Last night I ventured out of my tiny apartment, *gasp* wait for it... twice.*no gasp, because you just died of surprise.* Firstly, I had a romantic date with myself at the movies seeing Into the Woods, both because I really wanted to see it, and because I couldn't take another uneventful day. I loved it. And that's pretty much the entire story. It's a good one, huh?
Secondly, I headed into Newtown to watch some of the Short and Sweet Top 80 plays. and I even braved the trains full of Drunk Soccer fans decked out in green and gold. I got to see a giant tarp full of water imitating the ocean, and then get splashed by it, a fully grown black man dressed as Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz with a rubber chicken instead of a dog, and a guy wearing a suit and horn rimmed glasses attempt to eat a raw fish. It was a good night, followed by Nutella pizza that as of last year,(according to a sign pushed behind an old family picture,) was among the 20 best in Sydney, 10 of which were in Newtown. I suppose if I get really bored, I can try to hunt down all 10 this year. Which would also motivate me into an intense gym routine and take up a LOT of time. I'm just saying, the option is there,
Today I went underwear shopping just to get myself out of the house again, and managed to spend an hour and a half doing it, despite only buying two sets. Window shopping may be another avenue that I should pursue. I then came home to bake another loaf of bread, had a conversation with my mum on the phone during which the only way I could get reception was to hang upside down (before I realised towards the end of the call that I could just turn the phone upside down instead,) and then I made a batch of redskin fudge, which you will be pleased/surprised to know that I have not eaten a single piece of. Yet.
Currently I am watching British comedy, and am having issues with the people who program the ads in between shows. I just saw one for the Sports bra brand Berlei, which used Serena Williams to convince ladies that these bras - very necessarily - control and eliminate bounce (because even a B cup can bounce up to 8cm during exercise,) and this was followed by a Priceline ad beginning with the phrase "Get your bounce back this summer." Who didn't realise that this would be a bad idea? I mean, it's not like it's offensive or anything, and I doubt the companies are going to sue the channel, but it just makes the programmer look stupid. Or maybe it makes people like me look stupid for even caring, but guess what? I don't mind, because I need to keep my brain from rusting somehow.
Xx,
Little Duck
Wednesday, 14 January 2015
Monday, 12 January 2015
Discovery channels
I am four days into living my own life with no study and no restrictions, and despite everyone telling me that this is the best time of your life, full of wonderful discoveries, I'm still waiting to experience that. I have discovered a couple of things though, the first and foremost thing being; I am SO BAD at doing nothing. I've been to work, cleaned, mopped and wiped my entire apartment, washed all my clothes and dishes, sorted through my clothes to take some to Vinnies, read a large book, watched TV, sung, watched more TV, played the guitar, and even made bread. Right now, I'm talking to myself and watching a show named 'Cheese Slices,' (all about making cheese in France.) Far from amusing myself, I have temporarily put myself off eating cheese, and come to the conclusion that I need a padded room.
Despite not taking up as much time as I hoped it would, I was quite pleased with my bread making efforts. I thought It would come out as a tiny rock hard blob that I would be hard pressed to call a loaf, but it was totally recognisably as bread, I know it's not exactly a work of art, but I had exceeded my expectations, and I celebrated.
I celebrated a little too early actually. Discovery number two was that, although I am perfectly capable of making bread, I am less than proficient at slicing it. I mean, who really has that issue? I made it through the activating of the yeast and all the kneading and proving, only to butcher my nicely formed loaf with a knife, into some small, squished and crumbling fragments. Luckily, it still smelt and tasted like fresh bread, an illusion not ruined unless I looked at it.
Another discovery I have made is that I am apparently completely invisible and occasionally completely silent as well. Although I have been home for 5 days, my landlord called me today to ask if I was OK, because he had expected me back on Thursday. Despite my having sung and played guitar loudly with the windows and sometimes the door open, left the house multiple times, looked after their dog during a storm and done my washing in the shared laundry, I have not been noticed once. I have not even made enough noise to make them suspect that someone may have broken into my flat or the laundry. I have no idea how to feel about this, but maybe I should be looking into a new career as a burglar or international jewel thief.
