I Googled 'whimsical picture' and...it was the first result

I feel bad for not having posted for like 100 years, so to appease the clearly enormous and rabid fanbase of this blog, I give you:

THINGS PIGSTILTS LOVES

...because even though it's a rant blog, I currently have no grievances to air that haven't already been aired both loudly and at length this week. But, if it's any consolation, the list probably won't be very long.

AND NOW THIS IS OLD POST but I'm posting it anyway, because otherwise it will languish in drafts for EVER. Oh no.


♣ Coming home to daysleeps and WhiteCat after being away
♣ Greek Gods and Goddesses
♣ Being inspired to make things late at night (earlyinthemorning)
♣ Wings and gold and mixtapes
♣ Summer Glau
♣ Couture week. !!!
♣ Writing stories that begin one way, then take you by surprise and become something else altogether, something new
♣ Kirby
♣ Gareth David-Lloyd
♣ Spreading trees with obstinate branches that present juuuust enough of a challenge
♣ Veronica Mars
♣ Oh my god, delicious cake
♣ Dinosaur Comics, "Attention, enemies! Why not come onto my lawn for a second" and "I accidentally drank 40 lemons!"
♣ Stealth planes, the stars and the universe which encompasses them, and oxford commas.
Current things that I love:
♣ The ridiculous post I'm writing, oh my god, this blog is so not the right place to post it but I probably will anyway
♣ Battlestar Galactica! Oh my god, you guys, I know I rave about this all the time, but seriously...I know a lot of sci-fi is "good if you like that sort of thing", but this is more...it's "good despite being that sort of thing". Put it this way: most TV - most movies, even - doesn't make me cry. But I'm rewatching with my mum, right, and this is how phenomenal it is: it can utterly destroy you with a pronoun. Guys, I love (spoilers? not really, but talk of a mid-season-2 episode...Mr Fancy.) Crazy Gaius, but he's crazy, and he's not the one you look to for those deep emotional sorts of things, which, I suspect, is why it's so very destructive when he says things like "We treat it like the person it pretends to be", and why a robot eating a piece of fruit as he tells her about the woman he's in love with - which isn't her, but they look just the same - made me cry. (And I'm not ashamed to say it, right, because nobody didn't cry.) Goddamn.

Guys is my litnerd showing? I think I lose credits for it being a TV show though. But still. Only Mr Fancy knows what I'm talking about (although I have my suspicions that he watches it for all the ridiculously attractive people instead of the crying business. Pshaw).



Aaaand just so the universe doesn't implode, here are some

THINGS PIGSTILTS HATES

♣ Accidentally alienating friends;
♣ Smug, blindly opinionated jerks (...sorry, couldn't help it)
♣ Russell T Davies. WHY DO YOU HATE WHAT YOU HAVE BUILT? And, on a related note, why do you hate me?
♣ Unrealised artistic ambition
♣ Being awoken by the next-door-neighbour using like a jackhammer or something, what the hell
♣ FOR LIKE AN HOUR
♣ who even does that

Oh how can you breathe little blue? You have hooks, you have holes in you.

Uggggghhhhhhh. Have had an interesting last couple of weeks.
Got exceptionally, ridiculously drunk on Thursday night, at a ball with a bunch of people I barely new. When combined with "many-people-I-don't-really-know" nerves, the outcome was predictable: extreme ranting about various television shows I grew up on, people I hate, stupid things I do, stupid things other people do, plus general too loud talking, yelling, verbal abuse and terrible dancing.
Remedied this on Friday/Saturday/Sunday with: Eight billion cups of tea, not enough homework, immense anxious stressing, eight billion more cups of coffee, pizza, going out more (but minus the drinking, and with the added bonus of gross headcold), panic eating, and listening to Augie March and Maria Taylor while stress texting my good friend Face.
Luckily the damage didn't seem to be too bad today. In general I don't seem to be too much of a social outcast. Moreso I mean.
Our old Anna is probably not All-Australian Miss Popular 2009.
But again, I say the old adage: "kill me if I ever drink that much again."
Of course, it always happens again.
Today I also got hit on by creepy contractors. Wandering through uni, I passed a couple of them, and they fell silent and stared creepily as I walked past, then one murmured "I'd marry that one."
..........................I'm not sure what reaction is appropriate to that.
Possibly: "That's funny because-FUCK OFF AND DIE." But maybe that's too forceful. Sorry. I am not in such a good mood today.
Anyway. I should probably go now, so I can get some sleep and/or beat myself to death before 7am childcare plus another university Day of Shame tomorrow.
I am Good At Life.
Over and out.
xx

So my comic book store is AMAZING!

