Memes rants and silliness

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day 7 of 365

Yeah, it’s not going to win me any photographic awards, but I kinda like the dark foreground.  Me and Miss Kit Tern this arvo.

Also today – The Story Of The Printer.  Which Mr Beloved is writing up has written and he tells is much better than I do – I shall just say KNOW YOUR RIGHTS! And don’t buy a Kodak ESP-3 All in One multifunction printer. They suck.

For the purposes of where Mr Beloved originally sent the story, Caity is referred to as The Evil Vicar’s Wife (TEVW) and Mr Beloved is known as The Goat or as The Irreverent Mr Black.

Probably best not to ask why….

It came to pass, in those days, that TEVW did purchase a new printer for her photography and fiddly stuff, and behold, it was made by the Yellow Box Photo Stuff People. Here is its likeness.

(image: http://photography-mag.com)

It printeth not upon the square, and its rectangles were sort-of trapezoids with some curvature. Lo, its suckage was great. TEVW looketh upon the sites and forums, and crieth: “Bugger. Lots of people are having trouble with these. I shall send it back for a refund”.

She calleth upon the Children of Off-Us-Jerks. Verily, they sendeth her on telephone tag round their encampment, even unto the whole goddamn twelve tribes, until her call pitcheth forth at the tent of Tech Guy.

“Alas, O Tech Guy. My printer functioneth not as a printer, but melteth my images as if the demon Salvador Dali tormenteth it. This is a curse upon its kind, as written in the chronicles of the prophet Intarwub, and I wish to get my shekels back.”

The Tech Guy maketh the sound of the Hrumph, and reciteth he from a scroll by the phone, saying: “We refundeth not, nor giveth we credit. No, there are no exceptions to this rule, and we don’t care nyah nyah nyah. We sendeth thy piddly little piece of equipment to its makers beyond the sea and they fixeth it, for no fault attacheth to us and it is all out of our teflon-coated hands, so there.”

TEVW saith, “But surely the Fair Trading Act 1989, Section 40…”

But behold, he cutteth her off, saying that there are no exceptions to policy.

A certain Goat was close by, and heareth the woe of TEVW. He waxed, both wroth and the tips of his straggly moustache.

He strideth to the phone, and dialleth the tribe of Jerks, specifically Off-Us. His tone was as honey, and his pronunciation was as precise as an old-time ABC newsreader, for a very angry Goat must constantly remember to be polite.

“Good morrow, entry-level staffer. I am sorry, but I must speak with a manager, as our last call has been largely disappointing.” (words have been changed for archaic effect, but the tone is similar.)

And in due time, cometh the manager to the telephone.

The Goat, who was Black, recited the Litany Of Crappy Results, and brought the tidings that the tribe of ESP-3 was cursed by the peoples of Forum.

“We expected a printer”, he saith. “A distorter of images was not what we paid for.”

And lo, the Manager beginneth to read from the Scroll Of Store Policy.

Quoth the Goat: “Does the policy override Consumer Law, or is it the other way? Please remind me as I am a very forgetful Goat, and would not like to need to ask the Office Of Fair Trading which was more powerful.”

And behold, the Manager’s eyes were opened. Fucking wide.

And so it was that a refund was issued.

The moral of today’s sermon is to know your consumer rights. How the hell it is, that a store can have a “policy” which encourages staff to flout the law, and can continue to promote such a policy, is a mystery which is not to be unravelled this side of the grave.

(Note: Good service was given at the same store, and many of its staff are great help. It’s the policy that sucks donkey-spheres.)

So there you have it.  Good Triumphed over Evil and they All Lived Happily Ever After. What more could you want from a story?

coffee

“Doctors are up in arms over official Queensland Health Department guidelines which urge weary medics to drink six cups of coffee a day to fight off fatigue.”

Say WHAT? So, now not only are we likely to be treated in hospital for emergency care by some poor bugger who’s been up for 72 hours, they’ll be jittery on caffeine as well? Oh please tell me that this is someone’s idea of a joke… not more doctors, shorter shifts, nooooo, MORE DRUGS, that’s the answer! Why not just give them those Sooper Sekrit combat drugs that I’m sure various armies have developed and let them go until they COLLAPSE IN A SCREAMING JIBBERING HEAP, huh, Queensland Dept of Health?

You know, I’ve been pretty lucky with health care – touch wood – I’ve been able to go to hospital when I needed to.  And when I’ve been there, I’ve had excellent care.  But WHY would anyone WANT to be a doctor, knowing these are the conditions you will be forced to work under, at least while you complete the hospital part of your training? Is there ANY other profession that treats (ha!) people like this?

