Up there is Julia Zemiro and Sam Pang, the hosts for Eurovision
in Australia. I personally love them-- and I think they're hilarious.
Julia is so cute and funny. Her expressions crack me up. She reminds me of me a little-- if only I could be half as charismatic and talented as her, I'd be very happy.
Can't believe it's already over for another year. I personally think the songs were better this year, compared to last year. I didn't mind that Euphoria won, because it had a little something something. Maybe it was the dancing ninja who gave it the edge, maybe it was dandruff like snow. Who knows.
Did I mention I love Eurovision? I think I did... what with two entries gushing about the subject. I used up all my funny last night, though. So all I'm going to do is make lists.
Dunneh's Top 5 Eurovision Final 2012 Songs
1. Serbia - Željko Joksimović - Nije Ljubav Stvar Serbia was my favourite entry, just because it gave me chills every time. The man is sexy and he has a sexy voice, even though he's not the kind of man I usually go for -- he's kind of magnetic. I'm actually 1/4 Croatian on my mother's side, so the little I could understand of it was touching. Not that it needed to be understood to be touching; part of the appeal to me is that I couldn't understand it. And I'm glad it did well.
Yeah, I freaking love this song. I love the timbre of the guy's voice at the start, the violin, the lyrics, the way they harmonize. I can't believe it ranked so low. It had like these metal undertones I love, and I guess the lyrics just resonated with me.
I loved this song, and it was hard to decide between my top three favourites to be honest. The more I hear this, the more I like it. I love how she flips it into a power-ballad 1/4 of the way through. The only qualm I have with the song is even though Kaliopi rocks, her voice might not be strong enough to carry the song for most people. I like it, because it's husky and sexy, but compared to some of the pipes that represented tonight, hers is an acquired taste.
I usually don't do sad love ballads, but freaking all of my songs on this list are love ballads. Then again, you could argue that 99% of the songs at Eurovision are love ballads, so there's a good chance that regardless of what I pick, there is going to be a love ballad.
Anyway, I liked this, and it's not because Roman Lobb is handsome-- even though he is. It was just a nice song, and he has a lovely voice. He actually doesn't appeal to me because I don't like ear gauges very much... also he needs a shave. Either do the beard or don't. Don't be a hobo, man.
I'm loathe to put Germany before Italy because Nina Zilli is boss; she's so cute and friendly, especially when you see her in interviews. But I don't like this style of song, to be honest. Except this is good enough that she made me a fan of both her and the song. You could accuse me of bias, but I am not -- I freaking hated Italy's entry last year, and that ranked second. Shows what I know.
Dunneh's Least Favourite Eurovision Final 2012 Songs
Are you phoning it in Ireland? Really? Are you all; 'hey we've won the most times so let's let someone else win for a change!' because that's very gracious of you.
I'm going to piss off a myriad of teenage girls, but... it really doesn't get more annoying than Jedward. I like cute blonde twins as much as the next girl, but they really don't do it for me. It doesn't help they still look fifteen, even though they're twenty now. And there's a difference between bubbly, youthful enthusiasm, and the spastic frenzied machinations of Jedward. They can't dance, they can't sing, they aren't even in synch-- and even their moderate amount of cuteness cannot save them in my eyes. I'm sorry teen girls of the world, I want to like them, I really do... but I just can't. 2. Turkey - Can Bonomo - Love Me Back
You can't just put some traditional instruments in there and expect me to take it seriously, Turkey-- even if the you managed to fool most of Europe with your hipster pirate rendition. I didn't like it namely because the guy was a warbler. He warbled the entire song, and maybe that's just his style, but once I noticed the wavering tone in his singing voice it kind of drove me to distraction for the rest of the song. Nonny nonny... yeah whatever.
Ah, Albania. I didn't know you had just recently graduated art school."I wanna be edgy and experiment! I wanna push the line between music and art! Nobody understands me! AAAAAaaaaaa!"
I don't doubt Rona can sing-- she has a strong set of pipes. Unfortunately, she appeared to be in pain for most of the song. I'm guessing birthing pain, judging by the umbilical cord that appears to be wrapped around her neck. 4. Greece - Eleftheria Eleftheriou - Aphrodisiac
Her name translates to "Freedom Freedom" more or less -- which I'm sure proves her parents are the equivalent of Greek rednecks.
I like to dance but I can assure you that when I "dance like a maniac" it really isn't very sexy. And I'm relatively sure that if I was attracted to someone and I busted out my maniacal dance moves, that it wouldn't look anything like what the very beautiful Miss Eleftheriou was doing, and I wouldn't have the same result she would.
In fact, I'm going to take a wild guess and assume they don't know what 'maniac' means over in Greece. Funny, because the etymology is Greek. Someone should have told them that it generally follows words like 'homicidal' and 'raving' and precedes things like 'laugh'
And let's say this was a nod to Flashdance, with the maniac reference-- which I doubt; I think it was a necessity for the rhyme, but lets just say it was a nod to it -- 'She's a maniac on the dance floor / And she's dancing like she's never danced before' isn't really a good thing to say about anyone who is dancing, especially if you want to impress someone on a sexual level. But maybe it's just me.
Anyway the song was cute, and she's gorgeous, but it was so vacuous -- even compared to the other sexed up vacuous songs this year. C'mon Greece, you can do bettter. And so sad to see Greece has so little money that they forgot half her dress though. Darn cutbacks.
Okay, Ivi was beautiful. She looked like Aphrodite personified; which is fitting because if I remember my mythology correctly Aphrodite is supposed to be of Cyprus-- literally. But I can't remember crap-all most of the time, so don't quote me on that. And I'm too lazy to look it up right now.
I wanted to like Ivi, I really did. But I hated her voice. She has this weird low-tone and nasal twang that really brings the song down. And the song is not that bad, but with her singing it really doesn't hit where it should. Aaaand... I have nothing funny to say here.
They had a secret weapon in the littlest one; come on. She was so flippin' cute. I wanted to pinch her little cheeks. Proof that if you're young enough, or old enough, you get cute again. So I just gotta wait till I'm seventy and people will find me adorable again. Lucky me!
Anyway it was cute, but it was gimmicky. Song-wise there was almost nothing there. Regardless, I loved them though-- and they almost made me tear up, but I would have preferred more of an amalgam between old and new, not just a 'You thought it was a traditional ballad--haha, fooled you!' moment. But it was still adorable and I'm glad they did well.
He got me when he one-handed-flipped with his mike in his hand, then decided to air-guitar the heck out of his crotch. And he had an amazing set of pipes. Too bad I really disliked the song on the whole. But he has a great voice.
I like it because it's the Dink; I don't like it because it's the UK. I like it because the Dink is awesome. I don't like it because the lyrics are cheesy. It has a great message and everything, but in my opinion it just doesn't work somehow.
I wanted to like it, because I saw Julia Zemiro interview the Dink, and he's really likeable. Even though he's seventy-six and crusty as shit now. He's still pretty great. I wanted him to do well -- but I don't think this song could have taken anyone the distance. Shame.
Maybe it was the hat, (which was a tribute to a deceased friend apparently) but... somehow this failed to connect with the audience. I liked it, but I also didn't like it all that much and I can't put my finger on why. I will say that I barely noticed the hat as I was too busy staring at the female drummer with her spinning sticks and bordering-on-awkward drumming style. She was mesmerizing and somehow I want to be her.
Did you know Kurt Calleja used to be an airline steward? I know because he got interviewed for Australian TV, and Sam Pang asked him if he remembered the the emergency exit routine-- and Kurt good-naturedly went through it for him. I was an instant fan after that.
He's great. And I really did like his song. It was cute, and pop, and catchy, and the guy was friendly. It had shoe shuffles, knuckle-taps, yellow pants AND a weightlifting glove! So many levels of awesomeness. I would have liked rank higher, but at least it made the final.
===
Phew. See how hard I work for you three loyal readers? Well, not very hard because I was supposed to finish this last night and put it off, but whatever. I finally mustered the energy to do it today. It's better than nothing.
If you didn't already know-- Eurovision is my Christmas, really. I explain this in my previous entry. Last night, I watched the first Semi Final, and tonight I watched the second Semi.
Woah Woah Woah.
Looks like all the talent was in Semi 2.
Firstly, the favourite, Sweden. Euphoria was great, but eh. I don't know. It didn't do it for me. But the 'Swedish Ninja' with the spinning kick that comes out in the last ten seconds surely did. I've been spin-kicking around my house all flippin' night. "Euuuphooooorriaaaaaaaaa... forever till the end of tiiiiiiiime...." KICK.
Hmm. A hyper, somewhat chubby woman doing twirling kicks around her living room on a Saturday night?
C'mon, you know that's totally awesome.
Speaking of kicks and shit, that reminds me. What the what, Lithuania? Standard heart-broken ballad, and then the guy-- who's name is Donny Montell -- just fucking one hand flips and air-guitars the fuck out of his crotch for two seconds, mid-song.
Me: Instant fan.
But If Rambo Amadeus's inspiration for his name was purportedly Rambo... and Amadeus Mozart (always a great combination) then was Donny Montell's inspiration... what? Donny Osmond and Montell Williams?
We shall never know.
I actually didn't like Lithuania's song all that much though-- but major-props to his one-hand-flipping-air-guitar ability, which made me a little wet in the pants. But I would have preferred Belarus get through, as I liked their song better. "We are the wieners! We are the wieners!" I liked it. I am sad. I mean, yeah, it wasn't like the greatest song ever, but it was good.
