The World According To Me

Finally, I have worked out how to add links. Don't judge me, for I am fully aware (now) of how easy it is to do.

I've added some pages which I like to visit on a regular basis, however I'm slightly worried that there's a linking etiquette which I am ignorant to.

If there is, please advise. I hate to be out of the loop.

x

As promised:

That every time I eat meat at the moment, I think about what the animal would have looked like when it was alive, whether it lead a happy/short/reasonably spanned life, then get sad and decide that after this meal, I will become a vegetarian. Because, after all, it would be a waste if I didn't eat what was on my plate, that would mean that the lamb/pig/cow would have died in vain.

Then I completely forget about the whole thing until the next time I'm biting into the tender thigh of a once-clucking chicken and I get sad all over again.

I wish it would stop, it's really ruining meal time.

Okay, so I said I'd post on the weekend. But then the weekend was a glaze of drinking and good food, so I didn't post. I even had to take yesterday off work, which makes my post a day later than it should be. And of course I forgot to upload photo's of Lucy in a silly hat (yes, it exists) so that will have to wait until later also.

Weekend was reminiscent of the good ol' days, where I had a fairly active social life and weekends were predominantly spent hungover. Friday night Pom and I went out with another couple who are the funnest* people in the world. They came over for risotto first of all, and we had drinks at home, including vodka shots out of scotch tumblers. Must remember to buy shot glasses when I'm next shopping for the house. The plan was to head to a pub where none of us had been before, however once we trundled down there at about 11pm, it was already shut. Typical. So we decided to go to another place, which I'd already been to but didn't really remember doing so. We played pool, danced, drank and mind-fucked strangers. So much fun. Pom and I wearily headed home at about 2.30am. Way way past my bedtime.

Saturday, as a consequence, was a write-off for me. I wasn't messy in the slightest the night before, just cheerily tipsy. It seems, however, that my body has decided to reject the concept of alcohol almost completely, and as such my brain was throbbing when I woke up. Some neurophen and a lazy day dotted with nanna-naps soon sorted that out however. Which was lucky, as on Saturday night I had organised to take my mum out for dinner for her birthday. My sisters were due to guard the house whilst we were out, and provide Lucy with some new love and entertainment for the evening, and I set them up with enough DVD's and junk food to keep them happy. There was an unexpected twist when my mum's new beau*** walked in the door also. It's weird being 24 and vetting your mother's new love interest, but I coped. I think I sufficiently impressed upon him what was expected (i.e. treating her well or having my foot placed in his behind, flowers for no reason, etc). He is very nice, and he and my mum behaved like love-sick teenagers all evening, holding hands under the table etc. The restaurant** we went to was just superb, I haven't had a meal so mouthwateringly perfect in as long as I can remember. To try and recount it is too difficult, but I was very, very impressed.

Sunday was spent predominantly being lazy, but interspersed with some cooking. We caught up with a friend of Pom's (the one he went to the beach with a few weeks ago) for a short while, but that was about it.

We also at some stage over the weekend went to look at dining tables, which is the next item on the list of big things to buy for the house. I found two that I liked, being this one and this one. We are a bit torn. I love the first one, it is gorgeous and lovely and modern, however I'm having a bit of a conundrum as to whether it's too modern, and in 2 years am I going to get the shits on with it because it's dated but I have to live with it for another 5 years. The second one is also nice, more classic but with less impact. Any comments or suggestions would be welcomed. I subscribe to the theory that before buying furniture (or anything major, really) that you have to be absolutely in love with the item before you should fork out any money to actually purchase it. Especially with such things that you are going to look at/sit on/eat from for an extended period of time. The same usually goes for clothes also (obviously without the extended period of time clause), however my wardrobe is not entirely testament to this.

I have suggested to Pom that we keep looking a for a little while until we find something we both love, and continue eating from our laps in the meantime.

*Not a word, obviously. But very elegant and evocative, don't you think?

**I tried to find a suitable link for the place, but only came up with The Age Good Food Guide 2006 "The name sounds Italian, but a quick scan of Letizia's menu reveals influences from Japan, the Mediterranean and Asia." Which does not do it justice in the slightest.

***Traditional mum word, which I am now using because my mother and I seemed to have swapped roles.

At some point this weekend I will write a nice post which will be interesting and witty, and may even contain a photo. Probably of Lucy. Maybe of Lucy in a funny hat.

