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.

skeptical-baby

  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.

5 ways to downgrade last nights regrets, AKA What do you and Jesus have in common?… You both got hammered.

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It’s Easter weekend, a time to explore how many chocolate eggs you can cram into your face-hole without catching the diabetes, while also pondering how bunnies and some jewish guy play into things (I want to say…re-incarnation? As bunnies? Is it that?! Am I right?! WHAT DID I WIN?!!!!!!!!!!!?)

A three day weekend means extra opportunities to hideously embarrass myself while under the influence of alcohol, and much like that guy who talked shit about Jesus behind his back (because… you know… he thought he was dead and all…awkward) I plan to wake up on Monday with plenty of regrets.

Some people can walk away from ridiculous weekend shenanigans without a backwards glance and I salute those super villians. But for me, what with the overly-active inner dialogue that is running at all times, I like to stew on that shit… build it all up in my mind until I convince myself I can never be seen in public again.

I have a very specific way to handle these situations and you’ll know if I feel I have wronged you/allowed you to see how uncool I am in a weakened alcohol-induced state if I behave in the following ways:

1. Bake you Apology brownies
I’m sorry I brought those really rowdy Irish guys back here for a post drink at 3am & then threw up in the refrigerator (kidding… only half of those things happened). The good news is I woke up feeling terrible (in every extreme sense of that word) and immediately went and bought brownie ingredients so I could bake myself back into your good books. If you don’t love me now, I’ll make it so you get really fat, and then no one else will love you, so you’ll have to be my friend. I’ll be your only option. *HAHA! – evil cackle.

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2. Block delete you from my phone
I say pretty much whatever I think without a filter on a good day, so when you add natures truth serum to the mix, I’m basically a walking talking ball of blunt emotion and loudly assertive opinions. I’m pretty great at hiding my true feelings and remaining mysterious at all times (in opposite world – good one Paris *highfives self*) – so when I wake up after a particularly gruesome evening of truth-spewing, sometimes my go to move is to just block delete you from my life for a while. I’ll know you’re a candidate when I open up my inbox and I’ve successfully cleared our entire conversation history, therefore protecting my brain from the specifics, whilst also allowing it to imagine the worst. So if you find that your texts aren’t going through – it’s because I’m avoiding you. Forever. Or until you do something retarded in my presence. Then we’re square.

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3. Verbal Diarrhoea the horrific experience to everyone we both know
Have you ever heard the expression “a problem shared is a problem halved?” Well I like to think of it more like “a problem shared means that the more people you tell the less it stings because you get de-sensitized to people’s reactions by how awful it is, whatever it is you have done.” Also if we can both laugh at me, then nobody is sobbing. It’s a lllllllll good. Why am I telling you this story that makes me seem like a drunken physco? What do you mean it’s weird because we haven’t spoken in two years. Fine. I’ll just go.”

4. Deny everything…vehemently
I confessed my undying love for you and then made out with someone else while maintaining eye contact?!? That never happened! I have no idea what you are talking about. I wasn’t even that drunk last night, now help me get my handbag out of this tree. Good day sir! (Years later under the same influence I may HINT at the knowledge of such events, but some things get locked up in the vault and even photographic evidence won’t make me admit to any participation.)

5. Go AWOL
Sometimes when things are reallllllllllly cringey, I’ll make a vow to never drink again and I’ll slip quietly off the radar (for about 5 seconds or until the next big social event I couldn’t possibly miss). You’ll know this is what I’m doing when you realize no one has aggressively tried to make out with you while also screaming Destiny’s child “SAY MY NAME” in your ear, or because you’ll stalk a picture of me on Facebook and see I’ve lost a few pounds from around my face (damn you beer bloat) and I’m posting more photos of food (yep I turn into that girl) and not blurred photos of me tonguing some kind of bottle and glazed over eyes. This is the worst possible option for me personally because much like a reoccurring pimple on your face, I’ll go away for awhile and then I’ll re-appear, worse than ever.

 

Much like Jesus, you can learn from me.

You’re welcome.

 

 

 

Oh Gladys (This Blog brought to you by the letters T.M.I)

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So it’s winter time, and many of the women folk I know are letting certain things grow naturally (because it’s cold and goddamnit we’re lazy by nature). And that is great if you have a sig-nig-other, props to you ladies, do your thang. But being single, well that’s  a whole-nother risk. There are impromptu naked-fests with people who have never seen you thusly (or who’ve seen you thusly, who you’re trying to convince want to continue to see you…in the nudie) – and it’s already winter, your skin is pasty as shit, you’re older so its all beginning to sag, and you’ve probably put on a few. So best to keep certain areas as well-tended as possible.

