I just made, and ate, one of the worst dinners I have ever cooked. Apricot chicken, but I didn’t have an onion – well I did, but it’s a red onion and I thought it would clash with the apricot chicken – shut up, you know I’m right – and then I realised what I was pouring into the pan was a can of apricots in syrup, not apricot nectar as directed. Gross. Apricots in syrup are, in case you were unaware, COMPLETLEY DISSIMILAR to apricot nectar. Oh well. That beats out the previous worst meal: the green chicken curry where I added the sachet of curry paste without reading the instructions (they were in THAI) (mostly) and it turns out I was supposed to only use one teaspoon, not the five tablespoons in the sachet. That was so hot we were abandoning the chicken as radioactive (even smelling it bought tears to your eyes) and trying just to eat the rice. The funniest thing about that was the next thing I cooked in that pan, I think it was a stirfry, tasted fine but had a slight burning lip tinge as you ate it. The pan was completely clean, by the way. In case you think I just cook over the top of the previous meal. I hardly ever do that.
Speaking of cooking, here are some pics of my Japanese egg mould. Sorry about the dull photos due to lack of light: I have lost my grip on the weather and it is DARK, and RAINING, and COLD. Someone in the northern hemisphere has stolen my weather mojo and is taking credit for spring up there. Damn them. Anyway, you hard-boil the egg, shell it while it’s still hot, ram it straight into the mould and slam it shut. To do this, you need extra-large eggs and I had to buy cage eggs (as the only extra-large eggs in the entire supermarket) and this affected me surprisingly deeply. Also, two of the cage eggs cracked in the saucepan because of their crappy thin shells. So this is the only egg that made it through. Now it’s a fish! Yay for shaped food!
Fishy mould, closed. What wonders lurk within?
Why, it’s an egg! Shaped like a fish! With no tail, because the egg ran out!
So I have been communicating solely by text messages and raised eyebrows across function rooms. Yes, I have been ‘locked down’ in a ‘team workshop session’ over multiple days. It’s a good thing they let me out when they did. I had almost completely lost my sense of irony. I had started to believe in the validity of words like ‘premiumisation’. I had eaten so much function food that I leapt hungrily on the tiny unripe strawberries served as sandwich garnishes. But I’m free now. Free! It feels like a whole week has gone by and it’s only Wednesday.
I went to the supermarket on the way home, as I have no food but more importantly I have run out of V and I can’t survive without an energy drink in the mornings. Only work mornings though. I think of it as a Berocca plus a coffee, which is pretty much true. A bit more sugar than that perhaps – maybe a Berocca plus a Coke. Anyway, the travelator was BROKEN AGAIN OH GOD WHY DO I RETURN TO THIS PLACE but before that, I went to the attached Target. There was a big Stella McCartney sign out the front, at which I snickered. For those who may not be aware, Stella McCartney did a limited clothing range for Target and it sold out within minutes on its opening day, a couple of weeks ago. So I wandered into Target and lo, there was lots of Stella clothing including the much-coveted ‘silk’ trench coat, which sold out nationwide in eight minutes. Heh. I picked up a bunch of clothes and traipsed off to try them on. How could I not? The nation went spare over these! They sold on eBay for hundreds of dollars above retail! Insane.
So I tried on the trench coat first, as the easiest item to put on. It was a size Small and I looked like an orphan child wrapped in a nylon tablecloth. The thing had long gathered sleeves and odd bows on the shoulders and I looked completely ridiculous. It just was huge on me. Same with the size Small top I tried on, which was loose and drapey but on me looked like an ill-fitting maternity shirt. I gathered it and tied it down on my hips with the belt tie. I looked like an ineptly furled umbrella. Oh well. Onto the dress, which was a size 8. This one actually fit me, but looked like a piece of crap. I don’t do drapey fabrics very well, because I am extremely short and end up looking like a dumpling. Stella, you have failed me! I returned my crap selection to the attendant, who took them, looked at me, reached behind her and handed me a wool/cashmere coat, which had just come in as a return. Size 8. Fit like a glove. Target saleslady, I hate you.
Apart from that, nothing of note has been happening. I just spilled yoghurt all down my front while typing that. So, I mean, I guess that’s something. Daylight savings finished this weekend, and it was dark by about 7pm on Monday night, and I couldn’t figure out what was going on. Oh yeah. Seasons. Roll on winter.
Sun through the trees.
Wow, thanks for all the nice comments about my job. Now I feel really shitty. After all, I have a good job, in a big (I originally wrote ‘good’, but let’s stick with ‘big’) company, working with awesome products, that lots of other people would kill for. And I’m all, “wah wah sucks to be me I lost my favourite project” while other people have been completely screwed. So yeah. No myspace blog for me, because you know what this is? Perspective. And that is banned from myspace, BANNED, so I guess I’ll just have to stay here and make the best of things. How boring.
I’m sewing again. I was inspired by, of all things, a quilt magazine that was attached free to another magazine. Also the fact that I cannot find a bag which does all of the bag things I want (lots of pockets, but in VERY SPECIFIC PLACES, of a good size and a good colour). So I shall make one. (This will, of course, not prevent me from buying the bag mentioned in the previous post. Just so we’re straight.) Currently I am cutting into Liberty fabric to do so, which is when I got nervous and sweaty and came back to the computer. Ah, internet. You never challenge me. Don’t ever leave.
