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I'm a student from Australia who used to have a lot of time on her hands but doesn't have that much anymore. Now she has other stuff on her hands.

Monday, January 27, 2014


It's been a bit quiet here lately, huh?

Like I mentioned before, that's mostly because I started a new blog: http://rumineat.wordpress.com/

I've been tossing up the idea of moving over to something different and foregoing the Junaberry schtick. The username "Junaberry" has a lot of embarrassing missteps attached to it. All of my embarrassing dalliances with fanfiction, myspace etc. etc. It's all interwoven with that name.

Maybe I mentioned this before or maybe I did not but I've decided what I want to do with my life. Write. Not necessarily about anything in particular. Not necessarily about food or travelling or fashern or politics (hail naw) or anything worthy of being published. But I think I'm somewhat okay at it and, most importantly, I enjoy it.

So, I don't know how I'm going to get there. I have no idea what further study I should do, if any, or what internships or opportunities I should pursue (pretty much: any I can get my hands on). But that's what I want to do. I can see myself being satisfied or at least halfway happy doing it. I think that's good enough for me.

As part of this whole self-discovery thing, my new blog is a part of that. If you didn't realize, the name is a play on words of ruminate + eat. Because I like to think and I like to eat. My only issue with the name is that it has the word "eat" in it. As much as I do like eating and food, the blog does not intend to be a food blog at all. I'd like to talk about food and post pictures, more so than what I do on this blog, but I don't want it to be a "food blog." I want it to be a "blog blog" like this current one is. Just better with more visual aids and polished appearance. What do you think? Does the blog name suffice or is it misleading and does it limit what I can actually write about?

Anyway, go have a look if you feel like it.


Wednesday, January 22, 2014

3 Years on Blogger

I don't want to scare any of you but I may or may not have created a new blog. And on Wordpress of all blog hosts out there. Wordpress is quite fantastic and is more professional than Blogger. I like it. I also came up with a fantastic new blog name.

That's right. My new blog is not (I repeat: NOT) called Junaberry. It is a made up word that I came up with as I sat in my incredibly uncomfortable chair last night, waiting for the movie 12 Years A Slave to start at the Joondalup Pines Perth Film Festival.

Speaking of which, fuck all humans. We are disgusting animals. We pretend to be incredibly polite, humanity driven, politically correct cherubs but, in reality, given have the chance we would regress to our slave-keeping ways. We would beat and torture fellow human beings and take pride in the fact that we have managed to bend people to our will via sheer force and degradation.


Sunday, January 19, 2014

Tender Tome

I have found a new literary niche to explore.

Much like I dove headfirst into the lush and lusty world of chick lit not too long ago, I am currently immersed in the wonderful world of food memoirs. I am talking memoirs, autobiographies and essay collections by food critics, chefs, restaurateurs and the rest of these fantastic kinds of people.

I recently finished The Sweet Life in Paris by the one and only David Lebovitz. He who was a major player in choosing which gelaterias to hit in Rome. And I am midway through Tender at the Bone by Ruth Reichl. I have fallen in and out of love with autobiographies over the course of my life as a reader but I think food-based autobiographies are a subgenre I will never tire of. They read like normal autobiographies, full of nostalgic childhood tales and remembrances of embarrassing pasts, but interspersed with recipes (that I am actually interested in reading) and descriptions of food experiences.

This is where it's at, folks. This is where it's at.


On The Cusp

I love this article hard: http://www.vulture.com/2014/01/best-punctuation-marks-literature-nabokov-eliot-dickens-levi.html

I'm also thinking of starting a new blog and leaving the whole Junaberry schtick behind. I think it's time to say goodbye.


On The Card, Thanks

Guess who I saw at work the other day?

He's in a band and is friends with Zeter Febbs. However, his name does not rhyme with Mandrew. That should narrow the search down for you.

I never knew this kid. At all. In our six years of high school together, I don't think we even exchanged one word. Maybe our eyes flickered over one another at some point. Maybe he glanced at me that time I farted during silent reading in year eight (yes, I admit it now. Squeaky chairs don't sound like that).

It was Thursday night. I didn't even realize it was him. He came up to my register and was buying some furniture (two office chairs and a desk). I looked up from whatever receipt I was stuffing into the drawer.
"Oh!" I exclaimed, all exclamatory like. "Hey! How are you?"
"Hey!" he said. His voice was cheery. He always was a ridiculously nice guy. And I say that with the authority of someone who has never carried a conversation with him. He has the smile of a nice guy.
"How are you?" I asked, disgustingly big smile on my disgustingly big face.
"Yeah, good. How about you?"
"Good! Oh, let me just scan up your furniture."

