Melbourne Round-Up

There she blows - the view from our bedroom

Mmmm two months in Melbourne, let me see......1 nice apartment, 1 trip to Byron, 3 trips to Tassie, 4 family visits, 3 Tassie friend visits, 200 glasses of wine, 35 nice dinners, 45 rendezvous's with various friends/family, 1 AFL grand final, and finally one psychotic shovelling of all kinds of crap into boxes, tubs and suitcases - most people call this kind of activity packing.  All in all not a bad effort.

Stay Back, Stay BACK!

I'm going to start with a brief summary of my trips to Tassie.  The Big Tas, the Old Map Of.  And I will start with the plane trip there.  Has anyone ever sat in the exit row of a Jetstar flight recently?  I did on my solo one-night-only Tas adventure in early August.  Usually you will be asked (while you're trying to concentrating on your NW Magazine - "Battle Of The Bulge - See Celebrities Who Have Stacked it ON?" either that or "Rake Thin - Which Of These Stars Have Gone Too Far" - both fascinating reading), whether you feel confident to operate the exit door in case of an emergency.  You usually nod, and think to yourself - "not a chance, but I'm after the extra leg room here love, so piss off".  Satisfied that you can rescue an entire planeload of people should the plane plummet into to sea, they typically leave you alone.  But not this time.  "Madam I need to know that you will feel able to fend off the other passengers"  "Yeah, yeah, sure.... WHAT???". She continues... "In case of cabin fire, the passengers will surge towards the front of the plane and you will have to stand up and hold them back like this" (she demonstrates a pushing motion).  "Umm, I just thought I had to operate the door".  "Yes, but in case of an emergency people will become panicked and flee towards the doors, so you will have to stop them".  But I thought the whole point of the emergency doors was to allow people, especially those on fire, to get out and hopefully not die.  "Just stand up and block the aisle and hold them at bay like this" (again with the air-pushing motion).......not if they're on fire I won't - For the love of god, I just want to stretch my legs out, not be responsible for restraining half crazed air crash victims.  ...."Then those next to you can get the doors open" my fellow passengers look up from their magazines and grunt a "yep, sure will".  So there you have it.  If you are going for the exit row for extra comfort, don't sit in the aisle seat unless Exit Door Defender is on your list of To Do's.

I found out a few things on my trips to Tassie, #1 My old Geography teacher's boobs reach her waist (as reported by someone who ran into her half naked on Mayfield beach) #2 Having random shots behind the bar at Syrup at 3am gives you a really bad hangover the next day, #3 Cinnamon donuts from Salamanca market still fix hangovers, and #4 Half of Tasmanian adults are illiterate.

I know, I couldn't believe it either, but unfortunately it is a statistic just released by the ABS (Australian Bureau of Statistics), and those bad boys just don't lie. Next time you are feeling a little down, just be glad that you can read.  I shall offer you a direct quote;

'A report by the Australian Bureau of Statistics for 2011-2012 shows half of all Tasmanians aged 15 to 74 are functionally illiterate, and more than half are functionally innumerate—meaning they don’t have the skills needed to get by in the modern world, like filling out forms, or reading the instructions on their prescription'.

http://www.abc.net.au/radionational/programs/backgroundbriefing/2013-09-22/4962902

At least I know now why practically nobody I know comments on this blog.  You bastards can't read it.

The Spazzas

But back to Melbourne - my newly beloved future home.  Hopefully the people aren't living there aren't total thickies either, but I suspect the problem could be nationwide.  My daughters have been attending ballet classes the whole time we have been here.  And I use the term "ballet" very loosely.  When your children get a little older, the dance class doors are shut and you wait outside with all the other bored mothers.  Or you don't.  I would nick off to drink coffee and pray one of them didn't need a wee (those leotards are tricky to get down).  Anyway when the end of term concert was on - and again I use the term "concert" loosely here too - actually it was more like a display of what you've been paying for these last two months (conclusion = too much).  It wasn't exactly riveting stuff.  Everyone else was holding up their mobiles and ipads to capture every second.  Jesus, I was having trouble watching it once.  Was it cute?  Of course.  Was it entertaining? For about 5 minutes.  The rest of the time I was dumbfounded about what spazzas children are.  Including my own.  Especially my own.  Unfortunately my daughter was the only one to rock back a bit too far during the "Twinkle Toes" segment, smash her head on the floor and howl so much that I had to go up and cart her off (thank god I didn't go for that deeply desired coffee this time).  Both of mine also went a bit nutty during the ribbon waving part, never did what the teacher asked them, and in "Wishing Well" Valli was encouraging her classmates to wish for "Poo Poo Fairies".  They are the only ones who can't skip either, and thus completely rooted their skipping solo.  Who knew you had to teach that at home?  Anyway myself and my husband came to the conclusion that our girls are little buggers.  I tried to apologise to the teacher "Miss Catherine" after class, thinking she would reassure me that they were fine.  She didn't appear to be amused.  And I thought my childhood ballet teacher, Mrs Todd, was a battle axe. All those bloody pliés.

