It's so exhausting being fabulous

I came across this fabulous image on a wall calendar a few weeks ago, and have been waiting for the perfect day to use it.

Today is that day.

After suffering a night of insomnia, I worked till 5am this morning designing an invitation template for my Thermomix shows. After a few hours sleep, I helped a dear friend move out of her home as she prepares to depart for an international adventure with her son.

After loading and unloading a truck full of life's accumulations, I am completely and utterly exhausted.

Just like the picture says... It's exhausting being fabulous. Completely.

Until tomorrow, be fabulous no matter how tiring it is.

Grace xx

How to bounce back after feeling like your head's been stuck halfway up your butt

1. Let go of the shame
2. Go out into the sunshine
3. Take things easy till life readjusts itself
   

Until tomorrow, may we all get through life's crappy moments.

Grace xx

PS. Thank you for all your encouragement and loving words of support during this last week.

The Climax Scene Really Got To Me

Last week I was introduced to Zuiikin' English, a Japanese television series launched in 1992.

This quirky program combines English lessons with tragic, not-quite-aerobic, exercises to repetitive hypnotic synthesised tunes (if you can call them that).

What I found most interesting was the bizarre choice of phrases.

Unlike Coffee Break French lessons that are full of practical questions and statements, Zuiikin' English will have you saying things like,

• Spare me my life (you'd hope you'd never have to say that)
• I was robbed by 2 men (too bad if you're robbed by 3 women)
• How dare you say such a thing to me (useful)
• Leave me alone (somewhat useful)
• It's your fault that this happened (very useful)
• I can't stand the sight of you (most useful)
• You drive me crazy (imperative)
• Let's go Dutch (no comment)
• I have a bad case of diarrhea (oh dear)
• Hasta la vista, baby (what the?)

The one that completely fascinated me (and had me perplexed as to why I was never taught this in French class) was, "The climax scene really got to me." Yes you read it correctly, the climax scene really got to me. And you know what? IT DID.

Since that fateful day, I have not been able eliminate those words from my vocabulary. You can hear me sing them in the shower, as I prepare meals, during trips to the water closet and when I ready myself for bed. In truth, I have been singing them in almost every waking moment.

I have now reached a point where I am bordering insanity. In such trying times I turn to Kylie Minogue for answers and the words 'I can't get you out of my head' came to me. The solution became clear - I had to get these words out of my head and onto paper (or in this case, my blog).

I trust the healing process has begun and I can get on with my life without climax scenes (or that friggin' song) ever getting to me again.

Until tomorrow, learn to get things out of your head and onto paper (or into a computer) to save yourself from going insane.

Grace xx

ps. I have embedded the infectious video below for those who are daring enough to watch it (email subscribers, click here).

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G'day Mussels!

Hello gorgeous people.

After travelling over 3,000km in the south of France, we managed to compress ten days worth of itinerary into six.

We are stuffed. Although that might have had more to do with our last lunch stop than the journey. Or perhaps a little of both.

As we walked through the picturesque UNESCO heritage listed wine village of St. Emilion, we could see people tucking into giant black cauldrons overflowing with Moules Marinière (black mussels swimming in a delicious warm soup of white wine, garlic and a dash of cream - glorious!).

The last time Patrick and I shared this experience together was five years ago in Paris and we've fantasised about it ever since.

Pat was 'unfaithful' in his last trips to France and indulged without me (very jealous). We'd talked about doing it again however our restricted time schedule proved too demanding to indulge.

I questioned the authenticity of eating moules in St. Emilion seeing it's not exactly on the water. Yet in this stunningly beautiful village, we found it impossible to resist the intoxicating aromas. I convinced myself that being less than 100km from the ocean was a near enough and we sat down to succumb to the overwhelming temptation.

Verdict? To die for.

This culinary triumph was washed down with a glass of St. Emilion, which I wouldn't ordinarily marry the two together. Red wine and seafood is often considered a 'no no', yet I continued to breach wine and food etiquette in favour of what I really wanted.

