FRIDAY.
(It bore repeating).
Thank goodness for that.
 |
| HAVEN'T PINCHED A GOOD PIC FROM FUCK YEAH, BOOKS IN A WHILE. THANKS MORRISSEY, THANKS FUCK YEAH, BOOKS |
Friday, 22 August 2014
nothing
FRIDAY.
FRIDAY.
(It bore repeating).
Thank goodness for that.
That is all.
FRIDAY.
(It bore repeating).
Thank goodness for that.
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, 5 August 2014
day 1, again
In the most roundabout way, I came to the realisation on the weekend that I ought to do something about my weight.
About three months ago, P was gifted a Westfield voucher, to spend at any store in a Westfield mall. At about the same time, he closed down an old credit card and used the last of his points to redeem a voucher. He picked a Bendon voucher for me to spend on frivolous underwear, something which we'd both enjoy. It was hosing down with rain on Sunday and the first voucher was nearly at the expiry date, so we decided to brave the mall.
I've written before that my boobs are not petite, or even mediumish. I am fairly tall and have a long torso, so I can carry some chest weight and I certainly do. I hated my boobs in my younger years because going braless (or even strapless bra'd) is not possible for me. I've learned to like them more as time has passed (familarity, I suppose, which in this case has not bred contempt but rather resignation and acceptance). I hemmed and hawed at Bendon over the bra selection, which was not extensive for those with a reasonably small band size but large cups. I eventually picked out a lovely one, but as I was assessing the fit in the mirror, the damage I've been doing to my midsection over the past couple of years was brutally apparent. We don't have a full length mirror at home, so I've only been looking at it from my own perspective, recently. I shrugged it off - fluorescent lighting always makes you look horrific, I thought.
Finished with the bra selection, we wandered to the electronics store to spend the other voucher. P eventually settled on Apple TV. We also bought an SD card converter thingee to get all our photographs from the camera to the iPad (P recently got one for work). I got antsy with all the people in the store and in the mall, so we scarpered for home.
Back at the Lavender Loveshack, P asked me to model my new knickers and I felt oddly reluctant. I shrugged him off. He set up the Apple TV instead, then downloaded a whole lot of photographs from the camera. Showing me how great the Apple TV is, he set up a slideshow of reasonably old photographs I haven't really seen before on our TV.
I freaked. Internally, I was berating myself that the photographs, none of which are particularly recent, were horrific. In my eyes, I was huge. I asked P to turn it off, snappily. He asked why. I wouldn't speak about it and he got cross.
I got up, and went for a run.
I downloaded food tracking apps and started a plank a day challenge.
I'm not going to be stupid about this. I'm running a 10k in November anyway with my sister (not that far, but she's on the mend from surgery on her ACL), so training is necessary. I could stand to cut back on the booze and treats. I'm not obese; I have a healthy BMI presently, for what that's worth (albeit at the high end of the range). I know that it is not realistic nor even desirable to expect that I'll lose over 10 kilograms. Five kilos would, however, make a world of difference to my own self-image.
By the by, P apologised for upsetting me. He thinks I get stupid about my self-image which might well be true but he recognised that what's required is compassion, not ire. In turn, I apologised for behaving petulantly.
I could be setting myself up for failure by writing about this at the outset, but processing it, writing it, makes me accountable, I hope.
About three months ago, P was gifted a Westfield voucher, to spend at any store in a Westfield mall. At about the same time, he closed down an old credit card and used the last of his points to redeem a voucher. He picked a Bendon voucher for me to spend on frivolous underwear, something which we'd both enjoy. It was hosing down with rain on Sunday and the first voucher was nearly at the expiry date, so we decided to brave the mall.
I've written before that my boobs are not petite, or even mediumish. I am fairly tall and have a long torso, so I can carry some chest weight and I certainly do. I hated my boobs in my younger years because going braless (or even strapless bra'd) is not possible for me. I've learned to like them more as time has passed (familarity, I suppose, which in this case has not bred contempt but rather resignation and acceptance). I hemmed and hawed at Bendon over the bra selection, which was not extensive for those with a reasonably small band size but large cups. I eventually picked out a lovely one, but as I was assessing the fit in the mirror, the damage I've been doing to my midsection over the past couple of years was brutally apparent. We don't have a full length mirror at home, so I've only been looking at it from my own perspective, recently. I shrugged it off - fluorescent lighting always makes you look horrific, I thought.
Finished with the bra selection, we wandered to the electronics store to spend the other voucher. P eventually settled on Apple TV. We also bought an SD card converter thingee to get all our photographs from the camera to the iPad (P recently got one for work). I got antsy with all the people in the store and in the mall, so we scarpered for home.
Back at the Lavender Loveshack, P asked me to model my new knickers and I felt oddly reluctant. I shrugged him off. He set up the Apple TV instead, then downloaded a whole lot of photographs from the camera. Showing me how great the Apple TV is, he set up a slideshow of reasonably old photographs I haven't really seen before on our TV.
