HB 2U

So, it you’ d told me six years ago I was going to be turning 46 today I would have boxed your ears, or given you a warm klap as my countrymen would say.  Because, how ridiculous is that???????

If you’re wondering how things are hanging, a bit too much if you must ask.  Also been battling with a bit of a lurgy that saw me at the chemist late last night with an antibiotic script made out to Miss14.  Tonsils are tonsils after all.  Except some have white and red spots on them and feel like they are trying to razor their way out of your throat.  And Amoxicillin is Amoxicillin – doesn’t matter whose name is on the paper.  We won’t talk about the toxic waste coming out of my nose and chest because that’s just gross.

And I bet what you’re all really wondering about is THE PRESENT!!!!!  Well, truth be told I banked myself a weekend in Melbourne with my mates a few weeks back – you surely saw all the pictures?  If not I know you joined a cult somewhere and fell off the grid.  So that was the present at the time.  But The Artist is not one to arrive empty handed. This morning as I sat down to my coffee I nearly suffocated an Apple Watch (they are not comfortable to sit on, in case you were wondering).  After the shock wore off, we decided I am not ready for that kind of commitment and people already talk funny about me sometimes – imagine if I walked around like 007 talking into my wrist?  There was also mention of a Tag Heuer – Tag Heuer say what????????? However a couple of years back I was gifted a watch for my anniversary that I love dearly and am not ready to send to the drawer where all the old watches go. The replacement gift arrived at lunchtime enclosed in one of those lovely blue boxes that all the girls like to receive.  [note to the blokes – you can never go wrong with Tiffany].

Always a winner

Always a winner

So, what are the take out’s 46 year’s in?  Very different from six years ago people.  Very different.  Because happiness has been redefined as I know it.  And here goes.

  • Running on adrenalin does not make for happy.  Being present in the moment most of the time makes for happy.
  • The world doesn’t end if you don’t go to gym five days a week.  It does end however if you don’t make it to hot yoga on a Saturday morning.
  • 4pm is not for answering emails you didn’t get to whilst fetching the kids from school at 3.30pm and driving them home.  4pm is for walking Koda and breathing and looking at the beautiful headland across Lurline Bay, Coogee and Maroubra.  And the world does end if you don’t do this.  Because guilt.

And finally, there is such a thing as a mental health day.  The first time I heard of this thing I scoffed and laughed and sneered.  Well look who’s laughing now. It’s a real thing people.  It’s like an adult time-out.  I don’t know whether everyone needs it but I’m telling you that I embrace it instead of fighting it. If you don’t already – give it a shot.  Magic stuff.

On that note I’m going to hunt for my friend Nurofen or Panadol (whoever I see first) because the tonsils are sending out SOS messages again. Thanks as always to all of you for the birthday love.

Love and light

Lauren xxx

The Epic Weekend

It has been somewhat of an epic weekend here at the Chez.  We had a birthday – I got the gift wrong again in case anyone was wondering.  And yes, that was me walking down Crown Street on Friday morning in the pouring rain to American Apparel, for nothing it appears.

On Saturday night I had eight young teenage girls sleeping over.  They have not previously slept over because back in the day, her sister before her organised a sleepover and we did not have the foresight to quarantine them downstairs.  Hence The Artist and I could not sleep.  At the time we were both working like mad things and were already severely stressed and sleep deprived.  Let us just say that we did not put our best foot forward at 3am and we might have seemed like two potentially psychopathic serial killers.  Ever since ours has been the house of non-sleepover legends.  They have stayed away like the place has no wifi.

Koda was also excited that we were having guests and on the afternoon walk decided he should be in dress-up when the girls arrived.  This is his Mike Tyson.

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So the Chez turned into a mini B&B – I had blow-up beds aplenty and did some heavy lifting of the dining room table with Miss17 to ready the place.  Things have changed somewhat from a few years ago and I can literally sleep through a freight train coming through the room on rotation.  The Artist not so much but we all survived with good humour.  The mountain of washing and linen that has resulted has not left me in such high spirits but this has been counteracted this afternoon by my warm bed, a cup of tea, the Olympics and a bag of Fritos.  I also had chocolate cake for breakfast.  Because I’m an adult and I can. Koda came barracking for chips but it was not on the cards for him.  After loads of washing I was not setting myself up for forensic poop cleanup.

No Koda - not with that stomach........

No Koda – not with that stomach……..

We then watched the Gold Coast Titans vs the New Zealand Warriors because Jarryd Hayne had his own camera.  He was on the side for a good 20 minutes.  I mentioned to The Artist that he could at least have taken off his shirt and made it a worth while experience.  He is still cross because he feels like his great love Jonathan Thurston is being gazzumped by Hayne’s very large pay packet.  I have explained to him that Thurston needs a good manager to negotiate for him and that it is not Hayne’s fault and that he should bear him no ill will.  The chewing gum whilst the camera was dedicated to him on the sideline wasn’t helping endear him either.

