27 05 2010

Milo was a soft ginger cat who was incredibly majestic. Looking back, I think he was one of the most lovely creatures I can recall. When my dad would throw things at him, because he didnt like cats, poor Milo would forgive him and seek his love rather than fear and shun him. And when dad decided he liked cats afterall, Milo welcomed his affections with open arms. And that made dad happy.

When darling Mesha the dog got overexcited upon seeing him, her tail would spin around like crazy. She’d run up to him, putting her heavy paws all over his head and licking the shit out of him. Milo would simply use his claws to gently restrain her, before giving Mesha a big lick and a kitty cuddle. Mesha would get crazy excited just to have me call out to Milo, because she loved him so much.

When Milo was in your bed at night and you accidentally kicked him or rolled on him or moved him somewhere, he never complained. He just found a better spot near you and nestled as close to you as he could, and he would stay there until morning when the cat nip was brought out, and his great love of food – second only to his family – drew him to the kitchen. He would sit for hours in front of that food cupboard, only mewing occasionally and unobnoxiously.

He was gentle and mature, standing upright and puffing out his chest like a proud lion. Lazing about int he sun all day, and his constant enviable leisure time only increased with age, but regardless, his childishness never faltered. To the very end, he would chase stupid bits of string, attack the couch, and as much as he pretended to not like it, play tackle with the kittens we often set loose on him. Yes, Milo had to deal with several kittens. In his old age, he had 4 seperate little cats arrive at our home, and Milo, though curious, never attacked or hurt those kittens. Never did he try to act dominant or grumpy like most other territorial felines. Milo was too sweet for that. The main kitten he shared a life with was Oscar, whom he heavily nurtured, played with like a youngen, and cuddled up to frequently. Oscar very obviously thought of Milo like a parent and a close friend. Yet another animal who loved Milo more than I can say.

Milo could always make you feel loved, and even if his continued affections were annoying and even, quite literally, a little smothering, he was so beautiful, so accepting, so affectionate and welcoming to any and all kinds of family and attention… Something about him was comforting, as if it was not only his desire for attention that drew him to you. I have known no other cat like him.

Milo died yesterday. He was almost 18 years old. He was a beautiful cat. He was a wonderful friend. I hope he went peacefully, and that he knew how much we all loved him.


Rude Dude Fiasco

2 05 2010

In my last blog you have born witness to a fine example of a male first trying to pick me up, quickly followed by behaviour that I can only describe as “unhinged”. I seem to have a habit of attracting men who don’t seem to understand what it means to possess qualities such as politeness, humilty or even common decency. They just hit on me in an unconventional, but immature way, and then stomp their foot and say harsh things when all I’ve said is “no, thank you”. I could have a boyfriend! I could be a lesbien! I could be about to pass out from a sudden onset of vertigo! Either way, why would you be so crass as to literally abuse the person who was so vulgar as to not fall in love with you at that very instant!?

You already know about the crazed elderly dancing generalissimo. But here are some stories that describe my tragic experiences with men, who I apparently attract.

About a week or two ago I joined a few friends for a drink over at the Fox in South Bank. I went with no intention of really drinking as I had been unwell was also driving. I was just standing at the bar with my friend Nami who said she was buying just one drink, to be nice. So I thought oh okay, why not, just one… (it’s in my nature)! Nami went ahead and ordered the drinks, during which I felt a slight *tap tap tap* on my shoulder. I turned, expecting to see a friend, and instead there was only a drunk dude with his back to me. I shrugged and turned back to Nami. Then a bit later I feel it again – tap tap tap. This time as I look over, I catch the guy next to me, trying to pretend it wasnt him. Weird. I just ignore it and carry on, thinking he is just trying to annoy me, but then he goes ahead and taps again, straight away, and this time I ask him what he wants. “What? I didnt do anything.” He says, in what he thinks is a very sincere tone. “How are you though, having a good night?”
“Fine thanks” I say. By now Nami has paid for all the drinks, and is just waiting on the last few to be made for our friends over at the table. “Can I get you a drink?” He slurs. To which I smile and shake my head. “No thanks, my friend has already got me one”. He then just stares at me, as if dumbfounded that I gave that response. But what else would I say? I was only allowed one drink, Nami had already purchased me said drink, and I had no intention of leading this guy on or stealing his money. He then goes ahead and says “So you’re saying No to me?” Shock horror. I felt awkward so kind of just said “I’m sorry, but she’s already bought me one, and I’m not having a big one” pointing to the drink Nami has just handed me. He then proceeds to bump into poor Nami, and then puts his arm around her shoulders and tries to start an awkward converstion with her also, then asks if she would like a drink, and before she can respond he asks me again, as if he somehow believes that by hitting on my friend my spiteful feminine nature will brew up and make me want his attention more. I just stare at him awkwardly, and his friend suddenly appears and yanks him away. “Sorry about my friend here, ladies” he says, “he thinks he’s the hottest man in the world”. We kind of chuckle, appeased by this apologetic newcomer, and I say “It’s no problem, just I dont want another drink, I’m driving and all. Sorry”. Guy number one then goes on to say “No actually I dont think you are sorry” in a very angry and bitter voice. I told him he was just being rude now, and turned my back to him. He spent the rest of the night meandering around drunkenly on his own. Cool, man.

