update (my house is still standing, I'm not injured) (yet, anyway)

After another perfectly awful email, this time directly threatening our persons, we spent the night out of our house and pursued the police, asking them just to raise the fact of the complaints and investigation with the builder and to ask him to stop contacting us other than through formal channels.  They visited him last night, I'm told, with "consequences [of his actions] explained and understood".  So far, nothing further.  I'll be going home this evening with P and trying to enjoy being there, in my space, with my family. 

I trust we won't be chased further by him, but who knows.  I believe the threats are bluster to try and squeeze a few more dollars out of us, but, like I said, who the fuck knows.  In any case, we've taken them seriously out of an abundance of caution.  You know, I'm a lawyer and I've seen far worse, but it really is different when you're the person intimately involved with the crime, not just the advisor. 

Thank god for insurance, an excellent and responsive police force, an understanding workplace and P's family for accomodating and caring for us last night. 

In the interim, Dad's not doing so well and Mum's struggling with the burden a bit, I think.  I've booked last minute flights to see them this weekend, even though we're booked to go at Easter.  I've rented a car so they don't have to make trips to the airport and even if all I do is sit quietly with Dad, at least Mum can have a breather and some space.  He's still himself, but there are aspects of him that are changing, from what I'm able to tell over the phone.  I need to see them both, I think. 

In brighter news, how about that cricket world cup semi-final?! Poor old P had tickets to the game -- I wouldn't have otherwise felt sorry for him, but this was during the threat crisis and a very busy period at work, followed a hard weekend of work on the house and stag do for a close friend, at a time when he was dealing with a pregnant, ill wife, his father-in-law's illness and has the pressure of completing the renovation -- I think the stress of the game nearly gave him a heart attack!  The result and the game were thrilling, of course, but when it comes to the wire like that it's stressful.  My heart goes out to the South Africans but we're so excited for the final on Sunday :)  I'm backing the Black Caps - go Kiwis! 

funny ha ha or funny peculiar

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.

back to your regularly scheduled self-centred moaning

ALERT, ALERT, more whinging ahead.

The following is a rant about things both trivial and important that have contrived to make me feel like a sack of crap, today:

• Apparently I have a UTI.  I say apparently because the test results are still pending and I'm not feeling any particular pain (thank goodness) though I pee every 5 minutes.  The doctor prescribed me some antibiotics to take in the interim if any pain kicks in, but she vacillated more than seems reasonable over whether they were safe to take in pregnancy.  I forgot to check the label myself, and subsequently discovered it's an antibiotic that historically does not work for my and my godawful UTIs.  Great.
• Miscellaneous 'account charges' on the credit card totalling $87. 
• A great aunt who lives in close proximity to my parents had a heart attack on the weekend.  She's on the mend, but what the actual fuck, timing?  Poor Aunt S. 
• There were onions in my NO ONION salad. You know, rage tipping point and all.
• I experienced the 'shoot the messenger' phenomenon at work today.  Me being the messenger.  It was every bit as awesome as you would expect.
• And the final absolute fucker of a bullet point: Dad's been taken off chemo.  His white blood cell counts are too low - they're going to reassess next week, but no chemo is a blow.  Oh, and the day they took him off it?  The day his hair started to fall out. 

I am not going to cry today.  I'm going to go home, take a not-quite-hot-enough bath (pregnancy is great and all, but I miss screamingly hot baths) and cuddle my husband.

end of spring 2014

I was in Christchurch last week, alternatively squinting as the sun beat down on me through the windows of various meeting rooms or pushing back my hair as the wind blew a gale when I managed to escape outside.  It's been a disappointing spring, really.  Gusty, drizzly, grey.  I shouldn't complain - in the two years since we returned to New Zealand, the seasons have outdone themselves.  Aucklanders grow to expect six weeks of rain during spring, standard so there's nothing new with what we've been experiencing to date. It's just that springtime elsewhere seems to have bright days (notable exception: London, Spring 2012, miseryfest). 

In the past two weeks, the humidity has finally arrived.  Sensing it was going to take even more of a beating than usual, my GHDs promptly gave up the ghost and are lying abandoned on a shelf in the bathroom.  I've been using horrific amounts of hairspray and plastering my bob back into a weird little pony tail.  It's gross.  GHD's are GD expensive, the bastards, and have a life of about two years.  I've been through three sets now which is an obscene amount of money on a hair implement.  My vanity knows no bounds.

