In which I Converse Awkwardly, Corporate-Style

I want to discuss Awkward Corporate Conversations.You know, the kind that occur when you dial into a teleconference (or, in the case of my company, Skype someone - we are so whizzbang with our technology these days) and you're waiting for other people to join so the meeting can kick off, and you have the choice to either go on mute (seems a bit aggressively unfriendly) or engage in embarrassing smalltalk. This means that the first thing you will ask the other party/ies is how the weather is. Why is the weather of any import at all to people who sit in climate controlled concrete and glass boxes all day? I mean, if I were routinely Skyping farmers, I'd definitely be up for a discussion about the weather, but I just fail to understand why my mind always turns to the weather when I haven't even had a sniff of fresh air for the last four hours.

'So ... how about that weather, eh?'

Do you have a standard set of well-rehearsed topics when you need to engage in Awkward Corporate Conversation? Do you start with weather, move onto plans for the weekend (or, in the case of M-T-W, ask about how the previous weekend was), then, in desperation, fill the airtime with chitchat about family and kids? I think I'm particularly terrible with the last topic, given that I hardly see my family and couldn't think of anything I'd like to do less than bear children (gee, don't I sound like a well-rounded human being). I really need help developing a new routine - any suggestions?

In other news, standards are slipping around these parts. Not only am I no longer wearing heels on the weekend, I've also taken to exchanging proper clothes (with appropriately defined waistlines) for expensive bedsheets:

Kaftan: Camilla; Sandals: Rene Caovilla

Pretty good look, right? It reminds me a lot of the episode of The Simpsons (I swear there's an episode of The Simpsons suitable for referencing in just about every situation) where Homer decides that he'd like to work from home, so sets about acquiring a weight-related disability and takes great pride in picking out his new floral muumuus. Homer, meet your match.

And, look, don't think that the similarities with Homer end there. Want to know why I glammed myself up in my best human tent? Why, to take myself off to Koko Black to have a party for one, of course:

Options, so many options

Had to confirm THREE TIMES with the waitress that yes, I did want the full serve, not just the single scoop. Talk about judgment.

In light of all that, it probably shouldn't come as a surprise that I couldn't get my dress buttoned up this morning. Clever me decided to distract from that by wearing SEX shoes:

Dress: Leona Edmiston 'Hazel'
Shoes: Christian Louboutin

My dad would be so proud. Having said that, he probably would be proud. As he made great pains to point out during his speech at my engagement party, His Daughter Has Big Boobs. Everyone, Please Look, She Does. She Will Have Excellent Udder Capacity When The Time Comes (Ha Ha Great Farmer Joke).

That's all capitalised because it's pretty much taken verbatim from his (off-the-cuff, completely unplanned and worse still, COMPLETELY BLOODY SOBER) speech. It's now known as the Tits & Testicles Speech of 2013, and you can imagine just how keen all our friends and family are to remind us of it at disturbingly frequent intervals. And yes, he also took the time to talk about The Pharmacist's downstairs region. It was that good a speech. If anyone asks why I'm not planning my wedding yet, that's pretty much the reason.

In which I Am Back By Popular Demand

Actually, that's a bit of a porky pie. Whilst it's true that I have returned to the land of the blog, I must admit that there was next to no popular demand involved (more's the pity). Nevertheless, it's on with the show.

I've been to Adelaide, Phuket and Bali over the course of the last six weeks. I'm just going to declare my prejudices up front: Adelaide is Not My Sort Of Place. Every time I've been there I've experienced some form of bizarre, parallel universe sort of situation. This time it came courtesy of the Hilton's room service menu:


'Served 5:30pm until 10:00pm'

WHAT SORT OF NONSENSE IS THAT?!

I have never, ever in my life stayed in an international hotel that doesn't offer 24 hour room service. The whole point of staying in a global hotel chain whilst travelling on business is that they are meant to be safe, boring and predictable. Why does the Adelaide Hilton have to buck the trend and have whacko room service policies? Normally I would not be so aggrieved about such things, but (and doesn't everyone's bad travel experience story ultimately start off with something to do with Qantas?) I had spend almost two hours sitting on the tarmac in Perth waiting to take off (something about the maintenance checklist computer saying no), and I utterly despise the Qantas Domestic plane food, so I was bloody ravenous by the time I arrived in Adelaide, only to have the boot well and truly put in by the foibles of the Adelaide Hilton kitchen.

