I decided to spend some money on myself today.  I knew I needed new slippers, and I also wanted to get some bras that fit me properly.  Target was having a sale, so I trotted off to the local shop for some retail therapy.

I found the slippers easily - I don’t have too many requirements for slippers, just that they slip on (so they’re scuffs, I guess) and they aren’t pink.  Or floral.  So, slippers in hand, I made my way over to the ladies’ underwear section.  Turns out underwear was 30% off, yay!  I had a quick look around and found my favourite g-strings, so I grabbed a heap, then turned my attention to the brassiere section.

I have had a long and frustrating history with bras.  I seem to have funny shaped boobs – they have kind of a wide base, if that makes sense.  So a lot of bra styles don’t fit me properly.  In the last five years or so (yes, it’s taken me that long) I’ve worked out specific things I look for in a bra that suits me.  The key issue today was getting one that was the right size.  My boobs have been increasing in size over the last eighteen months, and even though I’ve lost about eight kilos since the beginning of this year, the bras I owned were clearly too small in the cup.  So my mission today was to get some correctly fitting bras.

To my dismay, after some trial and error (and help from the friendly fitting girl), I found myself scouring the racks for bras in a size 12DD.  There’s no way I look like a 12DD, I can tell you.  If the average person was asked to guess, they’d probably say around a 12B or 14B.  But no, I was already wearing 12Cs and I knew they were waaaay too small – I was suffering from the dreaded ‘double boobs’, where the edge of the cup cut into the breast tissue and created an unsightly bulge above it.  I just didn’t expect to end up in the granny underwear aisle.  I swear, you could use these bras as sunhats for small children. 

Anyhow, I was a bit despondent after this.  Pretty/sexy bras are now very much out of range for me.  I actually looked around and picked a couple of things up to console myself – a green t-shirt, and a new pair of jeans.  These were ‘wants’, not ‘needs’, but at that stage I didn’t really care.  And I know I’ll wear them both a fair bit, and they were also on special, so they weren’t too disastrous as buys.

I gopt home, and SO didn’t believe that my new humungous bras would actually fit my (apparently) small boobs.  I ended up putting one on in front of him.  He couldn’t believe it.  It was pretty funny actually.  He even got me to do it again, although I suspect at this stage he was just enjoying the show.

My father in law is very good value. As well as being a lovely guy, he helps us out so much, both around our own house and also with our units.  We couldn’t have done half of what we have if it wasn’t for his help over the last couple of years.

On Tuesday night, before meeting our new tenants, we dropped by the current reno to speak to him.  He’d been there most of the day, painting on undercoat/sealant on the walls and ceiling of the smaller bedroom.  I was having a whinge about how tired I was from the night before (see previous post for boring details), and about how hard it was, and how tired I was, etc etc.  He paused for a moment, painted some more of the cornice, and said: ‘And just think, in ten years’ time, you’ll be told how lucky you are.’

Talk about putting something into perspective.  In ten years’ time, we’ll be financially set up for the rest of our lives.  Minor crap like doing the hard yards sometimes, working all day then painting ’til  midnight at the latest reno, dealing with problem tenants and regular turnovers, that’ll all be in the past.  We’ll be reaping the rewards for all that stuff, and it’ll be in the past, while our lives will be immeasurably financially improved from our hard work we’re putting in now.  Let’s face it, you get very little in this life without doing some hard work at some stage.  We just happen to be at that stage now.  And really, we’re already reaping rewards.  We got a great tax return last year, and we should get another great return this year, so even apart from the capital gains the properties will inevitably produce, the yearly returns are going alright too.  We’re making our own luck.

Next time I’m complaining, I’m going to remind myself that we’re doing okay.

All my life, I’ve written.  From an early age (five?) I had a diary.  I also always had separate notebooks for writing stories, poems, and plays.  I produced a fairly large body of work up to about the age of eighteen or so, when I discovered uni, alcohol, boys, and going clubbing.  Not necessarily in that order.

