Craig grew his beard for Six months and Three days. Why? Just to see how long he could make it. He wanted to shave it after 4 months but fool that I am, I convinced him to try and make it 6 months. Which of course he did.
And what did we learn? That he can go without shaving for a very long time. And that a full grizzly-adams beard is less terrifying than an intense 70s moustache.
Monday 21-05-07 - Depart Sydney 4:40pm Arrive Bangkok 10:50pm Flight time : 9 hours, 10 minutes
Friday 08-06-07 - Depart Singapore 10:40pm Saturday 09-06-07 - Arrive London 5:15am Flight time : 13 hours, 35 minutes
We just have to work out what it is that we want to do in Australia and how to get to Sydney. And what we want to do in Thailand and how to get to Singapore.
It looks like to get from Bangkok to Singapore we may be able (now that we have so much extra time at work) to use Intrepid Travel as our guides, they have a trip that takes 15 days and journeys from Bangkok to Singapore by way of Khao Sok National Park, Krabi, Penang, Cameron Highlands, Kuala Lumpur, and Melaka. And it visits my darling Wat Pho, a lot of markets, beaches for snorkelling and diving and possibly the most exciting thing of all, riding Elephants.
I'm trying to focus on all that and not the extra months at work.
NB: My play closed to a raucus house of 140 people on Saturday Night. It was our biggest and best show, save only for Thursday night.
The show opened on the 23rd November. I chose that day to do another Photo-essay of A Day in My Life
(click to view.)
It was also the night that two newspaper reviewers came to see the show. Their reviews were published on the 27th and 28th November, respectively.
The Dominion Post
(click to view full article.)
The Hutt News
(click to view full article.)
I'm not going to lie - my favourite is the Hutt News review which reads, in part, Watch also for laugh-out-loud performances from Peter Hughson as Ruy the defeated Gardener, and Sarah-Rose Burke as the downtrodden nanny.
Come one, come all to the New Zealand Premiere of Man Of The Moment The Award Winning Comedy by World Renowned Playwright Alan Ayckbourn.
click to enlarge
23 - 25 November 29 November - 2 December
What's it about? Oh, a Murder. But it's really really funny. No, Seriously ... Yes Seriously. It's a black comedy with a little bit of slapstick and I have to wear a wetsuit. A wetsuit !?! Yes. A wetsuit. And I get yelled at!! But it's funny? Very funny. I mean ... I have to wear a wetsuit on stage.
Vic : Just like every man who can should grow a beard. Everything you can do you ought to do. Before you die. That's what we're here for. Right?
Only 14 days to go! On the 23rd November Craig will have been growing his beard for Six Months. So I'm going to shave it off.
Actually I hate springtime in Wellington. You have to pay attention to the little people telling you about the weather and then not trust them at all. They get it right about 50% of the time though, breeding a misguided sense of trust.
On Monday night the weather man I have a little crush on told us that there would be rain all over the north island on Tuesday. He was standing in front of what should have been an image of the north island but was a grey sea indicating rain. Rain everywhere.
So I got out my rain coat on Tuesday morning in preparation for a slightly damp walk to work. I looked out the door at the rain bouncing the puddles and thought it can't be THAT bad. It's spring! and set out.
The first thing I did when I got to work was to go into the bathroom, take off my pants and wring the water out of them. Not a single thing I was wearing was completely dry. My faded black cowboy boots were so sodden that they almost appeared brand new! I was at work at 7am and by 3:30pm ... I was still damp in places.
And as such I trusted the weather man when he told me that Wednesday would consist of rain showers in the morning fading to a dingy grey sky in the afternoon.
Instead I spent most of today lying in my backyard, basking in the sunlight and listening to the tui that live in our trees call out all day. Making good use of their two voice boxes. Crazy, noisy birds.
Of course I realised that the tui (Prosthemadera novaeseelandiae) is a bird endemic to New Zealand and not everyone knows their strange strange call. SO I recorded it for you! The tui burbles away and then another, more generic bird butts in and I tell it to shush in my annoying girly kiwi baby voice.
I had my first nice experience with Mormon door to door salesmen today. I was on my way walking to work and I saw them off in the distance just groaned to myself. I kept walking, looking straight ahead and walking as far left as the footpath would allow.
Morman #1: Good Morrow! inside Sarah's head: Morrow? what the- Morman #2: How's your day going? Sarah: Oh I'm actually on my way to work so ... Morman #1: Oh ok well you have a nice day! Morman #2: You have a nice day. Sarah (over my shoulder): You too! Morman #2: We like your glasses!! Sarah : ... thanks.
Craig and I are beginning to seriously plan our trip to London. Seriously as in I write long rambling emails to STA travel and ask them a million and one questions.
We have decided that we're going to book our flights sometime around the 20-25th November. And since that took us long enough (We are Mr and Mrs Indecisive-son) we thought that perhaps we should take some time (say a month or two) to decide on our stopovers.
