You have a very good chance of winning a prize if you vote in the Wellingtonista Awards for Really Fabulousness in the face of fabulosity (or something).
And you only have 1 hour in which to vote.
You don't have to come to the prize giving to win a prize, but we'd sure love to see you.
I went into the big smoke on Sunday for a bit of shopping action. Town doesn't open til 11am on a Sunday, what is with that? There were a whole lot of people wandering around aimlessly waiting to spend their moolah.
First stop was the MAC counter at Kirks. They piled the makeup on me, and I spent the rest of the day looking remarkably tanned.
Then I tried to find some clothes. Man. Eventually I ended up spending our entire household income for the year at Starfish on a pretty t shirt. Today I realised I couldn't really justify a t shirt that cost more than our fortnights groceries, and took the pretty t shirt back and got a store credit. When did $200-300 suddenly become the default price for clothing?
It has come to my attention that some of my loyal readers haven't yet voted in the Wellingtonista Awards.
I know you're all goodlooking and wealthy, but surely you want prizes as much as the next person?
And if you feel so inclined you could join us for a beverage at the prize giving.
Britney Spears, I'm looking at YOU.
It is the 28th. That means after today's scintillating blog post, there are only 2 more compulsory posts and my month of compulsory posting is finito.
You may have noticed that I post quite frequently anyway. I do this because my brain ticks constantly, like tinnitus of the brain. This is probably the reason why I'm not going to discover the next theory of relativity (Relativity 2.0), even if I did manage to come up with it, before I knew it I'd be onto whether silver would work on orange Man Pants or not.
My email isn't working again today. This time it isn't my fault, as I've been reliably informed by someone far more capable on the computer than me. It has lead to me to re-examine using Google Mail as my server, but it is all so frickin time consuming and complex. Code where? The mx with the smtp of the dns wha? When I'm very wealthy I'll have a secretary, and they'll sort all this bizzo out, between ironing the newspaper and making me cups of tea. Actually, I think I need a valet to do that stuff. And my secretary will be my assistant, and they will really do all the work while I reap the rewards.
And now back to the important matter of the orange Man Pants.
We're all guilty of it. Sometimes what you're saying just seems worthy of an exclamation mark. I try to always remove them, usually things read just as well without. Same goes for 'just', 'but' and 'though'. Not that I stick to my own rules eva, cos rules are made to be broken, yeah?
I am, however, somewhat alarmed by some new magazines I received in the post this morning. Her Business is full of exclamation marks. I was compelled to count them in one story, because they were taking over. 15 on one page, not counting multiple instances (ie. !!).
It goes to show that anyone can be in business. Even the multiple exclaimer, or maybe especially the multiple exclaimer, squeaky wheel and all that.
My favourite search ever has landed at Wanda Harland. For those who can't be bothered clicking the link:
How do you know when your long hair has turned into a mullet.Simple, do you feel like it is business at the front and party at the back? Because unless you feel like that, it probably ain't.
Now that we have Sky, it has opened up a world of possibility. For one, Glen is out of bed at 6am to watch sport, meaning I've had 2 mornings of not getting up early. Of course now I have to get up early the next 2 mornings.
Miami Ink has me hooked. All these hugely tattooed people getting meaningful tats to represent important times in their lives.
I've spent about the last 15 years trying to think of a single tattoo that wouldn't totally do my head in in a few years. Miami Ink provides little inspiration. I don't want a motorcycle tattoo, or my own eyes represented in a rear view mirror to show how significant my children are, or a 50s pin up girl, or a geisha...
I'm loving the show though, and I'm spending an unhealthy amount of time mulling over tattoo designs. How about nice piccie of Helen Clark on my back? Now that would be hot.
Today I'm tired. Coffee hasn't helped, and I can't find my Women's Multi.
So tell me this interworld. What happens if I take a Men's Multi? Prostate problems?
You'd better get your arses over to the Wellingtonista and vote for the First Annual Wellingtonista Awards for Outstanding Achievement in the Field of Excellence.
There are prizes! And kudos, and that is not to be sneezed at.
