Sober Hag

My lack of stories can only mean one thing - my booze hag crown is not longer apt. It appears my booze hound boy and I have settled for the quiet life in OZ. I know what you are thinking - who has fun without alcohol abuse? Rest assured I still enjoy a red wine or two, I still love to party with my girls and I do still occasionally get googlies, but I seem to opt for nights in front of the box in preference to running amok these days. I can’t say I don’t miss harassing small Asian boys, stealing bicycles and wrestling lollipop men for their wares but I do love my new/old lifestyle.

Once my Japanese bubble burst, it took me a long while to appreciate life in Australia. I can honestly say it is easier to live in a foreign country with little knowledge of language, customs and society than it is to live here. Oz was a big slap of reality for me but I am wiser and unfortunately older for confronting it. I haven’t had a whole lot to write about in the last twelve months. University isn’t as fun when you are a mature age student. You know, they don’t necessarily sit up the front because they are massive nerds. They just can’t see the screen from up the back. And the P’s make degree’s tag just doesn’t sit right anymore, a pass to a mature age is like being banned from the Lucky Country Hotel to an undergrad - it’s soul destroying.

I have now finished uni and have the good fortune of being a lady of leisure, so have time to dabble here again. I can’t promise tales of inebriated chaos like the past, but I thought it would be fitting to share my older and slightly less drunk perspective on life. Apparently people have hobbies beyond happy hour, who would have thought?

I'm still alive

I’m just dull. These days I don’t really do much worthy of blogging about. I work, I study and in between I hang out at home and play word games. It’s safe to say I’ve turned over a new leaf, or perhaps a really old leaf? Instead of going out, getting trashed and running amok, my Saturday nights now consist of homemade pizza, lemon cordial and Rockwiz, except when I’m feeling particularly rowdy and I bust out Sing Star.

I am officially a nanna. I drink Port, I read cookbooks, I have ‘my programs’ I watch on tele and I am thrilled my native animals. The only shopping I do is for groceries and I get excited when they bring out a new fabric softener scent. I have flybuys and collect dockets. I wear slippers. I use placemats and coasters. I wear my mum’s hand-me-downs because wearing grandma’s was causing problems in my relationship and some of my dresses are ‘for good’.

And the really wrong thing about all this, is that I am completely content doing it. I am at least twice the size as when I got home from Japan and I regularly leave the house without looking in the mirror. I look at the trendy young things at uni bemused, I have a sneaking suspicion many of them are wearing their ‘for good’ clothes to uni. Meanwhile I have only just resisted the urge to wear my tracksuit pants, ugg boots and mum’s knitted jumper.

At uni, Ang and I have to sit up the front because I can’t see the board from up the back and we are total mature age students. I start my assignments sometimes up to a week before they are due and I would be completely devastated with a simple pass mark. I go in early so I can have a coffee before my lectures and I only had a beer at lunch once last semester.

Where is this all leading? What am I going to do when I actually am old? Am I destined for bingo and embroidery? Michael Buble and lap blankets? And why don’t these prospects terrify me? Rather than fighting these elderly urges, I am embracing the nanna within. Grandma’s bake wicked cookies and some nanna’s drink gin.

How to Ausify a Pom

Take one whinging Pom from the bright lights of Okubo, Japan and then take away all of his wages leaving him skint and with little option but to move to the depths of the Australian countryside with his incredibly sexy Australian girlfriend. Once in Australia give him copious amounts of alcohol and feed him lamb every day to keep him happy and healthy. Teach him how to light a barby without singeing his mono-brow, how to ride a quad-bike and how to distinguish a blue tongue lizard from a death adder and he’ll be yours forever.

Today marks two weeks and two days in Australia for us. It’s fair to say we have gone from one extreme to the other. In Japan it would take approximately three minutes to walk to the conbini yet today, in contrast it took us two hours to walk to the shop and back and we acquired a friendly dog on the way home.

Steve has met and drunk with all my family and friends now and wooed them all with his guitar playing talent. Last night we drank a cask of red with dad and Heath before dad impressed us both by magically putting a chicken to sleep by tucking its head under its wing and swinging it round in front of him. It’s not something you see everyday and we are still very confused about the whole show. Never the less I feel Steve is getting a fair taste of Australia.

Aside from the fact that we are about to strangle each other because we are stranded in the middle of the country with no car and no neighbours, we are beginning what I hope will be a long relationship with my fair country. With more interviews lined up this week and a mates very generous offer to go and stay with her in the city we’ll be sorted in our own beach side apartment in no time, with a (fingers crossed) car purchase soon to follow. If our sad excuse for a company would pull their finger out and pay us for the last months work we did we might be able to buy one sooner but I’ll save that rant for my mums sake because it makes me want to punch walls.

