Good Stuff Andrea

This post is mainly a shout-out (bleh, like who actually says that) to my Bestfriend Andrea! She is generally Orsum because not only is she very stylish and funny and, most importantly, willing to put up with a ludicrous amount of my drivel, but she is also Intelligent! However none of these qualities are really the point of this particular post. What is the point? READ ON AND FIND OUT.

Many of you will already know Andrea, but if you don't, you can always go and look at her nice blog. As Telstra Clear say, Now's Good. (But only once you've finished reading the rest of my post, ok? So, like, now +3.) As well as being my Bestfriend Andrea is a writer (an actual proper one, not one of those people who constantly talk about their Unfinished Novel but never seem any further towards Actually Finishing It (i.e. me)). She is one of those people who, when you ask them what they did with their day, will modestly say, "Oh, I sent off two partials to agents who requested them, then edited a chapter and removed two characters from the prologue." This is remarkable! Especially because my answer to that question is usually something like "I finished the crossword in like five minutes," and then I'll expect you to be excited.

Anyway, today Andrea got a review from a reader (an agent's reader: they read the manuscripts before the agent does, to decide whether or not the agent would be interested) and it was simply freakin' glowing. (The reader sent the email in exactly that font to show how impressed they were.) Andrea is currently revising the book to make it better, and the reader has only read the unrevised one, so imagine how awesome the new version will be! Agents worldwide will simply vomit everywhere from excitement.

Anyway, it's really good news, and I thought it deserved blogging because I be's proud of her. She works really hard & deserves much praise! May she be carried to literary fame on a sweeping wave of agent vomit.

In other news, we (A & I) are going to make CSI: Invercargill. Tim Shadbolt will be, as Andrea put it, 'the Horatio Caine of the South.' Gerry Brownlee will be the fat cop no-one ever listens to because he is always wrong. For some reason GB really irritates me. The thought process is like this. 'GB is a politician - politician salaries are paid by my taxes* - GB is enormously fat - GB is eating my money - stop eating my money you fat bastard.'

Overheard at the pub: "It's only 7 inches, but you can see it perfectly with a good set of binoculars."


*I think

In six months I may be able to kick your ass

So my sister hates being alone in the house at night, and my mother wants to do something about this. So I am chubby, and my mother wants to do something about this. So we live in a crappy area, and my mother admits that there's nothing she can do about this. Obviously the only solution is to learn a martial art.

When I was a little girl, growing up in a rural farming village in the heart of China (ok Blenheim) I studied karate for about 4 years or so. Sadly I was more like Po in Kung Fu Panda (well-meaning and determined, but ultimately ineffective (okay, and fat)) than actual Master, but it was fun. I also had to do behaviour charts - something to do with discipline & respecting one's parents - but hopefully I'm now deemed old enough to skip those.

So Kate and I are going to trot happily off to the dojo (I think that's what we're going to trot off to, anyway) and become karate warriors. KARATE WARRIORS!!!

In other news, I was just compared to 'Charon in disguise' by an ex. "Well, you're the boat to hell, aren't you?" Charon wasn't the boat to Hell! He drove the boat to Hell. Important distinction. I don't even have a boat. Also, I don't charge. Charon charged. Why am I the boat to Hell anyway? Just wait until I can kick people's asses, then I'll show you the boat to Hell, buddy.

Speaking of pointing oneself in the direction of Hell (see what I did there?) I have sent off my CV and cover letter to two reputable businesses, and joined a temp agency. Mainly because I can no longer take the "La la la, I can't hear you, bananas in mah ears!" approach to my quickly dwindling financial hoard. Sigh. Spend spend spend go I. Dwindle, dwindle, dwindle goes it. Spend! Dwindle. Spend! Dwindle. Spend! Dwindle. Check balance! Fuck.

This evening I am going to my impossibly coloured friend Andrea's house - her husband is away and she needs company.

;)

No, not like that. We are going to watch the first episode of American Idol, Season 12 Billion, and laugh heartily and cruelly at the pitiful contestants! Ha Ha Ha! And then maybe NZ's Next Top Model ("Go back to Methven, bitch") if it's started yet. And have some wine, and maybe watch a DVD (although she has many, I have offered to go to the DVD store because I have a crush on the guy who works there. I have become much more punctual with my DVD returns. Let it not be said that my tendency to have crushes on everyone is without its fringe benefits!) It will be nice! It will be nice.

Four Exciting Things and Three Grumbles

Four Exciting Things

1. My impossibly coloured friend Andrea – wow. I’ve used that phrase several times before and never realised quite how racist it sounds until right now. I’m sorry! It’s based on her blog title, put your pitchfork away. Anyway, that’s not the exciting thing (although I suppose accidental racism is mildly exciting on a slow news day) – the exciting thing is that my impossibly (flesh)coloured friend Andrea has given me a blog award! (Which she will probably now take back.)
Still, I’m excited as have never been given a blog award before! Am going to put it up on my blog as soon as I figure out how to. Thank you, Andrelles! I am finally famous on the Internet.

