The one that got away

Yesterday I did the epic drive down the Gold Coast for Miss Indi’s very first birthday party. 

It was wonderful to catch up with old friends, but as always those pesky lingering feelings for old lovers always come back to haunt you.

When a relationship (if you could have called it that) ends because of changing circumstances rather than breaking up because they were a c*nt of a cheating bastard, it’s hard to know how to behave when you see them.

The first time I saw him I behaved rather badly, the second time was easier, but we ended up beign caught by an old guy in  a compromising position on the beach, pants around our ankles who asked if they could join in.

And this time. Well. It was ok. I knew he was seeing someone, but still, you always wonder.  We talked about real things like we used to (albeit, now it was about his new girlfriend), he teased my gingerness like the old days and we stood there in awe of the fact that 2 years ago we were drinking at Octoberfest and now our mates have a house and 2 babies.  Then scooped me up in an enormous lingering hug when it was time to leave.

I reckon if I had been drinking I would have attempted to flirt horribly and embarrass myself (hurrah for Sober October), but at last I behaved in a manner which I am not ashamed. As I was driving home I could actually admit to myself that I at last I am genuinely happy that “the one that got away” is happy.

And when I got home, I put on Love, Actually. Because sometimes a girl needs a Hugh Grant rom-com to remind her that it’s all going to be ok.

Family

My Grampy was visiting with us last week and yesterday Ma, Dad and I dropped him at the airport.

What’s sad is that I know perfectly well that I’m probably not going to see him again. Well into his 80s and with prostate cancer, he wasn’t the same Grampy that I remember.

It’s hard to know what to do.  I don’t want to the people I love not being able to get out of a car by themselves.  But I also know that I’d have never forgiven myself if I hadn’t have seen him. 

So all we can do I suppose is make the most of the time we have left with out elder loved ones.

Which is why I spent my Friday night, with my Daddy’s Dad, learning how to make traditional Yorkshire pudding. 

It was super tasty.

Milk

Watched Milk with Sean Penn today and by the time it finished I was angry.

It’s hard to imagine in today’s society that only 30 years ago crazy fundamentalist Christians were running a nation-wide campaign proclaiming gays as evil, and that they didn’t have the “god given” right to housing or jobs.

I used to belong to a church. In my youth I was looking for something and “Found Jesus”.  You know what though, I think that Jesus would be ashamed at how some of his followers behaved.

I could be mistaken, but I’m pretty damn sure that The Bible says something about not judging others, accepting other people and that only God was allowed to judge people when they came to the gates of heaven.

My experience with church was that this so-called Christian people walking the talk were the more judgemental than a trial at Nuremburg. 

I stopped going to church for a number of reasons. Mainly because so called “best friends” stopped talking to me because I liked to have a few drinks and because I lost my virginity.  And also because of certain things said against Harry Potter by people who hadn’t even read it (come ON preacher dudes, it’s 7 epic books on good vs evil, friendship, loyalty and love!).

Cause you know what, God loves me regardless of whether I adore wine and like to be thoroughly shagged occasionally.  And it may not be what he originally intended, but God love those gay activists like Harvey Milk too.

I admire people like Harvey Milk, who passionately believe enough about something to actually get of their arse and do something about it. 

And as much as I enjoy a movie that makes me think and stirs my heartstrings, now it is time to turn on something lighthearted and cheesy, with a guaranteed happy ending.

Excited Much?

Ever since I was a little girl I have been prone to excitement.  I'm not sure whether it is because I'm an only child and my birthday is at the end of the year.. but I look forward to things with a joyful passion not seen since man discovered that if you let grapes fester long enough you get a delicious inhibition lifting drink. 


And so, as I sit at my desk before work on this sunny October morning I can barely contain myself as I think about the upcoming months. 


In 18 Sleeps I'm going to a 5 star resort for a day in the swim-up pool bar
In 21 Sleeps I turn 27, and that means presents and cake
In 30 Sleeps I get to go and see Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 1
In 43 Sleeps I fly to London to see my darling friends, shop and drink
In 60 Sleeps I fly to Morocco for a little side trip to the exotic. 


Seriously, I only have 30 days of work left for the year, 2 of which are our AGM so that's only 28 actual work days left! How am I supposed to buckle down and be productive when I can almost smell the London air and feel the black snot up my nose from the tube? 


