Bar bara black sheep have you any wool?

From the moment the bell on the door jingled I had eyes only for the neatly lined up beautiful glass jars of lollies on the counter. I would pour over the lolly purchase decision, carefully wighing up the best value for money and contemplating, as always to no avail, whether or not I should take a risk and lash out my entire $2 on some dried mango. But it wasnt the temptation of dried mango, the delectable honeycomb or the OCD perfection of those lined up glass jars that kept me coming back, it was the unfailing patience, kindness and friendship of Barb the shopkeeper.
At a time when school didnt feel safe and home was no comfort, Barbs shop was an oasis. While the politics of puberty and bullying at school left me feeling isolated and helpless, Barb was a mature and comforting voice of reason and encouragement.
Barbs full name was Barbara. She told me hated it! At school the boys used to call her Bar Bara Black sheep and taunt her constantly. She understood what it was like to be bullied and also stood as a beacon of hope, a promise that one day my hellish treatment at school would be a mere memory and I would be able to live my life not in fear.
Most days I would sit and talk to her while she chopped vegetables and pottered around. Frequently I would ask questions, eager to learn why she cut her vegetables that way, what her kids were doing with their lives and what the glucose syrup for sale on the shelf was used for.
Glucose syrup, she told me, can be used to make hard boiled lollies. That fascinated me and I was determined to buy the jar of it so we could make them together one day like she promised. At $10, it was wildly out of my price range and I set about saving up so I could one day afford it and see the magic of homemade hard boiled lollies.
One day while I was chattering away and and Barb was baking, something remarkable happened. Barb cracked an egg and inside it was not a double yolk but an entire miniature egg with a shell and all. It was amazing and a miraculous discovery that we shared together with no-one else. Years later she brought up the egg incident to see if I remembered, which of course I did and we traded stories about how no-one ever believes us when we tell them about the eggception.
When Barb shut the shop and started La Cucina I saw her far less frequently than in that year, but upon every meeting for the following 9 years she always met me with the same enthusiasm and interest in how I was, and she never made me feel any less that incredibly special.
What an amazing friend.

try and tell me point and shoot cameras are crappy, I dare you!

what? I still post on this? I know, I am as surprised as you. taking photos has fallen by the wayside this past year, as has cute encounters with primary school kids. That in conjunction with a rise in people telling me to write things I dont want to (namely essays) has led to an immense lack of creativity and blog posts.

This is our view at night, the moon is one evening past full and the reflection on the water was amazing. its great what you can do with a tripod!





I have Jocelyn to thank for the impeccable timing of this, but composition and guts is all me. if I had overbalanced in the wrong direction shit would have gotten real very quickly!














                                                This was taken at sunrise in ocean grove












My beautiful assistant Jocelyn soaking up the sun in a sun smart kind of a way.

this one ^ believe it or not, is completely un-enhanced by photoshop. what the camera took is what you get. it was incredible!








Mum and JZs reflection in the sand.

Im going to be a journalist, what of it?

No. not really. But I am getting a story published in our mannix fortmonthly magazine, which is only available to students. So I thought i'd share it with you guys..

Since coming to Mannix my lifestyle has changed dramatically. Not just the regular changes, like three squares meals a day (My gap year was spent in a constant state of grazing), or nocturnal sleeping patterns (I went to bed early last night, it was only 12.30), or actually having to study (or, at least, allotting time for study which will be filled with other important tasks, like musing about Mannix). No, the biggest change I have noticed since coming to Mannix is the way in which I approach clothing.

 At the start of the year, when I was a fresh faced fresher (as opposed the grubby worn in fresher that I now am), I thought really, really hard about the clothes I wore. It was impossible to get to know every single person at the college all at once so the main way people could get an idea of what I was like was to look at me. I would comfortably sit in my room in a singlet and trackies but when it came time to venture to the comm for a spot of ‘getting to know your fellow top easters’ quality TV watching, I would change into ‘real’ clothes, lest someone think I has enough self esteem to wear what  I want.

Pretty soon, I got to know my fellow Top Easters, and the desire to be comfortable began to outweigh the perks of not seeming like a bogan (plus telling people I spent my gap year hanging out in a country pub kind of gave me away anyway). And so the comfort dressing spread to the Comm and all of the far reaches of top east.

