That Ranga Bird

I was 16 and my Uncle’s 50th birthday was coming up. They were having a big shindig at the local RSL for him and my mum was planning to fly up there for a few days with a childhood friend of theirs. The date got closer and the childhood friend was no longer going. My mum didn’t want to fly alone, so she planned to drive. She didn’t want to drive alone, so she asked me if I would come with her.

“It’ll be a good opportunity to get your hours up on your learners.” She said.

A very good point and it wasn’t as if I had other things going on in my life at the time. I wasn’t even going to school! More importantly, I wanted her to be there for her brother's birthday, so I said I’d go with her.

One day, the phone rings. It’s my Aunty in South Australia. Let’s call her Ursula (mainly because she looks like Ursula the Sea Witch from the Little Mermaid & yes I told her that when I was 6 years old and no she hasn’t like me since.)

“Guess what! I’m coming up with mum!” I said eagerly.

“WHAT?! YOU ARE NOT!” she said.

“Oh um….” I put my hand over the mouthpiece of the phone and yelled out “MUUUUUUM.”

Mum took the phone and I ran off into my room feeling like unwanted and rejected. Eventually mum came into my room and said “If you’re not able to come then I’m not going.” but I said “I don’t wanna go - she obviously doesn’t want me there.”

The next day, I got a call from my uncle apologising on her behalf saying that it was wrong, that she shouldn’t have reacted that way and finished with “It’s my birthday, I get to choose who comes and I want you to be here with your mum celebrating with me.”

“I don’t want to cause any problems Uncle G.”  I said

“You won’t be. Everything’ll be alright when your here.”

“Alright, I’ll come.”

“Rippadoozy!” he said.

A few days later I get a call from their daughter, Rhiannon, whom I haven’t spoken to since she stayed at our place with her creepy and handsy boyfriend back when I was 14. This guy was gross. He was your typical ‘feeder’ type boyfriend of a morbidly obese woman. Not skinny but not fat. No muscle tone. Pale. Balding with untreated psoriasis. Swollen gums. He would always manage to put himself in a position where he would have to rub on me when he would walk past. For example, if I’m standing on the phone in the doorway, instead of making himself visible so I could move out of the way, he would appear out of nowhere. I would feel his hands on my hips and the crotch of his jeans scrape my butt as he walked past.

“Hey Em, so I hear you’re coming up to SA for dad’s birthday. Listen, so I’ve spoken to your mum and she’s agreed with it; how do you feel about staying with us in Adelaide for a few days while your mum goes up to Roxby to see dad? Your mum said it was a good idea and my folks are happy with it too. It’ll be cool, we’ll go into Adelaide and we’ll show you around - whattya reckon?”

I was keen in the slightest to stay with them, but she said she’d spoken to my mum and she was onboard with it, so I said yes.

“Great. I’ll call my parents and let them know.” She said.

That was the last time I ever spoke to her.

Later that night, I was in bed and I heard mum coming in the front door at around 11pm. She came into my room and sat on the edge of my bed.

“I don’t want you to stay at Rhiannon’s” she said.

“I don’t want to either but I’m only staying because I thought you wanted me to stay there?”  I said

“No, Rhiannon said that you wanted to stay there & that it was your idea?” she said

“Not a chance. No way would I want to actually stay there.”

“I knew something wasn’t right!” Mum said. “I’ll call Gary tomorrow.”

Well, that started a massive debacle. I got called a ‘lying bitch’ amongst other things but my mum and I knew the truth, I think Gary too but sadly he’s married to the sea witch so he has to take her side.

“Ma, I don’t even want to go anymore.” I said

“I know, but we have to now. Plus I don’t want to drive alone.”

“But Mum, first they don’t want me to come - now this!? It’s going to be a disaster if I’m there!”

“We’re going!” She said. “It’s a matter of principle now”

We went. It’s a 14 hour drive mind you. So we did it in 2 days. The first day we drove Melbourne to Adelaide and the second we drove Adelaide to Roxby. During the journey from Adelaide to Roxby we even drove past Rhiannon and her boyfriend on Stuart Hwy. Even speeding past at 100km an hour Mum and I both saw Rhiannon aggressively flipping us the bird!

“OMG, can you believe that?! How juvenile! And that’s coming from a 16 year old!” I said. I looked over at mum and she was silently sobbing.

“That’s my own niece” she sobbed.

It was heartbreaking to see. It just made me even more pissed off and even more eager to get this week over and done with and get back home.

Thankfully the week was cut short. After the party, which was really just a dinner at the RSL, there were arrangements for all of us to visit their son, who was as equally delightful as his sister, at the Port Augusta Prison where he was serving yet another sentence for armed robbery. One of his previous sentences was for robbing a local sports club. He stole all the Four’N’Twenty Pies and Sausage Rolls out of the freezer and took the trophies ‘to try to sell the gold.’ Gold. He thought trophies were made from actual gold. I’m telling you, these kids (actually they are in their late 20’s) they aren’t the sharpest tools in the shed.

We visit the one in prison, then we drive to Adelaide where we are staying at someone's house, I can’t remember who. We carried our bags inside and into our rooms.

“Rhiannon is coming over dinner” Ursula says to my mum

“I’m not comfortable with that Ursula” Said mum.

“You need to get over it!” said Ursula

“How would you react if one of my kids stuck their finger up at you! You would be ropeable!” Said mum as she was reenacting the scene but actually just giving the finger to Ursula.

She cackled. “Oh, get oh-ver-it Margaret” (You can see where their kids get their charm) “And you.” She said to pointing to me. “What you don’t realise Emily is that phone call you had with Rhiannon was a 3 way call!” she said

“Okay?” I said confused

“So actually, we heard everything.”

“Great, then you would have heard what actually happened!”

“YOU SAID YES!”

“I never said that I didn’t say yes! I did say yes - but only because Rhiannon told me that she’d already decided with my mum about it!”

“Oh please!” She said.

Fighting that lump in my throat, I ran off into the room.  I wasn’t capable of handling any kind of confrontation at 16 and I couldn’t hide the fact either. I get a heat rash on around my neck and chest and I get all ‘beetroot faced’. It’s highly embarrassing. My mum is also one of the least confrontational people I know, so she wasn’t far behind me.

“Grab your bags. We’re going home” She said

“Finally!” Let’s get the fuck outta here!” I said

Ursula was still harping on while we were taking our bags outside. Mums brother helped us load our things and said he would meet us down the road. So we drove a little ways and pulled into bustop.

“See ya round like a rissole!” said Uncle G, talking as if nothing had happened.

“See ya Uncle G. Sorry about all this, I shouldn’t have come hey?.”

“Hey, this has nothing to do with you, ok? This isn’t your fault.” He said assuringly.

“But Aunty Ursula said…”

“Don’t you worry about what she said.” He said.

The best advice I ever received about how to handle the egotism & narcissism of these people, was from a sweet, lovely woman named Susan. She was the convenor for medical conference we ran on Women's Health. She had been head of the conference committee for years, involved in almost every sister event related to her field - and she was in the most difficult field of all. Medical.

I confided in her one evening post Welcome Function at the Pullman Albert Park, we were sitting outside in the smokers area when we were finishing off a bottle of the house white (the house white & red; that drinks that discussed over 2 conference calls and 6 emails debating ‘which beverage package will be used for the welcome function’ - one of the arduous undertakings when organising conference catering). I asked her “How have you been doing this for so many years? The annoying questions, the lack of common sense, the rudeness, the entitlement, the pretension, the ass-kissing. I don’t just don’t think I have it in me to keep doing this sort of work.” I admitted. “Emily, all you have to remember is…” She said and paused while she took a drag of her cigarette “... these guys were nerds in high school. They don’t have people skills.” She finished and blew the smoke out of the corner of her mouth. “And…” she said with pause as she took another drag, “Don’t take anything personally.”

