Another Navy Man

Apparently my family have agreed not to do 'big' Christmas presents this year - and I for one, am completely on board with the idea. I've never been the kind of person to give expensive and extravagent gifts. It's just not my style. If you ask me, Christmas is becoming way too commercial these days. What with the TVs and the DVDs and the iPods and the digital cameras...whatever happened to just giving someone a good old hug? That's all I gave my Dad for his last birthday, and he didn't even seem that pissed off about it! Well, okay, maybe a little...but it's important to remember the TRUE meaning of Christmas, which is that Jesus died for us, not that my sister needs a new straightener. Plus, I already spent all my money on tattoos and vodka.

Anyway.

I know I'm always complaining about how much I work and how little I'm paid and making claims that I'll probably be living in a cardboard box by the age of 25, but the truth is, my life is kind of awesome. And apart from an occasional run-in with The Navy Man, I want for nothing. So when my Mum sat me down this morning for her annual 'Tell Me What You Want For Christmas, And NO, I Can't Fly Wentworth Miller Over For The Weekend So Don't Even Bother Asking' lecture, I really didn't know what to say. Her response? Was to hand me a copy of the December Avon catalogue and tell me to circle whatever I wanted.
Well, shit. Thanks Mum. I honestly don't know what's more depressing - already owning half the makeup in the Avon catalogue, or the fact that your mother thinks you need more.

In other news, HOLY SHIT SEA PATROL IS AWESOME. I know, it's weird, and mostly because not 4 posts ago I had only just watched my first episode and described it as 'um, kind of surprisingly entertaining', but since then I've discovered seasons 2 and 3. And this guy:

I mean come on. Tell me I'm not the only one who thinks Billy 'Spider' Webb looks kind of familiar. And not just because of the uniform.

Blame It On The Vodka

Did everyone have a good Saturday night? I sure did, despite not going out for once. Being that I'm 20 and broke and paid $6 an hour and am in the midst of saving for TWO summer holidays, I decided to stay in. So I don't know what you guys did, but I had fun. Though I won't say what I did; I certainly didn't spend the better half of three hours lying on the couch, drinking vodka and watching episodes of Sea Patrol while wearing part of The Navy Man's uniform, if that's what you're implying.

Alright, okay. That's exactly what I did. In my defense, there is something extremely entertaining about pretending to be in the Navy while watching a TV show about other people pretending to be in the Navy. In terms of defense, that's about all I've got. I'm not going to even bother blaming the alcohol. Vodka or no vodka, we all know I'm the kind of person who physically can't pass up an opportunity to showcase her ridiculousness. Why else do you think I have this blog?

Speaking of opportunities to showcase my ridiculousness...work. I've been at this job for almost 7 months now, so it's safe to assume that 'The Crazy' has well and truly been released in the presence of all my co-workers. Including my boss. Which I'm actually totally okay with; because nothing says 'job security' like calling random clients in the middle of the day to congratulate them on having a great surname and not getting fired for it. I don't know what else I can say about Toni&Guy Lane Cove, except HOLY CRAP IT'S LIKE THEY FOUND THE ONLY FIVE PEOPLE ON PLANET EARTH WHO FIND JACKI TREW AMUSING AND STUCK THEM IN THE SAME HAIR SALON. To me, there is nothing more satisfying than than the sound of your friends laughing at a joke you've just told - pity laughter is about the only thing that comes close, and I don't even get that much anymore. But going to work is fast becoming a bigger confidence-booster than those circus mirrors at Luna Park that make your legs look all long and skinny. For example, that weird habit I have of leaving random notes around for other people (including myself) to read?

(Well yeah, of course I do it at work). Only when I do it at work, stuff like this happens:

I know. I am literally in awe of these people. And whatever-it-is that they've been smoking. That is all.

So I come home from work tonight, and my parents are having dinner with some strange woman in our dining room. That's not even the weirdest thing that's happened to me so far today, but I thought I'd lead with it anyway. No one ever eats dinner in our dining room. I honestly don't know why it's there. We hardly even go in there on account of the fact that the table is so damn big you practically have to crawl over it to get from one side to the other. And any space that isn't taken up by table is stacked with piles and piles of my Mother's precious china plates, the silver cutlery she never uses, and a collection of mis-matched egg cups from around the world.
...
My family is kind of retarded.
Anyway, yeah. Dining room = practically a ghost town. The last time I remember ANYONE eating in there was about 4 months ago when The Navy Man's family came over for dinner, which I guess makes sense, since I think my parents were hoping that the egg cups would distract them from the fact that their only son was knowingly dating a crazy person. I'm not too sure that it worked.
'The Strange Woman' turned out to be an old friend of Mum's from Western Australia. Excellent. I love it when my parents invite their old friends over for dinner. Mostly because there's always some sort of dessert involved, but also because 'old friends' tend to ask questions about your children. And while my parents have no difficulty with talking about Catherine-The-Golden-Child-Trew, they never seem to know quite what to say about me...

