I am currently on par with tones of burgundy in my hair, and in my late teen years there was always some streak of blonde, or multiple streaks of platinum running through my locks to make it fair.
This however, is not a post about hair colour. Rather it has to do with two of my closest buddies.
Red.
Blonde.
I love them both dearly. Red, I have known almost all my life. Even when we weren’t best friends before our high school days, we knew each other and even hung out for a short period of time in primary school. Friends for over 20 years, besties for about 15. That’s an impressive stat.
Blonde I’ve known for a bit less. Her I’ve known for 13 years, since high school, but it was in our post high school years that we grew even closer. I guess I’d say she’s been my ‘other’ bestie for about 7 years. Still a good feat.
I never say Blonde’s my bestie in front of Red. Nor do I say it about Red, in front of Blonde, though Blonde has heard it plenty out of Red’s mouth. The furthest I’ve gone, to speak about the other to the one I’m with, is to say “my closest friends.” But I’ve never said ‘best.’
Up until maybe a year ago, and especially in our early 20s, when Blonde was still living in the country, we were VERY VERY tight. The three of us. It was a constant ball. I always felt I was a good blend of the two. Red is more conservative in some respects, and I mean that only in the sense of not being so rude, not so out there with the sexual innuendos. No swearing, she’s good and kind and sweet to all people. She’ll bend over backwards for you, and is always smiling, always positive, cheerful and good-natured.
This is not to say she is boring or uninteresting in anyway, as most people think with ‘nice’ people (strike that – I hate the word ‘nice’). We’ve had the biggest laughs together Red and I. We share the same goofy, silly humour, generally the same taste in music, and have the same zest for life, constantly inspiring and motivating each other to reach higher, to achieve our wildest most unimaginable dreams. Because we know they’re not unimaginable. We know we can make them come true.
Blonde on the other hand, is quite… crazy. She has a very addictive personality: people just want to be around her. She is refreshing, in that she says whatever she’s thinking, does things without inhibition, and talks and talks until the cows come home. I have the utmost respect for her, because unlike ‘other’ motor-mouths who fail to realise that other people exist in their presence, when I speak, Blonde stops, and listens. She REALLY listens.
Blonde can sometimes be forgetful. She’ll forget your birthday; she’ll say she’s coming over, but then call 2 hours later and say, ‘I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry (because she can see through her sensory x-ray long-distance vision that I’m turning purple) but I’m coming now!’ And because of her happy-go-lucky persona, you always forgive her.
I like being a combo of the two of them, and that probably shows why I get along so well with them both. I think I’m sweet and kind like Red, willing to do a lot for my closest friends and family; yet like Blonde, I can be a bit rude, be a bit rash when the moment permits. I have a healthy dose of her wild side, yet a substantial portion of Red’s considerate-ness at the same time. Thoughtful yet crazy, I think.
They’re kind of the two extremes, yet we ALWAYS got along. Got along. One of my favourite memories, proof of how I’m a bit of both personalities, was when we went shopping together a while back, and Red upon looking at a kind of see-through top to try on, asked the shop assistant “do you have a singlet so I can put it on under this?” The guy started to look around, upon which Blonde jokingly said “no Red, you try it on like that so we see your boobs,” quite loudly, so the shop assistant could hear (he was gay by the way). As Blonde laughed out loud, and I giggled compulsively, Red turned to Blonde, shot her a dark look and said angrily “Blonde! That’s rude, don’t be so loud!”
Although that’s a fave memory, maybe that’s not the best example of the three of us. Maybe I use that example because that’s when I noticed things started to change. By that stage, it wasn’t 3 musketeers. It was 2. Or the ‘other’ 2. Never 3. I was always part of the 2. And by that time, from that incident, I started to realise I was leaning on the side of Blonde a bit more.
It almost hurts me to write this. I love them both so much. I wish the crap that had happened never did: not that anything, any event as such happened; it was just a slow removal, a non-revealing of information, non-sharing of life experiences, a waning of contact that led to the slow parting of Red and Blonde.
I don’t think Red would think they’ve parted. In true Red style, and though I love her for her positivity, her focus on that thing only leaves her with a bit of a dream-like, rose-coloured glasses view of everything. She doesn’t realise Blonde is shitty with her. She doesn’t realise she could have involved her more in her wedding. She doesn’t realise she hasn’t put into the friendship – she just thinks because she’s been busy, that Blonde understands.
It’s not just that. There are a few more nitty-gritty issues, things that got in the way and screwed things up. Other friends, partners.
Blonde sees it though. Blonde is hurt. And Blonde tells me all about it. Told me all about it.
Sigh.
I’m a bit stuck you see. I love both these girls. They fulfil parts of me, in completely different ways, and I’m the luckiest, most freaking blessed girl to have people like this in my life. Add to that my sister, who really, truly is (not biased, no joke) the best, most fantastic sister in the world – and I know it’s true because all my friends love her, even those who have sisters, wish they had her as one instead – and in the words of another friend, I feel like I’m shitting rainbows in the girlfriend department. I’m set.
Back in the day when we used to spend time together, Red, Blonde and I, it was magnificent. I actually can’t find an adjective appropriate enough to describe the time spent together. Explosive? Thrilling? Meaningful? Deep? Out of this world? If I was lesbian, I would probably have an affair with both of them, let’s just say that’s how much I love them.
And that’s the problem. I’d have an affair with both of them.
It would be so good, every time was the best time. Lately though, with the absence of both of them, simultaneously in my life, and with all of life’s changes… I’m missing those times. Thinking of it now, God I’m missing those times. SO BAD.
With all the shit and crap, doom and gloom and with all of life’s frustrations that have been so prevalent not just lately, but on and off for the past year, I’m missing that… and one of them more in particular.
Blonde.
Maybe it’s because the grass is greener. Blonde is overseas, I haven’t seen her in about 5 months, and I haven’t spoken to her in about the same time. No joke. Instead I’ve been busy with Red, and helping her plan her wedding.
And with all that’s been going on lately, I had a massive pang of sadness hit me last week. I miss Blonde. I need her. I need to talk to her. I want to know where she is.
Some best friend huh?
Blonde works overseas, and was going on holiday in that region a while ago. Up until just before my birthday, I knew what country she was in. I’d tried to call her before she left for her holiday, but her phone wasn’t working. She said she’d Skype me, but in true Blonde fashion, she never did. When she didn’t call me for my birthday, I was a bit sad: she makes an effort to remember my birthday, and I know she wouldn’t have forgotten it, despite how scatter-brained she can be at times.
I realised she wasn’t posting on facebook, AT ALL. In fact she still hasn’t. I’ve contacted her sister twice to ask about Blonde: once her sister said she was overseas and her normal phone wasn’t working; and most recently when I asked again, she mentioned Blonde was travelling to a conference. Well that sounds like she’s back at work. So why hasn’t she called me?
I’ve been a bit stubborn. I wanted to talk to Blonde earlier this year to tell her the exciting news that I’d finished my book. But when she didn’t call for my birthday I felt a bit rejected, honestly I did. Up until recently I was like ‘stuff her, she should call me, she should know I’ve been chasing her.’ But then I was like ‘does she?’ If she hasn’t updated her facebook, she wouldn’t see the messages left there. Her sister may not even be telling her (she can be the jealous type) and I even had a dream about her, where someone told me she had been shot, and all I saw of her was her top with a hole in it.
That made me worried. I started to doubt my stubbornness, and wonder whether I should just woman up and call her. If it’s your friend, you forgive them I say. Not just that, but you don’t know what’s been happening. You don’t know their side of the story. For all I know something bad has happened and she hasn’t been able to call. But her sister would have told me, surely…
But then again the other day I saw she ‘liked’ something on facebook – even though she hasn’t put anything on her page. So she IS around. But where IS she? I wonder whether she is avoiding us all, maybe because she doesn’t want to go to Red’s wedding. Maybe this is all in protest, in not having been chosen to be a part of the bridal party, in not having been chosen to be included AT ALL.
It’s just so confusing, and so frustrating. And so sad. I don’t know what to do. I miss her, and it’s actually HER that I miss. Despite my love for both of them, I actually need to speak to Blonde. With all that’s been going on, I feel I need to let my feelings out, and that Blonde is the right person to talk to. To air my grievances with. Red would listen I know, but she’d be all, “look on the bright side, be positive,” and I actually don’t need that. I want someone to listen, and to say “that’s shit.”
That’s Blonde. I need her matter-of-fact, listen without trying to make you feel better point of view. I just need the realism of life.
Maybe I just need to try call her again. Now.
Showing posts with label birthday. Show all posts
Showing posts with label birthday. Show all posts
Tuesday, October 2, 2012
Monday, January 23, 2012
13
Often the number 13 evokes a sense of intense fear and danger by those who come across it in their everyday lives. The number brings forth images of black cats, women pinned to stakes, ladders, breaking mirrors and just a general feel of ominous doom. Whether you come across it in calculating finances, planning a party, or choosing a house or car, if something is suggestive towards this lowly-regarded number being the sum of whatever it is you're doing, chances are that at first sight of it you'll be running for the hills, far far away, along with the rest of herd.
I, usually, am part of this herd.
If we're looking at houses, I won't want one that has 13 in the address. With cars, I add up the numbers on the reg: if the total comes to 13, again, I consider it a bad sign. (Don't get me started on cars with three of the same number, the number that comes after 5 but before 7 - shudder).
I don't know why I tend to diverge from this number. I think over time I've just gone along with the flow and joined in with the rest of the hype about the number: I've actually heard that Italians consider it a lucky number. Growing up, Red had a bit of a fear about it, and she kept seeing signs of it everywhere: dates, the time, even the number of letters in her first and last name added up to 13. (Teenage girls have a lot of time on their hands).
Another friend I grew up with, got her first period on Friday the 13th. Faaaarrrrrrr. She was secretly rapt, I know, being a bit of a late bloomer and all, but I was just like "What? Friday the 13th? Of all days?!"
I've ended up having my birthday on the 13th a couple of times, just the way the dates worked out that year, and I can't say anything really horrible happened. But if given the option, I would always go for the other option, rather than outright choose something with 13 associated with it.
(I think the stories of my parents upbringing got me really superstitious and stuff too.)
However, I'm starting to see things differently. Today is a 13 number for me, and a great number at that.
Including today, I only have 13 more working days until I go on leave next month.
:-D! :-D! :-D!
YIPPEE for me! I am so excited. When I start preparing my to-do list of holiday stuff, I think I might spontaneously explode with the amount of items I will be potentially ticking off.
And because Hubbie isn't able to take holidays with me, as he has only recently started a new job, I will be on my own, getting lots of little bullshit jobs done. I'll be organising photos, cleaning windows, sorting through recipes and indexing them, throwing out old bills, EVERYTHING!
You think I'm crazy now don't you? You think I'm going to devote my time off to just cleaning the house? No siree!
I'm gonna be catching up with my parents, my sister, my cousins, my extended family, my friends, the works! On Hubbie's days off, we're going to go out and not come home until it's dark! I'm going to be watching my fave tv shows and movies 'til REALLY late at night, because I won't have work the next day! I'll be shopping, trying on dresses with Red for her wedding, going to parks, to the beach, eating out and most important drinking coffee and eating cake and ice cream!
!!!!!
I am going to do it all, whenever, however and wherever I like! :-D
Oh, and I almost forget. I'll be finishing off my book then too, you know that story I keep mentioning. Yeah......
:-D
Which brings me to another 13. I finished chapter 12 last night.
:-D :-D :-D
I, usually, am part of this herd.
If we're looking at houses, I won't want one that has 13 in the address. With cars, I add up the numbers on the reg: if the total comes to 13, again, I consider it a bad sign. (Don't get me started on cars with three of the same number, the number that comes after 5 but before 7 - shudder).
I don't know why I tend to diverge from this number. I think over time I've just gone along with the flow and joined in with the rest of the hype about the number: I've actually heard that Italians consider it a lucky number. Growing up, Red had a bit of a fear about it, and she kept seeing signs of it everywhere: dates, the time, even the number of letters in her first and last name added up to 13. (Teenage girls have a lot of time on their hands).
Another friend I grew up with, got her first period on Friday the 13th. Faaaarrrrrrr. She was secretly rapt, I know, being a bit of a late bloomer and all, but I was just like "What? Friday the 13th? Of all days?!"
I've ended up having my birthday on the 13th a couple of times, just the way the dates worked out that year, and I can't say anything really horrible happened. But if given the option, I would always go for the other option, rather than outright choose something with 13 associated with it.
(I think the stories of my parents upbringing got me really superstitious and stuff too.)
However, I'm starting to see things differently. Today is a 13 number for me, and a great number at that.
Including today, I only have 13 more working days until I go on leave next month.
:-D! :-D! :-D!
YIPPEE for me! I am so excited. When I start preparing my to-do list of holiday stuff, I think I might spontaneously explode with the amount of items I will be potentially ticking off.
And because Hubbie isn't able to take holidays with me, as he has only recently started a new job, I will be on my own, getting lots of little bullshit jobs done. I'll be organising photos, cleaning windows, sorting through recipes and indexing them, throwing out old bills, EVERYTHING!
You think I'm crazy now don't you? You think I'm going to devote my time off to just cleaning the house? No siree!
I'm gonna be catching up with my parents, my sister, my cousins, my extended family, my friends, the works! On Hubbie's days off, we're going to go out and not come home until it's dark! I'm going to be watching my fave tv shows and movies 'til REALLY late at night, because I won't have work the next day! I'll be shopping, trying on dresses with Red for her wedding, going to parks, to the beach, eating out and most important drinking coffee and eating cake and ice cream!
!!!!!
I am going to do it all, whenever, however and wherever I like! :-D
Oh, and I almost forget. I'll be finishing off my book then too, you know that story I keep mentioning. Yeah......
:-D
Which brings me to another 13. I finished chapter 12 last night.
:-D :-D :-D
Monday, August 29, 2011
Movie Moments
The above is what I'm trying my best to focus on in my return back to work today after 2 weeks.
Like I've previously blogged, many many posts ago, it felt not only weird to be back at work today but also depressing. I know the first day back is always difficult, and it takes a while to get back into the everyday routine.
But I've had such a good time while on leave with Hubbie. Not just good, but great, brilliant, fantastic, fun, every wonderful and heart-warming, good times-explosive word you can imagine.
And it's not even like we went away very far, or for very long. Yes, we went away for a few nights for my birthday, with the rest of the time spent furniture/home furnishing shopping, whilst drinking coffees, going out to brunches and dinners, and going out heaps with our family and friends, with a good dose of drinking and partying to make things that extra bit awesome.
Having the time off with Hubbie was absolute bliss. We haven't had this much time off together since our honeymoon. And it was tooooooo good. Which is why I felt so depressed this morning.
Things did seem a bit weird, a bit off around the office this morning, however I can't quite put my finger on what the changes are, because everything looks the same. Except for the printer, that is different.
Again, in light of these strong feelings, my resolve to write and be my own boss is stronger than ever. Although I had a bit of writers block last week (is it writer's block when you can't find ideas, or you can't find the right words? Maybe both) I know I need to finish this story (I've finished chapter 9) and after finishing it, keep ON writing to develop more books, as not writing would be like killing these characters off in my head. And they definitely have a story that needs to be heard.
Also, coming back to work to learn that once again
hey you! yes you! you are going to be in charge again while your boss is away! YAY!
is not exactly love inducing. I wanted to come back to work and have it be all cruisy because I'm still in freaking holiday mode. I have my brother-in-law's birthday tonight, my bestie Blonde is visiting again from the U.S, and I want to ease into this thing. But no. Work has other plans doesn't it. And not only that, but people have to snap at me too, don't they, just for fucking asking questions and doing my job as opposed to slacking off and counting down the seconds like the complete idiotic incompetent wankers that they are (ahem, cough* no-show boy).
So, here I sit, breathing deeply, and thinking of my book. Of my success. How all this bullshit is going to make it so much more worth it one day.
I think back to brunch with my friends yesterday. Talking to Red about her engagement plans on the busy street sidewalk, while Blonde and our other friends wave at us through the shop window, pointing at bags and accessories. I think of Blonde walking up to us and enveloping us in a big group hug.
I think of Hubbie. My everything. I think of us walking around in random circles in over-commercialised shopping centres, drinking expensive coffee and getting excited about practically everything, all the while trying to focus on buying things for the home while getting constantly sidetracked from our over-hyped, caffeine-induced states. And then buying really expensive things at the drop of a hat just because we can :)
Those are the movie moments.
I think of lying across Hubbie and staring up at him, and this I struggle to think of in fear of tears trickling down my face, because I miss that so much. Yes I have that still, but I want it every day, not just end of day when we're all over the routine and work of life, tired and crap.
So that's why I've got to focus and push past the writer's block. Because I want it all. I can have it all, I know I can.
"Me, I want what's coming to me. The world Chico, and everything in it." - Tony Montana, Scarface.
Like I've previously blogged, many many posts ago, it felt not only weird to be back at work today but also depressing. I know the first day back is always difficult, and it takes a while to get back into the everyday routine.
But I've had such a good time while on leave with Hubbie. Not just good, but great, brilliant, fantastic, fun, every wonderful and heart-warming, good times-explosive word you can imagine.
And it's not even like we went away very far, or for very long. Yes, we went away for a few nights for my birthday, with the rest of the time spent furniture/home furnishing shopping, whilst drinking coffees, going out to brunches and dinners, and going out heaps with our family and friends, with a good dose of drinking and partying to make things that extra bit awesome.
Having the time off with Hubbie was absolute bliss. We haven't had this much time off together since our honeymoon. And it was tooooooo good. Which is why I felt so depressed this morning.
Things did seem a bit weird, a bit off around the office this morning, however I can't quite put my finger on what the changes are, because everything looks the same. Except for the printer, that is different.
Again, in light of these strong feelings, my resolve to write and be my own boss is stronger than ever. Although I had a bit of writers block last week (is it writer's block when you can't find ideas, or you can't find the right words? Maybe both) I know I need to finish this story (I've finished chapter 9) and after finishing it, keep ON writing to develop more books, as not writing would be like killing these characters off in my head. And they definitely have a story that needs to be heard.
Also, coming back to work to learn that once again
hey you! yes you! you are going to be in charge again while your boss is away! YAY!
is not exactly love inducing. I wanted to come back to work and have it be all cruisy because I'm still in freaking holiday mode. I have my brother-in-law's birthday tonight, my bestie Blonde is visiting again from the U.S, and I want to ease into this thing. But no. Work has other plans doesn't it. And not only that, but people have to snap at me too, don't they, just for fucking asking questions and doing my job as opposed to slacking off and counting down the seconds like the complete idiotic incompetent wankers that they are (ahem, cough* no-show boy).
