+ protocol predicament: communal food.

Apologies for the past two posts, no excuse will suffice other than I abused my blogging privileges, as some teachers/parents would describe my misuse.

Alice (the one who delved into the land of wonderment, yes that one) disobeyed all communal food etiquette when she arrived at the tea party empty handed.
I believe there is a 'food law', as I like to plainly label it, that states that anyone who brings food, is entitled to food. No arguments here, I completely agree.
However it's not specific enough.

(now this picture is rather distracting from my point but I'd just like to draw attention to that flattering white top & shelf bra, the fact that all of the displayed food is sushi and what the hell is that black and white billion piece game??)

How much food does each individual provide? What quality? Does home baked, grandmothers deathbed secret recipe equate to a box of Arnott's Assorted Variety or Double Decker Tim-Tams? If there are left overs can I take them home? Is the provider the supplier (in terms of food and cutlery)?? If someone brings pasta bake can I bring spaghetti bolognaise or is that a carbohydrate pasta overload? Are two varieties of salad permitted? Is it strictly limited to main and desert or is the option of entre/starter completely irrational? What quantity are we talking here, or are we discussing quality?? Oh my goodness.


Please, What's the protocol?


*Just quietly, I only just realized that there is no underline function on this blogging thingamabob. Severely disappointed and now reconsidering my membership with "BlogSpot" - shakes fist at computer monitor*


Struggling with this concept I therefore find many social situations difficult. Today was a prime example. A tute lunch picnic. aka: a hostile infusion of two separate occasions where the sharing of food is compulsory. Being secretly (not so anymore) apprehensive I prompted assignments for each girl, in hope that this exercize would navigate my anxiety away.
How wrong. I thought I was clever, and volunteered myself to fetch drinks for the fun picnic (hooray...), again, wrong Hannah, wrong. How much drink? How many litres? Should I provide a spectrum of drinks, ranging from the juices, to sparkling water, to soft drink, to punch? Individual drinks? Value for money drinks? Quality brand drinks? Am I automatically responsible for the disposable cups as well now? My goodness, the intricacies.

Its social anomalies like this that need to be ironed out. Another example being when you unexpectedly walk into another person (hopefully unplanned, I truly hope that people don't wander about in hope of colliding with another human) and are then presented with the [step to the side - they step to the side - you step back - they step back] conundrum. How preventable! If only someone simply enforced the rule that you step to the right, then the whole awkward meeting would have been avoided altogether!
So any readers, so all eleven of you, install this protocol into your social hardrive now!! (bit of mac/pc lingo for you there nerdicons)

So how do you avoid these situations? Not a rhetorical question by the way.
My solution for my earlier predicament: buy 9L of different varieties of drink.

Stay Tuned.
life's narcissistic narrator.
+ the red fox.

-OVER AND OUT-

+ the pussy willow lemmings.

Just a brief dedication:
"For A.Clavin"
(small note, no she's not dead - just merely a formalised shout out)

pussy willow
lemmings

Stay Tuned.
life's narcissistic narrator.
+ the red fox.

-OVER AND OUT-

+ spite purchases.

GutenTag.

I was standing in line for the school 'Cafe' frantically eliminating food from the menu in my mind when I hear this painful year ten girl yapping in her artificially high voice.
"Yeah, like he came to my house and is like, yeah, like he goes I wanna see your room. hehehe...." blahblahblah - preteen. Well this particular girl pisses me off to no end. Flirting with teachers, ridiculously simple and immature, the kind who dips her face in foundation paint every morning and paints on the mascara. Disgusting. Apparently not to the boy who wants her in his pants in her room though...ugh. She accidentally nudges me, fails to apologize and then goes on her food spiel about how much shes dying to have a meat pie, cause you know she's "been on like a diet like thing for like eva". I glance at the glass case: one meat pie left.
The lady at the counter shouts "NEXT" in her suddenly authoritative voice - simply cause she's wearing an apron - and what do I do. Out of spite. Just to make that girls life that little bit more inconvenient, I order that last pie.
What compelled me to do that? Spite Spite Spite. Because I could. Because I saw the opportunity and thought, HA, wouldn't that suck to be you biiiiatch. What I didn't think about was the fact that I had bought this meat pie, and I didn't even want it. But I was fine with that, because she wanted it, and I had it.
I love it. I had a small Cruella DeVil moment (like after she pinches all of the 101 spotty puppies) afterwards and had a small cheeky sniggle to myself. In a way, she got what she wanted, she continued her "like diet" (some special diet? similar to the CSIRO diet?) and that will probably suit her shallow girl using 'boyf'.
It may of slightly decreased the enjoy-ability of her lunch, but it definitely made mine. Is that horrible??

