Let loose my little children of the night

I didn't feel like doing the 'Brynne' thing this year

so it's long, black and supremely elegant.

Misanthrope for the next four weeks, maybe more

I’ve always disliked staying at other people’s houses, even as a child.

This turned into a phobia after a two day visit to a friend of a friend in Sydney. I was supposed to return to Melbourne by train with my friend but ill and in pain I decided to stay overnight without her and fly back.

I was left alone in the flat, nothing in the fridge except a can of pineapple juice which I opened and had a glass before I caught a taxi to the airport. I left a gift for my hostess and a note saying that I had opened the juice.

A week later with no phone call from my friend, strange since we spoke or saw each other just about every day. The friendship apparently was at an end on the advice of her boyfriend. I was not a suitable person for her to be around.

Considering the time I’d known her boyfriend and that I’d been sleeping with his brother, it was an odd time to decide I was unsuitable as a friend.

I met her for the last time to hand over photographs of the Sydney trip and to ask the big question, why no more friendship.

The flat we stayed in belonged to his mother, a born again Christian of the rabid Catholic kind. According to her, I had stolen food, imposed on them by overstaying 12 hours, left without saying goodbye and thank you. Above all, I was the worst kind of female, in her opinion I was well on the way to becoming a (gasp) lesbian. That gob smacked me and I can only think it was because I had walked into the bathroom in my petticoat to hand a towell to my friend. These were the days of bra, girdle, stockings, full length petticoat, you know, ‘move along, nothing to see here’.

The last was also hurtful because the son sharing my bed did not tell his mother that she was mistaken probably to assure her that he was still her virgin child. Over 40 years ago and that betrayal still sends hate arrows if I hear a certain song.

I had known the friend and boyfriend for some years, neither had defended me. Friendship severed.

A fleeting phone call some years later brought home the fact that when people say you can’t go back, it’s really true. Another reason I would never follow facebook.

As far as I was concerned I had done everything that etiquette demanded of a guest but a phobia was born and I still dislike staying with other people in their home.

The point of all this is that I have someone not staying but visiting at the oddest times and seems to have no idea of what one does in someone else’s home.

I would not dream of asking to borrow cosmetics.

I would not have a shower in another’s bathroom.

I would not be cooking in another’s kitchen at 11 at night.

I would not invite my parents over when the owner of the home is in her grotty old dressing gown after a day at the oldies party and not tell her they were coming until they were on the doorstep.

I would not tie the owner’s lace curtain in a knot so one could lie on the bed to watch the birds.

And so on.

I apologized to my mother yesterday. She was crazy, bitchy and thoroughly horrible before she went to the home but she had two years of the ill-mannered troll that I am now wanting to choke after 3 weeks.

I should have let mum do away with her and pleaded justifiable homicide due to insanity.

I have not said anything to the BrickOutHouse, he knows. He has offered to go away as soon as he can sit to drive the car, bad idea and one I was trying to avoid by not saying anything.

You see, I have been in this position before with my son and his girlfriend. She won the battle and he left at 17. These two women are of a kind. They saw the man they wanted, they got the man they wanted and they will lie, cheat, connive and kill to keep the man they wanted. The only difference between them is that one was aggressive-aggressive and one is passive-aggressive. But the one I’m dealing with now could give A-A a 10 length start and still beat her in the bitch stakes and I never thought I’d be saying that.

Tension if you're reading this....PISS OFF

At long last, the first part

I have my ticket, my precious ticket.

Now I'll have to read the book again.

Take the Quiz here!

I've lost control of the year

Monday, I can't remember at all. Thank goodness I keep a diary but I forgot to write in it.

Tuesday, Mother not well so spent all day with her. Her mouth was well enough to give orders.
Still it was pleasant to have her in bed and be able to have a reasonably quiet time in her room.

Wednesday, I can't remember at all. Thank goodness I keep a diary but I forgot to write in it.

