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)