LeishBlog

So after my nanna complaint letter I was very surprised that they wrote Back! How lucky is that.

Here is the letter.

Dear Aleisha,

Thank you very much for your feedback. I am very sorry to hear that you were treated in such a rude manner by the manager of our Strand Arcade boutique. I sincerely apologise.

It was in fact the final day that the manager was to be working with Blah Blah and after your feedback I am sure that that is a positive thing.

We have a very friendly, lovely girl who commences managing the Strand Arcade boutique from Thursday this week so please don’t feel that you cannot or don’t want to go back into the store because of that particular staff member as she no longer works for Blah Blah

Please let me know what dress and what size you were interested in and I will do my best to locate one for you.

Kind regards,

Blah Blah Big Wig!

I felt all chuffed and I didn’t even push it for free stuff. I just wrote back and said thanks for being polite. That’s all it needed.

Moving on I had a great night on a big old boat with Princess Nicole and some other hipsters last night. The Princess scored some tickets to the launch of Youth Groups new album.  

I was late as usual, it was raining and when I arrived and when we saw the boat, The Cape Don, we were super surprised and very intrigued. The boat, an old lighthouse tender vessel from the 60s has been restored by a group of volunteers. Youth Group recorded the new album in the Waverton mess Hall.

The Princess wore heels when the invite said flat shoes.

“Babe, I’m like posh spice, I am not wearing flats to an event!”

Before we boarded the vessel we had to sign a ‘visitors book’ which we were sure was some how connected to us agreeing to not sue if we fell overboard or broke our necks!

We gingerly clambered aboard and I mean gingerly, with The Princess using her umbrella as an old lady style walking stick.

The boat was massive and pretty old school. It reminded me a bit of Steve Zissou.

With our bellies full of fish and ships and whisky cocktails (Jamison sponsored) we watched the band perform their new tracks on the deck. The music was great, can’t wait to hear it again and it was fabulous standing on the deck, with the big cliffs next to us, the sounds resonating around us.

Afterwards I spotted Sam my friend from my radio job last year who works for the record company. We hung around, chatting having a great time. After a while the crowd dwindled and there weren’t many of us left. We went to have a look at the old bar below decks, which we decided had a definite porn feeling to it. Very kitsch though, red vinyl bench seats, a weird ‘plant’ made of feathers and a great old stainless steel fridge that would look great in my kitchen.

It was a fun night, defiantly then best event to have been to in ages.  At one stage I managed to drop my drink on Sam’s shoes. The Princes wasn’t surprised, she’d seen me being a klutz before.

“Babe, did you loose your capacity for grasping,” nonplussed she said,

I must have. Sam didn’t seem that bothered and was more interested in taking the piss out of us for owning walkie talkies. They are cool Sam. Trust me, they really are.

After a couple more cocktails we bid Sam and his wet shoes adieu and readied ourselves to get off the boat. We were both a little worried about navigating the gang plank but made it down without any embarrassing falls or incidents. We even got a ride, albeit a squishy one with Nicole and I both sharing the front seat, for the Jamison’s whisky guy who spotted us walking up the muddy road from the boat.

Great company, great night!

Tonight Justin and I are going to see Warren Millers new film. Justin scored us tickets from work. I am hoping they are going to give away a ski trip so I can win it.

I sent my first ever complaint letter today (I feel like a nanna) after being treated like a piece of shit on the shoe of a pretentious 20 year old who works in a swanky Sydney boutique. Up your arse girl. I have the power of words and education; you just have your revolting sneer and make up too heavy for day wear.

Princess Nicole, Justin and I were out looking for my birthday dress (not suit) and my credit card was burning a hole of potential debt in my pocket. I was really excited about finding something spectacular. Unfortunately we just found spectacularly bad service from a woman who may or not have had something jammed up her rectum at the time.

Normally after a shopping incident I would just whinge about it to my friends and get over it but seriously I could have bitch slapped this broad from one end of the store to the other. Notice, in the letter, I used my best, ‘I work in TV’ line and told them what I thought. I will probably never hear from them again and I don’t really care. Here is the letter, which explains it a bit.