So, here I sit, breathing deeply, and thinking of my book. Of my success. How all this bullshit is going to make it so much more worth it one day.
I think back to brunch with my friends yesterday. Talking to Red about her engagement plans on the busy street sidewalk, while Blonde and our other friends wave at us through the shop window, pointing at bags and accessories. I think of Blonde walking up to us and enveloping us in a big group hug.
I think of Hubbie. My everything. I think of us walking around in random circles in over-commercialised shopping centres, drinking expensive coffee and getting excited about practically everything, all the while trying to focus on buying things for the home while getting constantly sidetracked from our over-hyped, caffeine-induced states. And then buying really expensive things at the drop of a hat just because we can :)
Those are the movie moments.
I think of lying across Hubbie and staring up at him, and this I struggle to think of in fear of tears trickling down my face, because I miss that so much. Yes I have that still, but I want it every day, not just end of day when we're all over the routine and work of life, tired and crap.
So that's why I've got to focus and push past the writer's block. Because I want it all. I can have it all, I know I can.
"Me, I want what's coming to me. The world Chico, and everything in it." - Tony Montana, Scarface.
Monday, April 4, 2011
French Kiss the Morning
Prior to my affogato burst early last week, I was buzzing on something entirely different the previous Saturday night.
Cosmopolitans.
And because of that, I don't think I'll be having any Cosmo's for a LOOONNNNGGGG time.
Let me explain.
It was one of our closest friend's 30th birthday that weekend. Her and her husband, being big spenders, had a pretty extravagant evening planned. A group of 10 of us, were driven over to an exclusive waterfront restaurant, had a HUGE 3 course meal feast, PLENTY of drinks, and then were all driven to a city bar, where we continued to drink, and drink, and drink.... (and dance on podiums....!)
Boy did I pay for it the next day. Following a night, where I had one glass of wine, and about 7-8 Cosmopolitans, it took all the energy I had to keep awake on the drive home. Because I knew if I fell asleep, I might chunder, per Men At Work lyrics.
Getting home, I managed to brush my teeth and remove my make-up with one of those handy moisturised make-up removal wipes. As I crashed into bed, with Hubbie already in his 10th dream beside me, I closed my eyes.
And the world started spinning a dizzying black.
I opened them and closed them. I tried to still the blackness, but everything was whir, whir, whirring. And then I just knew what I had to do.
It wasn't so much that I felt it, more than I sensed it. Then again, maybe my purely intoxicated state disguised the nausea I was feeling. I ran to the toilet and vomited.
No. 1.
Nothing unusual here.... the contents I mean. I had clearly had way too many cocktails towards the end of the night, and my stomach was just emptying out the spare fluid. I went back to bed, and can't remember the rest.
The next morning I very slowly woke up. You know when you're waking up, and it takes you a good few minutes to realise you're awake, and not dreaming? Yeah that's called a hangover.
The hilarious thing about this moment of the day, was that I was in bed, 9:30am, thinking I should get up because the alcohol was still in my system and wouldn't let me fall asleep again. Lying there, I remember looking around the bed sheets and going "I need to wash these, I think I'll do that today." I could see bright light peeking through the blinds, and knew the sun would dry my washing quicker. I thought I'd be good, and despite the previous 'big night,' do some cleaning and washing, before Hubbie got home from work (yes poor thing on a Sunday) and we went out again, to a friend's sons 1st birthday.
Yeah right.
As soon as I was upright, I felt my stomach begin to move. And the nausea just kept getting worse. Previous times that I've over-drank and been sick, I've been sick the night of the craziness, rather than the night after. So I couldn't understand why I felt this way, seeing as I'd chucked the night before. I put it down to needing a coffee and some toast to fill my empty belly, and went about, in agony, preparing my breakfast.
I sat down on the couch to watch tv while I ate my brekkie. The only thing I ended up watching was my plate of toast and coffee mug. I couldn't touch it. I couldn't go near it. I was feeling so unwell by this stage, that I started to doubt whether I actually needed any food. But yet again, in my stubborness to see the situation, I decided to have a sip or two of coffee, followed by a bite of toast.
I was trying to talk myself into it. Internally I was like 'yes the coffee is helping, that's all I need.' Several minutes passed before I attempted another bite. As soon as I began to chew though, the wretchedness started moving from my stomach, into my throat.
I ran to the toilet, posing stationary above it. Realising I still had uneaten toast in my mouth, I ran to the kitchen and spat it into a tissue, disposing of it in the bin. Don't ask me why I did this, but I'm glad I did. I ran back to the toilet, and stood there, waiting. But nothing came immediately. Only my mobile started to ring.
Hubbie had already called me once that morning, before I started feeling so bad. So I was highly doubtful of it being him again. I walked over to my phone, and saw 'Dad.'
I paused a second. Should I answer? I decided I would, knowing that I could talk my way out of it, without anyone being none the wiser of my ailing condition. He couldn't see me.
Hahahahahahaha.
I answered, and he was like "Are you awake?"
Suspicion started creeping into me. "Yeah, I'm just having breakfast, why?"
"Oh well me and your mum are standing outside, and all the blinds are closed.... we're going to the plaza, and thought we'd stop by if it's alright, we haven't seen you in a while...."
That, I believe, is the definition of Murphy's Law.
"Oh, yeah, come in, no problems...."
Had I spat my uneaten toast in the toilet, I wouldn't have had time to run back and flush. It was like my sixth sense had been telling me to.... "be clean."
LOL.
I answered the door, still in pyjamas and nightgown, and they sat down. I knew my best bet was to not hide my tiredness, or my big night, because although I could hide my need to be sick, if they thought I was simply tired, they would think me leaning on the couch, all fetal position like, meant I just needed sleep.
Look, my parents are really cool. My Mum surprises me when she says "nooooo, it's not bad that you can see your bra through that see-through top!" and my dad impresses me with his stories of youth and the crazy things he did back then, like getting into jail and stuff :) (He's really, very good, which is why it's funny!) If I was sick, or showed myself to be sick in front of them, they'd just get unnecessarily worried, and that I didn't need. One person was enough for me to worry about, and at that moment I couldn't even look after that one person properly.
(Deep breath, I feel myself getting nauseous just thinking about it!)
So I acted my way through it. I made small chit chat. I willingly offered the previous nights story, and the plans for the rest of the day, then let them do the rest of the talking, only answering when absolutely necessary. The visit only lasted for 10-15 minutes. All the while I breathed, willing the contents of my stomach not to come flying out of me.
I did feel so bad. I didn't want my parents to think my silence meant my not-wanting them to be there. But I hoped they would just put it down to my 'tiredness.'
I stood at the door and waved to them as they drove off. And then I ran upstairs to the toilet. (I don't know why I went upstairs, I think I was more comfortable there, as it was there I'd thrown up the night before.)
And yes I threw up. Anything I'd managed to consume of my breakfast went. As well as I think some of the night before.
I sat back on the couch, my stomach feeling lighter, and less nauseous. I thought, 'good, now I'll wait 'til I'm 100%, then I'll get myself ready for later on.'
Wrong.
I sat there on the couch for over an hour. I managed to get up and walk around, throw my brekkie away, and sit back down on the couch. I was so crook. Then again, up the stairs I went.
I stood in front of the toilet, gagging for ages. And then I vomited. Again.
This time it WAS from last night. And I swear, I tasted something citrus-y that resembled the overly-abused Cosmo's. Ugh.
That was the last time I threw up. I couldn't believe how sick I'd been and how many times I'd thrown up, so long after the fact. The rest of the story goes: Hubbie came home, convinced me that I'd feel better if I started getting ready; through many tears of protest 'I still need to vomit!' I got ready; we drove to the 1st birthday party; I sat in the stationary car, there, holding my plastic bag, swearing I was gonna throw - I didn't; we survived the party, I put on the best show of my life; and I had my first bit of food at 4pm, that didn't reverse back on me - chocolate cake.
I hadn't eaten 'til 4pm. I'd had plenty of water and soda water, oh and bits of turkish bread from Hubbie's meal. I'd been terrified to consume something in case I became a regurgitating monster in front of everyone at the party, a la Exorcist style.
Had some Macca's chips at the end of the night, and some bites of Hubbie's burger, as we sat at home, still tired from the night before, I myself COMPLETELY drained of energy. Yeah, I know, so healthy right.
But the point of all this is the vomiting. My theory is, since I'd broken the vomit-from-overconsumption-of-alcohol seal, my stomach is now more sensitive, and more likely to throw up alcohol (never mind me overconsuming it!)
I'd taken pride my whole life in proclaiming that I'd never vomited from alcohol. I could always say that I'd drank heaps, but felt tough and strong, and alcoholically able in knowing my stomach could withstand any combination of potent fluids I put into it, MWA HA HA!
But then I broke the seal.
Seal Breaker 1:
My second Christmas party at this my current employer. I decided I hadn't been loose enough my first year, so went about in drinking more that year. Ended up in the toilets, throwing up, with a really sweet colleague calling out "Miss S, are you alright?" over the cubicles (she hung around because a male cleaner was in the toilet, I know, how nice of her right?) I blacked out the second half of the night and fell asleep at the club we were at. A window totally was smashed in near me and I missed it all, all because I got drunk and passed out. A friend took me home that night in his car, and for his kind troubles I invited him to my wedding :)
Then, I only threw up that night. I was queasy the next day, but I didn't projectile anything.
Seal Breaker 2:
Blonde's sisters Hen's night, of which I've mentioned in my post "WOW. What a weekend/s, what a week/s." It was the first girls night I'd been out to since I got married. I got WAAYYY too excited, so much so that I just couldn't waste the champagne that was left behind, (part of the complimentary drinks for our party) when the guest of honour and her friends left (yes, Red and I outstayed the hostess). So I drank it all. I said 'I love you' heaps to Red, or so she tells me. She says I was really amusing and funny, and still funny when she and her sister had to practically carry me back to their car. I stopped being funny when I warned of throwing up in her car on the way home.
Hubbie thought I was being funny when I said, "I'm sick, I'm gonna throw up," as I stumbled my way up to our bedroom late that night/early morning. But when he heard me heaving my lungs out in the toilet, he realised he wasn't gonna get any funny-ness that night.
Again. I only threw up that night, and was left nursing my poor stomach the next day.
This time however, my 3rd time, I've broken my seal altogether, as well as breaking a new seal, that of throwing up THE DAY AFTER. I'm getting more and more out of control. However in an effort to not throw up ever again from alcohol (as I sat in my PJs for half of last Sunday, I felt so crap, and made myself remember the feeling so as to not do it ever again) I've found the link between the 3 seal breaker scenarios, and realise the circumstance under which I must be careful of going overboard. It's simple really.
All 3 times I said to myself internally "I'm gonna make the most of tonight."
It's simple enough yes I know. And most times you would imagine anyone to want to have a great night out, it's practically a given. However, when I look at my watch, and start realising the night is ending, I kick it up a notch, turn it up a gear, and start getting really crazy. And that's what happened all these 3 times. That and all 3 times I wasn't driving.
My warning thoughts are as follows:
* wanting to have a really good time, because I haven't partied in ages
* wanting to have a really good time, because I want to make the most of it
* wanting to have a really good time, because I didn't make the most of it last time
* wanting to have a really good time, because I'm not driving
* wanting to have a really good time, just for no reason at all
So there has it. I've discovered my internal mental cues, the 'warning signs,' to a potentially messy night. All because I broke my alcoholic seal. Stupid.
Cosmopolitans.
And because of that, I don't think I'll be having any Cosmo's for a LOOONNNNGGGG time.
Let me explain.
It was one of our closest friend's 30th birthday that weekend. Her and her husband, being big spenders, had a pretty extravagant evening planned. A group of 10 of us, were driven over to an exclusive waterfront restaurant, had a HUGE 3 course meal feast, PLENTY of drinks, and then were all driven to a city bar, where we continued to drink, and drink, and drink.... (and dance on podiums....!)
Boy did I pay for it the next day. Following a night, where I had one glass of wine, and about 7-8 Cosmopolitans, it took all the energy I had to keep awake on the drive home. Because I knew if I fell asleep, I might chunder, per Men At Work lyrics.
Getting home, I managed to brush my teeth and remove my make-up with one of those handy moisturised make-up removal wipes. As I crashed into bed, with Hubbie already in his 10th dream beside me, I closed my eyes.
And the world started spinning a dizzying black.
I opened them and closed them. I tried to still the blackness, but everything was whir, whir, whirring. And then I just knew what I had to do.
It wasn't so much that I felt it, more than I sensed it. Then again, maybe my purely intoxicated state disguised the nausea I was feeling. I ran to the toilet and vomited.
No. 1.
Nothing unusual here.... the contents I mean. I had clearly had way too many cocktails towards the end of the night, and my stomach was just emptying out the spare fluid. I went back to bed, and can't remember the rest.
The next morning I very slowly woke up. You know when you're waking up, and it takes you a good few minutes to realise you're awake, and not dreaming? Yeah that's called a hangover.
The hilarious thing about this moment of the day, was that I was in bed, 9:30am, thinking I should get up because the alcohol was still in my system and wouldn't let me fall asleep again. Lying there, I remember looking around the bed sheets and going "I need to wash these, I think I'll do that today." I could see bright light peeking through the blinds, and knew the sun would dry my washing quicker. I thought I'd be good, and despite the previous 'big night,' do some cleaning and washing, before Hubbie got home from work (yes poor thing on a Sunday) and we went out again, to a friend's sons 1st birthday.
Yeah right.
As soon as I was upright, I felt my stomach begin to move. And the nausea just kept getting worse. Previous times that I've over-drank and been sick, I've been sick the night of the craziness, rather than the night after. So I couldn't understand why I felt this way, seeing as I'd chucked the night before. I put it down to needing a coffee and some toast to fill my empty belly, and went about, in agony, preparing my breakfast.
I sat down on the couch to watch tv while I ate my brekkie. The only thing I ended up watching was my plate of toast and coffee mug. I couldn't touch it. I couldn't go near it. I was feeling so unwell by this stage, that I started to doubt whether I actually needed any food. But yet again, in my stubborness to see the situation, I decided to have a sip or two of coffee, followed by a bite of toast.
I was trying to talk myself into it. Internally I was like 'yes the coffee is helping, that's all I need.' Several minutes passed before I attempted another bite. As soon as I began to chew though, the wretchedness started moving from my stomach, into my throat.
I ran to the toilet, posing stationary above it. Realising I still had uneaten toast in my mouth, I ran to the kitchen and spat it into a tissue, disposing of it in the bin. Don't ask me why I did this, but I'm glad I did. I ran back to the toilet, and stood there, waiting. But nothing came immediately. Only my mobile started to ring.
Hubbie had already called me once that morning, before I started feeling so bad. So I was highly doubtful of it being him again. I walked over to my phone, and saw 'Dad.'
I paused a second. Should I answer? I decided I would, knowing that I could talk my way out of it, without anyone being none the wiser of my ailing condition. He couldn't see me.
Hahahahahahaha.
I answered, and he was like "Are you awake?"
Suspicion started creeping into me. "Yeah, I'm just having breakfast, why?"
"Oh well me and your mum are standing outside, and all the blinds are closed.... we're going to the plaza, and thought we'd stop by if it's alright, we haven't seen you in a while...."
That, I believe, is the definition of Murphy's Law.
"Oh, yeah, come in, no problems...."
Had I spat my uneaten toast in the toilet, I wouldn't have had time to run back and flush. It was like my sixth sense had been telling me to.... "be clean."
LOL.
I answered the door, still in pyjamas and nightgown, and they sat down. I knew my best bet was to not hide my tiredness, or my big night, because although I could hide my need to be sick, if they thought I was simply tired, they would think me leaning on the couch, all fetal position like, meant I just needed sleep.
Look, my parents are really cool. My Mum surprises me when she says "nooooo, it's not bad that you can see your bra through that see-through top!" and my dad impresses me with his stories of youth and the crazy things he did back then, like getting into jail and stuff :) (He's really, very good, which is why it's funny!) If I was sick, or showed myself to be sick in front of them, they'd just get unnecessarily worried, and that I didn't need. One person was enough for me to worry about, and at that moment I couldn't even look after that one person properly.
(Deep breath, I feel myself getting nauseous just thinking about it!)
So I acted my way through it. I made small chit chat. I willingly offered the previous nights story, and the plans for the rest of the day, then let them do the rest of the talking, only answering when absolutely necessary. The visit only lasted for 10-15 minutes. All the while I breathed, willing the contents of my stomach not to come flying out of me.
I did feel so bad. I didn't want my parents to think my silence meant my not-wanting them to be there. But I hoped they would just put it down to my 'tiredness.'
I stood at the door and waved to them as they drove off. And then I ran upstairs to the toilet. (I don't know why I went upstairs, I think I was more comfortable there, as it was there I'd thrown up the night before.)
And yes I threw up. Anything I'd managed to consume of my breakfast went. As well as I think some of the night before.
I sat back on the couch, my stomach feeling lighter, and less nauseous. I thought, 'good, now I'll wait 'til I'm 100%, then I'll get myself ready for later on.'
Wrong.
I sat there on the couch for over an hour. I managed to get up and walk around, throw my brekkie away, and sit back down on the couch. I was so crook. Then again, up the stairs I went.
I stood in front of the toilet, gagging for ages. And then I vomited. Again.
This time it WAS from last night. And I swear, I tasted something citrus-y that resembled the overly-abused Cosmo's. Ugh.
That was the last time I threw up. I couldn't believe how sick I'd been and how many times I'd thrown up, so long after the fact. The rest of the story goes: Hubbie came home, convinced me that I'd feel better if I started getting ready; through many tears of protest 'I still need to vomit!' I got ready; we drove to the 1st birthday party; I sat in the stationary car, there, holding my plastic bag, swearing I was gonna throw - I didn't; we survived the party, I put on the best show of my life; and I had my first bit of food at 4pm, that didn't reverse back on me - chocolate cake.
I hadn't eaten 'til 4pm. I'd had plenty of water and soda water, oh and bits of turkish bread from Hubbie's meal. I'd been terrified to consume something in case I became a regurgitating monster in front of everyone at the party, a la Exorcist style.
Had some Macca's chips at the end of the night, and some bites of Hubbie's burger, as we sat at home, still tired from the night before, I myself COMPLETELY drained of energy. Yeah, I know, so healthy right.
