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Christmas was lovely, and reasonably drama free all things considered.

I didn't get a black eye in a family muck-around on Christmas day this year either. I waited until NYE morning and then smacked myself in the face with my arm. I had been sleeping on it and it lost circulation. Ironically, it is the same eye. Lucky I don't bruise easily, so it is merely sore, a little puffy and imperceptibly brown.

I received some lovely presents. And, (FINALLY!!!) Bunnings vouchers. So we bought ourselves a new mower and a replacement bit for the line trimmer that the boy broke.

:)

But the most interesting present, aside from the cupcake recipe book and cupcake jewellery holder that my cousin got me (with the tacit threat that he will, one day, repeat his childhood dealings with me and try to shove aforementioned cake up my nose), was from the younger sister-in-law and her man of choice.

For the sake of context, I will begin by saying that the relationship with the younger sister and my husband and I has been...strained. May I just say, never, ever live with family. If you have housemates that leave your ordinary share-house on a sour note, you don't normally have to see them at Christmas and birthdays, let alone buy gifts for them!

Thankfully, all has calmed down, I think for the sake of my parents in law more than anyone. There is still a feeling of...unsettledness about our relationship with them though. Not quite animosity, but... something.

Anyway. We bought them matching Jamie Oliver Mugs. They caught my eye beause they were really lovely quality and they were nice and big, but the writing on them clinched it.

We gave her a 'Drama Queen' mug, and him a 'Cool Dude' mug. Tee hee...

In our defence, we were going to get another pair for ourselves, but couldn't justify the expence. Besides, they are soooooooooooo appropriate!

So we didn't actually see them on Christmas, which was unfortunate, as I missed out on seeing them open said present(which is most of the fun).

Which meant that we didn't get ours until after Christmas Day. The in-laws dropped it off. It was, lo and behold, a GIANT can of worms.

Or more accurately, a 'Can-O-Worms - Environmentally friendly odourless composing system'.

So we opened our can of worms. Laughably, there were no worms inside. Just some hot, humid air.

:)

Have received my teapots that I bought off of ebay. So Shiny! Squee!

Also shiny is the fact that I have almost finished Christmas shopping.

However, if I have any people who are still stuck for ideas for me, I would like the latest issues of Country Home Ideas, House and Garden, and Country Kitchens and Bathrooms.

:)

The husband creature now also has a blog. His username is remlace, and his Christmas wish list will be posted there shortly.

Smiles!

I am, for the record, a terrible person to buy for at Christmas. I get so wrapped up in persuit of the perfect present for my loved ones that invariably when I am asked what I would like, my eyes get a little glazed and I say...

"Oh. Don't know. But if I see something that I like I will make a list and put it on my blog. Promise."

Which I NEVER do. So, for the ease of my near and dear who want some inspiration, I have taken the following step -

I now collect teapots.

This makes total and utter sense to those who know me well, as I have been drinking tea since I was about 18 months old.

So, if you feel the need to gift me with something, and happen to be walking past a shop and spy a teapot that is in the shape of a sewing machine - you know that I am all wrapped up for the next gift giving season.















Also Bunnings vouchers are well recieved.

Number One

On Saturday, I was in Bunnings and some of those timber screen doors started to fall on me, so I stupidly tried to catch them instead of just getting the hell out of the way…

Jarred my neck and right shoulder.

I don’t really count this next one as bad luck, but my cat was a bit sick and had a massive chunk of mess stuck to her bottom, which she – you guessed it – tried to get off by rubbing her bottom across the floor of the house, from the back door all the way to the front door.

It took about half an hour to clean the floor, and about an hour of screaming, growling, biting, scratching, hissing and spitting while we cut the fur back around her bum because she had ground it in so badly there there was no other way to get it out. So the poor thing had walked around all day smelling like poo, and then had Adam hold her down while I made cutting sounds around her backside. To make matters worse, she kept squirming so that the scissors would catch and pull on the hair. Then we had to wash her off. That was also not particularly happiness making.

Number Two

On Wednesday, In a moment of choice decision making, I decided to run for the train at Corinda. Down steps. In heels. Luckily that snap decision also involved me being close to the hand rail, so when I invariable did loose my footing and stumble, I grabbed the rail with an iron grip that Heracles would have been proud of.

Unfortunately, my momentum as I was heading down pushed my elbow and my shoulder into a vertical direction. On the right hand side. Where I was still a bit sore from the door incident. Momentum also made me twist my left knee a little. And jar my neck. Again.

So I get home. Am sore and sorry for myself. My neck, my shoulder, my right ankle and my left knee are all sending unimpressed signals to my brain. Go have a nice hot shower and wash my hair. Begin to feel human again. Tell my mum about my shocker week on the phone. Get my wheat pack out of my dresser drawer to soothe my discomfort a little. Put it into the microwave for a minute and a half to heat it up to a nice temp.

The microwave beeps. I open the door and smoke seethes from the door. I grab the wheat pack to throw it in the sink and feel a sharp searing pain in my left hand.

Unbeknownst to me a sewing needle that happened to be in my drawer had gotten stuck into the wheat pack. And we all know what metal does when it is put into a microwave…

I drop the bag. Wheat kernels go everywhere. The needle has burnt a hole through the wheat bag, melted a small section of my microwave turn table and, for it’s finale, has burnt a neat little hole into my palm.