The Strange Woman: And what about your other daughter...Jacki?
Mum: Oh, she...
Dad: She...
Mum: She likes fashion.
Dad: Yes! That's right, fashion! She likes fashion!
The Strange Woman: And is she any good at it?
Dad: Oh, well, yes. I suppose. She always chooses interesting outfits. Sometimes they work, sometimes they don't...
(Awkward pause)
Mum: She likes to write.
Dad: She has this internet blog, have you heard of blogging?
The Strange Woman: Oh, yes. But I never quite understood why people did it.
Dad: Yeah, neither do we. She kind of just narrates her own life. She has a very...strange sense of humour.

Thanks, Dad! Feeling the love. Although I guess in the grand scheme of things, hiding in the kitchen and eavesdropping on your parents dinner conversation so that you can later publish it on the internet is probably one of those things that most people would consider strange.
So fair call.

Speaking of things that most people would consider strange, I watched an episode of Sea Patrol on the Universal channel this morning, and now I'm hooked. This is confusing for two reasons:
1) Australian-made dramas are pretty high on my list of 'Shit That Makes Me Want To Stab Myself'. Also,
2) Sea Patrol? No offense to anyone protecting the country from asylum seekers or illegal fisherman or whatever; I'm sure your job is EXTREMELY interesting...but if I'm going to sit down and sacrifice an hour of my life for anything on TV, it better involve David Tennant time-travelling in a little blue box, or one of the Kardashians.
Still. I thought I'd give it a go, mostly in a last-ditch attempt to become more Navy-Literate. Seeings as I have both a sister and a boyfriend in the Navy, it's getting kind of embarassing that I get confused between 'port' and 'starboard'. Not to mention the fact that I still can't say the words 'seaman' or 'rear admiral' without giggling. Although that's not really a fair test - seaman is hilarious. Anyway, despite my pre-concieved notions, Sea Patrol turned out to be surprisingly entertaining. Although I suspect that has less to do with the whole 'Navy' aspect, and more to do with the fact that I'm only a few episodes in and two of the officers are already hooking up. After all, if life (and my 5-year obsession with Prison Break) has taught us anything, it's that there's nothing I enjoy more than a good love story...except a good 'Lets Bone Even Though We're Not Supposed To' story.

Another Week, Another Amazing Weekend

To me, the best part about my job is that it makes absolutely no sense for me to enjoy it...and yet, I do. Let's look at the specifics:

• I'm not learning a skill
• There's no chance of promotion
• I'm on my feet for 9+ hours a day
• I'm constantly exhausted
• I have to deal with bitchy clients, and
• The pay is $6 an hour

Still...the people I work with, the music we play, and the fact that just going to work means I can drink as much of the salon's coffee as I want somehow makes up for it. I just can't help myself.
I fucking LOVE my job.
Of course, knowing (as I now do) that my parents plan on selling our house and moving to Avalon makes me realise that yeah, eventually I'll have to locate my last shred of self-respect and get a job that actually pays above minimum wage. For now though, I'll take the 6 bucks an hour. Especially since it means I get to enjoy perks like this:

On Sunday, Toni&Guy sent Alex (stylist extraordinnaire) and I to the Sydney premiere of Fame! The Musical. For free.
Fame! The Musical. For free.
One more time? That's Fame! The Musical.
For FREE.
I can say with 85% honesty that I have never been more excited about anything in my life. I feel like 85 is pretty fair: 10% belongs to The Navy Man's homecoming, and 5 is for the first time I tasted peach schnapps. Still, you get it - I was pretty g-darn psyched for this musical. And I was certainly not disappointed. The dancing was awesome, the singing was amazing, the music was disco...mostly though, it was about this: Did someone say frozen daquiris that came served in flashing martini glasses which we proceeded to steal from The Capitol Theatre? Yes, yes they did. And that someone was me. Did I say 85% excited? This may have just bumped it up to 90. Then, after the excitement that was Fame! The Musical, Alex and I decided to do what any sophisticated 20-year-old employees of one of the largest and most lucrative hairdressing companies in Australia would do...we went to the pub and drank Jim Beam out of our stolen glasses. Because nothing says 'sophisticated' like bourbon and coke, especially when you're sipping it from a plastic battery-powered martini glass that glows in the dark.

But the night didn't end there.

