Monday, February 25, 2013

Reasons I don't understand or get along with my flatmates

Opinions on household smells
Yesterday evening I went downstairs to make some dinner. Baz, Dada and Zaina were baking a cake as a family (cute!). I'd like to point out that they were sitting on the floor mixing the batter with their hands. Obviously its a cultural thing but I kind of felt like pointing out that spoons and mixers are actually really cheap and easy to get here, but whatever. Anyway, I made my dinner (left over pasta woo), went upstairs to eat in my room and then came back down to wash my dishes. Zaina had gone to bed and Dada and Baz were watching TV. The kitchen door was closed and as I opened it Baz said "Oh sorry, its because we're baking a cake." I didn't think anything of it, until I had finished washing the dishes and suddenly realised CAKES SMELL FUCKING AMAZING WHY WOULDN'T YOU WANT YOUR HOUSE TO SMELL LIKE THAT ALL THE GOD DAMN TIME. Like, people bake things on open day when they're trying to sell their house; its a universally recognised delicious and comforting smell. Later that evening I went downstairs to clean my teeth. The door was open and Baz was standing in the kitchen smoking. In fact, there was so much smoke I had to squint when I first walked in. How the fuck is that an acceptable scent to have wafting through the house, but a freshly baked cake shouldn't be enjoyed? And don't say "because he's a smoker." I know plenty of smokers who agree that smoking inside is disgusting and wouldn't want their house reeking of exhaled tar and moth balls and whatever else primary school teaches you is in cigarettes.

Baz smokes too much marijuana
I don't have a problem with weed. One of the best things I've done with my time is roll a joint, dance naked in the pool while listening to Blood Orange, roll another one, watch An Idiot Abroad and almost pass out from laughing so much. I don't think people who smoke regularly are drug addicts. Actually, I'm a little bit jealous of people who can smoke regularly and not get weird or just want to sleep all the time, which is apparently what happens to me. I have a problem with people who smoke so much they can't hold a conversation. Baz and I pretty much only ever talk about how much I love winter (to be honest, its getting less and less the more it drags on: if anyone says 'I told you so' you'll get a whole lot of swear words coming at you) and when my visa runs out. As you can imagine both topics are basically exhausted. I like winter because we never get one in Perth. I'm leaving the UK in July. I don't want to go but there is nothing I can do about it, so oh well. That's it. The other day I was watching TV with Baz; I said I would because he was so bored (they both seem to be completely incapable of entertaining themselves without a screen in front of their faces, and even that doesn't seem to do the trick most of the time) and definitely not because I was interested in watching Underemployed (another gem of entertainment, totally related to music, produced by MTV). He was so baked I wouldn't have been surprised if he couldn't remember who I was.
During an ad break he suddenly asked "what's happening in April?"
"Uh, I don't know, Baz."
"In April...your visa? Something with your visa."
"No. That's July."
"Oh, July. What's happening in April then?"
"Nothing, Baz. I have never spoken to you about my plans in April. I'm going to see the Book of Mormon (a new musical written by the South Park guys) but I never told you that."
"Oh where is that, then?"
"Um the West End, I guess? Do you know what I'm talking about? (There are huge billboards and posters for it all over London) It's a musical theatre production. In London."
"Oh right. So your visa runs out in July, not April? I could have sworn you said something about April."
"No. Never."
"Oh, maybe I smoke too much." Then he giggled stupidly.
Ya think? Various other attempted conversations have happened between us that make it fairly obvious his brain is just sloshing about between his ears and he desperately throws out a few sentences that are vaguely related to the topic. Most of the time I smile weakly/roll my eyes and retreat to my bedroom.