I'd let you know when I made my fist successful heist, but then you'd be able to turn me in.
Xx,
Little (silent and invisible) Duck
Despite not taking up as much time as I hoped it would, I was quite pleased with my bread making efforts. I thought It would come out as a tiny rock hard blob that I would be hard pressed to call a loaf, but it was totally recognisably as bread, I know it's not exactly a work of art, but I had exceeded my expectations, and I celebrated.
I celebrated a little too early actually. Discovery number two was that, although I am perfectly capable of making bread, I am less than proficient at slicing it. I mean, who really has that issue? I made it through the activating of the yeast and all the kneading and proving, only to butcher my nicely formed loaf with a knife, into some small, squished and crumbling fragments. Luckily, it still smelt and tasted like fresh bread, an illusion not ruined unless I looked at it.
Another discovery I have made is that I am apparently completely invisible and occasionally completely silent as well. Although I have been home for 5 days, my landlord called me today to ask if I was OK, because he had expected me back on Thursday. Despite my having sung and played guitar loudly with the windows and sometimes the door open, left the house multiple times, looked after their dog during a storm and done my washing in the shared laundry, I have not been noticed once. I have not even made enough noise to make them suspect that someone may have broken into my flat or the laundry. I have no idea how to feel about this, but maybe I should be looking into a new career as a burglar or international jewel thief.
I'd let you know when I made my fist successful heist, but then you'd be able to turn me in.
Xx,
Little (silent and invisible) Duck
Saturday, 10 January 2015
Features of interest
Today was my first day back at work after my two week holiday, and although I didn't make any huge mistakes, I really had to watch myself with the VIPs that we had in. That sounds more exciting than it is, because a lot of our VIPs are just old couples that come in every single day, or the people that supply our coffee and cakes, but today we actually did have some (reasonably) interesting diners.
One of the other waitresses came over to me and whispered that apparently there was a famous footballer in the cafe, and our boss was really excited. Since she didn't know who he was, I didn't think much of it, but when I turned around, I was nearly cut in half by this;
Our second VIP for the day was the Commando, who comes in quite often with his two kids, and even occasionally lets them eat pancakes. Today was not one of those days. As he picked through his salad, he didn't look to be enjoying life at all, and it got me wondering if perhaps being fitter than everyone else makes you lonely and sad, or if having lots of muscles makes you extremely pensive. Then his ex wife walked through the door and it all made sense. Not only did he have to deal with her loudly asking the kids if they were enjoying their time with daddy, and were they looking forward to coming home to mummy, but as the kids came back inside from waving goodbye to her, his son (who could only be four or five,) launched himself at his father's backside and wedged his face firmly between its cheeks, yelling "bummy smell!" I wonder if this child is going to exhibit developmental difficulties. Needless to say, they left pretty quickly afterwards.
I then completed my shift by spilling Nutella thick shake all over the napkins as I wrapped them, and had to quickly rotate the soiled ones to the bottom and back of the pile before I got in trouble. No-one will ever know right? That's what I thought.
Xx,
Little Duck
One of the other waitresses came over to me and whispered that apparently there was a famous footballer in the cafe, and our boss was really excited. Since she didn't know who he was, I didn't think much of it, but when I turned around, I was nearly cut in half by this;
Paul Gallen's nose. My friend may not have known who he was, but I've spent enough State of Origins yelling at him to recognise him by that feature alone, instantly. Up close, it looks so much worse; it's like a small mountain range in the middle of his face. Despite my anger at him for having missed so many important conversions over the years, I was super careful with all the meals I carried past his table, especially the ones on wooden boards, because goodness knows, the last thing he needed was another broken nose; though a collision would have been a good segue into asking how to believably act like a pansy, or if he could possibly use his newly discovered contortion skills to improve his playing this year (minus the urination part.) Considering that I wanted to keep my job, I decided that asking would not be the best life decision, and kept my mouth shut.
