i have everything in this whole wide world a girl could ever need

This is me, pre-pregnancy.



Have I mentioned that I'm pregnant?

Heavily pregnant with house.

About 10 months now in fact.

And I'm sooooo over being pregnant.

The excitement and radiant glow of the first two trimesters is well and truly OVER. Now I just want the labour to be over and done with. I'm told the worst is yet to come.

For anyone who has ever built a house (or perhaps given birth for that matter), I'm sure you have insight into the nerves/adrenalin/anxiety I am feeling as we anticipate the arrival of our new born house.

It has been one hell of a gestation let me tell you.

For over 3 years now, we have been living with the Outlaws. Not great for any baby-makin, be it real or steel. This last 3 and a half years have possibly been the most painful I have ever experienced; possibly worse than losing my beautiful grandfather Cobber, which I thought might nearly destroy me. That was 10 years ago last month.

A while ago I blogged to all the boys I've loved before and celebrated the last 10 years of loves and losses in the romance stakes.
In the real-life stakes, the last 10 years has been pretty tough going.
I have started a career and had 5 job changes.
I have moved house 8 times.
I have bought and sold a house.
I have experienced workplace bullying, followed by depression; during which time I was living alone, hundreds of miles from friends and family.

I lost both my grandfathers.

I lost a good friend.
I lost a cousin.

Just in the last 3 years I also lost my beautiful Aunty, changed jobs 3 times and moved from where I had just started to make friends, to a place where making friends has been an ongoing, lonely struggle.
This year alone I have lost both a wonderful friend and mentor after watching her courageous and dignified battle with breast cancer; and I lost my beautiful, fun-loving uncle.
I have watched my Dad go through 2 rounds of treatment for cancer; and just found out last week that I may lose my job.

There have been times over the last 3-nearly-4 years that I have felt completely robbed.
Robbed of our honeymoon period.
Robbed of our life-that-seems-so-long-ago surrounded by friends and a fun social-life.
Robbed of any opportunity to start a family.
Robbed of my twenties.

Honestly I began to turn into a bitter and twisted old woman of 31.

I have had moments of what you could possibly call a breakdown. Those were the times when I would just sit in the car on the side of the road and cry and cry, not knowing if or how I could go "home" to a home that wasn't mine.


The title of this was blog was really only meant to be toungue-in-cheek, sorta. Kinda. But all the feelings of frustration, anger and all-consuming resentment over what I'd lost, really began to take their toll.
What's worse is that I don't think anyone really had any it was happening. But I could see it. In every new wrinkle, and every new kilo that would come to visit me on the scales.

I am 31 chronologically; but physically and mentally I was reaching about 85-year-old-cranky-nanna. Bitter, twisted and resentful.


I don't know when the change happened. Sometime in the last 6 months after losing my uncle probably and realising how short life is; but it can be a whole lot shorter if you sit around whinging about how bad your lot in life is, how many crows' feet you have, or how fat and ugly you feel.


Now the light is finally at the end of the tunnel. We're not through it yet, but I'm determined to keep going, like the Little Engine That Could. (Feel a cliche or two coming on here)

I can look back down the hill and see all the bad stuff I've left behind, or I can realise I'm nearly at the top and what a helluva view it is!

I got married to a man who loves me, no matter how big or often my mega-tanties!

I own 5 beautiful acres of land with a beautiful creek running through the bottom where our children (hopefully) will grow up and play!

I have friends and family who love me and aren't afraid to tell me so, even though they might not be just around the corner they are close enough to Throw a Sheep At!

I have travelled to Japan and seen snowfall and cherry blossoms at the same time;

I have attended more concerts than I could ever imagine possible, absorbing every magical musical moment with ears to hear them (Chris Isaak, Billy Joel, Crowded House, Keith Urban, Taylor Swift, Don McClean, Tim McGraw, Village People, Blues Traveler and soon the Eagles and U2).

I am surrounded in the incredible Twitterverse by the most amazing, random strangers who constantly show me that life is hard, but someone else's is always harder- and the power of the Human Spirit is one not to be messed with.


Have I had a lot to complain about? Probably.

