After almost twelve months, doors have returned to the house. The dust-gathering blankets and sheets long employed to perform door-like duties have been banished and revamped doors stand in their place. They open. They close. They’re great. They will only be problematic for the dog who, I fear, may have grown a little too used to only a sheet/blanket strung across a doorway standing between her and where she wanted to be. However, after a few bumps on the head, I’m sure she’ll re-learn the old way of gaining entrance to a room – sitting at the door and wacking it with her front paw until someone lets her in/out. And we’ll go back to lamenting the scratches on the (new) paintwork.

For quite some time I decided that I was no longer going to wear make-up to work. And I didn’t for ages. And I don’t think I looked too bad.
And then a few weeks ago I rediscovered my lovely red lipstick and decided, in a fit of pre-work levity, that I would put it on and wear it to work. For something different.
And I received compliment after compliment after compliment. After so much positive reinforcement, I wore it for a few days. Everyone liked it.
And then I did a test. And I didn’t wear it one day. No comment. And I wore it again the next day. To more compliments.
So it’s back. By popular demand, baby!

For the second year in a row I’ve enrolled to do a particular subject at Uni – Mass Communication Law and Regulation (rivetting, I know, nevertheless I’d like to do it).
And for the second year in a row RMIT has canned it one week prior to classes starting – due to lack of interest.
(Note – it’s not MY lack of interest.)
I’m doomed never to take this subject.
Thus requiring a rapid scrabble through the remaining available subjects at do-able times (ie. fitting around work) and a battle with the obtuse on-line enrolment system – both of which result in a degree of wailing and moaning.
But it’s done.
So now I’m enrolled for ‘Political Communication’ on a Wednesday evening.
Whatever that might be.

It’s quite amazing where paint gets – even when you try to contain it within pretty tight parameters.
For example, today I have painted two doors.
So there is paint on the doors.
There is also paint on the brushes, paint pots, wiping up rags and drop sheets immediately associated with the painting process.
Then there’s paint on my pants, under my fingernails, smeared near my right eyebrow and, inexplicably, also on my right ear lobe.
Of course, there’s paint in my hair. I really should paint in a hat because, without fail, I manage to get it in my hair.
And there’s paint on the dog.
On the pad on her right back foot.
So there’s also little paint footprints everywhere between the hallway (where the painting is taking place) and outside.
Or at least there was until I cleaned it up.
And then cleaned the dog.
I’m sure she thought she was helping.

Our dog is not so smart.
But she’s smart enough to know that she’s cute.
And her cuteness is one of her few weapons against us.
She’s ruthless with the cuteness.

Cleaning Day.
Our cleaner arrives and departs sometime during the day and we come home to a house that’s spick and span.
We communicate via little notes.
It’s like the elves have been.

The parentals are both turning 65 this year.
So a family party is in order.
There’s been much discussion over what to do, where to do it and who should participate.
My suggestion was lunch at the restaurant at Mitchelton Winery.
But it looks like I’ve been gazumped by the popular vote for Euroa’s ‘Jumping Jumbuck’ of the renowned gourmet pies.
(I must work on my lobbying skills – my sister clearly got maximum voting-pulling value out of the lure of those gourmet pies when I thought Mitchelton would be a shoe-in.)

So, I’m Princess Apostrophe, eh?
Hummphhff.
Well, I LIKE a strong, well placed, shapely apostrophe.
I think it’s a good thing.
So there.

The suburb I live in is changing. It’s an incremental change so the neon vibrancy of the Vietnamese community and culture remains strong. But every now and then I notice another restaurant or grocery store or hair dresser (complete with a fascinating array of hair products) or even clothes store (at The Crib you can find all your hip hop requirements) inspired by the growing African community in the west. It’s when these everyday kinds of services start appearing that you know that what was once exotic is now a real part of the community. It will be interesting to see how the different African cultures add to what is already an interesting place to live.

“See ya – I’m going for a solarium”, said a colleague, literally sprinting out the door.
I’m a person who spends her life mostly hiding out from the sun’s burning rays because I can’t tan and I’m also a complete novice when it comes to fake alternatives.
Still, I thought you went to the solarium. I didn’t know people went for a solarium.
Obviously I have a lot to learn about the jargon.
Summer just can’t come soon enough for some people.
(Upon further close questioning “going for a solarium” actually meant being trapped in a hot bubble for ten minutes with Kylie on the headphones. Not my idea of relaxing – I’d be sprinting for the door, too, but in the other direction.)