Saturday, March 31, 2007

It has been announced that David Hicks will serve nine months of a seven year sentence as a result of his plea bargain with the US military commission. He will serve that sentence in Australia, and as part of the agreement he will be transferred to Australia within 60 days.

To be honest, I'm a bit confused about this whole thing. I don't feel satisfied with what's happened. I am disappointed in, although I can understand the reasons behind, Hicks entering into a plea bargain. But will we ever really know the truth behind what happened? I understand that he wanted to get out of Guantanamo Bay, and this was the quickest way to do so. And originally I thought, well why wouldn't you just say 'yeah I did it, can I go home now?' but Hicks had to explain to the commission the full extent of his involvement in the activities he was accused of and charged with. I wonder what he told them? Will this information ever be made public? Do we now have to vindicate the US military for holding him for 5 unexplained years, very possibly wrecking the man, in conditions that they would not even subject their own citizens to, on the basis that he plead out? Does this 'result' for the US justify the military commission and will it continue despite being condemned as illegal by the highest Court in very country it was developed? Most irritatingly in my eyes, the time he spent in Guantanamo wasn't formally recognised and wasn't taken into account in his sentencing. Why are the US military allowed to hold themselves above the law of the rest of the world?

So. Many. Questions.

Spruik time

A mate of mine has a show in the Melbourne International Comedy Festival this year, as she has done for the past few years. She's a funny bitch.

Check it out here.

Then GO SEE IT.

I am. Yes, I'm even getting off my couch to go support/heckle her.

And if you don't, I probably won't know will be very cross/disappointed. Nah, seriously, if you don't go and see her make the laughs, you're mentalist.

Friday, March 30, 2007

Why Why Why?

A lovely bloke asked me to dinner.

I accepted.

Set for tonight.

Now, for some stupid, stupid, stupid reason, I just texted him and took a 'raincheck'. I even used the word 'raincheck'. I'm a wanker. Who says 'raincheck' apart from K-mart catalogues?

I didn't even have a good reason to cancel, apart from a tiny little panic attack about going on a date. It's not even about him, he's lovely but ultimately not going to be the 'one' (don't look at me like that, I just know). It's about me. I just want to stay at home and eat cake and read Who magazine in the bath (maybe not eating the cake whilst in the bath).
That's right, as opposed to going to dinner with a nice bloke and engaging in interesting discussions and eat nice food that I haven't had to cook and have a nice time, I want to stay at home and do nothing.
What the fuck is wrong with me?

Thursday, March 29, 2007

I'm not going to name it



The lovely Pomgirl has recently posted about the new resident of her house, Bob(bbb) the Huntsman and for the purposes of sharing I instroduce to you my little friend of last week;







'untitled spider'




The worst thing was that the plastic glass was filled with water and I was drinking from it throughout the night. Without turning the light on. That's my bedside table there.








The spider was about 6 inches away from my peacefully sleeping face.
I took it outside and gently released it onto the lawn (whilst screaming 'Get out of my glass you motherf*cker'. Not really in the spirit of gentle I guess).

Tuesday, March 27, 2007

Since I stopped going to the gym or doing anything remotely physical (it's been about 5 months now) the changes in my body have been significant. I feel very soft. My belly is growing outwards at an alarming rate. I used to think how magnificent it would be if one day it was discovered that I had a large but non-cancerous tumour in my abdomen and once it was cleanly removed I would be left with a small scar and a very flat and slightly defined belly. Like an athlete, or a dancer. I have only recently come to terms with the fact that this is unlikely to occur and the reality is that I will have to actually start sweating in order to get rid of it.

I go through stages of being a completely obsessed about going to the gym, walking the dog for hours on end and eating really well. Then I just get the shits on and stop completely. I'm in one of those stages where I've got the shits on. I'm going to have to get over myself very very soon because I am starting to feel really……crap. It's all well and good eating whatever I feel like and making the most physical activity of my day reaching for the remote but this quickly develops into aches, tiredness, grumpiness and being…..soft. Arms are soft. Legs are soft. Arse is soft. I don't want to try and start emulating the hard body of say, Madonna, but I've had enough of the bloody softness. I feel like pudge.

