Miss Queen of the World

I don’t have any cats. However, this fine Sunday morning, I have two helping me to write my blog. The struggle is real. The cats wants me to stroke them all the time. Or alternatively sit very very still so they can sleep in peace. Speaking of peace, I hope that world peace is something that you’re into. It is certainly something I’m into. And it’s certainly something that beauty pageants are into. Surely, for all beauty pageants' bad press, world peace can’t be that bad of a thing.

Good morning kitty cats!

I don’t know if you’ve ever been to a beauty pageant before. I have. More than one. When I was young, I was ignorant and foolish. I thought there was only one of these things. Unfortunately, I underestimated the event organisers creativity in coming up with synonymous names for possible crowns that one could win. Did you know that Miss World New Zealand, Miss Universe New Zealand, Miss University New Zealand, Miss Supermodel New Zealand, Miss Earth New Zealand, Miss Grand New Zealand, Miss Inter-Continental New Zealand (to name but a few) are all ‘a thing’? Very early on in my beauty pageant education, I gave up on keeping track of which beauty pageant was which and have, ever since, called them all Miss Queen of the World, because it's all the same thing. More or less. And details, details.

Leaning Tower of Sky Tower

I guess not all of you know why I have any experience with beauty pageants at all. It is true that I, personally, am not that kind of girl. The reason for my involvement is that one of my sisters’ is a Beauty Queen. I have two sisters and each are ludicrously awesome in their own right.

So last night, I was in the Supercity (Auckland) at Miss Queen of the World. The great thing about these beauty pageants though is that I feel like there is always drama. Drama, drama, drama. My drama started before I even left very-much-less-dramaful-Dunedin. You see, the vegetarian plane in which we were supposed to be flying north,  ingested a bird. Apparently the engine is not a good place for a (now somewhat mince-meat) bird to get stuck. Anyway, the plane required surgery and thus, I, with my delightful parents, was stuck at the Dunedin International Airport for four hours. Drama!

Beauty pageants. They’re exactly what you expect. And potentially a bit more (if that’s possible).

A real, live beauty pageant

You know how I said that the struggle was real because I had a cat sitting on my lap; well the struggle is a million times more real for a Beauty Queen. Especially a Beauty Queen on a budget. This one time, the now Miss Queen of the World bought her hair extensions from the $2 Shop (apparently the real ones are very expensive). She put them in and was curling them (in conjunction with her normal hair) when the plastic substitute extensions melted. Personally, I think it’s a three way tie for brilliantness in that the hair was from the $2 Shop; the hair melted and everybody in a 100 m radius would have had to put up with the smell of burnt plastic for the rest of the afternoon (my favourite!). So you see, a lot of important life lessons can be learnt from beauty pageants. Don’t be stingey. Especially when it comes to your hair.

The racey dance number

Other struggles of being a beauty queen include having lipstick all over your face. The make-up artists make your lips look bigger by painting red around your lips. Personally, I am affronted that their lips aren’t actually that big. Here I was, worrying about the minuscule size of my own lips. If you share my concern, fear not; the lips on stage aren’t real (necessarily)!

And oh my goodness, all the smiling. Like, all the smiling.  Seriously, what are they so happy about? All of them! So happy! Did world peace just become a legitimate thing? Like, North Korea and Russia too? Who knew?

Miss Queen of the World

I think that everybody’s favourite (or at least most entertaining/cringe worthy) part of the night was the question-answer. I shit you not, the question wast:

Consider the recent phenomenon, the so called “Islamic State,” where vulnerable young people have been persuaded to become terrorists and/or suicide bombers.

How would you advise governments and community leaders to address this abnormality in order to address and eliminate the root cause that have brought about this anti-survival anomaly?

Seriously? What. The. Shit?

We take this seriously.

Very seriously.

I happen to know that Miss Queen of the World has attended Toastmasters for the last couple of years. Public speaking is kind of her thing. And she’s actually rather intelligent. So naturally, she hit this one out of the park. It’s not that the other contestants are actually unintelligent (although it may have looked like that for a few rather painful moments), but more that the question was (and is) stupidly hard. Of the girls that actually managed to string a sentence together, a fair few of the answers came very close to ‘world peace.’ Despite wanting to find this great, in a rather sadistic way, it’s traumatic. Promise.

Mt Eden

I have had a few years, and a viewing of (the great, wonderful, epic and highly fantastic) Little Miss Sunshine to mentally and emotionally prepare myself for the strangeness of beauty pageants. This time around, the peculiarity of it all didn’t hit until my sister voiced her primary concern after becoming Miss Queen of the World to be:

‘How am I going to get my crown home in one piece?’

And so the madness continues. 

Skycity

World Peace, everybody!

My Almost Perfect Day

I don’t know if I should admit this, but I’ve been watching The Bachelor NZ. Religiously. It’s sad, I know. But it’s not like I’m super into. I’m not. I just find it equal parts cruciatingly cringe-worthy and disturbingly entertaining. It’s actually a kind of beautiful thing; all the girls in my family (including my mother) sit down in our respective homes and text each other our unfiltered commentary throughout each episode.

