Secret Women's Business

2007-04-26T13:47:00.000+10:00

The Love Match

The first time I tried to do the love match between two friends they fell in love and moved in together. I'm about to do it again. And I can barely handle the anticipation of their first meeting.

Here's the situation. I have this Australian girlfriend who lives in LA and has been unlucky in love. She's like many 35-year-old single girls who've had a string of romances but haven't found "the one". Recently she was in Sydney so we caught up. I listened to all her men dramas over a few cocktails thinking that it should be easy in LA. She's a hot celebrity entertainment journalist. What's the problem? Mind you, every single girl I know thinks finding the man is near impossible no matter what city they live in. Okay, so it's not easy.

I used to live in LA myself so I started to think about who I knew. Maybe there was someone I could hook her up with. Then all the sudden I remembered a HOT cameraman I met at the Sundance Film Festival who was from LA. I had no idea if he had a girlfriend or what his situation was but thought I'd mention it to my friend before she headed back. Of course she was totally keen to meet him. So while she was in mid-air heading back to LA, I decided to email Mr. Cameraman to see what he thought about meeting my friend.

May I add this guy was like my hot fantasy man - someone I'd totally go for if I wasn't happily married. More like my backup man and I was turning him over just like that. I couldn't believe it.

I didn't really know the kind of guy she was attracted to but I went for it anyway - I was making my type her type. Normally my friends wouldn't go for the same types of guys that I like. So imposing my taste on her was going to be a first. My type has become so obvious over the years. Without fail, I attract and am attracted to very safe, predictable, trustworthy and wholesome men - the "marrying kind". They are rarely players or rock 'n' roll crazy. So not only is Mr Cameraman good looking he's got a lovable personality.

Anyway I send the email off mentioning my friend in a very casual way to see if he was interested in meeting her. There was no pressure on either one of them. And within like two minutes I get a response back saying, "I'd love to meet your friend... and for the record I don't have a girlfriend at the present moment..." I mean there was no delay. My friend is still flying in mid-air and he has already come back to me with a yes! He could have said, "I'll have to think about it" or "I really thought you were hot at Sundance". Nope. Straight in for my friend. So I told him to go ahead and email her since she was still flying, and that he did. I received an email from her by the next morning saying they had spoken and were going to meet up soon. I swear she must have been back in LA for like five minutes when this all happened.

I will just die if these two become an item. I could end up fantasizing about my friend's boyfriend... and that is so wrong on so many levels!

2007-04-18T13:45:00.000+10:00

A Night Without My Wedding Ring

I hit the town on Saturday night with Gracie Spooner. And you wouldn't believe it but before we were due to go out I injured my wedding band finger. Mind you it was actually perfect.

I mean perfect in that it was a test to see if I've still got it. At 36 I wanted to know that I could still pull in the men if I desired. You know what I mean?

Gracie and I couldn't have looked better either. I happened to have my hair appointment that day so I was feeling fabulous. Plus I had on all the gear: skinny jeans with killer lace up boots and the works. Even my husband jokingly said that I looked too hot to be roaming the city.

Anyway, we kicked the night off early by hitting a cool new and happening bar. Except that when we got there it was full of hen's parties (or bachelorette parties). Yes, all girls. But we didn't really care that much as we wanted to ease into the night. So we just gossiped away and let the cocktails slip down before moving on.

Our next hot spot was pumping at first glance but then as we looked around it was just so young. Full of young girls throwing themselves at the boys. I mean, where were all the happening sophisticates that wanted to run wild? Again we went into gossip mode (and at the same time I was thinking that my husband was not going to believe I didn't even get eye contact). Actually my eyes were intently on Gracie and concentrating on her gossip but that's beside's the point.

