kitten conversations...

It's a wet, drizzly day again here in Melbourne. Seems like autumn has finally hit. Bye bye sunshine, hello rugging up. Secretly, I'm a big fan of the colder months? Jackets? Scarves? Gloves? Hats?! Love them. I do love pretty summery dresses, but only for so long. Brightening up my outfit with a scarf brings me joy.
As does not waxing my legs for an obscenely long time because, hey, it's cold, who's going to see my legs anyway!?

Winter is for cuddling on the couch...


This morning Nic got up and snuck out and I'd had a pretty rough morning's sleep between getting a sore back (and various other muscles, thanks exercise), the kitten purring for cuddles, needing to pee, and the kitten scratching in her litter box for 15 minutes as she had a panic attack because she couldn't cover up the smell.
I'm a seriously light sleeper- these things wake me up, and then I have a horrible time getting back to sleep again.
So anyway, Nic got up, let Mallei out, then shut him back in the bedroom with me so I could sleep in a little while longer. Otherwise he gets sad and paces the hall back and forth because he's a momma's-boy and y'know, might be missing out on my love or something. So Nic probably would have gotten up at 6.45 or so. At 7am, pretty much on the dot... there comes a squeak outside my door. Like:
"Mee?!"
...
Oh no.
"...MEE?!?!"
Just... go back to sleep. She'll give up eventually.
"MEO!! MEEEO! MEW MEW!!!! MEEE!?"
And then she starts throwing herself at the door.
"Mee?!"
Thud.
"MEE?!"
Thud, scrabble, scratch.
"MEE MEE MEE!!!"

Best resting place, ever.

Nic eventually comes, knowing this will go on unless she gets in. I say to him that we shouldn't let her in because she's going to keep doing this for the rest of her life if she gets her way and we'll never be able to sleep in ever again.
After the door was opened, the toddles in and sits in the threshold, looking perplexed. From the kitchen she sounded like she had been in mortal pain. Like, if she didn't get in that room with me and Mal, the world was going to encapsulate itself into a vortex, and the last sounds we would hear would be
"Meeeeeeeeeeeee......" trailing off into the depths of space.

She has a habit of doing this, though. We're still learning when she's actually meowing for a reason, or when she's just having fun making noise (like a very young child, I told you!). 99% of the time, it's the latter. Often I'll be sitting in the couch, and from the bathroom I'll hear:
"Mee!" (I'm using "mee" because she never seems to follow-through with the noise. She forgets the end sound.)
...
"Mee mee!?!"
"Meeee?!"
And I'll get up and go look.
She's sitting on the bathroom counter.
That's it.
Just sitting there. When I walk in, she stands up, happy that I've come to pay attention to her. Usually I walk out.
Or when I'm in the kitchen and she's on her scratch-pole, literally 5 feet from where I'm cooking.
"Mee?!"
I look over. She's just laying there on the top platform, tail swishing a little maybe, eyes big and expectant, watching me. Then she opens her mouth and no noise comes out. This is a meow she's done since we got her. Like opening her mouth is enough- why go to all the trouble of making noise, particularly if she's purring.

 Mia & I. Remember that luxurious rug I wrote about, that makes her brain explode? She's on it. She spends many, many hours sleeping on this rug.

Over Easter, while we're going to Bright, we've asked my Mum to look after both her and Mallei. It'll be a bit of an interesting scenario actually, because in their house then will be Mum's 14 year old Aussie shepherd, who is deaf and somewhat blind, and who is also Mallei's Uncle... there'll be Mal, then there's Mum's 14 year old cat Fudge, who looks a fair bit like Mia, actually (tortoiseshell), who hasn't lived with another cat for probably 10 years... and then there'll be Mia, who is brave, but hasn't seen other cats since she was a kitten, but who may also just want to play with Fudge, all the time. I'm hoping that by having her very best-buddy there, our little kitten (she's 6 months old now!!! Still a kitten, right?) won't be so stressed out. She'll be there for 5 days, and Mum's using it as an experiment to see how Fudge goes with a kitten, to see if my brother can get one for himself.
So that ought to be fun. Hopefully they'll be ok.
She can interupt someone else's sleep for  a week.
"Mee!"

