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Today, he sat on the bus next to me as I was on my way home (alone) from a day with Andrew. I answered his questions with one-word answers, as usual, squished over into a corner and started to read. He asked me about my book, I continued to give one-word answers. He said he'd seen me with "that guy with the beard," asked me if he was my boyfriend, I said yes. He asked me if I liked him [my boyfriend]. I said yes. All of this is a bit scary, because Andrew wasn't with me when I got on the bus, so either he was standing around at the bus stop at Broadway watching me with Andrew (and I'd just missed a bus, so that's stalking), or he's seen us together some other time. He said that he asked because he had been considering asking me out. I said, "I'm really not interested, thanks," in my flattest, firmest tone of voice. I continued to be squished over in the corner. He didn't move when the bus emptied and just about every other seat was empty. I was projecting my best 'don't mess with me' thing, but apparently this didn't work with my 'victim' body language.
Finally, when we were nearing my stop, he said, "You're really sexy, you know that?" And then, it was like a cut-scene in a video game. I had been pondering what to say to get rid of this jerk, and then it came out of me like it wasn't even me talking. I barked, "You're making me really uncomfortable. I want you to leave me alone." He seemed to smirk at me, and didn't move, so I said it again, so loud I think the driver must have heard over the engine noise. "No, I mean it. Leave me alone!" He scurried off to another seat somewhere behind me. He got off at the stop before me, his buttcrack hanging out of his pants.
I think he might not hassle me any more. If he does, I can yell, "Look, I told you I wasn't interested, that you make me uncomfortable and that I want you to leave me alone. Leave me alone, or I'm calling the police." My sisters will have to do the same thing, since he clearly has no idea what acceptable modes of behaviour are, and that makes me think that he might go further. I don't want to be a rape victim. I mean, you can't blame a guy for trying, but I think that after I said that I wasn't interested, in those exact words, there is no excuse for hassling me any longer. I have a great deal of sympathy for lonely people, I don't usually judge people on appearance and, in fact, I probably wouldn't find him so ugly if he didn't keep hassling me and mine. But that is simply unacceptable. I came home, washed my hands several times and ranted about it. Now that I think about it, I'm really proud that I yelled at him. I could have stayed huddled over in the corner, ignored him when he made me uncomfortable, and had to deal with it again. Now he's got an idea that it's not okay and I'm hoping he won't hassle any of us again. Failing that, I've set a precedent by telling him to leave me alone, so that gives me some legal standing if anything does go wrong, and if I have to talk to the police.
UPDATE: When I was stuck on the bus with that creep, I was feeling trapped, and thinking that I wouldn't know how to react if he'd groped me. Talking about it with my family a minute ago, I said, "It's not like that's ever happened to me before." But then I remembered: A couple of years back I was waiting at a bus stop in Ashfield with my sister. A drunk guy (there are many odd and drunk people in my area. A neighbouring suburb has the highest population of mentally ill people in the country, I believe, and they tend to go to the RSL Clubs and the Leagues Clubs and get drunk) shambled up then leaned against my breast, as if for support. I shoved him away and yelled, "Get off me!" He shambled off, looking puzzled at me. I think he may actually have been so drunk that he didn't know what was going on. So, I do know what to do when people do inappropriate things. I rock! I have great assertiveness powers. I can get rid of jerks. But I don't think I like buses and bus stops much any more.
My wearing of pyjamas does not in any way impede domestic activities. I'm more comfortable reading, doing housework etc. in pyjamas. I write most of this stuff while wearing pyjamas. And I sometimes even throw a coat and some sneakers on with my pyjamas and buy pizza or milk. That said, I usually don't achieve much on my Fridays off. I've been telling myself I should get a job, but I really don't feel like I have the time or the ability right now. Feeling a bit lame and useless. Also I really like my Fridays off. My agenda for today included reading, finding a recipe for pudding (to make for my Dad for Fathers' Day) and perhaps writing the long-awaited next instalment in one of my fanfic series. I had intended to do some Semiotics reading, figure out what Peirce is talking about so that I can have an intelligent discussion of my assignment with the lecturer on Monday. Instead, I read several fascinating web-based articles, particularly The Naked Face and this article on religion in comics. I feel edified by the experience.
