You might be surprised by this, but I'm going to a comedy show this evening. Yes, even though I normally detest staged comedy (exception might be made for Billy Connolly), am terrified of the potential for P to heckle (he thinks he's so clever, sigh) and have not, well, been in the mood for funny business of late,* I saw a sign for a show that P would like and purchased tickets out of the blue. I wanted to do something nice for him. He's been lovely despite the wasting away of our mutual social life -- do you know, I think he might actually like my company and is missing nights out together? Strange as it may seem -- that I thought he would both greatly enjoy a show and recognise it for the clear sacrifice it'll be on my part. Nothing like enjoying a side of martyrdom with your gesture of goodwill.
On Thursday I have a function for work. On Saturday a high tea for a hen, which I think will only last a couple of hours. I think those events will probably drain me of all the social camaraderie I can muster this week, aside from the usual pleasantries in the office. I'm such a drag at the moment.
Over the weekend, you could generally find me pottering around the house, providing pleasant company for the cats but very few others. Being bigger than normal in hot weather is no joke. I was completely cranky by the end of Friday and Saturday evenings, as the evening humidity rose. Oh, and I am never going to the hairdresser pregnant in hot weather ever again. It was some twisted torture sitting under a cape with a hairdryer being pointed at my scalp and having to make pleasant conversation.
I suspect it's at least half unwillingness to unleash my beastly self on others that is causing my social reluctance at the moment. Poor old P, wish him luck this evening...
*This goes exactly as far as you think it does. Well, I have been feeling better pregnancy-wise and I think under different circumstances this might actually be an, ahem, amorous period of my existence, the circumstances remain and make spontaneous one-on-one time somewhat more difficult than usual.
Showing posts with label cats. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cats. Show all posts
Tuesday, 17 March 2015
Thursday, 20 November 2014
house faffing
We're having a bunch of rotten weatherboards replaced on the Purple Palace's exterior, a move preparatory to having it painted. Purple no more. We'll likely go with a grey with white trim and a black-ish front door which is terribly boring and predictable, isn't it? Well, I am terribly boring and predictable and only occasionally am bothered by that fact. Still, there'll be a little purple nostaglia I think, when the first coat goes on, hiding the lavender glory (mauve magnificence?).
The builders are also replacing the small window in our bedroom and the front door, the current one having a crack so large I can see daylight through it. I think they've sourced replacements via TradeMe (NZ's answer to Ebay or Gumtree or something). A mysterious door is sitting outside the house and I hope they haven't spent too much on it because it's got ugly missized panels. We asked for a door with a window, to let light into the hall. It's all a bit mickey mouse (although, we are paying GST on this one at least, unlike another guy who quoted as a cash job and told me that you can roll a turd in glitter, but it's still a turd. Amazing.)
I went home from work sick yesterday and holed up in the spare bedroom. The builder has hired his son as a labourer over son's university holidays. They were blasting George FM and the son was educating his dad on the finer points regarding electronica. Dad didn't have much to contribute, but it seemed like good family bonding, to me. Tabitha sat on the bed with me, unperturbed by the noise. We had a nap. Good family bonding, too.
The builders are also replacing the small window in our bedroom and the front door, the current one having a crack so large I can see daylight through it. I think they've sourced replacements via TradeMe (NZ's answer to Ebay or Gumtree or something). A mysterious door is sitting outside the house and I hope they haven't spent too much on it because it's got ugly missized panels. We asked for a door with a window, to let light into the hall. It's all a bit mickey mouse (although, we are paying GST on this one at least, unlike another guy who quoted as a cash job and told me that you can roll a turd in glitter, but it's still a turd. Amazing.)
I went home from work sick yesterday and holed up in the spare bedroom. The builder has hired his son as a labourer over son's university holidays. They were blasting George FM and the son was educating his dad on the finer points regarding electronica. Dad didn't have much to contribute, but it seemed like good family bonding, to me. Tabitha sat on the bed with me, unperturbed by the noise. We had a nap. Good family bonding, too.
Tuesday, 4 November 2014
colonial hangovers
Last night, in my dreams, I attended a very intimate Mariah Carey gig with Kim Kardashian and Kanye West. Let me tell you right now, my dreams suggest that Mariah's voice has really gone off the boil, but don't tell her that because it does not end well if you do. Kanye will not lift a finger to help.
It was a disturbed night of sleep. Kimye and Mariah, Tabitha sleeping between P and I and wriggling, P swatting Cokies who demanded 2am biscuits and the usual onslaught of Guy Fawke's fireworks.
I have always, always, been afraid of fireworks. I thought Dad would shoot himself with the double happies when I was small. Catherine Wheels? Def lose an eye. At a Christmas party for a part time job I once held, a colleague lit the fireworks with a small handheld blowtorch (he's is still a friend some 10 years on, I'm proud to say, despite his antics). It could have ended much worse, though the scratches on our co-worker's brand new car (as in, just picked up from the dealership) were awful. I still love a sparkler, I suppose, but I hate what fireworks do to animals and I think the injury rates are too high to justify the enjoyment.
Gosh, I hear some saying, what a boring old fart she is. Or worse: she's supporting a PC nanny state! (The co-opting of 'PC' as an insult and/or a categorical denial of any institutional societal issues really grinds my gears, if that wasn't obvious.) Get this: if you feel that way, you'll probably be even more riled about another objection to celebrating Guy Fawke's - how bizarre is it that we burn an effigy of a man who tried to blow up a parliament that's not even our own about 400 or so years ago?! So much to unpack there, amirite?
In any case, I think fireworks'll be for public displays only soon, in the land of the long white cloud.
It was a disturbed night of sleep. Kimye and Mariah, Tabitha sleeping between P and I and wriggling, P swatting Cokies who demanded 2am biscuits and the usual onslaught of Guy Fawke's fireworks.
I have always, always, been afraid of fireworks. I thought Dad would shoot himself with the double happies when I was small. Catherine Wheels? Def lose an eye. At a Christmas party for a part time job I once held, a colleague lit the fireworks with a small handheld blowtorch (he's is still a friend some 10 years on, I'm proud to say, despite his antics). It could have ended much worse, though the scratches on our co-worker's brand new car (as in, just picked up from the dealership) were awful. I still love a sparkler, I suppose, but I hate what fireworks do to animals and I think the injury rates are too high to justify the enjoyment.
Gosh, I hear some saying, what a boring old fart she is. Or worse: she's supporting a PC nanny state! (The co-opting of 'PC' as an insult and/or a categorical denial of any institutional societal issues really grinds my gears, if that wasn't obvious.) Get this: if you feel that way, you'll probably be even more riled about another objection to celebrating Guy Fawke's - how bizarre is it that we burn an effigy of a man who tried to blow up a parliament that's not even our own about 400 or so years ago?! So much to unpack there, amirite?
In any case, I think fireworks'll be for public displays only soon, in the land of the long white cloud.
Monday, 13 October 2014
octoberish
Had the first casual wine on the back deck of the season, this weekend gone. It was a chardonnay I'd popped in the fridge in anticipation, waking on Saturday morning to a clear sky. Two friends visited to check out an open home over the back fence* and we ruminated over the marketing material over a glass or two of wine. I shared sunscreen with my visitors. Towels were drying on the washing line, flapping in a gentle breeze. Felt properly summerish and not a moment before time.
P had disappeared for the weekend on his annual migration to the river to 'catch fish' (for which, read: commune with nature in the company of male relations). He did manage to bring home a fat trout so I think he's assuaged the hunter-gatherer urges for another few months. Fishing has been a hot topic in our household, of late. He's organised a charter to catch kingfish or hapuka over the Christmas holidays, as well as a snapper expedition with work. I will gladly eat the spoils.