Don't be deterred if you've never been to Wellington, think of it as a creative writing assignment.
1. I'm a bit bored of myself blogging.
2. I'm getting the mullet trimmed tomorrow.
3. My birthday is in 22 days.
4. For 22 days Glen and I are a decade apart in age (yep, he is 23).
5. I'm right handed.
6. I hate goat cheese.
7. Tonight I'll eat steak.
There was a HUGE fire on Jackson st this morning. Fortunately it was a building that had been emptied for demolition, unfortunately the frontage had been earmarked ON FRIDAY to be preserved (at some expense). Inneresting huh?
Draw your own conclusions.
Fetch the engines
Fetch the engines
Fire fire!
Pour on water (or that foam stuff they use on the telly)
Time for French beat poetry
Le mullette, c'est fini
Le gin et tonique, c'est froid (ou chaud, whichever est cold en francais)
Le orders c'est deliveree
Le vacation, c'est booked
Auckland, la bas!
Le apartmente (si in doubt, add un 'e') booked.
Le Craftwerk, au demains,
Le preparation-not-even-close-mate.
Mais, oh la la.
Regarde how well those trois annee de Francais tuition did moi.
Aussi, c'est ironique how much I don't read poetry, yet je suis clearly so gifted.
A picture of the mullet, complete with wispy bits at the back.
Please note the classic myspace stylings of the picture, not to mention the slight look of terror in my eyes -
-my rugby ball shaped eyes with the abnormally large pupils.
What is that saying? Business up front, party at the back....
I tend not to look in the mirror much. This is probably how it came to be 1pm before I noticed my hair has turned into a distinct mullet.
It is days like this that you change hairdressers in a fit of "I need it fixed now", and they give you a worse mullet, because they think that is what you like, and you curse yourself for not waiting 2 weeks until your fabulous hairdresser is available.
I have learned that lesson. I'm waiting 2 weeks.
After all, I do live in the Hutt.
Why does Telecom think that if they send a couple of spotty youth to my door, who call me "madam", in the middle of the day, that I would change to their product?
What is their marketing team thinking?
We've done a bit of a tweak on the Babylicious website. It has taken a lot of evenings! Check it out.
There is still a bit of work to be done on the content, and I have a few products to add, and there is a small hiccup with width in IE, but apart from that we're pretty pleased.
The menus are so snazzy.
A world of possibility has opened for me. I'm going to try contact lenses. That means I could get 50 pairs of sunglasses.
Tomorrow I'm going to get some prescription sunglasses. I can't wait, imagine being able to drive without sore eyes, sit in the sun and see people. Cor. Apparently my eyes are shaped like rugby balls (my rugby obsession stops there), so I can't get contacts or laser surgery. These sunglasses are my one small joy as my stupid eyes get worse.
It all seems vaguely ridiculous at the moment though, another pissy rainy day here in Petoneville.
Hell yeah!
Why don't you head over to the Wellingtonista and vote for the First Annual Wellingtonista Awards for Outstanding Achievement in the Field of Excellence.
You can win prizes, and attend a fancy schmancy awards ceremony (at a bar to be specified), and surrounded by bloggers. Whoarrr, that sounds pretty appealing dinnit?
After a devastating lack of rugby last weekend, I decided to treat the old fella to Sky tv. It is being installed today. I anticipate the blogging will become even more monosyballic (I may have invented that word - spell check has no idea what I'm on about) with this new addition to the household.
is not to talk about book club.
I'm assuming that only applies to actual members of book club.
I've just finished this month's read. A Million Little Pieces by James Frey. He is the dude that Oprah loved, and then questions arose about the truthfulness of his book, and he admitted some lies.
I thought it was a good read. I wouldn't have believed it anyway (like Go Ask Alice and Anne Frank - good reads, but obviously heavily edited). Not to mention Adrian Mole. Anyone knows if you use 5 coats of black paint, you're going to cover the sodding bells without having to use a vivid.
I'm not sure which way my brain will go, implode or explode.
The problem?
Email.
