Life and death and the glittery stuff in between…

Posted on | July 30, 2010 | No Comments

Sometimes, things move me to the point of tears. Come on, I know you’ve been there - an old European man limps down your street and your heart skips a beat, or your puppy yelps dejectedly from the other room because she can’t jump up onto the bed. A few years ago, I saw a wonderful documentary about Mark Rothko that made me feel that same sadness with the grandness and scale of his work, the moodiness… And then I saw the real thing at the MOMA and all I could do was sit and stare and feel as though I was watching an old European man as he limped down the street.

Lonely.

Wintry.

Empty.

My heart skips a beat.

And then this week JJ and I attended the opening of Julia DeVille’s new exhibition (alongside William Griffiths) at the Sophie Gannon Gallery in Richmond – “Night’s Plutonian Shore”. Inspired by Poe’s “The Raven” it’s a voyage into the artist’s inspirational world of life and death.

Disturbing? Sometimes.

But also poignant, whimsical and, surprisingly, optimistic.

We can only HOPE that we, too, will end our days here with jewels in our eyes.

I’m so happy, cos today I found my friends were in my head…

Posted on | July 19, 2010 | 2 Comments

 (with apologies to the late Kurt Cobain)

 

I started taking Lithium just over a week ago, increasing the dose last Friday, and I’m sitting here wondering when, when, when it’s all going to kick in and I’m going to achieve, what that ad I saw in some American magazine promised me so many years ago – A Better Kind of Normal.

The slogan speaks to me in a million ways, not the least of which is this idea that “normal” is something completely different for everyone. 

 If I knew I could get “normal” would I grab it? 

 Let me define my depression. It’s not the sort of depression that used to get people locked up in padded cells in ye olden Victorian days, nor the sort for which people have (involuntary) ECT, nor the sort of mania that sees you buying a boat and a first class trip to London (that you can’t afford nor want) followed by a black crash. 

 I’m talking about the kind of depression where all of the above are possibilities but you’re just teetering on the edge – a cross between McMurphy and the Indian.  

I feel defined by depression and mania. You know, like Winona Ryder will always be defined by the Saks incident (even though in my eyes she will always be Veronica. 

 So what would happy look like? Would I be satisfied with normal? 

 There are a few questions I ask myself regularly: 

 1. Is there really something wrong with me? People tell me I’m fine. I seem normal. Did the doctor’s prognosis free me by giving the first 37 year of my life some sort of definition or did the definition create it? This is like that old chestnut: Is the table really there or is it only there because I say it is? 

 2. I’m a bit of a drama queen so perhaps I like the attention that depression affords me? Er, no. 

 3. Will this shit every go away? Well that would depend. And no. “It depends” is what I have to look forward to. Jeff and I were walking along Birrarung Marr recently and there was some music blaring from a bar. You could hear a bunch of people singing loudly with the song, whooping and generally having an ace time. I turned to Jeff and said: “You know, I just can’t imagine ever being that happy again.” 

 4. If I had a choice between living a long life with depression and living a short, medicated, life without depression, what would I choose? 

 I often wish that I had more mania than depression and that it was more like dementia than alzheimer’s. 

 Let me explain: 

• Mania can be fun – unless you buy a boat and a first class trip to London (that you can’t afford, nor want). My mania causes me to sleep less, be creative, feel inspired, do tonnes of stuff and dream up lots of awesome ideas. Depression’s not fun. 
• When you have dementia, you don’t realise you have dementia. When you have alzheimer’s, you have moments when you realise you have alzheimer’s. I don’t wish for either of these. I just wish that my depression was more like alzheimer’s. 

And soemtimes I just wish that i could be locked in a room and didn’t have to wake up and wonder about things or figure out how to navigate my life. There’s so much pressure to show up. To be ok. To be nice. To turn it on and off, up and down. To go to work. To do the job. To get up and not waste time. And that way others could get on with things too. 

In the meantime, I’ll settle with antidepressants and my new mood stabilisers that beg the question: what if my “stable mood” is bleak? 

