Leaf, probably…

Kempo was an interesting diversion from the usual. It started at 7pm and was in town, so it gave me time to catch up over beer and orange juice with Ben.

The class itself was easy enough to find after our host had leaned out of the top story window to yell instructions at us…

Once we got up into the gym we were greeted with a boxing class doing their thing - and oh my god did I want to go join in! I’m always a bit surprised at just how much I miss throwing on a pair of gloves and punching the shit out of something.

It looked like a good class because it was nearing the end and most of the participants looked like warmed over death.

The gym is called Gloves Boxing Gym, and it’s near Webb St in Mt Cook. It has a mat area set aside for Kempo. We formed up and the instructor gave a ’readers digest’ intro to his art - which turns out to use a lot of pressure points.

We were there to learn a few holds and how to apply pressure points and body waves to those holds. I think some of the stuff I learnt will be handy for Taekwon-Do especially when we’re doing self defence - even if it wasn’t quite the workout I was hoping for.  

I found out how to successfully do a hold that makes the other persons arm look like an ‘S’. I also found that that particular hold doesn’t work well on me (because I am a girl, and bendy, and a ‘water’ type…) unless the other person compresses my wrist.

I also learnt that if you vibrate one, or both of your hands while doing certain holds then you can increase the effectiveness of your holds. Also you can make your partner squeal like a girl and drop to the floor like a brick.

Holds and pressure points are fun.

Overall the class was fun, but it did serve to reinforce that I made the right decision when I chose Taekwon-Do.

When I (finally) got home I grabbed a pair of scissors and hacked a couple of inches off the bottom of my hair.

It doesn’t look too bad, but someone should definitely remove the scissors from the bathroom cupboard. 

I promise I’ll go to a hairdresser next time.

Why did wordpress log me out while I was in the middle of a love letter to M&M dark chocolate candies?

It doesn’t matter I guess. It’s just that given my well known aversion to work, I’ll never write that post again - and that’s a real pity considering it’s you guys who miss out on reading about the “crunch of candy between my teeth”, and the “delicious, slightly bitter, chocolate after taste”, and how I am a Very Big Fan of M&M’s dark chocolate.

Oh well. Console yourselves because I’m moving on to a new topic.

It’s not quite as interesting as the M&M’s dark chocolate love letter, but then not very many things are more interesting than reading someone elses mail. Especially when it contains details of a sordid love affair.

My backup topic today? The stench in the number 22 bus from Uni yesterday.

It’s not just a stench. It’s a stench. A urine scented stench.

Are you all gagging yet? Because I was, for the entire 11.58 minutes it took to get to the bus stop closest to my work.

In honour of the stench I put together a short poem. I say ’short’ because it’s generally quite terrible, and I don’t like to drag punishment on longer than it needs to be.

This bus smells like pee.

This seat is squishy
if I could move, I would.
Fat sob on my left
has wedged me in real good.

Excuse the terribleness of my poem (Is it too short to actually be classified a poem? Maybe) I wrote it on the bus, while attempting to free my thigh from underneath a very large lady’s butt overflow.

Or I have a haiku version. I’ve never written a haiku before, so you’re going to have to excuse this one too.

this bus smells like pee;
breath frigidly through your mouth.
I wish we could wait

Did you know that haiku’s aren’t actually done in syllables? They’re supposed to be written on the sound counts (when a new sound it introduced). I dont know how to figure those out properly, but I took a guess that in this case it’s the same as the syllables. (An example that isn’t the same? syllables: Hai-ku sound count: Ha-i-ku. Get it? No? Me neither.)

Also Haiku’s generally have mention of the season they were written in there somewhere… Lets just call the word ‘frigidly’, in mine, a reference to winter. Ok? Ok. Good.

So the moral of the story? If wordpress hadn’t picked 10 minutes ago to sign me out without warning, you wouldn’t have had to read bad poetry about a bus that smells like pee.

So I have two 50 minute exams coming up, that, to be completely honest with you? I’m not thrilled about.

I also have an essay that I’m moderately interested in writing. It’s on a really interesting subject and the readings for it have been great, however the actual writing of? blah.

It seems I’m always much more interested in writing these essays when they’re still an idea, rather than an activity I have to actually perform.

Loads of people I know are graduating this week notably: Karlie, Louise, and Adey. Ben would have been too, if he wasn’t doing honours this year.

It’s going to take forever before I get to that point. Remind me again why I signed up for all this study and essay and test crap?

I’m kidding I know why I’m here. I just enjoy moaning pitifully about the misfortune it all. It makes me feel like I’m getting my moneys worth out of Study Link.

