Meeting New People

Well, hey, Blogger! It's been a while! Like, a few years!

I felt that today's post should be about meeting new people.

It's the first day of uni. You're starting your new job. You're meeting your boyfriend's parents. You're hanging out with a group and only know a couple of the people there. I'd say that on a bi-yearly basis, most people are meeting new people and forming new friendships, and it is STRESSFUL! For me, at least.

Let me start by saying that I consider myself a fairly confident person. I kinda like myself, if that's not too bold to say, and think that overall I'm a pretty good friend and acquaintance. I'm happy the majority of the time. I love to smile and I love to laugh, and I love to make others smile and laugh; whether it's a pity laugh because of how painfully unfunny I am, or a genuine laugh. Whatevs. It's all good. I'm a weirdo, granted, but in the best way possible. I am exceptionally loyal and can be trusted with any secrets you decide to pass on to me. I am, in general, quite the hoot. That is my (not-so-) humble opinion of myself. Higher than it has been in the past, I'll have you know, so don't bring me down!

So that's all well and good, isn't it? However, when it comes to meeting someone brand new, I am easily the most socially awkward and loserish person on the face of this Earth. I absolutely lose my crap. I blush, I stammer, I sweat a little bit, I tremble, I twitch- all the things you do not want to do when making a first impression on somebody. It's bad. It's really bad. Particularly if the person I'm meeting is even vaguely good-looking. I'm a completely straight- AND married- woman, but meeting good-looking people still wigs me out. Men or women. All the same. I freak and

You know how I said that I blush? That is an understatement. My face burns up so red that I can actually see my own cheeks glowing if I look down slightly. I get all hot and flustered and menopause-ish, and then, because I'm thinking about it, it gets even worse. Some people see this happening and take it upon themselves to inform me that I am blushing. "Thanks, kid! I didn't know!" It literally makes my face throb. And I just know that my upper lip will be emblazoned with sweat too. Delish.

I guess the point that I'm making here is this: If you think that you are abnormal and a freakazoid because you have a physical/allergic/emotional reaction to socialisation, you are correct, but you are not alone. Yep. You got it right. I'm not giving any advice here. I'm purely telling you there's no hope and that you'll always be awkward around new people. Sorry. C'est la vie! So, let us join clammy hands and know that we can always be normal human beings with our immediate family members. And only our immediate family members.

Things I'll Never Understand

There are some things in life that I may never wrap my head around. One of them is long and aimless introductions, so let's jump in.

1) I'll never understand raw cashew nuts, raw peanuts, raw any nuts. Where's the draw? Sure, there may be health benefits to eating nuts that haven't had anything delicious done to them, but c'mon. All raw nuts taste pretty much entirely the same to me, but when they're honey roasted, I can tell them all apart with no difficulty whatsoever. Aside from that fact, they're also ridiculously moreish. Bake 'em in a tray, sprinkle 'em with salt, let 'em light up your life. Don't make do with the basic, bland, grossness that is a raw nut.

2) I'll never understand why some girls seem to genuinely enjoy causing drama. I was recently forced to cut ties with one girl in particular who is infamous in several circles of friends for making mountains out of molehills, and being a general stirrer, criticiser, and all-round sadist . She detects peoples' flaws and spreads the word, in the hope that the person she's taking a dig at will hear and spark an argument with her, thereby giving her a chance to let off some steam; she speaks her mind bluntly, even (and especially) when her opinion hasn't even been asked for, then uses "free speech" as a reason for sharing and refuses to apologise or acknowledge hurt feelings. Um, freedom of speech wasn't introduced so that you could knock unsuspecting friends down a peg or two, sweetie pie, look that bad boy up; if you even dare to pick her up on her own short-comings, she launches into a full-frontal attack. She just generally isn't kind-spirited, I think I should leave my rant at that. You get the idea. I'm sure we've all known girls like this. I certainly recommend ditching these kinds of people. It's really liberating being able to get away from their over-judgmental and drama-inducing ways. Cry freedom!