I'm planning the next set of work on the house. I booked a plumber to add some exterior taps (nothing's gonna die on my watch, this year! Filling the watering can in the bathtub got a bit tedious, after a while. No doubt I've just jinxed the summer into being wet, wet, wet.) I've also planned a quick refresh of the kitchen window. But the real buzz is getting a builder in to replace weatherboards in anticipation of an exterior paint job. We're going to leave that to the professionals, I think, but I'll find it satisfying nonetheless.
*It would be so nice if they bought the place but the eau-de-dog permeating the front rooms was powerful. I know it can be overcome but boy, it affects your first impression!
 |
| SUNDAY AFTERNOON GROUP SNOOZE |
P had disappeared for the weekend on his annual migration to the river to 'catch fish' (for which, read: commune with nature in the company of male relations). He did manage to bring home a fat trout so I think he's assuaged the hunter-gatherer urges for another few months. Fishing has been a hot topic in our household, of late. He's organised a charter to catch kingfish or hapuka over the Christmas holidays, as well as a snapper expedition with work. I will gladly eat the spoils.
I'm planning the next set of work on the house. I booked a plumber to add some exterior taps (nothing's gonna die on my watch, this year! Filling the watering can in the bathtub got a bit tedious, after a while. No doubt I've just jinxed the summer into being wet, wet, wet.) I've also planned a quick refresh of the kitchen window. But the real buzz is getting a builder in to replace weatherboards in anticipation of an exterior paint job. We're going to leave that to the professionals, I think, but I'll find it satisfying nonetheless.
 |
| OH HEY LOOK HERE IS MY NEW LIGHT FIXTURE IN THE DINING ROOM. SEE ALSO: CEILING OF SANDING DOOOOOOOOOOOOOM |
*It would be so nice if they bought the place but the eau-de-dog permeating the front rooms was powerful. I know it can be overcome but boy, it affects your first impression!
Friday, 19 September 2014
what's next, gout?
Fresh page, blank slate notwithstanding, my bloggy muse is still AWOL. Am feeling very stilted on the old blog recently, given I don't tend to write about work, my husband generally (other than, you know, putting up mocking faux-fashion pictures) or details regarding my friends. Maybe it's just that I'm leading a boring life? Probably. I can usually wring a drop of drama or six out of the most innocuous material, so I'll resort to a nice list and see what pops out:
- Summer holiday is mostly organised, including a trip to see the olds, a week at the beach with friends, and a visit from P's mum. We've also booked a trip to Golden Bay (upper South Island, v remote, hippy heaven) for a wedding in March. Am feeling good about summer time on the horizon.
- Friend saga. Friend 1 has been a dick to Friend 2 over a gift that Friend 1, a bunch of other friends and I arranged for Friend 2. I heartily disapprove of Friend 1's dickish behaviour and dealt with endless email/FB correspondence, including a few calls to other friends myself for sanity! Mother above, how is it that friends can still bring the drama at age 30+? I am actually ashamed of having had any involvement in a squabble at all. But given I'm not going to parse the details here, you probably don't care much about that at all. Safe to say: my policy on this sh*t now is: Let's All Calm Down and Have a Glass of Wine. Actually, that's an excellent policy to apply across the board for me, I'll have it printed on an inspirational fridge magnet in no time. Watch out Pinterest.*
- Tabitha cat has found an access point to the roof and scares the bejesus out of me on the regular. She creates massive thumps, and I rush outside to see what's caused the noise, only to realise I'm being watched over the eaves by a furry wee stalker. Gets me every time and is somehow worse than when I realised I'm being watched during midnight pee trips.
- HAHAHAHA I jinxed myself with my recent post about musical theatre. Turns out the Sound of Music is coming to town and my sister K is desperate to go. Mum said no way, on the basis that it won't be as good as the movie, but K pointed out that comparing it unfavourably is half the fun. I mean, why would you watch the Keira Knightley version of Pride & Prejudice otherwise? So, I'm going back to the theatre for a singalong, goodness help me.
- Weekend: nearly upon us, whew.
- State of the Chubby Update: fell off the food recording bandwagon hard, but am making better decisions and feeling better about meself generally. More cups of tea, fewer diet Cokes, no snorting chips before dinner. Good rules, hey?
- OMG I COMPLETELY FORGOT TO TELL YOU: I think I had an attack of gallstones! No, I'm not 90 or a very fat man (the population segment I associate with gallstones)! The other weekend was spiked with abdominal pain, that started near the bottom of my ribs and worked its way down. I was achey on and off all weekend, with marginal improvement on the Monday. After I was palpated by the doctor (ick! palpation! sounds vile, right? Mind you, it could have been worse - she threatened me with a transvaginal scan at one point), she concluded that the likely culprit was gallstones. I was so ashamed, but did you know that it is actually more common in women? And that it can be caused by long term oral contraceptive use? Well, that's what Wikipedia tells me anyway. I had a blood test/pee test to rule some other stuff out, but they won't know that it was the 'stones for sure unless they do an ultrasound. Given I'm feeling better, I'm going to flag that, so unless they flare up again, I guess we'll never know. GALLSTONES. AM SUFFERING FROM MYSTERIOUS OLD PERSON AILMENT. SHAME.
Wednesday, 20 August 2014
diy
I posted something terribly depressing, then I fled the scene of the crime for a solid two weeks. Well done, self, you're a real peach.
The break was prompted by my holiday from work...AKA the week in which I learned my deficiencies in the home improvement realm!
Here's how it actually went:
1) I paint swatches all over the dining room wall and melt down about the difference between Quarter Surrender and One Eighth Surrender, because it's clearly a big deal. Much time spent staring at walls in different lights.
2) We have a cup of tea.
3) P starts demolishing the linings. It transpires they're hard board not gib (plasterboard) and there's a fuckload (official term) of wood behind them for bracing. There is a technical term for this but it escapes me, or perhaps I never had it.
4) I cart loads of rubbish to our bin.
5) I cart loads of rubbish to the bin of the empty house next door, looking around to see if anyone's busting me.
6) More tea.
7) Sparky comes to fix the outlets in the dining room and add a heated towel rail to the bathroom. HOLY SMOKES a heated towel rail is a super luxury item! I mean, my towel is always dry now! AMAZING. Yes, I have had an HTR (we're on close terms now) in my life previously but seriously, it's a minor improvement to an incredibly shabby bathroom and it makes me beyond happy.
8) Tea while watching electrician and his apprentice (who seemed about 17 and named Silkie. 'Silk, get under the house.' 'Silk, get in the roof.' 'Silk, have you fixed that yet?' Endlessly entertaining).
9) Spend HOURS pulling superfluous nails out of the bracing. HOURS.
10) Get dressed up in a disposable overall (something I hope never to do again) to install insulation. Install insulation and only breathe a bit of fibreglass in the process. Feel itchy.
11) More nail pulling. It turns out they used approximately a million tacks to secure the hard wood lining, none of which came out when we ripped off the lining.
12) Freak out when P uses the drop saw. Convinced he will lose a finger, so instead of sensibly supervising with my finger on the dial to call 111, I go outside to paint a window hoping I'll somehow avoid the emergency.
13) P still intact, hammers things.
14) Gib fixer and plasterer arrives. Takes ages to dry. Attempt poorly planned pathway around side of house as landscaping project in interim. Present status: muddy.
15) Sanding stuff. Architraves, ceiling. (OMG sanding the ceiling).
16) Select paint. Resene Quarter Surrender with white for ceilings, archs, skirts and scotia. USe Dad's store card for discount and P nearly gives the game away asking me how I got it in front of the clerk. Immediately have regret about colour choice.
Aaaaand that's about as far as we got. I didn't bother writing it in, but we made approximately 50 trips to Mitre 10, Placemakers, some fancy Villa timber store down the road, the booze store, the paint store and the supermarket during that time. OMG, I bought building paper from Mitre 10 and nails and shit, all by myself. They let me buy it all without some kind of licence. (Not so much feminism's win as it is capitalism's, I expect).
