29T10:38:00.002+11:00

The blog must go on... (despite a TERRIBLE template that has ruined everything!)

Job hunt continues. I applied for 7 real and 4 fake jobs last week. 'Real' means it's working for a company that pays you money. 'Fake' means it's working for a company that used to pay someone money but, when the economy died, fired this person and is now trying to hire an unpaid intern to do their job.

I only apply for intern positions for the sake of applying for something. It keeps me off the streets.

Yesterday, surprise, 3 of the intern companies contacted me to schedule interviews. Sigh... I'm too old to be the intern! It's embarrassing! However, I've done internships in the past that have led to employment, and being the intern is better than being the girl who watches Buffy the Vampire Slayer all day on teevee.

I went to one of these interviews today. And, surprise, I got the (fake) job.

I'm going do it. I've even a little bit excited to do it. It's just a shame my amateur career (real ladies don't make money from their hobbies) is not sustainable beyond a few months.

Meanwhile, just a minute ago, I got an email from one of the companies I applied for a 'real' job at. They want to know what my salary requirements are. I know this game. It goes:

1. 200 people apply for a job.
2. 20 people are asked what their salary requirements are.
3. 2 people are asked in for an interview (the 2 people with the most 'competitive' requirements).
4. 1 person is given a job (the better dressed person and/or the person with the least offensive Facebook profile pic).

I've actually made it to level two. Yippee. But progressing to level three is really hard. I need to think up the most realistically horrible salary. Not too high. But it can't be too low, or they will think I'm pathetic; Dear Mr Man, I'm willing to work for you for $2 an hour because my passion to work in the arts it what drives my ambition to strive for the best and contribute to a company that improves humanity's lot on this wretched planet and if I can be part of that then, well, that's a way of achieving immortality and that's enough reward for me, Sincerely Ms Suck.

I know, I know... how is this different from interning for free? Because interning is honest. And you don't pay tax on honesty.

$25,000 a year?

2009-01-26T22:29:00.000+11:00

Dear Dot,

Have we really been keeping this blog four years?

Sincerely,
Mars

2009-01-24T17:50:00.003+11:00

Dear Mars,

I've taken the opportunity, while you're in Spain with another blogger, to change the template. Please don't yell at me.

Love,
Dottie

2009-01-23T05:33:00.005+11:00

I went to the weirdest job interview yesterday.

The position I interviewed for has the ridiculously inflated title of 'Junior Executive Project Coordinator'. Let me translate:

Junior, means you don't get paid very much.
Executive, means despite earning minimum wage you still have to wear business attire.
Project, means you are responsible for everything in the office that requires some effort.
Coordinator, means you are accountable when things go wrong.

I won't say the company's name because there's a very very very small chance I'll get a job there. However, it was predictably pretentious, so for the sake for this post I'll call it 'Gold A'.*

I checked out the gallery's website before heading to the interview. I was a little bit dubious about a company that describes itself as a "premier vanguard gallery established in direct response to the discerning taste of the sophisticated collector, searching to discover foremost avant-garde contemporary artists who will be the trailblazer masters of the twenty first century..." etc etc. Aye carumba!

Also, having seen the artists represented by the gallery I didn't have high expectations for Gold A. Although, I did still believe it was a legitimate gallery existing in real time.

Upon arriving at Gold A for the interview (on time!) the first thing that hit me was the smell. Dusty, musty, warm, stuffy... I got a flashback to my grandma's living room. It was nice. Then I took in the furnishings and realised I really was standing in my grandma's living room; pastel upholstered chairs and dark-wooden sideboards lined all the walls. There was a giant Franco Cozzoesque dining set in the middle of the gallery, and sitting upon every flat raised surface were dried flower arrangements in ugly vases and collectible dolls.

The strangest thing was this entire gawdy tableax was arranged in a typical Chelsea gallery white-cube space. If you looked closely enough there were even a few paintings hanging on the walls. Like a real gallery or something.

I was standing stunned in the doorway when two life-size dolls drifted up to me and introduced themselves as the owners of the gallery.

"I am Captain John William Edward Crossmarch III, but that's a bit of a mouthful so you can just call me Captain," Said the 60-year old man dressed up in a Scottish Military uniform, complete with kilt and sporran. "This is my wife, Miss Janie Crossmarch. You may call her Miss Janie." Miss Janie was a plastic (surgery) faced woman wearing theatrical makeup and wig of giant bleached blond curls.

"Hello Captain and Miss Janie," I just started playing along, "It's lovely to meet you."

The interview began. I sat at the 'Grand sale! Grand sale!' table** and spoke about my experience working in galleries and the skills I could bring to Gold A. It was a remarkably straight-forward interview considering I was talking to a life-size little bo peep Barbie (while Military Ken hovered in the background).

After the interview Miss Janie asked me to email her a list of all my computer skills and we could then "take it from there". I suspect Miss Janie doesn't really do computers and is looking for someone to take dictation for her. Fine, fine, whatever.

The strange thing is I actually believe I could work at Gold A.

I'd look at it like a career break so I could play imaginary for awhile. It would just be a matter of getting into the right mind-set in order to enjoy the 'make believe'. I would obviously need a name (Miss Dottie?) and costume (sexy scullery maid?) and perscription (valium?) and, voila, employment!

I'm willing to do what it takes to get a job in this city.

___________________

*This is also a tribute to the only gallery in Melbourne that advertises on late night tv, the wonderful Silver K.
** People not from Melbourne can see here for my stylistic reference. Another late night advertising favourite.

2009-01-22T08:32:00.004+11:00

Before i went to visit Dot in NYC, she tried to warn me about the cold.

"It's cold here in NYC, make sure you bring a coat..."
"Yeah, i know cold" says i... "Manchester's no Jamaica"
"Hmm, but it's really cold. And the heating in our apartment isn't so good..." she persists with this warning.
"I get it Dot, cold. We've got cold here too"
"But no, i'm not sure you understand how cold it is. So make sure to pack warm..."
"Okay Dot..."

Went to NYC - still cold, colder than Manchester but i will not be out-done with talks of -12 degrees and snow cover twelve inches thick. So i've created here, an ode to Manchester's snow.

Snow: The Movie

2009-01-21T05:36:00.003+11:00

We, the people! Huzzah!

Obama's kids are so cute.

Michelle Obama looked lovely. Although, I think Jill Biden is pretty stylish too... there's something more unique about her. I think it was the knee-high boots.

White people like cowboy hats, black people like fedoras.

Obama was adorably nervous, stumbling over his lines when he was sworn it. He is normally so well-spoken, it was nice to get a glimpse of this human side.

I like Hillary Clinton's super happy enthusiastic face. She looks kind of childish. She does it a lot. (See here.)

Big George Bush is getting quite old and stiff. It's deceptive because he still has a decent hair of hair with a fair bit of brown in it, however he's walking very slowly. On the other hand, Little Jimmy Carter seems in good shape.

I don't like those Bush twins. Don't trust them.

I really liked Dr Lowery's speech. It felt more natural than Obama's.

President Obama is left handed just like me.

Goodbye Bush!

2009-01-20T13:16:00.005+11:00

I swear to god I just remembered...

Today is my wedding anniversary! And there's only two and a half hours of it left.

Just called Blane to see if there was any chance of him coming home before midnight so we can celebrate together. He says not. Oh well.

So what are you supposed to give your partner for the second anniversary? I remember it's paper for the first. Cardboard for the second? My love is certainly becoming less pliable and slightly corrugated... Weird.

Anyway, I did have a good day. After I stopped sulking over the library being closed (yet before I remembered it was my anniversary) I went for a walk in Central Park. Here is what I saw...

The place where they dance in the film 'Enchanted'.

The view that always pops up in films set in New York, just to establish it's a film set in New York.

This one is hard to see, but it's actually children skating renegade on the Conservatory Water pond. This is the place where they sail electric boats in Summer. The kids have swept a section of the ice clean of snow and are skating. For free! Screw you Mr Trump and your stupid ice rink with rules and rock music. These kids are so clever.

Maybe I should have a baby?

2009-01-20T07:24:00.000+11:00

As the end of my legally allowable time here in the UK looms, i have done a bit of a panic upon the realisation that i'll be leaving this isle in about 14 weeks. Thusly, i have begun to create a list of things i must see and do before i leave, in an attempt to make the most of the time (particularly the weekends), i have left.

Today i trundled off on the tram and took myself somewhere i've been meaning to go to for months, ludicrous that i've not been before now considering its proximity to my general self; The Lowry. And it wasn't what i thought it was going to be.

I thought it was going to be more art gallery, less outlet shopping centre/entertainment complex. All that was missing was a Pizza Hut and Time Zone. Anyway, there was a gallery amongst all that guff and as the name would suggest, the main focus was on the work of LS Lowry, a local(ish) artist of last century. To be honest, i found most of his work a bit blah... maybe because there is still so many of them around? Maybe because i've seen lots of it printed on postcards/tea towels/neck ties etc before, so that the originals are now unimpressive? I don't know. The main gallery space, which was pretty big, at least four rooms, was dedicated to Lowry's work, and to that of a photographer who works around a similar area to places Lowry used to paint.

Anyway, interesting enough fellow, probably a bit of an odd-bod, but without doubt one of the north-west's most celebrated artists of his time.

In the other exhibition space, which they called 'the Promenade' was the works of six Guardian staff reporters over the last 100 years. Which was amazing. All black and white photos, they weren't necessarily all taken in Britain but the fair majority were... one that struck me the most was an image by Don McPhee taken during a miners strike in the 80's.