Together with my music (I played the flute for many years, and took music as one of my leaving subjects for high school) it formed the core of my ability to express what I was thinking and feeling.  I was that kid who would wake up in the night from a dream (or nightmare), think about it in the dark, then turn on the light and jot it down.  I was continually writing stories from about age six.  I was also always trying to hide them from my mother, who didn’t believe in children having ’secrets’.  Not that they were terrible or anything, but they certainly were personal.  My diaries were the worst, she’d find them no matter where I hid them.

In high school I was known for being somebody who wrote.  My essays were the one area (apart from music) that came effortlessly.  I remember my final English Lit exam – going in, reading the questions, and then almost falling into a trance as I wrote pages and pages.  When time was called, three hours later, it was like waking from a deep sleep.  I staggered out, and could hardly even recall what I’d written, or which questions I’d answered.

Writing has featured in my life like a gold stream through rock.  At some times it’s been a strong presence, like a deep seam of gold.  At others, the seam has almost petered out, from the demands of mental illness, renovations, and everyday life.  But it’s always there.  When my high school friend turned 27, I wrote a very long poem in rhyming couplets for her, which she loved.  I wish I’d kept a copy of it.

My professional life has also involved a lot of writing.  If nothing else, it’s taught me to write succinctly.  It’s also taught me that the key to good writing is clear expression of an idea.  I can’t believe how many poorly written documents are used in professional life, riddled with euphemisms like a mangy dog with tapeworms.  As a result, I’ve become highly critical of my own, and others’, writing attempts.  Conversely, it’s given me a greater appreciation of good writing – writing that expresses an idea, but is still readable.  I’m a huge fan of a few people’s blogs, for that very reason.  I present to you a particularly strong example of good writing, from the lovely Lola Snow, talking about the relationship between her mother and her brother:

My Mum and Jake have been rowing recently about his lack of communication with her. He doesn’t understand that she misses him, and she doesn’t understand that he is a grown adult, with a demanding career who gets limited time to himself. So she rings him up and sends emails of reproach, and he ignores his phone and deletes the messages, because he finds reproach unpleasant, and emotion a dirty, unpredictable topic.

(From ‘Family Familiarity Breeds Contempt’, at Marine Snow)

For an example of crystal clear writing, that’s hard to beat.

Another favourite blogger of mine is Seaneen Molley, who is battling a severe case of manic depression with courage and laughter.  Her blog is over at The Secret Life of a Manic Depressive.  One of my all-time favourite posts talks about her grandmother:

I was wearing my white coat, made from real Teddy Bear fur, and my granny told me she had a coat upstairs I’d like.  She took me into her bedroom and pulled a long, black (fake) fur coat out of her wardrobe and handed it to me.  She said my dad had bought it for her twenty years ago.  I smelled it, as you do with old things in the hope for that intoxicating fragrance that second hand bookshops are the church of, and it didn’t smell of age, it smelled like perfume.   I tried it on, and aside from being long in the arms, it fitted me.    I gave her a hug and thanked her.  It’s nice to own something that my dad had touched, he feels so far away sometimes.  Before I left with it, though, my granny tried it on and it drowned her, which was strange.  I still think of her as a tall woman.

(From ‘As the jingle bells recede into the night…’ at ‘The Secret Life of a Manic Depressive’)

When I read things like that, which so clearly express what we all know, but in a completely fresh way, I wonder: why do I bother?  The only answer I can come up with is that for me, writing is a carthartic process.  It’s a part of me and how I express my experience of life.  Sure, most of it’s mundane (some would say, all of it’s mundane), but until it’s written down, it rolls around in my head, frustrating me and distracting me from all else.  When it’s written it’s almost like I can let it go, and get on with other things.

Wow.  I had the best three hours of therapy today.  It cost a fair bit of money, and it was exhausting, but I came home on an absolute high.  What miracle therapy is this, I hear you ask?  The best possible kind….. retail therapy!!

I very rarely go shopping for pleasure (ie. for stuff for myself or SO which are ‘extras’).  But we had a couple of gift vouchers which we needed to use up in the next few weeks.  Plus, I have a hen’s night in a fortnight which I didn’t have a suitable top for.  And I really needed some ballet flats….. Altogether, I ended up buying a new winter coat (dark grey, suitable for both work and to wear with jeans); a top to wear to the hen’s night; some classic ballet flats (which SO immediately called ‘nana shoes’); three shirts for work; a new winter dressing gown; a couple of gorgeous dishes (courtesy of one voucher); and a couple of divinely thick bath mats (courtesy of the other voucher).  In my travels, I also picked up a new fleecy jumper for SO, who loves them and wears them constantly around the house in winter. 

