Not always on the same blog page….

At lunch time my work colleague and I were doing some lunchtime online-surfing….

Said simultaneously whilst looking at our computers: Oh My God

Colleague:  Are you reading the news as well?

Me: Yes. OH MY GOD!

Colleague: I know! Isn’t it horrible?

Me: Yeah… I can’t believe Peter Andre finally dumped that slapper!

Colleague: (long silence) Ummm… I was talking about the 5 billion dollar debt the US reportedly has….

Me: (even longer silence) Oh Yeah. Me too.

Not very hidden depths…

http://www.theage.com.au/lifestyle/people/peter-andre-splits-from-wife-jordan-20090512-b0u1.html

 

Boomerang…

Sometimes the absence is longer than at other times.

But I always come back in the end, much like a boomerang.

x

 

Wet behind the behind…

I rode to work for the first time this morning. I now have the wettest of wet bottoms.

To alleviate this problem I was standing in the bathroom this morning (my riding was a massive success in terms of finally getting me to work on time and I managed to get to work twenty minutes early – which was handy when dealing with the “wet” issue) and I had my skirt off, drying it under the hand dryer. Suddenly the nasty Iranian cleaner who always yells at you if you leave muddy tracks on the floor, walks in to change the toilet rolls.

Firstly, it’s not my frigging fault it’s wet outside… and it’s not my fault it’s his job to clean muddy footprints. He’s always yelling at our circus kids, and I always yell back at him to leave them alone. He’s like the Soup Nazi, but he’s Footprint Nazi.

Anyway I think he was so shocked to see me with me skirt off, standing in my mis-understander-pants with my stockings lying on the ground and my singlet in the wash basin and me holding my skirt under the dryer, that he did the only thing he knows how to do…. he started yelling at me. A lot. Still not quite sure what I did wrong this time (maybe it was a modesty issue… mind you – he’s the pervert in the girls toilet, I’m allowed to be there) but his voice rose about ten octaves and his accent got really thick and I had absolutely no idea what he was talking about for ages, until finally I literally dropped my skirt onto the ground, ran into the toilet cubicle and started yelling back.

I don’t think the Iranian cleaner likes me very much. I don’t like him either, but he has a moustache that deserves kudos. Think Magnum PI.

So I’ve been sitting with a wet rear-end all day.

I might have to consider investing in “bike clothes”…. Boo! Nobody looks good in lycra. Nobody.

The mo

 

She’s so trashy…

There’s nothing like walking home at 5pm on a Saturday afternoon, still wearing last nights finery.

Grown up couples pass me whilst carrying their days groceries. As I walk past the Carlton Gardens there are  families going home, having spent an afternoon in the sun playing “happy families”.

I am carrying a clutch. I am wearing an off the shoulder black top. I have my hair pulled back and the remnants of 22 hour old make up on my face… The sunlight don’t make me look so pretty…..

I thought when I turned thirty a magic switch would go off and I would be a grown up.

I’m actually happy to say that there is no switch and I am still the child I have always been. Trashy and tragic at times, but I embrace all that life throws me.

Bring on the trashy and tragic, I say!

 

Bathing in red wine…

Tonight I watched a man bathe himself standing up with a bottle of red wine, whilst listening to the strains of Jeff Buckley, with a semi smile of combined contentment and pain on his face. It was the culmination of an hour intense journey as one man filled a stage with the whispers of relationships and lives gone by.

Yes, I know this all sounds whimsical and full of rhapsody. But the piece I saw tonight has filled my head with meandering thoughts and I’m sitting here thinking about lovers of past, the soundtrack of my life and being emotionally and physically naked to the world.

But back to the naked red wine man. My first and most intense thought was how much I’d love to try that one day – it looked beautiful and amazing, slowly pouring the wine through his hair and running all the way down his skin. He looked like a Jackson Pollack afterwards. My second thought was that I would never do it because I’m more likely to want to drink the wine rather than waste it…….

 

Soup for the soul…

It seems so strange not to blog at the moment. I think about it all the time, but I don’t feel like blogging about the big white elephant in the room and so it seems silly to even try. But life is a funny thing and even when the emotion is too much to bear, there are still amusing things that happen in day to day life, anecdotes to tell and silly laughing moments to share.

I’m terribly hung over right now, so I’m not going to take this post any further. But I thought I’d have a little try and see how it feels to step back in to Farfaraway world. I’d like to think I’ll be back again soon.

 

Everyone loves to swing…

You know that elation you get when you master a new skill, or something you’ve been working at finally all comes together? That is the cloud I’m walking on right now.

I trapeze. Yes, really.

Every Monday after work I stick on my “oh my god, please don’t look at my thighs” leggings and sidle out of the bathrooms and into the circus space. Surrounded by ridiculously bendy size 6 girls and twelve-packed boys, I attempt to heave myself onto the trapeze. For an hour I puff and grunt. I fall off. I yell at my trainer because I’m frustrated or tired. I usually fall off again. I get “circus bruises” (which means bruises in places you never thought possible). I wake up the next day “growing wings” – excruciating pain in in my upper back.