I shall read some more stuff tonight, and try to write more fanfic - I'm going over to Andrew's house for some 'me' time. I feel odd going there when he's not there, like I'll seem like some kind of doormat girlfriend who rearranges her life for her boyfriend. But I like being at his place, I like that I get things done there, I like that I can relax. Before that, however, I'm going to see Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood with Abby, who is Viscountess Running in Circles to my Princess Full-of-Anger.
I wish there was a major sporting event on during the day. I've been watching the Pan Pacific swimming at night, but I really like it when there's stuff like that, or the Olympics, or the Commonwealth Games on during the day. Normally, I have no enthusiasm for watching sport, but I like events like that. Festivals of sport, I shall call them. Please note that varieties of football other than soccer are not welcome on my television, nor is cricket.
In my effort to shoo my anxiety, I did some reading. What I have now is that Tiberius really didn't want the principate and he tried to follow Augustus' model for the use of power, but he didn't have Augustus' charisma, patience or subtlety. He also comes across as indecisive. Augustus, while taking away the function of the senate, maintained their appearances of power. So, when Tiberius asked them about every little thing, they got shitted off. They didn't actually want to wield power, they just wanted to look powerful. They had also learned from Augustus that they should agree with him, so when Tiberius asked them for advice, they tried to figure out what he wanted them to say, and they all ended up in a big indecisive mess. I don't know enough about Piso's trial yet, but I'll read about that tonight.
The other thing I have is nausea, but I'm fairly convinced that this is real nausea and not just a crazy panic attack. I have a feeling I've been whinging too much the past few days. Then again, I whinge all the time. If you didn't like it, you wouldn't be here.
People can sometimes help: Andrew is wonderful at reassuring me and Abby was very helpful last night. But after struggling to do some Italian work while feeling anxious about everything else I should have been doing, I threw it down and announced that I would go to bed. I read for a while, unable to really concentrate on anything much. I felt like I was going to vomit while I was falling asleep. I read some journal entries from last year this morning, and that helped.
What I have trouble keeping in mind is that all this woe is my life, and it's really not that woeful. It's not as if I will have this charmed existance as soon as I finish my essays, and that I'm a bad person for not knowing what Peircean semiotic analysis involves. I'm just in the process of finding out, and I will be able to find out before the essay is due. Should I be unable to figure it out before it's due, I will be able to hand it in late and lose only 2% per day late. My ancient history tute paper is due in two days' time, and there isn't really any way I can hand that in late, but it's only 1500 words, and doesn't count for all that much of my assessment. Also, I'm really good at writing papers for both English and Ancient History. I shouldn't have too much trouble stringing something together.
Further reasons for crappy day: I decided to wear my comfy enormous jeans today, because loose comfortable clothing is good when my tummy feels yucky. Unfortunately, these jeans go best with my favourite old sneakers. Also, I had difficulty finding a jumper because my mum spirited away the one I wore yesterday because it got wet because I got rained on. So I grabbed a light sweater. It was looking pretty fine when I left the house so imagine my surprise when it started pissing down with rain when I was on the bus. I got wet walking to my first lecture, and then cold from sitting wet in my next three classes. Of course, I managed to step in a puddle on my way to one class or another, and my favourite old sneakers are, alas, somewhat decrepit. Water has leaked into my right shoe through the hole in its sole, and the shoe is just a small step away from that delightful squelching sound which suggests that someone has a small pond in their shoe.
Other woe: I decided to have some breakfast. Eating doesn't quite come naturally when I'm strung out. So I had some toast with blackberry jam, and some orange juice. Great. Naturally, I was eating it at the dining room table while reading a magazine, stretched out with my legs folded, and I got jam on the back of my jeans leg. I sponged it off as I was quite late by this time and certainly had no time to change, and I believe my jamminess is invisible, but I'm left with an impression that I'm some kind of hobo. In my haste, I also managed to forget all my notebooks, although I managed to remember all the heavy textbooks and readers.
I think I might forego the semiotics tutorial and go home, soon.
What was the worst job you ever had and what made it so hideous?
There is a lot to write about here. I think every job has its high and low points, but for me the quality of the job experience depends entirely on the people you work with.