I am shaking my head in wonderment.

And considering not reading the news anymore, it’s just FREAKIN’ ME OUT.

3 of 365

3 of 365 – not something that needed hospital care, just a slight burn to my inner right arm from hugging a hot water bottle.

Do you have ANY IDEA how frustrating it is to constantly read the word “Slip waxed paper in between the pages”… or variants thereof WHEN THERE IS NO WAXED PAPER TO BE HAD ANYWHERE?!!?

Seriously, every bookbinding/journaling technique I am reading now recommends this, and assumes it’s easy to get.

BUT IT’S NOT.

Not a single supermarket in town even STOCKS waxed paper anymore.  You used to be able to buy rolls of it, or packets of precut sheets, but NOOOOOO, not now!  Mr Beloved and I think it’s because those little zip-lock sandwich bags have become ubiquitous.

And no, silicone coated baking paper/”parchment” does NOT work as well.  *sigh*

Can anyone help me in locating and buying some? PLEASE?

Well, today was the first day I haven’t actually felt WORSE than the day before. Yay?

For all that, it was still Another Bed Day.  *sigh* And our solar hot water didn’t get installed yesterday because – THE PLUMBER WAS SICK! We’ve rescheduled for next Wednesday, just gotta hope that the weather doesn’t work against us.

Ricë wrote a post today about the intrusiveness of muzak.  I started a rant in reply in my comment on her post, but here’s some more rant:

I’ve been rabbiting on at various In Real Life friends about the new growth industry (no, Dustin, it’s not PLASTICS) – it’s audiology.  Seriously, every time I go to the shops there seems to be a new one offering hearing tests and ever smaller hearing aids.  I think Toowoomba is up to about 20, for a population of 90,000.  And do you know why?

I’LL TELL YOU WHY.

It’s because almost nobody can stand SILENCE any more. When and how did we become a culture that feels the need to be constantly immersed in man made sound?  Waiting rooms are drenched in either overly loud muzak or blaring televisions.  Supermarkets and shopping centres play their identifying jingles over and over and over.  We get in cars and immediately turn on the radio or a CD.  Those ubiquitous white dangly cords drape from ears to iPods, cocooning each wearer in their own world of individualised sound.

Our house is near the local railway yards, and surrounded by train tracks.  We expect a certain amount of noise each day from the coal trains and maintenance vehicles, and most nights we can hear the chiropractic clunks and crashes of carriages being shunted. Some of the train drivers are artists, echoing the horn of their diesel engine around the valley as they pass by the yards.

On clear  nights I can hear the “ping… Ping… Ping… pokpokpokpokpokpokpok” of the traffic signals over 150 metres away across the creek.  Some nights we are visited by the local owl (mo POKE! mo POKE!) and some nights the plovers scream from the vacant, weedy blocks.

Some nights we are woken by domestic quarrels; by neighbours who think that chopping wood after midnight is a perfectly reasonable thing to do; by dog fights, screeching engines and tyres sliding on the bitumen.  Or the ever-so-charming individual who believes that by renting a nearby industrial unit he has the right to super-amplified music at any time day or night.  I don’t think in the 5 years I’ve lived here there has been a single night without hearing at least one set of emergency service vehicles dopplering by on one of the main roads.

Oh, and I mustn’t forget to mention Bung Lung – one of the new neighbours who, although appearing to be in his mid 20s, has the emphysemal lungs and bronchial function of a 50 a day pensioner.  (We’ve started referring to their household as The Brueghels – because they’re phlegmish. (groan!)  Nothing like hearing a lugey hawked up outside your window at 3am to jolt you out of a dream. (The cigarette stench is a subject for another post…)

All of those are noises which are beyond my control.  When I can choose my audio surroundings, more often than not I’ll choose silence. Because it’s rare and I enjoy it.  I have quite enough trouble fighting with my head to get anything done, without inviting more noise in.

I’ll listen to Radio National, if there’s something good on.  My CD collection is almost exclusively female singers (loving the new Lily Allen album, and I never get tired of Kirsty MacColl)but I really only listen to music if I’m sewing or at the gym.

But Mr Beloved lives in a music centred world.  Where I find it VERY difficult to process two audio signals at once (especially if one of them is voice), he thrives on audio complexity.  (Not suprisingly, he’s a long time fan of Brian Eno.) I can’t read if there is competing audio – my brain just gets frustrated.  My Dad  can listen to radio, watch TV, AND read the newspaper all at once – I have no idea how he does it and even THINKING about it makes me feel quite ill.

