Moment to Moment

So long, farewell, auf wiedersehen, goodbye...

I think it's time to stop flogging this dead horse. I don't have the will to blog right now and I can't see it coming back for a while.

Life stuff is being particularly draining and while it's nothing exciting, or dramatic, it's not leaving me much time or energy for over-thinky blogging.

So. It's been a blast.

Big thanks to Nicole, Anthony, Laura, Zoe, Cristy, Ducky, Kim, Mark, Robert, Jennine, Dogpossum, Tigtog, Anna, Dr Cat, Liam, Harry and yes, even you Fyodor.

Thanks also to the many other commentors who dropped by here and bloggers who linked to my posts, and thanks even to the weird people who called me names, threatened me, and sent my rooly weird emails. I'll miss you crazy cats.

And I'll still be blog-reading and commenting, and you can still find me at Flickr.

And if you really need to contact me urgently for some peculiar reason, I'm always available at deborah dot kate at gmail dot com.

Goodnight, and good blogging.

Things I have been giving much thought

My suburb doesn't have a lot of streetlights. This bothers me. Especially when JW is away and I find myself walking the dog after it has fallen dark. Which is most days, as I don't generally get home from work until after five or so.

Rationally, I know that a streetlight offers as much protection against would-be assailants as a garlic bulb necklace. But you know, a bit of light never goes astray.

I have a theory that the lack of streetlights is due to the fact that the residents of this posh suburb don't believe in crime. After all, such a safe and welcoming part of the world shouldn't need streetlights, right? And anyway, everyone is rich enough to afford cars. And dogwalkers. So one never needs to wander about after dark! Anyway all the womenfolk stay home and tend to their children in the daytime when dogwalking opportunities abound. Or something.

And indeed, very few people do wander about after dark, except for me, and the dog. Who, might I add, is terrified of everything and is of no use as a guard-dog whatsoever.

I have thought about getting up at 5am to walk the dog, but it will still be dark then, and cold, and most importantly, 5am. When anyway who is not a dairy farmer or a baker, ie me, should be tucked away in bed.

Tonight I actually took the long route down to the DVD store to return some movies, and give the dog and myself a bit of exercise, so I could walk down the better lit streets.

A part of me thinks my fear of walking around after dark is quite silly and really, it's not like I'm going through a stroll through Karrakatta at 3am or anything.

Still, I can't wait 'til the days start to get longer though and I can go for a walk at 6pm and not feel like I should be carrying a can of a mace and one of those personal alarm thingies.

Remember to breathe

There are a lot of small things - and not so small, like my seeming never-ending tax bills from my life as a freelancer - mounting up at the moment, and it's the middle of winter, and I hate the short days and the constant trail of wet pawprints the dog leaves in the house and how my stockings all seem to get holes in them after only a few wears.

But the light is always beautiful and the rainy days are still gifts because it doesn't rain so much anymore.

And the red wine and the chocolate and the food and the warm woolen clothes are good things, even if it's hard to get excited at by the cold wind at 6:30am at the train station.

So, here we are, breathing.

Pictures

I've only had the D80 for a fortnight, and in that time I've had very little time to get out and take photos. But I have to tell you - it's the goods. Even with the cheap-ass kit lens, it takes MUCH better photos than my Lumix. Much much better.

I couldn't afford it and I still can't but hey, I needed a bit of inspiration to get out and take some more photos.

Anyway, this post is just fluff, but at least it's a post, right?

I think you should go read Barista instead for something truly intelligent and meaningful, but for now here's another photograph, my first ever on the new camera, of the rampaging rose bush colonising our back deck:

I swear

There will be blogging. Soonish. Maybe even tonight, in between walking the dog, washing, returning a DVD, eating dinner, and trying not to fall asleep during Four Corners.

Plus: I am also going to update my Flickr site. This will be a momentous occasion, because last week I rewarded myself for being a good little cog in the capitalist machine by purchasing a Nikon D80.

By popular request*

I'd love to write this to tell you all the exciting stuff I've been doing whilst not blogging, but sadly, I've been working. Lots.

And when I haven't been working, I've all this other stuff to do, non-blogworthy stuff, which you don't want to hear about. Like lying on the couch under my polar fleece blankie trying not to fall asleep while watching series two of Love My Way on DVD. Wedding stuff.** Paying bills. Organising my tax debt from the year when I earned no money, a weird matter that I haven't quite worked out, but I am sure the wise heads at the ATO will kindly help me should I entangle myself further in the web of complex PAYG rules I cannot seem to navigate.

I have also been a bit sick, in a low-level mild sore throat and coldsores kind of way, rather than a full-on snot and fever thing which at least would have given me an excuse to stay home and lie on the couch under the blankie and feel piteous, but instead I solidiered on despite having a cold sore the size of a small ocean liner on my lip*** and the kind of haggard pallour associated with Dickensian office clerks or funeral directors.

So here we are. I feel like I'm apologising to a friend I haven't called for a few weeks. Do you want to have coffee this weekend? Yum cha? How about a movie? I'm so sorry I haven't called. I've just been busy, you know. Yeah.

* If, by popular, you mean a request.

** Which I am not going to blog about, because it is boring. Oh so boring. Other people's wedding preparations are the dullest thing on earth. Do you really want to hear all about how we decided on our venue and which alcohol package we're choosing and the interminable squabbles about which family members are deserving of a $70 a head meal? No, I thought not.

*** I'm waiting for the Wonders of Modern Medicine to catch up with cold sores. We can fly a man to the moon but I still get a frickin' great pustule on my lip every time I so much as sniffle.

