Pink Poodle on the Runway

Jens Hair Studio

2011-01-26T01:41:00.005+04:00

I'm not a big fan of blogging about every single thing I do - for a few reasons.

Firstly, I don't have time and can't be bothered. Secondly, I don't actually think people care about all the mundane details of my days.

However, this is one mundane experience that everyone experiences and that I feel compelled to write about....because it involves my hair. It's my crowning glory and without it, I'd be like Samson - powerless without it.

I find haircuts traumatic. Honestly, I do. I have a very close friend who goes into slight mourning every time she celebrates a birthday....well that's me about my hair. I don't think it grows overly quickly and I love it long, so every time I have to have a chop-chop, I really dislike it.

After my favourite hairdresser changed jobs and stopped cutting, I had to find another place. Good old Jena was also in need of a new stylist, so she did some super research and found us a place. The Aussie girl there promptly butchered her hair and after a heated complaint, she had it fixed by a lovely Moroccan stylist at the same salon. I've also visited and was rather impressed with her talents......until she cut my hair.

She's a far better colourist than she is a cutter - unless you're a fan of straight across the bottom, where no damage can really be done. I have super thick hair and usually need it thinned out. I wouldn't really call what happened ''thinning out'', but rather ''removing a huge chunk in the name of thinning and hoping Lauren won't notice it''.

Lauren did indeed notice it when she was straightening her hair 2 days later. Safely tucked away towards the back on each side was a chunk of hair no longer than 12cm. Yes that's right, 12cm!! The rest of my hair hangs almost halfway down my back, so 12cm locks were a BIG deal. Horrified, I went back when I next was due for a cut and asked what the missing chunk was all about.

She giggled in an I-don't-really-know-what-you're-asking-me-because-we've-got-a-slight-language-barrier way and brushed it off as ''thinning''.

I promptly decided never to return and set about finding a new place to have my baby-trims. I was so traumatised I then waited for almost 6 months and am pleased to announce my missing chunk has grown a little longer.

I will happily say that my new place of hairdressing is Jens Hair Studio (without an apostrophe, I know), in the White Crown building on Sh Zayed Road. My hairdresser is a funky young Sri Lankan girl and she did a fantastic cut and super-straight blow dry/straightener combo.

They also do super cheap manicures AND they use OPI, my super-fave polish range.

Speaking of OPI, they've released a new line - and they're sparkle-tastic. LITERALLY!! If you happen to find yourself in the USA (particularly the Galleria Mall in Houston), head straight to an OPI stockist and check out ''Bring on the bling'' and ''Show it and glow it''.

They're beyond fantastic - Jena and I have both blinged up our nails in honour of Australia Day today and are giggling like school girls who've discovered sparkle polish for the first time.

AT $8.50 a pop (plus tax, naturally), they're a nice way to recapture one's youth without actually having to be a painful 16 again....!!

Pink Poodle meets Brandon Dalais

2011-01-01T18:23:00.004+04:00

I went to a fab New Years party last night, hosted by my super gorgeous friend Daniel. It was at a crew building down near the marina and it had all the essentials - great food, lots of booze, sparkly banners and balloons and streamers AND cute guys. Everywhere I looked, there were gorgeous men!!

The night was a little bit spesh, because I got to meet a particularly gorgeous young man called Brandon. Brandon's crew with us and is a long-time blog reader. He found my blog through Dan's and managed to read three years worth of adventures in a week!

We've been attempting to meet a few times last year, but it never seemed to work out. Luckily, the planets lined up last night and saw us both end up at the same party.

Brandon lives across the road from me, so I spy a new friend!

Our long-awaited meeting was wonderful and we caught up on some juicy goss, and kind of just stared at each other. He's real!!

Let's talk about love....

2010-10-16T21:47:00.002+04:00

To say I've had a strange year would be a gross understatement. In order to save you all from an emotional vomit, let's just say....this year has been crap, tumultuous, confusing, scary...and ultimately liberating, uplifting and beautiful.

At the beginning of the year, I fell spectacularly in love. Like a little seed, things blossomed. Like all things that are living, we died. I'm a firm believer that nothing is a waste of time - that the people that come into our lives aren't just coincidences or cosmic screw-ups - they come to us to teach us something. With every great loss, something is gained.

I've been lucky enough to meet not just one, but three men this year who have absolutely transformed my life and the way I think about love, family, relationships and ultimately - myself.

Each has given me a new perspective and for that I will be eternally grateful. Just as their ages and nationalities have varied, so too have the types of relationships we've had. They have shown me how to laugh, live and love.

We must never mourn a broken heart, but process and understand what we have lost, let that go and then celebrate what we have gained. The other day, a new friend told me something he believes - something so beautiful I can't forget and must share it: ''Love is never lost, not even in death''.

My beautiful grandfather passed away in August, and while the family and community are mourning the loss, we are also celebrating. Pop, as he was affectionately known to everyone, was one of our home town's last surviving World War 2 veterans. A proud family man, he was the father of 8, grandfather of 14 and great-grandfather of 1. As the eldest female grandchild, it was an honour to speak at his funeral and I was touched (and terrified!) when I got up to speak and saw that there wasn't a spare seat in the church.

While funerals are sad occasions, they are also a wonderful chance for families to come together and catch up. Our family has spread out to different parts of Australia and the world and we very rarely find ourselves together all at once. It was fantastic to see all of my cousins again and we have a very special picture of almost all of us - something we haven't had in about 10 years.

So indeed, love is never lost, not even in death.

Guess who's back, back again...

2010-10-16T21:39:00.002+04:00

I plonked myself down in a chair in the briefing room for my London trip last week and was slightly startled when the blonde Irishman next to me turned and asked ''do you have a blog?'' It was about 1 in the morning, I hadn't slept, badly needed a coffee and momentarily forgot that yes, I DO have a blog!

It's been forever since I've posted and I felt myself blush when he asked why I'd not written in so long. Completely pre-occupied with my crazy love life, which has reached a certain level that can only be described as chaotically bizarre over the last 2 months, I just didn't have it in me. It was nice to know that someone apart from my beautiful flatmate/sister-from-another-mister Jena actually reads what I ramble on about.

During the flight we had a giggle in the galley about some of the past crazy things I've written about and it made me realise I really miss writing.

So thank you, Killian from Ireland - YOU are squarely responsible for kick-starting my creativeness again.

Big kisses to my favourite Leprechaun! xxx

Long time, no see!!

2010-09-03T22:23:00.002+04:00

Greetings Earthlings!!

I know, I know....it's been a LONG time. About 6 months if we're counting. Just a short post to let you know (if anyone's still out there) that Pink Poodle will be returning very very soon with some awesome new stories.

Stay tuned! xo

DISCLAIMER

2010-09-03T22:18:00.002+04:00

The contents of this website are soley my own opinions, thoughts, feelings, observations, stories and travels. Photographs are mostly but not always my own, and those that are not are most likely borrowed from Wikipedia, Google Images or someone who had a better camera than I did on the day in question. They do not in any way correlate or represent the company I work for, nor does the company endorse or have any association with this website.

Stories and people mentioned here are real. Some names, places and dates may have been changed. This website takes no responsibility for any actions or injuries resulting from reading this blog.

Day 2 of Curry Heaven....

2010-03-04T18:55:00.007+04:00

We were disappointed that Day 2 of our Curry Heaven didn't provide us with as much of a buffet of bizarre people watching. The local guy wearing only a dirty, scruffy loincloth that he frequently adjusted and made us fear we'd see far too much of his tackle really was the grossest thing we saw yesterday...no-one topped that today.

We did however see another pack of boar piglets, far more mangy dogs and even befriended a not so dirty dog who cosied up to us INSIDE a beachside restaurant. This one has been nicknamed as Garlic and after enduring his cute puppy-eyed stare, I finally gave in and was patting it and got told off by the waiter. Jena was feeding it scraps of buttery naan bread and was trying to work out how to feed it rice without getting too much negative attention when we decided we should head back to our beach beds before we got banned from the restaurant.

It appears that there is a massive trade in local jewellery and sarongs and henna tattoos and stickers and fake dvds and just about any portable, shitty, tacky, revolting holiday trinkets you can imagine. We were offered all of these today and found it rather hard to politely say we just weren't interested. Our disinterest was taken for coyness, wanting better prices or just to be offered more stuff. The trick is to not make eye contact and don't engage in ANY conversation.

We were set upon the minute we sat on our beach beds by two ladies with an extraordinary ability to hit you right where you couldn't say no. Firstly they complimented us on our smiles, skin colour and our hair - making us feel bad that we had nice hair, fair skin and teeth that weren't rotting right out of our heads. Next, when we attempted to stop the polite, yet strained conversation, the older lady said ''why you no speak to me, you think I'm just a worthless girl, a piece of rubbish?''. Of course I felt a need to defend myself, when I really just wanted to lie back in the sun, let my 15+ sunscreen do it's work and pop my ipod in and pump some John Butler Trio. Finally when they decided that they'd set up a portable shop on the end of my bed did we had to pretty much tell them to bugger off. With slightly withering glances and the ''oh but I have 2 children to support'' comment, they set their sights on some girls just a few metres away and we were free to lie back and ingest some yummy Kingfisher beer. Those tactics must work on some tourists, but not us!

Once we got peckish, we engaged in our 4th curry meal in 2 days and I must say...I'm not tiring of this odd diet yet. I had palak paneer, a yummy spinach and cottage cheese dish. It was the colour of Kermit the Frog and was quite nice until it got cold. I'm loving the curry but am seriously hanging out for a MASSIVE plate of banana and nutella pancakes. Perhaps after some yoga in the morning I'll treat myself to a calorific breakfast on the beach!!

One thing I detest about the public beaches in Dubai is that on the weekends it's like migration day - there are hordes and flocks of Indian and Pakistani men who wander along the beach in jeans and totally-not-beach-clothes, taking photos of the girls in their bikinis. I hate to think what kind of websites they end up on. This is illegal, even in Dubai, and the police are supposed to be policing such activities, but it's really a case of snarl and bear it. We were warned by a friend that there might be lurkers hiding behind trees on the beach in Goa taking happy snaps, but today as we walked down to the water a group of 5 men approaching us all had their cameras and camera phones out and were snapping like crazy paparazzi! Deciding I wasn't having any of that today, I thought about how to approach such a situation. In any other part of the world, we'd just give them the finger or shout or scream or tell them off or even steal their cameras and throw them in the water. In Dubai, giving someone the finger is illegal and the punishment is deportation - I know, I know - CRAZY right?! Well, here in Goa, it's totally legal and I decided to rock it out. One guy had the good grace to lower his phone and look away but it seemed to encourage another even more!

Seriously, anything goes in Goa....and it's not all good!

Goin' to Goa!!

2010-03-04T11:47:00.011+04:00

My darling flatmate Jena has just referred to me as a douchebag, for not having updated in....3 months. On this occasion, I'd have to agree with her, but would perhaps not use such heavy-handed words. Or if I did use such words, I'd layer them with adjectives like 'busy', 'flying wayyyyy too much' or simply 'vacant-minded', 'lazy', or even 'dormant'.

It's been a rather busy 2 and a bit months since I've last written and I must cast my mind back over the latest antics and wade through the fog and haze that inhabits my brain these days as I approach 4.5 years of flying.

Yes, I know, it's an awfully long time to subject oneself to the life of living out of a suitcase, sleeping on aircrafts, eating aircraft food, engaging in inane, boring crew-conversation, changing time zones more frequently than I wash my hair, sleeping in strange beds, wondering not what hotel I'm in when I wake up, but what COUNTRY, speaking different languages, hopelessly attempting to treat my lactose and gluten intolerant stomach to some kind of a normal diet and being so jetlagged you actually fall asleep for a few seconds while mid-conversation over pub-grub in London with a mate you've not seen in 2 years, and mumbling whatever rubbish your brain scrambled to provide you with when you snapped out of it - sorry Luke!

For the girl who moved overseas and out of home all in one step...and only thought she'd be away for 1 year at the most - it's certainly been an adventure. That's putting it mildly.

So, after I returned home from a lovely, hot Christmas holiday with my family, it was straight into some crazy rostering - topping 120 hours in one month and being rather incapable of coherent speech or proper sleeping patterns. Like a wayward rubber band flung wayyyy too far, I've hit the shores of London (multiple times!), Tunis, New York, Lagos, Houston, Bangkok, Sydney, Melbourne and Auckland. Add to the mixture a few local flights and it makes for a very busy Lauren!

This month looks truly hideous with the only good things being a Sydney trip that I'm trying to swap for a Houston to buy 5 bottles of my new favourite red wine, and a lovely trip to Malta. The rest is Accra (ok for sunbaking) and 5 dreadful nighttime, joint-rest turnarounds. Usually saved for the naughtiest of crew, I've been slammed with a 6 day hell-tour and wonder how I'll manage to stay awake for all of them. Must drink coffee, must drink coffee, must drink coffee!

Now onto my current location - GOA!!

Jena and I decided not to join our old flatmate Ashleigh and her boyfriend on their trip to LA because subload staff travel to the other side of the world for 4 days was not a good idea. Ash came to stay with us on her way over and considering it took her 3 days to get out of Dubai on an LA flight with an old staff ticket, we're kinda glad we opted for a firm, yet still discounted ticket to Bombay and connected with a domestic carrier to Goa to sit on the beach and drink super cheap Kingfisher beer for a week.

Wondering how awful the aircraft would smell on the flight to Bombay, how delayed it would be due to the incorrect cabin-loading of human-sized baggage, what kind of sloppy vegetarian food I'd be forced to eat or which jingly movies we'd be tortured with on the unchangeable movie sets showing on the telly, we were pleasantly surprised with only a minor delay, not too much cabin stink, a relatively ok-to-digest runny potato and lentil stew and the ever-pleasant ICE system, with a whole stack of new movies to watch...all on a 2 hour and 15 minute flight! I promptly fell asleep on my own shoulder, hurt my neck and was awoken by the wafting smell of curry.

Landing in Bombay wasn't as disastrous as we'd imagined - spying the slums at the end of the runway and sniffing cautiously as the air as we disembarked, our nostrils inhaled a funny musty, old air-conditioning smell, full of potential for Legionnaires Disease and that stale tea smell that most airports in India and Bangladesh seem to have. Customs was a breeze, there was a free, well organised bus to the domestic terminal and then a fuss-free hour-long flight to Goa after a 2 hour transit. FYI - Jet Airways serve way better curry than Emirates do. Not surprising, with India being the home of curry, but with the amount of Indians in Dubai, we thought we'd be up there in terms of food. Not so.

After chasing our baggage around the baggage hall on two rather crazy carousels, we emerged into 31 degree heat to find our driver with Jena's name on a placard and a big, white smile on his face when we waved to him. He took us on a hazardous walk to the car, dodging in between cars and buses and over a rocky bridge with our suitcases in his hands, while we tottered behind, digging in our bags for sunglasses and trying not to get run over. Hoping the little car would have air-con, we were disappointed to find out it didn't, but rather enjoyed having the windows down for the drive. There's something about a really hot day that is far more pleasant and bearable while on holidays!!

Organised by the place we're staying at, the Village Guest House, he drove like a rally driver on speed. We roared around corners, tooted at other cars we were anywhere near and generally risked our lives at every bend in the road by doing completely illegal, inside lane overtaking on blind corners. We were shrieking in the backseat, covering our eyes and thoroughly enjoying ourselves. The occasional waft of dirty, decaying fish as we passed by the slums and the burning smell of rubber/trees/grass/rubbish or whatever was in the piles we flew by was not so pleasant. Indians seem to love burning stuff - at every corner there was something on fire.

Finally we turned up to the Guest House and I was rather bemused to have my extended hand completely ignored when both our hosts came out and asked for Jena by name. I happened to be closer to both of them and pointed over my shoulder at Jena as I introduced myself and reached out to shake hands...and was totally shut down. Our room is a nice airy room, complete with a rock hard mattress, jet-powered air-con and free wireless. Can't really argue with that can you? We woke up in the middle of the night with sore hips from the mattress and feeling almost frozen solid from the lack of blankets - we covered ourselves with sarongs and beach towels and then Jena amazingly found a blanket in the cupboard in the morning - how we missed it is anyone's guess.

Provided with a welcome beer by our hosts, we sat on the balcony and felt a little drunk after 1 beer in the middle of the afternoon, full of curry and desperately wanting both sleep and a trip to the beach. Guided by the man of the house to the beach, we navigated rocky, gutterless roads, dodged cars and avoided packs of wild boars (not joking!) and finally stumbled out onto the sand to find a million people enjoying the late afternoon sun. There are sprawling bars and restaurants everywhere, a smattering of boats and a rather eclectic collection of wildlife that can be best illustrated with pictures only.

We were on the beach for no more than half an hour when we witnessed a bull mount a cow, innumerable dirty, dreadlocked, drug-f***ed hippies in varying stages of drug-induced hazes, a group of half naked monks wading in the surf and multicoloured mangy dogs covered in dye from Holi festival... Surreal, much?!

We hope you're as amused as we were by the sights below:

True Blood

2009-12-30T09:11:00.002+04:00

Wow! Just when I didn't think it was possible to find a show better than Gossip Girl or Dexter, True Blood came along! Following on from the Twilight craze, HBO have released True Blood - so raunchy it makes Twilight look like child's play!

The men boast ripped muscles and killer smiles, the ladies have lovely long, toned legs, awesome hair and perfect, perky boobs. The characters swear like truckers, have crazy quirks and generally make you think they'd make the most fantastic friends to invite to a Sunday barbeque.

It has everything a tv show needs: telepathic waitresses, serial killers, 2000-year-old undead vampires, cross-dressing short order cooks, all-star football players, a boot scootin' sherrif, shape shifters, Jesus-loving vampire-haters, a loving grit-cookin' grandma and some of the most hilarious lines I've ever heard.

Oh, and the theme song just oozes southern charm and makes you think of the naughtiest things you've ever gotten up to.....

If ya'll haven't been watchin'....then I suggest you get onto it pronto! Jena and I are ADDICTED and can't stop yapping with each other in crazy accents. Yes, the accent has even come out at work and was receieved with very strange looks. Minor detail.

Season 3 has already started filming, so now is the perfect time to start watching - if you're not already!!

Home for the Holidays!!

2009-12-27T12:14:00.007+04:00

Hi all, I've been pretty quiet since my anit-Miley outburst and that's mainly due to being at home in Brisbane for the holidays.

Once in 4 years we're contractually guaranteed (loose terms) leave over Xmas or the New Year period. I've just had my 4 year Dubai anniversary and have never asked for this leave before and thought I'd give it a go - surprise, surprise, to my delight I was given a whole 10 days off over Xmas and have been spending it with family and friends.

I'm enjoying the rainy weather, summer fruit offerings in the supermarket and the oodles and oodles of Christmas food - salads, ham, ham, ham, salads, cold meat, ham, ham and more ham!!

I'm headed back to Dubai tonight on the midnight flight and will be straight into a very busy month.

I hope you all had a wonderful, safe and magial Christmas and continue with festive spirit into the New Year.

Lots of love! xoxo

Twilight is a Cult....

2009-12-03T18:30:00.008+04:00

So just when I didn't think it was possible, in my opinion Miley Cyrus has just superseded Megan Fox as the most stupid woman on Earth this week by saying she thinks Twilight is a cult and blah blah blahing in the way only she can do....without having read the books or even seen the movies.

Here's her latest soundbite: "I think it's bad," she says in an interview with Us Weekly. "People get too into it…When guys look at supermodels and they're like 'that's the perfect girl' that's what those kind of movies do to us. You know what I'm saying? They're like thinking that's what girls should be like and not everyone is going to be Edward [Robert Pattinson], hate to say it."

So Twilight is a cult because supermodels have perfect bodies? Or because supermodels are fantasised over by men of all ages, all over the world? Or because the character of Edward Cullen doesn't exist in real life...? Because if he was real he SURELY wouldn't look at supermodels? Okkkk.....

HATE TO SAY IT Miley, but if you bothered to flick through a few pages or watch a scene or two, you'd be happy to see that none of the girls are dressed provocatively, sexualised or portrayed as ''perfect''. Hell, even the lead actress isn't a curvy blonde bombshell - she looks like a regular girl next door. That's the whole point of the series you idiot.

Let's examine Miley's skank-tastic wardrobe (or lack thereof!) for clues as to why men grow up with certain ideas about women who dress a certain way, shall we? Can you think of any reason men might think you're advocating underage sex Miley?? Perhaps leaked myspace photos, racy outfits, trashy underwear shots that we REALLY don't need to see? Remember people: she's 17 - hardly appropriate behaviour for a child star.