I also have a problem with people who smoke more than one or two sneaky spliffs if they live with their four year old daughter. Don't you want to be more present for her childhood? I feel so bad for Zaina. I know this is definitely a cultural difference but they spend more time ignoring her than they do entertaining or teaching her. She spends a lot of her time watching cartoons or dancing to skanky music. Its not like they're busy with their full time jobs or anything. Dada is busy Keeping up with the Kardashians and Baz is busy wishing he was one of the guys on Top Gear. I come home from a busy day at my minimum wage job and spend an hour playing with Zaina because she's so starved of attention she has a stupid amount of pent up energy. I don't really understand the point in having kids if you don't want to be a huge part of their lives and watch them grow and learn and make mistakes and mould them into real people so there are less fuckheads walking around. They were SO excited about having her move in, but don't seem to do anything differently. Except occasionally yell at her for doing kid things like wipe her hands on the wrong towel.

It says "From Zaina, To Sian." He lives on my wall.

Zaina just came into my room, gave me a biscuit and then started playing with the bit of paper that comes in a box of tampons. I thought it was better to give her a blank page from my notebook in case she started running around with the diagram of how to insert one properly.

There aren't any books in the house
I only recently realised that they don't have a bookcase. Or even a small pile of forgotten novels in the corner of the display cabinet. Not even any decorative and somewhat pointless coffee table books. I don't read nearly as much as I should but I still enjoy being in a house that has books, or at the very least, with other people who read. They have pretty awful taste in decor, but the worst is the lack of a collection of dog eared and well loved books. When I stayed at my friend Polly's flat in Berlin, I loved that her flatmate had a beautiful and full bookshelf. I'm pretty sure all the books were German, but that didn't matter. There's something about being in a house with books that makes you feel at home, comforted. Like being able to smell a cake baking in the oven.

I instagram'd this but I can't be bothered putting that image on here now. You should follow me like a true friend/fan anyway.

Whenever Baz or Dada complain about being bored (something my parents always have and probably always will scold me for; they usually threatened me with household chores before I ran off and used my weird imagination to keep me company) I suggest they read a book. Which usually gets the response "nah I can't do that, I get bored too quickly" which makes me want to throw up in their faces and move out. But I love my room and I like not having to pay for tea bags or toilet paper. I don't really understand how real adults, living in London, can ever be bored. There is SO much happening here, there must be something you can do that doesn't involve Netflix or incessant cleaning. Eugh.

I just went downstairs to make a cup of tea before I proofread this and Dada says she likes Ben Affleck. That's just wrong. Casey is clearly the more attractive and more talented brother.

So I'm not just moping about the house, calm down. Jessie's sister, Ali, was here for two months and I had lots of fun hanging out with the Sawyer girls. We went to bars and markets and The Lion King (just as amazing as when I was 14) and watched Jessie play roller derby. I was sad to see Ali return to Australia a couple of weeks ago, even if it does mean that I have a bike now. It's still fucking cold and kind of snowy but I love riding my bike everywhere instead of dealing with stupid, smelly, grumpy public transport. I still really enjoy my job; I've had bar training so now I make coffees and smoothies which is so much better because I don't have to deal with customers waving me over and constantly wanting things. I had a really bad flu a few weeks ago and chose that time to to go the doctor about my gross hand herpes again. After being patronising and rude the nurse simply suggested I get another job so I went and cried in the toilets for ten minutes because I know it wouldn't be this hard to get help at home with my GP. I felt really homesick until my flu got better, then I just got over it and have decided to live with having gross hands. I'm going to Bristol next month with Yana to see Foals and I'm toying with the idea of going to Italy in April/May with my Italian friend from Shoreditch Grind. And today, I found two places in Dalston (obvz) that sell Club Mate.

The white and green blur with a pink helmet is Jessie.

Me and Ali. Somewhere. Oh the roller derby after party, I think. 

Ali and Jessie turning heads outside the Lyceum theatre. 

This is at a party held at my work, where the owner, manager and one of the supervisors (pictured) dress up and DJ cheesy pop songs all night. Customers are encouraged to have shots of jagermeister and dance on the tables. There were also male strippers at this one. I saw more middle aged flaccid penis than I anyone should have to.

Unfortunately I don't have a photo of me on Frankenbike (or Frankie for short) but Jessie does have a photo of me standing in front of him before I rode it for the first time from her place. Its very "Sian's first day of school."

I apologise for mentioning tampons again. And flaccid penis, I guess.