' The Wedding '

Yes. 'The Wedding' is on Monday. I havn't previously posted on this situation, because, to be honest, I thought I might have gotten the hell over it. Who was I kidding. Here's the gist of it...
My longtime partner, Chef, was invited to his "best friend's" wedding (the inverted comma's will make more sense in a mo) and I wasn't. Yep, read it and weep. I certainly did. Not only was it a massive slap in the face, it was Chef's complete misunderstanding of why I was upset. You see, I have known him now for 2 years, and minus a short break, we have been together nearly all of that time. We went out with these friends frequently - movies, coffee, clubs etc, and the girl and I even discussed our ideal wedding dresses together, and shared several alcoholic beverages. I don't just drink with any random people, ya know; I liked this girl. I thought it was mutual.

So I drew the conclusion Chef had bitched about me after an argument we'd had back in March. And so I guess they figured we were no longer dating. March. As in, 6 months ago. As in, he has not told his "best friend" for 6 months we have a new house together, have two canine children and several credit cards in a joint account.
So for some obtuse reason, he seemed to think this shouldn't/wouldn't bother me. Ah. Ha. Ha.
Yep. It does. I blatantly refused to go shopping with him for a suit (note: Wedding date: 27th. Shopping for suit date: 21st. Realizing he has no idea where wedding is/what time starts etc? Soon, I'm sure. Gotta admire a man's complete lack of organization) and he rather took offense to this. And I knew when he came home with an Arsenal cap & bracelet he'd racked up a massive credit card debt. I take a little consolation in the fact it is the most hideously colored 'salmon' business shirt I have seen, and completely inappropriate for a wedding. (Seah: Thank you for bringing me to this realization).

So, instead of sulking around the house banging doors and contemplating slashing his new suit pants, I am spending the day with one of my oldest friends, getting completely and utterly shit-facedly drunk, like the juvenille I am. Hell, if the only guy I know who can outdrink me can't make me happy with drinking games, nasty snack food and horrible chick flicks, I don't know what will.

And I know it's wrong of me to hope he misses the wedding altogether due to his horrible organizational/navigating skills, but I somehow cant stop secretly hoping he spills some form of beetroot juice or other irremoveable stain down his debt ridden shirt.

Aye Aye, Captain!

I woke up this morning an aching mess of snot and general disgustingness, and was lucky enough to be whining loudly enough for Chef to feel sorry for me, and bring me a hot honey and lemon in bed, and some kind of 'cold and flu' tablets which put me to sleep instantly. I'll be looking for the box those came in later...

So to start off a rather grumpy and snuffly day, and to overlook the fact I've been massively outbid on all my future eBay purchases, I started reading my daily blog roll (as can be found to the left of this post). And I stumbled across the most hideously adorable creature, called an 'Aye Aye', via Boobs Injuries & Dr Pepper.

I totally want one. It's like Gizmo crossed with some form of fetchingly charming critter, who will haunt your nightmares then lick you death when you wake.

It's totally on top of my Christmas List, which shall be added shortly. After all, there's only 96 days, 11 hours and 49 minutes to go.

..ooh!

When I returned from my morning ponying around, I was just stretching out for a luxurious sunbake on the deck, and Chef came home and presented me with a large bunch of beautiful flowers, and declared he needed a suntan, and asked whether I had any oil handy. Um.

What the? Usually I am rushed off the beach after he's gotten a few drops of salt water on him as he apparently doesn't have the inbuilt ability to do nothing whilst laying in the sun like I do, and as for oil, he normally wrinkles his nose and whinges about staining his undies.

Still, I'm not complaining. I'm more than happy to sit and praise the Sun Lord all afternoon (and try and ignore the fact I still haven't made it to my appointment to get my cancerous moles removed), it's just a little odd receiving Gerberas. I'm used to getting cake when he's feeling guilty, and the amount of strawberries and whipped cream directly related to how naughty he had been.

Randomly: I am totally in love with this dress. Normally I hate a) dresses and b) dresses that are yellow, but this just does something to my insides. Speaking of things I detest, on my marathon shopping expedition yesterday, I came across a pair of totally adorable... shoes. Yes, yes, this is a fairly common comment from me. The disturbing part is, they have laces. You see, I generally live in anything with a 4inch or higher heel, or flip flops. I don't have a lot of in between, and even my 'jogging' shoes (note: read earlier posts to get an idea of my 'jogging') have to be emblazoned with Puma, or have metallic stripes on them to match my earrings. So I was a little suprised I fell in love with these - so surprised, I didn't buy them. But I assure you, through eBay, I WILL HAVE THEM.