And that is the thing about with living with The Artist.  Sometimes you have to explain things that are obvious to other people.  And sometimes you never know when something surprising is about to be said.  Like when he commented that Manu Vatuvei looks like one of his cousins.  I’m struggling with this one, naturally.  He then rewound the game and paused on Manu’s face.  Struggling………

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And then he mentioned that when he took Miss14 to soccer this morning he arrived at the wrong field.  But it wasn’t his fault because another father was already parked there and was out of his car waiting for the rest of the team to arrive.  Steve (we’ll just say his name is Steve) commented that he could see Miss14 had recently polished her soccer boots.  As you can imagine she has the filthiest boots on the team – The Artist then countered that with an old school rugby team rivalry joke that Steve’s team were too busy cleaning their boots to win a game against his school team (The Artist went to a school that actually could have been called Thug Life High School had it not already been called Highlands).  Whilst they were trading insults and time was moving on, they realised that no-one else was arriving because they were in fact at the wrong field.  The Artist is blaming Steve – because he was there already.  I have again tried to explain to The Artist that he drove to the wrong field, had Steve been there or not, he still would have been at the wrong field.  Sometimes it’s a hard life being the clever one.

One that note I bid you a good week, may the sun shine and the stupid be few and far between.

Love and light

Lauren xxx

Today

There are times when sometimes you wonder about the universe.  Because it can be so fucking wonderful and so fucking shit at the same time.  I honestly try every single day to find the good.  And I always do.  Like the whales yesterday off the Maroubra headland.  And the black lorikeets today. Nature truly can lift the soul.

Today was quite ordinary though.  My bus was MIA for half an hour.  The silver fox driving it looked perplexed when I asked about the tracker that connects to the app not being activated.  Eyes were rolled (his, not mine because I’m not disrespectful like that) and I decided to move right along.

Some challenges presented themselves a bit later resulting in me needing a bit of a drink at around 3pm but one simply does not roll a glass of champers at that time of the afternoon on a Wednesday.  So I took the dog for a walk.

Now all of you that have had eyes on Koda I sadly inform you that you need to stand down because he has found his great love.  Six weeks ago another Goldie called Lily moved into the area.  People have remarked that they have watched these two together and it’s as if no-one else exists.  This is true.  Another truth is that Lily has the devil in her most of the time and takes to torturing her gorgeous mother.

It was Jolina’s birthday today and she was having a real shit of a day.  In her 4×4 monster she clipped a smallish Fiat on South Dowling (after sitting in traffic for three hours) and didn’t realise (because she was practically catatonic from sitting in the aforementioned traffic for three hours) but the Fiat owner promptly reported her to the nearest police station.  Let’s just say they didn’t call her to say Happy Birthday to you.

After frolicking with Koda for a good ten minutes the evil took hold and Lily found the thickest, blackest mud to lie down in.  She was like Topdeck.  But black underneath.  And then she promptly jumped on Koda who then became like upside down Topdeck.  Jolina was going to cry.  But one simply doesn’t cry on one’s birthday.  I had a “fuck this” moment and told her we were taking the dog’s swimming in the Mahon Pools.  She looked at me like I was a crazy person.  Because there are big signs like this everywhere.

NO DOGS!!!!!

NO DOGS!!!!!

I told her to just follow. These were desperate times.  And it was her birthday for God’s sake.

And then they refused to jump in.  To the child that left his ball down there we bless you for your foresight. Jolina threw it in which sparked some interest from Lily who approached the edge of the pool cautiously.  Jolina was quick to kick her in the arse, straight into the pool.  Like a boss.  I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t howling with laughter at this point.  Koda is more of a follower than a leader so boom! in he went.  Monkey see, monkey do.  I hauled both out by their collars because getting in was easier than getting out it seemed.  And just like that we had too perfectly gold, golden retrievers.  This is what #winning looked like today. And man, oh man was I feeling a bit better.

So were Lily and Koda (I think).  They are smiling, no?

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The wayward Lily was immediately leashed as observed in this picture.  We are only stupid once.

And strange, but true everyone felt better.  We laughed like lunatics, saw some more whales, shared some deep, dark truths about making life less stressful.

I know I have said this many times over, but this dog has changed my life, not only bringing me perspective but also allowing me to meet some beautiful people.

Keep it real people – life’s too short.

Love and light

Lauren xxx

Be a friend and listen to the whinge

I am writing this purely because I need to whinge.  I had a good friend on the phone this morning and whinged his ear off to the point where he was about six minutes late for his 8.30 meeting.  [This is why he is a friend.] Probably won’t take my calls early in the morning again anytime soon.

