What is making me happy: Christmas week and summer holidays

Two Christmas trees are not enough. Also, please note my artful(!) use of vignette: I should not be allowed to play with filters.

I am on holiday now - three weeks of glorious me-time; cooking and sewing and knitting, and planning for Christmas and next year’s projects. Yesterday I put up our beautiful tree, I’ve made some simple mincemeat and we have a fancy free-range ham in the fridge for Christmas Day.

After New Year, Shannon and I are going on holiday for a week with the ever-lovely Nat and Mark - Taupō and then maybe Tauranga. Sunshine is nigh! Exciting because until very recently, Wellington has been proving itself true-to-type in the weather department. *Sighs as though her heart would break* *looks wistfully out the rain-smeared window at the rain with chin in hand*

Related to Christmas planning: I’m also enjoying planting succulents in teacups/stoneware goblets/dessert glasses.

READING:

• Naked by David Sedaris - I bought a copy of this for Nat for her birthday and then borrowed it off her - only to discover three essays-in that I had definitely read it before. I had a look on Good Reads in the vague hope that I’d actually made a note of it and it turns out I'd totally read it in August last year! How about that.
• The Blind Assassin by Margaret Atwood - long conversation with Mon after I’d read this about loving everything that Margaret Atwood represents but then not really loving the books themselves. There was so much I liked about this book, but I did feel it was a bit laboured.
• The Portable Dorothy Parker - dipping in and out of the short stories, and skipping over most of the poetry. Not keen on poetry, even the comedic rhyming couplet type.
• Always sitting in my reader and making me feel dismayed with my lack of commitment to Serious Reading - Middlemarch and Peter Ackroyd’s London: The Biography.

WATCHING: A lot (SO MUCH) of Nigella Lawson. On Saturday I watched two series of Nigella's Christmas Kitchen in a row, six episodes in all. I am totally Christmassy right now. I want Poinsettias.

Also! Last night: Home Alone which was better than I remembered.

FAVOURITE PODCAST EPISODE: Fugitive Waves (the Kitchen Sisters) - the Nights of Edith Piaf. SO.GOOD.

The Kitchen Sisters are amaze, also I am fascinated by Edith Piaf's life story. I love a mostly non-narrative/non-editorialising podcast with lots of oral history and primary sources - so: A+++.

KNITTING: I bound off a pocket of my tunic dress and have put it away until next year.

Finally, I began swatching for my Featherweight in Madeline Tosh Lace and the tiny stitches are basically quite terrifying.

SEWING: I have many plans, lots of patterns and a fairly hefty stash - but an empty cutting table. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

LISTENING: Michael Buble’s Christmas album is on high-rotation at the moment. I enjoy his unabashed cheesiness mightily at this time of year.

Camera Obscura | Whiskey and Water

Right now: Camera Obscura and whiskey and water from a Crown Lynn Colourware teacup.

So, would you believe it, mere hours after Saturdays chirrupy little post, I was smote with a ghastly dose of food poisoning/gastroenteritis which put me completely out of action for Sheryll's party and for the rest of my time in Melbourne. Even the thought of food was horrifying beyond belief for the rest of the weekend, and drinking alcohol was completely out of the question. I'm sure you can imagine that the trip back on Monday was no fun at all -- I swear the woman sitting next to me on the plane could hear the tortured gurglings of my stomach.

I decluttered the RSS feeds in my reader and purged a bunch of feeds that I never read anymore or have been skimming impatiently for months. I love decluttering so much that I get disproportionately excited whenever I get the opportunity to declutter another aspect of my life. Soon I plan to take on Shannon's wardrobe [evil laugh] as I feel there is a great deal for me to work with in his room. So much to get rid of.

Finally, just wanted to show you a website I made in class and that actually (mostly) works! Depending on time constraints and my relative success in making usability changes to the backend, I think that I might actually migrate my blog there in the future. How exciting would THAT be, to run a blog that I had built myself from the ground up! Making stuff is fun.

The prototype blog is here.

The next assignment that I'm due to start on (and in fact, should probably do now) is something I'm pretty excited about - a mobile database of the thrifting, antique and second hand shopping opportunities in Wellington. I've seen one New Zealand op shop directory site (it looks like it's based in Auckland) but I know that I could make a better one. I'll let you know how it pans out!

The sad tale of Petunia, the tea-cup pig that wasn’t

During the Christmas break, I had a beautiful dream. A dream involving the ownership of a pet pig called Petunia who was pink and lovely and affectionate. Ah, lovely Petunia. She was fairly large and wiggled her bottom when she walked.

When I woke up I subjected Shannon to a discussion of Petunia. I talked about walking her in the city and having a coffee at Deluxe with her tied up under the table. And then I started thinking about tea-cup pigs! They’re adorable! And little!

I thought: I could have a tea-cup pig called Petunia! And she could ride in the front basket of my bicycle! And instead of being a crazy cat lady I could be a crazy pig lady!

It was a wonder that I managed to get back to sleep with so much excitement, but I did thank goodness. I slept in till midday I think.

