Caitlyn the Lawyer

Text 2012 for a dummy.

Here I am sitting in the exact same spot, as I was on this day 2012. Doing the exact same thing. Listening to my iPod and drinking gratuitous amounts of alcohol. Cyclical. So, if I’ve ended up in the same location with the same forms of entertainment, what have I even done with my year?

So, after a moment of retrospection, I have decided to weed out my actions for all to see. The (lack of) sex, drugs, rock & roll. The tears, tantrums and the roller coaster of other emotions encountered. The exploration of both territory and self. Welcome to my whole year. The whole truth.

2012 started with a jolt to my system. The boy I was hopelessly and helplessly falling madly in love with slept with a different girl. Being in the middle of nowhere was not a good way to bring in the New Year in the best of times, however I was stuck in a beautiful location with not much else to do but sit and grow to hate myself and being here in the first place.

To completely mull over every detail of everything.

Healthy stuff.

Then there was the therapy. Sitting in a foreign office and crying to a complete stranger while they wrote notes about you. Speaking not only about my personal life, but also about my family life and my childhood.

Ironically, I found myself too anxious to continue the therapy, too insecure to just allow someone to write about me without me being able to censor it. Looking back, I was probably just too stubborn to let someone figure me out before I got the chance to figure myself out.

So that stopped. I then began vehemently hating everything.

Resenting my family, my friends, my past and seemingly dull future. 19 years old and not a thing to show for it. Not a talent, neither achievement nor motivation. University took a backseat to my own self loathing. Vicious cycle initiated.

If not for the love and kindness shown by my friends, especially one in particular, I would probably still be sitting in my darkened messy room. Feeling sorry for myself and thinking that I was destined for nothingness.

So, I hauled my ass up and started to get involved in life again. Involved all ways but sexually. The reason for that being that the aforementioned boy stated that “[I’d] become a whole lot less interesting if [I’d] slept with anyone else”, being A FUCKING MORON I somehow deduced that if I was an abstinent nun he would one day wake up and realise that he’s harbouring mutual feelings for me. For a stage I’d even been stupid enough to believe it was working.

Not a whole lot happened from the start of the year until about June. Mainly because I locked myself in a room or occupied myself with 60 hour work weeks for a vast duration of it. The busier I was the less time I had to just sit around sulking. In my free evenings, I would occupy myself with my beautiful friend.

The constant light of my life.

By this stage I’ve had my nothingness of a birthday, no celebrations were had. No celebrations were wanted. 20 years old. Excellent, now I was a year older with the exact level of achievement. Then came Europe. 5 weeks. 3 counties. Without a doubt the highlight of my year. I decided that being able to fund it myself was an achievement. Surviving the madness that was, being another.

Making new friends and holding on to old ones being an equal success. I decided that Europe was the turning point of my year. I got the chance to experience life from several other perspectives. Encountering people from so many different walks of life. Different ambitions. Being invited to hear what they aspire to have or see or do. Some of which I’d done and taken for granted. Some of which I have that I realised I take for granted.

I was not a sad and hard done by girl anymore.

No, I was just an ungrateful bitch. Resenting my mentally ill brother. Growing jealous of my siblings for things out of their control. Pining over someone who clearly does not pine me back. This was when I stopped and looked at the other side of things and realising that I am an exceedingly lucky person.

I have parents who, illimitably, love me. I have friends who enrich my life in so many different ways that I am never lacking for support, a laugh, a chat or just a being to spend some time with. Regardless of if we were to speak everyday or just when seldom opportunities presented themselves. However, this isn’t a feel good story where we all hug at the end and then we go back to our own lives feeling like we’ve grown in some way. This is life. We never know where we’ll end up.

Hopefully in 2013, I’m not once again sitting in the only spot in the apartment which gets reception, with an oversized wine glass (with constantly too little wine in it) and that little to do that I post my personal life on the internet. Speaking of the internet, we all know that’s a large part of any year for me. The internet is a magical place filled with cats, unicorns, the slow loris and a lot of people I’ve met this year. Some sticking around, others not to much. Some thinking I’m nothing more than a spoilt brat with too much pocket money. Some thinking that I deserve every misfortune. Some I’ve vastly misunderstood. Others that have vastly misunderstood me.

