The Contingency Plan

Before attending our dance class yesterday, Natasha and I did a spot of shopping our my local mall, Birkenhead Point. After an extensive yet successful search for a pair of lightweight, camel-toe-free track pants, we decided to pick up a bite to eat before going home.

I was just about to launch into the sushi we'd bought (after unsuccessfully offering some to Hugo), when a woman frantically ran up to me, insisting I not to eat the food. Her daughter had eaten from that store earlier in the week and suffered horrendous food poisoning.

And while food poisoning used to excite me with notions of weight loss, we profusely thanked the woman before closing the lunch box lid and returning it to the store.

I just read this article and am oh so thankful to that woman yesterday!! To think I was going to feed some to Hugo!

There's an environmental story nearly every day in the papers and I fear the new inconvient truth is that all this doomsday messaging is producing new kind of everyday 'eco-warrior'.

Yes, you know the type.

You thought tailoring a dinner party was hard enough with all the protein-only, gluten free, organic vegans around - now there's also the ones who'll be looking out for energy efficient light globes, green calico grocery bags and filling our polenta-filled heads with talk of bio-diesel, waste water recycling and how the energy companies aren't really selling efficient products.

And it's when I'm sitting at another one of these fearful events that I really think, "God help us!"

Well, I did it!

Yesterday Natasha and I went down to the Sydney Dance Company and did a two hour beginners class in hip hop. Walking has taken on a new meaning today. And even though the workout was deliciously painful, I'm comforted with the fact that I still can move my oversized ass.

And that feels like a positive step forward.

I've been thinking about dreams a lot lately. The older I get, the more I find myself reflecting on the passions I had when I was younger. I know that I'm by no means old, but I'm not a kid anymore and definitely aware of the years pulling down my skin.

This question of "when to give up on your dreams" was posed on Triple J's Hack program a few weeks ago and I listened, surprisingly captured by what some of the callers were saying. Have any of you given up on a dream? If so, when and why?

One man called in after suffering injuring while preparing for the Olympic Games, another wanted to be famous, one wanted to be an AFL player and all I could think of was my intial plan of becoming a professional dancer.

My high school reunion reminded me of this. I was approached at least 4-5 times during the night by people eager to know whether I still danced. Surprised to hear the questions (as I have such a different life now), I went home, pulled out my dusty graduation book and read that I was "most likely to move overseas and be the Aussie to dance with Janet Jackson" (how embarrassing!). She was the pinacle though...

So why am I here instead of there? I've given this some as I know I was good and had made the right contacts. When I stopped dancing I had just completed another music video clip for Sony and was the only female to be approached by a reputable group of professionally sponsored dancers to join. Most of them weren't from Sydney and were preparing for an upcoming tour of Tokyo. I started preparing with the team but my dedication waned with the excitment of working on my dot com idea.

I don't like having regrets. Perhaps I thought I had plenty of time - I could pursue a back up career, another dream (PR), and then try dancing with those contacts already in place? I've been feeling a little conflicted lately. I'm pretty ambitious and love what I do, but sometimes feel as though I've missed out.

Luc has started to play squash three times a week and I've noticed the difference in his happiness. He loves squash and used to compete in Canada. He's more grounded now, his life seems to have balance. He's making new friends, has more energy and is taking greater care of his health.

Near the end of the Triple J Hack program, a life couch/counsellor (can't remember) brought back the story of the man with professional AFL dreams and questioned whether his dream was to become famous playing AFL, or simply to play the game.

And since then I've been wondering whether my dream wasn't to become a famous dancer (as embarrasing as that is to admit), but just to dance. Fame was attractive when I was a teen, but definitely isn't anymore.

I've wanted to dance again for years but fear the torchure of the classes in my truly out of shape body, the disappointment of seeing my figure in those studio mirrors and having to start right at the bottom again when I'm so competitive.

Talking, thinking, planning and never doing. It's driving me crazy. I wrote this entry over two weeks ago but didn't post it because I was scared of putting this out there and letting myself down.

But friends, I have to do something. I have to do something. I have to do something.

There's a beginners class I've been eyeing out for weeks now and wonder whether I'll have the guts to make the time to go, even though my clothes are old and I'll probably die from the jiggle of my belly knocking me out.

It's 1.35am.

I've just finished a new business proposal for a meeting we have later this morning. After a couple of tough months (which included a shocking blow for the theiving Australian Tax Office), things seem to be thankfully picking up. It almost scares me though as Chloe has baby no.2 in August, right in time for two high-end restaurant launches.

Mondays are always a little tricky. Hugo tends to be clingy after a long weekend of Mummy madness (I have Fridays off to hang with him) and proof of that is the way he's fallen asleep in sitting position next to me while I work. He refused to go to bed earlier with Luc, who very conveniently let him stay.

He's been asleep here by my side for the last couple of hours, hand resting on my breast for security and comfort. He looks adorable and I'm touched by his dedication to stay by my side.

Just wanted to share that with someone....

