frazzled, variously

So work has seriously kicked off.  I think it's that 'Christmas is coming' mentality setting in - oh fuck, say all of my clients, ever, at once, let's get that stuff sorted before the Christmas holidays! And I proceed to flip the flip out because I am incapable of any setting on my personal toaster between warm bread and JEEBERS TURN OFF THE SMOKE ALARMS. 

(I wrote all of that, took a break, came back and whoa there Nelly I really do know how to torture a metaphor)

So yes, two months until Christmas. We are getting the Chrissy plans sorted. In case you care, we're off down the line for a wedding, a stay with my olds, a six hour car ride with my olds to get back to the 09 (emphasis added OMG), then spending Christmas eve with my wider maternal fam, Christmas day with a visit to P's dad and stepfam, the rest of the day with his Ma, brother and sister in law, then beach with friends for a week, whew. The shut down at our offices continues to the 12th, so there's talk of finding another beach after that with P's mum.

The late spring humidity has arrived with a vengeance and is doing a number on my coiffure.  I think we all know how I feel about that.  I'm taking it personally, is what I'm doing.

Also, my eyes are watering following quotes on replacing those rotten weatherboards.  Turns out one side of the house is, to put it poetically, totally rooted.  I think we knew that in our hearts but were practicing turning a blind eye.  Home ownership and responsibility and whatnot, far out. 

happy 2014, blog

In a nice change of pace for the New Year, Blogger is being a dick.  Here’s hoping this wasn’t typed futilely in Word and that I managed to effectively copy+paste my first musings for 2014.  This laptop is a dated wee number that I’m going to need to upgrade soon, methinks.  Isn’t it amazing that just when you think, ‘Self, your spending is out of control, this will be the year to knuckle down and rationalise your purchases,’ there is almost immediately a big ticket item to replace?  Wants, needs, first world, I know.

The end of 2013 wasn’t too bad, thanks for asking.  And yours?

Kiwi readers: you MUST visit Stewart Island. You too, international traveller types.  Unless either of you types hate birds, the bush or SI natives at the only pub wearing gumboots and/or you desperately need internet access and shopping, in which case it’s not for you. The island is so remote and untouched it feels like stepping back in time.  We kept reminiscing about things we’d read about pre-/colonial New Zealand; on the island, they could all almost apply.  The best example I can think of is colonists reporting (prior to the major land clearances) that the dawn chorus was almost deafening.  We experienced near constant and varied birdsong.  We saw kaka, Stewart Island robin, weka, saddleback, bellbirds – so many native birds.  So very, very lucky we are. 

The bulk of Rakiura/Steward Island is national park.  While the areas around Halfmoon Bay (the only real settlement, the island’s permanent population is around 500) were pretty heavily logged up until the late 30s, the bush is returning and it is just glorious.  Cold; yes, but we had a few days of brilliant sunshine too.  I think the best experience was the day we took a charter to the Ulva Island bird sanctuary in the morning for a few hours tramping with the wildlife. That afternoon, the charter picked us up for a tour of the whaling base on the Paterson Inlet, followed by fishing near the Muttonbird Islands.  We hauled in about 10 blue cod in the space of 10 minutes, harangued only by albatross, mawkishly threatening to swallow the bait or our catch.  We stopped then, as that was plenty to feed us – two meals, as it turned out – and there was some excellent wildlife watching.  We watched seals fighting, cubs playing, blue penguins swimming.  We heard the call of the Hoiho (yellow-eyed penguin, which we later spotted in the Catlins at the fossilised forest in Curio Bay.)

You may recall that I have said no one should play boardgames with me ever.  Turns out that may also extend to cards.  Poor old Mum, Dad, K and P probably had enough of the gloating or sulking (depending on the hand) by the end of the week.  I think a week was sufficient time in such close quarters with one another; it wasn’t just my poor sportsmanship wearing on the nerves, I think.  The other wee issue with the island is that getting there is balls, basically.  I nearly biffed my cookies in the swell on the way over – the ferry is a wee cat and it’s somewhat sickmaking and scary when the swell is higher than the boat.  The return trip was calm and we sailed through a group of feeding titi; just wonderful. 

In any case, Stewart Island was absolutely magical.  There was no internet, no phone. We walked about three hours a day and slept for 10 hours a night.  We ate and drank tastey treats.  Just the holiday I needed. 

