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the art of self pity in the dentist’s chair

I hate needles.

This is simply a fact… and noone quite knows why…

I mean HATE them.

Really, truly, blood curdling, spine tingling, stuff that nightmares are made of kind of hate them…

And this **slight** medical CATASTROPHE has certainly posed me plenty of grief over the years… In fact… it is only purely my utter and devotional love of animals that got me over the line to get the yellow fever shot to see the giraffes in 2002 or the fear of dying from some hideous blood curdling death that has allowed me to survive the occasional blood test…

But this morning.. the cruel imps of my fairytale society sent me packing, not only for a morning filled with my utmost fears but a morning coupled with my second fear, the dentist… and the drill. Not impressed…

Now, to understand where this inane fear of dentistry comes from, one must understand in advance, I have CRAP teeth…

Not the kind of teeth you find on English & Irish people (Seriously, what IS that all about!!??) You know that weird hereditary Austin Powers style of jaws… no, my teeth are just plain old generic CRAP. The damn things didn;t even decide to enter my mouth till I was FIFTEEN MONTHS OLD! My poor Ma thought i was going to need dentures… or be on the soggy baby mash forever… but sure enough, delayed though they were, out popped some not so “pearly whites”.

Infact, we could call them “aged linen yellows”. Now, i don’t smoke, never have, Don’t drink tea or coffee or other such teeth staining vices… and yet, having crap teeth means as well as the mysterious lack of tooth enamel.. those chompers I do have, have and always will be a most unsavoury and off putting yellow hue. Over the years… they have been subjected to several bouts of teeth torture!

Firstly, having no enamel means prone to decay… and you guessed it, filling central… (can I point out at this point that a mouth full of silver does not compliment well my mouth full of yellow) but the fun didnt stop there…

Oh no… after a delayed start…the danged things all grew at once.. till around the start of High school I found myself strapped into the dreaded chair of Dr ARMSTRONG (Yes, seriously… and believe me, this guy had the “guns” to match that claim.. guns obtained by yanking the teeth from the mouths of unproperly anaethatised school children!)

SEVEN teeth extratced from their cosy little resting place. SEVEN bouts of the hugest bloody needle being brandied about at close range under the eyes of a terrorfied school girl… and at least 4 of those teeth man handled and forcibly pulled amongst a pissing stream of blood before the danged aneasthetic had taken full force… on one such occassion, this was despite his valiant effort and the administering of FOUR of the whopping great needles!

needless to say, herein my fear and loathing of the dentist was cemented, additional to my fear of needles… until of course..

secondly…

the orthodontist!

Every parent in the 90′s greatest fear… the money black hole of the mercedes driving orthodontist. Mine had a garlic and onion eating fetish and I am thoroughly convinced took great delight in scheduling my appointments direct after lunch!

TEN YEARS of sitting in that evil chair looking at his “Autumnal Forest” picture plastered on the wall aimed at making the place more “relaxing” (Consequently, I assosciate Autumn leaves with fear, pain and bad aroma). Ten years of train tracks, food getting stuck behind little metal bands, firing spit covered elastics, sometimes at will, sometimes to my complete embarrassment out of straining teeth and generally living with the dull, gentle ache that was braces in the 90′s.

Thirdly…

as if, this all wasn’t enough… the pinnacle of my youthful teeth history was the removal of my canines (A hint to become vegetarian?) and a hospital visit to surgically extract a tooth that had gone wayward and was growing in the wrong postcode of my mouth!

Needless to say, by this stage, my fear of needles about matched my fear of dentists…

fast forward some years… and some time spent admonishing the Great British teeth calamity and I was guilted back into regular dental care.

Religiously, every 6 months…

I went and forced myself to confront these demons and sit in the chair…

Religiously, every 6 months a new filling. But of course by now, an obstinance by me meant these fillings have all been done WITHOUT the dreaded needle!

Religiously following the advice of the armies of dentists I have tried… Brush more, Brush less, you brush too much and have brushed a hole in your teeth! Floss more, Floss less, you’re making your gums bleed. Don’t eat oranges, eat more fruit…

And all the while feeling the frustration mount as my latest dentist has put my crap teeth down to:

A) eating too many sweets (for anyone who knows me, knows I am a SAVOURY addict)

B) drinking too much soft drink as a kid (Check with my Mum, once a year on our birthday maybe!)

and my personal favourite..

C) You must have grown up in the countryside and had bad water as a kid! SERIOUSLY!

Of course, these were nothing compared to the guy who tried to convince me such teeth damage could only have occured through my BULIMIA! When i of course advised him that i neither have, nor never had had an eating disorder he scoffed…and I half expected a referral to a psych!

none the less, I digress…

after years of teeth trauma… the day has finally come when the long overdue rootcanal was set to happen…

so (as if I slept last night) I arose this morning, sick to the core with apprehension of yet another dentist chair, another drill…but worst of all… confronting the needle!

My endodontist, I might add, is about as symapthetic as a flounder… and as I sat, a trembling, broken, nervous wreck of a woman in his chair he merely started placing all the tools of torture out on the tray before me…

I warned him of my fear. he snorted. and before I knew it.. with is hands rubbing tingle cream onto my gums I was strapped in and it was the piint of no return. Eyes closed as tight as can be as I felt the tell tale jab of the needle entering my gum.. then BAM the face swell.

