Conversations with my mother

DISCLAIMER: My mother and I ♥ each other very much. We just enjoy the odd nonsensical variation of the lectures/ monologues she gives me (usually pertaining to my declining state of spirituality/ what other people think of me/ how much our or her friend's relatives make).


Ma: For heavens sake, if you intend to do such things, don't broadcast them. Don't forget your father and I are alive and kicking!

Jan: That's very un-... nevermind.

Ma: You were about to say unfortunate weren't you?

Jan: Yes.

Ma: Bad girl! You might as well drown your own parents!

Jan: Don't worry Ma. When you die, I will have you cremated and flush your ashes down the toilet.

Ma: Don't talk nonsense.

Jan: Oh alright. I know you want to your urn to be beside Aunty Kim's. I'll even mix your ashes together and give it a little shake.

Ma: I changed my mind. I'm divorcing Aunty Kim.


Later on,

Ma: Don't be such a donkey.

Jan: But as my mother, if I'm a donkey, what are you?

Ma: ...

Nostalgia

It's strange how with this whirlwind of change around me, how constant my music is. How some selections have remained the same since high school, some perhaps dating back to an mp3-less childhood.

And the power a certain composition of notes have, to overwhelm me with memories. I am fairly selective about the selections (pun totally unintended) on my playlist, so every entry is a quiet little victory, often attached to an emotional event of some sort, sometimes personal, sometimes gleaned from of a soap opera character.

This Conversation by The Submarines, of the sad, tender parting between X and I, of when I quietly brought up the subject we had been avoiding all along.

Soft Rock Star by Metric, of trying times in a large soulless corporation, to whom I was nothing more than a replaceable drone. Telling myself that there was no need to "shine before swine".

Crash Into Me by Dave Matthews Band, of MF dictating my music choices, and correctly so, in between ice cream, waffles and chicken chop at Madam Kwans.

The Hole In Your Roof by Augie March, of standing under a pitch black sky, beholding the full glory of the Milky Way.

Edge of The Ocean by Ivy, of standing on Cape Byron, of being blown away by the blueness, the infinity of it all, of God's glory and the beauty of this world.

Babylon by Angus and Julia Stone, of long Melbourne tram rides, of St Kilda, of moody skies and of long, long conversations with KG, with my heart in Queensland all the while.

Kite by U2, of lying on a golf course under a stormy sky in Pangkor, my friends by my side, my 16 year old heart having been crushed the first time.

Dancing In The Moonlight by Toploader, of that fateful trip to Sydney, of leaping up and down on the hotel bed in sheer exuberance.

Elevator Love Letter by Stars, of all the times I worked late into the night, compensating for someone else's incompetence/ love of coffee or cigarette breaks/ feigned illness. I am very glad to be rid of Malaysian work ethic. Hopefully for good.

There we are

The title of this post bears no significance whatsoever. C just happens to like muttering the phrase to himself while slaying beasts on Darksiders (and whilst baking date, walnut and banana cake), in that funny faux British way he does.

The car survived, happily enough, with minimal lasting damage on both vehicle and pocket. Thought I'd pimp my awesome mechanic out. Ross McNaught is a genius and a kind soul. Instead of charging me AUD500+ for the damage (panel beaters needed to be brought in) or alternatively, giving up on me, he fixed the entire thing himself for less than half that price. I was this close to springing a hug on the man.

C and I went chair hunting and found this little gem for half price at Officeworks.


This is what happens when a very white guy decides to date a sun loving girl, sans sunscreen.


My first attempt at carrot cake, one of my all time favourites. Yums.

C took me out for Thai on the Broadwater. Good stuff, though I really need to stop overestimating my tolerance for spice.

Sitting off Seaworld Dr with SK, whiling the day away.

C and I randomly decided to take the turn off to Tambourine, which led to our little excursion to the Skywalk. At AUD18.50 per pax for a glorified 1.5km walk, it's not something I would choose to do again but we did have fun.

Strangler figs: cool.

Mud cake at the Skywalk cafe.

After that, we got a little lost looking for this nice Botanic Garden I had wanted to show C. I usually head north towards Tambourine, so I mucked up the directions (we spent the morning in Logan).

I particularly like this photo.

A wheelbarrow of pretty weeds.

This is the grumpiest gallah ever. Mike, our temporary flatmate who returns to Sydney today (so he can bring all the fish back) rescued this baby bird fom a field. He appeared to have tumbled out of his nest and seemed stunned fo the first couple of days. He now squawks at regular intervals for attention.

Um.

Emperor Moe sinks his claws into my dress, demanding to be petted. I acquiesce, as always.

The central Gold Coast Highway is currently jammed up with bogans and flashers. The Indy races are on for the weekend. This ferris wheel was erected atop a random building in Surfers in conjunction with the event.

