Monday, 21 January 2008

Crappy Customers and Coffee Karma

Having just worked an exorbitant amount of hours this past week i have had it with crappy coffee customers. Thus i have decided to write a post with a few guidelines for anyone who has, or will, be ordering coffee. If you follow these not only will you get good coffee karma but we in the hospitality industry who serve you will be forever grateful. If you choose to ignore them be prepared for hostile staff, crappy coffee and the possibility of getting scalded.

*NEVER ask why your coffee is taking so long.

*If you want skinny milk you are not allowed any sugar, cakes or biscuits.

*If you don't take your allocated number we will not deliver your order.

*NEVER request a change in the music, particularly country, progressive jazz or gospel.

*You are only allowed decaf if you provide a relevant medical certificate.

*NEVER order from the barista - they're creatures of high caffeine and low tolerance and may bite, or just throw hot coffee at you.

*None of the girls are single or desperate. Please treat accordingly.

A few things I'd just like to add as a footnote: A latte with no foam is exactly the same as a flat white. If you ask for a long black don't make a fuss when you see water being added to the shot, that's what a long black is, a short black with more water. If you want your coffee extra hot don't complain about the milk being burnt, that's the only way to make the coffee hotter than we normally serve it.

Thank you and i hope this is helpful.
PS. Feel free to tip generously, we always remember who does and who doesn't.

Kisses, L

Tuesday, 25 December 2007

Bringing Boxy Back.

It all started with me throwing out my condoms.

This may not sound like such a big deal to you dear readers, but for me it was distressing, disheartening, depressing and just plain upsetting. Partly because i had about $70 worth all up and that's just a waste of money, but mostly because of what it signified. Only moments before this egregious activity i had realised i couldn't actually remember the last time i had had sex, and thus required a condom. I could remember having sex (thank god) i just couldn't actually put a time, place or face to the actual last occurrence. Since this was the case i also realised that i had condoms that were either out of date, or had been left in places that are not conducive to them maintaining their function if required. Better to be safe than sorry so i went through all my bags, drawers, make-up containers and even some of my shoes and removed them all instead of risking any mishaps in the what seemed distant future. You ever want to depress yourself about the likelihood of getting laid, try throwing out masses of stashed condoms because you've had them so long you don't know if they're reliable any more.

And my condition was becoming epidemic. I love sex. And once was the day when i had it whenever i wanted as much as i wanted. Now, i realised, the worryingly depressing fact was that i was so long without sharing a bed (sexually that is) that it wasn't even just the sex that i missed, it was the presence. I would have happily settled just to have someone lay on me and with me just to feel the weight of a man over me again. *Sigh* This was distressing, i am not like this.

However the story lifts. The very next time i went out, about four days after the awful condom disposal, i literally bumped into someone outside Eurotrash. A someone named Ryan. A Ryan who was tall, with dark hair, blue eyes and a great white smile. I had just left Seb and Andrew dancing the night away to go home when i fell over my own feet and into said Ryan. He didn't seem to mind and after a few minutes he somehow had lost all his mates and we were on our way to Manchuria, alone. Then after a few drinks and a little kissing we were on our way back to my place and once in my bedroom i was seriously lamenting the fact that i had gotten rid of all my condoms. Luckily he came prepared. It was a night of me getting my cake and eating it to. Not only did i have a great one night stand with a very good looking guy but i also had my desire of the weight of a man on top of me fulfilled and let me tell you, i was the better for it. That said, and gorgeous as he was we totally did not connect on a mental level so the next day i said goodbye and shut the door without exchanging numbers or deets. Short but oh so sweet.

Exactly a week after this i ended up at Eurotrash again, with some of the girls, and as we were leaving we bumped into a group of guys. Somehow we all ended up at Manchuria having drinks (is anyone else seeing a pattern emerging) and a little while after this i went home. With Nathan. Again i lamented having destroyed my stock and we stopped at a service station (but seriously after such a drought, i thought the Ryan night had been a glorious fluke) before getting home. Nathan is very different to Ryan. For a start he's blonde, he's totally country and he's sweet. Not the type i usually go for in these situations but we bonded over b-grade tv shows and other superficial details. I had forgiven him for being an engineer and he'd forgiven me for bad-mouthing engineers.* And he's a really, REALLY good kisser. So he spent the night, and apart from him getting all embarrassed at me in the servo when i asked for the condoms and me being still quite drunk and rather unco having trouble getting out of my clothes, and banging my head twice against two different walls while on the bed we managed to have a really good time (even when the other girls got home and stomped past my room, twice). He stayed in the morning, which was nice rather than awkward despite how hung over he was and i ended up giving him my number.

