40:60

Well, I've officially lost 9kg. That's 1kg away from my 10kg goal that I set when I embarked on this whole Healthy Lifestyle Challenge. That began in mid-April. In the time that has passed since then, I think I've become slightly addicted to trying to be healthy. I'm a naturally competitive person so doing this has been like competing with myself. Can I overcome my own desires and weaknesses?

The answer is yes. But I still love ice cream. And I continue to squirrel away a lot, a lot, of food in the freezer and my bra drawer. My bra drawer is now 40% bras, 60% chocolate.

J

The State of Our Teens

Hooligans. The lot of them. Pot smoking, pubescent sex having, cyber bullying animals. Savages. I am, naturally, referring to the fact that the girl I tutor, the fruit of my loins (wow, where did that come from? I mean the subject of my intellectual molding) has never watched Centre Stage. 

I know. She has never even heard of it. Who? What? Wear? How does that even happen? I was lost for words and then became very upset. A whole new generation of teens, tweens and pre-menarche chitlings having never seen what is maybe the greatest dance movie of all time.

This is the movie that taught us what the mouse said to the elephant ("Take it all, bitch!"). This is the movie that taught us that even if your feet don't point out properly, you can STILL become a sick ballerina and get offered some sort of scholarship (I never really understood what that last bit was about). This is the movie that taught us that your dance teacher probably also goes to an alternative, highly metropolitan, "street dance" facility where he wear sweatpants that lets everywhere see a distinct outline of his scrotal sacks (I mean, really. It's indecent to have such perfectly formed spheres of love). This is the movie that taught us that ballet can make simulated sex super classy and of great sophistication.

THIS IS THE MOVIE THAT TAUGHT US TO NEVER NAME OUR DAUGHTERS MAUREEN (for two reasons. Firstly, she will become a bitchy bulimic. Secondly, it's a superbly ugly name).

I think I've lost 50% of my faith in the new generation. And I also feel super old.

J

I've Loved and I've Lost

I am so into Drake now. Like, "I would have your babies and would make them watch Degrassi so they would know what amazing abilities their father has." Come on, Drake, we know, we both know.

This newfound love may seem a bit out of character. However, I point most of the finger at Rihanna who I have loved for a long time. And have you seen/listened to her collaborations with Drake? They are among her finest songs. I believe it was "What's My Name?" that was the root of my love for her and hey, it features Drake.

Really, my love for Drake is a natural progression from my love for Rihanna. And you know where this is going; Drake and Rihanna need to hook up. Like yesterday would be good. Or the day before. Or the day before that. Nothing would be more brilliant than a Rihanna/Drake lovechild. Can you imagine? The baby, which would likely inherit the musical talents from both, could do their own collaborations and duets. As in, single person duets which are a real thing. They could sing both the Rihanna and Drake part because they would be both Rihanna and Drake. They would be Rake. Or Drihanna. 

Drihanna Felty (because I don't know what Drake's last name is. It might be Drake. Drake Drake Jr.).

I burnt my finger making porridge this morning. Twice.





And I just watched this video:



Are you aware that the storyline played out in this video is the storyline of my dreams? Does this video surpass my deep, intense and undying love for the "Young Belong With Me" video as my favourite music video of all time? I don't know, it could. I can't be sure because I'm too overwhelmed right now. Overwhelmed with hot love and emotion. It has everything I love; guns, shooting, tragedy, lingerie, kidnapping, sexy song for sexy times.

Now, I am listening to Drake's 2012 album, Take Care. It is very overwhelming. Not in a hyperventilation way. It's like Dolby surround sound overwhelming. I feel like I'm being enveloped by this cocoon of thumping beats. It's amazing. I want to bury myself in this sound.

Finally, on a similar note (and on the third edit of this blog post), I love Rihanna's newest album, Unapologetic. It kicks Talk That Talk in the ass to the nth degree. To a ridiculous degree. To a millionth degree. There are so many good songs in it. And, at the risk of sounding like a prude, I am enjoying the relatively fewer sexually inclined songs. Look, I love a good sexual song as much as the next person (in fact, I probably love them more) but it just got repetitive on Talk That Talk and also limited my ability to jam to those tunes in public spaces.

 J

It Begins

Less than two weeks until my first (and worst. Hey, that rhymes) exam. Less than one month until we leave for Europe. Less than enough time to do everything I want to do this holiday!

Here, we have the traditional list of things I want to do this holiday. It is brief and will be added to:

1. Go to Europe. Never thought I'd say this but this will be easily accomplished. Tickets purchased, everything on the go.

2. Get a tattoo. On my foot/feet. Book or map of the world. As yet undecided.

3. Do a pull up.

J

Lower Body Cramps

I woke up this morning around 6.15am and stretched, as per normal. Except, mid-stretch, my left lower leg was suddenly in agony as a gigantic cramp seized it up. When this happens, all you can really do is try to stay really still and not scream as you are dying inside. I reached out, thinking I could maybe massage out the cramp, and felt a gigantic lump in my calf. It must have been my soleus muscle (apparently, this is the most common muscle for cramps in the entire world) balled up in a corner, rocking itself as it cried.

Cereal. It was agony. My leg still hurts as well. And then I ate Chobani yoghurt (lemon flavoured) and all was well in the world again.

Did I mention that my best friend at work, A, is leaving next Saturday? She graduates from uni (architecting!) this year and is going on an eight week holiday to Canada and the US after that. I am happy for her (she did the first five years of architecture school part time while working so is quite advanced in the age department and has thus been looking forward to graduating for quite some time) but sad as well as I shall miss her deeply. We plan on having a goodbye dinner for her and R (and me because I'm going on holiday IN ONE MONTH!).

As I mentioned, they changed the music at work. In the mix? This song:



Oh, Jamiroquai. Whatever happened to you and why is your name so hard to spell? Anyway, that song came on and I turned to look at A. She turned to look at me.
"You know what this song reminds me of every time I hear it?" I asked her.
"What?" she said with a knowing smile.
"Centre Stage."
"Oh, my God. Yes!"

And that's how I knew. She is awesome.

J

Dolce As, Bro

I made these:

And then I feasted.