I freaked. Internally, I was berating myself that the photographs, none of which are particularly recent, were horrific. In my eyes, I was huge. I asked P to turn it off, snappily. He asked why. I wouldn't speak about it and he got cross.
I got up, and went for a run.
I downloaded food tracking apps and started a plank a day challenge.
I'm not going to be stupid about this. I'm running a 10k in November anyway with my sister (not that far, but she's on the mend from surgery on her ACL), so training is necessary. I could stand to cut back on the booze and treats. I'm not obese; I have a healthy BMI presently, for what that's worth (albeit at the high end of the range). I know that it is not realistic nor even desirable to expect that I'll lose over 10 kilograms. Five kilos would, however, make a world of difference to my own self-image.
By the by, P apologised for upsetting me. He thinks I get stupid about my self-image which might well be true but he recognised that what's required is compassion, not ire. In turn, I apologised for behaving petulantly.
I could be setting myself up for failure by writing about this at the outset, but processing it, writing it, makes me accountable, I hope.
Monday, 4 August 2014
day in the life, winter 2014
Hi! For those who are new, I am A. I'm 32, f, married, no kids, 2 cats, from Auckland, New Zealand. My interests include books, wine, eating things, travelling, making questionable choices, being nosy and writing things about myself on the internet. I find that DiTL posts fit nicely with the latter of those two interests!
It's Friday 1 August 2014. It's winter in NZ and a working day for me.
*************************************
5.30am: wake up, but am NOT HAPPY. Lie in the dark, mentally turning over the questionable choices I made last night. We were sending off a colleague who is moving to London; predictably, one beer lead to many beers (the pub was going off! I was having a good time! meeting people! gossiping!), lead to Mickey Dees en route home (I am not proud), lead to furry mouth at 5.30am.
1-5ish: workity working. Incredibly unproductive this afternoon,
however. Drink at least two cups of tea.
9ish: finished with dinner, we wander down the road to Chapel Bar and have another bottle of wine between four, because FRIDAY NIGHT. PJ and his new girlfriend are supposed to be meeting us but they're still at dinner elsewhere, and are trying to scam us into going to the city for dancing. We're not quite in that zone!
10.30ish: wave goodbye to R & PW and walk home arm-in-arm with P. It's about a 15 minute walk, and while I don't remember the conversation, I do remember laughing most of the way home.
10.45: open the door to find Tabby and Cokes on the end of the bed, watching us mournfully. They forgive me when I fill up their bowls.
11pm: bed.
It's Friday 1 August 2014. It's winter in NZ and a working day for me.
*************************************
5.30am: wake up, but am NOT HAPPY. Lie in the dark, mentally turning over the questionable choices I made last night. We were sending off a colleague who is moving to London; predictably, one beer lead to many beers (the pub was going off! I was having a good time! meeting people! gossiping!), lead to Mickey Dees en route home (I am not proud), lead to furry mouth at 5.30am.
6.15am: finally bring myself to get out of
bed. Shake some bikkies into the cats’
bowls and discover the mess I made filling up the biscuit container when a bit
boozled last night. Turn on the
shower. It’s warmer outside this morning
thank god (about 10 degrees celcius) so the bathroom isn’t completely frigid
and I can disrobe without squeaking.
6.25am: flick on the kettle, desperate for tea.
 |
| THIS IS FIRST-RATE COMPELLING PHOTOJOURNALISM, RIGHT HERE |
6.26am: Tabitha hauls in her newest victim
through the cat flap. She has recently
graduated to trapping earthworms, crickets being in short supply this time of
year. Not wanting to waste a good worm
(or watch Tab torture a worm on my kitchen floor), I don a pair of
jandals to deliver the worm to our compost bin outside. Jandals, dressing gown and no knickers – good
thing the neighbouring house is empty at the moment because I am a sight to
behold. I choose not to take a picture
of that – count yourself lucky.
 |
| TABBY AND VICTIM AND THE TERRIBLE STATE OF THE FLOORING IN MY KITCHEN. AT LEAST WORMS ON AN ALREADY DECREPIT FLOOR AREN'T REALLY A BIG DEAL |
6.30am: flick on the TV to catch some
Commonwealth Games coverage while scoffing breakfast and drying my hair
etc. NZ has just won a bronze medal in
the Men’s Floor (Gymnastics) and a Gold in the Women’s Time Trial (Cycling) –
go Kiwis! The coverage is largely of lawn bowls this morning and it’s not quite
as thrilling to follow as, say, 100m sprints or the swimming.
6.40am: P emerges from the bedroom,
grumbling. As many bad life decisions as
I made last night, he made a few more out on the town a bunch of graduates from
his office, following a training session he ran for them. He likes to think he can keep up with a bunch
of 23 year olds, but looking at him this morning I have my doubts.
