fambly, the friends that are forced upon you.

I'm sure that by now I have given you the (entirely correct) assumption that my various family members exhibit a wide range of psychotic phenomena and would certainly be an excellent psychiatric case study and perhaps cautionary tale for 'the youth'. But every now and then they will surprise me with a genuinely sweet or normal act. Or a completely bizarre act that nonetheless is hilarious and makes you chuckle, shake your head in amusement and say "you guys".

As I mentioned in the last post, I've been averaging about a recipe a week from the 500 cupcakes book. The aunt I live with is a keen cook, in fact most of my family are, and she has been solving a few cupcake related dilemmas, e.g: cakes not rising properly. While the initial hypothesis was that there was too much sugar in the recipe, after consultation with another more reliable baker (Rose Levy Berenbaum, author of several blasphemously delicious baking bibles), she proposed some changes to the basic method which have indeed resulted in much fluffier cupcakes. And I think the rising problem is a simple matter of getting the right size patty pans. For science!

Anywhatthefuckimpostingaboutbakingiamanoldlady
andnextpostwillbeaboutthedogjumperiknitted
yesitsfuckingamazingillpostphotos. So it's helpful to have a family that is interested in kitchen experiments. Unfortunately we are bad at giving constructive criticism, advice or feedback without it coming out as an insult. So I was wary when I got home from work tonight to find a little note left on top of the tin of cupcakes I made on Tuesday (vanilla with chocolate rum icing - which I created myself, I am a golden god! - if anyone cares). The dreaded feedback!

OK cupcakes, 6/10. Prefer more wholesome - less fluffy (nice touch with the heart shapes). :-) Uncle.
P.S Could do with deeper choc icing.
P.P.S - the pineapple ones* crystallised a bit on the bottom after 3 days.
P.P.P.S - when's the next batch - can't wait!!

*the last batch were pineapple upside-down cupcakes

They make me ragey, they make me teary, they make me kick-things-in-frustration-y, but you have to kind of sort of find it within your cold dead heart to love a family who will give you this kind of feedback on your cupcakes.

fluff

> I got woken up early Saturday morning by a man yelling at the neighbours to SHUT THE FUCK UP. The annoying part being that I couldn't hear the neighbours making any noise at all, but his yelling was loud and clear and probably woke up more people than just me.

> The yoga instructor at my gym has some kind of accent, I like when she asks us to grip our chins. The chins are located between your knees and ankles.

> I deleted all the music off my ipod, now I have to go through the painful process of adding it back from the CD. Yeah, CD. Does anyone remember those? Because yeah oops I also deleted it all off my external hard drive. Today I added Brian Jonestown Massacre, Broken Social Scene, Bright Eyes, and Bouncing Souls. What? I used to be a skater punk. Now I'm just emo. I think I can just listen to these 4 bands forever and not bother moving on to C. Right? Riiight.

> I dyed my hair dark again, since being blonde is expensive and also my hair needs a little recovery time from constant lightening and heat styling. Poor hair. It's led to a lot of unsolicited opinions: frankly I don't care for the hobo at the tram stop to tell me what haircut would look better. I also dont care for people at work to be all like "hmmm, I think I like it". I don't give a fuck if it personally offends you and your cats. It's my hair, on my head, the worst it is doing to you is occasionally entering your line of vision. So what makes you think I care if you (think you) like it or not?

> I bought a book - 500 cupcakes. I have tried 3 recipes - malibu & pineapple for my friend (it's her favourite drink), chocolate with buttercream icing (not for the diet conscious, the icing is exactly what it says on the tin - butter and cream), and pineapple upside-down cupcakes. The next ones I want to do are peanut butter & choc chip, and honey & lavendar. Just have to wait til pay day so I can afford the massive amounts of butter that go into these things.

