#thatrangabird

[thatrangabird]

When someone calls springvale, chingvale

[thatrangabird]

When youre 41 weeks pregnant and people say the baby will come when its ready

[thatrangabird]

When your boyfriend says he's going to come home straight after the game

[thatrangabirdlife]

Part 42: The Incident in Adelaide

I was 16 and my Uncle’s 50th birthday was coming up. They were having a big shindig at the local RSL for him and my mum was planning to fly up there for a few days with a childhood friend of theirs. The date got closer and the childhood friend was no longer going. My mum didn’t want to fly alone, so she planned to drive. She didn’t want to drive alone, so she asked me if I would come with her.

“It’ll be a good opportunity to get your hours up on your learners.” She said.

A very good point and it wasn’t as if I had other things going on in my life at the time. I wasn’t even going to school! More importantly, I wanted her to be there for her brother's birthday, so I said I’d go with her.

One day, the phone rings. It’s my Aunty in South Australia. Let’s call her Ursula (mainly because she looks like Ursula the Sea Witch from the Little Mermaid & yes I told her that when I was 6 years old and no she hasn’t like me since.)

“Guess what! I’m coming up with mum!” I said eagerly.

“WHAT?! YOU ARE NOT!” she said.

“Oh um….” I put my hand over the mouthpiece of the phone and yelled out “MUUUUUUM.”

Mum took the phone and I ran off into my room feeling like unwanted and rejected. Eventually mum came into my room and said “If you’re not able to come then I’m not going.” but I said “I don’t wanna go - she obviously doesn’t want me there.”

The next day, I got a call from my uncle apologising on her behalf saying that it was wrong, that she shouldn’t have reacted that way and finished with “It’s my birthday, I get to choose who comes and I want you to be here with your mum celebrating with me.”

“I don’t want to cause any problems Uncle G.”  I said

“You won’t be. Everything’ll be alright when your here.”

“Alright, I’ll come.”

“Rippadoozy!” he said.

A few days later I get a call from their daughter, Rhiannon, whom I haven’t spoken to since she stayed at our place with her creepy and handsy boyfriend back when I was 14. This guy was gross. He was your typical ‘feeder’ type boyfriend of a morbidly obese woman. Not skinny but not fat. No muscle tone. Pale. Balding with untreated psoriasis. Swollen gums. He would always manage to put himself in a position where he would have to rub on me when he would walk past. For example, if I’m standing on the phone in the doorway, instead of making himself visible so I could move out of the way, he would appear out of nowhere. I would feel his hands on my hips and the crotch of his jeans scrape my butt as he walked past.

“Hey Em, so I hear you’re coming up to SA for dad’s birthday. Listen, so I’ve spoken to your mum and she’s agreed with it; how do you feel about staying with us in Adelaide for a few days while your mum goes up to Roxby to see dad? Your mum said it was a good idea and my folks are happy with it too. It’ll be cool, we’ll go into Adelaide and we’ll show you around - whattya reckon?”

I was keen in the slightest to stay with them, but she said she’d spoken to my mum and she was onboard with it, so I said yes.

“Great. I’ll call my parents and let them know.” She said.

That was the last time I ever spoke to her.

Later that night, I was in bed and I heard mum coming in the front door at around 11pm. She came into my room and sat on the edge of my bed.

“I don’t want you to stay at Rhiannon’s” she said.

“I don’t want to either but I’m only staying because I thought you wanted me to stay there?”  I said

“No, Rhiannon said that you wanted to stay there & that it was your idea?” she said

“Not a chance. No way would I want to actually stay there.”

“I knew something wasn’t right!” Mum said. “I’ll call Gary tomorrow.”

Well, that started a massive debacle. I got called a ‘lying bitch’ amongst other things but my mum and I knew the truth, I think Gary too but sadly he’s married to the sea witch so he has to take her side.

“Ma, I don’t even want to go anymore.” I said

“I know, but we have to now. Plus I don’t want to drive alone.”

“But Mum, first they don’t want me to come - now this!? It’s going to be a disaster if I’m there!”

“We’re going!” She said. “It’s a matter of principle now”

We went. It’s a 14 hour drive mind you. So we did it in 2 days. The first day we drove Melbourne to Adelaide and the second we drove Adelaide to Roxby. During the journey from Adelaide to Roxby we even drove past Rhiannon and her boyfriend on Stuart Hwy. Even speeding past at 100km an hour Mum and I both saw Rhiannon aggressively flipping us the bird!