We had patches of sunshine at the beach this weekend, though the wind was still there.  We escaped to the Coromandel for a night, though I'm not sure it qualified as relaxing.  The last half hour of the drive left me contemplating whether I would, for the first time in my life, actually require P to pull over.  The alternative being that I threw up in the door handle, as did a poor British woman on our tour in Rajasthan.  I managed to keep it together, but spent some time afterwards laying prone either on the beach or on the window seat of the bach in Whangamata, letting the heaves settle.  There's sand in my cardigan but it was worth it. 

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. 

frazzled, variously

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

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

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

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

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

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.

*I joined Pinterest in 2011, pinned approximately 3 wedding hairstyles I knew I could never be achieved with my hair, and never looked at it again. I often get so-and-so-is-now-following-you-on-Pinterest! emails, and every time I feel sorry for them, because it must be pretty damn boring.

piffle, neatly listed

Why hello blog, you look all LONELY and NEGLECTED.  Let me solve that for you!

OK, so.  Here's what's been happening in my life recently: about a quarter of Not Much. 

Oh no, wait, I have THRILLING updates:

1. I cut more hair off.  It was a mistake.  You know how minature ponies/Shetlands have those shaggy little tails (so cute) that are a bit frizzy all the way down the edges?  My ponytail looks like that but more stunted and it sticks straight out the back of my head (not cute).  But, my drying time has dropped, so there's that.  My hairdresser is Irish and every single thing she says (that I understand) sounds impossibly fun, including getting all snippy on my mane.  Hence, three more inches and a boofhead. 
2. We are still painting.  OF COURSE we are still painting.  How can ONE ROOM take so long?  (oh right, tea breaks, followed by booze breaks.  Liquid ingestibles (comestibles?) are my Achilles heel).  I do like the paint smell, so at least that's not an issue (I also like the smell of whiteboard markers.  Yes, I ate glue and playdoh as a child.)
3. Spring! Is! Here!
4. Lawyering and, you know, having to bring home the pinger to pay for paint by the boatload continues to be the bane of my existence.  I need to win Lotto, stat.  However, I don't have a ticket ever, so that's a problem.
5. Speaking of Lotto tickets, I picked up two tickets plus some scratchies and cards at Whitcoulls today in advance of Fathers' Day.  One for my dad, one for my father-in-law.  M, who was with me at the time, asked whether one Dad would be mad if the other one won (too many ones/won, sorry).  I felt hellishly guilty because what I'd been worried about was whether either of them would share with me if they won.  I am a wonderful person. 
6. AND THEN, GET THIS, one of the Fathers' Day cards cost $12!!!  I didn't realise until looking at my receipt after the fact and CHEEEEEESUS how can a greeting card cost that much money?! 
7. Wow, this post is crap.  Never mind, will try again later.

in which i learn a valuable bus lesson

After the last post, I curled up in bed and whinged for a solid two days.  I couldn't even bring myself to internet, so lucky for you, you avoided the unnecessary dramz about my imminent demise during that time. 

As soon as I was recovered enough, I went out and had someone chop my hair into a long bob to give me something else to obsess over.  I cut off a great whack of hair in 2010 and regretted it almost instantaneously, but this time I'm sticking with a cautious 'is this a thing an old person would do? but I think I like it' type line.  Ask me again in a week when I've been unable to style it myself and thoroughly frustrated by Auckland's hair-unfriendly weather.

I don't even have a picture of it yet for you! You poor things, you're really missing out. 

Oh, I know, I have a public transport parable for you!  Listen, all ye mighty, but don't despair:

I caught the Inner Link bus from work to Ponsonby the other night and had that moment as soon as I sat down.  You know the one, the moment where you think 'Good grief, of all the seats I might have picked, I've sat down next to the crazy guy' or 'No wonder this was the last seat available'.  He was muttering away merrily to himself and taking up more than half the seat.  In the vein of all confrontation-averse users of public transportation, I clutched my bag a little tighter and made no eye contact.  We were in the seat just ahead of the bus's back door.  7 or 8 stops later, a woman made to get off with a load of supermarkets bags.  She dropped something.  My seat companion leapt up, leaned over the divider and helped her with her bags while she retrieved the errant item.  He made a genial comment to me about how tough it is when you're carrying a lot, then excused himself politely so he could get off at the following stop.  

So! No more immediate judgment from me based on someone's mutterings! I will restrict myself to quietly holding my breath when someone is in breach of widely acceptable hygiene standards from this moment on!  (Gosh, that sounds kind of sarky but I genuinely felt bad for my snap assessment, I promise!)

july, two days in

I can feel the fog descending, curling round the outer edges of consciousness and fuzzing up my throat and nose.  I will shortly be a pariah in the office, my germs warded off with sideways glances and furious rinsing of mugs. 