Another time I was out at the RE with a group of friends, and I had also been driving so I didnt drink. I was very tired and I only went out in the first place because I had a big crush on this guy who was heading out too. Towards the end of the night, my friends are I were sitting in the corner, I was pretty sleepy by this time, and we all agreed that the group would head off together once everyone had finished those last few drinks. As I stood waiting, a boy approached me. “Hey, hows’ it going?” he says. I’m a little surprised someone has come up to me, I had been too busy attempting normal conversaton with the guy I fancied all night. “Hey” I respond. “Where are you from?” He asks. I wasn’t at all interested, but I wanted to at least be polite, after all we were leaving pretty soon, I could just make casual conversation, maybe exchange numbers if he proved to be sweet or something. Anyway I was so tired I made the lamest joke ever. “Oh not far away. Right here in fact.”
“Oh, you’re from Brisbane?”
“No, like literally, right here. On this spot” and I pointed down at the floor. I realised how stupid that sounded and thought well, maybe now he’ll think I’m lame and not want to talk to me. Instead he looked at me in a very angry and hurt way and replied “wow you didn’t have to be so sarcastic and rude to me. Thanks a lot!” I was like… WTF!? So I said to him “I wasn’t being rude I was just making a stupid joke! I’m from Mackay originally”. Now I was just thinking, Jesus, now I know I’m not interested because he’s already gotten whiny when I was just trying to be nice. He then proceeds to ask me if I want to go downstairs for a drink and a dance. That was the last thing I wanted to do. So I smiled and said thank you, but I was actually planning to head off with my friends soon, so wasn’t really the opportune time to go dancing. I thought maybe if he was keen he couldve stayed and chatted a bit longer and maybe asked me for my number. Instead he said “great, well, thanks for nothing” and walked off, sulkily.

The third and final story (but not the only story I couldve pulled out) is the worst. A couple of my friends were heading overseas so we decided to head out on the town to bid them farewell. This was to be a fun party to which they invited their new room mate at the last minute. I wasnt aware until later that they had aniticipated this person and I would hit it off. They were wrong. First time I tried to talk to him, out of politeness just to introduce myself, he said “Your friends are over there” and wandered off. I instantly thought he was a weirdo and didnt bother trying to talk to him again. We traveled into town by cab which I paid for, and told everyone to buy me one drink each and it should be around even. This guy bought me a drink, but he didnt hand it to me himself, he give it to our mutual friend to give me. Then he did it again. And again. I was drunk by this stage so didnt even realise it had been him buying me those drinks, as he (lets call him Mark) pretty much handed none of them to me. Eventually, a friend says to me “Mark thinks you’re really hot”. I was flattered and thought he must be super shy and thats why he didnt talk to me earlier. Then my friend says “You guys should hook up. He could be your next boyfriend. And then you could come visit us more often.” This was a little confronting as I was not looking for a boyfriend and it seemed  a bizarre way for my friend to get me to come visit when they could just invite me over any time. At this point Mark turns up and asks me if I want to dance. I dont really, I’m not even sure I am interested in him yet. But I remember the last incident when the guy got all sooky and say to myself  go on, give him a chance though next time I’d rather just sit and have a drink with a guy, I think I’ll follow my instincts. We’re down on the dancefloor and having mediocre conversation and I think to myself dont expect brilliant conversation. He’s shy, remember. We keep dancing, and he cant dance for shit. Don’t mind that he cant dance well, I mean, who can? So I’m feeling good, not being picky, trying to meet someone new, and then all of a sudden – hand on the boob. We’re talking inside the dress, people. I was like “whoa whoa whoaaa bucko, you havent even tried to kiss me yet! You’re not supposed to go straight for the boob grab!” To which, he cleverly responds – “ha, I like it” …. WTF!? Still, drunk as I was, I took his hand off my boob and we “attempted” the kiss. Terrible. Like, almost violently terrible. Now I realise nothing is working for me, and i think this guy’s a total douche. He keeps kissing at me. Still terrible. So Im like okay, I’m out. No deal. Anyway I stop hooking up with him and say I’m sick of dancing and we should see what our friends are up to, and get another drink. I get involved in chatter with others which means I dont have to be left alone with him anymore. Eventually I begin to feel a little ill from all the mixed drinks so I opt for a cab home. The delightful Mark decides to follow me into the cab (unfortunately we are headed for the same destination, as I left my car at my friends’ place, which also happens to be his place. Blerg!) He sits right up next to me and is feeling up my leg and trying to make me subject to his terrible kissing again. I tell him, sorry, no, nothing is going to happen between us. He kind of says “ahuh sure” but then doesnt stop. The cabbie seems to think its all very amusing. I tell him “Look, no, nothing is going to happen. You need to stop.” And then he says to me, and I quote, “I don’t wanna listen to your ethics!” He makes the cab stop at a petrol station near the house, making me walk back in heels, because he wanted to scoff a sausage roll and a couple of chocolate bars. Super charming. We get back to the house, and he recommences trying to seduce me with his manly manness. I tell him “Dude, seriously! Not gonna happen.”
He seems defeated, and actually asks me “well what are you going to tell your friends!?” in a somewhat threatening tone. Yes folks, he actually attempted to peer pressure me into having sex with him. Might I add he was 25 at the time.  What. The. What?! I tell him “I’ll say that I wasn’t interested in you”. What a fantastic night.

