Ehhhk. I'm pretty seedy today so my brain is nicely mashed up enough for me to foolhardily write and maybe even type vomit something that I will maybe want to re-read.
Who the fuck am I fooling with that though?
Anyhoo.
I finally got onto Queensland (aka Deb......who lives in Queensland.....hence the imaginative nickname that took hours of brain sweat).
Every time in the last few days when I've tried to get onto her, after spending hours (I kid you not, I am that gutless) working up the confidence and chewing on the shit that's eating me, I haven't been able to and had to awkwardly speak to her boarder Marc.
Where the very short conversation usually consists of me making stupid sheep jokes (he's a Kiwi) and him chuckling boarder-line pissed off.
The other night: "Ohhh, heya Marc. .....it's Lana..... from down South."
"Ahhh yehhhh. How ye goin'?"
"Not bad....... heard you went home for Christmas." I stutter.
"Mmm, yeh, had an awesome one."
"*snorts with laughter* ....so you...ahhh *snort* caught up with all your sheep than?" I say while kicking myself as hard as I possibly can.
"Yehh... just so many of them, you know. Hard to keep up with them all, so it took a while. Just millions of them"
"*snorts* ....aha, I bet there are" I choke out, barely audible to even myself.
After hanging up I punch myself in the head and throw my phone across the room with "You fucking dickhead! What the fuck is wrong with you!?"
Last night I rang again and tried to be as nice as possible to Marc who probably thinks I'm some sort of pompous pretentious tart. I also unbelievably refrained myself from the sheep jokes.
Deb wasn't there, so nearly choking on my own self-contempt I asked the normal pleasantries before going to suffocate myself in my pillow.
Deb rang back only an hour or two later while I was at a friend's BBQ and well into my drinking.
"There's a job up here all ready for you, if you want it." she said.
"Ohhh...really? Great"
"When you reckon you'll head up?"
I put my beer on the ground. A sure sign of shit getting serious. "Umm.... I.. ahh.... how much notice would you need?"
"Mate, if you rocked up 'ere tomorrow you'd have a job the next day."
"Ohh wow.... umm...."
"I'm about to head off for about a week, but it'd be fine if you came up while I'm not here"
"Ohh, you're going away? What date will you be back?"
"Ahhh after the long weekend....the....ahh 28th I think."
I bit down hard on my lip, "Ohh wow, ok. Umm..... well I reckon I'll come up after that. Just need to get my arse into gear, you know." I force a laugh while dropping my head, thinking the blood going that way will work in some sort of helpful way.
"Yeah, no worries. Well let me know what you're doing mate."
"Yep cool.....I will. I'll speak to you soon."
As I hang up I whine bitterly looking at my white knuckles.
And that's how it ended, with the ball in my court. Actually no, it always was there.
I've got no more excuses. I've got the ute. I've got the laptop. I've got the job. I've got the accommodation. I've got nothing here holding me back.
Ohh bloody hell!
Just bite the bullet.
Just bite the bullet.
Just bite the bullet.
Bit fucking hard.
Monday, January 14, 2008
Thursday, January 10, 2008
The Big Hat Theory
There are alot of mysteries I wish to uncover in my lifetime.
One of these is why blokes in boots, jeans and big Akubra hats are so bloody alluring to me.
They themselves mightn't even be good-looking! Yet I can't take my eyes off them. The situation is always made worse when they have that swagger.
You know the sort, the slow amble of the hips and the slightly bandy legs as though they've never left the saddle.
I think this stupid lust couldn't possibly be more Red-Necked. And it shows that despite the books I read, the diverse range of people I know, all the places I've been- my Red-Neck grains will always shine through when some annoying bloke in tight Wranglers and scuffed boots walks into the room. What is that!?
And the really weird part is, if I had to name the top 10 arseholes I've met in my life, 7 out of 10 of them were those stupid Akubra hatted and, tight-jeaned eye-gluers. Hello, logic, where are you!?
My most recent run-in with such a creature that brought the mystery to the surface all over again was not yesterday, but the day before- on Wednesday.
We hired some contract harvesters to come out and harvest our crop. They were a big group of people who hailed from South Australia, New South Wales and Queensland and every year they met up to work their way down the harvest trail with all their huge machinery.
Wednesday was boiling hot and we'd done our work in the early morning and were inside keeping cool when a great big yellow Header, a truck and ute came down our driveway in a grand entrance of noise.
Dad was like a little kid seeing a new toy as he saw them. We followed them out into the paddock in our old truck. He was a great bubbling mess and he exclaimed again and again about how big the Header was. I only looked at it. Sure it was big, but I'd seen bigger.
We stood out in the paddock amongest the flies and spoke to the contractors. They were a big family business that had been traveling down our way for over 10 years, our district being the final stop on the great Southern haul.
Dad talked to the man and this woman who was his sister-in-law or something while these two little girls they had brought with them sat in the ute beeping the horn and playing with numerous other buttons.
The Header was a few meters off in the paddock. The door had swung open and a figure in a big beaten hat, faded jeans and boots had climbed down.
Everyone was already staring at the Header and I luckily had sunnies on so no one could see what I was really staring at.
He was still too far away to make out how old he was, so he could've easily been ugly and grosse but I wanted to keep up the eye-candy illusion for as long as possible.
Eventually he swaggered over (ohhh that swagger) to be introduced. The big hat shaded half his face while large sunnies hid his eyes so the jury was still out. But I could still see a straight square jaw that always makes a positively chemical reaction when coupled with the big hat. This is the Big Hat Theory, now pay attention people.
He looked anywhere between 25 to 28 years old, but Northerners have a tendency to look older than they actually are.
