the katey nation

smoke and mirrors

2012-01-04T11:41:00.003+10:30

image from this flickr found via this tumblr

I'm not accustomed to love.

To feeling it, giving it, pining for it and, at times, yearning for it to leave me in peace; I am more than well acquainted.

But to experience love, love as it is given, and love as a mutual, wholehearted and shared experience, I am unaccustomed.

This is not to say that I have never, ever been loved before.

Certainly, those whom I have loved or have been involved with in the past may have loved me, but this was not love in all its great wondrous, unencumbered and almost unwieldy glory; this was love as a small, contained and conditional gift. A heart-shaped gesture of affection from someone to whom I have been unconditionally devoted; to whom I have unconditionally loved.

Thus, the premise of friendship throws up walls against the reciprocation of my feelings. I lose myself, so much of me, and so willingly, to the other. And they, by the by, continue to remain, as they were, maintaining the status quo of themselves and their emotions and only lightly acknowledging the depth and intensity of the sea within which I am drowning.

This seems ridiculous; why fall in love with people who do not reciprocate these affections? This is a question I ask myself frequently; and am yet to discover an answer.

Numerous axioms and adages seem appropriate here; the grass is always greener, love the one you're with, plenty more fish in the sea... it is alarming how unimaginative people are in their efforts to console other (irrespective of how true any of these sayings may be). What cannot seem to be answered, however, or find an appropriately blithe retort to, is the question that has plagued me throughout my adult (and somewhat not-quite-an-adult) years.

Why?

Why me?

Why do I yearn so long for that which I cannot have?

Is love some kind of holy grail, that I am destined to spend my years searching for, only to perish on its discovery?

And if I think I have love now (god-willing, I do) will I squander it in my efforts to retain it, being as unaccustomed as I am to any kind of reciprocal emotion?

talk.

2011-12-16T23:59:00.002+10:30

image via fffound

That you may say you are there for me, that you'll hurt anyone that hurts me, and other similar claims of protection and loyalty, means so very little to me now.

I believed you for a moment, that you really were genuinely interested in my own emotional well being and happiness...until I realised that you were drinking and laughing with the person that hurt me, left me vulnerable, broken and raw. Took what I had to give and gave... nothing... in return.

And this was when I realised your words were hollow; straw monuments built up to fill yourself and anyone within earshot with your self-importance and devotion, and blown over at the first hint of a breath of a challenge.

Gone.

from here

Talk of loyalty and allegiance is just that; talk.

Our real dedication is evidenced not in what or who we tell people we are - hiding behind our bravado and grandiose claims - but in what we do, and whether or not we are there for those that we hold dear.

Especially in their hour of need.

like mismatched pieces of a puzzle

2011-11-04T11:32:00.000+10:30

image from here

I pull the clothes from the bag I so foolishly packed last night, and cringe at the memory of the conversation explaining myself... I could have said nothing, should have.

I felt the words tumble from my mouth, laying around us on the ground, awkward and uncomfortable as we stood in the empty street. You looked tired, and I interpreted hints of impatience as you waited for me to stop speaking, and leave.

I mull over everything I said as I make the long drive home. Wishing for a retraction, a do-over, an opportunity to go back and make some sort of semblance of reason and sense; though I know you will give my words little if any more thought.

With a sighing reluctance, I scrape together myself - my thoughts, my inadequacies and my indelicacies, and prepare to greet the day.

awake

2011-10-18T00:28:00.001+10:30

here, me naked and you in your underwear, as I lay restless and edgy,anxious and unhappy and wondering if I wished I was elsewhere.
Your fingers smell like cigarettes- a habit you promised you would stop for me- and I find i cannot escape you, as your touch, the very essence of you and your being is imbued in the pores of my body.

I don't know if this is what I want.

I know that I should simply rejoice in the moment; the being and togetherness of ourselves, but I find myself left wanting, longing for someone who wants and needs me as wholeheartedly as I want to want and need them. I don't know if you do this. I don't know if this is something you can give me, or indeed if this is something that you want. I don't know.
And perhaps that is the fundamental issue here, the unknowing, the uncertainty that if I give myself up to you, that this will be treated with the reverence I feel it deserves. But then, I don't know, maybe you fear the same things. Maybe.

like a torchlight held up in the darkness

2011-10-02T15:09:00.001+10:30

via ffffound

I give until I have nothing left.

I don't have any logical or rational explanation for why this happens, only that I know that in doing so, I am left raw, open, exposed and vulnerable to the ever-changing needs and feelings of the people around me.

And at times, taken advantage of.

The justifications for these behaviours are repetitive and I find myself once again in a wash-rinse-repeat cycle of hurt and confusion, occasionally angry and almost always in tears. That this pattern is so frequently repeated should mean that I have developed warning bells, triggers to tell me when feelings need to be withheld, and a face of stoicism presented... As yet, I am unsuccessful.

Subsequently, I am left, once again, feeling devastated at the loss of friendship with another. This is not unfamiliar territory for me, in so much that people need me in their lives, and I fulfil that purpose. This, on its own, seems like a beautiful, wonderful gift that I can give to a person that may otherwise have no one, and I am grateful for the opportunity to be able to do so.

Whether or not this weighs up against the emotional toll that is taken on me, I am yet to decide.

paper dolls, paper heart

2011-07-13T14:10:00.000+09:30

I love paper dolls. As a child, paper dolls represented to me an uncomplicated intersection between art and craft (of which I was always engaging, in some capacity or another) and the over-dramatic roll-playing of which I was also quite fond.

So, imagine! My joy when I discovered these paper dolls:

yes!!! you too can own this

The jokes, the paper-doll-possibilities are endless! Why limit yourself to "I did not have sexual relations with that paper-woman" when he can also deny sexual relations with paperclips, staplers, that piece of cardboard over there that you were going to make in to something cool, the felt that you rescued from the craft box that your mum was going to throw out... amazing!

PONIES?! BILL CLINTON KNOWS A THING OR TWO ABOUT PONIES!!

YES!! BILL CLINTON AND PONIES?! AMAZING!!!

And this, because as a feminist, I (somewhat predictably) embrace Frida Kahlo as an icon of aggressively independent, creative and outspoken feminism... so naturally to me, these paper dolls are amazing and I love them:

from here

Amazing!

(dis) connected

2011-07-13T13:29:00.000+09:30

amazing paper dolls from this website here

It seems that I have become so dependent on my ability to instantly communicate with people that those moments when I am not afforded this connection I start to find myself lost, caught in a tailspin of disconnection and suddenly second guessing not only my ability to communicate, but my existence in a world so intrinsically interconnected with each other.

And this is not to say that there is anything actually wrong in my life, that I would need the contact and connection in order to feel validated, alive; rather, my simple efforts at reaching out, asking questions that become unanswered, sending words that are left unresponded to, are trivial, simple reminders and thoughts that are otherwise immaterial and not really worth articulating.

However, in the absence of any kind of response, the idea that someone may be unavailable to me, that something may actually be wrong, begins to ebb and etch its way in to my psyche... why hasn't she replied? What have I done to offend her? Is she busy? Is she okay? Is she upset with me? Did I say something upsetting? Am I being too much?...Most definitely, yes. Yes, much too much... why did I send the second message? Why did I say that? Why didn't I say that? What?! Why? Why? Why?

And then... the phone trills. A reply! A simple, appropriately non-committal response deserving of the simple, appropriately non-committal text message that I sent her hours earlier.

And all is well within the world.

2011-07-04T12:57:00.003+09:30

from here

“A year, ten years from now, I'll remember this; not why, only that we were here like this, together.”

Adrienne Rich

2011-05-30T12:45:00.001+09:30

from your thoughts your future.com

I wonder about the idea of a vast ocean as an analogy for our lives. The vista is endless; the promise of a great expanse of waves and water crashing about us is at once intimidating and comforting.

Why do we prefer the unknown to the known?

I am aware that this does not apply for all people; many are perfectly content pursuing a daily sameness - but for those that don't... why?

And, because I am ultimately incredibly self-absorbed, where do I fit on this spectrum?

If I say I prefer simplicity and an uncomplicated life, love and happiness, but am forever living in a world that is complicated, sometimes over-dramatised and, at times, really fucking challenging... so what does this make me?

And dare I feel a simulacrum of hope for a life less overwhelmingly complex? Or is this part of the wash-rinse-repeat cycle of yearning for what is not?

some things cannot be unread. Or unsaid. Particularly when you print screen them.

2011-04-28T20:41:00.000+09:30

wait, aren't you confusing that with the "this is not consensual sex" talk?

FFS. More things that make katey cry. People that post things that are clearly full of lose (and by lose, I mean shitarsebad parenting) on facebook, with that ever-so-obvious tone of pride in their horrendous failures.
Because really, confusing the "facts of life" talk with the "no means no" talk really does fall in to the category of parenting fails.

And this is from a person who talks to her children about...everything... just... with a substantial amount of mindfulness that their childlike brains often take things more literally than initially intended (you learn this lesson relatively quickly, fortunately). That being the case, talking about "periods and babies" is something that can happen gradually, building on knowledge so that they're not completely overwhelmed with one hideous (and let's face it, mutually embarrassing and awkward) talk.

Or, you know, you can follow her advice.

I for one hope you learn to spell by tomorrow

2011-04-27T22:15:00.001+09:30

strong advice, Shandell. Although I don't think that's going to help the spelling.

So I really hate myself for doing this, because I can't stand being a facebook spelling snob, but...fuck it. I am.

When you spell 'better' as 'beta' and 'by' as 'buy', I think that recovering from a mild viral illness is the least of your worries. More to the point, when you have friends who are similarly predisposed to poor spelling (I'm making huge assumptions from the name, but I don't fucking care) then I think that...yes, that virus really isn't that bad.

So, muchos apologies for my hideous judgemental bitchiness, but for the love of all that is holy, learn to freaking spell, people. Because poor spelling makes katey cry.

Sometimes if I think too hard about something, I completely forget what it is

2011-04-19T14:23:00.001+09:30

The same thing generally happens with blogging. Case in point, this.

I was told off for not updating my blog recently, by one of the ... oh, two people that read it (not including you, Mum). And really, I have no particular reason for doing so, except that I tend to find that if I really focus on being hilariously interesting, then I fail.

Miserably.

Added to that, PhDing takes up an inordinate amount of my time as I hone my (already highly developed) skills at looking-terribly-busy-while-not-actually-doing-much. I have also been concentrating-very-hard on not eating a metric shitload of chocolate, and doing lots of boring rugby-related things. And other stuff, probably, but I am far too absent minded to remember what this is.

So instead, here is a picture of Skeletor with a unicorn My Litttle Pony:

proof that skeletor loves ponies from here

And what I imagine his reaction would have been at the prospect of giving Rainbow Dash a new hairdo:

OMFG, PONIES!

Because when my brain stops functioning normally, this is what I revert to.

stupid food

2011-04-04T11:34:00.001+09:30

from here

No bloody wonder I lost my appetite.

There was a cock in the noodles.

Or the noodles were cock flavoured.

Or the cock soup was really... noodly.
Yeah.

kiss me kate

2011-04-01T13:46:00.000+10:30


from this super blog about vintage fashion

So, fuck it. I know I'm mixing my metaphors, mashing my cultural references and such like, but I'm fairly sure I don't fucking care.

I just love Katharine Hepburn.

Such an aggressively individual woman; Hepburn grew up within a suffragist household where she was exposed to the kind of forthright frankness that she later became known for ... and that I admire her so greatly for. In a time when women were still expected to be demure, precious little petals, she was everything but that.

Hepburn was also outspoken regarding religion, which she believed was "a sop for the masses".

"I'm an atheist and that's it. I believe there's nothing we can know except that we should be kind to each other and do what we can for other people" (from here)

Yeah.

I know it's a joke but...

2011-04-01T12:07:00.001+10:30

via my mate Oli

knowing people that would embrace something such as this is an even bigger joke.
Yes.

You know the type.

The kind that refer to their dogs as their children, and themselves as their parents. Fairly sure I can't leave my fucking kids outside while I go out for a night on the booze, however, and I'm quite sure that my children can communicate with words, eat with utensils and don't lick their own arseholes.

But, you know, each unto their own...weirdos.

little boxes

2011-03-31T13:47:00.001+10:30

I love the ocean. I think if I didn't live near the hills, I would have to live next to the ocean. Perhaps I could live on a deserted hillside by an ocean.

My cousin was posted on facebook a video of a cover The Decemberists did of Malvina Reynold's song, Little Boxes.

