In which a Debbie tries to organise herself for the return to school and gets very hot and tired in the process

 Arghhty! Today is hot and summery and I really don't see the call for it. Firstly, I have too much housework type stuff and it is hard to do cleaning when it is hot. I really would much rather lie around reading. However, abandoning the house for about a week in order to stay with Mum has resulted in a pile of chore-oriffic madness.

The amount of laundry that can be accrued in one week is scary. It seems like other people must have snuck in and worn my clothes just to create laundry. I shouldn't be surprised if laundry detergent companies hire gnomes to sneak in through people's cat-doors and wear their clothes just to make people use more detergent. Of course the gnomes would have to magically grow to human size once inside your house to fit your clothing before they put it on. Tiny gnomes bouncing around in sweater and t-shirts may not be enough to make the clothing look worn and dirty. It could be that say twenty gnomes inside one shirt could produce the effect of a day's worth of wearing in a few minutes, or maybe the gnomes do starjumps to get extra sweaty. Depends on the gnome I suppose.

I cleaned the oven during one of the many cycles of the washing mahine but I think I inhaled too much of the oven cleaner when I was spraying it on. I choked a bit and felt woozy. I had to go and stand outside for a while until I felt better. However, the oven is shiny again so wooziness was not in vain.

Matt and I had to sort out not one, but two cars today. Toru*, needed a WOF and had to have something done to the tail-light which was more complex than changing the bulb and thus beyond our limited car expertise. The purple car, which should have been fine, had the misfortune to be parked outside a cafe near Otaki and was reversed into by some skulky woman. We were inside ordering refreshments and Matt, by chance, was returning to the car when he spied someone sneaking away from our car. I don't know whether he was intimidating or used his teacher voice, but she confessed that she had backed into the car but thought she hadn't done any damage. In fact, the right indicator was smashed and there was a slight scraping on the corner. So we had to get that fixed as well today. I feel a little disgruntled. It's one thing if I dent or damage my car, but having to deal with the hassle when it is someone else's bad driving is thoroughly annoying.

Oh and in the bad news about people other than me front, my great uncle died yesterday. Exactly a week after Dad which makes things hard for the family, especially since many of them had just returned home to other countries and cities and now may have to come back to Wellington. It is very sad but I kind of don't feel as sad as I should about it because he was in his 80s. Death is always a horrible thing for the family and no matter how old or sick someone is, it is a shock and a terrible blow to family and friends, but I kind of feel like I have this underlying "at least he was old" attitude. After Dad dying in his 50s, reaching your 80s seems pretty good going. I hope the whole superstition "things happen in threes" does not apply. I would personally like to make it through the rest of 2005 without attending another funeral. Take care of yourselves folks, this is not the year to take up dangerous extreme sports or try lion taming.

* the Honda is so named after Fruits Basket. True to her name's sake she is a quiet, reliable and undemanding car.

 Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,

Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.


My father died and there are not really any adequate words to express the sickly and hollow grief of it, yet there is a desire to try and express something. Sitting around numbly hardly seems appropriate.

It seems like today is the Blog funeral day. I have posted the Last Post on Dad's blog GreyShade and now have to write the first post on mine that he will not read.

There is now an emptiness in my life that cannot ever filled. Every celebration or holiday will be marked by his absence.

It's a wound that cannot heal so much as gotten used to. It's very hard to accept that fact that someone who had always been there, cannot ever be there again. The times when one needs advice, support, encouragement and all the other things that parents do, will be harder now. I can strive to do the things that might make my father proud but I'll never again hear his words or see any signs praise from him. And though times of happiness may come, I won't be able to share them with my dad.

Life will be always sadder and emptier without him, but my life is richer because of the memories I have and the things he taught me. He was one of the most inspiring people I ever knew - his intelligence, kindness and dedication to everything he did, were exceptional.

Goodbye Dad. Thank you for being the friend and the father you were. I am grateful for the time we had but I wish there was still more to come.

The post with too many footnotes

 Seems like the sex-toy parties have become increasingly popular recently. By that I meant I read an article about them in the Dom Post last weekend and now know of two groups of people who are having them this weekend (one through work, one through friends). As it is Kapcon Weekend, I shan't be able to attend either and frankly they seem a little intimidating. Not intimidating in a crazy-bondage-mistress-stands-at-the-door-and-insists-on-spanking-you-upon-entry or flogs-you-if-you-drop-your-bread-in-the-fondue way but more in an I-have-to-buy-embarrassing-stuff-in-front-of-people-who-might-secretly-judge-me paranoia way.

It all goes back to childhood fears of small children pointing and giggling at me because I said something strange or uncool like saying I preferred The Smurfs to The Snorks*.

I guess everyone has suffered from minute social ostracism** at some point in their lives. The moment when some random comment pops into your head and falls out of your mouth before you have time to stop it. The room goes silent for a while. People exchange bulging-eye glances that seem to say "weirdo" as you squirm uncomfortably.

Another one was the occasion of my 10th birthday when I had my friends around and we played jolly party games such as Pass-the-parcel and the guzzling chocolate in a novelty costume game. Before they left, one of my friends took me aside and declared that kiddy games weren't cool anymore. Sleepovers with pizza and videos were the appropriate 'cool' format for a birthday party. She informed me that my friends had only gone along with it to be polite and much snickering and laughing at me behind my back had taken place.**** I had, she said, better sort the party thing out by next year. I was mortified. For most of Intermediate I felt like I had to check in advance if the things I wanted to do and the stuff I wanted to like was acceptable or if it would lead to snickering comments or been beaten with sticks.