You have to remember I had no rings on and looked hot and Spooner looked hot and was having man issues - so we weren't going down like this. So my next bright idea was to go gay for the night. And not for each other! We went to a happening gay bar, which was actually pretty trendy and cool. Mostly gay men and hetero couples though which made us wonder where the chicks were. Of course Gracie made me find out the scoop from the bartender with my American accent. But before I leaped into a spiel we decided we had to be from out of town to be asking such a lame question. We settled on New York. And I was an advertising exec while Spooner was an entertainment lawyer. Once that was sorted I asked about the best hangouts for girls on Saturdays. The girl bartender immediately said, " 'Girls' don't do Saturday nights in Sydney. They go out on Fridays." Well, okay then. What was left? We couldn't even be gay if we tried. I mean really. It was time to call it a night!

2007-03-29T13:41:00.000+10:00

Girl on Girl

Have you ever kissed or slept with a woman? "Absolutely!" answered several girlfriends when I sent around an underground survey on the subject. I can't believe it took a survey to find this out.

Like one out of four have been with a woman at some point in their life. Isn't that a high stat amongst friends? I feel so prudish!

The questionnaire also asked the "absolutely!" girls whether they seduced the woman or were seduced. Most of them said the other woman seduced them. That actually makes sense. I mean it would take some serious balls to seduce a woman if you didn't know if she would go for it or not. Can you imagine the courage? But I guess all of these women were convinced!

Not surprising, when asked which female celebrity they would go for it was hands down Angelina Jolie. Well, she is pretty hot. Who wouldn't want an experience with her? She sort of sums up the sensual bad girl. Being with a woman in the first place sounds so forbidden and intriguing that I guess most women are drawn to someone who projects exactly that. Look, no one is going for a "good girl" if the danger and excitement of breaking personal boundaries appeals. Why else would Angelina be on every straight woman's list ... she personifies living on the edge. Women want "bad" more than men realize.

The reason why this underground survey started in the first place was because a girlfriend of mine said the whole girl on girl thing was just for a man's pleasure. And in no way for the woman. I completely disagreed so I rounded up some inner circle girlfriend facts. I understand that men enjoy watching two women together. Don't get me wrong. It's a no brainer. They like to watch and imagine themselves getting that attention and love the lusciousness of it all. But women aren't doing it for their health. Every single girlfriend who has been with a woman did it for herself and loved the experience. They said the appeal in a woman is her sensuality, soft lips, the deep connection and knowledge of "downstairs." Okay then, I think we can close off that survey!

2007-03-23T13:39:00.000+11:00

Brazilians - "In the Land DownUnder"

Today I heard that in America the "bush" is back. Yes, I'm talking the bush between our legs. Can you even imagine? I mean once you have a Brazilian who can possibly go back.

It just doesn't happen. I don't care if Vogue, Harpers, Glamour on down the line say the "bush" is the hottest thing going. It ain't happening in this house.

I was so thrown I realised I needed some serious research. I called Jonice Padilha, one of the famous J Sisters, Brazilian beauticians to the stars in NY, to see if the rumour was true. "I don't think that's true ... if a man came up with that idea, he is messing with the wrong part of a women. Can you imagine hair with skirts and bikinis?" she said. Eeww, absolutely not. That's why I called.

I also tried to find out if there is some hot pubic hair style that I should know about. But Jonice said, "it's very individual and usually driven by the boyfriends, lovers and husbands." However she did say the triangle is very popular ... and that it's sophisticated. All I could think about is if my husband was in charge of my so called style I'd probably have a guitar down there. Can you imagine that one? With legs spread, "I'd like a guitar please." Okay, that's too much to bare.

What's interesting in Australia is the amount of women opting in for the permanent Brazilian. It has proven to be so popular that even the Cosmetic Physicians Society of Australasia is conducting a survey this month to discover the motivations of these women. If you're one of them you can participate here.

Seeing that I was recently on the wax table, I did a little digging on this idea myself. Apparently the machine they use is a step up from the Laser and is called VPL hair removal. It usually costs around $250 per treatment and you need anywhere from 6 to 10 treatments to completely kill the hair off. Ouch, that's expensive! This is for people who are serious, and seriously loaded. The first two treatments need to be three weeks apart and then around six weeks apart for subsequent treatments. It's all the rage in the land downunder, literally!

