Summer Land's Blog, page 10

Need your kid to go the f*ck to sleep?

It’s Summerlandish Story Time!!!

First episode: The Red Wall!

Summerlandish Story Time: The Red Wall

 

Editing and videography: Ben Lynch of Mayo Magpie

Animation: Nate Milton

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Listen to your children!

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You know that moment where you’ve been holding your bladder for so long that you can no longer hold a conversation on the phone? The tight clenching renders you helpless to form words. Thoughts of flowing rivers are the opposite of what you need. You must focus on only two things: keeping the flood gates closed and where the nearest toilet is. (Damn that third refill of Iced Tea.)

After six hours in the car with my mum, Donna, and baby, Daisy, the other day, I arrived at my sister, Emily’s house. I was greeted with her three beautiful children laughing and excited to meet their new cousin- sweet Daisy!

I hugged necks and tried to be cordial – but really, I needed to pee. I basically threw my eight month old child in the arms of my sister and spastically shouted that I NEED TO USE THE TOILET. As I raced towards the nearest bathroom I heard my nephew, Woody, yell out for me.

“Summer! Summer!” He yelled as I fumbled with my zipper.

Panicking because I felt my urethra bursting I shouted back, “Just one second, honey.”

Finally! My zipper was down and my pants were at my ankles and my urine was hitting the water and there truly was World Peace.

For about 12 seconds.

Something didn’t feel right. I was wet. Did I pee with the seat down? (I’ve done that before…) No. The wetness was only on my on my thighs. And butt.

Oh. Gahd.

I then heard Woody yelling something: “I…. I peed on the seat.”

Yeah he did.

My butt and thighs were covered in 9-year-old boy pee. When I stood up, his well hydrated (seriously so clear I didn’t see it!) wee streamed down the backs of my knees. I worked desperately to dry myself off while internalising my feelings. He’s lucky that he’s family. And particularly cute.

As I wiped his pee and then my own, I shouted “Woody! You’re so gross!!!!”

I heard him laughing as I flushed and came out. He grinned and explained, “I TRIED to tell you!!!”

But why! Why had he peed on the seat and just left it? It wasn’t like he was trying to trick me – I mean he tried to warn me! If only I had been able to have that conversation BEFORE I sat down.

That’s why it’s important to always listen to children. Even when you desperately need to pee – chances are they can save you from a golden…bath.

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I get warts. UGH.

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I can’t believe that I’m actually putting this in writing, but it’s time I confess.

I used to have a wart on my hand.

Okay fine, I’ve had warts on my hands and legs. Not all at once. But as soon as I could get rid of one, another would pop up somewhere.

When I was little, I had one on my thumb knuckle. I bit it off in ballet class and blood went everywhere. Embarrassed, I explained that I knocked my hand on the bar. (Believable to a 6-year-old…) Even though lots of kids and people have warts, I was so so so utterly embarrassed by them. I remember suffering severe anxiety whenever we’d have to hold hands in class. I used to try to cup my hand out so my partner wouldn’t feel it.

My mum took me to get them frozen off, but then another would appear within a week. Our battle went on for years. When I was 19, I got a cluster of warts on my knee. It was so gross that that I went to the doctor and begged them for something stronger than dry ice. She offered me a type of acid that would go super deep “but may blister.”

They sure as shit did.

I had four warts so close together that when she treated them individually I ended up with this big mama mega blister on my knee. I wore jeans (in the middle of Florida’s summer) to try and hide it from my friends. Especially since I was going to visit this super cool girl at her college in Jacksonville. My disguise was working until I got too drunk off and dropped to my knees.

I felt a burst followed by gushing followed by intense pain.

And then there was the wet spot on my pants…..and this girl’s dorm room floor.

Of course she wanted to know what it was… unable to think of a solid lie I had to tell the truth, “Uh sorry – I had a cluster of warts that I had treated with acid so that’s, uh, wart and acid juice on your floor.”

I didn’t really see much of her after that.

A few years went by and my legs remained wart free. What didn’t was my left hand. I had this pesky little one right under my index finger. It was pretty easy to hide from people until I got a boyfriend, Paul.