(Also: They're totally cuddling right now, Mal and Mia. She has paws around his neck, eyes closed. Occasionally she'll lick his face, or he hers... Then he looks over at me, asking if he's done a good job.)

99 bottles of beer

My next post will be my 100th on this blog!
I feel like making this one a write-off so that I can get to 100, but I'll try not to.
Consequently, it probably will end up being a write-off, but not intentionally.

This is not my cat. This cat is too smart to be my cat. This cat could take on Dr. Mallei*. {via}

Have you ever seen a completely blissed-out kitten? (Or cat?). I mean, a kitten (or cat) that is in so much luxury that it doesn't know what to do with itself?
I think it's hilarious.
Since the nights recently started getting a little chilly, now that it's officially autumn here, it was cool enough to pull out a blanket Dad gave me when I was much younger. We called it a "mink blanket", because it feels like faux-mink fur, I guess. Super soft on one side, a bit longer but less velvety on the other side. It's blue, and has dolphins on it. It's crazy warm and great for couch cuddles. Anyway, we pulled this out the other night, and I put Reya on it.
I think her brain exploded a little.
Instantly, her eyes glazed over, half-closing in ecstasy as she starts working her little feet in that kitteny-kneading motion. Pad pad pad. The same one that she does to my throat every single morning at 5.30am (not kidding.) The purr starts - nobody's patting her, this is self induced pleasure. Sometimes it gets too much for her and she wants her whole self to be enveloped by this soft luxury and so tries to find a fold in the blanket, into which she rams her head. She can't make herself comfortable lying on it though, because she wants every part of her to be one with the blankety goodness, and so kind of lounges back and forth, unsettled, still kneading away with her paws, face being mushed into the blanket, eyes closing. Sometimes she springs onto it accidentially, on the way to somewhere else, and it stops her dead in her tracks, like:
"HOLY CRAP, THE SOFTNESS!!!" And her brain explodes a little again, and she starts the purr, and can't bring herself to continue on to where ever she was going before she was trapped by the blanket.

I realize I'm about to make this post all about the two furkids, but there's one other funny thing.

Mr. Sensitive-Sooky-Trouble-Face is so... well, sensitive. He'll be lying, sleeping, next to me on the couch. Reya will be doing something naughty, I dunno, chewing a plant, or playing with the computer cords, or finding another one of my hair-ties somewhere ("Didn't I put this away 5 minutes ago!? In a closed cupbpard!?!"), and I'll give her a bit of a hiss, to get her to stop. Or go: "Oi!"
And Mallei, thinking he's, for some reason, in trouble for sleeping, gets up all of a sudden and runs off. Ok, so he can't differentiate between when I'm telling her off, or him off, though I never hissed at him, he still seems affected by it, but still, seriously? You're sleeping here, I'm not that bad at yelling at you.
But then we get to kiss (figuratively), and make up. And have happy couch cuddle times.

And now the two of them are having mutual lick sessions, whereby the kitten grooms Mallei's face, cos it has short fur, and he just licks her everywhere until she's slobbery. It's very cute, and kind of funny.

Not quite as dramatic as this. {via}

Also, in other news, I had a maths class this morning.
Maths, you guys.
Not that we did any actual maths.
Then I cycled home.
It took me 10 minutes more to get home via bike than it does to drive in and park (have I said this already? If so, sorry). I think if I don't take the dirt trail through the nice park but instead stick to a small sort of side road, it'll be quicker still since my bike + roads = awesome, bike + dirt bikepaths = not so hot. (See, maths.)
And, FYI, in Australia, maths is plural (mathematics anyone?), so I will be writing maths, not 'math', cos that's what makes sense to me.

Possibly not the right attitude to bring into the classroom. Mantra this semester: Maths is good. Maths is good. Maths is good. {via}

And now I'm going to sit around in my underwear for 3 hours (did you need to know this? Possibly not), and then I'm going to cycle the 9km back to Uni for my 3pm class. Joy! It'll be super good for me though. I figure, people say interval training is the best cardio way of losing fat. What's cycling, but extended, random intervals? You cycle up-hill, get puffed, cruise down the other side while you have a rest, maybe go on flat, resting, go fast to beat traffic, get puffed, rest... etc. It is, I suppose, a much more 'natural' form of interval training than sprinting for 30 seconds, jogging for 2 mins, sprinting for 30 secs, jogging for 2 mins.  Plus it'll be less evil on my knees. Bonus.
And that's all.