J

If a Nine Year Old Can

This was the best use of 18.01 minutes in my whole life:



This kid is adorable. And perfect timing as I am making burgers tonight. I am in love with his dedication to hand-washing and general hygiene. I am in tears every time he can't reach something or drops something. Or how literally he takes it when the recipe says, "Add a few pinches of pepper." He adds three; every kid knows that "a few" means "three."

It's normal to be in love with a nine year old, yes?

Whatever you do, don't stop watching. It seemed boring to me at the start too but it's kind of like British comedy; you need to stick with it to appreciate the subtle nuances. Like when he's trying to cut the hot baps (and by baps, I mean bread rolls and by baps, I mean HOLY SHIT, HOW ADORABLE IS IT THAT HE CALLS THEM BAPS? I know the recipe calls them baps and all but it's still cute as fuck) and he's in struggle town. His solution? Use the dish cloth he's been using to wipe his dirty hands on to hold them. Childlike genius.

My other favourite part? When he mismatches the cut halves of the baps. I don't know if that statement makes sense. He uses two top halves to make one burger. It's hilarious. It's hilarious, right? The answer is yes.

J

I Talk About Sandwiches

Wow. I just decimated a homemade banh mi. And by homemade banh mi, I mean that it was barely a banh mi but it was homemade. I used homemade bread, homemade pickles (cucumber and shredded carrots), avocado (not homemade. I did once try to grow my own avocado tree using the pit from a storebought avocado and it grew to about 30cm then my mother threw it away. Monster), beetroot (no comment on homemade-ness), chicken (not homemade and I think this is the main factor that disqualifies this sandwich from being a banh mi as it should really contain some sort of Asian pork product, preferably in the shape of a manmade roll or similarly unnatural dimensions), coriander (well, I bought it myself. That makes it homemade, in my book), mayonnaise (as if I would make my own mayo) and pate using homemade chicken livers.

That last one was a lie. I did not make nor use my own homemade pate.

It was tasty. But then the bread fell apart as all the pickle juice seeped through. In the end, it was a pink gloopy mess from the beetroot but it was delicious.

I am making homemade burgers tonight. I really like bread.

J

That A Ghost Should Be So Practical

They finally changed the music at Officeworks. Thank you Jesus, it has been a long six months. The best thing is they are playing stuff I actually listen to in my downtime. This may also be bad as it may suck the goodness out of these songs as I listen to them repeatedly. Yesterday, I heard Florence, new Ellie Goulding and Kate Bush. Kate Bush, people!

They played "Wuthering Heights" and "Babooshka." Two of the most hilarious and ridiculous songs in the world and, coincidentally, also two of my favourite songs in the world.

I did a few Blogilates exercise videos this morning. The sweat was dripping from my pits, down my arms and to my carpeted floor. Carpeted. You know what that means; that sweat soaked straight in and has permanently marked the carpet with my glorious primal scent. Okay, that was meant to sound all raw and roar and shit but just ended up sounding gross. So yeah, now my carpet is soaked with my sweat and it's disgusting. Sorry, future owners of my house.

I'm slightly addicted to doing exercise videos now. Holding an ab-breaking plank is so much better when you're holding it with some random over the Internet. Sure, the video is months old but it kind of feels like they're doing it with you. It's nice. Maybe I'm just lonely and craving companionship. Regardless, they are becoming addictive and have also inspired me to become some sort of group fitness instructor one day.

Har har, you laugh. I know. Me? Group fitness? I don't like people, I don't like talking, I don't like smiling or laughing or being jovial or pretending to be jovial. I regularly have bad days when I just want to punch people, things and animals in the face (the animal thing is a joke. I would never punch an animal in the face. People, yes). Can you imagine me teaching a group fitness class on a day like that?

It would be madness.

Regardless, I kind of still want to do it. Would you come to my class? I promise I wouldn't punch you in the face.

J

Catching Buses

Why does it feel so shit when you miss your bus by just a minute but you never feel the equivalent amount of joy when you just make the bus?

Yesterday, I ran for my bus from entering Raine Square all the way until I hopped onto the bus. The bus driver already was turning out but waited for me when he saw me running. I was out of breath, sweaty and probably had an interesting scent coming from my pits. But I made the bus (literally by a few seconds) and that's all that mattered.

But I didn't feel overwhelming pride and relief as I went to find a seat. Maybe a short flicker of happiness but nothing compared to the disappointment I would have felt had I missed it. Instead, I felt embarrassed and acutely self-conscious of other passengers looking at me.

I wanted to tie this post up by referring to this whole "bus joy sadness" thing as a big analogy for life in general. I have failed you and now I feel like a cliched douche shit. Bye.

J

Further Bread Adventures

Just made this/these:

Very crusty. The smaller rolls had a nice airy crumb but the bigger loaf was too dense. I don't think I baked it long enough so I would go as far as to call it "moist." No bueno but still delicious (I just really like bread).

Now that I have exhausted all of my no knead, no prove bread recipes, I must move onto the harder/more time consuming ones. Next on the agenda? Bagels. Ambitious, I know. I should really try a simple sandwich loaf but I really, really, really like bagels.

J

A Brief Foray into Chocolate

I don't want to alarm anyone but were you aware that the American Mars Bar and Milkyway are very different to the worldwide version? Apparently, the America Milkyway is basically our Mars Bar and our Milkyway is their 3 Musketeer bar. Absolutely mind-bottling. Another interesting tidbit is that their Mars Bar was discontinued a few years ago but has since come back.

I mean, what the what? This is Big News to me given that I thought Mars Bars were one of the most popular chocolate bars in the entire world and logically assumed that the US accounted for a very large proportion of Mars Bar consumption.

Also, their Almond Joy and Mounds bars are basically our Bounties.

I should be concerned that I am this mind-bottled by chocolate, right? Wrong.

J

Tea

I want out but I want in at the same time. I would love to be a doctor... but I don't think I'm meant to be a doctor. Does that even make sense?

I had a meeting with my mentor yesterday (do you remember him? Renal guy?). He was amazing. We had coffee in the shitty hospital cafe (well, I had black tea. It felt so wrong to be charged $2+ when they literally give you just a cup of hot water and a Lipton tea bag. You have to put the tea bag in the hot water yourself) and talked. He was very cool and I thought to myself, "I would like to be that cool someday."

