Faking It

Don't be fooled - the vacuum wasn't actually turned on

Today I've been catching up on my blog reading, and I came across this pearler from Hyperbole and a Half. Sometimes I feel as though she can read inside my head. And not just any part of my head - the bit that contains the tumbleweed and the monkey.

Most of the time, I feel like a semi-competent faux adult. Oh yeah, I drive myself places (see me driving this car? I even have the loan repayments so you know that this car makes me an adult), I arrive on time to things (mostly), I hold down a job (I haven't been fired yet) and I do lots of little things during the day that ensure my survival until another day (like breathing), but most of it is just a complex facade, and all that lays underneath is the girl who, unless she concentrates REALLY hard, forgets to eat/sleep/avoid obstacles while walking.

You may have even noticed that I'm continually referring to myself as a girl. Or a gal. Or a chick. I can't bring myself to say "woman", or "lady". I feel like I'd just be giving myself ideas above my station.

In a timely fashion, today (Father's Day) I had a moment for self-analysis when a new co-worker enquired if I had a "hubby at home celebrating Father's Day on his own". I laughed. Racuously. In her face. As I always do in these situations. People throw out the words "husband", "child", "pregnant", "home-ownership", "share market", "risoni" and the like, and I become flustered, feeling the need to explain that, while I may APPEAR as if I'm an adult, I'm nowhere near old enough for that stuff.

Sure, legally I can do whatever I want. But really, until I can remember to eat 3 meals a day, please don't make me responsible for somebody else. I can't even cook eggs, for god's sake. The solitary time that I tried to cook rice was a majestic failure. I don't think that you realise exactly how underprepared I am for this big, bad world of ours.

And then there's the flawed decision-making process that seems to be an integral part of my personality. The part that says, "Yeah, you're running late, your socks are wet, and you don't own a dryer. MICROWAVE!!!", and the part that then has to deal with blackened socks that snap when I try to turn them right side out. It's the part that says, "Although you are sitting on a high seat with your legs crossed underneath you, don't stand up to pick that piece of paper up off the floor. Just lean down to it. Lazy = good.", which unsurprisingly to everyone but myself, led to me losing an earring, receiving a blow to the head, and getting a boo-boo on my knee. And I still didn't manage to grab the catalyst piece of paper.

Yesterday morning before work, I somehow managed to break my bedroom curtain rod. I don't know what happened; I was opening my curtains, and then all of a sudden I was draped in netting and wondering if my hazy vision was a side-effect of fatigue. A variety of appropriate responses came to mind, but the course of action that I chose based upon the variables (lack of time, need to get to work, lack of time) was the most obvious of all of the options - I closed the outer curtain again, and pretended that it never happened. I might get around to opening the curtain again and sorting out the issue. Or maybe it will magically fix itself. Who knows? All I know is that I'd rather live a life prepared to be open to the idea of magical curtain-fixing, than being all negative and whatnot.

I keep assuming that these thought processes and actions will change - maybe once I hit 26 years of age something will happen inside me and I'll be able to make a mean omelette and watch the news without crying about all of the people that got hurt. I don't know. I try not to get my hopes up about it all. I think the far likelier outcome is that I will forever be driven to distraction by shiny things, and proud of obviously monumental feats like checking the fuses in my car - it's just that I might be able to control it all a little bit better.

We can hope.

The Testimonial



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I'm here to say it - internet dating worked.

*pauses for gasps of awe and shock*

I know, it surprised me as much as anybody else. I can't believe that I could now be eligible to be on a TV ad; holding hands, splashing through water at the beach, and beaming happily, albeit slightly dementedly, whilst staring into the distance. I could totally practice a little testimonial: "And just when I thought I was destined to turn into a crazy cat-lady (once I actually got permission to own cats), I found a soulmate who balances my chi and just totally understands my allergies to certain grass specimens."

Some of you may remember my very first internet date that took place in RL (real-life, for all of you uninitiated out there), and the lad that I dubbed Tarzan (otherwise to be known as D). It turns out that even making jokes about dead bodies wasn't enough to turn this one off me.

After months of staying in contact, I went to visit D in Hobart last weekend and now it's on like Donkey Kong. We have decided to give this whole long-distance thing a go, and make our telephone network providers very happy people in the meantime.

