I look at myself now and I wonder how is it I got where I am.
Yesterday I had an interview. This is what happens when you're looking for work. Not that I want to leave the consultancy I'm with, but if this job came my way I would be a fool not to put my hand up for it. Eight months of work in my area - training and doco.
Sitting in the waiting room of an anonymous office in Southbank, suited and booted, face paint applied in an understated matter, lipstick blotted, I waited for the interviewer.The only consolation I could have made with my dress was a pair of stockings, but as it was 35 degrees celcius in the shade, sod stockings. I don't wear stockings at the best of times unless I REALLY have to - and it's only when it's under 25 degrees.
I wasn't delayed badly, but I did have to wait for a few minutes. It happens. People run late around lunchtime.
The door opened and in walks my manager from seven years ago - a person instrumental in getting me where I am today. She was the first manager who I worked under in a technology role. We've been bumping into each other in the street every so often for years.
"I heard you were coming in. Your names been bandied around here for the last few days." she said.
Glumph. I'd only passed over my CV on Friday around two. I had the interview lined up by four.
We has a brief catch up - her son, the one we used to watch through binoculars from the 35th floor as he played at his day care centre on Collins Street is about to start high school. She asked about my writing and if I kept in contact with a few old colleagues. She wished me luck and bid me farewell.
The interviews went really well. All three panelists (who I saw one at a time) made positive comments and made reference to the fact my name came up via a couple of people. Never a bad thing at all. I had to wing a few questions on some technical stuff - to which I gave my best standby answer - I pick things up quickly, and that's what google is for - which is true. If you don't know, ask google. If google doesn't know, ask the network, which is expanding and filled with all sorts of good advice.
Sitting, answering the questions that were fired with me, it finally struck me - I know what the hell I'm doing. even if I don't know what I'm doing, I have the confidence to muddle through and get on with things.
We'll see about the job - I'd like it if I can get it.
For somebody who used to have no self-worth or self-esteem, this is huge.
I like it.
I like it a lot.
Had a similar feeling coming out of a meeting with a resource manager here at Bastard Bank. Only good things to say, would happily keep me on if and when the roles comes up - send my CV across and watch him work some magic. All good.
Last evening, sitting in my lounge room, the opposite occured.
Jonella's mountain bike was finally assembled. I had to get a bit from the bike shop to get it to work properly. Discovered that hot blokes hang out at the bike shop. Also discovered that the ditzy female routine works well on the guys at the bike shop.
"Hello, I need a bit. Well, I need a part. Look, I need one of these things." I said as I pulled a zip lock bag out of my handbag this levery, metal bit thing (allegedly called a skewer, but I think a whatchamacallit suits it better).
"I can help with that."
"Cool - but is it a bit or a part?" I asked using my best cow eyes.
"Its a bit that goes with a part," cute bike dude replied.
Two minutes later, $20 poorer I had a new thingy for the bike in my handbag and I trotted home.
An hour later, the bike was in the middle of the lounge room, dohickey in place and the bike in one piece.
And all I have to do now summon up the courage to take the wretched thing downstairs and go for a ride.
I'm petrified.
I can tackle corporate Australia. I can run half marathons. I can dispose of hunstman spiders with the aid of a can of bug spray and a hoover.
But I'd dead shit scared to hop on a bike. What a wuss I am.
Wish me luck.
Pand
Showing posts with label corporate life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label corporate life. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Monday, December 5, 2011
Compare and Contrast
Amazing the difference a week makes.
As does the decision that you're going to be happy. It always gets me that once you make the decision to improve things, things really start to improve.
Well, things are on the improve.
First up, work. But I have to include dream group in on this one.
See, the day before I started out on this new venture at Bastard Bank I gave my dream at dream group. A strange dream where I was running a marathon in a velodrome on the banks of the Yarra around a maze. 42 times around a maze, up and down hills against one other. I knew I could do it, but I was running against one other, and I knew I was going to lose, but hey, I knew I could do it too. I had to get ready and get supplies so I visited a supermarket which was behind where the arts centre was, but it felt like the Carrefour in Chiang Mai, a place I'd ended up on holiday with a bi-polar Belgian in tow. Then I had to get back to the velodrome/stadium and I was going to take the tube. Coming in at what felt like London Bridge Station, I hopped on the Northern Line, and the train, carriages and all spiralled upwards - and nobody thought this strange. it seems I hopped on the wrong part of the Northern Line because I ended up at Waterloo. I had to get out of the station - the only way to do this was down a double helix ladder.
A strange dream.
What was more odd, Viv, our dream group leader went away for three weeks and I was left to stew on this dream for a full four weeks. Normally you get to close off your dream after a week - which is normally enough because the effects of dream group can either be subtle, or like in his case, have the whack of a bag of sledgehammers.
The day after doing the dream was when life took a turn for the worse, the job went southerly, I ended up miserable and having to fight back. Spiraling around the double helixes of life.
Dream group tends to force me to look at stuff that I rarely look - or that my psyche wants me to look at. This time round, it appears it was begging for me to take a good look at where I've come from. In this case, the back office of merchant banks, doing boring, repetative, tedious work day in day out, with people who appear to have little ambition, feeling utterly lost, hopeless and miserable.
Closed off the dream on Wednesday - and things suddenly look a whole heap better.
First up, after a few better days in the dungeons, they've let it be known that my contract is not being renewed. So as of the end of this or next week (depending on a few things) I will be out of there. For once, I'm thrilled. I've hated so much about this last month. Though the people are nice enough, the role has been filled with all sorts of not so fun challenges I was not been expecting - 60 decibel Phil Collins and Elton John over the loudspeaker included. Little support, tedious work and most of all, a crap environment.
I'll be fine when I get out of here - I always am okay. Never have I been so happy to be moving on. The consultancy will be happy to use me in the new year - and I get a few weeks off and I can start looking for work soon
All I know is that I had to go through this last month to get to the bottom of some stuff. Stuff I wish I knew ten years ago.
I deserve to be happy.
I especially deserve to be happy at work.
I deserve to be in a good environment.
I deserve to be around good people.
I deserve to be treated with respect - and I need all of these things in a job.
After a couple of full on meetings, the weekend was well received
Spent this last weekend working on an editing job and relaxing. Sunday was particularly lovely. Was joined on my 10 km constitutional walk by a friend, which was just great. Walking is best when you get to share it with somebody.
This was followed by lunch at the Abbotsford Convent. Collected a friend and we had lunch at Lentil as Anything.
Lentil as Anything is a cafe at the convent which serves up vegetarian Indian food. Rather than having a price list, you serve yourself and pay what you like on the honesty system. It employs a lot of recent refugees and migrants, giving them a start. It's an institution that MUST stay.