On the internet, people are free to express themselves however they feel apt at the time. My main avenue of doing so being via Twitter. I mostly tweet about the obscure things that happen in my (even more obscure) family. Other times I tweet about what I’m up to or what has just happened in my immediate area.

Some may interpret that as me boasting about how ~rich~ etc. they supposedly think I am. It’s taken me a very long time to accept and acknowledge it, I deny it to people and get embarrassed quite regularly about it. Then I realised that being from a financially comfortable family isn’t something to be ashamed of. If someone wants to call me a “Poor Little Rich Cunt” over the internet then what of it.

Go for it, I went to an all girls school, I’m fairly sure I’ve been called worse. I will still continue to pay $400 a month for my hair to be done, purchase my nice things as I see fit and do whatever else I want to do within my means at the time. Then, at the end of the weekend, I will put my good quality makeup on, pick out a pair of designer shoes to hopefully grace up my otherwise horrid uniform and go back to work. Rinse and repeat.

So, I’m not sure if I’ve grown as a person. I got a few stupid tattoos. Neither delivering the desired “closure” outcome. I’ve both made and lost friends. I’ve gained some insight to myself and realised a few things about others. I don’t have any new years resolutions, I do however know how I can make this forthcoming year more enjoyable than 2012. I will do more with respect to my uni work and treat my recent promotion with the respect it deserves.

“LYK ZOMG 2013 IS GOING TO BE SUUUCH A FRESH STAARRTT” and all that jazz. For those curious, yes I have been involved in all aspects of life this year. I highly recommend it and so does your Dad.

Text

The love that lasts the longest is the love that isn’t returned.

Wanting someone, putting all of your efforts into them and even changing aspects of yourself for them is never a healthy endeavour.

With every pursuit, one’s efforts deteriorate, you sacrifice less and less of yourself and put in less and less effort, until what’s left is who you really are. Not some polished diamond. Too perfect to be sustained.

In reality, everyone and everything has flaws. Whether you’re willing to admit that or not is another story entirely Perfection, such a fickle phrase.

Whose notion of “perfection” is that which truly defines the term? Especially since we are all after different qualities from different aspects. Different veins of perfection.

A person may claim that they have the perfect partner, but they may be considered tacky by a third party. As well as flaws emerging in the future. They may end out wanting different things from life. One who originally disliked children, may mature to desperately crave offspring. Does this change in yearning create an unforeseen flaw?

Just because you were in love at a certain point, does not mean that the pair was meant to last. Perhaps a fleeting moment in an otherwise mundane life. Perhaps the relationship simply ran its course for the allocated tie and now it’s time to move forward onto the next heartbreak of our lives.

I was scorned by this once. A horridly awful relationship which left me more and more reserved. That was, until my unperfect you appeared.

You questioned all of my thoughts, challenged my beliefs and left me giddy for more.

Speaking to you awoken an otherwise dormant personality aspect. I felt privileged and special. My jaded mind and cautious heart were quickly fooled by you and i was soon captivated by your quirks.

Raised in opposite households, but with such similar morals. You cautiously told me that you could never be what I wanted. Little did you know that exactly what you were to me was exactly what I wanted. I never wanted some over zealous moron questioning my every move and checking to make sure I was trustworthy. You already knew you could trust me. You never needed to check in. The seamless repertoire and the effortless communications was all I wanted from you.

Of course, now that it’s all over, I can’t take my own advice and just move on. My reasoning being that there was no pretence. I never needed to put up any walls or hide who I really am. I was apparently amazing and all he was looking for in another person

…But he changed his mind.

I was no longer perfect. The notion had changed. His definition had changed, and yet mine haven’t.

Worst of all, he doesn’t even know what he wants. He just knows that it definitely isn’t me.

So, this is where I stop. Where I detach myself and retreat back into my harsh, cold, bitter shell.

Waiting for my next unperfect you to come along and show me another part of myself.

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(Source: emmajstones, via jeherin)

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(Source: hamhamclubhouse, via briana-paliana)

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standard saturday…

(Source: talullahrudy, via norriei)

Text Religone.

