Day 167: Be A Part Of Something Special

Okay, that was a really bad idea. Lots of notice. Three months to prepare. Easy access to facilities and resources. And then not one single training session. Holding onto V——'s trousers so he can pull me up the stairs to our second floor hotel room does not count. Today was Stadium Stomp, the inaugural mega stair climb at the M.C.G.

List_Addict               Irene
Seven thousand, three hundred and forty-three steps, up and down. We were blessed with brilliant sun-shiny weather for a mid-winter day. There was great company. V——, P—zza H—zza and Miss S—— did an amazing job of doing it all in a bit over an hour. I strolled in at about two. But. Big but. I feel a lot like a semi-trailer with three loads, a road-train effectively, has hit me, thrown it into reverse and come back for a second go, and then popped in another bump on the way forward again. Thank goodness we are going to be away for next years Stomp!

The Outfit T-shit: Op-shopped Jacket: Icebreaker Shorts: K-Mart 3/4 Leggings: Cotton On Sneakers: Brooks

r Photographer de Jour: V—— and Miss S—— for that one of me crossing the line!

Who wore it better?

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Day 166: I Don't Answer The Phone—Ever!

I don't answer the phone. If you want to ring me you need to tell me so that I know to pick up—absolute exact time please. Or we have to work out some sort of a code. I don't want to talk to telemarketers. The armed robbery squad left a card in my door, as they do. I called them back and they had gone home. So when the phone rang, I though I better answer in case it was them. It was a telemarketer. The conversation went like this:

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Me: I'm in a hurry, be quick.
Them (accented): Well listen Ma'am (hackles raised), I am not selling you anything.
Me: Hurry please, just get to the point.
Them: The Federal Government is offering a rebate for home owners ...
Me: I don't own my home.
Them: No, listen Ma'am, I am not selling you anything.
Me: Then just get to the point.
Them: This still applies to you. The Federal Government is offering a rebate for home owners and we need to survey home owners ...
Me: I just told you, I am not a home owner, hurry up, get to the point.
Them: Ooh, ooh, just you, ooh, go away!
Clunk.

Me go away! You rang me you twurp! With your 'not selling you anything' sales pitch. No-one rings anyone cold-call for a chat about Federal Government rebates without an alterior motive. I am so cross. I wish I had caller ID. I need to write strongly worded missives about this to someone. It's a crap job yes, but you know what you are getting into. You know you are going to piss people off from the minute you give your anglicised name over the phone and ask how my evening is. It was fine. Now it is all down the toilet. Armed Robbery, you will have to email me. I am never picking up the phone again!

The Outfit Top: Op-shopped Skirt: Op-shopped Necklace and Ring: CCJJSS Shoes: Irregular Choice

Photographer de Jour: Moi

Who wore it better?

Making friends today with:

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Day 165: Time to Change the Bad Guys

What are Michael's reaction and facial expressions all about? I am talking ads again; it is difficult to come up with topics everyday, and usually, as I am pondering the universe and all things worthy of discussion in it, ads come on the TV. And like I said a few days ago, ads are interesting. For the most part. Is it really so surprising that Anita* would buy a Jeep. It is like Michael suddenly has a new respect for his wife who, prior to this, is only the spawner of his progeny and the tidier of his house (while also trying to hold down her own corporate job). You can see his mind is ticking over. Such a surprising move from someone he had had pigeon-holed may lead to all sorts of other ideas about what else in their relationship is changeable. Give him time though. Once he starts to question such a radical move, he will suspect there is something behind it. He will probably come to the conclusion, right or not, that she is having an affair. Why else would people do things so unlike themselves? This Jeep is the end of a perfectly dull marriage. All that from thirty seconds.

* We don't get to know her name. I gave her one.