Speaking of poor life decisions, we had a guy come in today (not a VIP, just a regular guy,) with nothing particularly interesting about him. Exiting huh? That's what we all thought, until he turned to leave, and we could see the tattoo on the back of his neck. Innegotiable. Innegotiable. Even though our wait staff then had a debate over the correct prefix (non-negotiable, of course,) all of us knew that that was not a word. And it was innegotiable that he would ever be able to claim any grasp over the English language, ever again.
This tattoo sent me googling similar ink catastrophes in my lunch break, and this has got to be one of my favourites.
I know it's not the funniest mistake out there, but honestly, how do you mix up 'fudge' and 'judge?' Whether it was the tattoo artists fault for not being able to distinguish between capitol letters, or the subjects weird belief that God is the greatest baker in the universe, it's not the fudge I'd be worried about, but ironically, the judgement.
I then completed my shift by spilling Nutella thick shake all over the napkins as I wrapped them, and had to quickly rotate the soiled ones to the bottom and back of the pile before I got in trouble. No-one will ever know right? That's what I thought.
Xx,
Little Duck
Friday, 9 January 2015
Dundee Hat of Devotion
Seeing as it has been at least 6 or 7 months since wrote a post, I probably have no right to ever attempt a blog ever again, but guess what? I'm back. I figure that it's a New year, and the first year ever that I'm not studying, so what does a 22 year old who suddenly has a lot of time on her hands do? Decides to take up your valuable time by writing about her stupidity. Again. The only consolation I can offer you, is that with less to do, and more of this big pond to see, my oddities are sure to create some stories you may be able to giggle at. (Disclaimer; that's not a promise.)
Yesterday I flew back into Sydney after a few weeks at home with my family, and immediately looked like a fish out of water all over again. I struggled home on the train with my suitcase, handbag, carry on bag and a canvas, and only just managed to not stack it. As soon as I got home, I had to run out again and head to Central to attend an audition in a park, where I got to pretend to be a ninja, the Queen, the American President, and a 10 year old girl. It was great fun, and I got some really positive feedback, which tickled me almost as pink as the tips of the directors hair.
Seeing as I was right next door to the Capitol Theatre, I thought I'd put my name into the Wicked Lottery, hoping to see the show one more time before it heads to Brisbane. Luckily, my name was drawn out, and then I had the interesting task of killing two hours. I changed in a really seedy pub bathroom, had a ham and cheese sandwich and an iced chocolate in a corner cafe, and wandered aimlessly for a while, before heading into the theatre. I was sitting in the front row, and was extremely pleased with myself, until I met my seat pal. He was a very chatty old guy wearing a Crocodile Dundee hat, who had seen Wicked 64 times. 64 times this Sydney season. He rattled off about five different actresses that I could have been named after, and proceeded to tell me how well he knew the conductor and certain members of the cast (who he referred to using only their first names,) from all the lengthy conversations he'd had with them at the stage door. I started to wonder how voluntary these conversations had been.
I knew a few people in the show, and so at the end of the performance I was heading to the stage door to say hi. Unfortunately, so was Grandpa Dundee. On the way he told me all about the Wicked badges he'd had made and was trying to get the cast to wear, and as we walked, he gave me one of these badges, and said that I should add him on Facebook, then tried to start a debate over whether Lerner and Loewe, or Rodgers and Hammerstein were better. During the first few minutes of waiting, he started planning all the principles we should target, and assigned me angles to cover, as though we were suddenly partners in crime. I couldn't take any more; I had to fake a sneezing fit and beg off sick, making a hasty exit back to the station before a single cast member came through the door.
Xx,
Little Duck
Yesterday I flew back into Sydney after a few weeks at home with my family, and immediately looked like a fish out of water all over again. I struggled home on the train with my suitcase, handbag, carry on bag and a canvas, and only just managed to not stack it. As soon as I got home, I had to run out again and head to Central to attend an audition in a park, where I got to pretend to be a ninja, the Queen, the American President, and a 10 year old girl. It was great fun, and I got some really positive feedback, which tickled me almost as pink as the tips of the directors hair.
