I wonder what are the chances for the ticket holder to be named Lois? At the Department of Transport, where C aced his theoretical driving test.
This would even funnier if I were legitimately dyslexic.
I have NO idea what an Outside Skirt would taste like, but I assume the worst.
Yes, I am actually going out with this man. His tee reads, LEGLESS. Now comes in Sober.
L-R: Staph, Sperm and Chlamydia
Ebola and AIDS
TF's new husband dangles a wiener in front of Zeke and happily poses for an inappropriate photograph. Incidentally, M's surname is Longbottom, much to TF's chagrin.
One evening KG and I strolled out to Surfers Paradise in search of tiramisu. There was a small crowd gathered around a young Asian street performer. Nearby stood a cardboard sign with a flag, indicating his nationality.
Jan: That's for all you white people who can't tell he's Japanese.
I drove a grand total of 320km to attend 2 interviews and failed to secure the job. Boo. Dogs along Wynnum Rd in Morningside.
Boofa the British Shorthair.
A real springroll. I have not had one of these in the longest time. Thank you Aunty Lil!
Tigger the Whippet and SE's Foot. I had just had a chicken dish and from the amount of doggie kisses I got, he clearly liked it too.
What I really learn at L'Alliance Française - 101 names for bodily wastes.
Traffic mishap - I thought the windscreen had shattered but only the boards slid off the car. Schadenfreude!
C took me to Timezone in Brisbane. Timezone! This was a virtual reality ride thingie. I forget the name.
Part of the Brisbane Fest set up, I assume. It was set up like a real courtyard, with orange laundry hanging on the lines.
Noah's Ark teapot at a gallery in New Farm.
The rice pot, I'm ashamed to say, sat there for a good 4 days before the Mexican standoff was called off. Hint: Not mine.
C made tacos! Absolutely yummy stuff. Possibly scores worse than spaghetti bolognaise/ won ton mee on the First Date in a White Shirt Messy Eating Scale. Luckily, this was our third. I assume by our fourth, we'll start leaving the toilet door open.
Yesterday SY called me from the UK, where he has been for the past 4 or 5 years. We've known each other for a solid 18 years and have a long history of terrible inside jokes. We've made a pact that he is to make a minimum of one phone call to me a year (ie. The Annual Phone Call). In spite of us having not seen each other for a good three years, like all good friends, we simply pick up where we left off.
SY: Jan, I'm working at a cement plant now.
Jan: Semen plant? (you should listen to our atrocious excrement-related jokes)
SY: And wait, before you say anything, I need to tell you something - I'm calling using the office phone.
Jan: WTF
SY: And, and, wait for this too - it's my account manager's line.
All jokes aside, SY was lonely. He'd recently moved cities for work and with UK's lousy economic state, had many friends move to greener pastures.
Loneliness is so common, yet so rarely discussed. The stigma attached to loneliness is ridiculous. I have been the one half of high school's golden couple, college student council vice president etc. Yet there are days I feel as if I would never be missed, that my mere existence is of such little consequence. During my auditing days, I would have clients quietly enter my room, sit down and tell me all their woes (including the General Manager of a listed company telling me she was "not fit to run the place"). Loneliness is normal, and moreso common for many of us who choose to uproot. I was forced to learn to spend time on my own, to like my own company. Loneliness drove me to compromise standards, of myself and of the people I chose to associate with.
The fact of the matter is, you are forced to make a choice. From the 2 years I've spent here, I've noticed two types of people - the ones who make this home and the ones who don't. Making it home actually requires you to go out, make friends, learn the lingo if you don't know it already (in my case, bastardised English), explore the country, develop your own traditions, but above all, love yourself because chances are, no one else is there to do so.
The trade off? Old friends will fall away. Facebook is extremely helpful for keeping in touch, but the fact of the matter is, only a small handful of people will genuinely love you enough to maintain the friendship. And you with your new life too, will only have the energy for few. The rest will slowly fall away over time.
There are people I know, who have been here for years and years and yet remain their tourist status. Holidays are spent back in their countries of origin. They only mingle with their own communities. They speak in their mother tongues. And do everything exactly the way it used to be done. I suppose that is the easiest way to fit in, but it never fails to befuddle me. After all, why would one go through the entire (very troublesome) process of immigrating, only to do the same thing (let's leave refugees out of the debate)?
But I digress. The point is, there are things you can do to avoid feeling like a leper, but that's really only fighting the symptoms. People come and go. The only constants are you, God and your Mum family. The most important thing to do is to love yourself, to be the best version of yourself because if you don't like you, there is no reason why anyone else should. And then the rest will follow through.
