Slime in, cake out

I made a banana cake today; it was my first attempt. The over-ripe bananas which had been put aside in the freezer for the big day were dug out, microwaved and peeled. They were slimy and surprisingly elastic, and mashing them was harder work than I'd expected. But the end result was still really yummy and moist.

It was also really, really easy to make (apart from the banana-mashing) - even for me. Here's the recipe, which I found on the Internet:

Quick egg-free Banana Cake

2 cups flour
1 tsp baking powder
1 tsp baking soda
1 cup sugar
1 tsp salt
1 tsp egg replacer
½ cup melted dairy free margarine
1 tsp vanilla essence
1 cup mashed banana
1 cup milk (rice, soy etc)

1. Sift and mix dry ingredients.
2. Add wet ingredients and mix until smooth.
3. Bake 40 -50 minutes at 190°C.

TLM liked it too, but the boy is probably waiting to see whether I suffer any delayed stomach upset from the big wedge I ate a couple of hours ago.

I shopped. I dropped.

Be warned - a proliferation of brackets follows...

I made the not-entirely-rational (seeing as I am now between contracts) decision to spend the last two days shopping. Yesterday was a helluva busy day; I literally shopped from about 9.30am until 3.45pm, with a short lunch break and a chat-with-friend break. Today, I forced myself to return home after finding a couple of fitted t-shirts that actually fit.

My other spoils include:

• a navy cotton hooded cardigan (not the short, shaped jacket I was looking for, but it will do nicely in the meantime) from the up-market store, Kirkaldies
  
• an ink-blue ankle-length skirt with white trim (having decided that spending the whole summer in long trousers for the sake of simultaneously obeying the What Not to Wear rules, and fulfilling my need to keep my legs well covered, would be slightly masochistic), also from Kirkaldies
  
• a pair of straight-legged summer weight jeans, from Max (because even though there was a designer-wear sale on, I just couldn't bring myself to pay hundreds of dollars on a pair of Marc by Marc Jacobs jeans, even at discount).

Now that I have some decent-quality clothing to wear to my next contract/interview, there's a good chance that this current obsession with fashion goes the same way as my past obsessions (with travel, karate, painting, being a librarian, and creative writing, respectively) have gone i.e. away (though hopefully the writing and painting will find a way back into that particular portion of my brain).

On a happier note...

I got my hair cut today. It's a slightly shaggy bob which is just short of shaved at the nape, and lengthens subtly to chin length towards the front. (Before you say anything, I did not get my inspiration from Posh Spice.) I'm very happy with it, and even the boy - who has already expressed a preference for long hair on me - said it was nice. Even TLM was very approving.

So...does this mean a new job is on the cards?

Enforced leisure time

TLM and I were returning from a laidback morning at the library and playground, when I got a call telling me that my contract has been unexpectedly terminated - as of today. The reason given was that they'd run out of work for me to do, which is mostly true. But I think it's a bit shabby to make that decision on the one day I'm not at the office, and make it effective immediately (two weeks' notice is normal). Fortunately, the only personal items I won't be able to retrieve from the desk I shared, are a small disposable drink bottle and a packet of tissues. But I hadn't actually completed finished the piece of work I had taken over for the-woman-who-hates-me, so I would have expected at least to be asked to finish out the week.

I'm thinking that the people we've been working for are doing this, partly to keep the-woman-who-hates-me happy. She is, after all, their star worker and I'm just a newbie who doesn't quite know what to do with all those stab wounds in my back.

It's weird really, that after being in the workforce for 20 years, only now have I experienced, first-hand, the horrors of office politics.

The upside is, I now have 2 whole days free to shop till I drop.
The downside is, I don't want to spend any money because I don't know when my next contract is coming.

Life would be so much less stressful if I were thick-skinned and cocky

Halfway into the morning, I got an email from the-woman-who-hates-me, telling me that she'd taken over my documentation project (which I'd handed over for approval last week), because it was full of spelling errors, incomplete sentences and inconsistencies. At first, I thought Yeah, there probably were a couple of spelling mistakes that I missed; after a week of poring over the type looking for grammatical errors and URLs without underlining, there was bound to be something. No big. Though I was a bit pissed off that she didn't tell me on Friday and give me a chance to fix it up myself.

And then, the bomb hit.

Just before I left work, I got another email from her, casually mentioning that she's spent all weekend fixing my work and that certain people were "not happy".

Well, that was a whole new bucketful of downers.

For the rest of the afternoon I stewed over it. What could I have done to make people actively unhappy about my work? Was my pimp regretting that they'd ever taken me on? When I got home I ate a packet of Rocky Road Mallowpuffs and sat down to re-read What Color is my Parachute? 'cos, you know, maybe I was heading for a much longer break than I'd planned for.