See, I am annoyingly desperate to travel (in case you hadn't noticed) and as such stopovers were a high priority for me. As many as possible! Let's hop to London! So the kind lady at STAtravel replied to the email I had sent her (longer than the bhagavad gita and with twice as many question marks) with a concise message letting me know that [We] will have the option to stop over in Sydney and Bangkok or Singapore if [we] fly via Asia and [we] will have the option to stop over in LA and one other US/Canadian city if [we] fly via America. And apparently, we are flying via Asia.
Craig says that he isn't all that interested in going to America at the moment, and I'm just dying to go ANYWHERE that I'm excited either way. Besides, I've been to Los Angeles and I haven't been to Australia. Yes, it's strange, I know.
Craig is hoping that we can get a few days at least in Sydney so that we can go out to his Aunt's farm in ... The-Middle-Of=Nowhere, Orange, NSW because he worked on their farm for 2 months when we were still shiny and new and he wants to show me the forest he ... built. (He fenced it in).
The second stop over ... that was slightly harder. Because Craig and made the first decision (Well done Mr Indecisive-son. (Yes I realise Mr Indecision would have worked just as well)) I decided that the second decision should be mine. At first I was thinking Singapore because I'd heard from many people that it is interesting, and would appeal to the absolute girl inside of me, but Craig pointed out that he had been to Singapore. Then I thought some more. And talked to my mother. And finally, eventually, after what was certainly a too-long period of time, realised that one of the things I have ALWAYS WANTED TO SEE is in Bangkok.
Wat Pho : The Reclining Buddha
Wat Pho (Thai: วัดโพธิ์), also known as Wat Phra Chetuphon วัดพระเชตุพน) or The Temple of the Reclining Buddha, is a Buddhist temple in Bangkok, Thailand. Its official name is Wat Phra Chetuphon Vimolmangklararm Rajwaramahaviharn (Thai: วัดพระเชตุพนวิมลมังคลาราม ราชวรมหาวิหาร).
Wat Pho is the largest and oldest wat in Bangkok (with an area of 50 rai, 80,000 square metres), and is home to more than one thousand Buddha images, more than any other temple in the country, as well as the largest single Buddha image: the Reclining Buddha (Phra Buddhasaiyas, Thai: พระพุทธไสยาสน์). Made as part of Rama III's restoration, the Reclining Buddha is forty-six metres long and fifteen metres high, decorated with gold plating on its body and mother of pearl on its eyes and the soles of its feet. The latter display 108 auspicious scenes in Chinese and Indian styles.
Besides, Craig and I love Thai food. So we're ... going to Sydney & Bangkok!
(psst. click on the image for the full poster. I totally took that photo of Kat.)
This weekend one of my most favourite-st people in the world is going to pour her heart and soul onto a stage and turn it into an entire concert-thing.
She has been working on her music for longer than I can remember and now has a sound reminiscent of Tori Amos and Sarah McLachlan and yet wholly her own. Plus she's adorable. So you should totally come.
The $15 cover charge includes a copy of her EP (!) as well as a complimentary first drink and nibbles. And we all know there's pretty much nothing I love more than Free Alcohol. Finger foods! are a close second though. So again, Come!
Kat McKenzie EP Launch Sandwiches Bar, Cnr Majoribanks St & Kent Tce, Wellington Doors open from 8pm, gig starts at 9:30pm $15 entry (includes CD, first drink, and nibbles)
Also! I have been gainfully employed as Photographer for the gig which I am most excited about. I am however disappointed to note that I will not be wearing a Press Pass or anything of the sort. But! I will have a camera in my hand.
Also also I think one of the songs she'll be playing is The Middle which is the song she wrote as a wedding present for Craig and I. It's lovely. And it can be heard here : http://myspace.com/katmckenzie
Disclaimer: I am (in my opinion) just a regular small-sized person. Others would beg to differ. There is nothing (as far as we know) medically causing my lack of ... size, but my mother did smoke while she was pregnant.
This weekend my mother found my diminutive stature frankly, hilarious. I was sitting in the drivers seat (ssh. more on this later) and I said Sarah : So, you just push the pedals with your toes then? Mum : Uh, yea, the balls of your feet. Sarah : Oh. So your feet are just meant to hang there? Mum : No, you push the pedals. Sarah : It's awkward to do that with my toes Mum : No, the balls of your feet! Sarah : The balls of my feet don't reach the pedals if my feet are touching the floor of the car!
And every single time she got behind the wheel to reverse or turn us around or steer us around a very solid parked car she looked in the rearview mirror at my other sister (also learning to drive. But she's 15, and much taller than I) and collapse into laughter. After seeing this I knew that Craig and I would never be able to share a car, he already complains about his new midget driving position when my mother moves the seat. I don't think he'll even be able to get into the car after I've used it! Which might actually be kind of fun in an Oh godDAMN it Sarah! kind of way.
