Summer Land's Blog, page 8

God Bless You Red Solo Cup

This story was told to me by one of my friends. I have taken the liberty of making it a blog post for her since she is busy having a real job that doesn’t involve writing about Solo Cups.

I was at a keg party during my freshman year of college. It was that glorious time in life where girls go to the bathroom together and it’s not weird. However, for some very strange reason (Mars must have been in retrograde,) I went to the bathroom alone. Expecting just to pee out the enormous amount of Natural Light beer I had consumed, I was a little surprised when a nice big #2 slid out with little effort. When I went to wipe, I couldn’t find any toilet paper. Drunk and wobbly with my pants down, I checked under the sink and in the closet. (Standard Dude’s house.) The only thing I could find beside some questionable towels was a pack of wet wipes. In my inebriated state, I forgot that you can’t flush wet wipes. The toilet was clogged with my poop and about five ever absorbent wipes.

Just like in the movies – someone knocked on the door. “Just a second!” I yelled over blaring early 00s music while staring at my mess. How on earth was I going to get out of this situation without publicly humiliating myself?? And then I remembered my beer. I took one last sip and used the empty red Solo Cup to scoop out my poop and wipes. Since I had come so far, I did what any upper class white girl at college would do – I walked back out into the party and across the campus with my poop in my Solo Cup down by my side.

Can I get a #WoooooCollege?

Have a story you want to share with the world? Contact me!

(Image via Here.)

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Meet: Lauren Sams

Lauren Sams could be described as an over-achiever. However, that has a negative connotation and there is nothing negative about this girl. She is charismatic, charming, talented, witty, smart, funny and all in all amazing. The fact that she’s managed to write an outstanding and highly entertaining novel all while being a mum/ ASSOCIATE EDITOR at Cosmo Magazine is incredibly inspiring and should be applauded. Oh and she squeezed in this quickie interview!!

1. What inspired you to write about surrogacy? Did you draw from a personal experience?

I started thinking a lot about infertility when I had my own baby. It became clear quite early on that my “how’d-you-get-pregnant” story was unusually quaint – there was no IVF or ICSI or GIFTs involved. It seemed like everyone else I spoke to struggled to fall pregnant, and many had turned to assisted reproduction. It really got me thinking about how I would cope with that struggle – and in turn, how far I would go for a friend struggling with infertility. Thus, Georgie and Nina, who love each other but find it hard to deal with each other’s fertility and lack thereof.

2. Have you always known you’ve wanted to write a novel?

Yes! But I truly never thought I actually would. I have always loved writing and have always toyed with the idea of committing to a novel but I just didn’t have the idea yet. One day I had what my dear friend/mentor Oprah calls an “aha moment” and I got my first novel idea. I wrote it and it was good enough to get me meetings with publishers. It never ended up getting published (though, watch this space, it may…) but the connections I made in those meetings got me to Nero and Black Inc, and made She’s Having Her Baby possible.

3. Any words of advice for aspiring writers out there? 

If you don’t like coffee, learn to. I jest (not really). I would say: listen. When you’re on the bus, when you’re shopping, at your family’s Sunday dinner. Listen to the way people talk, their idioms, their dialogue – it’s the best way to make yours sing. And as your English teacher always said, “show, don’t tell” (Especially when it comes to delicious baked goods. Honey, I don’t want to hear about how good the cronut was. Where’s my effing cronut?)

Thanks, Lauren!!

I am so excited because I have THREE copies

of her debut novel, She’s Having Her Baby to give away!!

All you have to do is head over to my Instagram feed for details!

If you can’t wait until Friday to possibly win a copy – you can get it here right now!

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5 Ways Your Mom Won’t Let You Hang Up The Phone

Don’t get me wrong – moms are amazing. And I’m not just saying that because I am one now. They made you and carried you around in their bodies for nine months. (If you were adopted, they went through A LOT of paperwork which is basically the same as giving birth.) They packed your school lunches, recorded you picking your nose on stage at your ballet recital and probably picked you up from a House Party when you were too drunk from downing that 5th Mike’s Hard Lemonade when you were 14.