3) I'll never understand how some people managed to get their driver's licence. Or if they have one at all. So okay, I myself have had a few "blonde moments" behind the wheel, though none of them yet have resulted in a car crash of any sort yet. However some people on the road should actually be banned. I know, I know- the whole 'bad drivers need to get off our roads' argument has been done and dusted, time and again, but hear me out. In order to support my statement I have a very true, very proving story to share with y'all:
I was slowing to stop at a red light when heading home one evening a few weeks ago. The car in front of me clearly couldn't decide which lane they wanted to be in, so was swerving mercilessly back and forth, before settling- at a very strange, and due to my mild OCD, irritating angle- just ahead of me in my lane. I rolled my eyes, thinking that would be the worst of it. Boy, was I wrong. The car's break lights flickered off, and the vehicle began rolling backwards, towards me in my little Vitzinator. Just as I allowed myself to panic, and just as my Defensive Driving Course flashed before my eyes, the car stopped again. What. The. Heck?! Following this, a very elderly lady (think Yoda meets that crazy ice-cream lady in The Spongebob Movie) literally gets out of her car and comes towards me to ask for directions. During all this malarkey, the traffic lights turn green twice. I give her the best directions I can, trying to be polite despite my frustration so that I don't come across as a "pesky teenager" or "one of those rude little beggars". She hobbles in slow-mo back to her car and rolls backwards for a second time, before running a red light and switching lanes illegally to get onto the motorway. I drove the rest of the way home with my mouth half open, my left eye twitched half closed, and my brain swirling. How?

4) I'll never understand why some people hate reading. There are several reasons why I just can't grasp this. First and foremost, reading is awesome. At the risk of sounding like a total nerd, reading is a beautiful thing. Reading a novel can provide an amazing escape from the real world and the problems it brings with it. It can put you firmly in the shoes of another person. It can kill time in a more productive- and depending on what you're reading, more entertaining- way than 9gag. It can broaden your horizons and your vocabulary, plus gives you conversation matter. It might be worth noting that about 26% of the world's adult population is illiterate. So if for nothing else, read because they can't. Is that mean? I can't tell. I mean it in the most supportive and respectful way possible.

5) I'll never understand why spiders of any variety are considered pets. No. Oh my gosh, no.

6) I'll never understand why there are still young people taking up smoking. If you are a smoker, 0800 778 778 is the Quitline number. I get that if you've been smoking since you were a teen and you are now addicted to the nicotine it's not as simple as just stopping. It's when you're my age and you know that only negative consequences can come as a result of breathing waste into your lungs, and yet you still start it up, that I'm at a loss. A guy who I work with recently came back from his break absolutely reeking of cigarette smoke. "Woah. You took up smoking?" I said. "Maybe," he replied, trying to be cool. He failed in his attempt, by the way. "Ew, why? You don't seriously wanna do that?" I said. "Yeah I do. It relaxes me," he shot back. "Yeah, so does pilates." I have some friends who refer to themselves as "social smokers". For me, this just seems like a dressed-up way of saying, "Oh yeah, I kill myself, but only at parties" or "I smoke every now and then because I wanna look cool for my friends, and I don't have a brain to think or stand up for myself." Lame, son. Lame. 

7) I'll never understand why some people are music sadists.  I'm very much into my music, and when I say that, I mean it. I'm not just into one genre of music either. I listen to almost everything, the only exclusion being screamo and deep, deep country music. People often scroll through my iPod and their eyebrows get all weird 'cause of the variety. 'You listen to Kanye?!' I'm sorry. Does my being white, blonde, English, and female mean I can't listen to a bit of KayDub? I just made that nickname up right thur. Then there's the people, I guess "hipsters", who think they liked a band before everyone else liked the band. Or loved the song before it was on the radio. Or owned the album before the band's tour. Who cares? If you like the song now, you like the song now. Bond over it, don't compete over it, jeepers. I also hate when a good as song comes on, I start jammin', and the person I'm with makes a comment like, "Ugh, this is so old." First off, my car my rules, leave it on. Secondly, your FACE is old. Thirdly, "Oh, I'm sorry, I wasn't aware that songs have an expiry date." Got that gem off Facebook. SO TRUE. And for those of you struggling to grasp time frames, a song that was released a few weeks ago is not old. If it was a baby it'd barely be making gurgling sounds. If it was a new phone you'd still be awaiting the first devastating scratch to the screen.


