Journal

‘Slutty Sundaes’ – you never knew when she was going to snap

Travel has been the last few  ‘Slutty Sundaes’ entries. 

But today, I felt like telling a bit of a sad story. 

One that shouldn’t be shunned away and put in a forgotten cupboard that never gets cleaned. 

When I was a kid, between the age of 9-12 I had this neighbour friend. I’ll call her R and she was 9. Same age as me. At least that’s where this story starts. 

We were the bestest of mates. Music -mainly Hanson- were our band of choice to idolise. It was the 90’s. Young boys were fascinating yet if either of us had one around we wouldn’t have known what to do.

R had a pool which made summer time a great way to escape. We came up with games, pretending we were doctors of this wicked experiment or members of the Spice Girls. Or mimicking killer whales and humpbacks.

R also had a little sister. I’ll call her N. She was 3 years younger than us.  

R, N and myself would play all day in the pool. Sunburnt and exhausted, we would shower together (Not in a weird way) and then cosy up to the Nintendo 360 and play Mariocart. We were ‘Tomboys’. 

I distinctly remember eating light and tangy chips, whilst having to juggle the Nintendo controller, driving Yoshi’s car through tunnels avoiding shells. It was multitasking at its finest. 

Growing up, I knew I was a bit different. Considerably different in the sense that I was an anxious child. Things scared me easily. Sleeping over was a nightmare and mean people was one of my greatest fear. Namely, R and N’s mum

I wouldn’t call her a friendly person. She was scary. Completely different from my own mum. An aggressive persona meant that heading over their house was sometimes like treading on eggshells. You never knew when she was going to snap. 

Their dad on the other hand was amazing. He was the most gentle man. Tall, dark and handsome. Their small dog utterly obsessed with him always at his feet or around on his lap when driving. 
As a time went on as a 10 or so year-old, I couldn’t comprehend the seriousness of the family dynamic. 

Once, I was so scared of sleeping over, their Dad comforted me, telling me I was okay and strong enough to stay over but could go home if needed. Whilst his wife, annoyed, I had bothered them at such a late hour to go home. Admittedly, it was two doors down from my house. But, I was a highly anxious 

—-

Any excuse to share a movie or new song, I was over R’s house. We hung out as much as possible. She also had more and better toys. 
I believe I was 11 at the time they went on a holiday to Bali, Indonesia. I remember R telling me she had a mansion that they lived in with a maid that made any food she  requested.

A little envious of their getaway, I was eager to see R and N when they returned to hear their new adventures. 

One day, I had overheard a conversation between my parents.

Something had gone wrong

Asking my mum what she was talking about she sat me down and had explained it in involved R and N’s holiday. It involved their dad. 

He had committed suicide

It’s really hard to comphrehend what all this meant. I remember feeling really confused. 

R and N came home with their mum but no dad. It was quite profound. 

I’ll never forget his funeral. We went to this spot near the Harbour Bridge. 

R’s Dad have been in a coffin for viewing then cremated so his ashes could be spread across the harbour, underneath the bridge. 
I walked along with her to the boat when she said something I have never forgotten. 

“His face had make up. He looked really funny,” said R looking spaced out. 

Inside I felt this was wrong. At least to talk about the dead like that- even if it was your own Dad.

Months had passed, and they had decided to leave Sydney. The pain of their father was too much. Queensland was sunnier, hotter and as far as away as you could go for a new life. 

Over the years I saw the girls. R and N but something had changed. Considerably their father committing suicide would have an effect that was deep seeded. 

One that meant seeing that same friend they played with ,when their father was alive, wasn’t the most appealing time spent. 

The last time I remember seeing them we were 16.  N was 13 at the time. But she wasn’t a typical 13 year old looking girl. 

She looked our age, maybe even older. Really beautiful. Talking to this guy over her flip phone who was 16. We went to this shopping centre and she was adamant about finding a toilet. There she sent him a topless photo of herself. 

I was gobsmacked.

 Internally I wondered if she would have acted this way if her father was still alive. 

R told me she was suffering from depression and all this medication while N hardly spoke to me. 

It was clear we had parted ways.