The break was prompted by my holiday from work...AKA the week in which I learned my deficiencies in the home improvement realm!
Here's how it actually went:
1) I paint swatches all over the dining room wall and melt down about the difference between Quarter Surrender and One Eighth Surrender, because it's clearly a big deal. Much time spent staring at walls in different lights.
 |
| INSTRUCTIONAL VIDEO/NAP TIME. THIS IS ACTUALLY HOW AMATEUR WE ARE. |
 |
| [50 SHADES OF GREY JOKE HERE] |
3) P starts demolishing the linings. It transpires they're hard board not gib (plasterboard) and there's a fuckload (official term) of wood behind them for bracing. There is a technical term for this but it escapes me, or perhaps I never had it.
4) I cart loads of rubbish to our bin.
5) I cart loads of rubbish to the bin of the empty house next door, looking around to see if anyone's busting me.
6) More tea.
7) Sparky comes to fix the outlets in the dining room and add a heated towel rail to the bathroom. HOLY SMOKES a heated towel rail is a super luxury item! I mean, my towel is always dry now! AMAZING. Yes, I have had an HTR (we're on close terms now) in my life previously but seriously, it's a minor improvement to an incredibly shabby bathroom and it makes me beyond happy.
8) Tea while watching electrician and his apprentice (who seemed about 17 and named Silkie. 'Silk, get under the house.' 'Silk, get in the roof.' 'Silk, have you fixed that yet?' Endlessly entertaining).
9) Spend HOURS pulling superfluous nails out of the bracing. HOURS.
 |
| SOMEWHERE IN ALL OF THIS WE WENT TO WAIHEKE ISLAND FOR A LONG LUNCH BECAUSE HOLIDAY. |
10) Get dressed up in a disposable overall (something I hope never to do again) to install insulation. Install insulation and only breathe a bit of fibreglass in the process. Feel itchy.
11) More nail pulling. It turns out they used approximately a million tacks to secure the hard wood lining, none of which came out when we ripped off the lining.
12) Freak out when P uses the drop saw. Convinced he will lose a finger, so instead of sensibly supervising with my finger on the dial to call 111, I go outside to paint a window hoping I'll somehow avoid the emergency.
13) P still intact, hammers things.
14) Gib fixer and plasterer arrives. Takes ages to dry. Attempt poorly planned pathway around side of house as landscaping project in interim. Present status: muddy.
 |
| THIS WINS THE PRIZE FOR MOST BORING PHOTO OF ALL TIME BUT WE HAVE WALLS! ALSO, A SHIT VIEW FROM THIS ROOM. |
15) Sanding stuff. Architraves, ceiling. (OMG sanding the ceiling).
16) Select paint. Resene Quarter Surrender with white for ceilings, archs, skirts and scotia. USe Dad's store card for discount and P nearly gives the game away asking me how I got it in front of the clerk. Immediately have regret about colour choice.
Aaaaand that's about as far as we got. I didn't bother writing it in, but we made approximately 50 trips to Mitre 10, Placemakers, some fancy Villa timber store down the road, the booze store, the paint store and the supermarket during that time. OMG, I bought building paper from Mitre 10 and nails and shit, all by myself. They let me buy it all without some kind of licence. (Not so much feminism's win as it is capitalism's, I expect).
Tuesday, 8 July 2014
i don't generally sing in the shower, at least
My cat watched me have a bath last night. Actually, 'watched' is the wrong word. She participated in my bath last night. Strolling up and down the edge of the bath, trying to stand on my thigh to get closer to the water, scooping water with a paw.* It was endlessly entertaining and I'd show you the photos I took but:
(a) admitting you take your phone in the bath is bad enough, let alone providing pictorial evidence of that tragic habit; and
(b) the photos accidentally included my pubic hair** in the bottom of the picture and I don't think we want that on the internet.
Is it odd that I don't shut her out of the bathroom? She often comes in during a shower to sit on the end of the tub and wait for me to turn off the water. At first I found being watched a little creepy but now I find I like the company (always someone to talk to!) and she gets a bit upset if excluded from the bathroom. I mean, it's not like she's actually sharing the bath or shower with me?***
Hey ho, the descent into sad cat lady continues.
*We have a southpaw in the house, it's always her left that she scoops with. Or is that because the dominant right is used for balance? I don't know and this probably isn't worth investigating furthe because SHE'S A CAT. Gosh, perspective, A.
**Yes, I have some. Now really, is that a surprise to you if you've ever read this blog before?
***Yes, I have conveniently forgotten the time Tabitha poohed in the bathtub. I'd like to think she's done a lot of maturing since then.
(a) admitting you take your phone in the bath is bad enough, let alone providing pictorial evidence of that tragic habit; and
(b) the photos accidentally included my pubic hair** in the bottom of the picture and I don't think we want that on the internet.
Is it odd that I don't shut her out of the bathroom? She often comes in during a shower to sit on the end of the tub and wait for me to turn off the water. At first I found being watched a little creepy but now I find I like the company (always someone to talk to!) and she gets a bit upset if excluded from the bathroom. I mean, it's not like she's actually sharing the bath or shower with me?***
Hey ho, the descent into sad cat lady continues.
*We have a southpaw in the house, it's always her left that she scoops with. Or is that because the dominant right is used for balance? I don't know and this probably isn't worth investigating furthe because SHE'S A CAT. Gosh, perspective, A.
**Yes, I have some. Now really, is that a surprise to you if you've ever read this blog before?
***Yes, I have conveniently forgotten the time Tabitha poohed in the bathtub. I'd like to think she's done a lot of maturing since then.
Tuesday, 10 June 2014
status quo
I am sitting at my desk, feeling queasy as the building sways in the winds presently buffeting Auckland. I've eaten three Fizzy Pig's Tails (a Marks & Sparks treat kindly brought back from the Motherland by a colleague which isn't porcine but sugary and delicious) but they aren't having a great effect on my equilibrium either. I'm sure the building is meant to move like this in the event of a storm, but the creaking is unnerving, from where I'm sitting on the 21st floor.
I have a cat picture, now with bonus husband:
If that ain't love on a cold night, I don't know what is.
A Whinge and a Cat Picture. New tagline for the blog?
I have a cat picture, now with bonus husband:
 |
| I CALL THIS 'CAT ON CAT ON HUSBAND'. COCOA BLENDS WELL WITH P'S JEANS, BUT IS IN FACT ATTEMPTING TO SMOTHER TABITHA WITH LOVE WHILE RECEIVING PLEASURABLE UNDER CHIN SCRATCHES. |
A Whinge and a Cat Picture. New tagline for the blog?
Monday, 26 May 2014
autumn farm
I had a short weekend on the farm with my parents. I took my big camera and photographed the bejesus out of the bonfire, Mum's cat and dog, the lambs, the fields (not yet downloaded, I'm afraid if you're jonesing for a look at pictures of wee sooty-faced little lambs this blog is a real tease). We ate and drank and were merry. I slept over 10 hours. I cuddled the cat who swiped me amiably when he'd had enough. P shot at rabbits. We swigged whiskey fireside and watched the stars come out.
I noticed Bert's overt absence on the hilltop, with his lower lip drooping and socked back hoof resting. Couldn't bring myself to visit his grave (Christ, I can't hang up the washing at home without darting glances at Timothy's resting place and hurting inside my ribs). Mum sympathised; she can't visit Bert and ten years on, she still thinks of Pip (the family Jack Russell terrier) every time she walks to the apricot tree on the hill. We talked about Sam, Mum's labrador cross, who disappeared by the mailbox one day, never to be seen again. It's worse about Sam - she doesn't have a spot, only an empty kennel. The graveyard inside my heart is getting terribly big. Perhaps that's what happens with age - only you notice it first with the pets. May it be years before any other people join. Decades. Please.
