Hairdressers - no, not again!

I think I may be weird?!  Or at the very least, not normal.

My sympathies lie with the poodle

I HATE having to go to the hairdressers, beauty salon, nail parlor, day spa ... anything that involves the following I loath:

• Long hours sitting/lying still with bubbling brook or Enya music
• Wasting hours and hours of my time with tin foil in my hair
• Looking at myself in a mirror for hours as a pre-occupied hair 'sylist' looks at herself in the mirror at the same time - and if our eyes meet a pale, weak smile from both of us
• Having to endure inane chatter about the weather, what she/he/I did last weekend, the latest boyfriend/girlfriend or both
• Having to flick through stupid gossip magazines, or worse, Vogue - with blank looking twigs on the pages.
• Have the apprentice girl/guy make me really bad coffee and have to pretend its fine.
• Pay an absolute fortune to have my grey hairs covered, my split ends trimmed and be called 'darl.

This certainly would not be me - I can't smile like that in a salon!

 

So, I rarely have any 'beauty' treatments, other than a 6 weekly visit to the beautician to have my eyebrows whipper snippered, which is necessary so I can see.  My hair gets attention only 3 times a year ... and I have the brown/grey drag strip down my part line and split ends to prove it.  The only time I have ever had a manicure or pedicure was in Bali - and that was because my BFF told me I had to!

Today I had to go and buy shampoo (I do treat myself to the good stuff, but only because it does last much longer and helps my very bad split ends) from my usual hairdresser and my 'colourist' served me and asked when I was coming in to do something about the very obvious dark roots.  I had also been gently chastised by son #1 on the weekend for being such a mess, so I booked a three hour (yes three insufferable hours) session this Friday.  Jarad, my colourist, will cover the dark roots, add foils, and highlights, give me a 'treatment' complete with a hot towel and a scalp massage. Then my stylist, Laura, will trim, tutt how bad it is, shape, blow wave and mousse my hair into a boofy, silly 'do' that I will have to go back to my office wearing and endure the painful 'oh that looks nice' or 'had your hair done?' comments by the staff.

Unbearable, but has to be done.  When I moan to other women about this they all stare at me blankly. When I moan to men about it, they all wish I was their wife instead. 

Recently, I declined a free half day session at a day spa when a friend offered it to me, as she had booked it, but an emergency with her mums health stopped her attending.  I had no other reason to decline, other than I could not bear the thought of wasting half of my Saturday laying about being pampered.  I feel awkward, weird, and certainly not relaxed.  Give me a good book and half a day in bed and I will show you relaxed and pampered!

Apparently I am weird?

150 Posts!

Looked at my stats this morning. They made me smile, not like my other 'stats' - the ones when I stand on the scales or put on a pair of jeans I wore last season. They don’t make me smile at all.

So here they are:

150 Posts - is that enough for a book yet? :-)

Last month there was 706 views of my posts - most of the views were me I am sure!

All time post viewing history 3618

I have 11 Followers - <waves hello>

My most popular post with 30 views was High Tea at Tranby House

My personal favourite posts:

The Actual Art Review,

Men and Scatter Cushions and

Trio of Tables

This blog has become my sanity saver and the place I come to corral my wild thoughts and write them down in a calm and considered way. I have never lost sight of the reason I started this blog - to help me bear the frustration and sadness of not being able to live on our semi-rural property, instead having to rent it out for others to enjoy. I am a country girl (well that’s stretching the imagination, 48 year old women is closer to the truth) who has little choice (other than walking away from my marriage and business) but to live in suburbia and try and make the best of a bad situation. Some days it breaks my heart, but most days I try and just live and forget.

I really should be ashamed of myself for being a whiny brat, so many other people have real problems that they cope with better than me. Yet, I can’t help the way I feel, day by day, a little part of me dies. Being brave and sucking it up all the time, eventually wears you down.

So thank you blog, and thank you to my few but cherished readers ... you really have helped me - I guess writing has always been my salve, my outlet and my life. 

Do Less Better

Do Less, Better. Not Do Less Better! I mean, don't do as much but what you do do, do better. That make more sense?

