Underwear Underwear Where Are You

So I haven't written anything for a while here. That tends to happen. I treat this blog just like I treat everything and everyone. That is to say I'll spend obsessive amounts of time with it, and then it won't see me for a long time. My friends know this is how I roll, and it's not necessarily my fault. It probably is. I feel bad for this.

So the other day I sat an exam. In the morning I woke up late, and spent most of the time I had before the test at home, studying frantically. I went into the bathroom soon before it was time to go to have a shower. When I got out of the shower, I realised something. Not only had I forgotten to bring a towel in, but I had as well as this ceased to remember the need for underwear. So I stared at my black business pants and oversized white shirt before grabbing a towel that was not mine and drying, before putting on the shirt, the pants, and no underwear. On the way out, I chucked a pair of underwear in my bag, assuring myself I'd have time to put them on before the exam. But I was very wrong.

By the time I made it to campus, I was late. So I bolted into the room, and sat the entire test without underwear. No one knew. Except the two people I told after the test. And some other people I've told since. And anyone who's reading this.

I went to Coast Out Fair Day on the weekend. The weather was bizzarely windy, and everyone at my stall ended up at least a little bit sick by the end of it.

I had a lovely time. Towards the end of the day, Louise, Emma and I started wlaking out into the ever-diminishing crowd with our remaining goods in an attempt to sell them for a lower price. Eventually we just said "Food" and "Donation", before I shoved our group's flyer in their face. It turns out when you ask people for a donation for something, it can go one of two ways. They'll give much more than the product is worth, or they'll do what lots of people did and just grab something and walk off.

The day ended up taking much longer than it was originally supposed to, and after pack up, I didn't get home until 7-something. I soon found myself in the shower, swearing in my head.

My weekend started immediately after class on Friday. That night, I had a sleepover, I guess you could call it. There were only five of us, so it was all very close knit. I was by far the most drunken one there. I felt really terrible though. Not because most of my blood had been replaced with alcohol, but because two of the girls were really unhappy. I mean REALLY unhappy. We'd all agreed to come over and have a few drinks, but apparently not. When two of your best friends are randomly unhappy and choose not to drink at a pre-organised agreed-upon shindig, what should you do? Well, apparently repeatedly asking if their okay doesn't work. I don't know what I was supposed to do though. It both broke my heart and pissed me off, so I just kept drinking and pole dancing. I had a good night. But I don't know if anyone else did. And I feel terrible.

The next morning I woke up and walked home to grab some eggs, before returning and waiting for everyone to wake up. That's the most boring thing one can do. Anyway, when they eventually woke up, I discovered that I had not only rolled in tim tams the previous evening, but when I was passing out in the early hours of the morning, I was loudly discussing the fact that I was going numb. I thought I'd thought that.

The later hours of Saturday saw me making an unspeakably large amount of cookies for the fair. After I finally finished this, I rode my bike to the shops to meet up with the others again, and of course left my bike lock at home. So we tied it up with a sock.

I had Goodie over that night, which was lovely. But we couldn't stop ourselves worrying about another dear friend. But there's only so much worrying you can do before falling asleep.

I've explained Sunday.

So now it's Tuesday, and I've finally succumb to one of the sicknesses floating around. I dread to think what class work I have to catch up on.

Hanoi

I thought it was about time I posted something here. It was Sepia's birthday yesterday, but I did not give her anything. This post could be her gift. Although it's extremely narcissistic for me to assume that a piece of my writing could act as a gift to her. Narcissism is something I'm not fond of. Something else I'm not fond of is not having direct personal access to the internet.

So essentially this post will be rushed. No time to discuss my recent trip to Vietnam, which was actually extremely amazing. At one point, I woke up while vomiting. Or perhaps to the sound of my own vomiting. I was, thankfully, turned away from the guys I was sleeping with. Sharing a room with. But I was directly facing my things. So I lost some clothes and a neck pillow thanks to my sleep-vomiting.

I tell everyone this story when they ask about my trip. For me, it was one of the most thrilling experiences. I didn't enjoy it. But it was amazing. After I'd finished vomiting all over my stuff, I ran to the bathroom to look for something to clean it up with/see if I needed to vomit more. But then I ran downstairs to see if anyone in the hotel staff was awake/had a mop or some kind of jazz. But no. I was on my own.

So I tried my best to clean up my own vomit, in the dark, quietly, without vomiting more. That's a lie - I did vomit more. I slept in the bathroom that evening, on the floor. With a pillow though, so it was good. But I kept getting up to throw up, and this sort of thing didn't stop until we'd taken a long, bumpy bus ride to Halong Bay, and my body was contented with covering not only my possessions, but also my hair and my seat of the bus, in what is now called Esmerelda.

