She doesn’t know your name and your heart beats like a subway train



It’s almost the end of the weekend and I feel incredibly lazy and sluggish languishing in bed on a Sunday afternoon. The sunlight is streaming through the lace curtains and the bees quietly buzzing around the red and purple flowers outside are a blur. Yet I feel sick in my stomach and am filled with an aching sadness…every Sunday feels like the last. Maybe it’s because tomorrow is Monday and I know it’s another week of work, maybe it’s because I never see anyone on Sundays and I miss talking and I talk to myself more on a Sunday to fill the silence of nothingness.


The last week at work has been busy, coming in early, leaving late, taking on extra projects involving FBT for Tax and learning how to give SAP access. I cooked a lot, made sausages with pasta, onions, tomatoes, ginger, garlic and chili. I made chicken biryani in a frying pan which was a complete fail. And I made an effort. I made an effort to make more friends, to fix the things in my life that were bringing me down and make myself happy because life is way too short to be sad. And I realised, that I’m like Maria but I don’t have her confidence, or I won’t, until I accept that I am.


Maria is the girl who won’t come in from the rain…don’t you know….she’s oceans running down the drain. For non-Blondie fans, Maria is the girl I am most like and yet the girl I don’t have the courage to be. My mother always tells me to be myself and make no apologies for who I am. Yet over the years I’ve given bits up, for friends, guys, my parents…and the expectations that followed. And in trying to reclaim those parts of myself that I lost along the way, I’m finding that some of them are irretrievable and I have grown so used to apologising for who I am that I don’t know how to stop. It is hard to find someone who accepts your maturity with your childlike wonder, your intelligence and your juvenile sense of humour. I am both the philosopher and a baby at once…and I make no apologies for my laugh like a 5 year old, my intensity and my depth of emotion, or that I’m the puppy that gets under your feet and snaps at your ankles. I’m crazy at best and if you’re not man enough to handle me when I’m wild as Cathy on the moor then you don’t deserve me at any other time. Yes I’m clingy, yes I need to be held and loved and nurtured to grow. But like any plant, I cannot bloom and flourish if I am not watered and I’m only just learning how to tend to myself.


On Friday I played basketball at lunch with some friends from work and though I’m probably the worst basketball player, that was the highlight of my week. I love playing anything, and trying makes you human. Friday evening was trivia night at work and I was happy I managed to answer a few of the questions in History, Geography and Music, since I know nothing about Australian TV shows or American Idol. It was an okay night and I was glad to go home and sleep by the end of it. I had a busy Saturday, going to a Free Spin class (butt is still sore ouchies), and then went to the Dandenong Ranges with an old school friend and we did the Thousand steps walk. It was hard work and I was more unfit than I thought I was. The rest of the day was filled with the monotony of grocery shopping, cooking, and watching Grey’s Anatomy with Dinner which is the only way to distract myself from the depressingness of eating alone.


This morning I went to Hatha Yoga, which only confirmed how awkward I thought it would be and how inflexible I am compared to women twice my age. The rest of the day was lazy, sitting in bed reading Bread and Chocolate by Philippa Gregory. I started and finished the book over the afternoon and think reading a series of short stories about women whose husbands leave them, and priests who are attracted to female chefs with TV shows, and Uncles taking care of their 5 year old nieces who collect speckled stones on the beach was both refreshing and cleansing. I realise I can turn things around….make more friends, be who God made me to be. I can also sit in bed and continue to do nothing and hate the way I’ve been feeling for the last week. So now I find myself  in this awkward predicament where I’m writing this blog, watching the sun move across the garden, from the flowers now dappled through the trees…and wondering where the rest of the hours will go. But It’s only 3pm and there’s sun left enough for the rest of us.


Time to get out of bed and go for a walk. I need to walk between people and see people and talk to someone besides myself, and the yoga instructor at the gym, and my landlady who makes me pet her evil demon cats. Time to go for a walk.

Cooking Poems



Cooking for one

Is harder than you think

It would be far too easy

To eat over the kitchen sink


It’s a chore it’s a task

It’s not some heartfelt pleasure

I’m not a cheerful housewife

In any shape or measure


It’s a means to an end

A job you have to get done

We eat to live not live to eat

Life’s a race to be run


Each dish you try to cook

Tastes great the first day

By Day 6 of mince and rice

You want to throw it all away


So here’s to all us single girls

Who cook to fill our tummies

I’ll have to get my Dad to write

‘Cooking for Dummies’!





