ergh. urgh. blurgh.
cavemaddie noises galore.
#
Jarvis has captured the comfortable sofa, Betty smells like vinegar (because I'm using a vinegar spray to try and get her to stop barking) and Toya refuses to use the floor. And I'm so tired that today I told a bus driver that my name was Jeremy. I'm worried about everything - from whether Kevin Rudd is ever going to give me $900, to if I'm going to pass metaphysics, to whether I have canine flu. So I can't even begin to be worried about swine flu or Currawong. Just sod off until you have some good news and I have had a decent nights sleep. I keep dreaming that I'm having my ears licked by people I know, which is also worrying me.
On a positive note, its getting colder which means coats and tights and dresses and feeling chic. Listening to Scottish music, drinking tea and eating stodgy food. My birthday is in little over a month, and I'm planning a jazzy do. The wicked step aunt is coming over this weekend to make some cardigans and dresses and skirts - all prototypes for our upcoming etsy store, which should be open by the time I enter semester 2 of university.
only a few more weeks of metaphysics to go!
apologies for lameness of post. have to go and clean up puppy pee. again.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
a swell and a stink
The past few days have been filled with more puppy poop and profanity than is probably legal. Have some photos, I apologise for the way I look. It's cos I'm sleep deprived.
Wearing each other's glasses meant that neither Eloise or i could see anything, thus we looked confused
Jarvis in profile. He knows he's lovely, you don't need to tell him.
Betty, trying to look innocent. (And probably trying to digest the half metre of tinsel she ate)
Toya. Normally she looks slightly less demonic.
OUR MUSUEM ADVENTURE
it was more fun than metaphysics, ok?
I MET A DINOSAUR
GOT CHASED BY A DIPROTODON
(who then turned out to be very nice)
ELOISE KISSED A GROPER
ELOISE THINKS MAMMOTHS ARE AWESOME
I PLOT TO STEAL THE MAMMOTH, BUT GET DISTRACTED BY THE INFORMATION ON HOW THEY MADE THE MODELS
ELOISE BUYS A GIANT TYRANNOSAURUS REX. WE NAME IT PATRICK.
PATRICK DOESN'T LIKE PHOTOS
Then I came home to discover Betty had pooed everywhere.
And then this morning they woke me up at 3am.
I put Eloise on a train at 7.15am.
My WonderGranny rescued me at 2pm.
And Betty pooed some more.
And now they're asleep.
Thank goodness.
I'll rant coherently later, promise.
Wearing each other's glasses meant that neither Eloise or i could see anything, thus we looked confused
Jarvis in profile. He knows he's lovely, you don't need to tell him.
Betty, trying to look innocent. (And probably trying to digest the half metre of tinsel she ate)
Toya. Normally she looks slightly less demonic.OUR MUSUEM ADVENTURE
it was more fun than metaphysics, ok?
I MET A DINOSAUR
GOT CHASED BY A DIPROTODON
(who then turned out to be very nice)
ELOISE KISSED A GROPER
ELOISE THINKS MAMMOTHS ARE AWESOME
I PLOT TO STEAL THE MAMMOTH, BUT GET DISTRACTED BY THE INFORMATION ON HOW THEY MADE THE MODELS
ELOISE BUYS A GIANT TYRANNOSAURUS REX. WE NAME IT PATRICK.
PATRICK DOESN'T LIKE PHOTOS
Then I came home to discover Betty had pooed everywhere.
And then this morning they woke me up at 3am.
I put Eloise on a train at 7.15am.
My WonderGranny rescued me at 2pm.
And Betty pooed some more.
And now they're asleep.
Thank goodness.
I'll rant coherently later, promise.
Sunday, April 19, 2009
guest post: ELOISEEEEEEEY
Jarvis, Jarvis, Jarvis, Betty, Betty, Betty, Betty, Toya, Toya, Toya, Toya.
Hyperactive pets that I'm not quite sure I'll ever be ready for despite being a self professed five year old masquerading as a twenty-something.
We're sitting here in a house full of glass doors and tables, sipping tea and being molested by cocker spaniels. Our Special K had chocolate flakes in it. We're sporting bed-hair that would give Conor Oberst a run for his money. (If he has any... His solo album was a little country. It was a much more seamless transition than the time Madonna attempted it. Not that anyone was paying attention!)
