Summer Land's Blog, page 12

Everybody loved Lucy.

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I owe my brother, Brett, an apology.

I totally claimed ownership of his pet rat, Lucy, in my book, Summerlandish: Do As I Say, Not As I Did. But once you hear the story of Lucy the rat, you won’t really blame me. She was amazing.

Brett first got Lucy from a friend as a birthday present. She was a beautiful white $5 lab rat. Her red eyes, pale pink tale and adorable moist nose were not creepy at all. I swear.

About a week after Brett became a rat dad, she ate his roommate’s computer cord and became a $75 rat. Aside from that first little hiccup, Lucy settled right into my brother’s Brooklyn apartment. She loved eating his leftover takeout and would have a few licks of his Pabst Blue Ribbon beer. Lucy slept in his bed or his sock drawer, but would sometimes wander off for a few days at a time. Not to worry, Lucy loved Brett with all of her little rat heart and would always return looking for tummy kisses.

 

Brett and Lucy went on lots of adventures. She enjoyed riding in his shirt pocket or sleeve. Sometimes she’d peak her little pink nose out at a bar to the bartender’s dismay. Other times she’d disappear and Brett would see her on a cute girl’s shoulder. (Such a good wing rat.) One New Year’s Eve, Lucy got called up on stage by the band and was serenaded. Everybody really did love Lucy.

 

When Brett got a job hopping freight trains from New York City to Minnesota, he decided to take Lucy with him. I loved seeing the pictures Brett posted of Lucy travelling America. She was like a modern day Fievel.  Once they made it to the Midwest, the pair chose to fly home. Yes, Lucy has been on a plane. She nestled right in Brett’s shirt and security was none the wiser.

It wasn’t long before Lucy became an international star. She was a “Do” in Vice Magazine and also modeled alongside Brett in the English fashion magazine, Huck.

 

Life as a famous rat was pretty sweet; free beer, good music and lots of adoring fans. But Lucy didn’t lose sight of what’s really important – family. Brett and Lucy went to visit our sister Emily and her family in North Carolina. They set up a bed for her in their bathtub and the kids fed her lasagna. One night, Lucy went missing. Our nephew Woody (who can’t say his R’s) kept asking, “Uncle Bwett, Uncle Bwett – where’s the wat? Where’s the wat?!”

But to be honest, no one knew where Lucy was. At 3am that night, Emily woke up to Lucy’s claws tickling her chest and her tail up her nose. There she was!

After North Carolina, Brett brought Lucy home to meet our mama, Donna in Florida. They instantly fell in love with each other. However, Donna was a bit concerned about Lucy having free roam of the house seeing as we had a cat. Brett assured her that she was fine in a drawer. Ever the nurturing one, Donna immediately got a cage from a friend. (She chose one with small slats because she was worried that another rat might squeeze through and impregnate sweet Lucy and then she’d have a slew of rat babies on her hands.)

Once Lucy was all settled into her new ratopia cage with all of the rat toys any lab rat could wish for, it was time for Brett to go home. But now there was no way that he could take Lucy away from her new comfy safe cage. So he left Lucy with Donna. And that’s how my mom got a rat.

Not long after that, my mom also got me back! I had just finished a ski season in Utah and was home for a bit. Lucy and I bonded immediately. We shared string cheese, watched every Julia Roberts movie ever made and went for walks with her in my sweatshirt pocket. She was everything to me. Granted my life wasn’t as exciting as Brett’s, I still like to think Lucy enjoyed our time together.

Sadly, Lucy’s teeth started getting infected. They were getting ingrown to her gums which is apparently quite common in rats. Donna didn’t really have the extra funds to spare so Brett and I paid the $600 for Lucy to have surgery. As hopeful as we were, Lucy just wasn’t going to be okay. We had to make the painful decision to pull the plug. I like to think that Lucy is in rat heaven where she frolics about in God’s shirt sleeve.

Now can you blame me for wanting Lucy to be all mine?

