Frog rescue

Just now, sitting at the PC, a frog about the size of a 5 cent piece hopped right on past me.  He was heading from the bathroom, making a beeline for the front door.  We have a lot of frogs out here – it’s one of the things I’ll really miss when I move – but rarely do they move across my carpet with such intent.  He made a few hops in quick succession and the just stopped by my feet, completely pooped.  On closer inspection, not only were his little sides heaving in and out, he was covered from head to toe in cobwebs.  These cobwebs had in turn picked up dust and hair and everything else lying around on my less than spotless floor, and the little guy was all crusted up, bound up, and dry.  I couldn’t even see his eyes.

At this point I sorta bent down over him and tried to remove the worst of what he was dragging behind him with my fingers.  That didn’t work – it was stuck to him pretty fast.  I was also worried about pulling his little legs too hard – when you have something soft as marshmallow and thick as a toothpick, and fingers, comparatively as large as mine, it can only end badly.  What I ended up doing was picking him up (so TINY) and running some water into my hand.  Once the gack got wet, it started giving way.  Once it started giving way, the tweezers did the rest.

It was so funny.  He kinda shook out his little back legs, and his eyes even went *blink* *blink*.  I took him out on the grass and he wouldn’t let go of my finger.  In the end I pushed him off onto the grass and he hopped away.

Are frogs not the coolest thing ever?!

Oh and HI by the way.  I’m still alive.  I’m sitting here on my own in brand new flannelette pyjamas writing about music festivals.  This feels very, very good.  House guests are all well and good, but there’s something so sweet about solitude.  Well, solitude combined with mix CDs made by friends with awesome taste and glasses of wine.


Happy birthday to me

SO yesterday I turned 30.  I’m not sure how I feel about that.  No different really.  I’m not sure I was expecting to?  I’m not even sure why I am pondering the question.  Probably because every person I know has ASKED me how it feels.  And that’s pretty much what I tell ‘em.

Same as April 9.

Having a house guest kinda throws you, even though Mum is really no trouble.  I cannot wait until I have an actual spare room.  I’m going to look at a new house on Friday, and another one some time next week.  I’m not sure how I’ll go with either of them, and to be honest I’m not sure at this point in my life doubling my rent is the smart thing to do, but I think I know what I want.  For the first time, in a long time, with anything, I know what I want.  I think the new house is a good start.

So much to do at work tomorrow.  Rodriguez in the evening though, so that’s something.

Sleep now.

House guest

Mother in situ means less of the interweb and more of the actual conversation.  I’m sure that will grow old by, I don’t know, Wednesday.

It’s good to see her again.  We’re going to have a great time at Rodriguez on Thursday.  I just really hope we don’t end up fighting, like we invariably do.

One good thing though – it’s SO much easier to get the doona IN the doona cover when you have an extra pair of hands.  Who knew!?

Tomorrow I will write about the Great Escape.  Saturday was good.  Sunday, because I had company, was great.  The Paper Scissors, The Panda Band, Bridezilla and Gomez were all GREAT.  Anyway, more tomorrow.


You know, I AM looking forward to today.  I really am.  It’s just that it’s so warm in here, and it’s so cold and wet out there.  This is generally my favourite kind of weather, but honestly, if I don’t shake this stupid cold soon I’m going to tear the sinuses right out of my face.

Wow that’s a bit violent isn’t it.

I am hoping The Panda Band will be worth it.  Actually, I’m kinda sure they will be.  Tonight, due to an almost disastrous timetable conflict, I have to choose between seeing Kaki King and John Butler Trio.  I know for a fact that JBT bring it live, but Kaki is someone I’ve been looking forward to seeing for a long time.  So I guess that’s that.

Don’t forget the camera.  Wear sensible shoes.  Don’t make eye contact with the drunk people.  Don’t get caught up in drum circles.

She kept openin’ the fridge door

Let’s hear it for independent supermarkets who debunk the idea of paying homage to socially enforced yet as a rule completely misunderstood religious holidays.  I am in the possession of not only pasta and pasta sauce, but real bonafide vegetables.



I just love that feeling you get when you’ve been asleep or otherwise stationary and foodless for a good period of time, and then you pop some sort of acidic fruit (in this particular instance a grape) into your mouth.  All of a sudden every ounce of your body goes ZING and the dancing in your mouth moves to your eyes moves to the hair on your arms.  You pull a face but not because it’s bad, but because it’s so GOOD and you can’t help it.  You realise that up to that point your eyes had not been all the way open.

Due to a stupid (and not really all that surprising) lack of public holiday forethought on my behalf, I am now going to venture into my car and try and find somewhere open that sells food.  A girl can’t live on grapes and stale bread alone, you know.

