Pick Me Up

I was enjoying being in a stinker of a mood yesterday so when I stopped at the shops for yoghurt and rice crackers, I decided to go mental and get a packet of Mint Slices as well. Then, as luck would have it, Quirkie asked if I was receiving visitors and I said, "Yes! Come over! I've got Mint Slices!" She was round in a flash and we spent a very pleasant couple of hours screeching and gossiping. Her four older children were all out living their lives, leaving her with just a baby and an empty house and an encroaching sense of loneliness, and I was cranky so we were the perfect antidote for each other.

But the best part of her whole visit was when she walked in the front door and I said, "Sorry the house is such a pigsty," (as I idly kicked a little pile of dirty - but not soiled - undies out of view), and she looked around and said, "That's cute."

"What's cute?"

"That you think this is a pigsty."

Well, we may only be one human and two cats but we have let our standards slip shockingly. Shockingly.

Til Death Do Us, Mercifully, Part

New Girl and Man Hands are still on hols, post-wedding. They have, from all accounts, been enjoying much quality time together. A hell of a lot of time.

I went out to dinner with Heidi and some of her mates last night to celebrate Heidi's birthday and then popped in briefly at a part-ay that LadyBoy were at. New Girl saw me arrive from the upstairs balcony and shrieked a boisterous greeting. It was fairly apparent that she'd spent the earlier part of the evening doing some intensive wine appreciation. If the screaming hadn't made it obvious, the little dance she did to Aga-Doo later on would have cleared things up pretty quickly.

I didn't hang around for long and when I went to leave New Girl and one of her friends walked me to my car. We were talking about having lunch during the week. We asked New Girl when she'd be free and she was able to tell us any day would be fine as Man Hands would be off at uni full-time for the next two weeks. She grabbed us both by the arms, as much to help with her balance as for emphasis. "At last," she nearly sobbed, "at last. I'm going to be rid of him!"

And to think she was ungrateful enough to accept a ride home from the poor boy.

Don't Believe He Checked His Head

RobertPlant ran the Perth marathon today. I don't know whether he done good or not. I stopped at a couple of places along the route to cheer him on but I didn't see him, so I just cheered on random people who looked like they could use it.

"You go, you...person...there!"

Anyway, I'm totally taking RobertPlant to the movies to celebrate him running his first marathon. Even though I am, in principle, against running in all its forms - short, middle or long distance. Vile 'pastime'. Not being tres sportif like him, the only advice I could offer was:

"You're wild, man, wild...You should sleep late, man, it's just much easier on your constitution."

Not for Delicate Ears

Just had a pancake lunch with RobertPlant, who is 'carbo loading' before the Perth marathon on Sunday. We were talking about Roald Dahl. RobertPlant is a bit of a fan.

"But have you noticed about his stories?" he asked. We were stuffing our faces in Pancakes at Carillion. "All they seem to be about is either sex or" - leans over, drops voice to a whisper - "art."

High Five

I'm bemused by the number of references I've read lately to Farrah Fawcett "kicking arse". Is this deliberate - in which case, well done! - or simply an example of that strange social faux pas to which we all fall prey from time to time, best expressed by me often saying to a housemate of many years ago who had mild cerebral palsy, "Don't spazz out!"?

Just Overheard at Work

"A picture speaks a thousand words. A picture with dimensions on it....[long pause as speaker struggles with enormity of concept]....says everything."

A Man After Midnight

Even though I've long known that RobertPlant has an aversion to celebrating any kind of milestones or socially-sanctioned events, like Christmas, I was foolish enough to ask him the other day if he planned to do anything to mark his rapidly-approaching 40th birthday.

"I don't have to conform to society's expectations of me!" he ranted down the phone.

Well, he's right. But a simple 'no' would have sufficed.

"I've got a great idea for something to get you! Is it okay if I get you something?"

"Oh, yeah. Presents are good."

His heart's in the right place, then.

I am not a nice person.

I came into work on Friday morning to see one of my staff members standing at her desk, face red and puffy with tears. She's had a pretty rough trot work-wise and in her personal life, and she's a lovely woman, so I felt rather worried about what new hiccup had emerged to throw her life off-kilter again. A couple of people were standing with her as I walked over.

"What's happened? Is everything alright?" I asked.

And then, as she turned to me, even before she spoke, I knew exactly what she was going to say.

"I'm really upset! I've only just heard about Michael Jackson!"

If anyone was looking to me for leadership I'm afraid I sorely disappointed them because I barely contained the involuntary snort of laughter that exploded from within. But I then did the sensible thing and avoided making eye contact with anyone else so that I could offer a few non-committal hmmms and ohs without breaking into insensitive giggles.

Will I ever banish from my mind the image of her clutching a tissue and sobbing, "He was a genius and it was so unfair what they did to him!" Yeah, if it hadn't been for those meddling kids...

Financial Miss Management

I was having lunch with Boxer Girl last weekend. I was bemoaning the fact that I'd done a budget and was facing up to the fact that I really, really need to start living within my means (at some point) and that living-within-means would mean curtailing a few of my activities - severely, in some instances.

"Well," she said, lifting her champagne glass to her lips, "you've done a budget. Well done. That's a great start. Now I think you need to celebrate by going out and buying yourself something nice."

Kicking Up

So I was off to a supposed dinner-dance on Saturday night. It wasn't much of an event. After a respectable interval we made our escape and headed off to Little Creatures. On the way, one of my companions said, "I'd rather eat my own poo than go back to that party." Possibly a slightly extreme way to express one's distaste, but also she was quite drunk so we probably couldn't have expected to hold her to that.

The dress code was "casual cocktail", which I found a little difficult to figure out. Did it mean I should don a nice dress with ugg boots, or maybe pyjamas with high heels? I decided to wear a black dress with silver shoes, though I was a little worried about being warm enough. New Girl was at my place on Friday night and we were mulling over the problem. The next day she emailed me with a solution: leg warmers - brilliant! Not only would they keep me snug, I wouldn't have to bother with shaving my legs!

Of course, she was only joking. But if either of us had known what the evening was going to be like we would have given it much more serious consideration.