I will be that cool someday. I will.

I bought Coles brand peppermint tea bags on the way home today. Should have splurged for the Tetley or Lipton. Coles brand is absolutely tasteless (unless you suck the tea bag) and now I am sad. Should I try using two tea bags at once?

Lastly, I don't think I've mentioned this but I've completely wrecked both knees. I feel I should be more upset and worried about this but, for some reason, I'm not. I've been avoiding any exercise that is too high intensity (haven't run for a week, no more jump squats which I'm secretly happy about) and sticking to weights. It started a few days ago when my knees started feeling very achey and heavy. Naturally, my mind immediately jumped to early-onset osteoarthritis or gout. I even asked my FCP clinical skills tutor about it today.

I was stubborn and kept exercising in the same way for a few days after the pain started. It made it so much worse. My knees, quite seriously, felt like they were going to fall apart every time I jump roped or jump squatted or ran. Until one night when I went to lie down in bed, stretched my legs out and felt this rush of hot, achey pain to my knees. It was... concerning.

Hopefully, all the pain resolves over the next couple of days. Otherwise I will never walk again. Legit.

J

Gits and Shiggles

You know that thing where you're casually strolling down a street or sitting down under some nice tree and eating your lunch or petting someone else's dog when suddenly... you hear it. The telltale manic laugh of a gaggle of girls, often high school aged or similar. You glance over and there they are. Often three or more, all having seemingly lost control of their ability to form words, walk in a straight line or not fall over one another as they collapse into a fit of cackling.

Every time I hear/see this, I think to myself, "Good God. Nothing in this world is funny enough for you to be laughing/behaving like that. Take control of yourself, woman!" Why? Does it piss me off? Am I really that bitter and hardened to be pissed off by a bunch of girls laughing, albeit very loudly and somewhat obnoxiously? In many ways, yes, I am very bitter and hardened. But then again, no. Sometimes, I genuinely feel they are putting it on and whatever they are "laughing" (generous use of the term "laughing." Guffawing, squawking or something else less attractive may be more appropriate) at is not worthy of such hearty laughter.

But then I think to myself (sometimes hours later), "That kind of looked like fun." Because nothing, nothing, is more genuinely heartening or joyous than indulging in one of those incontinence-inducing laughing fits, especially when it is with your Special Lady Friends. Nothing gives you more energy and life than literally stumbling around like a 3am drunkard, snorting and dragging in desperate gasps of air between whatever strange animal sounds are coming out of your mouth.

This seems to be something that only happens with girls. I have seen guys and their Special Man Friends sharing a good laugh but I don't think I've seen quite the same degree of hysteria that one often sees with girls.

Having and sharing a laugh like that is one of life's greatest gifts. We must be grateful and we must not judge others.

J

Heads Up

Just a heads up for all of my thousands of loyal readers and adoring fans: a shittonne (official unit of measurement, not unlike mmHg which is possibly the most ridiculous and complicated unit of measurement in the history of measuring things) of chocolate and lollies is about to go on sale tomorrow for Halloween at a variety of supermarkets.

Coles, Woolworths, IGA. I may or may not stock up and it may or may not take me approximately 2/3 of my lifetime to actually eat all of the chocolate/lollies I intend on buying.

Also on special from tomorrow is Be Natural cereal which I believe I mentioned last week. It tastes like sugar and is amazing. Mostly because I grew up eating Sultana Bran and Cornflakes, the two most mundane and despicable cereals in the world. My mum probably only ever bought Coco Pops for my brother and I twice in our entire lives/childhoods. That being said, they are two classic cereals and their lack of tastiness has convinced my parents they are health foods. I can respect that.

My FCP tutor treated our tute to coffee at Rocketfuel today. I'm very much indebted to her and she is a champ of a tutor and person. Hearing about her experiences in the Rural Clinical School and her telling us that fourth year is going to awesome kind of depressed me because I am not looking forward to fourth year at all. I am dreading it (as I have said before). I have decided to give fourth year a shot and see if I like/can tolerate clinical work. We shall see.

A word medical people and various other science-y people love to use is "toxicity" and that is the word I would use to describe (my feelings towards) clinical work. I count down the minutes from the second I step into the hospital/clinic/other medical setting until the second I can leave. Surely that's not normal/healthy for a medical student to be feeling that.

I want a desk and a computer. I want to wear a pencil skirt and go to the gym after work. I want to not second guess every decision I make at work because shit, what if a stupid decision or oversight I make kills or irreparably maims someone? I'm not cut out to function under that level of stress.

J

There's Two of Them

They/she should really, really, really annoy me. I mean, so peppy. So constantly happy. So chirpy. Everything I pretty much hate but I can't help it. She cracks me up and I love her:



How anyone can stay so happy whilst performing those moves and being in what must be horrific physical pain is beyond me.

J

Blogilates

Oh, my God. This bitch, lol:
   

Sometimes, I just watch these videos for fun while I'm browsing the Internet. I never do them because they hurt too much but she cracks me up so much. She is great. I don't understand how she's talking while doing those moves.

J

Oy

I'm so into him.

He came to stocktake yesterday in his civvies; grey t-shirt and jeans. The grey t-shirt was a touch too tight and low cut (I know, I know...) and was unfortunate enough to display (what I always suspected) a slight potbelly and the smallest hint of chest hair. He really should be everything I physically hate. He has those notably hairy arms due to his Asian mother and Caucasian father (thick + dark hair). The lack of muscular physique. Big teeth. Evidence of past acne. But I'm still so freaking into him.

He hooked up his phone to the store speaker system so we listened to his playlist as we counted hundreds of thousands of display folders and document wallets (the worst). It surprised me. It was mostly dance music and therefore hilarious. He asked me later what I thought of his taste in music. I told him it surprised me and I wouldn't have associated it with him. We talked about him leaving for Japan and whether he planned on returning. He asked me if I would ever do the same; go on extended travel overseas and work. I told him I would love to... but probably wouldn't get the chance. Usually, when I talk about this kind of stuff with people I'm not close friends with, I feel very false and self-conscious. But with him, I just wanted to keep talking to him. I wanted to know what he thought and what his plans were.

