wingingittheblog

[wingingittheblog]

Coffee is Essential...

If there was one thing I wouldn’t be able to live without in this life, it wouldn’t be some form of emotional construct like love, nor would it be something fickle, like a house or a bed. It would be Campos coffee. 

I was shocked and confused to see Scott Morrison neglecting to explicitly name Campos as an essential item. I can assure you, that if I were Prime Minister, that would be right at the top of my proper and important list of essential items.

Before I delve into the wonder that is campos allow me to clarify that the Campos that I am referring to is not the general brand but rather a safe haven of happiness and bean juice that is located in a specific spot in a temptingly close proximity to my home in Sydney...

Let me assure you that three years ago, I wasn’t a coffee drinker. The most I would drink would be the odd instant coffee mix in for if I were staying up studying for an assignment. This all changed when I moved away and met one of my best friends; a coffee addict, Tate. Tate could probably drink coffee like its water and it would have no effect on her whatsoever. Me, on the other hand, would have one sip of a dirty chai and spiral into cardiac arrest (I wish I could tell you that my coffee tolerance has since gotten better. It hasn’t).

Dirty chais, mochas and cappuccinos became a standard for Tate, my other pal Carmel and I at an overpriced coffee shop on campus where the baristas were always cranky, or at an outdoor shipping container at a local community garden that had English Ivy dangling from the ceilings (a personal favourite). Semester 2 soon rolled around and the need for bean juice became stronger for Carmel, Tate and I. So, every day after our study sesh in an old decrepit library (that wasn’t really a library because there are NO BOOKS IN THAT BUILDING LET ME TELL YOU and also it smells like feet), we would make our way to Campos for a double shot ice latte adrenaline extravaganza. 

Just incase I haven’t made it clear, Campos coffee is STRONG. Like take one sip and you’re good to go for three days straight strong. Which is kind of why I didn’t go there very often to start with. I liked my English ivy shipping container coffee to go, and to be honest, sometimes I kind of miss it. Early last year, I went to campos with boyfriend who wasn’t my boyfriend yet and that’s when the frequent revisits began. I remember one of the first times I made my way up to campos with him to meet one of his siblings, and I ordered a cappuccino and boy oh boy I have never seen more disappointment in that boy’s eyes. So I’m a latte girl now (like literally every white girl ever) but to shake it up, sometimes I’ll have a flat white. 

(Boyfriend often refers to this experience to claim that he introduced me to Campos, however I would like to use this blog post as a public forum to let him know that he did not xoxo).

Nevertheless,  Campos became a particularly frequent place of refuge for boyf and I, and let me explain to you why (aside from the fact that he is a coffee snob and won’t go anywhere else):

Campos is a small and skinty shop. You walk in and you’re met with windows on one side lines with mirrors to give off the illusion of more space (which there is not because it is TINY). You are greeted by a nice barista named Dan who always remembers my name and never remembers boyf’s to my enjoyment and his indignation. There is a really cool tap thing where you can pour yourself water but you get to pick whether its sparkling or flat water and I’m not gonna lie, that excites me every single time. Theres always pretty good tunes in the back ground and a hustle and bustle of happy customers and staff, and I suppose a sufficient amount of plants…. 

And on top of all this, I am yet to have a crappy cup of coffee from Campos… So there’s that…

Once a year, Campos replaces their ridiculously over priced affogato with an easter affogato which is basically the same thing as a normal affogato except THAT IT HAS AN EASTER EGG IN IT (allowing it to be raised to top tier of happiness inducing consumable goods). I had literally been talking about this easter affogato since the end of February, and was waiting eagerly for it to appear on the menu so that I could eat about 35 of them consecutively. Unfortunately, due to A PANDEMIC, that wonderful day did not come. I feel personally victimised, and I wouldn’t be surprised if that has been the sole reason for the decline in mental health worldwide over the past 6 weeks. 

For now at least, I’m going to have to settle for my morning routine of drinking black coffee with my Dad while we sit on the couch and watch the morning news as the sun rises. But Campos, I’ll be back for you.

[wingingittheblog]

It’s all in your head!!!

