Writing a blog. ‘Cos I totally can.

Writing a blog.  ‘Cos I totally can.

Marvel at my amazing ability to provide amazing reasons and use some sort of mangled iambic pentameter.  After coming extraordinarily close to failing a practise exam whilst being so furious to warrant a hissy-fit a la Naomi Campbell, I’m writing when there are a plethora of other things I should be doing.  This probably doesn’t surprise you.

What probably doesn’t surprise you either (because I’m just that much of a predictable bitch) is that all signs are pointing towards a future career of stripper-and-occasional-hooker-dom.  Debauchery at its most offensive, more or less, since anyone willing to watch me strip down to my underwear and cavort around to, oh, I don’t know, Supermassive Black Hole (since euphemisms are beautiful, beautiful things) probably is doing so in return for a substantial wad of cash.  Like some sort of reverse-hooker.  Anyway, speaking of euphemisms, in French conversation class today (anyone who has read The Basic Eight will know how Basic Eight-esque this term is.  If you are one of these people leave me a comment so I can marry you), I had to discuss French politics (shit, not again).  Why Sarko banned burqas and any sort of cultural-slash-religious headwear etc etc etc.  Progressively and without any sort of exotic French charm which one frequently encounters while they hear a French speaker speak orgasmic broken English, I attempted to power through a sort-of comparison between French and Australian politics.

“Mais les australiens, on aime bavarder de politique pour sembler intelligent.”

“Pourquoi?”

“Par exemple, notre ministre, Kevin Rudd, quand il était à Nouvelle-York, il a vu une… um… stripper?”

I revert back to English.

“Et ça veut dire quoi en français?”

“Une femme… qui enlève ses vetements pour l’argent”

Aside from the misogynist slur that emerged when I suggested that only female strippers existed, that was the fastest phrase I have ever spoken in French.  It’s like I was not destined to travel the world and decipher the musings of sexy French politicians and economists, but rather, remove their clothes and fellate them, perhaps filling their French minds with words like “stripper”, “hooker” and phrases like “I am your interpreter.  Well, I was.  Until I had an epiphany where I discovered I could do this for a living.  Revolutionary, no?”

They would then… well you don’t want to know the rest.  I trust that your imagination will do the job perfectly.  Essentially, I may have told God (or whoever it is, ambiguous agnosticism FTW – and alliteration too) to give me a wake-up call and here it is.  Go forth and remove your clothes, you flaming mongrel of joy!  (Because God is totally Alf from Home and Away)

Now I know you exist.

 

Blogging, late at night. Sexuel, non?

This is merely to fulfil my not-yet confirmed promise of blogging every night.  I anticipate that I will never quite resolve this until post-Year 12, as for the most part, my time is taken up by something which will rear its fat, ugly, Voldemort-esque head in two (!) days.

L’école.

FUCK IT, BIATCH!

… declares rebellious, angst-ridden Bethany, speaking only in a contradictory combination of incomprehensible mutterings and sporadic proclamations.  Just fuck it all, and be a hooker.  Although a high-class one, since I believe in you.  I mean, me.  I mean, whatever.

Alas, sensible (or should I say, the Bethany who just doesn’t want to be a hooker full-stop, fortunately the one who is the most prominent.  I doubt I am, I’m just a really really amazing liar.  I’m not kidding you.  Not many people know this, which must mean I completely win at forcing people into some sort of vague gullibility.  Posting this on my blog probably will halt this) Bethany will say no.  You’re a mindless strumpet.  What’s the harm in sticking it out another year? Sure it’s going to be the hardest year of your life next year (R, A-R Bethany threatens to appear) and after all… those dreams of being either a UN interpreter or a struggling writer/humourless comic don’t emerge as a result of sleeping your way to the top.  I mean, my way.  I mean, whatever.

