This is my dancing face.

Christmas Break Part 1

HEY! MERRY CHRISTMAS YOU JERKS.

I’ve been having a wonderful break! I mean, technically I’m at work but everyone else is on holidays so there are no patients and the phone has rung once in two hours. I actually just started small talk with that person because I was so lonely and found myself FASCINATED by the details of her child’s probiotics.

So, Christmas was great! I hit up Whitfords on Eve to run non-holiday errands, which I thought would be a terrible plan, but everyone was in fact rather efficient and I got out an hour earlier than I thought I would. Despite our efforts to change the evening’s plans to a milkshake run, Nicola and I begrudgingly joined our parents for mass, but only because our church does a big outdoor ones for families; there’s a bad nativity play, kids dressed as angels dancing abysmally, REAL LIFE CAMELS and consequently, camel poop. And usually the paper confetti fireworks find their way over to the camels and MAGICAL SPARKLY CAMEL POOP IS CREATED, and after all that is what Christmas is all about. We heckled the mass, started a two-person dance party while the parents pretended they weren’t related to us, and Dad tried to convince us to take communion just to put our “foot in the door”. The usual. Not a trace of Catholic guilt anymore though, which is nice. I HAVE ACHIEVED THE IMPOSSIBLE.

That night we set up CHRISTMAS PREP SHOP in the kitchen while yelling at the Carols by Candlelight concert on the TV, it just gets worse every year. Many salads were made, and delicious plates of (gluten free!) slices were arranged for the upcoming family gatherings. We also ‘treated’ Mum and Kiara to the unedited version of Space Hercules, which I am sure they loved, despite their facial expressions.

THEN IT WAS CHRISTMAS DAY. In true Christmas Miracle form, I got out of bed at 10. IN THE AM. Everyone was surely extremely impressed because I was given gifts for my efforts! Amongst the offerings was a card from Mum which promised some cash in my bank so I could buy “ALL OF THE DRUGS” and a book of ugly panto faces from Nicola (weirdly proud at how often my own face appears), two of my favourite things. My gift to everyone this year was me paying my medical bills so I wouldn’t die; but I did redo our family collage (was getting sick at looking at my 2003 face), and ~symbolically adopted~ African animals for the sisters (I was adopting an orca for myself and couldn’t resist the adorable plushies they send to you). We then set off to Nonna’s for epic Italian family lunch time, but there were only half of us there until later in the afternoon, and it felt very empty! Everyone finally did rock up and we ate too much food and watched my parents’ wedding video from 1984 (the little cousins’ new favourite thing to do) which was BEYOND HYSTERICAL. So much unironic dancing!

Hangin’ with the cool kids.

We did finally make it home alive, and I excitedly hosted a screening of The Phantom of the Opera 25th Anniversary Concert, which is my new favourite thing. It was FANTASTIC, I was flailing all over the place and fangirling my little heart out when they bought past Phantoms onstage to sing with Sarah Brightman. It’s the whole show (slighty restaged for the smaller space) rather than a straight-up concert, starring my homeboy Ramin Karimloo, aka sexy Enjolras (it’s a travesty that they covered up his beautiful face), and Sierra Boggess (aka Broadway Ariel) who knocks Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again out of the PARK. I could happily watch that every night.

After decidedly not enough sleep, we all dragged ourselves out of bed to party with my Mum’s side of the family, who are 300% more insane than the Italians. The day consisted of more food than anyone can be expected to eat, having amusing conversations with the crazy relatives, meeting a new cousin (they pop out of the woodwork every year or so), playing a vicious present stealing game (the trick is sneaky strategy), filling up on dessert and then begging to go home. That night I watched Doctor Who, and then put on the Les Mis 25th Concert because 1) it’s the greatest, and 2) because Kiara wanted to be educated. After every song she asked what was going on, and let me remind you that Les Mis is ALL SONG. So that was fun. We were all struggling to keep our eyes open by midnight, stuffed our faces with fancy chocolates and hit the sack like the fist of an angry god.

Immediate family only, and this isn’t even all of us.

There are already way too many words here, part 2 coming tomorrow!

