judgemental justification

I can be a bit judgemental sometimes.

but only of judgemental people.

a dating dodo

I’m not good on dates.

once I got all hot and sweaty, pulled my jumper off over my head, and my hair stuck straight up from the sweatiness.

once I invited a boy upstairs for a cup of tea and put couscous in his tea instead of sugar and it expanded and took over half the cup and he drank it without saying anything.

once I got all excited about something and accidentally did a spit while I was talking and it landed on the boy’s nose.

in addition, the following happen with regularity:

• food falling off fork and hitting plate with loud, wet sound
• clinking glass against oversized front teeth
• hitting fork against oversized front teeth
• lemon – or cherry tomato - squirting into date’s eye
• peas shooting off plate and landing in date’s lap
• cutlery falling on floor
• self falling on floor
• sounds like 'uregth' and 'lort' coming out of mouth because real words cannot be formed due to nervousness

in a movie, this would be endearing. in real life, it’s not.

however, a couple of weeks ago, I was trumped by the boy I went out with.

a couple of hours into the evening, I asked him how old he was and he said 47. I said I was quite surprised because he looks like late 30s. I told him I was 34 and he said he was quite surprised because I look like 38-40.

I don't feel so bad about 'lort' anymore.

bank boy broodings

there is a cute boy in the bank where I have to go regularly for work.

although he has worked there for quite a few weeks, today was the first time we had a little chat, because every other time I had been so nervous that I couldn’t make any actual words come out of my mouth and went red just waiting in the queue to do my banking. it seems that although I am 34 and supposedly Grown Up, I am still unable to form sentences in the presence of a man I find attractive.

I bring the money from work to the bank in a plastic bag. today he made me laugh because he said everyone else uses an envelope so my plastic bag made things much more interesting his end and really broke up his day nicely. I thought that was quite funny.

he also has a nice smile.

but I cannot ask him out for obvious reasons (highly probable redness of face being main limiting factor).

so I'm thinking about trying something different. I would like to write him a note that says:

dear boy in bank,
I think you are cute and friendly and would like to have a cup of tea with you but am too nervous to ask you out because I would go red. but if you would not be averse to having a drink with me, here is my number. if that is the last thing you would like to do, then please ignore this note and never bring it up when I come to do the banking. thanking you.
from girl who banks with money in plastic bag

then I would give it to him right at the end after doing all the banking so I could run away straight after.

but I don’t know whether boys would see this as
        a) endearing and cute, or
        b) desperate, stalkerish and weird.

if you are a boy, or wise to the ways of boy minds, please feel free to advise.

hardware heartache

as a lady living on my own, I sometimes have to do a bit of maintenance about the house. this occasionally requires a trip to the hardware store. however, after my last two experiences in said store, I am thinking about hanging up my Ms Handy-Lady gloves for good.

over the past couple of months, I have been to the local branch of a huge chain hardware store twice. in their tv ads, the people who work at this store absolutely love it. they smile and talk about how they just want to help you if only you’d give them the chance.

I decided to give them this chance. the first time I went with a male friend and was looking for picture hooks. despite the fact that the male friend a) is not my boyfriend, b) does not live with me, c) does not speak excellent English, and d) is not remotely handy, all the questions about the hooks and what kind we wanted were directed at him. moreover, I was the one asking all the questions.

on top of that, asking for help in choosing the right kind of hook seemed to be too small a matter with which to bother the “customer service” person. after a big sigh, he walked us to the correct aisle, pointed, and said “there”. I said I actually wanted some advice on the best one to use on the kind of wall I had. this provoked more sighing, questioning directed at my friend, and hand-waving in the general area. I gave up and decided to make up my own mind.

a few weeks later, after discussing hook choice with my dad and realising I’d chosen the wrong one, I needed to return to the hardware store. this time I didn’t make the mistake of taking a man with me and reasoned that they would have to be more helpful to a single lady on her own in a hardware shop. I strode confidently to the Aisle of Hooks and carefully selected the ones I needed.

remembering that I also needed some spray adhesive, and wanting to give the staff another chance to behave as on tv with me, I decided to ask an employee for his help in locating it. I spotted a staff member in the next aisle, and approached him slowly to give him time to look up, smile and ask me how he could help.

he did none of those things. finally, when I was about 2 inches away from his face and he still hadn’t looked up, it started to get awkward. I was still moving forward and about to end up with my nose in his ear. “excuse me?”, I said cautiously.

“yes?”, he replied without looking up from what he was doing.

“could you let me know where I might find spray adhesive?”, I asked.

from his reaction, I thought the wrong words must have come out of my mouth and I’d actually said “could I please have a can of wee juice?”

