Loot Crate – March 2017

Beware of PRIMAL things.

This month enticed us back into the world of ordering Loot Crate. With the theme came some notable characters that made us go “eh, it’s been a while.”

I can already see perforated edges across the box, that means BUILDABOX.

Woah what’s the first thing YOU see? Cool Mr. Logan over there looking pretty sweet. Notice they haven’t used Q-fig either, which is interesting. This was harder to pick up than expected, then looking at the label I see it’s metal die-cast! That’s pretty cool. Pretty happy with this funky thing.

A Primal Rage tshirt. Pete is pretty happy with this, and reckons he will wear it to work tomorrow haha.

I DON’T KNOW WHERE I’M GOING TO PUT THIS BUT IT’S GOING SOMEWHERE. I’m so happy with this, it’s so cute. So great. Nostalgia sets in.

I like Alien more than predator, and Pete and I don’t drink, but this is really funky. It’s really well made as well. Feels sturdy and good.

And, of course, the badge.

All and all its a pretty sure box. Looking forward to April’s box!




Red is My Favourite Colour

I have to be honest with you from the get-go. Red is, in fact, not my favourite colour. It hovers somewhere between blue and green, and I should probably just settle on turquoise.

It’s funny how this strange “fact” came to be. Mothers are these strange omniscient beings that somehow seem to pick up on every fib you try to run past them. They also buy clothes for you randomly, and they fit better than if you had of been there to try them on. My mother is also like this, she knows everything.

Except, of course, my favourite peanut butter type. I’m quite the contrary person, which drives her up the wall, and also drives her to believe that I’m into the opposite of her favourite things. This led to many a supermarket shops where she would come home with smooth peanut butter, even though we both prefer crunchy.

In a similar vein, when I moved out of home, Mum (and Dad) got me my first cutlery set.
You might think, coming into my home and looking at my kitchen, that red is my favourite colour. The decorations, of course, would suggest it.

At the time of the cutlery purchase, none of these items were in my inventory. I had gone out with Mum for the basics, pots, pans, knives, plates (which, by the way, are blue). Mum wouldn’t let me buy cutlery.

When we got home, and packed everything into moving boxes, Mum and Dad gathered me up to give me a present. Out comes the Milly’s bag, a Ponsonby kitchenware store which is, to put it lightly, quite a nice shop. The box is about the right size to hold a set of cutlery (I’m not stupid, of course, I did pick up that mum wouldn’t let me buy my cutlery at good ol’ Briscoes)

Here is probably as good a place as any to mention that I wear my heart on my sleeve. Professionally, I’m getting a lot better, but in my personal life my feelings show plainly on my face.

I open the box, and my smile falters. In the quick seconds I try to recover, and be gracious at accepting this (what truly is awesome) gift, my Mum doesn’t miss a beat.

“You hate red.”

“I hate red.”

These horrific little utensils were staring up at me out of their box, reminding me of the many peanut butter arguments.

“I can exchange them, I can take them back. They had blue.”

I laugh, and hug the box. Mum visibly relaxes. It wouldn’t be the same if she returned them. These are the ones she picked out, these are the ones I’ll use.

So, I move in with Pete, my bright red cutlery in tow. He goes shopping for our appliances, and comes home with these to match.

I’m horrifed, disgusted, and laughing my ass off. Our landlords happen to leave the red bottles behind which blend perfectly, and my Oma buys me the red birds that sit on the windowsill.

A perfectly colour-coded kitchen, and a hilarious story, all thanks to my Mother’s mistake.



Pamper Me, Pole

“Last night, I went to my first pole class in 6 months.”

In previous posts, I had spoken about how frustrated I had become. I honestly started feeling like it was never going to happen again. I was never going to be allowed to return or feel confident about that shoulder again.

I got home from work and changed into my pole clothes – the loosest ones I have, because I did not adjust my eating habits over those 6 months. Suddenly, eating like you’re training 5x a week just doesn’t help you anymore.

I was waiting around to leave, and i started getting jittery. My hands were sweating, yay, and I couldn’t stop pacing. I had planned on leaving at 7, so I could be 15 minutes early to find a park and get settled, but at 6.40 I grabbed my stuff and left because I had started talking myself out of it.

I was going to be terrible. Awful. Everything was going to hurt constantly, and nothing was gonna work out.

I do the warmup, rolling my shoulders, loosening up. We slide down the pole a few times to engage our shoulders. And then we spin.

By spin, of course, I mean fly. Off I take, round the world. Front hooks, back hooks, chairs, showgirls.

And then I climb. All the way to the top: Mum I reached the top!

Heaven. I got it back, I’m here. This is not bad, this is great.

Best of all? Its been a week and another pole class since then, and I feel fine. Almost better than fine. And I’m back, baby.

See you with some pole posts later.