P and I promptly ruined it by heading to the beach to get raucous for New Year’s Eve with a bunch of about 25 friends.  After some isolation, catching up with old friends was just fantastic.  The weather was outstanding and I laughed and laughed and laughed (heading to bed about 1am; we discovered two girlfriends half-asleep on the bed reserved for P and I.  P launched onto the bed, announced his safe word was ‘dolphin’ and cuddle tackled the lot of us.  Hilarious, and not nearly as open-marriage as it sounds, I promise.)

It is lovely to be home, though.  We’ve been back for a couple of days now, floating round the house, half-heartedly attempting the occasional chore.  Just now, an extension lead out the window is allowing me to type on this dinosaur seated at the outdoor table under the umbrella.  P’s on a chair on the deck looking back through the window at the cricket.  There is a hot breeze, pinking my cheeks and creeping around the exposed skin between my t-shirt and the top of my denim shorts.  Auckland can be pretty magic too.

i smell like

cigars (not mine) and regrets (mine, all mine).  A very merry Thursday afternoon, evening, night was had by A.

I hope you all have merry holidays as well, though I don't recommend dropping a hundred bucks on bottles of cava for your team/family/friends when the lot of you are already loaded.  That is not merry; that is insane.  It is not very merry to get in a fight with your taxi driver, either.  Or retching at 8am on the side of a very busy arterial route.  BUT, singing/dancing/chatting  - these things are all very merry and I wholeheartedly recommend them!
See you in 2014!

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.

• 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. 

Now, don't get me wrong, there will be plenty of rest and relaxation time on the island.  It's just that we'll be in close proximity with family for over a week on the back of one of the maddest Decembers I can remember, in a year when I didn't take more than two days off at a time. 

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!

grey christmas?

The ten day forecast is looking particularly dire.  Metservice doesn't offer the weather on Stewart Island, it appears (or perhaps I can't work the website, either seems likely) but the projected high in Invercargill for the day of our arrival is 15 degrees, with lashings of rain.  The mental projection of lovely, 23 degree-ish sunshine on an isolated island in the deep south is starting to fragment.  My focus is now getting enough books to last me a week, packing the cards, and wondering whether I can fit anything else in my pack once it is holding the enormous rip-off North Face jacket my father purchased for me in China, circa 2001.   Don't worry, we've sorted the duty free booze and that'll be travelling with us in the precious, precious hand luggage.

My sister K has been sending messages predicting bulk barf on the ferry.  The Foveaux Strait is no joke, I'm lead to believe. 

THIS PHOTO IS FROM HERE. THE CAPTION READS:
'Rakiura is the Maori name for Stewart Island, the 'third island' of New Zealand. This summer view is taken from the summit of Bluff Hill, on the far southern tip of the South Island. Foveaux Strait is right in the middle of the Roaring Forties, and is very rarely this calm.'
OH SHIT.

wait! I forgot to tell you about my seasonal binge

After all that earlier Christmas tree wankery, I have completely failed to get and decorate a tree.  Instead:

• I purchased some cheap ornaments at the supermarket.  The boxes of those bastards then scratched gouges in my legs as I lugged them home.
• They sat in their boxes on the dining room table for a week. 
• Last night, P was home so instead of ignoring it for another night, I made him get down the box labelled '[Last Name] Christmas' and decorated with a jaunty sprig of holly.
• It contained one (1) German christmas light thing and one (1) ornament purchased at the Cologne Christmas Markets without a string and eight (8) festive placemats we were gifted at our wedding by a great aunt (who, bless her, also grew, cut and arranged all the flowers.  What a wonderful, kind woman).  Hardly the Xmas haul I was hoping resided in that box, despite having been the person to pack it lo, these five months ago.
• SO. Placemats and ornaments went on the table, baubles into the decorative salad bowl and vase situation.
• German Xmas light into the window with some shoddy electrical cord arrangement.
• I then made P source the fairy lights purchased for our wedding.
• Half the fuckers on each of the strings didn't work, despite being less than two years old.  So to hide their deficiencies, we decorated the pear and bay trees out the front instead of the house.

The whole thing is frankly somewhat less that Christmas Chic, but OH WELL.  It is done and twinkly lights make me happy, even if they look rubbish.  OH LOOK, I VISUALLY DOCUMENTED IT BADLY FOR YOU:

GERMAN XMAS LIGHT.  FESTIVE, NO?

FESTIVE TABLESCAPE, I AM A SMUG DOMESTIC GODDESS WHO CAN PLACE TABLEMATS.  ALSO THE NEIGHBOUR'S GUTTER OUT THE WINDOW.  ATTRACTIVE, HEIN?

