Last night, after a very uneventful week, Jacqui and I had decided to have a video night - which also promised to be uneventful. We hired "Mr Hollunds Opus" and got take-away pizza's from the Wongai Pub.
Unfortunately, after the movie had finished, Jacqui and I became in extremely silly moods. We sat outside arguing over books of all things (I know we're so wild!!). The debate was over Jacqui's reluctance to read anything even slightly literary, and instead read the same four books over and over. I swear she's read them so many times, she can actually recite them.
Jacqui's aversion to 'all of my books' was getting under my skin. She told me in no uncertain terms that 'she would rather have a pap smear, a mamogram and a root canal whilst having hot pokers shoved in her eyes, than read one of my books'.
Desperate to prove her wrong I begged her to read just one chapter of 'Memoirs of a Geisha', to prove to her that she would like them if she just gave it a chance. I then promised her that if she read just one chapter, I would eat a whole plate of her hot food. At this, Jacqui's eyes lit up in an evil way.
Now for those of you who are unfamiliar with the differences between Jacqui and I (of which there are many), the number one difference is food. This causes a lot of problems in our otherwise serene household.
I'm a meat and veges girl, anything bland and its great. Jacqui's a hot girl. She puts tabasco sauce on everything. I swear to god I once saw her put some in a bowl of fruit salad and ice-cream that I gave her.
Jacqui decided that the comic value, of watching me eat a plate full of hot food, would far outweigh the boring duty of having to read a chapter of 'Memoirs of a Geisha'. Determined to do it Jacqui delightedly skipped into the kitchen to make me Indian rice with 1/2 a bottle of cayenne pepper and 3/4 of a bottle of tabasco sauce. My protests, "but its 12o'clock at night!", "I'm not hungry!", "I'm on a diet!", fell on deaf ears. Jacqui was determined that she was going to cook the rice, and even more determined that I was going to eat it.
As Jacqui maliciously stirred the indian rice, I comforted myself by remembering that this was all for the benefit of my friend. I could give her a whole new world filled with Geisha's, Saudi Arabian princesses and abused children called David Peltzer (a very good book called 'A child called it'). I was determined to eat the goddam rice no-matter what the cost. After just having watched "Mr Hollund's Opus" I think I was feeling like I had to touch her life - change it even. The teacher in me was brimming with ideas and if eating hot rice was what it took to make her discover the world of the Illiad, then by George I was going to do it.
I decided that the best way to tackle a bowl full of hot Indian rice was to skull it, preferably without it touching the insides of my mouth. As she presented me with the bowl of delicious smelling rice I silently chuckled thinking 'how bad can this be?'. I started shovelling in spoonfulls of rice with enormous gusto.
'Not too bad!' I thought. Two seconds after that thought, the burning started. I was gulping down the rice, whilst running around the house frantically. After I had finished 3/4 of the bowl I uncerimoniously smashed it on the floor and made a dash for the fridge.
Jaqui meanwhile, was on the floor, after having fallen off her chair because she was laughing so much. Reilly (the dog) was chasing me around barking. As Jacqui and I don't drink milk, the only dairy product I could find in our fridge was a 500g tub of low-fat yoghurt, which I'd bought for the diet I went on that never started. Unfortunately the yoghurt was two weeks past it's used by date. Nonetheless I started shovelling in the yoghurt faster than I shovelled in the rice. I didn't stop untill I'd eaten about 400g of curdled yoghurt.
As you can guess, the next thing to happen was the regurgitation. Fortunately, I had managed to stumble outside for that part. Hot food going down is bad enough, but coming back up is even worse. Especially when its mixed with off yoghurt. Jacqui was still laughing (cruel, cruel woman) and telling me to cheer up because at least I didn't ruin my diet. Thankfully I managed to clean myself up, have a shower, go to bed - all without killing her.
She has promised to read a chapter of 'Memoirs of a Geisha' when we go to the beach today. I somehow don't think my end of the deal will be as comical, with the exception of a crocodile biting her on the arse whilst she reads it (heres to hoping!).
Things on the island are going well. 4 weeks and 6 days until I return to the mainland!!! I can't wait to see everyone.
Miss you all!
Love Bianca
Wednesday, September 5, 2012
Horn Island Communal Email - mental health day
Date: August 2002
Hi!!
Yesterday I had a mental health day (otherwise known as a sickie) and I'm feeling brilliant. Jacqui** (who also had a mental health day) and I went to our little private beach and stayed their all day drinking Pina Colada's and soaking in the sun.
The beach we go to is completely private and is absolutely amazing. On one side of the beach there are all these rocks that go out about 20 meters. If you carefully walk along them you find yourself in the middle of the ocean (slight exaggeration). I stand on them and look at all the tiny dotted islands around me and sing at the top of my lungs while practicing my hula. It is very Karmatic.
I had to be careful not to get any visible parts of my body burnt as it would not go down too well if I came to school after having a sickie with a sunburnt face. So consequently I am sitting here with third degree burns to my stomach, back and nipples wishing to god that I could have another mental health day today. Serves me right I guess. What goes around comes around.
Love Bianca
**Not real name. Jacqui's name has been made up to protect the identity of the person I was with!!
Hi!!
Yesterday I had a mental health day (otherwise known as a sickie) and I'm feeling brilliant. Jacqui** (who also had a mental health day) and I went to our little private beach and stayed their all day drinking Pina Colada's and soaking in the sun.
The beach we go to is completely private and is absolutely amazing. On one side of the beach there are all these rocks that go out about 20 meters. If you carefully walk along them you find yourself in the middle of the ocean (slight exaggeration). I stand on them and look at all the tiny dotted islands around me and sing at the top of my lungs while practicing my hula. It is very Karmatic.