I'm staying with my best friend/soul-mate who has adopted me for some heavy duty heart healing, and despite the fact that my clothes smell like puppy and that trains and buses freak me out - this is exactly where I want to be. This is exactly where I need to be.
It's been less than a day and I already feel like I'm finding my words again... a little. Baby steps in adult shoes. There is no real reason for this post. I just wanted to commandeer the blog for a little while and to also thank Maddie for the midnight therapy session last night, rescuing me from Central station and adopting me right when I needed it.
It used to be difficult describing our friendship because it seems so unbelievable, so this is all I'll say for now: She's my hero, pulse and parachute all rolled into one. The constant voice in the back of my head reminding me: "You're not Kurt Cobain."
And I know everything will be okay eventually.
After all, I'd rather smell like cocker spaniel than teen spirit.
Edit from Maddie: my friends are golden. and make metaphysics better.
Hyperactive pets that I'm not quite sure I'll ever be ready for despite being a self professed five year old masquerading as a twenty-something.
We're sitting here in a house full of glass doors and tables, sipping tea and being molested by cocker spaniels. Our Special K had chocolate flakes in it. We're sporting bed-hair that would give Conor Oberst a run for his money. (If he has any... His solo album was a little country. It was a much more seamless transition than the time Madonna attempted it. Not that anyone was paying attention!)
I'm staying with my best friend/soul-mate who has adopted me for some heavy duty heart healing, and despite the fact that my clothes smell like puppy and that trains and buses freak me out - this is exactly where I want to be. This is exactly where I need to be.
It's been less than a day and I already feel like I'm finding my words again... a little. Baby steps in adult shoes. There is no real reason for this post. I just wanted to commandeer the blog for a little while and to also thank Maddie for the midnight therapy session last night, rescuing me from Central station and adopting me right when I needed it.
It used to be difficult describing our friendship because it seems so unbelievable, so this is all I'll say for now: She's my hero, pulse and parachute all rolled into one. The constant voice in the back of my head reminding me: "You're not Kurt Cobain."
And I know everything will be okay eventually.
After all, I'd rather smell like cocker spaniel than teen spirit.
Edit from Maddie: my friends are golden. and make metaphysics better.
Friday, April 17, 2009
this is hardcore
what have i gotten myself into this time? it's my last day of uni break (still havent read all that stuff about the aztecs) and i find myself surrounded by fiends floozies and fuzzballs!!!
i'm house sitting.
two years ago i spent the week of my birthday housesitting for my longlostsecondcousin Lisa and her husband Daniel. (they became unlost about two years before that) at that stage they had Toya the Tonkinese cat, who was small and cuddly, and Jarvis Cocker, the cker Spaniel who was (still is) even prettier than his namesake.
This time though, there's Betty Cocker, who is a week shy of five months. And, in the words of Daniel "a fucking firecracker." So that's three animals I'm being chased around by, and chasing.
It's 10.30am, Lisa & Daniel left at 7. I think I heard them cackling as they left.
Because two pets are sweet, they curl up with you when you're drunk, they jump on your new tattoo and dont mind when you call them rude names, they play fetch and steal your underwear off the line right as you're trying to introduce them to your boyfriend. Two pets are sweet.
Three pets is bloody hard work. About five minutes after their parents left, the pets decided to gang up on me, spill my coffee, Betty peed EVERYWHERE, Toya managed to escape and Jarvis has been wandering around sighing like some sort of romantic poet. So I've spent the morning cleaning up after an excitable puppy, trying to entice a dumb cat back inside and keeping the existential dog away from my philosophy books. I'm under no illusion that this is a holiday. It's not. It's three weeks of work.
On the plus side, being away from home means I can wear as many patterned things as I like at once, and my mother, sister & grandmother can't say anything. To prove the point, I'm currently wearing my new shirt, which has been christened The Boyfriend Shirt because its a big manstyled white thing with black spots. I was going to call it Chris or Daniel, to make the point that all my friends have boyfriends called Daniel or Chris, but that was odd. And on my bottom half, I'm wearing the Confetti skirt, which my mother bought for me yesterday. Photos and story soon. I have a new dress and a new cardigan too, both of which go some way towards satisfying my current 1940s obsession. My mother's so lovely when she thinks I'm being abandoned. Lucky thing gets to go to Europe next week, I'm jealous. Then again, she's going with my father....
Oh dear. I don't speak cat, and Toya's yowling.