This has been my new mantra since the start of the year. It’s a way to remind myself to stop cramming too much into my already anxiety ridden life and to:

· Slow down.

· Be calm.

· Just get done what I can comfortably manage in the time I have.

· Stop pushing for more and more.

· Master tasks and take the time to do them thoroughly

(have to be careful here not to let this morph into perfectionism)

· To risk a cliché, take time to smell the roses

 

(oh mine smell divine today)

It’s working. I am not feeling as much pressure, and I am enjoying more things, even chores and tasks that don't seem to be much fun. The biggest improvement has been slowing down and enjoying the task of pegging clothes on the line. (I am serious!)  This used to be a real cause of stress. I would always be rushing about and remembering that I had a load of washing in the machine. It would be flung on the line, a few pegs thrown about and I would be left with a horrible feeling that it was a job poorly done.

This is the place that I came up with the mantra - at the clothes line (sad huh!)

Do Less Better

Now I take my time, peg out the washing neatly and with grace. I have made the area around the clothes line pleasant and appealing to the senses. Jasmine grows on the wall behind, pots of flowers, a nice peg holder, clutter gone.

How do you Do Less Better?

More adventures of the Cat

Well, not really adventures.  He hardly stirs himself to actually have an 'adventure'.  Unless you count catching a poor little lizard and bringing it into the house to let loose.  I should re-title this to be 'more places the cat has fallen asleep'  or  'is he dead or just sleeping?'

My dad thinks I should start the cats own blog, but really, if he can't even be bothered staying awake, why should I write his own blog!  He is getting on, he is 14 years old, which I think in cat years is 72.*  So he may not be so keen to learn a new technology!

As I write this, he is asleep (and snoring!!  yes he snores) on my desk, on a pile of papers, next to the printer. 

This is how we found him on Friday (and I really did wonder if he had died!)

I think he was trying Irish Yoga ..

* To work out a cats age in human years

1. Allow 15 human years for the first year of your cat's life.
2. Add nine years for the second year. A two-year old cat will approximate 24 human years.
3. Add four human years each for successive years of his life.

The Actual Art Review

Well we established in my last post here that Strawb and I were found out as art frauds.  But after you have read this review of all 14 artists that were part of the Picasso to Warhol : 14 Modern Masters you can be the judge. 
 
The exhibition is from New York's Museum of Modern Art - and I guess that should have given us a clue ... modern.  One thing to keep in mind here ... they ALL went to Paris to study art.  Does anyone else think junket?  Anyone?  The fact that Montmartre - the Artists Quarter is not very far from The Moulin Rouge is no coincidence <wink>
 
Henri Matisse
 
OK, so lets start with this guy.  Now I know he was famous for his use of colours but COME on .. his colouring in technique is pretty awful! I mean, in some parts he has even coloured outside the lines.  I don't think he has even bothered to sharpen his pencils properly.  And I bet he chews the ends.

Goldfish and Sculpture, spring-summer 1912

Constantin Brancusi
 
OK.  So he carved this in oak.  And left marks from the axe and saw.  And this is version 1 of how many attempts?  Ummm .. sorry dude but I have seen this many times in pioneer houses, their fences, hell even Mr K has been known to do this to a fence post.  I don't know what this one is worth but one of his lesser known 'sculptures' sold for 37.1 million DOLLARS!  Mr K!  Start up the chainsaw, we is going to make us some money ...

Endless Column, version I, 1918

Piet Mondrian
 
Looks like he was as imaginative with his painting as he was with naming it!  I don't know why, but when I see this I think test pattern.  At least he coloured in inside the lines!

Composition No. II, with Red and Blue1929

Fernand Léger
 
Now this one, I kind of liked.  I must say though, I can see why these guys were artists and not writers ... they lack any imagination with words.  Woman with a Book?  What about the flowers and the funky necklace?  And the way her hair is swept to one side, and how her face is, well, bored.