GTT: ANTICIPATION

Shit, you guys, I love Christmas so much.
Our tree looks spectacular and there are a weirdly large number of presents under the tree. My beautiful wrapping paper is dominating still (have I described it? It’s WHITE, with these silvery snowflakes, but they’re like REFLECTIVE or some shit and they SPARKLE RAINBOWS but in a FUCKING CLASSY WAY. It’s beautiful wrapping paper.), but today Mum plonked one of her gifts right on top of a couple of mine and it was like OH IT IS ON. I am really pumped for people to open the gifts I bought/made, and pretty excited to see what Kiara got me because she’s proud of it so it had better not be a letdown. Or else.

I am also excited for hanging out with the Fam. Haven’t seen Hot Cousin Mel for months because she moved to Melbourne again, and she’s got a NEW HOT (probably) BOYFRIEND who she is bringing so that is exciting. I made/am making a gingerbread house but am still torn as to which family I will bring it to. Dad’s side has smaller, more appreciative children, soooooo

ANYWAY it’s been two years since I’ve had a Real Christmas so I am damn pumped. Just have to get through 8 hours of very frantic work tomorrow, then Mass (also knows as Watch Camels Poop Live), then carols on tv then this movie I found today called The 12 Dates Of Christmas, which basically guarantees itself to be the greatest Christmas movie ever. And then sleeping and then waiting for Aly to wake up and then PRESENTS.

I LIKE CHRISTMAS.

❤ Nicola

CATCH UP

I almost fainted when I looked at the date today. IT’S THE 22ND OF DECEMBER. WHAT. WHAAAAAAT. Does this mean that time didn’t stop during the two crazy panto weeks? That it just kept going and now it’s three days until Christmas and I just CAN’T GET MY HEAD AROUND IT??

This may be a shock for you guys, but I am TIRED. And also sick! Can you believe that? I’m just as surprised as you are! It’s almost like I’ve spent the last three weeks being run off my feet or something. So yeah, needless to say, things have been a bit mad. BARRELS OF FUN, but also mad.

Christmas panto came together very nicely, if I do say so myself! The highlight was meeting the kids after each show, they were all so excited to talk to us, and it was great staying in character and watching their little faces light up. I’m glad every performance was filmed, there was a very distinct dynamic to each show which was fun to bounce off, shout-out to the kids on Sunday who were BRUTAL in their heckling. The after party was probably the weirdest afters of all time, we all just stayed in the theatre and watched Community, played charades and ate junk food. There was then a Hercules vs. Space Jam epic showdown which resulted in us improvising a 17 minute long Space Hercules musical extravaganza. I have no idea where we found the energy, but MAGIC WAS MADE.

Sexiest bunch of people ever assembled.

Sunday after the show, the Macris hit Carols by Candlelight like the bosses we are. We had raided our IGA for the fanciest antipasto we could get our hands on and feasted like kings! Nicola and I rewrote a good number of carols to be about pantees, and even reworked a Jesus rock song to be about how great science is. We had salvaged 3D glasses from the royal show and whipped them out for the fireworks finale which was AMAZING. All five of us spent the whole time shrieking and whooping and generally sounding like loons, while the surrounding families probably thought we had never seen the outside before.

And then I caught a cold because Kiara was sick and doesn’t understand the importance of tissue hygiene and washing her hands, so now I hate her forever and ever, because I am a perfectly rational person. I have since spent the week mouth breathing and despising life.

Wednesday I went to see Herb, because I LOVE getting inevitably bad results and paying medical bills! He hit me with a plethora of terrible as usual; and at one point he looked over at me because I had my head in my hands, and was just silently laughing (maniacally) and he joined in because it’s SO RIDICULOUS. So I got to send off a few hundred bucks for new adrenal meds to hopefully kickstart my body into gear for the new year. LET’S DO THIS 2012, DON’T LET ME DOWN. Unfortunately I’m out of hormones and I can’t get my higher dosage until Wednesday so Christmas is going to be a little difficult. I’m banking on my EXTREME LOVE of Christmas to distract me from my shit.

Last night I dragged by pathetic self out to Kings Park with my PEEPS to watch Drive at the outdoor cinema. We dined elegantly on Grill’d burgers, cheap champagne and mint bubbly chocolate, before digging into Kat’s birthday cake with absolutely no regard for neatness. Cutting cake into pieces is for LOSERS, we were all about just going to town with our spoons. Oh, and the movie was pretty random; great cast, weird font.