Dear Sir/Madam,

On the weekend I was lucky enough to be shopping for an upcoming birthday party. I wanted something flashy and lovely. A colleague of mine recommended your store in The Strand Arcade after using some of your designs in a recent television program.

Your store and designs are beautiful, unique and sophisticated, but unfortunately I left before trying anything on. (Notice the sucking up here and TV mention, all true)

I have never felt the need to write a letter like this before but honestly I wanted to let you know that my friends and I were shocked at the attitude of the sales assistant in the store. I haven’t exited a shop feeling like I did on Saturday.

I asked the sales assistant if one of the dresses on display was available in my size, she replied. (this is exactly what happened, what an A-hole)

“Yeah well, I wouldn’t know what size that was?”

Amazed with the confidence of her rudeness, I told her my size and without saying anything she turned and searched through the cupboard behind the counter.

“You are going to have to wait because the change rooms are full.” (she flicked her hair with mega- tude)

Now if I was in Target looking at a $60 dress this wouldn’t surprise me, but the dress in question was $500 and I was pretty keen on buying it. (This shop sure ain’t Target, you have to show your credit card at the door)

After waiting for some time and with the shop assistant angrily adjusting clothes hangers around us, we decided to leave. As we walked out, she commented about us to another customer. I was truly surprised and pretty disappointed with the whole experience. (boo hoo, now send me a voucher, or at least an apology and a lock of the sales assistants hair and a letter of apology written in her blood )

Anyway I worked in retail all through uni, I have had bad days at work, I know what it is like but I haven’t gone out of my way to make someone feel bad for no reason.

(Letting them know that I am not a rich bitch, I too have slaved in a shit shop (s) )

Thanks for your time,

Sincerely

LeishBlog

The whole experience reminds me of a great scene in Absolutely Fabulous where Edina lunges at a shop Assistant and says.

“You only work in a shop, you know. You can drop the attitude.”

People, really get over yourselves.

Otherwise weekend was peachy. I saw the new Indiana Jones movie, had a couple of laughs. I think Harrison has still got it but don’t get me started about some of the story. I shall not ruin it for you, but is sure as hell doesn’t beat the Temple of Doom. I was concerned that I was sitting next to a family with two miniature children. Don’t really know how old they were but they were like up to my waist (and I am short) so they must have been pretty young and they had cute squeaky kids voices. Who takes little kids to films where bugs eat people and Cate Blanchette wears an evil scary black Russian Wig? Poor little tykes put their hands over their ears every time something scary happened. They are both probably going to grow up to be serial killers now because of the trauma. Get a babysitter dudes and stop eating chips in big load packets during the movie.  

Ok well I am going to go and think about who else I can complain about next. Feel like I am on a bit of a good thing here. Sack them…sack them all!

My hands smell of Mac Cheese. Yeah, like burnt plastic.

Like ewww. I swore I was never going to eat it again, but there I was in the supermarket and I saw a sign advertising the plasticised cheesy pasta and I gravitated towards it. Stupid girl. I imagine it sitting in my stomach like they describe plastic bags swallowed by birds or chewing gum. It will probably be there for 10 years.

“Wow! Are you pregnant?”

“No it’s just a Mac Cheese I ate 3 years ago.”

Disgusting.

We celebrated Justin’s birthday is style out our local Japanese joint. It is super yum and when you go in there they always greet you in Japanese. It’s nice, the food is ultra yum and Nicole is happy because we can sit outside and she can inhale chemicals freely. She’s not a crack head, just good old ciggies.

At one stage I got up to go to the bathroom and I returned to a conversation between Nicole and Justin about my hair.

See I leave the table and all they talk about it me! Yeah well, it wasn’t about my great new colour or the silky sheen, it was about how my falls out all over the house. It does.

“Babe we’re thinking with all of that hair you are shedding, creating a Leish clone…it would be like Jurassic park, but we would tweak you a bit,” Nicole reported with delight.

My hair does fall out a lot; actually I am surprised I am not bald! A Leish clone. May be a bit weird but it reminded me of The House of Cosby. One of the funniest animations out there. Watch it. It will make your life happier. Theo.   

