Atypical Human Being

I am a woman.

I am prone to cruelty.

I am capable of kindness.

I am often ignorant of my own maliciousness.

I am a brunette, in most lights, but if the sun catches my hair I am a little bit auburn.

I am totally addicted to tights; in the summer, and in the winter, and in the autumn and in the spring.

I lie to myself as easily as I lie to other people.

I lie to other people as easily as I breathe.

I love high heels, but am extraordinarily picky about what styles I find appealing.

I have a tendency to look down on women who put absolutely no effort into their appearance.

I have a tendency to look down on men who put absolutely no effort into their appearance also, but am more forgiving if they remind me in any way of my father.

I am sometimes a daddy’s girl, and sometimes a mummy’s girl, but mainly just a bitch to both of them.

I am an Aquarius (with a rising sign of Gemini) born in the Year of the Snake, and my own unique upbringing means I have known these facts all my life.

I like to pretend I don’t believe in star signs though, but some small, tiny part of me believes in them with all its small, tiny heart.

I am very quick to cut people out of my life who I feel have betrayed me in some way, and rarely feel any remorse for doing so.

I love cats, and like some dogs, but for the most part find dogs clingy and annoying.

I truly believe my cat is the best cat out of all the cats in the cat.

I would have killed myself if not for that cat, at my darkest moments.

I contemplate suicide endlessly and relentlessly, but rarely seriously.

I have seriously tried to kill myself once, but couldn’t follow through at the last minute.

I have a history of self-harm.

I use misogyny and sexism from men to my own advantage.

I can be incredibly manipulative if I put my mind to it.

I am transgender, at the moment, until I won’t be anymore.

I am a typical human being.

Pepperoni Princess

My diet self-destructed so slowly and yet, so completely today that I was kind of forced just to write the whole day off and make today my ‘blow out day’ instead of tomorrow. I’m not sure how it happened, I just know it happened, and I blame…I don’t know, Pim, maybe? Somebody who is not me, at any rate, and Pim is as good a candidate as anyone because she neither understands nor cares about the whats or whys of what she is being blamed for. She is basically the best cat ever, when she is not shitting in the kitchen and killing drop-tail lizards.

Oh yeah. Those are things she did. And despite her total inability to feel ashamed of her actions toward others, this morning I could feel it radiating off her, so I am assuming she was just very ashamed of herself. It is only half her fault though, because I don’t exactly provide a kitty litter tray, so she just had to make do with what she could but still…that dead lizard is all on her, and it scared the ever-loving shit out of me today when I found it. Worst present ever.

I had a Dominos for dinner, and I know I should be ashamed of that but I’m not. I’ve eaten a lot of pizza in my life (like, a lot), and pepperoni pizza is probably my favourite pizza of all time, and the yardstick by which I measure a pizza restaurant – if they can get it right, they pass. I like my pepperoni pizzas to be rather plain except for the pepperoni, but to have lots of pepperoni to compensate for that. I like the crusts thin and crunchy, and I like the pepperoni slices to be thin and crunchy too. I like the cheese to be used sparingly. It sounds simple on paper, but in practice the only people who make a pizza that perfectly fits that bill are Dominos, and they never disappoint. Sure, it will be a pizza dripping in grease and fat and carbs and early death, but it is delicious and it is amazing and it cannot be beaten. Some may try, but well…they will fail.

Eagle Boys pizzas are too hung up on being ‘gourmet’ so they add extra ingredients to their pepperoni that no one asked for and nobody likes, and they also have awful dough. Pizza Capers is okay, but the crusts are thick and they always put fucking red onion on the pizzas in lieu of, I don’t know, more pepperoni; their passing grade is achieved solely on the quality of the meat they use. Pizza Hut’s thin crusts are terrible, and also, heinously, not too thin. The local pizza place up the road couldn’t pizza their way out of a paper bag, no matter the flavour. Frankly, in this war against my waistline, only Dominos gets it right all the way through, and the other pizza shops should take that either as a challenge or a grave insult or both. And when they step up their game, finally, I will be waiting, ready to cast judgement on them without pity.