I also know that getting going again will help my current sleeping issues, dealing with the work situation, and the fact that I just want to stay at home by myself for the foreseeable future.

So, I am officially declaring on this here blog that as of today, I am officially back into it.

Yeah, you just watch me go.

Monday, March 26, 2007

A recap for those who haven't been listening (and because I'm a pathetic blogger)

Lucy
(aka Bella, Bubba, Woooocy)



Likes: Pigs Ears, Lots of cuddles, Sleeping on mum's bed when I think mum is asleep or when mum is not there, having a bath, having my collar taken off and then put back on, small people (dwarfs, children etc), walks, bacon fat, my reindeer ears, my nanna, the heater, the vet (because I get fussed over).

Dislikes: New people (men in particular), storms, being outside by myself at night, loud sudden noises, doing poo when people can see me, ants, going in the car.


Agnes
(aka Fagnes, Fatty fat fat)





Likes: Being outside, watching the world from atop the garage roof, cuddles when I feel like it, dribbling on mum's knee, Whiskas chicken with gravy, hiding on long grass to launch into a surprise attack on Lucy, scooting under the doona when it's cold.

Dislikes: Being made to stay inside, food with fish in it, that imbecile Esme following me around all the time, cuddles when I don't feel like it.






Esme
(aka Sooky, Whingy, stop jumping in front of my feet you little shit)




Likes: Sooking to get attention, throwing myself in front of mum's feet when I'm hungry, feathers, my big sister Agnes, crickets, sleeping on mum, sleeping on the ironing board, tickles under the chin, my scratching pole, sneaking out into the front yard.

Dislikes: The dogs next door, the vacuum, being too little to jump up on the windowsill, mum coming and getting me from the front yard, food that is half a day old.

Friday, March 23, 2007

Fiddy Candles

My ma is 50 today. FIFTY!

For all the issues that we have had over the years, I love her dearly, and I know that she loves me in that way that only parents can love their delinquent children.

Happy Birthday Reeeeneeeee!

xxx

Thursday, March 22, 2007

I am going to dinner tonight to say farewell to friend (K) who is off overseas to do some very noble work in a developing country for a year.

The dinner is being held at the home of friends of hers (M & T).

I saw M & T at K's house a few weeks ago for Yum Cha which K made all by herself because she is Far More Clever at cooking than anyone who is not on tele with their own cooking show or in a restaurant and getting paid for it should actually be. It was on a Sunday and I happened to be deathly hungover so I spent most of my time in the K's loungroom with other Hungover People and had cold sweats and sooked about how hungover I was which was met with no sympathy because we were all in the same predicament.

That's not the point of my story.

The point is that M & T and another couple were there and they greeted me in a very friendly manner and called me by name immediately and therefore I was not introduced to them as in "Kymmy, this is M & T and Other Couple, M & T and Other Couple, this is Kymmy" presumably because K already thought I knew them and thus no introductions were necessary. WRONG. I do not know, out of M & T and Other Couple, who M & T actually are and who the Other Couple actually are. M & T and Other Couple are, at this stage in my mind, pretty much indistinguishable from eachother. The girls are both little with jaunty haircuts and pretty faces. The boys were average height, average build and both had brown hair. And I do not exactly know how they know my name and why they spoke to me with such familiarity. This worries me because it means that I have probably been "champagne friends" with them at some function and then promptly erased them from my mind once my BAC lowered to normal levels. This is not because I did not like them but rather than between 2002-mid 2005 I was pretty much pissed more than I was sober. The Party Years. I lived in a house with two boys for a couple of years and there were a lot of parties and goings on which are mostly a blur.

So I got an invitation by e-mail from M to come to this farewell dinner which is very lovely and I am going because I want to say goodbye to K and also it is always nice when someone else cooks for you.