It’s been a few days since this has happened, so my rage has subsided. However, the facts remain the same, regardless of my frame of mind and plaguing emotion.

Religion. People just don’t seem to be able to accept that people follow other religions, or none at all. Regardless of difference of opinion, when it comes to the issue, their choice should be treated with as much tolerance and respect as they would like theirs to receive.

During my visit to Vatican City, this was definitely not what I observed.

Vatican City is the smallest independant state in terms of both size and population, yet houses St. Peter’s Basilica, the Sistine Chapel, the Apostolic Palace and various other holy sites. Making it the holiest place, in relation to the christian and catholic religions. Not to mention a travel destination for over 17,000 travellers per day.

It was some of these travellers who have left me disgusted and appalled.

In the Vatican Museum, which houses works by reknowned renaissance artists such as Botocelli, Michelangelo, Bernini et al, is a free for all. Take all the photos you want, as long as you turn off the flash in an attempt to help preserve tapestries and paintings; so that they can be enjoyed by 17,000 more tourists the next day and the next …

It’s not that hard. The rooms aren’t dark and the flash isn’t required anyway. Nope, definitely didn’t show any regard for the no flash regulations.

Not to worry, not like we can’t just recreate the amazing, ancient tapestries woven by hand hundreds and hundreds of years ago, making them priceless artifacts. No biggie, I’ll just go grab another one from CarpetCall on my lunch break. Flash all you want, easily replaced.

This wasn’t even the worst part of it. The actual disgust occurred in the Sistine Chapel. There are 3 rules to abide by.

1. Shoulders, cleavage and at least down to the knee must be covered.

2. No photography to occur in the chapel

3. Silence, at all times when in the chapel.

Not that hard?

Apparently not.

Girls were strutting around the Holiest place in the Catholic/Christian world wearing mini skirts/shorts and singlets/crop tops.

Photos were taken left, right, centre, panoramic, selfies, girl shots, any angle they could think of. Flash being used, pointed at the surface of the artwork. By Perugino, Domenico, Botticelli and of course Michelangelo, just to name a few. Fresco paintings are delicate and need to be kept at a stable temperature as an attempt to preserve them for others to enjoy and be in awe at, in future.

Not only was it not silent. People were quite loudly and unashamedly swearing in the Chapel. Completely disrespectful.

This is the building is primarily used as the venue where the new pope is elected, by a board of the most supreme cardinals. However, it can also be used for cardinal mass purposes.

So, it’s a very important and sacred site which deserves to be respected. Even if not for its religious sentiments, it should be respected for the absolutely awe inspiring piece of artwork that it is.

Beyond the signposted regulations, isn’t just expected that you’d not eat nor drink in the chapel? I assumed so. Many others didn’t. By eating, I don’t mean a sneaky extra chewing gum in the chapel, I saw someone eating a sandwich in there. Amongst other things.

Gluttony, not to worry, only one of the 7 deadly sins.

Another thing which quite irritated me was men wearing hats in the chapel. In the Christian New Testament, Paul states in Corinthians:

“Every man who prays or prophesies with his head covered dishonours his head. And every woman who prays or prophesies with her head uncovered dishonours her head—it is just as though her head were shaved. If a woman does not cover her head, she should have her hair cut off; and if it is a disgrace for a woman to have her hair cut or shaved off, she should cover her head. A man ought not to cover his head, since he is the image and glory of God”.

Yes, it’s hugely misogynistic but that’s not the issue at hand. No, I am not expecting every woman to have a hat on or something covering her hair. However, it’s not difficult for a male to remove his hat, while in the Chapel. Just as a sign of respect.

I don’t want to turn this into a free for all “one religion is better than the other”, but it needs to be addressed. Would this level of disrespect be observed in a church with another denomination other than Christianity/Catholicism?

Imagine going into a synagogue without a kippah, it is unheard of. They would actually give you a communal one, which they have on hand.

A mosque with your shoes on, wouldn’t happen. One would not be allowed into the mosque until they removed their shoes. No exceptions.

So, why is it that people feel so freely to disregard the etiquette expected upon entering a Christian chapel?

Is it a matter of needing to better patrol the people, ill education or just blatant disrespect?

