Labour (Day) Pains

**Please note some names have been shortened to first letters to protect what little dignity these people have left**

I sit on the couch on Labour Day and wonder what an earth brought me to this moment. Why am I nursing groin pains, have my top on backwards and why did I wake up on the couch curled up in a little ball next to Buffy the dog, who is in the same sleeping position? Why is B wearing two different thongs, resembling death warmed up? And why is J, still fully clothed in bed, sausage stains on the back of her t-shirt and sporting a plastic fork in her hair?

I have just finished my labour day weekend holiday, having celebrated it with 6 other people and 3 dogs. What an adventure has just transpired.

I have now increased my vocabulary by words and terms such as: Nisbit, rusty trombone, cuntkerchief, horse friendly wink.

I began the adventures with a replacement bus ride (due to train track work) to Geelong, our driver Barry - pleasant fellow - dropped us off at Geelong train station. B was meant to collect us, however being the eternally late angel that she is, we were forced to endure air sharing with some of Geelong's finest - who were off to Melbourne to enjoy the frivolities promised by Moomba Festival - wearing nothing but a cuntkerchief (an extremely small garment leaving nothing to the imagination) and really I do take my hat off to a crazy bitch who can tolerate such temperature conditions as 10 degrees wearing basically nothing.

B finally arrives, wearing mustard coloured jodhpurs, riding boots, a striped deakin university nurses uniform shirt and a V necked sweater. You see her strange attire was because today we planned to go horse riding at Blazing Saddles (sounds like an STI doesn't it?) in Anglesea. Something we all hadn't done since we were teenagers and quite possibly the reason for my current groin pains. However the pains could also be a product of seeing a photograph of a ridiculous pose, a male ballerina was doing up a wall, in a copy of vanity fair J provided to me for the bus journey to which all 8 of us decided to attempt - when J boldly stated that "anyone could do that" - she was wrong.

The trail ride, for the most part, was mediocre to say the least. None of us can really attribute anything that our horses did to our own riding skills. The bloody animals have been doing the same trip 2 or 3 times a day for the past 10 years and generally just follow the leader and know when to do what. We did however get a small canter in which was exhilarating for about 100 meters - but for the most part it was mainly walking - due to the fact the an 8 year old, rang-er girl dreadfully named Hester, decided to be a big fat cry baby and refuse to do anything fun. We all realised - during our post ride debrief at the pub - that at some point during the ride, had all wished ill of her and had all muttered under our breath for her the harden the fuck up. The most exciting part probably was when my horse, who seemed to enjoy taking close up whiffs of the behinds of the other horses, whiffed her last when the recipient of the nose decided to kick back in turn causing my horse to rear up. Much to the astonishment of the trail leaders and my fellow riders I managed to stay on and react rather cooly about it all. The leaders in their very "I'm a proper rider, not some disgusting cowboy accents" said "well done, well done, my, you did sit in that well, very good". Really I think I was more stunned than anything and have never gripped my thighs so hard together (again back to the groin pains). The other interesting thing about the ride was that we established, from the wink we got at every swish of Y's horse's tail that she was quite the town bicycle and no doubt had been ridden by, not only humans (in a transport sense) but also by every male horse that called Blazing Saddles their home..... tart.

After all that excitement the troop needed food and beer - to the pub! We disgustingly consumed many a plate of nachos, fries and calamari and washed it down with jugs of beer. I perhaps made an error of judgement and decided to re-enact a u tube clip I had seen of the today show presenters playing the winter olympic sport - curling - on a playstation wii - which involved very suggestive movements. On top of this J decided to tell us a story of revenge which resulted with a man being shat on by his very angry wife. We also got a story of a rusty trombone reach around (google the term). You could tell by the looks of silent horror from the patrons around us that we weren't really well received.

The next part of our journey went slightly awry - the intention was to walk down to the river and partake in the joys of bobbing in the water with the assistance of a rubber inflatable device and sip on champagne. We were told all we had to do was cross the bridges and we would be there. Well many a bridge later and 1 and 1/2 hours into the walking trip we were beginning to doubt that we would find the place and then disaster struck.

We had been throwing the balls to the dogs and B had thrown the ball that sailed with slow motion and plopped into the river water. The 3 dogs all bounced in after it and after a little bit of time wondering what an earth Roxie (the dog) was doing to Bella (the dog), we realised she was drowning her. Panic set in, B (the boy), bless him in his soft and effeminate ways bravely signaled by unzipping the v neck part of his sweater that he might go in after them. However there was no need, K (owner of both the dogs) was a woman possessed and fully clothed (spectacles, thongs and all) hurled in after them in a an act that can only be described as sheer bravery. Once the dogs were rescued they continued to run around again as if nothing had happened - however K was not only water logged but bore the lashings of bella's claws across her chest and was also missing a thong.