THAT IS IT! Now I am GOING to have my wheat pack to help with my neck, because the shock of the heat has made me tense up and jump, jarring my neck even more. The bag is damaged beyond repair, so I sacrifice a pink tea towel and make up a new bag, dispose of the now cool and more than a little charred needle, run a magnet over the wheat to make sure there is no more metal, get hubby to help me pour the wheat back into the bag, as my hand is shaking because I have since developed a tic in my right shoulder and cannot hold my hand steady.

I sew up the bag, microwave the damn thing again, and lay on the couch with it nestled in the crook of my neck. The sweet heat provides relief, the muscle spasms subside, and I relax enough to realise that the burnt wheat smell has stunk up the unburnt wheat, and my hair and the arm of my couch now smell like burnt toast. Yay.

Number Three.

On Thursday, I went to work, came home and cooked dinner incident free, if a bit sore and the worse for wear. I go to bed, and decide it is a bit stuffy, so I get up to turn the fan on. The room is dark, but I toddle over to outline of the fan. I flick it on, but realise that it must be turned off at the wall. I turn to where the switch is, step on something hard, loose my footing and stumble forward. Unfortunately my iron (cold, thank goodness) is sitting on the table near me. I fall, the arrow shaped end of the iron shoving directly into my exposed throat. The shock of the contact make me pivot, and I fall on my backside, COMPLETELY UNABLE TO BREATHE. The point of the iron had pushed into the soft flesh between my windpipe and my jugular. Though it had not broken the skin, I felt my throat close up immediately. I sat on the floor, making choking, strangling sounds. It seemed like it took an age for hubby to turn the light on and rush to my side, doing things like touching me on the back and telling me to breathe. Tell you what, with such obvious comments while I was in a panic that iron almost had a second victim that night.

My throat started to slowly relax, and I found I could move a little air, which thankfully made the colour in the room get a little less gray. After I had calmed down, I curled up in a miserable, tear stained ball and got to sleep quickly, probably in no small way assisted by the high levels of CO2 in my blood.

I am not one to wish a day or a week over, as I believe it is sad to wish away one’s life, but damn, I will not be sad to see the back of this week.

Sigh. It is a sad and sorry world when you realise that you have worked in not one, two or even three but five different jobs since you posted SIX MONTHS AGO. Ugh.

Personally I have been doing reasonably well. I have not only celebrated my one year wedding anniversary with my hubby, but I have been heading steadily towards a first class honours (yay me!!!).

Professionally, though, sucks sores. I really dislike my job - almost to the point of hatred. It's only saving grace is the fact that I earn enough money in the position to do what I like in my spare time. Funnily enough, though, the workload is steadily biting further and further into said spare time. Weekends are free, but I am not getting out of work until at least quarter past five every night. After getting there at eight to eight thirty. And not having stopped for a lunch break all day. This was the scenario on Friday, except I only left work at twenty to six. So all of the stuff I would normally do when I get home (tidy, occasionally vaccuum, do the odd load of washing) are left exclusively for me to do on the weekend. When I would much rather be doing other things.

Bitch, bitch whinge, I know.

Sigh. Need to find alternate employment. But after I go.....

ON MY HONEYMOON!!!! SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!

We booked it all yesterday. I am psyched, really psyched. The prospect of not having to go to work for about a fortnight is just so incredibly, insanely thrilling. I felt a weight lift. Elation is probably the best way to describe it.

HONEYMOON. Who would of thought that I would so wholeheartedly cling to such a convoluted stereotype like it was a lifeboat and I was a passenger on the Titanic. Ah well. Girlyness is allowable sometimes, and Rand and I richly deserve the break.

My birthday is also coming up, which I am anticipating with a remarkable lack of enthusiasm. I find that I enjoy other peoples birthdays more than my own. Get it from my Mum. It is a bit embarrasing having people giving you all these gifts and fawning on you. Cake is essential, but gifts are not, you know. The saying "it's the thought that counts" is becoming more and more relevent to my life the older I get. I find myself caring little about the extravagence of the gift, and more about the thought process behind it.

Interesting how your priorities change as you get older.

I think that I look forward to my honeymoon not because of the fact that it is a honeymoon. I look forward to it because it is going to be an adventure (in relative comfort) that we can embark upon together.

It makes me feel content. Just have to survive the next couple of weeks of work.

Sigh.

As soem of you may have determined, I find these blog quizzes a tad theraputic.

You Are French Food

Snobby yet ubiquitous. People act like they understand you more than they actually do.

And since I have to be non-conformist, I do the quizzes several times with all the stuff I prefer, as I don't seem to fit to the questions.

You Are Japanese Food

Strange yet delicious. Contrary to popular belief, you're not always eaten raw.

Snobby yet ubiquitous.
People act like they understand you more than they actually do.</font></td></tr></table>

I worry for Windtear. And for the kitten. And for Windtear's hand cream. And her bin.

May I just say, Conveyancing Works sucks. Or perhaps it is just the girl that is handling said conveyancing.

She avoids direct questions. She doesn't return our calls. She is the second person that we have been fobbed off onto.

It is frustrating, irritating and maddening. We are paying them an exorbant amount of money to do stuff for us. They can at the very least try to PRETEND that they care.

People suck. A person can be good, caring and an all-round fantastic individual. But PEOPLE.... Grrrr.....