Not Real

I’m not dead, but this blog sorta is. Maybe only half-dead? I’ve not been inspired to write about my insipid life lately because it has become this grey melange of blandness but there have been…well, high points is probably the wrong word, but there have been statistically significant blips here and there. Let me break them down for you, in dot point form! These happened in no specific order, I’m just pulling them from the soup of my collated experience at random.

* I touched base with Toby again, which was nice. He’s not dead! Also, he has a job! Both of these things were news to me cause he never answers the fucking phone.

* I fucked a RAAF pilot, his name was Andrew. I managed to accomplish this a few days before ANZAC Day, so I reasoned that I was doing my part for the military industrial complex by helping the soldier get rid of his little soldiers. I deeply regret that I was unable to use that fantastic pun in life at any point, because I have been saving it.

* I had a falling out with Tom. That happened, and I’ve not been particularly concerned to repair it because it kind of seems self-evident now that we were drifting off in vastly different directions. C’est la vie!

* J’apprends le fran├žais. Badly. Slowly.

* I saw the new Avengers with Nimrod and Lydia, I thought it was a lot of fun but had some flaws. Apparently the internet was so disappointed however that it drove Joss Whedon off of the internet with death threats for daring to not make lightning strike exactly dead on target twice. The nerve. This came as a surprise to me, but it shouldn’t have because the internet is filled with fuckwits.

* I go to court in a week and a bit to valiantly defend my right to drive a vehicle in the face of the draconian Queensland justice system. If everything goes properly to shit I might just kill myself. Haha! I’m joking. Sort of. Kinda. Depends on how much wine I end up drinking? (I won’t. Probably.)

* I have spent a not-insignificant amount of my time crying a lot due to work pressures. This worries me and frustrates me because I used to like my job but the workload is becoming too much for my fragile psyche to handle. I’m looking elsewhere, for greener pastures, or, at least, more relaxing ones. They’re all looking pretty dead and brown from here though.

* I don’t expect to really get back in the habit of posting regularly again, so follow me on twitter, @seraphimdead for up to the…well, not minute, but like, daily missives confirming my continued existence on this tortured plane of existence. Bye!

Mild Potato Curry (serves three)

Attention dudes, dudettes, el duderinos, drop everything you’re doing immediately and listen the fuck up:

I just made a fuckin’ sick curry. And you can too!

What you’ll need!

About 750 grams of small chat potatoes.
Keen’s Curry Powder.
A 100 gram packet of dried peas.
One red onion.
Some sultanas (I used a snack-sized pack from Sunbeam but you can use more, or less).
One small tin of light coconut cream.
250 grams of rice (microwaveable is best).
A ton of luck!

How to make it!

1. Slice the potatoes into roughly equally sized chunks and boil the fuck out of them. This will take approximately three-fifths of forever.

2. While the fuck is being boiled out of your potatoes, grease your frying pan with peanut oil and dice the red onion. Fry the red onion until it’s soft and turn off the heat; you’re not gonna come back to the frying pan now until the potatoes are ready.

3. When the potatoes are almost out of fucks pour the dried peas in with them. Give them maybe three or four minutes to rehydrate and then drain the whole lot.

4. Turn the frying pan back on and mix the potatoes and peas in with the onion. Begin spooning Curry Powder in liberally, and don’t worry about going overboard – it’s such a gentle, subtle flavour that you really have to work to overdo it. Let the potatoes fry for a moment.

5. Pour in the coconut cream and mix everything together thoroughly, making sure the cream takes on a mustard-y yellow tint. Stir in sultanas and replace the lid on the frying pan.

6. Cook your rice! I used basmati. If you are the kind of sick individual who does not use microwave rice packets from Woolworths you might want to knock this step up a few places. If you’re smart and witty and attractive though you’ll have this step done in 90 seconds, like it says to on the pack.

7. Stir the rice into your rapidly thickening curry and you’re done! You just made the same awesome curry I did, and it only took you like half an hour probably (unless you’re still waiting on that rice). If you’re feeling inspired you can serve with papadums or naan bread, but I’m fairly lazy so I didn’t do that. Also, if you’re craving heat add chilli powder. Enjoy!

Too Real

So I am told, by people with intimate knowledge of the matter, that in seven months or so I will be an aunt. Specifically my brother told me, and it kind of hit me for six because fuck man, he’s not even 21 and I did not expect this to happen for like five more years, and at his age I was a drug addict and a loser who had exactly zero percent of her shit together, and have I mentioned yet that he is not even 21?? The concept took some time for me to come to terms with, you could say.

