Definition of stress

Your roof is leaking, you've had an allergic reaction to antibiotics meaning a return visit to the doctor and you are trying to juggle two clients. Oh, the fun. You wonder if vegemite toast will help.

Apparently it's June
Apparently I have my own business?
Apparently the Termi CH bottleo has closed
Apparently I have a sinus infection.

Raining like a mofo this morning; one of the nicer things about being able to work from home is the ability to remain in nighty + cardi + emu boots rather than venture out. I even have a new (old) coffee pot on the stove, so no need to go out into wet and get a latte either.

Opaque tights are very much on right now, due to the boring damp cold of Melbourne winter bearing thoroughly and prematurely down on us. And opaque tights are smart, and generally warmer than trousers, so I have many many pairs.

However, one such pair was clearly not in the reliable category, and has now been  tossed angrily in the direction of my bathroom rubbish bin, due to rolling precariously halfway down my thighs, halfway down Exhibition St, when I was halfway to a meeting this arvo*.  I attempted to walk with my knees pressed together, but nothing doing. The fucking tights, either shrunk in a warm wash or protesting against my NYC undiet, came arolling down aided by gravity. Not my classiest moment, as I attempted to hitch them back up, in full view of lunchtime foot traffic. So not fucking impressed.

That's the only accident I have had today. So not doing too badly. Apart from minor incident with the baking paper this evening.

*Yes, have decided to grace the labour market with my presence again, at least for a little while.

Oh Christ, you're still here? Sorry, forgot about you. Forgive me. Been busy doing, well not a helluva lot. It's been actually lovely, chilling and working to my own schedule. A few leads re work emerging, but it so nice to slow down for a change.

There was a gap in the deteriorating weather today, so I walked all the way up to Preston Market for some fresh f&v. Such a wonderful continental flavoured place. I was told by the mama in one of the grocers that I could not possibly make soup without onion and celery and parsnip. Came back and made mountains of it, and have stored it for winter. Might not have time soon to do such things!

Back to semi-reality of Melbourne on Tuesday. Days have been filled with sleep, walking, cooking and some organisation. Weather calm and autumnal and blue. Procurement of job begins tomorrow, for at least half the day.

My only commitments are rent and the odd bill, and I am quite good at creating big meals from pulltogethers. I may never have this sort of freedom again, and it's quite exciting not knowing what will come next.

It's crazy, but it's true.

The overseas part of holiday comes to an end, but, given I am not currently working (perhaps even 'funemployed,' as young Maya would say) I am still technically on holiday back in Melbourne.

Best holiday of my life so far. Easily.

New boots (Dolce Vita) really, really hurt after hours of strutting around MoMA, and Hoary insistence on food and cocktails. Was ready to go home at midnight but I should have known.

Just put on 'Arthur's Theme' and started trying to pack (cram stuff in suitcase). Bag came in, sighed, and I mumbled to her that I might need some help. But first for some coffee and a bagel.

NYC, you have the goods to back it up.You really, really do.

'I'm normal though, right?'
'But Bridge, normal's boring.'

Bag is a bad person to ask such silly questions of. And to shop with (not quite a binge but certainly close to it. New ankle boots though. YESSSS.)

Have had enough of food now. Katz's delicatessen (of When Harry Met Sally fame) was visited today, had the pastrami on rye with pickle. Holy fuck, so good. With that and the Greenwich Food Tour (bagel, 'slice', and cannoli) I think I am a bit food spoilt. Trying to combat it by walking for miles each day; but probably ulimately futile and feeble gesture. If I walk back to Melbourne, maybe not so much.

I can see the empire state building from a corner of the apartment. The Baggage's and baggage boy's gaff is 5 blocks from the subway. (Distances are measured in blocks here.) Busker singing Jeff Buckley at the station. Quirky area is Williamsburg, no Starbucks, but I did find a tasti delete.

They are away; so the mice will play.

Big Saturday

Introduced to shopping along Broadway, including, most significantly, Sephora which is like a candy store for adult women (cosmetics heaven). Later, Mini, Baggage and me cavort around West Village, having dinner at 11pm, drinking a fuckload of cocktails (go the freepours, also) and getting handed business cards (men are different here to back home).

