My little robot charm.

I spotted it at Diva and was like, "I hate the necklace, but I really have to have that robot thing to put on my phone." Not sure where the necklace is now... But little robot, who looks rather shocked, is now attached to my phone.

Also painted another robot/legoman thing on Saturday. I'm not entirely sure what to do with it, though. Might give it away or something. He's a bit Saturday Night Fever.

Peppermint Crisp

Mmm, peppermint crisps!

I found out how much the gorgeous Australiana item will possibly cost when it's priced for sale at the local antique store - $1000.

I'm ridiculously in love with it. It's kitsch and glorious and by the look of it well over 100 years old. It reminds me a lot of similar items in the Adelaide Art Gallery. The potential pricetag makes me sad, as I genuinely want it. Very badly and totally irrationally (it's impractical, ultra-expensive and I have no idea what I'd do with it if I had it).

I wish I was more practical.

Today's photos

Oral Fixation

Urban decay

Random graffiti pix

Gladiator ads frighten me...

o.0

There will be blood

But not in this blog entry as although the photos are kind of cool in a weird and twisted way, I guess they're not entirely blog-appropriate and I don't want people suing me for if they faint and hit their heads on their keyboards.

The short of it: The wisdom tooth blogged about previously was extracted by the dentist today.

The long of it: I was terrified!

And being terrified takes more time than wisdom tooth extraction.

This morning I rang the dentist when they opened and thankfully they had a space they could fit me in this afternoon. Hallelujah! This was definitely a good thing as more of the tooth had come off since I wrote about it last and I was in pain. PAIN. PAAAAAAAAAIN. I was even in so much pain that I went to the dentist wearing a hoodie, semi-formal skirt and thongs. See what pain does to my mind!??!

It also made me announce, "Drugs! My favourite!" while at the bus stop going through my bag and discovering a packet of Tramadol I'd put in there. It makes people stare. And it would just be more awkward to say, "I have wisdom tooth pain, too little sleep and no food since yesterday afternoon!"

But pain's never what we expect it to be.

Currently, the space where the wisdom tooth was hurts about as much as it did before it was removed. And yet I was irrationally terrified when my dentist told me he thought it'd be simpler and safest to extract it right there and then. I wanted to be sedated! Where was my sedation for removal?! This was not what I planned!

So I spent some time dithering, trying to avoid the pain I'd been told by others was akin to giving birth through your jaw. The fear uncurled from my stomach until I was gripping the arm rests of the dentist's chair like I'd just been informed I had to captain the 'plane because the captain and co-pilot had chicken a la salmonella for lunch and the flight attendant crew all had no arms.

It had to be done. My Mum told me to "Be sensible." But the horror stories! Oh, the cheery way in which people share them! Tales of how it hurt so bad and their faces looked like they'd gone through a few rounds with Mike Tyson in a good mood.

Anyway.

The noise was the worst part. That sound of crushing, crunching tooth that echos up into your skull as the tooth is bashed about to loosen it before it's removed. And you know what? I didn't even feel it when he pulled it out.

Sadly, I didn't get to keep the tooth. I asked, but apparently because of blood-borne diseases and so on, things like that have to be disposed of. But I'm clean and it wasn't like I was going to be making anyone try to fit it in their mouth.

Maybe just make a nice necklace decoration with it...

Just joking!

As I left, the dentist was coming back into the surgery and I apologised for being such a scaredycat and thanked him for doing the work. He made some joking comment about enjoying the fear he instilled in me and I would have laughed more heartily were it not for the fact that my mouth was crammed with gauze and bleeding merrily.

On a more cheerful note:


I bought these to cheer myself up after having the tooth yanked out. I'm rather loving anthuriums. A bit phallic, but eh. Why not. The florists and I ended up having a 20 minute conversation about teeth, dentists, whether or not they're that scary, injections, etc.

Random things

^ Random things, mostly revolving around testing out stuff with new 8B graphite pencils, the new sketch book and so on.

And may I just add now...

AAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!

My dentist had to cancel my appointment the other week. Now part of my rear upper right wisdom tooth has FALLEN OUT. I'm really rather unhappy and hoping like hell I can get in to see the dentist ASAP. If not, then I'll be breaking out the Tramadol and working through in a haze of drugged-ness.

Ugh.

Life just goes from meh to meh-er.

