Everyone Needs A Little Down Under In Their Lives….

 

4464a-2014-02-272b23-13-21Dearest Readers of my life,

I have finally gotten into the groove of writing this blog post a week before it is due to be uploaded, however I am still yet to fall into that sync with schooling and listening to my lectures. With assessments and assignments not so much because I am particular about doing them at least three weeks before they are due, unlike the mad 48 hour dash once when they were due.

Yes, I have to admit that I have learnt from my previous mistakes of running around like a headless chicken. While crying hysterically because I am ready to drop out of Uni at the moment of time because ‘it has gotten so hard‘ (no wonder why!) before spending the next three-four weeks going, “totally failed that one. Oh, god I suck! Why do I want to become a nurse?”

Clearly I have managed to make it to my second year of University, passing with colours..minus that little stint of having to resit my medications exam but I totally passed it the second time. This time, I remember to inject the medication into the ventriculus lateralis and not the other option. I think the main thing that has kept me grounded so far, rather then letting my anxiety issues after handing in an assignment get the better of me, is the fact that I know I have a back up plan if I do drop out. Work at Bunnings.

By the way, it is a common joke between LBS and I. Or that my other option would be that I could always get into medical administration. As I know how to type, answer a phone, be a robot and have enough knowledge in the medical field. Plus, I will be able to spell conversations as convosations with my gentlemen.

For those who have no idea what, who or where Bunnings is and you reside outside of Australia; it is like Walmart but focused around hardware and building equipment for builders etc. And minus the fact that you cannot purchase your own coffin for 4,900 dollars. Trust me, I have tried looking for one in case Lois goes to Glenvale and ends up killing herself from complete boredom or the fact that she was caught trying to escape.

However, with Bunnings, we can supply you with wood such as lovely MDF so you can attempt to build your own coffin. After typing that sentence, I am positively cracking myself up at the image of someone trying to do that and succeeding and because it is abit of a morbid thing to write.

Need I say all, you should know me by now and you if you don’t like it….there’s the door and don’t let it hit you on the arse. Soya-fucking-nara.

At the present moment of time, I actually started writing this blog post last Friday while I was at Uni as I had a few hours up my sleeve before I went into my lecture. Which was based around the gastrointestinal tract and can honestly say, it wasn’t as exciting as the Chlamydia lecture that I had a few weeks back.

Which reminds me, why not become a professional in sexually transmitted infections/diseases so then I can come home and throw it into my friends/families’ face; “I got to play with gonorrhoea today. Here is another two boxes of condoms for you”. When I know that they have enough to supply both the Russian, Australian, New Zealand and American defence forces. Because, that is what a caring friend/sister does by reminding them, “you slip and your vag/dick gets a tip in ‘how to use protection 101′”. Featuring a condom and my particular favourite fruit at the moment, my little banana.

With that, if any of my readers are interested in work around sexually transmitted disease/infections or you are a sexual health nurse, drop me a line/email if you so wish too and tell me what you actually do. I am not that naive as I have a basic understanding but I am curious. And what made you want to work in that field to begin with?

Carrying on with that, I would like to say that I have just checked my total readings for all of the blog posts that I have done in the past year and I have overcome the 1900 mark. Now I know that most people who write professionally as a job will often likely get that in a single days viewing however I have to admit that I am still surprised, other people read this. Unless, Lois, have you been stalking me all of this time?

If so, awkward as I know I am your daughter but seriously, we need to have a discussion about this. On to other news, I am sitting in the open air theatre with my music blasting away in my ears, Flume of course, to block out Jenny and Jenny with their “Oh. My. God, how hot was that guy in the fourth row. He so totally checked me out, especially when I lifted my boobs out of my top.”

Would just like to say this is the reason why there is a sign that says in the ladies bathroom, “BRISBANE IS THE MAIN CAPITAL OF AUSTRALIA TO HAVE AN INCREASING RATE OF STIs. SEE NO, SPREAD NO, USE A CONDOM-O”. This is really effective considering I am not getting laid, but hey, will surely put that little image into the spank bank for later on.

I am sitting here watching people go forth with what they have planned and I am surprised at the wide variety of people, QUT has for students and staff. I can honestly say that we are a multicultural university in Australia which I think is totally awesome and that we are a multicultural society as well. As I read in my newspaper (got to love mX) when coming home from uni Thursday night, one in four Australians over born overseas.