So let me share with you a thing. A thing that I knew, and then forgot and then had to re-learn and remind myself that I knew it all along.So much of who you are and how you perceive yourself, and how others perceive you, is in your head.It might seem blatantly obvious, but allow me to elaborate...

Every day, every thing that you do is an action that subconsciously leads to your overall identity. Whether it’s smiling at someone when you greet them, or taking your 6 mugs downstairs or watering your plants. Every action that you do, leads you to a constantly evolving and changing sense of who you are.

Growing up, I was a pretty clumsy kid. Like- I would sit on a chair and then fall straight off it kind of clumsy. My friends and family knew me as an accident prone child, and therefore I percieved myself as that too. Accepting that I was clumsy kind of made me more clumsy? And when I moved to university and got to reconstruct my identity, I forgot that I was clumsy… and then… did less clumsy things? And then I went home and was reminded that I was clumsy, and I’ve been a pleb with no spatial awareness ever since...

On top of being the clumsy child, I was also the “poorly child”- the one that was always sick. Tonsilectomys, appendectomy, endoscopies and a bajillion doctors visits later, me or my family still don’t know what’s wrong with me. Granted, some of these things couldn’t be helped (You can’t placebo your way out of a ruptured appendix), but if I hadn’t allowed myself to be labelled as the poorly child, I don’t think Id’ve been to half as many doctors appointments as I have been in the last 12 months. (This also might sound like total wish wash to some people, but I genuinely believe that at least a proportion of it has been held down to how I had labelled myself, and how others had labelled me). 

My family, particularly on my mothers side are “notoriously vague”. In particular, my sister and I. I cannot even begin to tell you how many times I’ve visited my nana, and been told “gosh you’re vague aren’t you?”. At times, comments like these are passed on to my mother or whoever is in the room while I’m “being vague”, and then there’s me asking myself “am I vague?” And “I guess if I didn’t pick up that I’m vague, I must be pretty vague” (Please excuse the amount of times I’ve used the word vague in this paragraph).

BUT It wasn’t until someone told me that he thought that I was clever that I allowed myself to see myself in that light? I was able to look back on my previous achievements and realise that I’m really not that vague at all. Sometimes deep in thought perhaps, but not vague. As soon as I was able to recognise that, I found myself in the library more often. More on top of my assignments. More enthusiastic about learning. And sometimes (not all the time) with better grades than before. I have allowed intelligence to become part of my identity. Ok- maybe not complete concrete intelligence, but if nothing else a value and determination to practice it. As such, it has become part of my identity. The other day I was complaining to boyfriend (apologies that he comes up so much in my blogs, he’s more or less the only person I talk to lel) about how I didn’t want to write a 4000 word essay. But then he said “Bella, you like writing essays, this is like your dream assignment”. And then I realised, “Bella, you like writing essays, this is like your dream assignment”. It’s pretty crazy how much one little mindset shift can change everything.

At the end of 2018 (after a pretty shocking blow to my self esteem thanks to a boy who shall not be named), I found myself constructing what my friends liked to call “Bella 2.0”. Bella 2.0 radiated happiness. She was fit, she was confident and she was the best version of herself that there had ever been. At some point, life and a negative image of myself got in the way, and I lost Bella 2.0, but in hindsight, I realised that by me telling myself that qualities like confidence and happiness and fitness were important to me, and that Bella 2.0 had these qualities, they started to materialise. (And I suppose this is where a lot of theory from the Law of Attraction and Atomic Habits and all that jazz is enacted- do some further reading).

After a particularly recent funk that I’ve only just slapped myself in the face to get out of, I’ve realised that I was allowing my sadness and anxiety about the COVID-19 pandemic embody itself into my identity. I had rock bottom self esteem, was irritable, anxious and a big ol sad boi, and this affected my every action. But the thing is, I’m not an anxious and depressed and cranky person. I’m a happy and kind and confident and probably a little bit silly person, who loves to laugh and loves to love (as lame as that sounds) and loves to learn. I am a reader and a writer and a baker and a gardener. (Also take note that I here have said “I am” rather that “I am going to be”, because it makes a more immediate shift in identity rather than setting otherwise unattainable goals). 

