The Gift Of Giving

In all my eighteen years of life, not forgetting to include the valuable lessons learnt over birthday and christmas periods (which for me goes hand in hand and side by side), I have discovered, or rather proven, that gift giving is well and truly an art.

What remains unfalsified, however, is whether the planes of present picking are are even playing fields, or the often considered universal notion that some of us either have it, or we are hopelessly and shamelessly disabled when it comes to offerings of merriment and affection.

It seems the latter is more true.

Sad but true. For both the giver and receiver of these forlorn attempts at personal and decisive symbols of your love/relationship/friendship/superiority in selflessness.

Obviously the poor soul stuck with a bad present giver for parents/boyfriend/girlfriend/sibling/biffl/kris kringle will suffer immeasurable amounts during festive occasions, invariably dreading the exchange with the ominous knowledge of what horror is to come, masked under the guise of a happy-go-lucky object - suggested by the optimistic and non-confrontational wrapping paper. Moreover, these people are unduly familiar with the mock-grateful "ahhh, oh a ____________. I loooove it?...You shouldn't have. Really." that they are obliged to offer in response to the (accidental) product of the cruel and random disease exerted over some individuals.

For a first hand account of such a diagnosis, let us refer to exhibit A.

An acquaintance cum friend cum acquaintance (again) who each year would try and ignore the burden of their inability to give gifts, despite numerous pleas and attempts from friends to dissuade them from following their distorted idea of a good present and instead amend the situation by just giving money for god sake. Some real gems include bed sheets, clothing taken from a storage box in their home and cheap, skanky jewellery.

I regret to inform you this individual is still suffering from this condition and has not yet been rehabilitated.

Another example of a less harrowing strain of this condition are those individuals who simply cannot fathom the concept, let alone perform the act of surprise gift giving. Exhibit B.

The, "I mean well but who gives a shit about the gift giving process?" friend who thinks that handing over a wad of cash and standing by while you try stuff on is sufficient as a heartfelt present. This 'flight' state of conscious where one chooses to omit the, seemingly, demeaning task of risking a failed evaluation of the relationship shared between themselves and the gift receiver indicates a strong sense of pride and reputation too valuable to be jeopardised at the risk of giving a crappy gift. My knowledge of such people reveals that this condition is nurture rather than nature related, and is instilled from childhood by the parents/relatives of the individual.

Not only is this upheld by those subjects suffering from a gift giving handicap, but those who embrace celebrations requiring gift exchanges wholeheartedly. Exhibit C.

The defender and gate keeper of surprise presents, who wakes up at the crack of dawn on christmas even though they are 17. Who stores gift ideas throughout the year and prides themselves on executing a successful and fulfilling present. They know the incomparable value of receiving lots of wrapped up packages with your name on it.

One such individual I know who possesses such qualities appears to have had this instinct cultivated from an early age and ingrained in their moral upbringing, taught to carry on the tradition that has been respected in the family for generations.

If you, or some one you know appears to suffer from any of these symptoms during the lead up to christmas in the gift buying period;

A sense of inconsolable trepidation.

Anxiety, shortness of breath, dizziness, lightheadedness.

The urge to consume copious amounts of alcohol.

Hallucination.

Extreme irritability and/or mood swings.

Depression.

Confusion.

An inability to concentrate.

Phobia of ribbons, sparkles, collages of bright colours, christmas decorations or colour combinations involving red, white and green.

Consult your nearest adult, confidant or christmas gift guide catalogue.

Try to remember, you are not alone, and help is available.

and so this is christmas...

Just realised that I cannot tolerate people who can't take no for an answer and overly curious people.

It's never really bothered me that much before but recently, if i'm around these incessantly questioning people I feel as if I could turn into the freaking hulk and rip off my shirt in a fit of rage. Thats a bit weird considering I am usually described as a timid/patient/non-confrontational personality.

But, maybe it's just this quaint time of year. Like, you can be forgiven by strangers and distant family members for acting like a total anti-social and agro bitch because 'tis the season' and you were christmas shopping. And whoever you tell gives you a knowing look and an ahhhhh because they can relate. Totally relate.

I guess I didn't really acknowledge the hidden yet sinister pressure that christmas impinges on otherwise temperate people who are able to adhere to the expectations of social propriety. Though, I must confess I too have cracked in an attempt to be a prime performer in Kris Kringle's present contest. To be specific, having a heated argument with my sister in the middle of targets cosmetic department. Shamelessly. Even to the point of brining up deep seeded wounds that have nothing to do with shopping, presents or my grandparents love or dislike of soap.

If I wasn't me, i'd be like wtf is going on, calm yourselves you psychos. Even my sister, who is usually an avid and dare I say, enthusiastic shopper turns into this unbearable walking tantrum. She becomes physically ill and suffers from headaches and dizzy spells. What is that all about? The come down from christmas cheer and joy?

Arm yourselves, shoppers. And take comfort in the fact that nobody is above it. I don't even think Jesus could play the holier than thou card on this one.

I am totally and utterly over high school after our very tearful and prolonged break up. Signified by the dispatch of high schools final hold over us. ENTER SCORES.

No connections, ties or strings attached. Some might suggest that we who have graduated are akin to ex-prisoners finally liberated from their cells, able to roam the streets without schedule or constant and demeaning surveillance and dictation.

But nah, I loved you high school and you know it. I'll always carry a torch for you.

So currently, the very kosher and trendy thing to do is to say that your final VCE (high school) result is "just a number" and "can't dictate the rest of your life". And well yes, it is only a number I suppose, but (to be very politically incorrect) I love my number and I would be happy for it to [partially] dictate the rest of my life. It would be a sweet life where good prevails over bad and hard work is rewarded with apt glory and veneration from others.