Whatever. I’m off to count my plastic bags. 

* Before the Saks Incident
** After the Saks Incident

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My new toy – part 2

Posted on | July 13, 2010 | No Comments

A little while ago, I wrote about my new toy. See the results here: http://www.yoyolovespeaches.blogspot.com/

Here’s something I made earlier…

Posted on | July 9, 2010 | No Comments

Because I like to mulitask, I’ve resurrected an only blog of mine, dedicated to make things and finding my way through life’s jungle. Et Voila. Meet YoyolovesPeaches.

A (very freaking) long way to Tipperary

Posted on | July 6, 2010 | 2 Comments

This past weekend, JJ and I went up to the Country – hitherto known as the Little Chalet (which is neither little nor a chalet but there are lots of gnomes in the garden and it doesn’t look like a cottage so it makes perfect sense…)

We went for a walk with the puppies.

JJ: Hey Betty, let’s turn left here.

Me: Sure

After a little while.

Me: Oh, I don’t think we’ve come this far before. How fun.

JJ: Let’s go this way.

Me (seeing a sign to the Blowhole): The Blowhole. We’ve never been there. How fun.

After a little while.

Me: So, do you think it’s much further?

JJ: I shouldn’t think so. Oh look, a sign.

So we walked on. And so did the girls, whose wee legs are only a couple of inches long and even taking into account that their have four of them, it’s still a lot of work. And have I mentioned the mountains?

Me: JJ, you didn’t say there would be mountains to climb.

JJ: It’s not Mount Sinai.

See, I’ve climbed Mount Sinai so that exempts me from every climbing anything again – hills, stairs, a ladder.

We arrived at the Blowhole and it was lovely. A big hole, in amongst some old mine shafts, that gushes water when there’s been rain. And there’s been a lot of rain.

When it was time to head back, I said: “JJ, we can’t possibly go back the way we came. You know how I hate that.”

JJ ( a little weary): Yes, Betty. I know how you hate that.

Me: And there must be a short cut. I mean, we turned left, then left, which is virtually heading back home, right?

Cut to a dramatic reenactment on A Current Affair:

The trekkers didn’t tell anyone that they were heading out to the state forest, nor did they bring any water or food. They could have died from dehydration but we lucky enough to be caught in a minor hail storm and they were able to collect some water. They did, however, refrain from eating any of the local fungi, which is known for its hallucinogenic and deadly properties.

Stone fences marking the site of old gold mines

The Blowhole – not very active

On the Tipperary Springs track

Oh yummy! Dinner

Dinner?

Definitely not dinner.

We found a civilised place for JJ to check if his GPS was working

Kangaroos at the Hepburn Springs gold course

What’s up skippy?

Your email:

 

Nearly three hours later, drenched and cold, we stumbled back home.

Have you met the Joneses?

Posted on | June 29, 2010 | 4 Comments

JJ and I are fairly far removed from being le family Jones. We try not to keep up. But there is the Dyson vacuum incident, which I won’t go into. 

But when I’m alone, the Jonesing gets a tad loud. 

Like the other day, I was rather blue, so I went to that great bastion of fashion in the West, Highpoint Shopping centre. Having skipped breakfast, I hopped into Gloria Jean’s for a coffee and a spinach and ricotta pastry surrounded by the most delightful ladies and their children. As I have mentioned before, I LOVE children. BUT, on this day, what with me being blue and all that, the last thing I needed was a youngster kicking a soccer ball around the cafe. 

Sure, World Cup fever is abound and who the hell am I to deter a future David Beckham or Harry Kewell. 

 But the kid was neither and, really, it’s a freaking cafe! 

The mother did try her best to deter him. 

Boy: (sound effect) kick kick kick 

Mummy: Darling, I don’t think you should be kicking that around in here. 

(Mummy goes back to latte and conversation) 

Boy (looking around): Oh, it’s ok. 

Mummy looks over at boy kick kick kicking. 

