Bereaving in BrizVegas

that's the story of my life

2011-11-28T20:22:00.002+10:00

And so, following pregnancy comes the post-baby blues.

Yes, it has been a loooong time! I have rather neglected/happily ignored my blog in preference to spending some QT with Hubs in our new Home.
I am slowly coming to terms with using that word- "Home."

For months I could only refer to it as "The House" or the habitual "block", but now as we move further away from our unfinished maintenance plan and into the long, grey area that is "happily ever after" I am enjoying investing a lot of TLC into our beautiful place of residence, family building, small business and contentment. Well almost.

We built our Home with Metricon. As in "Best Builder in Australia", Metricon Stadium, home of the Gold Coast Suns, that Metricon.
Just hearing the name alone would conjur images of amazing display homes with impeccable interior design and layouts that made you gasp at every corner... Paintwork, tiling, ceiling heights, mirrored wardrobe doors- all to stimulate the brain into wanting whilst questioning the affordability all at the same time.

Well, the day we went to sign with another well-known builder we decided to have another walk through the nearby Metricon display home while we were waiting to be attended to. Hubs and I had walked through this home many times, never even bothering to ask for a price list because we simply knew we couldn't afford a Metricon home. But, on this particular day, with cash deposit in our wallet and knowing we were about to put that signature on that contract we decided there's no harm in asking. To cut what will be a very long story a little shorter- I will never forget the excitement and exhiliration I felt (and Hubs too) when we saw the prices, inclusions and the layout we could have on our beloved land, including 50 square metres more than the other builder!
And so, after crushing the spirits of the lovely new salesman at the Other Builder and destroying his chances at his first commission, we turned away and walked down a new path, Building With the Best.

December 2009 Part One: Sales and Contract
This was the fun and exciting part of the process- flicking through plans and variations.

First of all- Metricon has 3 styles of build:
1. Allegra- the Dolly Mag build for small house blocks and small budgets;
2. Freedom- the Marie Claire for larger houses
3. The Designer Range- the Italian Vogue of house builds; these are the homes that make you go "WOW!" when you drive past one and you just KNOW it is a Metricon home.

We settled on the Milano from the Freedom range, as the display home we had loved was of this range and it was within our budget. We even flew to Melbourne for the weekend to view the only display of our home layout in Australia- to make sure it was the house that was right for us.
We had many questions, but minimal changes to the plan as we wanted to make it as simple as possible. So armed with our list we met our Sales Rep at a cafe, shouted her lunch and finalised our preliminary contract. To speed up the process, we made the decision upon advice from our Sales Rep that because we had a straight-forward build with minimal changes and our finance already finalised that we should go straight to Final Contract- which would ultimately save weeks in the process. This was our First Mistake.

Here's the short version: basically, the changes that we had requested got into our Sales Rep' notebook, but not on the contract, and each change ("Variation") that was left out meant a new contract had to be created. That would have been fine if all the changes had been put on at once, but they kept leaving out variations which meant we had to keep responding (all via phone and email) to have it fixed.
If you are imagining this to be a time-consuming process you would be correct- 7MONTHS after signing our preliminary contract we received our Final Contract, on the day we were flying out to New Zealand.
Certain that everything had been rectified and so, so tired of living with the inlaws for 3 years and waiting 7 months and we didn't even have a construction date yet we signed. Mistake #2.

July 2010   Part Two: Style Studio
This is where things got really fun and exciting. After MONTHS of to-ing and fro-ing over contracts and variations, and pawing over laminate samples, paint chips and carpets, we finally got to choose all of our design elements.
In the Freedom range, the base choices are limited and any other choices = $$$$$$$$.
We had a limited budget for upgrades, made more limited by the fact that at every turn Metricon had another cost pulled out of their hat for something-or-other.
For example- you can choose only one paint colour for the entire house. Varying wall colours are then charged at a cost of around $200-300 PER WALL. Remembering the house is nowhere near starting construction at this point, we chose a safe, warm white (Milk Cloud) for our mostly-south-facing build- as how would we have any way of knowing how colours would react in the environment?
Similarly with electrical components- although we would have loved the $25000 lighting design that was in the display home, we chose safe options until we were settled in as our budget was getting tighter by the second and Metricon's retail costs for things like downlights and fans are not budget-friendly!
As we progressed through the design stage, we began to realise just how much our home would NOT look like the displays we had walked through and to realise that dream would cost us a LOT more money than what we had left in our upgrade budget. If you take a look at the front of a Metricon home, they have what is called a facade. This is common with many project builders, that if you want the "street appeal" of a home, you have to pay extra for the facade you want. We had to say no to a facade and stay with boring brick- however even that isn't simple.
Brick= everything except whereve they can get away without brick. Above every window and our garage door, in other words. It cost us an extra $2500 to have brick where there wasn't brick, in a brick home. Otherwise we would have had plain old fibre-cement. What the??

October 2010   Part Three: Construction
Here's where it starts to get really interesting.
Our build was slightly different in that it was on acreage and not in the usual housing estates, and because we had Owner Builder obligations for certain elements of the build (water tanks, excavation, etc) we were allowed on site during construction.

To save time and money in construction and to keep our mortgage down we had paid $30000 of our savings to a well-respected, local earthworks company to create the perfect, football-field-sized house pad complete with perfect drainage and Level One Compaction Certificate and slope stability from a highly-reputable certified engineer.
Essentially, this should have prevented the need for expensive concrete piers, hire of a rock-breaker to drill holes for the expensive concrete piers, drainage gullies and site scrape by the builder. We had the perfect building preparation that a number of people came to admire- before Metricon commenced their contracted, guaranteed 16-week construction.

Firstly, they did the site-scrape anyway, some guy with a bob cat came out on day one and completely ripped through the beautiful housepad, completely destroying all drainage which was proven shortly after with the first rainfall, upon which we had pools of water now collecting everywhere they shouldn't.
Our level one compaction was also challenged by Metricon's engineer, whose report (which we had to pay extra for despite already having our own) said that we did not have the compaction required and therefore DID require concrete piers. This challenge in fact went to a national engineering conference where OUR engineer received majority support from Australia's best engineers that our site was, in fact to level 1 compaction standard. Despite this, Metricon insisted we pay an extra $3500 to sink concrete piers into solid rock, which of course then meant we had to pay MORE for the hire of a rock breaker.

Next, the team came out to peg-out the site, which is laying pegs and a paint line in the shape of our house. I noticed something was wrong straight away, but Hubs took some convincing: they had marked out our house back to front.  Ignoring the gaping hole dug by the bobcat for our actual garage, they marked our garage and front door at the back of the block (which shouldn't have been too problematic- had it not backed on to a sheer drop-off and retaining wall). So then all of the construction to follow was held up by the wait for them to come out and remark the house so it was facing.  The. Right. Way.

November 2010:

Electrician begins work- using the wrong plans. Electrician says our existing trenches are illegal as they are too shallow, although they are to be covered by concrete slab- behind our shed. Same electrician then digs his trenches even more shallow, leaving Hubs to do the labour himself to get them to acceptable depth as they run through the middle of our driveway.

Plumber lays pipes to our sewerage system- right through the middle of where we needed to lay a slab for our enourmous water tanks (no town water), despite Hubs informing them that this could not be done and then copping abuse from the plumber. They did it anyway and wouldn't you know it, they didn't lay the pipes deep enough and then came the rain and all the pipes popped up out of the ground, bowing in the process. This then meant a delay in having our slab laid and tanks installed, and ordering more bedding sand (at our cost) to fix it.

Oh and there was the argument that broke out between the concreters and plumbers over the busted pipes under the house.

Just before construction began, we received a variation from Metricon informing us that as we were in a bushfire area, 3 sides of our house were at risk of bushfire hazard. Let me clarify by saying that the fire report said that we were in a Low- to No-risk bushfire area, however this still means if any elevations could possibly be exposed to bushfire then precautions must be taken. Fair enough.

This involved $6000 worth of "upgrades" to our build, again thrown at us at the last minute.

They included:

stainless steel mesh flyscreens to 3 sides of the house (but not required on sliding doors-huh?)
a door seal to our garage panel-lift door, and
"Spark guards" in the weep holes of the brick works (the little gaps that allow for expansion)

More about that later...

April 2011- a few days before Easter
Yes- that's APRIL. It has now been FIFTEEN MONTHS since day one and at this point I am totally over it. Days, weeks would go by without a soul on site, and of course the 3 WEEK shut down for Christmas had to be added on to our contracted 16 week build. Meanwhile, we had now be living with the Inlaws for 4 years and I was seriously in a pretty dismal state emotionally, just wanting to be back in our own home and start the next chapter of our crazy lives.

Upon the "walk-through" of our house we were noticing a lot of things that seemed pretty rough, especially for a Metricon home, as our expectations were set pretty high- as Metricon suggest they should be.

The biggest concern, and most easily fixed (we thought) was the paintwork, which was supposed to be a 3-coat system, first coat sprayed, two coats rolled- however I don't believe this actually happened as the finish on the walls is patchy and inconsistent.
Glosswork has not been sanded prior to painting and has lumps, bumps and patches where they shouldn't be. We took our concerns to our Site Supervisor and to his construction supervisor at Metricon. Their response: "well that's what will happen with white paint. BSA wouldn't look twice at that."
And what about the white paint all over the black aluminium window frames? "Well that happens, but that will be cleaned off when the house is professionally cleaned prior to handover." (This said the day BEFORE handover)

The list of paint flaws is long- paint on tiles, paint on cabinetry, just paint everywhere- and the construction supervisor (whois no longer employed by Metricon) even came out to have a look at our concerns, but he was nonplussed and although he agreed that it was rough said "BSA would accept it- we don't need to do anything about it." I have to admit we have a personal vendetta against our painter who used our toilet prior to it being plumbed in-that means there was no water in it! Then shut up the house for a week with noone on site, leaving the stench to permeate through the entire house.

There were more, but frankly after repeated, delayed handover dates, Hubs and I were running out of energy, time and sanity to argue or postpone any longer.
And so, during my very short Easter holiday, our only time we had to move house, and on the word of our site supervisor who insisted that everything would be fixed by the end of the week- we moved in.
This was just a mattress on the living room floor- we didn't even have a fridge. We couldn't even use our shower because it was still being tiled on handover day.

We avoided moving all of our stuff for as long as possible to allow for work to continue on as suggested and for the professional cleaner to come in- however none of this happened, instead our site supervisor told us to "just add it to your maintenance schedule." Gradually our phonecalls just weren't returned, days and weeks passed and we heard nothing. We went even higher up the Metricon Qld chain, and were told by yet another person that things would be fixed, and of course, they weren't.

ALL of our concerns could have been so easily ratified if anyone had taken genuine interest- but noone we have spoken to in Metricon has seemed concerned or even the slightest bit apologetic about our situation. We have been told by various people that many of the sub contractors (including the painter) have been "let go" and will not be rehired by Metricon (Oh really?).
We have had different people in and out to "fix" things but just seem to leave things worse than they were.

November, 2011
It's now just over 12 months since construction started. Our 6-month maintenance schedule came in to effect in September- however we are still waiting for this to be completed.

Here's where it stands:

Paintwork is still questionable, and daily I find another dodgy patch which I would be happy to fix myself, if we had a touch up kit- unfortunately the 3 different painters who have each come in to fix the job of the painter before them have used OUR touch up kit- so we have no paint left.

Our ensuite shower leaked- and was repaired...only now we have black waterproofing silicone on our white shower tiles, and the paintwork which consequently peeled off the architraves was just painted over.

The decorative niche in our entrance way- remains crooked...After being fixed. During which the plasterer burned black spots form the angle grinder on our white tiles as he didn't use a drop sheet.

Our "leaf catchers" which we have complained about repeatedly, do nothing but catch leaves, often leaving our precious water supply to simply bounce off the leaf matt onto the ground below. I have video footage of this!

And that "Bushfire hazard upgrade" which cost us $6000?
Well, the stainless steel flyscreens turn out to be aluminium- which were installed with holes in them, and have been further ripped (?) eaten (?) chewed (?). I didn't know that could happen to stainless steel.
The $800 spark guards? Well they are actually just little cut off squares of mesh, only they forgot to put those into the brick work- so instead just poked them in afterwards...They now are found lying around the perimeter of our house.
The $300 door seal? Well it turns out there isn't one- and the garage door company have no record of it being requested by Metricon.

We have also just found out that our house hasn't been given final sign-off so our insurances are currently worthless as our house is still technically not finished.

It has been over a week since we have heard from our site supervisor who requested that we leave our house unlocked for him if and when he turns up. I think not.

We started out this journey so excited by what this builder could give us for our money and instead have been disappointed at every turn. Perhaps if we'd only had the money for a Designer range? Perhaps these houses are where they send their best builders?

At this point I am tired. I am tired of expecting something which just isn't going to happen. I'm tired of taking photographs of dodgy paintwork and sounding completely neurotic.
We have a big home. And it's a nice home- because it's OUR home.
But I don't believe Metricon gave it the respect it deserved. We hope we can rectify this in time, with a bit of love, paint and TLC.
Part of me wants to tell Metricon to bugger off, give us our house and leave us the hell alone so we can fix it ourselves... But the $250 000 price tag keeps me waiting in hope that someone will just say "Sorry you've had a shitty experience!"

I won't hold my breath waiting for that- but until this building is signed off and officially ours I just may keep fighting.

i have everything in this whole wide world a girl could ever need

2010-10-26T22:03:00.011+10:00

This is me, pre-pregnancy.

Have I mentioned that I'm pregnant?

