Family business

I’ve been writing this blog for a few months and I’ve realised I haven’t really written too much about my family- those people I didn’t get to choose to have in my life. My last name is Macfarlane so if you hadn't already guessed, I'm Scottish and that means we have our own family crest and tartan. Boom. I know you're jealous. In my family I have a 21 year old sister, a 16 year old brother, my mum, my dad and Kitty, our cat who we don’t like much because we only see her around dinner time. Together we’re the Macfarlane’s. Eat your heart out Brady Bunch. Maybe I should discuss how our little family started with the story of how my parents met.


My mum was a bit of a babe back in ye old day and dad was kind of a player (I would know, I’ve seen photos of him in his day and a buffet of women to prove it). On the fateful night my parents met, they were both at the same bar with a few friends. My mum was having a few drinks at a table when my dad strolled over asking my mum where she lived. When she replied with “Balwyn”, he responded with “well you’re out” before asking all of her friends in turn and eventually walking away. Eventually he went back to my mum and for some reason, she gave him her number. Three weeks later he called to arrange a date, ending their conversation with “I don’t remember what you look like so if you’re alright I’ll stay but if you’re ugly I’ll keep on walking.” Nice choice mum.

Might I also point out, my parents are two of the palest people and alive, hence shouldn’t have mated. There should be a work safety policy in the realm of parenting, I am practically allergic to the sun. What is also strange are the varied heights in our family. My mother and sister are 5’ 4”, my dad is 5’8.5”, I’m 5’9.5” and my brother is a monster at 6’5”. Where the hell did the tall genes come from? Also the fact that my mum and sister have massive jugs and I’m a little more challenged in that region.

Like any family, we don’t always get along. My dad runs a tight ship and likes to have control over the house hold and the rest of the family or as he likes to call us, “you people”. If I leave things lying around, he hides them and makes me do stuff for him in order to get them back. Unfortunately, he’s started to forget where he puts them and half of my stuff has been missing for a few months. My brother Andrew just likes to steal my stuff in general, this includes multiple pairs of headphones (often pink ones) and moisturiser. Andy and I are really tight but it’s still confusing when I get accused of flirting with him. I’m just a very affectionate person, I swear I’m not Tasmanian.

The awesome thing about having a sister is that you practically get two wardrobes but it’s depressing now because my sister Stephanie is at college in America on a tennis scholarship. We still try to exchange things every time she comes to visit but I’m a bit worried she’ll lose it as she has a tendency to misplace things. It all started a year ago when I bought her this beautiful expensive ring for her 21st but she lost it. Since then, she started losing bigger things like her hamster Pumpanickle who just “disappeared” and more recently her black Labrador puppy Pepper. Very smooth. I’m beginning to think the forgetfulness runs in the family.

The issue I’m having with my mum lately is that I’ll have full conversations with her about things and when I bring it up again the next day, she’ll have no recollection of us ever discussing the topic at hand and she’ll get mad at me for not telling her. She only gets mad because she loves her kids so much so she gets worried when she thinks we haven’t told her every detail of our lives.

So I guess you could say my family is pretty normal, but we’re a bit closer than your regular family. So if you touch my family, consider yours in grave danger. I will go ape shit.

bday or me-day?

I hate that it’s my birthday only once a year. I’m getting sick of it being everyone else’s birthday and not mine! I get so jealous! You know the scenario, you’re sitting at a restaurant when a delicious slice of free cake flies past you carried by a waiter singing “happy birthday” and you’re thinking “I want free cake” but it never comes. I’ve been tempted so many times to pretend it’s my birthday in the hopes of getting that cake made 100 times more delicious purely due to the fact it’s free. The way I see it, this jealousy of other people’s birthdays started a long time ago.


Picture this: a room filled with streamers, balloons, a clown, fairy bread and screaming 5 year old kids. It’s your best mate from prep’s fifth birthday and you’ve already had a tantrum because it was completely unfair that they were getting a present and you weren’t. Then suddenly, their mum starts singing “happy birthday” while stepping over kids and holding a glorious delicacy appropriately labelled with “happy birthday Chucky” (I don’t know why I inserted the name Chucky there but maybe that’s because he was my favourite Rugrats character). Of course you’re Chucky’s best mate so you get to sit next to him while he blows out the candles. This is when shit gets real. Chucky goes to blow out the candles but you get in there first and blow them out yourself. Chucky starts crying, his mum is trying desperately to calm him while re-lighting the candles and clearing up the snot you just blew all over the icing. You: 1, Chucky: 0.

