"Ticket for one please"

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Ask yourself this – would you go to the cinema alone?

I faced this ‘first world problem’ recently. I’d decided I wanted to see this film, but didn’t have anyone to go with. Toying with the idea of going alone and unsure if it was still a faux pas, I broached the subject with friends. Their response was clear – I had lost the plot. Even my own mother shunned me. In their eyes going to the cinema alone on any night of the week, especially a Saturday, was a social norm violation. To heck with them I thought, YOLO right?

I still can’t understand why it’s such a big taboo, so I did what all normal people do when in the midst of a personal crisis – I ‘googled’ it. And as I found in a very interesting forum, you aren’t there to socialise or to have conversations with the person next to you. You’re there to simply watch the film. And last time I checked you didn’t need another person there for that, unless of course you’re visually impaired – which I’m not. Sure, when the film finishes you can compare notes and quote funny lines (in this instance the film was in French so that would have been difficult, but not impossible), but if I was feeling the need to talk about it I could just call someone and chew their ear off about how great it was.  

As the afternoon wore on I started to feel slightly exhilarated at the thought of going alone and in my eyes ‘championing social change’ (sounding slightly deluded as I look back now). I remembered I had gone to the cinema alone once before. I was 12, a touch overweight due to a love affair with Chicken Treat and not at the height of my popularity. Two girls from my grade happened to be there and sat behind me. They still tease me about it today. The movie was called Serendipity and I can see now why no one wanted to part with $10 and lose 90 minutes of his or her day watching it. Regardless, I thought to myself if a 12 year old can confidently go to the movies alone, my 22 year-old self could do the same.

Except I didn’t. While wrapping up some premiums I had lobbed some peanut butter in (I refuse to pay the astronomical prices at the candy bar) I received a phone call from a friend who decided at the 11^th hour that he liked the look of the trailer and would just download it. It turned out to be the best film I had seen all year, and this was the general consensus amongst the other three people whom I watched it with. I can’t help but wonder if I would have enjoyed it as much had I gone alone though.

I went to a music festival this year by myself and I will admit it was a strange. If I ran in to anyone I planned on telling them I had lost the people I had gone with… lost them at the gate.

I guess I’ll just have to wait for the Serendipity sequel before I go the cinema alone again. Hopefully by then it wont be such a trivial decision. I live in hope.

Bike riding basics

This week's (or should I say month’s) food for thought – does bike riding destroy your body and state of mind, or is it just mine?

Having been faced with the unfathomable prospect of enduring public transport for five days a week over the summer, I decided to take up cycling. Or to sound less like a portentous prick - riding my bike to work. For what started as an onerous task, has now become an enjoyable one. However, three months on and still lacking the ability to aerate a tyre, or god forbid replace it, I’ve come to the realisation there is more that meets the eye to those waxed legged, lycra clad, padded pant wearing individuals, who carry an impressive 10 speed gear change at their disposal.

My newfound appreciation for ‘cycling’ has made me understand the other side of driver tension and to echo the words of Police Commissioner Karl O’Callaghan, Australian drivers generally have a low consideration for other road users. Three months ago my ignorance would have made me unequivocally dispute this comment. I was one of those aggravated motorists feeling inconvenienced by having to slow down for cyclists. Often wondering why they couldn’t just do us ‘all’ a favour and ride on the footpath. But 10 minutes in to my first ride I quickly learnt bikes are not as safe as cars and sharing both the road and footpath with other users requires a considerable amount of concentration and a bike that is up to the task. Here lies my first mistake.

Rather than purchasing a new bike the amateur in me was blind sighted by aesthetic appeal; opting for an older style bike. While it undeniably has a certain retro look about it, given the advancement in bicycle specifications in the 40 years since it left the assembly line, it lacks the common modern day features you come to expect, such as suspension and a seat appropriate for someone with a derriere over the age of five. Riding it is certainly no pleasurable activity. Every crack, rock, stick, change in road surface can be felt as I straddle the handlebars with every inch of my life.

