It’s back…back in black…font that is…

Dear blog,

It’s been five months since my last …. post. I am truly sorry, but it seems life got in the way of abbeywithane. I’d like to promise that I’ll write more frequently but after a busy day of well..busy-ness (wikipedia will explain), I can’t guarantee that I’ll be in the mood. 

Yours in mindless babble,

abbey.

So, five months. I am not the dedicated blogger. Rereading my last few posts made me realise that I’m quite the nertard (a new word I’m hoping becomes Oxford Dictionary’s Word of the Year, similar to the word ‘unfriend.’ Thanks for the wisdom, Mark Z) so I’m hoping this time around, I try to blog with more…. More, grace. It’s been Christmas, New Year and my new favourite holiday, National Doodle Day! This is some fun that can be shared by all. Other things I am enjoying at the moment include plans to visit my friend Pipbut in Samoa, Hundreds and Thousands biscuits (nom!) and Italian lessons with Julian Battilano (who was unfortunately not a young and attractive Italian man as originally hoped, but more a hairless geriatric who gets his kicks out of community college. You win some, you lose some.) Nevertheless, improving the Italian vocab in a young abbey and Erica life has seemed to be a fruitful call.

Recently, I’ve been considering a return to musical theatre. I’d like to say that this decision came as a call from within; a sign telling me that it was time to do what comes naturally. After all, since my stint in Joseph and his Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat, a void has needed to be filled. My career choice has not stemmed from honest beginnings. It started with an illegal download of the Wicked soundtrack followed by many trips up Nineways singing Defying Gravity to a deafening roar. (Who am I kidding? I purchased the album on iTunes…not even legit enough to be a cool kid downloader.) So, I’m thinking the drama and emotion that’s often experienced within musical theatre would be appropriate for my current station in life. Thoughts? I think the main reason I want to go back is because I really enjoy how characters in musicals think exactly the same thing at exactly the same time and express it in song – how grand

Other thoughts:

- I want to move to Fiji
- I have had the L.O.V.E. song in my head all day. Nat King-Cole really knew how to play with a girl’s head post Valentines Day
- Vanilla milkshakes are fantastic!
- I’m seriously bummed out that I can’t find a Paint-esque program on my new Mac. Fuck the Man.

Last night, I made a discovery. I have a new family!

I came to this insightful conclusion after I noticed that my mates, Ericardo, Little Love and I were all sitting on the lounge in comfortable attire, eating Tim Tams and watching Farmer Wants a Wife. I have two side thoughts about this:

1. Argh – cultural cringe! Farmer Wants a Wife! I was supposed to keep my passion for this program concealed.
2. Re-reading this has only highlighted how pathetic my Wednesday night was.

Anyway, so there we are, sitting, eating, watching. And I felt that odd bond that you feel when you’re sitting with family and go for long periods without talking until someone says the smallest thing and you crack up.

Absolutely classic. Loving my new family. And we’re an odd bunch too! Some tall, some small. Some with sprained ankles (poor Ericardo).

 The thing that interests me the most is trying to pinpoint the time that this happened. When did I start to love these friendly ones like my family, and when did I stop relying on my real one for so much support? Is it when we move away from the nest, for uni or work or something else that we plan to fill our day with? Not to go all Bernard Salt on your ass (social commentator) but I really think this a common trend with our generation. You get fed up or tired with your real family’s politics and drama and you go and make a new family that you can mould to have similar interests and ideals as you do. The possibilities = endless.

Other thoughts:

1. I have decided that I won’t watch Farmer Wants a Wife next year for fear that I’ll start thinking it’s a legitimate form of match-making.
2. Today at work, an empty box came into my possession. I had a massive urge to cut the middle out, making a mock television and create mock television shows for officemate, Sharma. Sadly, Sharma was far too busy for my antics today.
3. I want to go to Samoa really badly.

Why do women need to know everything about each other?

(Oh gord, the moment you realise you’ve grown up or are in the wrong job is when you start referring to yourself and your friends as ‘women’ when you’re 22…I swear, I’m still a girl…Okay, maybe a ‘young lady.’) 