It maybe just that i rrruuuvvveee the people who work there all the tiem (for privacy reasons let us dub them "Optimus" and "Prime").

Rehashing my exploits of the day:

So i all at work and such at the end of ma 7 hours of working and i gets the urge to mosie through ma weekly order of comic books. Unfortunately this means a lengthy train ride and walking around teh city and all the effort that entails (apparently ma legs just didn't want to move anymore). The overwhelming desire for dericious comic books won in the end (and a quick ponder over what Sir/Vin Diesel would do in this situation) and i hopped a train. It was about 30 minutes in that i realized - once i had finished another chapter of pheadophile sweedish vampire novel - that my bladder wished to expel my last working beer, along with my several working coffees and my occassional working water, all at once.

It was a painful 30 minutes later that ma bladder was allowed access to a restroom - involving an even moar painful miander up the parliament escalators that i was certain were going to rupture my overladen bladder.

10 minutes later - feeling very satisfied - i arrived at my goal to find "Optimus" and "Prime" being fantastic as always. This feeling intensified as "Optimus" offered me tasty tasty cookies as a reward for not wetting myself (after hearing my sad tale of woah). Then "Prime" was all liek "OMGOMGOMG I WAS IN SANFRAN AT THE COMICOMNOMNOMCONVENTION AND I DID ALL THESE THINGS AND BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH" and then ensued fantastic discussion and stories mixed with the two fighting over "Optimus" not buying "Prime" another solo and not giving him his 30 cents bish (ALSO: they fight liek little girls - "IT COST $2.70" "AND I GAVE YOU MORE MONEY THAN THAT" "OH WOW 30 CENTS HAVE YOUR MEASLEY CHANGE BOI" "BUY ME MORE DRINK!" "I SENT YOU TO GODDAMN SANFRAN AND THIS IS HOW YOU REPAY ME!!!!?!?!?!") and to top this hilarious encounter "Prime" proceeded to give me so many cheap comics. So many. ended up saving liek $30 because he was all liek "you can pay thiiisss much for this one and thiiissss one can be thiiiissss much BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE!!!")

i love these people.


PS: "Prime" apparently did the very same course i am doing, loves interpol and loves dericious beverages. I HAVE ALL THESE QUALITIES!! WHY DO I NOT HAS A JOB THERE?!?!?!?!?

Welcome Back; I Hate You.

Hello. I went back to uni today. Yada, yada. Here is my list of things I like and don't like today.