Her 9 year old sister in her dominatrix Halloween outfit - how do you spell tragic?! I know Halloween is all about having fun, but geeeez, surely g-rated standards still exist? My father wouldn't have let me out of my bedroom, let alone the house dressed like this as a kid. Hell, he wouldn't let me out dressed like this now, at 27!!

All I can say is: we don't see Dakota Fanning carrying on like this do we? She sends thank you notes to people she's been in movies with. Bless!

Honest to God, why can't children just be children instead of getting famous for having no talent and showing the world far too much of their young bodies?

Miley Cyrus = YAWN.

Don't even get me started on that Megan Fox.

Uganda - U make me sick.

2009-11-28T18:35:00.006+04:00

Today I am disgusted with humanity. Here's a doozy that I think all the world needs to see:

The Times Online published the following article on November 28: Uganda proposes death penalty for HIV positive gays.

This is worse than the story I posted back in April about the Afghan women who were pelted with stones during the protest against the passing of the law that forbids women to refuse to have sex with their husbands.

How low can humanity go?

I think small minded people don't realise that being gay is NOT a lifestyle choice. Humans are social creatures who crave attention, love and acceptance. Some can't deny who they are simply because others don't approve. A lifetime in jail for loving someone? A death sentence if loving that person made you ill?

Where does it stop? With the old, the feeble, the infirm, the mentally challenged, the mentally ill, short, tall, obese, under-weight, blonde, brunette?

I say this kind of behaviour is disgusting and should be slammed by world leaders. Remove Uganda from the Commonwealth and threaten total sanctions and complete lack of aid until sanity is heard.

The world will certainly be a poorer place if this law is passed.

Shame on you Chanel!

2009-11-26T21:38:00.008+04:00

Frankly, I am appalled and I wonder how real socialites feel.

In my line of work there is an unbelieveable amount of down time. That time is usually spent recovering from long haul flights, trying out new cake recipes in the kitchen, catching up on our latest and most favourite tv shows and the ultimate female guilty pleasure - reading trashy magazines that feature products that we know are so expensive we'll never own. Also, most of this high end stuff is so revolting that even if I DID have the money, I wouldn't waste it on that chintzy rubbish that people dub ''wearable art''.

That said, I was absolutely horrified to hear that Lily Allen, Britain's number 1 trashtastic party girl is Chanel's new IT girl. I didn't really believe that the fashion giant would have such a lack of taste, but then I saw it just 2 days ago. I physically recoiled in horror - the only person I can think of who'd be worse in this job is the Jordan, the English ''fashion model''. Most of you know her as the ridiculously large-breasted creature who sports fake everything - from eyelashes to talons, to tan to hair extensions.

Here we have a picture of Lily Allen in her new day job:

And it begs to be asked: how on earth did the girl who carries on like this get the much coveted role of toting around all of those quilted Chanel bags???

This isn't to say she's not a funky singer who comes up with some very catchy tunes. It IS to say that when I think Chanel - I think of women who ooze charm - think Audrey Hepburn, Meryl Streep, Susan Sarandon, Helen Mirren, Julianne Moore. Sadly, the fashion industry tells us all of these ladies are too ''mature'' to tote such bags around.

Seems a stylist and a makeover can help even the trashiest of trashbags.

Cairo....here we come!!

2009-09-28T21:19:00.009+04:00

So Jena and I are so far from being packed you could almost say our rooms look like we aren't going anywhere! Well, hers kinda does, mine just looks like the usual bomb site it always does, complete with a big sexy red couch planted in it!!

Jena and are I VERY excited and have spent the last two days printing itineraries, organising unnecessary passport photos, buying hand sanitiser and soap (cabin crew dearly love that dettol fresh smell!), borrowing backpacking backpacks and generally just trying to work out what to pack.

I've lovingly washed most of my clothes today, am preparing to say farewell for a fortnight to my computer, hair curler and dryer and straightener (which I may just sneak into the backpack!), my nail polish collection, my shoes, my dresses and all things feminine.

I'm about to become a dirty backpacker!

I don't know what horrifies me more: the fact that I can't wash and straighten my unruly crazy curly hair every day like I normally do or the fact that I'm quite excited about it! Not that I condone holiday snaps of people with bad hair IN ANY WAY, but I guess for this part of the world, it may be necessary.

Gone are the suites at the Hilton, the saunas at the Meridians and the pillow menus from the Sofitels....and hello to desert camping, stair-hiking and camel riding.

To be honest, I can't wait!!

However, I do fear for my tan. Recently diagnosed with some kind of dermatitis on my face because I naughtily used some cortisone cream for farrrrrr too long on my skin, I've been placed on anti-biotics for 8 weeks and have been told a common side effect is being photo-sensitive. I instantly wondered if this would make me look fabulous in photos, and must have looked rather hopeful and dreamy when the doctor interupted my reverie and informed me that I'll be SUN-sensitive more than normal and could be prone to burning or irregular tanning.

Great, just great! After having the world's worst day and getting a parking fine to visit this delightfully horrid doctor because I left my wallet at home and there was only paid parking, I wondered if this whole anti-biotic/bionic-tanning ordeal was even worth it. I have two weddings to go to next month and I've lovingly cultivated this tan of mine (if we'd even call it a tan!) to make sure I don't have tan marks for my pretty party dresses and NOW I plan a holiday in the Middle East at the end of summer - a holiday I'll have to spend in singlets getting and awesome singlet tan!!

Oh well, I'll be seeing a wonderful collection of old rocks and ruins and stuff for my trouble....!

In all seriousness, I did an ancient history class at school and LOVED every minute of it. It's always been a dream of mine to visit the pyramids and the sphinx and now that I'm finally going to do it, I don't care what kind of tan I come back with or if I've got so much sun that all my freckles have joined together!!

Catch you all after Egypt and Jordan! xoxo

Hello....I Think I Love You!

2009-09-28T20:57:00.006+04:00

So uh, yesterday I fell in love! Lustful, sweet, big-hearted heart-swelling love!

The object of my desires is....a couch. That's right, I went to Ikea with my trusty friend Michael to buy him some things for HIS new room and what do I do? Fall in love with this red leather creation from heaven the minute I clapped eyes on it.

What's a girl to do? I obsessed over it for the entire day, referring to it as MY COUCH; thinking about where I'd put it in my room; verbalising where I'd put it in my room; plotting, planning and strategising about how I'd get it home to Australia when I eventually fly the coop and generally just pissing Michael and Jena off with my lusting.

As luck would have it....and with a hefty sprinkle of ''I need to pop back to Ikea'' from myself, Michael and I returned to the store that housed my beloved today and there she was....still sitting where I first saw her, a gorgeous shade of deep cherry, just begging me to make room for her in my hopelessly cluttered bedroom....

After much discouragement from Michael and pre-buyer's remorse thoughts swimming around in my head, I hit the ATM, forked over the cash and waited patiently for her to be delivered this evening.

And may I just say, even though now I don't actually think she's made of leather, she looks lurrrrrv-ley!!!

Antony and The Johnsons

2009-09-25T01:06:00.004+04:00

Since I'm such a caring and sharing person and I'm awake at 1.06am for some ungodly reason that can't be blamed on jetlag, I thought I'd share something pretty awesome with you all.

A super-gorgeous, very talented musical friend of mine who lives in Finland (you know who you are) was discussing music with me recently and clued me in on an awesome band. Jena already knows about them, no surprise there with all of her net-cruising and pj-clad blog reading, but I'm sure there are many of you out there who haven't yet heard of ANTONY AND THE JOHNSONS and if you haven't, you need to!

Put aside the slight corniness of some of the songs, check this out. This guy's voice is trés amazing!!

The Lake:

Rapture:

Fistful of Love:

If you check them out on youtube, don't be put off my his mullet or how weird he looks when he sings live or how whack the clips are that some people have made. The ones I've just put up are a little odd but they're the best example of his voice.

Enjoy!!

Did you say HIKING?!?!

2009-09-24T23:32:00.003+04:00

Now, as you all may have gathered, Pink Poodle is not the most physically active of people. She wants to be but it's just not in her genetic makeup...but if giraffes can genetically manipulate and evolve themselves over millenia to have long necks, then certainly something can be done about a certain pooch's fitness levels!!

I wrote eons ago about joining the gym and my super trainer and well that's about all I wrote. I persisted with him for 5 months and then found out he'd been training me incorrectly because he's an IDIOT. I was being trained like a man, and luckily I'm not a man because if I was I'd be MASSIVE after that long. Heavy weights are not the way forward.

Anyway I fired him, hired another and have since dropped him too. No great advances but I'm trying my hardest to fall in love with the treadmill. It's an uphill battle...pun intended. I'm happy to sit on a bike and peddle for 40 minutes, but pop me on the treadmill and I feel a sense of dread, like I've just been handed a life sentence. The most peculiar thing happens to me when I run - just when I think I've mastered it, that I CAN DO IT, I look down and see that I've been running for a grand total of like 4.38 minutes. My brain recognises that while this is indeed a triumph of sorts, it's still a hell of a long way short of the 20 solid minutes I'm striving for and my whole body constricts and almost hurts as it realises just how much pain I have left to endure. Burning lungs, fear of falling backwards off the machine or tripping over my size 41 feet and falling face-first and smashing my freshly-whitened teeth on the controls....yes, all of these thoughts circulate through my jiggly brain as I jog.

Do you have any idea how hard it is to make your brain quiet? It's like when Charlotte has to see the fertility doctor in Sex and The City - she can't make her thoughts stop. I do my best thinking at the gym, but sometimes everything goes into overdrive and I have to just blast my eardrums with music to drown it all out. I've heard a properly constructed playlist is the way to go if I want to be a runner. I've constructed the playlist and now just need to persist with the running business....

In other breaking news (that broke about 4 months ago) our company recently came up with the bright idea of sending us on unpaid leave in order to save money. This really was a bright idea - I wasn't taking the piss. Thousands of crew jumped at the chance, myself included. I managed to score all of October off work and I'm so excited I'm wagging my ponytail like an excited puppy!

Jena and I have plans for embarking on a two-week extravaganza-type tour of Jordan and Egypt and then I'm heading home for the other two weeks to spend time with my nearest and dearest, celebrate two weddings, two younger cousin's birthdays and dash about like a mad woman and meet new babies, see new houses and generally just kiss people I've been missing. Maybe I should step up the running if I want to fit all that in....oh AND I get to catch a 2.45am flight back to Dubai on MY BIRTHDAY. That'll just be the high point of my holiday...fingers crossed for a few days off in early November so I can fly out a day or two later and enjoy Mum's awesome cooking. Perhaps I should stop thinking about falling off treadmills and start strategising which cake I want her to cook me for dinner....

I must say now, Jena deserves all credit for planning this holiday. While I am the one in our relationship who can read subway maps upside down and covered in mud, she is the planner. I am crap at planning, preferring to just wing it. My mate Michael set a perfect example of winging it in Jordan and Egypt earlier this year and when I suggested following his lead Jena shot me a look that said "do I look like a FOOL?!?!?!"

Clearly she is not a fool (when it comes to planning!) and has booked us onto 2 tours, one of each place, 2 flights and numerous other things. What she forgot to mention to me was that this plan of hers involves HIKING. My job was to compile a reasonable amount of background notes from the itineraries and things we were given so we know what we're looking at (how old the rocks are and what exactly the Pyramids were really all about) and how much money to take and what currencies to take it in, blah blah. So, there I was, hurriedly converting all of our tickets and bookings into documents that could be saved on my USB stick so I can print them out for Miss Planner and I came across the following line that sent a shock of fear and treadmill-sized dread into my very core: A good level of physical fitness is required for certain parts of this trip. On the day we visit Mt Sinai and St Katherine's Monastery you can hire a camel for the first two thirds of the journey but the remaining 700 steps to the summit must be completed on foot.

Cue similar untimely-death themed music to that from Jaws....

Apparently the "3750 Steps of Repentance" is a physically demanding trail. I don't have that much to repent for, I swear!!

As I yelled though the wall between our bedrooms that she'd forgotten to mention that small fact to me, I'm sure I heard a little gleeful giggle....guess I'd better up my trips to the gym in the next 4 days if I want to have any hope of arriving at the summit looking human!

Kids, don't try this at home....or if you do, don't let your siblings catch it on video...

2009-08-31T18:27:00.006+04:00

Ok so while we're going nuts with the youtube clips, here are a few that just make me almost wet my pants every time I watch them. They're totally addictive, so you'd best practice your pelvic floor muscles for a few hours before hitting the repeat button over and over and over like I did....

But this one's just too funny....

Ok, so I know it's bad to laugh at people when they injure themselves....my Mum did teach me that as a young girl....but sometimes we just can't help ourselves....riiiiiight???

Getting trollied will not help you bag a trolley dolly...

2009-08-31T17:34:00.005+04:00

So once again, my youtube loving/addicted beyond help flatmate Jena has come up with the goods.

Here I am sitting on my bed staring pathetically out my dust-streaked window hoping it'll snow and she's in the next room on her computer (where she's been all day) unearthing some serious treasures from her vast array of blogs and sites that she's more than dedicated to.

She found this pearler and I feel a need to share it with you all:

Readers, please take note of the instructions to ply your flight attendants with copious amounts of please and thank you. We LIKE, APPRECIATE and PREFER to hear these words come out of your mouths above all else. Remember that next time you fly....and don't be acting like these fools in the video below that my mate Jarad posted on fb recently:

The instruction of ''If you see my glass is empty, then bring it back to me full'' will not win you any friends....we'll be tempted to bring it back full alright, but full of things you don't want to know about.

My favourite line for today is...''accepting a glass of bubbly upon boarding is for giddy novices".

DISCLAIMER

2009-08-12T12:31:00.003+04:00

The contents of this website are solely my own opinions, thoughts, feelings, observations, stories and travels. Photographs are mostly but not always my own and those that are not are most likely borrowed from Wikipedia, Google Images or someone who had a better camera than I did on the day in question. They do not in anyway correlate with or represent the company I work for, nor does the company endorse or have any association with this website.

Stories and people mentioned here are real. Some names, places and dates may have been changed. This website takes no responsibility for any actions or injuries resulting from reading this blog.

The Easy Way Out...

2009-08-12T12:04:00.001+04:00

My girlfriends and I have noticed a startling phenomenon: men are strange creatures. No, this is not a recent revelation or a sudden epiphany, but a gradual dawning and behaviour that we've come to accept as normal in Dubai.

I'm sure you've all heard a similar story about the seemingly perfect couple who enjoy living in Dubai, the relationship gets serious, there's talk of a future together, children and marriage discussed, hinting at engagement rings and proposals and happily ever after....and then.....cue strange, eerie X-Files-esque music.....the guy freaks out, call everything off and delivers a LAME ARSE EXCUSE like "I can't be in a relationship right now, I need to focus on my career". Don't believe it? Yours truly was smacked disbelievingly in the face with that pearler 2.5 years ago.

I'm sure you're all thinking that his career must have been pretty important to break off a near-engagement, but we're not talking about a neuro-physicist, a high ranking UN official or even a lawyer - we're talking one of my own. That's right; I was inelegantly dumped by a 32 year old flight attendant who'd been in the company for 6 months. Talk about a punch in the guts when I heard he'd hooked up with a total floozy about a month after we split and that he's still with her despite the fact that she cheats, is completely incommunicado for about 98.9% of the time even though they're doing long distance and that he pays for everything, including all their overseas holidays.

There must be some truth to that old saying ''nice guys finish last'', and clearly the word 'guys' is interchangeable with 'girls'. Perhaps the lack of danger or bad boy/bad girl element is what makes us yearn for more? How exciting is the partner who loves you, cooks cupcakes or wants to take you out to dinner for no apparent reason compared to the ones who never call when they say they will, forget dates, run horrendously late, forget to tell you they don't want to be in exclusive relationships, that they have a girlfriend/boyfriend back in their home country or that they don't want to be ''tied down'' by the ''label'' of a relationship.

Hmmm, what a no brainer!

Why is it that the ones who we love the most hurt us the most? They say they'll never do anything to hurt us, but like a very dear friend of mine recently discovered, half carat earrings, meeting each other's parents and family, looking at real estate, talking about children's names and beginning conversations in front of her flatmates with ''when we get married'', or ''when we live in Sydney'' or ''when we're old and wrinkly and still in love'' really doesn't count for much when the interfering mother-in-law-to-be steps in and waves her evil wand.

How does a 42 year old man who clearly loves my friend to death, is the ultimate gentleman, appears to have this shit together and has established a successful career for himself think it's in any way appropriate to blurt out ''I just don't love you enough to marry you'' and call off their 16 month super-serious relationship? It's just not kosher. Or Halal, as would be the culturally appropriate saying in this part of the world.

I'm the kind of girl who has learnt from experience to value honesty and I know that sometimes people realise they don't want to be in relationships RIGHT NOW or don't love their partner enough to be together forever and that telling their other half is the right thing to do, but when what is said is clearly rubbish blurted out to disguise a lie is when I get my hackles up. What makes us chicken out about telling the truth to the one we thought we can tell anything? Fear that we'll REALLY hurt them, that hearing you don't want to be with them anymore could be made softer or easier to deal with? The truth always comes out in the end, so why not be bold and just spit it out at the beginning? Let me tell you, waiting 3 years to hear ''I just fell out of love with you'' sure is an anti-climax compared to all the crazy fatal-attraction theories you've cooked up in your heart-broken brain.

I recently read an article that called people suffering the completely unexpected break-up of their long-term relationships ''nearly-weds''. While many of their peers are married and engaged and having babies, these tormented souls are trying to make sense of no longer reading bridal magazines and planning their marital future, but are pondering why they're suddenly seated at the singles table at the weddings that could have been theirs.

Do people moan and groan about lies, unfaithful partners who let us down and break our hearts, create new buzz words such as ''nearly-weds'' to make themselves feel better? To convince themselves that Prince Charming really is out there, our one true soul mate? Why do we fool ourselves with becoming so pre-occupied with the tragedy of the situation that we can't see the obvious truth? That there are 6.76 billion people in the world and that this ONE person couldn't make them truly happy. They may have done bad things, treated us poorly or just not been a good 'fit' for us. Life is about adventure, self discovery and self respect. Work out what it is you really want and what you really deserve and don't settle for any less! We convince ourselves that we'll never feel like this about anyone else, that problems can be fixed and that things will all be fine if only....

I recently flew with a girl who was so fabulous I couldn't believe she was putting up with her deadbeat boyfriend. Tall, blonde and green eyed, she's an absolute stunner. Funny, smart and witty, she'd clearly make a great girlfriend. I think she even cooks. Her downfall? She fell in love with a guy who thinks it's ok to say ''I think you're great, but if you just lost 5kgs....'' and offered to pay for her to see a personal trainer!!!

I think my mouth fell open in shock when I heard that. What happened to loving someone for all their faults, the things about them that aren't perfect but make them THEM? We're conditioned to think that we should battle through the hard times and that it'll all be rosy. Nothing will ever be rosy if we sacrifice our self-esteem. What happens when the 5kgs are gone? People who criticise others will always find fault, no matter how perfect a thing or a person is. I really felt like telling her if she lost 95kgs in the form of her boyfriend she'd be much better off!!

After all, isn't beauty in our imperfections?

I'm the first to admit I'm not perfect and don't have the guts of steel I'd like to have. I'm ashamed to admit I once faked an asthma attack to avoid staying at the house of a guy I was seeing because I just wasn't into him anymore.

Why do we do this? To take the easy way out.

Dubai is SO HOT RIGHT NOW

2009-07-12T18:49:00.008+04:00

That's right, but you probably didn't hear it here first. It's hot, BLOODY hot here in the sandpit lately. So far, the hottest day I was here for was a blistering 49 big ones. Naturally, I was holed up in my apartment, wondering who'd be stupid enough to go OUTSIDE in such weather.

Thankfully summer seems to be passing relatively quickly this year. It's already the 1st of August, which makes me happy, sad and nostaligic all at once.

Happy because it's beautiful Jena's birthday today and she's turning 30 all over again! Out all last night drinking bubbles, she'll no doubt drag herself out of bed soon looking like a glamazon after having her hair done last week. After her first salon adventure since 1997 (yes I'm SERIOUS)we hit Rocky B's for some free bullfrogs to celebrate her new look...she was smokin'!!!

A little sad because in 91 days I'll be 27. Ya huh, I don't really know how I feel about that number. When I turned 23 I had huge issues with letting go of 22. Fast forward a few years and being 25 was just awesome....staring down the barrel of 27 doesn't feel so good but I'm sure if it's another fun-filled year like the last one has been I'll be just fine and dandy.

