Category Archives: Random Thoughts

Round Two

Have you ever posted on a forum that appears to be buzzing with back and forth conversation, only for that forum to die suddenly and become paranoid that it was because of you?


Is it just me? Am I that self centered?

It’s even more heartbreaking when the forum you were posting to was ‘one sentence synopsis of your novel’ for NaNoWriMo. Everyone was blasting all over the place with their snappy one sentences, receiving positive feedback. And then I posted. And then the crickets began to chirp.

Okay. It’s probably not me. The thread was long dead by the time I got there.

I’m just antsy that I’m going to be spending a whole month writing something that’s complete and utter crap, and not realising it until I’m half way through and thinking ‘wow, this is complete and utter crap’.

But, I can’t begin the process this way. I’ve chosen a storyline, fleshed out the characters and built the world probably as well as Athens prepared for the olympics. I’m sticking to it goddamn it. It’s going to be the best novel I’ve ever written.

Actually it’s going to be the first novel I’ve ever written. To a stage of completion that can warrant it being called a novel.

I can’t believe November has come around again so quickly.

I’m having flashbacks to last year’s NaNo and the novel writing pain. My brain hurts already. I can feel Miss Crankypants coming on. Yet, still, I’m pretty damn excited.

Maybe I’m a masochist.

All I know is that this year is going to be better somehow. I think it’s because I now have a cat. You’re not a legitimate writer until you have a cat.

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I Am Number 6

I’d like to think my cat ruining my driver’s license renewal papers is his way of saying ‘I love you, don’t ever leave me’. But I think I’m reaching a bit. The lines on his face, however, do make him look like he’s in a constant state of worry. But he doesn’t really give a fuck, as he licks his balls in the middle of the dining room table. He doesn’t kiss his mother with that mouth… That’s why we settle for eskimo kisses.

I read my numerology the other day. Apparently my personality is one that relates better to pets than humans. Well, I did have a mind slip the other day that would support this theory. Running through my list of errands I thought ‘and I’ll take the kids for a walk down the back paddock … oh wait, kids, I meant dogs…’

Wow. I know my biological clock has been ticking loudly at me lately, with strange compulsions to abscond with the cute four years old at my karate dojo, but hmm…

As my kitten rests his warm little chin against the crook of my arm as I write this, unfortunately he’s the closest thing I’ve got to children.

And I ask, where else am I supposed to put my overflowing reserves of love? Into some unhealthy obsession with someone I barely know? Sure, why not. I’m sure they would highly appreciate being the object of my undivided attention. Until I leave a bunny rabbit in their kitchen boiler.

Kidding. I’d never do that to a bunny. I’m an animal person, remember.

My mother told me that one day some guy will come along and make me his princess.

I said, ‘no, not princess. Warrior princess?’

Because for some reason I have this vision of myself being a badass black belt within the next five years.

Yet, at the rate I’m going it’ll probably be more like ten years.

Teenage girls, at the moment, have more strength and flexibility than I do. Am I intimidated by these confident, pubescent little fuckers? Hell yes. They bloody well knocked over that standing punching bag thingo with their flying side kicks, whilst I think I pulled a muscle.

Like I already don’t feel like an old lady, you know with my clock ticking and all.

Woman, you’re freaking 22 years old.

But if I’m going to create my own personal army of black belts, I’m going to have to start early.

Maybe I’ll just settle for my own personal army of cats.


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This Could Be Very Dangerous

Oh, wow. I can post from my phone. I couldn’t possibly think of anything more annoying than single finger typing and constant predictive text. Especially with my less than nimble fingers.

However, I am stuck inside waiting for my script writing tutorial, because of the miniature cyclone raging outside, so I must occupy my time somehow, meanwhile looking to everyone like I’m writing the longest text message of all time.

All I thought about in my first script writing lecture is how distressing it is to already know everything. Taking the word ‘everything’ with a grain of salt, however. Just the answers to newbie’s questions that you instinctively want to scream across the room.

Or yell out at the teacher about common short film length.

Look at me! I’m having a minor brain aneurysm holding my seasoned knowledge inside.