It’s not like he’s a massive hand holder or anything, but it seemed like we were always doing something that required balance. Like hiking up ice-covered streets in stilettos because I was 21 and living in Park City, Utah… A couple of times he tried to hold my hand while driving because our relationship was new and that type of thing is acceptable then. Luckily, within a few months we went to Australia for a ski season and the driver seat is on the opposite side. So instead of trying to hide my wart left hand, I gladly presented my wart free right hand as he toured me around!

Another reason why Australia was so magical for my wart issues is the fact that I picked up some wart removal stuff at the chemist and it worked!

Like it’s been 5 years and I haven’t had a single wart since! When I came back to Florida (my hometown) after backpacking, my friend, Rae, and I bonded over our pesky hand warts.

Turns out she had been trying to hide one from her boyfriend for the past three years. I told her about my amazing Australian wart remover and let her use some. Within a week her wart was gone. We decided it was time to tell out boyfriends about our secret… They had NO CLUE. And they didn’t even care. They showed us theirs.

Photo via Pseudo Paranormal

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The Summerlandish Gospel

When I think about my higher power, I think about Oprah Winfrey and Ellen DeGeneres. These two women are like my mother, sister, friend, anti-depressant, role model, and inspiration all rolled into two lovely shining stars. The people that they interview and celebrate help me wake up everyday and live life to the fullest. Ellen is accepting, kind, hilarious and everyone’s spirit is safe with her. Oprah is able to reach so deeply into someone’s soul and make being human spiritual, beautiful and normal.

I want to have that effect on someone’s life. Recently I wrote a not-so-serious memoir about how I grew up in middle class America and found my way to a tiny mining town in Australia. Five years ago, I couldn’t have written Summerlandish. I was embarrassed. I was ashamed. I was super awkward about all of my life experiences. But then I found my happy place. I fell in love, I got a dog, I had a baby and I discovered that IT’S OKAY. It’s okay if you made out with the wrong people in high school. It’s okay if you did horribly on your SATs. It’s okay if you lost someone you really loved. It’s okay if you got a totally terrible tattoo. For sure – you’re not alone.

When I started writing my book, I wanted to make people laugh. What I found was that I did make people laugh, but more importantly people started sharing with me. I loved how many readers came to me and said “Me too!” We are not alone in our weirdness and need to stop acting like we are.

So for today I ask that you quit the slut shaming, fart in front of your partner, apologise to someone that you were mean to and laugh at yourself. Fortunately, we have each other.

#oversharingiscaring

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It’s Summerlandish Selfie Time!

Don’t lie to me. I know that you’re at work right now and need a distraction. Welp – here ya go! Now lemme see YOUR #SummerlandishSelfie x

 

Post by Summerlandish.

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GUEST POST: Beyonce Would Be Proud

Like most great friendships begin, I met Leah on the Internet.

Her Instagram name is @BeyonceWouldBeProud which is why I knew we’d be besties. She is super funny and amazing, but have a read below to find out for yourself!

(High) Fashion Blogger Envy

by Leah Mandeltort 

I once had a conversation with a friend about who we were following on Instagram. We discussed whether they were a reflection of our selves and our interests, and what our feeds would say about us. She came to the conclusion that hers would probably indicate that she really liked fitness, hot women and rabbits. I came to the conclusion that I must really like dogs.

Since that conversation I have roughly doubled the people I’m following on Instagram and have thought far too many times that I should really stop following the thousands of dogs on Instagram. I’ve also noticed a majority of the people I follow on Instagram are women: models, celebrities and fashion bloggers.

I decided to question why I follow so many fashion bloggers: Do I aspire to be like them, to become a fashion blogger, or to have a lifestyle like theirs? These are the only logical explanations I could come up with:

 

I am jealous of them.

They have enviable wardrobes, a limitless supply of beautiful high fashion designer clothing and a socialite lifestyle I envy. A girl can vicariously live her fantasies through the visually filtered world of Instagram. As I do through Bec Judd’s Instagram account, daydreaming about her friendship with the creators of J’Aton Couture who are designing elaborate dresses for yours truly.

 

I don’t have the income to match their enviable lifestyle or wardrobe.