He didn't have a beer gut so that was a bonus. Hahaha...
He stood before us very briefly not saying anything before returning to his Header to continue the 'fine-tuning'.
Dad and the man and lady continued to talk while I continued to indulge my fantasies.
Soon Dad said we had some jobs to do at the Woolshed so we sauntered off into the heat with my dog at our heels.
Not long after I stood peering through the broken window frames of the Woolshed watching the Header finally fire up and start out into the paddock, before returning to the house to get out of the heat.
I was back at the house for maybe only 20 minutes when Dad came back from the paddock squirming like a little boy again over the big toy, telling me how he'd been given a ride in it and how exciting it was.
I was then told that I had to experience the same thrill.
I firmly said no. Just the thought of being alone in the small cabin of the Header with Akubra-boy gave me goosebumps.
But I was ushered like a small unwilling animal out into the searing heat and into the paddock by Dad, who only succeeded because he unknowingly played on the concept of my courage. Thank you insecurity!
Back out in the paddock I anxiously shifted my weight from one foot to the other as I gradually watched the Header coming closer and closer towards us through the crop. God, why was I so bloody scared!?
Eventually it pulled up alongside the truck to empty the grain into.
And I was again ushered up into the cabin by telling myself I was a gutless wonder.
In the cool spacious cabin, sitting beside Akubra-boy I didn't feel as awkward as I thought I'd be.
As we started up again and headed out into the crop he told me how he was a stationhand/musterer/jackaroo from North-West Queensland, which was already the bleeding obvious between his clothes and lazy northern tounge. I told him about my brief stint on a station two years ago and it was soon discovered there were a couple of common grounds.
"I'm probably heading up to Queensland soon for some rouseabout work" I said trying to convince him as well as myself (the jury is still out on that- thanks to my gutless disposition).
He laughed "Yeah plenty of that up there!".
He'd only gone down one row when he turned to me "Reakon you could 'ave a go?"
I swallowed, "Ahh yeh".
At the fence line he swung the Header around and we swapped seats.
Behind the wheel I placed my hand upon the throttle and edged the machine into speed, while trying to watch the huge harvesters on the front as they spun furiously around and ate up the stalks of the crop like a giant lawn-mower. The rows were zig-zagged and ran in lines that would put a drunk grannie's driving skills to shame. I soon learnt the Header was a slow responder as I tried to steer it every which way to not miss any stalks. Akubra-boy laughing when I did.
As we reached the end of one row I turned the Header around to start on the next to see the crazily crooked lines I had left down the paddock.
Akubra-boy cackled "How much have you had to drink today?"
I grinned, "Not telling".
As we continued he told me more about himself, saying that this was probably the last crop he'd do this year.
I laughed "it's only the 9th of January!"
He nodded seriously, "Yeh, I'm sick of it. I'm going back mustering in Queensland"
I related. I suddenly really wanted to go to Queensland.
I finished off the last of the crop before swinging it back to the truck to empty the grain.
As I climbed down from the Header Dad was shocked to see me driving, but excited.
"What was it like?" Was It hard?"
I casually shrugged, suddenly the ol 'pro, "Nahh, steering was a bit shit, but was easy"
Back outside again, I was once again free to watch Akubra-boy swaggering around. Did I find him good-looking or was it just that old thang? I had no idea, but I couldn't take my eyes off him.
Later that evening I watched the big yellow Header disappear up the drive-way and I felt sad. Was I sad to see him go? Or sad to see someone go with the life I wanted?
I didn't know.
But, my feet suddenly felt itchy and I was suddenly more determined to go to Queensland.
I just need to find the courage first.......
One of these is why blokes in boots, jeans and big Akubra hats are so bloody alluring to me.
They themselves mightn't even be good-looking! Yet I can't take my eyes off them. The situation is always made worse when they have that swagger.
You know the sort, the slow amble of the hips and the slightly bandy legs as though they've never left the saddle.
I think this stupid lust couldn't possibly be more Red-Necked. And it shows that despite the books I read, the diverse range of people I know, all the places I've been- my Red-Neck grains will always shine through when some annoying bloke in tight Wranglers and scuffed boots walks into the room. What is that!?
And the really weird part is, if I had to name the top 10 arseholes I've met in my life, 7 out of 10 of them were those stupid Akubra hatted and, tight-jeaned eye-gluers. Hello, logic, where are you!?
My most recent run-in with such a creature that brought the mystery to the surface all over again was not yesterday, but the day before- on Wednesday.
We hired some contract harvesters to come out and harvest our crop. They were a big group of people who hailed from South Australia, New South Wales and Queensland and every year they met up to work their way down the harvest trail with all their huge machinery.
Wednesday was boiling hot and we'd done our work in the early morning and were inside keeping cool when a great big yellow Header, a truck and ute came down our driveway in a grand entrance of noise.
Dad was like a little kid seeing a new toy as he saw them. We followed them out into the paddock in our old truck. He was a great bubbling mess and he exclaimed again and again about how big the Header was. I only looked at it. Sure it was big, but I'd seen bigger.
We stood out in the paddock amongest the flies and spoke to the contractors. They were a big family business that had been traveling down our way for over 10 years, our district being the final stop on the great Southern haul.
Dad talked to the man and this woman who was his sister-in-law or something while these two little girls they had brought with them sat in the ute beeping the horn and playing with numerous other buttons.
The Header was a few meters off in the paddock. The door had swung open and a figure in a big beaten hat, faded jeans and boots had climbed down.
Everyone was already staring at the Header and I luckily had sunnies on so no one could see what I was really staring at.
