a fish-flavoured surprise

This weekend's footy groups were a little better than last. Well, I still have tomorrow morning to cope with, but hopefully they'll check out reasonably early or be so knackered that they can't be much trouble (I can hope). Live goldfish were swallowed, and the one English guy on the team (moved to Bendigo from Manchester) got incredibly soppy-drunk at me, but that's all the damage to date.

I guess the effect that alcohol has on a person has a cultural, or at least personality, component, but good lord, that English guy (whose name I don't even remember, therefore can't hide) reminded me so much of this freaking guy when he got drunk, a completely different specimen to the rowdy Aussie boys. He was actually a decent guy, and had made me think earlier in the day about the difference between a nice guy getting drunk and a person who was already a dickhead getting drunk. He complimented me for how I handled the group, and came by the desk a few times to tell me that he thought I was pretty and so forth. When all the other guys ended up going out, he stayed behind because he was so tired and couldn't hack their company (biggest mark of honour among footy groups, apart from swallowing fish and crapping unconventional places, it seems: not sleeping the entire weekend.) But then. BUT THEN. As his voice got more and more mumbly and slurred, he just turned into.... mush! He proposed that I join him in his room for a bit of fun, and when I declined, he got all mopey and philosophical about it. I didn't want to hook up with a drunk guy in a hostel room while I was 1. on shift and 2. in a relationship? Clearly, this was a deep insight into how I was a conformist who secretly wanted to break free!

"It's like, shho hard, innit. So hard. I can see you're like, how do I shhhay thiss, wiv'out offending you, you're like, you feel like you have to conform to what people think of you, you like to have everyfing planned... don't you just want to go nuts, eh? Lose control? I think you just need to give up control for once, just do someving a bit crazy, yeah but it's so hard innit... I can see in your eyes you wanna do it wiv me but you just feel you can't, it's so hard, so hard for us, innit... you got such beautiful eyes, you're shhho beautiful, I just wanna give you a bit of a cuddle and a kiss eh, why don't you come into my room..."

He would kind of drift off mumbling for long stretches of time, and I couldn't really understand what he was saying. There was one morose tangent that I caught when he was slumped on the other side of the counter about how he was just one more drunk guy for me, I must have heard things like this before and just let it wash over me, I'd put up with it at work and then just go home and laugh it off and never seriously think about it. Which: well, he wasn't wrong. And how could he distinguish himself, how could he let me know that we could be something really special, that he wasn't just another drunk guy? Answer: he couldn't?

Then I started feeling a bit bad, because I had enjoyed his company earlier in the day, I could believe that, sure, there would be more to him when he wasn't drunk. But: I had known him for one day. That one day, he was smashed. What could he expect? He was begging me to tell him what I thought of him, and I said I guessed he was a nice guy, and he was like wahhh is that all. I reminded him (not for the first time) that I didn't really know him and that he could be a totally excellent guy for all I knew. "Oh you're so honest, that's what I love about you. You're just such an honest girl. It's just so hard for our situation, innit, so hard for me sitting here at this bar wiv you just thinking that I'm some drunk lad like all the others, but at least you're honest eh, so honest."

Anyway, just like it was in reality, recounting this has gone from amusing to tiresome. The last I saw of him was after I came into reception to see him leaning over the counter, lips pursed. "Just give us a kiss, eh?" he asked, and I have no idea why he thought the answer would be any different than it was to any of his previous suggestions. Then, he kind of wouldn't shut up: "Come on, why not? Just a little kiss, eh? Just gi'us a kiss!" he whined. I sort of snapped at him that he was crossing the line and needed to tone it down. Then he stumbled off (hopefully to sleep) and we shall see tomorrow whether his devotion can last two days.

Anyway. So that we don't have an entire entry about that guy... I'm also:

- Loving Songs for Silverman, the Ben Folds CD I bought the other day. Actually cried at that Gracie song, much to DW's disgust when he learnt that it wasn't even 'that time'.

- 'Dog-sitting' for my aunties over the weekend, for their naughty brown short-haired pointer who's all like 'rrowwr. love me.'

- Relieved that my research assignment is due one week later than I originally thought it was. That means I was extra-virtuous spending those holiday afternoons at uni. I've probably negated whatever effect that had by proceeding to ignore it as soon as I found out the 'real' due date, but... I'll get back into it tomorrow.

- Really into cereal at the moment. Did you know you can eat it any time of day, not just for breakfast? Yeah, I knew it too, but I didn't really know it in an intimate sense until recently.

