Looking Through The Window

Were you to peer through my window tonight, you would find what you might think is me.

You would see a dark haired girl, tapping on a laptop, in a perfect white room, perfectly coordinated, with a perfect grey poodle curled up by her side. You might notice that though steam lingers in the bathroom from a shower, this girl has perfect hair, with perfect make up re-applied as she sits in her perfect world.

You might think what a pretty picture it makes, you might think how easy her life must be.

You might even wish you were she.

You might want to step inside through the glass and pause for a moment amongst the calm, as you admire the photos, perfume bottles and girly things she has arranged perfectly around the room... like she is waiting for an interiors magazine to come along and photograph it.

Note the pale pink chiffon scarf draping from the door handle of the white wardrobe. Note that it matches the multiple rose pattern cushions scattered on the white embossed quilt, the throw rug draped casually just so, to match the runner on the tallboy and the tassled throw along the wooden blanket box that matches the rest of her furniture.

You might think she is perfect herself.

If you were to look closer though you might notice the things you missed as you first admired the view.

You would see the half empty wine glass smudged with lipgloss next to her on the bedside box. You would see the open packet of sleeping pills hiding in the drawer. You would see the bottle of wine on the floor, that she wants to drink so she can forget that she isn’t the girl you first saw as you looked in.

You might see her mind struggle as she picks the bottle up, and places it gently down again, considering her every move as she breaks from her typing. Weighing up her options.

If you look even closer, you will see that tears have already slightly marred her make up, and you would see another ready to fall and make its track down her face. You would see balled up tissues peeking out from under the pillow, from the cry she thought no one would notice earlier.

And as you pick up on these things, you might start feeling someething for her. Pity, sadness, sympathy,anger. You could feel anything...or nothing at all.

You might then start to think that not everything is as you thought, and that maybe she isn’t perfect after all.

You would be right.

My Kind Of Love Song

Since I posted about Iris Dement a few entries back, I've keep hearing "what the hell were you talking about?" (although come to think of it, I keep hearing that anyway....I think I see a pattern forming here)

So I was thinking about what to give you. (no smart comments please)

I could have given you the sentimental "Our Town" (which hit it big commercially for a while there when it was featured as the very last song on the very last episode of Northern Exposure....I think I just showed my age then by the way)

Or I could have given you the sad and haunting "No Time To Cry", which makes me tear up everytime I hear it.

But...NUP! I give you this is instead, my favourite love song.

Why do I like it? It's quirky, it's offbeat, it's completly left of centre. But its love.

I suppose the song reflects that love isn't always chocolates and flowers and warbling Celine Dion songs.

This song....this song is me.

I Come From a Land Downunder...

Happy Australia Day Maaaaaaaaate!!!

Hope you ate lamb on the BBQ, proudly waved the flag and enjoyed a beer in the sun. Most of all, I hope you enjoyed your Australia Day more than I did, which ended in a trip to RPA (Royal Prince Alfred Hospital for the non Sydney dwellers) for a seven hour stint and a drink spiking incident. (the low lives who did it are definitely UN-AUSTRALIAN in my book)

For once though, I’m not only lost for words, but I have no wish to share that section of the evening. So I’ll focus on the good bits for you instead!

The Weather: I love summer, I love the sun, and I loved the fact it was hot for aussie day and shorts and thongs were more than ample coverage to keep everyone warm, even well into the evening. (times like that I realize why I could never live in any country where thongs are not standard and acceptable footwear)

The View: For the very first time I spent the day in Sydney near the harbour. Now this news may startle some amongst you, but what can I say...as one of this great countries biggest country music fans I only ever spend Australia Day in Tamworth (which for the uninitiated is part of the Country Music Festival – laugh all you want by the way. You develop thick sing as a country fan...And no Kasey Chambers doesn’t sound like a cat with its tail being stepped on! Well maybe she does, but her lyrics make up for it okay?)

Due to circumstances beyond my control however (allright, I just can’t budget properly) I had to remain fairly local. Sydney was the choice to watch the tall ships and view the fireworks. The Harbour put on a show and look superb, and the Opera House (which, just to be different I actually usually find just a big, weird, funny looking white building) looked picture perfect in the sunshine.

The Company: An assorted group of friends and acquaintances, including the much loved Pearla, a fellow co-hort in most of my shenanigans and soon to be departing the shores (you can read about her here http://lifesnotalwaysbeautiful.blogspot.com/2007/12/one-about-pearla.html ) Pearla is a fellow fan of Australia Day and all things aussie, and is still coming to terms with the fact she will be OS when Anzac day arrives this year. (like the good friend I am, I have promised to contact her – because everyone knows her mobile phone is going to work in the wilds of Indonesia – on the great day itself to update her on the rum intake and the state of play of two up this year)

So that was Australia Day. I felt proud to be Australian and felt full of love for the aussies in it, especially when I met a group of Scottish ( or were they Irish? They had an accent of some sort anyway) travellers who had arrived six months ago and promptly fallen in love with Australia and her inhabitants. The lifestyle, the weather, the outdoor music events, the aussies, the beaches and scenery…..and they hadn’t even made it out of NSW yet!

And then of course, there was sadly the rest of the night...which we won’t even discuss.

I know, surprised aren’t you? I’m usually happy to share but maybe it’s all just a bit too painful yet, and besides of which the story isn’t mine alone.

Speaking of words (we weren’t but I’m running this show!) I read this afternoon that we speak approx 8000 words a day, up to 56 000 a week and around 3 BILLION words a year. Just a bit of useless trivia for you, I discovered this as I was reading a book for work

I can’t believe actually they have given me something which is encouraging me to talk even more either – as the chapter itself was all about making our 8000 words count. I skipped the rest of the chapter though, as I don’t need a book to point out that I’m probably double the average and say around 12,000 a day, most of it meaningless dribble no good to anyone. (I’m still deciding what possessed them to arm me with this information).

Anyway, so there I am reading my book for work, whilst waiting for the exit mould in the bathroom to do its stuff.

Did you get that?

Reading for work, waiting for the exit mould to set.

All on a public holiday, when by rights I should be at a BBQ quaffing a chardy in the sun and generally making a mess of myself...not having a cleaning frenzy. If the majority of this blog hadn’t already led you to believe I possibly need my head read, the sentence above ought to confirm it for you.

Its bloody Un-Australian is what it is!!!!

So I’ve stopped now, and decided a brief blog entry was in order, (Okay I fib, I did attend to the exit mould in the interim and the bathroom is looking every bit as sparkling as the Opera House did on Saturday now)

Having nothing to say for once though my eyes ventured back to the book and to the communication chapter (cause clearly, I’m crap at it) and I started reading about ‘thinking before you speak’.

