Good stuff (PM)

That sounds like a really great night. 

I think what was happening was that you were experiencing the benefits of endorphins mixed with the  tiredness that feels really great, while also retaining just enough presence-of-mind to make some really great decisions. Eating that cheese, then those morello cherries with ice-cream....that wasn't tiredness or endorphins. That was all you, Mate. You've only got yourself to thank. 

But while we're on the topic, let's take a moment to further celebrate endorphins. 

I was reconnected with their extreme charms just yesterday, after weeks of jogging that left me feeling a little....

I'd been doing most of my jogging at the gym on account of this bullshit spring weather, and it turns out that there is a reason that people liken extremely tedious things to being on a treadmill. I was not loving it, no sirree. 

Then yesterday morning, as I was on my way to the gym, I made a split-second decision to go for a run around the park instead, basically because I couldn't face getting on that treadmill. Also, some mornings there is a guy who engages in some very ostentatious air drumming while running on the treadmill. I was in no mood for that kind of knob-shinery. So off I went to PP and ran until I could justify stopping and then walked a little to cool down. 

Though it was Wednesday morning and the start of a shitty Melbourne spring day, I was smiling my little face off as I was walking along, post-run. Excitement, optimism, love for all (wo)mankind - I was feeling it all. 

 

So let's hear it for endorphins!

Good stuff (AM)

Last night I went climbing with Russeth and afterwards I felt really tired. When I got home though I felt so happy about everything. All the endorphins and shit I guess. Or maybe just 'cause I was really tired. Wait, did I say that already?

First, when I got home I had a piece of cheese. It's no secret I love cheese, but I just put this cheese in my mouth and it made me so happy. And it was just some Bega tasty. 

Then I had a shower. Oh yeah, a shower after a good work out, is there anything better? Oh sure there is, but how effing sweet is an evening shower on a sore, tired bod?!

Then as I was getting ready for bed I thought it was Thursday night and I would have to work tomorrow, i.e. today, and then I realised it was only Wednesday and I wouldn't have to work tomorrow, i.e. today, at all. Fuck yeah!

I topped off the night of joy with a bowl of morello cherries and ice cream. It is basically one of the all-time best desserts and the only thing wrong with it was that it was gone to soon.

Finally I went to bed. How effing good is bed. I fucking love that shit!

I don't know guys, seems like everything was the best last night. Or maybe I was just really tired. Wait, did I say that already?

Message in a book (PM)

The other day I was putting together a bunch of things to take to the op shop, including some books, and was really cursing myself for writing my name in the copy of My Sister's Keeper by Jodi Picoult that I bought for book club back in the day. I don't want strangers  who may buy that book to think I'm the kind of person who would buy that book. Even though they themselves are people who would buy that book. It's confusing.

Anyway, I was also struggling with what to do with this book.

I know it looks like something that one could safely let go, but some of the recipes make me think twice...

Like this:

And this:

And this:

I'm not about to write my name in it or anything, but I think it deserves a chance. 

Message in a book (AM)

I give books as presents quite often. And pretty much always to kids. Because kids have so much shit already. And books really are the gift that keep on giving, especially for little kids who like to read books over and over and over. Oh sure, at the time of gift giving/receipt books are the gift that a kid couldn't give a shit about because there are all the shiny gifts they've just received to play with, but trust me books really are keepers.

You know who else like to give books to kids? Really old people like great aunts and great grandmothers. I sure never had any great grandparents. There were a couple of great aunts around, one on my mum's side who, according to family legend*, used to make her husband eat dinner outside and another on my dad's side who, according to family legend*, once gave my dad a ball of silver foil as some kind of cruel joke of a present. So you can bet I never got presents from those crazy old ladies. I'm not complaining, I didn't need presents, I'm just saying that's not how I know what old ladies give there great grand kids/nieces, I know because the books they give end up in op shops. And then they end up at my house. 

For some time now a great favourite if Baby's has been a Walt Disney Peter Pan book and every time I open it I read the inscription.

