The Redheaded Wench

Blood Will Out.

2012-01-28T21:35:00.003+11:00

I'm writing this sitting on one side of my couch. My five year (and 11 months, she'd want me to clarify) old niece PG is perched on the other, engrossed in our umpteenth screening of 'Beauty of the Beast'.

I adore PG - she's hysterically funny when she least means to be, and what a drama queen! I'm spending a precious Saturday night in hibernation for one of our regular sleepovers, but her commentary on this DVD is entertainment enough.

The highlights for me, without a doubt, have been:

Intro V/O: "..For who could truly ever love a Beast?"

PG: "Hasn't he watched this movie yet? Doesn't he know how it ends?"

Beauty & Beast on the sweeping balcony, swept up in a romantic moment.

PG: "Uh oh. Is he going to push her off the edge?"

So while I understand that a lot of people are concerned with the rise of 'princess culture' and its impact on young children, and in particular little girls, I don't foresee a time when I'll hesitate before popping a Disney movie in the DVD player.

It appears as though the cynicism which runs deep in my family certainly hasn't skipped a generation.

Tis the Season.

2011-12-26T23:16:00.000+11:00

I've no idea how it happens - I'm presuming though that it's one of those 'chicken-and-the-egg scenarios' - but Christmas always seems to catch me at my lowest point. It's always the day of the year when I'm guaranteed to be ill, homesick, lonely, exhausted or anxious.

But then Boxing Day! I've found the cure for what ails me - going out for a long beer garden session with a good friend, and laughing a lot.

Now I just have to recruit friends for a Christmas Eve session next year, and then I'll have the perfect solution to my Christmas alaise.

Solved!

A New Spin on an Old Favourite.

2011-12-25T00:53:00.000+11:00

'Twas the night before Christmas
And all through the house
Not a creature was stirring
Except for the highly caffeinated Redhead who had stupidly offered to host her family for brunch and who will be cleaning and cooking like a crazy person until 2am Christmas morning.

And people say I don't have the Christmas spirit!

The Remains of the Day.

2011-11-13T20:43:00.001+11:00

I went to a dear friend's baby shower yesterday, in possibly the most amazing house I've seen outside of the design blogs and magazines I read cover to cover.

And being quite the baby shower veteran, I was pleasantly surprised to find that it was a low-key yet elegant affair where everyone was asked to 'bring a plate' (I LOVE that this phrase is making a resurgence!). No life-sized papier mache storks here!

Being as I am - there's no other term for it - monumentally slack, I made a Peppermint Crisp Slice. Possibly the slice with the best actual work involved:compliments ratio, this is of course perfect for the lazy weekend Redhead.

Wanting to make it look more involved that it actually was, I trimmed all the dodgy edges and placed the nice neat squares in some cute patty papers.

Which of course left me with quite a bit of unattractive but still massively tasty choc-pepperminty goodness.

I wish I could say that this had been the sum total of what was left behind.

A healthy person would have virtuously tipped these into the bin. A healthy person would have turned these into an unofficial Munchies Monday offering.

Fortunately for me, I've never claimed to be a healthy person. And my Sunday lunch may or may not have been comprised solely of a cup of tea and a baking tray of Peppermint Crisp margins.

I'll never tell.

My Litmus Test.

2011-11-04T22:53:00.003+11:00

Nothing like running into a friend of your ex to make you realise that you're over them.

Or, more specifically, nothing like listening to that friend talk about said ex and realising that instead of agonising "Oh god, please don't let him have someone new", what's running through your mind is "Oh god, he can't possibly have found someone new before I have".

That possibly made more sense in my head.

The Danger Within.

2011-11-02T21:51:00.001+11:00

Within my freezer, that is.

Bake to Business.

2011-11-01T19:07:00.003+11:00

It's been a while since I've really baked. I LOVE doing it, but my main problem since I became single again just over a year ago (aside from a distressingly lack of one of my favourite activities!) seems to be what to do with the results of my baking adventures.

Not to worry, I invented Munchies Monday at my work, the primary purpose of which is to allow myself and fellow colleagues-slash-amateur bakers a time to divest ourselves of the leftover goodies. I don't know about anyone else, but this stops me from going into my pantry and stuffing my face full of whatever I've made. And then possibly dropping into a sugar coma.

It's Melbourne Cup Day today - aka the day we all take off work in honour of a five minute horse race - and not being all that interested in the Spring Racing Carnival this year, I've instead pulled out the tall white hat and got my bake on:

(Really not me)

Well, that was the plan. In truth, I really only got one step into what promises to be a fantastic recipe. I made Nutella choc chips. Oh yes I did. A bit of butter, a lot of Nutella, a piping bag and a baking tray. Who knew?

So as yet, I've not even started the whole baking part and may not even get back to it until the weekend, but by god, when I do I am going to have some awesome choc chips to use.

Home is Where the Art Is.

2011-10-31T20:42:00.002+11:00

And there's my first blogged pun out of the way!

My friend, let's call her The Doc, is a fantastic gift giver. Despite us favouring different design ideas (she's a total retro girl), she unerringly picks presents for me which I always love.

Although we've caught up several times since our respective birthdays, we'd not yet gotten around to doing the gift swap, so when she dropped by on Sunday to come with me to see "The Help" we did the deed.

