What do you do when you have a giant pimple?

http://www.2dayblog.com/images/2009/june/stig_helmet.jpg

Don't wear a helmet, put toothpaste on it!!!

It works like a dream.

I got a phenomenal pimple on my chin on Friday and had heard that Pamela Anderson swears by this au naturel remedy. So I tried it and that sucker was obliterated faster than I could say "volcanic eruption on my face".

Balmy weekends...

It was my turn to head down to Canberra this weekend.

On Saturday we went to Bookplate, which is a little cafe overlooking the Man made Lake of Canberra that is, Lake Burley Griffin.

I had the lamb curry and Man from Mars had a savoury pancake. We should've swapped meals, because mine was the size of Australia, while Man from Mars' was the size of Tokyo. Geography works well for the purposes of comparison, hey?

Anyway, the food was surprisingly delicious, even if Man from Mars' salad almost blew away with the accompanying gale force winds. We ate, we drank and then we waddled down the steps back to our car.

This weekend had mixed results in the shopping department. I've been eyeing these black wedges (you know how I love my wedges - http://angstonlegs.blogspot.com/2009/10/where-in-stiletto-does-appeal-lie.html) for donkey's years and on Saturday Man from Mars, being the supportive fellow he is, challenged me with a:

"Why not?"

in answer to my monologue on the wedges:

"I really really like them, except they're so high. I can't walk in them when they're that high. But they are wedges, so they're not nearly as impossible as other high shoes. Also, they're $30 off and I've been checking them out for so long. What do you think? Do they look good? Are they too high? Do I walk unco in them? Do you reckon I'll be able to walk well in them? All SATC- like?

http://www.betts.com.au/ (Shoe name: "Bondage")

So, Man from Mars' nonchalant reply persuaded me to purchase these funky shoes.

I got home, put them on and attempted a strut.

My knee practically flipped.

"Aww this is so tricky!" says I.

I gave it my all. I walked up and back, tried jogging on the spot, tried standing up nice and tall. But nothing in this life time would have made me feel like I could endure those shoes for more than 3 steps.

"D'you reckon it's really bad if I want to return'em?" I ventured.

"Nah, why not? If you don't like'em, then do it. I've done it before, it's fine" says Ever Supportive Man from Mars.

"Okay, let's goooo."

So we went. And I substituted those knee flipping wedges for some cute tan sandals.

Check'em- they're these but tan:

http://www.betts.com.au/ (Shoe name: Heckler)

In other news, Man from Mars' super tall housemate had a big night last night and blew chunks this morning. I'll be the first to admit that I'm a scaredy-cat when it comes to anything chunder; whether it be its smell, sound or appearance. So this morning as the sound of him blowing chunks echoed down the hall, I cringed, winced and sympathised.

Meanwhile, Ever Nonchalant Man from Mars just rolled over mid-snore and murmured: "Is that someone being sick? Hmm must've had a big night..."

Geez. You think?? I shoved my head under the pillow and tried to block out the noise with the sound of my own snuffled breathing.

The Aging Computer

http://www.pinelakeshome.com/computerdoctorlogo.gif

Why do computers become slower as they get older?

I use my computer the same way I used it yesterday, the day before that, the week before that, the year before that. And yet today my computer took half an hour just to get to Google and a decade to download some critical update.

I'm livid. I'm hot. My computer is incompetent.

I asked Man from Mars a while ago and he explained it in terms of caches, defragging and you just need a new computer.

Why?? Why do I need a new computer? Why can't it just keep working like my toaster? My toaster has lasted 4 years without a single mishap. Some day down the track the spring won't push down but that day ain't today and it probably won't be for another 4 years. Touch wood.

Meanwhile my computer is 3 years old. Barely a toddler.

I don't understand and I absolutely refuse to empathise. My computer has a whole desk to itself. It's been treated with TLC. It has no reason to go all geriatric now.

Come on Computer, dig deep- you can recover, come back stronger than ever... If Serena Williams did it- you can too.

Not too bright...

For the second time in 8 days I left my wallet at home.