THE FIRST ABORTIVE ATTEMPT AT HANGING SOME GODDAMN LIGHTS.  SOMEONE OUGHT TO SEND THIS TO THAT PINTEREST FAIL BLOG.  I SHAN'T SHOW YOU THE PICTURE OF THE FINAL TREE DECORATION EFFORT BECAUSE IT'S SO UNDERWHELMING.  STILL, FAIRY LIGHTS ARE AWESOME.  P.S. GERMAN XMAS LIGHT IN SITU.  MASSIVELY DISPROPORTIONATE, WHAT? BONUS POINTS FOR SPOTTING THE MYSTERIOUS P WHOSE LEGS ALSO LOOK VERY DISPROPORTIONATE.  YOU'RE GOING TO HAVE TO TAKE ME AT MY WORD THAT HE'S A SMOKING HOT SEX GOD.
 

o christmas tree

TRALALALALALA let us pretend I didn't just angsty word-vomit all over my blog, shall we?

Let's focus on my happy homemaker project of the week instead!

CHRISTMAS TREE.  My house will smell like Christmas this year or bust!
First, reminiscence of Xmas trees past (because what is a post from A without a self indulgent diversion into her FASCINATING personal history)

1986: I produce my first tree decorations, including a paper chain that got me into serious trouble at kindy when I tried to teach the other kids how to use the scissors in order to make them. 

1987: Milk carton Santa Claus produced.  I made my mother sit him at the bottom of the tree EVERY year thereafter until well into my 20s when he mysteriously 'vanished'.  I still ask about whether he's turned up again.  Mum dodges the reply. 

1988: Ugly wax crayon angels made at school with my sister.

1989-1995: Fight over whose ugly wax crayon angel got to top the tree that year (and, incidentally, whose was whose).  Constant fights between Mum and Dad over leaving the tree lights on all night (i.e. woman who likes twinkling versus man who cannot leave a room without turning off all switches).

1996: The Giant Tree that we could decorate only half way up.  The top of it looked very, very lonely.

Late Nineties: Who knows?  I clearly could have cared less, while wrapped up in teenage angst.

2000: I work in the Farmer's Christmas Store AFTER CHRISTMAS and swear off any decorating ever again EVER IN MY LIFE while listening to the same 7 jazzed up carols on a loop over 13 hour shifts, perpetually hungover. 

2003: Bangkok's answer to a Christmas Tree: an enormous recycled bottle tree.

2006-2008: Are you kidding me?  Like we're going to get a tree into this 46m2 apartment crammed full of our crap.

2009: I decorate a standing lamp as a Christmas tree using tinsel in New York, as we are too broke for a tree.

2010: We live with P's brother, who goes nuts over the tree and buys expensive decorations at the Cologne Christmas markets.  We purchase one measly decoration for ourselves, and it has sat in a box ever since. 

2011: We work our faces off and never see the inside of our flat anyway, so why bother?

2012: See 2006-2008.  Where the fuck would we put it?

2013: WE WILL HAVE A TREE GODDAMMIT IF IT KILLS ME.

I am determined to enjoy the lead up to Christmas this year.  We have struck no presents deals with just about every relative in creation, so I needn't panic even over getting pressies under the tree - I'm just going to have a tree and sniff it regularly, for my hit of Xmas spirit.  Along with an actual hit of Xmas spirits because you don't think I'm missing out on opportunities for those, do you?  Last year's Xmas drink of the year was the negroni, what shall we do this year?  I'm thinking something whiskey based.  This is a bizarre tradition concocted as adults with my parents, who one year decided margarita slushies were the way of the future at Christmas time.   

in which i am sweaty and hairy

So, this weekend was amazing weatherwise (26 degrees! and higher! in Auckland in November!) and you will be pleased to know, no doubt, that I came away sunburn-free.  I may not be able to keep resolutions relating to the consumption of crap from the Daily Mail (though I must say, my consumption has dropped considerably since resolving that it's a misogynistic piece of shit tabloid rag) but I am two weeks down with no sunburn.  That, my dear readers, counts as a success.

Yes, awesome weather.  Not so awesome?  Pushing the mower at 11.45am on Saturday, sweating up a righteous storm, then realising I'm due at the hairdresser by noon.  I changed my t-shirt but continued to sweat profusely in the car en route (despite windows down + arms raised to encourage the flow of air) and then again in the chair.  Poor old M, my hairdresser, must have been revolted.  However, he managed to keep a straight face and didn't even punish me too much with the hairdryer, which was kind of him.  I had to run straight to a bbq following the hair cut...I may have been vaguely, um, glowing, but at least I had good hair, right?