They will be found wanting.

I’m not sure there’s gonna be anymore Saturdays.

Oof. I am glad to be back at work, but I will not for a second pretend today left me bursting with energy by the end of it. I mean, it’s not like I was any more or any less busy than usual, it’s just like…my body is very, very quick to adapt to new modes of living, and after four days of doing very, very little, it had shifted to a gear best used in public car parks, when what I really needed was a gear capable of highway speed. The worst part is just as I’ll begin to get used to this again, we have another fucking long weekend lined up so Monday next week is just going to be terrible. Can’t wait. Ugh.

I broke up with my eyebrow lady formally today, through her staff at least, and for some reason I feel kind of bad about it. I know, on paper, that I wasn’t happy going there anymore because she had betrayed my trust, and that I couldn’t afford to be paying her prices anyway (I started going there for eyebrows at a time in my life when I had a lot more disposable income), but still…this is how my brain works. I’m sure she doesn’t care, of if she does she has ways of getting over it because it cannot be the first time it has ever happened to her, but you know, I still feel bad. My brain is a highly tuned machine that runs on guilt or water or Red Rooster chips, and this little saga in my life is providing plenty of ‘guilt’ to sustain me at the moment.

Mmm, pathos.

In other news I have ordered new shoes for work, and they should be arriving on Monday or Tuesday. They will be delivered to the office if Rosenberg’s have registered the change of address on my account, or they will be delivered to my home if they fucked that up again (like they did last year, after moving out of my old place, thus necessitating a trip to my old place by my step dad to pick up a package from some very startled new tenants). Either way, I expect them next week, and I am very excited! I will have proper photos when I get them of course, but for now you can visit the website and gaze upon their beauty. I know, I know – more mary jane heels molly??!? – but I simply don’t care. At this point I have four pairs (five maybe?) but none really appropriate or in good enough shape for work…until now, that is!

I will always love and respect my CBD Prada work shoes, but their time has passed, and I’m not sure they are even in good enough condition for casual wear anymore. I have considered having them repaired, but I think it would be an expensive project. Maybe not as expensive as buying all new heels of course but you know…I’ve gotta justify my lifestyle somehow. And this is me justifying it!

Books and Books and Books and Books

The spaghetti I made last night is terrible. I attempted a hybrid method; a combination of using premade (delicious) sauces and a slow cooker to really get the flavours trapped in…and all it did was ruin the sauce and the mince. I think the slow cooker might be to blame here, or myself, or both. When all you have is a slow cooker everything begins to look like a stew, I guess…except I have a frying pan too, and a sandwich press, and a jaffle iron, I just like using the slow cooker because it’s so easy that you can literally set and forget. Live and learn, I guess.

It is the last day of the long weekend and I am kind of glad. I am much worse at sitting and doing nothing than I used to be, and, as much as it loathes me to say it, some days I would prefer to be at work than sitting around on my arse at home. I mean, I guess days off are okay when you have something to do? But I only have so many things I can actually afford to do, and only so many friends and family members to visit before I tire of their company or they tire of mine. Add to that that it is a public holiday (for a Christian holiday that cribs heavily from ancient, half-forgotten pagan festivals), so nothing is really open that I would like to do anyway and like…yeah. Damn, dude. Just damn.

I spent most of yesterday half-heartedly finishing Count Zero, between watching YouTube videos for hours. Count Zero isn’t a bad book but like…it’s not great, either. My memory tells me Mona Lisa Overdrive is much better, and I believe it, because at the very least Molly (or Sally, rather) is back in that novel and she just gets shit fucking done, always. Count Zero was always in a rough position though, so I can’t blame it too much for its failings. Neuromancer was a runaway success, after all (or at least to the extent books can be in this day and age) so, obviously, the smart move was to turn it into a trilogy…but Neuromancer ends pretty conclusively; there is a definite feeling of ‘this story is self-contained and whole’ from that novel, so Count Zero was left with the unenviable job of crafting a new tale out of almost whole-cloth, while continuing a story that in all likelihood William Gibson had never intended to extend any further than he already he had. Ah well. It’s done now.

