I have been titling posts things like 'life goes on' and 'right now', but speaking only of my father and my child. It's more than that, however, I'm not living in a vacuum of life and death. Between visits, we resume 'real' everyday life, and aside from when my tailbone aches from sitting too long, I can forget I'm pregnant for hours at a time.
Work continues apace on the house. The House Formerly Known as the Lavender Loveshack (now a lovely shade of greige, because we're boring) is still having the front door and balcony trim painted. We've destroyed the inside of the master bedroom - all the lining is gone, P is insulating in there and the electrician arrives Thursday to install new ceiling lights, new sockets and move some switches around. We're going to install a new door and a built-in wardrobe in the room, have it freshly lined and then I'm selecting yet another shade of grey paint. We're still debating retrofitting the windows with double glazing, waiting on a quote.
Once the master is completed, the guest bedroom is going to get the once over. This will become the nursery, I suppose, though not for a while. The baby will live with us for a bit, as advised by Plunket to mitigate the SIDS risk. We'll need to keep a spare bed in the nursery anyway, for P's Mum to visit from Germany and my parents to visit once the baby arrives. The nursery work will be pretty similar - insulation, new lights, new wardrobe, new linings, paint etc. I'm determined that we will have a warm home for the baby to live in when he or she arrives in mid-winter.
We nearly choked on our cookies receiving a quote for some new kitchen cabinetry 'necessary' to house a dishwasher, we were assured. In a kitchen that will be demolished at some point in the next 2-4 years, they thought we'd be happy to spend $6k, just for the cabinets. No new benchtop, no new fit out, just some new cabinets capable of housing a dishwasher. I'm pretty sure with a saw we can achieve largely the same result in the existing cabinets. Time for some more quotes, methinks. I'd like a dishwasher to make life a little more easy in a tiny kitchen once the baby arrives, but not at that kind of price before we've even bought the damn dishwasher.
I'm not much help with renovation, this time round. I picked up the demolished bits of lining (discovering newspapers from 1992 pasted across the walls to form a lovely backing for a bit of wall paper, over which plasterboard had been slapped in 1995) and carted them to the skip out the front. That lasted until the new neighbours started having a Saturday morning sesh on their deck. I don't really care if people want to smoke weed; I just really don't want my child in-utero to get second hand stoned. I call and arrange quotes etc. I cart drinks to P and hold the measuring tape, do the rest of the household chores like laundry. His wonderful father is going to lend a hand, and rope in my 16 year old step-brother in law as labourer.
Showing posts with label MATERIALISTIC AND WANTON GREED. Show all posts
Showing posts with label MATERIALISTIC AND WANTON GREED. Show all posts
Monday, 16 February 2015
Thursday, 11 December 2014
purple palace progress
The work on the Lavender Loveshack continues apace. There's been promises of being done with the painting by Christmas, but that's contingent on the weather continuing to play ball.
The builders will probably be glad to be done - P had a session pointing out a bunch of shonky repairs last weekend that remain uncorrected and I gave one of them a hell of a fright earlier this week. I don't usually get home until the builders have left, but I'd had a ride and got home not too far off 5.30. The front door was open and I could hear banging and sanding down the right hand side of the house. I was busting to use the loo, so I didn't walk round to say hi. I hustled into the bathroom and when I popped out, the builder's son was at the kitchen sink having a drink.* I swear his feet left the ground he got such a fright - he garbled an apology, I laughed and said of course he could help himself to water and he scurried outside to recover his composure, the poor thing.
With all the prep work and the patches of primed new weatherboards, the Palace is not very Purple any more. I'm nervous about the colours I've picked going up (what if I haaaaaate them? I'm not very good with this sort of thing). I'm also nervous about the expense, both of the current work and what we have planned next. We're going to re-line our bedroom and install a built-in wardrobe as the first task in the New Year, followed by a similar job on the spare bedroom (we can only do this one room at a time, you see, because we can only store one extra room's furniture at a time and still have a place to sleep that isn't the living room floor. I'm not opposed to the living room floor, I should point out, but P isn't too keen. He's got a point because the living room is very compact.)
We've acknowledged to ourselves that we can't afford to do the extension/kitchen/bathroom renovations as yet, so we'll stick to whacking in a dishwasher in those zones, once the bedrooms are done. Sweet, sweet dishwasher, I cannot wait to meet you.
There's also been talk of underhouse excavations and moving the laundry to a concreted space under there. I don't think there's any point until we do the major works at the back, and we'll still have to walk outdoors to put on a load of laundry, even if it's under the house. The washing machine presently lives in a utility shed in the backyard, which doesn't bother me nearly as much as I thought it would. We don't own a dryer so everything goes outdoors on the line anyway, we don't hear the noise, and the lack of overhead lighting restricts my laundry days to the weekend, so I don't have a horrible constant pile of folding to do.
So, we're going to be pouring some $$$ directly into the house, rather than continuing to shove it all onto the mortgage in the name of reducing the ridiculous mound of debt. I know that it technically increases our equity as well, but I have a cheap wee heart and it certainly doesn't reduce our interest payments!
That is all very domestic and dull, but it's what's going on just now.
*You might recall that our bathroom comes off the kitchen, part of a standard 50s lean-to addition to the old cottage. Just charming.
The builders will probably be glad to be done - P had a session pointing out a bunch of shonky repairs last weekend that remain uncorrected and I gave one of them a hell of a fright earlier this week. I don't usually get home until the builders have left, but I'd had a ride and got home not too far off 5.30. The front door was open and I could hear banging and sanding down the right hand side of the house. I was busting to use the loo, so I didn't walk round to say hi. I hustled into the bathroom and when I popped out, the builder's son was at the kitchen sink having a drink.* I swear his feet left the ground he got such a fright - he garbled an apology, I laughed and said of course he could help himself to water and he scurried outside to recover his composure, the poor thing.
With all the prep work and the patches of primed new weatherboards, the Palace is not very Purple any more. I'm nervous about the colours I've picked going up (what if I haaaaaate them? I'm not very good with this sort of thing). I'm also nervous about the expense, both of the current work and what we have planned next. We're going to re-line our bedroom and install a built-in wardrobe as the first task in the New Year, followed by a similar job on the spare bedroom (we can only do this one room at a time, you see, because we can only store one extra room's furniture at a time and still have a place to sleep that isn't the living room floor. I'm not opposed to the living room floor, I should point out, but P isn't too keen. He's got a point because the living room is very compact.)