It takes courage to go against the grain. Even at a restaurant. Ordering dessert before mains (Pat), coffee with your cheese (Pat's dad), red wine with seafood when you're 100km from the water (me). However sometimes you have to flex your muscles and choose what you want, despite it being 'wrong'.

We had a delicious lunch and a memorable day... and I have little regard for what the waiter had to say.

Until tomorrow, be brave and flex your muscles - choose what you want!

Grace xx

ps. The title of this blog is what Patrick often says when I get home from the gym. It's a cute pet greeting and I thought it appropriate.

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Coffee Break French

Yesterday I was in the thermal spa town of Bagnères-de-Luchon, nestled in the stunning Pyrenees (pictured right).

After the waiter delivered my café au lait, I made an in joke with my husband about us taking a 'coffee break French'.

Coffee Break French is a free podcast that we'd been listening to daily leading up to our trip. Hosted by a Scottish duo, we were certain we'd learned to speak French with a Aussie-Scottish accent that made us impossible to understand.

We also concurred that it was easier to practice French in the privacy of our own home, than what it was to the native speakers of France... or members of the French Conversation in Melbourne Group for that matter. I had strategically joined said group prior to my trip but never managed to attend a meetup (tut tut tut).

I was so ashamed of my minuscule vocabulary and poor grammar that I thought I needed to learn more before inflicting myself onto others. When I first arrived here, I avoided speaking French at all costs (despite having spent $500 at Melbourne's Lyceum Language Centre earlier this year). At first I would flush bright red and utter "je parle un petit peu de francais" before attempting to get to the point.

Oh how silly. How vain.

Fast forward a month and I'm happy to report that I'm well chuffed with how my French is coming along. This has become especially evident when communicating with those who speak not a word of anglais. Now I dive in head first, faux pas' and all!

I realised how cute it is when someone is learning English. The difficult-to-comprehend accent and all the little nuances that get lost in translation, just makes it endearing. So if people with petit peu English are endearing to me, then perhaps I might be endearing to the French?

One can hope.

I've had nothing but great fun doing my very best (which might sound like your very worst) in speaking the local lingo. In almost all cases, everybody loves to see me try - and they give me space to do so before rescuing me with English, or sign language.

Until tomorrow, if you're avoiding doing something new because you're not perfect - give yourself a break... a coffee break French even.

Grace xx

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Milder Dick-Jogurt

One thing I love about travelling is discovering all the little nuances in languages.

Everything from funny road signs to a-la-carte menu items, there are words to be learned (if not chuckled at) all around.

My last night in Germany culminated in an apres-concert dinner. It was a farewell to those leaving the Darmstadt Staatsoper company and a 'woohoo, it's summer holidays' for the remainder of the performers.

As I sat down to peruse the menu, I noticed a rather interesting dessert. Milder Dick-Jogurt (the Germans pronounce 'j' as 'y' for example 'ja' is pronounced 'ya').

"Hmmmm... " I wondered what Dick Yoghurt was, and what made it milder (obviously NOT asparagus).

Unable to contain my amusement, I chuckled aloud and photographed the menu for your delight.

I learned that 'dick' means 'thick' and so the yoghurt in question had nothing to do with the male anatomy and all to do with its consistency.

Until tomorrow, celebrate international nuances by realising that there ought be no barriers to humour and laughter. It unites us all, irrespective of language.

Grace xx

PS. Congratulations Germany to your 4 - nil win over Argentina at this year's soccer World Cup. You guys sure know how to celebrate. I've never seen live car-surfing before. Makes my couch-surfing look positively lame.

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Housekeeping

Sometimes, no matter where you are in the world, one needs to do some basic housekeeping.

While I acknowledge that housekeeping (AKA maintenance) is necessary, I find it utterly tedious - ESPECIALLY when travelling.

Keeping the laundry up to date, trimming toenails and eliminating unwanted bodily hair is such a bore - not to mention paying bills and sorting through the gazillion emails sitting in your inbox.

Sooooo not fun.

I reluctantly started 'housekeeping' when I arrived in Switzerland after having spent a day without undies (luckily I was wearing trousers, though I was certain they would split at any time).

