Monthly Archives: May 2010

I’m sitting in one of my lectures, however you wouldn’t know from reading my notes. My notes look more like Doodle101.

As I look at my professor, waving his arms around like a windmill, trying to arouse our attention, I realize I have absolutely no clue what he is saying. It’s not until he asked the class a question (this I only noticed because the tone of his voice seemed to go higher at the end) that my brain switched on. Despite this I still had no possible clue as to what the question was. Luckily I’m not the only one. Everyone looks as if they have just woken up, blinking, startled. No one answers.

Alas, my professor does not give up his enthusiasm, he answers his own question and the entire class sinks back into their seats.

He really could be talking about anything and we would all sit their nodding in agreement, wearing glasses with painted on eyes. It’s not until he raises his voice at the end of a sentence that the class jumps up like meerkats, as if they had suddenly been electrocuted.

I know that even when we don’t pay attention we take things in subconsciously, a guy called Bob told me that on a hypnosis CD. The CD was meant to help me fall asleep but his monotone voice telling me “to relax more and more with each breath I take” just agitated me more.

I hence justify not listening, by believing my subconscious will know everything and that hopefully when it comes to exam times my subconscious will flop out of my brain and into my answers. If it doesn’t, I’m blaming Bob.

It takes the whole class a while to register that the lecture is over and as we do we all begin to stir and stretch. I look over at my friend who appears to be drooling onto the armrest. My first thought is to wake her, but then I remember her telling me once that she sleep talks rather loudly and often about quite embarrassing subjects; try fitting orgasmic, submarine, mobile phone and feathers into the same sentence and you’ll know what her last sleep conversation was about. I decide to leave her there. At least the next class will have a more interesting time than me.

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It appears that connections are everything, whether it is how many friends you have on facebook or how many people you follow on twitter. I have come to the conclusion that to successfully be independent, you need to be well connected.

However I’m not really a social butterfly, my friend K is. She knows absolutely everyone, if you have even met anyone; I’ll bet you ten dollars she has met him or her first. Actually scratch that, I don’t have ten dollars.

This thought first occurred to me when my friend “J” messaged me about putting a job application in at a local club. Apparently the manager went to our old high school and if I mentioned this, he would probably give me an interview.

A similar thing happened with my friend “M,” who is now the Manager of a shoe store, you can imagine my delight when he offered his help. Knowing, “M” meant that I was immediately given an interview at a store at a different location. All I had to do was profoundly and tediously flirt with him, which was a small price to pay considering it is “M” and my preferred method of communication anyway.

After having tried on 7 different pairs of shoes, I had finally decided on the perfect, “look at me, I am well presented, professional, but still fashion forward enough to work here” outfit I was ready to take one the world, one shoe store at a time.

My interview went as most interviews do. The manager asked me questions and I gave the 5 star answers:

Mangager: So why do you want to work at ____?

B: I love working with customers and I have always found the service here amazing and I would really love to be part of such an amazing customer service team.

B’s head: Shoes, Shoes, Shoes. I get discounts on shoes.

As the interview progressed I started to pull out my favourite lines:

“I always try to go above and beyond to ensure that a customer’s shopping experience is a positive one. I always get a sense of satisfaction knowing that I have served a customer well and to the best of my abilities. I love working in retail. It’s my passion.”

A film director would have hired me immediately. Not to say that everything I said isn’t completely and utterly true. It’s just ever so slightly altered.

Wish me luck.

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The end of Stalking

I was meant to be writing a paper for Uni, unfortunately I am the champion of procrastination. If there were a subject on it, I could most definitely teach it. I logged onto Facebook, hoping for a good distraction; you never know someone could be “no longer listed as being in a relationship,” or they may just be utterly stupid:

However today I had no such luck, the bastards were all happy. So I decided to do some Facebook stalking. I’ve always wondered about stalking. I have committed such felony once, when I saw a band play and decided I absolutely must snag myself the guitarist or my life as I know it would be over. For the whole night my friend K and I followed them around, she had her eyes set on the lead singer. We did eventually get what we came for and I believe my stalking experience to have been a good one.

I always wondered what stalkers thought of Facebook, for one now everyone has become a stalker via Facebook, so the need for stalkers would definitely be at an all time low. Facebook has probably also taken much of the fun out of stalking, because honestly there is not much work left to do. People freely post every fraction of their lives on Facebook so there is no need to dig up any dirt on them.

They can’t even hang out front of people’s houses anymore taking photos as Facebookers willingly take pervey photos of themselves.