And you know what? Turkey didn't do it for me either.
Yeah yeah, it has historical undertones and traditional music. Whatever. But it's the guys voice for me, Cam Bonomo. It's like he didn't know that he was representing Turkey the country, and not Turkey the bird. He's a warbler. Besides, all the props they get from the traditional instruments is nullified by the horrible lyrics.
"Hop onto my ship baby... I'll make you fly."
... it's a fucking ship. Do you know what a ship does?
Hint: It doesn't fly.
Unless 'ship' is euphemism for 'penis' -- in which case -- yeah, no. Still doesn't fly. Sorry.
Unless... well, maybe he's just that damn good.
Besides, one of the whole lines is just him repeating; "nonny nani nani naaaaa," for about ten seconds.
Yeah. Well. What do I know?
What did I like, then? I liked Serbia, I found it touching. I have no jokes there. I liked Macedonia a lot-- I like how she flips the blah love-ballad into a power ballad. Aw yeah. GUITAR.
Speaking of guitar, oh Slovakia-- with your perfect abs your and thow-back to 80s metal hair bands. I want your babies, even though you have prettier hair than me and are wearing more eyeliner than I ever have in my entire life. I can't believe you didn't get through and I wish you had... if for no other reason than to be able to ogle you and your band of hotness again.
... wait, didn't I say something about not treating men like eye candy, or some such?
Huh. Well, I can't help it, I'm getting to the 'must procreate!' age. It's very disconcerting for a woman.
Anyway, their live performance wasn't great, in my opinion, so I'm not that surprised that they didn't get through to the final. Their video clip kills, but whathisface's voice doesn't have the same strength live.
I'm pretty happy Malta got through, though. If just for the opening lines:
"Hey, look at me, and you see... that I'm into you."
Yeah, it's beautiful. *tears*
Also the explosion knuckle-tap at the start and the sideways shuffle at the end brings it home for me.
The song itself, well... it's fine. But that doesn't matter, because... yellow pants!
Um... I think that's it. I'll try to update tomorrow, but like I said yesterday-- Everything is delayed here in Australia, so we'll get it tomorrow night. I mean really delayed-- I mean, I think the result is being tallied as I write but I won't see it for another 20 hours.
Must not ruin result for myself. Must not go online for at least 20 hours.
This is going to be difficult.... me and the internet is kind of like Satsuki and the Beast from CLAMP's X/1999. If I could have the internet piped intravenously I probably would. Not to mention I'd probably write a lot faster if I was hooked up to my computer.
A girl can dream.
I guess this means I might have to... ugh, go outside or something, tomorrow.
That's going to suck: I'm 99% sure that if I go out in the sun I might die.
Sometime in 2008, I was flipping channels and I came across well, this.
It was Bosnia and Herzegovina's 2008 Eurovision Song Contest entry. And like a car crash, I couldn't turn away. I think my favourite part is when the guy, Laka, pops up from the laundry basket and sings; "With my favourite prank, I trick flora and faunaaaaaaaa!"
That wasn't even my fave entry from that year. In fact, I wasn't even sure I even liked it. I still don't know if I like it. And yet, I kind of love it and it's great. There's something about the green suit, greasy hair and the flailing about the stage that walks the fine like between genius and stupidity.
But regardless, I was kind of hooked on Eurovision ever since. I love it, I love the glitz, the glam, the tawdry half naked women, the cheap music interspersed with the rare great music, the costumes, the accents. It's 101 countries wrapped in a gaudy little bow.
And it is fucking awesome. Mostly, it's so bad It's good. But I think it's so good it's good.
So yeah, it's Eurovision weekend, which is kind of like my Christmas. And if you're not into Eurovision, well, this entry is going to be shit boring. Sorry.
Eurovision isn't big in the US at all-- so as a consequence none of my online friends shares one iota of my enthusiasm (I'm so ronery...) but it's kind of a big deal here because Australia is 'multi-cultural', and part of the natural identity is that... we borrow the national identity of other cultures.
There are a lot of Greeks, Macedonians, Italians here although... well, Italians didn't give two shits about Eurovision until last year, where they re-entered for the first time in years and years. And they came second.
Well, to be honest, most Italians still don't give a shit about Eurovision on the whole. Especially in Italy. But here in Australia too.
For the record, the entry didn't do it for me. It was too schmlatzy; and if he was going for the Bublé effect, well, I can hear it, but I don't think his voice was strong enough to pull it off. I really didn't think the song would do as well as it did.
But shows what I know.
So I'm kind of like a friendless anomaly when I watch Eurovision. Well I am in general, but in this, too.
But I get all gushy and culture-nerdy and excited.
I'm such a freak.
I get excited easily, I've mentioned this a lot.
But I just love learning about culture, and Eurovision gives me a window to places that I would have otherwise overlooked... and dream to visit.
Shit. I just realized something. Am I a closet romantic?
Fuck it, I totally am. I think I see life through rose-colored glasses.
Well that sucks.
Well, I can't help it. I have this weird sense of whimsy regarding most things, especially culture and art and the world.
I have the perpetual anime shiny-eyed-awe face.
I can't help it! Don't judge me!
... My dream is to go to Eurovision someday; any country really. Preferably one I haven't been to. Baku would have been great, because it looks amazing and wonderful and...
My Mind: "Everything is amazing! I love everything! I want to be everywhere and do everything! I love you! LETS HUG! WHEE!"
Shut up, Brain.
In Australia, everything is delayed, and I get even more delays because I'm in Perth. So they only showed Semi 1 tonight. I prefer to watch it on TV-- not the internet-- because if my brother isn't going out he'll watch with me, and it's just more relaxing that way.
So I kind of need to stay off the internet until they show the final on Sunday, or at least not look at anything so I don't ruin the result for myself. Which my ex inadvertently did one year, when he's all like; "Hey have you heard this song, 'Fairytale'? It won Eurovision this year!" When the final had just ended hours before, and they were about to show it.
Pfft. He was such an asshole, I'm glad we broke up.
I'm not a fan of spoilers.
Semi 1 was great, but I only really had two favourites in Semi 1; Switzerland and Iceland. I could take or leave the other songs, although I have such a soft spot for the Russian Babushkas. I almost cried, they were so friggin' cute.
I didn't like Iceland at first, but it has kind of power-metal undertones, which I'm a sucker for. I lament the fact I wasn't into Eurovision when Lordi won; that would have been great to watch. I am also a huge sucker for stringed instruments, and a closet romantic-- as we found out earlier, so the Iceland entry is win-win for me. It's purty and makes me feel all melancholy.
And well, I only liked Switzerland because the guys are from the Italian part; and they are kind of cute. And I liked his horrible English accent. It wasn't amazing, but it wasn't too bad either.
I swear to Buddha, though, the Moldova entry guy is like Edward Norton and Colin Farrel's love child. I freaking swear.
Anyway, I need to sleep and get off my nerd highs.
I have to help my brother write a job application. There's nothing wrong with his job in particular, but he's going for a new position in his department with better pay.
I don't particularly want to help him, but I have to.
He's my brother. But also I know I have to help him this because he's asked me to help him about ten times since Saturday. I was supposed to help him on Saturday but my date took up the entire day and so he had to work on it on his own.
"I did a bit the other day," he tells me; "...see if it's any good."
Yeah, the... result wasn't great.
Now it's Tuesday, and his application is due on Friday, and he has done part of it-- kind of-- but I'm the one who has to refine it because pretty much all he's written is useless, and I'm good at writing applications.
Essentially, I have to rewrite almost all of it. Now, I have plenty of time. I write fast, I think fast, I don't doubt in my ability to get this done. I'm not worried. I mean, I cruised by with with all-nighter essays way more than I can even remember in school. I write. It's what I do. But he obviously doesn't think I can do it, because it's all he's been asking me for four days now.
Aaand... I just got a text.
"Hey Dimes, how is the worst application ever, going? I left the USB and printout on my desk."
Really? Like where you told me it was last night? Like where you showed me it was? Like where I saw it again as I went past your room this morning? How strange that the USB didn't get up and fucking decide to take a brisk walk around your desk. Very surprising.
I actually was just about to pick up his application prior to getting his message. But now that I'm faced with the SMS, I feel incredibly irritated. I resist the urge to scratch my butt and go back to bed. And then to browse Tumblr. Days off are great. When I can you know, have a day off. But I decide, no, even though I have three entire days to do this application, which is plenty of time-- I better do this to placate him, since he's so worried about it.
I fail. I browse Tumblr instead; but dammit there's nothing really new there since last night.
Sigh.
I open LibreOffice, because I'm too cheap to buy Word.
Then I browse YouTube for half an hour.
Aww. That kitten is having a nightmare. It's paws are all cutely twitchy. Awwwww! It got hugged close by the mother kitty. OMFARG. That's the cutest thing I ever sawed! I miss having a cat; but most of all I miss my kitty.
I wanna be a sleepy kitten, too. It looks so nice. I wanna be snugged like that...
....I want to be snugged in general. I want a boy to snug me. A cute boy. I has one, kinda. But I want like a good one. Who laughs at my jokes. Why do I have to be such a loser? Why does he not think I'm funny? Why isn't he funny? Why can't he be what I wa--
Oh yeah, the application.
Sigh.