Okay, so I skipped that chapter too…….
(I’m really ripping through this workbook, my boss is going to be wrapped with me)

Next up came a few paragraphs about speaking slower than usual to get your point across.

At this point I threw the book across the room. Useless tripe.

I’m in sales, I have boobs to get my point across. (just joking esteemed colleagues)

Anyway, thats all of the estimated 8000 words a day you are getting from me for the moment, as I'm off to read the section on “treat everyone with the same courtesy” (clearly this author hasn’t met some of the people we work with on a day to day basis).

I’d love to leave you with the lyrics to a land downunder to celebrate this Australia Day entry, but they make no sense to me at all and I only really remember that someone gets a vegemite sandwich.

So I’ll leave you with some words from our new Australian Of The Year – Lee Kernaghan.

Its a song about a song.. the song that most people refer to as our unoffical anthem - Waltzing Matilda.

I tumbled into life, out on the western line.

A simple gathering of melody and rhyme

Written down and tweaked a bit, ink pen on manuscript

Little town, little song, looking for somewhere to belong
Sat in a bureau draw, pulled out and then performed

For a governor and mayor

A law clerk scratched me down, next morning we left town

He was humming as we rode and I wondered where we’d go

CHORUS
On and on round and round, far and wide am I bound

I’m a gift, I’m a drifter always wandering free

On and on like the wind, I am home, I am friend

And you’ll always be as close as a whisper to me

Some shearers heading south; sang me to Jackie Howe

First time he ever shore a hundred in a day

I rode the silver rails, I crossed the mountain trails

They’d sing my song from the Cape to Moreton Bay

And then send me on my way

CHORUS

As Private Monroe gently sang, I floated over no man’s land

I’ve seen the tears of countless lonely sons

I’ve crossed the raging seas,

Wound up in symphonies,

Was there in victories,

Been sung on bended knees...

Im just some notes and verse

Nothing more and nothing less

You’ll find me at the stock camp as they’re passing out the rum

Out near where I’m from

On and on round and round, far and wide am I bound

I’m a gift, I’m a drifter always wandering free

On and on like the wind, I am home I am friend

And you’ll always be as close as a whisper to me
On and on with this swag and an old tucker bag....

Singing who’ll come a Waltzing Matilda with me

If I'd Have Only Known...

As the saying goes, life doesn't come with an instruction book.

Clearly if it did, there would be a number of things in it that pointed out the obvious 'fuck up and failures' that you should avoid throughout your life is you wish to get out unscathed, unhurt, unruffled and aghhh...sober. (pause while I refill my glass please)

So many things I wish I had known.

Things like, never throw out your clothing as at some stage they will be back in style - even the flouro gear if you believe Supre. (I would like to add though, as a rule of thumb...if you were young enough to wear it the first time round, chances are you are going to be too old to wear it on its revival)

Just on a side note on Supre, I'm not known to frequent this store (as we known from my love of cask wine, clearly Im a high quality girl) but recently I ventured in on the lure of cheap little $10 shorts. Long story short, was rather dismayed to find I had to go up to a medium in the shorts. Worse followed.....spying a fetching crochet type bikini (and surprisingly, that wasnt said sarcastically) I took it along for the ride to the change room. Folks, at five foot nine and weighing some 59 kilos I was a LARGE. But wait theres more, out come the steak knives, and with the steak knife twisting in my heart I then proceeded to discover I was an EXTRA LARGE in the fitted t-shirt I was eyeing of.

EXTRA LARGE.

Want me to say it again? Five foot nine (and a bit) 59 or so kilos (depending how bad my cravings for McDonalds Apple Pies have been that week) and I was an EXTRA LARGE. Yeah, Supre sure knows how to make a girl feel good.

Anywyay, I digress, (as I often do) where was I? Oh yes, things I wish I had known.

I wish I had known that all those men I have cried over weren't worth it. (because goodness knows, there always seem to be some other looser happy to treat me with disrespect to take their place)

I wish I had known that spending your youth wishing you would put on weight was wrong.....for once the universe listened and I cant scoff hot dogs for breakfast, lunch and dinner like the old days. Why the hell did I cry when people nicknamed me greyhound?

If I had only known that balls don't really turn blue (I can't believe I ever fell for that one either)
....and if I had only known that the last tequila is never going to be a good idea.

For the good of the future generation, in tommorows post I'm going to start writing a 'lifes little instruction book' to help them get by. Feel free to make suggestions.

For now though, I must run. Its 8.22pm and I'm at work drinking wine and have just had a really lovely chat with security about why I am still here and why hasn't anyone set the alarm code yet. I think I really bonded with them though, but sadly it they couldn't make it over for a drink.

It then took me approximatley (you try spell that sober for anyone laughing) twenty minutes of phone time to trawl though my emails and folders looking for a security password I didn't realise we had. I thought it was just a code, didn't know I needed a word as well!

If I'd have only known.

PS Here is the LARGE bikini.

(and though you may be wondering, now is not the time to try to explain what my medal was for)

It's Summertime

Now I've mentioned below I love summer...........and I mean I REALLY REALLY love summer. This song brought a smile to my face the first time I heard it, and Ive played it on cold days just to remember summer is a'coming and to hang in there. The fact its sung by Kenny Chesney (another of my lusted after men - hard to keep up I know) is a huge bonus to me.

Knowing the Tamworth Country Music Festival is currently on (I can't believe its still going on without me actually, couldn't they have halted it till my arrival???) I'm feeling summery and ready to live life and love the music. This song makes me think of every great music festival or event I've ever attended.

Apart from my yearning to go to Mexico (fueled partly by the thought of running into Kenny and the thought of him being shirtless at the time) I've never really had a desire to go O/S, but boy, do these yankies treat their country singers good, the concerts look phenononmel ....um phenonumel....just bloody great, and its enough to give me the urge to see it all some day.

Summertime..... I just can't get enough of it. As for the song itself, there's something fundamentally good about lyrics that mention heat, swimming, wine, old fords and tattoos all in the one song. Enjoy.......

It's All About Me

Okay folks, be thankful I didn’t end up posting following the cranky pants episode below. I did consider it, but everything came out so bloody angry sounding I couldn’t do it to you all (okay, all ten of my faithful followers – the cheque is in the mail by the way).

Because my brain is temporarily down (actually I’m trying to watch Americas Next Top Model as I type) I’d thought I’d fall back on the old “ALL ABOUT ME” list.

I’m actually excited to get started on it, because well, because it’s all about me (and don’t I love that).

