Maybe I wasn't worth it?

Flowers bought for self, by self. Oh dapper gentlemen, where are you?

A few months ago I bought myself some super amazing mascara. This magic in a tube claimed it would extend my lashes by 2,000,000 percent etc etc, and the marketing campaign gave the distinct impression that every fellow in a four mile radius would do nothing short of swoon at the very sight me and my mega-long eye fringes.

And whilst it has made my lashes look noticeably thicker (clumpier? cement-ier?), I must say that it has made no real difference to my life. I have not had any dapper cravat-wearing gentlemen of a certain age press bouquets of flowers into my hands, whispering words of awe as they do so over my lustrous lashes.
Nor is my sleep disturbed by any lovelorn youths reciting words of poetry under my window. I do not have to snuggle under the doona with a pillow clamped over my ears to block out words such as these: “She shot me with an arrow , of which the feathers were the eye-lashes; an arrow which did not strike the outer part of my skin, but cleft my heart"*, recited on moonlit nights in strangled, lustful tones. More's the pity.
I haven’t even had any Tiffany salesmen press free diamonds into my hands, whispering urgently into my ear as they did so that a woman possessing such fine lashes as mine must be liberally covered in only the best of jewels. "Go, sweet kitten", they will murmur as I gleefully bounce out the door with fingers dazzling, "Go with your diamonds and lashes of jet, and do not thank me - your beauty is reward enough!"

I know, I know – I can hardly believe it myself! Although the latter may have more to do with the fact that I rarely step into a Tiffany's store. Budgets, you know.
So it's back to good old Great Lash for me. It may not give me 2 ounce lashes, but at least I can open my eyes without risking eyelid strains (rather hard to bandage). And unlike Super Clump Effect 2000**, As Worn By Tammy Faye Baker***, GL actually washes off, so you don't wake up each morning with big scary non-removable panda eyes, even though you diligently cleansed the evening before.
*Apologies to Kuthayyir 'Azza.
**Not it's actual retail name.
***We think.

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She's so slow that it's painful to watch

I got sooooooo much knitting done at my knitting club last night. Which is good, because, let's face it, my knitting output hasn't exactly been prodigious this year. One measly cardi for Grumbles, and a half finished cardi for me. Tsk, tsk.

Still, it's amazing what you can get through when you stick to sparkling apple juice rather than wine at knit night, eh? Bwahahahahah! Remember, Jorth: wine and beautifully knitted garments are, alas, mutually exclusive.

So last night I whipped out my needles, said a polite no to the sticky dessert wine all the way from Germany, and made good progress on my Harvey, from Rowan Studio 1. I've almost finished the left front, having already completed the right front and back, and will soon be ready to hit sleeve island. In typical Jorth fashion, I'm sure I'll finish it just in time for summer.

Because Harvey is such a summery top, oui? (Snort, snort).

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The most splendid and FREE sewing patterns around!

Have you guys checked out Burdastyle? Oh my sainted aunt, there are some SPIFFY patterns up there! Now that the sun is shining, the birds are twittering, the flowers are blooming and spring is around the corner, I am thinking mad, mad sewing thoughts. Here are some on my to-make list:

Sidonie

Sibylle

I'm sitting here now at the computer whilst Grumbles sleeps, wondering if it's evil to wake her up so we can catch a tram down to the fabric shop. That'd be wrong, huh? Damn. If only I didn't have to organise my knitting club for tonight, I would be hunting through my fabric stash right now, planning and cutting and tinkering away.

I think Jocelyn is to be the first cab off the rank, although I'd prefer mine in bright, crazy red. I want the model's hair, too. And her legs. I swear, the more I exercise, the more my thighs chunk up, yet my arms remain flaccid and tone-less. ACK! That's not supposed to happen.

Sorry, got a bit off the track there. Back to the sewing. What's everybody else planning for summer projects? Surely I'm not the only one with the sewing bug!