I feel a bit sorry for them after all their occupation has become extinct, a bit like my own.

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The Case of the One-Day Depression

So today I have decided to be depressed. It appears to be the most convenient option. I have assignments due and I should probably get round to printing out more resumes. But it’s okay; I’m depressed today so it provides the perfect justification for not doing any job (not that I have one) or task that might be on my to-do list.

I’m not sure how most people deal with the blues but this is generally what I do:

I toss my boots to one side and sit down on my big beautiful bed and wrap myself in its protective covers. I then turn on the television and begin to flick through the channels hoping something will tickle my fancy. Generally it doesn’t. I did catch Year in the life of J.K. Rowling the other day but other than that TV seems like an absolute insanity. I do have my guilty pleasures like everyone; I will always smile at; Knock, Knock, Penny? Knock, Knock, Penny? And I think a book should be written entitled The world according to Joey. But other than that if I wanted to watch “real life” people living together in a house I would sit on my roof with a telescope spying on my neighbours, but that would be considered creepy, maybe I could even lock all the doors and throw in a piece of cheese every other day, but I guess someone already thought of that when they pitched The Biggest Loser.

I much prefer DVDs; my ultimate depression series is One Tree Hill, it automatically makes me feel better because their lives are always much more in ruins than my own. I mean who am I to complain, at least a dog did not run away with my heart, when that heart transplant was the only thing that could have kept me alive. However when the episode ends I start to feel a little selfish, here I am perfectly fine, besides having the case of the convenient one-day depression when there are people out there in desperate need. Maybe I can set up a fund for the safer transfer of organs, but then it occurs to me that in real life, hearts are probably not transported in a Styrofoam boxes and carried into the hospital where dogs wait with their mouths open, ready to catch whatever falls out when the currier trips.

I then completely ignore how horrid I should feel about my egocentricity. For the rest of the day I remain in bed, I really refuse to move, expect if it means reaching for the remote to press the “Next episode button” or taking the long stertorous walk to the fridge, past the treadmill, past the workout bike and right into the pantry however there is nothing in there that would take me less than 2 minutes to prepare so I walk back to my bed.

As it turns out my one-day depression was a huge hit, I did absolutely nothing productive and ate my weight in food.

On the bright side I can now apply for The Biggest Loser, win a million dollars and set up TOTYNYD (Transporting Organs To You and Not Your Dog).


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My Room

Today I decided that my room needs a good cleaning. I decide this every other month when I realise the carpet it no longer visible. Up until that point I quite enjoy living in my organized chaos, although I must hop cautiously from one free spot to another, I think it is improving my balance and gives my room a similar vibe to that of an obstacle course.

It brings back childhood memories of playing Don’t Step On The Floor, but now it is reversed, Try To Step On The Floor.

My mother is not really a fan of this game, I believe it is simply because she is too grown up. I’m not sure she really understands the rules. Whenever she enters she viciously shoves all the things to one side and her face begins to expand and shape into an unrecognisable object. When I try to tell her about her face being a side effect of touching the untouchable her face seems to reach 5 different shades of purple. It is rather impressive and difficult to replicate even by the most talented of artists.

However on this particular day I decide to destroy my obstacle course, it is a bit traumatic, as I have now found the best way to reach the bed, desk and bathroom from my door. I have grown rather accustomed to the big step, little step to the left, big jump straight ahead, shimmy across on a diagonal and then pounce until you fall onto the mattress. It is the first time The Time Warp has been put to good use. Once it is destroyed I will have to come up with an entirely new routine.

But alas all good things must come to an end.

I begin to tidy, I put the clothes away, the random pieces of paper scattered at various corners in the room, the pile of library books, which I had used as hurdles were also put away in my bookshelf. It took my all morning and some of the afternoon.

Once I had finished I sadly looked at my now tidy room, I felt my childhood vision vanishing before my very eyes.

But fortunately for me (and unfortunately for my mum) I refuse to grow up and start throwing various clothes onto the floor. I hop from one to the other, making a path towards the door, careful not to step onto the carpet. For some reason I have a peculiar sense of déjà vu and remember how my room got to that state in the first place.


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I’ve been leaving little extracts from the bible around the house on little pieces of paper, not that I am particularly religious; to be honest the more I read the bible the more I find it having little relevance to me personally but that is besides the point.

These extracts are for a specific purpose: I’m trying to convert my sister to nunism. It’s not really going so well at the moment especially with my mum yelling; “B, if I see one more of these notes stuck to the wall, you are moving out.”