Heavily pregnant with house.

About 10 months now in fact.

And I'm sooooo over being pregnant.

The excitement and radiant glow of the first two trimesters is well and truly OVER. Now I just want the labour to be over and done with. I'm told the worst is yet to come.

For anyone who has ever built a house (or perhaps given birth for that matter), I'm sure you have insight into the nerves/adrenalin/anxiety I am feeling as we anticipate the arrival of our new born house.

It has been one hell of a gestation let me tell you.

For over 3 years now, we have been living with the Outlaws. Not great for any baby-makin, be it real or steel. This last 3 and a half years have possibly been the most painful I have ever experienced; possibly worse than losing my beautiful grandfather Cobber, which I thought might nearly destroy me. That was 10 years ago last month.

A while ago I blogged to all the boys I've loved before and celebrated the last 10 years of loves and losses in the romance stakes.
In the real-life stakes, the last 10 years has been pretty tough going.
I have started a career and had 5 job changes.
I have moved house 8 times.
I have bought and sold a house.
I have experienced workplace bullying, followed by depression; during which time I was living alone, hundreds of miles from friends and family.

I lost both my grandfathers.

I lost a good friend.
I lost a cousin.

Just in the last 3 years I also lost my beautiful Aunty, changed jobs 3 times and moved from where I had just started to make friends, to a place where making friends has been an ongoing, lonely struggle.
This year alone I have lost both a wonderful friend and mentor after watching her courageous and dignified battle with breast cancer; and I lost my beautiful, fun-loving uncle.
I have watched my Dad go through 2 rounds of treatment for cancer; and just found out last week that I may lose my job.

There have been times over the last 3-nearly-4 years that I have felt completely robbed.
Robbed of our honeymoon period.
Robbed of our life-that-seems-so-long-ago surrounded by friends and a fun social-life.
Robbed of any opportunity to start a family.
Robbed of my twenties.

Honestly I began to turn into a bitter and twisted old woman of 31.

I have had moments of what you could possibly call a breakdown. Those were the times when I would just sit in the car on the side of the road and cry and cry, not knowing if or how I could go "home" to a home that wasn't mine.

The title of this was blog was really only meant to be toungue-in-cheek, sorta. Kinda. But all the feelings of frustration, anger and all-consuming resentment over what I'd lost, really began to take their toll.
What's worse is that I don't think anyone really had any it was happening. But I could see it. In every new wrinkle, and every new kilo that would come to visit me on the scales.

I am 31 chronologically; but physically and mentally I was reaching about 85-year-old-cranky-nanna. Bitter, twisted and resentful.

I don't know when the change happened. Sometime in the last 6 months after losing my uncle probably and realising how short life is; but it can be a whole lot shorter if you sit around whinging about how bad your lot in life is, how many crows' feet you have, or how fat and ugly you feel.

Now the light is finally at the end of the tunnel. We're not through it yet, but I'm determined to keep going, like the Little Engine That Could. (Feel a cliche or two coming on here)

I can look back down the hill and see all the bad stuff I've left behind, or I can realise I'm nearly at the top and what a helluva view it is!

I got married to a man who loves me, no matter how big or often my mega-tanties!

I own 5 beautiful acres of land with a beautiful creek running through the bottom where our children (hopefully) will grow up and play!

I have friends and family who love me and aren't afraid to tell me so, even though they might not be just around the corner they are close enough to Throw a Sheep At!

I have travelled to Japan and seen snowfall and cherry blossoms at the same time;

I have attended more concerts than I could ever imagine possible, absorbing every magical musical moment with ears to hear them (Chris Isaak, Billy Joel, Crowded House, Keith Urban, Taylor Swift, Don McClean, Tim McGraw, Village People, Blues Traveler and soon the Eagles and U2).

I am surrounded in the incredible Twitterverse by the most amazing, random strangers who constantly show me that life is hard, but someone else's is always harder- and the power of the Human Spirit is one not to be messed with.

Have I had a lot to complain about? Probably.

Have I felt like running away? Oh yes definitely. Sometimes just the thought of knowing that at any moment I could just drive and drive and not come back was almost blissful, even if it meant leaving my marriage and potential life with children and my husband. I think knowing I chose to stay was what got me through those moments. One foot in front of the other.

I don't want to go from sounding like Ungrateful Cow to Smarmy Cow: as I said in a post on another fabulous Blog, I finally take life seriously enough to not take anything too seriously that it costs me health and happiness.

Already I have started to notice my worry lines are less pronounced, my mouth is not as turned down, my skin is clearer, my eyes brighter and my head clearer. I am grateful for every 100g less I see on the scales. I changed my hair colour recently from my natural ranga to a very dark brunette- and funnily enough feel more myself than I have done in a very long time.

Sure little things still get on my goat occasionally, I'm only human after-all, but as everyone tells me "it will all be worth it in the end".

Much like childbirth.

Wish me luck.
x

i'm keeping you forever and for always...

2010-10-23T14:09:00.011+10:00

On this beautiful October weekend in 2006, I got to marry my best friend. I just found my post on Wedding Central from the day we got back from our honeymoon- so I'm reliving the moment!

Well this is our first weekend home so I thought I'd take the opportunity to share the details of our day. It was just such a beautiful day with the weather providing many funny hiccups along the way!
We were staying at Twin Towns resort and Josh and I had dinner with our respective families the night before in two separate restaurants side by side, which was lovely. Was back in the apartment and in my PJs by 8:30pm, chilling with my BMs and my brother. We painted toenails and listened to music- it was great!
Next morning I was awake at 5:00 (couldn't sleep) but stayed in bed until six, when I got up and had a shower. Mum made us a lovely brekky of fruit and croissants and while we were chatting Mum screamed- "Look there's a whale!" We ran out on the balcony to watch 2 humpback whales playing in the shallows (I have never seen this in Coolangatta before) across the road from our apartment. It was magical and surely a great sign for the day! We had to tear ourselves away from watching to get ready!
Hair and makeup done, in my dress and wearing my Mum's old watch and veil, I was ready! I really felt so calm all day, and didn't get teary until the boys came up to get us for our photos- when I saw Josh I nearly lost it- he looked so handsome! Jumped in the limo (trying to dodge other guests who were staying there also) to the beach and had a ball in the wind trying to get photos taken. At one point the photographer put my bouquet on the sand and the wind picked it up and it went tumbling down to the water- so I raced after it! I nearly got bowled over by a wave- it was so funny! We managed to borrow a malibu from a surfer to get some pics as well which was great!

Boys went to the ceremony about 20mins before us, which had to be moved at the last minute because of wind. When we arrived it was blowing a gale, but it was still so beautiful and intimate. I tried to take everything in, faces, music, words, everything. And I still remember the ceremony so clearly!! At one point our guests watched as a big gust of wind blew our wedding certificate up about 5 floors of the apartment building we were next to, and then it disappeared- unbeknownst to us- before being handed over the fence by a man who had scopped it out of the pool! It was a bit streaky but still bloody hilarious!!!

Reception was a blur, but heaps of fun.
Most emotional moments:
At the end of my Dad's speech, my brother and friend had snuck up on stage and broke into "Take Good Care of My Baby" which just ruined me. Especially the part when it says: "And if you should discover, that you don't really love her, send my baby back home to me". Just beautiful.
Then my older brother had secretly done a movie of Josh and I from pictures of us through our lives which set me off again! Even the staff were all trying to discreetly wipe their eyes!!
There was much singing (I was called up to sing "I will survive" much to my shock and horror) and a horrendous rendition of Love Shack but it was just awesome. It's so hard to capture so many emotions and tears and happiness in a paragraph!
It really flew by so much faster then everyone said it would and I can't wait to see the video!!!!!!

manaakitia mai aotearoa...

2010-10-13T21:45:00.003+10:00

God Defend New Zealand...

And their Rugby Sevens Team...

Specifically, their 6-packs...

And doing the Haka without their shirts on. Kthxbai.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GwqmJTD_xQo

i'm alive and i'm free...who wouldn't wanna be me?

2010-10-09T22:46:00.009+10:00

After the last three (yes, count them, THREE) years of living with my in-laws, we finally have a start-date on our house build. Insert expletives of excitment here.

Needless to say, it can be a little cramped at times, and I have, on occasion, possibly been suffering from mild (read: extreme) psychotic episodes.

Not really, but some days are diamonds, some days are stone (thank you John Denver).

To combat this, I do one of three things:

Retreat to my room (my 4x4 haven where I can be reclusive and watch America's Next Top Model and Project Runway and have a little teary (basically collapse in an emotional heap and become a hermit)

Run screaming to my parents on the Gold Coast for some R&R, or

Have a "Me-Day"

Today was perfect weather for a MeDay. Cold, grey and very, very wet.

I stayed in my PJs until midday; watching The Delicious Miss Dahl followed by Country House Rescue and Lost Gardens.... control of the remote and being in one's PJs is something to be treasured, especially on a MeDay.

A quick shower and into my trackies and runners (comfort first on a MeDay) I hit the road for a quick dash into Myer where I bought a lovely book on Cupcakes (40% off thankyou Myer Brookside!) for my experiments in preparation for BrisbaneSweetTweet!

Cruising around to FunkyFabrix at Mitchelton, I was most crushed to find that the vontage fabric garage sale was not, in fact, on at all, with the "Closed" sign glaring at me in fire-engine red (I tweeted my concern- it is a MeDay after all, therefore all about me- but Oh well, on a MeDay there is not much room for disappointment!).

Facial time at Isis Beauty House Samford with the fabulous Lauren who gave me their brand new Sothys Professional Peel and I was the lucky first person to get it!

I had an hour and a half of pampering, under a nice, cozy doona- and it is so quiet out there in the beautiful little cottage you feel miles from anywhere (Brisbane ladies if you live in or near the Samford are it is so worth the drive!).

My last stop was the Samford Patissiere for a cappucino, but I decided to treat myself to one of their delicious Chocolate and Hazelnut tarts (it was a MeDay afterall- I was good though, cutting it in half and taking it home for Hubs) and I sat with my favourite magazine and just stopped.

And just as I stopped, I really stopped. My In-Laws had apparently had the same idea.

It wasn't so bad, actually, kinda bumping into them unexpectedly and sharing a coffee and chat, and considering on a MeDay nothing can get you down, I really didn't mind.

Driving home with cupcake supplies in tow, I had a nice chat to my beautiful Mum :)

I made some more yummy bruschetta for dinner with a glass of PinotNoir (from the fridge, thankyou MIL), all the while thinking my weekend carb-splurge will cost me! But, who cares on a MeDay?

My last adventure was to bake my trial run Rosewater Cupcakes- now sans rosewater, thankyou Samford IGA- and try desperately to make the little frangipani petals look exactly like this:

I'm no Cake Boss, but my Coconut Substitute Cupcakes with Butter Cream did turn out ok. Hubs even got in on the action with the piping. I think more ended up in his mouth than on the cupcakes though.
I think I might choose something a little less adventurous for Brisbane Sweet Tweet!

take my puppies everywhere...... la la la la, i wouldn't care...

2010-10-03T17:42:00.008+10:00

There is an incriminating photo.
It is not the photo itself but what it captures that was the centerpiece(s) for one of the strangest nights I have had in a very, very long time.

Last night was my little brother’s (and his lovely lady’s) engagement party.
I purchased a new frock for the occasion. On eBay.

Those of you who know me IRL or those of you who’ve read some of my previous posts, will know that I’m not a skinny Minnie, and like to have rather Napoleonic battles with mirrors in fitting rooms, eventually settling on jeans for all occasions.

Well lately, due to a range of complicated reasons (read: fatty boombah, carrying too much weight, knee/back problems, borderline diabetic, horrendous fear of infertility and generally not feeling too great about myself and missing the healthier, dancier me) I have been making some drastic changes to my diet (healthy, drastic changes- don’t panic) and gradually throwing in some lifestyle changes as well (not inclusive of moving into our own newly-built house in the very near future YAY!).

So far, as of Tuesday Checkup (AKA Netherlands Quality Control) I have lost 8kgs in about 6 weeks. I am starting to feel really good. My clothes are starting to miraculously expand and I just feel healthier. Aches and pains are beginning to fade. Tummy is shrinking by the day, boobs too (much to hubs’ disgust but my relief) and I just feel like the cocoon of misery and discomfort is starting to peel back.

Last night was a bit of a milestone for me. I had really hoped to get to the 10kg mark for last night’s shindig, but secretly I think I was doubting I could even get to 2kg. I bought my new eBay ex-Portmans BNWT (brandnewwithtags non-ebay speakers) number anyway, not even knowing if it would fit, let alone look any good!
I left fake tan well alone, settling instead for just me, my new ‘do (well, colour) and a bit of LeTan Flawless Legs (girls, can I just say- this stuff is BRILLIANCE!!!!)

Oh, one thing I forgot to mention earlier about the dress: kinda plunging neckline.

Never been done. At least, not by me. I’m not exactly what you’d call “lacking” in the chestal region, and I’m not one to show smoosh ‘n’ crack (you know, like a bum caught in a bra). So with my Target bra, enough Hollywood Fashion Tape to support the Empire State Building and a lot of encouragement from Hubs, I applied my smokey eye and nude lip, threw on a bit’o’bling, black platform heels (sorry to all who voted Nude- HEELS that is) and hit the town.

The strangest thing of all was the fact that I felt eerily calm. Not fidgety, not regretting a fake tan (and accompanying smell), choice of outfit, underwear and inappropriate footwear. Totally unusual for me, as usually a night out send me screaming in terror. For the first time in a long time, I felt like a happy, confident version of Myself.