The thong never surfaced and it was assumed that it was indeed stuck in the mud. We made a slight attempt to feel around for it will the dog ball throwing plastic stick thingy, and whilst we were doing so - some dude in a weird leg peddled kayak, came past enquiring what we were looking for - when we told him he stated that he hadn't come across a thong, but had come across something. He produced a pink lip smacker lip balm, which indeed, did belong to K - so there was at least one win (although I would say chances are she wont ever use a river soaked lip balm again), sadly however, we never recovered the thong and poor K had to limp back home minus one shoe.

By the time we reached home - we almost had to turn on the spot and head out again for the main attraction of the weekend the "holly go lightly, Y's house warming party" which we also like to now call - a ridiculously debaucherous night to which we have photo evidence. On the way to the party, stopping in at the alcho shop, E calmly stated to the shop server that he had a massive huntsman spider crawling across his chest - to which the rest of us responded in hideous shrieks and screams and holding onto each other for safety, which I'm sure didn't help the situation one bit - I am happy to say the disaster was averted with a quick brush of a hand.

I won't go into too much detail of the warming because what happened at the party really should stay at the party, however I can mention that much liquid of the alcoholic variety was consumed, sausages were eaten, voices were lost from the amount of singing that was done on sing star, A parrot pinyata was bashed to death and then worn as a hat, a the movie goonies was played at the end of the night. This was where the night got somewhat blurry for me, due to the fact that I was found curled up asleep in a corner when everything was said and done. B had gone home and forgotten me and left me (I believe she had many other adventures involving mismatched thongs, cigarettes and bar fights but we can't be sure), It was just lucky that E found me when things were being packed up, she woke me up to tell me it was time to go - I obediently followed in a daze. Don't really remember the walk home - only that it involved strawberries. Once back at the fort I believe my efforts were much the same - falling alseep in a ball with the dogs in the lounge which I was left until the morning.

Bless her little heart Y did try and coax us all out of the house for a spot of surfing, but we were having nothing of it and decided to wallow in our hung over states and eat scrambled eggs with tomato and goats fetta, pancakes, bread and jam, popcorn and chocolate. J, still wearing her sausage stained top from the night before and branding a plastic fork that she got from the fudge shop, declared that she believed a cat had shat in her mouth - she also went on to tell us a story she had also once related to axel rose about a nisbitt (again google the term). We all sat in the dark, watching the movie vanity fair (a hideously awful movie, that we negatively commented on, every second of the way). Eating and sitting took up a fair amount of the day - and in the afternoon we all agreed that it was time to head back to reality and a hail damaged Melbourne.

We did our best to have a great labour day long weekend, and I can safely say that we did our best deliciously.

xx

The Man

He was late. His irresolution had got the better of him. When one usually has the opportunity to set sail to sober-land, being wholly satisfied with their third and, what should be, final drink on a Friday night at the fine establishment twenty yards from one's place of work - this man missed this boat, utterly and completely. A colleague defiantly sat a fourth in front of him. This fourth, being the gateway that led him to this very moment now. Pointlessly trying to grasp onto blank moments which, more than likely, would have been full to the brim of inappropriateness and his undulating dance with the door and house keys, that at any moment, could cause him to abruptly exonerate, the essentially consumed kebab - a gift for the front door mat.

He finally reunited door with keys, thankfully with no evidence of lamb betraying him. He painstakingly crept in, in attempt to make as little noise as possible, however the paralysis of his motor cortex, left his movements with the immaturity of a toddler learning to walk and he managed to hit every item in range of his two meter journey into the house.

There she was, poised silhouette - a dark shadow in a doorway. She gave him a look of dry disdain, subtle and forced, as if it in-dignified her to have to give any reaction at all. The expression one gives when they smack their faces into a glass door having mistaken it for an opening and are forced to acknowledge that the stupidity, indeed, had happened at all.

She added a slow drawn out blink, why was he wasting her time? He opened his mouth, one imagines to begin some sort of an explanation, however what came out resembled more like the agonising sound of a heifer in labour and before he had even had the chance to finish off that foul and disgusting noise, she had already turned swiftly, aloofly walking off, her shadow becoming a mere blend of the surrounding darkness.

