I’d like an apology for that

I had the house to myself this weekend, so like any self-respecting 20-something, I did the only thing I could think of that didn’t involving drinking - I went shopping. And why did I go shopping when my wardrobe is overflowing with clothing goodness? Because I single-handedly threw out at least half my clothes.

I’ll be the first to admit, I’m a pack rat. I’ve lived in the same house for almost 25 years, in the same room for almost 10. I’ve collected a LOT of junk. Also, being the youngest of three children, I’ve also been blessed with a lot of hand-me-downs.

But, dropping a dress size tends to help you weed out the clothing that you don’t want to ever fit into again, so I got some garbage bags and went to town.

Just a few of the various highlights and lowlights of the swirling clothing vortex that is my wardrobe:

- The pink velour dress circa 2000/2001, a present from one of my friends. It still fits and will most likely be worn next race day.

- The three dresses that differ only in colour. Not a very flattering fit, no matter what body shape you have, and I can’t remember ever wearing any of them.

- The brown fake snake skin trousers. Again, never wore and not too sure how they got into my clothing in the first place.

- My very first suit jacket, with matching skirt and trousers

- The explosion of colour that were at least three pairs of capri pants, covered in flower prints

- The masses of tie dyed dresses that have not seen the light of day in years

- The three pairs of jeans that not even the “pants dance” can get me into

- And finally, the black PVC skirt, circa 1999

Now I know that I don’t have the world’s best fashion sense (as evident from the lowlights of the weekend), however, I think now is the time for my friends to apologise for letting me leave the store with those purchases.

So, if you went shopping with me anytime between now and 1996, I’m ready for your apology. I’m not sure what you were thinking when I bought these with you, but I’m thinking it wasn’t nice thoughts - especially with those tie dyed dresses.

I will forgive you, since most likely, I’ve made you buy something equally as bad, but from now on, please remember….friends don’t let friends buy tie dye.

Are you my soulmate?

I went to a clairvoyant over the weekend, so I thought I’d share some of my new found knowledge…

I went to the same clairvoyant last year, so I can compare everything she said was going to happen with what did actually happen. (yeah, clairvoyant sounds so much better an psychic, don’t you think?)

Where to start? First of all, you’ll be pleased to know that Monty, my guardian angel, has been replaced. He was always getting me into trouble anyway - kind of like Drop Dead Fred, so I don’t think Mum will miss him too much. However, taking his place is my great-grandmother. And she’s brought along a side-kick - Bob the Builder. No idea who he is, but hi, welcome to my life and I hope you enjoy the ride. I’d also like to apologise for anything you’ve seen. I’m not sure how long you’ve been hanging around, but sorry for all that stuff. Won’t happen again.

Also, since last April (2007), I’ve met (or will so meet) my soulmate. So, if I’ve made your acquaintance since April 2007 and you like the water - how you doin’? *wink wink nudge nudge*

Or, if I haven’t met you yet…hurry the heck up, will you? I’ve got a deadline to meet and a few kids to pop out before I’m thirty. I know I should be happy that you’ve actually appeared in the cards now, since eighteen months ago, we couldn’t find you, even after going through three packs of Tarot cards, but seriously…get a move on.

I also need to start working on that deposit for my castle, since apparently you won’t have one, but you’ll cook for me and love me forever and ever and always. (But if I don’t have that castle by our 5th anniversary, you’re gone)

And now for some finger pointing…(I took a couple of photos of people who shall remain nameless)

You…will get married and have a bunch of kids and be happy.

Other you…something major will happen in the next six months with your love life.

Other other you…I’m getting you a puppy for Christmas. She said to.

 

Let’s see…What else was there? Oh yeah, hands up who got a bundle on the way? I know it’s one of you and I already know what it’s going to be, so ‘fess up.

Also, despite the fact that I am apparently a natural teacher and you see me surrounded by children, just ain’t gonna happen. Perhaps all those kids are part of the basketball team I’m apparently having?

And no, even though you can see me in a uniform, I’m not thinking of becoming a cop. Perhaps it’s just the kinky handcuffs that you can see?

That’s all I’m going to reveal for the moment. I’ve got a few secrets hidden away that I’ll let you in on, when they happen (and they better happen).

Until then…may the mystic forces of the universe make use of the spiritual goodness of the delta quadrant of your heart and give me a ring.

Live long and prosper and take care of yourself and each other.

Your good jeans are not black tie

We had a work do at the beach this weekend. Beautiful resort (4 or 5 star) - accommodation and meals all paid for - It was a big deal. I also got to wear another dress and get all dressed up with high heels and make up and everything. For you see…the dress code was black tie.