As we ate our edamame we were talking about our lovely friend Positive Simone, who is pregnant. Yay. She is having a boy and we were trying to guess the name that she had chosen.Justin thinks he has cracked it. We all went through names we liked and Justin said,

“I don’t know why I chose names because I probably won’t have a baby anyway,”

Booies.

Princess Nicole chimed in.

“I’ll have a baby for you, then I can get pregnancy sympathy and then hand it over so I don’t have to look after it. Leish can have one for you too so you can have a blonde one and a brown one.”

I suggested Princess Nicole’s baby might need a couple of foils to blonde it up. Aheem. I think if I am going to go through a pregnancy I shall keep the child. That made me sound like I have had lost of pregnancies that I haven’t gone through with, that’s not what I meant, really it isn’t. Oh dear, I have dug myself quite the hole.

Anyway dinner was delicious and to our surprise at the end of the night they brought out a birthday cake for Justin and sang happy birthday. So nice. I have no idea where they whipped up a raspberry sponge cake with cream from, but we were all very touched and we were gutsy and nearly ate the whole thing. Pigs.

As we were leaving I used the only language skills that I remembered from Japan.  I boldly said Arigato gozaimasu.

“Jesus Babe you pretty much screamed that out. You’re proud of that aren’t you?”

Yep. Sure am.

Happy Birthday Former Flat Mate Mick. You bloody rock.

Seinfeld on birthdays:

 All you did was not die for twelve months!

I enjoy eating and I love food. The Princess lives by the ‘eating’s cheating’ policy when it comes to drinking. I sometimes follow it but then it can get me in trouble. Instead of going straight to a bar last weekend I wanted to get some food.

“God babe, you’ve had some crisps, you’re like a Tamagotchi, I have to feed you five times an hour or you will die,”

She is right.

Speaking of Tamagotchis. I just googled them and look what I found.

Nintendo Wii features a game called Tamagotchi: Party On! You get to choose a tama to be and compete against other tamas to be the president of TamaTown.

“Yeah I know I can’t wait though. It looks too good. I’ll fly up and watch it with you in a few weeks,”

“Yeah so what am I supposed to go on my own, or wait for you? This sucks.” Soooo only child of me.

“Would never drink again, not with you two, you two are bad,”

Yeah we are bad, we are good drinkers but I am nervous actually because tomorrow it is Former Flat Mate Mick’s birthday and it is he that I give most of the credit to for encouraging me to drink in excess. We are hitting up a Mexican joint. Piña Coladas are trouble with a capital T.

I like trouble.

Last night I had nice dreams. Great dreams in fact. So good I didn’t want to wake up. I hope they come true.

Woot woot.

I talked to my Dad. He is painting someone else’s house. He is on 8 weeks leave from his job and he is spending it walking thought the jungle and doing jobs for other people. He is too nice, but again he likes to keep busy. He has taught me lots of handyman/woman/person skills (see later in the post).

We were talking about some advice Princess Nicole had given me, before I could go on he said.

“Listen to Nicole; you’re on to a good thing there. She’s a pom and she’s ahead of the rest of us. Just do what she says.”

Dad had officially adopted Princess Nicole. She can do no wrong.

I don’t know what being English has to do with knowing things but Dad is certain the ‘Poms’ have special powers and their advice should be followed. I am a bit suss.

In this situation however Dad is right and Nicole is right. I took her advice and I feel a bit like a weight has lifted from me. So jolly good for that.  This particular issue has plagued me for a couple of weeks and I have never seen Princess Nicole so adamant about something. I couldn’t even talk about it without her firing up. She cares about me and I know that’s why she was mad.

“You were right. I am going to do what you say,”

“Oh babe, thank God, I can like you again. Because of that I am going to take you out for a drink,”

Funny lady. I hope her other predictions and advice come good. If not I shall disown her. (albeit temporarily)  

I got home in the evening, ready to sit on my bed and watch Skins series 2…so love it. I thought I would whip up a quick bowl of gnocchi. I turned on the tap and the little pretty ornamental handle snapped off. Clean off. This isn’t your ordinary style tap either. It is like a metal stick thing that you turn from side to side for pressure and temperature. So when it snapped off, the water was flowing….I mean really flowing and it was stuck that way.