Currently in my final semester of University, I have travelled extensively in the past three years and no longer have disposable income, given my low salary.  I also don’t have a wealthy partner to fund my lifestyle or wardrobe. However, I have always dreamt of having a sugar daddy. Please enquire within.

 

I enjoy affordable shopping.

There’s nothing like raiding the bargain racks at department stores, especially when you know that everything that goes to the floor will be on sale in a couple of months. When I do purchase items at bargain prices, I usually feel consumed with this ridiculous sense of accomplishment. Money can’t buy that satisfaction.

 

I perceive expensive shopping as risky behaviour

I am not a careful person, so when a label reads as ‘delicate’, it translates in my head as ‘keep the f*ck away! I do not want you to wear me’. Same as when a label reads ‘suede’, ’white’, ’dry cleaning’ or  ‘hand washing only’.

 

My style is very colourful and unique

Although I’m from Melbourne, you’ll never catch me dead in all black. If you do, you‘ll notice me tugging at my own clothes and trying to rip them off. I feel suffocated when wearing all black and have this fierce urge to wear colour.

I am generally at peak happiness when wearing bright, vivid colours, prints and yellows. I still thank the fashion lords who brought print pants back into fashion, along with stripes and polka dots.

I have ‘unsexy’* clothing obsessions.

There are things I love that sane people just wouldn’t dare wear. These include my penchant for ugly novelty jumpers (Christmas jumpers included); pyjama onesies complete with built-in socks, hoodies and bum flaps. I also enjoy harem pants that have an unnatural crotch drop to the floor and the capacity to fit an entire village inside them.

*While a normal person may consider these items to be unsexy, I totally beg to differ.

 

I am far from skinny.

I have curves and just like Beyoncé, when I wear a skirt I fill it out. I tend to stray from fashion trends that are tight, cropped, or meant for the tiny masses, as I am aware of my womanly figure. Although I occasionally daydream of joining a gym, I could never obsessively exercise myself to size 6-8 frame out of sheer vanity. That just isn’t me.

 

Although I follow fashion bloggers as a form of visual entertainment, I believe they depict a vain, exclusive, consumerist lifestyle. I do not believe they reflect a healthy or realistic representation of Australia’s current economic state. Especially when there are Australian women who don’t have disposable incomes, husbands that would so lovingly oblige to make extravagant purchases for them, or designers that would happily deliver exclusive items at their doorstep. If they did, I’m sure most women would be having heart attacks.

Furthermore I often wonder if fashion bloggers are truly satisfied with their lives, or if they continually spend their own or their husbands’ money to fill this constant void of emptiness with the short-term happiness contemporary consumerist goods provide.

I also wonder if they have other meaningful interests. Like dogs.

 

 

 

Want a closer look at my wardrobe? WATCH below!

Beyonce Would Be Proud’s Wardrobe

Let me know what you think and which fashion bloggers you follow on Instagram! You can follow me here.

For more amazing Leahness that would make Beyonce proud – visit her website here.

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Tasmania is amazing.

Currently travelling around Tasmania with my family!!!! #BESTPLACEEVER

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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I Went To Europe And All I Got Was NOT My Period.

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When I was 10, my grandmother, Gladys AKA GG, announced that she would be taking my brother, Brett, and me on a cruise of the Baltic to see Norway, Denmark, Sweden, Finland, Russia and Estonia.

Beyond excited, I had my mum, Donna, take me to Limited Too to buy some cute (but modest) sundresses for my trip abroad. After talking her into also buying me my body weight in lime green body glitter, a new swimsuit (with matching scrunchie) and some maxi pads (just in case I got my period in Europe…) I felt ready to go.

The days leading up to our departure, I made my way through half of my pack of pads. I was DYING to get my period. I had read Are You There God, It’s Me Margaret like a thousand times and just NEEDED to start menstruating. I was trying out the pads because I wanted to feel confident that they didn’t show through any of my new outfits. (Not just because I felt super cool wearing them, I swear.)

