Today I went back to class from holidays, and after two long weeks my body wasn't quite ready for it. It was one of our classmates birthdays, and so we all wore pyjamas for the day, giving me an excuse to sport my favourite cookie monster set, which shows him adorably dressed in Hipster glasses and a bow tie, and bears the pun "One smart cookie." I love puns. And cookies.
We began class with an intensive warm up, and some routines that we hadn't looked at in a few months, so my brain was well and truly wrung out. I was quite pleased with the performance of my grey matter, but I can't exactly say the same for my body; not only did I accidentally punch my friend in the head in the middle of a routine, but unfortunately, awkward and incorrect angles still seem to be a talent of mine.
We then had a catwalk workshop, for which we had to neaten and primp our sweaty and panting bodies in the space of fifteen minutes. After being fitted for a gown (proper full length formal style gowns from up and coming designers,) we got into the first part of the class. We walked to the front of the room over and over again, learning how to pose and turn, did some partner choreography catwalk exercises, and then learned to take our jacket off and sling it over our shoulder in a smooth and effortless manner. Let me just say that it is not an exercise that requires no effort, and I definitely did not make it look smooth. After getting my arms caught, nearly flicking the person behind me as I tried to throw it over my shoulder, and pulling weird faces as I tried to master the exercise while walking, I finally got it right, and in my excitement of feeling like a pro I lost my balance on the turn and looked like far less than a pro.
When we (I) finally semi-mastered the walking and the remaining upright while turning part, we learned some group choreography, and then were told to get our gowns ready for the mock show. To simulate a real show, these were quick changes; your group would walk in their street wear, run to the dressing room while the other groups went on, change into their gowns and return to the stage. I have had plenty of experience with quick changes, but I had abut 2 minutes, and my street wear involved skinny jeans. Add to this the fact that it was a shared dressing room, and this led to me hopping around in my bra, half out of my jeans, and trying to find someone to help with my dress. The dress was a gorgeous blue strapless number, worth more than my life, and of course, was the only one with a train. Being short, I took a few steps to figure out if I could walk in it without treading on it, and immediately felt my heel snag. Someone helped me to free it, but neither of us were game to see if there was any damage. I then had to ungracefully hoik one side of the dress up so that it did not drag on the floor at all, take a huge breath to stop the corset part from sliding down, and then attempt to look ethereal and not fall over.
Luckily I didn't fall over, or accidentally flash. I can't say I was a great model, but no one died in a freak model accident cause by me, and the dress made it back to the hanger (hopefully) unscathed.
Modelling is hard.
Xx, Little Duck (who got to dress like a princess. No wonder royals are under so much stress.)
Monday, 28 April 2014
Saturday, 26 April 2014
Laziness and leprosy
Never have I spent an entire day in bed watching movies. Until yesterday. After attending my nearest ANZAC dawn service (which was the longest and wettest I have ever seen,) I returned home a) drenched, because I didn't have an umbrella, and b) tired, because 4.45am is not an acceptable time to have to wake up. I decided to go back to bed and woke up 4 hours later, ate breakfast (at 11am) and then returned to bed where I watched the entire first season of Game of Thrones. (So. Much. Nudity. blegh.) As I finished the season I was interrupted by a knock on my door, which I did not want to answer. Not having been up all day, I had not brushed my hair, put on decent clothes or given any though to my appearance, and so I pretended I wasn't home. I thought I was safe, until a few seconds later, my landlord rang me. He was still standing outside, and when I answered the phone I was sure he could hear my voice, so when he asked if I was home, I caved and said I had been asleep, give me a minute and I'd be out. I then answered the door looking like the worlds biggest ming rat, to receive 3 parcels, an easter egg, two containers of dog food and a pair of undies in a plastic bag that I had accidentally dropped in the laundry. I probably looked like a zombie, and he barely hung around long enough to explain that the dog food was for the puppy, and could I please feed him while they went away this weekend.
I then decided I should vacate the house and went out to dinner with some friends. On the way to the pub we were eating at, we passed a restaurant called "The Duck Republic." I got very excited started yelling about ducks, before googling the place so that I could know what it was like and when I should plan a visit. I found that instead of being the duck friendly establishment their name implies, the main feature of their menu is actually duck. I was horrified, and now feel a touch less enthusiasm to dine there.
It was then my friends turn to start yelling, as she had spotted an attractive male out her window. Instead of pointing to him like a normal person would, she started knocking on the window and yelling quite loudly. We don't know if he actually noticed or not, because we were all either laughing too hard to see, or too mortified to look; it wasn't exactly a subtle first impression to give.
Today I drove to the airport to pick up a friend, and as I did, my day was made. As I stopped at a set of traffic lights in Brighton le-sands (a very appropriately named place for this story,) a man with crazy hair and an impressive moustache came out a coffee shop on a unicycle. He then rode off down the street with his takeaway cup and not a care in the world. I feel that he must be the worlds original hipster.
Little Duck, out
P.S Did you notice that this post had absolutely nothing to do with leprosy? (Unless you count me feeling like a leper when I had to answer the door.) Tricked you!
I then decided I should vacate the house and went out to dinner with some friends. On the way to the pub we were eating at, we passed a restaurant called "The Duck Republic." I got very excited started yelling about ducks, before googling the place so that I could know what it was like and when I should plan a visit. I found that instead of being the duck friendly establishment their name implies, the main feature of their menu is actually duck. I was horrified, and now feel a touch less enthusiasm to dine there.