We've acknowledged to ourselves that we can't afford to do the extension/kitchen/bathroom renovations as yet, so we'll stick to whacking in a dishwasher in those zones, once the bedrooms are done. Sweet, sweet dishwasher, I cannot wait to meet you.
There's also been talk of underhouse excavations and moving the laundry to a concreted space under there. I don't think there's any point until we do the major works at the back, and we'll still have to walk outdoors to put on a load of laundry, even if it's under the house. The washing machine presently lives in a utility shed in the backyard, which doesn't bother me nearly as much as I thought it would. We don't own a dryer so everything goes outdoors on the line anyway, we don't hear the noise, and the lack of overhead lighting restricts my laundry days to the weekend, so I don't have a horrible constant pile of folding to do.
So, we're going to be pouring some $$$ directly into the house, rather than continuing to shove it all onto the mortgage in the name of reducing the ridiculous mound of debt. I know that it technically increases our equity as well, but I have a cheap wee heart and it certainly doesn't reduce our interest payments!
That is all very domestic and dull, but it's what's going on just now.
*You might recall that our bathroom comes off the kitchen, part of a standard 50s lean-to addition to the old cottage. Just charming.
Wednesday, 12 November 2014
the state of my kitchen
Sunmaid has done a really, really clever thing and packaged up their prunes into individual servings. Usually I am completely against individual packets because it's so wasteful, but I can house prunes and any open bag is fair game. I know the consequences but I do it anyway because OMG delicious, delicious prunes. Come to think of it, I don't object to individual packaging of raisins either, on much the same basis. OH GOD and apricots? The really leathery dried ones (as opposed to the plump Turkish jobs which are good but not on the same plane)? YES PLEASE ALL AT ONCE.
So, dried fruit. I have an extremely healthy digestive tract, thanks for asking.
This comes to mind because I was scouring the pantry last night before dinner was ready (in fact, before I'd started to prepare it). I found the prunes stashed away at the back, hiding from me. Normally, I have a mental inventory of tasty shit living at my house so nothing can hide, but last week, we had a cleaner.
This is the first time we've had a cleaner that wasn't end-of-tenancy obligated, I think. She came in on the weekend and I just did not know it was possible to get our kitchen that clean (and with eco-friendly products, no less. I use the bleach because I'm bad but I actually did not think eco-friendly products could remove half the crud they did). She even cleaned the pantry which was amazing. She was lovely too - professional and friendly.
I felt guilty though, never you fear. My cheap heart berated me for paying someone to do what I ought to be capable of achieving for myself. My half-baked social conscience felt every single drop of privilege oozing from my pores. My shame at the state of my scummy old cottage knew no bounds!
However, finding the prunes was like Christmas. Between the stashed snacks and the oven-I-could-lick,-it's-so-clean,-what-a-shame-two-of-the-electric-rings-don't-work, I think we might spring for the cleaner to come back again every so often.
So, dried fruit. I have an extremely healthy digestive tract, thanks for asking.
This comes to mind because I was scouring the pantry last night before dinner was ready (in fact, before I'd started to prepare it). I found the prunes stashed away at the back, hiding from me. Normally, I have a mental inventory of tasty shit living at my house so nothing can hide, but last week, we had a cleaner.
This is the first time we've had a cleaner that wasn't end-of-tenancy obligated, I think. She came in on the weekend and I just did not know it was possible to get our kitchen that clean (and with eco-friendly products, no less. I use the bleach because I'm bad but I actually did not think eco-friendly products could remove half the crud they did). She even cleaned the pantry which was amazing. She was lovely too - professional and friendly.
I felt guilty though, never you fear. My cheap heart berated me for paying someone to do what I ought to be capable of achieving for myself. My half-baked social conscience felt every single drop of privilege oozing from my pores. My shame at the state of my scummy old cottage knew no bounds!
However, finding the prunes was like Christmas. Between the stashed snacks and the oven-I-could-lick,-it's-so-clean,-what-a-shame-two-of-the-electric-rings-don't-work, I think we might spring for the cleaner to come back again every so often.
Monday, 22 September 2014
decision 2014
We got half cut on champagne and went to pick out wedding jewellery for M on Saturday afternoon. I expect that's why I fell asleep by 9pm on Saturday night during the election coverage; being sauced, that is. We had a lovely time at the jewellery store. After finding the perfect earrings and matching necklace, we tried on everything in the vintage cabinet. I flounced around the store with a three carat diamond on my finger (verdict: terribly gauche and wondrously obnoxious, three carats is), while trying to persuade Hat Friend to purchase an expensive gold fob chain or a beautiful emerald ring. We drank some more bubbles afterwards and toasted the bride. Can't wait for her wedding day.
Election coverage: do you know, I think the coverage on my facebook page was probably more extensive and vitriolic than the coverage on the two major free to air channels? That's saying something. I woke up to posts on Sunday morning saying things like:
- 'Shame on you, New Zealand'
- 'Crying into a bucket of KFC, Dotcom?'
- 'If you didn't vote, you can't complain'
- 'Moving to Scandinavia'
Had the result gone a different way, I think I would have seen just as much disappointment from the other half of my feed. It wasn't all one-way traffic. I've found it hard to work myself into a proper lather about this election, though for all that I'm disappointed that NZ doesn't appear to wish to make any major decisions that might result in a narrowing of the gap between the rich and poor. Wow, I didn't expect to make any direct statements about my political leanings on social media (other than, you know, me feminism) but there we have it. Oh, except I've bagged Colin Craig before and I was thrilled to see we'll go another three Colin Craig-free years.
Election coverage: do you know, I think the coverage on my facebook page was probably more extensive and vitriolic than the coverage on the two major free to air channels? That's saying something. I woke up to posts on Sunday morning saying things like:
- 'Shame on you, New Zealand'
- 'Crying into a bucket of KFC, Dotcom?'
- 'If you didn't vote, you can't complain'
- 'Moving to Scandinavia'
Had the result gone a different way, I think I would have seen just as much disappointment from the other half of my feed. It wasn't all one-way traffic. I've found it hard to work myself into a proper lather about this election, though for all that I'm disappointed that NZ doesn't appear to wish to make any major decisions that might result in a narrowing of the gap between the rich and poor. Wow, I didn't expect to make any direct statements about my political leanings on social media (other than, you know, me feminism) but there we have it. Oh, except I've bagged Colin Craig before and I was thrilled to see we'll go another three Colin Craig-free years.
Tuesday, 2 September 2014
piffle, neatly listed
Why hello blog, you look all LONELY and NEGLECTED. Let me solve that for you!
OK, so. Here's what's been happening in my life recently: about a quarter of Not Much.