Dislikes:
-Rediscovering the part of uni I hate (most) eg. see this conversation I overheard today:
Girl One: Oh WOW, we, like, SO have to travel EVERYWHERE at the end of the year.
Girl Two: Oh, I KNOW, I KNOW (pulls out Iphone), LOOK! These are pictures from my last trip to Milan, and Spain, oh it's SO beautiful, we have to stay in some great hotels!
Girl Three: OH! I'm going to make a plan!!! Look, we'll start in BarcelONAAAAAAHHHH, and then go to Madrid, then to Milan, Paris, oh and then we can finish in PRAGUE!!!
Girls One and Two: *Appreciative giggling and hair flicking*
Girl Three: Oh and I know that it might be hard for you and Zoe to get the money, but it REALLY won't cost that much.
-Oh yes, let's all get on our private jets and go to MILAN, I hear the fashions are just DIVINE. Kill me. I had this for a whole lecture. I wanted to gouge a hole in my temple with my pen, tear out my ear drums, run screaming through the building, turn into the Hulk and destroy everything. But whatever, I'm sure they could just rebuild it with daddy's money.
I hear money is the ony way to get into uni-OHWAITASECOND.
(P.S. I apologise if you are rich and lovely. I just hate people as a general rule, particularly the ones that can travel to Milan for their Summer Holidays).
-Rediscovering the part of public transport I hate (most) eg. This conversation I overheard on the train today:
Girl One: What did you want to tell me on the tram??
Girl Two: Oh yeah!! That guy sitting across from us was TOTALLY checking you out!
Girl One: I bet he wasn't!
Girl Two: He was!
Girl One: No, he wasn't!
Girl Two: He totally was, he was like, looking at your two animals on a mountain (NB: apparently this is code for "tits", but fuck knows why, because I can't see a moose and a duck sitting on top of Everest looking like boobs... No, wait, okay, they COULD look like Courtney Love's boobs, potentially, but most people aren't Courtney-psychocrazybitch-Love).
Girl One: Just because you have mosquito bites!!! (NB: Also code for "tits". God, I can't believe I've said "tits" three times now.)
*Girls giggle hysterically*
Girl Two: But he totally was!
Girl One: He was not! He was probably just trying to work out what I was! He must've thought I was a gorilla!
Girl Two: What??? But you're not HAIRY!!!!
Girl One: I know, but I'm like, soooo ugly.
Girl Two: No you're not!
Girl One: Yes, I am! I'm uggggly!!!
Girl Two: Noooo!
-And so on to infinity.
-Anxiety. Bitch please, I hate you.
-Stress Rash. If I get another anxiety symptom, I will do what I mentioned above about destroying everything in a Hulk-esque manner.
-Feeling lonely. Whimper, sigh, whimper, self-pity, whimper, teenage poetry, and I'm spent.
-The "K" key on my keyboard doesn't work very well. Like, my life is so hard man.

Likes:
-The bizarre lecturer I had today. "So, this weekend I took my five year old son to the beach, and there were jellyfish and crabs and a big rock, and it was so peaceful... and then I saw a Rottweiler - you know those dogs that bite you and kill you? Yeah, so I saw a Rottweiler running towards us and I picked up my son to protect him, but then I realised it was going for me, so I picked up a rock and hit the dog over the head and it died. *growls into microphone* DIE DOG, DIE!!! Now............. how was it that I knew that that rock had the right qualities to kill a dog???"
-And this was for my lecture on Identity.
-The kitschy tote I bought today. It says "Love, Hi" on it, and has anime pictures of a boy and a girl sitting on a loveheart.
-Coffee. Mmmmmm.
-Bowie. MMMMMmmmmm.
-Lipstick.
-People who wear fake birds in their hair.
-Half Moose, Half Woman people. How I wish I were as brave as you, MooseWoman.

Anna
xx

Morning Theft.

Time takes care of the wound, so I can believe.
You had so much to give, you thought I couldn't see.
Gifts for boot heels to crush, promises deceived
I had to send it away to bring us back again.

Your eyes and body brighten silent waters, deep.
Your precious daughter in the other room, asleep.
A kiss "Goodnight" from every stranger that I meet.
I had to send it away to bring us back again.

Morning theft, and pretender left, ungrateful.
True Self is what brought you here, to me.
A place where we can accept this love.
Friendship battered down by useless history,
Unexamined failure.

What am I still to you?
Some thief who stole from you?
Or some fool drama queen whose chances were few?

Love brings us to who we need,
a place where we can save
A heart that beats as both siphon and reservoir.

You're a woman, I'm a calf.
You're a window, I'm a knife.
We come together making chance into starlight.

Meet me tomorrow night, or any day you want.
I have no right to wonder just how, or when.

And though the meaning fits, there's no relief in this.
I miss my beautiful friend.

I had to send it away to bring her back again.

xx

Under pressure.

Fuck expectations.

