where’s wally

Well, not quite, but last night I faced one of those frustrating ‘I know it’s staring me in the face’ kind of dilemmas.  I’ve recently created one of the most super organised wardrobes going around (organised I said, not OCD), see exhibit A, especially when it comes to sorting out the pile of ladies nice things!  The other night I thought it was time to drag out the in-case-of-cold-emergency pj’s but after boiling myself all night I changed my mind and put them away again.  Now that it is gotten colder you think I’d be able to find them in this get up I have going on, but no, like Wally they continue to elude me.

 

Only 17 and not 45

Technically the season is now Spring, but as usual Melbourne is yet to get the memo.  While the northern parts of the country continue to flaunt their sunny weather without a care, down here in Mexico we still have more than our share of cold weather.  And it’s boring!  In an attempt to shake things up I only have 17 layers of clothing on instead of my usual 45.  And I can feel every single one of the 28 missing layers thank you very much!

 

Spring has sprung

In my mind I’ve moved on from Winter, well and truly.  I’m just waiting for Melbourne to get the memo that we are indeed now meant to have sunshine, longer daylight and most importantly, warmth!  The flowers in my not-garden (read, patch of dirt under a tree) seemed to be on board and this little sweetheart popped up right on cue, front and centre on Sept 1.  What a pity my dogs decided to give their new backyard buddy what-for!

 

calm after the storm

It seems to be less windy in Melbourne today.  Well at least for the past hour which is a huge improvement on the past 5 days.  Believe the hype, we’ve almost been blown sideways and on some occasions my little dog actually has!  I did try not to laugh too hard but it was funny seeing all 5kg of her, with ears as windsocks, struggling valiantly not to drift off course.  It seems a little odd that while we endure bitterly cold winds down here in Mexico that NSW and QLD are fighting off sunburn.  That hardly seems fair!

 

hermetically sealed

Check this baby out, no more losing my pocket money in the park for me!!  Not long after I got the dogs I soon had that very female realisation that when it came time to go to the park I had nothing to wear!  I don’t mean ‘nothing’ nothing, but I certainly didn’t have the right kind of clothing to keep me 1. warm, and 2. dry in Melbourne’s temperamental weather.  My first thought was to scour the factory outlets near my place for outdoorsie type jackets.  Fail.  They just had pricey and/ or ugly stuff.  I don’t do ugly.  Then I thought I’d search the op shops.  Fail.  They had nothing suitable when I was there (but I did get some great saucepans and towels).  The other day when I was driving us all home up the far end of my street I saw a sign that said ‘Ski gear, massive reductions!’.  Well I executed the swiftest u-turn, the kind that would have made 007 proud, and just knew they’d have warm stuff.  Imagine my delight to find this down-filled jacket at 70% off – I am SO the best bargain hunter in the Melbourverse!  Never mind that it’s been too sunny and warm since the very second I bought it to actually wear it, psychologically I know I’ll be warm.

 

Return to the mothership

Or did I?  I had a wonderful time in Bali and was completely seduced by the place, the people and the food.  Coming back hasn’t been as bad as I imagined.  Back to winter, back to work, back to everything – not so bad, not great, mind, but bearable.  While away I did pretty much nothing – on purpose – as I didn’t want to do anything uber touristy.  A few years ago I tutored at university on a subject called ‘Cultural Tourism’ and one thing we looked at in detail was the dilution of special cultural rituals or ceremonies for the purposes of tourists, often outside the calendar of when these would otherwise occur.  It really struck a chord with me and made me ashamed of how I’d perhaps travelled in the past partaking in these with gusto.  So I promised myself I wouldn’t do that again, and I didn’t.  Even my regular (and brilliant) taxi driver Ketut got the point in the end.  He would often say to me in his own english, “I understand you, nooo temples and Bali only”, referring to my preference to support local family businesses.   Consequently he took me to some great local artisans and producers and I was happy to buy their handmade goods over the mass produced Javanese imports.  In my effort to really slow down and not do much I was drinking and eating much more than my normal fill.  But then (in cliched fashion) I ate a dodgy prawn at the mid-point of the holiday and that put an end to pretty much all my exotic eating and drinking adventures.  Just as well, as I was doing it for Australia the first week so any weight I’d put on was lost in the second!  If you’ve ever dreamed of or hesitated to go to Bali, my advice is to just go.  Go away from the tourist traps, but just go.  Do try and remember to come home, tough though it is!