8) I'll never understand why some people leave a quarter of an inch of milk/water/pop in the fridge. Just finish it off. Honestly, it upsets me more to find a plebeian portion of liquid in a bottle than to find that there is no bottle at all. I'm gonna go ahead and assume that the person doing so in my house is my 10-year-old brother, but age is no excuse. What use will I have with a teaspoon of milk or an eggcup of lemonade? None whatsoever. Ye of little common sense.


9) I'll never understand why people are so adamant that they are right. Granted, I'm sometimes on of those people to a certain extent, but what I'm talking about here is the people that won't let something be, they absolutely have to have the last word. This pet peeve of mine can be summed up in these three words: The Fart Philosophy. I'm pretty sure I invented it. Imagine this scenario. Someone farts. It legitimately wasn't you. Someone else in the room asks if it was you. You say no. They keep asking. You keep saying no, it wasn't you. Then something like this is said: "It's okay, I don't care, don't worry about it." BUT I DIDN'T FART. It's one of the most frustrating exchanges of our time. The person won't accept that it was you. They go on at you, and then take the high road and let you off the hook, even though you weren't even on the hook to start with. The Fart Philosophy can also be applied to when someone tells you to calm down when you're already cruising. I will cut you.


10) I'll never understand why I can't make lists that end on an odd number, even when I'm done with what I have to say. I guess it all comes down to my mild OCD, but odd numbers on lists and odd numbers on volume switches and odd numbers on anything really get under my skin. Right now, writing this entry, I couldn't bring myself to stop on #9. And say, for example, that I'm at a distant friend's house and they put the TV on an odd number, I literally struggle in the silence. I don't wanna look like a freak when it's something that clearly doesn't bother them. But I also don't wanna watch Tyra when I know that the volume is sat on an uncomfortable 17. Make the tele comfy again. Someone, anyone!


Yeah I probs need help. 


Later skaters. 

DIY Extreme Makeover

If you're anything like me (fingers crossed you are, or this entry is pointless), you'll have those days where you look in the mirror and are genuinely horrified by the state of the person anxiously staring back. So I compiled this list of handy tips! While they may not completely cure it, they are guaranteed to mildly improve on your sometimes mediocre appearance. Take heed, grasshoppers, and you're welcome.

- Keep your hair washed, and where possible, styled. If anybody understands how irritating it is to make an effort with your hair is, I do. My hair is exceptionally disobedient and frizzy and, if left to its own devices, pure evil. But taking that extra bit of time to run a straightener through it makes all the difference. As for the washing part: greasy hair is foul. My level of disgust was raised this week on my bus from uni. I attempted to gaze out of my window only to be greeted by a massive grease print on the glass. My gag reflex was somewhat tenderised and, BOOM, inspiration for this article was provided. As for other aspects of your lovely locks: for you boys out there, hair longer than your girlfriend's makes you look unnecessarily like a woman / wizard. No. Just no. Unless you look like Albus Dumbledore. But even then it's a stretch.
NB: some girls, for reasons my mind cannot wrap itself around, find long hair to be an attractive thing. I'm just speaking for myself and all of my friends at this point when I say, "Deletrius!"

- Don't wear crocs, running shoes (unless you're actually exercising), socks with sandals, or anything that incorporates snake skin or velcro into your wardrobe. Also, no white socks, ever. Just trust me. It's for your own good.

- Brush your dang teeth. In my book, there's very few things worse than gammy, plaquey smiles. I'm unsure of how much of this pet peeve is due to years of orthodontic treatments, but wowsers. Here's a little taste of an inner dialogue I had walking to the tower last week for class: "Well hi there, hottie on Queen Street. Flash me those pearly whites, you delicious beast. Oh, gosh, no, ugh! Colgate! Colgate! Colgate!" No matter how wonky your munchers are, no matter the overbite or underbite, clean teeth are a sure-fire indication that you take pride in your appearance ,and that you recognise basic hygiene. Advantage.