Oh no, wait, I have THRILLING updates:
OK, so. Here's what's been happening in my life recently: about a quarter of Not Much.
Oh no, wait, I have THRILLING updates:
- I cut more hair off. It was a mistake. You know how minature ponies/Shetlands have those shaggy little tails (so cute) that are a bit frizzy all the way down the edges? My ponytail looks like that but more stunted and it sticks straight out the back of my head (not cute). But, my drying time has dropped, so there's that. My hairdresser is Irish and every single thing she says (that I understand) sounds impossibly fun, including getting all snippy on my mane. Hence, three more inches and a boofhead.
- We are still painting. OF COURSE we are still painting. How can ONE ROOM take so long? (oh right, tea breaks, followed by booze breaks. Liquid ingestibles (comestibles?) are my Achilles heel). I do like the paint smell, so at least that's not an issue (I also like the smell of whiteboard markers. Yes, I ate glue and playdoh as a child.)
- Spring! Is! Here!
- Lawyering and, you know, having to bring home the pinger to pay for paint by the boatload continues to be the bane of my existence. I need to win Lotto, stat. However, I don't have a ticket ever, so that's a problem.
- Speaking of Lotto tickets, I picked up two tickets plus some scratchies and cards at Whitcoulls today in advance of Fathers' Day. One for my dad, one for my father-in-law. M, who was with me at the time, asked whether one Dad would be mad if the other one won (too many ones/won, sorry). I felt hellishly guilty because what I'd been worried about was whether either of them would share with me if they won. I am a wonderful person.
- AND THEN, GET THIS, one of the Fathers' Day cards cost $12!!! I didn't realise until looking at my receipt after the fact and CHEEEEEESUS how can a greeting card cost that much money?!
- Wow, this post is crap. Never mind, will try again later.
Tuesday, 5 August 2014
day 1, again
In the most roundabout way, I came to the realisation on the weekend that I ought to do something about my weight.
About three months ago, P was gifted a Westfield voucher, to spend at any store in a Westfield mall. At about the same time, he closed down an old credit card and used the last of his points to redeem a voucher. He picked a Bendon voucher for me to spend on frivolous underwear, something which we'd both enjoy. It was hosing down with rain on Sunday and the first voucher was nearly at the expiry date, so we decided to brave the mall.
I've written before that my boobs are not petite, or even mediumish. I am fairly tall and have a long torso, so I can carry some chest weight and I certainly do. I hated my boobs in my younger years because going braless (or even strapless bra'd) is not possible for me. I've learned to like them more as time has passed (familarity, I suppose, which in this case has not bred contempt but rather resignation and acceptance). I hemmed and hawed at Bendon over the bra selection, which was not extensive for those with a reasonably small band size but large cups. I eventually picked out a lovely one, but as I was assessing the fit in the mirror, the damage I've been doing to my midsection over the past couple of years was brutally apparent. We don't have a full length mirror at home, so I've only been looking at it from my own perspective, recently. I shrugged it off - fluorescent lighting always makes you look horrific, I thought.
Finished with the bra selection, we wandered to the electronics store to spend the other voucher. P eventually settled on Apple TV. We also bought an SD card converter thingee to get all our photographs from the camera to the iPad (P recently got one for work). I got antsy with all the people in the store and in the mall, so we scarpered for home.
Back at the Lavender Loveshack, P asked me to model my new knickers and I felt oddly reluctant. I shrugged him off. He set up the Apple TV instead, then downloaded a whole lot of photographs from the camera. Showing me how great the Apple TV is, he set up a slideshow of reasonably old photographs I haven't really seen before on our TV.
I freaked. Internally, I was berating myself that the photographs, none of which are particularly recent, were horrific. In my eyes, I was huge. I asked P to turn it off, snappily. He asked why. I wouldn't speak about it and he got cross.
I got up, and went for a run.
I downloaded food tracking apps and started a plank a day challenge.
I'm not going to be stupid about this. I'm running a 10k in November anyway with my sister (not that far, but she's on the mend from surgery on her ACL), so training is necessary. I could stand to cut back on the booze and treats. I'm not obese; I have a healthy BMI presently, for what that's worth (albeit at the high end of the range). I know that it is not realistic nor even desirable to expect that I'll lose over 10 kilograms. Five kilos would, however, make a world of difference to my own self-image.
By the by, P apologised for upsetting me. He thinks I get stupid about my self-image which might well be true but he recognised that what's required is compassion, not ire. In turn, I apologised for behaving petulantly.
I could be setting myself up for failure by writing about this at the outset, but processing it, writing it, makes me accountable, I hope.
About three months ago, P was gifted a Westfield voucher, to spend at any store in a Westfield mall. At about the same time, he closed down an old credit card and used the last of his points to redeem a voucher. He picked a Bendon voucher for me to spend on frivolous underwear, something which we'd both enjoy. It was hosing down with rain on Sunday and the first voucher was nearly at the expiry date, so we decided to brave the mall.
I've written before that my boobs are not petite, or even mediumish. I am fairly tall and have a long torso, so I can carry some chest weight and I certainly do. I hated my boobs in my younger years because going braless (or even strapless bra'd) is not possible for me. I've learned to like them more as time has passed (familarity, I suppose, which in this case has not bred contempt but rather resignation and acceptance). I hemmed and hawed at Bendon over the bra selection, which was not extensive for those with a reasonably small band size but large cups. I eventually picked out a lovely one, but as I was assessing the fit in the mirror, the damage I've been doing to my midsection over the past couple of years was brutally apparent. We don't have a full length mirror at home, so I've only been looking at it from my own perspective, recently. I shrugged it off - fluorescent lighting always makes you look horrific, I thought.
Finished with the bra selection, we wandered to the electronics store to spend the other voucher. P eventually settled on Apple TV. We also bought an SD card converter thingee to get all our photographs from the camera to the iPad (P recently got one for work). I got antsy with all the people in the store and in the mall, so we scarpered for home.
Back at the Lavender Loveshack, P asked me to model my new knickers and I felt oddly reluctant. I shrugged him off. He set up the Apple TV instead, then downloaded a whole lot of photographs from the camera. Showing me how great the Apple TV is, he set up a slideshow of reasonably old photographs I haven't really seen before on our TV.
I freaked. Internally, I was berating myself that the photographs, none of which are particularly recent, were horrific. In my eyes, I was huge. I asked P to turn it off, snappily. He asked why. I wouldn't speak about it and he got cross.
I got up, and went for a run.
I downloaded food tracking apps and started a plank a day challenge.