I have a new pair of pants.

They are size 14, and the biggest pants I have ever tried to keep on my hips, and it’s not working particularly well. I shouldn’t be wearing them at all, but I stayed last night at Ben’s and I pretty much didn’t try them on before I decided they’d be perfect for work today.

The crotch is hanging down at mid-thigh, and I had to shorten the pants by a good 10 cm. With staples. Don’t tell my mother.

I am the most gangster person in the office today, which is something. Even the delivery guy has less baggy, saggy pants than I do. I’m resisting the urge to put my trainers back on, along with a pair of sunglasses, and a gang colour bandanna.

(I say resisting, but it’s really not that much of a struggle - the Security Guards would probably shoot me on sight if I wandered around wearing gang paraphernalia.)

(Whoa. Tangent..)

As a result this morning I’ve been holding my pants up with one hand, while browsing on TradeMe with the other, looking for a sewing machine…

I’m pretty sure that I’d be awesome at sewing if I had my own machine - despite the fact that I have broken every machine I have ever used. I’m going to blame those spectacular failures at choosing to do Wearable Arts with Cassandra two years in a row, and ‘extreme sewing.’ If it wasn’t for Caz my record would be fine, probably.

If I had my own sewing machine I could make a pair of soft PJ’s. And lots of skirts (because how much easier can you get than a simple skirt - it’s pretty much sewing one seam down the side, right?!). Also pretty dresses that make me look like a lean and mean size 10. And simple shirts.

Then, once I’m awesome at sewing (because that would only take a week or two right? I pick new things up quite quickly), I could learn to screen print. And then people would come up to me and ask where I got all my clothes, and I’d tell them I made them myself. Then they’ll give me many hundreds of dollars.

And you know what that would mean? That would mean I no longer have to wait to win Lotto in order to retire, and own a house on a beach, with a horse, and a puppy. I could buy it all myself. All because I brought a sewing machine off TradeMe today. I’m going to do it.

Hannahs is having a sale. I thought long and hard about it and decided that yes I do need a pair of flats, and a pair of non-painful non-stinky work shoes.

Then I slept on it and decided that I couldn’t afford to buy new shoes. Even if I really liked them.

And besides. I brought flats the other day, and so what if I can’t really walk in them, and they’re all slippery because the grippy heel fell off one. So No. I decided against buying new shoes.

Then I walked past Hannahs on my break and spent $150 on a pair of black work heels and some soft and pretty flats that I’m in love with. I may wear them to bed I love them so much. And they were 1/2 price.

Wendy left a comment on my post yesterday that made me think. And naturally, with all the thinking, I thought I’d share…

Back in my last year of high school, after a bit of too-ing and fro-ing about my future career, I decided that I was going to do a Bachelor of Fine Arts, majoring in photography. I wasn’t sure if Fine Arts really suited me, but I liked the idea of spending my days dressed in over-sized painting shirts, with a camera in my hand.

I was also pretty sure that within a year of completing the final photoshoot for my course, or whatever it is fine arts students do, I would be famous, and there would be many free things. I place a lot of stock in the word free…

My portfolio was constructed with the help of a family friend, who I relied on for advice on everything, from photo choices, to the picture sizes. After the portfolio was completed I sent it away and was, after the worlds longest 3-4 week wait, accepted into my university of choice.

After that? Well I was ecstatic of course. I was destined for a life of artistic awesomeness.I would drink coffee, probably, and live in a studio apartment. There would be big shirts, artistic black and white photographs, and I would smell constantly of developer - the most heavenly smell in the world. Clearly I hadn’t been introduced to Lush yet.

It was all a mater of breezing through my Bursary exams. And I knew I would because I had no reason to believe I wouldn’t pass. Back then I breezed through exams. Most of the time without even taking ten minutes study for them.

It was only when I was standing in my bedroom, contemplating my results envelope, when I got my first twinge of apprehension.

I opened the envelope to find that I had failed English - the class which I had yet to fail anything in - and photography. Photography wasn’t so much a surprise, because I had very little idea what I was supposed to be doing for most of the year (my teacher wasn’t big on explanation or instruction.) English absolutely blew me away.

All of a sudden I wasn’t going to university. I wasn’t going to live in a studio apartment and wear big shirts. I had no idea what I was doing.

I ended up getting a place in a year long diploma of Computer Graphic Design in Wellington. Upon finishing the course the institution offered me a job as the receptionist and administration assistant. Since then I’ve been floating around in admin type positions, and have begun a Bachelor of Arts majoring in Political Science and International Relations.

