Run, girly, run!

So it's been nearly a month since my last post and a lot of interesting stuff has happened.
If by interesting you mean, not very.
Missy K has decided that just going to the gym to be flogged is not nearly as fun as having a personal trainer come to the house to torture us - personally.
The delightful, English accented trainer comes to the house once a week and makes us do all sorts of contortions that can be performed in the home for those day that you just can't drag your arse to the gym.
And she also gives us homework.
I didn't like homework in school and I don't like it now.
Last night we went to a local reserve to do some outdoor training.
While Missy K, who popped something in her calf last week, got to walk around the oval, I had to run around it.
Twice!
And as it turns out, that's about all I can do.
I can run the laps and Missy K can do the pull-ups.
I'm the legs, she's the arms - together we make a reasonably fit person, with a bit of flab to spare.

One thing that has happened that is slightly interesting is that I have purchased my airline ticket for New York.
So now even if The Boy gets his meeting cancelled, I'm going.
There was a slight issue finding a hotel as The Boy was reluctant to let me stay in one and a half dubious stars of luxury despite the fact that it was quite central to everything that I want to see.
So now, thanks to his contacts at work, I'm now staying in a hotel with a few extra stars and a chocolate shop right next door.
It was presented to me as an option with the opening line of "Would you have a problem staying in a hotel that's right above a chocolate store?".
There was not even a moment of hesitation in my response.
"There are no diets on holiday".

It's a wonderful town!

So I'm going to New York.
At least I think I am.
The Boy has a meeting in New York in May and has asked if I want to meet him over there and we can have a bit of a holiday.
As we are still fairly new to this relationship, we still like each other and so of course I said yes.
What I didn't think of was that I would have to pay for it myself.
I knew in the back of my mind that I would be paying, I just never really stopped and thought of how much it would cost to go to the States for a week.
Because that's all I can afford.
Okay 10 days, but it's practically a week and I'll lose time in travel so it might as well be a week.
The current plan has us in New York for a few days (two to myself for shopping) and then we'll fly across the country to Los Angeles and Disneyland!
That's right, I'm going to Disneyland!
I know how pathetic that is for a near 30 year old but I still want to go.
And I'll need at least two days.
But don't think we're only doing stuff I want to do.
We're also (in the current plan) going to Legoland.
Yeah, you heard me.
Legoland.
Due to some recent accquisitions by The Boy, the allotment of household Lego per person has pretty much quadrupled.
Because no one else but him had any Lego in the first place.
Now he has a couple of castles and a dragon along with a set from the Indiana Jones series as well as all the Lego he was ever given as a kid that he's now decided to catalogue.
I came home yesterday to find him sitting in his office surrounded by Lego, sorted into like colours and shapes, trying to put together as many designs as possible (so, naturally, I took a photo).
And this is why he has decided that we're going to Legoland in California, which is apparently quite near Disneyland so "we might as well check it out if we're in the area".
But really, I don't think I care what he buys, as long as he let's me use up his luggage limit with all of the shoes I plan on buying.
And he will.
Because we still like each other.

All night long . . .

Long weekend, just bought a car.
Put two and two together and what do you get?
A middle of the night trip to the emergency room, obviously!
The boy decided that this first long weekend together that we are mobile would be an excellent time to have dental issues.
We phoned Nurses On Call because we couldn't get hold of any dentists in the middle of the night and they conspired to freak out The Boy by advising that if the swelling in his face continued down his neck it could potentially block his airway and suffocate him.
Bearing in mind that we only called to see if they knew of any late night dentists it was surprising when they recommended a trip to the emergency room.
Piling in to the car (Missy K deciding to keep me company), we head down to the hospital in hopes of getting seen to quickly and not being looked at like morons for bringing a dental issue to a place where random people are coming in covered in blood and such.
Trying to explain to nurses that nurses sent us is a serious exercise in futility.
They're saying "personally I would have just taken some Panadol and gone to a dentist" and we're saying "personally we would have done that too but Nurses said we should come to the emergency room".
They say "take some Panadol and put some of this pink goo in your mouth and sit down - we'll see how you feel in 15 minutes or so".
The Boy says "Panadol puts me to sleep, can I not just go home?".
They say "go and sit down and see how you feel".
The Boy immediately feels sleepy after taking the recommended 3 pills, possibly partially due to the fact that it's the middle of the night.
We inform the nurse that he's going to be asleep quite soon and she says we should probably go home whilst The Boy is still awake enough to walk without us propping him up.
What an excellent idea that we had ages ago that you're only just now agreeing to, nurse!
We bundle The Boy back into the car and meander home to put him to bed.
Good thing it was a long weekend because I'm telling you now, urbabe does not like to lose sleep on a work day - apparently it makes her grumpy.
The only slightly amusing part of this entire ordeal is when I start giggling as I'm nodding off with a realisation.
It was two thirty.

That's Ms Sparkle to you

Tuesdays.
Trivia.
The Pub.
A Parma.
A love story in three acts.

