A Belief.

Here’s a pro-tip friends: You never need to tell weird kids that they’re weird.

We know it. Always, always, we know it.

No one has ever pointed to me and said “Yes! That girl! She is the paragon of Normal! She will get a job as a secretary and have 2.3 children!” (Which is fine, because “normal”, just like virginity and gender, are social constructs. Please try again.)

I know I’ve never been anyone’s idea of average, and I freaking own that. I fly my freak flag with pride, because I earned it.

That being said, there are some things that are easier than others. “You’re weird”, yes. fine. Of course. That’s one that’s tattooed onto my heart.

“What is wrong with you?”

That’s a bit different.

Sometimes that one doesn’t come from a place meaning to hurt. Sometimes it’s good-hearted, well-meaning people.

“Have you ever thought of getting scanned for this? My friend has it, and it causes hormone imbalance.”

“Have you ever gotten checked for this disorder? You sound like you experience symptoms of it.”

There’s another phrase, that most weird kids know. It’s not as happy as “Yep! I’m a weirdo!

There’s nothing wrong with me.


There’s nothing wrong with me.


It’s fragile, it’s bitter and it’s sharp. It’s a weapon held close. It’s razor wire fencing around the heart. It’s all of the things that people fight to believe:

I am good. I am worth knowing. I can function in society. I can give back.

There’s nothing wrong with me. There’s nothing wrong with me. There’s nothing wrong with me.

It’s carved into palms by fingernails because fists don’t help. It’s tracked in tears because it’s not a belief that can be forced onto others.

It’s this delicate, breakable thing that is absolutely required for the life on the edges; as a drifter colony bum.

Strange kids don’t have the approval of the group, so we have to approve of ourselves. It’s hard, but it’s good.

Weird kids have steel in their smiles. It covers up the teeth we’ve broken as we bite into the hardest parts of life.

We shine brightest in the dark, but we earned that too.

The hardest thing about this one though, is that “There’s nothing wrong with me” is that it casts a shadow.

It’s dark and quiet and soft, and it slips into the cracks and it whispers “Are you sure?” “How do you know?”


And that’s what makes it belief.


A “Goodbye” Feast

Tonight I got to attend the best “Goodbye” Dinner I’ve ever been a part of.

I have a wonderful Amazonian friend, (seriously, she’s about twelve feet tall) and she was one of my kick-ass breakfast ladies back at the cafe. (Specifically, she was my kick-ass soux chef.)

She’s been working on her mad skateboarding SKYLLLZ, and managed to take a less-than-graceful fall. (I’ve heard that happens quite a lot when one is learning to skate.)

She managed to land pretty hard on her arm, which has been in a sling for the past few days. Today she went in to get it x-rayed to see if it had set properly or if it would be needing surgery.

The reason it was a goodbye party is that she would have had to go home if she had needed surgery.

She didn’t.

The best goodbye parties: The ones that don’t actually include having to say goodbye.

Should We (Hypothetically) Kill The P.M.?

My housemate Sophie hosted a comedy debate this evening entitled “Should We (hypothetically) Kill the P.M.?”.

It was fantastic. There were chocolates thrown at the crowd, a trombone in the peanut gallery, very well-used infographics and a visit from The Dark Lord.

The side arguing against death ended with a closing statement somewhere along the lines of “If we kill him, he won’t learn anything. So, let’s just send him to a refugee camp.”

The side arguing for death had a closing statement closer to a manifesto that was more like “Not only should we kill the P.M., we should just overthrow the entire government, live in chaos for a little while, and then when we get ourselves sorted out, maybe we’ll appreciate it more.”

As with most comedy, summaries don’t even pretend to do the night justice. It was delightful and hilarious.

After it was over, I went back to the cafe were I used to work. My friends on the staff were throwing an after-hours party (the certain chef I take umbridge with was not present.) complete with a movie projector.

We ate some of the most incredible Tandoori chicken I’ve ever had, made some proper chai (where spices are slow cooked in milk for hours) and it was so fantastically good.

We pulled all of the blankets out of the apartment on top of the restaurant and watched movies until we all fell asleep.

I have the best friends.


Today was my first day in a company uniform, standing in front of our “camo”-covered table, with Bob the Mannequin kitted out in paintballing gear.

I won’t call it the most impressive day that anyone has ever had, but it definitely did not suck.

I think I might actually be able to do this.

Apparently, actually thinking that what you have is worth paying for makes a world of difference when it comes to selling things.

Who knew?

I’d Rather Be Nine Peoples Favourite Thing…

I have amazing housemates.

I have the sort of housemates who are willing to indulge me to the point of sitting on the living room floor for the entire length of the OBCR of [title of show].

I love that musical. (I link to it often.) I am under no illusions that it is The Best Piece of Musical Theatre Of All Time!

But it is my favourite.

So, when people are willing to sit through the entirety of my beloved little musical-with-a-duct-tape-budget, it really means a lot to me. Especially when said other person really isn’t particularly interested in…any musicals, in general.

I am so happy to be here. I’m living with amazing people. We’ve got a wonderful house. We have a beautiful cat with the personality of a golden retriever who decided that this was the house it wanted and that we should take care of him.

Life is beautiful.


A Paintballing We Go?

I have taken the paintball job.

Apparently on Sunday they have a group BBQ, and just sort of get ready for the next week.