Everyone at work had the same idea and now the kitchen is full of fancy boxed chocolates. NOT EVEN COMPLAINING! Feeling happy about life, despite the fact that I can’t breathe through my nose. Because I have some pretty great people around and that makes everything okay.

THESE GUYS. Amirite?

Sydney and Stuff.

So I went to a workshop on the weekend. I didn’t highly publicise it before I went, for no particular reason. I think I was more concerned with the cafe job dilemma to worry about the fact that I was going to Sydney for three days. We stayed somewhere with little to no phone reception, which sucked balls. The flight on Thursday night – which was meant to be at 11:50pm – got delayed so we boarded at 1am, arrived in Sydney at 8am (5am our time) and had to work until 8pm on roughly two hours of sleep. Friday was the biggest waste of time imaginable. Our group caught up for the first time in over a year and it was awesome. Some other people who knew me got really irritated that I was spending more time with the reporters than them, and bitched that I made them do too much work by writing out their personal story on my graphics tablet so I could animate it (we had to tell her story somehow because she volunteered to, but wouldn’t have her face or voice on camera, and apparently she thought it wouldn’t get back to me if she bitched about me to all of our mutual acquaintances). I don’t care, really. It would really upset me in some circumstances, but I was too exhausted to even bother. I got some sleep both nights we were away, but people in other dorms were loud all night and we had to be up early and didn’t finish working until late. I got home yesterday and was in one of those ridiculous, sleep deprived moods where I cry at everything that doesn’t work properly. Get home and only have keys to the door that is chained from the inside? Cry. (Levi had keys to the other door, so I only had to wait a couple of minutes for him to go home and get them, but logic isn’t my strong point)  Can’t find my washing basket? Grumpy. Find it and can’t find my pegs? Cry. I slept for 12 hours on Sunday night when I got home so I don’t understand why I was still so tired, but considering I normally need 8-10 hours sleep a night and I didn’t get that for three nights I can see how one bulk 12 hour sleep wouldn’t necessarily fix it automatically. I’m so grateful that Adam forced me to go home last night early, that was a pretty cool thing because I felt too guilty for missing most rehearsals to ask to go home. I feel really bad saying I’m too tired to do anything when I know other people have legitimate reasons for being tired and don’t complain as much as I do. Maybe I should actually get my thyroid tested so I can also have a legitimate reason. Levi keeps being all “Oh, I have no idea what its like to be tired“, because obviously he works WACKED OUT HOURS, but I think we’ve established over the last three years that I just need more sleep than he does so he can stop being such a little bitch. I have two videos to edit (well, one to edit, one to animate) by Monday. I can’t even begin to tell you how excited I am that I quit that cafe job. Can you imagine if I’d been working from 8am today and yesterday? I would be hating everyone.

 

Moral: I need to take care of myself more than I need to rehearse my two lines for panto, and that is the harsh truth of the matter. Also Sydney was great for most of the time.

My Parents

Ok, I’m sorry to post this here, because it’s not very happy, but it is something I’ve realised and now feel a little better about. Counts, right?

You know when you’re little, probably between the ages of 7 and 10 and you suddenly realise your parents aren’t perfect? Well, I recently had a similar kind of realisation. I realised I have totally lost respect for my parents. Nothing they say to me anymore means anything because they consistently pull me down and make me feel worthless.

I know what you’re thinking, it’s a white girl whine, right? Maybe it is. Maybe I’m too sensitive. But that doesn’t change the fact that my self esteem gets damaged regularly (weekly, if not daily) by my parents. They are part of the reason I hate the way I look and entirely the reason I feel like a failure even though I’m actually very good at the things I do.

The first time I remember my mum making me feel bad about myself was when I was about seven. I was a chubby kid, starting from that age. I remember my mum talking to me before we went to a birthday party and telling me to stay away from the food. She didn’t explain about calories and how energy is burned, which a seven year old can definitely understand in general terms. She just told me to stay away from the food. I wasn’t allowed it.

So I did for a little while, but it was a birthday party and I was seven, so I ended up near the table with my friends, eating things. My mum walked up and physically dragged me away. I didn’t even understand why and I was humiliated. After that incident she started trying to get me to eat less at dinners and whatnot by kicking me under the table if she thought I’d had enough or by dragging me away from food if it was a standing up type of event.

