ELEPHANT in the room

There is something I need to get off my chest. It is constantly nagging me. I’m hoping that by letting it out, I can move on and get going. That we all can. The elephant in the room is called:

Writing in English.

Part of writing this blog is to just DO IT, get some words down, get it flowing. Practice. Because it is HARD people, to write in a language that is not your own. To construct the sentence, know the appropriate words, how to spell them God dammit, the metaphors the language use (like talking till the cows come home – THAT I know how to do) and the biggest mother of them all: punctuation. Who invented the English comma? Can we kill them? Second to punctuation comes prepositions. For me they work in the following way: fill a bag with English prepositions, shake it well, pick at random, check it later. Sometimes I see it, sometimes I don’t.

So I need to tell you: this is practice.

I don’t work in advertising like many bloggers do. I’m not here to promote myself and my excellent writing skills for some job or career. In actual fact, I think blogging is probably the worst career move I’ve ever made. I’m pretty sure it would be considered unprofessional by most academics. THAT I don’t care about.

But I care about my writing. I’m trying to become good at it. This is me learning by doing. To the native English speakers out there, who sometimes feel the electric shock from the massive error they just discovered: before you judge me, translate this blog into German, Spanish, French or whatever language you learned at school and then we can talk.

 

100 posts coming up soon

This blogging thing still feels very new and immature for me. I’m searching for my voice, how I should write, what to write about etc.
Apparently it is blog tradition that, when reaching 100 blog posts, the blogger writes 100 things about themselves that the reader doesn’t know. I have started that list. There are five items on it.

So today I throw it out to you guys. What would you like to know?

PLEASE tell me something.

You can either comment here, write me an email on signe.creative @ gmail. com or say something on facebook. I really do need your help. Otherwise it will be a pretty useless list.

Oh when the revolution comes

never never never ever will I let a child of mine become a real estate agent. That is an easy call as I don’t have any, but still. I should probably say: lie to me and… yes well, you catch my drift. We have been here before. Brigitte has the rope ready, for when the revolution comes. I’m ready to give the order. Yesterday there was that thing with the remote for the gate. It’s in the middle of a very long blog post, so I don’t expect you to read it all. I can summarise by saying that EVERYONE I met yesterday were sour pissy-faced people, it went BOOMM in my head and I blew. I managed to maintain my anger within the household and tamed it with tea, music and a new seat with a view.

Today I got the fabulous idea that I would chase up on that remote thing. No North Queensland patience in our household. So I rang the real estate agent who said: “this is the first I hear of this. I have no record of this. Why were you asked to call us? They are responsible for the remotes” – I said something in the genre of sscchhhsssss (contained hissy fit) and explained that I had already explained everything to the secretary I talked to yesterday, that I had used the word urgent (who knows? it might work, even in North Queensland) and gave her the whole story. Oh she was going to get onto it straight away. I did not have to worry. OK well, thanks.

I then went looking for rosemary in three new places and bought some new glass dishes instead (one guy at the largest garden nursery I have ever seen said: “Rosemary? Nah mate, we can’t sell fresh herbs, no one uses them here. Try Bunnings”  – ppffffth).

I return home, sit in my car, in the car park outside the complex and stare at the monsoon rain. Then I get the idea: they must have a spare remote. In a complex with 100+ flats, they just must. Maybe I can borrow it. I look in the mirror, check my face for unfriendly attitude and decide I can pass. I will kill that management lady with overwhelming joy if I have to. Determined I walk to her office and HELLO – the sour pissy face from yesterday is gone and she is back to her good old friendly self (it confirms to me that something was really wrong yesterday – with everyone). OF COURSE I can borrow a spare remote. OF COURSE she can see we are caught in something, which is not really our problem. That is also why she called our real estate agent, 5 min after I left yesterday to explain everything. HANG ON? you called the real estate? OF COURSE! Yesterday? “SURE! I explained everything to her and she said she needed the owner’s permission to buy a new remote, but would get back to her. It’s all sorted”.

EH?

Lying fucking scum I tell you.WHAT is so hard about telling the truth? I can see them in their stupid office (which we, the customers, pay the rent for, together with their salary) going: there is a customer on the phone, oh dear oh dear, what-to-do-what-to-do: WE’RE NOT HERE! IT DIDN’T HAPPEN!

