The Last Summer

Published on April 11, 2012 in Books n Stuff. 0 Comments

I speed read – life is too short to waste on bad books. Mowing through The Last Summer (of You and Me) by Ann Brashares, I ran the full gamut of emotions. I loved it, I hated it, I wanted to throw it across the room and I wanted to hug it. ‘Meh’ was what I thought when I finished it.

And then it haunted me. I dreamed about this book. Images, ideas and events from it popped into my mind unbidden, and I just had to read it again, slowly. The Last Summer (of You and Me) is about three friends – sisters Riley and Alice, and Paul. Every summer they have holidayed next door to each other on Fire Island. Riley and Paul are best friends. Alice and Paul are something else, as they have always known. In this last holiday before they go their separate ways, they struggle between the idyllic bonds of youth and the reality of life away from the island.

This novel is the first foray into adult fiction by Brashares. However, the line here with this author is already blurred for me. I have read her Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants series at least five times and here I am, a fully-grown adult. Brashares’ writing is that good, her characters that believable. There is no reason to think that a young adult reader could not identify with Paul, Riley and Alice, who are not too far removed from their own young adulthood.

This coming of age story about love, career, family, illness and friendship unfolds through third person point of view; mostly through Alice, sometimes through Paul and rarely through Riley. Somehow, I got the feeling that Riley was run through with the editor’s red pen. This is a shame because I think seeing more of Riley would have increased our investment in her. Regardless, the story packs an emotional punch and bawling is bawling no matter how you get there.

The characters are complex, honest and a little too articulate – while their thoughts seem fully formed, their actions aren’t, which was very frustrating. There are shades of Kostas and Lena in the romance between Alice and Paul, which irked me; its been done. I also had a moment of sheer horror when I thought Brashares might pull a My Sister’s Keeper move on us. (Maybe she did…maybe she didn’t. And I won’t tell you whether I thought the book or film version, just to keep you guessing!)

If you want action, don’t read this book. If you want to inhabit the body and mind of the characters, then do. In The Last Summer (of You and Me) Brashares evokes the salt in the wind, the splinters in the boardwalk, the squint of the sun and the ache of first love. When you get to the end of the book, for the second time in my case, you feel like you are saying good-bye to your best friends.

The Year of the Whooping Cough

Published on January 7, 2012 in Babies, Beloved, Fighting the Fat and Lazy Bitch. 2 Comments

That is probably how I will recall 2011, in part. I do NOT get sick, yet there I was stuck with the ‘100 Day Cough’. It sucked. It was hard to raise my voice whilst teaching (which we all know I rarely do, because my students are such angels) and if I laughed too much I would spew. All for three months. When first infected I had to have four days off. Unheard of in Grumpy Land. I spent a month sleeping sitting upright and didn’t exercise for about the same. Even now, a rib which while not broken, was severely stressed will give a twinge, to let me know what had passed between us. Anyway. Grumpy’s year in dot points:

  • Holiday to Singapore in April. Fantastic. Expensive, clean, safe, hot. Highlight? Husband warning me how I might find driving a segway, before we set off on a tour of Sentosa Island, and then me crying with ill concealed mirth when he went arse over tit. There may have been snorting involved.
  • Weekend to Sydney where we climbed the Sydney Harbour Bridge.
  • Girly trip to Melbourne with one of my besties, Jax. We shopped, gorged at TGI Friday’s, saw ‘Love Never Dies’ and had an all around awesome time.
  • Wedding of the lovely Snazz, another beautiful  bestie, wherein which I was the chief Snazzmaid.
  • Car got broken into while we (Kettlebell Crew) were training outside. $4000 worth of stuff stolen. Some drugged up fuckwit is now in possession of a Gucci wallet, Tiffany and Co keyring, Ralph Lauren sunglasses, iPhone 4, Lacoste tote bag and my playlunch. But then only thing I really wanted back was my school diary. Yeah, I know. Label whore. They were gifts.
  • Year 9 English, Society and Environment and Tutorial class from hell. EVERY DAY was a battle.
  • No job at the school I have been at for 6 years. Not enough enrollments. BUT my delightful year 10 class nearly made me cry when they wrote a letter to the principal outlining why the school should try and keep me. Possibly the loveliest moment in my ten year career. Not that the principal acknowledged it any way.
  • Bestie of 22 years is finally pregnant!
  • Got selected to write reviews for a Young Adults books website. FREE BOOKS!

