It's been a long time, now I'm coming back home..

WAIT - till I come back to your siiide etc

Ok, that one is for all the Beatles fans out there.

Good grief - has it really been 18months (or more)? A brief run down of my actvities in that time:

I went back to the UK, then high-tailed it home within three months.

I have 'finished' my Masters course, but i'm still waiting for results.

I became an aunty to the cutest niece anyone could have (No - YOUR child is NOT cuter - i don't care what you think).

I got myself a girl in uniform (apparently my earlier posts re: 'bee-eric needs' a policeman was a LOT more accurate than I thought).

Ok, ok, this is all very boring - but I promise future posts to return to my witty (well, at least I think so) comments on the blogsphere...

In the meantime, this should keep you occupied....

Did we mention we were feminists?

The girlfriend and I went to the Burlesque Hour at the Spiegeltent as part of the wonderful Adelaide Fringe Festival. As great as it was, it was an hour and a half of obvious feminist themes. The genderbending (women are just as good as men), the 'dolls' behaving manically (yeah, we know, women aren't just dolls, they are more than that), the japanese girl who turns into a demonic hello kitty (something about the weird obsession with young japanese women, or something), the Victorian woman who changes an expression of grief into one of sexual relief, which took waaay too long (ok we get it, you're sexually repressed). In case you missed all this, late in the second half a woman does a monologue about vaginas (only she didn't use that word...). Oh yes, and there are a lot of boobs in this (this is not the first thing the girlfriend has taken me to something where the performers get their kit off....hmmm..), but they are kind of aggressively shown, as in "here are my boobs, what are you going to do about it??".
Oh yeah, did I mention the feminist themes??
Still it wasn't too bad, and some bits were funny. But my vote still goes for La Clique. If only because this boy in the bath :


is soo sexy I was left questioning my sexuality (if only for 3 seconds...).

Weddings, parties, anything...

As I mentioned in my last post, my sister was getting married. The event has since past. Here are some of my reflections on the various preceedings.

1) I'm not sure why, but my sister, who, while fussy about her appearance, is not exactly what I would refer to as a 'Princess', seemed to think that a total of 11 hours (that's eleven for those who think I mis-typed) in a beauty parlour in the couple of days pre-wedding is an acceptable amount of time for a bride. Ditto brides entourage.

2) No surprises that MOTB and Bride to Be (BTB) were continuously stressing and throwing little tantrums about various wedding details in the lead up. What DID surprise me is that on the day MOTB and BTB were both reasonable and calm. Father of the Bride (FOTB) however was operating like a hummingbird, refusing to sit still and just general behaving like there was a National Emergency.

3) It was hot. HOT hot. Forty fucking degrees. At least it didn't rain I suppose.

4) Apparently the 'Bride leaving the house to go to ceremony venue' checklist does NOT include the bouquet. Fortunately this just resulted in the bride being 'fashionably late'

5) Some of my older and well-adored relations (and by that I mean one particular 88yo aunt*) are not as well behaved as I thought. Cue the old dear looking up the grooms kilt...

6) In each family, there is always one relative who is barely tolerated by other family members, who is likely to get drunk and yell out inappropriately in the speeches and possibly do something later in the night that will never be talked about in polite company. In my family there are 3. Two got drunk and yelled out in the speeches, the 3rd got drunk, pinched other peoples drinks, tried to chat up a friend of the bride (and persisted all night), fell asleep on the stairs of the venue (where the bouncer found him and tried to remove him from the premises) and then 'took a leak' in public. There were no such family members from the grooms side..... (I'm beginning to see why my sister was so keen to change her name.)

7) MOTB believed it was her god-given right to not only get downright plastered, but do so on expensive champagne no-one else was allowed to drink as part of the bar tab. It apparently was also decreed by some higher being that she should leave all monies at home, and make others buy her shooters after most of the guests have gone home. This is also part of the "we have to stay at the pub until closing plan" and the one I like to call "middle-age moshing...on your own".