A good friend of mine had posted a list (all about her of course, though I wish that one was all about me too...boom boom) on her blog last year, and I found it intriguing. I probably found out more about her in that one list than I had in the five years or so I have known her. I giggled at some, nodded my head in agreement at some, and was astounded at some (I can’t believe for instance, that TomKat don’t bother her. Because Tom Cruise really does seriously bother myself)

So I give you to…..the list of me. (I’m going to limit it here to 100, because I could waffle on about myself all day if no one steps in and puts a halt to it)

1. I have been a member of every local library wherever I have lived. Due to moving frequently over the years, I now harbor a number of stolen library books as a result

2. When I was younger I used to have the nickname Olive Oil (think Popeye) due to being so skinny

3.Whenever I say my middle name, I get visions of Mr Squiggle in my head. (Miss Jane Miss Jane)

4. I have watched the movie In Her Shoes about 18 times now, and still cry each time

5.My most treasured possession is a gold plated horseshoe from my favourite mare I lost years ago

6.I’m a lapsed Catholic (or more like col-lapsed) but still believe in God and often pray

7.When I pray I hold nans rosary beads, like its some sort of direct line to heaven

8. I love music and generally go to sleep listening to it every night

9. I have two tattoos and four body piercings (six if you count the ears I guess)

10. I like the fact I look like I wouldn’t have any of the above

11. I have an ex boyfriend I call Donkey, from the Shrek Movie

12. He thinks this is a term of endearment.

13. It isn’t

14. I have been a bridesmaid five times

15. I found the last time the hardest day of my life, and I don’t know if all the words in the dictionary could ever help me explain why

16. I once tried to sponsor a child, but gave up when I learnt I couldn’t sponsor an aboriginal child

17. Clearly, I believe charity begins at home

18. Sometimes I like to antagonize mothers in the grocery line by deliberately not smiling at their children

19. Occasionally the cute ones almost make me cave in

20. Despite this, I still don’t want children on my own

21. I know I’m thought of as selfish because of this by some

22. My expectations of people are high, and I am frequently disappointed by them as a result

23. I often describe myself as a ‘free range’ dancer

24. If I ever find a man I’m happy to dance with, I think he will be the one for me

25. I have a secret love of Iris DeMents music, even if others describe her as Iris De-mented

26. I tend to be very black and white, I love or I hate, I’m down or I’m up and I have very little grey area

27. I hate to cry in public, and just hate to cry. For years my family referred to me as hard hearted Hannah because of it

28. I love to watch bad reality TV

29. I love Patsy Cline music and always request “Crazy”, even from bands or singers who will clearly have no idea what I’m talking about

30.Horses comfort me. There is something about their smell and presence I think is good for my soul

31. I’m a believer in fate. And think everything happens for a reason.

32. I have learnt something from every cracked or broken heart...except one

33. I have been described as quirky and interesting

34. I sometimes fear this is a nicer way of saying kooky and strange

35. My favorite ice cream is rum and raison

36. I only discovered in the last two years that I love olives

37. I once took fourteen mysendol in one night

38. I’m now immensely glad I woke up

39. I’m not sure I wanted to at the time

40. I’m the neatest person I know and could no more go to work with the bed unmade or the dishes undone anymore than I could fly to the moon

41. Even if the moon was a viable holiday option I still wouldn’t go there

42. Flying scares me, not the crashing. Just the fact I’m not on heaven or not on earth, I feel like I’m floating around the atmosphere and that unhinges me

43. I love summer and the heat and hate winter.

44. No I mean I really, really hate winter!

45. I prefer fords over holdens (hands down)

46. I’m possibly the worlds worst guitar player

47. I’m eternally disappointed music doesn’t come naturally to me

48. I think love makes the world go around. All kinds though, not just the romantic type

49. I don’t believe in ‘The One’

50. It would take more than this one entry to explain my reasoning behind the above though

51. I do however believe in soul mates

52. I think we get more than one soul mate, and they can come in all different forms

53. Animals rock my world and I love to have them around me

54. There may well be one thing I will die wondering about

55.I don’t believe in regrets, cause I think everything we do shapes us somehow and makes us who we are

56. I don’t like Nicole Kidman, and will never refer to her as “Our Nic”

57. I would like to point out I disliked her before she hooked up with Keith

58.Its true I will never forgive her for that, even if I never had a chance with him myself

59. My wrists are my favorite body part

60. Okay I lied, my boobs are. I think they are fine, so do others, what can I say

61. I really do like my wrists though. And my little feet

62. Unless it happened when I was a kid and I don’t recall it, I’ve never had short hair

63. I had a small freak out last year when I had a hair cut whilst drunk and realized the next day that it was above my bra strap

64. It was the first time in years it wasn’t long enough to cover my nipples when naked

65. I’m laughing at the fact my brother will be cringing when he reads the above

66. I am glad to report my hair is now once again long enough for nipple coverage

67. When I swim in the ocean I don’t like my feet touching the bottom

68. My hair is naturally ringlet type curls and I often wonder how I used to function without the hair straightener

69. I’m still scared of the dark and can’t be in complete darkness

70. I think men should have short hair and women should have long hair

71. I do find myself making exceptions for the odd offbeat dreadlocked type though

72. I find something attractive about a free spirited man with bongo drums, and a hot pair of arms to go with it

73. Daisies have been and probably always will be my favourite flower

74. I eat a lot of meat, and believe I could never be a vegetarian

75. I love reading trashy Jilly Cooper novels, especially the horsey ones

76. Little Women however is my favourite book ever

77. When I read it now I feel like I am twelve and reading it for the first time again

78. I re-write it my head these days and always have Jo and Laurie together, and firmly believe this would be a better ending

79. I believe I know the cure to hiccups

80. I love evaporated milk on my porridge in winter

81. If I had to choose anyone in the world to look like, it would be Megan Gale

82. Sometimes I feel like my nan is still around me

83. The thought comforts me

84. I’ve never smoked a cigarette

85. I still haven’t seen the Shrek Movie, only parts of it

86. I only ever paint my toenails and very rarely my fingernails

87. I prefer lipgloss over lipstick

88. I tape the CMC top 30 countdown every week

89. I dream at least twice a month my teeth are falling out

90. Dreams about snakes also frequent my sleep, they are generally large pythons hanging off me with their mouths around my feet

91. I will be embarrassed if a dream analyst finds this and tells me it represents lack of sex or something

92. Refer to above – it bloody well could be

93. I want to travel to Mexico one day, to drink tequila in the sand

94. Its important to me I see Australia first though

95. Even though I have held a licence, held down a mortgage and held down a job consistently for years, I still can’t quite believe I’m a grown up

96. I sing loudly and badly when I drive

97. I have 56 pairs of knickers and think it’s a fetish of mine

98. I’m a consistent reader of my horoscope and think I’m a typical cancerian

99. I cant believe I got to number 99 on the list and still have a stack of things I could add

100.I love to have a drink (Bet you didn’t guess that one!)

