Some people embrace change. They see it coming and fling their arms wide open, happily ushering it in to their lives.
I don’t mind change. If I’ve been given fair notice. If I invited change to stay, it is more than welcome.
If I see change coming unannounced, I immediately start fretting over the havoc it’s going to wreak. It’s going to tread dirt on my carpet and break all my wine glasses (HA! Do you like how I’m pretending I own wine glasses for this analogy?). It’s going to say “Just for tonight” and then still be leaving it’s dirty towels on the bathroom floor one week later. Change is the worst houseguest.
This analogy has gotten away from me. I thought I was going somewhere profound haha.
I don’t know. Maybe it’s that, the older you get, the more change doesn’t just wander in, meek and mild mannered. It doesn’t keep itself to itself anymore. Showing itself out and leaving your life undisturbed.
Instead change now prefers to barrel in, guns blazing, knocking you over and kicking you in the face. It’s intimidating. It’s big and scary. Sometimes you get up afterward and realise your face looks better for having been kicked in by change. But it still wasn’t very fucking pleasant.
ANYWAYS. I know this reads like some bizarre confessional and you guys probably think some awful shit is going down in my life right now but it’s actually all good. I’m pretty happy.
Maybe that’s what’s brought this on. I’m so comfortable that I’m dreading the imminent arrival of the unwelcome house guest. When really I should just be preparing for it’s arrival and looking forward to getting my face kicked in for the better.
Whut Whut Peepz. I’m back.
Had some prrrettty shitty news today. More on that another time. But I feel it is the perfect moment to escape in to the comfort of list making and tv crushes. Feeling bad? Three guaranteed ways to feel better- make a list (NOT a to do list), watch some telly, eat some cheese (fancy if you’ve got it but your basic block of colby will also do the trick).
You heard it here first folks.
1. Pacey J. Witter
Dawson’s Creek is what hooked me on serialized tv. It’s now also become this awful reminder where, upon re-watching, I feel really fucking old. Because I 100% remember when frosted tips and spaghetti strap tops were a “thing”. The charm of PJW however, is unchanging and everlasting. Sure, he slept with his English teacher and indulged in a stint as a “sleazy wall street” type (complete with poorly executed goatee). But it doesn’t matter you guys. Because he bought Joey Potter a freaking wall and he’s Joshua Jackson. This is a picture from when Katie Holmes and Josh Jackson were dating FOR REAL- the fact that they dated in real life (before Katie Holmes went wackadoodle) made 13 year old me feel the way Beyonce and Jay Z make me feel now. TRU LUV 4EVEA.
2. Seth Cohen
Remember when Gossip Girl came out and it was supposed to be the new O.C and everyone was all- “Dan Humphrey is the new Seth Cohen”. Ugh. In your mop headed dreams Penn Badgley.
3. Don Draper
I really appreciate that Jon Hamm seems like the kind of guy who can laugh at himself and somehow try to find humour in the fact that he has a perfect face. But I’d almost rather he didn’t. It’s not funny Jon Hamm. Being that good looking isn’t funny. Just… Be. Just be Don Draper all the time. Smoking, drinking, suit wearing and kind of an asshole twenty four seven.
4. Mac (Green Wing)
Have you seen Green Wing? No but have you??? You should. And Mac will melt your heart.
5. David Attenborough
KNOWLEDGE AND A LOVE OF ANIMALS IS THE SEXIEST
D.Attz for the win.
I work at an architecture firm and it is not as fun as it sounds. Just to clarify, I never thought it sounded all that fun to begin with but it is even less fun than that. I could forgive the firm because they are designing buildings that demand to be inoffensive and boring- hospitals and schools and other boring buildings. But then I came across this article on Flavorwire entitled “Literal Architecture: 12 Awful Buildings Designed to Look Like Other Things” and discovered you can make ANY building hilarious if you try hard enough.
The author describes the buildings as “lazy” and “uninspired” and “unforgivable”! Unforgivable design! I think unforgivable is stretching it but lazy and uninspired are probably on the mark.
On the other hand, how much more fun would the world be if all buildings looked like they were designed by 11 year olds? So. Much. More. Fun.
This building is the “National Fisheries Development Board” regional office in India. I don’t care how “uninspired” architects would say this is- if I worked for the Indian National Fisheries Development Board, I’d be going to work inside a fish every day. That’s pretty cool. Cooler then your run of the mill office block. Give the reigns of city planning back to the children and those of child like mind I say.
My whole life I’ve tried to convince people that I am one cool customer. Not easily fazed and NOT a crier. But lately (as my blog clearly testifies) I’ve become a little more accepting of the fact that I’m really just a giant muddle of every emotion. And not just every emotion… like… the height of every emotion. When I feel an emotion I really just grab it by the horns and FEEL it. A 100%. And I’m definitely a crier these days. It’s really gross. Very very uncool and I’m not at all proud of it. I still want to be Bob Dylan in the funny press conferences he did in the 60’s. I still want to be Uma Thurman in Pulp Fiction. I’ll even settle for Marty McFly- who is definitely a bit emotional (“DOC!DOC! I’VE GOTTA TELL YOU ABOUT THE FUTURE DOC!) but still gets to play the shit out of Johnny Be Goode at an under the sea themed prom and psych out Flea in an almost drag race, which for me is pretty much the height of badassery.