It was then my friends turn to start yelling, as she had spotted an attractive male out her window. Instead of pointing to him like a normal person would, she started knocking on the window and yelling quite loudly. We don't know if he actually noticed or not, because we were all either laughing too hard to see, or too mortified to look; it wasn't exactly a subtle first impression to give.
Today I drove to the airport to pick up a friend, and as I did, my day was made. As I stopped at a set of traffic lights in Brighton le-sands (a very appropriately named place for this story,) a man with crazy hair and an impressive moustache came out a coffee shop on a unicycle. He then rode off down the street with his takeaway cup and not a care in the world. I feel that he must be the worlds original hipster.
Little Duck, out
P.S Did you notice that this post had absolutely nothing to do with leprosy? (Unless you count me feeling like a leper when I had to answer the door.) Tricked you!
Wednesday, 23 April 2014
Shenanigans in the sticks
I'm back!! Miss me? I was greeted by a smoggy sunset over the harbour, a barking dog who forgot me in the space of a week, leaf blower residue all over my floor, and one of my giant slug friends. It's nice to be home.
While visiting my family for easter, I had quite a few mini adventures, but nowhere near as many as I usually have in Sydney, proving just how bad I am at city life.
I learned to cook Thai from my dads girlfriend (who is Thai if that clears anything up,) and seeing as neither my dad nor my brothers will eat spicy things, I agreed to eat all the hot versions of her dishes. I think that these particular chillis she used may have been on steroids, because I love spicy things, and have been known to eat spoonfuls of wasabi to win bets, but I have never eaten a dish that has made me sweat before. After the first mouthful my face was clammy and gross, and I went through a litre of water in a matter of minutes. Even she was sweating and gasping. If I ever have a cold, I know what to make to get me going again.
I went to the beach with my brothers, and seeing as I hadn't packed any swimmers, my 14 year old brother dressed me in his board shorts and t-shirt, and I wore one of his caps. With my attire, flat chest and hairless legs, I must have looked like the oddest boy ever, and had fun tying to walk like a male, but this just received laughter from the boys and disgusted groans from my mother, so I stuck to being an extremely effeminate and perhaps pre-pubescent boy.
Due to the internet black hole that is my fathers house, I think I aged about 50 years in one weekend, and played a ridiculous amount of solitaire. When I say solitaire, I don't just mean the typical kind,(which is called Klondike if you were at all curious,) I mean all 6 kinds that windows 8 offers. Sometimes my technological dependency disgusts me, but at least if I'm ever kidnapped and forced into an underground solitaire tournament, I may have some chance of survival.
Woolworths centro has witnessed my largest fashion faux pas in approximately the last 5 years, being unfortunate enough to view my nice button up stud collar shirt paired with fleuro orange board shorts purchased in Phuket. Please do not think that I woke up one morning and thought that it would be a good idea to put this on. I was wearing a nice skirt to begin with, but life and laziness got in the way. While visiting some friends of my dads I became incredibly bored and decided to practise my acrobatics, and the only pants available to me were the swimmers that dad had packed. On the way home I fell asleep in the car, and woke up when we stopped at the shopping centre. Too lazy to change back into my skirt in the car, I decided to just wear the pants. Bad life choice. I can only hope that by this point my shirt had come untucked and I didn't come off as the new and extremely colour blind harry high-pants.
Our house fell victim to some kind of chocolate thief, resulting in a lot of easter eggs going missing. This didn't seem like such a good thing at the time, but I'm sure that my pilates and nutrition instructor will be pleased when class starts back.
Xx, Little Duck
While visiting my family for easter, I had quite a few mini adventures, but nowhere near as many as I usually have in Sydney, proving just how bad I am at city life.
I learned to cook Thai from my dads girlfriend (who is Thai if that clears anything up,) and seeing as neither my dad nor my brothers will eat spicy things, I agreed to eat all the hot versions of her dishes. I think that these particular chillis she used may have been on steroids, because I love spicy things, and have been known to eat spoonfuls of wasabi to win bets, but I have never eaten a dish that has made me sweat before. After the first mouthful my face was clammy and gross, and I went through a litre of water in a matter of minutes. Even she was sweating and gasping. If I ever have a cold, I know what to make to get me going again.
I went to the beach with my brothers, and seeing as I hadn't packed any swimmers, my 14 year old brother dressed me in his board shorts and t-shirt, and I wore one of his caps. With my attire, flat chest and hairless legs, I must have looked like the oddest boy ever, and had fun tying to walk like a male, but this just received laughter from the boys and disgusted groans from my mother, so I stuck to being an extremely effeminate and perhaps pre-pubescent boy.
Due to the internet black hole that is my fathers house, I think I aged about 50 years in one weekend, and played a ridiculous amount of solitaire. When I say solitaire, I don't just mean the typical kind,(which is called Klondike if you were at all curious,) I mean all 6 kinds that windows 8 offers. Sometimes my technological dependency disgusts me, but at least if I'm ever kidnapped and forced into an underground solitaire tournament, I may have some chance of survival.
