the shared experience

You guys!  Have you seen the #penisbeaker thread on the British site MumsNet?  I'm not linking to it from this computer but I don't think I've laughed so hard in ages.  It's totally NSFW and if you're commuting, I think you'll embarrass yourself laughing so save it for home!  By way of background, it's about post-coital cleanliness practices...consider yourself warned.  If the word 'fanjo' causes you to writhe in shame, I wouldn't go there. 

Poor old P - "I'm feeling fruity tonight darling.  FILL UP THE PENIS BEAKER" is going to become a staple pick up line in our household.  I'm not even joking! (You think I'm joking? It's like you don't EVEN KNOW ME!)

It's making me smile to think about the shared parts of the human experience that you wouldn't normally ponder.  Every day I do things that millions of others are doing and yet I never stop to think that someone might do it a little differently than I - when I brush my teeth, for example, I always start at the back left.  Do you?  I hate hate hate that P wipes his electric toothbrush handle on the handtowel after rinsing it - I find it so disgusting - yet P thinks my toothbrush handle is the grottiest thing of all time because I simply set it down after rinsing.  Do you have a mug for your toothbrush?  Isn't the grime that collects at the bottom revolting?

I love hearing about people's alternative routines - there's so much that's interesting about how other people lead their lives.  Navigating the Mothership leads a quarterly 'Day in the Life' post, where she (and others) photograph and document the course of an entire day for posterity's sake.  I haven't participated, as I'm a real online stalker and not much of a commenter, nor do I use many pictures of my life on here (at least, not recently).  But I absolutely love reading those bad boys - seeing what the day to day looks like for a pregnant mother of two in Minnesota.  I have been actively searching out diverse blogs because I love reading about other peoples lives, heavily edited or not.  When I found myself reading a review of a book entitled 'Passionate Housewives Desperate For God' the other day I had to laugh - while I vehemently disagreed with nearly every sentiment expressed by the blogger reviewing the book (& every sentiment she said the book contained), fuck me the internet has broadened my horizons.  I wish I could find it again, but I believe this is the site of one of the co-authors.  Knock yourself out obtaining Help for the Hopeful Housewife, guys.  (Oh seriously, I just read further. Don't do it.  The Lies Feminism Spreads, Y'all!)

Anyway, Penis Beaker made my day.  Read into that what you will!

pop quiz

This is about me, of course.  When wouldn't it be?

1. You see Three drop his bowl of porridge on the floor.  Do you:

(A) Immediately run for the cloth to wipe it up.
(B) Tell Three's parents what he's done.
(C) Huff a bit under your breath and pretend you didn't notice the problem.

2. It's the middle of the night and One is crying.  Do you:

(A) Get up and calm the child back to sleep.
(B) Go back to sleep; it's his parents' problem.
(C) Roll over and huff in your husband's ear: 'will somebody SORT THAT OUT PLEASE'.

3. You're watching the telly and Three is desperate for today's 4th viewing of some dire cartoon on DVD.  Do you:

(A) Say 'Bad luck Buster, auntie wants to watch the news.'
(B) Say 'Of course my precious, whatever your heart desires.'
(C) Say 'Go to bed.'

4. You're washing the dishes when you become aware of a funky aroma emanating from the tea towel.  Do you:

(A) Continue washing.  Ignore the problem, it'll go away.
(B) Sniff every tea towel in the drawer and find that 50% are suffering from some kind of stank issue.
(C) Fling it in the direction of the laundry and huff as you walk away from the problem.

Correct answers, if you're me, appear to be (C), (C), (A), (B).  But it would appear that there are NO RIGHT ANSWERS generally with smalls.  Especially when your tea towels have been inadequately washed with what seems to be effluvia of small child. 

Grizzle over - just one last question:

4. One wants to play a game where you pretend to share his blanky then he snatches it away.  Do you:

(A) Play once then get bored and ignore him.
(B) Snatch the blanky for a cuddle on your own.
(C) Play again and again because of the priceless smile that cracks his face every time you do it.  And because he only plays that game with you. 

