Fun with Mirrors

So that's who I am!

Campbell: So how's Alv?
Mush: Hmm? He's fine, I asked him to go rollerblading on the weekend.
Campbell: Do the two of you think that you're Brandon and Kelly from 90210?
Mush: Ahahahaha.. that's exactly who we are!
Campbell: oO I am so embarrassed for you.
Mush: Don't be! I'm not.

[I'm so glad she didn't peg me as Donna..]

Beyonce's Why don't you love me?

Tell me Baby why don't you love me? When I make me so damn easy to love.

Oh, Beyonce. No worries, I love you and I am in love with this song and I pledge my soul to the sheer awesomeness of this videoclip.

The cinematography - and well done on the editing.
Such a funny satirical take on gender roles
Beyonce blowing smoke out her nose
She's constantly spilling her vodka out of her highball when she's gesturing! Little details.
Trying to fix the car, giving up and going back inside. All done with a little kneeflip.
If the video is in chronological order, she's just continuously hanging up on him and throwing the phone down!
The costuming.. mmm.. she looks amazing.
And the song.. oh, the song.. Takes what could possibly be a pathetic song sung by anyone else and just fills it with anger and pathos. [Please if there is a God, you'll have Beth Ditto cover it. Just once. Thank you.]

You can't see me but I've perfected that little back shimmy as well. It's a signature dance move in the making.

[By the way, that is totally my post-outing Friday night look, mascara running everywhere, yelling down the phone, highball in hand slumped on the floor. No-one else does that? ok.]

Boys on the Dance Floor

Long post ahead! Deep breath and all that.

So MD had heard what a stopper of a night Campbell and I had had some time ago at the Retro Hotel, so she demanded to be taken. [Mexicana also wants in at some point, what do I look like some sort of Retro Hotel tour guide??]

Well it was another stopper of a night. I'll give you that.

You know what? I wasn't really feeling v attractive that night so any male attention that night was.. to put it mildly a surprise. Why is it that when I want attention I never get it and vice versa? I was fully expecting just to get my dance on.

Of course I should have been alerted to hijinks aplenty when some guy grabs my elbow at the bar and says "Hey, can I talk to you?.. oh you're coming back right? Tell me you're coming back. We'll have plenty of time to talk later". He just had an entire conversation by himself and answered his own question. What the heck.

So I'm getting into it and ignoring the purple shirted guy with the monobrow, and the other one with the electronic belt ["rub me." no.] when these two guys come up and start dancing with us.

The one on my end was kinda cute. The one on MD's end was somewhat older.
He very nicely says [as nice you can in a very loud club] "Hi, my name is Jacky! This is my boss."
Ahahaha.. uhm. What can I do but wave at his boss?

He smiled at me and he seemed very sweet but I do not think that he had any idea what he was doing. He kept dancing up close... but they were entirely the wrong songs to be trying to get down on.

Firstly, it was.. Wannabe by the Spice Girls.
Secondly, Man, I feel like a woman by Shania Twain.
Thirdly. Dr Jones by Aqua.

By the time I got to Dr Jones, I was starting to feel a little surreal. Is this happening? Am I being sexydanced to Aqua? This has to be a first in world history. And when I say he didn't know what he was doing, you know how when guys are sure of themselves and they just put their hand on your waist? Uh, he kept alternating hands. So he kept switching left hand, left hip, right hand, right hip. It was the adult version of the hokey pokey.

At some point he leaned in and said "That's my boss! and he said he would fire me if I didn't dance with you!"
.... what. I just kind of looked at him. That's not very fucking flattering!
But he just beamed at me and I didn't know whether I should pat him on the head, facepalm him or facepalm myself. Oh, hey it's P-P-Poker Face! I shall instead dance madly to this song and do none of those things.

