Pathetically Apathetic

Alternative Title - Wave your arms in the air, like you just don't care (but secretly, you care a lot - like waaaayyy too much)

It's always been known that I am generally a loud-mouth on, say, any issue, ever.

'What's that, you guys are talking about the plight of Indigenous Australian's in remote outback communities? Isn't it clear that the answer to this extremely complex issue is to simply ...'

'Pardon me? Paris Hilton photographed reading the bible post-jail? Well, according to my Bible classes as a child, it doesn't say 'Thou Shall be a Skank' anywhere in Genesis....'

'Tasmanian truffles? Don't be absurd! Everybody knows the finest truffles only come from the Langhe region of Italy!...'

Some naive people (okay, maybe one naive person) once mistook the fact that I have opinions on everything in the known universe as knowledge, but most people rightly recognise that I'm just a twat that likes to talk the shit, most of which makes no sense whatsoever. Which makes it really hard to find people who want to chat the politics with me. Partly because I'm a shit talker, but also because apparently, its not cool to talk politics. Or think about politics. Or read the newspaper. Or both of the newspapers. Or watch the 7.30 Report with Kerry O'Brien. Or have fantasies about getting freaky in the House of Representatives. SOME DAYS I DO ALL OF THESE THINGS! It is with this knowledge that I discovered in the lead up to this years election that I am a political nerd.

I love nothing better that pouring over the various political parties policies, trying to balance my vote between anything I may possibly gain, and anything that may be gained for general humanity or the environment.

Election day excites me. I don't find it inconvenient at all; in fact, it's one of the highlights of my social calender. It's the one time of the year, bar 6PM on Australia Day after one too many Green Apple UDL's, that I feel a sense of Aussie Pride. I get excited walking through the gates of the local primary school, knowing that I'm gonna 'make my vote count.' I love sneering at the Liberal and Family First spruikers that try to hand me their 'How to Vote' cards. I know how to vote you mo-fo's, and it certainly ain't by ticking either of your boxes!

I have nightmares that certain types of people in our society are not only encouraged to vote, but forced to ...

However even the likes of people like this seem to realised that, like a famous pollie once said, 'It's Time.' Not suppertime. Or timewarp. Or even Hammertime. 'It's Time' to get rid of fecking Howard. HOORAY!!!! Now, lets all wait with baited breath for Rudd to cock it up!

Inmate #475621

Alternative Title - Duck, Duck. Duck, GOOSE

Next year I go here. Which is cool, really cool, and exciting, and various other adjectives. The other day I had a session where all the kids who are going had to get together and become friends, presumably because we are going to be spending a fair bit of time with each other next year. And I was really happy because they are all really really nice guys. But then I realised there was a problem. They are all dudes. And I am a girl. And we are going to live in a Muslim college. SO, whilst the guys are all free to hang out together, opposite sexes are banned from going into each others rooms. Or apartments. Or even floors of the condo on which the opposite sex reside. Or their common areas. And there are wardens to ensure this is all adhered to.

Caption: Living on campus is fun

I know I'm just being a whinger - I knew I was going to be in an predominately Muslim country, albeit a fairly liberal one. And I knew I would be living in an Islamic school's accommodation, and that they were fair hard arses. I'm just struggling a little with some concepts, such as gender segregation, and having a curfew, let alone a VERY EARLY curfew.

Just to clarify the situation, we were shown a montage* of what wouldn't be going on amongst my fellow expats and myself.

Namely, there will be none of this ...

... or this ...

... and certainly none of this ...

Whoa. The most disturbing thing about that last one is not the picture itself. I mean, that still is very disturbing, but there is something more disturbing to it. Like the fact that somebody feels the need to have the image engraved in stone and presented on a plate to display somewhere in their home. Imagine if you actually received this as a gift. And the person came round to your house all the time and you had to keep it on display or they would be offended. I mean, what the freak would you do? This is hurting my brain just thinking about it. I think I'm going to go have to have a lie down and a Bex to recover.