“For the love of God….why the fuck does this happen to me?”

I bellowed over the sound of gushing water. I took a moment to compose myself then got my tool box. Yep my tool box, it arrived with all of the other crap in the boxes I talked about yesterday.

I am glad Justin wasn’t around to see all of the swearing and abuse hurled at the tap, it was dramatic but after a couple of minutes I came to my senses and devised a cunning plan to pull apart the broken stick thing and jam a screwdriver inside it to switch off the water. After a tense moment where I thought the water would be a permanent fixture of the kitchen because the tight arse in me thought maybe a water feature would be cool instead of paying an exuberant call out fee for a plumber, it worked. Due to water being stuck full bore on hot during the whole ordeal and me leaning over the sink, I also got a bit of a facial. Open the pores.

Good one Leish.

Anyone needs any house hold issues solved I am your lady. I am good with plumbing and have my own tools.

Tasteless.  

I have been informed by a LeishBlog reader that yesterday blog wasn’t funny enough, nor was it historically accurate. Well I must dispute the accuracy claims. I think my blog is like a Michael Moore documentary. I choose to put things in and keep things out. It’s creative. Remember it is called Leishblog and like everything, it is all about me, that’s why I called it Leishblog (and I like to cover my own arse).

I am concerned about the female toilets at work. The seats are always up. Maybe there is a standing female urinator on our floor? Or even better a He she Man. Oh that would be good. I am going to do some investigating. I will check the hands of all of the women. I am told big hands are a sex change giveaway. Look out Nancy Drew Leish is on the case. I shall go around and introduce myself to all of the people I have been doing polite hello nods to the past few weeks and shake their hands.  I have small monkey chub hands. I am a genuine woman…that and the breasts and not having a penis, pretty much gives me away.

Speaking of shlongs, are you that proud of your manhood or lack of to donate it to a museum? I found this strange. You would have to be pretty confident that you have displayable goods and make sure you die on a warm day.

I had lots of boxes arrive at my house last week. They were boxes from the past. This isn’t some quasi Lost style mystery, unfortunately it is just a whole heap of stuff that I didn’t shift up here last year. Quite boring really. Except all of my books, they make me look smart when people come to my house (just like my glasses). Even though most of the books are about Seinfeld and comedy and various other media related things.

It was weird looking though it all. Conveniently I found all of my wedding planning stuff in the top of one box. Why on earth did I keep that? Don’t matter. Didn’t bother me. Moved on.

What was funny was going through a couple of photo albums where The Princess swore black and blue that the photos were not of me.

“You look like you have had a face implant…transplant,” she said peering at a photo from my early teens.

‘”Do I take this as a compliment…or am I worse now….don’t say I am worse now, things could go bad.”

“Babes, I don’t believe this is you, how could you have changed that much?” pointing at a very uncomplimentary chubby faced school photograph.

When Justin saw them he shrieked saying “I must have been replaced by a more attractive adult”.

Yep these are my friends. They mean well. I love them and I chose to take their observations not with disdain but as a playful Junicole (When Justin and Nicole combine they become the superpower, Junicle) mocking.

I admit I was pale and plump and then I went though a bit of a withered, thin late teen stage (which I would love to relieve right now) and then I became me. Fascinating stuff.

Do you get in a ‘music that you like’ rut and get the feeling that sometimes you are never going to find anymore music that you like? Me neither, that is stupid idea. Yesterday I found Ingrid Michaelson. I might shop her around to record companies. I could be on to a winner. Seriously though. I like her and I never express my musical likes publicly for fear of being mocked, so this is big.

Like that’s it.

I want to day more but it might be pushing the friendship.

I think the worst time to have a heart attack is during a game of charades…or a game of fake heart attack.
– Demetri Martin  (possible future husband)

Tragedy struck this weekend.

Well look, in the scheme of things it wasn’t uber tragedy, no one died or anything and come to think of it, it is the sort of thing that happens to me quite often.