- Hoping that nobody enters my aunts' house before I do and sees the dim bedroom with messy sexed-in bed. They shouldn't, but... well, they better not.

- Happy that there are multiple episodes of Seinfeld screening on the new channel 'Go' each day. What can I say, I'm easily pleased.

--khere is always the first one to leave the shower.

The Boys and Girls Are Not Alone

My frugality streak was broken over the last few days - but, now I have new and super underwear*, a slightly more groomed appearance, some nice summery tops and four (4!) new CDs. I never buy CDs, except, I guess, when I do. I feel that I am special and entitled to illegal free downloads, but apparently my computer firewall doesn't agree. Hence: Ben Folds, The Clash, Sarah Blasko and The Flaming Lips, in real-CD form.

*TMI: Not a big G-string fan. They seem only good for dressing sexy, and who feels sexy when they have an unhygienic strip of material wedged between their ass cheeks? Not me, obviously. But these 'lacy boylegs' are another story. Just so you know.

Between Aldinga, Goolwa and nights spent with DW, this is one of the first evenings I've spent in my own house for a while. Aldinga was good as always - there's a lovely carefree feeling that emanates from the dusty almost-finished shack, and reminds me why it's worth driving down to the coast even if I can only spend one night there. We played drinking games and Wii sports and something called 'Articulate' which my partner and I rocked at. Apparently she had a massive tanty the second night when she couldn't be in a team with her boyfriend, so... kinda glad I missed that. My other good friend has an aunt and uncle who designed and built a fancy place in Goolwa, so over the weekend we spent two nights there as well. Yay for friends with beach houses!

DW has kind of moved out of home for six weeks while house sitting for his Opa, and has said he's not sure how he'll adjust to moving back in with his parents. He's starting to look at buying property which is kind of exciting. If he bought a house, he'd probably have me and one of his friends move in... money matters aside, I'd be quite keen to do that. Even though it seems like the benefits of moving out with him would be somewhat negated by having one of his mates living there too, it seems somehow a better move to do that than to move somewhere just the two of us... a smaller step, maybe? I wonder whether it would generally be better to be part of a couple living with another person, or be the person living with the couple... Anyway, nothing's a reality yet. And let's not delve too far into the hypotheticals - my teaching-overseas mental adventure combined with sugar-pill week left me feeling quite strange and disconnected a few weeks ago. Perhaps appropriately, I've started reading 'The Power of Now'... that whole spiritual deal isn't usually my thing, but I figured I'd give it a chance.

Bah, uni. I've decided to try to stop "multi-tasking", a.k.a. clicking onto facebook every time I get bored or stuck with uni work. Study time will be for study. Fun time will be for fun, not for procrastination-marred-with-guilt. *Nods*. *Sighs*. Gah, I wanted to get so much done in the holidays, and they're ALMOST OVER! Only one more free (as in: assignment) day before I have work, then I'll have Sunday free, and that's it. True, I have had a real break with the beach and all, but it's depressing that that should cost me, when this is supposed to be a semester break after all. Never mind.

Oh, and as for work, let me note for future reference: FOOTY GROUPS ARE DISGUSTING. As if general rowdiness and body odour and slurred leery remarks and spilled drinks and off-set fire alarms aren't enough, they have to go and use the whole world as their personal toilet. Pissing on the roof and off the balcony onto the street, crapping on the bathroom floor and in the urinal and on the balcony - what the fuck is wrong with these people? Ugh! I'm really starting to question my manager's sanity when he cheerfully rattles off a business comparison between our hostel and our former 'sister' hostel - we make the same amount of money putting up the price for louts over three nights as they do for having a cheap long-term weekly rate! Go us! Really? The difference is we have to deal with all that shit on the weekends, no pun intended, pay for a security guard and extra night-watch staff, and probably deter other guests away from our premises, then are dead quiet for the next three or four days and pay for someone to take extended smoke breaks, browse the net or sit on the couch watching TV with the guests. While they, I assume, have fairly steady days and rooms full of international students who presumably don't smash things and vomit and evacuate their bowels on the balcony and compel the police to visit following public complaints. So, yeah dude, you tell me who has the better business plan there.

(Although, I guess I can't lie, I did thoroughly enjoy hearing of the phone exchange between my Chinese co-worker and manager:

CC: There's a shit on the balcony!

M: A what?

CC: A shiit!

M: I didn't see any linen out there?

CC: No! No linen, a shiiiit!

M: Huh? Put it back on the shelf, then!

CC: A shit! Somebody squat and make a shit!

Bahah.