Everyone likes a good cry. Phoebe and I once went to a video store and asked the video boy for a recommendation of a movie that would “make us cry and cry.” And I stand by that request. Crying is underrated you guys. There’s something kind of fantastic about sitting in front of your computer watching the Young @ Heart trailer on repeat until your eyeballs are shrivelled up like rasins from all the tear secretion. Yea I do that. And let me tell you it is cathartic as hell.
Obviously if you are crying into your pillow every night because of some intense sadness deep in the pit of your soul then that is maybe not cathartic and you should maybe think about talking to somebody. But if it’s just a smiley limping old scottish man dropping something off to your work, or hearing Eminem on the radio and missing your friend, or that bit in Toy Story 3 (you know the bit) then GOD, cry away! It’s actually the best.
I got so mad on Sunday night.
We watched One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest and I got sooooo mad. Steaming. Like… irrationally filled with all consuming rage.
I’ve never read the book and hadn’t seen the movie before- but from what I know of classic literature from the early sixties, I knew I probably wasn’t in for cheery viewing. Which makes my eventual reaction that much more ridiculous.
By the time the credits rolled I was so angry, I stormed out of the lounge and when Jake said “why are you so mad?”, I yelled (actually yelled) “YOU DIDN’T TELL ME IT WAS A SAD MOVIE”
That’s what I would have said if I were Jake.
Just to clarify, at no point in the evening had I said “I do not want to watch a sad film. Rom-coms only please.” Nor had I asked, “Jake- what kind of movie is this? Is it a sad one?”
In a nutshell, I yelled at someone for not telling me information I hadn’t asked for.
This is what films and often books can do to me if they catch me at the right (/wrong) moment. One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest is a good film. It is so good that it made me angry enough to say “What a shitty movie” immediately after watching it.
I used to think that I was pretty calm and collected. But oh my god I am not. A character in a movie gets a lobotomy and suddenly I’m slamming doors and raising my voice all over the show.
I really just feel all the feelings y’know.
Truth is I’m not usually someone who feels the need to shout it from the rooftops if I’ve had a good weekend. Or a great day at work. I get paranoid about sounding like I’m bragging. But sometimes you want to show off a little bit.
This blog was never meant to be a “this is my life in pictures and pretty words” type deal. Mostly because I cannot take a picture for shit. But today I’m in one of those ‘feeling grateful’ moods and I DO want to shout it from the virtual rooftops of my widely (/barely) read blog.
I have some cool friends. 3 of them came to visit last weekend. And it was a time. I cried when the first arrived and I cried when the last one left. Most girls have girlfriends. And I hope they also have some soul sistaz. Girlfriends will have a fun time with you but soul sistaz will embarrass themselves with you. There are also some amongst them who will say “OH GROSS NOMES” when you write an awful, sentimental blog post and include instagram’d pictures of them. But that’s ok. I’m feeling pretty awful and sentimental.
Here are my visiting soul sistazzzzz. Next time I hope to see all of them in one place instead of just 3.
Oh no. No no no. First of all… this is not a recent picture. How did I miss it? Second of all… Erin… What are you doing? What happened to your spunky surfer girl vibe? Your body is clearly bangin’ but that gives you absolutely no right to wear a garment which could only be described as a deconstructed pair of stripper tights. I just… I don’t know. I just can’t.
There is a pregnant lady at my work and this week has been her last week before she goes on maternity leave. She is a really nice lady and I don’t know her very well but it seems like she will make a good mum. It has made me think about babies a lot. And no- not in the way that it makes me want one. Please continue reading.
Today she went around saying goodbyes to everyone and talking about hospitals and breast vs. bottle and tiny baby booties. And everyone was so nice and interested and busy comparing their baby experiences or if they didn’t have a baby talking about how they think they’ll do it when the time comes. And I had to restrain myself from making an awkward joke along the lines of the movie Alien and “isn’t it weird to have a creepy little person growing inside your belly??” That was my thought process. I couldn’t pretend to be interested in the upcoming baby because I was too busy stopping my mouth from making a completely inappropriate Alien joke.
Babies you guys. What’s up with them? And what is it about those doughy little balls of pudgy limbs that makes everybody melt and every subsequent conversation SO BORING. I hope that I won’t think this way forever. I hope that one day I will feel about babies the way I do now about golden retriever puppies and really nice bed linen.
Hm. Baby or puppy. Puppy or baby.
Last week I was in a post office and this old baby (I say old baby because she wasn’t quite a toddler but she was old enough to seem like she knew what kind of havoc she was wreaking) was SCREAMING. I mean at the top of her lungs, full blown, oh my god you’ve never heard anything quite so horrific, screaming. But she wasn’t crying. She would actually take little rests in between screams. Her poor mum was just trying to post this letter and this old baby wouldn’t quit it. At one point the old baby actually turned in her pram looked at me, SMIRKED- as if to say “yea- and what?”, and then continued her howling. This was not my imagination. I maybe not so subtly frowned at the old baby and the woman next to me smiled smugly and said “Clearly you don’t have children.” As if there was something I was missing out on by NOT having a smirking screaming old baby.
I don’t know. When I see a 5 year old in a raincoat on his silver fox dad’s shoulders, or a small child saying something smart and funny, there’s a little part of me that thinks a baby is all worth it. But generally I’d rather make a joke about an alien bursting forth from your stomach.
Yesterday somewhere between 2000-5000 people marched in Wellington against the government’s plans to partially sell state assets. This followed a similar sized march in Auckland last weekend and a week-long hikoi starting in Cape Reinga. After last year’s record low voter turn out, it would seem…