This evening will hopefully not be problematic UNLESS;
  1. Other Couple is there (highly likely).
  2. No-one addresses M or T or Other Couple by name when I can hear them and take a Mental Note.


I am sure by the end of this evening I will know who is who and tomorrow all my troubles will be over but I am particularly interested to know of the connection between M & T and Other Couple and myself without actually admitting that (a) I do not know their names and (b) I cannot remember how I know them. Is there a way to surreptitiously do this and not be sprung? Particularly because at the Yum Cha I did not let on that I had not a bloody clue who they are but rather acted equally as friendly in return (as well as one can with a churning stomach and cotton-wool brain) whilst having that slightly disconcerting feeling that one gets presumably when someone else is being familiar to them AND THEY DO NOT KNOW THEM.


Foods I am going to have to get rid of if I want to stop porking on like a Mofo (beginnings of a list).

  1. Fresh, soft, lovely bread with real, soft, lovely butter.
  2. Tim-tams (as a meal).
  3. Tim-tams (with coffee or for dessert).
  4. Cadbury's Roast Almond chocolate.
  5. Little Easter eggs.
  6. Sausages.
  7. Champagne (not technically a food but it has substituted for a meal on many occasions).
  8. Soft cheeses.
  9. Hard cheeses.
  10. Little baby cheeses.
  11. Cheeeeeeeeeeeeese. God I love cheese.




I will add more foods to the list as I eat them they come to mind.


Tuesday, March 20, 2007

Cataerobics










It's a slow day, alright?

Because I can



Step by step guide to a night on the turps







Crack open a bottle of champers. This will get you started nicely.










Straighten your hair - it helps if you do this prior to getting too far into that bottle otherwise you will burn stuff. More than likely it will be yourself.





Point at a cat. Any cat will do.







Frock up.






Gloss. Now you're ready.





Take photo's of your friend at her hen's night in embarrassing novelty underwear for later internerd posting without their knowledge.



Refuse to have any photo's taken of yourself because you know that drunken photographs of yourself are for the most part hideous.

Things that also 'might' happen that you should/can not take photo's of;


Monday, March 19, 2007

Now I remember...

Why I don't drink very much anymore.

I had a hen's night on Saturday. I took photo's to do a special photo blog, then forgot my camera this morning. I seem to have also forgotten my brain this morning, unless it's completely dissolved and settled around my eyes. Puffy? And how! Actually, I got to the point on Saturday night when I was trying to take photographs of my lei (as in 'she needs a lei' - it's a hen's night thing I think) and realised I was really just taking photos of my own cleavage, which would not be appropriate for my blog. It was a massive downward slide from there.
I slept until 5pm yesterday. Then from 9pm last night until 7 this morning. I'm still tired. And sick. And my head is a big pile of mush.
Booooooo.

Saturday, March 17, 2007

Saturday mornings

My favourite time of the week, fo shizzle.

No pressure.

Full of possibility.

My perfect Saturday morning involves fresh coffee, the Age, croissants and Rage in the background.

This Saturday morning has been all of those things.

Head space is good.

x

Friday, March 16, 2007

This week I;


This has tickled my fancy this morning.

And I was well-overdue for a fancy tickler.

Tuesday, March 13, 2007

In my mind, I am already in the West, catching up with old friends in trendy city wine-bars before heading down the coast on weekends to stay with my Gran, drinking red wine on her verandah and talking about vegie gardens. I can feel the mildness of the winter, and the afternoon sea breeze sweeping across the city already. I've also already lost a lot of weight and have perfect hair.

In reality, I have not yet applied for the job. I have made some headway though, yesterday I e-mailed a 'contact' who's name will hopefully be a clincher on my C.V. At least, if I were applying for a job in Melbourne it would be. Perth, I wasn't so sure. He enthusiastically agreed to be a referee, and mentioned that he happened to be speaking to the head of the organisation where I plan to apply for the job just the other day, being a friend of his. Woot!

This is a sign.

