Another Easter Post. The Downside of Easter as an Adult

I realised something today. 
Easter is only fun if you're a kid, a parent and/or have kids around you during Easter. 

Back in the days when I used to wake up, wake my brother up, and go for a egg hunt. In the morning it was at our house. Mum and Dad would hide the eggs when we went to bed the night before (well, you know the story). Once we'd collected all the eggs (once Mum and Dad remembered where they hid them all) we'd get a chocolate bunny and have chocolate for breakfast. And some toast. 
Then at lunch we would go to my Grandparent's house. There (with our cousins) we'd have another egg hunt. This hunt happened outside (a much bigger area) and used much smaller eggs. This hunt was a lot more challenging and with extra people made it a lot more fun. 
I'm also pretty sure we never found them all and thanks to my Nunnu's bad memory; we were finding eggs days afterwards as well.
It wasn't all about the chocolate though. The family getting together, the great biscuits my Nunna used to make, and well...just the tradition of it really, brings a warmth and comforting feel every Easter. 

Then we grew up.

This morning when I got up, there were no strategically placed eggs on the TV, in a vase or behind a frame - not that I looked, or anything. 
To make it worse, Dad had to work. So by 10:30, he was outta here. 
When my brother got up (12 o'clock) Mum pulled out a carton of chocolate eggs. Except - even though they were the same ones we used to go looking for - she divided them up between the four of us (Dad had his own little pile) and we received our chocolate eggs that way. 
I do have to admit, if she'd made us going looking for them, I would have told her I'm not a kid and complained that it was lame. But still....
Then we got our bunnies - except this year, they weren't bunnies. They were a variety of different chocolates; I love the more sophisticated chocolate; but there goes an old tradition. 

But what about Grandma's house? Nope, that was lost this year too. My cousin's have gone down the Coast (those still living in Canberra anyway) and with Dad working, we spent Easter with my Grandparent's last night instead. 

*I'd just like to say I'm not complaining about the chocolates (not that Easter is about that anyway, at all) I just miss the traditions we used to have, and now as my brother and I are no longer kids - in age anyway - Easter isn't as exiting and the traditions we had seem to be lost. Because as adults, I guess there's no need to keep up a pretence. 

I suppose the Blog Title shouldn't really be 'the downsides to Easter as an Adult' but rather, 'the downsides to Easter if there's no kids around'. Though that makes it sound kinda creepy. 

So if you are spending this Easter with kids - be they your own, nephews or nieces, family friends kids, etc - treasure it!
Go looking for those chocolate eggs with them, hide them in the most ridiculous places where no kid will find them, eat as much chocolate as you can, and have chocolate for breakfast, lunch and dinner. 
Remember this time to be with family, if you're religious ( I am, but I don't want to shove it down people's throats) remember Jesus at this time; it is one of the most important times in the Christian calendar after all. 
Also, grab one of those round eggs, place it in your palm, and smash it against your forehead; just like my cousins and I used to do....Ah, the memories...

Writing Conundrum: A Piece That Doesn't Make Sense

So this morning I wrote a piece of children's writing for class. 
The idea is that it's a stand alone chapter for younger children, but could be brought out with other chapters to make it a simple chapter book. 
I was low on ideas.
But finally I came up with one - a shopping trip with a girl and her father. 
I wanted to make it something different so my mind flew off into different directions that could make the story interesting, funny and most importantly, appealing to younger readers. 
So off my story went, till I had something that I was pretty proud of. 
Leaving it for a while, I continued with other work, so when I came back to edit it, my mind would be fresh with the story. 
There was one thing in particular that stuck out in my mind - the story has no logic! It makes no sense and this could never happen in real life. 
I got the idea all wrong, and my perceptions of what a fridge at the supermarket looks like is all wrong. 
So now, I don't want to hand it in. 
But I have to. 
I cannot come up with other ideas (not at the moment anyway) and I know that whatever I do come up with, will probably suck just as bad. 
But I must hand it in - for my whole class to see - a story that makes no sense and has no logic or reason behind it! 
In my attempt to make it appealing for children, I have lost simple logic, making my story stupid and weak. 

So, do I hand it in, and say 'hey, it's for children, it doesn't need to make sense', or do I not and it in at all. Hm, very tricky, and once again proves, that I truly am a writing coward. 

