Tuesday, December 25, 2007

Beach emo, the newest trend to hit this summer!

I write this blog entry to you directly from Paradise Prison.

Sure, a week-long vacation to the coast doesn't sound too bad. Sun, surf, shopping, no responsibilities... wonderful.
Sadly, it has been raining or overcast, windy, and apart from a charming main strip of shops in Caloundra, everything else is an entire highway away. Did I also mention that I am exiled here with my loud, drunken relatives who insist on associating with me wherever I go?

So I've been sitting in my bedroom with my laptop, surfing the internet and watching Little Britain. Ridiculous.

I did attempt one visit to the beach. Instantly, I was transported back to the Gold Coast holidays of my childhood.

Sure, it was fun at first. All I concentrated on was dragging my lone fluro boogie board through the foamy waves, to a point where I could zoom back out onto the shore. Repeat until the sunburns start hurting.

But at some point, I realised how lonely I really felt. Holidays aren't much fun when you don't have a sibling to play with, or far too shy to ask a friend to stay with you. They'll see my family! What's going to happen if I run out of things to say? Will they get bored?

I was reminded of a thousand things. I can't surf. I can't bodysurf. My favourite thing to do at the beach is to swim out past the breaks to the gently rising walls of water, jumping over or diving under. Here, I was safe. I wouln't feel the sharp crash of waves on me, or be swept off my feet and be dragged to shore. Blowing air out my nose, and being mortified at the contents that would come out at the same time. No one else seems to understand it. That's why I hate going to the beach with friends, who swim out across the rolling waves and don't seem bothered by it. I am. I'm a weak, slow swimmer. Come on, Ellie, hurry up! Let's catch the wave! No, let's not.

When I'd had enough of swimming, I'd sit on the sand and listen to a Punkorama CD on my bright yellow Discman. Why can't my tummy sit flat when I sit down, like all the other girls? My legs are hairy and my thighs are flabby. Everyone can see everything because pretty much all I'm wearing is Lycra underwear. Mum screeching at me to wear a hat or a shirt. I always had some ugly cap that belonged to Dad or a hideous fluro 'rashie' shirt.

Walking a significant distance away from my parents - not only because they were like oh my god, soo embarassing, but because I was afraid that strangers would see the little Asian girl with two Caucasian adults and assume all sorts of things. No, I'm not an exchange student! Dad keeping close to me in the surf, because I wasn't a strong swimmer. Embarrassment and trying the best I could to sneak away from him, because he wears Speedos. Why can't you wear board shorts like everyone else, Dad?! Making every effort to make sure the rip didn't make me bump into anybody. Falling down dizzy after a child would boogie board en into my skull.

Wishing so hard that the group of kids near me who looked around my age would just say, "Hi", and we'd be fantastic friends, and go on all sorts of adventures together while I was there. Just like in movies and books.

But nothing in the movies or books actually happens. I never made friends on holiday.

And the sand. The bloody sand that you can still find lodged behind your earlobe a week later after you've come home, in your underpants, or even worse - still in your togs the next time you go on holiday. Getting bitten by sea lice and feeling even more self conscious about my body, which was now covered in scabs. Gross.

Feeling lonely. So, so lonely.

I crave the city at the moment. I don't understand why people want to move to remote, isolated places. It is around other people and surrounded by constant stimulation when I feel the most alive.

Brb, going to slit my wrists while building a sandcastle.

Wednesday, December 19, 2007

SEX! Now that I've got your attention....

Let me set the scene for you.

It was 3am. I was lying in a strange park, alone, where my supposed friend had left me to go have sex with a stranger.

"It's 3am. Do you know where Ellie is?"
"I told you for the last time, no!"

I wish I was making this up, or it was a scene in an American frathouse comedy, where we all laugh at the girl being left behind in the park as her totally hot and popular friend gets it on with a football player and they find true love.

Since then, I've been feeling hurt, angry and a little lonely. Mainly, I've been completely disgusted with humanity in general. Myself and some other people I know have lost good, potential life-long friends... through sex, and the drama that follows it.

It's usually the "I'm really drunk" or "I'm just really horny" sort of sex. I personally don't understand that sort of thing. The times I've had sex were in relationships. There have been times where I have had the opportunity to have casual sex, but refused. I'm not comfortable enough with my body to show my nudity to many people. I also have a habit of getting a bit too attached when somebody shows interest in me.

Basically, I'd be the sort of girl who would cuddle after sex, ring them the next day and hold their hand in public. Then it would inevitably end in tears, with me sobbing "Why don't you LOVE me? WE MADE LOVE!" and him screaming "STOP CALLING ME, YOU STALKER". Yep, casual sex isn't for me.

Me: The Bunny Boiler.

But that's not really where my disgust lies. We are all human, after all. I could really care less about other people's sex lives.

