Upgrading

It might sound a little silly, but a feature of our Seattle home-to-be that I'm most excited about is a double garage, with internal access. I haven't really done suburban-style living as an adult, but am pretty much over the nightmare of transferring weekly grocery shopping from the car into the home.

This was never really an issue when we lived in London, Brighton or Melbourne - we were only shopping for two, so groceries tended to be bought on the way home from work, at one of various conveniently located supermarkets near the local tube, bus or tram stop. We had no car, but rarely felt the need for one.

Back in Sydney, the status quo changed from two to three of us, and we bought a small new car. Each of the houses we lived in were in densely populated suburbs, close to the city. Our only option for parking was on the street - and depending what time of day it was - it was often urban warfare. At one point, there was a local serial car-scratcher. Over a period of about six months, many cars on our block fell victim to large key scratches along the entire length of the paintwork - including ours and our lovely next door neighbour's. Charming, yes? The culprit turned out to be a resident of a nearby apartment block, who used to cross the street in front of us, on his drunken staggers home from the local pub. There were witnesses, several times, but the police were unwilling to do much. This fucker eventually moved, and the scratching stopped.

Here we are, now in Los Angeles. Although we're still a one-car family, we have two car spaces in a secure underground car park. In terms of security, it's a step up from street parking, but where convenience is concerned, it's a pain in the arse. Firstly, we cannot store anything in our allotted car spaces - not even bikes or kids wagons. Building policy.

Mostly, though, it's the matter of getting the weekly grocery shops from the car to the apartment.

I have to take a lift (or stairs) up to the ground floor. The lift opens to a passage way between buildings (outdoors), and I have to walk the length of, and around, one building, then through another passage way. The landscaping at this point is split level, so to reach my building I need to then go down a down a dozen steps (or use the ramps). That takes me to the front of my building, and I need to then go up an external flight of stairs to my front door, as it's on the first floor.

Not exactly straightforward, huh?

I can only carry so many bags at a time, and never the entire amount, so multiple trips are required... or I just prioritise and take up the cold things and anything else needed urgently, leaving the rest to be brought up after future car trips over the next day or two.

Sometimes I have the stroller with me, and I can load it up with a few more bags, but this presents its own problem. Miss Pie - who rarely wants to be in the stroller these days - usually decides that this is the time she has to be in it, and throws a tantrum either in the car park, or along the way to the apartment. Good times.

Alternatively, if I'm lucky, I can grab a spot on the street near the heavy gate that's closest to our building (it's very close). When I do this, I can make multiple trips to get all the shopping in, fairly easily. Get the first lot in, switch the TV on for Miss Pie, then run downstairs. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. The downside to this is that the car is then sitting in the stinking hot LA sun all day until I need to get the Faery from school. It's only really a good option during winter.

And on rainy days? They do happen here, making this grocery transfer suck even harder.

Having a double garage with internal access is going to be so, so sweet. Somewhere to store our bikes and zero hassles getting the shopping inside.

Bring Seattle on, I say.

True story

There I was the other day, wandering through the local massive 'mall', buying up on what few wintery items of clothing I could find for our trip to Sydney over the rest of this month. Challenging, given we're in the throes of summer right now. Not many shops have started stocking autumnal gear yet, but fast-growing kids and me being 16kg lighter since last (northern) winter has meant a need for new clothes. Damn these opposite seasons.

Being kids-free, I was in a daydream when a woman crossed my path, with a very expensive-looking camera strapped around her neck, and possibly the longest lens I've ever seen attached to her dangling camera. I couldn't help but do a double take.

I continued on up a nearby escalator, when I felt a tap on my shoulder, and it was the camera lady.

She introduced herself, and explained that she was doing preliminary casting for a print commercial for... a pharmacy? Oncology? I can't remember. At this point my mind was spinning, wondering why on earth she was telling me this.

The next words to come out of her mouth had my jaw falling to the ground.

Her brief was to find a woman, about 35, who looked like... well... me.

The shoot would pay $3,500 and she was just grabbing a quick photo and details of women today but would I "possibly be interested in that sort of work?"

Would I be interested in more than three grand for a day's work? Uh... WHERE DO I SIGN UP???!!! What's to think about?

I nodded, and - attempting to sound as cool as possible - asked when the shoot would be taking place.

Turned out the shoot would be at the end of August... when I'll be in Australia.

Bugger.

Hilarious, too. The old cliché of being approached by a casting agent in an L.A. mall? Me?

But you know, I'll take it as a compliment. A nice little boost to the old self-esteem. Confirmation that this gym and calorie-counting malarkey has helped me become a 'bit of alright'.

Thirty-five hundred bucks would have been pretty sweet, though...

Double D

As promised to myself, ages ago, I finally got around to treating myself and went bra shopping last night.

What an epic mission.

A few weeks ago, when our budget didn't allow for such folly, I cheekily went into Victoria's Secret and got fitted anyway. I was child-free for a few hours, and thought why not? It'll save time for when I actually go bra shopping later.

I was so wrong.

The assistant measured me, and told me I was size 34DD. I was more than happy to hear that, given I was a DD pre-kids, before two pregnancies and three years of breastfeeding.

Armed with that knowledge, I went back last night and spent a good half hour, painfully selecting a few bras in my size. It took longer than I thought because whenever I saw a style I liked, I couldn't find a colour I liked in 34DD.

Turns out 34DD is not so easy to find nice bras in, even in Victoria's Secret.

Eventually, I made my way into a fitting room, only to be horrified once I began trying on the bras.

First, what the hell is wrong with the fitting room lighting in those stores? It was suitably dim, yet somehow, every dimple and vein in my skin was highlighted. Did I look hot in those bras? No siree.

