Human Balloon

Friday arvo I caught a bit of Oprah while eating my lunch. Her guest was Kirstie Alley discussing her recent weight gain. It all came about earlier in the year when Oprah outed that she was once again struggling with her ballooning weight and was so ashamed that she'd let herself go there... AGAIN! Shortly after the show aired, Oprah received a sympathetic email from Kirstie, who was suffering the same fate. After her rather public battle of the bulge and her even more public signing on and dramatic weight loss with Jenny Craig, she'd let it all go. She had, 18 months later, piled every last kilo back on (plus a couple of extras for good measure). 

This time round Oprah has decided not to put undue pressure on herself and take it as a day by day battle. She has not given herself a time frame or a 'goal' weight and is trying to dissect and overcome why she continues to make the same mistakes time and time again. 

Kirstie on the other hand, is starting her own magical weight loss company, had already lost 20 pounds and was promising a public unveiling of her new ripped body in a bikini (much like the last time) in November - six months from then.

So, who has the right idea? Is it Oprah, trying to get to the root of the problem? Or, is it Quick Fix Kirstie "get me the fuck into a bikini now" Alley? Well, let me tell you my story and you be the judge...

It all started when I left high school... Actually, you know what? No, it didn't start when I left high school! It started loooooong before that - as I think it does for many young girls these days surrounded by images and expectations of what they should be and look like. Particularly because for the most part, the image portrayed as 'perfection' is totally unobtainable for 99.9% of us.  It's especially hard for those early developers - a crowd to which I belonged. 

Anyone who sprouted titties before hitting high school can tell you it's not fun! I was the oldest child and had no older sister to mould myself on... I was more immature than most my age - still am, I guess! Then (hard to believe) I was a shy, quiet, reserved child, trying miserably to hide my sporting of a bra (one of 3 girls in the entire school). This process involved wearing really thick t-shirts that you couldn't see through at all. The rule of thumb for the purchase of a new top was... if you can shine a torch through the material and see the light, it's not quite thick enough! I was also a dancer and spent most of my spare time in a leotard.. it's hard to hide your changing body with a skin tight piece of lycra wrapped around you! 

As I grew older, my body issues compounded. I thought my boobs were too big, my calves were huge, my arse and thighs could be slimmer and my belly would look good if only I could look as skinny as I did lying down. Looking back on photos of me back then, I think I was totally mad! I had a fucking killer rig and I'd give anything to get it back. But this is also a theme, and one that I'm not alone in (at least I don't think so).

So, I leave high school and have 3 or 4 months before I start Uni. I'd quit dancing in Year 12 because I had too many extra curricular activities with work, dancing and singing that one had to go. Instead of walking the few k's to school and back everyday, I'd walk to work once every week and I spent the rest of my time curled up on the couch with my boyfriend eating burger rings and drinking coke. I started to expand... it was a slow process and I didn't really notice too much. A couple of boyfriends later I moved out of home - that was when the real expansion took place. We didn't really cook... at all! KFC or pizza pretty much every night, lazing around watching TV, drinking and doing fuck all really. It was kind of a metaphor for my life at the time. I was having a pretty miserable go of it, got glandular fever (which made me even more lazy) and was not in the best relationship.

I think I hit around the 77 kilo mark which was about 12 kilo's more than I weighed in Year 12. I decided I was going to get my life back, so I bit the bullet and went to WW. As the kg's fell off, the confidence came back and eventually the boyfriend left with the 10 margarine containers of fat. I no longer needed either of them in my life.

The weight stayed off for a while, but once again came creeping slowly and before I new it I was back where I started... I think I've probably done this around 5 times.  I reach a goal that I've set for myself and somehow once I'm there I drop the ball.  

The last time I ballooned was a couple of years back.  I'd shed the kg's for my wedding and was feeling great.  Micko and I decided we needed a change and were planning to move back to Vic - to Barwon Heads while we considered our options.  In the 6 months following the wedding and the subsequent move to a much cooler climate I stacked on the kg’s BIGTIME!  I was soooo angry at myself for not learning my lesson again!  Why the hell did I do this to myself again?  It's not like I'm simple and can't work out what I'm doing wrong... I know the tricks to weight loss and more importantly how to keep it off bit here I am again, fat and unhappy!  

Weighing in at around 87 kilos, I was at my lowest ebb.  I decided to stop sitting on my fat arse, while it rapidly expanded, I had to get out there and work that fucker off!  I joined a small and friendly gym and soon realised that I really enjoyed working out!  I got a personal trainer, who I saw once a week, and started going every day (except for Sundays).  After 6 months, while my body had changed shape, I hadn't seen much in the way of weight loss.  I was feeling disappointed and decided a trip to the Docs was in order - just too make sure nothing was wrong.  

I'm not sure what it is about GP's but the vast majority seem to have zero interpersonal skills.  I turned up in this Docs office and explained my predicament... I was working out every day, for the most part I ate well and I was still not losing any weight.  I started bawling my eyes out while he sat there coldly looking at me.  He said I needed to have some tests done to make sure it wasn't my thyroid posing any problems and to come back once I'd had the tests.  Test results were all clear so the Doc prescribed me 'Reductil' - an appetite suppressant.  I thought that was a little strange and that he might have asked me to keep a food diary or something, but I took the prescription and had it filled.

Man, what followed was a fucking nightmare!  Side effects included major confusion, loss of decision making ability, crying at the drop of a hat and the least of my worries, a dry mouth. I've never really experienced depression but I imagine that these pills were making me suffer from it.  