I think it sounds brilliant (if you have the cash to spend!) and you plan on leaving just a little bit of hair. Who doesn't want less maintenance? Apparently the skin becomes very smooth and you no longer have to worry about ingrown hairs, waxing or shaving. No more screaming wax sessions. Hmmm!

2007-02-09T13:38:00.000+11:00

New Year, New Boobs

I literally flew into Arizona, got new boobs, rested for a week and then attended the action-packed Sundance Film Festival. I was in and out of surgery so quick it was like I ordered a soy latte to go.

My best friend and her crew had all been to this particular doctor post breastfeeding. And that's exactly what I was doing ... getting some substance back! There were no body image issues. In fact I could have survived life with my five-inch thick gel bra to support my size A, but the thought of being a B+/C- sounded fun. This was my moment of living dangerously.

I must say three weeks after the operation I'm really happy. They feel so real and a part of me that I can barely remember what I was before. Mind you I can clearly remember the before photos hanging up as I was being put down on the operating table and shouting out, "those photos are exactly why I'm here!"

Size was certainly the biggest factor when I told my friends I was having this done. Because I'm thin they ALL kept saying to me don't go any bigger than a B or else I was going to look like Victoria Beckham with half grapefruits mounted on her chest. That did scare me a little so I made sure even if I pushed it to a little C that they would still look natural ... well as natural as you can look with fake boobs!

I certainly don't want to make a boob job sound so easy when there are many factors to consider. That's why it's important to see a top notch doctor with amazing references you trust. And even then there are still no guarantees of everything working out. I have a few friends who have had serious problems with their implants and it hasn't been a fun road for them. It's definitely a risk ... and I took it knowingly.

I can't believe on the day I got my stitches out (which was seven days after the op) I asked the doctor if I could participate in VW's off road racing challenge at the Sundance Film Festival - a 45 minute grueling race! When he said, "No way!", it still didn't stop me from drumming up a plan to strap, tape and support my breasts in a way that would make it work. That thought lasted until I had visions of my new breasts at the bottom of VW Toureg - not to mention that I would have had no ability to steer the car with severed chest muscles! And besides my husband should see them before such a thing happened!

When I finally got home Jack's reaction was something like, "They're fantastic, they're FAAAntastic, they're FANtastic!!" Men and boobs ... little do they know we do it for ourselves!

2006-12-14T13:35:00.000+11:00

A 2006 Wrap Up - "So Rock 'n' Roll!"

My year started sitting knee to knee with Jennifer Aniston at the Sundance Film Festival. Hanging out with her, Catherine Keener and the rest of the Friends With Money cast was the most surreal beginning to my year. Mind you running into Matt Dillon, Mark Ruffalo and Jake Gyllenhaal wasn't too bad either.

Sundance was when I rediscovered that I was actually an individual. I was without my husband and my kids, I was the woman I was years ago and I was loose. Not loose in the finding a man sense but loose in my spirit feeling completely footless and fancy free. It was so amazing to get to know myself again with a gorgeous group of girlfriends.

I connected with so many old friends but also had a year of wonderful new friendships. Friends who were so inspiring, compassionate and adorable beyond belief. There is nothing like the power of a good friendship.

One of these dear friends went to Tokyo with me to see Madonna which was unbelievably spectacular. I think the fact that we were so close to where we could almost touch Madonna's feet made it the experience of a lifetime. It was also the moment I realized I could have sex with a woman. She was that hot!

To add to my rock 'n' roll moments was when my husband was interviewed for a Rolling Stone article which for some reason sent my sex drive through the roof and still has yet to come down. He couldn't pay for those returns. Well ... you know what I mean. I also lived out my rock 'n' roll groupie fantasies when his band performed their yearly gig. Everything was just so rock 'n' roll.

In motherhood land I got a glimpse of what our kids are going to be like as teenagers when I repeatedly watched our daughter Madison with her hands on her hips say, "Whatever, Mom!" and Cody with his "Mom, you're so uncool" statements. How can a 7 year old tell me I'm uncool? Don't I define it? Moms are so underrated!

