Month: January 2006

this time thanks to Dooce (I’ve been addicted for some time) referring to Kottke :

Four jobs I’ve had:
1. Checkout Chick at Kmart
2. Dish Pig at Pizza Hut
3. PR consultant
4. Freelance writer

Four movies I can watch over and over (and then some):
1. Napoleon Dynamite
2. Footloose
3. Mallrats
4. Barefoot in the park
(Funny Girl; Breakfast at Tiffanys; The Ghost and Mrs Muir; A Room with a View; Love Actually; Sleepless in Seattle, You’ve Got Mail, Four Weddings and a Funeral. . .)

Four places I’ve lived:
1. Albury, NSW
2. Waco, Texas
3. Bathurst, New South Wales
4. Lindfield, Sydney

Four TV shows I love (and then some…):
1. Arrested Development
2. The Good Life
3. Who’s line is it anyway
4. Grand Designs
(The Family Guy, This Old House; Seinfeld; Sex and the City; To the Manor Born; The Two Ronnies; Rebus; Nanny and the Professor. . .)

Ten highly regarded and recommended TV shows that I’ve never watched a single minute of:
1. 24
2. Lost
3. The Sopranos
4. Deadwood
5. Desperate Housewives
6. Carnivale
7.
8.
9.
10.

Four places I’ve vacationed:
1. Florence
2. Paris
3. South West Rocks, NSW
4. Strahan, Tasmania

Four of my favorite dishes (savoury):
1. Peking Duck
2. Vietnamese Spring Rolls
3. Singapore noodles
4. Thai chicken salad

Four of my favorite dishes (sweet):
1. Lemon delicious
2. Pavlova
3. Apple pie (or crumble)
4. Trifle

Four sites I visit daily:
1. SMH Online
2. Dooce
3. Amalah
4. Go Fug Yourself
(Pea Soup; Say La Vee; Badger; Blurbomat; Susie Sunshine; Fluid Pudding; Behind the Stove)

Four places I would rather be right now:
1. In Italy
2. In New York
3. At a resort
4. In bed

Four people who make my neck itch (I’ve added this one myself. Renegade, I know.):
1. Michael Cain
2. Leonardo di Caprio
3. Michael Cain
4. Michael Cain

Four sex gods (I added this one too. I’m on a roll):
1. Robbie Williams
2. Bono
3. Johnny Knoxville
4. Vince Vaughn

With thanks to Badger and Blackbird:

A – Accent: Sydney/Australian although I often get asked if I’m from New Zealand.
B – Breakfast: poached egg on Turkish bread toast
C – Chore you hate: getting everyone out of the house without tears/yelling/trauma
D – Dad’s name: Roger.
E – Essential everyday item: dental floss, deodorant, email
F – Flavor ice cream: Rum and Raisin
G – Gold or silver: rose gold
H – Hometown: Sydney, New South Wales, Australia
I – Insomnia: occasionally, when I’m stressed about money or how my ability to procrastinate has really put me up the shit. Since the arrival of #3, never.
J – Job title: Manic
K – Kids: three – Oscar, almost 8; Felix, 5 1/2; Jasper 3 1/2 months
L – Living arrangements: frustrating
M – Mum’s birthplace: Burrunjuck
N – Number of significant others: one
O – Overnight hospital stays: I don’t know, 20-30?
P – Phobia: the phone
Q – Queer?: more like quirky
R – Religious affiliation: Anglican with issues
S – Siblings: one brother (adopted), one half brother (birth mother), one half brother (birth father), one half sister (birth father).
T – Time you wake up: around 5.15am every.single.day
U – unnatural haircolors you’ve worn: everything from aubergine to chocolat (and said with a French accent)
V – vegetable you refuse to eat: I refuse nothing.
W – worst habit: interrupting; stressing out; obsessing.
X – x-rays you’ve had: who knows!
Y – yummy: A crisp white wine, spaghetti al aglio, a Margaret River red, a piece of eye fillet with mash, lamb, citron tart, trifle, pavlova, antipasto platters, Persian feta, a proper sourdough with butter and/or an artisan olive oils with sea salt and freshly ground pepper, Peking Duck, lemon delicous, apple crumble, and on and on and on…
Z – zodiac sign: Sagittarius. Of course.

Scenes from a Sunday in Narrabeen:

Australia Day is my favourite holiday/celebration by far. Sure, it marks the arrival of Europeans and the subsequent decimation of our indigenous people, but as far as having an excuse for a celebration, it rocks. It’s far enough away from Christmas and New Year to stand on its own. In a country where its currently in the stinking hot range, it is a great marker that the year is getting underway, school is about to go back and come on peoples, off the beach and back to work. We normally have a gathering of some degree.

