Brekkie on the Bridge

Before BOTB, I saw one cloud in the otherwise clear blue sky moving west. When I got to the bridge, said cloud was directly above us. Maybe it decided the truffle butter on our bread smelt too much like old socks and needed to be diluted, because it absolutely poured. We were given these plastic ponchos which could fit 3 people inside and you would still have room to dance. We were laughing so hard we didn't realise we had put our heads through the arm holes.

Poncho time!

Afterwards, I crawled back to Kirribilli markets where I bought a ukulele off Michelle Leslie. Yes, the Leslie convicted of possessing a few Es in Bali, 2005. The one sporting full Muslim dress crying on camera. Conversion to Islam my arse. She was no longer wearing a hijab, but a tight fitting tank and skinny jeans. Fair enough, I know I'd convert to anything to get out of jail.

He's humping the fountain!

This got me thinking, what would you do to get out of stuff, or to get something? Fake you lost your voice before delivering a speech? Pretend you're a vegetarian to score with  the hippie chick? 

Anyway, happy Halloween everyone! I went as a Liberal campaigner who had been run over by a car. What did you do?

Adventures Overseas. Warning: not for the faint hearted

When we're on holiday or in a foreign country, we are suddenly at liberty to do what we normally don't. It is ok for me to spend ridiculous amounts of money on crappy souvenirs, visit lame tourist attractions and wear hideous shirts that I wouldn't let Tony Abbot wipe his arse with (hello Hawaiian shirt, I'm talking to you). All this seems pretty harmless, except to my bank account. However, holidaying has turned into the biggest excuse for me and many others to do idiotic things, be daredevils or immerse ourselves in a perpetual alcoholic haze. Due to this...

Before

Morning After

 things like this happen…                                                            And this...

And this...









Or this...

One way or another, we always end up in hospital or a cell. In poorer countries, this means confinement in an unsanitary concrete floor with you desperately protecting all orifices whilst being yelled at in a foreign tongue.

My advice, do not play hero, do not play dares and definitely do not pass out in a gutter unless you want to wake up in a tub of ice with sutures on your back, where your kidneys should be. 

Running for junk

So... I know it's been a long time but I managed to complete the City2Surf on a very swollen ankle. Took 87 minutes. Never in my life have I drunk so much Gatorade or brushed past so many sweaty people-yummy.

It was strange when I finished. I felt like I could keep going like that Milo ad. I wasn't out of breath, wasn't sore, just numb-makes me think that I could possibly run a half marathon. After I finished, I managed to find 5 out of 6 friends that I started with. As usual I was starving so I decided to cancel out all the exercise by eating a Burger at the North Bondi Club, a sausage sizzle and  then a plate of fish and chips. Can you believe that sometimes I wonder why it's hard for me lose some weight.

Back to Base

The premier image of Spencer Tunick's Sydney Opera House installation has finally been released. Since the shoot, I've regrown my hair and my beer gut. Everyone who participated is receiving a limited edition print. We can either go back to the Opera House on the 14th or 15th of August to collect it, or have the print mailed to us. 

I'm disappointed that I will have to wait for Spencer's 'special' exhibition to see the other pictures taken inside the Concert Hall and in the gardens. Hence, I'm posting these pics. Enjoy.

See the official image at: http://www.mardigras.org.au/

2010

My friend and I made a list of things to do this year. I felt like I was in my first year of uni again, filled with sickeningly naïve aspirations and hopes. Anyway, I'm sharing some of the list with you:

- Run a marathon- we signed up for the Cirty2Surf, it's in 4 weeks and we've both sprained our ankles…fail. Guess I'll have to do the Blackmores run as it starts outside my home. I'd just rope in a few mates, roll out of bed and into a 9k run.

-get defined- ditto all we can do is weights and sit-ups

- win trivia at our local pub- hell yea once we've killed all the members of the Zazoffs, the Black Plastic Bags and Think Tank

- learn to surf- I can't believe that after hanging around and dating surfie types over the years, I still haven't gotten onto a board, how un-Australian.

There are about 15 items on the list. I'd be laughing if we accomplish 5. We'll just have to wait and see.

God I need summer.

The Harem Must Die!

I was watching 'The Circle' this morning because the television at my gym only tunes into channel 10. Ian 'Dicko' Dickson the guest host, bagged out pretty much every current women's fashion trend. I mostly agreed with him. If a king such as MC Hammer can't pull off the harem, no way in hell can the average Jane. If people wear loose clothing to hide something, wearing a crotch so low can only connote an unpleasant form of incontinence.

Dicko proceeded to claim that he likes ladies with bums( who doesn't) and I could just tolerate his preference for the tacky t-bar sticking up over the jeans. However, I will not let a guy by the name of 'Dicko' who probably has a stylist but still dresses like every other Tom, Dick and Harry, tell me a muffin top is hot. Sometimes I prefer a gal being Harry High pants because I do NOT want to see someone's excess flesh jutting out and flubbing me hello. Just like they wouldn't want to see little Dicko jutting out and flopping hello.

Sorry about the imagery and the image, I'll leave you this to help you forget you ever saw.

Baby fighting to stay awake

I hate lifts

Lift etiquette is awkward. Here we are, confined in a square metre, stuck for that tiny but agonising amount of time.

The lifts for my apartment have mirrors on four sides, but if I check myself out, the caretaker does too. I can almost feel the security camera swizzle and zoom in on my forehead.

My general rule is that if someone enters the lift, I will greet them and hold the door open. However living in an affluent suburb, my neighbours are usually too good to even bother responding to plebeians like myself. If in the odd chance I do begin a conversation, it will end abruptly with a ‘ding’. I might try to say ‘Have a good-‘, but the doors have already closed.

Murphy’s Law has it that when you’re at your most unattractive, you will encounter extremely attractive people. There is a pool, gym and sauna in my building, which means that when this happens, I’m either:

a) dripping with chlorine in a ratty towel

b) dripping with sweat oozing from every pore

c) dripping with sweat panting like an excited dog

Yum. I’m usually too embarrassed to even enter a lift when this happens, but that would mean dripping up 8 flights of stairs.

Why else do I hate lifts? Did I mention I’m claustrophobic?