What isn't so great is thinking about finding a place to live. It is so bloody expensive over there. I mean, ridiculously so. This is obviously due to the 'boom' that everyone's talking about, whereby most of the population are earning ridiculous amounts of money and the real estate market has burst a blood vessel in it's eye to cash in. Which doesn't bode well for me. Especially with the three babies to cater for. Truly, at this early stage it looks like it'd be easier to rent a house in the middle of Melbourne than to find somewhere in Perth where I can have a backyard for the dog and buy groceries. I've done some more exploratory e-mailing to friends there asking them to keep their eyes and ears open in relation to people wanting housemates to move in with their excessive amount of pets. I'm not holding my breath. I really don't want to have to think about 'alternative arrangements' in relation to the girls. Especially Lucy, I just can't fathom not having her with me. It's not an option. There must be some sort of secret rental list where you show your birth certificate to prove you're not really from 'over east' and they say "Oooh, well here's a delightful fully renovated 3 bedroom terrace with a HUGE backyard and pets are welcome - is $200 a week okay?". Can anyone clarify this for me? I have actually been told that a lot of real estate agents over there don't list on the internet, but surely this can't be the case. Not on the internet? Doesn't exist then.

Monday, March 12, 2007

Just a word of advice

If you purchase, say, a yoga DVD so you can bend and stretch in the privacy of your own lounge-room until you eventually turn into Gumby*, make sure all pets are out of the room. Otherwise they might think it's time to play. Lucy is better at the downward dog pose than me, naturally, which pisses me off a bit. Although she ran out of the room when the poses got a bit hard (I'm really out of practice) and I yelled at the instructor to fuck off as she knows that phrase. I'm such a bad mother. It didn't stop Esme though, who felt that was an ideal time to bite my hands.




Oh happy days.







*Or Gumby's chick mate, what was her name? Did she have a lop-sided head too? I can't remember...was there even a chick Gumby in the show? I can really only remember him and the Woolley Mammoth who shot ice cubes out of his trunk.

Sunday, March 11, 2007

I attended one of my closest mates' 30th birthday bashes on Friday eve, held on the balcony of everyone's* favourite establishment. It was a cracking party. A balmy eve, so many good and clever people to talk to, a lot of champagne. You know how this ends….


I smoked my guts out.


Meva is right, there's going to have to be a hiatus on social activity whereby drinking is involved if I'm ever going to get a grip on this no-smoking idea. I just can't have a glass in one hand and nothing in the other. Unless of course I start clutching to someone's arm to fill the void, which could land me in a whole heap of trouble given the right circumstances. So I have started again, comforted by the fact that I lasted a whole 5 days with only one public display of tears and the confidence that I have accepted only one social invitation in the next few weeks, which should give me enough time to practice my lectures as 'reformed' and make other smokers want to punch me in the mouth.


I caught up with my BFF (for want of a less gay term) on Friday night too, he who rudely took his lady and moved to Melbourne a few weeks ago and in doing so the both of them have left my life here quite empty both professionally and socially. At about 2am when I was slumped in the corner of another pub I asked for his thoughts on what to do about EVERYTHING. Because obviously the only time that I am receptive to such comprehensive advice on life is when I'm completely shickered and barely able to form coherent sentences. And the man to deliver such advice is naturally one who once jumped up on my desk making monkey noises whilst I was on a phonecall. I do remember him saying that I should work out what I wanted to do and then take steps to make it happen. Gee thanks, Dr Phil. He also told me that another friend of his was at a crossroads and she wrote lists of everything she was, everything she wanted to be and how to bridge the gap between the two. And now, of course, she's living her dream. I also know this person and I have a feeling her lists would have had entries such as "hug more trees" and "be nicer to people not possible".

