Arg, I'm drinking milo and it's just all floated up to the top, the bastard! Why I felt the need to have milo at ten to twelve at night is beyond me, by the way. Especially after having had three lamingtons and a slice of chocolate cake already today.Amusing Anecdote Time
Anyway. Have been terribly neglectful of the flist lately, am very sorry to say. So: Hi, all! How's things? Hope you are all well. :)
Got my first ever Valentines gift on Saturday: they were selling roses at B-bong races, and Lucy bought me one. I love my sister. She's such a goose sometimes. My only Valentines card ever was also from her a few years ago. She made it herself with a bit of paper and a set of connect-a-pens.
Speaking of the races - won $11 in the first race! A little gray mare that surged forward in the last few seconds to make a beautiful win. In the second race, my horse ran last, for god's sake, it's not like I have cash to burn here - and in the third, it came second. Second. Gambling is hard, man. I don't think it's for me - I don't like not knowing which horse will win, which is probably a bit of an issue.
The Joyes of Fashion
Mum ended up coming to the races in the end, so did Grandma, Uncle J, and Cousin J2. Lucy and co. were also there, with Cousin M and Cousin L. I was terribly proud of our collective race fashions. For example, Grandma was sporting a very fetching bright orange rain poncho that blew excitingly in the wind, and Lucy's friend S, a large bodied young lady, was wearing a tiny pink coconut bikini over her shirt. When asked about her attire, S replied, "they barely even cover me nipples!"
AKA, The Rat
Cousin L is thirteen and looked stunning, damn her. M and I told her it was ridiculous. We didn't look that good at thirteen and she jolly well shouldn't either. She should be fat and dumpy with acne and ill-fitted clothing, not fantastically dressed with great hair, walking so naturally in heels you'd think she was born in them.
L is wonderful. She's the youngest girl in that side of the family, so we've sort of molded her in our image. She's like a mixture of the best parts of me, Lucy, M, and Cousin A. So, essentially, she is insane, hilarious, confident, into footy, enjoys confusing people, tough, loves a good faux stalk, can fangirl with the best of them, has a large range of exaggerated and extremely silly facial expressions for every situation, is a complete camera whore and total poser, has seen some of the best movies and weird English comedies around, and has a love of clothes and other pretty things that would intimidate lesser men. And she worships the four of us blindly.
One day we will use her to take over the world, somehow. Muha.
Uh, Stream of Consciousness?
I fucking love Quick-Eze. TAKE THAT, inexplicable spontaneous anxiety pain/indigestion!
SPEAKING OF CLOTHES. I have a lot of them. I'm not a shopaholic or anything, I just like pretty things and never have the heart to throw anything away. My wardrobe (which is, to be fair, very small) is overflowing onto the floor, and I have two full suitcases of stuff in the sunroom waiting to go back to Sydney. Even M thinks I have a lot of stuff, and she is
a shopping fiend. You can't see her floor for all the clothes she has strewn everywhere. I plan on having a big ruthless clean out before Uni, but I doubt it'll make a dent.
That, however, is not the point. The point is: STORY TIME.
So M is going through my cupboard to help me pick a dress for the races.
"I love all your clothes, Stell, they're so pretty. Oh, is this one of those dresses that looks like a shirt?"
"Probably just a shirt. I used to wear button ups to schoo-"
M has pulled the long-sleeved white shirt from the cupboard and is holding it up. "Okay, definitely not a dress." She is laughing.
"Oh my god, I have never seen that before in my life
"And it's a man's shirt." A size 37, to be precise. "Was it Ben's, maybe?" My brother had had the room before me. M and I are both giggling in surprise.
"If it is I have no idea how it managed to hide in my cupboard for five years without me ever seeing it. Where did that come
from?! I wore button ups to school in year 11 and 12, but they were all three quarter sleeved and for women
. I have no memory of ever buying that!
"... The only thing I can think of is that, I have a bit of a thing for men in white buttoned up shirts. Maybe I bought it thinking that, if ever I do get a boyfriend, he'll need one of those in order to keep me."
M is cacking herself. "It's a very specific
"I know, right?! Maybe I have like a weird subconscious thing for very tiny, skinny men? Which totally goes against everything my taste has ever told me. Where did that come
Yesterday I made two cakes and a cobloaf, and spent three hours making Lucy the bestest birthday card ever. Ben came over while I was making it, and made me sign it from him too, as a part of his plan for Lucy not to notice he hadn't gotten her a gift ("N's the one who remembers that sort of thing!" N, who has been in Dubbo hospital for the past two weeks with their newborn twins and a flu) until after he had left. He took great joy in playing with my gold texta, and nagged subtly until Mum made him a sandwich. Then he squashed my head and I scratched him.
This, ladies and gentlemen, is my twenty seven year old big brother and role model.
Lucy's barbeque was probably the most subdued 18th party ever. She and all her friends were knackered after the races, and everyone was gone by 9:30. This is not a bad thing; we had a great time and the barbie was a resounding success (ain't no sausage like a barbequed sausage), but it was funny watching Lucy have to be awake and entertaining people when her usual routine after being out all night is to sleep on the couch and growl at anyone who watches telly too loud.
Effing arseing bastard Back of doom update
The old lumbar vertabrae are feeling much better now. Much thanks and love for the kindness when it was bad, guys. It really does mean a lot. ♥ Kicked out update
Oh, by the way, I have a new flat!
... Weeeell, I say
Here's the thing: Turned out I didn't get the huge one in Glebe, and when we thought about it, the one I did get was sort of unsuitable - no carspace, no balcony, no internal laundry (I enjoy doing laundry. Laundrettes are not my thing), the kitchen was just one wall of the lounge room, the rent was a bit steep, etc. Separately, I could deal with a lot of those things, but together, it's a bit much. So, after finding little that was suitable in Glebe, we rang my old agent, and she offered me a place in my old building.
I did want a change, but it turns out all I will have to adapt to will be being two floors down and having a different coloured carpet.
It will be freshly carpeted and painted, but has no curtains or wardrobe, and there's a shower curtain instead of a screen (NNOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!). It does come with a washer and dryer though, so I won't have to rent them, and, presumably, this time the dryer won't be in the bedroom.
HOWEVER. One thing that is giving me pause: apparently, the carpet is brown
. Now, it may turn out to be perfectly lovely, but, for now, I am disturbed. What on earth
am I going to do with a brown carpet?! Nothing
looks good with brown. My furniture looked so good
with my old blue carpet. I don't know how I shall cope with the challenge of trying to put together a nice loungeroom with a brown carpet
, of all things.
Excuse me while I let out a world-weary sigh.