Cooking for me

Means I take a lot of care

To cook the food I love to eat

So I love the food I share


Sundays at the markets

I look for vibrant capsicums

Colours that excite my eyes

And South Melbournes famous Dim Sims


The purple in an eggplant

A yellow bag of lemons

Mothers jostle for the dollar bags

Their babies drooling on double chins


They make me miss those family meals

The conversation at the table

The arguments over who has to finish

The last of the fried mackerel


Until the day I cook for two

Or Three, or four or five

I’m happy to cook for me

And anyone who wants to drop by 🙂

Opshopping and the Opera



It’s been a lazy weekend in a way but also quite a productive one. I’ve spent a lot of time thinking, not as much doing…but they were thoughts well spent. It seems like every March in my life is spent doing these stupid assessments for internships and grad roles that go no where and fizzle up into then air, but I guess its good I’m doing it anyway to stop my brain from being turned into mush. I’d never have the discipline of those old people on the train to do a Sudoku puzzle everyday so might as well keep all those grey cells if that’s all that the assessments achieve.


I had a lovely Saturday waking up late and finishing the last of my bacon and eggs, before I met up with Fedora, an old school friend and went shopping on Chapel Street. Managed to score a purple-pink dress for $20 from a pop-up store and got a free bottle of Charlies lemonade juice and vouchers to free Pilates and yoga so that was definitely a trip well spent. It’s actually a great dress, only downside is I can’t zip it up myself so dunno how I’m going to solve that one. We went wandering through Op-shops and expensive boutiques with clothes I’d never be able to afford and I oohed and aahed over beautiful winter coats and dimple-cheeked babies in prams. Weekends bring out all the cluckiness in me since I’m baby-deprived all week. It was so nice hanging out with a friend and it made me realise how much I miss having a catch up with the girls and just talking about stupid girly stuff and our friendships and where the years have taken us. It’s so so important for girls to have girls who have their back and I miss that.


After shopping I rushed off to The Athenaeum Theatre on Collins Street to my first Opera – Madame Butterfly. It’s a story about an American Sailor who comes to Japan and marries a beautiful 16 year old girl called Miss Butterfly simply ‘for sport’ as they said in the olden days and then leaves her, saying he’d return when the birds came to nest. Three years pass and the birds have nested three times and the douchebag never comes back while his bridge waits for him with his two year old son. Finally he returns and she learns that he’s married and they come to take the child away. She blindfolds her son and stabs herself with a Katana, committing Hara-kiri. It was a chilling end to the play and had me crying but the first two and a half hours were the most boring two and half hours of my life. I’m glad I went just to see what it’s like and to know that I’ve experienced an Opera but I don’t think I’ll ever go again.  


I’d actually read a play in my first year at Uni called ‘M. Butterfly’ which was based on the original Madame Butterfly but in this play, the American diplomat learns 40 years later that he was actually sleeping with a man and he’s made a mockery off, reversing the stereotyping of the Asian woman and the oriental mystery that is played on in the original Madame Butterfly. I got quite confused and had expected to see this in the Opera and so the first 2 hours dragged a lot more since I was waiting for the woman to turn into a man and only realised my stupidity at the Interval when the first Act was over and there was nothing in sight =.=


During the Opera, I was in the front row – yay for cheap seats on ticketek – and I was sitting next to an old lady with a hole in her throat. She had a machine that she was using to speak out of it and had a scarf covering the opening and after I got over the initial shock of hearing her voice with that dull robotic monotone, I learnt that she was a famous opera singer in her youth and she had lost her voice and broken her vocal cords from too much singing, and that she had often sung in Madame Butterfly in the height of her career. I couldn’t help wondering how hard it must’ve been for her to sit in the audience and watch someone else play her role knowing that she was once that young, and beautiful, and she had a voice to go with it.


After coming back home and doing the grocery shopping (note to self: never ever go to Aldi in heels) I had a quiet night doing more tests and watching Greys anatomy between each assessment to reward myself. I was exhausted at the end of the day and just fried up some sausages and onions for dinner before I crashed.