But the point of all this is the vomiting. My theory is, since I'd broken the vomit-from-overconsumption-of-alcohol seal, my stomach is now more sensitive, and more likely to throw up alcohol (never mind me overconsuming it!)
I'd taken pride my whole life in proclaiming that I'd never vomited from alcohol. I could always say that I'd drank heaps, but felt tough and strong, and alcoholically able in knowing my stomach could withstand any combination of potent fluids I put into it, MWA HA HA!
But then I broke the seal.
Seal Breaker 1:
My second Christmas party at this my current employer. I decided I hadn't been loose enough my first year, so went about in drinking more that year. Ended up in the toilets, throwing up, with a really sweet colleague calling out "Miss S, are you alright?" over the cubicles (she hung around because a male cleaner was in the toilet, I know, how nice of her right?) I blacked out the second half of the night and fell asleep at the club we were at. A window totally was smashed in near me and I missed it all, all because I got drunk and passed out. A friend took me home that night in his car, and for his kind troubles I invited him to my wedding :)
Then, I only threw up that night. I was queasy the next day, but I didn't projectile anything.
Seal Breaker 2:
Blonde's sisters Hen's night, of which I've mentioned in my post "WOW. What a weekend/s, what a week/s." It was the first girls night I'd been out to since I got married. I got WAAYYY too excited, so much so that I just couldn't waste the champagne that was left behind, (part of the complimentary drinks for our party) when the guest of honour and her friends left (yes, Red and I outstayed the hostess). So I drank it all. I said 'I love you' heaps to Red, or so she tells me. She says I was really amusing and funny, and still funny when she and her sister had to practically carry me back to their car. I stopped being funny when I warned of throwing up in her car on the way home.
Hubbie thought I was being funny when I said, "I'm sick, I'm gonna throw up," as I stumbled my way up to our bedroom late that night/early morning. But when he heard me heaving my lungs out in the toilet, he realised he wasn't gonna get any funny-ness that night.
Again. I only threw up that night, and was left nursing my poor stomach the next day.
This time however, my 3rd time, I've broken my seal altogether, as well as breaking a new seal, that of throwing up THE DAY AFTER. I'm getting more and more out of control. However in an effort to not throw up ever again from alcohol (as I sat in my PJs for half of last Sunday, I felt so crap, and made myself remember the feeling so as to not do it ever again) I've found the link between the 3 seal breaker scenarios, and realise the circumstance under which I must be careful of going overboard. It's simple really.
All 3 times I said to myself internally "I'm gonna make the most of tonight."
It's simple enough yes I know. And most times you would imagine anyone to want to have a great night out, it's practically a given. However, when I look at my watch, and start realising the night is ending, I kick it up a notch, turn it up a gear, and start getting really crazy. And that's what happened all these 3 times. That and all 3 times I wasn't driving.
My warning thoughts are as follows:
* wanting to have a really good time, because I haven't partied in ages
* wanting to have a really good time, because I want to make the most of it
* wanting to have a really good time, because I didn't make the most of it last time
* wanting to have a really good time, because I'm not driving
* wanting to have a really good time, just for no reason at all
So there has it. I've discovered my internal mental cues, the 'warning signs,' to a potentially messy night. All because I broke my alcoholic seal. Stupid.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Bubble and Squeak
Bubble and squeak is a term I came across a few months back, when browsing through some recipe books. As arrogant as this next bit might make me sound, to my surprise (and slight disgust) I discovered it was a term, rather a recipe whereby you used leftover vegies from another meal to make a 'new' meal, perhaps using eggs or something similar to combine it all together.
I think I was more disgusted at the name given to the recipe, rather than the ingredients used or the recycling of the food itself. No one eats leftovers more than Hubbie and I, so I can't say 'boo' to re-using food at all. But the name, bubble and squeak....... I don't know, what about the recipe, inspired the name Bubble and Squeak? What, about the food, makes it bubble.... and squeak...? Shudder at the thought.
However, this odd food terminology has sprung to mind in thinking about what indeed I should write about. So many odd, random, good and bad things have occurred of late, that I don't really know what to focus my writing attention on.
And this is how bubble and squeak came to mind. Apparently, the bubble and squeak is all the things that have happened lately, and the egg jelling it all together is my life.
Egg is my life. LOL.
And so the following minor stories, observations and episodic details of my life may come at you rather randomly, much like pieces of day-old carrot and peas in a mouthful of distastefully named 'bubble and squeak.'
(I'm only guessing at how it may taste). All this in an effort to bring you up to speed on my life, and also to bring me up to speed in my own life and help me to review it in progress, in what is herein going to be referred to as the 'bubble and squeak' post.
So be warned. I have NOT been taking notes.
When it comes to the good, versus the bad, unfortunately it's the bad that first springs to mind. However that only means that I have all good to end with :)
Mouth absolutely boiled me to my core, once again, on a few occasions. It becomes very hard when you have to deal with a person such as this. Even harder when it's someone in the family who you just can't avoid, unless of course you disown them, which I couldn't do without hurting many people I care about.
I get into this cycle with her. She shits me up the wall > I get upset, broody and moody and keep it all in trying to work it out in my head > it culminates in me practically exploding to Hubbie in anger and tears > after 3 days of wallowing we work out that A) I need to partially ignore her, and B) actually speak my mind and tell her when she is annoying me, in order to avoid the fantasy fights I create of her and I later on in my mind, that eventually drive me crraaaaazzzzzyyyyyyy.
So although we have danced this exact dance many times, I actually need to put the mentioned A and B acts to practice, and follow through. Otherwise nothing will ever change. Only my attitude in how to deal with her will actually change anything for me, because as we all know, an old dog will not learn any new tricks.
Lately I have been sick. Last Thursday, I barely made it into work, the only motivators being that my boss was away and I had extra stuff to do, and also, it was my last day before 3 days off. I made it in, barely could keep myself sitting straight up at my desk just long enough to do what I had to do, and left half way through the day. It was just so unbearable. Not only had I gone through a very sleepless and interrupted nights sleep, waking up what seemed like a zillion times and saying to myself "get up it's time to go to work," when in fact I still had hours to sleep, but my muscles were absolutely aching in agony. I was sooooo sore, every part of me hurt, which made me just want to curl up on my couch at home and sleep. Which I ended up doing.
It was the culmination of what had been a huge October. I don't know who else received it, but I got it a few times, both via sms and email, the chain letter about this recent October having 5 Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays? Yes and then it annoyingly tells you you must keep it going, according to the far-reaching distant natives of the land Makirouchidoo or some other tribal sounding country in order to keep the luck going, UNLESS YOU WANT TO DIE. Well it might as well say that, with all the suggestive terminology making you want to send it or else meet some horrible fate. And so I did send it, and due to sending it several times during the month, it occurred to me that hey, this has been a LONG month.
And then I reminisced.
The month began with that awesome grand final win in which the Mighty Magpies brought the cup home! Finally! That had been a big weekend.
We had had my friends over, my close group, which in total added up to 8 of us, for dinner. That was a big night. There was food, there was drink, there were MANY cupcakes. And it was an awesome night.
We had ALL my cousins over. Yes, that drunk post, that was the aftermath. Needless to say I got a little-iddy-bit tipsydrunk, therefore placing the indicator of party success at HIGH.
In between we had side nights (of which I mean people over but not huge to the point of party-status-phere) where my sister came over, and Hubbie's friends. We had a wedding, we had people arriving at the airport from overseas trips. And then the month ended with Hubbie's big birthday bash, where once again we proved we could throw awesome parties and still have fun while doing all the work:)
I think I wore myself out to the disgusting point where 5 days after the last October party, my body started to shut down. It said "screw you, I'm taking leave," leaving the rest of me pathetically screaming "No! Come back damn you!"
And so the muscle aches set in, only after the sore throat and intense sneezing commenced. The flu symptoms were persistent again in days 2 and 3, where again I felt intense fatigue (due to my body running away no doubt) and cleaning the house probably didn't help me much, but hey what else was I supposed to do at home? Yeah I know I know, I could've sat in front of the telly all day. But that would have worked against my whole effective/efficient habit that I haven't been able to kick for the past 9 years.
And so today, a week after my first flu symptoms popped up, I'm still left with a consistent, grating, unrelenting cough. It is really so inconvenient. It's gone from worse, after the weekend of drinking champagne and other home-made apparently 'healing' concoctions, to just annoying now, where I still have to cough every so often - cough cough cough - excuse me, unlike this morning where I felt like I was just hacking up flem.
So all in all, it's getting better.
There was also this little moment late last week, a predecessor before the whole 'sick' thing started.... I had this interesting moment at work with a fellow colleague of mine, that totally bew me out of the water, catching me off guard completely. And it was all to do with cake.
All over some bloody cake.
In true Miss S form, I had decided to bring in to work leftover cake from Hubbie's birthday. I knew there were a few people, who would REALLY appreciate the free cake and all, and having had a huge month that was filled with way too much cakes and cupcakes and just everything sweet, early on I decided that getting rid of the mass amount we still had from Hubbie's birthday would be the right way to go.
And so in I brought it. And as I was finishing off my early shift that day, I happened across a work colleague of mine, who we shall call Kitty. Hmmm :)
She was just starting her shift, and so my intention was to let her know of the few leftover cakes there were near my desk, so she could spread the word to our other fellow workers starting later on that day as well.
As soon as I started the words "Kitty, just so you know there's some cakes over th-"
"No! Don't talk to me about cake!"
And so it began. In a very direct, firm way, she told me:
1. that she was not going to eat any cake
2. people in our work area should not be encouraged to eat cake
3. she wouldn't be responsible for making people eat cake ..............AND
4. if cake was left over, she ALSO wouldn't be responsible for getting rid of it.
What the?! All I mentioned was cake. I was a bit stunned, a bit miffed, and seeing as my sneezing had been accelerating that day, more than sensitive enough, so I was hurt. I felt like she was attacking me, personally, just for bringing in cake.
And all I was doing was trying to be nice. It was about then that another fellow colleague arrived, and I told him quite matter-of-factly that there was cake and that at least HE would appreciate it. I sort of ended the conversation by walking off, without a real proper goodbye to her.
I was really hurt by it all. I pondered it on the way home. I know she had been trying to lose a bit of excess weight that she had gained over the past year (not that she was overweight). I thought of other times that I had brought in cake, and asked myself if I had been pushy in getting people to eat the cake in order to rid myself of it. I wasn't quite sure, but I knew that then, in that moment and in that day, I had merely mentioned it, before getting a barrage of cake-hate spewing out at me.
I spoke to Hubbie about it that night, and even he thought the remarks I'd received were unwarranted and odd. I guess I felt a bit worse, as it's always a little sad when someone you normally like and get along with gives you grief. You wonder 'why' and think of where you have gone wrong. I did just that, and only ended up making myself feel MORE sadder...
Anyways, the next day, arriving at work, I saw an email from her titled 'cakes...'
Part of me had been expecting an email addressing the whole cake issue, so I was not surprised.
Miss S,
Below an email generated in an effort to try to make up for my not wanting cake comments - which came out much harsher than I meant. So sorry about that - I know it's meant in the kindest spirit....
So if they guys don't eat them - I can't say I didn't try!
Kitty
OMG. I always knew the power of Miss S was huge. I've worked in customer service and have gotten a rotten customer to apologise to me for her bitchiness without even trying. I've had my Dad, one of the most stubborn of people, say sorry to me. And he doesn't say sorry or admit to his failures. EVER. I remember Pez, my ex-best friend, calling me up and crying over the phone, saying sorry to just hanging up on me after a stupid fight.
And now this. A woman 10 years my senior, with tonnes more life and work experience, sending me an email to apologise for yelling at me about cakes. (ok not yelling but it sounds better than just 'being firm')
I'm sorry but WOAH. That's big. Of her. To be sorry is one thing, bu to say it out loud to the person you upset in the first place, is a totally different, very rare thing. So I totally applaud her for that.
Following her email to me was the message she had sent to the rest of our department, letting them know, in so many words "cake is here..... eat or else!" So she helped me with my cake distribution, and that, along with admitting her overzealousness in cake-hating, means we are now friends again:)
I have been good in the pursuit of writing my story. I find that when I just start to jot down and write random plot ideas, character traits and story outlines that I am further inspired and motivated to do more research and develop my dream of writing professionally even more. A few nights I have found myself just doodling quite casually, and the following day I find I have the characters and the potential things they could get up to just running around and around in my head. I'm happy with the fact that it stays in my head, because it's sort of confirmation that what I'm thinking is not only interesting, but addictive and worthy, because if it weren't so, I tell ya it wouldn't last long in my over-imaginative mind. I still plan on eventually (whenever I actually finish my first book, after the actuality of beginning to write it) getting Hubbie, Sis and Red to read it and to tell me what their honest, honest, honest opinions on it are. I will ask them to be brutal, and then I think I will run away and hide. Something about getting someone so close to you to critique your work, actually fills me with a sick, sick feeling, and no not the kind that is cough-inducing. More the type that will churn your stomach contents and force them in a vertical motion. Hell, even when I see that people have read my blog, I freak out slightly, and that's people I don't know, with no critical response whatsoever!
But baby steps. All little baby steps. All in the right direction.
Speaking of baby steps. Had a massive, major, incredible !!lightbulb!! moment a few nights ago with Hubbie, Sis and her Hub. It is actually so incredible and major, that if this thing were to eventuate, it could change all of our lives, I believe MAJORLY. But because it is so big, we aren't actually letting people know of our "idea" until hopefully the day that it is fully under way and in full practice. No, sorry I can't even let my imaginary blogger-verse know about it. All off-limits. But I just had to say, it is AMAZING. Funny how something can be under your nose, in your face for so many years, and you just don't know that the opportunity has been staring you in the face the whole time. I think that is called TIMING.
And in more recent fantastic news, I have been shopping. Ahhhhh, how sweet the pursuit of clothes via monetary means and the accumulation of said-clothes can be.
Sweeeetttt.
Yesterday I purchased a very fine jacket. It was during some morning-afternoon shopping before my work shift, and Hubbie and I had just had enough. We were talking about clothes we had, clothes we usually went for, and the clothes that we should go for.
And we made a deal. No longer were we going to go for the safe, normal option. We weren't going to just buy, in my case, more plain tops, black dresses and ballet shoes, or in his case, more chequered shirts and blue polo tops. We were gonna go a bit wild, edgy, and start playing it up. We had decided, and we were sick of it!
Gosh just thinking of our new-found pact, and of all the clothes I could have if I had become shopping-smarter, sooner, just gives me even more AMMO to shop. You see, by always going for the 'safe' shopping option, you end up with a wardrobe that is not only identical, but that lacks creativity. By choosing items of clothing that will go the distance over the coming seasons, you end up lacking the current individuality that you so deserve.
Pieces of clothing can be wild and outrageous, and go the distance, if chosen correctly. I think of the alternative style of dwellers living in the edgy parts of outer-city Melbourne, and I highly doubt that they purchase with the aim of getting the most years out of their clothes, yet they still manage to do so. And still look good in seasons to come. Certainly I don't plan on moving to those suburbs, but the thought of a wild, indy-style wardrobe, with 50s style dresses, hippie skirts, bright colours and edgy alternative cuts of clothing, is greatly appealing to me right now. And what excites me more than anything (perhaps level with the accumulation of clothes though!) is the idea that if it is different, we will not look at the price of an item, we will just buy it.
Let's put that in simpler terms. If something is different = BUY!$!$!
I know! How incredibly monetar-ily free-ing is that idea! Of buying whatever as long as it's DIFFERENT! And Hubbie came up with that idea too. I know I married him for a reason :-D
It's not so easy just to want to do something. You have to also delete all the pre-wired talk in your mind, reset your shopping habits and think outside the square if you're going to start doing things differently. For example this morning, when Hubbie and I were shopping (yet again, we're on a roll) at before-mentioned outer-city suburb, I was in this full bohemian-hippy shop, which had A LOT of dresses. I came across a black and white one with a lot of ruffles near the neck line. It is a gorgeous dress, not too extreme, but even so, when I tried it on, I loved it but was still going "oh, I don't know, it has A LOT of ruffles at the front!"
You see, the old Miss S would have said "those ruffles won't help me move from season to season, year to year." But the new one, asked Hubbie for confidence, pushed through the doubt and went "you know what? I look great in this! I'll buy it!"
Now that I'm thinking differently about my clothes shopping selections and habits, I feel as if I'm a slightly different person, like I'm looking at life all differently. I can even imagine myself in one of the two dresses I bought today, (!) wearing a huge oversized straw hat and swinging from a hammock, with the current song "Something in the Water," playing in the background. Weird. I don't even own a hammock.
It's just inspiring, and so good to know, that not only with clothes, but all decisions in life, all paths taken, roads chosen, any change of direction is just a mind-set away. If you want to make the change, you can, and WILL. It's so easy. You just say "I'm going to look for a new job," "I'm getting a totally new haircut," or in my case "I'm changing my clothing style." It is so uninhibiting to realise you can do whatever you want to in life. As long as you want to.
Now that I've given you my daily awe-inspiring motivational life-quote, concluding tonights mammoth blog post (it started at work and is now ending after midnight at home) I will leave you with this thought for the night:
Everyone knows what eggs are. Eggs are eggs. But what you do with your egg will make a difference. Will you boil, poach or fry? Will you add spices and bacon, spinach and cheese, or place it on toast? What about the quality of your egg? Will it be free-range and wholesome? Grain-fed?
What you make of your very ordinary-seeming egg, will make the rest of your morning. Just as your decisions, will make your seemingly ordinary life, extraordinary.
(Definition to metaphor provided for clarity and due to lateness of post)
I think I was more disgusted at the name given to the recipe, rather than the ingredients used or the recycling of the food itself. No one eats leftovers more than Hubbie and I, so I can't say 'boo' to re-using food at all. But the name, bubble and squeak....... I don't know, what about the recipe, inspired the name Bubble and Squeak? What, about the food, makes it bubble.... and squeak...? Shudder at the thought.
However, this odd food terminology has sprung to mind in thinking about what indeed I should write about. So many odd, random, good and bad things have occurred of late, that I don't really know what to focus my writing attention on.
And this is how bubble and squeak came to mind. Apparently, the bubble and squeak is all the things that have happened lately, and the egg jelling it all together is my life.
Egg is my life. LOL.
And so the following minor stories, observations and episodic details of my life may come at you rather randomly, much like pieces of day-old carrot and peas in a mouthful of distastefully named 'bubble and squeak.'
(I'm only guessing at how it may taste). All this in an effort to bring you up to speed on my life, and also to bring me up to speed in my own life and help me to review it in progress, in what is herein going to be referred to as the 'bubble and squeak' post.
