The time a cockroach flew into my mouth

Two very important things happened to me this week. One of them hilarious. One of them incredibly disturbing.

This hilarious one barely even requires a story. The blurry picture below should explain. Some genius went and printed this little guy out and put it on every bus stop along Epping road last week. Making my journey home from uni just a continuous series of chuckles. 

God bless you hilarious stranger, whoever you are.

The second story of this post takes a dire turn.

I was at work. We were just about to close the shop when this huge bug flew inside.

What is that? I asked Jo and Flavia. It looked like a huge moth.

It was not a moth. 

It was a cockroach.

A huge mother of god, flying cockroach, as long as my index finger.

Flavia, in all her Brazillian glory, shrieked and ran for the store room, closing the door sharply behind her. 

Jo and I looked at one another.

The cockroach hovered between us awkwardly as if trying to make up its mind. 

And then it did.

It chose me.

I reacted instinctively.

I jumped at it and swiped it with my hand, trying to bat it out of the store, narrowing avoiding Jacobs Creek's finest merlot. I missed. I changed tactics, swapping my angle and trying to simply bat it to the floor instead of back out into the night. I lunged and hit it with my hand. Nothing. The cockroach still hovered, ducked and weaved in the air above me. I smashed at it again, I hit it again! Still nothing. Somehow this incredible creature was INDESTRUCTIBLE. 

The third time I hit it the cockroach finally faltered. 

As in, it decided to stop flapping its revolting roachy wings and just plumet towards the ground.

The ground being my open mouth.

I realised all too late the trajectory of the roach missile. I tried to move my hands to try to block its path but it was like moving in slow motion, like when you're having one of those dreams when you're running away from a great night terror and it feels like your limbs have been encased in concrete. There was just no stopping it. 

And the largest, most revolting cockroach I've ever seen flew into my mouth.

Elyse Becomes Moderately Functional

Let this post be a beacon of hope to all twenty-somethings out there kicking off on their own for the first time. If Elyse can do it. So can you.

This past week has been the POLAR OPPOSITE of last week, a week in which by Wednesday I was already running back for the safety of the 'Den and Mumma Hen Glynn with my tail between my legs.

After a week of wrong turns, where every decision I made seem to run from bad to worse until eventually I had to completely stop, look in the mirror (at the haggardly, hagrid-like reflection I saw there) and be like.... Elyse... what the eff are you DOING??? 

On the functionality chart I was bordering somewhere between earthworm and troll. I am proud to announce that there has been a dramatic turn around and for the time being I am at least at level Albatross/Ginny Weasley.

This week has been full of achievements, the most major one being that I didn't end up accidentally killing myself – something which I am pretty sure would have happened last week if I hadn't taken some SERIOUS TIME OUT and worked out exactly what I had to do to fulfil the requirements of becoming an adult. Let me tell you my friends, if being an adult was considered some kind of team, then I would have won the MVP award this week.

Not only did a customer come in on Sunday and compliment me on the great job I did with handling that DOUCHE BAG last week. But I also remembered to take my MOTHER FREAKING GREEN BAG TO THE MOTHER FREAKING SUPERMARKET.

'YOU ARE WELCOME MOTHER NATURE' I thought in allcaps to myself, followed closely by, 'God, I'm so good at this maturity stuff!!'

I've been followed around by this yellow glow of happiness this whole week, literally vomiting it upon people and places I touch. The bus for example....

WHICH (might I add) I MANAGED TO CATCH THE RIGHT ONE EVERY SINGLE TIME THIS WEEK. WHAT A BAMF!!!!

I feel like I've been consistently reenacting those great lines from the Queen classic 'We are the Champions'

...I've had my share of sand kicked in my face but I never LOOOOOOOOOOOOSE!!!!!!

That's right everyone. You are now looking at a girl (woman!!!???) who can now hold down a job, do a Masters degree, catch the bus and COOK FISH FINGERS.... wait for it... IN THE OVEN!!!!

Also, I didn't go on the horribly awkward 'deceptively-old-full-time-busker-who-rude-pashed-me' date this week (which in all honesty could be a blog post unto itself!)

LIFE HAS BEEN GOOD TO ME.

Next step, doing it with some kind of modesty and not high fiving myself in the street like an absolute loser when I do something right.

Elyse writes the 'How not to live' manual. Aka PUFFED CORN.

Living out of home for the first time is many things: daunting, exciting, scary. The sense of freedom can be both exhilarating and crippling.