What should I do for my 100th post!? I feel like it should be something interesting or special or awesome or different, or all 3. Ideas?


*Which, yes, he was meant to write on Saturday (thanks Nic), and I/he will get to soon.

you're a blight on my life...!

My tomatoes are dying.
Remember the beautiful green mass that was our tomato patch?
It is no more.
Melbourne had so much rain in the past couple of months- it was the 5th wettest year on record, and I think most of that came in Jan/Feb. So, it mightn't have been so bad if it was a rainy, rainy winter, but it was a year's worth of rain in a couple of months... and since I've read somewhere that tomatoes aren't great fans of water on their leaves, and to water them from the ground... well, I don't think they're too pleased.

We weren't this bad, but it was pretty wet. 

At first it was like; YAY! 

Now it's like: Booooooo...

So, between what I assume is blight (I have no idea, I'm making stuff up here), and birds eating my tomatoes when they're a day or two off ripe (despite having rigged up my strawberry-saving AntiBird system) I'm feeling a bit sad about my tomatoes. I know, it's autumn now and they're probably not meant to actually last that much longer, but there were just so many more we could have eaten. Here's some photographic evidence, and a new Anti-Bird system I'm trying out.

 

Ok so this looks like a bit of a mess, but basically the whole right side of my tomato patch is sort of dying, and the left is not as bad but still pretty bad and there are foil flags hanging everywhere to scare off blackbirds. Also there is basil. Much basil.

 I had to move my raspberries from on the wall of the veggie garden because I couldn't reach their tops any more. The big one is the one I actually got fruit off in its first year, and the smaller one is the one I thought was diseased and was going to die but actually looks really good now. The big one is probably 30cm off the roof-line now.

 

The rest of my garden. Some very sickly capsicums that didn't want to grow, zucchinis gone mad (and with rain spots on their leaves), lots of lettuce, spinach, leeks, a mess of spring onions, rhubarb and the tomatoes in the background. Did I plant too much? Possibly. 

As promised, a new Anti-Bird system. I wanted a picture with his front paws on the wood wall, but he always takes things too far. Then I armed him with which looks like a really serious knife but is actually a mini spade. But he looks ferocious all the same (or would like to think so, anyway). Can you tell he only holds things in his mouth out of duress/because I ask him to?

Meanwhile, every time I go into the garden, with or without Mallei, the kitten meows and squeaks and climbs the screen door. It's so pathetic, and she's so mewy and cute. I had my camera with me this time so I took a little clip of her. She didn't climb the door today though, just squeaked. This is pretty much the only time she meows- sometimes she just opens her mouth, and no sound comes out. This is when she wants food, or cuddles, or something I don't understand. It's only a minute long. Also there is Mallei, looking bored with his bird-protection duties, and me saying "Hey dude" and "Stupid tomatoes". Please excuse the sound of building in the background, and also enjoy the sounds of Australian bird life, if you're not from around here. There are crows, and magpies. 

i like the feelin' of wind in mah fuuur

It's time for a 2nd installment of Dr. Mallei's Advice Column, pertaining to Food and Relationships*. But mostly food. Except only this one doesn't have much to do with either of those things and mostly to do with cars. So, Dr. Mallei puts on his serious face, and does his best to reply.

Dear Doctor Mallei,

I hear that you are well trained in the art of knowledge and advice. I also hear that you have spent much time riding in cars of all shapes and sizes. I seek some answers...

What sort of car do you think is best to ride in, when you get to go out and about on weekends or even during the week? Where best do you like to sit? And how important is that 'movie-star head and tongue out the window in the wind' look to most dogs?

And lastly, what is the best/most comfortable car you've ever got to ride in?!

~ Anon. 

----

Anon,

I don't know where you get your rumours from, but you may wish to check your sources before making assumptions. As Doctors, we're trained to research and confirm information- it doesn't seem like you have ever written a thesis* or similar, because I'd say that I have only ridden in a few cars in my life and, if you'd done your research, you may have been aware of this. Regardless, I shall do my best to answer your questions.

two foods that go with everything...