Woolworths centro has witnessed my largest fashion faux pas in approximately the last 5 years, being unfortunate enough to view my nice button up stud collar shirt paired with fleuro orange board shorts purchased in Phuket. Please do not think that I woke up one morning and thought that it would be a good idea to put this on. I was wearing a nice skirt to begin with, but life and laziness got in the way. While visiting some friends of my dads I became incredibly bored and decided to practise my acrobatics, and the only pants available to me were the swimmers that dad had packed. On the way home I fell asleep in the car, and woke up when we stopped at the shopping centre. Too lazy to change back into my skirt in the car, I decided to just wear the pants. Bad life choice. I can only hope that by this point my shirt had come untucked and I didn't come off as the new and extremely colour blind harry high-pants.
Our house fell victim to some kind of chocolate thief, resulting in a lot of easter eggs going missing. This didn't seem like such a good thing at the time, but I'm sure that my pilates and nutrition instructor will be pleased when class starts back.
Xx, Little Duck
Tuesday, 15 April 2014
Jet Set
So I know that I said I probably wouldn't write for a while, but I was at the airport today, and airports are either really exciting, or super doper boring. Luckily I was there on a reasonably exiting day. As I locked up my apartment and went to meet the taxi, I heard a popping noise, and realised that the zipper on my oldest and most comfortable pair of jeans had finally given out. With only a couple of minutes to spare, I had to rush back inside, dig through my suitcase to find my other pair of jeans, hop around to get them on properly, stick my boots on again and run up to leave my landlords easter present in their mailbox (I really hope it doesn't rain,) and finished just as the taxi pulled up.
Once I made the train, there was no room for me to stand in the door carriage, and so I made the stupid decision to try to get downstairs. My bag has a gimpy wheel, so its really hard to push along, and the bottom carriage was packed. Once I finally made an empty seat, I couldn't fit the bag between my seat and the seat in front. In the end a nice man lifted it up and over the arm rail for me. I think he was just sick of having to stand behind me as I fumbled around. On the way out, my determination was the only thing that saved me from repeating my traffic clogging stupidity, and after a 45 minute wait in the check in line, I finally managed to get rid of that stupid bag.
As I passed through security, I thought that I made the metal detector beep, and so I stood there looking suspicious as I waited for the security guard to call me back through. When he didn't, I asked if I had to go back through, and he told me to relax, it wasn't me. I feel like he then felt he should have asked me to go back through just because I was acting so weird. This was added to by the fact that I am always explosive tested at the airport, and when I wasn't this time, I slunk by with an odd smirk on my face asking if it was really true, and this must have made it look like I had something to hide. Let's just say that I am surprised made it on the plane without being crash tackled by the federal police.
I stopped off for a Boost Juice on my way to the gate, and I was greeted by a lady in the most colourful attire I had ever seen. I noticed her from the feet up, and so I began my impression with her pink and yellow peep toe heels adorned with bows, fastened over mismatched fluro socks. This was then topped with a multi-coloured flared flamenco skirt, and a shirt that I can't even explain. She also had a bandana over her pink and purple mermaid hair. I was then served my boost before her (when she had been there first,) and she suddenly went from being the happiest looking person had seen in a long time, to someone who may be capable of murder. I smiled as pacifyingly as I could and legged it to the gate.
I made it home without any further large mishaps (finding yourself asleep on the plane with your mouth open is normal right?) and have been reunited with my Just Dance, which was just as wonderful as I had dreamed, had my mums homemade lasagne, and am now watching cloudy with a chance of meatballs. It may not be super exciting, but it's home.
Xx, Little Duck
Once I made the train, there was no room for me to stand in the door carriage, and so I made the stupid decision to try to get downstairs. My bag has a gimpy wheel, so its really hard to push along, and the bottom carriage was packed. Once I finally made an empty seat, I couldn't fit the bag between my seat and the seat in front. In the end a nice man lifted it up and over the arm rail for me. I think he was just sick of having to stand behind me as I fumbled around. On the way out, my determination was the only thing that saved me from repeating my traffic clogging stupidity, and after a 45 minute wait in the check in line, I finally managed to get rid of that stupid bag.
As I passed through security, I thought that I made the metal detector beep, and so I stood there looking suspicious as I waited for the security guard to call me back through. When he didn't, I asked if I had to go back through, and he told me to relax, it wasn't me. I feel like he then felt he should have asked me to go back through just because I was acting so weird. This was added to by the fact that I am always explosive tested at the airport, and when I wasn't this time, I slunk by with an odd smirk on my face asking if it was really true, and this must have made it look like I had something to hide. Let's just say that I am surprised made it on the plane without being crash tackled by the federal police.
I stopped off for a Boost Juice on my way to the gate, and I was greeted by a lady in the most colourful attire I had ever seen. I noticed her from the feet up, and so I began my impression with her pink and yellow peep toe heels adorned with bows, fastened over mismatched fluro socks. This was then topped with a multi-coloured flared flamenco skirt, and a shirt that I can't even explain. She also had a bandana over her pink and purple mermaid hair. I was then served my boost before her (when she had been there first,) and she suddenly went from being the happiest looking person had seen in a long time, to someone who may be capable of murder. I smiled as pacifyingly as I could and legged it to the gate.
I made it home without any further large mishaps (finding yourself asleep on the plane with your mouth open is normal right?) and have been reunited with my Just Dance, which was just as wonderful as I had dreamed, had my mums homemade lasagne, and am now watching cloudy with a chance of meatballs. It may not be super exciting, but it's home.
Xx, Little Duck
Monday, 14 April 2014
Ice age idiot
Today I stayed in all day to just clean and pack. I mopped, wiped down all my surfaces, and halfway through I realised that I hadn't opened any windows, and my head was feeling a bit cloudy from all the product fumes. I decided to start airing the place out and packing before I either passed out or became forcefully addicted to the chemicals in spray and wipe.