Baggage off to California this morning at 4am. Instead of going to bed, she stayed up (and I stayed up, by association), charged with two espresso martinis. She's off out the door at 4am, saying 'It's so much better to stay up than go to bed when you have an early flight.'

I am charged with caffiene and vodka and will be awake for quite some time yet.

New York

You can kind of see why this place has so many songs written about it. Utterly mindblowing. Sensory overload. Cabs honking, hotdogs everywhere, people jaywalking, yelling on their phones. I escaped to Central Park to pay my respects to John Lennon; the blossoms were flowering and petals were being carried in the wind.

Introduced to America by standing in queue for an hour and a half and getting lost in Brooklyn while cab driver hopelessly circles and refuses to check map. Good to know cabbies are the same as home - feel v comfortable. Bag sat me at tapas bar downstairs and plies me with sangria. Hurricane Bridget indeed. 

Oh.

Your average London antipedean house party last night. Kitchen crammed with empties and shouty conversation; smokers huddled out the back; and lone one found in fetal position of upstairs bedroom (me).

Off for tour of East End now. Voller, Phillie and me getting narky with each other. Fuckem.

Londonium

London starts in an odd way, with banker bloke walking up to me at Terminal 1, bombing me with 'you're beautiful' and then running away; the sun out; people smiling on the tube, all very odd.

Hanging out with the sister and bro in law, drinking cans in the park, etc. Sis tries on some wedding dresses. Posh assistant won't let us take pics even when Aunty Kate tries to out posh her.

London making it hard for me to hate it.

Now time to party.

Quashed despondent feeling of impending Dub departure* by drinking my weight in freshly hopped beer. Paddy and I drank our way around, laughed at an open mic night, and made sport of his flatmate Creepy Drawers**.
Came back to the gaf and smoked and drank more, just like the old days. Head sore, have just been presented with healthy salad when all I want is some stodge.
* and other thing

**40 yo housemate with a nervous tic and an odd obsession with Madge the cat. Has a can of chickpeas with a fried egg on top for dinner, every night).

I had a feeling this might happen. I had a postcard ready to send and all.

Days 3, 4, 5 and what are we up to now?

Doing all manner of Irish things: pints, visits to Penneys, Irish coffee, scoffing soda bread, having another pint. Popped down to cork to see John etc for St Patricks day, predictably mental.

I forgot how fierce the sky at twilight is, how smooth and delicious the Guinness is, or the peaty smell of briquettes burning on close gloomy days. I really have to come back here more.

Trip day 2

Dublin is exactly how I left it. Cloudy, cool, Georgian houses and Guinness. Paddy has taken the week off while I am here; four pints last night made me sleep very well. Having some grease now to cut through the steely grey of the morning. I have missed soda bread.

Trip day zero:
Perfect autumn day outside - slept fitfully and woke early, organised stuff in an orderly fashion into shoulder bag, etc. Had last decent coffee for several weeks, and now I am sitting waiting for ride to airport (I have nice friends).

Last few days I have been busy being unemployed, getting warrant of fitness on hair, teeth, and other bits and now, having had flying visit to Chch for our most excellent Granny's 90th, I am off to Dublin this afternoon. It will take me nearly a day and a half to get there as I am a cheap bastard and elected to have two stops on journey as opposed to one; but that's fine - I'm not in any hurry.

Am currently deriving much laughter from this: http://www.quickmeme.com/First-World-Problems/

I say this ironically, of course, because the lion's share of things I (as well as my contemporaries) worry about fall reasonably neatly into this bucket - and my blog probably wouldn't exist without whingeing about such items as as:
- OMFG - run in brand new pantihose! Have to chuck them out!
- Going to Canada and Cuba on same holiday! Have to pack for summer and winter! (BJ)
- Tired after sitting on my arse all day! But now have to go to personal trainer!
- Have gin! BUT NO TONIC OR LIME!
- Six weeks' off work coming up! I won't be able to buy new clothes and may have to curb New York shopping budget!

Of course, I will defend myself. I'm not really that shallow, although I do think we get caught up in our first world problems. Not all of the things I fret about are necessarily first world problems (wanting to find a life partner, valid. Being upset that people who shouldn't be dead are dead, equally valid, hometown flattened by fucking fucking earthquake, very valid) but it does help in putting things in perspective. Occasionally.