I got over the social insecurity in my teens and started doing and saying what I liked in spite of the uncool factor. One starts to realise that having fun is the most important thing and generally I am pretty unconcerned with what others may think about me. In fact, now that I am a teacher and I am resigned to the fact that I shall be regarded as uncool by most teenagers I encounter and probably disliked by more than a couple of them.

And yet, in some areas, my insecurity or social angst remain. I guess sex-toy parties I am uncertain as to whether there are these unspoken rules of what is cool/uncool or normal/weird of which everyone else but me seems to be aware. Some things have become mainstream and seem normal. There would be no raised eyebrows upon their purchase. Things like edible bodypaint. It is apparently quite 'normal' and was even given as a Secret Santa present to more than one person at work last Xmas*****. But I still feel unsure about edible panties? I feel slightly dirty just typing the words. Does that mean they're abnormal and weird? What about handcuffs? Apparently furry-lined handcuffs are an acceptable hen's party gift (I have been told by a couple of people who got married last year). Is that because they look like a joke so people wouldn't actually use them or is the fur lining a comfort issue? Would purchasing real metal handcuffs be considered more or less kinky than fur-lined? It's all very confusing to me.
Somehow Tupperware parties don't seem to invoke the same degree of social uncertainty angst.

"She bought a YELLOW lunchbox?!"

"You're kidding! Who would buy a YELLOW lunchbox?"

"What a freak!"

[Pointed whispering and giggles of disgust]

* Or vice versa. Whichever way round meant social death at primary school at the time.

** Minute Social Ostracism (MSO) is subtle but a fierce weapon against many behaviours I would always engage in such as lengthy discussions about geeky topics with colleagues and acquaintances who don't care much for such things and freely expressing the random inner monologue that rattles through my brain. MSO has symptoms such as rolling eyes, abrupt endings to conversations, sideways glances at others or escape route, and in extreme cases, beating target with sticks***.

*** Last symptoms is less likely to occur with adults.

**** They had, I recall, consumed the chocolate with no lack of greedy vigour for all that they regarded it beneath them.

***** Although it does now have unpleasant association with a certain middle-aged male member of staff standing up on a table at the staff Xmas party drunkenly waving a pot of Kahlua body paint, declaring that the ladies need not panic and rush him. He had calculated that there were 48 females in the room and that meant they all got a teaspoon worth each. Maths teachers, eh?

The baffling mystery of the winning raffle ticket of something or other...

 We found out today that Matt won a raffle. I was pretty excited about this because winning stuff is very cool.* Apparently he had bought several raffle tickets off students who were fundraising for trips to Japan and so forth. We discovered through a friend who actually bothers to read the local weekly paper that Matt was in fact winner of the first place prize.

"Woot!" said Debbie. "Yay" and "goody" and other similar expressions of delight at the unexpected fortune may have been uttered as well. Then within a matter of nanoseconds I followed with, "so what did we** win?"

Matt shrugged and answered that he didn't know. He ventured a couple of random guesses that it might be a hamper or voucher of some kind, but the disturbing truth was apparent. He in fact had no idea as to what the prize of the raffle was.

My mind threw up a couple of more understandable explanations for this lack of knowledge. Maybe he was hiding the truth because the prize was too awesome for me handle with any degree of equanimity or maybe it was too pathetically small and would be a disappointment. Maybe he had fallen and hurt his head and thus suffered from a very specific type of amnesia where this one vital piece of knowledge was forgotten, because it just wasn't possible that someone would buy a raffle ticket and not know what the prize was, was it?

Try as I might I could not escape the inevitable truth. He really just didn't know. He had just bought the ticket and not bothered to look at what the prizes were. Maybe I've been reading too many mystery/detective books this summer but it didn't seem to me that one's powers of observation would have to be too extraordinary to notice what the prize was for the raffle. Apparently, Matt was just buying the tickets to help the students and didn't really care about or hope to win anything.

I myself find it impossible to empathise with this seemingly selfless, happy-go-lucky attitude. Regardless of the worthy cause that the raffle is fundraising for, I always envisage myself delighting in the moment of victory when I win and claim my prize. Even if the prize isn't something I particularly want, I can imagine myself enjoying it and thus I want to win it.

Obviously, an extensive perusal of school newsletters and websites followed in the search to find out what it was that we had won. Alas, we were unable to hunt down the prize details of the raffle and I began to fear that the raffle must be small and the first prize may not be so great. Perhaps just one of those meat packs, 3 kilos of beef from Pak n' Save*** or a cheap bottle of wine.

Fortunately, the answer was discovered when Matt found the raffle tickets buried in the depths of his bag. We had won an espresso machine valued at $600. (I did note that the font used to relate the prize information was quite large and legible.)

"Yay!" I said. "Coffee for ME!"****

I promised to also make delicious frothy Hot Chocolates for Matt so that we can both enjoy our prize.


* It is kind of like pressies. Bonus material acquistion. Not necessary stuff you want so much that you would splurge out and buy it for yourself, but to have it handed to you on a platter is highly desirable.

** The inclusive 'we' has become default pronoun in all matters of acquiring stuff. There are some exceptions such as clothing and make-up in which the singular 'my' and 'mine' prevail. Interesting the pronoun 'we' can also be used as a less direct second person pronoun. For example, "We should get up and let the cat in," or "We had better take the rubbish out now," where we = you (as in not me ).

*** Naturally I started fantasising about BBQs and the fun to be had in consuming several kilos of cow.

**** Matt doesn't like coffee. (Hmm, even as I type the words they seem strange and difficult to fathom).