*ded*

My first photo on my blog as a new wife is just like me - classy.

So I am back from my wedding, which wasn't nearly as bad as I thought it would be. I had some horrible people treat me in some horrible ways (see "I am not a Bridezilla" and then add another 20 crappy things, only from 'friends') right up until the wedding so I was nervous, stressed and basically on the verge of calling the whole thing off. ("Why get married if nobody will be there!?" I cried.)

It was worth it and I'd do it 100 times. The people that were there... well, they were the ones that mattered, now weren't they? Some of my closest friends came hell or high water, risking even death (!) to come to my wedding!

But now, now I know I have surrounded myself with quite possibly the world's best people. I have great taste, I think. Looking around at my wedding at all the people that were there for me just made me realize that it really isn't about quantity, but about quality and damned if my wedding was based on quality guests, I'd get a fucking medal.

At one point I was standing in the aisle and we all realized nobody had my music! My music! What were we going to do? All of a sudden one of my closest friends says to me, "Wait, I have a solution!" and whispers to me. I forgot. My friend.. is an opera singer. And only usually a drunk one. But there we go, stone cold sober and she sings for me. Sings loud and clear and beautifully for me to walk down the aisle. Screw iPods. Screw predone orchestrated music from a speaker system. I accidentally had a live opera singer sing me down the aisle. Beat that from your friends!

I am looking forward to writing out thank you cards. Wedding gifts rule. So thoughtful, really. I want to describe the things I got but I fear if I forget one, I will be just distraught with horror at the idea of offending someone who gave me a fantastic gift. Let it be known though that there wasn't a single damn gift I either didn't need, didn't want or couldn't use a million times over. And I'm hard to shop for!! Some people actually got me kitchen things I didn't have! Who can do that? My friends!

So now it's all over and my mother is gone, the coffee machine broke during the wedding so it's not on the counter, the dishes are all over the place, my candles are in a box in the garage... and sadly when we got home, one of our parrots had to be taken care of until she passed on, so her cage is missing as well. The house feels eerily empty and like we just moved into it - what with living out of laundry baskets and plates on the counter. I'm working on fixing it up - but we're still missing my adorable parrot sounds.

So it really IS like a new beginning for us, I suppose. We're putting away all our beautiful gifts (sheepskin rugs! two person woven picnic sets! digital photo frames! Tupperware! blankets! booze! GOOD BOOZE! Money! Shit I did what I said I wouldn't!) and even our own stuff so it does feel all brand new.

I feel different, the boy doesn't. I feel older and more mature. Possibly because I nearly killed myself with stress. I think I aged 6 years. I also lost some hair. Okay, I lost a lot of hair. But nobody noticed. Nobody even noticed my missing earring (except just before the wedding one whole person did). I stressed for nothing.

So now it's time for peppermint tea and naps. With kangaroos.

The Month of Living - Day 5

I've come to a rather shocking issue that I didn't think would crop up in this adventure. I already live my life pretty much by the seat of my pants as it is! So learning to do it is becoming a challenge because I simply don't know what else I can do.

On the full moon of this month I am joining a couple friends with some runes and Ouija boards in a cemetary to speak to the dead as a fun little adventure, but honestly, I'd probably do that without this month to sponsor the idea. Frankly, I stole the idea from my friend Sharon, who can't make it to the event SHE brought up one day during lunch. Yep, not only do I steal, I don't even bother to make sure the person I stole from can enjoy the event, haha.

I'm also going to see Outback Spectacular this month. I also have plans to drive to the middle of nowhere and skinny dip in a, most likely, crocodile infested river. (It's Australia, it's better to assume things will kill you - and then just get over the idea and do shit anyway).

I am reading this book called Down Under by Bill Bryson and in it, the author travels Australia and tells Australian stories of things he heard. I have been to just about (well, actually, so far, ALL) of the places Bill has mentioned. I even took the same walk along the same path in Bondi he did when he was in Sydney. I even have been to the same exact beach and soaked my toes in the same exact water as the story he told where a kid was severely stung by box jellyfish. I have already BEEN living! For fuck's sake, I jumped in a famous box jellyfish (read: deadliest creature in the WORLD) infested ocean knowing full well it could right kill me.

I have steered a camel across the centre of Australia, in Ayers Rock. I have driven to the countryside and sung Australian folk songs with people missing teeth (and had broken limbs from, get this, bull riding) around a bonfire made of old Bridgestones. I have flashed my ass to 30,000 people at the same time to a group of dirtbike stunt enthusiasts at a Crusty Demons show (and I got $150 for the priviledge!). I made out with a sword swallower seconds before I dakked him in front of the same show to show his girly red lacey knickers. Sad to know, if you were ther, that it was staged, isn't it? The part where I made out with the sword swallower wasn't though - that was just me being a dag, just like the time I stole a pair of footy shorts from a famous Cronella Shark.