So there you go. Some tit bits (yet again, I query who penned that phrase... What the hell is a bit of a tit when it’s at home?) about yours truly to ponder over. Who knows what you are thinking, and what your impressions of me now are? I’m pretty stoked to have a legitimate hundred reasons to talk about myself though.

PS number 92 is sadly true, although at least I have now rectified the “oh my goodness I haven’t slept with someone all year situation” which I seem to do the first half of every new year (I believe men have this thought within the first hour of every new year) There are times when I am truly thankful I am on a friends with benefit deal with an ex who is normally half of Australia away and just happened to be on a visit. (Although I prefer to think of it as a random act of kindness)

Once again, apologies to my brother, maybe one of his co-workers can warn him not to not read the last paragraph :-)

Who's Wearing Their Cranky Pants?

That would be me. I'm wearing my cranky pants and don't you dare disagree with me!

See that dog above? That's a good representation of what I look like sitting at my desk at work right now. Okay, as we know (thanks to the below post) I don't have 'fur', but should you venture into my little nook of the office you will find yours truly with a very similar expression, and I'm likely to snap and snarl at you in the same way.

Having chose to detox this week (following the great two large pizzas and copious amounts of wine entry below) I was determined to not have a drink all week.

But what can I say, the office is driving me to it..... standy by for a drunken rave later on this evening. (If I haven't been sent to the pound by then)

Hair Removal Hell

Well after posting the 'Feels Like Home' entry below, I was feeling rather melancholy and blue so decided something needed to be done before you had yourself one rather depressing blog entry here instead of what you got.

Fueled by my cheap wine and thinking a treat was in order I decided Pizza was the obvious choice. There's my first mistake (actally, the cheap cask wine was probably my first mistake if the truth be told, the second being to sit and listen to sad songs whilst sharing wine time and choc chip muffins with the poodle, so by the time I got around to the pizza we were probably staring down the barrel of at least mistake number 3)

Anyway, pizza ordered. With the help of a coupon due to the 'extreme budgetting' I was attempting (coupon out of date, but I'm not known as being able to talk my way out of things for nothing.....scored two large pizzas at bargain price despite the deal being a month old) Come to think of it, seeing as I was doing 'extreme budgetting' I probably should have been doing wonderous things with marked down mince, but a domestic goddess I just wasn't feeling last night.

Of course, in my head I told myself two large pizzas and garlic bread should last me a good couple of days. So wasn't 'really' splurging if I got a few meals out of it.

There you go, another mistake.

I don't even know what number I'm up to.

The whole evening clearly just turns into one big mistake all around.

I ate the pizza pretty much in one sitting, though granted, the sitting was over an extended few hours. Two large pizzas. TWO. I know, I'm cringing too! They were thin and crispy base, if only that took away my guilt. Having managed to gain around 3 -4 kilos over christmas and new year I really should have known the pizza was a bad idea. I should also have known that I HAVE NO SELF CONTROL. Rule of thumb in my house is I can't actually let the bad food enter the premises. Once entered I loose my head and tend to eat it in one go. I can't help but wonder if I have an addictive personality, I rarely buy a block of chocolate for example, or packet of biscuits as once it's open it's goooooone with nothing but the wrapper, a few crumbs and a satisfied expression on my face left as the only evidence of what went on.

So there goes the pizza (and my quest for my previously flat stomach) and I sit there fretting over what I've done. As we know from here http://lifesnotalwaysbeautiful.blogspot.com/2007/11/great-weight-debate.html I'm sensitive about winging about my weight so quickly decided SOMETHING MUST BE DONE to get me out of this 'woe is me, Im feeling fat mood' (of course I feel fat I kept telling my stupid head.......I just ate two god dam LARGE pizzas, ie sixteen sliced of pepperoni and meatlovers bliss....was hardly going to feel like a Victoria's Secret model after that. But bah... my head is stupid at times and thinks the most unsatisfactory thoughts. I really despair of it)

Remembering the twenty bucks I had spent at some stage on some home salon wax I decided a bit of 'beautifying' would no doubt restore my mind to happiness. (I may have been feeling podgy, but I could at least feel podgy hair free) Now generally I have no fear of the beautician. I can chat my way through a brazillion and barely blink. Though I may not look like it, I harbour two tattoos and four body piercings and have been told on numerous occasions I have an excellent pain threshold (again, this alone must be worthy enough for another blog entry, as how I ended up that way is beyond me. I cry watching Man From Snowy River like the big girl that I am, but can walk into a body piercing place without even a drink to fortify me and feel nothing but a rush. Go figure)

Sculling more of my cheap cask wine I read the directions and thought was a breeze it would be. I was probably about two weeks overdue for a wax, but had been putting it off due to the Great Budget of 08. (I hated that budget before.....I really hate it now)

Heat the wax. Put on the powder (just like the professionals). Put on the wax, RIP. Yeah, not too bad, was merrily ripping away (in between wine glass refills) thinking how good was this. EASY! And I've saved money.......go me!!

Mentally high fiving myself I prepared for the..... how do we put it.... tender bits. I like to go all off you see. I'm a fan of smooth.

I could do this to myself, I really could (sculls drink again) At the beauticians she manages to do it in a few swift rips that hurt more than elsewhere and does at least make me pause in conversation while I intake my breath.

To do this to myself I can't describe the agony though. Maybe I didn't pull the um... 'area' tight enough. Maybe I didn't get the angle right (its a bit tricky around there, no wonder men practically need a GPS and road map to navigate) but OH MY LORDY. I know, I try not to take the big man above's name in vain, but I was praying for strength I tell you. The first rip was agony. I actually had a brief moment of panic as II realised I had happily slathered wax everywhere and couldn't actually get out of now ripping the rest off.

It took the remainder of the wine cask to get there.

I broke out in a cold sweat and cursed my blasted budget from here to the moon and back. I swore I would never do a home wax again. I wondered if I had actually removed bits of essential flesh at one stage. Yes, there was even blood. THIS CANNOT BE GOOD.

Finally it was done. I was a wreck. I felt like I'd been sent to war and come home wounded. I was bruised and battered. Just between you me and the gatepost, I was actually glad the area isn't actually being 'utilised to its full potential' currently as I think it's too tender to even contemplate right now.

