The More Things Change, the More They Stay the Same

Well, what an eventful Christmas. Bloke lovingly proposed. I accepted. It was all very romantic.

I rang my best friend to ask if she would be my bridesmaid, and she was over the moon. Maybe I just caught her at a bad moment last time? I dunno, but she definitely sounded different this time.

So, my parents have gone into "Stealth Wedding Planner" mode. Dad's booked the caterer, mum's running around organising marquees and somesuch, future sister in laws are organising flowers and bonboniere, future parents in law are organising alchohol. I have to say I really appreciate their help, as the wedding will be back home in WA, and we live in Victoria, so a lot of time will be spent on teh intarwebs researching bits and pieces.

Anyway, short post this time. Trust you are keeping well, Santa was good to you, and you have a good New Year. Ciao for now.

The Possible Decline of a Treasured Friendship

I have been best friends since I was 9 years old with a girl I met in primary school. Danielle and I were more like sisters than friends, and our friendship had survived long distances, failed relationships, sporadic phonecalls (once every 3 or 4 months or so) and "life" just generally getting in the way. However, that said, I always thought we had the kind of friendship where we could just pick up where we left off, without too much drama. This is how it had happened for the 6 years since I left WA.

That was until last night.

I rang her, as she's been teaching in Karratha, WA for the last 6-ish years, and was looking to get a transfer somewhere south of Perth. School finished in WA last week, so I thought I'd give her a call and see whether she got a transfer. Her other half answered the phone, and told me that she'd already left there to stay with her parents. She had managed to secure a transfer to Bunbury, and he was packing up and driving down later this week.

So, I rang her at her parents' place for a bit of a chat. The conversation continues on like old times, until the bombshell "Oh, by the way, I'm 18 weeks pregnant". The fuck?????? You're 18 weeks pregnant, the sprog's due in May, I'm your best friend (at least that's what I had thought), and this is the first I'm hearing about it?

How did our friendship drift away so badly that the first I'm hearing about such a significant, life-changing event, is half way through it happening?

Bloke thinks I'm overreacting, but I just feel like I've been cut adrift. Such major news, and I knew nothing about it.

I feel very excited for her, but sad about the slow loss of my oldest friend....

Backyard Blitz Update

Well, tired of waiting and waiting (this has been going on for nearly 2 years now), I SMS'd our landlord to ask whether we are going to be invited to renew our lease, and when works are likely to commence on our backyard. The reply I got back went something along the lines of "I don't have time to dedicate to the problem now {this is despite the fact that this is not a new problem} but if you guys would like to come up with some ideas about what you want to do, I would be willing to spend up to 3K on the backyard".

So, punters, any ideas? There is no access to the backyard from anywhere else but the house, ie no side gate etc, so all materials and resultant rubbish will need to be carted in and out via our house.

We don't want anything fancy, but something functional would be good. I was thinking those big concrete pavers (900 x 900mm) with mondo grass in between them to soften it. The killer is that Bloke is very much against doing the work ourselves, as ultimately, it isn't our house, and we shouldn't be doing something to improve the resale value of the property, when it should be up to the landlord to be doing this.

Other than that, we're heading to Williamstown on Saturday night, as we've never been there before. Anyone know of a good fish and chips place down there?

Bloke Does Backyard Blitz

Bloke's work is apparently very quiet at the moment, so his boss sent him home around 2pm yesterday. Evidently, on his way home, Bloke detoured to Bunnings and purchased a pruning saw thingy, in order to get in touch with his masculine side.

Now, I'm not sure if I've mentioned before, but our backyard is an unmitigated disgrace, due to our landlord being unwilling to either put proper lawn down, or pave/concrete it. We have been thigh-deep in weeds for nigh on 6 months now, and unable to use our clothesline as a result. We went through winter drying our laundry on two clothes airers in our study. Finally, about a month ago, our landlord arrived like the messiah with a 5 litre bottle of weedkiller, and told us to go for our lives. Bloke did, and as a result, the weeds are dead, and he's cut them down with the since-returned whippersnipper.

Yesterday, pruning saw purchased, and permission obtained from the landlord, Bloke took to the lemon and plum trees with vigour, and I now have access to my clothesline! Huzzah!

Now, for the landlord to pave or lawn the area, so that we can have people over for a barbecue without being embarrassed right down to our underpants.

We're Going to the Zoo, zoo, zoo; How About You, you, you?

That's right folks, at the ripe old ages of 35 and 30 respectively, Bloke and I headed off to the zoo yesterday. Hot as buggery, kids everywhere, but what can you do?

Bloke has decided he wants a meerkat as a pet, I want a platypus. The new elephant enclosure is awesome, I must say.