Seeing as I was right next door to the Capitol Theatre, I thought I'd put my name into the Wicked Lottery, hoping to see the show one more time before it heads to Brisbane. Luckily, my name was drawn out, and then I had the interesting task of killing two hours. I changed in a really seedy pub bathroom, had a ham and cheese sandwich and an iced chocolate in a corner cafe, and wandered aimlessly for a while, before heading into the theatre. I was sitting in the front row, and was extremely pleased with myself, until I met my seat pal. He was a very chatty old guy wearing a Crocodile Dundee hat, who had seen Wicked 64 times. 64 times this Sydney season. He rattled off about five different actresses that I could have been named after, and proceeded to tell me how well he knew the conductor and certain members of the cast (who he referred to using only their first names,) from all the lengthy conversations he'd had with them at the stage door. I started to wonder how voluntary these conversations had been.
I knew a few people in the show, and so at the end of the performance I was heading to the stage door to say hi. Unfortunately, so was Grandpa Dundee. On the way he told me all about the Wicked badges he'd had made and was trying to get the cast to wear, and as we walked, he gave me one of these badges, and said that I should add him on Facebook, then tried to start a debate over whether Lerner and Loewe, or Rodgers and Hammerstein were better. During the first few minutes of waiting, he started planning all the principles we should target, and assigned me angles to cover, as though we were suddenly partners in crime. I couldn't take any more; I had to fake a sneezing fit and beg off sick, making a hasty exit back to the station before a single cast member came through the door.
Xx,
Little Duck
Tuesday, 10 June 2014
Fashion faux pas
So I know it seems like I've dropped off the face of the planet, but really I've just been getting used to my new job. I haven't yet dropped anyone's food or coffee (touch wood,) although a lady literally threw her toast into my bare hands as my boss walked past yesterday. He wasn't too happy. Disturbingly, my habit of bumping into high chairs has continued, but luckily, only the first one had a child in it. Small wins right?
I had my second physio appointment, and on my way there, I discovered that the suburb that the practise is in may not be a place I want to frequent. As I turned into the street, I was greeted by a giant sign featuring a cockroach crawling all over a toothbrush, and this was right next door to a building advertising itself as Kripps and Kripps solicitors.
Once I was inside, we tested the range of movement in my hamstring and then I was asked to lay on the table. Before I knew it, I was getting a butt massage. Now I wish I could tell you that my physiotherapist was an attractive male around my age, but in truth, they're a run of the mill middle aged female that has just had a baby. I just really hope that I don't have to go back, because that's a kind of awkward I would like to avoid from now on.
One girl had her birthday during the week, and so sticking to our tradition, I cooked and we all dressed up in her chosen theme; 80s let's get physical. The salted caramel nutella fudge went down really well, but I can't say that my outfit was quite as popular. On my way home I had to make an unplanned stop at the supermarket, and not having a change of clothes to use, I covered my leotard with my hoodie, but was unable to obscure my ballet tights and leg warmers. One guy actually looked up from his paper as I walked past and reacted quite verbally. After enduring the stares as I walked though the aisles, I felt like making an announcement which would have gone something like this: "Ok everybody they're just ballet tights and leg warmers. Don't worry; I don't have leprosy; I do occasionally see the sun, and I'm not trying to bring the 80's back. Enjoy your shopping." As I was thinking this, I turned a corner and crashed into a very attractive guy with nice facial hair, which weird, because I don't usually like facial hair, and this just made it all the worse. I then hurried through self serve and managed to make off with a giant stack of plastic bags as they attached themselves to mine. It was a shopping trip to remember, but hopefully more for everyone else than for me.