Viewing the area (I know, I can't believe I wrote that either) it's not bad for a home job. I'm certainly smooth if nothing else. Shame about the slight shading of bruising. Was it worth the saving? NO. Especially if you consider I spent $12 in cask wine to do it, and about twenty on the home salon wax, and if I go to my beautician every four weeks its only forty dollars anyway for her to 'take it off'. And it barely hurts there compared to last nights agony.

Will I be attempting it again? NO. Although maybe its like childbirth and I'll have forgotten the experience in a few weeks? I'm actually only writing this blog to remind me what I went through should I ever be tempted to try a home job again.

So, I'm sorry to leave you with these bad mental visions. I will try dig up a cute picture shortly to get your mind of my um....slightly damaged area.

Just think of this post as a warning to you all.

Don't attempt home waxing, not a full on brazillion anyway.

Don't order two large pizzas for yourself, you'll probably only eat them all in one go and feel fat and foolish.

AND

Don't drink cheap cask wine. It makes you do bad bad things.

And now......your picture to get your mind off things. I'll leave you to draw your own conclusions.

Hairy Kitty

Smooth Pink Kitty

Feels Like Home

Okay.... so I'm not normally the romantic type.

But blame it on the cheap wine I'm drinking, blame it on the rain falling steadily outside, blame it on the fact that underneath it all, at heart I'm just a girl who sometimes wishes she was in love. I just can't get enough of this song.

A Muddy Dog

I know there are some of you that log onto this for their daily chuckle, and I’m usually more than happy to oblige. Being the funny one comes easy to me, and I often call this blog my free therapy. Even by rights when something shouldn’t be exactly amusing, it comes out that way and I read it back to myself and actually manage to cheer myself up when I see it in print.

But I’m a bit down tonight I’m afraid. This afternoon a friend of some 13 years passed away. That friend was Muddy, a border collie cross blue cattle dog that magically just ‘followed me home from work’ one day. Tonight, Muddy, the funny dog with the big smile is no more part of this world, but no doubt keeping those on the other side company with his wagging tail and sunny smile.

Muddy came to me by accident. I was doing a brief stint at a Veterinary Clinic when someone brought in a litter of pups. He was the unplanned result of a blue cattle dog having its wicked way with a sweet border collie and Muddy and his siblings were the result. Muddy from memory was the smallest of the litter, and resembled a border collie but for his blue speckled nose and paws. Despite the fact I lived some 40ks from work I still maintain he just ‘followed me home’. His fate rested in mums hands as I was still living at home at the time, but mum, like me, is a sucker for animals...Muddy stayed.

He didn’t take long to grow on us. Being border collie breeding he loved to be ‘doing’. While we lived on acreage it wasn’t a working farm so his main chore for the day, in which he excelled and looked forward to daily, was getting the chooks away for the night. We called this “chookin’ lookin’ and Muddy took great delight in this one big job he had. Till the day he died, as a retired overweight dog living the good life down the south coast with my also retired parents, Muddy still pricked his ears and got excited when you said ‘chookin’ lookin’, and would look frantically around the backyard like the chooks my soon appear and need his assistance.

In his youth Muddy was an energetic ball of fun. I recall the first time I took him to the vets for a check up, and her remarking that his had the best muscle tone of a pup his age she had seen. He didn’t stop much back then. If he wasn’t chewing toys, he was on the look out for chooks, accompanying us behind the horses during rides and generally getting in the way of things. He was also hands down the best childrens dog we have ever come across, ever. Considering his breeding this sometimes amazed me. I walked out once to find him on top of the concrete water tank with the kids. How did he get there? (actually how did all of them get there) One had pulled him up by his ears and the other pushed his legs from below. Didn’t worry Muddy though, he just loved to be part of the action. We have had the pleasure of many breeds of dogs over the years, but none have honestly been as trustworthy as he.

He also developed a strange love for my nephews slippery dip, and would amuse me for ages jumping up the ‘steps’ at the back and slide and jump his way down it. It achieved nothing really, but like a kid, he didn’t care, it was all in the doing!

When he was around about seven Muddy lost his other mate, my mums dog Mishka. It took him about four years before he even uttered a bark again after she went. We realized that the only time he had ever barked in his life was when Mishka did. He’d hear her and have a yap then shut up. I think half the time he had no idea what he was barking at, just that it must have been called for ‘cause the other dog was! After Mish went I think it was around four years before he uttered a bark again, and that was at a blue tongue lizard that took up residence in the backyard down the coast. Till yesterday when he left us, that lizard (or perhaps relatives of it) was still the only thing that made him have a woof. Clearly, a watch dog he wasn’t. Muddy would be more likely to lead someone to the door and come in and show them around had anyone tried breaking in.

Just last year mum rang me concerned Muddy was lonely and might need company. Not wanting to get another animal she suggested a concrete chook statue. Now, Muddy wasn’t the brightest crayon in the box, but I’m pretty sure he would have known the chook was concrete, besides of which he always liked his chooks moving anyway!

Fate stepped in as about that time I moved and wasn’t able to take my cat with me. Scarlet the Cat and Muddy the dog soon bonded, though as bossy cats often do, Scarlet could be seen sleeping in the dogs bed while Muddy slept on the concrete next to it. I don’t know how animal minds work, but I think they were close friends anyway in their own funny way and could often be founding together in the back yard.

I wasn’t really prepared for Muddy leaving us today. He had seen me through a lot over the years. He has celebrated countless family celebrations with us, and watched the grandkids grow up around him.

But tonight he was tired and decided it was time to go. I think he planned it you know. Muddy’s one big fear in life was storms. Mum had rang me an hour or two before with the news Muddy wasn’t well and in at the vet clinic. We worried about the storm on its way and how he wouldn’t like it.

He didn’t get to see that last storm, and I suppose in one way I’m grateful.. I like to think he simply closed his eyes and slept his way to a storm free heaven.

I have cried tears at work when I heard the news he had gone, and got home to be comforted by the poodle where I cried yet more tears at animals and pets and what they bring to our worlds.

I’m not ashamed to admit I’m an animal lover, I haven’t really had a time at all when they haven’t around me. Horses are my big love, and my respect for them is worthy of an entire blog of their own. But any animals I welcome in my home. I love cats for their sometimes uppity attitude and the way they think they own you instead of the other way around, and I love dogs for their sheer devotion and trust. I can tell when I walk into a home that doesn’t have pets……..some essence is strangely missing and its doesn’t feel quite complete.

For all the times I have cried as my pets have passed over the years, they have been worth every single tear I have shed for them in tenfold. They have often brought me more than a person could even hope to try, and the lessons they have taught me are something that you just can’t learn anywhere else. As corny as it sounds, they enrich my life, and I guess only an animal lover reading this will understand what I mean when I say that.

