Problems...

I have a huge problem with finishing my writing.

Solution, anyone?

Joy of being declined

There's the awful feeling of resignation that's conceived through declination of your inquiry for a job because you're under-qualified. Then there's that blissful feeling that blossoms secretly from the deepest parts of your gut for being declined simply because you're over-qualified. You soar when that's followed by an urging to look for employment at a bigger, better firm and definitely not at an entry-level.

What more could I ask for? An undergraduate student without a full-degree, being propelled forward by an expert to pursue a better job at a non-entry-level? There's just a perverse satisfaction about being an intimidant to a firm you initially thought you might not have deserved a place of employment in.

I may have been declined, but I feel SO friggin' good.

Don't mind me if I dance a bit.

The Peak of Satisfaction

No matter where you're at in life, one can never be fully satisfied. Even in your spiritual walk, there's always a desire for 'more' which admittedly is one of the most beautiful things about pursuing it, growing it.

Even with love, you can never be entirely satisfied with the joy that you have. The more you get to know your loved one, the more you want to know about that person. No matter how much time you spend with them, no matter how many kisses you smother them with, and no matter how deeply you fall in love with them, there never seems to be a point of complete satiation. The deeper you fall in love, the deeper you want to fall in it - the depth of it seems endless.

In this regard, I believe that never being satisfied with what you have is a beautiful thing. It pushes us to pursue, to fight for, to have a reason to be passionate, to worship. Hope, faith and love, in this regard, doesn't seem to have been created for our sense of satisfaction, but as a taste of what is even greater. The more you have of these things, the more of it you crave...

"A whole Parliament gets paid the same as one executive"

Click this link to read up on the comparison of salaries between our Federal MP members and the CEO's of Macquarie Bank...

Geesh! Poor Kevvie. I thought he'd be getting paid a bit more than that.

I realise now how much I'd love to be a CEO of a company... but that's unlikely...

This man is a classic!

http://www.snopes.com/love/revenge/weddress.asp

Oh... and before I forget...

Extremely belated Merry Christmas, and a gloriously Happy New Year.

Yes, this greeting is grossly untimely, but it's still a greeting. So I hope ya'll didn't forget good tidings, family time, cheap gifts for people you feel obliged to give gifts to, a good X-Mas barbecue... and... of course, the birth of J.C.

Peace on earth. Or something of its ilk.

So much for commitments...

I promised to blog frequently a while back, and make sure updates were no more than 1 week apart. Shoddily so, that promise went right down the drainpipe. I have to say, I've written plenty of 'drafts' that I never published in fear of regretting it later on, so I have been well-meaning, but that doesn't excuse the fact that I haven't produced any fodder for my devourers out there.

Well here I am, with no commitment to write frequent updates, but with an update none the less. What's going on in my life right now? Allow me to make a couple of dot points for those of us who don't have enough time to read through paragraphs of redundant details:

- I've moved to Korea for a year. Hey, hey, hey!
- Things are working out well with Daniel
- I've lost a wee bit of weight and skin is clearing up
- I've had homemade pad-thai way too often
- Eating out is dirt cheap here and free refills are kick-ass (arse, for those who are pedants)
- Shopping is heaven
- My spiritual growth is slowly getting back on track
- There are so many perverted Westerners around Itaewon
- My CV is looking relatively decent
- Looking for a job is exciting and I'm looking forward to it
- I love heated floors in Korea. They're everywhere. As it should be.
- There hasn't been much snow.
- I've been proudly sporting micro mini skirts in negative degree weather without stockings

Errrr. That's about it. I'll give a better update when I'm not falling asleep under the warm lambskin rug...

At 'home'...

Last night, I was bombarded with a surge of emotions and memories of all that has happened so far this year. In a single moment, as I lay there in his arms, I recalled all the trauma, the pain, the many tears and hardships that I've endured with many a breakdown. For the first time in 8 months, I was able to be completely vulnerable and let all the frustrations come out through gushing tears that I often tried to hold back, in fear of appearing weak and unable.

