Summer Land's Blog, page 11

How to get 3 cars before you turn 16.

AS SEEN ON FLAMINGO PINK HERE!

Also known as: how to be absolutely ridiculous before you turn 16, by Summer Land.

Step 1: Have a mum like Donna.

When I turned 15 and got my learner’s permit, my mum, Donna, told me that I needed a car to practice in. I wasn’t about to question her thinking. The woman was offering me a car! Apparently she felt that it was important for me to practice in the type of car I’d actually be driving.

Step 2: Help out a friend in need.

As if the stars had aligned, one of our family friends, Makaya, was selling her little navy blue VW Cabrio convertible because she was having twins! I just HAD to buy it. (I was helping out a friend, of course.)

I don’t want to brag or anything, but I looked exceptionally adorable in this car. My bleached blonde hair whipped in the wind as I zipped around our neighbourhood streets (with my mum covering her eyes and whispering Hail Mary’s even though she’s Jewish.)

But then one day Donna was getting her oil changed and I saw a used Jeep Wrangler on display. I immediately started daydreaming about me and my friends driving to the beach with nothing but bikinis on our tanned bodies and 50 Cent blaring on the stereo. So… I stated my case.

Step 3: Admit that you made the wrong decision.

“Donna, I only bought the Cabrio to help Makaya out. It was a rash decision and it’s not what Ireally want. Please please please can I have this amazing Jeep Wrangler?!”

Donna being Donna agreed and let me trade in my Cabrio for my new toy. And boy did we have fun in it. For about three months my brother and his friends and I all went mudding. And by mudding I mean we just drove around on rainy days on dirt roads. On our last trip we got stuck. We tried to drive her out, but our efforts were fruitless. My boyfriend at the time had an Escalade so we tried tying a water ski rope to pull us out. Well that almost immediately decapitated everyone when it snapped with the first bit of acceleration. After about six hours, a friend’s dad and his Ford Bronco came to our rescue. When we got back to our house I had two flat tyres and a headlight full of water. Suddenly the Jeep didn’t look so glamorous.

Step 4: Admit that you made the wrong decision again.

The next day at school I was in weightlifting class when this effortlessly cool girl and I were chatting about cars. She flatly said that Acura RSX’s were amazing and that I should get one. So what do you think I did? I went to the Acura dealership that afternoon to test drive one. And then I called my mum to come help me buy it. Hesitant, she was really trying hard to say no. (Donna had said no to some hard hats my brother and I wanted at a cave gift shop a few years earlier and felt super bad about it, so getting her to say yes would take a little work, but not much…)

Step 5: Point out the safety rating.

Donna was on the fence. I could see her going either way really. So I carefully explained that I didn’t realise just how dangerous the Jeep was. I painted the horrific picture of me rolling on the interstate with no solid doors or roof to protect me. It didn’t have a real shell and a teenaged driver needs something safe. BOOM. I was now the proud owner of a silver Acura RSX.

A few weeks later I turned 16. And yes, I kept the RSX. For three years.

Oh PS Lest we forget what happened on Day 3 of my learner’s permit?

The post How to get 3 cars before you turn 16. appeared first on Summerlandish.

Guest Post- Nicola Wood of First World Beauty Problems!

This post was originally published on First World Beauty Problems!

First World Beauty Problem: My white sheets look like someone has painted them brown as a practical joke.

SOLUTION: Fake-tanned sheets have been a battle I’ve been fighting for about 10 years now. Similar to my war on fake-tanned hands, this ongoing battle has turned into fights with my mum and disgusted remarks  from my boyfriend. I am quite the fake tan enthusiast as I have pale skin and really worry about sun damage. Also- I’m terribly vain and just really like being a tanned babe. Although I reach my goal of being golden brown, I continually miss my goal of having crisp white sheets, lovely bathroom towels and white shirts that stay white under the arms. I never understood how annoying this fake-tanned sheets problem was until I moved to Sydney two years ago and started doing my own washing. All those years I just thought that my mum was being a painful complaining nag, but in reality she was the BEST fake-tan removing legend. I called her and said, “I have no idea how you have put up with me and my fake-tanned sheets and she wished me luck in finding anyone else that would. So because I refused to get darker sheets or stop wearing tan, I asked her for all of her tips and have worked out how to become the Martha Stewart of fake-tanned sheets.