Anyway, the girls obviously go on dates with The Bachelor and come home with all these grandiose statements like, ‘I had the perfect day,’ ‘It was just magical,’ ‘It’s true love.’ This is relevant because I spent my weekend in the Church of Christ visiting some of my awesome friends who I hardly ever seen anymore because they live in Christchurch and I live in Dunedin (which I discovered is further from Dunedin than I thought, especially on a bus; but I digress).

Christchurch markets

My friends took me on the most romantic day I have ever been on. It really was spectacular:

The slightly grey weather did not dampen our spirits as we set off on bicycles to the market for breakfast. After eating our way around the market, my friends took me on a bike tour of the city, which was super romantic because, like I said, we were on bikes. We biked through the parks. We biked through the red zone. We had a personalised tour of Christchurch Street Art. We saw the old cathedral. We saw the new cathedral. We went to the container mall. It was all very European. It was all very ‘magical.’ Unfortunately, however, in New Zealand it’s illegal to bike helmetless which kind of kills the romantic air. ‘Safety first,’ we all say as we fasten our super geeky helmet straps under our chins. I wonder, ‘safety… but at what cost?’ but I digress.

Bike tour of Christchurch

Container mall

Christchurch Cathedral

It also turns out that I’m a bit of a loose unit on a bike. I don’t know the road rules. I nearly fell off my bike once, which is impressive when biking on a dead flat, tar-sealed bike path. I nearly made my friend fall off her bike too, when I biked into her and our handle bars locked for a second too long. This is also impressive because the bike track was completely straight. Obviously, I’m a girl of many talents (but, again, I digress).

The day just got better and better. After our very romantic city bike tour, we walked from Christchurch to Lyttelton. With beautiful views and fresh air, the company of my friends was all the sweeter.

Lyttelton

But the best part of the day was yet to come. After dinner (where I nearly burnt the house down, but again, again I digress), we went to a Horror Maze. Best. Idea. Ever.

Horror

I would like to think that I don’t seem like the kind of girl, that when I get a fright, would squeal and run away. Unfortunately, it turns out, that is exactly what I do. I make the same noise as a petrified pig and I gap it out of there as fast as piggely possible. Equally as entertaining as getting frights yourself was watching my friends’ reactions to the maze. One of them jumped sky high and screamed air-splittingly. Another would run up behind me and instruct the zombies rather forcefully to “Take Steph! Take Steph!” (Thanks). And then the other friend (whose reaction was least entertaining at the time, but the most entertaining in hindsight), didn’t bat an eyelid and would come out with a super sarcastic, ‘Great acting!’

Political street art

Had my day stopped there, it would have been a perfect day. But it didn’t. I don’t know if you have the friend who has all these ‘great ideas,’ but I have one of them.  We were around at my friend’s parents house and just to clarify, the ‘rents were out.

Profound street art

So my friend had this great idea; ‘Hey Steph, let’s eat a chilli!’ (with the implied, ‘I dare you; I double dare you motherf***er’ not needing to be spoken). And we didn’t just swallow a chilli. We really committed to it. We chewed it. We swashed it around. We got the seeds stuck in our teeth. We got all the juice out.

Outdoor dance party

Then my eyes started streaming. My nose started running. My mouth turned into a furnace. I suspect that my face turned the same colour as the chilli (which was crimson). And this continued on for a solid 20 minutes after the fateful event.

Something a bit more chilled

In order to try to rectify the situation, we raided the parent's pantry. We drank all the milk. We ate all the ice cream. We gobbled down the gourmet bread. Just doing our moral duty, eating my friend’s parents out of house and home.

Sorry.

But actually, not really at all.

Had I not eaten their food, I probably would have needed hospitilization.

Aren’t friends wonderful?

And that was my almost perfect day.

Science

When I was young and childish and naïve, I thought that science was a noble pursuit. I saw science as flash gear, smooth running procedures, clean methods, white lab coats and something that was very challenging.

Stewart Island

Now that I am training to be a scientist (and having just spent my mid-semester break on a field trip), I realise how wrong I was.

Science isn't all bad

Our very much sub-tropical paradise

Sky's out!

Science is about playing in the mud and getting dirty. After a whole day of bringing up sediment from the ocean floor, getting samples and getting dirty, we pulled up some more of the ocean floor just to have a look. I shit you not, you would have thought you’d given 14 fat children 14 large cakes. There wasn’t enough room for everyone around the pile of dirt. Everyone was in there. I felt like a little kid again, in the sand pit, but this time in pursuit of science.

Samples with a view

Sediment sampling

Our pile of dirt (human for scale)

Getting dirty

Science is about getting good at eating. I used to think that I was a Champion Eater, but I have so much to learn, so much training to do and so far to go. One of my demonstrators demonstrated this 'eating thing' to me when he had breakfast (toast etc), followed by seven eggs, three patties and a million tomatoes for pre-morning tea snack, topped off by a further three eggs for morning tea. He then continued on to have lunch with the rest of us. I considered him a real trooper. Others were quick to point out to both him and me, however, that he would not continue to be, should he continue on in this fashion.