Eventually he asked to go somewhere quieter and I acquiesed [Woo, the isolation move. Recognise.] And I sat outside with him on the couches.
Mush: Okay, it's nice to meet you. Sorry, how old are you?
Jacky: I'm twenty two! How old are you?
Mush: I'm just a bit older than you [and I was in school when you were born.. oh my God]
Jacky: This is my first time clubbing!
Mush: .. it's your.. what.. uhmmm.. ahhh... [ok Buddha will completely smite me for even contemplating corrupting that kind of innocence. There is just no way. Ever.]

So I talked to him for a little while longer, and he was a very nice kid. When he left to go home, he gave me a kiss on the cheek [an actual kiss on the cheek, not all this airkissing that we crazy phony sydneysiders do] and I was for a moment, quietly charmed. I hope he never grows out of kissing girls on the cheek.

---

After that I was thoroughly sick of the Retro and wanted to move it back to somewhere that felt a bit cleaner.. Well Bungalow it was. I heaved a huge sigh of relief once I got there, so familiar and so clean.. and so frigging packed? Who are all these people and isn't it two o clock in the morning? People, go home! At Bungalow, we met a boy named Jonathan and he decided to join us on our adventures.
[Campbell interrupts me at this point and says I have to stop letting people join me on adventures because I'm making a bad habit of it. I think she's half kidding/]

--

Onto Cargo! And I'm tearing up the dance floor when Pseudo Mekhi Phifer approaches me.
Yeah, he looked like that, except he had a shirt on. And he wasn't pulling that face. And he wasn't spinning a basketball. Oh, FFS, go watch E.R, or 8 Mile or the Boy is Mine video and you'll know what I'm talking about.

PMP: Hullo.
Mush: Hullo.
PMP: I know you think I'm ugly and that's why you won't dance me

WHAT. What kind of line is that?? My head exploded from.. the false humility. No-one has ever called Mekhi Phifer ugly [and possibly no-one ever will]. And looking at the way Pseudo Mekhi Phifer was carrying himself, I called bullshit. Really, I have no time for bullshit. The Killers are playing and I wanna dance.

So I said the first thing that came into my head.

Mush: That's your pickup line?? Uhm, you know you're cute.
And then PMP rears on me.
PMP: Come back to me when you have a comeback that's less mediocre.

Even now when I think about it, I'm completely furious. What's mediocre?! Crappy pick up lines will get crappy responses! And if you want to dance with Oscar Wilde, I suggest you head to the sunny shores of France and dig him up! Mediocre! Fuck off!

Anyway I was furious. And Jonathan was fanning me off because I was morphing into the Hulk. The Edward Norton version of course.

At some point, PMP went to MD and asked why I was mad. He also congratulated Jonathan on his pimping skills [breathe in. breathe out.] and before I left he draped himself on me.

PMP: I won't chase you but you know you're sexy.

I undraped him and walked off but you know I'll be on my deathbed and be all "I don't regret anything I've ever done except that one time I didn't helicopter kick that asshole in the head. "

---

At the end of the night, I'd had fun and I punched my number into Jonathan's phone. He seemed like a genuinely nice guy and nice guys are hard to find..[haha, they sure are] Whoops, I forgot to put my photo in as profile so I hit the M button and I saw Mystic Meg's name. The heck. How many Mystic Megs can there be in the Sydney area?!

Mush: Jonathan, This Mystic Meg is not *my* Mystic Meg right?
Jonathan: The Mystic Meg on my phone is my ex-girlfriend.
Mush: What? No way! What a coincidence! Holy shit! What are the chances? Hey, wait are you a good ex-boyfriend or a douche one?
Jonathan: A good one.

---

The next morning.

Mush: Hey babes! I met your ex-boyfriend last night! We hung out last night and everything. What a coincidence!
MM: Which one?
Mush: Jonathan
MM: That guy ruined my life and devastated my heart. *starts to cry
Mush: What. what. what.
MM: [Starts to detail all the crazy shit he's done] and then, look babes I don't know what to say if you want to date him.
Mush: WHOA. I don't want to date him! Are you crazy? This is crazy! I just wanted to say that I met him!
MM: If you want to get close to him, you just be careful
Mush: Uh, thank you for the tip but I don't .. what is going on HERE?