So be warned. I have NOT been taking notes.
When it comes to the good, versus the bad, unfortunately it's the bad that first springs to mind. However that only means that I have all good to end with :)
Mouth absolutely boiled me to my core, once again, on a few occasions. It becomes very hard when you have to deal with a person such as this. Even harder when it's someone in the family who you just can't avoid, unless of course you disown them, which I couldn't do without hurting many people I care about.
I get into this cycle with her. She shits me up the wall > I get upset, broody and moody and keep it all in trying to work it out in my head > it culminates in me practically exploding to Hubbie in anger and tears > after 3 days of wallowing we work out that A) I need to partially ignore her, and B) actually speak my mind and tell her when she is annoying me, in order to avoid the fantasy fights I create of her and I later on in my mind, that eventually drive me crraaaaazzzzzyyyyyyy.
So although we have danced this exact dance many times, I actually need to put the mentioned A and B acts to practice, and follow through. Otherwise nothing will ever change. Only my attitude in how to deal with her will actually change anything for me, because as we all know, an old dog will not learn any new tricks.
Lately I have been sick. Last Thursday, I barely made it into work, the only motivators being that my boss was away and I had extra stuff to do, and also, it was my last day before 3 days off. I made it in, barely could keep myself sitting straight up at my desk just long enough to do what I had to do, and left half way through the day. It was just so unbearable. Not only had I gone through a very sleepless and interrupted nights sleep, waking up what seemed like a zillion times and saying to myself "get up it's time to go to work," when in fact I still had hours to sleep, but my muscles were absolutely aching in agony. I was sooooo sore, every part of me hurt, which made me just want to curl up on my couch at home and sleep. Which I ended up doing.
It was the culmination of what had been a huge October. I don't know who else received it, but I got it a few times, both via sms and email, the chain letter about this recent October having 5 Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays? Yes and then it annoyingly tells you you must keep it going, according to the far-reaching distant natives of the land Makirouchidoo or some other tribal sounding country in order to keep the luck going, UNLESS YOU WANT TO DIE. Well it might as well say that, with all the suggestive terminology making you want to send it or else meet some horrible fate. And so I did send it, and due to sending it several times during the month, it occurred to me that hey, this has been a LONG month.
And then I reminisced.
The month began with that awesome grand final win in which the Mighty Magpies brought the cup home! Finally! That had been a big weekend.
We had had my friends over, my close group, which in total added up to 8 of us, for dinner. That was a big night. There was food, there was drink, there were MANY cupcakes. And it was an awesome night.
We had ALL my cousins over. Yes, that drunk post, that was the aftermath. Needless to say I got a little-iddy-bit tipsydrunk, therefore placing the indicator of party success at HIGH.
In between we had side nights (of which I mean people over but not huge to the point of party-status-phere) where my sister came over, and Hubbie's friends. We had a wedding, we had people arriving at the airport from overseas trips. And then the month ended with Hubbie's big birthday bash, where once again we proved we could throw awesome parties and still have fun while doing all the work:)
I think I wore myself out to the disgusting point where 5 days after the last October party, my body started to shut down. It said "screw you, I'm taking leave," leaving the rest of me pathetically screaming "No! Come back damn you!"
And so the muscle aches set in, only after the sore throat and intense sneezing commenced. The flu symptoms were persistent again in days 2 and 3, where again I felt intense fatigue (due to my body running away no doubt) and cleaning the house probably didn't help me much, but hey what else was I supposed to do at home? Yeah I know I know, I could've sat in front of the telly all day. But that would have worked against my whole effective/efficient habit that I haven't been able to kick for the past 9 years.
And so today, a week after my first flu symptoms popped up, I'm still left with a consistent, grating, unrelenting cough. It is really so inconvenient. It's gone from worse, after the weekend of drinking champagne and other home-made apparently 'healing' concoctions, to just annoying now, where I still have to cough every so often - cough cough cough - excuse me, unlike this morning where I felt like I was just hacking up flem.
So all in all, it's getting better.
There was also this little moment late last week, a predecessor before the whole 'sick' thing started.... I had this interesting moment at work with a fellow colleague of mine, that totally bew me out of the water, catching me off guard completely. And it was all to do with cake.
All over some bloody cake.
In true Miss S form, I had decided to bring in to work leftover cake from Hubbie's birthday. I knew there were a few people, who would REALLY appreciate the free cake and all, and having had a huge month that was filled with way too much cakes and cupcakes and just everything sweet, early on I decided that getting rid of the mass amount we still had from Hubbie's birthday would be the right way to go.
And so in I brought it. And as I was finishing off my early shift that day, I happened across a work colleague of mine, who we shall call Kitty. Hmmm :)
She was just starting her shift, and so my intention was to let her know of the few leftover cakes there were near my desk, so she could spread the word to our other fellow workers starting later on that day as well.
As soon as I started the words "Kitty, just so you know there's some cakes over th-"
"No! Don't talk to me about cake!"
And so it began. In a very direct, firm way, she told me:
1. that she was not going to eat any cake
2. people in our work area should not be encouraged to eat cake
3. she wouldn't be responsible for making people eat cake ..............AND
4. if cake was left over, she ALSO wouldn't be responsible for getting rid of it.
What the?! All I mentioned was cake. I was a bit stunned, a bit miffed, and seeing as my sneezing had been accelerating that day, more than sensitive enough, so I was hurt. I felt like she was attacking me, personally, just for bringing in cake.
And all I was doing was trying to be nice. It was about then that another fellow colleague arrived, and I told him quite matter-of-factly that there was cake and that at least HE would appreciate it. I sort of ended the conversation by walking off, without a real proper goodbye to her.
I was really hurt by it all. I pondered it on the way home. I know she had been trying to lose a bit of excess weight that she had gained over the past year (not that she was overweight). I thought of other times that I had brought in cake, and asked myself if I had been pushy in getting people to eat the cake in order to rid myself of it. I wasn't quite sure, but I knew that then, in that moment and in that day, I had merely mentioned it, before getting a barrage of cake-hate spewing out at me.
I spoke to Hubbie about it that night, and even he thought the remarks I'd received were unwarranted and odd. I guess I felt a bit worse, as it's always a little sad when someone you normally like and get along with gives you grief. You wonder 'why' and think of where you have gone wrong. I did just that, and only ended up making myself feel MORE sadder...
Anyways, the next day, arriving at work, I saw an email from her titled 'cakes...'
Part of me had been expecting an email addressing the whole cake issue, so I was not surprised.
Miss S,
Below an email generated in an effort to try to make up for my not wanting cake comments - which came out much harsher than I meant. So sorry about that - I know it's meant in the kindest spirit....
So if they guys don't eat them - I can't say I didn't try!
Kitty
OMG. I always knew the power of Miss S was huge. I've worked in customer service and have gotten a rotten customer to apologise to me for her bitchiness without even trying. I've had my Dad, one of the most stubborn of people, say sorry to me. And he doesn't say sorry or admit to his failures. EVER. I remember Pez, my ex-best friend, calling me up and crying over the phone, saying sorry to just hanging up on me after a stupid fight.
And now this. A woman 10 years my senior, with tonnes more life and work experience, sending me an email to apologise for yelling at me about cakes. (ok not yelling but it sounds better than just 'being firm')
I'm sorry but WOAH. That's big. Of her. To be sorry is one thing, bu to say it out loud to the person you upset in the first place, is a totally different, very rare thing. So I totally applaud her for that.
Following her email to me was the message she had sent to the rest of our department, letting them know, in so many words "cake is here..... eat or else!" So she helped me with my cake distribution, and that, along with admitting her overzealousness in cake-hating, means we are now friends again:)
I have been good in the pursuit of writing my story. I find that when I just start to jot down and write random plot ideas, character traits and story outlines that I am further inspired and motivated to do more research and develop my dream of writing professionally even more. A few nights I have found myself just doodling quite casually, and the following day I find I have the characters and the potential things they could get up to just running around and around in my head. I'm happy with the fact that it stays in my head, because it's sort of confirmation that what I'm thinking is not only interesting, but addictive and worthy, because if it weren't so, I tell ya it wouldn't last long in my over-imaginative mind. I still plan on eventually (whenever I actually finish my first book, after the actuality of beginning to write it) getting Hubbie, Sis and Red to read it and to tell me what their honest, honest, honest opinions on it are. I will ask them to be brutal, and then I think I will run away and hide. Something about getting someone so close to you to critique your work, actually fills me with a sick, sick feeling, and no not the kind that is cough-inducing. More the type that will churn your stomach contents and force them in a vertical motion. Hell, even when I see that people have read my blog, I freak out slightly, and that's people I don't know, with no critical response whatsoever!
But baby steps. All little baby steps. All in the right direction.
Speaking of baby steps. Had a massive, major, incredible !!lightbulb!! moment a few nights ago with Hubbie, Sis and her Hub. It is actually so incredible and major, that if this thing were to eventuate, it could change all of our lives, I believe MAJORLY. But because it is so big, we aren't actually letting people know of our "idea" until hopefully the day that it is fully under way and in full practice. No, sorry I can't even let my imaginary blogger-verse know about it. All off-limits. But I just had to say, it is AMAZING. Funny how something can be under your nose, in your face for so many years, and you just don't know that the opportunity has been staring you in the face the whole time. I think that is called TIMING.
And in more recent fantastic news, I have been shopping. Ahhhhh, how sweet the pursuit of clothes via monetary means and the accumulation of said-clothes can be.
Sweeeetttt.
Yesterday I purchased a very fine jacket. It was during some morning-afternoon shopping before my work shift, and Hubbie and I had just had enough. We were talking about clothes we had, clothes we usually went for, and the clothes that we should go for.
And we made a deal. No longer were we going to go for the safe, normal option. We weren't going to just buy, in my case, more plain tops, black dresses and ballet shoes, or in his case, more chequered shirts and blue polo tops. We were gonna go a bit wild, edgy, and start playing it up. We had decided, and we were sick of it!
Gosh just thinking of our new-found pact, and of all the clothes I could have if I had become shopping-smarter, sooner, just gives me even more AMMO to shop. You see, by always going for the 'safe' shopping option, you end up with a wardrobe that is not only identical, but that lacks creativity. By choosing items of clothing that will go the distance over the coming seasons, you end up lacking the current individuality that you so deserve.
Pieces of clothing can be wild and outrageous, and go the distance, if chosen correctly. I think of the alternative style of dwellers living in the edgy parts of outer-city Melbourne, and I highly doubt that they purchase with the aim of getting the most years out of their clothes, yet they still manage to do so. And still look good in seasons to come. Certainly I don't plan on moving to those suburbs, but the thought of a wild, indy-style wardrobe, with 50s style dresses, hippie skirts, bright colours and edgy alternative cuts of clothing, is greatly appealing to me right now. And what excites me more than anything (perhaps level with the accumulation of clothes though!) is the idea that if it is different, we will not look at the price of an item, we will just buy it.
Let's put that in simpler terms. If something is different = BUY!$!$!
I know! How incredibly monetar-ily free-ing is that idea! Of buying whatever as long as it's DIFFERENT! And Hubbie came up with that idea too. I know I married him for a reason :-D
It's not so easy just to want to do something. You have to also delete all the pre-wired talk in your mind, reset your shopping habits and think outside the square if you're going to start doing things differently. For example this morning, when Hubbie and I were shopping (yet again, we're on a roll) at before-mentioned outer-city suburb, I was in this full bohemian-hippy shop, which had A LOT of dresses. I came across a black and white one with a lot of ruffles near the neck line. It is a gorgeous dress, not too extreme, but even so, when I tried it on, I loved it but was still going "oh, I don't know, it has A LOT of ruffles at the front!"
You see, the old Miss S would have said "those ruffles won't help me move from season to season, year to year." But the new one, asked Hubbie for confidence, pushed through the doubt and went "you know what? I look great in this! I'll buy it!"
Now that I'm thinking differently about my clothes shopping selections and habits, I feel as if I'm a slightly different person, like I'm looking at life all differently. I can even imagine myself in one of the two dresses I bought today, (!) wearing a huge oversized straw hat and swinging from a hammock, with the current song "Something in the Water," playing in the background. Weird. I don't even own a hammock.
It's just inspiring, and so good to know, that not only with clothes, but all decisions in life, all paths taken, roads chosen, any change of direction is just a mind-set away. If you want to make the change, you can, and WILL. It's so easy. You just say "I'm going to look for a new job," "I'm getting a totally new haircut," or in my case "I'm changing my clothing style." It is so uninhibiting to realise you can do whatever you want to in life. As long as you want to.
Now that I've given you my daily awe-inspiring motivational life-quote, concluding tonights mammoth blog post (it started at work and is now ending after midnight at home) I will leave you with this thought for the night:
Everyone knows what eggs are. Eggs are eggs. But what you do with your egg will make a difference. Will you boil, poach or fry? Will you add spices and bacon, spinach and cheese, or place it on toast? What about the quality of your egg? Will it be free-range and wholesome? Grain-fed?
What you make of your very ordinary-seeming egg, will make the rest of your morning. Just as your decisions, will make your seemingly ordinary life, extraordinary.
(Definition to metaphor provided for clarity and due to lateness of post)
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Great, thanks
So I did have a truly awesome birthday celebration in true Miss S extravaganza style. Sorry I should say celebrations.
I think my new age has brought with it a little bit more maturity. Although there were things that happened over my birthday weekend that would have normally upset me, that would have made me focus and concentrate on pesky miniscule non-issues, instead I've been trying, somewhat successfully, to let it all go, and just relax.
For example, my Friday night out. It only ended up being 7 of us in total. Despite several work friends saying they were coming, and despite my cousins Legs and Hair promising they would be there, as well as some other friends, none of the above mentioned came: work duties prevailed, tiredness, soreness and general lack of motivation. The 15-ish number I expected to come, halved.
I made a split decision in that moment on Friday night. Receiving those regretful messages on my mobile I thought "this is the moment that will create the rest of my night.... how will I respond to it?"
After a tiny bit of "ohhhhh" and disappointment, I decided to let it all go and focus on having an awesome night. And I did!
Similarly, when 2 of our closest friends couldn't make it to my house party on Saturday night, I did revert back to whingy, whiny unhappy 2-year-old tantrum Miss S: "But I don't want them to be sick! Why are they sick??"
But again, I put on my positive mask, and really, with the 20-odd people I had there that night, it really wasn't that bad losing 2, as we had our hands tied with everyone else. And it meant that our friends who missed it came by last night (resulting in a very late night I might add, yawn!) prolonging my birthday celebrations even FURTHER!
See, positive, positive? LOL.
It's so easy. So easy to just fall into that negative downward spiral. Especially when in the past year I've had people in my close circle of family and friends disappoint me in various ways. The best thing that has happened to me of late is the talk I had with my mum and my sister. I'm thinking of the words that my sister said to me, telling me that she's seen me so angry and negative, so tense and mad, and thought to herself that that's not me. I'd let myself turn into a person I'm not.
So now I'm focusing on the good, ol' Miss S.
Yes, I could choose to be upset about my cousins promising to come to my party, and then not following through. Rather than be upset, I should focus on the reasons why, and realise that no human is a superbeing. No one person can do everything at the same time, and expect to be everywhere at once. Their intention was there, despite their failing to show. And if I feel that I'm not as close to them as I used to be (and I do really feel that), well I should look at myself. I should look at what I can do for them, to show them I care. Which I will endeavour to do over the coming months.
As for work friends...... well, that's just the way it is. And although I didn't know how I was going to come back to work today after my week off, and whether or not I'd drop a comment like "no one from work came," when I came in, I saw that they actually looked like they cared about me! I mean my boss was really nice, all sorry about missing the night out, others were actively asking me about my birthday and my time off, I even had a birthday card on my desk from one of them, apologies from another...... and you know what? I thought to myself, if I had been in their position, of being invited to one of their parties with the probability that I may be the only one there amongst work friends.... I wouldn't have gone either.
I've come to the conclusion, that with work colleagues, it's fine to not see each other outside of work. As long as we're nice whilst at work, well I think that's all that really matters. We do get along. We just have different interests and friends outside of work, which makes perfect, complete sense. And I'm okay with that.
I think the whole key here, is when faced with such a problem, whether with a family member, close friend, or work colleague, whatever a person may be to you, is to ask yourself:
"what would I do in their position?"
"what can I do in our relationship to make this better?"
and most importantly, to not look at any issue in the upmost negative light. Rather than jumping the gun and going straight to the worst possible scenario, think of the more probable one.
If someone doesn't come to your party, it's not because they hate you; maybe they got tied up. Maybe they're tired. On the other side of town. They have a sore back. They don't wanna come alone. Explanations like that are so much more easier to deal with, for mind, body and spirit.
I think the worst thing is to feel like you're entitled, like you're owed something. No one owes you anything. You will only get things from putting work into it. And unless you look at what you can do, all you will continue to get is the same negative feelings of "why didn't they/couldn't they/wouldn't they...."
your WHOLE life.
When I think about it (yes I am thinking A LOT lately) the 7 people I had on Friday night, coupled with the 20 on Saturday.... that's 27 people. 27 people who care for me, love me, and made the time and effort to see me for my birthday.
That's a lot. What are the statistics, something like having only 2 or 3 real friends in your whole life? I compare that with all the people I've seen this last weekend, and including our awesome buddies last night, and I can't help but smile. My statistics are awesome. Quality not quantity, remember?
There. Now I'm done with my little Dr Phil spiel. I think I'll go now and make some light-hearted convo with my work buddies.....
I think my new age has brought with it a little bit more maturity. Although there were things that happened over my birthday weekend that would have normally upset me, that would have made me focus and concentrate on pesky miniscule non-issues, instead I've been trying, somewhat successfully, to let it all go, and just relax.
For example, my Friday night out. It only ended up being 7 of us in total. Despite several work friends saying they were coming, and despite my cousins Legs and Hair promising they would be there, as well as some other friends, none of the above mentioned came: work duties prevailed, tiredness, soreness and general lack of motivation. The 15-ish number I expected to come, halved.
I made a split decision in that moment on Friday night. Receiving those regretful messages on my mobile I thought "this is the moment that will create the rest of my night.... how will I respond to it?"
After a tiny bit of "ohhhhh" and disappointment, I decided to let it all go and focus on having an awesome night. And I did!
Similarly, when 2 of our closest friends couldn't make it to my house party on Saturday night, I did revert back to whingy, whiny unhappy 2-year-old tantrum Miss S: "But I don't want them to be sick! Why are they sick??"
