6 months (& counting)

Who's Who at Southbank?

It's hard to believe we've been back in Melbourne for 6 months. We have jobs. Good ones (The Bank may be despised by the general populace, but they sure as shit are a good employer). The friends we had before we left for Japan still know who we are and want to hang out with us. Summer has fired up, everyone has spurned hibernation and the streets are filled with festivity. Even the upstairs Bogans have settled down a bit (although maybe they've just beaten each other into quietude). The only thing missing is hanabi parties. Shit. Wrong country.

Of course, I don't want to get too comfortable, 'cos then I'll get the wilderlust again, which is how Japan happened. But it sure is nice hanging out on Friday night at (in?) Southbank with a few friends, sinking sauvignon blancs at BearBrass and having an al fresco dinner overlooking the water. Today the word is on that a 35 degree scorcher is coming our way, and that is always cause for celebration - we're going to catch some waves down at Torquay. Adios!

Southbank sunset

Kawaiis all 'round

We saw these kangas out at Churchill National Park last Sunday on an impromptu Teddy Bears' Picnic with the Davies'. Hundreds of 'em (kangas that is, not Davies', although word is that they are going forth and multiplying). I just love the joeys who try to stand up so straight and proud as if to say, "Hey! I'm just as big as you!" that they nearly fall backwards.

And yesterday, I received my first Chrissie preso from my Secret Pink Flower Swap Partner, Evonne in California. She's a clever one, sewing up a gorgeous floppy flower that I will promptly put on my summer hat. Which I haven't bought yet. Thanks Evonne!

I have finished my flower but have been too under the pump at work to pee safely, let alone stumble to the Post Office.

I'm also making Xmas presents & cards this year - I aint no Christmas Grinch, but all I see around me is the beginning of a season of obligation and lazy commercialism. I have to do something creative to stay sane...

Photo Friday "Patterns"

Two ships...

Saw Ex-Boyfriend today. Turns out he works at The Bank. I was walking behind him in head office, so he didn't see me but it's inevitable that I'll run into him one day. What do you say in those situations; "Uh....Hi. How are you?" If he had been an utter bastard when we were going out, then it would be OK to give him the brush off, but part of me will always be fond of him in a weird way, so it wouldn't feel right pretending to ignore him. I guess we'll probably just have a polite little chat and move on.

It's a bit sad that someone you used to be quite close to can turn into such a distanced stranger. I think it's pure luck that you ever find someone absolutely right for you. With Ex-Boyfriend I think it was a combination of indecision (his), shithouse timing, impatience (mine) and the fact that we worked together (yeah, things that go around, come around) that made us drift apart.

I met Husband about two weeks after Ex-Boyfriend and I finally put an end to the sorry on-again, off-again mess we were in. Husband and I could have been two ships passing in the night if I hadn't been wearing a dress with serious thigh-high split up one side.

I could have a totally introspective moment now and ruminate about love and "good-o timingu" and all that shit, but in the end - I believe it's pure luck that you end up with The Man (or Woman) and that you both believe in each other, have the same ideals, but are sufficiently different to make things interesting. You should never settle for anything less than magic. If it's not meant to be, it won't be.

Someone pass me Oprah's latest, please....

Getting crafty

Pinku's Pink Flower Swap is ON and I'm all in a dither. I am good to go, have my crafty things at the ready, have finished most of my flower pin, but I haven't done anything crafty for a good four years. I am no knitter. I don't know how to crochet. What if I have lost my craft? What if I've become simply cunning? What have I done????

The things you discover when playing Trivial Pursuit

14% of U.S citizens can't locate the U.S on a map. That's 40 million people. In a first-world country. Am assuming a small proportion of that figure are babies, but even so...

Photo Friday "Family"

Davies had a little lamb (before having a little lamb)

Davies, who is 6 months preggers, and her husband, Adventure Davies, had a small posse over for dinner last night for Roast Lamb with all the trimmings. She is seriously nesting. What kind of mad-arse woman makes a banquet on a Friday? Love that girl. Love her.

Adventure Davies also unveiled his new project. A campervan. That's right, he went out and had a look at his dream campervan, bought a trailer and made it from scratch (and memory). The man is a genius. Off his head and a really bad joke teller, but a genius, nonetheless.

And here I was, so proud that I'd made a hat for the races...

Adventure Davies sure does love his port

When a cash-only society gets out of hand...