“spray adhesive?!” he cried, as if this was the weirdest request he’d had in all his years of working at the store.

“um, yes” I said, “spray glue?” in case for some reason he wasn’t good on synonyms.

“well,” he replied, shaking his head slowly and still looking incredulous, “all the glues are in aisle 1 so you COULD look there.”

I did look there and found the spray adhesive. while I really wanted to go back and spray it into his stupid round face until all his orifices closed over, I made my purchases without a fuss. I thought about asking the checkout lady for a staff feedback form but decided against this because it was getting a bit too close to being one of those grumpy people who write letters to the editors of newspapers demanding things like laughing in public places be banned because it’s too noisy and uses up too much air.

but I am thinking about going back to the shop to ask him for a can of wee juice just to see how he responds.

worried about not worrying

it may not come as a surprise to you, dear reader, that, from time to time, I exhibit slight tendencies towards worrying and being somewhat anxious. this means that I am wont to doubt myself in many situations, think a little too much about most things, and agonize over the smallest of mistakes.

however, at the moment I am feeling good.

I have some projects at work which I seem to be doing quite well. it seems I am Moderately Capable at a number of tasks. I would almost go so far as to say I am feeling close to Competent. while working on a report today, I suddenly became conscious of the fact that I was feeling quite pleased with what I had done. I realised that I hadn’t doubted my abilities or felt that I was doomed to failure or been on the verge of meltdown for well over 90 minutes.

this worried me.

I am used to feeling unsure and unconfident, and although usually unsure, one thing I am sure of is my place in the world as being someone who is unsure. 'what’s to become of me', I thought anxiously, 'if I start to feel no anxiety?'

fortunately, my apprehension about feeling composed and my uneasiness about my sureness have made me feel much better. should I ever become content with my contentness or confident about my confidence, then I’ll definitely be worried.

a pressing matter

here is something that I think should have been included when the body got invented or evolved itself or whatever it did: Body Buttons. two suggestions follow:

my sister and I both have very pale skin. we wouldn’t mind if we didn’t have 5000 freckles as well or if we were toned and firm, but as it is we are white, blotchy, and wobbly.

when we complain about it, people tell us not to worry and that being pale is ‘In’. these people usually have flawless olive skin and therefore have no idea what it’s like to go around looking grayish and sickly in the summer, and purple in the winter.

we feel a Body Button could help us deal with this issue. we would like to press a freckle on our skin and make our whole body go that colour. then we could confidently wear dresses and shorts without remembering to put on fake tan the night before and then waking up in the morning with a big orange crease line on our legs from the sheets and spending half an hour in the shower scouring off a layer of skin to try and remove it.

the reproductive process is another area which I feel a Body Button could improve. I think the belly button should be an actual button and you should push it when you want to have a baby and then your body can do all the things it needs to do in preparation for making one. as it is now, there are a lot of resources being wasted in the management of this condition. it is highly inefficient and in addition, not conducive to good moods, good finances or good times.

and that’s all I have to say about buttons.

dating for kangaroos

I like it when people aren’t predictable
and don’t fit the mold
they’re supposed to

like a stripper
who is studying a Masters in Political Science

or a gothic teenager
who plays the harp

it’s funny that people can do that
but animals can’t

a kangaroo can’t decide
that he would quite like to try some strolling around
instead of jumping

I wonder if it creates problems on the kangaroo dating scene:
you’re so predictable
they all say to each other
I’m looking for more excitement in my life

I guess excitement’s not high
on the kangaroo list of preferred character traits in a mate.

concerns about coins

last Monday, I bought myself a new purse. I’d been thinking that the one I’d had for 9 years could last a little longer, even though I couldn’t close it anymore, which meant that my credit cards often managed to escape and enjoy a life of freedom swanning around in my bag. however, after I tried to pay at officeworks with my medicare card instead of my (albeit similarly-coloured) american express, I decided a new purse was definitely required. my cards' halcyon days were over.

my excellent new purse is great with lots of places for my wayward cards and a see-through bit where you can put a photo of your loved one. naturally my sushi train loyalty card occupies that position.

however, one difficulty has presented itself: my new purse has not one but two zip-up sections for coins. I knew before buying that this would cause some consternation as decision-making would be required, but decided to challenge myself.

after purchasing, I took my new purse home and began to transfer the items from my old purse. I went along merrily, hoping that if I just ignored the zip pocket issue it might go away.

but of course it did not. and after all the other items were safely in their new home, I finally had to face the problem head on:

where would I put the coins?