Then again, it’s probably hypocritical for me to even state any of this, considering I purchased a Pope Benedict XVI bobble headed doll within minutes of leaving the city…

Text Madrid and Toledo

Day 3:

So, after my ~rejuvinating~ 2 hours sleep, I just got up and had a shower. There was just no point in forcing the sleep that was just not going to happen. Least of all in the 39 degree heat.

Up. Showered. Dressed. Made up. 4 am. Thankfully, the time difference allowed for me to annoy some of you guys back home! yaay!

Breakfast at 07:30. On the bus at 08:50. Nothing much exciting before this.

This is where the fun starts. FIrst day of tour. First day on the coach. First day to explore. Whee!

First stop: Royal Palace.

In one word: Magnificent. The gardens were amazing with the fountains and greenery and statues. All very pretty.

Then to go inside.

I met the tour guide, a tiny little old lady who was definitely about 113 years old. She knew her shit, though. I suppose you would, too, if you had 113 years to perfect your repertoire…

Inside the palace: spectacular ceilings and tapestries, marbles and silverware, every kind of luxury you can imagine. Including a room specifically for porcelain, another exclusively for smoking in, crazy. 2960 rooms in total, so your guess for what they’re used for is as good as mine.

After dying of jealousy in this elaborate palace, I jumped back on the coach.

An hour later I arrived in the architecturally awe inspiring Toledo. With the hillside being covered in vibrant buildings from palaces to plebeian housing structures, the gully and the creek flowing through, it was such an amazing view.

Cobble stone streets, small tourist shops, the holiest catholic site in Spain.

The cathedral itself was so intricately detailed and carved there were people just gawking at the ceilings and engravings in the walls. Myself included. Cages protected the religious arts and figures, with good reason considering this girl laid between tombs as a pose, for what I’m sure is her next facebook profile photo. That and the other 85 photos she took in the 15 minute walk between the coach and the church.

Then they wonder why Aussies have a bad rap overseas. Like okay, I will never deny that I am a bogan, but my goodness who has that little respect for the monuments? SELFIE WIT DA TOOM <3

So, other than walking a whole heap and seeing some lovely views, sites and buildings, not much happens in the city centre of Toledo. It’s the out skirts which I was most looking forward to. The factory where the Lord of the Rings swords were made.

I get there and holy god, I wasn’t expecting it to be so primative. These magnificent items were made in a wood fire, with pokers and all that manual labour business that goes along with it. Not that it was on, BECAUSE IT WAS THIRTY NINE GOD DAMN DEGREES.

So, traditionally these swords are made by exposing them to extreme heat and then soaking them in oil, then finally soaking them in water. This helps them be both flexible and unbreakable.

Into the decorating room, where some guy was sitting there weaving an earring out of gold thread, which was really interesting to watch. Not sure I’d be at all interested in paying E99 for a pair, though.

Then to the gift shop! LORD OF THE GOD DAMN RINGS SWORD SHOPPING TIME. If that little earring was E99 a pair, I could only imagine how many non-vital organs I was going to need to sell in order to buy this damn sword.

Elendil, come to me, my pretty. God damn I had to have it, did not care how much I had to work to pay it off, since I’m already pulling 10+ hour shifts anyway, shouldn’t be too difficult to work off. E117!? Sold.

Needless to say, I officially fan girled my tits off here in Spain today. I am apparently insane for spending that money on a sword that is purely decorative, but I could say the same about how much money that same person will be spending on alcohol tonight. Each to their own etc.

SO, pleased with my purchases of the day (a statue for my mum, a pocket hunting knife for my dad and, of course, The Sword Of Elendil), I jumped back on the coach and headed back to the hotel. Where I am currently sitting, waiting to go out for dinner and maybe a drink or two.

I had a whole lot of trouble looking for something to wear, given these people don’t wear clothes. One girl was sporting a pair of shorts today so short that her ass cheeks were quite clearly showing out the bottom. This kind of clashes with my COVER ALL THE SKIN mentality…

Text Welcome to Madrid…

Welcome to my travel blog.

I am traveling with a girl friend, but I will be writing in singular person as this is about my day, my feelings and my interpretations. Yes, selfish.

Day 1:

So, after flying for a good 21 hours and being in transit for over 24, I finally made it to the capital of Spain, Madrid!