It's lovely to be able to wander around this little haven in the city.
My friend was amazed at the place - I'd been raving about the convent for years, but he never believed me - I just got my normal sense of peace that I always get from the place. Ran into Georgie and Tom there too. It's a fantastic way to spend the afternoon.
After dropping my friend off, it was off to see Blarney, the boys and the Maow Maow for coffee, then on arriving home, Emm popped round for a cup of tea, bringing round some banana cake - which was exceptional.
A really good day. Made me consider just how lovely life can be - for without friends, what do we have?
Then the real bonus for today. On collecting the mail, a non-descript envelope mailed from somewhere in Carton. My new driver's licence had arrived.
For once in my life I was speechless.
Compare and contrast.
The picture on the left is the old one. 20 kilos heavier, miserable, angry. This was taken nine years ago. I've had to hide away my driver's licence an obey the road rules - who would admit to a photo like that?
The pictire on the left is the current one. I can live with this one for the next ten years.
Okay, other than noticeably slimmer, the anger and misery has gone from my gaze. Okay maybe because I've taken to wearing liquid eyeliner and I took a bit of care to put on a bit of make up (but I'm wearing more make up in the other shot), but my eyes look bigger and clearer. You can't make out that they're pine tree green, but they look okay. You can see through the gaze and see who I am.
The biggest bonus of all - in the photo on the left, there I am with about five chins.
In the new one, I have one and a bit, obscured by the fact that they've embedded my date of birth over the photo. This is so that the blind, stupid policeman who pulls you over can read your licence.
Comments have been made that I look ten years younger in the latter. A compliment - but even through my ultra-self-critical eyes I can see it.
I don't give myself enough credit for changing over the past few years. You don't get much better chance to compare and contrast what you were and what you're becoming.
Now the hard bit. Blitzing the passport photo....
Better get on with tidying up my CV. If you know of anybody looking for a hard working word nerd to tidy up documents, write web content and training materials or just generally organise and improve on stuff, give me a bell.
All these changes are quite exciting.
As does the decision that you're going to be happy. It always gets me that once you make the decision to improve things, things really start to improve.
Well, things are on the improve.
First up, work. But I have to include dream group in on this one.
See, the day before I started out on this new venture at Bastard Bank I gave my dream at dream group. A strange dream where I was running a marathon in a velodrome on the banks of the Yarra around a maze. 42 times around a maze, up and down hills against one other. I knew I could do it, but I was running against one other, and I knew I was going to lose, but hey, I knew I could do it too. I had to get ready and get supplies so I visited a supermarket which was behind where the arts centre was, but it felt like the Carrefour in Chiang Mai, a place I'd ended up on holiday with a bi-polar Belgian in tow. Then I had to get back to the velodrome/stadium and I was going to take the tube. Coming in at what felt like London Bridge Station, I hopped on the Northern Line, and the train, carriages and all spiralled upwards - and nobody thought this strange. it seems I hopped on the wrong part of the Northern Line because I ended up at Waterloo. I had to get out of the station - the only way to do this was down a double helix ladder.
A strange dream.
What was more odd, Viv, our dream group leader went away for three weeks and I was left to stew on this dream for a full four weeks. Normally you get to close off your dream after a week - which is normally enough because the effects of dream group can either be subtle, or like in his case, have the whack of a bag of sledgehammers.
The day after doing the dream was when life took a turn for the worse, the job went southerly, I ended up miserable and having to fight back. Spiraling around the double helixes of life.
Dream group tends to force me to look at stuff that I rarely look - or that my psyche wants me to look at. This time round, it appears it was begging for me to take a good look at where I've come from. In this case, the back office of merchant banks, doing boring, repetative, tedious work day in day out, with people who appear to have little ambition, feeling utterly lost, hopeless and miserable.
Closed off the dream on Wednesday - and things suddenly look a whole heap better.
First up, after a few better days in the dungeons, they've let it be known that my contract is not being renewed. So as of the end of this or next week (depending on a few things) I will be out of there. For once, I'm thrilled. I've hated so much about this last month. Though the people are nice enough, the role has been filled with all sorts of not so fun challenges I was not been expecting - 60 decibel Phil Collins and Elton John over the loudspeaker included. Little support, tedious work and most of all, a crap environment.
I'll be fine when I get out of here - I always am okay. Never have I been so happy to be moving on. The consultancy will be happy to use me in the new year - and I get a few weeks off and I can start looking for work soon
All I know is that I had to go through this last month to get to the bottom of some stuff. Stuff I wish I knew ten years ago.
I deserve to be happy.
I especially deserve to be happy at work.
I deserve to be in a good environment.
I deserve to be around good people.
I deserve to be treated with respect - and I need all of these things in a job.
After a couple of full on meetings, the weekend was well received
Spent this last weekend working on an editing job and relaxing. Sunday was particularly lovely. Was joined on my 10 km constitutional walk by a friend, which was just great. Walking is best when you get to share it with somebody.
This was followed by lunch at the Abbotsford Convent. Collected a friend and we had lunch at Lentil as Anything.
Lentil as Anything is a cafe at the convent which serves up vegetarian Indian food. Rather than having a price list, you serve yourself and pay what you like on the honesty system. It employs a lot of recent refugees and migrants, giving them a start. It's an institution that MUST stay.
It's lovely to be able to wander around this little haven in the city.
My friend was amazed at the place - I'd been raving about the convent for years, but he never believed me - I just got my normal sense of peace that I always get from the place. Ran into Georgie and Tom there too. It's a fantastic way to spend the afternoon.
After dropping my friend off, it was off to see Blarney, the boys and the Maow Maow for coffee, then on arriving home, Emm popped round for a cup of tea, bringing round some banana cake - which was exceptional.
A really good day. Made me consider just how lovely life can be - for without friends, what do we have?
Then the real bonus for today. On collecting the mail, a non-descript envelope mailed from somewhere in Carton. My new driver's licence had arrived.
For once in my life I was speechless.
Compare and contrast.
The picture on the left is the old one. 20 kilos heavier, miserable, angry. This was taken nine years ago. I've had to hide away my driver's licence an obey the road rules - who would admit to a photo like that?
The pictire on the left is the current one. I can live with this one for the next ten years.
Okay, other than noticeably slimmer, the anger and misery has gone from my gaze. Okay maybe because I've taken to wearing liquid eyeliner and I took a bit of care to put on a bit of make up (but I'm wearing more make up in the other shot), but my eyes look bigger and clearer. You can't make out that they're pine tree green, but they look okay. You can see through the gaze and see who I am.
The biggest bonus of all - in the photo on the left, there I am with about five chins.
In the new one, I have one and a bit, obscured by the fact that they've embedded my date of birth over the photo. This is so that the blind, stupid policeman who pulls you over can read your licence.