Mummy: (sound effect) birds chirping 

(Mummy goes back to latte and conversation) 

Boy: (sound effect) kick kick kick KICK KICK KICK KICK FREAKING KICK 

But anyway, it was the day after the Australian Coup (as I will henceforth refer to the day that Julia Gillard toppled Kevin Rudd). See, I’m supposed to be happy that a childless sister is now our PM. But I LOVED Kev, so it’s bittersweet and it will take some time for me to recover. 

So there I was, reading The Age when over at a window seat, I copped an eyeful of a man, a little unwashed and rather creative looking, tapping away silently on a teensy weensy little laptop. 

OH! I verily squealed. I wants me one of them – Precious. 

Now, I belong to the Faith school of want/get/have. Remember Faith, the dark murdering slayer that came into being after Buffy died. 

Faith taught Buffy that slayers  could have whatever they want, whenever they want. Slayers and me! 

So off I went to JB, pointed at the prettiest little thing, directed JJ to the payment machine with the plastic payment thing and voila. Want. Get. Have. 

I can slip it into my bag and it weighs less than my wallet 

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oh i forgot

Posted on | June 25, 2010 | 1 Comment

Here’s something I prepared earlier…

Your email:

 

Play some funky music…

Posted on | June 24, 2010 | 1 Comment

So here’s the thing, right: I don’t (really) want to use this blog as a platform to complain about people and things – despite the fact that I’ve called it Betty on a Box – on a soapbox geddit. BORING. And despite being gainfully employed, I will never change my opinion about people having the right to be on the dole if that’s what they want. I mean, my taxes contribute to far worse things – like private hospitals and the mining industry. And really, given that I spent many a day being paid for to be creative all those years ago, I am the last person to make a statement against those who choose unemployment over a job at Maccas. But I wish that the dole was easier to get because it would give the guy who sits at the bottom of Platform 1 at Sunshine station some money to get lessons. The dude is clearly taking the piss.      

I mean, I love a busker. I really do.       

Except for the Sonic Manipulator – he’s too loud and he freaks me out.       

 

And the living statues. Do I need to explain?       

 

And the freaking bagpipe player on the Swanston Street Bridge. I just want to toss him into the Yarra. Freak.   

And I really don’t like the kid on Swanston Street with Down’s Syndrome. Not because he has Down’s Syndrome, clearly. So before I get attacked with the cruelty stick, let me just say that the kid simply CANNOT SING. He’s totally shit. I really want to know what asshole at the council decided it would be a good idea to give him a busker’s licence. I think THAT person is truly taking the piss. Hopefully the kid becomes a great singer – like the blind accordian player outside Myer Lonsdale Street who used to be shit but is now renowned thanks to a few lessons.       

 But back to my guy at Sunshine. He’s there most days, which is a bummer because we recently had a duo that was all Simon and Garfunkel meets the Black Keys.       

 

 

I give them money quite happily. But the other dude is mostly always there. I see money on top of his guitar case. I see people dropping money onto his guitar case. I mean, he’s affable enough, wishes everyone a “good morning, brother” or “morning, sister”. But I’ve never actually heard him play or sing. At first I figured I’d just caught him while he was tuning up. He’d strum a few strings. Not a few chords. Oh no. A few very out of tune strings is all. And I realised, the guy doesn’t actually know how to play. It was a total Oprah moment (of the lightbulb variety).        

He’s a scammer. Oh I was incensed. I mean, people give him money to PLAY. Right?        

Well not me. Nup. I want my jobless to sing for their supper. Like the time JJ and I were in on a train in the New York Subway. It’s like being at the American Idol auditions. And you don’t mind handing over your hard-earned traveller’s cheques. (Also, I’ve seen episodes of NCIS and despite old Mayor Giuliani’s three strikes policy, them Yankees still carry guns.)        

I like to be entertained. And like I said, I’m all for the creatives BUT NOT THIS SCAMMER. NO SIR-E, BOB.        

When I had the lightbulb moment, I texted JJ, and he said:        

“Well why don’t you trick him and ask him to play his favourite tune.”        

Yeah, I thought. That’s the ticket.        