We wasted the good surprise on you.

T’was the night before Christmas and Paul couldn’t sleep

He tip toed through the house and made not a peep

He crept out the door and started a car

A car he bought for his mother – in his eyes a star

 

And now I’m tired of trying to rhyme.

For Christmas this year, my husband, Paul, and I bought his mum a car. I had imagined the surprise going something like this: We’d all be gathered around a beautifully decorated Christmas tree. I’d ever so casually hand his mum a box and say, “This one is for you.” She’d untie a ribbon and take off the lid and see a single key inside. Next, she’d run out to the driveway only to be greeted by the shiny white Honda CR-V we’d purchased just for her. Instead Paul awkwardly woke us all up at 7am and before we could even brush our teeth, his mum opened the curtains and saw her gift.

Don’t get me wrong- it was an awesome gift. It just wasn’t executed as well as it could have been. Paul loves to try to surprise us. In 2010 he achieved his only successful surprise when he flew from Seattle to Florida and walked through my bedroom door (and into my heart.) All of his other attempts have been fruitless.

Let’s talk about why he sucks at surprises.

1. He always tells that he has a surprise.

I HATE it when people do that. It’s like I then automatically try to guess the surprise and end up thinking of something way cooler than said surprise. Example: In 2012 we got married in the US and spent 6 weeks travelling around. Paul told me that he had a surprise for me. I spent every day trying to figure out when and where the surprise would take place. Was it jewelry? Was it a romantic holiday at a bed and breakfast in Vermont? As the days passed and I wasn’t presented with a puppy or diamond bracelet, I began getting frustrated. Finally Paul said it was going to happen when we got back to our house in Australia. BAM. I knew exactly what it was- a BMW SUV. The car from my vision board. My current car was a $300 1989 Toyota Corolla and I was due for an upgrade. When we pulled up to our house I immediately began scanning the driveway for my new wheels. Paul, smiling from ear to ear, said, “Sooooo what do you think?” I honestly didn’t know what to say. There was no car. I began scanning the yard and then the house. NOTHING. Paul laughed and said- “I’ve added a master suite!” And so he had. He had completely bricked in the old carport and given us a magical bedroom. (I mean, obviously he did a good job if it didn’t stand out!) Obviously I was super excited to have this new addition to our house. However, I would have preferred a BMW. So by Paul telling me that there was a surprise, I let my mind wander and get excited for something way cooler than walls.

2. He doesn’t cover his tracks.

Three times now I have spoiled his surprise because he’s left a paper trail. When we got married he wanted to surprise me with a super special wedding band. When I was checking his email (because he is hopeless and never checks it) I saw the first snippet of an email from our jeweler. It said, “The platinum one?” And boom. I knew I was getting the awesome ring. I faked surprise at the alter, but then I of course got drunk and told him that I knew. This happened again with tickets to the ARIA’s. I opened the mail and saw them. And then it happened AGAIN with tickets to Taylor Swift. To his credit he did try hard to hide these by having them sent to his mum’s house. But the seller emailed him to follow up that he had received them and I saw Taylor Swift in the subject line and obviously had to look. (Note- I’m not an email stalker. I am the bookkeeper of the family and have to use his email!) Swear.

3. He never has an alibi.

A few weeks before Christmas my hair straightener broke. (Which Paul totally uses too. Shhhh) I asked Paul if we could buy a Cloud 9, which is like the Bentley of hair straighteners. He awkwardly brushed my question off. The day before Christmas we were at the mall to buy 6 kilos of prawns when we passed not one, but two hair supply stores. I immediately stated that I was going to go get a Cloud 9 straightener. He shouted, “NO! We don’t have time!” I pestered a bit more, but he said we were only there for prawns. My mum, Donna, was in a particularly giving mood and offered to buy it for me. Paul pleaded for us not to. And that’s when I knew that he had gotten me one for Christmas. So I asked if he did and he huffed, “God! You always ruin my surprises.”  But I’m going to argue that he always ruins them. He needed an alibi! Maybe something like, “Summer, we can’t get the straightener because we just bought a new house and car for my mum and can’t afford it.” Or “Summer- no because I want to look for one online.” Instead, he caved with the first bit of pressure I laid on him.

