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Monday Aug 31, 2015

It’s the last day of winter today and I am ready, totally fully ready, for Spring. We’ve started getting cold but sunny days and it is marvelous. I used to have chickens as a teenager (I did an Agriculture class at school and surprised Dad one day with three chicks) and when they’d hit a sunspot in the backyard they’d stretch one wing out and just collapse. Exactly like this.



This is me at the moment, hit a sun ray, want to collapse.

Things are chugging along okay. I’m still doing okay with my study and I’m up to my third assessment. It’s an assist client topic so it’s pretty similar to some of what I do in IT, e.g. help the helpless, so I’m chugging along nicely.

We had a death in the family quite recently and Mum flew home for the funeral, while it was a shit occasion it was so good to see her and her side of the family. They’re all good people and fucking hilarious. We kind of neglected that side after Mum moved interstate so it’s good to reconnect. I, as usual, look nothing like anyone in the family. Everyone’s all fair skin and freckles and thin and I’m tubby and brunette with olive skin tones.

It’s also a nice change from Dad’s side of the family. Did I tell you they buried our grandmother without telling us? Good times! It’s the first time we’ve had a family falling out and while I’d really really prefer not to have had it happen I can understand how people hold a grudge for decades and decades. I am stubborn and I will hold this motherfucking grudge until they apologise. Because? Don’t bury one of my favourite people in the world, not invite us (including her son) and then get angry with us when we find out the day before and ask what is happening. In a bonus I got de-friended on Facebook by them. That’s a first during a fight from adults rather than teenagers :/

Still single. I’m pretty sure that I should just take a lover and avoid relationships. Is lover the adult euphemism for for FWB’s? I think so, much easier 🙂


What’s my age again?

Thursday May 28, 2015

It appears I’ve now reached the age (34) where women my age, specifically friends, have started to lie about their age.

I find it really odd. Something happened when we moved from early 30’s to mid-ish 30’s and now each birthday there are “jokes” of turning 30 (again) or hitting late twenties.

While I know it’s joking it’s really not and it makes me sad. Especially knowing these women; they are amazing, intelligent, funny people who are so much better and happier now than they were in their teens and twenties.

I suppose it’s good that we/they haven’t started on the botox and fillers?



Hot tip

Saturday Apr 25, 2015

I try not to give advice, because I am shit at taking it, but do not get broken into.

We were broken into last weekend and it has been a fucking nightmare. First, we were idiots and left our back door unlocked (entry point) but someone broke in after we (my sister and I) went to bed. They took my handbag (my beautiful new handbag!), my sisters wallet and the worst part came into our bedrooms to see what else they could take.

We, luckily, slept through it all but the creepy factor of having a stranger come into your home and watch you sleep is off the charts. Poppy sleeps in my bedroom at night with the door closed and the noise of her fighting with Sabine’s cat woke Sabine up at 2 a.m. when we discovered the break in. The police were excellent and came out and took statements soon after, we cancelled all of our cards that night so the thief didn’t actually get any money from us.

He’d stolen my keys, including my only car key so I stayed at home Monday to get a car locksmith out to cut a new key (segue! If you want a career where you make ludicrous amounts of money, become a locksmith. $400 for a basic new car key!) So Monday morning, Sabine leaves at her normal time for work, I slosh out of my bedroom in time to see someone jump our back fence. The fuck head had come back, we’re assuming to take what they couldn’t Saturday night.

I was instantly furious. An instant ball of fury in a chubby chick’s body, wearing pyjamas, no bra and hair like Medusa.  I shout out and ask him what the fuck he is doing and to get out. He looks surprised and gormless for a couple of seconds and jumps back over the fence.

Call the police, again. Finger print person comes out, finds only weird prints as he was wearing mesh gloves. While the locksmith is out changing our front door lock I find a note under our front door from the upstairs neighbours, they were broken into on Saturday night, did we see anything? Homeboy has been busy.

We put notes up around the apartment building with our mobile numbers, two other apartments have been broken into in the past week. Receive a hot tip from a neighbour about a local guy matching the description of fence jumper which I pass onto the police. There’s been a spate of break ins in the area and the constable thinks it’s all the one guy. Finger print people find a print from the upstairs apartment, so they at least have a description and a print now.

Spend most of the week organising for replacement cards, locksmith to come change our locks as he has our front door key, speaking with neighbours and police and using the excuse of ‘I was a victim of crime’ to my boss whenever I’m late for a meeting.