My last job was hideous because of the boss. I've blogged about that before, but since my archives are munged, I can't link to them. I'll fix that one day, I swear it. The deal with that job was that I took it in the summer holidays, when I'd been assured that I'd be able to have thursday and friday off uni, and then when I got my timetable, it turned out I couldn't. I didn't want to leave after a month at this job, and I had five jobs last year, so adding more might make me look just a little flighty. So I went part-time at uni last semester. I resented that my job was taking me away from what I was really doing, and I resented that the pay was really crap. Also, the boss was a complete accountant, and the type of manager Dilbert comics are founded on. He assumed that anything he didn't understand was easy to do. The fact that he didn't have any idea what computers were about led him to believe that they were magic boxes capable of producing miracles where previously only data occurred. He also did delightful things like promising someone that I would do something right away, when in fact it would take hours to do. He would then hover over me, saying "He's waiting by the fax," which of course helps a lot. I have a lot of anger about this boss, so I don't want to linger on it too much.
Before that, I was doing some temp work for the government. I enjoyed working there because the pay was good and the people were nice, everyone was a temp so nobody took things too seriously. It sucked because we were working at the showgrounds, in what was basically a giant tin shed. Some days it got up to 38ºC (for the metrically impaired: 100ºF) and we didn't even have fans, so it was totally baking. Birds flew in and died. That pavillion is, I'm told, where they keep the cows when they have the Sydney Easter Show. The floors, which were bitumen, were dusty in places, and sometimes looked as if they had cowshit in them. I washed my hands whenever I dropped anything on the ground. There were flies and fleas. It was worse for some others, however: workers at one of the other pavillions kept coming out with headaches and horrible allergic reactions to whatever had been in there.
My absolute worst job experience was when I was working at the abominable homogenous american coffee franchise. They seemed to have no knowledge of OH&S: we regularly had to climb on the sink to get coffee beans off the top shelves. The boss was quite nice, but more often supervising was her manager, who was utterly horrible, a crazy lady with no people skills. I have come to regard the way in which she treated me as emotional abuse. There were some pretty strong cultural differences going on, such that me asking questions to make sure that I understood and was doing my job properly was somehow a bad thing to them. I got screamed at all the time, for really incoherent reasons, and I somehow became a scapegoat. It was last year and it's all a bit hazy now. Suffice to say, I'm glad I don't work there any more.
Your name of Heather makes you easy-going and refined, but detracts from your physical vitality. You desire all the finer things in life--lovely clothes, home, furniture, and environment. However, procrastination is your worst enemy, and you find yourself lacking the ambition to make your dreams a reality. People are inclined to take advantage of your sympathetic, tractable nature. You naturally attract people with problems who seek your understanding and advice. You can give good advice although it is unlikely that you would follow it yourself. You would be most successful in situations where you can use your skills in diplomacy in handling people, but where you are not under pressure or required to carry responsibility and make decisions. It is difficult for you to be individual and make your own decisions, for you lack self-confidence. Your desire for sweet, rich foods could cause overweight, circulatory problems, or weakness in the kidneys.
I have fun when I'm sick. I'm always resentful when there's nothing to show for my pain and suffering. I tend to show off my bruises and scars, although one of my scars is revealed only to my closest friends. My throat looks so very gory right now, I have to show people, yet not breathe on them.
Me: "Hey, check out my tonsils."
Claire: "Okay. Um, Heather, how can you breathe?"
What kith are you? Find out here.
Stuck in my head (to my great delight):
Poe - Trigger Happy Jack
It has delightful lyrics, including the immortal refrain: You can't talk to a psycho like a normal human being. I really need to buy a Poe album. Need job. Need to update resume and find motivation to look for job. Will look for job after I finish being sick.
Notwithstanding, my prize for Most Disturbing Search Ever: "oliver wood" "oral sex". I suppose there are probably more frightening ones, but they don't come up with my page as a result.
This morning I woke up with a sore throat and a watery eye. Recognising these as the signs of impending illness, I decided to have the Union Fryup for breakfast, along with some Coke. I'll drink plenty of water, it's just that cola has all that acid to dissolve the scum in my throat, so it makes me feel better. I've been drinking a couple of litres of water the last few days, and it still doesn't seem to have prevented illness. It's rather a relief to be coming down with something, since I've had beastly headaches the last few days and I don't like inexplicable pain.