So yes, a very expensive, but extremely satisfying, few hours’ work.  It felt so good to just pick a few things up and buy them, rather than my default option, which is pick them up, admire them, sigh, and put them back.  I used to be an absolute clothes nut a few years ago, when I’d just started working professionally and didn’t have any debt.  Since then, we’ve been living on a reasonably frugal budget.  I actually moved in with SO because he lost his permanent job, and I knew he’d need help with his mortgage payments.  I was going to move in with him anyhow, it just speeded things along a bit.  Since then, we got a very large mortgage, then started buying rental properties, so we’re now used to watching what we spend and how we spend it.  But today reminded me of how much fun I have when left to my own devices.  I think SO will be chaperoning my shopping expeditions from now on.

I put in a job application on Monday.  Similar but different work to what I do now.  I felt so proud of myself.  I really did a good job on the application, and I even got my lovely manager to check it over for feedback first.  However, I found out today (from my unnamed Deep Throat) that there were ninety applications submitted for the job.  This seems unbelievable for a government job.  Needless to say, I feel like the wind has been sucked out of my sails.

Still, it’s a bit like lotto, you have to be in it to win it….. I’ll find out soon enough if I get through to the interview stage.  Sigh.  I really need to get the hell out of Dodge with respect to my current job – I can’t stand the head of the organisation, who is a psycho hosebeast nutjob.  I understand most CEOs are, but I know the CEO of the agency I applied to is relatively normal.  I could handle relatively normal.  It would be a great change.

Otherwise, things are going well.  SO is behaving himself, work is okay, and life generally is good.  Oh, and we finally found out today that our finance was approved for the apartment we wanted to buy – yay!!  I love me a good project, and a new unit is a great project.   Now I guess I need to start buying more furniture….

We still have a unit on our hands that we’re looking to rent out.  It does bug me, going there regularly for viewings and nobody showing up.  We do always seem to manage to find tenants though, even if it’s at the last dying minute.

Anyhow, I’m not quite sure if there’s anything else to write about at this stage, so I’m off.

No, I’m not referring to the famous ‘Got Milk?’ ads, wherein the latest celebrity of the moment sports a milk moustache.  I’m talking about the movie, and Harvey Milk, and those outside the traditional heteronormative view of society.

The movie was striking in many ways.  However, the key scene for me was when Sean Penn’s Milk was sitting in a bar by himself, watching Anita Bryant on a tv in the pub saying the most horrendous things about homosexuals.  The thing that struck me the most was the expression on his face – the sadness, and at the same time, acceptance, that such bigots did really exist.  He understood Bryant’s position was geniune (to her) as well as the fact that many people agreed with what she was saying.  I think it was that sad resignation that got to me.  I was angry just watching the movie; I don’t know how I would have been living in that society at that time.  I probably would have kicked every door in my way in my absolute fury at how a majority group could get away with treating other groups, whether they be gay, black, whatever. 

It was just a very quiet, undramatic scene, but it really struck home.  I had dreams that night about it; I ruminated over it for the next few days.  It stayed with me in a way other scenes and other movies, no matter how good, have not.   And I have to say, Sean Penn was amazing – he absolutely deserved his Academy Award.  Having seen both Milk and Slumdog Millionaire in the last week, I think that Milk was robbed at the Oscars.  It was definitely a much better movie than Slumdog Millionaire.

If you haven’t seen it, please do.

Mmm, I can feel myself sinking into ‘holiday mode’.  This mainly consists of having afternoon naps, which is pretty much my ideal lifestyle.  I’m also finding myself more interested in cooking.  Tonight, for example, I’ve made up a triple batch of my favourite rissole recipe, so we’ll have some of those together with roast vegies.  Yum!!

