This is what we call Perspective

Whilst engaging in potentially scary yet unavoidable hypothetical dinner table conversation:

Chris: "I don't want to freak you out, but eventually you are going to have to have a good long think about our future."

------long pause--------

Shivonne: "Hm. You know what would be good? If I married you, I could get dual citizenship and live like anywhere I wanted."

Chris: "Yes, WE could. I don't think you understand how this whole marriage thing works."

Flight of the Shivonne

Well kids, it's about that time again. Time to get a move on. Literally. As our stay here in the land of Paul Hogan, footy, servos, bogans, jackaroos, bondi cigars, cuppas, stubbies, and all those crazy marsupials* comes to an end, one particular to do on my list just had to be checked off. I wish it was some crazy adventure or a new exotic destination to be visited. Alas no. In the world of travel, the mundane details are just as important as the salacious adventures, and today we completed some necessary business that makes those adventures possible. Positive statement. Ringing affirmative**: we booked our flights. 

Unfortunately that doesn't mean you'll be seeing me anytime soon per say (these international do's have to be booked well in advance don't you know, not to mention the month long stopover to visit all of Chris' wonderful family and friends in the UK). What it DOES mean is I can give you actual, hard, set dates of when you WILL see me again. We call that a compromise. So here is all that vital information you just have to have. Sharpie these dates into your calendar because I am expecting numerous reunion specials upon my arrival. 

March 20th: depart Melbourne 11:15pm

March 21st: arrive London Heathrow 12:25pm

April 19th: depart London Heathrow 1pm

April 2oth: Arrive Dallas-Fort Worth 11am

Well that's the basic skeleton itinerary to date, and there's a lot of flesh around those bones that I'll update you on sometime later (let's just say the second leg of my journey will be an interesting one between an icelandic flight and changing airports in New York. The joys of traveling like a broke penny saving backpacker never end). Suffice to say that April showers this year will be bringing Shivonne along with May flowers. And I can't wait. 

*If you know what all these words mean, you have one up on me my friend.

**Yes, I realize these phrases aren't particularly necessary and probably rather confusing, but I was watching Breakfast at Tiffany's yesterday and Paul's character uttered these words and for some reason I just loved it. Now I'm trying to use this phrase whenever possible. And, yes. People are already getting tired of it. 

Baby, Oh baby.

Yes my friends, there has recently been a new addition to my existence, and frankly I'm ashamed I haven't mentioned him before. Meet my baby-Mr. Pentax X70 Digital Camera Extraordinaire himself. Since that name is a bit on the superfluous side, I decided to go with Harvey. Yes, I've named my fancy new camera Harvey. Makes me feel very vintage press. The pop up flash, on camera digital manipulation, 12 mega pixels, and 24X zoom lend me quite the  amateur photog vibe, even if I can't decipher most of the symbols appearing on my LCD screen. I know, I know. Something something manual reading blah blah blah. Where's the fun in that I ask you? What if I want to take a journey of discovery with my new friend Harvey, uncovering his most fantastic secrets with innocent experimentation? Well, that didn't work. Turns out these fancy schmancy cameras are rather intricate. We're talking histograms, aperture, light exposure, shutter speed, and a whole heap of things I don't understand let alone know how to manipulate. Looks like Harvey has issued me quite the challenge, and you know I'm not the type to back down. Hopefully this gal is brainy enough to figure out the complicated technology (I know, but it's complicated to ME) so I can showcase some fresh pics for your viewing pleasure. Oh, and by the way, this isn't even one of those fancy SLR types with interchangeable lenses. I'm afraid that would be WAY out of my league. 

Now you might be wondering just where I conjured up such a beautiful specimen. Well Harvey was gifted to me from an equally beautiful specimen-the boyfriend. Did Chris outdo himself in the Christmas spirit this year or what? Yes, I'm a very lucky girl. Knowing my fondness of capturing interesting images and my tendency of wearing out my poor little canon power shot, this thoughtful man decided to take it up a notch, and I couldn't be happier. Now let's hope there's enough love to share between Chris and Harvey, because two men in any girl's life can get complicated-am I right?

The Time Has Come My Friends...

...the time for champions that is.

