|L to R; Yours Truly, Michael & Bella Cullen.|
I am going to start off this blog post by once again apologising for not having written in a while. In fact since the last time I wrote and updated as to what had been happening, a lot of things have happened since that original post. Some of these moments have caused me to stand there, mentally brain dead and yet some how, managing to walk, talk and breath.
This has resulted in me thinking and believing that I may have an additional brain somewhere stored around in my head that I haven’t previously known about. Or there is the possibility that I was once an extra in Michael Jackson’s Thriller, back in the 80’s and stole a brain from one of the other zombies.
As I happen to see it, many years ago while everyone was walking around proudly, wearing a sparkly glove on our right hands and a red leather bomber jacket; I essentially ‘borrowed’ an additional brain. Now as that statement is being firmly tucked away into the ‘righto’ folder since nearly everyone Down Under is known as Steve-O or Todd-O; I can feel you asking me, “what has been happening or going on for you to be absent for a few weeks, Scarlett?”
First of all, I had been originally talking about moving in with a friend of mine. This was after finding out that my lease for my apartment was over in six days and that I needed to move out. I may have been suspecting that was going to happen post house mate having a massive tantrum, after stating I was interested in a six month lease.
So after receiving my email from our manager of the complex telling us that she would miss us when we left, I started looking. At the same time, my friend’s house was put up for sale and now both of us were looking at houses. Talk about a coincidence. Needless to say, she came up with the idea of moving in together and I started looking for houses. Both for us and myself as I had a funny feeling something was going to happen and sure enough, I was told she was planning on moving back in with her parents.
This of course got my back up and my temper boiling as I had been searching for places and had essentially found a house suitable for us, only to tell the real estate agent that we no longer required the house. So after that moment, we haven’t truly been speaking to one another for a few months after that because I have to admit that I am still annoyed and frustrated.
While most of you will be thinking that this all linked to the house and how the news was delivered, it isn’t all about that. Now whenever we speak, I feel as if I cannot openly admit whatever I am thinking for fear of being ridiculed for out stepping the square I tend to live in and actually do the unthinkable.
|Presenting, Lord and Lady O’Chunky.|
Find Mr. Darcy!
Now while most girlfriend’s would have their girl’s back or wing since we never know who we are actually meeting, I decided that I would not tell her anything. This thought occurred after being told ‘why do you want to find Mr. Darcy? I mean, what happened to being single and it’s a stupid idea‘. Clearly she had done a Samantha and filed her Carrie into the ‘shall not be dating/marrying’ folder. And now I was essentially making her refile me into the ‘New Year, New Me‘ folder.
Having said this, I always used to tell her where I was going for my date, who I was meeting complete with photo, what time to expect me home. And in case I sent her a text saying ‘Thunder birds are flying’ this meant ‘call the cops. I’ve been murdered and tell my parents, I love you’.
Now since the year of 2015 is being labelled as the ‘New Year, New Me’ motto, thanks Youtube, I thought I would follow the trend and actually do something of important within my life. Unlike last year where it was purely spent focused on being ill and trying to drop the weight after surrounding myself little desserts while in Sydney.
Surprisingly spending the later part of the year picking up my GPA to a rate where I wouldn’t be expecting a letter from Uni, asking me to kindly drop my degree. So with the New Year motto firmly tied around my waist like a garter belt, I decided to break all cardinal rules for the first time in my life. And as a result, I soldiered out into the dating pool on my own with no wing woman on my wing and no message having been sent.
Yes I know Dearest Reader that you are excited for me as I am keeping up my end of the bargain but also you are shaking your head in shock and horror, no doubt. Chill, I am still alive and clearly he has proven himself to not be a serial killer as I am writing this blog post for you to consume, devour and pour over.
Before you begin to settle in and start assuming this post is going to be about my dating tips and tricks for securing a non-crazy, lethal weapon of a date than you are sadly mistaken. In fact this blog has nothing at all to do with my somewhat questionable dating life, rather about the things that has been taking me away from writing to you.
