The New Black

The Rainy City

Between briefing notes, reports, planning documents, conference agenda reports and three separate uni assignments, I'm all written out. However, you will now doubt be pleased to hear that, even though I dragged him through every single shoe shop in the city at least twice, the Boy and I had a cracker of a time in Melbourne. (didn't we, darling?) Much cuteness was purchased in Genki , many photos of street art were taken (to follow) and  truly gluttonous amounts of food were eaten, including second servings  of deliciousness from Babka and Cookie. Also, there was an Ayatolla Khomeini lookalike on our flight home, which was randonly amusing, and almost made up for the fact my mini break was at an end. Almost.

Off Like A Prom Dress

I’m heading to Melbourne for a weekend of comedy, gluttony and shopping.

See you on the other side of the weekend!

Drink Tequila And Look For Seashells

Pretty much all I've done this Easter is sleep, study and mooch about. I have a strong suspicion that giving up coffee and easter chocolate was the tipping point in making  this possibly The Most Boring Easter On Record TM. But rather than spend the last three days curled in the foetal position attempting to process severe caffeine-and-chocolate-withdrawal, I've been going on walks. Long walks. On the beach, with....my camera. In lieu of having anything more exciting to share, here, have a photo of the sunset at Bronte Beach.

Gargoyle, Rinse, Repeat

Do you think anyone will notice I have nothing much to say if I keep posting photos with vaguely witty captions? Me either!  (But you may notice if I publish draft posts. whoops.)

I'm still trying to get over last week.  Last Monday was all "Hey, over here!" and I didn't even notice Tuesday sneak up behind and suckerpunch me. Friday was still beating me about the chops by the time the weekend rolled around. Which is my excuse for spending half the weekend in bed. (No, not like that. sleeping) and the other half drinking hot cocoa and watching family programming. It's a downward slide that can only end in a worrying overconsumption of sherry and BBC dramas.

Further proof that I am past it: I read an article today about how "career drive outlasts ovaries" so us ladies, women and girls should put work on the backburner and start poppin' out babies. The article advised that the best age to start was 25, which means that, having celebrated my 26th birthday earlier this year, the only likely pitter patter of little feet in my future is of the four-legged tabby variety. 

Crazy Brave

There are some things we need to talk about, you and I.

For starters, my singing. My out-of-tune singing along to bad top 40 pop. In the car. I can’t stop myself. Worse, I don’t want to.

The laughing for no reason. There is a reason, but it’s usually something obscure involving William Shatner, parrotfish and yacht zombies. Really, you probably wouldn’t find it funny even if I could stop chuckling long enough to explain.

Also - forgive me - the lustful thoughts about Fresh Pepper and Eddie Perfect (Amateur pastry chefs and professional cynics do it for me. Sue me. )

I know that in admitting these brazen truths to the internet, I've showed all the decorum of an underage hussy at Schoolies after four Bacardi breezers. And there's no excuse - I should know better. I used to post daily snippets to a blogspot site. Then my old workmates found out. That they never actually found the site didn't stop them taunting me. "Who would want to read about someones boring life?" And they're right. Why would anyone share their personal thoughts with a bunch of random strangers on the net - or worse, people they know?

It could be a sick compulsion. But it just might be that hearing other people's stories and sharing your own makes you feel just a little less alone and a little more understood. Because they get it - whether it is a deep appreciation of James Spader, or deep-seated insecurities.

I find these people more interesting than my former colleagues: The girls who'd giggle naughtily as they discussed their Brazilian bikini waxes, but wouldn't change in front of everyone at the gym because they're afraid they weren't normal. The boys who talked up how much skirt they were gettin' when what they really meant was, "I can't believe she got engaged to someone else." And of course, the collective denial that anything was actually going on under the carefully polished surface. It would be so easy to follow suit. In the interests of not being that girl, I confess to the following:

• I have an entire genre on my iTunes devoted to Eurovision songs. This does not include a         separate category for other random and amusing Europop like “The Numa Numa song."
• I hate my job. Hate it. I stay because of the harbour view and the salary that covers exorbitant Sydney rent plus the shoes and drinks it takes to distract me from the daily drama of work. 
• I've made my mother cry. More than once.
• There's been idle talk about moving in together. I'm not sure how I feel about this development. Inner Martha is hovering above my right shoulder, whispering sweet nothings into my ear about matching, monogrammed towel sets. Inner Joan Jett is bitchslapping me from the left.
• Some days, I still feel like the gawky, argumentative debating geek I was in high school.

So now you know. Hit me with your best shot.

Message

 Out of my mind. Please leave a message.

 

Fresh Start

So, they tell me getting back to blogging is the thing - the new black as it were. And so much has happened in the last six months, I just didn't know where to begin: I thought to myself, "we're gonna need a montage!" Unfortunately, my multimedia skills don't stretch to posting slow-mo videos of me frolicking in sunlit meadows and engaging in activities bracketed with "madcap" and "tomfoolery." Yet.

I was a little disappointed about not being able to share, until I remembered, lists! Everyone loves a list!

So, since last time, Dani has: been promoted, developed new and exciting work issues, moved apartment again, quit smoking (for good), watched too many friends move overseas, played with fire, got burned, plotted her escape, got sidetracked, enrolled in a marketing degree, travelled to Hong Kong, not read nearly enough good books or had nearly enough adventures, broken hearts all over town, and missed you.

And now I've decided to make a fresh start. This is a small part of it, and I don't to give away too many clues just yet, but let's say once those mad montage skillz are polished, you can expect to see lots of madcap cv-drafting, plan-writing, just-plain-general-writing, travel planning, house-hunting tomfoolery set to a rockin' "eye of the tiger" soundtrack for your viewing pleasure.