Six month into me working in Admin I realised I was bored. I took up going to the gym and Kickboxing. It took me another year to get up the courage to go back to Uni, and since then I’ve also taken up Taekwon Do, and learned how to Scuba Dive.

I still don’t know what I want to do with my life. I do have some clearer ideas of what I don’t want to be or do though. I don’t want to drink coffee. Big shirts are stupid. I would be so disapointed in myself if I spent another 10 years in boring admin positions that I loathe.

My point is, failing Bursary changed my life. It was unexpected, jarring, and scary. It had a lasting effect on my life. And if I got the choice, I probably wouldn’t go back and change it. My life right now is so freaking interesting, that I don’t think I’d like to be a Photographer who drinks coffee, lives in a studio apartment, and wears big shirts.

The post that follows is my account of what it’s like to work full time, while studying part time. I actually wrote this as a letter to a friend who was thinking about going back to uni part-time, and then proceeded to steal it from myself for this blog. (woo! recycling is the way of the future. Also plagiarism.)

Studying and working is hard, but it’s do-able:

You’ll have to be prepared to take a LONG run at it because you can’t do a full course load like everyone else. At the beginning of this year I nearly quit, because it was. All. So. Hard. And I wanted more time for ME. And hanging out with my friends. And a lunch break. But then I sat down and looked at my goals again, and decided that if anything goes it’s my workplace.

I think you have to be very prepared for the stress and having less time, and have your priorities straight. Decide what’s more important in life right now, and in the future. (It’s different for everyone.)

It helps to have your reasons, goals, and your hopes for study written down the whole way through. Otherwise you end up losing sight of the main goal.

And if you don’t have a goal, then why are you putting yourself through this again?? Trust me. It’s a question that I ask myself all the time, and a question you need to be able to answer.

Fitting it all in:

Generally I work 36 hours a week (I start at 8am, and don’t usually leave much before 5.30pm.) I attend classes for 6 hours a week. I also have insisted my boss give me an additional two hours a week for study, because despite what you think you’re going to do at home, or after you go to the gym, you never quite do it all.

It may sound like that’s too many hours to fit into a working day, but it all crams it’s way in there somehow. I don’t take lunch breaks or coffee breaks or anything like that… And I timetable everything. It helps my boss know where I am, and it helps me plan my day.

I’m lucky, I think, because my job doesn’t offer me nearly enough work to keep me interested for 40 hours a week. Also, for some perverse reason, I do more, better, when I’m working to a tight deadline, or under a wee bit of stress. (Of course I’m not talking crazy amounts of stress, all the time. It’s all about balance.)

Getting permission:

My manager was incredibly supportive - I think most bosses these days wouldn’t turn you down outright, especially if they have something to gain from it all. So your job is to make sure the boss knows what he’s going to gain out of it.

I initially went to my manager with the overall course I wanted to do, along with a breakdown of the individual classes I was considering. I even made up a proposed timetable for my first semester of study. It showed my classes, buses, and work hours.

I also worked out how much work I do, and had a long hard think about whether I could fit it all in. (In my case, YES. Because opening the mail and emptying the dishwasher does not take much longer than 2 hours.) (I do do more than that though.) I even made a timetable for that to show my boss.

(Seriously, I do more than whine about the dishwasher. I keep supplies in the office all stocked up. I manage databases, a good deal of the correspondence, and paperwork flowing into the office. Also I manage email accounts. Along with a whole lot of really odd jobs for everyone to help the whole place keep ticking over.)

Once I had my managers OK, I went to HR, and proposed the whole thing to them - and, trust me, they had jumped on the bandwagon before the HR woman even stepped foot in my office. HR pretty much WAS the bandwagon. They were so eager to help that they practically filled out all my forms for me and offered me all kinds of deals - like the one where they wanted to pay.

I haven’t taken them up on that offer yet, because I’m getting more and more hesitant to tie myself to this type of job for an unspecified number of years just to get my loan paid off fast. I’d rather be doing something that stretches me a bit more in the direction I’d like to be going.

Money pay checks and the whole shebang:

My boss contributes 4 hours a week to my paycheck as a study allowance. This year I’m working on a 40 hour salary, including that contribution.

Your workplace may not be so eager to throw money at you, but it’s worth asking anyway. Even if they don’t take you up on a study allowance you really don’t lose too much of your paycheck if you’re working the number of hours I am.

I could live without my study allowance, and on a few less hours (but it would suck a little bit.) Work out whether you can afford it and what your limits are, and be really honest with yourself. If you can’t make it work then maybe look at adding a living allowance to your student loan with studylink (if you’re paying your fees through them that is…)

Free time? What free time?