2. I am visiting Christchurch this weekend – this means I get to see my family, and Andrea, and many other people beside. My plan for the weekend goes like this (I don’t care if you’re not excited, I am). Friday night – arrive at Chch airport, slightly giddy with excitement and pre-boarding call wine. Taxi home and bypass embrace of mother and sister for embrace of fridge (family always have goodies that I never buy for myself). Run around being excited. Go to bed. Saturday morning – Go Christmas shopping with my sister and a couple of my cousins. Begin in very high spirits, and then gradually become annoyed with mall, sister and cousins. Quite possibly end up going home on the bus by myself, laden with bags full of presents, most of which will be for myself. Saturday afternoon – go to Andrea’s for clothes swap party! Feel inadequate at lack of beautiful things to swap, but make up for this by claiming as many nice things as possible. Hang out with Andrea, drink coffee. Saturday night – not sure yet, but it will probably involve drinking and being merry. But not too merry, because on Sunday morning I am going to have brunch with my mother and grandmother. My grandmother will ask a) what I am doing with my life, b) why I am not a published writer yet, c) how band is going and d) what I am doing for Christmas. Then she will be very disappointed in me (because answers are as follows – a) exactly the same as the last time we spoke; b) because I am too lazy, c) I quit band and d) I am not coming home for Christmas) and go on at length about my wasted potential. I will become annoyed, and quite possibly end up going home on the bus by myself. Sunday afternoon – hopefully hang out with Andrea again, complain about grandmother and unfairness of not being able to shout at old people. (I do love my grandmother very much, but she is such a shameless guilt tripper.) Sunday night – go camping with my sister! I’m ridiculously excited about this, despite the fact that I hate nature and can’t work a BBQ. Monday – arse about enjoying day off not working when everyone else is. Go to pub quiz in the evening and do my pub quiz trick (convincing everyone else in my team that their unanimously-agreed-on answer of 'saxophone' is wrong and that actually everyone knows it was the trombone that Adolph Sax invented, then being proven incorrect and ostracised). Tuesday morning – fly home. Go to work. Sulk.

3. Am getting haircut on Thursday! Hair is currently shoulder length and about three shades off black, but come Thursday night it will be in a blonde pixie cut, quite possibly spiked into a little fauxhawk, and various shades of blonde. I used to have a pixie cut about a year ago, and I miss it. This Exciting Thing has a bonus layer of excitement as hair appointment is at 4.30, so I get to skive off work early. (Will say it is a doctor’s appointment.) Told my (younger, Christchurch) sister Kate about this, and she said, “No, you can’t! Long hair is sexy and vibrant! Short hair isn’t. Short hair says, ‘I am trying to be edgy.’” I said, “I do not want to be sexy and vibrant, I want a hairstyle that actually suits me.” Kate: “But men don’t like short hair on women.” …wait, what? Kate used to be an irritatingly devoted feminist (“I’ll never change myself for a man!” “I don’t understand women who sit around at home waiting for their men!” etc.). Then she turned 16, met Horrid Boyfriend, and turned into exactly the sort of little women she used to hate. Huh. Love is weird. (Also irrelevant to haircut.)

4. My job is sales-based, and on top of our salary we get a commission bonus every six months. Mine gets paid tomorrow and it is pretty freakin’ hefty. (Hence impromptu trip to Chch and visit to stupidly expensive hair salon.) I am going to party like a rock star. And then wonder three months later, when all the money is gone, why on earth I didn’t do something sensible with it.


and now, in the interests of symmetry -

Four Grumbles

1. I’m sickish at the moment and have a cough, and from time to time people say things like “Can you stop coughing? It’s really annoying.” “Yeah, I know – painful, too! Oh. Oh, you mean for you. Yeah, that must suck.” I do appreciate that it’s irritating but there’s really nothing I can do about it. (“Can you get some cough medicine or something?” “Sure, but cough medicine makes me vomit. Is that going to be more or less annoying for you, bearing in mind that I will be vomiting in your direction?”)

2. In my ‘pod’ at work (I am still deciding if I am a whale or a pea – given the amount of bagels I have consumed recently I’m leaning towards whale) we have a system where everyone puts in money for coffee, and we buy a thing of coffee, and then every morning a plunger is made, and we all drink the coffee. Doesn’t sound grumble-worthy, does it? Well, the guy who makes the coffee makes it far too strong. I like strong coffee, but we’re talking unbearably bitter here – he just keeps pouring coffee into the plunger. Not only does it render it far less enjoyable, it means we go through coffee about twice as fast as we should, which I resent because I put in money for coffee. Have tried mentioning it and occasionally making the coffee myself, but he just bitches and adds more coffee to the plunger after my initial efforts. Humph.