So tonight I bade farewell to Muddy Dog. In dogs years he was 91 when he passed, and was as wide as he was high. It had been years since he had done anything more energetic than a wander by the river and too sit on the grass while dad listened to the cricket near by. He had a great life, he was loved and I like to think he knew it. I’ll miss him as anyone would miss as friend when they leave them.

For the tears the family have cried over him going today, he easily gave us just as many smiles. I just hope he is happy in his storm free world now, and I look forward to seeing him again some day.

Drunk and Disorderly Behaviour

So I’m trying something new tonight. As we know I often write this blog while sharing a wine or a port with myself. Not sure why really, but the way some people have to have a beer when barbequing, or have a red with dinner, I find that having a drink with my laptop is pretty much a perfect date lately (and I don’t even have to bother getting dressed up for it)

But tonight I’ve ditched the wine glass and the port bottle, and am partaking of a refreshing beer instead. I’ll blame the heat, as usually the only time I tend to have a beer is after cutting the grass. (I do understand how weird that sounds, but beer just seems to go following a big effort pushing the mower around – the mower making me feel strangely blokey and manly and in need of a drink to match) So here I sit sipping on Hahn Super Dry (subtle name drop there, lets hope Hahn now google their product, see I’ve mentioned it and send me a free carton or two)

I’ve also come down sick. Again. AGAIN. Remember late last year, where I had two or three months suffering insomnia, then sick, then not quite recovering, going back to work, then getting sick again, but like, three or so times this went on? Just when I thought it was safe to go back in the water I wake up with a head cold. Smack in the middle of summer.

I really did think it was safe to go back in the water too, and really tested this theory with a skinny dip at around the 1am mark earlier this week. It seemed like I great idea at the time, but then so did drinking my dads ‘mystery moonshine” (home made bottle of top strength brew – thanks Pa) on a school night. Mystery Moonshine probably being responsible for also thinking loseing all bikinis whilst in the pool would be a brilliant idea. Or doing swan dives in the moonlight, and handstands in the pool, sans bikini bottoms (you know just for the laugh and to see if we could see rudie bits)

Alcohol really does have a lot to answer for.

I’d stop, truly I would, if only it wasn’t having so much damn fun. I’m not condoning drinking by the way. Oh stuff it, it’s my blog, I’ll condone what I want. I’ve had some brilliant nights drunk, but then on the flip side I’ve had some really brilliant nights sober too. (and tragic / sad / heartbreaking / joyful / fun nights both with and without)

I’d love to tell you about many of my drunken exploits, but they may incriminate me. As it is I’m just lucky work has never tuned into my blog or I may find myself on the unemployment line (and back to drinking passion pop, which…just for those that didn’t know this bit of trivia, contains both fish and nut extracts. FISH EXTRACT. If you don’t believe me go check out a bottle. The fact I’ve recently discovered fish extract is part of passion pop is almost worthy of a blog enntry in its own right).

I’m also incredibly thankful that my parents don’t have net access anymore and therefore can’t tune into half the stuff that might turn their hair grey (er)

I recall fondly the night I got moved on from under the round-about in the main street for singing to the passing traffic (it was Christmas, Carollers can get away with it, why can’t I). Or the night I went to the local cop shop begging for a lift home as I feared my boyfriend at the time would be really angry if I rang, woke him up asked him to pick me up so drunk. (he was) Or the time I flagged down a cop car in a country town, with some stolen council witches hat, thinking it was a taxi cause I saw the pretty lights. (it definantly wasn’t a taxi, but thankfully, the coppers had a sense of humour. This is just as well as I hadn’t done a conventional flag down….. Id been making some really lude and rude gestures with the hats, then was up to wearing two of them like I had Madonna Boobies circa 1990’s by the time they pulled over to the gutter to speak to me. For the record, the cops ended up offering me a lift home, the younger one I learned was named Nick and was married but open to offers according to his good self. Naughy Nick.

I also did once get moved for laying down on the road doing my speed hump demonstration. I really used to excel at that. I was always deadly serious too. Like it was truly a talent no one else was blessed with (what the hell, I still believe I have a real talent for this)

I recall another time dancing in my socks in a paddock at about 6am, when I thought it was surely only about midnight, and just a really, really bright moonlight.

I’ve woken up in the back of the ute from my B&S days far too many times to remember, but thankfully, haven’t actually woken up with anyone I’ve ever regretted. (touch wood) I’ve had more hangovers than I care to remember too, and though I long to be able too, I just can’t bounce back again the next day like I use too.

Over the years I’ve gone from a hard core rum drinker, to a champagne quaffer. (I wish I knew how to spell that) So my tastes have probably improved, but I still drink like a fish and still can’t hold it to safe myself. Makes for an amusing night for everyone else though, inviting me to a party is like saving on an entertainment as I’m bound to be it

I had a huge Melbourne Cup day this year – especially considering I was at work for it (well for 45 mins in between trips to the handily placed pub opposite the office) I walked down the main street with a champagne bottle aloft, and ended up ending the night in a pub (different to the one I started in, with a different group too...I found new friends throughout the course of the day) and also completed the evening by ringing a friend and singing Elvis love songs to her. I’m not sure why, but I thought at the time she would really, truly appreciate my efforts (I like to think she did. It was quite a good rendition of Always on My Mind, I think I really nailed the chorus) I also remember expressing delight that some man I was talking to had actually referred to me by my name. I thought (in a state of great excitement) that this was SOME KIND OF SIGN, only to have him point out that I still had my staff name badge on. Again, how thankful am I work don’t read this blog? The same night before leaving, another friend had to go and fetch my fascinator from someone else head, (he was barely out of nappies but looked rather fetching in it) Apparently I had given it to him earlier. (I don’t believe this part of the story though, as it was one of my favorite fascinators and made especially to go with an outfit and had scored me a spot in the Fashions On The Field event twice).

And just a mere few nights ago I thought splashing naked in a pool would be good for me...and thus leading me to a head cold. I’ve decided I need to sleep more, drink less wine but more water, and feast on more veges and salads.

Or just go buy a good stock of Coldrel Cold and Flu capsules instead.

Anyway, my new years resolution is therefore the usual ‘be healthier, exercise more, blah blah blah’. I haven’t started yet of course, because everyone knows that January doesn’t count because you have too many events in there to even think about de-toxing. I’m on holidays for the first part for a start, then you have the post Christmas catch up drinks, Tamworth music festival (which is the only time I consider Muscat a breakfast food) Australia Day long weekend and then one last blow out with friends to discuss how you plan to start being 'good' come February 1st and need to have one more night eating and drinking what you want.

