Wednesday, August 24, 2011

Awkward Apartment Moments, Volume 1

So I was watching that movie Forgetting Sarah Marshall at home the other day.  Remember that scene where they have really loud sex?
The walls of my apartment are, like, paper thin.  I can only assume that my neighbours have all come to the conclusion that I'm either watching porn, or starring in porn.  Not sure which is worse.

The Baby Whisperer

The genius of 8-year-old children is something that will never cease to amaze me.
Let me start from the beginning.
So I babysat the other night.  For the first time in roughly a dillion years.  Everyone's babysat before, right?  Okay maybe not the guys.  If you have a penis, you can disregard this.  Everyone's babysay before, right?  But it's really one of those things you do in highschool, when you need money but don't have time to get a real job.  Or when you actually don't mind being paid 10 dollars an hour.  Or when you're 16 and pregnant and practicing for when the real baby comes.
...That was never me, by the way.  I'm a 'happy-to-be-paid-minimum-wage' girl; always have been.
Anyway, where was I?
So I babysat the other night - mostly as a favour to an old friend of my Mum's who I can never seem to say no to on account of the fact that she's one of the very few acquaintances of my parents who will actually acknowledge me as Jacki Trew, rather than just The Less Successful Child Of Jane And Phillip.  Also I am broke as a joke and needed the cash.  But it was mainly the acknowledgement thing.
So it was Friday night.  Remember that night last week with all the rain and the wind and the insane amounts of traffic?  Yeah, Friday night.  Here is how many driving violations I made on the way there:
Kidding.  Actually it was only 5.  And I'm 80% sure that only 2 of them were my fault.  Luckily, once I got to the house, things improved.
...Well...kind of.
Does anyone else have one of those jobs that nobody understands?  I mean, does anyone else have one of those jobs that they spend 5 minutes describing only to have people go 'Ohhhh...*confused face*'
I have one of those jobs.
Which I totally get.  I get it.  I work in a hairdresser but I'm not a hairdresser.  I'm technically a receptionist but I also do apprentice tasks.  Do I want to work at T&G forever?  No.  But do I want to quit my job?  Hell no.  Like I say...I get it.  Some people think it's strange.  Sometimes I think it's strange.  But 8-year-old Grace...

Grace: So are you a hair cutter or a hair checker-inner?
Me: Um..a hair checker-inner.

Nailed it in 6 seconds.
I'm thinking that maybe I should reconsider my decision to never have babies.  The only people who understand me all seem to be under the age of 12.  Maybe this is my gift.  Maybe I'm like the Baby Whisperer.  Maybe I could shock everyone and do a totally awesome job of raising my kids!  Then again...

Grace: Oh, I like your nosering!
Me: Thanks dude.
Grace: Is that a permanent tattoo?
Me: Yep.
Grace: Did your parents tell you not to do that?
Me: Well technically no...but only because I didn't actually ask them.
Grace: Oh.  Cool!
Grace's Mum: *heart attack*

...Maybe not.

Sunday, August 14, 2011

Contagious Viral Tonsils

Hello again!
My apartment has been like a hot box of bacterial infection for the past week and a half.  Sexy, I know.  Being that I drink too much coffee, don't eat enough apples, and (at 21) am still the kind of idiot who likes to put her immune system to the test by swimming in the rain and piercing my own ears with a sewing kit, I'm never really surprised when I get struck down with something like a cold.  Thankfully, that's all I had this time; a common cold.  Nothing 2 days on the couch watching Jersey Shore and snacking on Codral tablets won't fix.  Poor Alex though, was another story.  I won't go into all the gory details now, but there were words like 'contagious' and 'viral' and 'tonsils' being thrown around.  Yes, Alex is suffering from Contagious Viral Tonsils.  Her tonsils have officially gone viral.  We are expecting them to appear on YouTube any day now.

What a terrible joke.

