Saturday, January 30, 2010

Me: (Watching the scene on Scrubs where JD and Turk are playing Gay Chicken) I love this part.
My Cousin: Yeah it's hilarious! My friends play gay chicken... they're always like, hey Maddy, play Gay Chicken with us! But I don't play, because they don't back off at the last second.
Me: um... isn't that just two drunk thirteen year old girls making out?
Mum: The neighbours have been having renovations. They got new floors and a new bathroom, how exciting is that!
Me: Really? I hadn't realised, what with all the tradies and loud banging coming from their house and every conversation with them for the past two months being about the aforementioned renovations
Mum: We're going over to check it out! Want to come?
Me: What with my hectic social calendar I might just take a break today
Mum: Oh, that's a nice idea
Me: (go back to fourth consecutive day of Left 4 Dead marathon)

Friday, January 29, 2010

When you break up with your first proper boyfriend of 19 months you should immediately:
A) Consume large amounts of ice-cream. Cry hysterically into bowl with Strawberry Dream dribbling down your chin.
B) Break out the emergency Vodka and blast You Am I- Heavy Heart on repeat, voice gradually becoming louder and more slurred as dawn approaches
C) Channel rage into a scathing letter about how shit Passion Pit are. Secretly decide you love Passion Pit. Destroy letter. Watch Daria until 2am.
I remember in early high school when Physical Education was mandatory... those were the days. That is, the days of humiliation and pain.

PE was basically a cesspit of students, predominantly featuring the aggressive, popular kids and the non-athletic reclusive types, such as myself, and then arming us with hockey sticks. The world was still a sunny place and I had not yet decided I wanted everyone at my school to die in a fiery blaze. Being a chubby kid my teachers took no interest in me despite the fact that I always tried hard, volunteered first, and wasn't a half bad team player. Every term I'd take home the same report; "Alex would do well to improve her overall health and fitness". In year 10 I re-emerged much lighter and a good 4 inches taller. This was due to a rigorous lifestyle change (I had a Twin Peaks addiction and regularly forgot to eat while watching it). Suddenly my PE teacher could remember my name and I took home a positively glowing report, despite the fact that I'd long stopped making contact with any sports equiptment, or even bringing my uniform on a consistent basis.

To this day there is a dejected little fat kid inside of me that still feels bitter, and hopes all asshole P.E. teachers are forced to a special place in hell where they have to stand on hot coals and eat each others eyeballs, while listening to Nickelback.

Confidence is Key

When I was 15 I started a new school, and promptly developed a crush. At the time there were many things I didn't realise about the crush in question, such as that he was a drug-addled fuckwit and a complete psychopath, but all I knew back then was that the way the sunlight glinted off his many piercings and the way his bloodshot eyes burned into my soul meant love. Or at least hormone-fuelled lust. While my art teacher tried to explain the importance of Marcel Duchamp (the toilet-seat loving bastard), I was listening to Angus and Julia Stone (shut up, I was young) on my Ipod and staring at the back of his curly head. He'd sit with me on break and draw me little pictures depicting elves with exploding limbs, bleeding from their beady eyes, and swirly-eyed animals that looked like creatures from a Dr Seuss book smoking bongs. Like any teenage girl, I was sure that this obvious sign of affection meant we were soul mates. Then one day, it all went awry.
I'd been home sick for a few days and when I got back my friend Hannah came rushing up to me. "Alex!" She said. "Nathaniel asked me if you have a boyfriend and I said no and he said to give you his number because he thinks you're hot!!!"
Hoorah! I said. I quickly put his number into my phone. Later I sent him a cheeky text. He replied instantly and we went out that weekend. He's still my boyfriend :)

No I'm totally kidding.

"What? are you serious?" I said. "You idiot, Hannah, He's clearly taking the piss. Delete his number now. Tell him I'm gay please. What a wanker".
Because I was so adamant that I was a grotesquely malformed freak with a hideous personality to match, any boy who paid me the slightest amount of attention during highschool was either a)joking or b)had some freaky fetish. I scorned them immediately.

This has benefitted me amazingly. When you're lacking in self confidence you seem to attract all these amazing nutter butters. Like the girl who used to put hexes on people she didn't like (i.e. who wouldn't share hot chips with her). Or the guy who went to raves just so he could tell people about his "free ice and acid", lure them back to his car, then pelt them with lemon wedges and ice cubes.
Sure, I could have been confident, I could have worn nice things and traded in cynicism and saturday nights watching Harry Potter fan videos on Youtube for a social life and actual friends. I could have been Happy! and Awesome! and fed on my own fabulousness growing a head so large I'd make Nicky Hilton look (relatively) normal.
Instead I chose solitude and teen angst. Nobody understood me, etc etc.
The world is much more fun when you're a cliche; nocturnal, depressed, bitchy, unemployed, most-likely-to-be-unsuccessful-arist. I've learnt important lessons, like the value of staring down random people on the bus.

So all those people who tell you to believe in your dreams, hold your head high and smile, to you I say shut up and get back in your box. I know you go home at night, fight with people in the comments section on youtube, repeat your affirmations in a shaky voice and weep into your downy pillow.