My bag, my deliciously overpriced Mimco bag with soft wash Italian leather, adjustable straps and mega sex appeal that I have enjoyed strutting around town with for all of a week fell apart in the supermarket on Friday night.

I had been warned. Mimco had recalled the bag, but when I picked it up the shop lady said to ‘take it away and see how it goes’.

It was sad though watching a $450 bag disintegrate (slight exaggeration, the bag did not crumble perse, the strap came off) just as I was at the check out purchasing some costly and overindulgent Friday night ice cream with Princess Nicole and Justin,

“For fucks sake, the bag is fucked,”

The check out guy looked fearful as he was loading the ice cream into a plastic bag at the same time.

“Not that bag, this bag, the straps come off…..”

He wouldn’t make eye contact for the rest of our shopper, checkout guy relationship.

Poor him.

I imagined all of the people that scoffed at my purchase, saying it was too much and it was a waste of money. My face went red and steam came out of my ears. What a poo. (When he heard, Rowan the Hawk, laughed like and evil madman…..”Sucked in”)

On Saturday I ventured to the northern beaches with Princess Nicole who was having her hair coloured. She has gone to the same hairdresser there for a while and I had never looked around Avalon, so I tagged along.  It was fancy but laid back. I like it up there, lots of rich people and shops that sell lots of things that you could live the rest of your life without buying but when you are in them you are convinced you need it all. Nifty gifty items, home ware shops, organic boutiques. I know, masturbation station.  

I was momentarily convinced I needed a set of red heart shaped ramekins but then I came to my senses realising only a desperate sex starved housewife, who cared more about futile kitchen accessories then her failing marriage would purchase such a useless item.

What is that saying about me? Let move on.

I returned the failed handbag and was disturbed to find out from South African Mimco shop girl that said,

“They won’t be making anymore of these, ya?! You just pick another one, ya?”

Ya? Ya I would if I could decide lady. I found the whole thing a bit of a downer. I already had my nice bag and now every other one appeared to be second rate, like my bags special cousin. I did decide on a new one in the end. It is black, it is nice, enough said.

I did have one other significant purchase on the weekend. A purchase that appeared to break Flat mate Justin’s little heart.

“What about the plasma TV? I thought you were going to buy one of those?”

Purchasing a plasma TV is important to me, it really is, but as I alighted from the bus that conveniently pulled up outside InSki, a lovely ski shop in the city, I noticed a massive Sale sign and with that a powerful force pull me into the shop. Like a robot I marched with determination, sat down and was fitted by a hunky ski shop dude. I felt slightly embarrassed about wearing my man socks and smelly converse but got over that quickly when I sunk my feet into a delectable pair of boots.

After my painful Japanese ski boot hire experience in December I swore by the power of grey skull that my feet would never  enter a pair of hire boots again. Well that’s done and dusted and so is my credit card…..I should have them paid off before the first ski trip of the season. Sheesh. This blog is turning into a tally of debt. Oh well. Live it and love it I suppose.

It is Justin’s Birthday. I sent him this card.

Very appropriate.

Happy Birthday Justin. Check out his blog. Go on, it’s his birthday.

(Update it more often Justin, seriously.)

Its also Former Flat Mate Micks birthday later in the week…better spend some time deciding what card to send him.

Ok, I’d better go and decide which organ to sell, to pay for the ski boots and my upcoming birthday extravaganza organised by the Princess which she warned me about saying,

“Babe, you better have some money put away for this. This is going to big and you can’t be a tight arse at the place I’m taking you,”

This scares me a bit.

“Also you can’t buy a cheap dress; I am taking you to Paddington next weekend. High end babe, high end. I told you, you are going to be the belle of the ball and you can’t do that in chain store tacky stuff,”

Christ. Anyone need a kidney?

God I never want to become one of those TGIF people. I overheard some gaggling women on the bus and just wanted to them all to self combust.  

“Soooooo happy it’s Friday”

“Yeah Friday, I thought it would never come!”

“I can’t wait for the weekend…..I’m going to do nothing at all interesting because I am a boring corporate slave,”

“Yeah that sounds great, I’ll probably just sit around in my unhappy marriage and iron the creases into my slacks!”

