Thesaurus

I'd just like to give myself a big pat on the back for using the word 'eschew' in yesterday's post. Normally I can't use words that obscure unless I've had a couple of beers. It's one of many strange words that I've managed to use in regular conversation in the past week, including 'ergo', 'judicious' and 'fervent'.

I think my brain is stuck in thesaurus mode.

Retail Therapy

I have been known to eschew a lot of stereotypical 'girly' things, but one thing I will never doubt is the therapeutic benefit of retail therapy.
After what would have to be one of the worst working weeks I have ever had, I spent Saturday and Sunday emptying the contents of my bank account on a myriad of new clothes and shoes.

Minutes after getting home, I felt completely relaxed and at ease. It's something I don't think men will ever understand. You only need to look at all the boyfriends and husbands who have been dragged along to the shops by their partners to realise that the benefit of retail therapy is something that will always elude men. Moments after enter the shopping centre, they're already bored and desperate to leave. They just don't get the same kind of thrill from the shopping experience as women do.


Women, on the other hand, understand the true value of shopping. Its not just about spending money - although something about that does provide a kind of release. It's about feeling good about yourself. It's about walking in to a store and putting something pretty on, or trying on a pair of jeans and having a sales assistant, some random person you've never met before, telling you that you look hot. And it doesn't matter one bit that they're paid to say those kinds of things even if you look like a sausage that has been stuffed in to a skin two sizes too small, because it feels so damn good either way.


It's been so long since I went shopping for clothes, that once I started, it was hard to stop. Saturday I went alone and it was like a warm up for Sunday, when I caught up with a friend and did the most damage to my bank balance.

The benefit of retail therapy with someone else there is that they suggest that you try on things you otherwise wouldn't. In this case, it happened that I wanted a new pair of jeans for when I go out - something a bit dressy but still casual. My friend suggested that I try on a pair of black skinny leg jeans - something that I've avoided up until now.

I was sceptical, but I tried them on anyway - because that's what retail therapy is all about. Good move. They looked awesome in every way. They made me look thin and tall, they made my butt appear perfectly shaped. When I tried on a pair of heels with them, I felt like I could have stepped right out of a catalogue. Well, my legs did, anyway.

The overly effeminate salesman gushed about how wonderful they looked, and so did my friend. For five minutes I felt really damn good about myself. And that's what it's all about I guess. Taking a week worth of crappiness and putting it behind you in five minutes of retail therapy.

Friday Night Plans

KJ is away for the weekend, as he has been for most of the week, and with no plans tonight I have well and truly managed to exhaust the list of things I'm capable of doing to keep myself amused.

So far I've watched tv, read the end of my book, eaten the entire contents of my fridge (which sounds bad, but was basically just some leftover pasta and a box of chocolates); slid up and down the kitchen in my socks 'Risky Business' style, straightened my hair, played several mindless iPad games and beaten both my mum and my sister at online scrabble.

I am so incredibly bored! I think I might sit down with a glass of wine and watch a movie before I get tempted to do something really crazy like ironing or cleaning the house.

Long Bad Day

Do you ever get that feeling where a bad day turns into a bad week? Nothing seems to go right, everything makes you unhappy and you just plod along through it all, wishing life would just go back to normal?

My bad week seems to be turning in to a bad month. I can’t wait for it to be over, but I suspect that maybe it won’t end until after Christmas, when I have the chance to be away from work for an extended period of time.

In all honesty, I think I just don’t like my job, and that’s why the bad day has gone on for so long. My boss is kind of a tool, and coming to work each day is making me miserable. But I don’t really know what else to do. Sadly, even though I’m almost 30, I still don’t know what I want to do for a living. It’s been a problem for me for as long as I can remember, because I had the opportunity straight after high school to study pretty much whatever I wanted, but because I had no idea what I wanted to do, I never really studied anything. I just sort of fell into this job. And I enjoyed it a lot in the beginning because it used to be really challenging and I was free to do a lot of different things, but now it’s kind of sucky because my boss is a control freak so I have no room to move. Also, he’s kind of a sexist, so he doesn’t give me anywhere near enough work to do – he just farms it all out to the guys.