1. THE SOAK AND WASH

This is for those sheets that are insanely tanned and you worry you may have to buy new ones. It’s also for those of you that are not water-conservationists, because it’s basically double washing. After stripping your bed, you run a shallow bath of warm water. You put a small amount of washing powder or Napisan in there and make sure it’s all distributed evenly. Put your sheets in and mix them around a bit. Walk away and pretend you have a life. You can leave them in there overnight (if you forget about it, which I often do) or you can leave it there for at least 2 hours – when you return, you’ll see a difference in the sheets already. Sometimes all the tan is gone, sometimes it will have just faded. Then, you drain the bath/sink, squeeze those sheets out a bit and put them into the washing machine. Go about your regular sheet-washing routine, yet just for safety you can use a lid of Vanish Oxi Action Crystal White Powder to your regular load and watch the magic happen.

2. THE SPOT ATTACK AND WASH

This is for the sheets are more or less OK, but there are a few spots that the sneaky tan managed to rub off. This is also for the time poor and for those that think a double wash is excessive. I find it easiest to spray or rub the spots that need some TLC directly while they are still on my bed (just making sure you don’t go nuts and go through the sheet). Sard Wonder Soap never seems to fail – this little multi-purpose stain remover was a staple in my Nan’s laundry who with six children of her own and 11 grandchildren using her house as just an epic playground, she knows a thing or two about removing stains. It comes in a handy little stick that you can rub on like a deodorant directly on the fake-tan stain and leave for 5 or 10 minutes before putting your sheets through the wash. A spray like Napisan Preen Oxi Action Trigger will make short work of that tan stain, if you leave it for about 5 to 10 minutes before putting through the wash.

3. THE QUICK COVER

The quick cover is for when you have slept out of home and have woken to ruining the sheets of your gracious host’s bed. I’m surprised I haven’t died of that panic or embarrassment yet. There have been mornings that I have woken before my boyfriend, noticed tan on his crisp white sheets and pretended to still be asleep while he gets up and goes to the bathroom so I can clean and cover before he sees the tan – that’s how psycho he goes when he sees it. I have noticed him hugging me and thinking it was lovely, until I realized that he was just ensuring that less of my fake-tanned body was touching the sheets. Firstly, some quick tips on making this ‘out of home’ problem less difficult – ensure that you have showered off the original coat of tan, ensure that you haven’t put oily moisturizer over your tan before jumping into bed and ensure that you’re not too hot – sweat and tan are the sworn enemies of white sheets. IF after all this effort you’re still getting tan everywhere, carry White King Stain Lift Wipes. They are meant to be for ‘on-the-go’ stains or for people with OCD. Or, you could quickly scan their cupboard for the sprays you’d use for the ‘Spot Attach and Wash’ step and spray the spot, then grab damp (clean, obviously) Chux and give the spot a little scrub. There is another amazing product called the Chux Magic Eraser, which is supposed to be for household surfaces and for out-of-control children who draw on the walls. I use it for shoes and I also use it for quick tan removers, because this little baby removes EVERYTHING. It looks like a little cube of soft polystyrene that when combined with a bit of water, becomes your best friend that will get you out of a sticky fake-tan situation.

I know that I am making life more difficult for myself by committing to my tan. I even go to the extreme of timing an application to when I have time to wash the following day – it’s honestly the behaviour of an addict. In a slight effort to give myself a break, I don’t use white towels, because the minute I hang them up in my bathroom after being used, I feel I am opening myself up to being publicly judged. I’m also sure that any hotel I’ve ever stayed in would hate me, because I get SO excited about using towels I don’t have to remove tan from, that I really overuse their kind hospitality. The moral of the story? Never fear, you don’t have to live with fake-tanned sheets. And as I have said for 10 years to Mum and continue to say to my boyfriend: “would you rather me be pale and unhappy?” “No” they tell me, but on the inside, I’m sure they wouldn’t mind.