For the second time in 8 days I trudged up Town Hall's steps, with millions of unworkable solutions roaring around in my silly head:-

I'll just run through the ticket gates behind someone else. Or else I'll just tell the ticket guy that I left my ticket on the train, or in my other jacket, or in my boyfriend's jeans or maybe I can just wait until the train guy goes back into his little room and maybe I can just sneak through then.

F!ck. I'm so dumb, I can't believe I did it again!

In true "will I never learn?" style I even left my wallet at home in exactly the same circumstances that I did last week. I emptied my bag to fit my lunch in and replaced everything but my wallet.

Smrt. Damn you, lunch.

Any-hoo. Long story short, I caved in and decided to be honest again.

"I left my wallet at home which has my weekly ticket in it"

Cue: an apologetic shrug, a "what can you do?" cock of the head and a forlorn downward look at the ground.

"Hmm okay, I'll let you through now, but when you come back to go home, you have to buy a ticket".

Hallellujah! Of course I'll buy a ticket on the way home!

And I motored through the gate: wheeeee! Free!

I've made an executive decision with myself that I absolutely have to get my brain together. If I find myself in this situation again next week, then I will officially ban myself from placing my lunch in my handbag. I'll just have to go lunchless, that's what.

Alan Becker's Amazing Animation

Today's post is entirely instructional.

Visit this site: http://www.desistuffs.com/2009/10/animator-vs-animation-by-alan-becker.html

Double click on play.

Watch and be impressed.

Sweltering.

http://www.halfmoonbaymemories.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/12/hotdayinfrance.jpeg

Today was 43C.

Yesterday was 38C.

Tomorrow is forecast to be 21C.

I know:

??????

Anyway, yesterday I went to the Dreaded Dentist for my 6 monthly check up. The appointment was scheduled for 2:30 pm, so beforehand we went next door to the Korean Buffet. All you can eat for $13.

Sadly, due to my nerves I only ate a fraction of what I'm capable of achieving. The Dreaded Dentist got the better of me, and while I ate, all I could think about was Dr D finding another rotten tooth that required yet another filling.

I'm still traumatised by my experience 5 years ago, when I bit into a JATZ cracker and half my tooth broke off. Admittedly, I hadn't been to the dentist in a while (give or take a decade-- I was one of those people who never needed braces okay?? So there just didn't seem to be a need to check my teeth, because they looked fine).

Anyway, ever since that day I feel like I robbed 20 years off the life of my teeth and I dread, fear and hate going to the dentist. The sound of the drill is enough to make me cringe and squirm and I get unbelievably nervous when check up time comes around.

Wired on my nervous energy I make irrelevant chitchat with Dr D and and as he instructs me to lie back, I marvel at the whirring chair as it reclines, and inform him that I absolutely positively hope that there is nothing wrong with my teeth. He stares back at me to say "I feel for you, but this is also my livelihood, so I can't feel for you too much". Fair point. I say a silent prayer as he clips the bib around my neck.

He takes an x-ray, pulses some air on my teeth and gives my teeth a clean bill of health. Save for the existing 5 fillings.

I am estatic and bound out of the room.

Meanwhile, my dad decides it's so hot that he needs a haircut, and so we walk across the street to a tiny Korean barber shop. When we get there everyone is sitting in the chairs where customers sit when they're waiting for their turn. For a moment I wonder where the barbers have gone. As we draw nearer and nearer, all three suddenly bounce up and busy themselves, getting their scissors and greeting us like Koreans do: Ahnyong ha seh yoh! A ha- So they were the barbers.

One particular man wandered in halfway through my dad's haircut. He had the shaggiest haircut, and with his flaming red tshirt paired with his puffing red face, he really looked like a haircut would give him some reprieve from the heat. He chattered on and on, and whilst I didn't get most of it (because my Korean is really that bad), I was super impressed when he went for the full head shave. Nothing left on his head. Not even a whisker. He admired his reflection before leaving a substantial tip and strutting out.

The hairdresser turned to the rest of us and confided that she was guessing that guy might be a little drunk because no sensible Korean man would do that. We giggled- she really was the archetypal gossiping hairdresser.

Today Man from Mars got his hair cut and I got a wavy perm. It took three hours. Tell me about it. But my hairdresser, whose name is a trendy single letter: "J" did a meticulous job and I'm very impressed.

