summer holiday.

i'm taking some time out post robbing. i wanted very much to write about this, but it seems i can't even talk about it without crying somewhat.

see you on the other side of my summer holiday.

cmx

sometimes only grover understands me...

open letter pt 2

Hi Matt,

I hope this letter finds you well.. You know, not too tired from touring, being awesome etc.

So, I purchased your album even though I had already decided that it “fucking sucked” and that I wasn’t looking forward to your gig. I may have slandered you a little, accused you of selling out and told anyone who would listen just how disappointed I was in you, how you hurt me and made me mad. I got the album because I like complete sets of things, I’m a bit like that.

Matt, I’m really sorry and I was wrong. Your album is amazing and a late runner for my album of 2008. It makes me want to yell along with my best mate, and then punch her in the face, hug her and then drink a beer and kick stuff with her. I like to yell along to it when no one is home and it reminded me that it’s okay to be mad about things that upset me.

The gig last weekend was awesome. It will probably be gig of the year for me even though the “sparkle stalker” was there and making me feel a bit uncomfortable. I had a really great time. I’m still black and blue with bruises but whenever I think about that gig I have a big smile on my face.

I’m sorry Matt, I’ve missed you and your band mates terribly… I was wrong and I can see that. Do you think we could be friends again?

Caseymoira x

freudian slip of the year

caseym: thanks so much for the flowers! they are beautiful. take care over the break and have a lovely christmas!

photocopying guy: (as he heads towards the door) i love you too!

yay!

cmx

don't let me know it's christmas time...

I’m normally a bit of a Grinch around this time of year and not without good reason.

My mum was married to a bodybuilder for a few years and he managed to destroy Christmas with his steroid fed anger. Seriously. This usually resulted in tears, charred meat on the barbeque and a lot of slamming of doors. Mum would be crying, John would be red faced with his mega arms flailing and I’d just be standing there with Abby shaking my head and muttering under my breath something about next year it being her family’s turn to take us.

Mum would also make this epic deal out of Christmas, inviting loads of people around and insisting on catering for everyone. The days leading up to Christmas would be tense. Mum would be in the kitchen until two am making, mixing, caking and cursing. Hours would be spent in Safeway shopping, waiting, shoplifting (that would be me) and swearing. It was a pretty scary time. My mother would be so volatile that I would not go into the kitchen or the surrounding areas for fear of her manic, stressed outbursts. Rather than eat well, I would snack on my shoplifted snacks in my bedroom, sneak out my window for some fresh air and spend a lot of time in the bathroom doing what I guessed girls did in there. Hiding from my mother due to THE FEAR*

Christmas is a period of immense, unnecessary stress, and I still very much stand by this.
The carols stress me, the summer tv guide stresses me, the shopping stresses me, the people stress me. Christmas brings out the fuckwit and I have a low tolerance of the fuckwit.

About a month ago, my Mum asked me what I wanted for Christmas and I said “to be left alone, for just one day. I just want to read in bed, drink tea and ride up to Pete’s place in the arvo for a beer.” Normally, this would upset her, she’d make this big deal about how Christmas is family time and she would be devastated to not see me. I was ready for it, I had worked out how to justify it to her and get her to come around to the idea of Boxing Day dinner, near my house, at somewhere I like to eat. Mum’s response was “Okay, that’s fine with me… It even makes things easier. We’ll come to yours with Jesse (rad step brother) on Boxing Day for dinner. WIN! I was speechless!

So I am getting exactly what I want this Christmas! Peace & quiet and the opportunity to do as I please. I’m a little nervous… It’s a bit of time to fill. The only downside I can see is that I don’t have any shoplifted snacks, and I’m currently struggling with the book I am reading. Both of these, I can work on in the coming days. Is this shaping up to be the greatest Christmas ever? We’ll just have to wait and see. I know it’ll be without THE FEAR* and that can only be a good thing.

