The Accidental Shopper

Shopping appears to have become one of my hobbies. I’m not sure when that happened but if you do not have a regular job and rely on emergency teaching then shopping should not be your number one priority.

Next week is the last week of school for six whole weeks, so that means NO WORK for six weeks. Meanwhile the bills keep coming in and I keep shopping. The most frightening of which was last month’s credit card bill; my savings will look far less healthy once I have paid it off.  So I have declared that I will NOT use my credit card until next February (at least).

I’ve been reflecting on how I have allowed my spending to ramp up to such unprecedented levels and while I can pinpoint a couple of instances where I have gone wrong I think that on the whole I probably should not be allowed in shopping centres unsupervised.

This is what happens: a couple of weeks ago I went looking for an outfit for the Melbourne Cup. I had a dress that was almost, at a pinch, suitable but I suspected it was more Garden Tea Party than Melbourne Cup. So I browsed the shops.

And left with a white jacket that I did not end up wearing with the dress. In fact, I still haven’t worn it over a month later. I also managed to purchase a very nice dress but not one that would be suitable for the Cup. I thought I could wear this one to my Friday night social-drinky-doos.

Yes, well that’s all very well but when I got it home and put it on with real shoes it appeared very short. When I tried it on at the shop I may have made that classic mistake of throwing it on over the jeans and just dropping my jeans to my knees. You know how it’s far too much effort to untie your runners and kick them off your feet to get out of your jeans totally.

Oh sure, when there’s a pair of jeans around your knees anything you’re wearing on top looks a/ fairly good, and b/ long enough.

Turns out it wasn’t. Or it doesn’t feel like it. So I’ve added a hem of lace to make it longer. Now I am completely unconvinced about the whole thing and still haven’t worn it.

And then I also had to rush out and buy a copy of “The Princess Bride” for a friend’s birthday. Trouble is on the way to the DVD store, which I couldn't find, I got waylaid in a shoe shop. I ended up looking at Dr Martens. They’re so funky and I fell in love with these:

Sorry about the poor quality image, I had
 to stop looking once I found this one
 in case I found other shoes I simply had to buy. 

Look how cute they are, inside the lining is a pretty floral. And instead of laces they come with these really pretty ribbons, I fell in love pretty much instantly. And they actually make them in my size. However, once I saw the price I was very strong and left the store intent on looking for the DVD store.

Before I could get to the DVD store I found another shoe store and ended up with a pair of black Converse type runner/boots. I figured these were less than half the price of the Dr Martens and would be very useful for the waitressing job I’d picked up to help out with my shopping addiction. Plus they were on sale. (True story.)

See how you can get yourself into trouble with these things?

I did not find the DVD store. Instead I sensibly left the shopping centre.

"Sensibly" didn't last very long: when I got home I discovered I had a real craving for those Dr Martens and try as I might I could not kick the thought of them from my head. And, I reasoned to myself, I’m not getting any younger if I don’t buy these boots now I’ll be too old to get away with wearing them.

So the next day I got on-line and bought them anyway!

  

Nooooooooo!!!!!!

Did you see what happened? I didn’t buy the DVD for my friend and I ended up with not one but TWO pairs of shoes. And the credit card still needs to be paid off.

Fortunately school has rung up and asked me to work three days in the last week of term; I have even sacrificed one of my rowing sessions so I can work. Sob.  This will help but I have to ban myself from using the credit card.

Yours-in-debt-Stella xx

Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, New Year's Hell *

* With a little effort you can make that work, it's all in the timing.

It’s been a long time since I blogged, or even read a blog, and that’s because I’ve been out and about having a lovely time. I’ve made new friends in the social group I attend and so most weekends I am now out socializing, drinking and dancing with them, and having a blast.

I also find time to row twice a week. Yes, I am definitely a rowing tragic now. I go to yoga as often as I can, although I have given Bikram the heave-ho and go to a Vinyasa powerflow class. (I still can’t do handstands.)  And I also get to tango classes on a haphazard basis. Oh and I picked up a casual waitressing job once a week too. Even that can be fun and social. 

I have cleansed my life of on-line dating, and am happier for it. I go on dates with men I meet socially but there is still no one significant in my life. (And that still sucks.) But on the whole I am much, much happier than the same time last year. . .

 . . . until the prospect of Christmas rears its ugly head. And New Year’s Eve. There are still a few anniversaries and days that have the power to make me pensive. I am relieved to say I hardly ever cry in public anymore! Three years on, now that's progress! (Yes, I am gently mocking myself but it's still true.) However the holidays still sometimes suck (gotta love alliteration) and I never did figure out where I could run away to so as to avoid Christmas entirely. 

Today I was unexpectedly reminded of that. A friend of a friend has emailed us all and encouraged us to attend a function on New Year’s Eve. You know, it’ll be about champagne and canapes. My friends are all keen to go, I am less so.

Apart from the logistics of getting home after drinking on New Year’s Eve I don’t enjoy the crowds or the pressure to have a really-good-time-because-it’s-New-Year’s-Eve. Yet the alternative is to stay home. Hardly fun either.