PS - I made the montage up for the sake of my story. However, if Monash had provided us with a montage, the images would have been way dodgier. I mean, until recently, I had to look at this guy on the Monash website almost every day! Even he hated looking at it!

See what I mean!

The Hair Maketh the Girl

Alternative Title - Discovery of the Week

Discovery - Short Hair + Girl = Lesbian

How do I know this?

Well dear readers (yes, all ONE of you), I know this because I got my hair cut short. Like, shorter than usual. And no, this did not result in a 'Oh my God, I love women!' style epiphany. But apparently it should have, according to the patrons of The Worst Club in The World on Friday night, who questioned, informed, harassed and generally told that I was a lesbian, could be a lesbian, looked like a lesbian and generally tagged me as 'lesbianised' due to my haircut.

According to the girl who tried to convert me on Friday night, I was "lost", and my haircut was my way of saying to the world - 'I'm in the closet! Set me free!' Which is a theory, if an absolutely stupid one, but maybe she should try to explain that to the guy that I have sex with regularly. I think she may have failed to realise that the offensive concept that gays can be 'straightened out' is pretty similar to her concept that I could be 'gayified', and that it remains offensive whichever way you roll.

And apparently short hair meant some guy honestly thinking I was the lesbian contestant from America's Next Top Model and asking, in all seriousness, for an autograph for his little sister. Now, I didn't watch to show, but I can pretty much assume that the title is indicative of a few things that I am not. Namely, AMERICAN and POTENTIAL TOP MODEL.

But according to a drunken buffoon, apparently, this is me:

I can accept that. We are pretty much identical twins. Whilst I'm posting pics, Beat Magazine was at the club taking photos and my girlfriends and I got our photo taken. Here's how it appeared in the local street mag.

It's how we roll. (For those wondering, I'm the shiny gold lady-lover down the front)

The Howard Years

Alternative Title - Grade Five Freakin Rocked

So, I don't mean to get all political and on my high horse BUT ... I will. I don't write this in the hope of swaying political views and what-not, but merely as something to ponder over.

John Howard first came into power when he defeated Paul Keating in a landslide victory in 1996. And has been in power ever since. I thought just so we can all ponder just how freakin long ago that was, I would recap on the quality year that was 1996.

• The Fitzroy Football Club and the Brisbane Bears were two separate things.
• The Taliban first gained control of the Afghan capital of Kabul.
• Dolly the sheep arrived on the scene, setting off religious fanatics worldwide.
• No one had heard of Martin Bryant.
• Friends aired for the first time on Australian screens. My friends went NUTS for it, and spent hours talking about Joey and co. (As a child I was force-fed the ABC, and as a result have no knowledge of popular sitcoms of my youth)
• Tupac was still alive! So were Diana, Mother Teresa and Sinatra.
• Titanic was just a crashed ship, not a The Worlds Most Expensive Movie. Leonardo DiCaprio was just that strange kid from What's Eating Gilbert Grape?
• Ellen DeGeneres was still "straight"
• I was in primary school ... possibly Grade Five if my sums are correct.

My little sister was 12 months old. We shared a room and it seemed like she cried NON-STOP, although this may be a slight over-exaggeration by a tired 11 year old. My teacher also had a little baby at home, and we were sleep-deprived chums who moaned about babies. He often let me sleep on the beanbags at the back of the room during times tables. This may explain why my maths and multiplication skills never quite developed to their full potential. 12 x 8 anyone?

AND,

• These girls were MASSIVE

In disgust, I began to search for something more. 1996 was the year I first listened to Triple J. I discovered the Smashing Pumpkins and Pearl Jam. The Adore album changed my life! (.. but that's a story for another day. Back to the topic at hand.)

Now I'm not saying the alternative is all that much better ...

... indeed.

However, I don't think Kylie Monogue was right. I don't believe in 'better the devil you know'. I'm sick of making fun of Johnny and his furry eyebrows. I want a new PM to pick on. I'm guessing the Greens don't really have a chance of winning, regardless of the fact our planet is doooooommmmmmmmeeeddd *scary voice*, so the only other option is Ruddy. And I want to be able to laugh at Ruddy's little Mr Sheen face for the next four years.