It's an outrage, people. Had quite a pleasant dining experience later in the week at Pranzo, though, so it wasn't all bad.

At this point I'd like to note that I'm rather chuffed that I finally found an outfit to wear these fluorescent yellow and pink Kirkwoods with:

I've become quite the fan of these embarrassingly inexpensive Lady V London cotton dresses. Since my Facebook tirade on the Alannah Hill page, I haven't bought anything from there (mostly because I've been too lazy to nip down the road to Claremont, but I like how that statement makes it sound as though I've Taken A Stand against their cheap fabrics and dodgy cuts.) Instead, I've been purchasing these dresses from the Lady V London website with gay abandon, and nary a peep out of The Pharmacist!

Dress: Lady V London
Cardi: Alannah Hill
Shoes: Nicholas Kirkwood
Clutch (in background of shoe shot): 3.1 Phillip Lim

In other news, I spent my ANZAC Day long weekend in bed with the Cold Of Doom and some form of chest situation involving hacking up mucuous at attractively frequent intervals. All this and I don't even have children, people!!! This is the sort of nonsense bug that you pick up from tiny, germy hands, so I really don't understand how it is that I have been struck down with it. I know this is going to sound cold and heartless and terribly non-maternal, but I really am glad I don't want children. I honestly think they would be the end of my malfunctioning immune system. The difficult thing is that pregnancy is spreading like wildfire through my office, so I'm being very careful about where I sit and which watercooler I use...

In which I Am Disconnected

This place has frustratingly unreliable wifi. Three times I've tried to post pictures of my chubby knees and box-gap-less thighs, and at the critical moment the wifi has let me down. I bet you're all just as devastated as I am about that.

 

So I'm in Phuket. I'm not sure it's really my thing, but I'm making do. Mostly by hanging out here all day in our villa:

 

And doing this:

 

With a little bit of this thrown in. As an aside, posing for photos at beachy locations next to freckled Scotsmen is guaranteed to make anyone look tanned (and look mum, no makeup!):

 

Hope everyone ate their own body weight in cheap compound chocolate wrapped in colourful foil this weekend. Can't believe I missed out this year! Do they still make Humpty Dumpty eggs? Might try and raid Coles for some discounted leftovers once I'm back.

 

Posted with Blogsy

In which I Am Resurrected

It's been a while, hasn't it?

Let's cover off on the main the points:

1. The engagement party was a success (still waiting for the professional photos - the photographer obviously did take me seriously when I said that I expected to look like Miranda Kerr in them);
2. Bali was also a success. I did not get sick, did not purchase any Bintang merchandise and even managed to coax a tan out of my peely-wally skin. Sadly, the same cannot be said of The Pharmacist (though he did get so sunburned that some of his freckles joined up, giving the illusion of tan); and
3. I'm off to another wedding in Phuket on Friday. Happily, I've downloaded a new blogging app for my iPad, so I'll be able to update you all regularly with pictures of my flabby thighs (no 'box gap' here, people) marinating in their own sweat in the Thai sun. I can tell you're excited.

Here's one such thigh picture to get you all in the mood:

In which I Am Dead And Buried

...under a mountain of work. Apologies for the lack of shoes, cats and nausea-inducing consumerism around these parts recently. I am flat out (like a lizard drinking, to coin a phrase) at the moment, so much so that I haven't even had the time to do my hair properly on a Friday. I know. I've been wearing Monday-Tuesday-Wednesday-Thursday hair to work on a Friday and it's killing me.

Here's some random pictures to keep you occupied in the interim:

The fanciest cat sleeping bag going round

Brooches with the mostest to add some sparkle to my otherwise completely un-sparkly days at the moment

Engagement party-appropriate footwear. Don't think I'm joking.

In which I Am Mooning You

Yesterday was my mum's (The Ethnic's) 60th birthday. It presented me with the perfect opportunity to pull off a surprise that I've been wanting to inflict on someone since the early 90s.

Yep, that's right - I flamingo'ed her front lawn:

Now, you must know that The Ethnic is a very keen gardener and takes her role as groundskeeper very seriously. If there's a even a hint of something awry happening outdoors, she can't sleep at night. You can imagine her distress when she was awoken by my father to tell her to come quickly, because her lawn had turned pink overnight.