As most, if not all of my readers know, I heart college football. And I have very good reason to. After attending a university boasting one of the foremost powers in the NCAA football arena, it would be heretic not to bleed burnt orange. Unfortunately, for reasons I can't fathom, Australians really aren't all that interested in American football, and definitely not on the college level. Over this past season, I've been able to watch a total of three games. THREE. In not one of those games incidentally did my beloved Longhorns play. Yes. That's just what I thought-an honest to God tragedy. And do you know what the kicker is? At this very moment, the BCS National Championship game is on it's way, and I have to muster some sort of other worldly will power NOT to check the numerous score updates, online streaming footage, or even innocently pop onto ESPN.com. Why might I be putting myself through such torture? Well I just checked the Australian sports channel network and starting at 11:25pm this evening, they will be showcasing one bowl-arama featuring the 5 bcs bowls back to back for my viewing pleasure. I am preparing to gorge myself on an all night college football feast concluding in watching my University of Texas Longhorns march to the victory they deserve in a manner not unlike four years ago on this day when they succeeded in such an attempt against USC. The team may be different, but I swear 'Bama will rue the day they were matched against the 'horns. Before I make my way home for napping duties (Isn't it clear that I have no choice? There's a mandatory all nighter in my future), I'll close this post the only way I know how: HOOK 'EM HORNS!

Not my kind of party

**Editor's Note: I found this entry hiding in my draft section today; therefore, it's dated by approximately two weeks. Oh well. No need to let a perfectly good post go to waste. 

____________________________________________________________________

Let me tell you a little bit about my Saturday night.

5pm- Walk in the front door exhausted from a nine hours of running my butt off to serve coffees and food to all the jolly (and not so jolly) holiday shoppers. As my key hits the lock it hits me: tonight is the night our housemate John is planning his Christmas house party. Crap. In my time in the house so far, I've experienced two of his house parties, neither of which I was that crazy about. I am not looking forward to trying to mingle with a lot of strangers who frankly I could care less about. Plus Chris is working this evening so no moral support from that tried and true source. I sigh. Well it's only one night right? I can put up with anything for just one night, right?

5:02pm-After dropping my bag in my room, I head to the kitchen to grab an apple from the fridge. As I pass the bathroom door, I see aforementioned housemate filling the tub with bag after bag of ice to chill the hundreds of beer bottles already resting in all it's porcelain glory. This is the same bathtub connected to the house shower. Yes, singular, shower. The shower that I was planning to climb into in less than five minutes. I close my eyes, count to ten, and remind myself to set the alarm for half an hour earlier to allow for shower time in the morning. This party is already getting on my nerves.

7pm- After eating a light supper, washing my face, and brushing my teeth, I climb into my pajamas (yes, I'm that tired) and decide to keep to myself in the safety of my room for the duration of the party. After turning on my festive Christmas lights, putting on a little music, and lighting the candles in the fireplace, I curl up on the little love seat couch occupying the far corner of my room with my newly purchased British Vogue with a cup of herbal tea. I repeat the following mantra over and over in my head: 'I will not let a group of unruly strangers ruin my night. I will not let a group of unruly strangers ruin my night...' During my third recital, I hear voices in the front garden...'I will not...'then feet tripping across the porch..'let a group..'excited pounding on the front door...'of unruly strangers'...followed by John's voice-HEY GUYS! JUST WAIT TILL YOU SEE THE TUB! And so it begins.

9:30pm-A couple hours into the party, and I'm already over it. I abandoned my Vogue after 20minutes as the pounding of the music and the obnoxious sounds of drinking rang in my ears. I decide to watch a movie. I slide 'Road to Perdition' into my laptop and place a pair of earphones over my grateful ears. Success. A whole two hours pass in the escapism of cinema without interruption. Unfortunately, it's now bedtime. I tentatively pull one earphone from my ear...DRINK DRINK DRINK choruses from the living room. This is going to be a long night.

11:30pm- I resolutely set my alarm, grab my ipod, and begin to climb into bed. Suddenly the door is kicked open and I stare with shock and aggravation at the 6 eyes staring back at me. Two of the intruders retreat amidst a fit of the giggles. The third at least has the decency to semi-coherently give a type of explanation, "Sorry...were playing a hunting game...didn't know anyone was in here...gotta go." Gee, thanks for that eloquent apology. Setting the volume as close as I possibly dare to maximum without incurring permanent damage on my ear drums I jump into bed with John Mayer and try and call it a night.

2am- 'Wow. I must have finally dozed off.' This is the thought that springs to my mind as I am awoken when the door opens for the second time of the night. A split second later light floods the room as the switch clicks. I don't even pause to see who it is-I politely tell the couple at the door (whom I can only imagine is looking for an empty room to gainfully employ) to get the hell out of my room. I toss and turn for the next hour willing myself to sleep.