Just hopefully when his not eating his own earwax :/

And although I'm probably aiming a bit too high, I want a leader that doesn't lie to the public . I want to be able to judge for myself what its like to live under another government, rather than just have old people tell me what it was like. Failing that, I don't want one political party having complete control of all decisions made, as at the moment. So, my advice, which his no intellectual basis at all, is to pay attention to what the pollies are actually saying this year. Have an informed vote, rather than just voting for whoever your parents do, or whoever is top of the ballot sheet. Now, I will get off my high horse.

*end of rant*

The Vagina Monologues

That’s right, I said vagina.

Alternative Title - How to Win Friends and Influence People.

There is no better way to scare friends than giving them a lift ... whilst listening to the audio book version of Eve Ensler’s The Vagina Monologues. Especially when you forget that it’s playing. And you only realise that it is when what you thought was just comfortable, friend-like silence is broken by the high-pitched statement:

"What the fuck are you fucking listening to!?!"

Excerpt from The Vagina Monologues:

"The woman who ran the workshop told me my clitoris was not something I could lose. It was me, the essence of me. It was both the doorbell to my house and the house itself. I didn’t have to find it. I had to be it. Be it. Be my clitoris."

So, I discovered that apparently not everybody:

A) Finds audio books socially acceptable car listening.

I turned to them to try to get through at least a couple of Shakespeare’s at uni this semester, and well, the little buggers pretty much pulled me through the year! I say audio books are the new black. Or fluoro, as current fashion trends indicate.

AND

B) Finds feminist, monological style performance pieces turned into audio books acceptable car listening.

Now I’m not saying going to say that The Monologues and their ilk are the usual type of thing pumping out of my stereo as I do my nightly laps of Chapel Street. HOWEVER, I was shitty that I never went to see the play when in Melbourne and I saw it at the library and I thought ‘why not?’ AND despite it’s slightly over graphic ‘designed-to-shock’ nature, AND regardless of said friends’ ear-piercing shrieks of disgust, I am enjoying this certain audio book. It’s interesting, and mind-expanding, and makes you think. And while 'mind-expanding' and 'makes you think' pretty much amounts to the same thing, I still have a good point. Maybe it’s just the type of audio book best enjoyed alone. Or alternately, played over loudspeakers at the Annual General Meeting of The Misogynist Association of Australia*. Just so their heads explode. HAHAHA

*Association may be a figment of author’s imagination made up in lieu of actual real life existence of such organisations ... or is it? *crazed feminist conspiracy theories abound*

To blog, or not to blog ...

Alternative Title - *insert shitty Shakespeare pun here*

Does the world really need another sub-standard, rarely updated blog? Do I actually have anything or importance to say, or will I merely be ranting about things that others before me have also ranted about? The answers to these questions are no, yes and yes, and hypothetically, but not in that order. Or even all of those answers. Don’t worry, I’m confused too.

Now, before I risk saying anything of interest, I’m off to the gym. Because I am probably the buffest person you know. Hopefully this guy won’t be here …

Because he scares me. Or at least his larger, scarier looking twin brother does, who often happens to attend Average Joe's Gymnasium at the same time I do. And when surrounded by Average Joe’s he certainly stands out. Even more so considering he insists on lifting his weights and pulling a similar expression as displayed by Vulcan from Gladiators, say, 20 centimeters from my face.

F.Y.I - according to this website Vulcan (the Gladiator one, not his freaky-large gym alter-ego) starred as a baddie in the Bond movie ‘The World is Not Enough.’ And his Gladiator’s theme song was ‘Boom! Shake The Room’ by DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince. Such tidbits make me so happy that Gladiators is returning. Finally, some quality entertainment on TV. At last! Remember the Gauntlet, Hang Tough and the Danger Zone (!!!)? Maybe me and my buff self should audition. Watch out Storm, Predator, Glacier and Flame!