Have I felt like running away? Oh yes definitely. Sometimes just the thought of knowing that at any moment I could just drive and drive and not come back was almost blissful, even if it meant leaving my marriage and potential life with children and my husband. I think knowing I chose to stay was what got me through those moments. One foot in front of the other.

I don't want to go from sounding like Ungrateful Cow to Smarmy Cow: as I said in a post on another fabulous Blog, I finally take life seriously enough to not take anything too seriously that it costs me health and happiness.

Already I have started to notice my worry lines are less pronounced, my mouth is not as turned down, my skin is clearer, my eyes brighter and my head clearer. I am grateful for every 100g less I see on the scales. I changed my hair colour recently from my natural ranga to a very dark brunette- and funnily enough feel more myself than I have done in a very long time.


Sure little things still get on my goat occasionally, I'm only human after-all, but as everyone tells me "it will all be worth it in the end".

Much like childbirth.

Wish me luck.
x

i'm keeping you forever and for always...

On this beautiful October weekend in 2006, I got to marry my best friend. I just found my post on Wedding Central from the day we got back from our honeymoon- so I'm reliving the moment!

Well this is our first weekend home so I thought I'd take the opportunity to share the details of our day. It was just such a beautiful day with the weather providing many funny hiccups along the way!
We were staying at Twin Towns resort and Josh and I had dinner with our respective families the night before in two separate restaurants side by side, which was lovely. Was back in the apartment and in my PJs by 8:30pm, chilling with my BMs and my brother. We painted toenails and listened to music- it was great!
Next morning I was awake at 5:00 (couldn't sleep) but stayed in bed until six, when I got up and had a shower. Mum made us a lovely brekky of fruit and croissants and while we were chatting Mum screamed- "Look there's a whale!" We ran out on the balcony to watch 2 humpback whales playing in the shallows (I have never seen this in Coolangatta before) across the road from our apartment. It was magical and surely a great sign for the day! We had to tear ourselves away from watching to get ready!
Hair and makeup done, in my dress and wearing my Mum's old watch and veil, I was ready! I really felt so calm all day, and didn't get teary until the boys came up to get us for our photos- when I saw Josh I nearly lost it- he looked so handsome! Jumped in the limo (trying to dodge other guests who were staying there also) to the beach and had a ball in the wind trying to get photos taken. At one point the photographer put my bouquet on the sand and the wind picked it up and it went tumbling down to the water- so I raced after it! I nearly got bowled over by a wave- it was so funny! We managed to borrow a malibu from a surfer to get some pics as well which was great!

Boys went to the ceremony about 20mins before us, which had to be moved at the last minute because of wind. When we arrived it was blowing a gale, but it was still so beautiful and intimate. I tried to take everything in, faces, music, words, everything. And I still remember the ceremony so clearly!! At one point our guests watched as a big gust of wind blew our wedding certificate up about 5 floors of the apartment building we were next to, and then it disappeared- unbeknownst to us- before being handed over the fence by a man who had scopped it out of the pool! It was a bit streaky but still bloody hilarious!!!

Reception was a blur, but heaps of fun.
Most emotional moments:
At the end of my Dad's speech, my brother and friend had snuck up on stage and broke into "Take Good Care of My Baby" which just ruined me. Especially the part when it says: "And if you should discover, that you don't really love her, send my baby back home to me". Just beautiful.
Then my older brother had secretly done a movie of Josh and I from pictures of us through our lives which set me off again! Even the staff were all trying to discreetly wipe their eyes!!
There was much singing (I was called up to sing "I will survive" much to my shock and horror) and a horrendous rendition of Love Shack but it was just awesome. It's so hard to capture so many emotions and tears and happiness in a paragraph!
It really flew by so much faster then everyone said it would and I can't wait to see the video!!!!!!

manaakitia mai aotearoa...

God Defend New Zealand...

And their Rugby Sevens Team...

Specifically, their 6-packs...

And doing the Haka without their shirts on. Kthxbai.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GwqmJTD_xQo

i'm alive and i'm free...who wouldn't wanna be me?

After the last three (yes, count them, THREE) years of living with my in-laws, we finally have a start-date on our house build. Insert expletives of excitment here.