Great great (!) aunt Cassie bought the book for Leigh inscribed it and then later realised she spelled the name wrong. Shit. Shit. That is always what I thought happened but now as I write this and look at the inscription I realise that isn't what happened at all. Leigh must have corrected it later. Whatever happened I can't help but feel a bit sad. Like G.G. Aunt Cassie was invited to the birthday party of some barely known great niece or nephew and thought she did everything right but she spelled the name wrong and some years later the book ended up in the op shop. It's a pretty boring book and there are a million books I'd rather be reading to Baby so I understand why it ended up in the op shop, but that doesn't make me feel better for Aunt Cassie, it makes me feel worse.

Recently Baby has gotten interested in an abridged version of The Magic Pudding. 

At least Lachlan may have hung on to this copy for a little longer. A lot longer. But look at this inscription. Under the sign off and date does that say "(Nan Giles**, your great grandmother)"? First she is calling him "Lachlan darling" and next she has to explain who she is, as if the sign off isn't enough. 

It's all too much to bare. Or am I just feeling sensitive because I just watched Dr Drew's sex addiction rehab show? Either way, alls I know is that I am never inscribing a book again!

*The legends went something like that, forgive me keepers of the legends if the details are not entirely accurate.
**I actually have no idea if that says Giles, old lady hand writing is hard to decipher, even though this is similar to my own nana's handwriting which I could always read fine. But I did know who she was so that would have helped. 

Call for friendship (PM)

If my pretty uninformed understanding of Facebook is anything to go on young people make "friends" like its going out of style. Basically anyone under 30 that I am Facebook friends with has a minimum of 300 friends, it follows that if they find a phone they would put their number in there to be friends. It's just what young people do. I guess.

I lock my phone, 'cause I don't like the idea of people perviing at my business. Also because I don't want to find out that a person finding my phone wouldn't want to be my friend. If a stranger looked through my photos all they would think was that I was some kind of mother in love with her son with a side interest in flowers and food. Oh, sure, there may be a few aspects of my life they are envious of.

But on the whole any lady finding my phone in an airport toilet would just hand it over and then she'd be the one scurrying off. Not least because she would have inevitably found it in Jetstar rather than Qantas toilets and she'd probably figure I wasn't even good for a Gloria Jean cake.

Call for friendship (AM)

When I came home from Brisbane the other night, I encountered some frustrations.

First, I left my phone in the toilet at the Qantas domestic terminal, and didn't discover this fact until I was in the cab on the way home. 

Luckily, I had my work phone with me, so I called my regular phone a few times and before I knew it, someone answered. It was Tasmin, a woman who cleaned the bathrooms in the Qantas domestic terminal. She had found my phone and was going to take care of it until I got there. 

Hooray! I thought. Problem almost solved! 

I told the cab driver to turn around and instead, he pulled over to the side of the road and because it was a rainy night, we immediately got bogged in the mud. 

This was the second frustration. 

The cab driver tried and tried to get us out but as with all boggings, the more you try to escape, the more bogged you get. 

So there I was, stuck in a cab that was stuck in the mud on a rainy Tuesday night. 

I'll spare you the details but suffice to say, cab drivers get very distressed when they get bogged and pretty soon, they start looking for someone to blame, someone who may or may not be sitting in the back of their cab. 

Happily, it wasn't long before another cab met me by the side of the road and whisked me away from the original cab driver and his cries of  "Great, now you're just going to leave me here...". 

Hooray! I thought. Problem almost solved!

When I got to the airport, I went to the toilets at the Qantas domestic terminal and called my phone to arrange the handover, as per the agreement with Tasmin. Like a genie in a bottle, she emerged - young and smiley and sweet and holding my phone out to me. I was so relieved and I asked her "How can I thank you?" thinking maybe she would let me buy her a cake from the nearby Gloria Jeans or something.

She said "It was my pleasure. But I put my number in your phone in case you want to call for friendship."

