I've been trying to keep up my exercise, and as things are starting up again, this means getting up earlier.
Then yesterday we had a girls' day out in Brisbane with Nan, Mum and me from here and my aunt and two cousins from Brisbane. We hit the DFO and the coffee shops and talked a little. And shopped a little. And got depressed about the fact that so few stores in the DFO have clothes that fit anyone who hasn't got a figure like a straw broom.
But it was a good day.
And I didn't buy the tempting shoes that were not what I needed at all.
Came home, then had to be out for a meeting last night that went late and then I couldn't sleep. Early start, big day of driving, walking and talking, then an intense meeting - And I couldn't sleep.
Got up at about 1.30 and did some stuff for an hour, then tried again.
And of course I woke early this morning with only about 4 hours of sleep (max).
Big day today. Rowed, made heaps of phone calls, had a meeting, ended up filling in a Meals on Wheels roster at the last moment and turning into a grease spit in the heat, then handed over some work to the new victim (I mean, volunteer) and came home, cooked and ate dinner and it is 7.30 and I'm falling asleep at the computer.
Problem is, going to bed that early will result in waking up in the middle of the night. Always does. But the chance of me being able to stay awake until a decent bed time?
... Approxxak timatley NOteaneeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Monday, January 25, 2010
We didn't do too badly, really
Passport photos are notorious, aren't they?
My last passport I made the mistake of getting the photo taken while wearing a cream blouse, which resulted in beige background, cream blouse, washed-out pale skin with dark hair, eyebrows and irises the only relieving features. I should have worn brighter lippy. At least back
then you 
were permitted to smile.
were permitted to smile.
We really haven't done too badly this time, though. Both appear to have colour in our faces and whilst I made certain I wore a coloured shirt this time it doesn't seem to matter so much these days, because you can hardly see any of it.
My Beloved looks like he's up to mischief, though. The chance they'll let him into a foreign country?
... Let's hope they do! Because how much would I like to go without him?
... Approximately None!
Thursday, January 14, 2010
It's all Mum's fault, really...
You might recall that about 12 months ago I commented that I was having some vision difficulty and probably needed to go to an optometrist.
I also want new frames because I'm needing my glasses more and more often, and they really aren't fashionable anymore, and I need them in public now rather than just at my desk.
Well I decided I'd go on Tuesday of this week.
Vanity is an excellent motivator.
First appointment at a new optometrist they ask you about all the family history and what you know about your eyesight problems, then they start the actual examination.
I knew that I have three basic problems:
1. I need glasses for reading (can never remember which is long-sight and which short-sight)
2. I have astigmatism in my left eye (this is my Mother's fault, but she blames her Dad.)
3. I have a convergence problem
Lately I've been needing glasses more and more often for further and further distances. So it was time to go, and I was excited that I could get new frames, having had these since 1997 when I first got glasses. It's time. Well past time, actually, but moving on from my innate miserly tendencies...
So the young bloke finished his examination and then asked me if I'd ever been recommended eye exercises for my convergence problem?
The answer to that is 'yes' from some optometrists, but others say that you can waste your time if you like, but they don't help. So, my natural disinclination for any form of exercise has won the day and I haven't been doing any.
Possibly a mistake, because there's absolutely nothing that glasses can do to help a convergence problem.
And I have a spectacular, off-the-scale convergence problem for close work. This means that each eye contributes the image it sees, but can't reduce it to one, focussed image. Hence I can't see well unless I close one eye. Which might be a bit distracting for the congregation when I'm reading sermon notes.
It does help if things are in focus, though.
... So I need to wear my glasses for preaching and meetings and stuff (at least still my eye muscles decide to behave again due to enough time spent cross-eyed).
... But they are ugly.
... But the fact of the matter is that there is absolutely no change in my prescription.
... So there is no reason to get new frames.
And while they kindly offered to sell me new glasses anyway, my aforementioned innate miserliness will not allow me to buy new glasses for no reason.
... And my parents always told me to be a good steward of this world's resources, and that means taking care of things.
... So my existing frames are still in really good condition, and there's no discernable scratches on the lenses (then again, could I see them if there were?).
... So there is no reason to get new frames.
... And it's all my Mum's fault.