So here I remain, chronically unattached, because I am apparently too picky. So before anyone goes and tells me I need to be less of a snob, I would think again.  Because chivalry might be fleeting… romance, too much to expect. Hell, you dont have to be mature all the time, I enjoy a good fart joke too. But decency? Gotta have it. And if I’m at risk of ending up with someone like the guys in these awkward tales, well… quite frankly, I’d rather a horde of cats and a healthy dose of dementia, kthnx.

Bonneth Out.

Dance With Me… Spew

30 04 2010

The other night some friends and I went to a cafe on Park Rd for sme coffees after choir, like we do every week. When we arrived, there was the usual live music – the cool little guy on the accordion, keyboard also in front of him, singing french style songs, in the french themed cafe. But this week, there was also a couple salsa dancing, and quite well at that! We deduced they must be from a salsa dancing school, as the man was wearing a shirt with a picture of salsa dancers on it, and so of course I figured that perhaps there were people from a dancing school here to show off as a method of advertisement, and also just for good fun and entertainment. My friend Jackie and I were engaging in some silly dance moves of our own, when suddenly an old man, round around the middle, with a slightly scary squishy face started coming towards us with his hand outstretched. Or rather, started coming towards ME. Matty pointed out that this odd person was coming at me, and once he was close enough he said “come dance with me”.

My first reaction – “Nothanksbai!”. The man wouldnt accept that, so he asked again, multiple times. All of which I replied “No thank you, I really don’t want to”. I even sat down behind Jackie as if to say I want to sit down, not dance. He refused to leave, and my friends were having too good a time laughing at this weirdo, so they kept saying “Go on, Bonnie! Go for it!” and eventually, after hiding behind Matty for a while, I was bullied into just going. It wasn’t so bad, I figured, because ths man was dressed in all black and had a strong Spanish like accent. I assumed he was with the dance school and the instructors were asking random ladies around the restaurant to come up and learn a thing or two just for shits and giggles. So I conceded to think, well, all nice girls in the films dance with sweet lonely old men for a laugh, I could just pretend its like that. I was oh so wrong.

A few seconds on the dance floor made me realise that not only was this old man not a dance instructor, he was also quite terrifying. He tries to teach me the Samba (or the dance of luurve…ew) only he teaches me two steps, which he teaches me wrong (I learnt a little salsa in high school) and we’re just stepping around to this beat that was only in his head, and not in the music, and I tell you, he was gripping my hands HARD. I turn, a little frightened and giggly, back to my friends to see if they might come to my rescue. They’re still just in stitches, so instead I turn back and the mans face has turned from sleazy and giddy to rather cross. “You don look at dem, you look here at me!” he says in a creepy accent. At this point I’m like OMG this is fucking ridiculous, and I go to just leave and run back to my friends, and he GRIPS my hands even harder! I had to literally yank them twice to get his hands fully off mine, and was getting to the level of scared that had me wishing I’d invested in a rape whistle and some pepper spray. I run off and hide behind Matty once again.