I love that song (particularly Malvina Reynold's original) as such a scathingly accurate depiction of the expectations (and assumptions) of conformity in middle class society. The desire to fit within the box that we are assigned is, I am sure, overwhelming for many people, to the point where those that do not fit within our prescribed 'types' of appropriate behaviour are problematised and isolated as abnormal.

And while I appreciate that this is a broad, sweeping statement that does not apply to all people, at all times, I would argue that, well, it's not intended to. But the fact that it applies at all, I think says much about the cultural values and norms of the society within which we (or I) live.

It is the differences that make us unique, and although I don't feel that we should all strive to be different for the sake of it, I suppose I find the expectation to be the same is both exasperating and for many, difficult to resist.

I say this because it seems to apply to so many things and so many people in so many different facets of our daily lives. Occasionally I stop and look and am surprised by this.

So, yeah.

It's not that I'm hating on society, but I guess today has been one of those days where I surprised at the conformity to these cultural ideals and societal behaviours and expectations that is so overwhelmingly present in so many people.

That, and I just that I have nothing funny to say today.

Anyway. Here's the song lyrics.

Little boxes on the hillside,
Little boxes made of ticky tacky
Little boxes on the hillside,
Little boxes all the same,
There's a green one and a pink one
And a blue one and a yellow one
And they're all made out of ticky tacky
And they all look just the same.

And the people in the houses
All went to the university
Where they were put in boxes
And they came out all the same
And there's doctors and lawyers
And business executives
And they're all made out of ticky tacky
And they all look just the same.

And they all play on the golf course
And drink their martinis dry
And they all have pretty children,
And the children go to school,
And the children go to summer camp
And then to the university
Where they are put in boxes
And they come out all the same.

And the boys go into business
And marry and raise a family
In boxes made of ticky tacky
And they all look just the same,
There's a green one and a pink one
And a blue one and a yellow one
And they're all made out of ticky tacky
And they all look just the same.

mirror, mirror

2011-03-30T16:25:00.000+10:30

frack you, ikea

I can't remember why - because I couldn't possibly have justified needing it- but I bought a mirror from Ikea.

As I walk past it, still in its box on the shelf in the spare room, it glares at me in ways only mirrors can glare - saying, "go frack yourself, Katey".

Well. Frack you too, mirror.

Paper thin

2011-03-29T11:44:00.001+10:30

from here via ffffound

It's true. I am.

I seem to have an alarmingly good ability to think and act in a manner that is so utterly selfish...and then, as I suppose most people do, feign justification - if not to everyone else, at least to myself.

Societal rules and constructs regarding care responsibilities typically necessitate that women are self-sacrificing; one's role as a mother is not without marked compromise and indeed, subsequent judgement.

We are expected to endure, suffer in silence and persevere irrespective of our feelings.

A large part of me agrees, in so much that I feel that surely the wellbeing of my children is to be given primacy over my own? However, what if the two are intrinsically connected, and the hollow ghost of a mother is no more beneficial than if she were to act as she felt ... and not as she thought she should feel...?

Feminism encourages us to challenge those rules that bind us. But this becomes part of the dilemma - while I feel that the societal rules that may limit us and our actions are rigid (but movable) it is difficult to encourage others to see that this may be the case. And while I know that our willingness to push these boundaries is shaped by our experiences, I recognise that this can be both a limiting, and expansive experience.

Anchorman Barbie

2011-03-19T12:50:00.001+10:30

I don't think this is Kayla-the-lesbian-Barbie's girlfriend.

I think that's a different Barbie doll.

I think this is just Anchorman Barbie, whose name is Grace. She also plays jazz flute and has a penchant for scotch. She's also really in to punk. The sleeves cover her many tattoos of Vince Noir and other Boosh characters (such a sycophant!)

I suspect my children are quite strange.

you know when you see something on youtube and you lose all faith in reality?

2011-03-16T13:46:00.000+10:30

I had one of those moments today. I watched this:

Yes. That's right. Rebecca Black - Friday.

The worst song ever made? I think yes. Without question, yes. The fact that it is more popular than Japan as a trending topic in twitter is perhaps confirmation of this.

This IS her concerned face

But then, from a country that gave us The Hills, Jersey Shore and Sarah Palin, am I really that surprised?
I might repurpose my knitting needles as earplugs. Yeah.

*note: I'm not hating on America. Just on shit music and shit tv that makes me want to stab myself in the brain.

From a place you'd rather be...

2011-03-09T13:15:00.002+10:30

23102010074 a photo by kateykateykatey on Flickr.

I don't have much constructive to say today. Coincidentally, I haven't done much that has been terribly constructive, either!

Useful things I have done today include:

*coming in to my office
*turning my computer on
*pretending to work
*getting a spiral bound book from the stationary cupboard
*writing 'Katey's PhD Diary' on the front
*pretending to work by writing shit in PhD diary.

Obviously the latter point was not intended to be taken literally, because if I just wrote the word 'shit' over and over again, it would be quite obvious I wasn't doing anything. And that would make all of that important pretending and busy-looking a great big fat waste!

Happy V. Day. Here's a freaking arse whipping.

2011-02-14T21:44:00.000+10:30

link

So I have been chipping away at fitness and exercise... to little avail (well, this is not entirely true, but still).

In an effort to maintain some accountability, I asked a mate to check in with me via dedicated fitness blog. He read it and ripped it to shreds.

So, happy v day. An arse whipping (figuratively, fortunately) is imminent!

half naked Iggy Pop, child modelling and...um...social work...wait, what?

2011-02-08T20:30:00.000+10:30

Wait, what?!
Oh, that's right. Facebook.

This photograph was taken by my extraordinarily talented friend Rodney. Who is also a Doctor. I call him The Doctor. Other occupations include, fastest man of 1 metre, purveyor of fine snow globes, wearer of slacks, gadabout.

At any rate, Rodney's many fine and varied talents are not the point of this blog post (an entire blog would be necessary) rather, Facebook...again. Bored PhD student, remember?

So like, sponsored ads + photographs of Iggy Pop = hilarity is sure to ensue.

Ad for a child modelling agency, ad for beer... pictures of Iggy Pop.

Yeah.

Weird.

I guess that's the point of the ad with the tag line, "thinking social work" ... why YES. I was. I WAS thinking social work Facebook. Good call.

vegas, baby!

2011-02-08T09:49:00.001+10:30

from certin.com via Trespass Mag

My dear friends Oli and El are currently in Vegas, having what I hope is a mega-trashy, cliche, dazzled-by-the-bright-lights-and-cheap-champagne inspired wedding.

In fact, I hope it's a drive-through wedding with a cheeseburger as the wedding cake.

from some random blog

I love you guys.

Don't forget to bring me back a pony.

Or an Elvis suit.

Or a pony in an Elvis suit - the last one being so incredibly awesome, I am not even sure it exists. But you guys are awesome, and you exist, so it's possible.

"Just because I'm paranoid..."

2011-02-08T09:28:00.000+10:30

But perhaps they're over there planning their attack...?

Of course, by they, I mean the Grammar Nazis. Not me, I'm just some bored PhD student who should probably be doing something other than writing in her lame-arsed blog.

A chilling reminder

2011-02-04T13:10:00.000+10:30

I was born five years after Tropical Cyclone Tracy and the almost complete obliteration of what was Darwin. It's one of those things, a haunting thought that wind and rain could be so severe, that people would lose houses, lives, everything.
In the Cyclone Tracy exhibit at the Darwin museum, visitors can walk in to a small, dark room, and listen to a recording of the cyclone made by a priest, who took shelter after attending a midnight mass service. I found this at once fascinating and heart-wrenching, the sound of the wind, like a wild animal with no care or concern for anything in its path, is more terrifying to me than any mythical or human threat. Its absence of reason or ration; it's just wind, but it's so much more.

Th above was a beginning of a blog post that I'd written on the eve of Cyclone Yasi's impending, and inevitable, encounter with the coast of North Queensland.
It seems a little pithy and trite now, but still... cyclones scare the shit out of me. I was quite taken by the contrast between the way that (for example) Yasi was reported compared to other cyclones in history. Incidentally, I seem to compare all to Tracy, probably because she is, to me, a spectre that looms large in the history of Australia, and represents the kind of cold, emotionless destruction that has such deeply personal impacts on those that withstand it.
Farmers, whose resilience and strength was tested after Cyclone Larry's decimation of banana crops, face once again the prospect of rebuilding their livelihood. I can only imagine the despair felt at the sight of a flattened banana plantation crop; knowing that your family's income and wellbeing depend on something that has been all but obliterated by something that seems so casually volatile as a bit of wind.
Though it's not just 'a bit of wind'.
It's so much more - a wild animal, a cold, unreasoning and uncaring monster...

Frankie says...

2011-02-04T12:41:00.000+10:30

via red bubble

Courtesy of my mate Damien Mason, a great artist and wearer of fine hats.

a word on fashion, Katharine Hepburn and other rantings of a loony

2011-01-24T12:58:00.001+10:30

from this cool site

I have long adored Yves Saint Laurent's Le Smoking, and indeed the concept of women in men's suits in general. Marlene Dietrich and Katherine Hepburn were great icons for this... the embodiment of something so strong and sexual; yet subtle - its sexuality lies not in what it exposes (buckets of flesh spilling out over and under teeny-tiny clothing) but for what it doesn't expose...and reveals so much of its wearer at the same time.

The sophisticated, self-confident woman cuts a sleek figure amongst the flounces and frills of other women's formal attire, a hint at a sense of the wearer's practicality as well as individuality, perhaps. And indeed, I feel the woman's suit is both daring and conformist; and represents how I feel about Katharine Hepburn (for example) and women who step beyond the boundaries of what and how women should behave, to what she felt was appropriate - at times much more like a man and less like a 'lady' (and all of the rigidly controlled and monitored appropriate behaviours that accompanied this onerous title). Indeed, Katharine seemed to never limit herself by the boundaries ascribed to her gender; stating

"I never realized until lately that women were supposed to be the inferior sex"

The simplicity...my friend pointed out to me that the suit, and particularly, in this wonderful Helmut Newton photograph, is very asexual - I would venture to add that it appears at once erotic and a-sexual, or, 'I am as sexual as I choose to be' and further, 'I define the terms of my own sexuality'. A hint of bi-sexualism, loaded with a cautiousness that one should never presume. As Suzanne Vega sang,

"don't give away the goods too soon is what she might have told me"

And Katharine Hepburn. Oh. Katharine Hepburn. She wore men's suits because they were 'comfortable' -inadvertently, (perhaps?) creating a trend of women wearing pants when it was otherwise inappropriate to do so. I don't think she did it to be cutting edge, trend-setting and unique, I think it had more to do with her abject practicality; and I suppose this is part of the beauty of Le Smoking, a suit - so commonplace and practical, yet so taboo and therefore so sexual.

"Being a housewife and a mother is the biggest job in the world, but if it doesn't interest you, don't do it - I would have made a terrible mother"

Katharine Hepburn

shhhh....!

2011-01-23T14:07:00.000+10:30

pssst!

Don't say a freaking word... my neighbour is currently out the front of my house trimming back the bits of the wattle that hang in front of the driveway.

shhhhh..

While clearly this is an indication that the poor dude has FAR too much time and energy on his hands (and I would argue, energy best used for crochet) I dare not go out there in case he gets embarrassed and stops. Boo Radley style. Particularly if Boo Radley has a penchant for pruning other people's bushes. Erm. And not in the way that your mind jumped to (though it occurs to me that it was this false-assumption that formed part of the premise for the novel... but nevermind).

Anyway.

I am busy making baby blankets for the new baby-additions to my group of friends. Unfortunately (somewhat) this requires commitment, and in some capacity, planning, as I am to get these finished prior to the kid's 18th birthday.

So one of the blankets I am making in a disgusting, fuzzy soft baby yarn. I don't mean disgusting as in it is vomit coloured, or some such, just that I am a great devotee of the good ol' 8ply, and fuzzy, boucle, bubbly, furry, feathery and otherwise fancy yarns irritate me a little.
So while this blanket looks very sweet and soft, and feels lovely to crochet with, I am not entirely satisfied with it, in as much that I feel like it is not something I would actually make, had the yarn not been $1 a ball at kmart. Which, as it happens, also makes me sound like a complete tight arse.

Meh.

He just raked the dead leaves up. Not just from the front, but the side as well.

