Stress Pants

I have a problem (I shall choose to ignore the resounding chorus of "NO SHIT" which rings in my ears). Returning to university is very good and well. So too is having performed bloody well in my first assessment. But not so great is the fact that I seem to have heaved all my measures of self worth into some box labelled "academic achievement". Sure, things could be worse. 


I could count my facebook friends. 


I could consider my bra size.


I could turn to my marital status.


But the pressure is killing me. Already. I have an essay due tomorrow and it is less than 25% complete because I cannot stand to have one argument, one paragraph, one sentence which is less than perfectly constructed (clearly this same anxiety does not rear its ugly head when blog posting). 


I write, rewrite, delete and restructure obsessively and I'm getting NOWHERE.  And I'm fucking stressing.


It's to the point where I feel I will be severely disappointed if my resulting work isn't some shining tome of intellectual superiority held up to all future generations as a glowing example of brilliance, let alone if my tutor dares to give me less than a HD.


Yeh, I know. Wah, wah, wah, what a self-important little cunt I am. 


But this doesn't distract from the fact I am flailing in a veritable FROTH of anxiety.What the fuck is going to happen to me when I actually start Semester? Two essays in and I feel like a pallet of valium would be a really great thing right about now.


I know I need to relax. But it's really hard to when I've suddenly realised all my concepts of self are inexorably, and inevitably fatally, tied to some ultimately arbitrary score out of 100.


Shit. Pray for me.


Roll on Cambodia.

Purchasing Pants (gratuitous near-nudity enclosed FREE OF CHARGE)

So because I'm such a super friggen high roller at the moment what with my high paying full time job and minimal education related expenditure *cough*, I thought I'd wallow in consumerism today:

1. BIRKENSTOCKS

Oh yes. You can call me Klaus.

Totally justifiable uni/Cambodia shit, you see.

2. ONE TEASPOON TASSELLED, SLUTTY, ONE PIECE BLACK-BANDIT SWIMSUIT BONANZA

(Sorry about the dark piccie but its NIGHT here)

Okay yeah, I can't excuse this purchase. I originally saw this in leopard but didn't buy as it was screaming stripper whore-bag. I can only console myself in the fact it was 30% off. Hmmm.

Oh and it has I-ching coins tied to the tassels?? So it's totally worth it? Good luck 'n' shit?

yeh, i know, that doesn't work for me either.

Two Things:

1. I got a high distinction in my first assignment since returning to the hallowed halls of Sydney University. Can I get a fucken amen?


2. Celibacy kind of sort of over. If you get my drift. No? Well ...ahhh never mind.

Where is all the wang?

Sooo, I was having a moment of ranga pride (never mind I'm really a brunette, and yes, I can prove it, and Oh! God! I wish customers at work would stop alluding to my supposedly firey pubes) and was googling "red head" and I came upon this:

According to Hamburg sex researcher, Professor Dr Werner Habermehl "The sex lives of women with red hair were clearly more active than those with other hair colour, with more partners and having sex more often than the average. The research shows that the fiery redhead certainly lives up to her reputation... Even women in a fixed relationship are letting their partners know they are unhappy if they dye their hair red. They are saying that they are looking for something better."

 I have had the least sex - EVER - since I've been full blown flame-o. Granted, when I was with Mr Apache Rose (immortalised in poetry here, my departure from whom spurred me on in the creation of this hurr blog)  things were pretty buck wild. But since then, through choice (kinda) and circumstance (mostly) NADA. Nothing. Zip. Squat diddly.

All I can say is, some red-head bitch out there is fucking up a storm to make up for my non-participation. She must have a whole lot of dick in her life.

MAJOR shoes

So, I've been pretty fricken busy of late, what with the waiting tables and with the Jane Austen hooha. As an aside, I'm meant to be doing my first assignment THIS VERY MOMENT, but, clearly,  I'm not.


I felt I deserved a wee little treat. I bought a new, expensive, black backpack from The North Face for uni crap toting/cambodian adventure, but that was far too utilitarian, and left me petulantly gagging for more (PS the shop assistants in the George street shop are pant-wettingly cute). So I dropped into the shopping centre near uni on my way to work yesterday afternoon.


CHECK OUT THESE HOT HUSSY HOOFS!

(I would have taken a photo of my own tootsies in these, but considering the reprehensible state of my toenails - which shall be remedied prior to my excursion in these babies tomorrow night - I thought it unwise.)