Which is ironic considering Australia used to be a white supremacy country where “whites” and “white looking” people were allowed entry into the country. Now in 2014, my next door neighbour is from India, my neighbour across the road is from South America and likes to do the cha cha in his lounge room with the blinds up. Not really, as I have no idea who my neighbours are but all I know is that the man next door is a complete weirdo and the other neighbour are an elderly couple.

Now branching off to a different subject, I love reading my newspaper because it is filled with interesting shit like “Flame-grille Mcflurry” and the “overheard” section which I have to admit, I have to refrain from laughing out loud. Also it beats having to listen to people talking none stop when all I want to do is possibly yell out “look, seriously. Just shut up! No one gives a serious shit if you dog did a shit in your shoe!”

Okay, I know I am a bitch but I had to prevent myself from banging my head on the glass window and sustaining possible concussion from it as a result. That also entails having awkward conversations with the person sitting next to you, who is stealing 3/4 of the seat as they refuse to put their handbag on their lap and also because if I turned my head a quarter of an inch; I would have been labelled as a pervert.

As to the pervert comment being stamped onto my criminal record, or rather lack of one, I spent forty five minutes with some guy’s junk at eyeball level. Now I am not a prude as I openly discuss sex with people however I was seriously acting like I was a virgin and had just been introduced to the fact that ‘men have penises’.

For those forty five minutes, my face was as red as a tomato and I couldn’t help but giggle at the most inappropriate things being mentioned in my text or it was the fact, the guy happened to be reading my newspaper and text book. Which funnily enough was talking about penises. Now I know my Mother 100% and she will be sitting here, horrified, shaking her head before a text message is delivered, stating ‘you need to get laid. Love, Sex Goddess’.

Which somehow ties in with my favourite quote from the overheard section as it goes something along the lines of:

Girl 1: “Does it count as a quickie?”
Girl 2: “If it’s a successful one”.
          -Free Sex Ed.

As to remaining a pervert, its not that I don’t stare openly at some men’s arses, especially if it looks mighty fine, however I do not need to be experiencing dick to the eye or being caught in the act of doing so. However, I leave that sort of behaviour to the drunk me when I have had a few drinks and I am picking out guys for LBS to devour like she hasn’t been fed.

Like the other night, but that is a totally different story and one that I am not willing to go into more details as it goes along the lines of, ‘you had to be there to witness it’. But St Patties Day 2014 shall forever had a twinkle to it when I reflect back on it, as I discovered strawberry jam jars that I later found out had Mother in it (no wonder why I was still awake at 6 after coming home at 3) and Madonna in the ladies bathroom.

Madonna was one of those ladies that you continued to stare at after first landing eyes on her. Whether you were a man or not. In my case, I first encountered her presence when I accidently bumped into her while crossing the road with LBS when we were on our way to our destination. And again in the ladies bathroom after I had released the girls from their death trap of a bra and overheard her stating, “Fuck it’s so fucking hot in here! God, my tits are fucking melting and I should totally get a bigger fucking pair.”

Me being me and slightly white girl wasted, swung around and openly eyed her rack before stating in a drunken fashion, “Girl, there is nothing wrong with your rack. I mean seriously, if I had tits like you, I would be putting them out there for everyone too look at.

Men would want to put their faces into them, blow them and work on them while women squirmed in their chairs with insecurities because clearly they don’t have a rack like mine”. Then in turn caused Madonna, her friend and I to discuss boob sizes, which led too them feeling mine because they thought they were fake and had asked if I had had them done in Thailand. Best compliment of the night I reckon.

I then bumped into a girl from Sweden who had complained when the DJ had asked if there were people from Ireland, any Aussie’s, Kiwis’ and that he hadn’t asked if anyone was from Sweden. I thought that was seriously cute, so asked if anyone came from Sweden and to my fascination, she got so excited that she pulled me in for a high five and squealed really loudly.

Now by this stage, I was eyeing the dance floor because my feet were itching to get some action and the music was pretty much awesome however I got into a conversation with LBS and her knowledge (lack) of songs that was playing. Clearly, my girl needs a musical education because she has no idea who, let alone what “Khe Sahn” is.

LBS, if you are reading this: I am still disgusted!