When the boy got home I told him everything, and he was a veritable Mount Everest of support and solace. He also told me to get on the phone to my pimp and get it all sorted out. So I did.

And it all turned out to be an itty bitty anthill. The-woman-who-hates me wasn't fixing a shitload of shocking errors; she was just put my document through routine quality assurance (which, I admit, I was remiss in forgetting to do myself). People weren't unhappy with my work; they were just unhappy that they'd have to wait a little bit longer before seeing the completed document.

The-woman-who-hates-me was just f***ing with my mind, and doing a pretty exceptional job at it. I told my pimp that, in my defense, my co-worker had been less than helpful. She told me that she'd already suspected that the two of us had "issues", and that I needn't worry about my rep; it's still solid.

But y'know, if I wasn't such an oversensitive little flower with less self-confidence than a beneficiary in a Rogernomics economy, all this angst could have been avoided. I could have just told my pimp within the first week that a certain someone was out to get me.

Ah, we live and learn.

While the US hangs to the Left, NZ swings to the Right

I ended up voting for Labour and the Greens again on Saturday, reasonably confident that Helen Clarke's government would get to continue the good job they seem to be doing balancing themselves between environmental awareness and economic pragmatism. So it was a bit of a shock when, standing at the newsagent's counter to pay for TLM's My Little Pony magazine (I got myself a Bust), I spotted the front page news - Labour has lost to National.

Despite the fact that we now have a right-wing government on our hands (and who know how many social welfare and conservation cutbacks they will be making in order to give big business a leg up?), I guess we will just have to wait and see. Maybe it will all turn out okay. At least we are no closer to declaring war on some unsuspecting oil-rich nation.

There is one definite silver lining though - Winston Peters, that bandwagon-jumping salesman, is out of the political picture. Way hey!

List for Wednesday

Favourite TV show right now: 30 Rock (although Liz Lemon dresses far too well to be a date-challenged geek). It's so funny, the boy takes notes so he can quote the best lines at work the next day.

Most recent proof that I have truly emerged from 3 years of self-imposed sartorial repression, and am making the hell up for it: a pair of cherry-red patent leather round-y toed mid-heel pumps. And I haven't even started wearing the bronze sandals I bought last month (mostly because my toes would freeze off if I did).

The Little Madam's cutest feature right now: that she will raid her dress-up basket and emerge dressed as a fairy princess pirate baby jaguar. (And speaking of TLM, we had her measured today by the Plunket nurse. She is now a wopping 15.1 kg and 95 cm tall. Perfect.)

The least-funny thing that made the boy and I laugh like a pair of tiddly hyenas: when I told him that the-woman-who-hates-me had to go home sick yesterday, and added how sorry I was about it.

The annoying thing that happens almost every Wednesday, Saturday and Sunday: my mum ringing me just as I'm trying to get TLM through her naptime routine. And I do tell her to ring at a different time. Every time.

The last thing on my mind: who the heck I'm going to vote for at the general election this Saturday.

Grownups night out

The boy and I went out last night to see a play called The Pillowman. We only knew about it because one of the actors is the husband of a friend, and we only went to see it because it sounded like some kind of early-Grimm adult fairy tale. Well, it was really good.

It's about a writer who's being interrogated by a good cop/bad cop team, over some child murders that have taken place recently. He's there because the murders bear close resemblance to some of his grisly - but highly inventive - short stories. But it's not all dark and depressing (and it does get even darker and more depressing than I've just outlined). Because it's full of really funny dialogue. And the stories he tells are Clive Barker-esque. I'm not completely sure that the mix of comedy and horror is a comfortable one (which reminds me a little of the movie Life is Beautiful). But I came away with my head full of memorable, shocking images and ridiculous ideas. To the writer character, his stories are the most important thing - worthy of living on after he dies, powerful enough to turn harmless people into monsters. Hmm...perhaps The Pillowman is making fun of those people who take literature so seriously?

This link will give you plot summaries of the play itself and of the stories told within it. Go have a look.

Holiday planned

Against all odds - laziness, forgetfulness and feared poverty, at least - it looks like we are going to have a wee holiday after all, over Christmas and New Year.

My first choice (after weeks of vagueness and indecision) was Tahuna Beach, in Nelson. It's a hugely popular family holiday camp, promising nice weather, safe beachplay and lots of playmates for TLM. Unfortunately it is booked out already. But anyway, the airfares would've cost almost a grand for the ten minute flight each way.

So we're driving an hour up the coast and staying in a resort for 6 days. There may not be loads of playmates for TLM in this price range, but she probably won't notice.