Um, come again Tasmin? Call for friendship? That's not the sound of a cake from  Gloria Jeans.
I said some things like "oh sure"and "well, I'd better get back on the road" and awkwardly scurried off while she pushed her trolley of cleaning equipment back in to the toilets.
In the cab on the way home I thought about Tasmin a a lot, and felt bad for her.
Maybe she is lonely and wants to make friends?
Then I started to worry about the content on my phone...what had she seen? What had she done?
I opened the photos app and found this.

The montage of photos that Pickle took that night J, Pickle and I went to David Jones to try on clothes we would never ever buy. That's the photo she had scrolled to and enlarged so she could get a better look at all the photos of us (seriously). 

I chuckled at the photos. That was a really fun night. 

And then Tasmin's request to call for friendship made sense. 

Who wouldn't want to try on spectacularly ugly pretty clothes at DJs with us? 

Postcards from Brisbane (PM)

I gotta tell ya when I first learned about Gravity by driving past a billboard my first thought was, "Ugh, Sandra Bullock, no way I'm seeing that!" When I learned more about it my next thought was, "Two astronauts floating around in space for two hours, no way I'm seeing that!" But then with people loving it all over the place, I'm kinda curious. But it's pretty unlikely I'll see it given that I hardly ever go to the movies and as if I would opt for Gravity while Rush is on.

You know, 'cause Mondonna worked on the music!

I've never been to Brisbane. I'm kind of curious though. LB spent some of his formative years there so I should try it some time I guess. I have been to the Gold Coast a bunch of times though which is right near Wet'N'Wild and LB and I always talk about going, but we never do. Pussies. Now Baby is around it will be years before he is tall enough for that scary shit. I made LB read this morning's post to me as I drove us to work, apart from his colourful addition of sexual innuendo throughout, his reading was also full of the sadness of us never going to Wet'N'Wild but he had a rough weekend so I'm hoping he'll get over it soon.

So how effing creepy is Dr Drew? If I had a sex addiction he is the last person I would want to talk to about it. On the other hand, maybe he would cure me of it instantly. Creep.

Postcard from Brisbane (AM)

Oh hi guys. How were your weekends?

Good? That's good.

So I'm writing this from a cinema in Brisbane. It's Sunday night, and I'm waiting for the 6:45pm session of Gravity to start. I thought I might get a head start on writing my Monday post, given that I'm going to write about my weekend in Brisbane and it seems that Sandra Bullock and George Clooney are going to be part of it. I'm not entirely sure why on watching this film. People like it. The alternative is sitting on the bed in my hotel room eating Doritos and watching TV. I thought I should make an effort to put that off until Monday night, so here I am. 

Anyway, the show's about to start, so I'll see you on the flip side.

TIME LAPSE.

Oh, hello again guys. I bet you're all dying to know what I thought of Gravity. Well, it was pretty good! A pretty good movie and a pretty good way to spend a Sunday night. That's as enthusiastic as I can get I'm afraid, because it didn't blow my mind. But it's a pretty good version of one of those kinds of films.

Anyway, now it's Monday morning. I'm sitting up at the 'business centre' part of my hotel room (view illustrated above) getting ready to go to this work conference thing which is the reason I'm in Brisbane in the first place.
It starts this morning but I've been in Brisbane since Friday night, because Appleheart and I came up early in order to get a little sun (and boy am I glad we did because I hear the weather in Melbourne has been shit this weekend) and get a head start on Appleheart's birthday week celebrations. While I've never identified myself as a waterslide fancier, Appleheart loves them with his whole apple flavored heart, so naturally we went to Wet N Wild, Australia's premium waterslide based fun park. 
It's pretty great you guys. Knowing that Russeth and G Force came up here a while ago specifically to go to WnW, I asked him for some advice. He said
"My advice is to not be a pussy and do everything twice. Other than that....I dunno. It's a theme park so you don't really need to think about it. JUST DO IT."