Those three things mentioned above are crucial when it comes to executing a good surprise. Never hint, never leave a paper trail and always have an excuse.

A look inside Summer.

Why 2013 was the greatest year of all time.

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Someone once told me that how you spend your New Year’s Eve is how the upcoming year will be. I totally agree.

In 2011 my husband Paul and I went to Sydney on a super tight budget. We watched the 9pm fireworks and then caught the train home. That year was spent trying to get jobs, save for a house and of course – get iPhones. (Priorities.)

In 2012 – we raged. My bestie Emily from the States came to visit and I’m pretty sure we drank some questionable workout pre mix that is now illegal and watched the sun rise. That year was spent getting married and going on a three month holiday.

Last year – I was tired and Paul was working on the eve of 2013. With no energy to put on a little black dress, I decided to watch What to Expect When Your Expecting and go to bed around 10.… Two weeks later, I was pregnant. I was also in the process of getting my first book published. Commence: Full on freak out.

You’re probably thinking that I freaked out about trying to release a book while growing a human inside of me. Nope. I was freaking out because the year was 2013 and I don’t really like odd numbers. I had meant to have my book out by 2012 and a baby in 2014. Now all of the sudden I was going to have two of the most momentous occasions in my life happen in twenty-THIRTEEN. (I didn’t care if Taylor Swift said it was lucky. All I associated the number 13 with was a psycho murderer in a hockey mask at a summer camp.)

But then something incredibly important happened in January 2013 that completely changed my view on the year. Justin Timberlake brought his music career back with the 20/20 Experience. Holy F.

If JT thought 2013 was the year to take the music world by storm, then I obviously had to have my baby and book then as well. I spent the next 9 months editing and vomiting. My book arrived on September 1st and my baby on October 11th. I no longer look at 2013 as just a weird unlucky odd number. I look at it as the year that great events took place. Not only in my life- but in the world.

Let’s reflect:

- Britney Spears announced her Vegas residency/ gave us Work Bitch.

- Beyonce beyonced us all when she just casually surprised us with a visual album.

- Miley Cyrus mileyed a wrecking ball.

- Katy and John went all Nick and Jessica on us with a duet accompanied by a music video.

- And lastly, Kanye and Kim dry humped on a motorcycle and debuted it on Ellen, which made me no longer need marijuana to trip out while watching TV.

Merry Summermas!

This Christmas- give the gift of laughter!

 

But seriously- buy my book y’all. I have a daughter who needs food and clothing.

Get it here: Book Depository

My one regret.

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My friend Melanie is 26, super cute and super single. She recently called me to discuss her latest date. An extremely attractive guy she met on Match.com took her out to a nice dinner and then back to his beautiful home. Feeling an intense connection, Melanie followed her date to his wine cellar where they proceeded to have mind-blowing sex right there on the floor of that tiny temperature controlled room. Of course, a week went by and he didn’t call. Was Melanie upset? No, because she had great sex on the floor of a wine cellar.

I started thinking about the guys who never called me back. I remember this one guy from my college and I tried THREE times to have great crazy sex that for him would be a one night stand and for me would lead to a relationship. Unfortunately, I was too insecure to keep myself from getting too drunk. Not to mention he lived with like four other guys (two of who I had totally made out with.) In between me trying to see straight enough to make it to his bedroom and his friends yelling degrading things, we performed an act that could be loosely defined as intercourse. (But I think it more closely resembled human bumper cars.) At the time I was positively crushed with each day that passed I didn’t hear from him. But now that I’m older, I’m not mad at college boy. I’m just mad at myself.