The washing is now up to date and I am no longer concerned that there is a real possibility of snagging my trousers on a rogue vine in this Swiss village, thus revealing the absence of underwear. Phew.

Today is earmarked for total body deforestation and clipping my talons before I cause grievous bodily harm to the next person I shake hands with. I have to say, I am totally uninspired by this when I have hot thermal springs beckoning me.

Why is it that we put off the necessary, when we know we'll feel so much better after it's done?

You know when I was a little girl I would put off the urge to relieve my bladder to the point of tragedy. It was traumatic. Yet I could never drag myself away from an entertaining moment to do the business. It seems I am much the same today, only I've traded the loose bladder for Brooke Shields eyebrows and legs that resemble a wooly mammoth.

So without further ado, I bid you adieu - for there are many housekeeping chores that ensue.

Until tomorrow, do the business and avoid tragic moments.

Grace xx

PS. Today's other post, All My Paris Videos, was part of my digital housekeeping - and also brings my number of posts equal to the number of days of Project Grace 2010 (remember how I took the first weekend off?). Ah, I feel so complete. Now for these legs...

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Swiss Cheese

This morning I decided to take a self portrait from our balcony, which overlooks the village main street and its amazing alpine backdrop.

Stunning.

Please take a moment to appreciate this particular photo, as I contorted myself into strange positions to ensure everything was in reasonable shot.

This exercise revealed that my body is unaccustomed to Cirque de Soleilesque twists and turns, and I was challenged to replace my grimace with a convincing smile.

After several failed attempts, and being disturbed by my constipated expression, I came up with a brilliant solution to utter 'cheese' before each camera click.

And then it came to me, Swiss cheese. I laughed.

Swiss cheese can turn a dull, uncomfortable moment on its head in no time. So too can the queen of le fromage suisse, Suzi. She owns a fabulous cheese shop here called Fromage Etc, which is the social, culinary and information hub of Champéry.

Susy invited me to her daughter's end of school year break up, which consisted of a mini concert of adorable primary school children singing cute French songs. It concluded with kids scrambling for their free ice cream, which marked the beginning of their summer holidays (I never received free ice cream at school, these kids are on a winner!).

After the show, Susy organised for me to read my book 'Nubsy McNoodle Wanted A Poodle' to a small gathering of English speaking children. Who'd have thought that Zia Grace (AKA me) would be putting on a show in Switzerland? It was fabulous and I was thrilled.

So as I sit here on my balcony overlooking the village main street with its amazing backdrop of the Swiss Alps, I remember Swiss cheese. It makes you smile naturally thus instantly eliminating unwanted constipated expressions. And so too does reading to children.

Until tomorrow, have at least one Swiss cheese moment a day.

Grace xx

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Don't forget your toothpaste!

I spent most of yesterday working on several jobs.

One for a photographer, one for a magazine and one for the little boy who lives down the lane (AKA my husband).

I just love having a portable office. All I need is internet access and occasional power to recharge the batteries. Somehow working in Paris is so much more inspiring than when I'm in Tullamarine. I wonder why?

Tullamarine is home to Melbourne's international airport. It's a working class suburb that doesn't raise too much interest - unless of course you're a fan of Hollywood superstar Eric Bana, who grew up there (hopefully there's something in the water and yours truly might be the next big thing).

As a result of spending most of my day working, I really don't have much to tell. Unless of course strolling to one's local organic grocery store to purchase lunch ingredients is deemed worthy blog fodder.

It is?

Okay.

I ditched the Birkenstocks and Puma runners (AKA trainers) for a pair of black Colorado Mary-Jane heels for the excursion (comfortable and stylish). As I walked down the cobbled street (pictured in yesterday's post) I noticed the local market was packing up for the day "Bummer!" I thought, "I didn't know that it was on today".

I ended up consoling myself with a selection of delicious biodynamic produce that included pickled sardines (OMG delicious), the sweetest cherry tomatoes and the most amazing to-die-for Chèvre (goat's cheese). Being in France, I was obligated to wash it all down with a glass of vin rouge. Bliss.