She was right, they were nerds and they don’t have people skills. But the not taking anything personal part, I’ve got difficulties with. I mean, I understood what she was saying of course, I mean “don’t take it personally” is as clear as it gets. They say ‘do what you love and you’ll never work a day in your life’ They also say ‘don’t get emotionally invested in your job.’

In order to enjoy your job or chosen career, don’t you have to love it just a little bit? Doesn’t that then entail some form of emotional investment?

For example, say you’ve been worked tirelessly on the most tedious conference program of your career because despite your professional advice the convenors decided (and ofcourse later regretted) to allow the delegates who submitted an abstract and that were accepted into the conference program, that they could choose the day AND time that they would like to present. (This wasn’t nearly as bad as the other time that my advice was ignored, when the convenors decided to make all the people who submitted an abstract - all 786 of them - to review someone else’s paper; in other words, a shit show).

So you’re standing at your desk with 2 other colleagues, handing out individual name tags for the 200+ delegates who are lined up out the door & up comes a disgruntled, 40 something, ginger but balding man cutting in front of everyone, standing to the side of the desk and asks to speak to ‘someone in charge here.’ “In charge of the venue, or in charge of this conference?” I asked, fully knowing that he meant the conference, but when I’m approach liked that, I try and take the person down a peg or two first. (Not healthy, I know - but I seriously can’t stand rude people.) “This conference.” He said, realising that he wasn’t quite clear and may have been directing his rudeness to someone completely unrelated to his problem. Just for those seconds that you reply, their tone can completely change.” “Oh, to the conference” he clarified, with a smile.

“Oh, well in that case, I can help you.” I replied politely, trying to keep a more positive tone. “Oh. Well, I’ve got several abstracts in this conference…” he bragged (and I did an internal eye roll and sarcastic slow hand clap) “but not all of them are showing up in the app and I’d like it fixed immediately.” he said, rudely. His abrasive tone was like an ice pick, chipping away at the glacier that absorbed and frozen my heart and soul when I said yes to this job on the evening of the 7th of April 2012 sitting at a table at the The Boat Builders Yard, South Wharf where I was celebrating my 24th birthday.

Don’t take it personally, Emily. He’s just a nerd, Emily. He’s got no people skills, Emily. Don’t take it personally. “Oh, that’s no good” I said back to him, with a forced concerned look. The kind you give a child when they’ve misplaced something. “No, its not” he scoffed, with this side smirk that I really just wanted to dig a fisherman's hook into and pull it all the way to his ear. “I’ll be able to have a look at that for you. We are all a little tied up with registering all these people at the moment” I said with my customer service smile and gestured to the growing line of people out the doors. “If you wouldn’t mind coming back in 20 minutes just so I can give everyone their name badges they don’t miss out on….” “Now!” he demanded. (His demanding tone now a chainsaw hacking through the glacier surrounding my heart and soul; the fibre of my very being.) I knew exactly what I needed to check in the online system but I also knew how long that it would take to fix his problem & right now, my job was to give these people their name tags so they could have get access to the welcome function.

“Sir, I understand that…” “No, you don’t understand” cutting me off mid sentence with a his voice so loud that the people in the front of the line stopped talking, and even got my boss's attention from in the back office. “If you understood then you’d be doing it. If people search for my papers, they aren’t going to see all of them. Do you understand that?”

I stood there, feeling the blood rush to my cheeks as everyone started staring at me and egotistical verbal aggressor. I looked over to my right and saw my boss making his way over. “All right, what’s going on here” he said in a jovial tone to calm things down, he was truly great at doing that. “Not all of this gentleman’s papers are showing on the conference app.” I explained “And all the other papers are there, but they aren’t showing up on my profile.” He added, shedding some light on what the problem might be. “Hmm, well that’s not what you want, is it?” My boss said, jokingly. “See, he gets it.” Said the guy. I was fuming. He gets it? What the fuck don’t I get exactly, you condescending dickhead. I thought. My thoughts seriously get out of control when I’m raging internally and by out of control I mean, I pictured interlocking my fingers and wrapping my hands around the back of his head then pulling him down and smashing his face onto the desk so hard that his nose gets pushed into his face. While he’s still dazed and suffering,  I walk back a couple of meters to pick up our portable printer, the cord ripping out of the wall and flailing like a snake in the air behind me as he watches me walk back towards him. I swing the printer back behind me and clock him over the head with it, repeatedly. Think, the scene from Inglorious Bastards when you’re first introduced to The Bear Jew. I’m sick. I know.

“Hmm, we’d have to have a look in our online system what has happened exactly...hmm..” Said my boss, tapping his top lip as if giving the impression that he was pondering what the problem could be, while looking at me with the knowing glance that we both know that he doesn’t know how to use that part of the online system and that I would have to do it. “Hmm.. I’m just in the middle of something at the moment, sir” he said “why don’t you go into the welcome function and grab a drink, I’ll have a chat with Emily about what we need to do.” “Oh, I guess I can go and drink.” He said in a happy, joking tone, as if it were a chore. Like a ‘If I must..’ meaning and that pissed me off even more.

Oh everything’s now fucking hunky dory is it? You fucking pricckkk! I thought.

“I guess I’ll grab my name badge while I’m here then.” I thought, Oh now you want you’re fucking name badge? Cutting infront of all these people. Being a fucking asshole and now you want to get your namebadge before all these people that were waiting in line!? You’re a real piece of work, you know that! *I stand up on the desk, grabbing the P.A microphone, tapping on it, *tap tap tap*  HEY EVERYONE CAN I GET YOUR ATTENTION REAL QUICK, THERE’S AN IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT - THIS GUY RIGHT HERE WANTS TO LET YOU ALL KNOW THAT HIS TIME IS MORE IMPORTANT THAN YOURS AND THAT HE IS BETTER THAN ALL OF YOU. LET’S ALL PUT OUR HANDS TOGETHER, FOR THIS REAL PIECE OF WORK HERE!! LET’S GIVE IT UP FOR MR. BIG SHOT WOOOOO! *Applause*

“I said to him that I would fix it, but asked him to come back after registration just like you did!” I asked my boss. “Sometimes Red, people just need to feel like they are talking to the person that is running the show… but in this misogynistic jerk’s case, he needed to hear it from another man.” he said. “What an absolute tosser” he said, as he walked back into the office to continue whatever he was doing.

The guy didn’t come back until the next day. I was alone, working at the registration desk. “So have you fixed it yet?” I heard his voice, and closed my eyes and breathed through my mantra ‘Don’t take it personally, Emily, he’s just a nerd, Emily, he doesn’t have people skills, Emily.

“Not quite, but I’m glad you’re here. I’ve found the problem. You said you have several papers, correct?” I asked. “Yes, 7 to be exact.” I said. “Ok, well I can only see 3 here under your name…” I said and turned the screen of my laptop around so he could view what I had found” “JESUS CHRIST” he scoffed “Didn’t you hear me? I just said I have 7 papers!”

I’m raging again. Picturing a scene, like a 300 fighting scene style, where it’s normal speed reaching for my fresh black coffee, then it’ slow motion as the scolding hot liquid burns his eyeballs. Back to normal speed while he is screaming and clawing at his burning eyes, as I reach my hand to the back of my head and grab the freshly sharpened staedtler HB pencil that’s holding my hair bun in place & pull it out. I swing my arm out, then its back to slow motion, my hair unravelling past my shoulders, down my back. Blood is squirting out onto my face from the multiple stab wounds from the pencil to his jugular.

“Sir, I’m here to help you.” I said back bluntly. “Then help me.” He replied with a cocky tone. *Just breathe Emily. Don’t take it personally, Emily. He’s just a nerd, Emily. He doesn’t have people skills, Emily. Just breathe*

“It shows here, that you have uploaded 3 papers.” “But there is suppo….” He said with an upward inflection. “Let me finish” I said, cutting him off this time.