He was still too far away to make out how old he was, so he could've easily been ugly and grosse but I wanted to keep up the eye-candy illusion for as long as possible.
Eventually he swaggered over (ohhh that swagger) to be introduced. The big hat shaded half his face while large sunnies hid his eyes so the jury was still out. But I could still see a straight square jaw that always makes a positively chemical reaction when coupled with the big hat. This is the Big Hat Theory, now pay attention people.
He looked anywhere between 25 to 28 years old, but Northerners have a tendency to look older than they actually are.
He didn't have a beer gut so that was a bonus. Hahaha...
He stood before us very briefly not saying anything before returning to his Header to continue the 'fine-tuning'.
Dad and the man and lady continued to talk while I continued to indulge my fantasies.
Soon Dad said we had some jobs to do at the Woolshed so we sauntered off into the heat with my dog at our heels.
Not long after I stood peering through the broken window frames of the Woolshed watching the Header finally fire up and start out into the paddock, before returning to the house to get out of the heat.
I was back at the house for maybe only 20 minutes when Dad came back from the paddock squirming like a little boy again over the big toy, telling me how he'd been given a ride in it and how exciting it was.
I was then told that I had to experience the same thrill.
I firmly said no. Just the thought of being alone in the small cabin of the Header with Akubra-boy gave me goosebumps.
But I was ushered like a small unwilling animal out into the searing heat and into the paddock by Dad, who only succeeded because he unknowingly played on the concept of my courage. Thank you insecurity!
Back out in the paddock I anxiously shifted my weight from one foot to the other as I gradually watched the Header coming closer and closer towards us through the crop. God, why was I so bloody scared!?
Eventually it pulled up alongside the truck to empty the grain into.
And I was again ushered up into the cabin by telling myself I was a gutless wonder.
In the cool spacious cabin, sitting beside Akubra-boy I didn't feel as awkward as I thought I'd be.
As we started up again and headed out into the crop he told me how he was a stationhand/musterer/jackaroo from North-West Queensland, which was already the bleeding obvious between his clothes and lazy northern tounge. I told him about my brief stint on a station two years ago and it was soon discovered there were a couple of common grounds.
"I'm probably heading up to Queensland soon for some rouseabout work" I said trying to convince him as well as myself (the jury is still out on that- thanks to my gutless disposition).
He laughed "Yeah plenty of that up there!".
He'd only gone down one row when he turned to me "Reakon you could 'ave a go?"
I swallowed, "Ahh yeh".
At the fence line he swung the Header around and we swapped seats.
Behind the wheel I placed my hand upon the throttle and edged the machine into speed, while trying to watch the huge harvesters on the front as they spun furiously around and ate up the stalks of the crop like a giant lawn-mower. The rows were zig-zagged and ran in lines that would put a drunk grannie's driving skills to shame. I soon learnt the Header was a slow responder as I tried to steer it every which way to not miss any stalks. Akubra-boy laughing when I did.
As we reached the end of one row I turned the Header around to start on the next to see the crazily crooked lines I had left down the paddock.
Akubra-boy cackled "How much have you had to drink today?"
I grinned, "Not telling".
As we continued he told me more about himself, saying that this was probably the last crop he'd do this year.
I laughed "it's only the 9th of January!"
He nodded seriously, "Yeh, I'm sick of it. I'm going back mustering in Queensland"
I related. I suddenly really wanted to go to Queensland.
I finished off the last of the crop before swinging it back to the truck to empty the grain.
As I climbed down from the Header Dad was shocked to see me driving, but excited.
"What was it like?" Was It hard?"
I casually shrugged, suddenly the ol 'pro, "Nahh, steering was a bit shit, but was easy"
Back outside again, I was once again free to watch Akubra-boy swaggering around. Did I find him good-looking or was it just that old thang? I had no idea, but I couldn't take my eyes off him.
Later that evening I watched the big yellow Header disappear up the drive-way and I felt sad. Was I sad to see him go? Or sad to see someone go with the life I wanted?
I didn't know.
But, my feet suddenly felt itchy and I was suddenly more determined to go to Queensland.
I just need to find the courage first.......
Friday, January 4, 2008
Saturday
Today is a stinker. I had the fan blowing like Paris Hilton all night and all this morning till I woke up at bloody 12pm. Which has become an early time for me to wake up at.
I can already feel your scowls and crinkled brows of disgust coming in waves through this virtual world. What? I'd defend myself saying it hasn't exactly been a choice but there's probably not much point as millions of people out there have crap jobs that they hate yet hack it every day without any spoken complaints.
So I'm paying my 'sowwwwwys' forward now.
Anyhoo....after the usual daily round of fighting words with my arsehole brother I grew increasingly irritable about how beautiful it was outside- 37 degrees, is yes, my idea of beautiful.
So I did the ol' slip, a slopper and a slapper than emerged from my cold little house into the fierce heat. As I walked along I thought what wimps people were to not be out enjoying it also.
I walked to my old man's house and got my dog forcing her to join me.
Maggie normally loves a romp out in the day but, yeh, she is a dog and as I watched her panting little frame stumbling along on the hot bitumen I began to wonder whether this could be classed as animal cruelty.
We got to the oval next to the Nepean Highway and as I began my usual laps around it I tried to get her to just sit still and wait under the shade, but the defiant little beast was having none of that and bravely padded on behind me, lapping up any cold water she found along the way.
On my 5th or 6th lap around I suddenly turned my head to see where she was but couldn't find her. I stopped and saw her about 40 meters back.
She was hunched over furiously snapping at something and to my horror I could see fur flying up from her mouth and into the air. There was something small and grey on the ground trying to struggle away.