Bitch.

Tonight he would probably have to sleep on the couch. He silently mocked himself. The hatred pinned to that thought was really intended for no one but himself. He knew in a couple of moments he would be begging for forgiveness. He mused with a fond curiosity of how she always managed to invoke such self hating thoughts, to immediately paint him with the colour of guilt. How could she drive him into such desperation, night after night, his ultimate aim to please her knowing she would always be so disappointed at any efforts. She was, after all, just his cat.

Loosie Toosie

I apologise to my sister in advance should she take offense to this, by writing this I, by no means, wish to exploit or offend her. This is for her.

One of the earliest memories of my sister was when she had just started primary school, kindergarten. I, however, that year had been proudly walked over, from the junior school building with it's childlike creamy facade, across the small alley way road that separated the dark, serious, looming brown bricked building for senior primary. This year, I had started year three and I wasn't a child anymore (ha what did I know). This is where the real learning happened, when you actually fit perfectly into your blue and white school tunic uniform and didn't trudge patiently around, drowning in an over sized hammy down potato sack waiting to "grow into it".

We caught the school bus into school and I had been entrusted begrudgingly to ensure that my sister arrived safely to the gates of her new place of learning. I was livid, not only did I momentarily have to break away from my pack of friends and interrupt my journey up the steps into the playground of the big school but I had to have my little 4 year old sister hang around me like a bad smell and at the ripe old age of 7 that was totally uncool. I didn't intend to be shy about making it obvious of my dislike for the situation and her.

My sister was and still is completely opposite to me. I was dark, more olive in skin and complexion, had thick and unruly brown hair and dark brown/green eyes with loads of freckles and less than perfect teeth (in fact my fangs were quite hideous at the time). My sister in comparison has a fair complexion, alabaster skin, thin and feathery blond hair that always looked like a golden fountain when tied back in a ponytail with a pretty ribbon. Her eyes, blue like swimming pools when the sun is reflecting of it. Cupid pink lips and teeth - straight as an arrow.

As we arrived at the gate I remember saying something unpleasant (I can't recall exactly what), followed by a get lost or something of similar meaning. She turned, he school bag almost as big as her on her back reinforcing just how small she was at the time, she looked at me, with almost no expression in her face, not the slightest bit of emotion, no anger, no upsetness, no bitterness. "Bye" she said with such innocence, squinting up at me as her little eyes were blanketed with the sun, turned back around, and walked down the snake like path to the entrance of her school, the junior building with tiny fragile steps.

That word.... bye.... had jumped into my mouth, traveled down to my lungs, got into my bloodstream, and at the moment it reached my heart, exploded. Erupting into painful dust that choked me of breath. I walked to the big school in tears.

For my whole life, my sister and I have said that when I was born and went shopping in the "gene pool" that I cleared the shelves of emotion and left nothing for her when she arrived in the world (obviously a joke but there does seem to be quite a realness to the notion).
For her and my whole life, it seems as if she was hard as a rock that nothing could penetrate those solid walls, while I walked fragile steps, cursed to be a blubbering mess.

You might have fetched a guess as to how, then, these lives might pan out - however think you would all be further from the truth. Whilst my life has definitely experienced it's fair share of downs on the roller coaster of life, I have always managed to hold onto hope and find the light at the end of the dark tunnel. I have never given up and although still poor, still (technically) a student and still a big fat walking emotional heart, still single, still sometimes lonely, still struggling - I still have a lot to show for it.

But my sister caught the wrong ride. Last time I saw her, she was drinking like a chain smoker - only with beers and scotch instead of cigarettes. There were bottles under her bed, left in the shower and in the backseat of the car, she is not even trying to hide the marijuana in her bedroom. My sister has lost her beautiful sweet smell of innocence I remember - it has been replaced with the vile putrid smell of defeat and addiction that matches that of the stench of a bar room carpet. She has lost her beautiful voice, it's been replaced with the scratchy, dark voice of derangement spouting remarks of delusion. This person is not my sister - it is addiction, it is a loss of hope, a loss for the want to live and it has taken over her soul and i feel alone in the world because of it. Like a lost child, in a sea of people, not knowing what to do to find the safety of mama - I feel the same not knowing how to get my sisters soul back for her.

