(un)post.

For the last week I have been trying to write a new blog post. I've started about seven of them only to highlight and click delete after feeling completely unhappy with it. Am I simply just buried in a pit of writers block or is my life at a halt with nothing worthy of talking about? I think it's a mix of both. I started blogs that were way too emo and personal to ones about paddle pops and wanting to wear shorts. Firstly, no one needs to hear me cry a river over the same bloody thing and secondly, paddle pops haven't been exciting to talk about since 5th grade in the playground. As for the shorts one, I don't usually wear shorts, I want to start wearing shorts. Done. Honestly, where the hell did I think I was going with that one? Somewhere between deep thoughts and fleeting ones, I've lost my motivation to write. I haven't picked up a book recently, perhaps that's it? When I would have trouble articulating what I was trying to say, Marcus would always tell me to read more. For some reason I'd get a little mad at that statement but I guess it makes sense to me now. I've stopped reading and in turn have stopped writing. Could the two be connected?

I have some pretty major decisions to make so I think my mind is so far deep in thought and confusion that writing right now seems impossible. So here I am writing a blog post about not being able to write a blog post. Don't try and figure me out, I still can't do that myself.

Monday to Monday.

Work. Wine. Flying Ants. Lucky Coq. Prudence. Heat Wave. Carlton Club. Whopper Meal. Egan St. 3:30am Sad DnM's. Horrible Sleep. Early Morning. Bus Ride. Tivoli Place. Public Holiday. Bed Tears. Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels. French Fantasies. Work. Astro Boy. Cinema Nap. Mexican Food. St Kilda. Meet the Fockers. Sister Sleepover. Work. Vietnam Date. Sister Bellas. Melbourne Bitter. Egg Cocktail. Late Night. Early Morning. Work. Three Bottles of Champagne. Karaoke. I'm Just A Girl. Carlton Club. Hazy. Pony. Red Rock Deli Chips. Tivoli Place. Bed. Sleep In. Jo. Greg. Youtube. Youtube. Youtube. Charlie. Burger With The Lot. Gran Torino. Chips. Cookies. The Hairy Bird. Rock Of Love. Orange Cafe. Lunch. Poached Fruit Salad. The Ladies. Hot. New Purse. True Romance. Matt. Pasta. Special Cupcakes. The Michael Jackson Story. Bed. Work. Home. Hot. Vegetables. Cous Cous. Charlie. Banana Paddle Pop. Prudence. Cocktail. Marie Antoinette. Lesbos Sleepover. Work.

Sing-a-long

"Kill me".

"Okay, I'll come back with a knife".

I'm nursing a horrible hang over. My eyes are burning from lack of sleep and my stomach is craving chicken. The worst part? I have no time to rest, after this it's off to Charlie's for her Graduation celebrations. A bottle of Moet, Vietnamese dinner and a Karaoke room will set the night up for some serious debauchery.

To be honest, I'm terrifed of this Karaoke room. I adore my friends and I know they won't pass judgement on my shocking singing voice, but theres something awkward about getting up and singing infront of only 9 other people. Do I take it seriously? Or do I act like a nut? Do I dance? Or stand still and stare into the monitor? I don't think I'm ready for my stage debut! I may daydream about having Karen O's voice and charisma, but the reality is, I'm awkward and shy when it comes to standing infront of a crowd. I can't even play a game of charades without getting a little nervous. Its the pressure to entertain that makes me want to curl up in the foetal positon.

You'd think years spent being involved in dance and drama productions would have cured this fear but I stopped all that around the age of 16. Thats when the tall, popular girls became too intimdating and the immature boys were on the 'lets tease the flat chested girls' bandwagon. I was not about to put myself out there to be judged by those idiots. However, it's those idiots that make you toughen up and accept an invitation to sing your little heart out in a Karaoke bar.

So it's not really a lack of confidence that I'm worried about tonight, its just that that awkward 16 year old girl comes out in me whenever faced with an audience and I can see Brendan Ellis' face now staring back at me yelling 'GROW SOME BOOBS JENNA!'. Fuck you Brendan Ellis.

Slut.

Today I feel like a cafe slut. I just opened myself up to another option in the way of food on my lunch break. Cafe Veloce, where a cute French boy served me. Whether the boy was cute or it was just his accent that was, I can't be sure. Once he started speaking everything became hazy. $13.50 later and I'm now working 3 different cafes. One of them, Twist, I don't have to say anything when I walk in, the guy knows my order and doesn't allow me to browse another option. Toasted chicken, spinach and cheese sandwich with added mayo, salt and pepper. Even though its delicious, I'm starting to feel a tad boring and overly predictable. Who knew a sandwich man was able to make you feel like this? Then there's Cafe White. They do alright when it comes to wraps and salads but its their banana bread that makes me keep going back for more. They know how I like it, un-toasted, no butter, just as is, thanks. But today they were super busy and I wasn't the mood to be boring and predictable, so I tried Cafe Veloce and discovered a whole new range of sandwiches and baked treats. Oh, and a French boy.