Oddly enough, I too found it difficult to get out of the car when the seat was pushed up against the steering column. I guess 5"1 is really that short after all.
This really means that something monumental is happening.
I AM LEARNING TO DRIVE!
After 7 years of conscientious objection I am finally giving in and learning to drive. More than that! (which is seriously, huge enough news as it is) I am doing so not to settle a score, or to prove my (darling)husband wrong but just because. Ok. Fine. Not just because but because of an undesirable comparison to someone else who shall not be named (Voldemort!?) who also cannot drive.
My first lesson was this past saturday and when I returned home I found Craig out in the garage and burbled wildly Sarah : Hey baby, I drove! Craig : Yea? Sarah : Yea! I didn't cry or crash or anything. And I went into second gear and turned in a circle!! Craig : Well done. He's just glad I haven't been scared off ... yet.
NB: I also have short grandmothers. So it's Genetics vs Cigarettes and I think it's Genetics for the win
Yesterday Craig and I made our first trip to the travel agency!
Things we learnt : 1. I am an idiot. I was budgeting for return flights when we're going for one way flights. 2. To get cheap(er) flights we should book before christmas. 3. That's for an estimated leaving time of somewhere between March and May 2007. 4. We have to apply for the Visas after we have departure dates. 5. We can stop over in Australia, the U.S., or Asia. 6. I need to have a passport. Soon. 7. Craig is too too reticent at the oddest of times. 8. The only visa restrictions career-wise involve the childcare and health sectors.
It should only be two to three months before we have an itinerary organised. Or at least a better plan.
Craig : you know the new neighbour? Me : ... yea Craig : He's an embalmer Me : Hee! Cool! Craig : I thought you'd like that.
a minute passes
Craig : You know, I think you've desensitised me to all that Me : What? Craig : Yea, he told me and paused like he was expecting a big reaction and I was just like oh yea and went on talking about what we'd been talking about. My car. Me : huh.
It is spring, moonless night in the small town, starless and bible-black ... Last night I saw the most amazing staging of Under Milk Wood by Dylan Thomas. It was in at Downstage which is already one of my favourite theatres, but it felt more intimate than usual. The stage was multi-leveled and included a rotating section of floor which gave the actors room to move and at times it seemed something closer to a dance than a play ostensibly for voices. The Night was evoked using an almost unnoticeable black screen, a smoke machine and near-silhouettes. All of the actors were just ... mind-blowing. They have to portray so many different characters but pulled it together remarkably well. I loved that they didn't rely on solely one method of characterisation, they changed their clothes, the way they held themselves, their facial expressions and voices. Everything. I also cannot get over Loren Horsley's hair. Love.
It's only running until the 9th September but if you can, I really recommend catching it.
You can hear the dew falling, and the hushed town breathing. Only your eyes are unclosed, to see the black and folded town fast, and slow, asleep. And you alone can hear the invisible starfall, the darkest-before-dawn minutely dewgrazed stir of the black, dab-filled sea where the Arethusa, the Curlew and the Skylark, Zanzibar, Rhiannon, the Rover, the Cormorant, and the Star of Wales tilt and ride.
There is a stabbing stabbing pain in my hand, running right down my weddingring finger all the way to about an inch above my wrist. Every so often it feels like my finger is vibrating with the pain. Ouch.
I think it might be being exacerbated by the fact that I keep my little finger flung into the air while I type, jerking my weddingring finger down when I need to use the shift key. Creating what I kindly call my typing claw.
If I ball my left hand into a fist it goes away.
I think work really is breaking my hands. Which totally sucks because I like my unusually small hands! And really, I find them quite useful.
(ok seriously, in order to counteract the claw I've been trying to hit shift with my littlest finger and it's working.) (Hi Mum! you can stop worrying now)
It all started when Karma gifted me with a big old fight with my husband.
which started with "shave your beard!" "no" which progessed to "shaaaave your Beeeaaarrrd!!!" "no, I want to see how long I can grow it" which progressed to "if I to shave my Armpits and Legs then you should shave your face" "uhh ... no" which progressed to "Why won't you shave your beard? it hurts me when I kiss you" "nooo-ooo" and ended with me ignoring Craig. Which is always a bad sign.
So he shaved his beard and we of course made up and talked like sane people and reached a beard compromise. I understood that Craig really did want to see how long he could grow it, and since I do the same thing all the time (Hmm, I wonder how long I can go without Mcdonalds? (3 years so far) Hmm, I wonder how long I can go without soda? (coming up on a year)) I felt I should help him. So! as long as he keeps the moustache part trimmed and tidy we will continue with his Grizzly Adams project. I'm going to take weekly photos to track his progress.
And so :
Then our Tuesday nights got busy and I forgot for awhile
On Saturday the 22nd July, Kat held a 1930s themed cocktail party. It was the perfect excuse for us to show off our wonderful bartending skills, and to dress up! For more from the night, just click on the photo above.