Right now, however, I'm enjoying being half-pissed at my desk after our boozy little lunch here in the office. I've got a champagne glass on my desk and I don't feel that I am quite able to dispense any quality legal-helpingness at the moment. (I was going to say legal advice, but given I'm not a qualified practitioner and am, in fact, a lowly clerk, it would be illegal for me to give actual legal advice. So I'm not going to say it).

Excellent weekend wishes to all.

x

On the weekend, amongst boringness like study and housework, about the time that I was desperately trying to find my belt that has gone missing since I moved house, I came across my Year 12 yearbook. It's been packed away in a box of miscellaneous crap which I have learned not to even remove the masking tape from when I move. It is informally named "Stuff that is not in any way useful but which I can't throw away". Also included are my childhood diaries and such things as the kitchy jewellery boxes that my gran has given me for Birthdays and Christmases past. Come to think of it, I'm not sure why I was looking in there for my belt, I can only cite desperation, but I digress.

I made myself a cuppa and sat down to flick through the yearbook. It made me smile to see all the faces of people I used to be so close to in my high-school days, but haven't seen since I stepped on that plane from Perth to Melbourne some 7 years ago. And of course seeing the faces of people I couldn't stand and wondering if they are lying in a gutter right now in accordance with what I hope has happened to them. Ahem.

There were photo's and stories and lists of end-of-year awards and anecdotes and reviews, and it really took me back to that time in my life.

What I was surprised about, however, was that in that entire yearbook, there is only one picture of me. And it's part of the class photo. I don't know that when I first looked through the book that it occurred to me that I wasn't featured in anything special. There's half a photo of me at the Year 12 ball, and in another you can see the back of my head (I recognised it only because it was a dress-up occasion and I was wearing rollers in my hair) and that's it. The funny thing is, it's the same story with my two best friends, Stevo and Rach. I can barely find them either.

Now the point of this post isn't about how I'm bummed out that my ugly mug wasn't in the yearbook all that much, it's more representative about how I remembered my high school days, and how perhaps this wasn't entirely reality-based. I was an above average student, but not nerdy-smart. I wasn't overly involved in sports and I still have a disdain for P.E. teachers to this day. I was involved in drama and extra-curricular music, both of which weren't to the interest of my rugby-loving, Suburban-Eton wannabe private school. I wasn't in the cool group, because my hair wasn't straight enough, I didn't have a boyfriend and I didn't hack my school dress into a mini. I wasn't in the nerd group because I actually had a personality and a grasp on the concept of personal hygiene. I was in the middle, I had some close friends and then some friends who I hung around with in school only. I never once got detention, but Stevo and I did get separated in Year 11 Chemistry because apparently he distracted me with his talking. Now Stevo's made a career out of chemistry and I dropped that subject once the year was out, so go figure who really distracted who - I WILL NEVER TELL. (NB. Our chemistry teacher was a charming Malay man with questionable comprehension of the English language. More importantly, he had a large mole on his neck from which a very long pubic-type hair extended menacingly. I still have nightmares about it). My life outside of school during the last 2 years of it was tumultuous to say the least, but I won't expand on that here.

So I'm looking through these photo's, remembering who was who and what I remembered about them;

"Oh her, she was a complete bitch to me. I wonder if she's on the game now?"

"He was hilarious and a stoner, bet he's on the dole"

"If she's not making mega-bucks somewhere, I'll eat my hat"

"He was so good at rugby. Bet he's done time for wife-beating"

"She was lovely, would have made a great counsellor"

Etc.

Now, as I said above, I haven't been back to Perth since the very start of 1999, when I was a young and optimistic 17 year old, crossing the country on my own to start a new life and follow my dreams. It was very exciting, and scary at the same time. I've done (and am doing) my thing, but I wonder how I have compared with my contemporaries from school. I have heard on the grapevine how some people are going, it usually goes along the lines of "Yeah, she did a double Masters in (insert something inconceivably impressive here) before spending 2 years in Europe busking and doing volunteer work with blind children who have no legs" or "He's the youngest partner ever of Perth's premier law firm!" or "She made the Australian equestrian team but retired after winning gold. Now she breeds and trains thoroughbreds on her $45M property. The Sultan of Brunei is one of her best clients".

But if someone was to ask what I was doing, what would they be told? "Well, Kymmy pissed off to Melbourne pretty much as soon as school finished, no-one heard from her for ages. I heard she started a psychology degree but didn't finish. Then she started working for a law firm. I think she's still doing that. Outstanding achievements? None that I've heard of. Massive bank balance? Nada. Selfless charity work? Sporadically. Special talents? Well I think they involve a shot glass and a seedy nightclub. And she smokes a lot".