> Being cranky: I've started doing some promo work for a friend, but still havent been paid for my shift two weeks ago. And because I had to pay a massive giant huge credit card bill (really, how much did I spend?), I'm now overdrawn because my gym direct debit came out but I didnt get paid, from two weeks ago. And now it's a public holiday, so I won't get paid until Wed - if they ever actually pay me. And my real job doesnt pay until Thursday, because the accounts department is super lazy and think a public holiday is for everyone. Newsflash fuckers, I have to work it AND SO SHOULD YOU!

> More gym stuff: have been very unmotivated last week, but still getting all...body builder ish. I try to explain to my trainer that I bulk up quickly and she's all like "pah you'll be fine" because trainers never believe the people who own and are familiar with the bodies they are training. So now I'm all like "well now I have Popeye arms, fuck you, make my legs skinny k thx". I've been making everyone feel my abs because I've never had feel-able abs before. Woo! Feel-able abs! They are still coated in flab but beneath the surface they are ROCK HARD and slightly terrifying.

> It's cold. I'm tired. Whinge whinge.

things that piss me off: wedding edition

I had a friends hens night on the weekend. Very odd. I mean, I'm 24 and I don't feel like I'll ever be ready for marriage. It's just not something that I care deeply about. So I found it weird that a couple at my age (gasp, she is 5 days younger than me!) wanted to get married.

I mean sure, they share a mortgage, 3 dogs and a relationship of several years. But what's the rush to get married, particularly when said marriage is going to cost quite a lot of money which could be better spent on...oh I don't know, getting your windows properly sealed so your house isn't so darn cold, or perhaps put it towards the vast amount of food those dogs get through.

Even with parents covering the more expensive things, I would frankly rather they just gave us the money! Romantic? No. But practical. I've never thought about, planned, or desired a fairytale wedding with a ridiculous cake and ridiculous-er dress. What's the point? I don't believe it's just aversion therapy from observing adult relationships in my own family, this couple are both children of divorce.

It's more the expectation. I utterly refuse, I would rather end things than be hanging on waiting for a ring. If I started to obsess about whether he was going to propose or not, well I would quit that bitch and start a meaningful relationship with some cats. As if a piece of jewellery can validate a relationship, it will make everything better, and I deserve it for putting in 3 solid years. Fuck that attitude. You might as well get pregnant to save a struggling relationship, best of luck to you. Idiot. You could be with someone for the rest of your life and never get married, and it would be just as fulfilling a relationship, you would belong to each other just as much as if you had matching rings and a legal declaration of bondage.

(Ha, of course you could be married for the rest of your life and absolutely despise each other and fall asleep smiling in your twin beds, thinking of ways you would like to mutilate each other. Sounds like a good environment to bring children into...)

I really resent the idea that all women are just waiting for guys to say the L word, then the M word, then the B word. And having that portrayed in books, on TV, in movies, parodied, laughed at - aren't women WACKY, they all want this same crazy thing that guys definitely don't want oh god no, guys don't want to be TIED DOWN to a BALL & CHAIN, unless they're heartless lesbian ice-queens who are deliberately barren (hello, Julia Gillard). There are no other kinds of women! We are all the same! We are all caricatures. And that regardless of what a relationship is like, we are all just hanging out, biding our time until the timer ticks over that waiting period, usually about 3 years, and when that happens we must be proposed to or the relationship was meaningless and we should cut our losses and move on to the next victim.

ARGH!

So last night I had dinner with a couple of girls from high school, one of whom is the maid of honour (screw you, American spell check. English came from England first!) at the upcoming wedding. She & her partner have been together, oh about 3 years, and because her close friend is getting married, talk turned to whether she was going to get married anytime soon. But the questions seemed to have nasty implications, "so...whens it gonna be your turn?", like she is just hanging out waiting for it, that it consumes her every thought and she expects, nay DEMANDS, that her boyfriend pop the question soonest. The implication that the relationship was a failure, that she would be a failure as a girlfriend, if he didn't get down on bended knee in the next 6 months. That there are only two possible outcomes to a relationship, after giving the guy plentiful hints and enough time to get used to the idea, you either get married or break up.

