babyfreakingporridge.

de-clutterising

HI. So I've been drinking. And I think that maybe my brandishing of words might be a little dangerous right about now. SO I'll definitely keep it to a minimum.

Here is a very small list of things I thought should be placed in a list called "things I have recently found therapeutic":

1) De-clutterising my room

2) Flexing the photographic limb and taking photos of this newly de-clutterised state

3) De-veining prawns

Points 1) and 2) may have come about through some pretty intense trawling of The Selby website. WHAT A FANTASTIC SITE. Creatives and their homes! So ridiculously inspired to...um...have my own home and paint the walls puke yellow and use toilet paper as cushions. No, not really. But at the very least, it inspired me to clean up the junkyard that is my room.

So without further ado,

And here is a photobomb from beautiful Kimberley's 21st last night. I AM DWARFED by her six-inch heels :(

And just to conclude, thank you for all of your words on my last entry. I appreciate them. I will never get over how so many of you are generous about opening up to strangers too. Thank you again. May you also stand strong against your plights. Love love love.

Goodnight,

Nikki

Posted in: babyporridge, bedroom, cleanliness and clarity, picturepost on Sunday, January 24, 2010 at at 11:29 PM 6 comments Links to this post

Fresh? I think not.

Hey blogosphere, happy 2010!

So I realise that my greeting is nineteen days overdue, making it far from timely and thus effectively worthless, but as my Dad likes to say, "Better late than pregnant!"

Haw haw haw.

Blogger informs me that there are currently in excess of 150 of you subscribed to this verbal wasteland. When did this happen?! (And why are you all so silent...? "LET THERE BE NOISE!" she proclaimed...)

I haven't written for longer than a month now. I'd like to say my absence was because of full time dedication to an abundance of mirth in the real world and just generally swaying along to the ebb and flow of a fruitfully busy time. And yeah, to an extent, it's true - the last month or so has included-but-was-not-limited-to: fondue and strawberry wine parties, watching wonderful jazz gigs, band hero nights, bringing my exercise regime up to almost half-duathlon standards, frantically job hunting, and working closely on musical repertoire for a duo act. But despite all this, there's always been room to blog. If there's been room for facebook tetris (of which I keep consistently annihilating my old scores, by the way) then there's certainly been room to blog.

The truth is, circumstance has been less than favourable.

I generally like to keep my posts light and irrelevant (much like Owl City's musical merit, sorry). But like Hayley mentions in her comeback post, I didn't want to just fill this space with picturedumps and cheerful things, and in effect, diminish the things actually worth mentioning. And I never found myself in the right headspace or with the right words to verbalise the recent occurrences. Until now I guess.

So here...

My grandparents were supposed to spend Christmas here with us in Sydney. Prior to getting their travel visas, they needed to have some physicals done to ensure they were well and fit enough to travel. They detected an unusual mass in my grandpa's chest, and as a result, visas were not granted and their Christmas was not spent here. Minor disappointment, we agreed, as long as he was okay.

But the previous month has seen a flurry of x-rays, scans, doc consultations, unplanned overnighters at the hospital with him attached to a catheter, and a series of increasingly worrying diagnoses. He has 'descending thoracic aneurism' and 'infrerenal aortic aneurysm' which could rupture anytime. He's essentially a ticking time bomb. Add to that 2 very clogged arteries and 1 more quickly reaching that point. Different doctors are recommending different things - 'open surgery,' says one, 'stent surgery,' says another. What remains is that something must be done. Surgery is risky to begin with. We're considering his age, we're considering the complications, and we're considering if the rest of his body (like the emphysema in his lungs) can even cope with invasive surgery. And so now, my family are grappling with the decision of choosing not to do anything, or choosing to do something which could, if complications arise, severely deteriorate his quality of life, and even hurry death.

I've been lucky. With twenty years of life under my belt, I've not had to face death - mine and anyone close to me. To me, it's a folk tale, an experience someone else somewhere else is having, and affecting me only in so far as a whisper passed into my ear. So at present, I'm emotionally and mentally unprepared about letting go. Especially letting go of my grandfather, my Lolo. We're exceptionally close, he's my biggest fan, and I have to say that a lot of my childhood was as fruitful and wonderful as it was because of him. My mother always tells me how Lolo lights up when I'm around, and the reverse is true. I'm in a good place when I'm around him. And then I get sad thinking about all of this. And the heart sighs and the chest heaves. So if you have a moment to spare, I would be very grateful for good vibes, thoughts and prayers (from those of you who pray) for my grandfather and for my family. I love him dearly.