- khere will not be stripping for your entertainment.

Big Plans

For some reason my recent thoughts have tended towards expansive life-planning. To be more specific, I have become somewhat obsessed with researching stuff to do with teaching english overseas.

Funnily enough, when I mentioned it to DW a few days ago, he actually took it somewhat seriously, despite my protests that it wasn't a real plan or anything. Not that he particularly liked the idea, as it would presumably involve being separated from him... but he didn't dismiss it as a ridiculous hypothetical or anything. And that kind of made it feel a little more like a, well, real plan. Heh. His bad!

Of course, ridiculous or not, it is a hypothetical. A dream in subjunctive II. If it were to happen, it wouldn't be until I completed my arts degree, in another two years or so.

(Two years?! I want to be on a plane to Seoul now!)

Ahem. So yeah, based on my vague understanding of the curriculum structure, I'd finish my arts degree with maybe two or three semesters of 'straight law' left before I finished my law degree as well. It wouldn't be unthinkable to work and live overseas for a year, maybe save a bit of money, then return to Adelaide to finish the tough end of the law degree while (here's where it gets fuzzier) ideally getting some law-relevant experience (assuming I wouldn't go back to work at the hostel, it would be a good chance to look for a part-time clerkship, or some reception/admin work at a law firm or something) and (now we're getting even more subjunctive) if I were still with DW (pause for effect, because in my imagination I undeniably am, and maybe I do just want to possess my cake and eat it too) he would likely have his own place by then, and I could move in with him, and life would be a soft-focus picture.

Then I would have maybe had enough frittering around the world for a little while, and the real career stuff would start, and we'd have babies and lalalah.

Ok! So there's my life, right? It scares me a little writing nakedly what I want to happen, and yes, my naked mind contains lots of parenthicals. It scares me because I don't want to look back and go, I was so naive/idealistic/full of it/how sad that it all ended in tragedy/how stupid that I thought I would be so lucky.

It's that part that I wrote in a few words - 'work and live overseas' - that I have been thinking about to the point of saturation. You know, when the amount you think about something is just so disproportional to the amount that it needs to be thought about, that the daydream becomes a liquid you can't dissolve anything more thought-matter into, it's... saturated. Incidentially, the last time I felt like that was when I was obsessing over DW before meeting him 'in real life'. There was only so much I could think about a guy who I had never 'met', and there's only so much I can plan for something that would not happen for another two years.

Wouldn't it be awesome if DW came too? Two English teachers keeping each other sane in a foreign land? Unfortunately that does start to veer within the realm of the actually-not-going-to-happen because DW's interest in foreign living, children and language teaching approaches Nil, whereas his interest in having a job in his field of choice and settling in Adelaide approaches High. It would be so cool to talk it over with him though if we were both going, plan it together... pick a country. My thoughts at the moment:

South Korea: Kind of have a gut feeling about wanting to go here, although rationally it might not be the best, because it seems kind of hit-and-miss. Stupid reasons for wanting to go there: I like their alphabet, and am well-liked among the Koreans at work (apparently the girls refer to me as an angel! hahah). Better reasons: apparently it's the best country for earnings as relative to the cost of living, they seem to have four seasons and pretty mountains, and there's a lot of online information for expats. Possible reasons to avoid: unscrupulous Hagwon owners, bad attitudes among foreigners living there, somewhat more insular society. Expensive to go and live there while sussing out a school for yourself, but risky to get a job somewhere you don't know much about.

Taiwan: Apparently you can go here on a holiday visa and switch to a working visa while in the country, which seems quite good. And, Australia even has working holiday visas here? Not sure about that, but it seems easier in a practical sense, like you could come here and look for a job yourself pretty easily. Would probably be my second 'gut' choice, only below Korea because I dunno, Korea somehow appeals to me more than the China-America humid industrial mix that I perceive Taiwan to be.

Japan: High cost of living. More competition for jobs. Probably a nicer and more hospitable culture, though. Probably wouldn't do unless I decided to be a bit more serious about it and apply for JET or something.

China: Eh... it's been a bit 'done', with my aunt teaching at an international school in China now. Still, connections... although she probably wouldn't be there in two years (two years! sigh).

Cambodia/Thailand: I'm sure there's plenty of differences between these places, but they've both been equally peripheral in my online travels. I wouldn't disregard them, but they seem more party places than places to earn money. Nothing wrong with party places, but I'd probably rather visit for a holiday than live there for a job.

Eastern Europe: Interests me, although I don't know a lot about it (yay, more to research!). Puts me off a bit for being less safe than much of Asia.