Oh, and may I also add how I really am starting to dislike dentists? Not that anyone is ever overly fond of them, but since that thing last year with the filling put into a tooth that didn't need one at all and it being totally incorrectly done to boot...

On another train of thought, the cat hasn't been around since Sunday. Somehow I miss his grouchy little self (even though he does look quite innocent when he's snoozing). Hopefully he's alright and hasn't been devoured by one of the neighbour's dogs or something like that.

Which does imply I've developed some sort of cat-care instincts about the little devilkitty. And I'm not even a cat person.

Mum was suggesting some potential names for him tonight, including Ashurbanapal and Azrael - something regal to suit an equal parts evil-looking and beautiful animal. If I thought the cat would want a second name (or third or fourth or fifth, depending on how many houses he takes himself around to), I think Azrael would be the winner.

It'd suit him almost too well...

Plus, Ahurbanapal's too long and Satan would be too obvious and probably be a little strange to be calling down the yard to attract the cat's attention.

At least there was a nice sunset tonight.

The rest of the day was pretty average and then my cousin-in-law, who'd been suffering from a brain tumor, died this afternoon. Which was depressing. And was followed by someone I know basically saying, "How sad, too bad," and then telling me things I really didn't need to hear about in a total TMI sense.

Ack.

But that's life lately. Things go from bad to somewhat worse with a side-serving of, "Yes, I really didn't need to hear that at all."

Although that said, I've been loving Daft Punk a lot again. Even if it makes me want to dance around like an independently-minded cyberman. Music can make most things much better. Or at least somewhat better. Sometimes.

^ Kitty!

I was going to attempt to post something possibly intelligent this weekend relating to fashion and status anxiety and other such things, but the heat was too much. Most of the weekend was spent snoozing or disappearing into blankness with music.

Instead of cleaning the house, instead of doing art, instead of coming up with something philosophical, instead of doing some cooking.

Although I did watch The Genius of Photography this afternoon. It was interesting but not really that exciting today. And just realised I forgot to watch Armin Meiwes on 60 Minutes.

Friday was disgustingly hot.

The only solution was to go find shopping centres with uber-aircon. And not spend much money at the same time. The aircon was blissful and the shopping centres were surprisingly not packed with people. They probably had aircon at home and were lying in front of it in their underwear while inhaling ice-blocks.

In spite of the aircon and coolness, the heat still was draining when you'd go outside and get slapped in the face with a wall of heat radiating up from the asphalt. You'd struggle to the car across a burning desert and then try not to get the seatbelt buckle anywhere near your body while clipping it in once in the car.

Finished off with groceries, which involved shuffling around the store like zombies, blankly staring at items on shelves, wondering whether they were worth buying and whether you'd ever eat anything other than fruitylicious ice-blocks again.

And then things were packed into greenbags by a zombie checkout chick who needed to include more brains in her daily diet...

Yesterday was also enormously hot. The random cat came around and slept in front of the fan for about three hours in the afternoon. Also found two large huntsman spiders in the house, which led to a double arachnid homicide. Today's also toasty, but less spidery, which is the one consollation.

I really hate this weather.

Death of a Fire Extinguisher

^ Found in a garden bed.

In other thoughts, Stupid Stupid Man has provided me with much amusement so far with the acronym stuff. Including a new definition for TLC - total lack of consideration.

^ Two random paintings from tonight. Not totally finished yet, still got some ideas with them. Maybe on the weekend when it's going to be so RIDICULOUSLY hot. Were it not for needing to get the hot water system done, I'd be spending that few grand on air-con.

Mmmm... air-con...

Random sleepy ramblings

I'm watching Jennifer Byrne Presents: Crime at the moment when I should be sleeping. I like sleep. But then I was also interested to hear that one in every three novels sold is a crime novel.

Gah.

When I was younger, I ploughed through crime novels. You start out with things like Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys and Trixie Belden, then migrate on to other crime novels. Most of which are enormously un-memorable and blend into one with hardly anyone standing out. Something happened, some people had their personal life issues while they're solving the crime and then it all gets sorted out. Oh my! What a shock!

It also excuses so much bad writing. It may be crime writing, but it's a crime how utterly bollocks so many of them are. Pulp writers, dime novels, saturated "colour" and all of that, crammed onto shelves in an orgy of mediocrity at your local Dymocks or Angus & Robertson.