So what's with the toothpaste? I virtually hear you ask. Well this is the funny bit. When I went to brush my teeth after lunch, I had to be sure I grabbed the toothpaste.

What do you mean? I know you're thinking.

Well the first time I went to brush my teeth in Paris, I had the most bizarre experience. I put the paste on the bristles and proceeded to brush my teeth only to have the most disgusting taste permeate throughout my entire mouth.

Baffled by this, I grabbed the tube to investigate further. Turned out I was brushing my teeth with Ayurvedic mosquito repellent - GROSS! My mind raced back to the moment I was packing my toiletries bag. I remember swapping my large tube for this smaller one thinking it would save me weight. Now, after purchasing real toothpaste at an insane $7.87 per tube, I have two tubes, a hole in my budget and no weight saved. Thankfully the mosquito repellent was all natural and non-toxic, but 100% horrible!

Until tomorrow, make sure your substitutions are suitable substitutes.

Grace xx

PS. As for the Mary-Jane heels, it must have been enough to pass as a local. The lady in the store spoke to me in fast and furious French. When I looked puzzled she spoke more slowly asking if I have just moved to Paris (in French). When I shook my head 'no', she continued in English. This local experience is exactly what I was after. Victory!

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Still stuck

So Monday's come around, and I'm still lost for words.

I found an old picture of me hugging a tree that I hoped might inspire some philosophical brilliance.

The photo quality was crap so I thought working on it would buy me time to conjure up some masterful words of wisdom.

I spent an hour playing with painting effects in an attempt to create an 'artistic' look.

Verdict?

Still crap.

You know what they say, "you can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear" - or as Pat says, "you can't polish a turd" - both of which are right.

So here I am stuck. Without words, an unpolishable turd of a photo and a commitment to write daily till November the 3rd. What to do, what to do.

Perhaps if it stops raining tomorrow, I just might go outside to hug a tree and see if that'll help transform the sticking point in me.

What do you do to become unstuck?

Until tomorrow, um... errr... hmmm...

Grace xx

ps. Saturday Quiz No.1 winner will be announced next Saturday.

Bollywood Masala Saaga

Oh my goodness I AM SOOOOOOOO EXCITED!!!

I started my Bollywood dance classes tonight and I absolutely LOVED it - so much fun!

It's 10:30pm, I've just walked in the door and my eyes are popping out of my head. What a day. What a fabulous day.

Rewind.

It all started when we took our international guest to visit to my cousin's winery, Witchmount Estate, whose 2004 Shiraz won the 2008 Syrah du Monde (best Shiraz in the world). Luckily for us, the museum stock has just been released and we all snapped up a few bottles for a cool $80 each (bargain!)

I then parted company with Pat & Co. and met up with the delightful Year 8 student I'm mentoring at the Abbosford Convent, along with her mother and mischievous younger brother. The meeting adjourned a pot of tea later and I embarked on an hour's brisk walk to the dance studio. Unlike last week's high altitude training, this time I was adorned with rubber-soled Mary Jane mid heels (stylish AND practical).

I meandered in and out of wonderful little streets and cobbled laneways before I found myself in the same street as my friend's ultra funky design studio, Platform 5 (BTW as a result of this blog I was asked to write content for their website, which they're in the process of uploading. In the meantime, see 'Our Work In Words' and 'Disciplines' written by none other than your's truly).

It just so happened that as I was passing by, two people were pushing their bikes out the front door. I asked if Dan was still in. Affirmative. I slipped upstairs for a surprise visit (don't you just love that?) and within a few hugs, a micro chin wag and a wave goodbye, I was back on the road.

On the way to the dance studio I noticed a very groovy place I thought could be a good venue for the finale dinner with Shirley - our Singaporean amiga, Pat's coaching client and a dynamo pocket rocket (one in the same person). The intriguing exterior was framed by a kitsch-come-cool white picket fence with the words 'Southpaw' on one side and 189 Gertrude St on the other.

Upon closer inspection, the restaurant-bar was just fabulous, complete with quirky retro furnishings and enhanced by Parisian bohemian flavours. Très cool. The menu was tantalising so I booked a table for three at 7:30pm - just in time for me to return there after my Bollywood class.