3. The fax room smells like something has died in it.

4. I am concerned that impending short haircut will highlight chubby face. This is not a new worry, but I did need a fourth grumble and couldn’t think of anything else. Perhaps this is why men don’t like short hair? Haha.

7

Hello! It's me again.

My impossibly coloured friend Andrea (acatofimpossiblecolour.blogspot.com) has found another nice meme for friends to complete - you list seven random facts about yourself (and presume that people are interested in reading them). So, without further ado, let me present

Seven Facts About Ally
Now I can't think of anything even remotely interesting.

1. I am a huge fan of the Easy-Off Bam! ads. The catchphrase they shout after demonstrating the amazing cleaning powers of Bam ("Bam! And the dirt is gone.") is my favourite part. I have developed a habit of shouting it whilst cleaning things. I shouted it in the shower the other day. I have also been known to shout it when leaving a room ("Bam! And the Ally is gone") and drinking ("Bam! And the wine is gone.") Not a particularly illustrious start to the seven facts I know. But I feel Bam! is an integral part of my personality and, obscurely, the key to understanding my inner workings.

2. I had a storybook as a child which still makes me cry - it's called Black Dog. It's about a girl who has a black dog, and the girl and Black Dog are best friends who do everything together. One day the girl and Black Dog go to the beach, and the girl sees an absolutely beautiful bird. She goes to play with the bird, but before she reaches it, it flies away. Every day from then on, all the girl does is stare out the window looking for the bird. She never plays with Black Dog any more. Weeks go by and the bird doesn't come back, and the girl gets sadder and sadder. Then one morning she looks out the window and sees the bird in a tree outside! So she runs outside, and as she runs outside she sees Black Dog jump from the tree and fall to the ground, and Black Dog dies, because he was trying to be the bird for her, and he was trying to fly.
Silly story - am pretty sure dogs can't climb trees.

3. I really like my hands - they aren't particularly pretty hands, they're too square, quite scarred and my fingers aren't very tapered (rings make my fingers look squat, one more reason to not get married! hee) but I like them anyway. I am occasionally jealous of people with slender, delicate little hands, but then I guess I can...hold more stuff? Yeah! They may have dancer's hands, but I can hold stuff. Like, seven wine glasses at once. Although to be fair that is more down to the precise art of balancing wine glasses rather than superior hand strength or size.

4. About five years ago I drew an almost perfect interrobang, freehand, in Vivid on a white sheet of paper. I've kept it ever since, usually stuck up on my wall. It was only a few months ago that I was messing about on Wikipedia, looking up obscure punctuation marks (I do not remember why) when I came across the interrobang and instantly went, "That's that thing I drew!"

Sorry that I'm not much good at this!

5. I enjoy making graphs. I used to love analysing data, plotting points, joining them and then sitting back and looking at the perfect lines. Which is quite out of keeping with my normal haphazard style, but probably explains my love of cleaning fridges and Bach fugues.

6. If I could pick any superpower, I'd go for teleportation, closely followed by telepathy. If I had three wishes, I'd wish for teleportation powers, telepathic powers, and happy and satisfying lives for my friends and relatives. (And then I would give all of my money to charity. Ha ha.)

7. (Thank God, last one! There don't seem to be many interesting facts about me.) When I was 16, I dyed my hair orange by accident. I wanted to bleach it from its natural very dark brown to white-blonde. Obviously doing this at home was a great idea. With Andrea's assistance (thank you, Andrea) I managed to get it white-blonde. For about two days. And then, unsurprisingly, it went ginger and refused to go back. It wouldn't dye blond, it wouldn't dye dark...it was a nightmare. My friends called me Matchstick as it was what I resembled. On the plus side, it's pretty easy to pick me out in the yearbook photo! Tee hee.


I am so very much looking forward to going to sleep tonight! It has been a long week so far - work's really busy at the moment, and haven't been having the earliest of nights. We're down a team member at work since the departure of VB (who is loving his new job, company car etc...bastard) and as he and I did about 70% of the work between us, his absence has left a rather large hole. IN MY HEART.

Tee hee! Not really. Right, I am going to bed because otherwise I will be a zombie tomorrow, and it's hard to be enthused about eftpos when all you want is brains. Although today was almost as bad - I had immense bagel cravings until lunchtime, when I had a bagel and didn't think about bagels for almost half an hour! I am a bagel zombie.

