Eternal Brunchtime of the Constant Dine

I figured that, after quitting my jobs (oh joy! oh bliss!) I'd have time to do all sorts of things I used to enjoy; you know, sleeping and smiling and breathing. But -- my God, and I never thought I'd say this -- being a Lady Who Lunches (my ultimate career goal, no lies) is damn hard work. Not only have I had to brush my hair, but I've been flat out, going from one cafe to the next. In the last week, I've had more flat whites than I've seen in a season.

It's been so lovely to see everyone. I didn't realise I had so many sensational people in my life until I started saying goodbye to them. I didn't realise how much I'm leaving behind, really. It must be that cliche of leaving and appreciation and lack thereof.

It still doesn't feel real. I suppose it will when I'm being rained on in Hyde Park -- ooh, actually, writing that gave me a bit of a chill -- or being rained on at Portobello rd, or even being rained on in BHS as I try to piece a life's worth of linen together.

Thanks to the magic of scheduling, it's exactly (exactly) a week until I leave. And once I'm over there, I'll have lots of exciting things to say. How thrilling! See you then, if not sooner.

Sarah Illenberger's watermelon

 

Another year of not being dead

I turned 18.

Kind of a big deal since everything happens at 18 here. Drinking, driving (not at the same time, you terrible people), voting (!!!), booking aeroplane seats... The whole box and dice. Above, you see me at 12.01 AEST on 5th January with an unrealistically delicious margarita. It was still well above 30 then, so here I am, sweating like some kind of farm animal. (D'you like my sunburnt nose?)




Things improved rather dramatically with the arrival of my birthday present about eight hours later. Naturally, my birthday outfit featured my beautiful birthday earrings (care of G, who took the picture at midnight and who is going to be the world's fiercest criminal law barrister) (not barista, let's get that straight) and the kimono I got in London (of course! Not Japan!).

Anyway, this is the camera you remember from my resolutions post. I think it takes a nice picture; but what do I know? I'm still trying to figure out how to turn my ISOs on.

The day was picnic-perfect! My 'burb has some lovely botanic gardens so we set up under the mallorn Party Tree golden elm, my favourite of all trees (fun fact!) to spend a solid five hours counting Daniels and eating an inordinate amount of rice paper wraps. I don't think I could have asked for a better group (maybe a few much-missed additions!). These girls are so intelligent and thoughtful and hilarious, and I'm so thrilled that they were there to celebrate with me. They deserve -- I don't know -- individual opal mines. Profitable ones. That and more.

We invested some serious time in making faces... (as usual)...

Eventually, though, we headed off. I spent my time inhaling a Pine-Lime Splice (God's gift to the world of frozen dairy products) and lying face-down on my bed, asleep, to recharge for dinner at Dig a Pony. It managed to fulfil my Beatles and Latino quotas. I'm very impressed.

Plus, it's in Yarraville, which is like Williamstown's cool older cousin. Remember the one you had who you considered murdering for her hair crimper? Yarraville. Had Zoolander on VHS? Yarraville. Inflatable clear-blue plastic couch? Yarraville.

I was a bit busy with merry-making and mishearing dishes (those things above are not called "Fish Parts", as it turns out) to take anything much, but rest assured that I had a beautiful evening to cap off a gorgeous day. And I'm not sad it's over, because now I get to do lots of fun things like getting a pentagram tattooed on my forehead. Adult life is looking good.

 

In this edition of Kinfolk...

Maybe not. Actually, this hilarity is just a segue into tonight's adventure to the Open Air Cinema with the inconquerable J. I figure, since she's the first person I told about my blog, she ought to be the first to get a mention on it.

I begin by reiterating that it's summer where I am.

The Open Air Cinema is a fairly literal business. You bring a picnic rug or rent a deck chair and then spend an hour forty or so shifting about, trying to get the feeling back into your legs.

Hard life.

Ah, but who am I kidding? This was so much fun. I had my first Subway (verdict: satisfactory; doubt those meatballs were the epitome of eatin' fresh, but they did taste good), and then we saw a bongo drum orchestra. There was some kind of hippie night market -- you could buy fisherman's pants and those weird woven hats with the ear flaps -- and a man who, clearly at the end of his pride, was trying to flog the last of his stock as "strawberries for Christmas", "stawberries for your ice-cream" and "strawberries for you, sir".

St. Kilda is such a fun place, in spite of all the murders. It's sort of seedy and a last hippie outpost, but I guess that's the charm. It even has a Coney Island-esque amusement park; C I-esque in that it had its hey-day about seventy years ago and now is only really patroned by tourists, children's birthday parties and second-daters running out of ideas. It's a shame because the place is actually pretty nice, especialy when it's all lit up. It's the kids these days, with their "electronic mail" and "skateboards".

Right. The sun set at last and we headed to the place to see...

...Emilio Estevez! What a film. We laughed; we cried; we fumbled and failed to take a picture of the opening tites and instead snapped a shot of the lead actor.

I admit to you now that this was my first ever viewing of the Breakfast Club. What can I say? I'm impressed, both by the film itself and by Estevez's cold, dead shark eyes. Apart from moments of frustration (ie: "Oh my God, leave Claire alone already, it's not her fault she's a ginger") it was sensational. I'm always in awe of a film that takes such hilariously rigid stereotypes and makes a decent picture. Plus! it had a montage (a dance montage!!) and a makeover and those are just my favourite things in a film.

And a highly unflattering selfie to end a sensational evening.