Moving Out.

Please note:
I was in a bit of a rush this morning (I've got a coffee date at Bourke St Bakery you see) and so I had to borrow a few things. Firstly, it is Noel McKenna's Fat Cat, not my cat. Secondly, the fourth image down is taken from a collage artist, the name of which I'll have to get back to you on as all I can think about right now is whether to get the ginger crème brûlée tart or the chocolate raspberry tart from Bourke St.

Monday Morning

Awkward Asshole

It was never meant to be. I was home sick the day my primary school ran the sex education course. I missed out on the sex ed. talk in high school too. By the time I reached university it was too late, they just assume the knowledge. Now, 9 out of 10 times I don't understand sexual euphemisms. But I'm a fast learner and I've picked up a lot along the way.

In fact, I've found the same to be true for my lack of geographical knowledge. Fortunately, I impress people with my excellent sense of direction which (I believe) leads people to forget during dinner I admitted to thinking that Brunei was a type of soup.

But there is one thing that I have not yet mastered, or been able to bluff my way through, it being: how-to-function-like-a-normal-person-in-social-situations. If there were classes on it in school, I would have paid attention, instead of colour-coordinating my diary in ancient history, or spending my entire maths class trying to work out whether the knot on my neck was a cancerous lump and then proceeding to plan my funeral (flower arrangements, who will speak the eulogy, cremation or burial etc.).

Alas there were no classes, and it was not cancer. So, although I now know the double entendre of the term 'spit-roast' and can rattle off 5 countries that start with the letter Q, I am no better at functioning-like-a-normal-person-in-social-situations. As a result I often come across as, quite simply an asshole.







When I'm on a crowded bus and feel uncomfortable with the proximity of fellow commuters, my natural thought process is, if I get up real close to them and cough and weirdly touch my thigh against theirs, then they'll feel uncomfortable too and move away from me.



















I held a bunch of flowers in front of my face as I walked past someone on the street in order to avoid an awkward encounter.

















I told a friend when he had gained a little weight that, not to worry, the extra pounds don't suit you, in fact it looks like you're wearing a fat suit.













When I tried to console two friends' broken hearts I ended up calling one a faggot and laughing in the others' face about some poetry she'd written on the experience.

It's only after I've told my friends of such incidences and watched their faces scrunch up in mild concern for my mental wellbeing, or after they start crying from my insensitivity, call me a dickhead and leave me standing alone on the street that I realise my behaviour is not normal. But I don't mean to be rude, it's just, I don't know any better.

Little White Lies

Maybe it was the way I was brought up, or maybe it's just in my genes and I never stood a chance. Either way, I often find myself slipping out little white lies.

When I meet new acquaintances at parties I tell them I study marine biology. The other day when a friend asked me how my day was, I told her it was pretty good, I went to the aquarium. But the truth is, I am not a marine biologist (although I do watch a lot of David Attenborough) and I did not visit the aquarium that day, but was instead probably around the corner from my house having a coffee.

The fibs don't exactly roll off my tongue either. This doesn't mean it's difficult for me to fib, it means the little white lies are often thought through. But this preconceived fibbing is not necessarily an indication of a complete lack of moral fibre on my part. For instance, my family is a common excuse for my poor social attendance, so sorry I didn't make it to dinner - I just heard my aunty has the shingles. However, as I'm worried I'll jinx someone, I've started using family members who either a) are dead b) don't exist or c) those whom I'm not particularly fond of. This way, it doesn't really matter if they actually do get the shingles or have an arm fall off but I'm so sorry I won't make it to your birthday.

I was talking about my rather complicated-yet-considerate-white-lie-process with some friends the other day. Unfortunately the situation got rather sticky as firstly one of my friends thought I had rather lax morals and couldn't understand why I just didn't tell the truth (I found this just plain annoying). Secondly, midway explaining to her why I wasn't completely amoral, I realised I may have (slightly) lied to her the week before. I think she realised this at the same time. Understandably, this made for an uncomfortable car ride home.

But don't think my fibbing is a symptom of my disillusionment with the stark reality of my life, nor an unhealthy obsession with marine life and David Attenborough. It's just a habit (call it compulsive if you must) like my bowl of weetbix in the morning. So the next time you call me up and I say that I'm at the zoo, I'm probably not, but don't take it personally.

Pie Chart 7th April 2013

Budget

I've been thinking lately that I need to start budgeting.

So I wrote down what I bought today.

I'm aware that if anyone saw my list, they may think I am not very frugal with my money.

So I'll start the budget tomorrow instead.

One-Night Flop

I've decided that I want to have a one-night stand. It's been on my bucket list for a couple of years now. So I've taken note of three steps that seem crucial for the successful execution of a one-night stand: a good pickup line, sexy lingerie and a smooth exit the morning after.

Firstly, the pickup line. This could be a little tricky. When meeting new acquaintances people usually discuss topics of common or general interest, say films or politics. However, I often become flustered and start talking about my pen collection. Everybody has a pen right? But it seems stationary is not what you're suppose to talk about if you want anyone to come home with you, or even if you want the conversation to last longer than five minutes.

My pen collection

I also know that in order to successfully execute a fling, I need sexy lingerie. I suppose my first choice would be my lacy (now rather frayed), white (perhaps now more so grey) undies. I bought them the last time I decided I was going to have a one-night stand, but when I realised that was not going to happen, they became my day-to-day underwear, hence their lacklustre. Then I've got my 'ants pants'. Aptly named this being the size six undies my mum bought me. Albeit a nice gesture, she is totally disillusioned with my size, and well they're just very tight and although I can't bring myself to look at them on in the mirror, I know it's not good back there. The third choice would be my Wonder Woman undies; these I am particularly fond of. However, it could be a risky manoeuvre - I don't know how the other party would receive them. Ideally, my suitor would think I really am the Wonder Woman. But the chances are slim and it could go the other way, in which case I may be laughed at. This I think would completely spoil the mood.

And anyway, even if I do work on my pickup line and buy some new undies, there is still the morning after to deal with. I've noticed when people discuss their one-night stands, they often mention a 'quick-getaway'. I don't know why exactly a quick-getaway is a necessary component of the one-night stand, though I'm pretty sure it's because one must tell all of one's friends, as soon as possible, the details of the previous night over a breakfast of pancakes, bacon and maple syrup. The problem is, the only person I know who has a car is my mum, and I think that would ruin my cool Wonder Woman image if she picked me up. Otherwise I guess I could dink on the back of my friend Alex's bike, although the last time we did that I fell off the back and scraped my nose. That wouldn't be a very gracious exit either.

Maybe I should just come to terms with the fact that I'm not a one-night stand kind of girl. Let's be honest here, the highlight for me would be eating pancakes the morning after.

*Sigh. It seems I need to take a long, hard look at myself. Or perhaps just buy some new undies.