This was a guest post by Nicola Wood from First World Beauty Problems! 

The post Guest Post- Nicola Wood of First World Beauty Problems! appeared first on Summerlandish.

The Perfect Hen’s Night

AS SEEN ON FLAMINGO PINK! 

When my friend Jess told me that we were going on a boat for her Hen’s Night I immediately started picturing myself lounging on a yacht with wine and cheese. When she told me there’d be topless waiters, I got even more excited at the thought of Channing Tatum pouring me a glass of Moet.

When the evening rolled around, I carefully chose an adorable romper because I didn’t want a dress blowing up in the wind. I paired it with a fabulous high pony and necklace and walked through Sydney’s Darling Harbour and over to the Star Casino where the boat would be waiting. As I crossed a nearby park, I noticed another bride to be and her maidens lying on the ground with empty bottles scattered around them.

“Hmmm that’s weird. Maybe they’re planning a boat adventure too.” I thought to myself.

All of the sudden, I heard the ground start to shake. It sounded like a train was coming. (A high pitched squeaky train that is.)

“Chuga chuga chuga chuga WOOOOOOOO WOOOOOOO!”

Another bachelorette party covered head to know in pale pink plastic penises quickly rushed past on both sides of me. As I gathered myself and checked to make sure that I still had my clutch, I looked up and saw our boat. It was definitely not a yacht. And this definitely not a private event. The wharf was covered in white veils, sashes and hair extensions.

Jess and her other friends arrived and we made our way onto what I learned was called “Wild Boys Afloat.” We were escorted to a table and served a red concoction that looked like it had passed through Elmo. Since I didn’t know any of Jess’s friends I tried to talk, but had a giant speaker in my ear. The MC was going on about all of us “horny bitches” and how we were about to get the show of our lives. I have to hand it to whoever made this cruise up. Not only did they supply booze and naked dudes, they also supplied food. As I made my way down the buffet line, I wisely chose items that I knew would be okay to throw up. (So proud of the frat boy inside of me.)

After I ate my third bread roll, the show began.

I want you to picture a Greek statue coming to life. But that Greek statue is dressed as a fireman. (If the cliché isn’t broke – don’t fix it, right?) I’m not kidding, what I saw next blew my mind. Have you seen that movie Hot Tub Time Machine? You know – the one where John Cusack and his mates go back to the 80s? Well this was like a Stripper Boat Time Machine. As this super sexy fireman kick balled changed his pants off, I was transported back to 1987. By the time he hitch-kicked and pivoted to dive into one of the bride’s crotches, my chin was literally on the floor. I couldn’t look away. The fireman’s nipple ring sparkled in the strobe light, his jazz shoes and knee pads showed that he took his job seriously and then holy F I saw his penis.

Did you know that they get fully nude???? I just thought that I would see a razor-burned pimply butt. But no! I saw shaft. (No, he didn’t use it as a hose to put out the fire… that would have triggered an apocalypse.) Instead he used a water bottle to douse himself. It was like a magical naked man thunderstorm.

When the fireman exited the stage, I started wondering about the inventor of the chair. Did he/ she know that when they were designing a four legged sitting apparatus that male strippers would be mounting someone’s betrothed while dancing to the theme song from the Matrix? But before I could finish that thought – Mr. Officer came out. And boy did he know exactly what to do with that nightstick. Seriously – the prop use was amazing. When he finished using his shirt to sexily “sneer” at us, he tossed it off to (what I’m going to call) a ball boy. These little strippers in training must have practiced at the Australian Open because they could collect a rogue g-string quicker than you can say “Mine!”

Even though I had expected Moet, the weird bottom shelf vodka-cordial mix was perfect. So were the classically trained male strippers. I loved their pointed toes as they grinded on our faces. I loved that everything was choreographed perfectly. I loved that the boat was full of women. I’ve never felt so comfortable leaving my purse on a chair. It was like we were all just good friends looking to see some ridiculously toned abs. (Of course I got to stroke a six-pack.) The 15-year-old inside of me woooo’d the night away.