I went over to scan his two office chairs and desk. I returned, he paid on Eftpos. We exchanged a few more pleasantries.

"So, how long have you been working here?" he asked. We still hadn't acknowledged each other by name at this stage, a reminder of the fact that we never had a conversation in our entire lives even though we were essentially in the same class for the whole of high school.
"Just over a year!" I said. The exclamation mark is necessary. Maybe it's because I was at work, a place where I am forced to (pretend to be) happy and act as if I care how people are when I ask them. Or maybe it's because I was genuinely delighted to be graced with his presence (he is a nice guy).

"What've you been up to?" I asked, ignoring the people in the queue, probably cursing this young lad taking up the precious time of their check out bitch.
"Oh, not much," he said. "I just got accepted into WAAPA."
"That's fantastic!" I said, perhaps with a little too much vigour. "Congratulations!"
"Oh, thank you!" Exclamation marks all around.
"Well, I better serve the rest of these folks." Why did I just use the word folks? Why?
"Yeah, it was good to see you," he said.
"Same here."
Smiles, smiles, goodbye, goodbye.

I draw several points from this interaction for yours and my scrutiny.

Firstly, how are we at the age at which we actually buy real furniture with our own pennies? I am still in awe over the fact that I have a debit card and am in relative control of my finances. Pay Wave is still revolutionary to me and I feel so incredibly mature and sophisticated every time I use it. But my Pay Wave use is completely surpassed by the purchase of real furniture. And not just one piece but several.

Secondly, I believe I was well and truly actually delighted with the presence of this old acquaintance from high school. I was well and truly delighted that he had just gone into WAAPA because that really is fantastic and he deserves all of his success. 1.5 years ago, I think I would have avoided eye contact and pretended I didn't recognize him.

As you may remember, I embarked on something called Friendquest 2013 approximately 12 months ago. In those 12 months, I have made several friendly acquaintances, a few friends and a couple of good friends. I am still hopelessly awkward and there are many times during the day when I find myself questioning how I even function in everyday life. But I am coming to terms with the fact that I'm a decent person with things to offer.

At work, I am more comfortable than ever. The new summer casuals think I'm funny and I consider the people who have been there longer to be real friends.

I start uni tomorrow. And I am hopelessly afraid. There is a shittonne of dread and fear in my heart and head but there's also a flicker of anticipation. There's a mite of a possibility that I might enjoy prac work more than theory work. With every day that passes and every experience I have, whether good, bad or downright horrific, I am closer to the person I want to be.

So, there's that. Wish me luck.


Tuesday, January 14, 2014

Nobody's Business


I feel like I have two shaggy caterpillars wriggling around on my face but I'm too scared to do anything to them lest I undo all the hard work I have put into growing them out. I know that if I apply tweezer to face, I will go overboard and end up even sparser than to begin with.


Put It In Your Pocket

You know what would be amazing? If I started fourth year med and fucking loved it. I wish nothing more for myself.


Monday, January 13, 2014

The Chop

My holidays are coming to a rapid close. The horror. I feel I need to re-evaluate my approach to this year. Sure, I am still completely uncertain about "my future" and other serious matters but I did commit to sampling what this uni year has to offer and making a solid decision off of that. These things considered, I want to go in with a positive attitude. I know I'm going to have a good cry after my first prac day but I want to at least walk in with a smile on my face.

I am focusing on "quality" this year. I want to focus on quality study and dedicating myself to "the cause." Listen harder, work more efficiently. I want to focus on quality food and fitness. Quality people and friends. Quality time with loved ones. Quality clothing choices.

Speaking of clothing choices, after Big Michelle and Little Mishelle helped me perform a much needed closet purge, I officially have no clothes to wear. And by no clothes to wear, I mean that I chucked out most of my "comfort pieces." Shirts that looked average/bad but that I was very comfortable in. This calls for a big shopping spree. But, like I said, I'm focusing on "quality" pieces. I also need clinical clothes like dress pants, collared shirts, nice flats. I want to buy stuff that can double as casual wear.

It's going well so far. I bought a nice skirt I can wear both clinically and casually, a casual dress and a pair of slim pants (for work. My current ones are literally falling off me).

I'm starting to feel more comfortable in my skin these days. I hope my path to acceptance is around the bend. I accept the fact that I like to be alone. I accept that this will probably give me grief later in life when I tell my partner, "Okay, I need to be apart from you for at least a week otherwise you will probably wake up with me bludgeoning you to death." But I'll deal with that when the time comes.

