The dress looks great but the colour's not really me.
Japan would be a good move but I'm still hoping for Melbourne to flash one last reason for me to stay.
You're wonderful, I love spending time with you, but...
The story of my life-
The BUT factor.
_________________________________________________________________

The serious stuff
I'm having the time of my single life. Driving down the one-way street each Friday evening, a slight stir tingles in my fingertips; and as I slip into the 5-minute park, anticipation of an absolutely fantastic 8 hours quickens my paces. It's not about the excesses - a good friend asked if I was having fun or just drowning. I'm enjoying the new conversations, and find that I'm much more engaging after I've had a few drinks. Ever so often when singlehood strikes I spend a token 2 weeks moping and whimpering for sympathy, then a week ranging the wardrobe, and festivities begin. A good bar is never the place to meet a good man, and as I walk myself to the car each night, there is a certain relief that I've been sensible enough.
_________________________________________________________________

Riding in cars with boys
Yesterday I walked. From Acland St to Jacka Boulevard, past Soul Mama, then back again.
As we watched people performing Capoeira amidst bikini-clad girls, I struggled with the soberness of the moment.
It was a nice day to be out, for strawberry gelati and sea breeze.
When zipping between boring sedans I took time to savour passenger-seat status.
While eating dangerously garlicky (yet oh-so-good) spaghetti von gole, I pretended to be a mail order bride. It was the perfect setting - Italian resturant, complete with gazebo-feel, gay checked table cloth, cold beer, and strings of light bulbs.
_________________________________________________________________

Monday Blues: Extreme
Starting off with dark cloud patches, expect precipitation should conditions not clear by noon. General forecast for today - mainly cloudy with possible thunderstorm. Keep away from exposed fields.

The more fun-filled the weekend, the more severe the Mondaycitis. I woke this morning feeling like I hadn't slept at all. In between tossing, turning, and checking that I wasn't sleeping on my left thumb (which for the most part of yesterday was worrying me with a numb/pins and needles sensation), I must have squeezed in a little bit of sleep. Not enough. Today I'm tired and uncooperative.

Friday night I learnt some new things about being 25.
(A) Minis don't look good anymore.
(B) Boys don't fall into your lap anymore.
(C) And if they do, they're likely to be 20 year-olds.
Despite having to play peace-maker and then match-breaker; cope with cramps in my calf muscles from 4-inch stiletto heels; suffer a chair leg rammed into my foot; and finally have my almost-perfect drink moment interrupted by gung-ho imbeciles, it was nevertheless a great night.

Saturday night I battled with SMS urges and panda eyes. On the way to Cookie I peered into the Lonsdale St carpark to see if the (most recently axed) ex had similar plans. Once there I saw the ex's friend, who proceeded to eye my companion with curious disapproval. When the music got louder, we moved on to Croft Institute. There were plenty of laughs - certainly a much-needed change. 5 hours later we walked down the creepy bin-lined alley and to my car. Certainly a nice start.

I simply hate it when I can't manage prolonged, consistent abomination for someone/something.

Like in Christina Aguilera, the colour brown, ball-point pens, the occasional Top-40 song, and Friendster.

I recently found an old primary school friend on Friendster, whom I haven't spoken with or seen in 12 years. In primary school, you make friends with the girl you sit next to, or stand in line with. Then all of a sudden, when the high school postings arrive, you find you've forgotten about them as quickly as the people you sit next to on the plane. When I clean out old letters and photos, I often wonder what happened to the boy in kinder who volunteered to stand facing the wall at the back of the class with me. Perhaps because I never again met anyone who would submit himself to punishment as rebellion against injustice. Such pronounced expression at such young age! I've made a pathetic effort at maintaining any form of contact with most schoolmates: a misforunate I attribute to reluctance to be of any inconvenience. Retrieving a derelict friendship is like re-connecting a link to the (almost) forgotten past.

Warm fuzzy factor = 8-1/2

I'm going to bed soon. With some luck I'll finally get through the first chapter of Willl Self's Great Apes. Will need lots of sleep in preparation for my tarty night out - fancy a little dancing?

xx

The sight of 2 girls was unfortunate, really.
When the streets of Melbourne were littered with:
(A) couples - some coy; others awkwardly aware of the cliched lameness of such pathetic effeteness.
(B) packs of single blokes - adamant to dismiss celebrated duality with lewd talk, lots of beer, and pats of each others' backs.
(C) troupes of black-clad Sex-in-the-City girls - embarrassed by the absence of duality in their own lives, and eager to camouflage it with killer heels, champagne, and dirty talk.

I wore my yellow dress, the one which falls gently off the shoulder.
The incredibly muggy evening made me twirl the hair into scrolls.
The previous night's excesses still churning in my stomach, keeping my lips a flat line, eyes dull.
I struggled to remember the conversations and responses as I walked down the recently familiar alley.
I was not well.
Allowed only one (happy) drink, I juggled green tea, warm water, cranberry juice, and coherent thought.
Of course questions about my aloneness (female company doesn't count, apparently), and current state of wellbeing, were hurled, with gentle snideness.

The night before I
Laughed happily enough to light a dozen light bulbs;
Wore a mauve vicose-blend dress;
Marvelled at the three/six degress of separation;
Tossed someone's phone number into the ashtray;
Was accused of being a blonde in disguise;
Walked to the car as the street cleaner drove noisily past, the first birds waking.

