5 things I thought would be different when I left home

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It has been almost 10 years since I left home and went out into the wild, scary, unknown world of adulthood living. I feel like I was truly and utterly underprepared for what was out there, and had I known, I’d have pulled a jew-dude (TM) and stayed at home until I was thirty.

But just like with black, there’s really no going back once you have fled the familial nest.

I just had so many misconceptions on what I thought living away from my parents would look like.

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  1. “I can eat whatever I want!”
    Oh, oh…ohhh how I dream of the lovingly prepared home cooked meals of yesteryear. So angry and angsty was I, when a meal was NOT EXACTLY what I felt like eating, but instead an equal measure of vegetables, meat and grains. MEAT! Do you know how expensive that shit is?! What I would give, to have two middle aged people cooking for me three times a day…
  2. “I can stay up SO late”
    Want to know what I did Friday, Saturday and Sunday night this past weekend? Binge watched The Wire (because I’m about 15 years behind in my television programming at this point). I am a morning person, so around 10/10.30pm I start to fade fast. I used to think living away from my parents would be sooooooo wicked because I could just drink and party and watch movies all night long…Turns out my favourite thing these days is sleep. Yeah. I’m pretty cool actually.

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  3. “I do what I want!”
    So long as it doesn’t cost money. Seriously. Sometimes over the last few years I have had all of the freedom and none of the money (funemployed/between contracts) and other times I have had some of the money and none of the time (J.O.B). When can I have all of the money and all of the freedom? (right…right…when I rob a bank Oceans Eleven style…got it…have you guys SEEN that movie? It just came out recently in 2001)
  4. “I can date whoever I choose!”
    Remember when your parents hated that guy you were dating in High School and you were like IHATEYOUWEAREINLOVEyoudon’tunderstandmeGETOUTOFMYROOM! Yeah well. Turns out they were right. Man when I was single, I would have given my left ovary (she’s the gimpy one I suspect) for my parents to be hovering over my shoulder as I swiped like: “No. No. No. Yes Paris. No he will have a weird thing for feet. No. No. What about that nice boy from the coffee shop?” It turns out I just wanna date guys that my parents will like and not weirdo’s with spider-man face tattoo’s. Go figure.
  5. “I’m going to get a creative job and YOU CAN’T STOP ME!”
    In grade 12 when picking degree time came, my mother said to me: “Do a degree with the name of a job in it” and I laughed in her face as I applied for my Bachelor of Arts. I guess, if you were to squint your eyes, choke yourself a bit until no oxygen went to your brain and then smoked some meth – you could really consider my whole life one elaborate “Art”. “So what do you do Paris?” oh me? I’m Art. Yeah I studied it at University. In reality, life has been interesting in the working world (#noregrets) but I definitely find myself veering more towards the corporate world as I see all my fellow creatives struggling and think fucccckthatshit. Oh you live in a basement apartment with your sibling, sister and co-business partners and you work in a deli 3 days a week but your new album just dropped on myspace? Cool dude, Imma go over here and work on my excel skills though….

So many people I know have babies now. Literally holding an infant a week ago and thinking: “this adorable squishy baby girl is going to slam a door in your face some day.”

I wish I could go back ten years and slap some sense into my 17 year old self. Eat my free meals, get my free laundry, and remind myself that unfortunately…your parents were right. Uh! Gross.

What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger…or maims you horrifically for life

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I like that saying: “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger”(WDKYMYS). It sounds good, it’s inspirational. It makes you think “Heck, things were tough/awful/soul destroying – but I’m still here!!”

People have appropriated that saying into songs (looking at you Kelly Clarkson), put it on T-shirts, tattooed it on their bodies, put it over pictures of sunsets and posted it on each others walls when their friends have been dumped by jerk’s named Derrick (fuck you Derrick you meanie!)

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I like the expression, but I don’t know if I always agree with it.

Because sometimes things kill you a little bit inside and they make you feel weaker, they throw off your game.

Was Leo’s character stronger at the end of the Revenant after he got fucked up by a bear, watched his son get murdered, was left for dead and then had to crawl through the snow and shit of 1800’s Canada to Murder my future ex-husband/baby-daddy Tom Hardy’s character? (Oh yeah, spoiler alert… but seriously if you haven’t seen that movie yet get your shit together – it was nominated for and lost best picture like 5 months ago).

