The best part of Christmas was fighting through all the twisty ties to unleash a new Barbie doll. Don’t even try to deny it. My first Barbie came from a relative in Australia for Christmas, and in the midst of my excitement I remember my mum was scowling because she didn’t want us to have Barbie dolls. I also had a pink mermaid, which I cherished until its head fell off. But my favourite was Esmeralda. This one:
LOOK AT HER.
LOOK AT THAT PINK RIBBON.
AND HER THICK CURLY HAIR.
AND THAT EXTRA DRESS. IT’S THE ULTIMATE IN BARBIE DOLLS HERE.
In a scene that resembled the crucifixion of Jesus she lost a forearm when she fell from a bookshelf. Tottering out to Mum, she gave me blu-tak to stick it back on – never mind that unreliable blu-tak was the reason she fell in the first place AHH.
I was very gentle with Esmeralda from then on, being careful with her wee broken arm. I took her with me to primary school – not playing with her, just keeping her around. I loved her. I’d check on her in my pink backpack that wasn’t fully zipped up so she could breathe. This was at lunch time. I wonder where my friends were at this point, but I wouldn’t be surprised if I often puttered around doing things by myself. Even as a 7 year old I was a weird loner freak, aww.
And it’s at that point that a girl once turned up, digging around in her own backpack for an egg sandwich. To which I said, “EWWW EGGS”. It was cool for the girls in my class to hate on eggs when we were 7. They … smelt bad? All I knew was, scoffing at eggs was the Done Thing and that I must partake in this shunning. She burst into tears (“IT’S NOT MY FAULT MY MUM PACKED MY LUNCH”) and I felt helpless because it’s not like I even cared about eggs, I JUST WANTED TO BE COOL. WHY WHY WHYYY.
Later I friggin lost that plastic arm through the pocket I’d left open. I’ll admit I deserved that. Armless Esmeralda was never the same. To quote Quasimodo in the book, “Oh- all that I’ve ever loved!”
Curious. Interesting. Pretty.
I’m so disappointed! If you stalked me enough, your adjectives would be more accurate and you’d know I’m not worth stalking at all. For shaaaaaame.
This is what I did yesterday. Interesting? We shall see:
- Wake up at 8:58am. HATE HATE HATE HATE.
- Despair because I weigh 100g more than yesterday. The tragedies that are my life!
- See above post on Facebook. Scoff.
- I am running late for my one lecture of the day. Get text from friend saying “GONNA BE SO LATE” which makes me lol.
- Arrive at lecture about four minutes late. Friend turns up a minute later (heeee).
- We are learning about private nuisance. Particularly Rylands v Fletcher, in which I learn (yet again) that Law is gorgeously pedantic.
- Lecture finishes about seven minutes early (yusss!). Talk to friend for a bit, probably about how screwed we are for exams. Or just life in general.
- Walk home. Wonder how I can get my mum to print out a certain form and send it to me to fill out/hand it in without her worrying that I’m actually taking serious steps in drastically changing my degree.
- Realise that I should probably reassure Mum, who is the #1 fan of this blog, not to panic. I have a (smart!) plan that satisfies my indecisiveness quite nicely.
- Go to supermarket. Buy Coke Zero (on which I am heavily dependent) and yoghurt.
- Wonder how I can further increase my calcium intake.
- Come home. Realise that I forgot to buy cheese. My life is over.
- Fantasize about feta cheese while visiting my daily sites: Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, Google Reader.
- I find this post in my Google Reader, which I will be checking a lot today because the Pagan series is my crack.
- Look at lecture notes for Jurisprudence that I borrowed. Notice we’re both missing the same four lectures. DOOOOOOOOOMED.
- 3pm. Eat pasta while watching CardGamesFTW‘s videos. Remember I ought to be studying, but I’m tired and hoping to wake up… eventually.
- Have a nap. Remember I ought to be studying.
- Watch an episode of Top Gear. Promise to study after this.
- Wonder if Dad remembers that he promised to take us to Auckland for some Top Gear-fest involving lots of cars and explosions. I hope my #1 fan reminds him.
- In this episode (season 10), they are having a drag race. James says, “If I take the hand break off… that’ll increase my chances”. *swoooooooon*
- I have a bizarre crush on Captain Slow, yes.
- Finish watching Top Gear. During which I have written out some lecture notes.
- Procrastination shower! A habit I started in first year; I don’t get out until I’m ready to study.
- Worry about the haphazard way I use semi-colons.
- Translate 32 lines of Lucretius, who is reminiscing about cave men. I really really really really really want to go to bed, despite it being 8:30pm. Talking to myself helps me concentrate.
- Need do much more work, but as I’ve been inexplicably tired today I’ve just shuffled around my to-do list for the rest of this week.
- Get distracted by strange feelings of squishy love for someone who posted this video on Facebook, because we feel exactly the same way about God. That is, we are both cynical, lolz.
- Start a fight with one of my friends’ friends on Facebook, because I’m that tough. I’m totally winning.
- Freak out, because it’s past my bedtime. I need to be in bed at 10:30pm if I’m to get up at 9am without much protest. (It takes at least an hour for me to fall asleep… also I am secretly a cat.)
Interesting? Yeah, no. I hope we have learned something today!
As for “pretty”, last night I was sitting in pyjamas. My hair was standing on end, a poofy cloud from all the times I ran my fingers through it out of exasperated, sleepy, death-by-Latin feelings. Like Medusa, but without the snakes. Just fuzz. Hot.