Wait, my right eye is twitching. What the fuck is wrong with my eye? Maybe it's eye cancer. Maybe I have a an eye pustule on top of my eye cancer, maybe... great, now my left eye feels so scratchy. Must not rub it, I can get pinkeye if I get bacteria in it, right? That is really scratchy. Do I have something in my eye? Did I get an eyelash in it? This eye is always doing that. Maybe it's eye cancer in both eyes. Must not google eye cancer...
... oh God, that sounds awful. Must not Google Image Search eye cancer...
OH MY GOD.
I regret that, I really really regret that.... oh Jesus, those poor people. Shudder. Don't Google that, just a heads up.
....Must not... rub... eye... where are the facking eyedrops. Fuck, my room is messy. Maybe I should clean my room.
Ah, shit. I'm procrastinating again.
.... shit.
This is why I never get anything done.
Okay, lets do this. "Due to my vocational experience in this sector I..."
SNORE.
This is so fucking boring.
Why did I say I'd do this again? Oh wait, I didn't have a choice.
Goddamn it, this selection criteria doesn't even make sense.
WTF is wrong with my fucking right eye!? Fuck it, let me take a look. Is it twitching as much as it feels like it is? I feel like a Bond villain about to explain a death contraption. All I need is a hunch (I'm almost there due to my bad posture,) and to perfect my hand-rubbing technique and evil cackle. Wait, that's not a Bond villain, that's Igor from Young Frankenstein.
Well there's nothing in my eye and I don't notice the twitching in my right eye, so I guess I'm not dying from eye cancer.
Oh hey, a zit on my chin.
My mom rings; she's excited because they're going to re-show her play on local TV because it had good ratings. Well good ratings for a local TV station. Mmhmm. That's great. Mmhmm. Yes I saw it. Mmhmm, I know what happens, I helped you rehearse, remember? I fucking know that play inside out, I almost memorized it. Oh ten thousand people watched it. That's really neat. I'm happy and proud of you. Okay. Look, I gotta finish Jay's job application. I'll talk to you later.
"Because of my extensive experience within..."
.............. PFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFT.
One of my friends in the US tells me he's going to Subway. I start browsing the Subway US site for ten minutes. Mm Philly Cheese steak. I wish I could get Philly Cheese Steak in Australia. That was like the most delicious thing ever. Sigh. I really miss the US sometimes.
Aaaargh. Okay. Back to the application.
.... what? That doesn't even make sense. What do they even want? Let me read it again; maybe it'll make more sense if I break it down.
.... no, it still doesn't make sense.
WHY can't they just say what they mean!?
I wanna bash my head against the keyboard. I wanna throw my laptop from my balcony. I wanna... oh hey, there's a bird on my window sill.
Okay, just do this. You can do this. Once you do this you can eat a pudding. You like pudding, right? Of course you do. Everybody fucking loves pudding. Except maybe those freaks that don't like pudding. Wait, why am I negotiating with myself in the third person? And why am I bribing myself with pudding? What am I? Twelve?
Mm... pudding.
.... dammit, why am I eating pudding suddenly. It was supposed to be a reward when I was done. Now I've been here like five hours straight and I have no more pudding.
Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu...
....
Okay, Fine. This is it. Time to pull my finger out, I guess.
"Most of my vocational experience has centered around deadline orientated positions...."
Centered? Around? Orientated? Jesus, that's a lot of directionally based nothing. Yeah, that needs editing.
I'm verbose, as I repeatedly say-- so I'm actually really good at job applications. Sure most recruiters will say to stay away from flowery language, but this is bullshit. Look at this selection criteria. It makes no fucking sense:
"The ability to provide a range of services required in the delivery of regulation, inspection and/or compliance activities and ability to apply this to regulatory functions and services in a regulatory environment."
What? What does that even mean? A range of services in a regulatory environment? All I know is they're fucking obsessed with being regular. Like regular on the toilet? Yeah, I got your regulatory functions right here.
The fact is people are impressed by verbosity; especially if it doesn't make any sense and it seems intellectual-- and especially on job applications. The amount of job applications that both ask straightforward questions and want straightforward answers are actually pretty rare. If you find one like this, you can usually tell straight away by the selection criteria. But most of the time, It's all bullshit jargon, and you have to answer in more bullshit jargon.
And I can tell you that I have an extremely high success rate for my job applications on the whole; I could probably help people with their cover letters for a living except for the fact that if I had to do this every day I'd facking kill myself quicker than you could say "regulatory functions."
They say that you need to submit between thirty and fifty applications on average before you're even granted an interview; depending on your field. I've never really had that problem. Three years ago, when my brother's department folded and they terminated his contract, he desperately needed another job. I wrote him five applications and he was offered five interviews. Some of the positions he was under-qualified for--including the job he eventually went for -- and yet I didn't even have to lie on the applications. Of those, he was offered three positions and he had a job within about a month.
So, I have no problem getting interviews-- somehow my applications stand out. And my brother is pretty charismatic, so he tends to ace the interviews on the whole. It's a 50/50 deal. He bullshits in the interview, I bullshit on paper.
As for me, well, I have had the same kind of success in my applications, but after I get the interview, though, It's all down hill from there. Then they take one look at me and think; 'Hey, wait, is that a female version of Igor from Young Frankenstein?'
Speaking of, my legs really need shaving. Jesus. That's gotta be at least 1cm long now. Oh hey, while I'm doing my legs, I should do other relevant parts too. You know, while I'm excelling in my task of hair removal.
Excelling in my task... oh yeah, the application.
Sigh.
I so gotta pee.
Oh yeah, my weights are out here. I keep forgetting to do that. I really need to do my weight reps this week-- I was supposed to do it yesterday. To be honest, that's another thing I keep putting off doing. This sucks, but it's better than actual exercise. But compared to writing Jay's job application, this idea of exercising suddenly seems appealing. I think I'll do some exercise after this.
Five minutes still counts as exercise, right?
Fine... whatever. I'm working on it. Really. Okay. "My ability to multitask, self-manage, and effectively organize my workload has been crucial in enabling me to successfully fulfill my obligations...."
Yeah that sounds good, I don't even understand what I just wrote.
.... Oh hey, I've finished the application. Sweet. That's not too bad, I think. Has it got the old Dimes magic? I don't know. Time will tell.
You know, I get so much shit done when I don't want to do something. Fucking A.
And hey, that wasn't so hard...
I should help my brother with his job applications more often.
I don't know why this in particular resonated with me. I can't tell you if it was the term itself, or the person telling me, that made me take notice. But I did take notice; and every once and a while I'm reminded of what he told me. And I try to be mindful of it when I feel especially down, or when I wish I was somewhere else, or someone else. I can't really put my finger on why that in particular stood out, but in any case, it was something that I needed to hear at the time. It seems stupid, but I hold onto it, even now.
So when my date told me I looked pretty today, and seemed to mean it-- I tried to hold onto that-- and more importantly-- believe it.
I took a look around, and I said, (to myself) "Oh yeah. You know what? I don't look all that bad. Maybe I am pretty."
That was really, really difficult.
I've never thought I was pretty.
Even now, it's tough for me to take anyone who has ever told me that seriously. I feel that they're just being polite, or telling me what I want to hear -- like my long suffering ex boyfriend who'd tell me I was beautiful till he was blue in the face and I'd shrug it off, continuously. I'd even say things like, "well you have glasses, so maybe out of focus I look pretty." He'd laugh, but... part of me always kind of meant it.
Yeah. I don't take compliments well.
I think women in general have really fucked up self-esteem, especially compared to men. I'm going to take a wild guess and say it's a product of society, but that's hard to say. It's difficult to feel beautiful when you're slightly chubby and society is ramming rail-thin women down your throat, but in the same vein, if you don't fit the mold of curvaceous and big-titted, you don't fit in either. I was looking at women today, and we're all completely different, shape-wise. Nobody is the same. So why is the perception of women a dichotomy? You should either be Twiggy or Marylin and nothing else in between is either allowed-- or is sexy. Men don't help because they tend to classify you as either 'fuckable or not' even though the reality is most of them will screw anything. Anyway, this is a rant for another time, but I think it's tough being a woman and also having healthy self esteem.
It's something I've been working extremely hard at for the past two years, and I've made some progress. But I'm still not where I'd like to be, either physically or mentally. The physical part isn't as big as a barrier as the mental part, truthfully.
Am I pretty?
I don't look unfortunate or anything. I think I'm 'pretty' -- argh, that's so hard to think, and to say. But I don't think I'll ever be a great beauty. I think I'm kind of goofy looking. My features kinda look a bit odd all together. And people call me pretty occasionally, but of course, I never really believe them.
Heh, that reminds me of something. When I went to Japan for the first time-- in 1999-- I remember Ana-san's mother complimenting my nose at one point. "Kawaii... it's... cute..." she managed, in stilted English. (Her mother couldn't speak Italian like Ana-- she could only manage English.) She basically described how when she was little, she always wanted a nose like that; 'a tall nose' -- and here she was, someone who would have been a really beautiful woman back in the day. Prettier than me, I'm sure. And there was nothing wrong with her nose. I remember thinking, 'Shit, us women are never happy.'
It's funny how my nose-- my somewhat long and wide nose-- was a source of envy for her, when I've never really liked it. Okay, It's fine. I mean, It's kinda cute I guess. It's mine and I wouldn't ever change it-- it feels like it makes my face uniquely mine-- so I'd be to scared to alter it. And It could be worse. A lot worse.
