"Smile..."

"You look like a dropped peach."
- Luke



(lvl. 3, carpark overlooking Nepean Highway,
Southland,
Tuesday morning)

People still wear cargo pants, wtf

Lovely Sunday night.

Began with Distress Call at the Rob Roy. Awesome. A funny old man made his way to the front and danced by himself with his eyes closed. I'd like to say this was a beautiful moment but all I could think was, "Oh, how cliche!" and roll my eyes to myself in my head. Aside from the old man, without hesistation, I say Tim was the standout star of the gig; I like it when rockstars wear their glasses, he had the sexiest guitar, he can really really play and was the only one who's guitar matched his outfit.

Met Anastacia, Simon and Georgia at Black Cat and discovered Miso. Miso, a gorgeous array of dubby- trip hoppy sounds joined by a darling, almost jazz, singer who dances and charms while supported by various strings and the sweetest percussion. We stayed for this and we'll probably come back for another dose. If you have nothing to do every second Sunday night, have little money and I don't know, maybe your pillow is too soft for early nights and giving you that sinking feeling, come out ad see ( and maybe see me see) Miso at Black Cat, it's a really good idea.

Went to the Yacht Club because they are our friends and no matter what we do there it never costs us more than $20 all together for some reason. Good for us, huh, maybe bad for business. Oh well, it was grand. Or at least, having been drinking since 5pm, we thought we were grand. Luke began to take particular interest in other patrons fashion sensibilities, when a rather ordinary individual made an appearance and shouted something suitably forgettable Luke exclaimed back and over the top "People still wear cargo pants, what the fuck?!". I know it must have been a good night because at the time we thought this was the sharpest pinnacle of wit and finnished the night somewhere around here laughing hysterically. HA Ha ha!

And also:
We have a new friend, Matt, from Louisiana (yes, it's true, a real live American just like on tv) Yay!.

Yeah, I'm kinda bored today.

So here is another picture


of my favourite leg


pretty fancy


huh

Get a haircut

First I thought CAKE, then I thought PINATA, then I thought, no, let's do a DRESS. But do you think I actually did any of these things? Of course not. And that, strange creature, is the beauty of the blog. Try it. Many things can be said and written, promises, musings and histories, they all get writ down. Whether or not they ever occur or mount to much is not in the PD of the blog and neither I nor the blog will be held accountable for your virtual disapointment. The plain truth has always belonged in another stratosphere that I'd rather not contend with and prefer not to acknowledge it's possible existence.

And anyway, Caitlin's party didn't need my baking and craft corner intruding, it was just dandy in itself. Lots of good people came out of the woodwork and danced to Madonna. Something got broken, somebody fell down, somebody threw up on Ewan's slab, all the prerequisites that are required so you know you are having a party were met early on. It was great, I want to do it again. Caitlin, lets have tea on friday, ok?

I'm waiting by the phone again today. Why do they tell me that they love me and then never call?

I think I need a haircut.
"Get a haircut" - that's what my Dad told me to say to Jeff Kennet if I ever saw him. I think it was for when I was performing with my primary school band in Melbourne Parliment House. Shame, Jeff never showed up. I wrote him a letter once, somethng about not needing a Grande Prix and could he consider improving hospital facilities and the Elephant encloser at the zoo. Not sure if it ever got sent. Do you think he will come back? No, me neither.

Here is a slightly out-of-focus picture of my cat.

I didn't get the job

It was between me and one other person.
The one other person had some admin experience. (Pfft!)
Experience schmeariance, I say.

So my life still looks like this:



At least until next week. The same company wants to interview me on Monday for another position they have going.

But I don't even care anymore,
I think it is because of this:



Also there is Caitlin's party on Saturday, and since there have been suggested Napoleon Dynamite overtones to this apparently non themed night of frivolity, I don't know, maybe I'll bake her a cake...Or better still, a pinata!

A Room for an Interview

A couple of weeks ago I sent an email to a recruiting agency stating that I am looking for an entry level position as an administration assistant. Two hours later I got a phone call that asked me if I could come into their offices for an interview and would I consider working for them. I got dressed up, bought the pointiest healed boots I could find, I made sure my hair was extra neat and smooth, no whispy bits anywhere. I imagined myself as a bubbly, outgoing , straight thinking young woman from Brighton who likes house beats and cosmopolitans, only. I considered my character's aim and desires for the upcoming scene. I was ready for a little impro.

And I went.

They put me in an empty room without without any magazines to read. I looked out the window at a beige-brown brick wall for a really long time, I thought of a lame joke to tell about the view but then thought better of it, this is serious. I looked at my reflection, but tried not to annalyse it too much. I got nervous and practised my Laban.

A knock at the door followed quickly by an entry of someone who looked just like me now. We did firm eye contact handshakes and everyone was very polite and smiley. I talked about a girl who likes working with people, under pressure, and gets excited by the word "TEAM". Another handshake and I'm in front of a computer doing a "Skills Test". PCs, are different to Macs, huh. Not to worry, they still love me... why?

Another handshake and I'm off to another office in a different street, in a similar room without any books or magazines. We talk really vaguely and in officey jargon about the job. I still have no idea what it is I actually do, but they promise me lots of training and social events. Handshake.

A few days later and I'm doing a "Psych Test" and a "Metric Test"*. I am supervised by a boy who looks like he's wearing his Dad's suit, but he gives me what I take as being a look of sympathy and says "awesome" everytime I answer a question, so I smile for him and we talk about the weather and how strange/intimidating the building is when it is all over. Handshake, slight stumble backwards.

Yesterday, another room, another interview. I spoke with many managers and other people in similar positions that I could soon be in. Everyone was just so nice, I felt as if I might be invited to go out out clubbing with them at any moment.

And that's how I got to be sitting at home, just waiting for the phone to ring, and slightly hoping in won't.

I am a little frightened of becoming a nobody in an office. A little frightened of becoming my mother.

Last night, Mum told me that she once studied Literature, Theatre, Film and Television at Uni, like me, but things happened and she had to give it up. I had not heard much of this before and I worry that these things might be genetic.









* I thought they might measure me here. Dissapointingly, it was just more questions.