I'm not living in the other apartment anymore. I ended up moving into a new place where I have a bedroom to myself, and the whole place to myself except for 3 days a week when my roommate stays there. It's very peaceful (especially as the reception and internet are decidedly pathetic at best). It's also in Lane Cove where I got my new job at the BWS. This blog post is a story of my first 4 days living there alone (Not even a full week!) and how during that time I learned some major life lessons and was hit over the head with the common-sense stick with excruciating regularity.

Working at the bottle shop is actually fairly exhausting. The folk of Lane Cove must all be serious alcoholics because the liquor almost literally runs off the shelf and there is constant re-shelving, re-stocking, boxes being swapped and replaced not to mention serving customers, all happening at an incredible non stop pace. After my first couple of shifts I was completely buggered, and it didn't help that I had a ten hour one after doing a cheeky saliva swap with a bit of a suspect character in a club the night before.

LIFE LESSON 1: No kissing randoms before big events such as moving out, huge shift or about to start uni. Just... Don't.

The following day. Everything hurt.

The actual fibres in the bones of my legs were throbbing. My neck was stuck in this eternal tilt to the left and everything from the top of my spine to my bellybutton was on fire.

I woke up at 6am to drive right back to Camden and teach my last swimming class. Then drove all the way back to Lane Cove to do another shift.

LIFE LESSON 2: Attempting two jobs at once. DON'T DO IT. JUST DON'T.

I realise that so far this has just been a huge rant on how much I've been working and you're all like what a fucking crybaby.

You see, I agreed with you. Which is why I ignored the warning signs...

Sunday was another experience all together.

Work at BWS again. And let me tell you my friends, the crazies were out in force:

A mild mannered man turned into the crazy dog man http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cZpm_9_PmYg when I asked his underage son to show some ID. Another fellow decided to loudly judge the residents of Lane Cove right outside the shop, and then smash his beer bottle all over the ground.

“If I don't get arrested tonight, It'll be a fuckin' miracle” he told me when he came in the store.

“Are you trying to get arrested?” I asked mildly. I was serving him because there was literally no one else in the shop (the manager was downstairs in the cellar) and I didn't trust him not to get aggressive if I refused him.

“Nah mate. Just tellin' it like it is. Fucken rich people in their houses with their ocean view. Life is SOOOOOOO FUCKEEEEEENNNNN HARD for them AIN'T IT???” He screamed across the street.

When the manager returned I told her what had happened and asked if we should call the police.

“No. It's alright. I know him. If he comes in again, cut him off” she told me.

And he did come in again, about an hour later.

I was pissed off at the manager, because she claimed she knew him, claimed she could handle him, yet she let him walk in the store, grab a six pack, line up and try to pay. She left it up to me to tell him that I couldn't serve him any more because I believed him to be intoxicated. And he lost his shit.

“What the FUCK do you mean? Don't go all fucken RSA on me you bitch. You stupid homo c**t. Who the fuck do you think you are to refuse ME?”.

Anyway. You all get the drift. It went on for a bit, and what can you do but just stand there and wait for him to finish and leave? Which he eventually did.

But then he came back. He stood at the front of the counter, pointed his finger at me and for the next 3 minutes the abuse just rained down.

“That's it” said the manager (about 3 hours too late in my opinion) “I'm calling the police”.

So the police came, took a statement. And then the guy came back AGAIN.

So I just went and hid amongst the boxes for the rest of my shift.

That night the bones in my legs had turned into lead. I could barely lift them. I blamed it on all the standing. My head felt foggy and clouded and I blamed it on the emotional day.

“It'll be alright”. I told myself. “O-week starts tomorrow. You'll have fun”.

LIFE LESSON 3: Let the manager handle it/stop being so optimistic.

I did not have fun.

Standing in line to get my student card I was talking to a guy in front of me and I asked him if he was going to check out the stalls and entertainment after this.

“Nah, I can't. I've got class after this”.

What an idiot I thought. “Class doesn't start till next week” I said. “This is O-week”.

“I think you're about to be in for a rude shock” he said slowly, clearing thinking, what an idiot. “Classes start this week”.

aaaah shit.

So I ran to the library to find my timetable and realised that my first class started RIGHT NOW. So, hot and sweaty, I ran across campus (looking every inch the lame-o first year with my nose buried in a map, asking every poor shmuck in my path the way to the room) I ran to the classroom I was meant to be in and arrived literally dripping in sweat (it was also a humid 32 degrees might I add...) and...