Yes, my face is now like that of an anaphalactic after a bee sting.

My mouth feels so big it is covering my nose.

My nose feels like it has shifted into my eye socket.

everything is numb. Everything is tingly.

I lie, eyes squsihed close as i listen to the sound of drill after drill, suction machine working overtime….

I have a rubber bag stuffed under my tooth and half across my face to cover the passage way to my mouth so the “spit” (read: blood) doesn’t all go down my throat… My mouth open like a carnival clown. Jaw clenched yet open.

BBBZZZZZZZZZ>>>>> what is that smell? The burning rubber? have they burnt the throat protector? No, that is the smell of a tooth being drilled beyond the normal city limit of tooth drilling.

more buzzing, more smell… the smell of rotten nerves… dying, decay.

more buzzing, more smell, the smell of nerves being burned… killed off and removed from their little hidey hole…

then here, let me throw this heavy jacket on you, place your finger in your already uncomfortable mouth and take an x ray.

more drilling, more burning, more sucking, more tingling.

the torture lasts at least half an hour… then reprieve…

some sounds i recognise.

the normal drill.

the scraping of filling fluid.

a filling being administered.

some tapping, some poking…

I kind of wish I could feel it now, to know what the heck is happening… but my mouth is now fixed open, balloon still in, my lips swollen to the point they may reach my forehead and my nose numbed to the point of uselessness…

Then you’re up. It’s done. finished for today…

A cruel prank, there is some water, rinse your mouth he says.. knowing I have absolutely no facial motor control, I lift the cup to where I think my mouth is and deftly poor water into my nostril, which is ok… as I can’t feel my nose anyways… Then I find the hole, throw back the water, only to discover i can’t actually close my mouth… the water drips down my chin onto my shirt like a physically handicapped bee sting victim. third attempt and the water goes in my mouth and quite possibly out my nose. I am not sure. I give up.

A small pamphlet “expect pain when the numbness ears off… take drugs. See you for round 2 in a month” and a gentle push out the door.

Blinking in the bright waiting room lights, mouth still open (Will I ever be able to shut it again?)  Awareness that my nose is runny but I am unable to blow it, feel it or even locate it on my face with a tissue, red marks from the hands that have been leaning and pressing on me the last 45 minutes and that cotton wool mouth feeling.

I fork over my hard earned cash and stare dumbstruck at the poor guy awaiting his turn to be butchered.

He gives me that all knowing sympathetic grimace and we wish each other luck then I stumble… still looking like a trainwreck to face the drive home…

At the service station, I stop for petrol… my face still like a giant balloon. i catch glimpse in the rear vision mirror. I look like a freak. I try to smile at the attendant.. Only one half of my face is working. I look like a stroke victim! He backs away fearfully from the creature staring back at him. I daren’t even try to talk…

I find even simple words merely produce garble and drool. I am reminded of my friends infant children, only I feel even they have more facial motor control than I…

I try to blow my nose… At least I found it when using a mirror… and discover that only one nostril can flare. I laugh at the strange face looking back at me… but only have the face in the mirror laughs!

and I go home. safe in the sanctity of my house. I await the tingle to be replaced by the pain.. and I await the month and a half long torture of knowing I have to go through this all again…

yep, it’s official. I still hate needles.

May your smiles come from BOTH halves of your faces.

Hugs,

Always.

L

jumping the cultural hurdles… if only i could walk…

as the steam train of matrimony goes hurtling at light speed towards its destination… i find myself cocooned in an mri machine with plenty of time to muse the goings on of the past few weeks…

with my fiance away at work, (again) the wedding planning took on that evil turn of STRESSFUL and my inner bridezilla has more than seen the light of day…

“how are you going? all the wedding plans coming along ok?” in truth I DON’T KNOW!!!!

what is it again i am supposed to be planning????!!!!!! i feel like a deer in headlights at the very mentioning of this archtypal line of questioning that i encounter almost daily now…

groom, check, date, check, location, check… invites sent. check… yup.. what else is there???

but the more people ask…the more my little hamster wheel mind spins further and further out of control until i am now able to imagine a to do list longer than the average suburban white pages!

do we need place cards? do we need bonbonieres? do we need menus? do we need programs? do we need this trinket or that. of course we don’t… but once the seed has been planted… the tree of indecision takes root and flourishes quickly!!!!

the ironic thing?? all this was happening while i wasn’t even feeling engaged or wedding-y at all!!!

how does this work?? well, you see, the lack of bridal party means thus far i have been able to bury my head in the sand of denial… in fact… i have in truth spent more time, effort and emotion planning for a good friend’s big day than my own…i have had no supportive girlies by my side to twirl and curl ribbons. i’ve had no kitchen tea planning or girls giggle nights… and while this decision was made to save the inevitable politics that follow it… and prevent the inevitable offending of this person who should or shouldnt have been asked… this decision has in fact been my greatest undoing…

thus… taking the ‘road less stressful” has costed a few more weeks of loneliness and all out insanity and nearly cost me the whole experience at all…

i was, until recently, oblivious to the great white wedding world just lurking behind every internet side ad… in fact, until last week, i really hadnt even been asked those stock standard questions much at all or been asked to consider or discuss my wedding in depth by anyone…

i mean… the real discussions… not the ones people ask to be polite… the ones, that only a fellow bride, your bridesmaids or a real close friend will be patient enough to endure…

one could almost be forgiven for thinking it wasnt really happening to me… no bridesmaids, no groom… no excitement…

but with my dear friend’s wedding now behind me… the sun suddenly shifted position in the sky…and the dawning light of day is… OH MY GOD i’m getting married… i may be down one fiance.. but damnit… i WANT to feel like the bride. i WANT people to come curl ribbons and look through endless knick knack shops with me… i want to have the full wedding experience..

