Diary of a New York wannabe

Dear New York

 It has only been a month since we met, yet I just can't get you out of my head (sorry Kylie Minogue for the blatant plagiarism).

You enter my dreams and many of my waking moments and I simply can't wait until I can see you again. It seems like I spent a lifetime waiting to meet you. It was a tough journey to get to you, full of delays, pitfalls and my serious commitment phobia, and sometimes it seemed like the day would never come.

 But suddenly....there you were.

I will never, ever forget my first glimpse of you. I was in a taxi, after a long and arduous plane trip, feeling grimy and tired and let's face it, looking less than my best. And then I saw you. You took my breath away. And you looked at me like we'd known each other a lifetime. I simply didn't know where to look first and suddenly I was overcome with excitement, breathless anticipation, and yes, a little shyness. All my tiredness fell away and I simply couldn't wait to get to know you better.

The following 8 days were a whirlwind courtship. You whisked me from our loft in TriBeCa to see all manner of breathtaking sights, from the incredible Lady (Statue of Liberty) who is everything and more that I've seen in pictures. I'll never forget rounding the corner and catching my first glimpse of the Flatiron Building, she who has featured in almost every idea of NYC in my memory. We strolled through Central Park, sharing one of the most special moments of my life at the Bethesda Fountain. The Boathouse! The Wollman Rink, sadly empty, where I could only imagine skating together with the lush foliage and skyscrapers looking down on us. We toured the East Village and walked through SoHo together and looked at World Trade Centre 1 every night from our window.

Strolling Broadway and shopping...shopping and more shopping (whoever is responsible for recommending Sephora has a lot to answer for....kids in a candy store, much?).

Strawberry Fields Forever...

 Our midnight escapade to the top of the Empire State Building is something that will be etched in my memory for a lifetime. Words cannot describe the feeling that overcame me viewing the panorama of the most incredible city in the world. I simply fell in love. Walking up those three LOOOOONNNNGGGG and incredible wonky sets of stairs each evening to our loft, I smiled every step of the way, imagining the next day when we would meet again.

Seems pretty cheap...

Sadly the day came when we had to part. What a mixed day that was. On one hand, I had been away from my gorgeous son for quite a while and missed him terribly. And yet, on the other, I had met you, only to feel like I was about to lose you all over again. After spending 24/7 with you for just over a week, I was filled with a sense of melancholy and emptiness at the thought of losing you so soon.

Flatiron!

We just didn't get enough time, and I really feel like I've got so much unfinished business with you.

Magical Bethesda Fountain

They might say that you leave your heart in San Francisco, and this may be true for some, but New York, I have definitely left a big piece of me there. Now all I can think about is seeing you again. I dream of you, I daydream of you, I picture you in technicolor, and miss you so much it almost hurts. I also regret that my son hasn't gotten a chance to meet you. Yet....

 I heart you New York. Until we meet again.

Camera straight...stairs not.

Bec xx

The battle of the sexes explained...just never, ever mention the nail!

Planes, brains, rebellions and masquerades...how does the kid of a troublemaker rebel?

OK so again, so much for the promises to write more regularly...suddenly it's been 1+ weeks and I haven't done a thing. It's been a pretty eventful time too, and so much to say! I have been on 'holidays' since Thursday morning and after carefully schooling our receptionist that the correct answer to any inquiry about me was "Rebecca who?" I have managed to successfully sleep in, watch lots of movies and....yeah well that's pretty much it.

Oh except for a lovely colleague who stuffed up the time difference and rang me at 3:30 AM the other night/morning. Yeah, that was fun.

I also have to throw in...damn you Tom Cruise. Damn you. You were actually really good in Rock of Ages and that's just not on. I tried really, really hard to dislike you in it because let's face it, you're weird and creepy, but you were great. Which makes me dislike you more.

Anyhoo...moving on...

So, I remember a conversation between Cathy and myself many years ago speculating on how the offspring of former rebellious troublemakers would turn out. I mean, would they be a bigger ratbag than their parent, or would they 'rebel' by sporting short back and sides and making a name for themselves in, say, the police or something equally horrifying like that?

So it comes to pass: despite all my teachings to dance to the beat of your own drum and the influence of my own...well...let's just say nuttiness and be done with it...my son is about to turn 13, has entered high school, and contrary to his former troublemaking mother (now cleverly disguised as a responsible, tax paying adult...the 'responsible' and 'adult' are debatable, but I do pay my tax), has just been accepted into an Accelerated Academics Program because he has been identified as a 'thinker'.

My old school principal is choking on her tea as I write this.

Take that Mrs Hancock.

Now I wasn't a really 'bad girl' at school, I had perfected the innocent 'who me?' look that had all the teachers telling me I should choose better friends and not be influenced so easily. But if there was a rule I had to see how far I could bend it without actually breaking it and I should have gotten an A+ in my ability to weasel out of trouble with my wide-eyed 'I didn't know' look. Teachers despaired because I simply phoned it in, and much to their disgust still did pretty well. School was a social activity for me (yes with those 'bad' friends who I still love today!) and I was far more interested in gossiping about last weekend and making plans for this weekend to really care what X equalled.

I think the term 'has brains, requires application' was patented for me.

And so #1 (and only) son followed in my footsteps up to grade 7 when inexplicably something changed and he became...dare I say it...a nerd! Or 'nutbag nerd' as he prefers as he hasn't lost a whit of his individuality despite suddenly paying attention in class and enjoying being the best at things.