I like weddings.....

*not an actual aunt, but some cousin of sorts or something, which means it is easier to say 'aunt'

Shopping - with specials

My (younger) sister is getting married. Its great. She's got a nice guy, they already have the house and two dogs, I'm all very happy about it.

But, for various reasons beyond her control, she has had a very short lead-time from setting the date to the actual day. About 7 weeks all told. To organise EVERYTHING.

Fortunately, being 12,000miles or however far away we are from the UK, I have mostly kept out of the whirlwind of activity involved in getting things sorted. At least until I got home.

Most of the major stuff had been done. My sister has a very capable bridesmaud who has assisted with things like getting a dress. Venues had already been booked, invites sent out, cake decided on, celebrant booked. It was all going swimmingly, until the sharks fin appeared on the horizon.

The mother-of-the-bride (also the mother of me, obviously), hadnt got a dress. MOTB also hasnt bought a dress in some years, doesnt like clothes shopping, doesnt like spending money (at least not on herself) and generally has some issues about her 'lumpy bits'.

As I was the only one who hadnt lost patience with her (from not being anywhere near her), I was sent on dress-safari.

*sigh*

Here are some edited highlights:
1st shop
Me: "Red looks great on you, get that dress"
MOTB: "But it shows my lumpy bits"
Me (cheerfully): "Well, they arent that bad, the right kind of underwear will sort that out"
MOTB: "No, that never works, lets try another shop"
Me (still naively optimistic): "ok!"

5th shop
Me: "That looks good, get that one"
MOTB: "its too short, you can see my legs"
Me: "So? get some decent pantyhose, it will be fine"
MOTB: "that will be too hot for summer. Besides, you can see my lumpy bits"
Me (rolls eyes): "your lumpy bits arent as bad as you think, just get some decent underwear"

101st shop
Me: "just buy it"
MOTB: *something about lumpy bits*

You get the idea. This goes on for a few more shops, the converstation about lumpy bits and how to effectively hide them getting more heated as the day wears on.

Finally, we get to the shop where MOTB sees a frock that is soo good she happily tries it on, actually admits her lumpy bits arent as bad as she thinks, and that she could even show a bit of leg. And doesnt even flinch at the thought of spending nearly as much on her dress as my sister spent on the wedding frock.

But she wont take it home...

Why??? Why??!

MOTB: "Well, I just want to wait until they get in the bigger size, just to see if it fits better.

Panic sets in. I know if she is given any more time to think about it, she will change her mind and something will 'magically' happen to the dress to make it no longer perfect.

But I can't get her to change her mind and we leave the dress IN THE SHOP!

Gah!

When the bigger size finally comes in, it is too big, and somehow the original one has become wrong and imperfect. Now we have no dress, and an even more panic striken MOTB.

Two days later she sheepishly admits the dress has been bought, and she has got it home. Not the original dress, oh no, that would be too easy. But instead it is a 'different' dress, only its the same style, colour AND size of the first.

But its better.

Now all she needs is shoes and a handbag.....

There are days when I dont deserve a blog...

I cant believe how slack I get with this blog. I always have some idea to blog, then I never bother to do it.
Anyway, I was reading through the various blogs I visit, and stumbled across this great idea to steal (which I dont feel guilty about since it was already pre-stolen). Basically, for those who arent bothering to click on the link, you enter into google "your name needs"
I googled my real name, or at least the short version of it, and got the following as the top 10.
bee-eric (real name) needs:
1. real love
2. a man
3. to increase my calorie intake
4. protection (from what though, i'm not sure)
5. a catchy slogan
6. a budget
7. an arena for excellence
8. another 'bee-eric needs' list (yup, i got a link to one)
9. help, but doesnt want the police involved
10. to stop stinking

On my real name i'm thinking there is an element of craziness. I'm quite clearly an anorexic who hasnt had a bath in awhile, has no money and possibly needs protection from the police while desperately seeking love from a man.