So when I hit my teens and had money of my own, I ate junk covertly. I know the calories I ate aren’t my mother’s fault. But I feel the guilt I felt and the need to binge because I was never, ever allowed to eat that stuff at home or when I was with my family was. My already slightly heavy weight ballooned and I got quite overweight. Then at the end of year ten I did Weight Watchers and lost 25kg over the next year.

For two years I was a healthy weight and then my hormones went insane, my period stopped and I started gaining like crazy again. After  doing Weight Watchers I have a very clear idea of how calories/kilojoules and energy input and output works, so it was definitely not me. I worked out constantly and I ate only healthy food and made my portions smaller and smaller, but I kept gaining. My mother made all sorts of comments to me about trying to lose the weight, and whenever I pointed out I was trying the answer was always the same. “Obviously not hard enough” is a hard thing to hear from your mum.

Then last year I was diagnosed with my pituitary adinoma. My mother came with me to the initial consultation and one of the first questions I asked was ‘Is this affecting my weight?’ and my endocrinologist said that it definitely was, and that once I was medicated it would probably help.

I was so relieved. This, I thought, will at least get my mum off my back about being overweight. Then, a couple of months after I was diagnosed I got quite serious depression. The last thing I could think about was exercising and I only ate when I could be bothered and then it was whatever was easy. So I gained again, about 10kg.

I have only just come out of the fog which is depression and started feeling like myself again, a full year after I first felt like killing myself. I’ve started working out regularly (5-6 times a week) and I’m counting calories again. Lo and behold, I’m losing (a little bit of) weight for the first time in six years.

My mother knows I’ve had depression (more about that below) and yet she has never let up about my appearance. And it is that. She’s not worried about my health. She’s worried about having a fat daughter and how that reflects on her. Her comments are always ‘You look fat in that’ or ‘You’d look better if you lost some weight’. My favourite is ‘You looked so good when you first went to uni’ (ie, when I was still thin). My self esteem has really suffered due to it.

My illness is another thing my mother is ashamed of me for. If I’m having a sick day, and they’re common, I will inevitably be asked why I’m lying around the house, or why I didn’t get out of bed until 1 or 2 in the afternoon. When I answer “I’m nauseous/I have a headache/I’m not feeling up to leaving the house/I need a day to recover” or any such reply I will get told that I should try harder. Initially I was just confused. I didn’t understand how she could ask me to try harder to not have a brain tumour. Then I realised that she was embarrassed by me. It’s not about how I feel, it’s about my being seen (by god knows who) as a productive member of society.

A good proof of this happened actually only this week. My mum was having some people over and she was cleaning around the house. I was getting ready to go to work and she called up to me, “I’m just going to hide your medications in the cupboard”. I currently keep my meds on the counter in the main bathroom of the house, where it’s easy for me to take them. My mum was hiding them so people she was having over didn’t see them and ask questions.

Personally, I don’t understand. I’m not ashamed of my condition, in fact I’m happy to share it because it’s such a weird one. I think it’s good for people to hear about illnesses that manifest as one thing (hormone problems) and turn out to be something serious. They might get themselves checked out next time there’s something small and slightly weird happening with them.

Unfortunately my parents are also the kind of people who think depression isn’t an actual illness. My favourite comment of my mother’s is ‘I know you’re suffering from a little bit of depression but ….’ after which statement she’ll proceed to list the things which she thinks I am doing wrong because of my depression. It’s very hard to deal with such prominent people in your life thinking you’re being silly and moody when you literally can’t get yourself out of the funk you are in. I’ve ignored it the best I can. The worst is when I have tried to point it out to them and they have played the ‘We’re your parents, we understand this better than you do’ card. It’s impossible to get past that and explain to them that no, they don’t know better and that I have doctors telling me these things.

The final thing I want to write about now is my love of theater and the arts. I’ve been performing since I was about six. I just love it, it’s all I’ve ever wanted to do. Since going to uni I’ve shown really solid skills in management of the arts especially, through Panto. I’m good at what I do and I love it, yet I still get comments from my dad of “I wish you were good at something useful”. He’s an engineer, without a creative bone in his body, so he doesn’t get it. I understand that. I’ve never expected them to understand the love of the theater and music I have. What I would expect though, is their support.