This has been my mentality for the past few weeks. Now that holidays are upon us lowly humanities students and the minimal levels of stress and agitation have been alleviated for a brief period of time, I finally realise that all this needless anxiety and stress ties simply into expectation. Not necessarily external that is, but more my personal expectations about how I want to live my life, beside how I am living my life. In retrospect, I am not how I would like to be.

In making this conscious realisation, one would assume that I would be able to change and become who I want to be. I should be able to change how and why I act. I should be able to rationally do what I want to do.

This is not the case.

“I feel this great, great pressure coming down on me. It's constantly coming down on me. It's crushing me”

Say hello to the weight of personal expectation and the cage that is the human condition. You see, gentle reader, I feel as though I am at a loss to explain myself to you. Language fails to capture my turmoil. One may attribute it to that special time when a boy becomes a man. I do not. It’s as if I impose certain ideals upon myself in hopes that one day I will finally accept them and become who I want to be. I will become whole in a sense.

I miss the feeling on ignorance. I miss just going on those fantastic night picnics, getting smashed and doing cartwheels across ovals and honestly not caring about what my life becomes or what people think about me. When I had these friends I didn’t feel like I had to work to impress. I’m afraid of the MyKill Doomwater you all have inside your minds. I’m afraid of the representations of myself that you all have. To explain I’ll try and share my view of identity all you lovely readers. Here it is:


1) You all have an idea of me inside your minds at this present moment, one that is how you picture me.
2) This is the guide by which you judge me and evaluate me.
3) This is subconscious.
4) This is a true representation of me, it is as real as my physical manifestation because it is how you perceive me and it is true to you.
5) I am unable to know what this representation of me is – whether it is good or bad, whether you hate me or love me, whether you find my mannerisms frustrating or acceptable.
6) At the same time I have a representation of myself in my head.
7) This is the picture of how I would like to act and who I would life to be.
8) This is a true representation.
9) The only representation I can actively change is my own – the one in my own head.

This thought keeps me awake at night and has culminated in an odd shaking in my right hand that doesn’t seem to stop much anymore. In essence, I can see how I want to act and how I want people to perceive me, yet I cannot help the face that this representation – while being true to me – is not a reality for you. I cannot control how you see me.

One may pose the hypothetical that my actions define who I am, and that these actions give people the basis to which they then create their perceptions of me. This is a fallacy. While actions do provide the necessary basis for public perceptions of myself, they can not effectively translate the unintelligible purity that is my own consciousness. Actions are physical. Identity is not so tangible. While I can choose to act a certain way, odds are that my own human nature will decide to internally contradict this. Years of social conditioning undo personal belief in the way we designate and segregate today. By this I mean that, instinctively, I am afraid when an unknown Muslim man walks towards me in the street. Is this irrational? Yes. Does the thought that I am participating in such social stereotypical perception disgust me beyond belief? Yes. Yet since the global “War on Terror” began we have been subject to such levels of subliminalsocialnormsthatmakeusbelievetheamericandream
dandandandandiwanttoscreambutican’t//can’t//find//////my///voice//
*&%^A%SGDASGAGSUFKJASHLKFJ:@#$@#((*#####

Remember how I said language fails to appropriately describe this turmoil. Let’s just simplify and say that I expect so much of myself. I expect myself to be likeable, funny, kind, nice, talented and simply able to live a good life. Yet, I don’t live up to my own mental image of how I want to be. And the part that keeps me awake at night and causes an uncontrollable twitch in my hand is the fact that if I don’t have a positive representation of myself, why would you have a positive representation of me? If all these representations are true, then the one I have of myself being a horrid human being and a not really worth knowing is true.

HOWEVER,

If people do still choose to converse and associate with me, I might be wrong. Happiness is subjective and peace is a state of mind I hope to one day partake in. I imagine it would be tasty, kind of like Hokey Pokey – i.e. the tastiest ice cream in existence. But if hope was a food, I think it would be like a cinnamon scroll: a little subtler than Hokey Pokey, but still just as fulfilling.

Peace, love and hope for the future.

I have a newfound hatred for pretty much everything at 3.53am.

