Me & Bridezilla

I'm getting married next weekend. There are butterflies on steroids in my stomach as I write those words. The wedding is bringing out so many conflicting emotions in me. For a bride who was determined not to get stressed I certainly did a good job of it this weekend. The scene in our living room last night was so cliched I would have cringed if it had been a scene on TV. I would have watched it of course, but with mild disdain & a whole lot of superior, "that would never be us"...

Let me paint the picture a little more clearly. Things are coming together pretty well (I have just left my desk briefly to find some wood to touch - am back now) and we have collected some really amazing memories along the way of people offering out of the blue to help and give so generously it has blown us away. Like the guy who offered us his stunning beach front garden to hold the ceremony in. We met him that day & he offered it to us on the spot. Unbelievable! And how I wanted a Bentley - as that will be my new name - and a 1956 convertible Bentley became available to us.. the stories continue..

But last night we still hadn't chosen our menu or locked in the the final details of the catering company's equipment. I was sitting at the computer, sighing heavily, and "placing" items rather heavily down on the desk after use. Then, not receiving the response I was looking for - namely an inquiry into my temporary insanity - I stepped it up a gear. "What are you watching?" came with one of my best eye rolls yet. S was watching the Grand Final of the football(soccer). He explained to me the significance of it in animated and inclusive terms, clearly inviting me to join in the momentous occasion. Not to be drawn in, I accompanied my mouse slamming and Bill Steam Shovel impersonations with the, mother of all man fears, nagging. Encountering an almost out of body experience I listened to myself. I was horrible! Golf and sport, even poor S's commitment to the heavy load of work he has on right now got an absolute bashing. Ridiculous threats of guests starving and pining for an ale at the wedding fell on deaf ears. He was trying to watch the soccer for God's sake.

So what did I do? I sat down and watched one of the most brilliant, nerve-racking and exhilarating spectacles of sport I have watched in a long time. I killed my inner Bridezilla and fist pumped along with the rest of the city. Needless to say the catering organisation got done later that night. And I will not lie and say the conversation didn't get heated at some points..... Bridzilla was apparently not dead - just sleeping.

I am trying to remember that this is not all about next Saturday. That this is the beginning of our married life together. I don't want S to remember a nagging, mean nightmare of a bride. I want to be serene, thoughtful and get back my sense of humour. So I'm using this blog to: 1. Apologise somewhat publicly to my beautiful fiance who is actually being really tolerant & thoughtful but I think also finding it hard to keep his sense of humour and 2. Send a message to all future brides and wives....maintain dignity and sense of self.

That woman I heard and saw last night was a pain in the butt. Late last night and again this morning, I was honest and upfront with her and left nothing to her imagination. She is an unwanted guest in our home..... and she's definitely not invited to the wedding!

Serendipitous Beginnings.....

It's almost a New Year. This is a wonderful time of the year for a lot of people. New beginnings, new hopes, high intentions. Goals set..... One of these for a lot of people is finding a new relationship.

This time last year I was single. I had ended a "nearly there" relationship because it wasn't good for me. I knew what I wanted, I just didn't know how to find it. What I did know is that liking who I was first & foremost was the most important aspect of finding "him". So it was with a spring in my step and music in my ear courtesy of my iphone that I walked to the gym. It was New Year's Eve. I was going to one of my oldest friend's homes that evening. Was taking M - my ten year old son - and hanging out with J & C - and their two adorable girls. I didn't have a date. I was fine with that. I was happy. In love with life. I would have liked to know someone special but I knew that sooner or later I would. It was just a matter of when. But the point is I was comfortable with myself - and excited rather than daunted by my single life.

Then "it" happened. I was wearing my ipod in a pocket device, secured by a velcro strap on my hip. Walking down a hill in Teneriffe my ipod decided to take a journey on its own. Perhaps it was objecting to the Matt Kearney tune I was playing. Or maybe, just maybe some other hand was at play. We will never know. But my ipod went flying. Down, down, down the street - heading straight for the storm water drain. And I was running after it like a crazy woman - calling out "don't go in the drain, don't go in the drain.". It went in the drain. Sitting there trying to retrieve it - once establishing that it was not smashed, I was, I admit, putting in out there that I wanted help. I do not admit to flagging down cars, as S will say I was. But anyway when a 4WD pulled up, reversed and released a cute mid to late 30s guy, with that three day growth look that I liked, I wasn't complaining. He told me he was an engineer and "used to design these things". I was only mildly impressed. I just wanted my phone, I didn't care how he got it. After attempting to unscrew the drain he realised he could just lift it up. I didn't mind. I admit in the time he was taking to assess the drain I was coming to some more conclusions about him. He was cute and he was nice. I had no idea if he was single. In fact I thought he was married. He just kind of looked settled. He looked, I thought, like someones dad. But no - I didn't look for a ring and I didn't see the baby seat in the back of his car. I just went on instinct - and, as usual, it didn't let me down.