I just like his smile. I like looking at his smile and looking at him. I like the way he looks at me and smiles at me. It's fucking killing me. When will I shut up about this crap? I quite seriously am annoying myself at this point because it's just the same shit every time and it's not like I ever do anything about it. I can't help it. I ruminate (I have heard this word so many times in Psychology of Healing but quite like it) about him (and I know that this is possibly the wrong context to use that word) all day long sometimes.

It's like it's just me and him when we talk. Maybe it's all in my head but I feel so connected to him when we talk. Sometimes, it feels like there's stuff being unsaid when we smile at each other. I want badly to know if he's thinking the same thing. If he wants to say something else. Do other people notice me mooning over him? Does he realize? Is he scared of me?

Oy vey.

In other news, this is how my bread turned out after sleeping with it for over 12 hours:

It was quite a sensual experience. Very crusty but a little too chewy. Almost crumpet-like in texture. I am keen to try out the Matt Preston Masterchef no knead bread (it involves refrigeration overnight. So much easier than trying to find somewhere warm to let the dough rise). Maybe next week. My family is going to get so sick of sub-par bread by the end of this yeast-obsessed episode of mine.

J

Yeast

Survived another Officeworks stocktake. We finished at 7.30pm compared to 2am last time. It was glorious. Gloriously, I also had a lovely and slightly flirtatious conversation with R at the end. We just spent ages smiling at each other. Or maybe that's just how I felt.

I am baking bread tomorrow morning for breakfast which means I mixed it up this morning and am letting it rise for nearly 24 hours. It's supposed to rise in a "warm" place but there's nowhere warm in this house. I put it next to my brother's computer for the most of today and plan on (literally) sleeping with it tonight so it can bask in my body heat.

Let us pray.

J

And Then I Got Lost Going to the Changeroom

So, I saw an elderly lady have an indwelling catheter being put in today. In fact, I was the one to hold her feet together so her legs would spread apart for ease of access. I was surprised to see they didn't have her anesthetized whilst putting the catheter in (or maybe she was and I just didn't realize) but she didn't seem to have any pain from it.

There is nothing more terrifying than being a medical student in some sort of clinical setting where there's a bunch of older, smarter doctors and the room is small. Everyone is doing something and you feel like you're in everyone's way. You don't know how to do even the simplest things. The anesthetist asked me to unlatch the brakes for the bed and I didn't even know how to do that. You don't know whether or not you should ask questions because it could either show enthusiasm and interest or be annoying. You don't know where to stand, what to do with your hands. You don't know if you should even talk to the patient because that could be interpreted wrongly.

You're so acutely aware of how incompetent and inexperienced you are and you feel like everyone is thinking to themselves, "Well damn, how did she get to third year?"

That being sad, spending today in the operating theatre (for the first time) was amazing. It's fascinating to see anatomy we've learnt from lecture slides and cadavers being put into practice (note to self: adult spinal cord ends at L1. That was the only question I was quizzed on by one of the docs and I said L4/5. Fml).

The thing about being a shitty medical student (and by shitty I mean very inexperienced, incompetent and potentially a "danger to the patient." Never forget) is that you seriously don't know what to do and, to be frank, the doctors who are "overseeing you" really don't care about you. There is no spoonfeeding. They let you loose. You don't know where to go or if you're meant to follow them. They're not going to say to you, "Okay, come with me." You either go with them or you don't. They don't care which you do (well, they probably do but you can't tell what they want). You're like this fly. Your place in the clinical setting is so up in the air. You're not helpful yet but you've been at uni long enough that they are justified in quizzing you on questions and expecting some knowledge.

It's a really scary place to be in. But it's still pretty cool.

Another thing about doctors and nurses is that a shit tonne of them are hard as hell. They're just not nice. Oh, they're very nice to the patient but to the med student? It's a different story. It's not that they're mean, per se. It's just that they're strict. They have expectations of you. They refuse to coddle you or soften the blow with kind words. They have egos the size of my breakfast bowl of porridge (and that's big).

I saw a nurse/doctor interaction today of great interest. The doctor was a hardass but she was young. The nurse was hard as fucking hell. I didn't even know where to look when they "disagreed." I was just glad I wasn't the cause of the disagreement.

There was, however, a really, really nice male doctor who was just really, really nice to me. He actually smiled and greeted me when I walked in. He mouthed the answer, "L1," to me after I got the answer wrong to the spinal cord question with this big goofy smile on his face. When he saw me silently panicking about the fact that I didn't know how to unlatch the brakes on the bed, he did it for me without a word (and without the other doctor who'd asked me noticing). He was such a calming presence for me because it felt like I had someone on my side in that room.

J

The Bobby Boner Show

Holy crap. She's, like, an adult and funny and charming. I've always know she was an excellent human being but, for the last few years, I've been seeing the very publicist varnished Taylor where she talks about boring crap that I don't really care about. You really have to delve into the older stuff to see what I consider the "real" Taylor that is kind of snarky, amazing and someone I would truly want to be friends with.

In the following two specimens, I give you a funny, slightly sarcastic woman:





J

Icebreaking

Whoever invented icebreakers (the ones in a circle where you introduce yourself and give one interesting fact) is a fucking jackass. The last time, I literally said that my name was Junaberry and hey, I really like looking for split ends. It got a few cheap laughs but I felt absolutely dirty.

The best icebreaker is when you partner up with some random and you have to do some kind of activity. Perfection. You immediately have a "best friend" in the room with whom you will have established inside jokes and shared a few laughs by the end of the activity (preferably something involving role play or building something out of household materials). It will be you two against the world/the other people in the class.

It's almost romantic.

J

Food Wall

No, not a wall made out of food. Although that would be awesome. I would eat my way through any food wall; it would be perfect if I had been kidnapped. It would be perfect if I was like Ice Man Bobby (I'm very sure that is his technical name) in X-Men II and able to chuck up a ice (food) wall at will.

No, food wall refers to the fact that I hit a wall yesterday after indulging in my piece of cake. It was very sweet but not exquisite. I had been looking forward to it so much. As I lay in bed last night, I thought about what I should eat tomorrow. And nothing appealed to me. I was even hungry in bed last night. Nothing seemed like it would satiate my "hunger" because I was hungry for something non-existent and I'm still not sure what it is.