Hee hee...

Speechless

I should have seen it coming, because last night I gave TLM some kiwifruit. You may not know this, especially if you have never fed a kid kiwifruit, but those furry little green ovals activate a child's bowels like nothing else on earth.

This morning's surprise output was so encompassing, that when I took off TLM's trousers some of it landed on my lap. The rest of it fell between my knees onto the long-suffering rug.
I screamed in horror. The wipes were just out of reach.
The boy, only just dressed to go to work, rushed into the lounge to see who was getting murdered.
I screamed some more and pointed at the box of wipes in the far corner.
The boy went in the opposite direction, perhaps thinking I was thirsty and in need of some elderflower cordial.
I screamed still more, this time with an edge of irritation and waving my pointy finger agressively.
Then I said "The wipes! The bloody wipes!".
The boy muttered something about mind-reading and fetched the wipes.
And we used them all up in the clean-up operation.

Now, I was going to post about TLM's toilet humour. But toilet horror is probably a bit less cliched, right?

Elderflower cordial

Elderflower cordial is a slightly herby, but otherwise very sweet syrup that you mix into a refreshing drink. The boy thinks it's healthy, though I have my doubts because it's still basically sugar water.

Over the last few days of her tummy bug, TLM has gotten accustomed to having a bottle of elderflower drink in her bed at night, with a pinch of salt added, to help her re-hydrate. But her tummy's all better now and I've put my foot down - only water in her bottle at night, because having one's teeth and gums awash with sugary liquid all night is a sure path down to the city of BlackTeeth.

TLM is not taking it very well. She starting throwing a tanty as soon as I confirmed that there was nothing in her bottle except tap water. It continued as she climbed into bed, and escalated into full-on screams and wails and tears after I left the room.

Geez, you'd think I was making her sleep in a bare bathtub or something.

Vapours

Just now I'm really wishing we had separate family and living rooms - that, or at least warm enough weather to have all the doors and window open without freezing one's nipples off.

Because, with all the farting, spewing and bad-pooing that's going on around here, it's not a very nice atmosphere. I mean that literally.

Last post about the joys of this month's bout of gastroenteritis, I promise.

bad luck, bad karma or bad building?

Before I left work at midday on Thursday to look after TLM (the boy were tag-teaming it), I cheerfully mentioned that she was actually quite happy; she just couldn't keep her food down. Four hours later, my own stomach felt like it was full of concrete and I knew that a night of puking was a 99% possibility.

That night, I got up about eight times to throw up. I was really glad that all I'd eaten was half a carton of wedges, because those wedges came out with a close resemblance to gruel which has been left on the burner too long so that all the moisture has evaporated from it.

But I had a deadline to meet. So the next morning I crawled into work, just in time to meet up with my SME (Subject Matter Expert). And left soon after I finished picking his brains.

Either I've had an extremely unfair and unfortunate run of luck on the health front, or I've inadvertantly enraged the gods of good health, or those little black mould-like patches on the bathroom wall really are that infamous black mould I've heard about.

Or, it's just a combination of being over 40, a parent of a young child, spring, and lack of fresh vegetables.

It shouldn't have to be exciting

Rather than rant on about my work stress, or TLM's recent vomits and runny green poos, I'll just give you my 5 cents worth (equal in value to 2 cents, in olden times) about New Zealand's general election this year.

In short, they are boring. I'm as unpolitical as most people, only getting interested when there's a threat to a welfare service that applies to my life stage at the time (e.g. student loans and fees when I was a student, paid parental leave when I was pregnant, the possibility of taxing residential house values when I'm a home owner.)

The American elections are much more exciting. But I'm not jealous of the Americans, because the only reason for this is that they could end up with a president who has no experience of the world outside her own state, thinks that family planning is the devil's game of poker, and would only win because she's not bad looking for a working mother of five.

It's relatively dull to be faced with minute policy differences between political parties, which is what we've got at home. But it's far more sensible.

Bad double-whammy

Which is worse -

1. having a work deadline which is tighter than rat's bum, to complete a project for which I have only a smallish amount of experience, un-aided by a workmate who hates me, and for which the subject matter experts (SME's) are either ignorant, verbose or too geeky to communicate...

OR

2. having to do one's GST (that's VAT for Brits, something else for the Yanks) return, deadline in one week, with potentially heaps of expenses I can claim for, but no experience in claiming for, un-aided by a man at Inland Revenue who won't answer my emails?

The correct answer is...both at the same bluddy time.

Stylish and brainy

I might well the only person on Earth who prefers a bit of copy to go with her fashion magazine photo spreads. For most people who like looking at nice clothes, it wouldn't matter if the words were in French, German or Icelandic.

