...but no one said you had to click 'play'.
Sucker.
Apparently, nostalgia is an acquired smell
While I was walking to work this morning I got an unmistakable whiff of the ocean.
The smell of the ocean means many things to many people. In Australia where many of us spend long childhood summers at the beach it often conjures a happy nostalgia for sandcastles, body-boarding, summer romance and - perhaps not so happily - getting to/past third base in the sand dunes. Chaffing is a bitch, I've heard.
In me it invokes the memory of fearless sun bathing, the carnivorous gaze of young men and long afternoons playing beach cricket with family and friends.
These days I no longer have the patience for organised sports; the majority of the male population prefers their blondes thinner and with fewer opinions; and just 15 minutes in the sun will wilt me faster than a puppy in a parked car.
Despite myself, I still enjoy the nostalgia.
However.
This morning I was struck not by golden memories of happier times. I was struck by the utter wrongness of the constitution of the odour itself.
I was nowhere near the ocean but there it was: seaweed, dead things, salt and soggy sand.
Not so romantic when it's wafting from the other side of a tall brick fence in suburban Melbourne.
It was love at first sight
I spent $266 on a handbag this morning. Good for me.
I've never spent more than about $60 on a handbag before; but I saw this one on Friday in the evil shop near my office that seems to have been opened simply to suck all the cash straight from the wallets of those of us who are susceptible to the psiren call of kitchen porn and miscellaneous homewares and it was love at first sight.
I spent the whole weekend thinking about it, trying to decide whether or not I could justify spending so much. Common sense told me I shouldn't, but I just couldn't get the damn thing out of my head.
And then I got to thinking.
I would happily spend as much or more for a night out is a swanky hotel; and I really did need a new handbag - my old one is falling apart and can't hold nearly the amount of crap I seem to find it necessary to cart about with me; and this bag was soooo nice; and where would I ever find another one capable of measuring up to what would surely become mythologised, at least in my own mind, as The One That Got Away; and, and, and... I WANT IT!!!!
You can't always get what you want, but sometimes you get what you need. I needed a new handbag and I knew which one I wanted. It was an open and shut case. I opened my wallet, handed over my Mastercard and shut my eyes. When I opened them again the nice sales assistant was wrapping my beautiful new bag in tissue paper, ready for the short journey to my heart.
Winning = awesome
Check it out, we won a digital camera at one of the Monkey's speed dating networking things last night.
Of course we already have a great digital camera but, now we've got two, there won't be any excuse for me not to take lots more shots-about-town.
Stand by for amateurish photos of Melbourne's Victorian and Edwardian architecture.
Week. End?
Now that I am offically no longer blogging about work I'm having trouble thinking of anything meaningful to say.
The trouble is that my brain is the consistency of soggy pound cake on account of all the everything and the what-not.
I desperately need to reinvent the sorry drone I have become but I just don't have the energy or the imagination.
Every time I feel like I'm getting just a little bit on top of things, something terrible happens; usually to the Moneky-husband, to remind me that apparently I'm not allowed to be happy or relaxed or have things go my way.
Perhaps I should spend the weekend hiding under the doona.
A flight of fancy often ends in disappointment
bodacious /b'de
s/
→ adjective
(N. Amer. informal) excellent, admirable, or attractive: bodacious babes.
• (US) audacious in a way considered admirable.
- ORIGIN mid 19th cent.: perhaps a variant of SW dialect boldacious, blend of boldaudacious.
and The Oxford Dictionary of English (revised edition). Ed. Catherine Soanes and Angus Stevenson. Oxford University Press, 2005. Oxford Reference Online. Oxford University Press. Eastern Regional Libraries. 4 February 2008 http://www.oxfordreference.com/views/ENTRY.html?subview=Main&entry=t140.e8312>
I so wanted the etymology of bodacious to have something to do with Boadicea; but, alas, it seems to be somewhat less ancient and deserving of only as much reverence as it gets.
Ho-hum.
dooced
I used to have another blog, but then my employer found it. It's cool, I wasn't fired; but I was treated like a pariah for writing rather too candidly about my experiences of depression.
Sigh.
They even made me get a note from my GP about how "I am not a danger to myself or others." I shit you not.
In order to put it all behind me, I figured the best thing to do would be to start fresh with a new blog. One that can't be googled for by accident and taken out of context.
We shall see... Context has not often been kind to me.
P.S. It's true, scout's honour. I am not a danger to myself or others.
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