Sunday morning I was rudely awoken by a series of annoying txts that confirmed my own stupidity and made me resolved to be the best that I can be, in this life and the next. I have more self-control than people might think and I’m not as desperate, as you might hope I am. I’m holding out, for something bigger, something better. Something I know that I deserve. There have been so many songs stuck in my head this weekend – like John Mayer – who says I can’t get stoned call up a girl that I used to know…Stoned I have not been but I’ve learnt from the past. Another song that had me missing my guitar is Lenka’s ‘Live like we’re dying’. I’m not your typical adrenaline junkie but I love scary movies, and guitars, and theme parks and motor bikes. Been a long time since I’ve been on the back of a bike and I can’t wait for next weekend.


The other day I was thinking about a novel I read my Phillipa Gregory years ago. I think it was called Fallen Skies and it was about a young woman who acts in plays and musicals after the war and she gets a choir boy hair cut – that was the first time I heard the word Androgenous and I still remember it (so weird how sometimes you remember where you heard a word for the first time)  – and her mother dies, leaving her shattered and she marries an older man, a soldier, quickly because she’s lost and she doesn’t know what to do. Soon she’s pregnant and she sees how broken he is and how the war has altered him. He’s a man suffering from shell shock, falling to the ground when there’s a loud crash because he thinks the bombs are still coming. At the end of the novel you learn that it was him who killed a whole family at a German farmhouse during the war. And I was thinking about this because in a way, it feels like we all have something that has affected us, strongly and deeply, leaving us just a little bit more damaged, a bit more shaken, shell shocked for a while. For the next month, the next year, the rest of our lives who knows. And I know this, because there’s a thing that I say. When I’m alone and I think of something stupid that I’ve done, or sometimes when I think of nothing at all, theres a thing that I say out loud, that I said to someone once on the 3rd of September 2012. And it scares me, because a year and a half later, I still say it to myself many times a day like I’m playing that moment on rewind over and over again and I don’t know why. So maybe I’m a little shell-shocked. Maybe we all are. But I’m done with tiptoeing around my life, waiting for the bombs to stop falling. And I don’t need someone else to tell me that the war is over, I want to see that for myself.


Between Operas and Op-shopping, between filling my life with activity and chores to colour in the hours and minutes that pass, I realised that I am still shell-shocked and that the war may be over, but I still sleep on the left side of the bed, and jump when someone touches me, and have a thing that I say to myself. I decided that I need to make more of an effort to meet people. So far I’ve just eased myself into my new life and routine and made friends with people from work. But I think I need some separation from work and out of work, some clarity between people I deal with professionally and people I can hang out with. I need people. This kinda feels like a Christopher McCandles revelation in Into the Wild. Except I haven’t gone all renounce my worldly goods and kill a wild stag to have this epiphany. I realised this because I have had a shit week, because I don’t like the person I have been for the last few days, and because the only person I spoke to out loud on Sunday, was the man I bought vegetables from at South Melbourne Market. Three bags of vegetables for Two dollars. Special Price he said, and I laughed and took my change. The whole of Sunday, the only person I spoke to was a man selling vegetables, so yes I need people. 

Looking for Heathcliff



This has been a week of Austen and Mansfield. Playing an Elizabeth Bennett off sorts as I transgressed many a social boundary of the 1800s and let grumpy Mr Darcys attend to my every whim. Not.


I spent the weekend sick in bed and woke up in the afternoon in a feverish sweat to the sound of what I thought was the Malaysian Airlines plane crashing into my room. It was only the Grand Prix at Albert Park but it was enough to set me on edge for a while. Its when you’re sick that you miss your family the most and the food in the fridge that comes with it. I’ve never needed to be pampered or babied when I’m sick but there is a comfort in knowing that there are people around, and waking up to my mum touching my forehead or bringing me a glass of glucose.


I’ve always been the one to look after people. I’m the mother who comes round when your mums not there. One of my favourite memories is of taking care of someone who meant a lot to me, reading comics in bed and force-feeding him with lemsip and oranges, and singing him to sleep when he was sick. But for once in my life, I was looked after by someone other than my family. Sometimes it’s nice being taken care of for a change. Its nice to feel protected, to have someone cook for you, and make you go back to bed like you’re a kid and they’re there to watch over you while you sleep. Sometimes it’s nice, not being the one who has to be strong all the time.