“You are the leading author on these papers. I’ve searched the other paper titles you gave, and you are listed as the CO-Author.” I said, strongly emphasising the ‘co’ part. “Is that correct? That you are not the lead author on these other 4 papers?”

“Well, that shouldn’t matter. They should be all be showing on my profile.” he admitted.

“You’re absolutely right, they should all be showing on your profile. I just need you to confirm that you aren’t the lead author on these others papers. Is that correct? “They are my students” he replied. “Well, that makes sense.” I said. “When your students uploaded their papers, each one of them listed your name differently.” I explained, pointing to the screen. “This one entered your name as your Initials & Surname, this one here entered your Full name, this one here misspelled your surname and finally, this one entered your surname where your first name should be and your first name where your surname should be.” He let out a loud sighed and shook his head in disbelief. “Did you tell them that they needed to use the email address that you used for your registration and abstract submissions?” I asked in my customer service tone. Before he could answer, I said “because that’s how they system is able to link them all together - by all the basic information being correct.” “I told them to do that.” He said, still shaking his head.

“No reason for blame, it was a simple mistake and it's a simple fix. Moving forward, you can ask your students to adjust this in their profiles, or I can fix this for you right now. Would you like me to fix this for you?” I said in my customer service tone.   “Yes. Please.” He mumbled in shame.

I turned the computer screen back to face me and fixed the submission error within a couple of clicks. “Here we go.” I said, turning the screen back so he could see his online profile. “There are your t-h-r-e-e papers, and here are your other four CO authored papers. Okay?” I said, with him seeing right through my customer service tone, hearing my ‘eat shit, you prick’ tone. “Great.” He said and knocked on the bench with his knuckles as if they were a gavel and he was saying ‘case closed.’

One last thing on this guy to wrap this story up. A couple of days later, my boss ran into him waiting in line for the men's room at the conference dinner that was held at the Cairns Cruiseliner Terminal.

I saw my boss walking out of the mens room with him, they were a both a couple of drinks down. They were both laughing as they parted, but my boss expression turned sour as soon as the guy had walked out of site. “Ran into your mate in the toilet” He said.

“Ha, oh yeah - what’dee have to say?” I asked. “He goes, ‘Gee, that red head at the front desk sure has a problem with apologising doesn’t she?”

“You’re kidding me” I laughed “Seriously.” He laughed back

We were both looking the guy when he looked over to us. We raised our glasses to him, as if to say cheers, then we disguise our mouths with our glasses as we took a sip. “Absolute dickhead” said my boss “Total wanker” I said.

The next day at the rego desk I fired up my laptop and sussed out this bloke and what he actually did. He studies bird mating behaviour. This guy, this big shot ordering me around and talking to me like I’m a piece of shit has literally spent his career watching, learning, writing and talking about birds fucking. I mean, imagine telling your parents that you’re writing a thesis on birds fucking. Perhaps they didn’t take it so well. Perhaps his mum laughed at him? Maybe his dad didn’t take him seriously -  perhaps that’s why he’s so angry.

Depending on the size of the accumulation of gas in my alimentary canal andthe current stance or position I was in I could usually control ‘which direction’ the impending flatulent went.  For example, If I was sitting at my desk and felt one gurgling in my guts, I would tuck my hips forward which would force the Vladamir Tootin’ to come forward (I had more control of the sound this way). But, this meant, the air would escape, and I would feel what I could only describe as gas ball rolling upwards through my labia. If it felt it was a small, odourless gas ball, I could squirm into a position where it would travel the entire distance to the top of the outer labia and escape, usually make a little click sound. You know the sound it makes when you click your tongue. Like throughout the song ‘drop it like it’s hot’ by Snoop Dogg - that sound. Or, it would be completely silent which is what you hope for from the moment that you first felt that twinge in your bowel.

Now for the even grosser part. Sometimes the gas ball would travel up through my labia and would actually enter my vagina. If you think for a second ‘well, problem solved’ you are sorely mistaken. That air still has to come out. Thankfully, my pelvic floor is so strong and tight I could probably squeeze juice out of an orange with it; I’d stand up from my desk, clenching my pelvic muscles like my life depended on it while I took short steps like when you’re trying on shoes from Kmart but there’s the elastic band keeping the pair together; I’d get to the bathroom and where I could discreetly re-tweet this bad boy out of me, muffling the sound with a scrunched up handful of toilet paper. That’s if I got up right afterwards. Because of my terrible short term memory probably attributed to my pot habit , remembering that I’ve got a snuk in my sniz was a rare occasion. Most of the time I’d be on the phone, in a meeting, or in the middle of something important, that I would completely forget about it. Not to mention, there’d be times where there more than one. Depending on the situation in my guts, it felt like I was sucking up a bag full of marbles. And the more there was, the harder it was to keep in.

Her name was Amelia. She lived in Toorak. Her dad was a millionaire who worked for some big international company. So during the second week, Amelia invited me over for a sleepover one weekend. I told my dad and asked him if I could go. “Where does she live?” he asked. “Toorak." I replied. His eyes lit up. “Oh! What’s the street name?” he asked in a jovial tone as he pulled out the Melways to look up the address. We’d driven around Toorak before. Sometimes on the way to or from the city, would drive past all the big beautiful houses. I’d point one and and my dad would guess how much they were worth. “What do you reckon that one’s worth?” I’d ask. “Hmm, it doesn’t have a big gate...probably $700” He’d say with the hundred thousand implied. “What about this one?” I’d ask again. His whistle, that could be interpreted and translated in different ways, usually meaning ‘a great or vast amount’. “That’s definitely over a mil”. My dad was pretty good a guessing things. When we would be out grocery shopping, I would give him a piece of fruit, he would move it around in his hand, throw it up slightly a couple of times and guess the weight. “Hmmm.. 300gm.” He’d say. I’d run over to the scales that hung over the piles of fruit and veg and place the fruit in there and sure enough, it would be 300gm. He was only every off by 10 or so grams. ‘The stem must have fallen off.’ he’d say if he got it wrong.

That weekend, Dad drove me to Amelia’s. We counted the houses until we reached which one was theirs. He whistled. ‘Private gate’ he said. “Whattya reckon it costs?” I asked? “Let’s see when we get inside!” He said We rang the doorbell from the gate. A voice came out. “Hello?” “Hello” my dad said in a clear voice. “Can you hear me?” He asked, not knowing if he was supposed to press on of the buttons. “Yes, I can here you. I can see you too.’ Said the voice. My dad’s eyes darting around for a camera. “Come on in.” We heard a buzzing sound, and the gate slowly begun to open and we both whistled simultaneously.

Amelia and her parents were standing at the double front door and welcomed us into the entrance that was the size of our dining room, kitchen and lounge room together. The staircase winded upstairs along the wall like something I’d only ever seen in the movies. My dad an I stood there speechless, trying to keep our cool and that seeing a house like this was nothing out of the norm. The parents talked and I heard my dad say that he would be around at 11am the following day to pick me up. I ran up the giant staircase and stopped halfway around and looked down at my dad and waved goodbye. The expression on his face said ‘Please God please, stay friends with this one!’  But that wouldn’t happen. Amelia showed me to her room, or rooms should I say. Her bedroom, as in the room that her 4 post mahogany queen bed was in.

