+ 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-