If you don’t get quite the same kick as my demonstrator did from eating, then you could at least get  some secondary gains out of watching him enjoy his eating. He legitimately did a jig on the back deck of the boat as we were given 6 salmon and a (large) bag of mussels. There is nothing better in the world than seeing an unexcitable Kiwi excited.

One of our many feeds of salmon

Science is about babysitting. One of our noble pursuits of knowledge involved, ‘babysitting the machine.’ This meant that we students were told that we needed to stay up all night to watch a screen, make sure it was always recording and change the file ever hour. Maybe it doesn’t sound that bad, but I promise you, when your alarm goes off at 4:30 am to watch a computer screen, there is nothing good about it. At best, it is rivetingly boring.

Settling in for the night

Science is about enjoying other people (and their misfortunes). You know it’s going to be a good trip when somebody has fallen in the fountain in Gore before the field trip has even started.

Gore: Just a generally unfortunate place

One of my favourite parts of the trip was the skipper enjoying our misfortunes, as students. He regularly asked (in a rather sarcastic tone) if we were getting good science. He came to see us at 4:30 am while we were watching science happen on the computer screen, proceeded to get very excited about what he saw and encouraged us to wake the rest of the boat up because they were all missing out on science. But in a funny kind of a way, despite his sarcasm, he's right. 

Because, yeah... science bitches.

A Old Wine's Tale

I’d already written my blog this week. My dad got a new iPhone and I was going to rip into him about his lack of technological common sense. And, actually, just his lack of ability to open the box that the iPhone came in.  Not to mention his troubles with the phone itself, once he turned it on (it took a while to find the power button). But that blog didn’t happen, after the events of the weekend…

Sunrise at Long Beach

Some friends and I were supposed to go tramping over Easter but the car kind of broke down, so we didn’t go. Instead, we decided to play it safe and just take the car for a small twirl and go camping at Long Beach.

Always a good time for a swim

We had lots of good chats. I divulged the results of some of my numerous BuzzFeed quizzes… I am more Tris, than Katniss. Hermione, than Ginny. People’s first impression of me is ‘quirky’ (I thought this was generous).  My dog should be called ‘Buddy.’ At the Battle of Hogwarts, I would survive. I’d be a professional Quidditch player. If I were a tiny animal, I would be a tiny kitten (not what I wanted, but if science has taught me anything, it is that you can’t argue with results). Anyway, you get the picture. Conversations that would have been better had they been slightly more blurry the following morning.

Our epic campsite

However, the slight blurryness of the following morning was not to be.

You see, I had carefully squirrelled away two bottles of wine from my parents rather dusty collection, reasoning that they would not notice that the bottles that had quietly disappeared. I decided to take one red and one white. Something for everyone. The Camping Crew collectively decided to save the white for dessert. All class, of course. I carefully poured out each person a rather generous glass. However, a mere sip was taken before the exclamation rung out, “Ugh, this tastes like water!’ Soon thereafter similar exclamations ensued. Needless to say, it was, in fact, water.

Long Beach

You see, what had happened was I had accidentaly cracked into my parent’s emergency water store. They store emergency water in wine bottles on the bench – like all normal people preparing for an emergency. Rookie Steph, did not know this. In my ignorance, I had taken one these bottles thinking that it was white wine. I noticed that the red and white bottles both said Shiraz. I noticed that the desription was the same for both of them; ‘spicy and silky with plum, blackberries and hints of rich dark chocolate.’ I thought, ‘huh, how strange,' but did not use any of my analytical thinking skills (being carefully developed by my expensive university education) to put two and two together.

Emergency water store

Emergency wine store

My parents obviously have this emergency water store for more than one reason. Emergency water for a natural disaster. Emergency water for children with slightly alcoholic tendencies who try to smuggle more than the prescribed amount of alcohol out of the house.

Actually though, what I want to know is, who, the hell, stores emergency water in wine bottles on the bench?

What’s up with that?

Seriously, who does that?!?

Nature's wonders

Their child proof plan is quite clearly child proof.

I find it all the more ironic because it’s Easter. I wonder if, because Jesus died, all that water he had turned into wine turned back into water? And maybe, because it’s now Sunday, and on Sunday he rose again, it’ll turn back to wine?  I found this to be a rather un-religiously PC joke, but at I comfort myself with the thought that I think Jesus would find this mildly amusing too.

Un-religiously PC meme.

'Changed water to wine:

Woke up three days later in some cave'

Anyway, I am obviously not going to be a wine connisseur anytime soon. And I would say that, for somebody that was planning on ripping the shit out of their parents, the parents quite obviously know how to play the game.

Well played, Parents. Well played. I am sufficiently impressed.

I am probably, also, the rather worthy receipient of a s-l-o-w clap.

Happy Easter!