So it's a big, big thank you to my fabulous, generous and patient mum for putting us up and welcoming us home with open arms. I love her to bits and apologise on line for us doubling her washing load everyday, but god its good to be home.

The New Reality

Needless to say, you all feel neglected. See now, I am dividing my time between facebook and performing random acts to be displayed on facebook. My physical existence is just a front for my real life here on facebook. I am slowly but surely replacing real friends with facebook friends with my strict “friend” criteria of having to have actually laid eyes on the subject in question at least once. Friends, (and I hesitate to use that word), who spitefully refuse to facebook infuriate me as the tedious task of individual mailing is becoming irritatingly redundant. Their selfishness leaves me cold, as it is time spent online outside the warmth and familiarity of my community. Viewing screen shots of my friends on facebook saves me the tiresome act of attending social events with uncalled for personal contact and gratuitous physical interaction. Not to mention, the money saved on tabloids, and the additional funds spent on social gatherings put aside, it leaves me laughing all the way to the bank.

You would be silly to be left standing.

Bring it on home

I am writing this without a single person within 500 metres of me. I haven’t been able to say that about any of my posts from within Japan. I’m sitting on the veranda of my mum’s new house in Wallaby Gully and its bliss. I can’t remember ever feeling this relaxed or at home. All I can see in front of me are trees, space and blue sky. I’ve been here two days, I’ve been for a ride around the property on the little farm buggy, fed the chooks, watched the kangaroo’s through the binoculars and pigged out on mum’s potato bake. I hate it when I have to go into town and for once in my life shopping doesn’t interest me in the slightest. I didn’t even want to stay at the pub for long last night. This new place called home is just drawing me to it and I dare say it won’t be long before I finally unpack my suitcase for good here. I’m so proud of my gorgeous mum for building such a beautiful house. I feel a very lucky girl to have such a warm home and wonderfully supportive family. Home certainly is where the heart is.

Click here to see loads more pics on my facebook of Wallaby Gully

28 Years Later

Remember when you were a kid, and your uncle tells you he is 28 years old, and you can’t even understand the concept of being 28. It’s totally beyond all logical thought and you give up confused in the mathematics of it all. He’d laugh off your “wow, you’re old” comments and you’d think; “why are you laughing? You are 28 years old”. Time goes by and you learn your older cousin is 28, he smirks at your comments like “yeah, but when I’m 28, I’ll be much more successful (and I’ll have a boyfriend)”.

My name is Carrie Sewell and I am 28 years old.
(You thought I was going to end that sentence differently?).
I am neither, rich, successful, married or with child and I am still confused by the mathematics of it all.

I was sure that by the grand old age of 28, I would have experienced some kind of epiphany or calling in life. That perhaps I would have found the big switch to turn on the adult in me, or maybe while rummaging through items at a bargain sale I find a cheap price on maturity somewhere at the bottom of the pile. Maybe I would have met an old, caped man in an alley somewhere who for some reason knew my name and could explain to me the signs before mysteriously disappearing in the mist.

Unfortunately none of the above has occurred as yet, which leaves me only one option – To wait until one does. But suddenly, I now know how my uncle and cousin felt when I mocked their seniority. I was recently reminded on two separate occasions that I am in fact 28 years of age.

Last week, my kindergarten class discovered my age and they all sat around wide-eyed in bemusement. Naturally, I didn’t understand their little Japanese debate but I’m sure I heard stories about dinosaurs. I realise now that my uncle was laughing at my cute childhood innocence.

The second incident occurred during a conversation with my ex-boyfriend when I actually heard the words “you are too old for me” escape from his lips. It was at that moment that I realised not only why he is my ex-boyfriend but that, my cousin was smirking at me all those years ago because I was a fuckwit.

Today I am 28 years old. Instead of sitting at home pondering what this means, I am going to go out to celebrate my old age with a bunch of my fabulous mates. I might be 28 but I am still fortunate enough to have my stunning good looks, hot sex appeal, daring sense of humour and hideous sense in men. I better make the most of them while I can.

Misuzu & I, the beautiful birthday girls

Michihiro with the sizzling nipples

Recipe for Disaster

Take one incredibly silly girl and add six vodka tonics. Put her in a room with her boss and sexy colleagues and wait for the destruction. It won’t be long before she’s hurling abuse at the boss from across the room to the tune of “You’re not the fucking boss tonight”, spilling beer on important documents and entertaining co-workers with inappropriate conversations about breasts. A job well done.