As for life outside of uni and work? It’s all about to get WAY scheduled.

You have to decide ahead of time when you’re going to the gym, or Taekwondo. When are you going to be at the library to study for all those tests? When are you going to socialise, and when are you going to see your BF?

Depending on the courses you do, there’ll be readings and stuff to do outside of classes, and I have yet to find a way to get through all of mine in a reasonable timeframe. Usually the lure of going to the gym, or meeting up with Ben to hang out wins out. It probably shouldn’t, and I should probably use my diary more, but hey, I’ve worked out that I need to go easy on myself sometimes, because if I’m not having at least a little bit of fun and free time then I get all moody, and tired, and stressed. That’s when the gym becomes my best friend. I seriously don’t know what I’d do without it some days…

Also? If there are dishes to do, or washing to fold? You better bet I’m there doing that, rather than doing my POLS readings. Like I should be.

And last but not lest… Exams, essays and assignments, oh my!

Your employer legally can’t make you work the day before an exam. Take advantage of that, because, dude, nobody says no to a bit of last minute studying. Not even Superman. And I’m so not Superman.

The worst thing about trying to cram as much into my schedule as I can is that sometimes I just don’t get enough time to feel fully prepared for everything. That’s why this year I insisted on two study hours - and then I made them so that they were before my two tutorials. It works better for me that way, because I’m already at uni, and I’m in the mood to study.

So far I’ve been lucky - I haven’t got a grade below a B- yet… I put that down to many (many, many) last minute study sessions, and attending all my tutes. They’re invaluable.

____

Any questions? Comments? Straight up outrage? Disbelief? Feel free to express it below…

*My hair smells like coconut and hair dye. It’s a confusing mix.

*I have my International Relations test today at 11am. I’d like to pass it.

*I found out that I have one week less to write my International Relations essay than I thought I did. It made me want to cry.

*Some nice people at TKD insisted on giving me a lift home on Monday night, and they made me feel bad for not asking people for lifts. I really don’t mind catching the bus, and don’t like the idea of asking people for lifts.

*People with cars generally don’t care for taking the bus.

*I want a car. It would make it easier to go places late at night, and get to Uni on weekends, and see Ben, and go home for weekends. We even have free parking at our house. I even have a free arm, and a leg for petrol.

* The more I go to TKD the more I realise I don’t know.

Yes you read that title right, and I’ll get to that later.

This weekend was a good one. I lay in bed for a few hours following Friday night’s attempt to go dancing. I say attempt, because we ended up in the Big Kumera waiting until midnight for the live band that never showed. Then we re-located to KFC.

After I spent a few hours lying around my house, Ben and I spent a few hours laying around his house. Then Later Jordan and Karlie joined us for laying around at Ben’s house, while watching DVD’s.

While it may sound an awful lot like I spent Saturday laying anywhere I could, I actually didn’t. There was that walk Ben and I went on to get him coffee, and me gelato. And I had to sit upright on the bus all three times that I used it to get between Ben’s place and mine.

On Sunday I had to be in Petone at 9am to get my gear ready for diving. I wasn’t. At 9am I was standing in the bus stop at Wellington Train Station watching my phone’s power supply inch closer to death. In short: Wellington doesn’t have an actual public transport system  on Sundays before 9am. Instead, it has one man, and a donkey-drawn cart. It’s not very effective.

I eventually did manage to get to Island Bay, which is where everyone (including Kat!) ended up diving from. It was cold and rainy and I was pretty much freezing my butt right off - until I had to wrestle myself into my wetsuit that is. After that I was warm like a sauna.

The spot we dived from was all rocky and sea-weedy, which was a new experience for me (it’s all new) and if the water was cold, then I didn’t feel it. I saw tons of little fish swimming around in the vegetation, and was pretty much stoked to be there.

The second I win lotto, I’m buying myself all my dive gear and quitting my job to take up my new life as a bum who dives, and hits things a lot. I’ll probably also write crap poetry, because there’s only so much diving and hitting things you can do in a day.

So. Back to my weekend. When I got home in the afternoon, I watched a DVD for work (I know right!? Who does that?) Then I went to the bathroom, and rinsed some conditioner through my hair because it was one big mangy mess from all the sea salt.

I was standing there, in the bathroom, combing my hair and staring into the mirror when I suddenly thought: “I need the ends chopped off this. But there’s no way I can afford a haircut until that loan has been paid off… And that’s still a few months away…” So I used the comb and my fingers to mimic what the hairdresser does to cut my hair, just to see if it was as easy as it looked. And you know what? It was.