(Well, I've had it cut to what I believe is known as clavicle length in bloggy circles. So hot right now.  However, because I'm cursed blessed with a great deal of hair, M added some 'long layers'.  I'm not convinced I don't look like Rachel circa '98...which, you know, is a mixed blessing because I would have LOVED that haircut at the time.  Not so sure about it all these years later.  I am definitely a member of the generation for which everything in life is referable to Friends.)

There are three Mondays left, after today, until the Christmas holidays.  I am unbelievably stoked about that fact.  I am absolutely desperate for a proper break.  Not that I deserve it, per se, but I want it very, very much.  Cannot wait.  Having all that about undeserving and desperation, I'm taking next Friday off too for a jaunt to Sydney.  Watch out Australia, I want to be in you.  NAOW.  I am going to have one of those terribly cliched weekend city breaks in which one takes in basically none of the cultural life but trashes their credit card and eats/drinks/drops etc.  We have a few friends in Sydney, so there'll be a spot of visiting and hopefully some beach time too.  Ha, poor Sydney, looking at this pasty bum!

So.  That's te karere for today.  Fin.

the lead up to xmas begins

Remember the time I wore a white dress to a charity ball and nearly bled all over it?  Well folks, it's that time of year again! Not the inappropriate bleeding, but the charity ball part.  Which? UGH. 

I go to these things as P's +1, ostensibly to make sparkling conversation.  It's not obligatory but it's a nice thing to do to support P and his career and his workplace's desire to contribute to a worthy charity. 

Charitable giving is good.  I approve of charitable giving.  Over the past year, I have sipped wine from the glasses I purchased in the blind auction at last year's ball with a smug glow.  P has taken the signed, framed Kiwis' Rugby League jersey to work, so I never have to look at it again (honestly.  Let's just take a moment to let that sink in.  He purchased sporting memorabilia and let me pick it up as a 'surprise'.  I utterly abhor all sporting memorabilia - that ugly, ugly sponsor's shirt from some car racing thingo has only escaped my matches by virtue of being pit-lane-inflammable, the motherfucker.  Oh, and the All Blacks jersey because torching that would lead to divorce, not to mention revocation of my citizenship.  AND P KNOWS THIS HATRED.  He thought it was hilarious.  It wasn't.  It was pushing my buttons for the sake of it and I just about throttled him.  I certainly unleashed my patented Look of Disdain and Contempt.  Whoa, digression + a rant, you lucky things.)

Aaaaanyway, despite my approval of charitable giving and my appreciation for one of last year's charitable purchases, I still don't fancy going tonight.  (a) I still don't approve of the excessive spending that goes into these charity ball things, (b) I don't fancy making small talk just now, and (c) I think I'll look fat in my lovely Juliette Hogan dress.  It's not the dress's fault, it's mine.  Vanity and social insecurities, just wonderful.  I'm really pushing myself for improvement, hey? 

JULIETTE HOGAN.  SEE? NOT THE DRESS'S FAULT.  I AM WEARING IT WITH MORE SLIP AND MORE PUDGE.

my summer holiday: a report

Oh hey blog.  Long time, no ... blog.  Ah well, thems the breaks as my venerable mother would say.  Don't ask me what that means; I don't have a clue. 

This is where I should recap Xmas/New Year.  I was going to try and do an express version of this recap but it's ended up long winded and vaguely ranty (yet ANOTHER assessment of the state of the nation, because a minute examination of my own mental state is my favourite writing subject.  NARCISSIST ahoy).

- Three families, too many places to be at once.  Love being wanted though!

- Caught a bug off Whanau Number 1.  This lead to me throwing up Christmas dinner at Whanau Number Three.  Was not a good look.  P is still incredibly dark about missing out on dessert as (selfishly), I fancied going home to my bed after spending 20 minutes retching over someone else's toilet. 

- The HAM, people.  THE HAM.  Hot, cold, sandwich, omlette, frittata, toasted sarnies, pasta, you name it, we've eaten that little piggy treat. 

- New Zealand summer!  Sure, we've had some rainy days, but New Years' Day on the Coromandel peninsula (or, more accurately, on a tiny wee island off the side of the Coromandel) was glorious: clear skies, water so azure we watched a gurnard swim on the shores of the beach from 100 metres away, sun so blistering we sat on top of one another to hide under the shade of the umbrella.