It only gets worse as you get older. You start buying presents by yourself with your own money. You pick the perfect present and realise your friend will love it just as much as you do. But hang on, it is kind of expensive and it’d look better on you anyway. Before you know it, you’ve claimed ownership of this present. This is easily avoidable. If it’s for a family member, get something you will both like and since you live in the same house, you can use it whenever you want. I did this with my dad. I wanted a pasta maker so I got him one and just use it all the time. Another trick is to get a present that involves doing something together such as a trip to Queensland. They’re happy they’re going to Queensland, you’re also going. Everyone wins. I have another dilemma on my hands though: my birthday is close to Christmas.

For people who don’t understand what this is like, imagine getting completely jibbed with joint birthday and Christmas presents. It’s BS! Not only that, people regift their own Christmas presents to give you for a birthday present because they were “busy until after Christmas”. Oh how convenient. This happened to me last year when a friend bragged about how awesome the present was that she was giving me but she kept “forgetting” it everytime she saw me. I’m one of those people who really isn’t fussed about whether or not I get a present from somebody but she was making me excited about how amazing this present really was. Eventually the 9th of January rolls around and she is ready to present me with this ridiculously fabulous gift. Firstly, it was enclosed in a small brown paper bag. Warning sign number one. I pull it out of the bag and it is a chunky piece of metal, which was apparently a necklace. Now I don’t mean to sound like a spoilt little brat, but this person had known me since I was ten and in no way, shape or form would I ever be able to pull off this piece of “jewellery”. My acting training jumped in as I looked up at her saying “oh wow, it’s so versatile”. I would’ve preferred a potato if I wanted versatility. I gave her the benefit of the doubt assuming she had at once stage gotten me an awesome present but had it for so long that she fell in love with it and claimed it, eventually panicking and giving me this unwanted Christmas gift. Understandable, I loved the present I got her for Christmas so much that I bought myself one. I guess it’s the thought that counts right?

That’s what I love about Jesus, he’s willing to share his birthday. Legend.

Sham WOW!

It was one of those times when you need a fucking big sham wow. It all started on the morning of October the 6th when I decided it would be a nice idea to wear a cute flowy white skirt to uni but with a g string considering I would have to change into leggings during play rehearsals because if there’s one thing I hate more than brussel sprouts, it’s visible panty lines. Sure that made no sense, but who doesn’t hate brussel sprouts? I digress. One of my favourite things to do is watch the weather and impersonate the weather girl but on that very morning I was running late and missed the weather. And so started my unfortunate day.


I didn’t have enough coins that morning for parking and I just wasn’t in the mood to visit the creepy guy at the servo who remembers me everytime I go there to get coins or an up & go. I decided to take a wee little journey on the bus that I usually avoid because it means I have to walk a whole five minutes to get to the bus stop and I’m lazy. Originally I thought I missed the bus as it sped by me but I’d chosen a good day as the bus driver was in the mood for a slurpee so he sent some of his bus groupies to get him one. Stage one of my day was complete as I arrived at uni 20 minutes after my class started. At this point of the day, there was only a minimal amount of wind. My luck was soon to run out.

Three hours later and my class was over. I came outside to see what can only be described as an apocalyptic sky combined with tornado like winds. It was Munroe moment after Munroe moment. I felt like I was being ripped off by God, he was showing everyone my arse and I was getting no money for it. This was the least of my worries.

It has come to my attention that a new water catchment area should be created in my garage. For quite some time now, we’ve had some serious issues when it comes to rain and drains. About a year ago, our entire house got flooded and we had to replace all the carpet. On this evening however, dad and I got in there quick to clear out some serious water. So I donned my red gum boots and my rain coat while grabbing a bucket just as shit started getting real. Dad and I were running around like headless chooks trying not to drown like the poor little snail I found swimming in the blocked drain. The water was literally knee deep and pouring in from every possible opening. My cat, Kitty, had previously smashed a hole in one of our windows the other day as well. You may ask how this is possible if I don’t have a tiger as a cat but truth is, our house is kind of a crap heap that was created with illegally thin windows...those are the ones made of glass and not green plastic like the rest of the house. Amazing visual I’m sure. But because of this hole, more water was pouring in along with the shower coming in through the kitchen cupboards.

