Thursday, May 29, 2008

Self Help

So, it may have been a little more obvious to some than it was to others that I'm kinda in need of some help. So Self-Help it is.

I'm working myself through a relationship book - I'm up to the part where I have to finish 42 sentences and then I'm guided through my answers. I'm a little apprehensive about this - I don't think that my relationship realistically needs rescuing, but I know I need some clarity... what if the book tells me to abort, Abort, ABORT? I really don't want to.

From skimming through the book, it's also becoming clear I have some self-esteem issues (who? me?) that are affecting me and the way I behave. Yeah, it's all so obvious now!

I have another book I'm picking up tomorrow - gf1 was lovely enough to track down a copy for me that was in stock and at a discounted price. The second book is to focus on myself and my anxieties, which will be pretty interrelated to the book I'm currently reading.

Anyways - hope you're all enjoying the week... and if you're not following along at w-e-e-igh, there's no time like the present!

Tuesday, May 27, 2008

Wow - way to leave that last post hanging...!

In other news, I got a mark back for one of my units this morning.

You may/may not be aware, but uni has been pretty much THE bottom priority for me this semester - I am not proud of anything I've handed it in. If there was a way for the tutor to detect the embarrassed and ashamed look on my face as I slid my plastic sleeves into the box, I would have gotten a good talking to.

The unit I had this morning has been one of my favorites in my whole degree . It basically describes how a lot of things in my area should be done - meaning I understand a lot of it, I am able to act like one of those annoying mature age students that hogs the participation marks because pretty much everything in the unit is related to my job, and I enjoy seeing just how poorly my area is being run so that I have some vitriol come staff survey time.

Last week, the tutor told us that 30% of students in his tutorial had failed the recent assignment - my calculations had this at 3 - 5 people in each of his tutes. I scanned the room and came to the conclusion that all of the other people in the class seemed like the type to be trying in the unit, leaving me in a poor position. He went on to mention that some of these fails were due to not referencing and because I know I referenced I asked him to clarify how much of the 30% failed because of that - his answer: half. He then went on to mention some people had assessed scorecarding in their assignment, which was wrong. I had referenced scorecarding in my assignment . In what was probably another poorly though out manourver, I asked if we needed to pass the assignment to pass the course - his answer: no. This hasn't made the stress of the last week any easier to bear - I've woken up from a dream where I got the assignment back with a mark of 4%. Then all of a sudden it was 51! Then 23 and so on and on.

This morning we were due to get the assignments back. He reiterated there had been a high fail rate, that you didn't need to pass the assignment to pass the course, that he wouldn't hand them back until the end of the tute so that things don't get thrown at him, and that he wouldn't be speaking to anyone about the marks until at least 24 hours later, so that people had time to calm down. I spent the next 90 minutes getting clammy and awkward - I'm sure it wasn't my imagination, the room was having ice cold then humid warm air pumped into it alternatingly.

He handed my paper to me.


'What is it out of?!' I squawked.


Praise the Lord.

You'd think this would serve as a kick-in-the-head warning that I have totake uni seriously, with exams being two weeks away, but we all know how it is likely to turn out*.

*Then again I rushed around like a madwoman yesterday getting my car back out of the repairers so I could get to uni at 3 to practice for our 3:30 presentation for another unit, only to find out a message was posted on the website at 3:45 stating all classes for that unit were cancelled for the day. So perhaps I only owe one unit some effort....

Sunday, May 25, 2008


From possibly the most beautiful Radiohead song written yet:
Don't get any big ideas
They're not gonna happen
You paint yourself white
And fill the holes
There'll be something missing
Just when you found it
It's gone
Just when you feel it
You don't
It's gone forever
Sometimes I amaze even myself in the manner I can switch from one end of the pendulum to the other so rapidly.

And when I catch myself on the swing - I try to stabilize. So many times I have gotten ahead of myself and been disappointed that I make the extra effort to be realistic.

So the shock hits twice as hard when I'm wrong and I've thought that this time I wasn't.

So sure am I of what I want and who I am and where I'm going. But one misstep, one question of caution, is enough to throw everything in the air again. Leaving me to swing, aimlessly.

Left foot, right foot; breathe in, breathe out; pause and think.

Thursday, May 22, 2008

All coming together?

Things have been going well lately.

Things have been coming together.