I’m usually good then, well good at least until the dreaded February 14th rolls around when I generally treat myself to a bottle of something good, and a fattening dinner as a gift to myself...because I obviously love me and need to let myself know that. I hope to surprise myself with a handmade card this year.

So come February 15th therefore, I promise I will start my new years resolution.

I plan to stay on it till at least the 16th , when I see have penciled in a road trip weekend to catch a band at the Tarago Pub. (if you have never been the this place, known as The Loaded Dog, its worth the drive. Anything goes at The Puppy) I can’t possibly not drink that weekend. Right.....so come March 1st, that’s D Day, I’m on the wagon.

I’ll stay on that wagon too, just you watch me. (thankfully, I see Easter is incredibly early this year so I have a good excuse to jump off that wagon just a few shorts weeks after I get on it).

Happy New Year Everyone. Make sure you don’t go breaking your New Years Resolution now you hear.

The Curse of The USB

I'm not sure if it's a chinaman I've run over, a ladder I've walked under or if a black cat has dared to cross my path, but I seem to be attracting bad luck lately. (this is at least a change from the unsuitable men I generally attract)

Not only am I sick again (you were about to hear about it in the post I had prepared - so maybe you should count yourself lucky with what I'm about to tell you)but recently I seem to have some sort of curse when it comes to USB sticks. The other night I wrote the Love, Pain and the Whole Crazy Thing post......in other words, I sat there pouring my heart and soul into my laptop and giving it my all......got to work amongst much excitment ready to finally update my blog........and snapped my USB stick off in the work computer. (before I got a chance to save the files)

Shrugs shoulders...oh well.

Managed to retrieve USB...... (with the tweezers as the port was at a bad angle and the little pieces of metal were clinging onto it like a barnacle to a boat - or for the romantic of you, like Tom Cruise clinging onto Katie) and realised in slight alarm I had also now lost a heap of photos I was transferring.

Shurgs shoulders.......oh well. (actually I said a lot of bad words, but as you may be under the impression I'm some sweet young thang I'll refrain from mentioning that I was calling the USB stick a cheap piece of shit amongst other things)

Borrowed a USB stick next. Forgive me if Im wrong, but don't all sticks go with all laptops??? My Laptop must have become coy or something, as it refused to accept that particular stick. It stuck to its standards, refused to copy to it, didn't want a bar of it let alone to trade files.

Maybe my laptop was just very health conscious and didn't want any old stick put in it??? Maybe it took offence to the fact it was a communal USB I had borrowed that everyone had thrown in somewhere and passed around and now I wanted it to have a go too?

Either way, Toshy (my laptop, Im not great with names, Toshy the Toshiiba being up there with Microwave I named Tiffany, for obvious reasons) Anyway, Toshy clearly has high morals and wasn't accepting it.

So I got another USB. Imation brand, complete with pretty blu lights and far more your boy next door type USB than the rough and tough tradesman type one I had just broken.

We have success.

We have love between Imation and Toshy. Imation lit up like christmas, flashing his lights upon insertion and Toshy happily agreed to share files. Bliss. (they seemed so well suited I think I might get a star sign reading done for them, I think it's going to be a long term relationship)

So anyway, on my big day off on Sunday I thought I'd sit down and play with Imation and Toshy, so I could bring you some more ramblings from the land of the crazy lady.

(for those that don't remember, I don't have net access at home so tap away at the laptop and then post it while I'm at work - work are yet to click onto this apparent disrespect and abuse of net privalages and I hope they never do)

So there we are on Sunday, having a fine time writing away, wrote two blogs with one being over two thousand words (can't I say some garbage when I want??!?)

Got to work this morning to discover I have left the USB stick at home. Or somewhere anyway. It's not in my handbag, its not in my car, I just hope I havent lost it in the carpark or someone will be having a good old laugh at me right about now if they are reading it. (or trying to find its owner to book them into AA as one of the post were some fond 'drunken moments I have had' type thing).

Maybe I'm paranoid, but the fact I keep having this USB trouble makes me think Im cursed and not meant to continue with this blog. As one who likes to buck the system now and then though, I'll continue posting just to annoy everyone.

I must run now, as I'm posting this 'direct to blog' borrowing fifteen minutes of works time (which I don't feel at all guilty about as I did more than an hours overtime on Saturday afternoon so surely fifteen minutes on the net can be forgiven)

So......... if anyone sees an imation USB stick, with pretty blue lights and mourning the loss of its new friend Toshy, please send it my way so I can reunite these lovebirds.

Love, Pain and The Whole Crazy Thing

Now I must warn you before you go any further. After weeks away from my blog / blob / rambling bits of stupidity I come out with etc… I have been itching to get back online and to basically fill everyone in on what has been keeping me amused these last few weeks. Being the studious employee that I am (cough / splutter / watch my nose grow) I didn’t want to write it on works time (truth be told I’ve moved desks and the communal printer is temporarily located behind my chair, meaning its hard to fart arse around on the net and not be caught. Thankfully this is being rectified tomorrow)

Because you are all at my mercy however, you get stuck reading whatever pops out of my mind each night. My mind was once described by ‘Whirly’ (Whirly being a bloke I’ve never met but who I know tunes in here quite often) as ‘a mixed back of crackers, unique obscure randomness that is hilariously impressive’ – or something along those lines. It was a great review, I smiled for ages after reading it and also made mental note to myself to dedicate a post to him soon. (He also doesn’t know it yet, but I’ll be sharing a bevvie with him next time I’m up at Darwin which I see is where he is located) So anyway, while you may have tuned in eagerly awaiting further drunken ramblings and to discover if I did indeed have myself a merry little Christmas (edited to add …. I have heard that Brother Ted did indeed have a VERY happy new year, and brought it in with a bang so to speak) I however, once again got sidetracked doing the ‘update blog’ because other thoughts are now swimming through my mind instead. (or possibly drowning, I should never let my thoughts free up there without their flotation devices, or at the very least a good stiff drink)

For some reason I’m thinking about love and relationships tonight. Maybe because I was playing the Keith Urban CD I named this post after as I drove home from a not overly great date, maybe I have listened to too one too many love songs, and maybe I just have too many ex boyfriends currently contacting me for I’m not even sure what (and I don’t know if they do either. Actually, I’d hazard a guess they are just worried about advancing age, receding hair, are sick of cooking dinner for themselves and miss my boobies….. but hey, who am I to judge?!)

I’m not very good at relationships, this much I have figured out in my adult years (For the record, I am now 29D, which in normal / boring peoples terms is 33, with my 30th being when I turned 29A. I just refuse to leave the twenties behind, and have myself so convinced I’m really only 29 that I have to think twice to work out how old I’m ‘really truly’ turning each year)

But back to love, the big issue that has been known to confuse me greatly in recent times.