So there you are. #1 nerd son is destined to finish uni before I do. I can just feel it. And I really couldn't be prouder, even if it does mean I'm now officially the dumbest resident in this house.

Anyhoo, onto another subject...

Last weekend my wonderful boss invited me to the Careflight Gala Ball here at the Empire Theatre in Toowoomba.

Careflight, for those who don't know, provides emergency medical support and transfers to hospitals for those living in more remote locations, or for us in Toowoomba who have hospitals but may have to go to Brisbane for more emergency situations that our facilities may not be able to cope with.

Last year one of my colleagues and friends had a terrible accident and had it not been for the quick response of Careflight getting her to Brisbane for treatment, I shudder to think of the outcome. Fortunately, although it's been a long road, she is doing phenomenally and is likely to be dancing on tables at the next Ball for sure.

So it's an organisation that's pretty close to my heart, and those of my company, so when the Ball came along my generous boss grabbed a couple of tables and invited those who have been friends with or had offered support to our friend during her recovery.

Look, I'll admit it, personally I'd go to the opening of an envelope if it involved a pretty dress (I think I may have said this before but it bears repeating) but this was pretty special as we were personally involved with someone that Careflight had a huge hand in saving.

And what a spectacular night. In my former life as an events organiser, I have put together some of these before but I must say this masquerade ball put any previous event to shame. More than 500 masked guests in a spectacular historic venue...add alcohol, more than 100 silent bids which were placed by using personalised cards and chip readers (much merriment when someone stole someone elses and made a bid on Vanessa Amorosi's CD)....

Fabulous night. I love a good masquerade and this was a spectactular one.

I don't know how they're going to top this one next year but I'll be making sure I'm there.

OK so a long weekend still stretches out ahead...and in unlikely for me fashion, I have managed to fill it up like crazy. Later today we're heading for Bris-Vegas to catch up first with some friends I haven't seen since I moved to Tooowoomba followed by a 'sleepover' with Cathy for no other reason than 'why not?'. Tomorrow I'll be seeing my sister and her adorable family and then back home...followed by a visit from one of E's old Brisbane mates on Monday who is spending the weekend up here. Exhausted just thinking about it!

So what do you have planned this weekend? I've put some photos of my 'ball' experience for your enjoyment/ridicule! Have at it.

Bec xx

Clothes and jewellery to die for...180a Latrobe

 So I don't usually editorialise on my blog or blatantly try to flog products to my readers.

However sometimes exceptions must be made and this is definitely worth an exception!

My wonderful and exceptionally talented friend Kathy McLay has been an incredibly artistic designer of jewellery and sculpture for many years and has enjoyed some tremendous successes. Trust me, her designs are exquisite. And if you don't trust me, check out her website by clicking on her name above and you'll be a Kathy convert too, clamouring for her to design you something special.

So it is quite fitting that she has teamed up with another equally talented textile and fashion designer, Katelyn Aslett and together they have launched their store at 180a Latrobe Terrace in fabulous Paddington, Brisbane.

And I'm drooling.

Just one look at the pictures below makes me want to sink into debt just to walk in and buy everything. I mean everything.

That pink and black jacket...OMG. Plus every item in the very bottom pic...ah hell, let's face it, I want it all.

I'm so excited for their new venture which is coming up to its one month anniversary! And to celebrate, this week they're having a 'Bring a Friend' week, with discounts and even a glass of bubbly tomorrow from 3pm.  Please make sure you support these gorgeously talented artists and check out their websites...personally I think I'll be sinking quite a bit of my salary into 'investing' in their wares on a far-too-regular basis.

It's wonderful to be able to give support to a friend with so much talent and who happens to be simply the nicest person I've ever met in our 25+ year friendship (sorry Cathy, Larissa, Jane et al, but you know it's true).

And with my 'big' birthday coming up in September if Kathy felt like creating something for me, then I'll just have to gracefully accept.

So 'like' them on Facebook (180a Latrobe) and check out their websites for that 'something special' that you know you need! You know you want to!

Bec xx

Never throw a moose out of an aeroplane in Alaska.

So dancing the night away in Japan is apparently illegal and there are 'entertainment spaces' where you can actually be asked to please stop moving to the music. True story.

Now I'm fully aware that there is a segment of the population whose dancing really IS a crime against humanity and should be punishable by law to it's full extent. I mean, really. I know there's a saying that you should dance like no-one is watching, but seriously folks, it's meant to be a metaphor for life...remember there is ALWAYS someone watching...and perhaps cringing. Corporal punishment is perfectly OK in these circumstances. Unless they like it, but that's another story for another kind of blog entirely.

It's like sing as if no-one's listening. Out of consideration for the population at large and all the pets in the neighbourhood, I tend to only sing WHEN no-one is listening. It's a public service (cause I'm giving like that) and anyone who's ever had the misfortune to inadvertently hear my warbling would totally agree.

However Japan has really taken this to the extreme. Imagine being somewhere listening to music and involuntarily tapping your foot and bobbing your head and suddenly you're being police-escorted towards the exit.

Christ, I'd be arrested at work for God's sake. I just realised while perusing Madonna's early catalogue through my earphones that I'm having to restrain myself from singing aloud (see rule above) and I am certainly wiggling around in my seat like I have worms whilst enjoying Into The Groove (arguably Madonna's best effort ever).

Which led me to ponder the strange and insane laws that are in effect around the world (a logical segue, naturally).

Did you know that in Alabama it is illegal to wear a fake moustache that causes laughter in church? Or in Indiana any male driver with a female passenger under the age of 17 better make sure she's wearing her shoes and socks otherwise you could find yourself arrested for statutory rape. And whatever you do, please ensure that you do not strap your children to your car roof or bumper whilst in Oregon.