In typical enny style, it probably means that things are about to go pear shaped, but I think that this time it's bigger than that.

It's just a lovely time to be.

(Apologies for the lack of content of late- I'm more distracted with our w-e-e-igh site than I though I would be!)

Monday, May 19, 2008

Found: One real life grownup

Did you know I'm a real live grownup now?
Last week: The Hun and I inspected a house. TO BUY.

I know. Mental, isn't it?

I stalk allhomes at least once a fortnight and usually just point and scoff at the deluded property owners. What?! $380,000 for a house in Gilmore? Who on earth would do that to their walls and carpet?! What makes you think you can get that much money for a tiny 3 beddy with a carport?! What a rort!!!

But then, a house stood out to me amongst the others. A house in a suburb we are chasing, new floor and kitchen, big yard, 3 bedrooms with separate lounge, dining and family room. I called The Hun and asked him to have a look at the ad, to ignore our savings target for a moment and to seriously consider what could be a great deal - something that might be worth borrrowing the extra money that we were already hoping to have before we bought. And he said yes.

Of course, he was cautious. You may have deduced that when I want something, I want it now, Now, NOW and that I don't always take the time to think things through. This is bad news for the man who will be entering the property market when properties are exorbitantly priced out of our realistic range.

We met outside the house last Thursday and walked through. The photos on the site were taken using a fishbowl lens, making them appear much larger than they actually were, but they were still fair sized rooms. The kitchen was beautiful but meant the only space for a fridge was accross the room in the family area. The yard was big but had a large block of concrete in the middle and was on a bit of a slope. The bathroom was in good condition but was shared ensuite style with the rest of the house. There were two other rooms but only one had a (tiny) BIR. The house felt cosy and homey but the carpet needed to be replaced and all the walls had marks and chips.

Sensible me decided we wouldn't persue it any further (and the agent who called me the next day remarked that I seemed like a very independent woman who had it all under control) and I think The Hun was pretty surprised.

It was really good to get out there and look at something. I'm keeping my eye on the market and critically evaluating all the houses before I decided whether or not to add it to my watchlist, let along go see it.

Rumour has it that house prices will rise by 40% in the next five years. Rumour also has it that Canberra house prices will drop 30% this year. At the current market rate, we will have enough money to cover 10% deposit, legal fees and stamp duty (WHAT A RIP THAT IS) in November this year. Who knows - we could be buying sooner.

But for all the hard work, it's quite exciting to be a grownup!

Thursday, May 15, 2008

My gift to you: Erica & Enny Weigh In

So - things around here (my middle) have been getting broader, and it seems it's not only happening to me. Chatting at work the other week, myself and two others decided we would start a bit of a healthy team bonding thing, and work together to lose weight/get fit.

Monday 19th was designated the start date (as one of us is going to Sydney to shop/binge all weekend first).

I was talking to Erica about this and it ended up she was keen to start too - Monday 19th became her 'start' date.

On Tuesday evening I came home and messaged her that we should totally co-blog our efforts to keep ourselves motivated - not 10 minutes later she'd whipped up a site and an awesome header! We have some basic rules - we're planning to post every day if we can; and if we have only negative things to say, then we have to back it up with two lovely things; and we'll weigh/measure in each Monday.


We present.

Without further ado.

To you.

Erica and Enny Weigh In.

If this is coming to you via reader - PLEASE click through, just to see how awesome that girl can be with a glass of wine and her super awesome art skills.

Laugh at our lame jokes.

Call us out when we're getting lame.

Motivate us to keep going.

Join in!
Share the love!

See you soon :o)

Tuesday, May 13, 2008

Hairy Horrors

NB: This post may not be for guys!

My cousin and I sat on the edge of the pool, our feet dangling in the water. I would have been in year seven or eight. The hair on my toe caught bubbles of air and we laughed. Then I wondered why her feet weren't doing the same.

This is a shout-out to the other hirsute women out there, ashamed of something that is out of their control.

Puberty beat me with it's cruelest stick. Lanky and gonky and stringy, I starting developing hair under my arms in primary school. I have near black eyebrows and dark brown hair, so it was never going to be a downy, soft, peach fuzz. Invited to only one party with the 'popular' clique, I wore my best party outfit to the blue light disco. I hadn't been able to shift any of the hair running the scissor blade under my arm before my parents dropped me off, and I still remember the disgusted stare I got when I momentarily lifted my arms too high.