I slept all night and woke up on Sunday with an appetite which was quickly exhausted with bacon, eggs and Grey’s Anatomy. It was a nice quiet weekend on the whole, catching up with an old school friend on Saturday morning and then with my Aunty and her family on Sunday evening. I saw their goat Lenny and their Dog Vader and a few kangaroo in the bush behind their property. I remembered how much I miss my Guides, talking to their pre-teen girls…and desperately want to carry a baby. Soon preferably. The train ride home was long and cold but I finally finished reading Dear John on the train and almost missed my stop at Flinders.


Monday at work was fun, finally got to do a bit of presenting for part of a SOX training and learnt a lot this week. In fact the last week has been information overload but I’m loving it, learning so much all at once. Its like the pieces of the puzzle are all falling together and its starting to make sense. Stupid facts from university papers that I thought I’d never use are actually proving useful. It’s been a busy fortnight applying for vac applications, and also went to an Employment Evening at the Grand Hyatt which was not as useful as I thought it would be but still glad I went. I don’t have the same crazy drive that I did last year which is good in a way because at least I did all the hard work the first time round and now it’s easy, just piecing together applications like the previous year.


Theres been lots of householdy stuff I had to get done this week like changing my phone provider, renewing library books, going to the bank, etc and I guess the wonder of it all is wearing out a little. That sense of wonderment that children always have – where does it go? Yesterday there was an Irish girl and guy sitting behind me on the bus and I was eavesdropping because I love the accent and their funny drunk stories and the guy was complaining about a girl on the bus in the morning who was swinging everytime the bus turned and bashing into people and suddenly I realised he was talking about me. And though he didn’t know that it was me and that I heard him, I felt really really horrible. And I hate myself for that because who cares what a stranger thinks and if I was the idiot girl who couldn’t balance on the bus. Who gives a shit.


And I wish I didn’t care so much about what people think of me, but I do. It’s funny because I have a reputation for not caring which is hardly the case, in some ways I care more than the rest of you ever will because I feel every happiness and every sorrow just as keenly. Recently a friend told me to be careful because I have no where to run away now. I didn’t realise, that my moving to Melbourne was seen by some as running away. I don’t think of myself as a quitter and it surprises me that other people might. I am the strong man in the storm, the sailor that will stand by you through thick and thin. In relationships, I’m the one who fights to make it work until all the fight has been beaten out of me so no I don’t think of myself as a quitter. I don’t run away from everything, in fact I’m somewhat confrontational. In fact, it offends me that someone would think of me as a runner. The only thing I run from is my own two feet in my brand new adidas shoes cos hell, I raised to fight by mum and I can let myself down at times, but I can’t let her down ever.


I have always given people a chance to say sorry, a chance to start over. But sometimes forgiving doesn’t mean that the past is erased and self-preservation is the only way I can protect myself. I watched a movie on Monday night called ‘Take this Waltz’ starring Michelle Williams and Seth Rogan. It was intense and poignant and lustful in the San Francisco heat. How does a woman choose between two kinds of love, the familiar safe love she has with her husband of 5 years and the intense immediate attraction she feels for an artistic wild child neighbour. I’d choose the artist, I choose Heathcliff over Edgar.


I have spent the last few years looking for Heathcliff in a way and found him or glimpses of him in several people, yet none quite matching up. And it dawned on me this weekend, that maybe I’m not really Cathy after all because I’ve done hard. I’ve done complicated. Why can’t this be easy? (Yes this is a quote from Grey’s Anatomy – Derek I love you). But unlike Cathy and Heathcliff, my moor is evergrowing and I need not have to choose, I can have it all and that’s the beauty of it. I’m twenty two and life is….beautiful. 

March 2014 Poems

On a Wednesday, in a cafe, I watched it Begin again





Your nonchalance is an insult

At times I think its deliberate

There are things you should care

Should feel something about

Yet this façade of indifference

Is suffocating


8.03.2013 – Crunching


Limb to limb

Bar to bar I swung

Upside down the world looked different

Better in fact

The blood rushed to my head

Temples throbbing

And I felt the muscles tighten

My abdomen tensing

My eyes rising to meet the sky


8.03.2013 – Cat call


Raised with disdain

for the feline languor

Of a cat’s luxurious body

I stayed away

Cringing as they hunched their backs

Yet something changed

This Saturday afternoon

And I found myself keening

At their incessant mews

Like a mother at her baby’s cries

I think I may like them

After all.  