And heaven help you if you're drunk and in possession of a cow... where else but Scotland? Of course.

Apparently in New York you're allowed to go topless provided it's not for any business purpose. Something to remember when I'm there later this year! Whereas in Liverpool it's only allowed if you're selling exotic fish...perfectly logical.

And let us not leave out Ireland...I have a particular fascination with this country as I'm firmly convinced they're all certifiably insane, in the best possible way. One of the funniest books I've ever read is Tony Hawks' personal account called 'Round Ireland with a Fridge' (go on, read it, you know you want to) which is, surprisingly enough, based on his true adventure of hitching around Ireland with...you guessed it...a fridge. Based on a drunken pub bet that in Ireland people would pick up anyone, no matter how crazy looking, it's a great read that proves everything I've always thought about the Irish. Before I get lambasted by anyone of Irish descent, I say this with a great deal of love and some diluted Irish blood running through my own veins.

So with great anticipation I googled crazy laws in Ireland, and I wasn't disappointed. 

• If a leprechaun calls at your door, you must give him a share of your dinner
• It is illegal to perform any kind of witchcraft in Dublin
• The Tippling Act 1735 prohibits a publican from pursuing a customer for money owed for any drink given on credit (explains a lot)
• At Trinity College, students can demand a glass of wine during an exam. Would make studying far more pleasant indeed...
• Now overturned but once true: the penalty for suicide was death by hanging. Of course

 Having said all of this, I just googled crazy laws in Australia, and as it says that taxis by law have to carry a bale of hay in the boot (trunk) and that hot pink pants are illegal after midday on Sundays, I may have to take the laws above with a grain of salt. I mean, hot pink pants should be illegal under most circumstances but really?

What weird but true laws are still in effect where you live

? I'd love to hear them.

Bec  xx

Would you pick this girl as your Mentor? Oh dear.

Further to yesterday's extreme caffeine deprived addled post, I would like to say that three coffees and several diet cokes later...and well, nothing improved. Oh dear.

Thankfully Tuesday has dawned clear, bright (albeit freaking cold) and whilst I did hit snooze far too many times this morning, it wasn't quite the panic stations of yesterday and I even managed to get here in time for my visit to my dealer coffee provider which always makes things just dandy.

So I wrote briefly last week that Friday was my 1 year 'birthday' at my workplace and indeed in Toowoomba. I was so lucky and spoilt with simply the most enormous bunch of flowers delivered in the morning (so heavy they literally toppled and smashed my lovely vase at home, sad face) followed by a pissy lunch at one of our favourite restaurants (Gips) with some brilliant company and lots (and lots) of fine champagne (BEST. BRUSCHETTA. EVER). It was certainly an entertaining afternoon back at the office trying to work after that but at least it meant I was sober by the time I drove home!

I can't believe I got so lucky to fall on my feet straight into a fabulous job (literally I think one of the best assistant jobs in Toowoomba!), great house and all the rest. Speaking of the house - I am now a proficient pyromaniac fire builder who is very capably warming our house without setting the whole damn thing on fire - yay me. Can't believe I didn't use the fireplace last year, it is so much warmer than any heater and (fingers crossed) means I won't be getting a power bill the size of the debt of a small country this winter.

I think I can categorically say the Toowoomba Project is a roaring success. If only it wasn't so farking cold.

So winter hit with a vengeance about 2 weeks ago - one minute it was sunny and warm and the next farking freezing. Some days I totally get why bears hibernate in winter. There has been more than one day where my doona screams my name when we are separated - or perhaps I scream it's name...I forget which. It's times like this when I dream of Far North Queensland holidays and when my smartass, Cairns dwelling

 stepsister starts sending me text messages like the one below. She hasn't done one for a while but I know it's a-comin'.

By the way darling stepsis, the threat of Nickelback in your kids Christmas stockings doesn't have an expiry date. Just saying.

Oh some exciting news, at least for me. I have been asked to participate in a Mentoring Programme up here and now some poor unsuspecting sucker lucky young woman will draw the short straw get the benefit of my wisdom and experience (I nearly choked on my coffee just writing that phrase) for the next twelve months as my mentee.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

I'm totally looking forward to it, the opportunity to officially screw up someone else being handed to me on a silver platter. I plan to teach her all my tricks as per an excellent mentor should.

So I'm off to the Careflight Gala Ball this weekend, which is pretty cool. It's Venetian Masquerade and I can't wait to get girlied up and masked and to post some pics of the occasion! There is something about wearing a mask, which when coupled with free champagne makes me behave incredibly badly although with my boss at the table I may have to rein it in somewhat.

Quote of the day (yesterday) in caffeine addled state: 'I would go to the opening of an envelope if it involved a pretty dress and a mask'.

My boss told me I'm not normal, which I have decided to take as an extreme compliment.

I think.

Anyhoo, have a wonderful Tuesday all, I personally have downloaded the early Madonna (think pre- Like a Prayer) catalogue and am thoroughly enjoying myself right about now.

Bec xx

When you're too caffeine deprived for coffee...