Comments have been made that I look ten years younger in the latter. A compliment - but even through my ultra-self-critical eyes I can see it.
I don't give myself enough credit for changing over the past few years. You don't get much better chance to compare and contrast what you were and what you're becoming.
Now the hard bit. Blitzing the passport photo....
Better get on with tidying up my CV. If you know of anybody looking for a hard working word nerd to tidy up documents, write web content and training materials or just generally organise and improve on stuff, give me a bell.
All these changes are quite exciting.
Thursday, November 24, 2011
These are a few of my favorite things
Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens
Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens
Brown paper packages tied up with string
These are a few of my favorite things.
When the dog bites
When the bees stings
When I'm feeling sad
I simple remember my favorite things
And then I don't feel.... so bad.
The pall of the black dog has lifted and life appears a lot less gloomy. A weekend of reflection and strategising has meant that I'm back on track. Which I knew it would be. Being back exercising is also helping a lot as this is my escape, my pride and my health taken care of all at once. I'm going to start back running (though probably only long intervals) on the weekend.
Thanks to some very pointed help I've been lucky enough to get some reliable strategies to get me though the dark days.
The end of last week, things seemed dire. That seven a.m. phone call started the spiral last week. For those wondering, I contacted the git online the next day, said he was out of order, made me uncomfortable and I don't want to pursue any more conversation. Subsequently taken myself off the website - it doesn't feel right at the moment and there has to be better ways of making contact with people. I know there are a lot of people out there saying you have to kiss a lot of frogs to find your prince - if the price is your self-worth and self-esteem then I think not. The experience told me that my self-worth, once nothing, is strong and healthy. I deserve to be treated with a lot more respect than that.
A couple of attrocious days at work piled on top of the internet dating glitch . By the end of last Friday I was ready to walk out of the place forever, feeling like I was a bit of dog dirt found under your shoe.
And I got sick of whinging - always a sign that things are amiss. I have a moan about things like most people. When I find myself whining constantly I know it's time to do something contstructive.
So what have we done?
Well, Monday morning I went and saw the office manager and asked that the radio be turned down. She said that somebody would only come and turn it up again. I retorted that this was on OH&S issue, didn't appreciate going home with a headache most nights, nor was wearing earplugs all day a feasible solution. The radio was turned down for a bit and I try my hardest not to focus on it - but there area number of people who've blocked off their speakers - I'm not the only one at least. And the earplugs block out most of the noise. Never again do I want to work in an office that has the music of a 1980's blue light disco.
I'm making sure I get some exercise in at least every second day. This is keeping the grumblies away too. Exercise means endorphins. Endorphins mean happy Pandora. The butt cheek is nearly there, grunting out an hour of weights with Pinochet makes me feel good. So that is sorted.
And using Maria Von Trapp's analogy of thinking about your favorite things - well yeah. That one works too. Think about and do your favorite things.
Indeed.
So, what am I thinking about when I'm not up to my ears in process maps and wanting to fire a 22-guage rifle bullet into the speaker above me? What are a few of my favorite things?
Here's a few of them that keep me on the straight and narrow.
Maow Moaw
Maow Maow belongs to Blarney and Barney. But Maow Moaw is one of my best mates. We've always had a bond - not one that normal cats have with strange humans. I'm round at Blarney and Barney's most weekends. The cat will normally greet me at the door, be put up on my shoulder - and he stays there for at least 20 minutes. I sit down, he comes and sits on me. He's coming to stay at Christmas for a fortnight - really pleased about this. Not so pleased about how he likes to wake me at five in the morning with a paw to the nose and that he likes to put his head on the pillow.
Christmas will be good for cat time. Looks like I'm on feeding duty for Leon, Archie and Betty - even better, Betty comes with a lovely large bathtub for my personal use.
Ice cream
Yes, ice cream is one of my favorite things, but I'm still doing this avoid ice cream for forty days thing. Actually, that's going really well. 35 days in, I've only slipped once and a bit in that time. Last Friday, beered up, in the doldrums and hungry, I stopped in at the local shop for a Magnum. Also, while out with Gloria, dessert came with a scoop of vanilla. I had a spoonful. Glorious it was. I'm not beating myself up about it - under the circumstances it's amazing I didn't buy a box of the buggers and wolf them down. Or find a tub of Maggie Beer's Burnt Fig, Honeycomb and Caramel ice cream.... and sit in front of vampire porn with the tub.
The worst of the cravings for the stuff has gone now - the experiment has worked. But I've made a decent, okay substitute. I'm freezing sugar-free cranberry juice in an ice block mould - like mum used to do when I was a kid. It's not ice cream, but it's good for the moment. I can pretend it's ice cream.
Films
Another escapist technique, but also a favorite genre of mine - love film. Saw Moneyball the other night with Emm. I love baseball films, and this was a better than average one - probably going to be up for some Oscars - even if they ruined Philip Seymour Hoffman for me - he should never, ever, ever have a crew cut ever again.
Does Moneyball beat Bull Durham? Nearly. Better story in some ways. Though a stalwart member of Team George (you're either into George Clooney or Brad Pitt - I find Brad Pitt about as sexy as a labrador puppy - unless you count the Thelma and Louise performance)
Moneyball also doesn't have have this...
Oh my. 20 years on and it still has the same effect. Oh my. It's like sitting on a washing machine in its spin cycle.
I still wonder how a woman would write that speech.
Theatre
Saturday is going to be a bit special. The Importance of Being Earnest - Geoffrey Rush as Lady Bracknell. Love Oscar Wilde.
Part of the reason I'd love to be back in London - the theatre is incredible.
I love the purity of theatre, the cut throat, pure adrenalin of an actor on stage - that you never know how something will be set, produced or interpreted (this goes double for Shakespeare), what the audience is going to be like... so many variables.
Heading off to Don Giovanni in a few weeks too - have only been to the Opera once before - it's my Christmas present to myself.
Planning an overseas holiday
Note to myself - renew my passport.
Some people play fantasy football. I do fantasy holidays. There's a few options, not that the cash is really available at this point in time. Gloria's planning a fortnight in India for her 60th - wish I could do that. There's always the Bali or Thailand option - maybe good for a getaway. I've got a real hankering to go to New York for a few weeks - and see Reindert and Corazon while I'm over there. And of course, the win the lottery trip - three months wandering around Spain - maybe do the Compostella de Santiago - learn Spanish the real way...
At the moment all that's on the books is a trip to Adelaide for my sister's 40th, Christmas in Ballan (if Malcolm's dad will have me in the house) and Glen Waverley said he'd take me down the Great Ocean Road again when his porsche gets here. Going to have to take my iPod and FM adapter plug - the porsche only has a tape deck. Not having him play the Discovery Channel song cranked up to eleven through Apollo Bay again.
