In which I return!

Oh hai! Where have I been I hear the empty realm of this blog asking? Well, getting fat seemed to occupy a large amount of the last six months. Technically I'm now a medium, but at 150cm I don't have a lot of wriggle room. I've grown out the pixie cut and dyed it red. Also, its a now beehive. I'd like to imagine I look like Mad Men's Joan Hollaway, but I'm probably closer to looking like Thelma from Scooby Doo. The husband is well, and is still making smart arse comments and excellent food. He has not had any recent bad reviews from Matt Preston. This is a good thing. I discovered a cheese called President Brie. Now I can't stop laughing at the idea that President Brie lives in the White Cheese House. I still don't understand pants.

Saturday

This morning I went to a newish 'bar and canteen' about a 5 minute walk from our house.  It was about 11am and it seemed time for a second breakfast.  And this is what I had:

French toast brioche with citrus ricotta, strawberries and pistachios

You know what else I had?  A wickedly heavy and spicy Bloody Mary I shared with my husband before our meals, and then a glass of french bubbles with my delicious breakfast. 

And then I came home, stripped out of my beautiful tea dress and threw on an old t-shirt with trackies, and CLEANED THE MOULD OUT OF OUR AIRCONDITIONING UNIT.  Now I feel sick, really stinking sick.  I'm going to sit here and quietly wait for the fever to go down. 

Such a glamourous life!

Um, whoops?

I caught a virus. 

Not just common cold, my virus is a laptop virus, caught looking at Kibbutz websites (I was dreaming of picking oranges in the sun , OK?) 

What makes this amusing on top of just plain stupid is the fact I am a senior manager at a digital agency.  This mean I have a team of developers and high level systems administrators at my disposal, and I was wandering around with er, no virus protection.  This means I'm also too scared to tell them this, and have them fix my laptop. 

So I bought a new one. 

Yep.  I'm a real winner.

Ikea

Me: 'Look, we really need to go to Ikea. I think they have Manland now, I can leave you in the adult creche with a hotdog.'

Husband: 'What's the point of me even going then?!?!'

Me: 'You have to!'

Husband: 'Well, the hotdog eases the pain.  Until we get to home to assemble the damn stuff and the shouting starts.'

Me: 'Maybe you should get a takeaway hotdog?'

Husband 'Maybe.  Do they sell take away man cards - you know, for manliness?  Coz I need them when you start assembling the furniture.'

Essential huh?

I do OK in life.  I work in a creative industry, and after many years of scrabbling around on the bottom rungs, working very hard, I'm now a senior manager.  The years of worrying about money and eating meals consisting of canned tomatoes and lentils are well behind me.  I can pretty much do anything I want, buy anything I want, and most importantly to me, wear anything I want.

Yet now I have it, after so many years of working towards it, I don't want it.  I'm working to have stuff - I'm working to have the clothes, the Bobbi Brown cosmetics, the Turkish rugs, the car, and none of it really matters to me.

I'm currently applying for a prestigious art gallery role.  It's a government job, and I'm sitting here after two glasses of wine and a Wallaby win trying to address their essential criteria.  What the heck is up with these essential criteria?!?

How do you demonstrate that you work effectively with team members?  I generally don't, to be honest with you.  Demonstrate time management skills?  Well, I never missed a deadline in a decade of advertising and I like to turn up a few minutes early to work (best time to read the online newspapers)...  Do I have a drivers license?  Why yes. and a car!  Surely I can be good at a job if I have those two things!  I also only steal occasionally from the stationery cupboard, and I will arrange a cake for a team members birthday. 

I'm struggling.  Wish me luck!

I understand.

Your face...

... ends at your boobs.  Not at your chin.  Really people, I can't stress this enough.

Because I am a deep person who is not superficial in any manner, skincare rates high on my list of priorities.  Several years ago I stood in David Jones, trying to find a foundation that would cover my red, blotchy, itchy skin, and something finally clicked in my head - if I just took better care of my skin, I wouldn't need a thick, paint like foundation.

With the very sensitive skin of a pale girl, I have a strict routine.  Each morning I start with a few drops of Rosehip Oil, which also, when given a few minutes to sink in, acts as a base for my mineral foundation.  At night, I alternate between Cetaphil, and a random French hydroxy acid exfoliator.  Whatever I'm using, I start at my chin, work up to the my t-zone and do a quick swipe over my cheeks.  Then it's down my neck, and over my chest.  This followed by Rosehip Oil, again starting at the forehead and ending at my chest.

On the subject of Rosehip Oil, I've used many, many brands, and I can without a doubt recommend A'kin Roseship Oil.  Be prepared though, if applying it before bed time, that you will stain pillows due to the golden yellow oil. 

Face masks happen once a week - and indeed as a write this, I'm wearing my preferred face mask, again, from my forehead to my chest.  I discovered Freeman's Pineapple Enzyme Facial Mask via the Vogue Forum, and for the princely sum of something like $11, it's an amazing buy.  It makes my skin radiant, and I find the longer I leave it on, the smoother my complexion is.

And there's the other stuff I'm passionate about, the staying out of the sun and the drinking  litres of water, the eight hours sleep and the not eating crap, but I will bore you all with that on another day. To recap - however you take care of your face, extend it down to your chest.  Do you want to look like Donatella Versace?  Well, do you?