I worried about it for quite a long time. it seemed there were pros and cons whichever way I turned.

if I put the coins on the inside, where they would be next to their friends the notes, the purse might not close easily when the pocket was full.

but coins in the outside section could create an awkward bulge, thereby ruining the pleasing asthetics. however, it would allow the coins a bit of privacy and time to themselves without having to make polite chit-chat with the slightly boorish visa card all day.

just when I was beginning to think that no decision was going to be made and I would therefore have to carry my coins around in my hand every time I went out, it hit me: I could try one pocket out for a while and see if it worked. and if it didn’t, I could make a change.

and that’s exactly what I did!

I placed the coins in one zip-up section, did some trial shopping, and when it proved a bit awkward, I MOVED THEM TO THE OTHER SECTION. there were no sirens or flashing lights to alert others to my initial error, and the purse shop people didn’t come and say 'excuse me you’ll need to give that purse back now if you can't make correct decisions about zip-up sections immediately'.

in fact, I would be so bold as to say that this 'trial and error' approach could perhaps be applied to other situations as well.

lessons learned:
1. change will not kill me (pun most definitely intended)
2. officeworks does not accept medicare.

nice once a week

in an effort to combat own selfishness and try to be more good, I have decided to try and be Nice Once A Week. the idea is that it has to be more than just opening the door for someone or saying "your hair looks very shiny today" to a co-worker. although if I am feeling particularly grumpy one week, this may have to do.

a couple of weeks ago, I decided to start with something easy so I bought some flowers to take to the family who live downstairs. we always smile and say hello to each other in passing but I had never introduced myself or spoken to them more than that, apart from asking if I could borrow an onion one time. they had been so helpful and given me three onions. to repay them, I felt I had to take onions to the next level and had returned the following day with a whole bag of onions, but they wouldn’t accept them. so the next day I took them to work and gave onions to all my colleagues.

on the day of giving flowers, I went downstairs and rang the doorbell. the mother came to the door with a little girl hiding behind her skirt. I gave her the flowers and she invited me in so I took off my shoes and went inside.

I had thought they were Indian or Pakistani but it turns out they are from Bangladesh. it seemed that she wasn’t very confident with English, and as I didn’t want to make her feel uncomfortable, I didn’t stay too long. but before I left I did let her know that I love the aroma of her cooking as it wafts upstairs every day. I get so hungry smelling her curries every evening, and feel just a little bit sad as I sit down to my usual meal of toast (sometimes with cheese, if I've been extra inspired in the kitchen).

I asked her if she could teach me how to make her curries one day. I wasn't sure if she understood and then when she said “I give you curry?” and I said “oh that would be great!”, I worried that she thought I had only given her the flowers so I could get my hands on some of her food.

her little boy, who must be around 8 or 9, regarded me with suspicion. he seemed concerned about the amount of food intended for him that might soon be ending up on my table.

but her little girl, who I saw later on again in the garden, was very friendly. we had a lovely conversation about a tree and its leaves and what a pretty colour they were. at least I assume that’s what we were talking about. as we weren’t speaking the same language, it’s difficult to know for sure.

post script: the mother rang my doorbell a few nights ago and delivered some curry to me. I was simultaneously touched by this gesture and worried that she felt I had expected it. not too worried to eat it though (and it was even better than I had expected). big ups for Niceness so far.

accent angst

last week, one of my friends came back to Adelaide after visiting his family in Venezuela for 2 months.

I was so excited to see him again because he makes me laugh A LOT. mostly intentionally, but sometimes unintentionally when he makes funny mistakes with his English. I don’t laugh at him because he makes mistakes, but because my mind will see the funny pictures his mistakes create, like “tonight I will sleep into the sofa”. I imagine him slowly dissolving into the cushions during the night, leaving behind half a sock that didn’t manage to fully integrate with the couch.

(my favourite English mistake of all time comes from a middle-aged Japanese lady I was teaching English to who said “I always ride my husband every day”. we finally worked out she was talking about giving him a lift to work every morning.)

because of his English and his accent, my friend has had some difficulties being understood in Australia, and a few people have unfortunately been quite rude to him. this has led us to develop the Wristband Accent-Tolerance Classification System.

under the System, everyone in the country must wear a wristband at all times, the colour of which indicates their level of willingness to engage in conversation with People of Non-Australian Accent:

• red: “keep away – I am only interested in hearing the Australian accent” (this may be further defined by State, as in those who only wish to listen to the Queensland or South Australian accent, for especially bigoted discerning folk)
• blue: “I will put up with the Canadian, American and British accents, but that’s about it. maybe New Zealand at a pinch. definitely not South African.”
• green: “I am willing to try to accommodate all, but may sometimes get irritable and speak extra loudly out of embarrassment that I am not understanding.”
• multi-colour: “all are welcome! should you have a lisp, stutter, and extremely heavy Russian accent, please come and chat!”

we shall be proposing this to parliament at some point in the near future.

my small (but significant) contribution to a better world

one of the annoying things about being an adult is that you’re supposed to know stuff, but nobody ever teaches it to you.

