Animals I would be better at being than a human

7. An Elephant
Because: Elephants are wise and big and nobody can really fuck with them (except evil poachers). They have great family lives (have you SEEN the footage of the baby elephant being reunited with its mum? TEAR JERKER!) I love Elephants so much. They are great. No more explanation needed.

6. A Dog
Because: Dogs are great and terribly excitable things. The dog downstairs is annoying me right now by crying its little heart out (they are crate training him) but literally everything in this dogs life is the best and most exciting thing ever. Toy?! THE BEST! Go outside for a pee? THE BEST! Annoy the cat?!? THE BEST. You get the idea. I’d love to have that level of energy to be honest. And to be so generally joyful and optimistic

5. An Eagle
Because: A) I would like to fly and B) I would like to be considered deadly (I think we can safely assume small critters are bat-shit-terrified of Eagles). But mainly the flying thing. Also if I was an American eagle that would be cool because I’d be American (and could therefore just go and live in New York…although I suppose I wouldn’t want to if I was an eagle) and also because then I’d be all revered and stuff. And lets be honest…who doesn’t want that?

4. A Tiger
Because: DUH. Tigers are epic. If you don’t think Tigers are cool, you are probably just some bitter creature that is afraid of being eaten. Or had a relative eaten. Not only are Tigers gloriously beautiful, they are aggressive cranky beasts that people fear and respect (which I would be okay with) and they can pretty much do whatever they want. Oh you’re in a jungle? That’s okay, you are the scariest thing out there (Except monkeys if there are some in the jungle where you are. But I am biased. I just don’t like monkeys) and you can do what you want.

3. A Pig
Because: Pigs seem like very happy creatures. Lets move away from the sadness of the fact that pigs become bacon (which I love) and the hilarity of this as my third choice considering I am now dating my lovely Jewish boyfriend (who is so not kosher) and focus instead on how awesome pigs are. They are pretty awesome! They are cute and squeaky and they get to roll around in mud a lot (duh, funnest thing ever). Pigs are smart and funny, two things I try to be in my daily life, but wouldn’t it be cooler if I was smart and funny AND a pig. Yes I think so.

Side Note: When I was in year 11 I was a prefect and we went on a leadership training week in Thailand at a ridiculously amazing boarding school in Chang Mai. We did fancy seminars and bonding sessions. During one seminar, I will never forget the exercise where we had to describe the person on our left as an animal. To my right was Graham, a chinese guy (don’t forget I went to School in Hong Kong, and although it was the Australian International School of Hong Kong, we had a lot of Hong Kong, first language Cantonese students) who was very sweet and who I was friends with. You had to stand up in front of everyone and say why you thought this person was like the animal you had chosen. Graham stood up and told everyone (in his not perfect english) that I most reminded him of a pig. Cue snorts from all the western kids, and a mortified look from me. Graham went on to describe the pig as it is depicted in the Chinese Astrology world, something along these lines (I just hit up google)

Pigs are models of sincerity, purity, tolerance, and honor. When you first meet them, Pigs seem too good to be true. They are careful and caring, obliging and chivalrous. Put your trust in him, he won’t let you down and he will never try to. The Pigs simply want to do everything right.

Pigs are the people everyone admires most.

It was sweet, but I’ll never forget that awkward first moment, before the culture clash became so obvious.

2. A Dolphin
Because: Dolphins are the class clown of the sea. Everybody loves them! (Except the Japanese who maybe love them too much in a rough way, like when a little kid pats its pet too hard…oh no wait, whales, I’m thinking whales. My bad). Dolphins are badass. They can do tricks, they’re smart…they’re one of the only animals I know of, apart from humans, that participate in gang-rape (…wow this bit got a bit depressing) um…getting back on track. Dolphins are cool. They get to swim all the time (I’m down for that) and they make cute squeaking noises all the time which are adorable. How come whenever I talk too much people don’t make awwww faces at me?

1. A Cat.
Because? My two favourite things are lying stretched out in the sun and looking adorable. If I was a cat I could post so many videos of myself online and get all the youtube love (and hate, but those youtube trolls are never really that mean to cats). I could also get really fat and still be cute. Okay I think I’d get over shitting in a box pretty quickly, but hey, I’ve seen cats (on youtube) using a toilet. I’ve also seen cats using forks, playing the keyboard and talking. I think this could really work out for me lifestyle-wise.

Have you caught onto the trend I just realized? I basically want to be either powerful and feared, or cute and adorable.

Huh. Well there you go. I don’t need to waste money on therapy. I have myself all figured out!

Things I know nothing about: Weddings

So it turns out that I’m old enough to know people who are my age that are getting married.

