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Dreamy.
Public transport blows. Seriously. I know it’s better for the environment and blah blah….but if there is anything this weekend has taught me, it is that my car is my god damn saviour.
First the journey up: Someone must have called Siegfried and Roy coz my train to Melbourne turned into a Bus. I was less astonished and more pissed. “I loathe the bus”. Yeah I was about as impressed as Molly Ringwald in 16 candles.
I boarded to be greeted by an old school acquaintance, whom I hadn’t seen since school, but nor did we speak much in school (by reason of the whole school hierarchy bullshit). Surprisingly, she over-enthusiastically offered me the seat next to her as though we were old BFFs and I still had the other half of her friendship locket.
Nuh uh.
She talked for 3 hours about herself, ex, her kids, her new boyfriend, how they met on the internet…her cats…her landlord…..blah blah blah, without so much as asking what I’d been up to since we left school. Painfully effusive and blatantly rude. All I wanted was some peace and quiet, to be left to my own thoughts. I even tried opening a book – take a hint lady! She didn’t.
Trip back to Hick Town: A train. Things were looking up. Don’t hold you breath…or do perhaps because it was going to be a stinky ride of second hand smoke and the misogynist musings of two dropkick skater boys, who thanks to the allocated seating system – I was stuck with.
Disgusting, acrid smelling jerks with scabby knees and greasy hair - they make eyes to each other as soon as I arrive – not hiding their active judgement of me and my appearance. The one I had to sit next to (the dumb(er) character in this comedy duo) had even taken my window seat. Bastard. For the first half hour I clung to the hope that they would be getting off at the first stop – but alas these hopes were dashed when I overhead them talking of the local skating bowl and familiar deadshit nightclubs.
They spoke so loud that my attempts to block them out with my ipod were fruitless. It was the kind of loud discussion where it’s clear that they were well aware that those around them could hear them and probably found what they were saying offensive - and yet they were getting a kick out of it and being spurred on in that knowledge. And so they continued…rating each girl that walked by, commenting on her boobs, or if she was “ratty” or not and what she was wearing. The girl opposite us (who was sleeping – which FYI doesn’t cause you to become deaf) was wearing a gorgeous nautical-style vintage dress, but after discussing it they decided it must either be a uniform, or she was a stripper. Yeah. Nice. I had Germaine Greer’s Female Eunuch in my bag – I almost felt like whipping it out as a passive and esoteric fuck you.
As more and more people left the train, I became the only audience member to their little act – and so the comments that sought to intimidate me came hard and fast. “Gee I wish I could stretch out on this chair”, “you know girls are only something to distract men from their real hobbies…if I didn’t get chicks I’d be an awesome skater” etc etc. Their short absences were spent smoking in the toilets - to the delight of my nostrils on their return.
The last few seconds of the train journey was spent staring me down and laughing - and what angers me most, is I let them do it. I sat there and let them intimidate me and make offensive comments. I looked away instead of staring back. I just wanted so much to just let them know I thought they were jerks, and I wasn’t intimidated or impressed. But I didn’t. I felt powerless against two young dickheads on a train. So I was left feeling most unimpressed with myself and my lack of courage.
If I had my time again, I would have liked to have channelled Elizabeth Shue in that classic 80s film “Adventures in Babysitting” [staring a young Anthony Rapp of Rent fame] when she walks up to thugs on the train and shouts “DON’T FUCK WITH THE BABYSITTER!”
Perhaps minus the knife wound.
I love op shopping when I'm on holiday or back in the country for a visit. It seems like unchartered territory (away from those passionate Melbourne op shop hunters) and so I feel like I have more chance of discovering some unnoticed thrift-store treasure.
Luckily, on my latest holiday I did. Unfortunately, these cute little crochet-style sandshoes are too big for me. Perhaps they aren't so little...Nevertheless I bought them, deciding I'd sell them on ebay to some lucky buyer. I think they are a nice variation of the cheap kmart-style canvass sandshoes that all those hip boys in cut-offs are getting around in. What do you think?
After endless skulking around various blogs these past few months, I've finally mustered the courage to create my own. Here it is.
I know. You're blown away. It's pretty awesome.
My understanding of a blog is that it is somewhat like a journal. As a young girl pretty journals were the gift of choice for birthday parties. So, I had kitsch pink kitten-covered journals coming out my ears till I was ten. Indeed I recall looking over one of my childhood journals once I was older and seeing that I'd traced the events of the day - namely, sucking on a fluro bar (what is a fluro bar?..not sure), going to the toilet and having a piece of toast. Gripping stuff. Other entries included tourettes-style outbursts mid-entry to warm my sister that "if you're reading this you're in trouble you fat b****h!). Yes, my writing was both banal and abusive. Whilst I have no intentions of writing a literary masterpiece, the quality of my blog entries will hopefully surpass that of my journal entries. The title of the blog was a little tricky though, particularly as I'm still a little shakey on the content. But, I thought that given I'm a born and bred country lass enjoying the offerings of Melbourne, this would be an apt title. It isn't intended to be malicious of course, even though 'hick' is a bit of a caustic choice of word. No no - It's simply a line from a song in one of my favourite movie musicals, "Hello Dolly". (aahhh - the sigh of understanding - I just went from being a bitter pretentious bitch to a musical theatre nerd and confessed Barbara Stresiand fan....cards are well and truly on the table now).
To enlighten you (if you havn't seen the film or musical), Cornelius Hackle is vehemently attempting to persuade his friend and work colleague Barnaby to ditch work for the day in Yonkers (small town) and venture into New York city to get up to mischief. So he sings "way out there beyond this hick town Barnaby, there's a slick town Barnaby!" If you've seen the most recent pixar film Wall-e this is probably ringing some bells, as they gave some clips of the film a pretty good hammering throughout (to my delight). In fact I think a more apt title would have been Hello Wall-e.
Anyway, drawing a perhaps self-evident parrallel, this blog will trace some of my couragous (hopefully) and creative adventures in Melbourne City. In particular, I'll hope to share some updates regarding my interests outside work and study which include op shopping, theatre and good coffee.I have stuff to say, stuff to share and hopefully some people out there who are interested!
Pink blouse with a sweet little frilly collar (which is removable! Although I don't think you'd want to remove it! But perhaps handy if you slop some food on it...a quick hey-presto-problem-solved!)
A red polka dot dress - the top half of which I think is super cute. I really like pussy bows. 
Disgusting, acrid smelling jerks with scabby knees and greasy hair - they make eyes to each other as soon as I arrive – not hiding their active judgement of me and my appearance. The one I had to sit next to (the dumb(er) character in this comedy duo) had even taken my window seat. Bastard. For the first half hour I clung to the hope that they would be getting off at the first stop – but alas these hopes were dashed when I overhead them talking of the local skating bowl and familiar deadshit nightclubs.