That day, I thought about pet pigs. I thought about Petunia. I thought about hanging out with Petunia, and Petunia sleeping on the end of my bed and grunting excitedly when I came home from work. Petunia was so real I could almost touch her. So obsessed was I with conceptual-Petunia that I decided to do some research and make Petunia a reality.

It was then that my dreams of Petunia fell down around my ears.

Firstly, did you know how expensive tea-cup pigs are? They’re ludicrously expensive. Also, breeders recommend that you get more than one because they’re herd animals and they don’t like being alone – which ends my plans of leaving her at home while I’m at work. Also, twice ludicrously expensive is stupid amazing expensive. Also, they grow to be reasonably large – about the size of a small spaniel. Also, I have no idea where one can get a tea-cup pig in New Zealand.

I kind of gave up on tea-cup pigs at this point and decided that I would look at kune kune pigs instead, which are equally adorable, a lot more accessible - in fact, there is a breeder in Pauahatanui, which is about half an hour’s drive away. However, kune kune pigs proved to be a dead end as well! They live for like 20 years and end up weighing about as much as I do and dig up your garden something terrible so probably not that ideal for a rented property. I can’t imagine many land lords being totally cool with me moving in with a pig of any description, for that matter.

No pigs for me until I’m a stay-at-home farmer’s wife.

A few days later I saw this picture on Tumblr:

I thought: SQUEE! A possible Petunia substitute! because pugs are almost as cool as pigs, and dogs are a little easier to deal with (insofar as they aren’t as weird a pet as a pig is and are less likely to freak out a potential land lord). Also, it’s a lot easier to find pugs in New Zealand than it is to find tea-cup pigs! And a pug named called Petunia is would be adorable too! And she’d still fit in the front basket of my bicycle!

And then I started researching pugs and OH MY GOD they are a perfect example of the disastrousness of pedigree breeding. Did you know something like 80% of pugs will have to have an eye operation at least once in their life that New Zealand Pug Rescue bills at about $600? I can’t afford that! They’re wheezy and bad for asthmatics and they need lots of attention.

Thus:
Pugs are not for me.
Pigs are not for me.
And Petunia remains a lovely dream.
RIP Petunia.

Weather, the Achievement List, and some shameless trawling for favours

No sign of the weather improving, but I’m back on the bicycle nonetheless. I know it’s the most boring thing in the world to write but – THE WEATHER SUCKS THIS SUMMER. The last summer we had weather this bad was the summer that I was working at a clothing store called Plush (I think it was 2003?). I had the door closed and the heater on for the whole Christmas/New Year/summer period. I was the only person working there and it was hellishly boring and dull and I cleaned the floors/mirrors and rearranged the store about a thousand times. I think one day I counted just three people through the door – and it was so cold.

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My achievement list that I posted at the end of last year has been trundling along nicely; tickets and rides secured for my trip to Bulls for Camp A Low Hum. I’m very excited about it. The paying off my credit card goal is a struggle, but I think that I can make some headway pretty soon. Budgeting and paying off debts is hard work – BUT I’ve made the decision to sell off a bunch of clothes and books and I’m hoping that will give me a bit more money to play with. At the moment there are 7-8 plastic bags of books sitting by the front door and waiting to be dispatched to Arty Bee’s bookshop. Tonight I’m planning to go through my clothes, to be brutal, and add to the two bags of clothes that I sorted before the Pretty Pretty Pretty clothing swap and the last Big Shwop (I didn't go to either - a couple of bad days). I’m planning to take most of these delicious garments to the Recycle Boutique and to drop off the rest to some kind of op shop. Lovely workmate Katherine has offered to drive me around on Sunday morning. How lovely is she? So lovely. Also I am going to sell my knitting machine that I desperately hold on to and have never, ever used. Or indeed, ever taken out of the box. And I think I’m going to sell the few Royal Doulton Bamboo pattern plates that I started collecting before the Poverty really settled in. I’m going to sell the whole lot goddamn lot through Trade Me and I’ll post the link here. TAKE IT AWAY.

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Ravelry is my new obsession and where I’ve been spending all my spare internet time. I listed my Ravelry homepage in the side banner --> (and you can totally follow me. Please do). I’ve also just discovered Formspring and am whoring myself big time with it. You can ask me questions that I like to answer at http://formspring.me/gingertonyx, or use the widget direct from this page. It's surprisingly awesome fun! (Moments after writing this I think I inadvertently offended someone by being a dork in an anonymous question. Oops! Anonymity is a burden verily. Dorkness may come off as asshatness).

APAD 10: From my visual list of favourite things

Still negotiating getting my camera back. It's killing me I tell you.

An Op-Shop with Crown Lynn and Temuka. I don't know where it is. But look at all those tea cups!

I ♥ teacups.

Picnic Set From Michelle

Mmm, tastes like Crown Lynn... Pure 1950s deliciousness.

In which Sarah goes to a wedding, laughs at Thiry-Year-Old virgin jokes and scares a small child.