- Friends!  Saw some wonderful friends who live far from Tamaki Makaurau this summer.  So, so good to see their smiling faces.  We sat in quiet contemplation on the rocks, as the last rays of 2012 lingered redly, violently on the edge of the Firth of Thames.  Someone started strumming a guitar (Tom Petty and Pearl Jam appropriate replacements for Auld Lang Syne, n'est-ce pas? Or not); we hummed through the hard parts.  I saw tears in the corners of H's eyes as she beamed at me.  My heart hurt happy. 

- Three more days of holiday!  Yussssssss.

Oh, it's not all daytime naps and eating ham straight out of the fridge over here.  This is the summer at it's glossiest, bloggiest best, of course.  It's a weak woe, but illustrative: today I spent about 50 hours using bleach on different surfaces of my house.  As I type this, sitting with a shandy and three different coasters (because I NEVER want to WIPE another surface AS LONG AS I LIVE which will not be long if I have to continue bleaching; my lungs will be seared out of existence) (also, who the fuck takes white shorts to an island possessing only an ocean and a long drop by way of ablution block? A moron, that's who), I'm a touch melancholy about some rain on my parade, the roots in my hair (fuck me MORE BLEACHING required), a break up, an illness and the amount of work ahead. 

BUT. I'm excited about 2013.  We don't have Big Exciting Things Planned (unlike 2012), but I'm gonna enjoy the shit out of the kitchen equipment I received for Xmas, spend more time with my husband and friends and make the most of career opportunities.  It's a pretty good outlook. 

Let's see how long that lasts!

{PS Totally had some photos to support this snoozefest post, but blogger is being an asshole.  Bad Luck.  No doubt we'll relive this all with some shitty pics in the NEAR NEAR future, interwebs YOU SPOILT THING!}

a, over and out

A few final pre-holiday thoughts. 

It might look like this right now…

SUNSHINE!

But the forecast is not looking good.

Someone read my blog in China!  Yay for uncensored internet…trust this wee blog was all you dreamed it would be?  *Ahem*

Fuck you, pimples from muggy weather, fuck you very much.  See also: frizzy bits.

Road trip with P & K tomorrow!  Let’s see who murders who first!  Just over four hours in a car without a working radio.  Yep, that’ll be a JOY.  I won’t be posting for a while as I’m out of town, but I think the internet provider has completed its service strike over our …how you say….”payment dispute” and the weather prior to New Year is looking DISMAL so I’ll likely be around.

Tennis: haz tickets to the Mens’ Open in Auckland, will watch buff men.  I mean, athletic displays of skill.  OBJECTIFICATION ALERT. 

Happy holidays, y’all.  I loved how our super in New York wished us a general Christmas/Hannukah/Kwaanza in pictures and decorations all over the building – I now love me a good non-denominational holiday festive greeting!

See you on the flip side.

all i want for christmas

I sent P a barrage of emails around lunchtime today with requests for Xmas – bras, knickers, Wodehouse – and then remembered to ask him if he was feeling better (he was all hot and shiver-y last night and growly this morning about the level of noise I made in the shower which *surely* is a symptom of a deadly disease).

When he got back from a client lunch (oh Christmas, you are full of events that seem like treats but are still work underneath it all), he thanked me for my concern for his delicate constitution and wished me a happy anniversary.  It’s only been 10 months since we got married but we’re both basically convinced that while we were pretty good at de facto, we’re likely to be hopeless at married, so we’re congratulating ourselves on the small milestones.  I had completely forgotten and promptly became concerned about the need to keep our marriage alive.  Over a series of increasingly desperate emails, I sent P a variety of suggested activities to keep us together that finished with :

“…destroying the Beach Boys back catalogue or eating cookies or something”

He said that those options were very different but nonetheless appealing when done with me, but had I been drinking?

I think I need to work on my marriage maintenance skills.

public service announcement: summer is here

The yellow sun is up, the yellow sun is over the house.*  Summer has arrived in Auckland!

SATURDAY IN THE VIADUCT HARBOUR, LOOKING TOWARDS THE RAISED PEDESTRIAN BRIDGE AND WYNYARD QUARTER

A beautiful weekend of barbeques, outdoor wandering, present wrapping and getting singed around the edges.

KIWI CHRISTMAS TREE IN FULL BLOOM.  THE POHUTAKAWAS AND RATAS ARE GOING NUTS ALL OVER THE SHOW RIGHT NOW; I LOVE IT. 