A couple of months ago we were putting on a show. I hadn’t told my parents the dates, since they always make such a big deal about how much they hate the shows (they don’t understand them, again fine with me, it’s not everyone’s cup of tea). We were having a family dinner, my cousin and his girlfriend were over, and my mum turns to me and goes “What are the dates for panto?”. I told her, confused as to why she wanted them and then she said “This is the last one we’re coming to, just so you know”. I was thoroughly confused. If she doesn’t want to come, she doesn’t have to. I said this to her and added that I found her comment a little hurtful because our group works very hard on the shows and there’s no reason to put them down just because she doesn’t enjoy them and there was this tense silence at the table like I’d just screamed “Go jump off a bridge” at the top of my lungs.

I just don’t get it. Surely I should be able to express my dislike of something someone has said to me. I did it in a calm and reasonable tone. I wasn’t crying or hysterical. It’s just another way they make me feel bad about myself. It’s constant. “I’m going to rehearsal” is always met with “Ugh panto” or similar. You don’t get it? Fine. You don’t like it? Fine. It makes me happy and I’m actually good at it, and you’re my parents. Deal with it and give me a bit of support. Saying nothing at all would be better than what you’re doing now.

You’ll notice my father hasn’t featured that much in this. It’s not because he’s any better, he still makes comments, he’s just a distant father, so his comments tend to come through my mum. He’ll sometimes make them to me, but anything she says has come from him too.

So yeah, that’s how I feel. About two weeks ago I came to the realisation that I have lost all respect for them and since then their barbs haven’t stung. It’s sad that I no longer care what my parents think of me, but at the same time it’s good. I feel like I can move on now and be the person I want to be without worrying about them.

~ Lois

GTT: Nanna Shoes

Today I bought some expensive old lady comfortable Homy Ped sandals because I refuse to ever buy uncomfortable shoes again, and I LOVE THEM A LOT. THEY ARE LIKE MASSAGEY CLOUDS. When I take them off, my feet actually ache a little presumably out of nostalgia for the comfort. They’re not even ugly. I think the lady assisting me at the chemist was seriously weirded out by my youth. All the other customers during my trying-on and purchasing time were old ladies. IDGAF. COMFORTABLE SHOES, VANILLA ICECREAM AND NATURE DOCUMENTARIES FOREVER.

Also I bought more presents and my classy wrapping paper is totally dominating the undertree.

❤ Nicola

GTT: WRAP ALL OF THE THINGS

HAY.

Life has been pretty good lately. Prettayyyyy pretttayyyyy prettty good.
Today I got up too early and then we rehearsed the Panto three times and also there was Hungry Jacks and jovial chats in large circles, and silly hangman and fruit ninja on my iPad. It was pleasant.

Then when we got home Mum was like “ARE YOU READY TO GO, KIARA” and I was like “WHERE YA GOIN'” and she was like “THE SHOPS” and I was all “I’M COMING TOO” so we went to the shops and I bought a present and also looked at some things and also bought reindeer antlers for Panto and also my new best friend who is a reindeer and very very cuddly and has a derpy expression on and was $8 and also his name is Henrik.

THENNNN we went to Nonna’s and I showed Nonno some of my photos from Italy, on my iPad, because they look super shiny and lovely on my iPad.

THENNNNNNNNN we came home and Kiara and I wrapped presents whilst watching a disc of Season Two of Parks and Recreation on the giant screen. IT WAS PLEASANT, THE TREE IS UP AND IT’S PRETTY and I bought a fancy wrappng paper from work and it’s lovely and I LOVE PRESENTS. We ran out of presents to wrap so we started wrapping up things we already own that we like, so on Christmas we can be like “FUCK YEAH, I LOVE THIS THING”. Then we went into each other’s rooms and wrapped up things of each other’s and then unwrapped them and that was fun. Also Kiara wrapped up $2.30 for me because I was complaining earlier that I spent $2.30 on gum that I hate, so she was all “Now you can throw it away and you haven’t wasted money”. Basically nicest thing she’s ever done TBH.

Tomorrow I’m gonna do a little more shopping and then PANTO FOREVER.

I LOVE THIS TIME OF YEAR EVEN THOUGH ALL MY SHOWS ARE ON A FIVE WEEK HIATUS.