I yelled at her but she ignored me.
I hurried over to her to see a tiny little possum at Maggie's mercy.
I screamed at her and batted her off the possum. She immediately cowered away with large clumps of fur still caught in her jaw.
The little thing was lying in the dirt, still moving its' legs in every direction to try and run in vain but they looked broken.
It's fur was matted and missing many large clumps.
As I squatted on my haunches it stared at me with huge brown eyes, wide with fear. It's whole body was beating and shaking furiously.
It would die of shock if I moved it. It would die of further injury if I moved it.
It would get mauled by another animal if I left it on the ground.
I tried to get closer to inspect it and it suddenly crawled towards me and lunged in the air at me.
I hoped that was a sign of recovery but that was just stupid.
It started to crawl around, it's wide eyes always on me.
It was in a great deal of pain and I knew what the humane thing would be to do. What anyone else would do that had seen as many animals die as I had.
But I couldn't bring myself to break its' neck.
I was scared I wouldn't break it properly and cause it further pain.
It was so helpless and small.
So I just uselessly sat a few meters away from it till it slowly died.
It's heart was beating so fast and I thought it would never stop.
Eventually it's bright wide eyes began to close like it was sleepy and its' little frame began to roll over till it lay on it's side with its' mouth nestled in the dust like a peaceful little puppy napping.
Once I was certain it's heart had completely stopped I stood up and walked away before the rest of the ants came.
That's life though.
I can already feel your scowls and crinkled brows of disgust coming in waves through this virtual world. What? I'd defend myself saying it hasn't exactly been a choice but there's probably not much point as millions of people out there have crap jobs that they hate yet hack it every day without any spoken complaints.
So I'm paying my 'sowwwwwys' forward now.
Anyhoo....after the usual daily round of fighting words with my arsehole brother I grew increasingly irritable about how beautiful it was outside- 37 degrees, is yes, my idea of beautiful.
So I did the ol' slip, a slopper and a slapper than emerged from my cold little house into the fierce heat. As I walked along I thought what wimps people were to not be out enjoying it also.
I walked to my old man's house and got my dog forcing her to join me.
Maggie normally loves a romp out in the day but, yeh, she is a dog and as I watched her panting little frame stumbling along on the hot bitumen I began to wonder whether this could be classed as animal cruelty.
We got to the oval next to the Nepean Highway and as I began my usual laps around it I tried to get her to just sit still and wait under the shade, but the defiant little beast was having none of that and bravely padded on behind me, lapping up any cold water she found along the way.
On my 5th or 6th lap around I suddenly turned my head to see where she was but couldn't find her. I stopped and saw her about 40 meters back.
She was hunched over furiously snapping at something and to my horror I could see fur flying up from her mouth and into the air. There was something small and grey on the ground trying to struggle away.
I yelled at her but she ignored me.
I hurried over to her to see a tiny little possum at Maggie's mercy.
I screamed at her and batted her off the possum. She immediately cowered away with large clumps of fur still caught in her jaw.
The little thing was lying in the dirt, still moving its' legs in every direction to try and run in vain but they looked broken.
It's fur was matted and missing many large clumps.
As I squatted on my haunches it stared at me with huge brown eyes, wide with fear. It's whole body was beating and shaking furiously.
It would die of shock if I moved it. It would die of further injury if I moved it.
It would get mauled by another animal if I left it on the ground.
I tried to get closer to inspect it and it suddenly crawled towards me and lunged in the air at me.
I hoped that was a sign of recovery but that was just stupid.
It started to crawl around, it's wide eyes always on me.
It was in a great deal of pain and I knew what the humane thing would be to do. What anyone else would do that had seen as many animals die as I had.
But I couldn't bring myself to break its' neck.
I was scared I wouldn't break it properly and cause it further pain.
It was so helpless and small.
So I just uselessly sat a few meters away from it till it slowly died.
It's heart was beating so fast and I thought it would never stop.
Eventually it's bright wide eyes began to close like it was sleepy and its' little frame began to roll over till it lay on it's side with its' mouth nestled in the dust like a peaceful little puppy napping.
Once I was certain it's heart had completely stopped I stood up and walked away before the rest of the ants came.
That's life though.
Thursday, January 3, 2008
Harrrpy New Year!
Happy New Year!
And nothing seems to quite hail in the new year than the constant, repetitive question of "Is it the new year yet?" around the countdown time.
I spent these precious count down moments on the darkened beach of Rye, an hour East of Melbourne, with only the occasional illegal fire work being let off meters from our footfalls to light up my friends' drunken expressions.
Many a juvenile like ourselves had snuck off to this end of the beach free from the large number of cops patrolling the area sniffing the air like dogs for the scent of alcohol which would land the bearer of the substance with an on-the-spot-fine.
From my esky in the back of the ute we had pulled out our tinnies of Bundy and Smirnoff to hide on our persons before skittering off like rabbits into the night with cops lurking only meters away.
Once on the beach we cantered about triumphantly holding up our cans and kicking up salty water in the shallows. Once it had been established the area was cop and bogan free we began to wonder how would we know it when the clock struck midnight?
We questioned others loitering in the vicinity and they gave us estimates of it being anywhere between 8 minutes and 3 minutes til midnight.
"I'm sure we'll know" I assured Nat and Fleece, "We'll hear it"
But noises would suddenly erupt from different spots to signal in a new year at different times.
"Is it the New Year yet?"
"Nahhh" a drunk bystander (actually he was lying down) called out.
Eventually fireworks propelling skywards from numerous areas around the Bay told us it was 2008.
We danced and laughed about on the black beach that occasionally would be lit up with red or orange.