And she said that if he proposed then she would say yes, but she wasn't going to ask about it and that it was up to him. An opinion which was loudly derided by everyone "what, it's HIS choice? Why isn't it YOUR choice?". But of course, unless she wants to do the asking herself, or put pressure on him until he cracks and goes ring shopping, then it is his choice. It is his choice if he asks her, and it is her choice if she accepts. Of course, she could choose to ask him. BUT. She is happy with how things are, she is graduating uni this year and hoping to get into a masters course. He has just bought a new car - which he has said to her will be an ideal family car, so it is not like they are not on the same wavelength here, in fact he is a little ahead of her on that one - and is angling for work promotion. They don't yet co-own property, pets, or even a herb garden. They are moving along at their own pace, yet because their close friends are getting married soon, expectant eyes have turned towards them.

How dare, how dare other people outside the relationship put that pressure on them? They endure comments from their friends, their colleagues, family members, and the poor girl got interrogated on Saturday by random strangers and relatives of the hen who had not even met her before that night. Why the hell do these people feel they have the right to foist their own expectations and opinions of relationships onto others? They are happy, leave them be.

Grr!



Of course, I'm just bitter because I'm 24 and NOT YET MARRIED! BOOHOO! COMMENCE SLASHING OF WRISTS! WORTHLESS SINGLE WOMAN!

power ballads vol. 2: the greatest driving anthems in the world

People who don't know me in real life (IRL = stupid. FML = stupid. IMHO = fucking stupid. It's like saying "No offense, but you're a big fat pig and everyone hates you and you smell like a zoo and we all want you to die you vast vile waste of oxygen. No offense." You rude bastard.); these poor dears that don't have the amazing gift of the real living breathing me in their days, may not understand what a giant huge big huge large giant enormous big deal learning to drive is for me.

It is a bit of a deal.

I got my learners in 2003, when I needed some real ID. At something like $20 for the test, it was vastly cheaper and actually easier to get than the $60-something newfangled and greatly distrusted Keypass ID card. I was a uni student, living out of home. It was the sensible-est option. Plus, it had the added bonus of being valid for 10 years, just in case I ever got the crazy idea of actually learning to drive an actual car one day.

As I believe I have mentioned about a hundred times or so, I was raised by my grandparents. They didn't drive, grandma had MS and grandpa was partially blind so neither qualified for a license. Plus they no longer worked, we lived close to the city, close to the local shops, close to my schools, close to their church and had several excellent public transport services to choose from. Oh and grandpa was a problem gambler, so if we had a car it most likely would have been repossessed anyway.

All my friends parents drove, and since most of them lived very close by - my primary school best friend and co-founder of the Pony Club lived right across the street from me - there were always lifts to be had if the need arose. And I was able to plot a public transport route from any departure point to any destination from the age of 5. I never had to rely on other people to get me to and from anywhere, but if someone was driving and had space in the car then of course I was happy to tag along with them.

Even when I misguidedly moved to Barwon Heads for a year, I still didn't want to learn to drive. Not because I am a princess and had my boyfriend to drive me everywhere, but because I was able to cycle pretty much anywhere I needed to go around the surrounding towns, and get public transport to Geelong or Melbourne anytime I needed to. Simple. Easy. Cheap. Not terrifying.

I used to get car sick all the time, I guess because I hadn't been riding around in cars since before I could walk. I didn't like sitting in the passenger seat, everything was too close, too fast, too unpredictable. No matter how good and safe a driver you are, how can you trust everyone else on the road to be the same? When I was about 6 I saw a hideous smash in the city. One driver dead, the other injured, both cars unrecognisable smashed lumps of metal. The awful sound of the collision, one car spinning uncontrollably through a busy intersection til it came to rest at an impossible angle on a rail bridge pylon. How do you trust people you don't even know with your life. A car is not a solid wall between you and danger. You're never safe.