But the best part about the night was that I got to check an important NEED off of my bucket list – I saw a male stripper dance to Nickelback.

The post The Perfect Hen’s Night appeared first on Summerlandish.

10 Summerlandish Selfies to inspire you to travel!

Going anywhere cool? Bring your copy of Summerlandish and post a #summerlandishselfie

Greetings from Machu Picchu

Greetings from Paris!

Greetings from Brazil!

Greetings from Igauzu Falls!

Greetings from Darling Harbour in Sydney!

Greetings from Park City, Utah!

Greetings from Hollywood!

Greetings from London!

Greetings from New Zealand!

Greetings from New England, USA

The post 10 Summerlandish Selfies to inspire you to travel! appeared first on Summerlandish.

I HEART RADIO!

A couple of weeks ago I got to be a guest on i98′s Brekky show with Marty and Bianca!!! I was kind of nervous so I talked about thrush and dinosaurs, but I think it turned out pretty well….

Have a listen here!

The post I HEART RADIO! appeared first on Summerlandish.

How to break the non-relationship relationship rules in the 21st century

AS SEEN ON QUARTER LIFE CONVERSATIONS

I really didn’t mean to fall in love with my husband. Don’t get me wrong- I was looking for Mr. Right. I just didn’t think the random fling I had when I was 21 would be it. It all began a couple of Thanksgivings ago while I was escaping my 9-5 job one weekend in Park City, Utah with my best friend, Megan, when she informed me that 12 very cute and very single foreign men were renting the house directly across the street from hers. Since it was Turkey Day, we had the perfect excuse to knock on their door and get to know them. Within minutes, I began an intense eye- “love making” session with a dashing Australian guy named Paul. The next night we decided to all go out. Since I was young and single, I did what any normal American girl would do- I made out with Paul on the dance floor until last call. And then I went home with him.

Now you’re all probably slapping your hands against your foreheads and yelling “Nooo! No sex until the third date!” But I wasn’t planning on dating him! I swear! I was planning on exploring my sexuality with a hot Australian man (who BTW, asked me if he could “push it up my bum.” He really did say “bum” and even said please.) I had never done (cough) the back door before, so I figured he was the perfect guy to experience that with. Commence: most awkward missionary anal sex ever. At 5AM, I skipped back across the street and into Megan’s arms.

My butthole got over what I did to it and I went back to work and didn’t really give Paul much thought. He was just a fun story for me to tell. Then New Years rolled around and I received a text from him. Since it was a holiday for couples and I had no male prospects to kiss at midnight, I decided to text him back. Two weeks later, I moved to Park City. Not for Paul- but for life as a ski bum. (He was just a bonus.)

We began sleeping together and hanging out pretty regularly. The thing about our non-relationship relationship was that we genuinely liked spending time together. But then the snow melted. Paul went to work at a ski resort in the Snowy Mountains and I, not wanting to face the real world again, met up with a friend from college in Western Australia for a four-month road trip. And this marked the beginning of our long distance undefined relationship. Question- without titles, how do you play by the rules? We were both self-proclaimed independent world travelers and weren’t looking to be tied down. (Tied down sexually? Yes. Metaphorically? No.)

Being in a long distance relationship in the 21st century is kind of like being in a long distance relationship in the 20th century. The only difference is that you can call, text, email, Skype, Vine, Facebook, Tweet, Instagram, and Snapchat instead of waiting for Mr. Postman to deliver a letter.  Thanks to those social networking sites listed above, I couldn’t help but stare at Paul’s profiles. I stalked his old photos, old girlfriends, and even Googled his hometown. The only negative was that since we weren’t technically “boyfriend and girlfriend” I felt like I couldn’t say anything if he was tagged in a suggestive photo with another girl. All I could do was fall more in love with every new profile picture and witty status update.

When we were finally reunited for a two-month road trip down the east coast of Australia, I felt like I knew Paul inside and out. Our non-relationship relationship was able to keep maturing because of how easy it was to communicate. And by that point, I loved him. I loved him so much that it was just about time for “The Talk.” Nervous about what he’d say, I finally got the courage to ask Paul about our future one morning at breakfast in Byron Bay.