My ideal world would have a soundproof room, possibly with squishy walls, and maybe a coat with arms long enough to actually fit me…

And now I’m off to take my medications.  Night!

Just put Skype on my computer.  Hmmm.  I can CHAT now! Cool!

Had another bed day today :-(

Not much going on.

I did go to a Pfaff day at the local Pfaff shop yesterday.  I was disappointed that the new couching feet being demonstrated weren’t available for my very expensive machine – at only 5 years old, I expect better support than that on such a pricey item.  Guess who’s not going to be buying that brand next time??

I did enjoy the ruffler foot demo – but at $144, I won’t be buying one of those, either.  It would be nice, but I already have ruffler feet for my century old Singers!!

Ok – off to see who I can find online….

Yep, it’s that time of year again… time for Miss Caity’s Annual Rant about Easterfest (previously know as the gospel music festival, but generally known in our house as “THAT BLOODY NOISE”.)

Usually I’d go on and on about the way the super-amplified bass and drums drive right up the creek and into our house; then I’d have a rant about the way that the entire Queens Park is shut off from the people it’s meant to be there for (pardon grammar) and finish with the fact that the organisers of the event don’t give a shit about noise complaints and in fact won’t even supply the correct number for the regional council to register a proper complaint.

But I’m really tired, have spent a lot of the weekend sleeping (to get away from the noise, and because I’m just feeling like a wrung out dishcloth these days) so we’ll just leave it at that, yeah?

I’m popping into Lincraft tomorrow (not sure how they got dispensation to be open when just about every other shop will be closed – I don’t understand Toowoomba’s trading attitude at all) to pick up two Simplicity patterns for just $7.50 each, plus one Vogue pattern for only $12.  Yay!

Simplicity 4014

Simplicity 4014

Then I really have to sew my little heart out this week. I have to have a decent black dress for Friday (a funeral to go to) and my previous funeral outfits are now way too big.

(I’m just working out what to do with the seam finishes on this unlined dress and jacket –  I can do Hong Kong bindings (like Sue just did) on the straight seams, not quite sure how I’ll finish the princess seams.. maybe just hand overcast? Hmmm…. suggestions welcome!)

Oh yeah – I have to buy black shoes, too – I don’t know about you, but I cannot wear red shoes to a funeral.  Nuh uh.

AND – I fell off the food plan in a bigggg way over the last week or so.  And I didn’t even eat any Easter eggs!  Never mind, I’ll climb back on… unfortunately my plans for attending BodyStep this arvo were hijacked by my overwhelming need for sleep.  THe gym re-opens Tuesday, so I’ll be back into it then…

confessions-of-a-shopaholic-2-1280

Now THAT’S What I call a chick flick!

  • Funny movie with lots of laugh out loud moments – check.
  • Cute boy? Uh huh.
  • Enjoyable minor characters? Yep! Especially Kristen Scott Thomas’s fash mag editor with her outrrrrrrrrrrrageous French accent, (which is doubly hilarious because she does speak perfect French)… and debt collector Derek Smeath is perfect, just PERFECT!
  • FABULOUS clothes? You betcha! The shoes!  The iconic green scarf! The plaid cloak!
  • Unexpected quirks? Oh yeah! (store mannequins that tempt, I’m sure I’ve seen those….)
  • Happy ending? OF COURSE!

What more could you possibly want from a Saturday afternoon at the movies?

And to anyone who has been swayed by the critics telling us that the heroines of recent chick flicks are “… brainless idiots, you know, with nothing more on their minds than, you know, getting a man or shopping” (thanks, Margaret Pomeranz – NOT!) Nope.  In denial about her out of control spending – yes, and I certainly can relate to that.

I didn’t get myself into quite as much debt as she did – but then, I don’t have access to the luxury outlets she did, nor did I have multiple credit cards.  Not for want of the big banks trying – the rotters just sent me another “you have been pre-approved for a credit increase” letter this week, which would have taken my credit limit to substantially more than my annual income – now, how STUPID is that?

(Mr Beloved insists that When He Comes To Power, any banks or financial institutions offering credit cards to those who clearly can’t afford them will be deemed to have given a GIFT of that amount to the offer-ee.  Fair enough!)

And to those who say that the film  is inappropriate during the Global Financial Crisis, I say: HELLLLLLOOO? Surely if we’d all been less shopaholic and not been living way beyond our means there wouldn’t BE a GFC?