By the way, if I happen to see any of you who are my friends or relatives and you happened to, say, sit on my glasses, my level of unhappiness would be...
...Approximately None!!!
In fact, don't be surprised if I see you about to sit down and I throw my glasses across the room onto your chair.
The problem is that those of us with convergence problems see two images of things partially superimposed, so the chance that I'll hit the right chair?
... *sigh*
I also want new frames because I'm needing my glasses more and more often, and they really aren't fashionable anymore, and I need them in public now rather than just at my desk.
Well I decided I'd go on Tuesday of this week.
Vanity is an excellent motivator.
First appointment at a new optometrist they ask you about all the family history and what you know about your eyesight problems, then they start the actual examination.
I knew that I have three basic problems:
1. I need glasses for reading (can never remember which is long-sight and which short-sight)
2. I have astigmatism in my left eye (this is my Mother's fault, but she blames her Dad.)
3. I have a convergence problem
Lately I've been needing glasses more and more often for further and further distances. So it was time to go, and I was excited that I could get new frames, having had these since 1997 when I first got glasses. It's time. Well past time, actually, but moving on from my innate miserly tendencies...
So the young bloke finished his examination and then asked me if I'd ever been recommended eye exercises for my convergence problem?
The answer to that is 'yes' from some optometrists, but others say that you can waste your time if you like, but they don't help. So, my natural disinclination for any form of exercise has won the day and I haven't been doing any.
Possibly a mistake, because there's absolutely nothing that glasses can do to help a convergence problem.
And I have a spectacular, off-the-scale convergence problem for close work. This means that each eye contributes the image it sees, but can't reduce it to one, focussed image. Hence I can't see well unless I close one eye. Which might be a bit distracting for the congregation when I'm reading sermon notes.
It does help if things are in focus, though.
... So I need to wear my glasses for preaching and meetings and stuff (at least still my eye muscles decide to behave again due to enough time spent cross-eyed).
... But they are ugly.
... But the fact of the matter is that there is absolutely no change in my prescription.
... So there is no reason to get new frames.
And while they kindly offered to sell me new glasses anyway, my aforementioned innate miserliness will not allow me to buy new glasses for no reason.
... And my parents always told me to be a good steward of this world's resources, and that means taking care of things.
... So my existing frames are still in really good condition, and there's no discernable scratches on the lenses (then again, could I see them if there were?).
... So there is no reason to get new frames.
... And it's all my Mum's fault.
By the way, if I happen to see any of you who are my friends or relatives and you happened to, say, sit on my glasses, my level of unhappiness would be...
...Approximately None!!!
In fact, don't be surprised if I see you about to sit down and I throw my glasses across the room onto your chair.
The problem is that those of us with convergence problems see two images of things partially superimposed, so the chance that I'll hit the right chair?
... *sigh*
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Happy Birthday Kate me Mate!
I decided that I would throw a virtual birthday party for my good mate Kate (aka Givinya). So please drop a message in the comments to wish her a happy birthday, or even slip over to Killing a Fly to visit her.
We have known each other for years now, in fact since 1994 when she came to share a college with me and we realised that we were similarly endowed with nuttyness.
I could share heaps of great stories about her, but I won't because she knows just as many (if not more) about me, and I have to maintain a position of respect in my community (*laugh uproariously now*).
But I did want to wish her a happy birthday, because I've noticed that mums don't always get the recognition of special days that they deserve. So I hope that she gets to:
1. sleep in
2. go for a long swim with no kids
3. doesn't need to cook unless she wants to
4. and that everyone in her family spoils her rotten for one day.
Happy Birthday, Kate.
The chance that I would ever forget such an important date?
Approximately None! (but only approximately)
We have known each other for years now, in fact since 1994 when she came to share a college with me and we realised that we were similarly endowed with nuttyness.
I could share heaps of great stories about her, but I won't because she knows just as many (if not more) about me, and I have to maintain a position of respect in my community (*laugh uproariously now*).
But I did want to wish her a happy birthday, because I've noticed that mums don't always get the recognition of special days that they deserve. So I hope that she gets to:
1. sleep in
2. go for a long swim with no kids
3. doesn't need to cook unless she wants to
4. and that everyone in her family spoils her rotten for one day.
