Monthly Archives: October 2014

Top Ten T- Oh Fuck its Wednesday

Nothing ruins a Tuesday feature post quite like realising it was yesterday.

Yesterdays feature post on the Broke and the Bookish was the query: the top ten places that books have made you want to visit. They actually specified that they can be fictional, because everyone knows, us introverts have filled our weekly sunlight quota on the weekly shopping trip at dusk and we are more likely to want to travel to Pandora than Paris. I really don’t know if I am an introvert or a vampire. But let’s get down to yesterday’s business.

  1. Hogwarts (H.P)

In particular – the prefects bathrooms, St. Mungo’s, Three Broomsticks, the Department of tumblr_nd311jwTLA1qjmus3o3_250Experimental Charms. Can you imagine how interesting it would all be! I never understood why Harry and Ron would always complain about their homework. I’m here fucking around with differentials and you, you poor sod, are stuck learning about things that you can make out of thin air in a matter of seconds.  Going to a hospital in the muggle world is all disinfectant and old people. Going to a bar…is probably exactly the same. But for a thirteen year old to like Butterbeer – it would have to be pretty freaking amazing wouldn’t it!

  1. Lavender farms in France (Wild Lavender)

At least this one isn’t fictional. This book was based on events in the 40’s but I assume lavender still grows somewhere around there. I would have added all the other French locations, but I feel that without all the 40’s atmosphere, it wouldn’t have the same magical touch.

  1. Northern Lights (Northern Lights)

northernOr as the Americans call it – The Golden Compass. A far shittier name I might add.  My desire to see them may have even pre-dated the Northern Lights reading, because I certainly remember watching Brother Bear and thinking, there is no way this magical curtain of light is a real thing. The Northern Lights goes all ‘doorway to another world’ on me and I am hooked. It’s magic. There can be no doubts.

  1. Gion, Japan (Geisha of Gion, Memoirs of a Geisha)

I’m not even sure if this is tourist accessible – or if it has become a tourist attraction. Ironically I don’t like either of those options.

  1. The Forests of Silence (Deltora Quest)

This was the book that made me want to live in a tree. I wanted to build a nest in the tree tops and steal coins off passing kids. But when you’re in the only tree in an otherwise empty paddock – it just doesn’t have the same feel.

  1. Ellesméra (Inheritance Cycle)

For the same reason as the Forests of Silence. Living in tree’s are the shit. Apparently. GUESS I’LL NEVER KNOW!

  1. Noodle Vendors in China

Because I’m really hungry right now. I read about them in pretty much every book set in China. It was always hot and tasty sounding. I don’t have any noodles in my apartment. The struggle is real.

  1. The Capitol (Hunger Games)

Again with the hunger thing, at Katniss’ obsession with that plumb stew thing. Guys I didn’t go tumblr_mf21z6vtCq1r9ho1uo2_250grocery shopping and all I have in my house is mostly stale bread that perhaps could be saved by a toasting. It’s no plumb stew. Just let me have this.

  1. London (for every book, ever)

Readers, I feel you shouldn’t even question this despite my lack of literary title to back it up.

  1. New York (Mortal Instruments)

I actually think that TV shows are the ones to blame for my wanting to go here. But when I think of Novels set in New York, these are the ones that come to mind.  There always seems to be food and music and excitement… and food… Dammit. I need to go shopping.


In Sickness and in Sickness Only

So I have loved lists from the dawn of time. If I need to do anything, I will first have to write a list. Pro’s and con’s lists, things to read lists, grocery lists, goals lists, and best of all: blog lists. Largely to the embarrassment provided by the last list fiasco, I have deemed it reasonable, even necessary to write another one.

tumblr_inline_n5js9hsODb1qafrh6Tuesday’s excuse my largely due to a bad-ass sickness, maybe a plague, maybe a cold, no one really knows. Except me – defs a plague. This weekend, us Australian’s were granted a public holiday for Labour Day. Labour day is pretty much an anniversary of when we brought in an 8 hour working day, as opposed to the 12 hour charmers that Australians experienced prior. Unless you’re a bartender. 12 hours for you still – and no public holiday. Ha.

Anyhow. I was granted my first public holiday since the beginning of time and I promptly went a caught the plague.  That weekend, I saw nought but the ceiling of my lounge room, the ceiling of my bedroom, and let’s be honest, the inside of the fridge as well. Sickness or not, I shall be eating 3-6 meals a day.