Anyone looking for a perm with great service, go to Ivy Hair Co (9482 5700).

You give'em a picture, they'll give you the haircut without a strand out of place.

Life as a Camera...

Life as a Camera would be the best. Of course you wouldn't be able to pick your owner, but if you could and your owner turned out to be a world traveller, then life as a Camera would be hands down splendid.

This occurred to me today as four of my work colleagues bid me au revoir and I bid them bon voyage in return. Two are going to Hawaii while one is off to Vietnam and the other is going to Japan.

If I were their camera looped around their wrist/neck/fanny pack, I'd be able to capture everything they get to see, without the travel expense, walking and confusion.

Yeah. That would be the best life.

May it please the Court?

Man from Mars had his admission ceremony yesterday and became a lawyer:

CONGRADMISSIONULATIONS!

says I.

He wasn't actually all that excited for it, because he doesn't want to be a lawyer, but he did get to buy some shiny new shoes for the special occasion.

After the ceremony (which was in Melbourne- meanwhile I was in Sydney), he texted me to say the ceremony was done and dusted, yum cha had been enjoyed in celebration of the big occasion, and also on a parting note, a small girl (much like me apparently) rolled over his new shoes with the trolley she was pushing because she couldn't see over the handle bars.

I started laughing when I read that. Imagine, Man from Mars dressed in his Sunday best, striding confidently, a newly minted professional- steamrolled by a little lady with her towering trolley. Lucky he's a lawyer now; if he had broken any toes from the incident he'd be able to represent himself and sue Westfields for making their trolleys too high... or the shoe company for making their shoes too flimsy... or the little lady for not being taller... or himself for getting in the way.

How about that?

Gettin jiggy with it

http://theflaneurist.files.wordpress.com/2009/02/hip-hop.jpg

After work my three workmates and I went to our hiphop class, which is located on the 8th floor of the building next door to the Spanish Club.

It's a "Foundation class" which is meant to be the precursor to the Beginners class. Specially designed for authentic novices such as yours truly.

I haven't been for the last two weeks: once because I was in Melbourne and the next time because I forgot my change of clothes... I was wearing pencil skirt that would've busted with the slightest side lunge.

Anyway, today we had a full class of 9 (as compared to just us 4) and we learnt a bunch of new moves.

Our instructor is Chux and he's like some national champion in a variety of different dance genres. He makes walking on the spot look awesome- he throws in some crimping and slides his head around all funky like. Meanwhile, I get semi-hypotised by the moves he's chucking, as well my vastly different reflection in the wall to wall floor length mirrors and promptly forget everything we've just learnt.

Also of newsworthy mention, today I left my wallet at home. I left it on my bed when I was rearranging the contents of my bag to make some space for my all important lunch. How annoying.

I got to the station, realised my wallet was at home, rolled my eyes at myself and tried to think of some ingenious way to get through the ticket gates. As always the strict lady at the gate was manning her fort like a hawk and I knew that slipping through behind another passenger just wasn't gonna cut it.

It wasn't hard to look stressed and apologetic (because I'll be honest, I sort of was) and I gave it to her straight:

"Look, I've left my wallet at home and it's got my train ticket and I have no money".

Ordinarily, strict lady with the furrowed brow is unforgiving and ruthless. I waited expectantly for her to shake her head and utter those "gotta be cruel to be kind and rules are rules for a reason" words that I don't doubt she would've told many a passenger in the same position as me.

But today, she smiled kindly- almost grandmotherly, and patted me on the arm:

"That's okay, I'll let you through and you go buy yourself a ticket, and come back and show me that you've bought it".

I thanked her a thousand times, but walked through perplexed. What a conundrum. She let me through on the condition that I buy a ticket and show her. Except I had no wallet= no money = no funds to buy all important ticket. She had been so forgiving during this whole ordeal, I felt like I was taking advantage of her goodwill by running off without buying it. So I made a huge display of "calling my friend" at work who I thought would be able to bail me out.

No such luck, the closest person was 20 minutes from the city.

Hell, I had no choice. I ran off without buying a ticket. I felt bad but would could I do?