Yep, that's pretty much it actually. Except to comment that Louise looked absolutely beautiful and the decorations which I know she organised were perfect and tasteful. The music, which Trent organised was less than perfect and tasteful - ie lots of cheesy nineties music. I danced to 'Mambo Number Five'. And then I posted that fact on the internet. Shame.

I stole a Crown Lynn teacup from the church hall. Naughty.

The bridesmaids poked fun at the fact that the groom was thirty years old and cherry intact... read a poem that Louise had written on their two year anniversary where she asked him "didn't he want to get his hands on the treasure?" and if he wanted to be a forty year old virgin... The mind boggles, really. The first dance was to 'Lets get it on', Marvin Gaye. Heh. But imagine if your sexual status was the in-joke at your wedding? I really don't think the status of my virginity will ever come up for contention. Clearly I am as pure and as virginal as the newly driven snow.

Emma, sitting at our dinnertable:

At this wedding there were what felt like hundreds and hundreds of small children, all the girls were wearing pink dresses and alternatively stared at and ran away from the adults they didn't recognised. Children are very strange. The service was very Christian, like the bride and groom, and the small children spent the entire thing wriggling and making noises and getting up and sitting down and hitting each other and pulling each others hair and wriggling and wriggling and wriggling. A church fall of small children trying to be quiet is a very noisy distracting place indeed. In fact, its the most effective contraceptive I've ever experienced. Imagine putting up with all that wriggling all the time. Ugh! And then, at the reception, some clever clever person put on a Pingu video and the small children sat there and watched him religiously with their mouths slightly open as they ate big bowls of ice cream. It was a little scary - a bank of children hypnotically fixated on a claymation penguin.

The word 'penguin' is really weird, incidentally.

Talking of wriggling, noisy kiddies, Bryna must have given birth by now. Hooray! I can't wait to see ickle Megatron!

Free from the Dull Ones

The anxiety has subsided - I think it was when I rearranged the lounge, neatly placing my teacups on the window sill, that the magic happened. I am sitting in an empty bedroom and am deliciously full of the favourite food of the home-alone single Sarah, the toasted sandwich. (Should I be saying - the home-alone, poverty-stricken single Sarah). Just missioned over with Callum to my little brother's house; another borrowing of his turntables for a party tomorrow night - big night Tuesday before Waitangi Wednesday.

But the best bit is that there is no annoying people watching shitty tv in the lounge and guffawing periodically at some "witticism" or other. Is this a good time to reflect on the fact that flatting with randoms nearly always leads to a deep seated dislike of someone you are inherently incompatible with? Or maybe it's just the act of living with people in general. I did look for my own place at one point, but it's SO expensive, and one bedroom flats can be so nasty. And bedsits - I remember when Andy and I lived in a bedsit. There wasn't a great deal of room for two adults. Even if one of them was relatively small (even then I had far too much furniture).

So, anyway, I think I might go to bed now. Or at least, to bedroom, as the room itself is a fucking pigsty and I desperately need to move the piles of dirty clothes off the floor.

ALSO: Checking my stats before, I have almost had 5000 visitors (not 5000 hits - defo have more than that). When I have had 5000 visitors  I think that I will have a Blog Party. It's going to be amazing - and virtual.

Saying too much

Repeat:

• I must never, ever talk to my workmates about work, ever.
• I must especially not talk about other workmates to my workmates.
• I must never gossip sillily about friends (and their conquests) while drinking wine with my workmates.
• I must not fill the house with second hand crocheted blankets.
• I must not buy any more teacups from Trade Me.

Daytripper

I ran away on the bus today - Newtown and Kilbirnie, looking for a specific Crown Lynn pattern and avoiding second hand bookstores and vintage dresses (I have too many of both). I read De Beauvoir's the Prime of Life where she discusses how she embraced Katherine Mansfield's concept of the Independent Woman and I was reminded of how fabulous it is not to owe anybody your time but be purely self motivated in terms of where one goes, what one does. How nice it is to be selfish and completely focussed on one's self... Something I find easy to lose sight of while fawning over various male-types. De Beauvoir's independence involved her rooms, yellow covered chairs, pot bellied stoves, teaching in provincial cities, drinking and hypothesising in cafes. AND, further in the Inter War Parisian vein of things: I'm reading a biography of Peggy Guggenheim who was apparently terribly bored with existentialist Paris when she visited after the war. Also reading the Diaries of Anais Nin: Nin bitches about Guggenheim's relationship with Max Ernst (Guggenheim and Ernst were married in New York during the Second World War... exiled from Paris like Nin). Both also at least played lip service to the Independent Woman. And again, I'm taking all this with a grain of salt... complicated relationships with men and friends and family both. So my Independence involves: Roydon Tam 'O Shanter; Royal Doulton Bamboo; buses and thus various Newtonian crazies; bridal shopping with Jessica and listening to a fantastic-hilarious elderly shop assistant tell her life story; and smoking pot in the doorway of Bex and Al's place while drinking tea out of Bex's gilded porcelain china.