I've lost 11kg. Before our European Adventure, I'd lost 9.8kg. Maybe all that gelato helped to kickstart my metabolism. I'm also officially back in the 50s again. It's been a really long time since I've been in the 50-59kg zone. I feel like I've recovered from the eating marathon that was the last week of our European Adventure. My stomach bloat is all but gone and my quads are 90% back to their former self.

But there is a downside to this dedication to having an optimally healthy lifestyle. Obviously, you don't get to treat yourself as often as you'd really like. Sometimes, you can't even enjoy your designated treats as much as you'd like because you feel like you're wasting part of your efforts. But you do grow to not crave treats as much.

The social impact of not treating yourself to as many luxurious foods is perhaps the biggest thing for me. Eating out with my friends and family (or having a sick potluck at home) is perhaps my greatest joy in life. I love it hard. I've had to say no numerous times to proposals of lunch/brunch dates (okay, I don't really have that many friends to say no to). I've had to turn down my mother's offer to have coffee and cake together when we're out shopping. And then deal with the guilt of denying her that pleasure as she refuses to indulge if I'm not doing it with her.

I often feel very self-conscious of my healthiness. I took a salad to eat at work the other day. My coworkers generally go to buy McDonald's for lunch. I felt extremely conspicuous eating my eggplant and cauliflower that day.

Ignoring this, I do feel generally better about my body. I like that I've gone down a size and can wear certain styles that I wouldn't even dream of wearing eight months ago. I take (slightly) more pride in my appearance. I (think I) have better posture. I might even be smiling (ever so slightly) more.

But enough of that nonsense.

I'm getting my hair cut on Wednesday and am tossing up between two options; a 5cm trim (I need a good trim at the very least. The beast is getting out of control) or a collarbone length chop. What do you think? I need some inspirational pictures. I think I look better with longer hair but I'm getting that craving to chop.


Sunday, January 12, 2014

Missed Connections

Specimen #1:

A good looking young lad who walks into the store. He is tall, fair haired and has all the attributes that would persuade one to describe him as "strapping." I smile and give him a convincing, "Hey, how's it going?" Not too keenly as one must always be impartial when interacting with customers. Would not want to discriminate even though there are tingles in my fingers.

He lines up. So politely.
"Hi," he says when he gets to the front. "I'm not buying anything but I just wanted to drop off my resume. Is that okay?"
"Of course," I say and take it from him. Nicely printed. Good size font. Everything seems to be in order.

I serve the next few customers and, at the first possible opportunity, have a squiz at his resume. There are a few grammatical errors but at least no errors of the spelling denomination. Grammar is harder; it is excusable! But there it is, on the last page; an inexcusable fact that stops my spring wedding planning in its tracks.

Born in 1996.

The devastation. The desolation. I am gone and done for.

Specimen #2:

It is nearly closing time. In fact, it is closing time and I am keen for a close. The heat and subpar airconditioning has tested my limits. So has the Bintang singlet wearing man who chose to tell me to, "Fucking hurry up." Yes, it is a pleasure to serve you indeed.

He walks in. He is some kind of mystery ethnicity. My favourite kind. He walks up, tells me that he bought a hardrive yesterday (I am riveted) but is not convinced the girl who sold it to him gave him the exact model he was after. I humour him, he who chooses to come in with a potential return five minutes to closing. He of mysterious ethnicity and pleasing smile.

I go about my business; I am very professional. Friendly but not flirtatious. Cards close to chest, always. I convince him that he is holding in his hands the very hardrive he is after, just in the silver and not the black. The codes match, my friend.

Our codes could match too.

I will never know as he leaves after we are done with a grateful smile and a quenched mind. It was not meant to be.


Saturday, January 11, 2014

So I Eat Ice Cream

I've been so pissed off and frustrated lately. Everyone is annoying me. Everything is annoying me. I talk to my family and clench my fists together to stop myself from lashing out. I got so angry after coming home from work today and having a "heated" discussion with my mother that I had to retire to my room for a cry.

Working out used to cure my antsy, angsty, angry bouts but now I find myself hating it before I've even started.

Part of me wonders if this is my body's reaction to the upcoming uni semester starting in oh, less than a week. For me, at least. It's like a double kick in the pants; starting uni very early and having to do med. I'm so scared and angry about the 20th of January. I can't even express it. Except maybe physically with some interpretative dance consisting largely of me kicking a mattress.