It was the strangest feeling... I was never hungry but if I didn't eat anything for more than a few hours my brain would start going blank - like really blank.  Often, I could actually hear my stomach growling but couldn’t feel it!  At that point, the side effects would kick in and I'd start crying and couldn't decide what I should eat.   One time, Micko and I were shopping at Westfield in Geelong and I suddenly felt sick, like I needed to eat something.  I started to get all dizzy and sweaty - kind of like when I'm in a confined space (I'm a bit of a Claustro).  We made it to the food court and Micko asked 'what do you want to eat?'  I just burst into tears because I couldn't decide.  After 4 weeks, I went back to the Docs to check my progress.  I was weighed and guess what?  I hadn't lost a single gram!   I explained that I didn't think the pills were agreeing with me and told him of my side effects.  He just said 'That's strange.  Doesn't mention those in the literature'.  He increased the dosage.  

Initially I wasn't going to take the new pills, but I'd kind of gotten used to the others and I was suffering from the crazy side effects less and less every day.  I started the new bunch of the Friday before Micko's birthday.  My folks had organised a trip into Melbourne staying in a fancy hotel overlooking the Yarra and we were all going to see the Tiges play Geelong (destined to be a disappointing game from our front).   We pull up out the front and there's a driver to take our car to the car park - felt really sorry for the poor prick, I'm sure it quite an experience after parking the lovely new Audi's surrounding us, to get into my shitty 92 Camry wagon!   We grab our bags out of the back of my shitwagon when a concierge comes over to give us a hand.  He says 'Can I take your bag for you?'  I glance at Micko all confused and then start crying.  We get in the lift, there are a few people in it, Mum and Dad say they'll go up to their room, unpack, then head down to check ours out.  The doors open and I get out of the lift... only problem is, it's not even my floor.  I start crying again!  After the game, everyone went out for dinner but I was so exhausted I had to go to bed.  

A couple of weeks later, I ring and make another appointment with the Doc.  I'm going to tell him I'm throwing the pills out, they just aren't working for me.  He says 'Gee!  Looks like the pills are working, lets weigh you'... This time, I've actually put ON a kilo!  That's it!  I'm giving up... I think.

Now, when I say giving up, I mean giving up on the mission to lose weight, not on the exercise front (over these pill popping months I'd actually increased my training to around 9 sessions a week).  Other than the fact I'd not lost much weight, I was feeling really happy with myself.  The exercising was having an effect, it just wasn't happening for me on the scales.  I decided to put in one last ditched effort and starting watching what I was eating... not going overboard, just cutting out crap during the week - the weekends were all mine and I'd worked fucking hard for them.

Slowly but surely the weight dropped off and I got down to about 72 kilos and I think that's where I sit now.  To be honest, I'm not too sure cause I haven't weighed myself in about 5 months.  I figure, I put too much pressure on the scales to perform in the past, I'm not giving them the power again.  I know how my jeans fit, I know which hole my belt does up in and I'm happy to let these measures be my guide.  

Right now, I'm relatively happy.  I mean, I'm not about to get on National TV in my bikini but I have no longer have aspirations to weigh less than I did in grade 4.  Hell, I've even come to like my boobs... bit of an asset, not so much of a liability these days!  My calves?  Well, they are still too big to get into most boots but fuck it, they've always been like that, plus I live in a warm climate where I don't get to where boots too often anyway!

So I'll keep pounding away at the gym and not just because I need it to keep the figure I worked harder than most for... but because these days (besides the abuse I subject it to once a week) I've come to respect my body.  I've discovered that your mind and body are most certainly interlinked and both need to be fit and healthy for balance.

I guess when I weigh it up... Healthy body + healthy mind = healthy self respect 

and I'd like to keep it that way!

Let it all hang out... The benefits of being open.

If I were to describe myself, I'd probably say that I'm a pretty strong character. Micko obviously thinks so too! Last night when he got home from work, he said: 'You must be feeling much better cause your talking heaps! Great! Now I have to put up with your opinions about everything! You are so much quieter and humble when your sick.'

Hmmmmm.... What could he possibly mean by that?

It's a hard thing to do, to see yourself from someone else's perspective. I know my good points and I'm very familiar with my faults. Being an Aussie people are very quick to point these out - can't have someone whose 'up themselves' roaming around - bring her down a couple of pegs. Luckily, I've also developed quite thick skin over the years! I think in my younger years I questioned myself more than I do now and these days most of the time I don't even recognise when someone is 'having a go'... This has to be pointed out to me. I believe people are entitled to their opinions, including what they think of me. Hey man, I've heard it before so take your best shot. I can be an aquired taste... a bit like beer!

Whilst I'm great at keeping other peoples secrets, I'm really quite shit at keeping my own! The following is an example of a secret I did well at keeping:

Micko was feeling a bit lonely after living in Vic for nearly a year and we were both really missing our North Coast buddies. His birthday was coming up so I decided to organise a surprise visit. I booked the tickets a few months before and spread the word that we'd be up for beers and birthday banter. Micko and I were getting a bit over the fickle Victorian weather and decided the places we wanted to settle were a little out of our reach (price wise). We started to consider other places and Nambucca had been a reoccurring theme over the years. We'd been looking at this place, Micko had seen it in person already and wanted me to check it out before we settled. (By the way the ordeal that ensued will totally be another blog) He started to organise a flight up... for his birthday! What could I do? I had to tell him that I'd already booked it as a surprise and that he'd totally ruined it now. I also let it slip that I'd organised a gathering at our favourite pub in honor of his birthday. Bom Bommmm!