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Role reversal

Jorth: Ack! This rain! This never ending, drizzling, annoying rain! Don't tell me we need it, don't tell me the trees will be grateful - I need to buy milk, and we're going to get soaked if we head out into this infernal rain! *stamping of feet and tossing of head*

Grumbles: It's okay, Mum, it's ok. Calm down!

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Link-tastic Tuesday!

Not much going on here. The rain is heavily falling down outside, and I'm snug and warm inside, enjoying the sound of the drops falling on the roof. So it's links galore today, folks!

- Excited about rain as Jorth is? Check out how much is falling here!

- Ever wondered what it would be like to live in the past? I have a reoccurring daydream that I'm wealthy and fabulous in the 1930s, swanning around in silk satin dresses, cocktail in one hand, and ciggie with as-yet-unknown-negative-health-associations in the other. In my dream I run with quite a fast set, and have a damn good time. Oh, and I blow up all the car factories before people begin to think cars are indespensible, and found a factory utilising the energy from the sun to make the world's first solar panels, preventing hundreds of coal fired power stations from being built, and saving the world from climate change. That's right, I'm Super Thirties Girl!

Really, there's no need to thank me. I'm just doing what's right. Still, as marvellous as those day dreams are, I don't think I'd go to all the effort of living like I actually was stuck in the 30's, 40's or 50's. Didn't stop these broads, though.

- Now, onto more serious stuff. The latest news from environmentalists and climate scientists suggest that for the first time in human history the Arctic will be ice free in summer by 2013. This will have massive effects on rising sea levels, weather patterns (more storms, anyone?) and local wildlife, already facing extinction. For a fantastic program exploring the issue more, go here. Well worth a look.

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Recipe for a perfect Sunday

Ingredients:

1 Lazy Sunday morning spent blobbing around in jimjams until 11am
1 Jigsaw puzzle
4 hours to spent on it
2 bunches of narcissus perfuming the air
2 or 3 (according to taste) cups of tea, with Green and Black chocolate to nibble on
1 wonderful husband who is willing to cook both lunch and dinner (ok, so it was Pasta a la Galumph both times, but we'll forgive him)
1 crazy kid who likes nothing better than doing the dishes
6 hours of rain lashing the windows, and a lovely warm house to hang out in




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Winter wonderland


Darlings! Hello! Yes, we're just back from the ski slopes, and what a thrill it was. I was cruising down those black diamond runs like nobody's business, inbetween perfecting my aerial jumps and...

Oh heck, who am I kidding? Yes, we did go skiing, at the lovely Falls Creek, but I'm more of an invalid shuffler skiier than anything else. Seriously - I look like I should be holding a zimmer frame, rather than being perched precariously on skis. When I do actually move it's so timid and pathetic, especially when 5 year olds zoom past with condescening looks. And heaven help me if I come to a slight hill that requires me going down it. My legs don't make the pizza shape like they are supposed to, and I end up sprawling my way down in a flurry of arms, stocks, and ski rage. Very attractive!

As for the head skiier of the family, Galumph - well, he came down with a nasty cold as we were driving up to the ski fields, and spent most of his skiing break curled up in bed. The poor old thing felt so miserable that he didn't even have the energy to vocally lament that fact that he wasn't out in it, and trust me, the man loves to ski. Why else would he don those ridiculous glasses?

My highlight was trying to get some cross country skiing done in what is predominately a downhill resort. My friend and I shuffled our way to the ski bowl at the aptly named Windy Corner in what felt like a force 10 blizzard. The wind howled and the snow sandblasted the skin off our very faces, resulting in a bit of a lobster look for the next few days. At one stage we were being blown backwards by the wind, and only the action of digging our stocks in the snow kept up from being blown up in the air, Mary Poppins style. I tried to laugh, as the whole escapade was an absolute skiing farce, but the wind kept whipping the air out of my throat, I couldn't even see more than 2 feet in front of me and I was beginning to get drenched by my running nose.

If you wish to apply for the recently vacated position of Ski Bunny, please email me at jorth-can't-ski-for-shite.com. Sigh.

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