Woman with a Book, 1923

Marcel Duchamp
 
Really?!  This was the best he could come up with?  He didn't even have a broken arm at the time, it was just an advance on one!  This was hanging in the centre of the gallery.  Numbskull's were walking around it in hushed tones, their hand stroking their chins in deep thought!  It's a bloody SHOVEL guys ... sheesh, come look in my garden shed and I will show you a whole range of them.  I will even hang them by fishing line in a decorative way.  For a price!

In Advance of the Broken Arm, August 1964

Giorgio De Chirico

I feel like I have fallen down the rabbit hole and there isn't even a cute fluffy white rabbit or mad hatter to save me.  Oh .. hang on, this might be one of those concentration games.  You have to to memorise whats there and then they take away a few things and you have to recall it.  Pfft, he isn't even trying ... there are only 5 main things there.  And whats 'love' got to do with it?

The Song of Love, Paris, June-July 1914

Joan Miró

Words fail me on this one.  Was the RSPCA informed?

Person Throwing a Stone at a Bird, 1926

Alexander Calder

This was a mobile.  It was inspired by Piet Mondrian.  Seems both artists have the same issues with naming their art.  It looks like a prototype of Gumby and Pokey with a few block heads thrown in.

Untitled, 1939

Louise Bourgeois

I think they now call this Shabby Chic.  Nice use of colour but I don't think my CD's will all fit in there.

Figure, 1954

Jasper Johns

Again, whats with the bad colouring in?  His teacher would be hard pressed to give him a green star for this, let alone a gold one.  When I was at school, we were taught to colour carefully around the land and shade the sea with a soft blue.  And where are the rivers marked?  Calls himself a cartologist!  Then there is the title.  Whats with these lazy gits?  Map?  Of what?  Fail.

Map, 1961

Jackson Pollock

Freeform?  You have got to be kidding?  I have a painting drop sheet that looks better than this. 

Free Form, 1946

Romare Bearden

If you look real close to this, at the top right corner, there is a piece of material that is just like a skirt Strawb once had.  Her Mum has cut that up too to make a quilt.

Patchwork Quilt, 1970

Pablo Picasso

Ok.  Now we are getting to the REALLY famous artists.  It will all get better from here on.  Yes, the colouring in is better, the title is more imaginative, umm ...  was LSD around in 1930?  Maybe it was a warning poster for the dangers of anorexia?

Seated Bather, early 1930

Andy Warhol

And saved the best (or worst) for last! Come on!  Who the hell fell for this?  Lazy git didn't even get out his crayons.  Just ripped labels off soup cans and stuck them on a wall.  Granted, he did find every version of soup that Campbell's made, but if he was a poor struggling artist then he pretty much would have lived off tinned soup.  I have seen playgroup kids do similar stuff and the only acclaim their art gets, is stuck on the fridge with a magnet.

Campbell's Soup Cans, 1962

Well, I hope I have saved you the $19 entry fee to the art gallery to see this tripe.  If you want an outing this weekend, I am holding an exhibition in my shed ... rolling out the painting drop sheet, hanging a few garden tools, carving a fence post or two.  No charge people - free art for the people!

Strawb & Jago - The Great Art Review

Well it was that time of the month again last Friday.  No, not THAT time of the month, the time when Strawb and Jago hit the streets of Perth for a fun day out.  It was my turn to pick and organise and I was really excited about this one as I had this jaunt in mind the very first time we started this little project, in January! But I was scared it would be like when you have a plan all mapped out and you have imagined in your head how you think it should go (complete with misty mood lighting, skinny jeans and a handsome waiter), then things don’t quite go to that plan and you have two choices :

1. get all spoilt brat like and pout and whine and make people and places be how you want them to be or
2. say, hang it all, go with the flow and find the nearest bar to have a whine wine in.

We chose #2.  But first lets set the scene of what I had in mind ...

He was just a waiter, but those intense grey eyes and handcuffs hanging from his jeans told a different story .... oh. Hang on, sorry, that was my dream last night after the 50 Shades re-cap yesterday. (Read Here) Damn.  Ok.  Here is the Art Gallery fantasy.  He was just the art curator, but those intense grey ... tricked ya! 