I am certain however, that past the introductory faze, it will be I whom receives an education.

Because despite my best efforts, I, in fact, don’t know it all.

P.S. The dangerous part is that this phone blogging business could be addictive.

In my previous post I pondered having a notepad surgically implanted in my hand, to jot down all my insightful thoughts whenever they crossed my mind. Scarily, a phone seems to be just that…

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A Whole Lotta Waffle

I can play it cool. I can tell others that University is pretty cruisy. That I’d just be happy to pass. That it don’t really need to over achieve academically to go where I want to go. But when I’m alone and those marks come up on my computer screen and I’ve done well…

I can’t bloody sit still. I’m all over the place. I forget to take my money with me to the bank, resulting in loudly calling myself a dick at the petrol station because I’ve filled up the tank and have to put it on card and I’ve forgotten my pin number. I mean, no biggie, credit/signature works fine, but still…disappointing.

Anyhow, getting these marks makes me wonder how I can manage to write a thoughtful essay on Post-colonial writing back, whilst still being completely unfocused, irrelevant and trivial when writing on here.

It’s a gift. I know. And as per usual I’m going to share my gift of the irrelevant and trivial with you today. How? With the laziest form of writing in existence: the list. I love me a good list. It doesn’t provide too many details and I can group together a bunch of random thoughts that would have otherwise made no sense put together in one blog post. I call this one: Things that have made me wonder between the dates of May 3rd 2012 and right now.

Number One: How does my Sha’bam! instructor keep a straight face?

If you haven’t heard of Sha’bam!, it’s kind of like Zumba, but with club moves and krumping, possibly designed to make me feel even more white when dancing than usual. Why I mention my instructor is because of the quite…interesting things she yells out whilst dancing. Something about how we’d all be looser if we had tequila shots, that we should pretend like night club security was going to come get us, and various other yeah, yeah, yeah sounds I’d rather not repeat, or most likely have blocked from my memory. Oh, it’s all fine and dandy after a couple of classes but in the first class, you’re just a little like ‘huh?’ and then when the instructor reminiscently says ‘remember what it was like in your first Sha’bam class?’, I think ‘woman, this is my first Sha’bam class!’ – Did I miss the introduction? Was there some sort of easement into this crazy exercise!? Plus, no, I don’t really feel very sexy dancing Sha’bam…The name Sha’bam! makes me think I should be looking something like this…

Foxy Cleopatra. She’s a Whole Lotta Woman!

Not feeling more like this…

A less appealing, more manly version…

Possible Explanation: My Instructor actually did get into the Tequila shots before hand…

Number Two: How did I, whilst at an after party for the cast and crew screening of three films I had the pleasure of working on last year, manage to…wait for it…remove most of the skin off my elbows?

Possible Explanation:  a deadly combination of rough wooden table tops, the anesthetizing effects of one too many Midori sodas, and the loud beltings of a band singing, pretty much what seemed to be, the whole 90’s rock playlist I have on my iPod. Effect being the necessity for elbows to be on such rough table tops in order to lean in to hear other people talk, and not realizing the damaging effect it was having on my wenis… *snigger* (it’s a word, look it up people).

Number Three: What is the deal with artists? In particular, what is the deal with sculpture artists? Upon a little trip to the Maroochy botanical gardens for Mother’s day, we stumbled upon this little number…

Oh, that’s what it means? I totally got that…

Possible Explanation: ???

And I though my Post-colonial essay was waffley…Now I know I can just hand in a rock I bashed a couple of times on the ground and say it represents the struggles of power…hmm

Number Four: I recently saw ‘The Ides of March’, a great movie I might say, and it made me wonder about the corruption in the American political system and the expendability of interns and other campaign workers on a Presidential candidate’s way to the top…

Who am I kidding? It made me wonder about Ryan Gosling and the strange, mystical hold he has over me. The man is a wizard. A beautiful, beautiful wizard.

Possible Explanation: Have you seen Ryan Gosling? Not only that, have you seen him act? Looked into those intense blue eyes? Seen that wry little smile?…Eh hem, snap out of it woman. There is no explaining magic…

Get out of the way Paul Giamatti! Stupid YouTube thumbnail.