I started to steal my fathers navy blue disposable razors and guessed my way through what I thought I should do. I was too scared to ask my parents to buy me some of my own, so I would reuse them until the hairs were sharper than the blades.

The mole on my lip made me self conscious about people looking to closely at my face - it would sprout dark and strong hair that tickled my lip if I folded my mouth in the right way. When I got my first boyfriend I decided to do something about it, for fear he would say something or notice my man-mustache. Of course, this bought anxiety about other areas of hair that needed to be tended to. I had no idea what was normal, what it should look like, what people did and what was normal. I spent many a week fretting about going into the chemist to see what I could do - in the end, I bought a depilatory cream and just melted everything away (That might explain a bit my relief at getting that lip mole removed/minimised).

Gf1 and gf2 were over at my place a few weeks ago when gf1 mentioned she had access to a good deal on Intense Pulse Light hair removal - before she even finished her sentence I jumped in and told her to sign me up straight away.

Last Wednesday I had my first session and I can not put into words the amount of relief I felt lift off my shoulders just by walking through that door. I stood at the counter and confirmed I was there for the bikini/underarm package. I took a breath and told her 'I know this is gross. But I was wondering how much it would cost to get my feet zapped too'. She looked up at me and laughed 'Why would you think that is gross? That's fine, it won't cost any extra'.

It took less than ten minutes for all three areas to be zapped. She put me at ease as she asked me to lift my arms so she could have a close look - a big deal for someone who goes to great lengths to hide her automatic 5 o'clock shadow. She made small talk and joked as she zapped at my toes and the top of my feet. She was patient and understanding as I awkwardly shifted my underwear around so she could do what she needed - the first person to be anywhere near there since I was a young child (under non-romantic circumstances!).

She relayed a story of a girl who approached a different clinic because she was embarrassed about her hair problems - only to be met with a look of disgust from the receptionist girl. The hirsute girl finally got the nerve to come to this clinic to have her embarassing problem remedied, almost in tears again as she explained what had happened to her last time she had vulnerably reached out for help. It was towards the end of the story and the end of the session as she realised I was the same as that girl. 'You'll be so happy you've done this', she told me.

It will 8-10 months before the process is completed, the dark hair that has cursed me may be a blessing in disguise - the darker the hair, the more successful the treatment is likely to be - and everything looks pretty much the same. But inside, I feel so much better. So much lighter. So much more 'normal'.

I will no longer be the victim of my hairy insecurities. I will no longer feel guilt for something that is not my fault. I will not be ashamed of what is, really, only natural.

Friday, May 09, 2008

Friend dilemma

I'll give you the friend dilemma first, because I was stupid busy today (seriously, division planning days are such a time suck) and wanted to make sure I fully explain myself when chatting to my hairy sisters out there.



More specifically, best friends. Or, best friend.

I don't have one.

I have (on occasion) some hypothetical wedding stuff going on in my head - please, (adam!), don't freak out. This time it is very well controlled and includes discussion with The Hun (rather than diatribe at The Hun) and we do adult things like discuss the importance and talk about our feelings and priorities and numbers and dates. So I have some good reason to be thinking it. And all this hypothetical wedding stuff leads me to thinking about who I would have to assist me. In my head, I have three people who I would have as my collective. But I don't have someone who I
would say is my best friend, a person who would in term pick me as their best friend.

You may be aware that I'm not very good at the one on one conversation thing. Actually, the notion of being alone with one person for a set amount of time sends me into a bit of a freak out - the only person I look forward to one on one time (from a social retardation perspective) is The Hun. The only people who I can handle the prospect of one on one time with are youngest bro, magf and gf2. You may note mumsy and dadsy are not on this list - I am that girl.

I spend a fair amount of time with youngest bro to and from martial arts (less so now that he has his own car), and I would often drag him along shopping with me - he came to have something to do. So I can cope with him, just fine. Obviously, he wouldn't be my maid of honour, but also - he wouldn't pick me as his best friend. And I don't think he'd really qualify to be mine either!

I spend a fair amount of time with magf at martial arts, we share rooms when we go on camps, we go to the gym together and there was stuff we did for her wedding too. I was her maid of honour, so she might seem like a logical choice for my best friend. But, if her other friend weren't
overseas, she would have probably chosen her. And there are things that she says or does that makes me think that no, she's not my best friend. She may be the best one that I have, but she's not really 'best friend', if that makes sense?