Damn it, why couldn’t I have married some really rich guy who’s never home?! Then I could spend my days doing things I enjoy, like reading books, watching tv, shopping and playing scrabble. Then this wouldn’t even be an issue.

Jellybean Power

There are two small-ish things that I was going to write about today, that I originally considered to be unrelated to each other.

The first is the giant jar of jellybeans that I have on my desk. We were going to use them for a work promo - a 'guess how many jellybeans in the jar' kind of thing. We didn’t end up using them, so instead they’ve been sitting there, staring at me, waiting for me to devour them in sudden moments of sugar craving weakness.
I don’t eat a lot of sugar in general, so I’ve noticed the difference in my moods after slowly working my way through the jellybeans.
Initially, there were 568 beans in the jar, in a rainbow of colours. Now I have a giant jar with a handful of black and purple jellybeans and not much else.


The other thing I wanted to write about was that I’ve read 6 books in the last week and a half, despite having very little spare time. I was very impressed with myself for that, until I put the jellybean story and the book story side by side, and all of a sudden, the book thing seems to be slightly less impressive.

I’m beginning to think the two things may be related. I am a jellybean powered reading machine.

TLAPD is coming!

Another year has passed, and here we find ourselves about to celebrate another International Talk Like a Pirate Day. There remains little for me to say about this awesome holiday, so instead here are some helpful ideas so that on September the 19th, you can celebrate it too.


Celebrate with your kids by having a Pirate themed party.


Blog like a pirate using a translator.


Twitter like a pirate.


Post on Facebook like a pirate.


Change the language on Google to ‘Pirate’ (click on the language tools link) and search the web like a pirate.


Work out your Pirate Name. Mine is 'Red Ethel Kidd'.


Take a Pirate Personality Test. (I’m the Cap’n!)


Or do what a real pirate would do and get blind, stinking drunk and slur your speech in a way that no one understands – then call it ‘Pirate talk’.

Super Show

Best.

Show.

Ever.

The superbox experience may well have ruined me for regular concert-going. We watched the entire concert in comfort from our very own couch, complete with big squashy cushions. A huge glass window covered the entire front of the box, and it slid open and closed so that we could see and hear everything clearly.

An attendant stood by and topped up our glasses whenever they started to look a bit empty, so that half an hour into the show I had no idea how much I’d drunk – although from the difficulty I had making it through the hall to get to the bathroom I’d say it was a fair bit.

And in the bathroom – no lines! I didn’t waste half the night lining up with a hundred other women, which was great because with the amount of booze we consumed, we made quite a few trips to the bathroom.

The music was incredible too – JET and Powderfinger were both amazingly good. I’m more of a JET fan than a Powderfinger fan, so I could happily have listened to another couple of hours of JET, but I was surprised at how familiar the Powderfinger music was to me, and they're fantastic live - probably even better than they are recorded.

The only down side was that the superboxes are pretty far removed from the stage area. It was pretty dark in the Arena, but I managed to grab a few photos on my phone that show how far we were from the action:

Looking out over a sea of people

Watching Powderfinger with 10,000 of my closest friends

So obviously it wasn't quite the same atmosphere as it would have been if we were on the floor, but it was still pretty damn good. I definitely wouldn't turn down tickets if the opportunity came up again in the future.

Super Friday

Tonight I’m going to see Powderfinger play at Rod laver Arena. Yep, I’m all about the concerts lately. No dodgy arm stamps at this one though.

The best thing about this concert is that a friend got us tickets for a Superbox – so instead of being shoulder to shoulder with lots of loud, drunken fans; waiting in queues 100 people long to get a drink or use the toilet; I’ll be sitting up high in my soft, comfy chair having drinks brought to me with a wave of my hand. Or something like that.

Mmmm, corporate goodness

I’m not actually a massive Powderfinger fan as such, although I don’t mind them; but what I am excited about is that the support band is JET! At first I just agreed to go to the concert because KJ really likes Powderfinger, but now I’m actually pretty excited because JET are playing for about an hour as well.