Anyway, yes, the thing at the top was eluding to the fact I had another date today, and now I'm hot and sunburned and tired. Actually I'm not that tired; because I can walk and walk and walk and I don't tend to feel it very much any longer. I'm sure my date's feet hurt more than mine in the end.
So we went to the Royal Australian Air Force Airshow today-- which was my idea. I love planes; (I already mentioned this but I love vehicles of all kinds... except maybe trucks. I don't really ... get trucks.) And I love boats, and trains. But I think I like planes the most.
.... In fact, when we go to the airport to pick someone up, or to drop someone off-- I make whoever is with me watch the landings and takeoffs on the observation deck for a while. I get excited, like I'm ten. I'm a grown woman, though. I'm old enough to know better. ...
I'm such a spazz.
But I just love watching planes take off and maneuver and fly. I guess I'm easily pleased in life... I don't know. I tend to take most things in with a sense of wonderment and whimsy. Everything can be fun to me, everything is fascinating, everything is exciting. I'm not sure what it is about flying and planes. Something about this contraption that is entirely man-made but can take off by harnessing physics and yet looks like it's defying logic is endlessly fascinating to me.
.... sheet. I tend to digress a lot.
Anyway, the Airshow was pretty sweet. Even though all they kept playing was "Fly Away" by Lenny Kravitz over the loudspeakers. I'm sure I heard it at least twice. What the fuck? You don't fucking sit there watching Super Hornet Fighter Jets to fucking Lenny Kravitz. I don't care how good the first 14 seconds of guitar is. Once he compares flying to dragon flies, (Incidentally I actually saw a dragon fly humping another in mid flight today) it's all over. Besides, everyone knows you fucking need Kenny Loggins and "Danger Zone" blaring. Did these people never watch Top Gun? Seriously?
Half of the people there today were only there because of Top Gun-- me included. Actually that movie was a little before my time... I was too young when it came out, so I've actually never seen it-- but even I know you can't have an Airshow without "Danger Zone" or at least AC/DCs "Back in Black" on endless loop.
... so yeah, that was me shouting, "THEY SHOULD PLAY DANGER ZONE" over and over. I'm sorry. I wasn't even drunk.
Much.
I kind of had a moment today, I think it was when the Hornets did a bomb burst formation over us, where I was like: "Holy Fuck. That's it. I'll never be as cool as someone who can fly a fighter jet. My life is meaningless." Haha. I think Nick kind of felt it too, because he kind of puffed out his chest all manly-like when servicemen walked by us.
And he had good reason too. I hate to get all swoon-y girl on him, but hell-- maybe I inhaled too much jet fuel or got too much sun or something-- half the servicemen were seriously incredibly good looking today. There was no lack of male eye candy for me, even though I tried not to notice, out of respect. But I'm ovulating, dammit. I wanna hump anything that moves. It was very difficult to not blank out, you know-- thanks to all the testosterone in the air.
Of course I don't think they were looking at me all that much; there were a lot of women with impossibly thin legs and impossibly big tits strutting around today. Nick was nice enough to not stare, much. He really is a sweet guy.
Although it's kind of funny how a kind word from someone else goes a lot further than a compliment from someone who knows you or is expected to like you.
When Nick complimented me today, it felt good. And I'm trying to hold on to that. I'm trying to you know, count my blessings, and not wish I had legs to my armpits and impossibly big tits-- I don't want them. I don't want implants or anything-- I don't really want to be anyone other than me, deep down, despite my problems with confidence and self-esteem. I like me. I like my body. It's kinda cute. And I'm cute, in a weirdly odd, funny, fun, and slightly deranged way. What? Deranged? Well I'm told it's endearing.
Fuck you. It IS endearing. And if you don't agree, I'll hunt you down and make you agree-- so help me...
cough.
Oh, I mean, nothing. Sorry. *eyetwitch*
We walked by some recruitment booths today, and I kinda had this split-second where I was like, 'Yeah that's a good idea! I never realized I had a dream to be a pilot until today! Maybe I SHOULD join the Air Force!"
.... yeah. Like if I joined I'd suddenly have the opportunity to fly a jet. I can't even hold onto my chunks in a Japanese train, and yet apparently I'm both smart enough to undergo years of specialized training and I'm going to be fine in 6-G loops and not pass out. Right.
Though when the jets were flying and doing hesitation rolls, and barrel rolls -- my internal fangirl was squeeing madly imagining the people inside. There were four guys inside! Real people! And of course everyone inside must be impossibly handsome and amazing and ready to sweep me off my feet when they landed.
... I know. So fucking cliche. I know. I'm sorry. My inner feminist wants to slap the me that was deliciously corrupted by a steady diet of Disney romances. It's sickening. But I can't help it!
... I'm not even pro-military so much. This is generalizing but I kind of view service men like pro athletes -- very alpha male. Drinking and sexing. Okay I have nothing substantive to confirm that at all but it's the impression I get from those kind of guys and those kind of places. I kinda like sweet guys. I like good guys. I don't do bad boys. But something about military aircraft is insanely cool, and there's something about service men (the power factor? the 'man in uniform' cliche? who knows) which is also cool.
Maybe I can't be an F-16 fighter pilot... but hopefully I can at least date one. Such a sad thing to think. "I"m not cool but my boyfriend is!" .... that's lame. Haha. But still, it would be fucking cool.
But if I ever do date a fighter pilot, I'm totally making him greet me with windmill high fives every fucking day. Just like Top Gun.
One day, when I was about six, I remember hearing my mother and brother's laughing in the other room. I felt left out. And I was certain the entirety of my family was laughing at me.
I cried.
And then I got upset; 'they're stupid,' I thought. And then I held a grudge. I didn't know what was so funny, but I was sure it was because of me-- that it was something I did. That they were laughing at me.
Soon after, my Dad found me. He asked me what was wrong.
"Nothing," I said, even though it was clear I was mad.
"You're mad," he noticed immediately. "What happened?"
"No I'm not," I frowned. In my mind I thought; 'it's because you all hate me and were laughing at me. I don't want to talk to any of you.' But I didn't say that. I didn't say anything.
I was being a brat, but my Dad was pretty good about it.
He kneeled and looked me in the eye. "You need to always tell someone what's wrong," he said.
"Why?" I huffed.
"Because when something is wrong-- and you don't tell me what that is, how can we fix it?"
It made sense.
I blurted out, the way six year olds do, all the hurt and indignation that I had endured in the face of my family's mocking laughter.
He listened patiently.
And then he called my brothers over, and asked them what they were laughing about, a moment ago. I forget the details, but it had to do with something silly one of them had done. And it had nothing to do with me.
Suddenly, I felt kind of stupid.
"See?" My Dad said, "it was a misunderstanding."
Realization dawned on me; what I thought had occurred, had not.
It was a defining moment in my life. One I never forgot-- even though it was over twenty years ago now.
My Dad was kind when he said to me, "Do you see? If you had kept it all inside-- then you'd still be upset right now. Isn't that a waste of time?"
I knew immediately what he meant; I'd all ready been huffing and stomping for half an hour at least. I felt incredibly stupid about that, even though I was only six.
"Lets say what you thought had happened was right," he continued. "And they were laughing at you. You still need to tell them what you feel, because they're your brothers, and they love you, and they don't want to make you sad. They can't fix anything, if you don't tell them and hold a grudge." He lectured kindly. "And if you keep it all inside, not only does that hurt you, it's not fair to them, either."
"Why isn't it fair to them?" I said, "It's not their fault I'm mad."
"Because," he said, "they don't know what they did. And if they don't know what they did, they can't stop doing it. And if they can't stop doing it, they'll keep doing it, and make you sad again, every time."
I nodded.
He gave me a hug, and I went off to play.
I learned a lot that day.
I learned about honesty, and communication. I learned about not jumping to conclusions. I learned that the mind is its own worst enemy. And I learned that you should be honest with people you care about, if they've done something-- or even if you only think they have.
Because they can't fix it, if they don't know what they've done.
...
So is honesty the best policy?
Yes.
Not honesty with the intent to hurt, but honesty with the intent to heal. Honesty heals.
A long while ago, I offended one of my best female friends. We've known each other since grade four.
I don't remember what I did-- I think I missed her Birthday by accident. I sent her a belated greeting with an apology, but it didn't cut it. I sent another couple of messages, trying to get together. Suddenly, she started avoiding me. Giving me the cold shoulder. I didn't know what to do. It hurt. We'd been friends for fifteen years at least.
I tried to give her space. I told myself, 'well fuck her, if she doesn't want to be my friend, she can get bent.' But I cared about her; she was my friend. I didn't know what to do.
So one day, I said. "Look, you're my friend and I care about you. I don't want to lose your friendship. I'm sorry if I hurt you; I didn't mean to. But you're important to me, and will always be. I'm sorry for what I did and I hope we can still be friends.'
Suddenly, months of silence evaporated.
She replied; and she was honest with me. She told me, yes, she was offended I had missed her birthday. I said I was sorry. We reconciled. And we're still friends. And we're good friends. Because we know we can get through anything. I might only see her four times a year, but I know we'll be friends forever. We've known each other since I was twelve or so.
And had told me earlier, we could have fixed it earlier. Not spent months (at least six months) wallowing in mutual resentment thinking; "I can't believe that person! We were so close and they don't give a shit! Rah rah!"
Honesty heals.
Because if you're not honest with someone when you feel you are slighted, then how can you fix it?
.... I guess it depends whether you want to fix it.... or not.
