The Setting: Fountain Gate shopping centre.
Dramatis Personae:
Me (myself and I)
The Sonia (almost-sister-in-law)
Trinny and Susannah
Sundry others

This is what happened: Trinny and Susannah from the original What Not To Wear were coming to Australia and I asked my almost-sister-in-law, Sonia, if she’d like to go and see them. She’s a mad fan of them (I'm pretty sure she even has all of their books) so of course she said yes.

There’s a question that automatically goes through your head when you know you’re going to be in the very near vicinity of such style gurus: Should I dress up to impress, or dress down to get their attention and a make-over? I opted just to stay casual. It was the weekend, after all... it seemed like an acceptable option to me.

We got there in plenty of time and quickly decided that Fountain Gate needs lessons in signage. Sonia spotted the sign for Trinny and Susannah in Centre Court (“I see legs!” – it was a completely surreal statement until I saw the banner draped from the ceiling, legs-first) but there was a complete lack of signage directing us to said Centre Court. Nevertheless, we made our way there and found a spot that wasn’t too bad, vantage-wise and the show began at long last. They began with a bit of banter, then headed into the crowd in search of victims. Trinny headed our way, so our attention was naturally focussed on her as she talked to people and sent one or two in the direction of the stage.

We happened to be standing in a spot where people seemed to ask a lot of questions, such as:

Would you like this brochure? (Yes, thank-you.)

Where do you get those ice-creams? (Look for the ladies with giant bags on the edge of the crowd.)

The ice-creams weren’t any good, by the way, even though they were free.

Sometimes, we even asked ourselves questions, such as:

Why are those girls wearing robes? (We never did find out.)

So when someone tapped me on the shoulder, I was expecting to turn around and face another mindless question. Instead, I found myself face to face with Susannah, an encounter that left me kind of speechless. Which is lucky, because the only thing I could think of to say was “Oh, it’s you” which seems slightly on the inane side. She appraised me for a bit while I stared in bewilderment and then said, “I think I’d like you to go on stage”.

And go on stage I did, all the while wondering what was so bad about my outfit. I mean, sure, it was a bit casual, but I’d been shopping that morning and I wanted something that was easy to change in and out of. Why, why had I been chosen? These thoughts were still going through my head as they started talking about the first lady, taking every opportunity to grab her boobs (as is their wont). What’s wrong with my outfit? What are they going to pick on? I was torn between excitement and anguish.

Finally, it was my turn and Susannah led me to the front of the stage where she actually said I was dressed pretty well for my shape. “But we want you to go a step further,” she said. “Show off those curves.” And I was sent backstage, into regimented chaos.

“I think she’d look fantastic in this blue dress,” was Susannah’s verdict, as she dragged a rather gorgeous, slinky thing off the rack. There was a brief moment of concern when it was thought that someone else was already going to wear it, but it turned out to be a myth and the dress was bestowed upon me as I was bestowed upon Bridget, the make-up artist.

Poor Bridget – she wasn’t to know that my eyes practically weep at the mere thought of eyeliner. She was constantly being harried as she tried to deal with my overly sensitive blink reflex and she managed to make me look amazing regardless. Make-up done, into the changing room; then off to step into some gorgeous shoes and to be draped in chunky jewellery. Then passed back to Bridget for hair. At one point Susannah had suggested a quick trim to give me a fringe, which likewise gave me a moment of despair – But I’ve just grown my fringe out! I don’t want it back.

No time for a fringe – Bridget just sprayed my fine, disobedient hair into submission and was even there as I was waiting to go on stage, applying some last touches.

And then I was taken back out and there was applause and Susannah insisted I turn around so everyone could see what the dress was doing for my back view... It was madness and so much fun and completely surreal. If only we’d been allowed to keep the clothes! Everyone kept telling me I had to buy the dress – the colour was so amazing and it suited me perfectly – and I was thinking, Yeah, but with what money?