Needless to say, it can be a little cramped at times, and I have, on occasion, possibly been suffering from mild (read: extreme) psychotic episodes.

Not really, but some days are diamonds, some days are stone (thank you John Denver).

To combat this, I do one of three things:

• Retreat to my room (my 4x4 haven where I can be reclusive and watch America's Next Top Model and Project Runway and have a little teary (basically collapse in an emotional heap and become a hermit)





• Run screaming to my parents on the Gold Coast for some R&R, or





• Have a "Me-Day"

Today was perfect weather for a MeDay. Cold, grey and very, very wet.

I stayed in my PJs until midday; watching The Delicious Miss Dahl followed by Country House Rescue and Lost Gardens.... control of the remote and being in one's PJs is something to be treasured, especially on a MeDay.

A quick shower and into my trackies and runners (comfort first on a MeDay) I hit the road for a quick dash into Myer where I bought a lovely book on Cupcakes (40% off thankyou Myer Brookside!) for my experiments in preparation for BrisbaneSweetTweet!

Cruising around to FunkyFabrix at Mitchelton, I was most crushed to find that the vontage fabric garage sale was not, in fact, on at all, with the "Closed" sign glaring at me in fire-engine red (I tweeted my concern- it is a MeDay after all, therefore all about me- but Oh well, on a MeDay there is not much room for disappointment!).

Facial time at Isis Beauty House Samford with the fabulous Lauren who gave me their brand new Sothys Professional Peel and I was the lucky first person to get it!

I had an hour and a half of pampering, under a nice, cozy doona- and it is so quiet out there in the beautiful little cottage you feel miles from anywhere (Brisbane ladies if you live in or near the Samford are it is so worth the drive!).

My last stop was the Samford Patissiere for a cappucino, but I decided to treat myself to one of their delicious Chocolate and Hazelnut tarts (it was a MeDay afterall- I was good though, cutting it in half and taking it home for Hubs) and I sat with my favourite magazine and just stopped.

And just as I stopped, I really stopped. My In-Laws had apparently had the same idea.

It wasn't so bad, actually, kinda bumping into them unexpectedly and sharing a coffee and chat, and considering on a MeDay nothing can get you down, I really didn't mind.

Driving home with cupcake supplies in tow, I had a nice chat to my beautiful Mum :)

I made some more yummy bruschetta for dinner with a glass of PinotNoir (from the fridge, thankyou MIL), all the while thinking my weekend carb-splurge will cost me! But, who cares on a MeDay?

My last adventure was to bake my trial run Rosewater Cupcakes- now sans rosewater, thankyou Samford IGA- and try desperately to make the little frangipani petals look exactly like this:

I'm no Cake Boss, but my Coconut Substitute Cupcakes with Butter Cream did turn out ok. Hubs even got in on the action with the piping. I think more ended up in his mouth than on the cupcakes though.
I think I might choose something a little less adventurous for Brisbane Sweet Tweet!

take my puppies everywhere...... la la la la, i wouldn't care...

There is an incriminating photo.
It is not the photo itself but what it captures that was the centerpiece(s) for one of the strangest nights I have had in a very, very long time.

Last night was my little brother’s (and his lovely lady’s) engagement party.
I purchased a new frock for the occasion. On eBay.

Those of you who know me IRL or those of you who’ve read some of my previous posts, will know that I’m not a skinny Minnie, and like to have rather Napoleonic battles with mirrors in fitting rooms, eventually settling on jeans for all occasions.

Well lately, due to a range of complicated reasons (read: fatty boombah, carrying too much weight, knee/back problems, borderline diabetic, horrendous fear of infertility and generally not feeling too great about myself and missing the healthier, dancier me) I have been making some drastic changes to my diet (healthy, drastic changes- don’t panic) and gradually throwing in some lifestyle changes as well (not inclusive of moving into our own newly-built house in the very near future YAY!).

So far, as of Tuesday Checkup (AKA Netherlands Quality Control) I have lost 8kgs in about 6 weeks. I am starting to feel really good. My clothes are starting to miraculously expand and I just feel healthier. Aches and pains are beginning to fade. Tummy is shrinking by the day, boobs too (much to hubs’ disgust but my relief) and I just feel like the cocoon of misery and discomfort is starting to peel back.