Hello.
It's 3.53am. I have a really fucking stupid body clock. And by "body clock", I mean that for the past two weeks, I have woken up at approximately 3 or 4am every morning, hyperventilating, because my anxiety reflex decides to go: "Hey, you know what? EVERYTHINGISREALLYFUCKINGSCARYWAKEUPWAKEUP." However, whether my reaction to said anxiety reflex usually differs. Sometimes, I lull myself back into semi-slumber with wanky ambient music that makes me feel like I have a Distinct Musical Knowledge of Unique Genres circa Sofia Coppola films. Sometimes, I read Harry Potter for several hours (because, christ knows, at least I am not being chased by a thin, ugly, red-eyed man intent on occasionally stealing my blood to put into vats, killing me and all of my friends, and ultimately gaining overall power of the wizarding world and destroying Life As We Know It, and this makes me feel somewhat better about my plight of Early Morning Freak Out). Sometimes, I wake up and feel so shaken up and horrid, I get up and turn on the TV and watch an hour and a half of Bruce Springsteen videos on Rage. This morning is that morning.
It's unfortunate, but I don't think Bruce Springsteen realises that, actually, I don't want to watch all his rubbish "new" videos where he plays baseball with a wholesome teenage boy in a ridiculous show of male bonding, or walks around Philadelphia while Tom Hanks, in his convincing role of Semi-Homeless Bald Man in Cap gazes wistfully after him. ALL I FUCKING ASK FOR IS BORN TO RUN, BRUCE. I ONLY EVER WANTED BORN TO RUN.
But maybe I spoke too soon. Right now, a very old video for Dancing in the Dark, a la super tight jeans, half-open white shirt and rolled up sleeves just came on. I appreciate it. Mostly because Bruce looks like a ridiculous crazy dancing man, as opposed to slightly creepy moustachioed baseball playing brooding weirdo.
Thank you, Bruce. I feel better about us now. Particularly due to that saxophone solo that just kicked in.
Oh wow. You know what? It's the 4th of July in America today.
That means nothing for me, but I like the fact that fieworks are happening somewhere. This makes me happy.
Anyway, so I am sitting here next to my potentially morbidly obese dog (give it four month down the track), who is snoring in bliss, and I Heard It Through The Grapevine just came on, and I still have my night time splint/retainer combo going on. I am the product of eleven years hardcore dentistry.
I had plates. I had braces. I had those little round blue things that make gaps between your back teeth. I had elastics. I had motherfucking head gear bane of my existence worst ever (but at least I only wore it at night). I have a splint to stop my compulsive stressed sleep tooth grinding. And, on special occasions when I revisit my orthodontist for a check up, he pulls out the metal file, and grinds away my front teeth for some reason I cannot quite comprehend.
The point of all this is: It was not worth it. Eleven years of dentistry is not worth it. I would rather have impacted wisdom teeth and a slight overbite, to be perfectly fucking honest. But whatever.
Now my teeth are all perfectly, boringly straight. I look a little like a piano.
So anyway, basically, the conclusion of my rant is, I do not like rage, I do not like anxiety, I do not like too much New Bruce Springsteen, I do not like the fact that my dog can sleep so peacefully for so many hoursagrhghrgrhgrhgr while some of us are up typing this blog about her WAKE UP DAISY AND SHARE MY PAIN, I do not like dentists or dentistry, I do not like splints of retainers that make me look like Bride of Frankenstein (although I feel the title may be misused, considering Frankenstein was actually the doctor who made Frankenstein's monster, so I assume it would actually be Bride of Frankenstein's monster, but let me know if I am getting carried away). It is raining, and I do not actually like the rain, but I feel obliged to because of the drought. I do not like because awake in the morning when it it still dark and I had two hours sleep last night and too much alcohol. I don't like the fact that my jaw kind of hurts.
And actually, you know what? I basically don't like anything at all at this time of the morning. Kill me now.
And now, watching Creedence Clearwater Revival play I Put a Spell on You, I especially, ESPECIALLY do not like moustaches.

Okay. I might try this sleep thing now.
If you are awake now, and thinking the same thing, good luck to you too.
Anna.xx