Turns out I might be able to after all. We were all given a little goody bag afterwards with the standard set of things in it: dodgy pen, discount offers, a recipe book and a rather nice notebook... plus a voucher. I thought it would be for some tiny amount – ten, twenty dollars maybe – and I didn’t investigate further until I got back to the Boy’s place and discovered it was actually for $150! So wow.

As for Trinny and Susannah themselves, they were completely lovely and approachable; they didn’t give themselves airs about being famous or completely glamorous. It was non-stop fun.

Well... all except for the slightly terrified lady who didn’t quite want to be there. I don’t think she had quite as much fun as the rest of us did.

But I did. It was surreal and amazing and it still feels slightly unreal. Thank goodness I actually do know what not to wear.

This, alas, is the only picture I have, taken by the Sonia on her phone from behind the Stupid Woman Who Kept Getting In Her Way. You'll just have to take my word for it that the blue blur is me and the black one is Susannah:

I really am.  But I’m also writing this entry.  Huzzah for multi-tasking!

Or prevaricating.

:D

Today, I wish to discuss writing, with reference to a particular story.  Last year, I started a serial called Holly Hughes.  If you follow that link, you’ll find it’s that most rare of serials: the serial with only one instalment.  Some might even say that renders it ineligible for the classification "serial"... and they’d be right.  I had great plans to update the story regularly and they all fell through, no doubt having a great time with all of those other, lost good intentions of mine who are living it up somewhere with plenty of company.

Over a year went by without any noticable updates at all until I received a review for the story last week.  This was beneficial in many ways, firstly because it reminded me the story actually existed.  Secondly because it reminded me that I quite liked the story and it could be fun to continue with it.  The only down side is that I appear to have forgotten a great deal of the plans I had for it.  Oh, I have notes.  Indeed I do.  I have a lovely list of characters, with some suggested scenes for the story in which they appear.  These notes comprise a grand two pages... if I change my page layout from A4 to letter.  I was positive I had more than that, but alas, it’s not the case.  (Or maybe I did and they ran off to party with all of my lost good intentions...)

So instead of the sheafs of helpful notes and future scenes I anticipated uncovering, I have a bare handful of notes written in an imaginative sort of creative short-hand that I foolishly expected myself to understand over a year later.

My favourite of these cryptic and terribly unhelpful notes would have to be this one:

An unholy army marches by, under Holly’s gaze.  (Themesong: Warriors from Lord of the Dance.)

Because, yes, I can definitely see an unholy army marching by to that song... but why the hell is there an unholy army in the story in the first place?  And why would Holly be watching said unholy army, marching by complete with unlikely musical accompaniment?

It was at this point that I began to suspect I'd be making up a lot of this story all over again.

I want to, though - I really want to.  Most of 2007 was spent in editing or in scrawling nonsense stories in a notebook; it'd be lovely to just sit down and write again.  I didn't mind that at all - I love editing and the nonsense stories were fun to write.  Yet it feels as though I've been away from any serious writing for a long time.  And Holly Hughes would be a great way to get back into that.  The main character has a lot of promise and there's a balance of humour and seriousness in the narrative that I quite enjoy.  The fact that the vast majority of my notes consists of a list of characters is encouraging, too.  Usually, my stories are very plot-driven; a story driven by characters would make a lovely change.  And they're such fascinating characters, too!  I can't wait to have a chance to write them.

I probably won't have much of a chance until after the fourth of January, though, because I'll be too busy having the time of my life with my fellow LorFers as of tomorrow morning!  If I were to say I were looking forward to this with a moderate amount of interest, then I'd be lying through my teeth.  I CANNOT WAIT!

*counts down the hours*

Before I go, I'd like to wish everyone a fantastic new year.  I hope 2008 is good to us all.

Well, two weeks have passed, so it must be time for my update.  I really have to get around to updating more regularly.  And by “regularly” I mean “every couple of days” obviously, rather than “every fortnight”...  Because while that’s regular, it’s not exactly prolific.