It's slightly overcast. We show our slip of paper to the girl at the entrance, and she tells me I can't take my bag on the ride. She says the ride is too fast for anything loose, so make sure not to bring things like sunglasses with us either. We ask her where the lockers are, and she points behind us.
Another group of riders swings above us; screams can be heard.
My brother looks up and is practically shitting himself with fear. We're at Universal Studios Singapore, and above us is the famed Battlestar Galactica Cylon (Blue) ride. This is the ride my friend said is the; 'scariest ride he's ever been on.' And he's been on a lot of rides.
"Don't look at it," I say to my brother, as he stares, petrified by the sight of people swinging by in a suspended loop. More screams.
Sometimes I find it hard to believe he's ten years my elder.
"I can't," he said. "I need to know what I'm getting into-- it relaxes me."
I note skeptically that he doesn't seem relaxed, at all. I shrug. "I don't do that," I say, "it just builds up the ride in my mind... you know, if I stare at it and take in every detail. It makes it seem worse than what it is."
"Oh no, I can't go into the unknown-- it becomes scarier to me," he says.
I shrug. I don't believe him, at all. After all, when we went to Tokyo Disneyland he was the most relaxed while we were in Space Mountain queue-- I think because he couldn't see the ride since it's enclosed and in the dark. He tends to not recall this, however. Instead, I think him staring at it is making him jumpier.
I love rides.
I've always loved rides. Personally I think I could go on anything and do anything, provided it was relatively safe and wouldn't make me throw up-- I have a weak stomach sometimes.
And yet my brother, Jay is always like this; I always have to wheedle him into going on rides with me. The only thing I don't like is doing things alone; I like to share experiences. And yet, sometimes I revel in being alone. What can I say? I'm weird like that. But my entire life, I've never had a friend that liked going on rides with me. Even my ex boyfriend I had to cajole into going on things with me when we went to Castles and Coasters in Arizona. After the log ride, he felt so sick he disappeared into the bathroom for half an hour at one point. But at least he tried.
We find a locker, put our shit away, and make our way over to the ride. We have a fast-track pass, a kind of thing that lets us skip the queue. There's no real queue anyway, but we use it up regardless. The girl marks our slip of paper, and we head past her. As we wind our way through all the barriers to the upper platforms, there is nobody around at all. When we get there, there is no wait. In all, it took less than two minutes to get in. There's one coaster just about to leave, but the lady tells us we'll be on the next one. We wait a couple of minutes, and idly watch people harness themselves into the seats. The attendants make sure everyone is buckled up, and give the all clear.
Suddenly, solid ground disappears as the floor abruptly drops away from beneath them. In a second, they're off, and even though we're not on that run, it's still an epic 'hoshit' moment for me as the floor falls away. Excitement and panic wells up in me. We're next.
And suddenly, my brother says; "I can't do this."
I look to my right; he's trembling.
"What?" I say incredulously.
"D, I can't go on the ride." His voice is shaking.
"But we're right here," I say. I'm starting to frown. Is he seriously going to bail on me? Seriously?
He looks beyond panicked at me. "I'm getting heart palpitations," he says. He's pale looking and clammy. "My head is spinning, I'm getting vertigo." I've never seen him this shaken before. It's slightly disconcerting to see my older brother this scared.
"Okay," I say.
"What?" He says.
"Okay," I say "you don't have to go on the ride."
He turns to go. "Are you coming?" he asks me.
"No."
"You're going on it anyway?"
I'm pissed off at this point. "Well, yeah. I'm going on this ride with or without you," I say. "Fuck that shit. I didn't come all the way to Universal Studios Singapore and pay for a fastrack pass to not freaking use it."
"I can't go on it-- I just can't." He looks at me pleadingly.
"That's fine," I shrug. "Don't worry about it. I'll go by myself."
He looks apologetic and torn.
"Don't worry," I say. "I'll be fine."
I can't really believe he's going to abandon me-- his little sister-- to this ride. But he does.
And I'm alone.
I try not to feel like a loser, waiting by myself in the queue. There is only about six people waiting to go on, in a capacity of at least thirty, I think. Universal Studios Singapore is never that busy, somehow. I want to sit by myself in the back row, but instead decide to sit across this family of four so I don't feel as losery. I find solace in the fact there's a twelve year old girl with the family, which makes me mock my brother in my mind, even more. I pull the hand grip over my body. The attendant tests my seat belt.
The floor drops away-- it practically disappears into itself. Even the way it folds in is cool. And where solid ground was a second ago, suddenly, there's nothing. You're suspended, floating in mid air, your feet dangling. It's pretty awesome.
"Good hunting, brothers and sisters," the attendant says cheesily in a thickly accented voice. And suddenly we're slowly going up the first big incline.
The BG Cylon ride has a zero-g roll, a vertical loop, one extreme drop, and two corkscrews. It's 40 stories high. It's only 90 seconds long, but it goes about 56mph in that time.
It's much faster than it appears that video, in all actuality. The g-force is pretty high. When I was on it, I jarred my neck because of the g-forces, and because I didn't rest my head on the headrest.
And I fucking had to ride it by myself.
As I got off, I was all wobbly. I teetered over to the lockers, where my brother was waiting, looking sheepishly at me.
"I'm sorry." He says.
"It's okay," I say.
"Was it scary?"
I shrug, "Not really." I pause. "It wasn't that bad, actually."
"Oh, okay." He says.
He felt bad, so he promised he'd go on it the next day (we were going to go on it again the same day, but it began to rain). When we finally rode it together, my brother gets off and just looks at me like I'm insane. "You said it 'wasn't that scary!'"
"Oh, yeah. That was worse than I remembered it." I said.
My mother says I have an almost unnatural stoicism sometimes; and I know what she means. "You don't give me any satisfaction," she said to me, once. Because I don't get excited enough when things happen. Like if we won lotto, I'm not the group hug jump and and down type. Doesn't mean I'm not thrilled-- I am; I just don't show it all that much. Even though I feel extremely deeply, I sometimes appear superficially unemotional unless I'm around someone I can be myself around. For example, I find it incredibly unnatural to scream. You know like horror movie screams women do? They don't come naturally to me, at all. I don't scream on rides. I don't scream at all. So I just kind of sit there, taking them as they come. My brother once said to me-- while we went around theme parks-- that if I could have a monocle, and do a drinking tea pose and a 'mm, quite,' as I went on the rides, it would complete my stoic impression. It cracked me up, because that's exactly how I come across. Like I don't give a shit.
It's not that I don't get scared-- I do. That's why I like rides. It's just that I don't show it all that much, and I don't find it difficult to do scary things like go on rides. They don't faze me, at all.
And so, we were talking about this the other day. "You're really strange," my brother was telling me.
I said I knew, but in what way in particular. He said it was because I had no phobias at all, and yet, I somehow could become really anxious occasionally.
It's true.
Nothing scares me.
And yet; everything scares me.
What can I say? I'm weird.
When I was six, they bought a boa constrictor to school. When everyone shied away, especially other girls-- I didn't give two shits. There's a pic of me with it, six years old, draped around my neck-- I'm smiling. My friends on either side of me look like they're in the queue for the dentist.
Nothing 'conventional' really scares me, and yet, I'm can be shy and insecure. This is my biggest problem; and it's the biggest thing holding me back.
I've always been shy, and deep down inside--even though I'm a relatively capable woman-- I feel like a lost little girl most of the time. Like I'm not good enough. Sometimes this comes across in simple things: I'll get anxious doing something basic like parking the car, and sometimes the actual feel of facing that is hard to shake. Usually this stems from a bad experience doing the thing in question, or feeling inadequate growing up. If you guessed that when learning to drive ten years ago I actually scraped the fuck out of the car while parking it once, then you'd be right. When I get anxious, I can't think. I don't have a mind for rote memorization, maybe partly because I'm right brain dominant. So I'm bad at regurgitating facts quickly, or quick addition and subtraction. I can't function when I'm put on the spot; anxiousness gives me a mind blank, even if I know the answer.
My phobias tend to stem from insecurity, and I can be incredibly insecure. Like occasions where I need to take responsibility and lead. I don't like to take control, at all. I find it really difficult to take responsibility. I can lead (and I'm good at leading, I think) and occasionally I can be bossy-- but I don't like it, I'll only do it if no one else is leading. But mostly it's negative prolonged experiences I avoid. For example, I don't like going to the store in peak hours because it's a prolonged negative experience to be exposed to people pushing you around and scrabbling for sales and whatnot. I don't see the point of putting myself into a situation I inherently dislike on the whole. Especially if nothing beneficial comes out of it. But this doesn't mean I dread going there or get anxious. If I have to do it, I can do it. Do I want to do it? No, not really.
But essentially, regular phobias don't really scare me-- at all. And apparently the top ten phobias are: Snakes, sharks, heights, dogs, thunder, flying, germs, enclosed spaces, social situations and spiders.
I really don't care about most of those. Not that I wouldn't shit myself if I went swimming and there was suddenly a shark next to me going "heyyyy babyyyy... you gunna stay for dinner?" And chomping on my shapely hips. But the idea of sharks don't frighten me, and if it was a controlled situation, I could absolutely swim with one. I'd be more scared of how I looked in my wetsuit, than of the shark. And it's not like I don't get scared if a dog is being aggressive, but I don't get scared by dogs in general; regardless of breed. So I mean, it depends on the situation.
