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A is for Awkward – 30th of August 2012


Todays post is brought to you by the letter A for awkward.

It’s about time that I told you that I am one of those people who is plagued by  awkwardness and weird social situations. You know how some people seem to have their  lives so together and never seem to be out of place, always know the right thing to say and basically live like the guardian angel on their shoulder is on steroids? I am the antithesis of that. I am one of those people whose lame jokes go un-laughed at, who finds themselves stuck in the weirdest situations with a bunch of people staring at them and the person who goes to get off the train and then misses their stop because they realise they were facing the wrong side of the carriage. That’s me.

Take last Saturday night, for example. I had just arrived at my new job for a training shift. My manager was really busy and because I didn’t know how to do anything he just said ‘stay here and try and figure out the till’ while he rushed off to serve customers who were looking at me an my incompetent bar tending skills like I was a pitiful puppy. So I’ve got my head down, trying to figure out the till layout when I here someone calling my name from outside the bar. ‘Goat’ they call, I look up. Standing in front of me, having clearly just come in to watch the football on their Saturday night is my two bosses from my other job. Awkward. I think so. I hadn’t told them that I’d gone and got a new job. And neither would a ‘oh, I’ve worked here for ages’ excuse have worked because my new manager took that moment to hand me my ‘trainee’ badge and tell me to pin it to my shirt. Great. The worst part was the conversation with my boss that followed. It was one of those conversation which consists of basic ‘hi, how are you’ small talk but there is so much sub-text going on that it’s basically code for ‘I am judging you so much right now’. Anyway, needless to say both my bosses and I wanted to melt into the floor.

But this is just one example.  If you can believe it, in the last week I have managed to slice my thumb open with Yoghurt,  witness a car accident, get stuck in a rotating door and trip over at the park while two hot guys were walking past. It wasn’t even like there was a branch or anything either – I was on the oval, with nothing but flat grass around me. Awkwardness is a day-to-day reality that I have had to live with since I was a child. It is programmed into some peoples lives… and I am one of those people.  My smile isn’t straight – because the nerves on the left side of my face are as awkward as my life. My dog thinks it’s a cat and my cat shakes hands.

There are many more and worse awkward scenarios in my life that I can’t think of right now. I try and repress the memories of many of the moments when the awkward fairy has sprinkled it’s not-so-hilarious dust on me.

I am going to go and catch a nap before I go to uni in an hour or so. Today is the second full day of parentlessness and I am exhausted from trying to maintain my own life while playing mother of the house as well.

Shall post tomorrow.





Let Liberty Reign – 28th of August 2012

Hello there!

So I just got back from dropping my parents at the airport. They’re going away for a month…… which is fantastic.

My brother drove them to the airport and I came for the ride because predictably mum was crying about leaving us and didn’t want to say goodbye until we were literally pushing her through the departure gate. We waved them goodbye as we drove off in the car and then they were going….going….going….going…. gone!

I’M FREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Yes, I’m 20, and yes, technically I am already an adult and can do what I want. But when you still live with your parents the age thing doesn’t really matter – they are still the boss of you. Now that they’re gone, I feel like a dog who’s been chained all its life and is finally being set free. Hello World, come at me!

I started by wagging Uni. Sure, the reason I took the day off is so that I could go and see of my folks at the airport but I still think of it as an act of youthful rebellion. It so counts.

Secondly, I got home and my brother Ass had to go out again and my younger brother Cow was at school so there I was, home alone, without any parents. What did I do? I turned the music in my room up apocalyptically loud, jumped on my bed with my hair out and performed a concert to an imaginary theatre of thousands. I got a standing ovation.

2 hours in and Parentlessness is suiting me nicely. On the weekend Horse is coming over Cook and cook (read my last post if you don’t understand this) and I plan on making such an atrocious mess of the kitchen as would normally see me drawn and quartered were my mother in the country.

The one thing that is annoying about my parents being away is that I have to look after Cat and Dog. As deceptively adorable as they both are, I have already gone partially insane from their annoyingness. My brothers don’t really do much to look after them, so on top of uni, blogging, rehearsals, assignments, 2 jobs and essentially writing a novel, I also have to find time to walk Dog every day. I like walking dog, but I normally only do it on weekends or when I have spare time or feel motivated. So I guess parents do have some uses.