South America: A bit put off by the macho culture and higher crime... again, appeals to me for travelling more than living.

Middle East: Supposedly the best money, but nah.

Well, I'd better retire to bed so that I can get up early for the hostel. I really need to start focusing on the realities of life i.e. my legal research assignment, too. But hopefully typing out these ruminations will mean that I don't have to deal with them skipping around in my brain as I lie in bed or peruse a legal encycopedia.

-khere might try some kimchee before getting too ahead of herself

Read, see, do

It's the 'coming together of biology and biography' which fascinates him, and its that fusion that he translates so well into books. I'm loving Oliver Sacks at the moment. Recently I finished Seeing Voices, and many times I had the urge to throw the paperback at people, gibbering that they just have to read it, have to know about this or this. I've got a bookmark in Awakenings (one of his most acclaimed, but so far not quite as profoundly interesting as Seeing Voices or The Man Who Mistook His Wife For a Hat) and Musicophilia is sitting on my desk after I picked it up from the library holds desk today. Although I've seen some criticism of his heavily footnoted writing style, it's this which is one of my favourite things about him. His writing and people don't exist in stand-alone little capsules, but are always connected to informational asides, commentary, reflection, counter-theories, a place in time. You get the feeling there could always be more - that he wants to keep going, 'which reminds me!' and 'by the way, another interesting thing about that is -'

On the fiction side of things is Lionel Shriver. I read We Need to Talk About Kevin in greedy gulps. Once I'd finished it, though, I didn't have much desire to dwell on the text itself, although I did immediately jump to read reviews and online discussion. While I didn't find The Post-Birthday World as immediately absorbing, after a few chapters in I started really enjoying it. It was more indulgent than Kevin, I felt, not as meticulously edited, more like Shriver was just enjoying herself writing it. Perhaps because it was so lengthy, by the time I finished I could hardly believe there wasn't any more to read - I had grown quite fond of the characters and read the final chapter twice before eventually setting it aside. I felt like I should be able to google 'where are they now' or something. Oh, and Lawrence? Not completely unlike DW, I have to say.

I've got just two nights left of that chilled first-half-of-the-semester feeling, I think - on Friday I'll have a take-home exam and research assignment, sigh. BUT I have some good news under my belt already... 90 HD for client interview! Was so stoked. Am so stoked - not just the mark, but for what it's for. Yaaay.

What else has been going down? Life has been pretty chilled, with cold rainy nights meaning nobody's been too up for big nights out in town. There was the Royal Show, with plentiful free food and wine - well, the wine wasn't plentiful, but it was free. Leaving town in H's Datsun, squeezed next to a tyre in the back seat. Sustainaball, with op shop clothes and Bollywood dancers and catching up with some less frequently-seen friends. Our friend the 'councillor', a denouncer of all things fair trade won the prize hamper, hahah. There were some nice days out with the girl friends - markets and boat rides at Port Adelaide, seeing the movie 'Adam' in town. I've watched DW and the boys play indoor soccer and get beaten, and had those nice post-game car chats and sweaty-haired kisses.

There are a few things to write about and to ponder that may not be as fluffy and nice, but maybe I'll save that for another day. I like ending on kisses (again).

--khere is a blurry photograph of your favourite night.

Winter Run

Running with pink knees and wet hair stuck to my face, pounding around the curve of grey gravel. An simple painter's easel: grey sky, grey rain, blue wet-speckled clothes and green to fill in the gaps. Nobody around but me and the rain. Rain pelts down but my skin is numb to it, and the wind sweeps the water from the puddles in my direction. Streak those colours, sweep some bristles sideways over the picture, rough it up.

Plus:

A hot bath, no bubbles.

= natural high.

Little Red Corvette

The carpet of the bedroom floor underneath our bodies. Cuddling under his warm skin for a few minutes longer before the cool air forces us to sit up, to cover ourselves or dress.

