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Wednesday, 23 April 2014

easter update 2014

Easter: four days off, let's do that more often.  Loved it, apart from the heartbreaking moment on Saturday that P and I realised we'd left our egg run too late at the supermarket: chocolate eggs SOLD OUT.  I'm sure we'll get over it but it was a stab to the heart, that's for sure.

Day in the Life: doing this thing again.  Hope to post tomorrow.  If you're bored by this short missive, just wait until I hit you with the minutiae of another day in the terribly exciting life and times of A!

About Time: Richard Curtis you emotional manipulator you.  The film opened with my wedding aisle song (The Luckiest, Ben Folds, if you're interested).  Nearly cried from the get go.  Took half an hour of scrubbing pots in the kitchen after the final credits for me to turn off the emotional gushiness that ensued. 

Revisiting YA fiction over the break: I did this and I am ashamed of myself.  Hours down the drain.  HOURS.

Sunday Painters: meh.  This is probably because I'm spoilt - P cooks excellent French bistro food.  This is also probably because P's taught me to be an unbearable wine snob - no decanters in the restaurant at all, when there's all that lovely aged Burgundy?  Ack, I'm awful.

Silence: was golden in the 09 over the break.  Empty streets, quiet neighbourhoods, no queues anywhere.  With the notable exception of Harvey Norman in Wairau Park to which we stupidly ventured in pursuit of a new vacuum cleaner on sale (yes, that is exactly how exciting my life is now but YOU SHOULD SEE MY RUG Dyson 4 lyf) which had crowds so cray there was a bouncy castle to keep hordes of kids entertained while their parents perused whiteware and gave me claustrophobia on an unprecedented scale. 







Tuesday, 15 April 2014

ramble

I contemplated tights this morning, for the first time in at least six months.  I wore pajama pants and an old jersey of P's around the house last night and felt lovely and cosy.  The shoulder seasons are just lovely, really, when they're not particularly wet. 

Ma and Pa are off on an overseas jaunt and I'm super jealous, feeling stuck here in the +64.  They're visiting the studio we rented in Cairanne, Provence.  Not only are they spending spring in the south of France, but I can imagine exactly where and what they'll be doing.  Swanning around the ampitheatre in Orange, swilling wine in Chateauneuf du Pape, visiting the boulangerie in the village etc.  It's been nearly two years since we were there last; FRANCE I MISS YOU please can I come back soon?

At the moment, they're in the Napa Valley somewhere.  Gosh, they deserve it but man alive I am being eaten alive by envy.

Instead, I suspect it will rain through Easter.  We're catching up with friends, will probably mooch around the house a bit, stuff our faces with marshmallow eggs.  There are worse things we could be doing, I suppose.  P was gifted a voucher by his employer for working hard through a particularly stressful time of the year for them, so on Saturday we're trying a new to us restaurant (Sunday Painters, if you're interested.)

I'm starting to go for walks with sister K this weekend, who has signed us up to a 10k run later this year.  K's recovering from knee surgery, so we're planning a leisurely training programme to get her back in action.  We'll tackle One Tree Hill on Saturday, and I'll try to convince her of the merits of homeownership in the greater Onehunga area.  I'd like her to be closer to us.  It feels odd living in the same city but being at least a half hour drive apart.  That's probably laziness on my part - in London, I'd have thought nothing of catching public transport for 45 minutes or so to see her, but in Auckland I resent it.  Partly because I'm not a fan of the part of town she lives in, perhaps?  She's looking to buy even further away, but I am the big sister and what are big sisters for but being a bit bossy?

Last weekend we went to Silo's production of Angels in America, as forecast.  Wow.  I'm still chewing that one over, but general verdict is I really enjoyed it.  As an aside, and lest you think this is a cat-free blog post, let me just say that I nearly lost my shit when in the last 30 minutes of 6 hours, the play featured a dead cat, enumerating its nine lives.  Well fuck me, I can tell you for real that cats have one life only.  I had to laugh - I'd just been thinking how the play was so obviously of it's time (written in the early 90s, set mid 80s) but maintained resonance. 