Wow, that makes me ache and it wasn't at all where I intended to go with this post.
The sun was out - over 20 degrees, shining sky and green hills. I love this land, this country. I really do.
I noticed Bert's overt absence on the hilltop, with his lower lip drooping and socked back hoof resting. Couldn't bring myself to visit his grave (Christ, I can't hang up the washing at home without darting glances at Timothy's resting place and hurting inside my ribs). Mum sympathised; she can't visit Bert and ten years on, she still thinks of Pip (the family Jack Russell terrier) every time she walks to the apricot tree on the hill. We talked about Sam, Mum's labrador cross, who disappeared by the mailbox one day, never to be seen again. It's worse about Sam - she doesn't have a spot, only an empty kennel. The graveyard inside my heart is getting terribly big. Perhaps that's what happens with age - only you notice it first with the pets. May it be years before any other people join. Decades. Please.
Wow, that makes me ache and it wasn't at all where I intended to go with this post.
The sun was out - over 20 degrees, shining sky and green hills. I love this land, this country. I really do.
Tuesday, 20 May 2014
winner winner
I am absolutely owning life, recently.
Evidence:
Evidence:
- I have at least one fingernail that isn't bitten to the quick.
- The scab on my foot from a tumble in leaf mould on my walk home two weeks ago is nearly healed, leaving me approx. 50% less scabrous.
- I have thought about replacing my seriously old razor blade before I develop tetanus and gone so far as to make a mental note to buy a new one.
- I found my access card for work after a short week of looking.
- My regrowth lends my hair a really 'lived in' feel.
- The ants have moved on to only eating the cats' biscuits off the kitchen floor, after I eradicated every ant found on the kitchen bench.
- Now that my glasses are completely scratched up, I don't notice a difference in quality of vision when I take them off.
- Finding my way to the bottom of the chip packet on the regular has made me extra specially nice to hug.
- The fact that the kitten is sleeping on my face on cold nights demonstrates her trust and love, right?
- Yesterday was the 13th anniversary of the day I first kissed P. P, who loves me anyway. He's the best.
Thursday, 1 May 2014
why hello there
Hello foreign visitors! Welcome!
I have been feeling guilty - you're all peeking into my terribly staid life in New Zealand and I am offering up no lovely pictures of children or views or activities - in part because I'm not a mother (unless the cats count) and in part because I seek to keep mah blog semi-anonymous. Also, I am useless at taking pictures.
Here's a brief intro - probably enough material together to make it apparent exactly who I am!
A: Female, 31, Married, No Kids, Auckland New Zealand, Solicitor. Lived in New York for a year '09-'10 and in London '10-'12. Likes: eating and drinking, writing silly/whingy journal-type bits on the internet, travelling, reading, theatre, pottering in backyard, her fambily. Swears too much but generally has a sunny outlook, even if she does spent a disproportionate number of blogposts whinging. Generally useless. SRSLY.
Husband is P. P likes: wine, whiskey, sports, cooking, travelling, does worky things at work and has a wicked sense of humour. I broke his nose one time in the middle of the night.
Hometown is Auckland. City of about 1.5 million, full of traffic jams, beaches, dormant/extinct volcanoes and weather that makes A's hair crazy. Subtropical, so it rains a bit - temps year round between 0 and 30 degrees celcius. Kiwis like to wear black, jandals (flipflops), say 'yeah nah' because even if we disagree, we can't be too rude about it, watch/play sports, eat fish and chips, drink beersies, and go to the beach. We have horrific accents (somewhere between an Aussie and generic-British accent, very flat vowel sounds) and talk incredibly fast.
Cats are Tabitha and Cocoa. They are SPCA moggies who are cute.
Um, that's all I think? Nice to meet you.
I have been feeling guilty - you're all peeking into my terribly staid life in New Zealand and I am offering up no lovely pictures of children or views or activities - in part because I'm not a mother (unless the cats count) and in part because I seek to keep mah blog semi-anonymous. Also, I am useless at taking pictures.
Here's a brief intro - probably enough material together to make it apparent exactly who I am!
A: Female, 31, Married, No Kids, Auckland New Zealand, Solicitor. Lived in New York for a year '09-'10 and in London '10-'12. Likes: eating and drinking, writing silly/whingy journal-type bits on the internet, travelling, reading, theatre, pottering in backyard, her fambily. Swears too much but generally has a sunny outlook, even if she does spent a disproportionate number of blogposts whinging. Generally useless. SRSLY.
Husband is P. P likes: wine, whiskey, sports, cooking, travelling, does worky things at work and has a wicked sense of humour. I broke his nose one time in the middle of the night.
Hometown is Auckland. City of about 1.5 million, full of traffic jams, beaches, dormant/extinct volcanoes and weather that makes A's hair crazy. Subtropical, so it rains a bit - temps year round between 0 and 30 degrees celcius. Kiwis like to wear black, jandals (flipflops), say 'yeah nah' because even if we disagree, we can't be too rude about it, watch/play sports, eat fish and chips, drink beersies, and go to the beach. We have horrific accents (somewhere between an Aussie and generic-British accent, very flat vowel sounds) and talk incredibly fast.
Cats are Tabitha and Cocoa. They are SPCA moggies who are cute.
Um, that's all I think? Nice to meet you.
Monday, 28 April 2014
day in the life, autumn 2014
23 April 2014: Autumn, Auckland, New Zealand.
(Once again, a disclaimer: I am dull. Also, very few pictures as I spent the bulk of the day with work colleagues. If you don't have a taste for wordy blatherings and extremely poor quality photographs, I'd stop here.)
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5.45: roll over, eyeball clock, sigh. I woke up from a terrible dream about my Granny, which involved lashings of guilt and, inexplicably, picking up bacon at the supermarket. Flop onto my back, start scrolling through FB on phone. Even though I don't need to get up for another 15 to 30 minutes, if I go back to sleep now I'll be a wreck when I wake. P slumbers on, peacefully.
6.10: drag myself out of bed to feed the cats and have a shower. Disturb Tabitha, who had been curled up beside me, bushed after a night of exciting antics - the cat door allowed her to go outside at night for the first time. Cocoa is AWOL. We feel pretty confident that old Cokes can manage himself round the 'hood now (please don't let those be famous last words) as he's sauntering out for a couple of hours at a time during the day and evening, coming home when he's hungry and/or hot and/or wet and/or fancies a cuddle.
6.30: earl grey tea and a breakfast of canned peaches and muesli. It feels virtuous but is probably packed with sugar.
6.45: floating around the house aimlessly, starting to get ready (black pleated sleeveless dress, black belt, black cardigan, black tights for the first time this autumn, black stud earrings. WOE I am so BORING wearing the standard NZ black ensemble).
6.46: OH NO had forgotten work trip to Christchurch this afternoon. Hastily grab bag and throw in a change of underwear, make up, essential toiletries, phone charger, blue striped suit and black top. The suit'll get terribly crushed in the bag but decide I don't have time to find anything with less crumple-factor.
7.15: the car won't start. P has an 8am meeting and a dinner with friends planned for after work, so we intended to drive into town this morning. The flipping car however has different plans and I freak for a moment, wondering what new and exciting way I've found to drain the battery, as the last suspect to be behind the wheel (and a suspect with battery-draining form, at that). P is sure it's not the battery though so I may be off the hook - there's been a spate of gas thefts nearby over previous months, so it could be a cut line? No time to find out now - we need to leave if we're walking.
7.30: huffing and puffing up the hill, hauling my bag, P striding ahead sending emails on his blackberry regarding tardiness. The sun's out this morning, despite the crispness in the air. P's iPhone tells him it's only 12 degrees celcius outside, but I don't believe it. I've thrown on a light floral scarf and even that's proving too hot for the walk.
