Sunday, April 24, 2011

An Online Date In Real Time

Or, That Awkward Moment When You Realise That You’re A Dickhead.

There was just a point during the afternoon when I realised that I had been talking about funny youtube videos for too long. You know those “you had to be there” moments? It was possibly like that.

But hey, I didn’t get dumped in the bush somewhere. Things are looking up.

Actually, it was a lovely afternoon. I met up with… oh, let’s call him Tarzan… at a café. The café that I had chosen to meet at was closed due to the whole Easter business going on at the moment. So I spent a few minutes standing out the front of this place, ever-so-casually leaning against the wall. See how casual I am? Man, I’m casual.

We traversed to another café, where we made fun of bogans and discussed all matter of important topics.  After we ran out of important topics, we decided to go for a drive to Boat Harbour. I’ve never actually been there before, so it was a bit of an education. Turns out that there aren't really any boats there. As Tarzan remarked, there's a bit of false advertising going on there.

Tarzan and I went for a lovely walk on the rocky outcrop thing that’s there, and I pointed out a place that’d be good for dumping a body. How is it that I’m still single? I just don’t know.

After a while of trying to figure out if some birds sitting on a rock were penguins or just pseudo-penguins, we went and sat on a bench at the beach. It was really nice. The sun occasionally made itself known, and there was none of that pressure to talk. Or in my case, no pressure to further embarrass myself. We chatted about all sorts of things, and had a good laugh or two.

Then something impressive happened.

Tarzan looked to the side, and realised that somebody was actually getting married. Well, not just somebody, there were actually 2 people there getting married. I think that people have figured out that it works better if there’s more than one person there. Marriage on the beach – that’s pretty old hat, and not remarkably impressive.

What really caught our fancy is the fact that BEHIND the nearly married bliss taking place, two young teeny-bopper chicks had decided to go for a bit of a paddle. They’d taken their pants off, and waded into the water. Placing themselves (I like to think that they were unaware) strategically in the frame of the video being shot of the ceremony. They photobombed the shit out of that romantic moment.

It was so beautiful *wipes away tear*

And that was my first foray into the world of meeting people from an online dating site. It was pleasant, amusing, had a memorable romantic moment, and there were no snakes involved.

What more could you ask for?

Thursday, April 21, 2011

Watch Yoself (or The Art of Self-Portraiture)

Just a few helpful hints for when you wish to take a photo of yourself:

Do not do these things
  • The girls on facebook who take their photos from above know what they’re doing – the angle that the picture is taken from means that you arch your head back and stretch your neck out. It doesn’t sound particularly attractive, and I wouldn’t recommend doing that pose in the pub, but it reduces any extra chins that may be hiding around.
  • Be aware of where the camera is, and therefore how much of you is in the picture. Not doing this can lead to: missing limbs, a stupid facial expression, a shot of your favourite trackpants, or a variety of embarrassing items of the background.
  • Don’t assume that glasses make you look smarter. This is not always the case.
  • Just get somebody else to take the bloody photo.

I spent some time tonight trying to get a couple of pics of some scarves that I’ve made. I spent too long trying to get these photos.


But anyway, I’ve made some scarves for the next Made With Love market (Saturday, 7th May), and I’m so happy with them. I’ve been able to use up my admittedly large (and continually growing) fabric stash, and have even had the chance to play with buttons. Button playing is a fine pastime indeed.

They’ve got fleece sandwiched between the outer fabric and the lining, so they’re nice and toasty warm, and they button up. They can also be pulled up at the sides to hide any of those nasty extra chins lurking around (bonus!).

I had to re-teach myself how to do buttonholes, and I’m pretty excited about it all now. I remember it being a painful and lengthy process, full of curse words and sewing machine-hate. How times have changed. As far as I’m concerned now, the whole thing is a magical and wondrous process where I simply attach my buttonhole foot (note to self: always remember to change settings of machine to buttonhole. Must remember this), and watch the magic happen before my eyes. Hurrah for buttonholes!

Sunday, April 10, 2011

Who Ya Gonna Call?

When you want an 80's revival? The Made With Love gals of course. Yesterday we had our April market bazaar, and here's a sneaky peek of the fun we had (whilst dancing to David Bowie and Cyndi Lauper).

Allana in her prom best



Gorgeous paper flowers

Lisa going all Olivia Newton-John on us

Incredible Cambodian-made bags and accessories



From L-R: Madonna, Bold and the Beautiful, Kylie Mole

Claire, myself and Michelle

Saturday 14th May, 9am-1pm

45 Jackson Street,
Wynyard, TAS

Radio Silence

Well. I haven’t blogged for, like, ever (at least 2 weeks). I apologise to my three readers out there – I understand that this may have been upsetting for you. Actually, truth be told, you probably didn’t notice.