It's just starting to rain outside. Hugo is asleep and Luc is working from home today. He's sitting on the couch across from me, typing. The house is silent, except for the tap, tap, tap of keys and patter of the rain outside.

And despite the fact that he's working and I'm not, this very environment makes me feel so productive. And that's all that matters.

In other matters, the offer we made on the most recent house has been accepted so Luc and I are verifying some financial details before going ahead. We told the agents to leave us alone for a week to figure everything out and the break is liberating. These guys are pushy. I left my phone in the car overnight by accident last week and returned to eight voice messages from them wanting to know an update.

And just when I was getting used to the silence, I received a call from the original agent we dealt with today (actually it was his colleague). Funnily enough the deal that the owners dumped us for has fallen through and they'd still like to sell us the house. He started talking about how I can still have my dream home, my "first love" and I found myself wondering whether I've already moved on. To be honest I'm a little confused and a little spiteful and unsure of what we want. So I'm going to take my time to decide (Luc has already decided the house isn't for us and likes the new one better).

There are lots of other bits and bobs taking place. My brother's started work for me, which I'm really enjoying. My sister has left her agency job to work for the church (!!) and Mum's currently in Taiwan as she broke up with her mysterious boyfriend of three years a few weeks ago (after he kicked her during an argument) and needs some time to think about things. She left pretty suddenly, only giving us a few day's notice and will be gone for at least two months.

I wish she went somewhere else as my grandmother is sick and old and there's no health care system in Taiwan so my aunty and grandmother are shamelessly pressuring her to get back together with psycho boyfriend so she can ship them money. They're telling her that all men are selfish and abusive and she should just deal with it.

She's taken their advice.

Penelope, Charlie and I are catching up on Sunday and I really can't wait. Charlie's married and Penelope's moving in with her boyfriend next week and depsite us all being in committed relationships for years, this will be the first get-together with everyone there. We haven't seen each other for months and in that time Penelope's been to Europe, we've initiated steps to buy a house and I think Charlie and her hubby are moving to London. We'll have a lot to talk about, not to mention a little gossip on another friend of ours who's getting married next month. The man she's getting to married to is 20 years older than her, filthy rich and divorced with two teenaged daughters. She hasn't invited anyone to the wedding, which is taking place next month. It's unfortunately a sad topic for Penelope as this girl was one of her closest friends. I don't understand how you can get married and not want your best friend there, even if she does look like a supermodel.

Anyway, probably should try and do some work while Hugo is asleep....

Luc and I have found another house!!

It's just as good, if not better than the last, and going for the same price!!

I'm trying to keep my hopes and expectations cool this time, but really like this house. I'd be thrilled to buy it.

The place is already vacant, the house has been on the market for well over six months, the owners are desperate to sell and our offer has been made.

No bullshitting this time.

Fingers, toes, arms, legs and eyes crossed.

While chatting to our solicitor this week, she made a comment about how level-headed I was about buying our house. She'd come across many frantic buyers, some who had even wept when they lost the opportunity to buy their dream home.

"Ha! No, that's not me," I explained.

"There are so many houses around and although I love the house we're buying, I'm trying not to become too attached until the papers are signed."

"Well I'm nearly done so let's set a date next week for you and Luc to sign the dotted line," she said.

I'd already planned the changes we wanted to do. New carpets upstairs, polish and varnish (black) the old floor boards underneath the carpets downstairs, white wash the walls (which would look fantastic with the high ceilings) and install a seamless glass pool fence. All the quotes were in, we were ready to roll.h

But I received a phone call yesterday from the estate agent with bad news.

"Someone who saw the house just before you has called in with a higher offer and the owners have accepted it," he said.

I was shocked.

"How can this happen?" I asked. We were set to sign the contract on Monday and you know that I couldn't have done this any sooner!"

After a few heated discussions, I found out that our competitor had bid 14 grand higher than us. We'd have to raise our offer by 15 grand to match his price or loose the house. We've already paid for all of the final inspections (building survey, pest, etc.), and for our solicitor's time.

Luc and I could theoretically match his price but it would cause us some financial stress and I don't think we're willing to do that for a house. We're so disappointed. I know this can typically happen when buying a house, but the owners had already taken the house off the market and we were of the understanding that they weren't talking to anyone else. We wouldn't acted differently if we knew otherwise and would still have this damn house.

I have been devastated since the news. I actually cried yesterday afternoon. I feel so silly but I'm truly heartbroken and feel like I've broken up with a dream of how our lives would be. Although I was playing it cool, in my mind I had already claimed that place as our own. And I thought it was safe to dream all that I did because things were apparently secure.

I must admit that I've been kinda obsessed since this has happened. I've spent hours looking online for more properties. We have two house inspections tomorrow but secretly hope things fall through and we may be able to buy our place afterall.

I spoke to Chloe and Alannah last night and they've both experienced this very thing 3-4 times before finding their home. I remember Jack and Kian also speaking of their negative experiences. No wonder our solicitor has so many anxious clients. This house-buying business is exhausting.