Subsequently, this is the most relevant picture I could find:

from epic wtfs...which is how I'm feeling

Thanks, neighbour!

cuuuute

2011-01-06T21:16:00.000+10:30

Kip and Lil after a walk

Kip decided to take herself for a walk this morning. In to a neighbouring yard, and then shed. Fortunately, we were walking on a nearby oval at the time, so it wasn't the immediate neighbours (though she has walked herself over there previously).

Still. She's a funny dog.

Hence the need for a cute photo.

And another. As a matter of fact, Kip is modelling a Norwegian Forest Hat, as crocheted for a friend's Norwegian Forest Cat. Needless to say, Kip is such an awesome, hardcore dog that she immediately made the hat look like a pimp hat. But that's probably got a lot to do with the fact that she is a pimp dawg.

The pattern is from a hilarious blog called Spindles and Spices where the blogger heartily endorses knitted furmiliation of her pets. Which I think is only reasonable, considering the amount of piss, shit and barking I have to deal with.

Did I mention I'm completely uncoordinated?

2010-12-29T00:44:00.000+10:30

Because I am.

I fell off my bike yesterday while trying to explain to N that he needed to adjust the seat lower. I'm not accustomed to riding a 'girl's bike' (you know, with the funny frame that is supposed to be easier to get on and off of) so I have a tendency to swing my leg over the back over the bike...which is problematic when your feet don't quite reach the ground.
So I stacked it while trying to ride barefoot on the gravel driveway. I imagine it was hilarious to watch, but being the bad sport that I am, I went inside to go and wash the dirt and rocks out of my leg before going and doing something decidedly less dangerous, such as crochet.

However, I had also cut my thumb open (quite severely) with a very-sharp-knife, so there was some serious self-pity happening, as well as doubts about my ability to crochet without, I don't know, stabbing myself in the jejunum and then vomiting all over the bed or something.

Indeed, my inability to walk like a normal human being has left my dog trying to distance himself from me (if you could read his doggy thoughts, it would have been something along the lines of, "I'm not with her. I just happened to stop and stand here. With a lead. Yeah. Just walking. Alone."

Awesome.
Thanks dog.

In any event, today was relatively injury free.
Relatively.

I was in the mid-aisle daze I customarily find myself in when visiting the supermarket, trying desperately to ignore the Tom Jones playing over the speakers. It wasn't classy Tom Jones per 'what's new pussycat', but rather, croony, irritating, shut-the-fuck-up-before-I-forcibly-insert-this-toothbrush-in-my-eardrums Tom Jones. Followed by Tom Jones singing the theme from Thunderballs (the James Bond film) which I have since learned was not a mondegreen, but indeed, the actual factual lyrics to the song, and the title of a Bond film.

Clearly, the term 'thunderballs' meant something different then, to what it does now.

Because in my brain, I envisioned something akin to Sean Connery in Zardoz:

linkie, again

More so than Sean Connery in the actual thunderballs movie:

linkies to picture

And look, he even has one of those cute little old timey jetpacks! Cute, no?

In other completely unrelated news, and really, because I like long blog posts - this is as great as, if not greater than, the crochet Betty White doll pattern. Even with her sensible brown chinos and blue chambray shirt.

from Sandra Eterovic's blog

Awesome, no? Awesome on so many counts. Because (a) it's true and (b) it is yet another fine example of the awesome versatility of the fibre arts. Even if this particular vest is knitted (did I confess a bias? I really do prefer crochet) I love this more than I love my shoelaces. And really, what have shoelaces done for me recently? I mean, apart from keeping my shoes from falling off my feet, and that is CERTAINLY something a lovely little scrap of yarn could do most adequately. Maguyver style.

costume parties and circus themes

2010-12-28T00:28:00.000+10:30

image via ffffound

We have a costume party on NYE to go to. This is a regular event; we've been going to a particular group of friends' NYE costume parties for a few years running and it's generally whole lot of fun.
However, this year the theme is circus, or big top, or something along those lines, and I am struggling for costume ideas. Seriously. Struggling.

Well, struggling is perhaps an exaggeration - it's just that all of the ideas I've had so far are kinda lame. Like, really, the whole 'sexy ringmaster' thing (one of my most frequent google hits) is kinda passe. I mean, fine if you're like, a playboy bunny (I guess?!?) but I'm not, and more to the point, an awesome costume >>>> revealing inappropriate amounts of flesh.

Meh.

At any rate, I think some serious op shopping is in order.

some totally awesome things that are really boosting the awesome level of my life from regular to EXTREME

2010-12-07T12:58:00.000+10:30

Do you remember those bushfire danger scales? The kind that your parents never seemed to notice, but you would always see, and then register, seconds later, "OMFG THE BUSHFIRE DANGER TODAY IS HIGH AND WE ARE DRIVING IN TO THE BUSH"

from F~R~E~D'S flickr

I could never figure out who adjusted those things. Was it automatic? Was this some kind of amazing computerised sentient sign, per Short Circuit? You know, "fire sign is aliiive!" ... and would this explain why I keep mistyping 'sign' as 'sigh'?

So, imagine now that this is in fact a scale of AWESOME and the point of reference is things in my life. Well, recent events have contributed to this scale being tipped from HIGH to EXTREME.

Obviously, you're wondering why. It's eating away at you, the niggling, anxious feeling... why is katey's life so awesome? Was it me? Was it something I said or did? Was it the one armed man?

Likely all of the above, but WHAT, WHAT IS IT?!

Firstly, I endured another end-of-year dance concert. This makes me sound like a horrendously bad parent who cares not for her daughters' talents, but this isn't necessarily the case, it's more so that I really couldn't give a flying fuck about the hundreds of other kids there. Selfish? Probably? But factually correct? Bingo. I'm fairly confident I'm not alone here, although there are some who look at my boredom and complete intolerance of this claptrap as being selfish and inconsiderate. And it likely is, but meh. Clearly I'm far too self absorbed to care about that.
Anyway, my daughters were awesome, hilariously awesome. Y had her skirt pulled nerdishly high in one of the dance pieces, and G pulled blue steel the entire concert... and the concert photos. I was trying so hard to contain my laughter, I almost swallowed my tongue.

Besides, it's not her fault she's really really ridiculously good looking (from here)

So, other awesome things.

Ricky Martin.

I know right?

I've lost my mind!
Who knew?!
Apparently, Katey is a secret closet Ricky Martin fan!

Well, appalling music aside (World Cup Songs not included) Ricky Martin is a single dad of twins who DOESN'T EVEN HIRE A NANNY. According to the world of celebrity, twins are the new singleton, but they're impossible to manage without the aid of an entourage of at LEAST 30 staff working round the clock to make sure you don't ever have to come in to contact with them until they're cute enough to walk and ask for dead parrots for pets (per Angelina Jolie and one of her many child-like accessories) with the exclusion of the occasional paparazzi shoot just to confirm that those children are actually real, and well, unlike their celebrity parents, they're being fed.

So yeah. I'm still no fan of his music, and while I know that having twins via surrogacy is the new black, I still think that this is all quite cool. Not-so-secretly-gay single dad of twins... what's not to love?

linkiepoos

Of course, I often like to lay around in the sand with my shirt off looking all pensive and cool and hot while my kids sit there looking all fat and adorable. It's a twin thing. Yeah.

NOW, third awesome thing that I have identified, is an awesome drawing my cousin drew of me, Capn Katey, and her first mate Lil. Arrrr.

Linkie goodness to site of awesomeness

Awesome, no? My cousin drew it, inspired by my mindless blathering in a previous post about my penchant for carrying my dog around on my shoulder and pretending to be a pirate.

Lily makes a most exemplary shoulder companion. Quite possibly because her other occupations include; a university professor - with tenure (Professor Lilbury), a barman (Barkeep), Lily-the-heinous-bitch (when being pestered by our other small dog, Kip) etc.

Why yes, I am in dire need of a life.

Sometimes I put my dog on my shoulder and walk around like a pirate...

2010-11-25T17:08:00.000+10:30

Because I figure if this whole academic pursuit thing doesn't work out, piracy is still a real and viable career move.
Particularly if I can replace my obligatory shoulder parrot with one of my dogs, like re-purposing but with pets and careers, right?

From this blog, which has nothing to do with my chosen career path

So I have been crocheting little granny stars using this glorious pattern . I adore them - very quick and easy, I did 3 in the car on the way to touch footy last night (I wasn't driving) and then 4 in the car on the way home. Clearly having a beer after running around (or at least, feigning running around) is good for crochet productivity!

It's official

2010-11-23T12:24:00.000+10:30

I have found the single most greatest crochet pattern ever to hook its way in to this sad, pathetic world of ours. Well, sad and pathetic without the pattern. Totally awesome with. Obv.

But a little back story first. Because what's awesome things in life without some totally boring building up?

So I've finished my god-awful thesis. The thesis itself wasn't god-awful, I hope, in fact, I hope the assessors read it and decide it's complete and utter genius and award me some kind of super-honours mark. Or something, right? Meh. A first class honours is all I really want. Band one, preferably, but first class, definitely.

So, I am sitting here, at my little laptop killing time and eating awesome sandwiches and stuff. Crocheting mostly, which involves intermittently picking up my nephew's blanket project, doing a little, and then searching Ravelry for other cute projects to begin. Because why would I finish one project when I could start 10 others?

I am also watching Russian news. I can't say precisely why this is, I think I was hoping that I would somehow absorb an awesome understanding of the language just by watching the news in Russian. Which seems completely logical, except that it gets kind of boring quite quickly. It is the news after all. I just like it when they cut back to the news desk and the reporters are saying something about something but the camera is too far away for me to really discern what their shoulder shrugs and funny little head wobbles are all about. That and I'm not quite sure what they're saying. Yet.

So back to Ravelry. I was searching for cute little patterns, and found THE MOST AWESOME CROCHET PATTERN EVER.

It's from this most wondrous blog here where this cool girl knits and crochets and generally procrastinates in ways I can totally relate to. She also finishes projects... which I haven't quite got around to mastering yet.

At any rate, like me, Carrie appears to love golden girls. As one of the world's greatest television shows (alongside growing pains and family ties) I can understand why. What's great about Carrie, is that she's done a totally amazing fusion of love for quality tv and a fibre arts obsession... and made...

(OMG, such suspense!!!)

awesome blog link again

YES!!! A BETTY WHITE DOLL!

And the bestest, BESTEST bit is that it's not Betty White per the current (and deserved) Betty White fandom, but Betty White as Rose, wearing "chinos and a sensible aqua cardigan"... gold!

Here's another linkie to Carrie's amazing blog post, where she links to the pattern, which is available as a Ravelry download. Ah, Ravelry. My spare time was so much less productive without you.

I'm going to make this doll for my mate Steve. Because I want to thank him for being a friend.

'Flirty' top...to match your horse hat, right?

2010-10-30T12:21:00.000+10:30

Now, far be it for me to tell people off for wanting to match their pets. Shit, if it is ok for Paris Hilton, it must be ok for the rest of, right?

from this blog

Don't worry little puppy. I don't think she's going to eat you.

So earlier I blogged about a horse hat that made no sense.
Well, it has a purpose now.

It's all about matching, right?

from all free crochet

Awesome.

While I'm not the most negligent of parents

2010-10-29T22:11:00.000+10:30

I certainly fit the criteria or a negligent blogger. But, you know, meh. I'm sure that the none of you reading this really actually care that I missed the most recent update of "fucked up things katey found on the internet recently"... I hope. Note that if you are genuinely disappointed, I strongly recommend you go get a life. STAT. But then, I suspect we're well beyond that if you're sitting up reading my blog at 3am on a Saturday evening. Yeah. You cool dude, you.

SO.

I am in the deep, dark, murky depths of trying to finish my thesis. Or as I like to call it, my FUCKING thesis. It's ok, it's just...bloody long, and a shitload of work. And thus, I am killing time writing irrelevant blog posts.

Awesome!

from from Ask a urinal

And it's true. Misplaced apostrophes make the baby jesus cry.

2010-10-12T11:16:00.000+10:30

yes, it's a horse hat

it would appear that I am on an anti-crochet headwear bandwagon today. Particularly if that bandwagon was being towed by HORSES IN HATS.

WHY DOES THE HORSE NEED A HAT?!

WHY?!

It's not as if it's wearing a hilarious costume or anything. It's just a freaking hat.

Odd.

In other news, here is a dog in a pirate hat.

avast ye mateys! this be thar link

And, if I wasn't mistaken, I'm pretty sure that long john snowy would like you to walk the plank.

