It seems I am on some sort of posting roll. This doesn’t happen very often (like I have to tell you that…) so hang on to your hats. Nothing of substance has happened yet but did you really expect it to?
As part of Shopping Frenzy 07 I found out my new handbag is a copy of a Marc Jacobs one (similar to this one, but with better front pockets). And it’s not like mine was cheap – it’s leather and from a place I never thought would, um, borrow from others’ designs. I’m not sure how to feel about this — the Marc Jacobs one was $950 on sale at DJs, so obviously I’d never purchase it, and so Marc would never receive any money from me; I saw my bag before I saw the ‘original’, so I didn’t set out to buy a fake or lust after some sort of designer object; and I actually like the colour of mine much better (a sort of olive green) so I think it’s an improvement on the original. I’m conflicted. But there’s nothing I can do about it, and I really like the bag, so I’ll stuff it deep into my subconscious and keep it there. An approach recommended by leading medical professionals, I’m sure.
I’ve been drinking a glass of wine with dinner, which is not something I usually do. It’s a NZ sauvignon blanc, beloved by all as THE wine of the moment (and indeed of the decade so far); but I’m not a fan. I think it’s due to drinking this varietal since I was 15 or so, and frankly I am OVER it. Look at me, all the way over here ahead of the curve. It doesn’t happen very often, so I like to take note when it does. Other things I am over: tangelos (overrated); ticker advertising running at the bottom of TV programs (no surprise there); bubble dresses (unflattering); roadworks. Perhaps I’m not so different after all.
Cat’s current sleeping place: on my ski pants. Comfortable.
I’m running out of photos and the camera battery is flat. I’m the blonde one.
OK so the Black Dog’s innards have calmed down a bit. Thank god. Must have been all the leftover pork roast I snuck him. (That usage looks wrong, but is it? Isn’t ‘snuck’ the past tense of ‘sneak’? Or do I have to use ‘sneaked’? Don’t tell me, I don’t want to know.)
I took the Black Dog for a walk when I got home from work, and it was STILL LIGHT. Enjoy your summer while you can, you Northern Hemispherians! Gravity has finally got a hold of that sucker and it’s on it’s way back down where it belongs. Not that I mind the cold (she says, basking like a lizard in front of the heater) but the dark, the CONSTANT DARK. Dark when I get up, dark when I get home. I need the light. I’m like an anti-vampire. Which is to say, a human. How prosaic. Anyway, after a turn about the street (in which the Black Dog fell heavily on his face only once, and I didn’t fall on my face at all) we went back home and I swapped dogs to the Brown Dog. I was just walking him, but as we were almost home, a random man came up to us at the traffic lights and raved about him and started patting him (this happens all the time) which, OK. We had to stand there for the lights to change anyway. Then I realised he had a friend, standing behind me which is why I hadn’t noticed him, and his friend was swaying gently on his feet while holding a can of booze and muttering to himself. O….kay then. By this time the other guy was giving Brown Dog a full back scratch and Brown Dog was going all melty, right at the time I suddenly wanted him to be all stern and stranger-hating. Anyway, the lights changed and I decided to run the dog home. For no reason, you understand. It was rapidly getting dark as I accelerated away and by the time I reached home (with no one around me) I was completely buggered. The Brown Dog was all perky and ready to go another few kilometres, AND he’d had a back scratch for good measure. I, on the other hand, had to lie down on the floor to make the stars in my vision go away.
Look SCARY, dammit.
I just forgot my password for my Blogger account and had to reset it. How bad is that. I did that thing where you sternly purge your computer of all cookies, passwords and history and it has completely fucked me. I have a memory like a sieve.
I have the dogs this week and the Black Dog is lying stretched out against me, closest to the heater. This would be a lot nicer if he would stop farting. I couldn’t identify the smell but luckily for me they come at regular intervals, like the trams. I am pleased to share with you that they smell like blue cheese. Whoever has been feeding my dog blue cheese must STOP RIGHT NOW because it is noxious. He likes any kind of cheese, it doesn’t have to be blue, believe me.
I am also watching Australian Idol, so my ears are subjected to similar indignities as my nose. Look, I can’t sing. I know this and yet I sing anyway, but — and this is the crucial part — never in front of an audience or a TV camera. I know my limits.
Other reasons I’ve been away: my mum & sister were here for Shopping Frenzy 07. My credit card is still hiding at the back of my wallet, whimpering brokenly. Richard Branson can now afford another plane, thanks to me. Or a space station, I forget what he’s into now.
OHMYGOD DOG STOP IT. I would whack him but it will only force it out faster.
Representative of both the flames at Crown @ Southbank and the dog’s digestive system.