I stopped at the door. “Would you like me to take my shoes off before I come in?” I asked politely. “Um, if you want? Why?” She asked. “I have to take my shoes off before walking on the carpet at my house. Incase my shoes are dirty?” I said. “Oh, don’t worry about that” she exclaimed. “We have a cleaner," She said brazenly . "Oh you mean like a vacuum cleaner?" I said. "No, a cleaner. Someone that cleans our house." She replied and rolled her eyes while she  turned back to walked into her room. I stepped foot on that carpet with my shoe on - I felt like I was doing something wrong. Plus I knew that if it made a mess, that I would be responsible for the cleaner having to clean up after me. So I tiptoed onto the carpet instead. “You can put your bag here” She said, gesturing to a spot next to her mahogany tall boy that matched her Mahogany Queen Sized bed. “I’m going to take my shoes off anyway” I announced. “Okayyy” she said with that 14 year old ‘you’re weird’, kind of tone. I sat down and basked in the sheer height of the ceilings and gazed upon the ornate crown moulding that lined the edges. I stood back up and I felt my feet sink slightly into the carpet. I’d never felt anything like it. “Is this brand new carpet?!” I asked “No?” she said in the same tone as she said ‘Okayyy’. “Feels new. It's so soft and bouncy. ” I said as I bounced gently on the spot. “That’s your bed?” I asked “Yeahhh??” She said again in the same confused tone. “What you don’t have a bed?” She asked. “Ofcourse I have a bed, but not a frame! My parents don’t even have a bed like this!” I told her. “Can I sit on it?” I asked. “Knock yourself out” She said.  I pulled the thick, heavy doona back and it made the same sound as the display beds in Myer. (Homegoods was on the top level of the department store, as was the counter for the Lay-by section.) “Wow! Is this goose or duck feathers?” I asked in excitement. “My dad just got a duck quilt off layby. He says goose is the best, but in some cases a high quality duck down can be better than a goose down.” I proudly said, as if I were imparting knowledge on her. “I don’t know and I don’t really care. “Why are you asking all these weird questions?” She jumped up onto the bed and sat directly on the doona. “What are you doing!?” I shrieked. You’re not supposed sit on a feather doona! You’ll damage the feathers!!” She laughed “You’re funny. Let’s go hang out in my TV room.” “You’re TV room?” I repeated in disbelief.

She slid off the bed and walked to another door. While her back was turned I quickly fluffed the doona back up to save the feathers. She stood in front of another set of double doors, that slid to each side and unveiled another room that was just as big as her actual bed room. An entire wall showcasing a collection of CD’s and DVD’s. Behind that wall was her own ensuite bathroom. She had a reasonable sized TV, but not as big and as good as the ones I’d seen in Myer, but bigger than the one colour TV that we had at home. She walked behind her computer desk and and began typing away at her very own laptop” “Whoa, you’ve got laptop?!” I said, wide eyed.

“Yeah, but it’s piece of shit I’m getting the latest Sony one soon.” She said. I knew the one she was talking about, I’d seen the commercial.  Soon after Her mum walked into the room dressed in same type of clothes that I’d seen on the mannequins in Myer. Her lipstick, a deep maroon, matched the colour of her purse and high heels, or stilettos I should say. I had recently learnt at the modelling school. Not a single hair on her head was out of place, nor did it move. I imagined the amount of hairspray that would have been used to keep it all in place.

“We’re leaving now Amelia. You girls have fun.” her mum said. “Bye” Amelia said, without even look up from her laptop & her mum walked out. “They’re going out?” I asked. Did my dad know that we were going to be unsupervised? Surely not. “Yeah, they’ll probably be back tomorrow. Hey you want a beer?” Tomorrow? I thought. “Uhh a beer?” I asked hesitantly. “What you’ve never had a beer before?” she asked in a seemingly judgemental tone. “Of course I’ve tried one before.’ I lied. “I’ll get you one” She said as she came out from behind her desk and walked out of the bedroom. I remember feeling so stupid and now nervous. ‘Why couldn’t you just say no? Now you have to drink it or else it will be rude. What if dad finds out that we were unsupervised AND drinking! “Here” she said, as she handed me the brown glass bottle of beer. I didn’t even recognize the label from the commercials on TV. This one had a red and purple label, with the word ‘MOONSHINE’ in white letters across the top. “My dad has cases of the stuff. He doesn’t notice it’s gone.” she said. “Oh cool” I said back and took a swig. “Ughhh” I winced and shook in disgust. My entire face pursed together like I had put 2 warheads in my mouth. It was bitter and my breath felt hot. My ears clicked open and my nose cleared up like I’d just sniffed a vic’s vapor rub. “The taste gets better after a few sips.” she said taking a big swig of her own. I remember thinking to myself, how the hell was I going to be able to get rid of this drink. ‘I’ll take it to the bathroom with me and tip some of it down the sink while I’m washing my hands. Wait, but what if she goes in after me? She’ll smell it for sure.’ I sat on the couch awkwardly, and slowly slipped away and focusing all my attention on not retching at the taste and smell of what I would only learn years later that the Grand Ridge Brewery Moonshine Scotch Ale that I drank 8.5%. I only realise I was affected by it after I stood up to go to the bathroom. It felt pretty good, Dizzy, but happy. And warm. Then I entered my 'brown out' stage.

“Let’s jump in the pool.” she suggested, laughing. “No way! I laughed” It’s freezing outside!” “The pool is heated.” She said convincingly

The last memories I have of that night were of her and I jumping in the pool, fully clothed. Not thinking or even caring about having to lie about my wet clothes the next day. We came back upstairs and I got dressed into my pyjamas.

“You want some pills?” she said. “What are they for?” I asked. “They make you feel good” she said. “Yeah ok” I agreed. I took the blue pill from the palm of her hand, full knowing I shouldn't take it. That it was stupid and irresponsible and kind of scary. ‘Don’t swallow it, Don’t you dare swallow it’ I told myself as I waited for Amelia to turn around so I could spit it out, and I did.  I spat it back out, put it in my hand, then hid it in my bag.

That was the last thing I remember doing. I woke the next day realising that I didn’t even remember going to bed. I sat up and saw I was in the bed. I was freaked, but composed because I didn't want to seem like a loser that couldn't handle their shit. I got up and walked into the TV room and saw Amelia on the couch in her TV room, with the TV still turned on.

“Morning” she said. “Morning” I said back. “You slept for ages. Get dressed and we’ll go grab some food.” she said

We walked down the road to a take away food shop, where Amelia was known by the owners. She ordered me a Souvlaki or a Gyros type thing - It was the first time I’d ever eaten anything like that and it was friggen delicious. We sat inside the small shop take-away shop and munched away as bits of meat, onion and red lettuce fell between our fingers onto the paper bag beneath it. “You ever had marijuana before?” she asked “No. But my sister does it all the time.” I replied. “I do” She said. “Where do you even get it from?” I asked. “I have sex with this guy and he just gives it to me, for free!” She said.

That evening that we checked in, my friend-league Brooke sat and talked about the mischief we got into up at the our last conference in Cairns over a couple of house wines mixed with solo and grazed at a shared bowl of wedges topped with bacon and melted cheese. It’s funny when you agree to sharing something off the menu even though you are both quite hungry but didn’t want to order a main. You suddenly notice that you’re paying attention to which potato wedge has more seasoning, and melted cheese on it and strategically scoop the bacon bits onto your side of the bowl. The dips into the sweet chilli sauce get more selfish with each swipe. We washed them down with a wine and solo, a drink that we coined ‘our drink’ bact at our first conference together on a warm night in Darwin together some months back. I walked out of the lift and fumbled around in my bag insearch of my room key when I felt my foot become wet from what I could only hope was water soaking through my $20 spend-less-shoes ballerina slippers.

 When I took my next step I heard that unmistakable squish soaked carpet makes. I rushed to the bathroom thinking “I must have left the tap on” even though I had never left a tap running before in my life and in the back of my mind I knew that it would have taken much more than an overflowing bathroom sink to make this amount of flooding. Finding that it wasn’t from my bathroom, I felt the walls thinking maybe it was dripping down but they weren’t. Then I heard yelling next door. The more I paid attention to the sound, I could hear it was a male and female couple, and that the television was turned up loud. I texted Brooke who came up to my room immediately. We both listened next door and could hear that these people were drunk or on the gear. 

