Feelin' fine

When I was 17 and very cheekily drinking and going out underage, my body had this uncanny knack to bounce back. Alcohol induced hazes didn't come with punishments attached in the form of horrendous hangovers, the tiredness didn't really effect you and a boozy bender could consist of four or five consecutive nights of going out without so much as a bat of an eyelid from yours truly.

That kind of resilience doesn't last though and I think that at about 20, that whole 'bounce back' thing kind of started to die. I had to pick and choose my battles, either drinking and going home early or not drinking and going home late. I figured out fairly early that it was much easier to be tired OR hung over rather than tired AND hungover. I know, right- LAME.

Yes, I was lame and until recently I had pretty well come to terms with the fact that I would never be able to reclaim my body's former glory. Never again would I be able to wake up like nothing had happened, or without having little cartoon birdies flying around my head because I drank too much tequila. I comforted myself by saying 'it was good while it lasted' or 'it's better to have bounced back and lost your ability than to have never bounced back at all". Until that is, I woke up this morning feeling particularly elastic.

You see, being a resilient binge drinker is all about conditioning. You don't see marathon runner going into a big race all 'half cocked'. Boxers don't go into a fight all 'willy nilly' without serious training before hand. You shouldn't binge drink without properly limbering yourself up for the beating you are about to give your liver. It's just common sense, really.

So it seems that after a year of playing rugby (yes, I am crediting my alcoholic conditioning to Old Collegians rugby club), I am once again able to 'bounce back'.

Last night I went to bed/passed out, surprisingly not still in my clothes, but very merry. This morning I woke up (potentially still drunk) feeling like a million bucks. Sure, if I tip my head upside down I feel a little like I'm swimming. Sure, my eyes are a little bleary but I'm not tired, I don't feel seedy and thanks to my jumbo, extra strong latte, the red bull in my purse, panadol and some eyedrops (just to be safe), I think I'm going to continue to feel fine.

There is, of course, the possibility that this hangover will be a creeper. You know, those awful hangovers that lure you into a false sense of security and don't hit you until mid afternoon, just when you thought it was safe to let your guard down. Yeah, hoping it's not one of those because that is going to suck. Although, as a general rule I tend to sell a lot more shit at work when I'm hungover. Must be something about the smell of vodka emanating from my pores that gets people in the mood for wasting their money, but who's complaining?

Anyway, I am supposed to be you know,  working, so TTFN.


-Nadia X

Edit: Yep, it was a creeper. I suppose I haven't returned to form....best to test that theory though with more benders and of course, by conditioning my liver for future beatings. :P - N

Space-a-phobic?

So I'm afraid of space and no, I don't mean that in the 'opposite of claustrophobic' way. We're not talkin' wide open spaces here, I'm talking space as in 'outer'. You know, where all the stars live as balls of burning gas billions of miles away (did you get my Lion King quote?).

No, seriously, the thought of outer space terrifies me. Now don't get me wrong, I've often layed on the ground and looked up at the sky and marveled at the fact that the world exists. I start to think about how the sky looks domed and how the Earth is round and how this little thing called gravity keeps us from falling off it's surface. I think about how we are just a tiny spec in this vast universe and how infinite space is and how honestly, that freaks me out but until the other day I was never truly terrified by space. Until that is, I watched James May's "At the Edge of space" and he started to crunch the numbers.

So Mr. May got to talking about space and about different theories to do with the universe. He started to say that some theorists believe that all the stars are slowly being drawn towards black holes that will eventually engulf them. He also talked about gravitational pulls that are drawing objects in the universe closer together so that eventually everything will collide with one another and, you know, explode. That wasn't the scary part though. The scary part was when he estimated that this wouldn't happen for probably another 200, 000 trillion years!

Now for most that would have been a 'phew' moment because by golly, that means that you won't be alive to see the end when it is nigh. For me, that's when my mind went "holy shit!" because I actually can't fathom how long 200, 000 trillion years is. I don't even know how much a trillion is in the scheme of the whole 'illion' deal. What comes before a trillion? A billion? And what comes after? A gazillion? Is it a million, billion, trillion, gazillion? Is that the way it goes? I don't know! 200, 000 trillion years?! Well, fuck you, James May, I'm having none of it (no, I take that back. I love you James May).

Anyway, I suppose if nothing else, this epiphany has shed some light on why I silently judged other children who wanted to be astronauts when I was growing up. This irrational fear may have also contributed to my dislike of the use of gold stars in the education system, as well as my general abhorrence to all movies (bar Star Wars) that are set in 'the great beyond'.

