The start of my fertility journey…

In early  June, 2016, I had my first appointment booked in to see a fertility specialist. I didn’t do a whole lot of research, to be honest, other than checking Zoc Doc (great app for scheduling medical/dental appointments in the US) for one that was located close to my house and also took my insurance (for the Non-Americans reading this, finding a health practitioner that takes your insurance is a necessary thing).

Segue to the next part of my story, and I’m at Home Depot on 23rd Street (Manhattan) and there is a gentleman next to me struggling to scan his items at the self-serve check out. He tries maybe 7 or 8 times to swipe his items in front of the scanner before I can’t take it any more and I offer to help him. I scan his items, he pays, and we end up walking out of Home Depot together. Before you all think my story is going to go off on a tangent and I’m going to get pregnant having hot, passionate sex with a stranger from Home Depot, I’m sorry to disappoint. That didn’t happen. Not even in my wildest imagination. But this man and I did get talking.

He told me he was from Brazil. I told him I was from Australia. He told me he was a PA. I asked if he meant a Personal Assistant. He then explained to me that it was a “Physicians Assistant” and explained what a Physician’s Assistant was, given I had never heard of one before. He then told me he worked for the best fertility specialist in New York who could “make babies out of air”! I laughed and told him that maybe I should get the specialist’s number. My reasoning was that if things didn’t work out with the guy I had booked into see, I had a fall-back option with a doctor who could make babies out of air – which sounded pretty impressive to me! I asked for his doctor’s name and got my phone out to take the details…

….and…

Lo and behold! The same dude! So apparently, my fertility specialist was gonna make me a baby out of air..

I was excited!

Things people don’t talk about

So, I mentioned that I moved to New York for work. The leaving-Australia part was fun – I had party after party. I flew to see my dad, then my mum, my grandpa, then more friends. I partied, drank, ate, said goodbye and partied some more.

Before hitting New York, I flew to Hawaii for a few days with two girlfriends – to chill out after all the partying at home. We met another friend there and set about the mission of enjoying some cocktails, the beach, the sunshine and the rancho-relax times.

The second day in Hawaii, we had all eaten dinner and three of the four of us were on our way to partake in yet more alcohol at a less than salubrious establishment. I was about three cocktails down when I noticed a missed call from my dad’s next door neighbour. I called back.

“Um…” she said. “I don’t know how to tell you this. But your dad has died.”

“Oh. Right. Ok. I have to go.” (This was a very confused me – and this is exactly what I said.)

“I’m really sorry…” her voice trailed off as I hung up the phone.

I walked back into the bar and grabbed my bag, downed the rest of my drink and made to leave as my bewildered friends looked on. I looked at them and stated (in hindsight, extremely bluntly but also oh so calmly!) “my dad died. I have to go”.

Once outside (with my friends scrambling behind me), I called the neighbour back and she confirmed that no, it was not a joke, and yes, my beloved dad, who I had just spent a fab week with, had passed away the night before. It appeared to be a heart attack.

I have never, ever experienced what I experienced next – which was like being punched in the stomach without the pain. I felt the breath go out of me, I doubled over as if in pain and I heard a cry (that I didn’t realise was my own) come out of me. When people say “that’s when it hit me”, that is what they mean. It struck me. Hard.

The next 36 hours were spent trying to get back to Australia and down to where my dad had lived. The sadness and grief was overwhelming and tears came (uninvited) every 30-45 minutes. I had never experienced such a feeling of finality as this.

I got to dad’s home town and his house was as he’d left it. I had had to collect his house keys from the local police station and they warned me that they hadn’t cleaned the place up. I wasn’t sure what they had meant but getting inside, I saw the 20cm-in-diameter pool of blood where he had fallen after his heart attack/stroke/embolism (we know now it was a heart attack but didn’t know at the time). I guess it was some solace that the pool of blood was small indicating that my wonderful dadda was probably dead before he hit the floor.