So yesterday, the moment he offered his “good morning, sister”, I said:        

“You should actually play something sometime.” There, that’ll show him.  

And I hottailed it up the platform because, ladies and gents, this May not be new York, but it’s still Sunshine and I ain’t taking chances.    

 

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The thing about Melbourne…

Posted on | June 17, 2010 | 1 Comment

I love big cities and, along with JJ, I’ve seen a few and j’adore each of them for different reasons. For example:

• New York – Where else can you walk around all day saying “hey, that’s my favourite painting. No, that’s my favourite. hang on, that’s…”?
• Cairo – I mean, taking a leisurely stroll in the shadow of a freaking pyramid – THE freaking pyramid!
• Rome – Walking past the Colosseum on your way to work and saying ciao to the Pope.

And so on. And then there’s my hometown, Melbourne. I love it for so many reasons. For example:

A few things I’ve seen in and around Melbourne lately.

So, Lonely Planet take heed. Remind travellers to pack:

• spare socks;
• Australian language guide;
• plenty of condoms;
• a bike helmet.

Who the hell came up with that? Fire him. Yes, it’s got to be a him!

I don’t hate children

Posted on | June 16, 2010 | No Comments

As one of the many involuntarily childless in the world, I just want to make it very clear that I am not childless because:

• I hate children;
• The baby bonus isn’t big enough;
• I’m selfish;
• I’m single;
• JJ and I aren’t in love;
• Etc.

In fact, I really like babies. I’m not used to children or teenagers because none of my friends are old enough to have them yet. Although I am thoroughly enjoying T’Red’s kids, even if they make me feel a tad old (see “the mix tape incident“).

But anyway, if I believed in reincarnation and I came back as a parent, I’d be the kind of parent who:

• Took their kid to the Big Day Out and not make them wear earplugs in the Boiler Room;
• I would ignore film ratings, much like my parents did, all through the horror-70s and teens-go-wild-and-lose-their-shirts-80s
• I would insist they start wearing make up at a rather young age, although I’m no Katie Price;

Remember Keanu’s great line in the Parenthood when he says:

“You know, Mrs. Buckman, you need a license to buy a dog, to drive a car – hell, you even need a license to catch a fish. But they’ll let any butt-reaming asshole be a father.”

But anyway, if JJ and I were to come back as parents, this here video below truly, honestly reveals the kind of ‘rentals we’d hope to be.

Yay parenthood!

Not quite 15

Posted on | June 8, 2010 | 2 Comments

So I’m (not) going to be turning 15 tomorrow. Not that you’d know it given my penchant for the fictional undead (seriously, a total obsession for vampires) and the absolute anxiety I feel whenever I have to buy concert tickets.

I’ll let it be known right from the start that, yes, I did manage to buy tickets to see Muse IN DECEMBER. I mean, how the hell do I know KNOW what I’m planning to be doing on December 14? I could be in Las Vegas (in fact, there is such a plan).

So I planned to log in for the fan pre-sale and that’s where the anxiety started. JJ and I were heading up the country estate on Thursday night. Yes, we have this Virgin wireless dongle for the Internet but who knows what can happen? Can the technology be guaranteed? Will the wireless cables freeze over? (I mean, it’s really cold up there in the bush).

I have reason to be anxious, especially after the Jimmy Barnes Ticket Fiasco of 1984. My cousin Nancy and I had saved desperately. I busted open the money box and we got to Myer at Highpoint and queued outside the doors a few hours before opening. Now, I haven’t queued up for tickets for a long time thanks to the Internet so Idon’t know what the deal is these days but there used to be a roller door and you’d be all friendly-like with the others waiting for tickets but as soon as the roller door had lifted just enough, all bets were off and the nails would come out. We’d slide under that door and run up the escalator to be the first at the real ticket queue and I’d almost piss myself waiting for the slow people in front who picked tickets for some freaking Opera or something. They were ANNOYING SLOW PEOLE and in the meantime I was imagining that all of the smart people had just picked up their phones – a spare one in the shape of a hamburger that sat beside their bed – and would call and buy ALL of the tickets and they would just sell out right in front of my face.