Tomorrow I'll do a good deed in return and all the karmic forces will be restored.

Banishing my pancake bum...

http://blog.modernmechanix.com/mags/PopularScience/9-1939/third_skate.jpg

It's a proven fact that I spend too much time sitting down. My bum is shot to pancake heaven.

On weekdays I go to work. I sit down. I switch on my computer. I work until lunch. At lunch I might walk, say, 200 m to the park. I sit down on the grass at the park and ponder that the walk was kind of far, considering. After lunch it's back to my desk where I sit down and work again. Then I walk 2 blocks to the station, jog down the stairs (I call this "my cardio vascular component"), get on a train and I sit for another 45 minutes. I get home and sit while I eat dinner and watch tv.

On the weekends I go to Canberra it's almost 4 hours on a bus one way. Watching my trusty dvd player. Then I get off the bus, sit in Man from Mars' car to get to his house all of 3 blocks away, which, frankly if I could've been arsed, I could've walked. My bum is numb, my jeans are uncomfy and when I get to his house, all I want to do is relax, eat food-- sit down some more and chill.

This weekend was the start of the Banish the Pancake Bum Program. I devised it myself-- with the obliging participation of Man from Mars, of course. I'm too unmotivated to do things on my own. I need that proverbial kick up my pancake flat backside- Plus, I never called myself an Independent Can Do Woman, okay??

Anyway, back to my Program. On Saturday, Man from Mars and I went rockclimbing. That's right we climbed rocks. We woke up, had a huge breakfast and revved ourself up to tackle those boulders. There's only one rock climbing center in Canberra- go figure. It was airless, had no airconditioning and it was 35C outside, which meant that it was 38 degrees or something inside. After a quick run through with the instructor we were on our way and I was heaving my body up a high wall speckled with little "rocks".

Damn, it was hard work. I felt almost like Lara Croft minus the ample bosom, trendy outfit and fast reflexes. I think I did about 4 walls before my arms could take no more and I retired to the chairs that old people spectators are meant to use. Man from Mars did pretty well too, although to be honest I don't think he found it as fun as I did. When I proclaimed "That was so fun", Man from Mars ambled next to me and said: "It was o-kay". But then again, most things are pretty o-kay with him, so I couldn't tell if he meant it in a bad way or a good way.

Second part of my Pancake Bum busting program was riding my bike. It's been three weeks since I've ridden my bike and I've almost mastered riding in a straight line- not bad for my third time on my bike ever, hey?

We went to the park near Man from Mars' house and even though I kept zigzagging off the bike path, we rode for a good hour and a half before we went to Dickson to get some good old Vietnamese food.

This morning I ached all over. My forearms are full of lactic acid, my shoulders are tight and my abs feel overstretched. And as for my bum? Well, if bums could speak I think mine would've hurled abuse at me. It was that tired.

Sorry bum, but it's for your own good. I'm going to keep giving you some o' that lovin' and soon you'll be Pancake Bum no more.

Ketchin up with Mussus D

http://www.carvercreationsandcards.com/images/CC%20B%20and%20W%20new%20mum%202.jpg

Remember Mussus D? I mentioned her here (http://angstonlegs.blogspot.com/2009/05/timed-to-perfection.html) a while ago. Mussus D's a Cool Property Lawyer from New Zuhland, who helped me stay in Cool School while I was working in a Boring School Law Firm. But then fate intervened, and saved us both. She went on to discover more rewarding things to do such as having a baby girl called Little O (aka Ebony Ray), while I went on to go to a nicer workplace with Cool School people all around.

Just FYI, Mussus D and I prefer to speak in ocker New Zuhland and/or Aussie accents, and that's why everything's spelt phonetically in this post to represent how it would sound coming from a True Blue Aussie/New Zuhlander's voicebox. Just in case you thought I didn't know how to spell "catching" and "New Zealand".

Anyhow, in May when I caught up with Mussus D, Little O was only four months old, but now she's hit the 9 month mark, streuth she's a enchanting bundle of personality, she is.