We lie on top of the covers, rather than underneath - he doesn't like his bed to be all messed up once I leave and he goes to sleep. The sleeping bag he keeps for extra warmth is an innocuous item, but one that saves us. For I like to snuggle under the weight of blankets, my feet get cold, and besides, what kind of mean boyfriend won't let his girlfriend in his bed? We would lie in bed under the covers when we were a newer couple - what, now you take me for granted, so much so that you can expect I will come here and pleasure you (such nice words, but said as if they taste bitter, dirty) and then not even want me to lie in your bed for a while? That was one of our only fights, and I fancied that his reluctance to peel back the covers was a symptom for something more significant. I made it clear that I could disregard his preferences and mess up his bed if I wanted to, but I wouldn't because I understood that everybody had their little quirks and you abided by them because you loved them. But I let him know that HE ONLY HAD, LIKE, TEN POINTS OF IRRITATING QUIRKINESS TO USE UP AND THIS COVERS THING WAS LIKE, EIGHT POINTS. Next time I came over, he had the sleeping bag at the ready. Turns out it wasn't a symptom of anything. Now I enjoy snuggling with warm feet and feel affectionate about both his 'quirk' and his ever-practical solution.

He sometimes picks me up from work at night in town, even when it's not on his way at all, so can spend some time with me.
He gropes me when I'm driving.
I think the two are connected.

He talks about concrete and physical matters, like anecdotes from his day, things that have happened or will happen. Or else he starts bantering, silly back-forth exchanges as if the two of us exist nowhere but the present, which is nothing-talk and at the same time everything-talk. In contrast, sometimes I bring up abstract ideas, hypotheticals, analysis of feelings, theories about other people. When I do that, I can become self-conscious of feeling like I'm just talking out loud without engaging him. But often, weeks or months later, I'll hear phrases that I've crafted, my own theories and analyses, spoken as fact from his mouth.

He came to a family gathering a few weeks ago with a bloody scratch on the side of his nose, and told people wryly that he'd got in the way of a shovel when helping his dad with something. Later he mentioned to me that his dog had actually bitten him. When I was baffled as to why he would lie, he chuckled and said, "I just wanted to see how long I could keep it up before somebody realised that my story didn't really make sense!"
"...You're right, you exposed my family for their... lack of detective-level interrogation? Willingness to take you at face value?"
"Ok, fine."
"Boy, did you show them!" I started laughing.
"Shut up."
"They'll be soooo embarrassed when they realised!"
He started wrestling me with a couch cushion. I won that one.

He thinks he'll be such a good catch 'when he's thirty' and all the women are starting to turn away from the party boys and want someone with financial security who can actually look after them. And they'll be like, late twenties and starting to be a bit paranoid about losing their looks, and the biological clocks will be ticking. And maybe by then he'll be able to play the 'dad card' to endear himself even more to these sporty single ladies... Equal parts horrified (who mothered his kid, then? Where is she *cough* I in this scene?) and amused because I'm sure he's not wrong. When I went to say the above in protest it suddenly felt forward to presume myself the mother of his fantasy child, and instead came out just, "Where am I then?"
"Hopefully right by my side," he said, looking over from the passenger seat and smiling. And now it was he who was being the forward one, and I was a little taken aback. "Well, where do you see yourself in five years?" he said. "Am I there?"
"I guess so," I said.
"You say that with some trepidation!"
But it wasn't trepidation, it was more like a numbness at the bigness and greatness of it, to hear it, however tentatively, put into words.

He hugs other guys and finds it funny to pretend to be gay. He mouths the words to 'Little Red Corvette.'

God I love that dude.

That's What He Said.

Restless. Not sure why. After a busy few days of working and socialising, and with a barbeque to look forward to tonight, in theory I’m glad to have time to relax at home by myself for a few hours and get some studying done. Unfortunately the theory doesn’t correlate with reality, which has me skimming pages, snacking compulsively and watching the clock, glad when enough time has passed that I can do something like prepare lunch or message DW. Possible reasons for my unrest include:

- Windy day. What was that kid’s novel explaining why stuff went crazy on windy days?

- Too much tea. The ‘alert yet relaxed’ state advertised on the box was leapt over a few cups ago.

- Failure of internet connection. Let me procrastinate how I see fit, damnit!

- A feeling I need to say something to stabilise things with a good friend – there’s not a problem between us as such, but an undefined grey area which needs to be brought into focus.

- A slight wistfulness that I don’t feel like I’ve really spoken properly to DW for some time.

- I sort of felt all morning like going for a walk/run, but didn’t for lame reasons (don’t like running when I first get up, didn’t want to shower again, needed to study). Now I’m all unexercised and blah.

- Whenever I venture to crack open the pages of my property law textbook, it radiates some sort of invisible, odourless cloud that induces me into a stupor of boredom. Could you study in the face of that mysterious force?


UPDATE: The latter part of my day included noodle salad, a hilarious little dog that went into 'freeze' mode when its eyes were covered, friends and affection and plain old kissing. Man, kissing when you want to kiss is really good.

-- khere is a funky fix for guys and chicks.