I'm the person who shows everyone their wedding dress prior to the day... Who tells everyone the baby names she has picked out... If I'm ever in the 'family way' I won't be finding out the sex of the child cause I'll fucking tell everyone I know! And finally, I'm the person who hears at least once a week 'That was a little too much information'! Truth be told I'm just really shit at keeping my mouth shut! And probably to make me feel a little better, I often refer to myself as the caring sharing type. The more you hide things, the more people pry. If I'm an open book, I think people won't bother pouring over the pages of my life looking for clues. So, when I think about what people don't know about me, there really isn't a lot to tell. For the most part, I'm a happy chappy who likes a good laugh, a few beers and mix it up with a bit of 'shock value' every once in a while.

So, what don't you know about me?


Well, you'd know I'm quite opinionated but unless you'd sat down and discussed the heavy stuff you probably don't know my stance on certain issues. Things I'm very passionate about include: Australians and racism (placed together purposely cause that's generally how I find them - hand in hand), Reconcilliation, Religion and Animal Cruelty. Most other discussions I'm totally open to opinion and will take on board your points and values and could be swayed either way... but on the previous mentioned - no way!

In the past, I've donated 10% of earning to charity - not these days though. I had to stop when I left secure full time work cause I didn't have the funds, but I did sign up for a sponsor child just yesterday and I got the poor little fella that no one had picked.

I have a third nipple... not something most people share and chances are you've not met one of us before. I'll let Wikipedia explain:

'A supernumerary nipple (also known as a trip nip, thirdnipple, triple nipple, thripple, accessory nipple, polythelia or the related condition: polymastia) is an additional nipple occurring in mammals, including humans. Often mistaken for moles, supernumerary nipples are diagnosed at a rate of 1 in 18 humans.'

To prove that I'm not alone here are a couple of celebs with a 'thripple' - Lily Allen and Mark 'Marky Mark' Wahlberg, so I'm obviously in good company! When I first was told by my Mum and Doc I must have been about 14 years old and thought I was a total freak! The Doc said I could have it removed and have plastic surgery, but that 'was pointless unless I was going to be a model and clearly that was not the case'. OUCH! I've only ever met one other person who suffers from 'Trip Nip'. Oh and 'yes' it looks like a nipple... just without the areola.

And finally... I'm a counter and I have a system to most things.  When I shower, I always follow the same routine and never break it... this extends to getting out of the shower.  Before I open the shower door I shake, like a wet dog, each side 10 times.  Then I flap my hair towel in the air 10 times, flick my hair over and back 10 times before I turban it up in the towel.  I then get my body towel and flap that 10 times before drying myself from toe up to back - the face drying happens before the hair flicking.   I will only take things out of the microwave when they have reached a time frame I can break down.  Only at the 15, 30, 45 or minute mark and not in between.  If I'm running, skipping or boxing it has to be to the minute or too the hundred count, if I accidently go over I have to continue until the following minute.  I think I get these obsessive compulsive tendencies from my mother - who still won't walk on a crack in the footpath.

So, have you worked out who I really am yet?  Have you put together the clues and dug deep into my psyche?  If so, you've probably figured out the one secret I did still have - although some may have known it all along....

I'm a total control freak!  

The Proposal

Micko and I had been dating for a few years and were seriously considering marriage - a strange feeling - I'd never really thought I would do it. We'd looked at some rings and surprisingly came accross one that Micko liked on, of all places, ebay.

*** I should probably now explain that I have an ebay addiction and have banned myself from purchasing anything for at least 3 months. Some of my recent purchases include a totally rad Rage Against the Machine t-shirt that has the RATM symbol made out of the words of 'Renegades of Funk' - AWESOME! Also, purchased a child safety gate, a little wooden guitar antique brooch, a tea cosy that looks like a knitted owl from the 70s (useless but looked cool), a well overpriced ceramic green bull (I was drunk) and the list goes on and on and on and on! I could almost write an entire installment on 'Useless Ebay Purchases'!)***

So, back to the story at hand! The ring Micko showed me was fucking awesome and I loved it to bits. As Micko is a bit of an Ebay retard I had to put in the bids and we won! We got it for an absolute steal (well I reakon anyway) and were both pretty stoked. The deal we struck, was although I had seen it online, the next time I would see it was when he proposed...... well that didn't work out cause I hounded and hounded him until one night, when we were a bit out of our brains, he caved in and showed me. The ring was then hidden away awaiting resurface on our engagement... which Micko assured me could be at anytime.

One sunny early December morning in 2005 we decided to go snorkelling. This was an activity we both loved to bits and could be seen any fine weekend bobbing up and down along the rocks on the Brunswick River.

So this particular stunning North Coast morning, we had been in the water for a couple of hours and I was starting to prune up and get very cold. I had been picking up rubbish out of the rocks near the park to put in the bin - doing my bit for the community (the drain is just for rain peoples!!!). I told Micko I was getting out cause I was fucking freezing. He said, in a nasally snorkelling mask voice, "Before you get out, come over here and check this out!". Reluctantly I swam over.... He pointed under the water. I chucked my head under and saw a piece of rubbish he was holding... part of which was disintergrating before my eyes with bits floating off here and there. I thought to myself 'So fucking what?'... then slowly my eyes adjusted properly and the piece of rubbish was actually a sign Micko had made up and wrapped in glad wrap. It said "Will you marry me?".