Stunning hot blue dome day today. Had nine hours' sleep (unusual) so feeling very rested (was also late for work.)

Had berry smoothie for lunch and popped down to American Rag for a wee vintage shop. I used to love opping as a teenager for my velvet jackets and floral skirts (teamed with my ankle boots, motheaten brown cardi and long greasy braids, SO 1995); years of high street followed; and now things come full circle and I find myself back to the old second hand shops. I like the idea of buying something second hand that has lasted this long and is bound to last longer. The church shop near the Erk has also seen a lot of my customer of the last few months - and I have never spent more than $15 a go which counters some of the more overpriced items in upmarket vintage shops.

Three more days of gainful employment left. Was told it will be 'painfully' quiet once I leave. I am flattered.

And because I am in such a sunny mood today, I am not going to dwell on how utterly incompetent property managers are. I moved out Chez Smuth four years ago, paid $50 for the privelege of having my name taken off the lease, only to find out last week my name is still on the RTBA transfer form. Four. Years. Ago. Truly terrifying and almost humourous. I vented my spleen on product review.com. Felt slightly and probably more practical than the faceplanting conversation I would have had with the property managers themselves. Pack of see you next Tuesdays.

Anyway, weekend! Sun, some gin and tonic, but first I must go to the gym for some pre-penance.

The friend I have had for the longest is Em, who is two months older to the day than myself. We are still close friends but our lives have taken very different trajectories. Example:

 

• Em's biggest problem in last 24 hours was catching her 4 year old son weeing into the heating grate in the living room, because he was a fireman and 'was putting out the fire with my hose, Mummy'.
• My biggest problem to happen in the last 24 hours? Falling over in my platforms infront of incoming Queens Pde traffic / group of friends whilst pissed (day of Yarra valley'ing) and smoking a cigarette, ending up with skinned knee.

I will keep enjoying my heating grate I think. For the time being.

 

I wasn't aware such a time existed on a Sunday morning. Birds making noise, fragile cloud waiting to be burnt away and no queue at the coffee shop. The things I do for my married parent friends, who are celebrating their birthdays today. Off I go to the yarra valley for the day. I am so not a morning person.

Nails, eggs, coffee, visit to the local op shop for winter trip clothes and now last wedding of the summer is upon us. Windsor, so must be minding my ps and qs.

Gosh, it would be nice to be enigmatic. For people to say, 'that Michelle, now there's a closed book. She's so mysterious. Never know with that one.'

Never going to happen. My heart is on my sleeve. It always has been, but I am proud of it now.

Ok uterus, I know you're annoyed at me cos I haven't used you in, well, ever, but please stop causing me so much trouble. I will do my best to utilise you in the next five years. Until then, calm down little organ.*

*It's been pointed out to me several times in the last few months that I am quite clucky and instead of being 'not opposed to concept', I actually am 'thinking about concept'. **Bag laughed at me when I conceded this one, saying she had known this about me for 'years'.

**However, I never want to define my happiness over something that could potentially be out of my control. That's all I am saying.***

***But I think it will happen, have a feeling.

In heat like this, there is really not much to do but alternate between crouching under the aircon unit and popping out for cold gin. But have found new household tip to share with you all, my readership of three: putting clothes on balcony infront of the hardworking extractor fan is akin to using a tumble dryer and probably more expeditious. You heard it here first.

Came home this afternoon from B&D's monster garage sale, and parked the hot rod in usual spot down by the creek. Alighted vehicle and was confronted with some music. Now, some Gen-y-ers occupy the two houses adjacent to mine, and some not so neighbourly disputes about music levels have been know to have been hurled back and forth over the fence, so it's not uncommon to hear a bit of noise disturbance near the Erk. But this music was not JT for once, it was soft and sensual and coming from the opposite direction. I walked down towards the creek where the bridge crosses over, and there was a guy underneath the bridge on his saxophone, the brick of the arches above him acting like a echo chamber. I stayed there not long enough, listening and smiling.

I had other things to do - all my linen was needing to be hung out and I had books to read on the balcony. There's always something more important to be doing isn't there....