I’m not really sure how the Superbox thing will affect the atmosphere of the concert – it’s about as far removed from the reasonably intimate Whitlams show I went to as you can get. Rod Laver Arena seats about 15,000 people, so it’s a hell of a lot different to a room with a couple of hundred people in it. And I’m not sure if sitting up high in a corporate box will mean that some of the atmosphere of the show is lost on us. There’s something about being in a throng of people all swaying to the same music that makes a show special. Having said that, it’s Friday and I’m incredibly tired because I’m old and boring, so the idea of standing up for 5 hours straight isn’t something I’m all that keen on – atmosphere or no atmosphere. So bring on the comfy chair and drinks service!


My other concern for the night is that we have to leave straight from work to get there, so I need to get ready here before we leave. The problem with that is that there are no mirrors here. Not one single mirror in the entire building. I will have to spend half an hour trying to do my hair and makeup while peering into a tiny little hand mirror. That leaves a lot of room for error. I could find myself with flawlessly straight hair except for one afro section in the back. I could do my makeup perfectly then find that I’ve missed an entire side of my face. Ok, these things are unlikely, but still. It’s pretty damn hard to get ready in a hurry without a mirror.


Because I think it’s nice to share my experiences, here’s a little of what I’m heading to tonight. Close your eyes, stand very close to someone else and sway a little while you play it. See if you can’t fake a bit of the atmosphere that I may miss out on.

Shoes

I’m really excited that we’ve finally made it to spring after having the coldest, rainiest winter since 1996. We’ve been in this drought for so long now that no one is accustomed to cold, wet winters any more and we’ve all had enough.

Personally, I’ve had enough of the cold, although I’m not too fussed about the rain. I miss the sun, but most of all I want the cold weather to end because I don’t think I can handle another day of having to wear shoes.


I hate wearing shoes. More specifically, I hate wearing closed toe shoes. I would wear sandals, thongs or go barefoot every day of the year if I could. Real shoes are like a miniature prison for my feet. They're uncomfortable and constricting; and that is why I still own the same pair of runners that I had when I was 20 - because I wear them so infrequently that they're practically brand new.

Like any woman, I own way more pairs of shoes than I could ever possibly need - however there are only two or three pairs that are closed toe, and unsurprisingly they're all in as-new condition.

I have one other pair of shoes that remain unworn - an embarrassingly stripper-esque pair of heels that I bought one evening while very upset, when the purchase was more about therapeutic shopping than shopping for something I would actually wear. I gave in to a very clever saleswoman who preyed on my weakened state to sell me something that no one in their right mind would buy unless they were shopping for an outfit for a Bar 20 audition. Black vinyl stiletto heels are definitely not my thing. Needless to say, they sit in the shoebox at the back of my cupboard gathering dust along with the closed toe shoes, which I am forced to drag out every winter and wear against my will. It’s either wear them or freeze my toes off.

But with the temperatures looking like they’re on the way up again, I think it’s time to tuck my runners back into the far reaches of my wardrobe and break out the sandals again. Bring on summer!

Satisfaction

Ahhh, Barbie car. 25 years of waiting for a childhood toy desire to be satisfied, taken care of in a single hour of play.

Oh yeah, I think my Niece liked it too.

Birthdays & Barbies

Today is my Niece’s 6th birthday. There are positives and negatives to celebrating a sixth birthday I guess. The positive is that she can actually tell you what she wants for her birthday; the negative is that she may not just be happy with any old thing like she would have a couple of years ago.

I asked her about a week ago what she wanted for her birthday and she rattled off a few things, the main stand out being that she wanted a toy cat. That seemed pretty straight forward, so that was my purchase of choice.

Naturally, me being me, I forgot about shopping for her present until today, so at lunch time I headed over to Kmart, which is the only decent sized store anywhere near my work.

After 15 minutes of scouring the shelves for a toy cat, I was forced to concede that they didn’t have any, and that my laziness had left me unable to fulfil her birthday wish. This left me with the dilemma of what would make a suitable replacement for a toy cat.

Another 15 minutes of window shopping still had me drawing a blank, so instead of trying to find something that she would approve of, I decided I would just give in to my inner child and purchase something that I had always wanted for myself when I was her age. It seemed slightly selfish, but sensible – after all, don’t all six year olds like the same sort of things?