Stay Tuned.
life's narcissistic narrator.
+ the red fox.

-OVER AND OUT-

+ eccentric english.

Mahalo.

I admit, the title is slightly misleading - as usual, but let me explain.
Toorak this year for year twelve are studying the Imaginative Landscape. .... hooray...? To the un-toorak-educated, this may seem fine and dandy. How wrong you are. Quite the opposite.
The majority of my class doesn't cope all that well when asked to simply go forth and write. So when our teacher quite curiously made us write, write, write, room exploded in silent looks of panic. It's the kind where you glance up from your blank page, pen in your clammy hand, catch the eye of the girl opposite you who shares your confuzzled state. You do that little shrug and mouth the "I have no idea" and then realize you should return your thoughts to the blank paper.
So this unanticipated silence continued for at least ten minutes before she began a discussion. Second very large mistake. We read the poem "Mending Walls" by the good ol' Robert Frost. Or as I like to call him Rob-dawg. Pretty much it's about walls.
Thanks to a lethal infusion of the worst traits a personality can provide, we launch into a small argument over PineTrees vs AppleTrees. Driving on complete tangents, an innocent discussion of walls has mutated into childhood memories in which a pine tree features or stories about habitual homing wild birds... all riveting conversations...Then it morphed into a uncoordinated chorus of twenty two girls yelling to one another across the room about - what seems like every - spider stories. Every spider story imaginable, as though none of us have ever grown up or even been to Australia *smacks forehead*. This scene is what happens when there is no 'right' answer. It's a bloody riot! You have the public speakers and debaters stubbornly holding their ground, the religious girls faithfully protecting their beliefs - despite the heavy level of criticism, the loud one who really just wants to get in a word, the more realistic, slightly cynical pessimist who sees it as it should be, and then the rest of the class who are slamming their heads on the desk saying 'for peeeeetss sake shut the hell up!'.
Utter chaos.

And that, my friends is why we need right answers, rules, guidelines, all that restrictive jazz so we don't end up like the kids off Lord of the Flies.


Stay Tuned.
life's narcissistic narrator.
+ the red fox.

-OVER AND OUT-

+ simple sincerity.

Mahalo.

I suppose I just wanted to share an experience that took place today in Chadstone of all places.

With the unexpected and astonishing arrival of hail in Melbourne - yes, HAIL!! and bloody lots of it - I decided to look into a beanie, not assuming it would protect me from solid cherry sized chunks of freezing ice (as ice generally is) hurtling towards Earth at a billion kilometres and hour, but simply from a cool breeze. Spotting a lovely creamy knitted hat, thing, I grabbed it and set out in search for a mirror, very rare in shopping centers nowadays yu'll find.
I finally found one and surrounding it where three people. One, a shop attendant, and the other two were a couple in their twenties, the girl with a lisp and a hat in hand, the boy patiently sitting in the chair, assuming the male shopping role, both clearly simple. The girl was lovely, inquiring about the suitability of the hat in winter, the boy offering his support and opinion - of course endorsing her overall thoughts on the product.
So I excused myself and squeezed in between the scene to examine my mismatched reflection. The hat looked as expected, so I weaselled my way out again, apologizing when I heard the boy say something in my direction. I whip around (slowly because my neck has been ridiculously sore recently - so when I say whip, I mean turn around without bending my head, so like a robot, from the waist up...).
"Sorry?"
And then the most genuine and innocent sentence I've ever heard.
"That hat looks very nice on you, it suits you." Said without any hint of sarcasm, no fringe of innuendo or narcissism. Simply pure truth.
It made me beam. And think of course. If only everything could be said with such sincerity. Most likely it's a scenario where you had to be there to understand. But it, and the weather, made my day.

Stay Tuned.
life's narcissistic narrator.
+ the red fox.

-OVER AND OUT-

+ depression prevails.

Look, I gave happy a go.
And as much as I liked it, I didn't love it.
When it comes down to optimistic vs pessimistic, guess who's going to win.
Bingo. Not the happy rainbow unicorn fairy sparkle pink fluffy nice one.
I'll leave that to your imagination and fiction.
This is how I see my reality. Nice and half empty.