So today I:

a) Somehow pressed 'snooze' on my alarm from 6am to 7:55am without being remotely conscious of it. Managed to throw myself together in approx. 7.5 minutes (including shower/makeup/hair) - albeit perhaps not my finest effort (sorry all). Meanwhile kidlet was dressed, breakfasted, packed and ready for school, thanks mate. Which then led to...

b) Gettting to work only to miss the coffee van by THIS much. I mean, it was literally driving out the gate as I came tearing in. No amount of frantic hand signalling and pleading eyes gained anything more than Frank cheerfully waving out the window as he zoomed off. Like I'm not funding your retirement plan and putting your kids through uni. Some public service, mate. I would threaten to boycott you out of principle but we all know that's a desperate lie. I have no principles when caffeine is involved, clearly. And then...

c) What do you call it when you're so caffeine deprived you can't even operate the coffee machine at work properly? We have one of those machines that use the pod-dy thingos that are essentially idiot-proof. Or so they say...I think I have just managed to self-create a bigger idiot, as I managed to fark it up three times wasting my precious pods before finally managing to get a sip.

d) Then with cup in hand (but clearly before the caffeine kicked in) I came to write this and was nearly done when somehow I managed to wipe the lot. Of course I didn't save it. What a stupid question.

So is this where I say 'things can only get better' or realise that my doona had better sense than me this morning by holding me captive and is at this moment chuckling to itself saying 'I told you not to get up'?????

And then first song of the day is Metallica's Nothing Else Matters...oh dear God. I be screwed.

Cheers

Bec xx

Happy first work anniversary to me!

I truly have the best boss ever.

I just put these in a vase and they toppled over!

And I'm even more thankful that these will be going home with me in the comfort of my car instead of a public transport spectacle as I'd truly infuriate co-commuters as this bouquet is literally that big, it requires it's own seat.

Bec xx

Second song of the day...

Awesome.

My second favourite F word...black news days and Dexys Midnight Runners.

So yesterday was a terribly 'black' news day. The horrific 'hacking to death' (could there be a more descriptively awful and evocative phrase in the English language?) of British soldier Drummer Rigby in broad daylight whilst the sick perpetrators actually encouraged people to film them is just beyond words.

Follow this with the backlash retaliation by some half-wit extremist groups (read: ignorant fuckers) against Islamic communities in the UK, despite the fact that it turns out that one of the sick fucks involved in this was a convert to sermons conducted by a Sheikh who was actually BANNED by Islam.

I am just sickened and completely without words.

Some wonder why I tend to 'skate' on the lighter side of life, particularly on my blog, tending to ignore some of the more appalling world news events in favour of something entirely self-centred and generally focused on my hair or something of that order.

The main reason is that I have a ridiculously overactive imagination and a very well developed ability to obsess over bad things to the point where I can literally see it in my head, not to mention my nightmares. I will cry over it, rage at it, dwell on it and visualise it until I collapse in a messy heap. I'm not a good horror movie person, let's put it that way.

And this is the worst kind of horror - there is now a little boy in England who will grow up without his daddy simply because his father happened to be leaving his barracks at the most inopportune time while some whacked out homocidal maniacs happened to use him as a poster child for their sick agenda.

It seriously makes me cry for humanity (what humanity?) and for the future of our global society.

See what I mean, this is why I stick to preferred mascara choices, I am sitting here almost in tears of frustration, anger and sorrow for this tragic event and this young man's life cut tragically short. Every time I close my eyes I see that bloodied image of the man holding the meat cleaver and basically PROUD of himself for taking another human being's life.

It makes me want to vomit.

So I was searching for something to lighten my spirits yesterday and there was pretty much nothing. Tragic event after tragic event, something nonsensical about your 11 most hated commuter traits, Ford factories in Australia closing with a couple thousand jobs to go...

Like I said, a black news day. One of the very blackest.

So it was with a bit of a sigh of relief to wake up this morning to find that whilst there is obviously more coverage and detail on recent horrific events, that something similar had not occurred while I was sleeping.

And then to realise today is my 'one year' birthday at my new workplace and I am anticipating a lovely lunch with my boss and a few of my favourite colleagues. I'm also having a great hair day, which changes everything.

And then to 'random shuffle' my ipod to have this catchy oldie pop up as first song of the day:

Come on, you know you're humming along.

Plus next weekend I am going to a black tie masquerade ball which I am seriously looking forward to, nothing like getting costumed up and I have scored myself a seriously cool mask...pics to follow!

And I've acquired some serious fire-building skills in the past few days, thanks to winter suddenly hitting with a vengeance (coupled with the most frightening power bill EVER last winter).

So things are looking up. Fingers crossed for news to follow.

Bec xx

My second favourite F word...typing in fingerless gloves is not funny. Seriously.

Wow I wonder if I remember how to do this?

Hi all, my name is Bec and once upon a time I started a blog which I wrote in religiously for quite a while. I then got distracted by a shiny object or two and my attention wandered...and then wandered back...and then away...and then away...then back...then away...

You get the picture.

I have been feeling super guilty for not updating my blog and also a bit addled, which I think probably is a symptom of not writing enough to 'sort out my shit'!

Anyhoo here I am, welcome back me. I always make a solemn pledge to never, ever, ever wander off again but I won't bother because we all know I'd been lying so hard my nose would grow, and seriously, does anyone ever say 'gee, I wish I had a bigger nose'???? I mean, apart from Michael Jackson that is.

So I can't even remember what I was up to last time I wrote, it was that bloody long ago...something about having a mid life crisis...some old bird jumping in front of me in photos...some other self-obsessed drivel...yada yada...40th birthdays...bad hair days...blah blah blah....more self-obsessed drivel...

So yeah, nothing's changed then. Clearly.