I feel like I’m not alone in this. You’re just a twenty something minding your own business and then BAM on Facebook a girl you went to high school with but don’t really know got engaged. Then there are the wedding pics 6-12 months later. Weird. But okay it’s on the periphery so I can deal…HOLY SHIT ANOTHER ONE!

You’re huddled under the covers rocking yourself to sleep thinking, “Okay but I never really knew her that well…” and then BAM, someone you do know well gets engaged.

Why are these people doing grown-up things when I can’t even use that blender I bought (It’s 10 speed okay…it’s really tricky).

Well. Ever since moving to Toronto I’ve met quite a few married people and they are quite normal and functioning. Granted that most of them are about 4-5 years older than me, (war wounds of dating a guy in that age bracket with lots of friends) but I’ve never really thought about it because they are already married and it kind of just seems like they’re a couple, but one of them has a big hard rock…and one of them has a pretty ring on her left hand. Did you see what I did there? That’s what we call “innuendo” or “an attempt at a dirty joke.” (WELL IF SOMEONE JUST HURRIED UP AND HIRED ME I WOULDN’T BE HOME ALONE WITH THE HEDGEHOG THINKING UP THESE TERRIBLE PUNS!)

I digress.

When I first started living in Toronto and started dating lovely Canadian boyfriend, he introduced me to many of his friends. One couple in particular I hit it off with, simply because they may be a crazier couple than Canuckboyf and I. It was love at first opening line when the female half of the couple sat down next to me at an event (at which I knew NO ONE and had literally been dating Canuckboyf for a month) and basically told me how she just wanted to get drunk and that we should go find the booze.

So we did. And may I say, the evening got less intimidating from there.

Anyway, we had some crazy fun nights with these two and then earlier this year the male half of this couple had some kind of revelation that he is dating one of the coolest chicks around, and proposed to her.

That’s so exciting!

Oh no wait! WHAT? That is TERRIFYING!

Yes. My reaction is over the top, and maybe you’re starting to think that I’m just a commitment-phobe. Fine. Yes. I have been known to run away from people that love me in the past, but that’s not it. This is more my fear about growing up and having to be a real person, rather than the fear of actually being with someone you love. I love love. I love the hollywood pre-packaged love. I like to look at pretty dresses and cakes and shoes and there were a good many years where one of my favourite parks in Hong Kong was my favourite because you could go on Saturdays and watch all the wedding photo’s taking place. I like wedding things.

But in my head I just finished High School…even though it has actually been six years, and I didn’t know anybody back then that was getting engaged or getting married and in my mind I still don’t. I’m still trying to pretend that I’m a child even though I’ve been allowed to drink and vote for over half a decade. The fact that I do a lot more of the former and very little of the latter just goes to show where my head is at. Maybe my wilful refusal to learn to drive is also a clue.

Regardless, I am turning 24 on Wednesday and that is something I have to face. I also know someone getting married. Fine. Breathe in, Breathe out.

A future picture of me on my wedding day

Yesterday I went to a bridal brunch. And it was really beautiful and lovely. It was the first bridal thing I’ve ever been too, and although internally I was freaking, I attempted to sit at the table like a calm lady, eat items from the delicious buffet and tried to not obviously eye-up the present table. I hoped mine didn’t look wrong. It wasn’t from the registry where I could buy my friend some towels or some bowels (the only available items), but was instead a couple of indulgent treats – the kind of thing I’d like to get.

Shall I rant about Registry’s? No, maybe another time. But seriously. I get the functionality of one. I do. But there is nothing exciting you can say about a steamer or a cake dish covering…whatever. Maybe one day if I get married I’ll be like “THANK GOD for the registry and my friends XYZ who got me this wonderful steamer.” Then I’ll tie on my apron, and clean the house waiting for my hardworking husband to come home so I can fix him a scotch and make him his dinner while telling the children to Shush and do their homemade jigsaw puzzle I created at my craft group.

At the table I was at for the bridal shower, were two girls who had recently-ish gotten married, and another girl who got engaged about a month ago. I felt like I was from another planet (more than usual) when listening to them talk about cake designers and venues. Maybe I would feel less like a fish out of water if I’d been to a wedding before and could make certain nodding motions about things like certain bands and dresses…but as it stands, I haven’t and I am mystified about things like that. The only contribution I could make to the girl discussing all the cakes she tried was…

what was your favourite flavour?!

Because honestly, that’s the only part of the conversation I could understand. CAKES?!!? CAKES HAVE FLAVOURS!!
Quick Paris, get involved! Ask about Flavours!

When she answered that she couldn’t choose, I still internally high-fived myself because hey, I asked a question in the right context and got a response.

Socializing WIN.