But that’s not how it transpired that fateful year.

Nancy and I got to the counter and we counted out our coins – seriously we had busted open the money box and we had just enough money for the tickets. But not the booking fee.

NOT THE BOOKING FEE.

But I’m nothing if not determined and we trammed our asses all the way home to beg my mum for a couple of measly bucks (which is another story).

These days you just have to hit refreshand hope you don’t get kicked off the site. And you’ve always got enough money. Thank you Mr Mastercard.

But the anxiety is still there. It is. I get the sweats, that nauseous feeling that I’m going to miss out. That every single ticket is going to sell out right in front of my face.

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A life. In eight pages.

Posted on | June 2, 2010 | No Comments

Well there’s nothing quite like having your entire life handwritten on eight pages with a lovely black fountain pen and then read back to you – well, the nutshell version of it. Actually, there’s nothing quite like having this happen at 9am, just before work on a Wednesday, a week before your 41^st birthday and then having to pay $370 an hour. How do you like them apples?

Seriously, there’s nothing quite like it.

So here’s how the conversation went:

The $370 man: So, Betty, tell me what’s going on.

Me: Oh, well not much. I haven’t had breakfast yet.

The $370 man: No, Betty, not today. In general.

Me: Oh, didn’t The $195 man write you a letter?

The $370 man: Sure, sure, but in your own words.

One hour later…

The $370 man (into his Madonna Vogue microphone): And that’s why I would recommend a blah blah blah dose of Lithium.

Me (in my head, not out loud): LITHIUM? What the fuck, chuck? Isn’t that what Kurt Cobain sang about? And we all know what happened to him. Although it can’t be worse than… Oh ssh.

The $370 man: Ok. I’ll have this letter sent to The $195 man today.

Me: Well thanks. I feel better already.

How DO you like them apples?

PS. Did you know that the use of lithium salts to treat mania* was rediscovered by the Australian psychiatrist John Cade in 1949. Yes, a local. He was injecting rodents with urine extracts taken from schizophrenic patients,** in an attempt to isolate a metabolic compound which might be causing mental symptoms.*** But before that, it was the medicinal ingredient of a refreshment beverage, 7 Up.

*I don’t REALLY have mania
** I am NOT schizophrenic
*** I MAY have mental symptoms. Of sorts.

 

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I know you’ve already got me a birthday present, but…

Posted on | May 31, 2010 | 1 Comment

A wise American once said:

“Don’t be fooled by the rocks that I got
I’m still, I’m still [Betty on a box]

Used to have a little, now I have a lot
No matter where I go, I know where I came from (from the Bronx!)”

Well, Sunshine via West Footscray, via a tree-free village in Sicily.

Those who know me, know that I’m a simple girl.

I don’t go for the big brands. I don’t wear Chanel cosmetics, I go for Napoleon.

And I’m vitually free ofgourmet bling – there’s some Kenneth Cole bling*, Victoria Mason bling* and that (now broken) necklace I got from the world’s biggest jewellery store when JJ and I got lost near Chiang Mai that time – bling* yes, but alas, no-name bling*.

Geez, I do like a pretty piece of jewellery though.

So what’s a girl to do?

It’s Dior.

 At around £8000 apiece, they are unlikely additions to the jewellery tree so… here’s something a little loser to home, and priced lower than the kitchen renovation, with thanks to the delightfully gorgeous taxidermist/jeweller, Julia DeVille (yep, that’s a real animal bone).

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* Yes, yes, I still use the word Bling. Whatever.

The day a mob flashed Prahran

Posted on | May 25, 2010 | 1 Comment

Last year I joined the Glamourpuss Studios tap dancing academy. For shits and giggles.

This year, I decided that travelling ACROSS THE RIVER just wasn’t on. Now, normally, it’s the folk from the other side of town who don’t like to cross the river but I’m well-and-truly guilty of reverse classism.

But the thing is, I found a tap dance school right up the road. I mean, how could I pass THAT up?