So yes, lock your doors and don’t get broken into. It’s bloody exhausting and scary.


Wednesday Feb 11, 2015

I am approaching my 34th birthday and I’m a little disconcerted by the idea. I’m 33 (obviously) so it’s not like I’m 25 turning 34 as very little will actually change from the 21st of April to the 22nd of April. But, still.

I’m blaming Mercury in retrograde for this because it’s a bitch of a thing and causes havoc whenever it’s happening. It’s been making me do a lot of thinking lately. What do I want my life to be like? Where do I want to be in 1 year, 5 years, 10 years? Where do I want to live? Since my retirement year is 2042 what job can I do for the next 30 years that won’t make me wish for an early heart attack?

I’m stopping for a bit to evaluate shit, what I want and what I don’t want and this is a good thing. It’s just very exhausting though and I’d like a lie down because I am getting on a bit now.

I blame this introspection on two things – a grey hair in my best friend’s eyebrow we discovered recently and a friend’s comment that I need to get onto baby making stat as my ‘window of fertility’ is narrowing quickly.

Whiskey. Tango. Foxtrot.

To both things.

One – a grey hair fine, I’ve had grey hairs since my early twenties but an eyebrow hair. And if she has one surely I’ll have them but don’t notice because I dye my eyebrows. WHAT IF I HAVE A GREY PUBE?!

Two – Shut the fuck up about my “fertility window.” It’s my fertility window and I’ll do what I want with it. Whether that’s actually utilising it and having babies (ha!) or ignoring it and buying more pets is totally my call.


I fucking know. Of course I know about my body and its features and limitations. I’m a grown arse adult who is aware and prides myself and knowing this stuff.

It’s like the healthy eating kick I’ve been on lately where so many people continue to give me basic advice about eating well and losing weight. Especially because I rarely ask for advice because, well, fuck that. It drives me totally mental because I’m obviously doing okay with it as I’m down 20 kilograms (45ish pounds, I think?)

“Lots of fresh fruit and vegetables!” No shit Sherlock.

“Avoid saturated fats!” Jog on, champ.

I was going to say, it’s not that I don’t appreciate the advice, because I don’t. I just think people need to worry about their own stuff and leave others to worry about their shit. Because ultimately it makes me think and I don’t like that.

Writing this was good, it made me fired up rather than feeling a little down. Morale of this post – don’t give me fucking advice and don’t try and tell me what to do with my body.

House guests

Wednesday Feb 20, 2013

I live in a one bedroom apartment in Sydney. It is a delightful apartment and the perfect size for one. It’s pretty open plan with the only real door in the place to the bathroom.

I received a text from the MormonHousewife earlier telling me her and her husband were coming to stay with me for 3 days next week.

I adore her and her husband. They are awesome people and I love spending time with them, and only recently they let me stay with them for a few days.

They of course live in a 4 bedroom house with a granny flat for visitors so I got my own room and bathroom when I stayed there.

I’m not sure if you can see the flaw in the plan but I don’t quite know where we’re all going to fit if they stay with me for 3 days. I have got a massive lounge but it really only fits one person. I have got a double bed so it fits one person ideally or two in bit of a squeeze.

It will also be during the week so I’ll be getting up at 5:00 a.m. for work and going to bed at 9:30 p.m.


I’d give them my bed and I’d sleep on the couch, but then I have to kick them out of the living area at 9:30 each night and wake them up at 5 when I get up which is no fun when you’re on holidays. I give them the couch and keep my bed meaning they can stay up but they’d have to sleep on a couch and again a lack of doors means lights and noise would keep me awake.

Am I being uptight about this? Am I being an ungracious host? I feel like I am but again, one bedroom open plan apartment! Keep in mind they have parents in the area who have spare bedrooms. Oh, and Beth lives 2 minutes away with a spare bedroom who is also close friends with Meg. I can’t say no but what do I do with them?

nostalgic wank

Thursday Aug 25, 2011

I don’t do nostalgia, since I figure it’s far too self-indulgent to do when you’re only 30.

But today I’m feeling nostalgic.

I’m pretty much right where I wanted to be, sure there’s a little more soul-less corporate whoredom than I thought, but generally I’m in a good place. Great friends, great family, good job, great apartment, great hair etc.

I was reading John’s site today. You probably know or share of my feelings towards poetry as a general rule, but John? Is so fucking talented and writes in a way that makes me feel things deep down in my cold heart.