I mean…I guess he was stronger – like how calluses get stronger on the tops of your feet. But he was also weaker because he had lost his humanity, and he was a murderer murderer and he was gross (like a callus – see how I tied all that together? Yay Creative Writing Masters degree)

I wonder if people use WDKYMYS as a way to excuse awful situations they don’t know how to extricate themselves from?

I’d consider myself a strong person who has faced some challenges. Would I exchange them for an easy life where some of the shitty things didn’t happen to me? Yes of course! I’m not insane. Faced with two choices: an easy road and a hard, bush-basher of a path, I think most of us would choose the easy option.

But life doesn’t work like that, and there are plenty of things that will try to throw you off the plans you’ve made, a death in the family, a financial set-back, a painful divorce, an unexpected illness.

So I propose a re-word. “What doesn’t kill you makes you different” – because not all things make you stronger, and thats okay too.

You are not a failure if you come out of a near-death-esque experience and think: “well that fucking sucked” and you’re not stronger.

End of Thought.

 

Encounters with morons

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There are  few people who’s advice I truly value. My parents (because they have known me since before I was just a tiny puke-inducing parasite in my mothers stomach and they honestly want what’s best for me), a handful of friends who I go to for more day to day advice (why hasn’t he teeeeeexxxxxttttttedddd meeeeeee?!) and those I perceive to have career trajectory’s I admire – the men and women older who are more successful than me in the industry I love.

And outside of that, I really don’t give a fuck.

Now that may sound harsh, but lets be honest, it has been pointed out to me on more than one occasion in the recent past that I have a bitchy streak (something I never actually recognized in myself until I took a few steps back). I am blunt, and I am opinionated and I am (starting to be) okay with that (or at least trying to tone it down enough to not make that part of my identifier… “oh you know Paris! The Big Boobed, Blonde, Angry Australian one?”.

I have lived an interesting life (Yay Passports!)

Yes, random new Canadian stranger I have just met, it IS kind of funny that my name is Paris and that I am from Sydney. Let us jovially exchange pleasantries as you make a joke about my name that I have heard MANY times before. I will do you the courtesy of smiling – because I don’t go from 0 – 100 anger quiet as quickly as a psychopathy might. Which is lucky for you because otherwise *PUNCHYPUNCHY* straight to the faceyfacey. I’ll wait for you to make the classic:

Why did you come to Canada?“Why would you leave Sydney for this?!” *Chortle Chortle* remark.
I came to work at a Children’s summer camp, loved it, worked for the camp office, went back to camp and then decided to stay and break into film and television which is what I was doing when I left Australia. I left Australia because I was over it, and I have the passport so I can go back whenever. Travel while you’re young, be adventurous, move away from the ordinary.

Good to know that you think I am crazy to have moved to Canada over Australia and that you think the Film & Television industries are very hard to break into. That is a top-notch tid bit. Let me jot that down in my dream journal for further evaluation.

You know zero things about my life, or how I was raised, or what my true ambitions are. If the conversation goes further (which pray god it doesn’t – but people are nosy curious) you might discover that I spent the majority of my childhood living in Asia, that my brothers were born in Hong Kong and Malaysia, and that my Mother now lives in Thailand and that actually over the last year, that tough to crack industry has paid all of my bills and kept me alive on the planet.

Shall I tell you my blood type and bra size?

People have opinions, I get it (see first paragraph, I am infected by opinion-itis) and generally, we believe what we think is the right thing – otherwise we would not think that thing.

But people live differently and if you think it’s weird that I move around a lot, tell me in the same breath that I’m crazy for leaving Australia, but also crazier for wanting to leave Toronto, then get the hell off my lawn. I think its crazy that anyone would want to live in the same place for an extended period of time. There is so much to see, so much to learn. 3 years later in Toronto and I’m still seeing new bits every day – still learning and exploring.

And as for my career choice, that’s freaking FANTASTIC that you gave up on your dreams to live “in the real world” and get a “real job”. I would blow my brains out if I felt I had to do something I didn’t love because it was the mature and right thing to do. Maybe I am neither mature or responsible, but my credit rating says I am, so go fuck yourself.

You think it’s insane I would want to move to LA, New York or London to pursue those ambitions? It’s too expensive/hard/competitive? That may be. I might try and I might fail, but at least I learned and went for it. Thank you for giving up before you even attempted it, the bodies of the apathetic were the easiest to climb over as I made my way to the top.

I don’t know why this enraged me so much today – maybe it’s the repetitiveness of these types of conversations – but holy fuck the relief of talking to other expatriates/third culture kids.