So with that in mind, and the fact that it’s cheap Tuesday over at my torture chamber spa of preference, I headed off into the freezing rain (I walked there because well…its winter, and I’ve got to squeeze my excercise in between Ben & Jerry’s binges) and I got to thinking about some appropriate topics of conversation during the waxing (we’re talking about getting a brazillian for those slow to catch on).

See, before I left my house, my loving roommates joked that they bet I’m one of those awkward clients that try to make conversations.

And they are spot on.

I think its weird to have another woman’s hands all over your bits and not be like “so hey, how’s it going?”

Plus, I don’t know if you’ve tried this recently, but getting your pubes yanked out is ridiculously painful, so I like to make small talk to take my mind off it.

But nothing could have prepared me for Gladys.

Five foot zilch, mid to late forties, mother, Ecuadorian. She had eyebrows that would make your pencil-drawing-granny proud and a sassy post-divorce haircut that just oozes attitude.

All was going well, we’d talked about the weather (shitty) and how cold it is lately (it’s cold) and then the conversation took a turn for the bizarre (which is saying something for me)

Gladys: You know. I’m Latina, so all my clients think I’m Loco. That means crazy.

Me: (One hand holding butt cheek, one pulling stomach skin taught) Right.

Gladys: All the Spanish women – we’re crazy. But not as crazy as the men. You ever had a Spanish boyfriend?

Me: (Flinching as wax is applied, then ripped off with paper) I can’t say that I have.

Gladys: Aye me. I had this one boyfriend, Cuban. He was crazy. Like, sex 100 times a day. Animal. I told him: That’s not making love. I don’t want that. I was always tired. Couldn’t walk. Y’know?

Me: …

Gladys: How old are you?

Me: Twenty Five.

Gladys: Aye, so you could probably handle it. But me? At my age? I can’t even. Can you lie on your stomach now darling?

Annnnnnd Scene.

I don’t know, if you’ve ever had, a forty something year old woman talk about her sex life while waxing your … But I can tell you right now, even in Paris world…well…this was certainly an interesting Tuesday.

 

That one time, at Band Camp, when we made a Video out of my Blog

Hey Peeps

That's you!

That’s you!

 

Remember that time AustraAlien teamed up with a really cool chick with a camera, a dude named Daniel who was kind-of just along for the ride, and a freaking hilarious musician to turn one of her blogs into a video and then posted that video on her blog?

Great news! That day is this day!

You may watch below.

Enjoy the fantastic “sleep-acting” and sexy belly squeeze.

You’re welcome.

Well at least life is interesting

Sometimes I forget that not everyone travels around and lives in different places as easily as I do. I don’t feel particularly different from the people I meet, and I try to live in the moment as much as possible. I have been living in Toronto for almost 2 years (June 12 is my 2 year Anniversary with Canada) and I guess at this point I’m surprised when people think its neat that I am from Australia.

Oh yeaaaah, I’m from Australia. Right.

People is People, as they say (in the muppets 1984) and to be honest, I forget you are all Canadian.

Buuuuut…eesh…awkward…I’m not really from Australia, because I’ve now lived more years overseas than I ever did in the land of my Parents and Grandparents (cheers for the sweet passport). There are days when I miss Sydney like crazy, but I realize it’s the people and the time that it represented that I miss the most (Uni days with the best girlfriends and guyfriends in the world). Okay I miss the Harbour Bridge and King street Newtown, the Beaches and Paddington, but the great thing about my little Navy Passport with the Kangaroo and Emu on it, is that I can go back any time.

And I honestly feel like I COULD just slot back in there. Familiar streets, familiar faces.

Anyone that knows me well knows that I secretly FREAK out when it comes to change, but they also know that I am constantly making myself do weird things and change-it-up because I am like two people sharing the same personality. One, a quiet homebody type who doesn’t really want to rock the boat and wants to live a quiet, friendly, calm, stable life, and the other a crazy, Adventurous, eccentric type who says “f^%$ you, I do what WANT!” And moves to the otherside of the world with no warning.

Like on April 3rd 2013.

On April 3rd 2013 I’m going home to Hong Kong for 7 weeks to work as an Assistant Stage Manager on a rather huge production, home to the land of my High School friends, my mother, and our Irritating but adorable Cat Guinness.