7.15am: I have managed to dress and make myself
mostly presentable. I am wearing opaque
tights, a red silk mullet dress fresh from the drycleaners, a black blazer with
a sheer back (sounds very odd when written like that) . P however is struggling to get his stuff
together and is yelling for help to find a grey cardigan. I don’t know where he thinks I might have
secretly stashed it, but if it’s not in the drawers or on the wardrobe rack,
he’s well out of luck.
 |
| OF NOTE: (1) MY HAIR STAYED LIKE THIS UNTIL I WAS APPROX. 5 STEPS OUT MY FRONT DOOR INTO THE FOG. REST OF DAY HAVE BEEN SHAGGY BEAST. (2) THE STATE OF THE LIVING ROOM BEHIND ME. THIS IS REAL LIFE, PEOPLE. PEPPER GRINDERS AND ALL. |
7.30am: the Great Man Cardi Hunt of 2014 has
proved unfruitful and most unsympathetically I throw another sweater at P,
telling him to put a sock in it. We
manage to depart the house for work.
7.30-8am: walk to work with P. He’s on rare form today and, upon hearing
about my DiTL post day, he announces ‘Well I’m looking hot today so you should definitely
take a picture of me for the internet’.
He raced over to a wall nearby and struck a pose and I nearly died
laughing – he thought he was taking the mickey out of magazine styling, but it
is so completely fashion blogger I nearly wet my pants.
 |
| I HOPE NONE OF YOU THINK THIS IS FOR SERIOUS. P'S TONGUE IS FIRMLY IN HIS CHEEK - THIS WAS DONE IN A HEARTBEAT AND WE RAN ON, LAUGHING TIL MY FACE HURT. I'VE ONLY JUST NOW NOTICED ALLTHE CIGGIE BUTTS AT HIS FEET, WHICH MAKES IT EVEN BETTER |
8am: arrive at work. Debrief with my secretary, who was also a
party to yesterday evening’s shenanigans.
She lasted longer than I did but is regretting it!
8-10.30: workity work work. Nothing thrilling, believe you me: drafting,
emailing, considering, reviewing. At about 9.45 I get up to go to the printer
and realise I have a terrible static situation going on with my dress. Slip or no slip, it’s a clinger which is just annoying because the colour is so nice
(a change from my usual drab wardrobe choices).
 |
| THIS PICTURE IS A FAIL AT ILLUSTRATING CLINGAGE, MOSTLY DEMONSTRATING INCREDIBLY WEIRD BODY SHAPE INSTEAD? IT'S THE ANGLE, I PROMISE! THAT'S NOT A GIANT BOOBSHELF! |
10.30: weekly morning tea for the firm with
speeches for colleague S, departing to the UK.
Stuff face with a scone, a cheerio (not the cereal, the sausage-y
type!), carrot sticks and scarper and take a wee sammie & pie for the road (I
don’t eat lunch on Fridays as I usually make a piggy of myself at morning tea). Tell the firm’s chef I love his work.
10.45-12.30: more work, until M calls me. She wants to go for a wander and a
smoothie. We look briefly at cases for
our cellphones. Mine is new and if I don’t
get a case, I’ll probably destroy it. No
dice making a purchase though, I want a pretty one! I order a green smoothie, which I feel good
about (if I don’t consider the quantities of frozen yoghurt in it).
 |
| WINTER. |
5.10pm: nip upstairs where Friday Night Drinks
are happening. Look at beersies and feel
ill. Say goodbye for the final time to S
and depart to meet P to scarper up to Ponsonby Road. Call my sister K on route, because we have to debrief about the amazing video someone from her hockey team posted on FB in which she is doing the Fat Amy Mermaid for her team's amusement. So funny, but she's worried her students might see it (she's a high school teacher).
6pm: Grand Central Bar, Ponsonby. We're meeting R and PW for drinks pre-dinner. R has recently been to Austria for work but
also managed to spend time in the UK with friends en route so I squeeze her for
gossip. It's warm enough that we're able to sit outside under the heaters and enjoy some fresh air for a change.
7ish: we get our call from Orphan’s Kitchen,
which doesn’t take reservations. We rush
in and order wine and tasty treats.
Highlights included smoked porae with a celeriac and green apple slaw, YUM. Hipster central - so many good beards and artfully mismatched water jugs. I love it. They also have a very tasty wine list, highly recommend.
 |
| A WEE SIGN ON THE EXTERIOR WALL OF THE BAR THAT MADE ME SMILE. |
9ish: finished with dinner, we wander down the road to Chapel Bar and have another bottle of wine between four, because FRIDAY NIGHT. PJ and his new girlfriend are supposed to be meeting us but they're still at dinner elsewhere, and are trying to scam us into going to the city for dancing. We're not quite in that zone!
10.30ish: wave goodbye to R & PW and walk home arm-in-arm with P. It's about a 15 minute walk, and while I don't remember the conversation, I do remember laughing most of the way home.
10.45: open the door to find Tabby and Cokes on the end of the bed, watching us mournfully. They forgive me when I fill up their bowls.
11pm: bed.
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