Well let me tell you how. There was a girl in my first (and only) class who was making some cute moves and the teacher said – I shit you not – “Who do you think you are? A showgirl?” Like it was a bad thing?

I mean… YES!

So that, along with this (below) is why I’m heading back to the other side. Technically I travel AROUND the river to St Kilda, not across it.

Do I really need to be the freaking best I can be, Oprah? Do I?

Posted on | May 24, 2010 | No Comments

Edgar Allen Poe once wrote that “sleep is like a slice of death” and he spoke to me at the very moment I read the line. If I didn’t have to sleep at all, I would be the happiest girl in the world. Problem is, I NEED to sleep. It’s annoying but my brain and body don’t function without a regular supply of around 7 or 8 hours. BORING.

I’m a “keep busy” junkie. I’m a multitasker. I can’t watch movies with subtitles because I have to pick up slipped stitches. The footy? As long as I can crochet something. I read about marketing my blog while watching Survivor and downloading Modern Family. Don’t get me wrong, I can sit still for hours. Just don’t ask me to meditate unless I can do the crossword.

Over the past decade or so, I’ve been on a massive self-discovery bent. It started with the magazine (TRM), I then wanted to be a photographer, a jeweller, a roller derby chick, a journalist, a teacher, an Indian head masseuse (well, an Italian version), an interior decorator (that only lasted a day, in my head), a property developer (looked at property, JJ and I bought some), a writer, a craft teacher, a tap dancer, an embroidery artist (yes, an artist), a doll maker, a circus performer, tap dancer, screen printer, jeweller and, finally, a life coach.

It’s been freaking expensive. Because I hate to over think things, I tend to make decisions and just jump into it and go and buy everything I need to be a complete success in the field. But I also tend to get bored very quickly. I took a resin jewellery class and decided that it was an easy way to make money. Man, resin is messy. Community teacher seemed to fit right in with wanting to contribute something and I love beading and that sort of thing. But the bureaucracy nearly killed me. I don’t do rules and forms. Massaging heads made my hands ache, making dolls was fun but I don’t like to make the same thing twice, and so I came to life coaching just over a year ago and I’ve loved it. But I’ve come to realise that I don’t necessarily want to be a life coach. I hate it when people don’t do the best and most obvious thing that would be right for them. I know it’s not about me! But anyway…

I’m tired of it all. JJ’s life mission is simple – be happy. And the thing is, he really is a positive person and that’s what he imparts to the world. People who spend enough time with him find themselves lured into his cheerful glow. But what’s a barren, black-hole-kinda-girl to do? My God! I have spent years and thousands of dollars looking for inspiration. I’ve written lists and I’ve set countless goals, some of which I’ve actually achieved, like losing weight or renovating…

The things is, the more goals I write, the more I realise that I haven’t got around to all of my goals and the more I try to improve myself, the more I realise that I have a long way to go. I may never get there at all! And then what? They say that on their deathbed, nobody ever wished they’d spent more time at the office. I wonder, does anyone wish they’d made another quilt? Another million bucks? Another website? I read on the weekend that self-help is making people depressed. Of course it is!

Seriously, there’s a lot of pressure to be the BEST YOU CAN BE! By whose definition? I cleanse, tone and moisturise but I don’t floss. I walk a little but don’t exercise. I read novels but hate opera. I watch a lot of tele but can’t tell you what I’ve watched after five minutes. I don’t work well in groups but you can call me any time if you need a shoulder. I’ve got fun hair and am somewhat bipolar but have managed to stay married for nearly 16 years. I hate excuses but can lie with the best of them (especially my mum). I have no children but didn’t upgrade my mobile phone for 3 years. I’m always worried about weight but I’m only sometimes skinny. I let my dogs sleep on the bed and love to sneeze with my whole body. I recycle for the most part but I’m crap with water saving. I love shoes but don’t wax my eyebrows very often. I hate going to bed but love sleeping and the last thing I do on the weekend is the big-ass crossword in the Sunday Age. I’m afraid this is the best I can be. And I’m ok with it.