Other than that, nothing exciting happened on the weekend.

An Unexpected Reaction to an Expected Event

Bloke and I were at Altona Gate shopping centre on Saturday morning. This shopping centre is completely out of our normal rotation of shopping centres, but it's near Bloke's work, and we were en-route to Tasman Meats, which explains (partially) our appearance here. We were randomly browsing through one of those cheap and nasty homewares shops, just rummaging, when the 10 o'clock (I think) news came on the radio.

The news that Belinda Emmett had lost her battle with cancer was met with a very sombre reaction on my part. It really rocked me; why, I don't know. I knew she was gravely ill; she had looked very unwell for quite a few years, kind of haunted/hunted. I think the thing that really shook me is how young she was, she was only 2 years older than me. Now, I hate her husband (Rove McManus) with the fire of a thousand suns, but I couldn't help but feel admiration for this man who, knowing his sweetheart was terminally ill, married her anyway and stood by her regardless. I felt only compassion for this man, and could only wonder at the depth of his pain.

Bloke was quite disturbed by my reaction, and tried to understand it, but how do you explain something to someone when you don't understand it yourself?

Anyway, Saturday night we ventured out to hillbilly banjo territory (Upper Ferntree Gully) for a countery at the Royal Taverner with a friend from work, whose whippersnipper I had held hostage for nigh-on 12 months. Excellent steak and a couple of bevvies were enjoyed by all, before heading home, sombre, sated and contented.

Sunday morning Bloke and I headed into the city, as it was time to purchase a new handbag for me (the old one in danger of exploding under pressure), a blanket to take to the Speedway, and generally have a look around, and start thinking about Christmas Shopping. Bloke managed to find presents for his sister-in-law, whose name he drew in the Secret Santa ballot, and also managed to find a shirt and shorts to wear over summer. I found a pair of shorts as well, so it was a day well-spent on all fronts.

How steamy was it yesterday? The thunderstorm in the evening was a blessed relief from the humidity.

Flatpack Furniture Gives You Blisters

Well, we had a win with getting the tallboy and bedsides in the Bombadore, as the stuff was flatpacked.

The instructions were easy enough to follow, so I started assembling the first bedside on Saturday night (I'm such a raging party animal, aren't I?). All that was required from the toolbox was a hammer and a Philips head screwdriver, which is good, as our toolbox is very limited. 3/4 of an hour later, I have assembled the bedside, and have a blister about an inch long on my thumb. Oh joy.

We rose about 8am yesterday and headed to the Pipeworks markets, as neither of us had been there before. Did a couple of bogan laps around there, then headed to Northcote Golf Course so Bloke could have a hit. I walked the course with him, which was a pleasant way to while away a couple of hours, before enjoying a late lunch and heading home to put the other bedside together.

Putting the second bedside together wasn't as easy as the first, as I had my sore paw to contend with, but I got it together while Bloke was whippersnippering the jungle of weeds that passes as our backyard. I contemplated putting the tallboy together, but by this stage my thumb was very painful, and I made the executive decision to put it together tomorrow (thumbs up to the public holiday for a horse race, btw) while Bloke is watching the races on TV. Now, you may be wondering why I was putting furniture together, instead of Bloke.... he's really not a handyman, which he made me aware of up front, when we first got together. As long as he's there to tighten screws that are too hard for me to do, I'm happy. Plus, I really get a buzz out of being able to do this stuff for myself.

Bloke then cleaned his barbecue while I organised the salad for dinner, then we relaxed for the rest of the evening.

Another enjoyable and productive Old Fart's Weekend.

Random Nothingness

Well, our weekend was predictably blissful and relaxing, apart from being hit on the head by random clumps of clay at the Speedway on Saturday night. Bloke thought it was quite a joke, and wanted me to let him use my cameraphone to take a photo of my misfortune. However, since said phone was ensconced under 14 layers of clothes, and it was colder than the dark side of Pluto, there was no way I was letting any cold air in to get the phone out.

I cooked the spaghetti bolognaise, like the good woman I am. It was very nice, and I even had enough left over for lunch for myself the next day.

Our friends' horse ran 4th in the Sale Cup, but had drawn the widest barrier, so it was a pretty good result.

My major win of the weekend was going into Officeworks and getting a generic brand printer cartridge. This thing is so wonderful I want to marry it. I printed an A4 size photo of Bloke and myself, and this cartridge printed as well as a proper photo; I was so impressed I went out and bought a frame and put the photo on the top of the bookshelf in the loungeroom for all to see.

Anyway, hoping for another quietish weekend again this weekend. We'll see how we go.