The point to this account? Not to fill you in on my sex life (well there's that too) but rather it can be summarised in this one phrase:
And consequently I've brought some brand new condoms. And, thanks to two travelling buddies (Ms M and Aster) have had some rather more exciting ones given to me.

Kisses, L.

*That conversation had gone something like this:
L: So what do you do?
N: I do structural engineering, final semester at Monash.
L: Fuck, why is it i always meet bloody engineers?
To be fair, i hadn't realised i said that last line outloud since i'd just been thinking it but you know how i am, and i do always end up meeting bloody engineers, it's like i have a brand on my forehead.

Wednesday, 31 October 2007

Baby Bird Death

Let me tell you a story about a dead baby bird to distract you all from you exam studying stress. The other day Lucy went out into the backyard to tip the remainder of the pancake mix down the drain and she found that laying face down in our drain was a dead baby chicken. We have no idea where it came from and of course it was very distressing to see it's sad, wet, dead little body there. However it had to be removed before it clogged our drain - and it's only the decent thing to do. Lucy wasn't able to handle even looking at it so she went inside and i pulled on the rubber gloves.

Now i've handled dead bodies before (animal or otherwise) so i was prepared. They usually feel pretty hard and stiff (hehe, that sounds a bit naughty) after being dead as long as this chick. So anyway i bent down and picked it up. It was not hard and stiff, i'd forgotten that it was in water and had clearly been there for a while so it was very very soggy and almost oozing. Well i am ashamed to say i freaked out and in revulsion i threw it. Then, as Lucy watched from the kitchen window in horror, i squealed and ran around as i was afraid the dead baby bird i'd thrown up into the air would land on me. It did not. It landed over the fence in our neighbours yard. With a splat. It was very very gross and very very distressing.

This is why i now have baby bird guilt about the way i handled it's poor, gooey little body.

This is why Lucy and i spent the rest of the day shuddering convulsively whenever we remembered.

This is why I meant to give Nick trouble when he got home for not being the man of the house and present in the first place to deal with it. But i forgot thanks to my mind busily repressing.

This is also why I am avoiding our squatter neighbour at the moment.

I hope this little story has distracted you for a few minutes from the study that i'm sure you're doing. Be prepared for more such snippets from my life over the next few days as it's one of the ways i procrastinate. Also, you're not allowed to laugh at me, i feel very traumatised.

Kisses, L
PS. feel free to reciprocate with any bird death stories of your own.

Monday, 27 August 2007

Switching On

So I've realised that for the last few months (OK, the last 8 months and 14 days - not that I'm keeping count) that i have been completely switched off. Several of my friends have suggested this to me (most frequently Ms. M - you just know me so well Ms. M.) over this long, long period, and i sort of believed them. After all what else could explain it? But a few events of the past week have caused that switch to flick and suddenly, being back on (I see the light!) I realise just how bad it was.

Let me be clear, for those of you who haven't had this conversation with me (and i know it's not many of you). As you know if you've read my past posts at the start of the year i cut my boys off. Least the ones i had at that stage. I didn't intend to cut off all guys ever. I just decided that my priorities had changed and friends with benefits was no longer what i wanted and it was just more trouble than it was worth. Unconsciously however i seemed to flick the switch that is my, how shall we say?... irrepressible and veracious flirt vibe. You know what i mean. I'm a flirt, i love to flirt and i love where it can take you and when i flirt I'm, to quote "a force to be reckoned with".

Anyway on Sunday night i went to the Monash Law Ball (i know, i know, I'm not a law student or a Monash student - but that's all the more reason to go and disgrace yourself). Needless to say i took advantage of the free alcohol and i got SMASHED. I was barely conscious at 9.30pm. No, that's a lie, i was never in danger of losing consciousness (much as Hils may have wished me to). But for some reason i suddenly got my flirt back. And, naturally, i hooked up. Not a bad one either, despite my state, he was tall and relatively good looking and wearing a white top hat and tails suit. I don't know his name but I'll call him Uncle Sam (due to the colours of his waistcoat). Drunk and dancing on a way too crowded dance floor in bare feet (it's hard to co-ordinate when drunk and dancing in heels) i met him, not sure how (can't remember)and we danced together. He noticed i didn't have any shoes on
"You don't have any shoes on!" He said in surprise. In my drunken head i said 'well of course not, i took them off' out loud i put on a mock-surprised look and tone
"Oh my god, where can they be?"
"You've lost them?" He asked in concern. Tsk.
"No, don't be stupid." I replied and continued to dance as he looked utterly confused. How we got from there to making out is totally beyond my recollection. Thus i must put it down to my switch flicking back on. I met lots of people that night, and flirted with them all (even when i sobered up a bit) and it was great.