I think it's worst if I talk about Vietnam in a sporadic, out of order manner. But that may be how it will go. This event occurred near the start of the trip, at apperently beautiful Hanoi. I can't remember too much of it's beauty, just it's heat. As well as my Esmerelda. Oh, and of course the lighter man who followed Darby up and down the city streets trying to sell him a lighter. In Australia, people walk INTO shops and decide slowly what they might buy. In the Socialist Republic of Vietnam, the shop spills out of it's building onto the street, and the shop assistant decides frantically what you will buy. I really don't remember much of Hanoi. But I may have gotten a little less than sober one night with the girls in Hanoi. Still being a bit sick, I was no fun, but they were. Patricia may or may not have terrified another one of the girls by discussing masturbation while humping the wall. These two girls were also. sorry, may have also been, sharing a bed, much to the terror of the second girl who I won't name because I'm trying to keep my friends a little anonymity.

Saturday

Saturday

So Adele is blasting in my right ear, but only my right ear, because the left earphone doesn't work. I'm probably something thousand metres above Nimbin. One doesn't get much higher than that.

My carry-on luggage was pretty much completely emptied out and searched through several times at the airport. Anything tht remotely resembled a liquid and was over 100mL was taken. I'm not sure if I have any sunscreen, insect repellent, or other mildly necessary items. I'm really not fussed about losing the toothpaste. I mean it could have had a bomb in it. My teeth are already a lovely shade of yellow.

No seriously, I'm not fussed, or whinging. The amount of times I whinge on this blog, and then actively oppose whinging is astonishing. Just, get over it.

The things they took were just material possessions. And material possessions are just that, material. What means more to me is that which you can't measure, like how charming Mika is. Or, you know, love, friendship's and all that. All the memories we'll make here.

I was terrified a certain friend wouldn't make it on the plane. That sort of terror a mother has when one of her children is missing and she just assumes he's been kidnapped.

Amy Lee's continual screming of "Can you hear me/ Can you hear me? OH OH OH, OH OH OH" is relly very distracting. Yes, I can hear you. Through my right ear.


Anyway, that friendknows who he is. He is Darby. Workspacebar. Work.

When Life Gives You Bogans

Shit. People are actually reading my blog posts these days. I'm scared. Scared they'll find out how shit I am at most things.

I can't write, I'm shit at maths, I can't cook scones, I can't hold down a relationship. No idea why I'd need to "hold down" a relationship. It's not some kind of bird that could just fly away at any moment (Dido). Perhaps it is. Perhaps my relationships are all one Phoenix, and they just need to keep getting reduced to ashes for no apparent reason.

No idea what I'm on about, as usual. I was in the library with Sepia today. She was looking for some Poe to steal when I came across travel guides for the Australian Outback. I just about fell of the edge of the earth when I saw them. Why the bloody heck would anyone want to visit the outback? It's just dirt. Lots & lots of red dirt. And bogans. So many bogans.

But Priscilla was set in the outback, and I like Priscilla. For those of you who haven't seen Priscilla, it's a movie. About a bus. And two drag queens. And Bernadette. I love Bernadette.

Basically, Bernadette's husband dies, and for some reason, they get a huge bus, call it Priscilla, and travel to the Outback. I don't really understand that part of the plot but it's a damn good movie. Watch it.

One of my favourite parts of the movie is when SPOILER ALERT Adam, the younger drag queen who is just the sex, gets into trouble with some bogans. Basically, Bernadette; who, by the way, is a transexual woman, comes to the rescue.

The head bogan exclaims "Come and fuck me Bernadette", while grabbing his crotch for some reason.

Bernadette gracefully makes her way towards him, before kneeing him in crotch several times and then flicking her hair out of her face. The wit-machine then utters the gorgeous words - "There, now you're fucked"

I adore this scene, because it sums Bernadette up so well. She's been though quite a bit - being a transexual back in the day - and consequently, she is an extremely strong individual who's quick thinking. But she's also decided, through all this adversity, to be a graceful, elegant woman, and fight opposition with good nature, or, when necessary, kneeing bogan's in the balls.

We can all learn a valuable lesson from our dear Bernadette. When life gives you bogans, knee them in the balls. Or, you know, remain positive & good-natured despite adversity.

The movie's fantastic, & you can see that scene here.

I'd better leave you again for a while. Take care.

Winter Kisses

Morning Everyone. Sorry for abandoning you for the winter. My reasons were both complex and a combination of "I'm Lazy", "I'm not good enough", & "I don't have internet access".

