A Time For Sad Sackery

I kind of feel like a failure when it comes to social interactions.

I look at my life and I look at the last year I spent haunting libraries and quiet lawn areas where people wouldn't judge me for being alone. I look at waiting for lectures and pretending to be texting so people wouldn't judge me for having no friends to talk to before the lecture.

I just can't do it but I really want to because I'm sick of that feeling of being the odd one out and the loser who has zero friends.

This morning, I got to the lecture and there were so many people waiting outside for the lecture to start. I took one look and immediately went to the toilet and washed my hands (it's what I do to waste time so I can just casually stroll into the lecture theatre after everyone's already gone in so I can find a seat in an empty row). I came out and still didn't see anyone I knew so I went outside and pretended to text someone.

And I did actually text Big Michelle something panicky then I went back in and she was already there talking to Back Muscles (I don't know why I'm calling him this...). The rest of the day was spent following Big Michelle like a lost puppy. I feel pathetic when I have to rely on her like that. I feel like shit when I feel so happy that she's finally at the lecture so I finally have someone to talk to. I feel ridiculous when I stand behind her as she talks to her friends and I don't say anything.

I just feel like shit constantly about the state of my social life. I want to make friends but then I meet someone and I want to say something and I just clam up or I speak too softly or I say something stupid or I just say really mundane things and then they never want to talk to me again.

I love Big Michelle so much for always trying to encourage me and push me to make friends and reassuring me that sometimes she feels that way too. I don't know how she does it but she just does, she just makes friends and they all love her.

I'm scared about going into the workforce because I know I'll be so socially inept that I won't be able to make any friends at work and my whole life will just be filled with work and awkward pleasantries with my colleagues. They'll go off and hang out after work and I'll just go home and be alone.

Having friends is something I so desperately want but when the time comes I can't do it. But I hope to improve this year.

J

A Peek Into My First Two Days of Uni

You are now the 12th person (unless I've already told you) to hear/read about how Big Michelle nearly walked into a peacock.

I sat at a table behind The Hottest Boy In Our Year in our Aboriginal Health lecture. I admired his beautiful back muscles for the better half of the two hour lecture. He would have been wonderful in The Covenant.

In this morning's NS lecture, I sat behind this dude both me and Big Michelle had a somewhat-crush on in the beginning of last year. I noticed he had put on some muscle over the course of the year. He's purdy.

I was casually filling in forms to sell a couple of textbooks at the secondhand bookshop when this girl comes up to me and asks me if I'm selling the Saladin, Anatomy and Physiology book I had resting on the desk I was writing on.
"Yes," I said, "Indeed I am."
"Great!" she said. "I've been looking for it everywhere!"
We promptly cut out the middle man and I sold it to her directly for a pretty penny. Apparently, I overcharged her which I feel bad about because she was really sweet...

I have been listening to Tay-Tay continuously over the last 48 hours (even in my sleep).

Today, I didn't realize we only had a two hour lecture in the morning. I thought we had lectures in the arvo too... Alas, I brought my laptop and Meg kept asking me why I bothered. I didn't realize the logic of her question until she reminded me we only really had one lecture that day (the first hour was introductory). So, in addition to the two tonne-like textbooks I brought today, I also brought a laptop and a lunch I didn't need.

Number of friends made: zero (except for a guy I shook hands with except he doesn't really count).

J

Antonio Carluccio

Casually watching Poh's Kitchen (instead of accompanying Little Mishelle to her Buddhist, vegetarian food gathering) when Antonio Carluccio comes on. I wikipedia him to find this:

Self-stabbing
On 7 September 2008, it was reported that Carluccio had stabbed himself in the chest.[2] Doctors feared the blade may have punctured his lung. He was taken to Chelsea and Westminster Hospital and later discharged.

Carluccio later admitted himself to The Priory clinic, with it reported that Carluccio was suffering from depression.[3] but latest reports are that he is suffering from exhaustion and that incident was an accident[4]

In an interview from March 2009, Carluccio revealed that although he was feeling "desperate" and "very depressed" at the time of the stabbing incident, that it was an accident that occurred while cutting a loaf of bread.[1] He also noted that the time spent at the Priory clinic was a "positive experience" that allowed him to realize how his problems paled in comparison to others he saw while there.[1]

This really depressed me (not to the point that I'm going to stab myself in the chest) because he appears on Poh's Kitchen to be extremely lively and sweet and joyful. He appeared on the show around 2010 (I would guess... Maybe 2011, not sure) which is a couple of years after the incident but it's still horrible to think that someone like that who just appears to be so full of life can be driven to an act like that.

Sigh. Life.

J

Late Night Post

Late night sewing activities. Clipping darts into the outside seams of my $5 tribal print tube skirt from Cotton On (I will continue referring to this skirt by its full name until the day I die) following half an hour of researching how to make it lie flat on me... Hips don't lie, mate. That skirt be puckering up on this bod.

J

The Bubble (Yes, I Ripped That From 30 Rock)

"Three Beazleys in close proximity is never a good idea. Good times trolling and generally bi-winning. — at Rottnest Island."

Status update from our year's Beazley winner. These fucking pretentious assholes. I hate behaviour and thinking like this. It's all about exclusivity and superiority to these people. So many med students share this way of thinking. They live in this bubble where they think they are so amazing and above everyone else.

I hate those med student memes where they show them passed out over their study notes and shit like that that have been posted gratuitiously all over our year's facebook community. I'm sure it gets harder in later years but for us students who've only experienced first year, I'm pretty sure we've experienced similar levels of study and pressure to most of the other faculties at uni.

