Gretchen Rutte Is Now In a Relationship

Yes, it's true. I am deeply committed. Rossi: 170 cms, a little more narrow-waisted than is fashionable, challenging and dynamic. After a first date with Rossi, I was hooked. We soared over slopes and ducked through the trees, much like Bella and dead-James-Dean guy in that most excellent Twilight series.

After a long period of abstinence, I have re-committed myself to skiing by purchasing a pair of sick skis. Rossignol s86, Naxo AT bindings so I can back-country and resort ski with the same set-up, adjustable Leki poles, G3 skins and the cutest little yellow Voile shovel. Ooooh, think I may have blown my cred with the last description, but it is the happiest little shovel you ever did see. I can whistle cheerily as I dig my friends out of avalanches, yay!

In other news, I took the whole damn Easter weekend off and skied and ate well and saw friends and easter egg hunted and lolled in bed and cleaned half-heartedly. At the start of the four-day holiday, I made a good list of things I should do, and sensibly set it aside for the rest of the weekend. Carpet cleaning can wait. Time to unplug and relax.

The 2nd annual easter brunch/egg hunt at my friend Marguerite's was terrific. None of the children present apperared ill, the food was high quality, the coffee more than decent and the rain held off till after the chocolates were collected. No one barfed or shat themselves forcefully, and there was only one child bloodied through face-plant. One little girl went into a shrieking fit, but the parents seemed like decent folks and she was at once scooped up and taken onto the deck until she reached the quiet shuddering stage. Awesome.

Taking time off made me realize that I need to take time off...but there's a reason I don't. While I'm no longer on my ten-hour winter sleep schedule thanks to the longer days, I find it very easy to do nothing for long periods of time, interspersed with one or two Important Tasks that take maybe five minutes but give me a sense of accomplishment. I am surprisingly easy to placate when in weekend mode. Favourite panties hand-washed and hung to dry: check. Favourite panties taken off line when light rain falls: check. Two important tasks down! Rock on! See, this might be dangerous territory to slide into.

This weekend was significant for my significant other, however. It may have been one long pantie wash and dry for yours truly, but he had to move the ex into town, study for a mean final exam today, mediate a work crisis and play host to two different sets of house-guests. I, on the other hand, had to get up slightly early on Sunday to make a fruit salad for brunch. Fair dinkum.

I'm bucking the trend of over-achieving women. This superwoman complex has to go. I'm going to use 50's husband as a prototype: home from work to gap out with a glass of scotch and a paper pre- and post-meal. This is slightly challenging as I work from home and have no adoring wife zonked on tranquilizers to serve me meatloaf and candied yams, but I do believe in compromise. I serve myself leftovers (delicious!) in an apron and listen most compassionately to stories of work woes. Have a drink, you poor dear. I don't know how you do it, you big strong thing.

I did fix up my bike last Good Friday (Jesus wants me to ride, oh Lord) and ride into town to vote at advance polls. I was like, democracy AND bike-riding on Earth Day: snap! I nailed it! (I still love snap! I'm hoping it's like rad--never really goes away. However, some expressions need to be put away for good. Case in point: "Whatever." What kind of Big Lebowski nihilist/morbidly horny 15-year old are you to concede a "Whatever"?)

Hmm, my little computer is near-dead. The hometeam has won game 7 of round 1 of the play-offs, which means people are getting drunk for a reason tonight. Woo-hoo! (Also please retire). I've got to be up disgracefully early for a number of disgracefully responsible reasons tomorrow, so good night!

Abruptly yours, G

PS Read Tina Fey's book over the weekend and laughed out loud several times. Best part was the Teat Nazis, hands down. Militant breast-feeders scare me too, Tina.