The solution?
Well, bashing my forehead with my fist didn't help, trying to navigate Mozilla Thnderbird help didn't work, osmosis isn't working.
My email is popping up security alerts and too many concurrent smtp alerts and it is all a large pain. And apparently my account is spitting emails back at people. Just imagine all the lost orders.
Somewhere in cyberspace are all my emails, just floating like little text filled butterflies.
Weather is shit. Finn has some red itchy thing all over him.
I'm grumpy.
The good news is that the $48000 worth of ingredients have been turned into a christmas cake, and are cooking at the minute. The bad news is at the end of it, despite all the love I've lavished on it, it will still be a christmas cake. They kind of have a somewhat generic character.
Now, what to do with the rest of a bottle of brandy...
Posting things (as in going to the post office - not posting blog posts, that is kind of less of a thrill) always fills me with a big sense of relief.
These boxes represent a lot of work. They're packed to the gunnells (assuming boxes have gunnells, and whatever the hell gunnells are) with shirts.
Oh strange phallic green vege
You are long
And edgy
You wouldn't make it on a catwalk
With your bendy ways
You're just all stalk
But I love you raw
You taste like peas
And ironically
You make pee
Smell
Disgusting
4.32am the dark sleepy hollow of Petoneville...
BIG LOUD NOISE
Our heroes, Martha and Glen , wake from their slumber.
Martha: (shrill voice) what was that?
Glen: (manly booming voice) I'll go see
trot trot door eeeearghhh click door eeeearghh click. Rustle of the venetians (TASTEFUL I tell you).
G: nothing
M: boys okay?
G: yep
M: is the back door locked?
G: (sigh) I'll go look
G: All the doors are locked, perhaps something fell into the bath from the windowsill
M: things don't just fall (imagines humungous rats scampering over heads of babies and moving shampoo bottles)
Glen tries to sleep. Martha comes up with 50 ways we'll be killed in our beds based on random noise.
4.42am
M: wasn't there a kind of hisssssssssssssssssssss at the end of the noise?
G: mmmm
M: Like a bottle of ginger beer exploding in the hot water cupboard?
G: you should go and check
Martha imagines the big rats licking the edge of the ginger beer puddle.
4.45am
G: (exasperated voice) aren't you going to check?
So I did, and it was, and there were no rats. There is however some soggy linen, which I'm avoiding by writing up this scintillating horror novella.
The ginger beer is very yummy. We only lost a litre.
David Slack has mentioned Faith Hill's apparent disgust at someone else winning a music award she surely deserved.
The winner was Carrie Underwood, a former American Idol winner. I saw her on Ellen last night. She was incredibly stiff, and I could only conclude that she was frightened that Ellen would fall in love with her, and try and have her evil way.
Faith Hill was right to be appalled. I've seen her on Ellen too, and she was ace. She said her marriage had survived for so long because they have a fabulous sex life.
That is why you watch talk shows.
Yesterday I bottled some ginger beer. I'm very keen for it to be ready, I am not the kind of person who likes to wait.
The recipe was from Meals Without Meat, by Alison and Simon Holst. I have a lot of cookbooks, I love them. Meals Without Meat is by far the best used one. I'm not even a vegetarian, but by oath, a book that has a recipe for fabulous easy ginger beer, and tempura, and African bean casserole and pesto and no knead bread. It rocks.
If you don't own it already, I suggest you buy it for yourself for christmas.
I also rate highly Jamie Oliver's books. Not only is he hot (he bloody is, no dissent please - I've met him and he is even hotter in real life), but his recipes are fab. I've never tried one that hasn't been delicious.
Mmmm, must be time for a trip to the Moore Wilson's Farmers Market in Porirua. It is terrific, and definitely worth a trip.
I'll let you know how the ginger beer goes...
I'm managing okay with this posting everyday thing. My inner voice is constantly haranguing me with mindless drivel, so it is nice to have an outlet to share the inanities of myself.