Cmx

* THE FEAR is a feeling I get in the back of my neck when I know my mum is stressed and close to snapping at the closest family member. My neck tingles and tenses up. It’s like a built in warning system telling me to “stay the fuck away at all costs.”

nat graf.

dear nat,

if only this blog could be as awesome as you. happy birthday.

love, caseymoira x

oerohiaerohip34drgahion;adrg

i know i'm at my self-censoring best when my sent items contains 5 one line messages and my drafts folder holds 32 messages containing some of my finest, most hilarious and awful work to date.

when i'm at my worst - i really am at my best.

cmx

you took my heart in 1979

I bumped into an old friend on the tram this morning. I haven’t seen him since I moved from Brunswick about 9 months ago. This isn’t to say that I haven’t thought about him. In my less cluttered and flustered moments I have found myself thinking about him, hoping that he is well, warm and safe from harm. A couple of months ago, a comedian with appalling facial hair wrote an article about my friend in a Saturday paper which upset me greatly, it’s one thing to make an unjudging comment about someone’s slightly eccentric behaviour which I am aware I am doing now – it’s another to blatantly poke fun at my friend to entertain readers. As fate would have it, a few weeks later I had the opportunity to give this comedian a piece of my mind and did so – full of glee.

My friend is noisy, warm, and obnoxious. He cares little for what others think of him and I revel in his open displays of disdain and happiness and this morning he was at his finest. I sat opposite him and looked up – I was happy to see him, and see him looking quite well. I have no way of contacting him so these fated sightings bring me peace of mind. He looked directly at me, smiled and asked me “where have you been?” I said to him “Hello, I’ve been around, where have you been?” He replied with a cheeky smile and said “you know where I have been! Fixing my time machine!” Of course he has! Where else would my friend be?

He filled me in on the latest modifications to his time machine whilst the man in the suit sitting next to me sniggered into his coffee. My friend remembered something and became very animated, he proclaimed “That’s right! You took my heart in 1979! You took it! With the key! You took my heart in 1979!” Anyone who knows me away from the ramblings of this blog will know that this is not possible for I am a child of the excessive eighties… Nevermind fact- my friend was convinced that I took his heart in 1979, and told everyone on the tram.

I’m sure by now you have probably worked out that my friend is quite mentally unwell and when I do see him, it is in between his admissions to psychiatric wards and hostels. He has been a victim of the overstretched mental health system for the four years that I have “known” him and at times, I find his situation very hard to cope with. Sometimes my friend is clean, sometimes my friend is dirty, sometimes he looks a little more unsettled than usual but he always has a smile on his face… After his great announcement, my friend lept from the tram and wandered off. The man in the suit turned to me and said sarcastically “Must be your lucky day eh?” and I replied with a smile “well, it must be. It’s not everyday a gentleman accuses you of taking his heart and key.”

cmx

one month later

Today (unless I have lost count which is likely) is the one month anniversary of my quitting smoking... how about that?! Apart from that first week, I can't really say that I miss them or that I am feeling the supposed benefits of quitting the cigs. I should be feeling better, my lungs and skin should be clearing and according to all of the pamphlets I have read, I should have a new lease on life. I can run a bit longer at the gym and that is about it... I probably smell better too.

I'm still waiting for all of the benefits to kick in, but I am pretty happy that it's over. I said that if I get to day 31 without smoking i would feel confident enough to call myself a non-smoker and here I am... a non-smoker.

let's call this the comeback.

Recently, my friend Jacqui and I went and saw the movie Sexdrive. Not becuase we wanted to, but becuase Jacqui, being the competition superstar that she is, won us some free tickets. Half way through the movie and most of the way through our popcorn Jacqui turned to me and said "Case, I think that might be Dieter Brummer!" My eyes grew very wide and I turned to her and whispered "holy hell, you're right!" and for the rest of the movie we sniggered like teenage girls everytime "Dieter" came on the big screen.

It turned out that it wasn't dearest Dieter afterall, it was James Marsden but it got Jacqui and I thinking... where is Dieter now? Jacqui did some research and found that Dieter had recently been spotted cleaning some windows in Flemington which prompted repeated calls for a road trip from me.