Anyway, I’ve got to go to work/ figure out other ways I can abuse my new found freedom. Throw a massively destructive house party? Maybe, but party’s aren’t really my thing. Perhaps I’ll start small, accidentally breaking mums hideous family heirlooms or exceeding our internet download limit or the like.


Wanting – 26th of August 2012

Let’s ignore the fact that I haven’t posted lately or within a reasonable time frame since my last one, and just start blogging shall we? Good.

The theme I would like to bring to the attention of the court today is…. want. What is that? Well, I don’t know exactly.

Here’s why I wish to discuss the concept of what it is and means to ‘want’ something: See, the last few weeks have kind of catapulted my life from a level 5 busyness to level 11 on the scale of 10. Amalgamate uni assignments with uni classes and uni rehearsals, working 2 jobs and trying to have a social life and basically I’ve been turned into a 20 year old toddler, meaning I am either at 1 of 2 speeds: Duracell Bunny or unconscious. The reason I’m drawing ‘want’ into this is because I’ve just started to realise that there aren’t many things I’ve gone to in the last weeks that I’ve actually wanted to.

Here’s what I mean: Monday – Uni, assignments and work. Tuesday: Rehearsals, uni. Wednesday: Uni, excursion for uni. Thursday: Rehearsals , Uni and assignments. Friday: Work, RSA training and a 21st birthday. When I look back at what I did this week all I can think is… ‘none of these things I particularly look forward to going to’. Not saying I completely hate going to them either, and certainly rehearsals are a fair bit of fun, but seriously, if I was looking at my week from an outsiders perspective, I’d be telling myself to go and do stuff I ‘want’ to do. What do I want to do? That’s easy. Every time I’m on the bus on my way to uni, or dosing off during a lecture, the one thing I wish I could be doing was writing. Think it’s lame? Stop reading my blog.

So why do we all fill our lives with this stuff that we don’t really want to be doing? Why don’t I quit uni and become a stripper on the side so I can spend my days writing my story? After extensive thought over the period of about five seconds I think it’s this…. Because in reality we all want to be seen to achieve. This could be through getting a degree, making money or doing whatever it is to show the world that we’re productive, relevant existers rather than dropped out wannabes following mundane activities that may or may not be our great passions. Go figure.

Anyway, moving on from my unnecessary and personally gratifying ramblings, here are a couple of small anecdotes about the last week.

On Friday night I had my first shift of training for my new job. It’s waitressing and serving at a bar in a hotel near my house (FYI – it’s one of those places that illogically calls itself a ‘hotel’ when really there’s no accommodation unless you count the drunk guy in the corner who sleeps next to the poker machines with drool falling down his face). Anyway, I’d had a crazy-busy day on Friday because I’d been out during the day to find a 21st present and then I’d had my RSA training in the city and then the job training and after I had to go to a 21st. Basically it boils down to the fact that I hadn’t eaten since breakfast and by the time I arrived after 9pm at this 21st and had done an incredibly ungraceful get-dressed-and-do-makeup-in-the-backseat-of-a-speeding-car thing, I rocked up looking like something crossed between a ravid dog and a drag queen. Needless to say I got a few dark looks and spent the entire evening bee-lining for platters of satay skewers while the bar staff started to no longer ask me for my drink as they had memorised my request for ‘something strong’.

Something else I would like to add in todays blog is that my parents are going away for almost a month starting Tuesday. YAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!! House to myself for 4 weeks! Well, not completely, my brothers Cow and Ass will be here as well but we tend to be fairly inconsistent with work/uni/school times and won’t see each other for more than a few minutes a day. Great. And I don’t mean that sarcastically this time.

I spoke to Horse on the phone tonight and we’re going to have a writing day next weekend which cannot come soon enough. Also, so far in my blogs I’ve held back mentioning that Horse and I have come up with a kind of code-language to disguise our writing and help to keep it a secret. I guess my logic was that I wanted to keep some writing related things private, but considering that the whole idea of a code-language thing is to do that anyway, my logic is kind of unravelling itself….

Here it is: In our language we refer to our ‘writing’ as ‘Cooking’ and use cooking associated words in substitute for writing related words when we are talking about it. We do this so that, A- if anyone ever heard us talking about our writing they would never know or be able to understand what we meant and B- so that if necessary we can discuss it in front of others without them having a clue that we are talking about something else. Over time it’s become gradually more complex and we’re at the stage where we can basically communicate anything broadly about stories through code.