I'm not going to be stupid about this. I'm running a 10k in November anyway with my sister (not that far, but she's on the mend from surgery on her ACL), so training is necessary. I could stand to cut back on the booze and treats. I'm not obese; I have a healthy BMI presently, for what that's worth (albeit at the high end of the range). I know that it is not realistic nor even desirable to expect that I'll lose over 10 kilograms. Five kilos would, however, make a world of difference to my own self-image.
By the by, P apologised for upsetting me. He thinks I get stupid about my self-image which might well be true but he recognised that what's required is compassion, not ire. In turn, I apologised for behaving petulantly.
I could be setting myself up for failure by writing about this at the outset, but processing it, writing it, makes me accountable, I hope.
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.
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.
Sunday, 26 January 2014
things what i drank + enjoyed, recently
I had to go to work on Auckland Anniversary day. Hence a post in order to whinge, basically. At least it's warm in the office today, given that there's no aircon?
(I'm sweating my face off, in other words).
Enough whining.
More wine-ing instead please! Wines I have slurped this weekend:
- On Friday: P cracked open a bottle of pinot noir we bought at a tasting some seven years ago - oh man, that ages us! We were the youngest people at the tasting, I promise. I wish I could remember the name so you can take the recc, but after a couple of gins and half a bottle of pinot while wandering after kittens in the garden and then watching Federer/Nadal at the Aussie Open, my recall ain't so good. Also, I am old. These things happen. Bloody delicious, in any case.
- Saturday: Kim Crawford Pansy during the cricket. Not the tastiest rose in the world, but great name and wonderful for a hot evening. Serve chilled, but not too cold.
- Sunday: Morton Estate IQ7 sparkling. This was delicious and is a steal in NZ supermarkets at the moment, I highly recommend it. Also, I quite like drinking Morton Estate because they have a vineyard right down the road from my mum and dad. There is a lovely sign that uses river stones to say 'Morton Estate' on a slight rise as you approach the vineyard. Some clever clogs pinched the stones from the T in that sign once, and I giggle every time we drive past or pick up a bottle from their cellar door (which in fact is miles away on SH22 near Katikati, where my grandparents used to live. Yes, I can find my way around the North Island by vineyard navigation, sadly).
And yes, I am a terrible boozehound who feels guilty but HOLIDAY WEEKEND I deserve it, right?! (Please validate me. Please)
Hey, how's that for some lifestyle blogging? If your lifestyle is wine-soaked, that is. OH, WAIT, I NEED A PICTURE to support this review:
(I'm sweating my face off, in other words).
Enough whining.
More wine-ing instead please! Wines I have slurped this weekend:
- On Friday: P cracked open a bottle of pinot noir we bought at a tasting some seven years ago - oh man, that ages us! We were the youngest people at the tasting, I promise. I wish I could remember the name so you can take the recc, but after a couple of gins and half a bottle of pinot while wandering after kittens in the garden and then watching Federer/Nadal at the Aussie Open, my recall ain't so good. Also, I am old. These things happen. Bloody delicious, in any case.
- Saturday: Kim Crawford Pansy during the cricket. Not the tastiest rose in the world, but great name and wonderful for a hot evening. Serve chilled, but not too cold.
- Sunday: Morton Estate IQ7 sparkling. This was delicious and is a steal in NZ supermarkets at the moment, I highly recommend it. Also, I quite like drinking Morton Estate because they have a vineyard right down the road from my mum and dad. There is a lovely sign that uses river stones to say 'Morton Estate' on a slight rise as you approach the vineyard. Some clever clogs pinched the stones from the T in that sign once, and I giggle every time we drive past or pick up a bottle from their cellar door (which in fact is miles away on SH22 near Katikati, where my grandparents used to live. Yes, I can find my way around the North Island by vineyard navigation, sadly).
And yes, I am a terrible boozehound who feels guilty but HOLIDAY WEEKEND I deserve it, right?! (Please validate me. Please)
Hey, how's that for some lifestyle blogging? If your lifestyle is wine-soaked, that is. OH, WAIT, I NEED A PICTURE to support this review:
 |
| LIKE FATHER, LIKE DAUGHTER ALSO, SEE WHAT I DID THERE? GRATUITOUS KITTY PIC FEATURING WINE. SHAME ABOUT MY HULK-HAND |
Wednesday, 15 January 2014
only slightly puss-ish
Tabitha update: wee Tib still has very gummy eyes and the sneezles, but takes her medicine like a champ and doesn't appear to hold it against us. Unless she's plotting an elaborate revenge in her spare time, which would not surprise me in the least, having been the victim of a stealth bed-pouncing yesterday evening. Timothy Terror Cat does not plot elaborate revenge; I believe he acts more on the spur of the moment. He launched a surprise attack on my naked thigh last night as I was standing in an opportune place. If you've ever had four little paws of claws dug into your exposed flesh, I'm sure you'll be recoiling with prickly, sharp pain memories. He is so very lucky he's cute. He also tried to chew the skirt of the wardrobe installation lady this morning as she breezed past him. Opportunist, indeed.
Well, that provides a nice segue into other things what are happening in my life. Not much, really, but we have had people in to eyeball our bedroom and quote for wardrobe installation. As a result of those conversations, I'm reconsidering my decision not to purchase some $200-$300 laminate piece of crap from an Ikea order site in NZ. (Diversion: WHY do we not have Ikea here? I want Swedish meatballs (pref not horsemeatballs, but that's only cos some of my best friends are equine) and Ektorp and Billy and all of the other improbably-named furniture / homewares as well, STAT.)
Wardrobes seem very expensive and the crappy gib board in our room needs replacing, repainting, the whole shebang, so perhaps this isn't a well-thought out plan. I should probably reiterate that whole cash thing because I have been hemorrhaging money over the holidays, what with trips and meals and wine and whatnot. My mortgage is not visibly reducing this summer which I find stressful in the extreme. P has announced that 2014 is the year for me to take charge of our finances so we can achieve the mortgage-payment goals that I have in mind. This is all very well and good - we all know how I feel about being in charge of things, I think - but, as I observed at the time, unless and until P renounces the joint credit card there will be no goddamn extra money to apply to our scarily enormous debt.
Wow, I am boring.
Well, that provides a nice segue into other things what are happening in my life. Not much, really, but we have had people in to eyeball our bedroom and quote for wardrobe installation. As a result of those conversations, I'm reconsidering my decision not to purchase some $200-$300 laminate piece of crap from an Ikea order site in NZ. (Diversion: WHY do we not have Ikea here? I want Swedish meatballs (pref not horsemeatballs, but that's only cos some of my best friends are equine) and Ektorp and Billy and all of the other improbably-named furniture / homewares as well, STAT.)