But. I was well enough to go to work on Tuesday. For those of you wanting Amy’s Miracle Cure for the plague, see the following steps I took to get well in time for another week of work.

  1. Watch The Mindy Project

Mindy is essentially an Indian Bridget Jones. In the last two minutes (yes I’m watching as I write this, tumblr_nd3eb5LlsD1s8kjvlo1_500both of these things happened:

  • “Stop writing a suicide note” <rips> “Hey! I was contesting a jay walking ticket”.
  • “You said that six hours ago.” “Six hours ago is a lifetime for some bugs.”

Who thinks of these things? So much has been put into perspective. I’ve been looking at my life all wrong. I need to wear more sparkly tops, buy more expensive bath wash, and I need to clean my ceiling…

  1. Doughnut porn.

I came across this fabulous Tumblr page whilst searching for a picture for my last post and I accidentally spent an hour here. I don’t even like doughnuts that much. But we’re getting side-tracked. Dammit guys concentrate.

Realise tissues are way too soft and switch back to toilet paper, only to run out of toilet paper and have to use tissues for toilet paper.

Yeah, not your average complaint. But seriously, after living with tissues, branded: a la toilet paper, the amount of softness in your regular eucalyptus tissue is just ridiculous. I feel like I’m blowing my nose into flour. Not very clean.

Ate 3 different types of orange flavoured medicine.

How fucking disgusting is orange flavouring? Do they even know what orange tastes like? Do they make it ‘orange’ flavoured to make us think that it is healthier! When I am fully recovered and can voice the actual outrage I possess – I will probably be able to write it in capitals.

Quick flash back to Mindy Project

“Can we trade lines, because that lady just asked to buy my penis”, <scoff> “ha, she doesn’t have any money.”

I hope my Mother doesn’t read this, she will be furious at my absence of actual cures. Sorry Mum.

Characters Behind the Wheel

Tuesday, Tuesday, Tuesday. The day I get all of my traffic. Thanks Broke and the Bookish for pushing all of your internet friends my way. Anyway, this week’s attraction is the top ten books for readers who like character driven novels.

I don’t even know how to go about this question, I’m not even sure I entirely understand it. Characters who are more than two dimensional? Characters that are relatable and likeable? Characters that have a driving license? Characters who drive you to insanity? Enough with the driving references Amy, it’s clearly not that. So to sum it up for the voices (yes plural) in my head – let’s go with a theme more along the lines of: characters that outweigh the rest of the books benefits.

  1. Game of Thrones

Oh don’t give me that, you knew this one was going to be number one.  There are so many characters in this novel that it practically doesn’t have room for plot. The chapters are literally named after the characters. Every time Tyrion’s chapter comes along I breathe a sigh of happiness.  Which sounds exactly like my sigh of annoyance when Bran’s chapter comes along. Seriously (SPOILER) is he learning to become a tree? You can imagine how great this isn’t.

  1. Gone with the Wind

Full of the most flawed but unfortunately realistic characters. It amazes me that Scarlet O’Hara is scarletconsidered a heroine. She’s a really terrible person, and if I were her friend I would pretty much use her for her second-part-of-the-book wealth because she has nothing else going for her. But where was I going? Oh yes…She’s quite a character.

  1. The Slap

Man. I don’t want to talk about this book. I didn’t enjoy reading it. But if you like character driven books you’ll probs enjoy it. Many characters. Some good. Most bad. All human.

  1. A Picture of Dorian Gray

Do you like how great I am at coming up with an excellent selection? I’m actually running out of ideas and I’m only at number four. Somebody help me. I hate characters, I live for plot and magical creatures. But Dorian Gray is a real D-bag, and so full of himself. Reminds me of 50% of the people I know. #selfiewhore… or perhaps a #portraitwhore would be more accurate.

  1. Graceling (Also Fire and Bitterblue)

There is more to these characters than their special abilities. While the plotlines are epic and the monsters are glorious, I definitely read them for kick ass characters. Or more to the point, a likeable female character that kills people sometimes. Our girls are relatable, or at least what I would aspire to be. If I was allowed to murder people. Mum says no.

  1. The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night Time

I am puffed from all the typing that title took. Good thing I don’t have ‘Don’t tell my mother I work on the rigs, she thinks I’m a piano player in a whore house’ on this list. No one has more of a personality than a kid with Asperger’s. I once spoke to a lady who told me her child took everything literally. “Hop out of the bath”, “dig in to your dinner”, etc. Do you know how often that comes up in a life?