But she can’t seem to understand the large scheme I am trying to pull here.

My idea first hit me after I found out that a boy in my sister’s year had impregnated a 14 year old.

I don’t know what 14 year olds are doing these days but pregnancy is not really what I had my eye on back then. All I really remember of my years as a 14 year old was that I thought I was the alpha-dog of all alpha-dogs. I was friends with this girl, L, admittedly was much cooler than me. She was generally dressed entirely in black and listened to bands I pretended to know. This proved to be rather easy as the only words understandable were “AHHHHHHHHH” or “OHHHHHH” or other words beginning with a vowel and ending in a long screech. The tones of all the songs were angry so when she asked me if I had heard the latest Dying Fetus or Slipknot album I could reply with: “Oh yeah, it’s angry.”

After a while I got sick of being angry and went back to listening to the Rolling Stones, the Beatles, Queen and Nirvana. This proved to give me more popularity points with L. After all, “I wasn’t one of those pretentious posers who just to pretend to like this stuff because it is now cool.” If only she knew. But this comment did severely boost my mindset as an alpha-dog. Neither of us were particularly interested in boys at the time because, “we were living for the music.” So the idea of pregnancy never really crossed my mind.

But as my sister is not in her room listening to scary screech music she must be getting pregnant. I could not let this happen. So at first I thought my best method of attack would be to imprison her. I tried barricading her door, but dad was suspicious when he saw me carrying a plank of wood and a toolbox upstairs, so I decided on a different option. I started calling her at various points of the day to make sure she was angry, but this only increased my phone bill and made my sister refuse to answer the phone when I called. I have read the boy who cries wolf and decided I better stop calling.

So now instead of going Big-Brother on her I have decided to let her deal with her problems on her own, but merely guiding her into the path of rigorousness i.e. a convent even if that means I will have to move out and live in a box on the street. But I found that brainwashing is not as easy as it looks, I’m not sure if my bible extracts are doing much to prompt her or what the effect of watching The Sound of Music three times in one week had on her influential mind. I guess only time will tell.

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I have come to the conclusion that spending my petrol money on boots was probably not one of my smartest ideas.

I realised this about 8:10AM on Monday morning when I was driving my car, Prince, to Uni. Prince and I have had a fairly decent relationship in the past. He always got me from A to B and I always gave him words of encouragement and patted his wheel caringly when he was having trouble getting it up, a hill that is. We have had our ups and downs like any relationship, admittedly I did once accidentally crash his bottom into a lamppost while I was reversing but in my defence the thing practically pounced at me.

And on this particular Monday Prince was out to seek his revenge:

I was driving along hardly noticing the flashing petrol sign when Prince decided to do a few bunny-hops along the road. Startled I peered at the wheel and tried to talk Prince out of whatever he was thinking of doing next. He went back to driving normally, I do have quite a reassuring voice after all. I thought that would be the end of it but then after a few meters he did it again. And these were not like the smooth playful bunny-hops he displayed the first time. Oh no, these were evil calculated bunny-hops. These bunny-hops meant business.

I was just able to roll him to the emergency exit lane before he finally decided he had had enough. He stopped moving all together and then shut down completely. I got out of the car, which was now mocking me. I’m not sure if you have ever been mocked by a car before, my deepest sympathies if you have, for it is severely cruel.

So there I was stuck in the middle of a highway. I locked Prince and started walking towards no particular destination what so ever. In my head I started going through my options, I could call my friend, “I” but then I would get a big fat; I told you so, and a lecture on spending my money more wisely. I was in no mood for a lecture after all; my Prince had just betrayed me. My friend “J” would probably also be of help but his general belief is that car’s do not have feelings and would try to convince me that this was all my fault. I didn’t particularly want to admit to that fact yet. I turned around glaring at Prince. I am going to leave him there, he can stay there and rust for all I care, let’s see how he likes that. But then I remembered a horror movie that was quite similar to this situation. I remember screaming at the girl on the screen when she walked away from her car and right into the arms of a waiting murderer. I decided I really did like myself quite a lot and did not want to be chopped into a million little pieces so I walked back to Prince and sat on his hood.