In Fact! I have photos from May - July to share. Including a very few photos from our trip to Auckland.
They can be seen here ... again, just click on the photo.
And there are a few more photos in my Paintings section ...
While driving home the other night I coughed and coughed and had to press my chest so I could breathe.
Craig : D'you want to stop and get something for that? Me : No, I'll be ok-cough cough splutter cough Craig : I think the late night pharmacy is still open Me : No, I'll just have some more expired Duro-Tuss. Hell, it didn't kill me last night Craig : ... just How expired? Me : ... 2004
Please note. You are coming into this in the middle of a very silly argument (about what? Who can say?) and it was very late and I had been drinking wine and we are both talking in silly voices. That being said ...
Me : No you love me. You want me to have our babies Craig : No, no I don't. I'll just find anothe- Me : But then they won't be OUR babies and our babies are going to be the smartest and the prettiest ...
I apparently couldn't think of any other superlatives. I blame wine-addled priorities.
Craig : Well yea ... or they could have your looks and my brains.
Scene - Monday night. Craig and I are sitting on the couch and I have just raised my head from his shoulder (where it was studiously involved in staring at him lovingly). He huffs and pulls two of my (long long long and annoying) hairs off his sleeve.
Me : What? I like staking my claim Craig : Yea, and you complain about my mess. You're a hypocrite. Me : Apricot? Craig : Yea you're a Leprechaun Me : ... I said Apricot Craig : You're still a leprechaun.
I see now why my family doesn't believe my claim to sanity.
Craig and I are now officially Bartenders. Our course took only two weeks but by the end of it we had memorised oh about 45 (MILLION) drinks. The worst part of the exam was the practical test where we had to make 3 drinks in 5 minutes and not-enough seconds. I was assigned a Long Black (yes, coffee), a Cosmopolitan and a Sex on the Beach.
Tutor : And what's this one? Me : A Sex on the Beach Tutor : And what's in it? Me : uh Vodka-Peach-Melon, half a shot of Raspberry and 50/50 Orange Juice and Cranberry ... Tutor : ... you sure? I thought there was ... triple sec ... Me : No, Very Pretty Mrs Robinson Tutor : ... I can't stump you can I?
Earlier that week, discussing shots.
Tutor: Ok. An Unlawful Carnal Knowledge, otherwise known as? Entire Class : Quick Fuck!
Now, both Craig and I come from families were swearing is rare if not uncommon and even I seem to be stuck in 1950s Britain and am just as likely to be caught saying Shoot! or Blast! or oh Bother as Cunting Motherfucker. In fact, the few times I've dropped the f-bomb in these pages Craig has actually said to be "But ... our families might read it!" ... yes dear, but they know we're practically grown ups. But somehow, it still feels just Wrong to be talked about a drink called Sex On The Beach or Cupid's Cum with my parents. In order to cope I tend to adopt the same face I use in the supermarket queue when buying condoms (or as in one unfortunate shopping list, lettuce, cucumber, vaseline, hairdye, wine and condoms) which is wide-eyed, eyebrows relaxed and raised just a fraction, and a vague but genuine smile. The key is to will yourself to NOT look at your shoes or Anywhere-but-at-the-cashier because that just gives you away as totally Not Cool with Buying Condoms (or, Swearing). The worst thing? Sex on The Beach is a really really nice, really really girly drink. And I love it. So I don't think I'll get away with not saying it. Ever.
Hm. This entry was not meant to be about swearing or buying condoms. I blame the Wine. It causes the destination of all my trains of thought to be south of the border.
[I should clarify, I am not drunk as I type this. I'm at work! but I wrote it on Friday night and I May or May Not have been drunk then.]
Oh. That's right. Craig and I are now possibly the Worst People Ever to take to a bar, or to a restaurant that serves drinks. Craig's Mother took us out to a nice lunch in a pub-style restaurant in Devonport ...
Craig: Tsch! You're not meant to give straws to me Me: No, Orange Juice and Coke etcetera always come with a straw, in a highball glass.
Me: Hey baby, look they have Bulleit Bournon Craig: And CC Me: And Galliano, and Johnny Walker Red
Me: Oh! did she- Craig: She just used a glass as an Ice Scoop! Me: Tsch. You NEVER use a glass as an Ice Scoop!
And so on and so forth. We're not Wine-eys, but we've become cocktail&bar-service-eys which is almost as bad. How irritating. I feel for all of you. Excepting, of course, my dear Kat who did the exact same bar course and is probably just as cbs-ey as us.
Jumping back a carriage (and continuing the painful train metaphor) to the subject of my In-Laws, Craig and I have just returned from our Secret, Hidden Weekend which was a trip to Auckland to Surprise Craig's Mother for her Birthday. AND! I'm pretty certain that it worked which is probably the most shocking thing of all. So we spent 4 days in Auckland, marvelling at that big round yellow thing in the sky, and surprised by the lack of rain and the strange absence of the nagging fear of frostnip, finally returning to a Wellington where it rained 3 days straight and we feared flooding. It was good to be home.