my other half’s job may have “robbed” me of the engagement period… but screw it… i want to now feel the full force of the build up!!!!

so thank god for my army of loyal friends… without whom i would be lost… for when the distress call went out last week… as the steam train went hurtling into an emotional black hole with no light at the end.. it has been my girl friends who have come through and rallied round.

my girls who have shown up and endured talks about dresses, table plans and trinkets… my girls who have pulled me out of the denial bush i was hiding in and given me the courage to stand tall and say… i am the bride.

i do want the big day.

it is my turn.

but with this new found flurry of wedding planning excitement comes with it… the inevitable hurdles…

the bridezilla moments… where doubt and indecision take hold and manifest into sheer raving lunacy… the cultural hurdles that become a battlefield of unwillingly offending or insulting this person or that… the realisation that those little wedding nuances that you had always subconsciously thought just formed part of everyone’s wedding vocabulary suddenly need to be voiced as you discover a whole new language of wedding and expectation out there…

even to the point where something as simple as making a hair appointment suddenly becomes an ordeal of moral character judgment and platform for inadvertantly insulting others in the wedding language which you dont speak…

it is now.. in light of this new wedding surge of energy that i am discovering just how important that age old role of bridesmaids or in this case… the world’s most incredible, patient and supportive friends are…

but one then asks… how is it the light of day finally dawned on my inner bridezilla??

and it all comes back to clumsiness…

for if i hadn’t been attacked by the stair en route to the seamstress for my friend’s wedding.

if i hadnt been held hostage to the couch for 3 weeks due to the ever increasingly swollen foot

if i hadnt been without fiance and left for  my mind to fester and stew unchecked as i wait for the never ending foot saga to recover itself then maybe, just maybe i would have continued on with my head in the sand…

maybe i would have made it all the way to august without once thinking about the table trinkets or what type of corsages the mothers might want…

and maybe that would have all worked fine??

but 3 weeks later… foot still crippled… internet download limits maxed and brain just about at breaking point of inactivy produced insanity it occurs to me it is all these little hiccups, these little stressors that all go into making the big day..

into completing the global picture of the stressed bride..

and in fact into my own bridal dictionary…

and while the obvious hope is today’s mri will merely reveal that i will be right to walk on the big day… the fact is the whole experience has just opened my eyes to the pieces i was missing…

batton down the hatches folks… this steam train just picked it up a gear and is now bound for all out wedding overload!!!! and lets face it… secretly, thats just the way every bride likes it…

always and ever.

bridezilla.

full steam ahead towards the aisle

zoooooooom.

i dont know why it happens like that.

one day… you’re trudging along haplessly living the day to day life of a mediocre existence.

the next you meet a nice guy

the day after things are going great

next week you’re engaged!!!!

 

then come all the decisions.

decisions!

I HATE DECISIONS!!!!

the only decision should be yes or now.

and lets face it.

when you meet one as wonderful as mine there isnt even a decision.

there is just a yes.

so thus, with a yes, the plans were set in motion.

of course…

step 1… reception…

 

why is it the word wedding heralds with it the exorbitence and cost associated with a 6 star hotel in the wilds of Dubai.

the word wedding means mcdonalds burgers at lobster prices…

and for a pair of earth loving children sorting their way through the zoo that is sydney, the word wedding brought with it not only cost restraints but the limitations of the sterile city and its budget alternatives.

cheap decor

limited guest list

z grade food.

sydney was not to be…

and as our search for the venue to reflect the love we wish to shine extended beyond the city walls… the stress started to show.

our relief measure? ROADTRIP!

and thus, on a mild autumn day

escaping the mounting questions beginning to pile unanswered we set saddle for dubbo andsome down time with the animals.

red dirt.

fresh air.

blue sky.

freedom.

and the perfect venue for 2 kindred souls to pledge their love for each other..

and thus the wedding planning is born…

 

flowers and cake and decorations and dress and rings and hair and make up and invites and OH MY GOD!!!! when did it all get this hard?

just ry.

just i.

just we do and a sunset to sail into…

the coming weeks are sure to test us…

as we go from the blissful bubble dream to the reality of lists and deposits…

but since when was the road to happiness ever without speed bumps?

have the adventure is getting there after all

 

let the planning begin.

always and ever.

l.