In other news, my beloved Hannah left for Amsterdam today. I probably wont see her for the next year or so. This does not at all help my current mood.

Recent happier times:

On that note, I also miss you very much Dadderpillar. I had your China Crisis CD on in the background while typing this up.

So there you have it. An explanation for my (unnoticed) absence and why I'm probably more introspective these days. Recent events certainly have given me some perspective. Suddenly, it doesn't matter so much anymore how much of a 'has-been' I've become on youtube. Not that, in saying this, I acknowledge that I ever was a notable, gosh no. Or that unrequited affection seems to be my destiny. Or that I'm so much farther from achieving my ideal body now than I was six months ago. It's all trivial.

So as not to completely end on a sombre note, I mentioned in the beginning of the post how I've been working on a jazz duo act with a Greek slice of pie called Ross.

Meet young Rossco.

If you're interested, here is an audio sampler (snippits of God Bless the Child, Girl from Ipanema, Summertime and Nature Boy) that features my crooning and Ross's divine guitarwork.

We're very professional.

So to all of you toilet-roll-holders, if you read through all of this, thank you. I do hope to write in good spirits soon. Thanks for sticking around.

Posted in: heavier stuff on Tuesday, January 19, 2010 at at 9:38 PM 19 comments Links to this post

A few changes...

So it's been a month since my last post, and let me tell you, within the span of a month, the changes are a-plenty ! I now bathe and brush my teeth irregularly and with no enthusiasm. I have also taken to plastic as the staples of my wardrobe.

Be gone with ye, Cotton! Be gone with ye, Chiffon!

So no, not really. But I did attend Hannah's ingenious hobo-chic themed 21st. Beer was served in little brown baggies, the ladies donned stellar d.i.y. dresses and the idyllic suburban dwelling was transformed into a shanty-palace-extraordinaire. Hannah was, as expected, stunning in her frilly blue plastic-bag ensemble.

The beautiful celebrant and I:

I recited my speech with as much flair as a goat in labour. I was meant to start out in a cheesy deadpan and a glazed look in my eyes with the slurred words, "Hi everybody. My name is Nikki. I've been a Hannah-holic for three years now..."

Good thing I realised in time how atrociously unfunny above line was, so I omitted it and saved myself the chagrin of looking more idiotic than necessary.

Speech went as follows:

So I met Hannah three years ago on that fateful first day of Journalism class at uni. Everyone was told to get into pairs and introduce their partner to the class. Instantly we found out who was into what sport, who was from out of town, and who didn't want to be there. When it got to our turn, Hannah decided to tell the class that I had lifelong ambitions of being a microwave.I consequently fell in love on the spot, and after that, I knew that my odd sense of humour was finally not alone in this world. For the next three years, we clicked.

Hannah is hilarious, ridiculously good-looking and naturally charming. Those were my first impressions of her. Up to now they still hold true, but with the addition of loyal, thoughtful and generous.

Just a few weeks ago, we were supposed to go out for a friend's birthday, but Hannah was rostered on to work. Despite not being able to go, she offered to come pick me up from the city at 3am after her work to take me home. (I didn't take her up on that, by the way. I like to take advantage of my friends in other ways...Ba-dum-ching!) But Hannah's just the kind of person who offers to do selfless things just because she wants to. It doesn't go unnoticed, and it certainly doesn't go unappreciated.

But I think I can safely say that Hannah's generosity is equally matched by her ability to attract misadventures. By that I mean, she's a spastic. I get phonecalls that go something like, "Damnit, I ran after a bus that didn't stop, and my yoghurt spilled all over my bag," or "I just stacked it on George st in front of a camera crew."

Or how about that time we made the trek down to the Hawkesbury to film stuff for our uni assignment, only to realise that Hannah forgot the tape at home...

But Hannah is Hannah because of all of these hilarious little quirks. And during these incidents where she may have... lapses of grace... she still retains retains a smile and takes it all in her stride. Hannah's a great sport; she can laugh at herself. Like I said, she's naturally charming.. it's no wonder everyone falls for her, including 40 year old bondi ink tattoo artists who will remain unnamed...

I know I haven't spoken about a lot of 'our' things, including our love of eating, our love of body pump class, our love of eating some more, making friends with various cave-dwellers, and the fact that you're the best partner to have in television journalism. Just know that I absolutely admire what you stand for, what you do, and the person you are. Mr and Mrs Meagher, you've done exceptionally well.

