Who Needs Men When You Have iPods To Provide Similar Dilemmas

My iPod nano died the other day. It was working fine on the way to work - I was on the bus singing away to country music merrily - then when I tried to drown out the sounds of my co-workers arguing about the merits of soap versus vinegar as a personal cleansing agent (no, really), it just wouldn't turn on.

I pressed all the buttons many times, and plugged it in, then unplugged it, then plugged it in again, then gave it to my workmate (the one not embroiled in a vicious soap vs. vinegar argument) to fix, then talked to it nicely, then just gave up and threw it against a wall. Fuckit.

I grieved; iPnod (a special nickname I had for him) and I had been friends for almost four years. With his jaunty little blue jacket he had accompanied me around the world and back again several times. He'd been there when I needed to listen to The Used at high volume and sob without waking housemates. He had entertained me while I worked as a filing wench and while I sat on the tube for hours at a time. He'd cheered me up while I walked in the rain, and added an extra sparkle to the sun. He'd put up with my terrible taste in music, and my experimental phases. He'd even played solitaire with me. And now he was gone.

I wondered how I was ever going to move on from this terrib - oh wow look they just released iPod Touch 4!!

Okay, what can I say - I'm easily distracted and my grieving heart healed quickly. I did the math and decided that I could definitely not afford a new iPod Touch. So I went and bought one.

It's amazing! It does everything! I can Facebook, Skype and Tweet! I have a calendar and a notebook and TWO cameras! I have stocks, Youtube and Maps! I can watch videos, surf the internet and read books! Oh, and it's an mP3 player as well. Which is cool. (And no, apple did not sponsor this post)

Anyway, about a week after I'd bought it, I started hearing this weird noise in my room. Like, a beeping noise. Maybe what a lost electronic sheep would sound like. I went hunting, and found my iPod nano, in the drawer I'd tossed it in, blinking intermittently as if to say 'look! I'm alive! Let's be friends again!'

I was torn. My iPnod and I had had such good times together. But he'd left me broken hearted. And now that I had my new friend the iPod touch, all of a sudden he was back in my life? I felt like he didn't really want to be with me, but he definitely didn't want another iPod in my life. And my new iPod is amazing (as mentioned above), but the iPnod is just so...familiar. Our relationship is comfortable and full of good memories.

In the end I decided to stick with my new iPod. I just feel like he offers a lot more possibilities for the future, you know? But I still have iPnod sitting on my bedside table. I couldn't bear to actually get rid of him just yet. It's nice to have a backup.

On a side note, this EXACT same thing happened to my housemate, except the iPods were men.

The Game of Life. Actually.

The Game of Life should probably not be played by recent graduates.

I played it tonight with a couple of friends, and I have to say, I got pretty upset about life after university. First of all, I became an accountant. And while there's nothing wrong with accountants, it's definitely not the way I saw my life going. Then, despite allegedly earning a $70,000 salary, it took me ages to start earning any money. Probably because I kept buying Molly's artwork.

Things didn't really get much better after that. I stopped gaining life experience after about 15 minutes, I became obsessed with earning money, I was in what seemed to be a loveless marriage (my plastic figurine didn't seem to have an emotional connection with my husband-character plastic figurine), I never had any children while everyone else managed at least two and the only property I owned was a log cabin near Lake Ketchafishee.

Not only that but Carlo kidnapped one of Molly's grandchildren, Laura developed severe depression as a result of a stagnant career and poverty, and Molly tried to blow up a bridge.

I was getting very upset about the way this game was showing my life turning out.

We stuck with it though - through the poverty, career uncertainty, family troubles and periods of hopelessness we kept spinning the wheel, hoping it would get better.

And when I turned my LIFE cards over at the end I discovered I'd done great things. I'd found a new energy source, written the great American novel, created a new teaching method, had a huge success with a toy invention, been given a humanitarian award, started a health food chain, won a Pulitzer prize, invented a new ice cream flavour, won a lifetime achievement award and, best of all, I'd become the president. And I know it's just a game, but I felt some little flutterings of pride.

I like to think that I can learn something from this - maybe about the value of perseverance, the power of a little faith, or how to accept that the game of life is just going to go the way it's going to go.

Or maybe I just learnt that recent graduates shouldn't play the game. We clearly read too much into it.

What You Can Do With a Bachelor of Arts

So after three years of hard work (ha!), long nights (of drinking) and personal growth (thanks to said drinking) I have finished my degree.

I knew this day was coming, but in the end it sort of snuck up on me. One minute I was writing "Portable Music and the Urban Experience", and the next I was clutching a glass of wine on my couch giggling slightly hysterically.

My housemate came home to find me like this, and was amused, but also slightly concerned and he asked me why I was freaking out.

"I have this really big essay due in tomorrow."

"Shouldn't you be finishing it, instead of drinking?"

"Ah, that's the problem. It IS finished." Cue hysterical giggling.

He clearly didn't understand how this was a problem so I cleared things up for him.