She beams hard enough to show all of her two bottom teeth, and purses her lips all "kiss-kiss!"-like when she's thinking hard. All you have to do is chuck a funny face and she busts out into a breakdance of wriggles, shooting her arms up in the air and waving'em around like she just don't care. It makes everyone else laugh and in the sunshine of the Wednesday afternoon, you're stoked by how skilled you are at making her laugh.

It was a right treat ketchin up with Mussus D. We decided we have to do it again. It better not be in a billion years' time, otherwise Little O won't find my faces funny anymore, and I'll have to resort to my extra juvenile ways to keep her entertained.

Science is so scientific...

http://www.physicalgeography.net/fundamentals/images/water.JPG

One of my workmates has finished his college of law exams and was ready to "what comes before part b? PART-AY!"

So we went to Arthouse for $12 cocktails, got super tipsy on the Two Faced Angel and proceeded to march across the road to Han Kook Restaurant. This is my favourite Korean food haunt- it's cheap, tasty, and one of the waiters once rescued my phone (that I had left behind, forlornly tucked underneath my bowl of dumpling soup) in typical Korean male fashion: he followed me out the door bellowing "HELLO? HELLO? HOW ARE YOU?" into the phone, as if he were talking into it. Meanwhile my friend and I were chattering away, proclaiming to each other about how low the crotch of her harem pants could go (with a full demonstration to boot) and tried to walk faster to get the hell away from this scary loud man. We never turned around, so we didn't know it was him- just that he was inappropriately close behind and being too noisy. Anyway, eventually he groaned and shouted "You left your phone!!" and we all cackled hysterically like goons as the realisation dawned.

The seven of us ate and ate and ate, before going our separate ways. I took the train with two others down the Epping line, and as we sat in the 6 seater tipsy, tired and fuzzily happy to not think, my friend who has retro black and white framed glasses mused out loud:

"If you had a cup of water with ice cubes floating on top, and the ice then melts, would the water level rise or fall?"

I blinked slowly. Open. Shut. I scratched my head. I'm schleepy.

I squinted my eye and tried to do the visual thing. I imagined a bucket of water with ice on top. Then I watched it melt. My video stopped there and I never got to see what happens to the water level.

I'm stumped.

"I reckon it rises cos when the ice melts, the particles go further apart, and so the water level would rise because there's more particles spread around" I said staring at the roof.

"Hm. I suppose, but I think it'd fall" he said staring at the other people on the train.

Meanwhile our other friend was engrossed in her IPhone game- some strategic game that centres on shifting fuzzballs.

"Can you google it?" we whined.

"Nooo! I'm really stressed right now, I'm on a time limit!"

And so we exchanged "Man I dunno the answer" looks and settled back into our seats struggling to keep our eyes open.

Eventually after half an hour of debating, wiki-ing and listening to our Fuzzball Champion describe some interesting facts about ice (without ever googling the right thing to let us know whether the water level rises or falls) we resorted to asking my friend with the retro black and white glasses' dad, who's a scientist:

"Hmm, well it would rise, wouldn't it?" was his answer.

A question answered with a question is always helpful.

My friend agreed, and said he'd be home soon.

"What was his explanation? I asked

"Hmm, I didn't ask. I just thought, he says it rises, so it's right" my friend with the retro black and white glasses answered, as if to shrug and say I did my best.

"You didn't ask him for the explanation?!"

"Nuh!"

And so we all started laughing like you do when you're tired and drunk: in that floppy unrestrained way. The whole point of this debate was to understand how water works.

Having established absolutely nothing that whole train ride, we got off and my friend with the retro black and white glasses drove us all home.

Today at work, in a clearer frame of mind, he googled it and found the answer instantly:

"So I found this really obscure website [http://www.seed.slb.com/v2/FAQView.cfm?ID=1166] in like 10 seconds, and it says that the water level stays the same".

We cackled like goons again. If only we'd all paid attention in year 7 science.

Learning while I sleep...

http://www.summersdale.com/images/Italian-Without-Words-300.jpg

On Saturday I bought this "Teach Yourself German" deluxe set that contains 2 CDs and a workbook. All for the princely sum of 50 bucks.