This morning post-gym I was reading the paper and noticed that Dieter has landed a role in Underbelly II. I texted Jacqui in shock - she is yet to reply which I am taking as an obvious sign that she is in shock too. We spoke of him and he has returned. Magic really. Good work Dieter... I'm looking forward to seeing your cut abs on my telly once more, hell... I may even put your poster back up on my wall.

cmx

close corners.

I have been tapped by a car on a few occasions, nothing too serious which is surprising given just how accident prone I am, but the close call I had last night was enough to really piss me off. I don't drive becuase I have the common sense to know that I would be a terrible driver. I lack focus, I lack 20/20 vision and I lack the responsibility to handle a two tonne killing machine seriously.

Last night I was walking up Nicholson St from the gym and was about to cross over Moor St. Moor St is exit only from Nicholson St - for those of you that don't know what this means it means that you can not enter Moor St from Nicholson St. NO ENTRY. I checked both ways and proceeded to cross the road when quite literally out of nowhere a very expensive cars bumper bar came heading towards my shins. I looked up in horror, jumped back onto the kerb and watched the car turn from Nicholson St into Moor St, straigh past the no entry sign.

This really shocked and angered me, and my immediate response was to throw my drink bottle at the car- which I did, whilst hurling a torrent of abuse. The man pulled his very expensive car over and yelled out the window "What the fuck do you think you are doing?" I walked up to his car and said "Well, I threw my drink bottle at you for nearly hitting me with your car and followed it up with some abuse. What do you think you're doing?" He looked a little shocked that I questioned him. He said "I'm going to have you charged with Assault!" I laughed at this and said "Go ahead, When the police ask me as to why I threw a bottle at your car I will happily explain to them that you drove the wrong way down a one way street and nearly hit me with you car. How about we pop down to the Police Station right now and sort this out?" Again, he looked at me with shock, called me a "fucking idiot" and drove off. I stood and waved until he turned off Moor St, picked up my drink bottle, put my earphones in again and wandered up Nicholson St.

As my darling friend said "Cm, when you know you're right. you are a force to be reckoned with. You gotta fight for your right.... to pedestrian safety" and that is exactly what I plan to do, projectile water bottles and all.

cmx

Saturday Morning

I was sitting in the window of Vegie Bar and the sun was shining. I had an endless supply of coffee within reach, The Age in front of me and Nina Simone as the soundtrack. On the bench seat next to me was the hand of someone I am quite smitten with... occasionally this hand would reach out for mine, brush my leg or stroke my hair- all in a comfortable silence.

It's not too often that I feel like the cat who got the cream - but meow indeed.

Open Letter

Dear Matty from the Bronx,

Your show last year was one of the highlights of what was an exceptional year of gigs for me. My ears rang, my body ached and my throat was torn to shreds for weeks afterwards. I ranted and raved about how awesome that show was for months and when it was announced that you were touring again - let’s be honest my knickers became very damp for two reasons…

Last year you broke the news that you had “replaced” half of the band, and basically amalgamated The Drips & The Bronx to form some kind of ‘White Drugs’ supergroup. I was far from happy about this news, but decided to hold off on making an opinion until I heard The Bronx III. I like The Drips enough, I adore The Bronx, I thought it might work out okay.

I’m currently listening to The Bronx III and I am so disappointed that I ache. This album fucking sucks and I’ll only be coming to your stupid show to hear your old stuff.

Matty, Fuck you for breaking up the band.

Cmx

p.s. are you curious about how much this album sucks? http://www.muchmusic.com/music/firstspin/thebronx/

softer in the dark.

On Sunday I went to the movies to see Young At Heart with my Ma. The movie was okay. Three members of the choir died throughout the movie and I began sobbing at the first death, and continued until the end of the movie. This open display of emotion is very much unlike me, it’s well known in my small circle that I don’t show my feelings. My friend Abby once said “You may wear your heart on your sleeve, but you certainly don’t wear your feelings on your face.” Too true. She thinks she can count the amount of times I have cried on her fingers which works out to about one cry every year for ten years of friendship.