I started to piss myself laughing and almost drowned. As I snorted out a 'HA' the mask filled with water and so did my mouth, lungs, eyes etc. After I'd calmed down a little, he pulled the ring out of his boardshorts, which thankfully he had tied onto the strap where the board comb goes and chucked it on my finger.

We went home laughing our heads off, made a few phone calls and cooked a big fuck off breakfast! The end...

Or just the beginining?

Introducing 'The Frullet'

I watched some of Ellen today (before you start with asking 'do you ever work', I'm still crook and can't do a lot of the stuff coming through right now) Anyway, Drew Barrymore was a guest and they were talking about bad hairstyles they've had... Namely, the very big fashion faux pas from the 80s - The Perm! Suddenly, I recalled my worst hair experience and I thought why keep it to myself... Share it around!
I was living in Byron and working for the below mentioned establishment. Due to lack of funds (radio pays shit - especially when you work with The Prick) I could no longer afford to go to my fabulous hair dresser in Byron. I needed to find someone cheaper! I rang around and in Lennox I found a salon who only charged $35 for a cut so I booked an appointment.
Prior to moving up to Byron I had my hair cut to just below the shoulders - quite a bold move for me! The last couple of times I'd had it cut, it wasn't quite the same. I explained to the man, I'd like it pretty much the same, but the layers could be a little shorter.
Away he went... My sister in law coincidentally came in for a haircut and we started chatting away madly. I checked my hair and although it is a little shorter than I'd wanted, it had this kind of Karen O look/feel (singer from the Yeah Yeah Yeahs) and I'm thinking it looks pretty good. I turn to the sis in law and keep chatting. The man continues chopping away but my back is to the mirror so I'm not too sure where he is at. Seems like he's been hacking away for some time now! Then, all of a sudden, he spins my chair around and says..."There! Now you have the perfect head for radio!"
Huh? The perfect head for???..... FUCK ME! I do have the perfect head for radio! The kind that should be heard but never seen! Somehow, he has managed to interpret my 'shorter layers but keep the length and the style' into 'give me a mullet'!
Here's the run down... 2cm short on the top, going a little bit longer the further you go down, quite thin towards the bottom and a lovely long bit at the back! If I had to liken it to someone you'd be familiar with, I'd say I looked like a mix between Carole Brady (if she'd just gotten out of bed and not yet reached for the Cedel Hair Spray), Bert Newton (for the roundness of my face) and perhaps Jason Donovan (when he was playing Scott in Neighbours). Lets just say it was a great new look, especially for the mid 00's!
The worst part of the whole thing was that I just didn't know how to respond. I was kind of in a state of shock... I also didn't want to hurt his feelings - never mind the fact he has left me with a complex about hair cuts! I even smiled and paid the fucking $35!
I jumped in my car, thought perhaps its not that bad and took a look in the rear view mirror... Oh no! It's not that bad... its fucking way worse that bad! I rang Micko as tears started streaming down my face.
'Whats wrong Karls? Are you okay? Whats happened?'
'I look like a boy in the 80s! Micko, I look sooo shit... I don't know what to do!'
'Come home Karls... It will be fine! It's probably just a shock. I'm sure its not that bad!'
I arrived home to find Micko and my house mate out the front waiting for me. I get out of the car with my eyes all blotchy from crying all the way home - well pretty much - Each time I stopped crying I'd go back for another look and once I'd caught a glimpse of myself I'd start bawling again! So, I get out of the car and the 2 of them just piss themselves laughing - not just a giggle but rolling around on the ground pissing themselves laughing! Man! Was I dirty! I ran up to my room and stayed there for about 2 days crying constantly. Then, I figured I was being fucking ridiculous and it was only hair... I began to put things into perspective.
For the following 6 months I wore a green hippy headband I picked up from the market and wore the long straggly back parts in piggy tails. I was determined that not a single sole would ever see the female mullet (which I affectionately referred to on radio as 'The Frullet). Plus, The Prick was real happy about the new look - 'fucking dirty hippy'.
The moral of the story? Buyer beware!!!! You get what you pay for!

Radio Gaga

Once I'd arrived home from the Splendour adventure, I'd already decided I needed a change of scenery and lifestyle. My travelling buddy and I were putting the wheels in motion for a move up north...where the sun is shining and weather is fine!

At the time I was working as a Sales Rep for a photographic company and I'd stuck to my 5 year plan to get there. My working life to date had been centered around the photographic industry. I'd worked in a few labs & camera shops, plus my favourite job at Madame Tussauds as a photographer - I'd also done a bit of freelance work. The problem was that it was no longer satisfying me. Here I was, young and female, in an industry surrounded by older men. It wasn't the male dominance that bothered me, cause I can certainly kick it like a man, it was the realisation that that was it. I couldn't go much further... I mean, I could have worked another 10 years to become National Sales Manager but by this time sales had lost it spark.

I thought long and hard about what I'd like to do. I remembered back in my Uni days that I'd really loved sound production and that I'd always thought about working in radio, but thought either I wasn't good enough (bit of a theme throughout my life) or that it would too hard to break into... that's why photographics was so appealing to me. I bit the bullet and enrolled in a short course in radio in Melbourne. The guy running the course filled me with confidence... He thought I was the shit! I started to think to myself... "Hell yeah! I can totally do this!"