“OMG, can you believe that?! How juvenile! And that’s coming from a 16 year old!” I said. I looked over at mum and she was silently sobbing.

“That’s my own niece” she sobbed.

It was heartbreaking to see. It just made me even more pissed off and even more eager to get this week over and done with and get back home.

Thankfully the week was cut short. After the party, which was really just a dinner at the RSL, there were arrangements for all of us to visit their son, who was as equally delightful as his sister, at the Port Augusta Prison where he was serving yet another sentence for armed robbery. One of his previous sentences was for robbing a local sports club. He stole all the Four’N’Twenty Pies and Sausage Rolls out of the freezer and took the trophies ‘to try to sell the gold.’ Gold. He thought trophies were made from actual gold. I’m telling you, these kids (actually they are in their late 20’s) they aren’t the sharpest tools in the shed.

We visit the one in prison, then we drive to Adelaide where we are staying at someone's house, I can’t remember who. We carried our bags inside and into our rooms.

“Rhiannon is coming over dinner” Ursula says to my mum

“I’m not comfortable with that Ursula” Said mum.

“You need to get over it!” said Ursula

“How would you react if one of my kids stuck their finger up at you! You would be ropeable!” Said mum as she was reenacting the scene but actually just giving the finger to Ursula.

She cackled. “Oh, get oh-ver-it Margaret” (You can see where their kids get their charm) “And you.” She said to pointing to me. “What you don’t realise Emily is that phone call you had with Rhiannon was a 3 way call!” she said

“Okay?” I said confused

“So actually, we heard everything.”

“Great, then you would have heard what actually happened!”

“YOU SAID YES!”

“I never said that I didn’t say yes! I did say yes - but only because Rhiannon told me that she’d already decided with my mum about it!”

“Oh please!” She said.

Fighting that lump in my throat, I ran off into the room.  I wasn’t capable of handling any kind of confrontation at 16 and I couldn’t hide the fact either. I get a heat rash on around my neck and chest and I get all ‘beetroot faced’. It’s highly embarrassing. My mum is also one of the least confrontational people I know, so she wasn’t far behind me.

“Grab your bags. We’re going home” She said

“Finally!” Let’s get the fuck outta here!” I said

Ursula was still harping on while we were taking our bags outside. Mums brother helped us load our things and said he would meet us down the road. So we drove a little ways and pulled into bustop.

“See ya round like a rissole!” said Uncle G, talking as if nothing had happened.

“See ya Uncle G. Sorry about all this, I shouldn’t have come hey?.”

“Hey, this has nothing to do with you, ok? This isn’t your fault.” He said assuringly.

“But Aunty Ursula said…”

“Don’t you worry about what she said.” He said.

I got in the car, and watched mum say goodbye to her brother.

[thatrangabirdlife]

Part 36: Rude Bird Guy

The best advice I ever received about how to handle the egotism & narcissism of these people, was from a sweet, lovely woman named Susan. She was the convenor for medical conference we ran on Women's Health. She had been head of the conference committee for years, involved in almost every sister event related to her field - and she was in the most difficult field of all. Medical.

I confided in her one evening post Welcome Function at the Pullman Albert Park, we were sitting outside in the smokers area when we were finishing off a bottle of the house white (the house white & red; that drinks that discussed over 2 conference calls and 6 emails debating ‘which beverage package will be used for the welcome function’ - one of the arduous undertakings when organising conference catering). I asked her “How have you been doing this for so many years? The annoying questions, the lack of common sense, the rudeness, the entitlement, the pretension, the ass-kissing. I don’t just don’t think I have it in me to keep doing this sort of work.” I admitted. “Emily, all you have to remember is…” She said and paused while she took a drag of her cigarette “... these guys were nerds in high school. They don’t have people skills.” She finished and blew the smoke out of the corner of her mouth. “And…” she said with pause as she took another drag, “Don’t take anything personally.”

She was right, they were nerds and they don’t have people skills. But the not taking anything personal part, I’ve got difficulties with. I mean, I understood what she was saying of course, I mean “don’t take it personally” is as clear as it gets. They say ‘do what you love and you’ll never work a day in your life’ They also say ‘don’t get emotionally invested in your job.’

In order to enjoy your job or chosen career, don’t you have to love it just a little bit? Doesn’t that then entail some form of emotional investment?

For example, say you’ve been worked tirelessly on the most tedious conference program of your career because despite your professional advice the convenors decided (and ofcourse later regretted) to allow the delegates who submitted an abstract and that were accepted into the conference program, that they could choose the day AND time that they would like to present. (This wasn’t nearly as bad as the other time that my advice was ignored, when the convenors decided to make all the people who submitted an abstract - all 786 of them - to review someone else’s paper; in other words, a shit show).