Then, two nights ago,i had one of those dreams. You know the ones. And it was vivid. Really, really vivid. It was, to put it bluntly, mind-blowingly toe-numbing. And it was the whole dream, complete, no waking up before the really good bit. Now, not to harp on about poor little actionless me, but it's been a good while since i've had any kind of nocturnal action and this was much appreciated. The only concern i have, post-dream, is that the guy was someone i actually know. And i keep getting these intense flashbacks - like it really happened and wasn't all in my head. I am now rather concerned that the next time i see Mr. Action i may just jump his bones. Something that i really shouldn't do. So if i avoid you for the next couple of weeks you'll know why. Or if i suddenly jump you you will also know why.

The switch is back on ladies and gents! I noticed it as i worked today, flirting away with the customers. I noticed it as i walked through uni, undressing good looking guys with my eyes and not caring if they noticed (in fact winking roguishly when they did - that' s me, the rogue). I noticed it when i was in the supermarket and managed to get the two guys in front of me in the line to let me go first. Yes, the switch is back on.

Brace yourselves, i have plenty of missed time to catch up on!

Kisses, L.
*for pics of me at the law ball, check out Hils' facebook page

Wednesday, 25 July 2007

Mungo and the cold

My trip to Mungo was eventful in all the usual ways, and some unusual. The archaeology was exciting (even if you think of archaeology only as mucking about in the dirt, this was still exciting - for me, an avid and keen archaeologist wannabe i was practically wetting myself). The location was stunning (unless you have a phobia of wide open spaces). The people were great, friendly and smart - and just as colourful and bizarre as usual.

We stayed in a 'rustic' station which translates as derelict and uninhabited since the 1950s, but once we did a bit of serious cleaning and some minor (by which i mean major) repairs it actually wasn't that bad and kinda fun. If only I'd remembered my dryzabone, accubra and horse i would have felt like a pioneer. Or a serious cowgirl outlaw about to go charging into the sunset and away from the law.

But i digress.

Mungo really is one the most beautiful places in the country, my photos do it no justice, the space is enormous and the horizon looks like it's been taken out of a movie and at night the sky seems to touch the ground and it's so clear you can see every single star individually in the milky way and the only sound was a distant animal wondering about or Craig snoring. Yeah the night sky was awesome. Until you had to pee at 2.00am. It was sooooo incredibly cold up there at night that we all wore more to bed than during the day. I slept in my thermals, over which i wore another set of thermals, a pair of socks with bed socks over those, my flannel pjs, my soft gloves, my beanie, my polarfleece jacket and sometimes a scarf (until i woke up two nights in a row having choked myself awake in its tangles) and this was inside my snow sleeping bag and two blankets. As you can imagine waking up really needing to pee at the coldest part of the night was never pleasant. You had to get out of your warm sleeping bag, pull on your boots, leaving your room by the door that had stuck shut with frost while trying to not wake your roommate, pull on an extra jacket and grab the torch. Then bracing yourself against the icy wind you ran the length of the station because all that time getting out of your room has made your need for the toilet even more desperate, also running helps the blood keep flowing. Right now you hate the clear starry sky, the wide open space (especially since this space is between you and the outside toilet at the far end of the station site) and any noises you hear scare you because they sound so close and you really need to pee, not try and find some stupid desert animal to reassure yourself it's not going to attack you. Finally you reach the corrugated iron shed and rush in to it's solid blackness, then holding the torch in your mouth so you can still see in the pitch black you have to yank off all your layers while scanning to see that no nasty spiders had moved in during the night before you sit (and that did happen quite a lot, the spiders loved the toilet shed) and my god the toilet seat is FREEZING!!!! Try not to yelp at the cold in case you wake the others. When you finally get back to bed you have no chance in hell of getting warm again and spend the rest of the night shivering and cursing that cup of tea you had after dinner by the fire.