I was way more scared going on a date last weekend than I would be experiencing any of those things. In fact I could safely say I'd be less scared skydiving than I would exposing my vulnerability to a new partner. Being vulnerable scares me-- being intimate with someone new who might be judging me fills me with dread even now. I found it tough to say 'yes' to the guy that asked me out, and even though I went-- and even though I had been told he liked me beforehand and he indicated he liked me during -- I was mostly petrified the entire time. I found it hard to relax.
For me, social situations can be iffy, because they can fall under 'prolonged negative experiences', (depending on the situation) and I want to avoid them depending on what they are. I'm an introvert; not to bad an introvert but an introvert nonetheless. While I can socialize quite effectively and people tend to like me on the whole; (old ladies think I'm the shit most of the time) in nightclub situations I find myself with a 'fish out of water' sensation-- it doesn't come naturally to me to be there. But those kind of situations don't scare me.
On the whole, I am pretty adventurous for a non-adventurous person.
If you've been reading this at all, you should have already cottoned on that I'm really weird.
... I will admit I have a revulsion towards spiders and cockroaches and wasps and insects in general. But I like bees. They're cute and give me honey. Well not Africanized Bees. Not being racist; Africanized Bees are fucking scary. And that gigantic desert spider makes me cringe. But my inscet phobia is not so bad; I always wanted to have a tarantula crawl on me, sometime. Since I watched Home Alone, I think. So I wouldn't call it a phobia.
I found a spider on my ceiling one night, before going out. It was a big black thing with wispy gangly legs. It looked disgusting, and the thought of leaving it in my bedroom didn't sit well with me-- but I was running late and I didn't have time to either save it and put it outside (I get all sappy and do that sometimes) or Baygon its ass to kingdom come (for when I feel less sappy). So I left it, and when I came back a few hours later, it was gone.
Now my door was closed, so I don't think it just got up and decided to leave my room of it's own volition. I mean, it was there somewhere-- I just couldn't see it. And while I will admit the thought of sleeping in my room with a spider in a random corner that I couldn't see kinda worried me a little, in the end, I didn't really care. It certainly didn't hinder my ability to fall asleep that night.
My mom would have been totally and utterly freaked out-- she would have taken the room apart or slept somewhere else until she was sure it was good and dead.
I probably ate it in my sleep; who knows. It was gone the next day, I never fucking saw it again.
Lizards, mice, rats, molluscs and the like don't scare me, either. I actually have this weird penchant for cephalopods. I think they're cute. Especially cuttlefish. And it's been a dream of mine to have a pet rat; I adore them. And when I was little, a bobtail lizard wandered into our garden. I asked my Dad if we could keep it. He said no.
Heights, flying and thunder are all things I love. I have this thing for taking off in a plane; I get really excited, like I'm twelve. The moment of power when you're on the runway and the engines kick in full tilt and you accelerate down the runway-- that's always been my favourite part of flying. The moment you have the most risk of dying I guess, where the guy with the phobia is gripping the armrest, is the part I love. Even now, I still love planes. I like vehicles of all kinds, really. The bigger the better. I'm really partial to the jumbo jet, even though it's obsolete now. It was my favourite passenger plane.
So what's my secret? Why am I not scared of any of the top ten phobias? I'm not entirely sure. I've been thinking about it the past few days. I came to a kind of half-assed conclusion.
Not caring.
Not caring is the secret to not being scared, I guess, and it applies to pretty much everything. If you take something you hate, and you think, "well what's the worst that could happen?" and the result is "death" well, that's scary. But you can die just going out in a car tomorrow, and yet people do it without thinking. And that's basically the secret. Not thinking too much about it. My brother psyched himself out of the Cylon ride because he thought too much about it; made it bigger in his mind than it was. I didn't. So as a consequence, I go zen-like when doing scary things. My brother says I get a poker face.
So. Don't think about it; just do it.
That's the secret to not being scared. If you want to do it-- especially if your phobia is holding you back and it's something you want to overcome-- then don't think about it. If you do think about it, you need to visualize yourself doing it with ease and calmness.
This is how I know I could probably handle a tarantula, even though I don't like spiders very much.
Basically, the more humans are exposed to things, the more we like them. It's the same reason why psychologically we start to like songs that get stuck in our head, even though we initially disliked them. And it's the same thing with people; generally speaking you tend to like your neighbors more than you like the people all the way down the street from you.
So if you put yourself in the situation enough times, you'll probably start to not hate it as much.
And a big part of overcoming phobias is risk vs reward. Obviously going on a ride is much safer than going train surfing. I'd do the former, but not the latter. So you need to ask yourself is the reward (fun) worth the risk, and how high is that risk? Is the risk heightened because of other factors (for example, are you in a country with a poor safety record for rides?) Or is the fear irrational? Is there no real risk, or is the risk beyond miniscule? And is it interfering with your life? Do you wish you didn't have the fear? Then you need to get past it. There's a good chance I won't die going up in a plane, or on a ride, or bungee jumping. There's a better chance I won't die, than I will die. Is the risk of dying greater than the fun you'd have doing said activity? Well, it's different for everyone. Everyone's idea of 'fun' is different. For me, the pros need to outweigh the cons. Personally, I like theme park rides-- even lame kiddy ones and super intense scary ones. It's fun for me. If you force yourself to do something and it isn't fun for you, then I can understand not really feeling the need to want to do it. For example, I already know that I'd derive no enjoyment from hiking or climbing a mountain. I've done it before (well it was more like a hill, here in Australia). Regardless, I don't get a thrill out of it. I don't begrudge people that do love it -- more power to them-- but our point of views differ significantly on what 'fun' is.
I mean, I like camping and things like that, I just don't like certain things associated with survival. Being cold, being hungry, being in pain, being tired, being not-relaxed... negative prolonged experiences. Some people love shit like that. That's fine, they can do whatever they derive enjoyment from. But to me, there's no point forcing myself to like something that I really derive no enjoyment from. But I'm not scared of it, either. I just have a strong aversion to putting myself through something gruelling. Boot camp is not my thing.
So you need to figure out if it's something that's holding you back or not, and what to do to overcome it. Does it bug you that you can't ride roller-coasters? Does it bother you being scared? Decide if it's something you want to fix or not, and then visualize yourself deriving enjoyment from the activity. In the same vein, if you dwell on it, don't dwell on it negatively. Don't sit there and take in the entire track in awe, like my brother did, thinking -- 'it's so huge, it's so fast' -- you'll just psyche yourself out.
Secondly, in overcoming fears-- not fearing death is important. I don't want to die; but I'm not scared of dying. Again, it's prolonged pain I'd prefer not to experience. That's kind of why insecurity is a big thing for me. Prolonged anxiousness just feels bad in general. So even though the worst thing that can happen when parking is much more preferable to dying, it fills me with more fear than doing something where my life is at risk. I'm very much a 'rip the band-aid off' kinda gal. I like to get things over and done with; this is why I like rides and skydiving but would hate to give a two-hour lecture, even though doing the lecture is much safer.
Accept what the worst thing that could happen is, be okay with that, then let go. When I fly, I accept the worst-case scenario before I go. If I die, I die. Oh well. To make peace with life, you gotta make peace with death.
So at least once a week, I'll get asked if I'm on Facebook.
I'm not on Facebook.
I fucking hate Facebook.
Then I get asked why, and I make up some excuse about how I don't use the internet that much (this is a lie) and then I'm made to feel like I'm some kind of backwards loser who refuses to adapt to emerging technology.
The truth is, I joined Facebook way back when it was in its infancy, because I'm a technophile and I tend to notice new sites and stuff like that. I joined under my name; I got my brother to join (he still uses his), added him as a friend, saw how it worked... and then decided I really didn't want to use it. I removed my name from the search, changed it to a pseudonym and pretty much never used it again. If you search my real name, I don't come up, at all.
Then the internet became popular. Then Facebook became popular. Then all my friends began using Facebook. Then all my friends began wondering if I was on Facebook.
"Are you on Facebook? Lets check us all in to Air nightclub," I was asked last week while at a party.
Check me in? Is this a thing? Are you girls honestly telling the internet all seven of us are going to a night club right now? Seriously?
Who gives a shit.
It's funny but in the end, we never even went in to the club we 'Checked Into' via Facebook because the queue was too long. We decided to go to another nightclub, and they forgot to check us in that one.
And this is why I hate Facebook.
Anyone that knows me, again, knows I'm crazily private. When I first got online 13 years ago, the internet was a weird and scary place where everything you did was under a username and you absolutely never shared your real name with anyone-- unless you knew them really well. Like if you talked in "ICQ" with them or something. Remember ICQ? ICQ was it back then. And even then, you never shared your address with anyone because if you did they would inevitably hunt you down and kill you while you slept.
Everyone knew that.
So basically, this was pre Skype, so getting to know someone was a slow process, and people held onto their personal details as if they were bargaining chips. Personal information was just that-- personal.
I remember one time making friends with this chick who was holding on to her first name as if it was priceless. We'd known each other a year, and she was having real problems telling me what her first name was; I didn't even ask about her surname at all. But that's the way it was back then; if you didn't really really like someone-- you wouldn't just drop your real name on them-- or your photo. Only if you really, really liked them. It was special info which needed to be earned only after you could prove to someone you could be trusted, and/or you weren't secretly a dude.
The internet was extremely male dominated those days and anyone who said they were a woman was either a man, or was an ugly woman (the latter is where I fall).
