Tuesday, March 24, 2009

sixteen candles (plus 12)


so, yeh, i had another birthday. and i kind of wanted to mark the occasion by writing some kind of bloggity blog. but i haven't been able to pinpoint exactly what i have/want to say.

it's been a few days now. still nothing. this, i suppose, is writer's block. so, i figured i'd just start typing and see what happened. also, by the power of greyskull...no, wait...i mean the power of technology, i can backdate this entry and pretend i wrote in on the right day. no one will ever know. bahahahaha.

so, 28 hey? what's all that about? it seems like only yesterday i was longing to turn 18. and look, there i go using middle-aged cliches like 'it seems like only yesterday'. oh dear.

i would get all freaky and 'oh-my-god-30's-fast-approaching' on you but, to be honest, i don't really care. i think maybe because i don't have a to-do-before-i'm-30 list. i have a to-do-tomorrow list and i already know i won't complete it, so there's really no point setting myself up for failure of such mammoth proportions.

still, birthdays do tend to be performance evaluation time. the problem is, i will never give myself a pass mark*.

is it an australian thing? i'm talking about the grand expectations we have of ourselves. the way nothing is ever good enough, even when it's really damn good. i mean, i've kicked some goals during the past 12 months. i've survived a pseudo divorce settlement (do not underestimate the pain that caused). i've travelled to spectacular parts of the world, often solo (scary but amazing). i've set up a life in london, professionally and personally (what recession?). i've made lifelong friends here while maintaining strong relationships with those most important to me back home (friends are my favourite things). and i'm handling the 17,000-ish kms between the boy and i with aplomb (most of the time).

it was difficult to even write that. admitting you're doing well or, god forbid, feeling some pride in your achievements - it's not just unaustralian, it's american. but this is one (just one) area where i think the americans have it right.

instead of being pleased with said accomplishments, i play them down and expect more of myself. it's the cause of constant stress in my life. yet i see people who have 'achieved' so much less (and let's be clear, we're talking ticking cliche boxes here) but enjoy so much more contentment. i envy them.

how can i think like that? it's on my to-do list.

*case in point. when i was a young whipper snapper at uni, a pass was never good enough for me. if it wasn't a distiction, the passion pop just didn't taste as sweet. friends paid me out about it. so they should have. and, in memory of the olden days, i always backed distinction when it ran in the melbourne cup. it never won.

Monday, March 23, 2009

an explanation

there was a blog here. it was about facebook status updates and how i hate when people:

a/ name-drop
b/ spill their depression
c/ illustrate their complete ignorance by status-ising their racism.

then i got a message from a friend asking if i was referring to x. i wasn't. and i felt instantly bad because i know x reads my blog. i would never speak poorly of her but feared she'd reach a similar conclusion.

i opted to delete. not sure if i regret it yet. don't like feeling censored. but it doesn't really matter because leaving it up, for the sake of free speech, wouldn't be worth upsetting x.

this has happened to me before. must think before i write. but then, so should the douche bags who think it's funny to call the asian delivery guy Kim Jong-il and then ask why he isn't 'rarfing'.

Thursday, March 19, 2009

i fell in love with the dj

attended best gig ever last night. girl talk. says he's not a DJ. he is. and a damn fine one. gets me through many a cardio sesh. this mash is my favourite. not sure what's up with the video (seems completely out of sync although maybe that's just my puta) but it's all about the music anyway. if you're going to listen to it, please take note of the two genius seconds between 3minutes23 and 3minutes25. love. love. love.

meanwhile, feeling super grover today. four beers. shame.

things that happened to me yesterday

*WARNING: Explicit language. Proceed at own risk.

The phone rings...

"Hey Jacka, they're doing a late release of Arsenal tickets. Game's on Tuesday. Want me to see if I can get some?"

"Yeh. Who are they playing?"

"Ha! As if you care!"

He was right. I don't care about Arsenal let alone who they are playing. But 'see some kind of important football game' is on my 'to-do-while-I'm-based-in-London' list and this was the perfect opportunity to tick a box.