I went grocery shopping at Woolworths today and lo' and behold, they are stocking two new Chobani flavours; blackberry and apricot. I've been looking forward to them rolling out the new flavours (others include COCONUT and orange creme) so I was nearly unhealthily excited when I saw them on the shelf. I picked up those two in addition to (my favourite) pear and (my second favourite) lemon. I also bought some Be Natural cereal on special, yeast (I want to bake bread. The last time I bought yeast, I used it once, the bread turned out crap and the yeast sat in my pantry for nearly a year until it expired) and 99c soy milk!

I am so excited about all of these purchases and cannot wait for breakfast tomorrow.

For your further reading and interest, I have a gigantic pussy pimple on my face. It is right on/adjacent to quite a prominent mole on my face. This, in itself, is hilarious because what are the chances of a pimple implanting itself right on a mole? I mean, what is the area of a mole? Like 1/10cm^2. Someone do the maths for me. I am very impressed by the work of this pimple. Sadly, the pimple is giving me grief because it's inflamed, disgustingly pussy and I feel like everyone is looking at it! Who knows if they are (maybe they're looking at my mole. We will never know) but I feel like they are. I refuse to pop it because it's kind of gross and, back in the day when I was obsessed with my acne, I vowed to never pick another pimple in my entire life so I could avoid scars. Since then (some 6+ years) I have not picked a pimple.

And thus ends the saddest blog post in the history of blogs.

J

Stress

Today:

• Awoke at 6.15am despite not going into uni
• Took a piss. Only day 1.5 of period and it's already dwindled to nothing. Just enough to warrant a panty liner (ew, panty) but nowhere near enough for a pad or to care whether or not I sleep on my side. It is freaking awesome. I battled the red rush for a good year or so in which I would (and I do realize I'm going into way too much freaking detail here) soak a pad in under three hours. It is utter bliss now. I love my period
• Ate oatmeal for breakfast. Super ripe banana included
• Read Sarah Dessen's newish book, The Moon and More, in bed for half an hour. It's okay but I'm not feeling this Theo guy. He seems like a schmuck. Girl should go back to hot shirtless dude 
• Did some Research Project work. Does no one reply to emails these days? I'm officially stressed out about it. Trying to acquire an extension but Helena is not responding and neither is the supervisor. This sucks
• Exercise. Knee hurts. Should slow down but...
• Fast forward to lunch. Beer bread. Slathered in margarine (I don't care what they say. On toast, margarine > butter. In cookies, butter > > > > > > margarine) and strawberry jam. With a hardboiled egg. And some pistachios. And some carrots. It was random. And then half a corn on the cob. It was delicious 
• Fast forward to cake. Yes, I gave in to the cake. I had a smallish piece. It was sweet, it was moreish, it was denser than density itself. I foresee more cake in the future because it's not everyday that you have too much delicious mudcake in the house that needs to be eaten
• Created a shopping list for Woolworths when brother returns with car later this evening. Include yoghurt (new type on special. I am eyeing the mango and vanilla one but there's also a fig one that looks interesting), cocoa, yeast and mandarins. Scintillating stuff
• I want more cake

J

Only Me

As I become older, I also become increasingly aware of what it is to be me. And not someone else. As in, I'm not someone else. I'm me. There is no other me. I am me. I am all me. I am woman. I am now distracted. I ate porridge for breakfast.

The thing is, no one will ever be in my head and I will never be in someone else's head. I used to get scared that there were mind readers around, listening to my every thought. Wouldn't that be horrific (unless the mind reader was super hot and sparkly)? But now I know that they probably don't exist (and if they do, please let them be super hot, sparkly and deeply moved by my very profound and intelligent everyday thoughts).

I wonder what people would think if they were inside my head. Would they be disturbed or amused? Or would it be normal to them? Do we all think in similar ways? I wonder a lot what other people are thinking and whether they think in the same way as me. I wonder what that really attractive, popular girl is thinking as she walks down a busy road. I wonder how aware she is of her own good looks. I wonder about it all but I will never know. What is her thought process when someone bumps into her? When someone is rude to her?

What is that really rude customer thinking? What is that really nice person thinking (I confess that I believe they are thinking nasty thoughts underneath that sugary exterior)?

I think it really is excellent that our thoughts are our own and no one will ever know them (if we choose not to share). This is one of the main reasons that I (sometimes) enjoy taking public transport. I like to sit in that window seat and become lost in my own thoughts. They are usually about food or boys (like many of my conversations with friends) but they are my own and I feel safe there.

J

What It Is

Brother bought a birthday cake for someone's birthday party. There was a miscommunication and five people brought cake so he brought most of his cake back home. It's a caramel marble mudcake from The Cheesecake Shop. I'm dying. I'm dying here. I want it so bad. I want to gorge and binge. I cut it into pieces and packed it into Tupperware just now, all the while mentally battling with myself on whether or not to have a piece. There's so much of it and it was sitting in his hot car all day so it has an imminent expiry date.

But I shouldn't. It's a slippery slope and I felt myself on the precipice just now. I had a nibble here and there as I was packing it up and I already feel sick now. But to sink my teeth into that dense, sugary cake would be pure perfection. Why are things that are so good so bad for us?

I just made this beer bread:

It's delicious with the most mind shattering crust but a smidge too sweet. I will cut down the sugar in future.

I'm probably the physically healthiest I've been in my life (save perhaps a point or two in my childhood when all I did was run around the backyard, playing Octopus with my dad and my brother. That game when you try to run past the other person without them grabbing you) but I don't know whether I'm at my mental peak.

I feel I think about food way too often. I plan out my calories. I allot myself designated treats. I freak out if someone brings food into class because that fucks up my eating schedule and I don't know whether I can resist free/good food. I squirrel away food in my underwear drawer and freezer. I drink so much fucking tea to take my mind off food. I weigh myself too often. I agonize over whether I should eat that handful of cashews because, good Jesus, each cashew is like 10 calories. I pick up a handful of five and eat one then put four back because I feel bad. Fucking cashews.

I don't know if there's a healthy medium. Maybe I'm still finding my feet.