Sure we are chalk and cheese, she always bore a stamp of originality, always doing thing 'her own way' and I always followed the crowd and trend, she was crazy when I am sensible, she was amazingly artistic and i am lucky if I can draw a good stick figure, I'm academic while she was pragmatic, I am words whilst she is pictures, I love drama and she loves simplicity, she can sing beautifully and i sound like an off fog horn, she looms tall while I stare at her belly button, she loves dirty when I love clean, she is strong and I am weak... but no..... I am strong when she is weak.

I am her yin and she is my yan. But my yan is slowly dying, fading away and killing herself. And me, the practical, sensible one, the one in control and expected to know what to do.... actually... doesn't know what to do. I feel I have failed you Loosie Toosie and I'm so sorry. This is agony to see you like, but it's not just my agony is it? It's yours as well.... the agony I stole from you all those years ago. But really I don't think you don't feel, in fact I think you may even feel things more than me but you have no way of expressing it. It's trapped, exploding inside you with no way of an emotional outlet and perhaps this is what led you to this course of action, to give up on hope. Whatever it is, if I could do anything to change it, even giving you my only heart, to make you realize what an amazing person this addiction is wasting, then I would.

I fear I will always be that little girl, alone in the street crying, wishing she had just given her little sister a cuddle.

Come back to us Luci.... please.

I love you x

We'll get her when she comes back in..... She's not coming back...

Well I am and I did.... but I couldn't resist using a line from the movie Point Break as my title of this post as I write about my first encounters with surfing, in Torquay, next door neighbour to the famous Bells beach that plays a starring role in the film, the killer waves that Patrick Swayze chooses to make his last. Well my experience wasn't that dramatic although there was slight trepidation as these first attempts were part of one of my New Year Resolutions; To tackle fear, and for me, this came in the form of salty waves crashing on the shore.

So I have booked myself into a lesson with Go Ride a Wave and three shabby looking blokes, dark skinned from the sun, roughened by years of salt and blonded by years sun bleach were going to teach me. These dudes, all with moppy haircuts of medium length, all look like they can or are growing a mean beard, but the 35 year old looking fellas turned out to be 19 and 20 year old babies! God I am putting my life into the hands of lads!

But they were nothing short of spectacular in teaching the group of 19 to tackle the big waves to us, small waves to them. All of us looking nothing short of looney, as the 19 of us act out our surfing moves on the sand. Very precise and direct instructions, a couple a bad jokes later and we were ready (really??) for the real thing.

I realised that this was possibly one of the best things to tackle if one is tackling fear for all kinds of life issues. You see what we do is before we have even put a toe into the situation we have played the outcomes in our heads already and pronounced our demise before it's even begun, then our bodies, our selves have already failed us and will be hit one after the other by crashing tides. We go in scared, we get treated scared, they can already sense it and they win. Shy back and you get hit. But out there in the waves I realised I needed to be brave, to charge, and that's what I did, I charged, I went in there head on, silently told them to give me what they had and I swear I wasn't being knocked around as much. Each wave I hit made me feel more and more empowered (wow this wasn't as bad as I thought it was going to be this - actually this playful tussling with the rolling waves is actually..... wait for it..... fun).

Then there comes trust, an openness you need to work with whatever comes to take you along the wave. You wait patiently, you need to, using the time to study the form of the waves, your position, you are learning from the movements of the wave and dancing in time with rolling motions you have found yourself in. A wave comes in, the shape of it, the curve, the rise - all of this tells you this could be the one to ride in on. You paddle and do your best and wait for it to hit the board, to take you. When it does this is the point where you feel no control, possibly the hardest thing humans try to cope with - a lack of control. Fight it and you will fall off the back and never know what could have been or if you are too far into it you may end up dumped. But if you go with, open up to the possibilities that could be, let it do it's job and you do yours, it is the most exhilarating, free feeling I have possibly ever experienced. I felt lighter, dreamy, excited... happy.

And I got up... well I got to my feet and had enough time to scream "Oh my god I'm standing on a" before I quickly fell off again onto my bottom and into the water - the cool liquid covering me like a watery doona. But I didn't lose that feeling of exhilaration, falling off hadn't hurt me, it hadn't killed me , I got up, in fact I learnt something, I now had experience to try again, I had the fire of possibility lit up in my belly and I wanted to do it again - feel that freedom. It may not have been that wave, it may not be the next, but one of those waves I was going to carve up to the end, all I had to do was try.

YEW!

La (New) Vie en Rose : 2009/2010

The day is dragging ever so slowly, I'm impatiently tapping my pencil on the desk literally watching the minutes slowly ticking by. Someone has released the caged butterfly's in my tummy, they are flying about, their soft, vibrating wings tickling my insides and making me slightly nauseous. Today I'm doing my burly show for New Years Eve at Madame SouSou's, a french restaurant on Brunswick St, Fitzroy, Melbourne.

