no free lunch

scatterbrain / you've been crying in the rain
you've been drowining in your pain / ain't gonna die
do the right thing / win or lose / don't confuse / wednesday's child
walk on by me / don't deny me / anytime

Wednesday's Child - Emiliana Torrini

I was born on a Wednesday. Coincidence? I don't think so.

Meanwhile, just dug out Shania Twain from the <Embarrassing, Hide> corner of my CD collection and put it on. Help!

Because I had sweet-talked the Hard-Boiled Egg into setting up the equipment for my next set of experiments, I heeded his demands for a free Chn lesson plus use of my superbly formatted CV (to say nothing of its content) as a template for his. Which I had no problem with, until he started coming in every 5min to either ask a Chn-related question or bicker about my superior BS-ing abilities. Nothing more unattractive than whinging men.

All this shows is that I too am not above a little manipulation. Gripe as I might about the unwanted attention of HBE or The Stalker or the like, I have no qualms asking any of them for a favour - however large - whenever I need one, without losing any sleep. Tut tut, the heartlessness.

purge

Youth is indeed wasted on the young. All the good in the world waiting to be done, we opted instead for yet another EtOH-drenched night out, Tight-arse Tuesday style.

Some stories were told for the first time. Others revisited for the umpteenth. Resolution is over-rated and ought not be made an end in itself. One must endeavour as often as possible to say a thing just so that it can be heard, even if only by the speaker. Still reeling from the weight of the revelations, or the weight off, but no regrets whatsoever.

Father has returned at last from his adventures abroad, though not before being detained for a thorough Customs clearance which took over an hour. Who can blame Customs, if you could've seen his get-up: leaving aside the assorted canisters of tea leaf in a gigantic plastic bag, the cowboy hat - Hawaiian shirt - leather jacket - baggy pants - lone-travelling middle-aged Asian male combo was enough to turn a few cautious eyes.

the over-cheer and the under-scoring

For I dared celebrate the passing of a remarkably unaccomplished semester, with, inter alia, the acquisition of:
- Sarah Blasko's The Overture & the Underscore (get it?)
- Leo Tolstoy's The Law of Love and the Law of Violence
- Oscar Wilde's Selected Essays and Poems (including De Profundis!)

Met an Interesting Person (as distinct from a Person of Interest) the other day - an unusual occurrence owing far more to my limited mobility than to the limited number of IPs at large. M, visitor of the Albanyan's from Pakistan, mid-20s, bundle of contradictions. One minute she was discussing eloquently the beauty of Russell (Bertrand, not Crowe), Nietzsche's last days, and the dictatorship that is modern Pakistan; the next she was speaking with no less enthusiasm about her impending arranged marriage, articulating her views on premarital relations (an unqualified against), and reproaching the Albanyan for seeing an 'economically unsound' guy.

That such a combination gave me pause, however transient, only goes to show the mass of Presumption which imprisons me. 'Cos really, nothing necessarily follows.

creep

A number of exchanges took place in the past 24hrs which alerted me to the possibility of something I feel neither able nor inclined to entertain whole-heartedly. That is not to say that said possibility is at all unpleasant. It is just that once again my over-developed analytical faculties get in the way of cute cheap thrills.

Brain is nearing shut-down but must remain conscious 'til 3am to pick up returning Bruneian lodger from airport. Figured this'd be a slightly less painful alternative to dragging myself up just as the slumber gets sweet.

Driving alone late at night with windows down and poor-me music blasting has to be one of my more masochistic indulgences. Still, I wonder whether an Agreeably-Occupied Front Passenger Seat could ever constitute a legitimate goal-in-life? If not, it should.

Earlier this evening there had been a Brokeback Mountain screening (read: deliberate self-inflicted wallow-fest) for two, followed by brief karaoke (in our defence, we went out on Don't Dream It's Over so it was all very empowering, or something). I was at once disturbed and embittered by his being a better cryer than I.

new shop in town

And it doesn't look like a meat market. (What I've termed the Meat Market isn't entirely one either; I just project.) It is, however, immediately adjacent to this Chn restaurant frequented by my folks and all their friends. How convenient. I can bum a lift next time they have a get-together. *nervous laugh*

I am, of course, referring to sKandalous (feel free to puke at the name; I did). It opened last weekend and tonight was the first of its weekly ladies-only thingamajigs. Already scepticism abounds re its prospects of survival; to be expected I suppose (though I steered well clear of such dull conversation). It got to be pretty packed when we left, so, not a lost cause yet.

Noted:

• upstairs dancefloor: fuelling my not-entirely-irrational fear of collapsing suspended dancefloors
• leather sofas: ideal for losing one's needles in
• make-out booths: neither comfy nor discreet (unenclosed and well illuminated)
• lots of new faces: reassuring to know that not the entire community lurk at the MM

Still wobbly with the cold, and still have one entire unit to learn in four days. But decided to drag myself out there before being overtaken by Existential Crises yet again. So cheers to the Amazing Girl Engineer who invited me.

a banana and a hard-boiled egg

For the uninitiated, observe that the former is yellow on the outside and white on the inside, while the reverse is true for the latter.