SO told me today that we’re going to be going to Dralion this Friday!!  I love Cirque du Soleil productions.  He took me to see Varekai when it was on in Perth, and it was one of the very few happy memories I have from when I was very badly depressed (as in, suicidal).  It was just a wonderful evening.  As I said, it’s a memory I hold close to my heart.  Not only was it wonderful in itself, it also illustrated SO’s love for me, that he took me to something he thought I would enjoy, and he really went all out for it to be fantastic.  I’m so lucky.  So yes, I’m really looking forward to it

In other news, we went shopping for the garden today.  We bought a lemon tree, a Eureka, so I’m happy.  SO and I have an ongoing disagreement about lemon trees.  I think they’re essentially ornamental, with their dark green shiny leaves, white flowers and growing habit.  Plus, they grow lemons!  Our local fruit and vegie shop sells them for $1 each, which is beyond ridiculous for something that grows like a weed.  SO, on the other hand, can’t understand why anyone would bother to own one. 

I present my argument:

How is that not attractive?!

Anyhow, we’ve reached a compromise – rather than put it in the front yard (which is what I wanted, as it gets the most sun) we’re going to put it in the back garden, where we have an empty garden bed.  We also bought some small pot plants, and some other assorted stuff like cow poo, soil improver, etc.  So yes, I got some retail therapy in, and all for less than $100 – not bad.  SO’s not so overjoyed, as he knows he’ll have to reticulate that garden bed before we actually plant anything out, but it should only take him about half a day.  And as I said to him, it’s good to have a project for when we’re on leave, as it makes it feel like we’ve accomplished something.  (I have yet to figure out what my project is – I suspect it’ll be trying to clear the backlog of ironing we have piling up.  Sigh.)

My weight is still very slowly trending downwards.  I’m losing about half a kilo to a kilo per week.  It’s going okay – I try and fit in ‘normal’ eating if I’m out somewhere.  So yesterday, for example, when we were at SO’s dad and stepmum’s for dinner, I relaxed.  I didn’t eat huge amounts, but I did have dessert, and a piece of rocky road afterwards.  There’s no point living on a starvation diet, because there’s no way I’ll be able to maintain it, so I try to relax when we’re out.  I just watch what I eat the next day.  Like I said, so far it’s been both manageable and effective, which is great.  If I lose another seven kilos, I’ll be a size 12 again.  I’m starting to think it’s doable.

Before I even get into it, many thanks to the lovely Lola, who, despite being in the middle of her own very rough patch at the moment, had the kindness to send me a message checking if I was okay.  Much appreciated, Miss Snow!!

Yes, still alive over here.  It’s been full on, what with one thing and another.  I managed to have a prang in the car the other day, on the way to work.  Neither myself nor the other guy are hurt, so that’s all good.  His car only has a few little scratches along his back bumper, so very minimal damage there.  My poor little buzzbox, on the other hand, has the front bumper banged in, and the bonnet is crumpled up.  The front lights have been pushed out, so it’s a very sad, googly-eyed little car at the moment.  It was all my fault, so I’m not giving myself any sympathy.  I’m just so glad that all the humans involved are okay, that’s the main thing.

Other than that, well, real estate stuff continues.  We’ve had some finance issues, but it looks like our current purchase will proceed.  My brother is also still on the property warpath.  He’s just discovered that places in his area and price bracket are going off the market as quickly as they come on.  He’s now agreed to listen to his big sister, and contact agents for viewings before the first home open happens.  I could’ve made a smart-arsed ‘I told you so’ comment to him when he told me, but I very maturely managed to refrain from rubbing it in.  Just.

It’s a long weekend this weekend, but SO and I are on a week’s leave anyhow.  We celebrated by buying some floor tiles this morning.  We got 20m2 of pale blue 200mm x 200mm (8″ by 8″) floor tiles for a total of $160 – cheap!!  We were going to use them in an investment property, but I like them so much I’ve decided we’ll do up the ensuite with them.  The ensuite is currently tiled in very dark green (almost black) tiles, and while it looks okay, it makes a small space really feel miniscule.  Pale blue floor tiles and white wall tiles will brighten it up and open it out.  SO did stipulate that he doesn’t want to do the tiling himself, so we will have to get somebody in, but I really think it’ll be worth it.  Not sure when we’ll get around to getting it done, but when it happens I’ll post pictures.