But again, I put on my positive mask, and really, with the 20-odd people I had there that night, it really wasn't that bad losing 2, as we had our hands tied with everyone else. And it meant that our friends who missed it came by last night (resulting in a very late night I might add, yawn!) prolonging my birthday celebrations even FURTHER!
See, positive, positive? LOL.
It's so easy. So easy to just fall into that negative downward spiral. Especially when in the past year I've had people in my close circle of family and friends disappoint me in various ways. The best thing that has happened to me of late is the talk I had with my mum and my sister. I'm thinking of the words that my sister said to me, telling me that she's seen me so angry and negative, so tense and mad, and thought to herself that that's not me. I'd let myself turn into a person I'm not.
So now I'm focusing on the good, ol' Miss S.
Yes, I could choose to be upset about my cousins promising to come to my party, and then not following through. Rather than be upset, I should focus on the reasons why, and realise that no human is a superbeing. No one person can do everything at the same time, and expect to be everywhere at once. Their intention was there, despite their failing to show. And if I feel that I'm not as close to them as I used to be (and I do really feel that), well I should look at myself. I should look at what I can do for them, to show them I care. Which I will endeavour to do over the coming months.
As for work friends...... well, that's just the way it is. And although I didn't know how I was going to come back to work today after my week off, and whether or not I'd drop a comment like "no one from work came," when I came in, I saw that they actually looked like they cared about me! I mean my boss was really nice, all sorry about missing the night out, others were actively asking me about my birthday and my time off, I even had a birthday card on my desk from one of them, apologies from another...... and you know what? I thought to myself, if I had been in their position, of being invited to one of their parties with the probability that I may be the only one there amongst work friends.... I wouldn't have gone either.
I've come to the conclusion, that with work colleagues, it's fine to not see each other outside of work. As long as we're nice whilst at work, well I think that's all that really matters. We do get along. We just have different interests and friends outside of work, which makes perfect, complete sense. And I'm okay with that.
I think the whole key here, is when faced with such a problem, whether with a family member, close friend, or work colleague, whatever a person may be to you, is to ask yourself:
"what would I do in their position?"
"what can I do in our relationship to make this better?"
and most importantly, to not look at any issue in the upmost negative light. Rather than jumping the gun and going straight to the worst possible scenario, think of the more probable one.
If someone doesn't come to your party, it's not because they hate you; maybe they got tied up. Maybe they're tired. On the other side of town. They have a sore back. They don't wanna come alone. Explanations like that are so much more easier to deal with, for mind, body and spirit.
I think the worst thing is to feel like you're entitled, like you're owed something. No one owes you anything. You will only get things from putting work into it. And unless you look at what you can do, all you will continue to get is the same negative feelings of "why didn't they/couldn't they/wouldn't they...."
your WHOLE life.
When I think about it (yes I am thinking A LOT lately) the 7 people I had on Friday night, coupled with the 20 on Saturday.... that's 27 people. 27 people who care for me, love me, and made the time and effort to see me for my birthday.
That's a lot. What are the statistics, something like having only 2 or 3 real friends in your whole life? I compare that with all the people I've seen this last weekend, and including our awesome buddies last night, and I can't help but smile. My statistics are awesome. Quality not quantity, remember?
There. Now I'm done with my little Dr Phil spiel. I think I'll go now and make some light-hearted convo with my work buddies.....
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
"Make sure I always drink 150 litres of water a day." "Okay."
Those were my whispery, pain-induced words, last night at 3am in the morning after I took 2 panadols to stop the jack-hammer that was forcing its way out of my head, crack by crack at a time.
Never mind the stomach cramps, no those were child's play compared to the head cracking.
It had been a long day. A hard, long day at times, towards the end though, it had actually turned out great. However most of the day I was all "Woe is me." I wasn't liking it one bit.
I spent a good majority of it whinging about all things surrounding my birthday.
I want lots of people to come out to the bar on Friday night.
I want lots of people to come out so it makes up for last years poor performance.
What about Saturday's party, will my cousins be upset I didn't invite them?
Will they see my facebook photos and be upset? Will it start a war?
Why haven't they come to my place yet?
Why should I throw an official party so they come?
Crying. Whinging. Depressed. Sobbing. Just all round down, down, down.
I'd had some deep and meaningfuls with my mum and sister over the past 2 days. Although they meant well, those talks definitely contributed to my downfall in demeanour.
It happens every year. Every year, leading up to my birthday, something REALLY gets me down. Like clockwork something happens. I'm starting to think that it's because I put soooo much emphasis on my birthday, and I build it up and look forward to it so much that quite inevitably, the slghtest thing happens to trigger an onslaught of negative emotions. Either someone upsets me, I remember something bad (yes I get THAT sensitive), someone doesn't agree with me, etc, etc. And suddenly the tidal waves of tears crash down with fierce intensity.
Hubbie was awesome. After getting me to snap out of my stupid/sad/pathetic state, I slowly went through my bullshit arguments to try clear up all the sadness I was feeling overwhelmed by.
1. Who cares who comes on Friday night? I knew for a FACT that I would definitely be with Hubbie, Red, Blonde and Mr Wine. Our group would rock the joint and have the most fun ever! It's not the quantity of people, rather the quality.
2. As above, with the addition of, so what? The difference between this year and last, is I won't be holding on to expectations of waiting for people to turn up and make me happy. I'll be happy because I'll make the happiness.
3. No. Firstly, because our house doesn't fit a million people, secondly, any cousins that I've called for Friday night will be called for Saturday, and thirdly, they themselves might even be otherwise engaged with the multitude of August birthdays that we have in our familial calendar!
4. No, because who doesn't come Friday, won't be called Saturday. And if they don't come Friday, most likely because they're busy Friday and/or Saturday.
5. Because they want a freakin' formal invite and the red carpet to be rolled out (hence the deep and meaningfuls before mentioned with Mum and Sister).
6. Because, at the end of the day, they do love me, they do care, and if they didn't they wouldn't have showered Hubbie and I with so much love, affection and presents as they did on the events leading up to our wedding day, including the big day.
Ok, so the last 2 points weren't entirely related to the birthday topic, but they did prove a point of confusion for me yesterday.
So I eventually got better-er, saw Blonde, Red and friends again last night for a catch-up (after seeing Blonde after her flight back here on Sunday).
However my new-found joy didn't help the fact that in the midst of my rage-fuelled depression during the day, and contributing-developing stomach cramps, I had failed to drink enough water. I had in fact, drank very little water, and that coupled with the fact that I had cried a few oceans, left me as dry as a desert.
Bringing us back to the post title. Lying in bed after taking my drugs, I was trying to keep myself very still in order to keep my head from throbbing so much. Every movement brought with it more pain. I'd never experienced anything like it. I'd never really had headaches, EVER until perhaps the age of 18 onwards, and even then I'd say "my head hurts" instead of "I have a headache," because it didn't seem so bad. And I soon learnt that I only got them (however rarely) when I didn't drink enough water.
Usually sleep washes it away. I wake up all refreshed and the 'hurt' is gone. I know drinking water isn't enough, especially at that late stage, so sleep is really the best medicine. But it clearly wasn't enough last night. I fell asleep and found myself tossing and turning, for 3 hours, until I reached such a painful point that I was mercifully thrown from my half-asleep stupor into full consciousness, whining, whispering "I have such a headache."
And then, while I waited for the wonderful drugs to kick in, I let Hubbie know, whimpering, in my struggling, agonised tone of voice,
"Make sure I always drink 150 litres of water a day."
"Okay." he whispered back.
(P.S My Birthday Extravaganza is gonna be Awesome!)
Never mind the stomach cramps, no those were child's play compared to the head cracking.
It had been a long day. A hard, long day at times, towards the end though, it had actually turned out great. However most of the day I was all "Woe is me." I wasn't liking it one bit.
I spent a good majority of it whinging about all things surrounding my birthday.
I want lots of people to come out to the bar on Friday night.
I want lots of people to come out so it makes up for last years poor performance.
What about Saturday's party, will my cousins be upset I didn't invite them?
Will they see my facebook photos and be upset? Will it start a war?
Why haven't they come to my place yet?
Why should I throw an official party so they come?
Crying. Whinging. Depressed. Sobbing. Just all round down, down, down.
I'd had some deep and meaningfuls with my mum and sister over the past 2 days. Although they meant well, those talks definitely contributed to my downfall in demeanour.
It happens every year. Every year, leading up to my birthday, something REALLY gets me down. Like clockwork something happens. I'm starting to think that it's because I put soooo much emphasis on my birthday, and I build it up and look forward to it so much that quite inevitably, the slghtest thing happens to trigger an onslaught of negative emotions. Either someone upsets me, I remember something bad (yes I get THAT sensitive), someone doesn't agree with me, etc, etc. And suddenly the tidal waves of tears crash down with fierce intensity.
Hubbie was awesome. After getting me to snap out of my stupid/sad/pathetic state, I slowly went through my bullshit arguments to try clear up all the sadness I was feeling overwhelmed by.
1. Who cares who comes on Friday night? I knew for a FACT that I would definitely be with Hubbie, Red, Blonde and Mr Wine. Our group would rock the joint and have the most fun ever! It's not the quantity of people, rather the quality.
2. As above, with the addition of, so what? The difference between this year and last, is I won't be holding on to expectations of waiting for people to turn up and make me happy. I'll be happy because I'll make the happiness.
3. No. Firstly, because our house doesn't fit a million people, secondly, any cousins that I've called for Friday night will be called for Saturday, and thirdly, they themselves might even be otherwise engaged with the multitude of August birthdays that we have in our familial calendar!
4. No, because who doesn't come Friday, won't be called Saturday. And if they don't come Friday, most likely because they're busy Friday and/or Saturday.
5. Because they want a freakin' formal invite and the red carpet to be rolled out (hence the deep and meaningfuls before mentioned with Mum and Sister).
6. Because, at the end of the day, they do love me, they do care, and if they didn't they wouldn't have showered Hubbie and I with so much love, affection and presents as they did on the events leading up to our wedding day, including the big day.
Ok, so the last 2 points weren't entirely related to the birthday topic, but they did prove a point of confusion for me yesterday.
So I eventually got better-er, saw Blonde, Red and friends again last night for a catch-up (after seeing Blonde after her flight back here on Sunday).
However my new-found joy didn't help the fact that in the midst of my rage-fuelled depression during the day, and contributing-developing stomach cramps, I had failed to drink enough water. I had in fact, drank very little water, and that coupled with the fact that I had cried a few oceans, left me as dry as a desert.
Bringing us back to the post title. Lying in bed after taking my drugs, I was trying to keep myself very still in order to keep my head from throbbing so much. Every movement brought with it more pain. I'd never experienced anything like it. I'd never really had headaches, EVER until perhaps the age of 18 onwards, and even then I'd say "my head hurts" instead of "I have a headache," because it didn't seem so bad. And I soon learnt that I only got them (however rarely) when I didn't drink enough water.
Usually sleep washes it away. I wake up all refreshed and the 'hurt' is gone. I know drinking water isn't enough, especially at that late stage, so sleep is really the best medicine. But it clearly wasn't enough last night. I fell asleep and found myself tossing and turning, for 3 hours, until I reached such a painful point that I was mercifully thrown from my half-asleep stupor into full consciousness, whining, whispering "I have such a headache."
And then, while I waited for the wonderful drugs to kick in, I let Hubbie know, whimpering, in my struggling, agonised tone of voice,
"Make sure I always drink 150 litres of water a day."
"Okay." he whispered back.
(P.S My Birthday Extravaganza is gonna be Awesome!)
Friday, July 30, 2010
2-7
I'm in the midst of a working marathon. Today is day 3 of a 9 day stint in which I am working every single day. Again now. Every, Single, D-A-Y.
Apart from losing the chance to see my darling Hubbie until practically Sunday morning, and being unable to participate in any social event of any kind, see any friends, and drink copious amounts of alcohol, it actually won't be that bad.
It's due to a new roster at work, which is trying to disentangle the current problem for us of too many workers, and not enough desks (yes, crazy as it is, it's actually true).
Which means having to work 9 days straight, including working through a weekend. Every day I've woken up and compared the days worked to the days left to work. At the end of the day it will be 3-6. I'm desperately teetering on the edge of my seat, hanging for that first number to rise and rise, until it turns into a splendid, curvaceous, 9.
All of this working every day crap would normally be shit, if it wasn't for the light at the end of the tunnel right now.
And that bright, shining, glowing, MAGNIFICENT light is a glorious 4 DAYS OFF.
At this stage, once I pass the hump-mark, the weekend, I'll consider my mini-holiday practically here already.
I've just had a flash forward (In no way promoting that failed, crappy tv show). On Sunday it will be 5-4.
Oh wonderful, blessed Sunday, how revered you are.
The weather forecast is also on my side, as it looks set to be a truly miserable weekend. Rain, wind and cold, cold days. I'm really hoping for the worst possible weekend, because it would make me feel so much better. Is that just a tiny bit selfish? Me think uber-selfish:)
And I'm projecting all my energy into next weekend AND the weekend after being super fine, as that's when I have my four days off, and then the grand event: My Birthday Extravanganza.
Watch this space....
Apart from losing the chance to see my darling Hubbie until practically Sunday morning, and being unable to participate in any social event of any kind, see any friends, and drink copious amounts of alcohol, it actually won't be that bad.
It's due to a new roster at work, which is trying to disentangle the current problem for us of too many workers, and not enough desks (yes, crazy as it is, it's actually true).
Which means having to work 9 days straight, including working through a weekend. Every day I've woken up and compared the days worked to the days left to work. At the end of the day it will be 3-6. I'm desperately teetering on the edge of my seat, hanging for that first number to rise and rise, until it turns into a splendid, curvaceous, 9.
All of this working every day crap would normally be shit, if it wasn't for the light at the end of the tunnel right now.
And that bright, shining, glowing, MAGNIFICENT light is a glorious 4 DAYS OFF.
At this stage, once I pass the hump-mark, the weekend, I'll consider my mini-holiday practically here already.
I've just had a flash forward (In no way promoting that failed, crappy tv show). On Sunday it will be 5-4.
Oh wonderful, blessed Sunday, how revered you are.
The weather forecast is also on my side, as it looks set to be a truly miserable weekend. Rain, wind and cold, cold days. I'm really hoping for the worst possible weekend, because it would make me feel so much better. Is that just a tiny bit selfish? Me think uber-selfish:)
And I'm projecting all my energy into next weekend AND the weekend after being super fine, as that's when I have my four days off, and then the grand event: My Birthday Extravanganza.
Watch this space....
Thursday, January 7, 2010
My ANGER Management - Part 1
I think there's something wrong with me.
That's what I was thinking a few days ago. Lately, I find myself in situations where I am so irritated/frustrated/angry by something said to me (usually be someone close to me mind you) that I end up just spitting back evil words at them, only to later feel slightly regretful, and embarrassed. I'm afraid I'm going to alienate everyone close to me, and I don't know why I'm acting this way.
Episode 1. I think this whole WAVE of negativity began about a month ago, at my nephews birthday party. My sister had decided to do the whole invite family and friends thing, so there was about 40 to 50 people there, easy.
Half way through the day, my older cousin, also a stirrer and shit-talker, yet somehow still entertaining and fun to be around ( I know, right? ) started saying to me things like
"so when are you having a housewarming party?"
"I wish I had your address so I could come to your house,"
and house-related things like that. It sooooo upset me. Why you may ask. Well months ago I had given that same cousin as well as the rest of my extended family, Hubbie and mine's new address, telling everyone they were free to come over. As for the housewarming, well we're busy enough as it is, and seeing as we plan to buy a new house soon, we'd rather do a big housewarming in the new house, as it will undoubtedly have more room to accomodate.
He was saying all this in front of a few of us, and he sooo put me on the spot, I could have wrung his neck. I went to Hubbie later and said "I give you full permission to stir the f*&^ out of him, he is totally shitting me," and explained to me what my dear old cousin was up to this week. I decided I would try and ignore him, until again, maybe half an hour later, he brings it up again, saying it loudly so this time Hubbie hears as well. There's more of a group now.
Hubbie spoke up, saying "ooooh, that's dirty," referring to the fact that this cosuin had our address and despite that was making us feel snobbish, like we didn't want him over. I was getting so fired up, and, almost yelling, I announced loudly "Cousin, stop talking shit, stop stirring the pot because you know the truth," and left it at that. He didn't say a word after, he and his wife left soon after because I think he was highly intoxicated.
Episode 2. I mentioned my cousin almost-pretty-much asking me to be her bridesmaid, and then not speaking of it again? Yes, that was my cousin. To be absolutely honest, I never expected her to ask me. So I wasn't counting on it. But I have some unleashed anger when it comes to her. I love her dearly, (we'll call her Legs) we get along so well. But it frustrates me when she constantly bags another cousin of ours, because the other cousin (who we shall call Fake) has tried to crack onto her fiance (then her boyfriend), when she knew that Legs was with him. Legs boyfriend was honest enough to tell her that, and ever since then she's been cautious around Fake, but hasn;t confronted her. So a lot of the time I end up listening to Legs bag Fake about being, well Fake. Funnily, Fake likes to spend a lot of time around Legs now, not really having cared before. Funny that.
Anyhow, I've had a strained relationship with Fake myself, for years now. She hasn't bothered to come to any functions in the last 10 years, and when I do see her, (albeit rarely) we all put on appearances, but she never tries to talk to me or find out about me, even though I have with her in the past. So now I don't even look at her. And I play her game when it comes to her.
Why upset then? Well, even before Legs got engaged and at her sort-of-engagement-party asked me to be (actually, TOLD me to be) her bridesmaid, I had a birthday party.
That was my first post. My first blog. And within that rant about birthdays not being the same anymore, and people not caring, is my rant within a rant about 'some people' choosing to go to their enemies birthdays, over going to the birthday of those they care about.
Yes, Legs went to Fake's birthday over mine, and actually lied to me about it. She told me she was going to stay at home because she couldn't get a ride into the city to my birthday, but at the last second she messaged me (after I asked her why she couldn't drive in herself), telling me that she was in fact going to Fake's birthday, because it was a 'Big One' and she'd feel bad not going to it.
All this a day after she spent a good amount of time bagging about Fake.
Liars and two-faced people, I don't understand. I realise if she had told me the truth, I still would've been hurt. But I would've known she'd been truthful, rather than deceitful.