Luckily she found the whole thing highly amusing. I think she enjoyed being a local celebrity for the day, what with all the neighbours stopping to admire the spectacle.

Because I am clearly the Superior Daughter, I woke up at 4:30am to get breakfast in the oven to take with me to wish her happy birthday. Don't think I wasn't accompanied by a couple of bottles of Vueve, too:

Orange and cardamon french toast (but really more of a bread and butter pudding), and Nigella's Croque Monsieur bake (both pre-ovening).

I also went for a low-key present wrapping technique, suitably fitting for a lady of my mother's advanced years:

My sister and I have a couple more birthday surprises up our sleeves, but I shan't reveal them on here just yet. We bought The Ethnic an iPad for Christmas, so she could well be reading this (...or not.)

Now, don't think I was joking when I titled this post 'Mooning You':

Dress: Leona Edmiston 'Hazel'
Shoes: Charlotte Olympia
Clutch: Charlotte Olympia
Brooch: Shag Shop

Apologies for the completely dodgy quality of these photos - I tried to brighten them because they were looking a bit dull and dark, but clearly my photo editing skills need work. Of course I saved over the originals so now we're left with this sorry bunch.

Engagement party planning continues. Had my last calico fitting yesterday and I was dreading it (lack of New Year potion control will do that to you.) However, the pre-Christmas measurements still fit, and I love the overall cut. Now we just have to choose fabrics ... and shoes ... and accessories. Surely this will be the easy bit? And, for everyone who said Kevin (Galleria Couture) would make you look taller and thinner - you were right! Pity he can't make all my clothes for me. It would be way easier than having to give up ice cream and potato chips.

In which I Have A Slave

I can't believe I forgot to mention this in my last post re: Christmas extravagance.

One of the best presents I received for Christmas was a slave. Of the kitchen variety. He is so very, very, very good to me and I haven't even once needed to whip him into submission. All of the food he makes is top-notch, and he even takes care of the washing up, too.

If he ever dies I shall mourn his passing for about two minutes before I contact my local slave supplier and order a new one.

If you don't already have one, I can highly recommend that you get with program and sort yourself out one post-haste.

I will admit that he's not much to look at, but kitchen slavery isn't a beauty contest:

Hello, Thermy, my aesthetically-challenged yet oh-so-effective slave.

I'd sort of ummed and ahhed over getting one of these for a while, and now I don't know why I delayed. It's seriously great and seriously time saving, especially with fiddly things like chopping and grating and dicing and slicing. I also love how things cook evenly in it, and never get stuck to the bottom or burn. We've made stocks, relishes, custards, soups, pastas, stir frys, stews, juices, salads and everything else you could think of in in, and haven't had a failure yet.

Even if you have a KitchenAid (which I do), this is still worth having. I shall be donating my food processor and blender to my sister, because I have no need of them anymore. I'd particularly recommend the Thermomix to new homeowners or people upgrading their kitchen machines, because it really is an all-in-one machine. Although the outlay is a bit hefty (and I didn't have to suffer the pain of paying for mine), I really do think that it's worth it.

I promise you I'm not selling them, though I suspect that those who are are making an absolute killing out of it. I don't think I wear sensible enough footwear to be a door-to-door salesperson.

Speaking of non-sensible footwear, this happened last week:

Chanel flip flops. Don't worry, I know that these mark me out as a knob from 100 paces.

My podiatrist was practically cackling with glee after inflicting this cruelty on me, as he thought he had found the perfect way to confine me to flat, ugly shoes for at least a month. Little did he know that I was far more devious than he:

Viktor & Rolf shoes made out of some form of treated paper - every good podiatrist's choice, right?

And the ingenuity has continued into this week (though I beg that you ignore the remnants of faux tan that are fading from my legs):

Dress: Alannah Hill 'Bows, Bows, Bows!' frock (which I feel is slightly misleading given the dress doesn't actually have any bows on it...)
Headthingy: Alannah Hill
Shoes: Agent Provocateur x Charlotte Olympia

Unfortunately I am heeding my podiatrist's advice to steer clear of beaches and swimming pools, so I've been suffering (though certainly not in silence) through the heat. However, just because I can't go for a dip at the moment doesn't mean that I haven't been shopping like I can't:

My first foray into Missoni beachwear (with attendant terrible photograph).

