Nonchalant Castles (and 3 other British things)

I've been in Britain for less than 48hrs and here are some of my observations so far

1. Nonchalant Castles.

For me, an Australian with such measly national history, a castle is a big deal. I could sit and look at it all day - let alone how long I would take to explore inside. The architecture, the history, the people who once lived there... uuurrrghhh...I just really, really love castles. 

So catching the bus from England to Wales was a serious experience for me. I'd be looking out one window at a village going past, and then suddenly, I'd look over out the other one and...

BAM. Castle.

And they're not even like... a big deal. I saw a small farm house on a paddock, and then in the backyard, literally about 10 metres from the backdoor, was this ruin of a tower. It's like the people in the house were just like... yeah, we have a piece of history older than your entire country in our backyard...so what? 

Something like that in Australia would be a national landmark but here they're just casually scattered around. 

2. No one does ugly like the British men do ugly.

I don't know exactly why. But some British men just really make an art form of being kinda ugly. Of course, there are ugly people everywhere, and on that same note, everyone is beautiful to someone. But I think people understand what I mean when I say that there is a certain type of British man who is just very...well... British. 

3. Christmas would be better if it was cold.

There are still Christmas decorations up here and it's awesome. There's nothing more you want to see when it's cold and windy than a street with its trees lit up with fairy lights. I'm in Cardiff at the moment and the city still has its Christmas markets up. They're selling mulled wine and hot cider on the streets, cooking big bratwurst sausages on an open fire and letting the smell waft through the cold air of the shopping square. It's perfect. I never thought we were but it's true - we in Australia are missing out, not to mention that everything tastes better when it's cold outside too

4. I will never get tired of cobbled streets.

I don't care if I keep tripping over them, or had to painfully lug my suitcases over them for miles... All I have to do is look back over my shoulder at the street I just passed through and I'm like.... ahhhhh.

The Tale of the Pigs Head

The Story of the Pigs Head.

For my 21^st Birthday party I had a Lord of the Rings/Game of Thrones theme. We went all out: costumes, themed drinks, decorations, dace paint, celtic music… the whole shebang.

Including a pigs head as decoration in the center of the table.

The party was amazing. I completely underestimated JUST how hysterical I would get seeing all my friends rock up dressed as my ultimate favourite characters from my ultimate favourite movies. The pigs head completely topped it off though and made the whole thing seem so… real.

Anyway. The next day involved a massive clean up etc and I remember mum saying halfway through…

‘Did someone grab the pigs head?’

And my dad, clearly replying.

‘Yep. I did’.

So… you’d think that would be it right? Like… Pigs head officially taken care of?

The next day was 37 degrees and I was home alone. I spent the entire day vegged out in front of the T.V and when Mum got home that afternoon her first words at the front door were.

‘Euurgh… what is that smell?’

I got up and went outside to investigate.

Now that she’d mentioned it, the stench was impossible to ignore. We went on a hunt and it didn’t take us long to discover the source. The pigs head. It had been left, wrapped up in a big plastic bag (which was now dripping) in the full heat of the sun and was letting off the filthiest, most putrid reek anyone has ever encountered. It even had maggots.

So.

I had to lift the dripping bag (dripping with WHAT exactly? Pig juice?) put it into several more bags to stem the flow. Then we got straight into the car, I was hanging out the window initially, trying to hold the pigs head as far away from me as physically possible. 

But it was SO heavy. A big hunk of boar head! So eventually I had to SIT WITH THIS THING ON MY LAP until we made it to the dump.

Which wasn’t open.

So mum and I illegally dumped it and sped away.

What Your Christmas Lights Say About You.

Welcome to the Christmas season my friends... it's time to pick a side.

And then... the side you've chosen is usually expressed by the lights you choose to put around your house. It's a daunting time in life! Your amount of 'Christmas cheer' is about to be broadcast to all your family and friends whether you like it or not!! So... I've created a quick guide to assist in the process and help keep all our usual societal norms in check.

Stage 1. 'Grinchin'

What it says: 'Oh...what's that? The only time of the year that it's acceptable to be a complete dag and decorate our house in irrelevant lights? 

NO.

I never participated in p.e. at school... I'll be damned if I start being a team player now. Screw you 'community'! Bah humbug'.