I am not the most confident of people at the best of times, and any indication of the contrary is usually just false bravado. Confidence in how I look is something I couldn't tell you when I last had. Last night was like having a great night out with an old friend whose company you really enjoy, and miss.

First of all, noone knew who I was. Least of all my best friend, who looked at me strangely before shaking her head with bulging eyes and breaking into a huge smile (and whispering “Hot” in my ear as she gave me a big hug).
Shortly after it was my little brother’s mate, who before black platform heels was the same height as me, but now was at just the wrong height, and spent most of the evening wanting to hug me, for some reason.
Then while busting a move (as did my wires, from their lining within my bra- enter regret for choice of underwear) on the dancefloor, an unknown (but later discovered, “attached”) gentleman enquired of my BF as to whom was the “hot babe in the black dress?” By this stage my night was getting weirder and weirder, much to the amusement (and later, openly admitted pride) of Hubs.
Enter little bro’s mate again for another hug.
Later, on our way to the post-party-entertainment venue(Little Bro’s workplace), I was passed by a bloke who politely enquired as to the enjoyment of my evening so far (“fine, thankyou”) and are you going to have a dance (“yes, I believe so”), ooh BABY! (His words, sooo not mine)

Looking frantically around for Hubs and finding him walking not far behind me, chatting to my cousin, I also looked around to just check if this man was perhaps talking to someone else. No, it appeared he was looking at me and smiling. WTF?
Then it was the guy who swiped my membership card (and works with Little Bro), asked me how I knew the groom-to-be (“I’m his sister”), followed by a You’re Kidding and then leaned over to whisper in my ear Have a Great Night, D’s Sister *wink*.

In the last 6 years or so that I have been living away from the Gold Coast and off the market has something happened to the male of the species.
I seem to remember many single years when comments like this just weren’t made to me, and I was not looked at like that, not in the least since I’ve been married (as I would expect, with wedding ring clearly displayed) and assumedly, carrying a few extra kilos.
Please be aware here that at no times was my wedding ring not visible. I was not “on the prowl”, carrying on like a skanky ho’ or deliberately seeking attention from anyone. The purpose of the evening was simply to celebrate and enjoy the company of family and friends, whilst a little dressed up (and not wearing jeans). If anything, the only approval sought was the one from the other side of the mirror and if Hubs liked it, then that’s a bonus (but he thinks I look good in a potato sack).

It’s not over yet.

Enter Little Bro’s mate for another hug.
Toilet visit and smile from handsome stranger.
Walk past bar and smile from beer-nursing stranger who nudges mate.
Really starting to think either I have something on my face or “supportive-but-must-escape” wire has now made its way out of the privacy of my bra and is now poking out of my dress…Subtle glance down……No. All good.

Confused and a little nervous about the attention, I returned to the safety of my seat beside hubs and my cousin (female), and began the interrogation about my appearance that could lead to the understanding of this strange occurrence.

Cousin: “Um……..because you’re hot. Hubs: "That…..And….You’ve got the puppies out.”

I pondered this over my half-strength vodka, lime & soda.

Could puppies, boobs, boozies, bazookas, gazoongas, jugs; namely, MY canine companions, really have this effect?

Further discussion with Hubs upon whether I or he, should in fact be offended, and he offered his words of wisdom (carefully interpreted and reexplained): “You look great, you feel great, you’ve got some great blog material. If anyone offends you, I will defend your honour. If anyone touches you, there will be a problem.

Upon leaving, a brief encounter with a fellow party-goer and work colleague of Little Bro’s, confirmed Hubs’ deduction.

Glance down, glance up: Houston, we have eye contact.
Glance down, glance up: “How do you know D?”

I’m D’s Sister.

Glance down, glance up: “You are too beautiful to be his sister. You are f*ing gorgeous. Tell me you are not his sister. That’s just wrong.”

Um, Sorry?

“I have been fantasizing about you all night and now…I just can’t think that about D’s sister. That. Is. Just. Wrong.”

Is this guy serious, I mean, I’m walking out of here WITH my husband right beside…….
Looking around I’ve noticed Hubs and cousin who were standing right beside me have now deserted me and are now over by the door nearly doubled over with fits of giggles while I look totally bewildered at this totally inappropriate display of machismo.

While PartyGoerWorkColleague proceeds to tap the shoulders of his fellow (on-duty) security guards, point and repeatedly exclaim “That’s D’s sister!” I couldn’t help but be grateful for two things:
1. That hubby was always within close distance and while mildly jealous, not obnoxious enough to need to flatten anyone and understand it was harmless and that I was so obviously resistant/oblivious to it all anyway
2. That I was not this guy’s poor date, who was sitting alone while all this went on.

I quickly dashed over to Hubs and Cousin, feeling strangely like I had somehow stepped into an episode of the Twilight Zone. Shaking my head in exasperation, I could not believe that all of this madness could be brought about by a bra and double sided-tape to lift and separate. I am telling you, Hubs insists, It’s the Puppies.
Still in disbelief, before we could make one final escape, I just had to make one last dash to the loo.

Reenter LittleBro’s now rather intoximicated Mate for another hug and with last night’s closing comment “Man, they look so good I could go in for the Motorboat”

……I slapped him.

PS. If you don't know what a Motorboat is: Google/YouTube.

i always get into stuff just as it's finishing being cool

2010-09-29T21:05:00.005+10:00

I'm wondering about Tweetiquette.

Is is protocol to respond to EVERY mention you get? Is this the polite Twitter thing to do or am I just a little desperate?
Everytime I see myself mentioned I can't help but pounce on a reply, whilst savouring the warm, fuzzy feeling of acceptance into the Twitterverse.

Twitter is the ultimate social butterfly experiment; kinda like being in a chat room (which, BTW I do NOT do- do they even have those anymore?) or at a party when you know lots of people kinda, but noone who you need to cling to for the evening.
I noticed recently on a conference where I knew noone really well, and only a few people as acquaintances, that I coulnd't help but execute the butterfly manoeuvre (rather desperately, let's be honest) so as not to be left looking rather Bridget Jones at the launch of Kafka's Motorbike. I found myself eyeing the room rather maniacally and moving from conversation to conversation, briefly pausing to consider the dessert tray (of course so as not to appear to much the deliberate butterfly) and even conversing in sentences of 140 characters.
On Twitter I tend to just throw myself in there- enthusiastically butting in to conversations and enjoying D&M (and sometimes DM) conversations with random strangers (but also a few people I actually know in real-life) and responding to every mention with excitement.

Now I'm wondering if the ubercool Twitter thing to do is to keep the air of mystery with a little nonchalance- choosing to delay my responses or heck, not respond at all in all my ubercoolness (uber= ubercool superlative).

But I'm way too needy to act ubercool in any way. This has been my style always.
I've been told many times friends that I'm low maintenance, and my Mum has always said to me that I'm very socially independent (comforting), but perhaps I am more needy than I realised; this is because when I "mention" and don't get a reply I feel a little like Dr Evil's friend Mustafa as he drops him into the fire pit on Austin Powers. "Er, hello? Anyone?"

"Let this be a reminder to you all that this organisation will not tolerate *failure*"- Dr Evil

On the plus side, I do find Twitter super value for self-entertaining, much like blogging, especially if one is inclined to do a little self-talk from time to time. I found this last night, while watching and enjoying others' conversations, just like any stalker, whilst blissfully aware that my contributions to the Twitterverse (and not to anyone in particular) went by completely without fanfare. *sigh*
And unlike Bridget Jones, social networking via my iPhone means I don't appear to be left out in the cold because lack of Twitter activity apparently denotes the having. of. a. life. surely?

This is not one last random act of desperation to get Tweeted; rather a miscellaneous rambling from a girl who is quite possibly sleep-deprived!
Share your thoughts. To respond or not to respond?
Would we say a little desperate? I am hoping the ubercool Tweeps will have the answer.

nothing sweet about me...

2010-09-29T09:59:00.013+10:00

A little something random. Things I love:

Chris Isaak

My ukulele

The Beach (Rainbow Bay/Greenmount- Coolangatta)

The belief that one day I will look like Drew Barrymore/Helena Christiansen and either; a) live in Hawaii or preferably b) roll around semi-naked in volcanic sand with a shirtlessChris Isaak

To smell like coconut. I have perfume and spray-in hair stuff that makes my hair smell like coconut and I love it in summer.

Taking pictures

Rainy Days with my doona

Flowers: especially frangipanis (NOT THE CAR STICKERS!), orchids, oriental lilies

Cooking

Japan

50First Dates, Sleepless in Seattle, SunValley Serenade/Orhcestra Wives (B&W Glen Miller films from the 40s), The Wedding Singer, Mr Deeds, Donovan's Reef/Hatari (both John Wayne classics)

According to Captain Underpants and the Perilous Plot of Professor Poopypants, my name is Flunky Toilet-Sniffer and I don't mind being addressed accordingly

Crowded House - Don't Dream It's Over is one of my all-time favourite songs

Heidi by Johanna Spyri is my favourite ever book.

"The Space Between" by Dave Matthews Band. It is a musical orgasm.

Mashed potato on toast (Boombah doesn't have it now though)

Pina Coladas AND getting caught in the rain. Especially kissing :)

Garth Brooks and John Denver (I don't care what you think of me)

I have a secret crush on Jeremy Clarkson.

I have a bigger crush on Mike Hammond.

twitter, i heart

2010-09-28T20:19:00.003+10:00

I love Twitter. Today I am feeling the love for the Ladeez of Twitter who are always on hand with worth advice for any personal crisis.

Exhibit A: Today I had somewhat of a personal dilemma.

When one is due for both a scheduled tidy-up of the Netherlands and a scheduled check-up: WHICH SHOULD COME FIRST?

This was the dilemma I had today. I was very much Switzerland on the Netherlands issue. For my own pride in appearance my decision was to go for the regular Border Patrol, but my fear was that this freshly maintained look would appear a blatantly obvious effort for 30 seconds of attention. Hence dilemma.
Enter Twitter. Via DM and keeping it on the DL and the QT from the boyz, I managed to seek the wisdom of many and put it to a poll. First few votes began to roll in and it was looking like the "no effort is best" votes were taking the books, but by close of ballot it was clear.

The overwhelming consensus: CLEAN WORKSPACE ALWAYS PREFERRED!

*Sigh* So there was dillemma sorted.

Or so I thought.

You can imagine my horror when my alarm went off at midday reminding me that my appoinment was, in fact TODAY.
Not tomorrow, as I had in my head when scheduling maintenance appointments which were then swiftly canned for the dash instead to my brilliant GP who I travel down to the Gold Coast to see every 2 years for the joy of a "wee and weigh" (always an adventure; I especially love the trek back into the waiting room, sample in hand) and Netherlands Quality Control.
Today however, I was so distracted by my horror at not being able to conduct Border Patrol beforehand that I pretty much missed the usual mayhem, choosing instead to blurt out my personal crisis re: "Clean Work Space when Conducting Quality Control of Netherlands" (those were my words) to DrP while in a most compromising position.

She nearly wet herself.

This is why I love her.

PS: They don't care. At least that's what they tell us. For my mind- Border Patrol always first.

they call me wendy, they call me jane...that's not my name!

2010-08-09T20:48:00.004+10:00

OMG I am blogging!
After weeks, nay, MONTHS of neglect, I have stolen Hubs’ (my Tweet-name for WH) laptop and I am going to blog, dammit.

So many blogging opportunities have passed in recent weeks, nay, months; inspired by a broad spectrum of topics, yet none so hot as the up and coming Federal Election.
In fact if I am to be completely honest, never has an election, Local, State or Federal had such a pop-culture buzz about it. Not for me anyway.
For me, “Politics” was always some scary no-go zone, a line only to be crossed by the highly intelligent & eloquent. But this year, thanks mainly to Twitter, the ABC and the 7PM Project, everywhere you flick is #ausvotes blog-fodder.

And while I should stick to blogging about random nonsense, tonight I got a little itching in the fingers after I read the Tweets of one @Wendy4Senate.

(That and I quite fancy myself as a “MiaFreedman-esque Voice-o-the-Peeps”!!!)

Wendy Francis is Qld senator for the Family First party. I have never met Wendy, nor even heard of her until this evening, and this is by no means a personal attack on her. I respect everyone’s right to an opinion and belief system; I have plenty of my own, after all.
The Family First party’s core policy areas of Family, Carers, Youth, Housing, Schooling, Employment and Small Business are areas which I could quite happily say are the ones that I am most vocal about in my loungeroom, so I could in some way identify with a party that, in theory puts “Families First”.

You see up until fairly recently I was a bit of a voting heathen. I really took political parties and the policies at face value, believing their Name and whatever spin came at me from mass media, rather than researching myself.

However dig a little deeper and one starts to realise that there’s a lot to What’s In a Name.

Family First, for example. I would expect a political party with such a name to do just that. Put Families, FIRST. All families. But take a look at Wendy4Senate.com and you will see what a real family looks like. A mum, a dad (of course both from the same cultural/ethnic/religious background), and two children- a boy and a girl.

Isn’t it?

No, @Wendy4Senate. I’m afraid not.

Family First Qld says “Marriage is special. Marriage is exclusively between a man and a woman.” (More about that later)
Wendy Francis says “the best thing we can do for our children and their children is to send the message that marriage will always remain between a man and a woman.”
This is putting children first people.

Oh hang on.
What was that, Wendy? ‘Let’s end the gay marriage debate and protect children from abuse?’ Is that what you said?
OMG, I had no idea gay marriage led to child abuse. Apparently if you are a child with gay parents you will be subjected to emotional abuse.