However, I think we can all agree that sometimes, they just won’t hang up the damn phone.

Just this morning, my mom, Donna, attempted to keep me on the line. (Even though I live in Australia and our convo was costing me like $6/minute.) I did the super nice sign off, “Okay, Mom. I have to go into work, but I love you.) Donna replied, “I love you, too.” BUT THEN she did the, “OH WAIT!” As if to tell me something super urgent.

Donna: You know that ugly brown workout sock you have?

Me: No.

Donna: Well, don’t throw it away because I found the matching pair here at home.

By that she meant her home IN FLORIDA. Here are some other classics that I’m sure we can all relate to.

The “What About Your Taxes?”

Me: Alright, I’m going to hit the hay. I’m so exhausted.”

Donna: Alright, Sweety. Oh wait, have you thought about your US taxes? Do you need me to go to H&R Block?

Me: Mom. It’s November. No. I haven’t thought about my taxes.

 

The “Did You See On Facebook?”

Me: Goodnight, Mom. Love you.

Donna: Love you, too. Oh wait, Did you see that Mallory is in a relationship with Sadie? I had no idea that she was a lesbian.

Me: She’s not. It’s a joke. Sometimes girls just say they’re in a relationship to be funny and cute on Facebook because they love each other so much.

The “Everything I Ate Today.”

Me: Ahhh, I have to go! My house is on fire!

Donna: Oh no! But wait, did I tell you that I made steak for dinner? I steamed broccoli too, but now I’m gassy.

Me: Click.

The “Your Brother Got A Cat.”

Me: I have to go because I have a meeting in five minutes and need to prep.

Donna: Did I tell you that Brett got a cat? It’s a rescue from Molly. She really struggled to find a home for this little guy!!

Me. Aw, that’s so sweet. But I have to run!

Donna: They named the cat, “Jessup.” Isn’t  that cute?

Me: Adorable. I must go! Love you, mean it, BYE!!!!

The “Did You Watch Jimmy Fallon Last Night?”

Me: I just watched Jimmy Fallon and Nicole Kidman was on. It was hilarious.

Donna: I LOVED that one! God, he is so talented.

Me: Totally. Okay, well I should go be productive today.

Donna: Did you see Jimmy Fallon last night? Nicole Kidman was on!

Me: WERE YOU NOT PRESENT FOR THE CONVERSATION WE HAD 3 SECONDS AGO?!

#Moms

(Image via HERE.)

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For Parents Driving Their Babies Around At 3AM

Last night, Paul, Daisy, and I had to sleep in our neighbour’s living room because our house was freshly painted which left our entire one acre block smelling like Dr. Evil’s hidden meth lab. At twenty weeks pregnant, this was no place for my fetus or family.

At 3AM Daisy woke up and would NOT go back to sleep. Her shouts and one word vocabulary were getting increasingly louder. In between “Ahhhhh” and “Shooooes!” we worried that we’d wake our neighbour’s baby. Clearly the better parent, Paul volunteered to do our first ever “Drive To Get The Baby To Sleep.” He left around 4am. I’d imagine them circling the block a few times and then Paul doing the careful transfer back to the port-a-cot. When I woke at 6:30, Paul and Daisy had not returned. I wanted to call, but my phone was dead. Determined not to be a completely stressed out basket case, I got dressed and started to make breakfast. At 7AM, Daisy and Paul were at the door. THANK GOD.

Apparently, Daisy had fallen asleep almost immediately in the car. Paul decided to drive to our house to check on the new hedge he was watering over night. (Men are so into irrigation, it’s not even funny.) Since he didn’t have shoes on, he drove up very closely to the plants. The ground ate our tires in a flash. Even as an experienced 4-wheel driver in a 4WD SUV, he couldn’t back out. Since we live in Mudgee and it was freezing outside, Paul opted to not walk the half mile back to our neighbour’s house. Plus – don’t they say, “Never wake a sleeping baby!” Daisy and Paul slept in the car in our front yard until it was a decent enough hour for him to call a workmen to come tow them out.