Started to look for jobs but was still seriously thinking about a move to Byron - especially because Micko and I were talking on the phone every night for about 3 hours. Went to check out a couple of stations and on my list was Colac - where I seriously considered moving - quite a change from Byron. Couldn't take the plunge so instead I looked forward to planning the well anticipate move north. If things were meant to be up there, they'd fall into place (a Mickosophy). Besides, on a trip up I'd met a good mate of Micko's who worked at the radio station I was hoping to get a gig with. He'd said he'd definitely keep an ear to the ground.

Mid December I went to my awesome work mates and told them I'd be leaving. I was more devasted than they were, I think. I was kind of distracted by future plans for the last few months with them and I wasn't really pulling my weight anymore. I'd become really disorganised (organisation was not my strong point in those days) and I knew I was letting them, and myself, down hanging around. I still didn't have a job lined up, but having such a strong background I knew that I'd find work in a camera store if not in radio.

I've always said that if you open yourself up to opportunity then it has the opportunity to knock. Coincidentally, the very next day I got a call from the radio station to come in for an interview! I booked a flight to Byron to arrive on Boxing Day and booked in an interview shortly after.

Sometimes, I think I should take the 'first impressions' rule a little more seriously! This station manager (we'll refer to him here on in as 'The Prick') was something else! He has a strong reputation for being the biggest prick in radio and I was forewarned by the radio school that working for him was a bad move. They were well right! Among his initial questions were "Are you planning on getting barefoot and pregnant?" and "What is behind your decision to move to Byron - do you have a drug problem?" I thought to myself... have you even glanced at my CV, prick? He gave off a really bad vibe and I was quite scared of him but, hey, I needed a job (and ideally one in radio) and he provided me with the opportunity.

Now I've worked in some strange workplaces and I thought I'd seen it all... Bad communication, bullying, politics, bad morale, etc etc etc. Hell, I'd even seen workplace blues come to blows! But I hadn't seen nothing yet! This place was the most backward of workplaces I'd ever come across! The Prick was an absolute tyrant, the office manager was totally unapproachable and reminded me of one of those typecast German sidekicks (an Australian version of Eva Braun - her nickname around the traps), and the staff - well most of them had been beaten down one too many times and had lost the will to fight - lovely people though.

In my time there ( and I use that term similarly to 'doing time') I saw and heard things that seemed totally preposterous!

Well start with Eva : I came back to my desk once to find my pen had disappeared. I had a look around for it, but it had definitely internally combusted or had gone walkabout. I approached 'Eva' and asked if I could please have a new pen as she was in charge of all stationary and consumables - including poo tickets and would ration these out as though living through the depression. She told me to bring the empty pen back, she would check that it really was empty and if so, she'd dispense a new one. I laughed and said 'Surely you're not serious?".... Oh, but she was! DEADLY serious!

Let me paint a quick picture of the work environment for you... My main place of residence was the 'copy room' - the creative hub of the station. On the wall hung a bunch of 'carts' (an old version of tapes that all the ads and promo's were initially recorded onto), our computers which ran Windows 95 had CRT screens propped up by a couple of early 90s yellow pages, and we had no access to internet or email - everything had to be faxed to clients and faxed back!

Another bizarre run in occurred because our chairs were placed on plastic mats. These prevented any wear and tear to the carpet and over time had become quite a hazard. They were ripped to shreds and each time we'd wheel over to the fax machine our chairs would almost topple over. In fact, anytime we moved in our chair we'd hit one of these plastic pot holes and were lucky to come out unscathed. I approached 'Eva' and told here that we either needed to get new mats or just throw them out. She said she'd talk to 'The Prick' and sort something out. The next day, she waltzes into our office, tells us to get up, and removes each wheel off the chair. She pronounces 'There, that will stop you rolling over the holes'. Job done!

And now to The Prick : A fun part of working on air was that you got to have regular appraisals with The Prick. This would involved taping part of your shows voice breaks and taking them in for some 'feedback'. His constructive criticism was always 'your shit'... My response was 'Okay, so what can I do to improve'... He'd say 'Be less shit!'

In radio it is common practice to set up 'Contra' deals - this basically means you provide advertising and they provide you with product to the value instead of sending them a bill. It is also common practice that the staff benefit from these deals every so often. Maybe a dinner out or tickets to a gig or movie, a free CD every now and then. Not in this case! One of our big and regular contra deals was with a local restaurant which he could be seen eating at, alone, every night of the week. Occasionally, he'd invite some clients to dinner to wow them with his hospitality. Shortly after they'd arrive he'd start on his rant about how is surrounded by peasants that he wouldn't piss on if they were on fire. Lazy C's who weren't worth the povo wage he paid.

He also took away our microwave without explanation. All the people who had bought leftovers had to eat them cold or go without as they were to scared to approach The Prick about it. At this point I'd had enough! I knew he hated the smell of anything 'exotic' (pretty much anything from anywhere but the restaurant he ate at each and every night) and I also new he thought papadums smelt like nerve gas. So, I decided to bring in a green curry and a stack of papadums. I waltzed into his office (and the staff hid around the corner to watch) and announced 'The microwaves gone and I brought in a frozen meal... I didn't realise. I'm just going to heat it up now'. I walked straight up to the microwave and chucked in my food. He said 'It better not stink like hippy food'. After zapping the meal, I left the microwave door open and high tailed it outta there. The room smelt like a big, dirty, day after Indian fart. Job done!