I'd like to say I've been off having a life but that would also be patently untrue. If I'm being blatantly honest, I've discovered a few new TV shows and have been basically glued to my laptop catching up on all episodes of not just the current favourites but others that I hadn't yet seen, like Hart of Dixie, Once Upon a Time, the latest Australian Apprentice and I've just discovered (very belatedly and upon the recommendation of my stepsister who freely admits it makes her feel like a voyeur) Big Love.

Now I know the reality of living with three wives. Poor Bill, I mean really, it's a full-time job just trying to satisfy one wife...these polygamy guys might look like they're having their cake and eating it too but logistically? Not that I would probably mind having three husbands, as long as it didn't mean 3 x picking up dirty socks and 3 x having to find everything because the 'boy look' didn't make it jump instantly into their hands. On second thoughts, I already have one teenager in the house, happy to leave it at just that, thanks!

OK so here's something that's not TOTALLY self-obsessed - my #1 (and only) son has just been given a huge academic award at school and has also been invited to participate in the selection process for an advanced academic programme at his school that basically gets him finishing a year ahead and getting to study university subjects while still in grade 12. I am simply such a proud mum right now that I think I'm gonna burst.

He gets his brains from me, obviously.

Now anyone who knows me and my son knows that E has always been a pretty bright kid with...ahem...shall we say...some issues in the way of applying himself. If I had a dollar for every time I'd hear 'lacks motivation' from his teachers...well let's just say it was like revisiting my own high school career, where I'd only bother trying if I liked the particular subject matter, otherwise...

So it's pretty exciting. My gorgeous little nerd. He's gonna rule the world one day and we'll all be working for him.

And I just realised I managed to make my son's awesome news all about me so clearly I don't lack skill in that area.

We all have our strengths.

So last week it was warm and sunny in lovely Toowoomba and then two days ago I woke up and it was farking freezing. The winter gear has come out to play and I desperately need to organise a load of firewood STAT.

And Mr Cubicle Neighbour (you know who you are), it is way impolite to laugh at someone wearing fingerless gloves while typing. Everyone knows you can't type properly with normal gloves on and YES, IT IS THAT COLD.

I'm really looking forward to the day where I'm forced to bring out the nanna blanket. Or heaven forbid, the earmuffs. Cause he didn't have enough to laugh at before. I should charge him for sitting near me, clearly I'm providing free entertainment at the expense of only, you know, my self esteem.

So next week marks my one year anniversary of departing the anthill known as Brisbane CBD for the mountain town of Toowoomba. I'll have to write a special blog post commemorating my 'anniversary'. Or you know, not.

My boss is marking the occasion by taking me out for lunch. Usually people have to work here 10 years to get a special 'anniversary' lunch so I am wondering whether working with him for one year is the equivalent of working elsewhere in the company for 10 years? Or perhaps he just wants to congratulate himself for putting up with me for 12 whole months. I'm betting on column B here.

So anyhoo, I hope you have enjoyed my first blog post in quite awhile - I have so much in my head that I'd like to write and say so fingers crossed I'll actually get around to it this time!

Bec xx

On being socially awkward.

I grew up shy. I mean, cripplingly shy. I mean, the kid-who-hid-behind-their-mother's-skirts shy. As in, I-was-dumped-more-than-once-for-not-being-able-to-look-my-boyfriend-in-the-eye-or-barely-speak-to-him shy. I was actually dumped once for the reason that I never said my boyfriend's name. Ever. True story.

People who know me rarely believe me. I am friendly, smiley and 'appear' to be gregarious and outgoing. And for many years I planned parties and events for a living (I give a kickass party). I was a dancer as a kid and performed onstage a bazillion times. I have no issues with public speaking (I'd much rather address a crowd of hundreds than 20). I was one of those kids whose mothers forced them to recite poetry onstage at eisteddfods. I have heaps of trophies that show I didn't totally suck at it. I was a drama queen.

And then, as a teenager, I somehow managed to give off the aura of 'mysterious' rather than socially awkward (lucky I was somewhat cute) and then as a young adult I discovered the joys of alcohol, which enabled me to simply BE outgoing cause I was simply too drunk to care.

I'm an enigma, even to myself. In all the personality testing I've done, I am what is known as an 'extroverted introvert' and whilst I have learned great people skills over the years, inside I can still thoroughly feel like the shy girl of my childhood.

I think that being socially awkward for me probably stemmed from my all-consuming need to fit in, to the point where I was almost scared to open my mouth in case I said something that other people thought was stupid and shunned me. I envied everyone else because I thought they had it all sorted. I think I gravitated to Cathy the housewife because she was just so...HERSELF. She said what she wanted when she wanted and damn the consequences. Still does. It's what I love most about her. I admired that so much and I guess to some extent 'hid' behind her for many years. We fit together beautifully I guess because I never had any desire to compete for centre-of-attention but was happy to be just beside, inside the action.

That's why I'm the party planner. If you've got stuff to do at events, you can easily move around looking purposeful instead of standing awkwardly like a shag on a rock or trying to make conversation with strangers. See, there's a method in my madness!

I remember talking to Cathy once and asking her if she ever felt like she was 'outside, looking in', as I've felt so many times in my life. Always THERE, but never quite feeling like I fit. I had a pathological fear of missing out on something and therefore went to every damned social gathering, just so I wouldn't. I remember going out four days after getting my tonsils out, for God's sake! I also vividly remember Cathy's response that no, she always felt like she was inside, sometimes dying to get out, because everyone always wanted a piece of her.

I guess opposites really do attract, but her statement really hit home that I seriously was socially awkward!