As a result, informing you on a fortnightly basis as what has happening such as me entering and listening in on the wrong lecture that was dedicated purely to social media.
Having registered this semester for Pharmacology where I get to essentially learn about the mechanics within the human body and what happens with these medications, I walked into the wrong lecture. Thankfully I was only sitting in this lecture for fifteen minutes, in the dreaded first row of all places before it clicked that I was in the wrong lecture.
This all occurred due to the cock up of my University timetable, class positioning for lectures and where they were actually going to be held in the said future at what time. Talk about experiencing musical classrooms, timetable cock ups and wrong lecture bullshit. Round of applause for me and the discovery of a dog holding onto a camera and the words ‘SOCIAL MEDIA: THE IF NOT AND WHAT NOT!’ being splayed across the screen before it clicked.
Ladies and Gentlemen, Readers and Loved Ones: Welcome to Pharmacology 101.
I am not 100% it actually said that as the introduction to the class but I certainly do remember staring up at the dog. All the while wondering, ‘I highly suspect I am in the wrong lecture hall but Sheila stated we were in here’. Before turning my blurred attention onto the dog and then processing what the hell I am staring at.
Least to say, I quickly got up from my chair while attempting to make it appear like I am not bolting from the crime scene of being in the wrong lecture and piss bolted out of the door. Only to stumble into a student, who was bitching and moaning about pharmacology so being the secret ninja I am not, I trailed after them. Where I eventually ended up in the right lecture hall.
This is when I find out that I was 40 minutes late for my pharmacology lecture because the times on my timetable hadn’t been corrected, along with the lecture hall number/destination. Talk about a massive fucking cock up for the first week of uni but having said that, thank fuck it was only the first week!
On a different note, when I had tutorials at least they were in the correct rooms and I arrived on time as the times hadn’t changed. I suspect Beloved Reader that you and I will be celebrating with a bottle of champagne bubbles as I sip a Corona while kicking up my feet after celebrating Mr. T’s birthday this weekend.
In fact, I have been moved out for the past two months and still have found myself sending mass amounts of emails between myself and my old house mates. And as a result, have been found to dealing with copious amount of shit from them about everything from old bills to our bond form not being signed by a certain particular person.
Given the fact that all of us have a busy life in various parts of Queensland but it appears to be extra, extra hard or difficult for this person to scribble their signature on a bloody dotted line, stick it in the mail and voila! My bond money is back in my little hands and I can actually wipe my hands clean of this situation.
But do to high levels of bitchiness , fucked-up attitudes and perceptions as to what real life is all about for those, who have their parents being the silent partner in this round of high stake rollers; I am still in limbo.
Now because I am adult and essentially don’t need my parents supporting me during this time, I have experienced mass amounts of creative sentences being designed to express my immense loathing and hatred for these bitches. Thus causing me to gather my big girl panties and bitch armour from the cupboard, put it on and demand that they pull up their fucking socks.
Because unlike them, I want to have a fresh new start without this shit being dragged on further and I actually happen to have a life. Which doesn’t revolve me spending the rest of my life wondering, pondering and dreaming about their needs, wants and what they plan on doing. Besides, I am growing bored of the ‘Days of Our Lives’ rerun and want to get out of the horrible sit com.
Which leads me to my next point as to what has been causing my brain meltdowns or as my cousin would say, ‘Brain Farts’.
Some of my readers from my various social media outlets would know that my Birthday is or rather was coming up shortly. Yes Dearest Reader, I am no longer going to be the twenty four year old sitting behind a computer with a cup of tea balancing near her elbow as she steadily types away.
Now as we all know that since I do not possess the time travel clock that Hermoine Granger had in Harry Potter, thanks to the mystical and magical writing of J.K Rowling. I just so happen to be growing old with each and every passing day.