Thankfully I'm not the only one who thinks Patricia Cornwell and others are not enjoyable writers. And one pannelist just recounted having asked Kathy Reichs what her literary influences were, to which she replied, "I have no literary influences, I read nothing." He then commented "It shows."

Admittedly, I do have novels by Raymond Chandler, Agatha Christie, etc. I liked Chandler's black sort of wit. Agatha Christie's work is very "reassuring" in a disturbingly normal way. And when it comes to TV, I love my tacky Midsommer Murders and other such dreadfulness. But that's television.

The discussion about why people love crime novels was interesting though. The conclusions were basically that there's such a variety, it provides a challenge - sort of like a jigsaw puzzle, it also provides a restoration of order, where things get sorted out, wrongs righted and general reassurance that the order of the world can be restored.

Not that that happens in real life every single time.

It just seems like it's a choice between crime novels, chick lit or some variety of bodice ripper in the mainstream book world. Oh, or bad sci-fi. And as much as I love books and reading, these kind of books tend to annoy me. But I guess at least it does mean people are reading. Even though they'd probably find just as much to be challenged and reassured by on the back of a pack of loo rolls.

Oh, was also reading interesting things on Slate today about a few memoirs being exposed as being fake recently. Also loved their guidelines for faking your next memoir.

The make-out blender

I'd just like to take the opportunity to introduce my new blender. There it is above. And isn't it cute.

The whole thing's a long story...

My old blender decided a couple weeks ago to do something kind of odd when I switched it on. Well, odd in the fact that it tried to launch itself into the wall like a suicide blender. Just a wee problem with the electrics and all of that sort of thing.

After that, I started hunting for a new blender, but the one I wanted was sold out in all of the shops I'd gone to. Apparently this kind is enormously popular or something. Could have just kept it simple and bought another one, really. But meh.

Today I was in a K-mart shop and thought I'd see if they had the blender. And they did! Not that I'm a big fan of K-mart stores. Anyway. There was a couple making out RIGHT against the shelves the blender was on. Totally making out in a shoved-up-against-the-shelving kind of way. I'm like, "Err... Eww! Did not need to see that kinda blending action today!"

And in K-mart of all places.

Why on earth would you wanna make out there? You're that turned on by low, low prices and bad shoes? Bleh.

^ Disturbing sign of the day...

Hmmm. Gives a whole new meaning to someone having a pole up their ar$e or something like that.

I like talking to him while he smokes cigarettes.

Actually, I like talking to him anytime. He's fun and I always have time for people who make me laugh or amuse me. Anyways...

Standing out on the balcony, him looking out at the yard while I watch the smoke slide from between his lips and curl off into invisibility in the air. He's relaxed and animated at the same time and there's an overwhelming desire to capture that smoking man image in black and white. But then I even dream about taking photos and am obviously obsessed with my camera.

I push my hands deep into my hoody's pockets and we just talk about nothing much.

And a bit about his desire to quit smoking.

I don't say much either way, but deep down I want him to quit for his health. His choice, though, and he was saying the same thing five months ago.

And part of me likes the smell of it.

Or maybe I just like the smell because it ties in to pleasant memories - the cricket at the Adelaide Oval when I was younger, Tobi's wedding, relaxed friendship and so on. But I don't think I could ever smoke. Although I will stay up ridiculously late watching Puccini operas courtesy of ABC, and late nights with minimal sleep are probably equally unhealthy...

^ New painting, view of some of Melbourne from Mt D.

The long weekend. Mmm... It's hot and ridiculous in terms of weather (why, Melbourne, why!?!?) and I just want some snow or something. Rain would be fine, too. As an alternative to boiling my brains out outside, I worked on a painting this afternoon while sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the fan, my right leg falling asleep.

Not sure what I think of it yet, but I decided I wanted something to replace the lego man painting from the other week in the kitchen. I'm surprised with how well something so dominantly black suits the space. But the brushes weren't thin enough and if I do things like this in the future, I'll have to hunt down smaller ones.

I'm going out to get the washing in now before it scorches off the clothesline. If the BOM guys are wrong about the weather that's coming for the week, I'll be more than happy. I hate summer weather in Autumn. Makes me feel like throwing pumpkins at the weather report people actually.

I blame the heat.

^ Cheap, chunky, shiny new ring.