But I'm here now, and that's possibly good.

Quite a lot happenned while I was offline. I went to a few parties, made out with a few boys, and made some new friendships.

The parties were lovely, but they seem to be getting fewer and further between at the moment. This is either due to my heightening morlality or more likely the fact that it's final exam time at the moment.  Final exams are not fun. Well, I think they are. But they're incredibly difficult, especially English Extension. I'll be blatently honest here & admit that I have not been doing my best in that class. I've failed to read a number of readings, and I creatively bullshitted my way through most of the assessments and tests...

When I sat down to write a six page essay for this subject, using a never before seen question, 5 quotes, and sporadic knowledge of the topic, within two hours, things got more than a little stressful. Add into the mix a piece of imaginative writing, and you have me sweating in buckets.

Making out with boys is another cause of my metaphorical sweat. For some reason, a straight - apparently bisexual male - felt the need to make out with me at a party. He was a bit less than sober at the time, but, nonetheless, I was scared & confused - my natural reaction to people having some interest in me. He'd been asking a mutual friend of ours if this could happen all night and I was shocked that he was so persistently interested in me. We hugged for centuries while I continually asked him what he wanted to do. He made it clear that I had to make the first move - so eventually I did that. When the night wound down and we stopped making out, I ended up sleeping next to him - on the floor - in a room full of boys and a tomboy. He was in terrible state, due to his girlfriend's emotional instability, and I thought I could make it better somehow. But he essentially ignored me in front of his friends, as they discussed women and porn & all sorts of things I had little interest in. I know, he kindof had a girlfriend at the time. But I thought there was a spark. There clearly wasn't, as he didn't care in the slightest about how dangerously close my back was to snapping sleeping on the concrete floor. When I got home, I purged my negative emotions about the fact he really didn't have feelingsg for me - after analysing all the interactions we had ever had for some scrap of hope - through listening to nothing but Sarah Blasko on Spotify. What the Sea wants, the sea will have is a spectecular album to listen to when you want to feel sorry for yourself & dream about what will never happen.

That was months ago. More recently, I had what retrospectively looks awfully like a short fling with a male I became quite fond of. Again, this started at night. But this time, he acted the same in the morning. Long story short, he was hesitant to be in a relationship because he'd be moving at the end of the year, but I didn't give a ham.  Towards the end of us, he dragged me to a bonfire where I nearly froze out in the cold, and despite promising to keep me warm, he hardly touched me. I had a bad night. We ate too late, and stayed up for far too long doing nothing.
He avoided kissing me until he dropped me home the next morning... I knew something was up. He texted me later in the day to let me know  he was becoming too attached and couldn't do this because it would hurt when he moves. He said he still wanted me in his life, although we've hardly spoken since

So now, I'm single, still. I never had a boyfriend per se. Out of the boys I wrote about, the first boy is now effectively back with his girlfriend, and the second boy, I don't even know. I heard mention of him being with someone else now too.

Sometimes, I get that horrible lonely feeling. I get it a lot actually. But I've decided to be happy with who I am, and never let anyone else become the focus of my existence. Although I may let that happen again, I hope not. For now, I've decided to focus on studies and let boys be a secodnary priority.

I'm sure that'll happen (sarcastic tone). But anyway, Spring has arrived, & I'm also going on an overseas trip this holidays. So I've got fuckall to complain about.

P.S. I realise I whinged for most of the post, then said I have nothing to complain about. Bear with me, please

That's using your legs.

The other day I walked around 20km to prove something. I'm sure everyone's done something like that at one point.

It was 6am the morning after a party. I woke up before everyone else, confused, wearing drag makeup and one of the host's shirts. For some reason I decided I'd go for a walk, but first checked that what I was wearing was appropraite attire for the outside world.

On the other lounge was a couple, that were somewhat awake and sucking face. After recieving a positive response to my query, I began to walk, after working out where I was and admiring the scenery for a while.

I walked to the end of the street and saw an enormous green road sign. It exclaimed that the next country town was only 10km away. I accepted the challenge.

My reasons, in order of importance, were:

1. I am hungry and/or thirsty
2. I want to prove that I have done interesting things in my life
3. I want something to write about for my next blog post

So off I went, with the cold air pushing me forward, or back, I can't remember. My first stop was what I thought was a bus stop and turned out to be a mailbox shelter. I didn't know people built shelters around their mailboxes, but then again I was in the middle of nowhere. I laid down for a while, and let my thoughts wander to the strangest of places. Memories popped up that had no relevance to anything - like the time someone nearly emptied half a cup of coffee onto my foot. I wasn't sure if that was a real event, part of a dream, or something I'd put in a story, but it was in there. For some reason.