8.03.2013 – Not your bro 


I’m not your girl, your bro

Your mum – just so you know

I’m not a maid or a skank

If I cook you say thanks

I’m not one of the boys

I don’t need to hear of your exploits

Of the girls you slept with

The boys you crept with

No – I am not your bro. 




I’ve played the Nightinggale

Done the grocery shopping

Read him comics in bed

Made lemsip like a scrub nurse

At a dying patients side

But when I succumbed

To an ordinary flu

I was a baby and a woman

Powerless and weak

My legs like jelly snakes

Buckling as they crashed

Like bumper cars at Luna park

And yet I felt stronger, braver

For letting you look after me





I’m a mess in a dress

The girl who couldn’t care less

She screws up with a finesse

You couldn’t master if you tried


I’m the one that got away

I want more than just play

I’m worth more than you say

You’re the boy who lied


I’m the bitch that don’t screw

I’m not a toy you can chew

My head is not yours to woo

Or screw when you decide


I’m the one true thing

The mockingbird that sings

Not just a casual fling

I am a mess; in a dress.

And you’re a boy I can’t abide

Banana Pancakes



The last week has gone by fast and it seems like months ago that I was playing basketball with the guys at lunch. That was really really fun though I think I may have ruined it for them with my terrible shooting and needing the rules explained to me every 5 minutes but I had fun never the less. Was actually motivated to do some exercise after that, and ended up running over the long weekend. Friday after work I went for drinks with a couple of colleagues at the Pier and it almost felt like high school again but in a good way, talking about the ghosts of boyfriends past and present and laughing till I was scared I’d pee.


Saturday morning I was true to my word and went for a run. After 15 minutes of running and crunches on the bars in the playground I was ready to call it quits and headed home. I slowly improved though, and did 20 minutes on Sunday, and 25 on Monday…so I guess I’ll get there in the end. I remembered what it feels like to have that crunch in your stomach, the muscle burning like a metal clamp is being fastened and unfastened in your belly. There is a joy in feeling that burn that’s kinda crazy if you think about it. Each run is of course followed by bacon, scrambled eggs /pancakes with maple syrup depending on what I feel like, glass of hot milo and sliced banana. There is logic to my madness. Really. There is.


Saturday was extremely hot and I wasted most of the day watching movies, and then going into the city and getting out even more movies. Then I went to the NGV and spent an hour exploring the second floor of the museum, and I realised that it doesn’t matter if you know the difference between a Manet and a Monet or know your Renoir from your Rembrandt. If you see art and it touches your soul and makes you feel something – anything – whether it’s a Raphaelite hanging in the Louvre or a creation by your three year old son – this is what sets us apart and this is what makes us human. Discovered some pretty epic Mayan pots, roman and Greek amphoras, but I’d have to say the most interesting thing was the Roof over the Table Art exhibition. It was the most beautiful and vibrant stained glass roof and I desperately wanted a photo of myself crowned in the middle of all that colour but museums are not the sort of place you take selfies in. I recognised a lot of Paintings from the Degas to Dali Exhibition I went to in Auckland two years ago like The Wave by Gustave Courbet and a Monet painting of a church. I feel so incredibly lucky that I could see these world renowned paintings not just once but twice in this lifetime. 


I had dinner with a friend from work on Saturday night and was happy I’d made butter chicken the day before. It’s nice not to have to eat alone once in a while and have someone to talk to. I find myself talking to myself more and more often which is really scary. Sunday morning started with my usual run at Fawkner park again, pancakes and bacon for breakfast and steady snacking into lunch lol, before I made my way to the Moomba Festival next to Fed Square by the Yarra River.