The summer of 1984 and the Miners Strike witnessed some of its most violent scenes as battle lines were drawn between the police and pickets at the Orgreave coking plant near Sheffield, South Yorkshire. The police removed their shoulder identification numbers and blocked off the plant's entrance as up to 5,000 pickets lined up on an adjacent field to try to stop two lorry convoys leaving the plant One picket wearing a toy policeman's helmet strolled across to the massed ranks of police and exchanged banter, before the lines parted, and mounted police charged through with batons raised up the field.

This picture has been reproduced and printed directly on the wall and it was enormous, the detail captivating. Now i know i usually keep the art talk to Dot, but i've been to my fair share of galleries over the years and a couple of things were glaringly obvious to even me, about this exhibition... For an exhibition i found far more interesting than the main focus of the gallery, i thought it was put is a really poxy pokey space, with crap lighting. The pictures were all hung really low in what i thought was a kind of cluttered way, which was a shame because in my opinion, each picture really did justify its own space. I still enjoyed it though, and would definitely recommend a look-see.

Anyway, typically i'm very late late with my 'discovery' of Don McPhee and almost certainly the last person jumping on the bandwagon... especially now that he's dead. Further research tonight tells me that the writer over at Mancubist was also a fan, so it's kinda nice to know that i'm looking in the right places and finding the best Manchester has to offer...

Tune in next week for tales and discoveries of Manchester's underground tunnels and canals!

2009-01-20T06:11:00.004+11:00

What's the worst thing about being unemployed?

Public holidays.

Because everything is shut and everyone is out there walking around, with such smug looks on their faces, on my time.

Martin Luther King Jr., you really messed up this time.

Dot, I'm sorry but civil rights are more important than a library being open.

2009-01-19T06:57:00.005+11:00

I'm a housewife... Get me out of here!

2008 was my big year. I finally moved to America (yay, green card!) and finally started working full-time (yay, earning minimal wage in the most expensive city in the world!).

I was magnificent!

Unfortunately 2009 has taken a turn for the worst. On the 5th of January I became a victim of downsizing. That's right, the economy got me.

It's a condition of my green card that I can't become a "ward of the state", ie. get the dole, so it's really really important that I find another job. This is very hard as my desired field (gallery/arts administration) is firing EVERYONE and replacing them with unpaid interns.

It hasn't taken long for me to fall into the cycle:

I spend most of the day in the house (it is -12C outside!).
I only ever leave to run errands (thank god for the supermarket, library and laundromat).
I clean a lot because it makes me feel productive.
I obsess over interior design (Mars, you should see what I've done with the lounge room!)
I cook special meals (because husband coming home for dinner is social highlight of the day).
I drink on my own (because husband never comes home in time for dinner).
I've been thinking about baby names I like.
I really really feel like a cigarette.

How did it come to this?

2009-01-18T04:55:00.003+11:00

Disaster struck this morning.

I washed all my clothes last night and set the dryer off before I went to bed but, predictably, when I woke up this morning, stuff all still damp. So I had to dry my jeans off with the hair dryer, but I didn't have enough time so.........wet bum.

2009-01-12T10:38:00.005+11:00

What do you do when you find yourself not actually wanting to live anywhere.

Don't get me wrong - it's not that i don't want to live... i just don't know where to live. I wouldn't mind staying in England, but pretty soon i wont be able to. Besides that, i'm increasingly feeling like this whole expedition has come very close to having run its course.

And i don't particularly want to live in Australia either. In fact, i would even go as far as to say that i actually don't want to live in Australia, it just happens to be the place where i was born. This last week, while i've begun to make arrangements for my imminent arrival home, i have again realised why it was i left.

So to this end - where in the world now?

Furthermore, i wanna know where my fucking husband is. I'm sick of waiting and i need him now to start my own, new, better, less thoroughly shit, family.

FUCKING HURRY UUUUUUUUUUUUPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

2008-12-31T09:01:00.005+11:00

The one good thing I have to say about Middle America...*

Just got back from two weeks in Middle America. It was nice to get out of New York and do some house-time; watching tv, sitting in front of a fake fireplace, playing with a real dog, being fed too much by mother-in-law, saying 'Amen' a lot and not meaning it... Still, as much as I love the mountains of Middle America and am happy the former red state recently turned blue, that's not enough for me to ever ever ever ever ever ever consider moving to the land of bible-bashing conservative bigoted blobs of blah!

There are lovely people in Middle America. And I feel kinda guilty hating on them collectively because I met many individuals who said they were praying for me. Still, as a mass the people of this little-big-town are a narrow-minded bunch who love to hate on the homeless, yet pity the "working poor". They think environmentalists are "radically liberal", and yet owning a gun keeps you grounded. They drive big trucks and fight over the difference between a 'jeep' and an 'SUV'. They... They...

Okay, I'm generalising a lot. However, to understand the special place the man I married grew up in I'll point out a few city-defining landmarks:

The United States Olympic Training Center: Nothing offensive about sports and patriotism.

United States Airforce Academy, and numerous airforce and army bases: Lots of shaved-headed military men (and women) hanging about the mall. When our flight arrived the flight attendant actually made the announcement, "Welcome home all returning servicemen! Please everyone give them a round of applause!" Of course 'Support Our Troops' bumper stickers are a favourite in town.

The New Life Church: Evangelical Christians love to love Middle America, and this megachurch (with more than 10,000 members) represents the biggest and the best of the happy-clappers in town. In 2007 the founder of this Church, Ted Haggard, was exposed as having enjoyed the services of a male escort for the past three years. He also liked doing meth. He resigned.

NORAD: A 'secret' bunker built in Cheyanne Mountain during the Cold War. This is where the president will hang-out when the nuclear apocalypse happens. This is also where the film 'War Games' was set.

Gosh, gosh, gosh... JESUS, OH MY GOD. I never say 'fuck' and I rarely say 'shit', so it was quite difficult being in a place where my strongest profanities - God, Jesus, Goddamn, Jesusbutt - were actually a lot more offensive than normal.

Anyway, Middle America sucks. I'm home.

Jesusbutt to the stinking selfish right-wing gun-crazy loons of America! And happy new year NYC and Mr Obama!

_______
* A magnum of Yellowtail in Middle America costs ten bucks! Value.

2008-12-29T11:43:00.000+11:00

2008-12-19T05:52:00.003+11:00

Dot and Mars: Reunion Special

It's been over a year and a couple of oceans since i last saw Dot, until this week. That's right - against any good reasoning or advice given to me about perhaps not putting a holiday to New York on a credit card; here i am.

Seeing Dot again was like seeing your mum. You're always really happy to see your mum, but it never takes very long to start getting annoyed by her and snappy, remembering why you ran away to a new land in the first place... aw, no that's not entirely true. I guess there's a certain familiarity Dot and i have with each other which makes it acceptable to give each other a death stare, an exasperated sigh, a passive aggressive comment or a scathing snap.

And as i sit here in Dot's apartment, listening to Dot's music, typing on Dot's computer, reflecting on a brilliant five days in New York City... i really am glad that although the last year has bought us such different experiences, and we haven't been particularly diligent in keeping in touch, i am fairly confident that our friendship hasn't really suffered for it.

So thanks for having me Dot - i hope one day soon i can return the favour!

2008-12-09T06:20:00.004+11:00

Oh Internet!

It has happened again, and i've found myself living with yet ANOTHER fucking moron. After living with four certifiable morons earlier this year (which i really didn't have the energy to write about), i have moved into a flat with another special individual.

This individual was born a Catherine, but since changed her name to something thoroughly ridiculous, so ridiculous that i actually can't even call her by that name and instead just begin conversation with her, or refer to her as 'my housemate' or 'LL'.

Before i moved in here, i obviously came to meet LL and have a look around... saw the flat, reasonably priced and in the presitgous M1 postcode, 10 min walk to work and into town... i could have been living with rats and i still would have wanted to move in. When i met LL, she told me she had ME. Not having much knowledge of ME, i didn't think it'd be that much of an issue to me, so didn't really give it another thought.

I've been here two months now, and honestly came into this whole scenario with an open mind. I didn't really know what ME was, how it effected people or to what extent. I have read a bit (ok, i read wikipedia) about it on the internet, and now understand. I know it's a legitimate illness and that suffers are given a hard time and told they have 'yuppie flu' and such. That said, i think i have moved in with the most indulgent sufferer of ME ever. This individual does nothing to help her cause, and it's starting to effect my lifestyle.

She is also a lesbian. Which is fine, again, not something which would effect me. But she's one of those annoying individuals which let one certain characteristic define their personality. Like people with really really long hair - it's always something they are insanely proud of, a talking point and it becomes a defining part of their persona. Anyway, i find LL a really annoying lesbian, in that ALL her friends are also lesbians. WHY? It's just annoying. All the books she reads and movies she watches are, i dunno, gay. So you root women? Big deal! Get another fucking interest!

Anyway, so now i've introduced you to this 'character' you will have to stay tuned for more fun stories about LESBIAN PARTIES IN MY HOUSE ALL FUCKING NIGHT WHEN I HAVE TO WORK THE NEXT DAY. Etc and so forth.

2008-12-08T06:45:00.002+11:00

Dear Mars,

So you're too good for the Lion King? Maybe Audrey and I will just see it without you then. I'm not ashamed to admit I like Disney mush, puppets and Elton John.