I have climbed down unknown stairs in an alleyway in Adelaide without knowing what was in the depths of the rickety wooden dark entrance (an antique shop, with damn good prices, actually). I have mustered cattle in Australia and bought designer heels in LA. I have travelled across the entire damn globe with nothing to my name but a suitcase of clothes and a few hundred dollars.

I have gotten drunk on mead at renfaires. Hell, I've even made the mistake of being married once before (though my divorce papers clearly show a SEVEN YEAR gap in my ability to do THAT one again). I've lived in snow. I've lived in sunshine. I've lived in the shadows of buildings taller than some people can begin to imagine. Hell, I hold almost three passports. Once this year is done, I will have that third one in my hands. I am literally 5 months away from that. After my marriage, my husband can get British and I will hold four. Four damn passports. By the age of 24. How the FUCK am I NOT living already? Honestly.

New experiences are what I do best, damn it. I take the piss out of life and pretty much have little regard for the human capacity to, well, die easily. I think that's what makes me Australian. Yes, I know I'm NOT Australian, but it's what makes me one. Aussies are good at the not fearing death thing. You pretty much have to be to live here. Of course, I've noted, a lot of Aussies really don't live, even though they don't fear death like a normal person does. They go to work, have a beer at the pub, go home, eat dinner and wake up the next day to do it again. Every now and again they dreamily talk about hiring a camper van and settling off to the Outback to 'live', which they finally do when they're somewhere in their late 60s, if they can afford it.

So what, exactly, am I supposed to DO this month? Be myself? The self-improvement aspect of this month is quite nice, however, and I am keeping up with that in getting dancing lessons and singing lessons to tide my learning desire over for the month. After that, I pretty much do exactly what I say already.

I've never stolen a street sign with my name on it (which is more common than a 'roo here to have streets named after me) and I'd like to do that, but that's kinda highly illegal and stupid to post about if I did end up doing it. Part of me is like, "Fuck I'm 24 and I've never done this 15 year old thing of stealing a street sign! I am more mature than that now, so I shouldn't do it." and another part of me is picking exactly where the damn sign should go on my wall. Ha. But really, I doubt theivery is considered living and probably won't do that one. If you see a street sign at my house, I paid for it, really I did.

So now it's time to figure out how to bump my life up a notch. And for the fucking life of me, I don't know how. Suggestions?

Wow!

I just realized how insanely awesome yesterday was. Woke up to a letter from my favourite chef, bought a new outfit for nearly nothing, dyed my hair back to bright bright red, got a well-paying job in Melbourne in a few weeks (I absolutely adore Melbourne) and then my husband took me on a dinner and date movie which was fun and enjoyable and then when we got home I pretended I was a real estate agent trying to sell him our house. It ended well - but I don't think he's gonna buy it. Ha.

I've been having a LOT of fun with life lately and am seriously looking forward to attending more events with people. Problem is I don't like common events. I hate huge crowds and lots of drunk people - just like being at work. yay. I prefer things like dinner parties and sunny days with gardens and drives to the country and wine tasting and things like that. It's hard to make friends like that - everyone in Brisbane seems to be caught up in this 'hip' thing - which is hysterical because I wouldn't say Brisbane is hip at all. It seems like an entirely new thing.

Melbourne is pretty much my exact type of lifestyle. Coffee, food, motorbikes in the city, trams, rainy days, tea shops everywhere, handmade jewellery stalls on the side of the road, gourmet chocolate shops every few feet and quirky little things like potato restaurants, wine and jazz nights in the city (nearly empty as well!) and the lovely Jewish communities. I really feel at home in Melbourne. I just wish my husband wanted to live there.

Brisbane is not like that at all. I feel, lately, Brisbane has been getting into the 'must like rarer music than my neighbour even if it's bad and must only like local art and talent and can't like anything from anywhere else as I dye my hair purple but only in a shade nobody has'. Seriously it's all come out of left field, too. Nobody wants to have quiet drinks at a smooth jazz tapas bar anymore... well, they never did in Brisbane. It went from bogan to trendy-scene in a matter of a year. Bizarre.

So I don't think I mentioned this but I'm actually not married yet. I'm getting married in November. I call Glynn my husband because, well, we're already like a married couple. Insanely in love. Insanely!! I'm talking people make movies out of our life kind of insane. We're just wild about each other and we're almost on year two! Woohoo. We still do tickle fights and pull faces at each other and dance randomly in the livingroom to a cool song. We rarely argue, if at all. So maybe he's not a husband! Ha.

The thing I think that makes the best relationships is a sincere desire to see the other person happy. Glynn hates ducks. If you haven't noticed... I have a duck. I hate having huge things in the garage that never get fixed. And yet, there's a broken down car in there. Been there for months. LOL. Neither of us are mad about it - because I know he'll someday get around to fixing it and replace that with another thing that makes him happy... and I'll be happy with my duck. It doesn't really feel like 'compromise' to me.. just a sincere desire to see him happy, so I go "Meh, what's a broken down car?" and he goes, "Meh, what's a duck?"

Life is... good.