Now I know that Rocky black tie is different to Brisbane black tie, but by absolutely no stretch of the imagination can denim jeans be classed as black tie. Not even if you add a sports coat. It’s just no.

And now that I have that off my chest, I can continue onto the rest of my adventure…starting with the drive down. Half an hour drive so I plugged in the mp3 player and cranked it up. To the drivers who overtook me and stared…yes, I know I looked weird while I was hitting those high notes, but in my car, no one can hear me scream and you should keep your eyes on the road - not on the crazy in the lane next to you.

To the other drivers that overtook me, I’m sorry that following the speed limit upset to so much that you had to swerve around me and take off in a cloud of dust. I’m still not going to apologise for laughing when I spotted the cop car before you did. I hope they caught you.

Also to the car that tailgated me along the one lane, reduced speed section of the highway. Again, not sorry for sticking to the limit. Evidently, I like my licence more than you do.

And now for the black tie dinner…oh, where to start. Yes, I am my father’s daughter. And no, I’m not going to behave myself, how kind of you to ask me everytime you see me during the night. Yes, I do work for the organisers of the dinner…no, I don’t know who won the awrds, now please can I just drink that free champagne?

And just a little hint to anyone ever nominated for multiple awards. Cheering EVERY TIME your company is mentioned by presenters is not required. We get the picture. We know where you’re from and I’ll now make it my business never to use yours.

To the guest speaker, yes, there were a few people talking at the back during your speech. Yes, I realise you did us a big favour when our original speaker had to pull out…however, you were boring. Very very boring. And for everyone else at the dinner, I would like to point out, that during your speech, I single handed counted the 128 light fittings on the roof, as well as the 607 separate roof tiles in the room. Yes, you were coma-inducing boring. Oh, and I did origami with my lucky door ticket.

To the chef, not everyone likes their steak rare. In fact, I’m fairly sure mine was still mooing when it hit the table. Please don’t be offended that I didn’t finish it, but it kept trying to jump of my plate and go back to the paddock - that’s how rare it was. And I’d also like to congratulate myself on not asking to tomato sauce.

I think that’s about all I have to complain about for the moment. Rest assured that I’m sure I will remember much more when I’m back at work tomorrow, but until then, a bit of advice for anyone planning any type of event…audition the band. Please. My ears are still bleeding from their first song. If nothing else, promise me that you’ll do this…for the greater good.

You read that trash?

Okay, I know it’s been a long time but I’ve been a little busy with a new job so apologies to everyone who have been hanging out for a new post (yes, there is at least one cos she kicked my butt about it this morning)

So, since I nothing else to talk about, I’ll take the topic from my etiquette ladies and write about a book that changed my life.

Actually, I can’t even remember the name of the book, but I remember it was like crack to a junkie. I just couldn’t get enough of it. Yes, I’m talking about my very first Mills & Boon.

All I remember about the book is that he was a photographer and had a beard and they met in a museum. Oh yeah and the sex. To an innocent thirteen year old, they seemed to be going like rabbits! And like a good little junkie, I wanted more; I needed more; I craved more!

So I got more…books. I am now the current owner of at least 400 romance novels. That’s not counting at least triple that amount that have past through my revolving bookshelf in the twelve years that have past since my first hit.

I know some people think they are trashy, and yes, some of them are, but I don’t insult your intelligence by dissing your latest fashion magazine (because you only like the pictures and can’t handle any actual reading) or even the fact that you’ve never finished a book in your life.

I’m going to say it - loud and proud - I LOVE ROMANCE NOVELS. And I don’t care who knows it. Since I have absolutely no love life, I live vicariously through these characters. Hell, I even tried writing a few of them (and I have the stack of rejection letters to prove it).

I should warn you though, there is a downside to these novels. Since reading these novels, no man/boy has ever lived up to my romantic idea of my hero. Some have come close and others haven’t ever made it passed the starting line. Hell, if Sally the unattractive nurse with a disabled mother can catch herself a doctor, why the hell can’t I?

I know these novels have changed my life, but I’m not entirely sure if it was good or bad. Who knows if I would have ended up with one of the other guys, despite the fact that they never sent my heart racing and my body trembling at his touch…thanks to Mills and Boon, I’ve been holding out for my hero to barge his way into my office and crush me to his muscular chest, declaring his undying love for me and promising never to hurt me or break my heart (because every couple has to break up at least once, for the guy to realise that he can’t live without her).