To think about it doesn't make me feel particularly great, if I'm honest. In fact, it's spawned a few days of explicit "What the fuck am I doing with my life?" self-questioning. I'm turning 25 in a couple of months. Is that the time where I'm supposed to have sorted myself out? Start (and actually utilise) a high-interest savings account, or give up smoking, or buy a house, or start holding dinner parties or something else equally adult and responsible? I'm not talking about the having a herb garden and watching ABC type of grown-up, because clearly this is already the case. I'm talking about the time when I will feel like I've actually done 'something' with my life, and more importantly, figure out what 'something' is.

Is it normal to go through this questioning and self-doubt in the way that I am? Should I just not be worried about what I've achieved, but whether or not I'm happy? I know I shouldn't be doing the whole comparison thing, but everyone does.

I believe it's time to make "The List" (cue scary music).

So I had a bit of a thought last night (as you do when you're otherwise trying to watch the shambles of a film called "Honey". I thought seeing Jessica Alba all fit and dancing etc would inspire me to go to the gym. Wrong. I just want to throw things at her from my couch.). The thought was about who I had a crush on when I was a kid. Who did I rip posters out of my precious TV Hits magazines and affix to my wall with blu-tack? Some of those I can remember…..

Tony Modra in his Adelaide days of course. When he was younger. And cuter etc.

Now, when Gary Sweet was on Police Rescue, he was VERY VERY hot.

Nowadays, however……

Now, does anyone else wish to disclose their childhood crushes?

I made the most gorgeous salt & pepper squid last night. I swear, I'm going to have to start taking photo's of our dinner and posting it the next morning. Even Pom., who swore he hated calamari when I was ordering it in the fish section of Safeway, was impressed. It was very similar to the lunch I had with this lovely last week. Just cooked, not rubbery, not raw. Almost perfect. AND I got to use the mortar and pestle, which always makes me feel like I'm on a cooking show.

I sincerely think I'm in the wrong game here.

Friday: Everyone was at the pub for St Patrick's Day celebrations. A couple of glasses of champagne were consumed in the office after work. Went home, had a nice relaxing bath (plus Who magazine, bless), got changed and put some make-up on. Sat down on the couch, realised I really didn't want to go out. Turned phone on silent, watched some tele. Pom came home a while later quite Guinessed up, but I didn't feel as though I'd missed out on much. Strange.

Saturday: Amongst other things, we went down to mum's place in the afternoon. Played some tennis, Pom sorted out mum's Internet connection and we were treated to a lamb roast for dinner. My mum makes an excellent roast, bless her. Got home at about 10pm, realised that Lucy was not in attendance at the house. Sigh. I went out the front and started whistling and calling her name, to which I was answered with a lot of frantic whimpering. She had tried to escape via the same method as last time (yucky face cuts time) and couldn't get back again. Rescue operation ensued, which involved me racing down a narrow gap between the fence and the shed (strewn with trees and other miscellaneous crap and with no light source to guide my path) and Pom climbing a fence to pass her back through to our yard. I can honestly understand how mothers are apparently momentarily able to lift a car off their injured child - when I heard Lucy crying it just ripped through my heart like nothing else.

We also watched 'Somersault'. Lovely film.

Sunday: Grocery shopping. Spent an inordinate amount at the Butcher. Mmmmm….meat. I also assisted in the choosing of a coffee table also which Pom then assembled in the afternoon. It's a nice one, really big with a shelf underneath and then two big drawers where I can store my television watching crap. Nail polish, moisturiser etc so I can be somewhat constructive when I am watching tele. Made myself sit down and do some study, as the 'making myself do 300 hours of study every single day' plan isn't really going to….ermmm…..plan. Cooked trout (with lemon, a little butter and my first use of the herb garden - coriander) and salad for dinner. It was nice, but the pieces of fish were both so small that we were forced to consume an entire wedge of Edam with crackers whilst watching 'Lost in Translation' later that evening to sate our hunger.

'Lost in Translation' was a really beautiful film. I was surprised about it because I don't usually enjoy American cinema very much. Bill Murray was exquisite and Scarlett Johannsen was perfect in her role also. I was suitably moved - not an easy feat.

Weekend: 3 potatoes.

My Film Choice: 5 monkeys.

Kymmy: Hello?

Mum: Hi love, it's mum

Kymmy: Helloooooo…..How's it going?

Mum: Good, how are you?