If 'snood' is cute baby word for 'pooed' then this picture makes a whole lot more sense

2010-10-12T10:28:00.000+10:30

Snood Headband from All Free Crochet

Don't get me wrong, I like fun, kooky crochet patterns. Even fun crochet patterns to wear in your hair (well, not my hair, because it's way too cool and stylish for something that resembles a gigantic turd, but I digress)... what I don't understand is how this, a snood, is somehow synonymous with 'fun' and 'looks great' and not, hmmm... 'fucking ugly' and 'omfg'...

but that's just me. Maybe if it wasn't poo brown I would have a different opinion.

no... wait...

Even in romantic sepia (which, let's face it, makes EVERYTHING look good -- especially those old timey photos from theme parks!) it still looks strange!

picture from here

but that could just be because the woman wearing it is a man, I don't know.

At any rate, I think I'll stick to crocheting granny squares for now.

Possibly the coolest man in the known universe

2010-10-10T12:11:00.000+10:30

via This Little Owl which is a cute blog.

How his fellow commuters can just sit idly by and not, you know, show some visible display of how fucking amazing this dude is, is beyond me.

what NOT to crochet...

2010-09-04T12:35:00.000+09:30

from this blog

Apparently if you add some tassles or a fringe edging it makes a great gift!

Alternately, you could just wear a regular scarf, or ... a jumper. Even.

A defininte candidate for the Col Dunkley award for innovations that really are a bit...odd.

speaking of unicorns...

2010-09-03T12:38:00.001+09:30

Life's getting me down. Tough decisions are becoming even harder, what with my appalling indecisiveness. So I ask myself, WWUD?

from this awesome website

And the spinny thing. For all you decision making needs. What WOULD a unicorn do?

I really am the most horrendously negligent blogger...

2010-09-03T11:56:00.000+09:30

But I have the strange feeling that this has little impact on the rest of the world. What with all that other stuff going on and all... yeah.
So the latest excuse for my negligence?
Meh. Uni. Meh. Crochet. Meh. Rugby. Meh. Life.

As you can see, dear reader (all... I don't know, one of you - hi mum) there is a reoccurring theme here... of complete indifference. Not that I am indifferent to things in general- or completely as it were- but rather, I've had other stuff to do.
Such as another freaking degree, crocheting lots of natty little things, and being a ferry for my family to and from various sporting events that I don't have the time to commit to actually participating in myself (that's some faulty logic there).
And in between all of that, sitting down to wax lyrical about the nothing that's happening in my life is kinda unimportant.

So I've been crocheting instead. Borne from the need to do *something* for my grandmother (who recently underwent palliative chemotherapy for oesophageal cancer) I started crocheting beanies and blanket squares, in an effort to keep my fingers busy and my anxiety at my helplessness somewhat at bay.
My cousin and aunt and I contributed a total of 94 squares to make a blanket with a little block of yarny goodness representing each member of our massively huge family. It's hideous, but beautiful as well. And my cousin even used the square that I sent up that bears a very strong resemblance to unicorn vomit.

from this awesome blog

Like this. Only with more orange.

Probably from the carrots you ate for breakfast.

Potatoes, Churchill and things that drool

2010-07-23T16:40:00.001+09:30

from StrangeFunKidz

Ok. I have a confession to make. I'm not that crazy about babies. I could take them or leave them, and more often than not, I'd rather leave them (I mean that in a completely non-negligent parent kind of way). The fact that I had two of my own has little to no bearing on this; I liked my own babes fine but I prefer them now that they're older and argumentative and independent and funny, rather than when they were drooly and whingey and shitty and needed changing and feeding all the time. That's not to say that I have no maternal instincts (hey, well, actually, maybe I don't, I don't know) or that I'm going to footy kick the next wee bairn that's handed to me, rather that... I dunno... babies don't really do anything, except become really cool little people (which is exciting, right) but until they do that... meh.
So I kind of enjoy other people's babies, certainly in the capacity that I like making them smile and coo and then handing them back when they start to emit strange odours. I've done my nappy duty x 2, so I'm not revisiting that ANY time soon (read: at. all). And I don't see any reason why I should.

So... it is perhaps completely incongruous that I am making things for a mate's baby, but really and truly, I like making stuff, and making stuff for babies is cool, you know, because they can't complain that they look kinda lame in the daggy home-made cardigan that you painstakingly knitted for them (and went near blind in the process).
The problem is, I've been googling patterns and have found that my judgement about whether or not a pattern is cute or not is severely clouded by whether or not it's on a, well, funny looking kid. It seems a large proportion of babies bear a very strong resembelance to Winston Churchill, and this is not the most appealing look in the world. Quite fine if you're Winston Churchill's wife, I guess, or in the kid's case, its parents/grandparents/direct relatives, because you love the grunty little thing so damned much you can't tell whether or not it's a bit odd looking. But to me, a slightly anti-baby-partial observer, they're not really all that. And mine were no different - being prem, they were a little on the lean side, and this gave them an appearance not dissimilar to the long skinny potatoes I see in the grocery store occasionally, you know, they're kind of unattractive but you figure they're great for mash or chips or whatever?
Yeah.
That was my kids.
Skinny, lumpy potatoes.
They grew out of it quick enough, once they start getting longer and bigger they invariably become cuter and more person like (less potato like) but up until that point I was frequently bothered by the cooing that inevitably occured by some strange old lady you met on the street and "oh, isn't this one cute!" and "your little boy, look at him!" (I had 2 girls).

But nowhere near as funny looking as these potatoes

The good news is, they do grow up in to adorable little miniature people, with opinions and dreams and ideas about stuff, you know, and eventually once they start talking in semi-complete sentences, they make great conversation. But up until that point, kids seem to be more of a conversation topic rather than a conversation holder - which reminds me of the classic Seinfeld episode, "you've got to see the BABY!" (although we never actually saw it, I'm sure it was quite Winston Churchill like).

Maybe the dingo ate your baby?

on being a feminist bride, and other awesome stuff I write on other people's blogs. yeah.

2010-07-21T17:17:00.000+09:30

image from Juju mama

A post I wrote on Mia Freedman's site, Mamma Mia regarding feminist brides and virginal white, being given away and promising to 'love honour and obey'.

The question posed by Mia was something along the lines of, "were you a feminist bride"... and Mia cited an example of her own interpretation of traditional marriage rites, her bridesmaid carried Mia's son down the aisle, as a fair rejection of the 'well, I'm not a virgin' assumption from days past.

My response:

Yeah, I’d like to think I was a feminist bride, even if it wasn’t a conscientious choice to be ‘a feminist bride’ – I just wanted to do things our way.

So… we got married at home, in our backyard, without about 70 or so guests (and that was a massive number blow out). We stood around and had beers with our mates before the ceremony, and then the celebrant asked everyone to assemble outside and we came out together, me, N and my daughters. It was lovely. He wore black jeans, a shirt and volleys, I wore a dress my mother and I made from black fabric and some gorgeous white lace – not what I had originally intended to wear! (I wanted to wear jeans and a tshirt!) But what we created from some fabrics that we found and loved.

We catered ourselves, asked a few friends to make some desserts.

We didn’t have rings. Neither of us are that in to jewellery, so it was a pointless exercise, exchanging rings.

We asked each of our dads to read some hilarious excerpts from a couple of books a friend gave us, ‘dont’s for wives’ and ‘donts for husbands’.

In place of the traditional giving away, the celebrant asked our friends and family if they would support us in our lives together, to which there was a resounding, and heart warming ‘YES!’

There was not a hint of ‘honour and obey’, rather, heartfelt words, and “do you promise to be a fabulous husband”… I laughed and joked the whole way through… it was a beautiful, glorious interpretation of a traditional rite that I had all my life advocated doing away with.

OMG, and the flowers! So N had brought home stacks of fluffy white chrysanthemums from his work, and we had lots of vases of chrysanthemum spread around the house. It was beautiful… I ended up with a bouquet (!) because there was 3 gorgeous roses out the front of my parents house, from a bush called ‘Julia’s rose’ (my sister’s name, I think I gave it to them when she was born?) that the night before I asked my mum if she could cut and bring over for a bouquet.

And we didn’t have a wedding cake – instead a dessert table. Cos I love dessert. So it was amazing, beautiful. A great day had by all. The whole thing was very mutually planned and organised too – I think that’s significant. Because I’m a terrible decision maker and not prepared to shoulder all/the bulk of the responsibility for what is supposed to be *our* day. Plus, obv N wanted a say in it, to us that seemed completely normal but I understand that often, brides don’t want their groom involved at all.

AND WE DIDN’T HAVE BUCK’S/HEN’S NIGHTS. Again, a mutual decision, but this whole ‘last night of freedom’ thing is bullshit, insulting and demeaning to the commitment we were making (and had already made) to each other.

And… I read offbeat bride and East side bride - both fairly religiously, as great blogs that were incredibly reassuring for knowing that it was ok to do things our way, because the important part of the day was not how the photos looked, or whether my shoes or hair or *everything* was perfect, but rather, the vows. The presence of friends and family and the commitment that we were fortunate enough to be able to make to each other.

Incidentally, I have read in a lot of places (particularly offbeat bride, because that's where I frequently read stuff) comments women made about their justification for changing their name being that they 'were not particularly attached to their surname' and that they 'wanted to have the same surname as their children'.
I didn't change my name, never had any intention of doing so, and nor was it expected of me by either my husband or my family. Why? Because I like my surname, I'm quite attached to it because I've lived with it for 31 years, and wasn't about to sacrifice this for another (albeit nice) name in honour of a cultural tradition I don't endorse.
And... I *do* have the same name as my children, because they have my name. If we had more, they would also have my name, it's not really a question for either of us, and as such I wonder if the comments that women make with regard to 'not being particularly attached to their surnames' come from the assumption that they will change their name as they get older?
I don't care if people know or not know that N and I are married; that wasn't the purpose of the exercise. So in this sense, name changing seems like a superfluous exercise.

Yeah.

2010-07-20T22:32:00.000+09:30

So a random twitter user said something about how they'd been reading my blog... and I panicked, having forgotten that I have a link to it in my twitter profile, and that, well, I used to write it, occasionally.
So, here I am, already wed, and feeling quite oddly serene about the whole wedding/marriage thing. It wasn't the fiasco I had feared, in spite of MIL's awful, hurtful comments about the cleanliness of my house, and the stress that ensued, the working bees that were fair near enforced upon us (again by N's family) and then the glorious, beautiful moments, like my cousin coming down and just...being there for me - helping me with last minute mindless things and providing an incredibly reassuring grounding for me.

The picture used for inspiration... from Green Wedding Shoes

And other little things - my mother emailing me a picture of a dessert table, which she then printed and showed to my aunts and grandmother who were like, "right, let's make it happen"... and it did, with my favourite foods, stuff that I really wanted to share with people - my grandmother's chocolate caramel slice, I made chocolate brownies and white chocolate blondies, pineapple upside down cake, a mate of mine made a gigantic tiramisu (easily one of my favourite desserts ever) and lots of little pink meringues that my grandmother made. And the crocquembouche.
It was adorable though, the guests were ravenous and launched themselves at the food N had cooked: beef porkolt, lencesfozelek (like a hungarian lentil stew), Kapros zoldbabfozelek (green beans with a kind of dill flavour... delicious), Székely gulyás (pork sauerkraut stew), uborka salata (cucumber salad) and paprikas csirke (chicken paprika stew). Lots of sour cream, lard, very rich fatty food. But oh. so. good.
What's lovely is that my friends are still talking about it.

So I'll get some pictures up eventually. But for the nobody that reads this blog, I'm sure you can wait!

In other news, research project is going swimmingly, if not ridiculously time consuming. Because I realised early on that it was impossible for me to continue playing rugby as well as all the other crap that I do (basically uni, touch footy and ferrying the girls around to all of their activities) I have substantially reduced my level of physical exercise...and not really stopped stuffing my face with food at all. Ergh.

So, I end this blog with a promise to post more. Maybe.

It's not that I don't understand, I just don't agree.

2010-04-13T00:00:00.000+09:30

(via ffffound)

N's mum offered to make a croquembouche. I appreciate this offer, I love profiteroles, however - this wasn't what we'd had planned to have at our wedding. Certainly not as the cake. I had hoped for pavlova, pineapple upside down cake (one of my favourites), tiramisu and I don't know. Initially, N's sister offered to make cupcakes (she has a cupcake business) but, well, I don't do cupcakes.
Retrospectively it occurs to me that the cupcake offer was for a cupcake wedding cake. I dislike these even more than the whole cupcake craze!

So, I am practicing saying no.