Got off the plane, first port of call was sim card. Bought one. My phone was carrier locked, so I was referred to a ‘loccutorio’ by the con man who was selling me this sim card.

First port of call, then turned into, kill myself.

Disheartened, I grabbed my bags from the carousel and made my way to the taxi rank, where it was quickly discovered that NOBODY speaks english. With all intentions of catching a cab back to the hotel, it was just a matter of finding someone who would get me there for under E60.

Found a guy, he turned out to be very helpful. Told us in extremely fractured English about the bull fight that was happening that night as well as where to go to get my phone unlocked. The “grand via” which I assumed was a shopping centre…

I got to the hotel, planning to go to this “loccutorio” and get my phone fixed, ended up by the pool. It was 33 degree heat. This pasty bitch doesn’t deal with 33 degree harsh sun, no matter how much banana boat I have slipped, slopped and slapped.

So, yeah, narh, I slept for the rest of the day. Only to wake up horrified I’d forgotten my toothbrush.

Day 2:

Since I’d slept for early, I woke up at about 4am Madrid time. Which actually has turned out to be quite helpful in regard to organising all my stuff which I have just shoved where ever I have room.

Plan for the day was then: a. find loccutorio and b. buy toothbrush.

Firstly, went for breakfast, it was nice enough. Hotel style european continental breakfast. The most entertaining part of breakfast was bumping into a contiki woman who will be on the same tour.

Her name is Robyn, from Brisbane and is a highschool art teacher. Quite a funny lady.

After breakfast, I then roamed the streets in pursuit of a “Metro” station, wherever they are. Walked…. and walked…. and walked. Finally asked a woman for help, who just happened to speak almost flawless English. yaay!

Found the station, now to find a loccutorio and a toothbrush.

Got a ticket. Got the train. Got off at the right station. My day was looking so up, phone place right at the exit of the station.

“Grand Via” turned out to be the biggest damn street I’ve ever walked on. Little nooks and crannies everywhere. Shops poke holed into alcoves and alleys. Very interesting, though.

Phone shop outside of the station didn’t do unlocking. Got referred elsewhere. Rinse. Repeat. 6 shops later, finally found a woman who would unlock it for E60 and good god I couldn’t give her my money quickly enough.

She called and did her business and got the details of my carrier and whatever other sorts of requirements go into liberating my phone, but it wont be unlocked for another 18 or so hours. Shit.

After that, did some walking around the city, found some cool little shops and quirky antique stores; because that’s what I need, antiques.

Now to find a Farmacia so that, when I get back to the hotel, I can scrub my dientes.

Found pharmacy, how do you say “toothbrush” in spanish? Yeah, I had no idea. BETTER MIME IT WHILE SOME HOW MAKING IT NOT LOOK LIKE I WANT TO BUY A BAG OF DICKS.

Yeah, unsuccessful, the pharmacist probably thought that the lack of a toothbrush was the least of my issues.

However, all in all missions of the day were a success. My phone is on its way to being unlocked and I can now brush my teeth. So, for a bit of a breather, I sat down in this beautiful side cafe and had a glass of lemon flavoured Fanta. Watched the people pass by with their European leisure and their little European dogs, completely nonchalant that the street smells like stale piss and tobacco. Probably because most of them were having a cigarette while their dogs pissed on every object in their path.

Wandered back to the Metro, bought myself a ticket, got the right train. Life was sweet.

Standing on the train on the way home, a guy pulled out a guitar, plays some spanish song to the carriage. As he gets off the train, he stops and taps me on the shoulder, and says something in Spanish. Mate, I don’t speak spanish. He then translated to “you have beautiful eyes”.

Related; unf.

Got back to the hotel. Relaxed. Brushed my teeth. Got changed and got rid of the city off of me.

16:00 rolled around, time to meet the other contiki people. 50 will be on the bus. 1 New Zealander girl, 3 South African ~~babes~~ boys, 3 Americans and 43 Australians.

Signed up, for all their activity things, gave emergency contact info and heard about what’s scheduled for the next 13 days.

Fabulous.

So, today has been a success, I’d say.

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My work shirt is hideous, but I’ll take a selfie in it anyway