Exercise = Holiday

When I started going to the gym, I was all, but how am I going to top my reward from last time (which was going to BlogHer in San Francisco)? Even buying new gym clothes pales in comparison to a trip to the other side of the world.

Well, GUESS WHAT?

I have found something totally exciting that I have to look forward to.

MY BOYS ARE COMING DOWN AFTER CHRISTMAS AND WE'RE GOING TO DRIVE THE GREAT OCEAN ROAD IN A CAMPERVAN!

I actually did this trip with two international students last year, but that was in a car, and this will be a bit slower, and we'll be able to see more things along the way, and it'll be much better weather. Plus, vsquared has never driven it, and skywalker hasn't even been out of SA/NT. So it's going to be awesome!



Look up Great Ocean Road on Google Images. Very very pretty drive. I can't wait!

Or I Could Talk About My Essay

I had to walk to the gym today.

(Not entirely true, in that I didn't have to go to the gym. But I am supposed to. And if you can't summon up some enthusiasm for the gym at the start of the week, well, it sets a bad precedent for the other four days that depend on that first one to start them off all happy and energetic.)

Anyway, I feel this is counter-productive. Walking to the gym.

If I WANTED to do exercise outside of the gym, out in the sunshine and fresh air, then I would do that. But no. I prefer to do my exercising inside, with all those sweaty people crammed into one poorly ventilated space, surrounded by machines specifically designed to torture every muscle in my body.

Exercising to get to the gym to do more exercise is wasting all those dollars I pay for pure exercise time at the gym which should not be marred by any exercise elsewhere. It's just wrong!

A Sign From God

Today did not go as I intended. For one, I had to skip the gym, which I was actually looking forward to, since I had a less than stellar day there yesterday, even though I finally got on the constantly-occupied rowers, so I wanted to make up for it, but word on the street is god did not want me to go to the gym today.

As I was forced to admit last summer, the Scarlet Lady does not enjoy the heat as much as I do. And with summer becoming increasingly assertive, I'd already decided that she wouldn't be ridden to work (40mins away) if it was over say 35°C (95°F). Short trips like to uni and Marion, no worries, anytime.

Today? It was 32°. We rode to uni. And she pitched a massive shitfit. That big steep hill up to campus was just too much for her. I had to leave her there while I went up and handed my assignment in, then crossed my fingers she could make it all the way home.

Turns out? She couldn't.* I definitely give her points for getting across the South Road intersection, which is about nine lanes across, but I would have appreciated it even more if she could have made it all the way home. Luckily, I found a place to leave her til it was cooler, even if she protested slightly at the temperature not being below thirty even at 6:30 at night.



I could not make this up. She happened to finally throw in the towel outside the carpark to a chuch bearing that sign. I couldn't not leave her there.

*She is home now, and grounded at least for the weekend, since I have to work, and tomorrow is supposed to be 37 degrees (98.6°F). If only she and I had more in common!

Learning New Skills

I know, I'm shocked. Who knew that uni would actually demand that we learn things? I personally thought my one skill - writing a passable essay at midnight the night before - was the only one they demanded, and the entire course was simply intended to assist with refining this skill.

Last night I finished the weirdest assignment I've had to do in all my time at Flinders - by which I mean it wasn't an essay: the one where we got to practice our cutting and pasting.




How bizarro is that? If that doesn't look like gibberish ... well, want to redo my assignment for me?

THAT Girl At The Gym

I like to think I was that girl today at the gym.

The one who takes about five minutes to untangle her headphone cord. And no, she cannot do it while the treadmill is actually moving.

The one with bright white, brand new, shiny top-of-the range running shoes. You know she won't last a week.

The one who is bargaining with herself on the treadmill. Like, if you run for two more minutes, I'll let you walk for three. If you run for one minute then walk for five, I'll let you go to the library.

The one who is on her cool-down, but decides to go for another three minutes because 'Love Shack' comes on the radio.

The one whose song preferences you can tell by when she cranks up Miley Cyrus and turns it over from a slow song, which, seriously dudes, what were you thinking putting that on in the first place? We're supposed to energetic, here!