Kymmy: I'm not too bad, how are you?

Mum: I'm pretty good….so long time no hear?

Kymmy: I saw you last week? That's not all that long…..

Mum: Well, you know, it seems like a long time.

Kymmy: *Pause* Okay.

Mum: Soooo…..what have you been up to?

Kymmy: Just the usual, work, uni, not much else……

Mum: *Pause* That's nice……*giggles*

Kymmy: *Realising her Mother is sounding like her IQ has dropped 40 points* RIGHT. WHAT IS GOING ON WITH YOU?

Mum: Well, I've just spent the weekend down at your grandmother's….

Kymmy: *Wonders if this explains sudden onset of mum-giggles* Oh? How is she?

Mum: She's fine, yes fine. Well, actually, I just couldn't wait to ring you. *Dramatic pause* I've met somebody *giggles again*

Kymmy: Already? Who is it?

Mum: Well, it's someone I used to know 28 years ago.

Kymmy: "Know"? Right, tell me everything.

Mum: *More giggles*

Kymmy: Jesus Christ, just tell me….

Mum: Well, when I was 21 I was seeing this guy, we were the love of eachother's lives. But the timing just wasn't right and when we split up I took off to Western Australia, met your dad and had you…..but I never really got over him, never really fell out of love with him….

Kymmy: How was the timing not right?

Mum: Well…..at the time….he was married.

Kymmy: HE WAS WHAT?

Mum: Yes, well….but you know, he didn't love her.

Kymmy: No, obviously not if he was banging you!

Mum: *Stern tone* Kymmy….

Kymmy: Sorry, seeing you. Continue…

Mum: Well, after all this time he heard that I was single. So he got my number from directory assistance and called me.

Kymmy: What did you do when the phone rang and it was him?

Mum: Sat down. Very quickly. Anyway, as it turns out he's separated from his second wife and so we went and had coffee on Saturday for an hour to catch up.

Kymmy: Lovely!

Mum: And then we went for a drive to Daylesford on Sunday. We climbed up the top of Mount Franklin and on the way down I fell in a hole.

Kymmy: Ha ha ha, that's very typical. I think you passed that gene onto me.

Mum: And then we held hands for the rest of the way down.

Kymmy: Awwwwww

Mum: And then we kissed at the bottom of the Mountain.

Kymmy: Ewwwwww.

Mum: And on Monday we went out again.

Kymmy: Again? You haven't slept with him have you?

Mum: No! Not yet…..

Kymmy: Good, keep your pants on.

Mum: Well, I'm a little bit hesitant because…you know….things have…well….dropped over time.

Kymmy: Okay, that's enough.

Mum: But I'm not too worried about the 'S', because back then it was pretty fantastic…*laughs*…so I don't think it will have changed….

Kymmy: Okay, really that's enough…

Mum: *giggles* and….

Kymmy: Lalalalalalalalala I'm not listening…..

Mum: He used to…..

Kymmy: Okay, mum I have to go….speak to you later…..

Mum: But…..

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP

So one part of my post yesterday that was omitted - I weighed myself on the weekend. Gahhh! I don't tend to like to do that very often, as usually it makes me slightly sad. But when I did so on the weekend I was horrified to discover that since Pom and I have been together I have stacked on six kilo's. SIX KILO'S! That's 6kg, 6000g, 211.638oz, 13 pounds, whatevs. Now, I'm around the six foot mark, pretty tall for a chick (so I'm constantly frigging told by people in the pub, on the street, at the hairdressers...Do you know how hard it is not to say "Yeah, that's true. Hey - you're pretty ugly for a bloke"?), so to be honest a rise in weight of that amount doesn't make a really discernible difference to my figure. Trousers get a bit tighter, etc, but you could possibly mistake it for a bit of bad bloating (Ha ha). In any event, I have decided that I am going to get back on the wagon and go back to the wheat-free diet that served me so well up until I lost all motivation/had to start cooking for someone else.