The crying in the cinema shocked and bewildered my Ma. She looked on in wonder, held my hand and whispered “you are so much softer in the dark…”

It's possibly the most accurate observation of me I have heard in quite some time.

such a quitter...

Today is day three without smoking.

Today is probably the day I am most likely to stab someone.
If I am not teary, I am rather angry. I can't think or walk straight.
I have headaches, I want to vomitron and I desperately need a hug and a cup of tea.

I just tried to call the quit line for a bit of advice but they were too busy to help, and I could leave a message if I wanted to.

things are dire. so very dire.

no more posts until things improve a bit.

cmx

sparkle skills.

Get yourself an education...

So last night, I was explaining to Brendan my current thirst for knowledge. I don’t really want to know about anything in particular, but I want to know “enough” whatever that may be, to form an educated opinion on issues that affect me. Someone I work with asked me my opinion on… I think it was Communism and I said “Well, I don’t really have an opinion, because I don’t know enough about it.” This got me thinking, There are so many political beliefs as well as religions and issues in the world that I simply don’t have an opinion on because I don’t know enough about the subject. I refuse to have an opinion on things like religion because in my mind, it is far better to have no opinion than an uneducated opinion.

I remember in Year 11, the day after 9/11 a girl I went to school with confirmed for me that sometimes silence really is golden. Nadine C was a bully, a tyrant and a brash bogan who utterly terrified me. Whilst discussing in Media Studies Nadine opened her mouth and sprouted the following seed of wisdom: “Like, I think this whole terrorist thing is totally sucking. All those people died and America is such a great country, I don’t know how anyone could do this to them. I hope all the Arabs in the World die.”

If ever there was a moment, that Nadine should have kept her uneducated opinion to herself, this was it. Nadine C, to me looked like a loud mouthed, ignorant twat who probably couldn’t point out where “the Arabs” might live on a map of the world, let alone understand the complexities of such a sensitive issue. Her stupidity infuriated me, but also took away any power she had over me. Nadine might like to fight with her fists (and believe me, I encountered them on more than one occasion) but now I knew I could beat her with words. More power to me. I thought very lowly of Nadine C from here on. She was at best “an uneducated bogan” amongst small group of friends and we gave her a fair bit of grief… when she couldn’t hear us of course.

I didn’t ever want anyone to think of me as an “uneducated bogan” and rather than open my big mouth and give people the chance to think that of me, I stayed quiet on topics I wasn’t sure of.

Nadine C’s only exposure to culture or diversity was probably at Knox Shopping Centre on a Thursday Night where she ate some spring rolls with her homies and as far as I know, not much has changed in 7 years for her. My issue currently is that I want to have an opinion on all sorts of things, but I don’t have enough facts to be able to make that opinion, and be able to say that it’s fairly educated. Well, educated enough for me to sleep at night and not feel as though, when discussing the topic – I sound like Nadine C. I’ve decided that I am going to spend a fair bit of my summer seeking answers to my questions, trying to form opinions and beliefs on things that matter to me and learn to feel comfortable with them. In other words, I’m off to get myself an education.

In other brief news, loads of great stuff has been happening in the last two weeks… but I am far too selfish to share them. It would be like sharing the mint chocolates in a milk tray… and we all know I’m not too good at that.

Cmx

werk

Today.

cm: Hello, How can I help you?
caller: Hello, my son is doing the Certificate II course but he can't fill out the form.
cm: ok, what part of the form is he having trouble with?
caller: the course title. he doesn't know what to write in the course title.
cm: errr.. so we are talking about certificate II?
caller: yeah...
cm: well, you could just write certificate II in there?
caller: oh. is that what you would call it? we couldn't work it out (laughs)
cm: errr. yeah. just write certificate II in there. we will know what it's for.