*Also, no one else in my class has showed theirs yet (if they've done them at all) so I have nothing to go off, in how bad my story actually sucks. 

My City's Centenary: Celebrating Canberra's 100 Years

Hello people of the Internet! 
If you live anywhere other than my home town, I very much doubt you'll be aware that Canberra is turning 100 today. 
And props to you if you know where Canberra even is - that's a big achievement in itself. 
Yesterday I read a poem that a women wrote that told us everything she liked about Canberra - I tend to disagree. 
Don't get me wrong, I love this city so much - BUUUTTTTT, there are some things that I don't love - like, I mean, I really can't stand. 
So here's my poem in things that I 'love' about Canberra. 

Canberra: A Poem. 

I love Canberra.
I love how it's sweltering in Summer, and freezing cold in Winter.
I love how despite it's sweltering heat, we have no beach. 
I love how despite our freezing Winters, we get no snow.
I love the Canberra roads. 
I love the bumps and humps of the out of sight back roads. 
I love the Canberra drivers. Those selfish bastards that hog the road, with fists of anger and loathing. 
I love the Canberra people.
I love the Canberra Bogans, in their flannel shirts holding their goon bags. 
I love the Canberra Hipsters, in their flannel shirts holding their goon bags. 
I love Canberra's night-life.
I love the groping hands in Meche, and the perving eyes in Moose. 
I love the bands no one has ever heard of with their mediocre success. 
I love Canberra's reputation. 
I love how no one likes Canberra because they think we're boring. 
I love how no one visits because all the politicians are here.
I love how we get blamed for all of Australia's problems because we are her Capital. 
I love Canberra. 

*Just in case you didn't get the subtext - like is a euphemism. 

I Hate Lips of an Angel so Much!

Have you heard that Hinder song? 
I don't like it - I really hate it. 

The idea that some skank is ringing a guy with a girlfriend for emotion/sexual support is disgusting. And the guy is finding it hard to commit to his girlfriend cause said skank has 'lips of an angel.'

I feel seriously depressed when I hear this song, and want to kick the closest guy in the balls. Really hard. 

I hate the idea that he doesn't want to leave his girlfriend and instead drags her along while he longs for someone else; what a selfish prick. 
I dispise the way he says: 

It's funny that you're calling me tonight
And, yes, I've dreamt of you too
And does he know you're talking to me
Will it start a fight
No I don't think she has a clue

I bet she does you arse-wipe. The way he makes it sound like she's too stupid (or they're to clever) to get caught also pisses me off. 

In this stanza there's also the mention of The Skank having a boyfriend. I hope the boyfriend punches this other guys lights out. 

And in case you're wondering; no, I have never been fucked over by a guy in this way (or any way for that matter) but regardless I hate the ideas this song brings. 

I guess it's because this whole idea could happen to me, these people could be anyone, and I'd hate to think I was in a loveless relationship. Ergh, even thinking about it makes me want to cry and reach for a bar of Turkish Delight. 

So in conclusion - I hate Lips of an Angel. It makes me sad. And turn me apathetic to everyone. 

And no. I will not post the song on here for you to listen to; find that horrible song for yourself. 

Please don't. 

The Oscars and Remembrance

The Oscars are on Television. 
And as the people go up to accept their award for their dominance in their chosen field...I'm taken back. 
Back to a time where I was standing in front of a bedroom mirror, teddy in hand, accepting my Oscar for *insert obsession here*. Whether it was for acting, directing, writing... I was practising for when my real Oscar was awarded.
Watching the 2013 awards...obviously I'm still not nominated. 
Best get back to practising then.

Hm, where's my teddy bear? 

Being a Writing Coward.

If you're not aware, I'm in the precipice of being a writer...well kind of. 
I'm a writing student at University, I write (almost) everyday, read a lot (thank you Uni readings) and...well...I just want to be one, OK? I don't need to justify it to you; though I was the one who started it. 

Through Uni, they've given us a range of tools to get our works published. 
Techniques on storytelling, writing and editing our work,
The expectations of publishers, the knock backs and the comebacks we'll have to deal with AKA preparation for the real writing world,
The chance to work with people in the writing industry, both locally and internationally and in a vast range of genres. 