I like lists. A lot. They are tangible and concise and reassuring but really in order to make this tactic work I need to know where I want to be, what I want to do, who I want to be. And quite honestly right now I am drawing a blank. I just don't know. I suspect I have been partaking in too many special smokes lately and that crap that we are fed about dope zapping your ambitions and goals might be true. All I know is that I want to be happy, but how? Who knows what it's going to take for that to happen? I know what doesn't make me happy, but that's not particularly helpful. I think I will try and do the list thing, perhaps if I do a lot of clear-headed thinking I might gain some direction, something that I feel has been eluding me of late.


Another discussion had at around the same time was about family, a subject which is almost always guaranteed to upset me. I get quite jealous of people who have beautifully close families, who have relatives who they also cherish as close friends. The BFF's lady (BFFGF?) was telling her sister how they were now in the unspoken (until that point) process of forming a different type of family bond, one which is happening with the understanding that their parents aren't going to be around forever. It is very adult. In her family there are three sisters, one of whom is married and has a baby, the other who is single but dating and the BFFGF, who obviously has BFF as her significant other. BFFGF was saying that the little group of them will form most of the support that each of the others needs, that it is so important to keep that connection together. Given the already reflective and decidedly melancholy head space that I was in, listening to this conversation just made me even sadder and it wasn't long after that I excused myself and went home to hug my dog. I just really don't have bonds like that within my family, save for my Gran on my dad's side. I don't have any form of connection with my father, I am more like a mother to my mother than my mother is a mother to me** and my half-sisters and brothers are all so much younger than me that there is a fairly clear generational gap which will never really be dissolved. Where does this leave me? My closest friends here have either moved away or are in the process of doing so, I have pretty much failed dismally at maintaining meaningful contact with old friends. I'm not in a relationship and after the headfuck that was my last one, I have no desire to be in another for the foreseeable future. My life pretty much consists of being at home with my pets, going to uni in flashes of haste and bustle, and work.


Work, which I used to derive so much pleasure and pride from but now just makes me angry and want to drink. And break things.


Work, the reason why I have wasted an entire Sunday morning in the office instead of stretched out on my bed reading the papers and drinking coffee in an old boyfriend's t-shirt listening to the spin cycle of the washing machine finishing off my towels.


Coming into the office this morning may not have all been for nothing, however. My e-mail inbox delivered to me a message from a site I subscribed to after my little jaunt to W.A. last year. A Government agency, advertising the very first job suitable to my skills and experience since I have been monitoring it. I can address each one of the selection criteria, it's actually pretty close to what I've dreamed of doing since I started working in law. The salary is a little less than I would have expected, but is certainly more than I'm on now. It's in Perth, where my Gran is. And when I think about those few days I was there last year, just hanging out with my Gran, it's honestly the last time I can remember feeling happy. Not excited happy, adrenaline happy, happy from eating chocolate, but quiet, peaceful happy. Contented happy.


Hello, Universe? Is this you throwing me a bone?



*If you live in my town, that is.
*Now say that three times quickly.


Tuesday, March 06, 2007

This whole not smoking thing is shithouse.


This morning I got disproportionately cross at something on my computer screen, a workmate sweetly rubbed my back in a 'there, there' kind of way and I burst into tears. And could not stop. In between snot and tears and gulping sobs I got it out that I had not had a cigarette in almost 2 days and I was not coping. My head is fucked, really spacey and anxious. I was laughing and crying at the same time, and trying to explain it feels like PMS when you have really no control over your emotions. God bless my workmates, they bought me chocolate to cheer me up. Those girls really do know the way to my heart (when champagne isn't available).


This is so bizarre, I feel like a right junkie trying to come off the gear - and it's only cigarettes! However, no more crapping on about it on this here blog as quite frankly the topic is only interesting to me.



Last night was the first night of the year where there has been need to rug up a little - it was a lovely change. I had to rummage through my wardrobe and find a hoodie to keep me snuggly, and when I went to bed the cats were very intent on scooting under the doona to keep warm. I felt a bit loved, even though I really know they are only using me for my body heat.

Monday, March 05, 2007

Quit smoking update

I hate the world.




Also, it is likely that someone will get hurt. It has only been about 15 hours since I last had a cigarette - IS IT SUPPOSED TO BE THIS BAD?