A couple of weeks ago, I went to a quiz night. I knew there was going to be snacks; chocolate, chips, Rocky Motherfucking Road. I decided that was going to be my Big Treat of the week (I usually have one cheat breakfast, lunch, dinner and dessert each week). So I braced myself. When I went to the quiz night, I binged so hard. I couldn't stop eating. I grabbed rocky road like there was no tomorrow and I felt so ashamed the whole time. I went home feeling sick and I wanted to vomit it all up so much. Not because I felt physically sick (although I did) but because I was so disgusted with myself and wanted to get all of it out of my body. 

Why do we do these things to ourselves? 

J

What I'm Capable Of

Periods.

Maybe I just like talking about them. Maybe I have a bizarre obsession with them. I don't know. I went through many years of middle school devastated by my lack of menstruation. I was what they call a "late bloomer." I didn't get my period until I was halfway through my 14th year and didn't get boobs until I had enough money for implants (le jk). Perhaps that explains my ongoing tendency to discuss them.

The thing about periods is this; they are so fucking nasty. We like to talk about how annoying they are, how moody and tired we get, how they restrict our ease of movement (never knew what Big Michelle meant by "chafing" until I had to walk 3km with a pad). What we don't like to talk about is how disgusting they are. Visually and in various other regards.

There is nothing fouler (well, there is) than going to the bathroom, pulling your undies down and seeing... something there. You're not sure what it is. Spontaneous abortion? Impossible, still a fresh flower. Dying out of my ass? Possible... Dead alien that had taken residence in my uterus and has now died and fallen out? Very, very possible. Increasingly plausible.

Perhaps my favourite aspect of the disgustingness that is menstruation is when you're sitting or standing or squatting or in any position really and then suddenly... What the fuck is that? That really strange sensation? Wait, seriously, what is that? Oh, I know what that is. I'm about to give birth to a big ass blood clot.

YES, I SAID IT. Blood clots. A part of periods that is truly fucking disgusting but so amazing at the same time. You look at it (everyone does this, right?) and think, "Holy shit, that was in me. I just gave birth to a slug." You wonder how anything that foul yet so perfectly encapsulated could exist. You wonder if there is a colony of small beetles living inside that perfectly clot-like clot. What would happen if you popped it? Would millions of crawling things pour out? Would I suddenly die because that clot and I are inexorably connected in a deeply spiritual way?

Oh, periods. I could talk about you all day.

J

Strangeness and Charm

Sometimes, I look at photos of myself and think, "Wow, you are either SUPER unphotogenic or just very unattractive." I'm hoping it's not the latter and that I will be strolling in the Galleria one day and have a model scout approach me, wide eyed and flabbergasted over my beauty.

"Wow," they will say, their half-full Boost juice slipping from their hand in their shock and hitting the floor with a dramatic splatter. "Have you ever thought about modelling?

J

Oh, You're So Naive

I am feeling a million times better today. You may (or probably not) notice that I deleted last night's profanity filled rant about my intense hatred for a customer at work who verbally abused me for several minutes. I decided it was not worth sullying my good name with such writings (it involved me expressing my hope that she died via impaling herself on a rusty pole and that her daughters disowned her due to their embarrassment over her behaviour). I am also feeling better about the Research Project which is good.

I am looking forward to a superbly long bike ride later this afternoon. During rides, my quads ache like a bitch but it's not really until I get off the bike at the end that I feel the full force of what I've just done to my legs. I get off my bike and feel like I've set fire to (the rain) my juicy, juicy thighs. It's painfully exquisite (sounds like something from a dirty novel... Not that I would have experience with those).

As evidence off the stress I've been feeling for the last few days/weeks, I would love to post a picture of my cuticles/fingers here. They are literally ripped/bitten to shreds. They are horribly inflamed, painful and occasionally bloody. It's a very pretty picture. While I would love to post a picture, I won't because you will be scared.

Did I ever tell you about my Short Guy Friend at work? I think I did. I think I mentioned that I thought he was marginally cute the first time I saw him. He's also kind of... I can't really find the words to describe him. He's kind of special in a good way. He has a slightly sarcastic, sassy sense of humour but isn't overly outgoing or friendly. It took a long time for us to get to know each other properly but I feel like we're proper friends now. It's nice. Honestly, I think it's because he's short (he's probably my height or a little shorter). I genuinely get intimidated when around tall guys. Tall girls I can deal with (case in point: Chloe) but tall guys make me feel very insignificant.

Dad leaves for Taiwan tonight. I hope he drinks plentiful litres of bubble tea there in my honour. I love bubble tea. Not only is Taiwan the home of bubble tea but it is also (I'm guessing) very cheap there. I've said this before (I'm quite sure) but, during our last family holiday in China, we hit up a local bubble tea franchise every day for a week. The bubble teas were something ludicrous like AUD$1 each and they were delicious. I went for the milk tea with sago (the classic) every time. But I also tried my brother's mocha with coffee jelly. Also exquisite. God bless you, Asia. You have produced some fantastic stuff.

J

Stress

With part two of the Research Project due next week, I am beyond stressed again. Feeling like I've done nearly all the work (we have a joint Google doc that we add to and colour code what we write. Nearly the whole thing is coloured purple...) because the other people in my group are slow to get the ball rolling.

Stressing out about the chronic disease clinical skills assessment, thyroid assessment, exams, booking trains for Europe. I have had this niggling feeling in my stomach for the last few days, like I want to throw up. Wake up and feel there is so much to do today but I can't quite remember what or am unable to do it. I can't get into contact with our Research Project supervisor. I'm due to meet with my mentor this Wednesday.

It's all turning to shit. I know most of it is in my head. I get stressed out fairly easily, I dwell on what needs to be done, exaggerate deadlines, underestimate my capabilities. But you can't do anything about it. It's built into my DNA to worry and be anxious over deadlines and things like that.

I try calming myself by reading lots of chick lit in my spare time but I haven't been impressed with the last 3-4 books I've read. I need some recommendations. But I did just (illegally) download all the Sarah Dessen books and am looking forward to falling into the soft, comforting arms that is This Lullaby. So ready to lose myself in a sea of, "Huffah!"s and fountain sodas. Because everyone knows that's the type of soda Remy likes.