These day to day run ins with Eva and The Prick initially provided me with endless jokes and amusement, but eventually they became tiring and ridiculous. I started to build up resentment towards management (like everyone else) and had become scared to voice my opinion (like everyone else).

Now to my major head to head with The Prick! I'd been working in Copy and was really enjoying it, I was obviously doing a good job as we had to hire me a sidekick. These were great days! I had a mate to joke about the 'Axis of Evil' (our term of endearment for management), to off load on and to teach the art of copywriting. I was loving copy and had enrolled myself in a course at AFTRS, which I had to fund out of my own pocket cause the prick didn't believe in personal development or any furthering of skills... as quite obviously this results in staff becoming 'too big for their britches'.

It cost me an absolute packet but it was something I thought would really benefit me and the station so I did it. It was at this time that he 'let go' of another staff member he clashed with (one by one he was cleansing his station of 'useless pricks'). This meant that the drive announcer would be put on the AM station and I'd have to fill her spot. The problem was that this occurred while I was having a couple of days holiday and only found out when I returned to work to find someone sitting at my desk! I walked in the door and said to the girl sitting at my desk 'Hi, I'm Karly... I'm the copywriter', to which she replied 'I'm blah blah, and I'm the new copywriter'! All day, I tried to get in to see The Prick to ask him what the fuck was going on, but he avoided me completely. For almost a week I roamed the station not knowing what I was supposed to be doing.

Eventually, I managed to see The Prick and he informed me I was now the 'Drive Announcer'. I was pretty peeved especially as he knew I'd enrolled in this course. He told me, 'Well it's done now... I can sack the girl, but it will be on your head'. I couldn't do it to her and I was furious. I stormed out of the office and once out of sight started bawling my eyes out! How could I possibly make this girl loose her job because of me? I stewed on it for a few weeks and then I thought to myself... No! It's not on my head... It's his fucken mistake and he can fix it himself. I calmly strolled into his office and told him EXACTLY what I thought about him and once I'd finished my rant and stormed back out I saw him smiling.

From then on in, I was the golden child, I could do no wrong. The only problem was that he started paying out all the staff to me. I told him to do his own dirty work... that he was the General Manager and if he wanted the place to change, it had to start with him. He needed to communicate with staff and be more approachable. He said he couldn't do that because it's against OHS and he feared being slapped with another lawsuit (I think at this point there had been 3 or 4 against him). I told him that when OHS was introduced the term General Manager didn't become 'General' and if he kept going the way he was going he'd end up with another lawyer banging on his door. I then walked out, wrote my resignation and left.

After leaving, it took quite some time to adjust to life on the 'outside'. I realised what I'd always known, but had been beaten out of me by The Prick and his institution... I was worthwhile, had a very good set of skills and could do whatever I put my mind too! These days, it's all just a memory and although it was tough, it certainly was the kick in the arse I needed to get my shit together and have a crack at life. Now here I am, running a business in an area I love and I'm happy and loving life. Could I have done it without The Prick and Eva? I'm not so sure!

Takin' it eeee-asy

Today I'm having a 'take it easy' day... It's not too often I have one of these as it's not too often I get sick these days. I attribute it to partly being because I'm self employed and don't have a lot of contact with people and air conditioning, not to mention the stress of working for some bastard who doesn't give a shit about you. But also to the fact that I'm pretty fit. Since I've been exercising very regularly I don't pick up things as easily. I hate being sick, almost as much as I hate racism.
Being that I make my living from using my voice, a cold or anything that affects the sound of my voice, is devastating! Often my work is ongoing, so I need to be able to pick up where I left off. Or the client might want to change a paragraph in one of the segments, so I need to be able to match that sound perfectly - or at least match it so that it doesn't sound at all out of place. When you have a snotty nose or a sore throat that is almost impossible to do!
I have a series of 'treatments' I use to ward off the nasty lurgee's that surround me!
One: at the very first sign - a tickle in the throat, a blocked ear or a few sneezes that don't bear the hallmarks of hayfever - I buckle down, start taking some serious vitamins and drink shitloads of water. I also go for a work out and eat lots of vegies and fruit.
Two: if this feels as though it's developing I start drinking the concoction - an infuser tea pot, a chopped up chilli, a smashed clove of garlic, a peeled stick of ginger, the juice of a lemon and some honey (cause without it, this would taste shitter than it already does). I also start on anything the health shop recommends - echinacea and crap like that.
Three: If all else fails, I start taking Cold & Flu tablets and whatever lozenges I can get my hands on... plus I rest and rest.
Usually, if I follow these steps I can either avoid a cold or fluey type thing... or at the very least it comes and goes within a couple of days and I remain relatively unscathed. Right now, I'm in the last phase.
Over the last couple of weekends we've had visitors with kids. I've loved having them around for the most part. Only problem is... when there are kids around I don't get enough sleep - mainly cause I've been drinking heavily during the arvo/nights and the little ones are up at the crack of the sparrows arse generally making a shitload of noise!
Note to self: next time hide the Hungry Hippos game and enforce a no shoes inside on floorboards policy. This problem is so obviously not caused by my drinking!
Fingers crossed this one passes quickly and I'm back into the swing of things tomorrow. But if no, I guess it gives me an excuse not to do any housework and read a good book in bed!