GOALS FOR THE NEXT THREE WEEKS
1. keep up with uni
2. learn how to do victory curls, pin curls and rag curls
3. use the oven at least once, instead of living on soup and coffee
4. keep the pets alive. that one's probably important, yeah?
i'm house sitting.
two years ago i spent the week of my birthday housesitting for my longlostsecondcousin Lisa and her husband Daniel. (they became unlost about two years before that) at that stage they had Toya the Tonkinese cat, who was small and cuddly, and Jarvis Cocker, the cker Spaniel who was (still is) even prettier than his namesake.
This time though, there's Betty Cocker, who is a week shy of five months. And, in the words of Daniel "a fucking firecracker." So that's three animals I'm being chased around by, and chasing.
It's 10.30am, Lisa & Daniel left at 7. I think I heard them cackling as they left.
Because two pets are sweet, they curl up with you when you're drunk, they jump on your new tattoo and dont mind when you call them rude names, they play fetch and steal your underwear off the line right as you're trying to introduce them to your boyfriend. Two pets are sweet.
Three pets is bloody hard work. About five minutes after their parents left, the pets decided to gang up on me, spill my coffee, Betty peed EVERYWHERE, Toya managed to escape and Jarvis has been wandering around sighing like some sort of romantic poet. So I've spent the morning cleaning up after an excitable puppy, trying to entice a dumb cat back inside and keeping the existential dog away from my philosophy books. I'm under no illusion that this is a holiday. It's not. It's three weeks of work.
On the plus side, being away from home means I can wear as many patterned things as I like at once, and my mother, sister & grandmother can't say anything. To prove the point, I'm currently wearing my new shirt, which has been christened The Boyfriend Shirt because its a big manstyled white thing with black spots. I was going to call it Chris or Daniel, to make the point that all my friends have boyfriends called Daniel or Chris, but that was odd. And on my bottom half, I'm wearing the Confetti skirt, which my mother bought for me yesterday. Photos and story soon. I have a new dress and a new cardigan too, both of which go some way towards satisfying my current 1940s obsession. My mother's so lovely when she thinks I'm being abandoned. Lucky thing gets to go to Europe next week, I'm jealous. Then again, she's going with my father....
Oh dear. I don't speak cat, and Toya's yowling.
GOALS FOR THE NEXT THREE WEEKS
1. keep up with uni
2. learn how to do victory curls, pin curls and rag curls
3. use the oven at least once, instead of living on soup and coffee
4. keep the pets alive. that one's probably important, yeah?
Monday, April 13, 2009
vivid people have a lot of fun
Meet Nouveau Rachelle
She began life as a vogue pattern, a 150cm length of plaid cotton and a dreamy notion.
But now Rachelle prefers being called Chelle, with as bad a french accent as you can muster. Her favourite season is autumn, and she insists on silk stockings at all times, gloves if you can get them. To Chelle, monograms are a necessity. Science fiction is her favourite pursuit, but she'll turn her nose up at Star Trek. Currently Chelle is reading Bruce Sterling's "Holy Fire" and thinks it's rather clever. She plays chess with a vengeance, drinks soup without a spoon, scoffs at hair brushes. Her favourite bands are The Shout Out Louds and Buddy Holly. Chelle would like to grow up to be a collector of first edition books. Tonight she's going to see The Boat That Rocked.
She began life as a vogue pattern, a 150cm length of plaid cotton and a dreamy notion.
But now Rachelle prefers being called Chelle, with as bad a french accent as you can muster. Her favourite season is autumn, and she insists on silk stockings at all times, gloves if you can get them. To Chelle, monograms are a necessity. Science fiction is her favourite pursuit, but she'll turn her nose up at Star Trek. Currently Chelle is reading Bruce Sterling's "Holy Fire" and thinks it's rather clever. She plays chess with a vengeance, drinks soup without a spoon, scoffs at hair brushes. Her favourite bands are The Shout Out Louds and Buddy Holly. Chelle would like to grow up to be a collector of first edition books. Tonight she's going to see The Boat That Rocked.
Stay out of love until you're ready, stay out of it 'cause it scares you.
You'll still find your love outside the public library.
You'll still find your love outside the public library.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
paper girls//she fell out of a cherry tree record
1.