And that was my night. How to sum up? How about this:

How do you make God laugh? You make a plan.

Well that night certainly didn't up where I thought it was going to end.

Too Picky

Two weeks ago.

Disco Stu: So what do you look for in a guy? *looks around bar to the men running around in togas
Mush: oh you know the requisite smart, kind and funny.. and..
DS: And?
Mush: And he has to be able to do the New York Times crossword puzzle and a one handed gutter push up
DS: *Starts to laugh. I don't know how to wing you.
DS's Sister: Wait. So they have to be able to do the entire crossword or can they like say.. finish 90%?
Mush: Well.. I'll say .. 75%. I'd be happy if they could do 75%.
DS's Sister: And do they have to be able to do a one-handed gutter push up straight away? or can they.. work towards it?
Mush:........ straight away..?
DS: Minimum?
Mush: 5? er.. 3?
DS and DS's Sister both grin at me
Mush: What? Too picky?
DS: A little.


Two weeks later

I almost crash into the back of a Barina who stopped in the middle of the road to change lanes [! What. Right.] I swerve around him and see a [fine, he was cute] Asian boy hunched over his steering wheel. Oh God. Way to go to help the stereotype out there buddy.

I message DS :

Ok her highness has added another criterion to her list besides the crossword pushup thing! Must be a good driver! Cannot hunch over steering wheel.

DS: HAHAHAHAHA!

Shoe Porn

Le Sigh.

Advantages of being single

I think I may have mentioned sometime ago that I am not really built for being single, I mean some people looove it and go to great lengths to advocate me the benefits of singleness. I don't hate it, I just kind of tolerate it.. like low blood pressure or something. It's just something that's there and it's not something you can actively fix, so you can for the most part ignore it til your stepdad comes around and starts telling you he won't die happy unless you get married in three years time. Uhm.

So here's the thing, I'm kind of evolving into possibly liking the single thing. Did you gasp?

Yesterday morning, I stood in front of the mirror getting ready for work and my hair was atrocious. I was having the worst hair day of all time. My fringe which is normally nice and quite pliable was sitting up Desperately Seeking Susan Style and no amount of pushing was getting it to sit. So I pinned it back off my face. I didn't look like Miss Trunchbull at all. Nuh uh.

All I was missing was the frigging riding crop. As I left the house looking, ironically enough, like one of the most famous spinsters ever- I thought: Thank God, I'm not dating and no-one cares and I can look like Miss Trunchbull. Damn Skippy.

So I get into work and for some reason [low pay, annoying co-workers, no job progression..] I'm cranky. I'm really really fucking cranky. There's a big fat invisible line around me that screams 'Danger. Do not feed the animal.' And I just kind of sat there and stewed. And do you know what? It was great. I didn't have to justify it to anyone. I didn't have to field any phonecalls where I had to pretend to be nice when really all I wanted to do was be all crazy dragonlady [and do you know what happens when you let dragonlady out on a phone call on an unsuspecting boyfriend? That's right. You get in a fight. ] And I didn't have to go home and communicate, the only thing in the world that I had to do was go home and get under the duvet and be pissy for as long as I wanted to.

And that my friends, are as far as I can see -the positives of being single, and just for now I'll take it over hugging and hand holding.

My girls on a Saturday night

I was just talking to someone the other day [who??] about how I'm hanging out with boys all the time lately, and it's been a long time since I've got my girl fix. So I called them all to my place. Emergency Oestregen Session.

Here's the question of the day: When you get a whole bunch of beautiful, intelligent, independent women together why does the conversation eventually always always come back to penis?

So says Campbell: How was it? Was it big? Did he flop it out?!

Mush: AHAHAHAHA.. I can't tell you because then I can't introduce you. And if I introduce you, the entire group of you will be looking at his area and judging. Awkward for everybody.