A vist with Dr Evil

I'm skipping forward a little from the meeting Micko scenario to about a year later when we were happily living together in Suffolk Park (about 5 minutes south of Byron). Initially I moved into the flat he was living in which was basically a make shift garage or shed. It had a bench with a sink in it (the kitchen) which was part of the room with the TV and couch (the living area) and an area cordoned off with a sheet and some wooden beads was a bed (the boudoir). Thankfully, the guy who owned the garage had recently put a bathroom in so Micko no longer had to run into his house to shit or shower... This was such a blessing because the dude was a total weirdo and although we had some really great times in this little pad, I was never fully at ease. The guy had this weird vibe and I always felt like he was 'watching' me. Not to mention I am a human shitting machine and I'd probably end up spending more time in the dudes place than my own!

So, I won't go into the long version, I'll save that for another day, but to cut a long story short I had a mate moving up from Melbourne with me and we all needed to find a pad together. Eventually we found this 3 bedroom townhouse across the road from the beach - rad, rad spot! Shame about the landlord - yet another blog is necessary (perhaps I should make a list). We moved in and things were going along relatively swimmingly.

At the time I was working at a radio station in Lismore (as you'd know if you read my first entry) and I was experiencing some bowel problems most likely related to stress - now that I look back. My bowels have always been linked very closely to my emotional state and sometimes not so much - just eating out a Bain Marie causes me to run holding my arse cheeks together to the nearest toilet post haste! In fact, when I was living and working in Melbourne a train trip each morning (shortly after my shit o'clock) left me sitting with my high heel dug firmly in my arse while my eyes would go watery and my hair stood on end - much to the amusement of my friends.

Back to the story at hand... It's not often that I suffer from any form of constipation - usually quite the opposite! Going from having a minimum of two craps a day to not a single skerrick, not even a rabbit poo, in almost 2 weeks was EXCRUTIATING!!! I spent the best part of that time crippled over in pain. I hate going to the Docs and I honestly thought I could just ride this out without a visit, but alas I was wrong. I reluctantly decided to book in an appointment with my really lovely doctor, Carole. Even more unfortunately, she wasn't going to be until the following week! I could not wait that long so I booked in with a guy, who Micko informed me shortly afterwards was an uber arsehole 'bigtime'. Too late... I had to go (quite literally).

Dr Uber Arsehole asks me a few rudimentary questions then requests I lie on the stretcher, pull down my pants, pull my knees to my chest while he lubes up this big plastic thing that looks like a gun and shoved it fair square up my clacker! Then he rips the thing out and tells me to sit up. He says, "Hmmmmm... Well there certainly is a blockage"... Uh, DURH! Followed closely by, in an ever so matter of fact way, "and what are you doing about those anal warts?"

My mind starts racing... Anal warts? What the fuck is this guy on about? I don't have anal warts... do I? Oh my god! When did I get them? What about Micko? Don’t anal warts cause you to become infertile? And so on and so on. Dr Uber Arsehole, writes out a prescription for an enema and some anal wart ointment and then books me in for some further STD checks. I head home horrified and in tears - what else have I got? How can I break this to Micko? What if I've passed something onto him? I headed to the pharmacy to pick up my arse supplies.

Micko was great... He said it didn't matter, that we'd treat it, he'd get tested and we'd deal with whatever was coming out way together. He seemed so relaxed about it all. Then he had to give me a couple of enemas! We'd been seeing each other only briefly at this point and here he is shoving stuff up my arse (not the fun kind of stuff either).

We both had to have the full gamut of tests done and this time round I was adamant that I'd see Carole. We both sat down and she told us Micko was all clear - what a relief! Then, to my surprise, she also told me that all I had was Chlamydia and it could be treated by taking 2 pills. I told her that Dr Uber Arsehole had told me I had anal warts and wrote out a prescription which I had filled... Also that it was super expensive and I hadn't touched it yet cause I was too embarrassed to let Micko gently dab each wart in my arse every day - morning and night! She rang the pharmacy and they said I could take it back and get a refund.

I was totally stoked, relieved, angry and feeling very sorry for myself all at once. So much so, my bowels kicked back in. I went home and spent some quality time with me, my Cottonelle poo tickets, a good book and I shat out the whole experience!

On the more serious side... Life eventually got back to normal - I still held onto a few residual feelings from Dr Uber Arseholes response. I'd really felt quite slutty, irresponsible and dirty due to his very cold dealing with me. I still can't understand how so many people who work in the medical system and can have so little rapport with people. It's like although they got the 'smart' gene, the 'empathic' gene passed them by! Needless to say, I've not visited Dr Uber Arsehole since and a trip to the Docs still leaves me running for the nearest loo.

Meeting ''The Micko' - The man, the myth!

Me and Micko on our first official 'date'... D&K's Wedding 2003 - Was going to put a Splendour photo up but they are HIDEOUS!

Back in 2003 a good friend, my brother and I headed up to Byron for a bit of Splendour action. We packed up the car and headed off up the Hume in search of a good time.

I arrived at a friends place in the Byron Hinterland late on the Friday night, after a stopover the night before in Dubbo (man, that place is a shithole). We hit the sack shortly after to recharge for what would be a MASSIVE weekend.

I woke up on the Sat morn and had a quick shower, then I got dressed in my best cords and tee and went to sit on the deck to cool down... I looked hideous! Red blotchy skin and wet long hair stuck to my head... a little like a drowned rat that had a blotchy face. At that very moment in walked "The Micko". This bit sounds like a total wankfest, but it's how I felt so I'm going to write it... The second I laid eyes on the big red I felt at ease. His big smiley face and relaxed air were intriguing and very attractive!