Stage 2. 'Minimum effort'

What it says: 'Oh god, everyone's gonna realise I'm a total jackass if I don't put SOMETHING up. I might just wrap some lights around the dumb palm tree I have outside my place a couple times. That should do it. By the way, i'm also really insecure (Or also, I'm just really old and I have about ten cats)'

Stage 3. 'The  Happy Elf'

What it says: 'I'm going to be first to put my lights out this year... spread the christmas spirit!!! Oh, what's that? I also put some lights on the chimney for 'Santa'!! Ho! Ho! Ho! hahaha. Aren't I a classic!!?? I even bought some of those 'waterfall' lights this year!!! You know the ones!! They look like they're falling! But they're NOT!!!! WOW!!! CAN I POSSIBLY USE ENOUGH EXCLAMATION MARKS!!!!?? I AM JUST SO EXCITED FOR CHRISTMAS!!!!!!!'.

Stage 4: The Douche

                                  

What it says: 'I've spent way too long planning this. Unless my house can be seen from space I will regard this Christmas as a complete failure. Screw you 'light pollution regulation'. When Betty sees this she's going to regret leaving me for John from accounting for sure. My kids wish I paid this much attention to one single aspect of their lives. I won. I won the Christmas light competition. I am a WINNER'.

The Worst Date Ever

I've been reluctant to put up this story because I didn't want to scare guys off by the threat of a bad date turning into a humiliating blog post. It probably also reveals a little more about me and my dating habits than I'd usually disclose. This date was...special though. And I've finally arrived at the conclusion that it deserves to be written about and shared.

I was at a 21^st birthday party in the city when I met this guy, let's call him Ben.

Now, it seems to me that there are some assumptions that it's natural to make about a person. For example, someone trying to chat up 21 year olds at a 21^st is going to be between like... 20 and 28-ish unless they tell you explicitly otherwise. Also, if you ask them how they know the people of the house and they reply that they went to teachers college with one, and that they have to be at teaching tomorrow morning...you're going to also assume that they're a teacher. Right? I dunno... maybe that's just me.

AAAAANYWAY. So he was playing ukelele at the party for a bit and it came up that I play cello, and then he was all like, 'give me your number and we'll have a jam sesh sometime' etc etc... you can see where this is going.

So the next day I got a text from Ben, asking if I wanted to go to a cathedral in Sydney and watch an awesome choir sing some classical Bach. Don't mind if I do sir. Don't mind if I dooooo.

Subscribing to the theory that you can't spell classical without 'class', I turned up to the cathedral in a nice blue dress. This was apparently another incorrect assumption. Ben turns up in a Hawaiian shirt with his ukelele strung over his back.

Strike one.

In fact... to be honest it was strike one million. It wasn't even particularly the shirt. I just knew straight out that I didn't want to see him again after tonight. There just was a funny vibe. Y'know how sometimes you just... know?

Anyway. The concert was really good – and we didn't get the chance to talk much, other than to make fun of the people who sang with weird expressions on their faces. When it finished it was about 9pm and I'd purposely eaten before hand so that I wouldn't have to go to dinner with him if I didn't want to... which I didn't. But he was 'really hungry' and kept bugging me to get some food with him so eventually I was like... 'well, okay. If you walk me to the station I can show you this awesome Chinese hotpot place on the way and you can get something to eat there'.

So as we walked we were talking, and I asked him about teaching and what his favourite thing about teaching was. That's when things really started to get a little weird. He started becoming quite evasive like...

'oh... y'know... what even IS teaching? Isn't everyone's a teacher of something?' etc etc

It was really suspicious! So I kept pushing and being all like. 'No well... what's your favourite subject to teach?'

Eventually I just stopped in the street and was like '... dude, are you a teacher or not?'

And he looked kinda sheepish and was like. 'Well...I was'.

And then said

'But I stopped about 8 years ago because it was too much pressure...having those kids rely on you so much. So now I'm just a full time busker'.

Awesome. 

Seeing as teachers college is a 4 year degree... I had been totally mislead and was going out with an evasive 30 something y.o street performer.

