WELL HELLO THERE! Welcome to my brain again I’m not sure why you are here or what you want from me! Pardon me; I’m a bit overstimulated from watching Eurovision for the first year! On an unrelated note, from now on I wish to be called Beque, which is the Eurotrash spelling of my name. Anyway, I’m just writing this very quick post because I thought you should know I’m coming up to my 30th birthday (your internet presence is my present). Because of this, my old tired eyes are starting to be drawn to articles titled ‘Things you should have accomplished by 30’ and ‘This article is designed to make you feel inadequate and panic about how nothing is right in your life’ and such. Of course I never click on any of these articles, because unless it says that you should have no money, no career, a serious relationship with your cat & you spend your time tweeting about reality shows, it’s probably just going to make me feel bad. Oh and it will probably say something about your superannuation AND MINE IS SUCH A MESS OH MY GOD I'M SO PANIC STRICKEN THAT I CONTINUE TO NEVER SORT IT OUT.
Instead I have decided to write a quick blog post, but it’s not about where you should be when you are 30, because what do I fucking know? I think writing a list of where every 30 year old should be in their life is as ridiculous as writing horoscopes that can supposedly apply to everyone. (Except if tomorrow's horoscope for Scorpio is something great in which case i totally believe). Instead I wanted to write about a few things I assumed when I was younger that I would learn to love when I got older. Seeing as I’m not quite a girl, not yet a woman I thought it would be a good time to tackle it.
Oh olives. There are so many good things about you. You can say ‘olive you’ instead of I love you, and someone will marry you immediately because they'll be so impressed with your wit. The character from Popeye ‘Olive Oyl’ is a cool flapper. Sure, she seems to be constantly getting kidnapped and assaulted by the SAME guy, but nobody else seems to mind so who am I to judge. Along with this, Kristen Chenoweth plays a character named Olive Snook on the show Pushing Daisies and fucking hell she is adorable, so go ahead and watch that. I also really like cooking with Olive Oil, especially because I like to imagine Lucille Ball stomping olives like grapes until there is enough olive juice to fill my bottle. Pretty confident that is how it works.
On top of this, olives are small and good at being party foods, there are many different types and you can stuff things inside them and also fry them. I have tried them and tried them, but I just don’t like them, I’m sorry! What are you the Olive police?
I may just have an aversion to olives because of my experience with then when i was young. They would always be sadly sitting in a 80s food platter next to some toothpicks strung with kabana, a cube of cheese and cocktail onions. One Christmas I ate about 50 of these Toothpicked Delights (yes i have a genius naming things talent) as I drowned my sorrows in the fact that my 3 brothers received awesome water pistols from my uncle, and he had given me a DRESS. I will leave writing about the problem with gendered gift giving to people much smarter to me, but safe to safe it was FUCKING BULLSHIT. I had tears streaming down my face as I shovelled the Toothpicked Delights in, and once they were all gone i tried a olive. It tasted terrible, especially with the added seasoning of a young girls tears.
It may be hard to believe because I NEVER tweet about Whisky Sours, but I enjoy the odd alcoholic beverage. I am willing and open to try all alcoholic things, as long as they don’t taste like liquorice. I even have friends who work in the wine business, where I imagine they just wander around swirling and spitting out wine from 9-5 and then a whistle blows and they punch out with those old timey cards, and I have ZERO desire to be set straight on that. But I just have never reached the point where I enjoy red wine, and it appears I never will. I realise this, along with my love of Rugby League and the fact that I’m a Queenslander does make me less human than the rest of you, but it is what it is.
My main red wine memory is that my lovely parents have had an ongoing ‘argument’ for as long as I can remember about the song ‘Red Red Wine’. My mum loves it & my dad pretends to hate it, and we all find it so funny, and for some reason this comes up quite often and yes I do get my sense of humour from my parents so I suppose this explains a lot. I also happen to love red wine in cooking; for example I just love a JUS OR TWO (thankyou, i know), I love wed wine gravy (but let's be honest any gravy), and I also love Italian cooking with red wine in it JUST LIKE MAMA!!!! I have spent quite a few years trying to convince myself that I like red wine, because it has been so readily available for free because that is what a lot of parents drink, and i am all about opening myself to as many free things as possible. I think the main issue is the temperature, and my poor tiny feeble brain just cannot understand why my mouth would want to drink something that is neither hot not cold. IT JUST DOESN’T MAKE SENSE. Well now I’m just ‘red whining’ so I’ll leave that one there. Do you think if I drank more red wine I would make less terrible puns? I guess we’ll never know, sucks to be you.
Now this one is tricky, because I have really only had exposure to ballet through pop culture and occasionally on SBS. But seriously, if Natalie Portman and Mila Kunis can’t get me to enjoy ballet, nobody can. Originally I loved the idea of ballet because Jesse in the Babysitters Club did it, but then there was bulimia and bullying and so much hard work and I was exhausted just reading about it. I assumed that one day when I got older I would come around to actually liking to watch ballet, but then something happened that put the final nail in the coffin. That nail was named 'Save the Last Dance' and it came out in early 2001.
For those of you who don't know (congratulations if you don't) it stars my late nineties/up until this day crush Julia Stiles as a young ballet dancer who stops dancing when her mum dies hurrying to watch her Julliard audition or something. Then she has to move to Chicago and she meets an.....AFRICAN AMERICAN BOY and oh wow does that ever cause problems and old people give them the stink-eye on the train when they are kissing, but it’s okay because he’s trying to get into medical school. He also has a sister named Chenille, I know that much. And the boy and Julia Stiles go to a club where white people don’t usually go because they are only good at ballet and line dancing, and so Julia Stiles the whitest person on the planet goes and they dance sexy together. Then there is a song about telling chickenheads to be quiet? This somehow helps her get her classical ballet groove back and then she gets into some other program, but I wanted her to stay dancing in that club until the end of time so I am against ballet forever.
Sex With Men
Pretty self explanatory.