Point being, I’m going to do my best to not care about the fact that my ¾ exam is a matter of weeks away and my other exams threatening me like some sort of wild pig suspended from a rickety ceiling.  I will, however, say that having deleted Facebook and completely stumped everyone who knew I was addicted, I will probably kid myself into being productive.  Oh, and who knew that tomorrow will be one of my last warm weekday lunches? (Sure, we have a microwave, but the ‘mass line’ – whereby we can’t give up and have to motivate each other not to resort to cold potato soup – is about as off-putting as cold potato soup itself) Warm lunches are seriously underrated, especially when everyone around you is eating them and you’re left with some sort of yeast slathered on cardboard.  Get your mind out of there.   Our national food is a yeast extract.  Deal with it, our land is girt by euphemisms and not this “sea” thingamajig you speak of.  Desal ftw!

Oh, and for the record, I will never, under any circumstances, change my pen name to iSnack 2.0.

Sweet holy fudgemuffin, is this a blog i see before me?

And a seldom updated one at that? Probably. 

I'd show you I cared by updating you on every snippet of my life since before the A-Bomb dropped; however this would both a) take up gratuitous amounts of time and space, and b) bore you to tears, prompting you to log onto Facebook to notify your worries away.  Speaking of Facebook, I've recently done the one thing that you probably least expected an adolescent teenage girl who enjoys a spot of procrastination here and there - I deleted it.  Or more accurately, deactivated it.  

Oh no, oh fucking GOD NO! How could you?

Implied Facebook, as I defiantly proceeded through a thicket of messages trying to guilt-trip me into maintaining this horrible, time-consuming vice.  I honestly doubt my 440 friends will miss me that much (except for maybe Liv; the guiding wench would like an almost immediate comeback, hahaha) and to be honest, having read an article about a writer who took the same course as action as me, I've decided that I like my friendship like my clothing.  Retro-chic.  By that I mean I'd prefer to have your onion breath wafting in my eyes as you enlighten me with the benefits of 21st century communication.  Ironically, I still have MSN.  And Twitter.  Hypocrisy ftw!

It is with a series of small yet overdramatic steps like the one previously mentioned that I cleanse myself (or make pitiful attempts to do so) of the putrid air of adolescence that I so want to escape.  This has invariably come about as a result of "the A-Bomb" - something I very much resented during its presence yet has acted as a surprising inspiration for self-improvement post-detonation.  After all, it has dawned on me that this thing, this bomb of A, is exactly like myself.  Arrogant, resistant to any sort of potentially disadvantaging change and of course, full of shit, I took every opportunity to criticise things that I failed to see in myself.  Avoiding my parents, leaving the house in a pigsty, hanging with my friends rather than some loser kid that happens to be there at the time.  As a result of this 'epiphany' (FUCK I hate that word) after a further two months of resentment and agonising over more trivial matters, I'm determined not to be that person.  Personal rules can be good for the soul and since I'm less than a year away from having the legal responsibilities of an adult, I think it's time to start acting like one.

Blogspot feels like home.

At last, I've finally forced myself not to give in to superficial nothings such as how beautiful Wordpress is and conclude that Blogspot really does feel like home.  What's more, I'm not so blase about blogging under my own name; surely there'll be a time when I'll want to open a new blogspot, but I'll just reject those feelings and call myself a superficial git.  Which, in a sense is true.

Because I'm lazy, and most people can get away with doing this, I'm going to go right ahead and fill you in with dot points.

• On holidays now.  Hardly any holiday homework, which feels nice.
• French exchange girl comes on Bastille day.  The irony, the irony.
• Had the most incredible time cooking Southern-style food with Tom to "Sweet Home Alabama".  Managed to squeeze in a dance or three.
• Bought a new dress to wear to a party.
• Got my report back.  Pretty good, I think.
• Left said report out in the rain in the letterbox because I didn't want to carry it around with me.
• I love to cook.  Going to Nick's house to prepare nibblies (fuck I hate that word) for a dinner-style dance party.

And that's pretty much it!

• 
  

Posting, merely out of obligation...