Why do ‘young ladies’ need to know everything about each other? I see it as a coping mechanism. We must gather as many cohorts as possible before the bitch army congregates. Or is it just the female way of getting to know each other?

“Hi, I’m abbey. Pleasure to meet you. Tell me about your first love, your first time, your family dramas…” 

And some of the ways that people go about getting to know each other are incredibly peculiar/annoying.

Key example: Last Saturday night, I attended a ‘Girls Night In.’ 

We need to get off track for a moment so that we can discuss the concept of a Girls Night In. Have you ever been to one? What are the thoughts? My thoughts are as follows:

- Girls Nights In are usually a chance for those girls with boyfriends/partners to bitch about said boyfriends/partners in an environment way too oestrogen fuelled. I dislike this.

- Girls Nights In usually end in tears.

- Girls Nights In involve crap games, including ‘getting to know you’ games.

This isn’t to say that I don’t enjoy Girls Nights In, it’s just the whole concept is odd. Barring males from an event in your early 20’s seems to salt my game.  

So, last Saturday night was a prime illustration of young ladies getting to know each other as quickly as possible. A board game was brought to the coffee table (a small external cry from one abbey followed, with an internal sigh that was seven times larger).This game was titled “Expose Your Self.” I felt the most interesting thing about it in the first five minutes was how pissed off I got that they had spelt yourself with two separate words. Nerd-frustration.

Then it happened; the questions. 

“How many keychains do you have on your keyring?”

…Kill me. 

“What do you value most in a friend?”

….Death by Girls Night In. 

I guess I thought we could be talking about more important things like how the Greens want to impose a 40% super profits tax, or the floods in Pakistan and the millions of children left homeless?

But in the end, I found the board game deliciously comforting. Let’s switch off and talk about our favourite dresses and our friends that are getting new jobs and moving away.  

So it seems “Expose Your Self” was the board game that taught me that the big issues don’t always need discussion. Sometimes a worthwhile conversation is the one you have with a fellow young lady about the time she made out with a cheeseburger for ten bucks.

Other thoughts:

1. Q and A always makes me stay up too late on Mondays.
2. “Expose Your Self” cannot be purchased online.
3. My down arrow key sounds like it belongs to a typewriter. It somehow makes me feel more legit.
4. I would like my home town to invest in horse drawn carts to take me to work on a regular basis.

Every year, along with every other female on the planet, I make an internal new year’s resolution. Internal ones are always the best ones. They’re the ones you don’t say, but you want really badly. So this year, when I was compiling my internal and external new year’s resolutions, I decided on one that I thought was super-exciting! External, of course.

Enter more competitions!

Yep, that’s about how basic and uneventful and un-self-improving it was! And I was so excited.

January started with a bang! I was cutting out paper clips for free groceries…I was entering competitions on the net for cruises and trips to the US.

February rolled around and I entered a competition to win world’s most deliciously massive oven and dishwasher. (The possibility of winning this was almost too much excitement to handle. I longed to touch its stainless steelness).

March saw me enter a competition to work for Getaway. This was a big one…and god bless my friend, Mandbearpig, who helped me film it. There were comps for everything, from Wiis to Winnebagos.

But sadly, none came to fruition. Reading the section of the classifieds that announced the winners was like having a knife stabbed through my chest.

“But I cut out so many coupons. It’s not fair!” I would say to Chez.

Chez would usually respond with something about how there’s heaps of unemployed people out there who cut many more coupons than employed me and are thus in the running for a greater chance. This seemed accurate.

But, a glory day has arrived! Yes, today September 7, 2010, abbey is awesome! A call from Jetstar was all it took. The time: 5:02pm. The customer service representative: Sarah. The winnings: $500. Several high fives with the young Sharma followed after the phone call. I enjoyed them. It appears my semi-creative idea was considered pretty awesome by Jetstar. The mission: Jetstar wanted to know how to improve its overall experience. The answer: smallish shit samples of sunscreen and other useless junk. People love it! I told them that they should give out small sunscreen bottles to people going to the Gold Coast because people are dumb and forget the UV rays. They agreed. So there you go! Real New Year’s resolutions can come true! The possibilities are endless when you enter competitions.