More than anything I couldn't believe how our kids became cookie cut-outs of my husband and I. They have the exact make-up of us. It scares me to death that my daughter has all of my genes and the attitude to prove it. On the opposite end of our hot headedness we are emotional wrecks. We both cry during sad movies and feel everyone else's emotion. I know I shouldn't be admitting that I'm capable of crying during a kid's movie especially when we're talking about a cartoon bear and a deer. It's so uncool. I must be a kind caring person, right!?

But the best of the best had to be my Japanese public toilet experience. I thought I was in the men's bathroom by accident but no I was in the women's toilet staring straight down a hole in the ground. It was a real hole where I was meant to squat like a Sumo. I was in heels, jeans and the works and couldn't get past how to do a proper squat and come out dry. So I kicked off my heels and hung up my jeans and undies and performed the nude wee. It was as good as my husband's first facial when the woman asked him to put a robe on and he didn't know if he should take his underwear off or leave them on for the facial. Boy that's a really tough decision considering it was about the face but Jack was so stumped he went with undies off! I think we can call it a wrap for 2006!

Enjoy your holiday and please do absolutely everything that I would do! Go crazy and we'll see you for more in 2007!

xxx

2006-11-20T13:34:00.000+11:00

Same Sex Sex

I was in the US visiting friends from school when two minutes before a girl's night out a good friend calls to say, "I date women!"

She wanted to drop the bomb on me and another friend before I flew back overseas. We weren't allowed to discuss this at dinner because she wasn't ready for everyone to know. Talk about a cliffhanger. This was one of my best friends from school and I couldn't discuss it.

Well I finally got her on the phone yesterday for the "coming out" chat. It was such a marathon conversation I even went pee while talking to her. There was no way I was hanging up.

I made her start at the very beginning. I wanted to know EVERYTHING. It's funny because I know lots of gay people in Sydney but I haven't had the deep and meaningful discussion where you find out how it all unfolded and all the details.

My friend's situation started in college with her best friend. They were living together and both dating guys and then one day it just happened. They kissed each other. No, actually my friend planted a kiss on her friend. That is so bold isn't it? Well, it worked because her friend went for it. They started seeing each other and doing stuff together for months before they actually talked about what was going on. In the end, it didn't last because they were both struggling to deal with this new path. So guys were back on the agenda.

This cycle went on for a long time where she found herself in a female relationship, got scared and dated guys again. She is now happily dating women and really comfortable with the situation but I really felt for all of her struggles. It's so hard to hear your friend tell you about years of angst and the fact that she was so uncomfortable telling anyone. Those are hard emotions to deal with on your own plus our society doesn't make it any easier.

Anyway we got to what happens when you go out to bars and are looking to pick up. My big curiosity (besides between the sheets!) was "how do you know someone is gay?" It's not like they wear a sign and plus there are a lot of attractive gay women so I thought it must be hard. Basically she has to give chicks "the eye" and see if they respond. In the same way straight girls try to work it with guys by giving them "the eye". She even said some of the gay women are worse than men by grabbing your ass like you're a piece of meat. I couldn't believe that part. I did say SOME.

I also asked her about her first sexual encounter (poor girl got drilled!) and she said, "Roxy, it involved doing everything I liked to someone else and they did the same to me." Okay then. I think that makes sense!

I did humor her by recalling a recent party I went to with friends. There was a moment where my single girlfriends and I participated in the "who is attractive in the room" game. More like who would you "do" to be blunt. I mentioned a particular guy. Then my girlfriend asked me if I would do a certain girl. I was like, "No way!", but I did say I'd do Madonna. I surprised myself ... but then again we're talking Madonna.

2006-11-09T13:31:00.000+11:00

Sex, Suits & Rock 'n' Roll

I'm watching my husband as he prepares for his upcoming gig this week. No, he's not in a major famous band - even though they'd like to think so.

But they are still hot. I mean the whole rock 'n' roll thing is so sexy, don't you think?