"i've bought silk stockings with a suspender belt" i whispered into your ear at the bus stop. "want to see?"
this is close to my favourite time of year, when waking up cool in the morning turns to bare arms by two pm, soup for dinner and cardigans in bed. we've been peeling easter eggs, making tiny pirate hats with the foil. my fountain pen stained the pillowcase when you finally sent me to bed on thursday, and i'm sure i felt you kiss my forehead as you pried john donne from my tired fingers. it will only get worse, i told you over breakfast. we leave the lights on but talk about switching to candlelight, reading dickens and learning to play guitar so we can sing bob dylan songs because our voices are less grainy than his. my hair's getting so long, so's yours, and we claim poverty, we claim recession, we claim thriftiness, but really, it's just nice having someone run their fingers through your hair, even if those fingers are ghostly.
"i've bought silk stockings with a suspender belt" i whispered into your ear at the bus stop. "want to see?"
2.
they go hunting for witches, but the specifications aren't exact. it's the girls with the short skirts, the bright red lipstick. they pay attention to them.
paying attention to them, they miss the witches.
3.
a spider is dead behind my desk. i know this because i killed it. and now i'm feared that it's going to come back, crawl over my desk and demand an apology. what will be scarier, a talking spider or a spider risen from the dead?
4.
sometimes it doesn't seem like the distance matters, and i tell people about things we've said, conversations, arguments. when i've drunk too much i'll even tell people about the fridge incident. then the couples put their arms around one another and the distance comes crashing back, the space between all things widens and i. well. i have another drink, usually. it's all about balance.
5.
he's still completely lacking in grace as he throws himself down - half on top of me, half next to me. "Damien Rice? It's far too nice a day to be listening to that sort of music" snatching my ipod from my hands, he changes it to Bright Eyes and sings along obnoxiously loudly. people turn to look at us curiously, because they can't hear the glittering music, just this stupid boy (who pops in and out of my life) singing, tripping over the words "oh my patient prisoner you've waited for this day and finally you are free you are free you are freeeeeezing!" he bellows. i don't want to, but i smile. he grins, twice as obnoxious, endearing. "that's it, girlie." the arm across my shoulders is warm and his eyes are so very interested in the patterns of my skirt. i mutter something about how tactile and clingy he is, finish up with a "and you don't even know my name" which earns a widening of his smirk "i'm the first to want to." we sit there, the hot dry wind on our skin, saying nothing for ages. "where've you been?" triggers a flash flood of excuses, but the truth wins out ""stuck in my head"
it doesn't mean anything.
6.
"tired?"
"always."
we don't know each other. we curl up together, but all we couldn't tell you anything about each other. there's probably not that much to tell. sometimes he brings chocolate, sometimes i bring the newspaper. it's the quiet that we're here for, not the company. the occasional brush of hand over shoulder, the slouch of tired limbs across tired bodies, means nothing.
"i don't believe in plain talking. it hurts too much."
there's a long thread of desperation in him, from his head to muddy foot prints. in the wreckage of what has been done to him, he's awfully small. "awfully small with big eyes like some sort of drowned dog." he sniffs and whines and works his way around me till we're wrapped up tight.
and i wonder, if this is what we were supposed to be
x
my notebook got wet, so i thought i should type up the somewhat pathetic attempts at writing. i don't know, i used to have the words flow like wine. wicked step aunt made me a dress today - i mostly supervised and ironed things. she's fairly wonderful, and i'll put up a photolog about it tomorrow. i've christened the dress The Nouveau Rachelle, in honor of the wicked step aunt, and the newness, and the fact that the friday before last, i was drunk and told lizzle that i was "bringing the rachel" to the shakespeare.
no one is asking, so leave it alone
can we?
"i've bought silk stockings with a suspender belt" i whispered into your ear at the bus stop. "want to see?"
this is close to my favourite time of year, when waking up cool in the morning turns to bare arms by two pm, soup for dinner and cardigans in bed. we've been peeling easter eggs, making tiny pirate hats with the foil. my fountain pen stained the pillowcase when you finally sent me to bed on thursday, and i'm sure i felt you kiss my forehead as you pried john donne from my tired fingers. it will only get worse, i told you over breakfast. we leave the lights on but talk about switching to candlelight, reading dickens and learning to play guitar so we can sing bob dylan songs because our voices are less grainy than his. my hair's getting so long, so's yours, and we claim poverty, we claim recession, we claim thriftiness, but really, it's just nice having someone run their fingers through your hair, even if those fingers are ghostly.