And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go read more stories about Slade’s quivering manhood…

My own “Bucket List”

So, many months ago while I was trolling around the world of cyber I came across a brilliant site all about etiquette and manners. Yes, I do actually know what these are - I just choose not to follow them, unless it benefits me in some way. After a few weeks of lurking, I decided to join their blog tour. (Mostly so I could get more hits on my blog that didn’t involve those Playboy photos of Shawn Michaels). Here’s the deal: Each blogger is a assigned a week and gets to pick the topic for that week’s post for the thirty-odd posters.

Usually I don’t bother posting that week’s topic, but since it’s been a while since I posted, I thought I’d give it a try (and plus my week is coming up soon and I want people to write it). So, this week’s topic is What do you want to do before you die? Hence, my title: Write your own Bucket List. (ie the list of things you want to do before you kick the bucket)

So, let’s see if I can find something other than the usual bucket list activities (also, completely off topic, but my birthday is coming up next month for any interested parties looking for present ideas):

1. Get a tattoo - done x5
2. Live in a foreign country - done
3. Learn a different language - I can already swear in French, Cantonese and Welsh and know some fairly disgusting useful phrases in Hungarian. Perhaps I should learn Klingon…(note to self: Look for Klingon language lessons)
4. Sunset tour of the Egyptian pyramids
5. Trip to Disneyland before I become too old and cynical to appreciate the splendid and atmosphere of the happiest place on Earth.
6. Front row Wrestlemania tickets. (for the person who helps me cross this of my list, I will give my first born child…if you can wait that long)
7. I want to be a published author. I don’t mean internet published cos that’s already happened. I want a real book that I can sign and then send to people who said that reading millions of Mills & Boon would rot my brain and never lead anywhere.
8. I want to go to Graceland and Dollywood. No idea why, I think just to said that I’ve been.
9. I want to kiss Colin Firth. I don’t care if I have to wait until he’s ninety, he will always be Mr Darcy and I want him.

I tried to think of a number ten, but for the moment, I think I’ll just have to stick to nine. I’m sure if I thought about it hard enough I could think up a few more, but I’m sure that list has given everyone some ideas for my birthday…and I’d like to point out that when I am able to cross everything of my list, that does not mean you are able to kill me! I’d like a few years to appreciate my Mr Darcy pash…

Lulu learnt some new words

This weekend marked my seventeenth CQ Diabetic Camp, my fifth as a leader. Now I’m not going to bore you with all the details of my weekend, you can see the photos on facebook for yourselves. I’m not going to talk about the knuckle wrapping that I get every year, because I rarely change my needles, or the way I think up embarrassing questions for the co-ed “sex, drugs and rock’n'roll” discussion that I’ve been sitting through for ten years. (And if anyone can remember the 13th type of contraceptive, please let me know).

I’m going to tell you about one of our other camp traditions - the annual Balderdash Challenge. It started many moons again, I believe by Bob Martin and Mark Chamberlain, two of the best Balderdashers I’ve ever met. The game is fairly simple - you are given a real word and have to create a convincing meaning for it and bluff the other players into picking yours.

The last few years, however, the standard of play has dropped. I believe it has reached an all time low, partly through my own definitions that quite often included African bum diseases, adult movie slang and a few animal states of arousal. This year, we initiated a new member into our ranks of Dashers Anonymous…Chris - a respected, mature management-type from Brisbane. I’m almost ashamed to admit that we tried our hardest to break him…and we did. At one point, the poor man was forced to say “What’s my name, bitch?”

But, despite playing this game for two of the three nights, I cannot think of many of the actual definitions of the words, only what we thought they should be. So, here are some of the new words that I learnt while I was at camp:

• Lickerish - lustful thoughts - NOT a tongue fetish
• Zebub - An African fly - NOT a demon used to scare children (Zebub is coming to get you)
• Extispicy - using animal entrails to tell the future - NOT orgasming into a curry
• Pilwiz - A fable evil being who tangles people’s hair - NOT urinating against a pillar
• Furfur - dandruff - NOT slang for an adult movie scene that involved two unshaven women.
• Scuppernong - a wild north American grape - NOT (and this is the one that Chris was given to read out) an evil spirit that eats dust OR in, out, in, out, oh God, oh God, oh God, harder, harder, harder, yes, yes, give it to me big boy, make me bleed…

Yep, I can’t wait for next year’s camp!

Why do things have to change?