That's probably why the "tits or gtfo" mantra evolved later on; it was a direct response to overweight 50 year old men with boxes of tissues by their side; pretending to be cute teenage girls with names like "Melody".
Real life and Online was distinctly separate back then. Most real life friends of mine weren't online yet, for one thing-- it wasn't that common in Australia at least. So they didn't know my online identity. And I was fine with that-- like I wanted my very mainstream friends to come find me on Sailormoon forums and crap. And at most, you shared an email address with a real life friend, but generally your internet life was your internet life and your real life was your real life.
I still cling to that mentality deep down. I don't share personal details easily, I don't share pictures -- unless people specifically ask me -- and I hate putting my real self 'out there' so candidly; which is why I don't do well with Facebook. My shit is my shit.
This might be ironic because it's coming from a personal blog entry, where all I do is talk about my shit-- but I'm not exactly forcing my entire friends list to read it on my wall or timeline. In fact, I'm only really doing it because it's a coping mechanism for something else; it doesn't really matter if nobody reads it.
But the main reason why I'm not on Facebook is generally because I don't give a shit about people. Pfft. Stop pretending that's shocking and that it doesn't go for you. The reality is almost no one cares about anyone else; I've found this out first hand. People tend to mostly think about themselves. It's normal.
And I don't mean that I'm heartless, but it takes me a bit to actually care enough about someone to consistently wonder how they are. And it's not easy for just anyone to break that barrier; even though on the whole people tend to like me-- I know, it flabbergasts me, too. But I've had aquantainces for years and they don't always make the cut, as conceited as that sounds. Also, anyone I care enough about to wonder how they are-- I just fucking ask. I don't stalk them on Facebook. Anyone I like enough to want to hear from, I contact. Anyone I care to hear from, contacts me. Anyone else can get fucked, as far as I'm concerned.
There's a kind of "gotta catch 'em all" mentality emerging on Facebook; a competitive "I gotta get lots of friends!" without giving any real value to the offer of friendship. And it's not real friendship anyway. It just becomes about everyone you know or have ever met-- every kind of social contact you've ever made needs to somehow be cataloged and connected to you suddenly. I don't like that, because with Facebook, friendship becomes meaningless. It instead becomes more about not offending someone, than actually caring about someone. Look at how many people I have ever met in my entire life, ever! Great.
For example, again, people tend to like me in real life -- for unfathomable reasons. I tend to like them okay. They seem to like me enough to want me to be on Facebook and want me to add them as a friend. I don't always like them enough to want to do that.
I don't give it up easily. That goes for sex too, but I meant my friendship. My friendship is kind of precious. Maybe that sounds conceited. But I don't sincerely offer my friendship to anybody halfway nice to me-- or that co-worker I really don't get along with but who for some reason fucking adores me and wants to hang out with me and I really want to avoid because all our conversations are incredibly stilted and awkward and I so don't understand what she likes about them and so if I had to endure five hours of that I'd probably try and off myself. If I had Facebook, I'd feel obligated to add that person as a friend -- even though I don't consider them one-- because they're nice and everything and I don't want to hurt their feelings. You can not add them, but then it becomes this weird elitist thing where you only add really "good" friends to your list, and then it becomes kind of obvious that they like you more than you like them. Then you're using your 'friends list' to hurt them; they feel bad because they don't make the 'close friends' cut.
And the reverse should be true, too. People shouldn't just drop their friendship on anyone, adding friends left right and center. It should be something special. If there's anything that I've learned in 13 years online is that friendship is kind of special, and real friends are actually pretty fucking rare. I should know, because I've made hundreds of contacts spanning five different social networks in that time, and met many people that want to be my friend in real life as well-- but I only have about 10 people I clicked with and consider really good friends-- and half of those I know online.
It's important to have good friends-- not just countless friends. The kind of friend you can never see but when you do, it's like no time has passed at all.
So It's just easier for me to see who I want to see and talk to who I want to talk to and not compile friends lists like I'm indexing fucking Pokemon. And It's much easier for me to just keep saying "no" when people ask if I'm on Facebook; although it's gotten to the point where my friends don't believe me-- they think I have a secret account where they don't make my friends cut, somewhere. That's what Facebook does, though. Makes people think shit like that. Because there's no feasible way someone would intentionally not be on Facebook, right? Everyone is on Facebook! It's a book of your face! How can I pass judgement on your life and things you say if you're not on Facebook? I can't press a 'like' button on your head, but with Facebook, I totally can.
Get fucked.
I don't particularly want to tell the world what I ate today or where I am or what I'm doing or where I work or what I like or what I don't like or what I did last night-- unless someone displays interest in wanting to hear it. But most people don't. In general, even-- but even on Facebook. Because most people don't give a shit either; and that's fine with me. That goes doubly for me. It's getting to the point on Facebook where it's all about 'me me me' but people don't have anything worthwhile or interesting to say. So people just post in their little bubble, and no one really pays much attention to anyone else. It's like the epitome of selfishness. Then people get petulant because their fucking status got no likes.
You want to be Facebook famous? Fucking turn into a cat, takes lots of pictures, and then get on Facebook. You can't lose.
But no one gives a shit you had a burrito for lunch, except you, and you'll be giving that shit in about an hour, too.
And the thing is, if you're giving up every detail of your life-- then nobody is going to ask how you are any longer. They'll know. Because it's in your stream. And most people will do very little with that info because again, they don't care. So they probably won't even ask you about it. You have a cold? You went to Bermuda? Well I know already-- I read it on Facebook.
There goes the novelty of telling people... well basically anything.
And it's not just about not caring, it's about judging, too.
People are people. Nobody is going to be like you.
For example, one of my most colorful friends, 'Nina' -- is the complete opposite of me. I love her, but we're insanely different. She's outgoing -- I'm shy. She's promiscuous -- I'm absolutely not. She's a party girl -- I'm a homebody. She's religious -- I'm an atheist. Despite all this, I like Nina. She's funny and different, and there's nothing wrong with that. But she can be judgmental, and certainly I disagree with her vehemently; she can be anti-gay, I'm totally pro-gay rights. We've discussed it before and I always try to get her to see it my way. Also, she 'wriets liek dis' which inevitably makes her seem well, kind of retarded. If I look her up on Facebook, her 'other' description is totally Nina-- badly written and crass.
Despite all this, I actually love her, she's a good girl and a loyal and caring friend. Deep down she is a good person. But I already know if I followed her on Facebook and needed to deal with her inanity continuously that it would cloud my judgement of her. Because she's fine-- in small doses, but somehow Facebook seems to exacerbate all the negative verbal-diarrhea-like traits a person has. It's like alcohol. I already know that it would be detrimental to our friendship to hear every single thought that popped into her head.
And also the thing with Facebook is that I tend to find out things I don't want to find out. You're probably thinking, 'well it's good to know if someone is prejudiced so we can avoid them in future.' And yeah, I'd agree... except for one thing.
We're all prejudiced in some manner. Everyone is different. That doesn't make them worse than you, it just makes them different. Now I don't mean like dropping n-bombs or "I can't believe the little girl in Hunger Games was black" and fucking racist shit like that. I mean things like; "well anyone that likes football is an idiot." And I do it too-- I hate Australian rules football with a passion but I am of course, friends with people that love it. And I try not to be judgmental but the reality is; I judge people. We all do. So when we find out that this person you think is the shit loves watching reality TV crap like 'Australian Idol' or 'Masterchef' or or fucking Jamie Oliver or something you absolutely loathe, suddenly your opinion of them drops. And suddenly you think; 'wow that person is really a fucktard for liking that,' and even though it's stupid to think that way, we all tend to do it. Or, "they liked that movie? I thought it was shit. Wow I lost all respect for them because they like that. They must be stupid."
Yeah, that's not really fair.
The whole world isn't stupid but you. It's just different to you. And that's fine. You're better off trying to change your attitude to things you dislike than try to change things you dislike. Because your wrong isn't someone else's 'wrong' -- life isn't black and white. And this goes for most things, especially things people think are 'important' like political affiliations, or dietary choices and the like. Sometimes, it's just better not to know these things about your friends-- in detail at least, because they cloud your judgment towards people, and in the end the differences are unimportant anyway.
About the only good thing about Facebook is being able to keep in touch with people overseas or to find old friends you lost contact with. But I bet you anything that the only enjoyment you derive from Facebook comes at the hands of 1-5 really good, funny, great friends. Everyone else you probably don't give a shit about, even your mother and her penchant for gardening.
So just be friends with them, and care about them. Stop compiling lists of friends like people are commodities to be cataloged and graded as per how interesting a friend they are.
Life's too short to be friends with everyone. So take the good people, and cherish them. And tell everyone else to fuck off.
Or maybe don't listen to me, because I'm a bitter old hag who fucking hates everybody.
Or... you know, you can totally go 'like' Poptarts on Facebook right now or something instead.
Because of course-- the whole world needs to know.
Which is just as well. Regardless of how desperate I am lately, not even I give it up on the first date.
Actually, the thought of sex without love -- is a real turn off to me. I don't think I could do it. I don't really know how my friend Nina gives it up so easily. And she does. Because she more often than not, tells me all about it afterwards. I can kind of understand the intrinsic want or need for the touch of a man.... but... I don't know. The thought of doing it with someone who I have absolutely no meaningful connection to at all kind of fills me with revulsion. And as much as I like this guy, I really barely know him. And although there's part of me that wants that, and thinks he's attractive, I know me, and I know I'd regret it. So I already know going in that neither of us are getting lucky tonight.
