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2012, and I am! I am aware that it is February and despite last November's promise of imminent blog revival, this page has remained stale and neglected. I know it's not much consolation, but I promise I haven't spent my time since then just sitting around scratching my bum. I've been drawing, painting and plotting like a woman possessed! Hopefully this year I can actually show off some of what I've been working on..
But in the meantime, here's a recap of some of last year's fun times. It's as much to remind me as for your entertainment, because give it a year or two, and I will not recall when any of this happened. Not even thirty and almost senile.. it's funny because it's true!
Around February I karaoked outside a private room for the first time! Not that it made much difference since my friends and I were the only ones at the bar. Here I am doing the female parts of "Love Shack". My vocal chords didn't handle "Tin Roof, Rusted" at all well. T-T 
I went to Sydney twice in 2011. With S.O. for our second honeymoon in March, to make up for the fact that I'd been sick for the first one (unfortunately I got sick for the second one too), and then solo in December for my birthday. Damn I love that city. World Square is definitely one of my favourite places to loiter and look creepy. ^3^ 
Speaking of looking creepy... Weddings! I love them! And this one was an amazing event. Gamer themed with Nintendo cake, coasters, desserts - the works. And Ben... dearest Ben the waiter who kept filling up my champagne glass. The result, as you can see - was not pretty. Of course the bride and groom remained handsome/gorgeous throughout, and wonderful fun was had by all in attendance. Yay! 
Aaaaand, this was Bicky's wedding in November! I reported earlier on her awesome Hen's weekend, and the wedding was equally excellent. It was a delight catching up with Sarasparilla (who flew from London to be bridesmaid), and to just enjoy being in the company of some of my best girlfriends on a beautiful day in a beautiful location. Of course the really splendid news (for me at least), is that I did NOT fall over the side of the river boat during the reception! ^0^b
So rock on, rest of this year. Don't expect photos at the end of it though, because I've turned into a giant mouldy hermit (sorry, but I get way more work done that way)! Till next time. *waves* ^_^'
Once upon a time during high school:
Yeah, this can happen when you're an international adoptee. Being of a distinctly different ethnic background to my parents, and looking nothing like either has lead to innocent (though traumatizing) mistakes by others. My solution to the problem ever after has been this:
You hear that everybody? "He's my DAD!"
I'm off to a wedding this coming Saturday. Bicky (codename), one of my girlfriends from high school is tying the knot interstate, so I'm looking forward to a holiday full of fun times with friends and high-spirited celebrations galore!
But before all the marital hub-bub, here's a wee recap of the excellent hen's weekend Bicky set up for us all last month.
We started the fun by heading to a club called "Swish" - the main reason being that it doesn't do door charge, and every Friday is 90's night - very nostalgic for us relics (over 25ers). Wearing the very nifty veil constructed earlier that day by yours truly, Bicky scored some free drinks from a nice chap at the bar, and the champagne flowed! Too much of it apparently, because before the night was over I was dancing dirty with a bar stool that I insisted was my big-headed, blue boyfriend from Dreamworks.
Despite the speedy deterioration of our conversational and fine motor skills, Bicky, Calico, Hazelnut (who arrived a bit later with her beau) and I had a very enjoyable night dancing non-stop to classics like "Mambo Number 5", "Boom Boom Boom Boom", and "Gonna make you sweat". Unfortunately it was soon time to head home and hug the toilet bowl (too much champers + dancefloor flailing = deadly). Big thanks again to dearest Calico, my designated driver and shoulder to lean all over as I staggered down the street. ^_^'
Next day's hangover was truly terrible, and I swore, as I have many times before - not to drink again. At least until the wedding. Ho ho!
Sunday we were all off to the Barossa for a wine tasting tour booked by Bicky online. Waiting for the bus early that morning we were befriended by a peppy British tourist called Dick who instantly developed an interest in Calico, and spent much of the bus ride in conversation with her across the aisle. Meanwhile, I gulped back multiple Blackmore's travelcalm tablets and tried not to think about Friday night. My poor stomach had still not recovered, and the road was rather hilly. =.='
Our first stop was at The Big Rocking Horse toy factory, where I purchased some neato little wooden road signs for the kids and a cute mini rocking horse replica for my office. While hiking through the small wildlife enclosure and petting zoo, I regaled Calico with all I could remember about the titillating dream I'd had Saturday night, until we were rudely interrupted by something big and woolly.. .
Next was "The Whispering Wall", which is actually the Barossa Resevoir's retaining wall. The gimic is that if someone runs over to the opposite side and stands at the end of it, there's a spot where you can converse with people standing in the same position on the other side.