It’s probably my fault, somehow. The life plan I had intuited for my brother had him around my age before he finally decided to settle down and procreate and yet here we are already. When did this happen? I check out on everyone else’s lives for two years to correct my gender and my brother becomes a responsible adult with a LTR and a career and child on the way while I became this kind of fiscally irresponsible manic pixie dream girl who drinks a lot of coffee (and not much else) and has strong opinions about meat. I am not ready for this sort of responsibility. There exists a future where I may be asked to handle this child and in that moment it will be entirely up to me to not drop it on its fuckin skull and I’m not sure I can be relied on for that. Children are viscous right? They ooze, there is mucuous involved I am sure. I think I read about that on the internet somewhere, and I am positive that it is true.

I have decided that it is inevitable however, and have begun to make plans. For example, I feel I can be relied upon to buy strictly gender neutral toys no matter the kids gender and also to not change nappies under any fucking circumstance. I will probably take the day off when it is birthed into this cruel, uncaring universe to commiserate with it on the poor choice it has made to be birthed at all and then going forward try to handle it as little as possible until such a time that it can support itself on its own two feet. I feel like this is a solid foundation to start a relationship with a niece or nephew on, and look forward to eventually being the cool aunt who lets them watch fucked up violent cartoons when their dad is out in lieu of literally anything else. Can’t hardly wait.

Stars

You don’t really get stars in the suburbs, or at the very least you don’t get stars in my suburb. Even on the clearest night the light pollution and actual pollution are so dense that the sky seems to glow a faint orange; a thousand thousand streetlights reflecting off a thin sheen of invisible smog. I used to have a friend who I would smoke cigarettes and get drunk with and stars were a recurring theme in our late night conversations. We’d express how much we missed the night skies of our youths (having both grown up in relatively remote corners of the globe) and how much modern society just like, fucks us man cause we miss out on the beautiful terrible majesty of it all and then we would flick cigarettes onto the grass and make plans to one day go camping to experience the stars again properly. The one time we went out camping far enough to do that though we got drunk and smoked cigarettes instead and the only one noticing the sky that night was our photojournalist friend taking long exposures for her portfolio. Fucking typical.

I miss those nights, just like I still miss the stars. I was repressed then, angry and unhappy with my body and my life, but those nights seemed to make it all worth it. Between us we could put away three packs of cigarettes within six hours. We’d drink and we’d laugh and we’d have the same conversations over and over again and that was just what life was back then. At some point before the sun came up, when the world was at its coldest, we’d go to bed in separate rooms and hope like hell we didn’t piss ourselves in the night, cause we were never drunk in our own homes and peeing a strangers bed is one of the worst experiences you can put yourself through while hungover. In the morning we’d emu walk and collect all the cigarette butts and smoke some more and make plans to disappear that never seemed to eventuate in the way we hoped until someone with a car and a license and a lower BAC than either of us said they were driving to get breakfast. It wasn’t much of a life, but we lived it.

I have moved on since then but he’s still there I think, still living those long nights and fighting off the chill when the air seems to turn to ice. I hope he is happy, like I am happy, and if he is not I hope he finds his happiness soon. I hope he finally gets a chance to see the stars the way he has always wanted to. I hope I do too. But when that day comes, despite all our promises to each other on those long smokey nights, I doubt he’ll be there with me, nor me with him…but that’s just how life goes occassionally. C’est la vie.

everything is awesome

I want to be clear here guys, absolutely fucking crystal: when I went to bed last night I thought my phone was fucking dead. No part of me held any hopes for it ever breathing life again and I was slowly making my peace with the idea of dealing with my iPhone 5 again and all of the assorted ‘quirks’ it had developed over two years of heavy use (character, some might call it, or perhaps defects). So when I got to the office this morning and saw my phone again, right where the boss had left it after fussing with it all day yesterday, I wasn’t optimistic. It had gone swimming dudes, it had bathed in water and pee and dissolving toilet paper and that is usually not a trip any gadget comes back from, let alone a fucking iPhone. I didn’t touch it until the boss got into the office. I was terrified of getting my hopes up at all.

Apparently my boss is a magician or Jesus or something though because the damn thing sprung to life like Lazarus and proceeded to work like clockwork for the rest of the damn day. Everything is functioning! The screen is perfect, all the radios and antennas seem to be humming along with mechanical precision, touch works, the fingerprint sensor works, the cameras work, the pedometer works…using nothing but a high powered vacuum he sucked the water and pee right out of it and gave it a new lease on life. It’s a miracle! I was truly stunned. I even hugged him, which is totally not in my nature at all. I was just so damn happy that I felt physical contact was necessary.

Later I had an extra cheesy vegetarian pizza from Il Castellos and it was awesome. Everything is great guys. All the things, everywhere.

© 2015 Molly Speechley