These boys strip off their suits and get down and dirty. Well, maybe not quite "dirty"! But it's such a relief to see these clean cut executives have some edge in their lives. Even though they pretend to rehearse every single week they only do two gigs a year. So it turns into one big rockfest with friends.

It's also been a tradition for them to hold a "mini gig" before each real gig where a handful of people attend so they can test the waters (and also so the kids of the band members can see their dad's rock out!). I will never forget the first time I saw them play - which all came back to me when I sat in the rehearsal room last weekend watching them go for it. I don't think I was ever prepared or knew what to expect from the lead singer. You know when you have a certain image of someone and then all the sudden you see them in a different light. Well, this was that situation. To give you some background, Hal, the singer, is the managing director of a company so already you may think he's a boring corporate type on some fronts but that's not it at all. He's actually very dynamic and fits the lead singer prototype perfectly.

What I didn't expect to see were his moves. Suddenly this cool man I know has a head that rocks back and forth, a sideways neck tilt and a killer leg kick with an attitude spin kind of thing. It was the leg kick that got me. It was so unexpected that I was rolling on the ground with tears dripping down. I sound so mean but I couldn't help my reaction of seeing this "suit man" bare all.

Trust me, I wish I was him with the leg kick and all. I can't think of anything better than the idea of being a rock star. How unbelievably satisfying would it be? It's creative, expressive, entertaining, worldly and comes with an amazing sense of freedom. I'm sold - it's just too bad about my voice. How bad? My voice is so bad I have to lip-sync "happy birthday" at kid's parties. I have even tried to embrace the guitar - which nearly breaks my finger tips every time I get into chord position. It's hard! So last night I had an Oprah "A-ha!" moment while my husband was out rehearsing with the boys. I decided learning to DJ was definitely it. How cool would it be to re-mix your favorite songs and chop and change music? Forget that I have no rhythm. I had the whole thing built up in my mind. I was going to be Roxy, the ultra-hip groovin and a movin DJ. I couldn't tell my husband fast enough when he walked in the door.

His reaction, "Ah Roxy, do you realize it requires rhythm... and to re-mix songs the way you want is done by people who are the best in the world."

I can dream right. That's why we all have a day job.

2006-10-18T13:26:00.000+10:00

Fill Me Up

I just had lunch with a girlfriend who was discussing her bras as if there was variety. Please. Mine are like socks, all the same and just as boring.

That's the difference between someone with boobs and without. I need to attach breasts to my breasts so it looks like I've got something. There is no other option.

Even back in the day - pre breast feeding - when I had semi decent boobs, I was still recruited to do a commercial for those chicken fillet inserts. Oh yeah, I had a "friend" who pinpointed me as perfect to show the difference between flat and plump! I agreed to do the silly thing not realizing people would recognize me at gym as the girl who was running around in a bikini with chicken fillets. And those were the good old days. I think I was a B cup. Now I'm lucky if I crack an A.

I can't walk out of my house without attaching some serious artillery. My last bra fitting involved the sales assistant bringing out the mother of gel bras. My boobs looked so fabulous I bought five of them. Yep, all the same. If there was another style that did the same job, trust me, I'd go for it.

Not even Victoria's Secret could live up to this bra I've got. On a recent trip to the US, I dropped in the store to concentrate on my bottom half and was stopped by the sales assistant waving the hottest new gel bra. I discouraged her from wasting her time with me but she insisted on me checking it out. It only took a quick feel to realize it wasn't going to touch the sides. The problem is the bra I have makes my boobs look so decent that people actually think I have something to start with. I've even had moments where friends of mine thought I had a boob job. I can live with that.

But as far as my participation in the bra-for-this-and-the-bra-for-that conversation, I'm a one hit gel wonder. Well actually, I've just discovered I can change the straps. So there you go I've got variety called "clear". Now, that's what I call living dangerously!