I really wish that I had saved all of my casual sex for my twenties or thirties. Don’t get me wrong – I’m happy with my man (and satisfied), it’s just that I feel like I wasted all of my “slutty” sex years in high school and college. Basically, I had sex with a bunch of guys who had no idea what they were doing. And to make matters worse, I didn’t know what I was doing. Those years were spent trying to make a beer-fuelled love making session in a frat house romantic and sexually enlightening. In reality, I woke up with a raw vagina and a massive hangover. What’s worse than the sub-par sex is the fact that everyone runs in the same circle in high school and college. It’s impossible to be “discrete” and you end up subject to slut shaming. Instead of detailing a five-hour tantric sex session with my yoga instructor to my friend over brunch, I was questioning my self-worth and my reputation after hooking up with a guy with nicotine-stained teeth and no direction in life.

If I had saved those trysts and one night stands for my twenties, my suitors would have had grown up jobs and actual life experience. Like Melanie, I’d be dating smart guys with the skills to satisfy me. I’d also be more confident and able to handle not hearing from them much better. It’s one thing for a douche bag college kid not to call, but it’s quite another when a doctor with an intense schedule ignores you. (He’s just busy saving lives, right?)

But no. I had to go and find the love of my life at 21. The Pro is that I found the love of my life at 21. The Con is that I have to listen to all of my single friends’ stories about their amazing one night stands involving wine cellars. As someone who loves telling stories, it kills me that I don’t have an epic one night stand tale to bring to the table.

Just let me do it.

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One of my favourite things to do in the entire world is pop my husband’s zits. It’s not just his actually. I enjoy squeezing anybody’s face, back, head, leg, arm, bikini line or butt if it means a blackhead is going to ever so satisfyingly slide out, or a wad of puss is going to hit me in the face.

Unfortunately, my husband HATES it when I try to go to town on his nose. You would think he was being murdered. I swear, tears actually well in his eyes and he screams out in agony as I (gently) press my fingers down in an effort to get a thousand little white wormy puss things to surface. Of course, he rips his face away from me before I can do the other side. SUCH a baby!

To his credit, he’s actually pretty good about his head zits. Maybe his scalp is just tougher. Once, he even let me squeeze a tiny black dot on his neck. Without hardly any pressure, a half-inch grain of rice appeared. We both looked at it in amazement. We were sure it had been in there at least since TATU and N*SYNC were at their peak. I tried to save it, but we were driving and I dropped it when we went over a bump. (Don’t tell, but I still sometimes look for it in between the car seats.)

How can something that brings me so much joy cause my husband so much pain? It’s just not fair. And that’s why I think I should be allowed to pop my husband’s zits any time I please.

My case: 

1. I gave birth to his child. (Yes, there were stitches.)

2. I moved to a new country for him. (There were plenty of zit covered men in America mind you!)

3. I am extremely flexible and am always willing to go the extra mile in the bedroom. (Okay not always, but when I do it’s amazing.)

4. Not only did I move to a new country for him, I moved to a town of 12,000 with no movie theater so that he could work in a coal mine. (How am I supposed to entertain myself with no movies???? ZITS! THAT’S HOW!)

5. I’m just looking out for him. I mean, how bad is it to pop a pimple? I’ve been squeezing my face for years and I swear I have a pretty decent complexion.

6. BECAUSE I JUST WANT TO!

GUEST POST- Nicola Wood!

This is a guest post by the wonderful Nicola Wood! You can read more by her at First World Beauty Problems!

Party tricks are so much more than just a simple trick. So many elements come into play when establishing your party trick – how dangerous is it? Are you the only person that can do it? Is it funny? Is it shocking? One should ask all these questions before performing said party trick, because for your trick to be successful, it generally has to walk the fine line between amazing and horrifying. You want to come across as talented, not a freak show and of course, you want the audience is laughing WITH you, not at you.

I found my party trick by turning a negative situation into a positive. You see, I’m double jointed. I find comfort in sitting on the ground with my knees touching and my legs facing outwards. I can pop my thumbs out on command and bend my thumb down to lay flat against my arm. This can make people gag, it can make them jealous and it can make me quite embarrassed, when my initial reaction is to default to an awkward double-jointed position when shocked. 
 