I sincerely thanked the management lady for the remote; she didn’t want me to sign for it, would just write a note and leave it on her desk. She saved my day and my belief in people. My trust in the universe has been restored. BUT! Needless to say, I will not say “Aww, that’s nice” when you tell me your child is a real estate agent. Forgive me.

 

Boy she blew and back again

I am in a really good mood at the moment. Relaxed and happy, exams are over, the student visa secured, we can enjoy the next three years no worries. All in all, I wake up with a smile on my face. Yesterday was the same. I woke up smily and happy, tired, but happy. And because I was tired, I did go back to bed, like I was contemplating in yesterday’s blog. So I woke up later, happy and rested. I had a lovely breakfast with Mr Husband and then decided to leave the house. BIG mistake. I was not ready for the world.

I had decided to embark on two projects, which have been itching in me for months:
1. get shelves for the balcony so we don’t have random shit lying around
2. create a small herb garden so we can stop paying $4 for a bunch of herbs (which die in 2 days) every time we want tasty food. This is especially true for the rosemary, which we use for  just about anything.

Destination Bunnings.

Big smile on my face, I grab a trolley, wiz through Bunnings and find my things. Shelves – check, pots – check, seeds – check, fertilizer,  water crystals, soil – check, check, check. Go Signe! All I needed now was the rosemary. It took me 15 minutes to find it. Three little pots of rotten plants at the price of $8. What? I decide to ask, if maybe they have some more, somewhere else. I walked towards a Bunnings lady in the garden area who is watering plants despite the rain pissing down. She starts shouting at me before I reach her: ‘I don’t work in the garden department, so don’t ask me anything’. OK, you could have fooled me, but I will find someone else. 10 minutes later a Bunnings man appear from behind a shelf. I hunt him down. Big smile, ‘excuse me sir’ and I get a monster pissy answer: ‘we get new plants on Friday’. I strive on and ask ‘are you getting rosemary?’. Sour pissy face says: ‘I don’t know’

Right. OK. You are in charge of the outside garden department. No wonder you hide behind the shelves. Smiley me is not defeated yet, I can get rosemary somewhere else or another day. Off to do the grocery shopping, before heading home. First in bottleshop, where the Italian wine section has shrunk from one and a half shelf section to only one. All the regular wine we buy is gone. Pissy wine store person asks ‘are you happy browsing there?’ (I should have said yes, I know that now) With a warm smile I say: ‘the section seems to have gotten smaller and the wines we normally get are not here’. Wineman’s face turns sour and pissy: ‘Noooo, the French wine section has always had two shelves and the Italian one. We’ve moved them around, so maybe you just can’t find them’ Well pardon me! I grab a bottle and leave.

At the supermarket, things go well until I have to pay. I line up at the selfservice section, it is full of people, we wait for yonkers of time. While I wait, I get out my eco-bag, unfold it, ready in hand. A machine becomes available, I make my way over and TA DA gets stopped by a sour pissy face that says: ‘you cannot use that one, it has no bags’ – ‘but I have my own’ – ‘you cannot use this, it has no baaaags’.

WHAT the fuck is wrong with you people? Is Monday the official ‘sour pissy face’ retail day? I am grateful I am on my way home, all shopping done. In the car I put on Jimmy Cliff “I can see clearly now” as pure antidote and cheer myself up. I arrive home and find the gate to our secure gated community closed for the first time in three months. That is OK, because they warned us. The management picked up our remote 10 days ago ‘they will be reprogrammed’, gave it back 3 days ago ‘there you go, all set’ and here I was. Do you think it worked? Of course not. Do you think it had stopped raining, just because Jimmy Cliff could see clearly? Of course not. I park my car outside the gate, make my way through the monsoon and go to the office, where a normally very friendly management lady, has turned into: a sour pissy-face monster:

Me: excuse me, I cannot get the remote to work
Sour Pissy- face Management lady: You need to talk to your real estate agent
Me: I’m not sure I understand
Sour Pissy-face Management lady: You need to talk to your real estate agent
Me: But you are the one who picked up the remote and gave it back saying it worked. How can the real estate agent help with that?
Sour Pissy-face Management lady: Your remote doesn’t work
Me: Well, it is working, the lights are on, it just doesn’t work with the gate
Sour Pissy-face Management lady: You need to talk to your real estate agent
Me (loosing my temper): why did you return a remote to me, that you knew wouldn’t work?
Sour Pissy-face Management lady: You need to talk to your real estate agent, you need another remote
Me (fighting hard): Are you serious? You waited until I was stuck outside the gate in pouring rain to tell me that my remote wont work? You could not have said that three days ago when you returned it.
Sour Pissy-face Management lady: I can let you in now, but from now on you have to park outside the gate

BOOOMM it said in my head. I had the good sense to leave.