(C), of course. 

7.27am music report

Today the cafe had reverted back to standard crappy cafe jazz.  I'm not sure it's better, per se, but slightly more morning/setting appropriate?  I'm unable to tell - in the early hours of the morning all I want is silence and tea.  Yes, I am actually 80 years old. 

All the other stories I have at the moment revolve around poo.  I've already gone there once, let's not do that again, shall we?  We'll leave it that living with smalls is surprisingly odorous.  My olfactory senses are taking a battering.

Ok, so, what else then?  Oh yes.  This weekend I am going to the Rugby.  Our Nation's Game, watching Our Nation's Team (the All Blacks, hallowed be thy name, the father Hansen, his son McCaw and lo! the word of his apostle Kieran Reid) belt ten types of crap out of the Springboks (we most feverently hope).  While I enjoy the occasional game - for example watching the 2011 World Cup victory in Clapham followed by the most ridiculous day of my life stands out - I am going on record: I don't really love it and I've never been to the ABs before.  I know, I should turn in my passport and best pavlova recipe immediately to the authorities and leave the country.

Sport attendance seems to involve far too much being cold, far too many overbearing idiots and not nearly enough cocktail olives for my precious tastes.  I've been to the cricket, yes (summertime. Pimms) and I actually enjoyed a live match of American football (hot dogs! hilarious guys from Jersey commentating the game behind me!) but we'll see about the rugby.  The last game I attended was the Blues versus....some other team...and I seem to recall being quite bored, though I'll admit I wasn't invested.  We were with P's Irish cousins who enjoyed heckling immensely, much to my amusement, P's concern and the ire of the Blues supporters seated around us.  These were the girls who also managed to convince P's friend that they weren't really P's cousins at all: they just did a fantastic accent and had looked up the most Irish sounding name in the phone book before calling to announce long lost family were on their way for a visit.  Brilliant. 

Anyway.  Rugby.  I feel like I'm going through a rite of passage.  I want to see the haka - sing me national anthem - wave me flag - stand outside the dressing room for a signature - make a comment about the ruck - curse the ref - worship at the goal posts - it'll be great, I've no doubt.

edumacation

Hallo, have been AWOL, work + insurance + post redirection + power + inspections (oh mi gawd it was still awesome even if the current owners' cat litter smelled a little...funky) + interest rates + you don't really care, do you? 

Things what I have learned this week:

• My boots aren't as waterproof as I originally believed (damn you Jones the Bootmaker).  However, they make satisfying squelchy noises.
• My umbrella (pilfered from my brother in law, possibly - I found it in the back of our car) is useless (karma?  Probably)
• Auckland's definition of a seriously cold winter is laughable, but the breeze coming in my office window on the 21st floor is a disturbing wretch, tickling the sides of my neck.
• My husband's version of sleep talk/walk can only be batted off with a firm slap in the chest (last night, he was insisting on tickling me and cackling in a way I've never heard before.  After I pushed him off with a slap, he knocked the lamp into the bed and was surprised to find it there several hours later.  He remembers neither of those episodes this morning.)
• If you think you don't NEED the Milky Bar but you WANT the Milky Bar you will REGRET the Milky Bar
• $50 high heels will scuff on the first wear, badly.  That is why you should spend more than $50 (don't worry, I'm taking them back and will no doubt replace them with...another $50 pair.)
• Don't scratch it.  Just, don't. OK?
• New tights are the business.
• Mums are the best. 

That is all.

hopeless, episode 103:

Oh, I know I'm a non-blogging asshole.

HERE IS A PICTURE FOR YOU CONTENT BE DAMNED:

OUT MY OFFICE WINDOW THIS AM.  IF I WERE A BETTER PHOTOG, YOU'D SEE THE HARBOUR BRIDGE.  WAS SUNNY FOR A BIT. YAY.