Today I saw my picture of Mallei in glasses and decided what would really make me happy on this beautiful autumn (!!) day, would be to write a Dr. Mallei advice column. So I looked around, and making the most of the resources available to me, I whined:
"Niiiiic...."
He always knows this is a bad start, because it means I want something from him that he probably won't want to do.
"Yes, hun...?" 
"Can you like... write me a question to Dr. Mallei and then I, I mean he, can write an answer to it and I'll copy and paste it and put it on my blog?"
He sighs.
"What should I write about?"
I try and think about what things Mallei knows about, or what he could possibly be so qualified for that he could be considered a doctor. One of these I think has just come from his experience as a person observer, as he diligently studies the shifting dynamics of human relations, and how this can affect, either positively or negatively, the overall well-being of the person... and the other is food.
Because he just fricken loves to eat.
So here is the first, anonymous letter received for the ever enlightening Dr. Mallei's Advice Column, pertaining to Food and Relationships*. But mostly food.

Dear Doctor Mallei,

I recently have a dilemma. It would be nice to be a vegetarian, but using chicken and bacon in meals is so easy. Its also tasty. But Is this caving in to the ease of 'modern life', or being dishonest to some vaguely growing morals and ethics?

You are wise on these matters. Please advise.


Sincerely yours,




---

Dear Anon,

I'm struggling to grasp the point you're making- chicken and bacon are tasty. As a dog, I find vegetarianism a strange concept, but I'll give it a whirl. Firstly, however, I'd like to pose a question to you. Nay, a challenge, if you will. Can you think of any foods that don't go with either chocolate, or bacon? 
I think you'll find that there isn't a single food with which you can't pair either bacon or chocolate. Which leads me to believe that it is close to impossible to eliminate bacon, at least, from one's diet. Another critical point in the argument here, is the fact that humans are commonly argued to be omnivores. Now, I see no sense in this, since meat serves the job just as well, but each species to his own, I suppose.
In regard to the issue surrounding ethics, this is a tricky one. I would like to say it depends on how you source your meat, but I suppose in one way, whether you buy the chicken or not, somebody will still breed them, kill them and eat them. The question really is whether your 400g of chicken breast a week is making a difference, in the grand scheme of things. I suppose you could argue that if you don't buy the chicken, the chicken won't be killed, or you won't be adding to the killing of the chicken, but then the chicken is still going to be killed, you just don't get to enjoy its tasty meat.

I think you need to listen to yourself, inside your heart. If your heart is having palpitations because you eat a kilogram of bacon for breakfast every morning, have a KFC original bucket for lunch, and finish off your day with a nice hearty serving of wicked wings, then yes, you are a bad person and should stop eating so much bacon and chicken.
If, however, you gorge your bacon fetish in moderation and enjoy it as an source of protein and deliciousness, then I believe you should be able to continue doing so without letting those pesky ethics get in the way.

That being said, I eat an entire chicken's body every day, so I may not have been the best person dog doctor to ask.

Loyally,

Dr. Mallei.

If you don't eat meat, you'll basically be doing this every day.  Though, to be honest, I look pretty chuffed. Maybe it's a meat-flavored stick.

*Feel free to send in your own! Just leave a comment.

the (inevitable) ranty dog-food post..

 And now, for Dr. Mallei's advice column****.

So, I feed Mallei a raw diet. He doesn't get dry dog food, and he certainly doesn't get tinned/wet dog food. I'll admit, I'm probably a little more slack about 'varying' his diet than I'd like to be: he tends to get one chicken carcass a day (ie, the breastbone, back, spine, ribs etc of the chicken, sometimes a bit of innards left in, and most of the meat stripped off), sometimes fish, sometimes red meat/bones, and scraps sometimes when we're cooking. I'm a big believer that if nature has taken a couple of thousand years to evolve something, nature has made sure that that thing will survive best in its environment. That is to say: A dogs' digestive system is set up to hunt and eat animals. And maybe occasionally graze on some grass. But I figure rabbits, deer, ducks... fair game. Chickens are about as close as I can get usually (rabbits are too expensive). I don't believe that we can necessarily improve on something that has been set up to 'survive best' under these conditions. This is why I don't believe in commercial dog-food.