A few weeks ago I wrote about the Poop and Kakka.  The saga still continues with blood vomit, explosive diarrhoea, antibiotics, prescription dog food and the ten years that I have lost of my life.  Today Koda was back at the vet for round 500.  Let us just say that yesterday afternoon I used up a substantial amount of latex gloves in the clean up.  Again, if it doesn’t work out for me in marketing etc I can go and work for people who need some taking care of business. [refer to Pulp Fiction The Wolf clean up scene]

The other source of my angst – and if you are as bored of this topic as I am, is my car.  Yes, that old chestnut.

On Saturday night – with four teenagers  enroute to A MidSummer Night’s Dream, I experience a Mid Winter Evening’s Nightmare when the vehicle’s onboard computer started shrieking for me to pull over due to loss of tyre pressure.  You are actually fucking kidding me?  Well, apparently not.  In the dark it was well hidden but in the cold light of Sunday morning a shiny silver nail was located in the left rear tyre.  The one that I replaced in November.  The Artist is understandably mental.  I truly don’t know what to say.  They supposedly repaired the tyre yesterday and I happily thundered off to an event over “the bridge”.  Returning at 10pm I found myself navigating the Lane Cove Tunnel when the car’s computer again experienced a melt down insisting I should pull over and stop the car due to massive tyre pressure loss.  Now let me tell you something – there was NFW I was pulling over because there was nowhere in fact to pull over.  So naturally I called The Artist who was not really able to help as he was safely tucked up in his warm bed in Maroubra.  He suggested I take my life in my hands try and get home and drive slowly.  Which is what I did whilst again losing a few years of my life in the 40 minute drive, such was my stress. It turns out that when they fixed the tyre earlier in the day they neglected to even inspect the others for any damage.  I am not entirely sure who exactly this made sense to but let us say that when we meet tomorrow I might just conduct a quick “impromptu” lesson on customer service and responsibility. Gentlemen – I’m coming for you, bright and early so brace yourselves.

On that note, as I sit in Kerryn’s car waiting in the cold for a soccer practice to finish – I bid you good night. Thanks for listening (this is what they call a captive audience).

Love and light

Lauren xxx

The Poop and Kakka

There have been a few times this week when I have seen people experience not their finest moment.  I think perhaps that full moon last week is playing havoc with their senses.  I personally am keeping my head down and my bum up as I have no choice in order to meet various deadlines and not get myself fired from gainful employment.

In the spirit of remaining in the workforce I stayed on at work yesterday for an additional hour and picked up Miss13 from the bus stop.  Miss17 had scored a ride home with a friend, recently in possession of her P’s and had managed to arrive home about 3 minutes before us, accessing the house from the back door and launching immediately into the kitchen.

This is relevant because when Miss13 jumped from my vehicle and ran inside to hug Koda her olfactory senses immediately sensed danger and she went further into the house to investigate.  From my car I heard hysterical screaming of the shit nature.  I seriously could not believe this because in the almost three years we have had him, Koda has NEVER, even as a puppy, pooped in the house.

It goes without saying that both Miss13 and Miss17 were rendered useless – flapping their hands with gay abandon and not even considering grabbing a spray/kitchen towel/plastic bag to begin the industrial clean up.

This was a job for a girl who has handled such situations like never previously.  I watch many crime shows so I know what is needed in these instances.  I gloved up, blocked my nostrils and got to work.  Even after I had finished, the house smelled like death.  So we opened every door and window and I lit one of those rose candles from Ikea that has taken up residence in a cupboard for the past 5 years and was now the hero of the day.

As a courtesy I called The Artist to let him know of the ordeal I had experienced – he was none to pleased about that extra hour I had spent working that he thought might have resulted in Koda’s explosive bowel movement.  This was refuted an hour later by the vet who called The Artist to say that from Koda’s routine blood tests yesterday he could see the dog was carrying a virus and was he okay?  Way to go asshole – you couldn’t have called earlier?

The Artist returned home and proceeded to disrespect my clean up efforts.  Apparently I had missed a smudge, hence the lingering smell.  He then proceeded to smell the floor and tried to get me to do the same but I was having none of it I tell you.  He dispatched himself to the shops and returned armed to clean up a murder.

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Absolved of responsibility I took myself to bed and watched Chicago PD and confirmed to myself that yes, indeed, we had enough product in the house to make any serial killer proud.

Love and light
Lauren xxx

 

 

Stay home Saturday night – the case for support

Last night we ventured out to dinner with friends.  It was an 8pm start so there was more than enough time to walk the dog, relax for a bit and then get going.  Or so I thought.