I visited a naturopath almost two years ago now, complaining of extreme lethargy amongst other things. I explained how my belly swells up after almost every meal, and how I would get inexplicably tired after eating, had no energy, etc. He did a whole lot of surprisingly scientific tests and announced that my cells were around 40% toxic, that I was barely functioning. Duh. He then declared that I needed to cut all grains and potato out of my diet, at which point I nearly fell off my chair. I'm pretty sure I said "Are you fucking serious? What am I supposed to eat?". He replied "Fish and vegetables. Use some lemon for flavour". Get le fucked. I drove home from Melbourne feeling pretty dejected and sad, but the naturopath had described to me how my body just can't handle grains, wheat especially, and his explanations did make a lot of sense. So I embarked on a very strict regimen of eating which excluded all pasta, bread, cereals, rice and potato. It's really quite difficult. I customised a sweet potato and pumpkin soup recipe (sweet potato and potato are from different families, so it was okay) and ate that a lot, I made salads, I found a wheat free muesli to eat for breakfast, I steamed vegetables, I found meals on restaurant menu's that would be okay for me to eat. I lost weight very quickly, I think it was 4kg in the first week. I had no belly pains, less tiredness, much more energy, a clear head and my stomach was flatter than I think it had ever been. The great thing was, I was eating more than ever before but still dropping weight. I ate HUGE salads with smoked chicken and shaved parmesan, dressed with balsamic vinegar. I could eat as much meat as I liked, so I would cook a massive steak or whatever animal product I so desired. It was great. Initially I got headaches from the carb withdrawal, but these soon dissipated and within about 2 months I had dropped about 12kg. Then I had Operation Boob-Reduction™ and was not particularly concerned as to whether or not morphine included any wheat-products.

Once I was better, however, I got back into the swing of things, the kilo's kept dropping, albeit more slowly. I think I reached around 18kg and then I hit the plateau. In a bad way. I kept on with my wheat-free rigmarole, but then the festive season was upon us. I don't know about everyone else, but that time of year is an absolute madhouse. Functions for work, parties with friends, seeing family. Champagne and canapes are abundant, and I love it. Then there's Christmas Day, where my family prepare enough food to keep a small African nation's appetites' sated for several days. Then there's New Year's Eve, etc etc etc. After that it was all downhill and I was barely half hearted about the whole thing. The weight stayed off though, so that was some comfort.

Then, some moons later, I met Pom. The early heady days of meals out, lots of drinking etc ensued. Again, it was Christmas, then we moved in together. I didn't think that as chief Kitchen Bitch that it would be fair to serve up poncy salads to a growing boy and so it has been pasta's, risotto's and general crap to keep our tummy's full. Thus, I've porked on that ridiculous amount described above. Also the fatigue, bloated belly etc has returned and quite honestly I feel like crap.

So the plan was to change our diets a bit, to try and get me back to feeling good again, which started yesterday. The whole (extremely bloody long-winded) point of this post is that I made a lentil soup last night for dinner. No recipe, just lentils, onions, garlic, ginger, some crushed tomatoes, a fresh chilli, some stock and whatever other spices were lurking in my cupboard. I sauteed, simmered and blended, and the end result was really quite nice. Pom was very pleased, as for some reason he is quite partial to a soup. So all was well.

Until this morning.

Lentils = Lots and lots of Fibre

Fibre = Strange happenings in the stomach

Strange happenings = noise.

Oh Lordy.

Friday: Hellish day of lectures/work. The sort of day where you think you might cry at any given moment. Hadn't completed reading 'The Tempest' prior to turning up to my Lit lecture. Second week of uni and I'm already behind, goddamn. Managed to cover the fact okay in my tutorial and even made some reasonable contributions in order to secure my 10% for participation. Reminded me of the time in my final year of High School where I got an A- for an English Literature essay about Conrad's 'Heart of Darkness' without actually reading the text. Work was an absolute shamozzle. There is so much stuff to be done that I think I'm going to hyperventilate every time I look at my desk.

Get home. Exhausted. Pom was packing his bag to go away for the weekend with a mate of his, down the coast. (I have thus far avoided going to the beach for any extended recreational period by using the excuse that I want to be able to wear a bikini. Should book beach holiday for 2015). This was the first weekend since we met that we were to spend it apart. First weekend in the house alone. I got a little bit sooky when he left, as I'd had a big big day and needed to vent. Decided a bit of retail therapy might assist and went and bought a coffee maker. Not a big flasho cappuccino one, but one of those filter ones. It looks quite formidable and impressive, all for the princely sum of $23.00??? Amazing...mood was lifted instantly. Also purchased Who magazine (for Friday night ritual of Who & bubble bath) and a little packet of Easter eggs. Got home, decided that it was just too much effort to run a bath, put my oldest, most ragged pj's on and crawled into bed with my Easter eggs and my magazine. Lamented the lack of another body in the bed and thus Lucy was thrilled to be called to join me on the bed. She snuggled up behind my knees and proceeded to snore loudly. Thought about all the things I needed to do over the weekend. 3 whole days of doing those things. Loads of housework, calling family and friends who I have been meaning to speak to. Catching up and getting ahead with uni work etc. I EVEN MADE A LIST.