… no one was there.

Because on my timetable it also stated that that lecture was an online lecture and had I stopped half a minute to read it properly I would have seen that. In fact it didn't have a room written on it either so apparently I'd just made up some room that I thought it was in and had run there. I got to meet a couple of people going to 'Intro to Geo Physics' and through those interactions learned that I never want to be married to a Geo Physicist. That's about it.

The rest of my classes finished at 9pm and by that point I was in a pretty bad way. I had a headache which just wouldn't leave (and I never usually get headaches). I couldn't for some reason really feel my legs and as I was walking I felt like I was pushing through this odd red, hot fog. Afterwards I realised that I must have had a pretty intense fever but at the time I was just like.

What the fuck is wrong with you Elyse? Jeeze. So what you made one mistake and got the day wrong? Suck it up you princess”.

The self abuse was rampant.

So I was waiting for the bus to go home and somehow psyched myself out of the bus stop I was waiting at (which in hindsight was probably correct) and ended up waiting at the wrong bus stop for about 40 minutes, then catching the wrong bus, getting off at the next stop. Walking about 2 kilometres along Epping road and fighting this huge internal war about whether or not to 1) just fuck the bus and walk home. 2) walk to the shopping centre (there must be ONE bus there that could take me home!) or 3) Just jumping in front of traffic and ending it all because I felt that incredibly sick. Thankfully I chose option 2 and got home safely (after missing my stop on THAT end as well!) and I pulled myself into bed. It was at that moment which, incredibly, for the first time all weekend I thought, you know what? I don't feel so good. I think I might be coming down with something.

LIFE LESSON 4: Self denial/abuse is never constructive.

The following morning was literally death.

I had tossed and turned all night so when I woke up I forced myself to go to Woolies and do some shopping just so I could get away from the bed. I was in some weird dreamlike state where I actually forgot that I'd made the earlier realisation that I was sick. And so with my foggy brain I stumbled blinking out onto the street and thought to myself stagnantly (again) y'know? I don't feel so good.

Miracle of miracles I conquered Woolies (and probably infected everyone there) (this is why you wash your fruit peeps!) and lugged my stuff home. On some weird, disease ridden impulse I had bought a bag of puffed corn (I know... What? and Why?) and after I had put everything else away I was left staring at this huge bag of puffed corn on the bench without a clue of what to do with it. So I opened it and started eating it. Manically. I just couldn't stop! I had to have this puffed corn! I was cramming it in my mouth without any real reason or purpose and then in a sudden moment of clarity I looked down at my two fists full of puffed corn and thought to myself. I reeeeeally need to just go back to bed. My body was just too weak, hot and heavy to protest with my brain, so although I had this inexplicable urge to eat all the puffed corn in the world, instead I tucked myself back into bed and fell asleep.

LIFE LESSON 5: PUFFED CORN.

I woke up at midday, feeling only mildly better, but somehow convinced myself that I'd feel MUCH better if I went to the library, found myself some wifi and contacted the rest of civilisation. I was still pretty convinced that my low mood was on account of being so isolated and so many crazy events happening. I was also pretty disappointed in myself for my poor observation skills regarding the bus and my uni timetable (but not my health for some reason?) and so I packed my work clothes in my bag, intending to be re-immersed in the world of facebook for some considerable hours and didn't want to have to walk back to my house to get changed if that was the case. I thought that was an AWESOME decision and that I was really turning myself around. Until I closed the apartment door behind me and realised in the split second after the condemning BANG that I had left my keys inside and locked myself out.

Anyway. This has already been a long story so I'll try to cut it short now.

I went to the library. Sat in a chair by a large window for 4 hours. Got up, went to work and SUDDENLY felt better. The weight of the world was lifted from my shoulders! I could see without fuzzy vision! I could swallow without wanting to just rip out my oesophagus! My feet were light, my clarity had returned I COULD BREATHE.

I don't know how, but somehow, without even the assistance of a panadol, my body threw off this death virus which was so horrible that I didn't even realise I had it. And I only realise now how incredibly horrible the past few days were because of it, RIGHT NOW because I just feel SO MUCH BETTER. Which is why I have stayed up till 1am to write this story.

I FEEL BETTER EVERYONE. AREN'T YOU ALL SO HAPPY FOR ME??