Oh dear...

Sad, sad day. Hung Long Video has closed down! A source of childish amusement and gutter-minded giggling has come to an end...


But on a happier note - I love Krispy Kreme. Yes. I spent those 4 and a half hours in the freezing cold standing in line for an Original Glazed on the Grand Opening, and still, the novelty hasn't worn off (or the affects of the Blueberry Krueller on my thighs) and I just wanted to share how deeply happy I was munching on my ChoKKlate Glazed Donut today.

WARNING: Unflattering Man Hand Alert!!

'What I Wore Today'

Having browsed several blogs this morning whilst trying to get some brain function happening after several vodkas last night, I found it amusing to compare my own life to others. If I were to do my very own 'What I Wore Today' style blog, complete with photos of my outfit that day, I think I would soon have the Fashion Police knocking at my door, or at least more blog views by people wanting to see the hilariousity of my daily attire.
But it wouldn't be as simple as taking a happy snap of my clothing that day - I generally change minimum of 4 to 5 times daily. I wake up (read: fall inelegantly from my bed) and stagger to the shower, and contemplate exactly what I will wear for the first part of my morning. And my choices don't fall under heel height, contrasting colours or matching accessories. It's what the hell will keep me warm in a windy paddock as I remove eye snot from the horses face. Which manky old jeans will best handle the medicated shampoo being splattered all over them, and which riding gloves have the least holes in them. When I return, it's another shower (sorry, Melbourne water supply!) and into workout gear, my baking apron, or the dreaded possibility of what I will wear to see my mother. Out go the short shorts, heels and tank top, to be replaced by anything that isn't remotely revealing, and hides my 'swimmers shoulders', 'love handles' and general 'big girl attributes', as I am constantly being reminded of when in my mothers presence. Hell, last week when I was in Guess and drooling over a pair of jeans, I was informed I would never be able to squeeze myself into a size 8. (I think that's a US 2?) On principle, I grabbed a size 7 and poured myself into them with a lot of strange contortions and wiggling. I mean, I'd never be able to sit down for fear of my entire arse falling out, but I GOT INTO THEM. Victory is sweet.


Having said that, I LOVE getting dressed up, even with no place to go. All my recent eBay purchases have been fab, glittery items just begging to be accompanied by some heels and worn to a glitzy cocktail bar. But my favorite of all...the Mastercard Heels! Ya know, the ad with the tornado, and the girl shopping online, whilst her dog flies around in the air..? I wore them for the first time the other night, and aside from crippling me and leaving gaping holes, they were utterly adorable. So I will post a photo of my 'What I Want to Wear When I Am Not Slobbing Around a Paddock' as opposed to "What I Wore Today", and maybe one day, when I have a 'real' job, I might be able to actually wear them :)

Oh, dear god...

Yep. I did it. I just made a gigantic fool of myself.
You see, the last few days I've been feeling a little... under-appreciated. I've been feeling somewhat down in the dumps, thus fantasizing about having a 'real life'. You know - traveling, having a high powered career, wearing pointy shoes everyday and not having the menial task of washing horses with skin conditions, cleaning up after 2 destructive mutts and man who has more shoes than I do and yet works 18 hours a day and never wears them, and fighting an unprofesional ass wipe of an estate agent who is taking thousands of dollars a month in rent from me and doing nothing in return.

So, on my long meander around the river tonight, I got to thinking about all these things I'm missing out on, of which falling in love and living happily ever after with someone who thinks my body is fantastic and my mind utterly fascinating is one thing that falls in the category of 'not yet achieved'. And for some reason, I thought about a 'long lost friend' whom I accidentally emailed after several Screwdrivers last week, who happened to fall somewhere in that bizarre category of 'first love'.

And yes. I poured myself an extra measure of Absolut, and with the dutch courage burning nicely with the orange tang, I posted off an invitation into the dark void of cyber space, asking him for a casual drink sometime next week.

Oh my fuck and ballsack. What in the name of arse have I done? I was kidding myself to think I could get dressed up in a lovely new eBay purchase, don some heels and slap on some slap, and actually meet someone of the human race for alcohol and conversation. What would I discuss? Just how many bites Phoenix devoured his bed in? How entrancing it is picking scurf from a pony's mane all morning? Just how much my eBay bills are topping, because I have little to no self control? Not to mention how a single drink affects my nervous system now I'm striving for a perfect size 8, and cutting out most of my midday munchies.

Honesty. When I get like this, I should just exercise my credit card more or find a fluffy puppy to cuddle, instead of making a spectacle of myself via email.

On a Day like Today...