Panting we realised our hands were now empty of any liquid so in nodded agreement we decided to return to the ute to replenish the stock.
Walking back along the road we were approached by a guy who had just been in a brawl and had had his tooth knocked out who advised us not to walk along alone- crazy barbarians were on the loose.
Like everybody else we wandered about aimlessly that night. Down the street, to the beach, into the water, into the park and down to the beach again.
We went swimming about 2am with some Wog Boys from Greensborough who took a shine to my ute and to Nat, whose always had a weakness for the Woggies.
At 4am still wet and sandy we climbed into the back of my ute which had been decked out with mattresses, sheets and towels taped up over the windows.
We opened the windows and closed up the tail gate and tried to sleep while revelers out on the street tried to party on with just their systems full of drugs and grog.
I didn't sleep a wink due to drinking four energy drinks since 10pm and because I was the one lying by the tailgate so I felt like a watchdog, lying with wide eyes and listening intently to every little noise (not that there many little noises).
All up it was rather good New Years, but I've had some really really shit New Years in the past years so I don't have much to compare it to.
How was all your New Years?
And nothing seems to quite hail in the new year than the constant, repetitive question of "Is it the new year yet?" around the countdown time.
I spent these precious count down moments on the darkened beach of Rye, an hour East of Melbourne, with only the occasional illegal fire work being let off meters from our footfalls to light up my friends' drunken expressions.
Many a juvenile like ourselves had snuck off to this end of the beach free from the large number of cops patrolling the area sniffing the air like dogs for the scent of alcohol which would land the bearer of the substance with an on-the-spot-fine.
From my esky in the back of the ute we had pulled out our tinnies of Bundy and Smirnoff to hide on our persons before skittering off like rabbits into the night with cops lurking only meters away.
Once on the beach we cantered about triumphantly holding up our cans and kicking up salty water in the shallows. Once it had been established the area was cop and bogan free we began to wonder how would we know it when the clock struck midnight?
We questioned others loitering in the vicinity and they gave us estimates of it being anywhere between 8 minutes and 3 minutes til midnight.
"I'm sure we'll know" I assured Nat and Fleece, "We'll hear it"
But noises would suddenly erupt from different spots to signal in a new year at different times.
"Is it the New Year yet?"
"Nahhh" a drunk bystander (actually he was lying down) called out.
Eventually fireworks propelling skywards from numerous areas around the Bay told us it was 2008.
We danced and laughed about on the black beach that occasionally would be lit up with red or orange.
Panting we realised our hands were now empty of any liquid so in nodded agreement we decided to return to the ute to replenish the stock.
Walking back along the road we were approached by a guy who had just been in a brawl and had had his tooth knocked out who advised us not to walk along alone- crazy barbarians were on the loose.
Like everybody else we wandered about aimlessly that night. Down the street, to the beach, into the water, into the park and down to the beach again.
We went swimming about 2am with some Wog Boys from Greensborough who took a shine to my ute and to Nat, whose always had a weakness for the Woggies.
At 4am still wet and sandy we climbed into the back of my ute which had been decked out with mattresses, sheets and towels taped up over the windows.
We opened the windows and closed up the tail gate and tried to sleep while revelers out on the street tried to party on with just their systems full of drugs and grog.
I didn't sleep a wink due to drinking four energy drinks since 10pm and because I was the one lying by the tailgate so I felt like a watchdog, lying with wide eyes and listening intently to every little noise (not that there many little noises).
All up it was rather good New Years, but I've had some really really shit New Years in the past years so I don't have much to compare it to.
How was all your New Years?
Sunday, December 16, 2007
Christ it's Christmas!
In my haze of preoccupation with numerous persuits, I have once again been knocked over stunned to suddenly discover how rapidly the disastrous thing known as Christmas is approaching.
It's not that I dislike Christmas......itself anyway, it's that I hate how people become every year when the bloody thing rolls around like a faithful steam engine (Not a Connex steam engine- Only Melburnians will get that).
Their crazed expressions as they jolt into you in the crazy cyclone that has suddenly engulfed all shopping places of all shapes and forms.
Yesterday while following the Mother like a little lamb into the slaughter into Chaddstone, I was like a small animal reeling in fright against the wall as the torrent of normal every day people mutated into bargain-thirsty shoppers stampeded towards me.
"I'm scared" I whispered, quivering with fear to the Mother I hoped would step forward to shield me. But instead, she grabbed me to pull me into that deep end of human limbs, clutching shopping bags like hunters of the wild cradling their kill for their young ones back in the nest.
I found a small ledge to plaster myself against in David Jones once we had fought our way through the ferocious snarling beasts that are the Christmas shoppers.
Panting I was shocked to see the Mother casually surveying the glass wears, calmly holding wine glasses up to the light, pondering their competency to hold the precious liquid.
Peering around to check the coast was clear, I gingerly stepped out of my safe haven to assist the Mother in the glass search. Eventually finding something to amuse and distract me from my turbulent ordeal- I held up a large glass in the cup of my hand.
"Ooohh what about these Mum?"
She peered over critically from a delicately small and intricately decorated glass that had taken her attention. She sighed patiently, "Ohh that's a goblet" before turning back to her more deserving piece.
"Exactly! Look at all the grog you can get in there!" I exclaimed holding it up to unsuccessfully prove my point.
We wandered on through the walls of glass wear, the Mother watching my tread with an eagle's eye, my clumsy reputation for destroying all things pretty and delicate eating at her nerves.
I suddenly gasped and jumped from the path I had been warned to follow, as the Mother nearly collapsed with overwhelming anxiety.