By lunch time I was so bored and cold that I decided to take a shower to warm myself up, and while sitting under the warm water, I somehow ended up contemplating the water distribution of earth during the ice age. This contemplation went on a lot longer than I would care to admit, and covered a whole lot of stupid topics such as; where did the extra water come from, (duh, there is always the same amount of water. right?) how much would have to evaporate each day to allow it to keep snowing, and maybe the lack of water in the air is why wind in snowy areas is so crisp and dry. I'm not sure what's wrong with me sometimes.
After the shower, I piled on a mismatched assortment of clothes to try and stay warm, including tights, zebra bed socks, slipper boots, a beanie and a sloppy shirt. It's probably lucky that I stayed in all day and didn't see another human, because I can't say I looked very appealing, although I was pretty cosy.
I then went over my list of what I will be taking home for easter, looked back in my bag, and decided that I was well over my weight limit of 20kg, because of some of the odder items I have to take, such as my mums birthday present (no spoilers,) and my recently purchased Avengers bouncy ball. After revaluating very item and repacking a couple of times, I remembered that I had scales and could just weigh my bag. I then discovered that the bag only weighed 5.5kgs, and that I probably should have picked it up before going to the effort of repacking.
As you have probably guessed by the numerous references to my packing, I am going home for easter (which is lucky, because if I had to spend most of the holidays cooped up in the house by myself, I am afraid that I would find just how much weirder I could get than the ice age debate,) and because I will be back home, I'm not sure how often I will be writing. More than that, I'm not sure that anything exciting enough to report will happen, but I guess we'll see.
Heading back to her much smaller pond,
Xx, Little Duck
going away disclaimer
By lunch time I was so bored and cold that I decided to take a shower to warm myself up, and while sitting under the warm water, I somehow ended up contemplating the water distribution of earth during the ice age. This contemplation went on a lot longer than I would care to admit, and covered a whole lot of stupid topics such as; where did the extra water come from, (duh, there is always the same amount of water. right?) how much would have to evaporate each day to allow it to keep snowing, and maybe the lack of water in the air is why wind in snowy areas is so crisp and dry. I'm not sure what's wrong with me sometimes.
After the shower, I piled on a mismatched assortment of clothes to try and stay warm, including tights, zebra bed socks, slipper boots, a beanie and a sloppy shirt. It's probably lucky that I stayed in all day and didn't see another human, because I can't say I looked very appealing, although I was pretty cosy.
I then went over my list of what I will be taking home for easter, looked back in my bag, and decided that I was well over my weight limit of 20kg, because of some of the odder items I have to take, such as my mums birthday present (no spoilers,) and my recently purchased Avengers bouncy ball. After revaluating very item and repacking a couple of times, I remembered that I had scales and could just weigh my bag. I then discovered that the bag only weighed 5.5kgs, and that I probably should have picked it up before going to the effort of repacking.
As you have probably guessed by the numerous references to my packing, I am going home for easter (which is lucky, because if I had to spend most of the holidays cooped up in the house by myself, I am afraid that I would find just how much weirder I could get than the ice age debate,) and because I will be back home, I'm not sure how often I will be writing. More than that, I'm not sure that anything exciting enough to report will happen, but I guess we'll see.
Heading back to her much smaller pond,
Xx, Little Duck
going away disclaimer
Sunday, 13 April 2014
Bulk and bunnies
Today I had my first San churros experience. For anyone who doesn't know what this is, it's like a Spanish version of Max Brenner's, with the added delight of churros (essentially doughnuts in stick form.) It was amazing, but despite having finished eating about 5 hours ago, I am surprised that I am able to move yet. I shared a fondue plate with my friend, which included; nougat, brownies, pretzels, marshmallows, macarons, churros, strawberries and bananas (so I'm really glad we shared,) and a mint hot chocolate. When I ordered this hot chocolate, I'm quite sure they went out the back and just literally heated some chocolate and added a mint shot. The mug that came to the table was full of such a thick and rich chocolate substance, that I am sure there was no milk added whatsoever. It was however delicious, and I regret nothing, although I am not sure that my stomach agrees.
After this we went for a walk to Big W for my friend to stock up on some household products. Since her mum was with her, she ended up buying the best value washing products available, which meant 5 litres of fabric softener and 5 kilograms of washing powder. We didn't have a trolley at the time, and so I offered to carry the washing powder. I had also picked up an Avengers ball on our travels, as I needed one for my ballet strength exercises. While my friend and her mum looked for a new bath mat, I stood at the end of the aisle waiting for them. At this point, a very attractive Big W employee wearing pair of Easter Bunny ears walked by, and as I thought it was polite to be nice, I smiled. He gave me an odd look, and I couldn't figure out why. He hurried off, and I was left standing there with a 5L bottle of fabric softener at my feet, and a 5kg box of washing powder in my arms with an Avengers bouncy ball perched on top. I think I get it now.
I also came across a child named Hermione (who happened to be ridiculously beautiful and well dressed for a girl her age) as her father called her away from looking at gumboots with butterflies on them. I love Harry Potter, and I guess her parents do too.
It was a very good day, and I am now watching Dr Who while trying to convince my body to make room for some soup. It's not going well.
