Zoe and the Drumstick

You might not know this about me. But, before I became a blogger and a floral arrangement enthusiast (that’s what my Linked In profile says anyway), I was a professional dancer.

After almost 20 years of being a competitor I joined a dance company, which was kind of like joining the circus, and I loved it. I lived on a cruise ship between New York, Miami and the Caribbean. I had a brilliant tan and a disposable income. (Sigh)

Each week I would recap of the events in a newsletter and send it back to my family. Eventually my readership grew and I ended up with 11 people on my mailing list. (Wow)

I found this old newsletter on my computer the other day and it’s honestly one of my favourite stories from my days as a professional dancer.

The story of: ‘Zoe and the Drumstick’ (Favourite!)

February 3, 2015

The Love Boat 3.0

I’ve always known this deep down in my heart, but it wasn’t until yesterday that it was confirmed to me. I will never make it as a hip hop dancer.

I have been asked to attend a private Pyjama Jam rehearsal (click HERE to check out a vid from a Pyjama Jam “performance”), and to my knowledge this is the first time this has ever happened. As I’m possibly the worst Pyjama Jammer there ever was. I’m not that upset about it and I could really benefit from another rehearsal as I have absolutely no bloody idea what I’m doing. Everyone else, however, finds it very amusing and I secretly think they are hoping they can use my lack of talent to get themselves out of having to do this event ever again.

How dare they.

Anyway, I do the rehearsal the night before and then I get up early the next morning, put my hair in pig tails, have a coffee and manage to wear the wrong shoes. The first step I have to do is a grape vine. I look over at Gary (my PJ Jam partner) to get the music cue: ‘…5678’.
Wrong foot.
I’m surely getting fired.

I spent a very cold NYC day, firstly, by hitting the Aussie cafe in the West Village with the Aussies and then having a visit with LK (my mate from Ballarat High School). This is the first time I’d seen her since her trip home for Xmas. We talked all things Ballarat, life planned (mainly LK’s life not mine), ate cheese, lost an iPhone, found an iPhone and then I spent the $200 I had found in the side pocket of my handbag earlier that day… not entirely on cheese. I do realise that the days of spending $50 on a Christian Dior mascara are limited, but I also think while they are here I might as well make the most of them. LK and I agree to meet up again in two days when I’m back in NYC to further life plan. When I arrive, 2 days later, it’s raining and LK is pretty hungover so we decide to just get mozzarella sticks, go watch a movie and see what cheap jewellery we can find in H&M that will greatly improve our social lives. Life planning can wait.

The steel walls of a cruise ship see many a ship-mance and there is never any judgement about whom you may choose to be your significant other during your time onboard. And there is many good things about having a “Boat Boyfriend/Girlfriend”. For example there is always someone to remind you to leave a tip at a restaurant (and do the 15% calculation for you). Borrow their couch, window and tv that is so far away that you need to wear your glasses to see. But I think I’ve discovered the best advantage of having a ship-mance is that you get a couples discount on haircuts. Brilliant.
My favourite thing that happened all week was in the show on the last day of the cruise. It had been rocky (bad weather) the night before so we had moved our show to the following day for a matinee. Which actually worked out really well because a lot of the other entertainment staff can never see our show as they are also usually working in the evenings (when we our show is scheduled), so they all came along and cheered us on. It’s always great to have some support and you naturally always go a little bit harder when your name is being screamed or someone is holding up a sign that reads: “I LOVE YOU ABBEY”  written in glitter glue. This is yet to happen to me… but I’m sure it’s only a matter of time. The drummer (we have a live band on stage) was having a particularly good show as his Boat Girlfriend was in the audience and she’s bold, funny and sounds like a fog horn. Half way into the second number everyone is going to town and the drummer loses one of his drum sticks and it goes flying onto the stage. At one point it is between Robert’s (my dance partner) feet, but he is none the wiser and kicks it further down stage where it becomes an even bigger hazard. Luckily Zoe was able to pick it up. The best thing to do would have been to throw it into the wing, but Zoe was too far past the wing so she ‘gently’ threw it off the front of the stage. Well Zoe doesn’t know her own strength and I now believe her when she says “Red wine is good for you” because she threw it so hard it hit a lady sitting in the front row… in the head!

Zoe won the show.

Due to my age, tanning schedule and recent lack of athletic motivation I have become the “bag lady” on every group excursion. I enjoy the quiet time and have a little sleep before making judgements about all the other people on the beach. I wonder if I will grow up to be like the uber tanned wrinkly skinned old lady, knee deep in the ocean clutching her tea cup shittypoo dog. Or if I’ll be the parent that ignores their kids while they argue and throw sand at each other. I do think that if I don’t start going kayaking or on roller coasters I am probably going to end up being demoted from a “bag lady” to a “cat lady”. I really hope that it is none of these options, but I do have a feeling it will involve me wearing pearls, telling stories about that time I lived on a boat, and I will no doubt be clutching a flask of whiskey. Or maybe have a still have bottle of wine stashed in my backpack, like I do now…

Until next week… On the Love Boat 3.0.

because: FoxFooty

Something bad happened.

The boyfriend spontaneously signed up to Foxtel. Introductory offer. No sign up fee. All the channels for 30 days.


Last weekend I endured at least 93 hours of AFL game time. That includes attending a game and all the footage viewed either on the couch, at the pub or via the boyfriends phone. And now we have access to Foxtel and every football game, talk show and bloody replay for the entire season!

I think by the end of the winter, not only, will I have scabies and a vitamin D deficiency but a wealth of AFL knowledge.