In other news, N and I sewed a bit of bunting on the weekend. I had the erm, fortune of having N's mother help me initially... I've got to try and not be completely ungrateful for every single offer of help that she gives me, because, well, she quite possibly just wants to help. But the insistance that I should do something a particular way (and not the way I had intended) is irritating.

Ergh.

(also via ffffound)

I graduate on Wednesday. I went shopping to find something to wear under my academic gown (it is open at the front). This was much more difficult than I imagined - and the whole experience left me feeling bloated, tubby, and generally unattractive.
Great.

So the excitement of graduating is damped by not only the fact that I'm not actually graduating (I graduate from my 2 degrees and then graduate again once I've completed my honours thesis) but also some pretty funky feelings of low self esteem.

And G & Y lost the camera my parents gave them last november for their birthday.
Awesome.

2010-04-07T23:12:00.000+09:30

image via fffound

Song of the Open Road, Walt Whitman

Allons! the road is before us!

It is safe--I have tried it--my own feet have tried it well--be not

detain'd!

Let the paper remain on the desk unwritten, and the book on the

shelf unopen'd!

Let the tools remain in the workshop! let the money remain unearn'd!

Let the school stand! mind not the cry of the teacher!

Let the preacher preach in his pulpit! let the lawyer plead in the

court, and the judge expound the law.

Camerado, I give you my hand!

I give you my love more precious than money,

I give you myself before preaching or law;

Will you give me yourselp. will you come travel with me?

Shall we stick by each other as long as we live?

Dude, did you seriously just post that?!

2010-04-07T17:18:00.000+09:30

OH.MY.GOD.

I stupidly followed a link from fellow blogger East Side Bride's twitter that said something along the lines of, "you owe me money for making me read this"... curiosity sparked, I absolutely had to click on the link. And once again, we see how katey should always heed the cautionary advice of others when it comes to clicking on links (too many examples to list, but suffice to say that old-people porn was involved, and it was gruesome). In this particular example, the blogger describes her ovulation, periods, and VAGINAL DISCHARGE.

I shit you not.

Sticky, mucousy, whatever - It was the car crash I couldn't look away from, the YouTube video of a dude having a gigantic cyst/zit squeezed on his back that made me want to vomit so much I had to watch it twice (the second time was to get it out of my head).

Ergh.

So, now I cannot tell if I ate too much of G & Y's chocolate, and this is making me feel ill, or if the vomity feeling is from thinking about this woman's upcoming pap-smear.

Please, for the love of all that's chocolatey and good, save yourself and spare yourself the mental imagery.
The puppy will thank you.

(cute kid pic is from this site about Ecuador. NOT vaginal discharge).

.is it ironic that this is not the first time I have blogged about vaginas - in a literal, not figurative sense - Jennifer Love Hewitt would be so proud!

2010-04-06T13:35:00.000+09:30

I'm tired and cranky. It's uni holidays and I'm being extraordinarily unproductive, in spite of having a gazillion things I should probably be doing. It's also school holidays, so the girls are home. This may have a significant influence on my productivity, I'm not sure. There's also the likelihood that it's just because I'm lazy.

This dress, I love:

(from Style Hive)
And it makes me wonder why I am doing white lace on black. But, meh. I'm a bit over the clothes thing, anyway.

well what, hippie?

2010-03-30T20:24:00.002+10:30

(via)

The Young Ones is on ABC2. My children are, much to the chagrin of me, busy doing word puzzles and such like. They're not even remotely interested in the (hilarious) musings of the People's Poet:

Oh, Cliff

Sometimes it must be difficult not to feel as if

You really are a Cliff

When fascists keep trying to push you over it

Are they the lemmings?

Or are you Cliff?

Or are you, Cliff?

Cliff - from Demolition (via this website)

And as the People's Poet, comic book superhero extraordinaire:

What do you think you're doing, pig?

Do you really give a fig, pig?

And what's your favourite sort of gig, pig?

Barry Manilow

Or the black and white minstrel show?

(also via this website)

On how to be unproductive and procrastinate lots...

2010-03-30T02:00:00.000+10:30

Feeling unmotivated and generally irritable. Possibly hormones, possibly because I've been unproductive and am shitty with myself for procrastinating via very important things like twitter, facebook, and msn chats with my cousin. Because, you know, that's how I roll.

And here I am writing a blog post. Constructive, no?

Recently, I professed my dislike for cupcakes on twitter, and the 'muffin revival'. Hence, I have been scouring the interwebs looking for tasty bran muffin recipes. Bran muffins, you say? How can these possibly be tasty?!
Isn't tasty and bran muffins kind of the same as:

from Huffington Post

Cooking with Poo(h)?

No shit, (pun not intended!) I'd really think twice about a book titled - somewhat unfortunately - "Cooking with Pooh". I mean, it really means something completely different to me than it might to a three year old (not that mine ever had a fecal food fetish, but, you know, still. Kids these days...)

Also on my journeys around the interwebs, I found this (actually, I was emailed it via Huffington Post but that sounds so boring and much less intrepid):

A question that no doubt many cold hearted (and perhaps...dare I say, pro-private/anti-public health care) people have echoed:

from Amazon, via Huffington Post.

Because I often ask this question - who cares about disabled peopled!

...actually, on a much more serious note, I can't help but notice that my sister, who is eleven and has Down Syndrome, is being failed at some level by the state's education system, where she is in a class with other special needs children whose needs are...very different to her own. Her class consists of other kids of varying levels of global delay, including some that are autism spectrum, and others with more generalised (and less easily defined) delayed. These kids stress my sister out - often. Many are noisy, violent, and generally in my sister's personal space too much of the time. Which isn't to say that the teacher isn't doing a bang up job with the resources and class that he has, but rather, that this environment, as it currently stands, is not appropriate for my sister, and not conducive to warm-fuzzy-I-had-a-great-day-at-school-Mum stories, let alone actual learning.

While my parents try to enrol her in another school (a private school, or another state school that is not walking distance away -fail again education system) my sister has received at-home support from my mother, so that my sister's education isn't as compromised as it could be. Basically, my mother keeps my sister home if the teacher isn't going to be there, or if the other kids are particularly rowdy. Substitute teachers are nice and helpful, but nice and helpful doesn't always cut through the enduring bullying that my sister often endures. This is fine... but only in the respect that my sister does actually receive at-home education, but not in so much that she is denied the social experience of school, an important aspect of her developing as an adult, and becoming a productive member of society.

All of which are just as important for my sister-with Downs Syndrome- as it is for any other person.

So there.

Not what I intended to blog about, but c'est la vie.

Also, dress is being sewn, cousins are booking flights, and N has been busy sewing bunting. This particular string of bunting he's sewing strips of cotton between some cute vintage (? Are they vintage? At least vintage looking) that I bought in an op-shop. It looks similar to this:

from Craft Gossip

So cute!

I didn't get my idea from here- rather, I got my idea while looking at the hankies in the op shop. This picture I found just now - because every awesome idea I have, someone, somewhere else has had it too. And posted pictures on the internet! Awesome!

Wedding plans, ahoy!

Sometimes what we say comes out all wrong

2010-03-25T12:09:00.000+10:30

Case in point:

Photo from here, copyright of the original photographer (it's a mouse).

Of course, sometimes we just mean, and say, the wrong thing.

So my (future) mother-in-law was criticising rugby players, saying that it's a thugs' sport, that there was a higher risk of injury (there isn't) and that N specifically wasn't the right body type to play it - that you have to be a certain body type (big and solid, I think). I pointed out that I play rugby, and I don't fit that 'type' to which she said, "well if you're short and squat it's ok".

And also, "have you ever seen a good-looking rugby player?!" (it was a statement, not question) to which I replied "yes, of course" ... obviously I'm not.

So, you know, instead of punching her (or just tackling her white-bread gold-standard arse) and telling her to kindly fuck off, I argued a little and then gave up.
She also criticised our invitations, stating that there was no mention of the W word on there (she actually said wedding, obviously, because she has no sense of subtlety or grace) to which I replied well, you know, people can either figure it out (and let's face it, everyone that is invited should theoretically know by now) or they can call us up and ask.
It's not rocket surgery, peoples.

In addition, I have been running daily (or almost daily). Except yesterday, when I cut my dress pattern out instead of running. Which is almost as fun but not nearly as athletic.

on Germaine Greer, feminism, and Bingle's well, bingle

2010-03-22T11:36:00.002+10:30

image from Wack! Art and the Feminist Revolution exhibition, from 2007

An opinion piece published in the Herald Sun the other day suggested that not only was feminism a great big fat failure, but it was also responsible for "appalling rates of teenage pregnancies, damning numbers of divorces, and more unhappy and exploited women than ever". Further, Germaine Greer's "numbingly dreary, poorly written guide" (The Female Eunuch) was completely unsuccessful, as evidenced by factors such as the size of female Olympic volleyball player's bikini bottoms, and the Bingle/Fevola issue. Bingle is generally criticised as being some kind of sexual predator, preying on an innocent (!) then-married Fevola and the whole scenario was used as an example of how "feminism hasn't really worked, so could Germaine Greer please shoosh" (I'm paraphrasing) and as a woman who, as Alan Howe suggests "are tugging hardest at the reins that hold back their gender".
Ergh.

He also lambastes Greer for changing her opinion, and expressing said new opinion publicly, accusing her of being as media hungry as the 'big-breasted b-grade celebrities' she has previously criticised (more paraphrasing, but you get the general idea).
And this, then, is the bit that I don't understand - surely we, as intelligent, thinking people, are allowed to change our ideas and opinions? Just as society changes and evolves, surely so are our interpretations of different issues affecting society?

Furthermore, how is it that Greer is solely and wholly responsible for the failure of feminism? Surely the undoing of the works of the sisterhood are more the efforts of a patriarchal society (one that it is all too easy to succumb to) than the failures of either Greer personally, or the feminist movement as a whole?

While accept that Greer is generally conveyed as an abrasive old bat, and I'm not about to defend her for her public commentary (she's more than capable of doing this herself) what she does do, and does very well, is challenge popular discourse on an issue, regardless of whether or not she anticipates this will be well received within popular media. That is, she opens the possibility to new ideas, different modes of thinking, and a general challenge to society-at-large to question whatever the current 'group think' on an issue may be, and in doing so, effectively moves undiscussed issues (such as the female body) in to public discourse (as she did with The Female Eunuch).
Finally, I don't think she's completely responsible for the 'Greer' image we receive in the media, as a crotchety old cranky ex-pat with too much to say and not enough media to say it in. I do, however, think that the media generally take great pleasure in portraying her as such, not the least of which (as we see in Howe's article, and echoed within reader comments) is used as a validation for the media-as-a-whole's rejection of feminism and for fixating on the body and women-as-sex-objects/inferior to men and therefore the root of all evil within society... etc.

As though oppression is the fault of the oppressed, for letting themselves be exploited.

Get real.

Frida Kahlo image from here (and originally sourced from Britannica)

Dress shopping, the actual factual event.

2010-03-14T23:41:00.000+10:30

Went in to town with my mother on Saturday to look for dresses and stuff. Not that it needed to be a sappy 'mother daughter' experience (saying I was dress shopping with my mother conjures this image) but rather, I dig her no-nonsense approach to shopping, her practicality, and her creativity. Also, she's one of the few people I know who isn't kidding when she suggests we need to lunch at a licensed venue, because shopping is, well, horrible.
So after surveying some overpriced (are they actually over priced? Really and truly, I mean, "out of my price range") dresses at some cute little shops on Rundle St, and the pain of knowing that not only was most of what I saw in Miss Gladys Sym Choon unaffordable, but also wouldn't look as awesome on me as it did on a gorgeously tall model, we made our way to a couple of fabric stores to see what we could sew.
We found some gorgeous antique-looking ivory coloured french lace, sketched a pattern to suit and went through pattern books to find a pattern to match what we'd drawn. Pattern found, we needed something to put under the lace. My mother was initially suggesting some gorgeous cream coloured fabric, very light with gorgeous drape, but it was transparent. Now, I accept needing to wear a slip of some description under the dress, but this was too sheer. We found something similar in black, and realised that the lace on the black looked freaking gorgeous. The dress will have a deep v neckline, empire waist and fall to around the knee (just above or just below? Not sure). The pattern also has gathering around the bust in the centre where the v meets the waistline, which I'll finish with a brooch of some kind. I hope.

Meanwhile, here's some inspiration for me to go running:

from here.

Because changing my mind is what I do best...

