1/165 Glebe Point Road, Glebe, Sydney
4th December 2014
Oh sod off I know I haven’t blogged in over a month. I’m too busy giving people the impression I’m fun and fabulous, cool and aloof. leave me alone. But anyway, gather around my pretties, and let us begin, we have dating to discuss, and holey moley. I’m employed. About facccccking time too…
So. I’m currently Christmas temping for a company called Bing, Harris and Co. – A fancy youth brand featuring hilarious Hawaiian style shirts. It’s not quite the fannying about with the press realises I envisioned for my Australian career but hey, I get to fold tops for a living and ask old ladies just how broad shouldered their grandson is because shockingly, I can’t guess what size he is from you telling me how you just cannot believe how he’s shot up since last time you bought him clothes. The highly enjoyable response of ‘Well he’s not as scrawny as you dear’ got old fast. Why do grandparents always insist on fattening up the youth? I’m quite happy with my spindly limbs currently, I worked bloomin’ hard to achieve them. (Juice diets and alcohol people, juice and booze)
Studies have shown Grandma’s can detect a hungry minor within a radius of 3 kilometres
So that covers the employment section of life catch up. I’m enjoying recommending tops and belts and shoes to customers, I feel just like Saint Angelina Jolie when I assist a panicky elderly person with a purchase for a relative. Actually went in a lift with an old woman today because she is too scared too go in them alone… (god I’m just like a UN ambassador aren’t I?! Oh swimwear madam ? Down on level three, I would show you but I’m busy helping these orphans pick boat shoes)
My current most favourite work game to play is making up total lies about how I had bought the very same shirt a customer is looking at for a formal occasion because I wanted to look chic and on trend. (I don’t own a stitch of Bing Harris clothing, only last week a woman was looking for the top I was wearing in our rails, and I had to inform her that if she went downstairs, across the street and to the left, she would find said garment hanging in Ted Baker. Awkward.) however I still feel like I would prefer a proper job where I have a desk and a phone and more pay and get to book appointments. I want to be a receptionist again Sydney. Why are you making it so difficult ?! So just between you and I, my little online following, I am still applying for other jobs. Naughty.
As usual I continue to spend as much time as the wallet will allow tootling about in places that provide strong and fruity alcohol bevvies. Mainly to play Sex and the City with the gal pals Kati Raine and Lynne Sorrie.
Character Backgrounds:
Kati Raine is from Ross-Vegas and went to school with KRD. Post uni she is gadding around down under. Hobbies include meeting me in the city for post work wine time.
Lynne Sorrie is Kati’s Scottish cousin, also post uni and gadding about. Hobbies include consuming as much alcohol as humanly possible, talking with an enjoyable Scottish accent and constantly being on the pull.
l-R: Paris, Lynn, Nicole and Kati
‘A night out with Lynn’ (I would be the middle one because I’d have matched my shoes to my outfit)
Basically we meet several times a week for normally a weekday dinner and bev. A Friday/Saturday bev. And on Sunday’s tan time or activity and a bev. Did I mention we sometimes like to have a bev ???
Oh what else have I been doing with my time ?
Went to a pretty fun festival in the Botanical Gardens a few weeks ago, danced about clutching a G&T to some house music in the blazing sunshine. (absolute scorcher, had to take actual naps in shade of trees on regular intervals to fight off the ever present and looming death by sunstroke.) had a pretty good time, left fairly early after the only DJ any of us knew, Kygo, finished his set and the sun had set for bedtime. Which leads me nicely to bask in the fact that Snoop Roggy Rog is officially all moved out of my room and I am free to pile my clothes all around me, sleep in weird positions, dance around in pants or wear no pants at all. (always remember to lock door and close windows on such occasions.) She of course has proceeded to turn her room into an exact copy of a gypsy palm reader’s tent with lanterns and clashing patterns and scented candles and frankincense and myrrh no doubt (Okay maybe I exaggerated the last two) Seriously though, each time I go in I think I’ve taken a wrong turn in the corridor and wandered to Marrakesh.
Hilariously she decided to purchase for herself a armchair chair on Gumtree for about a pound or something silly, you know, one of those bouncy IKEA ones that normally have a matching footstool? Anyway being that it’s KRD doing the purchase she of course assumed she could just bring it home on the bus, and that I would assist. Rob being Rob gave her an incredibly sarcastic response and informed her that he would have no part of such a ridiculous plan, but if she would like to document the occasion on film for his later amusement he would be most grateful. ‘But it is only this big‘ she would argue, holding her hands out to mimic an armchair clearly several feet smaller than the real item.
You can imagine the highly enjoyable smug ‘I told you so’ look on my face when she had to rope in the man friend and his car a few days later.
Actual photo of Katy’s room
Well. I say man friend. Actually ex man friend. Katy chucked him because he was a useless and self absorbed man baby who didn’t deserve to have her. But that’s just my unbiased, total outsider and non best friend/soul mate opinion. Together we are embracing total spinsterhood and eventual cat ownership (for Katy that is. I’m having a corgi. And by corgi I mean a couple of corgi’s. And by a couple I mean a fleet. 9. I’m having 9 corgi’s.)
I myself have tested the water in the Australian dating pool. Have been on total of 8 dates between 4 lucky lucky victims. Most of which, to the amusement of the Sex and the City gang, were fairly and utterly disastrous. It is now a running discussion at the start of gatherings to see if I have dated that week and what ridiculous thing this one has managed to do. And as much as I would love to inform you all about it, I will refrain. I can’t do it. Too weird. Too depressing. Dating has ruined my figure. I eat too much on dates and drink to much to get over them. This blog is already far too similar to the ramblings of Bridget Jones. Let us not add in a ‘love’ life too. Let us just all appreciate the fact that I am adorable, British, hilarious and have great hair. Total catch. Oh I’m cute too did I mention cute ?! (also the mother reads this blog and possibly a grandmother, and it would just be a bit weird, don’t you think ?) but we will persevere. ‘Rome wasn’t built in a day’, ‘you’ve got to shake the wheat from the chaff’ and all those other ridiculous cliché sayings that without a doubt stem from disastrous dating. I have had 8 free meals/drinks though, so let’s be honest now. Who’s the real winner here? Lets leave it on the highly amusing fact that one of them did actually cry halfway through date number two…
Gallivanting the Globe 