The next thing was going to see his body. Having spoken to lots of people since my beautiful dad passed, there are mixed feelings on whether this was a good or bad thing. Let’s face it, anything to do with death is pretty f***ing awful, but for me, I think it may have given me some closure (eventually – certainly not right away). I went and saw my dad and his body was hard and cold – for some reason I hadn’t expected that. His nose had been broken in the fall and this hospital hadn’t cleaned the blood from his hair. It wasn’t as gruesome as it sounds but it was certainly as terrible. More tears. More heartbreak. I loved my dad so much.

A few days later I had to travel to Melbourne to the coroner to identify my dad’s body again. I hadn’t agreed to him being moved and wasn’t even notified before he was apparently sent on the two hour journey down to Melbourne. There were a number of f***-ups, to be honest, but I can honestly say that I couldn’t have cared less.

Eventually, the coroner released dad’s body. I organised a funeral and was given some good advice. “All you can do,” my dad’s best friend told me, “is to honour anyone who has passed.” And it’s true. All the crying in the world won’t bring them back (believe me, I cried enough to give it a red hot crack!), and there is really nothing else than making sure the funeral (or memorial, or whatever it is) does the person who has passed justice. My dad was quite religious so I organised a church service. I flew his favourite pastor down from his new parish. I tried to get the word out to everyone he knew.

A number of people came up to me at the wake and told me that my dad would have loved the funeral and the gathering afterwards. In fact, someone told me, the biggest shame was that he wasn’t there to enjoy it. That has given me a lot of comfort in the past 4 years. My dad would have loved to hear everyone talking about him and telling stories and tales of his antics.

For anyone else out there going through a rough time with grief after losing a parent, I promise it does get easier. It takes a long time and there is nothing you can do than get through it, but if you make sure you honour your parent when they pass, remember the love and wonderful times you shared, it really, really does get easier.

Friends around the world

One of my favourite things about traveling is that after the jet-lag wears off, the bags are unpacked and the cheap souvenirs have broken, the friends you have made overseas remain. And thanks to Facebook, Instagram, WhatsApp and the plethora of other easy ways to stay in touch, friendships these days are easier to maintain than ever.

I have friends from my very first stint living overseas – from when I was an exchange student living in Japan in 1994. You read that right people. 1994. Long before the interwebs and electronic mails ruled the world. This was a time when international phone calls were so expensive (and none of us had mobile phones to text message!) that I had to wait until a specific time every Sunday night to speak to my beloved family. And there were no emails! My dad wrote to me every day with an actual pen, on actual paper. I have kept all those letters. He would write a few lines each night and mail (snail mail!) me the letter once a week. Ahhhh, those were the days! One thing I’m grateful for, is that now, when my gorgeous dadda has left this world, I have all of those letters as a reminder of the effort he made to stay in touch with me. I love you dadda!

After coming home from Japan and going to university, my next stint overseas was a few years in the UK. Again, it was before mobile phones were sending texts everywhere, and email was something I had to find an internet cafe to send. Communication in the three years since Japan had become a bit easier, but still wasn’t as instant as it is today. And yet, again, I have maintained some of those fab friendships from then (1998) until now. And again, I am grateful. It’s nice to have people to enjoy reminiscing about my severely misspent youth with!

The next overseas living experience was my recent stay in America. By now the world is in our pockets. Meaning I have more friends that I can easily connect with whenever and wherever I want. Humans are pack animals. We need our friends. We thrive with relationships. We (usually) love our families. Having hearts beating around the world for us is a blessing. People don’t need to be in the next room anymore. Thank god for unlimited data!

My ask for everyone today: if you have a friend that you haven’t spoken to, messaged in a while or heard from, why not drop them a quick line to let them know you’re thinking of them. It takes a few seconds and will absolutely make their day. A virtual smile from one connected human to another. Have a fab day everyone!

Gambling

No, I’m not talking about our fab GRQ TAB idea this time.. this time I’m focussing on the more socially acceptable form of gambling, otherwise known as “trading stocks and shares”.

Now this is something I have only just started getting into.. and I’m not particularly bad at it, but I’m certainly not particularly good. And, I’m not gambling the house, people, so don’t fret. Actually, I don’t even own a house. But if I did, I wouldn’t be gambling it.