Last night was a bit of a milestone for me. I had really hoped to get to the 10kg mark for last night’s shindig, but secretly I think I was doubting I could even get to 2kg. I bought my new eBay ex-Portmans BNWT (brandnewwithtags non-ebay speakers) number anyway, not even knowing if it would fit, let alone look any good!
I left fake tan well alone, settling instead for just me, my new ‘do (well, colour) and a bit of LeTan Flawless Legs (girls, can I just say- this stuff is BRILLIANCE!!!!)

Oh, one thing I forgot to mention earlier about the dress: kinda plunging neckline.

Never been done. At least, not by me. I’m not exactly what you’d call “lacking” in the chestal region, and I’m not one to show smoosh ‘n’ crack (you know, like a bum caught in a bra). So with my Target bra, enough Hollywood Fashion Tape to support the Empire State Building and a lot of encouragement from Hubs, I applied my smokey eye and nude lip, threw on a bit’o’bling, black platform heels (sorry to all who voted Nude- HEELS that is) and hit the town.

The strangest thing of all was the fact that I felt eerily calm. Not fidgety, not regretting a fake tan (and accompanying smell), choice of outfit, underwear and inappropriate footwear. Totally unusual for me, as usually a night out send me screaming in terror. For the first time in a long time, I felt like a happy, confident version of Myself.

I am not the most confident of people at the best of times, and any indication of the contrary is usually just false bravado. Confidence in how I look is something I couldn't tell you when I last had. Last night was like having a great night out with an old friend whose company you really enjoy, and miss.

First of all, noone knew who I was. Least of all my best friend, who looked at me strangely before shaking her head with bulging eyes and breaking into a huge smile (and whispering “Hot” in my ear as she gave me a big hug).
Shortly after it was my little brother’s mate, who before black platform heels was the same height as me, but now was at just the wrong height, and spent most of the evening wanting to hug me, for some reason.
Then while busting a move (as did my wires, from their lining within my bra- enter regret for choice of underwear) on the dancefloor, an unknown (but later discovered, “attached”) gentleman enquired of my BF as to whom was the “hot babe in the black dress?” By this stage my night was getting weirder and weirder, much to the amusement (and later, openly admitted pride) of Hubs.
Enter little bro’s mate again for another hug.
Later, on our way to the post-party-entertainment venue(Little Bro’s workplace), I was passed by a bloke who politely enquired as to the enjoyment of my evening so far (“fine, thankyou”) and are you going to have a dance (“yes, I believe so”), ooh BABY! (His words, sooo not mine)

Looking frantically around for Hubs and finding him walking not far behind me, chatting to my cousin, I also looked around to just check if this man was perhaps talking to someone else. No, it appeared he was looking at me and smiling. WTF?
Then it was the guy who swiped my membership card (and works with Little Bro), asked me how I knew the groom-to-be (“I’m his sister”), followed by a You’re Kidding and then leaned over to whisper in my ear Have a Great Night, D’s Sister *wink*.

In the last 6 years or so that I have been living away from the Gold Coast and off the market has something happened to the male of the species.
I seem to remember many single years when comments like this just weren’t made to me, and I was not looked at like that, not in the least since I’ve been married (as I would expect, with wedding ring clearly displayed) and assumedly, carrying a few extra kilos.
Please be aware here that at no times was my wedding ring not visible. I was not “on the prowl”, carrying on like a skanky ho’ or deliberately seeking attention from anyone. The purpose of the evening was simply to celebrate and enjoy the company of family and friends, whilst a little dressed up (and not wearing jeans). If anything, the only approval sought was the one from the other side of the mirror and if Hubs liked it, then that’s a bonus (but he thinks I look good in a potato sack).

It’s not over yet.

Enter Little Bro’s mate for another hug.
Toilet visit and smile from handsome stranger.
Walk past bar and smile from beer-nursing stranger who nudges mate.
Really starting to think either I have something on my face or “supportive-but-must-escape” wire has now made its way out of the privacy of my bra and is now poking out of my dress…Subtle glance down……No. All good.