Oh, the joys of parenting.

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No More Monkeys For You.

Meet Caitlin – The creator of No More Monkeys For You. This very cleverly written blog consists of lists “to help you navigate the trickery of becoming an adult.” Which, I’m sure we can all use in our lives.

(May I request of list of “Ways To Not Publicly Humiliate Yourself.”???)

Caitlin has graciously answered a few questions for me about herself and her blog! Go ahead – I dare you not to fall in love with her.

1. What inspired you to write these HIGHlarious lists? Were you stoned or was this just your own genius?

I wish I could say I had a moment of lightning bolt inspiration while sipping organic gogi berry juice in my home sauna but really my mind is just a hella crazy place and it seemed like it might be fun to try and get some of it ordered and neat! I love lists, they fill me with such unadulterated pleasure (it’s almost orgasmic) and I also really like being an idiot so No More Monkey’s was born from that weird mash of things. But now that you suggest it maybe being stoned should be an option…

2. What is your favourite list to date? (And not in like, take out for a movie and ice cream date.)

Since there are only two on the blog at the moment that’s like asking me to choose between my children! I don’t have any children but I seriously imagine this is how it would feel. I have a stock of lists to come and I think my favourite lies somewhere in there – look out for one containing the phrase ‘smuggle-boobs’ – it’s a doozy.

3. Is there is list you’d NEVER write?

I would never ever never ever write a list about ways to pick your nose, or make your farts smell better or how to lose weight – mainly because gross/gross/boring. But I’m also a crazy believer in never ever never ever say never ever never ever so that means that a) I’m a massive hypocrite and b) almost anything could happen. Strap in babes.

Thanks, Caitlin!!!!!! Be sure to follow her on Instagram too!

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When You’re Dead – Get Up And Do A Thriller Revival Performance.

Dear Friends, Family, Readers and People I Wish Would Read My Book,

Some people say,  “When you’re dead – lie down.”

I say, “When you’re dead – get up and do a Thriller revival performance.”

Last week, my publisher told me that they thought I could do better with my second manuscript. They said it felt rushed and lacked a real idea. As much as I’d like to have believed they were too busy smoking opium while conducting hermit crab races to appreciate a new piece of Gen Y literature, I had to accept that they were right. It was rushed and lacked any chutzpah. (Probably due to the fact that I was super sick and pregnant when I wrote it/ raising a toddler while living in a contruction zone with no kitchen.) For about a nano-second I thought that I should throw in the writing towel, embrace my role as a housewife/ mother and just enjoy my family. But then I was like, “Oh hell no, Sister. You love writing and love being creative and ain’t no bad review gonna hold you down.”

I immediately took action. I made a vision board. Hired a life coach and decided to do things that make me super happy and will help me find the clarity and peace to write the best book ever. I’m going to take that no good terrible manuscript and put a bad ass red leather jacket on it. But that takes time. I like to think that I’m in the Jackson 5 stage right now. I have months of physical and mental maturing ahead of me. Please bear with me while I discover the meaning of life and learn whatever it is that I want to share with the world.

Oh and watch my new Vlog – Confessions of Another Blonde on the Internet.

PS Both images were provided by my bestie, Durgin. She knows how to do a mother f-ing Thriller Revival Performance.

 

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My Baby Is A Genius

(And Other Delusional Thoughts From Motherhood)

Watching your baby (that you made with your body) reach certain milestones is one of the greatest feelings in the world. It’s kind of like successfully potty-training a hyper-active puppy, but better. The gratification that comes from watching a tiny human achieve basic motor skills will make you want to shout it from that magical Facebook mountaintop. Misty comments roll in, as the world admires in awe that your baby can now pick up a spoon.