Her

Me

 


Art Gallery.  Take 3.  We would be all Bohemian and wear flowing skirts and leather sandals.  The start of the day would be chai latte and some witty banter, soft laughter, dusty sunlight.  Our wooden jewellery would rattle as we motioned languidly to make a point.  We would smile knowingly at each other, like we knew it all and the others in the art gallery coffee shop didn't.  We would take the Picasso to Warhol tour, and stand back at seven different angles and 3 different planes and nod and go ah ah like we 'got' what the artists were saying.  Then a nod and a wan smile to each other, as we got what each other got.  A lot of gotting, getting done?

No words needed to be spoken, the art was a conversation all its own.  Afterwards we would have lunch, duck salad with crisp SSB.  We would say artistic things to each other like 'I think Warhol set out to challenge the idealist visions and personal emotions conveyed by abstraction" or something to that effect.  We would air kiss at the end of the day and she would jump on the back of her boyfriends Triumph and I would walk to my inner city apartment to have dinner with my ten cats.

Whoa Betsy.  Hold on there.  Got a bit carried away in art fantasy land.

So how did it really go?

Strawb got lost.  Which was entirely expected.  By both of us.  I must say however, this poor direction lark of hers may be a ruse ... she ended up at the Moon and Sixpence when she should have been at the city train station.  Me thinks she knows EXACTLY where she is going :-)  I had to bring her in to land via phone and directions past the Green Cactus.  We were both in need of what the Moon and Sixpence specialises in by this time, but it was only 10am.  Coffee would have to do. It was good coffee but crap bruscetta. 

The 'Green Cactus' - a million dollar folley

I presented Strawb with a few surprises.  One was we could go and check out the touring Picasso to Warhol : 14 Modern Masters exhibition.  She liked that idea.  The second was when I pulled out two cartridge books, and two pencil cases with a 2B pencil, rubber and sharpener and to sweeten the deal, musk lifesavers.  The idea was to get all inspired after looking at the art and go and do some sketches ourselves. She didn't like that idea so much. Tough titties - I had bought the stuff and we were going to use it.

The review of the actual art warrants a whole blog post of its own.  Which I will do shortly - stay tuned.  All you need to know for now is this - getting the silly girl giggles in a very posh art gallery is not good form.  Especially when there is a tag team of security guards watching you breathe.  Especially when you are the wrong side of 45 and should know better.   It took us all of 30 minutes to see the entire collection and we really did try to look at the paintings in seven different angles and on three different planes and it still looked ridiculous (as did we).  We tried to be Boho and Ahhh and Ohhh and smile wanly, but hey, who the hell were we kidding?

We were art frauds.

So we went and had lunch.  Authentic Thai. Urbanspoon rated this place 4.5 spoons but we were a tad disappointed.  Especially when we found out it wasn't licenced and the nearest bottle shop was the Brass Monkey.  So we ate up quick and headed there. 

True to our word, we did do some art.  We bought takeaway coffee (loved the little coffee box) and sat on the steps outside the Alexander Library and created (what we consider) better art than any Picasso (without the use of LSD) and Warhol (we actually got out our pencils and DREW something).

Strawb reckons she has got an appointment with the Art Gallery curator next week to take her sketch of the arches in.  That's why I cant share her masterpiece here.  You will see it soon enough on the walls of the gallery.

My masterpiece? ... see for yourself.

For further installments of the monthly Strawb/Jago days check these out:

Day # 2
 
Day # 3

The Hungry Jack's experience

They don't show you any of this in their adverts.  It's misleading and I want my money back.

 

 

When I went there today, this was my rationale -

• It was 2.30pm
• I was hungry
• It was next door to Spotlight that I had dropped in to pick up a few bits and pieces
• It would be fast and cheap
• It was convenient.

Except, it was also the following:

• It was school holidays
• The drive through was blocked by a dirty big truck
• There was a queue almost to the door
• It was being run by the sons of Basil Fawlty and Manuel
• It was noisy and crowded and dirty.

I should have turned around and walked away.  I didn't.  More fool me.