So when we finally arrived at this Chinese restaurant I asked 'what are you going to order for your dinner?' making it really obvious that I wasn't getting anything. He was really indecisive and said 'well, it seems you come here all the time so why don't you pick for me?' So I did. I walked up to the counter and said 'one chili chicken please'. The man took my order and then said looked at me with his hand outstretched for payment.

And after a really awkward extended pause that's when I realised that Ben wasn't standing beside me anymore. He was standing by the front door, facing the corner, looking really intently at the roof as if it had the secrets of the universe written up there. 

The Chinese man was waiting impatiently and Ben wasn't budging so eventually I was just like... 

'well... um. I guess I'll pay'.

So that's how I ended up paying for this guy's meal... which he then ate in front of me. And dropped a piece of greasy chicken on my dress which now has a huge, immovable grease stain as an awesome souvenir of this bizarre moment.

So then... By now I'm desperate to end this date and leave. We're walking to the train station and I'm agonising over how I'm going to say goodbye to this guy without it being horribly awkward. In the end I settled on the idea of a kiss on the cheek - resolving to give him the IGNORING OF HIS LIFE once I was out of arms reach and safely back inside my apartment. 

I thank him for the concert, kiss his cheek, and turn to leave. 

He goes and grabs my waist. 

Turns me around.

And sticks his tongue down my throat.

It was so abrupt and gross and unwelcome that I actually heard passersby go... 'Eurghhh'. It was the absolute final straw. Standing in a grease stained dress being pashraped by the busker in central station.

I literally pushed him off me and RAN up the stairs... which he must have interpreted as some romanic cinderella-esk gesture because I got a text later that night telling me how magical the night had been. 

I didn't know how to tell him that I'd gone home and washed my mouth out, and never wanted to speak to him ever again. 

So I just never replied to him ever again and for all he knows, I'm dead. 

The end.

Public Transport Etiquette

I really, genuinely used to think that public transport etiquette was something everyone knew and was aware of, and that some people simply just CHOSE to ignore this just because they could. In the same way that I chose to ignore the little pop up which always asks me if I'd like update my adobe video player. 'REMIND ME LATER' I always click, whereas in my head I'm just like.... 'Heh Heh Heh...LATER IN LIKE....A BAZILLION YEEEEARS SUCKERSSSS!!!'.

For those of you who genuinely don't know, here is your guide to public transport etiquette. For of you who already know all of this and yet still persist in this behaviour. This is your little pop up reminder.

Public Transport Etiquette.

Im not talking about giving your seat to the crippled, pregnant lady here. These are the REAL public transport issues and should be considered inappropriate and avoided at all costs.

1. Eating bodily excretions of any form.

wax
snot
dead skin
nail clippings
dandruff
pimple puss
scabs
crust
eye crust
any kind of crust.

Please. For the love of god. Stop.

It's not appropriate to eat any of these at any time, ever. Yet the amount of facebook status' I read involving my friends being forced to observe someone's revolting bodily cuisine ritual is incredibly disturbing to say the least. Some might even say permanently scarring.

2. Reading 50 Shades of Grey.

Whooooaaaaa. Sloooow down everyone! We've got a real badass over here!

Not only is whipping (ey! ey!) out your shiny new copy of this the most unsubtle, desperate, attention seeking maneuver ever invented, the reality is that you're just making the rest of us extremely uncomfortable. For me it's not just because of the graphic sex that I KNOW you're reading and thinking about (to me, reading this in public is pretty much the same as standing up in the middle of the aisle, waving your hands and yelling 'Hey everyone, Guess what! I'm thinking about butt plugs and vibrators right now!!') it's also the abhorrent standard of writing you're forcing me to be in such close proximity to.

Was this how that book was written?
I'm not going to lie. I tried the whole 50 Shades thing. I couldn't even make it to the first sex scene.

But seriously. Even if there is nothing you'd rather do but read about BDSM when you're surrounded by smelly, tired strangers. At least do it on a kindle.

3. Being a 'Wet' sniffer

Nothing is worse than the wet sniffer. I'm not talking about when you've just sneezed and need a cheeky sniff to restore equilibrium to your body. I'm talking about consistent, fluey nostril juice which you're trying in vain to keep from dripping on the person in front of you's shoulder. Look Dude. I know it's disgusting feeling all that mucus in your throat. But if this is you. And you're on a crowded bus for 40 minutes. You are obligated to have to sit there with your head tilted back for the entire time. Take one for the team amigo. Your snot. Your problem.