I hope you had a good one too.
xxgeniexx

If another person asks me what I'm doing this Saturday I'm going to be sick.
And for the record,
No I'm not going to need that little black dress.
No I'm not going to wear my pretty new knickers.
No I'm not getting wined, dined and then fucked.
No I'm not going to be lonely and miserable at home.
No I'm not one for the commercial correctness of long-stemmed roses.
No I'm not bitter.
No I'm not resentful. Really.
No I'm not going to need your sympathy vote.
No, single life isn't all that bad, it just takes getting used to.
No I will not get drunk, silly and teary while watching the nauseatingly maudlin romantic comedies they'll have on TV to mock the singles.
No I'm not whinging, just venting.
Oh for Christ's sake, what's criminal about me staying home?

The autumnal rain fell
Little first, then somewhat heavier, more determined.
Days like this make me think of cream cable-knit jumpers, the sound of tyres swishing by, early dinners, moths, homesickness.
As a child I never played in the rain, although I did somewhat like the idea of it.
As a child I was terrified of lightning, and often wondered if it would reach for me through the windows, while I was curled up, fetal, sleepless.
I didn't play in the rain because I was afraid the lightning might finally catch me.
***
Early this morning I dreamt a strange dream.
I'd set the alarm for 5 minutes earlier than usual, because I felt like I should try and be at work before 9 at least once a week. When it rang at 6.55 this morning I silenced it with an eagerness to continue the dream. We rowed a small wooden boat out to a lake. (I don't remember who was with me - there were 2 others). We jumped off, and swam. Rather happily. Treading water against the steady current, surprisingly tirelessly. At first I was repulsed by the murky green. I don't like it when I can't see/assess my surroundings. Suddenly (dreams tend to always have seamless metamorphoses) we were swimming in the sea - deep emerald, wonderfully warm, beautifully expansive. I swam so effortlessly, despite the increasingly urgent current.
I started up and it was 7.25.
***
Autumn evenings make me think of North Melbourne, creaky floor boards, stoned bodies huddled in a tiny room filled with animated banter.
I should buy myself an umbrella before autumn really comes.
Perhaps I'm already late.
***

For days I kept checking the mail box for a brown padded envelope.
For 4 years I'd been looking-
Not industriously, more like riffling through second-hand bins for the odd indie find.
I'd even tried the now-defunct record label, and was offered a vinyl without its sleeve for £5.
I remained content with my version on a mix-cassette (!) someone had sent me all those years ago.
I mean, what would I do with a sleeveless vinyl? Sure I'm a believer in the inexplicable nostalgia of cracking noises...
Anyhow, everytime I go to new music site I always run a search for The Orchids.
And this time on Gemm I found out that the album had just been re-released in the US.
I'm now the proud owner of a copy of Striving for the Lazy Perfection.
It's sublime, I tell you.

Currently liking chinese red toe nails and bailey's and ice.
I have an issue with being asian and wearing chinese red.
I also have an issue with being asian and wearing anything with a dragon motif.
But I figure toe nails are ok as long as I am not fair like Suzie Wong and wearing anything with a dragon motif.
I've always liked bailey's.
Despite my pet hate for milk (it's not me really, just my lactose intolerance).
More so at home, since fear of the beverage police prevents me from ordering one while I'm out.
***
Today we atoned for an inferior summer.
33 degrees and icy poles.
Balmy like in multi coloured gelati and freckled noses.
***
I sat outside on our old sea-green Balinese bench,
Drink in hand, Milo by side.
She's finally learnt to keep still.
***
Yay tomorrow's Robot friday.
Come if you're not doing much.

Yesterday was the longest Monday.
It's not that it was awful.
It just went on and on. Like in the movies. Like in 24 Hours.
The head was foggy, unwillingly adjusting back to the weekday 7-hour sleep cycle.
I'm glad there's work to be done-
Countless cells to be linked, links to be fixed.
Right about lunch time there was an overseas interruption.
Throwing me into a helpless heap - of decisions and dreams to be made, directions to be found, feet to be planted.
I spent 10 minutes crying in the toilet afterwards.
The rest of the work day went on in a fuzzy heathered sort of way.
Not wanting to be spoken to.
I detected that others sensed it too.
I met an ex-colleague at Robot for drinks.
Drained pale.
I absorbed the talk about wives who stay home, white lies one tells the partner, ethnic supremacy, blah.
And when that became too much to bear I wandered to the bar.
I think Japan is calling.
All this about dreams, films, and bartenders-
An escape package.
It's true, even the feng-shui book says I should work overseas.
Tonight I'm sorry that I was angry.
That I turned it back onto you and called foul.
Because 25 years should have taught me better.
I'm so sorry.

Flaming Lips
29 January 2004 at The Palace
It was destined to be a doomed evening - week-night, rain and 2 hours late. I was ready to go home and be with Murakami during support band Dave Graney's set, and gave up my spot in the front for more oxygen by the far side of the stage. Confetti and dancing bunnies aside, I reckon it'll be hard to topple this one as my concert event of 2004. Like Beck last year, the Flaming Lips put up a good show - of quirky gimmicks, crowd-pleasing talk (which on occasion, I found to be slightly annoying), and a couple of kick-ass covers with meaningful stories behind them (in this case, White Stripes' Seven Nation Army).
*********
Robot Night 30 January 2004
I've grossly underestimated the drawing power of a low neckline.
I was offered rice crackers, printing services, pseudo-philosophical conversations, drinks, and lots of attention.
Funny, because part of the reason I like going there is that I never have to worry about (being the subject of) inopportune, vile advances.
For once I felt slightly agreeable, and made exchanges last longer than the time it takes for the look of digust to disappear from my face.