I like to shop online

Posted on | May 17, 2010 | No Comments

Hold the presses! I know, right? I’m the only one.

I can’t believe that I’ve become an avid internet shopper. I mean, what about the sensual experience that you can only get from walking into a shop, trying something on, squishing the new wool, smelling the pure leather, sliding your fingers across the surface of a porcelain plate or noticing the resin drips on the surface of a painting.

Well there’s still a place for that but the veritable enormity of products online means that the world is not just your oyster, it’s your clam, your very own pharmacy and art gallery all at your fingertips.

Sometimes both at once. Take this example. I’ve been looking for an interesting spice rack to go in my new kitchen and discovered this:

 

But they don’t ship to Australia! So I decided to get creative. Who knew you can buy real test tubes on the interwebs? WHO KNEW?

I mean, I know you can get anything, but test tubes?

And then I discovered all this other stuff I seriously didn’t know I needed. 
  

A birthday pressie. And it’s not even my birthday!

Posted on | May 16, 2010 | 1 Comment

So for weeks now, JJ has been teasing me about how he’s got me the best birthday present ever and how he’s completely outdone himself. Now, I happen to find that hard to believe because, well, here’s a very short list of the birthday presents I’ve received from him over the years:

• Shopping trip to Penang. I know. It’s pretty freaking extravagant , but seriously, it’s just that we have no kids. And anyway, I saved us SO much money buying fashion in Asia.
• Red and black cord coat from Dizingof
• A necklace from William Griffiths not too dissimilar to this one (except mine has a heart instead of a gun!)

So he’s pretty good, right?

Well, I have to say that all that stuff is pretty ordinary compared to this year’s pressie on a number of fronts. I mean, he ACTUALLY managed to keep it a secret, and even managed to get Momo and Tim to keep it secret.

When Momo was in town recently after her superstar jaunt to the Australian Fashion Festival, I yelled at her thus:

“Tell me what he freaking got me for my birthday.”
To which she replied:
“No”

 I don’t care for surprises, just like I don’t like to know what I’m having for dinner. There have been many disapproving conversations with JJ that have gone something like this:

JJ: What do you want for dinner?
Me: Oh I dunno, can’t you just decide?
JJ: How about macadamia chicken?
Me: Really? Can it get any more caloric?
JJ: Asian noodle soup with silverbeet?
Me: Silverbeet, hey? Hmm, sounds boring.
JJ: [Big annoyed sigh] Steak and salad.
Me: Hmmm…
JJ: Forget it. I’m just going to make something and you’ll love it.

It’s true. I mostly do love it.

I prefer a surprise when I don’t know I’m getting one. By all means, surprise me, just don’t let me know about it because it’ll drive me crazy!

But it was all worth it this year because BEHOLD!

JJ COMISSIONED A PIECE OF ART BY ONE OF MY FAVOURITE ARTISTS, CHRISTINA GORDON. You may have noticed a link to her artwork on this site. She’s glorious and talented and I love her and I love this! Its called “Yoyo and Peaches perform“. How clever of her to know that Peaches would be the one jumping through the hoop while Yoyo cowers… THANK YOU JJ AND THANK YOU CHRISTINA.

Oh yeah, my birthday’s in a few weeks… He couldn’t keep it a secret that long.

I’ve got a new toy

Posted on | May 9, 2010 | No Comments

It’s true, it does take me a while to cotton on to things. So, I only just joined Facebook (and subsequently left it) a few months ago. I may recently have said something like:

Me: Hey, are you on Facebook? It’s really cool, huh?
The rest of the world: Um, yeah, right.

So anyway, here’s my new toy. Isn’t she beautiful! Her name is Helga, the Holga.

I’ve already crossed to the wrong side of the railway tracks and photographed the silos, as well as Momo’s beautiful kidneys – not on the wrong side of the tracks.

Yeeha! I am going to take some spectacular shots of neighbourhood.