Living in the moment is the only resolution I have for 2012 (now the tix to Dublin have been booked.) (Finally).

35 deg, dinner with Dingwall. Saved myself a click on the ticket by walking to Vic st and then walking home. People rallying round. Coming over bearing chocolates and beer. Keeping me company. Distracting me. Its never as bad as you think, really.

As I sit here with salt everywhere, it occurs to me I am so like a child. I have no idea what goes on in people's heads or hearts apart from my own. And even then it's no sure thing.

So the Baggage and Baggage’s boy got married on Friday, all very very exquisite. Lost my shit, then found it, then gave a reading. So special to have everyone together. It's been a massive campaign these few days. Feeling haggard. Need an afd if not an afw.

Currently taking an Aussie around the mainland.Things that Australians in NZ find amusing include:

 

• Paddocks full of white sheep (no idea)
• Briscoes ads (60% off zip kettles) 
• New Zealand men ‘kiwi boys all look the same sort of handsome’

 However she likes the feeesh. (She also likes the men).

 

Finally got into Chur chur late on Boxing day after the heartache of being cancelled on the 23rd (earthquake, bastards). Ended up hanging with Moulder at Xmas and flying all day on the 26th (via Auckland). Dad picked me up in latest beast, the Samoan people mover (his words not mine).


Am appalled that the bottle of tanqueray has disappeared. I blame Jay and Cath, who stitched me up royally last night. Am 32 today and off out for a hair o the dog.

Was asked today if I had much on, I said, no, I was going back to Christchurch, but ended up not going (wahhhhhhhhh) so instead had a lovely breakfast (Palominos) and bookshop exhibition (6 books for $50, so awesomely great).

Things that are making me laugh this week:
- Liam Gallagher's quotes. The guy's a twat, but if he is taking the piss, fair fucks to him.

Things that are making me pissed off this week:
- Whatever creature threw projectile at the car, resulting in dentage.
- Panelbeaters and their overuse of the word 'love.' Patronising fuckheads.

Things that make me smile this week:
- Eccentric bra salesladies in DJs
- Self present(new handbag) DJs
- Planning trip to back to Ireland (long overdue)
- The lovely elderly gentleman from the salvos on Bourke St shaking his tin. God bless me indeed.

Things that make me what to cry this week:
-Groin injuries and the black caps quad. Am pretending that we don't play cricket anymore. It's just too painful.

Things that I am really looking forward to at the end of this week
- A gin and tonic
- A weekend
- A catch up with Little S and the HoBag.

Nothing much happening right now. Frozen planet on telly. Coffee cake in the oven. Bum firmly on the couch. Two pt sessions this week - am actually fucked. Cannot walk up the stairs without wincing. Burny ouchie burny.

Ugh, Sunday night yet again. What will become a carrot cake is currently baking in the oven, have had a quick session in Brunswick, and am now chilling out and watching doco on SBS (Kissinger), as is my wont.

This time last year was in Thailand with my sister. Seriously need a break; I have worked non-stop since February. Contracts over the end of year period are like hen's teeth though, so mustn't whinge (much).

B&D got married last weekend, was totally beautiful, followed by most excellent pissup lasting til 4am with much homebrew and only a little of scandal. I was mauled by some very naughty mosquitoes and had to apply emergency toilet paper to my arm for 20 mins.

Yup, it's a slow news time in my life right now, fo sho.

I love this latest article regarding the races. Schoolies for adults is exactly what the races are about for 90% of those people at Flemington every year. With that in mind, I departed the city early this evening to get a head start on the pissed people staggering home in their zegna and saba, and popped past the Smackway on Smith st for dinnerparty ingredients. Thus, I find myself at home at 6 pm, which is unusual.

Was an epic weekend anyway, even without getting on the train to Flemington, what with hen's parties, McD's wedding and Grand for the traditional (it's been three years now = tradition) Cup Day sweep.

Take that

Things on this blog have been getting progressively bullety over the last few months / years, probably due to:
- my job as a writer of documents
- er, that's about it.

Will revert to the free flowing prose today.