Happy Birthday, Kate.
The chance that I would ever forget such an important date?
Approximately None! (but only approximately)
Dear Big Brother,
Very exciting things are planned for this year, one of which is that my Mum and Dad are taking my brother and I, our respective spice (spouses?), and my niece to Asia for a week's holiday. My sister-in-law is originally from Malaysia, so they're sticking around to catch up with her family and friends and we're going to add an extra week to our trip. I'm looking forward to it immensely.
One of the essential jobs to do was to put in our passport applications. Mine had been in my maiden name and expired years ago, and my Beloved has never had one, so I've been collecting his birth certificate, a registered marriage certificate and the photos we needed, got all the paperwork filled out and found a guarantor. Then we waited til my Beloved was on holidays and went last Monday to have our interview and lodge them. Exciting.
They say to expect it to take 7 weeks. That's fine, we've plenty of time.
You can imagine my surprise to receive an email last Thursday (i.e. three days later) to say that my Beloved's passport had been processed and was being sent via registered mail. I didn't think that Snail Mail could have got the application forms to Canberra in that amount of time! And Monday the postie rang the doorbell to get my signature to recieve one passport. It took a week. Howzat!?!*
So, my Beloved is definitely going on the family holiday.
Now, I was expecting to wait seven weeks to get our passports. I was happy to wait seven weeks to get out passports. The only problem now is that my Beloved has his that was lodged at the same place, on the same date, at the same time as mine.
The photos were taken at the same place by the same bloke, so surely if the Aussie government accepts his pic, mine should be fine too. (although I won't be able to explain to them the flat straight hair phenomenon whereby they don't need to take off very much hair to get to where my skull actually is - the photo is not too small).
I would have thought mine would be easier given the fact I've previously held a passport.
I'm just hoping that the chance that they've found my post about having an assassination list when I was at college is...
Approximately None!
I swear I didn't mean it. I wouldn't ever really do that!
*For my US readers 'Howzat!' is a jubilant exclamation and appeal to the umpire in cricket when you think you've just got a member of the opposing team out. In this case I'm jubilantly appealing to you, my readers, to compliment my government on extraordinarily efficient processing.
One of the essential jobs to do was to put in our passport applications. Mine had been in my maiden name and expired years ago, and my Beloved has never had one, so I've been collecting his birth certificate, a registered marriage certificate and the photos we needed, got all the paperwork filled out and found a guarantor. Then we waited til my Beloved was on holidays and went last Monday to have our interview and lodge them. Exciting.
They say to expect it to take 7 weeks. That's fine, we've plenty of time.
You can imagine my surprise to receive an email last Thursday (i.e. three days later) to say that my Beloved's passport had been processed and was being sent via registered mail. I didn't think that Snail Mail could have got the application forms to Canberra in that amount of time! And Monday the postie rang the doorbell to get my signature to recieve one passport. It took a week. Howzat!?!*
So, my Beloved is definitely going on the family holiday.
Now, I was expecting to wait seven weeks to get our passports. I was happy to wait seven weeks to get out passports. The only problem now is that my Beloved has his that was lodged at the same place, on the same date, at the same time as mine.
The photos were taken at the same place by the same bloke, so surely if the Aussie government accepts his pic, mine should be fine too. (although I won't be able to explain to them the flat straight hair phenomenon whereby they don't need to take off very much hair to get to where my skull actually is - the photo is not too small).
I would have thought mine would be easier given the fact I've previously held a passport.
I'm just hoping that the chance that they've found my post about having an assassination list when I was at college is...
Approximately None!
I swear I didn't mean it. I wouldn't ever really do that!
*For my US readers 'Howzat!' is a jubilant exclamation and appeal to the umpire in cricket when you think you've just got a member of the opposing team out. In this case I'm jubilantly appealing to you, my readers, to compliment my government on extraordinarily efficient processing.
Monday, January 11, 2010
Another theory busted...
One of my theories that I've held to in the years since I started college is that once I was an adult, my shoe size would stay the same.
I may have 'blossomed' late, and put on a few extra kilos since then, but ever since I was in the last couple of years of high school my shoe size has been consistent. Or rather, it would have been consistent, except that european and US sizes are now being used for some brands, which means that the number is different even if the foot inside is actually the same.