The time in Hobart was awesomely fun. It was all just begging to be made into an Oasis Active advertisement montage: running through the rain while holding hands and giggling, eating sushi on top of Mount Wellington, chilling out in front of the fire, pulling out ridiculous items at op-shops and saying, "It's totally you"... Seriously, bring on the camera - we'd definitely be in the running for cutest damned couple ever.

I'm smitten, I'm keen, I'm in a perpetual state of swooning, and I'm coming very close to giving my nearest and dearest the shits by continually talking about D. And all of this came about because of that funny little thing they call the internet. Who'd a thunk it?

Happy Anniversary (To Me)

My life encased in one hatchback

On this day, August 13th, one year ago, I'd just landed in Burnie. Actually, by this point I'd gotten here, and promptly passed out from fatigue and nerves.

Playing car-packing tetris

I'd had two days of driving from Sydney, and one night on the Spirit of Tasmania, on which I'd run amok. The ship had been delayed due to tornados, so we had a few-hour wait in the Spirit carpark. I made a new friend who I went to dinner with, and once aboard the ship we made a point of visiting every bar, singing along with the lounge singers, playing arcade games, pretending to be pirates, and just generally acting like we were 13 year olds who were able to legally drink. It was great.

But as I drove into Burnie, the general seediness and fatigue faded into a minor panic over the fact that I had no idea where I was. I had no bearings. I didn't know where certain roads lead. Hell, I didn't even know which one was MY road. I deliberately hadn't done any research on the place ("It's going to all be like one big surprise!! Tee hee..."), so I'd had no idea what to expect. That day, and that day only, was the time when I freaked out about my spontaneous decision to move. I was scared, I was tired, and I really wanted some eggs on toast.

And here I am. One year later, still going. I've had the most incredible opportunities thrown my way - things that I never could have anticipated. I've been involved in an inspirational craft group, I'm part of an awesomely fun and funky market, I have a job that I really dig (even after a spectacular lack of coordination at the interview), I'm part of the blogging world, I'm back into graphic design... hell, I've even been online dating. I feel so lucky that this has worked out so well, and I have absolutely no illusions about the fact that every move would be this good. I'm just one of the lucky ones.

I think one of the hardest things about moving is removing yourself from your social circle, your comfort zone of friends, and trying to start afresh. It's bloody hard. It can also lead to moments of desperation, and extending chance encounters with chatty people into one hour dialogues. Those poor bastards - they had no idea what was coming.

My first friend that I made was, of course, the lovely Michelle. After being here for a few weeks, I thought "new home, new hair colour", so I took myself down to the local hairdresser. I sat nervously while waiting for my appointment, and then tried not to be too unco whilst settling myself in the hairdresser's chair. I anxiously tried to come up with small talk, hoping against hope that I wouldn't come across as a tool. Until my friendly hairdresser leaned over, and whispered conspiratorially into my ear.

"Do you sew?"

It was stitching-love at first sight. Gone were the nerves - I talked crap like nobodies business. She tried to deter me by burning the back of my neck with peroxide, but it didn't work. She was stuck with me. And from that chance encounter, I became part of Stitch 'N' Bitch, and we started the Made With Love markets.

And that's what makes me lucky. I've met so many like-minded people since moving here, and have been able to prioritise the things that are really important to me. I've been given the chance to start again, and although I've still found myself in a few muddles, for the most part I'm relishing the challenge.

So hurray for one year - I hope that the next brings just as much goodness as the last. With or without peroxide burns.

Getting Out Of My Head

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Ok, so, after having had my little whinge/flip out/existential crisis in a public forum yesterday, I'm feeling a bit better today. I spent a while last night taking deep breaths (of caffeine and nicotine), and wondering why the hell I was getting so worked up. And why I hadn't thought to buy more cigarettes after work.

Something that a friend and I had been discussing the other night came to mind - that sometimes it's too easy to get stuck inside your own head, and I think that's never more true than if you are a creative kind of kid. Being creative constantly forces you to challenge yourself, whether you're aware of it or not. You're thinking of new and innovative ways to do things, new designs, old ways to do new things, new ways to do old things, and your mind is constantly ticking over with all of this and more.