Another tool they have given us (well lead us to) are literary journals; magazines waiting for your unpublished, fantastic prose to print. Whether it's poetry, short stories, non-fiction; if it's good enough, they'll publish it. 
The idea of an actual journal publishing my work is the most exciting thing I can think of. 
Despite most of these journals being small, local, hardly read by anyone and not-for-profit - few journals pay money for your work; they don't have the funds - I still (badly) want my work to be in one of those journals. 

I've had a look around and found a couple of local journals that encourage local writers. I think this is a good place for me to start. 
I have even narrowed it down and after look at some (buying them is a good idea to get a feel of what they're after) I have even chosen which one I'd like to send my work to. 
Yes; I have a piece of work waiting to be sent. I wrote it late at night weeks ago (I found out some news that made me angry and hence a good muse for my writing) and since then I've edited it, formatted it, read it over and over and if I had to be honest - I quite like it.

Then doubt creeps in. 
I keep thinking that it's not good enough; that the editors will take one look at it, burst into laughter and send a "are you serious, this is the worst crap we have ever read" email back to me. 
I know it's silly, and even if it is crap (which it is) they'd never put it in those words. 
It's a horrifying thought, thinking that someone, somewhere (and being a small city, not far away from me) is looking at my work and deciding whether it's good enough for print - no matter how small that publisher is. 

I have a deadline; submissions for issue 4 are due early March; if I don't send my work in by then I'll be kicking myself, and I will have the nervous wait of the next issue submissions (months away). 
If I do send it in, I'll be kicking myself; what was I thinking; my work isn't good enough to be in one of those lit mags! 
I'll never know until I try. The bottom line is; if I don't hand anything in - then it will most certainly never get published. 

I just need to get over my Cowardly Lion act over writing:

"I do believe in books, I do believe in books, I do, I do, I do, I do." 

Bogan Boys and Babies.

I know I get a lot of traffic from overseas, so for those fortunate people that don't have to contend with the horror that is, a 'Bogan', here's what I'm talking about. 

Image: http://youaredoingthatwrong.files.wordpress.com/2010/08/bogan.jpg

Sexy, aren't they? 

The reason these Bundy drinking, F word swearing, sub-woofers pumping, C bomb dropping bastards are the topic of conversation today, is because I am very...er lets say...fortunate...to be neighbours with lads like these. 

And It's really starting to get to me. 

They always have fights, rev up their shitty cars really loudly, have a horrible dog; which is gone into detail Here, smoke weed (and other illicit drugs, no doubt), drink till they're pissed, and fix up cars in their backyard (which is illegal by the way). 

*If there's any Australian cops reading this and wish to investigate, I'd be happy to oblige, just get into contact. 

Anyway; I could literally go on all day complaining about them. And this is basically why this post exists. 

Today I was hanging out the washing when I heard them outside. They were swearing (of course) and as the conversation went on, these two testosterone-d filled men got more and more angry with each other.

Needless to say I quickly hung out the washing and ran inside. 

                                                  *

A couple of days ago I was reading and I could here two dogs fighting. My neighbours dogs. My neighbours all the while laughed and cheered as the two dogs went each other. I'm pretty sure that's also illegal; well at the very least RSPCA should check it out. 

                                                  *

Australia Day - AKA Bogan Day. Parties like you wouldn't believe; crazy. I don't even want to go into detail. 

If you haven't guessed already, A Bogan isn't something you want to strive to be. But some strange, low aspiring people in Australia do. 

There are different levels of Bogan's, and the occasional soft Bogan is totally OK to deal with. 

What I always find funny are TV portrayals of the Bogan. However experiencing them in real life is not funny at all. Most of the time it's downright frightening. 

It also disturbs me when people from overseas (yeah, I'm talking to you) thinks all Aussies are, are Bogan's in Kangaroo pouches...lol. 

So basically, in conclusion, my life is made a living hell by the stereotype that is a Bogan. Because not only do I have a Bogan family on one side of my fence. There's another Bogan family on the other. 

*I'd just like to say, I'm not a Bogan...in case you were wondering. 

** Also if you are a Bogan...sorry if I offended you. I also congratulate you if you're able to read this; well done. Also, cover up that Southern Cross tattoo.