Have strong legs, make man happy!

OR Queer, Womyn and Cash!

If you see, those three words in the 'headline' aren't really related. Or they are if you see from another perspective. Once again, apologies for rather sporadic posting, particularly since I'm still not sure about the frequency of my writing here. Am I writing elsewhere? Nah, nowhere other than some scribbles in the notebook that are meant to become blog posts, but don't. Why don't they? Hmmm. Perhaps because as information flows in from all quarters, I'm trying to segregate what I see, sense, learn, un-learn; trying to slot into understandable sub-heads that can then make for (perhaps) readable posts. Sometimes, I'm plain tired. My thighs and calves HURT and occassionally the balls (of the feet!) as well. There's a WHOLE lot of walking one has to do in Melbourne and I've never had strong legs.

Hmmm. Perhaps I shouldn't be accepting I have weak legs... In the movie Mongol, Timugin's (we know him as Genghis/Chengiz Khan) father tells him he should be marrying a woman with strong legs as "they make a man happy". If anyone has any doubts about HOW a woman's legs are supposed to make a man happy -- in Melbourne they might mean she can walk fast and do more work, like in rural parts of India it could mean she is a strong worker! -- just think Xenia Onatopp ('on a top' anyone?!) in Golden Eye and remember how she merrily held on to the men with her legs and then even more merrily squeezed the life out of them. Erm, I mean she killed them, no double entendres. Anyway, thankfully, despite my weak-legs-status, Partner says he is very happy with me.

Ah but perhaps I should not be talking about Partner being happy with me, it could piss off the womyn. 'Womyn' -- not woMEN, it's anti-feministic -- is the only-for-girls group that's there at RMIT, the university I start from Monday. I love their common room and the pamphlets on cervical cancer, anti-womyn's abuse and softer abortion laws (huge number of Catholics love, why do you think the revered Pope is visiting?) that are up on the walls. HOWEVER, the promotion of Guerilla Girls stickers bothers me. Not because I have anything against the Girls or their ideologies, but if I, as a WOMAN can get rights, opportunities, a say, a pay and your balls WITHOUT having to leave the man I love, or hate the man who sired me, or the man who hired me, without ever spreading my legs, fluttering my lashes, or wearing pant-suits or pantyhose to LOOK a certain part, I really don't want to be a guerilla. I really want to sign up for the programme and do things like write or perhaps bake some cookies and cakes once in a while, speak to girls/women/womyn who might need an ear or both... BUT...let's see. I was very excited about being part of a 'feminist' college -- Lady Shri Ram -- but unfortunately, other than much slogan-calling and other stuff, I personally don't think they ever promoted free thought. And well, there's no love lost either way. So while am VERY excited (and bloody nervous) about going back to 'college', let's see. Also, thankfully, I am not going to be the oldest. Yay! I'm still to meet anyone from my course, but read the feedback from a 44-year-old lady and made friends
(perhaps) with a 33-year-old Irani fellow.

Currently, am waiting for classes to start and get a move on things. I am also looking/hoping to get a job. No, I haven't applied yet. While I'd LOVE to do different things -- shoe sales girl, chef assistant, waitress --- it is AWESOME experience and hands-on research... perhaps it will be more prudent to try and find something in my own 'line'. Journalism. Media. Hmmm. It's NOT skilled labour you know -- apparently any idiot can write -- so I don't know or am not too sure about the opportunities, but let's see.

Last weekend I went for my first 'footy' game at the Telstra Dome. That's Australian football, a mix of rugby, soccer and Quidditch (refer Harry Potter you ignorami you, the four goal posts remind me it but no broomsticks, sorry). Somehow the cheering/jeering in Aussie culture goes well with my temperament. I love whistling, hooting and generally being boisterous. I didn't feel like an un-lady-like idiot booing the other team or shouting for mine.

Yes, yes, given that the kids here have footy in their bloods and I have been hearing about it for all but 9 months, I DO love the game. It goes fast, takes a lot of skill and fitness, the boys wear cute shorts and have hot legs and the spirit around is just so bloody infectious. My team -- "my" because Partner's promised to be put me in the next container and ship me off if I support another team -- is called Essendon. The Bombers. Red and black are their colours. Hah. Bongshell for Bombers and I love red and black. Now if only I'd enjoy beer.

Between beer and caffeine and despite the many varieties of tea available in the many Chinese supermarkets, haven't seen Aussie's drinking much else. Since am not earning in AUD yet, am paying 120 bucks for a cappucchino, friggin' 484 bucks for a packet of cigarettes (that should make me quit soon and you DON'T have to remind me of me trying to quit, I remember, I wrote it!) ... And it's hurting. I spent ONLY 300 something dollars yesterday, on ESSENTIALS and that translates into 12,000 Rupees. I am poor. :( After 9 years of working, flashing press cards and beginning 2008, being interviewed on bloody television, I am UN-fuckin-EMPLOYED! :(

Sigh. There's SO much to write... SO much... but slowly.

PS: The 'Queer' in secondary header was because RMIT also has a society for queer students -- gays, lesbians, bis, tranvestites, curious... More on that when I get to know beyond just reading their pamphlets.