Thursday, January 28, 2010

"Prepare to put mustard on those words, for you will soon be consuming them along with this slice of humble pie, that comes direct from the oven of shame set at gas mark egg on your face"- Moss, The IT crowd

Irrational reasons for hating your parents friends

They resemble a villainous character from your favourite video game

They have the exact voice you have always invisioned a paedophile to have

They wear short shorts

They like Judas Priest

They won’t shut the fuck up about Judas Priest

You don’t understand what the fuck they’re talking about, because you rely on people doing things like making their voices go higher when they ask a question, but this person talks in a funny, slow, level sort of way that makes you want to stab your eyes out because you’d comprehend the dialogue of a charred burrito better

They have no chin

John Safran

If I had a magic castle by the sea

I’d ask you to come live with me

If I were eurasian, eyes pretty, hair long

To love a non-jew wouldn’t seem so wrong

Please give me a call, don’t be mean

You can sing for me, I’d still be keen

We could rummage through Tracy Grimshaw’s bin

Or somehow upset old Ray Martin

I adore you so, I don’t know why

It’s the way you sneak and pry

Stealing Nicole Scherzingers’ panties

You, dear John, are the bees knees,

The cats pyjamas, cream of the crop

I especially like your top

Your eyebrows, socks, your loungeroom chairs

Or perhaps the way you cut your hair

Streaking through Jerusalem,

The way you say “I’ve been thinking”

The way you made your father admit

He’d had his large nose tampered with

It’s the way you lisp and speak and sound

When you say “hospices” my head spins round

People tell me to be wary of you

As Tina Fey might say, they can eat my poo

I simply do not understand the drama

All you did was wank to Obama

I love you so much, I just can’t concieve

Why you have a restraining order against me

I’m not a stalker, I’m just a fan

On my laptop outside your house in my van
Dad’s friend:…so do changes in weather slow down zombies? snow? humidity? You think we’d be safer in Australia?

Dad: You think they’d get dehydrate, but…

My uncle: No, no I don’t think so… it doesn’t seem to work. No, what you do is you wait until they all start dying of hunger

Dad: But how long would that take? Months?

Dad’s friend: By then, normal food is spoilt, you’re running out of canned food and you don’t have any fresh fruit or vegetables, you get sick…

My Uncle: Nah, get some meat into you… I reckin you want to reduce veg intake, eat more protien, shoot better

Dad: So then you get some fuckin’ bush tucker

Dad’s friend: Kangaroos, bush turkies, crocs… gotta shoot a good sized one. I nearly shot my foot off once trying to get a croc, I’d never shot through water before

Dad: What about supplies? The batteries go, your torches go, then you eventually run out of candles, you need to learn to make candles

My Uncle: Use fat from the dead fucking bodies!

My Dad: We should join the facebook group, “Ïf zombies attack, meet us at Bunnings Warehouse”. You joined that, didn’t you Alex?

Dad’s friend: But Bunnings isn’t next to a coles, that makes no sense, where do we get food?

My Dad: They always have those barbeques and shit though. Just eat a fuckin sausage
I hate how blindingly bright new sneakers are. I just purchased a new pair of converses and I feel like they’re saying “Hey! Look at me! my brightness is a clear indication that the person wearing me, in her casual jeans-and-tshirt regalia actually cares enough to have recently purchased new shoes. What a tosser”.

The white parts are so incredibly, outrageously white I think you could probably see them from Neptune. What’s that? an atomic explosion? A nuclear holocaust? Dave Grohls teeth? No? Must be new sneakers.
My friend: Hey, you should have come out this weekend. It was pretty great. Except Louise was being a slut, as usual, with her tits flapping all over the place, and I mean literally flapping. Then this disgusting thing came over and they started dirty dancing, I mean literally dry rooting right there on the dancefloor, and I’m about to vomit, every time we go out it’s like, see the creepiest most toothless, feral person in the room? THAT’S who she aims so have sex with-

Her brother: (stops what he is doing and stres at her wordlessly)

My friend:- and it’s fucking embarassing (notices her brother) what the fuck are you looking at, ugly? anyway, Louise is such a slut. It’s so embarassing, I fucking hate going out with her. Oh God, it was so shit. Anyway, we’re going out again on Friday, you should come out with us!
My mother: How's the roast, guys?

My brother: This is disgusting. It's so burnt i cant even tell what it is.

My mother: Well maybe you'd like to come home from a stressful day at work and cook dinner for us instead

My brother: Don't change the subject. This tastes like ass

My mother: How do you even know what ass tastes like?

My brother: I've eaten your cooking.
In theory, I love wavy hair. I picture tall, slender, bronze-skinned beauties meandering in their lacy underthings in a field of golden thigh-grazing grass. Their hair is long and plentiful and it unwinds in sunlit mahogany ripples, with a hint of loose curling at the ends. They are wild and free and gorgeous.

UNFORTUNATELY this is not me. I am not tall, elegant, or even able to walk without tripping over my own gargantuan feet. I don’t own pretty underwear. Plus I'd get a rash from all that grass.

And my hair? Brown tangle explosion. It will never resemble the pages of vogue and it will never be socially acceptable.