"i've bought silk stockings with a suspender belt" i whispered into your ear at the bus stop. "want to see?"
2.
they go hunting for witches, but the specifications aren't exact. it's the girls with the short skirts, the bright red lipstick. they pay attention to them.
paying attention to them, they miss the witches.
3.
a spider is dead behind my desk. i know this because i killed it. and now i'm feared that it's going to come back, crawl over my desk and demand an apology. what will be scarier, a talking spider or a spider risen from the dead?
4.
sometimes it doesn't seem like the distance matters, and i tell people about things we've said, conversations, arguments. when i've drunk too much i'll even tell people about the fridge incident. then the couples put their arms around one another and the distance comes crashing back, the space between all things widens and i. well. i have another drink, usually. it's all about balance.
5.
he's still completely lacking in grace as he throws himself down - half on top of me, half next to me. "Damien Rice? It's far too nice a day to be listening to that sort of music" snatching my ipod from my hands, he changes it to Bright Eyes and sings along obnoxiously loudly. people turn to look at us curiously, because they can't hear the glittering music, just this stupid boy (who pops in and out of my life) singing, tripping over the words "oh my patient prisoner you've waited for this day and finally you are free you are free you are freeeeeezing!" he bellows. i don't want to, but i smile. he grins, twice as obnoxious, endearing. "that's it, girlie." the arm across my shoulders is warm and his eyes are so very interested in the patterns of my skirt. i mutter something about how tactile and clingy he is, finish up with a "and you don't even know my name" which earns a widening of his smirk "i'm the first to want to." we sit there, the hot dry wind on our skin, saying nothing for ages. "where've you been?" triggers a flash flood of excuses, but the truth wins out ""stuck in my head"
it doesn't mean anything.
6.
"tired?"
"always."
we don't know each other. we curl up together, but all we couldn't tell you anything about each other. there's probably not that much to tell. sometimes he brings chocolate, sometimes i bring the newspaper. it's the quiet that we're here for, not the company. the occasional brush of hand over shoulder, the slouch of tired limbs across tired bodies, means nothing.
"i don't believe in plain talking. it hurts too much."
there's a long thread of desperation in him, from his head to muddy foot prints. in the wreckage of what has been done to him, he's awfully small. "awfully small with big eyes like some sort of drowned dog." he sniffs and whines and works his way around me till we're wrapped up tight.
and i wonder, if this is what we were supposed to be
x
my notebook got wet, so i thought i should type up the somewhat pathetic attempts at writing. i don't know, i used to have the words flow like wine. wicked step aunt made me a dress today - i mostly supervised and ironed things. she's fairly wonderful, and i'll put up a photolog about it tomorrow. i've christened the dress The Nouveau Rachelle, in honor of the wicked step aunt, and the newness, and the fact that the friday before last, i was drunk and told lizzle that i was "bringing the rachel" to the shakespeare.
no one is asking, so leave it alone
can we?
Sunday, April 5, 2009
does coffee count as a form of amphetamine?
there is currently so much caffeine in my bloodstream that sleep has been rescheduled as a possibility for 2010. i'd forgotten that university would mean writing shit. so with two assignments down, two to go, i'm reaching new heights of procrastination. i learned how to do cryptic crosswords, planned a twelve course banquet (that will never eventuate), figured out what i'm going to do with all my leftover felt, wondered why i had leftover felt, planned some presents for people who don't have birthdays for months, wrote some letters, sent some postcards, finished that weird Jose Saramago book, discovered One Sentence, got drunk, got hungover, got bruised and got petulant.
i did all that in under 48 hours. imagine what i'd be like if i didn't procrastinate.
apart from all that, i had awesome week. despite spending most of it hiding from a metaphysics paper. Wednesday Lizzle and I trotted off to The Forum to see our beloved Louis XIV and The Kills. we had dinner at Mohr Fish on their rickety high chairs before loading up on caffeinated drinks and getting the bus to Moore Park. when we were walking to the venue, two very tall bounded up to us and asked if we knew where The Forum was. my jaw dropped, because the two very tall men happened to be Dave Kuening and Mark Stoermer. the guitarist and bass player from The Killers. i managed to stammer out that yes, yes we knew where The Forum was, we're headed there. so they walked behind us and talked about bats. i'm still wishing i'd asked for a hug, because Dave looked particularly cuddly.
