Hashtag lovely

Last night I found myself at Ringwood station, normally the sort of place you can’t walk 5 steps without being asked if you can spare a cigarette, but yesterday the scene of something rather special and lovely. There was a poster up at the entrance point, and a box of texters, and members of the public were encouraged to write up what they were grateful for on the poster. Lots of heartwarming contributions – ‘my family’ ‘my boyfriend’ ‘having a caring family and a roof over my head’ ‘my family and sport,’ ‘my awesome school ‘ this beautiful life’. I wrote up my own contribution of course, and then instagrammed it attempting to stay uncynical. All the feels.

Yeah, hokey as fuck, but quite nice. ringwood-stationI then headed back to Baysie, where the entire suburb is a mass of orange shirts, as we prepare for the bloody level crossings to be removed.

Usually at this time of year people start to get tired. And by people I mean me. I am really tired. My eyes look like puffy pastries. I’m too tired to blowdry my hair so it stays in perpetual topknotdryshampoo combo/mess. I’m so tired that trying to muster up some sort of energy or inspiration to write is a huge effort.

It’s been a busy year. Lots of good stuff of course, but a few challenges professionally and personally. Also the world has gone a bit mad. Which is a bit terrifying. The presidency anyone? What the fucking fuck…

Anyway, I have begged a day to work from home today so that I may have a bit of extra sleep and a bit of extra headspace. And it seems to be working as I feel more human today than I have all week. Tomorrow I shall dive head first into a bucket of wine (first lot of xmas celebrations with the girls) but for today I shall take some well earned respite from the world. Not putting makeup on or contacts in #bliss

My Day in Pics #nofilter

Fossicking around for some #inspo some months ago and came across this. And then did precisely nothing about it and got writing about other shit I was cross about. Until now, where we (I) bring you my day in photos. Yay, #phonesoncameras!

6.30am shine and rise, home

First thing I see in the morning are our dogs, Bob and George, who prefer to stay in bed as long as possible. Similar to LAH, who prefers not to have his picture taken. This was taken on my way out the door.

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7am: Heatherdale train station. Coolish morning, in a coat, wondering why I don’t do the sensible thing and drive to H.dale every morning, where I have the choice of many more trains and don’t have to take the dumb replacement buses. Train deserted, so I get seat. Good start to morning.

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7.40am coffee, Little Bourke St. Skinny latte from Higher ground. Very nice people here, and hipster AF, but the reason I go is their coffee is strong and delic. That’s better!

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8.30 now in office, CBD. This is what I look at most of the day. Living the dream….

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10am boss puts up today’s The Age word scramble. It took me many hours to get today’s puzzle.

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12pm, Latrobe St: daily lunchtime walk around the streets – lovely clear day but cool wind. Here is an old w class tram on the city circle tourist route filled with tourists. Bless.

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1pm sushi for lunch, back at desk: Quite ordinary sushi actually but filled the gap!

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3pm, at desk: check fit bit – 6324– not heaps. Might walk to Richmond

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4.30, Yarra River: walk to Richmond down the Yarra and over the bridge to the MCG. Lovely afternoon…Coat now off.

And some random stuff, near the Princes Bridge:

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6pm get home. Greeted by Bob who is more awake now.

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Check on veggie garden also – Kale going nuts. What to do with it? Am a bit over frittata.

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7pm Dinner served by Chef LAH. He breaks the news he ate my last skinny cow icecream last night! This is his cauliflower and hot smoked salmon one pan wonder (so he’s forgiven now). Bloody yum.

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9pm, couching n chillaxing infront of the ABC… cup of tea and dogs. Bed soon!

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Yeah right

Two things on my mind today:

  1. Whoever chose to schedule the spring carnival in the middle of spring was having an off day. Melbourne doesn’t actually have a spring. It has a turbulent four months of wintery rain and wind, with intermittent patches of cold sunlight and the occasional humid-ish evening to keep 6.9 billion mosquitoes happy. The weather here until maybe December is mad. The term spring carnival, therefore, is a misnomer, just like Bayswater and fun run and leftover wine.
  2. Eyelash extensions are everywhere. Everywhere. But they are out of control. One woman on the train last week looked like she had a huntsman sleeping under her eyelid.
  3. Sorry, three things – I lost money on the stupid NZ mules today, so no eyelash enhancement money for me.

 

Dressmart

In this day of mass consumption and wastage, I feel honour bound and not a little embarrassed to admit that it has emerged that I have reached peak wardrobe. I had a feeling this was about to happen the other night when my latest Ezibuy package arrived (one work wrap dress in a sober print, one white lace top to wear with jeans) and I had literally no hangers to hang them on. An inventory revealed that I currently have, even after the great chuck out of May 2016:

  • 1 wedding dress
  • 7 formal dresses (as in going to wedding or formal party or races dresses);
  • 3 sort of ‘party’ dresses;
  • 14 casual dresses for weekend or casual day at work
  • 25ish work dresses.