But apart from that - and the cold showers, and then no showers because the pipes froze - it was great! Everyone there was lots of fun and we all got along really well. Within a day of meeting each other most of us had acquired nicknames. Craig who was huge, 6 foot 5 i think he said, and solid but the strong silent type though really nice, was nicknamed Obelix. Peter, the bone expert (so consequently i hung with him a lot) was great fun, a real joker and always playing pranks and supplying the alcohol was called Peter Pan because he refused to grow up. Nikki, who was heading the dig was The Boss, Deanna the cook was called Cookie, Cally became Supercally because Rachel and Coby (the kids) thought her name sounded like the first part of Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious from Mary Poppins. Red became Bluey, Rudey became Inspector Gadget because he fixed everything, and always had everything anyone needed on him. Jackie became No.2 because she was Nikki's assistant. And i became Oh Passionate Gazelle. And no i am not going to say why, suffice to say that it's all Peter's fault. The others kept their names.

Archaeologically so much to do and even more to learn, talk about being thrown in the deep end! I actually found something! All on my own! A skeleton of a Tasmanian Devil (silly me for thinking that they were only ever in Tassie) that dates back to approx. 16,000 years ago. Peter Pan was really cool about it and it got to be my own little project. Which was exciting until i panicked and freaked out about all the responsibility this entailed cos if you fuck up the uncovering of a 16,000 year old skeleton there's no way to fix it.

This post is way too long ( i whinged about the night toilet excursions too much) so I'll stop there but it was a great trip and i had a great time and pics will soon be up on my new facebook account (how's that for cross-referencing and advertising).

Kisses, L.

Monday, 23 July 2007


I know it's been ages since i've written and i'm so grieviously sorry to all my devotees out there, waiting, no doubt with bated breath for the next instalment of the life of this Princess. It's not that my life has hit the pause button (it has never done any such thing, fast-forward yes, instant replay yes, and even rewind) indeed it's been ever so busy but i just haven't gotten to writing about it.

I have most excellent excuses why not. First of all i was away. Isolated, 387 kms into the desert from anywhere and without phones or internet so there, try and get around that one. True i have been back for a week yet it has been one crazed week mainly focused around a rather violent fisticuffs with the Melbourne University Arts Faculty admin about my enrolment. Infact i'm still recovering, and still seething with fury at the stupidity and crap i've had to deal with. That said, i don't think that my opponent came off much better. And i so totally won.

So anyway, i am now promising you - my faithful fans - that in the next 48 hours there will be a totally fabulous and truely spectacular blogpost up with pics and all about my trip to Mungo and the dig.

That is my promise to you.
Kisses, L.

Thursday, 7 June 2007

Systematically Coping

Swotvac, or as its known to most of us students The-week-before-finals-when-you-try-to-learn-a-whole-semesters-worth-of-work-in-7-caffine-filled-sleep-deprived-unwashed-days always manages to bring out the strangest parts of me. Maybe it’s the sitting at a desk for 17 hours a day, or my body growing accustomed to artificial light to the point where I avoid direct sunlight because I actually think it’ll hurt me, or it could even be the complete overload and jumbled mess that is my brain trying to remember, in photographic detail, everything I am supposed to have learned these last few months. What I know is that my system always finds some strange method of dealing with the stress of this week. Last Swotvac I was in the uni library from an unmentionably early hour till I got kicked out when it shut just to go home and cram some more. I dealt with the stress that time by eating entire tubes of Berrocca, without water, and building pyramids out of coffee cups with Miss M and Miss Newspop. The Swotvac before that I dealt with my overload by spending long hours thinking of something to write in the copious email newsletters I sent, and after writing them eagerly checking my inbox every few minutes to see if I myself had gotten any emails. The Swotvac before that I used retail therapy – adding several, ok more than several, pairs of shoes to my collection in less than a week. The Swotvac before that I … well actually I don’t remember what I did to cope then. In fact, now that I think about it I don’t remember that week at all.

