1. She can see photos of you fucked up (that’s a given.)
2. She can’t remember her password and will get drunk at Christmas lunch and bang on about what a stupid website it is and how she’s going to ring them on Monday and tell them to “let her back in”.
3. She takes ambiguous status updates literally and will complain that your cousin’s status simply said “sigh.” (“Just sigh. Nothing else. Why is she sighing? What does it mean?”)
4. She calls you and asks you how to delete things from her feed once she’s read them. (“What, you mean other people’ s posts?” “Yes, how do I get rid of them?”)
5. She is giddy at suddenly being privy to so much of your personal life and comments on every single fucking thing you do.
6. Your creeper flatmate tries to add her as a friend.
7. She emails you asking you to explain what is a creeper?
8. She posts horrific anecdotes that refer to your father and her “doing it”.

On meeting the lead singer of the Sea Bellies

Ryan: So do you still think your band is going to “make it”?

To his new boss, first day on the job

Ryan: Is that a Rubik’s cube you’ve got there?
New boss: Yeah, I used to be able to finish these things so quickly.
Ryan: Wow, I bet it used to just rain pussy when you did that.
New boss: I’m gay.

To his new flatmate

FM: Did I tell you about the dream I had last night?
Ryan: Hearing about someone else’s dream is the same as hearing about someone else’s children. Absolutely nobody cares.
FM: Nevermind.

“People think that online dating is only for losers. Well, we’re going to change all that.”

“So what do you want me to do?”

“Just plait your hair, put an oversized men’s shirt and toast the computer with a glass of red. We’ll photoshop in your imaginary boyfriend’s hand later.”

“Okay!”

At the terracotta warriors exhibition…
Mum: They say that every warrior was crafted to look like an actual living soldier at the time. Each statue is unique.
Me: Really?
Mum: Well, who knows.. They’re Chinese so they all look the same anyway.

After a trip to Guatemala…
Mum: The toilets over there were awful. The only decent one I found was a disabled cubicle at a restaurant. It had better toilet paper.
Me: That’s weird.
Mum: I know, why bother? It’s not like they can feel the difference.

Upon hearing the news that my cousin and her girlfriend were engaged…
Mum: To do what?

“You look like you’re on holidays!”
- my yoga teacher who never wears makeup

“Wowee, we’re looking very…casual.”
- my chiro, I think he might be gay

“You look nice today.”
- my boyfriend, he is obligated to say this even if I have been awake for 2 days drinking

“Are you ill?”
- my mother

1. The one where my mother tries to prove her knowledge of contemporary music to my brother…

Mum: Is that Metallica?
Chris: No.
Mum: Is it Korn?
Chris: No.
Mum: Who is it?
Chris: It’s Jesus Christ and the Shut-the-Fuck-Ups. Do you mind? We’re trying to watch a movie here.

2. The one in the car…

Dad: Can you please stop clicking your pen?
Mum: What, so you couldn’t hear that annoying woman who kept announcing the keno numbers at the restaurant but you can hear my pen clicking? What is this, some gender-based selective hearing where you can’t hear annoying women?
Dad: Well I can hear one now.

3. The one where I think my grandfather’s girlfriend was trying to ask me whether I have a fuck buddy…

Edith: So, have you got a fella?
Me: Nah.
Edith: Do you have a special friend though?
Me: Huh?
Edith: Do you have a…you know…a special guy friend?
Me: Um, I have male friends?
Edith: Good.

4. The one where my grandfather’s girlfriend insults the modeling industry in general…

Edith: Have you tried any modeling yet?
Me: No.
Edith: Why not?
Me: Well for one, I weigh more than a hundred pounds.
Edith: Yes but you’ve got nice hair.
Me: I dont think that’s going to cut it on the runway.
Edith: Yeah well some of those girls really shouldn’t be up there anyway. They look like dogs.

• talk to myself in the mirror
• inhale deeply when I walk behind the French guy’s desk at work, because he smells good
• google all my doctors, yoga teachers, hair dressers, therapists, etc, to try and find personal information about them
• set up fake email accounts under my parents’ names and feed them through my inbox, even though I have never actually used them
• photograph strangers on public transport
• wear the clothing of anyone who has left jackets/shirts/pants at my house
• look up girls’ skirts when they’re above me on the escalator
• smell other people’s hair

This one time, at Hotel CBD, I was drinking gin with some friends when this forty-something guy began lurking near our table. My friend, whose eloquence was matched only by her drunkenness, turned to him and said, “Fuck off, you’re old.”