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Update: Bloke's tax return has come through, so we're off to the shops tonight to buy the following, which will replace the dresser I've had since I was 8 years old, and doesn't match anything else in our room. Huzzah!!!!


Do you think it will fit in the boot of a VS Commodore, or are we kidding ourselves?

Anticipating an Old Fart's Weekend

Bloke and I were discussing the impending weekend last night. Consensus was reached that a quiet weekend was very much in order, as we had being going full bore (keep your minds above your navels) since the start of the footy season until now.

So, the weekend plan is very quiet, and long overdue. We are going to get the car serviced, possibly see a movie while the car is in The Place, have a quiet Saturday afternoon bumming around the house, or heading to the TAB for a punt on the Cox Plate, before heading down the highway to Avalon for the speedway.

Bloke is almost having kittens about the speedway. He's so excited. He's researched it to within an inch of its life. I just hope he's not disappointed.

I am sleeping in on Sunday, come hell or high water, and will be spring cleaning for the rest of the day. Bloke has requested spaghetti bolognaise for Sunday dinner, so I spose I should do the right thing and oblige.

What day do we have to roll the clocks forward for Daylight Saving? I forget....

When Going to the Hairdresser = A Lleyland Brothers Episode

I have been going to the same "stylist" for the 3 years I've been in Melbourne. I love what she does, and she does it very well. She makes me look almost human. About 6 months ago, she up and pulled stumps from her place of employment at my local shopping centre (Norfland *hangs head in shame*). Since then, she's been at 3 different places including Epping, Whittelsea and Greensborough. This morning, knowing I was going to the Seymour Races on Sunday, I ring the salon in Greensborough, only to be told, surprise surprise, that she no longer works there.

I cannot stress enough the importance of getting your "stylist's" mobile number. Frantic SMSing ensued. As a result, I am now off to Mill Park on Saturday afternoon for a wash, trim and blowjob. Let's hope she stays there for a while, as the cost of petrol is making touring Victoria for a haircut kind of cost-prohibitive.

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Update!

Blowjob was predictably marvellous, and I was also able to get my eyebrows waxed for only $10. Bargain and a half! I feel human again.

Unhygienic Ferals and Public Transport are a Bad Combination

What is with some people?

This morning, I'm on the 6.54am from Reservoir. It all starts relatively normal. A young schoolboy (I'm guessing 11 or 12) gets on the train. The train isn't packed, not even close. This kid comes and sits IN THE SEAT RIGHT NEXT TO ME! What is that about? Leave a space!

I have my MP3 player (nerd machine) set on 32, so it's pretty loud. Soon (about Preston station) I can hear this sniffing sound over the music. It's the schoolkid. I offer him a tissue, which he declines. Fine, I kept reading my Cleo.

The sniffing intensifies. I glare at the kid (effectiveness somewhat reduced by my sunglasses). The snot then starts dripping out of this kid (who has declined my kind, but self motivated, offer of a tissue). Unperturbed, the kid uses his hand to wipe the snot away, then rubs the result on the leg of his uniform, WHICH IS TOUCHING MY SKIRT!!!! Oh no, you fucking don't!!!!

I snap "Do not wipe your filthy snot on me, you animal" and move away. Melbourne Central station couldn't arrive fast enough.

What is with people?

Another Race Weekend Coming Up

Bloke and I look like we'll be heading to the Seymour Cup this weekend. Our friends' horse is racing again, and the words "why don't we hire a people mover and Bloke can drive?" have been uttered. Now, it needs to be understood that Bloke doesn't drink. I initially had some reservations about this teetotalling man, I mean, can you trust a man who doesn't drink? But I easily overcame this, and now enjoy the benefits of having a designated driver forever. No more cabs for me!

So, the crew look like loading a Tarago or similar with eskies full of beer and bubbly wine and heading up the Hume for a day of fun and frivolity.

The wheels on the bus
Go round and round...

Pay Day - The Happiest and Saddest Day of Them All

I get paid monthly, and I have to tell you, it sucks big hairy balls. I hope none of you have to endure monthly pay.

It's just not right. You get to be rich for an hour, maybe two if you're lucky. You get to work, log onto your interweb banking, pay all your bills, then you're broke for the rest of the month. It's cruel. Surely it wouldn't be too difficult, in this modern day and age, to do fortnightly pay. Is there some sort of advantage for my employer in only paying once a month? I just don't get it.

Oh for the days when I was a young checkout chick and got paid real folding cash every Thursday *sighs wistfully*.

Technoretard Catches up with Modern Life

Bloke has discovered the vibrate function on his mobile phone. Quite how, I'm not sure, but he has decreed that henceforth, all communication between us during office hours should be via text message rather than email. I'm pretty sure he's stashing the phone in his pocket and is getting a cheap thrill every time a message comes in. I have visions of him sitting at his desk, furiously dialling his mobile from his office phone and his eyes glassing over/rolling back in cheap pleasure. Some people are so easily amused.