…I just realised that after posting something outrageously long/boring, and convincing my most loyal fans that I’m lame… my blog is now pointless. GOOD GOING BECKA.
I haven’t actually seen this movie (even though I so very much want to!). In the meantime, I came across this weird little thing. It’s me in cartoon form!
- My last haircut was in December. I like pretending no one can tell.
- The only inaccurate thing about this outfit: I always wear long sleeves; exposed arms makes me feel vulnerable and strange. YOU CAN FEEL THE AIR ON THEM. SO DISTRACTING. Summer is uncomfortable.
- I habitually wear scarves. The security blanket I can hide my hands in.
- Crazed expression reflects my current state of mind. Intense dissatisfaction with Classics. Need to buy meaningful birthday presents. Can’t do legal research, so my Torts exam will be worth 100%. Constantly thinking of running away and studying optometry. Or at least, finally, finally becoming a florist.
- I always carry a block of wood with me too (and a snooty cat, naturally) = why walking alone at night doesn’t scare me. I am from Geraldine, you guys.
(Obviously, I have been procrastinating.)
Last week I turned 21. Thing is, when you turn 21, that’s 21 years of pain. Er. Parenting. The other half also deserves a lot of sympathy.
Except this is a review of my parents, and such niceness would be biased.
When reminiscing about our childhoods, I was told (twice!) “Your mum hated you!”. I insisted my parents spoiled me. I am trying, struggling, to remember why. The winning theory holds this is only because they’ve brainwashed me into believing them. I wasn’t allowed a Furby. Or a tamagotchi. Or a pony. Or Pokemon toys; I had to make my own out of pom-poms and pipe cleaners. I didn’t get chips or roll-ups in my lunch. I wasn’t allowed sleepovers.
In Year 8 I wasn’t allowed to learn violin. Apparently I’d get lazy. I feel like pointing out that later in the year I began studying Latin as an extra subject – I’m still studying it. Laziness? Bah! Years of wanting to learn piano also went ignored! The ukelele I bought this year was an act of rebellion; I was afraid my parents would be disappointed (no lie), that they’d scowl at me for wasting money as I’m capable only of laziness, not ~musical genius~. Instead I received how-to books for my birthday, with the words “I EXPECT YOU WILL BE ABLE TO PLAY WHEN YOU COME HOME“. Pretty cool.
I believe that is the only criticism I have. That, and they didn’t send me to a private school where everyone wore blazers dotted with dinky badges – even if I totez mocked those people. I feel like I missed out.
I never melodramtically declared they didn’t understand me and write terrible poetry about it. Surely this means they were doing something right. I didn’t rebel and do things without my parents’ knowledge. No wait. Once. I dropped Economics halfway through the year for Classics. They just thought it was funny I’d have eight exams at the end of the year.
The only major controversy the high school era brought was deciding on a university. Having finally convinced them that five years in Wellington would make for awesome times, I decided on Otago instead (the Dean was most charming on Open Day). I believe I was allowed to go on the condition that if I ever supported the Highlanders I’d be disowned. You wouldn’t believe how many months of persuading it took, only to change my mind. They must be relieved. Lucky parents.
My dad wins points for leaving notes around the house (“WE ATTACK AT DAWN. BE READY“). For a terrible sense of direction on Fridays after school, which inevitably meant we would “get lost” and need to seek “directions” at a dairy. For sometimes watching Top Gear with my sister and I. Not so much for firing water at me with a syringe, and claiming it was for my health. Or sneaking up and pouring water on my head…
My mum, for all the stories about her work in various law firms when I was little, which I suspect has had much influence. For being immeasurably proud of anything I did, be it rearranging furniture in my room or my single Merit in Year 12 Chemistry. For not letting me have an opinion without a good reason. For always having advice about anything. For listening to me talk and talk and talk (about nothing).
If I wanted a book, I got it. If I ran out of coke, I’d get more (teehee). I was allowed to see The Two Towers eight times in theatres, so I suppose they’ve been pretty good to me after all.
…But seriously, no Pokemon toys. Why was I so deprived.
….and almost 31. But anyway:
- I will have a cat. And a miniature pony.
- I will have a law-related job that I love (or at the very least, am proud to have).
- I will have my Honours degree in Classics. This depends on how well my marks can endure mundane questions like, “WHAT DID THE ANCIENTS USE GLASS BOTTLES FOR HURR“.
- I’ll have gone outside the country, if only once. Where? Italy (for the ancient Rome stuff), England (for the accents, and Cornwell, where my ancestors were wealthy pimps), India (for the colours, architecture, and to go on a train ala The Darjeeling Limited), Japan (for big sparkly cities at night with katakana on neon signs) or Prague (for the Sedlec Ossuary).
- I’ll know how to drive. Hopefully ten years is reasonable!
- Going to this stupid debating society and speaking on regular basis will be a distant memory.
- I’ll know how to cook gorgeous things every night.
- I’ll be less cynical (LOLLLL), and have married Orlando Bloom – though not if he doesn’t like cats).
- I’ll have had the epic 20 year anniversary with one of my friends from way back.
- I’ll live in Christchurch, or Wellington. Anywhere, so long as it’s not Geraldine or Timaru. Or Temuka. Or Oamaru… especially Oamaru.
- I won’t get distracted writing pointless lists for blogs and miss work (or in this case, CLAS107, whoops!).
And I’ll read this list, and marvel at how things change.