J

Eight To Go

The other night, I watched a whole series of Victoria's Secret workout videos that supposedly will show me how to achieve Candice Swanepoel level of hotness. I sat by my computer with a notebook and pen, noting down the various exercises. I put together a 45 minute workout using these new techniques and did it for the first time yesterday. At the end of those 45 minutes, I lay down on the floor as a single droplet of sweat rolled down from my armpit and to the floor, like a single tear mourning the physical agony I was in. It was perfection.

I used to do this video a lot:

But I had to stop because I got so angry when she would say, "Okay, eight more!" and start counting, "Eight, seven, six," only to stop counting at six and start babbling on about some shit. Then she would continue, "Four, three, two, one," except she would have done a whole lot in between six and four. It was infuriating and I would literally want to punch someone in the face as I did whatever I was doing.

If I was a fitness instructor, I would adopt military style counting. No bullshit. If I said, "Eight more!" I would fucking only make you do eight more. Other than that gripe, I adore the Fitnessista (see: video). I have been reading her old blog posts because I got bored studying kidneys (!!! my favourite !!!). I got kind of depressed reading these posts because it was all chickpea flour this, swapping bread for double vegetables that. It was downright depressing.

Maybe it is not my place to judge. In my eyes, perhaps, this seems like a restrictive life. But in theirs, perhaps they don't feel this way and this is a lifestyle that makes them happy.

J

Belated Findings From Day Two

This could actually work.

J

Day One

Day one of my dad's retirement.

Number of arguments with mother? Three. But the end of the day is yet to come. Number of arguments with brother? Upwards of three and counting. Number of arguments with me?

I don't know if you can consider my "arguments" with my dad as arguments. Mostly because I try to be annoying in a way that may or may not be sarcastic but you can't really tell. For example, whenever my dad doesn't like how I do something (where I put the kettle, how I wash a dish, how quickly I pull the blinds open), I go into my dead eyes shopgirl mode.

What is dead eyes shopgirl mode? That's the mode I go into when I've had a really crappy day at work with abusive customers. I no longer care what they think of me. Instead, I am cordial and show no emotion.
"Sorry for the inconvenience," I will say, making eye contact with my soulless eyes. They will become agitated as you cannot really argue with someone who is not arguing back. They don't want to look like dickheads to the other customers.

I do this to my dad. "Sorry," I will say. "It won't happen again." He will become similarly agitated as you can't really argue/tell someone off when they are apologizing, no matter how dead eyes shopgirl mode it is. Am I being sarcastic? Yeah, maybe. Will it actually not happen again? Not sure because I often stop listening when in dead eyes shopgirl mode. Am I really sorry? Not a chance. I just want you to shut up so I can go back to whatever I'm doing.

I try to tell my mum to do the same thing when she's arguing with dad. However, she is physically incapable of doing this. She gets flustered, angry, raises her voice. All the things that just exacerbate a situation. In my future marriage, my husband and I are either going to have a super calm relationship with no arguments or he will get really pissed off with me as I go into dead eyes shopgirl mode every time he tries to start a conversation with me that maybe even be slightly inflammatory or have the potential to go that way.

Will report back with findings from Day Two.

J

Justin Long

I'm in love. I'm in love. Oh, to be Amanda Seyfried (speaking of Amanda, I love her to bits):



I always thought Justin Long was kind of... well, ugly. And I still don't find him particularly physically attractive but I am very attracted to his... mind. Yes, his mind. Yes, I have achieved enlightenment, am able to look past the aesthetic and see the wonder that lies underneath (and by "wonder that lies underneath," I am referring to the fact that he has a decent body).

There are several reasons for this change of heart. Firstly, I watched Going the Distance featuring him and Drew Barrymore ("So, like, what are your hopes and dreams?" Never forget) which was an adorable and "sexy" movie (I feel very creepy describing things as sexy). Secondly, I read this unforgettable article/interview: http://www.vulture.com/2013/04/justin-long-romantic-comedies-a-case-of-you-interview.html

I mean, I can't even. I can't even. Do such men exist in real life? I just want to lie around in my pyjamas (or lack thereof) with him and watch tonnes of random rom coms. Then have our own "rom com" if you "know what I'm saying." I don't know why I'm putting so many things in inverted commas. I just don't know anymore.

J

It's All For You

That's a quote from Love, Actually. Said by the rotten whore who seduces Severus Snape. In no way do I condone such behaviour but I enjoyed the quote.

I started wearing my hair down to work a few weeks ago. The first time was because my hair was still wet from the shower. Indian guy complimented me on it and I thought, "Hm." Compliments are nice, people. That was the week R had to switch his shift with another girl. The next week, I wore it down again despite not having wet hair. I admit that I was consciously aware that I wanted R to see me with my hair down and therefore in a potentially more attractive light. Unfortunately, I don't think he noticed because we were so busy that we didn't talk that day.

But today, I wore it down again. He wandered over during the day and said, "You've got a new hairstyle!"
"No, I don't!" I said with a laugh that I hope was feminine and modest. "I'm just wearing it down."
"Yeah, that's a new hairstyle!"

All through the following conversation, all I could think was, "Oh, my God. He noticed."

And that ends that story.

J

R.E.M. - "UBerlin"

This is just wonderful:
 

J

I Want to Go Back

I'm on a nostalgic kick. It involves listening to the Twilight soundtrack over and over again and reminiscing about my Twilight days. Year eight me, reciting the blurb with Kim in the little courtyard thing between red and blue (?) block, ordering New Moon off Amazon (my first internet purchase in the entire world) and reading it in a night, bubble wrapping it.

It's funny how these things can define a period of your life in some ways. I kind of hate myself for my behaviour and immaturity in those days but I kind of love myself for it at the same time. There is nothing more joyful than that adolescent obsessive phase. I am glad I got to experience it.

J

Change of Tact

I have officially moved on from rom coms. Of course, they will always hold a special place in my heart but it is too hard to find new good ones to watch. I have watched The Host way too many times now and it's not even a rom com. Unless I can get some good recs (I have literally trawled through every list of "top 100 rom coms" on the internet), I'm going to have to cease.

