thegirlwhogotoverit

10:48 am - We've had this conversation

If you want me to cook dinner for you, or you and your partner, or you and your fifteen closest friends, fine.  I'm your girl, and I've really not got anything better to be going on with (most of the time).

What's the one thing you never, ever say to me?

"Cook whatever you want."

We've been through this, people.  I can't go to the store or the market or even the milkbar without a PLAN. 

Because then you get me, in the kitchen, with eight green bags and an enormous piece of paper, saying to Ben, "Well, we could go with jambalaya and pasta and cambodian beef salad, or we could do spinach and chorizo and risotto and thai noodles, or..."


And it takes forever, and it costs a fortune, and if you wanted meatballs and roast lamb, you should have just said so in the first place.

10:49 pm - Cricket

I miss the Old School Boys.  

Actual First Test conversation:

Wen:  Wait, who's that guy?

Buff:  I dunno.  Some guy with gum.  He sure likes gum.  Beej, who's that?

BJ:  That's Marcus North.

Wen & Buff:  Oh.  (to each other) That's Marcus North.

Commentator:  Phil Hughes on screen there, he's been making some runs in practice matches.

It's a Who's That? of wanna-be legends out there.  Gonna be a looong series.

09:36 pm - Here we go again

 OK, so it's time for Dry July, where we raise money for charity by not drinking.

I started Monday - two days early, but you've got to start these new-week's-resolution style things on Mondays, or they don't work.

The whole gang has decided to get in on the action - Mikes has already been off for something like two months, Aims will be sober weekdays, and Mum is going to try to last the month with me.  

We've gathered some sponsorship money (not nearly enough to beat Lou, but shut up), and, now we're not drinking... expect to see a lot more blogging action.  Because it's a long, long month comprised of long, long nights.

Grin.

Actually, I took the week before last off, and it was a lot less challenging that it's been in the past.  Should be a breeze.

As an added bonus, we've started an official lifestyle challenge to make the most of the non-drinking.  We've all weighed in, and whoever loses the biggest percentage of their body weight by the end of the month is the winner.  No idea what the prize is yet, but with all the money we're saving on booze, it's bound to be something moderately awesome.

I'll write in more (entertaining) detail from tomorrow.  Tonight I think I might just sleep off watching that Hewitt match.  Couldn't lie down, could he?  Had to COME ON.  Until four am.  No wonder I don't like that kid.  My affections, in the previously-unthinkable absence of both Nadal AND my tennis boyfriend, have been transferred to the A-Rod.  

 

10:59 pm - The Oldest Profession

Leaving aside the "lawyered!" triumph that proved conclusively that "fisherman!" was, in point of fact, the oldest profession, let's file this one in the "I could not make this up, and I, my friend, can make up some stupid shit" folder.

We've got a pro working the outside of the Tav.  She comes through, tries her luck with the guys in the smoking rooms, and moves on.  She's pretty good at turning away from the cameras as she walks under them, so the pictures we've got aren't much good, but the guys say she looks like she has been on drugs but has been off them for a while, and she looks pretty young.  She's never been into the venue, so she might not, in fact, even be eighteen.

But she's been propositioning the boys, and man, do they think it's hilarious.

Mostly because she first tried Noel, and her spiel goes like this:

Her:  Can I have a ciggie?

Him:  Yeah, love, no worries.

Her:  Thanks.  You wanna job?

Him:  A job?  What sort of job?

Her:  A blow job.

No, I am not kidding.  Yes, this is an actual transcript, and I know he didn't embellish, because everyone has been telling me in exactly the same words.

Do you wanna job?

Seriously.

We, of course, have been trying to find out who she is.  To that extent, people who know people have had the lady who runs this stuff out our way come in and look at the cameras.

Read that one again, I'll wait.

Clunky, I know.  It's still true.  We have a "this stuff" out this way, and we have kingpins (kingpinettes?) of said "stuff."  We also have people who are connected.  Who said all the intricacies of my job would be over when I left Lygon St?

I kind of love QuidProHo*, though, because "I'll have a schooner... and a job" has become the latest gag.  And some kid I'd only just met ordered a parma, chips and salad, a job, oh, and gravy, and we giggled like twelve-year-olds.

I mean, really.  The Werribee Plaza Tavern?  Really?  At 1215?  This is where you "ply" your "trade"?  Poor kid can't be making any money.

*Noel:  Really?  How much?

Her:  You look after me, I'll look after you.  You gave me a ciggie...

Noel (to me):  So, I bought a carton.

Heh.  QuidProHo.  I have had three days to think of something better before posting, but I'm sticking with it.

I know.  Twelve.


 

10:35 pm - Oops.

I messed up, all y'all.

Tonight was meant to be the Night Of No Heat - last night I cooked two different types of curry.  Tonight it was all easy, awesome things - Citrus Lamb, Chorizo/Capsicum Pasta Sauce, Bolognese, and Veggie Soup.

It all went very well for the first three dishes - the hottest thing in them was the smoked paprika, and they were good, warming winter dishes.  Unluckily, I lost my way a little with the soup.

It tastes like a freshly cut chilli smells.  It tastes like I cooked a chicken curry but forgot to put the chicken in, so nothing cuts the heat.  The worst of it is there's no respite - I used the two jars of chilli I got for my birthday, and one's front mouth heat and the other is back mouth, so it's just a hot soup all the way through.

I mean, don't get me wrong, it's still awesome, and I can't stop "taste testing" it, but I meant for it to be everyone friendly, and it's kind of more... overtly hostile.