As I thanked him for my precious phone and walked away to the gym I can remember thinking that at least he knows which gym I go to. He could always have joined... But he trumped that. He drove across (on the wrong side)the road, beeped his horn and called out to me just as I was about to walk in the door. He was a bit shy and embarrassed (which I liked) and apologised for being "tacky". He asked me "if I was dating anyone" and then gave me his card. It was up to me to call him but I thought as he had gone to a lot of trouble - risking traffic infringement and all - that was the least I could do.

There is more to this story - and I'm willing to tell more - in other blogs if you like. That was the last day of last year. This year has been a good one. S & I moved in together a few months ago and our boys are happy, we hope. It's been an interesting ride - and there are still more to come. I am no longer single - but am equally as excited. I wasn't looking that very moment but I was ready for when it came. That is serendipity. Be ready for the unexpected. And make friends with your iphone.

Moving Pictures

We are moving in two weeks time. I'm savouring my peaceful Sunday serenity and wishing I could bottle it to take out of the cardboard box on moving day. It is going to be hell. There is no way around it. Two houses moving to one. M & I have lived in this apartment for nearly three years. Two years and 9 months if you are wanting specifics. It has been my haven and my salvation. If that sounds dramatic or cliched I apologise, but it's true. I left an unhealthy and unhappy relationship 2 years and 9 months ago and needed to find somewhere where I could be me again. To forge a new relationship with myself and my son. To be independent, and strong, lovely and lovable - again. I feel that I have achieved this. This apartment and I will always be friends. I will drive by and think fond thoughts and laugh at some of the memories, and cringe at some of the others. In growth there are always minor disasters and embarrassing situations. And I am definitely not adverse to them, as my friends will attest.

But it is without regret that I am leaving. Like a good relationship, it has been a mutual decision. Shortly after S & I discussed moving in together, and finding a new place with new energy and space, my apartment started to give me signs. Things started to fall apart. The taps in the bathroom, the cupboards, the dishwasher - all need repairing. M has outgrown his room. My apartment has gently been nudging me to leave its cocoon like status and go out there again. Take a risk. Live with someone you love. Scary? Yes. Comforting? Also. Exciting? Definitely.

But back to the moving. I'm looking forward to the weight loss and muscle tone! Last time I lost 4 kgs and gained definition to my calves that I didn't think possible. I suppose I was mentally stressed and emotionally then though - that is always a weight loss supplement you would find hard to sell. The physical aspect will be there again though. This apartment is on the top level of a brick 70s walk up and there is no lift. S's house has precarious stairs that I'm terrified of killing myself in my high heels every day in - let alone carrying cargo. The new house will be relatively easy at the other end - I hope. Although deciding what goes where will be another issue.

S and I are both Aquarians. In other words, we are both.... opinionated and stubborn. In the most part, we have similar tastes and definitely similar values. Taste in movies are generally fine, TV, humour, food, wine, holidays.... all good. Music we struggle but have some ground.... Some....

But the time bomb is our art. I have this one particular piece that I adore. It is I suppose akin to the way I feel about this apartment. It makes me feel happy, secure and very excited about the future. It is an anchor for me - a reminder of what has come and gone and what's important for the future. S hates it. I can't work out why - but he does. He says it's too pastel. Which is fine - he is entitled to his opinion. Except if it prevents me from bringing it with me. S also has a painting which is a bone of contention. I don't love it - but I will accept it as S bought it at the time of our meeting and it too represents a lot of things. Trouble is that it is fairly abstract to the point of obscurity. It is difficult to know the gender of the couple in an intimate embrace. Luckily S & I believe they are male and female as we are in a heterosexual relationship. Unfortunately we cannot agree on which one is male and which one is female. S keeps trying to convince me of his point of view but he can't and won't. I am quite happy in my viewpoint and feel just as strongly about it as he does. But everyone else we have brought in to try to adjudicate seems to be of the consensus that it is gay porn art - gender debateable.

So we are in the situation where my expensive, beautiful painting that I bought from a female Russian painter's exhibition is in jeopardy. And the loving, sexy, intimate piece bought by S is widely considered to be... well not really representing us? I refuse to fight. Lucky for me I have bargaining power on my side. Gay porn in the bedroom surely equals pastel balloons in the living room.

Divide and... Surrender The Remote

I don't know how my siblings and I didn't kill each other. Four children - and one TV for a long time.. My parents either could foresee guerrilla tactics being surreptitiously practiced in bedrooms, or just got tired of insisting that the ABC was cool - and upgraded to three TVs in my teenage years. The black & white one in my brother's room didn't really count though. His room reeked of his rugby socks and the TV operated similar to the juke box on Happy Days.

These weird limbo days before S & I move in together seem to revolve around who will be watching what and where we will be watching it. Much like Tony and Julia, S has had to surrender to the Master Chef phenomenon and knows that there is more chance of Kevin Rudd staging a coup d'etat and storming The National Press Club than there is of anything else been viewed at 730pm this evening.