Now don't ask me why exactly, but anyone who has read my blog up to this point will probably not be surprised to learn that when amongst a group of my own gender I get this ridiculous urge to act manly in front of them. Whether it's disposing of a visiting spider or raising my hand to RUN ACROSS A GIANT WALL with water as far as the eye can see on one side, and a massive drop to jagged rocks below on the other. Did I mention that I'm petrified of large bodies of water and heights? Apparently I'd forgotton that, and it was only when I was too far along to turn back without looking like a total ninny that I remembered it. This was the most traumatic part of my day! >0<' 
We popped into several wineries after that, but my innards were sufficiently squirmy to keep my taste testing to a minimum. Calico had me in stitches with her "sensory examination" of one particular drop, repeating two excellent double entendres from a suggested list of tasting adjectives on the counter.
It was at the same winery that the whole tour group trekked down to a grassy spot by a stream for our "fully catered lunch", which actually turned out to be a self-catered barbeque. Prior to this stop our tour guide had queried the three vegetarians (myself included) as to what he should feed us - because meat eaters apparently have no clue concerning the diet of us nutball hippy folk. He came back with potatoes, half a dozen eggs, and a packet of tofu.
Being of an age where barbeques constitute a true event and an excellent opportunity to showcase one's culinary skill, most of our tour group jumped into all areas of food prep with gusto. The vocal (and vego-ignorant) men commandeered the sausages while their equally outspoken wives eagerly prepared salads and buttered the bread. We "young ones" sat on the hill, aghast when it was suggested that we should do our share by dealing with the dishes afterwards. As it happened I did put my hand up for that - macho martyr syndrome had reared its ugly head again and I willingly took one for the team. Washing up in a small plastic tub on the grass by the stream, and being accused of hitting on the married tour guide by one of the fish-wives was probably my low point for the day. ^~^' 
After one more tasting stop it was back to Adelaide. We were all a bit tired and wine-weary by that stage, so were ready for the tour to end. It was a pleasant journey, with strong afternoon sun warming the bus, and the lullaby of gears grinding to accompany our descent into wine-induced stupor.
We departed the bus and said a fond farewell to Dick (who gave his fondest farewell to Calico), then walked down to Cibo on Gouger for afternoon refreshments. It had been a splendid day, and a wonderful weekend.
So roll on Bicky's wedding. The ceremony will take place in a beautiful garden, and the reception on a riverboat. Mother has already phoned me twice warning that the water will be murky, and I may well drown if I drink that night. She has also threatened to come and strap a life-jacket on me if I do, but so be it. It's been a while now, and I quite fancy a good drop of wine.
Love and best wishes to the bride and groom to be!
Tsunami-out (and about). xoxoxox
Flashing back to high school again, I am reminded of a teacher I once knew called Mr. Croaker. He was a young, male, not hideously-deformed or otherwise obviously unattractive phys ed teacher, and therefore an object of keen interest to most of his female students.
Perhaps it was the very fact of his popularity that I resented (being chronically unpopular myself), or because he taught my least favourite subject, but in any case - I didn't like Mr. Croaker. I didn't trust his big blue eyes and charming boyish features, and seeing that his most ardent fans were a group of girls who took great pleasure in tormenting me (and whom I'd mentally dubbed "the bitch brigade") didn't do much to improve my opinion of him. The picture had formed and solidified in my mind like a rather nasty glacier: "Mr. Croaker - sordid ladies man and dull sporty jock."
Then one night my friend Sarasparilla and I decided to go to the movies..
I will never forget the sight of him that night. A fully grown man in his prime (adored by scores of horny young girls in small school shorts, and not exactly hated by the female faculty either), creeping into the darkened cinema, all alone, and sitting down in the middle of the front row to watch Meg and Nick declare their undying love in "City of Angels".
From where we were sitting we couldn't see his face, but I have this delicious mental image of Mr. Croaker blubbering along with the rest of us at the end when Meg takes that fatal tumble off her bike while pretending she can fly or whatever it was she was doing after nookie with Nicky C.
Before the end credits rolled, the glacier had melted. And between you, me and anybody else who bothers to read this, so had my heart. You'll never measure up to Mr. Bowdell, Mr. Croaker, but even years after aforementioned incident - I'm really rather fond of you! ^_^'
One of my best friends during high school and to this day is a delightful oddity of a being called Sandy. I'm not even bothering to disguise her name, because frankly, what other weirdo could I be talking about? And besides, "Sandy" isn't even her full name - the real thing is this gigantic mouthful of pleasingly bouncy syllables from Sri Lanka which is excellent fun to say when you get the hang of it. Kind of like "supercalafragalisticexpialadoshus", but with less of a Disney dance beat.