 

rewind a day or 2…

so the panics continue as the overwhelming list of to do tasks starts to build and snowball into the impending avalanche and one still finds ones self in that numb phase of “is this all real”??

and is it?? yes, yes it is…

and how did it happen? well, there is a tale of it’s own… one that reflects who truly naive i am and how somewhere in this lifetime my girl gene must have got broken..as somehow i escaped the ability to recieve a proposal with class and decorum…and most certainly i had NO idea about what i possibly want for the big day. like seriously. none.

so the questions already firing away from every camp of where, when, colour and theme?? my response is… well, usually outwardly a blank stare.. inwardly??? a bloodied scene from a WW2 movie with schrapnel flying and limbs exploding in a twisted black and white wreckage of confusion, panic and utter fear!

but i digress… for the start of this war was not so horrific.. more of the comedy type…

as my wonderful man started yet another normal day with me… enduring the overwhelming hormonal tidal wave i was riding…

why, that day did my brain flip out? and send me into a mini fit of despair… a swamp of self pity that as he’s taken the road to matrimony before it was not fair that i would not be his first and therefore not be special.. a stupid haunting thought, that despite objectively knowing how irrational it is… has haunted me the whole time.. knowing that one day, to make the crowds happy, it was a hoop we would jump through… i had no idea of his plans that day… i just had an overwhelming hormonal insanity and a wave of self pity that could put the worlds greatest whingers to shame! and i of course backed up this madness with further tears that i feared he did not love me as much as i loved him… all the while, one very patient man sat knowingly, declaring, if i only knew how much he loved me…

my “if only” now of course is.. if only i could turn off these silly meltdowns, and if only i wasnt a woman possessed by the demons of insecurity… and driven by the god of irrationality… but i again, i digress…

so stupid meltdown aside, one rather abashed laurie picks herself up and carries on for the day. aware that the schitzophrenic demons of my brain had failed me once more…and simply grateful to share the company of the man i adore and who (god knows how) seems to tolerate me…  a normal day… by anyones standards. lounging around, having a giggle… lets catch a movie…

suckerpunch to be precise.

rather quirky, dont even know that i recommend it… and after? resume to our normalness and continue our run of errands… as his folks had asked him to drop by and take care of their birds, it was of no alarm to me that we headed that way…

and as months of “i havent been up that lookout we should go there” foundations had been laid… it was still no warning when we decided we’d go there…

black, cold and wet taboot… but never one to back out of adventure… i embraced the idea of climbing the perilous wet staircase, through the spider infested bush to what would inevitably be a cloud covered view above…

i pitied my poor man as he bumped his head twice on the car door trying to get his “torch” and kissed his crown tenderly… poor guy, nearly as clumsy as me…

we climbed through the rain, up the steep mountain, ducking wet branches and laughing as we slipped over soggy cobblestones.

grateful that i’m not the girly girl attempting this in heels and glamozonian armour… infact, he was grateful that i am the type of girl to attempt it at all.

we reach the summit, a city of fairy lights twinkling below…

and of course our stubborness spawns the usual arguments… that is the airport… not that, it is a building.. this way is north.. that way is south…

a stone map we spy and hurry to it… to appease the confusion..

and as i focus on reading a map (herein i am very much the woman and do freely confess to **some** map interpretation difficulities) i do not notice as he slips to bended knee under the hazy wet sky in front of the twinkly sparkly fairy light city below…

and in true romance as i turn around to point out that i was in fact right with my compass directions i see him below me and i ask… “what are you doing?!”

he then asks me to marry him. to stand by his side through this life…

and my brain, still agog with the dawning realisation of the scene unfolding before me can only come up with the logical non girl reply of “are you for real?!”

eventually, like the rain drops that were beading on my nose, the reality finally formed in my brain kicking me back into the real world and embracing him with my overwhelming YES of course i will!!!!

and we stood there, wet and cold, yet buzzing with excitement.

until, a good 5 minutes later he humbly asked… “um, arent you even going to look at the ring.. or at the very least try it on!?”

i had completely forgotten the ring… for me, a life with him is the only prize i need.. no sparkly jewel can better the value of his hugs…

but as i slipped the customary circle of gold onto my finger the overwhelming wave of unruly emotion swept through me and the knee shaking took hold once more…

is this real? indeed… i still wonder.

when will i awake from this dream?

after a lifetime of getting it wrong this seems too good to be real… the man that god intended for me all along loves me as i love him. and we plan to face our fears of ceremony and declare that love and commitment to the world…

and thus, today here i sit. still agog as the events continue to unfold. still grateful for the one simple thing i need in my world. my sunshine and my reason. my ry.

and yet now, away from our own little fairy lit world, back in the cold light of day with the questions and the expectations… back where the fears can come and dump on me.. control me and turn me into that crazy banshee i loathe so much and yearn to be rid of all i need remember is one rainy night, on a lonely mountain top in the rain, the man i love told me he loved me back.

and with that in my heart i know, despite the panics, i’m going to get through this. i can get through anything.

always and ever.

l

the scariest journey yet…

I’ve hitchhiked on desolate country roads, tackled the himalayas with a sleazeball guide in tow, i’ve survived bug stew in central america, ridden horses, camels and elephants through every terrain, stared a cyclone in it’s eye, survived the perils of frozen snot in minus 42 degrees. I’ve eaten from the floor vendors in the markets of marrakech, and tried the mystery food on the stick in china, i’ve swum in the ganges and braved all of the world’s great oceans… but i truly feel this next journey is the one that scares me most.

the next journey is the one that no packing, no reading, no planning can truly prepare me for!

and yet, in a strange twist of fate, is a journey i have in fact traced with my footsteps time and again (ten times to be precise)… just never before was it my journey

that fairytale trek up the aisle of the church into one’s very own happily ever after…

so how does it come to pass, that a woman of the world, who at last has met her man and has been offered the key to the door of her every happiness instead of basking in nothing but glory instead becomes a quivering wreck of fear and emotion?