And now, since we have just had a brief rain shower, my sinuses are acting up and insisting that all my top teeth are about to be shot out of my jaw, and that someone has punched me in the nose.  I’m off to lie down.

Threads April/May 2009

Threads April/May 2009

OMFSM!!*  This latest issue of Threads magazine, issue 142, has got to be the BEST EVER!!  And I have every single issue from issue 53, June /July 1994. So that’s really saying something!

(and no, you can’t borrow them.  Unless I really really trust you and value our friendship. And know where you live.)

You know how sometimes you get the latest mag (not just Threads, any magazine) and flick through going “Ho hum same-o same-o yawn blah”? And then sometimes you get an issue and every turn of the page IS EXACTLY SOMETHING YOU NEED RIGHT NOW?

Yep.

It’s not just that this is a fitting special – although obviously, given my changing shape and my desire to actually wear clothes that show I have a waist (YAY!) I’m getting a lot out of that; no, it’s also got a super groovy article on splicing knits (swoon!)…

Connie Long's article on splicing knits looks like fun...

Connie Long's article on splicing knits looks like fun...

(you don’t think they could look too star-trekky, do you?  I mean, that’s the appeal of CURVES over straight lines, but still…)

… and another neat article on various hem finishes .  As well as the usual gorgeous image on the back cover of a divine vintage garment.  Oh, and the Quick to make wrap…. and the gallery of winners of the Threads/ Association of Sewing and Design Professionals challenge… and oooh, the article on making fabric roses, I always like new techniques for those, and….

Well. I’m kinda keen, as you can tell.

No brown paper bags or affils, yada yada – I’m obviously just a huge fan of the mag and the consistently clear photos and instructions.

Now I’m off for a quick cuppa with my bestest sewing buddy (yay!) and then some more sewing on the “MacFractured” wrap skirt before Pilates class.  Whew!

*oh My Flying Spaghetti Monster.

(hands up who now has a David Bowie earworm? You’re welcome!)

I have made a lot of changes in the last year.  Losing weight, starting exercise;  the TAHBSO (Total Abdominal Hysterectomy and Bilateral Salpingo-Oopherectomy and ensuing surgical menopause; taking better care of my skin, wearing make-up more; and getting more interested in clothing and fashion again after years of hiding in shapeless oversized clothes.

Not to mention actually getting real help with my mental illness(es?!), being in a stable and loving relationship (*mwah!* to the Teabot5000) and working towards not only getting out of debt but STAYING out of debt.

Most of these changes have been difficult, and especially so for the poor old Teabot5000 – He. Does. Not. Like. Change.

I mean, it would be hard enough for most men – but throw in the Asperger’s and you could have a disaster.

So far, we’ve managed to keep sailing. Mostly.  We’ve had a few instances where we’ve both had to bail water out of the bottom of the boat, so to speak…

boat

But then today I was soooooo ANGRY!!!

Not really at himself. Just at  – well, EVERYTHING!  I’m tired of being broke.  I’m REALLY tired of that.  I’m tired of having to watch every single cent as it briefly transits through our bank account into someone else’s pocket.

I’m tired of being TIRED.  Still.  (although some of that may be due to not getting enough iron – see “watching every bloody cent” above…)

I’m tired of feeling like my life has no meaning.

Yes, I know we’re well off compared to many – we have the house, we have the car, we have each other, we’re not starving, we have clean water etc etc.  I know I should be grateful for all that and I am – but I am feeling whiney and miserable and I just want to know WHY IS IT ALL SO HARD?!?!

There are some luxuries in my life, after all – the gym membership is expensive (but nowhere near as expensive as staying fat and inactive); and I generally get help to see the medical professionals I need to see.  We have the internet, for gawd’s sake.

And I am fully aware that my former spending habits (and a few episodes of uncontrolled mania) are largely to blame for our current situation.

Maybe if I sell a kidney, I could afford some fripperies?

Maybe if I sell a kidney, I could afford some fripperies?

(you know I’m joking about the kidney, right?  But if you’re interested in second hand sewing machines, let’s make a DEAL!)

BUT – I would like to be well enough to work.  At something meaningful.  Is that too much to ask?  (Probably, given the economy – with so many able bodied/non-mentally-ill/more recently employed potential employees out there, who on earth is going to “spare a shekel for an old ex leper?”, to slightly misquote The Pythons.)

They all want the one advertised job...

They all want the one advertised job...