3am-Chris pops in after he finishes work to check on me before joining the festivities. I try to refrain from any behavior that might be construed as 'uppity.' I'm not sure I succeeded. The party is on...someone might as well enjoy it. Plus, how much longer can such shenanigans persist?

4am-To answer my previous question, longer than you would expect.

6am-I hear the last of the revelers either escape through the front door or make do with a few hours sleep on our couch. Finally, a little rest for the weary.

7:10am-alarm sounds. i refrain from beating it to a little pulp. After all, the party wasn't my poor dejected cell phone's fault. I sleepily grab my towel and head for the bathroom. On autopilot I lock myself in, turn on the faucet, remove my pyjamas, and proceed to step into ice cold water. My mind foggily tries to translate precisely how bottles of beer made it into my morning cleaning ritual. Then it comes back to me-that.....blasted......party. Bah Humbug. 

Walking in a Summer Wonderland? I think not.

So I've been thinking.
Here I am sitting right smack dab in the middle of holiday season '09. Fairy lights are twinkling. Christmas carols resonate within every establishment I enter (not that I'm complaining-I'm one of those freaks who can listen to holiday tunes all day every day from November through Christmas). Strands of garland peak out of the shop windows, and little children can be heard gleefully listing off their santa list to whoever will listen-or is standing in close enough proximity. Time to curl up with a cup of cocoa in front of the fire and watch a good holiday flick-right? Not unless you're interested in sweating off all those holiday pounds before you even put them on. Yes my friends, a summertime Christmas is about as right as hot dogs dipped in caramel sauce.*

Any way you look at it, the southern hemisphere Christmas just doesn't add up. Where's my white christmas? How can the bells on my sleigh jingle if I have no snow to ride on? Not that I've ever ridden a horse drawn sleigh in the snow, but I'd like to have option to do so if I please. Won't Santa get hot in that velvet and fur trimmed ensemble? How can you eat all the yummy yet incredibly heavy Christmas food in 100 degree weather? What's christmasy about a barbeque on the beach? These are all vital questions that I want answered. Call me a traditionalist, but I want to wear my cute holiday frock for Christmas and not a bathing suit.

Believe it or not, Australia did not consult me on my ideal Christmas weather, so it looks like I'm going to have to put up with what mother nature is dealing me. It's almost a blessing in disguise perhaps- this will be the first Christmas I've ever spent away from home, and I was not looking forward to it at all. Thankfully with all this warm weather, it doesn't even feel like Christmas is upon us. I think the big day will just pass me by without too much hooplah which might be just the perfect thing for a homesick holiday girl. Don't worry, I'm not going to ignore the holiday all together (it's not Jesus' fault that I have weather hang ups on the date of his annual birthday party): Chris and I are going to spend a quiet day at home. The plan is wake up Christmas morning, eat a little salmon and cream cheese bagel combo (the traditional Christmas morning do for both our families), exchange our gifts for one another (we decided to get lots of little stocking stuffer items so we have more to unwrap), and then later make a meal of roast lamb, potatos, green beans, and cranberry relish. And there you have it...Christmas a'la' Australia.

*In case you're interested in where my analogy originated here's the backstory: imagine me-a precocious 10 year old girl having lunch at her grandma's house. Sitting beside me is my unruly younger brother dying to shock his sisters with his antics. When a cheeto sandwhich failed to impress (I mean, who are we kidding? Those things are tasty), he proceeds to dip his hot do in the caramel sauce we were eatting our apples with. The thought still haunts me to this day. Thanks for that Daniel.

The Significant Other

After engaging in some unusually high amounts of girlfriend crazy and an overall indulgence in my whimsical ways, Chris begins to mock me:

C: "You know what I want for Christmas? A medal. No. Make that a trophy. A boyfriend of the year trophy. And a parade. I want a thank you parade for being your boyfriend."

Me: "Oh REALLY?

C: "Oh yeah. I don't think I'm given enough credit for being your boyfriend."

Me: "I resent that. I think a lot of guys would want to be my boyfriend."

C: " Noooooo. A lot of guys would like to DATE you. There's a difference."

Me: "Well maybe I should. Date other guys. See how you like that."

C: "Why? are you messing around behind my back?"

Me: "No, why?"

C: "Because I would have noticed if you were messing around in front of me. I'm not stupid you know."