But first I have to work until 3pm because I have used up all my annual leave to go to New York and they don't close the stupid office over Christmas time. Still there are upsides to my caging today given that it is 37 degrees outside. The air is thick, sticky and hot out there and, was already so at 8am this morning. Each time you step out there, it wraps around your body like a cocoon, a pocket of air trying to roast you to a crisp. So being in a 22 degree air-conditioned office is, I guess, not too bad. However the boredom is battling with my adrenaline filled body, I feel like a bubbly champagne bottle, just waiting to be popped open because of my excitement and nerves of doing tonight's show - I'm not sure why I am so nervous this time round - it's not like I haven't performed before, I think it's because this time round my solo is completely stamped by me. My costume was made by me, I picked the music, I chose and created the character, I envisaged the story and came up with the choreography - this work is all mine and tonight I find out if an audience will enjoy it or not.

I am doing the show with two other girls Sheree (aka Scarlett) and Frankie (aka Pepper Lee) - two gorgeous girls that are cherished friends and I am more than delighted to be sharing the stage with these beauties. By late afternoon, we are all hiding in the bottom lounge at Sheree's house, hiding away from the ongoing heat that still bears down on the city, making it feel exhausted. We all suck down on cool, fruity icy poles, a treat because of the brazen sun. We are putting off getting ready as long as possible knowing the heat will try it's very best to mar our creative efforts.

Nail polish first, and of course the perfect partner to begin our transformation, flutes of champagne. The bottle, when opened, popped with such ferocity from the heat - there seems to be some pressure in the air giving everything in it an unusual kinetic energy. You can almost hear the creaking sounds of the city as it is pushed to the limits, beading with sweat and slowly melting, we watch as the dark clouds of breaking point roll in to aid the burnt and blistered.

Mirrors are everywhere, hair is curled, pinned and teased, bright colours don our cheeks and and lips and large fluttering lashes now perfect our eyes. The three of us are a creation of fabulousness, only missing our sparkly costume robes which we save to put on when we are in the 'dressing room'. The day has now given in, had enough - the sky fills with impressive light shows of the natural kind, followed by the grumbly old man of thunder, who curses the sun for the havoc it has caused. The rain starts to fall, the earth sighs in ectasy with a relieving snake-like hissing sound, as the cool droplets of water put out the fires that have risen within the scorching paths and roads. Umbrellas in hand, we all scramble into the car (actually the giant sized, manly, off road vehicle that Sheree's partner has lent us. Such a sight to see 3 pretty and petite girls in such a monster metal of a truck) the cool change is welcomed, but we still protect our painted faces from the rain that threatens to transform us into clowns.

The scene in which we are to play, is of perfection. Low lead lighting hums from the old light fittings, the twinkling of tea lights under white candle holders create a warm and inviting glow. The old mahogany wooden bar lines the room, standing tall like a man that is growing finer into his age. Strong edges carved into the bar gives it a gentle feel, like smile creases on ones face. An army of wine bottles surround the bar splashing the room with colour, blood red and golden white and a palate in between from all the different labels. The rest of the surrounding walls are plastered with colourful wall paper, beautiful framed pictures and random pictures stuck in between, peeping through, everything overlapping, leaving not a single blank space. If one looks hard enough through the collage, you are faced with a smooth round bottom or a voluptuous breast - the risque photography of the late 19th Century. The dark, wooden tables contrast the clean pressed white napkins, the wine glasses are the size of soup bowels, the silver cutlery is polished and an unimaginable amount of tables are squeezed into the tiny space. Guests of 4 and 6 and even couples surround the place - all so different - all so lovely - all ready to be played with. They feast on a decadent 6 courses, a range of french delicacies to excite their tasting palate. A murmur of chatter fills the space above their heads, hanging peacefully like angels in the clouds, watching over the loved ones. The air is friendly and warm, relaxed and at peace, while the cool change cheekily whistles through the legs of the chairs and people, filling the room with excitement and energy. The rain patters down at a steady beat - and everyone waits for the show.

