MissLeonie.com

I have got the housewife routine down to a tee. It took me all of two days to find a workable routine to keep my house spotless, despite the fact that the building is a construction zone. There is dust EVERYWHERE. In my neverending attempts to keep my appartment somewhat liveable, I took my mum’s advice to mop the floor every day. Only, where do I go after the mopping?

Haharr! Leonie, Queen of Mops, has a solution. I eat dinner, then I mop the lounge/bed area of my appartment, cornering myself in the kitchen. While I do the dishes, the floor in the living area takes it sweet time to dry (it’s a good thing I’m not the quickest domestic goddess). By the time I’m finished, the living room is no longer or a “Watch out! Slippery!” area. I remove the cone, mop the kitchen and make myself comfortable. The one essential element of this is Muse’s “Black Holes & Revelations” album. It’s a good thing no one can see me grooving while doing the dishes. I should never admit to grooving while doing the dishes, but what’s more sad is that I’m incredibly proud of managing all this. I can live completely independently! I can! I cut my own chicken breasts (EWWW!), clean my own stuff, bring out the rubbish… Destiny’s Child, eat your heart out. How’s this for being an independent woman? Now all I need is a working cooking plate. I’m sick of tripping fuses with this malfunctioning crossbread runt of a cooking plate. How am I supposed to celebrate my inner Nigella like this?

Also, I’m a psychic. The reeds I took a photo of yesterday? I saw a rather large piece of machinery kill them all. I have my picture, though, so I win.

I’m typing this from my uni room in my uni town, where I’m sitting on my uni chair behind my uni desk. Classes start tomorrow. Mondays will be a delight: I’ll have to rise and shine early, because my first class starts at 8:45. I’m looking forward to all my courses, but it’s the kind of “looking forward” that comes with a slight knot in the stomach. You never know: perhaps my brain has gathered so much dust through neglect that it will choose to let me down tomorrow. As Bill Bailey would say, “it COULD happen.”

I’ve been meeting with friends all day. I must have drunk roughly ten cups of tea so far - no wonder I’ve been admiring my beautiful bathroom a large number of times. Let’s just say I’m well-hydrated. It’s been great fun - people keep calling and dropping in. And when they don’t, when I go outside armed with a camera and tripod, I still bump into people I haven’t seen for six months and strike up a conversation. My chat muscles are in excellent form.

I’ve taken a few photos of my room already, but I won’t post them yet. First, the weather has been lousy, which means the light is all cold and awful, which in turn means that pictures don’t look as nice as they should. Secondly, I’m not sure how I feel about everyone on the interweb knowing what my appartment looks like :P

The graphic at the top is a small version of a picture I took this afternoon. The reeds kept waving in the wind, so all my shots are slightly blurred. This one looks alright all sized down though. Hopefully tomorrow will be less windy - I’m looking forward to taking photos of this crazy little town. After all, my university looks like Hogwarts and the town is dressed to match (Hogwarts?).

My mum walked into my room at 8:30 this morning. “Leonie?” she said. “Hmmmeh?” I replied. It had snowed outside, but only such a little bit that mum was afraid I’d miss it if I didn’t have a look now. And sure enough, an almost transparent layer of white dust had gathered on every horizontal object in sight. I took a few photos and went right back to sleep. Perhaps I’m part bear. I could never just be lazy.

I haven’t uploaded any of this morning’s photos yet, but to my surprise, I found that one of my photos had been featured on this website. Apparently traffic on MissLeonie.com is picking up too. I was surprised to find out that I’m no longer writing only for the people I have guilt-tripped into reading my website. Hi everyone! *waves*

I’ll be completing the final stages of moving into my uni room tomorrow. The room will be the first semi-adult room for me: I’ve lived in a shared house before, but never have I had a bathroom and a kitchen of my own. Unfortunately, this also means that if I pull the door shut behind me just as I remember my keys are still inside, I will be well and truly screwed. In my old uni house, my room had its own front door, and a door that opened into the hallway. Whenever I did the whole “my keys are behind that locked door, aren’t they?” routine, odds were that the front door was open and my hallway door would be unlocked still. Thankfully, I have two spare keys that I will be sure to distribute to very responsible people who would never lock themselves out. However, if I really work the “keys, who needs ‘em?” theory, I’ll be outside the building before I realise it. Most likely, I will walk to the (locked) bikeshed and realise that my keys are a few stairs up, behind two locked doors. Challenge!

Pictures of my new educationally enforced abode soon!

Perhaps certain TV shows are only fit to accompany us during a certain, distinct stage of our lives. Basically, what I’m saying is THANK GOD I NEVER CAVED AND BOUGHT THOSE BUFFY DVDS. The result would have been a lot of money gathering dust in shiny cases with Sarah Michelle Gellar on the cover. Similarly, no matter how cute Rose McGowan is (I love her simply for being pale), Charmed sucks these days. You know it does.

