Author Archives: dogpossum

I’ve just suddenly been caught by a strange [insert smartypants theory word here like ‘existential’ or ‘postmodern’ or whatever here] moment:
How does the touch pad on my laptop work? No, I mean really, how does it work? How does it know that I’m touching it?*
Meanwhile, back in the concrete, undertheorised, Pragmatic Feminist world:
today I had chuckguts. It started at 6.30am (which is more considerate than starting at, say 10pm and continuing on for 12 or so hours, a la Taswegia (do NOT eat at a restaurant called ‘Blue Skies’ in Hobart. It will make you vomit until you bust eyeball blood vessels)). It meant that I couldn’t go to my first yoga private today, which I was quite looking forward to. It meant that today I couldn’t eat the chochy we made last night (that’s chocolate brownies to you – last night The Squeeze brought me a mug of milk and the hot chocolate powder in a moment of confusion. I guess it’s kind of the same as a chocolate brownie and a glass of milk. There was also some comment about our old couch, but I forgot what exactly). I guess I could have eaten it, but I kind of like to keep my saturated fats/gross sugars in my body for more than, say… 3 minutes.
But I’m pretty much ok now, thanks. Not sure I want to go rollarskating, but you know.
*I want to make a joke about playing “I’m not touching you”, but I can’t. I can, however, make a mental note to make Clever and Witty Joke Entry about Dave’s Riki massage joke some day soon. It makes us both laugh and laugh. Which is perhaps more an indication of how much time we’ve spent at home over the past couple of months, but I like to think it’s because we’re witty and also carefree and lighthearted.

As my girth steadily decreases, it occurs to me that increasing my weekly exercise would make it possible for me to eat more.
I can think of nothing more perfect.
At the moment I do dancey practice at home twice a week for an hour. Step-step-triple-step, step-triple-step and very little else – so dull it’s almost frightening. The dullness has not deterred Crinks from declaring – regularly – that she’d like to join me. I’d like to think that it’s my scintillating personality that attracts her, but I’m actually sure that it’s more a combination of extreme dance nerdery and a lack of daytime occupation. I say no to her pleas because I’m not sure I want anyone else to see me jiggling up and down like a fool, determined to keep my hips parallel and ankles strong. It’s not even something I can share with The Squeeze.
Beyond that, I also go to yoga twice a week for an hour and a half, onesies and bubs. I love it dearly, have a smarting crush on my teacher (it’s an alignment thing), and have discovered that my Ankles Are Weak. I dread the thought of being thought weak ankled, or having anyone notice my less-than-stable ankles, so I am working on them. Both my Down Dog and my 20s Charleston basic have improved imeasurably since making the ankle discovery.
I also social dance three times a fortnight, from 8.30 til 11.00 and 9.30 – 11.30 or thereabouts. I ride to dancing on Thursday nights (half an hour each way) and ride my bike everywhere. The new bike is truly Built for Speed. And I am increasingly looking as if I too were designed in a wind tunnel. So to speak.
On other fronts (no, that wasn’t a clever way of moving on to further discussion of my physique), I DJed for the first time to a Melbourne audience. It seems I’ve completely reneged on my previous decision to abstain from DJing, and have suddenly decided I like it Very Much. The $25 for a 1.5 hour slot has in no way influenced my thinking, nor has the contribution it will make to my private yoga class next week.
And I am sure that my new interest in entertaining the swing dancing masses has absolutely not a thing to do with my new found love of the stage. New found in that the stifling stage fright of my teens has been replaced by a definite interest in standing in front of a large group of people and doing exactly as I like, sure that it is all about Me for anywhere between 5 and 95 minutes.
If I do seem in danger of becoming a crazed megolamaniac, limelight-grabbing glory hound, be sure to step in, will you?
To round off this week, it seems the Ps have discovered the previous post about their house and the included accusations of mental instability. I have not denied it. In response to my father’s comment that “all our friends have said they like it” I could only respond: “all your friends are polite.”
I’m sure he’s now sure that I am the most conservative member of the family.
This does not mean that I am ashamed of my parents. It’s far too late for that – I would never have survived adolescence if I was that delicate.
On the topic of familial decoration, my brother has acquired his first ink.
While he is 29 this year (4 years younger) I don’t doubt that my father is still imagining he’s 14 and somewhat in shock. I’m sure my mother, however, is secretly terribly excited and has already broadcast full details to all of Hobart, Brisvegas and now Melbourne. My father did concede that though he wasn’t comfortable with the thought of the pain involved, he did think that it was a very nice piece of art. I will post photos as soon as they come to hand.
I, however, remain undecorated, and offer only this post as my contribution to the family’s Experiments with Style.