We are costumed - colours of creams, whites, pinks, purples, blacks from materials such as pearls, lace, satin, nylon cover our skin. It is oh so hot in the back room, so we retreat to the side hall, with a door that welcomes the night sky in - the naughty wind almost bowls us over, the coolness of the rain sends tingles into our flesh. We are called through to begin. A quick trip through the blistering heat of the kitchen, the chefs with cheeky smiles on their faces, we are introduced and our music begins to play. Firstly a flirtatious dance to begin with - the crowd are different than usual, slightly more conservative than usual and from a glance at all the faces their are expressions of modesty and shyness, trying not to look, although some are faces of glee and cheekiness, with a certain hope of what may come.

To our places for our solos, we begin with a masquerade, an interlude of dark circus music plays, creating mystery and mystique. A white mask begins to travel to each table, a black regal beehive adorned with soft and shimmering feathers stands tall above the mask, with grace and dignity. With a pop of the music we glide, with a waltz, into the pomp and ceremony of Edith Piaf's Padam, Padam. Lace gloves are slowly taken off, accepted by the audience with sheer delight. With a gorgeous wiggle of a petite bottom, a fru fru skirt swishes delicately to the floor, exposing a satin girdle and a cheeky grin. A black lace fan is opened, which covers the virtues of her olive skinned body, whilst a top is undone. Then slowly and seductively draped over an audience members shoulder, she cooly pads by, inspecting the feast of eyes, feasting on her. The climax comes, the fan swoops into the air and the reveal is made with a rainfall of glitter to end the piece.

A piano interlude begins, and a bride begins to get ready for her big day. She takes down the locket hanging off a rose lamp, looks lovingly at the picture of her true love and hangs it around her neck. She picks up her veil and carefully and places into her hair. she slowly pirouettes so the everyone can she what a beautiful bride she makes. She tenderly picks up her bouquet of cottage pick roses and with a final check stands and waits..... and waits..... and waits. The music notes change from a melody filled with happiness to singular notes of sadness. A member of the audience knows what is happening.... leans forward and whispers....."he's not coming is he".....
The music changes into a dreamlike version of Que Sera Sera by Pink Martini and the drama begins. The bride possessed begins to rip off her gown! The is much crying into sleeves, back bending dramatically into laps, blowing ones nose into napkins on peoples laps and drinking peoples wine. But wait.... Is that her love in the crowd, at the back there? She runs to him knowing he wouldn't leave her and plunges his head into her breast and when she looks closer... gasps... it is alas, a stranger... it was all her imagination, with that, the music draws to it's peak and she throws off what is left of the bridal wear for the reveal. Remembering the locket, she opens it, looks at it and buries it into her chest. Pain is felt and she realises her heart has literally bled for him.... this cad.... he is not worth her blood. With a swift yank, the locket is pulled from the neck and is deposited in somebody's water glass, she turns quickly, hands on hips and proudly marches off.

The music of sensuality fills the room, the red haired seductress takes the stage. Her smoldering eyes and blood red lips. One sharp look from her would send a virile man wild with the madness of lust. With elegant moves her white gloves are removed, her innocence at this point, lulling you into a false sense of security, her back bends and twirls - so soft, so slow, so flexible - you feel the audience begin to move and sway with her. She has got you. The music changes and the angels mischievous side comes out to play, strands of pearls are now gripped between her teeth, you watch and wish that it was you instead, that was gripped between her teeth. With one magnificent movement, her bouncing lace skirt is removed and you are left with pleasure of her alabaster skin and her twinkling sequined knickers that hit the light and cast rays around her like a shooting star.

The end piece - the fun, flirtatious, frivolity of New Year begins, with winks and kisses to all and sundry. Two of the girls are in position for their curtain call while the third is too busy flirting and kissing the older gentlemen! She looks around and skips quickly into line - the three of the blow luscious kisses into the air, with their hips out, swivel on their toes and in one movement they are gone - finished reaping havoc on an unsuspecting crowd.

With a pop of the champagne cork, the tickles of bubbles on the nose, the turn and blast of the confetti poppers and a sweet kiss on the cheek... or even better on the lips.....

...... It is the year of new. xx

(Photos by Francisca Venegas aka Frankie)

Two Thousand and Zen

So before I even got my mouth open to start ranting and comlplaining about what a poo this year has been, my friend Simon, an ex lover who both drives me bonkers and who I adore with a passion, told me to stop looking at the negative and concentrate on what wonderful things did happen this year and to move on in to next year with a smile on my face (and possibly a champagne coupe in my hand)!

I just love it when friends love you enough to not take the same bollocks you keep spouting and literally slap you out of the pessamistic cycle you have once again found swirling around in - and friends like these find you a soggy mess and provide you with some air.