Zulu princess, African hex-weilding queen - It's my new look. Shame I'm a mad Ginga. ANYway. 


Now for the best  bit - They only cost me $40!!!


Holy crap! The ankle surgery I'll probably need after wearing these will virtually pay for itself!

When I get old

I want to own a pet lizard called Mavis
And wear even more purple than I wear now.
I'll drink Ameretto Sours and Mint Juleps,
or just a bottle of Rose, if  I'm feeling under the weather
I'll dig out sweeties from my pocket covered in tissue remnants
And smell like dusty roses.

The children will be scared of me
because my garden is overgrown and I throw corks at them
I hate being disturbed when I'm napping

I'll have a gentleman caller twenty years my junior
But he will still be very old
I'll dress up in house coats and turbans and ropes of pearls when he comes by
And you will hear the chinking of glasses from the street.

Some days I'll just stand by the mailbox and stare down the road
And everyone will wonder what I'm thinking of.

Everything is terrible

Good Morning,

I am in a bad mood. It may have something to do with sleep deprivation. And probably heavily influenced by the fact that both my crushes have fizzled out (lack of interest from him in one case, lack of interest from me in the other). I hate to be one of those girls whose lives are dictated by her perceived success with men, but, gah, there you have it. I'm starting to wonder if  I'll ever like someone again and have them like me back in return. I'm scared I'm becoming jaded. I find myself reminiscing about people who deserve no such romantic consideration, because I miss those times where I would lie in bed and touch my feet with their feet, or cook a meal together and end up with an over-seasoned mess.

I have a lot of work to do for uni. I shouldn't even be taking the five minutes it takes to type this.

My bedroom is abysmal. It is a hovel of filth.

I may have PMS.

I have to work tonight - again.

In more positive news I made $500 in tips last week and over a grand in wages. Kind of makes me feel a bit better about the delirium I am currently experiencing as a result.

I cannot wait to go to Cambodia. Jungles, rice, counterfeit vodka, sweltering nights, proliferation of Bob Marley, short-lived liaisons with no expectations.  Oh, and tomorrow night- I have the night off, I'm going to go out and get loose. I want to break free.

10 Year Anniversary

OMFG you guys!

I totally forgot to mention that 10 years ago, on New Years Eve, I lost my virginity.

to a guy called wayne

with curly blond hair, a flannelette and 501s

who I met at a party I was in attendance at with my parents

after I vomited tequila

who wrote poetry about dragons and venetian blinds (come ON. how could I resist?!?)

in the back of a landcruiser

whose dog bit me on the shin ( I still have the scar)

In the morning, after the whole sorry and disapointing affair I (a) vomited on his feet, (b) made him drive me home, and (c) sat in the bath and cried.

I wonder where he is now, whether taking that ultimately unimportant bit of me was important at all to him. I doubt it.

I have drunk a bottle of pinot noir and am drunk.

I also have resolved to allow myself to give up my celibacy. I have decided that the whole exercise has passed its use by date in terms of its utility as a cleansing device, and has instead crossed over into the realms of smugness and self-righteousness. I have a lover from the past in mind to do the honours,  a man i love to fuck but don't particularly care for. Failing this, I will ruthlessly shag a European whilst in Cambodia (Did I tell? I have booked a ticket for late feb, yeeeewwwwww!).

My dusty vagina is cheering.

A potential hero enters the story in unlikely circumstances

I STARTED UNI TODAY!


It was very exciting. I made sure i looked cute in cuffed jeans and slouchy navy-white striped top. I diligently packed my laptop in my bag, along with a brand new notebook and ergonomically designed pen. I put todays date at the top of each page, along with the course code.


A month of "Jane Austen and Her Contemporaries". I'm a little behind on reading, given I have been working 60 hour weeks of late (nice cruise-y waitressing job MY ASS), but I feel I'm totally up for it. I was immediately struck, however, by the pure and unadulterated intellectual wankery of some of my fellow students. Holy crap, I need to gets me some more adjectives.


But! Fear not! Amongst the generally unpromising array of students in this class there is a shining beacon of ... possible amusement.


A rather attractive man, but with an air of mousishness about him, perhaps


An English Major, with a background in sociology


A little quiet maybe, and somewhat serious


BUT he works in a bookshop. It may be Dymmocks at George but still! A bookshop!


I swear he likes me.


I could feel his gaze.


And he tottled along with me when we were on our break, he smoked a cigarette with me, and we snuck back into class, late.


I wonder.


It's a good distraction, at least