I learnt German for 5 years when I was in high school and like most things that aren't compulsory, let it fall to the wayside as I buzzed through uni in a blaze of fun times, travel and study. But then one day as I lay back in my chair at work, I overheard my boss lamenting the embarrassment that comes with being an Aussie- linguistically speaking, that is. Aussie's excel at lots of things- sports, music, meat pies, Harbour Bridges, barbies, beaches and marsupials... but learning lots of languages doesn't really seem to be one of them.

Sure, you learn French in year 3, and beginners Indonesian in year 7, but it's not like the Europeans where English is compulsory from the time they can walk and French, German and Spanish are taken on as they progress through their schooling. Unless you're brought up in a household where English isn't the native tongue, most of us go through life thinking English is enough... which it is- most of the time.

But there's more to be said about the fact that knowing another language takes you out of your comfort zone, arms you with a whole new set of words and makes you feel like you're equipping yourself to engage with the world. Which is a pretty nice feeling at the end of the day.

That doesn't mean to say I'm the exemplary student. This morning I plugged my mp3 player in and settled into my seat all comfy-like. I was a little apprehensive- listening in German had never been my forte. I put the volume up really high and steeled myself for some rapid dialogue.

It was pretty rapid, that's for sure. And I was only on the chapter that goes through how you say "Hi, how are you? My name is Brigitte Herzberg". All the straining and listening spent my brain power and within 10 minutes the lull of the German dialogue sent me drifting off to sleep.

Whoops. So much for furthering my linguistic education.

Amazingly though, it was the best sleep I've had on a train ride to date, and as I woke up almost on cue to get off at my stop, I sent a little wish to whoever's listening in the universe that my brain, in its sleepy subconscious state picked up on a few vital words and phrases to help me on my Foreign Language Learning Crusade.

The Battle of the Early Riser...

http://tell.fll.purdue.edu/JapanProj/FLClipart/Verbs/wakeup.gif

Man from Mars and I have mismatched body clocks. Especially when it comes to waking up. We're out of funk. Big time.

On weekdays I wake up without the assistance of an alarm clock. On weekends, I'm ready to roll by 9 am at the absolute latest.

Meanwhile Man from Mars seems to live for the Big Lie In.

On weekdays he's not so bad. Work calls from 3 blocks away and he rolls out of bed relatively quickly. He shuffles into his long pants and slippers and mooches to the kitchen where he slurps down his cereal with his eyes half closed and his hair spiked in all the directions of the compass.

But on weekends nothing, not even my persistent whining (which, let me tell you, is designed to drive even the most saintly person up the wall) can lift his heavy head from the perfect contours of his two pillows. The lure of the porcelain throne is only a temporary interlude to his otherwise blissful sleep.

I tickle his feet, I blow in his ear, I peer up his nostrils, I tug at his hair, I declare that the day is being wasted, I bounce up and down on the bed (the way you're not meant to, it's not a trampoline is what any responsible adult would say), I use my stern principal voice, I pull the doona off, and denounce his hairy legs. All for a response. Any response. The slightest retaliation.

But it's never to be. The most Man from Mars ever does is half open one eye, give a sleepy smile that's meant to rid me of my woes, and reaches out inviting me to partake in a cuddle. All so he can go back to sleep again.

The first 3 times I oblige. After all, cuddles are always nice. But by the fourth time, I have reached the end of my "WAKE UP!" tether and decide to paint my nails. The whiff of nail polish should make him wake up- just like smelling salts are meant to rouse the unconscious-- right? right??

Unfortunately, Man from Mars has a perennially blocked noise. So no, he doesn't really smell the nail polish. He only smells it when he opens his eyes to investigate why I have suddenly gone so quiet. I specifically ask him whether he can smell anything. He sniffs and sniffs and sniffs until finally he detects a diluted whiff of that acrid acrylic smell that girls know too well: "Ohh yeah, I smell it".

That's it. The final straw. Ultimate non reaction. I give up. I am officially exhausted. All I want to do is lie back down and have a little nap.

Meanwhile, Man from Mars has succumbed to my efforts and lurches upright to get up: "You're so bossy" he murmurs.

I frown, he laughs and we both shuffle down the corridor to get some breakfast.