 

Now my favourite memory that I can remember was of an Irish guy named Nicolas and having a conversation about Brisbane and then my eyes glazed over. Not at what he had been saying but rather what was lying on top of his head and Lois will be itching too call me going “Um, what the fuck?” or perched on her chair, but I just need to mention: “Robert. Plant. Hair.” And yeap, just heard her panties drop to the ground. Completely ignoring the conversation we were having and the fact we were both yelling into each other’s ears, I reach up and start playing with his hair. Can honestly say, I almost came in my undies.

I think after doing this a few times and staring at LBS like I had just been awarded the golden key to Paris Fashion Week, he stopped talking and let me play with his hair. Even LBS got into the action of stretching his curls and letting them bounce back to where they were originally but like all good things, I had to let him go and said farewell that gorgeous mop of hair.

After a few drinks and pleading with LBS to get off her fucking seat and join me, I finally returned to the dance floor. Proceeding to let LBS go wild in her chair with her drink as she was so uptight, my garter belt would have been more relaxed then her, that’s if I had been wearing one.

And cue my little dancing buddies coming over and dancing with me. Or should I say, around me first. I am not sure if it was the fact that I was wearing a dress that would have made a nun faint in horror and the Pope cross himself. Or the fact this I wasn’t doing jumping up and down like someone who can’t dance; or maybe it was the whispering words of, ‘you tend to dance sexily‘ that seemed to attract them like flies too honey.

It only seemed to click when one of them started grinding against my arse, his breath on the side of my neck and his hand was starting to inch its way up towards my boob. Now before you get your panties into a bunch, that shit was not happening unless I have openly placed their hand there and I wanted it to happen.

So, I may have dropped the ‘I have a Boyfriend‘ sentence.

Which by the way, I am not a chick that does that all the time after playing around like a cock tease; but I do it when I am starting to get uncomfortable. And the image of being forced against a bathroom door and taken against my will is playing in the back of my head like a horror movie.

Now their Daddy must have taught them some manners because they backed the fuck off and left after telling me, that he was in fact a lucky bastard and that they wished me a nice night. However if they hadn’t gotten the memo into their head, this bitch can take care of herself and I am so thankful of being pinned up against a wall and letting the siblings attack me before defending myself with jujitsu moves. I seriously think my ego size has just increased and I now a big girl, who isn’t afraid to smack the shit out of someone if they don’t get the meaning of “Fuck off!” or “NO!”.

After begging off to dance any more as I suspected that my feet might have dropped off but I was coming down with some serious butt muscle tenderness,  LBS and I made our way back home which was unnerving as our cabbie kept on looking at his phone. Which was in his lap and not focussing on the road.

To say that I threw myself out of the cab when we reached safe grounds of home, would be an underestimation before having to quietly break into the house. I than bypassed bed or even contemplating going to grab a glass of water and staggered into the shower. Can honestly say that it took a lot of energy to wrestle with my dress and not just step in with my clothes on.

And that a shower had never felt so good in my life. Minus the time I went to an English camp in year nine of course; but I didn’t want to leave.  Finally crawling into bed thirty minutes somewhat later, feeling as if a dump truck had driven over my bed and I willed for sleep to come. I willed some more until I rolled over and noticed that it was fifteen minutes off from being six o’clock. Only then did the sleep fairy turn up and proceeded to knock me the fuck out.

Waking up sometime around eleven and wondering if I had spent all day sleeping because I had that weird sensation of having done so, I stagger into the kitchen and hiss at the bright light of sunshine coming in through the kitchen windows. “Hello, my love. Tea?” greets me as I sway on my feet and slowly nod my head in reply before wondering if someone had hit me over the head with a baseball bat.

Or the fact, my knees were buckling and any minute I was going to collapse in a heap and fall into a deep sleep. For those who are saying “yeah, she totally had a hangover”, I never wake up with one after a night of drinking but I had suffered from horrible insomnia the week before and that is one of the signs of my body clock returning to normal.

Like the true fighter that I am, I spent the day recovering with my head in a textbook, listening to lecturers and writing down a shit load of notes because even if I felt like a sleep deprived slob with no future, University wasn’t going to wait for me. So after forcing myself to do sixteen hour days, four times a week or basically whenever I am not touching foot on campus ground; I am stuck in front of a computer trying to catch up with lectures. And all I have to do is this weeks lectures and I have caught up to date with that.

With that, I am off to study for a medication quiz and start revising stuff for my science exam in a fortnight’s time. Also, hope you have a fantastic week.

Until next time,

Cheers.

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