Thursday, shopping day and I forget to do the internet Bpay for the bills so run all over Southland and remember why I'm in love with internet banking. Buy clothes on sale for mother.

Friday, I start out for the bus carrying a sherpa load of stuff for guess who and decide a cab would be better. Even better go to Southland and try and sort out my Harry Potter ticket which Village have managed to stuff up. No joy so spend some more of mother's money. Bad move, she makes me haul out every thing in the wardrobe and put it in piles. One for her, one for me and one for the op shop.

Tuesday night was ladies night at the pub and the beer was free. I forgot that, three beers and I'm gone but I won a prize. Just what I've always wanted, a Bingo Set. I donated it to the Home.

I owe emails to people and you will hear from me, promise.
BrickOutHouse is recovering to the extent of walking 7kms a day.
He insists on putting blocks of chocolate near my mouth and I don't remember eating them.
How he loves Aldi chocolate, unfortunately my innards don't.

I am weary and there is tension but not because of him and I can't vent because the cause of the tension might remember I have a blog.

Call it quits, loosers

From the Sunday Herald Sun:

Train travellers are shunning myki, transport documents reveal, amid a renaissance in the popularity of old-fashioned Metcard ticketing.
Ten months after myki's introduction on Melbourne trains, only 8 per cent of all commuters are using the $l.35 billion system.

And I'm not one of them.

On the buses I am supposed to exit via the back door, which is all well and good if the driver has managed to park up against the curb. If he hasn't then it's grab hold of the door and swing to safety. This takes time but people are usually kind enough to wait or just bored enough to watch the fat lady fly. If I have to swipe and swing then I'm going to be at the back of the queue hoping
the driver has one eye on the back door. Never take it for granted that he has.

Being a pensioner I was supposed to get a free myki and I didn't so I'll stick with Metcard.
Give it all up, take the loss and go back to something that works.
When will politicians learn to admit a mistake, cop the kick in the kneecap and move on (I almost said forward but that's already been used).

Boy, did I have dreams

My aunt was a catwalk model in the late fifties, not overseas but here in Australia. Unfortunately the camera didn't love her face, lovely though she was in person. When I was about 12 years old, she brought over some of her model dresses for Mum to make into clothes for me.


Did I fight to keep those model gowns from being cut up into girly dresses. I mean what was wrong with a 12-y-o wearing a calf length dress with a flying panel from the shoulders AND it was lined with pure silk. But I came across this photo by John Rawlings for Vogue and there it was, the beginning of my love affair with velvet.


She had brought a dress of this shade of velvet. Draped at the neck and long with a lined wrap for the shoulders. I was in love and the love for velvet and this colour still lives. I ranted and stormed to keep the dress as it was but good material was too expensive not for it to be used. At least my mother did one thing, she made it up in a 'princess line', a pattern without a waist. How good it was not to have a waisted dress when I didn't have a waist.


My lovely velvet had a slightly flared body, a scoop neck, no sleeves but in a style that was known as ballet dress bodice. Under it I wore a crisp white blouse with tiny ruffles down the front and a collar I could turn up like the Audrey Hepburn I wasn't. The one thing I can't remember are the shoes I would have worn.

I still remember what it felt like to put on that gown and watch it fall around my ankles and spread over the carpet. And I remember when models looked like ladies instead of stick insects and heroin chic.

The not so good oil

So everyone's happy that the oil spill in the Gulf seems to have disappeared faster than expected. Hooray for little oil eating microbes that must be reaching the size of Blue whales by now.

Others aren't so sure at this miracle. The oil is still down there, floating around the water column but in smaller slicks or particles or sinking to the bottom to smother the seabed and anything living down there. Wait for the first big storm to stir the oil pudding and see what happens.

Reading New Scientist bring another oil gem to light. World War 11 and the tonnes of shipping that went to the bottom with their cargoes of oil, still down there in rusting hulks. 8500 of these rusting hulks in various parts of the ocean already slowly leaking. In Chuuk Lagoon, Micronesia more than 50 Japanese wrecks are on the bottom, a time bomb of eco-disaster.