I know a lot of people don't, and won't agree with what I'm saying. I know a lot of vets are suss, but then I've also read that vet's nutritional training classes are sponsored by pet-food companies, plus their clinics get commissions for food they sell to customers. Unbiased opinions, anyone? But here's the thing: I don't think that commercial dog foods (or cat, possibly) are designed with the dog in mind. I'll get to that.

Awww, look at the unrelated picture of my baby-boy. Yes, this photo has nothing to do with the text on either side of it. Deal.

Mum's dog, Biscay, is now 14. When he was about 7, we used to take him to the park and run him hard- get him to chase tennis balls. When he came home after the run and laid down for a while, he would develop a limp in his right shoulder. By morning, the limp had gone, but it happened every time he did a big run. After I had decided raw food was a good way to go, we switched him and Mallei to this diet. A week later and I haven't seen the limp since. Biscay's brothers have all died, a lot of them from cancer. Some died several years ago. Until last year, Biscay was still fit and happy, although losing his eyesight and starting to slow down. He, too, now has cancer in his jaw, but he's 14, and a 25kg dog. A border collie's (Biscay is an Australian shepherd- they don't seem to be listed) expected lifespan is 13*. Ok, so he isn't ancient, but he's doing pretty damn well. Mum has, in recent years, begun to mix dry food in with his raw diet, but he's still ok.

So. Why don't I believe in dog food?

kittens are cheap.

I went to a petstore the other day.
Wait, with that title, this is a bad way to start. We didn't get another kitten. Keep reading.

Reya previously had an 'evil mouse'. It was just a small black and white toy mouse covered in rabbit (?) fur, with a little ball or something in it, so it rattled, and it had a feather tail. Mallei, instantly, decided it was evil. Every opportunity he got, the mouse would be in his mouth. Which, as it was a small mouse, and he has a large, dog-sized mouth, I was a little concerned about. Eventually he ended up leaving the mouse alone a bit more, though it was slobbery and horrible and every now and then when Reya was particularly interested in playing with it, he'd swoop in and carry it off. Jealous pup.

Dear God, a whole SWARM of evil mice!

Then, inevitably, she lost it. Yes, I've looked under the couch.
So I went to the petstore the other day, and bought 2 new evil mice $2.00 each, and also a mouse that is sort of knitted and makes a mechanical squeak noise that almost sounds like a baby bird. That was about $8. So I spent about $12 on this trip. I don't like that particular pet store because they sell puppies and kittens, but that's a rant for another day. Anyway, I get home and triumphantly give Reya one of the new evil mice. She goes bonkers, and plays with it for a few hours. Nic and I go out, somewhere.

The mechanical squeaking evil mouse.

Coming home, I can't find the mouse. I do find a mutilated bit of plastic with some pink felt stuck to either side and a feeble rattle coming from within. I originally pass it off as just another bit of rubbish that the kitten managed to find and turn into a toy. She often does this, and as such, Nic and I look like absolute slobs as we have used Christmas wrapping paper lying around, usually scrunched into balls. The fronts of envelopes with the plastic window, also scrunched into balls. We have odd socks all over the place because as she channels her inner puppy, she steals socks from the washing basket and carries them about the house in her mouth.
Anyway, it wasn't rubbish. It was the new evil mouse which Mallei had kindly de-furred and chewed up. It's a sad sight.
So I gave her another evil mouse, which she lost.

And right now, her favourite toy is the little plastic circle from the top of a jug of milk. She chews it, bats it across the floor, holds it up in her paws, carries it around in her mouth. And it was free. Well, apart from the milk, but we drank that anyway.
Do I need to bother buying her mouse-shaped toys?
Probably not.
Is she so darn cute trying to attack a toy mouse?
Definitely.


I have a habit in my blog posts where I start with a thought. Then I realize that that thought it going to make no sense without a backstory. Rather than edit the post (I like authenticity- ie: I don't like 'altering' the way things came out. I think it makes things more organic? Spelling mistakes I'll change, but the flow? Not so much) I continue on, and try and tie it together. Does this annoy anyone? Nobody's probably noticed. Just that I did right now, because I find myself writing the first line, then saying: wait, this is only half a story!