Anyway, I still think we should see a 'show' so I've done some research into Mars-friendly productions. Please take your pick:

Equus (Broadway)
Daniel Radcliffe takes his clothes off and dry humps a real horse. And it's got Rachael Griffiths in it!

All My Sons (Broadway)
I saw John Lithgow in the supermarket last week, and now we can all see him in this 'bold, modern and emotionally wrenching' (TimeOut New York) melodrama. And it's got a 'somewhat stiff' Katie Holmes in it!

Hairspray (Broadway)
A bold, modern and emotionally wrenching examination of racial segregation in 1960s Baltimore.

Billy Elliot (Broadway)
It's got the drama and the dance.

Spring Awakening (Broadway)
This is my pick. A musical about sex in 19th century Germany. How can that be? The New York Times explains:

...in exploring the tortured inner lives of a handful of adolescents in 19th-century Germany, this brave new musical, haunting and electrifying by turns, restores the mystery, the thrill and quite a bit of the terror to that shattering transformation that stirs in all our souls sometime around the age of 13, well before most of us have the intellectual apparatus in place to analyze its impact. “Spring Awakening” makes sex strange again.

I'm still having trouble imaging it, which is why I want to see it.

The Nutcracker (New York City Ballet)
A revolting show about a Mouse King who eats toy soldiers with a nutcracker.

Don Giovanni (The Met Opera)
Don Giovanni is a cad who gets what's coming to him. Find out how and see the opera!

La Boheme (The Met Opera)
Puccini's most phat opera... I've always wanted to see this one! At the moment my 'La Boheme' knowledge comes from the soundtrack for a 'Room With a View'. This is embarassing.

(BTW: If we see anything at the Met it'd be best if you can assemble some kind of student card so we can get the cheap seats.)

Tell me if any of these interest you and I'll get tickets!

- Dot

P.S. YES I can meet you at the airport. There is a small chance I'll have to stay home to meet the people we are subleting apartment to over Christmas. Blane says he will do this job, however if he has to go to work then I'll have to do it. Anyway, anyway... at this stage it's fine and I'll meet you.

2008-11-30T05:08:00.005+11:00

Dear Melbourne,
As much as i love Manchester...

Sometimes i really miss you...

Okay?

Don't go changing...

Love Marsy

2008-11-24T09:02:00.005+11:00

Some months ago, Schroeder expressed an interest in getting tickets to the Warehouse Project... some DJ he knew was playing and it was basically just an opportunity to get as mashed as possible. So i got a ticket, not really knowing what to expect and not really caring because it was so far away. I figured everyone else of my generation seemed to have been to a rave sort of thing at some point, why shouldn't i? This week as the event loomed, excitement amongst the group grew and i started to shit myself. A rave? What am i doing going to a rave at my age!

I predicted the order of proceedings on Friday...

Saturday
6pm finish work
6.15pm arrive home from work - get straight in shower, wash/dry/straighten hair
7pm get into bed for a nap
8.30pm wake up, get dressed (including getting changed 15 times), slap make up on
9pm ring and find out where everyone else is
9.30pm after further procrastination and outfit changes, leave the flat
9.45pm find gang and get first drink in
11pm locate warehouse party
11.15pm get drinks in, start bopping
11.30pm Columbo bored of warehouse party and starts petitioning to leave
1am Mars bored of warehouse party and starts petitioning to leave
2am leave warehouse party and make way back to Schroeder and Columbo's flat
2.15am continue party in flat - now known as 'flat party'
2.30am assume regular positions as night takes on familiar feel
4am lose a few to booze and sleep requirements
5am realise flat party is running dry of supplies
5.30am desperation sets in as we try to obtain supplies
6.30am realise party is over
7am go to bed
3pm wake up - begin two day recovery process

Although close, it wasn't exactly how it ended up happening. Best laid plans and all that... Basically my 'nap' was slightly longer than i intended, and the waking up process wasn't exactly as speedy as i'd anticipated. So at around 10pm i set off to meet the group up in the Northern Quarter, about a 20 minute walk from my house. Bad idea - was wearing new boots and feet got thoroughly butchered. Anyway, found the gang who were just about to move to another bar.

Ever since picking up these tickets two months ago, Schroeder has been begging me to 'put the tickets in a safe place!'... i deemed my wallet was a pretty safe place, and although he didn't think it was a good idea to keep them on my person in case i lost my bag or something, i figured they were right next to my passport which is one thing i like to have with me, just in case i wanna do one out of this country at a moment's notice. ANYWAY, for reasons unknown, i thought i'd leave my passport and wallet at home last night, and just take out what i needed.

We moved on to another bar and were ordering drinks as i stuck my hand down my top to pull out my money, Columbo asks what the hell i'm doing. I explained that i didn't bring my wallet tonight, just the essentials. Schroeder looks at me saying 'you remembered the tickets though, right?'... Uhh... It took a good couple of minutes to convince Columbo and Schroeder that i wasn't joking when i said i didn't have them, and it wasn't until i started backing out of the pub that they finally believed me. Fucking fuck!

So i get a taxi, zoom back to my house, collect tickets, zoom back to bar. About to order a drink, when someone notices written on the tickets it says LAST ENTRY 11.30pm. It was at that point 11.25pm and panic ensues. Drinks are abandoned, not that i ever had one - and all seven of us pile into a taxi. I am the last one to hop in and there is a distinct lack of space as i dither at the door the group yells at me to GET IN. No where to sit, so i plonk myself on the floor, certain of imminent death.

As i appear to be the only girl in the group wearing a bra, it was therefore my responsibility to smuggle the drugs in, it was a rave after all. We line up and i notice an absolute plethora of police and security and the fact that i still haven't managed to get one single drink in starts to effect proceedings. Tried to be cool, but couldn't help wondering if i'd get deported for getting caught with so many pills on me. Thankfully (most likely due to my age and apparent sobriety) i was not stopped or checked at all. Result.

We're in the rave, the DJ they all wanted to see starts and we barge our way through the crowd (as you do at these things) and find a spot. I can't help but laugh at myself being in this position. Stone cold sober, getting shoved, elbowed and stood on by fuckwits, listening to this sort of scratch music i don't really dig and feeling thoroughly ridiculous... Everyone in there is about 19 years old, little scenester-types - some wearing sunglasses, some wearing lycra and fluro, others wearing jeans hoodies and backpacks, some shirtless up on other people's shoulders but one thing they all have in common is that they're on a mission, barging through the crowd, every one's got somewhere else to be. So i drop my first pill in the hope things will improve and make motions to Columbo about trying to find the bar.

We find the bar and there appear to be two choices - bottled water or cans of Budweiser. I decide i'll take one of each... 'Wun wordah and wun Buhd ploise' i say. Apparently when i try to talk really loud my accent suddenly sound like i'm from Queensland or something. The girl behind the bar just looks at me, Columbo looks at me, so i say it again... like they would. 'Wohn wa'er and a cun o' Bood thunks'. This time she gets it.

More pushing, shoving and getting stomped on, i start bopping.. but as usual, after about an hour i convince myself that 'it's not working' and decide to drop another. I check myself and my stylin', but when i look down, i'm not exactly sure of what i see. I appear to be pulling a move which can only be described at the 'heel and toe'. No, this wont do at all. A couple of beers later, an elbow in the boob, getting landed on by a massive dude 'dancing' and the whole scenario starts to wear a bit thin. It's about 2am and i'm bored of the rave now - been there done that. Columbo also seems bored of the rave too, but she doesn't want to leave as she's got two friends from Sheffield over for the night, and they want to stay.

Smiley is Schroeder's friend from university. I didn't get much chance to talk to her, but every time i looked at her, she gave me a big smile and an encouraging two thumbs up. Her friend, Ducky (cause she looked like a duck, obvs) made me laugh though, because she was so prissy.

At one point, i was wandering around with Ducky, looking for Columbo and Smiley. Schreoder was doing some serious bopping by this point, and somewhat uninterested in the apparent loss of Columbo and Smiley, he gives Ducky his phone as she's convinced they've gone off home. So she's stood in the middle of this open part of the warehouse, pouting while on this phone, ringing Columbo and Schroeder's home phone. Little did she know that the ringer is broken, so there'd be no way anyone would hear that - but i just let her go on, she was getting a bit stressed, so it was good she had something to concentrate on.

A fight breaks out near where we're standing and i swiftly jump out the way. I tried to grab Ducky and the phone, but she saw the men lunging towards us herself and shoved me out the way as she trotted off. Fine Ducky, was only trying to help - you're on your own. Anyway, Columbo and Smiley finally reappear and there is another conference on who's leaving and who's staying. This took quite a while - i already had my hat and coat on by this point, so am guessing it was pretty clear that i was leaving.

Issue resolved and Schroeder and Smiley are staying with the others who came with us, and Columbo, Ducky and myself are off home in a taxi. Ducky didn't bring a coat - she had on these short shorts and a singlet with these massive shoes which weighed more than she did - the weight actually looked like it could have snapped her skinny leg. She trots out of the warehouse and declares how cold she is. Not surprised, it was probably below zero. We start walking up the road looking for a taxi and Ducky spots one up the street turning around a corner.

She starts trot-running, waving her arms in all directions and squealing after this cab. She sees it slow down, but then as it starts to speed up, she starts squealing at it again. A really high pitched squeal, still waving her arms all over the place and trot-running off down the street. By the time Columbo and i caught up with her she was sitting snugly in the cab, but i couldn't stop laughing at the sight of her squealing after this taxi.