I just need something to look forward to.
Time with friends
I do this anyway. Friends are my family. Friends are good.
Macarons
I miss working in the city. I felt it even more today on going in this afternoon to get the mail, seeing people and shops and life, of which there is little where I'm working at the moment - unless you like easy-listening radio.
On collecting the mail I popped in on Karen at La Belle Miette - my macaron shop. The macarons from here are the best in Melbourne (and for those who doubt it - this shit all over the ones in the Lindt Cafe) What's better, being a regular, and at the end of the day, Karen occasionally donates a broken one, which is great, as everybody knows that broken biscuits don't have calories due to leakage. Today the Champagne and Cassis and Salty Caramel one went down a treat.
Sleep
Love sleep. Which is where I'm going now.
Only one more day before the weekend. This week has gone very quickly. Even with a sucky job, at least I'm busy enough to make the time go quickly.
Nothing worse than being unhappy at work. It will turn around.
Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens
Brown paper packages tied up with string
These are a few of my favorite things.
When the dog bites
When the bees stings
When I'm feeling sad
I simple remember my favorite things
And then I don't feel.... so bad.
The pall of the black dog has lifted and life appears a lot less gloomy. A weekend of reflection and strategising has meant that I'm back on track. Which I knew it would be. Being back exercising is also helping a lot as this is my escape, my pride and my health taken care of all at once. I'm going to start back running (though probably only long intervals) on the weekend.
Thanks to some very pointed help I've been lucky enough to get some reliable strategies to get me though the dark days.
The end of last week, things seemed dire. That seven a.m. phone call started the spiral last week. For those wondering, I contacted the git online the next day, said he was out of order, made me uncomfortable and I don't want to pursue any more conversation. Subsequently taken myself off the website - it doesn't feel right at the moment and there has to be better ways of making contact with people. I know there are a lot of people out there saying you have to kiss a lot of frogs to find your prince - if the price is your self-worth and self-esteem then I think not. The experience told me that my self-worth, once nothing, is strong and healthy. I deserve to be treated with a lot more respect than that.
A couple of attrocious days at work piled on top of the internet dating glitch . By the end of last Friday I was ready to walk out of the place forever, feeling like I was a bit of dog dirt found under your shoe.
And I got sick of whinging - always a sign that things are amiss. I have a moan about things like most people. When I find myself whining constantly I know it's time to do something contstructive.
So what have we done?
Well, Monday morning I went and saw the office manager and asked that the radio be turned down. She said that somebody would only come and turn it up again. I retorted that this was on OH&S issue, didn't appreciate going home with a headache most nights, nor was wearing earplugs all day a feasible solution. The radio was turned down for a bit and I try my hardest not to focus on it - but there area number of people who've blocked off their speakers - I'm not the only one at least. And the earplugs block out most of the noise. Never again do I want to work in an office that has the music of a 1980's blue light disco.
I'm making sure I get some exercise in at least every second day. This is keeping the grumblies away too. Exercise means endorphins. Endorphins mean happy Pandora. The butt cheek is nearly there, grunting out an hour of weights with Pinochet makes me feel good. So that is sorted.
And using Maria Von Trapp's analogy of thinking about your favorite things - well yeah. That one works too. Think about and do your favorite things.
Indeed.
So, what am I thinking about when I'm not up to my ears in process maps and wanting to fire a 22-guage rifle bullet into the speaker above me? What are a few of my favorite things?
Here's a few of them that keep me on the straight and narrow.
Maow Moaw
Christmas will be good for cat time. Looks like I'm on feeding duty for Leon, Archie and Betty - even better, Betty comes with a lovely large bathtub for my personal use.
Ice cream
Yes, ice cream is one of my favorite things, but I'm still doing this avoid ice cream for forty days thing. Actually, that's going really well. 35 days in, I've only slipped once and a bit in that time. Last Friday, beered up, in the doldrums and hungry, I stopped in at the local shop for a Magnum. Also, while out with Gloria, dessert came with a scoop of vanilla. I had a spoonful. Glorious it was. I'm not beating myself up about it - under the circumstances it's amazing I didn't buy a box of the buggers and wolf them down. Or find a tub of Maggie Beer's Burnt Fig, Honeycomb and Caramel ice cream.... and sit in front of vampire porn with the tub.
The worst of the cravings for the stuff has gone now - the experiment has worked. But I've made a decent, okay substitute. I'm freezing sugar-free cranberry juice in an ice block mould - like mum used to do when I was a kid. It's not ice cream, but it's good for the moment. I can pretend it's ice cream.
Films
Another escapist technique, but also a favorite genre of mine - love film. Saw Moneyball the other night with Emm. I love baseball films, and this was a better than average one - probably going to be up for some Oscars - even if they ruined Philip Seymour Hoffman for me - he should never, ever, ever have a crew cut ever again.
Does Moneyball beat Bull Durham? Nearly. Better story in some ways. Though a stalwart member of Team George (you're either into George Clooney or Brad Pitt - I find Brad Pitt about as sexy as a labrador puppy - unless you count the Thelma and Louise performance)
Moneyball also doesn't have have this...
Oh my. 20 years on and it still has the same effect. Oh my. It's like sitting on a washing machine in its spin cycle.
I still wonder how a woman would write that speech.
Theatre
Saturday is going to be a bit special. The Importance of Being Earnest - Geoffrey Rush as Lady Bracknell. Love Oscar Wilde.
Part of the reason I'd love to be back in London - the theatre is incredible.
I love the purity of theatre, the cut throat, pure adrenalin of an actor on stage - that you never know how something will be set, produced or interpreted (this goes double for Shakespeare), what the audience is going to be like... so many variables.
Heading off to Don Giovanni in a few weeks too - have only been to the Opera once before - it's my Christmas present to myself.
Planning an overseas holiday
Note to myself - renew my passport.
Some people play fantasy football. I do fantasy holidays. There's a few options, not that the cash is really available at this point in time. Gloria's planning a fortnight in India for her 60th - wish I could do that. There's always the Bali or Thailand option - maybe good for a getaway. I've got a real hankering to go to New York for a few weeks - and see Reindert and Corazon while I'm over there. And of course, the win the lottery trip - three months wandering around Spain - maybe do the Compostella de Santiago - learn Spanish the real way...
At the moment all that's on the books is a trip to Adelaide for my sister's 40th, Christmas in Ballan (if Malcolm's dad will have me in the house) and Glen Waverley said he'd take me down the Great Ocean Road again when his porsche gets here. Going to have to take my iPod and FM adapter plug - the porsche only has a tape deck. Not having him play the Discovery Channel song cranked up to eleven through Apollo Bay again.
I just need something to look forward to.