Now my problem is this, all three cafes are within walking distance of each other. Two of them are even neighbours. I've spent a lot of money and eaten a lot of food to become a 'regular' at the first two, and then I go and dip my hungry little fingers into a new one! I feel like a cheating wife. A player, some might say (by some, I mean a thug lovin' gangster from the Bronx). Cafe Twist is like my husband, always safe and reliable yet boring. Cafe White is my boyfriend, we go on dates and he knows how I like it. Cafe Veloce is my sexy European fling. Some might say I have it all but then again, some might say I wasted my time writing about cafes as if they were human.

*note- woman in picture is not me.

I dream of NYC.

I've been neglecting this little blog. I guess it's a mix of busy writing other things and life getting too chaotic to write anything at all. When most people find it therapeutic to write down their life experiences and thoughts, I tend to struggle and don't actually like doing it at all. If I write it all down in black and white then I'm forced to properly acknowledge it and face up to it all. I'm not ready to do that just yet. I wouldn't even know where to start, to know where it all went wrong. Time is fleeting and a lot has happened. I want the world to stop, I want to get off this stupid ride.

I need a new crowd. And I need to start making wiser decisions. To make yourself a better person at this age is fucking difficult. With a mix of parties and substances, its easy to spiral into self destruction. It doesn't make it easier when you've lost the one person that keeps you sane and safe. If studying next year doesn't happen for me then I think I want to move away. This city is becoming suffocating. I dream of New York. Living in a loft in Brooklyn, working with creative people and gaining some perspective. Meeting new and exciting people to refuel my confidence and realising there is more out there. Although, I'd miss my girls, and I'd miss him. Perhaps sacrifices need to be made.

There's the things that make you happy and the things that make you destructive. Some times the line between the two can become blurry. Ahhh, so that's where I went wrong! Now its time to redeem myself and grow up. And move to New York of course.

Office Spaceheads.

People are being strange today. I've been people watching and I've realised that the people I work with are weirdos. To put it simply. First there's Matt. He grabs his individual packaged yoplait yoghurt from the fridge and then instead of going back to his desk to relax and enjoy his dairy product, he leans against the kitchen wall and rapidly shoves spoon after spoon into his mouth until it's all gone within 1 minute. Why the rush Matt? Why? Then we have Glenn. Who is one of the bosses, earns good money and loves coffee. However, instead of either buying a fancy mug or using one that is provided here at the office, he insists on using a tiny, white plastic cup. Firstly, that's gotta get hot to hold and secondly, you're not camping Glenn. Then there's Joanne. Twice today I have noticed that when she enters the bathroom she flushes the first toilet but then uses the second one. What the fuck??? Way to waste water Joanne. I know I'm probably just as strange for noticing such behaviour but my work is boring and these weirdies are keeping me entertained.

Tyler Ward.

This past weekend I went to Parklife. I can't remember a time I wasn't dancing or being rubbed up against by wanker guys with no shirts on and girls with way too much fake tan. We arrived around 3pm and decided to watch Busy P (or is it Busy D? I don't know dj's. forgive me) As I scanned the crowd of already wasted 20 something's, who should catch my eye but my grade 9/10 high school crush! I couldn't believe my eyes. There he was. Tyler Ward. It's been almost 5 years since I last ventured back to my hometown in northern Queensland and I had no intention of ever revisiting. And there was my past revisiting me here in Melbourne. I hesitated at first to walk up to him to say hello. I mean, I was obsessed with this guy and he wanted nothing to do with me! But the breakfast champagne I drank gave me that much needed confidence so I strolled up and was all like "Oh hey Tyler Ward". Thankfully he "hey'd" me back and actually remembered who I was.

Here's the back story on Tyler Ward. He was THE coolest dude in school. He moved to Moranbah from Adelaide when he was around 15 but for some unknown reason he had to be put back two grades. He played AFL and was obsessed with Nelly. That's all I knew about him. That, and that he was a total babe. I would sit in my room and memorise all the lyrics to every Nelly song. Even to this day I could rap "Ride Wit Me" to you. I tried to find a diary entry or a classroom note to showcase my love for Tyler Ward but seems I didn't keep any. Strange, because back then when I had a crush everyone knew about it. I let the whole school yard know my yearning for the poor guy. No wonder he ran for the hills. So long story short, Tyler Ward never accepted my love and I eventually moved onto some other poor sucker.

Jump to October 3rd 2009 and there we were again. Only now, he's a man and somewhat rounder. He's lost his boyish charm but that still didn't stop me from getting the slight butterflies while talking to him. He still lives in Moranbah doing god knows what and couldn't be any more sheltered. With a can of Bundy Rum in his hand he glanced around the crowd and said, "These birds have some weird get up hey". Erm, Tyler Ward, did I just hear you say "get up"? Yep, any one wearing anything other than board shorts and a Billabong shirt was fascinating. Bless him. We didn't speak for very long and to be honest, he was very polite and sweet. I'm still happy I didn't stay and marry him like I wanted to back then though. I'd be bare foot and pregnant humming Nelly's latest hit no doubt.