Everyone knows that I hate change. It throws me off balance and I just don’t like it. That said, last week something changed and it upset me. In fact, I cried. Three times. And to make you even more worried, it was over a guy. Yep, a guy made me cry three times last week. And before you offer to track him down, it was not the same one from my post last week. (Which, by the way, was posted on April Fool’s Day - really people, did you think I would announce my leaving the country in my blog? Seriously? If I was leaving the country for some guy, you’d better believe that the first time you’ve heard about him wouldn’t be in a blog! I shout from the roof tops if I get asked for my number! Seriously people!)

Anywho, back to my crying jag. Yep, three times in three days, which I think is a record for me. And, like I said all because of some guy. Not just some guy, it was all Ric Flair’s fault. I have no problem naming him, because most of you who read this blog, have no idea who he is, nor do you greatly care (apart from him making me cry). I’ll also admit that I was not the only one who cried over this man.

Everyone who has ever met me knows my addiction to professional wrestling. Yes, I know that it’s scripted (not fake, thank you very much), but that doesn’t change the fact that I likelove it. Ric Flair was (and will remain) the best wrestler I have ever had the privilege to watch. There are no words to describe the thrill of being in a crowd, all cheering for the one man. Love him or hate him, you can’t deny that he always gave his best.

Most people can’t understand what draws us fans to a man like Ric Flair. It’s true that we sometimes flinch during his matches. After all, he’s almost 60, but what makes him a legend is his drive and passion for the industry that we all love. Even breaking his break in three places couldn’t stop him. It certainly slowed him down, but only for a while. He came back better than ever. (And no, this wasn’t one of those “fake” injuries that the current crop suffer from so they can go make a movie. It was a real life plane crash that killed one man and paralyzed another.) Did I mention that the crash was in 1975? Yep, three years into his 36 year career, the doctors told him he would never wrestle again. Kinda makes you think, doesn’t it?

Now I won’t bore you with the facts and figures of Ric Flair’ career, I won’t go into the 7 separate times he won the WCW World Heavyweight Championship, or the 16 times he won the World Championship belt. Oh no, I won’t say a word about them.

What I will bore you with is his last match. Months before Wrestlemania 24, the seed had been sown. Every fan out there knew the time was running out on his career. So when the stipulation was made that the next match he lost would be his last, we knew the end was near.

I do have to congratulate WWE for actually giving Ric Flair the send off that he so richly deserved. So many other wrestlers get shown the door in ways that don’t befit the career they’ve had. Ric Flair had blessed this industry for over 30 years. They gave him the perfect send off. A match against one of the best - Mr Wrestlemania himself, Shawn Michaels. And he did him proud.

For years to come, the end sequence of the match will be part of history. A battered Shawn Michaels facing a battered Ric Flair, the immortal words “I’m sorry, I love you” and Sweet Chin Music for the pin. I’m not afraid to say that I cried like a baby.

And again during the replay later that day. And especially during his final appearance the next day on Raw. Yes, I know that the send off was planned to the last detail, yes I know, but that doesn’t mean that the emotions aren’t real.

The best comparison I can make is following a much beloved character from your favourite TV show, and then watching as they film their final scene, knowing that you would never see them as the same person again. Remember Molly from A Country Practice? Remember when she died, how emotional it was? Double it and then send all that emotion to every country in the world and you won’t even come close to the emotion that filled the arena at Rc Flair’s farewell.

That’s what it feels like. I’m not ashamed to say it, I’m going to miss watching Ric Flair, 16 time World Chamption and Class of 2008 WWE Hall Of Famer. Wrestling will never be the same again and neither will many fans.

We’ve said farewell to a legend of the game. And now there’s only one thing left to say…in the immortal words of Ric Flair…WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Leaving on a jetplane

Well, the impulse fairy has visited me a few times over the last few weeks and finally, I’ve given in. I’m moving to Hollywood! Actually, no, I lie. But I am leaving the country for a while.

Since I’ve been having trouble finding a job that I like, I’m going to do what I did last time - throw a tantrum and then leave on a working holiday. Before you completely freak out and tell me I can’t go, I have everything already sorted.

I’ve got accommodation for the first few nights in Auckland while I get settled before I make the move south to Hamilton to hang out with some wrestling buddies -  actually one in particular

Yep, I’m throwing caution to the wind and going international for a slim chance of happiness. Now, before you start panicking, I will be back for the wedding in September! If I’m lucky, I may bring him back as well. Probably not though, you’ll all scare him off with the dirt you’ve got on me.

But if he likes me half as much as I like him, I don’t think any stories about London red light districts and sex parties will phase him.