The one who manages to get her headphone cords almost irretrievably tangled on the ten steps it took to get from the treadmill to the bike.

The one who rolls her eyes at her bike's computer when it repeatedly screams "HIGH HEART RATE," like, isn't that the whole point? (Now give me a cupcake.)

The one who does a completely exaggerated look of what a darn shame when she discovers two rowers are occupied and the other one is out of order, because honestly, she really and truly wanted to extend her workout.

You know, that girl ... if everyone else at the gym had a blog and was as involved with my workout (hee! "my workout") as I was and rushed home to blog about it even before they had a shower and I'm sure their roommates will thank them for that when they sit down on the couch tonight.

Oh yeah, and the one who said it wasn't going to be a gym blog, but what can she say, because she didn't die two days in a row!

How To Make The Gym Seem Like Fun

Emphasis on the word seem.

Make it all about the outfits!



I could totally endorse athletic wear. Crop top by Nike. Singlet by Cotton On. Shorts by Lonsdale. Socks by Nike. Shoes by Asics. Wristband by Adidas. Ok, so I'm not very loyal, but that will all change when someone starts paying me to go to the gym.

Speaking of, the last time I decided to exercise, I got a trip to San Francisco at the end of it. I fail to see how I am going to find motivation to equal or beat that this time around. Compared to a holiday, new clothes don't really cut it.

This is in no way going to become an exercise blog. For one thing, that would mean I would have to exercise, and for another, that shit is boring. But I thought that today, my first day at the gym, should be commemorated in some way. My goal is to do something at the gym every weekday, and notice I very carefully didn't specify how much something.

So far: I didn't collapse on the treadmill and kill myself. I consider that a total gym success.

Welcome To The Dark Side

I did it. I joined the gym.

I just went in to get prices and whatever - because I fully intend parading around the beach in a bikini all summer, and there are some things that the public should not be subjected to, so the gym was going to have to happen - but god forbid they could actually just hand over a price list and let me escape unscathed.

A consultant was brought out, I got a tour of the place, we had a long chat about my dreams, hopes, and aspirations, and then finally, he was like, hand over your wallet. And even then, when I was like, "Ok, I'll just take this info and get back to you," he was like, "What?" with this really confused look. Why don't you want to sell us your soul right now, this instant, immediately if not sooner?

Anyway, after he went back to his manager to see what kind of deal we could do, since I am, after all, a struggling uni student, he came back with a discount, plus a deal that he just worked out, which was pretty sneaky for two reasons: first of all, excellent sales tactics there, doing even better than the manager said he could (as if all of this wasn't authorised way before it was presented to me) and secondly, he got me signed up for much longer than I was going to, and if I forget to go in and change it, he's got me! All in all, they really do push hard to get you to sign up, but he was very friendly and knowledgeable, so it didn't even seem too bad. Which makes it even sneakier!

But I did get this very trendy backpack and drink bottle, all for the low low price of giving them a bunch of fake phone numbers of my closest friends people I want to torture with incessant phone calls.

House and Holmes

As may have been evident from yesterday's post, I have finished my thesis. It ended up at 58 pages (FIFTY-EIGHT PAGES), including cover sheet, acknowledgements, contents page, etc. The actual numbered pages only go up to 48, mostly due to the fact that the Intro is counted in roman numerals, which I am spewing about. As if I couldn't find two more pages of bullshit to babble about. I'm pretty sure I could have just moved a couple of paragraphs onto the next page and we would have been set. Although, I'm fairly certain 13,037 is enough words for any one person to be expected to read. And SEVEN DOLLARS was certainly enough for me to have to pay to print the stupid thing. On the plus side, I did learn how to make different types of page numbers within a single document.

I spent most of yesterday making sure things were double-spaced, no wait one and a half spaced here, and justified, no wait centered on this page, and OH MY GOD that full stop should have been a comma, and I really think that should have a capital, but if so I have to change all the other lower-case letters that I've already passed, and THE MARKERS BETTER NOTICE THESE MINUSCULE DETAILS.