I always think back to R and N. Imagining  what their lives are like. If they’re happy. 

One time when I went to visit them when I was 12. R’s mum was angry. We were driving to a theme park but were late. Somehow in her frustration she let out, “Look what your father has done to us,” she said with force. 

I found out much later in life, their father had gotten into a car in Bali, and gased himself with the fumes of the car. But it wasn’t just that. He also took pills. 

Suffering in silence is never the way to go. Witnessing the effect of this I believe has always struck me. Because I know what it’s like to try and pick up the pieces. It’s hard and torturous.

Nothing an 8-year-old and 11-year-old should experience. 

Note:  I am saddened that such a gentle kind natured man could feel this was his only escape. Seeking help is an option. 

If you’re suffering with suicidal thoughts or are in a place of difficulty. Speak up or call someone. 

Call 13 11 14 for Lifeline or 000 if you’re in immediate danger. 

Journal

‘Slutty Sundaes’ – “Do you find me attractive?” 

Welcome to ‘Slutty Sundaes’ the third!

Seeing as I am on a theme of stories of travel I thought I would keep it going until I can think of some new material but for now this is what I’m giving.

Last year, after my stint in Canada and after heading through America with my mum finally ending up in Europe and spent some awesome time in a friends single unit in a university dorm doing what anyone would do in Amsterdam, having some good weed.

Before I even arrived in Amsterdam for my friends weed that literally left me lying still and hardly being able to retain a thought, I went to Frankfurt.

img_5010 Continue reading “‘Slutty Sundaes’ – “Do you find me attractive?” “

Journal

‘Slutty Sundaes’ – it was seriously like that movie – the Hangover

Hooray! It’s ‘Slutty Sundae’, hope your week has been well.

It’s been a disastrous one for the UK. Incredibly sad and heartbreaking to see such violence. I have friends living in London but thankfully as far as I know they’re fine. But still, any of those people could be friends, family members or even me. A scary and daunting thought. Especially as it doesn’t seem to be easing. My heart goes out to the victims and families. But also any victims of such atrocious acts of violence.

Amongst all the craziness of the world, I had a story to share. One that isn’t violent but a comical one.

Continue reading “‘Slutty Sundaes’ – it was seriously like that movie – the Hangover”

Journal

‘Slutty Sundae’ – “can’t be sex or drugs”

Todays ‘Slutty Sundae’ is a story while travelling through Europe.

Being an impressionable 22 year old woman meant in-de-pen-dence *snaps fingers* and most of my friends hadn’t been out of Australia.

Yet there I was, backpacking around Europe.

I felt this shield of confidence that I had never felt before.

This experience is something I’ll never forget.

It was the summer of 2012. And I arrived at my hostel as a complete sweaty mess. After getting lost twice; once by this guy who took me the complete opposite direction I needed and the second being a man who spoke english and was very sweet!

Once settled after a good sleep and shower. I spent the day soaking up the sights and taking random streets to see a different side of Budapest I wouldn’t normally see.

Later on, I gathered in the hostel lounge area with people from the hostel. All from around the globe. 5 Americans, 2 Ecuadorians, 1 Austrian guy, and a German girl then me. The only Aussie. A rarity. 

We dove straight into drinking games, became louder and sweaty and some stripped shirtless (the hostel had only one fan per room and it was so hot). The hostel lady told us we needed to close the windows because the neighbours would complain.

The woman mumbled something about a man with a hockey stick. She divulged into an anecdote about this nasty man. He would come along and rip down all their maps and signs of the hostels location- no wonder I was lost! Even ripped out the keypad to open the doors for the hostel because the residents complained.

It was her nice way of saying we should probably leave if we wanted to continue to be loud and have ‘obnoxious’ fun.

One of the American guys suggested this place he heard of that was quite cool. We all left and followed him. I was pretty buzzed from the cheap alcohol, despite the sweating.

I felt like we had walked hours before we finally arrived (my guess is that he had no clue where he was going).

It was this super cool club that looked like a garage out the front with these plain doors, the beat hit my chest as I nodded my head to the music. Walking through the sparkling of lights amongst the trees and this old beetle car was stuck in the middle of the club on the ground floor. It was definitely my kind of place. More like a bar with a warm outdoor vibe, everyone clearly drunk and loving life.