I like to follow arrows

Posted on | May 5, 2010 | No Comments

Well I’ve set myself quite a task. Remember how JJ and I tried to crack an egg or two (make le babies) and how it didn’t work, well since then I’ve embarked on a hella adventure to find THE THING that I’m here to do instead. And despite discovering the Meaning of Life, which helped me to see that maybe none of that shislik is important, I get this godawful, uneasy feeling that I’m supposed to be doing something. Last week, JJ and I thought that it was possibly because I’m going through the change – albeit VERY EARLY (and it would explain everything), but aside from this symptom, I haven’t feel the need to buy a sports car or get a divorce. So anyway, I’m NOT going through the change although I did allow myself a few blissful weeks feeling as though I was.

So I’ve been looking, looking, looking. I even studied and became a life coach (as seen on the Gilmore Girls – not me, Paris’s Life Coach after the meltdown). But helping others to find their bliss still left me feeling short changed. What about me? It’s like a Pyramid Scheme – you help others to help other to help others but nobody actually finds their bliss….

Whatever, so I discovered that I’m a writer and that’s the reason I’m here. OH RIGHT, that old chestnut. Because I sorta realised that when I was a young teenaged lass and wrote a novel. Oh, and that other novel I wrote and have been rewriting. Oh and the short stories and such. So there I’ve been, scampering around looking for something OTHER THAN the thing that’s under my nose.

Good, huh.

And then I was reading this book, Living Oprah (which is actually not so great because it really could have been so much more, so I won’t link to it). But it did get me thinking of doing something similar – a la Julie and Julia or Supersize Me. You know, where you take a concept and live by it for a period of time.

But what?

Because I like to follow arrows as I have mentioned before, it had to be something that has a step by step plan, something that I can follow absolutely. So JJ and I brainstormed (may have been altered for dramatic emphasis):

Me: JJ, I still haven’t worked out my Life Purpose. Do you have any suggestions?
JJ: How about following Anthony Robbins? He has a purpose.
Me: Well sure, but I don’t want a jet plane.
JJ: How about a million bucks then?
Me: I’d go for that. But I can’t be bothered following Robbins. He kinda freaks me out. I don’t think he sleeps.
JJ: Martha Stewart?
Me: Well you know how I love Martha, and she’s the source of much revelry. But she doesn’t sleep either.
JJ: That’s how she comes up with all that creativity.
Me: Hm. Yes. That and prison.
JJ: Well how about writing a novel?
Me: Oh, that old chestnut.

Pause for 2 days.

Me [today via Skype]: JJ I’ve got it. I’m going to kill two birds with one stone – I’m going to do The Artist’s Way and blog it. How do you like them apples?
JJ: Delicious! I’ll do it with you!

So that’s it. New project to come. Now if only I could find my freaking copy of the book.

Remember the time you fell ass-first into the toilet?

Posted on | April 28, 2010 | No Comments

JJ and I are renovating the pad. Renovating. Now that’s quite a loose term. Is it “renovating” when you don’t have a:

• kitchen;
• toilet;
• bathroom;
• running water that doesn’t contain loose lead bits?

It’s like a freaking dump site with missing plaster, doors, concrete floors (tiles now), staples in the kitchen floor that are wrecking my socks – my good socks from LA.

Luckily the neighbours, J’Red and T’Red, have graciously allowed us to use their bungalow dunny at all hours of the day. But really, I simply can’t bring myself to traipse all the way over to their backyard at two in the morning. Seriously, why is it that I get excruciatingly thirsty just before bed, anyway?

So I’ve found the perfect nighttime loo: the backyard drain/ground sink that all Aussie backyards had in the 50s and 60s. Much like a squat loo in the Middle East. I’m a pro with those. I became more than proficient after 3 months in Turkey and Egypt. Problem is that the opening to our “toilet” is rather large and my balance is not so great in the middle of the night. So there I was.

And so to the title of this blog post… Say no more. Please.

keep looking »

Mental status update

July 29: 3 weeks into lithium. Feel good. Eyesight blurrier than usual. Blood test to check vitals tomorrow.

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