Last night the alleged banana took the self-proclaimed hard-boiled egg (HBE) for b'day celebrations at a Chn eatery with poor lighting and a strictly Caucasian clientele (i.e. we couldn't've gone lower).

Do you have people you simultaneously like and dislike? I don't mean on an alternating basis - for that's commonplace enough - I mean truly contemporaneous affection and contempt, so as to leave you at a loss for what to do. Well that's HBE to me; I'm told the feeling is mutual.

As I suffered through yet another critique of the Azn female talent among his aquaintances / unveiling of his plans for world domination / attack on my utter lack of conventional ambition, I absent-mindedly beamed with anticipation - of the day I 'show myself' and shock him into permanent speech impediment.

best when least expected

Shell and Tez were the first friends I made at high school, which also makes them among my first friends in Oz. We drifted apart after Yr 10, when Tez left school, and Shell and I enrolled in totally different subjects. Since then we've caught up once or twice a year, doing something distinctly teenager-y even after we became disqualified.

They loved me when I spoke funny English and brought weird lunches and was bewilderingly brainy. They love me today. (Which I don't deserve, but what other kind of love is there?) It's far from an intense consuming we-know-each-other's-every-secret sorta sensation; rather, a part nostalgic part amazed part instinctive knowing.

Just came home from Shell's b'day outing @ Ruby Room, after 4hrs, when I'd only planned to stay for 1. Am achy all over confirming a good time had, even if not of the R-rated variety.

The rest of this post goes out to those of you who lead a more respectable nightlife than I and may therefore be ignorant of certain ways of this world. Read no further if you're feeling sanitary.

• Doesn't matter how a lady dresses or behaves, some guy will always think he's in with a chance. Moreover, this perceived chance increases materially when boob-tubes, alcohol, girl-on-girl action are involved. (To avoid doubt, tonight I did not wear a boob-tube, but still got pinched and danced-too-close-to a few times.)
• I have gaydar. Yeah. I register on other people's gaydar. Bugger.
• Hell on earth = smoker's terrace, especially when your friends' friends are chain-smoking soccer hooligans.
• It is wonderful partying with realistically proportioned women.
• It's true: homos make better dancers.
• Also true: sex-only arrangements are not the exclusive domain of homos.
• A guy could be clumsy and shy and a non-dancer but if he's also polite and patient the girl he fancies would at least give him the time of day. On the other hand, a girl who's witty and charming and voluptuous and drives a powerful car often gets nowhere with the girls she fancies. Oh the injustices of this world... (Obviously not referring to myself there - so shut up and leave me to sulk.)

Lesson for the day - stay on the straight-&-narrow, and stay home after dark. Mwa!

happiness is ...

(In reverse chronological order)

Midnight snack with mum, shoulder-to-shoulder on barstools (no alcohol involved but, sadly), hearing about her newfound passion for line-dancing, celebrating the beginning of Lodger-Free Fortnight, and deconstructing English grammar.

Handing in assignment 22+ hours ahead of deadline saving inter alia a trip to uni tomorrow, and rewarding yourself with an evening nap and a little reality TV.

Having a wonderful man offer to cook you dinner on long-weekend Sunday before taking you out to 'the shabbie trashie old pubs of this beautiful city in which we live'.

Surprising yourself with unprovoked and insightful-sounding contributions to Employment Law tutorial despite having done no study all semester other than listening to recorded lectures.

Catching up with a bunch of Science comrades over a long dinner in an Indonesian-run western cafe (a few of those around!). We ... er, fine they, have gone on to bigger and better things, which can but fill me with tremendous hope. [Sidetrack: slightly amused that these folks from my pre-fall days (insert own interpretation), many of whom good Christians and some having been deliberately put in the know, manage to avoid reference to my deviant ways in all manner of communication.]

Pondering the endless possibilities of When Harriet Met Sally.

Kicking off the week with someone else's mum's cooking, chardonnay (not the mum's), Desperate Housewives, and one of your dearest (who, like yourself, dreads the day that the foregoing fuse to define the bane of her existence).

Realising that who you once mistook for the girl of your dreams has become so much more. Spoil each other with cook-ups and impromptu visits. Get to know your respective significant others. Wander through mainstream entertainment venues looking thoroughly out-of-place and equally indifferent. Punctuate terribly highbrow conversation with gossip, misused legal jargon, and juvenile musings on anything from cosmetics to STDs. Stay in touch across continents.

Sunny Saturday arvo, in the city apartment of the Amazing Girl Engineer (AGE), Tipping the Velvet. [More about AGE later, when the opportunity presents itself.]

...

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