Not that I am sitting here, moaning and bitching about this at all. No, instead I am excited to be celebrating my twenty fifth birthday, ten years of being essentially cancer free and stating to complete and utter strangers that I am a quarter of a century old.
Unlike every birthday from the age of eighteen to twenty-two, I used to wait for the phone to ring with baited breath. While everyone is sitting here thinking that it was a phone call to wish me a ‘Happy Birthday’, it would be an nightmare when the phone would call at some ungodly time in the morning.
No Dearest Reader, it was not a person calling me to be the first person to wish me a happy birthday. Rather it would be my Grandmother calling to tell Lois, my Grandfather was in hospital. And I quote: “Don’t be concerned, your Father is in hospital. The doctor states that this heart attack is the last one and he is going to die You might want to come down and pay your last respects to him”.
As any diligent daughter would do, she would pick up her bag that remained packed from her trip she has just gotten back from, wake up her oldest daughter (me) and they would head off down to Brisbane. It didn’t help that we had just come back two days beforehand from another ‘hospital trip’ but this time it would have been for Grandad, Nan or both of them. With that, you can now see why I dread any birthday, major holiday or anything that would be classified as ‘fun’.
Considering I have spent most of my adult life in the hospital wings such as Emergency, Cardio, Intensive Care or Critical Care Unit, you would now understand why I have decided to go into the medical field. So why not turn my knowledge of watching and being quiet within these past years, into an educating field where I get to handle needles, tuck patients into bed at night and handle medications.
Or as my pharmacology lecturer calls it “drugs”. Yes Reader, I am handling drugs! So with that, please put your order in for whatever drug you would like consume and I will, if Interpol and AFP don’t take them off me, give them to you.
|My reaction to the phone ringing…|
Which leads me to becoming uncomfortable with the idea of the phone ringing, people making phone calls or the fact of people just gazing at the phone around my birthday. Call it whatever you want to call it but I am simply putting it out there that no one is to fucking call me and say, “Hey. I’m at the hospital”.
Since I no longer see nor talk my Grandparents for various of different reasons, I have slowly become accustomed to the idea that there will be no more phone calls at midnight. No awkward and stilted conversations with medical staff. And my favourite, being told that they are going to perform an operation to put in a pacemaker and ‘could you possibly sign this piece of paper, giving us permission to do so’.
In fact, I have slowly started to relax and enjoy the fact that I am no longer a caffeine addict living on hospital coffee whilst pacing the hallways of the CCU. Or climbing on top of my Grandmother and performing CPR while some of the nurses are sitting around the nurse’s desk, having tea and biscuits.
With those factors in hand, I have spent the last month and a half planning, preparing and eating my way through my birthday menu. So for a month and a half, the dining table at The Little White House has been covered with cook books, antipasto platters, olives and cocktail onions on little toothpicks.
Resulting in Lois and myself wining and dining ourselves to stupidity. Only to be told a few days before my birthday, “I am not happy with this menu plan at all. I am changing it, Scarlett”. And I knew that moment, it was going to be an incredibly long morning and that it was best to start it off by boiling the kettle and making a cup of tea.
What seemed like five hours of constant banter back and forth, Lois having a tantrum because nothing was happening and me close to bursting into tears; we finally settled on a menu. This only occurred when I decided to crack a massive shit and tell Lois, “Fuck everyone! I want the menu to reflect upon my taste, wants and desires. I am tired of catering towards everyone else and I want a bloody curry! We are having a curry!”
|Red & Scarlett…|
Safe to say, I got the curry.
Now most of you have access to the news, we all know that I am missing out on a specific detail which essentially could have stopped the party. This little factor would be the local weatherman decided to throw a spanner in the wood works and the whole state of Queensland deserved to hold a cyclone party. The original plan Lois had dreamt was incorporating the fact that most Aussie’s tend to hold parties and barbeque’s in their backyard. Except ours was going to be posh as my guests were going to be sitting under a canopy of twinkling stars and candles.