It might have been a different story had he asked me out while I was hormonal. I probably would have torn his clothes off, if so. It's hard to say. Regardless, it wasn't meant to be. Besides, not sure if he would have been into it. The guy is nice, albeit opinionated. But he doesn't seem the type to screw around, I don't think. He comes across as a gentleman. Although it's hard to say. Most guys screw around, don't they? Hell, most of my women friends, do.
Sometimes I wish I was more like them.
Last week, I was telling my friend Nina about my date.
She cackled. "Are you going to fuck him?" She said, staring at me. Ah Nina, so classy, as always.
"I don't know!" I shot back, "I don't think so."
"You totally should, we need to get you laid." She said, flipping her long dark curly hair.
I made a face. "I don't see the point. I'd be too nervous to even like, 'get there' during, I'm sure."
She looked at me as if I was stupid. "Do you think I get off on my hookups!?" She stared incredulously. "Just finish yourself off when he facking goes to the bathroom," she practically rolled her eyes.
All my conversations with Nina go this way. As an example of the way Nina thinks-- when I went to her birthday party two weeks ago, we walked by this group of men who looked at us. She called out; "Two hundred a facking night, all roight?"
"Only two hundred?" I said. "I think we're worth more than that. At least I am-- I'm not too sure about you."
"Fuck you, D," she slurred.
"Okay, if you like. But I want at least four hundred."
She's actually already texted me tonight. Well, it's 4am now, and my date is long over. But she texted me hours ago; "R U in the bedroom? LOL does he have a big..."
...
Friends like Nina kind of make life interesting, that's for sure.
It was standard date fare; dinner and a movie. He rang me, earlier today. When I saw it, I briefly wondered if he was cancelling, but all he said was; "I know you don't really want to watch the Avengers, But I've been hearing it's good; and 'Act of Valor' isn't on at the cinema we were going to go to. Do you want to watch that? Or something else?"
"Oh, no, we can totally watch that." I said, trying to sound nonchalant. I don't think he'd cottoned on that I'd already seen it last week with my brother and his friend. Regardless. I have such a crush on Jeremy Renner right now, so I had no problems watching it again at all. "That sounds good," I say.
"Well, can I pick you up at about 10 past seven tonight."
I resist the urge to sign off with "It's a date!" Argh. So fucking cliche. I instead I mumbled something like; "that sounds good." Ah, fuck. I just said that twice. Oh God, I'm so retarded.
And suddenly, it just felt so real. It was really happening. I was really going out. With a guy. I was nervous.
Things don't scare me usually-- despite my insecurity; I don't get scared very easily-- but if there's one thing that really makes me nervous is dating. Especially cute guys. And even though he's not my type-- and I feel conceited saying that, I mean, 'beggars can't be choosers' and everything-- he is pretty cute, superficially speaking. He's tall. Somewhat tanned. He's a lot muscular than I usually like; I can tell he takes pride in his appearance. His hair is sandy coloured, his eyes are a dark blue. They're very piercing. That was the first thing I noticed.
He's a decent guy. He has a decent job, a decent haircut, a decent car, and decent sense of humor.
But he doesn't get my jokes. That was frustrating. I don't know if I can spend my life with someone who doesn't get my jokes. And his surname... it really doesn't go with my first name at all. So there goes marriage. Not that I'm that into marriage or anything... I actually don't like the idea of marriage at all, and even if I did get married, I like my surname.
... sorry, women jump the gun like this all the time. I don't care how feminist one is; there's always a split second where you just put your name next to a potential partner's to see how it sounds.
And he smokes. That's kind of my deal breaker. Not because I care if someone smokes or not-- after all, both Nina and my mother smoke, and I don't give them crap about it-- but I care about it in a partner. It practically helped send my Dad to an early grave. And even with my mother... I don't know, watching someone be a slave to cigarettes is kind of disheartening. I've been watching it for three decades now, and I really don't want my future to reflect that, either. It controls her.
But I firmly believe in letting people do what they fuck they want, so I'm not going to belittle him for it. I do wonder how this guy can be so vain in regards to appearance -- yet smoke cigarettes, though.
Dinner was nice; pleasant. It was a steakhouse. We had steak. It was kind of awkward. We talked about my trips. He asked me if I was afraid of the radiation when I went to Japan, I said I wasn't. I said there's more chance of getting radiation doses just going up in a plane than being in Tokyo itself. Besides, I was around Osaka, mostly. He goes on some tirade about nuclear energy, and like most people, he doesn't know what the fuck he's talking about.
I'm not a fan of nuclear energy; but not because of the radiation exposure from a meltdown-- for me it's due to the waste it generates. That's the real down side to Nuclear energy. It's not clean or renewable because of this. Not because of the potential to meltdown, which while significant, is avoidable. Of course I'm not sure how wise it was to build a crap-load of reactors on the earth's most seismically volatile country... they were kind of asking for trouble.
However, Nuclear energy really fascinates me, and always has. As a consequence, I know way more about it than the average person. I never really understood how people could be vehemently opposed to something, yet not actually read up on it or research it, at all. It's not inherently 'bad', just like coal and oil plants are not inherently 'good' either.
So he has a knee-jerk reaction to nuclear energy. Fair enough, we all do. I can accept that.
But Goddamn it, he isn't funny and he doesn't like my jokes. That part sucks.
There is a foosball table at the cinema, and a few arcade games. We decide to play foosball because we're early, and we have like 20 minutes.
I beat him.
We had our own foosball table, growing up. I mean, I'm Italian; it's like a fucking life skill they force upon you. Calcio balilla. My citizenship would have gotten revoked had I not known how to play. I don't tell him this. I think his male competitive pride is slightly wounded because I win.
"Do you want to play something else?" he asks me, "we still have a bit of time."
I nod over to the video games in the corner; "what about Time Crisis?" I say.
"Oh sure," he says. "I'm good at this one," he grins.
I smile.
It's co-op but I manage to stay in the game, while he gets killed. He has to sit there and watch me go through at least an extra two minutes of gameplay since he runs out of lives.
"You're good at this," he says at the end.
"That's why I"m the sheriff," I say.
"What?"
I explain that when I went to Tokyo Disney, there was a shooting gallery in Westernland. I love shooting galleries; I beat my ex at the one at Castles in Coasters in Arizona. Anyway, my brother had three turns and couldn't get over 5 hits. Instead I had two tries-- I got 7/10 on the first one, then 10/10 on the second go. You give a slip to the lady. "Yatta!" She said, stamping it, and handing me a plastic sheriff's badge with Donald Duck on it. I fucking love Donald Duck. To say I was happy was an understatement-- I consider that plastic badge and the slip of paper one of my life's achievements fulfilled.
Okay, that's really kind of sad.
But simple pleasures and things of that nature kind of make me giddily happy for some reason. I can't really explain why. That stupid badge is one of my prize possessions.
I briefly wonder if I should have lost on purpose. Guys don't like girls who are better than them, or smarter than them, do they? It threatens their male ego. I quickly decide I don't give a shit though. If he is threatened by me being awesome, then he sucks balls.
I can't help being awesome.
We watch the movie; he liked it. That's good. He's the kind of guy who glances towards you during the movie, occasionally. I wondered if it was because he liked me, or if he was checking if I was still there. Meanwhile I was thinking; 'you're missing the best part, asshole! This movie fucking rocks.'
Sigh.
He isn't funny. But he's cute.
But he's not funny.
"Pretty sure Hulk can beat Thor, though," he's telling me.
Oh Jesus no. This isn't happening; there's no way I'm going to get into a debate about how Thor is a God and Hulk is just a dude with altered DNA. There's no way I'm going to go on about how Thor has powers; the ability to summon lightning from thousands of worlds, fly, that he's practically invulnerable, that the consensus is Stan Lee intended him to be the most powerful superhero in the Marvel universe, that they overpower the Hulk in the modern universe and constantly under-power Thor-- that although Hulk has beaten Thor in matchups occasionally, the opposite has been true too. That they will probably never resolve who really is stronger, although there's a strong bias towards the Hulk, technically, on paper-- it should always be Thor, as long as Thor has Mjolnir.
He looks at me awkwardly.
Fuck. Why do I gotta alienate everyone I even remotely like?
Sometimes... I wish I wasn't me.
"Can I walk you to the door?" He says.
"I don't have keys for the door." I say.
"How are you getting in?" He asks.
"I have the garage remote."
"Oh. Can I walk you to the garage then?"
"Sure, but it's just here."
.... Goddamn it, I'm so stupid sometimes.
"I had a good time," he says, smiling at me. He has perfect teeth. It pisses me off slightly. I idly think that he must have had braces when he was young.
I smile. I fucking hate my smile. I look like a goof. Damn my crippling self-esteem issues.
He leans in slightly. My heart leaps into my chest. There's no way, I think. There's no way he's going in for the lips on the first date. Nobody is that fucking suave.
He doesn't. He kisses me on the cheek. "I'll call you," he says.
I color immediately. "Yeah, that sounds good," I laugh nervously.
"Well... see you," he says.
"Bye,"
And he's gone.
He's gone, and I'm here, my heart racing a mile-a-minute, unable to sleep-- wanting to pour my heart out onto the page. Sometimes I hate feeling as deeply as I do; certainly it's extremely alienating, I think. Anyone I remotely like, I wind up alienating.
.... for the second time, I kind of wish I wasn't me.