Thursday, 10 April 2014

domesticated / feral

State of the M family cats: still stuck indoors while Cocoa gets used to the joint, and A gets over her phobia of anything horrid happening to either of them in future. 

I feel for them as they're busting to explore the great outdoors, but they'll be housebound for another week or two.  I'm still moderately weepy over Timothy (I found the last pictures of him on my camera two days ago and sobbed, but I don't see his wee furry body in my mind's eye every time I look at Tab any more).  As wrong as it seems to coup them up because I'm feeling fragile, I think we really need to ensure that Cocoa knows where home is.  There's been the occasional supervised excursion, but I find it pretty stressful.  Particularly when Cocoa makes a bolt towards a main road. 

Tabitha is a delight, completely adorable.  Can't say more than that.  Cokes is settling in, I think.  His coat is improving, he's tolerating gentle brushing and is a pretty smoochy boy.  They're starting to play together, savaging stuffed mice and scragging bits of string. 

I discovered that the Purple Palace is also playing host to another form of wildlife, earlier this week.  There were ANTS on the kitchen wall.  ANTS. I went on a RAMPAGE of ant destruction.  Don't get me wrong, I felt bad about snuffing out life, but I cannot handle having ants in our small, dysfunctional, aeons-old kitchen.  I can handle it's 1940s styling and space most of the time, but I cannot abide being infested by insects.  That's my bottom line.  I suspect I may have won the battle this week; it's yet to be seen whether I've won the war.  Wish me luck.

Monday, 7 April 2014

31 today

Happy birthday to P, a one of a kind husband.  Only P would:
  • use so much garlic in the mashed potatoes that 18 hours later I am still warding off vampires with the vapours I'm emitting
  • up and announce: "It's Bluff oyster season and it's my birthday, I'm going to the supermarket" and arrive home 20 minutes later with a bundle of shallots to dice finely in pursuit of the perfect oyster dipping vinaigrette
  • announce not 30 minutes later: "Watch out wife, the oysters are kicking in"
  • shine his shoes to look good on his birthday
  • insist, when I'm treating him to dinner (on our joint account, all funds are mixed here), that he be the one to hand over the card and sign the bill
  • require the perfect blend of strawberries and raspberries on his breakfast cereal
  • hold my hand even when it's all hot and sweaty
  • quell the desire to criticise my parking when clearly, I'm not having a good driving day
  • always come to bed 15 minutes later, and get up 15 minutes later than me exactly, no matter what time I rest/arise
  • tell me that I shouldn't say those words to the cat, even if I do use a nice tone
  • fish out cat toys from under the couch every day with a long handled wooden spoon
And, and, and.  P's one of a kind, wonderful and mine.  Love you P, happy birthday

Friday, 4 April 2014

no longer biting

I have resumed normal transmission and am only normal-level bitchy now, you'll be pleased to know.  P is grateful to still have his gastrointestinal system intact, untouched by a rusty spoon or otherwise. 

Normal level-bitchy, I'll have you know, is snark delivered with a laugh.  P's still acting cautiously, however, in the light of last week's rampage (Godzilla through Tokyo = Hormonal A through the Lavender Loveshack, laying waste to all before her.)  He sent me an email the subtext of which was a request for permission to play golf tomorrow.  I imagined him wiping the sweat off his brow when my response was a simple (snarky) query as to whether he'd be able to get out of bed in time and not a threat of grievous bodily harm.

My mother pointed out to me once that P is interested in many classic man pursuits, which enables him to make easy conversation with other blokes.  She's right I suppose: he golfs, fishes, is a low-level motor-head (much as it pains me to say so), he's into wine, whiskey and beer, takes seriously the rugby (oh dear lord is he into rugby) and cricket, and he is co-ordinated enough to give most sports a bash.