Like this, things as they were, I was just MAD. And we never spoke about it properly. And it's been stewing in me since. She's not a bad person. I know she didn't mean bad. But she's extremely gullible, and I have no doubt all Fake had to do was give her a bit of a guilt trip about it being her 'big birthday' and all (of course it goes along with Fake's plan to keep Legs close to her, and Legs' boyfriend too) and Legs swayed without realising it.
After Legs' sort of bridesmaid invitation to me, a week later, we all saw each other again, including Fake. Of course as previously mentioned, Legs didn't say a thing about bridesmaids, however Fake once again was hanging exceptionally close to Legs, asking her all wedding related things. And I think my blood possible ran old when I heard Fake giggle to Legs, amidst wedding talk "when you put me as bridesmiad just make sure you pick a cute guy for me."
In that instant, I did not want to be bridesmaid. In fact, I immediately decided that if she ever did decide to formally ask me to be apart of her wedding, I'd have to decline if that Fake cousin of ours was going to be a part of it. I'd have to stand up for what I believed in, and I strongly believed that that was wrong.
I know Fake was just saying stuff. Throwing in hints because yes, she does wanna get close to Fake's fiance and his side of the family (surprise, surprise! guess what Fake they've all heard about your reputation!) which is why she wants to be bridesmaid. Legs has been laying low since, I havent heard a thing from her since then. I know she's working out bridal party stuff, so I won't be bothering her, I'll give her the decency to make a decision on her own merits. I actually have a spectacular dress to wear so I won't be worried! But if Legs turns to me and says "I've chosen Fake as one of my bridesmaids....."
I may just slap her out of protest and tell her where to go.
That's my second bout of anger problems.
Episodes 3, 4 and 5 will come tomorrow.
That's what I was thinking a few days ago. Lately, I find myself in situations where I am so irritated/frustrated/angry by something said to me (usually be someone close to me mind you) that I end up just spitting back evil words at them, only to later feel slightly regretful, and embarrassed. I'm afraid I'm going to alienate everyone close to me, and I don't know why I'm acting this way.
Episode 1. I think this whole WAVE of negativity began about a month ago, at my nephews birthday party. My sister had decided to do the whole invite family and friends thing, so there was about 40 to 50 people there, easy.
Half way through the day, my older cousin, also a stirrer and shit-talker, yet somehow still entertaining and fun to be around ( I know, right? ) started saying to me things like
"so when are you having a housewarming party?"
"I wish I had your address so I could come to your house,"
and house-related things like that. It sooooo upset me. Why you may ask. Well months ago I had given that same cousin as well as the rest of my extended family, Hubbie and mine's new address, telling everyone they were free to come over. As for the housewarming, well we're busy enough as it is, and seeing as we plan to buy a new house soon, we'd rather do a big housewarming in the new house, as it will undoubtedly have more room to accomodate.
He was saying all this in front of a few of us, and he sooo put me on the spot, I could have wrung his neck. I went to Hubbie later and said "I give you full permission to stir the f*&^ out of him, he is totally shitting me," and explained to me what my dear old cousin was up to this week. I decided I would try and ignore him, until again, maybe half an hour later, he brings it up again, saying it loudly so this time Hubbie hears as well. There's more of a group now.
Hubbie spoke up, saying "ooooh, that's dirty," referring to the fact that this cosuin had our address and despite that was making us feel snobbish, like we didn't want him over. I was getting so fired up, and, almost yelling, I announced loudly "Cousin, stop talking shit, stop stirring the pot because you know the truth," and left it at that. He didn't say a word after, he and his wife left soon after because I think he was highly intoxicated.
Episode 2. I mentioned my cousin almost-pretty-much asking me to be her bridesmaid, and then not speaking of it again? Yes, that was my cousin. To be absolutely honest, I never expected her to ask me. So I wasn't counting on it. But I have some unleashed anger when it comes to her. I love her dearly, (we'll call her Legs) we get along so well. But it frustrates me when she constantly bags another cousin of ours, because the other cousin (who we shall call Fake) has tried to crack onto her fiance (then her boyfriend), when she knew that Legs was with him. Legs boyfriend was honest enough to tell her that, and ever since then she's been cautious around Fake, but hasn;t confronted her. So a lot of the time I end up listening to Legs bag Fake about being, well Fake. Funnily, Fake likes to spend a lot of time around Legs now, not really having cared before. Funny that.
Anyhow, I've had a strained relationship with Fake myself, for years now. She hasn't bothered to come to any functions in the last 10 years, and when I do see her, (albeit rarely) we all put on appearances, but she never tries to talk to me or find out about me, even though I have with her in the past. So now I don't even look at her. And I play her game when it comes to her.
Why upset then? Well, even before Legs got engaged and at her sort-of-engagement-party asked me to be (actually, TOLD me to be) her bridesmaid, I had a birthday party.
That was my first post. My first blog. And within that rant about birthdays not being the same anymore, and people not caring, is my rant within a rant about 'some people' choosing to go to their enemies birthdays, over going to the birthday of those they care about.
Yes, Legs went to Fake's birthday over mine, and actually lied to me about it. She told me she was going to stay at home because she couldn't get a ride into the city to my birthday, but at the last second she messaged me (after I asked her why she couldn't drive in herself), telling me that she was in fact going to Fake's birthday, because it was a 'Big One' and she'd feel bad not going to it.
All this a day after she spent a good amount of time bagging about Fake.
Liars and two-faced people, I don't understand. I realise if she had told me the truth, I still would've been hurt. But I would've known she'd been truthful, rather than deceitful.
Like this, things as they were, I was just MAD. And we never spoke about it properly. And it's been stewing in me since. She's not a bad person. I know she didn't mean bad. But she's extremely gullible, and I have no doubt all Fake had to do was give her a bit of a guilt trip about it being her 'big birthday' and all (of course it goes along with Fake's plan to keep Legs close to her, and Legs' boyfriend too) and Legs swayed without realising it.
After Legs' sort of bridesmaid invitation to me, a week later, we all saw each other again, including Fake. Of course as previously mentioned, Legs didn't say a thing about bridesmaids, however Fake once again was hanging exceptionally close to Legs, asking her all wedding related things. And I think my blood possible ran old when I heard Fake giggle to Legs, amidst wedding talk "when you put me as bridesmiad just make sure you pick a cute guy for me."
In that instant, I did not want to be bridesmaid. In fact, I immediately decided that if she ever did decide to formally ask me to be apart of her wedding, I'd have to decline if that Fake cousin of ours was going to be a part of it. I'd have to stand up for what I believed in, and I strongly believed that that was wrong.
I know Fake was just saying stuff. Throwing in hints because yes, she does wanna get close to Fake's fiance and his side of the family (surprise, surprise! guess what Fake they've all heard about your reputation!) which is why she wants to be bridesmaid. Legs has been laying low since, I havent heard a thing from her since then. I know she's working out bridal party stuff, so I won't be bothering her, I'll give her the decency to make a decision on her own merits. I actually have a spectacular dress to wear so I won't be worried! But if Legs turns to me and says "I've chosen Fake as one of my bridesmaids....."
I may just slap her out of protest and tell her where to go.
That's my second bout of anger problems.
Episodes 3, 4 and 5 will come tomorrow.
Friday, November 6, 2009
WOW. What a weekend/s, what a week/s - Part 2 of my Marathon
Friday morning I had instructions. Before work I was to get half a piece of bread, make it soggy with water and then break it up into little-itty-bitty pieces so that the little-itty-bitty bird could eat it.
I was shitty because firstly, I had to do this. Why couldn't Hubbie do this, he found the bird? I'm almost late to work everyday as it is, let alone having a bird I needed to feed.
His excuse was it's still dark when he gets up. Yes, but.... hmph.
So, I did my bit. And I must admit, when I walked into the shed, and tentatively peeked into the beer box, through the old bbq rack, and saw this cute, so so so small bird staring up at me, my heart melted. It was standing, just staring up, quite unaware of all the trauma we were feeling because of it.
It was soooo sweet. I started crumbing up bits of soggy bread, dropping it through the bbq rack steel slats, and they just dropped around the bird. The bird didn't flinch, it just kept looking at me, it didn't even look down at what I had just dropped. Although I crumbed up the whole piece, I realised this bird was probably looking at me as a substitute for its mother, and expecting me to put the food directly in its mouth. After trying to aim the bread INTO its mouth, unsuccessfully, I whispered some words of eating encouragement to the little one ( I was growing quite fond of it now ) and left.
I had an appointment to get my hair cut and coloured that day after work, so I went there straight after without going home. Before I walked in, I called Hubbie to find out what had happened with the bird when he got home.
I was so surprised, both happy surprised and sad surprised, when he told me he had taken the bird to the local vet, so that they could feed it properly to eventually release it. Happy because this poor bird was finally gonna get some decent help, but sad because in that short amount of time, I felt like I needed to say goodbye to it first before it continued on its journey. Weird, huh?
But I was glad, glad that our efforts had paid off, and that this bird which would have otherwise been eaten by a neighbourhood cat, was getting a second chance at life. Albeit without its little family of birds, but better a life alone than death....
When I got home, more good news. Hubbie had left the fridge in its place, but now the bins were outside in the backyard again. Although we couldn't take them out through the garage anymore, we could just roll them through the house. A little price to pay to make everyone happy.
I had to wait for my U.S pal to stop by to drop off some stuff, and once she had, I rushed to the shops to FINALLY do my massive grocery shop. In my heels, I ran through the store, trolley flying in front of me, and managed to get everything in about 30 minutes. There was no checking for prices or brands, I was just randomly grabbing whatever it was I needed with no usual grocery shopping deliberation about which brand is better and/or cheaper. The store closed and I was on my happy way.
I managed to make my cookie batch that night, and then there was still heaps to do awaiting me the next day.
In summary, Saturday was spent going to the shops, making a lasagna ( and this is a lasagna! ) cleaning the ENTIRE house and getting myself ready for the wedding we had that night, my U.S bestie's sister. It may not sound like much but let me tell you, I barely had time to eat. And all this preparation, for my Hubbie's birthday the next day, where we were having both his and mine immediate families over for lunch, plus some close friends. And Hubbie and I don't do things in halves.
By Saturday night, as excited as I was about having a great night out with my friends, I was spent, and having a glass of red didn't help the cause either.
By the time I got to sleep at 1.30am, I was so tired, not just from that day, but from knowing what would await me the next day, and how much I still had to do.
7.00am I got up, it was painful, really. I'd set my alarm for 6.30am, but I just couldn't get myself up. I trudged out of bed and made my way to my tasks ahead.
Which included: making a cake, preparing the tables, making various salads and other foods and just a whole lot of preparation. If Hubbie hadn't gotten up and helped me out, I'd have been screwed.
Ha ha. The irony of that.
The day went fine, busy but fine. I barely had a chance to sit down, other than when I ate, and after when the cake had been cut and we'd sung happy birthday. I'd actually been finishing the cake throughout the day, so you can see how busy the day had been. The cake was a white chocolate cheesecake and it was a definite success! Everyone loved it, especially Hubbie, which is what mattered most :)
On top of everything that day, my friends came over that night, mainly because my U.S pal was now heading back to the States the next morning, so it was our last little get together.
Thank goodness I'd taken the Monday off. I had a surprise for Hubbie, I'd organised a Crime Tour of our city, after some lunch, and the tour alone took about 3 hours. It was nice, if not just to see our city through new, refreshed eyes.
That night our folks came over to help us eat the leftovers, and then more friends came by later on. It was fun, but the busy-ness was starting to look never-ending to me.
I thought the next night was gonna be quiet, but we ended up out to dinner with some OTHER friends, and then they came over for drinks. Sigh.
FINALLY my break came on Wednesday night. Once I'd finished my nightly duties, I think I just sat on the couch (actually I LAY down) and watched eps of The Bold and the Beautiful that I'd taped. And it felt sooooo good.
Although the previous week/s had been fun, because they had involved our close family, close friends and fun celebrations, I was still so wrecked by it all. As much as I love them all, I was so glad for it to be over. That following weekend we still had some stuff on, but this time it was different, because I didn't have to cook everything and clean the whole house in preparation! We were going out, which was easier....
We had dinner out Saturday night with Hubbie's boss and his wife (boss had gotten a bonus, so we were benefiting from it!) and Sunday night was another wedding.
A public holiday came during the week, and usually on a day like that where I would encourage Hubbie and I to do something with friends, you know what it was that I wanted? All I wanted was "peace and quiet." As my 7-year-old nephew says to his parents when they have a hectic weekend going everywhere, and all he wants to do is stay home and play with his toys. I just wanted to stay at home, and relax.
Which is what you need. Sometimes you need it. Nothingness can be so good.
We won't mind the story about the back-door neighbours stupid dog that dug underneath our fence to make it into our backyard and ruin the small vegie patch we had going. That's a stupid incident we won't indulge in here, because here and now, it's all well, and it's all good.
The weekend ahead looks promising. The forecast says the sun will be shining, there are blue skies ahead, and good times look like a definite. With weather like that, I think I'm ready to get busy again :)
I was shitty because firstly, I had to do this. Why couldn't Hubbie do this, he found the bird? I'm almost late to work everyday as it is, let alone having a bird I needed to feed.
His excuse was it's still dark when he gets up. Yes, but.... hmph.
So, I did my bit. And I must admit, when I walked into the shed, and tentatively peeked into the beer box, through the old bbq rack, and saw this cute, so so so small bird staring up at me, my heart melted. It was standing, just staring up, quite unaware of all the trauma we were feeling because of it.
It was soooo sweet. I started crumbing up bits of soggy bread, dropping it through the bbq rack steel slats, and they just dropped around the bird. The bird didn't flinch, it just kept looking at me, it didn't even look down at what I had just dropped. Although I crumbed up the whole piece, I realised this bird was probably looking at me as a substitute for its mother, and expecting me to put the food directly in its mouth. After trying to aim the bread INTO its mouth, unsuccessfully, I whispered some words of eating encouragement to the little one ( I was growing quite fond of it now ) and left.
I had an appointment to get my hair cut and coloured that day after work, so I went there straight after without going home. Before I walked in, I called Hubbie to find out what had happened with the bird when he got home.
I was so surprised, both happy surprised and sad surprised, when he told me he had taken the bird to the local vet, so that they could feed it properly to eventually release it. Happy because this poor bird was finally gonna get some decent help, but sad because in that short amount of time, I felt like I needed to say goodbye to it first before it continued on its journey. Weird, huh?
But I was glad, glad that our efforts had paid off, and that this bird which would have otherwise been eaten by a neighbourhood cat, was getting a second chance at life. Albeit without its little family of birds, but better a life alone than death....
When I got home, more good news. Hubbie had left the fridge in its place, but now the bins were outside in the backyard again. Although we couldn't take them out through the garage anymore, we could just roll them through the house. A little price to pay to make everyone happy.
I had to wait for my U.S pal to stop by to drop off some stuff, and once she had, I rushed to the shops to FINALLY do my massive grocery shop. In my heels, I ran through the store, trolley flying in front of me, and managed to get everything in about 30 minutes. There was no checking for prices or brands, I was just randomly grabbing whatever it was I needed with no usual grocery shopping deliberation about which brand is better and/or cheaper. The store closed and I was on my happy way.
I managed to make my cookie batch that night, and then there was still heaps to do awaiting me the next day.
In summary, Saturday was spent going to the shops, making a lasagna ( and this is a lasagna! ) cleaning the ENTIRE house and getting myself ready for the wedding we had that night, my U.S bestie's sister. It may not sound like much but let me tell you, I barely had time to eat. And all this preparation, for my Hubbie's birthday the next day, where we were having both his and mine immediate families over for lunch, plus some close friends. And Hubbie and I don't do things in halves.
By Saturday night, as excited as I was about having a great night out with my friends, I was spent, and having a glass of red didn't help the cause either.
By the time I got to sleep at 1.30am, I was so tired, not just from that day, but from knowing what would await me the next day, and how much I still had to do.
7.00am I got up, it was painful, really. I'd set my alarm for 6.30am, but I just couldn't get myself up. I trudged out of bed and made my way to my tasks ahead.
Which included: making a cake, preparing the tables, making various salads and other foods and just a whole lot of preparation. If Hubbie hadn't gotten up and helped me out, I'd have been screwed.
Ha ha. The irony of that.
The day went fine, busy but fine. I barely had a chance to sit down, other than when I ate, and after when the cake had been cut and we'd sung happy birthday. I'd actually been finishing the cake throughout the day, so you can see how busy the day had been. The cake was a white chocolate cheesecake and it was a definite success! Everyone loved it, especially Hubbie, which is what mattered most :)
On top of everything that day, my friends came over that night, mainly because my U.S pal was now heading back to the States the next morning, so it was our last little get together.
Thank goodness I'd taken the Monday off. I had a surprise for Hubbie, I'd organised a Crime Tour of our city, after some lunch, and the tour alone took about 3 hours. It was nice, if not just to see our city through new, refreshed eyes.
That night our folks came over to help us eat the leftovers, and then more friends came by later on. It was fun, but the busy-ness was starting to look never-ending to me.
I thought the next night was gonna be quiet, but we ended up out to dinner with some OTHER friends, and then they came over for drinks. Sigh.
FINALLY my break came on Wednesday night. Once I'd finished my nightly duties, I think I just sat on the couch (actually I LAY down) and watched eps of The Bold and the Beautiful that I'd taped. And it felt sooooo good.
Although the previous week/s had been fun, because they had involved our close family, close friends and fun celebrations, I was still so wrecked by it all. As much as I love them all, I was so glad for it to be over. That following weekend we still had some stuff on, but this time it was different, because I didn't have to cook everything and clean the whole house in preparation! We were going out, which was easier....
We had dinner out Saturday night with Hubbie's boss and his wife (boss had gotten a bonus, so we were benefiting from it!) and Sunday night was another wedding.
A public holiday came during the week, and usually on a day like that where I would encourage Hubbie and I to do something with friends, you know what it was that I wanted? All I wanted was "peace and quiet." As my 7-year-old nephew says to his parents when they have a hectic weekend going everywhere, and all he wants to do is stay home and play with his toys. I just wanted to stay at home, and relax.
Which is what you need. Sometimes you need it. Nothingness can be so good.
We won't mind the story about the back-door neighbours stupid dog that dug underneath our fence to make it into our backyard and ruin the small vegie patch we had going. That's a stupid incident we won't indulge in here, because here and now, it's all well, and it's all good.
The weekend ahead looks promising. The forecast says the sun will be shining, there are blue skies ahead, and good times look like a definite. With weather like that, I think I'm ready to get busy again :)
Monday, November 2, 2009
WOW. What a weekend/s, what a week/s
Definitely the right word. WOW.