Since moving in with friends, it has now become routine to go down to the local of a Tuesday for a cheap parma and some enlightening trivia.
Enlightening as we're finding out just how petty people can be when it's discovered that the winning team is only winning because they are cheating by, get this, answering more questions right!
The audacity of some people.
The motto for our team seems to be "consistently mediocre" as we come in a range of places from first to fourth last and just because we are loud doesn't make us right.
But we are finding that there are some teams who flat out don't like us and one team that was spoiling for a fight due to some mis-directed vengeance.

We are Mr Sparkle.

Or at least that's who we were for four months.
Now we are Sparkle Motion!
And will be a variant on the sparkle theme for as long as it's funny (to us).
But there is a team at our pub that changed their name each week to something slightly more amusing than the last.
Each week the points are tallied with the team with the highest score at the end of the month representing the pub at the monthly championships.
And when the Name Changers got the most points one month but were overlooked as champs because someone can't count, that's when things got messy.
The Name Changers were fine with it but the team that thought they won were most displeased.
So much so that, the following week, a relative of the rorted team (who belongs to another team) starts spouting out nonsense to the entire pub (at the top of her American voice) that we've robbed her friends by changing our name every week yada yada yada blah blah blah.
It took two months of us cheering them on whilst they bitched about us to make them realise that we're the good guys.

But yet again we are the monthly champs and will be repping our pub at the UTC where we have placed no better than fourth in the entire time that we've been trivial.
Let's hear it for knowing random crap.

Consistently Mediocre - that's us.

What's it all about, really?

I made the mistake of asking "do you like my blog?".
"It's a blog" came the reply with a hint of "oh she's so cute how she thinks she's a real blogger now" mixed with the tone.
Apparently everyone's first blog post sucks hard until they get a rhythm going and decide what it's actually going to be about.
"A good blog sticks to one topic, maybe two".
I'll be talking about myself - I'm one topic, aren't I?
So nuts to you all, I'm going to blog about whatever the hell I want.
With exception.
It would do no good to pour my heart out to my non-existent cyber friends that my house mates just don't get me only to have them read the blog and decide that it's not going to work and maybe I should leave.
But they do get me, they really do.
And interestingly they all get different parts about me.
Mister T (Not THE Mr T but similar build and not so much bling) has my food issues sorted, Missy K is on the same page with shoes and handbags having their own room and The Boy knows some stuff that will never come up as a blog topic (nudge, nudge, wink, wink, say no more).
But I will say this, we need a new bed.
I don't know how badly it squeeked before his bed became our bed but it goes off like a motherf**ker now.
It's at the stage where holding on to it makes no difference and our housemates feel obliged to comment on the energy and effort required to get it squeeking to that tempo.

So, like I said, this blog shall be about what ever I like.

I like M&M's.

I AM NOT A NERD!

So I'm not a nerd, really.
This is my first computer (an old one that The boy doesn't use anymore) and my first blog.
But in the tradition of peer pressure I have caved and decided to attempt to "Nerd Up"with my very own blog.
Plus I'm sick of reading about myself on my friend's blogs and not getting to tell my side of the story except by comment which no-one reads anyway.
Okay I read the comments buts that's because I'm checking for stuff about me.
So at this point you're thinking I'm very self-involved, that it's all about me and no-one else matters.
And to you I say "nice one, you figured me out".
But there's more to urbabe than just a great rack.
Let's take it back to the beginning. . .

I was born, adopted out to the bestest mum ever, given some opportunities that were quickly wasted, employed by random companies, optioned out as a permanent BFF, and picked up by The Boy after a marathon sesion of "moving house".
Actually I shouldn't have air quotes on the moving house part because that was literally what happened - he was moving house, had no-one to help and I, as the great friend that I am, was only too happy to provide assistance.
Then one thing led to another, as it tends to do, and a short time later he and I became "us".
I'm pretty sure it was my winning personality that did it.
Either that or my constant bending over to pick up things and the preview of what I might look like after sex (slightly out of breath with aching limbs and an arrogant smirk that I did good).
We've since shacked up (in the house that I helped move all his crap to - I wasn't about to do that twice) and are here with a couple of friends that have been trying to get me to live with them for years.
Missy K remarked that if she'd known all it would take was sex to get me moved in she would have made a pass at me ages ago.
Her husband remains quietly non-commital on the subject.

So back to my bit about not being a nerd.
The three other people in this house all have laptops (The Boy works from home so he has a PC too) and have been seen on numerous occassions sitting on the couch and IM'ing each other.
THEY'RE RIGHT BESIDE YOU!
JUST OPEN YOUR FRICKEN MOUTHES!
And this is how I know I am not a nerd.
That and the fact that I didn't know Doctor Who wasn't human, which is one of the random nerd facts that I have picked up from living here.
I will freely admit that I'm a dork from time to time but I can safely say that I am not a nerd.