FRIDAY: Bought three pairs of shoes
Yes, I bought them all at the same time in the same shop. Don’t judge me. One pair was for work, and that’s what I went in there for. The other two pairs were ballet flats, down to $35 each. I was trying on the green pair, trying to decide whether I needed TWO pairs of flats, when a girl sat down next to me. She was holding a cowboy boot, waiting for the salesgirl to return with her size. “Those are cute!” she chirped to me, nodding at the ballet flats. “Are you a dancer?” Dumbfounded, I answered, “Umm, no.” It was only through sheer effort of will I managed not to add, “Are you a cowboy?”
SATURDAY: Swimming with Wolves (Or, Dogs)
When we take the Black Dog for his physio swimming, we now also bring the Brown Dog and make him swim as well, for exercise. Funnily enough, although you normally cannot keep the Brown Dog out of water, he has a strong aversion to the chlorinated pool. Mr. T has low tolerance for the dogs playing up at present (since the Black Dog is now 6 weeks into his rehab and being a Giant Pain) so the Brown Dog gets grabbed and thrown bodily into the water. I then hold his leash and join the ranks of those walking around and around and around the outside of the pool, while our dogs swim laps in the water. Some dogs can’t wait to get into the water – usually Labs and Border Collies, nearly pulling their owners off their feet with their eagerness – and others hate the whole process, such as a little daschund thing who eyes the pool with fear and loathing. The Brown Dog, once he has unceremoniously entered the water, swims in a slow and stately manner, much like the Titanic, with his bottom half well below the waterline. If he was lazier, he could let his back legs sink down another foot or so and he’d realise he could touch the bottom. But instead he swims, easily yet ponderously, and is constantly lapped by smaller dogs with faster swimming styles. On the other hand, the Black Dog floats miserably down the pool and only comes alive when he sees the steps at the end, when he starts to paddle frenetically to escape the water and end his torment. I would feel bad but really it’s the only time he really struggles to use his front legs and that’s the object of the exercise.
I was going to go to the Melbourne Craft Fair but then realised I didn’t really enjoy the last one I went to – all beading and scrapbooking, two crafts I have no affinity for. And anyway, if I did find anything I liked, I’d just spend more money on fabric. So instead I sewed together the remaining blocks of my quilt top. I’m using 100% cotton thread and that stuff is a bitch to sew with – it’s like wire. And the pattern is … OK there is no pattern. I just started sewing. Stay tuned for Craft Disaster 2006, I sense it is just around the corner.
Oh that’s right, there’s a blog here. I’ve been expecting someone else to update it for me. Maybe just get inside my head and grab some of the thoughts that are in there and send them out into the internet in word form. I think there’s a niche there. (It’s probably been filled by podcasts, ie. blogs for people even lazier than me; but I want the Full Mindreading Service. And you should already know that I want it now.)
Speaking of the internet, the Dodo ad for broadband was on TV the other night (which involves side-by-side ‘simulations’ of a picture downloading, with the Dodo-powered picture magically coming in faster; however, still loading line by line, which I personally have never seen since switching to broadband … but I digress) and the following conversation was had:
Mr. T: Isn’t it odd to think the internet is just floating round in the air right now.*
Me: Yes. The internet is all around me. I am breathing in the internet.
Mr. T: Yes you are. Do you feel smarter?
Me: I feel … like porn.
Mr. T: That’s the internet, all right.
Actually I have just upgraded our internet service (we were on some medium-speed, high-download plan (not by choice, they just kept upgrading our download limit with no interference on our part) to a cheaper honking-1500k-fast-speed, low-download plan) and yet I notice no difference. Perhaps I should ask Mr. T if the porn comes in faster. I haven’t noticed the air eddying and swirling all around me as the internet whooshes past, but I’ve had the gas heater on and maybe that cancels it out.
Black Dog Update: currently he is really pissing us off as he is making no effort to walk. He prefers to lie there and cry in the expectation that someone will come and give him a drink or take him outside. I completely understand his reasoning: unfortunately, he is both a smart dog and a lazy one. Combine these two and you get a dog who would much rather not exert himself and stand on legs which hurt him, when instead he could lie on his side and improvise extended vocal melodies on the themes of Pain and Anguish. (He’s very good at this.) We are standing him up and doing his physio and taking him swimming, but when you sit him up and he just collapses there’s not a lot you can do. Apart from beat him in a fit of wild rage, then skin him to make a winter coat. This is the preferred option at the moment so I’ll let you know if his hide ends up on eBay.