Saturday: Don't get out of my pyjamas until well after midday. Spend most of the morning staying in bed, only leaving to refill my coffee cup. Watched a lot of music video's on the tele. Read some non-uni related material. Dozed. Downloaded stuff from the internet. Finally got out of bed because I was getting picked up to go and play some tennis at 4pm. Played some pretty average tennis for a couple of hours. Saturday night was spent in much the same way as Friday night, only I did do some housework which brought me some comfort that I was making use of my time. Crossed some things off my list, and added some more.

Sunday: Much the same - slept in. Arsed around. Drank copious amounts of coffee, smoked cigarettes and cracked on with a book I've been meaning to read (non-uni related, of course). Finally drove my car for the first time since Friday - went to the Supermarket to do the grocery shop in the late afternoon. Not long after I got home, Pom arrived home all sunkissed and sandy and I was very glad to see him. I cooked us dinner (first notion of cooking all weekend) and we watched some tele before retiring for the evening. Well, to clarify, I was actually sorting some washing, realised I hadn't seen him for about half an hour and so went in search, only to find him passed out on the bed, mouth open and competing with Lucy for the loudest snoring title. Bless. Poor little thing was all tuckered out.

Monday: Public holiday - YAY! Woke up and it was raining. Raining, raining, raining. All of the washing that I had diligently hung out was soaked. Cooked us a beautiful breakfast of zucchini fritters topped with shaved ham, poached egg and hollandaise sauce. Served, of course, with coffee made with the new machine.

Decided that now my psychology lecture was but a few hours away I should probably do some study. Got about an hour in, but it was actually really productive and useful and I felt a little bit happier with myself. To ensure myself a peaceful studying environment, I armed Pom with gold coins and sent him to the laundromat with 2 baskets of damp washing. Went to lecture and was completely bored out of my brains for 3 hours. I have quite liked the other two lectures we've had but this one….nah. Statistics - bane of my (uni) life.

Came home, put together a pretty simple (but yummy) dinner of pork chops and salad whilst attempting to read 'The Tempest'. Made a fair bit of progress with it, which pleased me. Nothing like actually being productive at 8pm on the night before you go back to work.

Pom and I spliffed up after dinner, which was nice except for some reason I was more off my tree than normal. We went outside for a pre-bedtime cigarette, Pom asked me to pass him the lighter and I decided that before I gave it to him, I would light it and wave it in the air whilst treating him to a full length version of the Bangles 'Eternal Flame' at the top of my voice. He said "It was good until you got to the high notes". I then realised that pretty much the entire street would have been privy to my performance and lamented about what they would think of us now. Then I laughed. A lot. Maniacally.

Watched 'Shameless' in bed and cried at the end when Steve had to leave Fiona and Fiona was left on the kitchen floor howling. Pom laughed at me because I don't think he knew what else to do with this deranged, sobbing wretch beside him, mascara running down her face. It was simply so unjust (the Steve and Fiona thing, not the Pom laughing at me thing) and I couldn't help the tears.

Today starts another week, albeit a short one. We took Lucy for a walk at 5.30am this morning, which was a good start to the day. Although somehow she managed to escape her harness at one point and Pom had to give chase to get her back. Sneaky little bitch she is, but I still love her. She clearly enjoyed her 20 seconds of freedom and was quite smug for the rest of the walk.

To be honest, I'm pretty disappointed with myself about the weekend. It was a golden opportunity to get all the things done that I have been meaning to do for ages, but never have the time to get around to. 3 perfectly good days, no distractions, and I did bugger all of what I was supposed to. I'm my own worst enemy, Queen of procrastination. It's going to be the end of me, I swear.

Anywho, til next time….

Tennis again tonight. I am filling in for the solicitor at my work who's husband is a partner at my firm. I will be playing mixed doubles with him, as I did the first time I played tennis. I am going to wear the t-shirt I nicked from Pom which says "porn star" in very 70's lettering and has a graphic which is the silhouette of a naked chick with very pointy boobs and an afro. I REALLY want to wear one that says "I'm with Stupid" and has an arrow but I'm not sure it would be funny for everyone. The humour is in the irony, people. Sort of.

Have had a cracking headache for about 24 hours now. No amount of Neurophen will appease it. I think I've not been getting enough sleep.

