kv invited me to join the Whats in Your Bag? group at flickr. Had this request come later, I might have migrated/culled the items in my bag into my newly purchased stylish summer tote and the photograph would have been less hectic. Be that as it may, the contents of my bag are as follows (vaguely working from top left to bottom right): red glasses cloth (best cloth ever for cleaning glasses) colonoscopy report (complete with photographs) loose change (always) spiral notebook (gift from Jacqui and Simon from a designer I can't remember) screwdriver (phillips head) vodafone bill (not opened for fear of size) black overstuffed wallet emergency Mother Earth Baked Oaty Slice (you never know when you need fortifying) Visa card (for online purchases_ EFTPOS card wallet (for offline purchases) padlock key (for keeping freaks out_ Rescue Remedy (for public speaking - I get very nervous_ Password and FTP notebook (have no memory otherwise) Cellphone (thankyou Shane from Vodafone) more loose change (typical) silver and paua earrings (from Cheryl) ring (from me) emergency highligter (for correcting badly written magazine articles) matchbox toy (suped up veedub) pens/pencils (x14) (enough?) contact lenses (x2 unopened) (for summer) Origins Once Upon a Shine lipgloss (the best) Origins Service with a Smile lipstics (x2) (perfection) Cigarettes (for those times you just need one, or two, or three) tampon (for times you just need one) Keys (to my home and my car and my everything else) Lemony Snicket book (unleashing a love of story) Serious Espresso coffee card (x2) (unleashing a love of good coffee) Smints (for after the coffee when I want to kiss you)

When I was 17 I started working at the Natural Gas Corporation in Bell Block, New Plymouth. That's where I met Greg. We used to call him "Pug" - a play on his surname. He used to come into the Drawing Office where I worked, throw me over his shoulder and jog around the first floor - me protesting the entire way. Eventually, he used to come visit the flat where I lived. I thought it was because a) it was close to his and b) he liked my flat mate. Til one night while we were mucking around in the lounge, he kissed me and I thought well, maybe he liked me afterall. He was 26 at the time and I was 18. We dated for a while - he was my first "proper" boyfriend. He would drive down from Morrinsville where he was working on the gas pipeline and take me out for dinner. Proper dinners in restaurants. He was different from the type of guy I usually attracted: old drunks (4), potential rapists (2), stalkers (1) and married men (1). That'd been my experience of men until I met Greg. He was sweet, and funny, and really really smart. The weekend we got engaged was probably our worst weekend ever. It may have been our first "proper" fight, too. I was a model in the hairdressing competitions in Auckland and we'd travelled up from New Plymouth for the weekend on the bus with the other hairdressers. Greg had come with me, but had got off the bus on the motorway to stay with his parents rather than stay with me at the Hotel. I was a bit miffed, but understood that he was going to buy a car and had things to do. He pretty much ignored me all weekend. I didn't hear from him except for a phonecall to find out where we were going to dinner on Saturday night. After dinner he left me again returning to his parents house. He was late to the competitions and almost missed them completely. I was excruitatingly nervous and really wanted to see him. By the time he showed up I was already on stage. Afterwards, we drove home to New Plymouth in his new car. The nervous excitement of the modeling-in-front-of-all-those-people thing and the leaving-me-all-alone thing, along with having had little sleep and having missed him all weekend, I was really *really* grumpy. I sat in stoney, arms tightly crossed silence until we got to Otorohonga [2 hours into a 4 hour drive] where we stopped at a closed petrol station to have a cup of tea from the thermos his mother had packed for him. He said God-knows-what and then it all came pouring out. I am not sure if i'd done it before but he got both barrels of unhappy Michelle, which is unnerving at the best of times and is always a shock the first time. He probably tried to defend himself but there was no defence against the wall of words coming from the passenger seat of his new car. We drove the rest of the way home in silence. Sulky and door-slammingly sullen I stomped into his flat and into bed. He climbed in behind me and said something about his mother which set another big bubble of unhappy come up in a flood of sharp words and he was getting another earful. He raised his voice this time too [very rare with me] and we were now arguing about his mother and all the hurtful things she had said to me about stealing him away and "living in sin" and how in "her day" people waited til they were "married" and then suddenly he said "well why don't we then" and I was a bit taken aback and said.. "what?" and he said again, "why don't we get married then?" and I said.. "well, okay!". I was still really angry and rolled over and grumped off to sleep. Romantic huh? Turned out he'd spent all of the weekend trying to find the best way to tell his parents he was going to ask me to marry him, and wanted to ask me at the closed service station over the thermos tea but I'd kind of ruined the mood with my banshee-like behaviour. His memory tells him that's in fact where he asked me to marry him and I let him think that. We had our ups and downs, and he never did learn to find my temper charming. We divorced in 1999 after a 2 year separation. Many people remark that it's one of the most amicable divorces in history but they didn't see the pain predating the decision. Divorce isn't easy, I don't care what people say. Today we are the close friends we never achieved being married to each other. He's a good man who still drives me up.the.wall and who can manage to get the dark angry Michelle out by saying the wrong thing at the wrong time - you'd think he'dve learned by now considering he still doesn't find it charming. He's also the man I call when I'm in trouble, or hear good news, or when I need a random coffee in the weekends. Happy Birthday, Greg.

I know James has problems with my descriptions when I say things like "random specific" but it's in the same spirit I suggest my hair is a long-short style. It was all out of control and flicking people in the street. I popped in this morning and had it reined in. I took a picture but it fails to show the body and makes me look all long-in-the-face and mug-shotty - but it's the best I can do given the budget. Feeling a lot less bruised on my insides today. I must be a delicate wee thing *cough* I woke up again during Wednesday's "thing" and they had to give me more stuff to knock me out. I also remember them telling me to breath more than a few times. Apparently I kept holding my breath but I guess thats cos at times it HURT LIKE HELL. I was pretty happy afterwards - asking my doctor if i could pxt him for the blog, he declined. And getting lost in reception when Greg left me alone for a second to get the car. I got all bewildered and wandery. Apparently they're used to that in reception. So that's the update. Everything's good under the hood.