❤ Nicola

GTT: Promote synergy

Hey so today I got a RAISE! And a kind of promotion to go with it! YAY ME. Considering how often I’ve been running off to panto and switching shifts like it’s nobody’s business, I kind of thought my boss would resent me, but instead she’s like HAVE SOME FREE MONEY. So that’s pretty fantastic.

Rehearsals are coming along swimmingly, although I now have a plethora of kid injuries, including bruised knees and skinned elbows. Anything for the craft! I also have mysterious intense muscular pain, which I will also blame on panto. I’m slowly descending into an exhausted zombie madness, because that’s how I roll, but it’s all WORTH IT because panto is awesome and you’re all awesome and I just want to hug everyone at the same time while sobbing. That will probably end up happening so BE PREPARED.

GTTW: Craycray like a fishfish

And to think that a couple of weeks ago I was convinced that Christmas panto rehearsals would be pretty chill, considering. OH HINDSIGHT.

Needless to say, it’s been a bit mad and it’s going to get even madder! Last weekend was already crazy busy before we had rehearsals thrown in there, so I was so worried that I’d make myself sick. And generally I panic so hard that I DO get sick. Which is REALLY DUMB. In fact, my head was so freaked out on Saturday morning that I accidentally took my sleeping pill instead of my hormones. The most epic herp I’ve ever derped, I’m strangely proud of it. I quickly shot back a shitload of electolytes to try and cancel it out, but by the time I got home from rehearsals I was a full-fledged zombie. I somehow dragged myself down to the staff Christmas party at an Italian restaraunt, and had a lovely night. I do enjoy the way waiters will trip over themselves to help you out when you have a food intolerance. Unfortunately for them, half the table was ‘fussy’ (their choice of word) since we all work at a health clinic, so I’m sure they loved us. Side note: pink champagne is GREAT.

Sunday was time for another disgustingly hot rehearsal, followed by regrettable (but delicious) drinks at San Churros with the gang and then wandering around in the city to kill time. Nicola, Kira and I grabbed burgers from Grill’d (Girl at Grill’d: I’m not sure we have any gluten free buns left. Guy at Grill’d: Yeah, we do. Me: THIS GUY!) before heading off to Lana’s dance concert. And oh boy, I do love me a dance concert. Highlights included this one pre-school kid who just spent the whole time crying, but STILL DID THE DANCE. WHILE SOBBING. Hilarious! Another young kid stole our hearts with her incredible enthusiasm and SERIOUS DANCING FACE. Lana was, as always, better than everyone else, and was only topped by all the tiny kids excitedly shuffling in the Party Rock Anthem finale. I need a gif of that so bad.

Going back to Friday because I’m a time travelling badass, there was lots of fun rushing about to get to Alan Davies (the hike from our parking spot literally gave me an asthma attack because I’m an unfit slutsack), which was a great show. We managed to sit behind these two ladies who laughed absurdly and whenever Alan made a joke, they would lean in and loudly repeat the keyword. It was like they’d never heard a joke before, it got to the point where they were going “HA HA, TEETH. HA HA BRITISH FLIES.” Also it was the kind of older audience who would erupt into applause whenever QI, Jonathon Creek, Australia or Facebook were mentioned. Like HURR HURR WE CAN RELATE HURR. But despite the general stupidity of mankind, Alan was super great. I especially liked his bit about people pretending to be dead when the sun came out after an eclipse just to freak the newscasters out. After almost being T-Boned by some idiot in a beat up car, we headed off to the tail-end of Sally’s Harry Potter birthday where lots of casual chats were had.

Now we’re back here and it’s thunderstorming BEAUTIFULLY. I’m eyeing the clock and plotting how I can get to panto on time tonight; I have our pretty flyers all laid out on the counter to wave in front of families’ faces. The radio is playing weird 80s rock covers of Christmas songs and I don’t understand. We got new huge computer monitors and they are literally so big that I have to stop handing stuff to patients over the top of it, and I can’t see shit behind it. Tragic story: I’ve been waiting for Captain America to come out on DVD for MONTHS and finally I’ve got it, but I have no time to watch it. I MAY AS WELL JUMP OFF A CLIFF. Also MY COFFEE IS COLD. Dear Emmanuel.

Sassy Meg gives none of the fucks.