Okay so maybe thats selfish for me to 'impose' an omnipotence to the individual rankings delegated to us by the ever mysterious VCAA, but to be fair, everybody knows that your enter kind of defines you, indefinitely.

On the same token and to be very, very frank, this same day of elation for me turned out to be really shit for heaps of peeps. For a very clear example of double standards, (but maybe we can let this one slide of compassionate terms) can we say that if your not happy, your number can be the moment of epiphany and sublime realisation that we all long for, which motivates change in your life, and then you become the loveable underdog that prevails?

And someone makes a movie about it eventually.

Well, according to VCAA, the number I have been given and the superiority that comes with it, yeah we can.

And to sustain those who are in the mind space that your number is a reflection of our intellect, my moments of enlightenment had no-thang to do with study, or academic ability. I now know that it is a bad idea to wear a sundress and sandals while go-karting, even if you think your boyfriend will think you look super cute in it, because you will end up flashing the staff and wearing some random persons skating shoes with hairnets as socks. Especially sexy coupled with the pathetic and helpless "damsel in distress" persona you achieve by constantly spinning out and getting stuck.

I mean, I would totally look less ditzy in jeans and sneakers. Lets not deny it.

I was at this beautiful house yesterday. Like it was so good it could probably be used for a location for a film. And it was even covered in fairy lights. Ahhhh it was the stuff of dreams and I was in it for a little while. In my own dream.

Yeah but something that wasn't fantastic was that I realised girls with boyfriends should just not go out. Like, there is really no point unless your going to a hens night, and even then, you just need to be the sober organiser of it and not actually participate because you are untouchable. Seriously. Consider yourself a burden.

Or you could try not telling anyone and refraining from doing anything and just working your "playing hard to get card" but it is never long before the cat comes out of the bag. Like in the nice house. I had previously learn't my lesson that if you would like to be spoken to don't mention ya bf, so I was keeping it on the DL only in hope of not being ostracised from this gathering, annnd then some good mate decided to do a favour for his mate by 'subtly' letting him know he was wasting his time. I always, always gave boys the benefit of the doubt and thought, perhaps naively that they were not only ever after one thing. But it turns out they are! Forever and ever.

But then again, if you do have a boyfriend it means there will always be someone who will talk to you when all the single boys get sober and loose their courage. So thats one up on them. Hi Five!

my grown up christmas list

Santa baby, since I have been such a good girl, can I, pretty please, for christmas have...

Everyone in my family and in my heart to get everything on their lists and be happy and healthy and loved.

(Okay, enough selflessness because underneath the joyful facade of christmas cheer and wrapping paper you know there is only self gratification and consumerism at its besssst. That being said that is a serious wish and the most important, hence why it is at the beginning of the post. Like, I bet you forgot what the point of the holiday was, besides receiving, I mean giving gifts.

But seriously give as you would expect to receive, doing nice things for other people, materially, is actually fulfilling. And creates this wonderful sense of obligation.)

To be as glamours as my sister with her eyelash extensions, but without them.

This ring,

To live in a great big house.

Sportsgirl suede wedges.

My drivers licence.

RMIT.

A day job.

Alexander McQueen clutch,

The stamina and inspiration to buy sick presents for everyone!

These babies,

Refill of Clinique step 3, miracle moisturiser,

A proper summer, not torrential rain.

This sicccck ipod dock,

For us to have a beautiful christmas tree in our house.

And thats it for now.

merry christmas!

guess who's back?

Heya Playa,

I have returned from the vast and forgiving week that was schoolies, fantasies fulfilled, somewhat tanned however at the same time depressed because I don't think I will ever experience the same intense partying that it provided. Actually I'm devastated. But whatevs, time heals all wounds. ( Look at me, being accepting and reasonable now that I am a woman of eighteen.)

Okay so you wouldn't think that schoolies of all places would be the environment where true love blossoms, but alas, as am I, you are wrong.

I know. Random right.

So anyway it seems the atmosphere of fleeting pleasures and desires, amplified by the happiness and relief of finishing school and copious amounts of alcohol (naturally) was the prime condition to find a suitable suitor. Not for me but for my ever searching sister who, in Melbourne was not so lucky-in-love as many hope to be. But on tequila, (also know as te-almost-killed-me) night, she met someone. Yeah nothing spesh, everybody meets someone on schoolies I know, but, after their meeting they continued to be together like a proper couple. Monogamous.

This is like, defying the laws of gravity. And they did this THREE NIGHTS IN A ROW. Seriously, you could expect less from a christmas miracle. Shocking as it sounds, they continue to be cute and say cute things and miss each other proceeding the cold and sober reality that is home and routine. To be honest I can't really get my head around this one. Okay so maybe this doesn't read as shocking as it is in reality, so I will try and contextualise it. Picture easy, drunk girls throwing themselves at you like its going out of fashion. Bikinis. Vodka. Nightclubs. Relationships on schoolies breaks. Boys who literally run away when you tell them you are not planning on having sex with them. ANYTHING goes.

But these two opted to stay in on the couch watching TV TWO nights in a row.

Love really is a mystery I do not understand.

Schoolies did teach me some important and invaluable life lessons though, through both first hand and indirect experiences. For instance, if you are connected, you can get away with being seedy. Single guys will only rarely tolerate girls with boyfriends. Just because you have made it through year 12 and are on schoolies, this does not make you immune to the consequences of a 7 day bender. Never judge a trashy girl, she may be you soon enough. Sober guys are frigid and shy 90% of the time, on the other hand drunk guys are as predictable as getting wet in the rain. Boys + alcohol really show you who your friends are. Being 18 is actually the shittttttt!!!! The reckless abandon of youth is frikken sexy. Befriend all enforcers of authority (inc security guards, bouncers, cops, liquor store clerks ect)

See how wise I am?