With my brand new blue luggage weighing just under 50lbs, GG, Brett and I set off for our Scandinavian adventure.  I was a little nervous about going on a ship. Titanic had just hit theaters and the thought of Jack disappearing into the abyss was still fresh in my mind. What if I found my Jack on our boat? I was so young, it would be such a shame to lose my lover before my eleventh birthday. I pushed the negative thoughts out of my mind and tried to stay positive which was rather easy because the kids on this cruise were awesome. I immediately became besties with a girl from upstate New York named Laura on our first day in Denmark. Together we went to Tivoli Gardens, rowed a Viking ship and searched for that tiny mermaid statue. We spent the next week exploring the fjords in Norway and trying on her big sister’s thongs. We also searched fruitlessly for first signs of pubic hair and felt our budding breast buds. We of course also waited impatiently for the impending arrival of our periods.

The thing that was so amazing about this cruise was the rooming situation. The adults had their own rooms and the kids all shared. This gave us a lot of freedom and independence. While the oldies drank and socialised, us youngens did our best not to cause too much terror. But after consuming roughly 12 cans of Coca-Cola in less than an hour, our sugar fueled bodies were out of control. First Laura and I went into one of the boys’ room and found a bunch of tighty-whities and threw them all over the lower deck. Next we got two more girls involved and choreographed an entire dance to “You Don’t Own Me” for the boat’s talent show that night. Not going to lie- we nailed it and looked incredible since I had enough Limited Too sundresses to go around.

As parents and grandparents sipped their cocktails, we retreated to my cabin to play. Still high off of our talent show performance (and IV of Coca-Colas thanks to Laura’s dad’s tab) we had the brilliant idea to put a bunk-bed ladder across the top bunks of two beds to make an obstacle course. My alter-ego, Christina Lachee, (she’s a tiny Romanian gymnast) was fully in her element.  I hopped across the hot lava with cat like agility, my forward roll on the bottom bunk mattress was on par with the fat kid’s from Hook. Getting from the bottom bunk to the top without using my left hand was challenging, but I did it. When I got to the ladder bridge I paused. The ladder barely reached each bed, which meant that there was no wiggle room. I had to keep the ladder in place or I would plunge into the “lava” below. I placed my hands on the ladder and began to crawl.

 

BOOM * CRASH * F*&% * WAHHHHHHHHH

 

My body was in the lava! The ladder was crushing me. I screamed out in pain. Laura ran to find an adult to help me. As I laid on the floor helpless, news of my accident began to spread. Mieke, a beautiful little girl from India had heard that I was paralyzed. When she found my brother in one of the hallways, she broke the news about my tragic accident. Brett thought this was a joke so he laughed in her face. Horrified by his insensitivity, she dramatically slapped him across the face.

As a little sister who had reaped years of wet-willies, I appreciated this.

Within minutes GG came rushing in the room clad in her shiny purple track suit with an incredible amount of gold and diamond jewelery from her ears and fingers. I was so relieved to see her. Her signature smell was so comforting. (Little did I know that this smell was vodka… I didn’t figure that out until high school when I had my first sip of Grey Goose and thought, whoa this smells like GG.)

GG and the cruise staff made me stay on the floor incase I had a spinal injury. We were docking in Stockholm the next day where I would be taken to the hospital for x-rays. GG stayed by my side all night. As much as I was loving all of the attention, I was hating the floor. I knew that I was fine and that my hospital trip was just a precaution. I wanted to get up and play with my friends. But more than that, I wanted my period. Oh how I wished that everyone was comforting me because I was finally shedding the lining of my uterus.

The next morning, I was loaded onto a stretcher and rushed to Stockholm’s hospital. This was amazing. Onlookers gathered around as they carefully stabilized my neck and strapped me down. The ambulance made it’s way down cobblestone roads to the hospital. I felt like I was in a movie! After a full body x-ray it was determined that I was 100% fine. Actually I was better than fine since I am obsessed with hospitals and people feeling bad for me. Even though I didn’t get my period for three more years, getting to ride in an ambulance in Europe was a phenomenal consolation prize.

 

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Can you really have it all?

I just wrote my heart out on Medium about the subject. Check it out below!

https://medium.com/ladybits-on-medium...

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Summerlandish Selfie: Turks and Caicos!

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