As I've grown older, and stopped caring so much about what other people think, I've definitely felt the lessening of my shyness. However I still feel socially awkward quite a lot.

One great thing about getting older is that you realise though, that many others are just as bad off, if not worse than me.

I remember many years back a friend of mine was asked to be a bridesmaid - I mean, she'd introduced the couple! She said no, because the thought of having to walk down an aisle while everyone stared at her gave her the willies so much that she pretty much worked herself into a nervous breakdown. I remember that I simply couldn't understand this and thought it was really selfish of her. Time and maturity allows me to understand her a little better, although I still think that she should have sucked it up on behalf of her friend.

I mean, I'd rather not be someone's bridesmaid, but that's more to do with not wanting to ruin a friendship with a bridezilla tantrum and my deep seated belief that no woman over 30 should be forced into hideous matching dresses. And having to hold up the bride's dress while she pees totally sucks.

Although I have used lame-o excuses on more than one occasion to get myself out of social events, I will admit. Mainly because it can be really, really exhausting for someone as socially awkward as me.

There are some times though, when I think it's really important to just suck it up. Cathy recently had her 40th and I'll be honest, this caused me a little bit of anxiety. I knew I wouldn't know many people there and that I would have to put on my most fabulous 'social mask' to cover it up.

But it never occurred to me to not go. I mean firstly, pretty much everyone Cathy associates with, despite walking with many crowds, is unanimously cool, down to earth and non-judgemental. And secondly I really wanted to be there for my oldest friend on her big day. I wouldn't have been anywhere else! So it was pretty easy to suck it up (the Veuve Cliquot eased the pain somewhat!) because I knew if I did, it would be well worth it.

And so it was...one of the best nights I've had in ages, and I established and re-established some great friendships along the way.

It has occurred to me that shyness is a form of selfishness, that you become so caught up in your own shit that you think the world revolves around you. I mean, take the bridesmaid example...is anyone really looking at you? I remember walking down the aisle at my sister's wedding as her maid of honour and everyone simply looking over my head and past me to get a glimpse of the bride. I was pretty much invisible, although that probably had a lot to do with the fact that we were pretty much the only wedding party in the early 90s that weren't wearing repulsive taffeta and nary a bow in sight.

I realised that I've become pretty reclusive since I moved to Toowoomba which I didn't mind at all...I value my time to myself and can thoroughly enjoy spending time at home. But lately I've realised that I've probably gone too much over to the 'dark side' and probably need to get out more. So socially awkward or not...Toowoomba social scene (is than an oxymoron?), I'm coming for you.

Wish me luck.

Bec xx

Who did it better?

I just realised that Gillard wasn't so much pointing as doing her best REDRUM impression a la The Shining.

The kid did it better though. Maybe it's the sandwich. Better luck next time, Gillard.

Bec xx

Girl power vs...no power?

I just opened the news website this morning to read that Margaret Thatcher has passed away.

RIP to the Iron Lady.

Without a doubt, Ms Thatcher revolutionised not just the UK but 'girl power' worldwide. Despite living halfway across the world (and I might be showing my age here), I grew up knowing without a doubt that girls could do ANYTHING, I mean look at the scary lady who runs Britain (and I didn't mean the Queen).

In spite of the hair and the scary demeanour, Margaret Thatcher represented an unparallelled role model for young girls. It didn't matter what side of the fence you were, politics-wise, it cannot be argued that she was one of the most defining and influential leaders across the world in, like, ever.

As the first female Prime Minister of Great Britain, she has changed history. As a strong leader, she has changed it even more. Fiesty, 'dangerously opinionated' and stubborn as hell, you can't help but admire her.

Funnily enough, she despised women's lib however somehow WAS the true definition of what it should be.

She has left a legacy that will last more than my lifetime, and this from someone who really couldn't give a rats ass about politics, let alone politics from another country.

My favourite Thatcherism, which I think embodies her strength of character, determination and frankly, no-bullshit approach:

"To those waiting with bated breath for that favourite media catchphrase, the U-turn, I have only one thing to say, you turn if you want to. The lady's not for turning" - Speech at Conservative Party conference, 1980

And this, as quoted by Tory MP Julian Critchley in 1982:

"She cannot see an institution without hitting it with her handbag"

She was a rockstar.

So let's contrast her with another (ahem) female leader - the Australian PM Julia Gillard.

Thatcher: never lost an election.

Julia: technically never won one, having tricked her way into power. I mean, let's face it, she's only there cause she knifed her predecessor and climbed over his twitching carcass to secede him, and then 'negotiated' her way into her next term. I say negotiated, as basically she lied her ass off and told the decision-making guys whatever they wanted to hear so they'd pick her. Then she systematically reneged on pretty much everything so that just recently, those same decision-making guys have now pulled their support from her.

Thatcher: love her or hate her, she was her own woman with her own opinions and couldn't be swayed in a hurricane.

Julia: a puppet who says and does what she is told.

Just the other day, I read that Julia has now earned the title of 'Worst PM in Australian History'. Along with 'hopelessly incompetent moron' and my personal favourite, 'pathologically dishonest harpy'.

Way harsh. But unfortunately true.

Look Thatcher had her detractors. But even those detractors had to give her kudos for her guts and ability to make things happen.

Gillard, on the other hand, hasn't managed to accomplish squat except some pretty fancy footwork in dodging basically every single promise she's ever made, and of course, gaining her doctorate in 'how to answer a question without actually answering shit and how to lie like a rug'.

And frankly, as a woman, it's embarrassing.

And I'm angry.