Confused and a little nervous about the attention, I returned to the safety of my seat beside hubs and my cousin (female), and began the interrogation about my appearance that could lead to the understanding of this strange occurrence.

Cousin: “Um……..because you’re hot. Hubs: "That…..And….You’ve got the puppies out.”

I pondered this over my half-strength vodka, lime & soda.

Could puppies, boobs, boozies, bazookas, gazoongas, jugs; namely, MY canine companions, really have this effect?

Further discussion with Hubs upon whether I or he, should in fact be offended, and he offered his words of wisdom (carefully interpreted and reexplained): “You look great, you feel great, you’ve got some great blog material. If anyone offends you, I will defend your honour. If anyone touches you, there will be a problem.

Upon leaving, a brief encounter with a fellow party-goer and work colleague of Little Bro’s, confirmed Hubs’ deduction.

Glance down, glance up: Houston, we have eye contact.
Glance down, glance up: “How do you know D?”

I’m D’s Sister.

Glance down, glance up: “You are too beautiful to be his sister. You are f*ing gorgeous. Tell me you are not his sister. That’s just wrong.”

Um, Sorry?

“I have been fantasizing about you all night and now…I just can’t think that about D’s sister. That. Is. Just. Wrong.”

Is this guy serious, I mean, I’m walking out of here WITH my husband right beside…….
Looking around I’ve noticed Hubs and cousin who were standing right beside me have now deserted me and are now over by the door nearly doubled over with fits of giggles while I look totally bewildered at this totally inappropriate display of machismo.

While PartyGoerWorkColleague proceeds to tap the shoulders of his fellow (on-duty) security guards, point and repeatedly exclaim “That’s D’s sister!” I couldn’t help but be grateful for two things:
1. That hubby was always within close distance and while mildly jealous, not obnoxious enough to need to flatten anyone and understand it was harmless and that I was so obviously resistant/oblivious to it all anyway
2. That I was not this guy’s poor date, who was sitting alone while all this went on.

I quickly dashed over to Hubs and Cousin, feeling strangely like I had somehow stepped into an episode of the Twilight Zone. Shaking my head in exasperation, I could not believe that all of this madness could be brought about by a bra and double sided-tape to lift and separate. I am telling you, Hubs insists, It’s the Puppies.
Still in disbelief, before we could make one final escape, I just had to make one last dash to the loo.

Reenter LittleBro’s now rather intoximicated Mate for another hug and with last night’s closing comment “Man, they look so good I could go in for the Motorboat”

……I slapped him.

PS. If you don't know what a Motorboat is: Google/YouTube.

i always get into stuff just as it's finishing being cool

I'm wondering about Tweetiquette.

Is is protocol to respond to EVERY mention you get? Is this the polite Twitter thing to do or am I just a little desperate?
Everytime I see myself mentioned I can't help but pounce on a reply, whilst savouring the warm, fuzzy feeling of acceptance into the Twitterverse.

Twitter is the ultimate social butterfly experiment; kinda like being in a chat room (which, BTW I do NOT do- do they even have those anymore?) or at a party when you know lots of people kinda, but noone who you need to cling to for the evening.
I noticed recently on a conference where I knew noone really well, and only a few people as acquaintances, that I coulnd't help but execute the butterfly manoeuvre (rather desperately, let's be honest) so as not to be left looking rather Bridget Jones at the launch of Kafka's Motorbike. I found myself eyeing the room rather maniacally and moving from conversation to conversation, briefly pausing to consider the dessert tray (of course so as not to appear to much the deliberate butterfly) and even conversing in sentences of 140 characters.
On Twitter I tend to just throw myself in there- enthusiastically butting in to conversations and enjoying D&M (and sometimes DM) conversations with random strangers (but also a few people I actually know in real-life) and responding to every mention with excitement.

Now I'm wondering if the ubercool Twitter thing to do is to keep the air of mystery with a little nonchalance- choosing to delay my responses or heck, not respond at all in all my ubercoolness (uber= ubercool superlative).

