The Harsh Truth Of Pencil Skirts

pencil skirt.jpgIt’s been a while, but I’m back baby!

Work and life have been busy and I’ve been stuck in a creative rut that there was no need to subject you to!

The work situation is still up in the air due to our Game of Thrones situation – the Iron Throne is still vacant.  The court rumour mill has it while the seat of power is attractive the gold, or lack thereof is not enough to temp an heir into the citadel.

I’m riding it out and doing as much contingency planning as I can.  I like my job but I need to accept that nothing will change in the short term.  So, I’m putting on my big girl panties, sucking it up and getting over it.

I’ve put myself on the wagon wine wise to try and get fit – ok, lose some weight, my new undies don’t fit and I had delusions of grandeur that I could wear a white pencil skirt (to go with my rashly purchased fabulous jacket that matches NOTHING I own).  Until I tried it on that is.  Why is it that white only serves to highlight cellulite? I had a long and depressing talk with myself in the change rooms at Cue a couple of weeks ago while trying to convince myself that with a bit of spanks action I could get away with the sleek white look.  Fortunately for my bank balance the realist in me won, so I don’t have yet another expensive item in my wardrobe that I can’t wear.

Another reason for the temporary wine wagon is that I’ve been reading Sober Mummy’s blog (it’s fabulous, check it out) and some other blogs in the sober sphere and thought that it would be good for me to take a break.  While I don’t drink every day, when I do I drink way more than I should.  I don’t like the path that this habit could take me down so I’m taking action.

So that’s it for me for today.  I’ll be back soon I promise!

Wardrobe Crisis!

wear 2

What happened to generate this eye catching, dramatic headline you ask?  It started innocently enough; I was invited to the Australian Open with friends who are also business associates.  The problem is this meant “casual”.

“Casual” has always escaped me; I’m not good with casual.  Formal I nail, my work look is money no matter where you put me, but casual???

Hmmm…the tennis, right, fine: cargos, wedges, cute top, done.  But then lunch was mentioned and that threw me, lunch where? Were my cargos going to cut it? The top I was going to wear certainly wasn’t.  What now?

In my twenties this was never a problem. Lunch with the Queen, that ultra-cute white Cue outfit with the floaty skirt and short sleeved double breasted jacket would be perfect. Impromptu ski trip, no dramas; Day at the beach, sorted; Drinks with the PM, let me change my shoes and we are good to go.  I was never short of an appropriate outfit.  Now a simple trip to a slightly swankier shopping centre can throw me.

When did I go from finger on the pulse of fashion and always feeling put together to this slightly uncomfortable feeling that my shoes aren’t quite right?  Sigh.

Well, must fly, someone mentioned afternoon drinks at their place in February and I’ve got some serous planning to do!

PS: in case you are wondering I went with a good top, skinny jeans, the wedges and was boiling hot all day. My hosts showed up in shorts and thongs!  I can’t win. LOL

Winning @ The Post Christmas Sales 

shopping

Is it irrational to buy a new quilt cover because it matches the top you brought?  No?  See, now that is why we are friends!

It was an impulse buy when I hit the post Christmas sales.  I was on a high after a successful gift card shopping spree:  You know that feeling you get when it all falls into place and you get exactly what you want AND it’s on sale?

I don’t shop often, but when I do I find it difficult to get exactly what I want, then I get cranky because I don’t want to compromise, so to find everything I wanted had the same effect as downing a couple of glasses of bubbly on an empty stomach. I was swanning though the shopping centre, proudly swinging my new shiny shopping bags feeling a million dollars with a dopey grin on my face.

Not only did it match my new swanky casual but smart top, it was in the colours that Crazy Cat Boy had been hinting he’d like towels in. That made this lovely quilt set at 50% off a sign from the shopping gods.  I’d been resisting the change in towels as this is a big thing for me – I carefully coordinate my bedroom so it matches all the towels, tea towels , cushion covers and napkins throughout the house (Yes I have a problem, no I won’t be working on it.  Matching stuff is just who I am.  On hearing that I had gotten a cat, the first thing Cousin Wendy asked me was “does it match the couch?”*).

So on my next washing day, think of me as I gleefully change the “red/grey” theme for the new “blue/grey**” one.  I’ll still be wearing that big dopey grin as I slip on the European pillow covers.