how is it… on this, the eve before my greatest life’s adventure, when my head should be high and my heart should be full do you find me squatting in the corner, a trembling steam train… a mangled wreck, a woman broken?

have the years of happiness of others rubbed off on me so sorely?

what’s wrong with me?

is this preliminary stage of panic normal or have i officially toppled over into the realms of quantifiable insanity!

he asked me.

i said yes.

there was no doubt, no hesitation.

he is the one, my only and my reason.

he is the sunshine in my world who makes the rainbows sparkle just with his reflection…

yet… i am a mess. a mess of fear, panic and anxiety!

herein we meet our greatest flaw… those years of holding the hands of my loved ones as they took this very same plunge…and those years of watching them drown and gurgle beneath the pressures to conform, to please, to do and all of a sudden the dream becomes a burden… it becomes the greatest weight to bare… it becomes the knowledge that, for the next few months, my every waking thought will be consumed with planning for an event that i have absolutely no hope of truly getting “right”.

if he is there and i am there what more do we need?

why do we need ceremony and farse at all in fact?? yet already it begins… the who, the where, the when the how… and worse… the costume.. behind which painted war mask and which armour will i present myself on this day to be judged by all around?

is it wrong to feel this way?

or is this a manifestation of a lifelong desire to please people and now being thrust into a situation where there are far too many parties to please i am faced with the decision… to sacrifice myself to please the greater good or for the first time to really turn my back on the perceived pressures from those around me and figure out what it is i truly want…

all i know is that the months ahead will be a journey of true self discovery. a challenge that i have no map for… and no matter how scared i am. how much i panic at the thought of not getting it right… i have the one simple truth already sorted. he will be there. so it already is right.

batten down the hatches world…

cyclone laurie, bridezilla, is on its way!

always.

l

finding adventure in the home country…

You know those moments where you face yourself in inner truth. Those surreal, almost out of body experiences…where you get that sacred and hallowed chance to stare judgement in the eyes, like an outside observer… that moment of self-realisation where the light turns on and you see yourself for who you really are… not who you might pretend or desire to be… Last night was one of those moments…

After a few relaxing days cruising the isle of Tasmania (strewn with its many and alarmingly varied array of road kill and its inhabitants far too easily picked on…) with minimal catastrophe and misadventure…. The inevitable hit… when the hotel passes I had somewhat foolishly, though well intentionally, purchased turned out to be a crock of poop…  (A separate whinge to follow) and we found ourselves accommodation less and left to the perils of last minute availability…

Fearing not this set back… late at night, downtown Hobart, I marvelled at the electronic age in which we live as we scoured the usual suspects of last minute accommodation courtesy of a temperamental  laptop about the size of your average gents toiletries bag…  the highs of getting net connection, the lows of consistent dropouts and a dodgy mouse pad…  frustration as  the “ooh la la” flashy spa room listed as available online became suddenly sold as the receptionist clearly judged my voice as of not the right “type”… but calamity was avoided when we stumbled onto the “wrest point casino”… can’t get classier than the Hobart casino right?

Thus it was settled, and down town we drove to our new destination…

Little did we know, the streets of Hobart, back to the future style, are in fact a time warp… and as suburban quaintness gave way to 2.3 kids and a Volvo…the piece de resistance was in fact the time vortex itself… wrestpoint.

Enter the 70’s.

From the proper RSL issue carpet circa 1979 of varying mismatched shades of paisley to the LILAC walls and sailor style round windows… the Chrysler building relief sculpture on the wall to the round white shell dangly chandeliers overused on every light fitting…

Down corridors, down stairs (are we in the basement??) till at last… in the furthest reaches of the cheesiest building in the smallest city in Oz came our room…

The lilac gave way to amber and the paisley carpet achieved new epileptic inducing dizziness in the powerful shades of crimson and green speckles. The teal chiffon curtains affording us a sneaky view of the impressive and cold Derwent River lapping quite literally at our doorstop…

And the bathroom. Oh the bathroom….

Tiles of electric blue spattered with gold glitter sparkles, “les girls” style dressing room vanity lights and enough gold plating to make a costume jeweller squeal in delight….

And faced with such opulence came time to then face our true selves…

To dress outside our ratty backpacker day clothes and ride the lift to the grand point revolving restaurant and let our tastebuds explode with the fine flavours of modern and acclaimed French cuisine as the sparkling lights of Hobart slowly shone in the revolving round below us…

Or

To slum it with the gambling addicts, street style and “enjoy” the salmonella quality of the pre-prepared $9 burger and beer meal…

And thus, as we settled into the cushy leather lounges, and took a lusty bite out of our stale meat and overcooked chips… it dawned on me….. I’m really not a princess. No glitz. No glam…no dress and sparkles for me… but just damn fine beer and a stale burger bun….

The moment made all the more real by the unbelievably inspired burp from our fellow diners… a burp so loud as to rock the very foundations of our unsteady table… and instead of the gasp and groan of the dress clad, hair brushed passers-by en route to the lift up the tower  I found myself in a surreal state if hysterics… should I compete or should I have rued my own new level of low life bogan ness… our dining companions encore burp ensured that even if I did opt to compete however, unless I had a mega amplifier…there is no way I could top that!!!