Gaga advisory! Your imminent future may contain unexpected quests and over-the-top exploits that alarm control freaks and big babies. You could have extravagant encounters with poignantly liberating sexuality and novel emotions that alter your brain chemistry forever. The controversial mysteries you naturally attract will prick some people on the raw edge between their desires and their fears. I suggest you provide clear warnings to anyone who may be offended by moist little miracles and huge flaming magic.
My abnormally large number of visitors of late has prompted me to try to update more frequently. If I slide into posting utter crap, slap me across the face.
I'm going to have to get myself BlogAmp, because my listening choice has a lot to do with what I'm feeling. It probably says something about my taste in music that this is what I play when I'm feeling angsty. The Poe makes sense, I would recommend her to anyone. Someday I'm going to do a karaoke version of Not a Virgin.
Current playlist:
Poe - Today
Shea Segar - The Last Time
Steppenwolf - Magic Carpet Ride
Smash Mouth - I'm a Believer
JXL vs Elvis - A Little Less Conversation
Poe - Not a Virgin
Iggy Pop - Lust for Life
Fatboy Slim - Weapon of Choice
So is this the loud smashy music I listen to when I'm angsty, or the rollicking stuff I listen to to cheer myself up? A bit of both, really. I've never really liked being unhappy. If there's stuff I need to think about, and if it's a good idea for me to be angsty for a while, I do have music for that (somewhere). There's some angry girl music, some classical stuff that I feel is sufficiently brooding, some sad old love songs, and some modern stuff designed specifically for making people unhappy. I'm much better armed for other emotions, however, because I experience them far more often.
I do sometimes dress up. Some days I want to feel a certain way, and clothing can help. Just as my recent myopia has led me to sit at the front of lecture theatres, which in turn has made me a better student, I like to wear clothes that make me feel good, and reflect how I'm already feeling. I dyed my hair fire-engine red at the end of last year. I loved it, it made me feel different, powerful and in control of my life. One problem was that I couldn't wear some of my favourite clothes because they were red and clashed with my hair. I wore more black then, because I knew it'd work. A while back, when I was feeling out of control of things, I wore my Morticia outfit: black velvet with split to *here* and a black cobweb top with bell sleeves. That was fun, too. And while I like to show off sometimes, I'm not really a 'flaunt it' person: I know some people like that, nearly all of them are desperate attention-seeking zombies with low self-esteem. I don't like to be around them, and I certainly don't aim to emulate them.
So that's me. You probably still wouldn't recognise me if you knew me. One day, I'll get a picture up - but it might be of me at the age of four, looking all messy-haired at my front gate.
I also had no idea that it would be three hours of all-singing, all-dancing, all-Hindi action. But I loved it. I'm pondering where to get $47 so I can get the DVD. More likely, I'll just shell out $22 and get the CD - I've had some of the songs stuck in my head for the last few days, and it's even harder to get songs out of your head when you don't understand the language they're in. Then again, I managed to pick up a few phrases from the film, 'jaane kyon' (wonder why) being one of them.
So I've developed a bit of a thing for Bollywood. I think it's partially because I've always had a thing for musicals. My favourites are Grease and The Sound of Music. I know all the words to Grease, even the non-words at the end, "We go together like rabble abble abble, bedinga de ding shoowop..."
Yesterday, I mentioned to my mum that fanfiction.net has over 40,000 Harry Potter fanfics, so they have a special search system within the HPFF Browse menu. She wondered aloud how many results you would get from typing "Harry Potter" into a search engine. The answer is (drumroll) about 2,070,000. I was wondering if that was the maximum number Google was able to display, but I searched "the" and it came up with 2,790,000,000. So there you go.
The weather has been really crazy lately. On the weekend it was sunny, hot and breezy. Naturally, people showed up at uni yesterday looking sunburnt, wearing tiny miniskirts and cork platforms, shorts, one-shouldered singlets, and those shitty patent leather thongs. It was nice at 10am. I came out of my English lecture, and the sky was the same watercolour grey colour as my sweater. I bought a muffin and, when I came out, it was pissing down with rain. It wasn't particularly stormy, just that the individual raindrops were huge. Lots of people shrieking and trying to run in tiny clothes and tall shoes. I suppose I shouldn't be so very amused at the petty misfortunes of others.
