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Sometimes I’m stupid enough to answer surveys over the telephone. A few times, I’ve agreed to do paid market research, including a discussion group about nanotechnology which I felt may have been monitored by the government behind a two way mirror, during which I may’ve said waaaay too much about my views on inflammatory subjects, while being seduced by slightly stale sandwiches and lukewarm orange juice.

I got a call today about the best kind of market research - the one where the person comes to your house, then hands you an envelope of sweet sweet cash before departing. After I’d met all the criteria, agreed to the time of 4pm tomorrow, the person on the phone remarked in an offhanded way “the consultant will have to take several photographs of your fridge and pantry. Is that okay?”

Several thoughts ran through my head - most of them unprintable here. I wondered if I’d have enough time to defrost the freezer, excavate the fish which seems to have welded itself into the very essence of the appliance, and clean like I’ve never cleaned before. Then a strange calm descended on me. These people go into random houses taking photos of a person’s most private cavities (well, you know what I mean) and mine surely won’t be the worst they’ve seen. And even if it is, they’re going to have to be polite … so just give me the envelope of sweet sweet cash and get out, mister!

So after having reached this fantastic higher state, I was disappointed to get a phone call telling me they were no longer coming tomorrow - but “some time in the future”. Suddenly I was completely over the idea, cash or no cash. So I’m keeping my kitchen filthy and private, except for momentary confessions on this site, which at least on an external level appears neat and tidy.

Today I’m loving: Miss M’s passport photo

Sorry, but it’s not often you can quote Madonna in the title of a post, so I like to do it when I can.

In a completely random manner, I decided this afternoon I want a holiday in Bali. Unlike most Australians, I’ve never been to Bali (misquoting a Redgum song, I haven’t been to Bali too) and have always wanted to go. So I spent some time googling hotels, and have found a crazy place to stay for a crazy cheap price. Miss M is also keen, especially if the holiday involves her missing a week of school. I first have to finish the massage course I’m doing, find a new house … I figure early November should be perfect!

Because I don’t have much other news, here’s the contents of an email my gorgeous friend Jo forwarded me today. If only I lived in LA, I’d dump my business and apply straight away.

WWE SEEKS EXECUTIVE ASSISTANT

Pay is negotiable depending upon experience.

I wonder if “pay is negotiable” means they’d let me trade it in for training sessions with Dave Batista … if ya know what I mean.

Today I’m loving: it pains me to say it, but “Big Girls Don’t Cry”

Sometimes I get little insights into how totally inactive I used to be - before my transformation from sloth to gym psycho. This afternoon at my massage course was one insight, as we learned how to work on legs in the style of a Thai masseuse. As I’ve mentioned here before, I used to have Thai massages on an insanely regular basis, and I’d be so relaxed they’d make me go to sleep. Today, I was forced to titter with pain (I can’t explain why this happens, but during agonising massages, laughing is what I have an urge to do) as my adductors and illiotibial band were thumb pressed by what felt like needles, but were actually our instructor’s hands.

I’d never felt that kind of pain back in the days of being a script editor, and I tried to work out how much exercise I would’ve done then. Walk from the tram, probably about fifty metres, carry a ream of paper upstairs to my printer when it needed restocking (once every week or so), walk to the canteen (or if we were stuck in meetings, we’d have our lunch brought in), stand in a pub drinking if I couldn’t get a seat. Hmm, no wonder my ITB didn’t feel any pain.

I may have bruises tomorrow, but it might just be my imagination.

Today I’m loving: the sun, baby. Winter’s nearly over!

At the end of last week, I dragged my sorry butt into the 21st Century. Sure I’ve got a blog, but in some quarters, that just isn’t au currant enough anymore. So, I signed up to Facebook. And therein madness lies. First, choose a photograph which personifies you - so I went for one of the Simpsonised versions of myself. If you can’t be a cartoon online, when can you be? Then, start amassing friends, otherwise you’re a Facebook loser. Maybe it’s my generation, but making a friend request seems somewhat desperate to me. However, my 20 something workmates make about ten friend requests every day, from people they don’t even know, so whenever anyone looks at their profile they seem super popular. So far I have three workmates, and three cousins. However I’ve asked two of my other cousins to be my friends … and I do have around fifty of them in total. That’s a pretty impressive haul right there.