And the fact that not only am I tired, but there is homework in front of me. It's just dawned on me that I really am incapable of remaining silent for an extensive amount of time about homework; it's almost as if I love it (which, I might add is probably the biggest lie contrary to popular belief...)

That said, I think I might tackle the French tonight. Language homework makes me feel tres accomplished.

I've started back at school, and things are going well so far. Unfortunately, this is about the extent of anything that's happened to me. House Athletics was on Wednesday and despite being exceptionally proud of myself for weaseling my way out of overhead relay, this probably says a great deal about my fitness (or lack thereof). Aside from that, everything's going quite swimmingly... very excited about the weekend as any sane man would be... and as far as I know that's all I have to report on.

xo

Stress/Paranoia Onset.

Aside from being sick (and possibly having an infection... for the record NOT an STI), these holidays have been incredible; a fantastic time to just take a break from studying and just feel the flab, so to speak. I'm really going to miss not being on a break and given how much I've enjoyed it I'm actually considering a gap-year, though now that I think of it this has been mostly spurred on by the justification that university level homework is just as bad, if not worse than Year 12 homework. I go back to school on Tuesday, and every time I happen to think of it I feel completely stressed; just the thought of a sudden onset of homework and attempting to juggle without having time to completely relax is, as you can imagine, extremely off-putting. In addition to this, I've been sick for at least a month as a result of all the stress so you can imagine what it's doing to me. You might even go ahead to say "Bethany... harden the fuck up and stop stressing" but given how competitive I am it's like telling, say Thor, to hate maths. Completely unplausible concept. Woop-dee-fricken-doo.

On another note, I'm paranoid once again. Normally I'm too stressed to be paranoid, but this is an exception. At the moment I'm worried that I'm being too clingy, not giving people enough personal space and just being there without actually being there, if you know what I mean. This is especially applicable to new people I meet - I don't want to feel like I'm burdening their lives but at the same time I'm dead scared of losing them - just because they are incredibly marvellous and fantastic and have really topped off what has otherwise been a stressful year to date.

I'll leave it at that. If you have any words of wisdom, feel free to comment.

x

Since I have something to write about...

not to mention the fact that I return to the clutches of hell (aka the famed pedagogical inferno that is school) in a mere total of three days, I thought I'd update this blog to appease the few who read it. I can't really say that these holidays have been the best, as there has been so much that I've wanted to do (run around the city on an eating spree and of course, NOT BE SICK) with both so little time and the fact that I've been so incredibly sick that I might well have an infection of sorts. A trip to the doctor's on Monday shall essentially help rectify why I've been coughing so much and losing my voice. Fingers crossed I don't have herpes... kidding.

Aside from attempting to get better, I had a rare treat last night. A friend of mine, renowned for a love of walri (something which I believe is wrong) and a dog with quite possibly the greatest personality known to man and beast, had his 18th birthday party. Although I couldn't stay for long (due to a mixture of curfews and said illness), I had a marvellous time dancing the night away to really old music and discussing geography... no seriously, this is what I enjoy. In addition to this, I got to meet a friend who I'd never actually met IRL, and I can say my expectations were met and exceeded.

There was also a couple of guys who though Nick and I were brother and sister. Whilst this is a little incestuous and off-putting, I'm not going to let it deter me in the long run.

Anyway, should probably leave it here.

xo

Alright, so I'm a bit of an asshole...

for not writing, that is. My reputation of being an asshole in other areas is disputable, let alone not worth our time at all. I could always blame my limited writing on VCE, music, external commitments and the like, but at the end of the day, all signs point to the fact that I am just an exceptionally lazy person. An exceptionally lazy person... who has a blog.

I'm not really sure what to write about given that such a great deal has happened (if by 'great deal', you mean MOUNTAINS of revs with not enough time to do it in) which probably isn't of any value to you. However, I will say that I am now on holidays, but only until next Tuesday. Whilst I am thankful to an unbelievable degree for the impact of Christianity on our society which thus enables us to celebrate Type 2 diabetes with chocolate overload, it would be nice if it went for a little longer.