I had to be careful not to get any visible parts of my body burnt as it would not go down too well if I came to school after having a sickie with a sunburnt face. So consequently I am sitting here with third degree burns to my stomach, back and nipples wishing to god that I could have another mental health day today. Serves me right I guess. What goes around comes around.
Love Bianca
**Not real name. Jacqui's name has been made up to protect the identity of the person I was with!!
Blogging before there were blogs
Tonight I realised with absolute amazement that I have always been a blogger! Even BEFORE blogs were around.
Of course, in my day we called them diaries.... and then when the internet came along I called them 'communal emails'. But they were basically the same thing as a blog.
A diary was a book which you used to write your thoughts, ideas and daily musings. Most of the time people regarded their diary as a sacred book that no one was allowed to read. But I, having suffered the humiliation of Grandma and Kristy reading MY diary full of embarrassing scribblings when I was 12, began to write my diaries in a manner that would be semi appropriate for others to read. After finishing the book 'The Diary of Anne Frank', I began to like the idea that one day, my dusty musings could be so riveting to someone else (I have no idea how I likened my life in anyway whatsoever to Anne Franks - but the connection was made) that I further moderated my diary entries so that they would be suitable for future generations of humans to ponder over. This meant that I spent less time making up signatures for myself if I was to marry this one, that one or that one.... and more time spent in a in-depth discussion with myself (and future generations) on why I liked that person. I might only do the Bianca Erickson loves Paul Dawson percentage test once... instead of 60 times.
I really don't hold my cards close to my chest at all. In fact, it is quite normal for me to fling my cards around the room so that every Tom, Dick and Harry know my business. I don't have anything to hide. I have a vague memory of telling my 24 year old male boss at Franklins (when I was 19), that he would have to let me off registers a lot that day to go to the loo because I had a UTI. I then launched into a description of what a UTI was and how I got it in the first place. I am almost positive - beyond doubt, that he wished I had held that information a bit closer to my chest, or called in sick - I'm not sure which one.
I really like the idea that one day my kids, or maybe even my grand-kids, are going to read this blog and feel like they know me just that little bit more than they would have. Who knows.... maybe even my great-great-great-great grand-kids will read this. I want them to know me as I am today, and all the stories that have made me the person that I am today.
It is for this reason, that I decided to put some of my old diary entries and communal emails on to my blog. It is to save my grandchildren the hassle of having to work out my yahoo password so that they can sift through the thousands of emails to find the interesting communal ones.... and to save the hassle of who to leave my 29 half started diaries to in my will.
No I'm not going to put EVERYTHING on here. Just some stuff I think my..... what is the opposite of ancestors...... hang on I'm going to goole it... descendants (I really should have known that!!) would like to read.
I also thought that some of you... who are a part of these stories... might get a kick out of reading them from my perspective. I'm going to start with a few communal emails because all I have to do is copy and paste them from my yahoo account, once I work out the password, and the transcribing of the written diaries will probably never happen because we all know how good I am at sticking to something!!!
B xx
Of course, in my day we called them diaries.... and then when the internet came along I called them 'communal emails'. But they were basically the same thing as a blog.
A diary was a book which you used to write your thoughts, ideas and daily musings. Most of the time people regarded their diary as a sacred book that no one was allowed to read. But I, having suffered the humiliation of Grandma and Kristy reading MY diary full of embarrassing scribblings when I was 12, began to write my diaries in a manner that would be semi appropriate for others to read. After finishing the book 'The Diary of Anne Frank', I began to like the idea that one day, my dusty musings could be so riveting to someone else (I have no idea how I likened my life in anyway whatsoever to Anne Franks - but the connection was made) that I further moderated my diary entries so that they would be suitable for future generations of humans to ponder over. This meant that I spent less time making up signatures for myself if I was to marry this one, that one or that one.... and more time spent in a in-depth discussion with myself (and future generations) on why I liked that person. I might only do the Bianca Erickson loves Paul Dawson percentage test once... instead of 60 times.
I really don't hold my cards close to my chest at all. In fact, it is quite normal for me to fling my cards around the room so that every Tom, Dick and Harry know my business. I don't have anything to hide. I have a vague memory of telling my 24 year old male boss at Franklins (when I was 19), that he would have to let me off registers a lot that day to go to the loo because I had a UTI. I then launched into a description of what a UTI was and how I got it in the first place. I am almost positive - beyond doubt, that he wished I had held that information a bit closer to my chest, or called in sick - I'm not sure which one.
I really like the idea that one day my kids, or maybe even my grand-kids, are going to read this blog and feel like they know me just that little bit more than they would have. Who knows.... maybe even my great-great-great-great grand-kids will read this. I want them to know me as I am today, and all the stories that have made me the person that I am today.
It is for this reason, that I decided to put some of my old diary entries and communal emails on to my blog. It is to save my grandchildren the hassle of having to work out my yahoo password so that they can sift through the thousands of emails to find the interesting communal ones.... and to save the hassle of who to leave my 29 half started diaries to in my will.
No I'm not going to put EVERYTHING on here. Just some stuff I think my..... what is the opposite of ancestors...... hang on I'm going to goole it... descendants (I really should have known that!!) would like to read.
I also thought that some of you... who are a part of these stories... might get a kick out of reading them from my perspective. I'm going to start with a few communal emails because all I have to do is copy and paste them from my yahoo account, once I work out the password, and the transcribing of the written diaries will probably never happen because we all know how good I am at sticking to something!!!
B xx
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