So you’re standing at your desk with 2 other colleagues, handing out individual name tags for the 200+ delegates who are lined up out the door & up comes a disgruntled, 40 something, ginger but balding man cutting in front of everyone, standing to the side of the desk and asks to speak to ‘someone in charge here.’ “In charge of the venue, or in charge of this conference?” I asked, fully knowing that he meant the conference, but when I’m approach liked that, I try and take the person down a peg or two first. (Not healthy, I know - but I seriously can’t stand rude people.) “This conference.” He said, realising that he wasn’t quite clear and may have been directing his rudeness to someone completely unrelated to his problem. Just for those seconds that you reply, their tone can completely change.” “Oh, to the conference” he clarified, with a smile.

“Oh, well in that case, I can help you.” I replied politely, trying to keep a more positive tone. “Oh. Well, I’ve got several abstracts in this conference…” he bragged (and I did an internal eye roll and sarcastic slow hand clap) “but not all of them are showing up in the app and I’d like it fixed immediately.” he said, rudely. His abrasive tone was like an ice pick, chipping away at the glacier that absorbed and frozen my heart and soul when I said yes to this job on the evening of the 7th of April 2012 sitting at a table at the The Boat Builders Yard, South Wharf where I was celebrating my 24th birthday.

Don’t take it personally, Emily. He’s just a nerd, Emily. He’s got no people skills, Emily. Don’t take it personally. “Oh, that’s no good” I said back to him, with a forced concerned look. The kind you give a child when they’ve misplaced something. “No, its not” he scoffed, with this side smirk that I really just wanted to dig a fisherman's hook into and pull it all the way to his ear. “I’ll be able to have a look at that for you. We are all a little tied up with registering all these people at the moment” I said with my customer service smile and gestured to the growing line of people out the doors. “If you wouldn’t mind coming back in 20 minutes just so I can give everyone their name badges they don’t miss out on….” “Now!” he demanded. (His demanding tone now a chainsaw hacking through the glacier surrounding my heart and soul; the fibre of my very being.) I knew exactly what I needed to check in the online system but I also knew how long that it would take to fix his problem & right now, my job was to give these people their name tags so they could have get access to the welcome function.

“Sir, I understand that…” “No, you don’t understand” cutting me off mid sentence with a his voice so loud that the people in the front of the line stopped talking, and even got my boss's attention from in the back office. “If you understood then you’d be doing it. If people search for my papers, they aren’t going to see all of them. Do you understand that?”

I stood there, feeling the blood rush to my cheeks as everyone started staring at me and egotistical verbal aggressor. I looked over to my right and saw my boss making his way over. “All right, what’s going on here” he said in a jovial tone to calm things down, he was truly great at doing that. “Not all of this gentleman’s papers are showing on the conference app.” I explained “And all the other papers are there, but they aren’t showing up on my profile.” He added, shedding some light on what the problem might be. “Hmm, well that’s not what you want, is it?” My boss said, jokingly. “See, he gets it.” Said the guy. I was fuming. He gets it? What the fuck don’t I get exactly, you condescending dickhead. I thought. My thoughts seriously get out of control when I’m raging internally and by out of control I mean, I pictured interlocking my fingers and wrapping my hands around the back of his head then pulling him down and smashing his face onto the desk so hard that his nose gets pushed into his face. While he’s still dazed and suffering,  I walk back a couple of meters to pick up our portable printer, the cord ripping out of the wall and flailing like a snake in the air behind me as he watches me walk back towards him. I swing the printer back behind me and clock him over the head with it, repeatedly. Think, the scene from Inglorious Bastards when you’re first introduced to The Bear Jew. I’m sick. I know.

“Hmm, we’d have to have a look in our online system what has happened exactly...hmm..” Said my boss, tapping his top lip as if giving the impression that he was pondering what the problem could be, while looking at me with the knowing glance that we both know that he doesn’t know how to use that part of the online system and that I would have to do it. “Hmm.. I’m just in the middle of something at the moment, sir” he said “why don’t you go into the welcome function and grab a drink, I’ll have a chat with Emily about what we need to do.” “Oh, I guess I can go and drink.” He said in a happy, joking tone, as if it were a chore. Like a ‘If I must..’ meaning and that pissed me off even more.

Oh everything’s now fucking hunky dory is it? You fucking pricckkk! I thought.