Campbell: I'm living vicariously through you. You'd better tell me!

Are there any boys reading this blog? Because, yeah be afraid that's really how we talk when you're not around. [Your girlfriend's friends know more about you than you care to know..]

And this how I know we're all getting old, six o clock on a Saturday night completely crashed on my couch.

Being a twenty something is so much more exhausting than it looks, but I made them all get up to get food. Coconat was wrapped up on my bed like in a cocoon. I'm so heartless I know but the food was totally worth it.


Yes, even worth the cold. It was frigging freezing. It was New York Weather. Yikes.

And guess what I miss? I miiiiisss my dining table. My beautiful dining table. The dining table which ensured we didn't have to eat on the floor make-shift picnic style. Like hoboes. Deliciously fed hoboes, but still.


Big ass rack of ribs. Mm..

And.. sweet yam mash..

Photo fail.
HOT WINGS!
And last but not least, oh my God, Missisippi Mud Cake. I uhhh.. can't possibly find a way to describe how good that cake was. As we were eating it, we all went really really quiet. I think time stopped for that cake.

And afterwards we all just collapsed on our stomachs in a complete food coma.

I used to think I was missing out if I didn't get out there and party the night away but on a night like last night, it's confirmed that I'm not missing out at all. Much love for the girls, cake and inane penis talk.

The most unsuitable job

In my personal opinion, the most unsuitable job for myself [other than elephant-training]would be to work in a men's magazine. I'm not talking GQ here, I'm talking about Ralph, FHM or .. Zoo Weekly.

Hypothetically if I ever landed a job at one of these publications, I would probably go mental within a week. Why must you photoshop her boobs to that size? Don't you realise that what you've written is astonishingly sexist and completely degrading to women?? How would you feel if I objectified your mum that way??? And on and on til my head exploded into a fiery ball of feminist flame.

So of course what I should do is apply for a sub-editor position for Zoo Weekly, it makes perfect sense! [Clearly, I'm a masochist, a masochist who wants to end up in the looney bin]

On the application form it asks for three things that I would do to improve the magazine, well for starters on the website I would totally pull down that banner so that I and every other living human being don't have permanent retina scars from those J cups. Ok I didn't write that on the form. But I am sending a message to their web editor telepathically. Take it down. Take it down. For the love of God, Take it down.

[**Yes, I really did apply. No, I don't think I'll get it. You are right, I have completely dropped my nut.]

Things that make me laugh

♥My friends singing the Gummi Bear theme song over Facebook.

I am worth something

So I've had a little time to cool off. I went for a run because I didn't want to pound the keyboard while I was mad. I still don't know if this is going to be a completely coherent narrative though.

Today I found out that my Dad and Stepmum are coming to Sydney next week and once again, they didn't bother to tell me. In fact, I don't think they will even bother to see me.

Ok.

Five years ago, I would have been devastated. I would have been crushed. I would be questioning my value, my ever depreciating value. Why am I not worth the call? the time? or the effort? What did I do wrong?

My Dad told me what my worth was once. I am worth xxx amount of dollars. Daughter for sale. He was angry and he took it out on my twelve year old self. Never doubt that a parent can hurt a child as much as a child can hurt a parent.

I carried this number around with me for many years, wielding it like a broken arm until one day I saw me. I saw myself reflected in his eyes and I saw that I was infinitely precious, I was a fragile, broken doll but I was something precious, I was something worth holding on to.

Last year, I was wobbly, you know how wobbly I was. Last year, I had to learn to stand on my own two feet for the first time in a long time, and I had to learn to recognise my own value. I had to pull myself together from the inside.

It's taken me most of my life to get to this point. Here goes:

I am worth something. I am worth more than they regard of me.

I am smart.

I am funny.

I am a good friend.

I am a good daughter.

And I deserve to be loved regardless.

And if my Dad and stepmum don't want to be a part of my life, then I am okay to let that go. But I will never let them make me feel like I am nothing again.