I work in a very male-dominated environment. The one girl in my team resigned two weeks ago and is sorely missed (*shout out to S), and there are a whole two other women on my floor (the Director’s EA and PA). So, I can tune out of discussions about sport, girls, beer and the gym like a pro (especially the gym bit, but I don’t think this is because I’m a girl, I think it’s because I’m chronically lazy and unfit!). I always, always, always listen though, when the talk turns to stocks and shares because I find these conversations verrrrry interesting. This is one area where no-one claims to know what they are doing. There is always a lot of “well, I’m not sure, but I’ve heard about this one,” and “yeah, they’ve gone up, but I don’t think they’ll go up anymore,” or “I’ve just lost on those so not sure what is happening.” A lot of unknowns and uncertainty.

But, as they say, you got to be in it to win it, and just as I make sure to buy a Lotto ticket when the winning jackpot is over a certain 7-figures, likewise, I figured, what’s the harm on putting a bit of money into some shares. I don’t really know which ones are good or bad, so won’t give out any tips – but watch this space – I could be a millionaire soon – I do have a ticket in tonight’s Lotto draw!

Turtle paradise

With winter being over, there is one member of our family who gets more excited than anyone else. More excited, and much more active.. Mate, the turtle has been making his presence felt – she is up every morning to greet K and I as we sluggishly make out way to the coffee, she is awake at night to come and sniff our feet (that cold little nose can give you the shock of your life when you’re not expecting it!) and she is hungry, hungry, hungry. Like ALL the time.

This morning, we were woken by a loud banging sound, and K, bless him, jumped out of bed, knowing exactly what the problem was. He had seen it/heard it before – Mate was trying to get out from under the TV cabinet and had got a cord caught on her shell. Unable to move forward, she was banging on the bottom of the cabinet until K went to the rescue!

After being pulled to safety, Mate strolled up the passageway (probably to catch a glimpse of my lover in the shower – it is a girl turtle after all – who can blame her!) and wandered around our bedroom. I came out to the loungeroom to start working, and when I went up to see what she was up to, I found her in the shower… And then the idea for turtle paradise struck.

I filled our big bath with lots of lots of water… making it twice as deep as Mate’s tank.. And in she went.. Turtle heaven. Mate could hardly contain her enthusiasm as she did some deep dives, swam a few laps underwater, blew some bubbles up (a sure sign of turtle happiness), and finally came up for air. It made my cold heart sing with joy to see her so happy!

My friend came over to visit and I wanted to show my newly emerged from hibernation, happy turtle off. Azza took one look at the bath and said to me, in a very disgusted tone, “No matter how much disinfectant or cleaner you use, I would never bath in that bath again.”

But what about the happy turtle? “Who cares?” said Azza, “it’s gross.”

Note to self: some people love the turtle. Other’s, not so much.

Incu = in queue

K emailed me some details about a sale for one of the shops he likes – Incu. A three-day, warehouse sale that started on Friday morning at 9am and went through to Sunday at 6pm.Would I go with him on Friday morning, his email said, “and buy him lots of stuff?” Hmmm.

It wasn’t so much the buying-him-stuff that I was worried about, more the getting-up-early, trawling-through-tables-of-discarded-clothes-in-desperate-search-of-a-bargain and dealing-with-hungry-wannabe-fashionistas-stuff that I wasn’t neccessarily keen on. I’m not, nor ever have been, a fashionista in even the most broadest sense of the word, and quite frankly, hanging out with people with bad haircuts, skinny jeans, black bras under white or grey tops, and lots of bangles (and of course the dubious accents they all seem to put on) starts to wear me down.

But I am in love. So I went. And I stood by the side of the road at 9 in the morning with all the other desperados trying to snag themselves a bargain. I knew I had a work call at 11 so there was no way I was going to be able to stay past 10.35 (unless I wanted to be late for the call I was running). We shuffled up the footpath, inch by inch as the minutes passed. Until finally we were third in line. It was 10.40. I got a glimpse of the inside of the warehouse, with the racks of clothes thrown together as throngs of people waded through them, before I had to go.

One hour and forty minutes of my life that I am never, ever going to get back. Longer than most of my conference calls that I am at least getting paid for. Standing on the street corner, feeling like a tight ar$e because I want to rifle through piles of clothes to get a bargain rather than pay full price. And I didn’t even buy anything.