17 sleeps till the U2 concert. That is going to be massive and I haven’t started to get really excited as yet because it's always been too far away. 17 sleeps isn't all that long though.

Uggghhhh, so much work.

x

Friday night saw myself and the lovely Vyner attend a short film competition as part of the local Arts Festival. It was held at my favourite café/bar/restaurant, with the carpark beside the building being cordoned off and set up with big round tables and a large projector screen on which the films were shown. The night was mild, the mozzies were scarce, and the champagne was lurvely.

Highlight: Some considerable talent, especially from the younger film-makers. I considered just how difficult it would be to conceive and then actualise a film which was less than 10 minutes long while still articulately conveying the chosen message and getting all that technical stuff right. Too hard. Close second in the highlights of the evening was the piece of Hummingbird cake which Vyner bought and then shared with me. Made me happy in my tummy.

Lowlight: The large communal table set-up meant there was a likelihood of spending an evening with people you didn't know. This had the makings of a great night, however I sat next to a lady in her 50's who didn’t hesitate in asking her companions in a loud voice what was going on in sections of films that she didn't quite understand. Which, for her, seemed to constitute about 90% of the evening. I wanted to beat her over the head repeatedly with my handbag. It's ART, bitch.

It was nice to spend a Friday evening out without the ramifications of a Saturday hangover. 3 glasses of champagne and a strong coffee to round off the evening.

On Saturday morning we ventured down the street, as has become our custom. Pom made the very wise purchases of a lawn-mower AND a tele. So we can now hook the DVD player up and watch my David Gray DVD repeatedly for many many nights to come. Here's to being saturated in the maudlin but pacifying wonder that is Mr Gray. Lawn-mower? Meh - we have massive lawns and gardens at our house and hiring one every few weekends certainly makes no fiscal sense. Now owning a Victa, Pom should be starting to feel more Aussie. It takes him about 2 hours, involving a lot of sweat. Typically I will sit and watch him while smoking and generally supervising the job.

Highlight: My mum's housewarming party on Saturday night. A mini-celebration of her new-found freedom and independence. Good food (except for those weirdy asparagus doo-dads. I hate asparagus.) and a few drinks. Pom put together a computer desk for my mum, what with him being the new man of the house and all (not a job he applied for but has received nonetheless. I think he's quietly chuffed).

Lowlight: Shaving my legs in a hurry on Saturday morning and having to remove a piece of skin about the size of a 5 cent piece from my razor. It originated from my knee. I'm not a very bony person so I'm unsure how it happened but I do know it stung like the bejesus and bled a LOT.

Sunday

Sunday was a time of rest, recreation and relaxation. One of Pom's mates came around in the early arvo and we all spent a bit of time in the shade of the garden. I also did quite a lot of study in the afternoon after procrastinating as much as I possibly could.

Highlight: Taking Lucy for the usual big Sunday morning river walk and then finishing with brunch at our favourite place (the same one I was at on Friday night). Eggs Benedict, a skinny cappuccino and the Sunday newspaper. Bliss. Lucy usually gets spoiled by the waitresses by having a special dog bowl filled with water bought out to her. One time she even got bacon. This time, our waitress was clearly not an animal lover and she got no water or bacon. The people on the next table, however, asked if they could feed her their breakfast leftovers which she very much enjoyed. Oooh, the other highlight was doing a lot of stationary shopping for things which I felt may assist me in my path of studying. I bought a lot of items which were clearly superfluous, but it was fun nonetheless.

Lowlight: Having to set the timer on my mobile for 30 minute increments in order to study, after about 2 wasted hours of doing other shit that did not need doing in order to put off studying. Methinks this is going to a long road when you've got the attention span of a 2 year old. Also, trying to study whilst lying in bed does not count if you are partial to a nap, as I am. It's best to go to the loungeroom or a similar place where you can't lie down. Smoke breaks should also be limited to once every half hour at a maximum. Not one every time you finish reading a paragraph about cognitive psychology.

So that was my weekend. Low on debauchery, high on productivity. 4 stars.

Okay, so vet visit completed. Diagnosis? A bad case of an over-protective mum. The vet humoured me by putting some yellowish antiseptic solution on the wounds, and cutting some scraggy excess skin off, but she's fine. Apparently, however, my dog is fat. FAT? I was so pleased that whilst at the farm she'd put on some weight (exactly 8.2kg as we found out tonight), but the vet said she didn't have a defined waist. Should I be putting a corset on her? Are we in the 1930's? Are 'defined waists' desirable traits in a dog? I was completely unaware, she just looks beautiful to me. Then the vet felt around a bit, screwed up her nose and said "Oh, actually, I can easily feel her ribs, maybe she's not fat. Maybe she's just a funny shape".