Luckily, you were saved from a post of relentless angst by the following characters:



They arrived on my doorstep this morning in a rather innocuous looking parcel.  Said innocuous looking parcel was filled, filled I say, with an absolutely insane amount of wrapping paper.  I was surrounded by the stuff by the time I’d finished unwrapping everything; sitting there, drowning in a sea of green paper.  And the people to blame are the wonderful crazedturkey and flippyfrog.

*hugs them both*

I absolutely love the expressions on their faces.  Ichigo looks quite crazed - not the sort of look you really want to see on someone in charge of a rather large, sharp-edged object.  And Rukia looks a little disgruntled, but I imagine that’s mostly because I put her in between Urahara and Kon.  I don’t know what I was thinking there.

And as an extra bonus, you get to see the top of my amazing-but-only-cost-seven-dollars keyboard (best keyboard ever - I’m never letting it go) and half of Sideshow Bob’s sardonic face.  Also, a manicure kit... because you need one right by the computer, don't you?

So yes - I was going to be angsty today, but I decided to be grateful for the amazing friends I have instead.

I keep finding reasons to like Winter.

This is rather disturbing.

I Do Not Like Winter.  It is cold and miserable and I spend all of my time dreaming of Summer and of not wearing a million layers of clothing or having to cope with one’s stupid umbrella breaking in the stupid wind when one needs it for protection against the stupid rain.

But, on the other hand...

In Winter, I get to wear gloves and that means I don’t have to touch metal door-handles or poles on the bus with my bare skin.  This is quite a boon for someone who can’t stand the feel of metal.

In Winter, I get to wear lovely warm coats, such as the wool and cashmere one I bought for my birthday.  It’s incredibly warm and, as an added bonus, it makes me look ridiculously slim.  (As an added added bonus, I got five dollars off the price because one of the buttons was missing and later found said button in one of the pockets.)

Oh, and in Winter, I get to wear boots.  Oh, the boots.  I have such a problem there.  I won’t go into that any further.

As if this sudden gratitude for cold weather wasn’t bad enough, it took a turn for the worse the other day.  I’d just been on a trip to the supermarket across the road in the freezing cold winds of icy doom and I stepped back inside.  My normal reaction upon doing this is to run up to the door behind which the central heating unit resides and shower it with mushy praise and protestations of undying love.  The other day?  I stepped inside and thought: Hmm... it’s a bit too warm in here.

*despairs*

Despite this sudden rather worrying... fondness for cold weather, I still managed to enjoy my birthday.  It was helped along by some amazing people and their equally amazing generosity.  My evil twin, the_kaytinator, sent me a delightful parcel of goodies (the scarf is so warm); etherealdeva and charliemc gave me birthday vgifts; and rigel_7 was very understanding when I accidentally responded to her birthday sms with a single asterisk.  And so many other people did lovely things for me and I’m so grateful for it.  Thank you all. :D

The year has a strange way of passing.  It starts off in the midst of summer heat, each day miserably following the other as we languish in the heat and bemoan the lack of air-conditioning.

Then work starts again.  The less said about that the better.

Then, if you’re really lucky, your capital city will decide to host the Commonwealth Games and force the education department into running a six week first term.  This of course has the wonderful flow-on effect of rendering all subsequent terms much longer than normal.  The twelve week one was my favourite.  I was sort of groping about desperately towards the end of that, wondering what we’d done to deserve such punishment.

And - oh - public-holiday-free term three.  Always a delight.

When term four arrives, fatalism sets in.  The year nine students get worse.  The year eight students start practising for their own turn as year nines.  Everyone suddenly discovers things that need doing right now.  Work builds up.  New textbooks must be processed yesterday.  Non-existent ones must be brought into existence for teachers who missed out.