2010-03-11T12:29:00.000+10:30

Have completely changed my mind about the invitations. Hand written 'to-do' lists seem daggy and uncool now, have decided to write vital details on a page torn from an old dictionary instead.
N still prefers the to-do list, but I'm over it.

in other, unrelated news:

Dear Sir/Madam,

I am Mr. Raymond Daniel, the Auditor General, Bank Islam Malaysia Berhad. In the course of my auditing, I discovered a floating funds in an account which was opened in 2001 belonging to a dead foreigner name (withheld) a national of your country. I decided to track his last name over the Internet to locate any member of his family hence I got in contact with you. I want to move the sum of $18.5M from Bank Islam Malaysia Berhad in his account to abroad.

I therefore write to solicit your quiet partnership with me in providing an account or setting up a new one that will serve the purpose of receiving this fund, Even an empty account can also serve as long as there will be honesty to me till the end of the deal and I hope you will never let me down.

After going through his records and files, I discovered that:

(1) No one has operated this account since 2001;

(2) He died without an heir; hence the money has been floating.

(3) No other person knows about this account and there was no known

beneficiary.

AND IF I DO NOT REMIT THIS MONEY URGENTLY, IT WOULD BE FORFEITED FOR

NOTHING.

This money can only be approved to you legally as far you are welling to stands as his NEXT OF KIN. Hence I am contacting you. I will require your urgent reply so that I give you the next step. Kindly forward your telephone and fax numbers. I am ready to give you the sum of $7,500,000 ($7.5M) for your assistance and partnership. While 10% shall be set aside to upset all expenses incurred by both parties during the cause of this transaction.

I look forward to your prompt.

Best Regards,

Mr.Raymond Daniel,

Auditor General.

LOL

Man, this would all be so much easier if I was like, the seventh wife, or something

2010-03-10T01:54:00.001+10:30

Because then no one would expect anything of me. You know.

Of course, I jest.

So, an almost completely fruitless day of op-shopping made me realise that for the money I spend on a second hand dress, and altering it to suit, I could just make a freaking new dress. Turns out that, as usual, my mum was right all along. Ergh. I hate it when she does that.
The trouble is, I'm not finding anything in the pattern books (well, websites, but you know, same diff) that particularly inspires me. And that's kind of the whole point of making your own dress, right? Of doing something completely off-the-wall in it's uniquely you kind of way. (Or doing something really boring and normal, should that be what you were hoping to achieve...)

So, here are some images for inspiration. Credits are below.

I dig the style of this one. But needs sleeves. And more length. And a model that isn't practising her best farrah fawcett (and therefore making me want to punch her in her stupid perky little nose)

from here

The dress below is cute. Not sure about the second layer of lace, but I deffo dig the sleeves. Flower can go though. Model's cutesy looks are option, ie piss off and go do your homework or something.

from Bridal Bliss Designs on Etsy

And this one, without the hippy flower shit:

from hippiebride on Etsy

So then, if all these dresses were to like, do naughty dress things to each other, and then make a demented, but curiously beautiful and appealing dress baby, it'd look like this:

from English Dept on Etsy

Except without the price tag, which was like, $650, and poss with a symmetrical hem. Not sure about the layers, either. Still figuring that out.

I pinched this off a private forum, the OffBeat Bride tribe. No linkies, sorry, but it was someone's inspiration board, so NFI who the originals are from.

Finally, the dress in the top left corner - without all it's disgusting lace overlay on the skirt, minus the train and sans the length, well, I love it.

I really am a bit in love with the empire waist line thing, in spite of its sappy Jane Austen "Mister Daaaarcyyy" implications. I tend to think of it as having more, erm, Bronte sister inspirations - only, shorter, thus making it more suitable for wandering through those moors. Or whatever it was people did in moors, I don't know.

(Just quietly, Austen novels have their place, you know, and while it belongs NOWHERE near a film containing Keira Knightly, I have enjoyed the odd J. Austen - ie, all- novel. However, you simply CANNOT tell Oscar Wilde that).

Last dress picture -- love the beaded gold bit, but I can't imagine it'd look nearly as nice on me. I'm much too short, it'd just chop me in half. Plus, who wants to draw attention away from my fabourly sequinned drag queen shoes?

from pink galoshes

And it's late and I'm nearly asleep on account of it being 2 a-freaking-m. Night peeps. Or myself, as I am the one reading this.

'your mum' jokes don't work so well on your kids

2010-03-09T11:14:00.000+10:30

N's parents came around and 'helped clean'. Now, while I accept my house is untidy (cleaning and folding washing isn't a priority for me, OR anyone else in this house) the whole experience was...demoralising at best. N's mother made a great deal of the amount of clutter and dust everywhere - while doing little to actually resolve any of these issues.
I endured it by rearranging my bedroom, cleaning out my wardrobe (necessary - I could barely close the doors) and vacuuming under my bed. My dad helpfully replaced the broken tap and leaky showerhead, and my little brother helped paint the back room with N and his dad. Oh, to have been one of them.

So, I spent international women's day cleaning my house (and refusing to feel guilty for not being a better housekeeper) in preparation for an upcoming wedding. Ironic, no? I'm still trying to scrub the stench of horrible, hateful anti-feminist behaviour from my body (fortunately, I can now do this in the bath - thanks dad!). Might have to cut my hair shorter, or something.

At any rate, my mother, who is an expert on such things, says that wearing a white, repurposed wedding wedding dress will look like I'm not taking the whole thing seriously. Of course, the white wedding dress could also look too earnest, and I'm starting to feel that I lose either way. Thus, she informs me the only thing I can convincingly wear with my sooper-dooper-awesome shoes ("drag queen shoes, as my mum called them) is black. Minimal, a-line, v-neck black.
Now, rationally I know this, but when shopping patterns I found little that really jumped out at me and said, "OMG WEAR ME WHEN YOU GET WEDDINGED" ... .hence I am still looking.
Knowing, of course, that I will more than likely resort to the black dress.

Meanwhile, still clinging to hope, I also like this

Maybe I SHOULD just weare jeans...

2010-03-08T01:40:00.000+10:30

Man, this whole dress business is a lot harder than I realised.
At some point I got it in my head that it'd be really cool to wear a vintage wedding dress that had been repurposed to look funky and edgy, while still maintaining its cool retro look.
Inspiration came from here:

from the Lynns Rags' Etsy Shop, unfortunately a one of a kind she made (and sold) back in 2008 or something.

However, when I contacted her about this awesome dress, she said she also does cute wedding-ish dresses from new petticoats - such as this one:

Which is an interesting avenue I haven't pursued. I've done an etsy alchemy request thingo, which, fingers crossed, will come up with something awesome.. failing that I'm planning on hitting the op shops hard over the coming weeks.

Trouble is, now I've got this idea in my head, I can't get it out!

2010-03-06T11:23:00.000+10:30

Seems I'm not alone in drawing hand-made love notes as invitations. Well, kind of. Flush Designs used a collage of the love notes given between her and her (now) husband as the basis for her order of service. It's gorgeous, like a glimpse in to some very personal moments between them.

Awesome.

Slightly less sappy (and I suspect I like it a little more for that reason) are these ones, from Porterness on etsy:

Nothing more awesome than the truth. And kitty cats pimpin' cards. Awesome.

"teal, the colour of gangrene"

2010-03-05T21:48:00.003+10:30

badass wad of cash image from here

helen razer, please stop reading my mind, kthx. I have been having the exact same thoughts.

So while procrastinating invitations and study, I was reading Ms Helen Razer's blog . Cos that's what I like to do. Helen was waxing lyrical about the tackiness of the wishing well at weddings, and even more so, the trite poems that accompanies the invitation, wherein couples request money instead of gifts.

While I appreciate the practicality of this gesture - money is a little easier to spend than a gazillion toasters - the whole thing makes me uncomfortable. I don't like it, I think it's tacky. For this reason, I don't do registries. I know it's allegedly more convenient for people and whatever, but it's the sense of entitlement and expectation that accompanies the gift registries that irks me. The dollar value that is easily identified by the gift you gave, as this was some sort of indication of your estimation of the worth of the hosts' friendship.

"We want you to buy this set of pots and pans we chose, kthx".

Eff that.

To me, the money thing is this multiplied. I don't care if you want to use the money to pay for your honeymoon, or a new dining room table, a grocery item or whatever. I'm not a bank and that is not the point of gift giving - further, it completely undervalues my friendship.

So... I make a point of not buying off the registry, instead doing what I think is the whole purpose of a gift - which is giving something from the heart that reflects how you feel about the person/couple - these have included trees, hand made items from local artists, etc.

Thoughtful gifts should be dearly loved. That's the whole point of thoughtful, no? A gift of love from me, to be well loved by you?

cuter than cute chocolate bar from StinkinCuteGifts

** "teal the colour of gangrene" line is from "The Wedding Planner" a terrible, terrible movie that happens to be on the tv as I type. J. Lo's character uses it as a justification for why the wedding of her love interest (whose wedding she is planning) won't last. Because the bride chose teal bridesmaid dresses.
Of course, I find the notion of a romantic movie about someone jilting their soon to be wife at the alter to leave with the wedding planner (who was also jilted!) odd. I mean, I know the groom and bride to be both agree to part ways, but like... wtf? Who gets that far without saying, hang on... do I really want *this* for as long as we both shall live?

Ech.

Wedding industry annoys me.

these boots were NOT made for walking

2010-03-05T10:00:00.000+10:30

from here

Walked to school and busstop, then to my office and desk, then library, back from the library, back to the bus stop, and home from school. Ankles were unhappy. Then played a very hard and fast game of touch footy, and this morning my calves were killing me.
Ergh.

Meanwhile it was an awesome game. We won 17-4, feels almost cruel to have a scoreline like that. N said I played very well, passes were perfect, and lots of great dummy runs.

So, you know, maybe it was worth the pain.

Dad! There's an evil monkey in my closet!

2010-03-04T23:50:00.000+10:30

Many, many things to say, but not quite the cohesiveness to make my brain say them.
First and foremost, I wandered in to the American Apparel store on rundle st today. That place is strange. Suffice it to say, I felt no overwhelming urge to purchase high waisted lurex leggings, teeny acid denim look running shorts, or erm, puffy knickers.

Their regular tshirts were not as cheap as I had imagined, either. In fact, the whole store was expensive (overpriced?) and thus, not really worth a great deal of deliberation. I have no money, and what little I do have, I *should* be saving.

Otherwise, I have little interesting to report. So here is a funny picture:

Hover dogs. Oh yes. Miniature pinschers floating above the ground, because they're clearly evil. From here.

and while we're on the topic of deers and such like,

2010-03-01T14:14:00.001+10:30

I don't know why this dude's question wasn't answered with the sobriety it so deserves. It seems perfectly legitimate to me.

Having said that, I don't have the answer (much too esoteric for me). Further, I suspect that his interpretation of what Martha Stewart's heart shaped pot holders might be is somewhat different to, say, your mum's. Unless, of course, your mum is a crack addict or took too much acid in the 60s.

Are Squids And Deer Attracted To Glass Cups If They Have Pepsi In Them And A Hint Of Lavender Only Sarah Palin Could Love?

As for Sarah Palin:

from here

"They are kooks, so I agree with Rush Limbaugh. Rush Limbaugh was using satire ... I didn't hear Rush Limbaugh calling a group of people whom he did not agree with 'f-ing retards,' and we did know that Rahm Emanuel, as has been reported, did say that. There is a big difference there." (actually a quote from a Fox news interview on Feb 7 2010, located here).

And for the record, I don't agree with anyone using the term 'retard' as a derrogatory term. Or pretty much anything Sarah Palin says. I do, however, think the squid question is genius.

the bride wore black and the little girl ate deer meat.

2010-03-01T13:30:00.000+10:30

from Sodahead

No, not this kind of black.

It's just the kind of result I envisage when googling with search terms such as "black wedding dress" and the like.

On a completely unrelated note, I found a story written by Y, on a brown paper bag.

'Once upon a time there lived a girl called "Ella". Ella was 7 years of age and she lived in the forest alone. One fine day Ella had no food so she ate blackberries and deer meat. The end.'

I like Ella. She sounds resourceful.

all the captions I can think of are totally, totally wrong. Pic from here.

In other news, I found my spellcheck, it was in blogger draft. Doofus!

like a freight train, hurtling down a hill...

2010-02-28T16:51:00.001+10:30

And with no freaking idea how to use the controls.