OK, she was old, but the Japanese banking system has been around for quite awhile ->2 million yen visible sash-line

Banish the Bogans

They have got to go.

You may remember we had a problem with the upstairs bogans a while back when their dim brains couldn't work out that if you don't put your washing machine hose in a drain, it will flood your apartment. Which then leaked into ours.

Well, since then they've been noisy buggers, throwing impromptu parties on school nights 'til the wee hours, drag racing their cars out our driveway at 3 a.m and squealing down the road, throwing plastic bags full of cans (beer cans, soda cans) into our front yard (the one their balcony overlooks).

We didn't say anything to them. We hate confrontation (Husband even more than I) and weren't sure whether they'd peel us off with a glock (I watch way too much "Law and Order") or, like your garden-variety dim but malevolent bogan, make the disturbances worse, just to be pure assholes and piss us off. So we bore it. It's O.K for me, 'cos when the parties go on, I can just roll over onto my "good" ear and not hear a bloody thing.

In person, they seem like nice, average bogans. I ran into Boy Bogan last weekend and he went to great pains to make sure our apartment was "OK" after the flooding and said if we need anything just let him know. I was tempted to say, "how about some bloody peace and quiet?" but I didn't. Wuss-bag, I know.

Last night was the last straw though. Every couple of nights they have fierce dommies (domestics) which are usually over around midnight, when we start to hear weird scraping sounds coming from their bedroom (god only knows how they're making up, they are not normal).

But last night until after 4 a.m, they had a massive drunken dommie, shouting "f*** this, f*** that, you're a f***in'..., I f***in' hate...." at the top of their voices. I could even hear their hystrionics lying on my good ear.

At 2 a.m Husband had had enough, and, ever the non-confrontational diplomat (and half-dressed) went out into the front yard and had this "conversation":

Husband: If you lot don't shut the f*** up, I'm gonna call the cops! It's 2 a.m in the morning! [go go, fierce protector husband!]

Husband: I'm saying will you SHUT THE F*********** UP!

Besse Bogan: F***'in f***'er, f*** f**** f****

There was silence for 15 minutes before they started again. 3 a.m rolled around and finally we hear from Bessie Bogan, "I'm going to my f***ing parents!"

Oh, that's too bad! Silence for 15 minutes while we hoped she was packing her bags and pissing the hell off, but sure enough, the yelling revved up about 15 minutes later. I think they must have either passed out from exhaustion or killed each other by 4 a.m 'cos that's when we finally got to sleep.

Maybe they're doing us a favour - we've been talking about biting the bullet and buying a house in the area. Just let it be a bogan-free neighbourhood...

Rainy Day in the Dandenongs

Yesterday we took our Canuck friends Kevin and Donna (the latter being a mad photographer, bless her) out to William Ricketts Sanctuary in the Dandenongs.

William was this crazy old sculptor, a pure genius, albeit a rather narcissistic one, who had a distracting tendency to incorporate his own image into his sculptures casting him as a god or saviour to the aboriginal people. Ahem.

That said, the Sanctuary is one of the most peaceful places within an hour's drive of the CBD. The sculptures look like their carved out of the trees in the rainforest, but they're all made of clay.

Afterwards, we took the guys for Devonshire Tea at Churinga Cafe, watched the rosellas, kookaburras, magpies and cockatoos being fed (they must have known the Canadians were in town) and stuffed ourselves full of scones, jam and double cream. Oh, to have a bit of self-control (alas, not forthcoming).

Matt had wanted it to rain that day to give the Dandenongs an extra "ethereal" edge, so it came down in buckets, just for him. It was absolutely beautiful but a bastard to drive back to Melbourne in. Husband, please be careful what you wish for.

William Ricketts Sanctuary Gallery

Still milking it...

Yesterday, Father-in-Law sent us a heap of photos he took at our wedding. It was so good to see photos that we'd never seen, 4 months after the date (you know, just in case we forgot and all).

Here is my fave (with my monkey nephew, Marshall "Connor" Mathers)...

The presents are over there

Not. Happy. Jan.

First Little Johnny Howard manages to sneak his way in. Now Dubya, the creepy little red-necked, homophobic misogynist with his DT'd finger poised to destroy every non-Arian race in the world under the guise of "fighting terror" has nudged his way back into (his overinflated sense of) power.

Howard will be pleased his tongue gets to stay all sticky and firmly lodged up Dubya's sweaty crack.