Not to mention that the table would be covered in billowing bowls of edible fruit and enough crystal to make Waterford Crystal incredibly impressed or jealous. So having heard that we were expecting increased winds, 700 millimetres of rain in some parts of Queensland and local isolation at The Little White House, Lois and I looked at each other. I suspect in this case that both of our expressions looked similar to one another’s as I looked at Red like he had lost the plot and was pulling my leg.
Nope, he was not pulling my leg nor was he kidding when I opened the weather report that had been kindly put up on the Internet before I started to hysterically laugh. In my self defence, it was either laugh or burst into tears so I decided to go with laughter instead. And was on the verge of needing a tranquiliser to be darted into my neck at a great distance when I turned around and exclaimed, “Fuck!”
Thus began the epic debate as to where we were going to hold the party now before Dad mentioned, ‘Why not hire out a hall for the evening?”. This sentence soon caused the world to come to a jolt and both of Lois and mine’s head rotated like circus clowns at a carnie game show. The looks of ‘what the fuck?’ crossed our faces.
Needless to say Dad went back to reading his magazine on four wheel driving and disc alignments in the hopes of escaping the scathing looks from Mum and I. We then decided to go with the flow, or our case ‘go with the fucking flow’ and decided that we would move the couches out of the lounge room and hold the party in there.
|Mr. Eastwood will see you now…|
As it was the longest and largest room within the house and we could still essentially dress the room up to our desires. All without the fearing of drowning, floating over my parent’s fence and possibly ending up somewhere down the drain or Mary River. And this is where the final song of the evening would play and I would sing, ‘Save a horse and ride a cowboy’.
Safe to say we all know who would have picked that song to be the final closing song of the evening and it certainly was not Lois that is for sure. Not that I am suggesting Lois wouldn’t have picked an equally as disturbing song to go out with a bang or in her case, bump and grind. Got to love a little R. Kelly every now and then but once again, that is my song choice and not Lois’.
Finally the third and most important life lesson that I have learnt which funnily co-resides with a previous point mentioned, is that I now know who my true friends are.
This originally started one morning while sipping my tea and checking my emails in the hopes that
my last class allocation time would be released. And I noticed I’d received a very important message containing top secret information. Having originally sent The Sheriff an email asking him how his life as Batman was going and if he had rescued any little old ladies; I had dropped a load in the midst of hoping he would give me the information I needed in return. Sure enough, he had not only delivered the goods but his life as Batman had been proving to be rather entertaining to say the least.
Like any good friend of mine, The Sheriff not only included the information that I had essentially required but also added the information that I hadn’t asked for. Which went along the lines of, ‘Well done Kid. So proud of you!’. This was of course taken into stride, appreciated as I finished the rest of my tea before storing it away in my box of important bits and pieces that will be used at a later date or when the timing is correct.
|The 21st Century Living…|
Having thanked The Sheriff for his email and for doing a good job at protecting Gotham, my list of on line friends caught my attention. After scanning the list and mumbling to myself that I hadn’t spoken to so and so for a few months, years or never; I put down my now empty cup and signed into all of my different social media accounts. Hate to admit this but it may have taken a few minutes, Dearest Reader, to have succeeded in signing into everything.
This is when I spent the next two hours spring cleaning or to put it quite bluntly, deleting fuck wits and people who didn’t have my intentions at heart. As I relaxed back in my seat and pressing my fingertips against my mouth, I had the beginning sense of peace and tranquillity within myself for the first time.
For someone who likes to both have her dirty laundry not aired in public or on social media, I went through my pictures as well. So with a little hiding, editing and deleting for various reasons, I was finally able to settle back in my seat and let out the breath I had been holding.
However the last thing that called for my attention was knowing that my old house mate was able to access and see my Instagram account photos. And as much as she is a nice person when we aren’t being bitches to one another, nor contemplating each other’s death, I believe she didn’t have the privilege.