You’re going to think I’m weird now. But honestly, in that moment. That warm balmy night. We were connected.

We sat down and began to drink and started to share stories amongst us. It was strange it was as if that walk had chilled everyone out and we weren’t keen to go nuts. But to vent.

Stories were thrown across the group which made us laugh and cringe and spill our drinks. It was genuinely a great time. Then the leader, American guy came up with an idea.

“Okay, we have to share something. This night is too good. We won’t ever have it again. I want each of you to think of something that is dear to you. And share with the group.  It can be anything.” he said.

“But, it can’t be sex or drugs.”

This stumped everyone. It was hard.

“It has to be something that is your SHIT. Yeah, it has to be your shit.  It just drives you and keeps you going when there’s nothing else.” he added.

“We’ll go around the circle”.

This was fascinating. The American girl explained in detail her love for politics the fight for equality and justice. The Austrian guy took a part his love for cars, adding the different types and why he loved how they drove. One of the Ecuadorian guys mentioned his shit for Capoeira, how it moves his body and transforms him into a mediative state.

I felt so drawn in to each of these individuals. Even if I didn’t feel the same about those things. I could feel the sensations they talked about with excitement.

I was nervous because I was next. What the hell was I going to say? I then realised the most simplistic thing I could think of.

“My shit….is to laugh” I said.

At first they looked at me plainly.

“No, no, no you can’t say that!” said the Austrian guy – who probably had it in for me because I knew literally zilch about cars.

“Hold on,……you know what? I like that” said the American guy.

I defended myself by giving examples. ” I love to laugh and would do things in order to laugh, mainly with others though” I said with justification.

This moment made me love humanity. I know it sounds completely corny. But there’s something about sharing such deep confession for “your shit” when you don’t know these people apart from a few hours of conversation.

Definitely one of my most treasured moments travelling. Also because what I said completely surprised me.

And yes, my SHIT still is to make myself laugh and those around me as you can tell by the picture below.

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So tell me, what the hell is your SHIT?

See you next ‘Slutty Sundae’!

thewhitefoxxblog

 

 

Journal

Slutty Sundaes – It’s not what you think

Before you get all offended and up in arms…read this.

I have created a day.

This day is called ‘Slutty Sundaes’.

Firstly, I devised this idea a few years a go, while living with some housemates. We discussed the necessity of leaving Sundays for the day of rest.

The day where your toes are greeted by the wind.

The day where you relax and unwind.

The day you unzip your jeans and leave them hanging open.

The day you FINALLY pluck those awkward hairs around your nipple that you’ve been meaning to get to.

The day where you just need to mentally unwind from a weeks worth of crap or intensity.

And the day that you can do literally whatever the hell you want! (within reason – I don’t endorse raiding the streets and killing people)

So many times you hear the word ‘Slutty’ being thrown around like it’s a bad word. It isn’t.

I can be slutty with ice cream and just devour way too much. Doesn’t have to do anything with sex. Or finish that tub of Hummus on my own with hot chips (new food creation?).

Needless to say, we (housemates and I) continued to call Sundays ‘Slutty Sundaes’ and it warranted that chocolate we just ate. Or that extra cheesy slice of pizza we really shouldn’t have had but we did anyway.

Morphing this into my blog will be an easy feast, ha!

So each Sunday, relaxed and be entertained by my ‘Slutty Sundae’.

It will be a story, a recollection of moments, a dream, a conversation, a thought.

So sit back. Open them jeans, or better yet slip into some trackie dacks. Relax and let the ‘Slutty Sundaes’ take you in to a separate world of pure bliss.

DISCLAIMER: Each entry may not entice the reader to become relaxed. But you can be relaxed and sluttin’ it up while reading ‘Slutty Sundaes’. You are entitled to actually slut it up on Sundays and you can still partake in ‘Slutty Sundaes’. You may even be eating a sundae AND having sex. Who cares. It’s ‘Slutty Sundae!’.

thewhitefoxxblog