In conclusion: I am space-a-phobic. It scares the shit out of me- maybe not literally- but perhaps if you shot me into space, maybe then, literally.

Space. Not a fan.

-Nadia X

You will die if....

I'm a bit of a goose, no really, I am. I like to scare myself. I get a sick little thrill from feeling goosebumps prickle my skin, my toes curl up in terror and my hair stand on end. I get less of a thrill when I can't sleep at night because I think there are zombies living in my closet. I call it 'can't sleep, clown will eat me' syndrome but that's not the point that I'm trying to make.

My point is that no matter how many scary movies I watch, no matter how many thrillers I consume or how many shows I watch with names like 'Ghost Hunters' and 'Paranormal state' and 'Ghost Lab', I can't help feeling that my fear is somewhat overridden by my astonishment at how stupid people are.

In the case of movies, these people are of course, fictional but in these so called 'reality' paranormal shows, the people are very much real. These people literally live in fear of their homes for YEARS before they try to deal with the problem. You have terrified kids, mums at the end of their tether, dogs going ape shit, words and symbols 'allegedly' being carved into people's flesh and whenever they are interviewed they say things like 'oh, I've had almost as much as I can take' or 'I'm almost at breaking point'. Almost? Really? Almost!? And what was it that led you to breaking point? Was it the fact that your kid's head rotated 180 degrees or was it the blood dripping from the walls that really got your goat? Almost? Please! I would have been out of there as soon as that husky, somewhat creepy voice whispered 'get out!'.

The other thing I have noticed is that these people always seem clueless about the paranormal and about what seems to aggravate entities of a ghostly nature. In most of these TV shows, the 'clients' (the haunted) are interviewed by the 'investigators' (usually kids or fat men with video recorders) and one of the questions that they are ALWAYS asked is 'so, can you think of anything that may have brought about this paranormal activity?'. Of course, they always answer with a resounding 'no'. Until later on when they suddenly seem to remember little insignificant facts like 'oh, when I was ten I offered my soul to the devil for a cookie'; or 'oh yeah, we played with a Ouija board a bunch of times and conjured Satan'; or 'oh, that's right, our house is located on an Indian burrial ground' and so on and so forth. Like I said, little insignificant facts.

So with that said, sometimes being haunted isn't your fault. That's right, sometimes it's just gosh darn bad luck but here are some helpful tips...

If you live on any property that used to be a 'plantation' or had 'plantation' in the name, it's haunted. If you have a house with doors to rooms that lock from the outside, it's haunted. If your house is old and you have a basement, an attic, a cellar, a loft or any place that looks like it could have once been a dungeon, your house is haunted. Anything that is on or near creepy woods or has barns, narrow stairwells or used to be something along the lines of an old church, school house or insane asylum- gonna go out on a limb here and say, probably haunted.

Here's another helpful tip from yours truly: NEVER renovate your old house because from experience, ghosts don't tend to like it. Another hot tip: don't attempt spirit communication by trying to goad your ghostie into revealing itself becuase best case scenario, it DOES show it self and you shit yourself. Worst case scenario, the walls start shaking and your house tries to 'cleanse itself' of you (i.e. tries to kill you) and lets be honest, this scenario still ends with you shitting yourself, only you're dead and soiled instead of just soiled.

So there you go. Some tips about the paranormal that may or may not have known. Basic rule of thumb: everywhere is haunted and the only thing you can really do, is give your house up to the beasties because lets face it, they're invisible and you're never going to win that fight.

-Nadia X

Case of the ex

Two little letters, one syllable; more of a sound really and yet it is enough to strike fear into the hearts and minds of women and men everywhere. That one little utterance, that flexing of your tongue as it moves to form words, one word actually, 'ex'. As in 'the', or at least 'one of'.

Yes, ex. I saw mine not a week ago and the experience, like it always does, left me pensive.

I'm not going to lie, I dislike the dude. Not for anything he has done or for anything in our past but because I am older now and my eyes are wide open. I can finally see all the things I couldn't see before: that he is rude and arrogant, impolite, selfish, self absorbed and well, kinda dumb. In the spirit of being truthful I will also admit that that the simple act of him existing often offends me and quite frankly, I wish he wouldn't do it, but then I'm dramatic that way.