For Christmas my brother and I bought Dad the entire 2016 Western Bulldogs Premiership season on DVD. Obviously Rossy had already seen all the games, the replays and the victorious Grand Final but we though he’d like to watch them again. Then a few weeks after Christmas my brother and I both recieve a text from Mum. This is all it read:
It seems the issue of having one TV and ready access to AFL is not only limited to those with a Foxtel subscription. Rossy was playing the games over and over, well into the night. All the while sitting on the edge of his seat and screaming at the telly. Neglecting to acknowledge he already knew the outcome of the game and the entire the season. Mum was less than impressed and unfortunately doesn’t have the option of watching anything else as there is only one TV in the house.
Back at the boyfriends on a rainy Sunday morning, I am granted full Foxtel access.
‘You can choose’.
The boyfriend says.
I smile relectantly thinking this is like when someone asks you if you would like a drink and when you reply with a ‘Yes’, they tell you to get it yourself. I feel like I’m about to be tricked, so I take the remote from his hand before he has time to reassess.
In my head I have already chosen. I already know the channel and the days programming. And although I’ve read 3 reviews online of this weeks ‘Real Housewives of Sydney’ episode, I know in my heart it’s all I want to watch. There is nothing quite like watching a middle aged woman wearing a gold sequin jacket and oversized gawdy earrings scream across a Persian caviar themed dinner: “you’re a pain sack”. What does that even mean?! I pretend to be shocked by the drama and claim I would never behave this way. I secretly love the questionable fashion choices and make a mental note to learn the 4 C’s of diamonds and why it would be beneficial to ‘shove it up your arse!’. I already regret doing this research on my own laptop though, as I know now I will not only be targeted by fertility marketing but also diamonds.

What a ‘pain sack’
By the afternoon I have slipped into my office (the bedroom) to “read” and “write a blog”. But, secretly I listen to the footy that is being played in the next room while I look up botox online and the meaning of “pain sack”. Google reports a large link to the word “scrotum” in both instances (Yes, it’s a thing. Injecting botox into testicles!)

Now and then I yell out for a score update and or a wine top up. The boyfriend always delivers both to me in my office. Perhaps fearful I will return to his… along with the housewives.

*I’ve also been able to impress the boyfriend with my already acquired random AFL knowledge. Here are a few gems from the vault:
‘Didn’t Fev play for the Casey Scorpion’s after he retired from AFL?’
‘Jack Watts. He was the no. 1 draft pick a few years ago.’
‘Eddie Maguire has links to the mafia… The bloke who services the coffee machine at work told me.’

because: Melbourne coffee snob

Have you ever seen that movie: “It Could Happen to You”?

It’s where a simple looking, yet beautiful waitress is working in a diner and a friendly cop can’t afford to leave a tip so he promises to either return the next day and double the tip or split his potential lotto winnings. Long story short they win the lotto and fall in love.

This has never happened to me, but it reminds me of the time I had what is best described as a flirty barista. BTW, I’ve only ever won 9th division in Tattslotto and it was when I went in a syndicate with my immediate family. I made the executive decision to NOT split the winnings as I was the one doing all the leg work. It worked out well for me, I was up $17.

Anyway, years ago I worked at an office in Mulgrave and there was only one place to get a coffee and an over priced salad so, naturally, I was a regular. Every Friday the flirty barista would ask me to select one number for his lotto ticket. In return for my numerical services he promised me a share in the winnings. I’m still waiting for my cheque in the mail, but it sure did make me go back week after week for the below-average coffee. For me, it was all about the coffee experience, the hope of winning a fortune and possibly getting a good coffee at the same time.

I’m not one of those people who drinks Nescafe Gold. I also am never going to buy one of those coffee filters from the supermarket and spend my weekly coffee money savings on mortgage repayments.
I love a good coffee experience and I openly admit that I’m a Melbourne coffee snob. I should really get myself a tea towel to explain my status… and also it might help me do the dishes.

melbourne coffee snob

Before you read any further I should tell you that I consider Maccas coffee better than Gloria Jeans and I recently spent a whole weekend complaining about “country coffee” because it was too milky. There I said it.

Best coffee in Melbourne: this is hard for me but I’ll go with my top three:

Uncommon:  60 Chapel St, Windsor VIC 3181

Maybe it’s the indoor plants or the cute permanent residency seeking waiters but this place is gorg. Also the food. And the waiters… did I mention them already?! I usually order a second coffee and then make myself leave before ordering a third. BTW, very cute waiters.

Slater Street Bench: 8/431 St Kilda Rd, Melbourne VIC 3004

Anywhere between 8.25am and 11.45am there is a line out the door and around the corner. Uber trendy intellects serve you the coffee and always remember your name. Gold star! I’ve never had any of the sandwiches though, as they look like display homes – they are just too perfect.
*The benches out the front are designed to be sat on in groups. If you sit on the end of one, by yourself, it will flip up and hit you in the back of the head. This legit happened to me… twice. Pay attention but enjoy the delish coffee.

Best soy coffee in Melbourne: (because: I still pretend I’m a flexitarian sometimes)
Kettle Black: 50 Albert Rd, South Melbourne VIC 3205

I’m happy to pay $15 for smashed avo on toast but I’m not crazy about having a deconstructed version where I actually have to smash the avo on my toast myself. However, I will order this as it’s the cheapest thing on the menu and they make the best soy flat white in town.

If I were a better human I would always make coffee at home with my newly-acquired coffee machine. I would also own a Keep Cup… But I’m not a better human, I’m a Melbourne coffee snob.


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