I arrived at the dance studio 25-minutes early. Then I misread a sign on the door believing that it said class started a further 15 minutes later, thus leaving me a total of 40 minutes to fill in. I had the strong inclination to call my cousin, who lived a few blocks away. Turned out that she was visiting her dad (my uncle) in hospital, which was literally around the corner.

I ducked in for a half hour visit and returned to the classroom thinking I was 5 minutes early. Actually, I was 10 minutes late. The sign I'd misread was for 'Belly Dancing, 3rd May at 6:30pm' instead of 'Bollywood Dancing, 13th May at 6:15pm'. What planet was I on when I read that notice (twice I might add)...?

Luckily I only missed out on stretching (phew!). I was shrugging my shoulders, stomping my feet and shaking my hips in no time. Loved loved LOVED it. Still smiling.

After dancing, I met up with Patrick and Shirley for our last supper (she heads off to Brisbane tomorrow). Delicious food, AMAZING wine and superb ambience. Totally perfect.

So all in all, a massive day and I'm pooped!

It's now 11:30pm and my five minute post has turned into a Bollywood Masala Saaga*

Until tomorrow, go with the flow and see where it leads you.

Grace xx

PS. I've gone nuts with the hyperlinks today and I would like you to know it's because I WANT to do it - and not because I'm getting paid for it (haha - I wish!). Actually, I often get asked for details when I mention specific places in my blog, so I thought I'd save myself a dozen emails or phone calls by directing you via links. They're there if you want to follow them and if you don't - just don't click them. Too easy.

*Saag is an Indian spinach dish that I love (thought you might enjoy the pun) and yes, I did take that photo when I was in India last year.

High Altitude Training

This morning I found myself doing high altitude training in the urban jungle.

After a hair-raising incident, and a decent chuckle at myself, I knew precisely what to call today's blog.

A few weeks ago I registered for the Adobe Roadshow, which I attend whenever they release a new Creative Suite (mainly in the hope that THIS year, I'll be the lucky winner - not so).

However right before bed last night I (insanely) declared that I wasn't going to go. I have become so enraptured by my new daily routine that I didn't dare risk upsetting it. Could this mean that I'm becoming addicted to the treadmill and weights? [gasp!]

A bit odd really, because ordinarily I'd find any excuse to skip the gym - like, "it's high time I did that basket of last year's hand washing" or, "I need to sew the middle button on that shirt I haven't worn in 18 months" or how about, "I must go to Medicare and queue for three hours so I can claim my $12.13 - every penny counts!"

You know, urgent stuff.

Even MORE odd, is that I LOVE Adobe events. I learn so much and I'm completely fascinating by all the wonderful and 'wow wee' new technology (yes, geek at heart).

So what happened this morning?

The oddness had rectified itself overnight and I woke up with the 'simply must' desire to attend the show. I just could not forgo the opportunity to learn for free. Just. Could. Not. Thus leaving me in a panicked state as I hurriedly prepared for my immediate departure.

Running around the house like a headless chook (Australian for 'chicken'), I quickly put together an ensemble - my 'creative suit' (haha). The look was accentuated by a gorgeous pair of chocolate brown, Italian leather, knee-high lace up boots with killer heels that would have Carrie Bradshaw swooning. Delicious.

En route, I decided that I'd park in my parent's apartment block to;

1. avoid heinous city parking tolls, and
   
   
2. walk several blocks (too many to count), uphill to the venue and make up for lost gym time (I had an appointment in the afternoon, which could jeopardise my attempts to do an evening workout)

It was only after I had embarked on my trek that I realised how the height of my heels, whilst stylish, provided some ludicrous challenges for the half hour hike ahead of me. As I raced along at cracking speed, my pinpoint heel lodged in a cracked cobblestone - thus resulting in an unsightly twisting motion where my knees went in one direction, my hips in another and my arms extending in what must have looked like someone trying to start a Mexican wave.

Had I an easily-bruised ego, it would have definitely been damaged beyond repair. Luckily, with my sense of humour intact, I laughed at the imagined spectacle of myself and mentally assessed the well being of my ankle. Phew, a near miss.

