Sundays in the park...

"How you liking it?"
"Oh yeah, it'd be great if I could see anything,"
says the woman spilling over the edges of her seat
behind my (rather tall, it must be admitted) beloved.
I endure a few more of her snipy, pointed (and loud) comments before casually glancing over my shoulder to put a face to the snark.

(Retrospectively, I should have taken one of the vacant seats to her left post-interval. Then I could have made loud complaints about the crushing claustrophobia her bulk imposed on me. And no, I realise there are plenty of fat people who are not that way by choice. Trust me, he doesn't always love towering over people either. If you would like him to only purchase end-of-row or back-row seats in the future, maybe you should consider seating only dead centre of the row and taking your seat before everyone else so you don't crush them as you attempt to tippy-toe past.) Ahem. Sorry.

Aside from the ranting of the bitter twisted moron behind us who could easily have moved to sit in the vacant seats behind me (much more average stature), Jersey Boys was brilliant. Utterly awesome and great. I don't even like musicals.

The evening of wonderful continued into dinner. "That pho place on Swanston? Chinatown?"
Beloved smiles, considers. "Blue train? Because then I can order anything, like pizza or steak, or..."
"Sure."
I like blue train. Over on Southbank, it's been our favorite after-theatre place for years. So we walk on over. Of course, it's packed. We wait for twenty minutes for a table, we scan the menu and wait for our orders to go through.

"Wouldn't it be funny if we walked all the way over here and waited and I wound up ordering the Singapore noodles?"
He's grinning goofily, hamming it up. He's serious.
"Not so much, no. I'm going to have the tandoori chicken."
He performs another finger scan down the menu.
"Yeah, uh... I think I'll have the steak."
See? Simple. The waitress arrives and I triumphantly order my tandoori. His turn.
"I'll have... The Singapore noodles. And some flatbreads to start."

Argg.

Food and Wine festivals...

are fun when they involve bands and dancing. I realise this is totally extraneous to them being FOOD and WINE festivals, but I'm a single-minded kind of person.

Actually, I'm not at all a single-minded kind of person. I'm the kind of person who gets very hyped by mud cake and double-shot lattes and says things like "I'll have the mud cake. Or whatever you have that's closest to mud cake. Can I have that with a side order of bacon? And a latte. A latte with an extra shot of coffee. With bacon?"

I didn't get bacon. Clearly the waiter thought I was some kind of crazy girl joking about bacon with mud cake. If you've ever eaten bacon with french toast/pancakes and maple syrup you will know I wasn't joking. Possibly he just thought I was some kind of crazy girl full stop.

I was a little crushed by the resultant absence of bacon, but admittedly, I ingested bacon some three hours previously with breakfast, so chocolate+sugar+caffeine+bacon-bacon (still) = happiness. And ice-cream! Cold sugary vanilla goodness with my chocolatey warm moist .... oh, it was a happy time.

Today was a lovely kind of meandering wandering day, eating and holding court from our sunny table. The advantages of living in a 'small town' are that you're never short of someone to talk to. Of course, you're also never short of someone to talk to. This makes escaping a little tricky sometimes. Nevertheless, my lingering malaise (I've had this cold for two weeks now!) and need to blow my nose provided convenient excuses for the guy I really can't stand dancing with; the others were all quite lovely. Quite.

And now to bed; real life resumes in nine hours and some attempt on my part to be rested and ready for another week is wise. Yes.

Get your jedi mind control on...

Which is exactly what I am attempting. However, it's late, and I seem to have lost the ability to type.
This is post 99, so if you want to ask any questions for me to answer in my 100th post, best be quick.

Followers, you can ask whatever you like.
Lurkers, you can't. Push off.
Or use something to sign in and follow and then you can ask too.

Because today has been a long and busy (and fun!) day and my toe is throbbing like a bastard (yes, bastards throb: who knew?!) you get some poetry.

You can ask questions about the poetry.

I was walking
floating toward you
conspicuously beautiful
in pink shimmering

I was bleeding
from my freakish mouth glossy
heavy inanities
until waifish

I saw your confusion
of beauty laboring to birth
adulterous lunacy
delivered in a voluptouly raised cocktail glass

I walked to you
and ceased to bleed
and you lifted
an egg 
from my mouth
and broke
the bloody yolk falling
your hands stricken
sticky albumen
and gory dark
and conjecture

I ceased pink shimmering 
am trapped in an ordinary room
ordinary peacock-people
of crimson and rose and no shimmering
no shimmering at all
they flirt - never guessing
I am pressed to their wrists
stories tightly wound about each hand
preventing them from hors d'ouevres
matt blue feathers fluttering bound