Then I also discovered Stella’s new blog. Stella is pretty much the coolest girl you know but is warm and lovely and isn’t a complete bitch like cool girls normally are. Oh and she has the best eyebrows of anyone I’ve ever met.

These two kids are probably not aware that they represent a very awesome time in my life and I will always have ridiculously fond memories of them and then.

It was before Adam got boring, before I got boring, when I was living with Beth and her boyfriend in Annandale before her boyfriend turned into a massive hard-on. I was making out with SleepoverBoy, working in my first technical role, before I got glandular fever and I had a great year or so.

I drank a lot, I spent many nights at John’s terrace in Camperdown with his ratbag bunch of friends who were rioteously funny in the best and offensive way. The soundtrack then was Billy Joel (John was obsessed.) Whoever had money that week bought the beer, we went to the jazz/opera/whatever in the Domain festivals, I caught the nightbus home a few times dangerously drunk.

I went to a house party at John’s new place where there was Jagermeister punch that made me throw up black the next day. I wore an awesome black velvet blazer that I still wish I had. Stella was there and I walked into the living room at one point to her and Sabine singing to Love is a Battlefield that they’d forced a stranger to download and play. I think it was John’s birthday so he’d no doubt had absinthe (he’d only drink absinthe on his birthdays because he invariably ended up having a conversation with a wall at 5:00 a.m. so liked to meter it out responsibly) and I think, I think I met someone I went to school with. I woke up next to SleepoverBoy the next morning after apparently getting back together the previous night after too much of the punch. I demanded Stella drive me, and my friends home afterwards despite only meeting her that night.

Now Stella is living in Greece, John is a director and playwright living in London. And I missed catching up with John while he was over here recently directly a play and I feel like an arsehole and I work too hard now and I have a mortgage and my friends are having babies and now when we catch up for drinks they’re at each other’s tastefully beige decorated apartments and there’s good bottles of wine and gourmet sausages for the BBQ and no jagermeister punch or Canadian Club or Oporto’s runs and I got fat and old and boring.


Well that was quite therapeutic.

I think maybe I just need to start drinking again.

ughhhh mach 2

Wednesday Jul 20, 2011

Fucking gross.

I just logged onto my profile on the dating site for the first time in a couple of months.

Did a search for my latest matches were online. Turns out homeboy has re-activated his account.

The funny thing? His tag line is:

“I’m one of the nice guys!”


I don’t know why I’m surprised really, but I am. Even knowing he’s someone who cheats on his wife with a newborn child at home I genuinely thought he was remorseful, that it was a lapse in judgement.

I didn’t pick myself as gullible.

But colour me gullible!

I really don’t like boys right now.


Monday Feb 7, 2011

Today I am disgusted in people.

A friend passed away quite suddenly yesterday, less than a couple of hours afterwards a friend of his had created a Facebook group outlining that he’d passed away and invited all of his friends to it. This is how all of his friends were told of his death.

 I hope to God his family didn’t find out that way, I know some of his best friends did. I can see the value in creating this group after his family and close friends have been notified, after at least a day or two has passed. But a couple of hours afterwards before phone calls could be made?


no, just no.

Monday Jan 24, 2011

It’s a really hot day today in Sydney, 35 degrees last time I checked. Summer is an awesome time for clothes with the dresses and cute thongs. Except that some chubby girls appear to have received the wrong memo, they got the skinny girl clothing memo. As a result my eyes have been assaulted over the weekend, resulting in this PSA.

Disclaimer – I am a chubby girl, obvs.

Leggings – Leggings are not pants. Full stop. If the leggings have a gusset they’re tights, which means they’re under garments. This is especially so for chubby girls, leggings are brazen and ballsy and unashamed. Which are great characteristics in a girl, not so your pants.  

 Halterneck anything – Halternecks seem to be exclusively aimed at chubby girls and from the front they can actually look cute, all v neck and flattering.

 But the back view? Back rolls and bingo arm waving. Wear a cardigan is all I’m saying.

 Anything made out of jersey – Again this seems to be marketed as a chubby girl miracle fabric. It’s not, it doesn’t skim it clings, it highlights every bump and chub. Unless you’re wearing those awesome support garments that go from your knees to shoulders do not buy into the jersey – flattering. You know who looks good in jersey? Girls with no boobs.

 Low cut jeans – Dear baby jebus no. Just no.

 Spaghetti straps worn with thick bra straps – This point is not against spaghetti straps, they can look cute on chubby girls. If worn with a strapless bra or a bra with thin straps. But if you’re wearing a bra that has thick straps to hold in the girls spaghetti straps are not your friend. In fact they’re your enemy who wants to get you fired from your job and sleep with your boyfriend.

