So i am usually pretty happy with my figure, even when gradually rounding i know a new physically exerting fad is not far away from my daily routine. When reading fashion magazines or watching the Angelina Jolie’s of the world, I have often taken pride and comfort in saying to myself “their not real women, real women don’t look like that”. Well i was wrong. You dont have to travel the world to find these tropical beach babes – just the net.
I am always surfing the net these days mostly looking for new tattoo designs, and i am discovering hundreds of photos of the goddess girls. The worst thing about seeing these stunning figures is my reaction; chocolate, new clothes, maybe a hair cut and more chocolate. None of which helps me to look like this;
It has been fairly wet this weekend in brisbane. Apart from going for a cheeky ride on my new motorbike I have enjoyed chilling with friends and walking in the rain. The rain has been light and intermittent, not too cold or windy; quite pleasant really.
It’s amazing how rain can transform the landscape. As the small droplets plunge toward earth their spherical form and reflective surface shift the light; reflecting it back and forth and bringing movement to the air. I love looking down quiet sidewalks dimly light by warm yellow lamps pouring out onto the road.
When it rains I think of France I picture the impressionists inspired by this common occurrence. Out on the streets painting the scenes with this newly perceived movement and light. I love the rain.
It has been a busy few weeks and I am looking forward to getting the house in order. It’s overcast an I am broke so no elaborate plans this weekend. We have stopped our cleaning service saving us $35 a week. It is amazing how quickly the house gets dusty. My room is a disaster, which to be honest isn’t exactly a rarity, but nevertheless it is due a spruce up. Hopefully I can have all the washing done and the living rooms sorted with enough time to visit the galleries tomorrow afternoon. It has been too long.
Where am I? I miss the small tropical island I called home last year. It is hard drifting back into the society I grew up in. I feel lonely and isolated no matter who is around me. I have fallen back into the habit of doing what I think I should. My job should be fun but I don’t care. My friendships feel superficial and I want more. I feel as though the only people I can relax around are three times my age and I struggle to relate. I have debt and I’m spending more time buying than repaying. Where am I? Home? Where am I?
Blue Mountains trains are a colourful experience! The view is beautiful cherry blossom trees in bloom, wattle lining the tracks and big beautiful gum trees flooding the horizon with their windy knobbly structures they inspire adventure.
However this magnificent view is juxtaposed by the sights sounds and smells that gradually fill the carriage. A group of ‘lads’ enter! Covered in poor taste tattoos and dirty acne, with hairstyles which only attract ‘bogans’ alike, suddenly their language (barely understandable) becomes more and more robust and colourful. It is as if the are performing. Their insecurities in a crowd of respectable community members is obvious as they get louder and louder sharing with the train their ‘cool’ thoughts and ‘fully sick’ plans for the day. Why is it that whatever ‘bogan lads’ enter this trip there is always one who insists on making a very loud and obnoxious phone conversation to which he threatens repetitively “I’m gonna f*%#ing bash u u c&$t u f&$@ing mole u is so ugly b&$ch…” etc etc . This display reminds me of the chiwawa. So much barking and carrying on to compensate for their size and insecurities. I wish I had headphones to crank some fat freddys drop and stop listening to their crackly distorted phones playing a soundtrack you would imagine fills bad taste clubs in Sydney on Sunday… Oh my! They make the teen mums in the other carriage seem sophisticated. This train is no place for children. I manage to engross myself in this blog and avoid eye contact at all costs. However when the overweight ring master of the group bends over In front of you to reveal his huge white hairy pimply ass with a shocking rose tattoo creeping into frame attempting to cover up the noticeably scrawl of ‘Jenny C’ (a past fling in sure) one cannot help but cringe and say “excuse me there is someone sitting here. Can you cover up please and not be so loud!” Only to now have their attention… Oh god what have I done! “youz can alwayz go to d fu@$ing quite carriage! Dats wat itz for u mole” yuck! To my surprise people have joined the cause, an assortment of ‘please be quiets’, ‘this is a shared carriage’ and ‘please use your headphones’ erupts and we get no where… With this moment the rest of us are united by a common enemy. Sharing looks and rolling our eyes… Only to be interrupted by an announcement (at last) “please be quiet when on mobile phones and use headphone when listening to music so everyone on the train can enjoy the trip. Thank you”. Aha! Back up has arrived. Now confident we are doing the right this we join forces once more and insist peace and quiet. No luck. However the boys are running out of vocabulary quickly and to avoid embarrassing themselves further they decide to use headphone after signing off with a flighty “shutt up all youz f&$)ing moles wat r youz the f@&$ing trainz police!” and finally we have peace!
The children are allowed to play again and a quite mumble of scattered conversations return.