My disgust lies in the way that casual sex seems to be prioritised above so many things in people's lives. As mentioned before, it has destroyed some good friendships. Nearly everybody has had that one (or two) friends who have pursued their ex, who still has a place in their world; or more seriously, the person who agrees to helping their friend’s significant other cheat.
I just don't understand how these things happen.

I was once in a relationship where due to various circumstances (mainly, both of us being completely dysfunctional), I barely saw my friends and my boyfriend was put above everything else. It wasn't healthy and I was extremely lonely. After the ex and I broke up, I methodically went to get my friends back. I was much happier. I learnt my lesson - that friends are far more important than being able to kiss a boy, any day.

And so, I thought, from the nagging I had gotten from my friends when I came back to them, I supposed that everybody else knew this as well. Everyone needs friends. Part of friendship is looking out for each other and, well, not hurting each other.

How is it okay to prioritise getting some cock over considering your friend's feelings and safety?

I'd rather go hang out with my friends than get intimate with a cock.

The aforementioned friend in my horribly ridiculous tale claimed that I spent time with my boyfriend when I should have been spending time with her. Yet, I got in trouble for not entirely supporting her when she went to go have sex with that fellow.

Has humanity really gotten to a stage where a drunken shag is deemed more significant than a healthy, long-term, romantic relationship? Have the single people vomiting upon the sight of a couple finally won out the competition of “What is the status quo”?

I'm beginning to feel like a freak. We’re told to “have fun” because we’re young so we’d better go out, get paralytic-drunk, take lots of drugs and go have sex with everybody. Because we only live once, and live fast die young, etc.

I don't see the appeal in that lifestyle. Moreover, I feel like what I believe in is right, in some vague universal way. But at this moment, in this generation and while I’m at this age, it’s not.

But I’m sure that as ambiguous as moral values are now, it’s still wrong to leave your friend alone, just so you can go be young and have the drunken, sexualised mess that constitutes as “fun”.

Sunday, December 9, 2007


As I sat here on my laptop, nerding away, I was suddenly struck by the desire for a fruity, alcoholic refreshment. A margarita seemed to satisfy this craving, so off I popped downstairs to put my new found bar skills to the test.
Traditional margaritas are made up of the following:

(according to the book Retro Cocktails)

2 parts tequila
1 part Cointreau or triple sec
1/2 freshly squeezed lime juice.

Shake with ice and strain. Rim the glass with salt. Easy, right?

Not for my liquor deprived household. My parents are predominantly beer, wine, and scotch-on-the-rocks drinkers. I either drink when I'm out or at other people's houses, so my liquor stash is very minimal. It consists of a bottle of blue label Smirnoff, Jose Cuervo tequila and a horrible honey flavoured vodka.

We do not own a cocktail shaker. We do not own standard shot glasses. We do not have Cointreau or triple sec and Mum had used the last lime to cook!

I ran around the house grabbing things that could be useful. I had to make do with what looks like the love child between a wine glass and a cocktail glass, a double shot glass and a bunch of glasses to make do as a cocktail shaker. I grabbed a bottle of Jose Cuervo's finest, a lemon, orange juice, Cotttees lime cordial and a bottle of Jose Cuervo margarita mix Dad had gotten for Christmas a few years ago.

This man is responsible for many a drunken night. We salute you, Senor Cuervo!

I poured in the ice, tequila, the margarita mix, squeezed the lemon (I suppose it was a bit rich to expect that we owned a fruit muddler) and splashed in some lime cordial over ice. I squeezed a big glass over the thinner one.
"Brilliant," thought I, and began to shake.
I then discovered that there was a particular reason why cocktail shakers were invented, and that was to stop the contents from splashing out all over the floor in a sticky, tequila-y mess.

Nevermind. I tried again, this time mashing everything around with a wooden spoon. I am so professional.



instead of this:

I poured the contents into the weird glass over more ice and filled the rest with orange juice.
It tastes like a sweeter, fruitier version of a real margarita. It's weaker, of course, without the Cointreau/triple sec, and I only used one shot of tequila (hey, I'm only at home, after all. And tequila is precious).

Dan said it's a girlyrita. I prefer to call her Rita.

And there you have it. The story of how an amateur bartender made a pretty nice drink out of minimal household objects.

Note to self: Buy a cocktail shaker next time.

Thursday, December 6, 2007

I recently quit the newsagency to work at the bar. To celebrate this milestone, I found a retail rant in my old livejournal. I shall repost it here in its slightly edited glory.


1. Meeting and Greeting

- Make sure to ignore all social niceties displayed by shop assistant. It is preferable to make eye contact for long periods of time to give the impression of boring your eyes into their soul. Grunting is a great way of communicating too! If anyone doesn't understand it, they are clearly stupid or foreign.