“I guess I’ll grab my name badge while I’m here then.” I thought, Oh now you want you’re fucking name badge? Cutting infront of all these people. Being a fucking asshole and now you want to get your namebadge before all these people that were waiting in line!? You’re a real piece of work, you know that! *I stand up on the desk, grabbing the P.A microphone, tapping on it, *tap tap tap*  HEY EVERYONE CAN I GET YOUR ATTENTION REAL QUICK, THERE’S AN IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT - THIS GUY RIGHT HERE WANTS TO LET YOU ALL KNOW THAT HIS TIME IS MORE IMPORTANT THAN YOURS AND THAT HE IS BETTER THAN ALL OF YOU. LET’S ALL PUT OUR HANDS TOGETHER, FOR THIS REAL PIECE OF WORK HERE!! LET’S GIVE IT UP FOR MR. BIG SHOT WOOOOO! *Applause*

“I said to him that I would fix it, but asked him to come back after registration just like you did!” I asked my boss. “Sometimes Red, people just need to feel like they are talking to the person that is running the show… but in this misogynistic jerk’s case, he needed to hear it from another man.” he said. “What an absolute tosser” he said, as he walked back into the office to continue whatever he was doing.

The guy didn’t come back until the next day. I was alone, working at the registration desk. “So have you fixed it yet?” I heard his voice, and closed my eyes and breathed through my mantra ‘Don’t take it personally, Emily, he’s just a nerd, Emily, he doesn’t have people skills, Emily.

“Not quite, but I’m glad you’re here. I’ve found the problem. You said you have several papers, correct?” I asked. “Yes, 7 to be exact.” I said. “Ok, well I can only see 3 here under your name…” I said and turned the screen of my laptop around so he could view what I had found” “JESUS CHRIST” he scoffed “Didn’t you hear me? I just said I have 7 papers!”

I’m raging again. Picturing a scene, like a 300 fighting scene style, where it’s normal speed reaching for my fresh black coffee, then it’ slow motion as the scolding hot liquid burns his eyeballs. Back to normal speed while he is screaming and clawing at his burning eyes, as I reach my hand to the back of my head and grab the freshly sharpened staedtler HB pencil that’s holding my hair bun in place & pull it out. I swing my arm out, then its back to slow motion, my hair unravelling past my shoulders, down my back. Blood is squirting out onto my face from the multiple stab wounds from the pencil to his jugular.

“Sir, I’m here to help you.” I said back bluntly. “Then help me.” He replied with a cocky tone. *Just breathe Emily. Don’t take it personally, Emily. He’s just a nerd, Emily. He doesn’t have people skills, Emily. Just breathe*

“It shows here, that you have uploaded 3 papers.” “But there is suppo….” He said with an upward inflection. “Let me finish” I said, cutting him off this time.

“You are the leading author on these papers. I’ve searched the other paper titles you gave, and you are listed as the CO-Author.” I said, strongly emphasising the ‘co’ part. “Is that correct? That you are not the lead author on these other 4 papers?”

“Well, that shouldn’t matter. They should be all be showing on my profile.” he admitted.

“You’re absolutely right, they should all be showing on your profile. I just need you to confirm that you aren’t the lead author on these others papers. Is that correct? “They are my students” he replied. “Well, that makes sense.” I said. “When your students uploaded their papers, each one of them listed your name differently.” I explained, pointing to the screen. “This one entered your name as your Initials & Surname, this one here entered your Full name, this one here misspelled your surname and finally, this one entered your surname where your first name should be and your first name where your surname should be.” He let out a loud sighed and shook his head in disbelief. “Did you tell them that they needed to use the email address that you used for your registration and abstract submissions?” I asked in my customer service tone. Before he could answer, I said “because that’s how they system is able to link them all together - by all the basic information being correct.” “I told them to do that.” He said, still shaking his head.

“No reason for blame, it was a simple mistake and it's a simple fix. Moving forward, you can ask your students to adjust this in their profiles, or I can fix this for you right now. Would you like me to fix this for you?” I said in my customer service tone.   “Yes. Please.” He mumbled in shame.

I turned the computer screen back to face me and fixed the submission error within a couple of clicks. “Here we go.” I said, turning the screen back so he could see his online profile. “There are your t-h-r-e-e papers, and here are your other four CO authored papers. Okay?” I said, with him seeing right through my customer service tone, hearing my ‘eat shit, you prick’ tone. “Great.” He said and knocked on the bench with his knuckles as if they were a gavel and he was saying ‘case closed.’