It was the best advice. I was not pussy at all and as a result I did some scary shit. Like go on a waterslide that where you stand in a tube and the floor drops out from beneath you and you do a vertical drop which feeds in to an upside down loop that some people don't make it all the way around and have to be rescued from. No joke. But I did it and it ruled. 

The rest of the weekend has involved walking around Brisbane, having a few beers in the sun and thinking about the benefits of not being a pussy. It's been pretty fun really. Appleheart left last night, hence going to see Gravity then eating a packet of Doritos for dinner while sitting on my bed watching Sex Addiction Clinic with Dr Drew. What? 

Now it's off to work. Bye you guys. 

Cure All (PM)

Whoa. 
Are you telling me that yesterday, when you came and met me for a coffee and you were wearing your boyfriend jeans and a stripey t-shirt and I thought both you and your hair looked really good, I was just dazzled by your red lipstick?
Whoa. That stuff is powerful.
But wait a second. Now I think about it, I'm pretty sure your lipstick was pink, not red. And you still looked really good.
So explain that to me, Mate!

Cure all (AM)

When you're feeling like a frump

And your clothes look really dumb

What do you do?

Red lipstick

When you're hair is really frizzy

And you're looking kind of shitty

What do you do?

Red lipstick

After the immediate high of discovering the comfort of 'boyfriend' jeans wore off, my blinkers came down and I realised that they actually look quite shit. Still, I can't resist wearing those comfortable little bastards. This coupled with my awful haircut, which with this stupid effing weather is always frizzy as fuck has led to more than a few...how do you say?...days of looking shit. 

One day last week when I was wearing my unflattering baggy jeans and nature had turned my hair into a stupid hunk of frizz on my head I could barely believe I had to leave the house in that state, but then I figured out a way to fool myself and the world into thinking all the ugliness going on was a legitimate fashion choice - red lipstick. Who wears red lipstick? Fashionable women, confident women, women who are making totally legitimate fashion choices. A woman that bothers to wear bright red lipstick must care about what she looks like, right? Pairing ugly hair and jeans with super stylish lipstick must be some  kind of super stylish ironic fashion statement right? Yep? Yep!

When Things End (PM)

It's the pits when TV series end. And when you can't figure out what to sing when you're inside a karaoke phone app with Jesse Pinkman inside a dream. But I love that that's what you dream about, Mate.  Inception would have been a much much better film if you had made it.

The other night I dreamt that I was having breakfast with Matthew Pavlich. He was telling me that he feels so lacklustre now that the season is over, and also that he bought a new Mercedes to go with his BWM. It made him seem really pathetic. But now that I see those car names side by side I realise that my subconscious has not really moved past the 1980s when it comes to luxury vehicles, so perhaps I am the pathetic one. But the main point is that yeah, it's sad and confusing when things end. Like TV series and footy seasons. And my subconscious thinks I need Matthew Pavlich to tell me. Idiot.

When things end (AM)

I didn't put off watching the last episode of Breaking Bad exactly. I just wanted conditions to be right. I didn't want to be too tired. Didn't want LB to be too talkative. I just wanted things to be right. Then last Wednesday they were. Don't worry, this won't have any BB spoilers. This is all about me. As usual.

After watching 4 seasons in one month last year, having to watch the last season in a serial form meant I wasn't quite as absorbed as I had been. My feelings for Jesse had tempered. It wasn't all I thought about. Still the end of anything brings certain... feelings, doesn't it?

I feel a little ambivalent sharing this but I feel I have no choice.* The night I watched the last episode of BB I had a dream that merged Breaking Bad and Harry Potter. There were heaps of ghosts. Intense chases on horses. And a moment when I had to say goodbye to Walt. I hugged him for what felt like minutes, sobbing with tears and snot streaming down my face.  Yeah.