LIFE LESSON 6: Always carry spare keys/look after yourself /don't hate on yourself/don't expect yourself to be able to do everything as awesomely or effortlessly as your parents, they've had way more years of practise/puffed corn is seriously delicious and I am so excited to be able to wake up tomorrow morning and have some.

On that note. Goodnight!

Australian College: Nudity and Awkwardness

The whole point of beginning this blog was to retell and record some of the incredible stories I experienced while living at college in America. It appears that Australian college will be no different if my first encounter is anything to go by.

I was SO SO SO excited to move into my new apartment at Macquarie. I knew that I'd be living with an Australian, an Austrian and a Ukrainian in a small place with a kitchen, living room and bathroom. So I decided yesterday to go in a little bit early and put some stuff down, make it all cozy and stuff. So mum and I drove in. I went in to get the key and the RA, Elena from Norway, showed me up to my door and told me that one of the girls was already moved in, but she didn't know who. As we entered the flat I knocked loudly and called out 'heeeeeellooooooo?' and no one answered.

There was stuff everywhere, all over the floor. Laptop, socks, books, food. It was kinda gross but, I was like... whatever. When everyone is here we'll all have to keep it clean etc. So Elena and I walked down the hallway and that was when we heard this intense swooshing of water and squeaking plastic.

'What is that?' I asked.

'I think someone is in the bath... with the door open' she replied.

How embarrassing, I thought and I wondered why she hadn't called out.

So I decided to head back to the car and get all my stuff, as well as giving the girl a bit of privacy and time to get out of the bath.

About 15 minutes later, mum and I come up, bringing my suitcase and various other stuff up three flights of stairs. I don't call out again this time. But we're making more noise than a hippopotamus on heat so I think, there is no WAY she don't know we're here this time.

We move everything to my room, and as we pass the bathroom my mum whispers.

'Elyse... there's is someone is the bath. The door is wide open'.

Oh my god! I think. I'm living with an exhibitionist!

I was in this weird place of being totally amused and kinda annoyed. I mean... I had wanted to meet my new suitemate but if she'd wanted to finish her bath she should have at least shut the door!

Whatever.

So we finish unpacking and I'm like
'Mum, I'm really busting but I don't know if that girl is still in the bath!'
Neither of us wanted to go out of the room and check. We were like two awkward school girls, standing there, finished unpacking, but imprisoned by the threat of nudity outside. Eventually I was persuaded by my insistant bladder and I ventured into the hallway. I found the toilet and just as I was turning to close the door I happened to see a glimpse of the entire naked left side of my suitemate's body, reflected in her bedroom mirror. Right. Down. The Crack. (krakken??)

OH MY GOD. SHE'S A NUDIST. WHY DOESN'T SHE SHUT THE G'DARN DOOR???!!!!

It occurs to me that I've now seen my suitemate naked before even speaking a single word to her.

I finish up in the bathroom and run back to the bedroom. Thankfully her door is closed. I don't tell mum what I've seen.

Mum and I stand there looking at each other for another 3 minutes. Finally she says,

'I'm going to to check out the kitchen'

Brave woman.

She leaves. I hear silence and then.

'Oh! I'm SO sorry'.

It's my roommate. At first I think she's naked again. But then I realise they're having a conversation and so, assuming that my mum wouldn't be able to keep such a level tone of voice if faced with a nudist, I deduce that she is fully dressed. I leave the room and finally, FINALLY meet her.

And now I look like the asshole.
Because my roommate has been living in the apartment alone since before Christmas and didn't know I'd be coming in today.
But more to the point: she is partially deaf and had to take her cochlear implant out to have a bath.

So she had no idea we were there the entire time.

The Importance of Grandparents

One time when I was old enough for this to be embarrassing, I got stuck up a tree.

I'm not 100% sure what I thought I was doing. I think I was pretending to be a cat... and then I started climbing down the tree, got to the very lowest branch which was about 1metre up... and I freaked.

Sara tried all the ways she could think of to coax me down. Then I started crying. So when that failed she went inside and called dad, and the two of them came out, realised how stupid the situation was, and started to tease me. Eventually they got bored and went inside and just left me out there.

I hung on and sniffled to myself for a bit longer. Then I realised that I had extracted all the pity and sympathy possible from the situation, I decided that enough was enough and I had to get out of this tree. So I did this ridiculous sort of barrel roll thing and landed on the grass. Then I ran to my grandma's house (which is 4 houses up from us) and she listened sympathetically for hours while plying me with chocolates and cakes as I explained in a mix of english and broken hungarian how frightened I'd been and how cruel my family had been.