Instead, I have decided to try and read every good chick lit in the world, facilitated, of course, by my new e-reader. It's very overwhelming, having so many potentially good reading materials at my fingertips. I am currently working through this list: http://www.chicklitclub.com/ultimate100.html

And by "working through" this list, I mean I'm currently 14% through one of the books, Jemima J by Jane Green. It is ace of cakes and I am enjoying it. Why is UK chick lit so much better (unless you're Meg Cabot) than US chick lit? I have reason to believe that it is because UK chick lit writers tend to favour the dowdier cousin of the sophisticated, woman-about-town that the US chick lit writer adores. Of course, there is the classic Bridget Jones situation. Perhaps the epitome of the Dowdy Cousin. But there are so many others, likely following the example of Helen Fielding and her humongous-panty-wearing character.

Can we get an amen for Marian Keyes, whom I will always remember as my first foray into "adult chick lit"? Sure, I read the Boy series by Meg Cabot prior to that but I kind of consider those books to cater to teens in many ways. The first Marian Keyes book I read was Anybody Out There? The tears that fell, friends. If you find our high school copy in the middle school library and smell it, you will smell my tears of agony as I read that book many moons ago.

The thing about chick lit is that I can relax when I read it. I don't have to concentrate. I can truly lose myself in the story. I don't have to use brainpower and that is in no way an insult to the art that is chick lit. Because chick lit is an art. It is difficult to write; I have tried. You have to be funny and insightful yet moving and emotional at the right moments (not too many because I hate sappy shit). I ended that foray into chick lit very quickly as I realized that it is a lot more fun to read chick lit than to write it. I do not laugh at my own jokes (mostly because they're not very funny. My chick lit jokes, that is, because my in-person jokes are fucking hilarious. Profitability, anyone?) so there is no joy from writing it.

I can read chick lit for days but I need to take (long) breaks when I read stuff that requires more neurons. Whilst fulfilling, these are not the books of my people. No, the books of my people is the stuff of ladies like Marian Keyes, Meg Cabot, Sophie Kinsella, JANE GREEN and, of course, Helen Fielding. I didn't read Bridget Jones' Diary until two years ago and I both regret and treasure that decision immensely. I have never laughed so hard at a book in my entire life. The movie has nothing on it. The book had my sides aching and urine leaking out of places that urine leaks out of. If I had read that in my younger, more naive days (because I am so worldly and mature now. A woman-about-town, if you will. Also, do people know that reference? I am, of course, referring to Catcher Block of Down with Love fame. Ladies' man, man's man, man about town. If you have not watched that movie, please do. It changed my life), I probably wouldn't have understood all the jokes nor gained as much happiness out of it.

I must bid you adieu now as there is study to be studied (and chick lit to be read). Enjoy the day!

J

Still Into You

The first book to devirginize my e-reader? No regerts, it's The Host by Stephenie Meyer. Fuark, I'm so into it. Like, an embarrassing degree of into-it-ness. I have already cried twice and gasped out loud at least thrice. Screw the cliched dialogue, screw it all. I am so here for this love triangle that tugs at the heartstrings and brings to mind very well developed six packs. The kind of stuff that makes me want to listen to "Radioactive" by Imagine Dragons a billion times (as I have).

Breaking Dawn is one of the worst books I have ever read but shit, that lady can write. It's not necessarily world changing, high class, upper crust literary magnificence but it's good. A good book is a good book. Lest we forget.

J

Thrift Shop

I had an argument with my dad the other day about the price of the Kobo e-reader. As you know, I went through a great many hurdles in order to acquire said e-reader (that's electronic reader for the uninitiated. God, I'm so helpful sometimes). A lot of it is because I really, really wanted to buy it at the cheapest price I could. The best possible outcome was $142 (Officeworks + staff discount). The worst possible outcome was $160 (Harvey Norman). I ended up with $153. 

My unrelenting dedication to acquiring it for $142 (but then I had to bump my best possible outcome to $153 as it quickly became clear that $142 was just not going to happen) bothered my dad who said all this trouble was not worth the $7 (160 - 153) I wanted to save. Why put myself through this for such a measly sum?

In my head, I know this is logical. $7 is very little in the grand scheme of things. It becomes even more insignificant when making large purchases (as if people buying homes care if the cost is $450 000 or $450 007). But I just keep thinking, "Jeez, that $7 could have bought me xxx." 

In some ways, I think being thrifty is good but I also think I'm probably too thrifty (read: cheap). Maybe it will change when I work full time. My brother, on the other hand, is so unthrifty that it often physically pains me to watch him spend money the way he does. I get a twitchy feeling in my arms and hands that makes me want to grab the money from his hands and put it back into his bank account.

It's very inconvenient.

A good solution to all this would be if I was super rich... but there's the small chance I'd still be just as cheap. That would just be sad.

J

The Good Guy

Do you remember Guy Who I Used to Hate a Lot? In first year uni, I used to bitch incessantly about this guy. Like, "I wish he would fall into a vat of toxic shit and drown in it." Like a burning hatred comparable to a really bad case of vaginal thrush.

I'm with his girlfriend, N, in my FCP tute and she might very well be the sweetest girl in the entire world. This makes me doubt my prior judgement about Toxic Shit Guy because how can someone so wonderful be with someone so toxic and shitty? It occurred to me that I kind of have forgotten why I hate Toxic Shit Guy so much. Is it because he's so blonde and fair that he is mildly albino looking and therefore inherently evil? This logic does not sit well with me because I am very attracted to Paul Bettany who is arguably the closest one can be to albino without actually being albino.

Toxic Shit Guy has actually been very nice to me in the past. He has struck up conversation (and by "conversation," I mean a friendly nod and a word or two in my direction) with me in the past in a friendly manner. A+ on that front considering how prickly my demeanour used to be (that's not to say my demeanour is no longer prickly now but I truly look back and cringe at how I used to behave. That's saying a lot). I still hated him.

It is likely because he was a Big Fish in a Big Pond. He knew everything, answered every question, was the tutor's favourite, was the world's favourite. If I had a dog, he would probably be my dog's favourite. But I must regroup now and reassess my feelings. I am beginning to suspect he is a good guy after all.

J