And now? After two straight days of curling up with my sick husband, my amazing immune system seems to have succumbed to whatever it is that he has and now we're both sick.
Please excuse Sarah and Craig for their absences of late, and those that are without doubt, to occur in the very near future.
See, they are very very busy people, what with the working all the time and saving money and driving and walking, and eating and tv watching and general staying-alive-ness. On top of all that they decided it would be an Exciting! and Fun! idea to sign up to become Bartenders. Sorry, that's Bar/Wait -people (even though it was only ever advertised as a BAR course, but that's something completely different that makes Sarah's Head Explode™) and this bar course takes place from 6pm until 10pm (approximately) the first three nights of the week, two weeks in a row. This means that the Exciting! and Fun! idea causes Sarah and Craig to be out of the house from 7 in the morning until about 10:30 in the evening.
Now, generally going to bed at 11pm is not uncommon in the Burkes House, but more often than not it is preceeded by at least a couple of hours of lying in front of the heater and tv and not with travel and making drinks and concentrating and cleaning. Cleaning is actually far more tiring than watching tv it seems.
On top of all that! they are still sans l'ordinateur (that is to say, without a computer) at their place of residence. Which makes it hard for Sarah to string even two thoughts together to make even the semblance of an entry (generally it only takes two thoughts anyway, one of which is "I really should write an entry"). This Exciting! and Fun! idea has now made Sarah so tired that this morning she felt entirely nauseated. Which is surprisingly uncommon for 6am Sarah.
After the second week of the course Craig and Sarah are then going into hiding for a weekend. Ssh. They will let you know much much more upon their return. Hopefully by then Sarah will have a computer that she can use to post her photographs. She has a 256MB Memory Card full of photos just waiting to be seen.
So, Again, Sorry for the absences, but you have to admit ... it's a pretty good excuse.
a very drunk very old man showed up at our back door late last night. I say late, but it was ... about 8? but it was black as pitch outside.
He didn't quite get that he had the wrong house until he saw me over Craig's shoulder (I say shoulder but really I mean the bend in his elbow. I couldn't see over Craig's shoulder) and he waved drunkenly and scampered off.
I was vaguely terrified because he didn't turn on our security lights as he left, and they turn on when even a kitten crosses their path. Craig swears that he saw him going up the side of the house, but I couldn't see him. Poor drunken man, either that or he was a leprechaun.
1. I have a severe craving for soup. Specifically Chicken Noodle Soup. My craving is so bad that I am considering breaking out my emergency work soup (chinese chicken and sweet corn with distressing croutons that I consider icebergs to be avoided) on my next break at work. I'm also wondering if I can cope the final 40 minutes until my break without said soup. EDIT : I have had the soup and the soup was good (yea verily). It lived up to my craving expectations. Probably because I scooped out most of the croutons and the creepy freeze-dried corn kernals.
2. Sometimes I get a frisson of fear (allllliteration) about moving to London. I checked with Craig and he gets the same thing too. Luckily never really at the same time so the fear gets cancelled out. But the fear is about doing something totally new, living somewhere totally new, getting a job that is not in the food service industry or in a call centre. And the fear is eclipsed by excitement naturellement. (oh! proximity to Paris! I am too too excited)
3. I think I have, in a very loose, hypochondriac-al way, Anomic Aphasia (Anomic Aphasia is characterized by an inability to recall proper names and names of objects. Speech is fluent and grammatical.) because I seem to be completely incapable of saying or writing the word Burrito without very specifically thinking about it. And just to be annoying, it is one of our favourite meals.
As such at least once a week we have a conversation which goes : Sarah : Hey babylove! what d'you want to have for dinner? Craig : I don't know, what do you want? Sarah : I was thinking enchil-FUCK! burritos.
or, in this also very common scenario, Craig is much more amused Sarah : Hey babylove! what d'you want to have for dinner? Craig : I don't know, what do you want? Sarah : I was thinking enchiladas. Craig : enchiladas? Sarah : yea ... oh damnitall. Burritos.
In fact, a couple of months ago Craig and I were in the supermarket and we were approaching the mexican-food section, so I was getting ready and preparing myself to say Burritos ... Sarah : ooh, get enchilada mix Craig : ok (See, he hears me say it so often that sometimes he'll ignore it.) At this point I'm looking at Craig and waiting for him to acknowledge how for once I said... the right ... Sarah : oh fuck! I said it again didn't I!? I completely didn't notice. I thought I'd said Burritos.