Time with friends
I do this anyway. Friends are my family. Friends are good.
Macarons
I miss working in the city. I felt it even more today on going in this afternoon to get the mail, seeing people and shops and life, of which there is little where I'm working at the moment - unless you like easy-listening radio.
On collecting the mail I popped in on Karen at La Belle Miette - my macaron shop. The macarons from here are the best in Melbourne (and for those who doubt it - this shit all over the ones in the Lindt Cafe) What's better, being a regular, and at the end of the day, Karen occasionally donates a broken one, which is great, as everybody knows that broken biscuits don't have calories due to leakage. Today the Champagne and Cassis and Salty Caramel one went down a treat.
Sleep
Love sleep. Which is where I'm going now.
Only one more day before the weekend. This week has gone very quickly. Even with a sucky job, at least I'm busy enough to make the time go quickly.
Nothing worse than being unhappy at work. It will turn around.
Monday, September 26, 2011
Juxtapostions
Viv asked a relevent questions of me at Dream Group on Wednesday.
Do I ever sit still?
The answer to that is sort of. Okay, no. I don't sit still very often. I normally have about five things on the go. I get up in the morning and it's normally full steam ahead until I got to bed 18 hours later. I like to try and be active, walking to work when I can, running, getting out and about.
So, at the moment, I'm cooking, writing, editing, painting my toenails, watching a DVD... at the same time. That's normal.
But sitting still. Nah, I can't even watch television without either knitting or sitting on the computer.
Yeah, I'm one of those people. If I was born twenty years later I'd probably be on Ritalin.
One of the girls in Dream Group piped up that my Mars is in Leo - they don't tend to sit still ever. Maybe there is something in this. Something about always wanting the best and persuing it, the fiery energy of Mars being extenuated by the showiness of Leo. I don't know - I'm only an amateur astrologer. Besides - I have a moon in Cancer. Any fire is washed out by the sookiness of this combination.
Thinking about it, as a child, the thing I remember being told by my mother most was 'Sit still and stop fidgetting."
Okay. I don't sit still very often.
So it goes to pass that in not sitting still, I'm not home much. And this week, I've found myself in some funny places.
Let's start with last Thursday. Normal enough day - especially after the day before where I was considering feigning a migraine or slitting my wrists to get out of work. Thursday was a better day. Thursday I knew that I had to be out of the office for 5 pm so that I could give Em a hand.
Em's my Melbourne kid sister. We know each other from the gym and as she lives nearby, she's a regular movie mate, Pump class companion/adversary (let's see who can pump the heavier weights), confidante and drinking buddy. I feed her cat when she's away. She drops by with milk when I'm sick.
Em got her car licence about six months ago and decided to buy a car. After a trip to Car City a few weeks ago, I left her to it. A week ago she said she'd bought a twenty year old 3 Series Beamer - and she asked could I come with her to pick it up after work? Of course I could. Early night, gets me out of the office - no worries. I asked where she bought the car from.
Somewhere in West Footscray. From a dealer in West Footscray. Make that a car dealer in West Footscray. One has to discern these things.
I wanted to ask two things. Why would you buy a used car from a car dealer in West Footscray (or Footers-cray as it is known to locals)? Secondly. Why would you buy a used BMW from anybody that side of the Westgate.
I should not cast stones. Mea Culpa - I'm a suburb snob.
"You take me to the best places, Em." I said as we alighted the train to a suburb south of purgatory.
"I know. I have another favour to ask."
"Fire away."
"Can you please drive it home for me. I'm a bit scared."
"Sure."
I had no issue with this as all. Em's lack of confidence was fair enough. Going over the Westgate in peak hour can be a little scary at the best of times. She's been driving for six months. Me, I've had a full licence for over twenty five years.
"We're going over there. " She pointed out a car lot, complete with banners and flags across a very busy road about fifteen minutes later as we got off the train.
"Oh. You take me to the bestest places."
"I know," she smiled."Wait til you meet Dim."
Dim, the car salesman, was obviously a Dimitri. Coming from that area, one summises that he's of Greek origin, spends too much time in the gym and probably still lives at home with his mother. I was certainly right on the first to pieces of information. The tattoos snaking up his arm were interesting. Works of art tattoos rather than prison tatts.
Em showed me her car. A bottle green, old-shaped beamer. In reasonable knick, spotless interior. Looked okay from the outside. Would I buy it - no - but then again I have a ten year, clean, protected rating one insurance history and a two year old Mazda two named Neville. Besides, the beamer is a bit big for me, but it's what she wanted.
After a quick look about, Em and Dim finalised the paperwork and we were on our way home. Over the Westgate, I asked her a few questions.
"So, what's the car's name?" I always ask this.
"Justin Beamer."
"Cool. So what does it cost for a woman in her late twenties on her P-Plates to insure a twenty year old car with 200,000 kilometres on the clock."
She told me. Third party, fire and theft was about the same as what I pay for my comprehensive insurance on Neville.
"So, I'm covered to drive Justin?"
"I'm not sure. I'll sort that out when I get home."
"I'm driving an uninsured car? Across the Westgate!"
"Yep. I'll fix all that tonight."
Glumph.
Yoof!
Paid extra special attention to what I was doing. We got back to Richmond half an hour later in one piece. I left Em trying to work out how to lock all of the doors at once. I had to get going. Pinochet had a whipping for me.
Friday night - another completely different scenario, was called back to the Freemasons Hospital to visit a friend who'd just had a baby. I know Max from a job a few years ago - and as she lives around the corner and the hospital is on the way home, popping in was a must.
First stop on the way was Beer Club at Tin Can, String and Whistle for some liquid fortification.
As the ex-president of the Beer Club I have loose visiting rights. I like popping in ever few weeks. It's where I get to hang out with Glen Waverley, Merijn and a few others I've known for years - a simple, social beer before trotting off home. It's also nice dropping by as I appear to get a months quota of blokey bear hugs from old friends.
This evening, I found Wozza, Ding Dong and another old friend sitting about, beers in hand. There were also a couple of others I'd not met. An intense Belgian, a happy Pole and a rather dishy Pom.
I miss Tin Can, String and Whistle. I miss communing with engineers. I miss the utter rubbish they talk. And I really miss the gentle cameraderie of the joint - especially that which is found Beer Club - a gathering spot for every race, creed colour and engineer around. And non-engineers as well.
Besides, I needed a bit of Dutch courage before going to see that baby.
I delayed leaving as long as possible. Finally, I kissed the old friend on the head and watched his ears go pink. This is a natural engineer response. Besides, he deserved it. He looked at me funny when I walked in - in a good way, that look somewhere between pride and attraction that this friend gives me when I walk in the room, but still... one must not think about things like that. Getting out the door, I walked to the Freemasons Hospital.