Eventually we stopped the flowing river running through my garage after some intense father daughter bonding. Dad and I don’t do much with each other that doesn’t involve food or playing guitar together so this was pretty huge. My sister better watch her back because I’m in the running for golden child at this rate. She asked for it when she got her first tattoo.

While others are snuggling up in front of the heater during a storm, us Macfarlane’s are battling raging floods and while limiting our energy use by keeping our heater in its broken state. We’re survivors. I’m just glad I didn’t have to pump up the inflatable boat this time...

Gender bender

“If I were a boy, even just for a day, I’d roll out of bed in the morning and throw on what I wanted and go.” Well Beyonce, I couldn’t have said it better myself....but I’ll try. Lately I’ve just been getting more and more jealous of boys. They get to do so much cool shit! If I could trade bodies with a boy for a week, here’s a list of things I would do:


Pee wherever I want
I can’t even imagine how much time I would save if I could just whip out a wiener and pee at any time, any place. I’d love to try out some aiming as well as write my name in some snow. There would be no awkward squatting while camping, no waiting in line to use the loo’s or waiting till I found a toilet in general. The world would be my toilet.


Have a burping and farting contest
Not many people know this, but one of my rare skills is the ability to burp extremely well on demand. People don’t know this because it’s socially unacceptable for females to burp in public. It depresses me because when I rip out a winner, people are disgusted. Just once would I like to burp and hear applause.


Walk around naked with my mates
I recently went to uni games and was astounded at the number of nude dudes I saw in public. I had one awkward incident when we were at a club and I turned around after getting drinks from the bar only to be confronted by five naked guys, whom I would’ve high fived if I didn’t have drinks in my hands. I also love that a footy bus containing an entire team while naked was crashed after a night out (not the crashing part...just the naked part). Boys were also caught streaking at the girls footy match. So much nudity, so little time.

Not bother with grooming
Boys take this for granted so much. They don’t need to shave, moisturise, tan, do their hair, put on makeup or wear high heels. It’s so unfair that their going out ensemble consists of a tshirt and jeans with the ability to change tshirts for a completely different outfit the next evening. PLUS they’re always comfortable! Epic win much?


Grow a mo
Bit awkward if you have a mo as a chick. Enough said.

Shave my head
I’ve always considered this but I have an awkwardly shaped head and it didn’t exactly work out well for Britney Spears. Yes Natalie Portman pulled this off but only coz she is a hot babe.



Beyonce, she had the right idea as did Ciara who once said “sometimes I wish I could act like a boy”. Ladies, you read my mind.

Break me off a piece of that

I’m hearing whispers of a new breed of man being created. A real man, who wreaks of sweat, dirt and petrol instead of the new Calvin Klein shirt he bought himself yesterday. A guy who is ready to kill that spider on your wall instead of running out of the room screaming while you drown it in deodorant. A bloke who’s drinking a beer instead of a vodka and raspberry. I have one word for this: delicious.

It seemed for a while there all guys were hung up on this obsession of being a “metrosexual”, where they would be caught stealing their mum’s razors to shave the patch on their chest visible through the v-neck cut into their perfectly good t-shirts and borrowing her concealer for that pesky zit on their chin. It seemed shopping to this breed of man was more exciting for them than for females and their brand new snake skin brothel creepers teamed up nicely with their skinny hipster jeans and tight pink shirt. Sure every girl loves it when a guy smells scrumptious but when that’s due to the fact they’ve just borrowed their girlfriend’s moisturiser, that is not cute. Not cute at all.

The metrosexual would be more likely spotted in the gym sipping on a protein shake or at a cafe eating a salad rather than in his natural habitat eating a pie at the footy or a sausage roll in a lumber yard. If you’re going to go to the gym, pump some iron or lift a few cars. Think Superman not Ben Affleck.