To put it ‘loosely’ there has been a few teething issues. The first being when the chain came off after an emergency braking situation. In an attempt to put it back on it I somehow ended up removing the back wheel and then having to call my housemate to pick me up. Back to the workshop it went. Following this you would think would anything else would be fairly nominal. However, at this point I was still struggling with how to get the air out of my specky pumping apparatus. Fed up with fellow cyclists telling me ‘mate your tyres are looking a little flat’ I decided to call in to a cycle shop and borrow their pump. Only problem is I wasn’t aware of how much air to put in and this led me to blowing the tyre tube up. It certainly raised some eyebrows from the staff who came rushing out and any bystanders in a 50-metre radius who were looking around to see if a drive by shooting had taken place. Mentally destroyed by this point in time I walked the bike home (with my helmet on – safety first) and attempted to change it myself – a cost effective measure. As you’d expect, a simple tube change turned into a four hour ordeal, leading me to find myself at my third cycle shop where I was greeted with the response ‘mate how the f*ck did you manage that?’. Unbeknown to me, my handy work cost me a new chain, tyre tube and shifter. There has since been another flat tyre and a visit to my fourth cycle shop.

While I admit the experience has been financially, mentally and physically draining, I am yet to be deterred. I can, however, assure you that I won’t be competing in any up coming triathlons or next years Tour de France. It’s all yours Cadel – respect bro! For the moment I’ll just stick with my 8km ride, praying I don’t have another flat and end up at what will now be my fifth cycle shop.

Bye for now,

Cuttsy

Can I bust a dart off you?

This week’s food for thought… is smoking ramping back up?

Ask yourself this - do you bust the old durry just to be social?

As I sit hunched over the keyboard in my usual Sunday hung over state, I’m toying with uncertainty on whether to have Chicken Treat for the second time today. But one thing I do know is that the last thing I feel like is a cigarette. Ironically, just 20 hours ago I was sitting outside a club on a kerb ‘busting a durry’.  I admit, YES it’s a filthy habit and I loathe smoking, however, after a few beverages I’m impartial to the cheeky dart. Aren’t we all?

While my judgment might be slightly skewed given my slightly intoxicated state, I can’t help but wonder if smoking is on the rise. Has it become cool to smoke again? Is there a recent apparent increase in young adult smoking? Or do we just find our selves lighting up to be social. 

Given any day of the week you’d never catch me at the smokes counter in Coles buying a carton of Winnie blues, but chances are come Saturday night there is a high possibility you could find me chasing a cheeky smoke off a random and then troubling them for a light. Until today, I was fairly resigned to the fact that smoking had become a big taboo in our society, given it has all been but eradicated from enclosed spaces. Smokers have now been driven outside and sort of outcast in a way. But it seems as the weekend swings around that's all but forgotten and it becomes a social ritual. I went to gig recently and I spent the majority of the time outside in the courtyard talking with strangers. Cigarette in in one hand, drink in the other, bonding over a silent killer. At one point it seemed there were more people outside than what there were inside. I think I listened to about one song and my memory of that is very hazy.

Maybe there are two kinds of smokers after all. There are those who have an addiction to nicotine and then there’s a new breed that light up to be social and don’t particularly take anything from inhaling and filling up their lungs with smoke. 

Is social smoking just a fad or is it here to stay? Maybe I will need to stop off at that smokes counter after all and invest in my own pack and lighter if that’s the case.

Bye for now – I’m off to get that half chicken and chips after all.

Cuttsy

I'm now twenty one

This week's (well I should say month as I have been very slack) food for thought.... the big twenty one!

I hit twenty one on the odometer a few weeks back, finally clocking the big number. Officially leaving my adolescent youth behind, I am now in the threshold of adulthood. As I awoke to a string of good wishes, I remember thinking three things: how old I had become, where had the time gone and how little I had accomplished. In the depths of my morning depression I sought salvation in the internet - like you do – to solve my quandary and was quickly reassured by an appealing article in Time US claiming “ahead lays a straight track, open air, solid ground and your own work – a life.” Let’s just go with that!