7.33: P spots the free bus that runs down Queen St. We run for it and nab a seat to head down the hill to save P a minute or two.
7.50: I arrive at work and contemplate my inbox. Gah, horrific.
7.55: TEA. Cannot face inbox without tea.
8.05: check in to flights for today and tomorrow online. MUST REMEMBER TO PRINT BOARDING PASS.
10.20: text message my sister K, who is in the throes of a protracted house purchase negotiation. Late last night she told the agent she'd think about the vendor's final offer overnight and respond in the morning. I ask her what the story is; but she's only just got up and hasn't called the agent yet (school holidays, she's a teacher). I don't know why she's now dragging it out - she's totally going to accept the offer. I've seen her run through the gamut over the past few days: uncontrollable nervousness, uncontrollable excitement, disbelief at counter offer, sly negotiation, expectation management, despondence, and finally, power tripping? She's a cracker, that kid (who may be 30 but will forever be a kid to me).
10.47: More tea, please.
12.35: ack, close to being late! Call cab, round up colleague M. M is the reason I have this job - she and I met at our hall of residence and flatted together for four years during university while studying. On my return to Auckland she passed my CV to my boss, knowing that I'd like working with him because she and I worked so well together as undergraduates. It's been awesome having a friend like M in the workplace.
1.20: arrive at airport. I briefly mourn the sunny, muggy day - Christchurch is going to be cooooooold, wish I didn't have to leave!
1.22 bag check, reprint boarding pass as I'd forgotten that I did in fact print my online check in. Worse, get tapped on the shoulder two minutes later as I'd left the boarding pass on the kiosk. Hopeless.
1.30: M looks at me slyly after checking in and suggests we eat the forbidden fruit for lunch prior to takeoff: McDonalds. It hit the spot and the remorse is only minor today. Wickedness is so much more fun with an accomplice.
2.10: take off. M and I have packed materials to work on a presentation we're giving together in May. However, temptation to use next hour and a half to gossip proves too great and the presentation remains untouched.
3.45: plane lands in Christchurch a little late. We hustle to meet our boss from the Wellington office and grab a cab to visit the client.
4 - 6.15: meeting with client. Out the window of the meeting room, the giant sky (Canterbury always seems so flat to me, with an enormous sky) is fading quickly and you can feel the chill set in.
6.15: Another cab, driving through the dark streets of central Christchurch to check in and drop off our bags at the hotel.
7: arrive at Saggio di Vino for a meal with clients. I had a really lovely time with M, Wellington Boss and two clients, chatting and eating tasty things, including but not limited to: beef carpaccio (is the beef redundant? do you automatically assume carpaccio is beef?), terakihi with lemon beurre blanc on a bed of sauteed leek and tiny pieces of grapefruit, Dog Point pinot noir and gooey cheese.
10.45: back at the hotel and realise I've forgotten the plug for my charger. Borrow one from reception and discover bulk messages waiting on my phone. Sister K's bought her first house! Cocoa is home safe! Friend A is pregnant! Call K and P for a quick chat with each.
11.30: fumble around the hotel remotes attempting to turn on the heat pump. The hotel room has steadily decreased in temperature - its 6 or 7 degrees celcius outside which this sub-tropical Aucklander finds chilly.
11.45: return hotel charger. Climb into bed and feel terribly naughty - I'm sleeping on P's side! Out to the count almost immediately.
(Once again, a disclaimer: I am dull. Also, very few pictures as I spent the bulk of the day with work colleagues. If you don't have a taste for wordy blatherings and extremely poor quality photographs, I'd stop here.)
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5.45: roll over, eyeball clock, sigh. I woke up from a terrible dream about my Granny, which involved lashings of guilt and, inexplicably, picking up bacon at the supermarket. Flop onto my back, start scrolling through FB on phone. Even though I don't need to get up for another 15 to 30 minutes, if I go back to sleep now I'll be a wreck when I wake. P slumbers on, peacefully.
6.10: drag myself out of bed to feed the cats and have a shower. Disturb Tabitha, who had been curled up beside me, bushed after a night of exciting antics - the cat door allowed her to go outside at night for the first time. Cocoa is AWOL. We feel pretty confident that old Cokes can manage himself round the 'hood now (please don't let those be famous last words) as he's sauntering out for a couple of hours at a time during the day and evening, coming home when he's hungry and/or hot and/or wet and/or fancies a cuddle.
6.30: earl grey tea and a breakfast of canned peaches and muesli. It feels virtuous but is probably packed with sugar.
6.45: floating around the house aimlessly, starting to get ready (black pleated sleeveless dress, black belt, black cardigan, black tights for the first time this autumn, black stud earrings. WOE I am so BORING wearing the standard NZ black ensemble).
6.46: OH NO had forgotten work trip to Christchurch this afternoon. Hastily grab bag and throw in a change of underwear, make up, essential toiletries, phone charger, blue striped suit and black top. The suit'll get terribly crushed in the bag but decide I don't have time to find anything with less crumple-factor.
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| AT LEAST SOMEONE GETS A SLEEP IN. JEAL. |
7.30: huffing and puffing up the hill, hauling my bag, P striding ahead sending emails on his blackberry regarding tardiness. The sun's out this morning, despite the crispness in the air. P's iPhone tells him it's only 12 degrees celcius outside, but I don't believe it. I've thrown on a light floral scarf and even that's proving too hot for the walk.
7.33: P spots the free bus that runs down Queen St. We run for it and nab a seat to head down the hill to save P a minute or two.
7.50: I arrive at work and contemplate my inbox. Gah, horrific.
7.55: TEA. Cannot face inbox without tea.
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| GLORIOUS DAY OUT THE WINDOW. DON'T LET THE CALCULATOR FOOL YOU, I DON'T DO NUMBERS. |
10.20: text message my sister K, who is in the throes of a protracted house purchase negotiation. Late last night she told the agent she'd think about the vendor's final offer overnight and respond in the morning. I ask her what the story is; but she's only just got up and hasn't called the agent yet (school holidays, she's a teacher). I don't know why she's now dragging it out - she's totally going to accept the offer. I've seen her run through the gamut over the past few days: uncontrollable nervousness, uncontrollable excitement, disbelief at counter offer, sly negotiation, expectation management, despondence, and finally, power tripping? She's a cracker, that kid (who may be 30 but will forever be a kid to me).
10.47: More tea, please.
12.35: ack, close to being late! Call cab, round up colleague M. M is the reason I have this job - she and I met at our hall of residence and flatted together for four years during university while studying. On my return to Auckland she passed my CV to my boss, knowing that I'd like working with him because she and I worked so well together as undergraduates. It's been awesome having a friend like M in the workplace.
1.20: arrive at airport. I briefly mourn the sunny, muggy day - Christchurch is going to be cooooooold, wish I didn't have to leave!
1.22 bag check, reprint boarding pass as I'd forgotten that I did in fact print my online check in. Worse, get tapped on the shoulder two minutes later as I'd left the boarding pass on the kiosk. Hopeless.
1.30: M looks at me slyly after checking in and suggests we eat the forbidden fruit for lunch prior to takeoff: McDonalds. It hit the spot and the remorse is only minor today. Wickedness is so much more fun with an accomplice.
2.10: take off. M and I have packed materials to work on a presentation we're giving together in May. However, temptation to use next hour and a half to gossip proves too great and the presentation remains untouched.
3.45: plane lands in Christchurch a little late. We hustle to meet our boss from the Wellington office and grab a cab to visit the client.
4 - 6.15: meeting with client. Out the window of the meeting room, the giant sky (Canterbury always seems so flat to me, with an enormous sky) is fading quickly and you can feel the chill set in.
6.15: Another cab, driving through the dark streets of central Christchurch to check in and drop off our bags at the hotel.