Weddings are exciting, and it’s exciting when people get engaged. It kinda feels like high school when we’d all freak out when one of the girls got asked out by one of the boys in Year Five and they were official after recess. Except this time it’s going to be LEGALLY official and somebody somewhere is dropping some serious dollars to make that happen.

Also it hopefully won’t be all over by lunch!

Since my friend-bride got engaged, Canuckboyfs flatmate also got engaged, my friend from Hong Kong who lives here got engaged, and another of the Boyfs close friends from High School got engaged. If they so choose to invite me to their weddings, that is another 3 weddings in the next 12-18 months. I guess it’s something I’m going to have to start getting used too… Anyone for a Cake Platter Cover?

At least nobodies pregnant yet…

Paris

 

 

Tell me I’m Pretty

If there is one saving grace to retail (and it’s a stretch to even suggest there is) it is not, as may be expected, the 50% discount on clothes (because it just makes it that much easier to SPEND your hard-earned cash there), for me, it is in fact the customers.

I guess I haven’t been working in customer service long enough to have a horror story about a crazy that walked off the street and into a rage at me because they were having a bad day (although there was a lady a few days ago who yelled at a co-worker of mine when she tried to “return” a pair of pants my store doesn’t carry with the tags snipped off).

I am a people person, a curious writer, and generally a nosy mole, who likes to try and find out what makes people tick. Don’t worry, I have already quizzed all my co-workers about their life stories (and stealthily tried to figure out how they got stuck in retail after having degrees…more out of horrified fascination than anything else…like looking at the blue flame welders use..bad for the senses but impossible to look away) and a part of the selling gig is to try and figure out what the client wants and how to get it.

The shop/chain I work for sells only women’s clothes and accessories and they are kind of corporate, but on the reasonably priced side. The shop is also located in an underground shopping mall on the PATH system (a rabbit warren-like affair that stretches underground through parts of downtown Toronto to prevent people from having to go outside in the freezing cold. It is like an underground city with clothing stores, banks, food courts…waxing places…juice bars…there’s probably a car dealership down there somewhere. I’m not sure why there would be…but I’m sure there is) and most of the customers we get work in the corporate offices stacked on top of us.

The ladies range in age from Intern-types fresh out of Uni, to the older working woman. And while there are customers I have connected with, and those that I haven’t, my favourite age group is the late thirties to mid forties/early fifties. These are women who ACTUALLY listen to what I have to say, ask my opinion, want to open the fitting room door and show me what they got.

Some of these women remind me of my Mum. They are mostly patient and not used to shopping for themselves so they are willing to listen to suggestions. They have money so they aren’t horrified by a sweater that costs $30.

A lot of them have body issues. A lady today who was gorgeous, Indian skin but with a cool British accent, told me she’d recently lost 19 pounds on some German diet I think she called the “Dukan”? She liked a little black corporate dress and she tried on the Small and the XS. She had a petite frame but you know what? She had a bit of a wobbly bit on front.

“My Kids did that”

She told me. And she tried on both sizes, got a belt to try to jazz it up, put a cardigan over it to see…and she just couldn’t sell it to herself. My approach to this crappy job is that I never want to be pushy. I am a natural talker and I’m honest. I am competitive so, I want to do well in any situation, but I REFUSE to lie and act like a simpering idiot. I was straight with her and told her it looked great but that it was a personal preference. I too happened to be wearing a little black corporate number and you know what? I have a jiggle round the middle too. AND I HAVEN’T EVEN HAD KIDS! No excuse.

This lady, who was super nice and interested in my Aussie accent told me that she hadn’t worn form-fitting clothes in a long time. She was getting used to her body again. She didn’t buy the dress, but I think she felt a little bit confident and sexier having tried it on.

Same deal with the lady who came in on Friday and need an after work drinks type shirt for a last-minute reunion at a pub. She grabbed an XL shirt and I made her get a large. She was shocked. I made her try it on and it wasn’t even tight. It was more form-fitting for sure. I told her the truth, that she had a great waist and that she should emphasize it. We chatted for quite a while and when she left, (after buying the shirt) she turned to my manager and said “I hate shopping, but i’ll be back because of her”, and she smiled and waved, even gave me a cheeky wink!

These women, who are still attractive, functioning, smart, hardworking people, come into a shop for 15-20 minutes and talk to me – blah, under functioning, retail-bum, Masters-holding random (who by the way used to dress appallingly), and they can walk away feeling good because somebody told them that something looked good on them?

I want to stand on the street corner stopping random people and tell them they look nice today, or that that colour suits them. If an item of clothing can put a spring back in their step, then maybe retail ain’t so bad.