I’ve often written about feeling disembodied from a sense of “home” and a belonging to a specific group of people. But the older I get the more this becomes apparent – my home is a floating web of hummingbirds (be they the internationals, or the creatives), who rest gently in a place, gather experience and then shoot off again. Those are my people – the people who can’t sit still. You think we’re weird? But we think you’re fucking weirder.

No matter how long I live in a place I will never truly belong there because my collective experiences will always mark me as foreign. Perhaps there are pockets, in expatriate communities in Dubai, Hong Kong, Singapore… but there again the expatriate communities cling like barnacles to the hull of a country.

It’s cool, my anger at your moronic assertion of your opinions evaporates. We walk away and you become another faceless idiot.

I write a blog about you and the world turns. I send up a silent thank you to the universe (and the people who shaped my life and world) that I am educated, wealthy, safe and supported, and we all go about our days.

The end.

Paris

 

Oh Chicago, the things I would do to you…AKA how to win at being an Aussie in the US of A

Yay I’m officially 25 and older than I’ve ever been. Highfive parents! I survived my early twenties. Now we just need to get me married off  to some crazy-person brave/stupid enough and sprogged up and you guys can breathe a sigh of relief. Hey, one of your kids has to continue the genetic line, and with two gay sons, I’m your best bet! Sucks to be you!

So anyway, people always ask you what you did for your birthday, and this year, what with the landmark-ness of it and all, I wanted to be able to give a better answer than “I got drunk with my friends” (that did happen too… but it was not the defining achievement!)

So I went to Chicago with my friend Rosie. And got drunk there. But we also did other stuff too.

And oh my.

Chicago is quite a city.

Not only is it stunning to look at, it is full of the hottest men I have ever seen in my life, and the nicest people on the planet. The food is genetically engineered to be the best thing that has ever been in and around your mouth, and every street you stumble down lost (always) you will find something cool, unique and wonderful that you just want to cuddle a bit too tight, like a really squishy-faced kitten.

To say I love that city would be an understatement.

I’d like to take Chicago home to meet my parents. I’d like to write Chicago cheesy love songs that I’d totally sing and upload to Youtube and I wouldn’t even be embarrassed about it.

The 5 best things about Chicago:
5. The Stunning Waterfront (are you listening Toronto, with your under-utilized harbour front)
4. The Jazz/Bar Scene – so many options! So many cool/different/quirky spots.
3. The Architecture Boat ride and the pride in the buildings there
2. The People who are so freaking cool (and attractive)
1. The Deep Dish Pizza

I think I probably consumed over 100,000 calories while in Chi town. I stopped saying no to things that were delicious and started saying yes.

This is a "small" size Chicago deep dish

This is a “small” size Chicago deep dish

Deep Dish Chicago Pizza is the best thing that was ever invented and I don’t understand why it can’t exist outside of Chicago. Because I would eat it every day, and that is no lie. While in Chicago we also ate Blue Cheese and Tandoori chicken pizza, Macoroni and Cheese Pizza, and Smores Pizza (chocolate sauce, teddy grahams, marshmellows.) We ate every weird thing we could find and we loved it. We even went to American McDonalds and tried Sweet Potato Pies (no boring apple pie thankyouverymuch).

Blue Cheese/Tandoori Chicken, Macaroni and Cheese, Smores Pizza slices

Blue Cheese/Tandoori Chicken, Macaroni and Cheese, Smores Pizza slices

Now I can fully understand why there are so many obese people in America. Absolutley no doubt about it, if I lived in America, I would be obese. 100% There are too many delicious things there.

In fact I might have come back more obese if we didn’t get so lost all the time and just walk around (we could have easily not been lost, so many people offered us directions/help/to be our tour guides – we were just happy to explore).

It definitely helped that I was with my stunning fellow Blonde Aussie gal (an accent will get you EVERYWHERE in the United States) but seriously the people are so nice there. And everybody wants to chat because they love their city and they LOVE that you love their city.

We got a hug off our Cheesecake Factory Server. The guy I sat next to on the plane ended up taking us for a few drinks and told us to call him if we ran into any trouble over the weekend.

Nicest. People. Ever.

So if you want to stuff your face, be inspired, walk around a place that looks like a post card and hurt your neck from staring at all the attractive babes (seriously… what are they feeding you guys?!) then get to the Mid-west, because Chi-town has it all.