*Go, Dog. Go!  A literary classic.  Which I believed until now was Dogs, plural, because that’s how my father would roaringly finish the quote – “Go, Dogs, Go!” – as he routed us out of bed for whatever weekend adventure he had planned.  He generally took us to the library, supermarket and hardware store to give Mum “five minutes peace” and plan the weekend’s DIY.  I love the library, always have, but libraries do make me want to pee and I couldn’t stand using public toilets when I was small, so the adventure was generally trying to get home before bursting.

state of the nation ii

I bumbled down the road home last night, still warm at 11.30pm and slurping on a blue powerade (is there any other magical non-booze-juice flavour?  I ask you.  The most revolting colour known to mankind AND YET it has been known, in combination with a potato top pie, to stave off the worst symptoms of excess the following morning.  And I wonder why I’m squidgy).  Aaaaaaaaaaaanyway, I thought I was the most inventive photographer alive en route and I woke up with a selection of shite photos like this on me telephone:

 

SKY TOWER: FESTIVE AND PHALLIC

My husband was curled up on the couch when I walked in the door.  He unfurled his limbs when he saw me, for a great big bear hug.  We went to bed; I smooshed my face into a pillow and passed out for the next 5 or so hours.  I wouldn’t call it ‘sleep’; more like a boozewhore coma.  I had been at a Christmassy dinner with lashings of a tasty Bordeaux blend from the Gimblett Gravels (that’s what the waiter told me anyway, I kept the smug references to (a) that time I went to Bordeaux and (b) that time I got married in the Gimblett Gravels to myself (UNTIL NOW that is.  Apparently I have no filter and am perfectly happy to appear like a complete asshole here)).*  I got up the next morning easily; ready for the day.

Where am I going with this?  Nowhere.  Just I might, sort of, be generally happy.  At this point in time.  Smug, for sure.   But happy. 

*JC on a stick that’s a lot of parenthesis.   

the season

December!  December is here!

I HAVE CRACKED OUT MY ONE CHRISTMAS DECORATION.  THE GLOW WAKES ME UP AT NIGHT BELIEVING THE HOUSE IS ON FIRE.
I THINK I NEED TO MURDER A TREE TO MAKE MY HOME FEEL PROPERLY XMASSY.

I am pretending that it is cold and dark-ish and all twinkly Christmassy right now, as it should be in the northern hemisphere.  OH WAIT.  What the f, Auckland.  This weather is BULLSHIT. 

THE LAST, LINGERING RAYS OF NOVEMBER OVER THE WAITEMATA HARBOUR. 
I SNAPPED THIS FROM A FRIEND'S DECK WHERE WE HUDDLED UNDER BLANKETS, DRINKING AND FREEZING EXTRANEOUS DIGITS, SWEARING ABOUT HOW IT'S SUPPOSED TO BE SUMMER NOW

flaking skin is a good sign?

My lips are burnt because……dun dun duuuuuuuuun….. I saw some sun this weekend!  Miracles never cease, we may have a summer yet here in NZ! 

LOVELY LAKE WAKATIPU.  WAS MUCH WARMER THAN IT LOOKS; MAH PHOTOG SKILLZ SADLY LACKING IN ACTUALLY CAPTURING THE SCENE

P and I packed our (10kg or less and within the applicable dimensions) bag on Saturday morning and Jetstarred off to Queenstown for the weekend.  All the NZ-resident Kiwis we’ve talked to have bitched and moaned about Jetstar, but apart from the dire lack of leg room, we didn’t have any incidents.  Unless you count the squalling ginger toddler on the way back, that is.  Hardly Jetstar’s fault, nor the baby’s for that matter; either the squalling on descent or the gingerness. 

IF YOU ARE NOT FAMILIAR WITH QUEENSTOWN, HERE ARE SOME FACTS: IT IS IN THE DEEP SOUTH, IT HAS MOUNTAINS AND IT HAS LAKE.  LOVELY.

This was a flying visit for an old friend’s 30^th.  He had arranged a time-share situation with a fab deck overlooking Lake Wakatipu so we had a few bevvies on the deck and enjoyed the sunshine massively.  My face is a bit pink, despite the liberal application of sunscreen.  I had forgotten exactly how violent the sun is in NZ – once or even twice a day applications of sun protection is not enough on a bright day.  We rode the gondola and saw some fantastic views, celebrated excessively when we discovered the DSLR has recovered from India (the display is now working again…we took two weeks’ worth of photos in India with no VDU following some splashy times at the Agra Fort, but now it’s magically sorted itself out – YUSSSS – because the warranty is British and they weren’t going to honour it here, the assholes), ate merino lamb and smacked our (burnt) lips, all v nice.  I had a bit of a mozzer on Saturday night when the tiredness of the week caught up with me and I basically bailed just after 11 when the others were just warming up for a good time, so I looked like a prize party pooper. 