Ha, I just opened the last post to discover it was all about being sick.  Well, lest this blog devolve into an extended examination of my inner workings, let me report on all the other news in A-town:

My sister K: took her to a play last night (Once on Chunuk Bair, Auckland Theatre Company at the Maidment, v. good) and enjoyed her company over dinner first.  She had a skirt in a gorgeous stiff black + white floral fabric that I coveted.  That's not really news, per se, but there it is. 

Mum: allegedly announced to sister K that she's now ready to be a grandmother.  Has also been considering surrogacy options for me, in case I'm too busy to procreate for myself.  Mum surely told K this in the knowledge it would be communicated to me (K being presently single meaning that she's not the prime child-bearing target).  Dear old Mum, she doesn't want to ask me directly what my plans are because she rightly knows I'll be prickly about it.  She's been giving me plenty of opportunities to raise children in conversation; I'm SUCH a disappointment.

Dad: not much to report.  I'm loving phone conversations with him at the moment.  He works so actively at holding a conversation about the news and what's going on and asking the right questions -- who doesn't love that? About the time I left home, Dad became very intentional in telling us he loves and is proud of us.  Maybe I didn't notice it before I left, maybe it was triggered by our departures, I'm not sure.  We've never been an emotionally transparent family and I just adore that Dad is intentional now about that stuff - it takes effort and I really appreciate it.  Though, of course, I should be more reciprocal. 

P: lovely, as usual.  Except for the other morning when everything he uttered annoyed me so deeply I contemplated telling him to just shut up and not bother talking to me again until we left for work.  Good thing I didn't, as on reflection the problem may (MAY!) have been me and waking up on the wrong side of the bed. 

Work: have been promoted.  Am fairly sure that they will soon discover all apparent abilities are a sham -- but have managed to wriggle up another step on the ladder for better or worse.  Am bizarrely ambivalent about it for a girl who has tended to measure her worth in external achievement standards. 

Cats: puss-ish. 

Friends: neglected.  Must do something about that.  J is in NZ this week and I'm taking my birthday leave on Friday to see her.  I think we'll go to a wild and wintry beach for a walk to feel properly Kiwi.  I'll feel envious of her return to London on Sunday as I've been having pangs recently.  It's been a while since we escaped Auckland last, so perhaps I'm feeling a little cabin-feverish?

Ha, on re-reading the above, it struck me -- have you read the Ed Champion rant about Middling Millenials?  I'm not going to link to it because ELEVEN THOUSAND WORDS and much of his point re Emily Gould is subsumed in vitriol and a smattering of misogyny, valid as it might otherwise be.  ALSO, good grief, I could certainly be accused of some Middling Millenial behaviour. Of course, any literary pretensions I may have reside firmly inside my own head and only occasionally spill into this badly-edited and irretrievably awful personal blog, so if Middling Millenial refers only to those who are seeking fame off the creation of subpar art, I certainly don't count.  But, if the occasional reference to the Pink Power Ranger by a 32 year old woman in an online journal strikes you as vapid, lazy and disengaged, well bully for you but I care not.  Well, I care a little bit, I'm human aren't I?

Time to cut it off, given I'm making no sense whatsoever.  I bet you I read this in less than a month's time and cringe, but isn't that what a blog's for?

staycation is an awful, awful word

I have booked some holiday, thank goodness.  It's not that I've been consistently under the pump, but I am starting to feel like I need something to look forward to, other than just the end of winter.  So, P and I have agreed to take a week off in August.  We'll probably just potter around the house, because I cannot bring myself to spend money other than on the mortgage at this point in time. 

Case in point: the work dress I am wearing today has had a hole in the bum patched.  You can't see it and it's such a pretty dress...but basically my entire work wardrobe is shabby.  I don't think I have bought a single new piece in 2014 and I didn't really bother in 2013 either. So profeshunal. The bum on my work pants looks a little saggy, my cardigans are a bit frayed at the cuffs, my lint roller has been getting a work out, I won't lift my arms wearing my one white collared court shirt...you get the picture.

Mind you, I'm still spending through the nose on cat food.  And me-food.  I'm not as spending averse as I'd probably like you to think.  We're going to Wellington for a weekend to visit friends in July.  And we're being organised about summer this year - a friend is hooking up a bach in Omaha.  So, really, I'm just lazy when it comes to professional attire and appearance it seems (OH MY GOD MY ROOTS.  Do they still qualify as roots at coming up 2 inches?).