Still, as motivating as that article intended to be, I couldn’t help but think about how quickly this year had gone. I remember making the remark to a friend in February how this year would be filled with weekends spent celebrating 21^st birthdays and not even giving my own a second thought (being a November child).  But before I knew it, the day was steadily approaching. Facing the dilemma of whether to have a party or put the money towards an overseas trip, it dawned on me that I would only be given this opportunity once, so I might as well make it a memorable one. It’s just a shame I got so recklessly intoxicated and the latter part of the evening is all but obliterated from my memory. All I really had to show for it the next morning was a nauseous hang over and a lost iPhone and wallet. While the sceptics out there (the whole four people who subscribe to this blog) might deem it a complete waste of money, looking back I am glad I decided to have the party. Apart from some late night deplorable antics, the night itself is something I will look back on with the fondest memories. I can’t think of a better way than to spend an evening with 40+ people that have been such a huge part of this 21 year journey and it was great to hear the speeches from close mates that paid out a few complements, touched on some funny memories (some I would like to forget) and triggered some laughs from the crowd - even if they were at my own expensive.

So as I sit here writing this as a twenty one year old, I can’t help but wonder what I’ve learnt so far. This is what I came up with so far:

• A childhood fascination with vacuum cleaners is strange (get your minds out of the gutters);
• Strategically lining your toys up might lead people to think you have autism;
• Blue Heelers wasn't the same after Maggie died;
• A diet of chicken and chips is not a healthy one;
• 14,000 feet when jumping out of an aeroplane is extremely high;
• Surviving 24 hrs in a middle eastern airport can be done;
• Downing 35 shots will leave your body in a comatised state;
• The neighbourhood doesn’t quite share the same appreciation for midweek drinking and the uni life as you do;
• Games that involve getting naked should not be played in people’s kitchens;
• Late night drives to maccas when heavily intoxicated will more than likely involve you spending time at a police station;
• Wearing band aids on your nipples and then go swimming is not socially acceptable behaviour;
• Accepting the fact you will not be a sports visionary;
• One shouldn’t jump through a skipping rope engulfed in flames when you’re uncoordinated and intoxicated;
• Susan Boyle is one of the worlds rare finds;
• Crocs are not a popular shoe choice; and
• Hangovers are incurable - deal with it!

While most people tend to be jumping ship and getting married and having babies at this age, I think it might be time to pull the passport out again, tie my shoes and pack my bag and see what next adventure awaits me. That or I should probably get back to work.

Here’s to the next 21 years!

Bye for now,

Cuttsy

Are you for Siri?

This week’s food for thought… my new friend Siri

A combination of drunken antics and a growing sense of animosity toward pre paid phones led me to make a new friend this week. Her name is Siri…just to clarify it’s not Tom Cruise’s daughter as I saw someone on Facebook mistake her for, that poor bitch’s name is Suri.

According to the ‘techsperts’ Siri is “the voice-activated ‘personal assistant’ that is a talkative tool that helps schedule appointments, send and receive messages and perform any number of other routine tasks.”

 

Initially I was fairly blasé toward the idea of this ‘sci-fi dream of a computer that talks back in a robotic female voice’, but it wasn’t long until I quickly found myself quizzing Siri on the meaning of life, asking for information on the weather – even informing me whether or not I needed a rain coat, enquiring how many calories can be found in an apple and the rounding out with a joke she threw in about 2 iphones. I then found myself hurling abuse at her just to see if I could make her crack; I couldn’t. 

In my quest to find out what else Siri has to say, I stumbled across a Tumblr blog called, ‘Shit that Siri Says’ on which people post their odd question-and-answer exchanges with the app. Among some of its more creative entries:

While Siri can be snide and is unable to tell me the meaning of life (who can really?), she can sure help me with other routine mundane tasks and given time I think she will one day hold the ultimate answer (and in my opinion the meaning of life) – how do you cure a hang over?

Until such a time, I think we will leave it there for tonight. Hang on I'll just check with Siri...