As my dad says, "You can pick your friends and you can pick your nose, but you can't pick your friends' nose."

Well Dad, I think Hannah might be the exception to that rule. She's the kind of amazing person everyone wants to know and wants a piece of - down to even her boogers.

So Hannah,
Thank you for being a wonderful friend and fantastic human being, and even transcending those things. Thank you for being a significant part of the last three years of my life, and making my uni experience so much more enjoyable as a result. I'm really glad and deeply honoured that you choose to associate with me, and that I can call myself your friend. I don't need to tell you to stay awesome because I know you always will. So Happy 21st to one of the best people I will ever meet in the course of this lifetime. Thank you...

And that, my dears, is why the sappy Hallmark channel is unnecessary when I'm around. Anyhow, I'm off to a jazz gig tonight. Should be fun! A retrospective entry about my recent time in Manila is in order - It was stellar, just in case you were wondering. But that's for next time.

And I know you don't expect me to sign off without - yep, you guessed it - the trademark picture dump. And in this case, 'dump' is completely apt. ('Cause you know... dump, as in dumpsters, as in bums, as in hobos in bins... ah, never mind.)

Posted in: babyporridge, hobo-chic, nikki malvar, picturepost, themed 21st on Sunday, December 13, 2009 at at 2:05 PM 10 comments Links to this post

I don't mean the Britney joke in this post. Really, I don't.

I started writing up some (ambitiously) meaningful post about Friday the 13th and the unexpected kindness of people, but suffice to say I got a little sidetracked. Sidetracked by things that include but are not limited to: packing suitcases, getting surprised with Tori Amos tickets from my Mama and ultimately watching her at the Opera House, Tetris on Facebook, plane rides where I contentedly drank Baileys on the rocks, more Tetris, and getting re-acquainted with Tropical heat and mosquito bites.

My sister is sprawled on the bed, watching Wipeout, and I am doing the only appropriate response - turning around every so often from the computer to make leering, pedophile-zombie faces at her, like so:

I'm sorry. That was a cheap blow.
At pedophiles.

Moving on...

Yesterday, I like to think I did quite well on fulfilling my humanitarian quota. By that I mean I contributed generously to the Philippine economy through some, uh, necessary shopping. While meandering the mall, Isabelle thought it hilarious to walk behind me and routinely fall at the disposal of giggles. Reason for giggling? She took it as a personal mission to count all the heads I apparently turned. And while I am cringing at writing this down, tooting my own horn, and generally floating face down in the pee-filled ocean of my self-indulgence, some of her anecdotes were, dare I say it, amusing.

Anecdote 1: We walked past a KFC. There were a group of guys sitting by the glass window. A guy takes a bite out of his chicken. We walk past KFC. The guy's jaw drops as does the chicken.

Anecote 2: Walked past a couple. The guy's head turns and continues to follow the direction in which we walk. The girl realises she has momentarily lost her boyfriend's attention and whacks him. This was immediately followed by the largest laugh of the day spilling from my sister's mouth.

I'll just clarify why I get ogled at here in this country. See, the average female height here might accurately be described as 3'11"(*Note: this is a guesstimate, slightly exaggerated for comedic effect). I am 5'7" - 5'8" depending on whether I decide to slouch. I AM A GARGANTUAN BEAST. You would stare too if you saw Sasquatch roaming around your mall, coming at you with an ample number of shopping bags. What a sight!

Today I made it to a beloved pump class at 8:30am. Pump is delicious here, on account of the class being relatively empty and thus I don't have to wrestle and shove for space. Pump and any subsequent cardio efforts were rapidly nulled by having lunch with Dad at Shakeys and conveniently forgetting the existence of the word will-power. Hello delicious thin crust pizza! Hello deep friend potato mojos! Hello chocolate shake!

This is now the part where I backtrack and attempt to write what I have been wanting to recount for the past few days. Here goes:

I'm at two minds about people. As individuals, I'm perpetually appreciative and so easily fascinated by characteristics like intelligence, talent, beauty, rising above strife, etc. So often I end up seeing so much of what I admire in a person, and consequently end up crushing on, wishing to be, and plotting to kidnap said person for my own personal enjoyment. But in considering humans as a race, as a people, I am pretty cynical. My default is to think that people are shit, attractive shop assistants will not give me the time of day, and people will cut me off in traffic. Basically, I don't have the best expectations about people when it comes to kindness.