Congrats if you’ve managed to read this far without my whine turning into the noise Charlie Brown’s teachers make:

Wah Wah Wah

Wah Wah Wah

Caity was nøt happy with Hørse and yours Møøsely.

“You are hiding too much.”

Such complaint from her. It is enough to drive a Møøse into hiding again.

But, for Caity, the pleasures of the chase are introduced. (After all, my way is subtle.)

Is picture of Hjørse in hiding:
hjorse_spotting

And I am øver here… can you see me?
moose_spotting

Dø yøu think Caity will post when she has finished løøking? Mayhap!

The hunt for (un)read Ottobre continues.  (See what I did there with the lame Tom Clancy reference? Oh wait, there’s obviously a redundant word there – I mean, he was GREAT for the first coupla books, am I right? But give him dialogue or female characters and  – ewww.  No wonder he franchised himself out…)

Small diversion there while the steam escapes from my ears.  Seriously, WHERE IS THIS MAGAZINE HIDING?  (And why can’t I just LET IT GO?!?!  It’s not like I don’t have  – oh, I dunno – about a GAZILLION other patterns I could be sewing!))

And speaking of things hiding: When I was in Adelaide I bought two glove puppets from Ikea.  (Not that I can find THEM on the Ikea websites anywhere in the world, either – it’s a conspiracy! Stop me before I get back onto the Tom Clancy stuff, ok!)  One was a pantomime-y sort of horse, and the other – to my great glee – was a moose.

I have a thing about saying  “CHOCOLATE MOOSE!” and making antlers with my fingers whenever the opportunity arises to have chocolate mousse. (Obviously).  So I was having the BEST time running around Ikea saying “CHOCOLATE MOOOOOOOOOSE!” with this silly $4 glove puppet.

But as The Teabot5000 pointed out, the ways of the moose are subtle.  And moose has become quite well travelled as he lurks, hiding, until the other person finds him and squirrels (SQUIRRELS!  Nothing up my sleeve! – Oh, I just slay me.  And wasn’t Tom Clancy still a bit obsessed with Boris and Natasha types?!) him away to turn up – anywhere.  He’s already been to the gym with me, hidden in the ginger-nuts container, and developed a lovely singing voice when placed over the old doorbell chime unit.

MOOOOOOOSE!

MOOOOOOOSE!

Today I was innocently out at my Personal Training session, then lunch with the girls, and I get home to find my blog has been MOOSEJACKED!!  (tee hee!)

I’m not looking forward to tomorrow.  Mostly because I have a 9 am appointment at a different gym as part of the Weight Management Program and they’re going to make me run on a treadmill (HA!  So THEY think – I can’t run on those things!) and then keep pricking my fingers and measuring the lactic acid levels in my blood or some such, which allegedly will determine my ideal cardio training rate. Whatever.  I have to –  get this – FAST – and have NO CAFFEINE – for three hours prior to this torture.

I AM NOT A MORNING PERSON.

NOT EVEN THE DOG WILL COME NEAR ME BEFORE MY FIRST CUP OF TEA.

(In fact, I suspect the Teabot 5000 actually uses a tray on a looooooong stick to deposit my first cuppa on my bedside table.  Possibly while wearing full protective gear just in case.  I don’t know this, because I AM NOT A MORNING PERSON.)

Suspected First Cuppa Delivery System

Suspected First Cuppa Delivery System

And they want to make me do their DUMB tests when I’m already HAPPY with MY Gym and MY personal trainer? GRRR! If I had liked these people AT ALL I might have started training with them at my other session of this sort of torture months ago – but they were nasty and the gym they were working out of then was vile.  They’re at a new place now, but I really resent having to go and waste workout energy on stuff that’s not MY program…

Ahem.  I may just have a teensy issue or two around this, ya think?!

And now I think I have definitely earned some raspberries and ricotta and maybe a banana as well.  Since I’m going to be clawing at my STOMACH in the morning anyway…

… so back at my house, we have only acquired full length mirrors quite recently.  And I generally manage to avoid them by keeping them strategically filthy, so I can’t REALLY see myself in them, just a quick passing glance.

But here in my brother and sister-in-law’s house, the room I am staying  in has MIRRORS.

The ubiquitous "shot in the mirror" picture

The ubiquitous "shot in the mirror" picture

BIG mirrors. The kind you CANNOT AVOID.

Uggggh.

Naked Caity is NOT something even *I* want to witness first thing in the morning, let me tell you!