That was my first and last warehouse sale. Unless it’s Liquor Land.

My other new sister-in-law

A little while ago, I had my mumma to stay for a week and while she was here, I took her out for breakfast with the girls. Now, my girls are all lovely and they frequent this blog quite often. One of them, who I will call GG (Gong Girl), is an absolute riot. She has about 50 million friends on facebook (ok, so that might be an over-exaggeration, but there is probably about a million), she is well-travelled, she loves a drink and she LURVES a laugh. Basically, she is a great chick.

And my ma definitely thought so too. To the point where even at breakfast, she was like “I think I should introduce you to my son.” (ie. my brother, who has been mentioned in this blog before – as the brogan!) GG was getting a bit excited. (Obviously, she was thinking, “hell, if he’s half as fabulous as his sister, he must be a bit of alright!”)

I didn’t have the heart to tell GG then and there at the breakfast table, that my brother was a born-again Christian. Or that he loves musicals. Or that he likes to pretend he’s a bogan. So, I let it pass.

And my little mumma was so excited too.

I didn’t have the heart to tell mum that the next day I sent GG an email, breaking to her the cold hard facts about the brogan. But GG is undeterred. She reckons she can rustle up a bit of Catholic doctrine from her school days. And she even says that they can have a mutual love and respect from all things Andrew Lloyd Webber. Who knows, it actually might be a match made in heaven.

So, GG, if you are going to be my new sister-in-law, welcome to the family. Just so you know, the crazy brother is one of the more normal of the bunch. Leave your sanity at the door, and come on it!

Laughs a plenty

K and I went and watched some comedy last night. A fundraiser was put on by lots of good comedians in support of a mutual friend of theirs who has been diagnosed with cancer. I am always up for a laugh, and even more so when it’s for a good cause.

But that wasn’t the funniest part. The funniest part was when I got home late from my personal training. This is the personal training that K has been so excited about (I quote: “the best present for a wedding ever!! A size 6 wife!”) and has been urging me to make the most of it (“but hill runs are SO good for you!”, or “you’ll feel better in a few weeks”, or, my personal favourite, “it’s good pain” – how the fark, can any pain be “good pain”?! But I’ll save this thought for another blog, at another time). Anyway, you get the idea.

So, I go to personal training, and sweat my guts out for the better part of an hour, head home, and the traffic is bad. I get home and K is sitting looking lost and forlorn saying, “We’re going to be late, and I’m hungry.” OK, I say, in my best superhero voice as I sprint to the bedroom to get changed (no time for showering – gross I know, but my man’s stomach needed saving and this blog is all about honesty). I am ready to go in 3 minutes. That is 180 seconds people. I was fast.

We race in the car over to the theatre that was having the comedy show, and traffic was even worse than it was back from PT. K was getting stressed. “I need to eat. You were late and I haven’t eaten. I’m going ot have to sit and starve for 2 hours now.”

I was trying hard to stifle the laughter (number 1 because it hurt my abs which had just received a beating, and number 2 because I can’t imagine it would have gone down too well). This was coming from the man who goes to the gym while I wait at home until 9pm to have dinner with him. It was 6.45 at night. Not exactly starvation hour, in my opinion.

Then we had the comedy of errors of finding a carpark. You know the one where every car in front of us finds a park just before we come across it. K was getting more and more frustrated. I don’t think his stomach was finding it funny.

Long story short, we found and slid into a car space that was about 10 metres away from our location. Not quite rockstar parking, but definitely rock star’s entourage parking. We got a Thai meal in as well so bellies were full. And then we laughed. Solidly for two hours. Akmal Saleh, Carl Barron, Tahir, Peter Helliar, Darren Sanders, Dave Williams and a chick whose name I don’t know but who was pretty hilarious – especially when she flopped her gut out – my belly wobbled in unison!

A good night had by all.

The family

Caught up with K’s family tonight – his cousin has a little bubba who just turned 2 so we all gathered at their place to celebrate his cars, trains and hot, red Wiggles pyjamas. He is a serious front-runner as the cutest kid ever!