Once home I took 100 deep breaths before I called the real estate agent. This was the answer: “I’m sorry, I can’t help you. Bev is in charge of your property, she’s not here” – HO HO HO and a bottle of rum, boy did she blow! The secretary said she would see what she could do. We all know North Queensland time, so needless to say, we are stuck outside the gate, in the rain season, for a looong time.

Despite having lost my temper completely, I decided to continue with the two projects I set out to do. Because stupid pissy sour face people were not going to take away the good things, I had set out to do for myself. REALITY CHECK! This is what I was doing two minutes later:

Mr Husband came out to help. He reconsidered that endeavour in less than 3 seconds. Then he served a glass of juice, which I of course managed to knock over. Then he disappeared. One hundred million screws later, I had this:

Cheered by the good result, I continued on with this and turned it into this:

Then I found an old camping chair, stuffed it with pillows and a nice blanket I crochet last year, sat down with my current project, soda, music and looked out the window.

When I looked up two hours later, Jimmy Cliff and I were so on the same page again

 

 

Sunday Market

Nothing much happened this weekend as you know.
The most exciting thing to happen was our Sunday morning food shopping.
I used to HATE doing the food shopping. As in REALLY hate. Now we go to Rusty’s market and I look forward to it every time. One of the awesome things about the market is that most stalls put out little plates with samples of the fruit. After one hour at the market I am sure to have eaten my 5 fruits for the day. Yesterday I took some pictures and none of them show neither the size of the market (it is massive), nor the free food (no second career in photo journalism for me). In any case, the best thing about shopping at the market is that Mr Husband carries all the bags without complaining. He is too busy looking at the lovely food.

 

ZZZzzz

This weekend I have been chasing naps. Even in my dreams.
I’ve never tried that before, to dream I need sleep. In the first one I dreamt I had the flu. Real bad. Then (in my dream) Mr Husband tugged me in and said: ‘you just need to sleep’ and I must have dozed off, because I can’t remember anything after that. In the second dream I dreamt I had been awake for 72 hours and was so tired I was crying. Then I got to lie down in my bed and sleep. Needless to say I have a massive blackout after that too.

I had a few things planned for the weekend, which I probably should have cancelled, but other than that I took the hint. Saturday I went to bed at 4pm and woke at 8am. Sunday morning we did our weekly food shopping. We were home at noon and boy did I need a nap. 5 hours. I then managed to stay awake until 10pm – and only because Mr Husband had missed sitting next to me in the sofa, drinking tea. We cuddled up and every 10 minutes he would turn his head and say ‘I love you, you know’. I felt slightly guilty… (and spent a hell of a long time wondering why they still show Rambo III on TV).

It is now Monday morning. I woke at 7am and I have plans for today. Things I’ve been wanting to do for ages. Things I’ve held in front of myself as a carrot while doing that other, more important thing. Things I’m really looking forward to.
All I can think about is when I can have my first nap. Maybe I should just go back to bed.

what a day

Friday was one of those days you look back on in reflection. And with 100 promises to self.
Top on the list is: do not get so nervous. Relax. Try to enjoy the journey. Exams are a place you can shine – show all the things you do know. I don’t know if I will ever be able to take my own advise. In really stoic moments I reflect that maybe we are supposed to get so bloddy nervous. This is life; this is how you know you are a human. Oh well. It was a memorable day.

Best part of the whole day was the evening where we got to see Busby Marou in concert. It was the absolute perfect evening and a great finish to a long day. It was at the Union Jack (pub), where we met up with friends before it started, sat outside eating big fat steaks w chips, had a few drinks and then just leaned back and enjoyed the music.

I have no clue how to review concerts. I still give Busby Marou five out of five stars for a fantastic night.
Thank you!