And only $20 from Diva. I have some variety of terrible addiction to the rings they sell. They're all so enormous and cheap and basically the takeaway of the jewellery world.

When I bought this one, I also bought two others, which were on sale for $5. Also enormously chunky, could be classed as knuckledusters under some criminal codes and they're ridiculously shiny. But me and shiny is a happy combination.

"I ain't a for-real cowboy, but I am a hell of a stud!"*

I'm watching Skins and it somehow has reminded me of a conversation I had with the officemates today about "bad boys." It all came about because the officemate asked why girls like said bad boys, and the other officemate and I were trying to provide him with some answers.

Officemate said something about "nice boys finishing last," which is perhaps right to a degree. Isn't there a Green Day song with that title? Or something...

Anyway, the reasons the other officemate and I could think of about the bad boys thing were: what you can't/shouldn't have is more attractive; it's a challenge - some women want to change the guys; the arrogance can be kinda hot; alpha male thing; other girls want them - another challenge; it's sexy; masculinity or the perception thereof; aggressive persuit - they'd be the sort clubbing you over the head and dragging you back to their cave in the days of the fur loincloth; some people don't value what they can have "easily"; the drama; symbolic bad boy thing for rebellion/animal instincts/yada yada, that x factor of some variety...

Not an exhaustive list. There's a truckload more.

And I should say that it's not about the bad boys who are genuinely bad in a Chopper kind of way or something along those lines. Plus there are guys who are just bad in the domestic abuse emotional manipulation sort of way (do not excuse mental-as-a-bent-trumpet for "bad boy"). Or the kind who are utter psychos. Or those who were it not for polite company, one would just describe as a "twat."

I think what the officemate was meaning was the kind of bad boys who are just in it for one thing and know how to charm it out of people (if you're using the Bridget Jones example, it'd be Daniel Cleaver) (ugh, I feel dirty referencing that). And then they're off to the next conquest.

And Tony just got hit by a bus in Skins. Oh.

And Sid's singing. Which is equally unpleasant. And how can Skins be out on DVD when it took about three centuries for any of Shameless to be?

But back to the bad boys.

I guess the main thing is that bad boys are just more interesting than the good ones. Usually the good ones your parents think would be lovely for you are the sort of guys who play Scrabble for some excitement and then have to have a lie down after because it was all a bit too much.

Bad boys can be okay. But usually they're the kind of guy most women realise are worth salivating over somewhat, but not worth dating. You won't change them (unless they're some weird nappy fetish thing going on) (and dating to change people seems ridiculous). You know the bad boy will have other women happening and it'll all end with tears before bedtime. I love the phrase "tears before bedtime."

Nice guys can be a bit dull. There needs to be that balance between nice and bad, they need to have style (Yves Saint Laurent said, "Fashion fades, style is eternal"), they need to be interesting and have some gentlemanly elements.

Mercy knows why I'm thinking of Dave Graney now. I think my mind jumped from gentleman to dapper to hats to Dave (and then to Pinky Beecroft for some enormously obscure reason). Obviously I REALLY need some sleep instead of trying to think about this. At least I'm not thinking about Will Smith and Martin Lawrence.

*Joe Buck, Midnight Cowboy.

The cricket is rather depressing, and Jekyll is making me think that the dramas from the BBC that I've seen lately haven't been all that smashing. That Jane Eyre last year was awfully bad.

But it also seems as if James Nesbitt is inescapable of late when it comes to BBC things and ABC and so on. Either him or Robson Green. They'll be there in some drama or another, usually something involving them looking hairy and melancholly.

It's all just bad, very hard to actually care about any of the characters, irritating shouting for the sake of shouting and I just saw the guy who played Super Hans in Peep Show.

Which was about the highlight of the whole episode.

I'd forgotten how bad Sunday nights could be when it comes to television. Really should have cleaned the oven instead.

Vases and Monstera Deliciosa leaves

Sunday afternoon photos

Husk

Anthurium and leaves

Mortality and My Breast

Warning: This post will contain the word "breast" numerous times. Oh my! No, it's not really that salacious, saucy or sexy. But an attempt to explain why I've not been blogging at my usual rate of late. And I'm only mentioning it all now because I got the all-clear on Monday, and therefore with somewhat of a weight being lifted from my mind, now seems like an alright time to blog about it.

A little over a month ago, I found a lump in my left breast, which was accompanied by quite a bit of pain.