And I just got out the scales. NOT GOOD. *sigh* I didn’t think I had been over-eating, but obviously I was wrong.   Thing is, I FEEL better.  I can walk more – in fact, as soon as it’s a little bit cooler, Bidgee is taking me for a rousing game of Stick in River.  I’m still tired all the time, but feeling a little bit stronger, y’know?

But the weight loss stuff needs to get back on track.  SERIOUSLY.  (Not that I’m going to be all prissy tomorrow – you should SEE the feast my lovely sister-in-law and Mum have been working on!)

My lovely sister-in-law, Eunju, peeling prawns for the feast

My lovely sister-in-law, Eunju, peeling prawns for the feast

*sigh*

Well, time to stop moaning about it and go out and do some interval training with the dog.  (In my interpretation, we walk for a bit, then run for a bit, then both stop and pant for a bit, then run for a bit….)

Later,

Caity the waddler

Here at Chez Beloved, we’re fighting a (losing) battle against these rotten little buggers:

!)@*(#&@*& PANTRY MOTH!!

!)@*(#&@*& PANTRY MOTH!!

They are EVERYWHERE.  And it’s going to be very expensive to get rid of them – not because it’s an expensive process per se – just some pheromone based traps from the supermarket, and a good wipe down of everything – but because you have to THROW OUT EVERYTHING THAT MIGHT BE INFESTED.

Oh sure, some of the food can be frozen, that kills the blighters. Unfortunately, even though we have an insanely large fridge/freezer, there is NO space in the freezer section at all.

So MOST things  –  like flour, spices, rice, pasta, etc etc etc – basically anything not in a TIN (although I believe the moths are secretly breeding a mutant SUPERMOTH to even get around that difficulty) have to be tossed.  *fume*

MOTHRA!

MOTHRA!

And the moths are, of course, in my sewing room as well.  Which is why my grabbing the lidless can of this

Spray Starch

Spray Starch

and attempting to spray it around the room -INSTEAD OF THIS

FLY SPRAY

FLY SPRAY

was inevitable.

However, those moths have the CRISPEST, MOST CREASE FREE WINGS you ever saw…..

*headdesk*!!

Meh.

Maybe I have rose-coloured memories of the original movie, but as I recall, it SPARKLED.  Ok, the central character was a bit of a wuss, but still – it dripped FABULOUSNESS.

The new version?  Hmmm. Occasional glints… but no dazzle.

That said, I did enjoy it.  There were some great performances (Annette Bening! WHERE has she been for so long, hmmm?) And I loved recognizing lines and scenes (the child actress vs “Aunty Crystal” in the bath was almost (from my memory, anyway) identical to the Joan Crawford version) while laughing at some more modern takes (especially in the birthing room).

The cameos? OMG, THAT was Carrie Fisher?  Eeek!  And as usual, Joanna Gleason did NOT get anywhere near the screen time/lines that she deserved (Did  you SEE her in The West Wing? And how about her utterly knockout performance in Sondheim’s Into the Woods waaaaaaaaay back in 1991? She was been underrated for so  damn long!)  Bette of course pretty much played Bette… Candice Bergen played… Candice Bergen; and Debra Messing played her entire supporting actress role as … well, Debra Messing.

The fashion?  Well…after the opening montage of stylishly clad feet striding along 5th avenue, I kept hoping for more.  Don’t even TALK to me about alleged fashion designer Mary Haines in those GHASTLY flat shoes (pre-transformation) – it was all I could do not to scream “Oh, honey, NO!” at the screen.

But her coat in the making  up scene with Sylvia? UTTERLY FABULOUS!  (of course, I can’t find a #$()@*_( picture..)  Mary Haine’s designs? (by John Dunn) Ho hum.

Look, I didn’t expect the movie to time-travel.  The original was of its time, and so is this movie.  I love that this movie had great roles for some *ahem* “women of a certain age” (and  – WHY don’t we see MORE of some of these people, huh, Hollywood? WHY? ) and I hope the run of “chick flicks for the menopausal” (plese, someone tell me there’s a catchier way to say that!) continues.

Gowns by Adrian...

Gowns by Adrian...

As soon as I can get my hands on the original, though, I’m grabbing my BFF and maybe a coupla other friends, breaking out the air popped popcorn and bubbly, and enjoying it thoroughly.

Certain people at a group I won’t name but will no longer be associated with in any way need to read this:

Maybe this is even too advanced for them....

Maybe this is even too advanced for them....

and stay the heck out of things they know nothing about.

ANGRY!!!!!

Today and tomorrow are two of the HIGHEST of  High Holy Days Of Obligation in our household – the Bathurst 1000! GO LOWNDESY!!