“If my bathroom is on this side of the room, then this wall where the water is leaking, must be coming from their bathroom. I’m gonna knock on their door and see if whats up.” I said. I walked out and stood infront of their door, I looked once over at Brooke & we shared one of those ‘who knows what’s going to happen next’ looks & I knocked on the door. We heard the voices go quiet and heard heavy feet staunch to the door. We looked at eachother again with wide eyes as if to say ‘what the fuck’. The door opened and I quickly whipped my neck back to face the person standing behind it, to find a slightly overweight man with faded prison style tattoos on his chest and biceps, standing  there completely naked. I awkwardly tried keep direct eye contact with him but both of his eyes were cock-eyed, I didn’t know which one to look at! I made a choice and locked onto the left one and didn’t budge. I don’t think I even blinked. I didn’t even want to accidentally look at this junkies sad junk.

“Yeah?” He burped. “Uhh, G’day. I’m staying next door and my room is flooded. Is your room alright? Or have you guys maybe left a tap running?” I asked gently. “Ohh! Is it?” He smiled. “We’re ‘avin a bath.” He drunkly says “Ahh ok, that probably explains the water in my room, aye. Is the bath overflowing?” “You wanna come in and check it out” He burped again at the end of that sentence. “Hahaha” I laughed in a friendly manner “I’m gonna have to pass on that offer mate.” I declined politely, not wanting to upset him. Not that I cared about his feelings, but because I’ve known people like this in the past and they can be… unpredictable I think being the best word here. He just stared at me. Or he was looking at Brooke standing behind me, I couldn’t tell. He’s eyes were so skewed, they were like two repelling magnets. “Alright, well have a good one.” I said, as I turned and looked back at Brooke with even wider eyes that internally screamed “OH MY GOD WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT.” We linked arms and laughed our way down the corridor to the lift, all the way down to the check in desk where we told the receptionist about my room.

“I knocked on their door to ask them if they’re room was also flooded..” I said “and..” “Did he answer the door naked?” She interrupted “Unfortunately, yes. Urgh, you had to see that to huh” I sympathized with her. “Yes, he invited in to have a look, but I was too afraid! I’ve seen enough movies to know that that was one of those ‘don’t go in there’ moments.' We laughed. “We’ll, they’re having a bath and it’s obviously overflowing because it’s flooded the carpet in my room.” I explained. “Oh God" she said as she rolled her eyes. "I called security about this half an hour ago and they’re still not here.” She said to us. “I think you may need to call the cops for this one.” I said back to her. “We’ll put you in a different room, but it might not be for another hour or so.” She told me. It was pretty late, around 8pm. Brooke and I had already eaten a handful of wedges but we went going to say no to having to go back out for another drink. “Oh, if we must” we sarcastically sighed to eachother. “Is anything of yours damaged from the water? ” She asked. “No” I answered. “My bags are still packed and sitting on my bed.” “Ok great.” She replied as she typed away in her computer. “If it’s ok with you, we can take your bags into your new room when it’s ready?” she asked. “Yeah sure, no worries” I responded.

“Oh this isn’t dandruff” she says. “Are you sure?” I ask. “Because when I scratch my head there’s always always always skin under my nails. And it’s always itchy” “Yeah nah, you’re not rinsing the shampoo out of your hair thoroughly enough babes.” she says. “Ohh ok” I said confused and unconvinced. “But just to be sure, what you need is to buy this scalp treatment (for $29.95), then you’ve gotta use this same brand shampoo and conditioner (at $19.95 for the shampoo but $24.95 for conditioner.”

You better bloody believe that the conditioner bottle is 50ml smaller than the shampoo) Then when you’re out of the shower, run this leave in conditioner mousse (at $16.95 a pop) and massage this light oil into your scalp ($49.95 for a 10ml glass bottle) - I know it’s expensive, but you literally only need the tiniest bit so it will last you forever. So ontop of the $250 I just wasted on the appointment, she’s trying to get another $100+ out of me through products. I can’t stand it when people do that. What is most annoying about the whole experience, is how these people pressure you into buying their products. They’ll pull them off the shelf and sit them in front of you on the little table, or even at the cash register, in order to make you feel guilty about not buying them! It’s a sales tactic. Everybody knows it. It’s what salesman do. BUT HEY, HAIR EXPERTS - YOU’RE NOT SALESMEN, YOU’RE HAIR EXPERTS. SO JUST DO THAT. They only want to boost their sales by guilting you into buying their products, 100%. 

Oh there were plenty of times were I almost lost my patience in my job. One of those times was when I was down at Mantra Lorne, running a conference that drew a large international crowd including several nobel prize winners. Smart people is what I’m getting at here. What I always found strange and still do - is these conferences, where all the presentations are done in English, that our international guests, the ones that speak very little and I’m talking very very basic, English. The kind that could ask questions, but not understand the answers given. I sympathise of course. I’ve got empathy. It’s a hard language, I get it. But if you don’t understand me asking ‘What letter does your surname begin with?’, how are you going to understand a talk on ‘Phagocytosis: on host-pathogen interactions with anti-mycobacterial compounds’.

This is how a conversation went:

Me: Hello, how can I help you. Delegate: Hi. *pointing to program* when food? Me: I’m sorry? Delegate: Food. *gestures eating with his hands* When? Me: Well, there’s some food this evening at the Welcome Ceremony, but its only canapes. He didn't understand. So I broke it down and pointed at the program. Me: ‘Later today. At 5pm  Here, in this room. Some food. Only small’ Delegate: ‘Owwww…. OK. Tonight. What for lunch?’ Me: ‘There is no lunch today. Only arrive and go to your room. Later come back here for some food. Not big meal. Only small things’. Delegate: ‘Owww. Tomorrow’? I opened up his program again, and pointed out to where it said ‘Morning Tea / Lunch / Afternoon tea’. Delegate: ‘Food here?’ Me: ‘Yes, here in this room: food for morning tea, lunch and afternoon tea’. Delegate: ‘Owww. This today?’ ‘No, no this is tomorrow’ Delegate: ‘Oww… what food today?

*Ok Emily, take a deep breath. Smile. Keep Smiling. He doesn’t understand. Keep smiling. Try again. Take another deep breath*

Me: ‘Not food now. Later food. Here in this room. Later. This time’ *pointing to the program* Delegate: Owww. ok. When food whole time here? Me: All these times here, are food time. I highlighted in the program, that is already highlighted in a different colour mind you - when morning tea, lunch and afternoon tea is. Delegate: Owwww. When Dinner? Me: ‘The dinner is in 2 days. Do you have a ticket? He held up his name badge that I handed to him when he arrived. Normally dinner tickets are printed on the back - but he didn’t have one. Dinner tickets need to be pre purchased and usually cost anywhere between $60-$120 Me: This is your name badge. Have you a ticket for dinner? Delegate: Yes, Dinner Me: You have a ticket? Delegate: Yes *He didn’t have a ticket* Me: You have no ticket. Delegate: Yes *Deep breath Emily. He’s trying. You’re trying. Just breathe* There is no ticket for you. No dinner for you. I check for your. I went online to the registration system and there was no ticket - luckily there were still some available, but how do I get him to understand that. ‘Ok, you need ticket for dinner.’ You have no ticket. You need to pay for ticket. Delegate: Oww.. Ok. ‘When food that day?’

*Deep breath - it’s just a miscommunication / translation problem. This interaction will be over soon. I point to the program again and circle over my already highlighted attempt.* Me: Here, here and here food.

Delegate: Oww ok But no dinner. Yes! Correct Delegate: Owww ok. And food today?