Needless to say I am once again enduring Swotvac and being half way through am realizing something I already knew. I don’t cope so well under stress. Well I guess I do, in that I always manage to get through it, but that’s only because my afore mentioned system starts going wacky as an outlet. This Swotvac seems to be no different. I’ve reached the point where I actually feel ok about going to uni in my trackies and thongs (for those of you who don’t see me all the time this almost never happens. The one time it did previously – also during Swotvac – I managed to bump into almost everyone I know at uni and they all independently commented on my attire). I currently consider biscuits and olive dip a fitting meal. For breakfast. Lunch. And dinner. When I actually do come into contact with other people I get all excited and nervous and full of pent up energy, like a puppy that’s been locked in a house alone for several days. My concentration on anything outside my studies is defunct – as proven when I tried to eat my highlighter and highlight with my toothbrush (what my toothbrush was doing in the living room is beyond me). I call a friend to have a break but don’t have anything to talk about because I have no life outside my homework. 15 minutes later I call them again and still have nothing to say. After typing my uni password a bagillion times I suddenly can’t remember it, or my log on (which is ldamman by the way – yeah, tricky).

This year’s coping mechanisms my system has developed? Late night TV and Exercise. I know, I know. First of all late night TV. By the time I go to bed it’s after 2.00am and I’m wiped but my mind is still buzzing so I can’t sleep. Instead I lay in bed and watch those quality shows on in the early hours of the morning. And those great late night adds. I now know the phone and txt numbers for, Lesbian Lovers, Dirty Texts, Manga Porn for you Phone (yeah that one weirded me out) all by heart. I also have an urge to buy Proactive acne wash, even though I don’t have acne, and a robo-gym, which just scares me. As to the shows themselves, well as I lay here writing this ‘Life Talk’ is on. Don’t be misled by it’s catchy title, this show is actually an American chat show-style indoctrination program that just goes on and on, and on, and on, and on about how great it is to be Catholic, how it solves all your life problems including relationships, debt and financial needs, education and, oh yeah, spiritual well being. Not to mention Catholicism is the cure for world poverty, hunger and AIDS. If this blatant propaganda wasn’t so nauseating and offensive I might actually stop to wonder about how if Catholicism is such a fix-it-all and has been around for just over 2,000years why hasn’t it fixed? Then again I usually just switch over to the robo-gym infomercial and try and figure out how it gives you abs like that. Or the unknown Eastern European country’s news on SBS.

My other newfound … activity, seems to be exercise. This in itself is drastic. For long ago were the days when I welcomed, with well-toned arms wide open, extensive and highly beneficial exercise. Nope, these days I get my heart rate going by spending a whole day on uni campus in heels, or a whole night dancing, or some serious (or not too serious) sex. Or all of the above, preferably one after the other. However these past few days I’ve been getting a serious urge to build up a sweat on a treadmill (I hate running) or pull on my runners and head for the nearest park. So finally, this morning, I caved and did just that. I now know just how unfit I am, especially compared to what I used to be. Upon arriving at the carlton gardens I picked a moderate pace and chose a course covering the perimeter of the park. Turning my ipod up off I went.

45 minutes later I collapsed onto the ground gasping, red-faced and sweaty to the point where it looked like I’d been swimming. I was only ¾ of the way around but I couldn’t run, walk or crawl another step. Too hard, too soon (hehe, that sounds naughty, in a good way). Bad move Leah. My obvious distress at my body’s betrayal actually attracted the attention of a kind-hearted dog-walker and concerned she knelt beside me and asked if there was anyone she should call. The woman thought I was having a heart attack, or some kind of attack. Well that punctured my self-righteous I’m-a-hard-core-runner ego that I’d sorta half formed. When I managed to get my breath, and energy, back I thanked her for her concern and explained that I was really fine as her little dog continued to climb with his muddy little paws all over me. I didn’t have that much energy that I could stop him, or even flail about a bit to make him desist. The woman, clearly not believing me insisted on staying until I was able to get back on my feet. I waited until she was out of sight before attempting to walk. Thus, shakey-legged, clammy from old sweat, covered in dog footprints and disheveled I slowly, oh so slowly made my way back home. I almost wept as I crawled up the stairs and practically threw myself into the shower. Hopefully that got this urge for unfun exercise (aka not the three preferred methods i listed above) out of my system. I think the stiffness and soreness I am now experiencing whenever I, well, move will help with that.

Thus another Swotvac passes and I must content myself with the knowledge that in a few days it’ll all be over and I can detox my system’s latest kinks by going out till all hours of the night, drinking exciting new drinks, meeting highly unsuitable men, sleeping in, eating a regular diet (well regular for me), watching as much tv at regular viewing times as I want and having fun. Yes, it will all be worth it. I have to tell myself that.

Kisses, L.