His jaw dropped a little and he went and sat at the table immediately next to us, looking crestfallen. I was embarrassed, so I went over and apologised on behalf of my friend. He bought me a drink and we started chatting. He told me he was in Sydney on business and didn’t know anyone, but just wanted to chill out and have a drink in town. We talked for a while about travelling, university, and how unnecessarily rude my friend was for assuming he was trying to hit on a bunch of chicks who were clearly young enough to be his children. I mean, come on, he just wanted someone to talk to! He just wanted to hang out! No funny business or anything. And what is wrong with society these days that you can’t just go up to people and say hello without them jumping to conclusions and assuming you’re trying to fuck them? The world has truly gone down the toilet.

After a while, I noticed my friends were getting ready to leave, so I stood up and held out my hand.

Me: Have a good night.

Old man: So, can I have your number?

Me: What?

Old man: I find you very attractive and I’d like to take you out to dinner.

Me: We just had a ten minute conversation about how old you are and how it would be criminal of you to date anyone my age.

Old man: Mmm I know.

Me: If you really want to, you can add me on Facebook.

Old man: What’s that?

Me: Exactly.

He gave me his business card and I kept it for a while, because he looked so much like Drew Carey.

That pretty much sums up my dating history anyway.

Earlier this year I decided to go back to uni to finish my bachelor degree. I’m not sure why. It seemed like a good idea at the time. My first lot of exams was reasonably traumatic. Here is a summary:

Exam #1: Gender, History & Culture

• Wake up late
• Injure eyeball while putting in contact lenses
• Cannot ride bike due to the rain
• Cannot find taxi due to the rain
• Cry
• Phone a friend and make them drive me
• Accidentally slam my writing hand in the bathroom door
• Arrive 10 minutes after the exam has started with throbbing hand
• Mistake a pair of boobs for a bum and write half an essay on dual gendered identities before realising what was actually in the photo and having to rewrite the whole thing.

Exam score: 83
Overall grade: Credit

Exam #2: Australian Studies: Images of Australia

• Arrive on time to realise exam is open book and I did not bring my books
• Decide to go home and get books, sacrificing valuable writing time
• Run up the hill of death in Ultimo, through the pissing rain, trying to find a cab in morning peak hour
• Am too unfit and have to stop to rest while precious minutes tick away
• Stand in the rain for 10 minutes trying to find a taxi
• Find taxi
• Lose it to some lady in a power suit
• Cry
• Find taxi
• Drive all the way home, get books, drive back to the exam venue
• Hand over $40 in taxi fares
• Sit exam, which started 20 minutes earlier
• Hate life.

Exam score: 80
Overall grade: Distinction

I ended up withdrawing from the following study period two days after the census date, forfeiting roughly $1,400 in HECS but not really caring.

When my mum gets back from Turkey, she will read this and be disappointed in me.

SHAMPOO IS BETTER!

Last week, I went for a run. Because I’m fit. As I was jogging through Hyde Park, I noticed a man sprawled on a bench, seemingly unconscious.

“Junkie,” I thought, and continued running. However, as I got closer, I noticed he was reasonably well-dressed and clean-shaven. His head was thrown back and his mouth hung open. Like a corpse. As I jogged past, he did not move at all. When I got to the end of the park, I turned around to look once more. The man still hadn’t moved. I hovered for a few seconds, then a possum ran in front of me and I chased him because I love the possums in Hyde Park. They make me feel like a bush ranger. I ran home, then ate a can of corn and played Diddy Kong Racing. After all,  I am a grown up.

The next day, the man was gone. I wondered whether he’d simply woken up, or been gently pushed into Sydney harbour by the city council. Had I run past a dead body and not noticed/cared? It was entirely possible. I live in Darlinghurst. I pass smacked-out junkies more often than I buy toilet paper. I have frequently seen homeless people brawling, interrupted doorway poops, witnessed various acts of vandalism, and been a spectator to more than a few domestic disputes. On top of this, I get asked for money every time I leave my house. But enough about the Red Cross, because the junkies are pretty annoying too.

Sometimes, I’ll see a couple fighting, and the dude will push or hit his lady around a little. I’ll think, “How could he!” but my default reaction in these situations is to always look the other way. Sure, I’m a post-feminist/alkaline or whatever (I was born under the sign of Taurus), but I’m not prepared to get glassed in the face to save one of my sisters.

Am I a bad person?

Don’t answer that.

I’ve been on the other side of the spectrum too. I was once attacked while waiting for the bus, because I looked at a person. Nobody seemed to mind much. And I once tried to fight someone on York Street, which attracted a few stares, but not so much as a comment from passers-by.

Have we become desensitised? Or are we just tougher?

I don’t know, I’m from the Hills. We used to kill bees when we were bored.