Speaking of which, I kind of have an issue with the marking of this. Firstly, what the hell was I thinking writing about a pop-culture tv drama? Why did NO-ONE, at any point, tell me to compare Holmes to, like, War and Peace or The Odyssey or something that seems vaguely literary and intelligent. Ahem.

Secondly, how can they even mark it, when I had to make up the question and they really don't know what I was trying to say, or if I should have included something else, because clearly, this is the question, and this is exactly what I was trying to say, and it's written in a way which perfectly answers the question. So HDs all round!

Plus, if the Abstract was optional, then do we get bonus marks for having one? Or if it's really crap, do they take marks off? Cos that would suggest it would be better to not even have one. So many questions!

And thirdly, I feel like we should be able to include little notes to the markers, to the tune of "I included the episodes here and in this particular order because my supervisor told me to, even though she ended that email with the words 'I reckon' which I agree is not a very compelling argument, but it's all I had to go by. Take it up with her, you can leave that HD here while you do so. Cheers."

All that aside, it appears that I have done good just finishing it on time. In my class last week, to which five people showed up, one had done his thesis last semester, two had postponed theirs til next year, and another appeared to be in the middle of a nervous breakdown and was considering doing the same. Seriously, she nearly burst into tears when she found out the due date of our assignment was earlier than she thought. (She did get us an extension, so it wasn't in vain.) So now I am (a) freaking out because I'm pretty sure these are all very smart people and if they weren't able to complete it, what the hell makes me think mine is done well enough to hand in and (b) happy that I once again can experience the feeling that I was so used to having for most of high school - the one where I am smarter than everyone else and was not be up til midnight working on an assignment.

SO, THEREFORE, IN CONCLUSION ... here is me handing in my FIFTY-EIGHT PAGE THESIS and heading off to the beach. Mwah!


See how thick it is? And see me hiding in the shelves so no-one would see what a big dork I was being? Yeah, didn't work. Who knew people actually read those books?

Acknowledgements

I just typed my Acknowledgements page, and I thought you all might like to see it.



Unfortunately, since the guide says we should endeavour to be "brief and restrained" (emphasis all theirs, probably to combat situations just such as this), I might have to take out that last bit. But at least it will be preserved here forever.

I really do appreciate it.

Scary Things Update

I'm fairly certain I just finished writing my thesis. I didn't manage a 2000 word conclusion, but 1515 is close enough. I had a little trouble due to the whole I was supposed to have a point? Shit thing, but it's all good. I could write an abstract, and there is a whole lot of editing of my references to do, but basically, all the words are written. Yay me. Of course, I am not going to do all those little things today like I could, because I do not know how to not finish something ahead of time and would freak out if I had nothing to do the day before.

***

Here was my solution to the swooping magpie problem:


Bite me, magpies.

It was at the suggestion of my darling dad that I donned my scooter riding gear to hang out the washing, but judging from his laughter when I told him I'd actually done it, it was only so I could embarrass myself in front of the internet. But you guys totally believe that magpies are terrifying attack-trained killers, right? Thank you, dad and magpies, for my new-found fear of birds.

Killer Magpie Invasion

I just got SWOOPED by a MAGPIE.

Now, when I was little my dad used to tell us stories about when he was a boy and he had to ride to school swinging his school bag over his head to scare off the magpies. Darwin magpies don't do that, but it never occurred to me that Adelaide magpies would do it TO ME. Dad lived in the freaking country. Town magpies swoop, but city magpies are all civilised when I want to hang out the washing, right? Turns out: HELL NO.

And also, dad? You can't have your mobile off AND be out of the office when I need to call you. I couldn't really leave a message with Random Lady Who Answered The Phone about giant killer magpies who are out to get me, you know? And now how is my washing going to get dry? It's not-cold AND it's sunny today! But there's a magpie! HELP!

Happy Again

If someone was making a movie of my life (and come on, Road Trip II: BlogHer08 is just begging to be made), September would be the montage section, with cuts to me typing steadily, taking notes with books spread out all around me, and sitting in front of the tv eating. A lot.