Now, I’m not too sure how this newfound epiphinous perception of myself will last. It is ultimately dependent on the tiny almost invisible habits and actions that I choose to embed into my daily routine which will alter the way I perceive myself, the way others perceive me and the way I perceive how others perceive me. I’ll let you know how it goes. 

In the mean time, who do you want to be?

Actually, let me rephrase that…. 

Who are you?

[wingingittheblog]

The List Maker

I’m not sure if you’ve noticed from my previous posts, but I’m a little bit of a sucker for lists. Ok, a lot of a sucker for lists. I rely on lists for ultimate mental composure and therefore sanity. According to boyfriend, my daily routine is

1.Write a list

2.…

And that sounds about right to me!

Recently, I saw a naturopath and had to fill out a questionnaire. When they asked for my hobbies, I put down list writing... In hindsight, I’m not really sure why? But the naturopath said in her 30 year career, not once has anyone written “writing lists” as a hobby...

I’m not sure why I rely on lists so much. Every day, I write myself a daily to do list with things as simple as “shower” and “make bed” on it.  I usually get pretty stressed if I don’t tick everything off my to do list every day. 

Allow me to indulge you in the feeling that occurs when you tick something off said list:

A warm ray of sunshine trickles gently in through your window to rest upon your face. The scent of fresh coffee and productivity tickles your nostrils as you breath in a serendipitous sigh of contentment. For a millisecond, your mind is clear and you can hear the chirping of birds as they flit about in the distance.

Don’t believe me? Try it!

OK, but in all seriousness, the second my brain feels a little bit clogged, I write a list. I write so many lists, that in my 2019 list book, I had a table of contents for the lists that I wrote.

Below, is a list of lists that I have had the pleasure of composing (mostly when lectures are boring or I am procrastinating a credible and pressing task on my actual to do list):

1.Baking recipes I want to try

2.Cooking recipes I want to try

3.How many ways to cook an egg (I cross this one off after I have perfected said egg)

4.Books to read (that I never get a chance to read because I’m too busy writing lists about them

5.The plants that I have (including scientific names of plants and how to care for them)

6.Assignment lists

7.Things that I should put into my daily list because I have been neglecting them

8.Things that I would buy if I had a million dollars

9.University dates throughout the year

10.Random acts of kindness that I’d like to do one day (that I probably won’t ever get the chance to do)

11.Qualities of people in my life that I admire

12.Songs that I’ve written

13.Songs that I’ve written that aren’t completely shit (this one, at this stage is just a title)

14.Reasons why Mr Darcy is the most relatable character of all time

15.Reasons why Colin Firth’s Pride and Prejudice is inferior to the Keira Knightly Pride and Prejudice

16.Pros and cons between Melbourne and Sydney

17.Another list of books to read 

18.A list of my favourite quotes from my friends

19.Cocktails to make

20.Types of bread to bake

21.Bucket list

22.Creative bucket list

23.Travel bucket list

24.A list of plants that I would like to buy

On top of this, I’ve also written myself list formulated timetables for how/when I should be drinking water/ exercising/ sleeping/ etc etc, because for some reason, it feels better to write these things down instead of just do them like a normal person.

Even now, that I’ve written a list of lists, I feel an enormous weight being lifted off my shoulders. I’m not sure why, but It feels really, really good.

So, I encourage you all to write a list. Of whatever you like. Send it to me. Tell me if it made you feel as liberated as it does me? I’d be intrigued to know.

And now, before I clock off for the evening, I’m going to write a list of all of the things I’d like to do tomorrow.

Goodnight.

[wingingittheblog]

The CYCLE of Life

Surprised?

2 blogs within 24 hours?

Me too!

As in my previous post, I mentioned that during isolation, I have been trying to teach myself how to ride a bike. It’s been a tumultuous three week journey, and I’d love to tell you that I am an A Level, Tour-De-France level cyclist, but alas, I really, really suck.

You might be wondering how this cycling hobby came about? 