But wait the story unfolds…

For faced with the realisation that as a grown woman of the world i am meant to demand these finer things… my willing accomplice and I did  in fact brave the 17 floors and found our way up to the splendour of the point restaurant after all… a little romance and a dessert list to rival my entire paycheck.. I opted for the lemon, ginger, lychee crème brulee… (I mean, what happened to good old fashioned icecream?) (Granted, this did come with a questionably portioned scoop of over rich white chocolate icecream)

And as we looked in awe at the suited diners around us and oooohed and aaaahed at the twinkly night lights of the city far below us it occurred to me. I get vertigo. I get motion sickness… our attempts at romance instead gave way to an hour of agony as I wrestled with motion sickness and the wish not to revisit said crème brulee

Here I was. 17 floors up. The finest dessert known to man plated in front of me and the gentle whir of the restaurant was doing nothing but making me want to curl up into a ball and reminisce of days of avid sea sickness….

Thus in conclusion… faced with myself and even trying to break the mold of my inner Bogan it has been shown to me. I am who I am… and princess I am not and you can find me firmly with my feet on the ground enjoying my stale burger. May you find your own little piece of burger paradise wherever in the world you are.

Hugs.

it’ll never happen to me…

we all say it..

we all think it…

it’ll never happen to me, right?

heck… if we really believed that, why would we even bother trying?

why go for the interview?

why take out the insurance?

why why why??

of course…usually we assume the “it”

to be the bad “it” the worse possible outcome it… the murphiest of murphy’s laws it… and alas… it is this little bindi on our existence, this thorn in our society that we remember most…

not the good “it”

the winning on the scratchie, the getting the dream job, the meeting mr right and finally feeling a life full of love and happiness…

and even though, it must be said my life is full, over the brim of the most wonderful it’s and i try sooooo hard to focus on them and be grateful for them, it was the re-emergance of a bad it this week that sent me into a spin, and consequently landed me with enough time to blog….despite months of silence (yeah, sorry about that guys…)

and “it” all started a few weeks back with a trip to the friendly GP..

of course… being  a backpacker.. i do life on a budget… but even on a shoestring there are times when the fob off from a cattle farm (aka medical centre) doctor just doesnt sit right… so thankfully, i persisted and found myself in the comedy of a moment whereby i told my non-english speaking doctor exactly which tests i should have done based on the symptoms with which i was starting to present…

for all intents and purposes i may very well have been just as successful to preform the procedure myself… but needless to say this became a strange good “it” in that by getting that one little health check done through sheer persistence and bullying of one doctor we uncovered the whole downward spiral of the bad it that today has rendered me at home…

what followed was a whirlwind tour to the gyno’s office… a few hacks, sneezes and biopsies later to uncover the it that all us women fear “pre-cancerous cells”

again, take note… despite the dark grey cloud that hovers over those very words… we often overlook the shining light the “pre” which means… thank god we found it! there’s still time…

needless to say… despite the light behind the cloud… panic overdrive and first stop into MBF, my trusted health fund, the fund to which i pay my money so diligently every month should it ever actually does happen to me… to light the way on how to afford this little health foray adventure…

and herein lies where “it” began.

“you’ve only had hospital cover for 10 months, it sounds pre-existing, you’ll have to prove it’s not. get your doctor to fill this form and submit it with your hospital papers to get it assessed to see if we’ll cover you”

down to the cattle farm..

doctor not available… i suggest you come back and wait in the slaughter house queue on market day (saturday)

but in the meantime.. enterprising as i am… i trekked to my last abode, and retrieved the “golden ticket” from my prior cattle station. last years “all clear” results…

phonecalls, stress and anxiety later.

several bouts of mis information from my misinformed tele-hosts at MBF

tied like a small round piece of plastic on the end of the yo-yo string being bounced through the motions and failing even to “walk the dog”

i arrived on the morning of my procedure (as if i wasnt fretting enough) to be faced with the prospect of pulling an extra $2000 out of my non existent mortgage to have the operation to save myself from cancer.

this it is made quite bigger simply by the fact that MBF had stated to me IT would be covered as non preexisting and they had put notes to state IT in the account and would contact the hospital.

the synopsis… MBF put notes in the wrong part of my account and officially stuffed IT!

thus, poorer but presumably cancer free i am now on the trail of my mismanaged health fund to get IT sorted and retrieve my money,. i find it ironically humourous that during this tango of phonecalls they still managed to take my monthly fee and have yet to have a problem retrieveing IT from my account!!!

so the battle wages on and the estimated time till it’s sorted currently stands at 6 weeks! so in the meantime.. thank god i had a back up… and even though we fear and dread it we all secretly prepare for that day when it does actually happen to me…

is my gripe and moan just a product of coming off the anaethatist’s drugs? is it just because i am a whinger (dont answer that… i know!!) or is it perhaps a social outcry as i know i’m not alone here….

in a world where one day it really could happen to you… it’s strangely reassuring to know you’re not the only one being screwed over out there…

so whatever your battle, fight it with all you’ve got and just sleep at night knowing… for whatever bad it’s the battle hurls your way…the good ones are never far over the next corner…

or in the very least… whenever you need them most you uncover a most amazing army of family and friends ready to stand beside you and go into battle by your side…

so chins up soldiers.

hugs

l

spice up your life?

so i’m back in the rut of the normal daily grind.