There are also the more recent ship sinkings which we have to worry about since a lot of these ships weren't in the best condition to be sailing at all but that's what 'flags of convenience' are for.
If we can drill down through the sea, through the sea bed then surely we can remove and use the oil lying in these wrecks. Just don't think about the munitions that are probably lying around ready to go boom. Lord knows what they're leaking into the ocean.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaannnndd

A HAPPY BIRTHDAY

CUPCAKE

FOR HAWT ANDREW

And it's been only a week

In my present mood, those marshmallow cupcakes would last about a nanosecond including removing the paper.

BrickOutHouse is recovering nicely, well his back is. He now has toothache. He's already up to walking 5kms a day and hoovering ice-cream and milo faster than I can get to a cupcake. Thanks to the tart that was in such a hurry to get round a corner yesterday she nearly ran him down on the crossing.

My big gripe is Australia Post which hasn't delivered 2 parcels that were posted 4 weeks ago.

Actually that isn't my really big gripe but how can I delicately put it that I would like to belt someone with a brick without naming names, oh look, I just did.

I forked out $7 for fish and chip day at the home next week and I get to bring the lemons. Thank you mother for opening your big mouth.

I picked up a ring from the jewellers. I had a stone removed and another put in its place. The new stone has been chipped and there's nothing I can do about it. The only come back was if I had taken a photo of it as I handed it over, unchipped. You really can't see it but I know it's there and they know it's there. I might buy gems from there again but I'll never have any set.

And crap on daylight savings. And the birds that are fornicating under my window. And the flaming big possum that fell in the mandarin tree from the roof. I hope its hobnail boots fell off.

I could really go for a marshmallow cupcake.

Only the voice remains

I grew up in a house with one radio and a little old record player so the first time I heard anything operatic was when the radio was accidentally shifted off the racing station to the ABC.

I had never heard anything as beautiful as Joan Sutherland singing the Bell Song from Delibes 'Lakme'. It was written on my wish list but it was 10 years before I tracked down a recording and could afford to buy it on my $20 a week pay.

Then the ABC broadcast the Opera live from the Sydney Opera House and I had my first view of the entire opera story. I loved it and Dame Joan for ever.

He made it through.

He's still groggy and sister said a very sweet voiced nurse answered his phone for him.
The funny thing is, I've been conscious of a hospital smell around the house all day and unless you've been in hospital I can't describe it. Call me silly but I think my son has been with me all day.

The cat is in serious decline. Daddy's car is here but daddy is not. She's barely eaten and is still on my bed. Looks like I'll have to waft a can of the expensive food under her nose. I can't remember if I blogged that he asked me for a set of steps at the foot of the bed because the fat little object can't climb on the high bed.

And the bed is high. His mate came round last night and put 3 planks under the chipboard and in the way of all men, measured up just a tad wrong. The planks stand out about 3 inches which was enough to cripple me several times over today. My doc's going to take one look at the bruises tomorrow and want blood tests.

So from a low sofa bed barely off the floor, he now has a penthouse lounge. Planks, chipboard, 6 inch high density mattress, 2 inch sofa bed mattress with a doona on top and all fixed down with a fitted sheet so tight I think I could bounce a coin off it. I'm sure he won't mind that the sheet is mint green with pale pink roses and the doona cover is pale turquoise with pink butterflies.

A trunk is at the bottom of the bed for the cat. All his clothes are in a basket on a stand so no bending. And a chair for his mate to sit and have a beer with him. TV, light, DVD viewer, mechanical grabber all within reach.

And thanks to the paternal side of the family for all their help, every non bit of it.

Operation Quasimodo away.

I woke at 10 to 5 and turned all the alarms off except the phone because I'd never used that as an alarm, very neat.