Anyway - i went home and the party in my bed started. Naturally sleep completely evaded me and my body temperature must have dropped about 15 degrees. For someone that 'it wasn't working' for, i suddenly realised i was more cained than originally suspected. Anyway, persist with trying to sleep before finally starting to come down at about 5am.

Tickets for party - twenty pounds
New dress - fifteen pounds
New boots - thirty five pounds
Predictable party drugs - six pounds
Wasted taxi money - fifteen pounds
The only person in the rave wearing Bridget Jones undies? Priceless

2008-11-18T13:16:00.015+11:00

Mars and I are currently competing to see who hates their job the most.

Me? I’m working 14 hour days and have got way too much responsibility and am constantly stuffing up and ‘costing the company money’ and I’m just tired tired tired…

Anyway, I promised I’d post something. Luckily something strange happened to me on the weekend…

It was Saturday night and I was sitting at my kitchen table with the laptop happily reading Wikpedia ‘discussion’ pages when someone knocked on my kitchen window. Weird. I peered out into the dark and saw the face of our neighbour looking at me.

He said, 'Hello! Would you like to come over for a drink?'

I thought it would have been more polite to knock on our front door and ask, however our kitchen window does look straight out into his courtyard so I guess he couldn't help but see in and notice me. I was stumped as to how to reply. Blane was at the other end of the apartment and had heard our neighbour’s invitation. He was desperately shaking his head at me while mouthing, ‘No! No! No!’ However, I didn’t know how to say this to our neighbour without seeming rude and awkward, ie, ‘No, I’d rather sit here in my apartment, however you can continue to watch me through my kitchen window.’

So I said, ‘Yes.’ From an optimistic point of view it did seem like a good opportunity to stick-beak into his apartment.

I changed out of my pajamas and into jeans and a jumper and went next door to meet Enin the Hedge Fund Slave. He lives in an apartment three times bigger than my own, however I like to think it’s not that nicely furnished.

Enin and I sat in his courtyard drinking Bud Lights. I realized pretty quickly Enin was very drunk, however it was in a friendly gossipy way so it was kind of fun. I learnt from Enin the following information:

The basement of our building is full of cockroaches. Enin has seen them for himself when he went down there once.
After seeing the cockroaches Enin has been paying for an exterminator to visit the building once a month.
Enin’s apartment does not have mice. (I told Enin that our apartment DOES have mice… Hopefully he’ll get the exterminator onto them too.)
Enin pays three times as much rent than we do, but he thinks his apartment is ‘good value.’
Enin’s girlfriend is French. She recently got laid-off from her job (with a year’s salary!!!), hence the reason lots of French people have been hanging out in their courtyard. Enin’s girlfriend is currently in France visiting her family, hence the reason Enin getting really drunk on his own in the backyard.

When Enin tried to go inside to get our second round of beers we realized we were locked out of his apartment. Enin had accidentally picked up his front door key instead of his back door key. I suggested we climb in through my kitchen window to escape. However before I knew it Enin had jumped the back fence into the building’s backyard behind us. A group of people were having a BBQ in this backyard, and I listened to Enin introducing himself and then politely asking if he might go through their apartment to get out onto the street. They were happy to oblige (in other words, they were happy to show him out of their apartment).

While I waited for Enin to run halfway around the block and back into our apartment, one of the neighbours from the BBQ popped his head over the fence.

‘Hello!’ He shouted when he saw me.

‘Um… hi.’

‘What’s your name? I’ve never met you before!’

‘I’m Dot.’

‘Hi! Nice to meet the neighbours at last!’ He was obviously much more drunk than Enin. Only, unlike Enin, this neighbour had a very sleazy vibe to him…

‘Oh, I don’t live here.’

‘Where DO you live?’ He was definitely leering.

‘In another apartment.’

‘Hey… smile!’ Before I knew it this guy had pulled out a camera and taken my photograph. At the exact moment the flash went off Enin burst back into the courtyard.

‘Hey!’ Enin shouted at the drunk neighbour, ‘You can’t just take someone’s photo like that!’

‘Hey!’ The neighbour replied, ‘You can’t just jump into someone’s backyard and run through their apartment!’

Good point.

So Enin and the other drunk neighbour yelled at each other for a bit, before deciding they were probably both in the wrong. I stood in the middle of the yelling wishing I could just go home.

Once the New York-style yelling stopped the neighbour offered Enin a peace-making beer. Enin said it was not necessary, however the neighbour insisted and placed the beer on the back fence. The neighbour then disappeared back to his BBQ. I took this opportunity to tell Enin that I must go home also. Enin was disappointed but resigned to the fact that the locking-out and yelling incident hadn’t made the best evening. I took my leave.

I think it is a rare and precious thing to meet your neighbour in New York. However, it's also slightly creepy. On Sunday I brought a plant to sit on my kitchen window sill. Hopefully this should block peeping-Enin a bit.

Meanwhile...

The view from my bedroom window is beer... just... out... of... reach...

2008-11-09T02:35:00.017+11:00

A picture essay of the last two fire-tastic weeks in Manchester...

by Mars

It started off a couple of weeks ago, when Schroeder and i were watching television one evening and we casually noticed the entire front room light up an iridescent blue. 'Whoa!' we both exclaimed... 'What was that?!' we curiously questioned as we leaped from our well oiled spots on the couches, and bound out on to the balcony.

Turned out it was a couple of dudes lighting rockets down on the street, right underneath the flat...
Next thing you know, Halloween has rolled around again and early talks of a Halloween party fizzle out. Questions of what Halloween actually is were forthcoming from work colleagues and it was vaguely ascertained that it began as some sort of a Pagan ceremony of sorts. Pagans, what are they anyway, and what is their place in this contemporary world..? More questions were raised and there was only one person really game enough to offer their ill-informed opinion on the topic. 'Pagans, ya know...' i begin. 'They like, run around Stonehenge naked on the full moon n shit' i continue. Little did i know, we had an (until this point, silent) expert amongst us.

Speedy, the bloke that sits next to me finally enters into the conversation... 'That's funny, cause i'm actually a Pagan and i've never done anything like that' he says, looking squarely at me... Uhhh.
Columbo and i went to this great little bar up the road from my new flat to see a guy called Sam Barrett play... it was a pretty good gig (aside from the fact that we actually could see it - we could still hear)... anyway, i was checking out Sam Barratt on myspace this week, when i saw a picture of him with a half naked girl called Dolly Mae.

When i was travelling through Asia last year, we really randomly met up with a girl Number 2 had met in a hostel in Darwin called Danni... anyway - long story short, Danni is a burlesque dancer and her stage name is Dolly Mae... the same Dolly Mae who seems to know Sam Barratt. This is just further confirmation to i do, in fact, know everyone on this planet.

Then a bit of English history came in to my life... Apparently there was a dude who tried to blow up Parliament back in the 1600's... it was back when England was still fighting with itself over being Catholic or The Other and Guy Fawkes (the dude) wanted to blow up the aristocracy (who happened to be The Other) cause he was Catholic... so he collected a whole heap of gun powder in order to do this, but at the last minute got busted.

And thus, Bonfire Night was born. And Guy Fawkes was hung, drawn and quartered.
Schroeder and i (and a couple of others) headed off down to Platt Fields Park for the fireworks and bonfire. Unfortunately, after making the poor decision of stopping off for some crispy southern fried chicken along the way, we managed to step off the bus just in time to see the very last firework.
Not satisfied with the bonfire we couldn't even get close enough to feel any heat off or the one firework we saw, we decided to buy some rockets and go make our own fun...

They were pretty good, considering what they were. You could definitely lose and eye if you were street savvy professionals like us. They had the desired effect... we heard the whistle, and saw the explosion. What a night! Cheers Guy!

I work just near the Manchester Town Hall, and for the last couple of weeks i've seen the gradual expansion of Christmas Decorations going up. A bit early you say? I hear you...

Anyway, it started with a giant blow up Santa... some tinsel up the top of light poles and the obligatory fairy lights in trees. All in all, not bad as far as Christmas cheer goes. Then! Last night the lights were officially turned on and there were MORE fireworks!

And they were brilliant! And i didn't miss them! And the Town Hall looked magical, like Disney Land!

The End.

2008-10-26T09:48:00.003+11:00

One of the things i am loving most about living in Manchester is that there always seems to be things going on. I know that's one of the great things about Melbourne too, that there's something for everyone and there's always something to do... however, i'm not sure if it's because i'd lived in Melbourne so long that i'd become immune or probably just closed minded to certain things, maybe it's because i didn't live in town and out in the burbs instead, but it seems like there's so much more happening in Manchester

An event called In the City happened a couple of weeks ago, which is basically a whole heap of live music and bands trying there darndest to 'make it big', playing at different venues around 'the city'. Anyway, Columbo runs a festival so we went along to Dry Bar to check out one of the bands she is interested in having play at her event. I've forgotten the bands we saw by now, but it was nice to take a trip back in time and learn a bit about the Manchester music scene over the years.

Anyway - long story short... we all saw Control, right? Some of us have maybe even seen 24 Hour Party People... or heard the names Tony Wilson or Factory Records thrown about? Maybe you've heard of the Hacienda? What about the Happy Mondays, The Smiths or The Stone Roses? And god knows, we all know Oasis. So to all too briefly summarise - Manchester music scene in the not too distant past. Quite interesting.