Literal version

Thanks to C, trawler of internets and all useless information. I had tears streaming down my cheeks for this one.

If only fear was an adequate form of prevention

Parenting has been a question on my mind of the late. (Disclaimer: I AM NOT PREGNANT. REPEAT, I AM NOT PREGNANT) In fact, to ensure this state of non-pregnancy, I've undergone minor surgery which apparently has better chances of preventing conception than abstinence.

Yeah, I wonder about that too.

But I digress. Instead, what I've been pondering on relates to the actual raising of a child. The values passed on. A few days ago, my mother asked me if she failed me as a parent. Some ten years ago as an angry adolescent, I would have jumped at the opportunity to rub salt in the wound. Now in clearer hindsight, I realise I was blessed, that my parents had tried their best to ensure they didn't fail me the way their parents failed them. And in turn I too, will try my best to avoid all the pitfalls my parents made. That no one is perfect, that all we can do is our best.

Possibly a side effect of this aforementioned surgery (the hormones get messed up), but I've been looking at people differently. In terms of Would I Want This Person Near My Child. And of course should I choose to be pedantic about it, no one would be let near my offspring, not even I (possibly I'll just get SE to become godmother and get her to raise them instead). But things that irk me most are selfishness, self centredness (this coming from a person who writes a navel gazing blog), discourtesy, a lack of empathy, irresponsibility, amongst others. When I meet people who exhibit these values, I wonder what went wrong in their upbringing. The millions of variables, the lacking constants. I mean, some psychopaths have had happy childhoods, so who's to say what will happen regardless of all I may do?

I have friends who are completely laissez-faire about their kids; I know people who raise their children with an iron fist. I wonder if I'll be an adequate parent. There is a program in the US which pays drug addicts USD200 to get sterilised, to avoid them perpetuating the earth with their defective gene pools. I am sad to say a part of me agrees to this. But where is the love and forgiveness?

Chaos is eye opening

C and I have just moved in together, hence the lack of updates. It is truly ironic how the more I have to write home about, the less likely I am to find the time to actually pen it down.

What happens when the cup noodle is upgraded by the cup noodle connoisseur.

Mr Shrimp comes out of hiding.


Fried bananas at Shogun. C and I are starting a Date Night routine where we each take a turn to bring the other party out.

There was some strange exhilaration involved in exploring my new surroundings in the most blustery day in a while. A passerby jokingly worried that I would get blown away whilst wishing me a good morning. The storms were accompanied by random sproutings of mutant mushrooms everywhere.


My self appointed proxy parents and their (most misleadingly) evil looking dog, Rosey.

C had the best time torturing Boofa the cat with the laser pointer. Poor Boofa climbed walls, chased madly and batted wildly to no avail.

The view from the walk along the water.

Emperor Moe at our new pad.

Orchestration of this tiny walk in closet was much more complicated than you would imagine. I blame X for leaving me with anal laundry compulsions.

KG's new, ridiculously expensive washing machine. I finally moved all my stuff from his house today, indicating the end of an era. We stood at my balcony for a moment to quietly contemplate this. I must say he has spared no effort in being helpful, supportive and overall, a good friend. I have been blessed with the most considerate, kindest ex partners here.

The car is convalenscing at the auto repair shop for time being, having suffered a bump, which led to the headlight being jammed, which led to it repeatedly trying to right itself, which led to a drain on my battery, which led to my not being able to start the car today, which led to my call to the RACQ, which led to this conversation.

RACQ lady: How can I help you?

Jan: Oh um, I banged the car on Sunday... or was it Monday? Anyway it worked fine but then this morning it wouldn't st-

RACQ lady: Hold on there. Your car wouldn't start?

Jan: Yeah, it might be because I bang-

RACQ lady: Your car won't start. That will be all that is necessary. Because accidents aren't covered by your policy. So we'll start again. Your car won't start.

Jan: ... yes. My car won't start.

RACQ lady: Less is more. Remember to only say your car wouldn't start if the man asks.

Jan: Okay.

... which led to me omitting vital information to the RACQ guy, which led to him deriving an inaccurate conclusion, which led to me rushing to hunt down a mechanic after being jump started, which leads to this bus timetable I will need tomorrow to attend French class.

Stalking the purple patch

I miss Federation Walk already.


The lowest car I have ever seen on the road.


At the Pacific Fair restroom. Whatever will marketing come up with next?



C has size 13 feet. I duly gave him a pedicure whilst we watched Better Off Ted, the most awesome series ever to be prematurely cancelled. Why, ABC, why?!



Um, apparently those are beer cartons.



Guess which one my boyfriend is. Hint: He doesn't wear pink.



The inaugral annual Thai Food Festival. I had yummy satay skewers with peanut sauce and glutinous rice. PS will attest to my love of satay. Especially when you have MYR100 of coupons during your primary school food fest and an insatiable appetite.