- How DARE that shop assistant say hello to you when you're looking at something! They usually ask devious things like, "Hello, how are you? Can I help you with anything?" but they really just want to sell things to you. Selling things, in a store! How perfectly horrible. To fend off such barbaric approaches, it's best to screech, "I'm just LOOKING" before they can launch their evil plan.

- Plastic bags are destroying the environment! It makes Greenhouse Effect stronger and the whales explode and Nazis take over the world. If a shop assistant is offering you a plastic bag, you must realise that they are actually offering the destruction of the natural world. Not to mention fascism.
This is why a suitable greeting is screaming hysterically upon first sight, "I DON'T WANT A BAG!!!!"

- It's a good idea to pick whatever it is you want to buy when the shop assistant serves you. They really don't mind when you stare straight ahead with your mouth open and say, "Uuuhhhh" for a few minutes while you're thinking.

2. The Transaction

- Throw or thrust your purchases at the shop assistant. After all, you are the Customer. You are being served by an absolute scum of nature. It is advisable to think of the shop assistant as a form of vending machine - cold, mechanical, devoid of human emotions and social contact. They are your bitch. Thrust away.

- Make sure to pay for EVERYTHING separately and sound disgusted at the very thought of all your purchases being efficiently put through as one transaction. Also, after you have made your purchase, randomly find something nearby that you want to buy too. Repeat several times.

- After waiting patiently for the shop assistant to process your transaction, randomly offer the remaining change of your purchase. This apparently makes the shop assistant's job easier, but we all know that all it does it make sure your wallet is a bit lighter.

- If the register decides to freeze randomly and the EFTPOS machine isn't working, you must always remember that it is not because the register computer is old and the EFTPOS machine won't accept your credit card with a bite taken out of it. It is definitely the shop assistant's fault because they are obviously making the machines break down out of pure spite. Accusing glares and impatient sighs are recommended.

- Assume the shop assistant is a mind reader. When they ask, "Is that all for today?" and you have not mentioned that you would also like a pack of ciggies and a $5 Instant Scratchie, they are obviously inept at reading your mind, which is a virtue that shop assistants should not lack. You have every right to be angry that they cannot read your mind, so feel free to be abuse them. A disdainful, "Uh, NO" is most suitable.

- This is a good time as any other to get rid of unwanted change. All those 10c and 5c coins that have been accumlating in your wallet for the last few years should be used to pay for a $10 purchase right here and right now. Even if you have been waiting in line for a long time, do not use this time to actually count the coins. This is where the shop assistant comes in. Dump the coins all over the counter and say, "I THINK it's $10, but count it for me." This works well especially when the shop assistant is the only person at the register and there are 8 other impatient people lined up.

- If the shop assistant so much as hands you 5c less change than what they're supposed to give you, go absolutely ballistic. After all, they are trying to rip you off. What if you were abducted by Communists, tied up and left hanging by a rope over a pit of poison-tipped shards of glass and forced to watch "Norbit" on repeat for the rest of your life, and the only way they would let you go is if you gave them 5c?
They are obviously part of a secret communist conspiracy. Ignore any apologies and attempts to ratify the situation. After you have flown into a rage and righted this severe injustice, disgusted sighs should signal your departure.

3. Socialising

- Respond to everything the shop assistant says with your life story.
SA (shop assistant): "Would you like a bag for those?"
You: "Yes, I have to go to Woolworths later, I completely forgot to buy a leg of ham and I have a dinner party today where my relatives from Melbourne are visiting..."
SA: *brains leak out ears*

- Tell the shop assistant hilarious jokes.
You: I would like a lotto ticket.
SA: Sure, which one?
You: The winning one. HA HA HA HA HA HA! *slaps knee* I bet you get that all the time.
SA: Trust me, sir, I do.

- Ask the shop assistant if a certain item is in stock. eg. "Do you stock any butt plugs?"
If it isn't, describe the item in great patronising detail. "You know, they're plugs, about this big, and you insert them into your rectum?"
When the shop assistant says no, keep asking. "But do you have them? DO YOU?!!"
All stores also have a tendency to hide any product you actually want in the mystical realm of Out the Back. Make sure you ask them if it's there. Oh yeah, and all shop assistants are lying when they say no. You'd better ask their boss as well.
Then compare them to another store to make them feel guilty. "Well they sell them in the Butt Plug store, I just THOUGHT you'd sell them HERE!" Shop assistants care so much about your purchasing habits that this deeply offends them. Teenage part time workers have taken to sobbing into their pillows late at night over things like this.
Continue to ask them if they stock the item. Unless your excessive questioning causes the item to magically appear, walk off in a disgruntled huff.

- When your child is throwing itself on the ground, screaming, it is definitely a good time to take them into a shop. Make sure to buy them lollies. Sometimes it's best to buy them a big chocolate icecream or milkshake beforehand. Melted icecream handprints on the displays? Spilt milkshake? Psst, who cares. The shop assistants have to get paid for doing something!


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