It has been crazy-mania for a while now. Two Saturdays ago, one of my best friends flew on over from the States, to make it for her sisters wedding.
The same day that she flew over, we went out for her sisters hens night. Being the first girls night I've been to since getting married, the phrase "getting wasted" was a complete understatement to me. My friends found me particularly amusing and entertaining that night. As did Hubbie when I stumbled into the house, clickety-clackety, moaning that I was drunk.
The following day found me not only re-cuperating from the previous nights bender, but catching up wth my sister and brother-in-law, at lo and behold, a bar.
As if I didn't have enough the night before. With the family I had, I had no choice BUT to drink, unless I wanted to be ridiculed for the rest of eternity.
It was a really nice day though, and I didn't drink too much. It was a lovely family catch up.
The next day, Monday night, my U.S pal came by for a visit, and after catching up for a few hours she fell asleep on our couch. While we waited for her sister to pick her up, Hubbie and I took terms babysitting her sleeping self on the couch while the other got ready for bed! By the time she was picked up, I ended up going to bed about 1am.
That was 3 nights of sleep screwed up already. And it was only the beginning of the working week, meaning I wouldn't have much time to catch up on sleep until the weekend. And even that didn't look promising, as the following weekend was going to be busy, busy, busy!!!!
The following nights I can't really remember to be honest. But I know that when you have odd and insufficient sleep patterns for a few nights, you actually need to sleep IN to fix your body clock up. And getting up for work wasn't fixing me up much.
Plus I was busy trying to organise my Hubbie's birthday lunch for that coming Sunday. I had all these plans, to make some food earlier, make a cake and make coo kies, do the grocery shopping, plan my dishes, clean the house, etc, etc....
Thursday after work I had big plans, to do ALL my grocery shopping, make the cookie dough (so it was ready to be baked fresh Sunday morning) as well as get ready for work and other regular weeknight jobs.
Then the bird and the fridge happened. This is a freakin' book in itself.
Let me begin.
I'd come home earlier that day from work, and as Hubbie wanted me to wait for him to eat dinner (I think just leftovers) I had no choice but to wait. My first point of frustration was not being able to make sandwiches for work the next day, as we were out of bread. So I found myself wasting time, which I did not want on a night when I wanted to get a lot done.
Also that day, we'd received a fridge that we had previously ordered, an extra fridge that we wanted to keep in the garage for those family functions where there was just not often room in ONE fridge for all the food, drinks and dessert we had; in other words, this was a grog fridge.
So this fridge was now in our garage having been delivered earlier in the day with my Dad there to accept it.
Hubbie came home and one of the first things out of his mouth was
"there's a baby bird in our front yard and it can't fly!"
Upon further inspection, I saw that this wasn't a baby bird that you keep as a pet, rather it was one of the wild neighbourhood birds (like a sparrow) and it was quite literally in our front yard, so small, trying to fly but not even managing 20 cm into the air, as its wings were not strong enough.
Now I'm not normally a person that gravitates towards birds. I think everyone has one pet animal they prefer and mine is cats. I've never been a huge bird person, but because of Hubbie's love of birds and other random animals, I've grown fond of certain types of them.
Now this was, as I say, only a wild neighbourhood bird, but if you saw how tiny and vulnerable it looked, and the way its wings fluttered helplessly as it tried to take off, your heart would've cried too.
Hubbie and I KNEW what we had to do. We had to somehow save this bird. Another larger bird, possibly a member of its family, flew in a few times when it thought we weren't there, and either gave something to the little one or just checked on it. But then it never came back. And despite my wishful thinking, a flock of birds did not come and lift this baby bird off into the sunset.
It was going to get dark soon, and remembering the wild, vicious cat fight we'd heard outside our yard only nights before, knowing full well that there were plenty of cats in this area, this bird would not last 'til midnight. NO WAY.
So, hungry, with a new fridge in the garage that had to be adjusted because Hubbie's car didn't fit anymore, a baby bird in our front yard that couldn't fly and that would be eaten if we didn't save it, we decided to attempt the task of rescuing - ahem, catching - the bird.
Meanwhile time was ticking, and I still needed to get the grocery shopping done and make my cookie batch.
With an empty cardboard beer box, I stood in one corner, while Hubbie, with his gardening gloves, attempted to come at it from another side, in order to corner it.
The baby, tiny as it was, was also smart, and managed to make its way to a corner where it was almost impossible to reach. I kept saying "just grab it! It's a baby it won't bite you! Stop being so soft!" He attempted again a few times, and finally, managed to lift it and place it in the box. I quickly shut the lid.
As we took it around to the back of the house, (we were going to put it in the shed) I wasn't holding the lid down properly, and this little bird's head started popping out, as it tried to get out of the box.
Now it was me freaking out. I wanted to put it back in, but I didn't know how to do it without damaging its head.
I was totally freaking out and almost shrieking, and it ended up jumping out. Hubbie had to get it again and put it back in. "And you say I'm soft?!"
Yes he was right, I soooo ate my words. I guess its fear of the unknown, fear of this wild bird. No matter how small this thing is, logic flies out the window (ha ha) and you're left petrified of this little object that you could easily miss if you walked by it.
Well, we ended up setting up this poor little bird in our shed: we opened the top lid and slid over it an old bbq rack left behind from the previous tenants, that way the bird could see through and have heaps of breathing space.
Then came the fridge argument. Hubbie realised that the current position of the fridge prevented him from parking his car in the garage, as he could quite literally NOT get out of his car. If the fridge was moved up or down the side of the garage either way, it still meant there was minimal space in squeezing by. And he was not risking, in any way, a scratch on his car.
Sigh.
And then he suggested, putting our spare fridge, under the stairs. As in, in the house, under the stairs, only around the corner from the kitchen and in clear view of our other fridge there!
I was NOT a bogan! I was not going to have one fridge in clear view of the other, shoved into a house space like under the stairs, where you could still clearly see EVERYTHING!
The more we argued the more absolutely furious I got. There was NO WAY, he was keeping the fridge in the garage, with the possibility of scratching his car (he is very precious about his car you see, as it is a classic and on the not-so-cheap side) and there was NO WAY we were moving it under the stairs, where it was in clear view, as I was not going to cheapen the look of our interior. The thought absolutely disgusted me and made my lips curl.
We were stuck in a gridlock over the bloody fridge.
Then we thought of another option. Why don't we move the fridge to the other side of the garage, set up an extension lead, and that way it wouldn't be interfering with Hubbie's passageway to the car?
We realised that would also block one of our exits out - not a crucial exit point, but it was the way we brought our rubbish bins from the back of the house to the front. The fridge being in front of this exit now prevented us from moving our bins through the garage. For the moment we decided to keep the bins IN the garage, therefore removing any use for that door, which was good as we now had a fridge in front of it.
After eating, I frustratingly rushed to the shops. It wasn't helped when Hubbie called as I was getting out of my car and insisted that it was better for the fridge to be under the stairs. I nearly blew my top, the mere thought of that stupid idea turned me bright red. There was no way that was happening, and I let him know that as we hung up.
The rest of the night was just plain stupid. After getting just my BASIC grocery items, I left the shops to see a message on my mobile. I listened to the message as I drove home, and I grimaced as I got to the end of the message. Hubbie. Pretty much saying "get an extension cord...... 5 metres long........ don't leave the shops...... get the cord."
Sigh.
Back I went. And when I couldn't find the right length cord there, I had to go to ANOTHER store.
By the time I got home, I still had to wash the dishes, make lunches for the next day, clean up, and I didn't even get time to make my cookies.
He had moved the fridge in that time, but the old bird cage we wanted to get that resided at Hubbie's parents place, we couldn't get because they weren't home to drop it off to us.
At the end of the day we had a fridge wedged between an extremely frustrated couple.
And we had a bird in a cardboard beer box in a shed, perhaps more lost than when it started out.
To be continued.....
It has been crazy-mania for a while now. Two Saturdays ago, one of my best friends flew on over from the States, to make it for her sisters wedding.
The same day that she flew over, we went out for her sisters hens night. Being the first girls night I've been to since getting married, the phrase "getting wasted" was a complete understatement to me. My friends found me particularly amusing and entertaining that night. As did Hubbie when I stumbled into the house, clickety-clackety, moaning that I was drunk.
The following day found me not only re-cuperating from the previous nights bender, but catching up wth my sister and brother-in-law, at lo and behold, a bar.
As if I didn't have enough the night before. With the family I had, I had no choice BUT to drink, unless I wanted to be ridiculed for the rest of eternity.
It was a really nice day though, and I didn't drink too much. It was a lovely family catch up.
The next day, Monday night, my U.S pal came by for a visit, and after catching up for a few hours she fell asleep on our couch. While we waited for her sister to pick her up, Hubbie and I took terms babysitting her sleeping self on the couch while the other got ready for bed! By the time she was picked up, I ended up going to bed about 1am.
That was 3 nights of sleep screwed up already. And it was only the beginning of the working week, meaning I wouldn't have much time to catch up on sleep until the weekend. And even that didn't look promising, as the following weekend was going to be busy, busy, busy!!!!
The following nights I can't really remember to be honest. But I know that when you have odd and insufficient sleep patterns for a few nights, you actually need to sleep IN to fix your body clock up. And getting up for work wasn't fixing me up much.
Plus I was busy trying to organise my Hubbie's birthday lunch for that coming Sunday. I had all these plans, to make some food earlier, make a cake and make coo kies, do the grocery shopping, plan my dishes, clean the house, etc, etc....
Thursday after work I had big plans, to do ALL my grocery shopping, make the cookie dough (so it was ready to be baked fresh Sunday morning) as well as get ready for work and other regular weeknight jobs.
Then the bird and the fridge happened. This is a freakin' book in itself.
Let me begin.
I'd come home earlier that day from work, and as Hubbie wanted me to wait for him to eat dinner (I think just leftovers) I had no choice but to wait. My first point of frustration was not being able to make sandwiches for work the next day, as we were out of bread. So I found myself wasting time, which I did not want on a night when I wanted to get a lot done.
Also that day, we'd received a fridge that we had previously ordered, an extra fridge that we wanted to keep in the garage for those family functions where there was just not often room in ONE fridge for all the food, drinks and dessert we had; in other words, this was a grog fridge.
So this fridge was now in our garage having been delivered earlier in the day with my Dad there to accept it.
Hubbie came home and one of the first things out of his mouth was
"there's a baby bird in our front yard and it can't fly!"
Upon further inspection, I saw that this wasn't a baby bird that you keep as a pet, rather it was one of the wild neighbourhood birds (like a sparrow) and it was quite literally in our front yard, so small, trying to fly but not even managing 20 cm into the air, as its wings were not strong enough.
Now I'm not normally a person that gravitates towards birds. I think everyone has one pet animal they prefer and mine is cats. I've never been a huge bird person, but because of Hubbie's love of birds and other random animals, I've grown fond of certain types of them.
Now this was, as I say, only a wild neighbourhood bird, but if you saw how tiny and vulnerable it looked, and the way its wings fluttered helplessly as it tried to take off, your heart would've cried too.
Hubbie and I KNEW what we had to do. We had to somehow save this bird. Another larger bird, possibly a member of its family, flew in a few times when it thought we weren't there, and either gave something to the little one or just checked on it. But then it never came back. And despite my wishful thinking, a flock of birds did not come and lift this baby bird off into the sunset.
It was going to get dark soon, and remembering the wild, vicious cat fight we'd heard outside our yard only nights before, knowing full well that there were plenty of cats in this area, this bird would not last 'til midnight. NO WAY.
So, hungry, with a new fridge in the garage that had to be adjusted because Hubbie's car didn't fit anymore, a baby bird in our front yard that couldn't fly and that would be eaten if we didn't save it, we decided to attempt the task of rescuing - ahem, catching - the bird.
Meanwhile time was ticking, and I still needed to get the grocery shopping done and make my cookie batch.
With an empty cardboard beer box, I stood in one corner, while Hubbie, with his gardening gloves, attempted to come at it from another side, in order to corner it.
The baby, tiny as it was, was also smart, and managed to make its way to a corner where it was almost impossible to reach. I kept saying "just grab it! It's a baby it won't bite you! Stop being so soft!" He attempted again a few times, and finally, managed to lift it and place it in the box. I quickly shut the lid.
As we took it around to the back of the house, (we were going to put it in the shed) I wasn't holding the lid down properly, and this little bird's head started popping out, as it tried to get out of the box.
Now it was me freaking out. I wanted to put it back in, but I didn't know how to do it without damaging its head.
I was totally freaking out and almost shrieking, and it ended up jumping out. Hubbie had to get it again and put it back in. "And you say I'm soft?!"
Yes he was right, I soooo ate my words. I guess its fear of the unknown, fear of this wild bird. No matter how small this thing is, logic flies out the window (ha ha) and you're left petrified of this little object that you could easily miss if you walked by it.
Well, we ended up setting up this poor little bird in our shed: we opened the top lid and slid over it an old bbq rack left behind from the previous tenants, that way the bird could see through and have heaps of breathing space.
Then came the fridge argument. Hubbie realised that the current position of the fridge prevented him from parking his car in the garage, as he could quite literally NOT get out of his car. If the fridge was moved up or down the side of the garage either way, it still meant there was minimal space in squeezing by. And he was not risking, in any way, a scratch on his car.
Sigh.
And then he suggested, putting our spare fridge, under the stairs. As in, in the house, under the stairs, only around the corner from the kitchen and in clear view of our other fridge there!
I was NOT a bogan! I was not going to have one fridge in clear view of the other, shoved into a house space like under the stairs, where you could still clearly see EVERYTHING!
The more we argued the more absolutely furious I got. There was NO WAY, he was keeping the fridge in the garage, with the possibility of scratching his car (he is very precious about his car you see, as it is a classic and on the not-so-cheap side) and there was NO WAY we were moving it under the stairs, where it was in clear view, as I was not going to cheapen the look of our interior. The thought absolutely disgusted me and made my lips curl.
We were stuck in a gridlock over the bloody fridge.
Then we thought of another option. Why don't we move the fridge to the other side of the garage, set up an extension lead, and that way it wouldn't be interfering with Hubbie's passageway to the car?
We realised that would also block one of our exits out - not a crucial exit point, but it was the way we brought our rubbish bins from the back of the house to the front. The fridge being in front of this exit now prevented us from moving our bins through the garage. For the moment we decided to keep the bins IN the garage, therefore removing any use for that door, which was good as we now had a fridge in front of it.
After eating, I frustratingly rushed to the shops. It wasn't helped when Hubbie called as I was getting out of my car and insisted that it was better for the fridge to be under the stairs. I nearly blew my top, the mere thought of that stupid idea turned me bright red. There was no way that was happening, and I let him know that as we hung up.
The rest of the night was just plain stupid. After getting just my BASIC grocery items, I left the shops to see a message on my mobile. I listened to the message as I drove home, and I grimaced as I got to the end of the message. Hubbie. Pretty much saying "get an extension cord...... 5 metres long........ don't leave the shops...... get the cord."
Sigh.
Back I went. And when I couldn't find the right length cord there, I had to go to ANOTHER store.
By the time I got home, I still had to wash the dishes, make lunches for the next day, clean up, and I didn't even get time to make my cookies.
He had moved the fridge in that time, but the old bird cage we wanted to get that resided at Hubbie's parents place, we couldn't get because they weren't home to drop it off to us.
At the end of the day we had a fridge wedged between an extremely frustrated couple.
And we had a bird in a cardboard beer box in a shed, perhaps more lost than when it started out.
To be continued.....
Monday, October 19, 2009
Truth and Jealousy
I've been feeling a bit peeved off lately concerning work. There's this one little thing that's irritated me since last Friday, and now I can't stop thinking about it.
I had a conversation with a 'superior' of mine last week, there were a few others there though, so it was during a group coffee break when it happened.
One of them asked the rest of us whether we were going to a fellow colleague of ours birthday the following weekend. That fellow colleague wasn't there during the time. I didn't really hear the question because he sort of mumbled it, so when he looked at me, I asked what he'd said.
He repeated "you going to ........ birthday?"
I paused because then I realised what he was saying, and remembering that I was busy that night, replied "Oh! I have a wedding that night."
The guy joked and made some sort of comment about my ridiculously busy schedule, to which my superior added, jokingly, "Oh, excuses excuses."
Hee hee hee.
I just sort of laughed it off, and I think the conversation changed to something else. But something about it stuck with me.
That night at home I told Hubbie. He's met my superior, so he could imagine the person saying it. He may not know the person well, but he's a very good judge of character.
He told me that yes, he could imagine this person saying that. Having met this person, he could see how they would say something, in a friendly, joking way, but deep within be believing of that comment, that it was not a joke but in fact the truth.
So I was right. My superior didn't believe me. Believed that I was making up an excuse to not go to this colleague of ours birthday.
It really shitted me. And it still does. Yes, I know that every time we talk about our weekends, that my stories always include some dinner, birthday, christening, engagement, wedding or get together that I've had. I realise that normal people don't usually have a birthday and a christening on one day and then a bridal shower on the next. And I realise that my superior is probably secretly shitty because they went to my birthday and I didn't go to theirs, because of the birthday/christening day we had a few weeks back.
But you know what? Our family isn't normal. We don't have one cousin and a few uncles and aunties that we see twice a year for Christmas and Easter. We don't have family functions that include the whole family sitting on an extended stretched out table.
We have uncles and aunties that have several kids each, all of who have more kids of their own. We have our parents' cousins and family friends on top of all this. This isn't including our large group of friends, acquired through school, work and recreational activities. If you've worked in more than one place, like both Hubbie and I have, you can start to see how your group of friends suddenly becomes quite large.
If we invite everyone we know in our family to a social event, we need to hire out a RECEPTION. This is no exaggeration. We had under 400 people at our wedding. That tells you that we know a lot of people. And yes granted, a lot of those people are friends of the family that our parents had to invite only because they were once invited to their sons/daughters wedding 15 years earlier. But that's what our family is, that's what we do. The most distant relative will invite you to a function, and you're expected to do the same.
Add to that our friends, OUTSIDE of work, and you start to get a picture. Hubbie had this same issue a while back, where the guys he worked with stirred him and couldn't really believe how many functions he had, wedding after wedding, on the same weekend.
But if you think about it, what reason is there to lie? And if you were to lie, why would you make up some ridiculous excuse about having a wedding on a Saturday and then another wedding following on a Sunday? It's so far-fetched and ridiculous that it MUST be true.
We have a lot of people in our life, we are truly blessed. So, to someone that comes from a different background, with a smaller family, why should that be weird to them, why should they believe something other than the truth, why would they believe that I'm lying?