Here is an example of how our language works:

If Horse wanted to tell me that she was having trouble in the 4th chapter of her book because her computer wasn’t working properly she would say something like: ‘Four of the cupcakes in the recipe aren’t cooking very well because my oven’s broken’.

Weird? I don’t deny it. But we do feel a little bit like secret agents.

Anway – to explain our language a little I shall dictate some of the rules that govern it. I am now thinking that Horse and I need to come up with a name for our code language. Ideas?

The word ‘recipe’ = chapter. e.g. ‘I’m having trouble with a recipe’ really means ‘I’m having trouble with one of my chapters’

The number you attach (in any way) within a sentence refers to the chapter number. e.g ‘My 8 Calamari pieces were very tough to chew’ means that ‘chapter 8 was very tough to get through’ just as much as ‘I’m having trouble with my 8 pieces of calamari’ would mean it also.

The word ‘oven’ = computer. e.g ‘My oven has been playing up lately which has made it hard to get much cooking done’ means ‘My computer has been playing up lately which has made it hard to get much writing done’.

There is a lot of improvisation within our language too. For example we can normally interpret what the other person means, even if we don’t have exact words that correspond in our language. For example, if I wanted to tell Horse ‘My main characters have been hard to relate to lately’ I might say something like ‘My main ingredients have been hard to cook lately’ or ‘Lately, the steak in my steak sandwich has been hard to fry’.

Anyway, that’s the basics to our code/writing metaphor/language thing. I can feel your judgment. But hey, our system hasn’t let us down since we invented it almost a year ago so we’re going to stick with it. Now I find myself suddenly speculating about a name for our language: Pan language? Goat language? Horse language? Gorse language? Anyway world, if you’ve got any ideas let me know.

Wow – I just went on a tangent that took me like half an hour to write. I’ll sleep now.


Busyness – 22nd of August 2012

So I haven’t posted in forever.

Half of my posts seem to start with that sentence. I am sorry, But the following list of things explains why: I’ve been working, studying, reheasing, sleeping and generally just trying to survive whilst juggling large amounts of all those activities at once. The last few weeks have soared past so quickly and I have been so busy that I haven’t stopped to write here. It will probably happen again.

Anway here’s the update on writing: I finihsed chapter 8!!!!!!! It had taken me so long to finish that when I finally sent it to Horse I felt like celebrating except I was too tired and so I slept. I am now starting chapter 9. Horse and I planned to ‘handover’ our next chapters in a couple of weeks but but the looks of how things are going I’ll be lucky if I even have one paragraph to give her. I am setting myself this goal: to have finished chapter 13 by the time I go to Europe (on the 13th of December). It’s not going to happen, but hey, a goat can dream.

Most of my trip to Europe at the end of the year is now booked. Yay!

I found out that my older brother got an internship and is going to be moving interstate.

I got a new job waitressing at a hotel/pub type place.

I need a holiday.

SOS – 4th of August 2012


So right now I am sending out an SOS. Please help me.  I am sitting,  imprisoned in my bedroom while a pack of seventeen year olds sit outside my room. They are torturing me with social status, frying my brain with immaturity, if you will. I need help.

This is a result of my brother, Cow, having a social life and inviting his friends back to our house after their Saturday night out. I can hear them as I type this. They are using words like ‘Lol’ and ‘FYI’ and other vocabulary which I have not heard since year nine. I feel as though everything I know is being turned on its head; I know i’m not ‘cool’ but they are making me feel as though I am a bigger loser than the biggest loser on the planet… And I am only evesdropping, not even part of the conversation.

I send out this message in the hope that someone will find this and send help. I may not have long yet to live before I sucumb to this torment and they pull me from my room, destroying my mind with terms like ‘jokes’ and ‘whatevs’. I beg you, rescue me.

Anyway, I didn’t post yesterday because I didn’t have much to post about. I went to the Goat dentist (all is well), wrote for a while and worked in the afternoon. Same old Same old. Today was a more interesteing day thoguh. I went up the street and ended up buying boots to take with me to europe at the end of the year and a vest and jumper too. I came home, had the best bread role EVER for lunch and spent the rest of the day writing and watching the Olypmics and walking Dog.  This must sound boring as well, but I actually really enjoyed my fairly ‘normal’ day.