As I approached the door, two elderly women were about to walk out.  I did the polite thing and held the door open for them.  A little Teenage Mummy and her latest Boyfriend barged in front of me and in front of the older ladies.  Boyfriend did have the scraps of manners and said thank you to me for holding the door. WTF??  Being a wimp and door-person that I am, I didn't say anything. 

Teenage Mummy and Boyfriend and Dear Little Brat Child, lets call her DLBC, were now lined up in front of me.  Teenage Mummy tried to cajole DLBC into eating some lunch.  DLBC said NO loudly and ran off towards the play area.  Boyfriend ran after her after Teenage Mummy glared at him.  DLBC was now squealing and whining and I still stood there, saying nothing (in my head however was a scene from American Psycho, complete with Huey Lewis and the News sound track). 

Teenage Mummy orders a chocolate sundae for DLBC and Boyfriend gets a Whopper.  Boyfriend can't keep his hands off Teenage Mummies arse, so I guess DLBC will be getting a little brother or sister real soon. I get served by Surly Teenage Pimple, and a paper cup with lid cast my way with a grunt.  I assume I am to fill my own drink from the help yourself dispenser.  Another line. I wait.  As I wait, Pigtail Child cuts in on me and starts to fill her cup with a squirt of each flavoured drink.  She is a short-ass so can't see how full her cup is, so after each squirt she stops, brings her cup to her eye level to check how much is in cup.  This goes on for an eternity.

I fight every single fibre of my being to:

a) Slap her silly
b) Take the cup off her and tip the contents over her stupid blonde head
c) Ask her if she will be like this when she is 18 and in a bar
d) Slit my own wrists with the yellow straw they gave me

I finally fill my cup, turn back to the counter, and wait... again ... for my lunch.  Fast Food?  You must be eff-ing kidding me.  I can't bear to be in this hell for a moment longer, so as soon as the brown paper bag is thrust (and yes I do mean thrust, with no word from Surly Teenage Pimple) I make my hasty retreat.

I go and sit in my car to eat my lunch ... with Hip to Be Square playing very loudly!

NEVER AGAIN!

1910

This is one of my favorite pictures.  I received it last Christmas as a gift from my parents.  It's beautifully framed and sits in my dining room.  When I first opened the wrapping paper and saw the image I thought, WOW, what an awesome picture.  It had everything that appealed to me - old houses, people with character, the era, rural life, sepia photography.  Mum and Dad sure did a good job of choosing this picture for me.

Except they didn't ...choose it that is.  This photo is actually of my own family.  Despite many (as in 25) years of doing my family history, I had never seen these people or this photo before.  The people are Thomas and Harriett Russell, at their home in Blayney NSW. It was taken in 1910.  I wont bore you with the rest of their genealogy, but so you can get your bearings, they are my great great grandparents.

My Dresser where their photo sits with all my other cherished things.

 

The reason I am sharing this with you today is I had this thought while I sat at my dining table reading recipe books (well Delicious magazine actually, what Mr K calls my 'porn') and making a shopping list of ingredients to concoct all the wonderful meals I salivated over.  It dawned on me, as I wiped drool off the pages, and looked at this picture, that my dear great, great grandmother, Harriet, would never have had such a luxury of choosing a recipe and popping down the shops for the ingredients. 

Quite the opposite in fact.  She would have looked at what food was available and thought "What can I make with this?"  She would have had very little I am guessing.  A chicken did not come in neatly packaged Styrofoam trays, with skin removed and boned.  A chicken was killed only for a special occasion (that's why a Sunday roast was so special) and it would make three meals at least - the Roast, leftover meat would be picked off the bone for a chicken and vegetable pie and then the bones used to make chicken soup.  Nothing was wasted, not like today when I cringe when I see a chicken carcass tipped into the bin, the breast and legs pulled off and the rest discarded.  We are so wasteful.  If we went back to the old days where we had to breed and care for that chicken we would understand the value of it.

There was not a rainbow of vegetables to choose from either.  What was available was whatever was in season.  Food could not be grown all year round, we had to eat what the climate and mother nature dictated.  Necessity to preserve means we have yummy things like pickles and preserves and dried fruit and vegetables.  I find when I have to be frugal, I get far more creative in the kitchen.  Even if we don't have to really pinch pennies, I still regularly have a clean out the pantry/freezer challenge and see what I can make with what I have to hand. 

