No-Hump Day

I've been pretty sick lately, puking constantly and it really hurts, but now I have magnificent abs. So while I've been sick and concentrating all my will power on NOT blowing chunks, I've mostly been living on the internet, reading, twittering, more reading, playing games. I'm not at all coherent lately so here's some stuff I've read/thought/talked about with people. A MISHMASH, IF YOU WILL.

Tiger Beatdown is my new favourite blog that makes me feel so much better to read because it's fucking venomous. Read this and this post about the terrifying Judd Apatow/Seth Rogen phenomenon that is sweeping your television screens and damaging your brains. Actually, reading those articles made me truly upset, especially one which I will quote now, which is a conversation between the two bloggers about ahem "man-children":

"KELLY: YES. And suddenly I flashed-forward into my future, and I was eight months pregnant, and my feet hurt, and I was throwing up a lot, and my boyfriend was wondering why I hadn't made him a sandwich. And then I had kids, and I was still the primary income-earner - I would, in fact, be bringing home the bacon, and frying it up in a pan, because my boyfriend wouldn't cook - and after I'd finished making dinner I would come in and find that my boyfriend and my children had been eating Pixie Stix and reading comic books and they weren't hungry. I would be doing everything for him, forever, while he got to have fun. And then it was just over. I had to get out."

I've had that moment, and it was a dizzying, horrifying, brutal moment of clarity that all the drugs in the world cannot push out of my mind. I AM AFRAID OF COMMITMENT. There. I said it. I am afraid of relationships, and I am terrified of marriage. I have been reading a collection of short stories by Charlotte Perkins Gilman lately. They are all what I think I would call "subtly feminist" 1800s-society lady tales of subordination and being shut up in an attic to recover from The Hysteria and it all FREAKS ME OUT, that one day, if I just shut my eyes and let myself keep drifting on, I'll be the quiet wife in the kitchen, with my children doing things behind my back because I'm "the angry Mum" cause I don't let them do what Dad does, and one day I'll wake up and I'll go out to make their lunches for school like an automaton and I won't even realise that I am dead inside, cause I'll be, you know, dead.

Excuse my freak out. They happen sometimes.

On another note, have you ever thought about the quandary of asking someone to repeat themselves? I HATE asking someone to repeat themselves, because I know how frustrating it is to have to repeat yourself, especially after you've told a perfect joke, with perfect pitch and timing. It's just that the bar you're in is really loud, and your friend didn't quite hear you. So most of the time I just smile and nod, which sometimes turns out to be worse, because you've either hurt the person's feelings by not guffawing at their hilarity, or they'll follow themselves up with a question. "Oh so how much did you pay for them?" And then it seems like you've been indifferent to the conversation all along. But I wasn't, I swear, just drunk.

I just want to let people know about Seinfeld's Law: Chicks don't eat on dates. I know it's not true for everyone, but it's definitely true for me. I can't do it. I can barely eat lunch with friends. It's a mixture of not being comfortable pigging out in front of someone else, and being too focused on first impressions/talking to the other person/looking dainty that I can't just chow down and enjoy myself. So I'm sorry if I told you that we should go to that awesome Chinese place, and we ended up getting sausage rolls. I'm really incapable of eating in front of people.

My housemate and I are throwing a party, and we've begun to freak out and encounter all those problems you get with social circles and people you don't like within them. I hate to seem all elitist by not inviting certain people to my party, but basically, that's what it is, MY party, at MY house. What irritates me lately is the prevalence of this kind of thinking that, well, I know other people who are going to the party, so I'm kind of invited by proxy, right?
The other people I don't invite to my parties are the ones who stay the night. Wait, that's being unfair, you say. I understand that there will always be a few who will stay the night, and out of my friends, there are a certain few who know that they are more than welcome to stay the night. I have beef with the ones who are barely my acquaintance, and turn up bags in hand without even asking if it was okay for them to stay the night. They're expecting a bed from you, and the next morning, they have a shower, use your expensive shampoo and fluffy towels, expect a feed, and don't leave until 2 or 3 in the afternoon. WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE?! WHAT ARE THEY DOING IN MY HOUSE?! I would just like to extend thanks to my friends for not being like my neighbour's friends, starting loud bogan fights, smashing glasses in the pool area, or listening to trance.

This all being said, I'm actually a pretty happy camper lately. And right now I am transmitting mind-hugs to you all. Much love.