So, if you recall, I made a pormise, earlier on in the week that by Saturday night (tonight) I would have finished chapter 8. It’s been a struggle. I have been writing in every free second I have this week and finally I am almost there. Almost. I hope to finish my chapter 8 tonight and then commence chapter 9 somestage this week. As soon as I finish writing this I will start the final scene in Chapter 8 in the hopes of finishing it by the early hours of tomorrow morning. Chapter 8 has been quite a long time coming, but now that I’ve knuckled down and just about finished it, I’m determind that the next chapters won’t take me so long to write. Yeah right. But I will try.

Over and out,


Impending Doom – 2nd of August 2012

Hello again World,

So aside from eating grass and doing the normal things that I, as a Goat do on a typical day, today I wrote in the morning, went and saw the final round of my debating teams season (they won. I’m proud) and applied for my own Medicare card. I also went out and bought a couple of pairs of new pants because my supplies were down to one ripped pair of leggings and a couple of faded jeans. It was a genuinely thrilling day in some parts and only a sarcastically thrilling day in others.

It’s probably worth mentioning that since the incident between team CatDog and myself yesterday, I am not talking to either of them, and until they attempt to apologise we shall continue this standoff of affection.

Also today, I decided to end my denial over the fact that I have to sing a solo for one of my classes at Uni on Monday. This is very, very, very bad. When things like this come up, friends go ‘oh I’m sure you’re not such a bad singer. Everyone can sing if they try’ (sorry Horse). Well these people have never heard a Goat attempt to sing. I do not have a musical note in by body. I was not born to sing, and I do not attempt to pretend that I was. I am so cataclysmically bad at singing that I’m confident I will be asked to stop, less than one bar in, after the other students have run out of the room crying and holding their hands to their ears. Yes, on Monday, when I open my mouth and utter that first demonic note, the Earth is going to stop revolving.

So I’ve been asking around and Horse has given me a little advice over song choice (I told her I wanted something monotone and with super controversial lyrics so no one focuses on my voice). Horse has been able to help me with the first of these two requests and once again I realise how imbalanced our friendship is. Goat takes. Horse gives. That’s pretty much how it goes. So Horse, if you’re reading this, thank you and sorry for being such a taker. I have a singing friend at Uni who is going to have a quickie rehearsal with me before I have to sing my death march at 1pm on Monday, so lookout for Monday’s post which will undoubtedly contain a goodbye note and will.

I’m going to go and sing in the shower now, and then sit in bed and write for a little while before I ‘hit the hay’ (thanks Dad for the incredibly cool expression you’ve instilled in me over the years).




The Evilness of Catdog – 1st of August 2012

Beeeh beeeh (is that the noise Goats make in greeting?) Hi.

So right now I’m sitting in bed, just having finished what was meant to be a charming afternoon nap before I go to work tonight. Today was bitterly cold, but when I was walking home from Uni in the early afternoon it was also quite sunny. Cold + Sun = sedation of Goats.

Anyway, by the time I’d caught the bus part way home from Uni with Horse and then walked myself the half an hour or so it takes to get from the bus stop to my kitchen for a small feast, I was well and truly ready for a nap. I ask you world: what Uni student doesn’t love a good nap in the afternoon?….. or at any time for that matter?

It was meant to be brilliant. It was meant to be refreshing and desperatly difficult to force myself to get up from because it was going to be so comfortable and warm. After my 7am wake up to make a 9am class at Uni (felt like 3am), my thoughts this morning were largely occupied with floating pillows and hot water bottles. My afternoon nap was going to be great.

No. That is not what it was. Refreshing and warm and daisy-chain-rainbow good was not what I achieved with sleep. In fact I failed to achieve much sleep it all.

And why, you might ask, did this happen? I’ll tell you. I was sabotaged by Cat and Dog who spent their morning at home in the backyard, conspiring a way to keep me conscious.

And I am out for revenge.

Here’s how it went: After my small feast, I sauntered upstairs to my room, shut the blind to the window that provides a really awkward line of sight from my pillow into my neighbours garage and snuggled myself under my doona. Ahh, I was in Uni Student heaven.