But this year instead of pigging out on chips and dips, I’ve been cutting out pattern tissue instead.  Sometimes I’m just so virtuous…!

But we are having a small crisis: the vegemite is lost!

Now, if you’re not a fan of the black goo, you’ll be saying “So what?”

But in this house, it’s serious stuff.  When you want toast and vegemite, ONLY vegemite will do.  And somehow, our jar has vanished.  I’m currently under suspicion, because I’m the one who keeps moving it off our very limited counter space and back into the pantry – but it’s not there.  Not on the counter.  Not rolled under the table.  NOWHERE!!

It’s a mystery…

And now of course, I’m craving it too….

Or actually, if you could hear me, that would be more like “jutht thayin OW OW OW!”

Mouth ulcers? Weren’t.

Nope, another fabulous side effect of recovery from surgery/wonky hormones: Oral Thrush.   (Trust me, do NOT look that up under “images” on google.  Nuh uh.)

It’s treated by letting prescripti0n* fungicidal lozenges “dissolve slowly in the mouth.”  Ever had zinc lozenges?  Well, imagine those except grainier and flavoured with artificial lemon. ICK!

Better than a mouth and throat too sore to swallow…

(yes, I’m eating yoghurt, lots of yoghurt, plain low fat greek yoghurt.  The coolness is helping more than the “probiotics”, I think.)

I’ll be the one here in the corner, whimpering…

* ‘o’ replaced with ‘zero’  in an attempt to stop spam bots… who particularly enjoy that word.

So it’s The Day Before Surgery, and I can no longer put off the dread moment: Clearing the undergrowth.  Defoliation.  Stripping the Willow. Baring Betty.  Unmasking Possible.  (Possible?  Yep, a friend’s mother said: you wash up as high as possible, then down as far as possible – and then you wash possible. )

It’s time for The Shave.

Now, I’m proud of my thatch.  Grown women have pubic hair, ok?  None of this  little girl p0rn0graphic bareness, oh no – mine is a lush, sproingy and multicoloured forest.  (Although I will confess to feeling very ooooold the first time I found an albino kangaroo in the lower forty.   Grey? You’ve got to be kidding me!  GREY?!? I have GREY pubes?! You get GREY pubes?  Oh maaaaaaaaan, yet another Thing Nobody Told Me About Ageing™!

I got over it.  Apparently, some women don’t – I recently read a review of Betty Beauty “Color for Down There”.  Now, I can see wanting to have a bit of fun, and perhaps having Hot Pink Pubes would be a giggle – but I’m just not that worried about whether the collar and cufffs match, you know?  I mean, exactly HOW MANY people do you expect to show that the drapes don’t match the carpet?

ANYWAY: given the luxuriant nature of the growth, we started off by finding and charging the electric clippers.  But the buzzing blades made me tense, and bending gave Mr Beloved a backache.

“This isn’t doing anything, the hair’s too fine.” He says. (I confess to be being momentarily thrilled that my thatch is delicate – because plainly, the rest of me is NOT.  I am now and forever will be a Sturdy Girl, no matter how much weight I lose.  So hey, I’ll take my victories where I can get ‘em.)

Hmmm.

I was planning on waxing – but that was before I realised the logistics of having to hold belly out of the way with one hand (gently, cos it freakin’ HURTS, duh, that’s why I’m having surgery in the first place) and smoothing the wax strip “In the direction of hair growth”.  I don’t know about you, but my bush doesn’t grow in nice straight lines – there IS no direction of hair growth. And anyway I couldn’t see if there was, since we’re working blind here. I haven’t been able to see my TOES for some months, let alone anything else south of my belly-button.

And waxing HURTS.  A lot.

So I resorted to shaving.  Which keeps the Olympic level contortionist act, but adds a further degree of difficulty by adding running water and shaving foam.

Twenty minutes later, two fresh razor cartridges, innumerable squirts of shaving foam later… I’ve shaved up, down, around, sidewards, frontwards, backwards, and I can still feel stubble.  Back again with another new razor blade, one last sweep…

The water heater has run out of hot water, I’m declaring the job DONE.  If it’s not good enough it’s just not.  And in any case, I strongly suspect that whatever I did wouldn’t be good enough and some over-zealous nurse will want to shave poor possible AGAIN before surgery.

And it’s itching ALREADY.

( Mr Beloved did offer to print up a flash card that reads “Why, Yes, I DO have crabs” to excuse the scratching.