For 2012, I hope…

  • To turn into a runner. Two 3km runs this week. Baby steps.
  • To be as buff as my husband. That man is a MACHINE.
  • To have a job.
  • To write more. (Perhaps no job = write more?)
  • To figure out if having children is what I want, even though I don’t even know if we can. 28 months and counting.
  • Not die of girly squeeness when I get to meet  NKOTB when they come to Perth in May.
  • To blog again in a way that would make Rass proud, rather than this bullshit which I know would make her want to vom.

Tell me something you wanna do this year.

Food Wanker

Published on August 25, 2011 in Fighting the Fat. 0 Comments

Yup. I have turned into a food snob. I see people in my office  get out their white bread and cheese, and stick it into the toaster machine and I cannot believe that people put that shit into their body on a daily basis. No second thoughts. I won’t deny that I am a little jealous, but the jealousy is short lived when I, myself indulge in bread of the white variety. I had some last week. One and a half pieces to be exact, and my ass went nuclear. It sucked to be husband and Theo that weekend. Hell, it sucked to be me and normally I don’t mind my own brand.

When my mum came to stay with me while Beloved was away, she whinged at me, telling me I was ‘a food Nazi’. And then in the very next breath she proceeded to tell me she had lost 3 kilos. Sorry? What? I can’t hear you over all the goosestep marching.

So what do I eat? Let me give you an absolutely fascinating run-down. (I know, right? Next I will be telling you what I dreamed last night.)

Breakfast: Oats made with water, milk added after OR two weetbix (Best ‘processed’ breakfast you can buy in terms of sugar, fat, sodium etc. And for me, doesn’t make me fart. Big plus. It is why any type of muesli is a no-go zone, at least, not without a gas mask) . I go full-fat milk. Less processed. I am aiming for a couple of dairy/carb free breakfasts a week next month. That usually means eggs with spinach leaves and tomato. Or a green smoothie (Green spinach, banana and a kiwi fruit – surprisingly nice) I have just discovered that buckwheat pancakes with agave syrup and lemon juice are awesome.

Post gym: Banana and almonds. Quite often I will have a chai latte, or a bigger meal that involves poached eggs and salmon.

Morning tea: Often leftovers from dinner (meat and veg) or salad with tuna, ham or roast beef. Cup of tea, white – no sugar.

Lunch: Tin of tuna (yeurgh, cat food!) a piece of fruit, more nuts. Should eat more here. Can’t be arsed.

Dinner: Meat and vegetables.

Snack: yoghurt or protein mousse.

This is what I generally eat. I  sometimes add a little tin of baked beans, brown rice or Cape Seed bread. And while I would not generally stick overly processed food in my mouth, lollies and chocolate and champagne somehow get through the filter. However, when I DO eat these things I always notice that: under my eyes gets red and puffy, I feel like I am getting a cold, and I will get sensitive patches of skin on random parts of my body.

I call my diet ‘piss-weak paleo’. Husband goes the whole hog and damn, does he look hot for it. Lifting heavy things 4 to 5 times a week also helps. He hasn’t been this buff since..well, ever. He cannot walk past me without getting his arse manhandled. And he pretends to hate it. I like it when he just wears his shorty-short undies and ugg boots. Rawr.

Anyway. Where was I? Oh, torturing you with my eating habits. So. If you too want to create a body that has a low tolerance for white bread and uncooked grains. Try the ‘piss-weak paleo’. Just think; eggs, meat, fruit, vegetables and nuts, with some full-fat dairy, and occasional seedy bread and brown rices.  Always go the full fat version of anything – less chemicals and less processed.

Eating this way is certainly a ‘journey’. It isn’t hard – I can always eat out and find something to eat, but I am easily swayed by alcohol and desserts. Once I control those demons I reckon you will finally be able to see how buff I am under all this cuddly. But even saying that, I know that I feel great and am healthier than I have ever been in my life.

But if you ever see me sneering at you and whatever sweet, salty, gooey, delicious, greasy goodness you are devouring, ask me about which chocolate I scoffed in the car on the way home today.