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Eek! I just remembered I am supposed to be doing a book club thing again this month and I haven't read the book. Why do I do this? We are supposed to be reading The Silver Linings Playbook. Good news is I have actually started. It is quite different from the movie in many ways. They changed his dad a lot (so far) to give Robert De Niro a much better role to play. It is interesting that the book club have looked at two books about mental illness for their last two choices. Topical, open and bright texts about mental illness can only be a good thing for illuminating a huge problem that lots of people don't want to talk about. In the time I was supposed to read that though, I finished Kathy Reich's Bones are Forever, and with that caught completely up to date with all her books and have to wait for the next one to be released (and then a little longer so it isn't so expensive). It means I can move onto another mystery writer and their protagonist. I am staying in the 'R's' and heading over to Peter Robinson's Inspector Banks. Banks is far more sensible and down to earth, from what I have read so far, than our Temperance Brennan is becoming. Temperance really should reconsider changing careers. She seems to be the only person on the planet able to do what she does. It necessitates her jetting off thousands of miles out of her jurisdiction to solve crimes no-one else can. And she inevitably ends up captured and narrowly escaping death. Surely there is a limit to how much the cleverest little forensic anthropologist in the world needs to risk.

The Outfit Dress: Op-shopped Top: Op-shopped Gloves: Cannot recall where from Flowered Necklace: CCJJSS, worn as a headband Bracelets: Op-shopped and cheap and cheerful junk jewellery stores somewhere Shoes: Irregular Choice

Photographer de Jour: Moi

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Day 164: It's All About Ratings

Seems like lately this blog is a little bit all about me, me, me. I apologise. But—about me—I got very little sleep yesterday day (I'm on night shifts in case you're wondering why I am spending my days tucked up in jim-jams and asleep with the puppy). It was knock-and-phone central around here. Lured into the misconception that the builders may be knocking on the door at seven thirty a.m. by a mysterious 'To The Occupant' envelope I had found in my kitchen from Scumbag Builders Inc the day before I got up and answered the door in said jim-jams an hour after I had finally dozed off after last night's adventures. It turned out to be a reporter from a local channel's news team. Ooh. They're a little insidious, aren't they? Before I knew it they knew I was the one that had called triple-zero. Sense stepped in and I stopped talking. But he wasn't going to take no for an answer too easily. I don't want to be on telly unless it is to promote this blog on a reputable writing or lifestyle program.

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They had the impression that they were assisting with the location and capture of some bad people. Umm? Don't you mean you are assisting with the capture of ratings? Talking to me isn't going to do diddly-squat to get whoever was involved. Then again, it's probably not going to do anything for ratings either. I did finally manage to close the door and head back to bed. But people knocked and phoned all day. Assuming they were after my star-power, which wasn't up for grabs, I ignored every call and every knock. It was probably the detectives now that I think about it—they left a card eventually—but it certainly made for a bad day's rest. On that note, I am not going to talk about anything interesting tonight. Instead, here are some photos of a middle-aged cosplay wanna-be in a too short skirt and a fond goodnight. Ppwhhaa!

The Outfit Dress: Handmade by me Cardigan: Op-shopped Socks: Retail Necklaces: Retail Shoes: Irregular Choice

Photographer de Jour: Moi

Who wore it better?

Doing the link-in love-in today with:

Day 163: CSI: Melbourne

The outside of my house is a secondary crime scene. There is stripy tape with 'Police - Do Not Cross' on it. I'm assuming; I didn't really look that closely at it. This is probably not the best way to advise the loved ones. By blog. But it is four a.m. and it would be silly to ring them and wake them up to say everything is fine. But there was a little incident. Everything really is fine. Well maybe not so much for the poor man involved. And don't you wonder why things happen the way they do? Like when I used to ride to work in Kensington and I always crossed Footscray Road super-quick when the pedestrian lights changed, but one day, for some reason, I hesitated and a car ran the red at high speed in the lane I would have been in. Don't go all God-y on me, I will not listen. Seriously, blocking my ears now. But there is something serendipitous about it all. Same tonight. Why, when I would normally, on nights when I finish at two-thirty, jump on a blue-bike and pedal home did I, randomly and out-of-characterly, catch a cab home tonight (just because of a little harmless rain and a cumbersome umbrella). I would have been blissfully unaware if I had.