After a day like yesterday, all I have to say is...

Thank God for pint glasses, and Praise the Lord for Vodka & Orange.

.

death warmed up

I'm the first person to attack someone for being a pansy when they get a cold - especially men, who seem to think they are dying when they have a slight sniffle - but this morning, I woke literally feeling like death warmed up. No amount of pruning and preening myself this morning can make me remotely attractive, with my bulbus red nose, droopy eyes and constant snuffling. I forced myself out of my (well, Chefs's) bathrobe and slippers and made it to the supermarket on a mercy mission. I bought any amount of Cold and Flu tablets, capsules and hot drinks I could lay my hands on, some super expensive but very pretty pink tissues, a lemon which cost about $4 and a large packet of butter menthol. The lady at the counter did the usual 'how are you today' grunt, and I couldn't even dignify that with a response. It's like when I have The Monthly Curse and I wind up at the checkout with 3 packs of maternity pads, a box of tissues and 4 family size blocks of chocolate, and they dare ask how I am on that fine day.

So I'm quickly guzzling hot lemon & honey and stuffing myself with Lemsip before I start my second afternoon at my job. Our Riding for the Disabled branch is the only exemption from the lock down due to Equine Flu on a Tuesday, as they are running a research program with the Royal Childrens Hospital, so I'll be busy calming the 9 horses down from being horribly grumpy after about 5 hours straight walking in circles.

Thank god for indoor arenas and fluffy woollen scarves on a day like today.
What happened to Spring being sprung?

'been there, done that...'

Sahara has been waking me up super early lately, and yesterday was no exception, so i decided to put it to good use, and I lost my muffin virginity. Yes, that is correct - I date a chef, enjoy anything packed full of sugar, yet had never made a muffin in my life. For some reason, the chocolate ones made triple the amount of batter the orange and poppyseed muffins made (so I had to make sure they were alright, and do a little taste test of the batter. The dogs couldn't have licked that bowl cleaner). Other than being a little gooey and the fact they were cupcake size due to lack of muffin tin (I'm not a 'planning ahead' type of person when it comes to baking) they were pretty darn... not bad.

In the afternoon I headed down to Mt Eliza and took the dogs for a puppy play date, and was on my way to the drive in when Phoenix started vomiting profusely.
Today has been spent in a flurry of rearranging, I have such itchy feet to move soon I decided to move all the furniture in my lounge room and pretend I live somewhere new and exciting. I'm preparing to spend another afternoon at the beach with the dogs, and continue crunching my stomach in alarming ways and doing such absurd things as 'reverse crunches' which involve me on my stomach on a table, and 'ladies push ups' which are just damn difficult.

My core strength apparently matches my self control when it comes to buying inappropriate dresses on eBay - little to none.

Onto something completely different - I am totally in love with the new Nickleback song, as featured on Karyn's website.
It reminds me of singing along to Animals very loudly in the car last Summer, which in turns makes me wonder what this year will have in store. Last Summer was all about puppies, blue contact lenses, discovering Johnnie Walker and making a food of myself in public, and wearing my first bikini in public. Nothing can compare to the year before, and falling in love with Chef, flying off to England on my own for 5 weeks and leaving home for a share house in the city when I returned, and learning to become independent. And of course discovering Brunetti's and Lygon St in general, and spending lazy days at St Kilda.

Slave Driver

Chef has turned into some kind of sadistic Personal Trainer, and is making me take part in all manner of absurd stomach crunching movements involving tables, bottles of water and 10kg weights. After two days of this barbaric treatment, I have been left an aching mess and begging for reprieve - he's now gone as far as subjecting me to some form of evil torture, known to man kind as 'jogging'. By the time I've rearranged all my internal organs after pounding the pavement in a thoroughly un-elegant way, and put my hips back in their correct socket, I'm practically gagging for a cigarette, and a stiff scotch on the rocks. Unfortunately, I made the grave error of banning myself from these substances several days ago, and find myself searching the backyard for half smoked butts and looking enviously at the girls from Americas' Next Top Model, whom seem to maintain their stick-thinnedness on a diet of nicotene and alcohol.

Still, I continue to watch the pretty tops and summer dresses on eBay and think of how nice my rippling six pack will look in the new bikini I am having shipping from the UK, and using it as inspiration to not smack Chef over the head with a random 5kg weight and running from the house in glee. Well, maybe not running, after all. More my usual slob-ish walk with a few energetic dance steps throw in, as my 'workout music' plays resolutely in the background.




In all seriousness, it's great having someone motivate me to exercise. I'm just a little concerned I'm going to end up looking like than the above, rather than the below...