One last thing on this guy to wrap this story up. A couple of days later, my boss ran into him waiting in line for the men's room at the conference dinner that was held at the Cairns Cruiseliner Terminal.

I saw my boss walking out of the mens room with him, they were a both a couple of drinks down. They were both laughing as they parted, but my boss expression turned sour as soon as the guy had walked out of site. “Ran into your mate in the toilet” He said.

“Ha, oh yeah - what’dee have to say?” I asked. “He goes, ‘Gee, that red head at the front desk sure has a problem with apologising doesn’t she?”

“You’re kidding me” I laughed “Seriously.” He laughed back

We were both looking the guy when he looked over to us. We raised our glasses to him, as if to say cheers, then we disguise our mouths with our glasses as we took a sip. “Absolute dickhead” said my boss “Total wanker” I said.

The next day at the rego desk I fired up my laptop and sussed out this bloke and what he actually did. He studies bird mating behaviour. This guy, this big shot ordering me around and talking to me like I’m a piece of shit has literally spent his career watching, learning, writing and talking about birds fucking. I mean, imagine telling your parents that you’re writing a thesis on birds fucking. Perhaps they didn’t take it so well. Perhaps his mum laughed at him? Maybe his dad didn’t take him seriously -  perhaps that’s why he’s so angry.

Either way, Mr. Big shot spent his career studying birds fucking. I found solace in that.

[thatrangabirdlife]

Unpretty - Drunk or drugged Side Story

Her name was Amelia. She lived in Toorak. Her dad was a millionaire who worked for some big international company. So during the second week, Amelia invited me over for a sleepover one weekend. I told my dad and asked him if I could go. “Where does she live?” he asked. “Toorak." I replied. His eyes lit up. “Oh! What’s the street name?” he asked in a jovial tone as he pulled out the Melways to look up the address. We’d driven around Toorak before. Sometimes on the way to or from the city, would drive past all the big beautiful houses. I’d point one and and my dad would guess how much they were worth. “What do you reckon that one’s worth?” I’d ask. “Hmm, it doesn’t have a big gate...probably $700” He’d say with the hundred thousand implied. “What about this one?” I’d ask again. His whistle, that could be interpreted and translated in different ways, usually meaning ‘a great or vast amount’. “That’s definitely over a mil”. My dad was pretty good a guessing things. When we would be out grocery shopping, I would give him a piece of fruit, he would move it around in his hand, throw it up slightly a couple of times and guess the weight. “Hmmm.. 300gm.” He’d say. I’d run over to the scales that hung over the piles of fruit and veg and place the fruit in there and sure enough, it would be 300gm. He was only every off by 10 or so grams. ‘The stem must have fallen off.’ he’d say if he got it wrong.

That weekend, Dad drove me to Amelia’s. We counted the houses until we reached which one was theirs. He whistled. ‘Private gate’ he said. “Whattya reckon it costs?” I asked? “Let’s see when we get inside!” He said We rang the doorbell from the gate. A voice came out. “Hello?” “Hello” my dad said in a clear voice. “Can you hear me?” He asked, not knowing if he was supposed to press on of the buttons. “Yes, I can here you. I can see you too.’ Said the voice. My dad’s eyes darting around for a camera. “Come on in.” We heard a buzzing sound, and the gate slowly begun to open and we both whistled simultaneously.

Amelia and her parents were standing at the double front door and welcomed us into the entrance that was the size of our dining room, kitchen and lounge room together. The staircase winded upstairs along the wall like something I’d only ever seen in the movies. My dad an I stood there speechless, trying to keep our cool and that seeing a house like this was nothing out of the norm. The parents talked and I heard my dad say that he would be around at 11am the following day to pick me up. I ran up the giant staircase and stopped halfway around and looked down at my dad and waved goodbye. The expression on his face said ‘Please God please, stay friends with this one!’  But that wouldn’t happen. Amelia showed me to her room, or rooms should I say. Her bedroom, as in the room that her 4 post mahogany queen bed was in.

