Perfect Imperfections

When you are in a crowd of 3600 bloggers, you may be excused for feeling a little insignificant. And you have every right to be. Merkins are loud and fun and in your face and loud and fun.

Taking this on board, I took myself off to a workshop entitled "Your Perfect Imperfections" today which is just about the biggest favour I have ever done for myself....... apart from discovering strawberrynet,  and not taking no for an answer....

The workshop truly made my heart sing.It was about being your authentic self. But even better, I took away from it so much more. Do not write for an audience. Write for yourself.

And I was stressing about this because Eden and I were scheduled to be interviewed for an Australian TV show for a story to be aired on Monday. About blogging. And we will not even be back in Australia to see it. I was freaking while we sat down for lunch. And then this happened....



Eden was chosen as one of 12 out of 3600 attendees to read at the Voices Of the Year presentation which was a big fucking deal. So if she could do that, and chicks could flash mob, and other bloggers could share their stuff ups, I figured I could be featured on George Negus  if I do end up looking like a dickhead? Then I will just watch it later with a glass of wine and celebrate my perfect imperfections.

Travelling to San Diego.

We had had such a fabulous time in LA but it was time to move on to San Diego and start to think about what we were actually supposed to be doing here. And that would be to learn about blogging, American Style.

Eden and I got to LAX and proceeded to if stand in line. And stand. And stand. And stand. After a few hours I asked the lady in front of us if this was normal.  She laughed loudly and told me in a strong Mexican accent. "YEEEIIIIIIRRRSSSSSSSSSSSSSS." Eden Riley was getting riled and when we eventually got to the top of the the queue,  the scary looking check in lady turned out to be cool and actually laughed when I dropped the F-bomb when told Eden's bag weighed too much and we had to take ten pounds out.

We asked how much ten pounds was,  and the Check in Chick looked at us like we were complete morons.

So I put her cowboy boots in my carry on and we were good to go.

We then we went and stood in line. And stood, And stood. And stood. We were going through security which meant you had to take everything off (apart from your basic garments) and put it all through the x-ray machine.  Then you had to stand in this xray box with your legs spread and your hands in the air while security took a photo of you. Then I got felt up good and proper by this lady.

I asked her whether she was going to buy me a drink first. Just a warning to you, LAX security have no sense of humour, or as I suspect, this chick has heard that joke 10000 times.

We were headed to our plane when I looked out the window and spotted this cute, retro exhibition plane from 1930.

I was horrified when we were swept along with our fellow passengers towards the plane. I am not a good flyer, so I figured I would pop half a Xanax and throw back a beer on board and it would be sweet. But my happy pill was in my checked in luggage. FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK.

The plane had one isle and had one seat on one side and two seats on the other side. This was the view from my seat. The plane had propellers. Like in the olden days.

I ended up in the exit seat row.  The flight attendant (who did not need a PA system,  just needed to shout) came up and asked me whether I was prepared to assist her in the event of an emergency. I looked her in the eye and said "I would love to." I would be so good in that type of situation.

At one point, I stood in the isle and while on my tippy toes, and if I stretched my arms out as far as I could,  I was able to touch all four sides of the plane.

Eden was seated up the front,  and occasionally she would turn around and look at me. She and her Penrith Travel Agent organised this flight so I did not feel bad when I mouthed to her... I HATE YOU...

And at that moment,  I really did. But now we are in a sea of 3000 bloggers in San Diego, I have forgiven her.

Here at BlogHer, I need every friend I can get!

Abandoned Overseas

Mr Woog has not only had a bromance while in Bali, now he is leaving me.

The jig is up for Mr Woog. He needs to go back to work. And I sensibly decided to stay on at Villa Speranza so I could avoid an extra week of school holidays in Sydney, where the beaches are packed and , according to reports, the humidity is unbearable. Mr Woog has neglected his mowing for far too long. He needs to hit up the Victa and relieve out own cat sitter.

To make sure I have some adult conversation, My Dad and Wicked Step Mother (WSM - who gave herself that name and is actually not wicked at all) arrived two nights ago. They are both Bali virgins and landed straight into bliss. I have not seen two people take to a country like them before. They came prepared with a bottle of Gin and a bottle of Vodka. Dad handed them over, declaring that Feb Fast was coming up and he had not intention of joining. He solemnly told me he felt it was bad for the economy. Then he cracked a beer and donned a traditional Balinese sarong, staking his claim in the cabana next to the pool.

But not everything is wonderful in Bali. Last night I trod on a frog. I screamed as I felt it squish up between my toes. My skin has gone totally troppo and is reminiscent of a 15 year old grease monkey at McDonalds. My hair feels like it has been nuked in the microwave, hit with a blow torch and then run over by a combine harvester. My daily wardrobe is based around a kaftan and my use of deodorant could only be described as sporadic. Oh and my eyebrows? Let's not even start on my eyebrow (there is only one of them now - they have joined up).

So as long as I avoid walking on the grass in the dark at night and all mirrors, all continues to buzz along nicely in Bali.

Tomorrow I an hanging out with Eden Riley from Edenland fame, as we hatch a plan for 2011. Will keep you posted.