Today my game of thrones obsession paid off even more than it usually does, as my latin teacher also loves it, and being the only other person in the room that watched it, we got into a good conversation about it, which led to me to being picked as his partner. I really love dancing with him, I just wish I wasn't so uncoordinated. I didn't injure him at all this time, miraculously, and the one bump we did have he apologised for, but my feet just didn't want to play the game. I feel like I need to go and take secret extra latin lessons so that I can be at least a little better next time, although a ridiculously fast improvement (like baby's in Dirty Dancing,) would be ideal.
Now that I've caught you up on my not so interesting, (just slightly embarrassing) life, I'm off to watch Masterchef and eat a cookie. Jealous?
Xx, Little Duck
I had my second physio appointment, and on my way there, I discovered that the suburb that the practise is in may not be a place I want to frequent. As I turned into the street, I was greeted by a giant sign featuring a cockroach crawling all over a toothbrush, and this was right next door to a building advertising itself as Kripps and Kripps solicitors.
Once I was inside, we tested the range of movement in my hamstring and then I was asked to lay on the table. Before I knew it, I was getting a butt massage. Now I wish I could tell you that my physiotherapist was an attractive male around my age, but in truth, they're a run of the mill middle aged female that has just had a baby. I just really hope that I don't have to go back, because that's a kind of awkward I would like to avoid from now on.
One girl had her birthday during the week, and so sticking to our tradition, I cooked and we all dressed up in her chosen theme; 80s let's get physical. The salted caramel nutella fudge went down really well, but I can't say that my outfit was quite as popular. On my way home I had to make an unplanned stop at the supermarket, and not having a change of clothes to use, I covered my leotard with my hoodie, but was unable to obscure my ballet tights and leg warmers. One guy actually looked up from his paper as I walked past and reacted quite verbally. After enduring the stares as I walked though the aisles, I felt like making an announcement which would have gone something like this: "Ok everybody they're just ballet tights and leg warmers. Don't worry; I don't have leprosy; I do occasionally see the sun, and I'm not trying to bring the 80's back. Enjoy your shopping." As I was thinking this, I turned a corner and crashed into a very attractive guy with nice facial hair, which weird, because I don't usually like facial hair, and this just made it all the worse. I then hurried through self serve and managed to make off with a giant stack of plastic bags as they attached themselves to mine. It was a shopping trip to remember, but hopefully more for everyone else than for me.
Today my game of thrones obsession paid off even more than it usually does, as my latin teacher also loves it, and being the only other person in the room that watched it, we got into a good conversation about it, which led to me to being picked as his partner. I really love dancing with him, I just wish I wasn't so uncoordinated. I didn't injure him at all this time, miraculously, and the one bump we did have he apologised for, but my feet just didn't want to play the game. I feel like I need to go and take secret extra latin lessons so that I can be at least a little better next time, although a ridiculously fast improvement (like baby's in Dirty Dancing,) would be ideal.
Now that I've caught you up on my not so interesting, (just slightly embarrassing) life, I'm off to watch Masterchef and eat a cookie. Jealous?
Xx, Little Duck
Sunday, 25 May 2014
Career as a klutz
After an extremely busy and eventful weekend, I have surprised myself at just how weird and clueless I can be at times.
Aside from the usual shenanigans, (like managing to scratch my latin teacher while I was dancing with someone else,) I had a few out of the ordinary experiences. We tried sand dune training for one of our fitness sessions this week, and while being extremely hard and actually quite fun, I'm not sure whether I looked more like a beached whale or a crab that was missing a majority of its legs. I then had to go from this to my first ever physio appointment (but before I made it inside I walked up and down the street four or five times looking for the right place, and eventually had to a guy in a pizza place where to go. He was very nice.) Once inside, I received an extremely awkward butt massage and left half a beach on the massage table.
When I finally got home, Mr Emphysema was sitting out on his front lawn, and smiled and waved to me. I was so surprised that I dropped the pen I was carrying, and when I bent to pick it up, my sports bag slipped down my back, so that when I stood up, it caught under my butt, and I hobbled around hunchbacked for a good ten seconds before freeing myself and hurriedly waving back to my newly friendly neighbour while avoiding eye contact and running for cover.