Paul explained that he wasn’t ready for a commitment and just wanted to keep things going as they were. When I pressed the issue he threw a right hook with:

‘Honestly? I don’t see myself marrying you. You slept with me the second time I ever met you.’

(Cue immediate internal mortification and defensiveness) I slept with him so quickly because I was just looking for a fling. I wasn’t expecting to fall in love. It just happened. He was Australian. He had an accent. What do you expect from us American girls? Now I would understand his judgment if this was the 1950’s or something, but this was 2009! Hadn’t we all seen enoughSex and the City episodes to know that the whole sex on the first date rule was outdated?!

That afternoon I was feeling extremely slutty, and was too wounded to keep on travelling. I kept thinking that we would have never been sitting together in Australia having any sort of talk if I had made him take me on proper dates. It’s because I was willing to be so casual and carefree that he had a chance to get to know me. He didn’t see it that way and we decided to go our separate ways. (I’m so dramatic.) However, I still needed closure. The next day I called him. When he answered, I told him my new life plan and that I needed to not know him. I may have slept with him straight off the bat, but I was still a catch. I needed to check my pride and move on. If he couldn’t get over how we got together, then that was his problem.

What he said next completely changed my world. He pleaded that he didn’t want that. He wanted to be my boyfriend. He explained that when he left, he almost cried. He asked me to come to Sydney the next day so that we could spend our last few weeks together in Australia before it was time to go back to Park City for another ski season.

And just like that, all of my slutty, tainted, hurt feelings went out the window. Of course, Paul still argues that I was an exception. Regardless, from that day forward, he has been 100 per cent committed, loving, hilarious and absolutely incredible. We spent another magical season in Utah together. But then life got in the way again. Paul had to go back to Australia. We decided to apply for the De Facto Visa so that I could go and live happily ever after Down Under with him. And so the long distance relationship began again. But this time it was real.

Thanks to Paul getting over the stupid rule about sleeping with someone on the first date (whoever made that up was a prude and extremely bitter and sucks), he showed up at the end of 6 months apart and proposed. We were married in July 2012 and had our first baby girl in October 2013. Who knows what rules she’ll have to get her boyfriend to break. Poor girl.

The post How to break the non-relationship relationship rules in the 21st century appeared first on Summerlandish.

Why I got naked in front of 30 people.

I did something today that I never thought I could (or would) do. I got naked in front of a group of people.

A few weeks ago a friend asked if I would be interested in posing nude for a life drawing class. Without hesitation I responded, “Yes!” When I announced to my husband that I was going to be “dropping trou” for a class full of people he responded surprised, “really????”

His response made me question my enthusiasm. Why was I so willing to go the full monty for the sake of art? Well 1. I love new experiences and am always looking for a new story. And 2. I recently had a baby.

I have always been somewhat comfortable with my body. I’d say, “happy to go to the beach in a bikini” comfortable. Not “get naked in front of people” comfortable. But something changed when I became pregnant. I watched my belly grow with awe. My breasts became fuller, my body rounder. I loved myself.

When my belly reached 30 weeks, I arranged to have some maternity portraits done. Expecting to be terrified to go nude in front of a camera, I surprised myself with my bravery. I dropped my robe and held my head up high. I felt safe behind my baby bump. When I got the final images, I was thrilled. I loved seeing the dark line that had appeared on my belly. I was even happy that the camera had captured just how dark my nipples had become. (They got so dark and leathery- I would pay big money to have a purse made of them.)

10 Weeks later I gave birth. My body changed yet again. Things weren’t tight anymore. My skin had stretched and relocated freckles and moles. I still liked my body though. In fact, I loved it. The fact that it carried (and delivered) life made me respect it. That’s why I was so willing to pose nude for a life drawing class. I owed it to my body.

The night before the class I was nervous. My 3 month old, Daisy, decided that this would be the night she would sleep through the night. My boobs were throbbing and my sheets were soaked with breast milk. I even woke my husband up with a milky shower due to a sprung leak from the right one. In the morning I did my best to empty them into her stomach, but there was just so much. As I pulled out of my driveway, I had an uneasy tummy and very full breasts. I paused to lean out of my car door and squirt more milk onto the ground.