For the most part, S & I have the same taste. Altough I know he sacrifices a lot for me, like Friday Night Football, not to mention Mondays. And I have loved the new programmes introduced to me, just as sharing Mad Men has enriched our take away & red wine nights. I knew he would love it. What's not to love? But there isn't just the two of us. A ten year old and a two a half year olds' taste is somewhat....pedigree? Thomas The Tank Engine and Merlin can drive one slightly insane, not to mention Dr Who, which still freaks me out. Seriously freaks me out.

So the blending of families will mean the blending of tvs and taste. Give and take. That's my motto - although this is damn hard. Having lived on our own for some time there are little idiosyncratic viewing habits that will have to be ditched, or exposed. Watching Neighbours will no longer be able to be passed off as "I'm just doing it so M can talk to me about current issues that it so responsibly exposes". This guilty secret has been outed. I like it. And can't take credibility from the fact that I don't watch Home & Away. It's like saying I didn't inhale. No one buys it.

So healthy viewing it will be. Only watch things that you would not be ashamed to watch with George Negus (I struggled to think of a better social media barometer - help here would be appreciated).

Bring on August and blended TV and save me from myself. But tonight I am going to indulge fully in Master Chef, knowing that the rest of the country (bar S) is right there along with me. I just went to Coles and my regular Sales Assistant was dressed bizarrely in chefs hat and apron. I have refrained from calling these guys anything like Check Out Chicks/Charlies since I have found myself riding the same buses and socialising in the same wine bars as these diverse men and women. This is what happens when you live in the same little pocket for nearly 3 years, you start to be on familiar terms with everyone. Anyway, I found myself in a heated debate whilst he checked through my vegetables and toilet rolls. He is adamant that Callum should win for the very reason that I think he shouldn't - he has stuffed up so many times. I, on the other hand, firmly believe that Adam will be crowned the winner (providing the crown will fit over his bun that is). I walked away shaking my head in disbelief but also quietly acknowledging his argument. Perhaps it was his chef's hat that gave him that unexpected air of authority....

So I will think of my dressed up Sales Assistant tonight as I am watching my beloved programme. While my beloved will be wresting the remote from his two & a half year old's precious grasp after the 11th episode of Thomas The Tank Engine. Everyone happy? Not overly as I don't get to snuggle and share. But some things must be sacrificed. Just ask Julia and Tony. Not to mention poor old Kevin. I wonder what he'll be watching tonight? My bet will be on Master Chef, with a prerecording starting an hour early.

Winter White (accompanied by a Red)

My boyfriend says I hate the cold. I don't. I love it. If I'm in bed snuggling. Or in front of a fire with a beautiful glass of Red. Or in a cosy restaurant with good friends - and that Red again.... Seems to be cropping up a lot doesn't it? Which leads to my next point. Winter indulgence......

It's harder to be naked in Winter. And easier not to be. But I'm training myself not to think that way - otherwise come Summer one tends to be in for a nasty surprise. So I steam up the bathroom (somewhat akin to putting Vaseline on the lens) and take a good, long hard look at myself every morning and night. I am brown in Summer. Let's just say I'm a paler shade these cooler months. Tans make you look thinner. Everyone knows that. So what I am doing is forcing myself to be truly honest and to try to like my body - white and all.

It's harder to do things in Winter. It's harder to get up. It's harder to be sexy. It's harder to put those gym clothes on when those flannelet PJ's are just so damn snugly.... I notice it with kids too. They don't want to get dressed. What is the point? They don't care what people think.

I have to confess (and this is a biggie - I'm sure I will feel better once its out there), there are times in Winter when I secretly wish I was a bogan. I think they are on to something with their flannys and Ug Boots. Seriously. I read somewhere the other day that Ug Boots are selling in London around the 300 Pound mark (where do I find the pound symbol on my laptop - can anyone tell me btw?) Now this is confronting. It's getting expensive to be a bogan. In Winter anyway. Not sure if prices are hiked on thongs (both types) in the Summer or tattooists decide to set up shop permanently in Ibiza - for an obvious plethora of customers and to let their hair (streaked of course) down themselves.

The other thing about bogans is that they don't seem to give a toss about what other people think. I like that. Also - have you noticed how many of them are stick thin? But now I am really going off track - or tracksuit - seeing we are on a theme. I don't want to be a bogan. I just want to dress like one. Sometimes - sans tatts and the obligitory pack of Winny Reds. I am advocating the classy bogan. Think Lara Bingle. Although not sure about the class there... But I bet she doesn't look bad naked in Winter. Russell Crowe? But only on a good day. You have to admit he's incredibly articulate and he is teaching all those football players to play chess....

Anyway - I will try to maintain some element of class and body consciousness this winter. If you see me on the street, however, in a pair of uggies and gazing longingly in the window of a chocolate shop and carrying brochures for some Spanish getaway- please forgive me. I am just going with the times. I'll worry about demisting the mirror in September.