Anyway, I’ll keep getting up and going back because I need to support myself while I do this internship and figure out WTF I am doing with my life…but if these ladies keep coming back…then maybe I’ll even learn to smile about it…

a bit…

Paris

What they Said v.s What they Meant

Oh hello there.

Yes, you, random blog follower/internet Connoisseur.

Welcome to Austraaliens fantastical Wednesday blog post featuring your host (me) blunt, vertically challenged, Australian, do-gooder, and the ridiculous and often troublesome existence of my being.

Shall we begin?

Excellent.

Now, take off your pants and lie down on this slab of marble. The werewolf mechanic will be here shortly.

Oh no wait!

That’s the opening line to the second chapter of what is sure to be my new Erotic BestSeller, ‘Werewolf mechanic, howls at your moon’…

I’ve completely digressed from where I was going.

Let me just re-fill this pipe and we’ll begin again.

Alright.

Now where was I.

Ah yes.

Passive Aggressive Torontonians.

Now, I’m a fairly mild-mannered person when it comes to most things. If I’m angry, you’ll know – because I will punch you. If I’m sad, you’ll see because my face will look like this:

My emotions are fairly close to the surface.

That, and I’m blunt. Maybe too blunt. But the great thing about bluntness is, it saves time and avoids confusion.

I find that Canadians in general, are not very blunt.

This has caused a fair amount of cultural-lost-in-translation moments since I first arrived here six months ago. (Oh you Canucks and your polite-ish ways. How do you stand your maple syrup selves?)

But the thing that most gets to me, is the way people get angry here. No one gets REALLY shouty angry. It’s more quiet, snarky, commenty angry. And quiet angry frightens me. Quiet angry is from childhood, the moment before your parents would EXPLODE with rage.

Side story: When I was a (spoilt) child and my brothers and I were all under the age of ten, my mother made and painted for us the most INCREDIBLE child-sized table and chairs. The four chairs, (if I remember correctly) were shaped and painted like Jasmine, Peter Rabbit, The little mermaid and Winnie the Pooh. The table was painted beautifully and had corresponding character friends in the corners of the table (Flipper was one I can remember…the others not so much). Despite being somewhat of an underrated artist, my mother was also working as a radio announcer on a breakfast show, raising us three scally wags, looking after the house, 2 dogs, cat, 2 birds and being married to my lovely father who was going through somewhat of a midlife crisis (pretty much every 3-5 years) (dyeing hair blonde, buying motorcycles). I now realize that my mother would have only been a few years older than I am now, having gotten the babies popped out nice and early.

ANYWAY

Side story continued: My Mum was/(is) a yeller. When she is ANGRY.YOU.FUCKING.KNOW.IT. She wasn’t really a smacker, but getting shouted at on the occasions we were naughty, was like a smack to the eardrums. Fine. So I can deal with shouting, and while those times were scary, they were hot air and tears and then kisses and forgiveness. It was the quiet, simmering anger, the kind that only came out rarely in my mother, that terrified the living shit out of me. When my Mum was REALLY angry, back in the day, and we’d be sitting at our awesome table, bickering and being little pricks, my Mum would calmly and quietly go to the kitchen drawer, take out the wooden spoon (a symbol of smack-time) and put it on the table in front of us.

No yelling. Just a quiet danger.

Our instant reaction would be to sit up amazingly straight, stop whatever nonsense or tom-foolery we had previously been about, and resume dainty, quiet table manners, like the ladies we would all become.

That is how I feel in Toronto sometimes. Not like a lady with impeccable table manners, but rather as a child at a Disney table who has been presented with a calm quiet fortune of wooden doom.

Today for example, taking the crowded subway downtown because it’s wet and cold, everyone is squished into the car. I flatten myself so people can get past me that want to get out and a women with a bad hair-cut says passive-aggressively “Good job not moving!” as she shoulder charges me out the door.

I never bother to reply, but today I stared at her pallid gross face and said with all the haughtiness I could muster “There’s no need to be rude.” Did I feel good? Not especially. I’ll never see that woman again. Okay maybe I felt a little good. Bitch, that’s right I got the last word in.

There really IS no need to be rude.
She could have said “excuse me” or “could you move please” or “If I could just get by..”
OR
She could have been angry, own that anger, go for it and say “MOVE FOR GOD’S SAKE” or “FUCKING MOVE” or “EXCUSE ME WALRUS YOU’RE IN THE WAY.” I mean I would have gotten it. It’s Wednesday, number one, it’s cold outside but SWELTERING in the subway, and in general if you’re a middle-aged woman with a terrible sense of style, well I mean…you’re just generally going to be mad.

But seriously….

Grow a pair and say what you mean. That, or don’t take the f-ing subway!

Now excuse me while I sip brandy beside my TV which is set on the log fire channel.

Good day.