Another little self indulgent moment, where I get to rabbit on
about what I’ve been up to lately.
one: Girl look at that body…I work out…girl look at that body…I work out. I’m sexy and I know it. #wigglewigglewiggle
Hand on my heart, the very best thing about my job is the free exercise. That’s right. Free exercise. And not in the ‘lets go for a run but oh you’ll have to motivate your own jiggly butt, girlfriend’ kind, but real, legit, someone is going to yell at you if you don’t move the aforementioned jiggly butt. Nike Training Club classes have finally arrived in Melbourne town, and you can bet your bottom dollar that you’ll find me there each week, front and centre because you can bet your bottom bottle of gin that I most definitely want to look like Phoebe. (The trainer. She’s cute and fit and I basically have a massive girl crush.)
two: Remember that time it was cold and rainy in Melbourne? (I mean, you probably should, because it was last Wednesday and I’m pretty sure it’s happening again next Saturday…) But here’s the deal, ladies and gees. THOSE DAYS ARE NUMBERED. I know the calendar says ‘Spring, mo-fos’, but now nature is coming to the party with some real, actual, legit blooms and stuff on all the trees. CHECK OUT THE BLOOMS, PEOPLE! Here’s to glorious afternoons in the sun – they’re just around the corner, my friends.
three: Juuuustin….waaaaaoooooohhhhhh. I had a date last Friday night, dear friends, at it was with none other than the great man himself, God. (Some folk call him Justin Timberlake, but I feel that our relationship has progressed beyond pleasantries, yunno?) Holy sweet meatballs, the man can sing. And dance. Oh and he plays piano AND guitar and can do both while swinging his hips around the stage like no-body’s business and suddenly he’s become the yardstick that all future boys will fail to measure up to. It’s a little bit like this: once you’ve had Messina gelato…you can never go back to McFlurrys.
four: Our house. Is a very, very, very fine house. But it’s going to get sold because we’re building a new one, now everything is easy because of you. Ok. It doesn’t have quuuuite the same ring to it. But it’s the best I can do, because song-writing is hard. New respect for musicians around the world. (Except for you, Nickleback.)
After, quite literally, a coupla years of talking about it, and drawing up plans and deciding on paint colours and fighting over tiles – it’s actually happening. Ma and Pa Mulquiney are selling the family home and moving down to the beach, in this brand-spanking new one. Chekkit. Pretty, eh? I’m told it’ll even have a roof and walls in it by the time they move in, because they’re a little bit fancy like that. And while I’m a little bit sad to say farewell to the place I’ve called home for the last 25 years of my life, I can’t wait to make new stories in this one. Except stories about playing Kings Cup, because I think that some stories, are probably just the one time thing…
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