...

If you didn't notice it before, you certainly will now!!!

tired & cranky..

So I had a terrible night's sleep.

I don't recall if I wrote about when we had to take Mallei to the emergency vet. My brain is all fuzzy from no sleep, so apologies if I did already.

Basically, our dog is a pig. A pig in dog clothing. He burps and farts, and likes to walk through muddy puddles, and eats. Oh, he loves to eat. Which is fair, he is a dog. Or a pig-dog.
He used to throw up every now and then, in the middle of the night. Google reccomended feeding him something before going to sleep. We introduced the 'bedtime biscuit'; a simple charcoal infused dog biscuit. On the third night after the biscuit had been introduced, he expected it. It was his damn birthright to eat this biscuit before bed. If I forget to bring it with me after brushing me teeth, he snuffles around and looks gloomy until I go get it. The kitten is insanely interested in this biscuit, so sniffs around at his feet as he attempts to inhale every last crumb, lest her teeny-tiny kitteny mouth steal some of it. I'm glad he's just an amazing dog (that I did an amazing job training, if I do say so myself), and he doesn't get 'protective' and aggressive over his food.
Anyway, he loves food.
My bad- positive training via food-based rewards has spawned a food loving demon who will flip out every trick in his book (which is fairly long and extensive) just to get... well, whatever you have that could be tasty.

BEDTIME BISCUIT!!!!

So a few weeks ago, I left for work in a hurry. When we got the kitten back in December, we found this great kitty littler made of wheat, no chemicals, safe to eat, clumping, no smell, and cheap. Awesome, right? Except that Mallei saw this as a golden opportunity- unlimited supplies of cereal! Which I realized after about 3 days, and we built a makeshift gate. Well, on this morning when I left for work, I forgot to close said gate. Nic and I came home that evening to a happy dog, as always, who then proceeded to gulp water like he never has before. I looked in the laundry and noticed that the kitty litter was severely depleted. And yes, this is terrible and disgusting, but he just likes to eat. He'd had an all-day wheat party, had drunk water, and it had puffed up in his stomach. He wanted outside. Bad.
Stumbling around the front-lawn, which had been mowed that very day, he attempted to find any piece of grass long enough to eat. He was having a grass feast now, and looking twice his normal size. Afraid of him getting bloat, we went to the animal emergency center on their recommendation, where they admitted him straight away and induced vomiting. Yum.

He came out of there about an hour later looking chipper and probably wondering where his next meal (or bedtime biscuit) were. We went home.

Yesterday, Nic went out for about 2 hours, and game home to the gate ajar. And Mallei was fine all day, although his water had been rationed as he tends to gulp and slurp it everywhere- more going on the floor than in his mouth. Then we went to bed, where he proceeded to burp and fart as only a man can, and threaten vomiting. I'm a light sleeper at the best of times, and moreso when I'm afraid my dog is on the verge of death. So, I pander to his every need- he gets up and shakes his collar (signal that he wants to wake me up so I let him out), I peel myself out of bed, stumble through the dark, and wait, naked, by the back door, as he scuttles around on the pebbles outside. He comes back in, Reya and I have a cuddle and get comfortable and fall back asleep.
This goes on every 2 hours, and about 3 times between 5.40 and 6.30. The last time I let him out I tell him he can just bloody well stay there, and go back to bed. At 7am, he's whining by the door and my alarm goes off.
He seems ok, now, though doesn't like drinking much. I'll keep an eye on him. Idiot dog.

Anyway, at the end of all that, my job at work is to be cheerful to people and try and sell them into giving me their money, which, if I'm tired, can't concentrate and I'm grumpy probably won't go down so well. Also when I'm super-tired, I tend to cry. So if someone is rude to me on the phones at work, I'll cry.
I'm having a sick day; I've cried enough times at work (sad, but true. That being said I cry at most things, and it's more a physiological response than a psychological one since I'm usually laughing about whatever it was that got me stressed out/upset in the first place). Time to go to the doctor's. Blah.

Dr. Mallei to the rescue.

my kitten is certainly not a princess...

Today I made a video:

on being normal... or why I don't get smashed at work parties.