Edit: That’s better.

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Forays and Flirtations with French and Other Failed Language Attempts

Recently I have concluded that the appeal of speaking a foreign tongue must have originated for me when I was merely a girl. As, grown out of my fleeting ambitions to be a ballerina, I had a new and more exciting idea of what I wanted to be when I was ‘all grown up’ – A secret agent. This gave rise to my stash of James Bond magazines and collector cards, hiding in my wardrobe pretending to be on a stake out, stealthily spying on my primary school playground ‘enemies’, and my brief year of Taekwondo and self-defense classes in grade six. Also, have you ever watched that 00’s series ‘The Invisible Man’ – I did, religiously – very secret agenty. And apparently, not only do spies disappear from sight on command, they also travel to Russia and speak 8 different languages, but in some sense of irony my attempts at learning one of these languages didn’t eventuate until after my secret agent phase.

(And on completely random side note, can someone please explain the importance of Arnie, in my favourite spy film of all time, True Lies, saying ‘I have to take a major leak’ in perfect Arabic? James Cameron, your choice of subtitles baffles me…)

Attempt Number 1: Spanish

I can’t remember why this was my first choice of a second language. I vaguely recall the CD-ROM  of ‘You Can Learn Spanish’ being on special at Harvey Norman and my mother’s brief turn of wanting to be more cultured. Of Spanish I remember Tia meaning Aunt – mostly because one of my dogs at the time was called Tia…

Attempt Number 2: French – Episode 1 – The Pre World Travel Attempt

My mum and I were about to embark on a world tour, including a visit to Paris and the South of France, I was 16 years old. Afternoons on a weekly basis were spent at a lovely French lady’s house, learning to count and, most importantly, how to buy things. My three other classmates were middle-aged, and I, the lone teenager, whilst grasping the concept of politely asking for apple juice and inviting one for breakfast, felt somewhat out-of-place.  (On another side note, tell me why when learning a language synonymous with love, must there be no potential for romance at all with fellow language learners dues to the age and gender of said learners? I shall ponder this further in French – Episode 2 – The Pre Euro Trip Attempt) This attempt lasted for about 8 weeks. When I returned to Australia let’s just say I was busy saving my money, otherwise spent on French lessons, towards perhaps traveling to Germany.

Attempt Number 3: German

Ich freue mich, Sie kennen zu lernen. Thus completes my working knowledge of Deutsch. Pleased to meet you. Ich heiße Abbey – My name is Abbey. My foray into German was initiated by a close friendship with a foreign exchange student and the promise of visiting her in the future. Unglaubish! Unbelievable! I actually really tried at this one, filling a whole folder with ‘Let’s Learn German’ lessons, not to mention a fairly expensive book on German verbs. ‘Du bist eine Schlampe‘ comprises of most of what I remember. As to the meaning? I’ll give you a clue, I didn’t learn it from a CD-ROM…

Attempt Number 4: French – Episode 2 – The Pre Euro Trip Attempt

For future reference, walking into a classroom semi-confident you remember basic French won’t save you from the embarrassment of being immediately corrected by your teacher when you proudly say something that just so happens to be wrong. Je m’appelle Abbey. My name is Abbey. I knew that, I swear I knew that. Didn’t stop me from saying something else entirely. Curses. That’s what you get for mildly showing off in a beginners, beginners class where the first 2 1/4 hour lesson is spent learning the alphabet. And, of course, as I take my seat and look around my class I see middle-aged men and women and a few girls my age. What is this? Sacrebleu! Je ne comprends pas! I don’t understand. Where is all the talent? On the flip side at least I won’t be distracted from my a, e, i ,o, us by multilingual garçons, but seriously…kind of disappointed. Anyways, hopefully, with lack of said distractions and some steely resolve on my part, this last attempt will stick, and I will soon be versed in a language other than English.

And if it doesn’t stick? Heck, you know what, there’s always an app for that. Hello, Google translate… Now, how do you say ‘I have to take a major leak’ in French?

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