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

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