(I must admit, I’m enough of a student still to say yes to pretty much anything that involves free food. OM NOM NOM)

So, I’m off to that, and I guess we’ll just see how things go…

Rescued By White (K)Night(S)

Yesterday started out…really quite shit. However, I happen to have found myself some of the most incredible housemates that were around to be found.

I met up with my housemate Sofie and she took me for a night on the town- not just any night though. She declared herself my guide to the glory of Melbournes White Night.

I’m not really sure how White Night got started, or what it’s for, really, but all of the museums and art galleries stay open. There were films being played in little stalls throughout the city. There were light displays and projections and music and performances. The city was packed.

The best part of the night though, was that earlier in the morning my housemate Shift had mentioned to Sofie that Amanda Palmer would be playing at White Night.

Sofie, as my guide managed to get us there about fifteen minutes before the show started. We wandered into the bar where it was apparently was being held, and there was clearly no stage. We were a bit confused, but figured that maybe we’d missed it. We went back outside and we were about to head to the Melbourne Museum when we were crossed by a group of about ten people who saying things like “No, the entrance is around back, through this alley”, and we followed them and managed to find our way into the warehouse were the performance was.

We only had a few minutes to wait before the show started as well.

I think that a free surprise Amanda Palmer concert might well be the single most efficient way to cheer me up, ever.

(Also, this is the place where I finally managed to meet my neighbors. Our block parties are going to RULE.)

Or Not.



I got fired last night.

I have never been fired before in my life.

I wasn’t even doing anything wrong. What the fuck.

Also, I got my “notice” via fucking *drunk text* at midnight.

Well fucking done asshole.

It didn’t come from the manager, either. It came from the head chef. The manager thinks I’m fine. I went in today to see why the fuck I would be getting a nearly incomprehensible text at midnight saying “We’re not doing breakfast anymore, thanks for that though.”

I get there and the head chef is like “Yeah. No. I’m going to train someone else to do it.”

I’m so fucking done with this place.

I don’t need to invest my time and energy into something that will absolutely never return the investment.

I’m suddenly really glad I did go to those job interviews the other day.



Breakfast: The Most Important Meal of The Day!

Breakfast was fully operational this morning. I made this incredible caramel sauce to go with french toast that was served with fresh fruit. The bread we had for the french toast was amazing as well, it came from a local bakery, so we got to cut it ourselves so we had the really delightful thick pieces.

So much better than sliced bread. Why is sliced bread a baseline for how good things are. The best thing since sliced bread. I don’t even like sliced bread. I actually get confused when people refer to sandwich bread as “bread”. To me, bread is a thing that comes…as a singular whole. A loaf of bread refers to… a single chunk of bread that has been baked and is crusty and delicious and can be torn apart and eaten in any way I choose. Sandwich bread is…bread that most folks use to make a sandwich.

I digress. There was also a beautiful fruit syrup that I made with peaches and raspberries and a hint of cinnamon to go with our vegan pancakes. There was a veggie-egg scramble served with toast, as well as cinnamon rolls that also came from the local bakery. (I’m going to fix that. My cinnnamon rolls are better. Soon they’ll be in-house.)

The Frenchman who was working as our barista for the morning approved of my pastry.


It was a good day in the breakfast kitchen friends. A good day indeed.

Interviews and a Date

Today I had two job interviews in the city. (In the afternoon. Breakfast was a bit small this morning, but I’ve got everything set up for it to be totally awesome to infinity and BEYOND!!! (Oh, wait. Is that something else?))

The first was another sales position. I’m a bit shy of throwing myself into another sales job, as my last work for as a charity predator was…really not awesome. I think maybe it would be a lot different selling an actual product though.

Also, paintball is fucking awesome. So. There’s that.

I also managed to spectacularly suck at an interview for a part-time shift for a barista gig downtown. The exact terminology of this position was “Milk Texturer” which, seriously…that’s freaking weird.

“What do you do for a living?”

“Oh, I texture milk!”


So I kind of totally sucked at the job interview for the weirdly-labelled job. I mean, it’s a lot less important now than it was this time two days ago, but I don’t want to just write off all other options. It’s always hard, too, when you totally screw up an interview.


As a pick-me-up after an afternoon of job interviews (because even when they go well, it’s freaking stressful.) I decided to take myself on a date. I went to the Australian Centre for Moving Images, which was running a spectacular exhibit on the history of the music video.

I think a lot of folks associate music videos with being a really new form of media, kind of correlating the beginning of music videos with the age of MTV. This exhibit when way before that, it had short films that used to be shown before feature-length movies that also happen to be some of the only surviving footage of jazz greats from the depression. There were even animations from before video was available that contained the lyrics of classic songs from the times.

There was an entire wall that was dedicated to viral videos and how they have impacted global culture. It was a huge grid that would play all of these different clips of videos that had gone viral. It would play maybe 30 different takes on people recreating Beyonce’s “Single Ladies” and Gotye’s “Somebody That I Used To Know”. It discussed videos that were built for online interaction and videos that were practically movies. There were examples of the surrealism often found in music videos as well as music videos as art pieces. There were music videos known for being groundbreaking, artistic, and whimsical.

I stayed until the museum closed. I have notes for a youtube playlist of music videos I want to see again that’s just about as long as my arm. I can’t wait to put that together.


(I’ll put a link here when I’m done with it.)