Numb butts and dead brains. It must be Thursday.

So I'm soldiering on after a mammoth week starting with driving a few hours to collect # 1 son on Monday (more on that later) followed by a 2 day conference where I came out feeling brain dead and with a totally numb butt....

So I am an assistant and so by nature spend much of my time in an office sitting at a desk, so the abundant sitting (which can clearly be evidenced by the size of my ass) usually isn't a problem. So what's the diff, right? Well my wonderful, amazing, fabulous boss has given me a gazillion dollar Eames leather office chair which seriously is like a piece of heaven and akin to sitting on a wonderfully suspended, swivelling cloud...

Even the most comfy conference chair is clearly going to rate poorly in comparison and I must say I am so happy to have my butt back in the matter to which it has been accustomed.

I have just realised that my first post in like a bazillion years has so far focused on my ass. Oh dear.

Moving on...

So # 1 son went to Sydney for an extended weekend with my stepmother, stepsister and fam, and a cast of other thousands from their side of the family. The purpose was to go see the Lion King at the theatre and well, why not spend some time exploring Sydney too? This was pretty wonderful for a number of reasons, ie. # 1 son hasn't been to Sydney or in a plane for that matter for years so that he barely remembers it. Plus he gets to have an adventure and I get some peace and quiet! Haha.

Anyhoo, because my parents live in Tenterfield, about 3 or so hours away, we tend to meet halfway to do swapovers (I must admit we do feel like battling exes doing the kid swapover in the Maccas carpark at Warwick, but at least we do get out of the car, and you know, exchange words and stuff).

Hence the driving. I think I've probably said before that I'm not the world's biggest fan of driving.It sounds stupid but I really started to effing hate driving when living in Brisbane and dealing with stupid traffic whose singular purpose seemed to be how quickly it could make my blood boil. The more I drove, the more I started to seriously despise every car and every idiot in every car on the road. So whilst I developed an equal hatred for public transport, it was for totally different reasons and at least my blood pressure thanked me for making the switch.

Toowoomba traffic is kinda an oxymoron, so driving isn't nearly as heinous here so I've learned to tolerate it to an extent. I still would much rather have a personal driver at my beck and call but it's OK.

Still not a fan of driving more than a 10 minute distance though, which works pretty well usually as nothing in Toowoomba is really more than 10 minutes away.

I have just re-read this entire post and apologise in advance for either being offensive or dull. If I had the choice, I'd rather be offensive because there's just no excuse for dull.

So anyhoo, completely different topic...50's Housewife has turned me onto The Real Housewives and recommended I begin with New York City or New Jersey. As I can't even tolerate looking at pictures of the one who really needs to laser some of the hair off her forehead, I decided to go with NYC. Another obvious reason I that I am still having a potent and passionately raging love affair with NYC and any excuse to see images of Manhattan is OK by me.

So totally years behind, I get this, but how awful is this rift with Bethenny/Jill and how hideous are alien-eyes Ramona, the manly, permatanned Kelly and The Countess (or Dis-Count or Countess as I prefer). It's a sad state of affairs indeed when the desperate social climber and most hated from Season 1 (Alex) suddenly becomes the voice of reason. I feel quite robbed actually, that the producers made us love the devilish Bethenny/Jill combo and then suddenly you realise that both of them kinda suck.

I am persevering but it is getting difficult as I really have gone from watching in a slightly amused 'who the hell do these completely un-self aware twits think they are' fashion to really quite hating the whole entitled, horrible pretentious bunch of them.

Damn you 50s housewife. And damn you producers for creating such a car wreck of a show where I am finding it difficult to simply just look away.

And don't even get me started on The Bachelor. Or Couples Therapy. Let's just not go there.

So here's to numb butts and dead brains and junk food tv. It must be Thursday.

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

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