I must say, however, that Friday the 13th seemed to test the above sentiment. That night was supposed to be Isabelle's 15th birthday party, and as such, I was entrusted with some last minute errands during the day. Sometime in the afternoon, I get a txt from my Mother saying that the cake I bought had no 'Happy Birthday' on it, and could I immediately replace it for one that did say 'Happy Birthday'. I should mention that when purchasing the cake, I did see the one that said 'Happy Birthday' on it, but for some reason, it just didn't occur to me to pick that one over the plain one. Is this a clear sign of mental difficulty? I think so. Anyhow, I returned to the store with dread in my heart, sweat in my 'pits - you know, that sort of thing. As expected, they couldn't trade the cake I bought for the one I required, seeing as Occupational Health and Safety standards mean that you cannot change food once it's been sold to the grubby customer. I asked if anyone in store could possibly just write the 'Happy Birthday' for me, but unfortunately none of them were trained pastry chefs. I found tubes of the icing for the lettering, and decided to just purchase one and try my luck at the shopping centre... only to find out that I had no cash in my wallet. Although the store had a credit card minimum of $30, in my distress, the really nice guy made an exception and let me charge the measly $4 tube of icing to the card.

Went to the local shopping centre and frantically tried to find a bakery with a resident pastry chef who could possibly write the happy birthday on for me. The only one who could happened to be my previous boss - whom I had not spoken to for a year since the time of my leaving, seeing as we didn't part with the best of terms. I'll say it - I was shit scared about asking for a favour. But then clarity sunk in and I realised I'm far more frightened of my Mother. (Haw haw haw - she's an exceptional homemaker - you just don't piss her off with sub-par domesticity.) I was not going home empty-handed, or in this case, I was not going home empty-caked.

I bit the bullet. He wasn't too friendly, but he agreed to write it for me. Awkward small talk pervaded the air. But he gave me a nicely written 'Happy Birthay', and all was well!

That night after meeting Isabelle's friends, finishing up with my share of the cooking and general cleaning, I ventured out via train to Neel's 21st shindig at Soho. I packed my purse in a haste that night, and forgot to pack my student ID. As my luck would have it, a transit officer was on the train, checking tickets and the necessary concession cards. I handed him my ticket and he asked to see my student card since I had purchased a student fare. I then rummaged through my purse and felt the sickening sensation of inevitable doom. Upon my failure to find my student card, he said, "That's a $200 fine."
I didn't even try to get out of it, knowing fully well that CityRail has recently had a major crackdown on fare evasion with on the spot fines. I just kicked myself for not having my student card that night since I am always so vigilant about having it with me.
So I just bowed my head in resignation and said, "I know."

Then he said, "Please be more careful next time. Have a great weekend." And he walked off.

HE WALKED OFF.
PARDON THE PUN, BUT HE MADE CONCESSIONS FOR MY LACK OF CONCESSION (CARD).

And if you've been fine, or know someone who has been fined, I am sure you are absolutely livid with me at this point. I fully understand. It's not fair.

But Mr Transit Officer, whoever you are, wherever you are, thank you. My gratitude runs deeply.

So there, people pulled through for me that day. And I was stunned. But I was equally appreciative. I definitely subscribe to the idea of karma - that what you do comes back to you. And while I am so incredibly grateful for how the tides flowed in my favour, I don't know why they did. And I think I have to re-evaluate my stance on people. People can be kind and people can be generous, and I hope that despite people pissing me off on the road, or reading headlines about atrocities and tragedies, or how easy it is to be a critic these days of people's endeavors, I hope I don't forget that maybe kindness and compassion aren't myths. They're real guys. As real as body image woes!

So as customary of this blog, I will round up with a picture dump from Neel's 21st. Just in case you want to know, my preferred drink of choice is no longer Vodka Tonic. It's Southern Comfort. Just, you know, in case we ever cross paths and you need something to quell my social anxieties with...

Me with the birthday swine:

And moaaar:

Night folks!
x

Posted in: babyporridge, birthdays, good people, nikki malvar on Saturday, November 14, 2009 at at 11:33 PM 7 comments Links to this post

Almost

It's ten forty pm on a Tuesday night, and there are only hours until I will be unable to include "university student" in any sort of personal description.

I will have my last class ever tomorrow. I don't know how I feel about this. Actually I do - relieved but immensely terrified - but for simplicity's sake, I'll just say throw concrete emotion to the wind and bask in some faux-indecision.

I've come back from the gym, where my favourite, very handsome receptionist greeted me with the smile I would sacrifice my meals for (HUGE CALL!), just to have said smile continuously thrown for my personal amusement. I swear, there are no such thing as lesbians, only girls who have not met handsome-receptionist-fiend.