Me: *internally pinching the bridge of my nose*  Only later. You across the road. I gestured across the road and he went walk out there with his suitcase and all. No no, stay. Check into your room over there. In your room, you can call for food. (gesturing phone and then eating)

He just looked at me. Then, he opened his mouth and cleared his throat right into my face!!  INTO MY FACE! I swear to you. You can’t make this shit up. It was like I watched all the mucus particles project from his mouth in slow motion. I could see them all coming directly towards my face since he was also standing so close to me (also, something norm for someone from his origin). My face winced as I forced my mouth and eyes shut like all the doors in underground lairs just in time before it all landed on my face.

I stood there in shock. I waited a couple of seconds before I opened my eyes, only to find him looking at me like nothing happened. I almost gagging. *internally WHAT THE FUUUCKKKK!! DISGUSTING!!! OMG OMG OMG OMG FUCKING GROSS!!! I look over at my boss who is in hysterics, not only because he had witnessed the entire interaction and saw me struggling to remain calm and collected, but also, he knows that I hate nothing more than mouth related sounds. Eating / chewing / the sound of swallowing / clearing throats. To be honest, if it wasn’t for seeing my boss laughing, making me see the hilarious side of it - I think I would have walked out.

“Sir, you need to go over there and check in to your room. Ok?” Delegate: “Ok Ok. Thank you” “Ok, you’re welcome”

Ah, the birthday moment.

From the moment I starting introducing him to people, I knew he was a crowd pleaser. I was totally smitten. Everyone he spoke to including my parents, they would later tell me one on one how highly he spoke of me and that he was professing his love to me and of course, it had me swooning (on the outside. Naturally, I was also suppressing my constant question “Is it genuine though”).

Several rounds of spirits later, I was outside in the smoking area, having a cigarette with a friend-league and we were chatting about a guy that she was eyeing off. A couple colleagues came up to join us just as I put out the cigarette. My feet were killing me in these huge heels that Aske had bought me for my birthday, so I said “I’m gonna go change my shoes” and walked inside.

As I came back outside I was pulled aside by one of the friendleagues “Em, I have something to say to you”. “Umm… ok?” I said curiously.

She started with “Nothing happened, maybe it looked bad, but it was really nothing.”

“I’m confused. What are you talking about?” “You walked inside, I thought you were mad at me because of what it looked like had happened, but nothing happened.” “What do you mean ‘because of what happened? What are you talking about?!” I asked.

“He was just explaining something, it was really loud, maybe it looked like he was kissing my neck because he was holding the side of my neck but he was just talking.”

You know that sinking feeling in your stomach? It’s like you’re heart has dropped into the pit of your stomach and the gastric acid is slowly and painfully consuming it. Meanwhile your heart rate jumps up a few more clicks and you can hear it pounding in your ear. You feel your hand starting to shake and they get all clammy all the while you’re trying to keep a cool calm and collected expression? Horrible.

‘Annnddd here we go again.’ I thought to myself.

I didn’t see it, but it was obviously something that even she knew that it looked so bad, that she came up to explain that ‘it wasn’t what it looked like.’ Doesn’t this sound familiar? Let's take a moment here to reflect back why this feels familiar? Oh that’s right - the night market! Who could forget that blow to the guts. He was checking out the girl at the bar, they came and told me because they saw us together, I confronted him, he got mad, called them bitches, then got mad at me for believing them over him blah blah blah, I was supposed to believe they came up to me because they had some evil plan to split us up because they were jealous bitches or something, yadah yadah yadah and now it’s happening for a second time.

Is this the universe giving me clear warning signs here and I’m blindly ignoring them? Or is this some kind of a test to strengthen my weaknesses? Or, OR, is this just purely poor form on his part? I fought the urge to lose my shit over it and instead, I turned into Ross from friends in that episode where he is constantly telling himself, “I’m fine”.

She thought that I had seen it happen and had abruptly walked away from her. “Oh no! I exclaimed! “My feet were sore and I had to change my shoes! It’s totally fine! I know, you europeans are talk really closely….. It’s a european thing… Right?! It’s totally fine. I..., It’s ok. I’m totally fine!” Lies. I was embarrassed, mortified, upset and on the brink of losing it and bailing on the party and going somewhere else and drinking away the uninvited unpleasantness… but I smiled and said, “it’s fine” for the tenth time in the space of 1 minute.

I saw the look in her eye. She felt sorry for me; why? Because she knew he was flirting with her but she didn’t want to say it and to be honest, I didn’t want her to say it either. I mean, how hard is it do deliver news like “Hey girl, so um, I think your boyfriend is flirting with me” - noone wants to ever have to say that just as much as the other party doesn’t want to hear that. So we just gave each other that “understanding head-nod” and I said, “Let’s get a drink, shall we”.

I thought back to the heated conversation that followed after I confronted him about what happened at the night market and I really didn’t want a repeat of that behaviour on my birthday, so I left it - deciding that it wasn’t worth it it… until only a few short moments later. My friend came up to me pointed it out and said,  “Um, Em what’s happening over there?” I looked to where she was pointing. They he was with her again, she was sitting on the edge of a plant box and he was standing with her, again. He was talking in her ear, because that’s how close you talk with your girlfriends friends, right? Then, his hand came up to the side of her head. He was feeling stroking the back of her neck (she had one of shaved undercut hairstyles). Cue sinking stomach, increased heart rate and lump in throat. I just stood there in shock. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. It was like someone had socked me right in the gut but instead of dropping to the ground it’s like they propped me up on some kind of contraption and sticky-taped my eye-lids open so I would keep watching.

He must have said something funny like, ‘Hey let’s blow this dumb party and let’s go party European style”. She threw her head back and laughed AND THEN HE PUT HIS HAND BACK ON HER THE SIDE OF HER HEAD TO AROUND THE BACK OF HER NECK A.G.A.I.N!!

Now, let me set the preface here that I, 100% take my self loathing and paranoid anxiety into consideration here. I’ll thoroughly assess the situation and ask myself ‘it’s my insecurity exacerbating what it actually happening here’. So, I’m completely, consciously aware of my self-loathing and how irrational my insecure thoughts are, but, my actions don’t reflect that side of me. My usual dealing method is to bail out like a red-neck father leaving the house for a packet of cigarettes. GONE. But since this personal growth journey and learning how to deal with my emotions, I’m not doing that anymore. I’ve gotta work through this shit.

Ok, so he’s had some drinks, and he’s flirty.I know everyone flirts. I flirt! It happens. But flirting with someone at my fucking birthday party right in front of me and my friends. Fuck, what a kick in the guts this is.’ I battled some pretty difficult thoughts about it. I even tried to give him the benefit of the doubt like, “Ok, what if he really doesn’t know what he’s doing - even back at the night market” but that was short lived. No fucking way. You know what you’re doing when you make a conscious decision to touch someone the way he was. You know how sensitive that area is. It is exactly what it looked like.

Anyway, I eventually confronted him about it when we were alone and ofcourse that was met with defensiveness and a bit of aggression. I tried to just shut it down and said “Look, I don’t want to fight about it at all at my birthday. I didn’t even see anything but she came up to me to tell me about it because whatever it was that you were doing ‘may’ have looked bad. Do you understand? Then, AFTER she told me, someone else came up to me and pointed it out AGAIN.”

“It was nothing, you’re being crazy, us europeans are just touchy and close, I told you. It’s a European thing.”

“Wait wait wait, you guys are touchy and close. You expect me to believe you are in her personal space, slowly rubbing her erogenous zone because that’s just what all europeans do?”

“Ja, I like the feel of her short hair”

“YOU LIKE THE FEEL OF IT? SO YOU HAD TO DO IT TWICE?!?! AND THIS ISN'T EVEN WHAT SHE ORIGINALLY CAME TO EXPLAIN TO ME ABOUT WHAT LOOKED SUSPICIOUS IN THE FIRST PLA….” I felt myself FUMING inside. I had a legitimate fight or flight situation going on. Rise above it Emily.  “I’m not doing this again. Listen, Whatever you’re doing please just stop. The fact that people are seeing that, and coming up to me about it, it’s making me uncomfortable - so on the basis of that, and it's fucking bizarre that I even have to ask this, but can you please stop touching my friends.”