Guinness the Cat

Guinness the Cat

The homebody me at first dismissed the idea of going:

Homebody Me: What about the opportunities here you may miss out on? What about your room, you’ll have to find a sublet, what about…what about…what about…

But luckily for me, my eccentric side listened to the many naggings on my mother, and simply decided, “screw this, I’m going”…and booked a ticket, confident that the rest would just fall into place. (Which it always does)

And with each day that passes since I simply made up my mind to go, I’m getting more and more excited. Because the Adventurous me gets nervous when things are a bit too quiet, and what seems more fun? Temping and doing Volunteer TV stuff, or going to Asia and working on a West End like production? If the universe unfolds as it should, and with the Job market such a dogs breakfast over here…maybe I was meant to take this opportunity all along?

With my new 2 year Canadian work visa up for renewal, and the idea that I will continue to live in Toronto for the next two years, the homebody part of me is somewhat satisfied that there is stability on the horizon.

And the adventurous part of me is PSYCHED to learn some new things, meet some new people, reconnect with old friends, and generally spend some time deviating from the norm some more.

I am an Australian born, Asia Bred girl of 24 who lives in Canada.

Got all that? Good.

I’m going to jot this one down in “experiences”

Being unemployed has its suckyness and its awesomeness.

It sucks because, money is pouring out of your pocket faster than it is pouring in (worst). It also sucks because you spend your days tweaking a document that maybe, just maybe, you can fix JUST SO, so that employers will realize you are the fantastic, charismatic, charming girl you are in real life. You spend the day gazing at job posting websites, or kijiji, or hiking around the mall in your cute pretend corporate get-up with a sweaty grey file full of those pieces of paper clutched in your hands. You spend the day trying to convince people that seem to hate their life why YOU TOO should join their organization and maybe YOU could have the opportunity to hate your life too!

Then there is the sparkling hope, (this is the awesome part by the way) the idea that every resume and cover letter sent off or dropped by, could be the next fun thing, the next big adventure, the part that leads to the next part. Does everyone live with this same idealistic hope or just me? Who’d a thunk-it that a retail job where minimum wage is $10.25 in Canada could be so alive with potential.
Mama says: If you always do what you’ve always done, then you’ll always get what you’ve always gotten.

Wise words. I feel their invisible power tattooed across my brain. That saying is probably what drives my very existence. Well…that and that song from Pochahontas “Just around the river bend”… because seriously, whats back there? Gold? A kingdom of sloths? A tiny toy car factory staffed by midgets?

I digress.

I have been handing out a lot of resumes and cover letters that basically say “BLAH BLAH BLAH hire me for the love of god BLAH BLAH Kind regards, Paris.” And the truth of the matter is, if you hustle with some muscle (do we like that one?… I’m not sold on it frankly) then you are going to get some emails back, some calls and some interviews.

And thus, I have had all of the above. It is so exciting when you get an email back in the first 24 hours, you think, THEY REALLY LIKE ME! But sometimes those can lead to nothing and that second email doesn’t come back to you.

Then you get a call to come in for an interview. And so off you go, giggling with excitement, into the dark hole of the unknown with that little folder of resume’s your only flotation device.

So, a week and a half ago, I go to an interview, for what I think is a restaurant job. I go down to a very trendy part of downtown Toronto. I brushed my hair, I even applied some makeup (teehee, what fun!) and I wait in the very swanky plush restaurant area. There are three of us waiting to be interviewed. The guy interviewing us shows up late in a flap (by the way this mans name is Norwayne, a name I have never come across, personally) and it soon becomes apparent that the job is in fact a hosting position at a totally different club. The Norwayne man, tries as tactfully as he can, to tell me, that this job involves…scanty dress. I’m nodding along like, yep yep, tits out for the boys, gotcha. My interview is done in 2 minutes, I walk out of the building and Norwayne and I part ways forever.

Yesterday, I went to an open job interview for a new restaurant that is opening up. First of all, I walk into the place and it has a big blow up picture of a girl dressed in, what I can only describe as an Irish get-up that hooters would be proud of. Think mini tartan skirt, tartan bra, and tie up white shirt over miniscule tartan bra. Second, the picture has been dissected, as if this were a scientific drawing, with helpful hints like, “Tartan girls are always proud of their personal hygiene” and for some reason… a line pointing straight at this girls crotch. Or, a line drawn from this girls boobs with the hot tip “Tartan girls must wear the Tartan bra uniform. No other bra may be worn underneath”. I should have walked straight out. No miniscule tartan bra is going to be able to fight gravity and what I’m lugging. And third, instead of a sign saying “Job interviews” there was a sign that said “Casting”.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I still have secret aspirations of becoming an actress and having paparazzi trying to break onto my lawn, but…this is a waitress job, is it not? Lets call a tray wielding waitress, a tray wielding waitress.
I had the interview, surprise surprise I don’t have enough serving experience.

