Back in Town......sort of

Yes girls - it's the run in and scream method if you want to swim in Tassie

Actually, I just left town three days ago, but that's not important right now.....Because of course, I was referring to my blog in regards to the whole 'town' thing.   Many people may assume that I retired from my career as a serial Crap Oner – but this was not the case.  So overstretched have my capacities been this last month that I have been reduced to public silence.  But I will not stay silent for long  Oh No!  The shit will pour hence forth from my fingers late into the night once more, and the poor suckers that read this drivel will be forced to groan again, as bad joke after bad joke becomes forever more a part of cyber space…..

Three girls and one teacup

Let me however explain my blog writing hiatus with a brief run down of the last month's schedule.  Fly from Thailand to Melbourne – contract some hideous bug that kicked in at the beginning of the nine hour flight, suffer immeasurably, arrive in Melbourne and spend 2 hours getting through customs, suffer more.  Turn up at airport hotel – they have no booking for us.  Suffer again more.  By the time I get to a bed I literally collapse onto it fully dressed (even shoes).  I then arise 5 hours later at 6am and drag 2 screaming homos (ok, children) onto a flight to Tassie on my own.  It wasn't the homecoming I imagined.  At least fresh undies would have been nice.  My parents recoiled from my breath as I leaned in for the kiss.  Luckily I could spend 12 hours in bed undisturbed, because they hadn’t seen their grandchildren for almost 8 months.

Christmas is so much better when you have kids

NYE is so much worse (pictured above is this year's highlight)

Valli and the alien who goes by "Mum"

I returned the favour by infecting my mother with my disease causing her to suffer immeasurably and finally ending in the poor woman vomiting in her handbag due to being trapped in my car.  The least I could do was clean it for her, and I am amazed, and quite frankly disturbed that my mother’s chunder does not smell.  Maybe just a slight whiff of pot-purri.  The woman could eat dried lavender for all I know, and come to think of it, I have never detected a hint of BO either….maybe she’s not human.  Christmas (was great), followed by more events, drinks, dinners, lunches, brunches, kiddie hang outs with my chums, the first NYE I’ve spent with my parents since I was 11, then off to Melbourne.  On arrival child’s hand gets dragged into the side casing of the elevator door and fully stuck.  There was no moving it.  Lots of screaming.  Lots of pulling.  More pulling.  No movement.  The doors spasm and the black-coloured, dented hand is wriggled free.  Off to hospital.  Everything seems fine according to Doctor Damian (and more to the point the howling has ceased), so off to friends house for dinner.  Then more dinners, lunches, catch ups, park meeting, chatting, kissing hellos, kissing goodbyes.  Right up until leaving for the airport.

Couldn't leave Melbourne without seeing their boyfriend

butterflies in a web

Back to Tassie, a procession of people over for dinner, dinners out, still more lunches, driving back and forth several times a day from Clifton beach to Hobart - visiting, shopping, kissing hellos, then goodbye kisses again (why does it have to be both?).  Every evening there was wedding fluffing around.  Guests lists, rsvps, place cards, menu decisions, wine tasting, phone calls, emails, meetings.  Then bloody exercise classes at 6am everyday (due to all the social eating engagements).  And the big day drew ever closer.

Absolute darling heart

But first, my birthday – morning tea (the best EVER thanks to my darling friend Olive) lunches, dinners for that as well, and then back to the wedding = bucks nights, airport pick ups and drop offs, hens night, final preparations – all the while looking after the two psychos.  Beauty shit – hair colouring, hair trial, fake tan, more exercise…..Then the guests started arriving.  More catch ups, more lunches, then the family start arriving – more preparations, more dinners, more lunches.  Then the final beauty nonsense – waxing, nails, wedding rehearsal, night-before dinner, eyebrow plucking, hairstyling,……the anticipation is blowing my absolute mind.  I almost can’t take another second…..and then at last.  Twenty two months, three weeks and 5 days after we got engaged.  It has arrived. Ye olde day of nuptials.  But more about that next time.

We're so pretty, oh so pretty, YEAH

I also want to take a step out from that more cynical aspect of my nature, and say how much I adore everyone who wanted to have dinner, lunch, brunch, catch ups, hello kisses and drinks with me.  More love for everyone who came to visit me at my house, and invited me to theirs for dinner or out for coffee or a drink.  All those friends and family members who made such a huge effort and expense to come all the way to Tasmania to celebrate with me prior to, and on my wedding day as well…..I had the most remarkable summer of my life.  I will never forget it as long as I live.

More hens night shenanigans

And I’m not just talking about the big day itself (which was beyond compare with the mushy good times), but most especially in the weeks and days leading up to this unbelievably happy event in my life.  I will be forever grateful and humbled by the support from my dearest friends and family who showed me just how much they cared about me.  However, was it too much???

I honestly now believe myself to be a swell gal, and am convinced that everybody loves me and that I'm everybody's absolute favourite.  I also fear I am now an attention junky, and I feel unwilling to slide back into obscurity and bemused tolerance.  What will I do now??? I need my fix…..Perhaps I should try and get pregnant again - although I’ve heard that nobody gives a fuck about pregnancy number two.  Also, nine months of bloated ugliness for a few extra phone calls and a present or two seems a kind of a high price to pay.  Plus I’m addicted to the compliments as well now, and there aren’t that many going around in those pregnancy days.  Perhaps the odd “You look SO well” with eye contact avoidance.  This translates as “You look like a big fat heffer” or possibly “I hope cankles aren’t contagious”.  Seriously though, I am so deluded from all the positive feedback, that I have prepared a extended version of my portfolio to send off to Victoria’s Secret as I now truly believe I have a shot at walking in the next show with Miranda and Adriana and the rest of my peers in gorgeousness.  Here’s the cover page of a vast selection of my finest work.

Yes, I am a wanker…..but admit it, you’ve missed me.  Haven’t you?????