But I'm way too needy to act ubercool in any way. This has been my style always.
I've been told many times friends that I'm low maintenance, and my Mum has always said to me that I'm very socially independent (comforting), but perhaps I am more needy than I realised; this is because when I "mention" and don't get a reply I feel a little like Dr Evil's friend Mustafa as he drops him into the fire pit on Austin Powers. "Er, hello? Anyone?"

"Let this be a reminder to you all that this organisation will not tolerate *failure*"- Dr Evil


On the plus side, I do find Twitter super value for self-entertaining, much like blogging, especially if one is inclined to do a little self-talk from time to time. I found this last night, while watching and enjoying others' conversations, just like any stalker, whilst blissfully aware that my contributions to the Twitterverse (and not to anyone in particular) went by completely without fanfare. *sigh*
And unlike Bridget Jones, social networking via my iPhone means I don't appear to be left out in the cold because lack of Twitter activity apparently denotes the having. of. a. life. surely?

This is not one last random act of desperation to get Tweeted; rather a miscellaneous rambling from a girl who is quite possibly sleep-deprived!
Share your thoughts. To respond or not to respond?
Would we say a little desperate? I am hoping the ubercool Tweeps will have the answer.

nothing sweet about me...

A little something random. Things I love:



Chris Isaak

My ukulele

The Beach (Rainbow Bay/Greenmount- Coolangatta)

The belief that one day I will look like Drew Barrymore/Helena Christiansen and either; a) live in Hawaii or preferably b) roll around semi-naked in volcanic sand with a shirtlessChris Isaak

To smell like coconut. I have perfume and spray-in hair stuff that makes my hair smell like coconut and I love it in summer.

Taking pictures

Rainy Days with my doona

Flowers: especially frangipanis (NOT THE CAR STICKERS!), orchids, oriental lilies

Cooking

Japan

50First Dates, Sleepless in Seattle, SunValley Serenade/Orhcestra Wives (B&W Glen Miller films from the 40s), The Wedding Singer, Mr Deeds, Donovan's Reef/Hatari (both John Wayne classics)

According to Captain Underpants and the Perilous Plot of Professor Poopypants, my name is Flunky Toilet-Sniffer and I don't mind being addressed accordingly

Crowded House - Don't Dream It's Over is one of my all-time favourite songs

Heidi by Johanna Spyri is my favourite ever book.

"The Space Between" by Dave Matthews Band. It is a musical orgasm.

Mashed potato on toast (Boombah doesn't have it now though)

Pina Coladas AND getting caught in the rain. Especially kissing :)

Garth Brooks and John Denver (I don't care what you think of me)

I have a secret crush on Jeremy Clarkson.

I have a bigger crush on Mike Hammond.

twitter, i *heart*

I love Twitter. Today I am feeling the love for the Ladeez of Twitter who are always on hand with worth advice for any personal crisis.

Exhibit A: Today I had somewhat of a personal dilemma.

When one is due for both a scheduled tidy-up of the Netherlands and a scheduled check-up: WHICH SHOULD COME FIRST?

This was the dilemma I had today. I was very much Switzerland on the Netherlands issue. For my own pride in appearance my decision was to go for the regular Border Patrol, but my fear was that this freshly maintained look would appear a blatantly obvious effort for 30 seconds of attention. Hence dilemma.
Enter Twitter. Via DM and keeping it on the DL and the QT from the boyz, I managed to seek the wisdom of many and put it to a poll. First few votes began to roll in and it was looking like the "no effort is best" votes were taking the books, but by close of ballot it was clear.

The overwhelming consensus: CLEAN WORKSPACE ALWAYS PREFERRED!

*Sigh* So there was dillemma sorted.

Or so I thought.

You can imagine my horror when my alarm went off at midday reminding me that my appoinment was, in fact TODAY.
Not tomorrow, as I had in my head when scheduling maintenance appointments which were then swiftly canned for the dash instead to my brilliant GP who I travel down to the Gold Coast to see every 2 years for the joy of a "wee and weigh" (always an adventure; I especially love the trek back into the waiting room, sample in hand) and Netherlands Quality Control.
Today however, I was so distracted by my horror at not being able to conduct Border Patrol beforehand that I pretty much missed the usual mayhem, choosing instead to blurt out my personal crisis re: "Clean Work Space when Conducting Quality Control of Netherlands" (those were my words) to DrP while in a most compromising position.