4. Sitting beside someone if there is an empty seat available

It is never appropriate to infiltrate my personal space when there is a perfectly available empty seat three rows back UNLESS (and this is a big unless) you KNOW for a FACT (and by this I mean you are a regular along this exact route, at this exact time, on this exact day) that the bus/train/ferry is going to achieve sardine status and people will at some point be forced to fill EVERY SINGLE SEAT and eventually stand.

If this is the case, go ahead. Choose someone nice looking and safe to sit next to. Because if you chose an empty seat your seat-mate will be luck of the draw.

Yes, if you don't chose to sit beside the nice, slim, unobtrusive, quite Asian lady then you will be subjected to the will of the public transport gods and after all of the above desecration of their temples, somehow I don't think they're feeling very kind.

Obscure things I'm bad at doing

My editor (ha!) tells me that posts about how wonderful my own life is aren't gonna get me far in the blogging business. Australians (and Latvians apparently!?) love a healthy dose of self deprecation and I am no different.

So here we go, some things I'm bad at doing.

1. Procrastinating properly.
A lot of people are GREAT at procrastinating. They make a damn art form out of it. They'll write letters, run, draw, go out, call someone...

I've tried out a whole lot of different procrastinating techniques. I procrasti-blog (incidently what I'm doing RIGHT NOW) I've also tried procrasti-toileting, where I decide to just go sit on the toilet and give my bowels a chance to flush out anything that might possibly not want to be there. I procrasti-shower and procrasti-clean my toe nails.

The one I always seem to fall back on (and the most destructive one of all) is that I procrasti-eat.

Not only does this mean that the work doesn't get done. I also get fat in the process.

My mental process goes like this.:

Hmm, 2000 word essay due.

I should start this. But I'm kinda hungry.

Oh god, if I just have a small snack now, I won't be hungry for lunch...

So... I should PRE- eat and have lunch now!!!

but it's too early for lunch...

So... I'll spend this whole time MAKING LUNCH, then it'll be ready by the time it's lunch time!!!

 (3 hrs later) = 

2. Apologising when I know I'm right.

Somtime you just have to. Whether it's to save a friendship or relationship or job, sometimes you just have to suck up your pride and do it.

And I suck at this.

"No.

No, no.

You're not right. I'M right.

No, don't even say that. 

You're wrong. You're totally, utterly and incredibly wrong.

Stop that. You're wrong.

You've NEVER BEEN MORE WRONG."

My solution at the moment is to write letters instead.

At least with a letter I can call someone an obscene name and then rub it out. Plus, something about the hand-writing-ness seems to work well. Something to do with being 'less confrontational'??

3. Not taking photos of/collecting/hoarding stuff that has my name on it.

The spelling of my name is definitely not common place. I was never able to find cute little keyrings with my name on it, or those little kiddy license plates... huurgh
Well, apparently it became a complex because now I'm kinda obsessed with finding my name in places.
'Elysium' counts as my name I've decided. As does the Champs-Élysées.

And so far in my life I've a vast collection of photos of movie posters, street signs, body lotions and perfumes... everything I can find with this name displayed. I even have a small square of paper, ripped from the packaging of toilet paper and stuck it in a scrap book somewhere. Hoarder?? Who moi!?

Awesome! There's a toilet tissue brand called 'elyse'! Now I can wipe my butt with my own name!

Way better than a little keyring to put on my school bag amiright?

Anyway... there's obviously heaps more stuff I suck at, but I wanted to share a few of the more obscure ones and once again I'm meant to be writing an essay and this blog was my distraction. This is the only form of procrastination I can seem to justify at the moment. Better than procrasti-eating I suppose.

The Post you Probably Don't Want to Read.

Problems. 

I got ninety nine problems but a serious problem ain't one!

I mean, we ALL have problems obviously. I just seem to be deliciously free of important ones at the moment. 

So I thought it a good idea to acknowledge this.

My current problems include:

1) Trying to distinguish between the Asian women in my class and acknowledge them individually by name when they catch me off campus. I hope this doesn't sound too racist. I just honestly can't tell!