By this stage, our friend Glen has also shown up and is laughing most heartily with the rest. As my friends try to include me in the laughter and the fun of the weird occurrance, the guy actually comes back over to us, fuming, and decides to tell me off. “There is a rule! You are not allowed to just do that. You cannot just leave a Samba! The rule is, you must say to me – excuse me, I wish to leave. I want to tag out – You dont just run off. Thats so very rude!” I tell him I’m sorry (though I couldnt have seemed more uninterested in dancing with him from the start) and he waves me off angrily, walks over to the man playing the music and, in his rage, makes him STOP playing, so that he can publicly bitch about me, saying “dat girl she no good”. Of course he is just another crazy in the city and no one even bothers to look up. Even the musician seems to think this guys a bit of a quack and recommences playing.

Needless to say I was completely humiliated, but at least not so much as he was. We have yet to understand his motives. I mean, did he really think a 21 yr old girl – who told him numerous times she didnt want to dance with him – would immediately fall for his old man dancing prowess and sleazy Spanish charms (or lack thereof on both accounts)? Forgive me, Generalissimo, but this was one fair maiden (cough) who found you most ungallant.

Breaking News

29 04 2010

Inspiring modern day fairytales do exist, as Bonnie and Danyl reunite after a proposition for remarriage. The incredibly bromantic proposal was delivered as a variation of the lyrics of ‘I Will Survive’ via text message. Procrastination, giggles and cheese eating ensued. A transcription of the romantic banter will be available soon.

The two have hoped for a ceremony to renew their vows that will most likely involve a beautiful dress that shows off Daniels legs,  a shirtful of delicious McFlurry spillage for Bonnie, and a special television screening of Frisky Dingo, Seasons 1 and 2. 

The recent stint of seperation was sparked by Bonnie’s recent out of control cookie addiction, doubled up with Daniels deep imbedded attraction to men with a manlier beard than the one Bonnie possessed.

 This will prove to be a most advantageous wedding should it succeed in the second round, for they not only can continue to make jokes about the inappropriate violation of the sanctity of marriage, and the outrageous wedding vows they are sure to come up with, but they now also have yet another excuse to plan a holiday to Fiji, for honeymooning purposes.



29 04 2010

So updates! I’ve yet to hear back from the airport people as to whether they want me to make them sexcellent coffee, I’m hoping I hear back soon cos I wants da moneys to do da livin. I have got my good bud Gemma on board to help me with PR and marketing for the theatre company so it’s nice to know I have a helper, and she probably knows tons more about it than I do so I will be sure to hassle her relentlessly. I look forward to our marketing dates where we hand out posters and scoff cheap Lebanese food. I have pitched to BATS magazine that I would like to write up pieces on events such as the Amnesty International exhibition they had on at Lightspace in the valley last night and other charitable endeavours – yes that includes Mary J Blige’s Foundation for searching for the Loch Ness monster. Lol. It would be a nice way to use whatever skill I have to feel I can create awareness and somesuch. And I think lastly I am off to pick up some CDs from RAVE magazine in Greenslopes this afternoon before work so I have a few more reviews to do. I am also expected to do a couple of interviews soon so I need to find a decent recording device so I can do phoners. At the moment I have my generic KMart MP3 player… for which I have little faith.

Anyway, TO PHOTOSHOP! I got it so I could make posters for Miss Saigon when we get the logo rights, but I have been playing on it in the meantime, and I must say the glory of photoshop is unfleeting. Here are some of the genius creations I have whipped together so far:

You need to click on that second one to see the whole thing, otherwise you may not get the joke… and I am currently working on something with johnny depp and the cookie monster. Stay tuned!

Over and Out.

Yeah, Procrastination baby!

28 04 2010

So here is the way my life is right now…

I am a university graduate, with a bachelor of journalism and a bachelor of arts. I have always hated the idea of a boring newspaper job with long hours and little substance and very little creativity if any. And when you’re a fresh graduate you rarely get any interesting jobs because you have no experience, and the slightly interesting ones go to people with yonks of experience. So instead of writing about the controlled blackout that occurred on the random night in toowoomba that time, which no one cares about, not even the sources, I have been putting some time aside to write for a few music publications. I write CD/Gig/Event reviews and the occasional interview for and have also just signed up for BATS magazine (how cool does it sound? MAYBE IT IS RUN BY BATS!) and am set up for a trial with RAVE magazine. I do not get paid for any of this but I do receive free cds and tickets to things, and it will look cool on my rather blank journo resume.