Work.  Busy.  Lazy.  Homeless.  (Still.) 

That's right, nothing new here.  Tis the opening game of the All Blacks' season this weekend, so the beersies are at ours (seen the 'no more beersies for you' ad, Kiwis? Golden, love it.  No you can't have a link, I'm too lazy to find it.  You're probably not too lazy to google it.).  I think I'm going to go all gour-may on our guests and provide them with reduced cream dip and cheerios, maybe a saus in bread with sauce and onions, if they're really lucky.  That's some excellent Kiwi hospitality right there.  I WILL KEEP THE BEERS COLD WHAT MORE DO YOU WANT OF ME? OH ALL RIGHT I WILL OPEN THEM FOR YOU TOO.  Bugger me, I'm a top notch sort of a wife.  Will prob talk through the game though, don't ask for too much.

the end of may is nigh

It is now almost completely dark by 5.30.  This happens every year and yet it is still a surprise to me, sneaking up to slide a hand over my shoulder and shield my eyes from the sun.

With the onset of wintry weather, poor old P is lurching from bed to couch to work (if he must) to couch to bed again.  I think there may be the occasional shower in his programme, but I cannot vouch for frequency, sadly.  He has savoured lozenges like each suck might be the last soothing respite his throat ever experiences.  Last night, he derived a great deal of entertainment from the novelty game I'd brought him: which is the better brand of aloe vera tissue?  You should be aware that Kleenex carried the day - greater number of tissues per box, three ply, "squishy", plush (major negative: eyewateringly expensive.)  That he spent that much time on a tissue comparison is a telling sign of ennui.

Later that night, he announced:

You know, I watched 15 episodes of tv and Skyfall at least one (possibly twice for the good bits) and I DIDN'T ENJOY MYSELF AT ALL.

I had pity for him, then he tried to bait me by uttering with some serious side-eye, as he tossed another tissue:

Do you think that if we consume more paper they'll just devote more landspace to planting trees?

My eyes almost rolled out of the back of my head and I nastily remarked something about his gunked up face. 

So, I am still being worky and hitting keys at a rapid rate of knots, drafting endless task lists and achieving a good amount of fuck all.  I am also busy being Nurse Florence Nightingale, a task to which I am singularly ill-suited.  I feel pity for the ill, but I loathe illness in my house.  I find it difficult to bear through the nose blowings and "d'y'know if we have any more Nite'n'Day?" type conversations (actually, I loathe the latter conversation irrespective of illness - "Do you know where/if we have...?" is the sentence starter that drives me out of my mind because WHAT THE FUCK AM I, SOME KIND OF HOUSEHOLD DIRECTORY? Even though part of me knows it may just be quicker for the person to ask and it doesn't cost me anything to say yes/no/in the drawer where every miscellaneous thing goes to die it still drives me bananas).  I am fundamentally lazy + selfish and I wish I could find it in myself not to get so frustrated with Sick P. 

Oh, don't get me wrong, I'm still filling orders for tissues/ice cream/meals AND I even picked up a bag of crumpled tissues without complaint, but I'm afraid it's hard to conceal the distaste in my eyes. 

I do love him, I promise.

bossy

Things I would like to have more control over:

(aka some things I should generally have more control over and some things I can't control at all)

(aka a bossy lady's shitlist)

• biscuit consumption
• cheese consumption
• wine consumption
• wobbly belly bits
• the Auckland property market
• my performance review
• my knees (their performance review is not looking good)
• that guy on the way to work with the annoying shoes that just, ugh
• the supermarket trolley (sorry, lady who was just innocently considering her ham options)
• my mouth
• the lotto
• my open-mouth breathing when I run
• my hair
• especially the frizzy bits at the nape of my neck that always, always escape confinement
• my self esteem
• my linen cupboard
• the future of the nation
• feminism (lean in! lean sideways! have it all! have some of it!)
• my blog

life on the 21st floor is all a bit too much today

At least once a year (six monthly? three monthly?), I seriously reconsider my choice of career.  Why am I not doing something with little stress, easy + predictable hours and fuck-all consequences? Does that job even exist?  I'm probably still doing what I do partly because here is where I've found myself without thinking about it too hard, partly the money, partly the days where I enjoy what I'm doing (as elusive as they are). 