So that my friends, it what I call high altitude training.

Until tomorrow, take a few moments to consider your footwear beyond looking fabulous.

Grace xx

PS. As for my afternoon meeting, it was with a student I'm mentoring. We met at a McDonald's (not my choice) and I decided to stay back and take advantage of their free wifi. In case you're concerned, I haven't eaten a bite. My husband has taken the car and here I am at 8:08pm local time, with 6% battery, freezing (went outside to take the photo of my boot under the ultra-fluorescent lights and I'm still here) and I'm 5km (3mi) from home. Luckily I had the foresight to do my training in the morning - just too bad I didn't extend that vision to influence my choice in footwear.

A picture tells a thousand words

Sometimes you come across something so funny, you simply can't keep it to yourself.

I laughed so hard when I saw this video (below) that I just had to show you.

I'm currently busy working on a 'beginner' website, which will be assessed next week as part of my web design course, so excuse me for today's brief post. Hopefully the hilarity will more than make up for it.

As you know, I tend to follow up light blogs with juicy ones to keep the overall balance - so stay tuned and watch this space!

Until tomorrow, may you continue to see the funny side of things - especially when they look like a sausage and two meatballs.

Grace xx

PS. I discovered how to create a search button AND a form where you can subscribe by email - woohoo! So, if you're looking for something I posted a while ago or would like to receive my blog posts in your inbox, go right ahead and use the new features (top left). Feeling very clever right now.

Pseudo foods

Isn't it funny how we still want to consume what we love minus the things that make them considered 'bad', thus rendering them unlovable... and yet we go ahead and order them anyway.

Skinny soy decaf latte with sweetener translates into something like 'I love coffee, but know I shouldn't have caffeine, dairy, fat or sugar... so I'll render it to something of it's former self in an attempt to satisfy my palate whilst playing by the rules'.

Why do we do this?

It's NOTHING like what we love, and yet we're prepared to settle for it.

Why not opt for moderation and have a small amount of what we love with all its deliciousness and naughtiness?

Perhaps it's the moderation part that stumps me... maybe I don't know what moderation is with 'illicit' foods. Perhaps saying I can have a little is like a 'get out of jail free card' and I treat is as an 'all you can eat' allowance because tomorrow I'm going back to being 'good'.

Why oh why oh why do we torture ourselves?

I'm hoping my upcoming sojourn to France will reveal how they manage to balance cheese, patisseries, coffee and wine into their svelte stylish selves.

Until tomorrow, may you enjoy cream with your coffee minus the guilt.

Grace xx

Being a good egg

According to the date on the top of this post it is Friday - Good Friday.

However in my reality, it's Saturday afternoon and I have a mountain of stuff to get through.

So, in the spirit of Friday (good) and Easter (eggs), I've decided to be just that - a good egg.

That means;

1. Posting my blog on time, albeit short and shallow (make up for yesterday's attempt at a 'Time Out' post)
   
   
2. Attend to the rest of my day
   
   
3. Wish you all a Happy Easter (if applicable to your beliefs and customs) and a great weekend to all

Until tomorrow, may all of your eggs be in more than one basket.

Grace xx

ps. The photo is my attempt at adapting Edvard Munch's 'The Scream' to how I'm feeling right now - half stressed with a sense of humour about it!

Flat Out

When you're flat out, it's okay to take time out and regroup. In fact it's considered healthy and is encouraged - but you're too busy to take heed.

Taking time when you're not flat out, should also be okay - only for me, it's not. The permission process is often fraught with guilt, shame and torturous internal battles. I have to earn my time out.

Letting myself 'off the hook' is not so easy being me.

I start by building a case based on worthy reasons with a long list of benefits to support my time out proposal.

In almost all cases, under duress and great stress, I eventually grant myself permission - only I am so depleted by the process that often I can do little more than lie on the couch gazing at the idiot box (a DVD is a bonus if I can drag myself to the video library).

Today, I took a clean break.