Having an older brother, I spent most of my time playing with toy trucks and running around in our sand pit, so there weren’t a lot of girly toys that I wanted. But what always stands out in my memory is the yearning I had for my very own Barbie car. I think it was a combination of the older brother influence with the car, and the girly side of me that wanted something for my Barbie dolls. Plus, back in the 80’s, Barbie had some seriously good taste in cars. I dreamt of owning this awesome corvette:

To go with my Dream Glow Barbie & Ken Dolls:

Ah Ken - what a Dreamboat!

So with that in mind, I headed to that one toy aisle that smacks you in the face with its pink sparkliness, and found the Barbie dolls.

It took me a little while to realise I’d found them, because I kept looking past the trampy, hooker-ised dolls to try to find Barbie - It took a minute or two to twig that they were the Barbies. Sadly, 20 years have not been kind to Barbie. I guess after the divorce with Ken she got a little desperate and has had to whore it up a bit. I chose the least whore-ish Barbie, but even she still looks like she bought her shoes at a stripper supply store.

Those moveable joints must
make pole dancing a breeze

Sadly her car isn’t quite as cool any more either. She’s gone from a shiny metallic Corvette to something that looks a lot like a hot pink convertible Smart Car:

I can only assume she had to sell the Corvette to pay for her many, many surgeries.


Despite my disappointment in the changes to Barbie since my childhood,  I grabbed the doll and the convertible and headed to the checkout. After all, little girls love dolls, and they love the colour pink, so what is there for my Niece not to love?

As the check out chick was scanning my items, she said to me 'Oh, someone's a Barbie fan!'
'Yeah,' I said  'Aren't all little girls Barbie fans?'
'Not these days.' she told me authoritatively 'No, not anymore.'

So it appears my theory on all little girls wanting the same things may be slightly flawed.
I guess we'll know at 6 o'clock tonight. On the plus side, I might find myself in permanent possession of a Barbie car, thus fulfilling my childhood dream (if in a slightly sluttier way than I imagined at age six).

Power Napping

You know what’s annoying about sharing a bed with another person? It’s all nice and cozy when you’re cuddled up together, and you can get all comfy and sleepy; but then just as you’re on the brink of sleep, the other person will move and you’ll be woken up. Getting to sleep after that is next to impossible, because it’s like you’ve given your brain a little power nap, and suddenly you’re not quite as sleepy as you were only seconds ago.

This happens to me all the time. I think if KJ didn’t travel so much it would drive me insane. I don't really sleep all that much to begin with, so that tiny little power nap can mean that I'm lying in bed awake for a good hour or so. The week or so per month that KJ is away lets me enjoy getting to bed without a power napping incident. I imagine that he'd probably be a little put out if I told him that though, because telling someone that you enjoy your nights without them probably doesn't rate highly on the romance scale. But just between us, last night I had the best sleep I've had all week.

Inked Up

On Saturday night a group of us headed out to the Corner Hotel in Richmond to see The Whitlams play. I went and saw them a little while back and they were incredible; such a fantastic band to see live. So when the opportunity arose to see them play one more time before they go on an extended break, I jumped at the chance. It also doesn’t hurt that Tim Freedman is pretty hot.


When we entered the venue, they stamped our wrists with a purple ink stamp of some cute little Snork-like creatures. Nothing unusual about that in itself. What is unusual is that it took me until this morning’s shower to get the damn thing off. I’ve been walking around for 3 days with a smudgy purple Snork couple tattooed across my wrist. I’m not a tattoo kinda girl, but if I was to get one it definitely wouldn’t be a couple of excessively cute cartoon creatures smeared across my wrist. It would probably be something useful, like a couple of lines for a to-do list, or maybe a small map of the city. Possibly some emergency phone numbers, but definitely not a dolphin, rose or random Chinese symbol.

Basically it looked like I’d been to a club and not showered for 3 days.

I’m not entirely sure why my stamp wouldn’t come off, because the two friends who crashed at my place that night woke up next morning with little purple Snorks all over their bodies from where their wrists had touched against them in their sleep. My skin must have some kind of magical ink-retaining properties that other people lack.

Combine this smudgy night-out remnant with the bruises and pin prick marks all over my arms from the hack job of a blood test I had on Saturday morning, and I looked like I spent the weekend at a rave rather than a Whitlams concert. Which is obviously not the case, because I can actually remember my weekend and it was totally drug and techno free - but still lots of fun.