In addition to going out, buying things, having my bankcard eaten by the ATM (gah!) and a bus driver yell at me for at least 5 minutes straight, I really have done very little. After all, Jesus wouldn't study over Easter Break, right?

xo

J'en ai marre.

Hey everyone,

My deepest of all apologies to go to the few individuals whose lives are obviously fraught with some sort of monotony and thus in accordance with the existence of such monotony have been anticipating another blog post. I don't mean to degrade what readers I happen to have, but I personally find my own blog such an atrocious waste of interwebs-space that I'm more or less inclined to be concerned for those who read it. Unfortunately the contents of this blog are probably going to increase in expressive, incoherent, borderline-emo ramblings in lieu of the previous intellectual, ridiculously verbose (and turgid, we can't possibly forget turgid) material that inhibited it. I'll let you evaluate for yourself, using whatever marking system you so happen to choose.

On the topic of marking systems, please for the love of global warming do not get me started. Having commenced VCE in the thicket of o-weeks and booze nights (this provides people with ample material with which to blackmail me), I can already say that the hitlist that is gradually accumulating victims in my mind has the creator of the VCE relishing first place. Why? Well, why not? VCE has an unfortuitous ability to strip people of their personalities, not to mention reasons to live, and throw them in an environment full of hardcore (for want of a better term) studying. And contrary to my "village nerd" status - which I'd like to reject idealistically - I HATE STUDYING. Especially if I could be using the time in which I read countless Revs books and complain about the detriments of daily life to see Nick, who is currently living it up at TAFE. "Vicious envy" just doesn't match how I'm feeling; it just does not suffice at all.

On average, I have been fathoming about 2-3 hours of homework a night, along with getting up at 7:30 on Saturday mornings to squeeze in some work before my day with Nick (Saturdays for the win) and the entirety of Sundays. All of this effort is for a potential ENTER score of 98 and an Arts Degree at Melbourne, failing that some sort of Arts/Journalism double degree at a tertiary institution which like all universities, will feature an informal description of being "high school with booze and cafes". I began to deliberate the necessity in aiming so high, but as soon as it dawned on me that a good job = munitary benefits, I stopped doubting myself. Munitary benefits consequently results in a house in the expensive suburb of your choice (although at the rate of the economic crisis, this is bound to include Frankston eventually), private school-educated offspring who will attend schools across the globe and attend plays about politics on weekends (in an attempt to make them ridiculously posh and worldly) and of course, material assets. As a Gen-Yer, and one who ironically strives to be the anthesis of one at that, how could one possibly go wrong?

This won't stop me from hating the VCE.

Au Revoir.

Au Revoir, Internets.

This is just a short message to inform everyone that I won't be blogging for a while (anything between two weeks to *gulp* two years), so please remain patient for the time being. Have a lovely summer break.

First Post of 2009!

And in keeping with that, the first photo of 2009. It was quite the epic fail, admittedly, but I suppose it's strangely fitting in a way since I can easily pretend that I was laughing at the photo's lack of success as it was being taken (to be honest, I don't know what I was laughing about; I just wanted a photo of me laughing for some odd reason).



(Note: I strategically placed my hair over my face in a bid to seem something other than emo, as hypocritical as it sounds. The day prior to taking this photo - aka Nick's birthday eve - I spent a good 6 hours in the sun without any sort of solar protection. This ultimately resulted in sunburn all over my face, hence the need to cover it up with keratin strands and '80s sunnies)

On a more important note, happy new year! I sincerely hope that it will be awe-inspiring and splendiferous and that you, whoever you are, are able to reach your potential to be able to achieve your resolutions (assuming you've written some down). I also wish to extend my apologies to whoever it is that has checked this for the past week and has arrived to find sweet, minimalist nothingness. In all honesty, I'm not going to deny the fact that my "blogging mojo", as I've seen it referred to, has temporarily diminished; however this is easily considered a good thing given that my desire to do something other than write often dovetails nicely with my happiness. I mean, let's face it, who wouldn't be thrilled to be going out with someone like this guy? It's a tremendously awesome, albeit surprising feeling to be in a relationship with someone so lovely and ridiculously funny and who often manages to equal (and sometimes overtake me) in the creative/wack stakes. And now, as the girlfriend of a comedian, I am now obliged to provide "free plugs" wherever possible - coloured zinc on my back at the beach, anyone?