and the task of blogging once again becomes somewhat arduous and irksome as opposed to my usual manic rants to which you are all accustomed….

work is a yawn of days stretching out into an endless horizon.

a new school each day, but in essence each the same as the day before.

no new contracts to brag over.. no chance to start a new project and get carried away in the daily goings on of the little people…

the bills get paid.

the groceries done,

the house cleaned and washing hung to dry.

yup.. the stuff good blogs arent made of…

the dizzy, heady days of random dates and the fiascos that followed gladly finished… (so much for my dreams of my own website: datelaurie.com) but still too new to fully introduce a new caped crusader to these regular and whacky laurie misadventures…. although in time i feel there may be a regular accomplice to my crimes of which i speak…

but as the days blend into the growing blandness which is my new reality…

thank goodness for holidays..

and despite the financial insecurity that comes as a drawback of the icky evil casual system, i of course relish every opportunity to hit the road and taste the thrill of misadventure….

so herein lies the problem…

the mind grows stale, the fingers numb…

the joy of blog is so dusted with the cobwebs of routine that the mind freezes…

i can go left..

i can go right,

i could regale the pure hilarity of the hostel ferals whom revealed both the sexual fragilities of todays misguided youth… or the sheer horror that i am no longer one of those misguided youth..

but instead,

today i take you all on the culinary rollercoaster which is the spice up your life dinner box food challenge.

and underpinning all this is the biggest question.

why?

why accept such a ludicrous challenge.

why succumb to the gastrointestinal torture synonomous with any company liable to produce such a meal??

and to all the  non believers out there, i say.

why not?

it was a road trip.

we were hungry

its what you do.

its how we roll…

so, in the fine location of surfers the bar was set.

ding ding ding went the bell.

round one…

(now, i am not the SMALLEST person in the world… and the gods surely know i love to eat….)

but i am still only human after all…

and like all good (cough cough) athletes.. one cant start the bar too high…

so the challenge begins with the share meal…

step one.

the maccas family dinner box.

and, (as borrowed from my sister) despite years of training and perfection of the correct pickle velocity hurl technique to ensure maximum stick on even the roughest of surfaces, the rules of the game do state that ALL of the meal must be consumed…. including said pickle

so, ready, willing and able, accomplice by my side,

we began…

a cardiologists nightmare.

fat, 2 all beef patties, oil, special sauce, lettuce, gristle, carbs, cheese (although this is still open to interpretation and is yet to be proven as actually being cheese and not merely an edible form of yellow plastic), pickles, onions (as if my bowels werent going to be worked out enough.. ONIONS god dammit! do these people have no brains??!!! or no concept of the gastrointestinal effects of onions!!) and a good old fashioned “sesame seed” bun…

TWO serves of greasy, nearly see through fries..

a cheeseburger (though lets face it.. there is nothing wrong with cheeseburgers)

and a generous helping of “chicken” nuggets..

all washed down with enough soft drink to ensure i peed caffeine for the next 2 days

easy.

mmm... cheeseburgers....

perhaps i am almost ready to fly this adventure solo (which is of course the final challenge set before me in this ridiculous game of family meals…)

but sense prevailed, and i decided, an early win in the training did not a gold medal performance make..

and thus,

last night, i resumed my special training and moved one step closer to food challenge victory (or so i thought) by attempting the second feat.

step two

the oporto’s family meal deal.

should have been easy

my tummy muscles pre trained from the workout of maccas grease…

my mouth and eyes aware of the enslaught coming…

heck..

by rights i should have romped this one…

a “kiddies” burger..

heck, it didnt even have chili sauce!!! (they’re having a laugh right?!! where is the challenge in this??)

super yummy chips and chicken salt (bring it on!)

and without even having to worry about the follow up nuggets, only one more burger and 2 cans of soft drink stood in the way of an oportos victory..

chomp chomp chew chew…

grumble, gurgle, bubble and pop.

but hark? what pray is that sound?

chomp chomp…

gurgle, fizzle, gnagle, whiiiirrrrrl.

it was my belly.

an angry opponent.

disputing the champion…

chomp, chomp, chomp…

FAIL.

not failure by chili sauce.

failure by tummy explosion.

no nuggets and defeated still.

damn chicken.

i reckon it must enlarge on contact with the stomach.

and as i sat,

eyes bulging, pants unbuckled, a trickle of sweat down my athletes brow..

i wiped away the tears of defeat.

grimaced at the second can.

and stepped away from the burger.

thank goodness for my offsider (who, i have no idea how, managed to polish it off!!)

but i have officially stalled in my progress of training to be a dinner box champion.

i have let the team down.

i am the sally o’brien of the family meal deal challenge team.

the debate now looms.

to retake the oportos step.

or to leave it go?

do i dare walk fourth and stare hungry jacks square between the deep fat fryers?

as with all things in the world of a drama queen..

you can rest assured it wont be just another quiet day at the office.

till i meet you at the drinks machine.

may you have fries with whatever you order.

always and ever, hugs.

l

easter show? i wanna go!

so i survived chocolate day..

and being a not really big eater of chocolate, that in itself is always a minor hurdle at this time of year…. but like all major holidays… memories of childhood follies warm the cockles of those long since frozen hearts… and despite the over chocolate indulgence (or maybe because of it??) i felt the growing yearning to retrace my childhood fantasies and go to the easter show.