Some ideas on getting out of that lonely rut (thanks to C for this)
Being single for the first time in my adult life is kind of liberating (it didn't count when I was in Melbourne because I got long, long calls every single day from my exes trying ensure I wasn't dating). I swim, I spa, I have random friends stay over, I befriend strangers, I drive ridiculous amounts of distances whenever I feel like it. On the flip side, all the dumb things people do as 18 year olds? I'm making those mistakes right about... now. Thankfully apart from a severe lack of sleep, mild trauma from my own stupidity and a completely manic bout of spring cleaning, I remain relatively unscathed.
My dear friend JC visited from Malaysia and proceeded to do what I both hate and miss about Malaysians - give me loads of unsolicited advice and opinions. Sigh. I miss her already. The unbelievably adorable baby Chloe, with her long, long lashes, is of Portuguese, Aussie and Samoan heritage.
A live possum at Caboolture. Such adorable creatures. Warning: Don't try touching - they scratch and bite like crazy.
Funnily enough, Homer does NOT say "D'oh!" when you press the button. I declined the present anyway.
Jordan, the most well brought up, perceptive kid ever, child of two extremely good looking parents. "I like your shoes," this 5 year old observed. "You're really pretty," I replied, in 5 year old mode. "Thank you", she accepted the compliment gracefully, without any conceit or feigned modesty. That's Cutie, the almost bunny-like Maltese in her arms.
Conclusion: Must find Samoan sperm donor for future offspring.
A carnival of lights and the sunset over the marina. PW and SK joined me for dinner, before a long talk and walk along The Spit's breakwater and back.
Today, I poured my heart and soul out to someone I love in words. About a page long, what would have normally taken me 10 minutes (I'm a fast writer) took six times as long to articulate. To edit. To re-edit. And again.
But it's nothing compared to trying to write a cash rate report when you have NO IDEA what cash rate is. And you think you can Wikipedia it and learn it on laymen's terms but it's got something like a three sentence paragraph on it. And then you check on the Reserve Bank website and it comes along with multi-graphed charts and statistics with strange terms they never taught you in college. And all these strange terms they never taught you in college are all linked to more charts and statistics.
So of course you decide to watch episode 11 of the sixth season of Grey's Anatomy. I can't believe Sloan and Little Grey broke up. Sob. Older men make such stupid choices. And then you decide to watch some action at Dunder-Mifflin. John Krasinski is unbelievably cute and funny. He looked absolutely terrible in Away We Go, with that yucky Post-Cute Brad Pitt beard and glasses.
Office cutie vs. deranged-hobo-in-need-of-a-hairwash
And then you cough up another 3 sentences. Like squeezing blood out of stone (which by the way, rhymes with Sloan who is an asshole). Only 4/5 more of the page to go. Maybe I should use font size 32. She did mention that the page formatting is entirely up to my discretion.
And then you end up writing about the writing process on your personal blog so you don't feel like you've only written 1/5 of a page on cash rates and one very sad love letter in the past 5.5 hours you've been sitting here.
Thank God I didn't leave this until 9am tomorrow. Looks like I won't be sleeping much again tonight.
SE, my new flatmate, is possibly the most likeable person I've ever met. Both of us being newly single, bitch and moan about our terrible love lives. Today, she's taken to asking me how to do her physics questions (why anyone would include physics in a dentistry course is completely beyond me). Ah, the futility. The only thing I remember about Fizik is making Encik Zainab cry. Completely unintentional and unexpected.
With her permission, I've obtained an email which is the written equivalent of drunk dialing. This is what happens when the laptop is within reach at 2am in the morning and you're freaking out over your ex, spine and exams (order possibly incorrect).
i think young romeo that you might acheive yyour aim, but that it will not send you in the right direction be single..find yourself, get to know the new you. don't look for answers by moving in with someone be hapy with yourself. Build nnew more solid, and better version of jon, and tge relationships jon is involved in... make them stronger. i just saw people in my room.. but there are no people... it s so fucked up... lol pill sleep now by xo
I wonder what are the chances for the ticket holder to be named Lois? At the Department of Transport, where C aced his theoretical driving test. 
This would even funnier if I were legitimately dyslexic.
I have NO idea what an Outside Skirt would taste like, but I assume the worst.
Yes, I am actually going out with this man. His tee reads, LEGLESS. Now comes in Sober. 
Ebola and AIDS
TF's new husband dangles a wiener in front of Zeke and happily poses for an inappropriate photograph. Incidentally, M's surname is Longbottom, much to TF's chagrin.
SK and Mo, the biggest cat on this side of town.