I forget what we did last year and whatever it was, I didn’t take any photos so who knows.

This year we were expecting up to twenty adults and seeing as we move in a vortex of breeders, about a bazillion children aged from around 8 to Jasper at 3 months.
I was excited, I was prepared. Everyone came, even some friends we haven’t seen for months and who I miss so much it almost makes me ache.

Then I got cranky, really wanted to vacuum, was amazed at the rudeness (its mischievous at 3, precocious at 5 and rude at 8 OK?) of some friends’ children and really wanted to vacuum some more. Then there were snags and rissoles on the barbie, potato salad, a Greek come paesanella salad (I always mix cultures), bread and a chilli onion jam I had made.

And a whole lot of sand in my house. This is a) not surprising, we live about 200m from the beach and have a sandpit in the backyard and b) completely unavoidable when children come over to play.

I really wanted to vacuum. There was pavlova for dessert topped with cream, strawberries soaked in a little cointreau, mango and passionfruit. DIVINE. But after about an hour of everyone being there and having a great time, I really wanted nearly all of them to go home.

I was consumed with a desperate urge to vacuum. Did I mention this? Some children belonging to others really started to irritate me. Some parents inability or unwillingness to keep their kids in check really annoyed me. I really wanted to vacuum. I basically became – internally mind you – cranky as all hell.

That is it, I thought, I have become a crone.

I have no idea where this came from or why. Maybe because I was tired from too many late nights? Maybe too many half-started conversations? I am the entertainer. Large parties, lots of people, great food, flowing booze, good time had by all. That is me.

So this ill wind caught me by surprise.

Mind you, it was not helped by Chef jumping in the car with some of our friends at the end of the day to go off on a night golf venture with some of the guys. Yeah, after a full day of a full house he left me with a trashed house, two exhausted children needing dinner, bathing and bedding and a baby. To play golf. You should have heard the screaming the next day. No more miserable days of silence for me, if I’m pissed you are going to hear it loud and clear. And probably from as far away as Manly.

Anyway, am I getting old? Is this what it’s like, general disgruntlement and short tempered irritation at your friends’ kids and even your friends? Regardless of why, my days of large scale entertaining like that are done. No more. At least, not until all our kids are old enough they don’t come over and do things like play in my bedroom with an icepack they took from my freezer without asking and left under my pillow so my bed and pillow were soggy when I finally crawled into it. When they’re old enough to steal alcohol and spew outside in the gutter, sure! But sand through the house and icepacks under the pillow? Get out, GET OUT all of you, I say.

Cranky schmanky old woman sitting here typing r.i.g.h.t. now.

Anyway, from now on, its just one or two families over to visit at one time. So I can sit and enjoy it too and not care about the house like I normally don’t when friends come over to play.

The End.

Postscript: to those friends reading this who were here, it wasn’t any of you.

Post Postscript: I realise the opening pick could be viewed as a lovely satirical comment at how Australia Day must look to those refugees in detention but it wasn’t actually intended as such, just a photo Felix took of the flags he erected to celebrate the day.

that on leaving a relatively clean house to be cleaned, after a massive whinge to your friend/cleaning company owner about the crappy standard of cleaning that has been tolerated for the last six months because for three of those I couldn’t see my feet, let alone pick anything up off the floor and as if Chef would do it as he is a boy and would simply turn his undies inside out to get another days wear if it meant doing less washing and the boys would be so thrilled to recreate Lord of the Flies right here in the living room as if they’d even notice all.the.crap. while the other three months involved delivering and marvelling at a new family member, the best one so far, how much better they clean but also FINALLY being able to isolate a smell that has been lurking in our back open-plan-living-really-sucks area.
We came in to a really.clean.house. tonight and it almost made me gag. My suspicions were correct. Not only do ridiculous shiny surfaces and “where is all our crap?” panic make me nauseous, it was The Sink. My recent foray into drain cleaning gels (I dropped the last bottle of standard Drano granules on the floor in Woollies so had to take the gel instead) obviously weren’t enough because OHMYGOD the smell.
I poured more fish-killing, environment-destroying pollutants down there to try.and.make.it.go.away. but to no avail.

Then I realised, for yes, the first time, that there is a screw in the middle of the drain grate.
I took it off.
I almost spewed.
Down that very gag-inducing pit of funk smell.
Thick gungy gunk was all wedged under the flat part (before the holes in the grate section. Go on. Look at your drain. I know you know what I mean).

I mean. Are we that filthy? Has anyone else ever EVER had the need to actually take their sink apart to get rid of the “I think maybe a rat died under the house” smell?

I’m actually embarrassed. Which naturally explains why at 1, yes ONE am, that’s right the one o’clock in.the.morning. I’m sitting here telling you all about it.

Stupid.