as my memory painted it.. a fantastic world where anything was possible. the most beautiful of animals, washed and groomed, lined happily in rows, awaiting patting by small children, smiling faces of strangers…all glowing in the joy of the easter holiday, shopping in its highest esteem…at prices soooo low you felt that you had gone on a foreign holiday. goods you could only imagine in your wildest dreams…and the showbags… like the ultimate universe of colour, smell action…as thousands vied for the most amazing treasures known to man…

and of course… as the sun would set an amazing fuzzy glowing peach into an endless crimson sky…you would sit, huddled amongst loved ones in the crisp autumn air…watching the animals, parade like the changing of the palace guard, wow at the stunts of the dare devil precision driving team and of course, stare entirely opened mouthed as the commentators speculated “which colour would go the highest”  in the fireworks finale that lit up the evening sky into a myriad of neon…. sparkling well into the night and on into the years of memories planted in my mind..

such was the innocence and the sheer joy of the easter show…that as i lay moaning of the expanding waistline helped none by the overeating of chocolate, the urge to return to those happy days outweighed the financial strains of an empty wallet.

sun in sky, check, public holiday, check, good company, check…

the bubbles fizzing right to the top as i sat like an impatient child awaiting the train..

the joy of feeling that sun on your face as you emerge from the station and race eager to the entrance gates.

the sounds of animals, people, machines all murmuring, whirring and whizzing in action… the smells of stale food and salted popcorn…beckoning even the most iron clad stomachs, the sights and colours of a thousand people all glowing in the midday sun, heaving their loot of showbags and inane costumery…

but what was missing?

where was my spark?

my anticipation?

like an old hand i dragged myself around. the usual culprits… a little new rust, but otherwise the same..only the prices changed as they grow ever more year by year…

the patting zoo still making me smile like a giddy school girl..but suddenly, a conscience that doesnt allow me to push in to be the first to pat the goat, cuddle the sheep, kiss the cow…

the rows of shiny groomed animals not so much a mystery anymore…but like prisoners awaiting judgement at the slaughter house…their whinnies and neighs no longer yelps of excitement, but groans of contempt and despair.

the array of shopping, not a patch on that which i have tasted in the real world… and prices that even a child prodigy of saving surely couldnt afford.

when did the samples become so expensive?? no longer a sample but an cruel ploy to cyphon your already  strained wallet?

and the showbags…so empty, so lacklustre of joy and mystery… the showbag halls almost like a ghost town as people shun the rought that is paraded before them…

and as the sun set into a bland grey sky..

and my tummy churned from the ingestion of stale meat pies and mystery meat on a stick dipped in congealed sauce and all encapsulated in deep fried scunge with no nutritional value

i settled back to at least watch the evening and and grasp manicly at a dream to relive the happy memories..

but what happened to my grand parade?? no longer an equation of shiny happy animals… but a few cows being dragged around half a field…

the rodeo, while good, lost its sparkle as the crowd is too busy lost in their own worlds to engage with the cheering and banter of the long since should have been retired commentators…

and as the thrill of the precision driving team fizzled into a routine of the “same old” i at least settled back holding my breath for the fireworks magic to reignite that long last spark i sought…

instead??

the fireworks themselves, sold out to the perils of consumerism.

sold out to the capitilist world..

no longer was it a conquest for each colour to go the highest…but instead each colour, maticulously designed to bow down to the sponsorship that had been shamelessly flaunted all night…

and as the blue matched the sky in the picture of our sponsors logo, the yellow of the sun and the green of the grass… parents were re reminded to go forth and buy the prescribed product.

when did we lose our innocence??

or is it just me?? a pure heart tainted by cynicism?

or maybe it really has reached that time in my life..where i need to accept my own childhood is ceasing and it is time to kidnap someone else’s kids in order to relive any fragments of it which may remain in a confused and capitalist world.

yet regardless the answer. regardless how much more magic may dissolve as years go by… i still managed to wear my ridiculous wig…hold my head high and at least aim to be, one of those sparkling fragments of memory and colour, smiles and laughter in the new formed memories of some other child… our hope now really is on the innocence and sparks of joy of our children and if we dont eat least try to give them just an inkling of the magic of the world from which we have grown up from…what hope does tomorrow really have?

so dust off your favourite teddy bear… put on that silly hat. you may have grown up. your memories may have been sold out…but you can still be a part of that magic that just may make the smile of some other persons life and be a part of the little spark that they too may carry into their own future..

and thus the magic of easter shall live on…

easter show?

yeah, i still want to go…

how funny are alpacas?

i mean really.

how had i never noticed before?

goodness knows i am a lover of all things in the animal kingdom..

but how funny are alpacas!??

in fact, i’d go so far as to say they’re freaking hilarious!!!

silly heads on long necks, twitchy ears and bug eyes.

i mean, what were the gods thinking when they created this comical tribute to all things mismatched??

how can a drive through the serene country outback not be broken into fits of hysterics when beasts such as these dot the hillsides?

aaah, the world surely is a funny funny place..

may the alpacas in your fields have upright ears flapping in the breezes of happiness!

hmm… come to think of it…maybe i will head to south america sometime soon in search of the fountain of happiness…which i am now convinced is kept by the gods of the alpacas and llamas and vicunas and gnu’s… (i mean how could it not be there??)

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