So with all of that said, if you asked me if I hated him, I will reply no because I really don't. I thoroughly dislike him, yes, but I am indifferent to him. Mostly I don't like seeing him because it is awkward, the kind of awkward that makes your eyes bugg out and insides squirm. I have nothing to say to him but if I don't talk to him then I'm being immature, I also have nothing to say to the new girlfriend and yet I am forced to talk and be nice to her. I have nothing, period and it's frustrating keeping up appearances. We're not friends. We never will be and yet once or twice a year I have to play make believe.

I think once upon a time it was a 'winning thing' because it's always a competition with the ex to see who has 'moved on first' and with whom. Who's more successful, happier, better off? Who cares? I don't. That's the truth actually, I don't. He brought 'Tammy'. Cue blonde haired, petite little Italian girl. I brought my two cousins, one aged 7, the other 5, my grandmother, both siblings, the siblings girl friend, my auntie, my uncle and my olds (mum and dad). No mans in sight and I didn't feel inferior because of it (that's the not caring part).

And THAT, that act of not caring is how I know I'm right when I say I'm indifferent. I think I can still dislike someone and be indifferent to them. Once upon a time I would have fretted over seeing him because he goes through girlfriends like underpants, so no doubt he would have one of them there. I don't date people that often, lets be honest, so the chances of me ever having some man candy to flaunt at one of these things are slim, and I USED to care. Not so much anymore.

So what did I do? I said hello, did the obligatory 'hey, how ya doing?' and then I proceeded to mingle, I danced like a fool with my little cousins and whipped them around the floor, I drank a little, danced a little more and then I left. Indifferent.

So I suppose the curse of the ex is finally over. I have been indifferent for what seems like a life time but there always existed that sense of competition. Not anymore. This time was the first time i really didn't care what he thought of me or who was 'winning'. As far as I'm concerned I've won. Great friends, great family, a uni degree, a good sense of self. Couldn't really ask for more.

-Nadia X

What in the who? Men.

Trying to speak the language of man. I can't do it. Seriously ladies. Just when I think I am beginning to become bi-lingual, a man will do something so dumbfounding that I am left, well, dumb founded. It's then I realise that I haven't a hope in hell of understanding these creatures, much less of them understanding me.

Now, I'm not one to pigeon hole people....who am I kidding? Yes I am, I love to pigeon hole. Moving on, may I just say this: men are freakishly inconsistent and while I realize they are no more inconsistent than women, there is something about the ties of womb-hood that makes womens' bat shit crazy behaviour an easier pill to swallow (dah, it's called PMS)

The more I get to know of men, the less I think I really know. And in turn, the less I know, the more I think I'm getting it. Does that make any sense? I didn't think so either.

Now before anyone gets their knickers in a twist and thinks this is a rant of the jilted. Don't be fooled because it isn't. It's a rant of the Nadia and if I had to compare it to gunfire I would describe it as more of a localised spray of machine gun ammo rather than the targeted fire of a sniper rifle. You get my meaning?

I'm happy to report that man-dom (traits of the man) can be observed at a young age and can often be seen in boys as young as four. This sense of man-dom can manifest in simple ways such as seeing who can pee the furthest, taking things apart (i.e. breaking things) to see how they work, toting literature to the bathroom and being mean to girls you like.

Later on in life man-dom can usually manifests itself in such ways as seeing who can pee the furthest, penis measuring (either literally or by comparing of possessions, usually cars), taking things apart (and still breaking them) to see how they work, toting literature to the bathroom and growing ridiculous facial hair (because you can).

Conclusion: Men are boys with facial hair who occasionally have dick measuring contests.

So I have come to terms with the fact that boys, men, dudes, guys, blokes (just males in general) will continue to astound me, probably for the rest of my life. I see no rhyme or reason for the majority of the things they do. I can observe no pattern in the way their brain works, except when little man does the driving. And that is all.

So there is my man rant because sometimes, they drive me freaking crazy. At other times I bless the world for men, because let's face it, when the barbecue guests separate into men and women you know which groups conversation is going to be more interesting. But to be fair, I take back what I said earlier about understanding women. I don't. I just pretend to so they don't sense my weakness and try to tear out my spleen, because PMS jokes aside, women are freakin' scary. Truth be told, it could be argued that my problem is just people in general. You wouldn't be wrong. I'm an angry mofo myself but I hope that's part of my charm.

Anyways, goodnight.