Add to that the usual concerns about how you look/think/sound, and you could end up a big bag of crazy. Like me.

Something, however, that calmed my fraying nerves was reading other people's blogs. There's something in the air at the moment - a lot of creatives seem to be going through exactly the same thing, and getting too much inside their own heads.

So I say - let go. Be the little free-range creative that you know you are. Sure, being creative can be stressful as hell, especially if there's a deadline. Or dinner needs to be cooked, the washing STILL hasn't been done, and you seem to have lost one of your kids. Or you have to attend work, and you've used all of your allocated brain power there, and now you're just running on standby.

This is what makes creating so satisfying in the end. It's why we do what we do. Because it's stressful, it's challenging, and when it works, it's euphoric, and we can be smug as much as we like.

Because we made that.

When All Else Fails

Recently I was lucky enough to have a freelance graphic design job fall into my lap.

It brought about many emotions - pride, excitement, slight stress, motivation... and fear. A giant heaping bucketful of fear.

I haven't done design work for a fair while now, except for myself and friends, and they're pretty much obliged to say nice things. So I've been floating around in my slightly delusional state thinking that I'm competent. But now that it's come to the point where somebody will pay cash for my services in the design field, I'm not going to lie to you - I'm terrified.

What if I stuff it up? What if something that I think looks great actually looks like the demented scrawlings of a monkey on illegal substances? What if something that I think is a really, super-dooper, freaking clever idea, is in fact twee, sentimental, and vomit-worthy? What if I can't stop asking questions, and I end up having to be taken to the vet and shot?

I've started, at least. I have a few designs under my belt, but I've reached a point where my idea just ISN'T WORKING, and apart from desperately searching the net for inspiration, and headbutting the table, I don't know what to do.

Taking some deep breaths might help.

Chicks Dig Scars

Shiny bits in my head

I dig piercings. Piercings lead to scars. Maybe one day chicks will dig me.

I’ve always been into piercings. My Mum has been less enthralled with my passion, but every now and then I’ll feel the need to go get something new pierced through my skin. I figure that due to my unfortunate un-coordinated nature, and occasionally ill-advised decision making (I put my foot in a heater when I was a little tyke), I’ll end up with plenty of scars anyway. What’s a few more?

My latest piercing acquisition is in fact not a new one, but a change to an old one. When I was 16 I stretched out my ear, and over the years have gone up a couple of millimeters. For ages I was at 10mm, but the last time I was Sydney I decided to go the next step, taking me up to 12mm.  So I bought me a 12mm tunnel*, and thought I was all set.

The last time I went up a size, I just pushed the bigger tunnel through without too much difficulty. This time was not to be as easy. But that’s cool, I can deal with that. I thought that I’d buy a stretcher^ for my ear, and do it gradually.

Initial thoughts: I’ll buy a stretcher as inconspicuous as possible, so that if I’m wearing it at work it’s not noticeable.

Process: Ok, so I’ll just have a look-see on E-Bay, and see if I can get something clear and not too obvious…. OH MY GOD THERE’S ONE WITH BLING!! I WANT THE BLING! IWANTITIWANTITIWANTIT!!!

Result: I received the stretcher. I put it in. I looked like what The Offspring were talking about with Pretty Fly For A White Guy, if the guy was in fact a chick, and if that chick were hoping to be gangster and hardcore. It was 12mm of bling, right there in my earlobe, with a tapered end long enough to be used as some sort of eye-gouging device.

You only wish that you could be this cool

In hindsight, I can spot my mistake. I was on E-Bay – at night time. Time plays a major factor in regretful online purchases. I’m normally very aware of the time, and try to limit any purchasing after certain times, but this one slipped by me. It also reinforced my rule – no shopping after 9pm.

Needless to say, I rocked the gangster look for about one day, shocked the hell out of somebody with it, and then swapped over to the tunnel. I’ve learnt my lesson – the hard way.

How about you? Have you participated in any late-night shopping that you regret?

*A flesh tunnel, also known as a spacer, is a type of body piercing jewellery. It is also sometimes referred to as a spool, fleshy, earlet, expander or eyelet. Wearers generally use them to show off the process of stretching that they have gone through.