Eh, consider this whinge over - I think I've bled lawyer-moaning dry. 

Three hours later: NO I HAVEN'T.  Plenty more where that came from! I'll spare you more today, however, since I'm feeling magnanimous (can you feel magnanimous or is it more the nature of a thing? i.e. making a magnanimous gesture? clearly I can expend key strokes on it here but not in doing a spot'o'google on it.)

Possible career changes:

• Go back to check out at the supermarket.  Poorly paid, but the days went fast and I got to talk to people. 
• Horses.  Find a career involving them.  In the middle of a city.  Hmmm.
• Become Actress, Indulge in Theatrical Tendencies (said with a flourish requiring capital initials).  Shame I Have No Talent. 
• Um.
• Um.

As soon as I started seriously trying to brainstorm alternatives, I realise how poorly qualified I am to do much else but lawyering.  Teaching would require another diploma at the least (poor old P couldn't face a 7th year of me in post-secondary education), academia requires self-motivation which HA HA, I don't haz any really appealing writing skillz or ideas, I am numerically challenged and I'm IT illiterate.  Skills I do possess include procrastination, talking and making a really excellent brew of earl grey. 

Time for a cuppa and a bikkie, I think.    Play to your strengths.

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. 

rejection

In the last few posts I've shown a disturbing pre-occupation with aging and death.  It is only natural given - nay, it has been BORN out of - my body's complete rejection of the lifestyle I've been forcing it to lead recently. 

Slight HED* there, yes.  However, I do think my body is rejecting the alcohol and takeaway food I've been cramming into it.  Tasty treats like zeppelins in Lietuva (more to come on this trip) were covered in sour cream sauces; P wolfed down some airport BK which I couldn't help but bite**; and I think I've singlehandedly been responsible for at least 50% of last year's juniper berry crop with my gin intake in the last two weeks.***

This morning, I woke with a cold that is now making me feel like cotton wool is rammed into my head.  It started with a sore throat last night, when (I shit you not) my throat swelled pretty much immediately upon contact with a very nice glass of rioja. I COULDN'T FINISH MY GLASS OF WINE, people.  That NEVER happens to me.

Also, the spots and greasy hair.  But we shall not speak of those, only continue layering concealer and dry shampoo in a vain hope that we do not look like a 14 year old with a hormone problem. 

Fuck, there's no way to finish this one, is there?  Messy as hell.

*Hyperbole Exaggeration Disease, a chronic illness that we diagnosed Hat Friend as having some years ago.  She is incapable of having mediocre or average experiences - everything is the WORST or BEST EVAAAAAAAAAAAH.  Most often, she claimed that she was "the DRUNKEST I have EVER been" (well, we were only in our early 20s but there was quite a high standard set the day she and I tried to join the hundy club and vommed in a tent in my backyard so I take leave to doubt this statement regularly).  If she got a parking ticket, it was always for the sum of about $50,000.  At the least.

** I can't believe we're both able to eat BK let alone BK from an airport after the 12-hour-plane-toilet-tag-team-relay caused by BK in Bangkok.  Horrendous.  When we got off the plane in Auckland, P's dad, generously there to meet us, recoiled. We were omitting a noxious odour so bad that it that probably required some kind of resource consent for release into the atmosphere. But there you have it, we never learn.