 Strapless anything – If you have breasts larger than a C cup strapless dresses/tops are not a good look, they give you the boobage overflow (that 3rd and 4th breastage is not cute) and you’ll spend half the day tugging up the front or your strapless bra. Boobage spillage is hot in certain situations, this is not one of them.

Short shorts – The majority of girls, large/small/whatevs, have cellulite. Nothing wrong with this. But short shorts, i.e. they’re only hitting the upper though, are not for us. They’re just not, I understand they’d be really really comfortable to wear on a hot day but so would wearing no pants at all and there are laws about that.

Wednesday 28th April

Wednesday Apr 28, 2010

Huh. Who knew it had been 3 weeks since I last updated?

Blame work. By the time I’ve finished work for the day staying back to post is the last thing I feel like doing. I wonder if there’s a WordPress app for a Blackberry so I could post from home?


I had my birthday last week. I am 29 and well old. Beth has…issues with aging. She thinks because she spent her last birthday in bed with whooping cough that she’s lost a year. Surprisingly this is progress from her 21st when she hyperventilated. Literally hyperventilated because she was old. In comparison I am feeling peachy!

I got sent flowers at work, I got cool presents and Dad even remembered the day and called. Sure, if it wasn’t for Facebook reminding him it was my birthday he is likely to have forgotten but I’m pretty sure he took a lot of drugs in the 70’s so you can’t expect much.

Mel (my work sidekick) is on leave at the moment and I am slammed with work. Do not question how I have time to write this unless you want me to cut you. So she’s never allowed to take leave ever again. Ever.

We had a ladies lunch on Saturday here and it was so good that we didn’t leave the place until 11-12 that night. That good. Actually it’s likely that the wine was the cause of the 12 hour lunch but still.

So, after we finish lunch we move out into the courtyard to have a few drinks. All civilised and lovely and one of the girls mentioned a few of her friends will be popping in later, more the merrier etc etc.

Except one of her friends was a guy who (what’s a good way of saying this without me looking like a raging whore) I had a sleepover with a couple of years ago. It was exactly what it was, we’d met a few times, I thought he was cute, it ended at my place and that was that. So when he’s being introduced to everyone, he looks at Beth (who I knew him from) says hi, looks at me and says, “I don’t think we’ve met before.”

Oh. Really.

Here’s the thing, I have a pretty unusual first name, am a relatively cute but chubby girl and trust me, I am a minx in the sack, you do not forget me. And of course later that night he came over and had miraculously gotten over his memory loss.

Beth, being Beth, told him he was a douchebag. I agreed, and he was a bit surprised.

I’d have been offended if he was a better kisser. But I wasn’t because I knew I was following the one-night-stand rules:

  1. Don’t leave your number.
  2. Take it for what it was for (one time occurrence.)
  3. If you meet again be civil but polite.

Sydney is a small place, you will meet someone you’ve slept with again, hell I used to work with a guy I lost my virginity to. That was interesting.

So, yes, he could’ve even been the one to break the 3 month celibacy period but for the fact that he didn’t follow the one-night-stand etiquette and annoyed me.

Apart from that it was a great day. Sure my sister and her boyfriend may have broken up the next day, and sure Beth’s car was broken into while left parked outside. We still had good food and a good 10-12 hours of drinking wine.


This weekend we have a road trip. It’s K’s birthday soon so we’re heading to her hometown which is a town a few hours outside of Sydney for the weekend. Her family are stereotypical country Australians, and so very very lovely. This means I will drink a lot of alcohol and hopefully do lots of driving (not at the same time.)


Saturday I went with Beth to help her find a wedding dress. I’ve done this twice before, once with Meg the Mormon Housewife, and once with Bec, my oldest friend.

Watching them try on dresses left me in a teary mess. Watching Beth try on dresses sent me into fits of giggles. She was being shoved into meringue style dresses that when she’d leave the change rooms were so big and puffy she would start sweeping other dresses off their racks as she walked past.

The white dresses looked ridiculous, there were diamantes and beading EVERYWHERE and frankly if she wasn’t laughing she would’ve been in hysterics.

She’s the reluctant bride as it is (she’s not a fan of commitment, it gives her hives) so she’s decided to get rid of the big wedding dress and go for a cocktail length dress instead.

Thank god because I can’t spend another Saturday morning in a bridal shop.

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