GLORIOUS VIEW OF FAREWELL SPIT AND GOLDEN BAY AT THE TOP OF THE SOUTH ISLAND ON THE WAY HOME.  I'M TOTALLY BIASED BUT NZ REALLY IS THE FAIREST OF THEM ALL. 

Also *sigh* - we’re in the middle of sorting out what’s happening at Christmas.  Does anyone else find this quite stressful?  P and I have spent the last three Xmases with his mum and various others (both family and friends), given that the three of us were living in the same hemisphere, far away from the rest of the whanau.  This year, we’re torn between three sets of family and it seems to me that we’re building up for what will likely be a long day.  Basically, I figure I’ll survive by just having another drink.  I started laying in supplies of bubbly stuff at the supermarket yesterday, having predicted the need.  Spoke to my mother yesterday and confirmed we would likely see her Boxing Day; she took it very gracefully so now I owe her a pretty decent prez.  Ideas for mothers who like farms and tennis and gardens, anyone?  Maybe some more paeony plants? 

Well, that’s my newsy little update for you all.  Bit like a Christmas letter really; the writer enjoys putting it together and the recipients could probably care less.  Very tempted to post a family picture featuring seasonal sweaters and an update that reads something like:

“Dear Family and Friends,

“Well it was a wonderful year in the A & P household!  A few highlights of the year:

-       January: We started the year with a disappointing return to work and never saw the light of day in London because of the rubbish winter sunlight hours.  Seasonal Affective Disorder FTW!

-       February: We got MARRIED!  Here are 50 bazillion photos of the Big Day for you to peruse. 

-       March: Went back to work and sulked; decided to quit and return to NZ on flimsy basis of “it means we can have a nice holiday on the way back”

-       April – May: planned said holiday on work time, in between fits of sulking about rubbish Spring weather in London.  Got really boozed in Bordeaux, ate stuff in Amsterdam etc, etc.

-       June: Started our Big Trip!  Here are 50 bazillion photos from the first part.

-       July-August: More Big Trip!  Look at some more photos you suckers!  Mostly unedited and seriously repetitive because one photo of the Blue Mosque is simply not enough!

-       September: We arrived back in NZ and promptly remembered about this Nation’s serious lack of proper insulation!  Got chilblains immediately, bitched about losing our tans and attempted to recover from bowels of death!  Started work in our new jobs.

-       October/November: Whinged at one another regarding how HARD full time employment is.  Continued oversharing about our bowel problems.

-       December: Began resenting our beloved families who we moved back to NZ to be closer to because they care about us and would like to spend Xmas with us.  Aren’t we just peachy?

“Isn’t that lovely?  In summary: we travelled, we drank, we wed and, most of all, we poohed.

“All our love, A & P”

A bit early for that sort of palaver; I must be getting my Xmas spirit(s) on. 

always stuff your handbags full of toiletries

Wearing a white dress to a charity ball was always going to be a stupid idea.  You know, it wasn’t floor length or anything so it’s not like I picked up a whole lot of grime from the floor (I looked like I should be at the races 'cos I was wearing a knee length white dress, but stuff ‘em, I didn’t have a ball gown and shopping for that crap when you have hams for arms is not conducive to good mental health).  I managed to avoid major stains but I spent all night sweating the effing dress but yet still choosing to drink red wine, eat dishes with red jus etc.  There was a HUGE other potential stain issue – my body has been fairly reliable about Wednesday midday once every 28 days for a long time.  So I didn’t think to prepare myself on Tuesday night, when selecting the limited number of items to go in my clutch (cellphone, keys, lippy, blah blah).  That wee danger had me running to the lavs to spin around in front of the full length mirror about once every half hour and, you know, *improvise* with the resources to hand.  I came home unblemished but it was a very stressful evening, I must say.  I am now in favour of installing emergency tampons next to every emergency fire alarm just in case.  It’s a situation in which no woman should ever have to find herself. 

 

So, yes, charity ball.  I’ve never been part of a silent auction before; though I think it was actually more of a whisper-y auction as the top bids on each item were being projected onto a screen for all to read, which made me properly competitive.  I was all “who, ME?” and fluttery when I realised I’d won the wine glasses and that the money was going to the children (somebody has to think of the children, you know).  I will no doubt feel smug every time I slurp out of one of my winning glasses. 