And then I went and got my scissors. I’ve always been pretty certain I would be one of those idiots who one day gives into temptation and cuts their own hair. I had managed to avoid falling prey to the lure of the scissors, until yesterday that is.

I chopped a centimeter or two off the ends, and layered the hair around my face a bit.

As I was standing there, looking into the sink full of hair, I thought: “Well, I’ve come this far. I might as well dye it while I’m here, right?”

So I dug around in the bathroom until I found that extra bottle of ‘rich brown’ hair-dye from a few months back, and dyed my own hair. Just like that. It was that easy.

It doesn’t even look that awful. It’s not crazy uneven, or blunt, or anything. I’m even wearing it straight today, so it would have shown VERY clearly if I had taken a giant chunk out of the side. But I didn’t. And if we had the Internet at home I could show you that. But we don’t. So you’ll have to take my word: My hair looks fine. Normal. Almost untouched by the hand of an overeager penny pincher.

The funny thing is that even as I write this I’m fairly certain I can hear my mother screaming in horror from her computer in Foxton.

Alright readers, I have a question for you. Actually two questions. maybe three. We’ll see how we go.

You’re in a woman’s bathroom at Victoria University. If you’re a female, great, read on. If you’re a male, dude, the guys bathroom is down the hallway.

You’ve done your business, and you’re ready to wash your hands. There is no bench on which to place your wallet and 5 subject exercise book so you place it in between your knees (because bathroom floor germs? Ew.)

You wash your hands with a bit of that strange smelling pink soap and turn off the tap. When you look up you realise that the air dryer is at least 3 meters away.

Do you sigh and use your wet hands to grab your exercise book and wallet, then walk like a normal person over to the air dryer? Even though this might make the pages dry all wavy later, like you’ve been reading in the bath?

OR… Do you keep your knees pressed together, and hop like a kangaroo to the air dryer? And would you do this even though, when your hands are dry and you retrieve your stuff from between your legs and turn around, all 10 women who are waiting in line for a cubical will still be staring at you?

You’re at your 5th Taekwon Do class ever and learning how to get free if some dirt bag grabs your wrist. You’ve been doing this for half an hour now and you think you have the basics.

You know to extend your thumb, and to put your pressure on the other dudes thumb. You know to twist your wrist a little, in order to get some movement, and you know that you’ll get more strength if you can do it at shoulder height. You know that going over the other dudes arm works better for you at this angle, and you know not to turn your back on your attacker once you’re free, and to definitely never drop your hands right down to your sides.

The only problem is? you keep switching partners, and you seem to be getting all the strong, non shy ones. The ones who actually DO grab your wrist. Hard. Which is great for practice, and learning your strengths and weaknesses.

But it is just practice. And your wrists are kinda sore, and red, and actually, one is still a bit bruised from the last time you did this. Also you bruise easy.

Do you stop your partner and explain that you’re actually a bit bruised and sore, so could they lighten up a bit? Even though you’ll look like a sissy McSissy pants. With a side of sissy McWhiny?

OR… Do you grit your teeth and shrug it off. You might be a girl but you’re a tough girl, and you can hold your own against these jocks (who you’re pretty sure know how to break your neck in 2.3 seconds. Cool right?!) Even though when you get home and take off your dobok your wrists will be all red, and bruising, and you’ll have to hold an ice pack to them for an hour?

You’re at home, and have just woken up. Late. You have a shower, throw on a pile of clothes that look like they match and leave the house. At no point do you look in a mirror.

Out on the street you realise that your wrists hurt. You take a peek under your coat when your flatmate isn’t looking, and realise that you have bruises right down to your mid forarms. Like big ‘I’ve been abused by my rat-shit drunk of a boyfriend’ bruises.

Of course these bruises are from your self defence class the night before, and not your boyfriend (hi Ben, guess WHAT!), but that’s not the point. The point is that you’re wearing a sleeveless top.

Worse yet that top seems to be covered in food from last weekend when you baked a cake in it, also it’s pink. It’s so pink that it brings out the pink in your bruised and beaten wrists.

Do you decide to run back up the hill to change then catch the bus in, making yourself over half an hour late?

OR… Do you shrug, make a joke about colour coordination and jump on the bus that has just arrived? Even though when you get to work and one of the girls sees your wrists she’ll say “oh my GOD. ” (followed by ”Cool!” because bruises are fun to look at, maybe)

And would you still make that same decision if you also remember that you’re going to the movies later with your boyfriend, and you’re worried about someone seeing them and thinking that he’s responsible? Because that would be kind of awful, if you made that decision.