|
| Wednesday, June 28, 2006 |
| Argh, me back |
| Damn I feel bad. My shoulders ache, my neck aches... and all I did was sleep! I didn't even sleep wrong! I think I need a new pillow. It didn't help that I was hot last night, and kept waking up feeling hot, but not wanting to take my jumper off (yes, I wear a jumper to bed... it's been cold lately) because Mr Ata had so much doona that I had cold spots along my left side where the chilly air was sneaking it's frigid fingers under my lovely doona. The worst moment came when he moved in his sleep, thieving even more of my rightful doona, and I tried to pull it back - he wouldn't let me! He hung on to the edge! And all I could do was slide a little further under my edge of doona and lie still. Eventually I took off the jumper because I really was too hot, and tried repeatedly to recover some doona. And when I got up in the morning I was tired and achey and grumpy. Just as well I don't have to work today. I think I will watch TV and eat Twisties and sulk. |
posted by Ata @ 9:55 am  |
|
|
|
| Sunday, June 25, 2006 |
| Shoesies |
The Shoes. To go with The Dress. There was a pair we would have chosen except for the fact that they had 4" stiletto heels, and for a garden wedding - well, a little impractical. I may yet sneak back and purchase them anyway, to wear to the Christmas in July dinner for Mr Ata's work. |
| posted by Ata @ 12:55 pm |
|
|
|
| Tuesday, June 20, 2006 |
| Dress for Myo |
Prior to alteration. It has been delivered to Ata's alteration place of choice, and the lady with the Russian accent thinks she can have it finished by the first of July. Cutting it a leeeeeettle bit fine, but it will be okay. Incidentally, the Most Beautiful Dress of the Day was a floor-length gown in three shades of blue - starting with a light blue, then darker shades layered over the top. Each layer was split to the thigh on the right so that the layers underneath show through. Very lovely. If Ata were a Lady of Leisure with gazillions to spare, she just may well have purchased it for lying about the house in. |
| posted by Ata @ 9:52 am |
|
|
|
| Monday, June 19, 2006 |
| Dress me up, dress me down |
The impending Darwin wedding meant that Ata and Another Bridesmaid did a dress shopping run on Saturday.
There were several factors weighted against us in this particular challenge - the first being season. For a wedding in Darwin, we required summery-type dresses. It is winter in Adelaide. This means that, although formal wear remains as flimsy as always, it only comes in dark colours. And almost uniformly floor-length, where we wanted three-quarter-length dresses. The second issue was size - or rather, shape. While Ata and AB take the same size in dresses, she is of a dainty figure. Positively perky. Where Ata is... well... not. So there is a twinned struggle of finding a dress which makes her look a little more curvy and Ata a little less like a milk cow.
Okay, that might be overstating things a little. But not much. Anyway, moving on.
The third problem was the third bridesmaid. A much younger friend of the Bride, she is in Darwin. Her mother intends to make her dress. Given that Ata and AB felt it was more-or-less impossible to have dresses made and ready to wear in two weeks, we decided that attempting to have the same dresses was an uneccessary stress.
So. We met at Marion Westfield Shopping Centre at 10:30. It was supposed to be 10:00, but we'd both been out the night before. Marion was chosen as a starting point because it was (a) big, and (b) halfway between our houses. About a 45 minute drive for each of us.
We quickly discovered that there was only one suitable dress at Marion. David Jones had an ideal cut, suitable colour, ideal length dress for $189. But before we could think that our bridesmaid dress worries were over, we discovered that they kept only sample stock on the shelf. The dresses had to be ordered in. This took 10 weeks. We made a half-hearted effort to convince them to sell us the shelf stock, to no avail. We spent some time deriding the flocks of 12-14 yr olds who had turned up to the Girlfriend Model of the Year (or whatever it was called), all apparently delighted to spend half their Saturday standing in line to collect their pink bag of Girlfriend goodies and be churned through the makeover department to have the same hairdo and makeup stamped on them all.
Our next port of call (after some fortification in the food court) was Harbourtown. Harbourtown has outlet stores. Hooray! Last season's colours! Last season's dresses! We thought we had hit the jackpot in the first stop there, and tried on a number of dresses. No good. Being an outlet, they have what is on the shelf and no more. Not the right size? Too bad. Could be perfect in a different colour? No luck.
Oh well. Next stop, Burnside Shopping Centre. Burnside is an 'old money' area of Adelaide. Posh clothes for sure. And while we found many posh clothes (and many daggy clothes, just overpriced), they really seemed to be more mother of the bride than bridesmaid. Again, unless we wanted floor-length evening gowns in dark colours, which we didn't. A quick stop on Glen Osmond Road (which is where one used to find outlet stores, until Harbourtown was built) to ascertain that there was nothing there, and we settled on heading into the city as a last resort. It is just as well Adelaide is so easy to get around.