Yes, you read it correctly, I took a CLEAN break - meaning without punishment or guilt or longwinded inner arguments. What's more, is that according to my old outdated measuring scale, I didn't even earn it! (do I hear a roaring cheer?)

My brother and his wife invited me on a boat trip with their young family. I love love LOVE hanging out with little people, they are so much fun, and my 5 year old nephew and 3 year old niece are no exception. The decision to accept their invitation was a 'no brainer' - and I did it freely.

We cruised Melbourne's Yarra River (see photo) and the day turned out to be perfect. On the way home, I noted the time and said to Pat "I have to post today's blog in an hour" (I post daily to the US time zone and it clicks over to midnight at around 6pm local time).

So I decided I was going to call today's post 'Time Out' and explain that I was indeed taking time out. The plan was simple, choose a photo from today's outing, put the one-sentence 'Time Out' disclaimer, hit 'Publish Post' and voila! - all done.

As you can probably guess, it didn't go quite as planned. After choosing my photo, I thought 'Flat Out' was a far more appropriate title and look what happened...???

Looks like some habits die hard.

Until tomorrow, may you take all the time out you need - whether you are flat out or not.

Grace xx

There are spies among us!

I recently learned that there are a number of people that have started to 'secretly' follow Project Grace 2010. It all came out during a conversation at the gym...

I was doing chest presses, which is not unlike the memory of pushing away a slobbering drunken man who lunges at you on the dance floor while you're boogie-ing around a pile of handbags, when I heard "Grace!"

I looked around thinking, who knows me here?

It was the gorgeous Jess, a staff member of the gym whom I befriended just days before tearing up my butt muscle. I hadn't seen her since the injury and felt a pang of shame come over me as my cheeks flushed (the ones on my face).

I approached her during my 60-second rest between sets, to say hello (as opposed to shouting it over the chorus of manly grunts). I imagined an inquisition over why I hadn't been around for a while and quickly thought of a succinct sentence to explain my absence. Just because my bum was off limits, it didn't stop my arms from working - but I couldn't help feel like I did the days I got out of P.E. (school sport) because of my period. I admit, I am guilty. I milked it for all it was worth.

ANYWAY... it didn't turn out like I had imagined.

Jess' face beamed like a child receiving a present; a great package enveloped in brightly coloured wrapping. She said something along the lines of, "I LOVE your blog, I've been following it every day and look forward to reading it over my cup of morning coffee" (morning Jess, how's the coffee?)

What? I thought, quicker than I could say it, before she continued...

"I've been emailing my friends to tell them about it and we all love it"

We? Who's We? There's a We? still thinking, while trying to formulate words.

"Are you serious?" I managed to blurt out.

Then Jess proceeded to explain that my words have been capturing what readers (you) are thinking and feeling, and thus providing a form of entertainment that I never knew possible.

WOW!

MEGA WOW!!!

So if you are one of those cheeky monkey spies who enjoys dropping into my life, please don't be shy say hello - I won't reveal your identity.

Apparently there's a way you can leave comments anonymously so you don't have to publicly declare yourself (if you still want to remain under cover). It would be so nice to hear from you and I'd love to know where you're from. Perhaps you could sign off in code something like first name + name of friend + city + country. OMG I'm so excited about starting a secret club with secret codes. This is like all my Get Smart fantasies coming true!

Until tomorrow, may you never miss it by 'that' much.

Grace xx

Does my wrist look big in this?

The oddest thing happened to me at the gym today...

Oh yes, I forgot to mention that my bum has healed (alleluia) and I'm back doing the things I love (or at least tell myself I love on days when it's grey, miserable and would rather be curled up on the couch hoping back to back episodes of Dr.Phil and Oprah will be the ultimate pick-me-up).

ANYWAY... I was warming up on the treadmill when my watch began to irritate me. It was jumping up and down like a 2 year old on red cordial; 'twas the result of being loose.

Loose?

Has my watch got bigger? Or is it that my wrist has become smaller?