I have in my possession a pair of knee length, high heeled black boots. I rescued them from cetain death while I was in college when Mum was culling her shoe collection. I had always loved them ever since Mum had had them.
At the moment the are actually fashionable again, but a couple of years back they lost the sole of the heels and I keep forgetting to take them down to get new ones put on. So I haven't been wearing them.
Last week I was doing a heap of silly things down town, and for a wonder remembered my boots. Sixteen dollars later and I had (re)new(ed) shoes to wear. I got them out on Sunday to wear to church.
I don't know what has happened. Feet don't change size, but obviously my calves have, because there was no way I could zip them up.
It's not like they missed by a tiny fraction, either.
And this confirms a suspicion I've had for a while that my lower legs are putting on weight. I told myself I was being overly critical and that it wasn't possible, but my calves are not something I've ever measured for any reason, so I have no point of comparison.
Except a pair of black, knee-length boots.
So, my ideas for where to go to from here?
... Approximately None. *excuse me while I have a little cry in the corner just here*
I may have 'blossomed' late, and put on a few extra kilos since then, but ever since I was in the last couple of years of high school my shoe size has been consistent. Or rather, it would have been consistent, except that european and US sizes are now being used for some brands, which means that the number is different even if the foot inside is actually the same.
I have in my possession a pair of knee length, high heeled black boots. I rescued them from cetain death while I was in college when Mum was culling her shoe collection. I had always loved them ever since Mum had had them.
At the moment the are actually fashionable again, but a couple of years back they lost the sole of the heels and I keep forgetting to take them down to get new ones put on. So I haven't been wearing them.
Last week I was doing a heap of silly things down town, and for a wonder remembered my boots. Sixteen dollars later and I had (re)new(ed) shoes to wear. I got them out on Sunday to wear to church.
I don't know what has happened. Feet don't change size, but obviously my calves have, because there was no way I could zip them up.
It's not like they missed by a tiny fraction, either.
And this confirms a suspicion I've had for a while that my lower legs are putting on weight. I told myself I was being overly critical and that it wasn't possible, but my calves are not something I've ever measured for any reason, so I have no point of comparison.
Except a pair of black, knee-length boots.
So, my ideas for where to go to from here?
... Approximately None. *excuse me while I have a little cry in the corner just here*
Thursday, January 7, 2010
The End of the World is Nigh...
I've said before that I'm not really a morning person.
I tell you, early morning is really not my best time of day. In fact when I was at college (where meal times had a particular finish time) I was able to get up, dress, go down to the dining room, make and eat breakfast, carry on conversations with the others at my table, then return to my room and go back to sleep with no recollection of the topics of conversation and the only clues to the fact that I had been fed being the fact I was dressed, I had a foggy recollection of stuff happening, and I wasn't starving hungry.
Earlier this week my Beloved was still on holidays and didn't have to get up at a ridiculous hour to be ready to go to work for an early start. I was starting to get used to this, but, alas, sometimes my body has a way to get me up and about very early in the morning that simply cannot be denied. It's okay, though, because I can do what I need to do and go back to sleep, because I'm hardly awake.
Except I can't always use my powers of higher reason. They don't switch on until about a couple of hours after I'm vertical.
So when there was this other-wordly golden light around the room I had a little bit of processing time to work out that:
1. It was not another dust storm;
2. It was not the end of the world.
I don't know if you knew this, but the sky is really pretty just as the sun is about to climb up into the sky.
And the chance that I stayed up to absorb the beauty of the new morning?
... What do you think?
I tell you, early morning is really not my best time of day. In fact when I was at college (where meal times had a particular finish time) I was able to get up, dress, go down to the dining room, make and eat breakfast, carry on conversations with the others at my table, then return to my room and go back to sleep with no recollection of the topics of conversation and the only clues to the fact that I had been fed being the fact I was dressed, I had a foggy recollection of stuff happening, and I wasn't starving hungry.
Earlier this week my Beloved was still on holidays and didn't have to get up at a ridiculous hour to be ready to go to work for an early start. I was starting to get used to this, but, alas, sometimes my body has a way to get me up and about very early in the morning that simply cannot be denied. It's okay, though, because I can do what I need to do and go back to sleep, because I'm hardly awake.