It seems that the bloke is back, giving way from a metro to go retro- retrosexual that is. No girl wants to be seen with a guy at the beach who’s oiling himself up and pulling up his short shorts to get an even tan. It’s called man sheen, and it appears when a guy is playing footy in the water in a pair of shorts that are longer than his mid thigh. Get it? Another thing, a real man should know how to deal with a flat tire or can unblock a drain. I sure as hell can’t so if I could call up a friend to clean my pipes instead of a professional, that would be mighty helpful....wow, that actually sounds like a porno. Moving on! I digress!

This new man is more Bear Grylls (drool) over Justin Timberlake. Those who don’t know who Bear Grylls is, please bash your head into a wall then come back and continue reading....all done? Cool bananas. Bear Grylls is the man all guys should look up to as he is the star of Man Vs. Wild. He could wrestle a tiger with his bare hands (or should I say “Bear” hands...wow, I’m so funny. Note to self: no one thinks you’re as funny as you think you are). He literally just carries a knife around and cup and he can survive in the Amazon! If that’s not impressive, I don’t know what is. I’m talking Rambo here people, guys who man up, rub some dirt in it and get the job done!

I’m not saying to guys stop showering and grow a beard resembling Osama Bin Laden but just get it together! Men get the stereotype of being the stronger human beings so act like it and stop stealing my moisturiser!

Rational fears

Deep water

This tops my list of fears. Nothing freaks me out more. I’m fine when I’m looking at the water and I want to swim in it but when I’m in there, no deal. I don’t like the fact that anything could be swimming around me and licking their lips at the thought of having me for their next meal. I went swimming with dolphins last year and absolutely shat myself. If I was a shark, I would definitely pretend I was a dolphin so I could feast on all the delicious humans I wanted. I also had my first panic attack when I was in Greece recently, where there are apparently no sharks. The water was amazingly clear and beautiful from above but I couldn’t see that when I was in there. I was about 3 metres from the cliffs (hence the water was about 3 metres deep) when I started freaking out. I started hyperventilating and almost crying because I wanted to go back. I reached a whole new level of pathetic damsel in distress. Needless to say, I got laughed at by the locals who clearly hadn’t seen Jaws. I’m also terrified of murky water, like the water in the Murray River. Have you seen some of those crazy arse fish on National Geographic that they find in water like that? I’ve seen way too many scary movies and I feel at any moment my life could turn into one. Same goes for pools at night. Never will I ever swim in one of those by myself. I must admit though, if you pee your pants from being scared in the water, no one will ever know.

Butterflies

As Bart Simpson says, “no one suspects the butterfly”. I do. They are so icky! The butterfly house at the zoo makes me want to cry. They have the creepiest butterflies with the chunkiest bodies with their little that there are way too many of. Half the time the butterflies are on top of each other mating but the other half of the time, they’re all over people! They’re meant to be scared of people but they’re not, their arrogance really irks me. I’m not a fan of things with wings, they kind of give me the heeby jeebies. That goes for moths as well. I can’t even be in the same room as a moth or a butterfly, a little feeble I realise. I like butterflies from a distance, the colours are pretty but close up they’re scary as hell! People try to tell me they can’t hurt me but what if one flies into my mouth and I choke on it because it’s so big? Yeah, argument won me thinks.

Birds

I was never really afraid of birds until Spring of last year. It was a lovely day and I was innocently on my way to catch the train. I was walking up the ramp to the platform when I heard a loud squawk before getting smacked in the side of my head by something. Dazed and confused, I looked around only to be hit again in a fury of feathers and claws. I made a run for cover, getting shrieked at angrily all the while. I’d heard of this happening to people during nesting season but it had never happened to me. The same thing happened a week later after I’d built up the courage to take the train again but this time people saw and laughed. I hope they get shat on by a million pigeons. After those two incidents, I couldn’t walk outside by myself for about two months. To this day, I still duck if a bird flies past me or if I hear them squawking.

Things I’m not afraid of that most people are:

• Snakes: I absolutely love snakes. I’ve always wanted one; I love the way they feel, move, look, everything.
• Heights: Already have bungy jumping and sky diving on my list of things to do.
• Small spaces: They don’t really bother me unless I’m surrounded by a lot of people, then I get flustered.
• Spiders: No biggy, they can only crawl and they probably won’t bite me. Only bad experience I’ve had with them was when one crawled out of the handbag I’d been using all day and into my car where I couldn’t find him. That was a tad scary.