It was ok though, because my comfort (code for horribly-mismatched-first-thing-I-threw-on) clothing never left top east, so to the people I didn’t know very well I still appeared to be decent, respectable functioning member of society.

And then came Thursday morning breakfasts. When I have spent the evening (and early morning) playing pool, cavorting with collegians and shredding up the deserted dooleys dance floor, waking up for breakfast and a soul sucking lecture is not my favourite thing to do. The only way to get from the comfort of my own bed to the raison bread loaf before anyone else is to trick myself into going by not actually waking up until I arrive. You know what I mean, its the old thought process ‘if I go really really quickly my body won’t have time to disagree with this hellish hour of the morning and send me back to bed.’ So I roll out of bed and drag on necessary items of clothing as I shuffle my zombie ass down to breakfast. There is always time to change after food and coffee have entered my system.

And there we have it, my first foray into dining room inspired clothing apathy. It was a slippery slope from breakfast onwards and pretty soon all of my meals were eaten in the comfort of my Mannix trackies and a purple jumper (any one of the 8 that I own, it looks like barney the dinosaur threw up in my wardrobe).

It was there at the dinner table, surrounded by respectable placement med kids, that I made a conscious decision to never let my mannix uniform (which I have begun to affectionately think of it as) leave the grounds and spread to Monash, nay all of Melbourne!

And so, despite feeling sometimes like the MCSS has hit me with a truck, rather than just provide a good function, I always put some thought into wearing an actual outfit to uni, even if I do come home straight after and change. I thought this was the right decision on my part until today, when my consistent efforts were rebuked and my resolve was crushed.
Today was a glorious day, all sunshine and blossoms, so I decided to encourage the onset of a sniffily nose and good mood with a spring dress. When I walked into German, my German buddy looked me up and down and instead of complimenting the dress (who am I kidding, that was never on the cards), telling me that I should be cold, or even giving me a polite guten morgen, he launched into a lecture about how I dress too nicely, thus showing him up and making him feel like a slob. Wasn’t I an arts student? He inquired, and since when do arts students make an effort? I ought to show up in trackies like him.

The last place I vowed never to let my mannix uniform go, and that is the place that it will be welcomed with open arms. So I have decided that I will be judged by some for dressing down, and some for dressing up. I will be judged by me for everything, so at the end of the day it makes no difference, and a hoodie is hells more comfy than a high waisted belt.

So watch out Italian tute, trackied up Cecelia is coming your way this Friday.

Photography makes my heart sing. Can hearts sing?

Hello dear bloggees,
Im sorry I ignore you so much, I was a much more reliable 18 year old than nearly 20 year old.
I have been doing a photography workshop, der photography workshop ist sehr gut. (ive also been learning german.)
Today was the last day of the workshop and now we have a week and a half to edit the photos before they get sent away to be printed in A1. A1 is huge!
Everyone should come along tothe exhibition that starts on the 20th of September. It will be a hoot and a half and there will be pretty pictures of mine kicking around. I thought I would add some photos to the blog because I have been editing and I want show some people.

I didnt take this photo but I did crop it and adjust it and I love it.

The poor fox is dead. These two photos were taken by Jessica Lambert, credit to her.

One of the themes of our workshop was album covers. I took this one.

Confetti, I have decided, is the best thing in the entire world.

If the world was covered in confetti, surely no-one would ever be sad..