He had stabbing pains behind the eyeballs, bent nearly double with his nose to the ground as he staggered out to the car. I've been told that for a 6 a.m. arrival sometimes it's straight to the theatre so I hope, although if it's later they might keep him Friday night since we've already had to pay for that night.


I settle back ready to have a cuppa and the phone rings. Sister asking where the hospital is and I had to go through every piece of paper I had until I found the address then look up the Melways. I could have printed out a bloody map yesterday.

Save me Mavis!

And the weddings again

Now who wouldn't want a 'Hello Kitty' wedding dress?

Bride No. 1 and her $20,000 wedding which included $4,000 for the Hollywood satin and bling dress. She thinks she has the prize in the bag because she's arriving at her beach wedding in a sea plane. Let me tell you, not even Princess Di would have looked elegant getting out of a plane, onto the float, holding the train of her dress and not falling in the water. The guests were given little boxes to open after the ceremony and lovely butterflies flew away. This time I really looked for the cake and there were cakes, square, small parcels and iced in tropical colours on a stand.
The food was buffet style and the other brides moaned because it was supposed to be a seafood buffet but no it wasn't. It looked like an all-you-can- eat buffet at any pub. Entertainment was a bellydancer who danced and danced and danced. The dress was lovely but not dragging through sand and was over-blinged for the setting.

Bride No.2 spent $10,000 and did most of it herself. From her comments, someone had replaced her blood with sour lemons. It was set up nicely except the red and white looked like a footy run through. A deeper red would have looked nicer. The Groom was preceeded by a piper, sweet touch but their children weren't impressed by the fuss. She'd ordered her dress by mail and the other brides were right to say it needn't a fitting otherwise it was fine except for the chiffon shrug over the shoulders, tacky and didn't hide her tattoo. The reception food impressed no-one and they didn't show the cake.

Bride No.3 spent $20,000. She was older and met hubbie on the internet. They were married in a little chapel and she wore a suit based on the one her own mother was married in. Unfortunately it was grey and dull although it did fit. A pale blue or pink would have suited her colouring better. Now the reception venue was elegant but sour lemons said it lacked something because the bride had had it all done for her. The food looked presentable but wasn't hot. The cold food is becoming a familiar theme through the shows, reception places take note.

Bride No.4 spent $25,000 but only $299 on the dress. She was a bubbly bride who could have married in a potato sack and enjoyed herself and the only thing wrong with the pretty lace dress was all the layers not being the same length. Dear brides if you are going for the elegant arty shot sitting up a tree on a branch, hide a ladder behind the tree. Getting shoved up the tree arse about ain't a good look but worth it for the laugh. The bridal waltz went from waltz to rockabilly and they enjoyed it. No cake again. Where was the cake? I really couldn't see 25 grand anywhere.

The winners tied so Bride 4 and Bride 3 had to decide between beach wedding and sour lemons.
Beach wedding won and probably deserved it for not falling out of the plane into the drink.

The brides have to give points for the food which I gather is why the cake isn't seen but we all love a wedding cake so give a glimpse, at least.
They should give points as to whether there are enough chairs for the guests to sit through the ceremony. Everybody stands, I'd throw someone to the ground and sit on them.
All the brides made lovely comments about the actual ceremonies.

It's reinforcing my opinion that weddings are as boring as batshit unless you're the bride or so plastered you don't care as long as the bar is open.

And now for a wedding meme. You have unlimited resources (forget the groom) what is your dream wedding and if you like (and I would) a photo of the dress and don't forget the cake.

Moving fast

BrickOutHouse had the appointment with Spinal surgeon this morning.
MRI and blood tests this afternoon.
Operation next Wednesday.

Tomorrow I fix up chipboard for sofabed and buy a mattress at Clark Rubber.

Sunday I have nervous breakdown.

But I might be okay enough to post on the wedding show which I was smart enough to tape and can watch for the laughs and there were plenty.

If you don't hear from me, I have my head under a rock hiding from reality.