So there will be no talk of the love that went horribly wrong, the family that I hate to Love, the crappy job, the ever so slow process of learning and heading towrds my goal of Psychology.

Instead I will bask in the knowledge that I found a new love and interest in bars and hospitality, thus learning a new trade that will hopefully become something of a full time occupation. I learnt the art of tease and sexiness within the genre of burlesque and have even started to perform in public (oh my!) it's allowed me to discover, once again, the overwhelming passion I have for performance - that unique relationship a performer has with their audience that cannot be created anywhere else. I have new beautiful pictures on my left arm - one inparticular that reminds me of my sensitive, innocent and gorgeous heart and soul just yearning to live, learn and love everything and everyone. I went overseas and discovered new and amazing places and touched base with friendly faces I had missed so much. I successfully got through more of my degree - one more stepping stone down toward my ultimate goal, I learnt more about me and shared wonderful times with others.

So next year I have named two thousand and zen - the year in which rather than seeing problems, we see solutions and we enjoy the moment for what it is. My goals are beginning a job in hospitality while I finish my degree, I want to start a book club, I want to nourish good relationship and walk away from the bad, I want to learn more about me, and something tells me that a half marathon under 2 hours may be on the cards as well.

You with me? If we get scared we can hold hands xx

Merry Bloody Christmas! Ho Bloody Ho.

"I can't help detesting my relations. I suppose it comes from the fact that none of us can stand other people having the same faults as ourselves."

Oscar Wilde

With a rush of urgency I hopped on a tram to the city - it was xmas eve and I was still down 3 presents. We had been given an early mark from work which gave me an extra couple of hours. I had arranged a traveling date with my work mate Racheal and she most obligingly took my bags under her very capable wings arranging to fly by in a taxi and make a stop with me before we hurtled off to the airport.

At this time of year one must "prepare for battle" as they head into the Christmas buying crowd. Too many times in the past few weeks since returning from overseas and realising "Fuck are we in December already?, holy crap I have no time, why do the years keep getting faster and faster, it's not fair, breath...breath" I ventured to the shops in an "everyday frame of mind" - allowing everyday thoughts and wonders to creep into your head and having the pace of a snail - wrong. I was eaten up every time. Every shop you entered seemed to be full to the brim of people as if the shop had decided to try a world record of the most people in one tiny shopfront, some pimply kid on summer hols called Brad has been given the summer job of directing the job and he is doing a splendidly shit job of trying to pick up those young girls wearing cutoffs that are leaving nothing to the imagination and trying to achieve some sort hair do that you got when one of your friends gave you a "noogie" as a kid (who would have thought that would become the popular??). A summer lass called Sally is in the corner wrapping presents so badly the thought actually crosses your mind that she might be retarded due to the fact that no one seems to be minding her efforts - but you soon realise that everyone in the wrapping queue is a man and are just totally lazy bastards who would possibly reach the same effect with their own attempts.

oh god I stopped moving - I am suddenly thumped by a load of shopping bags with then pushes me into someone else and I begin to feel like pin ball whirling around a slot machine. Retreat, catch breath, consider going in again, decide against it. Safe decision however this is how I am now at the point of the eve of the most famliest day of the year and 3 presents down. What a failure. But I have time so here I am the sense of urgency is preparing me greatly to do this swiftly and quickly, I feel myself rise to the challenge.

1 present down, 2 presents down - I am feeling ace. Damn what do you mean you just sold the last one? ok road block but it's ok, re-group Alexia re-group, call from mum, she needs almond oil (what the fuck for?) but it has given me focus and purpose while I think of present 3. Shit that health food is shut hmmm, oh I know another one and on the way, like a light bulb flash I deviate for a moment and smack down present number 3 (oh yeah oh yeah), however still almond-oil-less and running out of time, quick, success with the second health food shop - have slight difficulties deciding on which of the 3 almond oils I should get but make a choice..... and whilst I am surrounded by health products promising me of a life with a better me... don't mind if I do. Purchases made - quick look in Mag nation because I just can't help myself, I step into that place, breath in the magazine smell of goodness and I'm already feeling more relaxed. Call from Rach she is on the corner, race down, hop in cab and we are on our way.

Get a call from the airline they just canceled my flight, typical, but can get me onto an earlier flight, not typical, this journey is turning out better than I planned, I even start to get a little excited about Christmas and perhaps enjoy a little daydream of a family together overjoyed with seeing me and so thankful for the gift and how did I get it so right....