I stopped at the door. “Would you like me to take my shoes off before I come in?” I asked politely. “Um, if you want? Why?” She asked. “I have to take my shoes off before walking on the carpet at my house. Incase my shoes are dirty?” I said. “Oh, don’t worry about that” she exclaimed. “We have a cleaner," She said brazenly . "Oh you mean like a vacuum cleaner?" I said. "No, a cleaner. Someone that cleans our house." She replied and rolled her eyes while she  turned back to walked into her room. I stepped foot on that carpet with my shoe on - I felt like I was doing something wrong. Plus I knew that if it made a mess, that I would be responsible for the cleaner having to clean up after me. So I tiptoed onto the carpet instead. “You can put your bag here” She said, gesturing to a spot next to her mahogany tall boy that matched her Mahogany Queen Sized bed. “I’m going to take my shoes off anyway” I announced. “Okayyy” she said with that 14 year old ‘you’re weird’, kind of tone. I sat down and basked in the sheer height of the ceilings and gazed upon the ornate crown moulding that lined the edges. I stood back up and I felt my feet sink slightly into the carpet. I’d never felt anything like it. “Is this brand new carpet?!” I asked “No?” she said in the same tone as she said ‘Okayyy’. “Feels new. It's so soft and bouncy. ” I said as I bounced gently on the spot. “That’s your bed?” I asked “Yeahhh??” She said again in the same confused tone. “What you don’t have a bed?” She asked. “Ofcourse I have a bed, but not a frame! My parents don’t even have a bed like this!” I told her. “Can I sit on it?” I asked. “Knock yourself out” She said.  I pulled the thick, heavy doona back and it made the same sound as the display beds in Myer. (Homegoods was on the top level of the department store, as was the counter for the Lay-by section.) “Wow! Is this goose or duck feathers?” I asked in excitement. “My dad just got a duck quilt off layby. He says goose is the best, but in some cases a high quality duck down can be better than a goose down.” I proudly said, as if I were imparting knowledge on her. “I don’t know and I don’t really care. “Why are you asking all these weird questions?” She jumped up onto the bed and sat directly on the doona. “What are you doing!?” I shrieked. You’re not supposed sit on a feather doona! You’ll damage the feathers!!” She laughed “You’re funny. Let’s go hang out in my TV room.” “You’re TV room?” I repeated in disbelief.

She slid off the bed and walked to another door. While her back was turned I quickly fluffed the doona back up to save the feathers. She stood in front of another set of double doors, that slid to each side and unveiled another room that was just as big as her actual bed room. An entire wall showcasing a collection of CD’s and DVD’s. Behind that wall was her own ensuite bathroom. She had a reasonable sized TV, but not as big and as good as the ones I’d seen in Myer, but bigger than the one colour TV that we had at home. She walked behind her computer desk and and began typing away at her very own laptop” “Whoa, you’ve got laptop?!” I said, wide eyed.

“Yeah, but it’s piece of shit I’m getting the latest Sony one soon.” She said. I knew the one she was talking about, I’d seen the commercial.  Soon after Her mum walked into the room dressed in same type of clothes that I’d seen on the mannequins in Myer. Her lipstick, a deep maroon, matched the colour of her purse and high heels, or stilettos I should say. I had recently learnt at the modelling school. Not a single hair on her head was out of place, nor did it move. I imagined the amount of hairspray that would have been used to keep it all in place.

“We’re leaving now Amelia. You girls have fun.” her mum said. “Bye” Amelia said, without even look up from her laptop & her mum walked out. “They’re going out?” I asked. Did my dad know that we were going to be unsupervised? Surely not. “Yeah, they’ll probably be back tomorrow. Hey you want a beer?” Tomorrow? I thought. “Uhh a beer?” I asked hesitantly. “What you’ve never had a beer before?” she asked in a seemingly judgemental tone. “Of course I’ve tried one before.’ I lied. “I’ll get you one” She said as she came out from behind her desk and walked out of the bedroom. I remember feeling so stupid and now nervous. ‘Why couldn’t you just say no? Now you have to drink it or else it will be rude. What if dad finds out that we were unsupervised AND drinking! “Here” she said, as she handed me the brown glass bottle of beer. I didn’t even recognize the label from the commercials on TV. This one had a red and purple label, with the word ‘MOONSHINE’ in white letters across the top. “My dad has cases of the stuff. He doesn’t notice it’s gone.” she said. “Oh cool” I said back and took a swig. “Ughhh” I winced and shook in disgust. My entire face pursed together like I had put 2 warheads in my mouth. It was bitter and my breath felt hot. My ears clicked open and my nose cleared up like I’d just sniffed a vic’s vapor rub. “The taste gets better after a few sips.” she said taking a big swig of her own. I remember thinking to myself, how the hell was I going to be able to get rid of this drink. ‘I’ll take it to the bathroom with me and tip some of it down the sink while I’m washing my hands. Wait, but what if she goes in after me? She’ll smell it for sure.’ I sat on the couch awkwardly, and slowly slipped away and focusing all my attention on not retching at the taste and smell of what I would only learn years later that the Grand Ridge Brewery Moonshine Scotch Ale that I drank 8.5%. I only realise I was affected by it after I stood up to go to the bathroom. It felt pretty good, Dizzy, but happy. And warm. Then I entered my 'brown out' stage.