*For the record no he didn’t and 18 years later he’s still dropping fur on stuff he doesn’t match.

**Ikea had perfectly matching cushion covers on sale when I dropped in there this week, so naturally I’m also the proud owner of new covers as well, so it really was a sign!  😉

I Have A Dirty Little Secret

secret 4

 

 

 

 

 

My name is Crazy Cat Lady and I’m an addict.  That’s the first step right, admitting you have a problem?  I was the last person I thought this would happen to.  I’m opening up so that others don’t feel they are alone…

First, I feel I have to defend myself; I’m an intelligent, articulate woman.  I hold myself to high standards and get quite angry by the low brow entertainment offerings that are so prevalent today.

Hell, one of my favourite rants is how “reality news shows” and morning TV are the reason we are becoming so dumb.  I’m passionate about education and using my time to achieve worthwhile goals.  So I’m deeply ashamed to admit my degrading addiction.

(I also believe that not returning shopping trollies to their bay in the car park is contributing to the breakdown of civilisation, but that’s a rant for another day.)

It started innocently enough; I was tired on a flight back from a client conference and wasn’t paying too much attention to my actions.  It was only one, what could it hurt? Right?

Wrong! That one hit was all it took, I was hooked.

I binged all the flight home, I couldn’t get enough.  I didn’t want to get off the flight and lose my “connection”.  I knew I couldn’t get the product at home; I’d never be able to hide the lost time and money from Crazy Cat Boy.

For the past few years I’ve hidden this dirty secret from the world, indulging while on work trips alone in my hotel room. Making excuses to leave client dinners early or showing up late for pre dinner drinks. Yes, I had sunk that low.

Only recently did I admit my problem to Super Sammie.  I expected her to recoil in horror and suggest I seek treatment immediately, but to my dismay she just smiled knowingly and shared her stash with me.  It appears that this addiction has almost reached epidemic proportions among seemingly responsible, middle class, white women.

Why admit my addiction now you ask?  Well after years of managing to keep a lid on it mostly due to the lack of opportunity to indulge it seems that I’m about to be found out.  I’ll shortly be able to feed my shame at home and I’m not sure I’m strong enough to resist.

So if you don’t hear from me for a while, please stage an intervention, I’ll be in my lounge room wearing PJ’s, an addict’s vacant glassy stare, slack jawed and binge watching Real Housewives….

Bah Hum Bug

20151208_125434_resizedI’m totally not a Christmas person

We’ve just gone through his family’s seasonal “Crazy Cat Lady, you got random cousin Jay in the family draw” saga.  This means I now have to work out which one Jay is again, then spend $50 on a person that I don’t really know, only see every third Christmas, who won’t acknowledge this gift so I’ll never know if the specialised gift that they requested and I paid extra shipping for even arrived!

This process is starting to wear thin. Plus,immediate family are an exception; you are still expected to spend a fortune on them and get random crap* back in return.

I’ve never really been a Christmas person, even when small.  It usually meant being up early and having to be on my best behaviour if Grandma was coming.   The only upside as a kid was that I usually got to see Cousin Wendy and check out her new earrings (she wore make up and made her own funky earrings, she was and is way cool). Cousin Wendy and I would also whip everyone’s arses at pool at Nan and Pa’s which was always fun – It stood us in good stead drinks wise when we started hitting the bars.

Crazy Cat Boy however LOVES Christmas.  He’s an extravagant shopper by nature and loves to be a part of his extended family.  But (why is there always a “but”?)  Christmas is a stark reminder that his family don’t really know him.  It makes me sad to watch the puzzled look creep over his face as he opens yet another well meaning but rarely thought out gift.  Just email me people; I’ll give you some tips, it’s really not that hard!!  I mean, at least I know they don’t care what I get, but he takes it personally.

This year we are on the verge of a Christmas miracle, we are just one missing dog sitter away from it being the two of us in our own home, far away from the inevitable stress that will occur over slightly dry pork and copious amounts of champagne as my BIL & SIL host lunch at their place.

The magic of Christmas might just be restored!

*It’s not their fault; they don’t know me any better than I know them.

