The camera has gone on holiday with all the blokes from this house, and I can't do an update photo of my fascinating shelves until they return.
Soz.
Florence and I are having a house party, just us girls. We talk about haircuts and stuff like that, since she is a dog, and really only interested in her coat, and not so interested in Brangelina.
Back from a lovely birthday party, where there was a real live PONY and a GOAT and GUINEA PIGS and a BUNNY, and far more importantly chippies and cake. Mmmmm.
We found out that our telly doesn't have to be a little picture in the middle of the screen, and now I'm tucked up on the couch with Fargo. Bloody brill, all big and everything.
Just need my psychic tea maker to bring me a cuppa. I'm sending lots of psychic vibes, and possibly an email, since we're in different rooms and 2 computers is so much easier than talking.
Mon cheres! Je suis going to parlez le franglais until je get fatigueed de est (ie now). Each year my school cert french deserts me un petit more.
Things have been kind of crazy around here. 20th of the month stuff (ie my numerous crazy businesses invoicing and paying invoices), looking at a house stuff (well, Glen went and looked at one yesterday, and thought it was ace, and I went today, and thought it was ace, but lacking in location), and the looking at the house stuff made me fret about the money stuff, and so 20th stuff coincided with fretting about money stuff, and I got a bit stressed. Another ambitious business plan has been happily ditched. The relief! It occurs to me that possibly one website, one shop and two wholesale businesses might be enough for the time-being.
All good now though. School holidays have started, and we had a grand day with friends.
We spent a lovely evening with Monsieur Mike et famille on Saturday scoffing food and alcohol.
And now I have a lovely episode of Top Chef to watch.
Adieu to you.
Yup, Wanda Harland was on page D2 of the Dom today. Not the blog though, the shop. Quite chuffed really.
Being quite ancient and all, I was quite tired last night after my adventures from the previous night. Yikes. However, this didn't stop me from staying up well past my bedtime to watch Celebrity Rehab on Vibe. Kenickie was on it! And not hot! Very decrepit in fact! Poor Kenickie. All my grizzling about shite telly, and Vibe has Peter and Katie and now Celebrity Rehab. No more complaints from me.
It had been a splendid weekend. We managed being home alone in style, stumbling in the door at 3.30am this morning after a brilliant party, where we scoffed oysters and consumed much bubbly. There was interpretive dancing, and it was like being in a musical, a naughty, booze guzzling musical.
Today was art group, where there was more scoffing of delicious food and excellent company. It is our turn to buy a piece, so I'm trawling the internet looking at art. I want a Sarah Emerson painting, I'll have to carefully time my hints.
My children are spending their first night away with my parents in the Wairarapa.
The house is freaky quiet. We are going to drink some beer, have a SPICY curry, and then go to a party.
It all feels very 2001.
Maggie Mason has made a list of things to do before she dies, and I think I'll do the same. Mine won't be very comprehensive because, well, I'll start at number one and you'll see:
1. Blog a decent post that takes some time and effort, rather than what I can knock out in 4 minutes.
2. Paint a picture I like enough to hang on the wall.
3. Eat myself almost dead in Texas. For some reason I'm fascinated by Texas food. It stems from Oy Vey making us those dreamy Buffalo Wings (god, they were sooooo good), and I can't help but suspect that Texas is full of that kind of food.
4. Find a dinnerset I like.
Man, that was hard. I might resume my list in the future. Or I might not. Why don't you come up with some things for me?
Yawn, Glen had to go into work today, and it has reminded us both why he (sort of) quit. He has been stressed, and I have been run off my feet getting orders out, and really I just need to be a lady of leisure.
Raspberry Foxton Fizz and vodka is helping me unwind, between bouts of invoicing and trying to make space in my rapidly filling workroom for another 77 boxes, which arrive next week. Yikes.
One cool evening
One warm fire
One measure of 15 year old, single malt whisky (forgotten at the back of several bottles of gin and vodka, until tonight. In fact, I suspect it is now 18 year old whisky)
One extension on pressing deadline from Friday until Monday
One copy of today's paper
One candle
Two sleeping children
One devoted hound
One husband out of the house so that all the couch is mine
One good day at the shop
Happy happy joy joy
Three signs that we've arrived at the future (from the comfort of my couch):
1. This morning on the radio they were talking about the 100 rollerblading cops that accompanied the Olympic torch through London. Admittedly, I did think future cops might hover, but blading is still bloody futuristic.
2. Our lounge has no fewer than three bean bags in it. Bean bags are the future of home furnishings.
3. For dinner tonight, I sat with my small white box on my lap, and tapped in a few numbers, and lo! Bing bong, pizza at the door in less than 20 minutes.
The future rocks.
I lost my blogging mojo, and then today I lost my working mojo. I'm blaming the end of daylight savings, and um, cholesterol and George Bush and leaking downpipes. All the bad things in the world have conspired to drain me of motivation. Alternatively I could just be having a break from working all the time, and setting myself up for working tonight.
Man, I go on a lot.
Bullet lists doth maketh the post.
I've lost my blogging mojo, and I want it back. I've tried boozing, I've tried, um, well, did I say I've tried boozing? And that didn't do the trick, so I'm going to try blogging, every day, for a week. Exciting! No theme or nothing, probably not much in the way of links, since I can't ever be arsed, and I'm not generally writing anything except nutty brain juice. Ahh, the brain.
So, this weekend has been nice. We went to a 40th last night at the dream house on a cliff. Most gorgeous house in the world, great food, all the fellas were handsome, and all the ladies beautiful. They had table soccer, which I played, and found I wasn't too shabby at.
The shop was good and busy today, which lets face it, is exactly what we're after. Things have settled into a slightly mellow pace, this of course means I've started more mad scheming. More on that later (she says mysteriously).
In other boring news, we got Sky movies, and I'm very disappointed that despite the fact I haven't seen any movies for 6+ years, everything on it is shit. The clever woman at Telstra gave us free pay movies for 6 months, because I'm shallow, I'll probably persist.
In other very-slightly-less-boring-news, I have some Curb Your Enthusiasm to watch, and some Top Chef, and they are brilliant.
I have successfully avoided Dancing with the Stars until about 2 minutes ago, when I turned it on to see someone called Cory dance, and I just can't help think that is UTTERLY DORKY. I have put myself through deep analysis (over the last 2 minutes) to see if I'm just being mean spirited because I'm too much of a wuss to do it myself, but seriously, NO, DORKY (I am loving of the commas, tonight, dontcha know).
Now, why don't they do a good show? Where celebrities have to dance Bollywood styles in teams? Or re-enact top scenes from Grease? And why aren't TVNZ engaging me as a concept developer?