They believe this because they think I'm trying to get out of going to the work get together. Fair enough, I missed their birthday, now I'm missing this one....... it MUST mean that. Surely, you can't have that many functions, you can't have that many friends, you can't have more people in your life, and have more places to go to, and be more busy than me.........
Ahhhhhhhh. That is it. That is the answer. This person, if they wanted to, COULD believe me. If they wanted to. They COULD believe that it is possible to be that busy. But then it would mean accepting the truth that their life isn't as busy, filled with as much people and parties, as mine.
And that is the hard part to swallow. It's jealousy, as much as they don't want to admit it. Which makes me sad. I hate jealousy. I hate when I see it consuming people, little or a lot. It doesn't matter how much it is, because the end result is the same. Resentment.
So this person has disguised their jealousy and resentment with distrustfulness, because that is easier to accept. Rather than the truth. Which really peeves me off. Such a small comment, yet such a window into their mind and the way they think.
I'm a very honest person. So for someone to believe, and suggest even in a joking way, of me being manipulative and lying to get out of a situation, out of an event? Me, party person, always busy wanting to go out and do stuff?
Bull crap.
It soooooo gets to me. Like really truly. And I hate the way I'm now looking at my superior. I'm extra aware of our interactions, and just this morning when I looked up to say something, I saw them looking at me in an odd observational way. Sussing me out.
I hate it. Hate, hate, hate it. I can feel the jealousy and the scrutiny, and I need to set them straight, via my incredible subtle powers!
Because they're my superior, and I can't just come out and say it. Because of just that word. 'Superior.'
Annoying.
Sigh. Why are people so complicated?
I had a conversation with a 'superior' of mine last week, there were a few others there though, so it was during a group coffee break when it happened.
One of them asked the rest of us whether we were going to a fellow colleague of ours birthday the following weekend. That fellow colleague wasn't there during the time. I didn't really hear the question because he sort of mumbled it, so when he looked at me, I asked what he'd said.
He repeated "you going to ........ birthday?"
I paused because then I realised what he was saying, and remembering that I was busy that night, replied "Oh! I have a wedding that night."
The guy joked and made some sort of comment about my ridiculously busy schedule, to which my superior added, jokingly, "Oh, excuses excuses."
Hee hee hee.
I just sort of laughed it off, and I think the conversation changed to something else. But something about it stuck with me.
That night at home I told Hubbie. He's met my superior, so he could imagine the person saying it. He may not know the person well, but he's a very good judge of character.
He told me that yes, he could imagine this person saying that. Having met this person, he could see how they would say something, in a friendly, joking way, but deep within be believing of that comment, that it was not a joke but in fact the truth.
So I was right. My superior didn't believe me. Believed that I was making up an excuse to not go to this colleague of ours birthday.
It really shitted me. And it still does. Yes, I know that every time we talk about our weekends, that my stories always include some dinner, birthday, christening, engagement, wedding or get together that I've had. I realise that normal people don't usually have a birthday and a christening on one day and then a bridal shower on the next. And I realise that my superior is probably secretly shitty because they went to my birthday and I didn't go to theirs, because of the birthday/christening day we had a few weeks back.
But you know what? Our family isn't normal. We don't have one cousin and a few uncles and aunties that we see twice a year for Christmas and Easter. We don't have family functions that include the whole family sitting on an extended stretched out table.
We have uncles and aunties that have several kids each, all of who have more kids of their own. We have our parents' cousins and family friends on top of all this. This isn't including our large group of friends, acquired through school, work and recreational activities. If you've worked in more than one place, like both Hubbie and I have, you can start to see how your group of friends suddenly becomes quite large.
If we invite everyone we know in our family to a social event, we need to hire out a RECEPTION. This is no exaggeration. We had under 400 people at our wedding. That tells you that we know a lot of people. And yes granted, a lot of those people are friends of the family that our parents had to invite only because they were once invited to their sons/daughters wedding 15 years earlier. But that's what our family is, that's what we do. The most distant relative will invite you to a function, and you're expected to do the same.
Add to that our friends, OUTSIDE of work, and you start to get a picture. Hubbie had this same issue a while back, where the guys he worked with stirred him and couldn't really believe how many functions he had, wedding after wedding, on the same weekend.
But if you think about it, what reason is there to lie? And if you were to lie, why would you make up some ridiculous excuse about having a wedding on a Saturday and then another wedding following on a Sunday? It's so far-fetched and ridiculous that it MUST be true.
We have a lot of people in our life, we are truly blessed. So, to someone that comes from a different background, with a smaller family, why should that be weird to them, why should they believe something other than the truth, why would they believe that I'm lying?
They believe this because they think I'm trying to get out of going to the work get together. Fair enough, I missed their birthday, now I'm missing this one....... it MUST mean that. Surely, you can't have that many functions, you can't have that many friends, you can't have more people in your life, and have more places to go to, and be more busy than me.........
Ahhhhhhhh. That is it. That is the answer. This person, if they wanted to, COULD believe me. If they wanted to. They COULD believe that it is possible to be that busy. But then it would mean accepting the truth that their life isn't as busy, filled with as much people and parties, as mine.
And that is the hard part to swallow. It's jealousy, as much as they don't want to admit it. Which makes me sad. I hate jealousy. I hate when I see it consuming people, little or a lot. It doesn't matter how much it is, because the end result is the same. Resentment.
So this person has disguised their jealousy and resentment with distrustfulness, because that is easier to accept. Rather than the truth. Which really peeves me off. Such a small comment, yet such a window into their mind and the way they think.
I'm a very honest person. So for someone to believe, and suggest even in a joking way, of me being manipulative and lying to get out of a situation, out of an event? Me, party person, always busy wanting to go out and do stuff?
Bull crap.
It soooooo gets to me. Like really truly. And I hate the way I'm now looking at my superior. I'm extra aware of our interactions, and just this morning when I looked up to say something, I saw them looking at me in an odd observational way. Sussing me out.
I hate it. Hate, hate, hate it. I can feel the jealousy and the scrutiny, and I need to set them straight, via my incredible subtle powers!
Because they're my superior, and I can't just come out and say it. Because of just that word. 'Superior.'
Annoying.
Sigh. Why are people so complicated?
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Bring cookies to work... people will love you for it
Yes I made cookies. Last night in fact. There's a recipe I came across just last week, and I decided to make these easy sweets.
I ended up with a batch on the weekend - see, the recipe results in two long logs of cookie dough - and last night I decided to bake the refrigerated log to bring in to work today, as it is my boss' birthday.
All together now...... AWWWWWWWWWWWWW.
I knew the cookies were good, since I'd already tried them of course. Taste-testing is an absolute MUST when cooking, and as these were my second batch, they were even better than the first, as I was now aware of not over-cooking them in my fan-forced oven.
Yes, my boss was happy. In fact, most of the guys here at work were too.
I'm feeling quite successful right now. Like a regular Nigella Lawson. All these compliments, watching all these fellow employees around me walk up to my bosses desk, eye off the cookies, proceed to bite in and chew, and then glance apporvingly in my direction with a smile and a nod.
Very good.
So my lesson for today is: if you want people to like you at work, bring cookies. Or any other sweet-flavoured food that will aid in the release of endorphins in their bodies.
Yes they could like you for you. And you could spend your days trying to be nice, and making friends the long way, the old-fashioned way.
But fulfilling their sweet hunger is the quick fix to making EVERYONE happy. And chocolate chip nut cookies are REALLY yummy....
I ended up with a batch on the weekend - see, the recipe results in two long logs of cookie dough - and last night I decided to bake the refrigerated log to bring in to work today, as it is my boss' birthday.
All together now...... AWWWWWWWWWWWWW.
I knew the cookies were good, since I'd already tried them of course. Taste-testing is an absolute MUST when cooking, and as these were my second batch, they were even better than the first, as I was now aware of not over-cooking them in my fan-forced oven.
Yes, my boss was happy. In fact, most of the guys here at work were too.
I'm feeling quite successful right now. Like a regular Nigella Lawson. All these compliments, watching all these fellow employees around me walk up to my bosses desk, eye off the cookies, proceed to bite in and chew, and then glance apporvingly in my direction with a smile and a nod.
Very good.
So my lesson for today is: if you want people to like you at work, bring cookies. Or any other sweet-flavoured food that will aid in the release of endorphins in their bodies.
Yes they could like you for you. And you could spend your days trying to be nice, and making friends the long way, the old-fashioned way.
But fulfilling their sweet hunger is the quick fix to making EVERYONE happy. And chocolate chip nut cookies are REALLY yummy....
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Go ahead, throw yourself a Birthday party.... it'll show you who really cares
A few days ago I celebrated my birthday, 26 years young.
I've come to a few grown-up realisations since then, of which I'm planning to share in the coming weeks.
My biggest realisation and simultaneous disappointment, surrounded my birthday, in particular the party I planned in celebration of me.
After a lot of what should I do conversations with hubbie and friends, followed by where should I go, and who should I invite, I finally decided on a fairly upmarket bar in the city, where I could meet with friends for drinks and good convo, hopefully followed by some bar hopping late into the night.
Was I excited? Hell yes. Well, actually, I'd been too caught up in newly married life to get excited in the whole anticipation of the event, as with the kind of person I am, I am the sort to get overly excited in the anticipation of an event, like my birthday. Birthdays to me are sacred, special, and something to be milked to the absolute extreme. I milk my birthday the week leading up to the big day, the week following the big day, in fact I think I claim the entire zodiac month as my own until the next sign comes into centre stage.
But as mentioned, I had been preoccupied with house and married things. Nonetheless I was looking forward to a night out partying.
The fabulousness of Facebook allowed me to post the event and invite my friends to it: I had planned on inviting just the close ones, but the sheer volume of people who are my "friends" overwhelmed me to the point where I felt I must also invite those who I hadn't spoken to in months and months and even years.
But I was cautious, I knew some of them rarely checked their Facebook so I also messaged everyone.... and waited.
So there were those that said yes..... the few that said maybe, the few that said no, and then the many who didn't say anything. Not a word. Not even via message.
The day came, and admittedly I was trying not to set myself up for disappointment, however secretly I was hoping everyone who didn't reply plus the "maybes" would all surprise me by rocking up.
Who came that night? Well let me count on my two hands....
Other than me and hubbie, it was my bestie and her boy, my other relatively good bestie and her boy, plus two work friends.
That's it, zilch, zero, nada, nema nista.
Out of the definite 13 that said they would come via the net, only 2 arrived, with several of them suddenly announcing they wouldn't be able to come last minute, none of the maybes arrived, and still no word from the no responsees, some who had once been my closest friends. Ahem, once.
Mind you, I almost had organised a separate room at this bar, thank God they were all booked out, as my expected group of 20 had quickly diminished into an 8.
Mind you, I still had a great night, got pretty smashed, so you could say it was a successful night! But it just wouldn't leave my mind! I had so many questions....
Firstly, what had happened to the "Birthday?" I remember a time, growing up, when I used to have Birthday parties at home, and they were always the absolute best. Not being bias, but everyone who attended agreed. It was the hottest ticket. Whether I was celebrating my 10th, 15th or 21st, all my various and long-standing friends throughout the years thoroughly enjoyed my parties. And how could they not? After all my parents, who'd hosted a million Birthdays, Christmas', Easters and New Years parties, were strongly skilled in the art of making the best party! I don't know if it was that natural love of everything they did, or whether it was the food, drink or dance, but everyone, family and friends alike, loved coming to our place.
Because really, who doesn't love a party? Who says "no thanks, but I'd rather stay at home alone."
So I became sad. For my birthday. When was it, where was it, what was the turning point to make people go, "no, thanks, I'd rather stay at home"?
Is it the fact that home parties are so much easier? Easier to transport yourself to? Is the city that far away, and the winter that cold, that the thought of a fun night out is outweighed by the distance needed to travel and the chill in the air? Sadly for some, it clearly is.
Secondly, what happened to those "friends" who said they were coming, and then on the night, didn't show up? No message of sorry I can't get there, no explanations. Am I the only one left to have the decency to keep my promises, only speak with honesty, and at the very least if my plans change make a bloody phone call?
Has Facebook created a genearation of say-but-not-do-ers, who promise but don't deliver? What's most disappointing is when it comes from those you genuinely trust and belive in, those who have always come to your birthdays. That's the disappointing part.
Thirdly, the best and last, is having some of your friends say they'll come, and then make up a poor excuse about not being able to come, when in fact they have opted to go to another birthday, of a person they actually despise. Yes, there are ears everywhere my friends.
So how does that work? Choosing your genuine friend over your not so genuine friend who by-the-way, you were bagging a few days ago???
Life always seems to surprise me somehow, and this was no exception.
I know that things happen. Shit happens. But you know, does shit happen to everyone? And when shit happens, does it make people forget to call and speak to you? Even one of my friends who couldn't make it because of a death in the family, was able to call. Puts all the rest to shame!
So, back to my main topic.... what has happened to birthdays? What has happened to my birthdays? The days where everyone would be so excited to come over, and then talk about it after for weeks to come....
What kind of society do we live in if it means that we can make empty promises, if we fail to follow up were we havent followed through? Where we choose our enemies to suss out their game, over our friends who have always stood by us...
Really, despite how it sounds, I'm over it. I'm almost.... enlightened by the events, rather than being disenchanted, which at first I was. It's shown me who cares. Am I looking into it too much.....hmmmm no. Because at the end, it's about respect. Respect the person who gives it you. And if you give and don't get back, well then...... are you wasting your time?
Next year, I'm getting smashed at home. With my closest. And Facebook and SMS-ing won't be involved.
I've come to a few grown-up realisations since then, of which I'm planning to share in the coming weeks.
My biggest realisation and simultaneous disappointment, surrounded my birthday, in particular the party I planned in celebration of me.
After a lot of what should I do conversations with hubbie and friends, followed by where should I go, and who should I invite, I finally decided on a fairly upmarket bar in the city, where I could meet with friends for drinks and good convo, hopefully followed by some bar hopping late into the night.
Was I excited? Hell yes. Well, actually, I'd been too caught up in newly married life to get excited in the whole anticipation of the event, as with the kind of person I am, I am the sort to get overly excited in the anticipation of an event, like my birthday. Birthdays to me are sacred, special, and something to be milked to the absolute extreme. I milk my birthday the week leading up to the big day, the week following the big day, in fact I think I claim the entire zodiac month as my own until the next sign comes into centre stage.
But as mentioned, I had been preoccupied with house and married things. Nonetheless I was looking forward to a night out partying.
The fabulousness of Facebook allowed me to post the event and invite my friends to it: I had planned on inviting just the close ones, but the sheer volume of people who are my "friends" overwhelmed me to the point where I felt I must also invite those who I hadn't spoken to in months and months and even years.
But I was cautious, I knew some of them rarely checked their Facebook so I also messaged everyone.... and waited.
So there were those that said yes..... the few that said maybe, the few that said no, and then the many who didn't say anything. Not a word. Not even via message.
The day came, and admittedly I was trying not to set myself up for disappointment, however secretly I was hoping everyone who didn't reply plus the "maybes" would all surprise me by rocking up.
Who came that night? Well let me count on my two hands....
Other than me and hubbie, it was my bestie and her boy, my other relatively good bestie and her boy, plus two work friends.
That's it, zilch, zero, nada, nema nista.
Out of the definite 13 that said they would come via the net, only 2 arrived, with several of them suddenly announcing they wouldn't be able to come last minute, none of the maybes arrived, and still no word from the no responsees, some who had once been my closest friends. Ahem, once.
Mind you, I almost had organised a separate room at this bar, thank God they were all booked out, as my expected group of 20 had quickly diminished into an 8.
Mind you, I still had a great night, got pretty smashed, so you could say it was a successful night! But it just wouldn't leave my mind! I had so many questions....
Firstly, what had happened to the "Birthday?" I remember a time, growing up, when I used to have Birthday parties at home, and they were always the absolute best. Not being bias, but everyone who attended agreed. It was the hottest ticket. Whether I was celebrating my 10th, 15th or 21st, all my various and long-standing friends throughout the years thoroughly enjoyed my parties. And how could they not? After all my parents, who'd hosted a million Birthdays, Christmas', Easters and New Years parties, were strongly skilled in the art of making the best party! I don't know if it was that natural love of everything they did, or whether it was the food, drink or dance, but everyone, family and friends alike, loved coming to our place.
Because really, who doesn't love a party? Who says "no thanks, but I'd rather stay at home alone."
So I became sad. For my birthday. When was it, where was it, what was the turning point to make people go, "no, thanks, I'd rather stay at home"?
Is it the fact that home parties are so much easier? Easier to transport yourself to? Is the city that far away, and the winter that cold, that the thought of a fun night out is outweighed by the distance needed to travel and the chill in the air? Sadly for some, it clearly is.
Secondly, what happened to those "friends" who said they were coming, and then on the night, didn't show up? No message of sorry I can't get there, no explanations. Am I the only one left to have the decency to keep my promises, only speak with honesty, and at the very least if my plans change make a bloody phone call?
Has Facebook created a genearation of say-but-not-do-ers, who promise but don't deliver? What's most disappointing is when it comes from those you genuinely trust and belive in, those who have always come to your birthdays. That's the disappointing part.
Thirdly, the best and last, is having some of your friends say they'll come, and then make up a poor excuse about not being able to come, when in fact they have opted to go to another birthday, of a person they actually despise. Yes, there are ears everywhere my friends.
So how does that work? Choosing your genuine friend over your not so genuine friend who by-the-way, you were bagging a few days ago???
Life always seems to surprise me somehow, and this was no exception.
I know that things happen. Shit happens. But you know, does shit happen to everyone? And when shit happens, does it make people forget to call and speak to you? Even one of my friends who couldn't make it because of a death in the family, was able to call. Puts all the rest to shame!
So, back to my main topic.... what has happened to birthdays? What has happened to my birthdays? The days where everyone would be so excited to come over, and then talk about it after for weeks to come....
What kind of society do we live in if it means that we can make empty promises, if we fail to follow up were we havent followed through? Where we choose our enemies to suss out their game, over our friends who have always stood by us...
Really, despite how it sounds, I'm over it. I'm almost.... enlightened by the events, rather than being disenchanted, which at first I was. It's shown me who cares. Am I looking into it too much.....hmmmm no. Because at the end, it's about respect. Respect the person who gives it you. And if you give and don't get back, well then...... are you wasting your time?
Next year, I'm getting smashed at home. With my closest. And Facebook and SMS-ing won't be involved.
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