The Forum's a pretty awesome venue, except its beyond loud. the preshow DJ was awesome and despite seeing someone that i really didn't want to see, i was in a rare good mood. perhaps a little overly ranty for poor Lizzle, but she's a trooper. and when Louis XIV took the stage, wow.
Louis XIV are one of those bands that make you think being bad is a pretty damn good idea. their music is sort of...well...it's that good kind of sleazy, dirty bathrooms and long island ice tea sleazy, not scary men on the paris metro sleazy. there's also a bit of 70's cockrock in their sound as well. they ooze coolness and i'm still a little confused as to why they're only playing support shows over here.
The Kills took the stage next, and while their music is phenomenal, their attitude is just a bit too "artschool" for me. i know, i know, i have no room to talk (i went to artschool for a semester by accident.) but there's something about them that makes me feel very self conscious. plus it was getting late, Lizzle had an early work start and i had early essay avoidance, so we exited gracefully, taxied back to central station and parted ways. it was a grand night. i even caught Lizzle dancing!!!
thursday was incomprehensible, as thursdays often are. friday i ventured across sydney harbour bridge to do a favour for my wicked step aunt and earn some money. somehow this culminated in me being drunker than i have in ages and announcing embarrassing things very loudly at the Shakespeare. again. truly brilliant night that involved skittles, The Beard, Lizzle and the Wicked Step Aunt, some of my mostfavouritest people.
and then on saturday i had a hangover and had to climb up a shitload of stairs because the power was out in sydney CBD. again.
there's a midterm break coming up!!!!! i'm going to be sewing with the Wicked Step Aunt, and i plan to photo log it. also i'm going to start posting "Skirt Adventures" which are really just exercises in vanity and writersblockbreakage. and i'll get to have a break from reading sodding Kissinger.
i did all that in under 48 hours. imagine what i'd be like if i didn't procrastinate.
apart from all that, i had awesome week. despite spending most of it hiding from a metaphysics paper. Wednesday Lizzle and I trotted off to The Forum to see our beloved Louis XIV and The Kills. we had dinner at Mohr Fish on their rickety high chairs before loading up on caffeinated drinks and getting the bus to Moore Park. when we were walking to the venue, two very tall bounded up to us and asked if we knew where The Forum was. my jaw dropped, because the two very tall men happened to be Dave Kuening and Mark Stoermer. the guitarist and bass player from The Killers. i managed to stammer out that yes, yes we knew where The Forum was, we're headed there. so they walked behind us and talked about bats. i'm still wishing i'd asked for a hug, because Dave looked particularly cuddly.
The Forum's a pretty awesome venue, except its beyond loud. the preshow DJ was awesome and despite seeing someone that i really didn't want to see, i was in a rare good mood. perhaps a little overly ranty for poor Lizzle, but she's a trooper. and when Louis XIV took the stage, wow.
Louis XIV are one of those bands that make you think being bad is a pretty damn good idea. their music is sort of...well...it's that good kind of sleazy, dirty bathrooms and long island ice tea sleazy, not scary men on the paris metro sleazy. there's also a bit of 70's cockrock in their sound as well. they ooze coolness and i'm still a little confused as to why they're only playing support shows over here.
The Kills took the stage next, and while their music is phenomenal, their attitude is just a bit too "artschool" for me. i know, i know, i have no room to talk (i went to artschool for a semester by accident.) but there's something about them that makes me feel very self conscious. plus it was getting late, Lizzle had an early work start and i had early essay avoidance, so we exited gracefully, taxied back to central station and parted ways. it was a grand night. i even caught Lizzle dancing!!!
thursday was incomprehensible, as thursdays often are. friday i ventured across sydney harbour bridge to do a favour for my wicked step aunt and earn some money. somehow this culminated in me being drunker than i have in ages and announcing embarrassing things very loudly at the Shakespeare. again. truly brilliant night that involved skittles, The Beard, Lizzle and the Wicked Step Aunt, some of my mostfavouritest people.
and then on saturday i had a hangover and had to climb up a shitload of stairs because the power was out in sydney CBD. again.
there's a midterm break coming up!!!!! i'm going to be sewing with the Wicked Step Aunt, and i plan to photo log it. also i'm going to start posting "Skirt Adventures" which are really just exercises in vanity and writersblockbreakage. and i'll get to have a break from reading sodding Kissinger.
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