I declined.)

EDITED TO ADD: OMG, this is just sick.  Link from Skepchick to a New York Post story on Moms taking their little girls to be waxed – when they don’t even have anything to WAX?!  Ye gods and little fishes, where will it end??

So, tomorrow I’m off to Breast Screen Queensland for a mammogram.  Yet another stop on the Super-Fun-Tilt-Your-World ride that is the process of getting OLDER.

(Yes, thanks, I know NOT getting older would be worse.  But this is MY blog – go whinge on your own!)

Anyway, the Big Boob Squish™ is happening not because of any particular worries – but because I’m probably having an oestrogen implant when I have the surgery, it’s a good idea to have a baseline mammogram.

Just In Case.

Also on the Just In Case To-Do list this week: getting an Enduring Power of Attorney, a Legal Will, and an Advanced Health Directive organised.

(Sue, if I die, you can have my fabric stash.  Not sure if that’s a blessing or a curse!!)

Oh, and the pre-admission check-list phone call from the hospital today raised another FUN!! task to-do: “With your legs together, shave, wax, or you can be shaved here at the hospital.” Um yeah, thanks.  “Would you like a catheter?” was another question that didn’t require a whole lotta thought – are you kidding?  Wet myself trying to use a pan or have a nice clean tube, what do YOU think!

Yep, welcome to Caityworld, Where Too Much Information Is Barely Enough!™

And in that spirit: This week I will CELEBRATE my LAST PERIOD EVER.

Not normally a cause for celebration – ever since I first got my period I have had a miserable time with it – pain, swelling, bloating, acne, migraines, persistent anaemia, constipation, mood swings, and medicinal consumption of vast quantities of chocolate.  I’ve tried every over-the counter “period pain” pill there is; tried altering my diet (but seriously – caffeine deprived Caity is NOT a Happy Fun Sparkly Caity!), exercising to ameliorate the pain, and being on various versions of The Pill.

I have spent waaaaaaaaaaaaay too much money on various products to catch “the flow” (although the best value ones by far are The Keeper or The Diva Cup – highly recommended if you’re comfortable with your body, squicky if you’re not).  I have spent hours soaking blood-stained knickers, jeans, skirts and pyjamas in napisan when the various tampons, pads etc failed.

I have not owned white undies in many many years.

When I had only just started getting The Monthly Monster, one month I ended up in hospital with suspected appendicitis. I was in dreadful pain, but then the blood arrived – and all of a sudden I was shoved out of the hospital bed, told to get dressed, and sent home with some incredibly wimpy headache tablets.

WAIT A SECOND!! A moment ago I was being taken seriously about how much pain I was in, but now you reckon I’m fine? THE PAIN HASN’T CHANGED!!! WHAT THE FUCK?!

I remember my Mum being rather excited and thrilled when I got my first ever period.  I was embarrassed.  She was emotional over her first daughter reaching such a momentous change: I was pissed off by the MESS and the inconvenience.

So after 28+ years of dealing with all this: Yeah, I’m celebrating its loss!!  There will be bubbly; there may even be cake.  I’m thinking possibly Friday or Saturday lunch or arvo tea, if you’re among my TWB circle and free around then….

In the meantime, just THROW IN THE CHOCOLATE AND NOBODY WILL GET HURT, OKAY?!?!?

We are total Eurovision tragics in this house. Every year we invent drinking games (Which we don’t actually drink to, it’s symbolic, fewer calories that way!) try to predict The Dress Trend (so far: backup singers in WHITE. Boring!) and get wildly enthused for some obscure country (AZERBAIJAN! You ROCK!!! Devils! Angel boys with an almost castrati soprano voice! Devils transforming into Angels! OMG!!!)

We got to watch the first semi-final tonight (we have been on a Eurovision news BLACKOUT since the actual event on Tuesday) and I must say -I never knew Poland produced so many plastics. I don’t believe there is a single natural element left in their contestant:

(Trust me, those teeth were SCARY when she sang…)

Greece sent their usual Britney-esque bubbly performer (Britney before the drugs and shaved head, obviously); Belgium YET AGAIN sent a group wth an entirely made up language; political voting was in evidence even at this early stage (was there anyone who doubted Boznia Herzogovina would get in ?) and Ireland and Estonia sent joke acts.

Thrillingly – Finland are in the finals again with another hard rock act (minus Lordi’s rubber prosthetics this year) – pure 1980s long-haired bare-chested pleather-panted ROCK GODS!!

Bring on Semi Final TWO!!!

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