Its just f***ed up....

So I googled "bee-eric needs":

1. carpet choice
2. a change of diapers
3. to be studied further
4. a policeman
5. a hummingbird
6. to dress up
7. to 8-9 inches
8. to wash my back (what is it with cleanliness??)
9. find out how to access parishioners (why??)
10. study (an extension of 3??)

Bah, a need to wash and police should not be strong themes for my life......

Anyone want to share their top 10??

Men with 'womens troubles'

Working for a brewery, it can be said that the atmosphere is somewhat 'masculine'. It's not as much of a boys club as the last place, but there is still a certain amount of testicle scratching that goes on.
So, I have to say the conversation that went on the other day was a little...disturbing.
See, I used to work in an environment that was predominately female. Also, I was the only one who didn't have any children, I being blessed with a disposition that keeps me well clear of the extra element required to produce rug rats. This meant I had to spend a lot of my time with my fingers in my ears singing 'la la la' at the top of my voice, so I wouldn't have to hear yet another round of 'my experience of giving birth was more painful/gross/surgical difficult than yours'. In excruciating detail, I would hear about stitches, epidurals, blood, after-birth and anything else you can think of that would make even the most strong of stomach want to regurgitate their lunch, as these women would try to outdo each other to see whose pregnancy/birth was the worst. If I ever wanted children, I certainly would have that thought totally kicked out of my system after that.
So it was with great relief that I entered this male-domain of beer making. But it was a feeling that was to be short lived. Yes, to my total disbelief, the boys started a conversation about how incredible gross their wives pregnancy/childbirth was. And the even managed to outdo the women, with one describing in great detail his wife's caesarean, including the bit where the anaesthetic didn't work and she could feel the various surgical procedures being carried out.
It was really gut-wrenchingly revolting.
Bastards.

Helga's, blogs and wankers

Well, I decided to check in on my blog and update it, only to find TWO comments from people I dont know! How exciting! (I mean its great when your mates put comments up, but how cool is it that those just passing by did it too!).
Only problem was that one was one of those retarded spam comments, that invited people to join some online orgy. I would have said yes, but I had to wash my hair that night. Meh, into the bin with that comment anyway.
That covers the "blogs and wankers" part of my post anyway.
So onto the Helga's.
Now, there is some explanation required for this. 'Helga' is the name that myself and my (now) ex girlfriend used when making jokes about an imaginary woman who we had decided came from some Eastern European block country, carried cows for a living and was probably the Elephant Man's ugly sister. (dont even ask how this started, just go with me on this). This link gives you some idea about where we were going with this. Needless to say, when I left to go overseas, my ex made numerous jokes about the 'Helgas' I would end up with after a night on the booze and a judgement made while wearing beer goggles.
Ok, so when I arrived back in the UK, and caught up with my mates, I was asked if I wanted to go to a "Ladies Night" in one of the local pubs. For those of you unfamiliar with the Lesbian pub scene, unless said night is held in a trendy pub/club in the CBD of a major city, it is likely to mostly be attended by Helgas, and should either be avoided or only attended in large groups of your friends.
So after a bit of umming and ahhing, we went, and I have to say, it reached all of my very low expectations. Here are some higlights of the night"

• The night was called "Chickalicious" (no kidding)
• There were coloured stickers available that you could wear to indicate if you were 'available' or not.
• The music was the most tacky 80's and 90's music you could imagine (Shania Twain anyone?), but it wasnt a theme night
• My mate had an argument with the "door bitch" about the cover charge (apparently we shouldnt have to pay a charge here coz we are Aussies, and we dont pay it at home, or something equally as daft)

But I personally liked the two middle aged women who were all dressed up for a night out, and who quite clearly had misunderstood the 'true' meaning of 'Ladies Night'.

Still, if you've been single for a awhile, and your standards are fairly low. Well, get yourself along to one of these nights. Just make sure you have enough cash to pay for the beer goggles...