 

dreaming of cocoa

I’m off to Bali this weekend for 11 gloooorious days in an attempt to thaw out my bones.  For the past few days I have been very busy slapping on the fake tan so as not to frighten the other tourists with my luminescent skin.  So far so good, no streaks to speak of (touch plastic).  I was aiming for turning my skin from blue-white to a warm shade caramel but I think the best I can manage in the time I have left will be a double double non-fat no foam weak latte.  Sadly.  Oh well! 

Rest assured I’ll come back with plenty of adventures and photos to share.  And I promise to have a cocktail or 20 for you too!

 

one cooking mojo, found

Don’t get me wrong, I heart food and I appreciate anyone with great cullinary skills – especially all the women in my family who cook!  It’s just that I have never really been motivated to commit to cooking well on a regular basis, preferring instead to buy cookbooks full of pretty pictures or watch tv shows making gorgeous food I’m unlikely to attempt.  It even got to the point where I had to self-impose a ban on any more books full of pretty pictures!  Cut to the recent series Master Chef and all that has changed.  I know my Mum will be pleased that I now regularly bust out the slow cooker on the weekends and make a meal or two to share for the week ahead.  Sometimes I even go so far as to make two courses.  Sometimes.  Now that Master Chef is off the air I feel kinda lost without my tutorials and idea sessions.  I’m not alone, we no longer race to the office in the morning to make comparisons of the previous night’s episode anymore either.  But I did learn an important lesson from the winner Julie.  Cooking can be a great way to show love, to heal, to nurture and to say thank you for the big things and the little things.  You may recall an earlier post where I mentioned Electric Legs has been sick, well one of my first instincts was to cook some food to make him feel a little better.  It seemed to do the trick for now, but he tells me I can’t have a 10 out of 10 for my first meal!  I just like that he thinks there will be a second one, ha ha!!

 

does my ego look big in this?

Self perception of body image can be a fickle old thing.  I have no idea what I weigh as I don’t own any scales.  I’m not trying to be all girl-power about my physique, I just can’t be arsed.  I don’t even own a decent full length mirror so I’ve no idea if my bum is growing or not.  For the longest time I’ve also had trouble with my appetite, or lack thereof.  Without boring you with the details I found I’ve had to snack on what I can when I feel up to it.  This has often meant good nutrition has, sadly, gone right out the window.  Lately I’ve been telling myself that my morning ritual of peanut butter toast is just going to end in tears, sooner or later.  So it was no surprise to see some photos of me recently (I’m normally behind the lense) and think, “you’ve done it and gone and turned into a fat bastard”.  A few days later when I was wearing some now baggy old clothes that used to fit quite snuggly I found myself giving my ego a stern talking to in the room of mirrors.  It went something like, “get a grip, your belt has gone in five notches, you’re not fat”.  Even so, it was a timely reminder to try and eat in a more balanced manner but more importantly to just enjoy the here and now.

 

Unreal, hello people and chillin’ need not apply

Searching for a home sucks.  I almost put blind faith in the Universe yesterday, but my gut told me not to.  I’ve spent countless hours trawling websites for share accommodation to try and find somewhere decent to live.   I’ve discarded ads that use words like ‘unreal’ to describe their abode, or describe themselves as ‘chillin’ kind of people and greet potential housemates via an all inclusive ‘hello people’.  Petty, I know, but it feels wrong in my gut.  But as the weeks have dragged by and I’m still empty handed I’ve progressively lowered my champagne tastes to align with my beer wages in an attempt to find something quickly.  This very fact nearly landed me in hot water yesterday.

One website brings flat’ees and flat’ers together in perfect harmony and regularly emails suggested matches to either party.  So it wasn’t unusual to receive an offer of a place on the city fringe via direct email last week.  A bit of too-ing and fro-ing later and I couldn’t believe my luck to be on the verge of securing such a tastefully furnished place in a great location going so cheap.  To cut a long story short, I was getting even more suspicious as quite a few additional and important questions I had were being skirted around.  So before I threw caution to the wind and took a gamble on blind faith I decided to google this charming young chap’s name, he did send me a scan of his passport in good faith after all.  Imagine my surprise when it came up on a long list of internationally renowned rental scammers.  And so Mr Jeffrey Pride Caulum, I flip you the bird and continue my search with new eyes wide open!

From now on I am always listening to my gut.  Oooh, now it’s rumbling, must dash.