However, perhaps the reason neither of these shows interests me anymore is because simply put, the shows were awful after a few brilliant seasons. I was worried that Grey’s Anatomy and Gilmore Girls were awaiting the same faith - both shows had ceased to make me laugh. I’ll go ahead now and admit the horrible truth: I once ran a Gilmore Girls fansite. If you can call a frequently updated MSN Group a “fansite.” Considering the sorry state of many fansites, we weren’t doing too bad. We had amazing colour co-ordinating skills. And Paint Shop Pro. I know, I KNOW!

Anyway, Monday night’s Grey’s Anatomy made me giggle. A lot. And Tuesday’s Gilmore Girls episode actually made me laugh out loud. Either these shows have returned to their former level of marvellousness, or I have somehow reconnected to the shows. Now, as far as Gilmore Girls is concerned (SEMI SPOILER) - Rory has finally finished the ShutUp Rory stint. She is still a presumptuous little brat, and she’s still nursing the high horse, but for some reason she’s more… bareable. She’s at uni again. Her boyfriend is overseas. So, OK, perhaps Rory and I have bonded again because, you know, SHE’S TURNED INTO ME?

(Berries photographed on a walk in my very own Stars Hollow)

Liam: “It’s a toilet rag. It’s like the bogan times.”

Leonie: “Heh.”

“It is though, it’s a piece of shit rag about celebrities.”

“It’s got some normal news too, you know.”

“You wouldn’t find any news or current affairs in it.”

“Yeah you would. They’d write about it in Sesame Street language.”

“It runs stories that should be headlines as little half page things after page 7 and the first page is ‘Are Posh and Becks feeling clucky?’ with the sub headline ‘tongues are wagging.’ If your tongue is wagging about those two?”

“I’ll have to start my own thingsmyboyfriendsays.com.”

“It should be ripped from your skull. It is PATHETIC! The best part is when you open the front cover and look at page 3. Bang! Tits! Now THIS is a newspaper.”

My toes are defrosting as I’m typing this. Weather forecasts predicted frost at night, but when I woke up, which is significantly later than “in the morning,” everything was still covered in a layer of tiny ice crystals. We’ve had the warmest winter in years, the cause of some environmentalist concern. Apparently, this winter is proof of the global warming theories: it’s too warm, there are heavy storms. What people neglect to mention is that Australia had a remarkably cool spring and summer until a few weeks ago. So perhaps we ought to talk about climate change, not global warming. I realise that one can bring forth the other, but personally believe that climate change is a natural phenomenon. Who says we’re not living a couple of thousand years before the next ice age? I’ll admit that we are a little too good at destroying the rainforests and filling the atmosphere with exhaust fumes. Mother Earth is grossly underestimated, though. We think we control the earth, but when it comes down to it, we’ve got nothing on her. Tsunamis? Hurricanes? Bushfires? Sure, we’re playing this Earth Demolition Game alright, but Mother Earth has a never-ending supply of trump cards. Mother Earth 1 - People 0.

But anyway - frost. I wasn’t planning to lecture about my opinion on global warming. It was -5 when mum and I left to buy some fabric on the market, because my kitchen has no actual kitchen facilities. Most notably, any kitchen smells have nowhere to go except into every last bit of cloth in my bedroom. To prevent embarrassing situations in which I’ll smell like garlic or chips, we’ve come up with the idea of creating a curtain. Any time I use my deep fat frier, the stink will be absorbed by the curtain - a very washable curtain, as the fabric salesman ensured us. Leonie 1 - Uni Housing Corporation 0. Unfortunately, also: Frost 1 - Leonie’s Fingers 0.

I spent the better part of this afternoon hand-coding an archives page. There should now be a link in the right hand menu of every page. On the archives page, you will be able to find individual links to every single post on MissLeonie.com. Never know when you may need one. I think that going through labour will be easy after the pure agony that handcoding EVERY SINGLE LINK of six months proved to be. It took hours of frustration (this is where I apologise for throwing a hissyfit when my sister asked to borrow the laptop power cord for the other laptop THAT DOESN’T CURRENTLY HAVE A BATTERY - I’m sorry), but it’s done. I’ve since checked every last link on the page: as far as I can tell, they all work.

I spent a nice chunk of yesterday coding anchors for every post on this website. Those have now all been checked too - again: as far as I can tell, they all work. I should probably explain that I have no HTML experience whatsoever. Liam set up this website, and I’ve maintained it by copy-pasting and altering bits of code; trial with a LOT of error. I’m learning though, and I like that this website allows me to practice very basic HTML. I purposely opted for a more hand-coded website - I could use Movable Type to publish posts for example, but I’m a control freak. The current version of this website allows me to costumise everything exactly the way I like it: the only limit is my knowledge of HTML. Actually, the only limits are my knowledge of HTML, Liam’s knowledge of HTML, and Liam’s tolerance of my asking him how the hell to code my crazy ideas. So far, so good.

Please let me know if you find something that doesn’t work. Let me know if the website doesn’t agree with your browser (unless you use Microsoft IE, in which case you should just get a new browser). I know it looks alright in Firefox, and any Safari users dropping me a line about how MissLeonie.com looks in that browser are sure to win a biscuit. Except, I don’t have any biscuits, so maybe not. You will have my eternal gratitude, though. And honestly, biscuits taste mighty good, but they only last so long.