Xx, Little Duck
After this we went for a walk to Big W for my friend to stock up on some household products. Since her mum was with her, she ended up buying the best value washing products available, which meant 5 litres of fabric softener and 5 kilograms of washing powder. We didn't have a trolley at the time, and so I offered to carry the washing powder. I had also picked up an Avengers ball on our travels, as I needed one for my ballet strength exercises. While my friend and her mum looked for a new bath mat, I stood at the end of the aisle waiting for them. At this point, a very attractive Big W employee wearing pair of Easter Bunny ears walked by, and as I thought it was polite to be nice, I smiled. He gave me an odd look, and I couldn't figure out why. He hurried off, and I was left standing there with a 5L bottle of fabric softener at my feet, and a 5kg box of washing powder in my arms with an Avengers bouncy ball perched on top. I think I get it now.
I also came across a child named Hermione (who happened to be ridiculously beautiful and well dressed for a girl her age) as her father called her away from looking at gumboots with butterflies on them. I love Harry Potter, and I guess her parents do too.
It was a very good day, and I am now watching Dr Who while trying to convince my body to make room for some soup. It's not going well.
Xx, Little Duck
Saturday, 12 April 2014
Really fast food
As I drove to class on my last day of term yesterday, I was greeted at a red light by three people on exercise bikes in crazy glitter wigs and fairy wings. While making me giggle a little (and making me extremely scared of looking out my window in case they saw me watching,) I'm not sure that I would join the gym that they were promoting. My decision wasn't only based on these guys, but as I pass 2 branches of this gym every morning, and the second one is covered in ads for dominos cheaper Tuesday. I guess if you're looking for a controversial gym full of fashion forward people who are (literally) going nowhere, and are trying to start a new eating plan, then I think you should sign up there.
Last night I was luckily enough to be in the audience of the live filming of the Xfactor auditions, and while waiting in line to be seated, we decided to grab some dinner as it was going to finish late. We all took it in turns to go to the McDonalds next door and grab our food, (waiting hungrily in ridiculously long lines,) and being a Friday, I got my typical cheeseburger meal. Once we got back and started eating, the ushers told us to get ready, because we would be moving soon. We weren't sure if we were allowed food inside, and so in fear of losing our long anticipated and hard won meals, the next few minutes were full of frenzied chip and burger scarfing, and due to my habit of eating quite slowly, this became even less graceful than it sounds. I also had to struggle to fit in my ice cream and coke in this time, and so when I was finally able to put my rubbish in the bin, I literally strutted to the bin, filled with pride and numerous carcinogens that can be found in McDonalds food.
Today I ventured to a Westfield even larger than the one I have been familiarising myself with over the past few months, and on my search for a JB Hi-Fi, I came across one of five food courts (I kid you not,) in which an elderly couple were having a furious finger wagging fight in line for the Muffin Break. While he waited at their table, she began the exchange with quite a calm raised finger, but it escalated quickly. I never realised that the choce of muffin flavour was so important, but I really hope that they can get through this.
Did you know that they don't have garden sections in city Kmarts? I didn't expect the walk in garden or anything, but not even a section where you can buy a trowel or a gnome? There must be some elderly ladies living in this city with some very bare window boxes.
Today I finally had the falafel that I have been craving for about a week, and it exploded. It was quite large, and so I was saving the second half for later, but as I put it away, the pita that it was wrapped in suddenly became one hundred tiny pieces of pita, and I had no choice but to eat the whole delicious mess right there.
I am now off to watch the classic Dirty Dancing in the dark, by myself, because I am a wild party animal on a Saturday night.
Little Duck, out.
Last night I was luckily enough to be in the audience of the live filming of the Xfactor auditions, and while waiting in line to be seated, we decided to grab some dinner as it was going to finish late. We all took it in turns to go to the McDonalds next door and grab our food, (waiting hungrily in ridiculously long lines,) and being a Friday, I got my typical cheeseburger meal. Once we got back and started eating, the ushers told us to get ready, because we would be moving soon. We weren't sure if we were allowed food inside, and so in fear of losing our long anticipated and hard won meals, the next few minutes were full of frenzied chip and burger scarfing, and due to my habit of eating quite slowly, this became even less graceful than it sounds. I also had to struggle to fit in my ice cream and coke in this time, and so when I was finally able to put my rubbish in the bin, I literally strutted to the bin, filled with pride and numerous carcinogens that can be found in McDonalds food.
Today I ventured to a Westfield even larger than the one I have been familiarising myself with over the past few months, and on my search for a JB Hi-Fi, I came across one of five food courts (I kid you not,) in which an elderly couple were having a furious finger wagging fight in line for the Muffin Break. While he waited at their table, she began the exchange with quite a calm raised finger, but it escalated quickly. I never realised that the choce of muffin flavour was so important, but I really hope that they can get through this.
Did you know that they don't have garden sections in city Kmarts? I didn't expect the walk in garden or anything, but not even a section where you can buy a trowel or a gnome? There must be some elderly ladies living in this city with some very bare window boxes.
Today I finally had the falafel that I have been craving for about a week, and it exploded. It was quite large, and so I was saving the second half for later, but as I put it away, the pita that it was wrapped in suddenly became one hundred tiny pieces of pita, and I had no choice but to eat the whole delicious mess right there.
I am now off to watch the classic Dirty Dancing in the dark, by myself, because I am a wild party animal on a Saturday night.
Little Duck, out.