I'm just not sure that someone should be a security guard if they can't fill out a simple form and get their mum to call and find out the answer... like I said - mentally challenged and challenged by the mental.

cmx

post crash.

Abby sent me this photo of me from after the near death experience the other week... obviously text and alcohol helped my speedy recovery.

An open letter to Tuesday

Dearest Tuesday,

I think I have been unnecessarily harsh on you in the past. You are normally bland, unremarkable and almost torture. You lack the horror of Mondays (which makes them memorable, and I am allowed to complain all day on Mondays) and the sheer relief of Wednesdays (mid working week, etc). Recently, you have been almost the highlight of my week – and yesterday you were at your shining finest.

Thanks Tuesday, you taste like happiness and I won’t be so quick to judge you and put you down in the future.

Cmx

Eggs and Sammiches.

On Saturday night, All-Spark and I were minding our own business whilst walking to a bar. We were eating some sammiches and having a giggle when out of nowhere we were attacked by an egg, being thrown out of a passing car. Thankfully, it missed us both... but what the fuck?

What kind of moron thinks a good night out consists of driving around town pelting eggs and hapless sammich eating strangers?

Normally, this kind of thing doesn't really bother me. All-Spark was still in hysterics about it over coffee on Sunday afternoon which I suppose is the appropriate response to such a random act, but I can't help but take this attack a bit personally.

cmx

You're a nice guy Gary.

It was a beautiful sunny day, the bin across the road had caught fire which brought many a lovely fireman into my direct line of vision, my work colleagues were swell and all was perfect in my little bubble. It seems that it the sky clouded over, the firemen vanished and my little bubble was popped from the moment I stepped into a little restaurant in Malvern…

My telly-date (whom I shall name Gary Ablett from here on in) was late. I was made to wait around by the production crew even though it was incredibly obvious that I didn’t want to be there. I’m a punctual person, I like others to be punctual. I don’t like sitting in a restraint on my own for half an hour with a camera directed at me, catching my every pissed off glance at the door. Gary Ablett managed to make it to the date and apologise for being half an hour late (taxis, hair, clothing, diamonte belt buckle etc) and settled down with a beer. We had some idle chit chat for a while about nothing particularly exciting. The entire experience was so bland, I’m not entirely sure that I was there for it as I have little recollection of the hour and a bit we spent together. He made little effort to learn anything about me or my life (bar the requisite “so you have tattoos” conversation). To be honest, I am not sure that Gary Ablett really cared whether I was there or not. I could have died in his hotel room of an overdose (terrible joke I know) and his response would not have been dissimilar to his dear namesake. He spent a fair bit of time looking at the lights, eating squid and drinking beer. I spent a fair bit of time doing what I do best – overcompensating for an arrogant twit by being overly friendly, charming and interested in topics that normally make me want to lie down in a hotel room and… well, you get the hint.

After my date got up and left, I had to do my post date interview. I was 80% certain I would not be attending our rendezvous meeting scheduled for later that evening, but producers being producers decided it would make “like totally amazing television” if I was terribly undecided. So, We spent a lot of time filming me walk up and down the street looking torn (looking forward to my logie nomination later this year), and then I jumped into a cab and headed home. I had a beer and a bath, and tucked myself into bed for I was exhausted. I have to point out here, I was a little concerned that he might have turned up at the rendezvous point and that I was deliberately standing someone up, which made me feel pretty terrible. Not terrible enough that I didn’t sleep incredibly soundly last night but terrible enough to think about him for a moment and hope for the best.

This morning I had to go and do my post date interviews, I sailed through those and found out that Gary Ablett hadn’t turned up at the rendezvous meeting point either. It was not a feeling of rejection that passed through my body, but a massive sense of relief. I thought it was fantastic that we both felt that it was a pretty fucking terrible date and that neither of us thought that meeting again was a good idea. That whole “it’s okay buddy, the feeling is mutual” feeling sat with me so well, it almost warmed my heart.