And yet I love my swinging. It’s an adrenaline rush standing on the bar, and doing upside down tricks. But I don’t exactly rock at it. I suck. But I do laugh a lot and I have fun (in between the pain).

Today it all came together. I lifted my feet from the ground, to over me and above the bar, and swung my legs over so I was hanging upside down, without my feet touching the bar once. Doesn’t sound like much but OH MY GOD. I made everyone below give me high fives, I was so excited. And then to top it off I managed to do a trick that I’ve never succeeded at – standing up (it’s quite high up there), holding the ropes, and then doing a somersault in mid air, landing with my butt on the bar. It’s absolutely petrifying being so high up and you just lunge, with no idea where you are going and if there’s a bar anywhere near you to land on, or if you’re going to fall off (again) onto the mats below.

Today, I did it! I’m walking on air, I’m smiling at strangers, I’m calling all my friends and making them congratulate me.

Sometimes it’s the small things that can turn your world around.

 

Times, they are a changin’…

Things move so fast. Happiness can switch to deep sadness in only a matter of seconds… a matter of words

But I still stand, regardless of what the world throws at me.

I’m looking for a new home. I feel like a true Melburnian now, as the journey of the rental-hunter is a long and painful one, attempted only by the true Melburnians. Some survive and achieve a home of their own. Some compromise and find flatmates instead. Some give up all together and leave the city (more common than you’d believe!) I’m not yet at compromising, but the path to salvation looks rocky and daunting.

I’ve seen ten rentals in the last eight days. Four were smaller than a kennel. And smelt as bad. Two were ridiculously expensive considering their position and size (if you’re wondering what “expensive” means – I’m looking at $280+ for a tiny one bedroom. INSANE!) Two were still expensive, but my heart went out to them. But despite my best efforts I still haven’t been accepted for one home yet – not even my application for one of the dog boxes!

So I keep trundling along. The tram is my friend and delivers me, like a chariot, to suburbs I can barely find on a map. My phone is my cheerleader, with loved ones on the other end (mostly from my home town) cheering me on to success. My work place patiently awaits me re-arrival to sanity and calmness. My fingers keep moving, typing and writing the places I see and the things I feel.

Times, they are a changin’ and I still stand here, regardless of what the world throws at me.

 

The train, she’s a comin’….

Ever wondered why it is that you can wait and wait for a train, and once you given up and walked away, as soon as you’re too far to turn back, the train speeds into the station?

Why the present you’ve been agonising over and looking forward to giving someone, gets zero response from them when they unwrap it?

Why the person you’ve looked forward to working with in your new job, actually turns out to be the same bully you were trying to escape from in your old job?

I call it Wednesday. And boy, am I glad it’s over…..

 

Our House of Cards…

From the moment I walked into my Lovers home with my suitcases in tow and a used, one way plane ticket from Perth in my hot little hand, I fell in love. Mostly with him, but the fact that he has a wonderful sense of aesthetic in his (now our) home didn’t hurt. It has corners and nooks, bookcases and spaces filled with objet d’art, ornaments, sentimental riff raff and (I say this in undertones, as the word is not permitted in our home)… hoard.

My own collection of artifacts were soon combined with his, and thus the nest grew more cluttered, and I fell even more in love with it….

At Christmas we didn’t have a tree, so I hung candy canes on the old fan that doesn’t work. They’ve been there ever since. The bear is one of my Lover’s “originals”.

The oddest doll-hat-stand ever. Creepy and yet an integral part of the household… she looks after my hats.

In our home every corner is put to work… The drawing between the two tigers is the first one my step-niece gave me when we met. It’s how she thought I’d look. I framed it, and have it with me always.

We bought a new lamp this week. It was ridiculously difficult to put together, but I’ve never loved a lamp so much.

Okay – I’m only including a photo of our fridge because our shopping list is pretty special this week. Loves in a Jar proved particularly difficult to find.

The fisherman watches over the wishing tree. If you’re looking for luck in our home, this is the corner to find it in.

The last thing you’ll see as you leave us; a small reminder on the back of our front door…

My girly things… the birthday cupcake tray, the candle menagerie, my journal in the far background…

The museum of oddities. Lover has bestowed the greatest privilege on me… in his absence I am the Curator. Nearly all of this is his – and the photo isn’t wide enough to show it all.

Even the bathroom has a minder looking over it. Cat clock and Mother Mary cheer me up when I’m getting ready for work in the mornings.

Our spice rack man puts coins in his mouth. I quite (politically incorrectly) adore him.

This is my book nook. Unfortunately our new lamp displaced the original resident, my Lover’s life size doll, wearing a two headed shirt which was bestowed on it by our two favourite blondes. So my book nook is currently occupied until a new home can be found for her…