K’s sister, the afore-mentioned SIL, and his cousin, who I also lurve, J, were talking about my blog. And SIL mentioned that she didn’t think the family had frequented it enough. J reminded her that she was in the entry of the sky-jump and SIL was happy. But I thought I would suck-up a little bit more by putting in an entry just for them. To say thanks.

Thanks for making me feel so welcome in your family. And thank you both so much for being lovely, fun and generally awesome. But most of all, thank you for putting K in his place often so that he is well aware that the chicks rule around here! It made my transition in as strong-opinionated, stubborn, domineering girlfie all the easier. Ha, ha, ha. Just kidding. Thank you both for being you.

OK, enough sucking up to the SIL and J. You both rock and I love you heaps. Thanks.

Taking the plunge..

K and his brother-in-law did a sky dive over the weekend. (And as an aside, what a glorious weekend it was here in Sydney town – 27 degrees, perfect weather – and we are still in winter!) I have to admit to being a little bit anxious. Ok, I was fretting. After all, my dearest loved one was taking it upon himself to step out of a plane at 15,000 feet connected by two little straps to some crazy nutbag who chooses to do it for a living – death is only a strong wind and a tail spin away.

You’ve probably realised by the tone of this blog entry that K didn’t actually die on Saturday afternoon as he fell from the sky, but I was pretty nervous about it. My main reason being that things have been going so well for us and you always read about couples who are just so in love, and so ridiculously happy, and so about to start the glorious rest of their lives together, that these tragic accidents happen to.. you know?

I made sure my hair and make-up were looking ok before we drove down to the ‘gong for K’s jump – after all, if K was going to die suddenly, I figured that I had better capitalise on it by launching my international journalism career by appearing on National 9 news speaking eloquently and articulately about the tragic event. He would want that.

K’s sister and I were both worried about our men taking the plunge (me more so than she, I think) so we anxiously watched them get into their jump suits and receive some brief instruction. We waited with them in the waiting room until the person in charge asked them to move outside. We both stood, expecting a reassuring hug, a tender kiss, or maybe a (tentatively last ever) “I love you” from the loves of our lives before they jumped out of a moving plane. But what did we get? That’s right. A big fat nada. K and his bro-in-law turned on their heels and walked away without even a cursory glance in our direction. Cheers dudes.

So K’s sister (who in future entries, I’ll refer to as SIL – for she’ll be my sister-in-law one day) and I took our place on a blanket in the sun and waited for the parachutes to open in the sky above. We gorged on cheese, and would have guzzled wine had I been drinking, until our men landed about 10 metres away from us. Safely, soundly. Thankfully.

My hair and make-up had all been for nothing.

Reporting in!

OMG!!! It’s been eons and eons… Anyhoo, so I have SOOOO much to blog here. For those ardent followers that have been reading my blog for a while now, you have all read about my various trials (many) and tribulations (fewer) on planet love – where the terrain is rocky and the journey strewn with hazards along the way – especially when you are walking the path with the dude I won’t even name – he who was abusive, foul and generally a not-nice guy.

Somewhere along the way, I parted ways with afore-mentioned inglourius basterd (or however they are mis-spelling it in the movies these days) and did some solo travels. Life was good, the view was clear, I was, like the Primal Scream song, movin’ on up.

And then I met K. Ahh K. Lovely, lovely K. And not only did the view get a whole lot better, but the journey much more fun – having someone who is as loose as me along for the ker-razy ride.

Anyway – enough with the bad travel analogy already.. my news is this:

K and I are engaged!!

Yay!! And life is good. The turtle is happy, the plants are all flowering in celebration, our friends and families are gorgeous. It doesn’t get much better than this!

Big love to all. And more soon. x

Not much to report at this end

As the title of this post says, I really don’t have much to report at this end. Work is pretty cruisey which is nice after 2 years of hell(-stra!). The man is fab and we are pathetically in lurve! The turtle is back and asides from having to inject her every few days with antibiotics (I never, ever, in my wildest dreams, thought that I would end upplaying nursemaid to a turtle!), she is fine and dandy. All in all, life is good. We even got a new pet to add to the mix – Selwyn, the Siamese fighting fish. He lives in an expensive Kosta Boda bowl that I couldn’t think of a better use for, and chances are, he won’t see out the fortnight.. I don’t have a good track record when it comes to piscean creatures! Actually, I don’t have that great a track record when it comes to turtles, but oh well.