I had my first shift at my new café job, and I'm really proud that I didn't drop or spill anything, but I did manage to endanger a child. While delivering the last part of an order to a young couple and their toddler, I accidentally kicked the leg of the high chair, causing it to rock precariously. I stood there paralysed, having no clue what to do, and just watching the looks of horror on the parents faces. Luckily, the kid seemed to really enjoy it, and laughed his little chocolate smeared head off, which seemed to break the tension. He got his own back on me though, because as they left, he tipped his plate of chips all over the floor and left me to deal with them.
Towards the end of the shift when it had quietened down, the barista offered to make me a hot chocolate. It was the best hot chocolate I had ever had, and although I tried to be delicate and make sure none of it got on my face, when I got to the car, I found that I had worked the last half an hour with cocoa stuck all around the edges of my mouth. Smooth.
I then moved on to a State of Origin promo at ANZ stadium. where I was required to wear a blue bob wig that was far less than flattering. One little girl thought I was Katy Perry, started squealing and hugged my legs, one man tried to yank the wig from my head when I said I didn't have any spares that he could have, and one seedy middle aged guy told me that he didn't want the flyers I was handing out, he just wanted my number, as he was recently divorced.
I then decided that this was plenty of activity for a Friday and Saturday, and rounded out my social activities for the weekend my watching two of my teachers in concert with their dance crew. It was absolutely hilarious, and the dancing was phenomenal. You should check them out on Youtube, just search 'Phly Crew.' After this event, all my friends went out, and I returned home to spend my night with a bottle of diet coke, my assessments and some cookbooks, earning me an A+ in antisocial efforts.
Xx, Little Duck
Aside from the usual shenanigans, (like managing to scratch my latin teacher while I was dancing with someone else,) I had a few out of the ordinary experiences. We tried sand dune training for one of our fitness sessions this week, and while being extremely hard and actually quite fun, I'm not sure whether I looked more like a beached whale or a crab that was missing a majority of its legs. I then had to go from this to my first ever physio appointment (but before I made it inside I walked up and down the street four or five times looking for the right place, and eventually had to a guy in a pizza place where to go. He was very nice.) Once inside, I received an extremely awkward butt massage and left half a beach on the massage table.
When I finally got home, Mr Emphysema was sitting out on his front lawn, and smiled and waved to me. I was so surprised that I dropped the pen I was carrying, and when I bent to pick it up, my sports bag slipped down my back, so that when I stood up, it caught under my butt, and I hobbled around hunchbacked for a good ten seconds before freeing myself and hurriedly waving back to my newly friendly neighbour while avoiding eye contact and running for cover.
I had my first shift at my new café job, and I'm really proud that I didn't drop or spill anything, but I did manage to endanger a child. While delivering the last part of an order to a young couple and their toddler, I accidentally kicked the leg of the high chair, causing it to rock precariously. I stood there paralysed, having no clue what to do, and just watching the looks of horror on the parents faces. Luckily, the kid seemed to really enjoy it, and laughed his little chocolate smeared head off, which seemed to break the tension. He got his own back on me though, because as they left, he tipped his plate of chips all over the floor and left me to deal with them.
Towards the end of the shift when it had quietened down, the barista offered to make me a hot chocolate. It was the best hot chocolate I had ever had, and although I tried to be delicate and make sure none of it got on my face, when I got to the car, I found that I had worked the last half an hour with cocoa stuck all around the edges of my mouth. Smooth.
I then moved on to a State of Origin promo at ANZ stadium. where I was required to wear a blue bob wig that was far less than flattering. One little girl thought I was Katy Perry, started squealing and hugged my legs, one man tried to yank the wig from my head when I said I didn't have any spares that he could have, and one seedy middle aged guy told me that he didn't want the flyers I was handing out, he just wanted my number, as he was recently divorced.