When the hubby was around we’d go to another couple’s place and have a low key celebration locally. That was enough for me. I didn’t want to throw my own party, or make a big deal out of New Year’s but hanging out with friends for a casual drink was fine.

Now those friends have packed up and moved back interstate, other friends we often saw go away for Christmas until New Year’s and so I’m left torn between going out with other single friends or staying home.

And neither appeals. 

Any advice?

Stella-the-wet-blanket x

Not sweet enough. Apparently

You know how when people ask if you want sugar in your tea/coffee and, being virtuous, you don’t take any so say, “No thanks, I’m sweet enough.” Well, that’s not me.

About two months ago I read some startling ‘facts’ about sugar. According to Robin McGraw’s book  What's Age Got To Do With It?  sugar bonds with something or the other and may help cause wrinkles. Plus they’re a toxin. I’m a bit hazy on the details but the bottom line is I decided to give up sugar.

Robin, bless her cotton socks, gave up sugar for an entire year. She probably had her husband, Dr Phil (I found out they're married when I tried to google* her book) providing all sorts of fabulous moral support.  An entire year, people! No cookies, no cake, no chocolate, no lollies. Hm, now that I write it out it just doesn’t seem possible. Who could be that virtuous?

Anyway, inspired by both Robin and vanity I decided to cut out sugar for two weeks. A year seemed a bit excessive. I thought I’d start with something more reasonable.

Cakes and biscuits weren’t too hard to forego, although those TimTams in my fridge did have a very loud siren call. And my beloved lemon sherbet lollies which I turn to two or three times a day were reasonably easy to kick but tea without sugar proved not sweet enough.

In the past friends have expressed horror that I have two teaspoons of sugar in my tea. “Two!” they exclaim with dismay. But it’s not that bad, I don’t have that many cups of tea in a day, maybe four on a bad day.

Not anymore, tea is so disappointing without sugar I have maybe two cups a day. I’ve survived the two weeks without sugar and now am back to eating a little tiny bit but still have no sugar in my tea.

So disappointing. Tea is no fun at all. (Did I mention that already?)

So I’ve become a bit of a tea slut, trying Lady Grey, Russian Caravan (ugh), Ceylon, Oolong, Darjeeling. They all sound exotic, some taste better than others, but all would be improved by a couple of teaspoons of sugar. 

Alas.

* When I wrote "google" on my iMac, it came up as spelt incorrectly. Is it just me who sees the irony here? 

At the risk of being inappropriate. . .

Have been watching the Olympics, like the rest of the world presumably. Very annoying that we're in a different time zone, so hard to see races live. Trying to watch the rowing but have to keep taping it. What they do bears little resemblance to what happens when I get in a boat, still, I recognize we both have boats n' oars etc. I am in awe of them, they are machines. Machines.

However, that's not the inappropriate part. That comes into play when watching the swimming. The men. Under 'gorgeous' in the dictionary surely there's a picture of all these male athletes. I mean, there is no other way to describe them.

Oh to get my hands on just one of them. 

Which leads me to ask how the officials down there on the pool deck manage to look so professional. Some of them almost looked bored even. If I had the job there'd be a little grin on my face at all times.

Hm, wonder how you do get a job at the Olympics. . . 

Vive la france but the huddled masses are really getting up my nose

The National Gallery of Victoria is currently hosting an exhibition called 'Napoleon from Revolution to Empire' and on Bastille Day opened until midnight so Melbournians could flock to see it.

And so they did.

I also went. We had tickets for the 9-11pm session, along with numerous other people. The queue to get into the exhibition reminded me of the queue at the airport in Bali when two 747s were ready to take people back home to Sydney and Melbourne. It was almost that long, but not quite. 

There was, however, about as much room as on board a plane. Yes, you're right I am exaggerating. Suffice it to say, it was crowded.

This led people to stand in a semi-polite circle around the exhibits taking in the splendors of the Napoleonic era, until someone decided they needed to look closer and ignoring all those peering on from a distance they'd simply walk in front of everyone, stop, and inspect the exhibit from close range. This happened time and time again. 

The lovely people here let me use this image

No matter that I took pains not to obscure anyone's view and stand at a distance, someone would invariably come and stand in front of me, and everyone else. The same thing happened as I read the accompanying description on the wall plaque. In fact once I was standing next to someone, we were both reading the description, then she moved closer to the exhibit and stood right in front of the plaque completely oblivious to that fact that I was still reading it. 

With huge self restraint I only sighed heavily once. After an hour I gave up and simply left. 

A couple of weeks ago I was also at a restaurant/bar, standing next to the bar, while my friend ordered a drink. As I was standing there a young man squeezed in beside me and pushed me out of the way. Apparently I was blocking his use of the EFTPOS machine to pay for his drinks. My self-restraint was not evident on this night and I turned to sarcasm and asked him, “Does that usually work? Pushing women out of the way?” Fortunately he didn’t hit me but mumbled something about using the EFTPOS machine, I assured him that if he’d asked I would have been more than happy to move.