7: arrive at Saggio di Vino for a meal with clients. I had a really lovely time with M, Wellington Boss and two clients, chatting and eating tasty things, including but not limited to: beef carpaccio (is the beef redundant? do you automatically assume carpaccio is beef?), terakihi with lemon beurre blanc on a bed of sauteed leek and tiny pieces of grapefruit, Dog Point pinot noir and gooey cheese.
10.45: back at the hotel and realise I've forgotten the plug for my charger. Borrow one from reception and discover bulk messages waiting on my phone. Sister K's bought her first house! Cocoa is home safe! Friend A is pregnant! Call K and P for a quick chat with each.
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| PHOTOGRAPHIC EVIDENCE FROM P THAT COKES IS HOME SAFE. SEE THE SLIGHTLY EVIL EXPRESSION? THE NEXT DAY I ARRIVED HOME TO FIND A PILE OF CAT BARF ON THAT VERY SPOT ON MY BED. |
11.45: return hotel charger. Climb into bed and feel terribly naughty - I'm sleeping on P's side! Out to the count almost immediately.
Thursday, 10 April 2014
domesticated / feral
State of the M family cats: still stuck indoors while Cocoa gets used to the joint, and A gets over her phobia of anything horrid happening to either of them in future.
I feel for them as they're busting to explore the great outdoors, but they'll be housebound for another week or two. I'm still moderately weepy over Timothy (I found the last pictures of him on my camera two days ago and sobbed, but I don't see his wee furry body in my mind's eye every time I look at Tab any more). As wrong as it seems to coup them up because I'm feeling fragile, I think we really need to ensure that Cocoa knows where home is. There's been the occasional supervised excursion, but I find it pretty stressful. Particularly when Cocoa makes a bolt towards a main road.
Tabitha is a delight, completely adorable. Can't say more than that. Cokes is settling in, I think. His coat is improving, he's tolerating gentle brushing and is a pretty smoochy boy. They're starting to play together, savaging stuffed mice and scragging bits of string.
I discovered that the Purple Palace is also playing host to another form of wildlife, earlier this week. There were ANTS on the kitchen wall. ANTS. I went on a RAMPAGE of ant destruction. Don't get me wrong, I felt bad about snuffing out life, but I cannot handle having ants in our small, dysfunctional, aeons-old kitchen. I can handle it's 1940s styling and space most of the time, but I cannot abide being infested by insects. That's my bottom line. I suspect I may have won the battle this week; it's yet to be seen whether I've won the war. Wish me luck.
I feel for them as they're busting to explore the great outdoors, but they'll be housebound for another week or two. I'm still moderately weepy over Timothy (I found the last pictures of him on my camera two days ago and sobbed, but I don't see his wee furry body in my mind's eye every time I look at Tab any more). As wrong as it seems to coup them up because I'm feeling fragile, I think we really need to ensure that Cocoa knows where home is. There's been the occasional supervised excursion, but I find it pretty stressful. Particularly when Cocoa makes a bolt towards a main road.
Tabitha is a delight, completely adorable. Can't say more than that. Cokes is settling in, I think. His coat is improving, he's tolerating gentle brushing and is a pretty smoochy boy. They're starting to play together, savaging stuffed mice and scragging bits of string.
I discovered that the Purple Palace is also playing host to another form of wildlife, earlier this week. There were ANTS on the kitchen wall. ANTS. I went on a RAMPAGE of ant destruction. Don't get me wrong, I felt bad about snuffing out life, but I cannot handle having ants in our small, dysfunctional, aeons-old kitchen. I can handle it's 1940s styling and space most of the time, but I cannot abide being infested by insects. That's my bottom line. I suspect I may have won the battle this week; it's yet to be seen whether I've won the war. Wish me luck.
Monday, 7 April 2014
31 today
Happy birthday to P, a one of a kind husband. Only P would:
- use so much garlic in the mashed potatoes that 18 hours later I am still warding off vampires with the vapours I'm emitting
- up and announce: "It's Bluff oyster season and it's my birthday, I'm going to the supermarket" and arrive home 20 minutes later with a bundle of shallots to dice finely in pursuit of the perfect oyster dipping vinaigrette
- announce not 30 minutes later: "Watch out wife, the oysters are kicking in"
- shine his shoes to look good on his birthday
- insist, when I'm treating him to dinner (on our joint account, all funds are mixed here), that he be the one to hand over the card and sign the bill
- require the perfect blend of strawberries and raspberries on his breakfast cereal
- hold my hand even when it's all hot and sweaty
- quell the desire to criticise my parking when clearly, I'm not having a good driving day
- always come to bed 15 minutes later, and get up 15 minutes later than me exactly, no matter what time I rest/arise
- tell me that I shouldn't say those words to the cat, even if I do use a nice tone
- fish out cat toys from under the couch every day with a long handled wooden spoon
Monday, 24 March 2014
he's still gone
All the avoidance in the world hasn't changed things, Timmy is still gone. We've been showering Tabby with love and keeping her largely indoors; til she's older and Cocoa is allowed to roam free, we tell ourselves.
We buried Tim in the garden. I laughed and sobbed as we had to pull up the rest of the misshapen and stunted carrot crop to make space for him. Eventually, we'll plant a tree for him. I worry that he's too close to the back fence, that the neighbour's dogs will bother him. Then I remember he's dead, and I cry. I pegged out washing nearby this weekend, with Tabby in and around my feet, and I remembered how much he enjoyed smooching my ankles while I folded or shook out garments as necessary. I love that cat. I loved that cat.
I've been keeping a cautious distance from Cocoa, not yet ready to commit, given events transpired so shortly after his arrival. He has a terrible infestation of fleas and this morning pooped under the table, so it was easy to be a bit distant. In fairness, Cocoa is not thrilled at being kept indoors after eight or so years of having unfettered external access and I believe the poop incident was a clear communication that he's not happy with the current state of affairs. Even if I disagree with the mode of expression, I can appreciate a cat so clearly committed to taking a stance. We'll get there.
It's amazing, isn't it, that the short passage of a couple of months has wrought so much change in my formerly responsibility-free lifestyle. When my boss asked if I was ok the morning after, I dissolved into tears, apologised for being unprofessional and exclaimed I couldn't believe I feel like this about a cat. But I do and it is what it is. I wouldn't take back having adopted Timothy for anything.
We buried Tim in the garden. I laughed and sobbed as we had to pull up the rest of the misshapen and stunted carrot crop to make space for him. Eventually, we'll plant a tree for him. I worry that he's too close to the back fence, that the neighbour's dogs will bother him. Then I remember he's dead, and I cry. I pegged out washing nearby this weekend, with Tabby in and around my feet, and I remembered how much he enjoyed smooching my ankles while I folded or shook out garments as necessary. I love that cat. I loved that cat.
I've been keeping a cautious distance from Cocoa, not yet ready to commit, given events transpired so shortly after his arrival. He has a terrible infestation of fleas and this morning pooped under the table, so it was easy to be a bit distant. In fairness, Cocoa is not thrilled at being kept indoors after eight or so years of having unfettered external access and I believe the poop incident was a clear communication that he's not happy with the current state of affairs. Even if I disagree with the mode of expression, I can appreciate a cat so clearly committed to taking a stance. We'll get there.
It's amazing, isn't it, that the short passage of a couple of months has wrought so much change in my formerly responsibility-free lifestyle. When my boss asked if I was ok the morning after, I dissolved into tears, apologised for being unprofessional and exclaimed I couldn't believe I feel like this about a cat. But I do and it is what it is. I wouldn't take back having adopted Timothy for anything.
Tuesday, 18 March 2014
new arrival
Cocoa the cat arrived late last night, after J's memorial service. My MIL dropped him off after an hour's drive back from what was likely a long day. I hope we've relieved her of at least one worry.