Anyway, so it’s better when there’s dramz in the life, for blog-posting anyway.. Because there ain’t much to report on when life is fine.. Here’s hoping all are well out there and life is good. Sending big love from down under to wherever you all are in the world!

End of the holiday blog, and back to normal rambling..

I didn’t get too far with writing about my holiday, did I?

Oh well. A few concerned onlookers have asked why I haven’t been writing.. and the truth is – life has been getting in the way. Things have been busy, busy, busy since getting back from my holidays (which was about 3 months ago). I have loads to write but will keep it concise for you now.. with hopefully (?) some elaboration in later posts..

The man. Yes. Cinderfarkenrella has a new love. And no, it’s not the bogan.. It’s a lovely boy I met at a bar at stupid o’clock in the morning after a good few hours of bevaraging imbibing. He thought i was hilarious when in actual fact I was drunk, and we have gone from strength to strength ever since. Life is good.

The job. Still doing nutso hours and pretty over it. The less said, the better, but let’s blame a certain large Aussie Telco for this blog not getting updated regularly. They kill me.

The flatmate-that-I-love. I still love her, even though she is not longer my flatmate. My boy (let’s call him “K”) thinks we might be lesbians, only because we hang out so much. And we might be. Who’s telling? Heh, heh. JOKES!

Mate the turtle – is still being the best thing ever. He rocks. Everyone needs a turtle as a pet.

Cars – well, here is an update.. I got rid of the car I had with the stupid ex – that was after the blardy thing decided to blow a tyre about 150KMs out of Melbournio on the Hume Highway at 10.30 at night. Of course, I had been on the phone so had no battery with which to call the RACV to come and rescue me. After a bit of a “toughen up sunshine” inwardly-directed pep talk, I got down to changing the fricken tyre (in the dark, on the side of the highway, on my own – the shizzle B-grade horror movies are made of!), but I tell you, that was the last straw.. I was determined to get rid of that car the next day, even if it meant throwing it into the cap of some beggar on the street. It’s day was numbered. And, as the universe always comes through for me, the next day, when I took my car to get the tyre changed, someone, I kid you not, offered to buy the car off me. I was like – what?!?!? So, yup – sold the car to some vehicle broker who happened to be at Beurepaires Tyres. And that night – the Chiko roll mobile went to a lovely couple who came to inspect/buy it.. So the next day. I bought myself the convertible I have wanted for a while. I just like being able to say I’ve been driving around topless!

Anyway, I think that that is enough of an update for today. Big love to all and thanks for always checking back. Will write again real soon! x x

Facebook follies

My oft-mentioned friend asked me to check her facebook profile the other day, so I did. And noticed her status said “D* is thanking her lucky stars she has such an awsome boyfriend! If he was half as good as he is she would still be getting spoilt!” (* Not her real name!). Two things struck me. Firstly, that it looked like something her boyfriend would write, and secondly, that if it was, he can’t spell awEsome. But I digress.

D and I had a giggle and then she asked me to check it again.. which I did. And this time it read “D suggests her boyfriend consider investigating precisely what an ‘awsome boyfriend’ may constitute, prior to next updating her profile status for her!!!!” Which I thought was humourous, succinct and to the point.

Later, she made a further update: “D thinks her boyfriend’s definitions may well be turbid – there’s nothing in the dictionary under awesome relating to he, and she knows not of being spoilt!”. Again, I was laughing.. until she removed it completely. When I questioned her on it, she said, she had had a few messages asking somethig along the lines of “trouble in paradise?”

So people were checking her profile, or seeing her status updates, and thinking the worst? That was even funnier. It was tongue-in-cheek people! I found it all mildly amusing. But mainly because of my own experiences on facebook (mentioned in previous emails – when my loser ex decided to tell all of our mutual friends (and in doing so, me at the same time) that he was now single – when he begged me back as his friend, I politely declined).

I think there is a lesson in this for all of us, don’t you? Facebook is like a washing line, where all of your neighbours, and the world, can see.  Dirty laundry, humourous or not, get seen by all!