Wardrobes seem very expensive and the crappy gib board in our room needs replacing, repainting, the whole shebang, so perhaps this isn't a well-thought out plan. I should probably reiterate that whole cash thing because I have been hemorrhaging money over the holidays, what with trips and meals and wine and whatnot. My mortgage is not visibly reducing this summer which I find stressful in the extreme. P has announced that 2014 is the year for me to take charge of our finances so we can achieve the mortgage-payment goals that I have in mind. This is all very well and good - we all know how I feel about being in charge of things, I think - but, as I observed at the time, unless and until P renounces the joint credit card there will be no goddamn extra money to apply to our scarily enormous debt.
Wow, I am boring.
Tuesday, 17 December 2013
three weeks off is just so....punishing, you know?!
Ahhh, the rest and relaxation of the summer break.
Touch of sarcasm (TM).*
I love my family. Really! However, I find the start of my summer holidays in New Zealand completely batshit crazy and family time is not always particularly relaxing. First world problems BLAH BLAH let me tell you them.
Oh, and P has decided he wants us to go swimming with great white sharks while we're on the island. GREAT STRESS RELIEVER, P.
Call me Moaning Milly. Really, it's not so bad. In fact, all of the above sounds pretty good, sans a bit of actually having to work. Well, now you know the basic facts of my summer schedule anyway. I've got an end of year thingo to come and will no doubt feel the urge to worddump all over my blog again before Xmas, but I wouldn't be checking back again much before mid-January. For those of you I'm not seeing this Xmas, I miss and love you all.
*Touch of Grey, anyone? Best ad I saw during my tenure in the US. Young dudes giving themselves grey wings (literal, not figurative you dirty bastards) in order to seem more distinguished, trustworthy etc. Brilliant!
Touch of sarcasm (TM).*
I love my family. Really! However, I find the start of my summer holidays in New Zealand completely batshit crazy and family time is not always particularly relaxing. First world problems BLAH BLAH let me tell you them.
- I finish work in December under a complete cloud of crazy. I'm frantic, as the office is closing down for three weeks and of course the clients want everything done yesterday before Christmas. At least 50% of them will be working through the summer, so they don't give a rats about the holiday. Besides which, I've been out and about on company entertaining and personal social catch up missions throughout the month, not to mention a weekend out of the country (boo hoo, what a punishment! you say. Yeah, that's fair I guess.)
- Then, once I'm finally done in the office for the year (by done, I mean I've walked out at the end with a giant 'deal with it later' pile in the corner), we immediately have P's family pseudo-Christmas dinner. At our house. We're catering. There will be fewer than 10 people this year (thank Oscar the Grouch) but there's still a lot to do. Oh, and my best friend is in town from London so I am having her around for lunch first (can't not! It's been over 18 months since I've seen her face! And having her to our place allows me to prep meals and gasbag at the same time!)
- 8am the next morning, on a plane with my sister K. We meet Mum and Dad, then enjoy a three hour drive even further south, followed by a meal with some of P's paternal family.
- Next morning, ferry over to the island. We're there for a week, plus a night in the Catlins on the way back. Poor old P is stuck on a frigid wee island in the Roaring 40s in a bach with his in-laws for a week. I pity the fool.
- P and I arrive home at approx 9.30pm on the 30th.
- We get up the next morning, and drive three hours to the beach to meet friends. Goodness only knows how many of us will be jammed into a wee place looking for a good time, but it will be mental. MENTAL.
Oh, and P has decided he wants us to go swimming with great white sharks while we're on the island. GREAT STRESS RELIEVER, P.
Call me Moaning Milly. Really, it's not so bad. In fact, all of the above sounds pretty good, sans a bit of actually having to work. Well, now you know the basic facts of my summer schedule anyway. I've got an end of year thingo to come and will no doubt feel the urge to worddump all over my blog again before Xmas, but I wouldn't be checking back again much before mid-January. For those of you I'm not seeing this Xmas, I miss and love you all.
*Touch of Grey, anyone? Best ad I saw during my tenure in the US. Young dudes giving themselves grey wings (literal, not figurative you dirty bastards) in order to seem more distinguished, trustworthy etc. Brilliant!
Sunday, 10 November 2013
a litany of useless behaviours
I worked out my ideal career this morning, trudging to work under my own personal black cloud:
Professional, Work From Home, Dumpling Taster.
I am uniquely qualified for this role:
So, yes, I was feeling a bit dark about being all contractually required to turn up to my place of employment and be employed, today. That's because I had a completely hopeless weekend, in classic A style:
Professional, Work From Home, Dumpling Taster.
I am uniquely qualified for this role:
- I love dumplings
- I eat a lot of dumplings
- I'm very good at staying in bed
- I have opinions on things, like dumplings
- etc
So, yes, I was feeling a bit dark about being all contractually required to turn up to my place of employment and be employed, today. That's because I had a completely hopeless weekend, in classic A style:
- Lost my phone. Again. That's the phone twice and wallet once in 6 weeks. On the bright side, it turned up 24 hours later. On the dim side, I lost it at the same bar as last time.
- Lost my dignity attempting to dance with P on Friday night. Managed to push him over on the dance floor.
- Broke the button off P's pants when we got home. Don't ask me how / why - I'm not even sure myself.
- Crushed my thumb as I was closing up the ladder.
- Got heinously sunburnt in the Domain (when I left the house there was no need for sunscreen - I wasn't intentionally stupid! I promise!)
- Could barely move during the Hollie Smith concert due to hangover from previous evening's...festivities (verdict = she was fab, loved the new stuff, technical difficulties aside a great show.)
- Scared myself shitless - from noticing a spider.
- Killed the romance in my relationship with a gastro issue...followed by falling asleep flat on my back with my mouth open, snoring. SO sexy.
Wednesday, 25 September 2013
la la la, very small things
Long time, no type. You know, caused by the usual: work, a dearth of anything valuable to say (HA. Something of value!? I'm sure you're all clamouring for a return of the "shitty cafe music updates" AMIRITE? I'm always producing kwality kontent on this 'ere blog!)
I have the next two days off - a glorious four day weekend ahead of me. P's organised it, the destination is a surprise (who knows? He might propose! Oh, wait. We already did that.) I cannot wait. Our wee home is dealing surprisingly well with the stresses of four adults and two children, but my mental capacity is not. Weekdays are fine, really, but on weekends I get pretty desperate for some quiet. I know, says you. How on earth will you ever be a mother? Well, that's not a given and also, I keep thinking that there must be some biological pay-off to having children of which I'm not yet aware. I mean, the kids are pretty cute, sure, but they're so....relentless. And grubby. To be fair to them, my excitement is also over the desire for space from their parents, too.