Anyhoo, from what i can gather (and i really do have minimal basis for the following statements), it seems to me as though some scenesters are still revelling back the glory days of the 80's and 90's. Talk to any Mancunian, and they'll tell you during that period, Manchester was the centre of the universe. The city was pumping out some quality music, not to mention quality football...(!) Though some are caught up in the nostalgia of past conquests, i think few would disagree when i say i think Manchester still has a lot going for it culturally.

Unlike its neighbour, Liverpool, Manchester hasn't had a load of EU fundage pumped into it of recent times to create a sort of commercially generated facade of 'culture'... (which i think really dupes Liverpool... there has been genuinely interesting history in the place, but instead it has been reduced to tacky Beatles tours/museums and the cafe and tourist infested Albert Docks) however, there have been two widely recognised major events in the last decade or so, which have really contributed to Manchester being the 'livable' city it is today.

First, the 1996 IRA bombing of the Arndale centre, which basically blew up Manchester's big city centre shopping centre. I live right up the road from the Arndale centre (in all its glory) and often walk past the single post box which was left standing after the blast. While no one was killed in this bomb blast (though not really the point), Manchester seemingly has benefited from this, as the shopping precinct was rebuilt (with much nicer stuff!) and many new bars and restaurants in the area.

The other main contributing factor in what's made Manchester a great place to be at the moment has got to be the 2002 Commonwealth Games held here, bringing Manchester into the noughties with a truckload of money being invested in facilities and infrastructure.

As a side note - i do realise i'm not saying anything new here. Mancubist did a great post on the 10th anniversary of the Arndale bombing which is worth a read.

When i first told my people from home i was moving to England, and more specifically Manchester, i was met with a resounding "WHY?"... It wasn't until my dad mentioned where i was moving to one of his friends who'd actually been here and said it was a fantastic city, and then it was a sudden 'yes, by all means Mars... off you go and you do that.. whatever it is you're doing'.

Anyway, i started this post to simply tell you all that i'd done one of the single nerdiest things of my life this week. As part of the Manchester Literature Festival, one of the events which interested Columbo and i was the Manchester Blog Awards. For some time now, i've been chasing down what i once considered to be illusive Manchester blogs. Anyhoo, we found out who was nominated and quickly read through their most recent posts so we'd know what was going on...

It didn't really serve us that well, i never seem to know what's going on. Some of the nominated bloggers did readings, which were all really good. The author of a blog i didn't really like at first glance, did a really engaging reading, so i guess i'll have a second look at that one. There were nerds everywhere - we can only assume other 'anonymous' bloggers. People were 'live blogging' and talking about 'twitter'... which is something i've definitely heard of, but still don't really know what it does. There were people filming and photographing the whole event, which inevitably ended up on flickr. Proof i was actually there, i'm actually in that photo i just linked to! AH!

So there you have it... i said the 'b' word out loud this week, and i'm not entirely sure i'm comfortable with it. After over two years, i'm still not ready to admit that i have a blog or am (cringe) a blogger.

So as i sit in my bed, typing this post on a lazy Sunday morning i can hear the church bells ringing from the cathderal, i am planning on visiting a gallery this afternoon and i'm thinking 'what a brilliant city', with so much to do.

...next week i'll talk about the scallys and the weather.

As a(nother) side note... there are some fantastic pictures of Manchester over here which are well worth a look too!

2008-10-08T09:24:00.000+11:00

I've always considered internet dating the final frontier. Basically, if there's no one on the internet for you (and let's face it, the whole world's on the internet), then where to from there? You're screwed.

Anyway, Columbo has a friend who has had some success on this website where your friend writes a profile for you, telling the world how great you are... then someone comes along and clicks on your head - next thing you know you've got a house in the suburbs, you drink coffee, you've got a couple of squawkers nipping around your ankles and you're living the dream.

So i figured, for a couple of reasons, that i could probably do this internet dating thing without too much humiliation given that i didn't really know anyone here in Manchester who would stumble upon my profile and send it to my whole office (just ya know, for example... errr) and also, i didn't really know anyone here in Manchester and i could do with meeting some people.

Who else would i ever turn to for a profile? You guessed it, my old friend Dot. She wrote me a wonderful piece testement to all my good points... and i left this profile, along with a picture of my head, on that website for approximately four days... before i shit myself and took it down. Some people had clicked on my head, i had two emails (which i couldn't even read cause i didn't want to pay), but i thought what was written on my profile made me sound a little... well, weird. I deemed it a little bit too in-jokey between Dot and i (what's not in-jokey, eh?) so took it down.

Some time passesd and i thought i might like to try it again but thought Dot might get annoyed if i asked her to write me another profile... so i asked my friend Marge. She took absolutely weeks to come up with it, so i was really expecting great things. I was disappointed at her ineloquent effort which basically said that i was 'quite independent but would like to settle down if someone will have me' in not so many words. I didn't hold this against Marge though, i mean, that's what she did, so she probably thinks it's quite ok. Anyway, that got canned straight away.

Running out of friends to ask, i mentioned to Columbo that i needed a profile. She said she didn't think she knew me well enough and didn't wanna do it... that was until i showed her what Marge had written and she agreed that no, that wouldn't do at all. So she's agreed to write me this profile, however that must have been about three weeks ago now and still, nothing...

Short of getting my mum to write me a bloody profile or writing it myself, i really am losing all faith in the system. If it's this hard to even get 'out there' i dread to think what these 'date' things are going to be like.

Please, just shoot me now.

2008-10-06T08:34:00.001+11:00

This Fucking Accent!
by Mars

This fucking accent is a pain in the arse and i'm sick of it. When i meet new people, one of the first things they'll do once we've started to get to know each other, after they've at first, politely, asked me to repeat myself numerous times... (before finally telling me i 'mumble' twenty five thousand times), is to take the complete, total and utter piss out of my accent.

They'll start off my laughing at words i say, or the way in which i say them... but that doesn't seem to offer the satisfaction people are after. They will then often move on to mimicing words, phrases or whole sentences i say... but neither does this seem to offer complete satisfaction. It's at this point that they will advance, like an aminal with its prey in sight (but with much less stealth and more vain self-amusement) and begin to speak, at length, in an accent they deem comparable to my own.

And this shits me... At first, i can take it. Yeah whatever, i get it... my accent is weird and you're a bit of a dick... but PLEASE, move on. I don't need you to try to speak back to me in my own accent every time you have something to say (to me or in general)... it's really annoying, and a little insulting. Am i nothing more than the girl with the funny accent? I'd like to think i have, even if it's just a little, something more to offer conversation in general. It's fine once i get to know people, because i guess they kind of stop noticing it, and think that's just the way i sound...

To make matters worse, it's not even just the people over here who listen with curiosity when i speak. The number of people from home who are starting to have a crack at me sounding English is increasing as well. And this is really annoying too... mainly cause i don't! I do an extremely poor English accent, and therefore just don't ever try. If i can't even do the accent when i'm trying, how could i possibly be sounding English when i'm not trying?!

Anyway, i wish people would quit giving me a hard time. It's really fucking boring... as if it wasn't bad enough getting lumped with this nasal bogan accent in the first place, the last thing i need is people talking at me Kath'n'Kim style thinking they're highly amusing and an excellent doer of accents. WANKERS!

2008-09-18T21:27:00.005+10:00

Embark on Mission: Rome. Bus leaves Manchester, Liverpool airport bound at 4.15am... Mars off to a slow start after not being able to sleep in anticipation of seeing her parents again after 9 months. Arrive at airport, check in, board flight, find seat in emergency exit row all with mimimum of fuss.

Arrive at Rome Ciampino airport 10.40am, local time. Exit plane, go through customs, recover bag with minimal fuss again. Things appear to be going a little bit too smoothly... Try to locate ATM in arrivals hall as no Euros in posession and need to pay for bus into town. Where is ATM? No ATM in sight. Wander around looking for ATM. Definitely no ATM. Go to currency exchange, ask where ATM is. As suspected, no ATM in arrivals hall. Ask if i can withdraw money from UK bank account at currency exchange, answer negative but am informed there is an ATM in departures hall.

Leave arrivals hall and get thwacked in face with the hot hot heat outside. Wander around departures hall looking for ATM. No ATM in sight. Ask currency exchange where ATM is. Locate ATM and insert card. Card rejected. Go back to currency exchange and ask if i can withdraw from UK back account; affirmative. Hand over card and am informed 'not Maestro, only Visa or Mastercard'. Hand over Australian Visa. Need PIN, have no idea of PIN. Problem. Hand over Australian Visa Debit, insufficient funds. Real problem. Go back to ATM and attempt to over draw on Austalian Visa Debit. SUCCESS! Over draw account, am thwacked (again) with charges, but finally have Euros to be able to catch bus out of airport.

Arrive at Termini approx. midday. Text dad to inform of imminent arrival. Hop off bus and wander around looking for dad. See Forrest Gump looking character - have found dad. Dad appears to be styled by Tourists R Us and is wearing trousers with runners, a shirt tucked in, cap and backpack. Reunite with dad and his wife etc. Eat mediocre lunch.

Walk to accomodation. Settle in, crank a/c and nap. Leave late afternoon to walk down to Trevi Fountain. Arrive at Trevi Fountain along with 2000 of our closest friends. Dad and wife obsessively paranoid about gypsies and pickpockets. Realise with some level of horror that they are both wearing money belts. Enjoy Trevi Fountain, no gypsies in sight. Eat dinner of... pizza! Quite nice.