It’s all happening at the zoo..

… I do believe it. I do believe it’s true. (It’s a  Simon and Garfunkel song people! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NGykXOamGqE& – Azza G – check it out!). So spent a Saturday night in Sydders with the fabuloose Azza – a very good friend who never fails to amaze me with his acts of randomness.. and this weekend was no exception – but was it the fact that he was watching some farked up movie about incest, murder and other wierdness, or was it that he announced that he had purchased a year long pass to the Taronga Zoo. Only you darls. Only you.

So we traipsed to the zoo on the Sunday. The weather was amazing and Sydney turned it on! We were walking around, taking in the sights (the animals AND the harbour) and enjoying the sunshine. It was gorgeous! We also (Az made us) watched the bird show, we tried to get to the seal show (a few times – who knew it was so popular), and we rode the cable car. Was hilarious.

But most hilarious of all was the two of us, well-rested and unburdened, watching the streams of parents carrying screaming toddlers, wiping snotty-nosed children, begging their darlings to please eat what they were given instead of what they had decided they wanted and arguing with each other over who was pushing the pram/carrying the bags of necessary child-paraphenalia/buying the drinks/carrying the baby. It was kinda fun. Rock on school holidays!

Back to it

Has been a while, and for those of you who read this and/or know me, and know that I am a big drinker, let me just say – this one was mammoth. Previous hangovers have all paled in comparison to the mega-uber-super hangover I sustained after my best friends wedding. Obviously I wasn’t a bridesmaids – bridesmaids are demure and lovely and don’t get drunked, while guests (such as my good self) obliterate themselves and their livers in the quest for total annihilition/inebriation. This one took the cake. It was so bad that I think it was only by day 4 that I was finally, thankfully, eventually coming good.

And then I called glittergirl.. And on the weekend, while I was skulling champers and ouzo (my bestie is Greek, her dad loves the ouzo!), and kicking my heels up with a fab “oopa!” as I danced like Zorba himself, she was running some 150-km-31-hour-through-the-bush-at-midnight-kayaking-through-mangroves-with-leeches-thing called a geochallenge. And surprise, surprise, it took her about 4 days to recover as well. So which one had more fun, I guess is the question.. as in, which one was worth spending 4 days in a dazed and confused state, not wanting to get out of bed, but having too much of the horrors to be able to sleep? Hmmm, it’s certainly a tough one.

I was just glad when the now ex-flatmate-that-I-love came over this evening on her way to IKEA for home furnishings and brought with her a cask of Yalumba’s finest. It meant she was on the mend as well. And a few glasses have made me feel better – maybe that was what my body was crying out for these last few days..

Anyway – congrats to M and C – big love to both of you – A stunning bride and a gorgeous groom. My camera was a casualty on the night, but I still have a few amazing pics. Thanks for a great day. It was well and truly worth 4 days of my life. x x

Busy-sick-over-it

Hi gang! Thanks so much to those of you who keep checking back even though I have been slack and not written regularly for a couple of weeks now. Singapore took it out of me and work has been hectic- I have had some rotten cough for weeks (verrry attractive, let me tell you! Actually, the cough is so bad that the other day a lady from work suggested I go to a doctor.. When I told her I had already been three times, she said, “maybe you need.. a.. um.. specialist.”

When I questioned why, she said, “i don’t want to scare you sweetie, (always a bad sign) but it might be lung cancer! You smoke heavily, no?”

No. Actually I don’t. Nor have I ever smoked in my life. But thanks for the words of advice.. and thanks for not wanting to scare me. Appreciate it. Cough, cough.

Anyway, the point of the blog was to say thanks to everyone for checking back – especially Pia who not only checks back regularly.. but then sends me messages asking me why I haven’t written. Thanks love!

Sing-sing again!