We love you Toronto, but we’re OBSESSED with you Chicago!!

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I want to be thin, but I really want to eat all this cheese.

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Ah the first world problems I face as a wealthyish (hahaha) educated (excuse me while I cry into my MFA in Creative Writing) white (yep) woman (yepyepyep).

I am bombarded by all these bodies on television and in Print media, where the girls are always tanned, taught and aerodynamic (how do they make their boobs not point down??!… wahhhh!) and I’m informed that this particular size and proportion is beautiful and another size and proportion is not.

And then every second thing I see around me is an advertisement for something delicious, like a triple quarter pounder with extra fat injected into the burger buns for added deliciousness.

What’s a girl supposed to do/think?

Deny herself all the scrumptious things out there? Yeah. Right.

Go to the gym and work out like a Durecell bunny on crack? HAhaHA. No but really…don’t make me go to the gym.

It’s tough and it’s not new and it’s not like this is a revolutionary conversation I’m having with myself over here.

There is plenty of evidence to support the fact that these photoshopped “women” are cultivating bad body image in young ladies and giving young men an unrealistic expectation level of what a female body can look like (sorrrrrrry my thighs aren’t skinnier than my arms and my bum doesn’t look like a peach, but more like a blob of hardened oven grease…jeez).

So how to combat this? There are plenty of theories out there. Education on healthy eating and promoting nutrition (I’m looking at you United states of Corn Syrup).

And for young women especially, how can we work to change this subculture of fat vs thin. The number of eating disorders amongst young people is staggering and saddening (1 in 10 young women in the United States). What can we do? Promote more average body sizes in modelling and advertising, is one thing that has always played around on the periphery. More education? Support? All of that is useless when a bully is tormenting you, or someone or something makes you hate yourself and truly find yourself disgusting.

When I was last back in Hong Kong I found a journal I had kept right after a breakup with long term boyfriend numero uno. And do you know what I found? Pages and pages and pages of lists of what I ate that day v.s the exercise I did.

“6 x stair runs up ladder street. 1 Can tuna, one apple, 2 weetbix, 1 rice noodles in soup”
Good god it’s like I was living at a bland ashram when in fact I was living in a city with some of the tastiest cuisine in the world. And Ladder street?! It’s called ladder street because the steps are almost vertical (i’m making that up…there could fully be a different reason I am unaware of).

Why did I keep an obsessive journal like this, rather than tear stained pages working through my complex emotions of angst and heartbreak and having to find a new boyfriend with a car who can drive me around because I never learned?

Because that dude made me feel unattractive and I thought no one would ever love me again if I didn’t look a certain way.

Which is ridiculous because you should love someone for more than whether their jeans say size 6 or a size 16. And also I’m hilarious, so I’m okay.

But even if you don’t have that going for you, you still shouldn’t let a guy make you feel like you aren’t nice to look at. And if one does, then go tell your Mum or Dad or tell someone like me, and we’ll go kick his ass. Fucker.

And women of the world should never let some loser make them feel unattractive because have you seen a nut sack lately? I have, and man, those things are revolting.

There is nothing on my body (cellulite included) that is as gross as where the male body stores it’s reproductive sphere’s.

So yes I will be eating the rest of the Brie wheel today that I started at breakfast. Thankyouverymuch.

End Rant.

 

 

 

 

Should I eat this expired Pork?

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Things you don’t know that only Google/Your parent can answer.

Should I eat this Expired Pork?
It’s best before date is 3 days ago, but it seems okay and it’s been in the fridge…?
Google says: NO!
Dad says: Yes. Just cook it well and it will be fine. Best before dates are for the retailer to sell it.
Verdict: Well I cooked it and will be having it for dinner. Usually I have an iron stomach… I guess we’ll soon see!

Should I book these tickets to Chicago for my birthday next month for a fun filled weekend of USA shenanigans?
Google says: Air Canada flights… your pet can accompany you on board… What the fuck google?! That doesn’t help me!
Parents say: Isn’t there something else you should be using that $300 for?
Verdict: Flights booked to Chicago! YAY!

Why does my stomach hurt after the equivalent of 3 wheels of Brie because there was a free cheese platter and I can’t help myself?
Google says: Here are 18 reasons your stomach might be hurting, including gall stones, Pancreatitis, Lactose intolerance (jesus christ, lets start with Gall stones and Pancreatic diseases before we suggest lactose intolerance… thanks for freaking me out google!)
Parents say: Don’t eat so much Brie Paris!
Verdict: I’m probably dying. Make sure they play ‘Party in the USA’ when I go.