"Maaarrmmmmm! Look at this!" I held up a heavy silver table ornament that holds candles like the rich people have in movies (I have no idea what you call them).
"Ohh let's be cultured!"
The Mother raised an eyebrow before continuing on her glass quest "Ohh I do worry about you Lana."
It wasn't long before we had to brave the crazed crowds again to get to Borders book store. I had the idea that this might pose as a safe haven with the ignorant thought that the average hungry hunter couldn't read. As I threw myself from the unreasoning rip of shoppers and across the threshold of Borders I suddenly discovered that while the savages couldn't read they still obviously liked to look at the pretty pictures and a line nearly longer than Shane Warne's phone bill snaked its' way from the counter and zig zagged through the shelves.
The Mother had abandoned me here so I had to fend for myself as I decided upon my friends and family not being worth this ordeal for the sake of their store bought presents so I instead went looking for a dvd series to get me through the next few boring weeks of unemployment.
I soon found Seinfeld's season 1 and 2 and used the gift voucher I had just recieved from my school as a prize for getting the 'Academic Excellence Award" (*bows* Thankyou! Thankyou!). Ahh... and there's that old Tall Poppy Syndrome pushing up through the weeds.
The queue was made short by the illusion that preoccupation always loyally supplies, which came in the form of a Where's-Wally styled picture book called "Where's Bin Laden?". Made me giggle till one of the check-out-chicks called "Next!".
Later that day the Mother suddenly full of the Christmas spirit for the first time that year ordered for the dusty, foul-smelling Christmas decorations to be brought down from their hiding place. As the light hit the little Santas and bulbous tree ornaments for the first time in a year they screamed for mercy, but the Mother was ruthless.
The nativity set was arranged properly upon the mantle piece with the donkey and cow as usual looking like they were about to maul and feast upon Baby Jesus. The three wise men looking as seedy as the men down at my local on Friday night and the adolescent Mary still bewildered about where baby's came from.
The 2D plastic Santa was then placed on the window sill looking like he'd really hit the ciggie pack in the past year in his reclusive state with his formerly white beard as yellow as piss along with his normally bright white eyes fading into a yellow that would put Big Bird to shame.
The pathetically tiny tree was dragged from it's box and it's limbs were than given time to be twisted in different directions to try and manipulate some sort of realistic look from it.
My suggestion of doing the traditionally Aussie custom of just getting a little eucalyptus to decorate was instantly soiled upon with the proclamation that eucalyptus stunk- literally.
Tail between legs I returned to putting more decorations on the sad plastic little tree than was humane.
Eventually we stood back to look at our our work.
Bulbous ornaments hung from door knobs and shelf edges, large lights nearly bigger than the tree itself were draped over the sad little green object, a home made star with silver foil on only one side hung from the wooden chandler, thin silver tinsel drunkenly made its' way from the cabinet, across the windows, over the Christmas cards that spelt my name wrong to come to a exhausted coiled end on top of the tv.
A red piece of head gear with Santas wobbling upon springs with lights in their arses that previous years had always seemed to make its' way to my dog's head (to her disgust) now straddled a small lamp upon the mantel piece.
It was like a tacky factory had exploded in my lounge room. I didn't know whether to laugh hysterically or reel in horror, I chose the former and decided to go for the tacky theme boots n' all. I rushed to my room and returned triumphantly holding a small object above my head.
The Mother, The Brother and his girlfriend stared quizzically until I made the movement that I hoped would be the only Australian attempt I'd make to the tack fest to be left undisturbed.
From the nativity set I removed Baby Jesus and put a small figurine of Ned Kelly in his place.
It's not that I dislike Christmas......itself anyway, it's that I hate how people become every year when the bloody thing rolls around like a faithful steam engine (Not a Connex steam engine- Only Melburnians will get that).
Their crazed expressions as they jolt into you in the crazy cyclone that has suddenly engulfed all shopping places of all shapes and forms.
Yesterday while following the Mother like a little lamb into the slaughter into Chaddstone, I was like a small animal reeling in fright against the wall as the torrent of normal every day people mutated into bargain-thirsty shoppers stampeded towards me.
"I'm scared" I whispered, quivering with fear to the Mother I hoped would step forward to shield me. But instead, she grabbed me to pull me into that deep end of human limbs, clutching shopping bags like hunters of the wild cradling their kill for their young ones back in the nest.
I found a small ledge to plaster myself against in David Jones once we had fought our way through the ferocious snarling beasts that are the Christmas shoppers.
Panting I was shocked to see the Mother casually surveying the glass wears, calmly holding wine glasses up to the light, pondering their competency to hold the precious liquid.
Peering around to check the coast was clear, I gingerly stepped out of my safe haven to assist the Mother in the glass search. Eventually finding something to amuse and distract me from my turbulent ordeal- I held up a large glass in the cup of my hand.
"Ooohh what about these Mum?"
She peered over critically from a delicately small and intricately decorated glass that had taken her attention. She sighed patiently, "Ohh that's a goblet" before turning back to her more deserving piece.
"Exactly! Look at all the grog you can get in there!" I exclaimed holding it up to unsuccessfully prove my point.
We wandered on through the walls of glass wear, the Mother watching my tread with an eagle's eye, my clumsy reputation for destroying all things pretty and delicate eating at her nerves.
I suddenly gasped and jumped from the path I had been warned to follow, as the Mother nearly collapsed with overwhelming anxiety.
"Maaarrmmmmm! Look at this!" I held up a heavy silver table ornament that holds candles like the rich people have in movies (I have no idea what you call them).
"Ohh let's be cultured!"
The Mother raised an eyebrow before continuing on her glass quest "Ohh I do worry about you Lana."