When I was about 20, my friends all clubbed together to get me a voucher for 10 driving lessons. I had my first and last lesson with that instructor, a disastrous 45 minutes it was. He barely listened as I explained I had no driving experience, was really nervous, etc etc. Then told me to put the car in drive and pull out onto a main road, in peak hour traffic. And yelled at me when I wouldn't. I couldn't. I didn't even know which pedal was which. He was useless. He just kept saying that he couldn't understand how anyone didn't have at least some knowledge of driving, that he's never come across anyone else whose family didn't drive. Well now you have, you twat. I felt a bit bad, because my friends had wasted their money on lessons I never ended up having. But it wasn't a present I wanted, I hadn't asked for it, and I couldn't endure the stress with that instructor.

Not driving never really bothered me, except perhaps lugging home a major grocery shop in the pouring, freezing, dead of winter. And when all my friends were whining about having to pay their insurance and registration, I was showing off my lovely new shoes. We went on a road trip to Sydney one year, a girls super-long weekend. The motor in my friends car exploded just past Albury. Yes, exploded. The mechanic showed us the shards of metal that it had been reduced to. We could have kept one as a souvenir, but instead I bought emerald green suede wedges in Sydney. $2,000 on her dads credit card later, she could finally drive home.

I even did the public transport thing around Europe. Who needs to drive when you have glorious German trains on glorious German timetables? Who would want to drive in London but a lunatic when you could take the tube and all those lovely red buses? Ok, the overnight train from San Sebastian to Barcelona was less than comfortable as we discovered you couldn't actually lie down, but it just adds to your vast catalogue of accumulated funny travel stories to regale people with on your return. Bed lice are particularly hilarious after the fact. (Although actually, we never got bed lice, even though we stayed in some utter hovels). Nobody can expect a backpacking trip to be a dream ride of comfort anyway.

Somewhere around the rickshaws of India and the motorbike in Vietnam, my attitude began to change. Compared to the utter chaos there, the constant fear of being pitched out of the cab into the path of a cow, rabid dog, or beggar with unidentified disease that renders his scrotum a grotesque distended flesh balloon, and of your overcrowded bus hurtling into a sewage filled river, the fear of a minor bingle on the clean and quiet streets of Melbourne began to pale in significance.

And so I decided to pay off my massive credit card debt, oh and then get driving lessons. Well, I've been back over 6 months and haven't yet paid off the debt, but I'm working on it (donations or sugar daddy arrangements with no sex involved are welcomed). Why not finally get around to ticking off my other big 'to do' item?

The very first lesson I booked, I ended up with a lovely instructor, a nice grandfatherly type with a heavy accent who kept me laughing the entire lesson and congratulated me easily on every minor milestone. "You brake gently, you are champion", "look how nicely you turn corner, you are natural driver". Of course, he is full of shit because it's not so much braking gently as never stepping on the accelerator, but it's amazing how easy it is to feel comfortable in the drivers seat when you're not constantly being told "it's easy, you're doing it wrong, stop doing it wrong, who can you not know how to drive?". By the end of the lesson I'd done a U-turn on St Kilda esplanade, driven down a very tight laneway with cars parked on either side of the road, driven on Barkly St - at the speed limit, thankyou very much! - and somehow, amazingly, not crashed or freaked out in any way. My grandpa instructor is THA BEST! AND he turned up on time, AND he found my house with no problem and no instructions from me, AND he had at least looked at a Melways before taking me out as he was familiar with the area and found me a quiet area to get comfortable with the car.

Still, to be sure I wasn't missing out on some super-amazing, even best-er instructor, I had booked a couple of lessons with different schools. The second lesson, well it never happened because the instructor never turned up, as you may have noticed from my last posts. So strike 'Confident Driving School' off the list. If you cant be bothered to turn up to a scheduled lesson, I guess you're not bothered about taking my $40. I'll put it towards a new pair of boots. Suckah.