Wednesday, 9 April 2014
Spiders and stereotyping
Last night I made hot cross buns, along with a giant mess. These were chocolate chip hot cross buns, and so by the time I was finished, there was dough, cocoa and melted chocolate all over the place. The amount of dishes and utensils needed for these baked delights is insane, but the thing that I found most ridiculous was the instruction to lightly flour the bench before turning the dough out to knead it. Recipe writer, have you ever tried lightly flouring a bench? There is nothing light about it. The adjective should reflect the difficulty of the action, or the effort required, not lull you into a false sense of security. Not only do you create small white puffs when you put your hand in the bag to get the flour out, but it scatters everywhere when it hits the bench top, and don't even get me started on the cleaning. It goes everywhere, and I didn't particularly enjoy pulling my kitchen apart to wipe away traces of unwanted, useless white powder. If the amount of scrubbing it takes to remove wet flour is light, then I'm a monkeys uncle. You should not have to be Olympic athlete strong to remove that stuff.
As I carried my finished products to the car this morning, I was coaching myself through not dropping the glass and ceramic container the buns were in, and running through al the things I had to remember to do during the day. I didn't realise I was doing this under my breath, until I saw Mr Emphysema on his front veranda, staring at me as I opened the car. I smiled an awkward smile, and thought of offering him a bun, but thought this might make things worse. Maybe I should bake him one of those Greek Easter breads to keep him from telling everyone how crazy I am, but then I'd probably offend him even more, because, lets face it, it would be nothing like what he was used to.
Throughout the day, I came to realise just how much city kids hate spiders. I know it's not just them, and lots of people are afraid of arachnid species. That's totally fine. I just noticed that 99% of people I know who are afraid of spiders, grew up in the city. And it's not just spiders, none of them are too keen on other bugs either. I feel like growing up on a farm, or a property of any kind, you kind of have to suck it up or go insane, but apparently, it's normal to halt a dance class while a majority of students (and a lot of the time, the teacher too, ) crowd into a corner of the room until the offending creepy crawly has been safely disposed of. It's crazy.
I became the definition of the word nonja today in my contemporary class, failing at what the teacher calls a "ninja" roll by looking ridiculously awkward, bruising myself in multiple places and struggling to get up from the ground. Real ninjas should thank me, it's people like me that make you look so impressive.
Right now I am alternating between struggling to stay awake, and crawling around on the floor in preparation for tomorrow's acting class, in which I have to imitate a particular wild animal (which for the purposes of the exercise is a secret, so I can't tell you.) I'm struggling slightly, so I think I'm going to say that I'm a baby one of these animals in an attempt to be a little more realistic regarding size, vocal range and attitude. Let's just say that animal Thursday has taken on a whole new meaning, and should be very interesting!!
Little Duck, out
As I carried my finished products to the car this morning, I was coaching myself through not dropping the glass and ceramic container the buns were in, and running through al the things I had to remember to do during the day. I didn't realise I was doing this under my breath, until I saw Mr Emphysema on his front veranda, staring at me as I opened the car. I smiled an awkward smile, and thought of offering him a bun, but thought this might make things worse. Maybe I should bake him one of those Greek Easter breads to keep him from telling everyone how crazy I am, but then I'd probably offend him even more, because, lets face it, it would be nothing like what he was used to.
Throughout the day, I came to realise just how much city kids hate spiders. I know it's not just them, and lots of people are afraid of arachnid species. That's totally fine. I just noticed that 99% of people I know who are afraid of spiders, grew up in the city. And it's not just spiders, none of them are too keen on other bugs either. I feel like growing up on a farm, or a property of any kind, you kind of have to suck it up or go insane, but apparently, it's normal to halt a dance class while a majority of students (and a lot of the time, the teacher too, ) crowd into a corner of the room until the offending creepy crawly has been safely disposed of. It's crazy.
I became the definition of the word nonja today in my contemporary class, failing at what the teacher calls a "ninja" roll by looking ridiculously awkward, bruising myself in multiple places and struggling to get up from the ground. Real ninjas should thank me, it's people like me that make you look so impressive.
Right now I am alternating between struggling to stay awake, and crawling around on the floor in preparation for tomorrow's acting class, in which I have to imitate a particular wild animal (which for the purposes of the exercise is a secret, so I can't tell you.) I'm struggling slightly, so I think I'm going to say that I'm a baby one of these animals in an attempt to be a little more realistic regarding size, vocal range and attitude. Let's just say that animal Thursday has taken on a whole new meaning, and should be very interesting!!
Little Duck, out
Monday, 7 April 2014
Caution; caramel and fatigue ahead
The one thing I like about getting up on Monday morning, is that I am usually well rested and ready to go for another week. Let's just say that I did not enjoy getting up this morning. I rolled out of bed and had trouble walking, and knew from that moment that it was going to be a tough one; thank goodness this is the last week of class.
I muddled my way through lyrical and pilates by pulling faces that I am glad I never had to look at, although the poor teachers and my classmates probably didn't enjoy them very much. Acro was quite interesting as well, although luckily my arms were nowhere near as sore as my legs. My cartwheels were actually quite decent, but I think I need to give myself an acro intensive over the holidays, otherwise I may be kicked out for being hopeless. I do admit that as soon as I get upside down, I lose all control of my body and sense of direction, but I am trying. (Trying not to die does count right?)