Anyway, she's a wonderful source of hilarious memories and I shall be sure to revisit more of them in future blog posts - she really is a character! But despite being wonderfully off-beat and unfailingly chipper during the seemingly endless drudgery that was high school, Sandy had her dark side. A cruel streak that she apparently didn't notice, because she always dealt the harshest blows with a huge smile and much laughter (maniacal cackling). Be it phoning Sarsaparilla's secret crush and blabbing about her friend's longtime infatuation, or asking some dude I didn't like to the prom on my behalf without telling me. She was kind of evil like that, but it was impossible to hold a grudge against somebody who did such a good Captain Planet impersonation and fled in fear at the sight of a poodle.
As you see though, we took our revenge! At least we tried to. It was during science class where we basically had free range to do what we wanted since we were good little students and our teacher liked us. One lesson Sarsaparilla, Big Kell and I went into the adjoining room where we found an old typewriter, and proceeded to type up a super-gushy, cornball mess of a love letter to SANDY'S big crush - a dude a year above us who could often be sighted slouching around in a really baggy jumper. That was his defining feature in fact, although Sandy insisted he looked just like Devon Sawa with brown hair. Ick.
Anyway, we were lazy schemers that day, and even though we'd began our project with much gusto, when the bell rang we just left the letter there. Next lesson our Science teacher returned it to a dumbfounded Sandy, and despite us having never included his last name, Mrs. B knew exactly who it was for! The way she was smiling made us all wonder if she might of passed on the message to Mr. Baggy-jumper herself... but I guess we'll never know. ^3^'
2011 - year of the rabbit, and like a rabbit it seems to be racing away pell-mell into the distance. A streak of something barely glimpsed from the corner of my eye but never fully comprehended.
It's almost July and I can scarcely believe that time has always been so fluid. And I'm moving with it, but not as quickly as I want to. I'm still pouring my heart into a story I began in 2009, but I can't keep up. I want to draw faster, create more, crash and burn with all of the passion that bubbles up inside me, but there's still cooking, and cleaning and the care of all in my warren to think about, so I work, then I wait, and I work, and I wait, and every day my heart feels like it might leap out of my chest with impatience!
But I'm not unhappy. It's been a hugely challenging year so far. Artistically, psychologically and emotionally - though maybe not physically. I've barely even thought of the gym since my favourite trainer left. She was replaced by the Wicked Witch of the West's less likable sister, but that's another blog entry. =_='
I took the plunge earlier in the year and went for oil-painting classes. I learned a lot, and although I'm still extremely amateur with the medium it's something I'd like to keep practicing and get better at in the future. The fumes can be a bit overpowering, but I figure that just contributes to my level of creative zen while working (I wouldn't advise painting in an unventilated room though - bad things might happen to your brain). Anyhoo, now I have one more thing competing for my time and attention, and golly I'm grateful for it!
Something I've had to step back and really look at recently has been the meaning of friendship. This undoubtedly stems from my unfortunate addiction to social networking and the perils of Facebook. These modern trappings are certainly a lot of fun, but I daily ask myself how many of these so called "friends" are really friends at all. Look at your own list sometime. It's likely that many of them are barely acquaintances, and then there are friends you see a little and whose company you enjoy, but who don't really KNOW you.
How close does someone need to be before they're truly a friend? And when you do have a true friend, isn't it your responsibility to be there when they need you? And what if you can't? Is it better to quit that friendship than let them down?
I suppose you could argue that somebody who has to ask themselves those questions is never going to get invited to any fondue parties, but I've always believed that friendships aren't something you take for granted. You do have to work for them, and maybe that involves taking some time to assess the essentials now and then. I've lost friends in the past because they weren't who I thought they were, or (even more painfully) because I couldn't live up to their expectations. This is all getting a bit heavy though, and that wasn't my intention at all!
I'm still waiting to hear from the woman who gave birth to me, and I probably will be for a very long time. My case worker calls me up now and then just to keep me up to date with the fact that nothing has happened yet. She's a sweetheart like that.
To be honest I'm having a hard time recalling too much about this year at the moment. The sun is streaming in through the window and I feel warm and sleepy, and I guess the most important thing right now is where I'm going - not where I've been.
So here are the essentials:
My boys are growing up too fast, my husband is a workaholic (I'm trying to follow his lead), and my imaginary friend is still right here, cheering me on in my head and my heart. And I'm so happy to be alive some days, and so horrified on others that half the time I'm on the verge of tears! I'm comforted by the fact that as long as I'm breathing, as long as I can see and hold a pencil to paper, I'm going to be drawing and making stories. Not just this year, but for as many more as I'm lucky to get.
However 2011 is treating you, I hope you're living it well. My heart says (when I can hear it above all of the frenzied pounding) that actually, I'm doing pretty okay.
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