Ten minutes later, Max's two-day-old daughter was asleep in my arms. Max was sitting on the bed looking rather tired but happy. It appears having a newborn is much preferable to being 42 weeks pregnant. The not so little two-day old (nine pounds) is the spitting image of her three-year-old brother.
"Hello darling (she's yet to be named), this is what beer breath smells like."
"She'll get used to it." said Max.
I love holding babies, especially the really new ones. You never get to hold such potential at any other time. They're so pure and uncorrupted. It's rather unfortunate I'll probably never get the chance to hold one of my own - but like cats, kids are nice to borrow. And you can give them back when the start screaming, puking or get smelly when they're not yours.
Had a lovely chat to Max. I think she's looking forward to being able to have a wine again. We chatted until some more visitors turned up, then I made my way home.
The next juxtapostion was Saturday night. After a day of girlie admin, meditation, a much needed massage, I met Blarney for a film at Crown Casino. Not my choice of cinemas, but convenient for the both of us. Gold Class to see "The Help". Great film, great company. Shitty location.
After the film, we went for a glass of bubbles to discuss life, the film and everything - but we were distracted.
I almost never go to Crown Casino. I can't stand the place. I gamble - I buy a lottery ticket most weeks. I don't mind the odd hand of social poker. But I HATE the casino. Trash, scum and bogans at their worst. However, the people watching is astounding. The sights are incredible. Never, in my life, have I seen so many crimes against fashion in one place. Why is it that women of all ages go out, skirts up around their fannies, cellutite on show, strutting around on too high heels which make them look like trannies in training? It's amazing! Seriously, more orange peel and cottage cheese on display than in a supermarket! Don't these people have friends to tell them where they're going wrong? Oh, hang on - the friends are just as badly dressed as the fashion victims. Lots of Oompa Loompa tans too... The crimes against fashion just went on and on.
So along with the obvious security with the ear pieces and the scowls, the men on bucks nights who really don't give a toss, the hard core gamblers who slink into the casino with the furtive looks of those who are hooked, and the hens nights, and the children - like who the hell brings a child to the casino?
It was all a bit too much.
After half an hour of not knowing whether to shake our heads or laugh, Blarney and I caught respective cabs home.
Sunday fared better. After pump class and a coffee with Jay, I raced home, changed out of my hobbit shoes (Vibram Five Fingers) for a pair of old ASICS and made my way out to the Dandenongs to meet the girls.
Kez and I decided to walk up the Lyrebird Track rather than take the stairs. Caught up with all of her news on the way up between gasps for air, then chatted with Trin on the way down, then had yet another coffee and drove home.
And then the most surprising juxtaposition of all. After I don't kow how many weeks, I had the afternoon at home to myself.
I've worked out it's been over three months since I've had an afternoon off. No visiting Blarney, no heading somewhere for a run, no meeting friends for a film, no being interstate, no helping people with things.
I had the afternoon all to myself.
Okay, it's a bit obvious. I'm not home much. I keep really busy. I spent the time dusting, writing, cooking, catching up on Big Love and Being Human. I cooked myself a really nice dinner. I finally watched Million Dollar Baby (superb film). I went to bed early.
And strangely, I didn't feel like I've often felt having such a day. I didn't feel lonely.
I'll admit it. I don't always like coming home to an empty flat. But sometimes, having the space is wonderful.
After a few days filled with so many varied experiences, knowing I have a messy flat to return for a bit of solitude is a lovely thing.
I just hope it wont be another three months until I get the chance to do this again.
Do I ever sit still?
The answer to that is sort of. Okay, no. I don't sit still very often. I normally have about five things on the go. I get up in the morning and it's normally full steam ahead until I got to bed 18 hours later. I like to try and be active, walking to work when I can, running, getting out and about.
So, at the moment, I'm cooking, writing, editing, painting my toenails, watching a DVD... at the same time. That's normal.
But sitting still. Nah, I can't even watch television without either knitting or sitting on the computer.
Yeah, I'm one of those people. If I was born twenty years later I'd probably be on Ritalin.
One of the girls in Dream Group piped up that my Mars is in Leo - they don't tend to sit still ever. Maybe there is something in this. Something about always wanting the best and persuing it, the fiery energy of Mars being extenuated by the showiness of Leo. I don't know - I'm only an amateur astrologer. Besides - I have a moon in Cancer. Any fire is washed out by the sookiness of this combination.
Thinking about it, as a child, the thing I remember being told by my mother most was 'Sit still and stop fidgetting."
Okay. I don't sit still very often.
So it goes to pass that in not sitting still, I'm not home much. And this week, I've found myself in some funny places.
Let's start with last Thursday. Normal enough day - especially after the day before where I was considering feigning a migraine or slitting my wrists to get out of work. Thursday was a better day. Thursday I knew that I had to be out of the office for 5 pm so that I could give Em a hand.
Em's my Melbourne kid sister. We know each other from the gym and as she lives nearby, she's a regular movie mate, Pump class companion/adversary (let's see who can pump the heavier weights), confidante and drinking buddy. I feed her cat when she's away. She drops by with milk when I'm sick.
Em got her car licence about six months ago and decided to buy a car. After a trip to Car City a few weeks ago, I left her to it. A week ago she said she'd bought a twenty year old 3 Series Beamer - and she asked could I come with her to pick it up after work? Of course I could. Early night, gets me out of the office - no worries. I asked where she bought the car from.
Somewhere in West Footscray. From a dealer in West Footscray. Make that a car dealer in West Footscray. One has to discern these things.
I wanted to ask two things. Why would you buy a used car from a car dealer in West Footscray (or Footers-cray as it is known to locals)? Secondly. Why would you buy a used BMW from anybody that side of the Westgate.
I should not cast stones. Mea Culpa - I'm a suburb snob.
"You take me to the best places, Em." I said as we alighted the train to a suburb south of purgatory.
"I know. I have another favour to ask."
"Fire away."
"Can you please drive it home for me. I'm a bit scared."
"Sure."
I had no issue with this as all. Em's lack of confidence was fair enough. Going over the Westgate in peak hour can be a little scary at the best of times. She's been driving for six months. Me, I've had a full licence for over twenty five years.
"We're going over there. " She pointed out a car lot, complete with banners and flags across a very busy road about fifteen minutes later as we got off the train.
"Oh. You take me to the bestest places."
"I know," she smiled."Wait til you meet Dim."
Dim, the car salesman, was obviously a Dimitri. Coming from that area, one summises that he's of Greek origin, spends too much time in the gym and probably still lives at home with his mother. I was certainly right on the first to pieces of information. The tattoos snaking up his arm were interesting. Works of art tattoos rather than prison tatts.