This afternoon I went to the second session of the massage course, and I’m considering searching out a diploma of massage once I’m finished. Today we covered reflexology (in the sense that a handkerchief covers the Yarra River) and it was quite insane. Every time I talk to our tutor, I’m more in awe of her - she’s a naturopath, aromatherapist and masseuse, and knows so much it’s incredible. I’m going to try and organise a massage from her later in the week, which would be classed as both research, and just plain exciting. I can’t remember the last time I had a massage which didn’t involve vicious osteopathy at the same time - and they can’t really be classed as fun.

I spent a good part of my weekend researching shoulder injuries/rehab for one of my clients (that’s right, I have no life), and felt quite impressed with myself as I put together a killer program which I think will really help him. And you can ask me anything about the glenohumeral joint - go on, ask me!

Today I’m loving: Team America, aromatherapy, and the avocado I bought this afternoon

As a lover of all things celebrity, I know I’ve often wondered “how do they look so flawless?” Sure, it’s easy to credit good genetics, a macrobiotic chef, round the clock trainer … but after checking out this website, I realise the celeb’s best friend is actually the retoucher. Go to the portfolio section, select one of the thumbnails, then put your mouse on the picture to view the original. Move it away to see the retouched version. It’s heartening to see how normal most of these people look before their dark circles, blemishes and slightly chubby thighs were polished off.

When I was at art school, I posed for some pictures my photography tutor took. Somehow, I was under the impression I might be able to swing a pass mark, but I was very, very wrong. After he’d processed them, he showed me a couple of versions where he’d stretched the print, giving the illusion I was about six feet tall and super willowy. I liked the look, but it was quite disconcerting. However, if I were a celebrity (oh, if only), I think I would totally dig the retouched version of myself … until I was faced with reality in the harsh light of day.

So take heart anyone who’s ever felt substandard in comparison to these perfect people, and know they look a lot more like you and I than you’d be led to believe. It also shows exactly how realistic all those stories like “get skin like Lindsay Lohan” are … even Lindsay doesn’t have skin like that!

Today I’m loving: elation, then heartbreak … all in one ten minute package. Easy come, easy go.

I’ve been a big fan of massage for years and years. When I worked at Blue Heelers and earned a despicable amount of money, I became addicted to Thai massage from a particular place in the city. Because the job was so stressful, it was (sort of) a necessity, and one of the things I loved most about it was although it was apparently invigorating, I’d usually be almost asleep by the end of the treatment.

So today I went to the first lesson in a short course on Thai massage. One of my favorite parts of the massage was the facial work, and that’s a huge part of what we covered today. So if you’re one of my clients and you’re reading this, prepare to be my guinea pig! The woman teaching the class is kind of like a mad genius, who heads off on tangents all the time, but is the most amazing therapist, and being quite capable of many tangents myself, I’m always happy to meet someone else who does it.

The course was at Melbourne Uni, and it was quite freaky walking around the campus, and reading from a crumpled map, having virtually no idea where I was going. Students don’t appear to have changed much since I was at uni (or art school, which a lot of people won’t regard as proper university), except everyone seems a lot younger. Or perhaps I’ve changed, but I prefer to lay the blame on them, okay?

I also have a healthy respect for anyone who makes their living from massage, since thirty five minutes without a break nearly killed me. But I look forward to the next few weeks conditioning my massaging muscles as I practice on everyone I know.

Today I’m loving: citrus green tea, and Sneaky Sound System

You may’ve already guessed it from the subtle post title, but I ran today. Not such a big deal, you’re thinking, after all, she is a personal trainer. I can’t argue with your logic, but I’m also the least running-est personal trainer you’ll ever meet, and have often found during the first three minutes of any flavour of running (treadmill, or the real kind) I get an overwhelming urge to a) be violently ill, b) stop running because I am highly bored or c) drink some water. Recently, I’ve been training a rather fabulous young woman named Tams, and coercing (forcing) her to run faster and longer than she has before. She’s turning into a machine, and watching her ability change has inspired me to coerce (force) myself to run more regularly.

Usually I keep my speed at about 11k, which means I can run for about 8-9 minutes without stopping. Today, I started at 11.5k, then jacked it up to 12k until the 9 minute mark, then 13k for the last minute. I knew I was working hard when I could hear heavy breathing through my headphones and realised it was mine. I walked for a minute, then ran at 12k for another 6 minutes. Rereading this makes me feel totally tragic for recalling all that detail, but I’m a personal trainer, remember?

Once I took part in a fun run. It was a lot of years ago, in fact, pre Miss M - a period of my life which seems like it never existed. I still question the first part of the title, as there was no “fun” included. Sure I hadn’t trained, and sure I was running with someone who was a really good runner (who had trained), but somehow I expected it to be a lot easier. I’d also like to add I was still working in television then, so the concept of running was limited to making it to the front of the canteen line to get the best chips before some fat actor beat you to it. In a particularly cruel twist, photographs were taken of participants as they crossed the finish line … let’s just say my only words were “burn the evidence”.