Christmas and New Year's were both scored well on the ambivalence scale, most likely due to the presence of a family who quite enjoy manifesting the concept of dozing at regular intervals. Grandma was supposed to come over for the former but unfortunately fell ill so I had lunch with the parents before heading over to an Uncle's house for a session of present distribution and a not-so suave advance by... a fat, overweight and unintelligent distant relative. (Never before in my life have I been so conscious of bending over at a family event) New Year's involved jumping on a family friend's yacht with the parents and a series of mere acquaintances - including a highly strung bald fitness instructor who took to calling pyrotechnics 'bombs' - and sailing to the Docklands where we were quite literally under the fireworks. It was marvellous, I'll admit, but it would've been a nice gesture had my parents allowed me to go to Thor's gathering (which Nick hijacked as his own).

If my memory serves me correctly (or more correctly, autosave, since Internet Explorer fucked up half-way through the second paragraph), I think I mentioned something about New Year's Resolutions. I honestly think they're tantamount to timewasting, as I've noticed that people put more effort into thinking of the resolution rather than fulfilling it. I do, however, set goals which I strive to make as realistic yet challenging as possible, all while avoiding specific details so as to ensure opportunities to pursue new experiences along the way.

Before that though, here's a couple of things I've learnt during 2008 (mostly the latter part of it). Hopefully you'll be able to learn from them too:

- The best gift you can give anyone is the space and freedom to discover themselves and the world around them.

- Don't let people piss you off. Just remember that everyone has an opinion and although it mightn't be something you necessarily agree with, acknowledge the fact that little can be done and concentrate on making the most of your own life.

- NEVER depend on one person to make you happy. It's far more cathartic to be able to sit back and let life and its many facets have an influence on you and dictate your mood.

- Work hard and be aware of what you want (as opposed to who you want) in life. Set goals per week and make an effort to achieve them.

- Self-consciousness is a waste of time. The more you worry, the less open you are, and the less open you are, the fewer people you'll meet.

Among others...

And to close, without further ado, I present you my list (for the record it isn't condensed; it just lacks content, hehehe):

Balance With VCE, the musical, French exchange students and a budding personal life all occuring within six months, my main focus will be attempting to find some sort of balance in which I'll be able to divide my time according to my priorities rather than my interests. This will most likely involve striving to give up my internet addiction (in fact, I'm considering not buying a Macbook to replace my current laptop) and studying to the point where I feel satisfied but not weighed-down.

Practicality This year has made me realise how incapable I am of completing basic household tasks, enough to make me think I am actually quite sheltered. I'm currently jobless, without a license and my cooking ability doesn't stretch much further than heating things up in the microwave. That said, I'd like to learn how to be domestic as possible without utilising the excuse "I find housework misogynistic and degrading".

Amusement Looking at my list, I noticed how boring and blah (yes how onomatopoetic) everything seemed; the sort of goals my parents would set me and I would thus rapidly reject in pursuit of slackery. I don't want to have fun in lieu of studying - since that more or less defeats the purpose of a balanced lifestyle - but I'd ideally like to find enjoyment in things which otherwise seem like a chore based on how others perceive them. This especially applies to Revs, my Year 11 3/4, since I'm struggling to enjoy myself (probably because it's presented as work and thus a chore) despite my fascination with the topic. Facebook isn't as tangible a source of amusement as going out there and discovering new people and things.

For now, have an amazing 2009 and I'll see you around!