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I don't really want to delve too deeply into it, suffice it to say that there was a person in need of a phone call outside my house when I got home, that my area is as subject to some of the horrible things that happen to people in other places (you always think it only happens elsewhere) and that one of my least favourite inflictors of pain were possibly involved (my top five runs, in no particular order, thus: shark bite, machete, razor blades on a water slide, rotting slowly from wounds sustained from crocodile teeth and dentistry). It was very odd to be on the other end of a police radio conversation. And even though it seemed all very surreal and remote at the time, there do seem to be many jump-inducing noises happening since. Think I'll head to bed now for an ostrich-under-the-covers approach to the evening's events. Odd day.

The Outfit Kaftan: Op-shopped Vintage Hawaiian (and I can't believe I wore it to work, but ironically its pure plastic constitution makes it a better winter outfit—it's way too hot to wear in summer) Snood: Retail, over very big hair Boots: Irregular Choice (according to May Cleo, this is the en-trend boot height)

Photographer de Jour: Moi

Who wore it better?

Getting linky today with:







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Day 162: You Keep Me Running Round and Round

'I'm so tall, I'm so tall' runs the Blancmange classic 80's song 'Living on the Ceiling'. 'Up and down, I'm up the wall, I'm up the bloody tree'. Forgotten how fabulously silly it is until Berocca recently put it to use in their latest ad. There is something amazing about advertising. I hate to be sold to—I'm particularly gullible—but the way a story can be told in thirty seconds is an art form worthy of appreciation. The tag line for this ad is 'You, but on a really good day'. On a really good day you can, with the help of Berocca (and its phenylalanine and aspartame—let me make a promise to tell you my theories about this one day, you'll be so happy I did), dance in a co-ordinated, and frankly beautiful manner, on treadmills set up in the middle of a town square with a group of fellow Berocca users. That is a good day. From today's photo you may be able to tell that I am either not taking Berocca or not having a good day. Regardless, this was a fun way to do a shoot. I'll have to do it again with a real camera that isn't as sensitive to my flying off the end of the treadmill or my dear photographer laughing while I did.

List_Addict               Irene
I was eager for tea-room suggestions for topics today. Someone, eating cupcakes at the time, suggested I talk about the word 'moist'. What is it about the word 'moist' that makes so many people cringe. Like the word 'panties'. There is actually a Facebook page called 'I Hate the Word Moist'—an open page so feel free to pop over there and share your aversion to the word. It has nearly three thousand members! It is hard to exlain. I think it is hated because it seems like a thinly disguised euphemism for something much seedier. Same with panties. It seems like something snivelling perverts would say, gleefully, with a lisp, while rubbing their hands together. They would have strange points to the ends of their noses. Even the definitions and synonyms of moist are wrong. Don't describe a yucky word with another: damp, clammy, mucid, drippy, oozy. They're not as bad—they don't have their own Facebook pages after all. Panties at least has 'undies' or 'underwear' or even the more exotic 'lingerie'. Moist is a lost cause.

The Outfit Top: Op-shopped Jacket: Op-shopped Shirt: Op-shopped Cowl: Retail, can't recall what brand Shoes: Iron Fist

Photographer de Jour: Miss L——

Who wore it better?

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Day 161: I Am Mortified

I am mortified: Believe it or not, with all those cocktails and desserts and sitting arounds, I put on three kilos while I was away. I could just about fall over dead with crying right now. This means I am back to square one. I still have twenty-five kilos to go. I am almost so upset that I think the only possible solution is new scales—the old ones must be wrong!

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I am mortified: Letting people go on holiday and then making them come back straight into a twelve hour shift is, frankly, irresponsible. From a 'health of your employees' point of view, I truly believe that the first four shifts back from holidays should build to the full twelve hours. Three hours first day, six the next, nine the next and then onto twelve. Of course, the employee shouldn't be disadvantaged. They should recieve twelve hours pay for each day regardless. Although, if it came down to it, I think I would still prefer the time over the money. She says now! But later?

The Outfit Dress: Op-shopped Cardigan: Op-shopped Heart Brooch: Handknitted by Moi Tights: Retail Boots: Irregular Choice

Photographer de Jour: V——

Who wore it better?

Getting linky today with:

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I'm popping these shoes over onto Shoe Shine at The Citizen Rosebud: if you love shoes, get over there now!