Upon closer inspection, I noticed that there's not much meat on my wrist in the first instance. This got me thinking (yet again), why would my body opt to burn the fat off my wrist when there's an abundance of it on my belly, hips and butt? (not to mention my second chin, which I'd be delighted if it were to do a 'David Copperfield disappearing act' as one is quite enough).

Then I wondered, are wrists considered sexy? Would having slender wrists make someone the happiest person in the world? Could I become so obsessed with my shrinking wrists that when contemplating a new jewellery item (say, the silver bangle pictured), would I require the honest appraisal from my girlfriends by asking "Does my wrist look big in this?"

I left the gym laughing, thinking it was so funny that my wrists are loosing millimetres while the other parts of my body watch with envy. Hopefully, while I'm asleep tonight, my wrist will have a conversation with all the other body parts and let them in on a little secret - which I hope takes place when my boobs are nowhere within earshot!

Until tomorrow, remember to laugh at the quirkiness of such things.

Grace xx

If I could talk to the animals

If I could talk to the animals, what would I say?

I'd say "I love your coat!" but wouldn't ask where they got it from.

If we were close, I might say "wow-wee, your breath's a bit pungent" but I wouldn't offer them a mint.

If they could talk to me, they might say "Love your glasses, can I sniff them?" but they wouldn't wait for me to answer.

It's times like these you need a camera because no one would ever believe such a conversation took place.

Excuse me while I fix your life

Don't you just wish that you had a personal fairy, who is completely at your disposal, that could just whisk in solutions and wipe out problems?

There's so much new age literature, websites, DVD's, seminars and workshops claiming that we do in fact have such a fairy... it's called THE UNIVERSE. Some claim it's a secret, but is it really (a secret)? ... and is it really real?

We are to hold the vision and feel the emotions as though we already have it in the present, and voila - it becomes a reality... but does it?

When I first found out about 'The Secret', I had so much evidence to prove, without a doubt, that it worked; prime car park positions, people serendipitously coming into my life and the sudden materialisation of money when I needed it most (albeit $2 on an Instant Scratchie).

But now I wonder... is discovering the laws of attraction like discovering how many people drive the same car as yours the moment you purchase it? And just as you stop noticing your car's doppelganger at every traffic light over time, you cease to notice 'the secret' at work. And just because you stop seeing it, you stop believing in it... is that what happens?

Perhaps I'm being impatient.

Many years have passed since I was to be on the cover of TIME magazine for being the first children's author in history to sell over 1.8million copies of her first book in its first year. I was to have received a royalty cheque of $1.8million that would set up my eco-organic healing retreat specifically aimed at treating diseases created by self-repression (read that again).

The retreat was my version of an ashram, where people were not excluded by their finances and would contribute to the growing of food and maintenance of the property. It was located somewhere in Queensland, or Bali (that detail was negotiable), where the mountains met the sea. A joyful yet disciplined place, where it was mandatory to participate in activities like karaoke, finger painting and dress ups.

I was to have had a miraculous conception that lead to the natural birth of a healthy baby (or babies, also negotiable). I was to document my baby miracle in an inspirational tell-all book, which was featured on Oprah's Book Club (not to mention becoming a New York Times bestseller). I was then invited on the Oprah Winfrey show where audience members were instructed to reach under their seats to receive their free copy of my fabulous book.

As you've probably deduced, I had a detailed vision which, incidentally, covered the walls of my pre-renovated bathroom. I'd study the wall every time I had 'business to attend to' with absolute certainty it would manifest.

Then there came a point when I felt foolish. After time, and a series of setbacks, I reached a point where I began to feel the same embarrassment as I did the day I found out that believing in Santa Claus was for children. How could I be duped - again?

Hold on. Let's look at this more closely. So long as children keep believing in Santa, they keep receiving... does Santa's true identity really matter to the child that continues to receive what they're wishing for? Hmmm....

So if you are a fairy, or know a fairy, who has a bit of time to fill and several wishes to grant, I'd love to receive a visit. Nothing would please me more right now, than hearing the magic words, "Your wish is my command" or even better, "Please excuse me while I fix your life" ... I'd say, "Go right ahead, be my guest!"

With thanks and fairy dust to you.

Until tomorrow,

Grace xx