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.
Showing posts with label disastrous. Show all posts
Showing posts with label disastrous. Show all posts
Tuesday, 4 November 2014
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).
Wednesday, 23 July 2014
that's a big assumption
Assuming everything goes to plan, P and I are taking a week off in August.
We have needed to have something to look forward, so we tentatively locked in some leave a couple of months ago. We're not going anywhere because we're trying to save, though I toyed with the idea of booking a getaway to Milford Sound and Queenstown. Instead,we're going to engage in a spot of light demolition at Chez Mauve.
This has (expensive) disaster written all over it. The plan:
- Remove all the internal linings from the spare bedroom.
- Insulate the walls.
- Replace linings with fresh gib.
- Get the electrician in to move outlets, and the plasterer to finish the linings.
- Sand, including window and door frames.
- Paint.
- Replace manky door, or at least give the current door a handle.*
*What, all your doors come with a handle as standard? The Purple Palace really is, um, unusual.
What is likely to happen:
- Have fight over logistics while moving all furniture out of spare bedroom.
- Rip down linings and create hellish mess.
- Discover serious issues with timber frames which no doubt means whole house is screwed.
- Call builder, discover no one can help for at least six months.
- Leave the rest of it forever.
I can conjure at least six different permutations of the 'What is Likely to Happen' list. Most of which end with all the bedroom stuff living in the dining room while the bedroom is unfinished for months, nay, years. I am cursing our DIY efforts, no doubt, with my predictions of dire consequences. But I know my limitations and while I'm not sure of P's, I'm nervous.
So, in order that the holiday feels, well, holiday-ish, I booked a long lunch for us the first weekend we're off. Think of it as a marital counselling via pasta and wine before the arguments actually occur. Aren't I optimistic?!*
*Please note the move away from yell-y caps to an angular italicisation for emphasis. I am attempting to be less...strident...in my piffling. I know, not much of an improvement. Still a great deal of overuse of the exclamation mark, to say nothing of the other egregious grammatical offences.
We have needed to have something to look forward, so we tentatively locked in some leave a couple of months ago. We're not going anywhere because we're trying to save, though I toyed with the idea of booking a getaway to Milford Sound and Queenstown. Instead,we're going to engage in a spot of light demolition at Chez Mauve.
This has (expensive) disaster written all over it. The plan:
- Remove all the internal linings from the spare bedroom.
- Insulate the walls.
- Replace linings with fresh gib.
- Get the electrician in to move outlets, and the plasterer to finish the linings.
- Sand, including window and door frames.
- Paint.
- Replace manky door, or at least give the current door a handle.*
*What, all your doors come with a handle as standard? The Purple Palace really is, um, unusual.
What is likely to happen:
- Have fight over logistics while moving all furniture out of spare bedroom.
- Rip down linings and create hellish mess.
- Discover serious issues with timber frames which no doubt means whole house is screwed.
- Call builder, discover no one can help for at least six months.
- Leave the rest of it forever.
I can conjure at least six different permutations of the 'What is Likely to Happen' list. Most of which end with all the bedroom stuff living in the dining room while the bedroom is unfinished for months, nay, years. I am cursing our DIY efforts, no doubt, with my predictions of dire consequences. But I know my limitations and while I'm not sure of P's, I'm nervous.
So, in order that the holiday feels, well, holiday-ish, I booked a long lunch for us the first weekend we're off. Think of it as a marital counselling via pasta and wine before the arguments actually occur. Aren't I optimistic?!*
*Please note the move away from yell-y caps to an angular italicisation for emphasis. I am attempting to be less...strident...in my piffling. I know, not much of an improvement. Still a great deal of overuse of the exclamation mark, to say nothing of the other egregious grammatical offences.
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