Just before Christmas there were two Christmas parties for work- one for the whole company, so where a couple of hundred people I don't know would have gone to get drunk and try and sleep with one another.
The other party was just for our section of the company, so Nic wouldn't have been allowed to come. There was two hours of free drinks provided.

The first, people didn't mind so much that I didn't go, because hardly anyone from our team went. The second, I'd given an indication that I might go, but only until finished work (so I'd be there from about 4.30 to 6ish, then we'd leave. We were driving home together). I don't really drink. They tend to have 'drinks runs' at work on Friday arvo, where people spend their pay on a 6 pack (or whatever), drink it at work, then go home. I don't think I've ever bought drinks in a drinks run. I don't go out, and I never really have. So I'm getting pressure from co-workers to go to this party, get smashed, go crazy. I go, I'll say, but not for long. To which they give me a look. Like I'm being deprived.
When I said I didn't think I'd go to one girl, she looks astonished and says: "Just come out and be SOCIAL!"
And I think about the coffee I'd had with a friend the evening before and wonder how or why that is any less social than going out, getting so intoxicated that you don't make any sense, make a fool of yourself, fall asleep in a pile of drool, and wake up not remembering a thing. Because let's face it, that's what they're taking about. It's not a sophisticated wine at a clean bar somewhere- it's a divey pub with sticky floors.
Maybe I should have gone and said hello, but then as soon as I said I was leaving, I would have gotten the same treatment.
In the end, I was watching people getting ready- a flurry of activity as girls madly straightened their hair in the bathroom, boys smoked outside and cracked open their third can of JD and coke (at 4.30pm, mind you)... and then girls started applying concealer to mosquito bites on their legs. These girls are married and engaged. And they're worried about a couple of red spots on their legs. For a party in a room with minimal lighting where nobody could care less. This was the point I decided 'enough is enough', and very quietly made my exit.

Because here's the thing. By leaving early, my life could continue like this:

Nic drives me home, we have a chat about our day, some nice time with just the two of us (not having to shout over music or getting drinks spilled on us), as we ponder over dinner and miss our furkids.
We get home, greeted happily by Mallei who has been inside all day and is just mega-stoked to see us, but really needs to pee. The kitten hasn't figured out how the front door yet, so gets stuck behind it again, and we have a laugh. We bustle inside and head out almost immediately to take Mal for a walk in the last of the sunshine for the day. This is another nice time for just the two of us to talk and relax and unwind. We head home. Nic starts on dinner while I feed the animals, then spend some time playing with Reya and Mal. We eat, relax, watch an episode of one of our tv shows, then head to bed at about 10 or 10.30 where we cuddle up and talk about nothing for another half an hour as the kitten races around and plays in the bath, skidding around corners and 'glomping' up and down the hall. Mal sighs from his bed, like he's too old for this crap, but is secretly fascinated by Reya's antics. And then we go to sleep. If it's a friday night, we have a sleep in till about 8, and then have the whole day to get out and about, to run or cycle or paddle, to cook or garden or go shopping, or whatever we want...

I think the alternative- of succumbing to pressure and 'getting smashed' at the party- would have been much less enjoyable. I'm just sick of that being the norm, and for me being weird or unsociable for not wanting to go down that route. Were it not for work, I wouldn't speak to or socialize with any of those people, so why is making a fool of myself in front of them apparently a prerequisite for a harmonious work environment? I know, I could go out and only have a drink or two, but then there's still the 'party-pooper' mentality if I try and leave before I'm completely off my face.

Grow up, people. There's more to life than that.
 (and I'm not just saying that because I'm a soon-to-be-grumpy-old-wife ;) )

imaginary conversations.

Nic is in the kitchen with Reya on his shoulder, making coffee.
He says: "No, you can't go down, benchtops aren't for kittens..." (my rule)
In a higher, squeaky voice: "But they might be!"
He says: "No. They're not."

It was just gloriously adorable.

[Edit again: Nic, opening the fridge and talking to the dog: "There's food coming out of everywhere Mal! It's packed to the gills!!"
Nic, in low grumbly, grumpy 'Mallei' voice: "You're packed to the gills, Nic."]

[Edit again with the addition of below movie: I love our kids...]