It's also been Miley Month of late.  Personally, I'm really fucked off with Miley Cyrus.  Bitch stole my signature move "The Tongue".  How can I ever pull it off again.  Not only was it my favourite everyday move, but it was also my favourite drunk picture pose.  God knows how many photos are out there of me with "The Tongue", but now it is all over.  Thanks to fucking Miley.  People even describe it as HER signature move.  I am gutted.  I knew I should have patented it.  But there's a new kind of Miley controversy raging at the moment.  In response to Miley going on a slut rampage, Sinead O'Connor wrote an open letter to Miley (basically calling her a prostitute) - Miley responds by pulling a red leotard up her fanny  -

and is now this artistic comeback is followed by Amanda Palmer's open letter to Sinead O'Connor about Sinead O'Connor's open letter to Miley Cyrus, and next Miley calls Sinead a mental case and finally in Sinead's next open letter to Miley, she goes all gangsta on Mileys ass (actually she mentions her tits).  All good stuff.  A few interesting points, some Miley put-down's from Sinead, a bit of Amanda Palmer's attention seeking bullshit (I still love her though), and more snaps of Miley's vagine.   But basically, nobody even mentions her ripping off "The Tongue" from me.  Pissed off.  I'd write an open letter myself, but basically nobody would give a shit, so instead I'll just reminisce over a few old snaps.

At a glacier

on a snowmobile

on Harriet

all over Liesel

In the middle of nowhere

with food accessories

There are a whole lot more - but I think you get the message.  I did it first.  But did I do it better?  Possibly not.  And let's face it, it's pretty fucking gross.  I really shouldn't post these, but of course I will.  It's so annoying when other people catch on to amazing and inspiring activities you've been doing for ages (like tonguing people and inanimate items), or start to like music you listened to WAY before it became cool.  This is part of the "I Did It First Syndrome" - which is annoying and pretentious.  Obviously I suffer from it, as I also think I was the first person to bring back boots over jeans (seriously, nobody was doing it 12 years ago), and to coin the phrase "beauty is in the eye of the beer-holder" (you've got to admit, it's a modern day classic).  I do however think I definitely could be the first person to identify and name this syndrome.

Another thing I want to address is that it is Year Of The 40th for all my friends.  This sickens and disgusts me.  When the hell did I manage to amass a bunch of old lameos as my friends and acquaintances?  No offence everyone, but you are all so fucken old.  For god's sake, just go and kill yourselves already.  I can get away with this abuse (or can I???), because I am still in my 30s.  Who gives a shit that it's only for 3 and half more months.  I am milking it, and will continue to do so.  Oldies!  Go buy some adult diapers you grey haired dicks!  Got your seniors cards yet fuckfaces?

I remember when my own mother turned 40.  My Dad gave her a card that said on the front "At 40 You're Still a Peach" and then  inside "Yellow, Fuzzy and Occasionally Stoned".  I think he was aiming at the yellowish part as my Mum was going through an obsessive carrot eating phase that actually turned her a pale orange kind of a colour.  It was the "stoned" bit that got me though.  My mother stoned???  I know she had smoked it once at university (unsure about the inhaling bit), and it made her sick. There is no way she could have become a deviant at 40.  It didn't make sense.  I used to wish she had been a stoner back then (mainly so I could knock off her stash), but now I love that my mother is sweet and innocent (and how her vomit smells like dried lavender).  She never did trashy things, like getting pissed or borrowing my clothes, or trying to crack on to my boyfriends.  I can appreciate that so much more now.  Even though at the time, I would have loved to see her roll up on a motorbike and smoke a joint while waiting in the school carpark to give me a lift home.  If you knew my mother, that image would amuse you.  Anyway, I was 19 when my mother turned 40, and my own daughters will be 4 when I do. That means I am going to be going through their teenage years when I am in my 50s.  Excuse me while I have a little rock in the corner.  God dam it.  There is always surgery I guess.