Damn you, humidity.
Random friend of my Mum’s: you must be Poppy, how nice to meet you

Me: Hi

Random friend of my Mum’s: How old are you?

Me: uh-

Random friend of my Mum’s (interrupting): No, wait, let me guess… fourteen?

Me: I’m eighteen

Random friend of my Mum’s: Oh. Wow... I bet my fifteen year old son would like to meet you!

Me: I’m eighteen

Why I Hate People Part 9,238,706

Customer (buying Black Eyed Peas CD): Black eyed peas are fuckin’ mad aye

Me: yeah, they’re alright

Customer: I mean, don’t get me wrong, normally I hate them nigga beats.

Me: (speechless)

Customer: I’m no racist but it’s bullshit these days, thinking they’re so good with their fast cars and shiny shoes

Me: um…

Customer: yeah mostly they’re pretty fuckin’ shit hey. But black eyed peas, man, fuckin’ mad.

Me: (after staring at him for a really long time) …here’s your change.

Overheard at the Supermarket

Woman (reading from shopping list):… and we’ll need a banana…

middle aged man: (grabs a banana and places it in trolley)

Woman: No, Did I say for you to do that-

Man (cutting her off): WELL THANK GOD I have you around to tell me what’s what! Thank the Lord that I’ve go you to inform me on such difficult matters. I’m so stupid that when you say “get a banana” my simple understanding is to pick up one of those yellow things and put it in the trolley, obviously I am totally incompetent. I’m just so lucky to have a wife who is so smart she understands what such a phrase actually entails. So, thank you darling, without you I’d be nothing, I’d be lost, unable to even obtain a single banana. You’re just so, so wonderful-

Woman: Oh, shut up

(We could still hear him going when we got to the checkouts)
Random guy at party: you’re like, really pretty


Random: Your eyes, they’re like, really nice. Your eyelashes are so long!

Me: um, thanks

Random: like heaps long hey

Me: must be the mascara I use

Random: yeah… hey, I bet you look like shit without makeup!

My Dad

Me: My phone’s broken. What a piece of shit.

Dad: Just charge it

Me: I did. It won’t turn on. It’s broken.

Dad: You’re probably not doing it right, let me see.

He proceeds to put my phone on the charger for a few hours, then tries to turn it on. He does this at least once every day for about 2 months.

Then one day…

Dad (Presses power button calmly and stares at phone for a very, very long time): Turn on, come on, come on, turn on… you bastard! (slams phone on kitchen bench) Fucking piece of crap! This is ridiculous, friggin’ Optus! I swear to fucking God… this phone is fucked!

December 2009: the delivery guys have failed to ring the doorbell and have instead left a notification that they have attempted to deliver a parcel.

Me: Hey, I found this under the door. Sorry Dad, I guess they didn’t ring the doorbell. I mean, I didn’t hear anything.

Dad: No, no, it’s okay… I mean, next time please just answer the door

Me: they didn’t knock, Dad. I didn’t even know they were here, actually.

Dad: Yeah, I know, it’s just a bit annoying really… I mean, you should always keep an eye out… you could have done more than just sit around downstairs… well, you should have heard them! Fucking cunts! Useless fucking bastards, they never ring the fucking doorbell. I can’t fucking believe this, I need that laptop. Those cunts. Jesus Christ. Just answer the fucking door next time Alex! For fucks sake!

Me (after being attacked by my brother’s highly aggresive pet bird): OH MY GOD that bird just tried to rip my earring out! Jesus! Put it back in the cage!

Dad: It’s not the bird’s fault Alex, you just don’t know how to handle it… if you show it fear it’s going to try to dominate you. The bird doesn’t bite me because I show it I have confidence, I look it in the eye. It knows who’s boss.

Me: It was waiting for me on my bedroom door handle when I came upstairs. She followed me when I ran.

Dad: Don’t be ridiculous. Trevor’s a nice bird (Dad reaches out to scratch Trevor and Trevor clamps her beak down on his finger)

Dad: OUCH! FUCK! GET IT OFF ME! GET THE FUCKING BIRD OFF ME! (at this point, my younger brother is forced intervene and extricate Dad’s bloody finger)

Dad: Get that fucking creature back in it’s fucking cage and do not let it out again. Ever. Put an ad in the fucking paper! FREE BIRD TO GOOD FUCKING HOME!

My Dad (talking to the coffee machine and hitting it with his fists): come on you motherfucker! Work you goddamn piece of shit!

(I look up from my book at the kitchen table, wordlessly)

Dad: Don’t swear.

Why I Don't Give Advice

When I was 16, my male friends decided they'd had enough of being single. Eventually they turned to me for advice. What with my shaved head, penchant for swearing, lack of social skills and general hatred of anything remotely feminine, this was a remarkable display of desparation. It was like the moment in Harry Potter, when Ron needs a partner for the Yule ball, and he turns to Hermione and says “But you’re a girl”.

Always the lady, I’d roll my eyes. “Harden the fuck up, you’ll be fine. Shall we get a goon sack?"


This one time, I had a Tumblr. I didn't like it and so I started posting back on blogspot.