Blah blah blah. They were the sort of women that wear jogging shoes with there skirts and swap into 2cm heels at work. They also carry a range of bags, usually some sort of gym bag, but they don’t look like women that would visit the gym. They may also wear scrunchies and have a visible panty line. Someone kill me if I ever turn into these women. I mean it, just take my life.

Recently I ventured onto the accountant/serious money level of our building. There was a boredom vibe that hit me as soon as I walked out of the elevator. I dropped my forms, did my scan for anyone my age, eventual potentials, found no one and ran. I virtually sprinted to the elevator, thankful for my ambitious and not settling for a boring job. I barley made it though; the dreariness smoke monster nearly got me.

Thanks to my trip to the hairdresser I am subtly lighter now. No more deep dark brown. Well at least not for a couple of weeks until I get fed up with the regrowth and colour over it. I am sure if I had a boyfriend he wouldn’t notice the difference.

One of my favourite Conan O’Brien segments ‘Celebrity Survey’ has been posted. It makes me giggle in the workplace.

I spoke to my Dad, told him about winning the comedy heat. He was genuinely stoked, I have a very proud Dad and I am lucky. He is on holidays. I said,“You Dave, why don’t you come and hang with me, buy me some nice dinners, come on, I’m your only child!”

“Yeah I was thinking about doing that but I also think I might walk the Kokoda trail,”

That’s my Dad. ‘Yeah I could come to Sydney, eat at some nice restaurant, but you know I think I’ll go and walk 96km through the jungle and wilderness in Papua New Guinea’.

This is how wikipedia describes the walk

‘Hot, humid days with intensely cold nights, torrential rainfall and the risk of endemic tropical diseases such as malaria make it a challenge to walk. Despite the challenge posed it is a popular hike that takes between five and 12 days (depending on fitness). Locals have been known to hike the route in three days.’

Good one! Sound like a relaxing holiday Dad! But that’s my Dad, doesn’t like to sit around and always enjoys a challenge.

As I child he was always trying to get me to do the things that he did in his youth. Some I took up like skiing, others I did not, like sailing. Nothing against sailing, but as a 16 year old chick, the last thing I wanted to do was get up at 7am on a Sunday morning and get wet in the river Derwent (fucking freezing).

“Aleish how about I will buy you a Sabot and you can sail it every week, it will be great, now that’s living!”

“Dad I’m 16, I love you and I love that you are taking an interest and you want to buy me stuff, but how about a car?….or some new clothes, they will be cheaper than a boat,”

“But you could be a champion! And it’s good for you, you can meet people…”

“Dad I shall reign in other areas and boaty people aren’t my style. They are all rich kids. Worse of all I see in the brochures here, I would have to wear a wet suit….a wet suit Dad implies that I am going to be getting wet. No way Jose.”

I did however take up water polo, which he was happy about and so was I because I could let out all of my teenage angst and hormonal issues in the pool while beating up other chicks and swearing. Fabulous game that. Dad was the classic sideline father, cheering and getting feisty when one of the other girls was attempting to drown me. Nasty pasties those girls.

Did your parents try and push you into sport or after school activities?

I might be going to China in a couple of weeks. ‘Might’ is the word. Work may need someone to pop over there pick some tapes up and come back. Sounds good.

mmmm dumplings.mmmm rip off handbags. mmmm cheap massages. mmm cheap playstation 3. 

Ok trying not to get my hopes up so with that, I am done.

I am writing in my lunch break while slurping on my soup. The soup is mediocre and I must say that the ‘bread’ that came with it is the equivalent to half my hand. Why must we measure things in hand….they are there I suppose?

Anyway to get to the point I had a fabulous night last night, great gig. Well sort of. All of my lovely friends showed up. BIG THANKS PEOPLE! I mean I do have the most amazing posse. They laughed and hugged me and it was just the best. I think I could have stood on staged a drooled for 5 minutes and they would have clapped and laughed along. The best thing for me was that people Like Former Flat mates Mick and Sarah and Dave who have watched me practice and go through all of my nerves over the past year got to see me live. I think I was most nervous about that. I am happy that Mick said he laughed aloud. That’s a hard one to crack. Often we have watched films where I am convulsing and giggling and he does this silent closed mouth laugh. It is very contained. It’s nice also because you know when you really have him laughing. He said at the end of the gig that he laughed fully. That was great news.