Photos soon, probably. And while I think about it:
The coolest thing about this goat, apart from its inherent and intrinsic coolness, was that it was resting under a sign which said, “ALPACA’S”. And so I took a photo. And, as it turns out, I did not take a photo of the sign. Only of the goat.Which is not an alpaca, but you wouldn’t know that, due to the lack of sign. Sorry about that.
So I piked on not one, not two, but three separate social events on Friday. I even took the tram to work so that there could be drinking. (Also the Grand Prix is on, which broke St Kilda Road, and it was taking me ages to drive to work.) However the restructure outcome was released on Friday, and although for me it wasn’t much of a change (although I am not happy with it), for some other people it was not fun and combined with some resignations and other changes, made me realise that I might not enjoy work so much any more. Which sort of harshed my drinking buzz. So then I thought I’d go shopping; then realised that I DIDN’T WANT TO. Didn’t want to drink; didn’t want to shop: obviously I was crap company and should hie myself home as soon as possible. Which I did. So apologies to those at yet another blogger event I meant to go to and then piked on; although I was wearing very stylish shoes, I was not at all my usual self so it was best to go home and sigh heavily and consider the merits of drinking alone. Really, I should have created a myspace site or something. Dammit. I always think of this stuff too late.
I am fine now, though. The weekend will do that for you. I bought no more new shoes, but did strike a bargain with a friend on Saturday night: she could buy the grass-rimmed Campers that I own, if I could buy the bag that she owns. We will then have to plan ahead to make sure we don’t walk into places with matching accessories, of course, but that’s half the fun.
Apparently this is a common pasttime in New Zealand, usually played with teaspoons. I have no excuse for why I haven’t seen it before. Some cultural ambassador I turned out to be.
If you’re drinking at a party this weekend, please try this out on some poor unsuspecting friend. Call it a cultural exchange.
I was adjusting the armchair cushions last night when I found a piece of popcorn. I can’t remember the last time I had popcorn in the house — probably before Christmas.
I ate it.
Just in case anyone is unaware, Abbie the Cat has a Posse is posting again, after a break of almost a year. I actually hate sites which write as an animal or (especially) as a child. I make an exception for this one. Every time I read the end of this entry I cry, which is embarrassing but true. Including now, when I had to find it to link it. Damn you all.
As seen by the picture in my last post, I am working hard on increasing my Camper collection. Laura and Sophie began this mad crusade. I shall continue. And, have you noticed that of the many shoes we all own, there has not yet been one double up?
I had to really, really force myself to pay the money for these. AND they were half price. As it turns out, I have worn them constantly every winter for four years straight. And they still look good(ish). The wedge-like heel gives me enough height so that my jeans don’t drag on the wet ground, while still letting me stomp around for hours without getting sore feet. These actually hurt after a while across the top of my foot. Perhaps I have fatter feet than your average Spaniard?
I bought these soon afterwards, purely on looks, and I hardly wear them. I never broke them in properly, and they savagely chew my heels. That’s elastic going across each shoe in different directions. I love them though. Often I just look at them.
The suede boots which have caused me oh so much pain last year. They fit me very well now. I am looking forward to wearing them this winter (although not in the rain, see: suede). My favourite part about them is the inner leather – butter soft and plum coloured, with gold flowers etched into the leather. I wish shoes were reversible.
Cow Camper shoes. I wore these today to a BBQ and got non-stop comments on them. I also dripped tomato sauce on one, but it’s good now. One makes an annoying farting sound when I walk. I hope that stops soon. These are made from really soft leather.
A few weeks ago. Full price, no questions. I wore them to work the next day (the business casual dress code is a SUGGESTION only, I’m sure) was complimented on them by the delivery guy. You know you’ve got awesome shoes when even the delivery guy notices. The grass is green felt sewn around the entire edge of both shoes. Wedges again, to help with my pathetic lack of height.
Boots! Not too tight and with rubber soles and damn, they’re really comfortable. And I got them zipped up (eventually) the third time I wore them round the house. And even though I’m claiming I bought them in a moment of depression-shopping weakness, to be fair that isn’t exactly true. This restructure will be fine, and in fact I can’t even work up the energy to care about it, that’s how much of a non-event I think it is. Really, I’m just using it as an excuse to buy boots.
…and I forgot to add, one of my favourite part about Campers are the patterns on the soles. Which is ridiculous, but true.
Last week we had an internal restructure. Today is the deadline for my team to reapply for our jobs, only they’re different jobs, and there’s less of them.
What to do in the face of potential impending joblessness?
Go shopping. Duh.
I will do the Camper meme. This I solemnly pledge.
And the David Jones bag holds The Best Bra Ever, So Good I Did A Little Dance In The Change Room When I Found It. In fact there’s two of them in there, nestling in tissue paper. I was powerless to resist their “25% off when you buy 2 or more” sales pitch! Damn you, David Jones! And your excellent bras!
Oh, and the thing to the left is yet another of my vintage scales – this particular model is so heavy it’s on the floor. At present there are candles on the tray. I’m thinking of creating a shrine. To Campers, probably.