This afternoon I received a call from a man who was responding to my ad in the paper. After I informed him that I didn't have an ad in the paper there was an awkward silence, followed by "ok...um wrong number?.." and the dial tone as he hung up. He seemed a little more embarrassed than someone who has simply called the wrong number, and this got me wondering, what kind of ad was he responding to? Knowing my luck, there is some adult entertainer out there with a number one digit different from mine. Maybe I should get myself a stripper name so that I can play along next time, but I have a feeling my giggles might give it away.
Tonight I did some baking, and discovered the issues of a raised stove and a short stature. My caramel needed constant stirring for 10 minutes, and this saw me perched precariously on a swivel chair so that I could both reach and see the caramel. Let me just say that almost stacking it while stirring boiling sugar syrup is not the safest thing you can do. Luckily I have managed to escape any serious burns, and the result seemed to taste ok, so hopefully the zany recipe it was added to works out just as well.
Right now I am falling asleep on my keyboard, and seriously asking myself if 8:30 is an acceptable time to go to bed. Technically it's 9:30 in the newly ended daylight saving time, so it is ok right? Right?
Xx, Little Duck
I muddled my way through lyrical and pilates by pulling faces that I am glad I never had to look at, although the poor teachers and my classmates probably didn't enjoy them very much. Acro was quite interesting as well, although luckily my arms were nowhere near as sore as my legs. My cartwheels were actually quite decent, but I think I need to give myself an acro intensive over the holidays, otherwise I may be kicked out for being hopeless. I do admit that as soon as I get upside down, I lose all control of my body and sense of direction, but I am trying. (Trying not to die does count right?)
This afternoon I received a call from a man who was responding to my ad in the paper. After I informed him that I didn't have an ad in the paper there was an awkward silence, followed by "ok...um wrong number?.." and the dial tone as he hung up. He seemed a little more embarrassed than someone who has simply called the wrong number, and this got me wondering, what kind of ad was he responding to? Knowing my luck, there is some adult entertainer out there with a number one digit different from mine. Maybe I should get myself a stripper name so that I can play along next time, but I have a feeling my giggles might give it away.
Tonight I did some baking, and discovered the issues of a raised stove and a short stature. My caramel needed constant stirring for 10 minutes, and this saw me perched precariously on a swivel chair so that I could both reach and see the caramel. Let me just say that almost stacking it while stirring boiling sugar syrup is not the safest thing you can do. Luckily I have managed to escape any serious burns, and the result seemed to taste ok, so hopefully the zany recipe it was added to works out just as well.
Right now I am falling asleep on my keyboard, and seriously asking myself if 8:30 is an acceptable time to go to bed. Technically it's 9:30 in the newly ended daylight saving time, so it is ok right? Right?
Xx, Little Duck
Saturday, 5 April 2014
Initiation of fire
I have now encountered the worlds friendliest service station cashier. He was lovely, and also very good at making things weird. I was innocently buying myself a cookies and cream kit kat while my friend waited to the side for me. As I placed the chocolate on the counter, the guy leans forward and whispers "somebody is crazy about you..." I was quite confused, and so he motioned with his head to my friend and repeated himself quite a bit louder. I just smiled politely (because I had no idea what to do,) and went to hand over the money. He must have taken my silence as abashed happiness or something, because he then announced loudly to the whole shop, "somebody loves her very much!" My friend looked up from his phone to see what was happening, just as the guy went on; "he's standing right behind her!" I hastily took my change, again smiling (with slightly glazed eyes from trying not to die laughing) and ran from the shop to the car, where my friend and I collapsed. I'm not sure what have him that particular impression of us, but had I stayed any longer, I think he would announced our engagement and offered to be the minister.
Yesterday I got to pretend to be an African tribeswoman in a really cool dance, which was a lot of fun, and resulted in a lot of pain. My legs aren't particularly thankful for the experience, but that dance is as close as I will ever get to being in the Lion King, so I'm glad for the chance. My oddly angled limbs didn't need to try to be graceful for once, and I must say, I enjoyed that a lot.
Today I had a job trial at a childrens jungle-gym place. I felt the whole time that the universe was trying to tell me it wasn't the job for me (or that I wasn't the one for the job!) With 14 kids parties throughout the day, and me never having worked in hospitality before, I knew it was going to be interesting. The people who ran the place thought that I knew how to make coffee (which I definitely do not,) but I went along with it and faked my heart out, luckily without breaking the machine. I apologise to all the people who received a latte despite having ordered a cappuccino, due to my inability to add foam to the milk. At least it was still technically a coffee, which for me is a miracle. About 20 minutes into the shift I wore a raspberry slushie all down my front and over my shoes thanks to an overzealous toddler reaching across the counter. I then acquainted myself with the cleaning room and made friends with the mop. The register also wasn't my friend, totalling an $8 purchase to $15,000, which even my supervisor couldn't explain.
All in all, it was a character building experience (mostly for the supervisors,) and I feel like it was the first time in my life when it wasn't the children that were my downfall. Better than an uneventful Saturday though!
After this interesting morning, I stopped off at a woolworths and almost fell asleep as I aimlessly wandered the aisles. I had a nice sleep when I got home, and am feeling ok again, but I do need chocolate. I'll make sure I go somewhere else this time though!
Xx, Little Duck
Yesterday I got to pretend to be an African tribeswoman in a really cool dance, which was a lot of fun, and resulted in a lot of pain. My legs aren't particularly thankful for the experience, but that dance is as close as I will ever get to being in the Lion King, so I'm glad for the chance. My oddly angled limbs didn't need to try to be graceful for once, and I must say, I enjoyed that a lot.