I think I'll up the challenge by actually looking at real blog pages, rather than reading everything through Bloglines. Once upon a time I was a somewhat frequent commenter. Now I read every post in a hurry, never comment, and half the time probably miss photos and banners and all that jazz. So I'm going to bookmark all the sites, and open them in tabs like I used to do in the old days.
All I ask is that you write something interesting for me to read and comment on...
My parents have a new car. It is lovely. It is big and grunty and has turbo, and is freakishly fuel efficient.
Our car is pretty and whizzy and has a nice small engine and is freakishly fuel inefficient.
Why? Why? Why?
So now we want a new one, nice and fuel efficient, but pretty and whizzy at the same time. Probably about 6 years old would fit the profile. Any recommendations?
Those fuggers have shown a picture of Kelly wearing the very same dress I wore to my school reunion.
She and I are like psychic lifelong pals.
Of course, my dress was green. Sometimes you have to expect psychic messages to get a little scrambled as they travel around the world.
And mine was slightly less floral, and my boobs slightly less prominent, and my sleeves slightly shorter.
But apart from that - uncanny.
I'm just back from the Eastbourne Carnival. I had a stall with the lovely Rachelle, and by gum, what a raging success.
It was a completely foul day. The wind didn't let up, and we had stones sitting on top of everything to keep it down. We had a few anxious moments of blown away stock. Still, the public came, and they bought loads.
And now I'm exhausted and ready for a wee kip.
Hoorah.
We're baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaccccckkkkkk.
Looks like removing all those hidden key words (ahem) has done the trick, and Google has welcomed us back into their bosom (heh bosom).
I'd hate to get on the wrong side of Google, they hold a helluva lot of power over the small (or big) internet store.
As an aside. It is very early, but a beautiful, glorious day. My parents are heading overseas for a week, so I'll be able to see how fast their ritzy new car goes. Boy racers better watch out.
I'm just back from Petone Rec, where lots of old fellas were running around after an oval ball. Oval? I don't think the ball was oval. Elongated perhaps.
It is some rugby thing. Hadyn wrote about it on the Wellingtonista.
There were blokes from all nations. While I haven't watched much rugby since pretending for a year solid I was really into it - to make Glen fall in love with me (which was 11 years ago now) - I do like the smell of liniment and lots character. Those teams had both by the bucket load.
Public Address has announced their new Public Address System site. I imagine it will get all fiery when the DPF commenters find it...
It has more on it than I could begin to explain, so y'all just wander over and have a gander.
I like how on this blog I can write "y'all", and feel not too twitty about it. My site yeah?
I'm going to make a christmas cake this year. I've just gone and spent about forty thousand dollars on ingrediants for the thing. Not to mention on a nice cake mixer to make my elbow grease last a little longer.
I admit I was mildly surprised to see decorations in the shops, but then suddenly you get to this time of year and have something on every weekend up til christmas, and it doesn't seem so far away after all.
Of course, a week before christmas there is a far more important date, we celebrate the birth of ME. Awesome. 34.
I might have a lie down now.
Well, the Google mystery thickens.
Apparently we've violated their terms. I don't really know how, we haven't changed the site for ages, and it seemed to be acceptable then. Possibly someone else has claimed we've breached trademark? We haven't. We've been trading as Babylicious for 4 years (albeit sporadically), registered our company, and nobody else has patent or copyright in this country.
I've submitted a form to Google to try and get us re-included, but the whole thing is a bit of a pain.
Glen has been busily re-designing the site, and that should go live sometime in the next couple of weeks, so if there is some inherent fault in our design, that may remedy it.
You may have noticed a gun in your face when you check Wanda Harland recently. There, on the right, see it?
For some reason I've signed up to write a blog post everyday. I think mainly because I wanted to see if I could load the button. I did, and could.
Actually I think it is more a test of the reader than the writer. I can write shit everyday easily, the only restriction is sometimes my conscience reminds me that people have better things to do than read posts about nothing.
So prepare yourself for lots of really exciting posts about, you know, how I hung out the washing and how we had asparagus for dinner and how great our skylight is.
Our skylight is great, by the way. Just fantastic.