The first part of my pets plan utilised a fairly common operation know as the Doorbanger. It’s a standard wake-everyone-in-the-house-up-in-the-morning procedure, utilised after Dog’s released from her sleeping quarters in the laundry at about 6:00am. This operation involves Dog, sitting outside my room, hitting my closed door over and over again with her paw, just hard enough so that the door bounces back and forth inside it’s frame, soundly vaguely like a gunshot. My reaction to this was the standard ‘give in to Dog,’ which essentially has me, semi conscious, fall out of bed (sometimes quite literally – damn laptop cords!) and let Dog into my room. Initially, in peace time, pre-Dog, my morality would never let me give into this kind of blackmailing treachery. But I have become a learned coward since then, and know that there is no hope of ‘waiting out’ the Doorbanger. The Doorbanger operation will continue no matter how long it must go on, or how many gunshots it must fire into my room.

So I give in. Operative A successfully enters bedroom while Goat stumbles back to bed, furious but in an amalgamated state of anger and sleep, which pretty much means I grunt before hitting the pillow again.

Phase 1 complete.

Phase 2: The Sleezy boyfriend

After re-finding that exact perfect position with my covers suitably arranged so that the cold air is blocked out by just the right amount of insulation and snuggleness, Dog decides that it’s time to get on the bed. So she does. But the thing is, my dog isn’t Lassie. In fact Dog (especially since she got clipped last week) looks nothing remotely like Lassie, nor does she have good manners and hence doesn’t curl up neatly on the corner of the bed near my feat. No. Dog walks up to my head using me as a footpath, comes right up to my face and plants a big juicy wet tongue smack bang in the middle of my nose and forehead. She then lies down so close to me that all her weight falls against my side, sending me in a slow motion slide towards the approaching cliff at the side of my bed. Dog isn’t that big, but today taught me that physics works in mysterious ways and small dogs can cause a large inconvenience to a human if determined to.

Phase 3: The Party Animal

After moving Dog and her damn, cute little brown eyes to an appropriate position on the bed, Operative B enters for his solo. This may be an appropriate moment to state that despite my overall state of fury-psychosis at the moment, I loyally maintain that Cat is the cutest animal to ever grace the face of the earth. Unfortunatly, he is well aware of this fact and I shall say nothing else complementary because I am too mad at him at this point in time.

It starts with a little scratch in the back of my dreams, a little scratching ‘meow’ that quickly wakes me from my sanctuary of non-pet-hindered psychology. My eyes open, I wipe away the small piece of drool that’d gracefully made its way from my mouth to my chin and let out a moan of frustration that was comparable to what I imagine a Whale sounds like when it is giving birth. I know what that little scratching ‘meow’ means. Cat has climbed on the to the roof and is outside my window, wanting me to let him in. With effort exceeding that which it took to get man onto the moon, I heave myself from bed, zombie my way over to the window and let him in. Conveniently my window is stiff, so finding the strength to open and close it in my state was comparable to something very painful I can’t think of in my current, nanna-nap deprived state. I let Cat in, go back to bed, push Dog back to her rightful spot next to my feet and close my eyes. But Cat wants to party. This is bad. When Cat wants to party, there is no amount of patting, warm milk or bad disco tune in the world that can stop him. Obviously this part is not completely ture, after all, Cat is a Cat and doesn’t tend to get down and physically boogie all that often. No, Cat’s version of party means to wander around my room, ‘meowing’ to get into cupboads and knocking things over and generally causing disruption until I go insane. It worked. The thing is, unlike all the other well known elements of Cat and Dogs plan, there is no remedy for this kind of behaviour. 1: because Cat knows that he is so heartbreakingly cute that it is impossible to get mad at him and 2: because there is no way to stop him once he hits the dance floor… so to speak.

So yeah Cat and Dog successfully executed operation: ‘No napping for Goat.’ Now, as the afternoon progresses we have hit somewhat of a stand off in our relationship. I will not give in. I must not give in. I probably will give in. But never fear, they may have won this battle, but I will not let them win the war. I am secretly trying to develop a way to take down the branch that lets Cat climb onto the roof and barricade the stairs in the house so that Dog can’t make it to my bedroom door. If it is the last thing I do, I will find a way to rescue my afternoon nap from the evil wrath of The Cutenesses.

Umm, so that’s it. The end.

Got to write only a little bit today but didn’t get a whole lot done. No uni tomorrow so I can focus on finishing chapter 8 in the morning.

Errr, so it seems like I’m now running late for work cause this took me like 2 hours to write. Again, no time to edit.

Going to try and stay awake,