The trouble with cheating.

I ended my sleep-at-a-reasonable-hour-like-a-responsible-adult streak last night when I had a 1am movie session with Last Night. The main reason I chose to watch it was because of my shameless girl crush on Keira Knightley and her insufferable pout and razor sharp jawline. But it turned out to be my kind of movie in general --which is best described as "slow." That sounds like a backhanded compliment but what I mean is I love movies that you can just marinate in, where nothing really happens, where it's a slightly rose-tinted version of the romance and angst of everyday life, where you get to watch people wash their hands at the sink or make food in their perfect kitchens or walk around in their underwear. Films like Lost in Translation  and Beginners.

So except for Sam Worthington's wooden acting and bovine expressions and the cop-out ending which left me raging a little, Last Night was my kind of movie. And it also got me thinking, which is a miracle for any film to do to a viewer these days. I'll spare you the spoilery details but what the film essentially asks is which kind of infidelity is worse --or, as I chose to read it, which would I rather my partner commit --a one-night stand largely fueled by physical chemistry, or a constant, nostalgic longing for a former love who holds that "special place" even though there is no physical act of  cheating.

I have no immediate or final answer to which I would find more forgivable/understandable because let's face it, both situations suck. And yet both, I think, are so easy to happen without malicious intent. I think I would find the emotional cheating more forgivable and more painful. I say more forgivable because I don't think you can help what you feel, and memory is such a powerful force that escapes control most of the time....and for that reason it would also be more painful to know that some other individual occupies your S.O's mental space, regardless of whether they're even there or not. Whereas I would probably be far more enraged by physical cheating and the choice to act on what you're feeling. Is that less forgivable? On second thought, maybe not given that I could probably also take some twisted comfort in knowing it was "only" based on lustful desire, not loaded history.  

I honestly can't say which I would find easier to deal with but I believe in both cases it's not necessarily a dealbreaker --that's not to say you shouldn't break up if the guy/girl has been a total asshole about it --but's it not simple enough a matter to have a pre-made decision about without any context. Everyone fucks up because everyone's human. But I guess I can only theorise until something actually happens.

Post-grad Optimism.

A: Damn people with futures.

Me: Hey, we'll have futures too!

A: Yeah, in McDonald's.

Me: If you end up in McDonald's I'm going to be the hobo standing outside McDonald's.

Know thyself.

Me: Basically, I only like bad boys and boys who don't want me.

C: Are you a masochist?

[high five across kitchen table]

I CAN'T DEAL WITH MY FEELINGS SO I THROW THEM UP.

All in a day's work.

Not stated in the stage manager's formal job description:

Play therapist to actors, confidante and provider of food to director, pacifier between both, gossip girl to tech crew, sassy bitch to stage crew. Sprinkle with generous amounts of whining, flirting and thank yous.

3 lifelines for staying awake.

1) Make-up aka tricking yourself to feel awake by looking it

2) A shower aka one hour before your hair is dry enough to go to bed

3) A cold room aka putting your body into survival instead of sleep mode

Not on my watch.

Words to live by?

"Boys are temporary, grades are forever."

-Friend on dumping two guys

Lessons from Montreal.

I can successfully communicate in French with an old man Quebecer. Day made.

My friend and I communicate through song.

My friend and I haven't changed much since we were 14.

Every girls' sleepover should include a trashy makeover, fur coat, and photo shoot.

Pina coladas: a shortcut to summer when it's bitching cold outside.

Badass leather jacket: every girl needs one.

"Just put yourself in an uncomfortable position. That's yoga.": my friend introducing bed yoga, which is harder than you think.

Rediscovering old school Alicia Keys: an awesome nostalgia trip.

Real friends

are the ones that keep you liquored up at a party and yell at you to "MAKE BAD DECISIONS TONIGHT!"

Lessons from Blue Valentine.

1) True love does not exist.

2) Never get married.

3) If Dean and Cindy can't make it work, there is no hope for the rest of us.

4) I am glad my parents are still together. I still don't want to end up like them. Refer back to #2.

Get it right pt. 2

There are some things I would like to clear up for my roommates.

I do not have a secret boyfriend.

I did not break my bed having sex.

I am not an international terrorist.

My high school friends do exist. Really.

No big deal.

Home alone = walking around in my underwear, feeling badass in general

How to make Big Decisions.

There is stress that motivates and stress that suffocates.

There is stress that propels and stress that weighs.

There is stress that makes you want to conquer the world and stress that makes you not want to get out of bed.

There is stress that makes you a Head Bitch In Charge and stress that makes you a bitch, period.

Know the difference.

saturday saints.

gin goes in

time slows down

like lips blowing smoke

secrets come out

Carrot or stick?

My mum just called with the sole purpose of telling me about a childhood friend who is in grad school doing neuroscience and has a scholarship covering everything and then some, making her self sufficient, plus her mum bought her a house because living in Texas is apparently dirt cheap. My mum says "I was thinking, if you go to the US for grad school, I'll buy you a house too. It would be worth it." Then she starts talking about how difficult it's going to be for me to get real job despite my good grades (it's true, thanks for the reminder), and how it is very worrisome that my brother too is looking into "social sciences" (said with a hint of hysteria) for uni.

I don't even know.

Fuck November.

My friend is having a "Fuck November" party on Friday.....god do we need one. We have a mini "fall break" this long weekend where we get Monday and Tuesday off. In an alternate universe, I would be spending that time in Sydney. But it's not happening. I have a grand total of $300 in my bank account.

I hate how November just kicks me in the face like that, 3 days after my birthday.

I hate how November is when it starts getting dark at 5pm.

I hate how November is when it starts getting cold.

I hate how November is when the onslaught of deadlines begin.

I hate how November is the month of withdrawal after the fall play.

I hate how November is just one long, agonising wait for Christmas and winter break.

Is there anything good about November? Maybe this song, which is about how soul-sucking November is anyway:

21.

12:50am and I'm having my first glass of wine.

No more milestones to delay the definition of "adult" but fuck growing up.

I should grow up.

Things to keep in mind when you are in a play.

1) Just because you are a bit in love with every other actor and crew member does not mean you should act on it.

2) The "drama bubble" is dangerous. Amazing but dangerous.

3) The drama always leaks.

3) None of it is real.

4) All of it is real but you'll always wonder.

5) The curious phenomenon of the Cast Party is a wonderfully evil double-edged sword. Anything and nothing can happen. It's hard to know which you'd prefer sometimes.

Lessons from the Middle Kingdom.

On relatives: If you engage in conversation with any adult over 30, something like 10 minutes will be dedicated to how tall you are, how much you've grown, how much you can still grow, how tall your brother is, how much taller he can still grow, how tall you both are compared to every other kid they know. I don't know what it is about height that's so grippingly important, but it's probably some national inferiority complex.

On traffic: When I got into my first taxi, I noticed there were no seat belts in the back. Then I started wondering whether the customary bars implemented between the front and back seats were meant to protect the driver from shady clients....or me from a shady driver. Then my driver started yelling across the car to talk to another taxi driving beside us, whilst still driving himself. Then I figured I had a shady driver and reached for my seat b--nevermind.

On streets: 6 lanes, no pedestrian crossings. Do or die.

On food: The French have an ally in frogs' legs. And it tastes better than chicken. And yes, that is a piece of tortoise shell. And yes, I passed on that.

On Mao:

If there's a market for getting oneself photoshopped in a manly handshake with the guy, he evidently still matters.