I’m taking a break from The Sprawl at the moment, and have Anansi Boys queued up next in my reading list instead of Mona Lisa Overdrive, partly to separate me from that narrative a little bit, and give me some perspective, but mainly because I like Neil Gaiman’s writing and his ability to make things as fantastic as gods and myths and monsters as relatable and human as you or me. I also still have a bitter taste left in my mouth from Neverwhere, so I am hoping this book can cleanse that. After The Sandman and American Gods and Thilini’s effervescent testimony to its greatness I had been so excited for Neverwhere, but when I got there, well…yeah. You know. You were there. I didn’t like it, and complained to everyone I met about it. I kind of wish I’d just borrowed it from the library instead of buying it but I can at least take solace in the fact that it looks nice in my bookshelf.

I am terribly bored, today.

An Ode to Frost

Winter is coming. This isn’t a post about Game of Thrones because I honestly do not care about Game of Thrones, it is merely a statement of fact. Winter, the season, is finally beginning its slow descent on Brisbane, after a long, hot Summer from hell, and I couldn’t be happier. It took a while, but the mornings are finally becoming crisper, and the days shorter. The sky has taken on that particular, bright shade of blue you only get in the Winter, and the morning sunlight is hitting the planet in just the right way to give me fits of nostalgia for my youth. I could not be happier.

Of course, because this is Brisbane, Summer is not going down without an extended struggle. It is kicking and screaming and biting and punching and cursing and burning off the morning chill the minute it gets a chance, and lording over us for a few short hours in the day before the night returns, and puts it back in its grave for a while. Even now, as the end of April looms on the horizon and the final days of February are becoming a dim memory, we are getting occasional 30° days, but they don’t even begin to compare to the 36-40° we were enduring at the height of Summer, and during Spring, even. Soon Summer will be gone for good, until October-ish at least, and we’ll know proper cold again, or as close to cold as this cursed place gets…which isn’t particularly close.

I grew up in Stanthorpe (in a fashion), which is the coldest place in Queensland, and our hottest Summers were cooler than some of the Winters I have endured here in Brisbane. I am adapted to Stanthorpe’s wicked chill, and thrive in it, and whenever I go back to visit I take energy from the terrible harsh breezes and impossibly cold mornings. It is not so cold that it begins to snow, which I have been told is a blessing in and of itself, but it is cold enough to turn grass into frozen stalagmites overnight that crunch and thaw instantly under your feet as you walk across them, and to necessitate the use of a fireplace and electric blankets in the evenings to keep yourself warm. Humanity was never meant to live in places as cold as Stanthorpe, and that is why I love it.

Stanthorpe is a farming town, and also a huge wine producing region. In the Winter though the grape vines are bare and brown and dead (or dormant?) and the fruit trees that provide so much of the towns economy become grey skeletal hands rising out of the earth, like the thousand thousand hands of the buried dead. It takes on a kind of muted beauty; bleak but magnificent, grey but inspiring. Needless to say, it appeals to my mildly gothic sensibilities deliciously.

Don’t get much of that down here in Brisbane though. People in Brisbane like to complain and whine about how cold it becomes in Winter, but they are dreaming if they think the feeble Winters we get here are something worth pouting about. It barely drops below 20° in the daytime, what kind of Winter is that, I ask you? That described some of our Summers, back in Stanthorpe. But still, even if they are a bunch of whiners, at least they dress the part, and allow Winter fashions to take hold, and any opportunity to actually dress for Winter, in Winter fashions, is an opportunity I will take. Hell, I even do it in Summer. In fact, I dress for Winter year round, so I guess it doesn’t affect me so much. Still though, it is nice seeing someone else making the effort for once.

Anyway, I guess this is a roundabout way of saying that when I wake up in the mornings now, I feel cold, and I shiver, and I pull my blanket tighter around me to ward off the shock of waking, and a part of me cheers because it knows that the cold is only going to get colder, and the blanket will soon become blankets, and for a while, at least, I’ll be able to relive my youth in a town I once thought I hated but now know I love. I love Winter. It could only be better if it was raining.