For the very first time in my adult life, I can say with as much certainty as possible that I owe no money to anyone.* Like most students I had to borrow to pay for my degree, which started as law / arts double, and metamorphised to an Arts English Lit (oh how useful James Joyce has been to me) by the end in 2001. It took me 4 years to complete, essentially because I was very lazy and very burnt out after 2nd year law. Fortunately due to working quite a lot during my degree (sometimes even 35+ hours per week, if my memory serves me correctly and it generally does) I only ever had a loan for course fees rather than living costs - so I was very lucky.

I made as deal with the IRD a few years ago after I left the country to pay $1000 a year to pay off my student loan, but didn't realise until I saw a statement in 2008 how close I was to actually getting rid of the last debt I had. I haven't had a credit card for years, I never have bought a car in Australia (although it might be an idea) and because of very little effort, I have yet to get a mortgage either (this will happen in the next few years). Our much adored Poppa left us a few months ago, and as an indirect consquence I had a little surplus. So, thought I, I will pay silly thing off.

Paid silly thing off. Mum received letter saying the balance was 9 cents, and an accompanying letter saying it was paid off. So that was nice.

Sense of something achieved now. So bought myself a nice candle from spoilt. Might have a quiet wine.

* I say this now I have checked with BJ and Moulder and no, I owe them no drinking money for the time being.)

Tea, couch, world cup quarter win and Sean Connery on 7mate. Content.

Started new contract today - unsurprisingly buggered, and surprisingly have second cold of the year (sickness for me is normally confined to uterine pain and hangovers and the occasional bad back -- hence, I am a shit sick person).

Ho hum. Grumpy.

This blog is coming to you from (checks flightpath) 6715 meters, somewhere over Indonesia. Will post when I land however; this class doesn’t have wifi at this altitude.

An interesting week at work in Singapore, possibly the final time I will be there for work (at least on this project), topped off by an even more interesting afternoon. Colleague Jood and I schlepped off after today’s ‘briefing session’ at about 4.30 and decided to go back to hotel, gather things and head to Changi to take our chances on getting on the 9pm flight back to Melbourne (when currently booked on 12.25am). As we waited for cab outside hotel, I picked up my laptop case. It felt decidedly light.

Look inside. Yup. Case devoid of laptop. Bollock.

No bother, we think, cab can take us via office. Done and done. Meter left running, taxi parks semi illegally while I run back into office building, take lift 38 floors up, sneak back into office, find laptop sitting innocuously in meeting room with my diary and silver bracelet I always take off to type. Gather up items, while surreptitiously checking over shoulder so no-one sees me and a) tries to start talking to me about the Change stream, b) notices that I left valuable company property unattended. Sneak out to lift lobby humming ‘mission impossible’ to myself, only to get in lift with the Head of Recruitment for Asia who laughs, telling me he had seen the whole thing, and that I was wasting valuable drinking time.

Run back to cab. Get to airport. Flutter eyelashes, charm, get girls out etc to try and get on earlier flight. They will advise in 'due course' but flight chockers. I wander off for shower (lovely), then some risotto balls (yummy actually) and chased by campari and orange (several.) Colleague Jood, meanwhile, goes off to get whiskey for husband and perfume for herself. Note this; this will be important shortly.

Bored by the garrulous middle aged broads from Adelaide in lounge next to me, decide to pop out for quick ciggie, start talking to oil man from Auckland. Feeling fantastic and alive. Pop past customer service desk to obtain status on charming /nagging way onto earlier flight….

Success!! Yes, have been bumped onto sooner flight! Boarding pass for 9pm is issued. Hurrah!! However, problem. Jood has purchased not one, but two duty free items ready for pickup at the original gate at midnight. Must pass back there to advise. Much fucking around with dopey duty free attendants from shops one and two. Oh fuck. Flight closing. Fuckedity fuck. Run to gate. Get to gate, get duty free. Phew.

Sit in seat. Asked to change so couple in matching velour (!!!) can sit together. No bother. My this time in mild state of hypertension. Gratefully inhale complimentary champage (numbers one and two.)

Fucking fucking hell.
Anyway, all good now. On a flight pointing its nose at melbourne. Time for some stupid movies and another gin and tonic and if I am self medicating so fucking be it. Bumpy as fuck as it always seems to be over Indonesia.

