Twenty four hours after turning 30 I did a grownup thing.
Instead of overloading the carry basket and whinging about the weight I got a trolley. And then put my back out trying to wrangle it around the supermarket because it was inevitably broken and kept veering towards towards the yoghurt.
I’m almost positive there’s a lesson in this.
It appears that the last time I wrote in here it was spring. Sadly now it’s coming into autumn, there is less daylight and I am wandering around the apartment muttering “Winter is Coming”, suggesting I watch too much Game of Thrones.
I’m going to try and write in here more often, since I just realised I’m turning 30 in a month and such things should be documented.
Here’s a quick catchup:
- I moved – I now live a short stroll from the Astor Theatre. (It was the first grownup decision I’d made in about the last ever, but I’m glad I did it)
- I still work at the company that must not be named – when I started here it was like high school and everyone was making friends but now it’s like Survivor and people are slowly being voted off the island.
- I’ve only read one book so far this year. I know, I’m freaked out too.
More shenanigans, as they come to hand.
Now that we are well and truly into spring (allegedly), I can leave my balcony door open during the day and not feel like I’m looking for the South Pole. It’s part of my mental checklist to reassure myself that summer is coming.
The downside to this is that I can hear the random conversations that float past the house. Sometimes it will be bogans from over the hill on their way to the train station or the pub. Often it will be in another language, but is still easily identified as an argument. Once it was a crazy drunk man hurling the C-bomb at parked cars.
This time it was my housemates screaming that they’d gotten tickets to the finale of the Twilight movie.
A few years ago I worked with a guy named Philip, who had a cat named Octavia. When Philip was preparing to move to Berlin, Octavia came and stayed with me for six weeks. Thanks to Philip, I learned that there is such a thing as a kitty passport, which has the practical purpose of bypassing quarrantine rules, as well as being THE CUTEST IDEA I EVER HEARD.
The other thing I learned from Philip is the Absolutely Sure Thing Never Fail Hiccup Cure. I rarely get hiccups, but now when I do (like tonight, after the biggest Korean Barbecue banquet in the history of anything), I can shake them off.
Step 1 – Breathe in for four seconds. Four shall be the number counted, and the number of the counting shall be four.
Step 2 – Hold your breat for four seconds.
Step 3 – Breathe out for four seconds.
Step 4 – Repeat as necessary.
Trust me. Hiccups gone, in less than a minute.
There is a point on the Hurstbridge line, between Fairfield and Alphington, that if you sit on the right hand side facing into the carriage, when you hit a certain part of the track you will bounce at least three centimetres into the air.
Have decided this is a metaphor for something, but not sure what yet.
I have always wished that we could have an Asia-Pacific Song Contest, a la Eurovision.
Until I saw this:
WE WOULD NEVER WIN. NEVER. EVER.
(And now you know what song I want to be #1 in the Hottest 100 next year)
Hanging out for Black Caviar’s race with the sound turned off, because every time I hear Bruce Macavaney use a superlative, my appendix explodes. True story.
What with all the chronic fatiguiness, I didn’t blog a review of Eurovision – Russia was my favourite going in, but Romania had me at moonwalking bagpiper. MOONWALKING BAGPIPER. Gaga, you are so last year. In the end, nothing could beat the interpretive dance moves of Swedish Tori Amos, which means that Eurovision is off to Stockholm in 2013.
I am absolutely gutted that I won’t be there. I’d planned my 30th birthday to be at the Eurovision final for ages – let’s face it, nothing says turning 30 like sequins, wind machines and people dressed as orcs – but with one thing and another the whole plan went south. It doesn’t help that the job I’ve been in since March has turned into the Titanic and everyone is heading for the lifeboats.
It’s not all bad news. I’m off to Hong Kong, Phuket and Siem Reap at the end of August for my almost sister-in-law’s 30th birthday, and I’m campaigning heavily for them to have the wedding ceremony at Hong Kong Disneyland BECAUSE WHO DOESN’T WANT GOOFY TO OFFICIATE THEIR WEDDING? But realising that Eurovision is off made me really sad.
Fortunately one of the guys at work showed me this video, and now I have it on speed dial:
Makes up for not going to Sweden next year, and the fact that I’m back on the job hunting trail again. One day peace will come to the Middle East, and I maintain that video will have a lot to do with it.