  1. I am really sick and on some medication that is making this list writing business the opposite of easy.
  2. I just re-read point six and realised I didn’t talk about the book at all.
  3. I’m going to avoid reading the rest of my work so I don’t feel bad about my writing ability.
  4. Ignorance is the key to confidence. Copyright bitches. No not really, you can bang that mofo on a T-shirt if you want to.

Can someone just comment the rest of the books so I don’t feel bad for not thinking of another Five? The light is hurting my eyes and this keyboard sounds like me when I walk down a wooden floor board with heels and the left one has been worn down so much that the metal is sticking out and it sounds like the fucking cogs in the gates of hell. TAP TAP TAP, JEEZ!

Krispy Kremes and Cocktails

My boyfriend is addicted to Original Glaze. But only when he’s drinking. I don’t mean to make him sound like an alcoholic or morbidly obese. He is neither of these, let me reiterate. So many of my bar tending friends become someone else when they drink: chain smokers, therapists, professors of tumblr_nc9ubpQiJv1tfyxr5o1_500modern history, and that one guy that actually becomes Beyoncé. I’ve got it pretty good, as Peychaud (code name) just likes misshapen pastries.

One of the problems with dating a bartender, especially one who is passionate about his job, is the concoctions and cocktails that must be consumed for research purposes. This doesn’t sound like much of a problem, I know. Oh no, poor baby has to have delicious cocktails all the time. Oh no, my boyfriend keeps bringing me drinks on a silver platter and keeping me cool with a palm frond. Fun fact though: you cannot eat healthily if you drink all the time, because nothing goes hand in hand quite like anything from 7-11 and being drunk.

I live in the fabulous West End (the Brisbane variety). It used to be the slums, but recently there has been a collective effort in the community to raise the real estate value.  So now it’s full of Italian vintage wines and fancy Greek restaurants. There are tiny cocktail bars, whisky bars, and places that serve assorted cheese and cured meats. The décor can only be ceiling lights with Barbie heads on spikes, bars made from books or giant ant farms. You want a schnitzel? Good fucking luck buddy tumblr_n6s8z8H21G1r8lutfo1_500(actual lie, you can get plenty of schnitzels, but I’m trying to make a point here). I can fetch you some beef shavings with cauliflower puree. Want a drink? You must have this new cocktail served in a cracked vintage mug: chipotle bitters with white peach liqueur and the blood of a virgin. I can find you some Glenfiddich old enough to be my father. Even the tap water has probably been blessed by monks and smoked with pinewood and basil.

Someone desperately wants to bring West End out of the ghetto and into the dimly lit lounge of hipsterdom. I appreciate those people. But all their willpower and good-doings isn’t enough to get rid of the junkies that litter the pubs. Or the Sunday boys in snapbacks and Saturday girls with mascara two inches lower than their eyes and heels three inches too high to walk in. They get their kebabs with a slice and a half of tomato and enough onion to kill a small rodent and sit around, loudly showing off their ignorance and arrogance.

The funniest thing living in this jumble is that you become a weird combination of both worlds. My boyfriend is the epitome of this with his addiction to Krispy Kremes and complex cocktails.

“You know what goes well with a revised Sidecar? Krispy Kremes.”

“Nothing sets off a $22 schooner of craft beer like original glaze.”

“Hold my non-digital polaroid camera… Want to know how many I can fit into a single box?”

I have eaten more Krispy Kremes in the last three months than the last 21 years. You may ask why I’m also eating them if Peychaud (still a code name) is the one who is addicted. Because eating tumblr_nbwrk9u9p51tfyxr5o1_500Krispy Kremes alone is like drinking alone. It’s depressing. Being an ex-bartender myself, I can vouch for the depressive state of the solo drinker. And not the quick-beverage-after-work or the waiting-for-a-plane drinker. But the 11am-on-spirits-already drinker, the tequila-shot-for-one drinker. The how-funny-is-it-when-you-lose-your-job-and-your-wife-leaves-you drinker. There is no better way to prove your dedication to another person, than to help them eat a box of Krispy Kremes. It will probably written on my tombstone: Amy Wallin, dearest sister, loving daughter, back-having with Krispy Kreme addictions. Died of diabetes at age 23.

Oh and If you’re wondering how many he can fit into a box, it’s eight.