If there's one thing grandparents know how to do, it's ply their grandchildren with sugar.

My other set of grandparents are also pretty incredible. They had 9 kids and as a result I am one of 27 grandchildren. Despite this huge number, they still rememeber and call each and every one of us on our birthday.

My Pop is a particularly interesting guy. He takes it upon himself to ask me the hard hitting questions in life, like about the status of my soul (which he wasn't 100% pleased with my answer). Or informing me of the dangers of the' young bucks' in America who would 'pounce on you like fresh meat'. He seems to have a bit of a thing against Americans and took it upon himself to turn Jacob from America into 'Clyde from India' whenever he asked how he was going. It seemed to bring him a bit more piece of mind, though it never really made sense to me... :/
As awkward as it sometimes can be to have these conversations, I've grown to appreciate them as I get older. I understand that if he didn't ask them and if something happened to me, it would weigh down on his conscious for the rest of his life. Thats love for you. And its a type of love grandparents do best.

It's an awkward question, fattening, in-my-day-stories, excessive hugs, sugar high kind of love. In which really, you can do no wrong. Aren't grandparents great?

21

I used to hate rap but I've written
this in that voice
cause I want it to be poetry
to music, what could be better than
that choice?


So I'm twenty one now and I've been mentally evasive.
Drown out the throughs that scare me, are abrasive

Like now I've passed the time
of getting away with minor crime
missed my boat on that chance, how time does fly.

But what I've learned up to this point
I'm called to put into action
Its like the testing's done.
No more trials or accidents.

Get drunk too often, its not a phase it's addiction
And how long can I get away with treating real work like an affliction?

The internet, the great equaliser
everyone heard equally.
but do my actions mean a thing
or do they fizzle out like Kony?

I'm scared of others my age
who seem to have it altogether.
I mean, right now I'm fine
but what if I hit stormy weather?

I'm scared that I don't know real life
I'm guilty of the thought
that something bad will happen, just
so I'll know my strengths and put to practise what I've been taught.

Don't want to fall in love just because I like the feeling.
The next one has to be worth it
it takes too long to get done healing.

I worry too much still about people
who don't give a damn about me.
I'm trying to save my time and energy
now for those of good company.

I've realised now I give myself away so easily.
I'm learning to retain my soul
in a war designed to beat me.

I've still so much to learn, so much I don't
want to miss, A
chance to explore myself yet
be a good role model for my little sister.

The world before me and my feet are finally
finding traction
through each experience, positive
and negative interaction

To spend more time in the dark,
and inside myself
to not have a blank mind or let
it rust upon a shelf.

To continually grow
to develop and learn.
In time I'll know to avoid the ways that I can
be burned

So I'll grow old and wise, and I hope I'll be happy
and be fulfilled with my life,
to have lived elegantly.

Grinchin'

The Christmas season starts earlier each year.
And each year that I see the green and red decorations at the front of shops in late October/early November I get a little bit Grinchy.

So here is my pre christmas gripe, in hope that by the time Christmas actaully comes around, I'll have given into the festivities and will be shouting Christmas praises to the sky.

Why Australia? Why.

Why are we still singing songs about 'Jingle bells' and 'Frosty the Snowman' when it is 40C (100F) outside?
'I'm dreaming of a white Christmas'?

For gods sake my beautiful, sweltering southern hemisphere country. Its summer here in Christmas time. Embrace it. 

But while we're on the topic of the songs.

There needs to be some official rule about when it is okay to start singing and playing Christmas songs in shops. Yes. I understand. It was a very, silent, holy night on the night of the first christmas. A very, VERY silent, holy night. But please. Please. Only subject me to that song, at the very VERY earliest, two weeks before Christmas. Please. And whosoever dares even HUM a Christmas tune after boxing day in my presence will feel the full extent of my wrath.

Another thing which should never have been allowed to become a part of Christmas, is the motion detector santa

'HO! HO! HO! MEEEEEERY CHRISTMAS!!!! JINGLE BELLS, JINGLE BELLS....'

MRRRAAAAAUUUGHHHHH!!!!

Okay. But other than those things, Christmas is usually fine.

Except that I end up broke and fat by the end of it.

Again. Christmas in summer. Why Australia? Why?

siiiigh. Now... when I rule the world... hahaha.