“Let’s jump in the pool.” she suggested, laughing. “No way! I laughed” It’s freezing outside!” “The pool is heated.” She said convincingly

The last memories I have of that night were of her and I jumping in the pool, fully clothed. Not thinking or even caring about having to lie about my wet clothes the next day. We came back upstairs and I got dressed into my pyjamas.

“You want some pills?” she said. “What are they for?” I asked. “They make you feel good” she said. “Yeah ok” I agreed. I took the blue pill from the palm of her hand, full knowing I shouldn't take it. That it was stupid and irresponsible and kind of scary. ‘Don’t swallow it, Don’t you dare swallow it’ I told myself as I waited for Amelia to turn around so I could spit it out, and I did.  I spat it back out, put it in my hand, then hid it in my bag.

That was the last thing I remember doing. I woke the next day realising that I didn’t even remember going to bed. I sat up and saw I was in the bed. I was freaked, but composed because I didn't want to seem like a loser that couldn't handle their shit. I got up and walked into the TV room and saw Amelia on the couch in her TV room, with the TV still turned on.

“Morning” she said. “Morning” I said back. “You slept for ages. Get dressed and we’ll go grab some food.” she said

We walked down the road to a take away food shop, where Amelia was known by the owners. She ordered me a Souvlaki or a Gyros type thing - It was the first time I’d ever eaten anything like that and it was friggen delicious. We sat inside the small shop take-away shop and munched away as bits of meat, onion and red lettuce fell between our fingers onto the paper bag beneath it. “You ever had marijuana before?” she asked “No. But my sister does it all the time.” I replied. “I do” She said. “Where do you even get it from?” I asked. “I have sex with this guy and he just gives it to me, for free!” She said.

I didn’t see Amelia anymore after that. I had my problems and even I knew that was something I didn’t want to be around.

[thatrangabirdlife]

Unpretty - Funny story Oaks Embassy

That evening that we checked in, my friend-league Brooke sat and talked about the mischief we got into up at the our last conference in Cairns over a couple of house wines mixed with solo and grazed at a shared bowl of wedges topped with bacon and melted cheese. It’s funny when you agree to sharing something off the menu even though you are both quite hungry but didn’t want to order a main. You suddenly notice that you’re paying attention to which potato wedge has more seasoning, and melted cheese on it and strategically scoop the bacon bits onto your side of the bowl. The dips into the sweet chilli sauce get more selfish with each swipe. We washed them down with a wine and solo, a drink that we coined ‘our drink’ bact at our first conference together on a warm night in Darwin together some months back. I walked out of the lift and fumbled around in my bag insearch of my room key when I felt my foot become wet from what I could only hope was water soaking through my $20 spend-less-shoes ballerina slippers.

 When I took my next step I heard that unmistakable squish soaked carpet makes. I rushed to the bathroom thinking “I must have left the tap on” even though I had never left a tap running before in my life and in the back of my mind I knew that it would have taken much more than an overflowing bathroom sink to make this amount of flooding. Finding that it wasn’t from my bathroom, I felt the walls thinking maybe it was dripping down but they weren’t. Then I heard yelling next door. The more I paid attention to the sound, I could hear it was a male and female couple, and that the television was turned up loud. I texted Brooke who came up to my room immediately. We both listened next door and could hear that these people were drunk or on the gear. 

“If my bathroom is on this side of the room, then this wall where the water is leaking, must be coming from their bathroom. I’m gonna knock on their door and see if whats up.” I said. I walked out and stood infront of their door, I looked once over at Brooke & we shared one of those ‘who knows what’s going to happen next’ looks & I knocked on the door. We heard the voices go quiet and heard heavy feet staunch to the door. We looked at eachother again with wide eyes as if to say ‘what the fuck’. The door opened and I quickly whipped my neck back to face the person standing behind it, to find a slightly overweight man with faded prison style tattoos on his chest and biceps, standing  there completely naked. I awkwardly tried keep direct eye contact with him but both of his eyes were cock-eyed, I didn’t know which one to look at! I made a choice and locked onto the left one and didn’t budge. I don’t think I even blinked. I didn’t even want to accidentally look at this junkies sad junk.