Vegetable Car

"Baby, you don't even know me
But one day I'll get up the courage as you pass by, You'll see
Oh baby, one look just might save me
I need you to slow by the corner, stop right in front of me

Till then I see you hopefully through
I do wish that you'd ask me to ride along
It wouldn't be wrong to tell more than I know about you

She drives a vegetable car
Diesel Mercedes green 2-door
I barely know who you are
Lisa Loeb glasses, I'd sure like to ask you to stay

Baby, I need you to save me
The one thing that my heart requires is that you admire me

Till then I see you hopefully through
I do wish that you'd ask me to ride along
It wouldn't be wrong to tell more than I know about you

She drives a vegetable car
Diesel Mercedes green 2-door
I barely know who you are
Lisa Loeb glasses, I'd sure like to ask you to stay

How do I know why the sight of you makes me weak
Each time I see you turn on to my street
Your hair is always up in a bun
This girl's the one

She drives a vegetable car
Diesel Mercedes green 2-door
I barely know who you are
Lisa Loeb glasses, I'd sure like to ask you to stay"

-Vegetable Car, Joshua Radin

My favouritest song ever.

Saturdays

"When you've got friends to wish you well,
you'll find a point when you will exhale"
-Shoop shoop (Exhale) - Whitney Houston

Sometimes you don't know miss people til you actually see them. I caught up with my cousins for lunch and I seriously forget how funny they are. We're all programmed with a code of genetic randomness.


Sumo decided she hated my sunnies. So much so that she had to model them. They look better on me. Ha.
I don't have any pictures of my cousin Matty, he decided to grow a really unfortunate goatee and could not be photographed. So no Matty pictures.

It's a bumbag. She was toting a bumbag, please tell me these are not coming back in style. Ever.

After we had coffee, we decided to head off to yum cha because Sumo hadn't been since she broke up with Nathan. "It's like I broke up with yum cha!"

She then went very quiet and said "Breaking up with someone is breaking up with all the little things.." I guess truer words were never spoken.

---

I don't have any idea why they don't allow drinks in that fridge. Weird.

Lunch was a completely raucous affair. I don't mention very much that I love my family a lot but I really do. I don't see my cousins enough.

---

Onto Ms Smith's birthday.


We are wearing the same jacket!


It's not as tall as we thought it was..


He's being elbowed! There was a lot of elbowing since we interrupted a toga party.

I've started a journal so I can stop being emo on this blog. So can everyone please heave a big fat sigh of relief for a break in regular programming.

Which reminds me when exactly am I going to return to my regular consistency of rock hard cynicism and not this doughy tofu thing that I've become?

Last night, Dhana and all that were snickering and gawking at this couple that were leaning in and taking their time to kiss each other. "Oh my God, would you look at that?" and then they all collectively rolled their eyes "Get a room."
".. I uhhh.. well I think it's kind of sweet."
They stopped looking at the couple for a second and all swivelled their eyes on me. Uhm, who are you again and who says that kind of thing out loud?!
Well it was really sweet, and it's just nice to see two people enjoy each others company. Anyway.

And then this morning, Mexicana was telling me how her ex Ippon has fallen in love with a Vietnamese popstar and wants to bring her over here. Mexicana was disgusted, "God, what a car wreck."
But you know? Maybe it is true love and maybe she genuinely wants to be with him and is not using him for a visa.. and.. and..

yeah, ok I'll let you know when I snap out of it, but this whole believing in love thing is kind of nice? I'm feeling optimistic lately. Must be the journal thing.

Chopsticks in my car.

In the boot of my car I have

• a picnic blanket
• a rice cooker
• a basket full of sheets
• a magic eight ball [er, in case I can't decide where to go]
• a literal sack full of assorted items including sticky tape, oil face wipes and a rubber duckie
• a luggage suitcase full of year 10 textbooks
• an umbrella

In the backseat of my car I have

• a copy of Marie Claire [never-read. Hmm.]
• a sketch journal
• a pair of mickey mouse gloves
• a scarf
• DVDs including Season 1 of My name is Earl, Season 1 of Gossip Girl and a copy of Up
• a portable vacuum cleaner
• the biggest Hello Kitty head pillow.ever
  
• annnnd. a pair of takeway chopsticks.