2006-10-01T05:30:00.000+10:00

Madonna Live In Tokyo
Roxy Lee gets up close to Madonna at her final Confessions World Tour performance

Is it crazy that I flew to Japan to see Madonna last week? I put it down to one of those moments in life that couldn't be missed. Since the Material Girl decided not to visit Australia I convinced a friend to hit Tokyo for the big event. We not only saw Madonna, we were almost on stage with her in some of the best seats in the house.

First impression? Little Madge was exactly that ... little! Of course this is obvious information but when you see her up close it gives you a whole new perspective. I was able to see every inch of that muscle which was something else. People make out like she has overdone it but when you see her up close she looks AMAZING. I certainly wish my butt went up and out instead of down and down.

Madonna kicked off the final show of her Confessions World Tour performance an hour and half late. But that didn't worry the crowd. The Japanese waited patiently for the dancing queen as they're so darn polite. My friend and I didn't mind either as we sorted out a few technical difficulties of our own. Elle forgot her camera and I ... well, I had one dot of battery left on my camera. Can you believe it? Elle reminded me it was up to me to capture the entire memory for her on a dot. There was only one thing left to do and that was network with our entire row. We now have photos coming to us from a NY stylist, a producer, two kids' entertainers, a director and our three Japanese buddies. I think it's safe to say we have it covered. Two of the Japanese girls we met were amazing. They sort of took us under their wing and showed us the way. One was a producer and the other works in gaming but is also a voiceover star in her own right. They were able to introduce us to some fabulous people including a very famous Japanese make-up artist who was with Madonna and Steve Klein days earlier at the Louis Vuitton party.

The concert itself was phenomenal - as you can imagine. We all know Madonna does nothing half-arsed. Even the dancers got involved in a bit of extra fun. During the Ray of Light song they appeared with Power Ranger masks which were obviously news to Madge. She could barely contain herself. But I must say I was focused on the guitar thing she had going on which started in the previous song I Love NY and was carried through to Ray of Light. She looked so hot I could almost turn. For that very minute I wanted to be her. Okay, maybe for the whole darn thing. She was in a very slick black jacket, tight pants and boots sporting a blonde wig strumming a black Gibson Les Paul guitar. I only know that because my husband has eight guitars hanging on our walls so I've been programmed over the years. Speaking of my man, he has been dying to teach me guitar and after that experience it's all on. My night ended with an email to my husband saying, "...our guitar lessons are on, we have to start with Madonna's I Love NY song and since you're so passionate about upgrade and change can you make one of those guitars black before we begin..."

After sending the email, I sat for a minute with energy still surging through my body, reliving in my mind what had just happened. Then my Chinese massage man came knocking on my hotel door. He didn't speak a word of English. And I was practically bouncing up and down trying to explain I had just gotten back from Madonna. Surely he new the word "Madonna" but I got no reply. So I held up balloons with her name on them, the program and pictures that finally got a "hai" - meaning "yes" - followed by a bunch of other sentences that made no sense. We continued speaking our respective languages but we both knew what was going on. It didn't matter. I let the rush continue through my body and soon the night felt like it was all an illusion.

Footage of Madonna in Japan www.youtube.com
For everything Madonna visit www.madonnalicious.com

2006-10-01T05:05:00.000+10:00

No Blood, No Foul

I don't understand the complete obsession a man has with watching sport. I definitely understand the idea of playing sport.

I've grown up playing all kinds of sport. I'll try absolutely anything that requires physical skill. But to sit down for numerous hours watching a game is beyond anything my brain can cope with.

There are games and there are games. Games like the Super Bowl and State of Origin (played in Australia) are important sporting moments so I understand that. It's everything else in between that gets me. In Sydney, my husband has the Foxsports Channel finely tuned in. There are five-day cricket matches, rugby league, rugby union, Aussie football, soccer, tennis, golf, etc... Most men have their favourite sports that they follow which include a few different ones. Some take it to the next level and follow everything going in their country. But not only does my husband like to follow everything in Australia, he is obsessed with American sport. If you ask me that is a huge problem. It means the flow of sport never ends. When it's over in our country, it's starting in another. This has resulted in Foxsports being under tight regulation in our house - only short of a booking system.