So yes, I intend to souse myself in wine, whiskey and books this weekend and maybe, if he's specially lucky, I'll converse with my husband too. No guarantees, P!
Ok, so I completely lost my train of thought (work interrupted, how rude. Or entirely predictable). Anyway, I hope to see you here a revitalised woman soon. Ha.
I have the next two days off - a glorious four day weekend ahead of me. P's organised it, the destination is a surprise (who knows? He might propose! Oh, wait. We already did that.) I cannot wait. Our wee home is dealing surprisingly well with the stresses of four adults and two children, but my mental capacity is not. Weekdays are fine, really, but on weekends I get pretty desperate for some quiet. I know, says you. How on earth will you ever be a mother? Well, that's not a given and also, I keep thinking that there must be some biological pay-off to having children of which I'm not yet aware. I mean, the kids are pretty cute, sure, but they're so....relentless. And grubby. To be fair to them, my excitement is also over the desire for space from their parents, too.
So yes, I intend to souse myself in wine, whiskey and books this weekend and maybe, if he's specially lucky, I'll converse with my husband too. No guarantees, P!
Ok, so I completely lost my train of thought (work interrupted, how rude. Or entirely predictable). Anyway, I hope to see you here a revitalised woman soon. Ha.
Friday, 6 September 2013
a round-up of spring fashion? perhaps not
It is a glorious day here in the City of Sails - well, from my desk anyway. I ventured out to purchase that most necessary of all office staples (diet coke) at lunchtime and there is a chilly breeze, but nevertheless, the sun is out, there are boats on the water and there are teenagers wearing ill-advised high-cut denim shorts sans tights. All is right with the world.
I have that peculiarly spring-y feeling (plz to tell if you suffer from this as well) where I want to go out and purchase all manner of sandals and floral dresses. This is a particularly dumb idea in circumstances where:
Whew, ranty.
Moving on: culture. I has none. I wasted a bday Whitcoulls voucher on Mortal Instruments: City of Bones I don't know why because it transpires that it is terrible, terrible teenage fantasy-style fiction which features:
Digression: you know how in rhythmic gymnastics and synchronised swimming they do team items coordinated to music? Well, there is a similar sort of thing in dressage (horses for courses) and at the ages of 12 and 13 respectively, my sister and I choreographed a routine to "Another Day in Paradise" for four of us and our ponies. I can't remember whether we won the competition but I can tell you Phil Collins writes excellent beats for an extended trot. F me, I can't believe I just told you that.
I have a nasty feeling I'm on a kind of roll spilling all my teenage shames here so I better put an end to this post, pronto. Have a lovely weekend, all.
I have that peculiarly spring-y feeling (plz to tell if you suffer from this as well) where I want to go out and purchase all manner of sandals and floral dresses. This is a particularly dumb idea in circumstances where:
- Said dresses and sandals cost money, which I have basically been flushing down the toilet recently;
- My legs bear a close resemblance to neon glow sticks except hairier and fatter;
- All the shops appear to be stocking just now are crop fucking tops and dresses that will barely cover my crotch LET ALONE my granny sized underwear.
Whew, ranty.
Moving on: culture. I has none. I wasted a bday Whitcoulls voucher on Mortal Instruments: City of Bones I don't know why because it transpires that it is terrible, terrible teenage fantasy-style fiction which features:
- the supernatural
- a love triangle
- a heroine who doesn't know her own talents
Digression: you know how in rhythmic gymnastics and synchronised swimming they do team items coordinated to music? Well, there is a similar sort of thing in dressage (horses for courses) and at the ages of 12 and 13 respectively, my sister and I choreographed a routine to "Another Day in Paradise" for four of us and our ponies. I can't remember whether we won the competition but I can tell you Phil Collins writes excellent beats for an extended trot. F me, I can't believe I just told you that.
I have a nasty feeling I'm on a kind of roll spilling all my teenage shames here so I better put an end to this post, pronto. Have a lovely weekend, all.
Tuesday, 3 September 2013
scaredy cat
A thing what have given me a fright recently: the automatic scent squirter in the work bathroom. You might think that's an odd thing to be frightened by, but then I suspect the only automatic scent squirter thingamees you've ever encountered have probably been placed high on the wall, in a corner perhaps. Not right behind your elbow while you're sitting on the throne. Saturating your elbow with Eau De Pink Fake Flower with a scary pump noise. I convulsed in response - let's just be grateful it wasn't a jump, shall we?
Another thing what has given me a fright recently: we bought a ginormous BBQ. It's huge. There are only two of us, but BY GOD WILL P ENTERTAIN with that bad boy. It did some damage to the bank account (see: fright) but wasn't as bad as my fears suggested. I think he's doing that thing where he totally oversells what he wants in order that I feel better when we find a "middle ground". I suspect he also thinks he's pretty damn sneaky.
Small boys living in my house have also given me frights. I wake up at night wondering what ghost is crying in the spare bedroom before my brain registers that it's only One with a tooth giving him grief. I'm sure it's a natural biological response, but I find the sound of upset children quite distressing. When Three objects to his pajamas being put on or taken off (depending on the time of day), the skin over my spine shrivels. I also find that I'm desperate to reason with him, even though his mum and dad have clearly tried that to no avail. This morning, P resorted to "you can't stay home and watch TV all day because the TV'll break." LIES, P. I've watched you do that very thing.
Another thing what has given me a fright recently: we bought a ginormous BBQ. It's huge. There are only two of us, but BY GOD WILL P ENTERTAIN with that bad boy. It did some damage to the bank account (see: fright) but wasn't as bad as my fears suggested. I think he's doing that thing where he totally oversells what he wants in order that I feel better when we find a "middle ground". I suspect he also thinks he's pretty damn sneaky.
Small boys living in my house have also given me frights. I wake up at night wondering what ghost is crying in the spare bedroom before my brain registers that it's only One with a tooth giving him grief. I'm sure it's a natural biological response, but I find the sound of upset children quite distressing. When Three objects to his pajamas being put on or taken off (depending on the time of day), the skin over my spine shrivels. I also find that I'm desperate to reason with him, even though his mum and dad have clearly tried that to no avail. This morning, P resorted to "you can't stay home and watch TV all day because the TV'll break." LIES, P. I've watched you do that very thing.