Whereas these days, my interests appear to be: brunch, booze, my couch, the cats and getting a haircut.  I've gone off playing team sports, mostly because I'm terribly unco-ordinated but also because my job often meant I couldn't commit to regularly attending practice.  For a while there, I was excellent at arranging schedules of open home attendance.  I really do need to find something to fill that gap. 

It didn't occur to me until reading that last paragraph back that my interest, it seems, is documenting MEMEME and my life.  On the internet, not just in a personal journal.  That interest doesn't stretch to editing what I write, apparently.  It's just spilling words out onto a virtual page for my own interest further down the track.  I suppose reading other people's blogs is a bit of an interest as well.  I really do need to get out more. 



Thursday, 3 April 2014

rawr

I have been a monster for the past week, driven by a potent combination of hormones and latent bitchiness. 

Seriously though, as much as I'm actually awful at heart, this past week I've suffered through the worst PMS I have ever, ever experienced.  I thought my boobs were going to explode over the weekend - first the right with a bang, then the left with a listless puff, that's how aware I was of the swelling and tenderness - I've acne on my shoulders, my face is a spotty mess, I cry at the drop of a hat and I was irrationally and completely enraged by my husband's request that I deliver him his credit card (that I'd borrowed and forgotten to return, which he needed in a hurry, which wasn't particularly out of my way).  I spent at least 15 minutes thinking of different ways to disembowel the bastard until I remembered:
  1. I quite like him usually, in fact I married him not so long ago;
  2. I prefer him intact (after the bloody thumb-slicing mandolin incident I took a stance on P and gashes in his flesh); and
  3. My period was days overdue.
Here I've been, smugly thinking since age 14 that PMS doesn't affect me greatly.  I've rolled my eyes at my mother with my father, when he's told me about the week of the month that he hides in his office because he won't be right about anything, ever.  I've impatiently listened to my sister bitch about hormonal skin issues. 

Well, my friends, I guess I spoke far too soon.  Genetics is a bitch and it appears that I am no longer immune to the vagaries of my reproductive system, asshole though it appears she's becoming.

Sunday, 30 March 2014

bitsy

I've spent the bulk of what is likely the last truly warm day of this summer in the office, catching up with my filing.  Thrilling, no?  Hand on heart, my inbox with only 14 items makes me feel much more in control and like a real, grown-up type person.  However, I'd still preferred to have been elsewhere, of course.

Minutiae: 30 March 2014, Autumn
  • Wearing my favourite denim shorts of the summer (cuffed, raggedy) and a white shortsleeved blouse purchased in Greece, black singlet underneath. 
  • I'm wearing a new-ish sports bra from Bendon because it's soft and my right boob is stabby with pain, so it needs some TLC. 
  • I had my hair cut yesterday and my scalp feels very bruised; the hairdresser was brutal in washing it. 
  • I'm blonde all over my head now, which makes the bruising worthwhile.
  • I feel particularly paunchy, after demolishing pizza last night with friends.
  • Friends had a new kitchen and bathroom: beautiful!  I want their pendant lights from above the island - lovely globe bulbs.
  • My sister came to meet Cocoa this morning.  We discussed weight loss and breaking bad habits.
  • She dropped me at work, which was kind.
  • P is slaving at work too, he's a soldier.
  • Tabby worked on terrifying the ugly cat from next door (seriously, he's a face worse than Grumpy Cat)
  • Yesterday, the neighbour told me stories about my wee Tim.  I cried a little bit, but it was lovely to hear.
  • I'm losing a toenail (it's black in the bed, right foot, second toe) and I can't for the life of me remember what I've done to it.
  • The matte bright orange neon nail polish on my toes is seriously chipped.
  • The harbour is hazy today.
  • I'm still avoiding Tim's corner of the garden.
  • Cocoa's new name is Dags McGee.  Something must be done.
  • I haven't worn my glasses enough this week; my eyes are very tired.