A funny shape.

Hmmmphh.

Anyway, Lucy also caught up on a vaccination, did a little wee on the floor when the vet first tried to come near her and then plied all and sundry with sooky looks to ensure receipt of those treats in the bowl in the examination room.

However, I did take a photo so I can share why I deemed it necessary to take her to the vet (aside from to be told my dog is a fatty fatty boombah).

I popped home this morning very quickly to pick something up. I went out the back to give some quick cuddles to the poochies, when I noticed Lucy had something stuck to her face, near her eye. I went to pull it away and she yelped. Which is when I realised it was skin, and she had two gashes on her face. I thought it was because her and Max had been playfighting, and there's such a size difference that it'd gotten a bit out of hand. I decided that apart from the gashes, she looked fine, and I had to get back to work, so I would come back at lunchtime and have a proper look.

So heading back out to my car, the neighbour-from-the-other-side-who-we-haven't-met meets me on my front lawn and explained that at 2am this morning, she had been woken up by the sounds of "a dog in distress". She had gotten her oldest son, and a torch, and gone down the backyard to investigate. They peeked over the fence into the yard which backs onto theirs (sort of diagonal to ours, but sort of not) and saw my darling stuck in a fence. She's extremely timid by nature anyway, so as soon as she's seen the torch she's been forced to free herself, cutting her face on the jagged tin in the process.

I would usually probably not worry about her injuries too much, seeing as though they seem fairly superficial, but the gashes are quite close to her eye so I've booked in to take her to the vet tonight after work. Just in case they get infected or abscessy etc and somehow spread to her eye (okay, I'm being over-cautious, but I'd hate for something to go really wrong. I'd feel so guilty). Actually I already feel guilty enough as it is, because I didn't hear her distress cries last night, and I should've.

She's looking suitably sheepish/sorry for herself, and will no doubt wee on the vet's floor tonight as she always does (people she doesn't know scare her).

Will have to lavish her with more affection than normal, if possible.

x

These are some photo's of the herb garden I created last night. There are two plants of basil (because I use that a lot in my cooking), an oregano plant, chives, flat leaf Italian parsley, and some coriander. These are interspersed with some little Sweet William seedlings to provide colour.

The smell as you walk out the front door, especially at night, is amazing. I can't wait until I can hack a whole heap of basil off to use in my tuna & tomato risotto, or coriander for my curries. Or the parsley for the Husband-snaring risotto (and that's as much of the recipe as I'm prepared to give away Miss Jenny!).





But as I had my specially purchased old-biddy floral gardening gloves on last night, and was enriching the quite frankly crappy soil in the built-in planter boxes with potting-mix, before carefully separating the roots of the herb plants I'd bought from Bunnings and watering them all in, I had a tiny little epiphany;

I am 24 years old and I am excited about making my very own herb garden.

I don't particularly enjoy blinding nights at the pub in the same way I used to. In fact, I'd prefer to stay home and have a joint before climbing into bed with a dreamy smile on my face.

I am happy when all of my ironing is done and the lawns are edged.

I tsk at young girls wearing denim skirts which could double as belts. And it's not because I'm jealous that they can wear them and I shouldn't probably entertain the idea at all.

When I see teenage boys wearing polo shirts with the collars turned up, I just want to put them the right way again.

I enjoy good coffee and nice champagne, but have difficulty stomaching the girly drinks that I used to be able to consume by the litre.

I need to eat breakfast now. Whereas I used to be able to subsist on only coffee and cigarettes for days, I now have to supplement them with such ridiculous things as proper meals.

I wear a dressing gown in the mornings (much to Pom's disgust).

98% of the television I watch is on either ABC or SBS.

I enjoy eating 'some nice vegies' with my dinner.

THE FUCK?

When did this happen? Has the old ladieness just been lurking inside, waiting for the right time to come out? Should I feel guilty about not wanting to party like it's 1999 forever and ever? Have I always had a penchant for gardening and not known it? Will I soon be taking up lawn bowls and knitting? Holy shit - I already attempted knitting two years ago! (It didn't succeed because I have very limited patience, especially when I'm crap at something. Persevering? Ha!) Is it only a matter of time before I start wearing applique and matching leisure suits made from parachute material?

HELP! PLEASE HELP!