So, last night I watched my first game of football live. Okay, that's a lie. I've seen live football before. I covered the Townsville Premier League for three years. But Burdekin versus Rebels isn't quite Arsenal versus...ahhh...Hull?

Yeh, it was Hull. Hull City to be precise. And it was the quarter final of the FA Cup. I know because I bought a scarf.


> No mingling allowed. Opposition supporters are caged in a separate section that represents about 10 per cent of the stadium. Presumably this is to avoid rival fans killing each other. 'Such is the passion', I'm sure any Brit would tell you. 'Such is the insanity', I argue.

> No alcohol allowed. It's sold, but you can't take it inside the stadium. Where's the fun? I know, I know, you don't need alcohol to have a good time...but it helps. Tell me I'm wrong.

> Football fans (or at least Arsenal fans) don't need alcohol to act like complete twats. "You fucking northern cunts," was just one of the charming insults on repeat for the game's duration. But what I lost in respect for the bogans sitting behind me, I gained in geography knowledge. Hull, apparently, is north of the Emirates.

> Football is still boring. I'm not trying to start a fight. It's simply an opinion. I grew up on a diet of rugby union and league which makes it difficult to adjust to the scoring rate soccer provides. The final score was 2-1 Arsenal and I am highly grateful I saw three whole goals. I got excited on two occasions and almost excited on about three more. I do, however, appreciate that if I had a vested interest in one of the teams, the experience would have been better. Beer would have also helped.

Post-game we headed to the pub. It was St Patrick's Day after all. Once at the head of the queue I noticed the bouncer looking at me as if I had done something wrong.

"How old are you?" he asked, cynical of my place in line.

"How old do I look?" I wasn't flirting. Promise. It's just that I am one week off my 28th birthday and riddled with desperate hope that I look younger.

"You look 18."

Now, I know I don't look 18 so there's no need to point it out. But this guy was serious and, god damn it, I'm going to tell everyone.

One more story. Inside O'Neill's. It was packed, sticky and warm. Ewwww.

Some random girl - let's girl her 'the skank' - accused my friend of topping up her glass with the bottle of wine she and her friends were sharing.

The reason? Apparently my friend was looking over at their group and smiling.

Oh my god. What a total bitch. Looking over and smiling at people. There could be no other explanation. She must be stealing our wine. I'm going to confront her.

Alternatively, you dumbarse skank, my friend could just be one of the most naturally bubbly (overused and trite adjective but very true in this case) people you will ever meet. Being Irish, she might have also been happy to be celebrating St Pat's with her friends. Happiness has been known to cause crazy side effects such as smiling. And, I imagine the few wines she had consumed, courtesy of HER OWN POCKET, could also have contributed to these smiles you speak of.

If I wasn't so committed to surviving my time in London without being stabbed, I would have confronted you for being so insulting. I didn't (but I did throw you an award-winning dirty look....while you weren't looking). On reflection, I think the fact you live in a world where smiling people make you suspicious is punishment enough.

So, that was yesterday. In also have massive blisters from the rowing machine. They hurt.

And Rick, this is NOT the blog entry I promised. But here's superfluous anyway.

Tuesday, March 10, 2009

a rose amongst the thorns

This is what the sports section of the Daily Telegraph website looked like today...

The juxtaposition, although presumably unintentional, smacked me in the face and I just wanted to share.

I'm a little surprised Brett Stewart has surfaced as the new twat (and by twat I mean criminal) of the NRL but it seems there's little denying it. He now joins a long list of footballers who have disgraced their code, not to mention their sex. And please don't get me started on the groupies who exacerbate the problem by behaving like fools (and by fools I mean sluts).

If only there were fewer Brett Stewarts and more Steve Prices. The man's a true professional and a true gentleman. I love him. He can stand over there with Kurt and Matthew.

kurt 4eva

long distance relationships are tough. the lacking. the loneliness. the longing.

while i subscribe to the theory 'absence makes the heart grow fonder' i have also found myself smitten by another. his name is kurt and, sorry to say boyfriend but, we are in love.

can you blame me?

the man's a genius.

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