Exploring the Parasomnia page, I realised that I have come across a lot of these disorders in people of my acquaintance. Someone I know regularly thrashes, hits the wall and swears loudly, apparently trying to avert an attacker, which sounds as if it's Nocturnal Seizures, although it could just be a bad dream. I myself speak a great deal in my sleep, and I am informed that once, at a sleepover party, everyone else who was there was woken by my babbling, and hitting me did not wake me. I'm told that my sister once sleepwalked, although I don't remember this happening. I once woke up, at the age of about six, around the wrong way in the bed, with my head where my feet should have been. The covers were tucked in, so it couldn't have been comfortable, and I wonder how I got there, since such a thing had never previously happened to me. I seem to recall waking up inside my quilt cover, one time, however I suspect that happened because I attempted to fix my quilt while half-asleep, and fell asleep in the process (I still can only put quilts in their covers by climbing inside the cover). Several people of my acquaintance have suffered from Bruxism, the grinding of the teeth while asleep, and one of them has to wear a mouthguard type object while sleeping, to prevent damage to the teeth.
One other thing that's come to me: I remember a dream, a few years ago, in which I was visiting a house where an old woman lived. We were inspecting it, considering moving in, I think, and it was in the same block as my grandmother's house, although I regularly set stories in places I'm familiar with, so that's not necessarily relevant. The house was hot, and it seemed to have a red haze inside. We went upstairs to look around, and the staircase, which sort of framed the room, seemed to become a malevolent entity (or perhaps a tool of the bitter old woman), the bannister gave way and sagged, and my friends were killed. While this was bad, it just seemed to me to be a bad dream, and I went on with my life. However, some months after this, I went to a friend's house, Jack's, and as I was climbing the stairs with a group of friends, the bannister gave way. I recoiled and began screaming, it took a lot of hugs and reassurance to get me okay again. Apart from the odd patch of deja vu, nothing like this has ever happened to me.
However, I have experience Hypnic Jerks a great deal. I don't find these to be a negative experience - although the initial feeling is one of fright because I'm falling, I have had some very interesting micro-dreams associated with these hypnic jerks. My most vivid memory of a hypnic jerk dream is one in which I'm falling down a long, slender hole, very much like something out of Alice in Wonderland, and the hole is lined with shops and shelves, and I pass many interesting things on the way down. I've always found that I'm able to get to sleep quickly after experiencing these jerks, so the disruption doesn't bother me.
I tend to sleep very well (touch wood), I only suffer from insomnia when I'm sick. I'm very bad at being sick or sleepless: I know I should rest and sleep it off, but I get very anxious that people be around me. Recently, I've left my door open and demanded that someone use the computer, which is very close to my room. At other times, I've set up camp on the couch or watched a whole lot of daytime TV.
I'm a bit exhausted, really: after shopping on Saturday morning, I met Andrew for dinner on Saturday night. Then we had a lazy morning. I may not have mentioned this previously, but we like to read together. The book we've been reading, The Riddle-Master Trilogy, is, I think, a fairly immature work, and its modes of description annoy me from time to time. But I'm stuck in the world, and the characters fascinate me, so there's no way out. It becomes clear that fantasy writers don't write their books to be read aloud: there is a character by the name of Ghisteslwchlohm.
This afternoon I met my mum and we saw the film Italian for Beginners, which I enjoyed immensely. We had gelato while we waited for the bus. I'm going to try to translate that into Italian so, when I have to give an account of my weekend in class tomorrow, I'll have something to say.
The other pair are like workboots, but with a platform. That sounds skanky, I know, but they look really good. The only trouble is that, although they're second-hand, they're really new and the elastic isn't stretched out much so, although they were clearly big enough for my feet, I had trouble getting them on. Not having a shoehorn at hand, I hastily improvised one by cutting up an ice cream container. So now they're on, but they're so tight around the instep that my feet don't move at all when I wear them. I just managed to get them off, and I don't think I'll be wearing them again. Anybody want to buy some boots?
| You are 27% geek | |
 | You are a geek liaison, which means you go both ways. You can hang out with normal people or you can hang out with geeks which means you often have geeks as friends and/or have a job where you have to mediate between geeks and normal people. This is an important role and one of which you should be proud. In fact, you can make a good deal of money as a translator.
|
The question is this: Does the occurance of two breakfasts within one morning indicate a mandate for a whole day of breakfast foods? I have to tell you, we don't have any cereal, so this could get nasty quickly.