Luc and I made our final offer on the house last night and guess what.... it's been accepted!!!

We've included a delayed settlement of five months, which suits both parties as it gives us more time to get our shit together and gives them adequate time to find another house.

I'm really excited. The paper work is in the mail so it's nearly a done deal.

I can see us living very happily in this home. Luc and I were pretty freaked out at first as it's such a huge decision but we're getting more and more excited as time goes by.

Can you remember the last time you given a genuine compliment or sincerely encouraged by someone?

If so, do tell...

After months of anticipation, nightly commitments to diet the next day and borderline obsessive thoughts about outfits, former flames and friendships, the Friday night fluttered in and so began my 11 year high school reunion.

The friend who was supposed to stay with us decided at the last minute not to offend her cousin (who lives in our old 'hood) so I met up with, Emilie (who I actually didn't hang out with back in the day), and Luc drove us out west.

Emilie was part of the very popular crowd of girls who all the popular boys either dated or wanted to date. A gorgeous Greek lass with beautifully large eyes and an infectious grin, Emilie was never pretentious, spoke softly and was someone whose company was always comfortable and enjoyable.

I was so thankful for the car ride as it gave me an opportunity to catch up on insider goss, share anxious excitment, affirmations on outfits and hair and even a bitchy session about how our dealings with Dylan are so similar. It was a relief. I also found out that all of Emilie's "friends" from high school have treated her very poorly since our school days and she's not in touch with any of them anymore.

This was going to be an interesting night.

We arrived at the 2.5 star hotel around 45 minutes after the event began. When Emilie and I opened the car door, we heard screams from a group smoking out front. They were the popular, outspoken and pretty wog* girls I used to hang out with, who all have children now, at least three. They all come from extremely strict families, were WILD outside of this environment and always good fun. And even though Emilie and I haven't seen eachother since graduating, they all exclaimed how similar we looked ("oh my gawd, youse look like, exactly the same!") - the city girls were back out west for the reunion.

Seeing everyone happened in two stages. First was the large group of smokers situation at the bar. Nearly all of them were my old friends. Scrags. There were lots of laughs and hugs and expressions of bewilderment and then we eagerly entered 'the room'.

The experience mirrors being selected from a game show audience to go up on stage. The vultures were situated either at the bar at one end of the bare room or the door way near the other, all eagerly awaiting fresh meat. Absolutely all eyes were on anyone new who walked through the door.

Now for some observations.

I must say that although most people were fatter, few thinner, some quieter and mostly all drunk, everyone, with the exception of two looked so remarkably the same. I merrily bestowed drinks upon anyone who said I looked the same and offers of eternal loyalty were presented to the shocked observers who shamelessly looked me up and down before proclaiming that I couldn't be a mother. I know they were all drunk, shut up already.

Nearly all the guys were married (hello!?) but most of them were actively pursuing something. I had offers of an affair, had to jokingly bitch-slap another father of four who tried to joking touch my breast during a man boob conversation, rebuked another who actually followed me around despite his pregant wife (also from our year) sitting right there, but the best was from Emilie, who had to navigate her way out of a situation where an old flame (and married father of two) claimed he only came to see her and see if they could have a future together. And he was serious.

I hung out a lot with Matt, the only gay guy in the village, partly because he's so damn funny but also out of a motherly instinct of protection. Some guys were so shitty towards him. There were some who shyed away giving subtle looks, but then others who said comments like, "Hey Matt, good to see you, I hear you like it up the ass now". What assholes. At one point we left the party and sat in the deserted restaurant area of the hotel. He was so brave, even the morning after the event, when he returned back to his car, which had suffered broken lights, dented doors and a broken mirror.

I think the thing that struck me the most about the night was how little we've all changed and the thing that most represented this was the end of the night. Yes, there was an actual fight. Stupid, drunken men. One guy got upset at another for calling him a cunt in year seven (yes, 16 years ago). He was Aussie, the other guy Italian and so began the last of our Wog and Aussie fights. The arguments started in the bar, guys holding each other back, lots of yelling and movement and in amongst it all, our school captain vomitting behind them over a table and chair. Emilie's devoted father of two left with another former sweetheart as her original ride left without her...

The argument continued in the carpark once the hotel closed. Punches were exchanged. The two men leading the two sides both married someone from our year, both women were ironically pregnant, holding onto their large girths, shouting abuse at their immature partners, how could they be such babies then they were about to father one... Guys were frantically running between people, there were a few people trying to calm everyone down, but they soon gave up. We left when the wogs started calling their cousins in. Escaped in a cab, shocked and happy to be driving far, far away.

My only regret is that I should've created my tshirt. It was going to contain the juicy bits of my life from the last ten years to save time but after realising that nearly every chick was planning to wear jeans, a singlet or dressy top and heels, chose to wear a short shift dress instead. If I could do it all over again, I would, except the back would read "And if this all ends in an all out brawl, my money's on the wogs"

* Anyone who grew up where I did uses terms like 'wogs' in a very simply matter-of-fact way, with plenty of pride