Almost Winners?

Today the Annual Sydney High Prefects Binball Match of Death occurred at lunchtime at the boys’ school. My being incredibly coordinated resulted in falling over twice (once with spectacular windmill arms right onto my bum, the other was a scramble that left me having fallen on my face with a strained wrist.)

Then I shook hands with Amebrain and that was when the pain shot through my wrist (right hand, of course), and I ended up sort of on the floor, but I didn’t cry! Proud? You ought to be.

Anyway, so we lost – two games to one when it was girls vs. boys (although Lish had to steal the bin and bring it into our half of the court for us to win) and two games to nothing when it was Whites vs. Asians.

Now this may make us sound like horrible people. Racial segregation is really not something I personally advocate. But it’s okay at Sydney High because everyone is so not racist that it doesn’t matter. It’s racist to be embarrassed by race, you know? Don’t hate me.

I’m on the bus now heading home and there’s this sweet old Chinese woman with her friend, I’m pretty sure they’re tourists because the one next to the window (I’ll call her Leopard Print Hair Clip) has her digital camera out and is taking pictures of my bus route. Isn’t that supremely gorgeous? To think that this route, which is to me the same old Parramatta Road, boring and ugly and uninspiring, is to someone else worthy of photo taking, is beautiful and new and exciting, just makes me incredibly happy. I sometimes try to think that way, as though everything I see is new, like I’m a tourist in my own city, just like Leopard Print Hair Clip. Then, every day is an adventure.

I sound like Peter Pan.

MAN ON MY BUS THAT LOOKS LIKE RORY (Doctor Who Rory, that is).

He just got off. L

Alright well I’m going now, I’m not almost home really but I’m tired, and napping on buses is a thing I do all the time.

Love you like almost being triumphant at binball today.

x

The Phallogynist (??)

I go to an all-girls school. Can you tell? I am going to confirm right here right now once and for all that this has a supremely large effect on my day-to-day behaviour.

When I was in primary school I decided that co-education was the path for me. I thought, if you go to a single-sex school, you are not prepared for real life, you won’t have the skills required to talk to the opposite gender, you’re screwed, basically. And then I got into Sydney Girls, and now I’m here after six years of single-sex education, and I am a self-proclaimed Phallogynist.

I also made up the word, with Lox’s help of course. A Phallogynist, if you’re wondering, is someone who hates males (as per misogynist and phallocentric and other such words whose stems/structure I stole).

Ew, boys are gross. Every single last one of them, and I’m going to admit it now, even the ones from Sweden. There’s nothing worse than getting on a lovely cool empty 610 of an afternoon and starting to cruise down Anzac Parade before grinding to a horrifying halt in front of the boys’ school. The disgust when you realise you’re going to have to contract into the back seat as opposed to sprawl over half the bus to make room for noisy, smelly, squeaky boys is indescribable. Ew yuck, basically.

Nonetheless, some theories I will have to discount: I can hold a conversation with anyone of any gender so long as they’re interesting in some shape or form (or if I have to be polite), and I think I am relatively well-prepared for the horror that is Real Life. My biggest problem, however?

The world is not a girls’ school.

Next year the days of being able to strip in the middle of the classroom to change for sport will be gone. The ability to pour water over my head, unbutton my blouse and unzip my school skirt to deal with summer heat will have long-disappeared. The enjoyable game of ripping open our blouses to see if we can undo all the buttons in one fell swoop (and not burst any) will be generally frowned upon by the populace of Real Life.

Thus, I am screwed.

Love you like the sanctuary of school.

x

(P.S. not all of this is completely true/unexaggerated; I know a fair few boys who aren't all that smelly/gross. I'm not ACTUALLY a phallogynist. I do ACTUALLY know that isn't a real word. Okay. *CLARE OUT*)

My Brother is a QT

Okay so I have a younger brother, occasionally referred to as ‘bruv’ on this blog, known as Patrick, Patch, Patchy, Pat, Patty in real-life situations. Right now he’s in his terrible teens, he’s fourteen and the most annoying person you have ever met. EVER. I swear I wasn’t as awful as that when I was fourteen. Sometimes, however, you just have to remember the really, really cute times, and then use them to embarrass him.

So two such cute times that I find funny/cute.

1.       We had just seen the first Harry Potter film. It was around Christmas time in 2001 so I would have been *awkward mathematics moment* seven and Patch would have been four. So we come out of the theatre into the shopping centre and, because it’s Christmas, there’s a bit of a nativity scene thing going on. My brother looks at it for a little while and, with his shock of Weasley-eque red hair gleaming in the fluorescent lights, turns to my dad and asks, “Daddy, is that Harry Potter?”

Oh yes, all you people who billed Harry Potter as satanic and devil-

worshipping, my little brother mistook Baby Jesus for Harry Potter when he was four years old. IT WORKED.

2.       Remember primary school talent quests? I won one in year six with a bunch of girls from my class, we sang Joy to the World (Three Dog Night, not Christmas carol) with actions. My brother won one when he was in kindergarten. FOR BEING CUTE. -- There was this girl in his kinder class called Kaila. I like to think that they

were in love, even though he denies this profusely, even almost ten years after the event. (Still has a photo of them up on his notice board. I go in your room, Patch. I see these things.) Anyway, they were both tiny baby red-heads and the cutest things in the world. Patch and Kaila even spent a couple of afternoons at each other’s houses to practice for the Talent Quest. And on the big day they got up on stage, and Patch took out his kazoo, and Kaila sang Twinkle Twinkle Little Star and he did the accompaniment, and it was the cutest thing ever. 

               

Hope that made you smile! Anyways, it was better than Ben Tooth and the other year four boys stripping to It’s Getting Hot in Here. Ah Ben Tooth. Does anyone remember/know that guy? All the girls in year three thought he was shoooo attractive. A friend of mine caught the shirt he threw at the audience (while he was stripping to It’s Getting Hot in Here) and hugged it and I thought I was going to be sick.

What can I say? I was a very innocent eight-year-old AS ONE SHOULD BE. I saw a boy and suddenly was like EWW A BOY. BOYS' GERMS. I still do. I actually used to pretend I was physically allergic to boys so that they wouldn’t be my partner in lines to get into the Italian rooms in the morning. Typical Clare conversation in primary school:

                BOY:     Hey Clare. Can I be your partner for lines?

                ME:       Oh gosh, I’m sorry. I’m allergic to boys.

                BOY:     Oh sorry! I’ll stand over here then?

                ME:       That would be greatly appreciated.

Just putting it out there: no longer allergic to boys. Especially not Swedish ones. *Wink*

Love you like the good ol’ days of boys’ germs and Talent Quests and Baby Jesus.

X