Begin walking back to accom... 9pm at night and still 30 degrees. Mars wants to catch taxi (it was a long walk!) but dad and wife obsessively paranoid about being 'ripped off' by taxi drivers. Suggest going on train. Wife over rules contention and we walk. Get back to near hotel and wife decides she needs milk, for cups of tea. AT 10PM! So we wander, aimlessly, for an hour in 30 degree heat looking for an open shop to sell her majesty fucking milk. Mars highly irritated but attempts best behaviour. Irritation impossible to conceal.

Arrive back at hotel, sleep with ear plugs and air conditioning, wake up and everything ok. Mars uncharacteristically indecisive, trys on many many outfits for the day. Dad and wife don't know what to make of scenario, luckily they are slow at getting ready too. Finally ready to leave hotel when i catch sight of dad in full tourist paraphenalia, complete with 'special' hat (white, broad rimmed) that is made in Canada for purposes of Canadian Army. Indestructible, i am told. Looks ridiculous, but we proceed.

Catch big red open top tourist bus and circle city taking in sights from above. Stop for lunch in nice restaurant with out door eating area. Wife kicks up a fuss about how it's probably going to cost more to eat outside and that we should eat inside. Dad and i already seated - i aint moving. Wife not happy and for probably the only time on that trip, she doesn't get her own way. Eat lunch and hop back on the red tourist bus. Wander around Roman Forum and Vatican City. Mars finally cracks at wife at some point - cause and effect of the heat, no doubt.

Day three, arrange custodial hand over. Work out where on the map mum and her middle-aged-lover are staying, lo and behold it's on the complete other side of the city. Meeting place, Vatican City - slightly ironic. Catch local bus for one euro and go for brunch with dad and wife (ok to sit out side this time after we weren't charged extra the day before) and wait for mum and middle-aged-lover to arrive. See mother bounding through crowd towards me. Reunite etc. Pleasantries exchanged between parental factions. Most bizarre experience. Take photo.

Go with mum and middle-aged-lover to Trevi Fountain (again). Look in market stalls, find first husband selling pizza in take away shop. Eat pizza in take away shop. Slowly. Go back to hotel as mum tired after only arriving that morning. Play on mum's mini computer by the pool all afternoon before dinner in hotel restaurant. Early night, go to bed, sleep with ear plugs, wake up everything ok.

Catch local bus to Mussolini Museum. Decide big red open top tourist bus is the go - all aboard (again). Circle city until we arrive at the Collusseum. Go in, find guide, listen intently, take photos etc. Finish at Collusseum and need to pee. Find toilets, dry retch at smell, decide i can't go in there. Sit and procrastinate for 20 minutes before finally deciding to just get in. Got in.

Wander around Roman Forum, find guide, listen intently, take photos etc. Am informed of another 'special' guided tour we can do around back alleys with secret stories, ending at hidden wine bar with best food in Rome. Fall for it.

Find guide, listen intently, take photos etc. (It was a really good tour actually, we went to all these little pokey churches you never would have known were there - i touched a Michaelangelo statue!)... Went to wine bar, drank much wine (was good) and ate spaghetti and meat balls (also good). Went back to hotel for sleep etc.

Last full day - mum's birthday. Went to the Villa Borhese for wander around gardens. Wandered, took photos etc. Had some lunch and a drink on the 'posh street', booked restaurant for dinner on posh street before travelling by taxi back to hotel. Had drink in hotel bar by pool, got ready to go out to posh restaurant - outfit styled by a combination of H&M and Primark. Tried to hold head high.

Went to posh restaurant, choked at prices and tried to decipher menu. Drank wine and listened to piano man playing Elton John covers. Ordered food, ate it, drank wine, enjoyed it, watched mum go red as she got a 'shout out' from piano man and he played Volare dedicated to her, requested by the middle-aged-lover. Had a good laugh and nice evening. Poor mum, didn't actually get any presents for her birthday. Mars releived she didn't have to pay the bill which ended up being over three or four hundred euros or something. Ouch.

Back to hotel for night cap before packing suitcase. Mother calculates what time i need to leave for bus in the morning and then adds an hour to be 'on the safe side'. Go to bed, sleep with ear plugs, wake up at 6am. Quickly pack up last things, say bye to mum, hop in taxi to bus station, hop on bus to airport, arrive at airport over 3 hours before plane due to take off. Wait, plane takes off. Arrive back in Liverpool airport to rain and freezing, catch bus back to Manchester where it's also rain and freezing.

Home sweet home.

2008-09-18T11:09:00.002+10:00

I wanted to post this a few weeks ago...

I thought it was funny, but I am inbred. However, Mars didn't want me to post it, she was paranoid her boss was reading this blog. Now, on the eve of Mars starting a new job, I say, 'Sucks to her boss!'

And, it is my pleasure to present...

A conversation with Dot and Mars

Dot: Chat?

Mars: oh there you are... i knew you were there

Dot: You get travel agent job?

Mars: noooo :(

Dot: New plan of attack?

Mars: kill myself. jump off balcony…

Dot: Hmmm... that's not really a way FORWARD.

Mars: well... we're only on third floor, so more likely i'd just injure myself quite badly

Dot: Then you could live as a vegetable! you might like that... someone would feed you and wheel you around...

Mars: wouldn't it be you? who is this 'someone'?

Dot: I don't know, someone like Lou from Little Britain.

Mars: heh sucker

Dot: I was speaking on the phone to Mum the other day and my brother had shown her my facebook account and Mum says to me, 'Why aren't I your facebook friend? Aren't I good enough?!?' She was quite indignant.

Mars: does she have a facebook?

Dot: No. She didn't understand.

Mars: my mum's on...

Dot: Really? Is she your friend?

Mars: yes of course

Dot: Has she seen your hair? Has she seen the smoking pic?

Mars: probably. i don't care.. i'm 27!

Dot: Good point. Still, I WISH you'd take that photo of me smoking down.

Mars: get over it Dottie

Dot: Anyway, got any gossip?

Mars: not really.. noy

Dot: You applied for any jobs?

Mars: well... i haven't applied for any specific jobs. did i tell you i'm on performance management? OH i haven't told you!

Dot: What is that? (And 'No' you didn't say)

Mars: last week i got bollocked at work for having too many sickies. so i had to come up with something good... a good excuse, ya know

Dot: Oh... how many sickies?

Mars: not that many... only 4 (in 3 months) and yes they're paid

Dot: That's not that many!

Mars: that's what i reckon... they don't understand it's the australian way. Anyway, guess what I told them?

Dot: Urinary tract infection?

Mars: better!

Dot: Depression?

Mars: not depression... better than that

Dot: Um. No idea... what?

Mars: i'll give you a clue... it's bought on by 'stress', specifically... stress at work

Dot: Anxiety attacks?

Mars: close, anxiety 'brings it on' too

Dot: Cramps? Nausea?

Mars: no... it's recurring

Dot: Say it! Period pain?

Mars: 'flares up' occasionally

Dot: GOUT!!!!!!

Mars: ha no... i'm too poor for gout

Dot: What?!?!?!

Mars: IBS

Dot: WHAT IS THAT?

Mars: so embarrassing.... that's why i didn't tell them about it… irritable bowel syndrome!!!!!!!!!

Dot: LOL!

Mars: best disease ever

Dot: How did they take it?

Mars: very sympathetic. luckily i read all about it on wikipedia the night before

Dot: So it'll probably be okay to continuing being sick once a month?

Mars: well... yeah. but, thing it... now i'm on performance management it means i need a doctors note every time i have a day off

Dot: Too bad.

Mars: one more day off and i go on to level 2... much worse. not arsed at all. if anything... the pressure of not being able to have days off is going to make me ill

Dot: I might go now. I gotta apply for some jobs

Mars: aim high

Dot: Yes, gotta join those upper upper upper classes... then move back to Australia and say 'stuff-you' to the class system! And... you aim high too. Or at least just 'aim'. Okay?

Mars: just aim... goddit

Dot: BYE!

Mars: bye nerd

2008-09-13T13:07:00.000+10:00

Because I feel like it...

Sarah Palin is a dumb-butt!

2008-09-10T20:15:00.006+10:00

Tomorrow i'm off to Rome for a couple of days to go hang with my parentals... first three days with my dad and his wife and second three days with my mum and her partner. Weird co-incidence that my divorced parents and their respecitve partners are going to be in the same country, on the other side of the world, at the same time. Only my family, i tell you.

In one sense, of course i'm looking forward to seeing my parents. It's been 9 months since i said goodbye to them in Melbourne and particularly my mum, i've missed terribly at times. However, i am apprehensive about the emotional rollercoaster i'm no doubt, about to embark on.

I absolutely can't wait to see them, though i'm fairly certain it will be in equal parts a good laugh as it will be to them completely getting under my skin for the next six days. Thing is, i'm afraid six days isn't going to be enough time for me to get completely sick of them and happily wave them off as i trot back to Manchester next week.

And if i'm honest, i'm actually really scared of that last goodbye with my mum. It was hard enough the first time, and i'm just not sure i've got it in me to do it again. I do really want to see them, but i don't want the goodbye to be so horrible that it spells the end of my time away from home.

Wish me luck... i'm going to need it.

