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Fuck Politeness

This is a revolution, not a public relations movement

So I’m back from the holiday – a week by the beach, back for a day then off North to visit my sister.

I’m so tired right now I can’t think straight. The holiday was delightful. Seriously? Like a two minute walk from the back door to a spot between the flags to swim and body board in the Tasman Sea.

Sunrise on New Year's Day

Sunrise on New Year's Day

Fucking sensational.

After our first swim we came home to hose off before going inside and discovered an outdoor shower for post-beach purposes. I was seriously digging on that.

The kids were out on their boards, and playing games in the sand, using the totum tennis set til I thought their arms would fall off, and utilising the little pop up tent I’d brought along as a portable ‘zen space’ in a more rambunctious way than I’d envisaged. They shot nerf darts at one another, played ‘ghosts’ and spent time standing up and running in it til I thought it would pop open and be finished.

As for myself and my beloved Adonis, well we swam and he bodysurfed. Since I can’t really swim very well I kinda bobbed and jumped and splashed and flailed, til I got to try one of the kids new body boards and decided I had to have me one of them. So I now own a rocking new red body board.

I took it out on the Saturday and was determined to swim even though it was a bit too cool and the wind was blowing the right way to bring in the bluebottles. I was having way too much fun though so I stayed out and as we were starting to head back in I spotted a bluebottle like twenty centimetres away and said “Oh, HEY! There’s one!!”  followed quickly by “Ow!OW!Fucking OWWW!!! It’s on me!!!! AARGH!!! It won’t get off!!”

I’d had one on my foot a year or so ago at Coogee and had just picked it up and flung it off and that stung like a bastard, like seriously I was surprised by how much it had hurt, but I got it off quickly. This one was caught in the lovely springy rope coil for my board so that it just kept flicking back onto other parts of my hand/arm, and every time I thought it was gone I’d feel stinging in a new place. I couldn’t remove the strap as the waves and board were smacking me around, it was too deep to stand and plus this wrist strap is a fo shiz serious piece of equipment and has like three layers which makes it plenty hard to undo in the water, getting smacked about by the surf and being stung by a particularly tenacious and vindictive Man O War. FUCK!

So anyway, after doing my crazy-dance in the water and shouting “I CAN’T GET IT OFF ME” in pain and frustration I eventually got the wrist strap off, detached the (now bits of) bluebottle stinger (seriously, I found dried shreds of it all through the coils later) and hobbled onto shore. Many beach goers came forward and sympathised with me which only sufficed to make me feel like a big silly baby for all the noise, especially as the freaking out had been anticipation of the level of pain I’d had last time spread over a greater surface area rather than the pain I was feeling, which, while uncomfortable was deal-able. (It wasn’t as ‘blue’ as the last one, which had looked like a MF-ing HUGE vein…so maybe cos it was clearer?? Maybe that means less toxins?)

I will post a picture of my hand/wrist/arm because it is gross and I am both repelled and fascinated by my monster-hand – it’s like I have some kinda wart disease…seems it didn’t hurt like the last one but you can see just exactly how much I COULDN’T get the little bastard off me by the surface area of these burningly itchy welts that woke me up 36 hours after the fact in itchy-agony.

Aargh - Freddy Kreuger hand?

Aargh - Freddy Kreuger hand?

And right up the arm...yum yum

And right up the arm...yum yum

But that’s me being fascinated by the grossness that is.

Seven days. Six bottles of red and a bottle of fancy cognac. More chocolate than you could poke a stick at. Barbeques, coffees, salads, laughter, hugs and sex. Wow. Holidays are awesome.

Did I mention we ate on the back verandah a lot which meant we could see the Tasman Sea while we ate?

The view while we ate

The view while we ate

We worked as a pretty tight team, and I would have moments of sitting down to meals and being overwhelmed by the happy functionality of all of it. (Oh sure, there were some over-tired moments of tension and near tantrums since we were in Stixville, no one had their space/their things and the local ‘bus service’ consists of standing randomly on the side of the road in the sun, wait a few hours and when a bus shaped vehicle passes, stick your arm out, and whenever you asked the time for anything from a taxi to a pizza you were told ‘About an hour’, and whenever you asked a question of a local you were answered as if you were an idiot, and my son was also in a highly odd headspace for most of the trip but on the whole it was delightful.)

So the Beloved and his munchkin left Sat morning leaving me, my son and my bestest friend (newly arrived) to shenannigans. We bussed it out of there today (what do you know, the first staggeringly hot day with a South-Easterly, ie NO bluebottles, in several days).

My son eschewed the travel sickness tablet as he’s tough and can read in cars (!!?) and doesn’t get sick on buses, even long distances. Me, I get queasy on the 15 minutes down the freeway to the city, so I popped one.

Fifteen minutes in and I realised I was pleasantly stoned. I began to giggle out loud when the dude behind me said (in a caricature of a nasal Aussie accent) “Howwwwwwwwwwww dja git LORST Mahm??? Theeeeers WUN road IIIIIIIIN en WUN rooooooooooad owwwwwwwwwwwwwt!!! Awwww MUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU-uuuuuuum!!” Shit, I thought I’d woken up in a scene from Gettin’ Square (“Whooooose gunna pay me bus feeer ya Honnah?”), but I had to restrain myself as it appeared to be upsetting for him.

I slept most of the way back, though we had to get off for lunch only 90 minutes in and I staggered to a cafe on sea-legs and hoped I didn’t drool on my plate.

An overly friendly middle aged dude kept INSISTING on making inane small talk while staring at my cleavage, despite my clear body language of ‘fuck the hell off in the nicest possible way’  like the tight ‘grin’ to acknowledge their presence but end the conversation, followed by increasing amounts of back-turning which he seemed to take as ‘Please kind Sir, adjust your position so that you might once more address my cleavage with your repetitive and highly boring claptrap…no, no, feel free to ignore the fact I’m uncomfortably clutching a hot cardigan to my chest to cover up! Clearly I want you to continue’.

It was so hot and the bus was so late and I was so desperate to escape that guy that I accidentally got on the wrong coach and had to get off again and this pissed off a woman who said she couldn’t get past me, or out of my way, but I wasn’t really sure what to do about that, I mean should I go all the way down to Eden rather than back to Sydney in order to make sure she wasn’t uncomfortable for a few seconds while I squeezed past?

I finally got into my seat on the RIGHT coach and drifted into delerious sleep hearing snatches of conversation from a woman with a delightful Scottish burr and the life history of the coach driver. But damn that five and a half hours passed reasonably quickly and happily! Before I knew it we were at Central and I fell into a taxi since the idea of lugging my suitcase from hell, a handbag, an extra bag, a child, his bag of goodies and two body boards on and off two buses on a hot day was more than I could cope with, even with a tummy full of TravelCalm.

So I’m home, I’ve dropped all the crap on the floor, dived at the computer and checked all net-related things, written this post, eaten and watched Buffy and now I think I’m starting to list slightly to the left in everything which I choose to blame on the TravelCalm. Seriously though, that shit is the GOODS for long distance travelling! Snooz-a-licious. Night


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