I overcame my fear of one on one time with gf2 when we went up to see Regina Spektor in Sydney last year (probably around this time, and probably the last time I also whinged about being friendless!) and I would have said that up until this point that yeah, she is my best friend. But through emails that have been going around over the last week or so (and from earlier ones that I just didn't really think about until now), there is a lot of talk that goes on between gf1 and gf2 that doesn't include me. They know all these things about each other and have had all these discussions that I just didn't know about. They have a lot more in common than I realised. So, I might pick gf2 as my best friend, and gf1 would probably also pick her for her best friend. And gf2 would probably pick gf1 as hers.

Of course, when I relayed all this to The Hun, he told me that he would pick me. And he told me that the fact I said he can't pick me because he is obviously so much my number one that it's not even worth answering is just me trying to upset myself over something that's not really that important.

I know that this is fairly similar to mick's post of a few weeks ago, and I know that at least he feels pretty similar to me.

Do you have one best friend?
Would they pick you as theirs?
Are you single?
Does that make a difference?
Do I need one?
Does it matter?

Thursday, May 08, 2008

Hairy Friends


I've spent most of today procrastinating (yeah! me! how unlikely!) so I'm not going to be able to put up a proper post tonight as planned.

However, you can get involved.

I'm planning to publish tomorrow night, but I can't decide which to write first.

Do you want to hear about my friend 'crisis'?
Do you want to hear a shoutout to my fellow hairy girls (accompanied by an uplifting tale)?

Better let me know ASAP (and thanks for the patience).

Tuesday, May 06, 2008

I don't like what the paparazzi does...

...(especially to poor Britney!), but seeing these pictures of the usually stunning Mischa Barton make me feel a little better about me:

(Pictures from here.)

Sunday, May 04, 2008

I bought myself a 200sx after I got permanency at my job - a celebration of being single, having a good wage, and knowing it was probably the only time in my life I could waste copious amounts of money driving a fuel-guzzling attention stealer. I loved driving with the windows down and the sunroof open, I loved flicking the accelerator so the blowoff valve would flutter, I loved the deep rumble of the exhaust and I loved, Loved, LOVED the way heads would turn.

When I was persuing The Hun, many years ago, I sent him a few emails. There was rumour at the time that his parents had just bought him a new Subaru RS, a little silver bugeyed number, and I was very jealous. Turns out that that his dad had actually bought it for himself (gotta love the Canberra rumour mill), but it gave me an opportunity to brag about my superbeast of a car and offer to take him for a drive sometime. Yes, I realise how wanky that sounds - but he has reread the email since then and realised it should have been obvious I was pursuing him. We're both just as bad as each other.

The Hun got his license a year or so after we started going out, and purchased a lily white Suzuki Cino off a friend of his that was moving to Japan. I sold my 200 just over two years ago and got my little Swift - a sensible little runabout, black to look a little cool and already stickered to make it 'mine'.

Last week The Hun's dad bought himself a spiffy new WRX. A beautiful car that he won't let me buy a blow off valve for, as insistent as I am that his birthday is coming up anyway. As a result of this purchase, the silver bugeyed number has been sold on to The Hun, and as a result of that purchase, the lily white Cino has found him/herself a new home with youngest bro.

The moral of this story?

There is nothing sexier than a man in a REAL car*.

As you were.

*Obviously, I am talking about The Hun. NOT THE HUN'S DAD. THAT IS WRONG AND BAD. SHAME ON YOU.

Thursday, May 01, 2008

Words words words

There are so many said, and so many left unsaid.

The things that I want to say to him, to try to put into words exactly how I feel and why it is all so important to me.
The things he wants to say to me, the 'I told you so' and 'I hear you but I'll never feel the same'.
The things she wants to say, to explain the hurt and a plea to just listen.
The things they want to say, that it is all too confronting and painful to discuss, now or ever.
The things unsaid to them, an explanation to prevent it happening again.
The things that we think to ourselves.

The curt smile, the rolling eyes, the crossed arms.
The tears for a friend that passed.
The straying hand reaching for the body that is no longer there.
The eyes showing they know they won't be here forever.