2008-09-07T00:05:00.003+10:00

The weirdest thing ever happened to me today... i was meant to be finishing work next wednesday right, cause i go to rome on thursday morning...anyway, it gets to 4.30 this afternoon and the busty wench pulls me into the office and basically says don't bother coming back next week. According to them - they just thought i'd like an extra couple of days off before i went on holidays... and the best part (especially considering how tight they've been with me) - the three days are still gonna be paid!

I couldn't believe it... at first i thought it was cause i'd done something wrong... or had been clocked spending too long staring out the window or checking facebook on my phone about 25 times a day. So i asked her and she said no, i'd not done anything wrong.... Anyway, columbo and i have come up with another theory that basically, they were afraid of me wreaking havoc and sabotaging the place during my last three days. Quite rightly.

So before i left, i had to do this exit interview with a nice lady from HR and oh my god... all my frustration with the insurance industry in general came out and i let rip. I paid out on the busty wench and another so called manager in the place. HR lady said that i had cause to lodge a grievance, but i said i couldn't be bothered and it'd be more trouble for me than what it was worth.

So that's it - i'm out. And now i have 5 days off to do whatever i want before going on holidays... then annoyingly, when i get back i have another 5 days off. If i knew i was getting 2 weeks off i would have planned a fully sik holiday instead of just a 6 day city break with the parentals.

Weirdest way to finish a job ever... i hardly got to say bye to anyone. It was so calculated to happen exactly on 4.30... absolutely sums up my time at that place perfectly... i'm left thinking what the fuck just happened here... i've been ambushed.

2008-09-04T11:08:00.005+10:00

Not the best Wednesday...

A couple of months ago I got an email from an organisation I used intern for requesting "amateur photographers who can document" an outdoor performance event. At the time I was very much unemployed and it felt nice to be wanted, so I wrote back and said I'd be happy to help out. Although, I made sure to point out: "I would describe my photography skills as 'amateur'."

The event is this weekend and tonight was the information session for all staff and volunteers. Although, perhaps I should call it the Information Extravaganza. It was FULL ON with Team Leaders making reports, Site Managers going over legal obligations, Health and Safety officers explaining the difference between 'minor' and 'major' incidents...

...and then at the end of the night the Event Manager turned to me and asked 'What are your plans for documenting the event? Do you need help moving your equipment to the site?'

I giggled (so many people were looking at me!) and answered, 'Oh, um, point and shoot.'

The Event Manager looked really confused, so I explained, 'I'm not A photographer, I'm a volunteer who is going to be taking photos with my little digital camera.'

The Event Manager replied straight-faced, 'Oh, okay... thanks.'

And that was the end of the meeting.

I felt like an idiot and tried to make a quick get-away. However, as I was leaving I walked past the Marketing Director of the company who I worked with when I was an intern. He smiled at me so I stopped to say 'hello'. I was feeling really flustered and for some reason I just started babbling at this man, 'Oh, hi! How are you? I meant to say... I mean, it's funny how I used to intern for you in marketing and I put that on my resume and now I'm working in marketing! And, um, some PR stuff and... Oh sorry..." (This is when I realised how much of an idiot I was sounding like and started scrambling to try and STOP sounding like an idiot, only the problem was I thought I could fix things by talking MORE) "...I just mean, I was thinking, if I saw you tonight I should mention that because it really helped. You know. Me get a job."

Fortunately this man is just one of those always-nice people and he smiled and nodded and, when I finally stopped talking, said, 'Great!'

'See you Sunday then!' And I fled from the room.

As I walked home I had one of those turn-things-over-and-over-and-over moments in my head. I felt a bit down as it seemed to me like every word that popped out of my mouth at the meeting was of the bumbling-fool variety. However, it was a nuanced kind of embarrassment and I eventually managed to convince myself life wasn't so bad...

I passed Borders and decided to go inside to look at the expensive magazines to cheer myself up. The magazine section at my local bookstore is in the cafe area on a raised platform next to the tables and chairs. I selected my magazine and was admiring the cover as I walked down the six or so steps... I STACKED IT. My foot slipped out from underneath me, I over-corrected my balance, I twisted as my feet flew up into the air, and I went BANG BANG BANG hitting each step with arse and elbow.

The cafe went completely silent.

I jumped up so quickly!

As soon as I was on my feet people near me started asking, 'Are you okay? Are you okay?'

I fall over enough to have a standard answer to this question, 'Yes, fine thanks. I'm more embarrassed than hurt.'

However, because my fall was so spectacular it was like every patron of the cafe needed to ask me if I was okay. As I moved through the tables towards the exit everyone I passed asked, 'Are you okay? Gosh, are you okay?'

Eventually it became so ridiculous I raised my voice to make a general public announcement, 'Everyone, I'm fine! Thanks for your concern but I'm fine!'

I left the bookstore and came straight home to blog the whole day down down down...

I also just re-read the email calling for volunteer photographers. I didn't notice this sentence the first time I read it but now it has me concerned: "We welcome any volunteer photographers who have experience and a copy stand work."

What the hell is 'a copy stand work'? If this is some kind of technical jargon for fancy camera equipment then I'm calling in sick on Sunday. Try and save the grain of dignity me and my little camera have left...

Some days I just don't get it.

2008-09-02T11:44:00.003+10:00

For your reading pleasure Dot'n'Mars presents...

THE MOST STUPID COMMENT EVER MADE ABOUT SARAH PALIN*
(emphasis mine... just for fun)

“She does appeal to me,” Ms. Gates said. “You would feel she has the same values as you. Having a child with Down syndrome, and being the governor, and she calls herself a hockey mom. I was impressed. She’s very pretty and seems very smart. I hope it works out.”

This post is not dedicated to all those idiots who think Palin can pick up the Clinton vote. What. An. Insult. To. Women.

*Unfortunately this woman is registered to vote

2008-08-25T01:11:00.004+10:00

I have been following someone i went to primary and high school with, around the internet for nearly two years now. I can't say we were BFFs at the time, but we were friends... our younger brothers were friends, our mums were friends. I wanted to be her then, and i want to be her now. These are my reasons why:

She lives in america
In a beautiful house with ralph lauren paint on the walls
She finished uni and did her degree in creative writing
Is a lesbian, which i find kinda intriguing
She's really creative and makes beautiful things
And photographs them
She's in love with someone who loves her
She's been to SXSW twice (once as part of her job!)
I love her naturally straight and blonde hair

Superficial? Without a doubt. But look at that hair!

I've never actually communicated with this girl the whole time i've been following her around the internet... and it seems wrong that i know so much about her life. Am i entitled to know all this? She's put it on the internet for anyone to find (though to pay homage to my skillz, it did take some digging around), am i really being sneaky and sly or am i just seeing what's been made available to me? Do i really know as much as i think i do?

I guess some people say similar about reading the blog of someone they know in real life... They're only looking at what's been put out there for a non-descript audience. Though in saying that, i would be pretty pissed if someone i knew started reading this blog, and didn't let me know.

Anyway, conveniently enough, she's just created another medium for me to follow her around the internet on... lo and behold, a blog. And to be honest, for someone who did a whole degree in creative writing, i thought it'd have been a whole lot more engaging, but i was left unimpressed. Now i'm kinda tempted to comment and see if she finds me out. She'd be dense if she couldn't work it out... basically from the information i've given away in this post alone, i could only be one of about five people. Less even, given i said our brothers were friends.

But i probably wont comment... cause let's face it, after she knows i've been stalking her for two years, i'm not confident she's going to want to know me and will therefore probably take all her shiz offline. Then where will i be?

2008-08-21T06:40:00.004+10:00

My two most hated things are sport and animals.

Get this... for the first time in about 15 years i actually touched a cat this weekend. I pat it almost affectionately, even. It was ok... until the thing wanted to climb on me. That's where i draw the line... give (an animal) an inch and it will take a mile. In addition to this out of character act of random kindness, today i saw a police horse and found myself stopping and staring at the thing, thinking 'what an amazing beast'.

I don't understand this change of heart and my sudden and apparent kinship i seem to have with these animals.

That said, sadly for all involved during these most olympic of weeks, the same can't be said about sport. This must be the most successful Olympics ever for Team GB and oh my god, the whole country (as any country worth its salt when its team starts doing well) is on board. Every day i am accosted by some over zealous fair-weather fan with the latest up date in Team GB's medal winners and/or to let me know, cause i care, that team GB are sitting an amazing third on the medal tally. That's one (or two, depending on the day of the week) places ABOVE Australia.

AWESOME WORK TEAM GB.

This has got to be one of the worst performances Australia has given in the Olympics for ages, right? News over here on our team is fairly non-existant, so i don't even know if Jana Pitman and Tamsyn Lewis have clawed each other's eye balls out yet. Are those two even still in it, or are they 'commentators' or some shit now?

Anyhoo... SPORT. Who gives a fuck? So you can run really, really fast... NICE ONE. You spend you're whole life consumed by running or swimming really, really fast. How am i supposed to take any of it seriously? I can do some stuff fast too... you don't see me making a fuss though, do you.

2008-08-13T10:10:00.004+10:00

A topic so trivial it MUST be blogged about:

The Australian Olympic Team's opening ceremony uniforms!

On Friday night I dragged Blane down to our local bar to watch the Opening Ceremony. I'm not ashamed to say it's my favourite part of the Olympics. I find it so fascinating; it's just such an overt show of nationalism (or 'fascism', take your pick) that would be embarrassing in any context other than the seemingly politically and socially mute arena of SPORT.