It wasn't long before we had to brave the crazed crowds again to get to Borders book store. I had the idea that this might pose as a safe haven with the ignorant thought that the average hungry hunter couldn't read. As I threw myself from the unreasoning rip of shoppers and across the threshold of Borders I suddenly discovered that while the savages couldn't read they still obviously liked to look at the pretty pictures and a line nearly longer than Shane Warne's phone bill snaked its' way from the counter and zig zagged through the shelves.
The Mother had abandoned me here so I had to fend for myself as I decided upon my friends and family not being worth this ordeal for the sake of their store bought presents so I instead went looking for a dvd series to get me through the next few boring weeks of unemployment.
I soon found Seinfeld's season 1 and 2 and used the gift voucher I had just recieved from my school as a prize for getting the 'Academic Excellence Award" (*bows* Thankyou! Thankyou!). Ahh... and there's that old Tall Poppy Syndrome pushing up through the weeds.
The queue was made short by the illusion that preoccupation always loyally supplies, which came in the form of a Where's-Wally styled picture book called "Where's Bin Laden?". Made me giggle till one of the check-out-chicks called "Next!".
Later that day the Mother suddenly full of the Christmas spirit for the first time that year ordered for the dusty, foul-smelling Christmas decorations to be brought down from their hiding place. As the light hit the little Santas and bulbous tree ornaments for the first time in a year they screamed for mercy, but the Mother was ruthless.
The nativity set was arranged properly upon the mantle piece with the donkey and cow as usual looking like they were about to maul and feast upon Baby Jesus. The three wise men looking as seedy as the men down at my local on Friday night and the adolescent Mary still bewildered about where baby's came from.
The 2D plastic Santa was then placed on the window sill looking like he'd really hit the ciggie pack in the past year in his reclusive state with his formerly white beard as yellow as piss along with his normally bright white eyes fading into a yellow that would put Big Bird to shame.
The pathetically tiny tree was dragged from it's box and it's limbs were than given time to be twisted in different directions to try and manipulate some sort of realistic look from it.
My suggestion of doing the traditionally Aussie custom of just getting a little eucalyptus to decorate was instantly soiled upon with the proclamation that eucalyptus stunk- literally.
Tail between legs I returned to putting more decorations on the sad plastic little tree than was humane.
Eventually we stood back to look at our our work.
Bulbous ornaments hung from door knobs and shelf edges, large lights nearly bigger than the tree itself were draped over the sad little green object, a home made star with silver foil on only one side hung from the wooden chandler, thin silver tinsel drunkenly made its' way from the cabinet, across the windows, over the Christmas cards that spelt my name wrong to come to a exhausted coiled end on top of the tv.
A red piece of head gear with Santas wobbling upon springs with lights in their arses that previous years had always seemed to make its' way to my dog's head (to her disgust) now straddled a small lamp upon the mantel piece.
It was like a tacky factory had exploded in my lounge room. I didn't know whether to laugh hysterically or reel in horror, I chose the former and decided to go for the tacky theme boots n' all. I rushed to my room and returned triumphantly holding a small object above my head.
The Mother, The Brother and his girlfriend stared quizzically until I made the movement that I hoped would be the only Australian attempt I'd make to the tack fest to be left undisturbed.
From the nativity set I removed Baby Jesus and put a small figurine of Ned Kelly in his place.
Friday, December 7, 2007
Love Thy Neighbour
Last night my cuz Fleece and I had just returned from the beach when we got a text message from my mum.
"We're at the Sandy Hotel"
There was a chance she'd be drunk by the time we got there and just the possibility of seeing mum drunk was too good to miss.
We sped down Beach Road in the newly serviced Hilux with even more grunt than it had before.
Through the double doors of the Sandy pub and we were met with Mum (drunk), her boyfriend, his mate- Kevin07 and our neighbour Jill (drunk).
Jill was waddling around in a dress that barely covered her large breasts so at every sudden movement she made we would tightly shut our eyes. Added to that she would also lift her dress to reveal herself to any unlucky bystander and have them screaming from the room with blood dripping from their eyes.
But that's how she acts sober so I wasn't too worried about her well-being until she suddenly leaned forwards and croaked "Laaarrrnnaaa, have you ever tried modeling?"
All eyes were suddenly on me. "Only for dog food companies"
Then Jill got the idea that skinny dipping in the bay just over the road would be a real riot. Mum was up for it too. I was told that I would be up for it. I hadn't been listening to their conversation "What am I up for?", I asked, but the question of being Up For It had moved onto Fleece.
"Nahhh, she's too straight laced" cackled Mum.
Fleece took a sigh of relief, she was off the hook just for being too anal.
The decision was reached to move the party back to Jill's house.
She wanted to come in the ute with us.
Fleece was driving due to me hitting the bottle a bit.
We climbed in the front while Jill fell in the back.
She was satisfied as long as we had the Seeker's song blaring loudly on the AM radio.
Once it ended she grew bored.
As we turned onto North Road, Jill undid her seat belt and began manoeuvring herself in the turtle-fashion into the front between us.
"Move ya arse over Lana!"
I was hanging out the open window and was still wedged between the door and Jill's butt while she tried to get into position.
Next minute the Hilux began to growl unnaturally because in her struggle Jill had kicked the gear stick into neutral.
The journey home wasn't the most comfortable of my life but wasn't boring either.
"We're at the Sandy Hotel"
There was a chance she'd be drunk by the time we got there and just the possibility of seeing mum drunk was too good to miss.
We sped down Beach Road in the newly serviced Hilux with even more grunt than it had before.