Miss13 needed to be dropped at a friend, literally on the way so it was all going swimmingly.  We were cutting it fine but making all those traffic lights through the city certainly eased the tension building in the car until we hit the roundabout at the offramp to Darling Harbour.  ROAD CLOSED.  Say what?????  Bless all things onboard navigation related and we whizzed around the back to our usual carpark.  Except it was FULL and hence CLOSED.  At this stage I had the sweats and was hyperventilating because I DO NOT LIKE TO BE LATE.  Ever!!!!!!!!!  Fashionably late was never my thing, even when it was fashionable to be late.  I’m not wired that way and chances are at this late stage I never will be.  The sensible option was then to park at The Star, a million miles away and walk.  Because apparently a taxi would take the same time.  I’m just telling you that with short little trotters and a heel I should have dug those said heels in and demanded a cab.

So this is the part where you think, okay, they got there – 25 MINUTES LATE – and she had a glass of champagne to calm herself and it all went well.  Not to be.  We were seated on the third level of our restaurant which is a fine establishment by the way and a place I frequent regularly.  However, so impressed was I with myself on the day I booked (because I had also managed to secure a last minute appointment with the hairdresser for Miss13) that I forgot to specify where I should sit and they clearly don’t check their notes from previous bookings. (Yes, I know I’m asking too much).  Unfortunately I had attended my hot yoga class at 10am that morning and wasn’t intending on doing another session just 10 hours later.  Holy mother!  With all the rules and regulations in this country you would think that this kind of heat in a restaurant has to be somewhat illegal.  A person could spontaneously combust.

It was also not helped by the large group of 20 something’s seated behind us who also clearly are not used to the restaurant experience.  I think perhaps they are still at the stage where one should get a good kebab and go eat it at the beach.  Between running up and down from their seats to show each other the latest porn video and giggling like halfwits, I was tempted to have a strong word however I wasn’t sure whether those beards were related to hipster shit or something more sinister.  Perhaps it was a farewell dinner?

As my feet hit the ground floor Miss13 messaged to say her friend was very unwell having eaten a scallop earlier and we needed to pick her up ASAP.  Now if you remember our vehicle was parked MILES away.  Yes, so off these little legs again trotted off at a startling pace back to the car.  I was already sweating like a beast from the restaurant so my high speed dash back to the car did not help matters.  Not at all.  The Artist picking up on my angst then fed his credit card into the cash section of the payment machine which did not endear him to me at that moment.  Fortunately the machine is more intelligent than those who use it and after some coaxing regurgitated the card.  Disaster averted.  The only saving grace at this stage was that the bastards that closed off Darling Drive had found it in their cold, black hearts to re-open it so we were able to get to the cross city tunnel and Eastern Distributor to retrieve Miss13 only 45 minutes after her urgent text message.

And this my friends, is why a sensible person such as the author herself usually spends Saturday nights watching Law & Order re-runs in her pyjamas and Menolog’s the meal of her choice.  That way you don’t get foot burn.

Love and light

Lauren xxx

p.s. The company was stellar so the evening wasn’t a total loss🙂

Why is he called The Artist?

It is particularly apt today that I write this post.  I woke up to be smacked in the face with the world wide outpouring of grief over the passing of Prince.  This led to a discussion with The Artist and I – and he learned something he didn’t know – many of you too have asked the question.

Why do I call him The Artist.  Here goes:

When I started this blog I asked him to read my first post, he was rather iffily (I know that’s not a real word) rude about it and so I immediately took offence for six months and never mentioned it again.  All the while blogging away.  It became apparent after six months that he thought I was running a blog for work, not for me.  And people were sometimes mentioning it to me when we were out and about and as he was the focus of many posts I didn’t want him to be blind-sided out there in the big wide world.  Because it wasn’t something I was hiding – I was just deeply sulking about him not wanting to read my work. I also might have bought a few things on the internets to make myself feel better.  So, we eventually sat down for the revelation conversation, the blog was read and then he said he didn’t like his name.  After much debate we changed it – was he more like Arnold Schwartzenegger or was he more like Jamie Durie?  Two weeks later he said he didn’t like his new name.  Again.  I felt this was bordering on the ridiculous so I huffed and puffed to my friend Candy about this name changing nonsense.

Now my friend Candy (she of the Barbie Candy fame) is really a no-nonsense kind of girl.  She didn’t miss a beat and said well, you should call him The Artist.  Like Prince, The Artist Formerly Known As……… and we were done. The Artist is The Artist forever more on this blog.

It would be remiss of me not to pay tribute today to the original Artist who passed today.  Vale.  Godspeed.  “I only want to see you laughing in the purple rain.”

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Love and light

Lauren xxx