But I’m back now.

Mum's place #1

I did a last-minute trip up to Sydney during that time. It all happened very quickly. I decided on the Monday to go back, and then by Wednesday I was packed up and on my way to the airport. The trip there was… hellish. I underestimated how long Susie and I would take for our traditional halfway point coffee on the way to Launceston, and we arrived at the airport with 6 minutes to check in. I pretty much dropped and rolled from the car, and stumbled into the airport in an ungainly fashion (hey, it almost looked like I was at a job interview!), dragging my 20kg suitcase (how did that happen?? I thought I’d packed light!). Whenever I get anxious/fatigued/underfed/over-caffeinated, my hands have a tendency to shake. And on this particular day, I was 3 of those 4 things. I did my very best to check in, ran up to the counter, and tried to control my hyperventilating.

Mum's place #2

My plane ended up being delayed anyway, so I had to time to chill out, and try and eat something. I ducked into the toilets at one point, and when I came out Susie was standing there, holding my handbag in front of her, and telling me that, “TheyjustsaidthatyourplanehasdepartedalreadyandIdidn’tknowwhatwasgoingon!!!” so I snatched my bag from her, and charged to the security point. Turns out that they were fibbing – people were just boarding. Jetstar, you trickers.

One of my favourite little dudes

The flight itself was fairly unremarkable, apart from my sudden realisation that if I’m reading while the plane takes off, I get a sudden and severe bout of motion sickness.

Lesson learnt.

Dr Chris Brown

I arrived at Sydney in one piece, and caught the train from the airport to Central, and then from Central into the mountains. Of course, I chose a flight that coincided with peak hour. If you’ve never been on a Blue Mountains train, they’re basically the same as normal trains, but the little end compartments are smaller, and don’t have space for people with, say, a heavy suitcase. I was crammed into that space with about 7 other people (personal space? Don’t be silly…), and the humidity of the day became apparent. My travel fatigue was hitting me, and I kept glaring at this guy sitting on the floor across from me. “Oh, look at you, Mr. Hipster Man, with your hipster hat and your guitar casually strewn on the floor. Look at you looking all comfortable and filling out the Sudoku puzzle in the free newspaper with your pencil. Who carries a pencil? Oh, a hipster dude of course. Freaking hipsters.”

Mum's place #3

Meanwhile, I was sweaty, attempting to fend off the hordes of people that kept walking past, and trying to not lean against the guy standing next to me. He had a rats tail. I’m pretty sure that they’re contagious.

Anyhoo, after all of that, I got to my Mum’s house intact, and went and sat in the corner for a while, rocking myself and mumbling that maybe if I had a hipster hat, things would have been different.

Looking oh-so-cute in his sunhat

I didn’t get up to a lot while I was there – it was a pretty short trip really. The highlights included getting some new piercings to replace my sternum piercing that I bode farewell to last year, meeting Bondi Vet Dr. Chris Brown (in Penrith Plaza of all places), rescuing my friend at 5am after his car had broken down, and making him call me Sarah, Lord Of The Universe, Rescuer Of Ryan From The Ravages Of Rouse Hill (I REALLY like alliteration), and hitting up the local markets and op shops with my Mum.

New piercings

I also did a bit of domestic stuff at my Mum’s place, like dusting and whatnot. I’m not sure what came over me, but it just happened. Don’t expect it to become a regular thing.

Michelle often makes fun of me for the fact that I am quite particular about the way that I like things done. There was an ongoing joke when she took over my market stall for me (in February) that I would leave measurements for her as to where everything should be placed, and I would expect photos to prove that she had followed my instructions.

Mum's place #4

I’m not really that bad though.


Anyway, it struck me while I was dusting, that it all makes sense. My Mum’s place is immaculate, and decorated with all manner of vintage accoutrement. Not just decorated, but painstakingly and precisely placed pieces (ahhh alliteration. You make me happy) are throughout the house. But it doesn’t look like a museum or anything. Everything comes together to make a beautiful, warm home with lots of stories and pieces of interest. What this equates to with dusting, however, is that every time I removed some items from a shelf in order to dust, I would place them in EXACTLY the same configuration on a nearby table, so that I could replicate the set-up when I put things back. My Mum has been known to spend over an hour on flower arrangements – I’m not going to mess with that. It’s no wonder that I’m following in her footsteps.

The trip back to Tassie was fairly unexciting. It involved a car trip, 2 train trips, 2 plane trips, and another car trip. It went for about 10 hours, and made my brain melt a little bit.

Mum's place #5

On my second flight (from Melbourne to Tassie), as we were preparing to land, I looked at the guy sitting across from me. And wondered, “Is he?... No, he can’t be.” I tried to keep reading, but had to sneak a look at him again. “Holy crap… He’s praying.”

We're all going to die.
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