I always get a giggle at gifts from SIL.  One year out of every ten she knocks it out of the ball park with an amazing, thoughtful gift that must have taken months to pull together.  The other nine years however, it looks like she ran blindfolded through a service station and just wrapped whatever random stuff she picked up!  LOL

Help, My Thighs Have “Hail Damage”!

celulite

I stand before you (well, sit on my tubby arse before you) a 60 odd kg, cellulite sprinkled, pasty white, spotty armed Crazy Cat Lady who feels let down by her mirror.  How did this happen and how can I reverse it in three weeks?

Here is my day of woe began…

I’m working out of a client’s office today so this morning instead of just brushing my hair and pulling on jeans and a tee, I slapped on some makeup and slipped on a new dress, well, that was the plan.

The dress, purchased only 12 months ago does not fit properly.  Not only did it not “slip” as advertised, it actually “dragged” over the hip area and a very visible panty and waist line appeared where it shouldn’t have!

How did this happen (the can of Coke on my desk as I type might be a small give away)?  I thought I was still pretty fit: so I consulted the friendly mirror, the one in the ensuite, not the harsh reality mirror that lives in the main bathroom.

Gulp! The mirror has had a personality change and is throwing up some unwelcome sights under the glare of the double heat lamp.

Not only do my eyebrows need a decent pluck, but there are vast expanses of very white, very “hail damaged” thighs and buttocks that are a lot more wobbly than I’d like to admit.   Not only that, but my arms are spotty and have weird multiple tan lines from different length sleaves and bingo wings!  Bloody Nora!

However that’s not the biggest problem. In three weeks I’m catching up with friends that I haven’t seen since high school  (navigating the whole Facebook friend gauntlet reconnecting with them is a whole other post)and I want to look hot damn it!

So, I’m assessing my options:

  1. Take legal action against the designer of said “slip dress” for wrongful advertising
  2. Surgery – excessive?  Probably, but let’s not rule anything out
  3. Expensive “smoothing” creams and gels – see how desperate I’m becoming, I’m starting to want to believe the hype!
  4. Convert to any religion that needs me to cover head to toe loose clothes – extreme, maybe, but as a short term solution option, I’m game
  5. Spanks – ‘nuff said!
  6. More green stuff, less coke – probably a solid option for my overall health, but I loves me my coke 😉
  7. Less wine – see “more green” above!  LOL
  8. More moving – again see boring health stuff above
  9. Find the Kettle bell – by hook or by crook I’ll deflab these arms.

I know what you are thinking, I really only have one solid option, fake my own death, but I’d really like to catch up with them all so perhaps I’ll try the “health” option…. stay tuned dear reader, I’ll post updates on my painful progress!

Ho Hum… 

cherry

I’ve got a problem; I don’t know what to blog about this week.  Sure, I’ve got a list of topics laid out that I can choose from but the issue is I don’t feel like writing about any of them.

Truth be told I feel a bit ho hum, motivation is a real issue at the moment.  This end of the year I should be making plans for the next, however with the client situation the way it is that’s not happening.

Did I tell you about our cherries? No? Right then we can talk about them… We finally have cherries!  I’m very excited, ridiculously so – let’s face it I’m telling you, a bunch of random (lovely, but random) people on the internet about them.

So why am I excited about the cherries?  Well, it’s a few things…

  1. I LOVE cherries, almost as much as I love brie and that’s saying something
  2. It’s something new; we’ve waited 7 years for them to grow on our tree
  3. They are a welcome distraction* from the currently screwy work situation

I think #3 is most important.  It’s a reminder to me that regardless of the current uncertainty at work (click here if you aren’t sure what I’m rambling about) that things can grow and develop despite the apparent stagnation.

They have also given me something to talk to… I’ve been outside encouraging the bees as they buzzed about pollinating the tree using very Monty Burns/Gollum esque language and hand gestures.  I should point out that my conscious mind is aware that calling a bee “my precious” and tenting my hands while saying “excellent” and inspecting a tree is not healthy, I promise to get out more.

So I’ll leave you with a picture of our cherries and the cheerful thought that no matter how nuts you think you are you can’t be as crazy as the 40 something marketing professional wandering around her back yard giving constructive feedback to bees!

 * I know that sounds odd but when you work from home being able to walk outside and see something actually progressing when you feel like you have been treading water for months is very reassuring and oddly calming. 