Tomrorrow I will have a steak and broccli, have a proper latte and sleep in my own bed. And I literally cannot wait.

So as I walked home this afternoon, across the Merri creek bridge, having quickly popped out for broccoli, (working from home today – 40 documents to produce by end of next week, somehow) I indulged myself in a little fantasy. Cos fantasies are fun – just ask that chick from Offspring.

I fantasised I would get home, and after weeing, and find that:
- the letterbox would contain not just the mail of five departed flatmates, but the cashback cheque from Acer I am waiting on;
- new email notification would be waiting advising that Trip to Singapore was organised, including a weekend in Malaysia for being the best consultant the team has ever had;
- money would be credited to my account from my ex boss along with a quick voicemail to say 'sorry for the four month wait', and 'we have added on a bonus as a severance'.

None of the above happened. Perhaps I should be more realistic in my waking lucid dreams.

So, have ticked another of life's boxes - having travelled in business class (Singapore & return). Everything I thought it would be and more - flat beds, cocktails, and all the food they can chuck at you. And that's just in the air. They (work) wanted their pound of flesh for it though - 12 hour days and about 3 minutes to myself the whole time. Last week has been manic. Have turned into total corporate whore.

Exhausted. Tea, chocolate and Flying Doctors marathon on. Am going to have a bath and then I am going to bed.

If you ever wondered what it was women discussed amongst themselves, here is a quick summary of the topics covered by BJ Moulder and me after dinner last night (in chronological order, cocktails being consumed):
- Labor government
- Some people we know who rushed into a relationship and the current s.o.p.
- Aboriginal affairs
- Daylesford trip
- Real estate in Daylesford
- Bra brands
- Whether or not it was acceptable to not wear knickers if you are wearing control tights
- Back to Labor and the Malaysia solution
- Carbon tax
- Frustration as a voter
- Control underwear - warm in winter

Now you know. I haven't even censored this.

Sister annoyed re below, writing to me that:

'BTW - the club in Whitechapel was drum and bass not trance. That is a gaff (sic) of sacrilegious proportions where I come from'

Indeed.

Singapore this week; work this time. Quite excited although it will be challenge.

Finally, despite rejections and despite the benefit of doubt being kicked back in my face, and no matter how exhausting it is being optimistic, I am still determined to live a happy life.

Saturday checklist:
- Conversation with class A sister who is about to 'head out to a fantastic trance club in Whitechapel' - done
- Wax - done
- Breakie, paper, coffee - done
- Hair - done
- Accompanying trash mags x3 (Kim K*rdasian's new curves / drug fears / engagement surprise / plastic surgery shocker) - check
- Smackway shopping for quiche - done
- Reply to text from Mother '$39 tunic dress from Stax!!!' - done
- Quiche in oven for BJ dinner - done
- Beer / cider in fridge - done
- Dylan Moran youtube clips - WIP
- Drink and giggles n roof -
- Wesley Ann for to see off Y. Maya -

Slight gap in Saturday schedule between laundry and nail taming, so popped up the High St in Westgarth for a quick nose around the arty farty designy shops. One second hand dealers near Ruckers Hill is run by an interesting woman of the older persuasion. As soon as I entered the cramped space that was the shop, filled with all manner of knick knacks, I was greeted by said manageress.

'Hello, love, good afternoon' she said.

'Hi there' I said, 'how are you?'

There was a pause.

'How am I? HOW AM I? If another person asks me that today I am going to get so angry. Honestly you don't know me, why would you ask me that?'

'Um, er, um...' I simpered, backing into a stack of mothballed fur coats and metre high stacks of 1950s newspapers.

'But love, why do people ask that? people who don't know me shouldn't ask how I am they don't want to know. Why don't they just say hello or good day?'

I inched toward the door, where I was relieved to see a couple come in. I winced, but she laughed as all he commented to her was: 'Surely, this place is a bit bare isn't it?'

I wonder if I am a bit mad looking as well, as I sit here in my hot rollers, dressing gown and a fag in the ashtray, but at least I am in the comfort of my own home. I fully intend to be an old eccentric one day, but think perhaps she takes it a little far; which is a shame because I am very fond of one of the old phones in the window but am too scared to go in again.