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Update!!! Bloke has discovered that if he doesn't open SMS messages straight away, his phone vibrates periodically. He's decreed that he's not answering SMS messages ever again. I told him he is a loser.

Our Day in the Members at Flemington

Well, what an interesting and awesome experience. Bloke donned a suit for the first time, and looked HOTTTTTT! Goddam! I did feel sorry for him, bless his cotton socks, as he hates wearing a tie, yet he did it, and didn't complain. I was all frocked up with freshly straightened hair (took me half an hour to do), makeup, stockings; the whole catastrophe.

We met our friends at the train station at the course, and as they own a horse that was racing in the 9th, they smuggled us in for free (very economical, and left more money for the bubbly wine later). We had missed the first race, but apparently this wasn't a problem as it was only a 2 y.o. race, and the quality of racing wouldn't've been that good.

We were in the Atrium part, and our first minge (martie will appreciate this) sighting was very early in the day. Two laydeez standing on a floor a couple of storeys up from us, right near a window above us. Bloke could see right up their skirts, and I imagine the same could be said for the other 5,000 punters in the room as well. They weren't even wearing nice knickers. The shame!

I managed to work out those little machine thingies at the TAB, so I didn't have to place my bets with the little man. This made me happy, as I could take my time, and make as many changes as I liked before I hit the "submit bet" button. I had a win on the 3rd race, which covered my bets for the rest of the day, so I was very ecstatic about that. Bloke had a very big win on the 4th (I think) and used it to pay for dinner later in the evening. Awwww. How sweet.

There seemed to be a LOT of women (middle aged) who apparently do NOT own a mirror, and think it's perfectly acceptable to be seen in public with leathery, saggy cleavage on full display. Wrong. Put it away. And girls, those baby doll dresses that are in fashion now all make you look like you're up the duff. And don't even get me started about bubble/tulip skirts; they were bad in the 80's, and time has done nothing to improve them.

Things I would do differently next time I go to the races:

1. Not wear 4 inch heels - my back is now all sorts of crunchy, and my feet are still hurting.
2. Wear an outfit that doesn't require the wearing of stockings. Logistical nightmare. I hate them.
3. Allow more time to get ready. I hate having to try and do perfect makeup with limited time.
4. Take a more streamlined handbag option.

But, other than that, I had a brilliant day. I drank a lot of champagne, had a big win early on which paid for my day, and had Bloke to get me home safely, and laugh at me in my drunken state.

How Did I Become so Old Without Noticing?

When exactly did becoming old happen? How did I make the transition from being a chick who spends Friday night after work at the pub, consuming way too many adult beverages and missing the last train out of Flinders Street, to the chick who does the grocery shopping, orders takeaway and curls up on the couch on Friday night? How did I not notice this major lifestyle shift? Am I the only person who's experienced this?

Surfing the interwebs in my trackies and knitted slippers just seems to be a much more enjoyable option than standing in a smoky pub, drinking overpriced beverages and watching junior sluts in training who are half my age throwing themselves at anyone who will look sideways at them. Too much effort for too little return, is the way I see it.

Oh well, off to check the form guide for tomorrow.

Links at the side

Ooohhh. Looky here. I can add links to my favourite other sites.

It's a good thing I can bullshit my way through HTML coding. It was virtually painless.

My partner, who henceforth shall be known as Bloke, is bored at work, and apparently assumes that everyone else is as well. We're off to the races at Flemington tomorrow, so he's ringing me constantly regarding the logistics of the day, which horses he's going to back, etc. Bloke is very excited as it will be his first time in the Member's enclosure. He's purchased his suit and tie, and is all ready to go. I, on the other hand, am trying to tie up a few loose ends at work prior to some lunchtime refreshments. Speaking of which, look at the time!

First post - Losing my blog virginity.

Where to start?

I discovered this whole blogging thing while bludging at work. I was in desci's blog MelbourneHumanFemale, made a comment, and created my account all at the same time. I'm hoping I can work out how to access this thing from my home 'puter, otherwise I've just wasted 30 minutes of work time that could've been spent being unproductive in other ways.

About me.... I'm 30 years old, female, West Australian, living in Victoria with my beautiful man. I support the West Coast Eagles, so I'm pretty happy right at the moment. I'm a fat chick, but once daylight savings starts, so too will our walking program, so I'm hoping to downgrade my status to "somewhat chunky" instead.

Anyway, must fly, and pretend to be productive. I will try to post a bit more on the weekend.