Am finding this whole dress shopping thing vaguely depressing. I had an idea in my head of what I wanted to wear: black, scoop neck (or something vaguely similar) dress with empire waist, cut to just above the knee, with black opaque tights and:

these peep toes from Zu. It occured to me that I could also throw on a black ruffle bolero similar to

these ones that I've seen on etsy. Indeed, I've even found a how-to for something similar on Cut Out and Keep! So, I'm moderately excited about what to wear, but completely unmotivated about the actual dress shopping aspect. Finding a simple black dress becomes infinately more complicated when short and kind of funny shaped (read: feelin real tubby). Lots of styles I like, with structured bodices and spaghetti straps or frills or layers or a pencil skirt or WHATEVER just don't look nearly as nice on. So, ok, I'm no Sienna Miller (or whatever) but... you know, I'm feeling a little isolated out of the market here. Conventional dress sites show stuff that is too formal, too white, too frou frou or whatever, and if it manages to extend beyond these categories, then it is generally designed for someone much, much taller and slimmer than me... with the hips of a 12 year old boy.

Meh.

It's frustrating, mildly depressing, and at times, when I'm feeling vulnerable, kind of soul destroying.

So I'm going to continue to handwrite invitations and feel cranky and sorry for myself.

Oh, fuck.

2010-02-28T12:35:00.001+10:30

I was just looking through the offbeat bride and was reminded that according to the Marriage Act 1961 our celebrant is obliged to say some crap about how, in Australia, marriage is a legally binding blah blah between a MAN AND A WOMAN to the exclusion of all others.
Now, I don't. agree. with. this. at. all.

It completely contravenes my feelings regarding love, people, and the notion that the heart knows no gender boundaries, and that marriage should be a right for all regardless of sex or sexual identity. It is at odds with everything I am trying to raise my children to understand - that laws do not dictate love (within reason: we're not talking child brides here, peoples - but then, I tend to think of this as something that is the product of religion more so) so I am at a bit of a loss as to how to circumvent this problem in our ceremony.
I'm not at all comfortable with the exclusive nature of the Australian Marriage Act.

Currently I'm trying to get my head around how I, as a feminist, can not only endorse, but actively engage in something that effectively deliniates one group of society from another, based on something as arbitrary as who they love. Not sexual preference, but love. Because to me, that's what it ultimately boils down to: N and I have (gloriously) realised that we are at a point in our relationship where we've decided, that "yeah, this is it, and it's awesome" and others, who also reach this point, cannot (legally) express this in the same fashion.
Kind of rough, isn't it?

Further, associated with marriage are all sorts of patriachal symbols that I wish to thoroughly disown. I've thought about this somewhat, though, we can condemn the symbols that oppress us, or we can reclaim them, call them our own and effectively repurpose them to represent what we want. It's the same logic I use with my frequent use of very naughty swear words.
Thus, marriage becomes not about possession and submission, but rather, strengthening and sharing the bonds of love, not just with each other, but with everyone else - friends and family alike. And I suppose that's why my family and N's family are overjoyed that we're doing this - (in my mother's words, "about bloody time") because then they too can join in (join hands? Figuratively speaking, NOT literally) and say something along the lines of "hey this makes me really happy".

I just don't like that it's so damned exclusive. And so, I continue to voice my discontent.

So, apart from blathering on about how I never planned a wedding, never dreamt of my wedding day, never envisioned myself getting married (when we played weddings at school, I was the celebrant, when we played mums and dads, I was the crazy aunty that visited occasionally from some far off corner of the world and bought the most AWESOME gifts - and wore funny hats)... and have even outwardly stated that "I don't think I'll ever get married"... but, you know, like in that Ms Jackson song, "forever never seems like a long time till you're wrong".
Mind you, I'm quite happily wrong about this.

hmmm... parallels where I suspect they were not intended to be...

2010-02-26T12:23:00.001+10:30

Killing time this morning (feeling sorry for myself and my sore throat) I was reading about some dude that has made barbie models of Lady Gaga. Which is pretty cool, except that it occurs to me that many of Lady Gaga's latest outfits appear to be channelling some of The Mighty Boosh's characters, specifically, Black Frost.

Exhibit A: Lady Gaga and her miniature Barbie twin:

(image from NineMSN)

Exhibit B: The BlackFrost

(image from here)

and some dude dressed as the black frost (or lady gaga, you decide)

(image from here)

Further, in a Lady Gaga lookalike outfit (or atleast, that's what MSN newsfix called it), Jennifer Love Hewitt looks distinctly Old Gregg like. Skeptical? I bet you are. But really, it's there. Allow me to illustrate my point:

Exhibit A:

(from this cute little blog)

and Exhibit B:
Jennifer 'I like to vajazzle my vajayjay' Love Hewitt on her 31st birthday recently, who dressed up as Lady Gaga (note the hair-bow) doing some kooky "OMG LOOK AT ME I'M STILL CUTE" shots:

(from NineMSN)

Really, the trend setter here is Noel Fielding. Or Vince Noir. Or Noel Fielding AS Vince Noir. Or maybe it's just Old Gregg. I don't know.

The point is, no one can rock an elizabethan collar like Noel can. Example:

Exhibit A: Noel Fielding out being awesome, with a decidedly less awesome (in fact, I would argue, incredibly dreary) Lily Allen:

(pic from here - and I apologise immensely for Lily Allen being in this shot)

And Exhibit B: a somewhat oddly dressed Lady Gaga, who decided that meeting ol' Queen Liz II was a good time to dust off the Singer sewing machine and all that vinyl she just knew would come in handy some day:

(image from instyle)

Now, I could be wrong, but it would appear that Lizzie Windsor got her sparkle on for the occasion. Seems appropriate.

Further, and this may sound harsh (but I honestly couldn't give a fuck) the similarities between Noel Fielding and Lady Gaga don't end at her shameless copycat fashion efforts. Both! Yes, both! are pictured with a UK erm... 'celeb' that gets far more media attention than they should. Both are pictured with a 'celeb' that is decidedly dreary, and I'd hazard a guess that Liz's singing is probably on a par with Lily Allen's, as well.

Now let's all go listen to some Patti Smith in an effort to cleanse our souls of all those horrid Lily Allen and QEII thoughts.

(from Sounding Project)

Man, Patti is awesome.
Women with attitude, real attitude (not faux attitude channelled for the cameras) are awesome.
The desire to challenge the boundaries of gender/class/race etc, social constructs that would act as prisons were these women not there to liberate us via constant questioning, pushing and testing these of boundaries... well, these women changed my life.

They taught me that it's ok to be reflexive and constantly reinvent or reassess yourself, so long as you stay true to yourself - this person that you are and most importantly, the passion that fuels you through your every day. Too easily, too readily we lose sight of the greater ideals that guide us, and in these situations it's very cathartic -I guess- to remind ourselves of who, and why, we are.

(Chrissie Hines, also from sounding project)

stand up and be counted

2010-02-26T02:05:00.002+10:30

made some dark chocolate and raspberry muffins for the girls to take to school. Very simple recipe:
220g self raising flour (sifted)
1/2 cup caster sugar
1 tsp vanilla extract
2 tbsp cocoa (I think - I can't actually remember if I used this much or more)
1/4 of vegetable or canola oil
3/4 cup of skim milk
1 egg (lightly beaten)
150g of chopped dark chocolate and frozen raspberries. I think it was around 100g of chocolate and like, 70g of raspberries, but meh. You can put whatever you want in there (raspberries and white chocolate, for example!)

Preheat oven to 180 degrees (C). Mix dry ingredients in a bowel and make a well in centre. Mix wet ingredients and pour in to well. Combine, taking care not to over-beat - this makes the mixture tough. Add whatever additional ingredients you were going to add, stir. Pour in to muffin tins lined with patty-pans, bake for 15-20 minutes or until a skewer inserted in the middle comes out clean.

Considering the girls loved the chocolate and zucchini muffins, I imagine they're going to love these.

So, while waiting for these little chocolatey cakes of raspberry goodness to cool (So I could put them away) I was on facebook, reporting racist groups (as I like to do, instead of sleeping). I also joined an anti-racist group, titled '"Abo" is a racist word! Don't say it, use it or think it!" ... apart from my cousin's sarcastic comments (damn it, katey, I thought of it as I read it) I was reminded of the Warumpi Band's seminal tune, "Black Fella, White Fella" - someone wrote a post about it on the wall of the group.

So here it is:

one of the most influential songs and bands in my childhood (and later, as a teen trying to find her feet in terms of social justice) and a song that reminds me of my dear old Uncle Mark (RIP). He was the kind of person that encouraged others to 'stand up and be counted'. Via Mark, I learned of Joh Bjelke-Peterson and his creation of Qld as a police state (replete with corrupt police), of Bjelke-Peterson's support of apartheid in South Africa. Bjelke-Peterson also made public protesting all but illegal, leading to some Liberal politicians crossing the floor to vote against this - the right to association and assembly - people he later accused of being traitors (well, that's the story I hear).
Further, Bjelke-Peterson seemed to do all that he could to continue to disempower and malign Australian Aboriginal people, such as pushing through an act to anull previous Native Title Claims, as well as evicting Fred Hollows and some Aboriginal Elders from a government controlled 'reserve' on the grounds that they were encouraging the Aboriginal people to enroll to vote - Hollows, of course, was there for trachoma work (though... I wouldn't put it past Fred Hollows to have been doing this!).
Bjelke-Peterson was also istrumental in the demise of the Whitlam Government.

Lovely fellow, eh?

So... because of this, and because we can, we must stand up and be counted. As La Passionara said, "better to die on your feet than to live on your knees", or, in the words of Alexander Hamilton, "Those who stand for nothing, fall for anything".

the printed word...

2010-02-25T23:46:00.000+10:30

via ffffound

so at this point it might be appropriate to admit that while I happily subscribe to ideas and notions I see on the interwebs, such as 'I pledge to read the printed word' the fact is, as a perpetual student I frequently struggle to find time to read simply for pleasure. Well, this isn't entirely correct - as far as 'pleasure' is concerned, I enjoy study, and read beyond my field of inquiry (at that particular point in time) because I enjoy it. It's not exactly reading novels, though, and this is something I absolutely miss.

Having said that, I doubt that I could (without guilt) commit to a novel at this point in time. My leisure time is preoccupied with reading for my thesis, cryptic crosswords and sudoku.

And I like cryptic crosswords and sudoku too much to give it up.

Also, blogger no longer has spellcheck. Well, not an obvious one. This annoys me.

please bear with me while I open my mouth and spew forth a pile of unintelligable gibberish

2010-02-25T17:19:00.001+10:30

I really loathe those days when I feel I swing a pendulum between talking too much (and saying very little) and not talking (and still, saying very little). There is no middle ground here, simply a dire case of foot-in-mouth, and uncomfortable silences.
Case in point - today, when, during a meeting with other Honours students and their supervisors, I felt I either babbled incessantly, or stared at the table intensely, hoping someone else would say anything so that I wouldn't feel the need to continue to blather on about nothing in particular. Fortunately, my supervisor appears to be quite empathetic to this unfortunate condition, as she rescued me on more than one occasion. She's like me, I think, in a short, intense personality kind of way.

Now, because I'm terribly vain, I like to think I'm intense in a Peaches kind of way. Of course, Peaches is brilliant and intense and a musical god, but still, I'd like to think there were parallels between the the more abrasive and challenging aspects of her public persona (she makes no apologies for who she is, indeed, she challenges people to question their presumptions and preconceptions) and myself.
I wish.
Ha!

Picture courtesy of The Scenestar

Everyone always leaves

2010-02-24T16:45:00.000+10:30

I love this:

Everyone always leaves.

from Unhappy Hipsters, via Mouthful of Joy

So, so funny, I don't know how I didn't discover this blog sooner. (Well, I do, and involves having a life, particularly one that incorporates lots of academic study, sport, dogs and children, but it sounds much less dramatic when put like that).

2010-02-23T10:26:00.001+10:30

So inspired I am by Helen Razer's blog, http://badhostess.com/ that I felt the need to blog about this here. Because ranting to no one in particular is what I do best.

Ms Razer describes her experiences while buying an RCA lead, and what seems to be an inevitable and entirely predictable exchange with male sales assistant, who acts in such a way as to assume that he wasn't aware that people with vaginas were allowed to go to school and might (God forbid!) know things.
My last experience in this sphere was while trying to establish the cost of replacing the battery in my car's remote control. I spoke to a automotive locksmith, and explained that I had sawed the remote open along its seam with a steak knife, pried the battery off, and that while one of the contacts was already broken (the result of being dropped too many times) I had established that fashioning a makeshift contact out of some tin-foil seemed to work just fine, and can I use a regular battery and would you sell me one please.
With an over-exaggerated sigh, he explained to me that these remotes were single use only, and couldn't be opened (in spite of me telling him I already had) and that purchasing a replacement battery was a mistake because it was NEVER GOING TO WORK BUT WHAT WOULD YOU KNOW BECAUSE YOU ARE JUST A STUPID GIRL. Well, the last bit wasn't actually spoken aloud, you know, but rather, tacit in his tone and slow manner of explanation. So, very patiently, and equally as slowly, I explained to him that not only was I confident it would work, but that at least attempting to fix the unit was preferable to obediently handing over wads of cash that I simply don't have - something I am sure he seemed to think was the only thing I was actually skilled at.