 

Despite all the thinking of the children which was good, I did find the whole set-up a little unsettling.  Having recently budgeted a wedding, I started calculating the cost of the ball itself and comparing that with the money raised on the night, fairly unfavourably.  Even adding in the price of the table to the charity profit calculation, I couldn’t help but feel a little bit like the ball involved an unnecessary amount of expenditure.  I could be totally wrong; the venue might have donated its services, or possibly the caterers etc – in fact, I really hope that’s the case.  I just found it a little distasteful that in order to get me to open my wallet, it was necessary to wine and dine me in such splendour.  Obviously, there is an incredibly layered discussion to be had here and I am basically only skimming the surface with some half-baked thinking, but there it is.  And you’re right, I attended and ate and drank and donated, which I might not have otherwise done (being honest about it). 

 

In other slightly related news, this round of Christmas palaver is getting obscene.  I am out attending some event every night this week which is not a brag, it’s a hate situation.  I am getting pretty sick of small talk and I’m hopeless at working a room.  Other people are just so…intimidating, I think.  To be fair, some of the events this week are personal and not schmoozy but my friends will likely not be experiencing the best of my sparkling wit and natural vivacity , as I’m fresh out of interesting anecdotes and natural smiles.  What, you’ve noticed?!

in which I am a bitch at christmas. alternative title: no sugar for you, my dear

There is a new house rule instituted by P after Christmas: A shall not be fed copious quantities of sugar in any of its forms at family functions.  I became a scrabble psycho: "well that WOULD be a word if you could spell it correctly" and "how about you lay your tiles this side of next Christmas" (said this little piggy to P's elder brother).  I'm hoping you also think that board games are inventions deliberately aimed at creating family disharmony through competitive behaviour.  P thinks it was the fact I was crashing badly having earlier ingested a bottle of champagne and a block of choc (that's how I roll, literally AND figuratively).

THIS WAS HOW THE GAME STARTED.  THIS WAS NOT HOWEVER HOW THE GAME ENDED. 

NOTE ALSO: P'S HAND.  DOESN'T HE HAVE ATTRACTIVE HANDS?  AREN'T THEY ALWAYS POSITIONED RIGHT BY A DRINK?

I maintain however that there was more to it than eating enough sugar/fats to induce type 2 diabetes and playing a boardgame of which I SHOULD BE QUEEN.  Enforced familial time for a period of days in cold weather and a small apartment does not Miss Congeniality make.  I found myself unable to resist narky comments and while I could feel them coming on (like a sneeze, they build up quickly and explode all over someone else's face unless you trap them with a hand.  Net result is the same face from fam members that you would get for a sneeze on the tube/subway) it was like I lacked all self control.  Scrap that, I do lack all self control (see: choc ingestion earlier referenced).  But I have decided to put myself on a deliberate niceness campaign to the family for 2012.  That's right, the guilt isn't worth it.  Besides which, these are the only people who pretty much have to bear my company on holidays for the rest of my life, so I better start playing nice.  Internets, you're going to bear the brunt of it, I suspect...get prepared for a bitchfestoramaextravangza every time a pineapple lump passes these lips!

WHO SAYS THAT ROMANCE IS DEAD?

Sushi bar, lunchtime.  Pile of teriyaki chicken steaming before ridiculously hot girl A wearing effortlessly stylish and chic lawerly attire.  (My blog, my rules people: I will reinterpret facts as and when necessary.  though I will admit that I considered retiring this SUPER (in)EXPENSIVE THEREFORE KLASSY Next dress last time I wore it on the basis that the lining is holy)

A: [answers phone, looking longingly at pile of soy-based treats]
P: Hello. 
A: Are you telepathic?
P: What?
A: Telepathic? Are you this thing? How do you always know to call exactly when my lunch is hottest and most appetizing?
P: I'm thinking of your waistline.  Anyway, I'm in Oxford Street and it's all kinds of godawful and I'm about to punch someone.  Did you get my Christmas present yet?
A: Part of it.  Why? [said knowingly]
P: Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeell, I went to La Senza and they don't have your size, what can I say, you're chest blessed, butanywaydon'tgettherestofmypresentlet'snotbotherthisyear.
A: So, you got nothing right?
P: Nothing but love. 


[in the interests of full disclosure, he is generally very good with presents and I do love to have ammunition in the ongoing battle of who's the boss so not all is lost.  HOWEVER.  hymph.]