The next night things were a little more light hearted. I dreamed that by playing some app on a phone I was transported into a karaoke show more like a Jimmy Fallon lip-sync-off where I was teamed with Aaron Paul. But suddenly we couldn't remember any songs and had no idea what we should sing. We were running around trying to figure out what to do. It was also a little intense, but enjoyable. Obviously.

It was about this time that I started listening to this Miley Cyrus song a lot. I guess it's safe to say that things were rough all over and I didn't know how to deal with it. I know. Yep, things were pretty bad. But I guess turning to pop music in times of sadness is nothing new. But Miley Cyrus, unsurprisingly, did not help. I just could not stop thinking about Breaking Bad. Characters' motivations, what they were doing now. Sure, socialising has helped keep my mind of it, but to be honest, I'm still a little wrapped up in it. I haven't had any more dreams about Walt or Jesse, so I guess I'm making progress. Right?

I guess at least I can be grateful that shows this good and intense don't come along very often. Yeah, maybe it's time to be grateful for all the shit TV.



*That's a lie. I chose to share. I just want you to know I feel weird about it.

Black thumb (PM)

Ahhhhh nuts you guys. This morning I wrote a whole post about my thumbs, black as the night they are. And then that dang post didn't save. Grrrrrr. It's the worst.

It was about how I planted a bunch of ranunculus and garlic at the start of winter and all I got was a bunch of weeds. 

And one lovely flower. Poor lone rununc. 

I wrote about how all I can really grow is succulents. I made a joke,  called them succers for growing under my black thumbs. 

This guy grew from a tiny cutting. 

Succer. 

But it's worse to have written and lost a post than to have never written a post at all. And now I'm just like the shrivelled up corners of pots that makes up the rest of my balcony garden (not pictured).

Black thumb (AM)

I did a bit of gardening on the weekend. Who wants an update on what's growing? Ok ok pipe down, I'll give you one. 

First of all, it was a beautiful sunny day on saturday and and a delight to be on the balcony. I fertilised all my pots and then planted the following:  basil, parsley, tomatoes, poppys. Some thyme too. All from seeds I bought from diggers. Gee I felt earthy. 

And a little friend visited making me feel like I basically was Mother Nature.

So far I am very disappointed with the results. 

Apart from a couple of parsley shoots, nothing has happened. 

I can't even be sure those are parsley shoots. Just because they are near the parsley sign doesn't mean they are the real McCoy....you can still get weeds in pots tomorrow.

 

Most of my pots look barren and miserable.

One nice thing in my garden is my elderflower. Those plants were everywhere in Copenhagen and Sweden and gee they smell lovely. I bought one when I came home and it's doing quite well.

And here's something special I bought a month or so ago. 

You can't tell from this photo, but under that soil, real live genuine wasabi root is growing. 

Exciting. 

But obviously those plants aren't from the weekends efforts, and I'm a little worried those that are won't grow because I have become a black thumb. 

I guess we'll see. 

The Wayne Carey Workout (PM)

Did you see that Billy Conelly show about the bears? Those guys have it really tough. Unless you are talking about the kind of bear that wears tops and no pants. Those guys seem to have it pretty sweet.

Speaking of the Wayne Carey ensemble it's important to note that the key to the hilarity is that Wayne Carey wasn't wearing underwear in that story. There's nothing funny about a t-shirt and socks if you've got undies on. The pyjama ensemble if champions, that is. Bare legs with a t-shirt is summer's answer to tracksuit pants. But in the Wayne Carey story some young woman walked into a hotel room where Carey sat drunk and beshirted yet pantsless on the end of his bed. Now that's funny.

You can call me old fashioned but undies are usually the first garment on and the last garment off when I'm doing any kind of dressing or undressing. I guess I don't want to know how Wayne Carey gets dressed and I sure as he'll don't want to know how he gets undressed. 

The upshot of all this is that if you weren't wearing underwear yesterday mate, kudos to you for your weird and slightly gross workout. If you were wearing undies, I'm afraid to say you were just another working out at home on washing day.  