When Man from Mars comes up to play... we eat and eat some more

http://rlv.zcache.com/lean_mean_eating_machine_sticker-p217939763373698529qjcl_400.jpg

When Man from Mars comes up to visit from Canberra, all we do is eat. We wake up late and we eat. Two hours later and all this shopping/lying around/dvd watching has stirred our appetites and it's time for Lunch. We shop/flop around/dvd watch some more and we're revved up for some Arvo Tea. Then in the grand tradition of ending on a high note we celebrate the final meal of the day with no less than a 4 course banquet.

This weekend was no exception. We made a special trip into town to bestow Man from Mars with the chance to sample the culinary delights of Burgerlicious (you may recall that I have raved about this eatery in a past post- a popular haunt of my work mates, it never fails to satisfy). I had the Bostinian beef wrap, Man from Mars had the Munaco chicken wrap, we both got the most chicken saltiest chips you ever laid eyes on and a fizzy drink to balance out the salt and the grease. All for the bargainable price of $11 bucks each.

Satisfied we were, and we lugged our two tonne bellies down the street for some veritable purchases. I spontaneously felt inspired to pick up on the German I learnt 5 years ago and bought some German language CDs. Meanwhile, Man from Mars tapped into his lyrical/hardcore rocker/whimsical pop side and purchased an electric guitar. That's right, an electric guitar.

Then we lugged our two tonne bellies along with a one tonne guitar to Arvo tea where I had a chai latte, Man from Mars had his regular latte and we both dipped into the Apple and Rhubarb Crumble. As we sat there pondering our painful feet and massaging our swollen bellies, it occurred to us that it was fast approaching 5 pm, and that we better get outta town quicksmart if we were going to even have the chance to put in a strong effort for dinner.

And so we motored home and were greeted by my parentals, eager for some "Altogether now, it's Family Time!" time.

So we went to the local RSL and had the hugest servings of the most heartiest meals available.

I kid you not, if humans could roll (without getting scratched, bruised, mangled and travel sick), I guarantee you we could've rolled faster than any car on Valvoline.

Anyway, so now we're back home and we're about to embark on a hardcore Movie Night.

But come to think of it, movie nights aren't the same without movie food... I suppose that it'll just have to be accompanied by some chips, ginger ale, and some chocolate. All in the name of enhancing our cinematic experience, of course.

Self help is happy help

http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_6W4ylwIYopw/SqMP-uM8KPI/AAAAAAAAAzA/2UBab9hGeuQ/s400/littleenginethatcould.jpg

At work we all had to attend a half-day training session on postive thinking.

Apparently positive thinking will enable us to be less affected by everyday stresses and take on those bothersome aspects of life with the poise and collected cool of Princess Mary (okay, bad analogy there since royalty is paid to look unaffected, but you get my story homies).

Anyway, so one of the things our presenter highlighted to us is that we have a lot of negative self talk which stops us from dealing with annoying situations properly, makes us hold onto anger longer and prevents us from reaching our full potential.

She asked us to monitor those times throughout the day where we engage in negative self talk, and so today I did just that. Here are the number of times my negative self talk kicked in:

1. This morning on the train I thought "I am wearing the most uncomfortable skirt today, I bet my bum looks convex". I immediately turned my self talk around and said "Who cares if it looks convex, you're wearing a long coat and long coats are classy in a mysterious kind of way";
2. At work, I received a bunch of emails from this one really annoyed person and I thought "Damn I'm a retard, I should've been more prompt with this, I should've nipped this problem in the bud. It should never have gotten to this point." Then my good voice chimed in "But you couldn't have done anything about it before because no one could've known. You're fine";
3. After lunch I polished off two Kitkats and thought "Whoa there Miss Chocoaddict, steady on! Two is two too many!" Then I did my mental 180 flip and reasoned that "Two mini Kitkats is a treat- enjoy, just because it's chocolate, doesn't mean it's bad- it's got happy chemicals all throughout. And you can't just find happy chemicals anywhere. "
4. When I got off the train it was pouring and I turned into a soggy sausage. I thought "I feel like a stray cat, all my stuff's wet and I really really need windscreen wipers for my glasses!". Then I decided that "Look, at least you turned into a soggy sausage on the day that your greasy hair desperately needs washing, and plus, rain opens up your pores."