So, with less than a month until I leave, I just wanted to say hello and good bye to everyone in case I don’t get a chance to see you, which is entirely possible with all the stuff I have to do.

Yes, I do realise that this is out of character for me, but hell, I only live once…and if things gone wrong, I can come back home.

Just a slight catch though, I haven’t told the parents yet. That’s actually going to happen on Mum’s birthday on Sunday. Happy birthday….I’m moving overseas! So, (and you know who you are) keep your big mouth shut! I’ll let you know when the coast is clear.

A Time For Family

Tomorrow marks the start of the Easter weekend - Good Friday. For some people, Easter is a seriously religious holiday (fish on Friday, church on Friday, church on Sunday, blah blah blah). For others, it’s an opportunity for families to spend time together. For me, it’s option C - C is for chocolate.

Yes, that’s right. I’m going straight to Hell. Unlike some people, I do actually know the story behind Easter (Thanks Jesus, you rock!), but for a girl who can count on one hand the number of times she’s been in a church for something other than a wedding or funeral in the last five years, it doesn’t hold as much meaning as it used to, when I was dragged to church and Sunday School in an attempt to save my soul (ha ha, joke’s on you, I sold it for a donut years ago!)

Now, for the family part of the weekend. I live at home. I live within 4 blocks of both sets of grandparents. I don’t really feel the need for even more “togetherness” unless I’m getting something out of it - for example, Option C. For Option C, I will even smile when I hear the inevitable question of “found a man yet?” (For future reference, yes, yes I have. Now quit asking or I’ll never tell you about him. Ever.)

For those of you who will be participating in Option C, please note:

• I don’t like nutty chocolate
• I don’t like nougat
• I will devour Turkish Delight so make sure you bring heaps
• I will also devour Cherry Ripe
• I’m really not that picky when it comes to chocolate. I will accept all offerings.

The way I see it, Easter is all about spending time being thankful for the things in your life and to surround yourself with people you love. I’m thankful for the obscure African and/or South American tribes who discovered the cocoa bean. I’m also thankful for all the Oompa Loompas who turn the cocoa beans into yummy yummy chocolate in that fabulous factory. But most of all, I’m thankful for my family and friends…especially those who chose to donate to the “Lucy needs more chocolate” fund…all donations welcome.

Great Expectations Gone Wrong

I had a date yesterday. I thought it was going well, until I showed up. It wasn’t bad compared to some of the days I’ve heard about, but still - I had certain expectation and boy, howdy! They were not met.

First for some background. I met him on Saturday night at the clubs. Now I know we were both drinking, but I didn’t think he could have spoken so well for so long, if he was tanked. I’ve since found out I was wrong. So, we swapped numbers.

As a joke, he put in his phone as “the hot chick”. Turns out it wasn’t a joke, he just couldn’t remember my name. I know this because at the movies, he asked me what my name was. Good start to the date.

 Actually, I lie. The date started when I saw him. Now, in my mind, this was a date, so I’d made an effort. I was wearing make-up for God’s sake! His outfit, while matching, could have doubled as a soccer uniform. And before you say anything, no, he wasn’t coming straight from a soccer match.

So, we get our tickets and head for our cinema. All good. We find our seats and do the whole “So what have you been up to since I saw you twelve hours ago?” And then the movie started, so we settled down to watch, well, I did. Every few minutes I could hear “…hmmm” coming from the seat next to me. And then the comments started. “Oh wow” “That’s hilarious”. But then he started reading the screen. There was a scene where a list of names are revealed one by one. He felt the need to read aloud every name…and then loudly laugh. EVERY NAME and it was a long list.

Now the clothes and the talking I could have moved passed, but by that time I didn’t want to. He didn’t even make a move. He asked for my number. He called me. He initiated the whole thing. And he didn’t even try the hold my hand. Not before the movie, not during the movie and not even after the movie!

I wore make-up for you boy! The least you could have done was tried to hold my hand. So, me being nice, I gave him a lift home (he’d totalled his car the week before). I had two reasons for this: a) give him a chance to redeem the date or b) find out which house to avoid in the future. So I dropped him off and….nothing…nada…not even an air kiss.

So I treated myself to a caramel latte and then went home.

Following this date, I realised a few things:

1. Boys is stoopid.
2. This particular boy is particularly stoopid.
3. The particular boy has no reason to be so stoopid. He’s 28. It’s not like I’m his first date.

So, I’ve decided to research becoming a mail order bride. That way I avoid all the nasty business of dating and I can start popping out all those grandkids that even my mother has started hinting about…