So out of all these things that people choose to mess around with and rummage around in- the first thing they always comment on is the chopsticks. Why oh why do you have a pair of chopsticks in the backseat of your car? And I always reply alternately

"I'm digging my way to China."
"Chuck Norris gave them to me. Anything by Chuck Norris is a gift. "
" Those are not actual chopsticks, you're just imagining them."

In any case, why not keep a pair right? you know for fishing things out of cracks and poking rude hitchhikers in the eye when needed.

But seriously, you don't know how happy I was that I could run downstairs to my car this afternoon, pick up the sticks and eaaat my lunch because the dumb lady forgot to give me cutlery with my takeway.

I'm such a girl scout. Always prepared for anything.

Human Nature

And now I am in just kind of that mood [angry Madonna mood not BDSM mood, in case I needed to clarify].

There but for the grace of God..

So I was driving home today [singing to 'Girls just wanna have fun' of all things] when I had to slow down because a car had stopped in the opposite direction of my narrow two way street. As I maneouvred past, I noticed that guy was staring ahead with a rather pissed off expression and the girl in the passenger seat had her head in her hand and was crying.

A lover's spat on a beautiful Sunday afternoon.

My heart went out to her but I'll be brutally honest with you, the first thing I felt was relief. How long ago was I in that same position and how glad I am to not to be sitting there anymore. There but for the grace of God am I not there any longer.

Nothing is as helpless as a passenger seat cry. The oceans that can come between two people who are within touching distance.

So as I passed, I didn't feel so much like singing after that. I hope he gave her a hug and they worked it out before they went home.

Constantly recanting

So I woke up and thought: what the heck did I write again? Shoot, I'd better go check it. Oh. That's not so bad. I thought I'd have to pull down another post.

I really am constantly doing that lately. And I never used to do it, five years [plus!] of blogging and I have never been ashamed of my feelings or what I'm feeling or even heck, what I'm doing but lately I'm just wondering if the things I write are just way too personal for public consumption.

I don't let people in very much and yet I continue to splatter my heart on here every day. A walking, talking contradiction.

More than a couple of people have said to me over the past year "I read your blog the other day, and holy shit, it was so heavy." And what can I do but politely smile and wryly say "Well that's what the inside of my head looks like."

I am [and I guess you already know] a person that feels a lot. I am never neutral or indifferent and if I ever tell you I don't care, I am clearly lying to be socially appropriate [but don't worry, you'll hear all about it later! in the car! on the way home! ]

I can't just keep pulling all the personal stuff down. Eventually it's just going to be a completely anecdotal blog.

I had a conversation the other day [and I can't remember with who, so I'm wondering if I dreamed the entire thing] I drew a line across the table. The end left is where most people are, and the end right is where my heart is. This middle stroke is where you get to if you're lucky, the middle stroke is where most of my friends are congregated. She very gently pointed out I'm not even letting people past the first line.

This blog is my middle stroke, and I'm starting to pull down anything that veers to the right hand side.

At the end of the day, I don't really want to censor myself because where else am I going to go to get all these thoughts out? [My head might explode or I might start sleepwalking if I don't process everything]

All I'm saying [ruminations and rambles] is that I'm in a very funny place right now, a bit vulnerable and a bit feisty. So until I stop being all weirdo and sensitive, there are probably going to be lots and lots of recanted posts for a few weeks. Maybe I should just turn this into an anecdotal blog.

Holding

So I admit I am in the running for the worst drunk dialler in the world. Undefeated champion. But I'm still holding onto the edge of my desk because I can't call him and ask all the questions I want to ask.

Even drunk diallers have a modicum of dignity,