My party trick was born when I realized my double joints stretched to my shoulders, and I was able to dislocate them to get my arms from behind me over my head, while joining hands. I trailed this trick slowly, starting performances to family and close non-judgmental friends who enjoyed my double-jointedness. When this trial period brought great success, I knew I was onto a winner.
 
Now, I use this trick to quickly transform to cool-party chick into hilariously cool-party chick, I use it as a bet to get free drinks when someone believes it impossible (idiots) and I use it to distract from the fact that double-joints aren’t actually cool…or are they?

And of course- photographic evidence…

Taylor Swift’s Red Tour!

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I am utterly in love with Taylor Swift. I caught her E! True Hollywood Story on TV in 2010, sobbed for the entire hour, and then decided that I could truly be anything I wanted to be in life. SUCH AN INSPIRING LITTLE THING.

My husband Paul knows exactly how I feel. And he is as big a fan. (Knows all the words, hates all her heartbreakers.) Since he is amazing he got us tickets to see her at the ARIAS in 2012. She performed I Knew You Were Trouble. It was life changing. Paul and I still talk about that epic performance. Since we had had a tiny Taylor taste- we needed more. Paul googled T- Swift Australian tour dates every day until he found this fateful December 4th performance. He booked two epic front and center seats. We left our newborn baby with my mom at a hotel and headed off for our first date night in a long time.

When we arrived we immediately realized that we were at a concert for 12 year olds. There were honestly about 26,236 training bras in my vicinity. Paul looked around and laughed, “this might as well be a wiggles concert.” Adorable girls dressed head to toe in red body glitter, crop tops and high waisted shorts screamed their lungs out in anticipation for the impending resurrection of Taylor Christ. I suddenly realized I was dressed all wrong. I was in a blue polka dot dress that I swear I had put thought into. (I was going for the Taylor Swift preppy look….) So obviously I had to buy a $40 red Taylor t-shirt.

Paul and I decided to get a drink before we took our seats. We were pleasantly surprised to find that all of the bar lines were completely empty. That is one pro of going to a concert for 12 year olds! As we lined up I got pulled up by a security guard and carded. I’VE NEVER BEEN HAPPIER. Now that I’m 26 and a mom being mistaken as someone under the age of 18 is incredibly entertaining.

As we made our way to our seats I got butterflies in my stomach. Next- chills washed over me. I could feel Taylor’s energy coursing through my veins. I freaked out even more when I saw how close our seats were! I could honestly shoot my breast milk on her and her backup dancers.

As I was dazed out thinking of how I could make Swifty my best friend Paul grabbed my hand. It was beginning. My world went red and Taylor appeared. With every hip pop and head tilt, I became increasingly intoxicated by her voice and body. She was such a cheeky little thing. Every smirk, squint and grin felt like she was flirting with me and I was lapping it all up.

By the middle of her set I was in tears. Like snot streaming down my face tears. I was mesmerized and madly in love. I didn’t cry at my wedding or the birth of my child, but for some reason I couldn’t keep it together. Maybe it was because my husband had been so thoughtful to get us tickets. Or maybe it was just because Taylor was rocking my f-ing world.

Before I knew it- it was over. She had taken her final bow and the house lights came on. I was still too entranced to speak. Paul looked around and noted that the arena liked like the aftermath of a war and that only women and children were left. It was then that I realized that the concert had been a battle- an emotional battle. In the span of two hours I had to fight my fears of failing, flying, getting hurt, and going for my dreams. It was as if Taylor was my Braveheart and had guided me into the battle of my life. And for that I am forever grateful. Last night was a fairytale.

Happy Thanksgiving!

This year I’m thankful for Spin Chill. Because of them and their encouragement to send in a Spin Chill photo, our daughter now has this glorious portrait to remember her weird parents by.