Em showed me her car. A bottle green, old-shaped beamer. In reasonable knick, spotless interior. Looked okay from the outside. Would I buy it - no - but then again I have a ten year, clean, protected rating one insurance history and a two year old Mazda two named Neville. Besides, the beamer is a bit big for me, but it's what she wanted.
After a quick look about, Em and Dim finalised the paperwork and we were on our way home. Over the Westgate, I asked her a few questions.
"So, what's the car's name?" I always ask this.
"Justin Beamer."
"Cool. So what does it cost for a woman in her late twenties on her P-Plates to insure a twenty year old car with 200,000 kilometres on the clock."
She told me. Third party, fire and theft was about the same as what I pay for my comprehensive insurance on Neville.
"So, I'm covered to drive Justin?"
"I'm not sure. I'll sort that out when I get home."
"I'm driving an uninsured car? Across the Westgate!"
"Yep. I'll fix all that tonight."
Glumph.
Yoof!
Paid extra special attention to what I was doing. We got back to Richmond half an hour later in one piece. I left Em trying to work out how to lock all of the doors at once. I had to get going. Pinochet had a whipping for me.
Friday night - another completely different scenario, was called back to the Freemasons Hospital to visit a friend who'd just had a baby. I know Max from a job a few years ago - and as she lives around the corner and the hospital is on the way home, popping in was a must.
First stop on the way was Beer Club at Tin Can, String and Whistle for some liquid fortification.
As the ex-president of the Beer Club I have loose visiting rights. I like popping in ever few weeks. It's where I get to hang out with Glen Waverley, Merijn and a few others I've known for years - a simple, social beer before trotting off home. It's also nice dropping by as I appear to get a months quota of blokey bear hugs from old friends.
This evening, I found Wozza, Ding Dong and another old friend sitting about, beers in hand. There were also a couple of others I'd not met. An intense Belgian, a happy Pole and a rather dishy Pom.
I miss Tin Can, String and Whistle. I miss communing with engineers. I miss the utter rubbish they talk. And I really miss the gentle cameraderie of the joint - especially that which is found Beer Club - a gathering spot for every race, creed colour and engineer around. And non-engineers as well.
Besides, I needed a bit of Dutch courage before going to see that baby.
I delayed leaving as long as possible. Finally, I kissed the old friend on the head and watched his ears go pink. This is a natural engineer response. Besides, he deserved it. He looked at me funny when I walked in - in a good way, that look somewhere between pride and attraction that this friend gives me when I walk in the room, but still... one must not think about things like that. Getting out the door, I walked to the Freemasons Hospital.
Ten minutes later, Max's two-day-old daughter was asleep in my arms. Max was sitting on the bed looking rather tired but happy. It appears having a newborn is much preferable to being 42 weeks pregnant. The not so little two-day old (nine pounds) is the spitting image of her three-year-old brother.
"Hello darling (she's yet to be named), this is what beer breath smells like."
"She'll get used to it." said Max.
I love holding babies, especially the really new ones. You never get to hold such potential at any other time. They're so pure and uncorrupted. It's rather unfortunate I'll probably never get the chance to hold one of my own - but like cats, kids are nice to borrow. And you can give them back when the start screaming, puking or get smelly when they're not yours.
Had a lovely chat to Max. I think she's looking forward to being able to have a wine again. We chatted until some more visitors turned up, then I made my way home.
The next juxtapostion was Saturday night. After a day of girlie admin, meditation, a much needed massage, I met Blarney for a film at Crown Casino. Not my choice of cinemas, but convenient for the both of us. Gold Class to see "The Help". Great film, great company. Shitty location.
After the film, we went for a glass of bubbles to discuss life, the film and everything - but we were distracted.
I almost never go to Crown Casino. I can't stand the place. I gamble - I buy a lottery ticket most weeks. I don't mind the odd hand of social poker. But I HATE the casino. Trash, scum and bogans at their worst. However, the people watching is astounding. The sights are incredible. Never, in my life, have I seen so many crimes against fashion in one place. Why is it that women of all ages go out, skirts up around their fannies, cellutite on show, strutting around on too high heels which make them look like trannies in training? It's amazing! Seriously, more orange peel and cottage cheese on display than in a supermarket! Don't these people have friends to tell them where they're going wrong? Oh, hang on - the friends are just as badly dressed as the fashion victims. Lots of Oompa Loompa tans too... The crimes against fashion just went on and on.
So along with the obvious security with the ear pieces and the scowls, the men on bucks nights who really don't give a toss, the hard core gamblers who slink into the casino with the furtive looks of those who are hooked, and the hens nights, and the children - like who the hell brings a child to the casino?
It was all a bit too much.
After half an hour of not knowing whether to shake our heads or laugh, Blarney and I caught respective cabs home.
Sunday fared better. After pump class and a coffee with Jay, I raced home, changed out of my hobbit shoes (Vibram Five Fingers) for a pair of old ASICS and made my way out to the Dandenongs to meet the girls.
Kez and I decided to walk up the Lyrebird Track rather than take the stairs. Caught up with all of her news on the way up between gasps for air, then chatted with Trin on the way down, then had yet another coffee and drove home.
And then the most surprising juxtaposition of all. After I don't kow how many weeks, I had the afternoon at home to myself.
I've worked out it's been over three months since I've had an afternoon off. No visiting Blarney, no heading somewhere for a run, no meeting friends for a film, no being interstate, no helping people with things.
I had the afternoon all to myself.
Okay, it's a bit obvious. I'm not home much. I keep really busy. I spent the time dusting, writing, cooking, catching up on Big Love and Being Human. I cooked myself a really nice dinner. I finally watched Million Dollar Baby (superb film). I went to bed early.
And strangely, I didn't feel like I've often felt having such a day. I didn't feel lonely.
I'll admit it. I don't always like coming home to an empty flat. But sometimes, having the space is wonderful.
After a few days filled with so many varied experiences, knowing I have a messy flat to return for a bit of solitude is a lovely thing.
I just hope it wont be another three months until I get the chance to do this again.
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Masquerade
If you want to push every button in my body, ask me to a black tie affair, tell me to bring a plus one and wear a mask. Oh, and to add insult to injury, make it an affair to which you're ordered. Thought not mandatory, it's been made clear that you're to at least show your face at this shindig, in a matter of speaking. How are you supposed to show your face when you're wearing a mask?
It is a masquerade party after all. My consultancy's annual black tie affair. These are the people who pay me. It's been made clear that you're expected to turn up.
Well, I've had every button pushed well and truly - but instead of putting in my excuses, crying off with the ebola virus or telling all and sundry I'm on a six p.m. flight to Adelaide, I put in an acceptance to the RSVP and with bated breath, I'm turning up to this affair tomorrow night, alone, but I'm going.