I'vefinishedmydegreeandnowIdon'tknowwhatI'mgoingtodowiththerestofmylifemaybeI'llgobacktoschoolanddoanotherdegreeormaybeI'llmovetoIndiawhatifnoonehiresmeandIspendtherestofmylifelookingforajobanditsucksmaybeI'llbecomeastrippernoIknowI'mgoingtomovetoAfghanistanI'vealwayswantedtogototheMiddleEastmaybeI'lldohonoursandjuststayatschoolforev... (The hysteria was rising.)

He sat down beside me and patted my arm. I was touched, and surprised as he's not normally a comforting person.

"Hannah, listen to me. Don't worry about anything. You have a Bachelor of Arts. You'll have no trouble getting a job - they're opening a new McDonald's in town!"

It was my little sister's 18th birthday party last night. Lots of her friends came and apparently a good time was had by all. I confess, I don't entirely understand my sister's friends - I find them loud, self-assured and utterly terrifying, so it was a very interesting exercise.

I spent a lot of time hiding in the kitchen, which gave me a lot of time to make some interesting observations about the way that 18 year old's birthday parties work. Based on these observations, I have formed the following conclusions about what is essential for a good party:

1. A robot cake. I'm sure that when I was 18, a cake in the shape of a blue robot would have been slightly nerdy. But apparently, these days robot cakes are in vogue. They also serve the additional function of food for drunk girls.
2. Pashing in the toilets. This definitely sounds more similar to my party-going experiences. A bit of gossip really fires up a party.
3. Sausages on the barbeque. Serve the dual function of feeding drunk people and providing a man standing over the barbeque for girls to fawn over. In this case, my poor brother.
4. A theme. My sister's was "classy". I'm not entirely sure how this translated to a boy dressed like a dominatrix or a girl in ripped pink fishnets and skyscraper stilettos.
5. Candles. Fire provides a) excitement when someone sets their sleeve on fire and b) romantic mood lighting for pashing in the toilet (see no. 2).
6. Alcohol. Obviously.
7. A crying girl. It's not a real party unless one girl starts to cry and several others try to console her while simultaneously shouting at everyone else: "Go AWAY! She just needs some SPACE!"
8. A vomiting girl. Ideally she will do it outside in the bushes so there can later be debate about whether or not she actually threw up.
9. A noise complaint. You're not playing Katy Perry loud enough if you don't get a visit from noise control at 11.38pm.

Based on these requirements, and the number of teenagers trundling (or staggering) merrily out the door at 2am, I would say my sister's party was a success.

But I guess we should wait until the photos hit Facebook for proof.

Life without iPod

Being without my iPod is not a great idea, I lent mine to a friend for a week and I really can't wait to get it back.

My problem is that I need to have a soundtrack to my life, and when I've got my iPod it's really easy; I just press play and off I go. And yes, there is a bit of head bobbing, and the occasional groovy walk, but I'm generally pretty subtle.

Without my iPod, however, I'm forced to create my own soundtrack. Without the Dixie Chicks at the press of a button, I find myself warbling away as I walk down the street. Without my 'showtunes' playlist I have to be the broadway star, complete with jazz hands. And without Concord Dawn blaring through my earpieces, I... well, lets just say there are few things as embarrassing as being caught trying to sing drum and base in public.

I haven't left the house in a few days. I don't think my reputation can handle it.

Absolutely Positively Wellington!

I love Wellington. I really do. I just don't feel that our catchphrase "Absolutely Positively Wellington" really captures the essence of this fine city. So I sat down and thought about the things that make Wellington what it is, and came up with a few catchphrases of my own.

Wellington: Where shit goes mouldy real fast!

Wellington: Hope you like wind!

Wellington: Our icon is a hobo!

Wellington: For when you don't want to live in Auckland!

Wellington: Because insulation is for wimps!

Wellington: Keep your Skytower, we have a bucket fountain!

Wellington: It's in the middle!

And for those landing in Wellington Airport...

Wellington: Feeling naseous?

Home Sweet Home Part Two

My hunt for a new house having been entirely unsuccessful, I was ready to give up. I had one more viewing appointment on my list and to be honest, I didn't want to go. I was so sick of being shown mouldy bathrooms, dirty kitchens and purely decorative dishwashers. I hadn't seen anything worth seeing and I had zero hope that this one would be any different. There is no way anything that cheap that close to uni could be even close to habitable.

I went along though, if nothing else just to reassure myself that staying in my current room was better than the alternatives.

Having already decided that I was going to hate the house, dislike the people and only take a cursory look at their sure-to-be scummy bathroom, I was very upset when I quite liked the place. Worse, I liked the housemates. And the bathroom wasn't scummy at all.

The problem was, how did I get them to like me? I went for the 'I'm really normal and you won't regret asking me to move in at all' approach. Which, for me, is very difficult, but I managed 45 minutes without mentioning my love of showtunes and dancing in my underwear, my feelings on cats and children (both should be banned) and my addiction to one liners and puns.

I guess it must have worked because one anxious hour later I had a call from Chris, the housemate, offering me the room on two conditions: that I didn't interfere with his morning shower, and that I didn't put poo in the washing machine.

And really, who can argue with that?