I hate those big fingers

And I suppose I brought up the Grand Final, but honestly, I am too bored with the topic to even discuss it.  I thought it would be in someway good being actually in Melbourne for the day of all days - the AFL Grand Final - on the the weekend just before we left too.  And yet......unmoved.  My husband was pacing around like it was Christmas Eve and he was 7 years old and knew, just KNEW he was going to score a Nintendo.  Who knew that getting pissed with your mates could inspire such excitement.  I really like my husband when he is retarded on alcohol.  Some people's husbands (and people in general of course) get emotional, some get abusive, some silly, some aggressive and some sleazy.  Mine gets stupid.  Kind of like Simple Simon.  He's really easy to manage, and kind of cute in a thicky sort of way.  It's a refreshing change from the know-it-all smarty he is in real life.  Remind me to challenge him to a game of Trivial Pursuit next time he drinks beer for breakfast.  Anyway I was forbidden to attend the boy's day - me and my friends were previously thinking we could have a family affair with one and all, until the kibosh was put on those plans.  Later I learnt that it was for our own good.  Who wants to see almost 50 year olds wrestling in the garden, piling up on top of each other in an embarrassing display of male bonding, and then exploding an egg on the barbecue.  I'm happy to pick the dummy up later and put him to bed.  Only this time he sobered up and came out with me and my friends.

I show my new chums "The Tongue" and they love it!!!

That's something I forgot to mention.  I have Melbourne friends.  At long last I have chums.  And they actually like me.  It's a miracle.  And these are new chums - not people obligated by family ties, or old old friends that have forgotten why they liked me in the first place.  I know I said I wasn't recruiting, but in this instance I will make an exception.  Zoe, Alex, and Sarah too, you are the best.  And of course I can't knock the old chums - my sweet Bec and gorgeous Liesel.  They may however be able to knock me after I tried to poison them with my home cooking one night.  I got the recipe from Mark Newhouse.  I think he's out to destroy me culinary-wise.  Let's put in this way, never make his lemon chicken.

Anyway, one of the best things about hanging with old friends is the reminiscing.  In this instance, one of my old friends brought over a letter I had written to her when I was about 13 years old.  It was about a trip up the East Coast of Tasmania I had taken with my parents.  Highlights include;  "Dear Bec, I am disgusted as today I nearly tripped over a little boy BOGGING in the sand dunes"; Obviously high-brow stuff.  Or, "Dear Bec, me and Louise (my then 7 year old sister) just spied on some bogans fucking their girlfriends in the caravan next door"  Nice activity for a 7 year old.  And a very detailed story about how my brother and I shoved a peanut up my Dad's nose while he was asleep, and almost killed him.  There are also some other exciting details about a giant brawl over Scrabble that ended in my mother packing her bags, claiming she hated us all (her kids not husband) and almost catching the bus back home; and an episode in which my parents had to cart saucepans full of water to pour down the toilet to flush away my father's rogue poo.  It was obviously a happy and fun filled family time.  Family trips were always so much worse than you could have imagined before they actually begun.  I was also amused to see that I wrote pretty much the same way 26 years ago.  Same focus on negative details.  Same bagging out of nearly everyone I know, and all the people I don't know.  Same swearing.  Same political incorrectness.  Same over-concern with shit.  How can I explain it?  As I said in my last blog, I've been a nasty little piece of work my entire life.  Even in my hippy phase I was still inherently evil.

So last time I eluded to the fact that I had not been accepted as an Israeli emigrant.  This still holds. My husband and children made the cut though.   I am however planning to enter Israel on a tourist visa next week, so it's still all systems go.  Currently we are taking a little pit stop in Thailand.  Some people may ask why, I myself, ask why not.  Thailand is always in favour.

But first - bye Melbourne.  Thanks for a great couple of months.  I am really looking forward to living in you in a couple of years (is it me, or does that sound kind of pervy?).  So long to the best coffee, the meanest drivers, the warmest winter on record, our amazing view of The Shrine, painful barre classes, caffeine fuelled park dates, wine nights, yummiest dinners out, yummiest dinners in, great shopping, hottest nightlife (not that I'd know - I'm almost a Senior remember....).  And most of all, so long to a bunch of total legends.  My family and friends, I miss you so much already xxxx

My little lamb's new passport pictures