I feel sad sometimes that we dont live like this anymore.  I yearn for a more 'connected' life, one that we have skin in the game in.  I want to feel proud that I grew what I cooked, and feel a sense of satisfaction from this.  We have lost our connection to what it means to be a human at its basic levels.  Sometimes I just have an overwhelming NEED to get my hands in soil and compost. 

I wonder if we dont all have this desire inside too?  Is that why there has been such a resurgence of people having backyard veg gardens and chooks.  Is this how we will get the best of both worlds? 

 

My new camera and I

Well she arrived last week and I have been trying to love her as a mother should.  But its hard. She scares me with all her fancy buttons and big black lens.  Mr K and Son#1 have taken a shine to her and click her buttons and twiddle her dials, but I still am not sure what they all do or mean.  So she has been set to Auto for the moment while we get aquainted.

 
These are a few of my first shots and son #1 showed me a really cool feature when you right click on the photo and go to properties.  It gives you all the settings that were used to take that photo.  This is going to help me so much as I can now see cause and effect.  So, correct me if I am wrong (as I quite possibly could be) - the first picture below had an aperture opening of 4.5 (the F.Stop) This was quite a small opening (as per the chart below) and therefore the depth of field was narrow which is what you want for close up nature photography.  I let the camera work out the shutter speed (or exposure time) and the very confusing ISO speed, to compensate.  The ISO is confusing as I have been told it is a reference to the old days of film photography - it was the type of actual film and how it stored the images.  Today, in digital photography, it still has an effect but I am yet to learn how!

Baby steps :-)

Now to translate all this so Ms Nikon and I speak the same language.

The coolest thing I have learnt how to do so far!

The Effect of the FStop (Exposure)



The close-up that I wanted. 

Some other experiments ...

Need to learn better composition but I like the balance

 

 

I liked the form and colour.  (oh and I did enjoy the contents too!)

 

The first attempt at the top picture .. this was on full Auto

I am going to go for a drive this weekend and take the camera and have a play.  Its actually quite exciting to be learning a whole new craft.

Prioritising Procrastination

So, on my desk right now are four piles of paper.  Let’s go through each one and see how I am a master of putting off til tomorrow, or any other time that is convenient, things that I could (and should) get done right now.

1.       Today’s filing.  (as opposed to the other Great Pile of many, many days’ worth of filing that sits on my credenza beyond me – out of sight … you know).  After the Great Pile toppled a week ago, I resolved to file as I went and put away in the correct files the paperwork that I had processed that day.  Little and often and all that jazz.  The intention is to file it before I leave my office, but I hear the theme of East Enders starting up and there is no way I am missing what Sharon did today!

2.       Suppliers that need paying NOW.  Well they should feel lucky that I have even pulled out their invoices and have a vague notion to pay them!  More than my Debtors do for me.  I meant to pay them today, before the 2pm (soon to be 1pm due to daylight saving that we in the West never get) cut-off for processing batch banking.  Oh well, will have to be done tomorrow now.

3.       Statements for the end of month that need reconciling.  I actually like this task.  Love it when it says “reconciled” – I know, I need a hobby, or at the very least a romantic liaison with a stranger.  Wonder if he would let me reconcile his bank account?

4.       Grand ideas and plans for anything from meetings at work, a new veg patch, blog ideas, a new budget.  All the plans and hopes and dreams for another day.  Even my dreaming is procrastinated!

So, why didn’t I get them all attended to today like I planned? 

Fifty Shades of Tedious fuckery .. that's why.  I was drawn to this blog review as passionately as the vanilla housewives were drawn to its nauseating name sake Fifty Shades of Grey.

I found this Blog …. And got completely and utterly drawn in.  I will blame thank a fellow blogger for this, as it’s all Laura's fault .  I have resisted writing any type of review on this drivel, as, like the Irish author of this blog, I got so angry at how badly written this book was that I shouted at it, repeatedly.  I didn’t want all that bad energy coming through the posts of my blog.