An aside: I never have and never will refer to my work. It is the part of my life that pays the bills and I enjoy having an online identity whereby I am not defined by the work that I do; therefore I refrain from commenting about anything that suggests what area I work in. So, in a very roundabout way I will just say that my opinion is based on field research, wink wink.

To imply that a child born and raised in a gay family will suffer abuse of any kind is of course cruel and outrageous; however what strikes me the most about this comment is its blatant naivety.
What statistics does Wendy Francis base her belief system on?
Were she to join the government ranks of Child Safety or Police Child Protection Investigation Units (not to many any of the non-government organizations that actually DO look after families), even for a day, she might get a nasty surprise to see where the abuse, trauma and neglect really hits home.

Abuse comes in many forms and in the most unlikely of places:
In a mother who cannot bond with her infant and refuses to touch, hold them or change a nappy- yet squeezes them too tight and cries hysterically during an extreme bout of depression;
In an alcoholic, drug affected father who bashes a mother on the front lawn of their home while the kids watch on;
In a seemingly normal dad who happens to have a complete arsenal in the attic and one day something snaps and he shoots his 14 year-old daughter in the head;
Or what about simply watching inappropriate material in a child’s presence?

Or, less extreme:
In parents who have such a great time reliving their young, single days they forget they have a responsibility to raise a small human, feed them, clothe them, and get them to school, let alone teach them some pro-social skills;
Or what about a Mum and a Dad who just can’t stand each other anymore and scream at each other while the kids hide in their bedrooms trying to block out the sounds of hate and intolerance?

These are the real stories, and they don’t even scratch the surface of the real horror of child and youth abuse happening everyday- in “normal” Australian families.
Some children don’t survive. However plenty do. Some even end up living a normal life.
Some end up in jail. Some end up in foster care, possibly with *gasp* GAY FOSTER PARENTS!
There is evidence that some children with same-sex parents do experience some confusion when coming to terms with their own sexual identity, during and post- puberty, however this is a struggle of many teenage children- from any family structure.

NO child should EVER have to be brought up in an environment where love, basic care and stability are questioned, let alone non-existent; yet this is a daily occurrence in many, dare I say “straight”, families everywhere. Including the ones that look like the photos on your website, Wendy.
And you’re saying having two parents the same sex is the worst thing that could happen?

Under Australian law, same-sex couples share the same legal rights as married couples by proving they live in a defacto relationship. What’s different is there is no legal register for their partnership- as in the marriage registry.
Unless you count the ATO, as in Austtralia you can be taxed as a gay married couple, you’re just not legally allowed to say “I do”.

Wendy Francis and the Families First party may be of the religious belief that spiritual marriage remains between a man and woman. But common-law marriage should be between anyone. And what I love is that the law is above religion- so in my little brain any couple who share love and a legally binding relationship can therefore also share in a spiritual marriage, with or without church consent.

A family that provides love, warmth, cuddles, conversation and stability, regardless of gender- that’s a family we should put first.

Hmm, I wonder what Greens really stands for?
Ooh, Greens make organic chocolate.
Ooh chocolate.
Hmm, #chocwars.

give 'em the ole, razzle vagazzle

2010-06-05T23:11:00.012+10:00

Dear Vagina, Why So Blue?
You might recall that episode of Sex and the City in which Charlotte had a "depressed vagina"?
I couldn't help but be reminded of this last night after watching a program on SBS called 'The Perfect Vagina.'
Before you say anything- no, I do not troll SBS looking for "interesting" programs; rather someone alerted me to it via Twitter.
Ahem. Ouch.
In a nutshell, the program was a documentary created by a journalist in the UK exploring the phenomenon/trend/necessity of vaginal correction surgery (as I said, ouch); stemming from women's insecurities over their Land Down Under.

I feel the need to point out here that the words Vag, Vajayjay and Vagazzle are not in my usual vocabulary so I am trying to become comfortable without sounding crass. My apologies if I do not pull this off.

The program seemed to focus on three core groups of women:
1) Those who required vaginal corrective surgery as a result of their, shall we say, oversized Gateway to South America?
2) Those who felt insecure because they'd never, a) liked the look of it, or; b) thought it didn't look as young and pretty (WTF?) as it once did, and;
3) Those who just wanted to get their knickers off and giggle while a rather not-completely-unfortunate-looking male artist depilated and slapped cold plaster of paris on their Netherlands, only to stand around admiring and complimenting the artwork afterwards, as if he was Rodin himself.

(Three international references so far, how am I doing?)

Firstly, Group 1; and did I mention, OUCH?
My heart really went out to these young women who not only were genetically given something a little out of the ordinary (kind of like sticky-out ears), but then had to undergo extemely painful, confronting and radical corrective surgery- under LOCAL ANAESTHETIC- and in front of the whole world (including the ones who will never admit to watching SBS).

Now for any of you who've ever had a child or even a Brazilian, our bits tend to be the Gallipoli of the human body; be it a battlefield, shrine, memorial (or tourist attraction if you so desire); and we are subjected to repeated hostile confrontations in the name of health, beauty, pressure and procreation of the species, but this...........

Never had it occurred to me that our perception of ourselves as humans, women and even our perception of beauty, would extend all the way to Rio (although given their standard issue bathing costumes one might assume they were the ones who started this whole fiasco).

But are those perceptions real and are they worth going under the knife for? That was and is the million dollar question when it came to The Perfect Vagina.

When you think about it, go back 50 years and exactly how many vajayjays would one have seen let alone interacted with in their lifetime unless one were a medical professional? I'm wondering if maybe as a society now we are so exposed to the human body and our expectations of what it should/could look like, this is just another platform on which to privately (or publicly) beat ourselves over the head with a big stick??

Okay, so maybe I'm being naive about the V-exposure 50 years ago, but you can't take a step these days without seeing or hearing about someone's Amazon. We've all seen Madge's Vag. Britney has shown hers enough. So has Paris. Jennifer "Love" Hewitt quite comfortably told America about her extra bit of Sparkle she was sporting.

And maybe that's why genitalia are tucked away- so we have one less thing to stress over when it comes to beauty.
I mean-beyond mandatory landscaping [and even then] and medical intervention- who can be bothered? I for one am already self-conscious about enough body parts to last a life time; the last thing I need to worry about is whether my map of Tasmania had a bad cartographer.

I certainly don't need to go to Yoni Support Group as with group #2, whereby all sit around with mirrors and firstly, cry, and secondly admire/unleash praise upon said 'Yoni' and when one is comfortable, invites the other group participants to also admire and praise it with comments like "you have a beautiful yoni," or "yes, yes, embrace your yoni."
No thanks very much. I'm pretty sure it's standard [Love] Garden Variety. I'm sure if I was really desperate I could ask my waxist.

So back to Charlotte and the case of the Sad Vag.
My advice would be to stop looking at it so much.
Get it waxed into a lightening bolt and have it Vagazzled.
Then go out and have a few chardys and when you need to, use it for what it's designed for. It's not gonna get a knock back.

[BTW, tonight WH took me to see SATC2- but that is a-WHOLE-nother (don't you love slang?) review post]

PS. I am completely supportive of the women in this documentary who chose corrective surgery and fully understand and respect their decision, as I do anyone who puts themselves through this...
PPS. "Yoni" I'm sure you can work out for yourself. If in doubt- read the Kama Sutra.

bless me father for i have sinned...

2010-05-26T20:16:00.004+10:00

...it's been 2 months since my last blog.
Slack I know. But I have excuses. Both my computers died.
Laptop. Dead.
PC. Dead.
I am now still without computer and breaking my cardinal rule, so I'm now using a work laptop (from my top-secret job that I never talk about). To hell with it.

I should warn you at this stage that tonight's post comes with no disclaimer about the emotional nature of the content. It's been a bad day. A bad year if I'm honest. Which brings me to the breaking of my second blog rule- don't get emotional.

Let's break it down:
I still live with my inlaws.
I still work beyond full-time.
I have lost 2 wonderful people this year, one just two weeks ago.
I turned 31.
Consider yourself warned.

Tonight I am feeling a bit low. As we await the official signing of the final contract on the house so we can commence building, I find myself pondering life. Mistake #1.

Next month sees us into our 3rd, that's right THIRD anniversary....of living with my husband's parents. Stop it, I can hear you cringing already.
While I'm sure many of you are questioning my sanity at this point (I have done it many times myself, be assured), try and work a bit of understanding and empathy in there too, if you don't mind.

In that three years, I kinda have this feeling that I have somehow lost myself.
Melodramatic I know, but truly this is how I feel tonight.
Why? You know sometimes you look in the mirror and just think- where the hell did I go?

I think each of us a like a jigsaw puzzle; a beautiful, intricate picture made up of lots of little pieces- dreams, thoughts, experiences, opinions, likes, dislikes, hobbies, talents, worries, loves and habits. Over time some of our pieces chop and change- some get taken away, some get swapped for ones that fit better, you even find that some of your pieces are identical to someone else's- but the core pieces, those important ones that make you YOU are still there.

A little over 3 years ago, my jigsaw puzzle was of me as a blushing bride. Some of my pieces had changed (being a mum before 30), been swapped or thrown away (like working/living in the UK), but those core pieces were still there, including some dream pieces, hopes and expectations for our new married life together.
Over time a few more pieces changed, as we made the decision to move away from our lovely little beachside home (another dream piece of mine), buy some acreage (a new dream piece), and build our own house with our own two hands (someone else's piece altogether).

Even still, those pieces that you've had since you were a little girl- being the first female Tap Dog, going to NIDA, being in a movie, becoming a country music singing superstar -and just being a dreamer- might not seem so clear, or important pieces, and they kind of get pushed to the outer edges of the picture, but they're still there. Occasionally they make a brighter appearance- like when you are with true friends who appreciate these pieces, or someone from your past reminds you of a piece you had forgotten- one they know even better than you do- but soon enough they fade into the background.

You tell yourself they're not as important- these childish, unrealistic dream pieces- as the ones that are identical to your "someone else's", that the grownup thing to do is sacrifice some of your pieces for some of theirs- but you take comfort in the thought that your "someone else" at least knows these pieces exist, appreciates them and how they helped to make this person that you are.

Suddenly, tonight I looked at my puzzle and couldn't see any of my pieces.

All the pieces of me have furled, torn, had water damage and just eventually disintegrated. The ones I see as clear as day belong to everyone else I live with- everyone's expectations, ideas and opinions of who I am and what I should be or do- I can't see mine. What's worse, I don't think everyone else I live with even know these pieces are lost.

The people I am surrounded by everyday wouldn't even know they existed.

I'm not laying blame here. No, that way madness lay. I take some responsibility in being so willing to compromise some that I sacrificed many.

What scares me is at 31 do I have to say goodbye to the old puzzle? Some would say that's a part of growing up, of growing old, of being in a partnership, of being human, but I don't know.

Post Script:
After finishing my blog I go and pick up my ukulele and sing a song or two. I can kinda see a little corner...
On Twitter my old friend says just enough to remind me that he knows some of my lost pieces...
On Friday night I will catch up with an old school friend who just might uncover some more.

Weird

2010-03-29T21:55:00.000+10:00

So, Bald Tattooed Musician added me as a friend on facebook. Should I find this weird? Or actually rather grownup that 10 years later (to the month) we are all buddy-buddy???

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Location:Brizvegas of course

to all the boys I've loved before.... part deux

2010-03-12T19:53:00.003+10:00

So I'm picking up where we left off.

That same year of the tantrum-throwing and breaking up with Dougie was the year I finally finished uni and drove off into the sunset. Destination and choice of career I will not disclose as afterall, this blog is anonymous but let's just say the town was small and the pickings very slim. This is enough to send even the most stalwart singleton a little stir-crazy.
(That's my story and I'm stickin to it)

At his point I need to make you aware of 2 other important men in my life:
Kyle and Joseph.

We'll start with Kyle. I met Kyle in 1995 when I was in Year 12 and lucky enough to go to South Korea with my family to visit my brother who was living there. And funnily enough, sharing a room with Kyle. Kyle was 19 (me 16), American, sported a mullet and was one of the sweetest, kind hearted people I have ever met so I did have a bit of a crush ( I was 16 and single afterall) but we lost contact until 2 or 3 years later when thanks to the joys of the World Wide Web and ICQ we found each other again and stayed in contact online with the odd phonecall here and there and the old pac that if we were still single when he turned 28 and I turned 24 we would meet somewhere in the world and see what might happen (great storyline for a movie).

So now you have the background info I can return to the setting of Smalltownsville.

2002: I really enjoyed living alone in my cosy little flat, away from home permanently for the first time and while it was strange and sometimes lonely living so far from my family I met loads of wonderful people who enriched my life, including my wonderful friend Joseph (who I will get to later). But somewhere along the way, my online/phonecall friendship with Kyle (which was now going on 5 years) was changing.

Don't ask me how or why, but the years were ticking by and both of us had no sight of potential partners.... somehow it seemed fated hat we would end up together. We spoke every night; as I climbed into bed he was just waking in Florida and then conversations began ending with "I love you"..... (he started it by the way).