Today I had a job trial at a childrens jungle-gym place. I felt the whole time that the universe was trying to tell me it wasn't the job for me (or that I wasn't the one for the job!) With 14 kids parties throughout the day, and me never having worked in hospitality before, I knew it was going to be interesting. The people who ran the place thought that I knew how to make coffee (which I definitely do not,) but I went along with it and faked my heart out, luckily without breaking the machine. I apologise to all the people who received a latte despite having ordered a cappuccino, due to my inability to add foam to the milk. At least it was still technically a coffee, which for me is a miracle. About 20 minutes into the shift I wore a raspberry slushie all down my front and over my shoes thanks to an overzealous toddler reaching across the counter. I then acquainted myself with the cleaning room and made friends with the mop. The register also wasn't my friend, totalling an $8 purchase to $15,000, which even my supervisor couldn't explain.
All in all, it was a character building experience (mostly for the supervisors,) and I feel like it was the first time in my life when it wasn't the children that were my downfall. Better than an uneventful Saturday though!
After this interesting morning, I stopped off at a woolworths and almost fell asleep as I aimlessly wandered the aisles. I had a nice sleep when I got home, and am feeling ok again, but I do need chocolate. I'll make sure I go somewhere else this time though!
Xx, Little Duck
Wednesday, 2 April 2014
Egg-splosive morning
Yesterday I exploded an egg. My saucepan was still full of tomato soup in the fridge, and so I had to improvise ways to get my egg cooked for lunch. I started out by trying to boil it in my frying pan, but when I realised I didn't have a billion years to wait, I decided to try something else. After shelling it, I placed it in the microwave for 20 seconds. No matter how soft boiled it was before this, 20 seconds was definitely too much. A loud bang alerted me to the failure of my experiment, and I was left to wipe out my microwave and scrape the tattered remains of the egg into a container for an extremely well cooked and textured snack.
My hip hop class was a lesson on daggy 90s grooves that were so much fun. Despite not being able to answer the teacher's questions on influential personas of the time and where the moves came from (having only just been born,) was able to have a great time. As we progressed through the different dance style of this era, I became more and more uncoordinated, but was able to keep smiling, and the best part was the cheesy but oh so recognisable music. Sadly I couldn't be quite daggy enough to make it look cool, but since when have 90s kids ever looked cool?
In latin we continued to explore jive, and I had a turn at being both the male and female partner. Lets just say that I make a terribly effeminate male, and a graceless female. It was a lot of fun though, and when I was a female, we learnt a floor trick. Being paired with another small girl, this led to us altering the choreography to make it a little more achievable, and resulted in me rolling awkwardly to the floor, butt scooting through my partners legs, an heaving myself back to standing through my super un-flexy back. We definitely weren't the most impressive couple, but I don't think anyone had more enthusiasm than us.
After class I was lucky enough to go and see an amazingly funny musical called The Drowsy Chaperone, and I am unashamed to say that I almost wet my pants watching it. Knowing one of the cast members only made it funnier, and the director (who also played the narrator,) is an absolute genius. I would tell you to go and see it, but the season is already sold out. Too bad for you!
Today I got to try partner tricking in contemporary, giving me the chance to squeal loudly, and be caught in situations that my lack of coordination - when upside down or horizontal - would usually lead to me kissing the floor. It was awesome. I discovered that I am definitely better at being thrown than doing the throwing. My small arm muscles don't really lend themselves to lifting me off the ground in push ups, let alone lifting someone else with power.
Right now, I am having a great time annoying my neighbours by pretending to be African, and singing the opening of The Circle Of Life over and over again. I love the Lion King. I just wish I knew what they were actually saying.
Xx, Little Duck
My hip hop class was a lesson on daggy 90s grooves that were so much fun. Despite not being able to answer the teacher's questions on influential personas of the time and where the moves came from (having only just been born,) was able to have a great time. As we progressed through the different dance style of this era, I became more and more uncoordinated, but was able to keep smiling, and the best part was the cheesy but oh so recognisable music. Sadly I couldn't be quite daggy enough to make it look cool, but since when have 90s kids ever looked cool?
In latin we continued to explore jive, and I had a turn at being both the male and female partner. Lets just say that I make a terribly effeminate male, and a graceless female. It was a lot of fun though, and when I was a female, we learnt a floor trick. Being paired with another small girl, this led to us altering the choreography to make it a little more achievable, and resulted in me rolling awkwardly to the floor, butt scooting through my partners legs, an heaving myself back to standing through my super un-flexy back. We definitely weren't the most impressive couple, but I don't think anyone had more enthusiasm than us.
After class I was lucky enough to go and see an amazingly funny musical called The Drowsy Chaperone, and I am unashamed to say that I almost wet my pants watching it. Knowing one of the cast members only made it funnier, and the director (who also played the narrator,) is an absolute genius. I would tell you to go and see it, but the season is already sold out. Too bad for you!
Today I got to try partner tricking in contemporary, giving me the chance to squeal loudly, and be caught in situations that my lack of coordination - when upside down or horizontal - would usually lead to me kissing the floor. It was awesome. I discovered that I am definitely better at being thrown than doing the throwing. My small arm muscles don't really lend themselves to lifting me off the ground in push ups, let alone lifting someone else with power.
Right now, I am having a great time annoying my neighbours by pretending to be African, and singing the opening of The Circle Of Life over and over again. I love the Lion King. I just wish I knew what they were actually saying.
Xx, Little Duck
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