I'm furious at her because she's now set feminism back a bazillion years and likely ruined the chances of any decent female candidate forever, or at least until the bad taste is out of our mouths from this one. Yeah, forever.

She also forever gets the title of First Woman PM.

It's a travesty. The woman who made a mockery of the entire politicial institution of our country not only stealing the title from a worthy candidate, but now ruining the chances of any worthy candidate forevermore.

What makes me even more angry is that I realise I've just written a dissertation on politics and feminism...WTF!!!!!

At least they have something in common: the scary demeanour and even more frightening hair, plus their penchant for finger pointing. So maybe there's hope.

Bwahahahaha.

Bec xx

That awkward moment when...

You notice ants on your desk and then realise that they're coming from the water jug you've been drinking from all morning...

Gag.

Bec xx

Coffee, tea or...?

So it is clear that just like being a dog person versus being a weird-ass freak cat person, so too you're either a coffee person or a weird-ass freak tea person. And never the twain shall meet.

I'll give you three guesses which one I am.

Fill up the sink and give me a straw, baby.

I don't get tea. I mean, you're drinking a few leaves mixed with hot water. I mean, what?

I can't stand the taste of tea. One whiff of chai triggers my gag reflex, and Earl Grey? Ugh. Just ugh.

The only exceptions to the rule are green tea, which really shouldn't even be classified as tea, as it actually doesn't taste like tea. The other exception is those yummy 'Fruit Infusions' which once again isn't even a distant cousin of the tea family, it's basically just fruit flavoured water. Not a bad option when even I have exceeded human consumption of my preferred caffeine-laden beverages.

So you may have gathered I'm a little partial to my coffee. From my first travel mug served bedside by my personal barista (aka my son) upon waking, through to enjoying the 'fruits' of the local travelling coffee van, standing between me and my coffee really isn't your brightest move.

Imagine my dismay, then, upon discovering that the two people who share my work cubicle sit firmly on the tea drinking side of the fence.  Oh the horror!

And they just don't get it. I mean, just really don't get it.



The 'stash'



Quote of the day from this morning upon jumping up from my desk after receiving the anxiously awaited 'ding' on my phone, advising the van was heading inside the gates and I was only moments away from my precious elixir:

'Behold! We're in the presence of an addict here...it's both funny and quite sad, all at the same time'

OK, so I HAD just sculled the last of my from-home travel mug to make room for the new one, but that's normal right? And I had also simultaneously been consuming a Nespresso coffee in my favourite mug.

Totally normal right?

I keep telling myself that as I race towards the carpark towards the van...and my daily coffee mates then totally reinforced what is the complete truth: my cubicle-mates slash weird-ass freaky tea drinkers are the strange ones.

Of course they are.

By the way, my mug says 'Chaos, Panic, Disorder. My work is done here'. Without caffeine this would be impossible.

Bec xx

Rant of the day: the older I get the more I realise people suck.

OK so here's a warning: I've got my bitch on today.

Yeah, it hasn't happened for awhile as lately I've been my awesomely positive, delightful self, charming everyone in my wake. Truly.

Seriously though, I've been pretty happy lately and have so many wonderful things to write but then there comes a day when everything gets on your tits.

It was inevitable, really.

And so I need to vent.

Apologies in advance for anything that I say that may offend...oh hell, if you're reading this you're clearly not easily offended so scrap this whole sentence.

So here 'tis my Rant of the Day (patent pending):

People suck. I mean seriously.

Its struck me for some time that there are some people in this world who seriously don't have enough to do. I mean, sorry people, my life is too full and I have too much on my plate to worry about what everyone else is doing. Its called a LIFE (yes I actually, truly do have one dad).

There are so many examples I could list here except no-one from work who may be reading this would ever speak to me again. Then again, anyone from work who is reading this must be pretty darn cool so you aren't on my radar.

Who is on my radar are those asshats fun police whose mission in life appears to try to ruin everyone else's day for the most minor of things that a NORMAL person wouldn't even give two craps about.  Or even notice. Or give two craps if they did...oops I already said that. You get the picture.

There's one in every crowd. In fact, they seem to be multiplying.

So while I'm just trying to do my job, I suggest you get on with yours.

And if you've got a problem, then you'll find I'm a pretty reasonable person to speak to about it. ie. TO MY FACE. My face, people. You may actually find out whatever you perceived I was doing wrong actually wasn't because it was simply carrying out orders of someone else. You know, for my JOB.

Going behind someone's back to try to stick the knife in puts you firmly on my asshat radar, and in this case backfired spectacularly. Karma, baby.

So even as I'm trying to rant, I'm obliged to point out that being nice to people actually worked in my favour this time, with YOU being taken down a peg or two from someone who has my back. As I said, karma.

So I should rephrase: a lot of people suck. Not everyone. But a lot.

Why is it that you can be having a great day until someone brings you down with a giant thud that then pays itself forward with you then having to try hard to not snap at everyone who has the misfortune of crossing your path? And then having to work extra hard to try to get back your equilibrium to once again resume charming the pants of everyone you meet (hey it's a tough job, but someone's gotta do it).

So sucky people, and you know who you are, get over it. There's no charge for being nice and if it makes you feel good to ruin someone else's day for no reason whatsoever, then that says more about you than it does about me. And not in a good way.

Get a life. And stay the hell out of mine.

Rant over.

(I feel better now).

Bec xx

40th birthdays. What happens when the housewife's apron comes off and hair comes down?