^An ear stretcher is a round spike with a tapered end. Pushing the spike gradually through the ear stretches the piercing to the desired size.

I've Got That Holiday Feeling

Well. I’ve been greatly slack in regards to blogging lately. I haven’t even got a note from my Mum – I’m tardy with no viable reason. I’d say that there are not enough hours in the day, but surely if I cut down to about 4 hours of sleep a night, I’d be able to get things done. Don’t worry – I’m working on it.

In the past couple of weeks, I have worked, attended meetings (see how official I sound?), embarrassed myself in front of the Minister for Tourism, and been back to Sydney to catch up with my friends and family. I’d have to say that the holiday was the highlight, although proving myself as a noob in front of a politician runs a close second.

The trip, as always, was hectic and fun. I managed to squeeze in a lot of socialising, a bit of shopping, some soapbox moments, and some fabulous café meals. Some of the highlights included:

+ A System of a Down sing-along with my friend Jake. We used to have these every time we were in the car together, but now that we're living on different islands it makes it a bit difficult. We're obviously getting older though - Jake ran out of breath halfway through a song and had to take a minute to regroup. Sigh. Getting older is a bitch.

+ Dinner with my Mum, Uncle, Aunty and her partner. And Jake. The funniest moment (albeit possibly traumatising for Jake) was when my Aunt licked her finger, touched herself, and then made a sizzling noise. Yeah, I come from hot stock, people.

+ Dropping a wad of cash at a shop in Springwood, and having a chat with the chick behind the counter. We got into a discussion about Burnie (as you do) and she was telling me about how she'd been to the Makers Workshop, and spoken to this lovely artist there. You might have heard of her. It was none other than Jaci Poke.

+ Watching TV with Tibby, Elyse and John. There were bad shows, bad jokes, and elbow wrestling matches (accompanied by suitable dramatic music).

+ Spending time with one of my favourite little families. Amie, James and Lucian are always on my list of people to catch up with. The little dude Lucian is turning one tomorrow (!), and Amie is carrying the next little bundle addition to their family. Always a pleasure, always funny, and more often than not includes reggae music and bad dancing (on my behalf). I also managed to get slapped in the face with the skin that had formed on my hot drink. I can't even begin to describe the gag-worthy effects of this.

+ A night at the pub in Penriff. My friend Amee came up with a new religion that I just KNOW is going to take off. We planned the promotional posters and everything. We also regaled each other with stories from days of old, and tried unsuccessfully to deflect the attentions of a highly inebriated young Navy boy. It's an oxymoron, isn't it? We were as surprised as anyone else.

I was fairly knackered by the time I left. Especially when you count in travel time, and everything else. On the flight home, I started dozing. It was quite restful, sitting there curled underneath my coat, listening to the murmur of other people talking, and the rustling of page turning. For the duration of the trip I zoned in and out of consciousness, and eventually fell into a sinking, deep sleep.

Then we landed. I snorted awake, realised that my mouth had been open, and I'd therefore possibly been drooling. I reassured myself that I didn't know anybody on the plane, and stepped back onto Tasmanian soil.

Hello home.

With Legs Aquiver

Style Crush

Ramona from Scott Pilgrim VS The World. I watched this movie for the first time the other day, and got a few giggles, but the main high point for me was being introduced to the style of Ramona Flowers. And now I realise where I've been going wrong all of these years. Now on my shopping list: awesome boots, awesome tights, and an awesome sweater. Don't worry - I'm all over it.

Blog Crush(es)

The other day whilst doing some blog-hopping (a time consuming sport, characterised by procrastination and numerous cups of coffee) I came across the wonder that is The Beetle Shack. A bit crafty, a lot arty, funny, warm and a member of the cutest damn family you'll ever see, Emily is pretty awesome.

And of course, from her blog I hopped on over to Tim Coulson. Tim is a photographer over on the mainland, and his photography is just incredible. Not only that, but he's a fab writer too. He does the sweetest family photos. It just makes me want to steal a child and a man, so that I can have rad family portraits like that.