Well, my boyfriend is a lycra-wearing, road bike obsessed cycling fiend. He wakes up at 5 o’clock in the morning, smashes a banana, gives me a sleepy kiss on the forehead before facing the world with two wheels and a helmet, and usually his siblings. Yes, the whole family can cycle for hours on end. I, on the other hand, have not touched a bike since I was about 12, and can barely pedal in a straight line. Perhaps you can understand my hesitance to get on a bike and ride through busy Sydney to centennial park at 5 o’clock on a Monday morning?

Beloved boyfriend has been trying to get me on a bike since before we started dating. I remember the first time he took his bike out with me. I was doing a walk around the harbour with my friends, and he met us down there with his bike, Tracey. 

After a lot of encouragement (and probably a bit of peer pressure too), I found myself clambering on to Tracey and slowly beginning to pedal. Tracey was a pretty streamlined road bike. Nothing like the clunky fixed-gear bright-pink-streamer-clad bike I was used to from when I was 12. 

And so I did a dumb thing. I got excited about being able to pedal in a straight line, turned my head around to boyfriend with a “LOOK AT ME! I’M DOING IT” face, and then proceeded to crash into a bush. Smooth Bella. Smooth.

The second time boyfriend tried to get me on a bike was about another 6 months later (I think he was a bit shell shocked from the bush-crashing episode). He had just bought a new bike and he wanted to teach me some riding techniques (like gear changing, which is probably the most basic bike thing ever and I DIDN’T KNOW HOW TO DO IT!).

We were riding up and down a long, hilly driveway, and I was really getting the hang of things. 

I think now would probably be a good time to mention that boyfriend is an ENTIRE FOOT taller than me. The bike I was riding was also made for someone who is an entire foot taller than me. So try your best to visualise me sprawled across a bike frame, stretching forward to reach the handle bars and pedals at the same time. Also try to visualise the fact that I was incredibly unfit and struggled to pedal up and down the driveway even once…

ANYHOW, there I was, zooming down the hill, when I went to change to a lower gear. I reached up to change the gear, and instead squeezed the brake, leaving me to skid, topple, and crash into a bush. Yet again.

Since then, I have been incredibly hesitant to hop back on a bike. There’s only so much embarrassment a gal can take. But, nothing would delight me more than to have the ability to wake up, go for a casual ride with boyf to some place pretty and have a morning coffee after. So I vowed to myself that I would get myself a bike. And teach myself to ride it. And boy, is that so much easier said than done.

My brother-in-law lent me his bike at the beginning of quarantine. It’s a flat bar mountain bike, but it gets the job done. Or it has since I’ve figured out how to use the gears. After my first ride, I insisted it was broken because I found it hard to push my way up the hill on my street. Nope, turns out bike riding is just hard. 

I am yet to exceed 5km/h and I can’t really ride for more than half an hour at a time. I have a newfound hatred for up hill slopes, even at the slightest gradient, but I have to admit that there is a rush of excitement that comes from zooming down a hill with the wind in your face.

And so, I’m going to try my best to keep at it. I don’t know how long it will last for. At this rate, I don’t think I’ll ever be fast enough to match boyfriend’s slow-level pace. But the fact of the matter is that I’m trying. And if I can’t ride a bike with him to some place pretty, I guess I’ll just meet him at the coffee shop.

[wingingittheblog]

What to do in Newcastle airport:

As I have previously mentioned, I am off on a week long expedition to Melbourne with my two high school besties Lara (the tall one) and Sophie (the chatter box).

This expedition means that we must first go to Newcastle Airport, to then fly to Melbourne.

One thing you should know if you didn’t already is that Newcastle Domestic Airport is a HOLE. It’s literally a large shed that encloses security, a red rooster (which I didn’t realise was still up and running in Australia), and an overpriced convenience store.

I will now endeavour to detail what we did in the lead up to our flight to Melbourne. Perhaps you could use it as inspiration next time you find yourself in a shithole airport.

On second thought... maybe don’t use it as inspiration.

Here goes:

1. Arrive at airport- Darling Sophie is a liiiiiiiiittle bit of a stress head. So we arrived TWO HOURS EARLY- ok maybe not two hours. But when you’re stuck in a shed with red rooster it feels like a lot longer than it actually is.