So I'm really enjoying The Meaning of Sunglasses: And a Guide to Almost All Things Fashionable, by Hadley Freeman (it was one of the three books I ordered on the Internet - I'm still waiting for the Buffy book...). Freeman is a fashion writer for The Guardian, and this book is a collection of her columns for that paper. It's, like, literary.

What I like about the book is that it's well written, witty, and quite down to earth. She obviously has an interest in fashion, but she's not going to tell you that a trenchcoat - or any item of clothing or accessory - is a "must have", and has a healthy disrespect for fashion media. She also acknowledges that it's quite okay to spend a grand on a handbag, as long as your love of the handbag outweighs your guilt about spending so much money on it.

And there aren't even any pictures...

Quietly perfect

Despite the unsociable-ness of having no party today, I still enjoyed my birthday very much. I got to sleep in till about 8.30, because TLM has been sleeping in till then.

It was a beautiful day today, so sunny I even got out the sunscreen lotion for the first time since last summer. What a change from some years, when we've been hit by hurricane-strength spring winds and lashing rain.
My presents from the boy included Gok Wan's How to Look Good Naked - my choice - and an Angel comic onmibus. I've already read the former a couple of times today, but am saving the latter for when I'm in the mood for a concentrated spell of reading.
In the morning, we managed to also fit in a shopping and brunch trip into town (although only the boy actually ate anything because TLM and I had only just had breakfast just before leaving), which included me spending a birthday voucher (from my "employer") on a couple of trashy mind-candy fashion magazines.
TLM also experienced her very first bike-ride out on the footpath. She's getting better at steering but has yet to learn that it's not a good idea to looking downwards whilst moving..
The afternoon was a bit lazier - reading magazines in the sun while TLM got kitted out in a very girly sun dress (by her own insistence). The house across the road has builders in putting up a new fence, and she looked so cute with her red plastic hammer, doing her own impression of the lads as they sawed and hammered.
Then we had some pretty amazing chocolate-coated banana cake whilst watching Mary Poppins. Boy, but doesn't Dick van Dyke's fake Cockney accent sound terrible! He doesn't even sound English, much less Cockney...

Death times 2, or double-happiness halved - A pre-birthday ramble.

That's just a cryptic way of saying "44". Which, by the way, will be my age come Sunday. I'm not really looking forward to being 44 (though to be honest, I haven't looked forward to getting older since I was about 31).
Although I said in my meme that I'd love to celebrate my next birthday with a 2-hour afternoon party, like the kind toddlers have but with more alcohol and better music, this is probably not going to happen. Not unless the boy is planning a surprise party, and he isn't the planning-a-surprise-party type of guy. He's more the type of guy to order a fabulously expensive birthday gift for me, which appeals more to him than to me (unless it's a MacBook).
Actually, he recently gave me some money and told me to order whatever I wanted from Amazon, so that was probably his birthday present to me. Though it's a pity NZ Post is taking it's sweet time delivering them to me.
Okay, enough waffling. It's time to sign off and do some some research into mobile phones.
Ciao.

Getting back on the mobile phone bandwagon

The hideously expensive smartphone that the boy got me as a birthday present a couple of years ago, is apparently on it's last legs. Half the time I don't get notified of a text until about three hours after it was sent, and lately it's been telling me I'm out of range of the mobile network (in the middle of the CBD! In the middle of a telecommunications company office!). So I reckon it's time for a new one.

But I don't want another smartphone, because I wouldn't use most of the features. All I really want the phone to do is: make and receive calls; send and receive text messages; and take pictures that don't come out all blurry when you get them printed at a decent size. I don't want email or web browsing, because it's bloody expensive to use those from a mobile phone. And I don't listen to music much any more either.

What do you reckon I should shop for?

Cyberwomen, mind-reading and "nobbing fellas to death"

You could say that I turned a corner on Saturday. On that day, I started being able to breathe through my nose again, sometimes. On that day, the feeling that the back of my nostrils were harbouring slimy pipe-cleaners, started to go away. I could watch a DVD and actually concentrate on what was happening.

We've been enjoying Torchwood lately. At about 5 episodes in from the beginning, I feel that the characters are still not particularly well-drawn. Gorgeous Gwen, obviously, is the most developed, but that's to be expected since we're seeing the show from her point of view. But Tosh, the IT guru with the Japanese heritage, is a disappointingly boring woman so far. She's not endearingly geeky, nor even quirky - just lonely. It might take a few more episodes before I know them enough to like them. The stories are quite good though, even though one or two of the plotlines look like homages to episodes from Buffy or Angel.

It's also a whole lot more fun than Terminator: the Sarah Connor Files.