I went to the pub on Friday after work for a couple of quiet drinks and somehow I fell out of the taxi at 3am Saturday morning and proceeded to lay on the grass in my backyard hugging the dog whilst having a fag before forcefully spewing my guts up into my bathtub and waking up on Saturday morning with my head on the bathmat.

I had promised to help some friends move house on Saturday but when I got there in the late afternoon it was all I could do to sit on their couch and not break into a cold sweat. I told them I was there to supervise and being the delightful people they are, they were happy with that.

I mowed half of the lawn yesterday and then lost interest so I will have to finish that tonight.

I have also made THE DECISION to give up smoking starting today and thus far I am not feeling very good about it. I had a nicotine patch leftover from my last effort and I have slapped that on my hip this morning where it is currently itching like the bejesus and my mind is racing. Sad, isn't it? It's just gone 9am. Thing is I am (was) a pack a day smoker, have been since I was 17 and this is going to be a massive test for me. I have no willpower and (apparently) an addictive personality and not smoking is just going to hurt badly for a while. But lordy, I hope I can do it. I just want to prove to myself that I am capable of finishing something I start.

Wish me luck.

Friday, March 02, 2007

Get out of town

After hearing Manfred Mann's "Blinded By The Light" again this morning on the old-fogie radio station I have programmed to wake me up, I have finally googled the lyrics. For ever and ever I have been singing along;


"Blinded by the light/
wrapped up like a douche/
la la la la la la la la/
BLINDED BY THE LIGHT..." etc.


I know its not frigging "wrapped up like a douche" because that would be wrong, even for the 70's where everything went, including but not limited to copious drug use and bouffant pubic areas. And the "la la la" part is my own fault for having a short attention span and not listening properly, traits which surfaced in grade two and have plagued me ever since.


My mad google skillz have revealed that the correct lyrics for the song are;


"Blinded by the light/
revved up like a deuce/
another runner in the night"



Which makes about as much sense as MY version, so either someone needs to tell me what a deuce is, other than the context of tennis, or I will continue to sing my own confusing and wrong rendition and wonder if Manfred Mann was trying to avoid pregnancy or whatever other crazy shit it was they tried to do in the 70's.


This reminds me of the time I found out that the Go-Go's weren't singing a song about "Alex the Seal". Devastating.

Basket weaver

I quite often wear my hair in pigtails, even to work, as my firm understands that presenting an utterly professional veneer is not one of my priorities. I have noticed recently that when I wear my hair in pigtails that I quite often get a lot of people smiling at me. Up here in hicksville, it's pretty much mullet or die, so maybe they don't see pigtails very much. I thought it was sweet. Crossing the street, people in cars smile. Passing people in the street, more smiles.

It has today occurred to me that it is likely that people are not smiling because they believe my pigtails are cute and youthful, but rather because they think I'm slightly retarded.

Thursday, March 01, 2007

I had a friend over to my house for dinner last night, it was simply delightful. I cooked a beef and lentil curry which we ate with pappadums and natural yogurt, it was delicious and now the war is on. She likes cooking and is very clever at it. I like cooking and have my moments of alright-ness. We have been silently trying to outdo eachother in the yummy stakes for quite a while now, she once served a vegetable risotto which practically made me quiver in my nethers, I offered up my own 'husband-snaring risotto' which has lots of chorizo and fresh continental parsley and cherry tomatoes and is quite frankly enough to make anyone weep quiet tears of happiness. She's double-teamed amazing moussaka and spanakopita in a meal of love which confirmed my girlcrush on her and I countered with a roasted vegetable and prosciutto fettuccine that I was very proud of.

Her bloke thinks we are quite the mentalists, as we animatedly talk about food and cooking for hours without growing bored. We both get (far too) excited about being in the kitchen. It's just a thing. But now I've pretty much run out of recipes in my repertoire which will keep me in the running of our unspoken one-up-ness. I'm looking for ideas.

Over to you. Please.

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