Violent crime

Once again high heels have caused me a great deal of trouble. Last night I went to the Melbourne Uni commerce ball at the Docklands, that lovely event everyone lined up for overnight. Overall the night went splendidly as I spent it being one of the only sober people and only getting two drinks poured on me. Success. I did have a tiny diva tantrum when the first drink was splashed over my favourite shoes along with broken glass but I slapped myself in the face and got over it.

The night went by fairly uneventfully with a few people stacking in on the dance floor, a creepy camera guy zooming in on girl’s butts while it was projected on a large screen and the serving of a very interesting mystery meat for dinner. I didn’t drink as much as last time either so the ability to see was an unexpected surprise. Those who know me would know I’m not the biggest party animal in the world and would rather spend a night in on the couch than go out drinking till 4am...generally because I get sleepy at about 11 or 12 and start dozing off....at clubs. I’m just lucky my mum has enough money to keep paying people to take me out and be my friends.

All was going great until the ball ended at midnight, at which point my carriage turned into a pumpkin and the horses turned back into mice. Ok not really, but what actually happened included torrential rains and misleading bus drivers. The after party was set to be at Prince as it was the year prior with buses apparently waiting outside ready to take us there. When we got to the buses, we were sent away, told that it was the bus for Monash students going to Tramp. Because of this, we went on an adventure in our tiny dresses through the rain to find a cab. Eventually we found one with a club photographer in it on his way to Eve so we jumped in with him. After finding out our jobs paid less than half of his, we finally arrived at Prince freezing our butts off and feeling less than stunning. This is the venue where I would later be carried out of in a great deal of pain.

15 minutes into the afterparty, shit went down. We were all dancing when a young lady lost her footing and began to fall from a step. On her way down she stood on my foot in her sky high stilettos, twisting hard as she fell. Don’t worry, she was fine, my foot on the other hand was not. I don’t usually swear much because my voice is really high pitched so it just sounds odd so when I do, you know something is serious. I yelled the f-word out for a total of ten seconds before limping away to the bathroom. As soon as I got in there, I sat down to check out the damage. Already my foot had swollen with a lump the size of a golf ball just above the toes on my left foot. I didn’t even realise I’d sat next to my friend Jacinta but thank the holy mother of Jesus that I did. After 20 seconds of trying to be a big girl I burst into tears with the most excruciating pain I’d ever felt finally becoming too much.

Many girls came and went through that bathroom, all with an empathy I knew all too well. I’ve been stood on multiple times but nothing like this. I was offered ice and water but no alcohol. At that stage I was in need of a whole bottle of tequila, regretting my foolish decision not to drink in the first place. Soon my wailing was becoming too much for my friends so they decided it was time to make a move. They pushed through the crowd hoisting me off the ground while screaming “SHE HAS A BROKEN FOOT, GET THE F*$#K OUT OF THE WAY!” Finally I was down the stairs and in a private room getting fed nurofen while my foot was up on top of a table. At that point, all I wanted was my mummy. The call to her went like this:

Me (while balling my eyes out): Mum, someone stood on my foot in a stiletto, I think it’s broken

Mum: Are you drunk?

Me: No mum, I’m unfortunately sober and my foot is broken. I need you to come get me.

Mum: Who are you meant to be going home with?

Me: The Brighton girls. Mum-

Mum: What time are they leaving?

Me: I don’t know! You are not understanding the gravity of the situation! My foot is broken! I need you to come get me!

Mum: Ok, ok I’m coming.

I later found out my mum thought I was kidding. What kind of person calls their mum when they’re drunk and says they have a broken foot? More like who calls their mum when they’re drunk in general? Long story short, I went to the hospital, got pushed around in a wheelchair, got an x-ray and was told it wasn’t actually broken but just a chipped bone. I feel bad for my poor friends and my mum who had to put up with me whinging. The entire time I was in hospital, all I complained about was how I would have to wear a boot or worse, have to wear crutches. My mum also asked me if I punched the girl. Such a good role model.

In conclusion, until last night there was nothing heels could do to make me think about them in a poor light. I’m not quite willing to hang my pairs up just yet but I do think I’ll take more care when dancing with drunk girls...or take knuckle dusters next time I go out.