Nostalgic because this is the first time Jena and I will celebrate birthdays without little Ashliegh. I did a Melbourne flight last month and caugth up with our lovely little munchkin and it was just wonderful to see her so settled and happy and loving life back at home. She has a gorgeous apartment, a super cute boyfriend and a job she really enjoys. She took me out for dinner at a mouth wateringly good Thai restaurant and we had drinks at the cutest little rooftop bar where the waitors are all dressed like 70's tennis players/porn stars. We sipped on hot punch-like stuff served out of teapots as we sat under a huge heater and snuggled into the little blankets we were given to keep warm.

Cocktails a few nights later at the Hilton with her and Mark and Renee (who've both resigned in the past few years) were fanastic and turned into a photo shoot...if I can track down some of the pics I'll post them. 5 strong Chambord cocktails and more than my share of a bowl of wedges later and I was simultaneously feeling ready to rock that town and also incredibly ready for snoozing.

I have always maintained that I am AWESOME at manipulating our swap system and can get pretty much anything I want. It's been crisis time for the last few months, with the system pretty much shitting itself and no-one being able to swap much at all. Add to that the rostering dudes feeling it was fair and decent to slam me with a selection of utterly revolting night-time turnarounds, I've been almost tearing out my very carefully maintained mane of hair.

Thankfully something seems to be going right and some lunatic sent me a swap last month for some flights so bad I don't even want to think about them. As I opened the swap I idly wondered what on earth anyone could have to offer ME for the load of rubbish I had. Stunned into silence (rare for me, I know!), I saw she was offering me a MELBOURNE trip. Not wanting to get too excited, I figured it wasn't legal and set about testing it....VALID. Well, let me tell you, I nearly wet myself with excitement and accepted immediately, lest she might realise how much of a nutter she was sending me such an awesome offer and recall it. It was approved instantly and I wooped with excitement around the apartment and then sent word to Ash that I'd be comin' to town.

As luck would have it, this month's roster for me is AWESOME. Well, it'd want to be, with me being on top bid, but you just never know. Usually on top bid I get hit with 5 night-time rubbish, joint rest day flights and I just want to sit in the corner and cry. I put my bids in and didn't expect much and was again too shocked for words to discover I'd been given the Brisbane flight I'd asked for, as well as a Hong Kong, 36 hour Mauritius AND a Houston. Only one pissy little turnaround and it's only 45 minutes each way so it SO doesn't even count.

Sadly, I didn't get the Melbourne that Jena and I both bid for so we could be in Melbourne for Ash's 30th b'day bash but Jena DID get a Melbourne earlier than the party and I've managed to swap my way onto it!! So, with two b'days this month, we'll have plenty to celebrate and chat about and drink about when we're all together as a trio again.

Oh, and Jena and I have NEVER flown together in almost 4 years....I'm senior to her as well....is it so bad to stick her with Duty Free since I absolutely despise it?

Just call it my belated b'day present to her...muhahaha!!!

I Love SARAH BLASKO

2009-07-12T18:49:00.006+04:00

While listening to Triple J (Australian radio station) online the other day after the fab Jena showed me how to, I heard a few tracks by a fab singer called Sarah Blasko. She's their new feature album and I was so super impressed with her after just hearing 3 songs, that I immediately bought her new album As Day Follows Night on itunes.

I suggest all of you do the same!

Most of the reviewers on Triple J have given the album a 5/5 rating...so we know it's good. It's being described as "a percussive, delicate and ethereal collection of songs. equal parts whimsy and heartbreak, it's entirely captivating". Seriously, who can resist that??

There's also a super cute animated clip of her song No Turning Back on youtube that she's linked on her blog and I've attached it just below.

If you want some interesting radio to listen to instead of the pathetic English-induced-Dad-joke crap we have to put up with here in Dubai, go online and check out Triple J.

Honest, you'll thank me.

I'm a slack tart

2009-07-12T18:30:00.002+04:00

Alright peeps, I'm back!!

I apologise for being such a slack tart of late, but SO MUCH has been happening and in typical style I've been distracted by all the commotion.

So I think my last post was all about Little Ash flying the coop. I'm so pleased to announce that she's happy and loved up and thoroughly enjoying things like drinking tap water, a full selection of amazing fresh produce at the local supermarkets and wintery weather in gorgeous Melbourne. I'm also super excited to announce that I'll be seeing her next week for another catch up and just can't wait. In breaking news, she's turning 30 at the end of next month and Jena and I have put our not-so-technical heads together and attempted to take the bidding system by storm to get a trip home TOGETHER for her celebrations.....this is the equivalent of winning the lotto, so fingers crossed!!

I feel like most of this year has been one long holiday, what with all the long haul trips I seem to be doing and all the leave I've had. I almost need another holiday to recover!!

I convinced my Mum to pop over in May for Mother's Day and accompany me to San Francisco for a week and we had a wow of a time. Then I popped home for a week in June and hung out with my family and reconnected with some awesome friends I haven't seen in years.

THEN I had a 1 day turnaround in the sandpit and flew all the way back to Brissie on a work trip, thought I got DVT and stocked up on so much fabric softener I thought I'd get arrested for carrying too much liquid!!

Seriously, there's just too much fun to be had around here.

Summer has set in and it's been so hideously hot I'm afraid I'll turn into a hermit. We've done a few buffets, rediscovered how awesome Rocky B's is and decided the only word to describe our behaviour following the ingestion of unlimited cocktails is TRASHTASTIC (patented to Jena). We've bought new dresses, had drinks spilt all over them, rocked out our huge bling rings and been asked if we were hookers.....it's been an action packed few months, that's for sure!!

Afghan Women Pelted With Stones During Rape Law Protest

2009-04-22T23:53:00.005+04:00

Afghan women protesting against a new law that severely undermines women's rights were pelted with stones in the country's capital Wednesday, say reports.

About 300 mostly young women gathered in Kabul to show their opposition to a recently passed law that forbids women from refusing to have sex with their husbands and requires them to get a male relative's permission to leave the house.

The demonstration, organized by women's rights activists in the country, occurred in front of a Shia mosque recently built by a cleric who helped craft the law. Critics of the law say it effectively legalizes rape within marriage and is a return to Taliban-style rule.

About 1,000 people opposed to the protest surrounded the women and threw gravel and small stones as police struggled to hold them back. The group of counter-protesters included both men and women.

Some shouted "Death to the slaves of the Christians."

"You are a dog. You are not a Shia woman," one man shouted to a young woman in a headscarf holding aloft a banner that said, "We don't want Taliban law."

There were no reports of injuries.

Sima Ghani, a women's rights activist, said everyone at the protest is united against the law.

"No matter what religion we belong to, what sect we follow, we all stand against this law and want a reform of the law," she said.

Jeremy Starkey, a reporter with The Independent newspaper who was at the demonstration, said he saw men pelt the women with stones.

"I saw the men surging forward on a number of occasions," he said.

"Female afghan police officers joined hands to form a human chain around the women to try to protect them."

The law, which applies only to the minority Shia community, received widespread international condemnation.

The government of Afghan President Hamid Karzai has said the law will be reviewed and won't be implemented in its current form.

Canada's foreign affairs minister, Lawrence Cannon, said earlier this month Afghan officials had assured him they would delete "contentious clauses" from the legislation.

The Afghan constitution guarantees equal rights for women, but also allows the Shia to have separate family law based on religious tradition.

________________________________________

I don't think I actually have to say anything about this article.

Duplicity

2009-04-22T23:34:00.009+04:00

Jena and I went to the movies last week for two reasons:

1. We were going to go to the beach but the bizarre weather of late meant it was cloudy and not so hot.

2. I was having inhuman-strength cravings for popcorn.

We ended up at the mall and decided that we both wanted a good ogle at Clive Owen (we weren't disappointed, he has rather nice chest hair!) but having seen the movie, are none the wiser to what it was actually about. It was a spy/romance about two spies who share a romantic past who attempt to rip their bosses off and make a forturne....but we're not even sure we get the romance part.

I'm not good with movies that aren't in chronological order. I'm getting better, but things like Pulp Fiction, Vantage Point and any of those that tell a story from multiple angles or skip back and forth between time periods just spin me out. So we couldn't tell when Clive and Julia's characters actually met and got together and why they ended up shafted at the end of the movie and why all the other characters seemed in on it.

Apart from gathering that Julia Roberts is perhaps one of the best actresses around and that Clive is delicious and welcome at our place for dinner any time, there's not much more I can say about it because I just don't know!

End of an Era

2009-04-17T22:36:00.006+04:00

It’s the end of the world as we know it.....

An earth-shattering thing has just happened in Dubai – Ashleigh, one of my best friends and flatmate of 3 years, has pulled the pin. After almost 3.5 years of service, she’s resigned and has departed the sandpit one last time and has relocated to Melbourne where the pastures are certainly greener.

While some crew pretty much schedule farewell tours with endless dinners, piss-ups and get-togethers, Ash went quietly ... although I wasn’t there to witness the possible debauchery of her final night out. We had a nice low-key buffet dinner at Yalumba, the lovely Australian restaurant that has been the setting for many boozy brunches. With low lighting, a one-man band and a few bottles of rose, we chattered and talked about what the future holds for Lil Ash.

There aren’t many words to describe the loss felt when a best friend leaves. No-one really talks about it as the focus has always been on what happens when we first move to Dubai – all the new experiences, the outings, the culture shocks, the new friendships forged and of course, the ever frustrating battles with things like banks, car registration and phone conversations with the phone company. When people leave, unless they’re very good friends, the world seems to swallow them up and life resumes as normal in the desert. I can’t see that happening this time.

While there are some very frustrating and foot stamping moments in Dubai, the majority of us love our lives and freak out at the thought of returning to what we did before flying or ... gasp ... the possibility of trying something new. This is such a fear-inducer that some crew get comfortable and just never leave! I’ve never really known what I wanted to do when I grow up. Now that I’m 26 maybe I should think about it! There are lots of things I’d love to try, with the more eccentric ranging from being a jewellery designer or a diamond expert, to a guide dog trainer to a model. I’ve not yet finished uni, but following my final remaining part-time semester I’ll have a Bachelor of Criminology with majors in Criminal Justice and Psychology. Ideally I’d love to get a job in the field I’ve trained in but I also have thoughts of running a shop that sells beautiful things with my Mum. Or moving to Bolivia with Felicity and establishing a Llama and Meerkat farm. I’d like to take this moment to assert that there will be equal numbers of Meerkats and Llamas on the farm. Are you reading this Felicity??

There are possibilities for anything and that’s what makes life so beautiful. Due to my lack of words regarding Ash’s departure, I’ve chronicled our greatest adventures caught on film. Enjoy!!

Nostalgia, Bar Feet and Aussie Legends

2009-01-29T21:55:00.013+04:00

AUSSIE AUSSIE AUSSIE....OI OI OI!!!!

So it's that time again - Australia Day. Last year I was in Sydney, flying out to Dubai that night and not allowed to drink anything. Being down by the Opera House with the other hundreds of thousands of people was really something, but this year I was delighted to be here in Dubai.

I'd flown out of Melbourne the night before, arrived at 5am and promptly had a great sleep. Once I woke up it was time for some grocery shopping and then planning our evening. There really wasn't much planning needed. Anyone in Dubai for Australia Day heads straight to Aussie Legends, an Aussie bar about 10 minutes from my place.

I leave everything to the last minute and I mean EVERYTHING! Let me illustrate - on the morning of our family holiday to Bali, I was still madly writing an essay and had to pretty much be separated from the computer so we didn't miss the flight. I practically threw the essay into a pre-dated envelope and hurled it into the mailbox as we flew past the post office. That's how last minute I am. So, it came to late afternoon on Australia Day and I was faffing around, crazily blow drying my hair and cramming illegally procured lamingtons in my mouth. I ran out of time to get the straightener onto it and had to go with slightly wild, fluffy hair. I was slightly amused when one of the Aussie boys greeted me and started stroking my unruly mane like I was a cat!

Cue hours of drinking and dancing, vegemite moustaches and Aussie flags, we had a wonderful afternoon that stretched well into the evening. I ended up in what we were calling ''Face Card Corner'', spotted a senior member of staff looking slightly conspicuous in amongst all the hammered crew, was set upon by a strange girl who clearly fancied herself to be a vampire and was told in hushed whispers that a girl I went to high school with was engaged (that much I already knew thanks to facebook) and that she was getting married in April but it was TOP SECRET!!!

Given the levels of alcohol being consumed on a day that celebrates the shiny amazingness of being Australian, I was most excited to see that the bar was serving Bundaberg Rum this year. It hasn't been available in previous years and that mere fact almost had me wailing into my Bacardi substitute. How dare a pub call itself Australian and then not serve Aussie rum!! Well, we got there at about 5pm and by then the bottle was looking rather miserable. I got the last three shots and then it was all over. I switched to a yummy honey flavoured beer and then it all got a bit messy.

I've been feeling very nostalgic for the last few weeks and haven't been able to put my finger on the reason why. After bumping into a significant ex at the pub, having a hug and being hit by an intense emotional wave, I backed away and stayed away for the rest of the night. Despite having been broken up for 2 years, something really upset me. The next day I figured it out! When I do Aussie trips I stock up on everything from fresh fruit, vegies and ham to bobby pins, hair spray and deoderant. Brands I like that aren't available here. It was the deoderant that did it! I mistakenly bought a different scented one when I was in Melbourne a few days before and realised it was the same one I was wearing over three years ago when I moved to Dubai and was still involved with the ex. Talking to Jena, we concluded that I could already smell it and when when hugged him the two things locked together in my mind and that's why I felt all nostalgic and weird.

Strange how smells are so powerful huh? While we may not remember specific things about situations, like what we said or what day of the week it was, there are just some smells that take us right back to where we were and transport us back to the person we were all that time ago....

There were boys with vegemite moustaches trying to kiss the girls, boys dressed in blue bonds wife beaters and of course, every person in the pub had on a pair of thongs. We are a glorious nation!

The Smell of the 406....

2009-01-29T20:26:00.022+04:00

I'm currently perched on my flatmate Jena's bed, testing my lactose intollerance with a cold chocolate breaka and a lamington. I don't have many allergies but every now and then I test the few I do to see how far they've progressed and to see if I still can't eat the foods that irritate me.

Since having moved to Dubai I've become lactose intollerant. However, my intollerance doesn't extend to all dairy and lactose products. In fact, it really just involves milk. Which makes me wonder if I AM lactose intollerant at all. Maybe it's just the crappy way the milk is pasteurised here.

Approximately once a year I test my allergy to cashew and pistachio nuts by eating some of them on board. We have bags of mixed nuts in business and first class and while they're two of my favourite nuts I figure that's one of the safest places to test the allergy - we carry epipens. For those of you lucky enough not to ever have had to see or use one, epipens are an injection of adrenaline that is administered to people who have gone into anaphylactic shock. Lucky I've never needed one - I hear getting one jabbed into your leg makes my leg sessions at the gym feel lame.

I discovered my nut allergy one day while driving to work with my boyfriend. If I can cast my mind back to the dim dark recesses of my mind, I'd say I was 20. A total chocoholic, I was eating a block of fruit and nut chocolate and I started to get an odd itching feeling in my throat. It was a weird feeling that spread to the insides of my ears and made me feel like I'd just been on a painful family driving holiday and I'd had my head stuck against the window in an effort to get as far away from my feral little brother as possible. That horrible kind of itch that you can feel for ages after it actually goes away. Kind of like the smell of vomit, it just stays with you. Anyway, I naively thought there was a problem with the chocoalte, as I'd grown up eating those nuts and not a week would go buy when Dad wouldn't buy a big bag of them when he did the groceries.

Over the next few years I worked out which nuts it was by a trial of elimination and have tried to cut them out of my life. My dear Mum is chronically forgetful and vague (wonder where I get it from?!) and is always buying and cooking meals with cashews and pistachios in them. Thankfully my allergy isn't really that major - I can eat food that's touched the nuts or had nuts cooked in it, but just can't eat the nut itself. Some people are so allergic that if they so much as SMELL nuts they go into anaphylactic shock. I once read a story about a child who died because another child in the playground at kindy licked his face and that child had eaten peanut butter hours earlier for breakfast. How devastating for the parents - thinking they could protect their little one by controlling what he ate when all it took was some little germ-infested rascal to lick his face like a dog.

Again, I digress. Anyway, I periodically test the allergy on board and while it has gotten worse over the last 6 years, I don't think I'm at terrible risk. I also just like eating the nuts and can't seem to avoid things that are bad for me. Like handsome men, they're just irresistable....and they're my downfall.

Now, Jena is a fabulous writer who spends all her time online reading other people's blogs. Like mine. I think she should write her own because I've spent many an hour howling with laughter while reading the hilarious emails she used to send home - before all of our time was taken up with facebook. She refuses to start a blog, so this is how I found myself nestled on her bed, sucking down chocolate milk and lamingtons I'd carried lovingly all the way from Australia. With her reading whatever it is she reads, and me tapping away on here, we were lazily chatting when it hit me. The milk allergy. It was alive and kicking. Mostly kicking me in the guts.

I'm not often foolish enough to drink the milk here in Dubai and after drinking some last week just after my flight took off for Melbourne, I never will again. You see, dear readers, the flight from Dubai to Melbourne is a rather long-winded 14 hours and I was stupid enough to think that a glass of ice cold milk was the perfect accompaniment to the chocolate cream biscuits I triumphantly found in the galley. It's not often we have those biscuits on board, so this was cause for celebration. That and the fact that I was headed to the most glorious country on earth to bask in beautiful summer weather and execute a shopping frenzy.

So, I knocked back only half a glass of milk and within 20 minutes realised my mistake. Luckily I don't have a super severe lactose intollerance either, but let me tell you, I certainly was aware that my stomach lining didn't appreciate an early morning wake up call. I spent the next 13.5 hours with a bloated grumbly belly that I had to drown out in the crew rest area with ear plugs. I'm not joking!! I was actually scared that when we landed and got on the bus, someone who was on the same break as me was going to angrily announce they couldn't sleep and demand to know who's stomach was talking for 4 hours! Grumbling and bloating is really as bad as I get and it certainly makes me very glad I don't have a full blown allergy - there are certainly worse symptoms than mine.

Surprised at how humid it was at 8am when we staggered out of the airport, we all crashed for a few hours at the hotel and then dragged our sorry selves out for an afternoon shopping blitz. We turned left at the crew hotel and within 10 minutes found ourselves right in the middle of Bridge Road - Melbourne's very popular discount and outlet area where designers sell one-off pieces and other shops sell out their left over stock at bargain prices. We inhaled some lunch at the first pub we saw and while it lacked air conditioning, it did allow us to hear all the juicy goss from the next table about Melbourne's latest up and coming Casanova. He happened to be sitting at the table and let me tell you, the fag-hag he was with TOTALLY put him on a pedestal. Over rated in a major way.

My stomach had calmed somewhat and after having found some gorgeous dresses and handing over my recently converted spare allowance money from an assortment of other countries for the past few months, we decided to get a drink from Boost Juice. It's been so long since I had one that I stupidly forgot that my favourite contained dairy. And boy was I sorry I forgot. Long story short, I suffered in silence and finally as we neared the hotel an eternity later and many kgs of shopping bags heavier, I felt better.

Showered and wearing a new dress, I wandered off into the beautiful Fitzroy Gardens across the street from the hotel with a book and basked in the early evening sun and soft breeze. I decided to call it a night once the sun dropped out of sight and the breeze became a gale and started to mess up my freshly blow dried hair.

Off to Auckland the next day we went, snoozed decadently in the afternoon and then sauntered out for margaritas, mojitos and mexican delights for dinner at the Mexican Cafe. We then hit a Russian vodka bar and recalling my New Years adventures I suddenly felt rather nauseous. The following day was spent lounging around my hotel room in my pjs watching Brothers and Sisters, an American series I've recently fallen head over heels in love with. I chewed through about 5 episodes and then it was time. Back to Melbourne and out for drinks and some funky live music. A friend of mine who lives in Melbourne has his finger firmly on the pulse of the music and bars/pubs/clubs scene and gave us the tip off for where we could find some funky funk tunes. Off we went to a groovy place called The Nightcat and had a great night until the incredibly arrogant first officer started being a sleazy prick and offending my mate and all his mates and pretty much anyone he spoke to. We called it a night, got stuck with him and finally shook him at a late night food stop. He then had the nerve to contact me on facebook and ask me if I'd consider breaking my "I don't date pilots rule". I wasn't actually aware I had this rule, but must've said that to him at some stage to discourage him. He's currently getting divorced and is a total catch. I mean, how hot that he'd sleaze onto EVERY ONE of the women sitting at the table, including the girlfriend of one of the guys also at the table....loser.