Secondly... back fat? Wtf? When did that happen? Deep breaths. The bras do feel rather tight... 

Turns out I'm not a 34DD after all. The assistant handed me a 36D to try on, which fitted okay-ish. I pointed to a little spillage at the sides, and suggested to her that perhaps I need a 36DD, but she told me the wire would go too high under my arms, and a D would be better.

Back to the drawing board, I left the fitting room to choose a new selection of bras. This time, different colours were available, and again, not all to my liking, so it took me a while.

Armed with my new selection, I returned to the fitting room. No more back fat, but each of the bras gave me massive spillage at the sides - more than the initial 36D I'd tried on. Unattractive, and uncomfortable. I called in the assistant - who, thankfully, was different to the other girl and seemed to have more of a clue.

Turns out I'm not a 36D either. Definitely a 36DD.

I had to start all over again. Different colours, and all that. Turns out DD, in any size, has less variety.

In the end, I settled on just one bra. An hour and a half it took me, to buy one mother-effing bra. A very pretty bra - no less - but only one bra.

I am so glad I didn't have to do that with small kids in tow. I'd have lasted ten minutes - praise the forces that be for night time shopping!

But next time? I'm buying online. At least after trying on over a dozen bras, I know my size for sure. Clicking on a few little boxes has got to be easier, and surely the big warehouse will have all the colours/styles in DD. That's what I call a win.

This is not me...    (Photo source)

I think I fill out my Victoria's Secret bra 

better than any of their models do -

no tissues or chicken fillets required.

Give me colour

After more than a year of La La Land living, I'm headed to my first crew wrap party this week. One of the perks of having a husband who works 'in the industry'.

Now, before you get too excited, it's exactly that - a crew wrap party. Not a cast wrap party, meaning that although Angelina Jolie was involved with this particular film, neither she nor Brad Pitt will be there.

This is a good thing, as it will save me from embarrassing myself should I come face to face with either one of them after one too many party drinks.

Despite the lack of 'stars', I still had a mild panic about what to wear. I'm not really one for getting glammed up, and the last time I wore a proper frock was for a wedding, two years ago. I am definitely a jeans girl.

To get an idea of how dressy it might be, I did some Facebook research on some photos from the last crew wrap party. Thankfully, there was a real mix - some people were dolled up in dresses, and others were in jeans with dressy tops.

That was a relief to see. Jeans it is then, with a nice top and some cute shoes.

Just a few problems - my favourite only pair of jeans has a noticeable hole stretching across the inner mid thigh of one leg, as a result of being worn almost daily over the last winter. Secondly, I haven't bought any new, vaguely 'dressy' tops in about a year, and am bored with what I have. Also, the cute shoes (with heels) are no longer an option, courtesy of a broken toe. Ballet flats will have to do.

This was the perfect excuse to hit the local mall on the weekend. I'm not actually big on clothes shopping, and when I have no luck with styles I like or sizing, my mood is altered drastically - for the worst. I rarely enjoy it and, personally, I don't understand the kick that so many others seem to get out of shopping.

Anyhow, I realised I had not left our apartment sans les enfants since my lovely birthday trip to San Francisco. A month ago. Okay, time to go shopping...

First stop was Gap. My last pair of jeans were Gap ones, and I was more than happy with how they fit and looked, so I grabbed a pair that was only a little different in style. I normally rate shopping for jeans up there with shopping for shoes - in other words, torture. I'm tall with a generous booty and hips, but a smallish waist, which means about 95% of jeans (when I sit) have a huge sag at the back of the waistband and reveal way too much of my - no delicate way to put this - arse crack. Not cool.

Once the jeans were sorted, my next mission was to find a top. I think I was only in Gap for a total of ten minutes. I didn't bother looking there for a top because they all seemed a little beige. Vanilla. Boring. I like a bit of colour if I'm not in black.

Next, I visited H&M. I've had a long-term affair with that store since we lived in the UK - albeit interrupted by our time back in Australia. I was pretty excited when we moved here and I learned that H&M was here too. What I've loved about H&M is how easy it is to find things that fit, especially when we were in the UK. Their range of sizes meant I never felt like a giant freak. The American H&M isn't as awesome with trousers etc (sizes geared mainly towards the scrawny end of the spectrum) but I've still got some nice tops from there.

However, when I walked in on Saturday, for the first time ever, I didn't see anything I liked. What is it with all the beige clothing everywhere?

Not sure of where else to look, I wandered into the neighbouring store, Forever 21. I've never actually set foot inside before because it always looked like it was more for teenyboppers. Happily, there were colourful tops galore. I still felt like a bit of a fraud amongst the shoppers who were mostly half my age, but I managed to find something appropriate for the party and it was a bargain. Win.

Not sure where I'm going with this post... but I just wanted to cheer for the fact that I got some new clothes (which I've been needing anyway) and it was relatively pain free.

It wasn't entirely pain free because my mangled toes meant I was hobbling and moving at a snail's pace.

What I've learned over the last few days is that one doesn't realise just how often small children - literally - step on one's toes until one has a broken toe. Yeah. Fun.

Also? The sound I make when they step on my toe is unnatural, because I'm trying my best not to scream, "FUUUCK! FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK!"

Instead, it comes out sounding, "AAAAAGH! AH-AH-AH-AH-AH!"

Kind of like a reverse laugh. I am anything but laughing.

Bring on the wrap party. J and I haven't had a date night since January, so I'm counting the days until I have purely adult company for an evening. I may not be hitting the dance floor, but I'm going to make sure I have a brilliant night anyway.