Tag Archives: food

Omgz, or something

26 Mar

Today, I woke up feeling totally refreshed. I’ve had ridiculous stress acne along my jaw lately for the first time in my life, but this morning it finally seemed to have cleared up. It was warm but overcast, slightly humid and a bit windy; perfection.

So I got up from my huge bed piled high in Egyptian cotton sheets and hot men, pulled on my vintage silk robe and wandered out to my provincial kitchen, full of totally necessary but aesthetically concealed modern gadgets. Awwww… Mummy had stopped by and made blueberry pancakes! Blood orange juice, pour moi? Posie and Xiao-Gui were frolicking outside the French doors, amongst the heirloom roses in my Dan Bifano-designed garden – yes, that’s right, I bought Oprah’s Montecito teahouse. Actually it was more of a gift.. you know, in honour of my incredible contribution to literature, art, music and human rights. And awesomeness, obviously.

The rest of the day was spent reading books specifically written with my tastes in mind, listening to my favourite bands perform live for me in my acoustically perfect living room, checking out the Shih Lin Night Market in Taipei, a gigantic dinner party with people I adore, the perfect gift of a magical ‘delete’ button to banish all noise and rubbish from my life, and finally.. fairy bread.

Okay, so maybe that’s all lies. Ignore me… DISTRACTION – aren’t these guys adorable? The one on the right looks like a fluffy bowling pin:

I think they win at life today. I met two gorgeous silky ferrets going for a walk down Bourke Street yesterday though, so they get the gold medal for yesterday.

Okay, so everything sucked balls today. Crusty, hairy ones with some sort of horrible as-yet unclassified STD and an unsettlingly floral fragrance. No cure, but the treatment involves sharing the mundane junk that amused me today between all the actual junk:

  • Dina Goldstein’s Fallen Princesses – photographs of Disney princesses at odds with reality. Snow White with crying babies on her hips, Cinderella drinking alone in a seedy bar, Pocahontas watching TV in the dark surrounded by a million cats.
  • China’s aerospace program has set a prerequisite for any prospective female astronauts; they must be married and a mother. Because you know, any other type of woman really isn’t human – it’s probably this assumption, even more than the discrimination, that makes me angry. But… whole ‘nother post. Or ten.
  • David Lee Roth’s undeniably unique vocal stylings.
  • And I have decided, after much careful consideration and reading a thousand and one reviews – I want this one.

Miz Opheeelia in da house, doggerz!!!!!!!!!1eleven

Or something. xx

Panic in the Streets of Melbourne

25 Mar

Official: I am a wimp.

I often give money to beggars. Small amounts, as I am never rich and only sometimes financially okay. Sometimes I figure that a coffee, a muffin and a chat are probably more meaningful and appreciated. I feel especially obliged if I can see the reasons why a person slipped through the cracks, and especially repulsed by people who are probably have more cash flow than me yet expect to be able to guilt me into funding their addictions.

Sitting in Bourke Street mall at 10pm last night, there was a lot of pedestrian traffic. In fits and starts, as dictated by the traffic lights. People alternated between surrounding me and being nowhere in sight every few minutes. During one of the silent times, a muscle-bound man with long, wavy black hair and no shirt came striding through the piazza. With distance and my lack of glasses, he looked like a Mills & Boon conjuration of Heathcliff.

Then he walked straight up to me and asked for money. I gave it to him. He thanked me, then left.

Then I realized the precariousness of what I had just done. I am petite; I am an ex-karate geek, but brute strength often wins easily against agility and speed. This man was obviously muscular, and could easily have been twice my weight. He was holding a lit cigarette which he waved dangerously close to my face as he talked, and I tried not to let myself imagine the sensation of it melting the skin on my cheek or the smell of burning flesh rising from my collarbone.  I also was struck by our proximity to dark empty alleyways, how short and flimsy my summer dress was, and the fact that I am a particularly wide-eyed girl who is constantly being told “22? You look 16”. And for the moment he decided the approach me, there was nobody else in sight. In Bourke Street. At 10pm on a Thursday.

Illusion of security = fleeting. I was pretty angry when he left; using fear as a tactic to take advantage of their charity is not cool.

At least I got dumplings to make it all better.

Cowardly Ophelia xx