The privilege to be a witness to the life I was and am living at the moment and with that, her privilege of access was revoked. In those last moments, I let go of my anger and bitterness I had been holding inside of me for a while and cut the bonds linking me to that era in time. After lighting a candle and thus releasing my hatred of my old house mates into the universe, I essentially become a better person. Who felt at peace, was relaxed and not raging for hours of the day about her house mates.
As a result, I accepted that this would be a new beginning to my life, being an adult and that I was to stop holding the grudge. Now with Paramore’s ‘Aint It Fun’ playing, I spent the morning thinking about those so called friends who had served their purpose within my old lifestyle as a country redneck and those who were fabricated out of craft glue and crepe paper.
Who essentially appeared to be strong on the exterior and when the wind blew too hard, their hardness would dissolve and they ended up like mush. This was until my next life lesson presented its self-one morning when everything in your world is happy and you are basking in the warmth of the sun shining.
The happiness that I had built for myself a few days beforehand had been nice while living within the sunshine and warmth. That was until it came to a crashing jolt one morning and a comment of ‘Not everyone can have beauty or brains’ was stated maliciously. When these words left this person’s mouth, I felt the world stop rotating and the time had come to a complete stand still.
I know this is going to sound weird Dearest Reader but I can honestly say that for some reason, I had a outer body experienced. Where I got the opportunity of being able to look at this person for they are and not what they are. At first, I was curious as to what I looked like and I was surprised at what I saw.
Being someone who would have burst into tears behind closed doors and agreed with whatever comment had been made, I saw the human and adult she had become. No longer was the frightened teenager who thought no one would like her if she didn’t toe the line standing there but the Amazon Warrior had taken her place.
A few adjustments later of her body stand the power of being able to deflect any negative comment that would come her way. After supporting myself, I turned my attention to the person who had not only captured our attention but who had also made that comment. This person who had once been seen, classified and spoken to like a second mother figure when I was a teenager, was now being stripped of her title. All without her knowledge and now resembled something that can only be described as a mythical beast.
With her hundreds of snake heads wreathing, hissing and spitting venom stood Medusa.
Now before Medusa was beheaded by Perseus, who unfortunately decided to keep her hair as a weapon and give it the Goddess Athena, she preferred to turn her victims into stone. And if she had been created in the late 17th century, I am pretty sure she would have kept her victims as chess pieces.
However since this Medusa is somewhat a modern day kind of gal, she prefers to have her victims dangling where she can see them. Where she could compliment them with praises which would make them feel loved and nurtured before swiftly pulling out the carpet from underneath them. During this process of she would wait, watching her victims as they tried to break free from their strain she had against them.
It was in this time frame that I felt a tap on the shoulder and knew that it was coming to a close. As I stepped back into my body, I looked at Medusa with her wreathing hair and I smiled at her.
It was in that moment of ‘not everyone can have beauty and brains’ that I realised I would take brains over beauty any day of the week. Because unlike those who’ve wrapped themselves up in the idea of outer beauty shall continuously live on forever, technically those with inner beauty will knock those out of the ball park. Yes, I know it was hard for me to mention and to ruin their bubble of self-appreciation and loving but if we haven’t gathered by now: I am the bitch who tells the truth.
Mistress O’Chunky has a nice ring tone to it.
So what does this have to do with anything about life lessons, Scarlett?
|Mildred & Ethel…|
One word, Dearest Reader and that one word is: Lois
Lois has been essentially the person behind the evaluation of my life lessons and me living them. I have always been told from a young age that I had more inner beauty than what was presented on the exterior.
Now before you get all shitty and jump up and down on your mat of control, Lois has also told me and I quote: “You are simply gorgeous and stunning. This is why men and women stare at you while you walk down the road. Because, Scarlett, you are breath taking”. So do not fear for my Mother wasn’t into telling me on a daily basis that I needed to loss a few kilos while pinching imaginary fat on my body and that I was as ugly as a dog.
