Wednesday, May 25, 2011

UnEasy Trainfellows.

When I was little I wanted, among other things, to be a hobo. Not the kind that falls asleep in pee and shouts at people from doorways, but a Romantic Hobo. You know, the ones that Journeyman books get written about. Who go on adventures, riding the rails and saving damsels and children from Certain Doom.

I have ridden many trains since those days, but sadly none of them really compare to my childhood fantasies. When I lived in Wales, the trains were a phantom that arrived every 3 hours, three times a day and waited for you for EXACTLY 2.5 seconds. Thus ensuring the maximum heart failure potential of both running and juggling luggage combined with lack of fitness, mixing them all into one tight ball of stress and perspiration.

In London where I survived many a near miss from door, platform shoving, and 'Oh I'm sorry I had NO IDEA my hand was there', the biggest suffering I endured, was to be constantly at armpit height when summer rolled around.

When I moved back to Melbourne, I drove a lot more and didn't see my old friend the train as often. I would ride to work in my own personal bubble, applying inappropriate disco make up at traffic lights and freaking out any car neighbours  with my belting chorus of 'Living On A Prayer'.

I have in the last month gone back to re-friend Public Transport and have found it to be…

…..yeah, pretty much the same, really.


Things run late, people get grumpy and spill chip crumbs on your shoes and there's always always at least one person Shouting With Abandon.

Still, whenever travel options come up for holidays, the old Romantic Hobo Dreams reappear  and I look for a way I can get from point A to B by train.

This did once result in a journey on a Canada to USA line that made me, in total 29 hours late (not an exaggeration) and swaying for most of that time after the dining car ran out of food and water and we had to resort to drinking alcohol to stay hydrated.

Yeah. That went as expected.

Despite all of this, I still love the train. It is the old boyfriend I will never abandon, regardless of how many times he has shown up late, not dressed for dinner, and with something sticky on the underside of his shoe.

And besides, there is still the Orient Express.

*Choo choo*

Monday, February 21, 2011

the dangers of stilt walking

Ok, so I have a serious issue being the kind of 'real girl' who can walk in heels, I admit it!

Heels make me feel unsure of my place in the world. As in, I see myself upright and uninjured, and they see me splatted on the ground in a mess of embarrassment and dead.

I have had so many accidents in heels that I think I actually have a kind of phobia about them and am convinced that you need some kind of super power to wear them and:

A) not look like a jerk

 B) not walk with your arms out like a Frankenstein who is simultaneously clutching a small woodland creature between your buttock cheeks.

C) Yeaaah... all of the above.

If you pick 'C' because statistically it's most likely the correct answer you'll be using the kind of logic that lead me to fail Year 12 mathematics in legendary fashion. In this case however, you'd be right.

How fondly I remember my first transformation from ugly duckling to swan (get the popcorn, there's a few of these) when I came to school on a free dress day wearing...well, a dress, and some girl shoes. Yes, they had a heel. Ok, it was more a kitten than a cougar heel, but still it was a HEEL. And those little bastard heels were enough to catch on the wooden edge of the totally NON OHS approved stairs next to the school oval sending me tumbling to my doom, which also happened to be at the feet of the boy I had a teensy crush on.

I mention it was 'teensy' just so you're sure that it wasn't as MONUMENTALLY HUMILIATING as it would have been, had it been a FREAKING MASSIVE CRUSH OH DEAR GOD.

Yeah. Teensy. Got that?

Anyway, after laying there in shock for a few minutes while I digested exactly how much of my teenage coolness had now gone up in flames, I realised that not one, but both of my knees were gushing blood.

Hey, what can I say? I don't do things by halves (and I'm more than part lemming it seems)

I think the kicker for me though, was when said recipient of crush ( I won't mention 'teensy' again because I know that you know how very small it was) frowned in confusion, helped me to my feet and then looked at me as you would imagine one would look at a baboon who had just eaten three live crabs and a labrador puppy. Y'know, horrified, disturbed, but at the same time...fascinated.

Boy: " um...are you, okaay?"

Me: "ha, yeah, ha, I'm fine! Fiiiine! It was only four steps. Totally fiiine."

My Knees: *gush gush bloody gush*

I managed to convince him with added arm waving and 'big eyes' that I was indeed 'totally fiine', although it would probably be more accurate to say that by this point he just thought I was 'totally craaazy'.

It's a good job tattered dignity makes such excellent bandages.

 Grand Exit.

Friday, February 11, 2011

using the force

So years ago I started reading when I walked because it made me feel as though I was a tea break on legs, and because if you were to cut me in half (euw) you would most likely find random quotes from fantasy novels and other such geeky fare.

I read ALL THE TIME. I read so much that it's ANNOYING TO OTHERS.

I never used to see anyone else reading when they walked, but lately, I see people EVERYWHERE doing it. So before it's too late, I'm officially taking the credit. That's right. I made that concept live. Me. And don't tell me you've been doing it years before I did because I'll just change my number to whatever you say plus one and then I win. 

Yay for winning!

Reading when you're strolling along is the new Walkman  (the fact that I said Walkman proves I've been ReadWalking longer than you...or that I'm older than dirt)

I see many benefits to reading when I walk, including the following:



It's also a good way to work on your upper peripheral vision which can help when not walking but still reading (ie at a classy French Patisserie) so you can subtly check out any nice looking bottoms that pass you by. 

Now that you are armed with that knowledge, go forth and practice this new skill. And when the nice bottoms flock by, don't say I never gave you anything.

*flap flap*

Monday, February 7, 2011

complicated eyebrow waggle

Am I the only one thinking that relationship status's on social networking can be a bit of an overshare? I know we all like to keep up with each other's news, and it's nice to publicly declare someone as your..something or other...but what about that inbetweeny one? 'In a complicated relationship with...'

I feel like this is something that's just between the two of you. Or, the three of you, or...however many of you.

Although going from a couple to a few to who knows how many is covered by 'Open relationship'. Nice one.

If we are going to be the kind of specific that is usually covered during a drunken night out, or over a cup of tea and a viewing of Bridget Jones's Diary, I have a few status suggestions which might make our friend watching time more interesting:

'Not really feeling it with...'

'The magic has gone with...'

'Really thinking of seeing other people with..'

'Is completely a stalker of..'

'Used to have a crush on but now thinks it's kind of embarrassing with..'

C'mon people, let's really DEFINE this.

*jazz hands*

Friday, February 4, 2011

Rainbow is my favourite colour!

"slightly perturbed by new blog but mostly indifferent"  so, now that I've quoted my stinky husband at his request (or is that 'behest'...I can never remember and it sounds a bit like 'behead' Watch out hubby!!)

"you've already got writer's block and it's only 20 minutes in"

See what I have to put up with?


p.s. I HATE the word 'Hubby'.

Anyway, forget him...look at this!

Shoe companies the world over try to corner the market on fashion to give us just the right 'hint of style'. I don't know about you, but these little beauties just say 'hint of asshole' to me.

"ooooh...can I get a pair of those?"

That's it. Divorce.

Hello Wor..wha?

So I'm supposed to write a first post to say hello....well I'd rather the world ending?
Living on a giant island can be pretty scary when it's a bit like someone left the oven on stupid high in the kitchen and someone else left the sprinklers on in the garden. So far this summer we've gone from 'why is it so hot? to 'why is it so wet?' to 'arrrg...where's my car?' (the answers are 'because it's Melbourne', 'because it's Melbourne' and 'because it's melted and/or floated away')

good job I have a fan and some stylin gumboots!

*girly jumping*