Anyway, August.  A week off at home.  Here's hoping it will be delightful.  Things I could do with that week:

• Properly clean the house.  As in actually dust things, up high for example.
• Paint.  Lots of things.
• Sand.  Lots of things.
• Sit my bum on the couch.
• Prepare the spring garden.
• Go to a west coast beach for the day.
• Read. 
• Buy some new work clothes, for crying out loud.
• Cook. 

That all sounds so....mundane.  Even so, it's pretty appealing. 

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:

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.

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?

lawyering is so glam

I will be discovering documents all. weekend. long.  It is 9.32am on Saturday, and all weekend feels like a very long time to me right now.

I am very much looking forward to the day in my career when I can hand any and all discovery to a junior solicitor and say 'make it happen'.  I am getting there, but the big ones are the bane of my existence.

Wow, that's interesting, hey?!  ME SO FUN.

Um, go the All Blacks?

march madness

Here I am, still alive.  The Queen Street Toucher has been largely brushed off (geddit? har har, not funny really), not so my wee Tim but normalcy is starting to reign again. 

OH HEY, MAYBE NOT, I CRIED IN FRONT OF MY NEW BOSS.* Poor thing was extremely compassionate but the tears became hot with shame quite quickly.  theresbeenabitoflosslately, idontwanttotalkaboutit, sniff, ohgodsorrysorrysorryi'llgetittogether!  There are other things colouring and building into my grief for Tim and Bert and it blows, basically. 

So, ok, other than that humiliating little moment, some normalcy is creeping back.

I am looking forward to rain.  There hasn't been much of it, which is great, but everything is parched and I'm hanging out for one of those rainy days where you wear big socks and watch movies and burrow away, you know?  I think it will wash away some metaphorical cobwebs, too.

In other news, I am getting my first haircut in about 6 months this weekend.  It has been an age since my hairs were chopped and fried with bleach last.  When I pull my hair back at the moment, it's reverted to mousy brown.  I want to feel good about myself, so haircut it is.  When the hairdresser asks (they always do) if I've got something special to go to that evening, I will proudly announce that I am taking pizza and red wine round to a friend with a toddler and a baby.  I think that is an occasion worthy of excellent hair.  (In fact, I suspect I might have done the same thing the last time I had my hair done.  Except the baby wasn't born yet, that's how long it's been since I cut my hair.  Jeebers.)

That's all, really.   

*Not new job, just a new boss has joined the firm.

so, so stupid

I can't be trusted to act like an adult, ever.  I spent yesterday dying a horrible, horrible, self-induced death ten times over.  The last two things I remember from the night before (the wedding after party) are swimming in the middle of a tropical cyclone (though the details of the swim are pretty hazy) and delivering a full bodied slap to someone's face (no idea who).  That last was part of a game, not malicious, but....still.

I am so, so ashamed of myself for not knowing my limits. 

If driving two and a half hours home over some of the windiest roads in New Zealand counts as punishment, well, then I've been well and truly punished.  But I'm still cracking a whip of self-flagellation and I still physically feel like shit over 36 hours later.  Just charming.  I carried plastic bags of puke + shame in the car on the way home, while P (god bless his compassionate and understanding heart) drove as carefully and smoothly as he could possibly manage.  We took an hour's breather at Thames.  I reclined the seat, swallowed the vomit and asked P to go eat outside, anywhere away from me. 

So, the wedding was lovely but I got carried away.  Awful, immature behaviour and I while I know my in-laws are amazing and very understanding I. Am. Mortified. 

I'm not typing this out of any sense of misplaced pride in my actions (trust me, there's no whoooo! such a kah-razy night! here.  More OH FUCK WHAT DID I DO AND WHYYYYYYY).  I am utterly ashamed and by god I mean to remember this lesson. 

Have I got a problem with the demon drink?  Judging by my performance, it would seem that there is a good chance.  I'm 31 for fuck's sake and I have had PLENTY of chances to learn my lesson.  Why I would get black out boozed is just...beyond me.  If you've got any material thoughts about this, plz to tell. 

Off to turn over a new leaf. 

onward, march

You know the drill.  As soon as I get a whiff of the change of season, I feel the need to report on my blog.  This is compelling diarising, my friends.  Sadly, I've got no seasonal decor / seasonal decor picture for you (cracking out a string of lights at Christmas time is about the extent of it), so you'll just have to imagine this morning's damp, chill moments; the rain that's misting past my window and the three rainbows I saw before 9am. 