You know that thing that terrifies all women and immediately makes you feel like the world is rushing on very quickly while you're standing right in front of it. I booked in to see the doctor and talked it over with him and he said that if it hadn't cleared up within a week or two, to come back. With my age (24), he said it'd be more likely to be hormones than something dreadful like breast cancer, but you can't help but worry regardless...

In a couple weeks, the pain still hadn't gone away and I wasn't entirely sure about the lumpy bit. I booked in to see the doc again and was getting to be rather worried about it.

This time around, he did a breast check. Which was of course rather random, as I'm not in the habit of going into stranger's offices and taking off my top, so it was an interesting place to start... And he had cold hands and was apologising for them while I lay on the table with the rather silly/sarcastic part of my mind thinking, "Please, let's not talk and spoil this oh-so-special moment..."

It felt all clear to him (I was going to say "good," but that could be taken the wrong way), but he referred me to have an ultrasound done because the pain should have cleared up. I had that done a couple days after seeing the doctor, and that involved getting my gear off for strangers again. Noice. So there I am, in the radiology place having my breast smeared with ultrasound gel while I'm asking the girl doing it where she got her gorgeous shoes.

As you do.

It's strange, as you don't really know what else to do once the small talk is over and the ultrasound is just going on. Looking at the ceiling worked quite well (in the "Lie back and think of England!" fashion, I imagine). But trying to relax and stop one's mind from poking around at the deeper, darker thoughts of mortality and "This could be one ultrasound wand stroke away from some very bad news..."

It was such an ENORMOUS relief when the technician said that everything looked okay and to her eyes, and there didn't seem to be anything to worry about. I nearly fainted with relief and I think my parents nearly did too, when I rang them as soon as I got out of the radiology place to tell them the good news.

On Monday, I heard back from the doc that the ultrasounds were all clear of any cancer, fibroid-somethings and "shadows" (whatever they may be) and no follow-up is required. So hopefully the rest of things will work themselves out. And anyone reading this hasn't been too traumatised by the numerous "breast" mentions.

Now that this particularly deep worry is pretty much off my mind, hopefully brainspace will be freed up to come up with more cheerful, interesting and/or amusing blog entries.

Oh, I must add this while I think of it. It's one of the reasons I didn't tell too many people about it. But when you're not ill/have health concerns/whatever you probably don't realise how deeply unhelpful it is to say to someone to "be positive" or "pray" or "think well about it and it'll all be okay."

Being positive is great, prayer does work in some cases and thinking well is nice enough, but it's not what people with health concerns need to hear. Most of them are trying to be positive and when they share their worries that something serious might be wrong with them, they don't want some glib reply about the power of crystal healing/how they can be touched by an angel/will "definitely" be right as rain/etc.

This is mainly because it will make them want to shove a carrot right up your nose to see how "positive" and "prayerful" you feel about it. If someone's sharing their health worries, just try to be supportive. Listen. Offer help/care if you live nearby. Pray for them. Make them smile by finding things to laugh or joke about. Just don't go in with the "be positive and you'll be fine!"

Or you may just find a root vegetable in your nasal cavity.

Conversely, I must say thanks to the people I did tell who were fantastic with it all, particularly my parents, Glenn, Boss, Deb, Joshy, Mr DB, Nym and any others I may have left of the muchos, muchos, muchos gracias list (sorry if I have!). I have endless love for you all.

^ Easter lilly.

At lunch time, I had to wander down the street to get some things.

Not far from work, there’s a corner that’s somewhat blind. There was a truck stopped there in an odd spot and a group of people comforting a sobbing teenage girl. It was something about her dog, who hadn’t been on a lead and had run out in front of the truck.

I kept walking because there’s nothing worse than the feeling of being gawped at by strangers when crying. But the whole thing made me feel kind of tear-y because although some people are rather heartless when it comes to animals, so many people love their pets and they almost become (or do become) a member of the family. They can be a best friend, a confidant, an exercise buddy, replacement children, anything like that. And you still love them even when they wee on the best rug.

When I was on the return journey, the truck was gone, as was the group of people. What was left was a splatter of blood and flesh on the bitumen, with a dark purplish-red finger of blood reaching out to the gutter.

It smelled like iron and I had to rush past because it was somehow so horrible and final and the tears were prickling behind my eyes.

^ Random computer photos.