I got up after a while and trekked on, stopping twice more to send a text from a public phone and ask if I was heading in the right direction. I was, apparently, heading in the right direction towards the SMALL LITTLE VILLAGE. The old man I asked used a tautology to made sure I knew I was headed towards a "Small, little village" for some reason. Probably because I didn't look like the type that would, or should, venture outside the walls of suburbia. I was perfectly aware of where I was headed, and soldiered on until I reached a service station that appeared to have it's share of conflicts.

I was offerred a job as I walked in, cautiously avoiding the mopped parts of the floor. "I don't live around here" was my attempt to shut down conversation with the strange man. I bought an apple cider and payed for it on my card. To my disbelief, I think I actually typed in my Pin right the first time round. I don't think this has happenned since, and I live in constant fear of what happens after three incorrect Pin entries.

I went on to buy vegetable chips and make my way home. It was much hotter this time around and I laid down on various occassions. An old man offered to give me a lift, but I declined, thinking it was a bad idea to hitchhike. I regretted that decision up until the time a kind lady pulled over to offer me a lift. I accepted this time. She drove very quickly back to where I was staying, and I stumbled back as if nothing had happenned.

"Le son du rire"

 © Brodie

The sound of laughter. The French call it Le son du rire, the Italians Il suono della risata, & the Polish Dźwięk śmiechu. Even the Poles can't help but appreciate it's worth, even if their way of describing it resembles a strange cross between a sneeze and a cough.

Earlier this week, my drama class and I were taken on a picnic by our teacher. We sat outside and ate sandwiches that none of us really knew the origins of, even after asking. Nonetheless it was a lovely time of talking, cautiously discarding suspicious sandwich contents, and above all laughter. There are few sounds more blissful than that of genuine, uninhibited laughter, especially when it comes from someone who cannot stop laughing once they've begun.

I envy people with loud, booming laughs. When they laugh, the world stops and joins them. When I laugh, people give me strange looks and ask if I'm right, which I find a little bit shameful. I'm probably one of the loudest people I know, but when I start to laugh, I go quiet, and begin to rock back and forth with my mouth open. My friends tell me this resembles a crow, hence the name my laugh now goes by, The Rocking Crow. I'm a little bothered that my laugh is better loved and appreciated, if not better known than I am, but I guess I should be happy. Not many people have that.

Bobs.

A few days back I was in one of those teenage depression spirals, where there seems to be no meaning to life and no purpose to it. That all vanished when I set foot in the town of Bellingen for the local Readers & Writers Festival. Writing is normally a lonely, depressing craft, but now I was in a town full of writers, many of them published authors.

Never had there been so many eyebags reaching such southerly extents in the one place. Masses of middle-aged women packed the local coffee shops, struggling to determine which of the four women with thin, black-rimmed glasses and a sophisticated bob was their companion. There was squinting, and sipping, and shouting, and bitching, and laughing, and learning, and countless late comers to every session.

So much coffee was consumed over the two days of the festival that on two separate occassions, people actually attempted to barge into my toilet cubicle before I even had the chance to display the engaged sign.

But it wasn't all coffee and perversion. There were, as one would hope, actually panels of people from the realm of writing, discussing everything from Telling Refugee's stories to the internet. I really pity the panel that had to encompass all there is to know about the great sea of information that is the internet in just an hour. But they managed, barely, and I discovered that there is hope for queer writers on the internet, something I've been worried about ever since I started this blog.

I also met up with Alex Neill, one of my inspirations, who worked with me at last years festival to polish a piece of short fiction. And then I added another person to my list of inspirational writers; Alice Pung. I haven't yet read her work, something I'm not proud of and probably shouldn't put on the internet, but I intend to.

Quickie

Boys: Well, I've now declared myself as a bisexual, so the title's a little redundant. I wouldn't say I'm lonely; just single and surrounded by couples. Seriously. There are three affectionate couples in my presence most of the time. In fact I recently had one of them over. They spent most of the time making out, I spent it playing Age of Empires.

Bitches: There's a noticeable lack of bitches at the moment. There are however a lot of women, and the love triangles are amazing. I'm of course part of one, but on the giving end, not the recieving. And of course I just managed to make unrequited love look like anal sex.

HSC: Well, I'm doing well at school. Most of my teachers are partly happy with me. The main problems are punctuality, being bothered, and losing the very Eastern Eurpoean accent I seem to have when speaking in French.

Jorge