- 'oh god, is this one Candice? or is it Pema? crap crap crap'
'....hiiiiii' *in my awkward, scrunched shoulder, tilted manner*

2) Wondering why this extremely short girl is trying to be friends with me.

- We see life from two entirely different spectrums! What on earth can she hope to think we have in common?! She views a tub of nutella as a serious eating challenge! I view it as a birthright!

3) Wondering why 89% of all the guys remotely interested in me are excruciatingly weird. Not even in an endearing weird way. Just like... 40 year old busker kind of weird.

- Is this a vibe I'm giving off? Must remedy!

4) Wondering if I should be more stressed about uni work

-Why aren't I more stressed about this? Oh god. I must be doing something wrong!! Wait. I'm only in 2 days a week and I have about 8 weeks of holidays this semester. I'll be fine.

5) Wondering why I've been suspended from twitter.

- I've literally had the account for less than 24 hrs. I must be a real twittering badass!!!

6) I literally want to do everything. How do I do this without getting sick? Also my calendar looks like a tetris game

- How do I fit everything into my life? Which events are the dependable, easily allotted squares and which ones are the horrific zig zags, moving at high speed? How many vitamin C chews should I be devouring in a day. 12? Does 12 sound about right? Should my urine be this colour??

Sorry. That's gross.

BUT, problems wise, that's about it for me.

It wasn't always this way, which is why I'm trying to revel in it now I suppose. Highschool was full of worries:

Who are my friends? Am I popular? Why don't they like me? Why am I so angry all the time? Why am I so sad all the time? Why do I have to know this? What am I going to do after school? What if I smell funny and don't know about it?!!

And I imagine when I finish this degree I'll go through my quarter life crisis. The one where you've finally got a job and started to settle into 'life'. You get past that initial hue of excitement and then start to ask yourself the big questions

Do I really want this job for the rest of my life? Do I have balance? Am I still moving 'forward' or have I stopped? Am I too old to still be taking selfies in the mirror? When is too young to start buying 'age defying' creams?

I don't think problems ever really leave us. They just hang about for a certain period of time and keep us on our toes, and then we exchange them for new ones when we enter another stage of our lives. When we don't have problems it means we've gotten too good at the stage we're already at and that it's time to move on. They're the challenges in our stories which make our character's develop and become more interesting, more resilient, more intelligent.

So anyway. I'll admit that my lack of problems does stem from the fact that I'm still in the confortable schooling system, living off the backs of my parents. But all that is going to end in 6 months. After I graduate I'll be thrust into a new world all over again so I just wanted to make note here (mostly for me so that I remember this time) that there was a time once when I did not have problems (and god knows, after my 1st half of this year, I deserve it!)

I mastered the ancient art of the Sydney Bus system.
I have not locked myself out for a good 6 months now, nor have I had another cockroach fly into my mouth.
I am (still!) the top of the food chain.
I am happy and (mostly) healthy, and pain free.
Most importantly, I'm surrounded by fun people who love me. 

In fact, the only legitimate problem I have is that I don't get to spend enough time with any of them.

And that's it.

Thanks Life.

The Story of No Pants

I have some friends from Canada staying with me at the moment. Their names are Scott and Geneva

This is The story of no pants:



So we decided to go to go out in the City. We all looked nice. I was in a dress, Geneva was in short shorts, and Scott was in white jean shorts, cut off before the knee. Big Mistake.

As testament to my incredible partying lifestyle, I'd completely forgotten that pants were a MUST for  guys. We spent about $50 on cabs, just driving around the city, trying from one place to another. Scott just wasn't allowed in anywhere! It was incredibly frustrating!

It got to midnight and we were incredibly fed up. We were at the Cross at this point, waiting in line. The bouncer came up to us, pointed at Scott's shorts and shook his head.

Desperate measures had to be taken.

Scott and I went for a frustrated walk. We began by scouring for any open shops. There were none. It was midnight. The Midnight Pants Store was inconveniently closed due to technical difficulties. Scott started asking men on the street for their pants. I told him to stop if he wanted to live.
We almost had success! A very fat gentleman (VFG) stopped on the street when Scott asked him if he wouldn't mind swapping.