I would get dressed in my thesis-writing outfit - trackies and many many layers of long-sleeved tops - have breakfast, type, eat lunch, type, etcetera but supersized. There was a lot of "Oh god, I'm so fat." Basically, winter was crushing my spirit.

But then came the awesome hotness of the start of spring. I decided I could no longer wear trackies to work, so I bought a pair of SHORTS and wore them at work that day. And oh my god, the difference that made. Hi legs! Wow, you look so good! Hey there calves, I'd totally forgotten you existed!

(This story doesn't really have a conclusion or a point, so I'm just going to put some stars here and pretend there an awesome finish which was also a wicked good segue into the next part.)

***

As I may have mentioned, my usual essay-writing method is to type and type and hit word count and type some more and oh look, we're at the word limit, type a conclusion, hit print. That's some quality work ethic there, dude.

And as I am totally sure I have not mentioned, not once, never ever, I am type-type-typing away at my thesis. Yesterday I did a bit of consolidation and editing (which seriously, re-reading my own writing? hate. never do it) and got an accurate word-count for the first time. (It's supposed to be 12-15000 words, but I always thought it was 10000, which is quite enough thank you, so that's what I was aiming for.) With a 2000 word conclusion still to go (which, hi, seriously? how do you write a 2000 word conclusion? usually my entire arguement is barely that long), I'm at 9800 words.

Which means I am totally on track, and if I stop messing around here, I could essentially have the whole thing written by tonight. OK FREAK OUT. Back to playing on the internet!

Cos We Don't Need No-One To Tell Us What To Do!

PS: This post took abouuuuut four hours to get done, due to the internets' refusal to upload photos to either here or Facebook. For which FB has been stabbed.

When I asked you all what to wear to the Living End concert, no replies were forthcoming,* which meant that Shelle and Alyce and I were on our own.

Everyone else at the concert: What do you wear to a Living End concert?
Us: What do you wear to HQ (where the concert was held)?



There is a bit of a difference. (And yes, that was like the worst photo I had, but it was the only full-length one of all three of us.)

Anyway, so there we were, being totally hot, and looking like ditzy college students, right down to the drinks our drivers were kind enough to let us stop and buy on the way.



We were pretty impatient through the opening bands, every single member of which made me want to attack them with hairdressing scissors. But we spent the time trying to get the attention of Hat Guy and Photo Guy, without much success.



But then THE LIVING END CAME ON! And we rocked out.



And so did the band. (Spewing I didn't get a photo of the dude playing his big cello thing WHILE STANDING ON IT. AWESOME!)



We decided to take a bathroom break for some fresh air, and what are bathrooms for if not posing in front of their mirrors?



The whole time we were sitting there, we kept saying things like "I can't wait to get McDonalds" and (since the band was taking a break) "We picked a great time to come here." This got us weird looks from some people who thought they were giving them to us after they'd walked past, but HAHA WALL OF MIRRORS WE CAN TOTALLY SEE YOU. We met Shoe Girl, who'd lost both of her shoes in the middle of the mosh pit. (We had actually started the concert there ourselves, with some idiot guys who were not being at all subtle about the pills they were popping, but decided we really didn't want to be crushed, so we moved to the left a bit. Still in the second/third row, which is awesome, right?) And we met Every Single Other Person Who Came In, who was allowed to bring their drinks in, while Alyce had had her water confiscated. Then Shelle got all impatient texting us, and we were like, whatever, we'll go back out when the break's over. And then the security guy was all, everybody out of the bathroom. And we were like, but we like it here!



And then we went out, and all the funny looks we'd gotten kinda made sense, as the whole place was empty except for Shelle. Yes indeed girls, why wouldn't you be allowed to stay in the bathroom during a break?

Annnyway. In short: I love tickets!



*It occurs to me that this may be because you are unfamiliar with the Living End? Is this true? I'd be interested to know. If that's the case, here is their song from which I stole the title of this post (and which COMPLETELY AND TOTALLY rocked the house last night).



More of their songs here and here. And their latest one here.