She nearly wet herself.

This is why I love her.


PS: They don't care. At least that's what they tell us. For my mind- Border Patrol always first.

give 'em the ole, razzle vagazzle

Dear Vagina, Why So Blue?
You might recall that episode of Sex and the City in which Charlotte had a "depressed vagina"?
I couldn't help but be reminded of this last night after watching a program on SBS called 'The Perfect Vagina.'
Before you say anything- no, I do not troll SBS looking for "interesting" programs; rather someone alerted me to it via Twitter.
Ahem. Ouch.
In a nutshell, the program was a documentary created by a journalist in the UK exploring the phenomenon/trend/necessity of vaginal correction surgery (as I said, ouch); stemming from women's insecurities over their Land Down Under.

I feel the need to point out here that the words Vag, Vajayjay and Vagazzle are not in my usual vocabulary so I am trying to become comfortable without sounding crass. My apologies if I do not pull this off.

The program seemed to focus on three core groups of women:
1) Those who required vaginal corrective surgery as a result of their, shall we say, oversized Gateway to South America?
2) Those who felt insecure because they'd never, a) liked the look of it, or; b) thought it didn't look as young and pretty (WTF?) as it once did, and;
3) Those who just wanted to get their knickers off and giggle while a rather not-completely-unfortunate-looking male artist depilated and slapped cold plaster of paris on their Netherlands, only to stand around admiring and complimenting the artwork afterwards, as if he was Rodin himself.

(Three international references so far, how am I doing?)

Firstly, Group 1; and did I mention, OUCH?
My heart really went out to these young women who not only were genetically given something a little out of the ordinary (kind of like sticky-out ears), but then had to undergo extemely painful, confronting and radical corrective surgery- under LOCAL ANAESTHETIC- and in front of the whole world (including the ones who will never admit to watching SBS).

Now for any of you who've ever had a child or even a Brazilian, our bits tend to be the Gallipoli of the human body; be it a battlefield, shrine, memorial (or tourist attraction if you so desire); and we are subjected to repeated hostile confrontations in the name of health, beauty, pressure and procreation of the species, but this...........

Never had it occurred to me that our perception of ourselves as humans, women and even our perception of beauty, would extend all the way to Rio (although given their standard issue bathing costumes one might assume they were the ones who started this whole fiasco).

But are those perceptions real and are they worth going under the knife for? That was and is the million dollar question when it came to The Perfect Vagina.

When you think about it, go back 50 years and exactly how many vajayjays would one have seen let alone interacted with in their lifetime unless one were a medical professional? I'm wondering if maybe as a society now we are so exposed to the human body and our expectations of what it should/could look like, this is just another platform on which to privately (or publicly) beat ourselves over the head with a big stick??

Okay, so maybe I'm being naive about the V-exposure 50 years ago, but you can't take a step these days without seeing or hearing about someone's Amazon. We've all seen Madge's Vag. Britney has shown hers enough. So has Paris. Jennifer "Love" Hewitt quite comfortably told America about her extra bit of Sparkle she was sporting.

And maybe that's why genitalia are tucked away- so we have one less thing to stress over when it comes to beauty.
I mean-beyond mandatory landscaping [and even then] and medical intervention- who can be bothered? I for one am already self-conscious about enough body parts to last a life time; the last thing I need to worry about is whether my map of Tasmania had a bad cartographer.

I certainly don't need to go to Yoni Support Group as with group #2, whereby all sit around with mirrors and firstly, cry, and secondly admire/unleash praise upon said 'Yoni' and when one is comfortable, invites the other group participants to also admire and praise it with comments like "you have a beautiful yoni," or "yes, yes, embrace your yoni."
No thanks very much. I'm pretty sure it's standard [Love] Garden Variety. I'm sure if I was really desperate I could ask my waxist.


So back to Charlotte and the case of the Sad Vag.
My advice would be to stop looking at it so much.
Get it waxed into a lightening bolt and have it Vagazzled.
Then go out and have a few chardys and when you need to, use it for what it's designed for. It's not gonna get a knock back.