So, steeled by his arrogant presumptions, I called in to a local supermarket, bought a battery and replaced it, sticky tape, tin foil and all. And it works fine. So you know, nyeh nyeh, etc.

Cutlery, crockery, and all things servingware

2010-02-23T09:20:00.000+10:30

Are plastic plates an absolute no-go?

In the process of planning our little backyard 'event', N and I have had to give thought to what people are actually going to eat off. Normally a mishmash of new and old plates are dragged out of the cupboards for people to use, and in some scenarios, the paper plate makes an appearance. It is an outside event, after all, and being the pseudo-greenie that I am, I can rationalise and justify using disposable products by buying those that are already made from recycled paper to begin with.

Trouble is, they're kinda cheap looking.

And while cheap isn't really a concern of mine, it's not what I would choose if I wanted to set this particular backyard 'event' apart from every other occasion, and doing so seems somewhat important to me at the moment, as if to give some indication of the brevity of the ceremony, while still doing it in a uniquely N & Katey kind of way.

Yet, this seems preferable to the plastic alternative:

from http://i244.photobucket.com/albums/gg40/hikimmo/WriteShop%20Images/217-809PaperPlate9.jpg

versus

http://partywarehouse.co.nz/zen/images/Plastic%20Plates%20White.jpg

I don't know. But I suppose it is one of those very important things that I will need to work out sooner rather than later. Like what we're wearing, and other crap like that. Meh.

Cougars and Cubs

2010-02-19T10:22:00.000+10:30

Is this new 'cougar' phenomenon *actually* a phenomenon? There has been much buzz in the media regarding the issue, not the least of which includes a new (and much promoted) tv series titled "Cougar Town" starring a 40-something-but-still-very-hawt Courtney Cox. Of course, preceding this was an article on some trashy - sorry- serious current affairs program on Australian tv regarding the 'cougar phenomenon' amongst women and young, starry eyed and cashed up Rugby League players (and presumably, AFL players, but really, who cares about that weird sport and their oddly cumbersome passing and tackling techniques?).
What has occurred, at least in my observations, is an evolution of the word 'cougar' to mean, not just a hot, older woman, but a hot, older woman over the age of about 35 (this is not precise, I suspect it could be higher?) who is single, looking for a no-commitment relationship with a similarly hot male approximately 10 years their junior. Conversational ability optional.
What I initially understood it to mean, was a woman who was... perhaps in her thirties, seeking same with hot young rugby players. I suppose the lines are blurred and fundamentally the same, but at the tender age of thirty I witnessed an old school friend refer to herself on facebook as a cougar, so was surprised to eventually learn the age requirements for the label were somewhat higher than initially thought.

Meh.

What this means, though, for women, is a reinforcement and perhaps prolonging of the sociological imperative to remain 'hot' for as long as they possibly can, equipping themselves with clingy fabrics, spray tans, perhaps a little surgical aid, and a decent amount of hair and makeup.
Now, there is nothing fundamentally wrong with a woman's desire to look 'nice' - I want to make this clear. However, it is who this effort is for, that I take umbrage with. Is it really, truly, for the woman, if she is then going out and actively seeking the attentions of much younger males (and presumably, competing with younger women, and their nubile, not-yet-had-children bodies). The answer is, I don't know.
Seeking non-committal sex is fantastic, women are to be lauded for having the confidence and self-assuredness to do this, ignoring social expectations to be demure and chaste and acknowledging their desire for what is fundamentally a physical relationship. After all, the only *real* discernible difference between males seeking casual, non-committal sex and entirely physical relationships, and women, is well, some stupid gendered ideas regarding women's biological imperative as the child bearers/carers and generally downtrodden within the male/female: masculine/feminine paradigm. Which isn't very just or fair, nor is it accurate. Gender identities are, as we all well know, malleable, changeable, and forever in a state of flux. That's how we know that they're not inherited, but rather, socialised - because if they were biological then they would be much, much more rigid, and there would be no categories that fell outside of these binary terms (eg, 'feminine men, and 'masculine' women).
So, with respect to this, I admire and respect the cougars. what I don't admire and respect is, as previously stated, women's societal worth being measured largely by their physical appearance, that is, their attractiveness (via social norms of what is and is not attractive), particularly to the opposite sex.
Can't women have one night stands without the nasty removal of almost all pubic hair (additional issues here with mimicking pre-pubescent girls), tan-in-a-can and very expensive dye and blow-dry?
Men are less so expected to fulfill the same physical requirements - the 'yummy mummy'/milf phenomenon does not necessarily translate to 'yummy daddy'/dilf' with such ease and social acceptance- perhaps because it is still taboo for women to discuss such things so publicly.

I don't know. I do admit that I'm not immune to this, but at the same time, I tell myself that I want to buck these trends/expectations and live my life as *I* see fit, measuring my appearance as a body that grows and nourishes life, is strong and fit (And eventually, athletic), moves and sustains and supports my teammates on the sporting field. With this, comes a level of physical fitness that *happens* to fit desirable images of bodies in current society.
In theory.

In reality, I know I'm just as vain as everyone else.

Plans, eh?

2010-02-18T23:34:00.001+10:30

So we have 10 weeks till -the date- and I am aware that we have much plans to make, and put in to action.
Yet, motivation is so....
freaking
hard
to
find.

Which is not to say that I don't want to go through with the ceremony - THAT part I'm actually really excited about. What I'm not keen on, is the organisation of having some kind of 'not-your-average' barbeque, with expectations from friends and family that things should look and be a certain way.
Actually- I don't even care about their expecations... so is it my own that concerns me?
I don't know.

I thought that it'd all be easier once I sorted a dress out. In keeping with this, I kept the girls home from school, and went shopping in an effort to gain some inspiration and ideas on appropriate outfits. In doing so, I was reminded just why I dislike shopping - the arduous process of trudging shop to shop, trying on things and, more frequently, not trying things on because it is clear that they would be unflattering/too small/too long/wrong colour.

Thus, the entire experience becomes extraordinarily depressing, reminding myself that I actually *do* have body issues, reinforced by the presence of my daughters' and their critical eyes.

(not that I begrudge my daughters' presence, by any means!)

So, we are as yet dress-less. I admit though, secretly, the idea of getting a dress at the absolute last minute appeals to me.

trawling the internet

2009-11-12T11:01:00.001+10:30

ugh - wading through anti abortion drivel to find comments reflecting public opinion on sex ed tailored to international students is...mind numbing at best, painful at worst.
I promised myself a dip in the pool once i'd fininshed, but this media analysis looks set to bore me to sleep.

A few years back, I'd get all irritated and indignant at the responses I'm reading, "sex education encourages sex, blah blah blah" ... but today, today (perhaps because of tiredness) I just feel bored with it all.

It's tedious, monotonous, repetitive, boring, and often untrue.

Please, bore someone else with your dogma.

It's uter-US Marge, not uter-YOU

2009-11-02T21:10:00.001+10:30

Procrastination is such a great motivator. I've won countless games of online scrabble, shopped for the perfect gift for Nick and now found a knitting pattern for a uterus.

It's from a website called Knitty, and it's kinda cute..
however, it does look disturbingly similar to those creepy little hearts they sell at ikea, you know, the kind that vaguely resembles a snotty toddler just DYING to whipe its epic boogers all over your face?

Only, you know, MUCH more functional.

The pattern can be found at

http://knitty.com/ISSUEwinter04/PATTwomb.html

Oops, ergh

2009-08-04T17:33:00.000+09:30

It occured to me I was going to blog about 'eating and other important stuff'. Suffice to say, this was really just the arbitrary inclusion of words in to the title of my blog to increase its audience appeal (ha!) and thus readability by the masses (double ha!).

I was, however, contemplating adding that I feel I have become an eating machine lately, and that writing this blog (for all its previously discussed self-serving egocentricity) is encroaching on my terribly-important-exercise-time.

Because any excuse will do, right?

facebook cleanouts, eating, and other important stuff

2009-08-04T17:14:00.000+09:30

The rise and subsequent ubiquitousness of facebook seems to have lead to a newer trend, the 'facebook cleanout'. This is an exercise of culling 'friends' that a person (the facebook user, who is conducting said cleanout) has deemed to have had insufficient contact with in order to maintain them on their friends list. While I understand the fundamental principle of the exercise (trim the fat, clean out the closet, spring clean, etc) the concept of a facebook cleanout represents all sorts of other confusing aspects to me, particularly those surrounding the notions of friends and acquaintances as we previously understood them.
To me, the beauty of facebook is not in its ability to maintain contact with close friends and family, but rather, to keep some kind of connection or running commentary of a person with whom contact may otherwise be lost. My family, for example, is extensive and widely spread around Australia. Facebook has allowed me to maintain some level of contact with these people, even if I do not actively participate (at least, not in a Facebook sense) in their every day lives and happenings. Ditto old school friends; particularly those about whom my mind would occasionally wander and well, wonder.
And while Facebook can serve as the perfect venue for (at least part of) torrid friendships and bizarrely motivated personality quizzes (which romanticised stereotype from this arbitrary tv show/movie/popular culture icon/species of amoeba/suburb/friendship group/school are YOU?) it can also be a means of maintaining distant, non-confrontational (though slightly stalkerish) contact with people you actually care about. It's also a great conversation topic, "oh, her? Yeah, I'm facebook friends with her. Boy, she LOVES karaoke, cruisers and tacky heart shaped pink gimmicky virtual gifts..." etc.

It's also the perfect venue for time wasting, and how else to time waste but to look at "oh-I-remember-Georgie-the-one-with-that-never-wore-matching-socks-to-school-when-I-lived-in-
Sydney-no-this-was-my-second-school-I-think's profile, and find out that the never-wore-matching-socks thing actually manifested in to some kind of awesomely cool and creative career as a cutting edge fashion designer (or some such romanticised stereotype)... Oh yeah, and according to which breed of dog are you, George is a French Bulldog. Go figure.

Episode IV: a new blog

2009-08-01T00:04:00.000+09:30

Wow!

After much deliberation I have deleted my old blog account. The reasons for this were numerous; I was not able to merge the old blog with my current google account (and logging out and in with different user names really doesn't suit my incredibly lazy style) but also, and quite fundamentally, I felt it was important to close the door on that particular episode of my life. Certainly an episode best left behind a closed door, or at least not some readily accessible point (metaphorically speaking, of course).

So then, here I am. Older, and with any luck, wiser. Or even wizened, as the case may be.

That being said, I was feeling somewhat stumped for a topic to blog on. Or rather, a topic to blog passionately and extensively on. Many spring to mind, however: the inexplicable non-acceptance of moves towards a more socialised model of health care amongst Americans (specifically, residents of the USA), and following on from that, the lack of acceptance of scientific evidence from otherwise educated and informed people on issues such as evolution/creationism, and the "vaccination debate"... issues that present as complete no-brainers to me, and, ironically, I suppose no-brainers to others, but I mean this in a much more vindictive manner (there! I said it! People that believe these ridiculous ideas ARE stupid! You must be to abandon all sense of reason and logic - "hey, if we ignore all the facts and evidence, those funny looking kids were right!" etc).

Ergh.

Apart from this... I taught my daughters how to play uno this evening. They took to the game with gusto, and... beat me. G played her cards close to her chest (figuratively and literally) and Y sought advice for the first couple of games, then went on to deal me several vicious plays in the subsequent game. Funny little things -clearly too clever for their own good! I shall have to perpetuate some kind of facade that I have been deliberately losing in order to maintain my god-like parental status (look! I made a people!), a status on which my grasp has become increasingly tenuous as the girls get older.

And so, here it is. My new blog. I wanted to retain the name of my old blog, simply because I like it, but blogger would not allow me to do so. So I figure I can retain the title, if nothing else. While it is a tad more egocentric than I would like, it also I suppose accurately captures the necessarily egocentricity of a blog of this nature. But... just to satisfy my own vanity, I am going to squint at the word egocentricity so that the letters blur and it reads more like eccentricity. Because carefree eccentricity has such lovely, serene appeal to it.