Last night was the second birthday party of our youngest nephew.  Suddenly, he's a little boy.  You can still see the infant chub on his arms (almost ringlet-y at the wrists), but he's solidified and no longer wobbles when turning corners.  I wistfully remarked on the passage of time to his mother who looked a little relieved yet surprised that infancy was over.  The days are long but the years are short, I believe. 

You may recall he and his family spent some time with us last year when renovating their house.  Last night's visit to their lovely home made me sigh wistfully for kitchen space and a dishwasher, for open plan living.  I can wait, though.  We have to wait in all honesty; the lavender loveshack cleaned us out financially last year; it'll be a while before we've sunk enough equity into it to justify spending horrendous amounts on a do-up.  I spent quite a few minutes this morning hovering in my online banking account, counting pennies and considering interest rates and consigning dreams of a wobble-free loo to a hazy future. 

Well yes, the wedding was just lovely.  On the scale of emosh, I hit 'slight dampness around the eyes', which I think is just the right amount for happy celebrations. 

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. 

sorry

I dislike feeling a compulsion to apologise for my absence from the blog, but then, I apologise for all sorts of things, so why not this?  Things I apologise for include:

- my appearance whenever complimented by friends (Oh, this dress?  Sorry, just a cheapie from Next) (Oh, my hair? Makes a nice change from the usual bird's nest, doesn't it?)

- my appearance generally (I'm sorry I look like I've been dragged backwards through a bush today.  It's humid, you know)

- my presence (I'm sorry for bumping you [even though you were standing in the middle of the bus aisle like a chump when I was trying to get out of my seat])

- my cooking (sorry it doesn't look that nice, I promise I haven't poisoned anyone...yet)

Etc.  There is a probably a long list of things I should apologise for, but I'm wilfully choosing to feign ignorance in that regard.

So.  Yes.  Sorry I've been gone.  No excuses, the muse has not been with me is all.

What have I achieved in my absence?  Strikingly little.  I had a very nice long weekend at the lake with family, following which we did not pick up Cocoa the Cat from Hamilton as expected.  As I mentioned, my MIL's co-parent to Cocoa, J, is in a hospice where she is receiving respite care for terminal cancer.  We had understood that Cocoa had no one to look after her in the interim (my MIL still being in Germany) but it transpires that J's family are now house/cat-sitting for J and are taking Cocoa to the hospice for visits.  We may still be asked to provide a home at some point in the future, but that seems much less traumatic for Cocoa and good for J, too.  My MIL arrives home for a few weeks at the beginning of March and I think some more decisions may be made then.

This weekend I spent at least two hours on my hands and knees removing kikuyu grass from the lawn.  It was extremely satisfying ripping out chunks of root systems, tragically.  How rural is that?  I ask you.  You don't come here for the recipes or the outfit posts, do you dear readers? You come for the unmitigated excitement of reading the details of my personal life! WEED REMOVAL, GLAM.

Also, I scored some free courtside tickets to see the NZ Breakers play basketball.  Much more glamourous.  I sat in front of Valerie Adams who, to us South Auckland types, is a real deal A-list celeb in sporting circles.  Was very exciting. 

It's the kittens' first day at home alone with unrestricted access to the outside world.  Hold me, I'm scared.  Will fill you in on how it went in a week or three, no doubt. 

Nice to be back, actually.  I've missed you. 

the bathroom is the logical place, i suppose

I've got a burning desire to write something...profound.  Shame I haven't got any source material, so light bullshit it is.  And I do mean that literally; read on, dear reader.

I have a beef with Tabitha, Kitten-in-Chief of Mischief, Mayhem and Pooing in the Bathtub.

You may have guessed what the beef is, by now.  Scene: A's bathroom, 6.20am.  Our shower is a head over an old, shallow enamel bathtub, with various chips and cracks.  It has a white rayon shower curtain that is looking a little tatty in places, as I throw it through the washing machine on a semi-regular basis.  I am merrily showering away, when I see the outline of a little furry body on the edge of the bath through the curtain.  How cute! says I.  Tab or Timothy has come to visit while I'm in the bathroom.  They must love me! says I.

I turned the shower off, opened the curtain.  Tabitha immediately leaps into the tub.  Brave kitty, says I.  Timmy jumped in recently and freaked when he discovered the tub was wet.  Timmy required saving.  Tab immediately puts her nose to the base, gives it a lick, squats and hey presto! poohs in the bottom. 

She looked at me like 'yeah? and?'

And that is how, dripping wet and clad only in a towel, I found myself handling faeces before breakfast.

GLAMOROUS.

i smell like

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

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