2. Scream MELBOURNE BABY!- This has been my addition to the trip so far. It is my plan to utter this sentence at every opportunity that presents itself until Lara and Sophie lose it. So far, the tally is eleven. Lara still thinks it’s funny, but I after screaming it when depositing my bag at check in I saw a glint in Sophie’s eye that made me realise I may not live to see tomorrow..

3. FIND FOOD- I soon realise airport food is expensive. I buy some chippies.

4. Eat the chippies.

5. Get sad that chippies no longer fill the void that is Newcastle airport

6. Look at the weather forecast in Melbourne

7. Complain about the weather forecast in Melbourne

8. Check watch

9. Check flight details

10. Check watch again

11. Decide to go and buy some gum (to distract myself from my irrational fear of flying)

12. Read that the gum price tag was $6!!!! OK IM SORRY but I don’t care how limited the gum is in this shed. I WILL NOT pay $6 of my shitty university budget to buy some flavoured chewy stuff to distract myself from my impending doom. I may as well forget the gum.

13. Buy a smaller pack of gum

14. Complain to tall friend that pack of gum was going to be $6! WHO WANTS TO PAY $6 FOR SOME GUM?! I’m sorry! No. Just no. Outrageous.

15. Realise that $6 gum would have been better value for money.

16. Mentally bash head against table.

17. Realise tall friend has gum (thanks for letting me know Lara)

18. Mentally bash head against table harder

19. FINALLY board the plane

20. Cry

21. Land

22. Scream MELBOURNE BABY!!!

23. Hide behind tall friend so as not to be decked by smaller but much more aggressive friend.

So the “MELBOURNE BABY” thing became a bit of a catch phrase by the end of the trip... to my small aggressive friend’s disapproval.... and I probably nearly got murdered for it. But let me tell you, there’s nothing quite like Melbourne baby.

[wingingittheblog]

1800 COVID CRAZY

Dear Blog Readers, (AKA Lara… Hi...),

Thanks for tuning in!Once again, it’s been a while because I am unable to commit to anything as I suffer from perpetual laziness.

With the rise of COVID-19, I’ve been hearing a lot of people say “This is the one time in your life that you will have the time to do the things you’ve always wanted to do”. For me, that’s writing. However, instead I find myself knee deep in choreography to “savage” in order to feed my promising Tik Tok career.

At the beginning of March, I was forced to leave my living situation in Sydney and return to my hometown due to the Corona Virus outbreak. I know I’m not the only one in this position; crammed inside with your family seeking temporary joy from the refrigerator and Netflix binges. A month in, and we’re going stir crazy to say the least. We are craving human interaction outside of our helicopter mum, hard-working dad and excruciatingly annoying brother.

I prove this thesis through an anecdote that happened today:

I accompanied my mother to the post office to post some bits and pieces. As we were driving, my mum was eager to see what shops were open within the town. She craned her neck out the window saying “OOH the HAIR DRESSER IS OPEN! Maybe I’ll get my hair cut”, and “Why are there no clothes shops open, but the chainsaw shop is? Chainsaws are hardly essential…”.She was particularly excited to see the door open to our local gift shop. So excited, that she missed the turn off to the post office and we went through the entire ‘what-shops-are-open -in-town saga' all over again.

After our trip to the post office, Mum proceeded to window shop next door. Window shopping led to actual shopping. Or perhaps, just talking to the poor cashier out the front who clearly did not want to talk about the weather and the number of Australia-wide Covid cases with my mother. Alas, after quite some time, I was able to heroically escape the shop with my mother begrudgingly in tow, and return to our humble abode where we shall remain until June.

Sadly, many of you will not have the delightful opportunity to discuss weather prospects with cashiers during this time. So instead, I will fill you in on what I have been doing during my time in isolation so that you may (hopefully) gain some inspiration to get off Tik Tok, and do something more meaningful with your time.

The first thing I’ve done is pretty stock standard. Some call it “isolation baking”, but I (as quoted by Olaf the snowman) like to call it “controlling what you can when things feel out of control”.To be honest, this has been my sole pass time.  From pretending I’m Maggie Beer in “The Cook and the Chef” when stirring a cake mix, to complaining to no one in particular that I can’t reach my full potential without a candy thermometer, I have successfully assisted in my family cumulatively gaining about 15 kilos.