Darling dear, seeing as how there is now only ONE sleep until your birthday (and the fact that I just found the site) I felt I should tell you which rock artists you share your birthday with : Patrick Dalheimer (Live) (1971) Tom Morello (Rage Against The Machine) (1964) Topper Headon (The Clash) (1955)
On the other hand, I share my birthday with : Steve Perry (Cherry Poppin' Daddies) (1963) Cliff Adams (Kool & The Gang) (1952) Robert "Kool" Bell (Kool & The Gang) (1950) Tony Wilson (Hot Chocolate) (1947) Ray Royer (Procol Harum) (1945)
1. Craig and I (and my mother and sister and a boy named sam) went to see Danny Bhoy last night and he was amazing. So so much more worth the money than Dylan Moran. Charlotte and I want to marry him and have his little brown scottish babies (what? won't they come out with that accent?) but I'm pretty sure Charlotte gets dibs because I chose Craig and everything.
2. Our computer is Dead. Ever So Dead. Just another very expensive paperweight. Luckily it might just be a paperweight temporarily and I'm soon (ish) to be purchasing a laptop so our home will not be computer free for long. The first day I was home alone all day without a computer felt very very strange ... at times I felt at a loose end ... but I'm now starting to like it. The constant need to check my emails is waning. And thankfully I can use the internet at work. Which is where I am now, at 7:19 on a sunday morning.
(excuse the terrible photo of my right ear, but this story requires at least one illustration.)
This morning I woke up and the silver ball of my silver-ball-studs had managed to wedge itself into the hole of my silver tunnel. Said Ball and Said Tunnel are pictured above. And by wedge I mean that it was STUCK. Try as I might, I could not pull it out of there - and neither could Craig.
So at 6:35 this morning Craig and I were to be found standing in the doorway to our kitchen, Craig with both of his giant hands on my tiny ear, and me with one hand on his chest, and one hand around his right wrist, squinting and squeaking and squeezing his wrist. I was squeaking not only because it's in my nature, or because it kind of hurt but because I was terrified that his giant hands would literally tear my tiny ear apart. And the thought of that is pretty terrifying, you have to give me that at least.
I ended up using my much smaller fingers to take the backs off both earrings and manoeuver them both out of my ear at the same time (eek!) and at the exact moment they were freed they fell apart as though making a break for freedom. I couldn't let two inanimate objects get the better of me (again) though so I caught them and put them right back.
Last night Craig downloaded the System of a Down song "Lonely Day". The first System of a Down song that I've ever actually liked ... until I paid attention to the lyrics : The Most Loneliest Day of My Li-i-i-ife There is NO SUCH THING as the MOST LONELIEST! The Loneliest IS the MOST LONELY. Fuck.
Don't even get me started on The Darkness : A One Way Ticket to He-e-ll and Back Again! There can be NO SUCH THING. I cannot listen to the song, and because the album has THAT line as the title - I've had to boycott that as well.
And then my head explodes. Actually, no, I just claw at it and shriek and Craig finds it all just SO amusing
Mispronunciation bugs me less, as in the Natasha Bedingfield song "These Words Are My Own" when she sings : No Hyperbole to Hide Behind Pronouncing Hyperbole as Hyper-Bowl instead of Hyper-Bo-Lee. But perhaps I'm biased because I love the song.
NB: I think I like "Lonely Day" in part because the title makes me think of the Lou Reed song "Perfect Day"
On the day of the Tsunami-warning-that-most-of-New-Zealand-slept-through I was talking to a lady who commented on the terrible weather, so naturally I countered with "Well, it's better than a Tsunami!" and her only reply was "oh, ha, yes I suppose so, I didn't think of it like that" because of course she had slept through the Tsunami Warning.
Charlotte : I've got a cold but it's better than being eaten alive by crocodiles Me : well, I've got the sniffles but it's better than the plague Mummy-dear : When I was pregnant with you [Me] and smoking, a lady at my work asked if I was worried and I said "well it's better than heroin" Me : Oh, I feel so much better now Mummy-dear : and she never spoke to me again! I think she thought I was some kind of closet heroin addict.
p.s. I turned out just fine. Just Fine. As long as you don't ask Craig or my sisters to back that up.
I woke up just before 2am with the intense KNOWLEDGE that there was a horrifying, creepy bug crawling across the bed towards me, heading right for me, possibly with a view towards paralyzing me with poison and eating me very very slowly while Craig slept on mere inches away. But I digress (when do I ever not?), in my mind (or at least I think it was, I’m still not sure if it was real or not) this bug was a cross between a weta and a daddy long legs spider – all menacing arched legs and swaying body – so I was sitting up in an instant, looking back at the space of warm sleep softened sheet I’d just been lying on. Now of course it was covered with ominous dips and whorls, hollows perfect for hiding bug assassins. At about this point I was staring at the sheet, trying to track the bug IN THE DARK, when Craig turned over and looked at me. In the instant it took to see him, I LOST THE BUG, so of course I whispered (who was I afraid of waking? Maybe afraid of giving away my position, always stealthy am I) “there’s a bug in the bed” and he just looked at me. So again I said, “there’s a BUG in the BED” and again he just looked at me – perhaps as though I was crazy – of course I was terrified because I’d lost the bug and Craig WAS NOT HELPING. I thought about lying back down for about a second, but I didn’t want to become bug prey, and besides, any husband that won’t turn on the light to help his panicked wife find a huge horrifying bug deserves to be pouted at, so I grabbed my cellphone (I had an alarm set), and flounced out to the lounge.