The Wayne Carey Workout (AM)

I like to work out regularly these days. Mainly because I have come to accept that I have the metabolism of a hibernating bear and the appetite of one of those bears standing in the river waiting for fish to jump out when they are going for a little fishy swim. It's a challenging combination, but one that I must live with, hence the need to regularly work out. Plus, all the health and wellbeing benefits of exercise, blah blah blah.
I try to go for a run every second day, and on the days I don't run, I try to walk to and from work. Look, it's no olympiad training regime, but it's more than I usually do.
Yesterday was meant to be one of my running days, so in the early afternoon I started getting ready...I put my hair up, I donned my sports underwear, I put on a t-shirt. But when it came to putting my leggings on, I was stopped short. After washing them on Saturday the little suckers were still wet. Or  damp, rather. Unwearable, basically.
Part of me was thrilled that I had an excuse to give the run a miss. But knowing that there was probably going to be hot chips in my Sunday night, I felt like I really should do some sort of exercise. And I was half dressed for exercise.
Then it hit me. I was half dressed for exercise! I was basically wearing the outfit Wayne Carey wore one of the times he got in to some trouble with the law...pants free with socks and a white t-shirt. The funniest outfit of them all! And perfect for staying home, drawing the blinds and getting high like Wayne Carey OR doing this 7 minute workout that I read about on the internet.
Also, perfect for writing about on Miss Soft Crab, because for a while there, few things amused J more than the story about pants free Wayne Carey.
So I did. I pulled on my runners and I chuckled my way through that 7 minute workout knowing that I would have looked like a massive, massive tool but that J would be amused. And after doing it a few times I got quite puffed and sweaty so I think I might do it again.

No thanks (PM)

I got that email too! But I am so used to deleting emails from Kit without even looking at them that I never got the chance to wonder whether I could put Kardashian gold all over my face and come out the other end glowing. Just quickly, the reason I delete those emails is because they always say things like "Spring is here! Shop our edit now!" and it makes me so mad that everyone says 'edit' now like it's no big thing that everyone (read: GOOP)  is saying this weird thing now.
I definitely would have wondered about the Kardashian glow, if I'd read it. You can bet your ass I would have. Never got the chance though. Until now of course. And yes, now I'm wondering a little bit.
But goddamn it, I'm just so mad at the Kardashians for doing so much damage to the letter K, the  letter of my heart, the one true letter of my life. I wish they'd just rack off K.

Whoa. I think I just discovered the tattoo I would get if I ever get a tattoo (I will never get a tattoo).
Only I think I would mash it up with one of my other favourite things, christian iconography, so it looked like Jesus was making the K sign over his sacred heart.

You know, something like this:

Yeah, I'd give that K sign the old JC treatment. What an awesome tattoo! Someone else can get it if they want, I think it needs to be seen.

No thanks (AM)

I got an email from Kit cosmetics the other day telling me I could look like a Kardashian. In only 15 minutes no less! Ha! No thanks! 

This was the image at the top of the email:

Basically, this is what happened in my brain: 

Eeeeeeeewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww.

Gee, you'd hate to be Khloe. And not just because she's the fat one. Also she has the worst nose job. Plus that stupid name. But maybe that other one that's not Kim is miserable. I don't even know her name. But maybe she likes it like that. Being a Kardashian would have to suck. Eww they're so gross. 

I don't understand this whole nude lip phenomenon. An understated lip, sure, but that look where you look literally lipless because your lipstick is the same colour as your foundation, WTF?!

And then my train of thought changed when I saw this:

I want to rub that gold on my face. I love gooooold. Oh, sure, I don't know that the Kardashians really glow. If they did  I doubt you could tell with all that other shit they wear on their face. Plus can a mask really give you a glow? Probably not but reality never stopped me buying beauty products before. But I could never bring myself to buy a product with the word Kardashian in it, could I? Could I. 

Luckily all I had to do was look at there stupid faces to know the answer. Still I can't help wonder about that gold goo.

Stupid Kardashians.