Time to start lying on that Resume….
End Rant

 

Ridiculous Ramblings

I have a lot of time to think in the day as the job I’m doing at the moment requires me to sit quietly and listen, and only occasionally do something.

(yay).

So I have lots of time to live in my own head. This can be a good and a bad thing. It’s a good thing because it means I get to know myself, probe the depth of my crazy, really get acquainted with all the nooks and cranny’s, learn the quirks in the way I’m programmed. It’s bad obviously because it means I can obsess over things and they can grow like a shadow into huge monstrous things, made of some tiny little spec.

And like a child alone in their room, I, alone in my head, fixate on the spec until I’m convinced that the huge shadow has come to eat/kill/torture me and that I will not make it through the night.

But I always seem too. Which is disappointing. Not in the sense that I’m emo and like (boo) I’ve lived to see another dawn and, you know, live in my middle class life with my middle class problems, but because I’ve spent so much time terrified of things that aren’t, or are but not as big a deal.

KnowwhatImean?

So, recently, as you would know from my crude cartoon, a boy I love kindof broke my heart. And I haven’t really put anything out there online about it because sometimes I read heartbroken blogs or Facebook status’s and I’m like “REALLY!?!?!?! DON’T YOU HAVE A DIARY?!” because there are things that you just don’t want to know/don’t have enough care/brain space to know.

Think Homer Simpson and his “I learned so much it pushed other things out of my brain.”

And I’ll put it out there, I DO have a journal into which the worst of the rambling goes – it’s pretty schizophrenic as my pride, emotions, heart, ego, hurt, desire, regret and subconscious all vie to take over the pen (sometimes it’s like John Malcovich in there) with one page saying “I love him” and the next “What a douche. Just look at your fine self.” But that is not for the world to see. That is for me to collect myself and present an “I’m GREAT!” image to the world and then re-read it in a year when I’m done with being sad without anyone else having to know how nuts I truly am.

SO, what point am I rambling my way towards? *quickly scrolls up to re-read what has been written* ah yes.

Obsessing over things, seeing a monster in a shadow and being sad about getting my heart crushed.

Last night I confronted a real monster and it put things into perspective. My beautiful street, which I love to live in, in trendy Sheung Wan, is about 40meters long and 10 meters wide. There are probably 100+ people that live in it and it is high density living although the buildings are all low rise.

There isn’t much you could do at night that your neighbors would NOT hear and generally, it is a nice place to live. Except that last night (11.45pm) everyone in the street could hear a woman having the shit beaten out of her, screaming and crying, and a man screaming at her.

It was so loud, and was coming from our side of the street. I looked out my window and saw loads of people looking out of their windows too. I was shaking, it was the most horrible sound. Mum said “I know who it is, i’ve called the police on him before.”

We slipped on shoes, put on coats over our pajamas and grabbed our phones and keys. Mum and I marched into the street and stood outside the building.

Something not a lot of people know about my mum is that in her childhood, she was subjected to intense physical, mental and sexual abuse. Sometimes I think she is a bit of a hardass and a bit too “tough love-y” but when I think back to the first 15 years of her life, I can see that she’s strong because she had to be. She couldn’t give a f*ck and she’s not afraid of anybody.

Anyway she marched into the street last night and screamed up at the building (which is where the abuse-noise was coming from). The guy went quiet and then called down for us to F*ck off. My mum yelled back that she would not and that she was calling the police (which we did) and then we stood outside and waited for them. The horrible thing was, people in our street were yelling at us to shut up and saying even more obscene things like, calling us Sluts and Bitches.

When I looked up in the street there were people in so many windows. And we were the first to do something?

It put into perspective that there are things out there far worse than the fact that your ex changed his facebook status/picture/didn’t write back to your pathetic texts. There are worse things at 22 than feeling rejected or fat or not having anything nice to wear.

I am sad. But last night I also realized that I am lucky. I’m waking up today with a bruised heart, not a bruised face. I can obsess all I want in my head about shit, and try and guess the future (I’m really bad at guessing), but really, my present is extremely good.

I hope that woman is okay.

Picture thieved from: http://pion.pl/cowboys.php?q=homer-simpson-brain-image&page=3

http://manlyexcellence.com/forum/viewtopic.php?f=11&t=16250&start=80