The truth is illusory. Make it your own. XD

Stay Tuned.
life's narcissistic narrator.
+ the red fox.

-OVER AND OUT-

+ new people.

Mahalo.

I was walking home from school with one of my best mates and she commented on how depressing my blog was, so I suppose this is to make her happy and because I was pondering about it the other day.

Just prepare yourselves, because this blog is going to be happy (not amusing or witty), I know right, shocking stuff. Once in a while, between all my frustrated and cynical thoughts I have a pleasant one. And this is dedicated to the romanticism behind meeting new people.
To your average garden variety person they may deem this frightening, out of their comfort zone, boring, dull, mundane, any of the previous words, but unlike in English and Art when you can never be wrong, you are.

Okay so take my situation last saturday. I was sitting in a 0kelvin room - freezing to death - with fifty other girls and four boys (I counted) and instead of listening to the keypoints of writing an A+ passage analysis in the exam I was thinking about how many people I didn't know.
I just find it amazing to believe that it only takes one form of communication to bridge the void between two lives. A simple "Hi" will do the trick and from that moment on, you've met someone you may never see again. Another stupid invention of mine is to make a person counter, because I think it'd be intriguing to see the amount of people we meet in a lifetime. Like another segment at a funeral is the 'person count'. A doctor might meet more than a spoon manufacturer labourer, or a taxi driver might hit a million more than an airhostess. I just think that'd be nice.
But if you think about them in context, new people are always, 100% more interesting than someone you know, regardless of the fact of mutual interests or appearance or culture or language. An unknown someone is a person you know nothing about. Everything will be fresh and new. Isn't that wonderful?
Except when they're not wonderful. Then the wonderful thing is the parting. But on the rare occasion you don't mind them, there's always that dreadful feeling of fate. Perhaps you'll never see this person again? How horrible. Or what if this meeting is the catalyst for a series of events, like you said something that inspired the other person to invent the Google machine? Or perhaps you prevented a suicide, or even just made their day? Oh all the possibilities are overwhelmingly exciting! But you'll never know until you make that contact.
Another reason I endorse facebook! You can meet someone, attempt to remember their name and immediately confirm that you know someone new. Broadcast it to the rest of your 239 friends through a constant influx of status updates.
But how easy was it to flow through friends when you were young? Cast your minds back to your primary school days when you made and destroyed friendships within lunchtimes. How innocent it was. Get to highschool and bang, no friends, no fun, no life? No thankyou.
Like how you expand your mind, expand your friendship. Extend a Hi to the person behind you in the line for a coffee at Starbucks.

However, now that I reflect on my contention, perhaps making friends isn't always safe. Actually now I'm remembering a great fear of mine, meeting crazy people. So perhaps it isn't a fantastic idea, but merely a nice one.

So make a friend. And skip over rainbows, and dance with lollypops and carebears because the world is fluffy and loveydovey for just this one blog.
Don't worry, the cynical stuff will return, I promise.


Stay Tuned.
life's narcissistic narrator.
+ the red fox.

-OVER AND OUT-

+ _____bye!

Hi there.

I stumbled across this epiphany when walking down the road at midnight with my mate. I hope you have all noticed the subtle and yet rapid disappearance of the word 'good'. It's gone! Like a discontinued product in Safeway (or now Woolworths *shudder* for all you other bogan states), it's there on the Monday, and then bang, comes Tuesday, and overnight, they're gone in a blink of an eye. Thoughroughly depressing? Yes.

Where did it go you ask. It simply evaporated, osmosed into another realm of reality.
Instead of saying "good morning", we simply say "morning" to our fellow neighbour. The "good night" has again been reduced to the time of day "night", or "nighty nite". How degrading. "Good bye" has been rendered to simply "bye", or x2 - "byebye". One that emphasizes the laziness of Australians and simultaneously making the obvious time of day known, "good day", has been cut to "gday". Do we feel that the humble 'good' is no longer worthy of our vocal chords metabolic energy? I am rather saddened by its vacancy and I know that another word simply cannot fill the void.
Have an "excellent day now", "epic morning", "brilliant evening". I don't know about you, but it just doesn't maintain the simple ring that the double o's, sandwiched by a hooked g and a blunt d does. *sigh* If you disagree with me, you're wrong, and you don't deserve to utilise such a humble word.

So this is really a call of desperation to revive the good in life. And not in a silly "let's better the human condition" way.

Stay Tuned.
life's narcissistic narrator.
+ the red fox.

-OVER AND OUT-