Cocoa's stress levels weren't too bad; he's in the dining room, shut off from the purrymouses who were last seen this morning avidly watching the door. However, he seems very keen for human company and I feel awfully guilty that we're out of the house today. Each time we enter the room, he leaps out of the bottom shelf of the bookcase where he's been hiding behind the books and deposits himself in our laps, arching, kneading, purring, trying desperately to vocalise a breathy miaow. (You know we've provided him with plenty of safe, dark, soft hidey-holes, right? But he's chosen the bookcase instead.) I'm pretty sure he hasn't used the litterbox yet though so there must be some deal of aggravation for the poor puss. Besides which, our whole house must stink of the purrymouses to him. My MIL will visit him during the day today, thank goodness.
Three cats in one house suddenly feels like a lot. We're glad to give Cocoa a home and it'll be only a month or so until he's likely to be settled, but just at the moment I can't believe cats have taken over my existence so rapidly.
Thinking of J each time I look at her cat with his long, black fur and large green/yellow eyes.
Cocoa's stress levels weren't too bad; he's in the dining room, shut off from the purrymouses who were last seen this morning avidly watching the door. However, he seems very keen for human company and I feel awfully guilty that we're out of the house today. Each time we enter the room, he leaps out of the bottom shelf of the bookcase where he's been hiding behind the books and deposits himself in our laps, arching, kneading, purring, trying desperately to vocalise a breathy miaow. (You know we've provided him with plenty of safe, dark, soft hidey-holes, right? But he's chosen the bookcase instead.) I'm pretty sure he hasn't used the litterbox yet though so there must be some deal of aggravation for the poor puss. Besides which, our whole house must stink of the purrymouses to him. My MIL will visit him during the day today, thank goodness.
Three cats in one house suddenly feels like a lot. We're glad to give Cocoa a home and it'll be only a month or so until he's likely to be settled, but just at the moment I can't believe cats have taken over my existence so rapidly.
Thinking of J each time I look at her cat with his long, black fur and large green/yellow eyes.
Tuesday, 4 March 2014
state of the nation iii
Following the visit to the in-laws' freshly renovated property and in the scramble to get ready for my parents' impending visit, I have started mentally charting all the ways in which my house is defective and needs work. This has apparently taken precedence over the actual conduct of any preparatory work: the bedsheets remain unchanged, the floor remains unvacuumed, cupboards are empty and the shower curtain is a sight. But I have mentally catalogued that the living room window is a horrific mess held together with putty, that the garden needs weeding, and that there's actual daylight coming into the kitchen cupboards from outside the house. Say it with me now: you paid how much for what?!
This is clearly playing on my mind just now, as the first licks of autumn are curling around and through all the crevices of the purple palace. (They're also howling straight through the permanently tied open cat flap as well. Timothy has shown a marked resistance to having to actually push the perspex to facilitate entry and exit and I'm nothing if not a pandering mother.) I've started hovering over design websites again, planning the lovely subway tile bathroom of my dreams, furnishing the refinished bedrooms with plush linen.
I think this gentle dissatisfaction is more symptomatic of requiring something to look forward to. P and I toyed with the idea of visiting Cambodia over the extended Easter break this year but have decided to save the pennies for the mortgage instead, given the extravagant holiday spending we indulged in over Christmas this year. We've got no plans for trips greater than a weekend in the works. Nothing enormous is happening at work at the moment. This is the first time in a very long time I've felt that there wasn't something on the horizon to plan for or look forward to. I think I'm projecting my need for excitement onto the property.
I don't think this is a bad thing, necessarily. We knew moving back to New Zealand meant that we both needed to focus for a while on our careers; in particular, I've moved about a bit and need to prove that I can work in a role for longer than five consecutive minutes. We're at the stage of our careers where we're pushing for the next step and setting up long term plans (or at least, we should be considering what to do next). But I think I need something else going on in my personal life to relieve the humdrum of the daily work routine. I think I ought to plan a low key holiday perhaps. Or start posting cat videos on YouTube.
This is clearly playing on my mind just now, as the first licks of autumn are curling around and through all the crevices of the purple palace. (They're also howling straight through the permanently tied open cat flap as well. Timothy has shown a marked resistance to having to actually push the perspex to facilitate entry and exit and I'm nothing if not a pandering mother.) I've started hovering over design websites again, planning the lovely subway tile bathroom of my dreams, furnishing the refinished bedrooms with plush linen.
I think this gentle dissatisfaction is more symptomatic of requiring something to look forward to. P and I toyed with the idea of visiting Cambodia over the extended Easter break this year but have decided to save the pennies for the mortgage instead, given the extravagant holiday spending we indulged in over Christmas this year. We've got no plans for trips greater than a weekend in the works. Nothing enormous is happening at work at the moment. This is the first time in a very long time I've felt that there wasn't something on the horizon to plan for or look forward to. I think I'm projecting my need for excitement onto the property.
I don't think this is a bad thing, necessarily. We knew moving back to New Zealand meant that we both needed to focus for a while on our careers; in particular, I've moved about a bit and need to prove that I can work in a role for longer than five consecutive minutes. We're at the stage of our careers where we're pushing for the next step and setting up long term plans (or at least, we should be considering what to do next). But I think I need something else going on in my personal life to relieve the humdrum of the daily work routine. I think I ought to plan a low key holiday perhaps. Or start posting cat videos on YouTube.
Wednesday, 26 February 2014
frosty wife, frigid life
Having onions in your lunch is always a risky decision. Just so you know to avoid my office this afternoon, in case you were thinking about dropping by.
So, the Great Housework Debacle of 2014 has reached a frozen denouement. P tried valiantly to engage me in neutral conversation yesterday, followed by lots of little touches (e.g. running his hand over my lower back whenever he walked past). He fairly rapidly realised the frosties weren't going away any time soon. This morning he said he was sorry and hugged it out, which was a bit like hugging a board, really (albeit a board with a quite a bit of excess adipose tissue - I'm squishy even when I'm cross). While I'm pretty sure he was internally qualifying his sorry six ways from Sunday - just saying it to get the fight finished and to appease me before announcing we've got dinner with the in-laws tonight, a fact he'd previously neglected to mention - I think I'm going to magnanimously accept the gesture and move on. I'm usually the one who'll do anything for the sake of peace, so I think that's probably fair. Also, he's kind of nice when he's not being a dick.
Kitten update, you say? OH GO ON THEN I WILL.
Timothy: not his usual shining self, Timothy has been hiding under the bed and feeling a bit under the weather, I think. He has also point blank refused how to learn to use the cat door properly and insists that we open it for him. Wee Tim is no longer so wee; he's starting to grow into his enormous paws. He's no longer chewing wires (whew). He loves to sleep between P and I and press his face into ours with purring sound effects as he resettles in the night. I love it.
Tabitha: a wicked, naughty bundle of fun. She's brilliant and I love her. She knows how to use the cat door but only when she feels like it. We've taken to naming all the cat toys variations on 'Tabby's baby': Tabby's mouse baby, Tabby's crack baby (the latter being a catnip mouse that sends her crazy - one minute she's snuggling, the next she's savaging her baby like she desperately needs to get at the good stuff inside). She sleeps under the bed or in the spare room, leaping up at about 6am to see if I'm awake enough to get her biscuits yet.
I'm fully aware, thank you, that I sound hormonal, obssessive and just a touch pathetic when I talk about my cats. In all honesty, I probably am hormonal, obssessive and just a touch pathetic when it comes to my cats. At least I'm frank with my weblog?
(Except when I'm not. I'm partial to a bit of revisionist history, from time to time.)
