Showing posts with label meh. Show all posts
Showing posts with label meh. Show all posts

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

(dis) connected

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.


Friday, September 3, 2010

I really am the most horrendously negligent blogger...

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.

Friday, July 23, 2010

Potatoes, Churchill and things that drool

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).

Tuesday, March 30, 2010

On how to be unproductive and procrastinate lots...

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!



Thursday, March 25, 2010

Sometimes what we say comes out all wrong

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.

Monday, March 8, 2010

Maybe I SHOULD just weare jeans...

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!

Sunday, February 28, 2010

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

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.