Thursday, 29 August 2013
stream of consciousness ii
It's wrong that it's only Thursday afternoon, but I've already been having an internal monologue like, 'don't stress, just do it Sunday afternoon, it'll be ok'. Weekends are precious, o procrastination centre of my brain, stop with that crap already and get stuff done now, plz? Or write a blog post instead and continue to sink into glum, go on, I dare you.
So, remember those fifty gazillion posts in which I remarked on my own tediousness? Of course you don't. They were dull. I'm not one to bust out of the mould so today's tiresome commentary vis-a-vis First World Problems is on the obscene pricing of drycleaning in this two bit town. I had serious difficulty swallowing my middle-aged ire when I got served with a $73 bill for two dresses, a top and a skirt. None of that stuff was made by fairies out of the golden fleece or any such rubbish - we're talking polyester, baby. The only reason I didn't hand wash these things is that I'd probably just crumple the bejeezus out of them. The price I pay for my own inability to act like a domestic goddess, aye?
Plus, I put a hole in the bum of my pretty swirly dress so I have to pay to get that fixed. Pray that it's not too horrendous a bill, I cannae use a needle and thread. My hem is falling down as we speak and if there was a stapler to hand, well, I'd not hold myself responsible for the consequences.
Apropos of nothing but my general malaise, I feel compelled to tell you that I've not been to the theatre or anything cultshural for an age. Nor have I felt super compelled to comment on politics either (don't worry, still taking on the patriarchy at home. Cornered P on a half hour walk home from work and very nearly made him admit he's a feminist. Badgered the poor bugger to death, I did. He's still recovering. To clarify, he doesn't want the label but believes in the principles which I guess I can take.) Things I should probably care more about and would normally expound on at length include:
- Labour party leadership;
- Miley Cyrus and minstrel show at the VMAs (Hadley Freeman in the Guardian said something insightful with which I agree, I suppose);
- Auckland's Unitary Plan;
OH WAIT. The effed up Hop Card mess in AKL, there's something I care about! And it fits in nicely with the themes of First World Problems, Tedium and White Middle Aged People! Remember children, in a city far, far away there was an Oyster Card. That magical, wondrous card gave you access to buses, most trains in the metro area, ferries and trams. It topped up magically through the internet or - gasp - even magically and automatically from your bank account when you dropped below five quid. Those were the days. But, children, Auckland is hopeless like me and could not organise a piss up in a brewery. So we have different cards for everything, no way of topping up online and only limited and hidden dairies where you can apply funds to catch the bus. You can still pay the driver in ten cent coins. I know that in theory they are fixing this. I know that they were *meant* to have transferrable cards. But. BUT. Sort it out, Auckland.
There, I feel so much better after working up a righteous rage. Stream of consciousness solved my ennui.
I'm lame.
So, remember those fifty gazillion posts in which I remarked on my own tediousness? Of course you don't. They were dull. I'm not one to bust out of the mould so today's tiresome commentary vis-a-vis First World Problems is on the obscene pricing of drycleaning in this two bit town. I had serious difficulty swallowing my middle-aged ire when I got served with a $73 bill for two dresses, a top and a skirt. None of that stuff was made by fairies out of the golden fleece or any such rubbish - we're talking polyester, baby. The only reason I didn't hand wash these things is that I'd probably just crumple the bejeezus out of them. The price I pay for my own inability to act like a domestic goddess, aye?
Plus, I put a hole in the bum of my pretty swirly dress so I have to pay to get that fixed. Pray that it's not too horrendous a bill, I cannae use a needle and thread. My hem is falling down as we speak and if there was a stapler to hand, well, I'd not hold myself responsible for the consequences.
Apropos of nothing but my general malaise, I feel compelled to tell you that I've not been to the theatre or anything cultshural for an age. Nor have I felt super compelled to comment on politics either (don't worry, still taking on the patriarchy at home. Cornered P on a half hour walk home from work and very nearly made him admit he's a feminist. Badgered the poor bugger to death, I did. He's still recovering. To clarify, he doesn't want the label but believes in the principles which I guess I can take.) Things I should probably care more about and would normally expound on at length include:
- Labour party leadership;
- Miley Cyrus and minstrel show at the VMAs (Hadley Freeman in the Guardian said something insightful with which I agree, I suppose);
- Auckland's Unitary Plan;
OH WAIT. The effed up Hop Card mess in AKL, there's something I care about! And it fits in nicely with the themes of First World Problems, Tedium and White Middle Aged People! Remember children, in a city far, far away there was an Oyster Card. That magical, wondrous card gave you access to buses, most trains in the metro area, ferries and trams. It topped up magically through the internet or - gasp - even magically and automatically from your bank account when you dropped below five quid. Those were the days. But, children, Auckland is hopeless like me and could not organise a piss up in a brewery. So we have different cards for everything, no way of topping up online and only limited and hidden dairies where you can apply funds to catch the bus. You can still pay the driver in ten cent coins. I know that in theory they are fixing this. I know that they were *meant* to have transferrable cards. But. BUT. Sort it out, Auckland.
There, I feel so much better after working up a righteous rage. Stream of consciousness solved my ennui.
I'm lame.
Wednesday, 28 August 2013
we may own a table
In a fit of avoidance-based mania, I just bought a clock. It is a very nice station-style clock, with numbers for telling the time, hands for telling the time, etc. I'm sure it will be extremely useful for yelling at P in the morning "hurry up it's already 7.30 for crying out loud. STOP ADJUSTING YOUR POCKETSQUARE and LEAVE WITH ME ALREADY." I really enjoyed that three minute online purchase but now I'm jonesing for another hit. Quick, it's time for distraction before I buy $45 cushion covers what have no cushions in them (you KNOW that if I buy them, I'll never get round to finding inners / finding inners what fit, right?)
Speaking of purchases, I suspect that P went and ordered a huge ass dining table today that cost a fortune and has no chairs but appears to be the table of his dreams (who knew he dreamed so big? Not his wife, though she ought to have suspected.) We are hemorrhaging funds that would be better spent reducing the mountain of debt we have (original metaphor, no? oh wait, cliche you say? go fuck yourself, I can't do any better today.)
Wanna see?
And just like that, with a single picture of a table, this blog reached new levels of boring. THIS FROM A WOMAN WHO TWO DAYS AGO POSTED ABOUT LAW CAMP. Hold on to your hats, boys and girls, it's pretty exciting around here! And it's about to get even better: my Ma and Pa are visiting for the weekend, then, HOLD THE PHONE, my sister in law, her husband and two children (you remember Three and One, right?) are moving in for five weeks during their renovation. IT'S ALL ACTION, ALL THE TIME around here! Quick, I'm desperate to stay relevant...ummm...Miley Cyrus? Does that help?