I ended up sleeping on the couch. I was wrapped in 2 bright green blankets and, being rather short, I do fit on the couch so I wasn’t cold or uncomfortable, which was unfortunate because that sure would have showed Craig.
I waited until it was light enough to spot bugs and went back to our bed. I sat there with a book and Craig turned over “morning baby” … “… morning” Nothing. I spent the next few hours pouting at him with half my mouth because really, he should have mentioned something, until finally I did and found out that HE HAD NO IDEA WHAT I WAS TALKING ABOUT. He had been asleep the whole time, when I was being terrified by the bug and when I flounced out to sleep on the couch – HE HADN’T EVEN MISSED ME. So, I had a fight with Craig while he was asleep. That takes dedication.
It reminds me of the 22nd December 2005 when I wrote this : Last night was a little Crazy. by Last night I mean at 1:47 this morning. I woke up to Craig throwing our ENTIRE duvet off the bed. I immediately thought of Kirk in Gilmore Girls (eep) and the documentary airing on tv tonight about Night Terrors that lead to violence (eep). He sat up and huffed as if he couldn't sleep because he's too hot, so no night terrors. I put my hand on him and got no response (seriously eep!). He then leaned over, gathered up the blanket, covers himself, lies back down and makes going to sleep noises. me : uh Craig? c : yea? me : you awake? c : yea me : you sure? c : yea me : 100%? c : ... yea? me : because you just pulled the blankets completely off me, threw them on the floor, then put them back all on you! c : oh baby !! I'm sorry ! me : it's ok. But uh give me some blankets though.
And, on a not completely unrelated note : This morning my alarm woke me up from a very very strange dream where the movie March of the Penguins (which I have not seen by the way) was about an aquarium (but shaped like a very large swimming pool, nothing in terms of fake natural habitat) that houses white whales and white seals, and as it was a little small the seals kept being whacked about by huge whale-tails. I felt very badly for the seals. Apparently my sub-conscious doesn't realise that whales and seals are not exactly Penguins at all.
Last night Craig and I were watching Grey’s Anatomy (oh how I love it) when an ad came on that featured a girl (and then a boy) being terrorised by a moth. Craig : oh come on! It’s just a moth Sarah : Just a Moth? JUST A MOTH? They’re flying rats with wings! Gah. Craig : but … it’s just a moth… Sarah : no they divebomb and they’re furry and gah the huge ones ughhhh Craig : Huge ones? They’re tiny Sarah : Uh, have you seen the ones as big as your, well, my hand? HAVE YOU? Craig : ha! As big as your hand?? Sarah : … yes! Craig : no … really? Sarah : … YES! As BIG as MY HAND. I’ve seen them twice and the first time I freaked out shaking for 45 minutes before crying and the next time it kept me from the kitchen because I could see it on the chair and it looked like it was breathing and they’re so awful Craig : huh. Sarah : I’m going to google “Giant Terror Moths” tomorrow and prove it.
But “Giant Terror Moths” only brought back reviews of Blood Beast Terror, a 1969 movie about a creature that is capable of transforming back and forth between a giant Death Head moth and a beautiful woman. The creature masquerades as his daughter when she is in her human incarnation and feeds on the blood of her victims when she is in the moth form. which sounds really fucking scary but not exactly real, or native to New Zealand (I hope).
Puriri moth Aenetus virescens Of the more than 1500 different moths in New Zealand, the biggest and most spectacular is the puriri or ghost moth of the North Island. The female’s wingspan can be up to 15-centimetres, its pale velvety-green colour very ghost-like.
A GIANT MOTH also known as the GHOST MOTH ?? I think my fear is justified. Also – wing span = 15cm? Sarah’s hand span = 16cm. So it is Definitely AS BIG AS MY HAND.
It’s no better when the wings are furled around its fat furry creepy moth body.
Apparently all these years Craig has thought my fear of moths (the same fear that has brought me to tears at times) is based on
The Silver Y moth Chrysodeixis eriosoma Wing span = 36 mm
He has no faith in me at all.
Sarah : So wait, all this time you’ve thought my fear of moths stemmed from those tiny furry Kauri* moths? Craig : Well, you’ve been known to think some crazy things.
* Please note : Googling for Kauri Moths bore no fruit (so to speak) and so I had to wade through photo after photo of horrifying furry moths until I guessed at something that looked familiar. I now have extremely tense arms because moths tend to make my arms twitch in disgust (the fear is in my head and my stomach). The things I do for you, I swear.
Sitting here in my short sleeves I can feel my hair near my elbows - a sign of a good day.