My uncle asked me what kind of job I’d like to have when I finish uni when he visited the other day. I replied that I’d like to work for a publishing house in whatever capacity, though preferably as an editor. I’ve never wanted to be a doctor, a fireman or a teacher. For longer than three minutes, anyway. So what do I want to be when I grow up?

I’d like to be an author, but I’m scared to try in case I’m no good. People have always told me I’m good at writing, but I lack the confidence to give it a proper go. I hear succesful writers talking about how “the story just HAD to come out,” or a certain idea just wouldn’t let them go. I don’t have that, which makes me think that perhaps I’m not destined to be a writer after all. Deep down I think I may very well be suppressing stories that come up in my head for fear of failing, but that’s something I’ll need to discuss on a black couch in an amazingly minimalist office.

So if not a writer, what would I like to be? I’ve found I really enjoy taking photos. Being a photographer must rank high on the list “you lucky bastard!” jobs: you get to go to beautiful places just to take that perfect shot. Or if travel expenses are still yours to take care of, then your job forces you to slow down and take a better look at how beautiful life can be every day. Unfortunately, everyone and their goldfish owns a digital camera these days. I’d say there’s a photographers’ surplus.

Ideally, I would like to be a Dooce. Taking photos, writing semi-fiction (i.e. non-fiction with an artistic licence), being my own boss… Of course there are downsides. Notably, there already is a Dooce. And I’d rather not be dooced. In addition, Dooce doesn’t “just” write a blog for a living. I’d have to write other things, too. And risk those things being crap. Moreover, I couldn’t code a website from scratch to save my life.

For the time being, I will at least continue to blog. It’s good practice and seeing as it’s all about me me me, I’ll never run out of things to say. Heh.

Hey, if all else fails: I make some mean American pancakes!

“I’m not going to buy any more Lush,” I said.

“Yes, you will,” Liam replied.

“No, I won’t. I’ve got enough shampoo to last me these last few months of uni.”

“You have enough shampoo to last you a lifetime. You’d think that with 250 bottles stashed under your bed, you’d last at LEAST the last few months of uni. Why on earth would you need 250 bottles of shampoo, anyway?”

“Well, I buy them when they’re on special. This way, I get all my shampoo cheap and I’ll never run out and have to buy an expensive bottle after all. It’s not like I’ll stop washing my hair or something, so I might as well have a stock of shampoo. And conditioner.”

“You stock up so you’ll have enough to last you till the next time shampoo’s on special, and then you give all the shampoo to your mum so you can buy some more.”

“Ehm, possibly… Also, I only have ten bottles stashed under the bed!”

“Why do you need ten bottles of shampoo?”

“Five! Half of them are conditioner.”

“Then why do you need five different conditioners?”

“I don’t use them all at the same time! They’re my backup! That way, I’ll always have.. be…”

“Clean?”

“Hmpfff.”

Those argumentation and rhetoric classes? Wasted on me. *tear*

We managed to get ALL my stuff packed up in a little van with only two seats. We even managed to squash me into the space between the two seats, so I could, you know, actually come along to see my new place. If you are a member of the police force, then you did not read that last sentence.

They say first impressions are everything. My first impression was that my room used to be the home of six little piggies who enjoyed frequent mud baths. On my floor. The rooms were only “finished” (I use this term loosely) yesterday, so the cleaning left a bit to be desired. My mum mopped and mopped the floor four times at the start, and once more before we pulled the door shut behind us and left. My room is on the first floor, which means that I am forever indebted to 1. the inventor of the elevator (whom I would name personally if I google could help me out here) and 2. my sweet German neighbours who helped my parents move my wardrobe upstairs (whom I would name personally if I knew their names). You may think that it’s a bit off I don’t even know my future neighbour’s name yet, but there aren’t even numbers up (try finding your new appartment!), let alone names, and we were all busy moving our stuff. So there.

I also had to have my picture taken so I could pick up my student’s travel card. My hair looked about the same as the above furbie’s, so I christened my new (beautiful! lovely! hot!) shower. As I was drying my hair, a man I had never seen before wandered into my room holding something that vaguely resembled a part of my sofa. Turns out one of the construction workers had offered to give my parents a hand. Ahhh. Hello!

We got all my stuff into the room, meanwhile discovering that we had forgotten such vital equipment as my TV and my desk chair. Oops. We’re going back next weekend to finish up, this time with our own car that gladly holds more than two seats. The room is really starting to come together though, it’s starting to be mine. I had worked out where I wanted everything to go in my head, and it all fit when we got there. My desk and my sofa are near the window, for maximum natural light. My bed is against my bathroom wall, so I will be least disturbed by neighbours or passers by. My bookcase holds the new books I’ll need for the upcoming semester. This book is positively monstrous. My new classes are going to be awesome. My new room is going to be great. My new furbie is going to face abuse from people all over the world. Things aren’t too bad.

Pictures of my new room probably sometime next weekend, after everything is finished up and only if I don’t forget to bring my camera again. Doh!

PS. The Furbie? McDonalds Happy Meal toy. Yes, I’m 20 - what are you trying to say?