I decided to call my dad. My dad was always good in such situations; he seemed to conceal all those around him in a veil of calmness, hypnotising our minds to repeatedly cry “it’s going to be okay.” I always wondered what would happen if he used his powers for evil instead of good. He probably could convince us all we were monkeys if he tried hard enough, then we would all be standing around the car picking at each other’s knits and scratching our underarms. But my dad is fortunately a decent guy and instead he was seeping into my brain trying to convince me that this was my fault and not Prince’s. Although my dad was trying his best I doubt our relationship would ever be the same again. That’s it, I thought, from now on all Prince is getting is tough love. No more cooing, no more fussing, I won’t be speaking to him anymore.

A friend of mine then had to pick me up from the highway, like a first class hooker, and drive me to uni while my dad dealt with Prince.

When I got home I spotted Prince in the driveway looking perfectly pleased with himself. Prince: 1, Bella: 1, I guess we were even now.


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A good start…

My sister has a rather active social life. At 14 she seems to spend more time on the phone than in face-to-face conversation. It wouldn’t surprise me if during breaks at school she and her friends all sat in different corners of the oval having a multi-way chat on their mobiles.

This being said she doesn’t always enjoy conversations with her friends, she finds being on youtube or creating FanFiction stories much more entertaining. So I have become her number one excuse for having to leave a phone call. During a conversation she will hold up a sign that reads B: L, you need to clean the bathroom. I then proceed to call out said line. She will normally then retort with, “I’ll just be another 10 minutes. She will then come to me in another 5 minutes holding up a new sign. No, L, now, otherwise you won’t do it at all, and then I will have to do it. Mum will be angry so just get off the phone. I think all her friends now think of me as a tyrant, not that I really mind, playing the bad-guy is always more fun. I think L should start paying me for my work though; I am still unemployed after all. When I told her this she just looked at me and laughed, my unemployment seems to be of great amusement to everyone. One of L’s friends called that afternoon; L mouthed an “I’m not here” when I picked up the phone. “Oh sorry,” I said, “L, can’t get to the phone right now, she’s had diarrhoea all afternoon, all I can hear is funny noises coming from the bathroom, I don’t think she is able to speak to anyone.”

L looked at me appalled and wouldn’t speak to me for the rest of the afternoon, we have now come to an agreement though, I get 1 dollar each time I lie for her, it’s not my ideal employment but it’s a start.


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I recently found out that I now belong to the hopeless circle of the unemployed.

I got an interesting phone call, “B, I’m not really sure what’s going on but they are closing down the store, they are changing the locks as we speak so, well this is awkward, you won’t need to come in to work tomorrow or ever for that matter.”


I am not a person who works well unemployed. It seems the more I have to do the more I can get done. I need to work an extra shift: Great. The uni assignment is due tomorrow: Perfect I’ll start it at 10pm. You want a girls night out: I want a girls night out. But it appears when there are fewer tasks to do; I turn into what some people might call a lazy good-for-nothing couch potato.

This couldn’t happen. So I handed out resumes everywhere, and when I say everywhere I mean everywhere. It does lead you to meet some interesting people, an old smiling Indian for example who called his son on the phone while I was handing him my resume, “There is a girl here, she also go to F.Uni and study psychology. You want to say hello? Oh I am sorry. Yes. Oh I understand. I will not bother you now. Yes, Goodbye. Love you my son.” He then turned to me still smiling, “He wishes you all the best. If you work here maybe you meet him.” I just smiled and wished him a pleasant day; he would probably give me the job if I swore to marry his son. Other than that the other comment I heard the most was, “Sorry we are not looking for someone at the moment, but we can take your resume and put it on file.”

But I knew what this sentence meant, I had used it and said it in the exact smug way these people are using it now. When they say they keep it on file it means flick through it, laugh at it and then throw it in the bin.

At this point I was in desperate need of some sympathy, so I messaged my friend. There are no jobs available that want a full time uni student. I’m going to have to become a prostitute but they probably wouldn’t even take me because although it does say “excellent customer service skills” on my resume, I think we would have very different ideas about what that actually means. And to top it all off, there is a sale on at my favourite shoe shop, with the most beautiful most essential boots I have ever laid my eyes on. My life is in ruins.

But my “friend” here, decided that sympathy is not what I deserved: “Maybe this is a good thing, maybe this time period will teach you how to see things that you like, and not buy them. This could be healthy.”

Well this just annoyed me. Why should I have to change? So I marched right into that shoe shop and bought those essential boots…with the money I had saved for petrol that week. But who needs a car when I can walk in my beautiful boots?

After telling my friend about my protest against him, after all he should love me for who I am and now who I am is even better because now I have the boots. My response came as follows, “You need help. I hope you don’t find a job for ages. For your own sake!”



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