I fell in love with my husband all over again this weekend.
On Saturday night we went to see Dylan Moran and the seats were up in the gods. It was the first time I had any sort of feeling akin to vertigo and I found it unnerving. I kept looking at the elaborate ceiling that was so close to us and feeling my head swim just a little. Mr Moran was a tiny tiny little man, fitting for his tiny angry diatribe that made up much of the show. He was very funny, but he spent far too long talking about how everyone is unhappy all the time which made me feel sorry for him, tiny angry little leprechaun man, I'm happy most of the time. There was a heckler. I hate hecklers with a passion but Dylan gave him a dressing down "you just sit there and evolve", "you had a shit time there, you're having a shit time here, ever think that maybe it isn't the location?" - on learning the heckler was an irishman. "Your smell has a sound" All art is "jesus, fruit or tits". Leaving the theatre we met a friend who turned around and said "Have you seen his DVD Monster?" uh no "you just did."
My poor, tired, long suffering husband put up with me as I dragged him to Espressoholic with Kat and Tim and ... others. He yawned and smiled and made dirty conversation and drank orange juice while we had coffee. Tim : somethingsomething like a horse! Craig : oh well, I don't like to brag Kat : Ha! you should ask his Wife! Sarah's Head : don't say it, don't say it, it's gross and just gah! don't say it ... Sarah : Well, I don't choke and tell. Sarah's Head : gah, damnit!
On Sunday morning I managed to touch Craig's lips enough to wake him up before 10. We had very important shopping missions to accomplish. Craig has been wearing a jersey-jacket for a couple of years now and the grey has heathered to a purple-y-brown and the collar has frayed. So we went hunting for them. He ended up with two, one with a blue that brings out his eyes and I love, and one that makes him look like a race-car driver which he loves. On the way back home we stopped so I could purchase 2 canvases and a graphite pencil. I spent the afternoon painting while Craig created dentist noises in the garage.
It was nice spending so much time with him, talking in the interval up in the gods, holding hands in the courtyard of espressoholic, standing in the same changing room as he tries on jackets, driving out to Tawa and back singing along to old rock songs and having him come inside smelling of metal, my Hephaestus, telling me that my painting is very pretty.
Oh also - I'm winning our bet. I found trivia about the test track for Top Gear - that Gambon corner is so called because Michael Gambon came close to rolling his car as he drove (maniacally) around it. I brought this fact to Craig like a cat with a mouse and all he said was "... yea?" as if to say "... I know, so what?". According to him they tell this anecdote nearly weekly, and I swear that I've never heard it before. I tried to bet him $10 that they wouldn't mention it that week, but he wasn't having a bar of it. I then bet that they wouldn't mention it once in the next month (4 shows) and we shook on it and the bet was on. So far it has been two shows, and not one tale of Michael Gambon's driving. At least I know he's not just letting me win this bet.
Craig : Ohh BNT ... There're too many car parts shops Sarah : Feeding your habit Craig : Yea Sarah : You need to go to C.A.A Craig : C.A.A? Sarah : Car Addicts Anonymous Craig : ha. The Henry Ford Clinic Sarah : Ha! hee. Craig : What? Sarah : ... that was funny! a minute later Craig : It was a Tim Allen joke Sarah : what? Craig : yea ... Sarah : And here I was thinking how Craig : funny I was? Sarah : funny and quickwitted Craig : and it's a Tool Man joke
I feel like I’m glowing today. As though my face is radiant, my hair is perfect, shiny and curled, and my nails have a perfect French polish finish. I should be wearing a poodle skirt and pumps. In short - I feel vaguely dirty. Because last night, I went to a Tupperware Party.
wind’s from the east, mist comin’ in I should have known something was off when I had the urge to bake biscuits yesterday afternoon, I didn’t know it would lead to harder things.
In the evening I received a call from Kat, asking me to come along to a party her sister was throwing, a Tupperware Party, I tried to say No but I bowed under peer pressure. And, the pressure of not actually having a good reason to say No.
It ended up being Kat and I sat in a room with 7 other women, one of whom stood in front of us talking about dating gifts, about bowls that extend when you move them just the right way, your mini stuffables, and which vegetables were the heavy breathers (I always suspected Broccoli) . There was a demonstration of cookware and a game was played – I won a melon baller and had to put up with my mind repeating Balla Baby for the rest of the night (damn you Chingy).
Needless to say, the engaged and interested face I kept plastered on was to cover the smirking, about-to-laugh-my-arse-off underneath.
Kat and I decided that to recover, we’re going to throw a D.Vice party – much more our scene. No Mum, you’re not invited. I might die.
Oh, not only did I come home with my very own melon baller, but the kind of headache only incessant selling can give you.
While I may not be Tupperware material, I did come home and fashion a pillowcase from an old petticoat so maybe, just maybe I can eligible for the pearls? … anyone? … anyone? … Martha?