Wayne's World rules.

xx

Gin Wigmore has it

Last night, we were at my friend Anja's birthday party, having some drinks, some laughs, taking some photos, then quickly crowding the camera to  have a look at those photos, and so on. There were only a few of us, so it was like when you go a long holiday with one or two others, and the lineup gets so familiar you have to try and get creative with  poses and expressions (to mix it up). Someone suggested we all pouted, simple enough. No, not really - we had to try and re-try and re-try because the weakest link (me) was ruining it. Involuntary! I never knew, but I can't pout.

I can get grumpy,

pack a sad,

pretty sure I've kissed a couple of people,

so what have I been doing all my life?

After a series of unsuccessful attempts, the sounds of laughter and clinking glasses became a whirring blur around me as my mind began to race. Memories came flooding in of the day I realised I couldn't roll my tongue, or wink. The shame of having to whisper to my drama teacher that picking me to be the murderer in wink murder would just defeat the purpose of the game, and her nodding back sympathetically.

Whyeeeeee??!

So I got to thinking about pouting. At home I googled it, and found out that techically it's:

'A protrusion of the lips, especially as an expression of sullen discontent'.

I remembered a friend saying that you just had to say 'prawn' and you were pouting, I thought about famous pouts like Angelina and Posh. But it was getting a bit forced, my lips were dry from all the work and my eyes beaten by images like this:

Honestlyyyyyyy

And even though I felt sulky about the fact that I couldn't pout, I had no idea how I was expressng that, since there's no pout stock on hand, I was probably grinning.
xx

Headphones and sunglasses and daydreaming

I'm being a bit of a lazy blogger at the moment.

That's because I shouldn't really be writing posts, I should be writing essays. 

So as a compromise I call on my old friend youtube to entertain. I guess you could just go on it yourself to watch clips..But no no, then you'd get lost in a haze of freakish singing children, cute animals etc, and we'd all be spending way too much time online.  

Anyway, I have no idea who I was addressing before, so to the point: I like music and I'm not into downloading (seems a bit dry). Much more fun searching for songs on youtube . Sometimes you find the song you're looking for played over a weird animated clip that someone's made at home (who could be bovered?), or a bizzare photo montage (see last bracket). But sometimes you can find awesome live clips, like this one - 

xx

I couldn't possibly.

Why is it so damn hard to be a grown up?

As I get older (24 in October, gulp) I've begun to notice some things:

Friends are having babies, buying houses and responsible cars, but I still find it quite tough just keeping a tidy room. When I get changed there's an uncontrollable urge inside me to drop everything on the ground. A friend once looked at the mounds of clothes gathering dust on my floor and asked bluntly: ' why not just hang it up?'.Yes, why? Hmm..I have got a bit better, thanks.

But still - If my light goes, I would really rather enlist someone else to change the bulb than do it myself.

Regular supermarket trips? Forget it. I wearily crunch through about 4 pieces of vogels in a day and find myself drifting into this train of thought:

Why haven't I been to the supermarket?

No car, quite a mission

Why not?

Can't really drive (got my restricted by some miracle, but lets face it - have developed a driving phobia since then).

Learn properly?

Prefer to avoid it for a bit longer.

And so you see, the cycle continues. But I figure there must be a reason for all this unproductive behaviour. It is fun to be a little bit pathetic and a lot bit silly. Speaking of which, my flatmate Lisa showed me this Mystery Jets video the other day, which made me smile (sillily) and distracted me from all my grown up responsibilities of the day. Ahh.

xx:

Looks good to me

I love love Regina Spektor so much - her new album Far is amazing!

This is the video for one her new songs (EET) - excellent!

xx

Squared

My friend Sylvie (yes, same name) is leaving Auckland on Thursday, to go far away. 

I'm going to miss her so much, and I asked her to write a little something before she leaves. Here it is - 

'I hate to see her go, but I love to watch her leave' says Lil Wayne, and it's like he's singing about me. I feel most wanted when people say goodbye to me. 

I am quite good at leaving - for some reason it brings out the best in me.Given my restless childhood spent shifting around New Zealand and around the world, I guess it's no wonder I'm so good at packing up and moving on. I never own much more than what will fit inside a suitcase. I love the promise of new experiences that comes with venturing away from the safety of home. And I love the rush of freedom you get when you realise you've just arrived in a city where no-one knows who you are.

But the thing I love most about leaving is that it gives you the opportunity to tell everyone how much you love them. The anticipated departure makes these moments bitter-sweet, but it's always nice to hear you'll be missed. And it's cool being able to tell your friends and family how you feel. 

We always wait til the last minute, until it's necessary, or even expected, to say we love each other. Maybe we should do it more often.
xx

Not another one

The humble handshake.
What's with that?
It seems like everywhere you go, every time you meet or greet someone, a handshake is on order, and I for one am not a fan.
Employers, friends, friends of friends - it's constant. Even turning on my phone presents me with an image of two virtual hands clasping.
Every time I go in for one it's like when I go in for a salt and vinegar chip:(my mouth ripples in anticipation of the extreme vinegar), my hands glaze over with sweat.
I'm sorry, maybe it's the humidity, maybe it's just over-thinking, but every time! And then the meeting is ruined by me thinking about how sickly my sweaty palm must have felt. Everyone my age talks about awkwardness, which is funny, I never hear my mum describe anything as awkward, or anyone in that generation. Maybe you just shift from anxiety to relaxation with age. Or maybe there's just more to be awkward about now, or we're just more aware of it. If body language says it all, what does a sweaty palm say?
I think I need to move to Europe, a kiss on either cheek suits me much better.
xx