“Yeah?” He burped. “Uhh, G’day. I’m staying next door and my room is flooded. Is your room alright? Or have you guys maybe left a tap running?” I asked gently. “Ohh! Is it?” He smiled. “We’re ‘avin a bath.” He drunkly says “Ahh ok, that probably explains the water in my room, aye. Is the bath overflowing?” “You wanna come in and check it out” He burped again at the end of that sentence. “Hahaha” I laughed in a friendly manner “I’m gonna have to pass on that offer mate.” I declined politely, not wanting to upset him. Not that I cared about his feelings, but because I’ve known people like this in the past and they can be… unpredictable I think being the best word here. He just stared at me. Or he was looking at Brooke standing behind me, I couldn’t tell. He’s eyes were so skewed, they were like two repelling magnets. “Alright, well have a good one.” I said, as I turned and looked back at Brooke with even wider eyes that internally screamed “OH MY GOD WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT.” We linked arms and laughed our way down the corridor to the lift, all the way down to the check in desk where we told the receptionist about my room.

“I knocked on their door to ask them if they’re room was also flooded..” I said “and..” “Did he answer the door naked?” She interrupted “Unfortunately, yes. Urgh, you had to see that to huh” I sympathized with her. “Yes, he invited in to have a look, but I was too afraid! I’ve seen enough movies to know that that was one of those ‘don’t go in there’ moments.' We laughed. “We’ll, they’re having a bath and it’s obviously overflowing because it’s flooded the carpet in my room.” I explained. “Oh God" she said as she rolled her eyes. "I called security about this half an hour ago and they’re still not here.” She said to us. “I think you may need to call the cops for this one.” I said back to her. “We’ll put you in a different room, but it might not be for another hour or so.” She told me. It was pretty late, around 8pm. Brooke and I had already eaten a handful of wedges but we went going to say no to having to go back out for another drink. “Oh, if we must” we sarcastically sighed to eachother. “Is anything of yours damaged from the water? ” She asked. “No” I answered. “My bags are still packed and sitting on my bed.” “Ok great.” She replied as she typed away in her computer. “If it’s ok with you, we can take your bags into your new room when it’s ready?” she asked. “Yeah sure, no worries” I responded.

"Back to the Strathy?" asked Brooke “Yeah just to be different" I joked.

[thatrangabirdlife]

Unpretty - Skin Problems Side Rant

“Oh this isn’t dandruff” she says. “Are you sure?” I ask. “Because when I scratch my head there’s always always always skin under my nails. And it’s always itchy” “Yeah nah, you’re not rinsing the shampoo out of your hair thoroughly enough babes.” she says. “Ohh ok” I said confused and unconvinced. “But just to be sure, what you need is to buy this scalp treatment (for $29.95), then you’ve gotta use this same brand shampoo and conditioner (at $19.95 for the shampoo but $24.95 for conditioner.”

You better bloody believe that the conditioner bottle is 50ml smaller than the shampoo) Then when you’re out of the shower, run this leave in conditioner mousse (at $16.95 a pop) and massage this light oil into your scalp ($49.95 for a 10ml glass bottle) - I know it’s expensive, but you literally only need the tiniest bit so it will last you forever. So ontop of the $250 I just wasted on the appointment, she’s trying to get another $100+ out of me through products. I can’t stand it when people do that. What is most annoying about the whole experience, is how these people pressure you into buying their products. They’ll pull them off the shelf and sit them in front of you on the little table, or even at the cash register, in order to make you feel guilty about not buying them! It’s a sales tactic. Everybody knows it. It’s what salesman do. BUT HEY, HAIR EXPERTS - YOU’RE NOT SALESMEN, YOU’RE HAIR EXPERTS. SO JUST DO THAT. They only want to boost their sales by guilting you into buying their products, 100%. 

Like ‘hey, look at this fabulous job I did with you’re hair, and we talked and I made you feel relaxed vulnerable by massaging your scalp, we’re friends remember, here, buy these products won’t you..frieenndd). Then when you don’t want to buy them it’s like you’ve personally offended them. They stop smiling, stop making eye contact, they’re slamming the keys on the cash register and just throw the eftpos machine across the counter to you and give you the fakest smile and goodbye when you leave. To this day, I haven't found 1 single hairdresser (and I’ve been actively searching mind you) that actually gives a shit about people with a problematic hair and scalp issue. When I go in there, they see me more as the type of customer that hardly goes to the hairdresser but when they do, it’s like giving them a makeover and making them feel pretty for a couple days’ you know what I mean? Instead of an actual paying customer who is legitimately asking for professional advice.  Anyway - so my scalp & ears also on the list.