It felt so incredible, even though he was so far away I could wrap myself up in this wonderful cuddly doona of knowing someone loved me. I am a very vivid dreamer and my subsoncious would confirm to me in my sleep that everything about this felt right. The timing, the unfolding of events and the way he spoke to me on the phone and in my emails. Could it really be that someone I'd known in the flesh for only 2 weeks turn to be "the one"?
The answer is no. Not for me anyway. It all got a bit real when we both started investigating a trip to Hawaii- this would be a good halfway point and just maybe we were ready to see what might happen.
Once again, with history repeating, the phone calls stopped, the emails became fewer and farther between and once again I was left wondering what was going on. Of course I had known he would have met someone and really, I was not too upset about that. I think deep down I knew it was just a fantasy and probably a bit too Hollywood to be true. But he was still my friend, in a way he'd become my best friend and I still "missed" him. I also was worried that something might have happened to him and although I knew his parents they probably wouldn't think to contact me. Plus even hearing "I Love You" every night before you went to sleep, even if it wasn't really real, was a pretty good nightcap.

6 months later I heard from him. After no contact whatsoever for months I get an email saying very briefly "Been on the road with Linkin Park... will write soon I promise...K" and then nothing.
Meanwhile I had been in Smalltownsvill 18 months and no potential suitors in sight. My wonderful friend Joseph provided me with someone to talk to, share some long drives with, a few jam sessions and even some all-night D&Ms but he had made it pretty clear from the start that we would be nothing more than friends. And while I often questioned this (he was after all REAL and in the flesh and living in the same town as me and we had lots in common, plus everyone thought we were a couple anyway) the answer was always the same. Bless his little heart he was (and still is, might I add) hanging out for a supermodel and I was not his Cindy Crawford.

If there's one thing any of this has taught me it's that some things are just not meant to be. I have taken you on a rollercoaster ride of the Carrieness that is my lovelife (and it's not over yet) and while some are more real than others, they are all experiences that have shaped the person I am now.

The summer holiday following that year was a pretty miserable one. I had a bit of a mini-meltdown over the Christmas out of sheer loneliness. I was 23, single, living in Smalltownsville and I really wanted to share my life with someone. I had friends, I had family, but not that special someone who makes your tummy flip. I remember my Mum sitting on the edge of my bed and puting her arms around me saying- "this year something's going to happen."

As it turns out that I had met him, and he did make my tummy flip (and it doesn't stopthere) but it didn't eventuate until a few weeks after the meltdown. Mum was right.

We met in a canoe. There was a storm, we were caught in it, we bantered, we laughed, my tummy flipped, and we didn't see each other again until a few months later when we met on a rock-climbing wall (post mini-meltdown).
2003: Once again we bantered, we laughed, we watched a James Bond movie in the motel we all had to share and I peeked out my window and watched him dance around his car after he kissed me goodnight. And my tummy flipped repeatedly.

I knew I had found something special.

That same month I got another email from Kyle, this one a pretty long one, saying that he'd met someone, they were getting married, etc etc. He had just turned 28 and I had just turned 24.

One year later I moved from Smalltownsville to Littlestspotonthemap to live with the Tummy-Flipper.
The year after that he popped the question (copied from the scene in 50 First Dates where Henry proposes to Lucy right before she falls asleep- my favourite movie) and we bought our first house.
The year after that we got married.

WH and I have been married 3 years.
Kyle and his beautiful wife have 2 beautiful children.
Joseph is still single and looking for the perfect woman, and I like to thnk she's out there looking for him.

Reflecting on these Bigs, Aidens, Petrovskys and Bergers makes me not only question my mental health (Bunny-boiler much?) but also smile knowing that I have had someone wonderful men in my life. My family is very male dominated, including my extended family. The people who I have always been closest to throughout my life have been male.

Whether it was Stuart my friend who lived across the road when I was 4 or Chris and Mark the two cute boys who moved in to the same house years later; Jeffrey my dancing friend who was obviously gay but I secretly hoped he wasn't; Zac my friend in early high school who turned out to be in the same position as Jeffrey (and Sean in later high-school for that matter); or Glen who was my best friend in Year 12 and beyond...........

I am someone who is always going to be around men a lot.

the pied piper of google

2010-02-06T20:57:00.002+10:00

So, as you can tell I am totally inundated with followers, so much so that when Meshel Laurie tweeted that she had read (and seemingly enoyed) my blog (which I tweeted her the link to), I was so excited. Yes bitches, I love Meshel Laurie in a totally non Ellen-loves-Portia way. I think she is freakin' hilarious and I won't hear of anyone taking her name in vain.

Quite embarassingly though, she really did tweet that my blog was "heaps fun" as it stated, but I'm now actually hyperaware that this may have happened during the Meshel's-twitter-account-got-hacked saga of 2009.

I haven't heard from her since. I tweet so enthusiastically but to no avail. I think it was her hacker givin' me the love.

Sad.

Slacker.....

2010-02-06T20:50:00.001+10:00

OMG. I totally cannot believe it has been a month since I blogged and the last thing I wrote about was Avatar. God no wonder I can't get any followers. Apologies to my 4 actual followers (love you) and my imaginary peeps. More to come, I promise.
xx

hmmmm.....

2010-01-07T00:13:00.004+10:00

So, at risk of finding nothing else to share.....

I went and saw Avatar at the movies a few weeks ago.... Does noone ese see the similarities betwen this and Fern Gully: The Last Rainforest???

Well I thought I was completely alone, having endured weeks of blank stares from different people, until I Googled it:

The Vulture

Dave Miers

Crikey

Seems I'm not the only one!

Lookin back on the memory of the dance we shared...

2010-01-06T20:48:00.004+10:00

To all the boys I've loved before...

So, I know I have quite obviously neglected this for a few weeks and for that I apologise profusely. I suppose my only excuse is that life has been in the way!

As 2009 drew to a close and 2010 moved in ever so quickly, I had lots of people saying they were happy to say goodbye to '09 and to the entire noughties decade.

This got me thinking- am I happy or sad?

Overall, I hate to think of time flying by so quickly and reminding me just how short life is, ad I have done a bit of reflecting over the last few weeks as the end of '09 hit me with a few interesting curve balls, all of which can be named.

Much like a Carrie-esque montage of boys and clothes, there have been the Aidans, Bigs and Alexandr Petrovskys, and I have had my share of love, laughter and heartaches. The last 10 years has been a ride of some description, I just haven't quite decided which adjective is most appropriate........

And so begins the Noughtie Boy Blog. I'm sure it will be a laugh for all y'all out there, if nothing else a distraction from the friends issue and an opportunity for me to sigh, cringe, wince and smile.

Enjoy.

2000:

10 years ago, on this day I was 20 years old and driving around Scotland with my then boyfriend and blissfully happy in the thought that this was the man I might possibly marry.

His name was Si, and he was your stereotypical big hairy Scotsman, whom I can happily admit I met online. I went to the UK to visit my big brother who lived there and conveniently was able to meet him while there. With all possibility of him being a serial killer, I bravely caught the Nat Express from Leeds to Southampton, to meet this man I had "known" for so long, and consequently lost my heart (among other things) to this gentle, kind-hearted nurse.

He not only showed me an amazing country and precious moments that I will cherish forever, but gave me the self-confidence that really was my turning point from girl to woman.

I returned home to Australia alone, but definitely attached to meet my new baby niece, celebrate my 21st birthday and start planning life beyond university with my Scotsman, who would visit Oz a few months after my return. I can't really explain what happened.

Unlinke a lot of long-distance relationships we had lasted ok, but then when he got to Australia something just didn't feel right. I won't go into details out of respect, but it was a sad time for both of us, and especially his lovely Mum, as we came to the realisation that my heart wasn't in it and we had to say our goodbyes.

Although we are good friends now, it was a long time before we could talk to each other. I always felt so terrible about hurting him, but being so young and new to the world of relationships I was just way out of my depth.

Later that year enters Bald-headed-tattoo-man. I had known this guy for a couple of years as a friend, and had always had a bit of a crush on him (he looked great in leather pants) but I hadn't seen him for quite a long time. He was quite a bit older than I (hmm about 11 years) and I was totally infatuated. I "loved" everything about him- his voice, his tattoos, the way he moved, the way he sang, I really was totally consumed.

Then one night he asked me out. Then he actually called, not minding the fact I still lived with my parents. We had some fantastic nights, but mostly I enjoyed just watching him onstage, then having a good ole snog fest afterwards. Did I mention the piercings? No? Okay, moving on.

He had told me that he had a son, but that whe was infertile and could have no more children, which was sad, but I couldn't worry so much about the future that this really bothered me.

Then things slowed down. REALLY slowed down. Like no calls, no answering calls, nothing.

A few weeks went by, when i accidentally (on purpose) called his number by mistake he answered. We spoke quite casually and he told me it would be great to see me at his next gig, which I very enthusiastically turned up to.

I thought it was odd though that he seemed to be smiling and making sweet faces to a girl who looked suspiciously like me, with 2 little kids.

When it came to the set-break, he didn't come straight on over to me like he usually did, but went to the girl, and they looked cozy indeed. Then he came over to me, greeted me with a hug and proceeded to tell me that he was getting married in 6 weeks...... WTF?!?!?!?!?!

So now, he is still playing music in a rather well-known band which I won't mention, and apparently is married to the lookalike girl and they now have 5 children. FIVE. Mr Infertile has FIVE children. But that's nice. Everything turns out as it should.

He was an amazing kisser, had a voice that could melt the ice caps and a great ass. But he was not the man for me. I still see him very, very occasionally and the buzz has totally gone. but like any mega-crush it was great while it lasted.

Of course for a while I was totally devastated, but not so much as when I watched my beloved Grandfather gradually fade away at the end of that year. Nursing a loved one through cancer is the most heart-wrenching, soul-destroying and strength-building experience one could ever have to go through. But being able to sit by the side of someone you love and show them the immeasurable love you have for them as they leave you, is so incredibly powerful. Maybe I will blog about him sometime, but not right now. Because I have to tell you about Dougie.

Dougie was in a way my boss. Also a little younger than me (only 10 months, don't fret). He was very sweet, funny and we got along really well at work. This was during the worst times with my Pop, so in a way I was fragile, lonely and definitely needing reassurance, comfort and TLC.

Dougie was so sweet, blokey, inexperienced and keen he was just perfect. We didn't have a lot to talk about other than work and of course it was at the work Christmas party when we hooked up. I did really like him, but was happy to enjoy taking things slow and having a lot of fun doing it. He was openly smitten, and happy to admit it, as he had never experienced a lot of things and was totally into being a couple and all the trimmings that go with coupledom, which really was a prize I didn't treasure enough at the time. I will never forget the support he showed me the day Pop died, when I convinced myself I could go to work after spending all day by his hospital bed and Dougie took it all in his stride including my spontaneous tears and fragility, leaving me a huge bunch of flowers and finally convincing me to go home early.

Without going into personal details, the months that followed were a very dark and difficult time for me and I just could not be the girlfriend that Dougie wanted, needed and deserved. I treated him horribly, by having a tantrum at his 21st birthday and leaving him hanging at his party not knowing if he still had a girlfriend or not. I would never forgive myself for doing this to him.

Grief does strange things to people but it's no excuse. I didn't deserve him. And he being the sweet person that he was, still called me his friend. Even after I moved away and found myself miles from anywhere and anyone, he would still text me and call to see how I was doing, which I would shamelessly take advantage of on my trips home for holidays. We both enjoyed ourselves, but I always knew he harboured a secret hope that one day I wouldn't leave, while we both knew that ship had sailed........

This signals the end of one chapter and the opening of a new one. I hope I haven't scared you off as there's plenty more to come.

Stick around if you dare.

no clever lyrics

2010-01-05T22:02:00.001+10:00

feeling the guilt over not blogging for a while..... life has been getting in the way!!! Back soon x

why can't we be friends......

2009-12-14T22:46:00.017+10:00

As you know the catalyst for me starting this blog was to document my quest for friendship in a new city as I bereaved my lost life in another.

I have found BrizVegas to be a city of confusing contradictions, as I am never quite sure what is going on or where I stand.

The last few weeks have been a bit crazy for me, as I have experienced not so much epiphanies with accompanying rays of light and angel chorus, but rather big slaps upside the head with blunt objects.

These so-called "epiphanies" have left me both pleasantly surprised, and horrendously confused.

Epiphany #1: It's not just me

During my time so far in Brisbane, I have met all types. I have said once before being friendless is like being single on the meat market; except instead of looking for a future partner you are looking for future barbecues, shopping ventures and movie nights.

Recently I met a chicky through work who also expressed the loneliness of BrizVegas. She is of a similar age to me, in a relationship, and totally friendless. And this girl is totally cool. Kinda kooky, really easy to talk to and a heap of fun. When I mentioned this to someone the first thing they said was "Well, did you ask her if she wanted to do something?". Ummmm. No?

See?? It's totally like being single again ("Why didn't you ask them out??? Did you get a number??"). Why do I have to make the first move????? (I say this in jest because it just makes me laugh).

Epiphany #2: Time is a Bitch.

I thought this would be easy. I have never had trouble making friends before, and have always been told I am an easy, low-maintenance friend. Kooky but not too weird, always there but not obsessive, supportive but not too needy (my god I have thought this through!)...But it seems as you get older it is not so easy. Everyone seems to be so busy with their own lives noone is interested in making new friends, especially when they don't have time to catch up with the old ones.

I'm thinking maybe there is something in that though, in light of my recent adventure to Sydney when I realised that my friends from high-school whom I haven't seen in nearly (*gulp*) 15 years seem a better fit than people I meet now.

Friends who knew you at your worst will always be friends.

And, you can forget meeting new and true friends once you reach a certain age? Scary thought.

Epiphany #3: Friendship comes in the most unlikely form. In case you're thinking it's all doom and gloom, I am pleased to tell you that I made a friend. Who is a guy. Weird? Well I didn't think so.

If you're thinking that is the sound of a can opener you're hearing then you're right.