It was a really really hot day and I could’ve literally eaten the whole of a Tip Top factory worth of ice cream or slept in ice cream I was that hot. There were stalls, scary clowns, shoot for a Teddy games, basketball shooting games, candyfloss, Giant wheels, Rollercoasters, bumper cars – you name it, it was there. I really enjoyed watching the BMX though, and later caught up with a friend from work and walked the entire circuit again, finishing with Kung Fu Panda at the Outdoor Movies on the river and then dinner on Swanston Street. I found myself watching a lot of hindi movies over the weekend – probably cos I got them out in the first place =.= And I was over the toply excited to see places in Melbourne I recognised in the movie Salaam Namaste, like Fed Square, St Kilda and Crown. In fact that’s what prompted me to go to St Kilda on Monday with Dinesh and check out Luna Park, the beach, Acland Street and the Botanical gardens. It was a really pleasant day and I almost wish I had a dog, just so I could take it to the beach and splash around in the water with it.


It was hard going to work on Tuesday after that amazing long weekend but the week went fast with a lot more work and trainings. I also got back the remainder of my bond from evil spawn of a flatmate, well not all of it but I’m not going to complain. I have most of it and saved myself the hassle of going to the VCAT disputes tribunal which would have been another saga in itself. Also my Vodafone contract seems to have magically disappeared of its own accord so I am now free to find myself another provider yayness and get out of a crap contract costing me way too much money. Savings come to meee! My student loan is disappearing before my very eyes. I can’t believe its already Friday and yet another weekend. Looking forward to seeing an old friend from Auckland tomorrow, and then going to my Auntys house for the evening, during which time I will hopefully be ridding my room of cockroaches. Oh yes. Two more were found. And then killed. One in my box of cereal and the other under the fridge. Super Anushka is out to get you assholes. 

Grease is the word


I sometimes wish I was growing up in the 60’s in America with Drive-in movies and juke boxes at the diner and Rock n Roll at the prom. Watching Grease at Her Majesty’s theatre last night definitely brought it all back and I’ve had songs from the musical stuck in my head all day, feet tap-tapping under my desk at work. It seems like a simpler time, with less choice, yet more fun at the same time. In a way it feels like the more freedom and choice we’re given, the harder it is to do anything with it and the easier it is to feel like a failure – as if even being given all that choice, we have still let ourselves down with our poor decisions. But as someone wise recently said to me “There are bigger things to worry about than misplacing a plane ticket”. It seems like an easy thing to say but for a girl who has been brought up to have three copies of everything and lists and locks and worry lines, it’s a statement that I know is true, but a little hard to digest. In that respect, I think moving has definitely been good for me as I learn what actually matters to me and I can start to prioritize what to worry about and what is really not even worth the effort. It’s strange going from being in a noisy nuclear family with relationships, worries and repercussions to…not. It is harder and yet easier at the same time, when the only person who feels the repercussions of your actions is yourself. Or at least that’s how it should be.


It’s been a while since I wrote last and that’s partly because I’ve had a busy weekend and also some big career related decisions to make. Last week my cockroach revisited me. I went to the library and got out some romcoms for my date night with my cousin on Saturday and went home happily to make myself some beef stroganoff with mushrooms (which I am have only just eaten the last off now phewf!) and was chopping onions when my eyes started watering. So I went off to cry and wash my face and then returned to chop my onions. I was about to hold it steady when in the dim light I saw a black shape on a mound of chopped onions begin to move. Mr. Beezlebug is no longer under my bed. Nor did he stay on my onions for too long. After screaming and running to my bed, I worked up the courage to kill him with my shoe. I now have cockroach gunk on my red ballet flats 😦


On Saturday I woke up late and made pancakes, went for a run (half-hearted jog) with my cousin Noella at Fawkner park and then came back and ate even more pancakes. Then I went to the ACMI and watched an interesting Short Film called The Calling by Angelica Mesiti. It’s a portrait of the whistling languages used in rural communities in Turkey, Greece and the Canary Islands. There was a simple beauty in watching women on a farm whistling to each other to come in as the Tea truck had arrived, and milking their goats on a hill carved like the face of an old woman. After this I went to the exhibition ScreenWorlds: The Story of Film, Television & Digital Culture. It was a pleasant surprise with clips from old classics I love like Gone with the Wind, Casablanca and Some like it hot. There were others that I’ve probably seen but don’t remember like the black and white Frankenstein and King Kong. I saw the old box cameras and peeping tom movies, movies on a slideshow with handle to make it go faster, and I learnt that Wizard of Oz was made in colour by interposing the original film on itself three times in each of the primary colours to achieve a vivid colour film.