My third (although really my second, but it should have been the third!) lesson was CRAAAAAAAP. The instructor texted, TEXTED, me at about 9pm the night before the lesson to reschedule as he'd double booked. Considering I had booked more than a week in advance and already been rescheduled a day after making my booking, I feel that perhaps I shouldn't have been the one rescheduled. Again. Nevertheless, I get everything out of the way early so I will be relaxed and ready for my 12.30 lesson. At 12.25 I get a text "running 10 mins late sry". Right. At least he let me know. At 12.35 I get another text saying "sry, 10 more mins, dam traffic". I hate text speak. If you are trying to fit a really long message into just one text, than fine, abbreviate a little. But when it is shorter than a Twitter post, there is no excuse for stpd fkng txt spk. U twt. So already I was wary of this guy.

Turns out he was young, with vile death breath that swirled around the car and clung to my hair and clothes, and he had an irritating habit of just talking seemingly for the sake of making noise, repeating things I was saying but not actually paying any attention to them. For example: "yeah yep, no experience, yep, yeah, one lesson, yeah". I had to keep correcting him on my name, and rather than letting my drive right from the start - down streets I am familiar with, where I had already driven with my lovely grandpa instructor! - he got me to give him directions and ended up driving me to a tiny area where I had to keep turning one small block. He had no idea where he was or where we would end up, and he would say "turn at the next street" when we were halfway past it anyway. He had a boring monotone, and was unable to explain anything to me. I found it excruciatingly difficult to feel natural driving with him constantly saying the same shit over and over "yeah, yep, mirror check, indicator, yep, slowly brake, yeah, yep". Yes, Fuckheadstein, I remember those simple instructions from the last 18 TIMES I TURNED A CORNER IN THIS LESSON!

I started oversteering, taking turns awkwardly, and getting really frustrated. It was so easy on Wednesday, how could it be so difficult just two days later? I said to him "I'm oversteering, how can I correct myself?". He said "yep, yeah, you're oversteering, you should steer less, yeah". To which I slammed on the brakes and just glared at the twat. Thankyou for your amazing instructions. You really helped me to understand what I was doing wrong and correct it, by rephrasing my question.

He drove me home to the soundtrack of my stony silence, which must have flustered him as he rode up on the curb while parking. Ha. HA HA. Twat. After I had reluctantly parted with another shoe deposit (grr, he did not deserve the money), he observed that I did not seem to have been comfortable during the lesson. Observant lad. I calmly told him just exactly why I would not be booking another lesson with him and why I was absolutely unimpressed with his teaching style, and why I would not only NOT be recommending him but would be actively discouraging anyone EVER from having a lesson with DARRELL THE FUCKWIT TARDFACE SHITHEAD from Melbourne Driving School. I believe that is his full name. Seriously, do not get into a car with anyone who spells their name "Darrell". I don't care if thats what your parents chose, they are obviously idiots and have raised you in their image. You can change a shitty name, I did. You can also change your annoying speaking habits, monotonous delivery, and perhaps you should consider changing your career because of your crippling inability to offer any helpful advice to a learner driver.

If anyone from Melbourne Driving School is Googling themselves, please please please get rid of Darrell from your lineup, he is absolutely useless as an instructor and needs to discover dental hygiene and breath mints.

I'm annoyed that I wasted $44 - the most expensive lesson yet - on a complete waste of my time with someone who taught me nothing. In fact, it was more of a regression as it actually made a large dent in my confidence in my own ability, but at least now I know what I definitely don't want in an instructor. And I am looking forward to my next lesson with a really freaking good instructor. Maybe this time I will learn to reverse. 3 point turns? Parallel parking? I will be hooning down Dandenong Rd in no time.

Or rather, I will be cautiously obeying road rules and speed limits while displaying driving excellence...down Dandenong Rd.

its 11.42

he's definitely not coming


...tard