Artist Crush

Again, a result of site/blog-hopping. I stumbled across the ridiculously talented Courtney Brims. A Brisbane-girl, she holds more talent than it is surely healthy to. I've fallen head over heels for her artworks, and bought a set of her greeting cards so that I can hang them on my wall. My favourite artwork involves a rabbit, a flower, and a teacup. Honestly, is there any other way to combine so much coolness in one spot??

{Images from Courtney Brims}

Fictional Character Crush

Because every well-adjusted person gets a crush on a fictional character. Jon Marshall from the Nick Earls' novel Perfect Skin is just.... dreamy. Well-written, he's got a dry sense of humour, he's intelligent, he's complex (but not ridiculously so), and best of all - he looks however I want him to.

Under The Weather

Every time I feel a wee bit unwell (at the moment I have a bad case of the sniffles) I feel homesick. I miss my Mum, I miss my cat, I miss my friends, I miss Krispy Kreme... the list goes on. Until I remember that Krispy Kreme not only hurts my wallet, but my waistline. Then I just miss everything else.

To add insult to injury, when I moved here from New South Wales, I didn't have enough room in my car to bring my photo albums down. So I can't even have a proper sad attack whilst flipping through some oldies. I can only go through the more recent photos on my external hard drive.

To that end, I thought that I'd do a bit of a flashback here; being that really annoying lady who shows you the slides from their holidays, and expects you to stay awake through the whole thing. I'm watching you... eyes open! Now, this is when Roger and I....

+ A road trip in the Blue Mountains that involved a look out, Dr Pepper, and soluble Panadol. My car was never quite as clean afterwards, but it was so damned funny at the time that I had to do an emergency park on the side of the highway to laugh. And then try and clean up the Dr Pepper.

+ Newtown, Sydney. I've spent a few days traipsing around Newtown, photographing all of the street art there. Down every side street and alley is more awesome graf, and really inspiring art.

+ Tim Rogers at the White Album gig at the Sydney Opera House. The first time I'd ever stepped foot in the Opera House, the first time I'd ever seen Tim Rogers, Chris Cheney, Phil Jamieson or Josh Pyke, and the first time I'd ever used a hotel vault. Brilliant.

 + The day that my housemate, Mitch, and I palette-wrapped our other housemates car for his birthday.

+ My cousin's pug, Harper, as a little fella. This was probably the only moment that he wasn't excitedly clambering over everybody, and biting any exposed skin. 

+ Giving a drunken speech at my friend's farewell party. It went something along the lines of, "Now, we all know that Monica is awesome, and she's awesome... yeah, YOU'RE awesome!" *break down into tears*

+ Cruising behind a road train on a road trip from Darwin to Sydney. It's one thing to know about the existence of road trains. It's another thing to actually see a road train. It's another thing, yet again, to overtake a road train. That's when shit gets real.

+ A photo shoot that Mitch and I had to prove for once and all that we weren't a couple. This came shortly after being spotted in a shopping centre by my friend's sister, bickering about the colour of a throw rug we'd just bought. I was adamant that I wasn't having that colour blue in my house.

+ One of my only (successful) attempts at domesticity - some biscuits for Halloween. I made sure that I made extra for my housemates, so that they wouldn't touch the good ones.

+ My Aunty Colleen and Mum at my Uncle's birthday do. No amusing anecdote... I just really heart this pic.

So, THEN Roger ate the clams, and he was crook in the stomach all the way back. I tell you, never buy clams from the boot of a car...

Say Yes To Mediocrity

Last night I couldn’t get to sleep so, for the first time in years, I propped myself up in bed and drew. Drawing used to be one of my big hobbies – my fingers would itch to document things to paper, and whilst I wasn’t great at the whole shading thing, I gave it a damn good crack. I loved it, and it was a big part of me for a long time.

Last night I recaptured some of that feeling. I was excited about what I was doing, and was so lost in what I was doing that my face started hurting because I was doing my concentration face (it involves pouting) for so long. I acted like a pro with my pencil, I used my little paintbrush with a flourish, and I smudged things to my heart’s content.

Don’t get me wrong – it turned out pretty shit. I was never very good at drawing, and I’m rusty. I never had a chance of churning out a masterpiece. That’s not my point.