“I’m telling all your friends about how much I love you all the time, I don’t understand why you’re mad.”

“YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND WHY I’M MAD?? YOU’RE TOUCHING HER INNAPROPR….” Don’t do it Emily. Don’t engage. Just chill out, you’ve pointed it out, you’ve asked him to stop, let it be.

I did it. I swallowed that lump and let it be, I tell you though, that lump felt like it an anvil weight wrapped in barbed wire, tearing up my esophagus on the way down and now making a casserole out of my stomach.

Everytime I look at my wardrobe, before I even put anything on, I feel frumpy and gross. 

I see girls dressing casual and still looking like they put in effort, but when I wear a t-shirt and jeans, I look a tip-rat hanging you’d find hanging out at Frankston Station. I’ve always wanted cute clothes. I’ve always wanted my wardrobe to represent the best ‘me’, but on my wage and budget.. Let’s just say, no one ever complimented my outfit or asked, ‘Hey, where did you get that flanny from’.

Anytime I’d ask for help in shops, it was all about fobbing off the most expensive item to me. Now, I’m no fashionista, I don’t know whether or not you’re suppose to pair prints with other prints or if you should match colours with accessories but I do know that REDHEADS CAN’T WEAR CERTAIN COLOURS! It bothers me so much when I finally convince myself to spend a little bit more on my clothes, I go to chaddy, I ask for help and all they do is give me the ‘new in $120 beige cardigan’ that makes me look like I’m a recovering jaundice patient. I’m standing there, in a very unflattering garment and the shop assistant insists that it looks fantastic on me to the point where I convince myself ‘well, maybe she’s right, what the hell do I know about fashion, here take my entire shopping budget for this one piece that I’ll never actually wear’ - because you know what the other problem was? I never had anything else to pair new items with. I never thought ‘what could I wear this with’ - when I bought clothes. It was “oh this looks nice. Shit only $10 alright, I’ll get 2” and then I wear it until its death.

Growing up, I remember my dad trying to helping me out with fashion. He understood the importance of having nice clothes and would tell me that when you look good and feel good in the clothes you’re wearing then you can feel more confident. Looking back, it’s sounds just a touch materialistic but there is alot of truth to it. I would probably feel pretty good if I could afford to shop at Witchery or Portmans. I’d love to be able to go through designer brands at Myer and David Jones instead washed up celebrities clothing lines at Target and Big W.

Problem was, that when I would try to buy nice things, I would buy things that were TOO nice or TOO fancy. One time I bought the exact same skirt I saw a girl (who I was aggressively jealous of), I replicated her casual outfit that she wore travelling back home from Adelaide to Perth, when I wore it, I looked like I was dressed for a bloody Gala event, which meant everyone would comment “What are you all dressed up for?”

I think the other problem that went with the lack of fashion sense, was lack of how to do my hair or makeup. For as long as I can remember, I’ve always been complimented on my hair (of course from the ages of 18 and younger the compliments were given by older people. The main comments being ‘Ranga’). Sure, it's gorgeous, but I have no idea what to do with it. I don’t know how to do any cute hairstyles. As for my face, well, I was called ugly until I learned how to use makeup, but even then my makeup skills were and still are incredibly basic. Foundation, and mascara. That’s it. No eyeshadow, no blush, no lipstick, nothing. The only comments I get now are ‘how come you don’t wear any makeup’.

So, I guess what trying to say is 80% of the time I feel like shit about my appearance. There have been the odd occasions where I’ve looked at myself in the mirror and thought ‘wow, you are actually really pretty.’ But most of the time, I’m actually fighting with myself, feeling like a pile of cum rags but telling myself that I’m fine with it.

So, in the hotel getting ready for Swan Lake, trying to do something with my hair hoping that something miracuously happens and it falls perfectly, or that my make-up looks like I’ve actually put some effort into it - but it didn’t. Instead, I felt overdressed with, flat hair and boring face hanging off the arm of a bloke who put on an ironed shirt, I nice pair of shoes and looked a million bucks.

I managed to hide the self-abuse and anxiety from exploding out of my mouth and I just pretended that I everything was ok and pretended that I thought I looked nice. But, you can really see the self-disappointment and embarrassment in my eyes in the photo of Aske kissing me on the cheek, standing out the front of the Sydney Opera House.

Sure, there are some people that fall addiction to pot, but tell me, do you know someone who smokes cigarettes? Not only are they addicted, but their addicted to something that directly causes illness and leads to death, not only to themselves but second hand smoke has been proven to be lethal, but… it’s OK because it’s legal, sure. Joe Rogan said something hilarious about this.

“The only way marijuana can kill you is if someone takes 25 pounds of it and throws it out of a CIA drug plane and it hits you in the fucking head. That’s how you die from marijuana.”

He’s absolutely correct. To this day, there are 0 deaths caused from marijuana. There’s a shocking amount of scientific evidence of cannabis’ positive effects and is literally helping and in some cases healing people who are sick with life-threatening illnesses and diseases, but no, it’s illegal and anyone who uses should be locked up, sure, that makes sense. Pfff please. What about alcoholics? Irreparable organ damage, death, drink driving, alcohol fueled violence? Oh but, it’s legal, so it must be ok. Tell me, have you ever seen a news story about a marijuana fueled fight? If so, please send it to me because it is probably 2 guys who disagree about which packet of chips to eat first, then realising they could eat both, then hugging it out. Oh, and lets not forget about sugar. Arguably just as addictive as heroin. You know, back in the 1960’s the sugar industry paid scientists to say that heart disease and weight gain was attributed to fats - and that sugar was A-OK. But sure, go ahead and add a spoonful of a drug that causes heart disease - the worlds largest killer. Larger than drugs, larger than war, larger than terrorism, go sprinkle that into your coffee. While you’re sitting on your cloud of judgement, raining down criticisms to pot smokers let me leave you with this statement from an interview in 1994 from the guy who advised Nixon's on domestic policy,

“You want to know what this was really all about. The Nixon campaign in 1968, and the Nixon White House after that, had two enemies: the antiwar left and black people. You understand what I’m saying. We knew we couldn’t make it illegal to be either against the war or black, but by getting the public to associate the hippies with marijuana and blacks with heroin, and then criminalizing both heavily, we could disrupt those communities. We could arrest their leaders, raid their homes, break up their meetings, and vilify them night after night on the evening news. Did we know we were lying about the drugs? Of course we did.”

Sleeping is no mean art: for its sake one must stay awake all day ~ Friedrich Nietzsche 

24th May I was at mums, Danny was on the phone and I was going to visit, but we decided I wouldn't go over. I looked outside through the window near the back door and there was a massive storm coming. I looked at the sky and the. Clouds were black. I went to take a photo to send to Danny; you could see my face in the clouds, it was quite frightening. Also in the trees below, you could see a skull, looking right at the camera.

I was trying to show mum, but she wasn't interested. So I went into the laundry where my brother was and tried to show him, but he was in the middle of something and wasn't interested. Finally I went back out into the lounge room; Gerry & one of her sisters were just walking in. They were wearing these giant puffy jackets. Mum was in the kitchen, sitting down, leaning against the pantry. I sat down next to her and showed her the picture, but suddenly it was a different picture. I turned it over, and back, and again, it was a different picture. I kept doing this and every time I flipped the phone over, it was a different picture.