In Singapore for a work event and it has been a productive although tiring week. We’ve been locked in a room for 10 hours a day nutting out a few finer points of what our business unit does, how we interact wtih others, etc, etc.. the niceties of it all, shall I say. Anyway.. so, we got to yesterday, the final day of the proceedings and I think everyone was looking a little haggard – myself even more than the rest of the group. The last time I was in Singapore, I was with my friend D, and she and I attempted to try every beauty treatment we could (with varying reults – see previous blog entry). But I had discovered one she hadn’t tried… And here it is:

Yes folks, they are little fish.. Little fish that gnaw away at the dead skin cells on your feet and legs.. It sounds a bit um.. gross!  but I have to say it is actually a really lovely tingly sensation as they nibble away at your limbs. Check out garra rufa at Wikipedia: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Doctor_fish

D wasn’t impressed when I got to try something she hadn’t and I think she’s booking her flight to Singsing now to get onboard!

My favourite part of the trip was sitting in Raffles drinking Singapore slings with a very good friend of my ex-loved one, who is now a good friend of mine – was great to see him, and know that I am still loved by the loser’s mates – the best revenge. Big love and fish nibbles to all.

Back door bandits

No, not half as bad as the title suggests..

A couple of entries ago I wrote of my flatmate and i being a bit fabu-loose and heading to Revolver for some shenanigans. Well, we went there again on Saturday night and having discovered the secret back entrance on our previous venture here, we decided to forego the cover charge on the front door, in favour of mischeif – and being the very mature 31 and 33 year olds we are, we snuck in the back way. I don’t know how we got in, as the place was crawling with bouncers, but we did, and as they say, that is all that counts.

Our day actually started much more respectfully.. and that was at 1pm that afternoon when we went to a very nice restaurant (called Orange on Chapel Street) and drank red wine in front of a blazing fire. It was warm, cosy and delightful. I then had to attend a 2 hour engagement party in the early evening and when everyone left the venue, I called up the flatmate to get her to come to help my polish off the remaining bottles of champers – and let me tell you, there was a few.

There was another establishment between said-engagement party venue and Revolting but I won’t go into details.. except to say thank god for my camera – we needed a refresher the next morning on what had gone on.. and this was the most enlightening photo:

Yes, my friends, that is the flatmate-that-I-love, with a horses head on, kissing a boy with..um, the rest of the horses outfit. What a classy lady! But nowhere near as classy as the gorilla or the tiger in the background!

Whatevs slocos.

My lovely friend D, who I travel with quite often, and lurve most of the time (*this story pretty much makes up the rest of the time when I don’t lurve her so much) rang me the other day to tell me that she was coming to visit me down here in Mexico Melbourne. I was very, very excited until she told me she was coming on the weekend of October 11-12. I had already discussed that weekend this week – with my Dad, who had wanted to come down and walk the 5km walk as part of the Melbourne marathon.  I mentioned to her that he would be down, and why. She giggled.

“Well,” she said, “you’ll be impressed, I’m bringing N and glittergirl with me.” And as soon as she said glitter girl, I knew.

“I’M NOT RUNNING!” I said –  getting it in quick before she could even think about broaching the subject.

“Come on,” my friend coaxed. “It will be fun.”

Fun? Running ’til I’m out of breath, my large mammary glands bouncing all over the place causing pain, my body aching during and for days after the event because of my complete lack of fitness and thin, lithe active people looking pitifully at me as I slouch along the road with the same landspeed as a three-toed sloth at the end of the run. Not my idea of fun. At all.

So, like the 5 year old I am, I rang glittergirl. To dob on D for trying to get me to do something that would only be negative to my life. And she assured me that she had tried to convince D that I wouldn’t be up for it – god bless her cotton socks.

Anyway. So in the end, i answered all of their emails with my short, succint message, that I thought captured the spirit of my enthusiasm. “Whatevs team. Whatevs.”

And so we got the name “Team Whatevs”

Until glittergirl told us that she was in a team (for another event) called “Frorets”. This, imaginatively, is short for “frolicking retards” – coined by her hubby – very farken funny indeed, more so if you actually knew glittergirl. And I like it so much that we are now called the “Whatevs slocos” – sloco being short for “slow coaches”.

So, if you happen to be at the Melbourne Marathon and you see an overweight girl clutching her chest as she has a heart attack, crawling towards the finish line (probably the 10km, but the result will be the same!), give her a shout and yell “Whatevs slocos!” – it will be me, and I will appreciate the support. I sure as hell don’t get it from my good friends.