The next day for me was spent shopping up a grocery storm in the city. I must've done well because I had so much stuff I had to catch a taxi back to the hotel. Then came the conundrum of WHERE to put all of my loot. I'd been given permission to carry an extra bag but that just wasn't going to cut it. I'd bought about 3 litres of soy milk, the chocolate breaka poppers and so much stuff that I had to do some serious rearranging. All too soon it was wakeup time and back to Dubai we went.

I snagged a gorgeous pair of chocolate brown Ugg Boots from Purely Merino at the airport on my way out and they're currently snug on my feet. Lined with sheeps wool, they're the most comfy, warm and super Australian thing I can think of. They're also currently being worn by It Girls in public, out shopping, at concerts and pretty much anywhere else they want to flaunt their i-can-do-sleepwear-in-the-daytime-if-I-want outfits.

My own bed, my well worn pillow and the prospect of FIVE days off made Pink Poodle a very happy girl that morning.

Not to mention the thought of the lamingtons and chocolate milk I'd dragged all the way back with me!!

Virgin: the world's best passenger complaint letter?

2009-01-27T20:04:00.007+04:00

I was recently got my hands on a copy of a complaint letter sent to Sir Richard Branson, which is currently being emailed globally and is considered by many to be the world's funniest passenger complaint letter. I sat howling with laughter as I read it, tears almost streaming down my face and in dire danger of slipping into hysteria....perhaps it won't be so humourous to those NOT in the airline industry:

Dear Mr Branson

REF: Mumbai to Heathrow 7th December 2008

I love the Virgin brand, I really do which is why I continue to use it despite a series of unfortunate incidents over the last few years. This latest incident takes the biscuit.

Ironically, by the end of the flight I would have gladly paid over a thousand rupees for a single biscuit following the culinary journey of hell I was subjected to at thehands of your corporation.

Look at this Richard. Just look at it:

I imagine the same questions are racing through your brilliant mind as were racing through mine on that fateful day. What is this? Why have I been given it? What have I done to deserve this? And, which one is the starter, which one is the desert?

You don’t get to a position like yours Richard with anything less than a generous sprinkling of observational power so I KNOW you will have spotted the tomato next to the two yellow shafts of sponge on the left. Yes, it’s next to the sponge shaft without the green paste. That’s got to be the clue hasn’t it. No sane person would serve a desert with a tomato would they. Well answer me this Richard, what sort of animal would serve a desert with peas in:

I know it looks like a baaji but it’s in custard Richard, custard. It must be the pudding. Well you’ll be fascinated to hear that it wasn't custard. It was a sour gel with a clear oil on top. It’s only redeeming feature was that it managed to be so alien to my palette that it took away the taste of the curry emanating from our miscellaneous central cuboid of beige matter. Perhaps the meal on the left might be the desert after all.

Anyway, this is all irrelevant at the moment. I was raised strictly but neatly by my parents and if they knew I had started desert before the main course, a sponge shaft would be the least of my worries. So lets peel back the tin-foil on the main dish and see what’s on offer.

I’ll try and explain how this felt. Imagine being a twelve year old boy Richard. Now imagine it’s Christmas morning and you’re sat their with your final present to open. It’s a big one, and you know what it is. It’s that Goodmans stereo you picked out the catalogue and wrote to Santa about.

Only you open the present and it’s not in there. It’s your hamster Richard. It’s your hamster in the box and it’s not breathing. That’s how I felt when I peeled back the foil and saw this:

Now I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking it’s more of that Baaji custard. I admit I thought the same too, but no. It’s mustard Richard. MUSTARD. More mustard than any man could consume in a month. On the left we have a piece of broccoli and some peppers in a brown glue-like oil and on the right the chef had prepared some mashed potato. The potato masher had obviously broken and so it was decided the next best thing would be to pass the potatoes through the digestive tract of a bird.

Once it was regurgitated it was clearly then blended and mixed with a bit of mustard. Everybody likes a bit of mustard Richard.

By now I was actually starting to feel a little hypoglycaemic. I needed a sugar hit. Luckily there was a small cookie provided. It had caught my eye earlier due to it’s baffling presentation:

It appears to be in an evidence bag from the scene of a crime. A CRIME AGAINST BLOODY COOKING. Either that or some sort of back-street underground cookie, purchased off a gun-toting maniac high on his own supply of yeast. You certainly wouldn’t want to be caught carrying one of these through customs. Imagine biting into a piece of brass Richard. That would be softer on the teeth than the specimen above.

I was exhausted. All I wanted to do was relax but obviously I had to sit with that mess in front of me for half an hour. I swear the sponge shafts moved at one point.

Once cleared, I decided to relax with a bit of your world-famous onboard entertainment. I switched it on:

I apologise for the quality of the photo, it’s just it was incredibly hard to capture Boris Johnson’s face through the flickering white lines running up and down the screen. Perhaps it would be better on another channel:

Is that Ray Liotta? A question I found myself asking over and over again throughout the gruelling half-hour I attempted to watch the film like this. After that I switched off. I’d had enough. I was the hungriest I’d been in my adult life and I had a splitting headache from squinting at a crackling screen.

My only option was to simply stare at the seat in front and wait for either food, or sleep. Neither came for an incredibly long time. But when it did it surpassed my wildest expectations:

Yes! It’s another crime-scene cookie. Only this time you dunk it in the white stuff.

Richard…. What is that white stuff? It looked like it was going to be yoghurt. It finally dawned on me what it was after staring at it. It was a mixture between the Baaji custard and the Mustard sauce. It reminded me of my first week at university. I had overheard that you could make a drink by mixing vodka and refreshers. I lied to my new friends and told them I’d done it loads of times. When I attempted to make the drink in a big bowl it formed a cheese Richard, a cheese. That cheese looked a lot like your baaji-mustard.

So that was that Richard. I didn’t eat a bloody thing. My only question is: How can you live like this? I can’t imagine what dinner round your house is like, it must be like something out of a nature documentary.

As I said at the start I love your brand, I really do. It’s just a shame such a simple thing could bring it crashing to it’s knees and begging for sustenance.

Yours Sincererly

XXXX

Paul Charles, Virgin’s Director of Corporate Communications, confirmed that Sir Richard Branson had telephoned the author of the letter and had thanked him for his “constructive if tongue-in-cheek” email. Mr Charles said that Virgin was sorry the passenger had not liked the in-flight meals which he said was “award-winning food which is very popular on our Indian routes.”

Yeah, it probably IS award-winning food compared to some of the stuff cooked up in the slums of India, but full fare paying passengers who aren't residents of the sub-continent just wouldn't agree.

oh no, you're single? I'm SO sorry.....

2009-01-26T11:26:00.014+04:00

In the ever amusing desert in which I live, there are always a few new interesting and hilarious behavioural quirks that crop up from time to time. From the passengers who wish you a "hello! how are you?" on their way OUT the door, to the man at the car wash who refuses to let you just have your car washed on the outside and not vacuumed, we certainly do get some good giggles.

However, I'm noticing a new trend. Not a cutesy love-for-sparkly-things-that-go-squeak trend, but an annoying and offensive one - the public intimation and complete preoccupation with the notion that in order to have direction, to be a happy, fulfilled, worthy person or to qualify as a normal member of society, one must be in a relationship. Not necessarily a happy, loving, functional relationship, but anything that involves attachment.

I'm a hopeless romantic who loves a good love story, so when I heard rave reviews about the levels of love displayed in the movie Twilight, I decided I had to go. Being a vampire movie, not many of my mates wanted to go. Another friend who'd already seen it 4 times wasn't home and as I was on a short leave of absense from the gym due to an inability to stand upright after two rather intense abs sessions in a row, I decided to go by myself.

In my 26 years of life, I've never gone to a movie by myself and have generally regarded it as a passtime that people do in groups of 2 or more people. Why I have this view I don't know, as it's not like you can actually talk during the film, but it's considered a social outing and that's always what I've thought of it. I approached the ticket counter and asked for a ticket. The attendant asked if I just wanted one. I replied that I did indeed just want one, which prompted him to say "Is your boyfriend meeting you here?". I must have looked confused and when I replied that my boyfriend wasn't meeting me he said "Oh that's too bad. This is the type of movie you go to as a couple". Feeling totally outed as a singleton and stunned by the stellar levels of customer service in Dubai, I bought my popcorn and frozen coke and entered the cinema.

Flashback to my entry about when I saw The Dark Knight - cinema contained large groups of Arabic speaking youths who thought it was appropriate to talk at sound barrier breaking decibel levels and test out their new ring tones. I also detected a rather condescending tone in their voices when I came in by myself. Call me paranoid, but I think they were lamely commenting on my single status.

The movie was FANTASTIC. I'm really not into vampire movies, although I did love vampire books when I was a teen. While some of it was totally far-fetched I was hooked from the moment the lead characters saw each other. The chemistry they had was amazing but what really got me was how much love there was in the film. Clearly from different sides of the track, a vampire and a high school girl make an unlikely couple in this action packed love story. I could totally sense the heartache and the whole forbidden relationship vibe they had going on and can't wait for the next two installments. Could this be the edgier counterpart of High School Musical, without all the cheesy dancing and impossibly perky and day-glo perma smiles? Let's hope so because I've also fallen in love with the moody Edward Cullen.

Following on from the snub at the cinema I was not amused recently when a crew member on a flight announced she was resigning and this was her last flight. The purser (bright spark that he was) said "oh, are you resigning because you're getting married?" He then looked really confused when the girl set him straight and said she was going home because she was going back to uni and had had enough of the flight attendant life. I was dumbfounded for a minute for a few reasons:

1. The girl who was resigning was from a civilised country (read Australia)and clearly getting married and becoming a baby machine wasn't her ticket home.

2. This guy was the PURSER and he clearly equates leaving this unskilled, unimportant and largely monkeys-could-do-it-with-their-eyes-closed job as something he'd never considered. This type of person is in CHARGE of an 18 member team of multi-lingual and multi-national crew???

I thought perhaps this was a one off with a weirdo but no, I've asked around and it's actually a prevalent response to the announcement of resignation. My good friend Mark who's leaving in 3 days got a similar reaction and had to then explain that no, he wasn't getting married and probably never would because he's gay.

So tell me desert dwellers, have you had a similar experience that's left your mind boggling and you wanting to scrub off the telltale stamp-on-forehead signs of your disease ridden single life?

Personally I'm having a great time being single and I feel sorry for people who are in relationships simply because they're too scared to step foot out the front door on their own.

A few of my least favourite things

2009-01-11T19:10:00.005+04:00

Ok, so it's that time again. I've bit my lip, held my tongue and generally walked away from things and people that annoy me since my last outburst.

Excited beyond belief that there are episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer on telly here in Dubai, let me exercise some Buffy-style bluntness.

I think English magazines are crap. They go on and on about hideous fashion, encourage girls to get fake nails and tans and boobs and hair and pretty much anything else that's replaceable and in general are just obnoxious. Clearly the writers and editors have never got their hands on a copy of The Australian Woman's Weekly. Now there's a good read. It even has cool, easily cookable recipes inside.

After a particularly painful circuit session at the gym that has compounded the pain in my abs from two days ago, I decided a hot oil bath and a read of a trashy magazine I found in the stack on our lounge room table was in order. I decided on Glamour, which states on the top in big bold letters that it's "Britain's No 1 Women's Magazine". This rubbish mag contains so many eye-popping double standards that my educated brain is strugging to comprehend them all! It starts by belching out the fact that we women should embrace our bodies, love who we are and damn any man who makes us feel otherwise. Ok, check, I agree with all of these comments, but stopped short when I read a rather ridiculous sex survey entitled ''Would you rather....?" It consists of questions, the answers given in percentages and then a clever, witty comment (read condescending and crass) from the editing department.

A perfect example: Would you rather ... sleep with a chubby man or a skinny man? While 42% of readers who responded would rather a chubby man, 58% opted for the skinny bloke. Whatever floats your boat really, but the ensuing comment has really got under my skin: ''You'll take a man with svelter thighs than a human trampoline any day".

Seriously? SERIOUSLY?! First the magazine is rabbiting on about how important self esteem is and how we should strive to be happy in our own skin ... blah blah blah ... but it sees no problem in implying that men who aren't stick thin are unattractive? Personally, I prefer my men real - the ability to make me laugh, smile and feel like they value what I've got to say does far more for me than what colour his tan is, or if he's got freckles or ... gasp ... love handles. I'm a real woman and have no issues in declaring that yes, I have cellulite and stretch marks from a lack of zinc in my diet as a pre-teen. I go to the gym at least 3 times a week, take pride in my appearance and think that any man who doesn't like what he sees can bugger off. I also think that there are so many wonderful people out there who are being overlooked as a result of the warped double standards that many young girls are forming after reading their country's similarly named ''No 1 Women's Magazine". For God's sake ladies, your brain cells are being shrunk by all the time you're spending in the sunbeds and the fumes you're inhaling in the nail salons. How about taking some of your own advice and becoming a woman who lives and not a woman who lunches??

Society is consumed by a need to be the same as everyone else. We all wear the same clothes, do the same things and apparently have the same catch cries. A few years ago Lindsay Lohan and her Mean Girls were constantly saying "shut up!!!!", which inevitably filtered through into the everyday speach of movie-goers. If I read one more magazine that says something is "bang on trend'' I think I'll just scream. Call me intollerant if you will but honestly, is it impossible to think that ALL of the female fashion magazines out there might be able to find another phrase to describe something that's currently in fashion? Brisvegas (Australian slang for Brisbane) and random also top my list of most hated sayings.

Also, if I see another person wearing one of those hideously ugly checkered scarves that look just like what Arabic men wear on their heads or my Nanna puts on her kitchen table I might just vomit. Big vomit.

A Ruski New Year

2009-01-02T16:42:00.017+04:00

So I just had the most awesome new years ever! I was rostered a flight to Moscow and really tried to ditch it, as I didn't want to go out in the freezing sub-arctic sleet-winds but sadly no-one would give me their good flights. I've just been struck down with another sinus infection 2 weeks ago and have just recovered. Doctor's orders: if you're going to go out in Moscow, rug up super warm because it's not a good idea in your condition. So what did I do? I packed my dvd player, 2 really good books and all the stuff to do a facial and resigned myself to a dull new years. I purposely didn't pack my warm jacket, boots, scarf, gloves and all that jazz because I knew that I'd be naughty and go out when I shouldn't. Sooooo I got into briefing in the morning and the crew were cool. They were chattering about going into the Red Square and I couldn't believe how much of an IDIOT I was for not packing my stuff. New Years in the Red Square??? How often does THAT happen?

My resolve to not go out lasted until I saw the snow. Where there's a will there's a way. While I might not have packed my nice jacket, Emirates has been kind enough to give me a lovely cashmere overcoat for such trips and I decided that jacket and I were going to have the adventure to end all adventures. I discovered on opening my suitcase that I didn't have shoes either. Thongs and sneakers were my options and there was no way my feet would leave the hotel in thongs. So I decided to team my beige coat with my mega ugly brown cabin shoes and make the journey. I didn't even care if the crew laughed at me, I was going out.

There was a massive party in the captain's room and I managed to procure a pair of gloves, a scarf, an extra pair of socks AND the captain's navy blue work coat (far more attractive than my ugly beige one) and we were off! There are pictures floating around somewhere of me comparing my exposed belly with that of an Aussie boy on the crew - if anyone knows who has them, I'd love a copy. After 1 beer, I switched to some lethal paint-stripper Russian vodka that severely messed me up. I have no recollection of getting to the station across the road from the hotel but do remember the journey. All of a sudden we were there and I've never seen so many people! We wanted to see the fireworks but were on the wrong side of the buildings and only saw a few stray ones. Anyway, there are photos on my camera that I don't remember taking, I have a strange bump on my forehead, a few bruises on my legs, terribly strained stomach muscles that ache when I laugh or cough, wind burn on my cheeks and lips, remember lying in the snow laughing like a maniac at 2am, passing out on the captain's bed at the after party and being practically carried back to my room by a much smaller first class girl.

When I woke up and got vertical I realised I'd lost my passport.

I'd managed to return with all my money, my drivers licence, my camera, tissues and room key, but the passport wasn't there. Damn Moscow and their weird rules about carrying passports in public. I had a vague recollection of emptying the pockets of the captain's jacket when I was leaving and called him sheepishly to ask if he had it. Luckily I'd dropped it in his room or left it in his pocket and all was good. I really didn't fancy getting stuck there.

Our first officer got jumped by three assholes in the hotel just after we all went back to our rooms. Most people walked each other back to their rooms to make sure we got there because we were all so smashed but Fred said he'd be fine and when he got out of the lift, three beefcakes approached him, slogged him a good one on the face and then kicked his arse. Literally. He has a boot imprint on his butt, a swollen bruised eye and a ripper bit of blood floating under the top layer of his eyeball. We called him Rocky for the rest of the flight home and I set him up with ice packs for his head. That made my windburn look fairly minimal. Beware when in Russia - no-one wanted to help him when he reported it to hotel security and it was clearly people staying in the hotel on his floor.

4.5 hours on the way home felt like I was flying to LA again. It just didn't seem like it was going to end. There were passengers demanding I put their bags in the overheads, others practically throwing their heavy fur coats at me and we had a train wreck of a passenger in first class who kept us amused for a while. She stank of hideous body odour and was just off her face. Kind of looked like Helena Bonham Carter when she's revived in Frankenstein but without the scars. Not pretty at all. Her hair was just as bad though! We called her crackhead and she had this crazy bird nest style hair that she kept fluffing and pulling at, putting her jacket on and taking it off again and scratching her arms. She was just as high as a kite. Pinging all around the cabin, driving us nuts and alternating between muttering like a mad woman and crying into a wad of tissues. Who knows what her parents thought of her! Glad I was working in the galley, my hangover stomach wouldn't have dealt well with how badly she smelt.

My new years resolutions have been made and at midnight-thirty after seeing in the new year I broke the first one. 12 hours later I broke the second one, so we're off to a racing start!

Happy New Years everyone, I hope you all had a wonderful time and have as many awesome booze fueled memories as I do. If you don't, check your cameras and I'm sure you'll find some dodgy and embarrassing photographic evidence of just how messy you all got!!!

Disappearing Chicken

2008-12-18T19:01:00.004+04:00

Something VERY strange happened here a few weeks ago and I'm still kind of scratching my head about it.

Let me set the scene - I live in a 53 storey building that has an 8 floor carpark. That carpark is frequented by indian workers and homeless cats. Both stare balefully at us whenever we leave the building and it's more often the cats that call out to us for food.

The two cats that have adopted our building are rather manky looking. There is Tinkerbell and the unnamed female. I called the boy Tinkerbell before I noticed his MASSIVE cat balls. He's got patches of skin missing, chunks out of his ears and I think he was white once upon a time. The girl cat would be kind of cute if she didn't have a gammy leg, a lopsided swollen mouth and a terribly annoying yowl. She's also frequently pregnant or nursing babies (that I've never caught a glimpse of), courtesy of Tinkerbell.

Every now and then I'll buy them a sachet of cat food from the nearby grocery store and they inhale it like they've never been allowed food before.

Since joining the gym and being put on my "brown rice is good for you" diet, I've turned into Little Miss Domestic - always cooking and buying wayyyy too many groceries. A few weeks ago, I bought a massive pack of chicken breast, planning on a chicken palooza in the kitchen. I shoved it onto my crammed shelf in the fridge, piled more stuff on top of it and promptly forgot it was there until I re-discovered it about a week later after returning from a long trip. It was way past the very optimistic expiry date on the packet, which was about a week longer than I'd give chicken to live in my fridge. We waste so much food on board that unnecessarily wasting food at home really upsets me.

Ashelgith said unnamed female cat was meowing pitifully outside the building when she came in that morning, so I got the chicken out and cooked it up. It smelt absolutely rancid and I was really worried that she'd get sick if I gave it to her to eat but figured that beggars can't be choosy and that if she lives in the desert and eats out of bins, my slightly off cooked up chicken really wouldn't do too much damage to her stomach lining.

So, armed with three massive cooked chicken breasts that'd been cooked and diced up (and still smelt hideous), my packed gym bag and I headed downstairs. I'd folded up some foil to make a bowl for the chicken, and I put it near the entrance of the carpark elevators. There was an Indian man lurking there watching me, but he wasn't a worker. He was wearing the standard Indian man outfit/uniform: plaid shirt, trousers of indescript colour and sandals. Man sandals.

I put the chicken down and smiled at a businessman who came out of the building and looked oddly at me for feeding the cat. Some people just don't understand niceness. The cat however, was nowhere to be seen. I felt good about doing a good deed and skipped off to the gym, only to be tortured beyond belief by Jimmy.