Through the double doors of the Sandy pub and we were met with Mum (drunk), her boyfriend, his mate- Kevin07 and our neighbour Jill (drunk).
Jill was waddling around in a dress that barely covered her large breasts so at every sudden movement she made we would tightly shut our eyes. Added to that she would also lift her dress to reveal herself to any unlucky bystander and have them screaming from the room with blood dripping from their eyes.
But that's how she acts sober so I wasn't too worried about her well-being until she suddenly leaned forwards and croaked "Laaarrrnnaaa, have you ever tried modeling?"
All eyes were suddenly on me. "Only for dog food companies"
Then Jill got the idea that skinny dipping in the bay just over the road would be a real riot. Mum was up for it too. I was told that I would be up for it. I hadn't been listening to their conversation "What am I up for?", I asked, but the question of being Up For It had moved onto Fleece.
"Nahhh, she's too straight laced" cackled Mum.
Fleece took a sigh of relief, she was off the hook just for being too anal.
The decision was reached to move the party back to Jill's house.
She wanted to come in the ute with us.
Fleece was driving due to me hitting the bottle a bit.
We climbed in the front while Jill fell in the back.
She was satisfied as long as we had the Seeker's song blaring loudly on the AM radio.
Once it ended she grew bored.
As we turned onto North Road, Jill undid her seat belt and began manoeuvring herself in the turtle-fashion into the front between us.
"Move ya arse over Lana!"
I was hanging out the open window and was still wedged between the door and Jill's butt while she tried to get into position.
Next minute the Hilux began to growl unnaturally because in her struggle Jill had kicked the gear stick into neutral.
The journey home wasn't the most comfortable of my life but wasn't boring either.
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
When All Money is Gone, Family Guy Says So Much
Today is the Brother's 21st Birthday.
I actually bought him a bloody awesome gift yesterday that I handed to him around midnight last night and not a second before.
We have very few things in common, the Brother and I, but an almost religious love for Family Guy has quite recently become one of the few things (beside from a family member's funeral in the future) that will see us sitting side-by-side for hours, lapping up the jokes like beer on Christmas Day.
So yesterday while wandering rather deliriously through Target, due to eating and drinking nothing for many hours (due to a rather nasty chest infection I've picked up recently through my travels, not some feeble little following in the footsteps of a drastic-giving-into-society's-pressures diet) I found what I had been looking for- Family Guy Season Four.
My heart leapt, before sinking upon the sight of the price. $42. Money has pretty much never been an issue for me. I don't have much of it, but for a long time I've had a decent amount of savings due to working like a dog and having no social life between the ages of 13 and 16, that has never seen me having second thoughts about some new purchase or rather.
Now, for the first time I'm staring down the barrel of being rather broke.
And now I owe my mum 5 grand for the fabulous new ute I just bought.
I had the money already, if you included the couple of grand in my trust fund that mum started the day I was born, but good old mum forbidded this "Money for schooling" to be squandered on a ute.
So she lovingly gave me 5 grand that her tight arse father had shockingly coughed up as way of apologising, I guess, for any number (we were free to take our pick as no words of acknowledgment accompanied it) of rude heartless things he's done in the course of her lifetime.
I'm of course to pay it back (though I did make it clear before I accepted it that would be in some time).
Well anyway, I stood looking at the beautiful dvd that held hours upon hours of laughter, so worth the piss-stained pants and pondered for a moment. Before buying the bloody thing along with 3 cds for myself. What? I haven't updated my music collection in months!
Then on the way home I had to put $46 worth of fuel in my Hilux.
I love not worrying about money......mmm shit, those so sound like famous last words.
But I got the Brother a freakin' awesome gift that made him happy and I can't remember the last time he was so nice to me.
I actually bought him a bloody awesome gift yesterday that I handed to him around midnight last night and not a second before.
We have very few things in common, the Brother and I, but an almost religious love for Family Guy has quite recently become one of the few things (beside from a family member's funeral in the future) that will see us sitting side-by-side for hours, lapping up the jokes like beer on Christmas Day.
So yesterday while wandering rather deliriously through Target, due to eating and drinking nothing for many hours (due to a rather nasty chest infection I've picked up recently through my travels, not some feeble little following in the footsteps of a drastic-giving-into-society's-pressures diet) I found what I had been looking for- Family Guy Season Four.
My heart leapt, before sinking upon the sight of the price. $42. Money has pretty much never been an issue for me. I don't have much of it, but for a long time I've had a decent amount of savings due to working like a dog and having no social life between the ages of 13 and 16, that has never seen me having second thoughts about some new purchase or rather.
Now, for the first time I'm staring down the barrel of being rather broke.
And now I owe my mum 5 grand for the fabulous new ute I just bought.
I had the money already, if you included the couple of grand in my trust fund that mum started the day I was born, but good old mum forbidded this "Money for schooling" to be squandered on a ute.
So she lovingly gave me 5 grand that her tight arse father had shockingly coughed up as way of apologising, I guess, for any number (we were free to take our pick as no words of acknowledgment accompanied it) of rude heartless things he's done in the course of her lifetime.
I'm of course to pay it back (though I did make it clear before I accepted it that would be in some time).
Well anyway, I stood looking at the beautiful dvd that held hours upon hours of laughter, so worth the piss-stained pants and pondered for a moment. Before buying the bloody thing along with 3 cds for myself. What? I haven't updated my music collection in months!
Then on the way home I had to put $46 worth of fuel in my Hilux.
I love not worrying about money......mmm shit, those so sound like famous last words.
But I got the Brother a freakin' awesome gift that made him happy and I can't remember the last time he was so nice to me.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