What am I doing with my life?
Google says: Actually there are quite a lot of blogs and articles on this topic as other twenty something year-olds wonder where to go, what to do, how to chase their passions. Glad to know that I am not totally hopeless/alone and there are others like me out there (maybe even DOZENS of us) But no definitive tailored answer. Shit.
Dad says: Keep writing, you’re a super star, you’re amazing, you’ll get there!!
Mum says: Stop panic-ing, just live, here are some quotes, we love you.
Verdict: Curl up into a ball until this round of freaking out goes away. Thankyooooou emotional roller coaster.

Do I have a pension plan already, because I feel like my money is being sneaked out into one through tax and such and while I’d rather have that money now, I guess I should kind of know, right?
Google says: 

The Canada Pension Plan (CPP) retirement pension provides a monthly benefit to eligible Canadians.

You must have worked and made at least one valid contribution (payment) to the CPP to qualify for a CPP retirement pension. The standard age to begin receiving the pension is 65. However, you can take a permanently reduced CPP retirement pension as early as age 60 or take a permanently increased pension after age 65.

Dad says: Well you see… (and then I tuned out – although I love you Papa).
Verdict: Long hair, don’t care! I’ll worry about boring things like that when i’m boring, like when I turn 35.

If I keep eating the amount of sugar I do daily, will I get Diabetes?
Google says:

Type 1 diabetes is caused by genetics and unknown factors that trigger the onset of the disease; type 2 diabetes is caused by genetics and lifestyle factors.

Being overweight does increase your risk for developing type 2 diabetes, and a diet high in calories from any source contributes to weight gain. Research has shown that drinking sugary drinks is linked to type 2 diabetes.

Parents say: We have Diabetes in our family. You should be careful, eat healthy and regularly excercise.
Verdict: Change nothing, worry every once in a while.

Thanks Google & Parents. With your combined knowledge – I am more equipped to face every day.

 

My Accent is not as strong as YOUR accent, AKA: Autistic vs Artistic and THAT awkward misunderstanding

I’ve lived in Canada for over two years now, and sometimes I feel like I’m speaking Cantonese when interacting with the North Americans (I can, for the record speak some Cantonese, but it’s mostly Dim Sum and swear words…so you can tell I’m popular at parties).

My Australian accent is nowhere near as strong as it could be because of a combination of the fact that I have really not lived that many years of my life in the Land Down-Under and it has burnt off, because I mainly had British and American teachers in those formative first few years of school, and because of accent Osmosis, where you absorb part of the accents around you.

I frequently get accused of being British.

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And yet despite speaking ENGLISH, I am constantly misunderstood, laughed at by friends and have had people stare at me bewildered by simple requests because, turns out, we share many of the same words, and yet some of our lexicon is COMPLETELY different.

Here are some amusing examples I have compiled for you:

The Letter “R”
Not brought to you by Sesame Street today, but by me. As an Australian I pronounce this letter of the alphabet much softer than the Canadians. I say “Ahgh” almost, where as the Canadians pronounce this letter “Arghh” like a pirate.

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The difference in pronunciation is what creates most of the misunderstanding between myself and simple Canadian folk.

My Name
My parents have kind of boring names, and they endeavored to make sure we (my siblings and I) had cool, interesting, easy to remember names. I can’t speak for my brothers, but whenever I tell people that my name is Paris, most people make a face like, huh! cool! And no one has ever forgotten my name. Or if they have, they haven’t lived to tell the tale… so same thing!

pink ballons around eiffel tower

But I do find it amusing when Canadians pronounce my name back to me in my accent. Usually with a question mark. They say “oh your name is Pah-rass?…oh you mean Pearriss, like the city?”
No, like the Hilton. Dumbass.

Autistic vs Artistic
I’ll never forget the conversation I had with my boss at the TV station I volunteer at. I was describing a movie I had seen and told her “The movie was so artistic, I loved it.” She was shocked. Okay like you’ve never seen Finding Nemo. I get it. It wasn’t until she finally whispered “I’ve never heard anyone describe a movie as being autistic before” that I realized I would have to find another word. This has happened multiple times with various levels of shock/hilarity/awkwardness.