- Try not to cover your insecurities with forced over-confidence. This goes for both guys and gals. Douchey behaviour will get you nowhere, kiddo. Besides all else, it's pretty transparent when someone is being mean or sideways-glancey just for the sake of keeping up a badass image. Puh-lease.

- Throw on something that makes you feel a little bit extra special. My secret weapons to lift my appearance are items liiiiike my newly-purchased red Vans; Loverdose perfume; my leopard print scarf; Revlon 'Jaded' nail polish. But your confidence booster could be anything- your fave beanie, a good pair of jeans, cool shades, or a temporary facial tattoo.

Voila! My tips. Just as a bit of a disclaimer, everyone is beautiful. Corny but true! Best of look. See what I did there?

Catchphrases.

I recently noticed that I come with a complete set of catchphrases. Though not one of them is "There's a snake in my boot!" or "How you doin'?", I have quite the collection. People often pick me up on the fact that I use the same expressions or phrases frequently in my day-to-day life, and honestly it flatters me that they would even notice as I probably wouldn't listen to myself talk if I didn't have to.

So this blog entry is basically a list of my 'catchy' catchphrases, the reasons why I use them, and the reasons why you should 'catch' on. (See what I did there?)

#5: Cool story, bro. 
Yes, I am one of the many kiwi teenagers who use this expression to shut down lame stories. While it could be seen as a form of undermining, I feel that it eloquently informs a person that their story is really not worth telling again. It is, for that reason, almost a compliment- that the person deserves to know when their story isn't as great as it could be. Also, this catchphrase uses my fave language, Sarcasm, in which I am fluent as my Facebook account states.

#4: Kiddo.
This is my fave name to call people, young or old. I have even been known to call my own parents by this condescending pseudonym. It lets people know that I am in control and power, whilst also adding a friendly 'I-want-to-protect-you' touch to any situation.

#3: Cool Beans.
Adapted from the lol-tastic movie 'Hot Rod', cool beans shows my vast knowledge of comedic media as well as lightening the mood from a potentially upsetting sitch. It is now habit to say this phrase, and many friends whom have not even seen the film have joined me in exclaiming it.

#2: Flip!
I tend not to swear. It shows lack of intelligence and vocabulary. Instead, I use alternative words like this one. Try it. Love it. Crave it. Like the McDonald's kiwi burger. Om nom nom.

#1: True joke! 
People often say something mean or bitter, but brush it off by saying 'just kidding' or 'I'm only joking.' More often than not, these people aren't actually kidding or joking. They are dead serious but don't want to appear out of line. So in a situation like this:

Friend/Frenemy: Ooh, you hair's looking a bit crazy today, Grace!
Me: Flip, is it?
Friend/Frenemy: Haha, no. Jokes.

I say:

"TRUE JOKE."

Sorry if this blog entry was a bit cool story bro ish. Flip, it probably was. But hey, you read it! So cool beans, kiddo. Tune in next time, all 12 of my followers. TRUE JOKE.

Procrastination.

Do you remember 'The Amanda Show' when we were kids? If you were born in '92 or later, you should. It was horribly lame and awfully cringe-worthy. Yet I loved every second of it. Amanda Bynes starred on the Nickelodeon show when she was about 12 years old. The show consisted of skits- stupid skits with  no deeper meaning than basic slapstick comedy. They made me laugh. I quoted them to (or should I say AT) friends. Most of them, I couldn't remember for the life of me. But one in particular has stayed in my memory my whole life: The Procrastinator.

The Procrastinator wore a red, shiny suit, I believe, and when called upon had the catchphrase:
"I'll do it... eventually!"
I can't completely blame this television show for my extreme procrastination in pretty much all areas of my life. However, that catchphrase does pop into my head on a near-daily basis.

I'll be sitting on my bed with a pile of crumpling clean washing beside me. I'm watching youtube (teenmommy 2010 as of late) and I glance to the side in between videos. I see the clean washing, I see the t-shirt on the top of the pile whose creases are deepening by the second. "I'll do it... eventually!" Back to youtube watching.

I'll be parking my car after hanging with a friend or going to the mall to buy another pair of heels, surrounded by used scratchies and empty Maccas paper bags and coke zero bottles. I need to clean it up. All it takes is going inside and grabbing a plastic bag to put all my rubbish in. And yet: "I'll do it... eventually!" Inside to watch The Office it is.