It wasn’t all just movies though – there were videogames through the ages with games like Supermario, and the old nintendos. I tried having a go at them but quickly moved out of the way for the 30 something olds who were lurking behind me eagerly. There was also an interesting section on the Editor Jill Billcock who edited Elizabeth, Moulan Rouge and Romeo and Juliet to name a few and it was amazing seeing the colours and styles that influenced her cut-throat editing and I can see why one critic said that she edited like a ‘Russian mafia don on crack!’ Seeing all these free exhibitions made me really miss my mum and my grandmother who would have loved to spend hours at the ACMI browsing through clips of old movies and videos of Kylie Minogue and Cate Blanchett alike.


I spent Saturday evening at Noella’s house being stuffed like a fat cat, eating buffalo wings and tacos with nandos hot sauce (yum!) and watching In the Land of women, starring Kristen stewart, Meg Ryan and hot guy from the OC, followed by Turn it up, some cutesy high school romance about a couple who just want to do ballet. We gorged ourselves on chocolate fondue and strawberries and marshmallows, went to bed and then woke up and ate some more. Breakfast was huuuuge with bacon, scrambled eggs, sour dough bread, grilled tomatoes, mushrooms and banana and mango juice. We watched the Sweetest thing while having our massive feed and I’ve determined that I hate Christina Applegate more than ever. She is the most annoying woman Ive never had the pleasure of meeting.


On Sunday I went to the South Melbourne market and it was as cheap as everyone says it is – bag of carrots for a dollar! Score! After picking up my groceries from the markets and some chicken and bits and pieces from Aldi’s I got a bit lost, got found again, and made my way back home. The week at work has gone fast with lots of things to think about and process. Its funny how some things you learn at uni you never seem to use at work and others suddenly make more sense as you see how it applies in the workplace. Like concepts I always thought were useless but lodged themselves in some tiny compartment in my brain have now sparked to life and I see how complex contracts affect a business for example. There was a moment at work, reading over something, when I remembered a case from Advanced Tax about Mitsubishi being allowed to approximate their warranties liability as a percentage of sales as it was a fixed expense they were likely to have every year even though it was contingent. And I felt this insane joy that I knew something, something useful in my vast sea of useless knowledge, that actually made sense and I could use it at my work. It’s funny how the more you work and hear different bits of information and see how things all fit together, the more the useless stuff you learn at uni actually starts to make some sense. And I can hear lectures in my head with Audrey Sharp’s voice saying ‘The Judge said ‘Madame you do not stand before me naked’ but I wouldn’t mind seeing some of you in this lecture naked ’ (Case about the female lawyer who wanted to claim her corporate clothing as a deductible expense).


Its been a nice end to the week, sitting in the sun for lunch the last couple of days and laughing like a hyena at work as usual. I probably have the loudest laugh out of everyone at work, it’s been 22 years – too late to change it now. Grease was probably the highlight of my week, though waiting 25 minutes for a train home at Melbourne Central was not. I went to church after work for Ash Wednesday mass like a good little Catholic girl and being an Anglican Cathedral I guess I should’ve expected a female priest but it still weirded me out all the same. I left after communion and walked up to the theatre on the corner of little Bourke and exhibition street with my ash cross on my forehead and cringed every time stupid teenage girls stared at me and giggled. Your fault you don’t know shit. Poor ignorant idiots. The musical was amazing and I’m not gonna lie, there were moments when I wished I wasn’t sitting there alone with no one to share it with but those moments were few and far between.


Out of all the characters in Grease, or in any musical, I always go for the underdog, the wild child, the woman who’s fierce and strong and irrepressible. No surprises I loved Rizzo. She’s hard but shes soft, shes feminine and sexy but angry and fierce, I love her brashness, I love her childlike abandon and the way she makes no apologies for who she is or what she does and how she owns her body and her sexuality. Sandra pissed me off tbh. She could go back to being Sandradee for all I care. In the interval they played Rockin Robin, La Bamba, and some of my other faves and it made me miss home and those indian dances with jiving and waltzing and songs from the sixties.


Well its almost the long weekend, with yet another festival in the city so I’m sure I’ll be writing again soon with lots more to say and think about. But before that basketball at lunch tomorrow yay! Doubt I’ll shoot any hoops playing with my six-foot something work mates but looking forward to the sun all the same 🙂