I've even gotten to the point where I seduce my husband during major sporting games... fortunately he does find me more exciting than the game. He now knows his only guarantee of seeing anything is in a box seat.

Playing sport together is a different matter. We are so dangerously competitive that it would take a hospital trip to call off a game. To give you an idea, within the last four weeks we have repeatedly flirted with assault and battery. In a family soccer tournament where I was playing goalie I found myself just short of a broken nose and a black eye - that was after I had scored a goal on my first attempt against him. Hmm... a man's ego?

Then there was a silly baseball game we played with the kids. I was so desperate to catch my husband's pop fly, I was crazy enough to let my youth come flashing back which led me soaring through the air completing a double somersault, losing both shoes and enormous grass stains on my pants all with no ball in my hands.

We topped this sporting frenzy off with a brief moment of playing catch with a Nerf football. My husband jammed his finger after five minutes thanks to my heat! Score? Roxy 2, Husband 1!

Maybe I will follow a sporting team this year to mess with my husband. I'll start with football season. The NY Jets work for me. They're fast, fabulous and they wear green. In the end fashion always decides.

2006-09-28T05:28:00.000+10:00

Airport Stress

Last week I headed overseas with a girlfriend minus the kids' and husband. I didn't even look for my passport until an hour before my flight.

And my bags were thrown together minutes before. It was so liberating considering my husband usually has us at the airport four to five hours ahead of time ... just in case. Just in case of what I don't know. And it drives me crazy. So throwing myself together last minute was the beginning of my girlfriend adventure to Japan.

My friend Elle who works for the airlines was flying staff travel which means she is always the last person to board the aircraft. And as an airline expert she convinced me we didn't need to be at the airport until an hour before the flight. It was definitely my kind of traveling ... until I walked up to the counter and they told me that my friend had a fat chance of getting on the plane as it was oversold. Don't they realize we're on our way to see Madonna! The lady at the counter was so nice but kept saying how unlikely it was that Elle would get on. So we began a running score of people left to check in hoping that someone wouldn't turn up. It started at 16 people and we managed to count down to one final spot, not counting the line of staff travelers who wanted on the plane. But with five minutes before take-off, they announced that Elle had the only seat available and everyone else should go home. We were ecstatic! Mind you, I think I was having heart palpitations at the same time.

This kind of experience could turn any laid-back person into a wreck. There was no magazine perusing, bathroom stops or food top-ups beforehand - the things I was well and truly used to doing! So to calm down from the scoreboard check-ins I ordered a wine on the plane immediately.

Coming home was a different story. Elle had gotten word that the flight was wide open so she was going to be in business class with the possibility of getting me bumped up with her. I had visions of us lying back in our business class seats clinking our glasses and celebrating our awesome adventure together. Well, this thought was gone as soon as we hit the airport. It turned out another flight had been canceled so they had to put all of those passengers on our flight. There wasn't a chance in hell that she was going to get on our plane. She was close to tears as no one would help, not to mention her also knowing that the nearby hotels were sold out. So round two of the pre-board stress had begun. I had five minutes to board, my friend needed help and I was not even remotely near the departure gate. My name was being announced over the loud speaker and I had Japanese women escorting me to the plane. I couldn't wait to tell my husband this one!

Maybe four hours before take-off isn't so bad afterall! That'll be our secret.

2006-09-21T05:22:00.000+10:00

Doing It All

I have my own theory on being a woman who wants it all called the "Roxy 80". It simply means that there is no way in hell to do absolutely everything you want to do 100% well so learn to be satisfied with 80%.

It sounds like an obvious plan but when you think about it there are so many important categories in a women's life. For me my relationship with my husband comes first. If that's good it sets up the foundation for everything else. Then come our two children. But work is a must to provide new challenges. And there is no way I want to sacrifice my health for the sake of being successful so that too is important. Also if I don't have adventure in my life it's the end. I need to feel like I'm living like I've never lived. It defines who I am. Then there are other things like finances, aging parents...