2 hours and around 5 (by which I mean 'closer to 7...or 8') drinks later, we ended up at The North Sydney League's Club in Cammeray. This was hilarious for several reasons:
1) Have you been to The North Sydney League's Club? For your sake, I hope not. Besides employees, the only people in there are gambling addicts who want to waste thousands of dollars on the pokies but have been systematically banned from every other casino in Sydney. Or alcoholics who come to hit on women and - after realising that there are none - end up drowning their sorrows at the bar. Or...Alex and I. It's honest to God the most depressing place I've ever been in my life. The music was depressing. The bitch at the front desk was depressing. The poor excuse for a beer garden was depressing. Even the decor was depressing. I've never even considered the idea of suicide, but just stepping through the front doors of this place had me making a list of quick and painless ways to end my own life. And so naturally...
2) I became a member.
$10? Totally worth it. This act of stupidity is going to keep me amused for at LEAST 12 months. Which, coincidentally, is the exact length of membership time I recieved for said $10. And did I mention the members-only discount? There's a members-only discount! Sure, having this card means I'll be sacrificing a little more of my dignity each time somebody opens my wallet and sees it sitting there...but hey. I've been spending every weekend since my 17th birthday chipping away at my dignity anyway, right? So this doesn't really make that much of a difference.

Pardon My Poor Photography Skills, But Is That A Jagermeister Tattoo?

Like any pair of self-respecting and well-adjusted 20 year olds about to attend a music festival, Gemma and I decided to have vodka for breakfast.
I can't decide my favourite part...that we listened to Cut Copy and watched How I Met Your Mother while doing so, that the vodka was fairy floss flavoured and fluorescent pink, or that my Mum and Dad sat back and watched the whole thing happen without batting an eyelid - except at around 11am, when they suggested we cut the vodka with a bottle of champagne.

Now that's good parenting.

To give you some idea of just how amazing Parklife 2010 was, let me tell you this: we slept in, got a ride there, got through the front gate with barely any wait, then spent the first 25 minutes dancing to Flight Facilities in a pseudo-cave while drinking free bottle of peach ice tea.

Then I found these:

When God created these sunglasses, he was either thinking of me, or some sort of Minnie Mouse-themed drag queen. I'm just glad I found them first. Next stop, Midnight Juggernauts. The best part about these guys was that one of them decided to dress up as Jesus. Appropriate? Probably not, but they were entertaining as hell - and not just because the dude's Jesus robe had sleeves so long it made him look like a double amputee.
Although that's mostly it.
After Midnight Juggernauts, we considered swimming across Kippax Lake to get to the Jagermeister Tent, but ended up walking instead. The lake looked pretty dirty. And wide. Plus there were a myriad of signs posted around it promising that anyone who so much as looked at the water would be escorted off the premesis. Immediately. I don't know if there's a word for 'the opposite of disco fabulous', but I'm pretty sure getting kicked out of Parklife BEFORE the Jager Tent would be a perfect definition. Anyway, Casa de Jagermeister was everything you'd expect it to be and more. And by 'more', I mean this:

Pardon my poor photography skills, but is that a Jagermeister tattoo?
Yes.
Yes it is.
After Jager, before dinner and just around the time the sun went down came the highlight of my life - aka Missy Elliot - where we were groped by/lifted onto the shoulders of the three random dudes in front of us, and then watched as Miss E and her glow-band wearing backup dancers made a musical tribute to Michael Jackson and that chick from TLC who died in a plane crash. At this point we were onto our 6th consecutive hour of dancing and were being fuelled by little more than German alcohol and Red Bull, and we didn't even care. If there is a stronger natural stimulant than Missy Elliot wearing a sequined Michael Jackson t-shirt, it's not one I know about.
About an hour and a half later, we decided to finish the night off with Groove Armada. I'm a bit tired and this post is turning out to be kind of epic, so I'm not going to go on and on about it - except to say that I woke up at 10am on Monday morning, and my ears were still ringing. And there were lasers. And it rained. As we were dancing. To Groove Armada. With lasers. In the rain.
It was in that moment I discovered a profound truth; a penis is not necessary to achieve an orgasm. Twice.

After that, we were - to put it eloquently - pretty much fucked. And so, in the perfect ending to the perfect day, we packed up our sunglasses and what little money we had left, had one last drink, and caught the train back to St Leonards while reading a free copy of FHM we'd picked up. It was strangely insightful.
Until next year, that's about it. Parklife Sydney, October 3rd. Greatest day of 2010.

(Until The Navy Man comes back).

Me again.
So, just because I have nothing else to blog about right now (the EPIC post detailing every second of Parklife will come later, when I've had more sleep and less Jagermeister), here are are a few phrases that I personally feel should never be said by any human raised or living in a 'regular' environment. All have come out of my mouth at some point during the last 24 hours.

"Can somebody wipe the cat hair off the stove? I'm trying to cook dinner."

"I want Flight Facilities to play at my wedding reception. Couples will be boning on the dance floor and I won't even care."

"If it's any less disgusting, I WASHED his undies before I wore them as pajama pants."

"Do you want Captain Morgan's in yours, or are we having a sober lunch?"

"If it's between The Ugly Truth and The Bounty Hunter, I choose The Ugly Truth. I had a threesome dream involving Jennifer Aniston the other night, so watching her on TV makes me feel VERY uncomfortable at the moment."