So it comes as a nice surprise that when I’m a few minutes into it my stride is comfortable, I can’t hear my feet hitting the treadmill as I run (soft is good), and if my shuffle deigns to play any song by Rage Against The Machine, I can push myself further and harder than I thought. Plus, teaching yoga later in the day is the most perfect foil to running I could ever think of.

Today I’m loving: the aforementioned all-girl yoga class … and these pics (sorry, I just couldn’t help myself!)

The internet has caused me to waste away many hours as though they were minutes - gossip blogs, that crazy game where you’re the battlefield doctor removing an arrow from someone’s leg, and that other game … which is probably best left undetailed.

Today, thanks to one of the aforementioned gossip blogs, I discovered possibly the most fun time wasting internet activity - click here to find out what it is

Here’s the result of my first go:

which came from this photograph:

Here’s one I did for Miss M:

which came from the same photograph my tattoo was based on:

So there you go. If you’re busy, stay away from this site. You’ve been warned!

Today I’m loving: my bath

An all around good day work wise, with a beautifully compressed 5.5 hour stint at the gym, and a lovely yoga class this afternoon. In between I poached a chicken and made coconut and orange cupcakes, and read some of my absolutely favorite new series of books by Kerry Greenwood, involving a sexy baker/accidental detective. She likes Buffy too, but she has a gorgeous boyfriend - and thus the similarity ends.

Later things went slightly awry, as Miss M left karate in tears because she didn’t get an award she felt she deserved. The poor kid felt totally slighted, and is only happier now because I quickly made pasta (from sauce I’d conveniently pre-concocted last week) to rebuild her energy. We went through the whole “I hate karate, I’ve always hated karate, I don’t want to do it anymore” crisis, and when I tried to remind her how much she’s enjoyed the grappling (or as she says, grabbling) aspect of the classes over the last couple of weeks, she admitted that was fun, but hates all the “boring stuff” (anything not involving grabbling). Now the pasta is finished, and she seems a little less upset.

As an update to anyone interested in my house buying affairs, I mentioned briefly in my last post we’d bummed out at an auction on Saturday. Both of us are kind of over the whole relentless cycle of insanity of the current Melbourne property market, so we’ve decided to find somewhere terrific to rent, and wait until Spring, when there are more properties around and slightly higher interest rates will (hopefully) dampen people’s enthusiasm slightly.

However, last week I discovered I could:

Keep myself together as the bank told us we couldn’t get a home loan for the property because of the zoning, and we’d have to get a business loan instead. When I discovered the interest rate and the term, I told the bank we weren’t interested, and they rang back a couple of hours later saying they could waive some fees and give us an interest rate comparable to a home loan. Accidental negotiation is my favorite kind!

Read a Section 32 quite well.

Find two alternate sources of finance less than eighteen hours before an auction.

Not cry when my “perfect house” went to another bidder.

So, all in all, some great life skills in that bunch. Now to take some deep breaths, and switch myself to the rental part of domain.com!

Today I’m loving: my brother James, who’s been remarkably calm, supportive and awesome throughout this whole process.

Today Miss M went to a bowling birthday party, much like her own. The main difference was attendees were required to dress up as a character from Shrek. After much thought, (and examination of available wardrobe options), Miss M decided she would dress as Ariel, aka The Little Mermaid. As she pointed out, Ariel did make a 3 second appearance in Shrek 1.

So she dressed herself up in sequined finery, and I dropped her off at the bowling alley, where she decided she wouldn’t wear the long brown wig we’d taken along to crown her undersea finery. I put the wig in my shopping bag, and went to my brother’s house to discuss the auction we weren’t successful at this morning.

After the party finished, we went to the supermarket to buy some ingredients for a red wine and pancetta risotto I’m going to make this evening. I did my normal routine of putting the shopping bag beside the cash register so we don’t need any plastic bags. The lady behind the counter started putting items into the bag, then screamed and dropped the pancetta on the floor. She’d seen the wig, and must have thought I’d scalped someone and was carrying around the trophy. I quickly explained about the fancy dress/mermaid situation, but I think it was too late - she was completely freaked out by the large amount of realistic hair she’d seen.

So from now on when shopping post fancy dress party, I’ll always do my best to ensure any realistic body parts are contained within an opaque bag to save future terror, and possibly arrest.