One of Ata's favourite shops is a little one called Copycat. It is downstairs from Rundle Mall (the major shopping district in Adelaide City), although they used to also have a seconds-outlet not far away, at which Ata has purchased some of her favourite clothing items. We stopped in there before proceeding to the Myer Centre and after a quick tour of several over-priced and under-stocked boutiques in one of the arcades that run off the Mall. On a rack at the very back of the shop, we found them. Two dresses, shimmery pink, in a style very similar to the bride's dress. The wrong sizes, of course - a 12 and a 14 - but surely we could have them altered to fit. And wonder of wonders, marked down to $65. We ummed and ahhed, concerned about the need for alteration, while the saleswoman (who must have been high on something when she put her makeup on) tried to pretend they fitted perfectly. By now it was 3:30.
"We don't suppose you have them in any other colours?" we enquired.
"Oh, no." she answered. "These are very popular. These are the last two, so you'd better take them now."
"What time do you close?" we asked.
"Oh... five o'clock." said the salescow. "Or earlier."
"Well, we want to check out the Myer Centre first, just in case. If not, we will come back." we decided.
"Oh, you won't find anything there." asserted the woman, who seemed determined to get these dresses off her hands. "This type of dress would be two or three hundred dollars at Myers."
"Hmm." said we. "We will check. Just in case." And made our escape.
Predictably, there was nothing suitable at Myers or any other Myer Centre shops. For any price. We sat in the bottom of the David Jones building and drank hot chocolate and coffee to review our options. The candy-pink, shimmery dresses at Copycat were all we had come up with. That was it. After a full day of shopping, we had turned up only one option. The likelihood of finding something else at another shop seemed slim, and given the time constraints we were under, we didn't fancy another day's expedition. But the horrible woman at the shop had been so pushy that we didn't want to go back.
In the end, it was inevitable. Treading just a little of our pride underfoot, we braved the salesthing to purchase the pink dresses. On our entry to the shop, she gave us a bland expression.
"Oh. You're back." sayeth she, without intonation.
"Yes." sayeth Ata, with determined cheer. "Do you still have them?" Just a trace of malice in the sweetness.
"Yes." is the response.
Honestly, after her earlier performance, one would think she would be pleased to have the sale.
On the way back to the car, Ata sighs. "Oh, I am glad that's over. I've had enough of looking at dresses."
"Yeah," agrees AB, "I've just had enough of taking my clothes off."
Anyway. We have dresses, and Ata has now been given the task of attempting to find similar fabric for the Youngest Bridesmaid's dress to be made from. And then there are shoes to find. And a wrap. And the dress to be altered. |
| posted by Ata @ 11:45 am |
|
|
|
| Saturday, June 10, 2006 |
| Ata's Little Pony |
Ata's first ever pony customising effort. Tada! If you go back a few posts, you can see a 'before' picture. She's the bright pink one with texta marks all over.
 |
| posted by Ata @ 3:44 pm |
|
|
|
| Wednesday, June 07, 2006 |
| Breakfast |
This morning, Ata had porridge for breakfast. Yes, the time of Porridge is here. Well, actually Ata had her new super-porridge, fortified with bran and amaranth. The bran makes it crunchy. And calling it super-porridge makes it sound more interesting.
Mr Ata appeared in the kitchen.
"What can I have for breakfast?" he asked. Ata shrugged.
"Can I have porridge?" he persisted. "Will you make me porridge?"
"No" said Ata, who objects to making breakfast for perfectly capable adults. "Make your own porridge."
"But I don't know how!" protested Mr Ata. In the face of persistent uncaringness from Ata, he got the box out of the cupboard and, after instruction on where to find the third-of-a-cup measure, put porridge in his bowl. "What do I do next?" Mr Ata was in his cheerfullest mood this morning.
"Now," replied Ata "You put the third-of-a-cup measure on your head, and dance the Macarena."
"You see!" cried Mr Ata, "This is why I don't make porridge more often! I can't remember the steps!" |
| posted by Ata @ 10:00 am |
|
|
|
| Monday, June 05, 2006 |
| Things that make Ata laugh |
Mr Ata was listening to this just now, and I remembered that I loved it, so I thought I would post it.
I’M SO POSTMODERN BY THE BEDROOM PHILOSOPHER 2004
I’m so postmodern that I just don’t talk anymore, I wear different coloured t-shirts according to my mood.
I’m so postmodern that I work from home as a surf life saving consumer hotline.