The second thing I’ve been doing is Uni (blech), except I haven’t really been doing this. I’ve been telling my mum that I have a class so she won’t disturb me, before closing my door and having a nap.

I’ve been gardening, rather impatiently. Riding a bike (more on this later), pretending I’m a ballerina during my barre workouts and painting some Bob Ross paintings with my family (again, a story for another day). And now, I’m writing.

If these do not sound like particularly enticing or inspiring things to do, then allow me to share with you a list of other things that you should definitely do during lock down (because when will you get to do this ever again?

Tap dance while you’re waiting for your microwave to hit zero

Make a daisy chain and try to use it as a sling shot to fling at your beloved sibling

Make a sourdough starter. Name it Greg. If it dies, hold a funeral.

Make door signs for your family, complete with a novelty meme with their face photoshopped onto it.

Curl your hair into tiny (and I mean tiny) ringlets and pretend that you’re Cindy Lauper

I hope that these suggestions will suffice for now.

Try not to go too stir crazy during this difficult time!

All the best.

[wingingittheblog]

Blog 3- I’m emotionally unavailable (lol)

Good evening chums, today I’m here to talk to you about love. And life. More specifically, my love life. Or lack there-of.

Now, I like to tell myself that my relationship status is by choice. I mean, surely I could have someone if I wanted right? I mean, sure, opportunities have presented themselves in the past. And should I have taken them? Absolutely. Did I take them? Absolutely not. Why is that you ask? Because I, my dear friends, am well and truly, undoubtedly, 100% completely fucked in the head. You heard it here first folks, I’m emotionally unavailable.

Now, this might make sense if I had some form of long, convoluted story about how people have wronged me in the past and now I have serious trust issues or something. But the truth is, I have absolutely no reason for my inability to let myself into a relationship. My parents aren’t divorced. I haven’t reeeeaally had my heart broken. I’ve lived a perfectly adequate and privileged life. So why? Why the actual heck am I like this?

And so, my friends, I will give you a brief history of my barely there love life, and perhaps you can decipher this for me.

It all began in pre-school. I was four years old and I had somehow managed to get two boyfriends. It all started with Zane. One morning Zane and I were the first ones at pre school and we were playing with shapes that you stick on a magnetic board. Zane showed me that you could turn the square shapes into diamonds by turning them on their sides. I fell in love with Zane. Then there was Angus. Angus and I used to play Mums and Dads in the playground. I loved Angus too. So what did I do? I let them both be my boyfriend. Yup. I was a four year old two timer. I reached my peak way too young.

Primary school was full of harmless crushes but nothing more. I was dedicated to my studies. (By studies I mean sucking up to the teachers in the hopes of getting a star to put on the sticker chart).

Then came high school. My first high school boyfriend lasted 2 days. The first day we held hands on the bus all the way home. The second day he found out I didn’t like coffee ( I was like 14, chill) and dumped me. I was surprisingly unfazed.

I got my second high school boyfriend in year 9. He had read hair and was a classic larrikin type. We dated for a month and didn’t kiss the whole time (because my mum told me not to get caught up with boys). I felt like dating someone in high school was irresponsible because it took away from my studies (note- this is the same person who was not responsible enough to look after so much as a goldfish). Then I got a crush on boyfriend’s friend. I broke up with boyfriend. Whoops.

My first kiss was in year 11. It was for a school play. I somehow managed to land leading lady and it was scripted that I had to kiss Mr McDreamy in the play ( I was in love with Mr McDreamy at the time). I hadn’t read ahead in the script one day, when we were blocking one particular scene. “Do I do it?” McDreamy asked the director. The Director granted permission. Next thing I know I was kissing McDreamy (RESULT). Little did I know that the kiss was supposed to be followed by me slapping him in the face (Like I said, I didn’t read the script). So, the following minutes were slightly awkward as McDreamy and bystanders waited expectantly for a slap whilst I stood there, doe eyed and blushing. Good one Bella. You’ve really outdone yourself. I will skip over the following years, but they were full of mindless crushes, the odd date and a few cheeky late night kisses. But what ever fire kindled always fizzled pretty darn quick. Each time someone gets close to something more, I run away faster than a fat kid runs to pizza without even realising it. (Yes yes very sad Bella. This is your impending doom.)