So, I left my post date interview and stepped back out into the sun. Gang of Four was on my ipod, I had remembered my sunnies this morning and everything was settled again. I looked up, and Gary Ablett was crossing the road, heading towards me. We walked up to eachother with big smiles on our faces... I said “Hey Gary, I just found out that you didn’t turn up last night either!” he laughed and he said “Thank god, I felt terrible about possibly standing you up!” I replied with “No, It’s totally fine, there was no chemistry and the only reason I would have turned up was because I was worried about hurting your feelings." He agreed. We laughed, we hugged, high fived and wished each other all the best with the future and I wandered back to work with no ill feeling whatsoever.

Gary Ablett might have been a crap date, he might have been the complete opposite to what I am attracted to and we might have had nothing in common apart from the fact we are both the same species, but away from the pressure of the cameras and a barking producer he was a really nice guy, who was worried about hurting my feelings and wanted to wish me all the best. I hope he finds someone that can outdance him on the floors of Geelong’s finest nightclubs.

cmx

strange days

I don't have a lot of time today to write too much but some strange stuff has been happening.

here it is in point form.

* I just watched a bin catch fire.
* On Monday I witnessed a wheelie dumpster cross at a zebra crossing due to the wind. It was beautiful - almost like it was alive and had waited for the traffic to clear before it went to the market.
* A pidgeon flew at my face - I screamed.
* I am going on my 'tv date' (which currently sounds about as appetising as a tv dinner) in about half an hour.
* A friend and I both turned up at a gig dressed almost identically last night. little awkward...

more as more strange occurs.

cmx

Take Me Out.

Recently I have been spending a fair bit of time in a recording studio to be a part of a ‘reality dating style television show’ which, to be honest, is something completely out of character for me. Last winter, my anxiety was so severe I spent the entire season in lockdown at home, dancing to pulp and “working things out”, this winter I decided that applying for a reality television show might be a “fun idea.”I sent my application in as a bit of a joke, went to the audition as another bit of the joke and when I was told that I had been accepted as a ‘panel member’… well, it seems the joke was on me.

This show has taken up my weekends, weeknights, waking moments and not so waking moments. It has been pretty much all that has been discussed and dissected with my friends, co-workers and family for the last three weeks, to the point where I don’t even want to talk about it anymore – and it still hasn’t even aired. The show is awesomely lame, and if you don’t know much about it (please don’t ask me) check out the website www.ten.com.au/takenout to get a bit of an idea. I’ll write more about this as the questions elsewhere start to fade but it’s been an interesting experience for me. I have learnt a little bit about a whole world I didn’t know existed (fake tan, boutique, football, some song about apple bottom jeans and some boots with fur and pre mixed drinks), a bit more about how television works (recording, pause, applause, recording, pause, applause, rinse, repeat, rinse, repeat) and a whole lot about myself. For anyone who is unsure of who they are – I highly recommend filling out an application form for a reality show.

I have a date on Wednesday from the show. He is younger than I am, studying to be a chiropractor, he is only a little taller than me, was wearing an orange shirt, and is possibly the most average Joe looking person (in the nicest possible way) that you could imagine. Watching his profiles, I couldn’t help but think “whoa, he is a genuinely nice, respectful person who comes from a good family, and has plans for his future.” Things I have never considered in my previous relationships (yes, we may be onto something). When it got down to the final round I was shocked (and I am sure they will edit this in) that there were only two girls left for him. You could have pushed me off my podium with your pointing finger because I was horrified that women would buzz him out because he was “too nice”. I wanted to throw a stiletto, stamp my feet and yell through my perfectly applied lip gloss “too nice?! Are you effing kidding me? All I have heard about for 4 days is how all men are such assholes, all of your horror relationship tales, how you want to be treated with respect and cared for and you buzz this guy out because he is too nice?! And you think the men are the problem…”

Regardless of how this date goes, I think I am pretty lucky to be have the opportunity to hang out with and get to know this guy. He might be the polar opposite to what I am (usually) attracted to, but I can think of far worse ways to spend my Wednesday afternoon with someone who is “too nice”.

cmx