Bye for now,

Cuttsy

Joggers nipple

This week’s food for thought… lactating nipples

My chafing is such a bitch, it’s like someone razored me in my boobies”

-       Sean Tolkey, The Big C

I had to laugh when watching an episode of the Big C last night when Sean’s attempt to run a half marathon was cut short because of some excruciating fabric friction in the nipple area. I felt like saying, don’t worry Sean you are not alone.

 Last week I found myself asking a mates girlfriend a question I never thought I would find myself asking, and given the look on her face, probably one she never thought she would have to answer. ‘Can I borrow some paw paw cream, my nipples are so dry’? Thankfully she was very obliging.

Where’s he going with this you might be thinking. Well, amongst a myriad of strange bodily problems that I seem to be plagued with, joggers nipple is another one (in other words bleeding nipples). Just to clarify, they aren’t dripping away at all hours of the day, only when I go running. I first learnt I was suffering from this condition  (as I’m now calling it) when I went for my first 10km run. I came bounding through the door expecting a round of congratulations from housemate at the time, only for her to ask me why my white singlet had two large brown stains in the nipple area, looking as though someone had thrown choc milk at me. I kind of wish they had.

In an attempt to rid myself of this problem I decided when holiday in Thailand some time soon after, I would put band-aids over them to avoid this embarrassing moment from reoccurring. Problem solved I said to myself. Only I forgot I had put them on and after finishing a run in the hotel gym I thought to myself, what better way to cool off than a dip in the swimming pool. Off goes the shirt and as I enter the water I can’t help but notice some strange looks from fellow hotel guests. Probably just admiring my freestyle stroke I thought. Thinking nothing of it I exit the water, towel adorned around my neck, shirt still off and I make my way through the hotel back to my room. Its only when I entered the bathroom that I realized that I hadn’t taken the band-aids off when swimming and it suddenly dawned on me that they weren’t in awe of my bilateral breathing abilities, instead thinking why on earth does this idiot have two band-aids in the shape of a cross on each of his nipples. I’m surprised I didn’t go in to cardiac arrest as I ripped them and shrieked in horror.

Do you suffer from jogger’s nipple? Or am I the only one, along with breast-feeding mothers. So if you do see me running, don’t be alarmed, I haven’t been slashed across the chest. Or on an evening out if you find me rummaging through your drawers or looking very attentively in your bag, I’m not stealing, simply trying to catch a glimpse of that magic red cream and hoping for a bit of relief.

Bye for now,

Cuttsy

I'm in London still

This weeks food for thought… one year on

It is a bittersweet feeling to know one year ago I had spent my first night at the University of Hertforshire, in a single bed adorned with sheets made out of industrial sandpaper and a mattress that contoured with the shape of my body. With jet lag neatly in tow, I vividly recall its side effects and the urge I felt to slip in to my skins and go for a run at 5am to explore the town site that would become my home for the next 6 months. After acquainting myself with the likes of ASDA and the Galleria, the realisation dawned on me that Hatfield wasn’t exactly the heartbeat of the motherland, nor was it the new ‘London’ as splashed about on a number of billboards.

Looking back those first few days were a combination of utter excitement and sheer terror. For some unapparent reason it hadn’t really dawned on me just how far I had removed myself from the familiar.  I’d been so preoccupied in the weeks leading up to leaving Oz that I hadn’t really considered the scale of condensing my life in to 24 kilograms of luggage and moving half way across the world where I did not know a single sole. I was definitely wading in unfamiliar waters. Facing the very real prospect of spending the next six months of my life without any friends I remember saying to myself as I wandered over to my first international students seminar “have you just made the biggest mistake of your life?” Ironically enough it was here and over the course of the week that followed where I would meet the people I would spend every day with for the next six months. Many of who became very close friends, and still are. What an adventure we shared! My only regret is that we didn't stay longer.

For anyone considering the prospect of exchange, I couldn’t urge you enough. It really was a life-changing experience, from learning a new culture, to making new friends from diverse ethnic and national backgrounds. In the end you gain a better appreciation of other cultures, as well as your own.

So here’s to England - what an escapade!

Bye for now

Cuttsy