Month: May 2013

Sunshine on a Rainy Day.

When I woke up this morning and dropped my boyfriend off at work, the giant thermometer near our house said 3°. THREE DEGREES!! Needless to say it is making long hours at the computer hard. I am wearing an outrageous combination of woollen things, including fingerless gloves and a Russian hat. I look like the Michelin man. It’s going to be really awkward if someone decides to drop by today… However, I’ve had a little bit of sunshine come my way. It has come in the form of a few award nominations, all from amazing blogs that I love. I’m cheating and combining all of them into one post, mainly because I can’t sit at the computer too long before my toes start to freeze. (By the way, I know for a lot of people 3ºC is not that cold. But I come from Western Australia. It gets up to 45ºC here. I am not used to this level of chill. Hence the melodrama.) My first nomination comes from an absolutely wonderful blogger over at Ajaytao 2010. …

The Newly Conscious Young.

University is a strange institution. Ever since I can remember it has been preached to me that it is a necessity in achieving life’s dreams, an establishment designed to enlighten and educate me. Without completing a university degree, I was told, I would end up going nowhere. I would be bound for failure, shunted off to one side in the employment game. A great Tertiary Entrance Exam score saw me enrol in Law, for no other reason than that I could. What followed was a year and a half of partying punctuated by the occasional lecture or exam, before I dropped out spectacularly in a haze of tears, recriminations and gin. Now here I am, six years later, working my way through a different university degree. Does this mean that I finally bought into the concept of tertiary education, a convert to the institution? Not at all. Rather, and this is painful to admit, at 26 I still have no clue, not a skerrick of an idea of what I would like to do as a career. This degree …

John Steinbeck is My Homeboy.

So, I realised something today. It’s a bit awkward. In nearly every post, I have either hinted strongly or stated outright that the author I’m writing about is my favourite author. How many favourite authors can one girl have? As you might have figured out, I have plenty. But in the interest of fairness, and in order to avoid finishing my final university assignment for the semester, I thought I would have a crack at figuring it out. Favourite: [adj] preferred to all others of the same kind. Let’s do this. _______________________________________________ After an afternoon of pondering this conundrum, I have come to at least one conclusion: there can not only be one. I actually felt sick at the thought of picking one above another, feeling that they would be disappointed in me, despite the fact that, um, they’re all dead. So I have been very courageous and narrowed it down to five, but amongst those five, I will never choose. In order to waste even more time I decided to do a little bit of …

That is a beginning.

Yesterday, I got to thinking about money. Namely, the fact that I don’t have any. I mean, none. I don’t have a red cent to my name, or however that saying goes. This is by choice, not by circumstance, so I shouldn’t be whinging. But that’s the thing about money, isn’t it. It is often a cause of major stress, even when you have taken it out of the equation all together. And this is what happened yesterday. A bad rent inspection set me off, and I had my usual panic attack about how far we are from owning our own home and ridding ourselves of real-estate agents forever. I swear, real-estate agents are put on this earth just to stress me out. (No offense to any real-estate agents out there reading this, I’m sure you’re lovely). Anyway, so I sank into a pit of stress and despair, wallowing in self-hatred and self-pity. See, it’s my fault we are in such a precarious situation, if I had spent the previous six years of my life getting …

We Remember Moments…

‘We don’t remember days, we remember moments’ This mantra was drilled into me by my boss at the holiday resort I used to work at, and despite its inherent corniness, it does actually make sense. We don’t say to others, ‘I had a great day on May 18th, 2013’. We don’t say, ‘Remember the 24th of April, 1998? That was an awesome day.’ Instead, we remember and reminisce about moments, points in time when great things happened to us. The reason I am rabbiting on about moments is because the lovely Debbie over at Travel With Intent nominated me for the Best Moment Award. Debbie’s blog is an amazing collection of travel stories and experiences, entertaining and vasty informative. It is well worth a visit, whether you are interested in travel or not. So, once more to the rules (copy and pasted): Winners re-post this completely with their acceptance speech. This could be written or video. Winners have the privilege of awarding the next awards! The re-post should include a NEW set of people/blogs worthy of the …

a habit, a nostalgia, a dream.