I then decided that this was plenty of activity for a Friday and Saturday, and rounded out my social activities for the weekend my watching two of my teachers in concert with their dance crew. It was absolutely hilarious, and the dancing was phenomenal. You should check them out on Youtube, just search 'Phly Crew.' After this event, all my friends went out, and I returned home to spend my night with a bottle of diet coke, my assessments and some cookbooks, earning me an A+ in antisocial efforts.
Xx, Little Duck
Monday, 19 May 2014
No pain, no gain
Today I moved on from accidently injuring others, and started hurting myself. Hopefully this is a permanent graduation, as I'm a bit sick of apologising to my entire class before we do an exercise, because I am potentially going to injure them. They used to think it was funny, but I think they have since learned better.
I was given a beautiful strawberry tart, and in my excited haste to eat it, I decided to skip putting it on a plate, and instead tried to eat it off its plastic lid. This went fine, until the fork stabbed through the lid and into my hand. I would have to say that it was worth the pain, as it was a really good tart, and I didn't even bleed, so it was all fine.
During an improvisation session for my first choreography assessment, I not only managed to annoy everyone in my rehearsal room by having my headphones break just before the session and needing to play my song out loud, but I also managed to create a giant diagonal bruise tracing from my left little toe, and up and over my right shoulder. It was a good way to make sure that I was doing ninja rolls on the right angle, but hopefully I can discover a less painful way to check this next time.
On my way home I saw a lady in a car eating popcorn, and whenever we stopped at lights, she would literally stuff her face. If she looked over and saw someone watching, she would look absolutely mortified, as if she didn't understand how anyone could possibly notice. She would then eat another handful for comfort (in a way that was nowhere near as subtle as she thought,) and drive off to the next set of lights.
Since getting home, I have managed to solve my Game of Thrones withdrawals, happily watching a few episodes while my dinner cooked. This dinner happened to involve chicken. On the bone. Anyone who knows me well will know that I don't do bones in meat because they're hella awkward to eat around, and they remind me that what I'm eating was alive once. My bravado at trying something new disappeared a little when I had to cut it off the bone, but I just feel the need to say, "HEY MUM!! Still refusing to be a vegetarian!!"
I am now pressing send on a message to my mums partner, saying "HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!" and containing a picture of some beautiful rainbow cheesecakes, which I may or may not be telling him that I made especially for him. I'm sure he'll understand.
Xx, Little Duck
I was given a beautiful strawberry tart, and in my excited haste to eat it, I decided to skip putting it on a plate, and instead tried to eat it off its plastic lid. This went fine, until the fork stabbed through the lid and into my hand. I would have to say that it was worth the pain, as it was a really good tart, and I didn't even bleed, so it was all fine.
During an improvisation session for my first choreography assessment, I not only managed to annoy everyone in my rehearsal room by having my headphones break just before the session and needing to play my song out loud, but I also managed to create a giant diagonal bruise tracing from my left little toe, and up and over my right shoulder. It was a good way to make sure that I was doing ninja rolls on the right angle, but hopefully I can discover a less painful way to check this next time.
On my way home I saw a lady in a car eating popcorn, and whenever we stopped at lights, she would literally stuff her face. If she looked over and saw someone watching, she would look absolutely mortified, as if she didn't understand how anyone could possibly notice. She would then eat another handful for comfort (in a way that was nowhere near as subtle as she thought,) and drive off to the next set of lights.
Since getting home, I have managed to solve my Game of Thrones withdrawals, happily watching a few episodes while my dinner cooked. This dinner happened to involve chicken. On the bone. Anyone who knows me well will know that I don't do bones in meat because they're hella awkward to eat around, and they remind me that what I'm eating was alive once. My bravado at trying something new disappeared a little when I had to cut it off the bone, but I just feel the need to say, "HEY MUM!! Still refusing to be a vegetarian!!"
I am now pressing send on a message to my mums partner, saying "HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!" and containing a picture of some beautiful rainbow cheesecakes, which I may or may not be telling him that I made especially for him. I'm sure he'll understand.
Xx, Little Duck
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