My new friend is a guy. The same age as my oldest brother. And he's a cool guy. In fact he could be one of my brothers. Not in looks, but in interests and passion for music/life in general he could definitely be related.

We met through work, and have built a friendship over many chats about music/life in general since my first weeks in Brisbane. We catch up over a coffee. We talk on the phone (when quick, necessary information-sharing turns into unnecessary, lengthy discussion). We can sit in a kitchen and chat about how to change the world until the cows come home. He is a ukulele genius and also my teacher, when he has the time. And I really enjoy his company.

And I don't think that's weird. And neither does my WH (another reason why I adore him so). And neither does he (the friend). And neither does his wife. But apparently other people do. Some clever person decided that because I was married with a male friend, then something sinister must be afoot.

Epiphany #4: Some people are just pure and simple NASTY (I realise I have misused my adverbs, don't fret it just sounded better).

I have had many male friends in my life. In fact I think my absolute best friends have been male. But it seems that if you meet a male friend after marriage then you must have an ulterior motive. Motives were questioned recently, when someone observed how well me and my friend got along and how close we are. Apparently the fact that we're close because we are friends was accidentally overlooked.

Friends are supposed to be able to give you balance to your life. I'll explain:

Music is a huge part of my life. I can't even begin to explain how much I am about the music. I was raised on Music and Musicals. I have a fascination with the pre-/post- war period of music, fashion, film and architecture and also Hawaii and beach culture in general. I'm a bit ASD that way.

WH soooooooo does not get that. If there was a music spectrum I would be at the Pearly Gates while WH would be stoking the fires. Or vice versa, depending on your perspective. He's fine with that. I'm mostly fine with that. (Sometimes I look at WH and think "How on earth did this happen?" although I'm sure he asks himself the same thing)

So, balance. I can't wax on about the meaning of the Glenn Miller Band to WH. Or the image of a beach, a malibu, an aqua-blue combie-van and a ukulele. He just doesn't get it, nor does he want to. He knows it is something important to me, but just doesn't get it. And that can frustrate me if I let it.

But my brothers get it. And I have a friend who gets it. So I wax on to them. Balance.

Ephiphany #5: Attraction does not equal infedelity.

See the fly in the ointment is that he is good looking. I have listened to women at work comment. I have listened to much older women comment (actually they were talking about spanking him while he was performing on stage; and can I just say that was most disturbing). And he is good looking. Which apparently makes it virtually impossible to have a plutonic friendship. The mentality of some is such that "friendship" with a good-looking man must really equate to "something going on" when noone is looking, even though we are not flirty friends, or touchy-feely friends.

He's just a guy, who is married to an awesome chicky with three awesome kids. And, because he happens to be good-looking to the general female population does this mean he is not entitled to be "just mates" with a chick who has the same interests? I wonder if he were gay whether there would be an issue.

Refer to Epiphany #1 and noone had a problem with me striking up a new friendship with the girl.

Does sex always have to be part of the equation when it comes to friendship?

My husband has friends who are female and I'm quite okay with this. He doesn't really keep in contact much but if and when he does I am not concerned because like I said it's all about the balance.

See I take my marriage really seriously. I take other people's marriages really seriously. Do I think I am going to spend the rest of my married life never being attracted to another man? Hell no. But what I do know is that I made my choice to spend my life with WH. It's as simple as that.

Epiphany #6: A true friend is someone who can see you without makeup on a fat day with bad hair.... and not notice.

My friend sees me quite regularly without makeup on a fat day with bad hair and we have a coffee and talk about music, changing the world and just everyday randomisms.

My wonderful husband sees me quite regularly without makeup on a fat day with bad hair, and tells me I'm beautiful, gives me cuddle, and maybe a snog, and.................

I never dreamed that I'd meet somebody like you...

2009-12-14T22:28:00.003+10:00

So, I feel we know each other well enough now for me to talk about love.
True love that transcends age, Just-for-Men, and possibly even a little botox.

And before you get all snooty and think I'm going to wax lyrical about WH, you can think again(Although I must give huge props to my WH who allows me to dream of such a love that exists beyond marital bliss).

The world was on fire and noone could save me but you. Poetic words written by a poetic man who is as divine as the voice he could sing me into submission with. Even just thinking about this slice of heaven on earth is enough to make me cry out "I submit DAMMIT!" much to my Wonderful Hubby's amusement (and possibly even disgust, although he won't let on, bless his little heart), although I feel even the mere suggestion of this man being a sex object makes me feel as though I am cheapening him...
Chris.
With a voice like Kahlua and eyes of a San Fransisco sky, there is no other description for it. The man makes me melt.
If the world was a jewellery store, Chris Isaak would be a Tiffany 1.5 carat Lucida cut solitaire.... you know you want it, you know you have to have it, but you know it's just not gonna happen.

So you do what any normal person would do...... make him No# 1 on your legal shag list.
In fact, on my list there is he and only he. Sure Buble, Robbie, George, Clive and even Andrew G (during my less discerning days) have made temporary appearances, but I need only one. (WH has 3 by the way, so I think it's fair that I obsess over just 1).

My idea of heaven would involve Chris, a hammock on a very secluded beach and a ukulele, as there is always room for music, especially sung by the voice of an angel.
Even though I can write a whole post about it, I really can do no justice with the written word. I can only liken him to beautiful things which defy description:
Van Gogh's Starry Night...
Monet's Waterlilies...
Greenmount Beach on a clear Summer's day...
Snuggling under a cuddly doona while it's raining outside...
The man is beauty, rugged manliness and sheer, unadulterated lust wrapped up into a bundle of perfection.

My infatuation for Chris can further be reflected in my 3 all-time favourite songs of his that send shivers up my spine (and into other places we needn't go just now).
Somebody's Crying is the beginning crush......
Wicked Game is the steamy, perfect luvvin' that one could only possibly imagine and
Let Me Down Easy is the post-orgasmic realisation you have fallen way, way too far.

Obsessive much? Probably.
Care factor? So far below zero I could carry an Ice Road Trucker.

This all started in high school. I was only in year six when Wicked Game was released and much too young to fully appreciate him rolling around on a beach with Helena Christensen (damn her). It was at 16 years old that Somebody's Crying was released in my final year of school. I knew then I was in trouble.

This past February was a big month for me. Not only was it a certain coming-of-age milestone that we shall not speak of, but it was also the first time I had been able to see the man in-the-flesh, so to speak.
Down I went to the Riverstage (with my brother and his girlfriend, leaving WH at home as I was simply too embarassed at the prospect of him witnessing my shameless display of school-girl infatuation and desperately needed to compartmentalise) and watched breathlessly as perfection personified walked on stage... in a suit of fuschia.

So dumbstruck was I at being within arm's reach of this man I had loved for 14 years, I could not bring myself to get any nearer to him, even as he wandered through the audience, serenading endless, seemingly desperate women of startlingly varied ages and appearances. I felt shame at associating myself with these leeches as they clamoured to get a piece of the action. Even as he got to the end of my row I stood frozen with nervous anticipation, ignoring my brother's encouragement to "Get over there, you idiot!"
So I stayed in my seat and listened with thumping heart as the effect of the Kahlua washed over me and I surrendered myself to the music.

Now I do like a bit of merch, and had treated myself to a t-shirt (oh the shame!) only to find that the man himself would be signing after the show. Joining the queue with my brother (and the other 500 people) I couldn't believe I was going to be within touching distance of my first long-term relationship. How should one act in these circumstances? What should one say in the 5 seconds they have to make an impression that would long after have him thinking "she was really something"?

Well sadly, structured, rushed interaction with merchandise doesn't really allow for much creativity, and as Chris signed his name inside a heart I had nothing but: "That's very creative."
WTF?
To which he looked straight at me with those San Fran Sky Eyes, shook my hand, and with a bead of sweat dripping off his perfect, possibly Just-for-Men'd hair replied: "I'm tryin'!"

OMG. I have the man's DNA on my shirt.

OMFG I was just within snogging distance of my one and only legal shag.

Just recently my friend said to me: "Why the HELL did you not take full advantage of the situation and ask where he was staying?" Me: "Why on earth would I do that?" He: "Maybe because he's your ONLY legal shag?!?!?"
Me: "Oh." [Bugger]
He: "What would you actually do if you had've asked him and he told you and you went up to his hotel room?"
*sigh*

The answer is, faced with the crucial moment of deciding whether to go through with the legal shag (and let's face it, it will never happen) I really don't know that I could do it, even with WH's understanding and consent.
Chris exists in a world in which I sing duets with him and a ukulele on a perfect beach as the sun sets and roll around on the volcanic sand in my bikini with my perfect Helena-Christensen-esque body. And so, my subconscious will continue to tease me with beautiful dreams of a perfect, heart-shaped, Chris-filled world, which I try not to wake up from. But when I do, I see my perfect, non-singing, non-ukulele playing, WH and think to myself, the world's not too bad.

No I don't wanna fall in love....with you...
Wrong to love you like I do, it must be...
But if your heart should ache...remember me....
You are my paradise completed...
Wish that I were a yellow bird....I'd fly away with you...
Can't you hear my hear is calling... you don't know how hard I've fallen....for you.
And given the chance.....Baby just might do a bad, BAD thing......

you wanna cash out....and get the hell outta town?

2009-12-13T17:50:00.012+10:00

I love Christmas. I absolutely luuuurrrrrve Christmas. I love everything corny and cliched about Christmas, from wrapping presents to decorating one's [non-existent] house with kitschy knick-knacks and pretending as though we are not sweltering in 35-degree heat but celebrating with a turkey in snowy USA.
I get such a warm, fuzzy feeling from turning out all the lights bar the Christmas tree and bunkering down to Miracle on 34th Street..... so much so that I have told WH that we simply MUST go to NYC for Christmas at least once.

I cannot believe how quickly this year has flown! I know that sounds terribly cliched but seriously, is it just because I'm 30 that time has all of a sudden decided to switch to warp speed?
I have heard people saying that they are going to be hosting or attending calendar burning parties...

2009 is the Year of the Ox, and the bad news is for all you calendar haters, it's not over 'til February!

I read somewhere that the Year of the Ox should be about "values, tradition, a slow but steady year" [read: "hostility, confusion, paranoia, a year where mild to severe psychosis is to be expected"].

For me, 2009 has been a year of surprises, disappointments, revelations, connections, rejections, not to mention other things, many of which simply don't match up with my island girl persona, the leat of which big the alarming ratet which my girth seems to be expanding.

I don't know about anyone else, but here is where I shout out a rather big, echoey WTF?????

(see? Even Confucius-baby thinks so)

I'm in Brisbane Beetch!

2009-12-08T21:07:00.005+10:00

10 Things That Scare Me Today...

10. The Myer perfume section and their squadron of 2 million sales people.

9. Those kiosks in shopping centres that sell that skin care from the Dead Sea or something and they jump out at you and say "Can I ask you something?" as you try to walk past thinking "Don't make eye contact!"

8. Pimply lifesavers selling raffle tickets that call out things like "Hey smiley!" as if I am the highlight of their day.

7. Fitting rooms.

6. Girls with mullets.

5. That I walked into a store and actually said "I had that the first time it was cool." Hello Nanna.

4. Christmas shopping season at Chermside.

3. Discovering someone you know is no longer normal but is now totally psychotic and has a vendetta against you. Ummmmm........

2. Secret Santa presents.

1. Gravity.

My Life According to Crowded House

2009-12-02T20:03:00.002+10:00

Using only song names from ONE ARTIST, cleverly answer these questions. Pass it on to 15 people you like and include me. You can't use the band I used. Try not to repeat a song title. It's a lot harder than you think! Repost as "My life according to (band name)"

Are you a male or female?Italian Plastic
Describe yourself:Pineapple Head
How do you feel:I feel Posessed
Describe where you currently live:Mansion in the Slums
If you could go anywhere, where would you go:Private Universe
Your favorite form of transportation:Walking on the Spot
Your best friend is:Lester
You and your best friends are:Together Alone
What's the weather like:Four Seasons in One Day
Favorite time of day:I Love You Dawn
If your life was a TV show, what would it be called:My Telly's Gone Bung
What is life to you:Heaven that I'm Making
Your last relationship:Something So Strong
Your fear:6 Months in a Leaky Boat
What is the best advice you have to give:Love This Life
Thought for the Day:People are Like Suns
How I would like to die:Nails in My Feet
My soul's present condition:Am In Love
Most Faithful Companion:Chocolate Cake
My motto:Don't Dream It's Over

and you say no fame, no money, I'm nobody...

2009-11-23T21:54:00.008+10:00

Someone once said: "A friend in need is a friend indeed"
Placebo said: "A friend with weed is better..."
Well, I don't know about either of those.

On Saturday night, five girls from different walks of life came together in a trendy Sydney cafe on the Cockle Bay Wharf, to share stories and reminisce about the main thing we had in common: school- 14 years ago.

As some of you already know from my previous post, in the past the idea of having to meet face to face with people I hadn't seen in years could and would send me in to an identity/fashion crisis of epic proportions. Suddenly nothing in the wardrobe would seem trendy enough, chin not quite taut enough and tuckshop-lady arms seemed to accquire a magic feather of their own and take on a Dumbo-esque quality, culminating in one final decision that it just wasn't worth it and I should just stay home instead.

But not this time. This time I was quite excited about the whole adventure, even when at the last minute WH (Wonderful Hubby for those who aren't in the clique), tempted at the sudden realisation that I would be in a nice hotel all alone while he would be camped at home with the in-laws, decided he simply must join me.