I gave her a bag of little gifts which I've been periodically adding to when I find something that will tickle her fancy (or her funny bone). The piece de resistance, of course, was a photo by a local artist of a wall of graffiti which stated "EIGHTIES POP SUCKED THE FIRST TIME ROUND." So very The Doc.

And this picture is my present from The Doc. She said that while this girl distressingly appears to have no face (she was nice enough to point out that I in fact do have one, good news!), it still reminded her of me. And she's spot on - it does seem to show me in one of my quieter moments, lost in a book.

At the rate we're going, all of my favourite pieces of art in this apartment will have been gifted to me from her. Not a bad way to go about this whole interior design thing, really!

Lone Wolf.

2011-10-08T22:15:00.003+11:00

A friend of mine (self-proclaimed as "The Greatest"), sick of me bitching about never having anyone to go out with, suggested* I follow his lead and do a 'lone wolf'.

I'm quite happy to go to the movies and to dinner by myself, but I wasn't overly thrilled at the idea of going into full blown prowl mode on my lonesome.

But hey, I'm open to suggestion* so here I sit, at The Greatest's local. I suppose it probably would have been a better venture had I headed somewhere the average age of the men wasn't closer to my dad's than mine.

So not a totally unreasonable idea, but needs work.

* The Greatest's idea of a 'suggestion' is essentially daring me by saying he knows I wouldn't have the lady balls to go through with it. My own fault for being so damn predictable/competitive!

It's Always The Quiet Ones.

2011-09-19T23:54:00.003+10:00

Reason #26 why it's a smart idea to keep your personal and professional lives separate:

Accidentally letting a juicy, absolutely NSFW tidbit about your past or present slip.. internally panicking..

Then realising that no-one would believe it of you anyway.

If only they knew.

A Non-Apology Apology.

2010-11-10T22:26:00.000+11:00

When I was younger writing in my innumerable diaries, I always used to come back with a big apology: "Sorry for not having written for so long".

I'm not sure what it was that made me do that - a remarkable sense of guilt perhaps, or an apology to my little sister who used was my readership, who breached my cunning 'hair placed across the top of the diary' defense to read riveting accounts of how I'd argued with said little sister, or about how the current boy my eight year old self had a mad crush on had looked at me across a crowded grade three classroom?

Perhaps a strange feeling of responsibility, of needing to finish what one starts.

Whatever it was, I'd apologise.

I can't deny that there are some small pieces of that little girl remain.

But.

No apologies this time.

Just - I'm back in my quiet little corner of the blogosphere, this small space that is mine alone. It's nice to be here!

My Kingdom for a Carb.

2010-01-15T22:55:00.000+11:00

To kick off the New Year in a healthy fashion, top of my To Do list was to do a detox for a fortnight.

I reasoned that I would have company in my misery as my boyfriend of 3 years, J, would be joining me in my quest, that I would have expert guidance (J's from a family of naturopaths) and that after all, I'd survived an even harder detox of 10 whole weeks less than a year ago and had reaped the benefits.

Essentially, the detox consists of a Thermophase (a powder to assist detoxification) smoothie each morning and vegetables, fruit and lean grilled meat for lunch and dinner. No carbs, no sugar, no fat, no dairy, no caffeine, no alcohol. All in all, an excellent diet to re-boot my body for the coming year.

Six days in, I've had vegetable fritatta made with soy milk only, lots of Thermophase, umpteen pieces of fruit, every vegetable under the sun (or so it feels like) and plenty of plain grilled meat and chicken. I'm proud of having managed to steer completely clear of the junkier foods that would usually tempt me and I can already feel my body getting stronger and healthier.

Except.

Right now, I would sell my soul for a Triple Cheeseburger.

The Wench Speaks.

2010-01-02T21:26:00.003+11:00

There's an older man at my place of work, who insists on giving all and sundry nicknames, the origins of which are almost impossible to untangle.

While these nicknames are a vast improvement on the usual ocker-ish nicknames that you hear all the time, I was still baffled at the one that was assigned to me - Wench.

To me the word always conjured up images of a buxom lady of the night. Buxom, at least, is something I am most definitely not.

So I questioned this gentleman (without mentioning the words "busty" or "prostitute") about the reasoning behind my nickname. His answer was succinct:

"Well, you're a redhead."

But of course.

Over the course of my life so far I've met redhead-haters, redhead-lovers, those who mention how in medieval times I'd have been burned as witch, people who've never seen the colour before and were startled by it, witless cretins who are just interested in enquiring if "the rug matches the carpet" - but only occasionally, someone who is totally neutral about my hair colour.

Out of curiosity I tried dyeing my hair on my 27th birthday to a dark brunette, and for the weeks until I gave it up and dyed it red again, I just didn't feel like myself - and not only because I'd not thought to get my eyebrows dyed at the same time (red eyebrows + dark hair is never really a good look on anyone, is it?) There was a stranger in the mirror.

So while some people might exhort me to speak sternly with the gentleman at my work for giving me the "wench" nickname, I'll take it and make it my own.

Redheaded Wench. Now making brain space for more important things (like where I left my car at ShoppingTown) by putting all my odd musings down here.

Ciao for now!