Off to Splendour we went... Saturday was filled with shit hot music, making new friends, taking a shit load of drugs and drinking heavily. All day I wanted to make a pass at Micko but I just didn't have the guts. At one point I hip and shouldered him thinking in my own warped way that it might make him notice me... oh it did! He looked at me like I was a total fucking weirdo!

After a day of drug fueled fun, we all jumped in a Maxi and headed back up to the property. A few slowly headed off to bed, but I stayed up sitting on the balcony talking shit to some of the guys, laughing my head off and chain smoking scoobs. Micko passed on a joint and as we touched fingers I felt a surge of electricity shoot through my body. I headed off to bed and dreamt Micko and I were together and I swear I woke up to hearing him and a mate knocking on my door (he strongly denies this ever happened). My dream felt so real that when I woke up in the morning (a little worse for wear) I was truly unsure if we had fucked or not (we had not).

So Sunday arrives too quickly... Snort a few lines and back down to Belongil we head. Another great day of bonding with new buddies and old, drinking, drugs and plenty of rock and roll. Was totally not a fan of Coldplay, but live, they really blew my mind (might have been the pills talking cause I'm still not a big fan - although a couple of songs still give me a 'shiver'). Another Maxi Taxi ride home and a sing along to Vanilla Ice.

We arrived back at the property have a bit of a bon fire, some fire twirling and other hippie shit like that, with plenty of banter about who put on the best performance... oh and talk of the nude man covered in mud, standing on top of a garbage bin with his arms out stretched like Jesus on the cross. Quite a sight! It was right at the end of Coldplay and it seemed that every single person in the tent turned around at exactly the same time to see this tripper! The coppers quickly put an end to that, crash tackling the poor nude bastard and wrapping him in a garbage bag before hauling is wet and cold arse to the cop shop. Oh and one other dude that had this killer afro... He was a pale white dude with the biggest mousiest brown afro I've ever seen (this dude would become a theme to many music festivals after that - no matter where it was : Meredith, Livid in Brissie, Splendour, Big Day Out) there he was!

So the next day, with very sore heads, Micko had to head off to take his dog (Tyson) camping. I was spewing... I'd spent 2 days wanting to have a crack but just not finding the courage to do so. As he left he gave me a kiss on the cheek and said 'Was really lovely to meet you". And that was that! We packed up the car and started the long trip home the following day.

Growing up!

One of my worst fears, is the fear of growing up. I've tried to delay the inevitable as much as possible but I feel it slowly creeping in like a scene out of 'The Grudge'. Everyday I notice another grey hair or wrinkle that surely wasn't there the day before. My face used to have skin like a babies bum, it's now slowly sagging and strangely discolouring!

But it's not just the superficial that's aging... I feel like my personality is also aging. A feeling I'm totally not used to - I think I've heard it refered to as maturing (the pleasant way of saying you're getting boring).

Why just the other day I was doing some loads of washing after having some visitors stay a few nights. While folding the bedding I suddenly thought to myself - "I'm a master at folding the fitted sheet"! When exactly was it that I stopped scrunching it up into a ball and shoving it in above the roughly folded doona cover? It couldn't have been too long ago. I remember opening my cupboard at Barwon Heads and having the balls of fitted sheets on the verge of bursting out each and everytime.

Over the past couple of years (mainly during my time in Vic - 'cause my house in Byron and Brunswick Heads were occassionally 'surface' clean) I've certainly lifted my game in the cleanliness stakes! These days I rarely have a day when I wouldn't be ashamed of the state of my house... I could even happily have people just drop in! In the past, you'd have to give me a weeks notice so I could get the mammoth pile of clean, but unfolded clothes off the floor in most rooms.

I remember the days when I'd sweep or vacumn once a year!
When I'd go out each and every Friday and Saturday night...
When I ate take away, sang frequently and danced every single weekend.
Now, I sweep almost daily, weekends are spent at home (still with copius amounts of piss though), I rarely gorge on KFC, I sing when I'm driving and I might dance at a wedding once a year.
What a travesty!

And then it's the baby thing. Only a couple of years ago almost all (around 99%) of my girlfriends where childless. These days that high percentage is taking a tumble. In fact, today I'm heading out to pick up a portacot for my visiting guests!

Talk with mates quickly switches from where are we going out, what drugs are we going to take, are we going to go to Splendour this year? To... when you have kids this, and when you have kids that... Or so and so is starting to crawl, I've finished breastfeeding, and I've just had my first period. The conversation is totally stacato with their eyes darting here there and everywhere or interupted by a 'Mummies talking' comment.

Suddenly, I'm the minority! And even more so due to the fact that I'm not sure I even want to enter babydom (making me a slight evil and insane individual)! Hell... I'm already married and have my own house, I even clean and cook for Christs sake! I can't get much more adult (sorry mature) than that!

Who knows... perhaps I'll come acustomed to 'maturing' and I won't find it so dull and boring. In the meantime... I'm going to party like it's 1999 (seemed like that came and went so quickly), pick up my act in the singing stakes, go get HJ's for lunch today and chuck iTunes on random for a dance in the office. If it's true that 'you're only as old as you feel'..... catch you round! I'm off for a shot of botox and to make myself some fairy bread!