What has happened to Melbournians? Have the majority of people lost any notion of courtesy? No wonder we have road rage and some of the kids I teach are sorely lacking in manners. I am happy to note that’s only some of them, the others have nice manners. However, I am disappointed in Melbournians at the moment. :-(

Stella 

I’ve always relied on the kindness of strangers

Taking action after my slow Sunday has left me with sore hips, quads, waist, lower back, upper back, triceps, biceps and armpit muscles. I tried out a vinyasa flow yoga class today. This type of class is more active and dynamic, it’s a solid workout. It was fabulous! I may have found my new obsession; goodbye Bikram.

In a strange turn of events I’d have to thank the on-line dating guy who recommended this class to me. Well, I would except after a few text messages I didn’t hear from him again. But who cares about that?! I have a new yoga class to go to, yay!

After this class, which had me beaming and enjoying the endorphins rushing hither and thither, I headed down Glenhuntly Rd in search of a late lunch. I found a nice little café, Mr Guy, playing some funky music with a courtyard out back where I could sit in the sun and bask.

The owner took care of me like I was his favourite niece. He brought a cushion out for me to sit on, he changed the shade umbrella so I would get some sun and he played some very mellow music - possibly not just for my benefit - for me to get my zen on with.

Here’s where I come off sounding ignorant.

When I asked who was that terribly mellow man singing the owner replied Leonard Cohen. I was shocked that I’d never heard Leonard Cohen sing, and I told the owner so.

“I can burn the CD for you if you like,” he offered.

Laughing, not considering he was actually serious, I replied, “What now?”

Yes, indeed. Now.

I have a Leonard Cohen’s Greatest Hits in my car now. I will obviously have to buy some of his CDs. My immediate favourite, with violins - oh, how I love violins - was Dance me to the end of  love. (And surely it's a tango too?)

Following this interlude I decided I should possibly stay home for the rest of the day as Monday had already peaked. Not so.

That evening I went to a Tango class with a friend. In direct contrast to the salsa crowd the men at this class were lovely and encouraging. I had some issues with walking backwards. Who knew? However, one of my partners told me it takes months to learn to walk backwards properly. Then we tried another more complex step.

In theory when they show me the girl’s part I can follow it, although perhaps not as quickly as everyone else. However, when I then danced with a man my steps completely left my brain. It was OK though as each partner just guided me through my steps. Sigh.

When I got home after the class, I figured out how the initial instruction went with actually dancing with someone. Ah. Now I see the light.

This class was about as far removed from our Saturday night salsa experience as possible; I will be a regular there from now on.

Ah, the kindness of strangers.

Stella x

Dross . . .

(Don't say you weren't warned.)

Have lost some of my blogging buzz recently, possibly because I've been busy going out and enjoying myself. This is a good thing as you can never have enough dancing and socialising. Well, actually you can if you're a bit of an introvert like me and need some down time after said dancing and socialising but for the rest of it, it's been great.

Except last night. We hit the First-Saturday-of-the-Month salsa night in town. The previous two times we'd been there I thought the night had potential. I thought if we persevered and kept going we'd get to know people and spend more time dancing and less time standing around trying to look relaxed, like I'm enjoying the music, and yet keen to dance, or to ask to be danced. 

It worked twice. This is not enough times for me to pay money to go, to watch the crowd who are 'in the know' greet each other effusively, dance with each other, and occasionally rudely shove past you on their way to the dance floor. We devised numerous strategies to increase the likelihood of being asked to dance like standing near the dance floor so we'd get asked to dance, then moving to another place because other women stood in front of us, separating so that we were clearly there by ourselves and there simply to dance etc. 

We ended up leaving as we felt uncomfortable there. This is not what dancing's meant to be about. It's meant to be about enjoying the music and having a great time. We will not go back. What a shame.

As a consequence I think the night has triggered that lonesome Sunday feeling I used to get. Sunday is usually my rowing day which means I get to exercise and socialise but I've suspended it this Sunday to get rid of this chest infection once and for all. 

So what am I doing instead? Clearly I am wasting my Sunday away surfing the net. . . in my defence I did get up and walk the dog and chat to the neighbours but since then, yes, have been surfing. I may be having some sort of existential crisis: if I got a 'real' job would that give me meaning? But then I like not having a 'real' job and having freedom. (Not sure how I think surfing the net is going to help.)

If I did something useful with my day and went to Bikram, would that give me purpose, but then seems a long way to go to stand in front of a mirror and sweat while trying not to scowl at the woman in front of me who seriously needed to WASH her feet before coming . . .

But enough of that, found this Little Gordon Ramsey. Very funny - you have to overlook the kid swearing, but funny.

And obligatory cute dog picture

(Found it at We know memes. . . somewhere. . . .)

Could I get one of these dogs and take it on the train with me when I go out partying? Then leave it with the bouncer at the venue while I go inside and dance? Then it can escort me home again. I'd call it Cujo, obviously. It'd be perfect. No?