Jonella had a bit to do with my accepting the invitation. Jonella's been with the consultancy for a few years. She's been telling me of how good these events are. I'm not so sure. It's a corporate do. It's a corporate do in a swanky hotel. It's a corporate event in a swanky hotel to which I have to drive to and at which I cannot drink alcohol. Phah! Adding to my discomfort, then only person I know on more than a hello in the lift basis is Jonella.
Oh well, I get to have a look around the ballroom at the Windsor Hotel, one of the loveliest old style hotel's in Melbourne - it's something I've wanted to do for a long time.
In the past, getting an invite to an affair with a "and partner" attached has left me in a flurry of tears and in a quandry. I've never had a plus one and these invites have made me feel "defective" in the past. The only event I can remember taking a plus one to was Lachlan's wedding many years ago - and I took this mate who I'm sure is now living in Barcelona under the name of Narelle. Hmmm. Thank goodness I've got over this one well and truly. I'm fine going alone.
Saying this, I was telling Pinochet about this event tonight as he held me captive on the leg press machine with 100 kgs bearing down on my glutes. I told him that I wasn't overly wrapped about going to this shindig - to which he said "Pick me! Pick me!" Hmm. I told him that it was a black tie. "I have a black tie! It goes well with my yellow suit." Hmm. Maybe next time, sweetie. And though I must admit to adoring my personal trainer, I'm not sure I want to take him to my consultancy's black tie affair. A friend's barbeque maybe, but not to this excuse for a drunken networking night with people I don't know.
I have the dress. I'll wear the black one that I wore to the 12 wbt party a few months ago. That's elegant enough without being too over the top. I have the shoes. I have the make up. All I needed to go to this was the mask.
And this too caused a bit of a dilemma. Masking up. Eww. The first instinct for me was to go to the Spellbox, my witch shit shop, where I get all of my tarot cards and other assorted "witchy" stuff that I use in my healing work. They have these fabulous leather masks that have always taken a fancy to. Leather ritual masks, not gimp masks, half-faced, slighty sprightly, slightly demonic, delicately detailed - used for working some rather interesting rituals. I spotted a really fetching blue one - but at $150 - there is no way I could afford it - my dress cost that ten years ago! Jonella also mentioned that such a mask would probably make a few waves. Probably a good thing it was out of my price range.
So I found one one on ebay - a fairly simple black one with a few sequins for good measure - elegant, simple and most importantly, cheap. Even with postage, it was the right price at less than ten percent of the Spellbox one. I bought this online a week ago. It was still to turn up at my post office box this afternoon.
So it was a quick trip to Bernard's Joke Shop at lunchtime for a contingency plan mask. Something to cover my face while I stand there wishing I could be downing champagne by the bucket load whilst trying to be pleasant and interesting to people I don't know. Saturday morning's boxing class will be enough of a deterent for the drinking - you can't box with a hangover. Besides, I'm seeing the naturopath at 2 pm the next day - she'll have my guts for garters if she hears I've been drinking. There were a few options but I settled on the one that was the most comfortable, with a comfortable material backing and a nose pad. It shouldn't make any waves.
What do you reckon?
![]()
Nothing controversial about my mask in the slightest.
I just like pusscats....
It is a masquerade party after all. My consultancy's annual black tie affair. These are the people who pay me. It's been made clear that you're expected to turn up.
Well, I've had every button pushed well and truly - but instead of putting in my excuses, crying off with the ebola virus or telling all and sundry I'm on a six p.m. flight to Adelaide, I put in an acceptance to the RSVP and with bated breath, I'm turning up to this affair tomorrow night, alone, but I'm going.
Jonella had a bit to do with my accepting the invitation. Jonella's been with the consultancy for a few years. She's been telling me of how good these events are. I'm not so sure. It's a corporate do. It's a corporate do in a swanky hotel. It's a corporate event in a swanky hotel to which I have to drive to and at which I cannot drink alcohol. Phah! Adding to my discomfort, then only person I know on more than a hello in the lift basis is Jonella.
Oh well, I get to have a look around the ballroom at the Windsor Hotel, one of the loveliest old style hotel's in Melbourne - it's something I've wanted to do for a long time.
In the past, getting an invite to an affair with a "and partner" attached has left me in a flurry of tears and in a quandry. I've never had a plus one and these invites have made me feel "defective" in the past. The only event I can remember taking a plus one to was Lachlan's wedding many years ago - and I took this mate who I'm sure is now living in Barcelona under the name of Narelle. Hmmm. Thank goodness I've got over this one well and truly. I'm fine going alone.
Saying this, I was telling Pinochet about this event tonight as he held me captive on the leg press machine with 100 kgs bearing down on my glutes. I told him that I wasn't overly wrapped about going to this shindig - to which he said "Pick me! Pick me!" Hmm. I told him that it was a black tie. "I have a black tie! It goes well with my yellow suit." Hmm. Maybe next time, sweetie. And though I must admit to adoring my personal trainer, I'm not sure I want to take him to my consultancy's black tie affair. A friend's barbeque maybe, but not to this excuse for a drunken networking night with people I don't know.
I have the dress. I'll wear the black one that I wore to the 12 wbt party a few months ago. That's elegant enough without being too over the top. I have the shoes. I have the make up. All I needed to go to this was the mask.
And this too caused a bit of a dilemma. Masking up. Eww. The first instinct for me was to go to the Spellbox, my witch shit shop, where I get all of my tarot cards and other assorted "witchy" stuff that I use in my healing work. They have these fabulous leather masks that have always taken a fancy to. Leather ritual masks, not gimp masks, half-faced, slighty sprightly, slightly demonic, delicately detailed - used for working some rather interesting rituals. I spotted a really fetching blue one - but at $150 - there is no way I could afford it - my dress cost that ten years ago! Jonella also mentioned that such a mask would probably make a few waves. Probably a good thing it was out of my price range.
So I found one one on ebay - a fairly simple black one with a few sequins for good measure - elegant, simple and most importantly, cheap. Even with postage, it was the right price at less than ten percent of the Spellbox one. I bought this online a week ago. It was still to turn up at my post office box this afternoon.
So it was a quick trip to Bernard's Joke Shop at lunchtime for a contingency plan mask. Something to cover my face while I stand there wishing I could be downing champagne by the bucket load whilst trying to be pleasant and interesting to people I don't know. Saturday morning's boxing class will be enough of a deterent for the drinking - you can't box with a hangover. Besides, I'm seeing the naturopath at 2 pm the next day - she'll have my guts for garters if she hears I've been drinking. There were a few options but I settled on the one that was the most comfortable, with a comfortable material backing and a nose pad. It shouldn't make any waves.
What do you reckon?
I just like pusscats....
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