 

last sunday, someone crashed into the back of my car. no big deal – no-one hurt and these things can happen to anyone. the problem is now having to try and deal with it.

 

I rang the insurance company and asked them what to do now. they said a whole bunch of insurance-sounding words like “claim” and “excess” and “premium”, when I really just wanted them to say "your car will be fixed and it won't cost you anything and no-one will think badly of you for having an accident".

I asked them if I would have to pay more on my policy in the future because of the crash. they said that was up to the insurers. I said I thought they were the insurers. it turned out they were another company where you make the claim. I said I thought the insurers were the company where you made the claim. they said, no, that was the underwriters. I said I didn't need to know all this and could they stop saying difficult words and just tell me what to do.

 

they gave me a car repair shop to call. I called the repair man and said could I please have my car fixed. but he said words like “quote” and “assess”. it turns out the car has to go for 3 visits before it can be repaired.

 

it seems to me like almost every adult knows how to do all these things but a tiny few, like me, and allie brosh at hyperboleandahalf, struggle. the following proposal would fix this once and for all.

 

I think there should be a subject at school called “how the world works” and they should teach you things like how to pump up your car tires to the right pumpiness by reading that little dial thingy. and how to put in petrol without it squirting out all over your leg. and a basic summary of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. 

then you could be a proper adult with confidence. instead of always pretending to be one and just waiting for someone to catch you out.

fun with stationery

last weekend, I put on some leggings and realised they had a hole in them just above my knee. so I got a black texta and coloured my leg in through the hole.

it was quite effective and, not being well-versed in the art of sewing, I spent some time thinking about inventing disposable patches in different colours which you could stick on your skin under a hole in your clothes. this would save the time and bother of mending.

I was quite pleased with my possible new invention and my leg-colouring until I changed into shorts that evening. I kept on catching a glimpse of my knee when I was crouching down to put the washing in the machine or pick up something off the floor and thinking it was a spider on my leg. this caused me to start, and then slap away at my leg in a frenzied kind of way a few times before I remembered it was texta.

another time I saw it out the corner of my eye and thought I must have suddenly grown a new freckle. once I’d remembered that I’d coloured in my leg, I had fun pretending I was in a movie where I discovered I had a rare and incurable skin disease. I did all the pulling-at-the-skin motions and panicky looks, and then the frantic calling of the ambulance where you drop the phone because your hands are all shaky from being hysterical.

it was a pretty fun saturday.

important issues of our time: cold rolls vs marriage

last weekend I had breakfast with a friend whose brain seems to think more like mine that almost anyone else I know. we used to think this was a great thing and planned to marry (although we are both attracted to men and neither of us is a man) but have since realised that this would be THE WORST IDEA IN THE WORLD. 2x overthinkers in one relationship most likely does not equal 1x excellentness.

here is an example of my friend’s overthinking. in what shall henceforth be known as The Cabbage Incident, the making of Vietnamese cold rolls did not go down as well as planned.

a lover of the cold roll, my friend had been super excited to make them for her man who had never tried them before. she prepared the prawns, Chinese cabbage, rice paper and all the other ingredients, and waited for the expected delighted response. instead the response was more along the lines of indifference, verging on dislike of the cabbage in particular. like a piece of rice paper left in warm water for too long, my friend felt her hopes and dreams disintegrate.

my friend and her partner are planning to marry (now that I am off the scene) and they are very much in love. however, she wonders if she can marry a man who is not as enamoured with cold rolls as she is.

I completely understand. In my semi-vegetarian phase, I lovingly made my favourite lentil shepherd’s pie for the boyfriend at the time. he was “full” after two mouthfuls.

over breakfast, we discussed The Cabbage Incident and came to the following conclusions:

1. while it is certainly disappointing that a love of cold rolls cannot be shared, it is probably not high on the lists of reasons not to marry.

2. one should not give up one's own love of cabbage and cold rolls just to please the other.

3. there may be other friends with whom one could enjoy the delight of cold rolls and cabbage, and one must maintain this contact so as not to lose one’s sense of self.

having come to these conclusions, we still felt however that it would be completely warranted not to marry a man who did not like blue castello cheese with a glass of red.

