I've obviously had a grueling day. You know, in between playing hide and seek with my macbook, laughing at (and/or living vicariously) through some electronic smut, as well as sampling how I might taste with no marinade or necessary exfoliation, rest has been an elusive little mothertrucker. Haw haw.
Okay, in my defense, I didn't just have an unjustifiably lazy day. I spent the morning sweeping and mopping the tiled floors of the hallways, kitchen and dining area, sorting out everyone's laundry, and generally being a domestic machine of large proportions. Before you allow me to tick the 'fantastic housewife' box on your potential mate checklist, I should probably clarify that this is only a conditional perk. When assignment deadlines are pervading the air like the foulest of farts, procrastination in any form is looked upon. Favourably.
I also made myself some fruit salad involving orange, apple, lime, salt and chili (yes, chili!) a la Min and her people for dinner, partly because it's delicious and partly because I think that eating fruits will validate my subsequent consumption of the entire bag of red rock deli chips, currently sitting unopened in the pantry.
You know, I miss blogging. I miss typing up incoherent posts for my audience of three (me, Dad and occasionally Isabelle when Dad coerces her to read me for some writing style - though looking at my love of trackies and oversized shirts, I don't know exactly how helpful I am with style. Last time I checked, hobo-un-chic was so 1994... or whenever the hell Mary-Kate Olsen still did not yet reach 'has-been' status...)
Of not great interest or relevance to many of you is the fact that I am not the only one menstruating in this house. How's that for honesty, eh eh eh? (I know I will be paying for this with a hyperbolic drop in readership, I know, I'm sorry). The reason I bring this up is because the other perpetrator is an unexpected participant of the crimson wave surfing championships! IT WAS A CUCUMBER. I found an old, withering cucumber in the fridge, secreting the remnants of its fertility in a red fury onto the other unsuspecting vegetables in that drawer. Riveting, no?!
Ah, a poor segue! Aforesaid menstruation was heralded in by some pretty intense PMS on Wednesday. So much so that my crankiness made for some pretty potent adrenalin. I managed to jog my arse for 5kms, followed by 30kms worth of cycling. Upon reaching home, I followed the natural course of progression and asked my father the only appropriate request for when at the disposal of PMS - "Dad, I want some portraiture please. With this knife." And comply, he did:
Thursday, I spent the afternoon at a pub with Hannah and Bondi Ink Tattoo Artist, Kim. I mentioned in the previous entry that we did a news piece on home-tattooing for tv journalism. Kim graciously lent himself as talent, although on the day of the interview he walked in, an intimidating man in a leather jacket and earrings, slightly despondent and more-than-slightly hungover. (But it turned out well in the end!) Anyway, it was supposed to be a brief meeting for the show and tell of our finished project and to thank him again, but it turned into a fantastic afternoon of loitering, drinks (beer for him and non-alcoholic for Hannah and I who had to drive back) and d&m.
Friday, spent some much needed time with Min. We may or may not have trawled through thisiswhyyourefat.com and found a collective desire to consume some bacon. Our concoction involving roti bread smeared with cream cheese, honey-glazed bacon and onions, cheddar cheese and liberal amounts of bbq sauce was nothing short of culinary salvation and an express ticket to clogged artery town. Got up to some unnamed mischief with Hilary later in the evening.
Got in a rehearsal with the talented Nikk on Saturday. He makes my tunes sound somewhat decent! Oh oh oh oh, I don't recall shamelessly plugging yet on this blog, so here:
Oct 9, 8pm onwards, Nikk & I will be performing at Rubby Rabbit in Darlinghurst, thanks to Neel from Blind Hot Gems who got us the gig. It'll be sweet. If you're a Sydney-sider, swing by for the de-flowering of my gigging career! And then we can totally get smashed because I am the pinnacle of professional! Joking, but really, do swing by. I'd appreciate it (:
Oh shit. Dad just opened the Red Rock Deli Chips. I am out of here like a creten too uninspired to come up with an analogy!
Posted in: babyporridge nikki malvar domesticity gig music ruby rabbit on Sunday, September 27, 2009 at at 6:56 PM 6 comments Links to this post