Many people tried so hard to lift my spirits during times where I felt it was impossible to go on (I've made it known to those of you who did this for me directly - you know who you are) but there was still something missing - the emptiness ensued. It was impossible to pinpoint exactly what it was that always left a gaping hole in my heart, but I finally found out last night.

I came to Korea last night, and saw him standing there, holding a bright red rose - so velvety red, so traditional. Dressed impeccably in a suit and in the suit and tie I had sent him for our anniversary, he smiled and walked towards me.

We lay in bed just talking and listening to music, wrapped up in each other's arm, taking off from where we left it last time. This was home.... but only for two weeks...

If I were in Springfield...

If I were to live in Springfield, this is what I'd look like. If you want to know what you'd look like, click here.

Customers who you want to stick into a blender...

There are days where you get customers that are so unbelievably nasty, you really want to reach over the counter and strangle their fat, proud necks. They can treat you with such contempt and disrespect, that it makes me want to puke right into their faces out of disgust for their appalling behaviour.

They chuck jewellery on the counter after trying it on and treat it like some $5 piece of shit from Diva, they talk to you as though you’re the bane of society and order you around as though you’re their housemaid back in the Philippines, they manipulate you for unreasonable discounts (Asians and Indians are the worst – Koreans are terrible to serve because they expect you to do a good price JUST because you’re one of them and speak their language), they cheat, lie, steal, demand, control and do a whole unthinkable bucket-full more. You think sales assistants are bad? Some customers are worse.

Some of the ruder ones don’t realize that you’re a person with more dignity, more wisdom, more intelligence and more everything than them. I’m really tired of people treating other people like a piece of guttertrash, and I’ve seen enough of it to be downright pissed off about it. I’ve got more respect for the local prostitute than I have for some of these rich, upper-middle class pissheads. It might do the world some good if they all wandered off into a corner and died somewhere. I’ve heard heart-wrenching, tearful stories from taxi drivers, cleaners, drug addicts and ex-murderers who are social misfits because of the way people treat them and talk to them! And dare I say it, I like them a whole lot better than the millionaire’s wife who came by earlier today!

On one hand you think, ‘Poor, rich little housewife. Nothing to do, neglected by her husband. Children don’t respect her…’ And on the other hand, you know that her family probably hates her for a really valid reason. Which in turn, makes you hate her just as much. Suddenly, any remnants of sympathy you had for her is gone, and you even want to take that a step further and throw her into a lion’s den because she’s trying on everything in the shop without the intention of buying. She then proceeds to talk down on you because you’re ‘just a retail assistant’ and she’s got a ‘rich husband, a mortgage paid off with investment properties dotted around coasts all along Australia, a beautiful new Mercedes and her children go to Carey Baptist Grammar.’ To top it all off, she wants a discount, after bragging about how much she’s got in her bank account. Bitch, much?

People can be really beautiful, and people can be rat’s shit that don’t even deserve to be in the rat’s ass in the first place. Customers are king? Oh please, humans are first before anyone else! Perhaps if they wanted to be treated well, they should begin to act more like a human being rather than some glorious gift to the earth. Take away their money, and they’ve got nothing to gloat about – they’re wandering, aimless shells. And I wouldn’t pity them a single bit.

Life is NOT good.

Red Carpet in my Room

Now there are numerous things I've attempted with this photo. Unfortunately, they didn't save.

One had rose petals, so I looked as though I was a corpse. The second one had white dots near my head and near my nose so it looked like I had passed out from an overdose. I'm SO angry that they weren't saved! Grrr!

So I've Changed my Blurb!

:: Angela’s motley of things that totally enrapture her ::

You see, my interests vary, and what I find intriguing may very well frighten the shirts off of some of you (not that I’d really mind that). Dissecting passers-by and observing people in and out of their context is my thing. If you happen to see a protagonist pop up in a future book of mine that mirrors you in some way, don't take it too seriously - I've rather a curious mind’s eye, and character descriptions can often be more outlandish than reality; the people that I create are more cuts-and-pastes of everyone around me, a type of Frankenstein if you will – so think twice before your narcissism kicks in and you happen to think that little old ‘Miranda the Quirk’, or ‘Carlie the Whorish Maneater’ is all about you. It’s not.