"what's my line?"

here is a fun game to play. it is called “what's my line?”

number of players: 2

equipment required: people, voices (the ones that belong to the two people), hands (those attached to aforementioned people by way of arm)

instructions:

1. sit together as if you were having a conversation
2. one person begins by telling the other person what they should say (this should be done in a whisper behind a hand, as if you are reminding them of their lines)
3. the other person responds by saying the lines they have been given to say as if they just thought of them and planned to say them all along
4. then they whisper the first person’s next words back to them
5. continue until the bar closes

example:

person 1: (whispering to person 2 – oh you’re so great! I wish I could be EXACTLY like you.)

person 2: oh you’re so great! I wish I could be EXACTLY like you. (whispering to person 1 – no, I’m not that great. YOU’RE the greatest. in fact you’re so great, that I want to buy you the most expensive drink in this bar. please tell me what it is.)

person 1: no, I’m not that great. YOU’RE the greatest. in fact you’re so great, that I want to buy you the most expensive drink in this bar. please tell me what it is. (whispering to person 2 – actually what I really want is just a glass of water, please don't mention buying an alcoholic drink again or I'll be upset.) 

etc

I think you can see from this short example just how super fun this game can be, because it's all about making the other person say WHAT YOU WANT. the possibilities are endless!

my friend and I invented this game the other night and have decided to share it with others, so you may also enjoy it. however, it wouldn’t be inappropriate to acknowledge the source. at the end of playing it, just say “copyright: 2x excellent people. used with permission”. that’s enough for us.

disclaimer: this information has been supplied by two friends to enhance other friendships and interactions. please note that although certain drinks were bought for certain friends as a result of allocated lines on night of creation of game, game should not be used for personal gain. the manufacturers will not be liable for any injury or financial expenses incurred as a result of playment of game.

                             

1x red head

I go red A LOT. Not just like blushing a little bit from time to time. That would be endearing.

My red head is not endearing. It is proper Watch Out Your Whole Body Might Get Burnt Off If You Stand Next To Me red. People point me out to their friends when I’m going red because they’ve never seen anything like it. And then they get even more excited because I somehow manage to go even redder from embarrassment of being red.

Some reasons I go red:

• I can feel myself going red 
• I think to myself "don't go red" 
• I am on a date and the man is very attractive
• I am on a date and the man is very unattractive 
• I am on a date and the man is speaking very loudly 
• I am on a date and I think the people around me know I’m on a date 
• no reason 

NB: list not exhaustive.

One time I went to meet a boy for a date and the place where he had sat himself down in the pub meant we were kind of in the middle of a whole big area of nothing. So I started going red because it felt like everyone was looking at us. I thought I would go to the toilet to see how red I was. Maybe I just imagined I was red and it really wasn't that bad.

It really was that bad. My head equalled 1x tomato. I decided there were 3 options:

1. Stay in toilet until redness diminished (15-20 minutes). Decided against this as explanation for length of time spent in toilet potentially more embarrassing.
2. Escape out back door of toilets. Option dismissed. Didn’t want nice boy to think he’d done something wrong.
3. Return to boy and say “ok, so – my head is red. sorry about that. can’t really do anything about it” and get on with the date. 

Chose Option 3. Boy gave me a lovely vegetarian cookbook but didn’t ever call me again. Ho Hum.

here are some thoughts on life and movies

sometimes

it’s useful to imagine that your life

is a hollywood movie

then it’s OK

if you break up with your boyfriend

because in movies

the audience knows

there’s always a better one coming

and if it’s raining

and you’re walking down the street

and get splashed by a car going through a puddle

you can pretend you’re

carrie bradshaw in new york city

and then it’s quite Romantic and Glamorous

instead of just Wet and Annoying

and if you meet someone for the first time

and you’re a bit nervous and say some silly things

it helps to imagine you’re in a movie

where being a bit Awkward and Socially Inept

is usually seen as Quirky and Interesting.

overthinking example #1

A few weeks ago after dinner with a friend, we were talking about how she is so great and always herself and how I think too much about things and about what people think of me. I asked her how she got to be like that. “Do you like chewing gum?” she said. But I didn’t really get what she meant. How did chewing gum have anything to do with thinking too much? Then I thought maybe chewing gum was like thinking too much because both can have a laxative effect. At least with me. When the thoughts are especially stressful.

Chewing gum is also like thinking too much because it’s all fresh and exciting at the beginning, but then it loses its flavour and goes all grey and rubbery. That’s how ideas go when you think about them too much. They get a bit boring and just seem too difficult and so many things could go wrong and then you end up feeling tired before you even start so usually I find it’s best not to start at all.

I asked my friend if that’s what she meant. She said, “No, I was just wondering if you’d like some chewing gum after the coffee”.

Point made.