In my youth I had a couple of long term relationships, the first where I lost myself completely trying to be someone I wasn’t, and yet relying on them to make me happy at the same time. I learnt a lot after the break up (pains me to admit that, but true). After that though (well, a good few years, I never was a quick learner – need I remind you of the Coles Supermarket application test?!) I think I tried so hard not to become that person again, that I now swing towards shutting people out and appear to take too lighthearted an approach instead. Where I find the balance between these two I do not know.

What I do know is that the path to contentment with a significant other is just a road I can’t seem to get myself to drive along any more. I see stop signs where I’m probably just meant to give way, so I stop completely, loose my revs and end up stalled and stranded wondering why I never joined some kind of roadside assistance program.

NRMA don’t seem interested when I call them for H-E-L-P though, which is just false advertising on their behalf really. So here I am, quietly chuffing along in the left hand lane and wondering if I overtake, stay where I am, speed up, slow down or just get off the god damn road of love altogether. (or alternatively, get pulled over by an attractive copper in uniform and have my wicked way with him)

I heard a great quote the other day, which true to my form I probably remember all back to front (I always remember things arse up, and my friends now delight in saying “the black kettle calling the pot” because I’m known to stuff up that kettle / pot saying religiously. At least I’m religious about something though I guess) Anyway, this quote was something along the lines of “never make someone your prerogative, if you are only their option”. Who ever said it was obviously basically trying to say the attraction / love / intensity etc needs to be pretty equal. Get it out of balance, make them your everything and be only just there something means chances are its not a healthy relationship and you probably aren’t going to make it the minute your road leaves the highway and hits the rough stuff. (I’m loving the driving analogy tonight aren’t I?)

I really love that saying (even if I did say it wrong) but it got me to thinking about the other sides of the coin though. What happens when you are two completely different people looking at things from opposite sides of the spectrum, and your views and present life are at odds with the object of your desire? Do you give up? Do you chuck it in and settle down instead of up? Do you act like its musical chairs and instead grab the first man next to you when you hit 30 and the music stops playing in your head?

I’m always against all of the above. (well, have been since I learnt that early ‘lessons in love’ thing I mentioned somewhere in paragraph four) I have no ticking clock in me that thinks I have to rush out and settle down with whatever bloke seems acceptable. I don’t demand a lot of another person any more. I don’t want constant ‘I love you’s, I don’t want anything on valentines day, and I don’t want to feel the need to check with someone else before saying yes to weekends away with friends, spending money on what I want instead of need and I don’t actually even know if I want to get married.

I do however want to know, just know, that they love me. I hate hearing it said as an automatic response though. I hate that automatic, dull “I love you too” that is often said with no thought or emotion behind it, that is said just as a respond to the same dull “I love you” that you have just given them because you are about to drive to work or hang up the phone.

For me, I would rather hear “I love you” only once a lifetime, and know that at that moment, that second in time, they mean it with every single fibre of their body….I’d so much rather that than get a card saying it just because I expect it on valentines day. I don’t think there is anything to be said for flowers and chocolates. That’s romance yes, but it isn’t love.

I want to know, just know for sure, that someone loves me. I don’t want to get married in front of a hundred friends, because I want to know they love me and don’t feel the need to say it in front of others, I can’t help but think all of that is just for those watching, like its going to prove it to me, to themselves, to everyone watching.

If it’s real, I’ll just know.

If it’s real, they will agree with my suggestion of why bother even getting married, or agree that running away and eloping is so much more special. Just a special day for the two of you, where you are both so comfortable and assured of each others love that you don’t need to make a song and dance of it. That just saying ‘I do’ at each other only, with no one else there, is more than enough.

And I don’t even know about that sometimes, because at the end of the day I hate the thought of making a promise. It’s so much to ask of anyone. All I can hope is that I will feel this way forever, and they will feel the same way too. How do you promise it? You can’t promise anything really in this life, you just hope you will love them forever, and do your damnest to try. It’s a lot to ask of the human mind and spirit to feel the same way in fifty, sixty, seventy years that you do today. Sometimes I think it’s too much. Sometimes I think it’s just asking for trouble. People change. You have to grow, you have to develop. It’s what may keep you in love or it’s what may pull you apart. It’s the not knowing that makes it exciting.

So now maybe you will see why I am in the quandary once again about love. Because I want love, but I don’t want anymore what is perceived in society as ‘love’, such as marriage and children. I want my own version of love, love that is so simple in its element you need just it, and it alone.

Try to explain that though and I get in a mess. I come across as not wanting a relationship and end up thinking maybe I don’t after all, breaking up and then thinking maybe I should have tried harder to convey what I wanted. Or I end up in relationships that aren’t committed because they perceive me as a ‘free spirit’ and haven’t really grasped my whole garbled love view at all. To a degree I suppose I am a free sprit, but I don’t give up on finding some sort of harmony and commitment to one person and seeing where it takes us.

No wonder NRMA couldn’t offer HELP here.

Even I have trouble following my own thoughts on it all. I’m also really against all those planned proposals you hear about. Romantic they may appear to some, but they leave me stone cold. I hate the thought of calculating it out, planning the biggest impact, the most impressive way. I want someone to just turn to me one day and ask me, out the blue when I least expect, when THEY least expect it, because something in that moment makes them look at me and think “she’s it”. They have to ask then and there, because they can’t not ask. The choice isn’t there for them anymore. It’s just a moment that is.

So that’s how I want my love. No rings, no promises. I don’t want to share bank accounts, have to check up on someone or have them check up on me. I don’t want a traditional romance, I don’t even know if I want to ever live with someone again. (goodness knows, If I wasn’t me I couldn’t put up with living with myself) so I find myself caught time and again with wondering where the hell I am at and if indeed I’m normal in my thinking. Am I really in that much of a minority in my thoughts?

I want love to make me laugh, make me cry, make sing, make me sad.

I want it to frustrate me, overwhelm me, confound me and amaze me.

I want to feel out of control and out of my depth, like I’m flying high across the sky, scared of where I’m going but not so scared I want to return to earth.

What I don’t want is for love to confuse me anymore.

I'm Baaaaack.

Hold onto your hats folks, (and your grog, and even possibly your men) I'm back.

Following a brief stint down the south coast, then up the north coast (I know, I get around don't I) I am now back on deck. (or back on the chair at work at least, once again appearing busy and important and looking like its a right fluster of activity here in my corner)

Standby while I fill you in tonight on my recent escapades involving..well... what they usually involve. An overindulgence in unsuitable food, unsuitable drinks and unsuitable men.