Other thoughts:

1. Today, Rob Oakeshott suggested everyone go to Port Macquarie. I’m not one to lol, but I did.

2. Next year’s NY’s resolutions: Do more gardening. Wear more pants.

Do you ever have those out of body moments where you realise you’re either hilarious, or a freak? I had one during routine tooth brushing this morning. Every morning, during routine tooth brushing time, I like to assess the day ahead. I find it completes the nerdyness of me. Nothing says low-maintenance like a girl who plans her day with her spare two minutes of doing one of life’s most menial tasks. But, we’re straying off topic. This morning, I didn’t plan the day ahead. I didn’t even attempt to put on my jewellery like I do during tooth brushing some mornings. (Side note: have you ever tried this unique form of multi-tasking? It puts some mothers of four to shame. “You mean you can feed, bathe and dress four kids in and hour? Pfft. I can put earrings in and still manage to move a toothbrush in my mouth!” Although, toothpaste dribble is common and unavoidable. Chin up, kids). Actually, toothpaste dribble occurred this morning, but for a different reason. I looked at myself in the mirror, heard what I was thinking and absolutely cracked up. I found myself composing/singing impromptu a song that revolved around a man, Rinaldo, who couldn’t get his pee in the toilet bowl. Something is wrong. Very wrong.

“Oh Rinaldo shut the door…

Your pee just went all over the floor.

You know we can’t be mates

If you can’t get it through the porcelain gates.

Rinaldo, I need more.”

Other thoughts:

1. I kind of think that Bob Katter is hilarious. On QandA tonight, his Akubra was coming to life!
2. There is no greater band in the world than Crowded House.

While completing my trifecta this morning (breakfast, friends and Sunday papers), I read Mia Freedman’s column and had a serious a-ha moment. Everyone feels the same! In her Sunday column, Mia wrote about that feeling you get when you get a text off someone new into your life who you’re completely excited about. I call it heart jump. It’s when you feel like your heart has lifted into your throat; but it’s not painful – it’s awesome! And it’s coupled with a decent hit of adrenalin, which usually makes me not look at the message for about 10 minutes for fear that it says something terrible, even though I know it will always be nice (otherwise, why would they have messaged, right?). But it seems I always forget this simple idea every time it counts. So, over the weekend when I met someone completely nice and charming and good looking and great, I bottled up. I stumbled over words and stuttered and laughed like a chicken. (Note to self: google: can chickens laugh? If so, what’s the sound?) The next day, I felt like a massive douche. Then I read Mia’s column and I realised that I’m not the only person in the world who has next-day doucheness. (Sometimes, it doesn’t even need to be alcohol-fuelled!) It appears that everyone does and I’m currently in my rejoice phase. So often, I think everyone forgets that we’re all human. We’re all embarrassed, Year 8 students in disguise. Aren’t we? So, I guess from now on, every human emotion will be met with celebration. And thanks to one of my friend’s mates who reminded me that ‘life isn’t a rehearsal.’ Weekend = insightful.

Other thoughts:

1. I will never, ever purchase a Snuggie for myself or a loved one unless I suddenly turn 80 in the next few days, in which case I will purchase several Snuggies and wear them without underwear.
2. I want a house with a red door.

When the world gives you lemons…say “lemons schmemons” and throw them at the nearest innocent bystander…

This will now be my theory for life. I have recently decided this. “Why?” you ask. Well, I think there’s two kinds of people in the world. You’re walking in a corridor, down the street, anywhere really where limited space becomes an issue. Do you a) step to the side when you see another approaching or b) remain on your chosen path, damned the consequences? I am of the a) variety and to mimic the mother, who will now only be known as Chez, ”I have had it up to here!” (Points to neck region). After years of turning said lemons into lemonade, I feel a fool. Everyone else is out there having a bloody awesome time just pegging them at the nearest person. Douches who throw lemons - I join your ranks!

In other news, it appears Rob Oakeshott is still Australia’s hottest independent MP, for at least another week. Apparently by next week, we’ll finally know the results of the 2010 election. Let’s hope there’s lemon throwing involved.