My first boyfriend

November 24, 2014 | Leave a Comment

My first boyfriend’s name was Christian, and I met him on the internet. I was 14. I know this because my nick on Internet Relay Chat was Anna14. His was Chrish. I would later learn that this had something to do with the fact that he couldn’t spell very well; not even his own name. We met under a palm tree by the river, with my friend who had also come along to meet a boy from the internet. She was 16. Her boy was an overly large redhead, and he stood heavily on one corduroyed leg and his glasses fogged up.

Christian was tall and skinny, floppy brown hair. I want to believe he had an eyebrow ring. He was 15, and he had come along with his friend Adam, I guess in case I was a psycho stalker, or a middle-aged man. Ultimately I was a psycho stalker, but I had worn a cute top and Tencel jeans, so by appearances I was a real girl. He was from the south, near the beach, and I was from the Hills. It was a modern day West Side Story, probably.

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In the news, Mentals

Stop risking people’s lives for clicks, please

November 20, 2014 | 18 Comments

You might already know from Twitter that about 35 years ago, my dad’s dad took his own life. I don’t know if dad is thinking about this more than usual, but we’ve talked about it twice in the past two days. 35 years ago, men were mostly not meant to be depressed. I mean, men are still mostly “not meant” to be depressed. That’s a big part of the reason men die by suicide at a rate of more than three times that of women. The stigma surrounding men’s mental health is massive, ill-informed and also deadly.

Anecdotally, it seems to be improving, at least in people I know. I talk to the men I know about how they’re feeling. I’m not sure if this is because I talk so much about how I am feeling, but they sometimes come to me and ask for my support and even advice.

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In the news, Ranting

Having a gifted child shouldn’t be aspirational

November 19, 2014 | 5 Comments

This bright spark has decided he’s not going to call his child “gifted”. The fact that his child is apparently not gifted doesn’t seem to have factored into this decision, but you know, just in case anyone was wondering, in the event that his child had a brain transplant down the track and became a different child.

I have a gifted child. I also have a not-gifted child. So here’s your first lesson, Christopher: they are both really smart. Off the charts smart. One is gifted. The other one is just regular smart.

Gifted is not “smartest”. It’s a way to label behavioural traits, to assist with learning development and needs analysis.

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My dad’s cats

November 18, 2014 | 1 Comment

When I was but a twinkle in my father’s eye, my animal destiny was being established. I would be a hopeless devotee of the kitten mewling in the drain; I would be the freak stalking the RSPCA every weekend; I would be the girl shelling out her pocket money for a mouse that would fit in my pocket.

My dad — an engineer in his early-30s — had six cats.


I have a photo of this bearded, smiling man, sitting in bed with the doona pulled up to his chin while six sets of laser eyes stare out from around him. A whole army of laser-shooting cats. Mum is presumably the photographer, capturing the majesty of the kind of happiness that can only come from the distant, unreliable love of a feline.

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Food court meals I miss to this day

November 17, 2014 | 10 Comments

Being a 90s hoodlum and general interactor with humanity, I’ve been to a few food courts. I like the way people sit in them, as though it’s not fully disgusting to eat your one type of food with your disgusting mouth while someone sits practically on top of you with their junk in your eye. I also feel this way about restaurants, only more so because of the reusable napkins.

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