To be honest, I was happier for it. And I know there are those cynics out there who think self help and positive thinking is a bunch of loony tunes, but at the end of the day whatever makes you feel good is what will make you enjoy life. And really, we're all our own harshest critics. A little bit of self appreciation wouldn't hurt anyone.

Short lived reprieves are overrated...

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On Monday I took annual leave. That meant I had a three day weekend. I most probably was the envy of the office and I won't lie, I was so excited for the weekend to start that I wasn't very (at all) focused on Friday. My mind strolled around lazily in its giant vacuous space. I took doubly long to do things. Then I watched the clock tick to 4:30pm before steamrolling outta there faster than I could say "Hello Melbourne, here I come!"

As I trudged awkwardly with luggage in tow to the station, I was stopped dead in my tracks by a broken down train. The train before my train had become unconscious somewhere in between my station and the next and every train thereafter was doomed to delay. I stared at the train master. How could he do this? Did he not know where I needed to be? Tiger Airways requires check in 45 minutes before the flight. I was incensed and worried at the same time. I stood paralysed on the platform. There was no scheduled train. Only the scrolling message on the train board which read "Significant delays expected." Do I wait? Do I get out of the station and catch a taxi?? Friday night traffic was so bad it would take 45 minutes as it was to get to the airport. And so I paced backwards and forwards like a maniac and chewed on my bottom lip. And chewed. And chewed and chewed. Still no train.

Then I got on the phone and in my irrational blind panic, blasted Man from Mars with impatient abuse which was completely undeserved, given that first of all the dead train wasn't his fault, and second of all, he was still cosy and tight at his house, and therefore poking around mindlessly at his things to get ready for his trip to Canberra airport. In other words, my cantankerous outburst would have burned the tips off his blameless ears I was that annoyed.

By some miracle my train arrived and I made the check in line with two minutes to spare. By the time I got on the plane I was so exhausted that all I wanted to do was go to sleep.

It wasn't to be.

I got my karma for blasting Man from Mars and was put next to this guy who was even more cantankerous than me and let loose a torrent of swear words, punched the seat in front of him and groaned continuously for the entire 50 minutes that the plane sat stubbornly on the tarmac.

Eventually, we flew, we landed and I made it out of the "terminal" (read: shed) that only Tiger Airways would ever think to use. Next stop was a cafe for some food. Cue: the discovery of a hair which looked suspiciously like a pube (all crimpy-like) folded in amongst my chicken wrap. I practically ralphed.

Anyway, that Friday couldn't get much more difficult and Man from Mars arrived on time before we headed to his house.

Saturday was Man from Mars' friend's wedding day. The ceremony was beautiful, the bride was fashionably late and delicately elegant in a strapless floaty gown and cascading veil. The groom was typically jovial and only showed the slightest concern when his fashionably late bride almost erred on the side of being unfashionably delayed (like my train). But she arrived, they exchanged their vows and the congregation cheered with happiness.

Then we all went home, some slept, some played tennis, others cleaned their house before we reconvened for the reception. Excellent food, lovely speeches (some witty, others like the one from the bride's father, so touching I got teary) and some short and snappy dance floor time. We all retired home and suddenly it was Sunday. Man from Mars met up with his mates, I met up with mine, then we motored home for some dinner before calling it a night. Suddenly it was Monday.

And herein lies my point to this rather long narrative, because, Annual Leave Monday may well have been a regular work Monday. I woke up, had breakfast, got paranoid about the emails I would be receiving at work, checked my work inbox, became slightly concerned about the number of emails that would greet me on Tuesday and basically had to go straight to the airport. Four hours of travelling later, I was back at home. I was almost more tired than if I had just stayed in Sydney. But you know, I'm only 25, I should be able to handle going interstate 3 weekends in a row.

Buggered, more like.

On Tuesday I shuffled to work and had so much to do, I wondered whether the short lived "reprieve" that is, one day of Annual Leave, was worth it.

In hindsight, it was. Of course it was. It was a marvellous albeit hectic weekend.

But I just wish there was an extra day in the week that would give me that little bit more time to catch up and have a proper reprieve.