Cheapzilla, lesser known younger sister of Bridezilla

No post to accompany that heading, but instead I invite you to consider who on god's green earth thinks it is normal to spend $20,000 plus on a wedding reception? Not the wedding, just the reception?

Lots of people, apparently. Just not me

Yoohoo, over here!

I am sorry, I have been busy.

I have also been a bit down and really, if blogging has taught me anything, it's that People Find Depression Boring and You Should Keep the Woe Is Me to a Minimum. So I have decided not to inflict you all with round 978 of why I feel like crap -- it's the usual reasons, really, lashings of self-doubt creamed with a delicious sauce of loneliness and topped with the thick sugary layer of self-pity.

Hmmn. That sounds kind of yummy. Blues Cake! Depression Torte! F*cked up brain chemistry pudding! Why won't the voice in my head shut-up creme caramel!

Anyhoo, I have a dilemma. I have never been a bridesmaid. Evah. This is no doubt due to a number of factors: my tendency to befriend lesbians, my inability to live anywhere long enough to cement a friendship to bridesmaid stage, my snarky comments about the bridal industrial complex, and the fact that I don't really have a lot of close friends because I am not the sort of person who makes friends easily blah blah depression-cakes and so forth.

So I had come to terms with my non-bridesmaid status as one by one my friends shuffled to the altar with other people in their bridal parties, came out of the closet, or just eschewed marriage altogether for babies and happy non-wedded status.

All good.

And then I was asked to be a bridesmaid! Yahoo! Never mind that the person asked me by texting me and demanding I lose about 14 kg to fit into the size 8 outfit she'd purchased for $20 for me at Rockmans. Hey, no worries. I'm cool with that. We have been friends for the better part of 17 years, and maybe we've drifted apart (a long ways apart) but you know, that's fine, I'm honoured and so on.

And then I got sacked as a bridesmaid. Again via SMS.

Yeah, I know. Sucks to be me.

Why was I sacked? Because she had too many people who wanted to be her bridesmaid. So she knew I would nice about it and wouldn't mind not being one. Plus she realised I wasn't keen on going from a size 12 to a size 8. (I know that never a more lying lie was uttered by a somewhat less-than-skinny woman, but you know, while I'd dearly love to be a size 8 I'm not prepared to do the eleventy-million hours of exercise or vomiting that would require. )

From whence I was sacked as a bridesmaid I heard nothing from my friend, who is getting married in my home town of Dullsville on Boring. Until this weekend, when she texts me to tell me the wedding is on the 16th of June. About a month away, for those who can't count.

I have very little leave accrued at work. I have about 40,000 frequent flyer points, enough for a flight to Sydney and back again, but meaning I'd have to spend another $200 or so to get home, plus associated costs (ie, outfit).

My boss is away that same period in time, so at most I'd be able to take about two days off, meaning about 14 hours of flying/driving time in four days plus associated guilt at leaving my work colleagues in the lurch.

My question is: should I go to the wedding, or should I beg off with some lame excuse and not go?

Complication: my parents know of the wedding and are excited about seeing me.

Further complication: it will be an awful wedding and I am pretty sure the bridal waltz will be to something by Garth Brooks or Evanescence, the food will be awful and the wine... it will be horse piss. At best. The food will be unspeakable.

Another question: Am I snob?

Advice needed. I don't know what to do! My friend is my friend, despite the fact that we're about as different as two people could be and I got sacked as a bridesmaid. But ... it's going to cost at least a bit of money, and while I can afford it, I am trying to save some money. And ... I don't like the bloke she's marrying.

So there you go. That's my dilemma. To go or not. Whaddya reckon?

Did you know

That you can have a wedding reception in the space exhibition of the Powerhouse Museum?

Star Trek outfits are of course optional.

Grumpy young woman

Gah.

JW is away, again. Since February I have spent four weekends with the man whom I am marrying in January. That's about one weekend a month, and all-up adds up to about a fortnight spent together. Not happy about this particular series of events, as you can imagine. Nor about having to do everything by myself when he's away either.

And I have my period and I have a stomach ache.

And I'm listening to Hack and it's amazing how many people think the guy's comments from McLeod's Daughters (about the best boobs in the business) is  all a bit of a joke. Yeah, and I've heard way worse and had worse directed at me, but it was at an awards night. It was on TV. It was about the guy's work colleagues. If one of my colleagues stood up at a televised industry function and said I had fabulous boobs I'd skin him alive and then boil what was left and feed it to the dog.

(Told you I was grumpy.)

And the roof in the laundry leaked and rusted out the bottom of the washing machine. Which is still working and hopefully the damage is just cosmetic. But it's so annoying. I'm sick of living in this leaky crappy old house, with the deck that's falling apart and the draughts and the spiders and the ants and the weeds and the windows that don't shut or won't open and the flaky paint and the grubby bathtub no matter how many times you try to clean it.

And wedding magazines. Jesus H. Christ on a crutch are they awful. All I want is a nice list of suggestions for reception venues, with pricing and maybe a picture. And what do I get? Pages after pages of airbrushed dolls in ridiculous gowns, naff home-made bomboniere-y things, hideous scrap-book ideas, Worlds Ugliest Invitations, and advice on how to save money.

Actually, this last wouldn't be so bad, but here was the advice: move in with your parents to save money for your nuptials.

O RLY?

Anyway, turns out I'm already doing quite well on the saving money front. My dress, which I bought a couple of weeks ago, cost me $400. The average price for a wedding dress is somewhere between $1500-3000 according to my lazy googling. So there's a minimum of $900 to spend on something more important. Like booze, so we can make it through the joyous day without killing ourselves or anyone else.

I feel much less grumpy now, by the way.