Song 6 – I need an easy friend

About A Girl – Nirvana

It’s working toward the end of the day, and the air is starting to smell wet and dark. It’s still summer, but barely – the coolness of the night as it settles around me makes me a little anxiously aware, subconsciously at least, of the passing time. I’m 17 and I’ve finished school and people expect Plans. Are you working? When do you start studying? What do you want to BE – asking the question like the answer is a punchy, easy to find one-liner. Leaving no room or patience for ambivalence.

Even with all these assumed ambitions for myself, I feel a sense of freedom. The first sense of freedom I’d had, well, ever really. You ask any adult at this point in your life and they’ll tell you your years at school are the best of your life. You spend equal time convincing yourself this can’t possibly be true – if it were you might has well write the whole thing off now, right?

The day has been spent driving between the river and home, eating whatever we could find and trying to find someone to buy us alcohol. In the end we go through his Dad’s house and find a cask of white wine that we know we’ll regret later. His Dad won’t be home for a lot of hours, so we decide to stay put, rather than head to my house which was always a circus of commotion and people, or back to the river where the mosquitoes by this stage of the day would outnumber us a million to one. We’d been listening to Uplugged in New York by Nirvana all day in the car, and before we head outside he goes to get it out of the tape player so we could continue listening to it.

His house has a covered patio at the back, and then outside of that a path leading to a clothes line, splitting the lawn in two. There’s a wooden table with two benches on the grass, grey with age, and we wander out to them with the tape player. Instead of sitting, we drop to the ground and lay our backs to the earth, place our legs across the benches and look up at the sky.

He makes sure the tape is rewound fully before he hits play, because we’d agreed earlier in the day (after a heated debate involving the merits of Lake Of Fire verses Where Did You Sleep Last Night) that the first song on the album is the best. And then there’s Kurt – ‘This is off our first record, most people don’t own it.’ We take our eyes from the sky momentarily to look at each other and grin, before turning our faces upwards again.

While we’re lying there, listening, he starts (well, continues) making fun of my shoes, and then following that making fun of the face I make while he’s making fun of my shoes. I give him equal amounts of shit about the girl he’s seeing. I lay there hoping like hell he’s not detecting the slight edge of jealousy in my voice, or that he’s not hearing my heart near leap out of my chest every time he inadvertently brushes my arm. This is often, and one of the things I love about him at this precise moment is how much he gesticulates when he’s talking about something he’s passionate about.

A certain bravery comes from laying next to a person while you’re talking, rather than looking them dead in the eyes. You tend to say things you wouldn’t otherwise say, and ask questions you otherwise might not. Terrible cask wine also helps. We began talking about how lost we felt, and how we were confused and almost jaded about the changes we’d started noticing in our group of friends. One person got a job and now wears a suit, another moved to Melbourne and brags about how much money he earns. It’s all small stuff but scarily indicative of a much bigger thing, and I think we both know that as much as we fight it, we’re heading for the same metamorphosis.

He starts talking about the things he’ll miss if he moves to Sydney to study and I slowly hear the confidence drain from his voice.

‘It’s gonna be different.’
I say ‘Yeah, it will.’
‘Like, we’ll still be friends though, right?’
‘Of course! Of course.’
‘You promise?’ He looks at me now.
‘I promise.’

The bah-dum of a heartbeat length pause.

‘Really’ I say.

At this he makes a joke about something I can’t remember and the moment is lost.

I have no idea what he’s doing now. There’s no way I can ever hear this song without thinking about him and that night in his back yard and the smell of damp earth and the horrible taste of goon.

Are promises empty and weightless if they’re heavy with intent at the time? I like to think not.

Oh and…

I slept for 11 hours last night.  What the hell?  I clearly needed a coma.  Stupid thing is I’m yawning like a mofo again right now.

So yeah.  I probably should get on that.

Situation: normal

Yet not.  Things, if I wanted them to, could go back to just the way they were before this whole wedding hoohar.  Turns out, though, I don’t want them too.

Last night I hit Yass on the Hume Highway and starting getting inexplicably angry.  I feel so much like my whole life is being steered by forces I have no control over.  Without going into one of those mind-numbingly boring existential rants that bloggers are prone to, let’s just say by the time I hit Golbourn I had worked a few things out.

There’s a lot more I should say.  I haven’t written here properly for weeks, but it’s there.  It just needs the space to come.  This weekend, for the first time in a long, long time, there will be space.

And the world, and Karen, will rejoice.


Definition of frustration is FINALLY getting some free time to maybe catch a movie, and then finding out the one movie you are really looking forward to seeing has finished showing in the greater Sydney area TODAY.  God damn.

This here should be a good substitute though.