I may be as  emotionally unavailable as fuck, but I can offer you 3 pieces of advice: If you fall in love with someone you’ve never met and they have nice hair, its probably only because they have nice hair If you like someone, don’t get your friend to pretend to be you and send them a message, and then delete your entire social media profile so the message disappears, and then re-download all social media and do the exact same thing all over again. The result won’t change. I promise. If you’re trying to flirt with someone, do not- I repeat, do NOT- steal their microwave and try and sell it on gumtree.

[wingingittheblog]

Blog 2- A Family Christmas

A family Christmas is a dichotomy. You either love it or you dread it. Each year, the Nolan  clan gather together for a hearty Christmas lunch, a swim in the pool and a good ol’ game of backyard cricket. This year, it was our turn to host, and I was just praying that we would make it out alive.

CHRISTMAS EVE:

My mum’s sister’s family, the Green’s as well as Mum’s brother Drew (and spouse), my Aunty Megan and Nana all made their way up to our hometown on Christmas Eve. The Ghattas’s were staying with my sister Amanda’s family, and they promised Nana that they would meet us at the local church for Christmas Eve mass.

Naturally, Mum, Nana, Megan and I were 5 minutes late for the service, and so Mum left me to take Meg and Nana to find seats while she found a place to park the car. Leading an extremely opinionated 80 something year old and an aunty with Down Syndrome into an already full church and attempting to find seats was no simple task. We found two seats toward the back which Meg and Nan took after 5 minutes of incredibly slow (almost waddling) pace walking around the back of the church. This left me to find another seat for Mum and I elsewhere. The mass was very possibly the worst one I have ever been to as the following events occurred before my very eyes:

The Priest devised that the word “Christmas” is made up of the two words “Christ” and “Mass” (Groundbreaking, really).

As my youngest nephew walked into the church, he said “Woah! Churches are actually real?!” ( I don’t know if you can tell, but my family aside from my darling Nana, are not terribly Catholic).

As the priest said “Let us pray”, my older nephew looked around bewilderedly, before assuming the ‘meditating monk’ position.

Aunty Megan sung her rendition of “joy to the world, the lord’s a trout”, which apparently are the correct lyrics to the song.

Meanwhile, the atheists of my family sat around the pool, cracking open some beers and talking about anything and everything other than Christ Mass.

CHRISTMAS DAY:

Christmas Day was not short of it’s own mishaps.My mother was slaving over a hot stove preparing lunch as the rest of us bummed around, chatting and whatnot. It was mid morning when my younger cousin asked me to sneak her a cruiser. I obliged, but ingeniously disguised her cruiser in a glass in lieu of a Raspberry Schweppes because her parents weren’t to keen on the idea of alcohol. But, my ever suspicious Uncle almost immediately asked for a sip of her drink. I was hoping that the sickening sweetness of the cruiser would disguise any underlying vodka tones, but whilst he didn’t say anything, I could see the disapproving look in his eyes. Busted.

One of my family’s favourite pastimes is a little game we like to call “Let’s see who can piss Nana off the most and potentially be written out of her will”. The winner of  the game on the sunny day of the 25th of December was my almost-brother-in-law, Damon. Somehow, the story of the Three Wise Men who bore gifts to Jesus came up in conversation. My Nana was going off about what a beautiful story it was until Damo piped in. “If three men show up at a crib bearing gifts to a baby who’s mother claims to be a virgin, don’t you think that’s a little suspicious? Forget Divine Intervention. One of those Wise Men have gotta be the father”. My grandmother stared at Dame for a couple of seconds, blinked a couple of times, and then walked away. Yup. Damo’s outa the will.

Alas, this was not the pinnacle of disasters to occur on chrismas day, because just as we were about to wash up our lunch dishes, the drains clogged. Perfect.

This was an excuse for all of the manly men in our family to gather their shovels and dig holes around the vicinity where a tree root had grown into the drain.