Needless to say, reading and writing take up a rather large chunk of my existence. The two are my prime enjoyments in life that I can indulge in without feeling as though I’m wasting away what’s left of my precious brain cells. I write plenty of unpublished scripts, a wealth of unpublished introductions and endings for innumerable amounts of unpublished books, unpublished poetry, unpublished magazine and newspaper articles, and of course, unpublished blog entries too (there are dozens upon dozens of entries I endeavour to write that never get posted). Mind-dribbling ho-hums are also frequently written about, but as they are nothing but mind-dribbled ho-hums, they’re generally kept locked away in another drive of my computer in an invisible folder where they can remain hidden away from the critical masses who dislike mind-dribble, and ho-hum.

I read masses of books on a cornucopia of topics. My knowledge of rather useless trivia grows richer by the day, especially when I indulge in my daily doses of newspaper reading (columnists Emma Tom and Louise Evans from The Australian are my figures of aspiration). Critical theory, philosophy, I love them all. Give me any topic, and I’ll willingly read up on ‘em, if it’s filled with substance that I deem to be worthwhile or good enough to hold my interest for longer than fifty pages. I’ll hold a decent B-grade debate, and am not afraid of questioning what I think is inappropriate or requires a bit of good ol’ fashioned scrutiny. I’ll devour theology (or its antithesis) and have a love affair with anything by Bastaille, Marx, Smullyan, Russell, Nietzsche and so on (yes, I’m perverse – anything intellectually controversial or deeply spiritual brings me close to an orgasm.)

I’m not all bitch and wits though. In fact, I’m neither bitchy nor very witty at all. I’m a purring kitten actually. Catch me at my desk after dinner and I’ll be happily scrapbooking away whilst listening to Chopin, drinking chamomile tea and fiddling around with my set of scrapbooking scissors, scrapbooking glue, and lots of brightly patterned scrapbooking paper. I go for regular lone walks around the neighborhood to pick flowers to press during springtime so that I can use them for my scrapbooking later on in the colder months. Usually my little three-legged, fluff-ball of a dog teeters behind me on these strolls for companionship – when it comes to helping me pick flowers however, she’s of rather bad taste and not at all helpful. The flower picking/pressing hobby is a real do-it-yourself type of thing. So is scrapbooking. So as it is very much a do-it-yourself, I do-it-myself. And not with my dog.

I definitely don’t classify myself as a classy person, but I do really, with all forthright honesty and whole-heartedness love to engage in some, what one calls ‘cultured activities.’ These are things such as frequently popping into the NGV to plunge myself into the world of glory and ingenuity, dressing up to the nines in heels, dress, adorned in jewels and going to classical concertos, plays and indulging in the occasional ‘Phantom of the Opera’, holding a satin-clutch that’s too small to even fit my wallet. I’m a novice wine connoisseur and adore the atmosphere of intimate dinners (complete with a rich chocolatey dessert) and summer picnics (wine and cheese platter is a must). People have oft-times commented that judging by the way I dress, I should be sitting on a bench in an English rose garden, replete with Devonshire tea served in Royal Doulton crockery, embellished with a Jane Austen book in my left hand. Whether the comments were meant in jest or in earnesty I’ll never know, but I’ll take it as the latter, because I don’t want to write about it if it’s the first. Those who have seen me dressed up will know quite well what I speak of, but those of you who bump into me at work in my same ol’ filthy rags, will laugh at the very idea.

In terms of my inclinations for anything athletic, the furthest I’ll go is rollerblading, jogging, bike-riding and solo boxing. Pilates and yoga are awesome, and so is weight-lifting and hiking – anything more strenuous and you’ll find me crawling or in a seizure on the floor behind you. Don’t ask me to play football, and you’ll be my best friend. And none of that wrestling schmuck – unless it’s with my wedded husband a couple of years down the road, in bed, without clothes… but that’s a different story that requires no further elucidation. You get the picture.