When I came home I was hoping to see the foil bowl empty or at least almost empty. Instead, I was shocked to see it was gone. Not just empty and perhaps pushed about by the wind, but GONE. Finito. Removed. I was sure that even though the cat is starving, not even she could eat that much chicken in just over an hour. I scouted around the car park, behind the poles and under the surrounding cars as unobviously as I could but had no luck. Then I thought perhaps the foil was thrown into the bin by a passerby who saw it was empty.

Feeling rather homeless myself, I went over to the bin, opened the lid and looked inside. Still nothing. I then realised that someone had taken it. Now this may sound like a stretch but this IS Dubai. People do all sorts of weird stuff here and while a great many of them are crew, this reeked of homelessness. Not even the most conceited of cabin crew would throw out a cat's dinner and a unnamed female cat most certianly DID NOT get up on two legs (one of them very gammy), teeter over to the bin, open it and place the foil inside. There was also no spilt chicken on the floor around the bowl, telling me that unnamed female cat never even saw the meal.

I came upstairs and told Ash and while we had a giggle that someone had stolen the chicken, I then realised that that person would be in a world of pain after eating it. It was so off it didn't even smell edible once it was cooked. For someone to be so hungry and poor that they need to steal food that someone gave to a cat is just so sobering. I really help that's not the case.

Does anyone else have a plausible explanation for the disappearance of my thougthfully cooked chicken??

Top 40 most asked....

2008-12-16T21:49:00.010+04:00

Tonight I found this questionaire on a cool blog called Another Passport Stamp and thought I'd do it too. For some reason I don't read a lot of other blogs, so I'm probably the last blogging flight attendants out there to fill it out and post it Apparently it's a short list of the most commonly asked questions flight attendants get from the general public.

1. Which airline is lucky enough to employ you? One that requires me to wear a red hat with a white scarf that continually gets stuck to my hooker red lippy.

2. What city(ies) are you based in? Delightful Dubai.

3. If you could choose any city, what would be your dream base? New York baby, NEW YORK!!!

4. How long would you like to be based there? For the rest of my days...

5. Have you ever done the nasty with a passenger you met on a plane? Nope. The one I gave my number to never called...

6. Have you ever wanted to? That's why I gave him my number.

7. What is your favorite city thus far to layover in? Not necessarily in order of love: New York (always number 1), Melbourne, Brisbane, Paris, Rome and Hamburg.

8. Have you had famous people as passengers? Yes, but not as many as I'd like to have had after 3 long years of devotion to the skies. The only famous people in the cabin I worked in were some old crusty Arabic crooner from Morocco and the only unmarried princess left in Morocco. I've directly spoken to Ronan Keating but was working in economy when he travelled business. Also on my aircraft at some stage have been Ernie Dingo (Aussie celeb), Alexander Downer (Aussie politician), some Indian rock star (unpronouncable name) and one of the Schumacher brothers. Not very impressive.

9. If so, who was your favorite? Ronan. He's really quite cute in person and very polite.

10. Who was your least favorite? Schumacher - he held up the aircraft, was the last to board and pretty much looked through me like I was something stuck to his shoe when I welcomed him on board and told him where his seat was.

11. Who would you love to have on your flight? Brad Pitt, George Clooney....any nice eye candy really.

12. Are you a language speaker for your airline? I speak Australian, but for some reason am discouraged to annouce that in the P.A.

13. What is your least favorite flight to work? Any flight that doesn't have a layover at the end of it.

14. Do you have a flight you actually enjoy working? Any Aussie flight is usually fun and fuss free. The passengers all board quickly, find their seats by themselves, stow their luggage, sit down, buckle up and only ask you for drinks. They like to have a chat, understand sexual harrassment laws (well most do), and generally don't bother you with stupid requests at top of descent.

15. Have you ever done the nasty with a crew member? Not on the aircraft.

16. What do you watch on TV when you are getting ready for work on a layover? Tv while I'm getting ready distracts me so I pop on my ipod instead. However, a few times I've found myself running late because I was dancing around the hotel room in my knickers and had to sternly tell myself that my hair and face needs attention pronto.

17. Have you ever dropped a passenger meal and served it? No, that's really gross. If I wouldn't eat it, I wouldn't serve it. This doesn't include the 5 second rule, because whoever eats it needs to observe the surface it fell on before deciding if the rule applies. I've seen a senior put a bread roll back on a tray when it fell on the economy galley floor - pretty wrong if you asked me. I took it off the tray and told her I felt it was better to serve it without the roll.

18. Do you prefer working coach, business class or first class? Is this a trick question?

19. What is your favorite airplane to work? 777-200 ulr! It's new, it's sleek, it's got a cool social area AND there are only 8 suites in first class!

20. Do you know what crop-dusting inflight is? Is there anyone out there who DOESN'T know what this is? Sometimes unavoidable and the ultimate revenge on pissy passengers.

21. Do you prefer working early flights or late ones? I don't like responding to alarms and getting up early, but I HATE working through the night. At the end of the day, I'd rather have already worked and be looking into a nice glass of red wine than be preparing to work an all-nighter when I've not slept yet.

22. Do you like the uniform your airline gives you? I'm of the opinion that it's revolting but some crew like it. I don't look good in beige and would consider becoming a purser simply because they wear navy blue. Our new uniform is currently being worn by our very, very special A380 crew (cough cough) and will be "rolled out" (direct quote from management) across the entire fleet by the end of the first quarter of 2009. I think it's an improvement on the current potato sack and I look forward to wearing it. However, I'm concerned about where I'll buy red shoe polish from. Does anyone know where I can get some?

23. Do you take your laptop on a layover? Depends if there's free internet and if I think the crew will all be duds and I'll need to amuse myself. If I've been to the destination a million times or there's absolutely nothing to do there, then definitely.

24. What is your LEAST favorite part of every flight? While I look forward to disembarking because it means the flight is over with, I hate having to stand there and wish everyone a nice day. I do genuinely hope they have a nice day, but my face aches after saying it 400 times. Half of them don't even look at me or respond AND they run over my toes with their oversized & completely unnecessary carry-ons!

25. What is the BEST hotel you have ever had a layover at? Believe it or not, the hotel in Calcutta (the name escapes me) is the bomb! It's got gorgeous rooms, epic bathrooms, great bars and restaurants and a really nice gym and pool area. I love the Sofitel in Brisbane, the Novotel in Singapore, the Meridian in Hamburg and the Arabella in Munich isn't too shabby either.

26. Where did you interview for your job? At the Holiday Inn in Brisbane.

27. What other cities have you been based in? Only Dubdub - all of our crew are based here and this is my first flying job.

28. Favorite base? N/A

29. Why did you become a flight attendant? I was bored with life in Brisbane and wanted to see the world. I figured this was my chance for free travel before I got into a serious job that wouldn't allow frequent trips away from my 9-5 desk.

30. Did you apply at other airlines that didn't want you? Nope - beginner's luck.

31. Do you like the airline you work for? Hmmm....how to answer this question without getting into trouble or putting off potential recruits. Just kidding! Most of the time I do, but like any large company, there are shortfalls that irritate the hell out of most of the employees. This company gives us a pretty good deal, so I really can't complain THAT much. A yearly bonus also isn't to be sneezed at!!

32. Have you ever had the CEO of your airline onboard as a passenger? I've not yet had the pleasure.

33. Have you ever dated a passenger you met? Nah, but have kept in touch with a few.

34. Have you ever gotten into a disagreement with a fellow crew member? While I have a wild imagination and carry on all sorts of disagreement conversations in my head that I'd NEVER say aloud, I've only come to have harsh words with a few. The one that really sticks out in my memory was an arguement that came about because another girl opened my duty free container. This wasn't a big deal, because I said we could just swap - hers were unopened and therefore the contents weren't compromised. However, I was new to duty free, it was top of descent and I wasn't actually planning on opening mine until 5 minutes after she did it for me - I HATE last minute orders. I didn't know where HER container was located and she refused to help me find it. On top of that, she shoved her orders at me because she didn't want to sell because she wouldn't make commission!! I flew into a rage, yelled at her and she yelled back. It didn't come to fisticuffs but I will say I was really close to telling her that her fake eyelashes were really obvious.

35. Has a pilot ever hit on you? I don't think there is a flight attendant out there who hasn't been hit on by a pilot. That's not to say that all pilots hit on crew - some of them are true gentlemen and their occupation shouldn't brand them as sleazy. Nor should mine brand me as an easy floozy.

36. Do you dislike passengers or pilots more? Depends on their antics - I'll take everyone at face value until they piss me off.

37. Passengers ask annoying questions when they see you in uniform. What is your least favorite question? Oh there are many that are just no-brainers but one that really takes the cake was a silly American women who shared a lift with me in Rome. After looking me up and down and making the familiar American statement regarding my uniform "Oh I just LOVE yourrrrrrrrrr uniforrrrrrrrm, what airrrrrrline do you worrrrrrk forrrrrr?'', I thanked her and answered and she followed with "where are YOU from?". I answered Australian, to which she came back with a confused frown and "do you speak English there??". Come on lady, we just had half a conversation - what language do YOU speak? I also hate being asked which terminal flights leave from, where the toilets/lounge/check-in desk/duty free shop/exit/smoking area/souvenir shop/excess baggage collection point/shop that sells edible food/gate or transfer desks are located. While I might be required to know exactly where all the oxygen bottles and fire extinguishers are located on all the different aircraft types I fly on, I certainly haven't been trained on the locations of the above in all of the world's airports. That said, the minute I don't know where I am and need to find something, I'll ask a person in uniform but even before I had this job I knew not to ask flight attendants. I usually look like I don't know where I'm doing because I DON'T know where I'm going, so I don't know why they ask me. Mostly I hate having to admit I don't know the answer because I know I'll cop that ''you must be real stupid'' look they throw at you.

38. What is the stupidest request a passenger has made of you? Besides the pointless and never-granted requests for a free upgrade, my favourite is: "Can you maybe get me a chicken/beef/fish/lamb that comes with something else?" Like, do you want me to go and grow the vegies out the back and steam the up for you???

39. Is being a hostess with the mostess your only job? Yes. My company forbids having side jobs. That said if I could find something under the radar that pays me enough to sacrifice my downtime I'd do it.

40. Have you ever gotten any long lasting relationships out of your job? Negative on the romantic front - I find that flying doesn't play well with relationships. I tend to do lots of long flights because I don't overly care for the country I live in. Being here for only 8 days a month isn't really conducive to being a ''girlfriend''. I have however made some of the most wonderful friends a girl could ever ask for - namely my two flatmates. Over the last 3 years, they've become more like sisters than friends and I just love love LOVE them.

This is us on our most recent night out, celebrating Jena's ascention to first class!

My name's Lauren and I have an addiction...

2008-12-16T18:03:00.008+04:00

It was November 22 when this draft was written and I'd only managed to Xmas shop for 1.5 cousins and 0.5 of a flatmate. That's horrendously shocking for a shopaholic.

I blame my recent lapse in concentrated shopping attemps on my newfound gym addiction.

That's right readers, no need to rub your eyes in disbelief or assume that was one huge typo - I have the beginnings of a problem. Albeit a good one, but this is unchartered territory for me.

Having decided earlier this year (5 months ago) that I might resign in February and go home to the land where freedom of speech, women's rights, sexual harrassmant laws and worker's unions are abundant, I realised that it was time to shake the 3 year bulge...which set in 2.5 years ago. It's just taken me that long to A) realise I hate those 5 extra kgs with a passion and B) have the engery or motivation to do anything about it.

Hearing fantastic rumours that a Fitness First opened 10 minutes down the road from my apartment I whooped with joy. I'd previously been a member at home in Aus and loved their group exercise classes. I was a pilates addict, going so far as to drag a tight-hamstring afflicted male friend along with me every week.

By the time I took this job, I was a size 10, had 2 jobs, was going to uni & doing pilates religiously - to put it mildly I was in far greater shape that I am now.

With all the guts I could muster, I made the phone call, went in and met a membership consultant and signed my hard-earned dizzas away. For a similar price to home I now have access to all equipment and all classes. Another Fitness First branch 10-15 mins drive from my place has a pool, so if I feel a burning desire to do laps like an olympian I can. My membership involved a non-negotiable, non-avoidable and completely mandatory fitness assessment + triple pack of sessions with a personal trainer. The necessity of these sessions is two-fold:

1. To make sure I'm not a heart attack in the making who's planning to sue the gym's pants off

and

2. That I'll be impressed with the PT sessions and buy more.

I'm a typically terrible impulse shopper and managed to be strong in Aus and not go beyond the included triple pack. This time however, my african arse and I decided to employ the power of a personal trainer and all his wisdom.

Wisdom = almost tear-inducing sweat sessions that result in me struggling to walk for days, almost crying when I sneeze and being taunted with my surname like I'm one of the boys while I'm being smashed aroung the gym like a human tennis ball.

I'm your slightly above average girly girl. I hate sweat, I hate pain and while I'm not averse to it for great results, I dont'really like gut-busting exercise. My trainer Jimmy is from Scotland and I was right to worry about a language barrier. Usually people in Dubai have trouble understanding ME but his accent is something else. Having lived in England for something like 10 years, he's lost the Scottish lilt and has developed a hybrid accent that's so hard to understand sometimes it's like trying to crack a code from the Pentagon. I'm sure he thinks I have speech difficulties because I'm always asking him to repeat himself. I started out being polite and saying "pardon?" but that quickly grew old. He's always saying ''huh'' or ''what'' when I talk, so they're the words that make up most of our conversations.

Because I'm fundamentally a big sook, I don't like and am secretly terrified of pain. I'll do anything to avoid it, but there's no fooling him with chatting to try to get extended rest time. The latest trend is that every time I say ''huh'' or ''what'' in the middle of a set, I owe him 10 situps, push ups, squats or whatever cruel action he sees fit. I don't even know Iím saying it half the time until I see his eyes light up and he'll announce the new total. During our last session I racked up a debt of 50 stomach crunches.

I'm maintaining that if he didn't speak to me during a set I wouldn't say the magic words. When I'm distracted with trying to shoulder press ridiculous amounts of weight, of course I'm going to say ''huh'' to anything anyone says to me. An adjudicator from Gold Lotto could come along and shout in my ear that I've just won the jackpot and I'd still say the same thing. Perhaps slighly louder + preceeded by ''effing'', but you get my drift.

I've developed an intense dislike for sweat. As a swimmer, you feel warm in the pool but the sweat just pools with everyone else's. Gross. In pilates, sweat isn't very common - everyone just feels very zen. Give me 5 minutes on the treadmill and I'm sweating like a pig. Follow that with an intense weight workout and I'm dripping like Kylie Minogue's super-gyrating backup dancers - I just don't gyrate or have a fabulous costume.

The first time I actually DRIPPED sweat on the floor I was contorted in a stupid position with weights in hand. I felt it get a roll going through my hair, down my forehead and saw it land with a plop on the mat below me. Forgetting the weights, I stood bolt upright, looked at the floor like I'd just seen a surgeon spit-polish a piece or sterile surgical equipment and uttered an exhausted, yet revolted ''ugh''.

Jimmy looked at me with half raised eyebrows, as if I was insane, said ''it's only water'' and proceeded to make me double the total amount he'd given me. The drop of sweat made my easily distractable brain think of a girl I went to high school with. Her older sister accidentally had the sweat gland under one of her arms cut during surgery and her face was always half red at sports events. I briefly considered having both my sweat glands cut but realised that probably wouldn't stop me sweating - my face just wouldn't go so red.

After our first session I was in 8 out of 10 pain for 3.5 days. I could hardly walk, let alone work. The day after our intensive leg session I started a 9 day Singapore/Brisbane trip. My legs still didn't feel normal by the end of that trip. He later announced that session was designed to shock me and to see if I'd continue with the training beyond the inital triple pack. Feeling somewhat proud that my muscles don't scream with agony after EVERY session, just after most, I daresay I'm getting used to it.

Every 18 months we get fitted for a new uniform and in the 6 weeks between my first session and my fitting I'd dropped a dress size and a few pesky kilos. Apparently the body burns fat for 30 hours after a weights session but only 3 or 4 hours after cardio. Most of the 12 sessions I've done have been weights based so I'm getting results. I'm noticing slight but definite changes in my body and while I don't gleefully skip into the gym like some of the roid-heads do, I'm completely addicted to that post-workout shower feeling.

Chocolate cake tastes so much better after a workout too!!!

AUSTRALIA - the right to leave

2008-12-14T19:00:00.008+04:00

I received an interesting email recently from a friend at home. I was saddened to read a few things in it, mostly how the culture of my country is changing. I embrace multiculturalism but sometimes people just take the piss.

After Sydney not wanting to offend other cultures by putting up Christmas lights, and
after hearing that the State of South Australia changed its opinion and let a Muslim woman have her picture on her driver's license with her face covered, this prompted the following editorial to be written by an Australian citizen and published in an Australian newspaper.

Quote:

"IMMIGRANTS, NOT AUSTRALIANS, MUST ADAPT. Take It Or Leave It! I am tired of this nation worrying about whether we are offending some individual or their culture. Since the terrorist attacks on Bali , we have experienced a surge in patriotism by the majority of Australians.

However, the dust from the attacks had barely settled when the 'politically correct' crowd began complaining about the possibility that our patriotism was offending others. I am not against immigration, nor do I hold a grudge against anyone who is seeking a better life by coming to Australia .

However, there are a few things that those who have recently come to our country, and apparently some born here, need to understand.

This idea of Australia being a multicultural community has served only to dilute our sovereignty and our national identity. As Australians, we have our own culture, our own society, our own language and our own lifestyle. This culture has been developed over two centuries of struggles, trials and victories by millions of men and women who have sought freedom.

We speak ENGLISH, not Spanish, Lebanese, Arabic, Chinese, Japanese, Russian, or any other language. Therefore, if you wish to become part of our society, Learn the language!

'In God We Trust' is our National Motto. This is not some Christian, right wing, political slogan. We adopted this motto because Christian men and women, on Christian principles, founded this nation, and this is clearly documented. It is certainly appropriate to display it on the walls of our schools. If God offends you, then I suggest you consider another part of the world as your new home, because God is part of our culture

If the Southern Cross offends you, or you don't like 'A Fair Go', then you should seriously consider a move to another part of this planet.

We are happy with our culture and have no desire to change, and we really don't care how you did things where you came from.

This is OUR COUNTRY, OUR LAND, and OUR LIFESTYLE, and we will allow you every opportunity to enjoy all this.

But once you are done complaining, whining, and griping about Our Flag, Our Pledge, Our National Motto, or Our Way of Life, I highly encourage you take advantage of one other great Australian freedom,

'THE RIGHT TO LEAVE!

If you aren't happy here then move on! We didn't force you to come here. You asked to be here. So accept the country YOU accepted. Pretty easy really, when you think about it".

Food for thought really.

While some parts do sound harsh, I couldn't have said it better myself. Often a lively debate in Dubai, we're astonished every time we go home and find our way of life as we know it has changed a little more for the worse and that liberties are being taken that certainly wouldn't fly in many other countries around the world. Many have sacrificed their lives and their freedom to give us the lifestyle, country and personal freedoms that we have today and we don't take it for granted. Had our men and women not fought so hard in the last world war, we'd have been taken over by approaching forces and would certainly not be the nation we are today.

Australia is a great land and being granted permission to live there should be something to cherish, not abuse. I live in a Muslim country and as a Catholic, I accept that. I don't wear tarty clothes, whinge that there isn't a church near me, cry that nativity scenes aren't allowed in the school here and I accept that I must have a license to purchase alcohol. Well, I might whinge about the last one because it's a bloody inconvenience! I don't boycott national days, question why the national flag is flown, request that the mosque loudspeakers be turned off because they offend me or don't fit in with my own personal religious beliefs and practices and while I HATE working on holidays that mean something to ME, it's something I must deal with because I don't live in my own country.

I'll take this moment to thank the roster gods for allowing me to have Christmas Day and Boxing Day off this year.

Being a multicultural land, we must expect to encounter some differences, but the way some people carry on like pork chops is rather frustrating.

DISCLAIMER

2008-12-14T18:59:00.000+04:00

The contents of this website are solely my own opinions, thoughts, feelings, observations, stories, travels and photographs. They do not in anyway correlate with or represent the company I work for, nor does the company endorse or have any association with this website.

Stories and people mentioned here are real. Some names, places and dates may have been changed. This website takes no responsibility for any actions or injuries resulting from reading this blog.

Munchin on Xmas goodies in Munchen

2008-12-05T01:39:00.017+04:00

It's Christmas time !!!!!

I may be 26 years old, but when Christmas rolls around I still get as excited as a little kid. I was slightly dismayed to see Christmas decorations up in the shops as early as October when I was on a trip to Sydney and wanted to boycot Myer on principle that I won't condone or participate in the obvious over-commercialisation of a wonderful holiday.....until December.