Toner
Another escapade from my first few weeks in Toronto. I had found a new hairdresser I liked and asked over the phone if they had Toner for after you get highlights (I am not a natural blonde… Q’uelle Suprise). After the hairdresser made me spell out the word (she thought I was asking for Tuna?) she laughed and said “Oh tonearrrghhh. Sure we have that.” Thank god they didn’t put Tuna in my hair after the highlights. That would have been bad…or maybe good? Fish oils anyone? BRB Tunahair

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Google Translate
Hilarity has ensued multiple times (for Canadians) when I have used a word they are unfamiliar with. Funny thing is, I don’t just spout words totally out of context, so you know EXACTLY what I’m talking about, even if the word sounds funny to you. There is an improv game you can play where you have to speak in gibberish and act out a scene and GUESS WHAT?! People can figure out what the hell is going on when actors are making shit up worse than the Daily Mail.

Me: Where’s the bathroom?
You: The what?
Me: The washroom.
You: oh it’s over there!

Don’t. be. a dick. You knew exactly what I was asking. You just wanted me to feel bad. Well guesswhatIdon’t so HA!

Australian: Jumper > Canadian: Sweater.
Australian: Bin > Canadian: Garbage, or Trash (i forget, some of your words get mixed up with American words, and we’ve already established that i’m bi-lingual in Cantonese and English, so it’s a lot to remember).
Australian: Thongs > Canadian: Flip Flops (how many times has THIS been an awkward conversation?)
Australian: Soft Drink > Canadian: Pop or Soda
Australian: Sticky Tape > Canadian: Tape (derp…what does she mean sticky tape?)

There are just too many to list, but the list does go on.

Today I tried to buy stir sticks for the office I am working in this week. You know what those are right? The wooden sticks used to stir coffee and tea in the office. Well fine what would you call them?
Because the person I asked looked like I was completely. fucking. insane.
And I am, sure, but not today.
And what I don’t feel like doing at 10am on a Tuesday, is acting out what a stir stick is.

GAH!

Canada you have a population of around 3million people and according to wiki, in 2011 there were about 250,000 NEW immigrants! That’s about 8% of your population.

Everywhere I go I hear Irish accents, South African accents, Asian accents (all kinds) European accents… There is a huge Aussie and British population over here (duh… we run Whistler!)

So the next time you think about laughing about someones different accent, just remember…

Your accent sounds totally weird to me too.

 

Literal Advice I can take from Pop Songs: AKA how to win like Ke$ha

Take this advice and you could be as sexy/well adjusted as me

Take this advice and you could be as sexy/well adjusted as me

Put a Milkshake in your yard and boys will come there 
Thanks Kelis! Getting a new boyfriend was never so easy.

My hair can be made into a whip
Willow Smith has one apparently, and her dad is Will Smith, so you know it’s badass.

Hair Whips

Hair Whips

If I dress like a glitzy hobo and brush my teeth with a bottle of Jack (Daniels I presume…not the essence of a guy named Jack) then I will wake up feeling like a black guy.
Now THAT is some good advice, because frankly, I saw a black strippermans penis recently and I’d like to get in on that action.

Don’t go chasing waterfalls
Cos like, you’ll probably get a smashed up face whether you catch it or not, and for realz, that is the money maker baby

All you need is a Dream and a Cardigan to make it in the USA
Thanks Miley! God, here I was thinking I needed connections, and like, a visa and shit. Nope Cardigans and Dreams are all you need to party (and rule) in the USA. I’m going to head to the closest 2nd hand store and then I’m booking my tickets to L.A.X!

Say my Name
Obviously- It’s a great name. Say it a lot. Say it as many times as Destiny’s child demands, and then we’ll be all good. That’s like 50 times, but you’ll get there. And you should probably colour coordinate your room and outfit with your friends. That would be good. Otherwise you clearly don’t love me and are sleeping with some other ho and you’re  “Gettin’ caught up in your game
When you can not say my name”
Kthanks.

Don’t give your number to Scrubs
I’m imagining a pair of my nurse friends uniform. So DUH don’t give those nasty ass cotton fake-jama’s your number. They totally won’t call you. In fact, from now on, no giving your number to ANY inanimate objects.

Say no to Scrubs that won't call you back

Say no to Scrubs that won’t call you back

 

I hope that this advice has been as useful for you as it has for me.

 

You’re welcome.

 

Paris

 

Animals I would be better at being than a human

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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!