Instead Lois was saying, “You are so skinny Scarlett. I can see your collar bones and you need to stop running and actually eat a decent sized meal. You are not fat and you need to stop thinking that. I mean I could snap you in half and this isn’t natural for your height”.
Not to mention that I was an incredibly bright child, who in some cases chose to pretend as if she were dumb, so she could fly under the radar. Besides I always had the brain power that gained myself an education that most people in third world countries desire and dream of. Also, I could use my power of being incredibly smart into getting anything within reason for myself. Which entail would allow me to become empowered as a person, individual but also a female and would be able to then strive of reaching my targets of desire.
So with that introduction, here I am.
Now I can’t say technically in the flesh since we live throughout the world in various countries but still, here I am. And with that, Dearest and most valued Readers of Scarlett’s fascinating world, I welcome you to another blog post. And welcome to Fifty Shades of Scarlett.
I have originally started writing this blog post while sitting in the front seat of a speedy green Batman car, having been driven by my fantastic chauffeur, Super Woman. As we all know that I haven’t been blogging much to the creative energy being drained and writing process just not happening, I found myself pondering. With my laptop in my lap, I spent the next three and a half hours steadily typing away and can say that I built the fundamental basics to any blog post of mine.
|Yours Truly in motion…|
While I was dreaming of a destination that looked something of a little island in the middle of the Pacific ocean and my bronzed legs glistening from water, I was brought back to reality abruptly. As I typed away at a steady pace with one hand, I was using my other to clean the window so than Super Woman could see and I could also see what was happening around me. Those three and a half hours of driving twenty kilometres under the legal speed limit due to Marcia and her crazy hang ups, left us more than clinging to the ceiling with stress and fright.
Having gotten down the original draft of this blog post and de-clawing myself from my seat, we successfully reached our destination of The Little White House. A coffee, few cigarettes for the smokers and my casual greeting of my loved ones such as putting Bob in a head lock, we unloaded the car and set up camp in various rooms.
This is when I peeked in on Hooper and Ms B. sleeping as they had travelled through the early hours of the morning to present themselves in finery for my birthday. It was in that moment that I realised those who not only loved me but I loved equally back were there for me. Even Miss Doll Face and The Fairy Godmother, who unfortunately couldn’t make it because of the flooding, I knew that they were standing on either side of me and I knew I was complete.
Sure enough I knew that it would hit me pretty badly that they couldn’t be here to ring in the new year of being ‘New Year, New Me’ and being quarter of a century old. But having said that, I knew they would raise a toast at home and wish me a splendid year of being twenty five.
That Doll Face would wish for my boobs to remain perky and not end up dragging down around my knee caps. Sure enough, it seemed to hit me like a piece of four by two while I was getting dressed in my gown that they weren’t here and my night had been essentially ruined. Once again by a few comments.
Overall my Dearest and most beloved Reader, it was a great night amidst the butting of egos, heads and concealed messages under conversations having been spoken.
|Resting Bitch Face…|
However, it also saw me grow into yet again a completely different person and woman. It also bore witness of me stepping into the role of peace keeper, comforter and supporter.
Also someone who decided to put on her big girl panties, use her back bone and lay down the law of ‘Welcome to all and please feel free to keep your bitchy comments at the door’. It also saw me hold a conversation in a somewhat non sober manner, laughing hysterically and admitting to checking out their arse because clearly I have no filter. Also because I am fucking happy for once.
Before I sign off on this blog post and while Elton John sings about ‘Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters’; a wise and incredibly bright person once stated, ‘True birthdays are not annual affairs. True birthdays are the day when we have a new birth. I’ve recently stopped caring about my age, and value the journey each day. Rather than reaching goals by certain milestones’.
With that my Dearest and Beloved Reader, I bid you a fond:
Until next time,