* Please note we do not really think the entire internet is floating around in the air. We also do not think that electricity is malevolent or that microwaves heat up the water in your brain.**
** Please do not email me if you in fact think this. We once had a flatmate who a) hated the microwave and b) did a Reiki course; he left his Reiki stones out in the rain overnight to ‘energise’ them or ‘cleanse’ them or something, and Mr. T told him that he’d found them out there so he’d put them in the microwave to dry them. We found this very, very funny. He may have put some sort of Reiki curse on us, of course, but I’m pretty sure that microwaves totally cancel those out.
I tend to talk to myself quite a bit, just in my own head. Often I wave my arms around too. And walk around when I’m thinking. I think this is what they call ‘nervous energy’. Anyway, I was in the bathroom the other night, getting ready for bed, and I was making an excellent point. To myself. I was speaking in a marvellous and spirited manner, brushing my teeth and making perfect sense whilst practically solving the problems of the world. My imaginary audience was admiring. Encouraged, I waved my arms around some more, spat in the sink and made an excellent rebuttal. As I headed towards the grand finale of my speech, imaginary listeners avidly listening to my every word, I pulled my zipped sweatshirt off over my head in a grand gesture. Well, I tried to. As I did so, the zip pull flicked out and was neatly caught by my left nostril, nearly pulling me off my feet like a hooked fish.
Needless to say, my grand oration was abruptly halted mid flow. I checked for blood, because it hurt THAT MUCH. I tell you, nothing makes you feel stupider than doing something ridiculous like ramming a zip up your nose. UNLESS it is doing it while pretentiously disclaiming to an imaginary audience. Burst my bubble, it did. Almost literally.
I have the cat lying beside me, between me and the heater. The sound of the laptop keys are causing his ears to flick backwards. Sometimes I look at the cat and I think, “holy crap. There’s an animal in my house.” I have tried to explain this to Mr. T a few times – there’s an animal! In the house! A little wild animal, and we feed it, and go out of our way to make it happy! And it’s an ANIMAL, it’s nothing like us, just look at it, it’s little and FURRY and alien and it’s in the house. And we let it in. Sometimes this seems very strange to me.
I have to return this work laptop soon. My beloved tiny laptop has a wonky USB port, and no wireless card. This means the external wireless modem dongle (heh) must plug into the USB port, and there is only one USB port, and it has become extremely temperamental; such that if I move, or breathe, or switch positions, the USB loses the connection and the internet disconnects. Three or four times a minute, usually. This is extremely irritating, so I have taken to surfing the internet on the tiny laptop I stole from work. Well, not stole. Technically they gave it to me. But I feel more daring if I say stole. Then I ruin it all by telling you that it is not stolen at all. Anyway, I have to return it at the end of the week as my job finishes and I start a new one. I am excited about it and hopefully there will be another tiny laptop at the end of that rainbow, such that I can continue to surf the internet in tiny laptop contentment.
I have spent most of my internet time tonight buying fabric off eBay, as I am halfway through another quilt. Well, it’s a whole bunch of squares sewn together. Last night I had the grand plan of making it into a queen size duvet cover type arrangement. This will end in pain, I can tell. Expensive pain. Hopefully the money I’ve now spent will force me to finish it.
I have become completely dissatisfied with my house, all my furniture and basically everything I own. I think it’s a winter thing. Also, the house is small with no storage so it’s cluttered. Well, I think it’s cluttered. It irritates me, but there’s nothing I can do short of ridding myself of the clutter. And it’s clutter like ‘cookbooks’, so, OK, want to keep those, but there’s nowhere to put them except where they are, so, OK, they stay. And this continues with everything I see, all the way up to big things like ‘camping stuff’, and we have no garage, so basically the camping stuff lives in the house, and … you get the idea.
I have to go now.
Driving down High Street today, I was thinking of nothing in particular when I passed a sign atop a car. “Biggest Prawn Loser”, it said. I thought about this for a little while. Did it mean you had prawns, then lost them? Or did it mean the prawn itself was lost? Had the prawn once been lost, yet now was found? A mystery for the ages. Until I drove back up the other way later in the morning and realised it was a sign for a fitness studio, and actually said “Biggest Prahran Loser”. Prahran being the suburb I live in. So, no seafood then. Disappointing.