Little Mishelle who does architecture could run circles in terms of study and hardworkingness around these jacked-up twats.

There are so many smart people in other courses and other faculties and they don't throw a hissy fit about how intelligent and hardworking they are. So many med students think they are entitled to walk all over people and bask in their own excellence.

They can fuck themselves.

J

I Can't Even Look at You

Fucked up my $5 tribal print tube skirt from Cotton On. It was too loose at the bottom resulting in that flappy, wind-romper thing at the back so I tried to sew it tighter there. It's not heinous but the skirt doesn't lie as flat on the sides anymore resulting in some lumpy-lumps and rolls around there. I will wear it tonight at Kim's birthday and you can all critique it.

It's kind of weird but I haven't seen a lot of the high school friends I'm expecting to see there tonight in a long time. I have a pus-filled pustule next to my nose on the left side of my face. It will greet them all as they come up to say hello. To these naysayers, my pustule (fondly nicknamed PPP) shall say to them, "Hola, mi amigos! Let me squirt pus on you! PPP!" PPP is also PPP's catchphrase. Copyrighted, mofos.

I just finished a super personal short story yesterday. It's inspired by a crush I used to (still kind of) have except I have taken this crush and turned our "story" into a super fantastical and romantic whirlwind of epic proportions (just think Logan and "I Hear The Bells" on repeat) with a bittersweet ending. I write a lot of these kind of stories based on fantasies and then I have fantasies about these fantasies in which I get married to said crush and they find my story and then they are so moved and touched by my obvious love for them that we fall even deeper in love.

Except, friends, it would go more like this...

INT. COSY BEDROOM. DAYTIME:

Me: What's that?

Flawless Suitor: Your story. I read it.

Me: Oh...

Flawless Suitor: Have you been stalking me? How long has this been going on for?

Me: FS, that's not how it is at all! I love you! I've always loved you!

Flawless Suitor: Well, I'm leaving you and I'm never coming back! I can't believe I couldn't see past your banging bod and super delicious face to that obsessive and stalkery personality you have under that delightful coating!

Me: Please! Don't leave me, sir!

Flawless Suitor: I can't even look at you.

FS proceeds to take our dog, the dog we bought together, and leaves. With my dog. Woofy (or Ducky, I haven't decided yet).

One day, I will live vicariously by actually living instead of through stories and fantasies about stories.

J

The Truth of the Matter

I shit on hipsters every single day. Not literally but mentally. I look at them and I vom a little in my mouth.

But the fact is, I wish I could pull off being a hipster. If I was an emaciated Caucasian girl, maybe I could wear some of those wool sweaters and fedoras (a little too mainstream for your average, mainstream hipster).

I (secretly) wish I could have that well-perfected hipster hair. White girls with slightly lank, very long, soft-looking (like baby ducklings...) hair that is so often worn seemingly unbrushed and draped across slender shoulders (not going to happen: my shoulders could be described as either robust or infamous).

A candid confession from me. Until the day I turn into a frighteningly thin (I always imagine they have really bad breath for some reason...) White girl who has multiple satchels and various brogues/oxfords, I will continue to shit on hipsters in a daily fashion.

J

Zac & the Condom

To be honest, it makes me like him more. He's so damn bashful and cute when he turns around with his hand to his mouth, trying to stifle his adorable shame.

J

Fighting Fire With Ice

I went grocery shopping with my momma today. This thing happened involving a missing docket and a petrol voucher. We had to go back to the store. Shenanigans ensued. It ended with the check-out chick (except she was middle aged) directing my mum to the service desk. When my mum turned around, the lady did this disgruntled eye-roll jerky thing which I think she saw me see.

I don't know, mate.

My mum needs to work on her interactive skills. She's a very friendly lady. But if she has a complaint or if something goes wrong especially when at a shop or dealing with banks or that sort of thing, she can become inadvertently aggressive. She doesn't even realize she's being aggressive and she doesn't mean to be. It really gets to me.
I have this thing. Whenever someone is rude to me, I become overly courteous and polite. If someone is in my face, I'll just not say anything and stare at them until they're done. I don't know if this is the right thing to do because sometimes I leave and I feel so angry. When I get angry, I get violent (although I don't punch someone out, I have this urge to do so. My whole body will just tense up and I'll really want to just hurt the person. I may or may not be a bad mother some day...). But I try and control this.

I'll say thank you and please and have a nice day and I'll be extremely patient. Sometimes I do it to mock them and I sincerely hope they notice the stark difference between their behaviour and mine. See, I figure that if they notice how polite I'm being they'll start behaving in a similar way once they realize how ridiculous and rude they're being.

I'll smile sweetly at them as they raise their voice at me.

I'll say thank you excessively when they are unhelpful.

I'll act like they've been the most helpful and considerate shop attendant I've ever had.

My hope is they'll feel so bad about how they've acted, especially when faced with such a pleasant and immensely attractive girl, that they'll go home and either change their ways or hate themselves forever.

I even do it to my dad sometimes. For example, he'll tell me to close the fridge door softer in a displeased and angry tone. Sweetly, I will say to him, "Oh, I didn't realize I was closing it loudly. Thank you so much for telling me! I'll make sure to close it softer in the future!"

But sometimes, especially when faced with these shop attendants who are rude automatically with no reason, I wish I could just lash out and be equally rude back to them. Or follow them home after their shift and bludgeon them to death.

J

The Pretty Reckless - "You"

Not sure about the pantsless Taylor Momsen singing and watching herself have sex with some mystery guy, but this is my favourite The Pretty Reckless song.

J