Pleasant Sunday Afternoons

I am back at college now! I have been for a week and words cant express how happy I am to be back. I kept trying to write a blog post but everytime I sat down to write about all the fun things that were happening I would get whisked away to participate in another fun adventure.
I figure while I have time I will tell you about my excellent goldilocks mud filled day!
So I get back to college and go to my room which is mysteriously locked. This doesnt bother me much because my room frequently locks itself, I think its my caring friends who twist the knob on their way out of my room and lock me out. So I manage to manouver the key and open my door and I am greeted with a friend who sits up bolt right in my bed and quickly says 'I can explain!'
It made me chuckle a fair bit coming home to find an occupied bed.
After an explanation from goldilocks we head down to breakfast where I have a cry and a yell and a rant with my Richmond buddies, all who are equally as devastated with last nights result. (Why Richmond? WHY?)
at about 1pm we all head over to the Uni oval for an inter college football match against Queens. Here is the thing about football. I love it.  I love it I love it I love it!! The ground was covered in a giant mud puddle that had a poo-like aroma. It is such an amazing feeling grabbing a girl around the waist and throwing the two of you into the mud and then wrestling desperately for the ball. I played on the ball for a quarter and on the forward flank for two. The ball, it turns out, travels a really long way in the course of a quarter. I tried to keep up but either running in mud is incredibly difficult or I am so unfit I could be out run by a wombat.* I am hoping it is the former.
needless to say that by the end of the game we all had a dark brown hue and a slight odour to us. Although we lost we had an amazing game and were all comparing mud coverings and attempting to hug unsuspecting supporters. When it came time to partake in a sausage in bread, we hard working mud covered footballers discovered the issue of black gritty muddy hands and a complete lack of outside taps. What happened next I am just a tiny smidge proud of, because it is a shadow of my former, more disgusting, self. Another girl and I found a particularly deep puddle  and decided to wash our hands in it. It worked an absolute treat and, with the exception of my poor fingernails, my hands went back to my natural skin colour and I was able to enjoy a vege burger in bread and a knowledge that I will have an immune system of steel.
after the game ended I went home to have a shower. the is nothing quite like a shower after rolling around in the mud. This mud was of a much higher caliber than my regular Wang mud. It would not come off! I literally had to scrub and scrub. occasionally I would find myself scrubbing and realise that it wasn't essence of mud I was trying to get off but rather an oncoming bruise.
so now I am clean safe and sound and I have a grin that I just cant wipe off my face because if I were to be asked about my ideal sunday, this would be it :)

*That was actually a really bad comparison because wombats are deceptively quick. Over a hundred metre stretch they could (if they had the inclination) beat Hussein Bolt. It sound unbelievable but just wait until they make a sprint for your car, then you won't doubt it.

Holidays: 2 weeks of joy, 3 weeks of wishing it were over..

I guess you're wondering why I havent posted in awhile. Its holidays so surely there must be lots of excitement and adventures going down. Alas no. I have spent my holidays doing literally nothing, absolutely NOTHING! I have spent half my time lounging around at home watching that 70's show and getting grumpy at Dad for being in the house and half my time lounging around melbourne getting grumpy that my veins are too small to give blood. and YES, I did drink enough water.
The reason I didnt want to post during the holidays is because all I could bring myself to do was complain, and I have nothing legitimate to complain about and I wasnt keen about coming off as a spoilt uni student. 'Oh woe is me, I get more than a months holidays in the middle of the year with absolutely no homework or responsibility.'
So now we are drawing to a close of the break, only one week to go! Words cannot express how much I want to return to the constant company of young people, that is college.

On another note, 7 months ago, the day before I went overseas, Jocelyn, Emmeline and Myself went and got some glamour photos taken. Not something we would normally do but it was a tonne of fun and we have finally got the photos from it. When we recieved them they had been photoshopped to make us all look ridiculously glamourous and smooth. Inexplicably, they left a giant pimple on my face, maybe they thought it was a monroe piercing?
So today I have spent the morning editing the photos even more, and changing colours and stuff. The originals that were given to us are up on facebook but I thought I would share one or two of my edits :)
Also, I would like to note that while lots of people just click a button that says sepia, I actually manually adjusted the colour balance to achieve that result. Im not sure why I have a high horse about that, I just do.













Gahh I freaking love ^this^ one!

5 Weeks of joy ahead.

 So I am two days into holidays and I have discovered a plethora of sad things about not being a college. Here is the thing though, its so negative focussing on what sucks, I would much rather be positive about life.
so yes, the hot water at home does run out, but at least if I have shorter showers then I am being kind to the environment. Yes, I have to take my shoes off at the door, but I dont have to walk up two flights of stairs. Yes, there is no pool table here. No upside about that- I miss the pool table! but despite the inferior plumbing and and more defined concept of inside outside and the lack of pool table, there are so many upsides to being back home.
At home I got to hop into mums bed and get a snuggle before she went to work. I am aware that I am turning twenty and that might seem a tad old to be hopping into parents bed but it is my firm belief that there are two types of people in the world; Those who hop into their parents bed; and those who want to.
yesterday I went to a work related conference with mum and got to pretend that I am a contributing member of the workforce, something that I dearly miss. Today I slept in despite the pizza oven construction noises that are going on outside my window and when I woke up had pancakes and DnMs with Dad.
good start to the holidays! I cant complain so I wont.