As a thank-you to SO for getting up early to get the tiles, I made him a big cooked breakfast.  Bacon, lightly fried eggs, mushrooms in butter, a tomato, the whole bit.  He gobbled it down with the biggest grin you’ve ever seen.  I had no idea that a fry-up could make a man so happy.  Mental note: must remember this for potential bribery in the future.  Apart from the mushrooms (of which I did steal some of the proceeds) this kind of thing leaves me cold.  I’m not a savoury person, and I grew up in a house where a) bacon and b) anything fried never actually happened.  The very first time in my life I tasted bacon was at a friend’s house when I was fifteen (her dad was cooking a hangover recovery breakfast).  So yes, SO’s love of cooked breakfasts mystifies me.  But it is entertaining to watch.

Otherwise, not a huge amount planned.  I’d like to get into the garden, it’s looking bad again, but we’ll see.  I also need to start getting into my counselling course.  I’ve done some work, but obviously there’s (lots) more to be done.  It’s all very well feeling virtuous about studying, but if I don’t actually do anything then I’ll never finish it.

This post is inspired by a post I read over at I Will Teach You To Be Rich.   It’s about a guy who asked himself one day, ‘What do I want my life to be like in five years?’ and did something to make that happen.

I can actually predict fairly easily where I’ll be in five years – still in Perth, still in the same line of work, just with more properties (at the rate we’re going, anyhow).  But when I read the post, I immediately thought back to not five, but ten years ago.

I was 22.  My fiance had broken up with me, so I had moved out of our single-bedroom unit, back in with my parents.  We had bought a place together six weeks before he broke up with me, so I ended up buying his half from him.  I was sellling petrol at a service station on a full time, shift-work basis, four days out of eight, ten hours a shift.  I wasn’t allowed a stool to rest on, in case I served people sitting down (which I would never do – apart from being rude, it would have been too difficult to work the till). 

I had recognised that, like James, I needed to do something to bring about change in my life.  As a result, I had returned to uni.  Full time.  I was working full time, and studying full time.  I was pretty much forced to do it this way – my mortgage needed to be paid (the rent from the tenant didn’t cover the mortgage) and if I studied part time, I would’ve been 28 by the time I finished my degree.  Even I could see that the best way to move things alone and change my life, sucking it up and doing it as quickly as possible was the way to get my life back on track.

Wow, it was tough.  It was really tough.  I was tired all the time; I had to miss lectures if I couldn’t change my work shifts, which were on an eight-day cycle, so changed every week; I didn’t buy any new clothes, or food on campus or at work - I took it from home.  I used to chance my luck and park at uni without buying a parking ticket, because if I was careful, I could park for free.  I rarely went out with my friends for dinner or clubbing, and if I did, I’d eat before I left the house (so I could order an entree) or be the designated driver (so I didn’t have to spend money on alcohol).  I stopped getting my hair cut.

It was so worth it.  Even at the time, I could see that.  I also think that my attitude to life then is reflected by my attitude now.  Life was very tough, but I made the best of it.  I enjoyed uni, I coped with work, I kept in touch with my friends.  I didn’t spend much money, but I still enjoyed life.  This is similar to now.  SO and I spend very little money on consumer goods and ephemeral stuff.  Despite having a high disposable income, we’ve chosen to get heavily involved in property, which has sucked up the majority of it through our costs being greater than our rental income.  It’s the whole ‘deferred gratification’ thesis – you put up with some restrictions now, to set ourselves up for later. 

Definitely, those tough years gave me the ability to look past the present and look to the future, to hang onto the ultimate goal.  We both do it now.  About six months ago, I floated the idea of retiring in ten years’ time to SO.  This idea has grown to almost be a set-in-concrete goal.  Today I found myself saying to a coworker, ‘When we retire in ten years….’  Even the counselling course I’ve enrolled in will fit in beautifully with the plan.  I could see a handful of people a week, and that would give us the same income I earn now working 38 hours a week.  It would fit in perfectly to a retirement where I’m still mentally active, enjoy helping people, and am fascinated by the choices of others.

Anyhow, I suspect this post has been rambling and tangential.  I just felt compelled to work through my reactions.

This is simultaneously the funniest and saddest thing I’ve read in a while.