Get with the times Adele!

Published on June 16, 2011 in Cranky/Dopey Bitch and Pop Culture. 1 Comment

It would seem that Brit singer Adele is not adept at that thing we call Facebook stalking. If she was, she would not have written the heart-rending but ultimately moot-for-a-modern-gal ’Someone Like You’.

I do not get how a person born in 1988 could write such a song and willingly suspend their disbelief.

Hello! Facebook was invented so that we could all check up on our exes (friends and otherwise) and see how they were not aging well, nor done better since each party had supposedly moved onto bigger and better things.  And even if the ex in the song had locked up all his privacy settings, there is bound to a mutual friend who could have dished the dirt on his new relationship. Yet in this song he managed to get MARRIED without her knowing about it. Where was he living? Antartica? How did she get the news under her rock?

Love the song. Hate the lyrics. Almost as teeth grindingly annoying as that punk rocker Sandi Thom with flowers in her hair.

Just Call Me JK

Published on May 24, 2011 in Books n Stuff. 2 Comments

Let’s all pretend my novel is like the Harry Potter series, getting all rejected eleven times before it gets picked up by a publisher and BAM! Instant millionaires all round. Not that I am in it or the money or anything. Just the pure love of writing and shit. Yeah. Let’s say that. I sent it to one of the few publishers in Australia you can send unsolicited material to. If I don’t hear from them by Friday? Too bad so sad for me.

I know why I haven’t been blogging. (Have I ever told you how I detest bloggers who blog about blogging?)

It’s like this. I gave my novel to a few people to peruse. Only two people finished it; one of which who read it and returned it with  timely feedback is a fellow ‘writer’. She has to be all supportive and excited so that writing karma doesn’t bite her on the ass. The most the other person said was, ‘It’s better than some of the stuff I have seen published.’ As for everyone else? I can only conclude that, well – I can’t even say it. I try to pretend not to care but sometimes the thoughts creep in, catch me unaware and it is crushing.

Before you get all, ‘Send it me! I’ll read it!’ that is what the non-finishers said too. I don’t want to add you to that list. It’ll just embarrass us both.

But, like. Whatever. I am still going to write. Soon. Because I love it.

I really do.

You’ve Lost That Loving Feeling

Published on April 21, 2011 in Beloved, Cranky/Dopey Bitch, Married Life and Queen Me. 0 Comments

Have I fallen out of love….with this blog?

I hope not.

I am still attracted to it.

I feel guilty for neglecting it.

I don’t want to let it go.

But here I am, set to wing my way on another holiday, this time to Singapore, and I STILL haven’t told you about how when leaving Bali, Beloved bought a 600 ml Coke Zero at the airport. He assumed it was okay for him to buy it and take it through because by the same checkpoint in Australia you wouldn’t have been able to buy the Coke. Anyway, so he gives it to me to hold as our hand luggage is being x-rayed. I realise we can’t have it and I shove it at Beloved saying ‘YOU hold it,’ before he is told he can’t have it. I mean really Grumpy, what were they going to do to you for having the Coke, yet you are so scared of authority you were willing to drop your lovely husband in the shit?

See? That story was rather half-arsed.

But I can’t let go. Not yet.

That thing, that feeling, that need. It might come back.

Just So You Know

Published on March 20, 2011 in Books n Stuff, Pop Culture and Queen Me. 2 Comments

Nothing like the untimely death of a much loved colleague to think about your own possible end. He was fit, 50 and an all round lovely guy. All those trite things you trot out – kind, generous, etc? All true. I know it is a redundant question but why him? Why the nice one with the gorgeous family? I fear being struck down myself, but boy do I know some oxygen thieves who would make great minions for Satan instead……

His funeral was really lovely, considering the circumstances. However, Perth really does need a MUCH bigger non-denominational venue for funerals. When a teacher goes, unless they are one of the aforementioned Devil’s future butt-buddies, the place will be jam-packed. And it was.It got me thinking about my own end of life celebration. So here are my requests:

  • Make sure it is somewhere that everyone can get a good view/seat. Nothing worse than having to have a quiet sniffle standing up.
  • No black, unless it has sequins. Go all out and frock up a bit. Don’t insult me with your ‘I just nicked over during work’ wear. Use it as an excuse to buy a hat.
  • Those who can afford it or are so inclined – feel free to turn up in a limo, complete with champagne. Most of you have been married and are way past your school ball – grab the opportunity.
  • If someone I know can manage to conduct the proceedings, that would be awesome. It really grates on me to hear total strangers spout platitudes about someone they didn’t know. It just seems so…insulting.
  • A song played by one Jasmine Riley. You can choose Snazz, preferably an original of yours.
  • A NKOTB song, possibly ‘If You Go Away’. Sue me – I chose that one when I was 16.
  • If someone does a completely rockin’ eulogy, feel free to clap. Gotta give props to those who get up there and give it bash. In fact I insist you all clap.
  • Don’t worry about flowers. Buy a book and read it for me instead.

I don’t think that sounds entirely unreasonable, do you? So. Do YOU have any particular requests for that day that will inevitably come, but hopefully not too soon?

I Still am an Angel

Published on February 26, 2011 in Nostalgia, Over-sharers Anonymous, Pop Culture and Queen Me. 6 Comments

If I was a parent with a kid in a car right now the biggest issue I would have would be a distinct lack of a swivel chair. And it is all Wynter Gordon’s fault. I love the radio station that I listen to, however at all times of the day I am regaled with a song with the delightful title of ‘Dirty Talk’. With lyrics such as:

Kitten Heels, Lingerie,
Pantyhose, Foreplay,
Legs up, on the bar,
in the back of your car,
latex, champagne,
bubble bath, whipped cream,
cherry pop tag team,
can you make me scream

you would think that Nova would perhaps limit the song to a post 9pm crowd but no, let’s give it a 7:30am airing, so all the cute kiddies in their white socks, floppy hats and juice-boxes can ask mummy ‘what is a G-spot?’

Shaggy’s ‘It Wasn’t Me’ used to piss me off similarly.

It used to be that the most embarrassing thing I was ever exposed to in front of my parents when I was little was a kissing bit in ‘Neighbours’. We used to have vinyl and velvet lounge chairs, of which the two singles were swivel chairs. Have to love 70s ingenuity. This meant that whenever spit was to be swapped and my parents were in the room, shy lil Grumpy would swing the chair around so that she didn’t have to witness it in front of her parents. Did they tease her mercilessly about it? Why yes, yes they did. And is it no wonder Grumpy didn’t get her first kiss till she was sixteen? No, no it isn’t.

Man, if I was a kid today the shoe would certainly have been on the other foot with me belting out ‘Picture this, we were both butt naked, banging on the bathroom floor’ on the way to ballet class. Who woulda been blushing then parents, who?

My Movie

Published on December 31, 2010 in Pop Culture and Queen Me. 9 Comments

When I breezed out of the front door at 10am to meet Jasmine for coffee I felt like the heroine in a chick flick, if the heroine in a chick flick had a spray tan that is fading to look like mange. But more to the point, the great bit about it was  feeling effortless and light.

While I was getting ready ‘Suddenly I See’ by KT Tunstall would have been playing as I went from my sparkling shower to picking an outfit, that while being a little Tradie Lesbian Chic (denim shorts, blue and white striped t-shirt, brown 3 buckle Doc Marten boots), felt comfortable and a bit different.

I slipped my new Rado watch on, I brushed my blonde bob that was behaving well after yesterday’s straightening, put on a ’slick’ – patented chick-lit terminology here people – of lipstick, artfully arranged my Ray Bans on my head  and out of the door I traipsed.

It was going to be an awesome day.

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100 Word Post: Kings Park

Published on December 19, 2010 in 100 Word Posts. 2 Comments

If you were lying on your back on the grass looking into the sky, like she was, you might wonder where you were, especially if you couldn’t hear the sounds. All you would see was the sky roiling with laden clouds, the limbs of a sparse pine tree providing a Gothic foreground. With the mute button on, you wouldn’t hear the ducks skimming across the water, the children squealing, dads playing cricket -  the ‘thwack!’ of the tennis ball on a plastic bat, the rustle of picnic baskets, the pop and hiss of drinks being opened. But luckily you can hear.