Part of my jaunt down the street involved a trip to Borders – wherein no vouchers were used, you will be pleased to note – but instead I found a kit for a Bonsai Potato. I found this clever. I like it when people can make money from small, clever ideas. I would like it even more if it were me, but we can’t have everything.
I have somehow let the household run out of Coke, and, in a suprise move, V. They are kept in different fridges and I kept going from one fridge to another looking for something to drink. My other choices were orange juice (I don’t drink juice, it’s like a food, it takes a hell of a lot of effort to drink), milk (again with the food) and Up and Go (which is a breakfast smoothie thing in a tetrapak, again a food, what’s with all these liquid foods? are we invalids? well, only the Black Dog and he doesn’t get any of that, apart from milk on his weetbix in the mornings).
But then I found a beer.
Additionally, now I think about it, it was a free beer, from my haul from the Good Food Show. You just can’t beat free beer. No – you can’t. Even if you think you can, you can’t.
I went to a friend’s birthday thing on Friday night and ended up drinking at Chloe’s, right in front of Chloe herself in fact. You’d think chatting away in front of a life-size nude painting would be disconcerting. Not the case. Not many imitators, though. Too cold.
I am trying to watch the new season of Greys Anatomy, but I keep forgetting to. This is because: (a) it’s on at some godawful time on a Monday night; (b) I keep forgetting to watch TV; (c) our PVR is broked. BROKED. (PVR = one of those DVD recorder things, but records onto a hard disc.) I turned on the TV a week or so ago (and yes I understand this contradicts my earlier statement (b), I am full of such charming idiosyncrasies) and it was flashing in a strobe-like manner. “DEMONS I BID THEE BE GONE!” I thundered, but to no avail. The problem turned out to be the PVR and it is, in my best technical terms, broked. So this means that any TV must be watched on the spot, rather than recorded later .
OK the Black Dog just had a small accident and I had to clean it up. No dramas, all was successfully contained on his mat, but I got the carpets cleaned this morning which positively invites trouble. We are a No-Void Inside household, but I suppose surgery gives you some perks. He’s had 2 accidents in three weeks which is better than some flatmates I’ve had. Yes he’s still flapping around on the floor; but he is in fact scarily mobile and has an efficient slug-like locomotion. His current physio regime includes sitting him up, holding food in front of him and getting him to lean forward to use his shoulder muscles. This is fine, except I am the food holder and having an off-balance dog lurch towards you, jaws wide and intent on the fine piece of roast prok you are holding, results in some minor skin dents. (He never usually bites, but again: off-balance.)
back to our regularly scheduled rant
So I have heaps of news but it’s all on the work front and we don’t talk about that here. Give me a week or so and things may actually turn out the way I want them and then there will be A Great Rejoicing. So unfortunately for you, I am stuck with discussing the crap PVR and how insidiously it had invaded our lives; I imagine it to be a sort of Tivo-Lite, and can only imaging the wonder that is Tivo. (I am thinking mostly of the “I like this program so record all episodes of this program from now on, okthanks” aspect of Tivo. SO HANDY.)
What else? Borders keeps giving me vouchers. Have you signed up with your email address to Borders? They will keep giving you vouchers. Some are crap (“Buy 4 magazines and pay for 3!” – 4 magazines? really?) and some are good (“Get 20% off anything” – anything = good). Unfortunately this makes me go to Borders a lot, and I buy books like some people buy … magazines, I guess, so this is only good for Borders and bad for me. And the other smaller independent bookshops I would otherwise buy things at. Wow, they give me discounts and I turn it into an anti-global-corporation rant. Go me.
Someone must stop me from buying a Roomba from eBay. (see above: broked PVR + broked dog = already much spending.) BUT I REALLY WANT ONE. No, cannot have. Maybe if this super-awesome work thing comes off. NOW NOW NOW NOW. Maybe. WANT WANT IT NOW. God, it’s exhausting enough controlling an inner child, let alone an outer one. WANT TO SCARE THE DOGS WITH THE ROOMBA. Now that I can agree with.