[BTW, tonight WH took me to see SATC2- but that is a-WHOLE-nother (don't you love slang?) review post]


PS. I am completely supportive of the women in this documentary who chose corrective surgery and fully understand and respect their decision, as I do anyone who puts themselves through this...
PPS. "Yoni" I'm sure you can work out for yourself. If in doubt- read the Kama Sutra.

bless me father for i have sinned...

...it's been 2 months since my last blog.
Slack I know. But I have excuses. Both my computers died.
Laptop. Dead.
PC. Dead.
I am now still without computer and breaking my cardinal rule, so I'm now using a work laptop (from my top-secret job that I never talk about). To hell with it.

I should warn you at this stage that tonight's post comes with no disclaimer about the emotional nature of the content. It's been a bad day. A bad year if I'm honest. Which brings me to the breaking of my second blog rule- don't get emotional.

Let's break it down:
I still live with my inlaws.
I still work beyond full-time.
I have lost 2 wonderful people this year, one just two weeks ago.
I turned 31.
Consider yourself warned.

Tonight I am feeling a bit low. As we await the official signing of the final contract on the house so we can commence building, I find myself pondering life. Mistake #1.

Next month sees us into our 3rd, that's right THIRD anniversary....of living with my husband's parents. Stop it, I can hear you cringing already.
While I'm sure many of you are questioning my sanity at this point (I have done it many times myself, be assured), try and work a bit of understanding and empathy in there too, if you don't mind.

In that three years, I kinda have this feeling that I have somehow lost myself.
Melodramatic I know, but truly this is how I feel tonight.
Why? You know sometimes you look in the mirror and just think- where the hell did I go?

I think each of us a like a jigsaw puzzle; a beautiful, intricate picture made up of lots of little pieces- dreams, thoughts, experiences, opinions, likes, dislikes, hobbies, talents, worries, loves and habits. Over time some of our pieces chop and change- some get taken away, some get swapped for ones that fit better, you even find that some of your pieces are identical to someone else's- but the core pieces, those important ones that make you YOU are still there.

A little over 3 years ago, my jigsaw puzzle was of me as a blushing bride. Some of my pieces had changed (being a mum before 30), been swapped or thrown away (like working/living in the UK), but those core pieces were still there, including some dream pieces, hopes and expectations for our new married life together.
Over time a few more pieces changed, as we made the decision to move away from our lovely little beachside home (another dream piece of mine), buy some acreage (a new dream piece), and build our own house with our own two hands (someone else's piece altogether).

Even still, those pieces that you've had since you were a little girl- being the first female Tap Dog, going to NIDA, being in a movie, becoming a country music singing superstar -and just being a dreamer- might not seem so clear, or important pieces, and they kind of get pushed to the outer edges of the picture, but they're still there. Occasionally they make a brighter appearance- like when you are with true friends who appreciate these pieces, or someone from your past reminds you of a piece you had forgotten- one they know even better than you do- but soon enough they fade into the background.

You tell yourself they're not as important- these childish, unrealistic dream pieces- as the ones that are identical to your "someone else's", that the grownup thing to do is sacrifice some of your pieces for some of theirs- but you take comfort in the thought that your "someone else" at least knows these pieces exist, appreciates them and how they helped to make this person that you are.

Suddenly, tonight I looked at my puzzle and couldn't see any of my pieces.

All the pieces of me have furled, torn, had water damage and just eventually disintegrated. The ones I see as clear as day belong to everyone else I live with- everyone's expectations, ideas and opinions of who I am and what I should be or do- I can't see mine. What's worse, I don't think everyone else I live with even know these pieces are lost.

The people I am surrounded by everyday wouldn't even know they existed.

I'm not laying blame here. No, that way madness lay. I take some responsibility in being so willing to compromise some that I sacrificed many.

What scares me is at 31 do I have to say goodbye to the old puzzle? Some would say that's a part of growing up, of growing old, of being in a partnership, of being human, but I don't know.


Post Script:
After finishing my blog I go and pick up my ukulele and sing a song or two. I can kinda see a little corner...
On Twitter my old friend says just enough to remind me that he knows some of my lost pieces...
On Friday night I will catch up with an old school friend who just might uncover some more.