Then, suddenly, it’s the last week and the students are all but gone.  Bells no longer ring and I’m never quite sure when to break for lunch.  I actually wake up with a smile on my face in the morning, because this is the last week, third-last day, second-last day LAST DAY OF WORK FOR THE YEAR!

The sense of freedom when I walked out of work yesterday was almost palpable.  No more work for five weeks!  Internet whenever I want!  FREEDOM!

And I know I probably say this every year, but I’m not going to waste these holidays.  No, really I’m not.

But for now, I think it’s time to relax.

Ah, I’m such a useless blogger of late.  Where are the vindictive rants against the idiots in society on the bus?  Where are the posts where I whinge about work?

Gods, apart from a passing reference to a semi-colon the other day, I've hardly even mentioned grammar or the abuse thereof.

It’s a sad, sad thing that being happy and having fun simply doesn’t make for entertaining LJ entries.  Luckily, I think I can live with that.  I can’t even complain about LJ's being blocked at work, because it’s sent me running towards the welcoming embrace of messageboards.  I used to avoid them, because they really ate up my download limit (on top of LJ, that is) but now there’s no LJ, I’m free to cavort about on messageboards and behave like a loon.

And it’s so much fun.

So, I could sit here and ramble on about the fun I’m having and the amazing people I’m meeting but it would only end up sending people to sleep.  Instead, I shall just pop an enthusiastic Huzzah! right here and continue on my merry way.

Oh yes - and I still have to write those two thousand words but I swear, I’ll do it tomorrow!  (Ah, the procrasinator’s creed...)

I’m not going to put my ficlet up this week because gah.  Yes, gah.  When I think about it, the only response my brain can come up with is the wonderfully pointless gah.

I don’t know why I hate it so much, although I have been thinking about it.  Perhaps it’s because it was trying so hard to fit in with the other two ficlets based on the same characters (for ’twas another Rena story).  Or maybe it’s just that Rena and Nevin were being very boring and stupidly cryptic in their dialogue.  But I won’t complain too much, for ’tis another five hundred and fifty words towards my November word count which, may I just add, is already the highest monthly word count for the entire year.

I’m sort-of doing NaNo, although I’m not aiming for fifty thousand words and neither am I devoting myself to writing one story exclusively.  Instead, I’m aiming for a word-count of ten thousand by the time the month is over (at least ten thousand, that is.  I’ll accept more than ten thousand with pleasure...) and putting my word-count towards keeping Melbourne ahead of all the other Australian capital cities.  And it’s working!  Melbourne, quite simply, rocks.

In other writing news, I managed to write an entire LorF episode the other night while my Timothy-of-the-heads was sitting more or less next to me, playing his nerd game.  I guess I must have been in an “obsessively absorbed by what I’m writing” mood as opposed to my more normal “Ack I can’t write because he’s right next to me WATCHING MY EVERY WORD!” mood.  It was a fun piece to write, though.  Lots of dialogue and playing around with words and hinting at things to frustrate all the other LorFers...  Yes, a great deal of fun indeed.

Here is where I express my newly-rediscovered joy of writing.  Yes, right here:

Ironically, though, I don’t think I’m actually capable of expressing how delighted I am by this.  Gone is the self-doubt and reluctance and negative-attitude towards writing that was gifted to me by university.  I can’t quite grasp that, really.  I never thought it would go... but it has.  I’ve finally crawled my way out of the writing funk that has plagued me since uni and I can now dance about the house, grinning like a loon because I have stories in my head and I really want to write them.  And I mean, I really want to write them.  Not some time next week.  Not once I see that pig flying past the window.  NOW. Right now.

I take my stories to work; I write in between cataloguing and yelling at printers; I scribble notes on the bus; I... ooh, look!  I just used a whole bunch of semi-colons without thinking about it! That’s a punctuation break-through for me.

Er, but back to the point.  I love writing again.  I can say it without secretly suspecting myself of lying.  It’s all very, very good indeed.