Monday, 22 August 2011

Deep Purple

On Saturday I had to wear purple to a party so with a few hours to spare I went shopping. Ended up with just a pair of purple prayer beads because nobody makes good purple clothes. I ended up RUNNING into shops .. "S'cuse me do you have anything purple?" The shop assistants invariably always asked why. I was tired and manic, so I told them the truth: a purple drink company called Ribena had sponsored me to fly across the world for a blogging convention and now they were throwing me a party in Sydney where the dress code was purple. It made perfect sense, but not to the eye-rolly shop assistants. In the end, I did the only thing I knew how ... took the piss out of myself on the internet. On Instagram, actually. Do you know I found out Amy Winehouse was dead via Instagram? Almost as crazy as finding out Osama Bin Laden was dead via twitter. I rang Dave with that one. He jeered at me, "Oh, how do you know that? Did TWITTER tell you?"

I lied and told him that NO, I saw it on the TV. And I felt bad that twitter had told me about the death of the most hunted and hated man in the world. But no more - I will take a stand in solidarity for social media goddamit. This is why America are leaders of the free world - because you walk into a clothes shop and check in on facebook to claim the free discount code for jeans on sale and nobody rolls their eyes at all.

I actually thought that I might wear this top:


                        Isn't it Divine? (Brown)

In each shop I was getting more desperate. There were a slew of outfits, until I just surrendered and kept picking the most RIDICULOUS things to try on, just so I could upload the pics to my Instagram/twitter feed. To keep my people happy. Because this shit was FUNNY.

                   Ironic mummyblogger baby gut that never went away.

The shop assistants would look puzzled when I asked them if I could try my purple bounty on - especially the beanie. When I finally sped off - late, I downloaded Eminem's greatest hits to listen to in the car. I remembered and rapped every single lyric and voice inflection to Cleanin' out my Closet and was a hero in my mind. Arrived to a room full of bloggers at Mrs Woogs house, we went to the party where we had to act all professional.

I had originally asked Dave to come. Surprisingly, he said no. So I asked my two sisters instead. I rang them on the way, remembering what they were like after a few sherbets. Had to actually ask them to please not heckle me during my speech, and please stay away from any Important Executives. Worlds then collided when my blogging buddies met my sisters. Us Three Barrie Sisters are quite the cards. And very, very shy.

It was a great night. There were even cocktails named after us - a LOT of Mrs Woogs were drank. Dranken. Drunk. My cocktail, the Eden, was a mocktail. But there was a typo on the menu which listed vodka in it. A few people made mention to me that there was, in fact, vodka in my mocktail and to be careful. I wondered what would happen, if I relapsed at a blogging event packed with some of the best bloggers in town, my sisters, and the very people I was trying to show gratitude to and impress.

I don't know - but I DO know that I would still be out right now, in Sydney, if I did.

I put together a slideshow for the event, of our travels overseas. I'd never made a slideshow before and taught myself how at 2am in the morning last week. When I eventually crept to bed, Dave woke up and was cranky and I said Mate! I was putting Rocco back in his bed!

He didn't believe me. He always knows when I lie. He loves the way I lie.



The party went really well - thank you to everybody who came and to the organisers for putting it on. I congratulated Naked Communications and Ribena for pioneering the way for other Aussie bloggers. Soon these kinds of things will be the norm. Until then, social media and its uses remain a delicious secret, shocking the crap out of all unsuspecting sales assistants in Penrith Plaza.

Me and Squiggly Rick ended up having an accidental amazing time. He did not flinch when I regaled him with some choice shocking stories. It was fascinating to be out in Sydney on a Saturday night. The memories! At times I felt wistful, wanting to be twenty three again. Tough and angry and owning the night. But it always came at such a huge cost. At one point I accidentally bumped into a guy as I was walking down the street. Immediately I said sorry, and the guy goes, "You will be if you do it again." He was not joking. Oh how Squiggly Rick and I laughed! Part of me wanted to go right back there and get all up in his face. I could have - I only masquerade as an idiotic middle-aged woman.

When I got back home yesterday, Rocco kissed me on the cheek and told me to NOT  EVER wipe that kiss off mum. Max proudly showed me his new bum comic he had drawn, he wants to photocopy it ten times and charge his friends 50c each. I had a sore back and throat and legs and feet. The old grey mare she ain't what she used to be.

I've felt a huge tug lately, from my creative life clashing with my home life. Then, in the quiet times late at night when everybody's asleep .. I marvel at the fact that I have any kind of life at all.
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