I grew up in a small, country town. I mean a really, really small country town. You could go so far as to say a one-horse town, if you were so inclined. It only had one pub. That’s how small it was. It had two deli’s, colloquially named ‘Top Deli’ and ‘Bottom Deli’, signifying where they were in town. The local high school only went up to Year 10, further education required boarding away from home. There was 21 children in my class and less than 200 in the entire school, years K-10. The town was small enough for us to roam unsupervised from a very young age, popping over to the deli during primary school lunchtimes to buy $1.00 worth of mixed lollies, heading down to the local pool and basketball courts to hang out after school. By the time we got to high school we ran wild and free, our parents had little concern for where we were as long as we were together. We ‘went out’ with boys, switching partners with casual abandon, barely bothered by …

Prepare for the Weirdness.

I was always a fairly well-behaved kid growing up. It wasn’t so much the fear of any awe-inspiring laws as the fear of disappointing my parents that kept me in line. Still, throughout my school years, it was always the ‘bad’ kids that held the attraction for me, I was astonished at the things they could achieve when there was no concern for parental discipline. I tagged along on the out-skirts of these rebellious groups of pre-teens, attracted and intrigued by their laissez-faire attitude to life in general and authority in particular. I never really did anything wrong but I was always there, the smiling kid in the corner watching in fascination as the cooler, older kids fashioned a make-shift bong out of a coke can using nothing but their car keys. Despite this, I generally believed that I was still a ‘good’ kid: a good kid in bad company. Or so I thought. It was only a few years ago that some of my best-friends from high school informed me that their parents had always seen me as a bad influence. Me! I was speechless. But …

Beaucoup good shit, too beaucoup.

No, this is not a repeat of my earlier post about Alex Garland’s The Beach. I simply had to appropriate his catchy phrase again, because today, oh la la, I have been nominated for another award. It’s too much good shit, too too much. This blogging goodness has taken me entirely by surprise. As I mentioned in an earlier post, I was expecting nothing from this blog. At best, I thought it would be a good place to catalogue my books and work on my writing skills. I was not prepared for the sheer amount of friendly awesomeness that continues to come my way. So thankyou, lovely Raelke over at Little Swag of Books for this mind-blowing nomination. The Liebster Award is an award for blogs who have less than 200 followers. The recipient must then pass the award on to new bloggers who also have less than 200 followers, to promote their blog to your readers. Recipients of the Liebster Award must: List 11 Random Facts about you Answer the questions that were asked of you (By …

Lovely Saturday: One Lovely Blog

Well! What a lovely thing to wake up to on a miserable Saturday morning….a lovely award nomination from a lovely fellow blogger, who is responsible for the constant entertainment over at One Starving Activist. Lovely. This has certainly made my weekend, that’s for sure. Probably doesn’t indicate good things about my social life, but oh well… I have no idea how these award things work, I’m winging it here. So, to the rules: Add the “One Lovely Blog Award” image to your post. Share seven things about you. Pass the award on to seven nominees. Thank the person who nominated you. Inform the nominees by posting on their blogs. Ok. Seven things about me. Here goes: I am currently unemployed. This is due to the fact that I have tripled my university load for the year, so I can finish ahead of schedule. Really it means that I sit around in track pants all day and play with my blogs. I have a secret tattoo. It is in Khmer script on the back of my upper thigh. It means …

Mille Tendresses.

All my life I have been telling people that I would be a ‘writer’ when I grew up. This golden career would be forged smoothly and decisively, I believed, as soon as I gathered enough life experience to write about. Unfortunately, this ‘gathering’ took a while, especially because valuable nights full of ‘experiences’ were lost from my memory due to my good friend alcohol. Naturally, this meant that I would have to start all over again. So while my friends stuck with their university degrees or apprenticeships and begun to establish careers, I continued to throw caution to the wind with both hands. I jumped around from hospitality job to hospitality job, quitting one and beginning the next when I got bored. I went out every weekend, I bought new clothes, I shot off to Asia by myself for three months before decamping across the country to live on an island in the Whitsundays. While this may not have been the path to a worthwhile career, it was a lot of fun. Until it wasn’t. At some point I woke up and realised …