Patrick: I think that lady likes purple.


Jan: What gave you the idea?



Gelare! I have many fond memories of this place. They used to have a branch in Bangsar, where Mark, Di, K, B, H and I would enjoy the waffles on 50% off Tuesdays (discount only applicable on waffles, not ice cream, wily bastards). I soon discovered it to be an extremely efficient way to gain 20lbs.



South East Queensland was plagued by an unusual amount of rain, forcing me to actually use my beloved polka dotted umbrella.

C and I spent a day in Brisbane, with the intention to do "something random". Part of this involved being distracted by what I thought was a patch of lavender (no, but it smelt nice and herby) in the Botanic Gardens and its inhabitants.

Two beetles and a caterpillar.



Spider. There were tons of them, in varying colours and sizes. Back in the day during primary school, I used to spend recesses wondering around the school, my myopic eyes squinting in search of colourful tropical arachnids in the potted plants.



My lousy phone camera failed to capture the spider (out of focus in the centre), but I like the end result anyway.



Bzzz.



EWWWW.

Giant tarantula spider noming a bee.

Following photo credits to C:

The afterglow

We couldn't tell if they were mating or trying to eat each other.


Bzzz, the sequel.

Flufffffffff.

Quotables today

DR: Don't contaminate my meat with your vegetables!

* * *

SC: I like tomato juice because it tastes like tomatoes.

* * *

C: I can't wait to marry you and fill you up with babies!

Jan: ...

C: You aren't running away.

Jan: You're holding my hand.

Gullible

I'm currently hunting for a new home, having left my temporary sanctuary (it was near the beach, the cafes, the marina, the mall, Federation Walk and most importantly, contained SE, the loveliest person in the world). My landlord, possibly the nicest man when sober, is an abominable drunk.

Jan: I'm moving out today. Because you pissed on the couch and floor and you act super creepy when you're drunk.

ML: That's okay, you don't have to move! You can sleep in my bed!

Jan: ...

ML: I won't touch you. Not that I don't want to, because of course I do.

Jan: Like I said, I'm moving out today.


So whilst crashing at C's for time being, I've been flatshare-hunting. Which led me to this amazing deal. At AUD500/ month, for what appeared to be fully furnished room at this place.

It was a few hundred metres to the beach and shops at the most central location ever. I liked the facade of the building and was ready to make the required deposit of AUD750 (2 weeks rent and bond).

The only catch? The landlady, "Maria Domenica" was in the UK. Apparently her husband was ill. Her solicitor would send me the documents and would it be okay if I signed them and returned them back to her? Then I could make the deposit and she would send me the keys via next day courier service.

Now I come with a major flaw (actually several, but let's just keep this simple) - I'm extremely trusting. This has led me to many, many awkward situations and compromises. So I happily agreed to this arrangement and soon enough, "Steve Robin" sent me an email, requesting that I sign, scan and return the tenancy agreement to him.

The only problem was, there was no attachment to the email.

Right. Could be simple human error. Give benefit of doubt. Request for agreement. Notify "Maria Domenica".

"Steve Robin" then replied again, this time with an attachment. Only this time, the address for the unit was in the Northern Territory, which is about 2,000km from where I am. He also succeeded in getting my address and duration of lease wrong.

Wow. How do bozos like this actually get employed at all?

I explain the errors and email "Maria Domenica" again. I tell the lawyer to fix the issues.

Then SE calls me while I'm out with SK. She'd previously lived a few months in Denmark and had encountered a similar situation. "The landlord said he'd lived in Copenhagen for 5 years. He said he was in the UK and yet when I asked that he send the keys to a trusted friend, so I could exchange the keys for the deposit, he insisted he didn't know anyone."

Seed of doubt planted in my head, I requested the same of "Maria Domenica". She instead gave me her bank account details and insisted she needed my money because her husband was ill. At this point, I noticed a change in her writing style. From normal to all CAPS to all lowercase.

Anyone in the UK regardless of nationality can receive free medical care, thanks to the NHS scheme. I mean, how does AUD750 (GBP375 or so) help with anything really? It wouldn't even pay for her flight back to Australia. What nonsense.

I didn't bother replying and she immediately sent me scans of her passport. In her initial email, she'd mentioned she was Australian and 27 years old. The passport was Italian and her date of birth was April, 1982. I mean seriously, who gets their own age wrong (except for one time on an ice skating rink, but I forgot I'd just celebrated my 15th birthday)?

Once more, I ignored her email and resumed my hunt for a room on the same website.

There was an ad clearly from her, only this time she was masquerading as a 25 year old named Susan. The address given was neither the one we'd previously agreed on, nor the Northern Territory one. But the introduction was exactly the same as those in her email to me.

Sadly there wasn't a Report This As Fraud button. Let's hope the next person isn't as gullible.