Except I can't always use my powers of higher reason. They don't switch on until about a couple of hours after I'm vertical.
So when there was this other-wordly golden light around the room I had a little bit of processing time to work out that:
1. It was not another dust storm;
2. It was not the end of the world.
I don't know if you knew this, but the sky is really pretty just as the sun is about to climb up into the sky.
And the chance that I stayed up to absorb the beauty of the new morning?
... What do you think?
Monday, January 4, 2010
Seeking Engine De-greaser...
I presume that not many people are in this same boat.
I presume that because if there were heaps of people in this same boat, the supermarkets would still stock the particular item I need.
And they don't.
I stand in front of the wall of hair care products, reading all the labels of all the products for all the brands looking for something that deals with oily hair. There hasn't been anything in a supermarket since Revlon stopped making (or at least selling into the supermarkets) Flex for oily hair in the late 1990s. For a while I did find a Pears product for normal hair that sort of filled the gap, but they don't seem to exist anymore either.
Obviously no-one has normal hair anymore, because I could get colour longevity, frizz reduction, perm protection, hydrating, rejuvenating, split-end inhibiting, body enhancing, long hair strengthening, super moisturising, every-day use type of products. 'Everyday' or 'frequent' use is pretty pointless for my hair, because I don't want to have to shower at lunchtime just to wash my hair so that it doesn't have that greasy sheen for the afternoon. And I'm happy to wash my hair every couple of days, if I can get away with it.
I've discovered lately that if I hairspray to within an inch of its life, I don't seem to get greasy so quickly (or at least it doesn't look greasy).
I don't put conditioner anywhere near my head, but confine it to the ends only.
I put the shampoo into dry hair as recommended by a previous hairdresser in the hope that the shampoo gets a better 'grip' on the grease before I wet everything.
And I'm still left wanting to slip down to the local Supercheap Auto and buy something that will actually get my hair clean enough that I only have to wash a couple of times a week.
More dangerous, of course, is the bottle of dishwashing detergent under the sink. They wash race horses in dishwashing detergent. It says it's 'easy on your hands' so how bad could it be?
I sometimes think phoning my hairdresser in Yeppoon and buying some more Redken super grease removing shampoo, even if it does cost about 5 times what I would normally pay for shampoo.
And at this point I remind myself that greasy hair and face has got to be good for me as I age. I've never needed all the moisturising stuff that people spend so much money on. Surely the grease has to pay off in fewer wrinkles?
... please?
But of course the chances of it working out for me?
... Approximately None!
I presume that because if there were heaps of people in this same boat, the supermarkets would still stock the particular item I need.
And they don't.
I stand in front of the wall of hair care products, reading all the labels of all the products for all the brands looking for something that deals with oily hair. There hasn't been anything in a supermarket since Revlon stopped making (or at least selling into the supermarkets) Flex for oily hair in the late 1990s. For a while I did find a Pears product for normal hair that sort of filled the gap, but they don't seem to exist anymore either.
Obviously no-one has normal hair anymore, because I could get colour longevity, frizz reduction, perm protection, hydrating, rejuvenating, split-end inhibiting, body enhancing, long hair strengthening, super moisturising, every-day use type of products. 'Everyday' or 'frequent' use is pretty pointless for my hair, because I don't want to have to shower at lunchtime just to wash my hair so that it doesn't have that greasy sheen for the afternoon. And I'm happy to wash my hair every couple of days, if I can get away with it.
I've discovered lately that if I hairspray to within an inch of its life, I don't seem to get greasy so quickly (or at least it doesn't look greasy).
I don't put conditioner anywhere near my head, but confine it to the ends only.
I put the shampoo into dry hair as recommended by a previous hairdresser in the hope that the shampoo gets a better 'grip' on the grease before I wet everything.
And I'm still left wanting to slip down to the local Supercheap Auto and buy something that will actually get my hair clean enough that I only have to wash a couple of times a week.
More dangerous, of course, is the bottle of dishwashing detergent under the sink. They wash race horses in dishwashing detergent. It says it's 'easy on your hands' so how bad could it be?