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In a shopping centre. I was getting my hair done, even though I had washed it the night before; it was even still a little bit wet. She was telling me that she was 35k in debt. Her makeup was really nice and she was going to teach me how to do my makeup. Something happened and she had to go away for a minute. I got up, and went for a walk around the shopping centre. I realised I was wearing pants but no top. I found something to cover my chest, but my entire back was exposed. I walked back into the hair dressers, but I was behind a group of staff that must have been on their lunch break, coming to the hairdressers. They all worked at mimco, and where wearing white t-shirts with silver writing with the mimco logo. I looked down and noticed I was wearing the same top. Suddenly it wasn't a hair dressers’, but it was somewhere where I worked. I was telling a customer there, how silly it was that they sell the t-shirts that the staff have to wear, in their own shop.

___

Dreaming permits each and every one of us to be quietly and safely insane every night of our lives ~ William Dement

“Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before." - Edgar Allan Poe

3 May 2016 - I was with Chloe and we were trying to rent a car at this driving service. We were in the car and there were 2 Maoris women, one was the driver and the other was in the passenger.  We ended up chasing one of the other cars, because on of the drivers took the wrong car. 

We were following, but suddenly we were following them for a different reason. There was someone else driving and we were driving into this major hotel complex and we were looking for her kid. We were high up on one of the floors. There was a massive gap from one side to another. Essentially like a elevator shaft, but with no walls or no elevator. You had to stop at the gap and wait for and this elevator ‘swing’ (it looked like a loft elevator that you see in american movies); you would step/drive into; and it would take you up, down or side to side. 

Rather driving into the the elevator swing, the driver just slowly drove over the edge and we were nose diving down into the ocean. Just before we hit the water, I jumped out of the car for a softer landing into the water. I pin dropped into the ocean and I could feel all the bubbles on my face. I was blowing out with my nose, but some water got in because I could taste a the salt. 

I was still going down, I touched the bottom of the ocean floor and pushed myself up, so I sprung up from the bottom really fast. I could feel I was running out of air, but I was sure I was close to the surface. I reached the surface and I projected into to air so high, that I was near the penthouse balconies , I was heading in the direction of them, so as I was coming back down, I grabbed onto the railing and swung myself back up. Now I was on someone's balcony.

Then I heard Chloe and the other girl swimming talking about their plan to find their kid. I spotted them, and yelled out “Hey, I’m up here”' and they saw me. She said her kid was in room 12 (or 16). 

“Dreams feel real while we're in them. It's only when we wake up that we realize something was actually strange.” -Inception

26 April 2016

I was in bed the back part of my old bedroom, laying on a bed, it was a single bed, so not my own. Mum had decided single beds were better. 2 black girls came in the front bedroom and walked through. They were dressed really skanky and were really rude & I said to them "you don't have to be so rude" then I think I complimented them on being pretty, before rolling over and going to 'sleep'. 

Next thing I remember, Bill Burr and DMX came onto my room. I woke up with them sitting there on my bed waiting. Bill burr was being really aggressive towards me, trying to get information on the girls who came in earlier. I had written where they were going, down on little notes and he found them. He had me pinned down to the bed by my chest as he read out what I'd written down. I snatched the notes out of his hand and put them in my mouth and started chewing on them. Bill Burr was frustrated with this, but he had a cocky smirk on his face and he said "You know what your going to get for that.." DMX was there provoking him, like “Yeah man, show her what she gon’ get”. Bill Burr took off his pants and pulled them down and he started cranking his dick, which was just average size, but he kept working it and it kept growing. Soon it had reached just above his belly button, but then to his chest, until it finished growing, so his knob was touching his chin. It was that point where I went from "Ok, I’m about to be raped" to "Holy shit, this guy is going to fucking murder me". 

He kept pulling and touching it. DMX started getting closer to Bill Burr, and Bill ended up cumming all over his face & DMX’s ; it was like a stream of cum, as if and elephant came. It’s as if they had both completely forgotten about me and were more interested in each other; like they were going to hook up. 

---

Daniella a colleague from work was in the dining room, we had a spread for lunch. I took some strange patterned meat and tried it, but somehow ended up with a handful of chicken loaf.

Out the back door, was a jetty or a dock thing, where there was a house boat or BBQ boat of some kind, on board was my friend Xavier and his Mrs (who doesn't like me). His Mrs was saying snide comments across the water to me, which I tried to settle, but she wouldn't listen. I started telling Daniella about it, because she was going to go over there for lunch. 

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Was on Kathryn road, and I saw Sarah Miatt (an old primary school friend) walking up the street with grocery bags. I confronted her as to why she was so rude and mean to me in Primary School,  and she freaked out; walking backwards away from me, saying that she was somewhat jealous, that I was able to have or blame my shitty past for being upset at my life, where as, she had everything given to her growing up and should have no reason to be upset.

She ran away, and I jumped on a tram (I was on Bridge Road, in Richmond) Sylvester Stallone came up to me, and said he was impressed with what I had done, by confronting Sarah & we started making out. I had my nephew with me, but he was only about 4 or 5 years old, so I stopped and Sylverster that I had to go, and we jumped off the tram at the next stop. We got off the tram, I held my nephew in my arms and we rode down the street in a toboggan. 

Got to a tall building / house, where it was overlooking a beach. I was supposed to be meeting up with my ex.  A girl that worked there said I could leave Connor in the piano room. 

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“Dreams are more real than reality itself, they're closer to the self.” -Gao Xingjian

Backdated 15th December 2015

With Ashe (the South African guy from my SE Trip), he had a truck load of my stuff and I was waiting for him to drop it off at my place, but we stopped in at some bar so he could have  drinks with some chicks and do some business. I had a broken wrist/arm - it was in a cast and had black material wrapped around it. I walked into the bar and was immediately approached by a group of Asians. One of which, I took his fancy. He came up to me & he was a big deal to the Asian community; I think he was like a news anchor or something. He introduced him self with his TV signature line, which I had no idea about. While I was there, I met Mirando Otto, we were chatting, I told her how I wanted to be an actresses and she gave me her number. 

I left the place I was walking somewhere with this Asian guy. I was at his family home briefly before we left somewhere. He was flirting with me. Suddenly, I looked up into the sky & there was these massive UFO's that came through the clouds. I remember saying to myself, oh my god - this is real, this isn't a dream. The UFO and landed what would have been miles away, but it looked so close because it was so huge. It caused a massive tidal wave, but it missed us. Suddenly, another one came through the sky, this one was closer and I could see another massive tidal wave coming or way. Here, they Asian guy stood in front of me and started kissing me - both knowing we were going to die, but wanted to die holding and loving/kissing each other. We were too high up and the waves of as only just ankle deep - so we started running to find a place. I kept saying we either needed to go higher to the mountains or find a bunker somewhere. 

“For often, when one is asleep, there is something in consciousness which declares that what then presents itself is but a dream.” -Aristotle

Backdated - 14th December Tim, dad and I were at mums with her. We had been just been watching the news and they reported that a volcano was going to erupt, and we all had little chance of surviving. I was adamant about finding higher ground, or a bunker to hide, but mum didn't want to go & it was like she wasn't treating the situation seriously. No one was. 

3rd April 2016 “Who looks outside, dreams; who looks inside, awakens.” -Carl Jung

Josh Hartnett walked out of a room, and he was about to take some kind of liquid drug. He was shorter than me and I was really shocked by this. ---

I was going on a motorbike or a moped to go somewhere. But the first guy who was riding, dropped the bike and me and the other passenger fell off. Then I got up to go to the other motorbike taxi. He was standing on the other side of a fence and was ushering us to come over, and go through the hole in the fence. 

--

There were a lot of kids working around mums house. All the black kids were complaining about having to do chores, and started talking about slavery. He was a chubby little kid carrying some wood and I said, “There are white kids here doing the same thing, I don't see any of the other kids complaining, so he should just get it done.” ---

I went inside and uncle George was there. He came to give me a hug and was telling me something, but I noticed that there was something in my mouth. It was my retainer and it was broken.  ---