But I must control my urge to go and dance on the morning tea table and shouting "I'm going on holidays!" and behave in a professional like manner until AT least 2 more sleeps until my holiday.  


Then I think I am allowed to act silly. Hooray!

Flavour of the Month

After the success ‘No-Spend September’ had on my bank balance , I’ve decided that each and every month shall have a catchy catch-phrase that will lead to a significant improvement in my day-to-day living.

Therefore, October is ‘Sober October’.  Despite a few sneaky bevvies at the start of the month (it WAS my 10 year high school reunion after all!) I’ve been alcohol free. 

Whilst I have been craving wine more than anything else this month, I have to admit that the significant reduction in my waist line has made me wonder whether I should give up my nightly glass of vino permanently.

But then I tell myself to stop being so silly.. a life without wine?  Well that’s no life for me! 

Bring on November.

No Spend September Over at Last

As “No Spend September” has now merged into “Sober October” my love of pretty things has re-emerged with a vengeance.

I have been spending my evenings pawing through fashion magazines, planning my purchases. Countless hours have been spent scrolling through endless eBay listings of designer accessories.

The problem is, my taste leans towards the side of designer (a.k.a expensive). I like designer handbags.  I like shiny pretty accessories that don’t come from Diva.  I also enjoy clothes that I won’t see on 5 other people.

My problem is my bank account can’t quite sustain the lifestyle to which I wish to be accustomed. 

I’ve tried to supplement my income by selling crap on eBay.  However, I seem to have sold everything I can bear to be parted from.

Finding a higher paying job is far too inconvenient.  Finding a rich man is far too hard work (not too mention difficult with giant splodgy acne rash on my neck).

So the only solution, clearly, is to day dream about pretty, highly unnecessary things such as these…

   

Sigh. One Day. 

I have never been under the misconception that I am drop dead gorgeous or the sort of girl that men on the street lust over.

However I do believe that a girl needs to make the best out of what God gave her, and that I scrub up fairly nice indeed when I can be bothered.

Which is why, I am currently on the verge of tears.  Apparently one in five women in their late twenties gets lumbered with adult acne. Lucky me (insert sarcastic tone here). My face has broken out in a variety of different spots on my forehead, jaw line, and down the side of my face all the way to my neck.. and let us not forget the multitude of spotty spots on my upper back.

My doctor has changed my pill and given me a prescription cream.  Which has given me a ginormous red itchy rash on my neck. My skin is dry, but putting anything on it burns like hell.

As hard as you try, it’s rather hard to leave the house feeling good when you have a red flaky splodge on your neck. Even yesterday the hairdresser diplomatically parted my hair to the right hand side so my hair disguised the worst of it. 

So readers, please feel free to offer me some advice (other than pro-active and drinking water, if one more person says that I’ll freaking punch them). Because I have had enough.

High School Reunion

High School reunions are a funny thing.  I dreaded mine with such force that I nearly vomited in the bathroom as I was putting my make up on.

But hey, it wasn’t that bad. A small turn out, maybe a quarter of our graduating grade, rocked up, quite a few with their offspring, had a few drinks, then left.

Polite conversation ensued, the standard “So what are you doing with yourself” question, which after an hour I was incredibly bored of answering.  And I know that I was rude when I couldn’t muster up the enthusiasm to ask them in return. What I do care about is “Are you well, are you happy” which nobody will really reply to honestly anyway.

But it was, despite my misgivings, an interesting night.  And I’m glad I rustled up the courage to get in my car and go. 

There was afterwards a disappointing turn out for the pub, but five of us hit the town with an enthusiasm that would have rivalled a fat man attacked a hot dog.  We made up for the fact that we had zero children our spouses by singing power ballads and ending up at a house party full of dressed up hippies, some whom were partaking in tantric sex on the balcony and dancing flamboyantly in the living room.

Looking back, my high school starry eyed self imagined that life would be a lot different in ten years then it actually is. All hopes of becoming an Academy Award winning actress and marrying my high school sweetheart (for the record I had ZERO boyfriends in high school) are now well and truly shot.

But I got something better than those dreams. I’ve lived and seen more in the past ten years than some people do and see their entire lives.

And for that, dear readers, I am truly grateful.