So, the Great Housework Debacle of 2014 has reached a frozen denouement. P tried valiantly to engage me in neutral conversation yesterday, followed by lots of little touches (e.g. running his hand over my lower back whenever he walked past). He fairly rapidly realised the frosties weren't going away any time soon. This morning he said he was sorry and hugged it out, which was a bit like hugging a board, really (albeit a board with a quite a bit of excess adipose tissue - I'm squishy even when I'm cross). While I'm pretty sure he was internally qualifying his sorry six ways from Sunday - just saying it to get the fight finished and to appease me before announcing we've got dinner with the in-laws tonight, a fact he'd previously neglected to mention - I think I'm going to magnanimously accept the gesture and move on. I'm usually the one who'll do anything for the sake of peace, so I think that's probably fair. Also, he's kind of nice when he's not being a dick.
Kitten update, you say? OH GO ON THEN I WILL.
Timothy: not his usual shining self, Timothy has been hiding under the bed and feeling a bit under the weather, I think. He has also point blank refused how to learn to use the cat door properly and insists that we open it for him. Wee Tim is no longer so wee; he's starting to grow into his enormous paws. He's no longer chewing wires (whew). He loves to sleep between P and I and press his face into ours with purring sound effects as he resettles in the night. I love it.
Tabitha: a wicked, naughty bundle of fun. She's brilliant and I love her. She knows how to use the cat door but only when she feels like it. We've taken to naming all the cat toys variations on 'Tabby's baby': Tabby's mouse baby, Tabby's crack baby (the latter being a catnip mouse that sends her crazy - one minute she's snuggling, the next she's savaging her baby like she desperately needs to get at the good stuff inside). She sleeps under the bed or in the spare room, leaping up at about 6am to see if I'm awake enough to get her biscuits yet.
I'm fully aware, thank you, that I sound hormonal, obssessive and just a touch pathetic when I talk about my cats. In all honesty, I probably am hormonal, obssessive and just a touch pathetic when it comes to my cats. At least I'm frank with my weblog?
(Except when I'm not. I'm partial to a bit of revisionist history, from time to time.)
Monday, 24 February 2014
end of the summer
Friday evening was a beautiful, balmy evening. When I stepped out the door of the building, a wash of warm air ran over me and, I don't know, the pixies got into my bloodstream or something. Two colleagues and I plonked ourselves down at an outdoor table and, well, got plonked. We gossiped, we drank, we laughed.
I rolled home and into bed and woke up dry mouthed at 6am, sweating white wine profusely under a pile of kitten. P was gone for the weekend, but I like to think he would have appreciated the glory of my appearance - sweaty, disheveled, mascara smeared and all. But as I sat under the stars at 11pm in 20 degree plus heat, swirling another glass of wine, pretending I was in South East Asia, consequences seemed oh so very far away.
As a punishment: the mornings are now crisp. The leaves on my pear tree are turning.
That, and after P arrived home, we had a godalmighty dingdong about the state of the house. Positions:
P: It was dirty. You are slovenly. [Implied by tone and body language until I asked him straight out if he was mad at me, because he was behaving like a dick]
A: Well where the fuck were you this weekend? I still washed your shirts and undies for which you should be grateful, and any lack of fridge cleaning is both our faults.
We scrapped. He apologised for upsetting me, which further needled me because NON-APOLOGY. It is dumb and the house is now cleaner but as jeebers is my witness, I will have the LAST WORD on this. We walked to work this morning in a mostly silent stand off, until we ran into two of my colleagues. I put on a cheery face.
This, my friends, is a relationship. You're both tired, broken and possibly guilty from weekend misbehaviour and it ends in a fight over emptying the compost bin. It's everything I ever dreamed and more.
I rolled home and into bed and woke up dry mouthed at 6am, sweating white wine profusely under a pile of kitten. P was gone for the weekend, but I like to think he would have appreciated the glory of my appearance - sweaty, disheveled, mascara smeared and all. But as I sat under the stars at 11pm in 20 degree plus heat, swirling another glass of wine, pretending I was in South East Asia, consequences seemed oh so very far away.
As a punishment: the mornings are now crisp. The leaves on my pear tree are turning.
That, and after P arrived home, we had a godalmighty dingdong about the state of the house. Positions:
P: It was dirty. You are slovenly. [Implied by tone and body language until I asked him straight out if he was mad at me, because he was behaving like a dick]
A: Well where the fuck were you this weekend? I still washed your shirts and undies for which you should be grateful, and any lack of fridge cleaning is both our faults.
We scrapped. He apologised for upsetting me, which further needled me because NON-APOLOGY. It is dumb and the house is now cleaner but as jeebers is my witness, I will have the LAST WORD on this. We walked to work this morning in a mostly silent stand off, until we ran into two of my colleagues. I put on a cheery face.
This, my friends, is a relationship. You're both tired, broken and possibly guilty from weekend misbehaviour and it ends in a fight over emptying the compost bin. It's everything I ever dreamed and more.
Monday, 17 February 2014
personification is a girl's best friend
I'm not sure the kittens appreciated that we'd given them unfettered access to the outside world. They were sound asleep on/under my bed when I arrived home yesterday, having pushed every item off the top of my dresser onto the floor. To be entirely fair to them, it was scorchingly hot and they may have come back inside for some respite from the heat. But there's no firm evidence that they recognised they could use the cat door, propped up flap and all (you should see the jerryrigged string situation we've got going on with the cat flap. It's proper home decor.)
Just as we thought an early autumn was kicking in, this past three days have been searingly hot. The harbour is hazy with heat today and the roof cavity didn't drop below 20 degrees celcius last night (o HRV system, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways. The ability to constantly check the temperature; cold air in the bedroom last night; no condensation in winter: you are my favourite inanimate thing of the week.)
This heat is a good thing, too. P has planted some late beans and tomatoes, which I hope will bear fruit / veg in a month or two for a late harvest. I'm not quite ready yet for summer's departure (which, given it's only February doesn't seem unreasonable to me) - I feel like the warmth hasn't quite made it right through my bones (stupid work A/C at fault, no doubt).
Ack, I keep posting hodge podge jumbly snippets of 'What I Done Lately' and it's irking me. I need to sit down and write something all proper like. In the meantime, have a list:
Things What Have Irked Me Lately, Other Than My Dumb Blog:
Just as we thought an early autumn was kicking in, this past three days have been searingly hot. The harbour is hazy with heat today and the roof cavity didn't drop below 20 degrees celcius last night (o HRV system, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways. The ability to constantly check the temperature; cold air in the bedroom last night; no condensation in winter: you are my favourite inanimate thing of the week.)
This heat is a good thing, too. P has planted some late beans and tomatoes, which I hope will bear fruit / veg in a month or two for a late harvest. I'm not quite ready yet for summer's departure (which, given it's only February doesn't seem unreasonable to me) - I feel like the warmth hasn't quite made it right through my bones (stupid work A/C at fault, no doubt).
Ack, I keep posting hodge podge jumbly snippets of 'What I Done Lately' and it's irking me. I need to sit down and write something all proper like. In the meantime, have a list:
Things What Have Irked Me Lately, Other Than My Dumb Blog:
- slow drivers speeding up as soon as they hit a passing lane;
- the toilet paper situation at the Huntly public toilets (I was desperate, if you must know. Eventually found some loo roll that wasn't already stuffed into an overflowing bowl);
- the inability to fly to, say, Fiji for super cheap exactly when I want to;
- a slightly underripe nectarine; and
- the death of my lawnmower (R.I.P Buzzy).
- the surprisingly good performances of the New Zealand cricket team;
- a lamb and carrot, beet and potato meal I made last night (much nicer than it sounds, of course);
- celebrating our second anniversary. P and I went out for a formal meal and laughed copiously. It was brilliant;
- the possibility of buying a new lawnmower (Buzzy was awesome and all, but had a serious flap issue that occasionally lead to fistfuls of cut clover flying in your face); and
- a perfectly ripe avocado for breakfast this morning.
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