When I arrived at the venue where I’d be posing, I immediately ran into someone I knew. She had posed nude in college and gave me some advice. Take deep breaths, don’t fall asleep and try not to fart. Oh No! Now I was afraid of farting.

I walked in the classroom and was mortified. I knew all but 5 of the 30 people in there. I found myself wishing I still had my big pregnant belly. I felt vulnerable. However, as soon as I stripped down to my birthday suit and struck my first pose, I thought about my body and what it had done and how I truly wasn’t embarrassed or afraid to show it off. If anything, I felt empowered.

I think it’s similar to getting a Pap Smear. Before you have a baby, having someone poke around in there is so awkward and uncomfortable. But after you have a baby, you’re just so much more relaxed. Maybe it’s hormonal. I don’t know. I just know that there is something about motherhood that makes me feel okay to get naked in front of people now.

Some of the sketches:

 

The importance of a good font.

As seen on FLAMINGO PINK!

We’ve already established that I suffer pretty severe food anxiety. (Remember the burrito dilemma of 2013?)

Living in rural NSW small town Mudgee does not help my case one single bit. Lately I’ve been craving pizza. There are a few good spots in this little town, but you know once you’ve had an amazing meal at a particular restaurant that you just HAVE to have that exact meal again? Yeah, I’m experiencing that with this restaurant called Church Bar that happens to be located an hour and a half’s drive away in another small town, Bathurst. It serves AMAZING pizza.

I admit that I’m a bit of a pizza snob. It’s just that it’s arguably the best food because it is fantastic cold, warm or hot at anytime of the day or night. (Try eating warm sushi at 3am… It’s just wrong.)

The hubby, Paul, and I had a great excuse to pop over to Bathurst for some Church Bar Pizza. His cousin and my best friend live there! Obviously pizza was the first thing on our list of things to do when we got there (2. Was find a movie theater because Mudgee doesn’t have one of those either…)

The waitress came to our table and we all ordered. I was surprised when Paul strayed from his usual BBQ Chicken and ordered the HOT HOT HOT Volcano Chicken pizza. The waitress was like, “Whoa! Your husband is brave!”

I didn’t think much of it because the “HOT HOT HOT”‘ was written in Comic Sans font and I don’t take that font seriously.

I should have.

Paul could only take two tiny nibbles of this pizza before he broke out in a full on sweat. His face and chest went bright red and his eyes burned just from holding the slice near his face.

Now, even though I was pregnant and should have been more careful with my body I wanted to see if Paul was over reacting. I decided to lick the crust.

Sweet baby Jesus. It was as if Satan had farted in my mouth.

I ran to the bar and asked for water or morphine. Surprisingly the bartender gave me cucumber to numb the pain and it actually worked.

Paul and I both felt better when the wait staff told us that even some Indian dudes can’t handle that heat. (Since they’re basically raised on hot curries from birth, this fact did make us feel less defeated.)

When we got back to Paul’s cousin’s apartment I sat down on the couch for a bit. Before I knew it like 45 minutes had gone by. Where was Paul? I opened the bathroom in the hallway and saw him. He had stripped completely naked and was sitting on the toilet with sweat dripping everywhere. He might have even been crying.

ATTENTION ALL RESTAURANT OWNERS: If you’re going to make an menu item that is seriously the hottest thing in the world YOU MUST USE A SERIOUS FONT LIKE TIMES NEW ROMAN. Nobody respects Comic Sans! Paul’s butthole is begging you. Things shouldn’t burn just as badly on the way out as they did on the way in.

30 Weeks Pregnant and Loving Me Some KFC!

Don’t forget to pack Summerlandish!

Are you going on any epic adventures in 2014? I’d love to see your summerlandish selfies from around the world!

If you have a trip planned, message me with where and when you’re going and I’ll send you a copy of my book to take with you for photo opps! I’d love to see Summerlandish in front of the Eiffel Tower! Or maybe one of you and my book basking off the coast of Greece!

I have 10 books to giveaway so contact me ASAP. hello@summerlandish.com