Sunday

It's not a Sunday, but it feels like one. I bought shoes. The practical pair are black ankle boots with pointed toes and stiletto heels and straps across them, with little buckles on the straps. There are also a pair of bejewelled satiny turquoise pointed-toe heels, and a pair of black strappy shoes with gold detailing and ridiculously high heels. YAY SHOES! Alas, poverty.

Am thinking about what I'm going to play at Andrea's upcoming nuptials. 'Makin' Whoopee' has been over-ruled, as has 'Don't Marry Me.' Have offered to make a horse noise on my trumpet but this has also been declined. No idea why! Audience would expect to see a horse! Then I had the thought that actually Andrea and David could LEAVE the church in a two-person horse costume. It would symbolise the way that two must move as one as the marriage trots along. And I could make horse noises on my trumpet, and people in the pews could knock coconut shells together, as is the time-honoured tradition. As the dutiful wife Andrea would, however, have to be the back end.

Dad and I wrote a highly catchy tune last night. "You got a txt while you were shavin' your face (x3), I wonder who it's from?" "Txt from Barb while I was shavin' my face (x3), that's who it was from." It was based on a true story in which Dad got a txt -from Barb- while he was shaving his face. I could've played it at the wedding, if we hadn't decided by now that actually Moon River will be the song of choice.

Dad told me a story the other day, when we were talking about tomatoes. It goes like this. Bear in mind that it's coming from my retired father, who does not normally tell such stories. "I was in a flat in my younger days, and my mate Tim grew tomatoes, because they're good for hiding dope in." I sort of went 'wait...what?' at that point. "Yes...only, the dope grew all tall and thin and twice the height of the tomatoes and wasn't very well hidden at all. And so we were all sort of sitting around one night, stoned out of our heads, and we thought why not tie little bunches of tomatoes onto the dope plants? To better disguise them, like. But it didn't work because there's actually not anything you can tie tomatoes onto dope plants by. So there we were, outside, trying to stick needles through tomatoes. But then we gave up and went for a walk- there were four of us- and we were quite convinced that the only thing keeping the world spinning was our feet, pushing it backwards under us. We walked for hours because if we stopped, so would the world." Pause. "Funny things you do, when you're doped out of your mind."

Funny things indeed. Up there with Vic's story- it's sort of his party story from what I can gather, he keeps bloody telling it- about the time he woke up in a driveway with no pants on, and didn't know whose driveway it was.

In other news, fuck Mahler. I am sick of him and his fascination with mortality and his constant harking back to his childhood and his love of the flugelhorn. Told this to a friend who was not familiar with the word 'flugelhorn' (fair enough, really), and the conversation went downhill from there. Suffice to say I am never going to be able to listen to someone say "I polished my instrument last night" with a straight face again.

If you could have an extra body part, what would you have? I would have a tail.

Saturday Afternoon Fever

I haven't got it, but it isn't saturday night yet.
I went on another date with myself last night (maybe on the next one I'll put out!...that is so wrong). Went to a classy cocktail bar and drank classy cocktails and chatted with the classy barstaff and read my classy book. I felt classy. It was very nice but I spent money, which is a bit naughty. Speaking of, one of the people living in this house (and there are only Dad and I, and I doubt it was me) left a pack of gingernuts sitting about overnight and now they have gone SOFT and SOGGY. Blast. I realise that dipping them in my tes makes them soft and soggy anyway, but that's beside the point, isn't it.

Barb's Nephew Tim (he of the good looks, socks & sandals and clandestine Coro St. watching) has expressed interest in taking me out for a drink. Wheedled my number off Barb (bollocking Barb). I'm bored enough to go for a drink with him this week- and he is a nice person, I am just highly judgmental- so watch this space for news of the Romance of the Century! in Nelson.

News news news...I don't think I really have any. Andrea and I are discussing being stuck inside the head of a particularly pretenscscsious (is it an s or a c? i put several of each because i wasn't sure) acquaintance of ours, who shall remain nameless. We have decided that it would be like being trapped in a horribly amateurish attempt at a Surrealist painting, with wonky clocks, dripping with PRETENSION. Pretension looks like golden syrup and smells like burnt toast and is dripping from every surface inside the head of this person who shall remain nameless (not Hugo, he escapes in this post, but after a Think in the Grapes I have come to the conclusion that he is still the Antichrist- I am going to have to smite him! That is not a dirty euphemism. Andrea has dubbed me Thorog the Smiter. For who else could smite Garuface, Prince of Darkness? Nunchicat, Bringer of Light! ("Got a lighter?" "what kind of a question is that, I'm only the Bringer of Light aren't I?" "sorry, Nunchicat...I forgot again." "Hmph.")) I closed that bracket there because I forgot to do it earlier and there didn't really seem to be anywhere else in my ramble to close it. Have also corrected the spelling of acquaintance, so that Andrea will continue to be my friend.