No! This time, I thought, no holds barred.
On Saturday, I shopped.
On Sunday, I shopped.
On Tuesday, I had my eyebrows waxed.
On Wednesday, I had a sauna.
On Thursday, I had a spray tan.
On Friday, I packed.
Suddenly my life was imitating art through the Very Hungry Caterpillar-without the foliage, plums and icecream- and wanting so badly to show up as the beautiful butterfly.

I told myself it was necessary; that I needed all of this (despite my Visa bill telling me otherwise) to look and feel my best and therefore enjoy myself on Saturday night.
So by Saturday, a little poorer and now the colour of a Tuscan rooftop as opposed to Uluru, I was feeling pretty good about the person (me) who would show up to the Blackbird Cafe; having totally validated myself with the help of Ella Bache, Clever White Teeth, Portmans, ID Bare Minerals and GHD; and not once did I ask myself the question: validating myself for who?

Suddenly it became so important to me to be wearing the right clothing, makeup, shoes and hairstyle for this one night than it ever had before.

*deep breath*

I needn't have worried.

The four beautiful women who showed up to the cafe were not the slightest bit interested in how white my teeth were, what label my Guess handbag was or how much I had spent on my outfit. In fact I think I could have had just as great a time, if not more, had I shown up in trackies and thongs with my hair pulled back into a ponytail, a little Lucas Pawpaw Ointment in a few strategic places; instead of the Tuscan tan and far too much mineral makeup. I had covered myself in so many layers of fake butterfly wings, but it only took minutes to realise they were so unneccessary. The caterpillar was just fine.

These four beautiful women were the same 4 beautiful girls who I shared my favourite years of schooling with on the Gold Coast all those years ago. All now married, some now mothers, one a successful business woman, all incredibly individual, articulate, caring and animated women genuinely pleased to be in each others' company- minus labels, superficiality and any pretention.
And what a wonderful evening we had, talking, laughing (a lot), screaming, retelling stories of pregnancy, married life, chicken pox and other natural disasters.... 14 years later and only the content had changed. But the warmth, intelligence, and senses of humour remained.

Now here comes the epiphany: (drum roll please)

My life has never needed to be validated by the clothes I wear, how much weight I'm carrying or what label my handbag is- at least not by my true friends. Never has a true friend put pressures on me as I do on myself. So why has it taken me 30 years to realise this?

Image was not really something I could afford to pay much attention to in high-school. Sure I wanted it all, the right clothes, the right figure; but when you are fairly short, a little on the tubby side and a red-head with freckles, glasses and braces, there comes a point when you accept your lot in life and just try to have a bloody good time. And for the most part, that's what high-school memories are made of for me. Good times. Yes, there was pain, too. Sure, I look back at photos and some recently accumulated video footage and think, God, I was such a dag, but no one cared. Certainly not the true friends I have made throughout my life.

At what point did I have such little faith that I thought my old friends would be more interested in the Benefit High Beam under my eyes than the great work I do and the stories I have to share about my last 14 years?

True friends are a blessing. One evening with true friends leaves you feeling totally recharged, not drained. And that's how I felt walking back along the streets of the Rocks barefoot Saturday night, after an icecream sundae from the Lindt Cafe, shared with WH. Totally recharged by four amazing women who I haven't seen in 14 years. I wonder if Carrie, Charlotte, Miranda & Samantha would have the same luck if fate drew them apart for so long.

I do feel incredibly validated. By my self.
With cocoon still very much in place around my midriff and chin.
The butterfly wings are there, but I am painting them myself. I don't need Ella Bache to do it for me thankyou very much. Orange has never really been my colour anyway. And if this lesson isn't enough for anyone, then learn from this:

Next time I am SOOO wearing flats.

red moon of Vegas sets on some poor sucker's grave...

2009-11-19T18:04:00.007+10:00

So, there seems to be a little Vampire-hysteria at the mo.
Now I am a Vamp-chick of old, a total Buffy/Angel addict, Team Angel/Riley/Spike supporter. Okay, mostly Spike, I once had a great dream about Spike. And did you SEE that episode when Buffy was invisible and she snuck into Spike's crypt and...nevermind. Oh and Giles. It'a librarian thing. So hate me. In fact, some island girl trivia: I used to be totally phobic of vampires, I even had frequently-recurring uber-vivid dreams featuring vampires which totally freaked me out, until I started watching Buffy (confrontation therapy?) and then they stopped. Except for the ones about Spike. Mmmmm Spike.
*sigh*

Anyhoo! Twilight. At this moment in time I am rather perplexed over the whole Twi-hard phenomenon.

I saw the original movie, on a flight home from Japan on a teeny-tiny screen, when I couldn't sleep. I only got about 3/4 of the way through it.
Then, a few days later I decided to try again. And it was okay.
I actually thought it had been edited beyond belief because it jumped around so much and they never seemed to actually get it together (once on a trip home from Malaysia I had the privelege of watching an Islamic country's edit of The Sixth Sense... so didn't work) as I expected they would in a teen flick.
I heard on Nova this morning that it was apparently done that way deliberately because Stephanie Meyer is Mormon and wanted to express her views on abstinence (I found a rather wordy explanation here). But I suppose it's a rather refreshing change from all the sex, drugs and rock'n'roll we're used to seeing...
So anyhoo, then my cousin tells me I simply MUST read the books which she promptly lent me and I did, however begrudgingly. And they were okay.
Well written? Probably not.
Dragged on a bit? Yep (She probably coulda told the story in one book).
Believeable? Ummm, what the hell is with calling your kid Renesmee who then becomes soulmate to an adult werewolf within weeks of birth? Maybe I'm nitpicking?
Don't even get me started on Bella who is the most annoying charcter ever written, this irl wuld take the prize from Mrs Mangel. At least by the last book the designer clothes make her interesting.

JRR Tolkien, she is not.
JK Rowling, she is not.

But enjoyable? Yeah okay, they were that.

Now before all of you Twi-hards out there (0) who are actually reading this recruit a lynch-mob to hunt me down and throw me off the Kangaroo Point clifftop, just simmer on down and give yourselves a good smack upside the head.

Feel better? Good.

Now, I'm seriously having issues re: the whole Team Edward/Jacob debate and just how invested international Twi-hards seem to be getting, particularly those of "a certain age".

Let's start with vamp-Ed. Aside from having a serious anaemia issue and looking like a Kylie Minogue back up dancer when the sun's out, he has a sense of ye olde worlde romance about him which tends to get a bit frustrating for poor old Bella who just wants to jump his bones. Four books later and you are totally feeling the poor girl's pains of restraint.
So I'm old, ooooh, I'm like 400, oooh, I can run up trees, ooooh I can sparkle like a Lip Smacker (and I'm apparently wearing some in Cherry Red) and I drive a..............Volvo.

Ok, I'm just being a bitch. Even I can admit that when he gets outta the car with Bella at school he looks kinda cool, and actually reminds me a little too much of my unrequited crush Jason in high school. God listen to me. At least he's of legal drinking age.

And in the blue corner we have werewolf Jacob.
Is anyone other than myself even the slightest bit concerned that kittens, cats and COUGARS alike (even grand-cougars; what's a feline name for a really old grandmother with a crush on a 17 year old?) seem to be swooning when the boy gets his shirt off? He's SEVENTEEN PEOPLE!!!

Yes, okay, the boy is cute. The boy speaks with a lovely voice. The boy plays a character who I must say I'm a little fond of. All that werewolfy pent up energy and brawn. The boy sports a six-pack most men would be jealous of... while I am totally disturbed by the fact that the boy is SEVENTEEN I just can't look away. There is absolutely nothing Zac Efron about this boy.

Oh bloody hell. Go Team Jacob.

I feel so dirty.

Don't be a baby, remember what you told me...

2009-11-15T21:59:00.013+10:00

10 Things I Love Today...(without being under the influence of painkillers)

Rove. You are the happiness of Australian television.

Blogging. It's like free therapy.

Being unreliant on pain-killers. What a strange world those people must live in.

My wonderful friend MegaHottie who has just given birth to her second baby-boy.

Thinking about our house being built and moving out of the in-laws :)

Old friends who never change and totally get my sense of humour, thank god.

My little brother's new saying "It's hard to make friends in Brisbane" (inserted randomly in various conversations it's really quite funny).

Glee.

Banoffee pie from the Samford Patisserie. If you haven't, do it. Wicked.

The Gaythorne RSL has 50cent lifetime membership. They are having a special. Usually it's $1. Luv it.

It's all a blur last night #2

2009-11-15T20:44:00.003+10:00

Off the painkillers now, so no more nonsensical twitter! The Partridge Family bus has officially dropped me off at the bus stop.
Apologies to anyone who thought I was very unfunny under the influence!
I'm really a nice girl...
x

Viva Briz Vegas

2009-11-14T21:09:00.011+10:00

10 Things I Love Today... (DISCLAIMER: The following warm fuzzies may not actually be real, rather Panadeine Forte induced ramblings. But whatever, I'm feeling the love)

1. This baby. As if it wasn't funny enough without the photoshopping. Luv it!

2. Panadeine Forte.

3. The wonderful doctors at Holy Spirit Private Hospital Chermside.

4. Saying of the week: "What's with the hostility, Brisbane????" (And the fact that I can use this saing numerous times daily)

5. Blues Travelers' Tweets.

6. Meshel Laurie on Nova 106.9 with Meshel, Ash and Tim. This girl is the funniest thing ever and I love her so hard. And she's read my blog so I feel very spesh.

7. Panadeine forte, wow they are working quickly.... think I need to sleep now!

8. Everyone. Even 14 year old girls and Australian Idol and all their emos.

9. Panadeine Forte

10. Those other little white ones that hail the Partridge Family Bus...... c'mon get happy....

it's all a blur last night...

2009-11-13T08:43:00.003+10:00

So,
I am totally hammered. My Wondferful husband would't let me blog last nigth. I thgouth it would be fun to blog under the influcne of pain killers from the awesome doctors at Holy Spirt hospital.
So i'm doing ti this morning. I can't really hold my head up straight, no do i give a shit about punctution, and if i sit still long enough i go cross-eyed.

Ifeel like I;ve been hit by a truck. Or a bus. Owned by the partridge family. C'mon get happy. ohyes I am quite thankyou.

Ear infections aren't so bad afterall.

Australian Idol (a working title- cant think of any lame-ass lyrics to go with this)

2009-11-11T21:25:00.012+10:00

DISCLAIMER: Reading on may induce vibe-sensing of the sour grape variety. You have been warned.

SO, in light of the fact I am going away to Sydney soon (which I will no doubt blog about when I return), and that the Australian Idol final is on while I am there, I thought I would leave you with this:

I have a secret.

I am an Idol fan. At least I was until I saw this season. I don't know WHAT is going on this year but it is bad, bad, BAD! I think Stan is uber-talented, I also thought little Buble was great, but that's about it.
First of all, what is with the age of this year's finalists????
I am so sick of skinny jeans and crooked emo haircuts that seeing them every Sunday night just makes me want to pluck my own eyes out.
I don't understand why they even have the age group from 16-30 if all their contestants are going to be about 12. Why don't they just bite the bullet and put all of us old folk out of our misery? Poor old Toby might believe he really wants to be a teacher but if you want to know what I think (and I know you do), Tobes felt like the grandpa of the kiddles and knew he couldn't compete with the 12-year-old-texters who run the show.
I can tell you what would have been going through his head: "What right do I have to be here when these young Whipper-snappers really want this and I have a job?"
No Toby! What right do THEY have to be there when they are too young to legally enter most of the venues they will have to play?????

The final straw was the pathetic excuse for Stage and Screen night, where the contestants chose bizarre, extraneous songs that may have featured in the credits of movies noone has ever watched (right before the roman numerals appear), AND, to add further insult to injury, those CHILDREN had the NERVE to NOT KNOW WHO LIZA FREAKIN MINELLI was!!!!!!!
MOTHER F%^&%*&^%#*&^#%*&#^%#*&^%#*&!!!!!!!!!!!

*breathe*

You see, when one has had a Liza Minelli classic on their fantasy Idol song list, then discovers one Liza Minelli is guest judging and mentoring snotty faced teenagers who don't even acknowledge who this woman is, what she has accomplished and been through in a life time (let's not even start on who her mother is) it kinda makes one feel all homicidal inside.

Quiet please, there's a lady on the stage:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dtJSLZnKCv0
You'll see what I'm talking about.

I could start on the really bad notes I have heard praised by the judges, however at risk of offending my secret crush Dicko (oops have I said too much?) I will just put it down to the possibility of my tv speakers being on the iffy side.

*sigh* But who am I to criticise?

For the last 7 years, I have suffered from a really bad case of WhatIf? Syndrome.
I have watched each and every episode (up until last Sunday night) for the entire series, and totally obsessed about my fantasy Idol appearance, even creating songlists from genres I have seen chosen, I have been scared beyond belief at the concept of walking into an audition.

See auditions don't really end well.

My angst really culminated during last year's season when the final guest judge and mentor was none other than the man himself. Chris .
(BTW, if, during last November, you heard strange noises and couldn't place them, it was probably me throwing a tanty of gargantuan proportions)
That's it, I thought to myself. Enough buggerizing around (as my Year 9 manual arts teacher would say). Have a cup of concrete, harden the F up, and just do it.
I made a life-changing, permanent emotionally-scarring and mental-health-threatening decision and went to the Brisbane auditions.

I won't go into too much detail, but let's just say after 7 years of preparation, and 7 hours of waiting to hear one's number called, the highlight of my day was being shuffled in to my audition...... in a disabled toilet.