I was happy to find that I had a Munich flight on the 1st of this month and eagerly packed my bags for the freezing weather that facebook's weather application predicted. 3 degrees at 8am, with a real feel of -1. Just what I didn't want to have to deal with - mega cold that would cause my eyes to water excessively and my nose to run and go bright red. These conditions don't agree with me and completely ruin the chance of my looking fabulous.

I was so tired from all the flying I've been doing lately I seriously considered calling in sick, but dragged my sorry self in to work and got a lovely surprise in the briefing room.

Let me backtrack....to August I think it was. A blogger called Airboy commented on one of my blog entries many months ago and left a link to his blog for me to check out. I have so much downtime it's ridiculous, so I went straight there and I'm STILL in awe of how awesome his blog is. It's full of crazy pictures, stories and downloadable music. It's also a complete how-to for any prospective Emirates cabin crew, with an A - Z of quesitons and answers. I was pleasantly surprised when Ben (his real name) asked if he could interview me for a series of interviews with other blogging flight attendants, but that didn't compare with how pumped I was to see my interview appear in full on his blog. Sad but true that I was mega excited. Does this mean that I'm now a published writer?

Anyhoo, I happened to bump into Ben at Dubai's mental-as-anything airport on my way to Malta in October with Ash. We tore our bags out of the back of the taxi and were hooting inside when I realised I'd just passed a person who had a very familiar face. I turned around for another look and saw Ben had done the same. In a bit of a double take moment, we both realised who the other was, with the weird familiarity that comes from only having ever seen pictures of the other person.

Also featured on Ben's blog was an interview with a funky young dude called Jarad, or J-Rad as he prefers to be called. He hails from Mississippi, the home of artery-clogging-fried-food-goodness and is just a bundle of cool accent and funky threads. After sucking down a few cups of water before entering the briefing room, sitting down, inspecting my nails and rooting around in my stuffed-to-bursting-with-crap handbag for a yoghurt covered flapjack that I just KNEW was in there, I looked around the room and realised the boy with brown hair looked vaguely familiar. I couldn't place him, but once our voyage reports (sheet of paper with everyone's name, nationality, spoken languages and some other vital flight info like the captain's name listed on it) were handed out, I saw his name and despite my sleep-fogged brain, had a lightbulb moment.

On our way to the bus, I introduced myself and we had a laugh over my reaction to how he commented in his interview that he thought there should be more supermodels working in first class. The flight over was pretty uneventful, apart from the copious testing of the new flavoured tea bags in first class. I hate getting onboard updates because they clog up my mailbox, take up valuable pork-product shopping space in my cabin bag and are generally a massive waste of paper. The only remotely excitable thing on the latest one was the new tea bags - 12 flavours! I nearly retched when I tried the ginger one, and fell instantly in love when I sampled the vanilla. You know how some things taste like other things smell? Well, on a recent trip to Houston (which I'll blog about next - lately I'm allergic to blogging in chronological order) I bought a body moisturiser that smells just like creamed butter and sugar tastes!!! Actually it smells better. Well, this vanilla tea is out of this world.

We landed, made plans to check out the Xmas markets in town, did lightning quick wardrobe changes and were saddened to find out that by the time we journeyed there on the train, the markets would be closed. It was also bloody cold outside, so I was pretty excited to shed a layer and head downstairs to the restaurant where we drank beer and ate pork and veal schnitzel. Hasty plans were made for take 2 of our Xmas market journey. Midday the next day rolled around and true to form, only half the amount of people who said they'd show up did. It was J-Rad, myself and Martine (a totally awesome Aussie girl who coincidentally is on my next trip to Melbourne!).

We set off, marvelled at the efficiency of German public transport, had a few giggles and were there before we knew it. As I knew it would, the cold wind whistled right up my nose, instantly causing faux tears and redness. My gloved fingers were slightly better off than my nose and I was super glad my jacket was long and had a big hood I could hide under. We set off down the street, with J-Rad and Martine snapping happy snaps and me wishing I'd remembered to pack my bloody camera. We came across a stall that sold foot long pork sausages and clustered around to get our hands on them. I'm such a foodie, and was delighted to find the other two were as well. We wandered around, buying anything and everything we could digest, constantly exclaiming aloud that we just love Xmas and all the food and excitement that comes with it.

While us girls stocked up on decorations for the tree, J-Rad was on a determined search for gloves. We all got what we were after, and we settled into a very contented full-belly mood. Apart from the pork sausgages, we sampled fortune-cookie-filled-with-nougat-stuff coated with chocoalte and nuts, hot star-shaped doughnuts and then something so wonderful its description doesn't do it justice: smooshed up pancake mix, topped with plum jam. HEAVEN in a plastic dish!!

I developed serious camera envy on this trip - J-Rad is kitted out with a super cool Canon camera that takes pics so awesome I wanted to cry over having left mine at home. I've decided Santa is giving me one in a few weeks!

I'd been amused when I'd read in J-Rad's interview that he conducts yoga classes with the crew and passengers on some flights and enquired if we'd be treated to a show on the return sector. I was informed that he only holds them on the boeings, there just isn't enough room in the old airbus galleys. He did say he'd make a concerted effort to indugle me though. Sure enough, during some seriously tedious sudoku-filling-out hours later, I got the call to economy. Now, I usually don't venture down to economy - for many reasons including but certianly not limited to the following:

1. The sheer amount of passengers who stare at me when I step through the curtain.
2. The slightly claustrophobic feeling that sets in when all those eyes stare at me.
3. The fact that I trip over feet, legs, heads, pillows and all the other assorted death-and-injury-inducing paraphernalia that litters the aisles.
4. My cabin smells better.
5. My cabin has less passengers in it.
6. My cabin is catered with better food. And more food.
7. I'm certain to have my sleeves or skirt pulled and be asked for such a staggering amount of drinks that I'll never be able to remember what they all were....before I get to the end of the first section of economy.
8. The crew in economy lately have been looking at me like I've got two heads when I DO make the effort to go down there.

This trip however, I was certain I'd find a few things down there:

1. Fun.
2. Food - we had no catering due to a nil passenger load in first class and economy food was better than nothing.

I certainly wasn't disappointed - there was so much laughter amongst all the shenanigans down the back I'm surprised we didn't wake the whole aircraft! I discovered that while it's POSSIBLE to do yoga in the back galley of an airbus, it's not very comfortable or easy. Doing it in the company of others is a bad idea if there is turbulence. And the galley floor really isn't that clean when viewing it up close and personal from the cobra position.

Shame J-Rad has been beckoned to Ghana and can't join Martine and I on our trip to Melbourne tomorrow!

If you haven't already, please check out both Airboy and J-Rad's blogs and pics. All pictures in this post have been kindly provided by J-Rad.

Until next time xoxo

Man tries to pay bill with spider drawing

2008-11-19T21:49:00.007+04:00

Again, another weird and wonderful story - this one occurring in my beloved mother land, Australia.

This one actually made me laugh, causing immense pain to my freshly-worked-out abs. I feel compelled to share it with you. Taken directly from the following site: http://news.ninemsn.com.au/article.aspx?id=665847

Below is the complete email conversation that Adelaide man David Thorne claims he had with a utility company chasing payment of an overdue bill.

From: Jane Gilles
Date: Wednesday 8 Oct 2008 12.19pm
To: David Thorne
Subject: Overdue account

Dear David,
Our records indicate that your account is overdue by the amount of $233.95. If you have already made this payment please contact us within the next 7 days to confirm payment has been applied to your account and is no longer outstanding.

Yours sincerely, Jane Gilles

From: David Thorne
Date: Wednesday 8 Oct 2008 12.37pm
To: Jane Gilles
Subject: Re: Overdue account

Dear Jane,
I do not have any money so am sending you this drawing I did of a spider instead. I value the drawing at $233.95 so trust that this settles the matter.

Regards, David.

From: Jane Gilles
Date: Thursday 9 Oct 2008 10.07am
To: David Thorne
Subject: Overdue account

Dear David,
Thankyou for contacting us. Unfortunately we are unable to accept drawings as payment and your account remains in arrears of $233.95. Please contact us within the next 7 days to confirm payment has been applied to your account and is no longer outstanding.

Yours sincerely, Jane Gilles

From: David Thorne
Date: Thursday 9 Oct 2008 10.32am
To: Jane Gilles
Subject: Re: Overdue account

Dear Jane,
Can I have my drawing of a spider back then please.

Regards, David.

From: Jane Gilles
Date: Thursday 9 Oct 2008 11.42am
To: David Thorne
Subject: Re: Re: Overdue account

Dear David,
You emailed the drawing to me. Do you want me to email it back to you?

Yours sincerely, Jane Gilles

From: David Thorne
Date: Thursday 9 Oct 2008 11.56am
To: Jane Gilles
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Overdue account

Dear Jane,

Yes please.

Regards, David.

From: Jane Gilles
Date: Thursday 9 Oct 2008 12.14pm
To: David Thorne
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Overdue account

Attached

From: David Thorne
Date: Friday 10 Oct 2008 09.22am
To: Jane Gilles
Subject: Whose spider is that?

Dear Jane, Are you sure this drawing of a spider is the one I sent you? This spider only has seven legs and I do not feel I would have made such an elementary mistake when I drew it.

Regards, David.

From: Jane Gilles
Date: Friday 10 Oct 2008 11.03am
To: David Thorne
Subject: Re: Whose spider is that?

Dear David, Yes it is the same drawing. I copied and pasted it from the email you sent me on the 8th. David your account is still overdue by the amount of $233.95. Please make this payment as soon as possible.

Yours sincerely, Jane Gilles

From: David Thorne
Date: Friday 10 Oct 2008 11.05am
To: Jane Gilles
Subject: Automated Out of Office Response

Thankyou for contacting me. I am currently away on leave, traveling through time and will be returning last week.

Regards, David.

From: David Thorne
Date: Friday 10 Oct 2008 11.08am
To: Jane Gilles
Subject: Re: Re: Whose spider is that?

Hello, I am back and have read through your emails and accept that despite missing a leg, that drawing of a spider may indeed be the one I sent you. I realise with hindsight that it is possible you rejected the drawing of a spider due to this obvious limb ommission but did not point it out in an effort to avoid hurting my feelings. As such, I am sending you a revised drawing with the correct number of legs as full payment for any amount outstanding. I trust this will bring the matter to a conclusion.

Regards, David.

From: Jane Gilles
Date: Monday 13 Oct 2008 2.51pm
To: David Thorne
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Whose spider is that?

Dear David, As I have stated, we do not accept drawings in lei of money for accounts outstanding. We accept cheque, bank cheque, money order or cash. Please make a payment this week to avoid incurring any additional fees.

Yours sincerely, Jane Gilles

From: David Thorne
Date: Monday 13 Oct 2008 3.17pm
To: Jane Gilles
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Whose spider is that?

I understand and will definately make a payment this week if I remember. As you have not accepted my second drawing as payment, please return the drawing to me as soon as possible. It was silly of me to assume I could provide you with something of completely no value whatsoever, waste your time and then attach such a large amount to it.

Regards, David.

From: Jane Gilles
Date: Tuesday 14 Oct 2008 11.18am
To: David Thorne
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Whose spider is that?

Attached

HA HA HA HA HA!!!!!

Greer criticises Michelle Obama's dress

2008-11-19T21:27:00.006+04:00

I know it's been a while since I've had anything new to say. Things have been happening and as soon as I've got a spare moment to brush my crazy curly hair I'll give you all an update.

I hate to admit it, but I'm not a regular news watcher. This results in me looking slightly dazed and very confused when a variety of issues are discussed in every day life and I'm doing my best to rectify this. I've cut back on watching E News! and am now an avid reader of National Geographic and am gearing up to buy a Time magazine.

I was trawling http://news.ninemsn.com.au today because it pops up when I sign into MSN messenger and found some alarmingly stupid stories. I feel compelled to share them with you, as someone in the news sector felt they were worthy of sharing with the world.

First of all, the header of this entry - Greer criticises Michelle Obama's dress. Germaine Greer, the avid feminist and complainer about all things that need not be complained about is on the war path again - her latest target? The lovely and most likely unsuspecting Michelle Obama.

The following story is copied and pasted directly from the following site: http://news.ninemsn.com.au/article.aspx?id=668429.

Feminist Germaine Greer  says the dress Michelle Obama wore to her husband's US election declaration was  a "butcher's apron" and looked like a "geometrical haemorrhage".
In her regular column for the Guardian, Greer calls the outfit  "All black with an eye-burning red panel that splattered itself down the front  like a geometrical haemorrhage".
It was "a poster in the most disturbing colours known to man, the  colours of chaos. Coral snakes and venomous spiders signal their destructive  potential by the display of similarly violent contrasts".
Greer refers to online critics of the dress to back up her  argument and says that if Michelle had dressed herself and her daughters for  defeat, she could not have chosen better outfits.
Most newspapers were too high-minded to refer to it, but reaction  trickled through the Internet and surfaced in USA Today, where a poll revealed  that twice as many people hated the gown as thought it irrelevant or OK, she  said.
One blogger complained that she could hardly listen to  president-elect Barack Obama's speech "for fear of that dress".

Ok, I think we all need to take a BIG step back here. First of all, Germaine Greer is hardly a fashion icon herself. Didn't this woman have a large input in the bra burning movement?! Bras are absolutely necessary these days - no one wants their puppies to droop do they?

Secondly, WORLD HISTORY HAS JUST BEEN MADE WITH AMERICA ELECTING ITS FIRST EVER BLACK PRESIDENT. Could we perhaps just stop to savour that moment and reflect on the changes that are happening for the good in our world?

Who gives a rip if Michelle Obama's dress didn't walk itself from Rodeo Drive into her wardrobe?

Perhaps Germaine Greer should find a new speciality, leave fashion comments to the fashionistas and give up publishing near-pornographic coffee table picture books of young boys.....

How is exploiting young men any better than the exploitation of women that she's so avidly against?!?!

Adding people on MSN and Facebook

2008-10-31T11:17:00.006+04:00

Clearly by being a blog author and having an email account and a facebook account and a myspace account and all of those other accounts public networking requires in this day and age, it's inevitable that people will at some stage ask questions of you and perhaps request to add you to their networking sites.

This is fine by me, but please, if you're going to add me, how about an email first (apparently my email address is on my profile here somewhere) to tell me about yourself and say you want to add me. If you've read the blog you'll know I live in Dubai and this place is full of weirdos, both wonderful and downright freaky.

Forgive me if I don't add people straight away and if I block or delete them if they act cagey or weird about where they got my email address from and demand to know all about me without even exchanging names first. Ever heard of internet fraud or identity theft??

Sorry, I'm just not up for that. I AM up for making friends from all around the world and this blog had enabled me to do that. Please keep comments clean and don't send me emails attacking my behaviour if yours has been slightly odd or questionable to begin with.

Kath & Kim - American Style

2008-10-10T19:51:00.016+04:00

While in New York last month I was dismayed to see a bus with a promotional sign for Kath & Kim.

At the time I was in a desperate-for-sleep haze and didn't really register that it wasn't the Kath & Kim I was used to, but a blatant American rip off version. See, in Australia it's a hit show with AUSTRALIAN actors and while most of the jokes are only really understood by Aussies I'm sure there are many viewers from different countries who can appreciate the humour. The series stars Jane Turner and Gina Riley and I would go so far as to say that I bet most Aussie expats in Dubai own something with Kath and Kim on it - be it a tea towel, coasters, funny apron, oven gloves or some of the series on dvd.

The US version features Selma Blair and Molly Shannon and while I'm sure they could work well together in a comedy with their oddball antics, the very thought of them playing our beloved Kath and Kim horrifies me. Critics have slammed it and I'm still not entirely sure why it was even made - it pretty much follows the same story line as our series and I'm pretty confident the humour just won't translate in the American accent.

Aussies have a very dry sense of humour, not the sit-com-laugh-on-demand-with-cue-cards type and we hate it when people try to steal our ideas and fob them off as their own. Read the reviews for yourselves:

http://www.theage.com.au/news/entertainment/tv--radio/reviewers-slam-kath-amp-kim/2008/10/09/1223145494250.html

http://www.thewest.com.au/default.aspx?MenuID=5&ContentID=94442

http://www.brisbanetimes.com.au/news/entertainment/critics-pan-us-kath-and-kim/2008/09/28/1222540223058.html

I'm doubtful it'll ever take off and I'm a bit miffed they even tried. Jane and Gina manage to pull of their eccentric wardrobes looking a bit cooky and bogan-ish (which Aussies recognise) but Selma and Molly just look like mutton dressed up as lamb.

I hope it bombs.

Blingtastic!!

2008-09-22T17:47:00.008+04:00

If you ask anyone in the know in Dubai where the best place is to go for diamonds they should all give you this answer: the Gold and Diamond Park. Not only are you getting great quality diamonds, you're getting great prices. Situated near the Mall of the Emirates, this indoor 90 store specialty mall is the home of bling!

A friend of ours is engaged to be engaged and took a salivating Ashleigh and myself ring shopping last night. She gets to pick her own ring, lucky girl!

So, we showed up with a little knowledge and a big desire to try on as much bling as we could. We noticed a stark difference between jewellery shopping here in Dubai to jewellery shopping at home in Australia. Here, they're more than happy to let you try on WHATEVER you want. There is no snobby looking down their noses at you like in Australia, assuming you can't afford even the most cheap of diamond flakes, let alone the big blingers.

We were welcomed to the shop, asked what we were looking for and promptly seated at the counter. We were then offered water and while our friend told them what she was looking for in a diamond solitaire, they indulged us with a WHOLE tray of rings each to play with!!!

Ash and I couldn't believe our luck! When we jokingly said the stones just weren't big enough, they bought out the biggest diamond ring in the store and just let us hold it and ooh and aah and try it on. Then out came the big guns......drum roll completely necessary here......a 27 CARAT DIAMOND BRACELET. Each stone was 1 carat and it was set in the shiniest white gold I've ever seen. There was so much sparkle it almost seemed fake. The little guy babysitting us took a shine to Ash and let her try it on. If she wanted it, it was hers for the bargain price of AUD $130 000. That's like a 1/3 of a house! We were totally speechless....which is a big deal for two girls who never stop talking.

We returned today to haggle over the final price of the diamond and to arrange for it to be set. You can choose the colour of the gold and the style of the setting - they even copy big-name settings like Tiffany & Co and Bvlgari. AND they can make it in about 4 hours. None of this "come back for it next week" rubbish like at home.

One of the guys took a liking to me today and while he was a bit freaky with his super-long pinky fingernail, he was rather sweet. He let me try on the 27 carat bracelet today and said "ooh it's fabulous on you darling". In fits of giggles, Ash and I whittled down the selection before us to a few that we really like, dreaming of the fabulous Fortune 500 men we need to meet to buy us said bling.

All in all, it was a very fun day and after dinner at our favourite Lebanese restaurant tonight, we're going back to collect the finished product!

DISCLAIMER

2008-09-19T01:16:00.000+04:00

My Love - New York City

2008-09-17T16:03:00.037+04:00

After wrangling an interview for my US visa in April I've finally done my first rostered New York flight! This has been one lengthy process - from convincing the visa organiser in the office that I needed the visa and New York NEEDED ME, to the 3 hour process of the "interview" (jumping through US "security" hoops for a 1 minute interivew at the end), to collecting my freshly stamped passport to waiting. And waiting. And waiting for a flight!!

Once we have the shiny new visa in our passport, we have to wait 3 months before we're placed on the Master Crew List, some document most likely hidden in the depths of a computer somewhere in the Pentagon, telling the US Department of Homeland Security which crew are allowed to fly into the States. Because having an official visa stuck in my passport isn't telling enough. After tiring of the wait after two months I called the office and was told I was on the list! At two months instead of three!

I'd been bidding for flights since I got that visa, hoping that maybe I could fool the system and they'd give me one. No such luck. Finally, while stalking the roster system day by day before rosters were officially released I discovered I'd been rostered for a New York!

Barely able to contain my excitement, I started planning things to do. Keeping in mind I've been there three times before on holidays and this work trip would only give me ONE DAY in my favourite city in the world, I had some precision planning to do!

My first trip this month was a Brisbane, and I was delighted to be home for Mum's roast pork on Father's Day. Five days off followed that trip and then it was time to get ready for NY! It was an early morning take-off, at about 2am, so I set my alarm for 10pm. I purposely stayed up late the night before so I could kind of get my sleeping patterns on track, so I was pretty tired when I went to bed at 6pm. When the alarm went off I was quite groggy and hit snooze. My bus was scheduled to pick me up at 11.15pm, and this snoozing went on until 10.30. I just couldn't figure out why the alarm was going off at night and why it wouldn't stop. All of a sudden, I bolted upright, grabbed the clock and realised it was going off because I was supposed to be going to NEW YORK!!!