In the words of another infamous Aussie red-neck (with apparently good taste in dancing partners):

"Please explain"...

Epiphany #415

3 things became clear to me today:

1. I really don't like driving automatic cars.

2. Coles Supermarkets between the hours of 6 and 8 p.m weekdays are veritable meccas for the Single-and-Looking.

3. If you don't fill your car with petrol, it will stop.

The GeeGees with the McGees

The Frock...

Warning: First paragraph = Serious Chick zone. Lads read at own risk of boredom.

I love getting all frocked up. And Spring Racing Carnival is the perfect time to do it...

Saturday morning, Derby Day morning, dawned with promise. I'd already decided on the outfit - hot pink 40's inspired dress by Very Very, baby pink strappies, and hat, moi's own creation c/- Lincraft - pink straw hat with lime and pink retro scarf and bright pink flower.

Frock you!

I'd seen a lot of hats with adornments (feathers, flowers, branches etc.) sticking up and out, but not many flowing down, hence my clumsy fore into millinery. It kills me just how expensive a straw hat with a couple of straw rosettes are, and for something I'll probably only wear once, maybe twice. So go the Lincraft. It's your one stop shop.

I've never been a hat person. There's something about hat hair that is so unbecoming, I just can't do it. But this hat was fucking tops - so lovely to wear. My frock was gorgeous - although Husband insisted it was too "booby". Pah!!! It's obviously been a long time since he's been to the races...

I was grateful to be wearing a hat once I got to the racetrack...

Flemington RaceTrack...

Sun. Lots. Of. Sun. Which is great, if you don't plonk down on the grass with a couple of bottles of champagne in hand and drink them in quick succession. Which is exactly what I did. We had the presence of mind to bring sunscreen which stopped us from getting cooked, so things could have been worse. Lovely young fillies were passed out on their picnic blankets, lobster-red and seedy. And the ladies weren't looking so good either.

Husband considers entering the Fashions on the Field

People. Lots. Of. People. 115,000 of them to be exact, with 15 tonnes of rubbish collected this morning. We had a pole possie at the 2800 metre mark, in between the track and the bookies, so once we finally found our party, I wasn't about to move.

I'll give you the hot tip...

The Derby was at 3.00pm and I usually only have a flutter on the main race, not being a punter, meself. But at 2.30 my girlfriends popped off to the bookies for the race before, so I tagged along.

I'd forgotten how the whole betting thing worked, but just as I got to the top of the queue, the inner-punter was squeezed out of me, spouting out some $5 each-way garbage on a couple of horses. I got a couple of tickets, so I figured I must have said something right.

One of the geegees , Miss Potential, had long odds (21-1) and Infinite Grace, had OK odds (8-1). I have no idea about horses, so bet on the ones that had perrty names.

I sat back down and promptly forgot about the race until the horses were approaching 2800 metres. We were next to the TV screen and I saw that my horses were coming first and third. Wow. First and third. As they passed us they were still first and third. The race ended and my horses came first and third (photo-finish, mind). Wow, first and third, which would mean I just won - oooooooh! $150 bucks! Thanks for coming. I jumped around like a total girl - my long-shot had just won and I a.m p.u.n.t.e.r e.x.t.r.a.o.r.d.i.n.a.i.r.e.

Just ask me.

Bottomless champers... literally

Then all my friends cornered me for the hot tip for the Derby. And wanted to rub themselves on me for good luck, which I didn't mind so much. I also placed on the Derby, so got a bit of cash back on that, too.

Husband returned after an hour of waiting for champagne and hot dogs and was husband pleased with wife. Oh yes, he was. "Here honey! I got money!!!"

Just don't ask me for the hot tip, 'cos I have no frikkin' idea.

The Aftermath...

Around 5ish people started to make moves, and suddenly I had to pee. R.e.a.l b.a.d. Let's just say I got lost, I was drunk, I nearly wet my pants and I couldn't find Husband, Tom or Diane (who had come down from Canberra for the races, bless 'em).

So I caught the train back alone. Which wouldn't have been so bad, except I fell asleep on the train and missed my stop. Finally stumbled home around 7, passed out for what I thought was going to be 30 minutes, and woke up at 10.30pm. With hell making a home out of my head.

But I just remembered the cyclist that passed me as I staggered home - wad of cash in my bag, hat and dress slightly dishevelled and still three sheets to the wind:

"So, did you back a winner?"

Indeed I did.

More GeeGees with the McGees party-fun here