I Don't Like Lists

Actually, that's something of a lie. I like writing grocery lists, for example. Some of my clearest memories of uni are of pondering what I would be cooking for dinner that night and then writing down the relevant ingredients in my notes. My notes for "The Golden Age of Hollywood" for example read "Galangal, limes, chillies ... roti?" or "basil, rice, stock, chicken mince". Very rarely do I find pages actually dedicated to the framing or constraining narratives of female autonomy or femininity as raised by classic weepies such as Stella Dallas.

Anyway, so, the last thing I wrote was so shonky it's taken me awhile to figure out a way to get past it, added to which there was the whole "Christmas" thing (next year I dream of either being drunk while purchasing Christmas presents or, preferably, drunk and in Spain and purchasing nothing, nothing for Christmas, mwa hahahaha) and now here we are at New Years Eve and how did that happen? In answer to that question I believe I will leave us all with some highlights of... the past seven days. Bugger highlights from this year, I prefer not to ever think back too far.

On the Saturday before Christmas I was tickled to attend a friend's dinner party. Her boyfriend entertained us all with his Borat-style swimwear which he had ordered from the internet to wear for his parent's Bad Taste Party the previous weekend but which had no arrived in time.



I also particularly enjoyed watching two people who were studiously Not Together getting drunk to the point at which the girl turned on the boy and exclaimed "you know what my brother said about you at the races? He said you were Not To Be Trusted". God I love watching other people sniping. I know it is wrong but I do heart it so. Plus I thought her brother was toootally right.

On Sunday my sister picked me up in her family's tiny toy of a car with the top down so we got to zip along the coast with the wind in our hair.

On Monday my cousin showed her skills with a cocktail maker, filling up almost every lull in conversation with offers of more margaritas. This, coupled with me finally having a reason to hide out in the kitchen (and thus away from boring conversations) and the similarly alcohol-focused presence of JZ led to one of the more enjoyable Christmases of late.

On Wednesday I read an excellent defence of intellectuals and intellectualism in a very charming and very French book.

Thursday I went on the run from my family and propped up the bar with NoLogic, pondered the nature of singletonness and then ate lamb shanks and mashed potatoes with Roo and BFG. Somehow I ended up the only talentless guest in an impromptu guitar singalong which led me to reflect that I really should've paid more attention that one time I tried to learn how to play guitar. Sadly at the time I was less interested in the guitar and more interested in the boy holding it. Ah well.

Friday I ate genuine, melt in your mouth, yellow-from-eggs country sponge cake and won the game of Songs of The 80s against the fierce competition of B and the less fierce (in fact... not fierce at all) attempts of M. And then I got to eat pizza and watch Top Gun which, god, is one part homage to dentistry and two parts love letter to Man Love.



Saturday I revelled in Robot Chicken, revisited Garth Marenghi's Dark Place and then... won my first game of Scrabble. Yesss!



I also got to stuff the kitchen cloth down my brother's undies as a reminder that, although we see each other rarely and there is something of an age gap between us, I will always be his little sister and he will always be my bro.

Who the hell knows what the next week holds or the week after that but for anyone reading this I hope it brings good things and manageable hangovers.