*** That makes me sound like some kind of 19th century lush floozy, destined for the almshouses of Whitechapel, the streets of East London and the knife of Jack the Ripper.  Didn't all those ladies drink cheap gin or geneva or methylated spirits or something?

way harsh, tai

To break the monotony of grey days and the 9-to-whenever slog, let me just say that TV has been on a ROLL recently with excellent choices of viewing for grumpy evenings or Sunday afternoons…



THIS IS THE PICTURE I SENT P WHEN HE WAS LATE HOME THE OTHER DAY ENTITLED "WHY YOU REALLY SHOULD BE HOME RIGHT NOW".  HE REPLIED "I FEEL THE NEED…THE NEED FOR SPEED!" AND THEN HE BROKE THE LAND SPEED RECORD GETTING HOME FROM THE OFFICE.

Other highlights include "10 Things I Hate About You" and "Clueless" (effing timeless) (also, are you sensing a theme here?  Self-admitted Jane Austen freak, how's that for predictable).

In another attempt to alleviate the pain at the office this morning, I bought shoes online.  It was satisfying, let me tell you, but I'm having a bit of an "Daddy I Want An Oompa-Loompa Now" moment and wish they had arrived already (or that I'd ponied up for speedy delivery).  I am such a brat.*

As you were. 

*not said in a proud kind of way - I thought this behaviour was COMPLETELY reasonable and justifiable until I wrote it down.  This blog business is acting like my moral compass...it's even giving me pause for thought about completely fucking excessive levels of profanity I use...

danger. danger will robinson

After all yesterday's whinging (which? Trust me, you only caught the edges of), my wonderful husband purchased a lovely bottle of wine and the first of the season's peonies on his way home!  The smell is completely divine; I keep catching the edge of perfumed wafts in my kitchen and living room. 

HAPPY SIGH.  PEONIES ARE MY FAVES.

This means that I should be glass-half-full today.  However, LET ME JUST SAY I work in a dangerous environment y'all and that's one of the reasons yesterday was tough on SO.MANY.LEVELS.  Yeah, yeah, tell me about the hazards you face on a daily basis you tree surgeons and window cleaners and shark divers (is that a career?)…you ain't got nothing on my catalogue of office WOE:

THIS PICTURE WAS SO OFFENSIVE I HAD TO INSTAGRAM IT TO TRY AND DIAL BACK THE ICKINESS.  IT'S STILL REVOLTING, NO?  EW, FINGERS AND TOES AND APPENDAGES.  *SHUDDER*

See that? Paper cuts.  Infectious wee nasties: they hurts me, they hurts!  I swear Ally McBeal did NOT have to deal with this kind of palaver.  Note the picture also depicts some stress-chewed nails.  EW GROSS GROSS GROSS VILE. 

Also: My toe, which was hurting from a day in unsuitable shoes, got stubbed on the corner of my desk last night.  I believe it was on my second attempt to leave the office; when I got to the security gates the first time round, I had a sudden vision of my security pass sitting under the piles of crap I'd left on my desk.  I KNOW, stubbed toes are painful, right?  I'm doing it tough out here in the office-arena.

Just be grateful I'm not giving you a picture of my mouth ulcer which has been exacerbated by stress.  I pulled down my lower lip and showed P the revoltingness and now I think he may never touch me again.  I am kind of grossed out by me too.  Side note: how does one fix an ulcer?  I know you can use baking soda or something...does that just alleviate the symptoms or assist with fixing the problem?

Air-conditioning: dry lips, dry hands, SHARED GERMS OF DOOM.  I share my office with one other person; when he came in on Monday with a rattling chest cough I mustered up some sympathy and the offer of a cup of tea but my internal dialogue was all "GROSS. NOW *I'M* GONNA GET IT".  This may also be because I'm a fundamentally self-centred sort of a person.  (I believe there's a much nastier word for being a 'fundamentally self-centred sort of a person' but hey, I'm not gonna bag myself THAT much on my own blog!) 

Yeah, you appreciate the dangers of the office environment now.  It's hazardous out there, but someone's gotta push paper.  I'm CLEARLY taking one for the team.  You can thank me later.