Have no fear, I told myself, you have sung in plenty of toilets (best not to go there)! The only difference is you are practically sitting in the "judges'" laps (note use of inverted commas as not actual judges but the sign-on lady and possibly the director who shouted instructions at us all day) and they have not had coffee all day and are supremely irritable.

Alas, I ignored my own instructions, and realised quite quickly that it was all over before it had even began. Apparently my singing was good (so I was told), but I think the fact that I was:
a) 30
b) Employed with a husband and a mortgage, and;
c) 30

led the "judge" to assume that I, and I quote: "wouldn't enjoy the experience, and we'd say come back next year but you're too old."

(that noise that you're hearing is the slight wheeze of air escaping my lungs; similar to a let-go balloon whizzing around the room)

It's okay though, the man in the silver cape who sang "Poker Face" got through to the next round so I know it must have been based on sheer talent.

I just didn't have the goods.

Or a chicken costume.

Go Stan.

Spare me your freakin' dirty looks now, don't blame me...

2009-11-11T21:06:00.007+10:00

10 Things I Hate Today....

People who you let in at traffic and they don't give you a thankyou wave.

Australian Idol 2009.

Michael Buble is on Australian Idol 2009 (as was Liza) and I'm NOT.

Chris Isaak was on Australian Idol 2008 and I WASN'T.

14 year old girls.

Backstabbing behind you, sugary sweetness to your face. WTF?

Ear infections (ouch).

The damn, freakin' E-chord on my ukulele.

I am actually using the phrase "back in MY day". Hello Nanna.

Masterchef is making me fat.

Information overload, situation lost control, send out an SOS!

2009-11-08T23:00:00.010+10:00

Okay, before too long I will run out of Katy Perry lyrics relating to Vegas and will have to look for lyrical inspiration elsewhere...
But until that day, we will shamelessly exploit she of the girl-kissing!

So, in a few weeks' time I am going to a gathering of sorts.
I was unable to go to my 10 year high-school reunion as I was at a wedding with WH. A little bit of me has always regretted this, and yet another, slightly bigger bit was always relieved that I did not have to subject myself to the 'fabb-or-flabby?' scrutiny I so feared would come into play.

Cut forward 4 years later, and on a Saturday night in the not too distant future, a group of 30 year old chicks will gather at an as-yet undisclosed Sydney nightspot to reunite and reminisce.

In days past when I was not as comfortable in my skin as I am at the moment, the mere concept of having to attend an occasion would have me breaking out in a cold sweat. Like so many chicks whose overflowing wardrobes simply never have anything to wear (let alone right for the event), for me it would mean one thing: shopping.
Don't get me wrong, I like shopping. But I love shopping for shoes, handbags, makeup, and accessories- they always fit!
Shopping for clothes?
Having to contend with pitying "are you sure you walked into the right store?" glances from puny little Hilton- wannabe shop assistants, fitting rooms that seem to get smaller in size and harsher in lighting, and the never-ending queues at Boost, is just far too much to contemplate.

Not to mention my apparent lack of ability to put together any outfit that doesn't involve jeans.
(I would just like to give a huge shout out to whoever decided that we could glam up a pair of jeans regardless of label or size with a hot pair of shoes, top and bling for a night out- yay for you whoever you are!)

Trinny and Susannah are no help, I am caught somewhere between hourglass and cello leaving me no freakin' idea when I walk into Forever New whether any of the ridiculously cute "hello I just fell off the runway and onto your Visa card bill" pieces could actually fit in the string-section.

Yes, Forever New, I am not ignorant of how you tease me so, with your flirtatious window displays and funky accessories, luring me in with my wishful thinking that we could work as a team, when in reality I would have to choose which one of my thighs could be frocked up to look like your models...

*breathe*

It seems to be a girl's birth-right to shop, and yet for me, trailing the stores for the perfect ensemble that would:
a) fit
b) appear effortlessly, up-to-the-minute fashionable and
c) not make me look either old (as my Mum would suggest) huge in the 'breastal' region, or reveal tuckshop arms,
would have been enough to send me retreating to my bed with a fake headache or made-up plans as to why Icouldn't possibly go after all.

(I must admit, this has been the case more often than I'd like to)

Now, thinking about my flight to Sydney (thanks to a nearly expired Virgin Blue credit voucher), staying in a posh hotel (as a treat to myself), spending the afternoon with my GHD and Bobbi Brown (thank you Mia Freedman!) and having a glammed-up chicks' night in the city really quite excites me!

I even trawled both Indro AND Chermside with [cautious] enthusiasm, feeling quite proud of myself that I could actually carry a range of tops into the fitting room at Portmans and have them fit!

I tortured myself yet again with a visit to Forever New (where a 16 year old, petite, Kimora-lookalike bouncer made me empty my entire handbag and half of Priceline within it to discover that my aluminium-free deodorant was the cause for me beeping rather embarassingly as I walked in and out of shops all over Brisbane for the last week), and even questioned the lady at Jacqui E as to whether or not my Mum would think this dress was too old.

And... success! I got myself a super-cute little one-shouldered cocktail number, as well as a rather spiffy black (I love black) Portman's top and sequinned shrug, which of course, I will pair up with hot shoes, bling.........

.............and a pair of jeans.

Shut up and put your money where your mouth is

2009-11-05T20:54:00.002+10:00

I went to ballet last night. I do ballet lessons at a fabulous school in Paddington. We soutenu, changemon, glissade, pas de chats and pirouette quite happily in a class of very mixed abilities and ages. I must be nuts really, throwing myself about like a hippopotamus out of Fantasia while the sweat drips off me in buckets, but I enjoy it.

I thought hanging around at work in the city for an extra 2 hours so I can nip up to Paddington for class before starting the trek home to the leafy acreage of the northwest would be worth it, as I might actually meet some friends.
Although noone is anywhere near what I'd call "rude", I can't decide whether or not they are "friendly.
My question is, are Brisbanites (or people in general for that matter) incredibly shy, withdrawn, or just so self absorbed noone can really bother?
Or maybe I'm so shy, withdrawn & self-absorbed that I can't make the first move?

While everyone is "friendly" to the extent that they smile at you occasionally in class, last night was the first time I actually conversed with someone.

I am yet to have someone say hello, let alone introduce themselves, and I can't quite yet work out whether anyone in this group actually know each other as there seem to be no cliques.

I have decided making friends with chicks is like being back on the meat market. Let me explain:
We exchange smiles from across the room.
We make smartass comments and make each other laugh with quips regarding the heat, the comfort of the industrial fan and shaking our heads in agreement that trying out a lift with the male dancer was totally unnecessary thankyou very much.
We think to ourselves: "I'm making progress here, maybe this will evolve into a 'see you next week!'"
But standing in the corner like cattle being herded up the race for branding while we take turns in leaping across the room, I overhear my two "friendly" co-quippers conversing happily regarding an upcoming event, and move in just enough to catch:
"...it starts at 5 with drinks and nibblies"
"Oh great! Thanks for that, that will be great fun!"

F***ing WHAT????? All that hard work, sweating, hippo-esque leaping and head shaking just to see someone else (who by the way probably has scores of friends knocking down her door) score the invitation!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

*sigh*
*breathe*

But before you write me off as an obsessive, overenthusiastic stalker type, fear not. I do have friends. Lots of them. 375 of them according to Facebook.
And in real life I have plenty of real ones.
But they don't live in Brisbane. While we do get to catch up some weekends, it's not like having friends nearby who you can catch up for coffee with, go see a movie, shop, have a BBQ and get invited to parties. Our friends have large social circles beyond our friendships, whereas we just have our friends scattered around and we migrate between, not really knowing any of our friends' friends. So how does one establish themselves within a social circle? In Brisbane it seems exceptionally hard.

Revelation:
It's not just me. Here I've been feeling sorry for myself thinking I am such a Nigel, but it turns out there are plenty of other chicks (my age too) who are just as bereaving as I am. http://mamamia.com.au/weblog/2009/11/when-making-friends-is-difficult.html

Apparently an epidemic of antisocial, TwitFacing bloggery is sweeping through the generations and consuming all shreds of friendliness and any ability to initiate conversation, drop your name and casually suggest a coffee to someone you might like to get to know.

And I for one have to admit my guilt. My 375 friends on facebook I now realise I have subconsciously compartmentalised into:
Poke regularly, poke occasionally, don't ever poke! Throw a sheep instead.
Post, comment, message, like, online chat.

When did friendships become so complicated and yet totally dehumanised? Am I so totally incapable of being friends with a person who I technically have known for 15 years that all I can do is insult them in Shakespearean translation or give them a cartoon fish for their aquarium
and yet when I run into them in Pacific Fair I pretend not to have seen them?
Man I even scare myself.

P.S Twitter is evil. It is just a way of showing you just how disinterested people really are in you when you are not a celebrity.

Get up n shake the glitter of ya clothes now

2009-11-04T21:23:00.003+10:00

So, many of you (although, judging by the insanely overwhelming number of comments I've received is quite possibly noone) are by now wondering, why bereaving island girl?
(Please note: no capitals....if there were capitals then people would forget to punctuate anyway and that shits me to tears)
Yes, anyway, why bereaving island girl?

Well I suppose I should give you some explanation as to why a young (as I am still totally in denial), ukulele-playing, tap/ballet dancing, photo-taking chick like myself would be bereaving in Briz Vegas..... but I warn you: don't get too excited.

I had a life once.
Three years ago, my WH (Wonderful Hubby) and I were married and bought our first home.
We had a lovely little house by a lovely little beach a bit further north. We walked on the beach. We cooked. We mowed the lawn. We lunched in our local by the water. We veged on weekends. We had wonderful friends who we entertained on our little back verandah with the salty ocean air wafting across our lawn. We had movies nights. We consumed seemingly endless bottle of beer, wine and spirits. We played poker. We played games. We had many, many, many laughs and precious moments.
Two years ago, our life turned upside down when WH's Dad took ill. While I won't go into details, let's just say my WH stepped up to the plate and quickly inherited (and all the associated joys and dramas wrapped up in a little parcel known as) : The Family Business.

So while I was catching my breath (you know; working full-time, living separated from my new WH just as we were trying to start a family, renovating our house, etc. usual stuff really) time (read: the elusive honeymoon period) magically/tragically disappeared. Taking with it my twenties, the ability to see my toes without holding my breath, and all last remaining post-bridal shreds of self-esteem, to which I was hanging on for grim death.

So we found ourselves with one house on the market (just as Guy Sebastian bought up the road, thanks Guy, we could have been friends) half our stuff in said house, half our stuff in a shipping container and us living out our honeymoon period at the Outlaws.

For 2 years now I have lived in this pretty city of Brissy. I have Riverfired, Riverstaged, Queen St Malled, Chermsided, GoMA'd, Speed Poet-ed and even Australian Idol Auditioned (let's not even GO there..... maybe when I have regained my strength), but I still wonder what Briz Vegas has to offer that is so much better than my old life which I still [occasionally] mourn.

The biggest factor in the concept of my bereavement is a simple one: friends.
Don't get me wrong, I have friends, we have friends; just not in Brisbane. And sorry people, but Brisbane is SOOOO boring (and actually kinda lonely *tear*) when you have only the people you work with and your Outlaws.

Don't despair readers, I'm not going to be dripping teary, hair-tearing, why-me, hoo-hah (great word, hoo-hah) all over these pages in hope of some sympathy, NOOO! I am going to make you work for my witty word wodgering.

I am open to suggestions. Fun, interesting, no-swingers, remember-I'm-married suggestions of how to go about seeking and attaining friends in this lovely city.
Don't let me down beeyatches.

(Did I mention we still live with the Outlaws? We do have a piece of Brisbane that is all our own, it just doesn't have a house on it yet. But it will. Soon.)

Waking up in [Briz-] Vegas

2009-11-03T22:19:00.000+10:00

That's whatchoo get for wakin up in Vegas........

Tonight I went to see Julie & Julia, which stirred in me the beast that has been lying dormant for the last 2 years, since I moved to the not-so-bright lights of [Briz-] Vegas.
The beast of Blogging.
So here it is, the stirred and now quite shaken-that I am actually going through with it- beast!
Now.... what to write about so that:
a) people might actually be inlined to read, and
b) not fall asleep drooling over their keyboards, and
c) come back and have another look!

I am 30. Totally in denial about that. Married. Childless. Currently houseless......and.....wait for it......
have been living in BrizVegas for over 2 YEARS..............with my IN-LAWS!!!!!!

Yep. You did read correctly. Now before y'all jump on the "OMG, how can you do that? How do you SURVIVE (read: do you have sex EVER?)? I SOOOOO couldn't do that!" Bandwagon, I am still alive..... still sane (depending on your definition), still married and still very much in love with my Wonderful Hubby (WH).

So, while at this point in time, all is not lost, as far as I'm concerned, I am NOT turning 30 for real until there has been some serious changes in my current living situation (read: dress size, actually having a house and hopefully becoming a perfect size 10 yummy-mummy).

Okay so I may have to scratch the size 10 bit but hey, you've gotta dream big right? In the words of the Absolutely Fabulous Eddie: "Inside me is a thin person just screaming to get out".

No I am not going to cook my way though 500 recipes, nor will I relay stories of my fabulous, stylish New York life complete with Manolos & Dior...... I also have no anecdotes on la vie à Paris.

So,I can hear you all tut-tutting and reaching for the back key an you are probably quite smart in doing so as my life is exceptionally ordinary. But I am going to continue writing nevertheless (what a great word) and hopefully someday you'll come back to visit and "listen" to my philosophical ramblings!
G'night!!!
xx