Speaking of purchases, I suspect that P went and ordered a huge ass dining table today that cost a fortune and has no chairs but appears to be the table of his dreams (who knew he dreamed so big? Not his wife, though she ought to have suspected.) We are hemorrhaging funds that would be better spent reducing the mountain of debt we have (original metaphor, no? oh wait, cliche you say? go fuck yourself, I can't do any better today.)
Wanna see?
 |
| IT WILL LOOK LIKE THIS ONE BY WRW & Co, P IS SPECIALLY "COMMISSIONING" IT FROM THEM. CAN ONE COMMISSION A DINING TABLE? P THINKS ITS THE BUSINESS, A GD WORK OF ART, IN ANY CASE. P REALLY, REALLY LOVES DINNER |
Thursday, 15 August 2013
eau de plonker
It comes as no surprise, I'm sure, that I like food. Similarly, I'm sure you've twigged that I also like wine.
This love for food and wine is turning me into a giant ASSHOLE.
P poured a glass of red last night and offered me a slurp (I was being all 'I don't drink on weeknights' which is patently NOT TRUE but anyway, a guzzle from someone else's glass doesn't count). I delicately inhaled over the rim of the glass, took a swig and promptly made a face.
'WHAT IS THIS?'
'A pinot, young one, plus it needs a bit more time out of the bottle'
'WELL ITS RUBBISH AND... ... ... AND... ... IT'S SO ... SO FLORAL'
'You told me to stop spending so much on wine, and I got a staff discount on this thanks to a client'
'NO. NO MORE.'
I am actually an asshole. A WINE asshole. That specific breed that rolls its eyes back in it's head as it savours the delights of an 88 Bordeaux out of a Riedel Bordeaux glass with it's nose. (Ha. I WISH I had an 88 Bordeaux and I keep breaking those fucker glasses).
What happened to the girl with the bladder of wine in her flax kite, tap out the bottom, asking the bartender at the Bowler (RIP, a fine establishment) for just an empty glass please? Oh, she was an asshole too, JUST A DIFFERENT KIND.
I lead a very spoilt and privileged existence. I could go ahead and qualify the above all day (I still drink cheap plonk! I'm grateful I can afford anything from Chateau Cardboard and above in my discretionary spending! I know there are starving children! I give money to charity on the regular!) but fact of the matter is, I'm an asshole.
This love for food and wine is turning me into a giant ASSHOLE.
P poured a glass of red last night and offered me a slurp (I was being all 'I don't drink on weeknights' which is patently NOT TRUE but anyway, a guzzle from someone else's glass doesn't count). I delicately inhaled over the rim of the glass, took a swig and promptly made a face.
'WHAT IS THIS?'
'A pinot, young one, plus it needs a bit more time out of the bottle'
'WELL ITS RUBBISH AND... ... ... AND... ... IT'S SO ... SO FLORAL'
'You told me to stop spending so much on wine, and I got a staff discount on this thanks to a client'
'NO. NO MORE.'
I am actually an asshole. A WINE asshole. That specific breed that rolls its eyes back in it's head as it savours the delights of an 88 Bordeaux out of a Riedel Bordeaux glass with it's nose. (Ha. I WISH I had an 88 Bordeaux and I keep breaking those fucker glasses).
What happened to the girl with the bladder of wine in her flax kite, tap out the bottom, asking the bartender at the Bowler (RIP, a fine establishment) for just an empty glass please? Oh, she was an asshole too, JUST A DIFFERENT KIND.
I lead a very spoilt and privileged existence. I could go ahead and qualify the above all day (I still drink cheap plonk! I'm grateful I can afford anything from Chateau Cardboard and above in my discretionary spending! I know there are starving children! I give money to charity on the regular!) but fact of the matter is, I'm an asshole.
Wednesday, 10 July 2013
i don't like me much right now, either
Today I'm one of THOSE people. Those snotty-nose-in-an-office people. Am constantly suspecting other people of resenting my sneezy, goopy carcass (as I would them were the tables turned). I wouldn't be here infecting others, could I ditch my responsibilities (I know, I know, no one is *that* important but in this case, I'd be sitting in bed on the phone giving directions every five minutes and responding to emails and, frankly, that's easier in this disease-incubator of a building from the luxury of my lumbar-supportive chair. And where there are people who I can scam into making me cups of tea.)
I'm a walking contagion, just be grateful it isn't reaching out through the screen as you read this. Very timely that we are already investigating extra insulation solutions. The power bill at the end of this month is going to be something horrific, at the rate we've been pumping the gas heaters. We made the call today just to wrap up warmly on the couch in the evening, under a blanket, rather than wasting more of the earth's precious resources. Oh, and in a completely selfless move to reduce our power bill, I bought a very cute rug for the bedroom floor (selfish for my toesies!) Wanna see it?
It was delivered to our front deck at 6 this morning and I thought someone was in our house and fuh-reaked out. Was very pleased to find it was just soft furnishings on my doorstep and not, say, a burglar (dressed like the Hamburglar, obvi.)
While I'm on the subject of extravagant purchases for my new home (what? You thought we were done with MAH HOUSE talk? Oh, you were so wrong that I feel a little sorry for you), I also bought an ikea situation for the TV shite to sit in/on (cables! speakers! general boy crap like that! P is OBSESSED with the sound quality in our new living room) and some bedside drawers. FUCKING EXHILARATING OR WHAT? I ask you.
As you were.
I'm a walking contagion, just be grateful it isn't reaching out through the screen as you read this. Very timely that we are already investigating extra insulation solutions. The power bill at the end of this month is going to be something horrific, at the rate we've been pumping the gas heaters. We made the call today just to wrap up warmly on the couch in the evening, under a blanket, rather than wasting more of the earth's precious resources. Oh, and in a completely selfless move to reduce our power bill, I bought a very cute rug for the bedroom floor (selfish for my toesies!) Wanna see it?
 |
| I KNOW. FIRST PICTURE IN AGES AND IT'S A G.D. RUG. I DON'T EVEN KNOW ME ANYMORE. ANYWAY, YOU CAN GET IT HERE |
While I'm on the subject of extravagant purchases for my new home (what? You thought we were done with MAH HOUSE talk? Oh, you were so wrong that I feel a little sorry for you), I also bought an ikea situation for the TV shite to sit in/on (cables! speakers! general boy crap like that! P is OBSESSED with the sound quality in our new living room) and some bedside drawers. FUCKING EXHILARATING OR WHAT? I ask you.
As you were.
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