I sometimes think phoning my hairdresser in Yeppoon and buying some more Redken super grease removing shampoo, even if it does cost about 5 times what I would normally pay for shampoo.
And at this point I remind myself that greasy hair and face has got to be good for me as I age. I've never needed all the moisturising stuff that people spend so much money on. Surely the grease has to pay off in fewer wrinkles?
... please?
But of course the chances of it working out for me?
... Approximately None!
Friday, January 1, 2010
Happy New Year!
Well, I shall defy Givinya and wish everyone all the best for the New Year, despite the fact that I know that this year shall, like all the preceeding ones, be a mixture of highs and lows. It's okay for me to wish you all the good things and the absolute minimum of the bad, I hope?
Of course, it didn't have a great start at this end.
I was excited some years ago that the phone number granted to us by the powers that be in Telstra was easy to remember.
Traditionally around our town all the phone numbers had the same first four digits, so you only really needed to remember the last four. As town has grown, and businesses and government agencies wanted lots of extentions of the same basic number there have been new numbers issued that have the same initial three numbers, but allow for another 10,000 numbers to be used on top of that. Growth in regional Queensland is a much desired comodity, but does have some draw-backs on an individual basis.
In this case, on our individual phone number basis.
So far as I have been able to discover, our easy to remember phone number has the last four digits the same as one of the extensions for the local constabulary. So anyone who is not paying attention and dials the "standard" first four digits gets yours truly. Congratulations to me!
This has lead to some really funny phonecalls when the person on the other end of the line has got up a head of steam and launches into their story without paying attention to how I've answered the phone. My response to their irate, "...and what are you going to do about it?" is usually along the lines of, "I don't think I can help you very much, I presume you are after the cops?" and possibly leaves much to be desired from their perspective.
There are some phone calls that just go dead when I answer, and others that hesitantly question, "Is this the police?", but the funny ones are the ones where I get their whole life story before they think to question who I am.
Of course, there are the ones that aren't so funny. 2.30am New Years Day is not really amusing, except that the poor lady was so appalled that she'd got a wrong number, and I was so asleep that I wasn't really at my best. She was so apologetic and nice and well-spoken and told me to go back to sleep (she could obviously hear my brain grinding into starting position to work out what was going on) and she was sorry to bother me, and Happy New Year.
Socially appropriate farewell?
... probably - what other options would there be when you've woken a complete stranger out of a deep sleep at 2.30am?
... Approximately None!
Of course, it didn't have a great start at this end.
I was excited some years ago that the phone number granted to us by the powers that be in Telstra was easy to remember.
Traditionally around our town all the phone numbers had the same first four digits, so you only really needed to remember the last four. As town has grown, and businesses and government agencies wanted lots of extentions of the same basic number there have been new numbers issued that have the same initial three numbers, but allow for another 10,000 numbers to be used on top of that. Growth in regional Queensland is a much desired comodity, but does have some draw-backs on an individual basis.
In this case, on our individual phone number basis.
So far as I have been able to discover, our easy to remember phone number has the last four digits the same as one of the extensions for the local constabulary. So anyone who is not paying attention and dials the "standard" first four digits gets yours truly. Congratulations to me!
This has lead to some really funny phonecalls when the person on the other end of the line has got up a head of steam and launches into their story without paying attention to how I've answered the phone. My response to their irate, "...and what are you going to do about it?" is usually along the lines of, "I don't think I can help you very much, I presume you are after the cops?" and possibly leaves much to be desired from their perspective.
There are some phone calls that just go dead when I answer, and others that hesitantly question, "Is this the police?", but the funny ones are the ones where I get their whole life story before they think to question who I am.
Of course, there are the ones that aren't so funny. 2.30am New Years Day is not really amusing, except that the poor lady was so appalled that she'd got a wrong number, and I was so asleep that I wasn't really at my best. She was so apologetic and nice and well-spoken and told me to go back to sleep (she could obviously hear my brain grinding into starting position to work out what was going on) and she was sorry to bother me, and Happy New Year.
Socially appropriate farewell?
... probably - what other options would there be when you've woken a complete stranger out of a deep sleep at 2.30am?
... Approximately None!
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