VeraTiny

...I have never been these close to owning a home.

The suitcase of money is handed off in 3 hours and I get the keys.

I am so excited I could pop.

Last night I dreamed I had a very ugly little baby--my boyfriend thankfully is not in the least bit nervous and reckons that this is a very good sign... concerning home ownership! Thank heavens because it was a damn ugly little bastard with an oasis eyebrow!

In other news...
...I may not have mentioned...
I am firmly completely and very much in love!!!

Newish car (2.5 years old and in no way co-owned with a bank or other financial institute of any sort), new country, new job, new man...new house and a $3000 tax rebate…

..everything is going right…I’m so suspicious!

...only it doesn't actually eat the villagers... oh well... one can't have everything.

Surfacing briefly after a long absense... sigh... life!

I am very excited... I put in an offer on a house yesterday. Of all the scary grown up things to do. I am waiting to hear if it has been accepted so a tense nail biting morning I think. There is actually another offer on it already but they are in a long chain and the agent feels I have a good chance (then again he would say that). The realist in me knows that it probably won't be this one... but still I am thinking maybe I'll paint the living room wall cherry red :-)

Does this mean I am a grown up now?

...from um-friend to UGF (um-girlfriend).

...does hallmark do a card?

I met someone at a party.

It was during the day so I was somewhat less drunk than I would normally be at a party, which was good. We talked, while I simultaneously sat on and rather crushed a mint bush (no jokes about minty fresh bottoms…this is serious stuff).

In the course of that one random conversation I think I have finally figured out what I want to be when I grow up. It sure has taken long enough :-)

It is early days yet and I have some preparations to make: involving getting permanent residency and citizenship (writing the insane test), saving $10000 in a year and going to Melbourne to study for two more years.

The upside is at last I have some direction in my life and the only suffering seems to have been by the mint bush, and frankly mint is far nicer crushed in a GT than any other way (at least that is what I think).

I sally forth…

You are walking along the beach admiring an early spring evening perhaps with a dog or two in tow. Musing on the days events and wondering if the meaning of the universe is as simple as…WAIT, stop!

Half buried in the sand you spot a bunch of keys. As you are rather a nice sort and not inclined toward theft and rapage you place them in the pocket of your windcheater. You think to yourself that a nearby shop or friendly police officer will without doubt be of some assistance. You continue your stroll stopping briefly to take care of the by products of your dogs with a bag you keep in your pocket. You begin to get back to your musings…WAIT, stop!

Sitting forlornly on a bench you spot a smallish ginger haired child kicking her legs and whistling to her self. You hastily glace around for adult accompaniment, nothing in the near vicinity. Your dogs too, seem to have disappeared for the horizon running along with their tongues hanging out in an effusion of dogly exuberance. What to do?

You approach the child and enquire politely wether there is in fact an adult present. The child mutters something about her “damned man”…odd you think. Then the child fixes you with a piercing stare and says “have you found my Granny’s keys”. You feel oddly prickly around your skull, the sort of feeling you get when approaching a seemingly empty house while holding Jehovah witness pamphlets…watched. Hastily you hand over the keys and beat a retreat. You reassure yourself that your decision to remain child free but dog rich was not a result of any indecision on your part but a deeply significant life choice. Creepy little Omen-ish children!

(I am the parent of the ginger child….)

It has been a water week. I watched a number of water themed films, there has been heaps of rain, water has fallen from my eyes (drip drops as MM calls them) and my home had a Tsunami warning issued on the 6 o’clock news (for a 5:30 tsunami).

 The water themed films included: the full cinema experience of Evan Almighty with popcorn; a lazy rainy Sunday afternoon watching of the Reaping (or the Reckoning or something like that) and a Monday evening headache induced spiced dark chocolate scoffing in front of Lady in the Water.

I live in a town, it likes to call itself a city and it is a state capital but…it is a town. It is a town in which people have long memories. They talk about the bush fires of 1964 and consider this to be a logical reason for not buying properties near trees. 

In an attempt to be a good citizen I made some art. I made some art to be turned into a Christmas card and be auctioned for medical research (not the sort on bunnies, I checked). This was good; this was like giving to charity without the feeling of being robbed for actually money. I mean after all my time is worth nothing…

So I perpetrated a piece of aaaaart which conformed to their brief. It was landscape in orientation, it was the correct size and it had but a subtle hint of Christmas. I was happy and I rested.

The piece itself is a gauche and ink rendering of what I thought were obviously Christmas tree-esque needles, but I was trying to be subtle.  The possibility has arisen that I was too subtle. I may have been wrong but I thought the combination of the brief, the title “fir” and Christmas theme would make the orientation obvious. How wrong I was…

I received the catalogue. My “fir” has become “grass” maybe. The work of the other 9 artist has been hung with the correct orientation and there stands mine the only portrait in a sea of landscapes. I feel shame…but wait this is not my shame…it is theirs…

I wrote a letter expressing my concern, although at this point they have probably framed the art and printed the cards. Therefore the joy I received from writing the letter can only be conceived as perverse.

So the great art swindle has been perpetrated against me. I admit that this isn’t as bad as the time my nude self portrait was slashed when I was in high school but it is up there firmly lodged in the crimes committed against my art.

I wait to see what pathetic apology they offer. Perhaps their flustered attempts at apology will amuse me. If they are lucky they will amuse me enough not to seek vengeance. Alternately I will just drink two extra glasses of wine at the launch and call it revenge…I can be so dastardly when I try!

I am normally very busy when we have interlopers at work. Under normal meeting time circumstance I never sit down, eating comprises shovelling a few crumbs of left over cake between my parched and dry lips (no time for drinking you see, and if you don’t drink you don’t pee…double savings all round). 

Some background: I run conferences as part of my job...

The sort of conferences I organise range from the bizarre (yoga) to the even more bizarre (fisheries management)...occasionally I get the odd wedding (the fire trucks while exciting were not technically part of our service) and sometimes even tour operators. It is a mixed bag to say the least. The majority of attendees are not local (shock) and many of them hold multiple doctorates from esteemed universities the world over (horror).  

What astounds and amuses me (despite the amount of work it causes me) is the inevitable regression these "delegates" undergo. It is like managing a kindergarten, sans finger paints, thank god! 

The sweet little people in there wrinkle proof suits, clutching their laptops and power adaptors the size of an average newborn descend on the facilities (all the facilities, we have learnt that in some cultures it is appropriate to poop in the bin rather than the toilet provided).

They wander dazed and confused into parts of the building they are not supposed to be in, sometimes into walls, maybe even in front of a busses (if we had those driving though the ground floor).

The same individuals ask the same question at least three times a day: "Where is the bathroom?"

They ask for flash/jump drives and then look confused when you hand them one: "What is this?" they ask.

They call for taxis and then wander off the premises...because taxis in (insert name of town here) should be able to find them anywhere, I presume.

It is just like playing Lemmings. However for a more authentic experience I think I need to devise a hair dye unit above the front door. Green, more realistic and far easier to identify the little dears!

…and then there was the incident of the blown up Mac…which I have vowed never to speak of again!

So now I will change the subject:

In dressmaking news, the class of esoteric wisdom and women's business is on hiatus. I, however have been at work (in between paid work), I have made: two jackets and a dress (with a belt). If I keep this up I'll never need to shop again…muhahah.

Break over, best go...somebody is fiddling with the light switches...this can’t end well!