When your baby learns where his or her nose is, it’s as if they might as well have showed you the meaning of life. Of course no other baby their age could even begin to tell you where their nose is. Yours must be truly advanced, gifted, chosen and completely unworldly.

But then one day your baby doesn’t know where their nose is, and they won’t “blow a kiss” at the doting cashier at the grocery store. Suddenly, your baby might not be a genius. Oh no, what if they have a learning disability? How will you ever afford the play therapy and special classes?!

Your baby has also stopped sleeping through the night. Could something be terribly wrong? Maybe someone accidentally fed them those pesky strawberries that they are allergic to at daycare? Had they stunted their development?

That’s it. You’ll have to quit your job and pull your baby out of daycare because they aren’t doing an adequate job of “awakening the genius.” You’ll transform your living room into an educational environment fit for Stephen Hawking.

How big is baby? “SO BIG!” they respond with both of their tiny, but pudgy arms. Phew. There’s your genius baby.

Maybe daycare is doing something right. Yes, your baby is one of those rare breeds of genius that isn’t anti-social. They need the stimulation of other adults and children. Plus, you need the escape of work because even though your baby is a genius, being a mom is still really and truly hard.

 

 

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We Have To Make Slobbr Happen!

One of my besties and her business partners are in the process of trying to launch the iOS app – Slobbr. In a nutshell – this app let’s you find all of the dog friendly bars, cafes, hotels and parks wherever you are. It also allows you to shop for the puppy products you actually need.

We have 23 days left to get this app up and running and need YOU to open your wallet and donate whatever you can. Like 1 MILLION DOLLARS! (Dr. Evil, that kind of money doesn’t even exist.)

 

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Unforeseen Circumstances.

On December 4th, I was booked to speak on a panel at the Walkley Foundation’s 2014 Storyology Summit. This invitation came after I spent days creating my auction tape which you can watch here:

According to their website: “Storyology is a four-day festival that brings together journalists, screenwriters, authors, satirists, entrepreneurs, multimedia gurus, documentary-makers, photographers, producers and bloggers in a space to inspire, foster collaborations, and encourage experimentation and bold ideas.”

I was beyond thrilled to be included!!! You have no idea. After years of working on my own personal brand as an author, I felt like I had truly arrived when I saw my name listed in the program. Little did I know, I would never make it…

The day before I was due to drive the 3.5 hours to Sydney to speak, I started to feel sick. My stomach was on fire and my energy levels were low. Luckily, my mom, Donna, was visiting from the US and was able to take care of my 14 month old baby, Daisy, while I wallowed in self-pity and re-runs of Keeping Up With the Kardashians. (So much for prepping.)

I tried to rest and get a good night’s sleep, but woke up in an even worse state. I was vomiting and feeling like someone had made me binge on tequila and toxic waste for the past 24 hours. Determined to make my appearance, I put on some makeup, tried to tame the wild beast I call my hair and packed up my car. I just needed to get to Sydney, last through a 50 minute discussion and then drive straight home where I could collapse into the arms of E! reality shows while my body fought off whatever was happening.

About an hour and a half into my trip, I felt something that no grown woman should ever feel while driving. Burning hot diarrhea was pouring out of my anus and onto my leather car seat. Seeing as I live in rural Australia, I knew that there was no gas station in my near future. I had no choice but to pull over on the side of the road. I walked to the passenger side of my car and opened the front and back doors to make a shield, I pulled off my Spandex leggings (thank goodness I wasn’t in my panel outfit) and looked for the baby wipes. I mean, I’m a mom, I should have wipes in my car, right? NOPE. NOT A SINGLE MOIST TOWELETTE. All I could find was a pack of tissues, paper towels and some hand sanitiser. As I wiped the poop off of my thighs, my stomach bubbled and churned like chilli on a hot stove. Then POW! Three mucus covered balls of poop shot out of me and found graves on the side of the road, followed by more toxic sludge. Cars zoomed past, but I couldn’t care.