Scott: Excuse me sir, would you mind swapping pants with me?
VFG: What?
Scott: Swapping pants...?
VFG: Well I don't know... I don't think I'd fit into yours.

Scott: Oh... you would. You could just leave the fly undone? maybe?
VFG: I... well. Yeah. Maybe. But then you'd need like...a rope to keep these ones up.
Scott: oh yeah... never mind. Well thank you!
VFG: Good luck to you!

We were getting even more desperate.

Up ahead, in a brilliant daze of purple neon lights, we saw a sign for a 24 hr gym. Full of hope and optimism we ran up the stairs, past the security guard and tugged open the glass doors...

...and they didn't move. They were locked.

"Do you guys have a key card?" The security guard asked suspiciously.
"No..."

Then, we decided to try out a brilliant suggestion of my cousin Rosie.

"Look" I said to the guard. "This is my friend from Canada, he literally jut got off the plane today and doesn't have a pair of pants. we can't get into anywhere. Is there the slightest chance you could let us in to look through your lost property?"

We held bated breath as the security guard pondered.

"Sure... be quick though"

And Scott was. He ran through the doors and about half a minute later we heard a pounding of tin as he was opening lockers. Three minutes later he came back with the grimiest, smelliest pair of track pants I have ever seen.

"If I'm allowed in with these, but not my shorts.... I'm going to be so mad".

So we ran back down the stairs and into an alley for Scott to get changed. Typical boy, he wasn't wearing underwear. He stripped off before I even realised what was happening and I got to see the full moon on a cloudy night. I turned away and stood in front of him so that no one else could see, and I expected him to be done in literally about 30 seconds. He wasn't.

"What's taking so long!?"
"THESE ARE DEATH PANTS. I JUST DON'T UNDERSTAND HOW THEY WORK!!!"


I still have no idea what the hold up was but I know that Scott bare-butted most of Kings Cross for a good 5 minutes before he finally managed to get the pants on.

And this was the story of how a well dressed Canadian man was not accepted into any clubs in Sydney until he looked like a grotty bogan.
THE END

Being 'an Elyse'

I used to hate it when people asked me what I wanted to be. The question started popping up around year 10 in high school and has been unceasingly relentless all throughout my entire time at university. When I was younger I was so sure.
'I want to be the man who waves the flag for the trains to go!'
'I want to be a garbage truck man!'
'I want to be a horse!'

Then, when I got to a time when people actually wanted me to be 'serious'... I was stumped.

I've been thinking about all the students about to go into their HSC, and remember being in that position just a few years ago. Trying to sort through the mess of hormones, of stress, of social politics and societal pressures, to work out not only what I wanted to do, but what sort of person I wanted to be and how to get there.

And I'm still not sure I can give anyone an answer because I don't think there is an answer. For example, you can have all your chips perfectly in place, feel as though you've got the system worked out and your direction for the next 5 years are certain at least, and then you sit down to write a serious thought provoking blog post and realise you just sat on a hill of grass covered in duck-shit. For me at least, I'm never going to be that classy, gorgeous, slim woman who is not only sophisticated and smart, but funny and likeable and speaks 12 languages fluently, has millions of dollars and volunteers at the animal shelter 6 days a week, attending cocktail fundraisers for children with AIDS at night. I've got her tottering around in my head as the 'ideal' but even if somehow I reach a point close to her, by that point my 'ideal me' would have changed to something else.

And so I've decided with a contentness of 'being in the moment' and being more than okay with the idea of being an Elyse, exactly as I am now. So I'm not going to try to give any advice to people. I don't have any answers for you. But I do want to write here quickly what I think I've figured out for ME at this point in life. Feel free to dismiss or to take any of it on board. I'd be interested to read this back in 10 years and see if I still agree with myself

1. Work out who/what you don't want to be like.
Our identities are shaped as much by what we're not as by what we are. That is something I've been learning recently.

2. Whatever you practise doing, you will become.
I'm going to practise self restraint, because I currently have a bottle of nutella bigger than my head in my room, and I do not want to become obese.