Anyway, I promised Blane we'd just enjoy one drink, watch Australia march out at the start of the parade and then leave. Unfortunately the Chinese alphabet mixed things up and Australia came out at the end, so we ended up sitting through the entire spectacle.

I loved the uniforms. I loved the conservative blazers and caps, I loved the kaftans, I loved the colours.

The American team won the preppy award...

However, I didn't love the Australian uniform...

My first reaction was, like 21 million other people, 'They're wearing the wrong colours!'

So I wasn't surprised to read the Australian headlines the next day:

Athletes' uniform 'Un-Australian' and The French and Italians were chic, the Americans went for classic... and we looked like volunteers

I didn't think too much more on the topic (because doesn't everyone EXPECT to be un-impressed by the Australian Olympic uniform?) until I watched the New York Times 'Opening Ceremony Fashions' video. See it here.

Eric Wilson's commentry is astute and then... hilarious!

Spoiler alert (quick, watch the video!)...

Wilson basically takes a look at the blazer trend and finds it 'traditional' and 'poorly made' and, at best, 'decent looking'. However, at the end of his overview of Olympic fashion he turns his eye to a less formally dressed nation and remarks, "As far as I'm concerned the team with best style this year came from Australia."

!!!! ?

Wilson goes on to say the Australian uniform was so "completely eye-catching and it made you want to find out who made these jackets."

It was Sportscraft! He'll get a surprise.

WILSON THEN COMPARES THE AUSTRALIAN UNIFORM TO PRADA: "Miuccia Prada really used this degrede style in her 2007 acessories collection." He concludes, "Who ever made these uniforms really has their finger on the pulse of what's happening right now in fashion."

Gosh and golly. Plain and pedestrian Sportscraft being adulated next to Prada. Now THAT makes me proud to be Australian.

2008-08-12T08:50:00.002+10:00

It's a fine line between pleasure and pain...

I went to a comedy night tonight... which was basically a whole heap of hacks going for cheap laughs. The standard, fat guy making jokes about starving Africans, ginger's making jokes at their own expense and the all too common inherently racist and sexist 'jokes' that you cringe at while most of the rest of the audience are in absolute stitches.

I know i have a sense of humour, and i love to laugh at shit i find funny, however, jokes about domestic violence, rape and outright racist or homophobic 'jokes' really get up my arse.

Am i taking the whole scenario too seriously? Should i just 'loosen up' or whatever? I don't know... I do know that it just takes one or two people who, let's face it, probably aren't bad people... make a joke in utter poor taste to try and get a laugh, and end up spoiling what would otherwise have been quite good.

Surely there's a better way to get a laugh other than making fun of people who can't fight back?

2008-08-08T09:24:00.004+10:00

Life update…

JOB!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

And it only took five weeks. Not too shabby.

Although. Does ‘unpaid internship that will eventually lead to casual hourly employment that MIGHT eventually lead to contracted fulltime work’ actually count as a job?

Blane assures me this is a fairly typical way of finding employment in America. However, I have an inkling in my your-rights-at-work-are-worth-fighting-for bones that I’m being ripped.

I come from a land where ‘unpaid training’ is ILLEGAL.

I come from parents that drive around in cars with ‘MUA HERE TO STAY’ stickers on their bumpers.

I come from a sharehouse where I used to live with a union rep. (Hi Mars!).

Seems to me like ‘land of the free’ translates into the ‘land of the free labour’. And if you aren’t lucky enough to have the support of someone who’ll essentially KEEP you while you dilly around with unpaid internships… well, you can just go work in the ‘land of the minimum wage’. And stay there!

Yeah, it’s only for those who can afford it!

2008-07-31T08:02:00.003+10:00

In Manchester, i have come to know (and use) the word 'scally'... a scally is pretty much the more commonly known as 'chav'. No-one does summer in england like a scally... and when temperatures peak at 19 degrees, all council estates point towards Blackpool.

Blackpool isn't far from Manchester, and i'd heard such things about the place that when summer hit last Sunday (it's over now), i took a day trip to Blackpool. The place is hard to explain... i can see how it probably used to be an ok place for a family holiday... but now it's all run down and tacky looking. Lots of stag and hen do's happening (for people who can't afford to go to Prague, Budapest or even Dublin)... lots of shops selling pink cowboy hats with fluff around the edges and flashing bunny ears.

Anyway, one thing Blackpool is especially famous for is 'rock' or 'a stick-a-rock'. You can get all sorts of rock... ones that say Pleasure Beach, your name, your football team and even whole meals of rock made out to look like an english breakfast.

Was in a shop admiring the rock when i noticed the following scenario...

Multiculturalism at its very best, that.

2008-07-30T02:35:00.002+10:00

I just got back from the job interview to be a personal assistant to a rich lady. I shall call her Ms. Happy.

I only applied for the position because I like to apply for three jobs each day, and I needed to make quota.

But, surprisingly, I got an interview.

I only went to the interview because I wanted a sticky-beak in her Park Avenue apartment.

And, unsurprisingly, it’s the most fantastical looking apartment in the world!

And now… I’ve got a serious case of hungry-eyes.

The apartment took up an entire penthouse floor in a very fancy building; one service elevator for the paid help, one main elevator for people making a grand entrance. The doorman directed me to the service elevator that I took to the top floor where I was greeted by Personal Assistant #3. I was then shown down a long white corridor and into a massive living room. I was told to wait in this room and Personal Assistant #2 would soon be with me. While I waited I got a good look at the room: all wood paneling on the walls, a super lofty ceiling, three large windows looking straight out across Central Park. The furnishings were also all gold and wood in a geometric Neoclassical style. Hell, I’m sure they were Neoclassical. The only colour in the room came from the soft tones of TWO DEGAS BALLERINA PAINTINGS and a MONET WATERLILLIES. LJGOWQRJFSDJFWIUPCN!!!!!

So I sat waiting, wearing my Miss Shop clothes, with my new homies Degas and Monet. And we got on great.

And then I met Personal Assistant #2 who explained that as it was Summer Ms. Happy "obviously wasn't in town." Of course, the Hamptons. Then Personal Assistant #2 she told me all about the position (lots of errands, lots of organising, lots of shopping) and I told her why I would be good at it (duh). I'm fairly confident I’ll get asked back for a second interview with Personal Assistant #1.

My problem is I can't decide if I want the job or not.

NO:

It's such simple non-challenging menial work; I'm applying for a job that will require me to pick-up dry cleaning and shop for contact lens solution.
It's not that closely related to my interest in visual art.
It's part-time so I wouldn't be earning that much money.

YES:

I reckon there would be lots of perks. (Personal Assistant #2 didn't say anything specific however she kept saying over and over, "Ms. Happy is a VERY generous employer... so GENEROUS.")
I would learn a lot about philanthropy and the etiquette and protocols of the 'super upper classes'.
I would probably get some gossip too.
The hours are so flexible that I could easily become involved with other projects.

I’m wrestling with my guilt and greed over this one. I feel guilty for not using my education and searching for a more challenging job i.e. start CAREER. However, I feel this disgusting greed that is pulling me towards wanting to work in the most beautiful apartment in the world and have a personal chef make me lunch each day. It’s sort of a ‘Devil Wears Prada’ dilemma. Girl works a menial job in decadent environment waltzing around with an attitude of intellectual superiority. However, after experiencing a few perks (in ‘Devil’ instance, wearing AMAZING clothes to work each day) becomes addicted to the lifestyle (that she is only living vicariously).

In the end? BURN OUT.

Still, can’t I just do it for six months?

_________________________

Update: I didn't get the job. I didn't even get a second interview! I didn't mentioned above that I actually got lost trying to find apartment building and was 10 minutes late to interview. I did phone ahead to let them know I was delayed as I went to Fifth Avenue by mistake, however I suppose getting lost didn't reflect too well on my 'errand running' abilities. Damn, I can run errands with the best of them!

2008-07-30T01:58:00.003+10:00

Starbucks is melting, melting... ahahahahah haha!

Actually, I don't mind Starbucks when I'm in the U.S. It's a good place for a toilet stop, it's got comparatively cheap good filter-brew and, on a cold cold day, it's a good place for a sit down and warm up.

However, the demise of Starbucks in Australia was just so inevitable!!!

This article makes the obvious point: The US chain has been the victim of an ill-fated expansion in Australia, a market it only entered in 2000. But Starbucks was also snubbed by many Australians who have grown up on a diet of quality European-style coffee introduced into the country by immigrants, particularly from Italy, last century.

Starbucks performed a miracle convincing Americans to pay $4 for a latte. However, before Starbucks Americans lived on a diet of 99cent filter coffee, so the $4 'Vanilla Bean Frappuccino® Blended Crème' was a whole new market.

On the other hand, Australians already had good espresso (complete with drink jargon) when Starbucks entered the scene. So it was ridiculous to think Australians would want to pay $4 for a weak wimpy latte at Starbucks, when a local cafe sells a beautiful strong latte in a delicate glass for $3.

I remember when Starbucks first opened in Melbourne around 2001. It was during my early undergraduate days; a time of Naomi Klein, S11 Crown casino protests and ambiguous 'globalisation-hating'. Starbucks just seemed to spell doom.

So it's wonderful to see the demise of Starbucks in Australia. What was S11 really about? I can't really remember and don't really care... but I think the point is, Australian culture (the bit about how we go out to cafes, how we sit around with friends, how we drink lovely coffee) was strong enough to withstand a large corporation that tried to change it.

I miss a good latte...