Lucky I'd ironed and packed before I went to bed, so I just had to rush around and have a shower, tame my hair and plaster on some semblance of a face. All good to go, I grabbed a container of the chicken and corn soup I'd made a few days earlier and I was off to catch the bus. I arrived at briefing, checked in my bag, got briefing over with and then it was off to the aircraft. From the minute I stepped on board I felt a little sick. Just nauseous and yucky. Once we'd taken off I started to feel worse. Guzzling water seemed like a good idea to calm my stomach, which I thought was playing up because I hadn't eaten any dinner before the flight. Within half an hour of take-off I was in the toilet, puking my guts up. Then I repeated my efforts about half an hour later.

Let me tell you, the intimate experience of having my face almost IN the toilet bowl is something I'll never forget and I'd like to say right now that I NEVER want to hear another passenger complain about how dirty they are. Believe me, I know! Unless you've had the same displeasure, I don't want to hear it! I didn't want to get too close to it, but didn't want to be too far away in case I made more of a mess and had to clean it up.

I was sent on the first break to sleep it off and after a solid few hours of rest I felt much better. The rest of the flight was quite busy, with all eight of our passengers eating one after the other and not really giving us a moment of peace. We finally landed, had our fingerprints taken and retinas scanned, micro-chips implanted in our necks and made our way to the hotel in Brooklyn. I'd had conflicting advice from the crew who'd done the trip before - some said "don't sleep, go straight out and then you'll sleep really well tonight". Others said "have a nap when you get in, otherwise you'll hit a wall and be stuffed before you get back". I took advice number one, showered and went straight out before my body could convince me otherwise. It was a lovely morning so I decided to walk over the Brooklyn Bridge into Manhattan, something I'd meant to do each time I'd previously been there but just didn't seem to get around to doing.

There was so much hustle and bustle on the bridge I couldn't believe it! Tourists galore, bike riders, families on outings and even a fashion shoot! There, on a Monday morning was a model dressed in a hideous Jackie-O style jacket, toting a massive bag and pouting and posing her heart out. Not one to rubberneck, I bypassed the growing crowd and soon found myself near City Hall. It was a short train ride and a rather long and confusing walk to the first stop on my list: Bed Bath & Beyond. I was in search of a super cool shower curtain I should have bought last year but didn't think I really NEEDED. I've been thinking about it ever since, so I decided Monday was as good a time as any to buy it. Never mind that it might not be in stock anymore, I had to have that opaque curtain with sparkly confetti-style circles embedded in it. Trust me, my description doesn't do it justice. I wasn't to find that curtain, because the store didn't exist! I diligently copied the address down from the website and must have looked like one confused kid when I got to the corner of East 4th and 1st Avenue. All I could see were apartment blocks, a delusional drunk and a corner store. The store attendant gave me rather shady directions to the nearest store, which I promply discarded and set off for the next stop on my list: Dumpling Man.

Dumpling Man is a cute little shop in the East Village that we discovered on holidays last year. One of Ash's friends gave us the hot tip, so we set of in search of dumpling greatness. We munched on them in a failed attempt to calm my nerves before getting inked at a tattoo shop two doors down. Little old Chinese ladies make the dumplings on the other side of the counter while you watch and you can have them steamed or seared. Searing is just crunchy-good! You can even buy them to take home to cook later. Their webcam broadcasts their dumpling prowess for all the world to see. Alas, this year I realised it would be one hell of a walk from where I was, so I abandoned that idea and set out for my next planned stop.

Whole Foods is an organic paradise with an awesome range of fresh fruit and produce, chocolate, bread, flowers, a salad and hot food buffet and even a grind-your-own peanut butter station! It's basically a natural supermarket for the health conscious. And yuppies. I bought what I always do - a big brown container of the salad bar/hot buffet/dessert buffet. At $7.99/pound, it's a bargain! I avoided the dessert section in favour of some scrummy salads and was the happiest I'd been all day, curled up on a chair looking out the windows at the New York streets below as I munched on my ogranic goodness! It's amazing how much better things taste when they're not dowsed in steroids, pesticies and rat repellants. If organic food wasn't such a blatant rip-off in Dubai and so woefully difficult to get to in the horrendous 24-hour traffic, I'd eat it all the time. Not that they'd have anywhere near the selection in NY or a buffet of any kind, but it'd kind of feel like I was cheating on Whole Foods.....

From Whole Foods, it was back on the tube to underwear mecca: Victoria's Secret. Walking through those revolving doors is a different experience - there are racks of gorgeous underwear and hordes of credit card waving women and confused looking men. Oh, who could forget all the life size pictures of stunning supermodels wearing aforementioned underwear with killer curves plastered EVERYWHERE around the store? Enough to make you suck in your spare tire, pull your jeans up over your love handles and insist you ARE a size small when the over-zealous sales assitants chirp "hiiiiiiii, howwww arrrrrrre youuuuuuuu?" the nano-second you step foot on the premises.....of course not....

I wandered around, picked up a few things and then lost all hope when it became apparent I had more knowlege than the sales assistant/bra fitter regarding bra sizes and fittings of such contraptions. I left the store with a bulging trademark pink striped bag (not containing any bras, strangely enough!) and set off in search of shoe heaven.

I recently flew with a girl who had the funkiest sandals I've ever seen and when she told me she'd bought them at Steve Madden in New York I nearly squealed with delight while trying to explain that I'd be there in less than two weeks time. She tried to let me down gently, telling me she'd bought them a year ago, but I scoured their website and they still had them! Alas, at almost 6 feet tall I've been "blessed" with rather large feet. I'm a size 41/42 and was very hopeful when I saw on the website that their shoes go up to a 10. I estimate I was about 1 size too big for the shoes and there was just no way I was squeezing into them. I will now have to wrestle with shoe envy for the rest of my life. Or until gladiator sandals go out of style. These babies have graced the feet of Heidi Klum, Bar Rafaeli and Kate Moss....I so wanted to join that funkily dressed crowd.

By this time I was seriously hitting that sleep deprived wall and it was about 3pm. I was starting to wish I'd had that nap after all.....until I realised I'd still be in bed and not shopping. That perked me up a bit, enough to brave another clothing store. I ventured into Gap, where I bagged a cute little knit sweater with groovy button detail on it and then hit up the locals behind the register for directions to my hotel.

That's right, navigationally challenged Pink Poodle vetoed the conceirge desk prior to strolling over the Brooklyn Bridge because there were wayyyy too many tourists all haggling for maps. So, not knowing which train stop my hotel was near, I decided those who live in NY might be able to help me. I stand by my belief that Americans are rather helpful souls. Slightly painful when OUT of their country, they're just great when they're in it. While some didn't really know the answer to my questions and gave me directions that would have surely resulted in a very wild goose chase, it was the thought that counted.

By this time, my feet were killing me and I was on the lookout for a pharmacy to stock up on some industrial strength bandaids! I'd foolishly worn the same sandals I'd trecked around Paris in only a few weeks earlier after vowing to never again wear them for distances greater than 2 blocks. Pain is unavoidable and sometimes necessary when shoes are involved. I discovered Duane Reade on my first visit to NY when I was in desperate need of a bottle of water. How to spot vacationing cabin crew? They're armed with a 1.5 litre bottle of water at all times! My mate Duane (there's pretty much one on every corner like a 7-11) carries an awe-inspiring range of bandaids, chocolate, painkillers, chintzy greeting cards and an uber cool line of nail polish called OPI. Not only are the colours awesome, but they're very long lasting and fairly chip resistant. Very important in my job, as a chipped nail can be very distracting on a long flight. It can lead to picking off the rest the polish or even breaking the nail in frustration when you just can't get that last chip off. Terribly woeful when compared to world hunger. Each colour has a super cool name, such as "you're such a kabuki queen", "cajun shrimp", "bubble bath" and my all time favourite "lincoln park after dark".

At only $8.50, they're a steal! I grabbed three new colours and a bottle of hideous Evian water (higher in sodium levels than the salt plains of Utah) and hightailed it out of there and into the nearest subway station. After interrogating a few of my fellow passengers, I exited the tube at what I hoped was the nearest station to the hotel. The Marriot not in sight, I approached the nearest fruit vendor and caught sight of some of the most delicious looking and smelling fruit I'd seen all day (sorry Whole Foods!). After buying some dinner snacks, I hit him up for directions. He didn't speak English. Lucky for me a passerby did and she have me rather correct directions. By this time I was staggering like I had a very bad case of arthritis in my feet and was desperately in need of some sleep. I walked past some of the crew who had to call out to me about 4 times and looked really confused when I looked at them blankly. I'd entered the no-return sleep zone and was fading fast. I asked (in hindsight I may have demanded) where the hotel was and staggered to it. They were all peppy because they'd wasted half the day sleeping and were off to see the Brooklyn Bridge in all it's night time glory.

I got into my hotel room, collapsed on the bed, ate my fruit and painted my toenails an awesome summer orange colour (cajun shrimp) and then passed our for 12 hours. It was then time to get ready for the flight back to Dubai.

New York is officially my new favourite flight. With not many passengers to look after, hours of sleep in the crew bunks and the best city in the world to layover in, who wouldn't want at least one a month on their roster??

The Blue Lagoon

2008-09-11T15:22:00.024+04:00

Just when I thought my overseas experience couldn't get any better it did. I went to Malta. In the summer. For TWO WHOLE DAYS!

I've been to Malta once before but that was 2 years ago when I was in the midst of fresh heartache and just coming out of a three week non-eating phase. Strange how woes in your personal life can make your appetite disappear huh? Super strange for the girl with an African arse who seems to always be eating something. Anyway, I was just starting to come out of my devestation coma and was delighted to wolf down a pizza at the lovely Cafe Fontanella, which is in the old town of Mdina and has gorgeous views of the Maltese skyline.

Fast forward 2 years and I was delighted when my incredible swapping powers with our roster swap shop proved themselves supreme again - I managed to fob off a Nagoya for TWO-DAY Malta in the summer. Hello Japanese girl, do you realise what you're missing? Making the move to first class has been such a wonderful experience - I've never looked back and it means I'm even further away from the Economy cabin....just how I like it. The only drawback? A great many of our flights only operate as two-class, meaning first class doesn't fly to the following destinations: Manchester, Birmingham, Newcastle, Venice, Vienna, MALTA, Hong Kong and Bangkok (except Bangkok/Sydney) and a few more layovers and a handful of shite-ful local turnarounds. However, the bad news does get better in summer: due to the larger amounts of passengers who want to travel to these destinations, the flights are changed to larger three-class aircrafts to accomodate them all. So I have overbooked passenger loads and the Japanese girl who swapped with me to thank for my latest, greatest adventure.

I landed in Paris the week before the Malta trip, turned my phone on and found....shock horror, a text message! It was from the purser on my upcoming Malta trip (a friend I've flown with a few times before) and he had great news: he was organising a catamaran trip for our second day in Malta, all inclusive of drinks and food and snorkelling fun for only 60 euros. Was I in? WAS I IN??? You bet! I even called to confirm my attendance I was so excited!

Finally it was time for the trip! I barely slept I was so excited and really didn't want to get out of bed when my alarm went off at about 5am. Now, that's not a bad wake up time but let's face it - if I don't wake up when my body wants to wake up I'm just not happy camper in the mornings. Or a pretty sight!

The flight was rather uneventful, with very few passengers - easy peasy! This gave us ample time to sit in the flight deck, drink the fresh juice cocktail and check out our options for the catamaran trip. We finally landed and then it was off to the hotel for a short nap and out for dinner. We managed to wrangle our way into a gorgeous restaurant on the side of a hill with a top-floor open view of the bay. Not bad for a last-minute walk-up group of 14! We wined and dined and munched on delicious food and then it was time for gelato. Yummmmm.....

We walked home past all the local night spots and all of a sudden at the ripe old age of 25 I felt like a fossil! While Malta is a gorgeous place with gorgeous buildings and gorgeous beaches and gorgeous food, it seems that the gorgeous teenagers have nothing to do with their nights ... except get all tarted up and go clubbing when they're 16. There were girls parading around in pants smaller than the knickers I wear to bed! I guess they'll only be young with fabulous legs once so they may as well flaunt them before cellulite and gravity set in.

Up bright and early the next day, we all eagerly convened in the lobby for our bus to take us to our boat. I think there were about 10 or 12 of us and the smell of sunscreen permeated the air. Finally the bus showed up - think year 10 camp style coach, so we were all aboard and off to the sea. The boat was waiting for us at the harbour in Valetta (the capital) and we all climbed on and staked out our seats. Half the crew opted for the upper deck, while myself and the rest thought it wiser to stay downstairs under sun shade on the padded mats. The upper deck might have had higher views and unrelenting sun, but we had shade and the option of sun when we wanted it. No guesses for who got the most roasted.

We set sail and were indulged with a continuous commentary from the captain all about the history of Malta and our surrounding area. A few of us drifted off to sleep in the breeze and it was all just so serene and lovely I forgot for a minute I was there courtesy of work! The crew came around and offered sandwiches and the bar inside was serving drinks. Soon we were all feeling a little buzz from the unlimited spirits and coke and water and then before we knew it we were putting down our anchor at the first beach for a bit of a swim and some lunch. We bravely jumped the 4 metres or so into the cool blue water and swam around and snorkelled and marvelled at how blue the water was. Lunch was buffet style, with local fish, some beef and lots of salad and pastas. We feasted to fantastic views and then had another swim.

Then it was off to the magnificant Blue Lagoon. Let me say here, it's not THE Blue Lagoon where the movie was shot. I'm lead to believe that lagoon is in Iceland and that led me to imagine just how cold it must have been for the poor actors! Anyway, I digress....

Back to the crystal clear waters of Malta's Blue Lagoon. From the moment we entered the little cove we were all mesmerised. Some of us hooted off to catch a speedboat that zipped around to the other side of the island to see the famous caves and even see where a scene from the movie The Count of Monte Christo was shot. Our speedboat driver had a killer tan that I was most envious of. I guess that's what happens when you spend every day shirtless in the Maltese sun. And I guess that's why I look like Casper. Casper with freckles.

Our driver skillfully eased the boat inside one of the caves and it stank of sulphur and wet and dark dank scary bat-cave smell. There was a tiny sandy beach inside which is sometimes used for movies but we could barely see it and tried to light up the area with our camera flashes. We zipped back out of the smelly cave and back around to the lagoon side of the island at what felt like 400km an hour, screaming and squealing with delight as we rocketed over the waves and almost flew out of the boat.

Back to the lagoon and straight into the water, enjoying a splash and a floundering snorkelling experience. I don't know what it is but I'm scared of deep water when I can't see the bottom and while this wasn't the issue because the water was so clear, I get really claustrophobic when I try to snorkel. I'd rather just hold my breath and wear some goggles. The whole breathing underwater thing freaks me out so bad I start to try to breathe through my nose and fog up the glasses and then I gasp in surprise that there's fog and then I suck in the water. Bad bad bad. And funny funny funny for those watching my drowing-rat attempts at having fun!!

We finally clamboured back into the boat and headed back to Valetta. The sun was beautiful and warm and I fell asleep and woke up covered with a towel. The crew were worried that I was starting to roast like a chicken on a spit! I ended up on the upper deck for the cruise back into the harbour in the afternoon sun with splendid views and a chat with the crew. It was fantastic, a really fun day, followed by a lazy stroll around the beach the next day before heading back to the airport.

All in a day's work! I can't wait to go back to Malta again.

Ooh La La!

2008-09-11T15:18:00.018+04:00

Delighted once again to find a trip to Paris on my roster, I wondered what I'd do there.

We landed and I decided to go skip bludging around watching the Olympics at the hotel and head straight into town. After the obligatory trip to the airport, lining up for my 18 EURO day train pass (total mega rip off!!) and finally getting into town, I knew I'd made the right choice.

There wasn't anyone at the concierge desk on my way out, so I grabbed a map at the airport. Unfortunately this map only showed train stops, not landmarks. I made this discovery only when I was sitting on the train and knew I was in for a crazy tour of Paris that afternoon.

I wanted to see the Arc de Triomphe, followed by a shopping stroll down the Champs-Elysees and figured the train stop that was "Grand Arch" would have to be it. Not so. I came out of the station, eager to see the great arch looming above me and indeed saw an arch - just not the one I'd imagined.

My experience with French people is rather limited. Each time I've ever tried to ask one for directions I'm usually met with a frosty stare and some vague finger pointing in the direction I'm assuming is where I asked to go. I'm certain there are lovely, warm, wonderfully eager to help French people out there but I've just not found one yet. So, I decided I'd find the real Arc on my own. I caught a glimpse of it off in the distance and suddenly wished I'd worn some more comfy shoes! Turns out it was only 1 train stop away from the one I got off at, but it took me almost two hours to walk there.

It was a gorgeous sunny afternoon, so I set off armed with my camera and discovered that the French LOVE fountains. They were everywhere! My favourite was a huge pool-like fountain with stripes of all the colours of the rainbow. There were a few teenage girls splashing on one edge, thoroughly enjoying the afternoon sun.

The walk to the Arc was so lovely that I started to get nostalgic for home. Not that my home town looks ANYTHING like super-chic Paris, but it was something about the fresh air, the bicycle-riding & dog walking crowds and the breeze whooshing through the trees that made me long for where I came from. Prior to this job, I led quite an active, outdoorsy life - numerous pilates classes a week, trips to the nearby beach for picnics and playing with my now overweight dog Rusty in the park on the other side of our fence - and all the French fresh air made me wish I lived there. My apartment in Dubai doens't have opening windows or a balcony and it's a pretty small space for three adult women.

On my way to the real Arc, I stopped in at a lovely little cafe called Paul (we have one here in Dubai) and pretty much inhaled a chocolate eclair and bottle of water. These eclairs are outrageously sinful and oh so delicious! They're a huge bargain at 10 dirhams and are just loaded with the yummiest chocolate my tastebuds have ever encountered. Feeling somewhat refueled, I recommenced my walk, bought a cute top on the way and finally found myself staring up at the magnificant Arc de Triopmhe. For some reason I expected it to be bigger, but at 49.5 metres tall, it was a pretty big heap of stone! Parked on its very own round-a-bout which is apparently the most accident-prone intersection in the world, I wondered how to access this monument. There were families with children over there - surely they hadn't braved the multiple lanes of hooning traffic to get there? "LAUREN YOU MORON" said my inner voice, "you go under the road!"

I negotiated the underpass, bought a cheap ticket (thanks to being 25!) to climb up to the top of the Arc and then sat underneath it and stared at all the names of the fallen French soldiers. The Arc is home to the tomb of the unknown soldier from World War 1. I sat there for a little while and then braved the climb to the top. There were something like 285 never-ending steps that made up the teeny tiny, oh-so-narrow internal spiral staircase. I had to stop once to catch my breath in one of the tiny alcoves that many people were gasping for breath in. At the top, the views were so incredible I stayed and stared for hours. The Arc offers 360 degree views of Paris - the Eiffel Tower, Sacre Coeur at Montmarte (highest point in the city) and a very stunning view of just how far I'd walked from the Grand Arch.

I sat there until it was nearly dark and then it was time to head back to the hotel for a much needed sleep. My lovely little sandals had rubbed parts of my feet almost raw, so I limped my way to the nearest tube station, made my way back to the airport, caught my connecting bus to the hotel and passed out. I never did make it for the stroll down the Champs-Elysees.....perhaps next time!

Sunshine, in London....SERIOUSLY?!?!?!

2008-08-22T20:22:00.006+04:00

As the month draws to a close I think it's time to reflect on what an awesome roster I've had. This is most unusual for someone at the bottom of the bidding hierarchy but I figure after a not-so-wonderful reserve month I deserved this month's fabulousness: Dusseldorf, London, Paris, Dusseldorf and 2-day Malta!!

Next month isn't to be sneezed at either!

Following the split open toe disaster that was Dusseldorf I ended up in London and shopped up a storm in Sainsbury's. Yes, the food in Dubai grocery stores still sucks big time, so whenever we go to somewhere civilised we all stock up. This time was no exception! I bypassed the shopping centre behind the hotel (shock!) and opted for a leisurely stroll through the neighbouring park and into grocery heaven! Normally I shop in Marks & Spencer but this time I thought I'd give Sainsbury's a go. I came out loaded up with freshly baked bread, milk, ham and the mother load of yoghurt! I've become insanely addicted to Biopot yoghurt here in Dubai and at almost 25 dizzas a pop (£3.70) it's an expensive habit. At good old Sainsbury's they were selling 2 for £1.50!!! So, like the lunatic I sometimes am, I bought 6. Yes, SIX. Who knows when the hell I'll get around to eating them, but thankfully they have a longer-than-Dubai expiry date so I've still got a few weeks.