Nadia X

Please find attached: my thoughts for a Monday

When I am feeling a little lost. When I am feeling alone or confused I have a tendency to seek a point of reference to help make my mind be still. For me, that point of reference that offers that sweet stillness is Robert Frost. So I sit down and I let Robert tell me about the Road not taken. And the Road not taken is this:

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear,
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I marked the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

You can take from that what you will, but I personally take from it this.....

I am one traveler, capable of only taking one road at a time. I could waste endless brain power and energy wondering where other roads would have taken me, or wondering what paths I will happen upon next but it would be just that, a waste.

I am not hung up about where I'll be, or even where I've been. I have never been the type of person to regret or to rue past mistakes. Mistake is a dirty word because all mistakes really are are lessons, and the only shame in making them is if you fail to learn from them.

When people ask me 'what design studio I want to work for" or how I'm going to go about 'becoming a designer', I get a little annoyed. What is a designer, anyway? Are we designers already, fledglings though we are? Does having a job magically transform you into one? And why does this degree have to define me? Define my paths in life? Dictate my future? It doesn't.

This degree to me is not my be all and end all. Perhaps it's that thinking that will be my down fall in the end. Maybe it will be the difference between a Pass and a Fail, a mediocre grade or a great one. I don't care.

This degree is a skill set. It is something to be applied in life, in work, in play. It's another side, another facet I can claim I own, to apply in whatever way I see fit.

The way I see it is that life is about passion. A lot of things have happened or not happened this year to make me question the passions in my life and what is important to me. I don't fancy being cooped up in a studio designing corporate identities. That's not creativity to me.


I started life out of high school wanting to be a hair dresser. Obviously that didn't happen. Why? Would I have been good at it? Most definitely. Would I have enjoyed it? I dare say I would have. Why didn't I do it? Because people told me not to. Lesson learned. So now I don't listen to what people say, I listen to myself.


The truth is, I have never been sure of what I wanted to 'do with my life'. Did I think Vis comm was going to be the solution to my problems? Heck no, but it was a starting point. It was the road not taken, so I took it and it will no doubt lead me to another way, another path, another endeavor and boy am I excited to see what it might be.


I don't make plans. Plans get broken. I have dreams instead because no one can take those away from me. So on that note, I leave you with a story that my friend was kind enough to tell me last night about some tiny frogs:




The story about the tiny frogs....




There once was a bunch of tiny frogs, who arranged a running competition.The goal was to reach the top of a very high tower.A big crowd had gathered around the tower to see the race and cheer on the contestants...




The race began...


Honestly:


No one in crowd really believed that the tiny frogs would reach the top of the tower.


You heard statements such as:


"Oh, WAY too difficult!!


They will NEVER make it to the top."


or:


"Not a chance that they will succeed. The tower is too high!"




The tiny frogs began collapsing. One by one. Except for those who in a fresh tempo were climbing higher and higher.




The crowd continued to yell


"It is too difficult!!! No one will make it!"


More tiny frogs got tired and gave up...




Until only one continued and eventually, made it to the top.




Well, I'll let you in on a little secret: That frog was deaf.


The moral of the story is this: Never let other people's negative and pessimistic attitudes affect you or make you doubt all that you are capable of. Take pride in doing what people have told you you cannot do. Strive. Achieve. Dream. Take the road not taken.

Remember the wisdom of words, and the power of them. Everything you hear and read will affect your actions!


Therefore: ALWAYS be POSITIVE!

And above all: Be DEAF when people tell you that you cannot fulfill your dreams. Be deaf to words like 'wrong', 'can't', 'wont', 'never' or 'mistake'

In conclusion, I have always believed that life is quite scary but waking up and realizing you never lived yours is a scarier thought still.

I hope this wasn't too soppy, cliche and unoriginal. I won't judge anyone for not reading until the end.


-Nadia X

I want Kandee

So the deal is this: I fucking love Kandee Johnson. I'm not afraid to admit it.

I love her. Wholly. Completely. Stalkerishly. In a girl crush, creepy kind of way. LOVE. It's love.

It is nothing short of an obsession that sees me compulsively checking my YouTube account hoping that there is a new video for me to watch, favourite and adore.

This may come as a shock to you since I don't seem like much of a girly girl but I LOVE make up. I love it. Make up makes me happy. I like doing other people's make up. I like doing my own make up. I like watching other people do make up. And I love, love, love trying out new colours and products, especially if I can get them on the cheap.