Here it is

It’s Thanksgiving in America this weekend, and while I am not American, nor do I live in America (North of the border YO!) I think it’s an important time of my life to take a deep breath and think about what is important and to say THANKYOU Universe and Science and World for letting me take my little gulps of air and to have blood thrumming all over my body in this thing we called life.

Because someone I know kind of died yesterday.

I didn’t know this person so well, he was a friend of my Mum’s and I met him and did a play with him when I was 14 years old. I knew him as a backdrop to my adolescent self-obssession, and later as an adult, as that guy who always posted a word of the day on Facebook (dang Facebook wall cloggers!)

And though I am saddened for my Mum who is sad, and I quietly mourn the loss of anyone who passes away at a time when they are too young (47), I am not a Sympathy Vampire, intent on packaging this loss to gain attention for myself, or make a statement about how this affects ME ME ME. I just note his death as a time to reflect and to take stock in a busy world.

Thank you…

Sometimes I think I’m not normal. Does everyone spend as many hours in their own head obsessing about things like I do? Do people beat themselves up as much as I do, for the passing of time and the apparent non-achievements they think should have come more easily by now?

Does everyone have this restless demon rolling around inside their ribcage, and a voice in the back of their brain that constantly cries “run away! What’s over there?! Look at all those people doing more fun stuff than you! Flee, jump, swim, out out OUT! What would Tina Fey do??”

Or is it just me?

I think it’s safe to say that most of the time I put on a very confident exterior. I just seem to get on with things. I move countries. No big. I settle in wherever. Whatevs. People have used the word brave to describe me before..

But the ugly truth of the matter is that I am a roiling rack of insecurities, fear and uncertainty. I second guess every single move I make, and it is exhausting. There is no harsher critic than yourself. And I have begun to realize that perhaps that level of  self-criticism is too hard to deal with on a day-to-day basis. Maybe it’s my oldest child syndrome forcing me to be an overachiever, or the small child in me that was bullied badly in those early years who made a vow one evening in the bathtub (I’ll show you, I’ll show all of you! I’ll get so famous and then I’ll pretend I forgot your name!), but enough is never enough. Up until this point I have never been working hard “enough” I have never made “enough” money, it’s never quiet as bright and sparkly “enough” I’m not thin “enough”.

I’ve come to realize that people don’t often talk about painful things, or things they think will put them in a lesser light. The population is afraid to look weak, or maybe we’re all just Keeping up with the Kardashians. And as a result, everybody secretly thinks they’re sucking way worse than everybody else.

That they aren’t “Good Enough.”

And that’s how I feel sometimes.

Like when my visa was screwed up, I felt like I hadn’t been prepared, and when I couldn’t get it fixed and felt like a goldfish lost in the ocean, I felt like I was failing at life. As the dollars in my bank account dwindled, and my stress levels rose, I wondered how all the other 24-year-old wannabe’s out there were doing it.

Because no one ever said to me “You know what Paris, this week I feel like I’m really fucked and sucking at all this reality.” And so I thought, “oh, it’s just me that sucks then.”

The truth is, I’m less financially secure than I have ever been in my life. I’m finally getting some TV experience and I love it, but after applying for hundreds of jobs, there is still nothing paying coming my way. I have two degree’s behind me, and I’m starting to think I should have taken four years of work experience over the higher-learning. I wonder all the time about whether I should pack in this North American adventure and head for the hills (aka either of my parents houses). I’m trying to decide if I’m making any progress, or if I’m a seagull trapped behind a glass door, continuously bashing its head against a barrier it can’t see and the thing it craves.

I’m thankful for:
My Family, who are far away, but who I love and who I miss. The older I get, the more clearly their cracks and lumps and bumps become apparent to me, but the same goes for me, and they seem to still like me anyway.

My boyfriend and my friends-wherever they may be in the world.

My ability to read and write, two of my greatest loves in this world.

Being healthy. That’s a big one, one that I know you are supposed to be thankful for, but which I never truly appreciate.

The safety I enjoy by being an Australian Citizen, for the ability to live in countries of my choice, and live in peace.

It’s not a long list, and it’s not detailed. But for richer or poorer, those are the things that matter to me. I could specify, and I have private lists that go on and on. But those are the main things, and even when I am staring down the barrel of a potentially stressful few months, or stuck inside my own head over analysing the little things and driving myself crazy, I remember (somewhere in the recesses of that other part of me that is actually pretty practical and on top of things) that I will be okay. And that my life is a tiny blip compared to the age of the earth and the stars.

End Rant.