I’m so postmodern all my clothes are made out of sleeping bags, I don’t need pockets, I’m a pocket myself.
I’m so postmodern I go to parties I’m not invited to and locate the vegemite and write my name on everyone.
I’m so postmodern that I write reviews for funerals, and heckle at weddings from inside a suitcase.
I’m so postmodern I’m going to adopt a child, and teach him how to knit, and call him Adolf Diggler.
I’m so postmodern that I break dance in waiting rooms, play Yahtzee in nightclubs, at three in the afternoon.
I’m so postmodern I only go on dates that last thirteen minutes, via walky talky, while hiding under the bed.
I’m so postmodern I invite strangers to my house, and put on a slide show of other people’s Nans.
I’m so postmodern I went home and typed up everything you said and printed it out in wingdings and gave it back to you.
I’m so postmodern I held an art exhibition - a Chuppa Chup stuck to a swimming cap, and no one was invited.
I’m so postmodern I make alphabet soup, and dye it purple, and pour it on the lawn.
I’m so postmodern I request Hey Mona on karaoke, then sing my life story to the tune of My Sharona.
I’m so postmodern I only think in palindromic haikus – “Madam, I, Glenelg, I’m Adam!”
I’m so postmodern that I sit down to wee, and stand up to poo, at job interviews.
I’m so postmodern that I dress up as Santa, in the middle of August, and haunt golf courses.
I’m so postmodern that I cut off all my hair, and knitted it into a beanie, and threw it off a bridge.
I’m so postmodern that I stole everyone’s mail, and cut them up into a ransom note and hid it in a thermos.
I’m so postmodern I take my lego to the supermarket and build my own shopping trolley, and only buy one nut.
I’m so postmodern I wrote a letter to the council - .I think it was ‘M.’
I’m so postmodern I bought a round the world plane ticket, and stuffed my clothes with eggplant and pretended it was me.
I’m so postmodern I’ve got a tattoo of my pin number in hieroglyphics on my neighbour’s guidedog.
I’m so postmodern I fought my way into parliament and made a law banning Nuttelex, and then moved to Spain.
I’m so postmodern that I iron all my lettuce leaves, put my shirts in the crisper - they’re real crisp.
I’m so postmodern I give live mice to buskers, dirty tea towels to the Mormons, and pavlova to crabs.
I’m so postmodern that I live in a tent, on a platform of skateboards that’s tied to a tram.
I’m so postmodern I write four thousand-word essays on the cultural significance of party pies.
I’m so postmodern I recite Shakespeare at KFC drive thru, through a megaphone, in sign language.
I’m so postmodern I’m going to watch the Olympics on a black & white TV, with the sound down.
I’m so postmodern I go to the gym after hours, push up against the door, then cry myself to sleep.
I’m so postmodern I wrote a trilogy of novels from the perspective of a possum that Jesus patted once.
I’m so postmodern that I marry all my friends, soak myself in metho, and tell them that they’ve changed.
I’m so postmodern I bought every book written in 1963 as a reading challenge, and clogged up a waterslide.
I’m so postmodern I think I might be a god in my undies rolling in sugar, in the carpark of a rodeo.
I’m so postmodern I prerecorded this song, and laced a message subliminally telling Shane Porteous to buy a smock. |
| posted by Ata @ 10:48 am |
|
|
|
|
| ANOTHER cat story |
At night, Roswell sleeps on the bed. Next to or on top of Ata. In the morning, she likes to be patted and cuddled before beginning the day. When it is cold, she likes to get under the blankets.
This morning was such a morning. Roswell squirmed under the blankets, and purred and purred and purred while Ata scratched her head. Mr Ata got up and left the room. Shortly afterward, Bosco entered. Bosco does not spend the night in the bedroom, as he is Too Rowdy, and is usually shut out in the hall. Bosco jumped on the bed and trotted directly across to Ata and Roswell. Roswell did not notice, and continued purring. Bosco stood for a moment, watching her. Then he sniffed her ear. Roswell stopped purring. Ata continued to scratch Roswell's head, in the hopes of convincing her that Bosco was not there. Bosco reached out with a paw and tapped Roswell's face. Eyes still shut, Roswell's ears turned back. Bosco observed. This was not the response he had hoped for. He sniffed an ear again. Roswell twitched it. Carefully, very carefully, he stretched out the other paw and tapped her again. One-two-three.
MEEEERROOOW! Roswell exploded from under the blankets and shot off the bed with Bosco in hot pursuit. From under the bed came wailing and hissing and scuffling, then the fight tore off into the hallway and kitchen, where it was quickly distracted by the windows.
Another day in Ataland. |
| posted by Ata @ 10:13 am |
|
|
|
|
|