He fired his obligatory, "Hey! How are you today?" doused in smile (cue swooning), and I responded quite fruitily with the pace of one who knows no such thing as pauses, "Ijustwokeupfromanap! ItwasAMAZING!"

He asked through chuckles, "How many hours was it?" and I responded with 4 glorious hours! He laughed and said, "That wasn't a nap."

"What was it then?" I asked.

"That," with impeccable pace, he said, "was a sleep".

I threw around whatevers and rolling eyes, he humored me and threw around laughter. By the time I got to the treadmill, the face was grinning and the heart pumping!

This is ridiculous. I am twenty, soundly aware of my overall person, and still, I feel like an acne-riddled adolescent and get excited when attractive people show me the time of day. Hopeless!

But moving on, I really did come straight home from uni today and fall into a delicious slumber. The days leading up to the culmination of my academic servitude have been intense. Yesterday, I left the house at six thirty in the morning in order to get to Hannah's house and trudge off to film one final interview at eight. Made our way to uni, and aside from attending my last ever Magazine Publishing class, spent the day in the film lab, possibly in the fetal position, finishing off our project. We walked out of that lab at nine twenty that evening, and with exhaustion and offending sleepiness on my back, the one hour commute home was quite possibly the most excruciating train ride I have ever experienced.

Handed the finished film in today and felt vastly disappointed with the realisation that this was my last ever Television and Current Affairs class. So grateful to have had such a thrilling and inspiring lecturer in Mark Bannerman, who actually works at the ABC on Four Corners and the 7:30 report. WE LOVE YOU MARK! There is now a group on Facebook aptly titled "The Mark Bannerman Appreciation Society" for which I might possibly be an admin... Um.

And because it's virtually an impossibility for me to walk away from a blog entry without a picture dump, I leave with some stills from our copious amounts of footage - five and a bit hours worth of footage, to be precise. Naturally, I have an overwhelming amount of scenes to screenshot, but I only picked a handful to show:

So goodnight, I have my screenplay to refine for tomorrow, which ideally if I don't fail anything, will be the last assessment I ever have to hand in.

I leave you with three picture of me being an uninspired pirate wench from the weekend:

Posted in: on Tuesday, November 3, 2009 at at 10:37 PM 7 comments Links to this post

i put a wig on you when you were sleeping & i just lay there & spooned you

The current state of my existence - a thorough exploration in bullet points:

* Tinned tuna and crackers have become a constant in my life. Their relative cheapness and easiness to pack with other necessary items for uni outweigh the obvious downside of smelling like a poor man's concubine for the rest of the day. It should also be noted that tuna and crackers are devious little f*ckers because they trick me into feeling good about my calorie-controlled lunch consumption, only to have me then put McDonald's out of business because I am a) immediately starving, and b) viciously obsessed with eating. And thus the whole "doing my body good" thing is grievously nulled.

* I have undertaken one of the most arduous character building exercises ever. Yes, it's akin to volunteering at retirement homes to wipe bottoms, and even more painful than watching Beyonce for longer than anyone should have to. (Sorry Kanye) For a large part of this week, I've put my self-consciousness on suspension... and worn glasses. In public. TO THINK I HAVE HAD PHYSICAL INTERACTION LOOKING LIKE A FOUR-EYED-BEAST!!1!!1!

* Have spent more than sufficient time in the uni film suite this past week to be at liberty to call it my (volatile) lover. He's made me laugh and made me (want to) cry! He's encouraged my creativity and pushed me to exhaustion! He's been at the forefront of my mind and been a needy, attention-craving little maniac. Like I said, a volatile lover. Just a preview of what I've been working on:

* Clean underwear has also decided to become a myth, or gremlins have decided to raid my underwear drawer and present the findings to their leaders. I have been wearing bathing suit bottoms. Yesterday, while walking back to my car from the supermarket, I felt a sensation that can be acutely described as 'falling underwear'. One side of my bikini strings came undone and I ended up walking the rest of the way back holding dearly onto my bottom, as if I were rescuing turd from premature departure.

* Hannah asked me to do a speech at her upcoming 21st. I am ecstatically flattered at being picked amongst her HUGE list of loves to share a few words and anecdotes, as well as violently mortified about my dull droning's ability to inflict sleepiness upon her guests. She is beautiful and charming and the baby spinach to my cous-cous, and damnit, this speech better amazing.