In dire need of a breath mint…

I’ve survived without decent coffee for three days. THREE WHOLE DAYS, my friends! Now that is a feat. Three, bloomin’ days – I should get some kind of award for that. Never mind the druggos in rehab who’ve stayed away from coke for three months, and the alcoholics who are going through intense therapy – I deserve one for steering clear of my coffee! And trust me, the efforts of my restraint is well-worthy of my exaggerated statements!

My first sip of a good, good flat white was today around 3pm, when an unbearable fatigue hit me like a Melbournian bike-rider hitting a pedestrian. So gratifying was that moment when the warm brown liquid slid across my tongue and down my throat, I could’ve sworn my mouth had an orgasm. I love everything about it - the sensational, spicy/sweet aroma of Brazilian coffee beans, the velvety texture of full-cream milk, the stimulating warmth that produces a zillion tingles down your spine. Oh, and nothing can be as comforting as a hearty, snug mug in your hands – it’s almost as pleasurable as holding a newborn baby, but better because it doesn’t excrete waste or wail loudly when you go to sleep (one may argue however, that both can keep you wide awake at night – the coffee and the baby I mean, not the mug.) Instantly, after the first few sips, I was alive and happy again – I’m telling you, coffee is the cheapest ticket to euphoria!

I spoilt myself with a huge decadent slice of banana cake with plenty of artery-clogging cream on the side too, to accompany my perfect cup of coffee. The two sent an amalgam of pleasurable scents to scintillate my body and to arouse it from near-sleep. On the downside however, I’m paying for a whole heap of calories that I could’ve otherwise avoided by not ordering the cake, and replacing the full-cream with skinny. Nevertheless, that will not convert me to skinny and it won’t make me surrender my love for opulent slices of cake! Besides, I’m probably doing a whole heap of good for the economy, and for the fair-trade workers who harvest the beans, and the wheat (I’m trusting it’s all fair-trade! – Gosh I’m naïve!)

Anyhow, that coffee I’ve polished off just now was really, REALLY good – so good that it was worth a dedicated homage to its good-full goodness. I’ve one big problem now though: I’ve got terrible, terrible coffee breath with no chewing gum to abolish the staleness from my exhalation. Anyone wanna come closer for a sniff?

Tamia - Me

Love was a former owner, but quiet is renting your house
It seizes my lips from speaking, but forms a sarcastic smile
Suspense now raised one of your eyebrows,
you ask me if there's someone else
I replied yes, hell yes

You asked me if it's another man, I said no
You laughed and say is it a woman, I say yeah
Surprisingly you asked for honey's name,

:: Chorus ::
And her name is me,
And she loves me more than you'll ever know,
And I finally see that loving you and loving me
just don't seem to work at all,
So patiently, she's waiting on me to tell you that she needs love,
And to choose between you two,
boy you know if I have to choose,
I choose me

And she told me to tell you to never to hurt me again,
Because if you haven't heard she's a bad chick,
even though I havent been, no
Yet and still you try and test me by raisin' an angry hand,
put it down, put it down,

I'm leavin don't try and stop me,
I'm late and she is wating,
My love for me is too much so I can't stay

:: Chorus ::
And her name is me,
And she loves me more than you'll ever know,
And I finally see that loving you and loving me just don't seem to work at all,
So patiently, she's waiting on me to tell you that she needs love,
And to choose between you two, boy you know if I have to choose,
I choose me

Because shes actually formin' a threesome, and I'm happy that I can join them,
And that means that I'll be myself and I,

And her name is me,
She loves me more than you'll ever know,
I finally see that loving you and loving me just don't seem to work at all,
So patiently, she's waiting on me to tell you that she needs love,
And to choose between you two, boy you know if I have to choose,
I choose me

She's waiting on me to tell you that she needs love,
Gotta choose between you two, and you know if I have to choose,
I choose me, me, I gotta go with me

One day...

Perhaps it's my fault for having expected too much.
Or perhaps it's because I'm undeserving.
Have I humbled myself a bit too much?
Or perhaps I'm selfish?
Am I too quiet about it all?
Or aren't I vocal enough?

It's as though I don't have a breaking point.
I have to hold so much together.
I lack strength. I lack confidence.
But I'm still standing.
I don't want to.
But I still am.

I'm trying - honestly I am.

One day, it'll all get better.