The airport on the eve of xmas is an exciting place to be, there is a sense of comradery as everyone is traveling for the same purpose. There is also a sense of intensity as all the flights are always either late or canceled and everyone is challenged to make it to their destinations on time. Whole families, new couples, old couples, new babies, singles all traveling to see loved (or unloved) ones, lots of hand luggage with wrapped presents poking out the top, ginger bread houses, bottles of wine - all trying to make it there before midnight, The C day.

So Christmas day came and went and not a moment too soon, remember that day dream? Well it was definitely in my dreams. I came home to a sister who I would say is a full blown alcoholic based on the fact that she had the smell that bus have that you get stuck next to on a tram and spend the rest of the trip breathing out your mouth, I never once saw her without a drink in her hand and I found empty bottles of beer in the back seats of cars and in the shower, she was preaching things like she is not a conformist or trapped by anything and wants to be free of possessions hence the reason she had got no gifts for anyone else and was giving things of hers preloved so she could rid herself of possessions, lovingly wrapped in newspaper I received a pair of nerd glasses. She also is convinced of being able to read peoples minds and believes that President Obama is the devil. The devastating part is that she honestly believes she has it all under control and that we are the crazy ones every time we try to talk about this issue of hers - truly sad - but the responsibility is hers to decide to live or not - I hope she does she possesses a great deal of talent and soul.

My father was a shit the moment he walked in the door he had the look about him that he wanted to pick a fight with someone - he had accidentally just made a mistake by going into the wrong toll booth at the Eastern Distributor and had to pay an $8 fee online, my father being the mature adult that he is, decided someone was going to pay for this and I guess I found my way into the firing line trying to, once again and unsuccessfully, protect my mother from being the chosen one (really why could they not have divorced like normal fucking parents - why is he still coming around to my mothers on Christmas fucking morning?) I think there comes a time where you have to say yeah I know I happen to be half of your genes but you make my life feel like shit every time I see you so perhaps we should just shake hands and go our separate ways

My poor mother, bless her heart still lives with the dream that one day we will be like a "normal" family and act "normally" - after 28 years I think one has to come to terms with it's never going to happen and actually do something together that makes us feel good about ourselves - I have finally convinced her to come to Melbourne for Christmas next year - I will take her to the carols and we will finally have a happy time of it.

Most of my family presents (excluding my mothers) were met with a perplexing "why" look - which makes me think A) I don't think I really know or understand my family at all and B) Why do I go through the hideous spouts of battling crowds for this and C) Why the fuck are we still doing presents? You know the ones where you have to get something for everyone and spend a little amount of money on some shit which altogether adds up to a large amount of money, why haven't we figured out that we buy ourselves a mega awesome rad super fucking cool ace gift for ourselves and then play show and tell? Note to self must drop that one into the suggestion box.

The last hideous part was that you spend the whole day on your toes thinking of the right thing to answer to your grandparents who essentially hate each other but realised it too late and are spending the rest of their lives with different opinions on everything for the sake of it, so answers to questions by them need to be neutral in case one is playing the other off using the poor grandchild as a pawn. I must of dropped my guard as suddenly the alarms bells are screaming, not the beep beep ones that just make you alert but the whoop whoop ones that are telling you to get the fuck out of there fast. A complacent agreement to consume a glass of champagne if grandad did indeed open the bottle left my grandmother saying did you see that he nearly hit me - now the day is over and my grandfather curled over with his forehead on the kitchen bench muttering the words why are you doing this when I'm about to die. Damn my need and pleasure for bubbles - damn them to hell.

The only upside being that the champagne was indeed opened anyway and I was forced a glass and a toast was made to me at the end of it all, it was all met, thank goodness, with fits of laughter from the clan and laughter was mainly shared by the group for the rest of the afternoon because really at that point what else is there to do.

I can't help thinking I may have been born into a family with a dark cloud hanging over its head and nobody can see the wood for the trees. They are too busy doing things that they should do, at the cost of themselves regardless of it making them miserable, they have forgotten that life doesn't have to be that hard, that we have choices and if it bloody kills me I intend to break the mould. I'm going to stop putting pressure on myself because socially something may be the right thing to do and actually do the right thing by me, see what is good for me, step away from it all and see everything in its true perspective - it's just a silly day, which started as a coming together but has ended up putting everyone out and laying think pressure over everyone weighing them down - its time to stop now.

"If you've had wonderful family relationships, you will be able to call yourself a true success in life no matter what else you've achieved."
Vic Conant..........

........ But I'm going to call you a fucking liar.