So, time to curb the expenditure, including at Vinnies. Dress diet starts today and I have committed to this until Xmas.

I saw Bridget Jones btw, and it was great, but all I can think about is this darling wrap lace dress by Diane von Furstenberg.  Will Asos replicate it soon?

The Big Short

The other night I was crammed on a homebound train. It was already full by the time we reached Richmond, at which time more commuters squeezed on – with bags and phones and bad breath. I was already standing and began to move down the carriage to make room. Unfortunately, the area I found myself standing in had no chair hand grips available, and the only possible way to steady myself was to reach, awkwardly and not effortlessly, for the straphang. It was a bumpy ride, and I am not overly endowed with balance any more than I am height, which resulted in me losing my equilibrium a couple of times. I seethed until Mitcham when the bloody seats started becoming available. Fuck being short. No, I’m not petite, I’m not delicate. Just short.

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It wasn’t until I was eight I realized I was short. It was when we were lining up for the class photo from tallest to shortest, and it emerged that I was the 3rd shortest girl in glass, which meant a guaranteed position in the front row. I don’t remember being bothered by it especially. That came later, when I was 12, and attempting to defend my goal patch from a towering Samoan goal keep. I just couldn’t get around her, and her long long legs and arms. It was then I was at a distinct disadvantage.

Aged 13, I would have done anything to get taller. I had boobs, and hips, but my blazer and pinafore were so big and long it looked like I was playing dress-ups. If only I were taller, it would stretch some of that embarrassing chubbiness out. All the cool girls were tall. I wanted to be cool and tall. I remained short and nerdy.

Two orthodontist appointments, between which I did not grow, were enough to convince me it was unlikely I would have a sudden growth spurt and that five foot three was all I was going to be allocated. Genetics were to blame: my mother is delicate 5 2 and my father a strapping 6 foot. I drew the short straw, it seemed.

So it seemed I would never be terribly far from the earth’s crust. In my 20s I struggled with boots and heels on a daily basis, but this was coupled with my general clumsiness, resulting in many ankle rolls.

So, just to have a whinge – some not so great things about being a short arse include:

– Not being able to get to the overhead locker on airplanes (I usually jump up and stand on a seat while people are filing out)
– Not being able to reach top cupboard, anywhere (step ladders for the win)
– Not bring able to have decent view in concert (Ridik, as I haven’t been to a mosh pit in at least 15 years)
– Having my tallest friend TPD rest his elbow / drinks on my head (quite funny actually)
– Not being able to turn the dryer on (this is annoying)
– Trousers needing to be taken up (Actually, I haven’t worn trousers in years as I look stupid. Jeans have a short length and that’s what I buy)
– Not being able to straphang on crowded trains without looking like I am doing lop sided star jumps (infuriating).

Some good stuff:
– Legroom on planes – never an issue
– Unlikely men are shorter than me (sexist, yes) (I can snuggle quite easily into LAH’s chest)
– Can fit on most couches and children’s beds quite comfortably (I used to sleep in A&Y’s then 6-year-old son’s bed very comfortably)
– Looking younger – perhaps. Was taken for early 30s down at the hairdresser. #winning.

Maybe I should just carry my 6 in heels for the train?

Jones? Jones.

I have to admit, I’ve been let down before. badly.

So I’m a bit gunshy when it comes to this particular thing.

It’s sort of like, you know, going into a new relationship when you have had your heart broken.

But I can’t stay locked in my protective chrysalis forever.

So, you know? I’m going to do it.

I am going to see this next week.

It’s 1993, clearly.

A person I work with was leaving the business, and last night there were some work drinks at a bar in the city that, happily, offered two for one basic spirits. After three hours of gin, I had to head to my next engagement, and duly said my goodbyes. There was some hugs and air kisses goodbye, but when I went to say goodbye to one person, what I vaguely suspected for some time was confirmed when she literally cold shouldered me. As in, she turned her back as I went to say goodbye to her. It was public and obvious, but in the interests of not embarrassing anyone any further, I laughed, shrugged and moved to the next person to say goodbye. I then went outside, lit a fag and walked down to the river for a wine with people I actually do like.

It had occurred to be that Cold Shoulder didn’t like me much – she is perfectly pleasant when other people are around but when other people aren’t she may freeze me out, or ignore me, or make snide comments. I haven’t tried to be her friend but have tried to build a cordial working relationship with her.

I am no threat to this woman whatsoever. I am reasonably certain I haven’t done anything to offend or upset her, apart from resigning after a short employment period, which isn’t anything to do with her. It did feel a little like third form behaviour from someone who is reasonably senior in an organisation.

Work drinks can be fun – and they are good to join when someone who is respected and liked is leaving. Which is probably why I won’t be having any when I leave in 2 weeks.

Not everyone likes everyone. And that’s fine and expected. But the abovementioned story, and others, illustrate as to why I won’t be sorry to leave that place at all.