Check. And. Mate.

Hello Sydney-siders.

I've got alot to blog about and not alot of time to do it in, so this might have to be quick. You're just going to have to get over it. I know - I know - I've been totally slack in the blogging department lately, and I know - I know - I keep saying I'm going to do something about it and then don't, and I know - I KNOW - I'm going to get countless complaints about it (that's right, Navy Man, I'm talking to you), but the fact is that these days, I'm far too busy and important to sit on the internet narrating my own life.

Alright, that was a lie.

The real fact is that I'm lazy and a piece of shit. A lazy piece of shit is what I am. Also, my internet hasn't really been working for the past fortnight. And I'm working pretty much 24 hours these days. Mostly though, it's the piece of shit thing, which you'll have to forgive me for. Or not. Hey, I'm a lazy piece of shit - what do I care?

So this past week. I don't wanna oversell it or anything, but have you ever time-travelled to the 60's, been hit on by Wentworth Miller at Studio 54 and then given a cheque for 10 million dollars? My week was better than that. Are you kidding? My week would kick that weeks ass all over the playground and put bubblegum in it's hair. Here's how it begins: Tuesday night, drinking champagne at Dalton House. If there is a better start to the week than that, it's not one I know about. And I'm not just saying that because I dream of living on the rooftop of Dalton House and my blood type is champagne. Although that's probably most of the reason. Anyway, we were at Dalton House for the Toni & Guy new collection launch, which was - surprise surprise - awesome. Not as awesome as the next morning though, when I was dragged out of bed at 5am and had to drive through the pouring rain in my sorry excuse for a car all the way to Sydney airport on less than 10 dollars worth of petrol. Which (even though it might not sound like it) I was totally psyched to do, by the way. Because guess what was waiting for me at Gate 31?

Well...pretty much, anyway.
So then came around 24 hours of very official Navy business which I'm not allowed to talk about. "Very official Navy business which I'm not allowed to talk about" here meaning "My parents read this blog, do you really think I'm going to post all the details of a reunion that was 3 months in the making on the internet?". No, no I'm not.
Maybe later.
On Thursday morning I - by some miracle - actually got to work on time. And then it was only 8 and half hours of towel-folding hell until Thursday night, AKA Alex's birthday celebrations at the pub, which may or may not have lasted until 230 in the morning and culminated with all of us being forcibly removed from The Longueville Hotel. May or may not. I'm not saying anything. But, uh, yeah, they kicked us out. And it was hilarious.
On Friday I had work again, and this time was surprised at about 3 in the afternoon with a little visit from The Navy Man himself. The Navy Man himself and 2 huge bunches of flowers. The Navy Man himself and 2 huge bunches of flowers and one of them was for Alex because it was her birthday. Did I mention that this was a surprise? Or that The Navy Man and Alex have never actually met before? Yes, I hit the jackpot alright. If you didn't already hate me for penning such a ridiculous blog, you might want to start now for somehow snagging the Macquarie Dictionary's definition of a perfect man. Don't believe me? Well you will. Because on Saturday night I went to a dress-up 21st as (who else?) Lady GaGa:

And he went as my backup dancer.
Check. And. Mate.