Clearly the heat was getting to me (despite being clad in a sheer Camilla muumuu).

The very last Givenchy 'birds of paradise' tote on sale in Australia, and worth every penny, too. The ladies at Maryons in Brisbane were an utter delight to deal with. It's the perfect beach bag, right?

An early birthday present. Everyone knows that sparkly pink Miu Miu sunglasses offer the ultimate in UV protection.

I've even ventured so far as to buy some new swimwear, AND I've taken pictures of it on, but I shan't be inflicting those snaps on you, don't worry.

In which I Am Back Up And Running For Another Year

Firstly, just to get it out of the way (because practically every Australian blogger is obligated to make mention of the heinous weather conditions here at the moment):

Source: Sydney Morning Herald/Bureau of Meteorology

Our Bureau of Meteorology (BOM, if you're in the know) was was forced to update its colour scheme to take account of some forecasting that indicated that temperatures in South Australia were likely to exceed the previous colour chart maximum of 50C. Look, when the sensible folks at the BOM are foced to add magenta to their forecast colour chart, you know you're in trouble.

As usual, Perth managed to turn on the charm by climbing to a balmy 40C on Christmas Day, which is just perfect for stuffing yourself with a typical Northern Hemisphere Christmas feast. My father is as Australian as they come, and yet he insists on a full roast dinner and hot pudding dessert every year. Somehow The Pharmacist's more sensible Scottish family have figured out that a cold seafood lunch is the better option, yet my father just can't get on board with that. After the first piping hot soup course I was pretty much ready to strip off, turn the sprinklers on and bathe myself in the sweet, sweet scent of bore water.

Luckily I managed to stage a full recovery in time to win the female division of the Annual Christmas Quoits Championship. An honour, indeed.

The simple pleasures.

I was also spoiled rotten by family, friends and the Nordstrom and Saks sales. Unfortunately I had to pay for the privilege of being spoiled by the latter two, but the family and friends balanced it out. I was also quite pleased with my inspired choice of present to The Pharmacist this year:

What do you get for the man who has everything and doesn't play golf or tennis (I understand that golf balls and tennis balls are appropriate items to be gifted year after year)? A portrait of his cats, wearing his clothes. As you can see, Dougall is less than impressed with his likeness, but I utterly adore it. Heather Mattoon from Cats In Clothes was the artist behind this masterpiece, and she was a real joy to work with. We're going to have it properly framed and mounted above our mantelpiece, as befits such a family heirloom.

Seriously though, isn't it just hilarious? Look at their faces!

Don't think that the cats escaped further undignified outfits over the silly season, either:

Don't be fooled by the looks on their faces. They were loving it.

Speaking of loving things, here's a small sample of what I loved this Christmas:

Camilla muumuus are essential to cope with the aforementioned magenta weather forecasting.

The Pharmacist is regretting buying these for me already.

A nice enough purple clutch, you say...

...oh, what's this?...

...how very festive...

...

...a light up Anya Hindmarch glitter clutch to rival Rudolph's schnozz. Just amazing.

No additional lighting required for this beauty. Isn't it just amazing? Look at the detail!

Christmas pud for those of us who shouldn't be eating Christmas pud, courtesy of Charlotte Olympia.

Refer to last post of 2012, re: suitable props for distracting people from your melting face.

A little self gifting doesn't go astray, either.

Suspect that The Pharmacist now expects me to be on time for our engagements. Fool.

And because you know I never miss an opportunity to go the matchy-match, here's my Christmas Day outfit:

Bit too much forehead going on here for my liking. Hair down lasted for about 37 minutes, after which time it was thrown into the world's least attractive ponytail and left to wilt in the heat.

Amazingly well-coordinating earrings gifted to me by my sister on the day.

So obvious, so gauche, so me.

Hadn't added a belt at this stage. Turns out I needn't had bothered, as that didn't last long either. Shoes are from Viktor & Rolf and they're like the Aussie summer interpretation of ghillie brogues.

Hope you all had a wonderful Christmas and a fantastic start to the new year. I am now less than two months away from our engagement party, and even worse, one week away from my next dress fitting, so I'm making great friends with the celery section at my local greengrocer. Or trying to, at least.