Now I've got a hankering for some blackberry icecream. I've always loved blackberries. When I was younger, we had an ice cream machine, so once in a while we'd have an ice cream day and invite friends over, and make delicious ice cream. I think we made blackberry ice cream once. Another time, we flavoured the ice cream with strawberry jam and added lots of white chocolate chips. That one was good.
So I've been trying to find a way to obtain blackberry ice cream. It seems that it is available, but not readily, and certainly not in Australia. I particularly like the sound of Blackberry Pie which has chunks of pie crust in it. Mmmm.
It started hurting yesterday, in a fairly unobtrusive kind of way. I have an odd ability to ignore aches and pains for hours while walking, and then I sit down and think, Ouch. While I was lying in bed trying to sleep it hurt a lot more, largely, I think, because I tend to sleep with my legs bent in various ways. I think the pain might have been exacerbated by the fact that I was upset about some other stuff at the time. Also I think my upsetness might have been exacerbated by my physical pain.
So now I'm in the rather strange position of trying to figure out how and when this injury occurred. I suspect it might be a bit of a chronic thing that's come up before, but has been the low-grade kind of pain I mentioned earlier, so I didn't give it much thought. I remembered bending at the waist, rather than the knees, to get a pen out of my bag, and I found that a little odd at the time, but possibly I was feeling stiff then. I also remembered running to the bus the other day and feeling a bit jarred about the ankle, but not the knee. However, and this is the most compelling part, I went to my room to get my notebook off my bed and slipped on a fold of quilt in a way which made my knee buckle and twist quite painfully. I think I slipped the same way while getting stuff ready on Saturday morning, which would mean that I didn't notice any pain until the following day, which still makes sense by my odd-perception-of-pain thing.
I don't mind a formula if it's done well. In fact, I'm frequently puzzled when people describe films, books or any other media as 'unoriginal'. I think you can attack anything that way, so it's consequently meaningless. And it's not as if, because so much cultural time has passed, we've used up all the plots. To some extent, this is true: how many variations on human experience and emotion can we come up with? But this elaboration on previous works has happened for hundreds of years. Chaucer's Book of the Duchess, which was written in 1368 about the recently deceased Duchess of Lancaster, used Ovid a lot. Any culture will recycle previous cultural products, which is exactly why public domain is so important.
Friends don't let friends read translations of middle english.
Netscape errors
Why must school
Use foolish software?
That's twelve, which I think is about right. There may be more haikus, if I so choose.
It's the first one that really bothers me. Is this a reference to a particular slashfic? I'm curious now. But I can't find anything at fanfiction.net, and they have over 40,000 HP fanfics. And then there's the more obscure ones... 495 Bible fanfics. Why would anyone want to write biblical fanfic? Or Anne Frank fanfic? I also really don't understand why people would write fanfic about a band. I mean, they might have slightly fake personas, but they're essentially real people, right? So where's the thrill in writing fanfic about them? Same thing with Survivor-fics. Anyone want to explain it to me?
I find it really hard to know how to act around people who have acted in ways I find objectionable, but I don't want to confront for whatever reason. Talking to them in any friendly way seems hypocritical, and will lead them to think that I'm on their side, but confronting them is bad because it enables their attention-addict behaviour.
How about I stay at home for a week?
However, I should do things today. I should do lots of readings for uni, I should read a bunch of Robinson Crusoe, and I should definitely write. Chris challenged me to a creative writing thingy, so I have to write a 'short mugglewump' containing the phrase "Werewolves are more powerful than vampires. But not as attractive." Naturally, the most interesting idea I can come up with for this is, essentially, porn. I don't recall there being a prohibition on smut in the rules, but it'd still be weird. I've never really handed my smut out for others to read before. Although there was this one time...