I cleaned myself up the best that I could, but let’s be honest – only a long hot shower can get that poop smell off of you. I put on my panel outfit and picked up my phone to call my contact at Storyology. Of course, there was no service. After dousing my car in Purell, I drove a little further to a town and finally got a bar. The only thing I could say when the Stroyology organiser answered the phone was that I had pooped myself, the road and needed to go home and shower and that I was really, really sorry. They totally understood. They actually said, “Well hey – one for your next book!” (So positive of them!)

As I pulled back onto the road and headed for home, I put on James Taylor’s Fire & Rain, because I felt like that was appropriate. I cried for a while, but mostly wore a vacant frown and felt defeated. Eventually my iPod shuffled through some more songs… Adele, Calvin Harris. It was very random. But then something happened that would most likely win an Oscar for Best Score. Britney Spear’s Toxic came on. The shrill intro was in perfect timing with my bowels. Oh crap. Oh crap. Without any control, my anus completely weakened and I was again, sitting in my own diarrhea. In my panel outfit. Mother F.

With an hour left to drive, I powered through. I didn’t have any clothes left and wasn’t about to ride naked. When I got home. I slowly walked inside which surprised my mom. I told her what happened. She laughed, but then offered a hug. I gave her my poop clothes and got in the shower. I proceeded to continue having the worst gastro EVER. A few days later, when I finally felt better and stopped destroying underwear, I was greeted with a Urinary Tract Infection and Thrush.

Even though I didn’t get to attend Storyology, I did get something out of it. A story – a story that reminds me (and now the Internet) just how gross humans are. It was a lesson that made me laugh at myself because honestly, there is no way to get over public humiliation without laughter. Here’s to pooping and laughing!

(Image via here.)

 

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The time I peed myself at a Britney Spears concert

I’m going to use the excuse that giving birth made me not able to hold my bladder at the Vegas Britney Spears concert, but to be honest, it might have also been utter excitement.


On Fri, October 17th, Britney took the stage at Planet Hollywood and changed my life. Everything about her and her show was phenomenal. As I stood front row dressed in a full on Hit Me Baby One More Time school girl outfit, my jaw hung open and my mouth went dry as I watched in utter awe of the force of nature that is Britney Jean.

When I wasn’t lip synching along with her every word, I was concentrating on my bladder and how badly I needed to pee. (Damn that giant Britney souvenir cup filled with vodka and soda water!) We were probably only half way through when I felt my pee start to warm my underwear and trickle down my thighs. (My Kegel excercises were clearly not working.) I considered dashing to the bathroom, but I was FRONT ROW IN A PIT FULL OF PEOPLE. Not to mention, I desperately wanted to catch some of Britney’s sweat from her next dance move. There was no way I could forfeit my spot in the Splash Zone.

But my urethra was throbbing. I let out a little more pee. (There may have been more than a little.) As I awkwardly looked to see if my pee streams were visible, I immediately stopped questioning my decision to wear a costume that night and became beyond grateful for my conveniently high knee socks which also happened to be surprisingly absorbent. They unknowingly saved the floor and bystanders’ ankles from my pee.

Even though my socks and shoes were completely soaked, I still felt like Austin Powers and needed to continue the “evacuation.” (I might have set a new world record for most amount of pee in one human at a Britney Spears concert….)

When Britney sat down to sing Perfume I made the ridiculously hard decision to sprint to the bathroom and let my vagina muscles completely surrender. 1. I really felt like I still had enough pee to run the Bellagio fountain show. And 2. Figured if Britney was resting then I should take care of myself too. I asked my friend to fight for my spot and set off on a mission. I literally ran like a Kenyan marathoner all the way to the bathroom and didn’t even bother taking off my undies because they were already soaked and I desperately needed to save time.

When I got back to the pit, I was magically gifted my spot back and was able to make it through the rest of the concert without losing any more bodily fluids. I left feeling inspired. Like I could truly accomplish anything that I worked hard for. I also had some light chaffing.

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