Anyway.  Thankfully, Alex's Mum is a brilliant herbalist and Richie's Mum is a brilliant nurse, and the two of them joined forces to save us from certain death.  Or - at the very least - a serious case of the runny noses.  Within hours of Alex's diagnosis, the apartment was stocked with rosehip tea and lemon, garlic capsules, herbal remedies and chocolate mousse (a well known cure for Contagious Viral Tonsils).  I did my part by stopping at our local health food store and asking if they had "some of that magic honey that can, like, practically bring people back from the dead."
It was good with the tea.

Being sick sucks for lots of reasons, but here is the top of my list:
  • The sneezing
I don't exactly have the closest relationship with my nose.  There's no hate between us, but no love either.  We simply tolerate each other.  And when something like hayfever or a cold forces the two of us to work together, it never seems to pan out.  Here is the main reason:


Alright, an exaggeration.  I can sneeze.  I just don't do it the way you're supposed to.  Ask anyone.  No, scratch that.  Ask my sister Catherine, who has been teasing me about this for as long as I can remember.  Although really it's less 'teasing' and more 'warning me that if I keep sneezing the way I am, I'm going to burst all the blood vessels in my face'.
She's never one to shy away from a painfully graphic description, my sister.
I know you're probably wondering what the hell I'm going on about...but it's hard to describe, this bizarre sneezing technique of mine.  It's like something happens between the ahh..and the CHOO!, that causes me to (involuntairly) press my tongue really hard against the roof of my mouth; like it's trying to force the sneeze back into my nose or something.  God, even my tongue has behavioral issues.  Regardless, it works.  So while it sounds like a regular sneeze, nothing ever comes out of my nose.  This whole method has the added benefit of ensuring that I never spray snot over anyone, or need a tissue.  Plus it doesn't irritate my nose ring.  The only downside, really, is that I'm possibly giving myself a miniature brain embolism every time I do it. gotta die somehow.

So, hmm, what else?  Oh!  Masterchef!  I'm going to make this quick though, because I've got a load of washing on.  And because I know that my extreme love of Masterchef can sometimes cause people to tear their own ears off.  So to keep things brief...
Congratulations Kate.  I thought you were good, even if my Mum only considered you a less charasmatic version of herself.  Don't worry, even she had to admit you can cook better.  Michael, I think you're cute.  Not 'Hayden' cute, more 'My Dog Oscar' cute.  'My Dog Oscar Without A Beard, Or Cataracts'.  Hayden, call me.  Matt Preston, I will cook dinner for you any day of the long as you don't mind that we'll be eating toast.  And that snowman dessert thing looked incredible.  Masterchef rules.  Masterchef RULES.
Oh, and PS, who let Cheating Matt back in to watch the finale?  Surely he could have just downloaded it on his smartphone.

Back And Better Than Ever

Shit, bitch!

Sorry, that was rude.  What I really meant to say was Wow!  Long time no blog!  Sorry.  Sorry about it.  I just haven't had much to write about lately.
Truth is, my life is hilarious.  And I did mean to post something about it last week (or the week before), but I couldn't get the words right.  This is me, about 12 days ago:

It wasn't great.
Luckily now I'm back and better than ever.  So much has happened since the last time I sat down to write - end of financial year, the Masterchef Australia grand finale, one of my best friends getting engaged...but enough about that shit.  Let's talk about my feet.
So you guys remember how it rained like crazy a couple of weeks ago, yeah?  I'm talking to anyone who lives in Sydney.  For those of you who were out of town, here is a visual:

That's me in the yellow.
The whole thing wouldn't have been so bad - especially considering I work indoors and live on the top floor of my building - except for the fact that, oh yeah, I'm the type of idiot who needs to buy a new bottle of nailpolish every day of the week, but will wear the same scruffy boots for 3 winters in a the point where I'm actually sticky-taping them back together in the staffroom on my lunchbreak.  Honestly, I'm surprised I didn't get trenchfoot.  Or, you know, hypothermia.  My feet were almost permanently wet for the better half of a week.  Thankfully though, I didn't suffer alone; turns out Alex is the kind of girl who'll hold onto a pair of shoes for way longer than is hygenically acceptable too.  As you can imagine, our apartment smelt gorgeous that week.