Also, it may have taken me 23 years but under Kandee's influence I think I may have finally found my appreciation for the colour pink. I mean, obviously green is better you know, pink is a'ight.

I've lost my train of though.....oh yeah. Kandee. Ummmmm so it's love. Mostly I love her personality because she is uber quirky and just ever so slightly a freak. But also because I think she is awesome because she started from nothing and is famous from YouTube!

Now I don't want to get all gushy and goopy but she is pretty inspirational. She started out with a camera so old that you could hear the wheels squeaking when she filmed, in poor lighting with a backdrop of a sheet and some fairy lights and she would just sit and film. She was a single mum as well and she has built up such a following that now she is paid to be on YouTube and makes her living from it. Plus, she's a HOOT!

So yeah. I love Kandee. Did I mention that already? You should check her out. I'll post links to her FB, YouTube and Blog.

Also, I should mention that the first time I saw her I HATED her but if you know me then you would know that that is often the case with people I end up coming to freakin' LOVE! You just have to earn your stripes.

So click the links below because you love me, so you can love Kandee and most importantly, because I told you to.

Ciao for now. Hopefully I will end up a professional FaceBooker one day. Cross your fingers for me.

Kandee J YouTube (Barbie tutorial)

Kandee J Blog

Kandee J Face Book


XX
Love Nadia

A little bit of a rant....

So..... I just commented on a post on one of my friend's blogs

(insert shameless link to said blog here)

And when I went to click to post my comment I was confronted with my pet, pet, pet HATE- word verification. Now, I am a reasonable person and I understand that companies like Yahoo! and Google employ such techniques to differentiate the squishy flesh bags (humans) from the super kinetic evil cyborg sexbots that are no doubt trying to take over the world one blog comment at a time.....

But Gosh! it's just super annoying. And just because I am so super annoyed, why, here is an example....

















Now I don't know about you but as someone who is certifiably NOT an evil super inhuman cyborg, or a sex bot, I can't freakin' read half of these!! It's too warped for my squishy human eyes to see. And all my tiny mind can scream is 'BAD TYPOGRAPHY! BAD!!!' after my face has melted off from taking a hit of Charlie Sheen. Like OMFG! Really Google? Really??

So, Jess Matthews, I am here to tell you that I commented on your post to the detriment of my eyesight, sanity and just general all around health. I hope you appreciate it. But it was well worth it because the essay you spoke of really was written by a King of the Douche bags. The kind of douche bag that other aspiring douche bags take a knee to admire. That level of douche-dom.

Anywho.....

Yes. Word verification. Get another system of verification! Because that one fails in the most epic of proportions. And I think, Ladies and Gents, that that is all. Rant over.

FIN-

-Nadia

I feel....Wicked.

Oh my golly gosh and oh, gee. I just saw Wicked for my very first time. And to quote Gidget,

"Honest to goodness, it was the absolute ultimate."

It was completely speldiferous and confoundifying. Absolutely wonderific and marvelistic. If you have not seen this show, then you HAVE to see this show. If you have seen this show, then you HAVE to see it twice. It has EVERYTHING! Laughs, tears, wit, sass. All the things that make life grand.


And you have to see this particular cast because Jemma Rix who plays Elphaba, is phenomenal and Lucy Durack who plays Galinda, the good witch, is just hilarious. Her voice, her mannerisms, her little quirks and kicks will have you in stitches. I am just enamored by both of them. The whole cast are just amazing!!

So yes, I will stop babbling now. Just [insert exasperated gasp], go watch it. It will be like the first time you saw a Disney Cartoon, basically, your face will melt off. *



*Disclaimer: Nadia is not responsible in any way for the melting off of faces while watching Wicked or Disney related visual media. If your face does melt off for any reason, please stop viewing said media*, and seek medical attention immediately.



*Disclaimer for the disclaimer: By "immediately", we of course mean after the performance.

Blog re-discoveries call for shameless self promotion

Feels a little strange to re-open my blog and not post to celebrate the occasion. Kind of like being used for sex and not taken out for dinner before hand....not that I know what that's like.

So here goes, shameless self promotion.

You can FB me [here]

Form spring me [here]

Vouyeristically stalk my lame DA account [here]

Be a pal and vote for me [here]

Or comment to unleash a can of whoop ass and possibly have a sexy conversation, during which I will only charge you mates rates on a count of I'm such a nice person. Do it. You know you want to.

Love,
Nadia.