The rest of us sat inside defeatedly trying to figure out a plan b. No drain usage meant not only no washing up, but furthermore no toilets- a disaster for a house of 18 people. We were all sitting in the dark feeling sorry for ourselves when my youngest nephew burst through the door screaming “POO FLOOD!!!”

We all ran to the scene in question. There was indeed a poo flood. I’ve never seen so many floaters in my entire life. The backyard was filled with not-so-golden nuggets and a potent stench, but at least the drain was fixed. It was a pretty shitty Christmas.

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Masterlist

Blogs etc:

A Cheeky Introduction

Blog 1- My Morning Routine

Blog 2- A Family Christmas

Discussions:

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BLOG 1- MY MORNING ROUTINE:

Humans are creatures of habit- so naturally they create structured routines to stick to on the daily to distract themselves from the fact that their life is in fact spiralling into unorganised chaos… Or is that just me? Anyways, after years of watching various youtube videos of other people’s morning routines, I have finally devised my own!

6:45: Wake up.

6: 54: Really… Wake up!

7:00 : Realise I’m probably going to be late for work. Cuss under my breath. Get out of bed.

7:03: Fitness time- Once upon a time in my logic I thought that if I did 200 crunches a day, it would compensate for my lack of doing anything else physical ever. So this part of my routine consists of me flailing about on my floor for about 3 minutes hoping that such movement constitutes as hearty morning excercise. 

7:06- Shower- where I stand underneath the shower head, half asleep, realise that I probably shouldn’t be standing underneath the shower head half asleep, shave my legs and wash my hair, only to realise once I’m out of the shower that I forgot conditioner and accidentally shaved the same leg twice.

7:16: COFFEE- the highlight of my morning. Where I sit and indulge in the delicious and decadent bean juice created by gods as I sit and listen to the gentle twittering of birds through the kitchen window. Following this brief moment of contentment, my mother walks in. Lecture from mother about how coffee is the worst thing I could possibly be put into my body ensues.

7:25- Brush teeth. This usually consists of me talking to myself like I’m some sort of Jeffrey Star/ James Charles hybrid. “So I’m just going to go ahead and apply my toothpaste to the toothbrush…” before trying to remember the last time I flossed.I realise that I can’t remember the last time I flossed. I check the cupboard for floss. There is no floss. I make a mental note to remember to buy floss next time I’m at the shops. I immediately forget this mental note.

7:30: Pack bag for work. After telling myself that I’m going to make myself the most gourmet, boujee lunch that my colleagues will envy, I parooze the fridge and realise that the only ingredients in stock are out of date pickles, peanut butter and a piece of lettuce.  Lettuce! Perfect for my new and improved 2019 self. I shut the fridge and grab a chocolate bar out of the pantry. Lunch packed. 

7:40- realise that I spent the last ten minutes sticking my head into my fridge and thereby make myself definitely very late for work. Fuck. I get in the car and skrrt myself outa there.

By the time I get to work with my shirt on back to front and stray pieces of hair dangling from my ponytail, I’m ready to start the day. So that’s it- a killer morning routine! Hopefully I’ve inspired you to get your life on track like mine and kickstart your day in a perfectly peaceful and not at all stressful manner!

I’ll leave you with a picture of a cup of coffee- please feel free to let me know what your morning routine is... I’m in desperate need of help.

[wingingittheblog]

Oh hey there!

Well Hello there! If you’re reading this it means that I’ve finally cleaned out my computer and somehow managed to put this on some form of page on the interwebs…

If that’s the case, then welcome to my “blog”. I’ve been wanting to do something like this for yonks but I was too busy watching re-runs of Outlander and Friends to actually get these words out of my brain and into reality.

If this is yet to be published, then please stop snooping on my computer mum…

So a little bit about myself: my name’s Bella, and I’m an almost twenty something part time uni student, part time professional napper from the East Coast of Australia.

The main purposes of this blog include:

A place for me to shamelessly share the trials and tribulations of my life

An outlet for all of my ingenious and groundbreaking philosophical breakthroughs

An area for you to sit back, relax and feel better about yourselves because, after reading this blog, you’ll realise that you’re probably not nearly as much of a hopeless human as you had perhaps once anticipated…

So without further a due, get paroozing!!