There were an interesting array of performers there, first timers and people I had gigged with before. Stand up sure does attract a diverse group.

I though my set was ok. A bit rushed but then I am a tough critic. I hacked my act up on Tuesday night when I realised I was about 1 minute over time. I thin it threw me a bit but no one else seemed to notice and if they did they didn’t say anything.

Anyway so it was a competition and I won. So that’s nice.I go into a final in October to see if I can then get to the grand final.

The Princess was adorable. She screamed and jumped around like I would imagine a stage mother would.

“Babe am I embarrassing you?” She jumped and screamed some more. I love her for her enthusiasm.

We dropped into the Princesses Pad for a lovely chamomile tea and replayed the evening.

“Babe, you are going to be famous…..are you going to forget about us?” She said like a wounded animal, if a wounded animal had the capacity of speech.

“Babe what’s the point of being famous when you can’t have your best friends around to sponge off you?”

I think the Princess will be running a TV network way before I am famous. She will have to employ me.

I am a really lucky lady to have such wonderful friends and all of the opportunities that come my way. There are lots of interesting things going on in my life and that I am grateful for. Now if I could just get laid……actually I’m not to fussed about that at the moment either. How unusual.

I am having my hair coloured tonight. I need a change. I am seeing my hairdresser Thomas, who is the most meticulous stylist I have ever been to. He likes to consult you on every move and has a unique way of cutting and a cool get to business stance. He is Asian and smiles and nods at me a lot.

Should be fun. Love hairdresser visits. I have been home dying for so long I forgot about the luxury of it all.

Anyway lunch break is done. Soup was crap, must get back to it.

L

“Lets go away for the weekend. We can hand around, drink, hang around and drink,”

I thought this was a no brainier.

“Babe, no,” was her simple response.

“Why? It is a beautiful beachside town, people pay millions of dollars to buy property there, what the hell is the reason behind you not wanting to go, you love rich things…I am confused,”

Princess Nicole went on to tell me a story about when she was younger, she decided that even though she had never tried Chinese food, she decided that she hated it. When her Mum said one night that they were going to eat Chinese food, The Princess chucked a nah nah and wouldn’t go, on principal. This is how she is describing her seemingly infantile dislike about the idea of driving two hours north and having a weekend away. I am going to take her there by hook or by crook. Even if I have to pack the bag myself and tell her we are going to the shopping centre and kidnap her for the weekend. We are going. That’s the end of that.

I am watching my BlackBerry like a hawk. If it makes one wrong move I am going to go out and buy some old Nokia brick and use that instead at least that won’t chime up a $610 bill. That will teach it.

It’s funny when I have something coming up, like a gig, I always think of post gig time like it is something marvellous. I mean I imagine the feeling of relief and being able to watch television without the guilt of thinking I should be practising. Post gig utopia. I think for as long as I have had any responsibility I have created these scenarios…at uni, I was always thinking of post exam time, all of the wonderful things I can do….working crappy jobs, post crappy job time, what amazing jobs there were to come. I know philosophically I shouldn’t be looking ahead all of the time. It is good to live in the now and have a good time.

I will work on that.

Even with the ‘working on that promise’, a line ago, I am thinking about post gig utopia, drinking a bottle of wine.

Can’t be a bad thing.

I am lucky. I am enjoying myself at the moment. Ted said on the weekend that I was the old Leish again with some new twists. I respect that noticed that because he knows me pretty well and has seen me through all sorts of shit things. Him saying that made me realise that I am genuinely at ease with where and who I am.

What an uplifting way to end the blog.

I don’t really like that. I would prefer to end on something sharp, sarcastic and witty.

Damn it. I can’t think of anything. I might have to go back to being depressed and bitter. The jokes seem to come more easily then.