So They Put Your Boob In a Vice….

surprised faceOk, so the technical term is “plates”, and I’m sure there is a fancy medical term that they use when we civilians aren’t around. Yep, that’s right I had a mammogram and I’ve lived to tell the tale!

I’m one of the many who have a higher chance of breast cancer, yay, lucky me. However, since I moved to wine country a few years ago and am over 40, I’m also one of the lucky few who qualify for free mammograms every couple of years. Yep, you heard it here first folks, every two years I get my breasts squished for free!

So every couple of years I trot off to the local breast screen clinic and make small talk with a medical professional who is usually a woman older than me while topless and trying not to move while less than sexy shots are taken of my boobs.   I don’t envy this poor woman’s job either, “Try and stay still and don’t breathe dear”, is usually what I hear while the technician tries valiantly to get enough of my less than generous assets into the machine so she can do the scan. Personally I think I’m probably having more armpit and side boob fat scanned than actual breast. LOL, what ya gunna do, you work with what you have!

For anyone who hasn’t had one and is wondering what to expect, don’t hold off, it’s surprisingly fast and easy. I didn’t feel any pain at all; very firm pressure, but no pain. Sure, the resulting photos aren’t the sexy glamour shots that you’d post to Instagram if you were Kim Kardashian, but for 15 minutes of your Saturday morning and some small talk, I’d recommend you take advantage of the amazing service we are lucky enough to have access to for free in Australia… it might just save your life.

PS: If you are 40 and over living in rural Australia you qualify for earlier screening. Ask your doctor.

If I’ve got mums face, who’s has she got?

lipsI’m not a makeup girl, never have been, but sometimes it’s called for. Sure, I slap on a bit of liner some subtle shadow and mascara before heading off to see clients, but foundation and lipstick are almost unheard of for me in a standard office visit. It’s cool, they know what I look like; so far no one has recoiled in horror when I check in at Reception, so I figure I’m ok to keep up this lax routine.

There was an important meeting last week, so I decided to step it up and “look the part” (We were up for some hardball negotiations: a girls got to feel confident and sometimes a killer pair of heels just isn’t enough **)

I realised something was wrong when the foundation brush seemed to stop half way down my face. That doesn’t look right, I know it’s been a while, but I’m sure that it shouldn’t look that dry and flaky. Perhaps the bottle has gone off. Ohhhh, that’s my face that’s dry and flaky, hmm. Extra moisturiser should do the trick. Damn, now it’s not thick enough to cover those weird brown and red spots that never used to be around the edges of my face. OMG, are they age spots and where did those blue veins that are normally hidden by my hair come from? Might be time to book in for a session of resurfacing with “Connie the Laser Lady”.

Right, that’s got the foundation sorted, I’m still not entirely happy; when I smile I have eye wrinkles. I thought makeup was supposed to hide that stuff?

Oh well, lips next.   Since when did the lip liner bounce along like that? Where did those craters come from around my lips? I don’t smoke, this can’t be right (Mental note: pay more attention to Connie when she talks about fillers next time)! Oh, well, lipstick will cover that wonky line. Lordy, that bright colour that I’ve worn for years makes my teeth look yellow! Think quick, tone it down with something duller. That’s better, crisis averted.

Then it hits me. My mind flies back to a 15 year old me taking control of my mum before a wedding and “doing” her makeup. I remember the way her eyelids moved with the brush when I put the shadow on and the how her lipstick bled up lines above the lip. OMG, somehow I’ve I got my mother’s face. How did that happen? I spend a small fortune on organic facial products, I wasn’t meant to get old makeup skin!

I look in the bathroom mirror and a painted person that I’m not sure is me looks back. I wonder who’s face mum is wearing if I’ve got hers these days? Oh hell, perhaps it grandmas! It seems that fresh horrors still await me!

PS: I checked my lipstick when I hit the office and sure enough, it was bleeding up lines that almost reached my nose, I’m doomed! 😉

** Yeah, yeah, I know, how about using your intellect and superior negotiation skills? Your appearance shouldn’t have a bearing on it. I know all that, trust me, I’ve got mad skills and I use ‘em, but still sometimes looking as fabulous as you are capable is a big confidence booster.