3. No matter what you think is actually occurring right now, it's not.
At the risk of sounding like a hippy, the universe is infinite. The stories of everyone we interact with on a daily basis are impossibly complex. There is no way you have a full understanding of anything. ANYTHING. And so, with that in mind, suddenly everything seems a lot less stressful and a lot more acceptable. We're not meant  to understand. We're just meant to ride it out. Everything is just an experience. Enjoy it. And if you can't enjoy it, refer to (1) and learn from it.

4. All people are people. And people are the same everywhere.
We all want to be heard and acknowledged. We all want to be accepted and loved. We all want to live without fear for our survival. That's about it.
Everyone is equal, it is humans themselves who put labels and judgement on others. My job at BWS has been the biggest eye opener to me in this respect. 12 months ago I wouldn't have spared a second glance at the homeless guy drinking on the gutter. Now I'm on first name basis with several of them. And they're nice. They're funny. They're decent people, and when you ignore them they notice and are hurt by it.

5. Our bodies and minds are capable of incredible spirituality, and the ability to be incredibly mundane.
So chose which one you're going to be.
Don't be the girl on facebook 5 hours a day Elyse. Just don't.

6.  Don't be bullied into anything.
If there's only one thing we truly own it's our life choices. So to be bullied into anything, a course, a job, a religion, a relationship, an emotion... Work out what you can compromise on, and what belongs to you and you alone. And don't ever surrender that point.


I'm sure there's more, but I can't think of them right now. If you come up with any of your own that you live by, send them to me! Maybe I'll make another blog post about random life advice from strangers!

The Tear Duct Factory

I am a tear duct factory.

This is not a fact unknown to anyone who has ever spent more than an hour in conversation with me. I've almost certainly ended up crying about SOMETHING and I'm still trying to work out now whether this is a good or bad thing.

Cons:

I can't express myself properly. When I get too angry, I start crying. When I get too happy, I start crying. When I get too excited, or sad, or nervous, or frustrated or emotional... Australia ceases to have a water problem and needs to build an ark.

It's embarrassing and frustrating.

Here's a recent example. I was going to do some psychology interviews with the army recently. I had to answer some questions on paper and then discuss my answers later with a psychologist. One of the questions was 'Do you cry easily?'

True Story.

Pros:

I'll leave it to Zooey Deschanel to explain

So.... moral to the story is. If I get into the army, I'm going to be the crying-est, most tender hearted, badass officer there is. 

And I'm okay with that.

The Sympathy Spew Syndrome

Sometimes disgusting things happen around you.

Additionally. Sometimes those disgusting things cause you to do disgusting things.

Such as the time I tried to clean up my dog's vomit.

Usually I love going to wake my dog up in the morning. She looks up at me all bleary eyed and happy. Like... 'Oh! It's you! The fantastic, most beautiful goddess of my life!!!hellohellohellohellohello!!!'

(Please excuse the terrible drawing of my dog! She's usually REALLY cute in real life!!)

This morning however when I walked into the laundry the first thing I noticed was a funky smell. Then I noticed that my dog had vomited during the night.

Okay. That's not true. First I accidentally stepped in some.

I procrastinated for ages about it but eventually I talked myself into cleaning it up. Usually these things I like to leave to my mum, telling her that I've got too much uni work or something. Unfortunately my parents seem to be into abandonment these days (a different story) so it's just me here at the moment.

So there I was, armed with my multitudes of paper towels. And I start to clean.

It wasn't the smell that got to me. It wasn't the chunks nor the watery consistency. I'm sure they were all contributors but the final straw was the fact that there was a really long strand of string in there. I'm feeling sick just thinking about it now...


Anyway. So. It happened before I even realised it was happening. One minute I was lifting up this long piece of string and imagining how it would feel vomiting that up. And suddenly I was vomiting. Right on top of my dog's vomit.

I guess what worries me most about this whole scenario, is the question of what I'll ever do when I have kids one day...

Changing a nappy????

Wiping snotty noses????

Taking them to the doctors???

Spew.

Just...

Spew. 

Everywhere.

I have no idea who is going to clean the laundry up now. It's still all in there and I have no intention of going back to finish the job. If I try I'm sure I'll eventually just drown in spew as I keep sympathy spewing. Poor Jaz has to sleep in there again tonight though. Does anyone want to come over and lend a pal a hand?