Ahh, homework assignments. Every uni and high school student's best friend. LOL JK. None of us can stand having to finish something by a specified date, and with such precision as to recieve a decent mark and good feedback. It's stressful as. I'll be chillin' in my room, listening to music or cruising through Facebook, when something will trigger my memory and I'll recall having been given an assignment to do. I lazily flick through my Collin's organiser and realise that, yes, I have to hand in my work by the end of that week. I could do it now, I have nothing else productive to do. But. "I'll do it... eventually!"

I have a worrying feeling that I may well be The Procastinator and just not know it. Like how I sometimes think I might be the star of some reality TV show and have been left unaware to maintain allignment and authenticity. Yeah. I'll figure that out eventually.

Low-Lifes

About two months ago, I dropped my Pandora bracelet (complete with seven beautiful, sentimental charms) on my way from my car and the bus for university. I don't know if it was stolen by the smoker in the bus shelter or if I dropped it. But either way, it has since been taken and kept slash sold by somebody. I have indeed lost faith in humanity.

This is a quick lesson for you people out there who might read this. Finding something, unless it's say a $2 coin, is a test of your honesty and willingness to be a noble citizen. The person who found my bracelet and kept it for their own good clearly has no concience, or little of one. It literally depresses me to think that I'll never get my charm bracelet back again. Those charms were built up over a period of nearly a year, and while it is possible to rebuild my collection I can't rebuy the love that was attached to them. This is corny, I know. But oh so true!

On a side note, if you see someone wearing a silver Pandora bracelet with an angel, a teddy bear, a cube, a beehive, a sphere with mother-of-pearl hearts, a 'best friends' star and a strawberry charm... Dropkick them and reclaim it for me. Please and thankyou.

Organisation.

I used to think that organisation was overrated. After all, what's the point of making your bed if all you're gonna do is get back in at the end of the day and mess it up again? Wouldn't it be altogether more practical to just leave it be and snuggle down into the pre-made indents? This was the philosophy I lived by. I myself do have some OCD preferences:
-The volume must be on an even number or a multiple of five. But don't worry for my safety, people, my car doesn't show numbers so isn't a distraction while I drive. Worry averted.
- My fingernails must be all the same length and no dirt can be underneath them. That is gross and gives people a mental image of you digging in soil.
- My hands must be washed thoroughly before I eat, after I use the bathroom, and before I wash my face or put on make-up.
- I restart my mascara if two lashes are flicking in different directions.

HOWEVER, despite this long list of weirdo traits, having a tidy room- while it was a treat- was not a necessity for me. Having a neat bed with the teddies all laid out perfectly in height order was a waste of precious hair-doing or breakfast-eating time. Then I became best friends with a total perfectionist. When Miss.Katy stays the night at my house, she makes my bed in the morning whenever she gets the chance. She folds her clothes and puts them in her bag. She wears matching pajamas. I feel a little bit happy inside when she forgets to bring her toothbrush every now and again. She introduced me to a new way of life. It took a while, I'm not gonna lie about that. But now I do prefer to make my bed and have tidy surroundings. It makes me happy to wake up in the morning knowing that I don't have to battle my way to the door for a shower.

Today I organised my bedside table. It consists of 6 drawers that were previously filled with crap. Not literally, of course. That's foul. I wouldn't put it past my brother but I'm better raised than he is. Somehow. It's now pretty and sorted into sections. And I love it. I have a drawer for all my school stuff, a section for old journals, a section for church stuff, a section for my music books- It's all very exciting and new and I don't have to spend hours searching for what I need. I look forward to opening my drawers. Is that lame? Yeah. It is. Is that gonna be taken the wrong way by dirty-minded people reading this? Yeah. It is.

My bed is made. And it's surprisingly more inviting. My carpet is clear and there are no hazards when I'm walking around. My wardrobe is neat and I don't look like a bag of laundry every day. Well. Less so than usual. And I found matches for two single shoes. Give it a go! Only good can come from organisation.

Unless you're organising a murder. Or CDs alphabetically. So tedious.