My point is – how often do we set out to do something, not because we’re good at it, or even when we know we’re pretty bad at it, but we do it just because we like it? It’s too easy to get caught up striving to be the best at what we do. There’s nothing wrong with that – there’s a lot to be said for ambition. But how about just every now and then, letting your hair down, and doing a dodgy job of something? Go bake that lopsided cake, do that DIY work that will fall apart in a week, and do a painting that doesn't actually resemble anything in particular, and love every moment of it.

PS. This blog post does not mean that I’m encouraging doily splat. I’m not. Stop it.

Nothing But The Truth

This is what I look like in the morning

Ever since I signed up for an online dating site, I’ve been pondering the omissions that I’ve made on my profile. I haven’t out and out lied, and put something ridiculous like, “Totally into outdoor sports, and enjoy waking up early on a weekend morning so that I can go set up a tent in the woods.”, but neither have I admitted what some may see as my downfalls. Well, you don’t, do you? It’s most unbecoming. You are, in essence, trying to sell yourself, and you don’t admit things that may possibly be contentious issues for your suitors. You leave them as fun surprises for people to find.

However, if I WERE to be honest…

About Me

Female, 25, Tasmania

I packed my car to the brim last year and moved from New South Wales to Tassie. The only thing that I forgot to pack was some people to go to gigs and restaurants and other things with.

In the morning I dislike: loud noises, talking, touching, other people. Any of the above can lead to bodily harm. I also look like I’m wearing a clown wig in the morning. This is not a joking matter.

I am a shit cook. Betty Crocker, I ain’t. Thankfully, I haven’t poisoned anybody yet (it’s hard to give people food poisoning with lentils), but there’s every chance that you’d be the first.

I swear like a sailor, and the more excited I get, the more f-bombs that leave my lips. I don’t intend for this to happen. I’m capable of switching it off for work and when I’m around old people, but catch me in a good mood when I’m in my civvies, and you may get a bit of a shock.

I think that every conversation can be improved by mentioning ninjas/zombies/monkeys/robots.

I am not above making “that’s what she said” jokes in front of your mother.

I do not find fishing/camping/bushwalking/hunting to be fun pursuits. I walk from my car to the shops. I walk around the shops. I walk back to my car. This is quite enough outdoor activity for me. I don’t mind a bit of a traipse through the bush but if it’s something that requires special footwear, I’m not interested.

I strongly believe in mobile phone etiquette, and will get on my soapbox if you cross any invisible lines in your mobile phone usage.

Seeking Criteria

I will not accept: racists, homophobes, sexists, alcoholics, people old enough to be my parents, men who show more chest than me, or men who wear sandals.

Unless I ask, I am not interested in your previous relationships. And neither do I want to help you analyse exactly where it went wrong.

Please don’t think that you’re original by saying, “I’m not staring at your boobs – I’m just looking at your piercings, hur hur hur.”

I am looking for somebody with somewhat advanced grammatical and spelling skills; somebody who can spell my name is a bonus. No, my name isn’t that hard to spell, but this HAS been an issue in the past.

I am looking for someone who enjoys engaging in conversation. I like to talk.

I am looking for someone who can take a joke. I will make fun of you at some point, and I don’t want you to have a sad attack about it.

I am looking for someone who is not a tool.

All that meet this criteria, please apply below.

For the rest of you, bugger off.

The Little Things

Things that bug me:

• People who don’t adhere to some level of mobile phone etiquette. For example, people who answer the phone in the bathroom. Uncool.

• When I realise that it’s my turn to do the washing up.

• A scratch on my favourite CD.

• The moment when I accidentally iron my hand instead of a piece of fabric.

• Having to unpick buttonholes.

Things that don’t bug me:

• The lust-worthiness of this site that I stumbled across the other night. I want one of everything in the Retro Chic range. And two of some of the other stuff.

• Days when I go op-shopping with the intention of picking up some photo frames, and come home with a typewriter.
  

• Actually thinking of an idea for a Mother’s Day present BEFORE Mother’s Day. Win.

• The anticipation before another Made With Love market (this Saturday, 7^th May *shameless plug*). I love dreaming up new outfit ideas for our dress-ups, I dig coming up with ideas for new stock, and let’s face it – it’s just a bloody fun day.