As I walked back though the park I realised the rather hideous looking garden was perhaps hideous for a reason. It was scented garden for the blind - meaning that all the plants that were planted had been picked for the scent of their flowers or leaves. I love flowers but really couldn't identify many. There was lots of lavender and a few large bunches of gorgeous pink lillie nestled in amongst some yucky, prickly brambly looking plants.

The biggest shocker of all? BLUE SKIES in London. I swear. A few clouds thrown in for good measure, but I could still see blue bits.

Of course this encouraged all the locals to get out in shorts and t-shirts and even a few skanky school girls to prance around in hotpants and heels doing a car wash. I'm surprised they didn't cause a traffic accident. Not so family friendly but not so atypical for London really, innit?

Gumby gumby gumby

2008-08-14T11:16:00.004+04:00

You'll never guess what i did yesterday. I've been on a few days sick leave with another fun sinus infection (number 8 now!) and was finally cleared to fly. I was very excited to be going back to work (truly!) because our briefing centre has moved into our company's new headquarters building. Personally, I'm just pumped to work for a company whose headquarters are actually called headquarters! Let me tell you, it's the size of a small international airport and it's quite possible to get lost in. I didn't stray too far from where I was supposed to for fear of getting sucked into some kind of corporate vortex and being transported to an alternate universe. Very possible.

Once we landed in Dusseldorf, I sorted out some emails and decided to go for a little walk to the local shops to buy some fresh fruit and yoghurt. I got totally lost, as I usually do when following unreliable directions, but I had a great time. I walked around and around the airport carpark until I saw a rather large looking stretch of green through a wall. I figured it must be some kind of a park and I wasn't disappointed! Nestled in amongst buildings just beside the airport was a lovely long stretch of green park with walking tracks. I wandered around and finally stumbled onto the street I was looking for all along with the fruit shop.

I got my fruit and a haul of wine and was wandering back to the hotel and thought I'd wander back through my newfound park. All was going well until I drifted off into dreamland and I kicked my toe on the path. I have a tendency to be a complete gumby most of the time and I'm forever kicking my toes and this time I did a pretty good job. I was wearing flip flops and while daydreaming about being in fresh air, armed with fresh fruit and thinking I was one lucky girl to have this cool job and a super cool American pen pal, I managed to lift a decent sized flap of skin back and there was blood everywhere! I thought it was just a drop until I took my shoe off and discovered that half the underside of my foot was covered in blood!

Now, I had both hands full: one bag was full of fruit and the other flimsy plastic shopping bag had 4 bottles of wine in it! let me just add here that it was not for drinking on this trip. Just so you don't think i'm a boozer. We buy booze at outstations because Dubai charge a 30% tax and you have to have a license to buy alcohol there. Yes, a license! It looks like a credit card and has a rather icky photo of me on it. Anyway, struck dumb by the amount of blood oozing from my toe I managed to put my bags down and have a closer look. Then I did what any injured girl does in a foreign country: IMPROVISE.

I had no plasters, bandages (not required, but I still could have used one!) or sterile wipes. so I dug around in my bag and all I could find were......a pack of tissues. I didn't even have anything to attach it to my toe so I pulled out the hairband I was wearing, unleashing a mass of unruly uncombed curls and tied the tissue to my toe.

I tell you, I must have been in a great mood because I didn't feel like kicking anything in retaliation and all I did was laugh! I staggered the extra 5 minutes back to the hotel, gave my toe a wash and got stuck into my yummy blueberries and stuff.

All in all a pretty successful outing!

The Dark Knight

2008-08-08T10:33:00.007+04:00

So I saw the new Batman movie last night and didn't sleep very well afterwards.

It's a glorified violence fest, wrapped up in attractive characters who engage in witty banter while toting nifty high-tech gadgets. Heath Ledger was chillingly convincing in his portrayal of The Joker and did us Aussies proud. Described on Wikipedia as a psychopathic, mass murdering, schizophrenic clown with zero empathy, he had the best lines in the movie and had me absolutely terrified. I can't count the number of times I almost jumped out of my chair and my heart nearly jumped out of my mouth.

I wasn't aware that movies screen here in Dubai at midnight and while I know it's school holiday time, shouldn't all those little ankle biters be at home tucked up in bed? A strictly-for-adults movie, unless you want your bambinos aspiring to become next-generation mobsters.

Christian Bale as Batman was a fantastic casting choice. He wasn't the typical superhero when not in costume - his slightly smarmy and rather over confident Bruce Wayne frustrated me, but when the suit came on it totally transformed him. Funny that. I can see why women the world over swoon over Batman - those sexy alluring eyes, the ripped 20-pack abs, the pointy ears. Oh yeah, how could I forget the freaky, outrageously husky, cancer-voice-enabling-throat-machine sounding voice? Dead sexy.

PLOT SPOILER!!!

I was a little saddened by The Joker's successful attempt to turn the good guy bad. Cleary it was his master plot, but seeing Harvey run around Gotham City with half a face was ridiculous. I think if you can see bone and sinew and the inside of someone's eye socket they're going to be in so much pain it'll bring on a coma - if the kind doctors haven't already done so. However Harvey declined all pain medication and proceeded to avenge The Joker's wrongdoings by singling out mobster baddies and those who betrayed him and blowing them away after flipping his two-headed coin. Clever twist, but AS IF in real life.

Seriously a boys movie but not bad viewing. A defibrillator may be required to restart your hearts after a few of the scarier bits!!

Latest Happenings

2008-07-17T11:58:00.011+04:00

Summer is getting unbearable and you know what the bad thing is? It only gets WORSE!! It's mid-July now and it's just started getting yuck. However, we can always be thankful it's not August yet. Renowned for being the worst month of all summer, with temps up to about 50 degrees, we all wilt like flowers and absolutely refuse to leave the apartment unless it's for work or the lure of a fully air-conditioned party place full of free drinks for the ladies. The latter usually doesn't happen and in the height of summer isn't appealing enough to unstick me from the couch. There are new episodes of Greys Anatomy on telly and I'm not budging for anything!

My beautiful friend Ange left last week for good. It's always sad to see a good friend leave, not only because they're no longer around to have fun with, but my friendship circle of true friends has just diminished by a significant percentage!! It seemed like she had a continuing farewell tour of dinners, clubbing, dinners, clubbing and more dinners and clubbing. All in all, a wonderful way out. I wish her all the best, can't wait for a sleepover at the Sofitel in Brissie when I next get a trip home and eventually walking our dogs together in the park when I move home for good.

I managed to wrangle an appointment for a US visa back in April and it's finally active! Even though I've heard the New York and Houston flights are an absolute nightmare and that I'll feel like curling up with a razor in a hot bath after I've done one, I decided to get it because New York is calling me back! I love that city so much I think I might try to live there after I'm done with this crazy desert. ALSO Emirates are starting to fly to LA and San Francisco in October and November and I'm mega excited to get back to San Fran. LA looks cool too, but I'm dying to get back to Napa Valley for some more wine and I've been invited on a wine train by a friend who lives there....very exciting. I also want to go to Alcatraz, which I missed out on last time I was there because someone didn't book tickets the day before and they were all sold out when we rocked up. I was bitterly disappointed and I vowed if I ever return, I'll be going to that dingy old island.

I'm on reserve this month and so far have had crap all flights. I managed to score a Rome off airport standby but the return leg was three sectors and I was so knackered I spent most of the next day in bed. Airport standby is a real pearler: we have to get all frocked up in full uniform (complete with slutty red lippy), front up to the airport with our bags packed for all weather situations and the possibility of a 9 day trip and then sit there. And sit there. And sit there - until we're either sent on a flight or sent home because we weren't needed. This usually goes on for three hours. I was 2.5 hours into my standby and thought I was home free. I was having a grand old time, chatting to all my mates who had real flights, my ipod in one ear as I was reading a new book and shoes kicked off with my legs curled up on the couch. Then they called my name. THEN they told me I was going to Rome and wouldn't need my ultra long range pjs that I'd so lovingly packed into my cabin bag. Well it was shoes on and through the metal detectors and onto my own little party bus to be driven to the aircraft like a true celebrity rock star. I was greeted at the door by: NO ONE. Not one crew member even looked at me as I climbed over the mountains of newspapers lying at the front door and made my way up to first class. So much for security.

Rome was great - 11 of about 15 of us went out for dinner and drinks. We had afternoon drinks at a cute little COMPLETE RIP OFF of a cafe that only served drinks and then with a steady alcohol fuelled buzz set off in search of a place to fill our bellies. I wanted pizza, as did half the crew and we were rudely informed that the place we'd chosen to grace with our presence did not make pizza. I often assume rudeness is a result of a language barrier, but no, this woman was just plain nasty. We settled for pasta and I tell you, I'm yet to have a decent pasta experience in Italy! I don't know if I'm eating at dodgy places, but the food is just so crap I could make better at home and I'm really not a cooker. Lately I've been whipping up pasta creations in the kitchen and could kick those Italian arses in a cook-off I'm certain!

So, with bellies full and heads slightly spinning and hands full of yummy gelato, we set off in search of the bus pickup spot and fought for our seats. It's a first come, first served basis. Well, we did our best huddle and managed to all get seats. Back to Dubai it was.

Apart from that, nothing much is going on. Life here is a little dull at the moment, but that's pretty typical for Dubai in summer.

Protein shake update: I completely fell off the wagon so, last week I turned over a new leaf and have been going to the gym like a mad woman. I run now, and am very proud of myself. I even dug out one of those shakes today and feel like I've drunk a chocolate cake for brekky. Let's see what the scales say in a month....

Sex workers, dirty skanks and the poorly educated....

2008-05-20T19:59:00.005+04:00

It's no wonder that a great number of our passengers think we're either sex workers, dirty skanks, poorly educated, life organisers, psychologists, slaves and who knows what else!!

These delightful publicity shots from "yesteryear" as unearthed by Jena simply reinforce WHY a great number of our passengers treat us the way they do......

And we think our uniform is bad!! Thank god we don't have to wear beaver-bearing skirts or knee high slutty boots.....for once I think I'd take the mandatory slash of hooker red lippy!!

Dubai World Cup 2008

2008-05-12T18:23:00.011+04:00

The Dubai World Cup is the richest horse race in the world and once a year, the rich and famous flock to Dubai to partake in the frock-tacular event where US $15 million is at stake.

The month before we all requested the day off and when rosters were released, most of the cabin crew contingent were waiting with baited breath to see if they were granted the day off. By some miracle Jena, Ash and I all had a delightful red roster day (days off are red) and we set about making plans very excitedly. Dresses to be tailored, hair to be styled, nails to be painted and most of all: TICKETS TO BE PURCHASED!!

We'd heard rumours (cabin crew love facilitating a good rumour) that the races had SOLD OUT, but luckily Jena had booked ours online. The two of us scooted off into the desert to pick them up the week before, as they weren't available for collection on the day at the gate. We were both wondering what kind of retarded set-up would be awaiting us on the day if the monkey-brains putting together this WORLD FAMOUS event couldn't even manage for on-the-day ticket pickups. Well, we needn't have wondered too much, as we weren't disappointed by typical lack of organisational logic on the day. More about that later.

I decided to wear a pink dress (no surprises there!), Ash went with yellow and Jena pulled a gorgeous purple creation from her cupboard that she'd had made the year before but had to shelve as she was on reserve, and was sent to some crap hole for the day.

After a few trips to the tailor, my fairy princess dress was ready for collection and we were good to go. I decided to do my own hair and nails on the day and got up early, curled my hair and pranced off to the florist to find something pretty to put in it. I settled on a gorgeous bunch of white fresias and a pink lily as an alternative and hooned home in the car to style my masterpiece. Half an hour later I was still trying, as I'd mis-judged my massive amount of hair and how many pins I'd need. All under control, tinted moisturiser on our legs, faces all made up and handbags packed full of money and cameras, we were finally ready for pre-drinks at ours!

Mark was my date for the day and he can make a mean daquiri. After downing a bottle of pink Italian bubbly, we ended up just throwing frozen strawberries, ice, rum, vodka and whatever else we could find in the blender and they turned out great! It came time to leave, so we poured the rest of our concoction into plastic glasses, poured ourselves into taxis and headed off in high spirits to the race track.

Once we got there, it became rather apparent that it was a complete balls up. The taxis weren't allowed to drop us off at the venue entrance, but had to stop somewhere far away where we all had to then RUN in our heels for buses that would take us to the gates. Once we managed to claw our way onto a bus, we were jammed in like crew on the way home from flights! Dropped rather unceremoniously at the gates, we then waited for ALMOST TWO HOURS to get in. That's right, the bright sparks from above only had TWO gates in operation for THOUSANDS of people.

Completely sobered up, we finally managed to get inside, where I had my boobs felt up rather harshly by the big fat butch abaya-clad local "security" woman and ordered to put my bag through the scanner. Seriously? Ashleigh had almost passed out from the heat by this time and was struggling to stand up. We pretty much threw her into the seats behind the security station, while I raided their water box for something for her to drink, yelling at them when they questioned what I was doing.

After that, it was off to the Ahlan glamour tent to have our photos taken. Ahlan is one of the local magazines and it's considered the height of cool to grace the best dressed pages. After another wait, during which we were treated to cups of strawberries and cream, we smiled prettily, got snapped and then rushed off to find the nearest tent that served booze.

We proceeded to get pretty pissy, partied the night away and staggered home on severely blistered feet from our fabulous new shoes.

Who said looking fabulous was pain-free?!

First Class Schmoozing

2008-03-24T21:06:00.011+04:00

After doing a year in economy and graduating to business class last February, it was time to go back to training college for another painful week that preceded my graduation to first class.

Last year I'd hoped that there would be unlimited cheese board access and dessert eating and was sorely disappointed when I realised that the only food I'd be eating would be quickly inhaled when no-one was looking! This year, I didn't get too excited and expected to spend another week starving with non-existent breaks due to classes going over their time limits. I was pleasantly surprised to discover that not only would we be heating and serving all the food on the menu, but that we were allowed to EAT it! There were yummy little hot canapes, yoghurt with muesli, delicious cheese and a fairly ordinary hot breakfast selection. On the sly, it's the same stuff as business, but in a different bowl.

There was even more emphasis on the wanky open hand gestures than last year and some outrageous necessity to memorise not one, but THREE separate wine lists (18 in total) in 2 days.

How does "not happening" sound to you?!

We had a few rejoining crew, two of which were pursers. I felt sorry for them, as they'd just gone through all their initial training, business class and first class training and THEN had to go on to do their senior training. All up, they'll have been at college for about 10 weeks - not ideal in my opinion! Training college still smells like a nasty old institution and but the food at the cafeteria in the new building is much better. I developed a rather odd addiction to pre-packaged chicken caeser salad and yoghurt. Clearly I'm a girl who loves her food! Good news though, I have lost a few kgs since starting the protein shakes - I definitely recommend them.

Graduation this year was packed. One of the largest graduations in history apparently. There were almost as many business class crew as there were ab-initios (new crew) and there were almost 20 pursers. Our little first class group looked rather puny, with only 6 graduating.

Getting up on stage was a little scary again - falling over my large feet in front of hundreds of people would have been rather embarrassing. The MC at our graduation made a show of saying "congratulations" in the language of each person who was presented with a certificate. I was the last of us to get up and when he introduced me, he called me LAURA. He managed to correctly pronounce a super long Thai name that contained just about all the letters of the alphabet, but I guess Lauren is a pretty difficult name to pronounce......

After sitting through more painful speeches that are the same every week and are trotted out with different hand gestures, we scooted upstairs for some graduation cake and tasty little sandwiches. We finally drove home and later that night we went out for dinner and drinks to Ginseng, a lovely dark and cosy place that serves great Asian tapas. After Ginseng we were off to Barasti and after a drink or two I was ready for bed! All those late nights and early mornings studying were catching up with me!

So now that I'm officially qualified to serve the Pope, a President or a celeb like Angelina Jolie, my expectations for first class are as follows: even less people, even less baggage and an even smaller desperation for water. I hope to see some mega bling and meet a few famous people!

Ladies who Brunch

2008-03-01T17:06:00.024+04:00

It's that time of year again - VISITOR TIME!!!

Each year, we get 60 days where we can have friends or family come and stay with our in our apartments. As we're a three bedroom place without a fold-out couch, having more than one person usually means sharing a bed. This time Ash had her friends Mij and Troy stay with us for just over a week and it was heaps of fun! The boys have been living in Finland and are on their way back to Australia and incorporated us into their trip home.

As well as the usual touristy things like abra trips on the creek, Lebanese food feasts, desert safaris with terrifying dune bashing, shopping at Emirates Mall, drinks at chic rooftop bars, buffet dinners, outings to the beach and the requisite trip to the tailor & gold souk & spice souk........A BOOZY BRUNCH!!!

We put on our Sunday best and headed back to Yalumba for what was a very enjoyable booze fest. I've always been a woos with my food, so I gave in to peer pressure and Ash's assurances that eggs benedict are "the best thing your taste buds will ever taste" I ordered some from the menu and was more than pleasantly surprised! I wished my salmon topped eggs would magically multiply so I could stay in this taste bud sensation all afternoon!

We sampled the buffet and our table was quickly covered with all sorts of yummies - salads, sushi, more eggs benedict, papadams, roast lamb, roast veggies, lobster, prawns and desserts from the desert stand. The ever-attentive waiters who hover at your shoulder and refill champagne glasses without the owner even knowing were so attentive that they foiled my attempt at a hat trick. If anyone manages to finish a glass before the waiters can get to it there is much cheering and celebration. I hold the record at two glasses, one at each of the last two brunches we've attended and I was hoping for a third. It just wasn't my time.

After brunch we danced and danced and clacked the clickety-clack clackers and noise makers that our table was littered with when we arrived. We draped ourselves with streamers and Troy popped so many balloons I nearly had to go to the happy place in my head - the sound of balloons popping FREAKS me out.

Weeks earlier I'd bought tickets to the much anticipated David Gray concert that was part of the annual Jazz Fest and was superly fantastically excited to be going. When Ash organised brunch for the boys on the same day I was curious as to the condition I'd be in after attending said boozy brunch. I claimed I'd forsake dancing, come home after brunch and have a nap to recover. Turns out the staying and dancing didn't help my cause and in the end I only had 1.5 hours to change and be ready and presentable and kind of sober after getting home.....I wasn't in the best state and that short amount of time felt like 10 minutes. Following quite a few false starts as to who I was taking and last minute pull-outs, I was left scrambling that morning to find someone to take my other ticket. Jess luckily accepted and with a SPLITTING headache like nothing else I've ever experienced after a session of drinking, we set off to find the Jazz Fest. We had no idea where it was and I only had the name of the place. The taxi driver of course was no better and had to stop a few times to ask directions. Isn't there supposed to be some kind of driving and directional testing required for taxi drivers? Oh wait......this is Dubai, not the rest of the civilised world.

We finally got there and were fairly early. Online when I booked my tickets I was kindly informed that there were two other acts preceding the fabulous Mr Gray and we plonked oursleves in some seats and waited. And waited. And waited. AND WAITED. Apparently the online advertisers had made up those other two acts and didn't inform the event organisers. We sat in the freezing cold sub-arctic winds of Dubai in later winter/approaching summer and chattered and watched the seats slowly fill up. Jess, who was a year below me at school moved to Dubai late last year and came to our last boozy brunch when Jono was here.

When David Gray finally came on it was a sight to behold that made me SWEAR to attend as many live shows in the future as I possibly can! The stage was transformed from drab to gorgeous, with a heavy black backdrop. When backlit, it was filled with holes that looked like thousands of tiny stars - very fitting for our outdoor location.

He belted out great tunes, wobbling his head the way he's famous for and wowed the crowd of thousands. We sat in awe of his gorgeous voice, tapping our feet and singing along. He sang some old stuff and some stuff I've never heard and when he came back for an encore he sang Please Forgive Me and nearly lifted us out of our chairs with the performance. I called Jono so he could listen and sang along to the music and swayed with the crowd. I didn't want it to end, but when he finally left the stage there was a silence that hung over the crowd for a little while.

Along with the thousands of other concert goers, we attempted to find a taxi. Not possible. With people cutting in all over the place we were quickly reminded that we were in Dubai where rules of social conscience and manners don't exist. We finally hailed one and asked to be taken to a nearby club only to be met with an odd stare - we were a 5 minute walk from where we wanted to go! Off we went and fought the bar crowd to get drinks, had a little dance and ended up getting back at 4am!

To combat my ferocious headache I took some ponstan forte and ate a handful of tim tams - I swear this is the most swift remedy I've ever expereinced - the pain was gone in 20 minutes!!!

All in all a wonderful day/night that I was wishing would go on forever.