So after the weekend just gone, there may be an argument to retitle this blog:

'Grown Up, and maybe, just maybe, a teensiest bit Old'.

Sometimes.

It was the ubiquitous Cathy, our very own and beloved Friday 50s housewife, who was persuaded to take off the Laura Ashley apron, don her signature black sequin-and-crucifix style and hit it hard in honour of her 40th birthday,complete with stilettos with not just spikes for heels, but spikes coming OUT of the heels as well.

Well, it was Saturday after all.

And forgive me if these creaking bones are feeling every minute of my thirty-nine something years right about now. And if I'm being totally honest, at something ridiculous (and way past my bedtime) o' clock in the early hours of Sunday morning, watching the latest 'young generation' in what was once my own natural habitat but now feels like some sort of alien universe, I felt, I have to admit, just a tad past it.

It's a bizarre feeling.

Whilst swapping stories with others of days of yesteryear (4 nights a week! No sleep! Didn't miss a day of work! Backed up again the next night!) it became apparent that whilst our bravado and attitudes let us talk the talk (rather loudly) our old(ish) bones are starting to fail us when it comes to walking the walk.

We started out in somewhat typical 'old school' fashion, ie. pre drinks at Cathy's, or correctly, champagne out of tumblers (quote of the day when mentioning that I should have bought some champagne flutes for her birthday, Cathy's response: 'I can't have nice things'). The only change from days of old being the tumblers were glass instead of plastic (or the bottle) and the champagne was Veuve Cliquot, instead of the far more likely Passion Pop or Spumante (or Spewmante, for reasons likely obvious but best left alone).

There have to be some positives to getting old.

We had also thrown money in the hat to buy Cath a gorgeous Thomas Sabo skull charm, but I wanted to get C something little from just me.

What else except a new crucifix, that was so totally reminiscent of Cathy circa 1990 that I just couldn't resist. Coupled with a lighter that looked like a gun and we were good to go.

No-one could have foreseen Cathy's attempt to hold up the taxi driver with her 'gun'... Well that's a total lie, it was never a matter of would it happen, it was simply a matter of when.

Fortunately with probably the only Australian born taxi driver in Brisbane (or in existence) we arrived at the German Club venue without bloodshed.

So to quickly recap: I know know what a pork knuckle is (ie. bigger than my head) and have discovered that German strawberry and lime cider tastes pretty effing good. I have also now heard Lady Gaga as sung by a German one man band accompanied on something that I think was an accordion. Or perhaps it was the cider hallucinations.

Really.

So a cast of thousands rolled up to celebrate Cathy's birthday and the festivities abounded. I have a sneaking suspicion that the German Club probably quadrupled their takings for the evening. I would ask the owner but he's probably lying one beach in the Bahamas courtesy of us right about now.

Now I will definitely post some pics but my stupid iPad camera kit won't work for me today so I will have to wait till I get home tonight.

I feel compelled to write this quickly though for a few reasons.

The first, and most flattering, is that I met one of Cathy's mates on Saturday night who sought me out to tell me how much he loves my blog, and to tell me to 'get back to work' as I've been a slackass with the posts lately. So Paul, awesome to meet you and this one's for you.

Secondly, duh, it's Cathy's birthday and what more fun post to write?

Anyhoo, so drinking...merriment...raucous behaviour...blah blah blah...

I'll get Cath to take pics of her presents too, as I've never seen a more suitable collection of 'Cathy' gifts in my life. Particularly loving the 'bloody knife' handbag.

So as any of us could have predicted, well after the usual closing time and after numerous (and less and less gentle) reminders to get the hell out...and long after locking us all out of the building and herding us into the outdoor area...we were eventually told to GTFO in no uncertain terms.

Well Ok...

I'm not sure who decided that midnight karaoke was a good choice...ok total lie, it was Cathy, so into the Valley we went to hear the inevitable massacre of many a tune that was far too massacred to even recognise what it was supposed to be.

With the exception of the housewife, naturally, whose rendition of a song peppered with motherf#%!er and something about police doing something to themselves that I've been led to believe is anatomically impossible...was fabulous.

Awesome stuff.

Anyhoo, whilst people watching in the type of seedy venue that I grew up with I noticed something weird.

I really, really don't get boys these days.

Now some would say I may be a fine one to talk, gravitating to the long haired, tight jeaned seedy looking boys that were so unbelievably different to the Country Road, RM Williams crew that ran the planet back in the day.

However, with some of those same boys turning up Saturday night, I can categorically say I had damned good taste...they were a bit of alright back then and still are to this day.

Now I can't quite say the same for the baggy crotch jeaned, dirty straggly haired with slouchy beanie boy who looks like a bath may have escaped his attention this century. Of which the Valley is being overrun by.

What was most perplexing was that almost every one was accompanied by a waify, delicate looking and scantily clad gorgeous girl fawning all over them.

Huh? I mean yeah, the girls looked pretty spacey but surely no drug in the world could polish that turd???

Oops, did I just say that out loud?

Anyhoo, I have decided this odd modern day 'individuality' discussion deserves a post of its own so I shall park it for now.

So back on point, I have a horrible suspicion that it make take quite awhile to recover from such an epic night. Lets just say driving back to toowoomba yesterday is a foggy memory and I went to bed earlier than my grandma (oh the horror!). And despite more than four strong coffees and a diet coke I'm still feeling tired, as spacey as a pretty waif and terribly, terribly old.

Unacceptable!!!

In summing up I shall also say, Cathy, thank you for a night I will never forget and hopefully not repeat for. Little while...until the next 40th of course.

Bec xx