As well as this I am on the committee for an amateur theatre company called Ignatians Musical Society. I hope to be a performer as well as backstage person from time to time, but on the committee I must attend meetings every so often and I have been put in charge of PR and Marketing for the company this year so once I get all the information I can add that to my workload, and I’m hoping it wont be too difficult, just email, send letters, notify, put up posters, and hassle people a lot. I suspect PR and marketing to mostly just be common sense. So we’ll have to wait and see if I have any. This year we’re putting on a choir performance mid year and ‘Miss Saigon’ in November-ish. I am a soloist in the upcoming choir performance which I’m yet to properly prepare for, and I’m also competing in a vocal competition in late May, plus various other solo bits in preparation for my audition for a few state conservatoriums of music. So I can add  “attempting to be a good singer” to the list, which involves learning plenty of music and actually getting good. Fortunately I have a fantastic classical voice coach called Marina whom I adore and she has helped me so much in the past 2 years. Lets hope in another 2 I’ll be really coming along, and one day I want to learn to belt! Be in a band and all that snazzy stuff.

I am trying to get babysitting up and running because I’m good with kids, but not many parents have lives it seems, and despite assuring me theyd want me to be their babysitter, they have yet to phone. And the one woman that does phone will only pay be 10 bucks an hour for bizarre times like 9:30pm til 12:30pm on a friday night. I suspect her and her husband just want some “peace and quiet” from their 6yr old from time to time.

All this stuff I enjoy doing, despite the stress, but on top of it, apart from the babysitting, I dont get paid for any of it.  Theres perks, sure, but payment is a nada. So what I do for money work as a swim coach for kids (and some adults) at a local family swim school. I work every day, because the shifts are quite short. If I’m lucky I can get 5-6 hrs a day between 2 shifts, but most of the time its half day work, my longest singular shift being 4.5 hours. So I cannot have a day off without knowing I wont have enough hours in a week, which I actually dont even have with the every day stuff. I get a dollar raise to my hourly rate soon, and hopefully another one shortly after that (or so my manager assures me) but like I said, I dont have enough hours of work a week, and quite often I dont get paid properly for what I have done, so I am often poor as anything. Because of this I have decided to rearrange my life. I am applying for a second job as we speak. I enjoy working with kids and swimming, despite how sick I always am (children are the incubi of the plague… balls of disease who make me unable to sing because of respiratory problems!) so I dont want to stop teaching completely, I just plan to condense/cut a couple of hours that I have so that I’ll get a day off somewhere in there (at least one!) and then get another job on top of that, so I can afford that day off. I first applied at the airport. They have early morning shifts I can do before teaching that would be great (I love finishing work and having the afternoon and evening free) or if I must I can do an afternoon shift too. Money is money, and airport work money is great! so fingers crossed I get it. It’s mostly just making coffees and counter service… or I could try to be a sniffer dog?

Anyway with all this crap on my plate, its no wonder my room looks like Dresden. But yet, while I have these half days off, I sit and enjoy the peace and quiet in my room, and waste time blogging all my brain vomit onto this page instead of hopping to it and working my buttocks off. So God knows what direction I’m heading in! I figure, I had work this morning then I had a singing lesson, and in a bit I’ll do a CD review plus go for a small run, then I have a meeting to attend followed by choir. Is it then so bad that I’m taking a few hours for myself?

I bloody think not!


27 04 2010

Clothes are everywhere. I’ve just put another load in the washing machine but clothes are still everywhere. I wish I was more on top of my washing. It’s not just clothes though. I look around me and there in the corner is a bin full of old jewelry boxes and nick nacks I’m not sure I’m ready to throw away. Books and papers and sheet music and brickabrack are splayed all over the desk. A mini white board with a to-do list glares at me, with only 3 of the 10 things proudly crosses out. A redundant CD rack sits a top a newer CD  cabinet in the other corner, full of CDs I rarely use, standing beside a ladder I certainly never use and often wonder why and how it appeared in my bedroom to begin with. Lastly I see the box full of old primary school books my mother offloaded onto me because she thought I might like the memories. I thought she might like them more. Neither wishes to destroy them.

My bedroom is not for the faint hearted; and I concede that my life, in all its shambles, needs as much arranging and tidying as my own private little sleeping environment. Something with which this blog may help me keep track of instead of thousands… oh, thousands… of to do lists I make up on paper, in my sleep, on mini white boards, on the mirrors… oh, thousands.
So let’s in this instance say that order and success are the white whale of my life.  My whiskered, wooden legged self is going to sail the tumultous open seas to find it.

God speed!