That's a lot of stuff to do well isn't it? I can assure you first hand that my life falls apart when I strive for 100% in any one of these categories. So I made a major mental shift to allow myself to be completely satisfied. Okay you got me. I'm still "making" the shift. It's like being part of AA. I've admitted that I'm working on this horribly hard task. The Roxy 80 rule is my break-through answer to this issue. My husband seems to think this rule is perfect for me since I turn the little things like taking up a new hobby into preparing for the Olympics. Last year, I decided surfing was going to be my new thing. Less than a month into it I was in classes, going to camps, reading books, videos, owned a board and wetsuit, and was just short of booking a session with World Professional Layne Beachley. Today he only needs to say "surfing" and I get that he's trying to say bring it to 80 for the sake of everything else.

I'm not the only one who thinks they're doing it all. I had a very funny email exchange with my husband's boss recently that turned into us revealing exactly what was on our minds. Here's the punch...

Hal: Why, just today we [Hal and my husband] were discussing the fun of fighting for our careers in an increasingly dangerous corporate environment, yet somehow continuing to provide for our families until we're 65. No pressure. Then we get to enjoy those last two years of stress-free life before we die in pain of some kind of cardiac thrombosis.

And when we come home our work doesn't stop. Oh, no, then we just become instant house-husbands, cooking and cleaning and child-minding until late because the little woman has somehow, inexplicably, exhausted herself in the 12 hours we were away and the kids were at school and aftercare, and now it's somehow our turn. Where's the logic in that?

Geez, I'm so glad I'm a man. Also interesting: While one can't needle one's own wife, one can needle someone else's. (I said needle.)

Roxy: For your information, Jack receives dinner on the table, daily massages, regular blow jobs, sex, someone to handle all of the kid's aliments and a wife working on making millions to support the entire family for life... so who's work never stops?

Hal: You've got to give him blow jobs? You win hands down.

Like I said...

2006-09-14T05:20:00.000+10:00

Breathe, Push, Roar...

Birth war stories are probably not for the ears of those yet to encounter. At a recent kids' party three moms from my original mother's group posse were all fighting for air time over what happened six or seven years ago. We remembered it like yesterday. Could it be the pain?

My kids are absolutely gorgeous and I love them more than anything but let's get real here. Giving birth is hell. I mean more hell than I ever thought it could be. It's the level of pain that is unfathomable. In theory I had such an easy birth the first time. It only lasted an hour and a half. Sounds like a breeze. I had no stitches and could practically run a marathon the next day.

This one moment is all prepped by a weekly birthing class and countless pregnancy and birth books. In my case I had my husband clued in right down to the baby's nail growth on a daily basis.

Everything was absolutely text book until the god awful moment when the lightening bolt struck in the middle of the night. It was pure shell shock. And there was no wondering if it was a real contraction. Before we raced out the door I'll never forget whipping up a protein shake for all that energy I was going to need. Yeah right. It was straight in and straight up. Page 36: Don't eat during contractions as the body clears everything out to prepare for birth - and that meant both ends.

My birthing plan was a "roll with the punches and see what I'm dealt" approach before I decide what "assistance" I would need. Well, I decided way back in bed during the first contraction that if this was labor I wanted drugs. I said the word drugs at least 1000 times before we even got to the hospital. It was like my last words in life were going to be drugs. Or at least that's how I felt. Unfortunately the nurse didn't think it was a good idea to rush into the epidural so quickly.

With no rhyme or reason I straddled a chair under a hot shower for my chosen birth position and screamed like an animal proving that sound waves could make it to China from Sydney. Meanwhile, my husband stood there excitedly trying to comfort me. If I could give any man advice during this time it's not to look excited but "concerned". When a woman feels like she is about to die she doesn't want Mr. Happy. Nor does she want gas. The nurse gave me gas to supposedly take the edge off. I told her to get a new tank with something in it. I demanded an epidural at which point they said "let's check out your dilation"... at which point they said, "you're having a baby, we better call the doctor." And somehow after I pushed for 30 minutes my doctor rolled in effortlessly, slipped on his gloves and said congratulations you have a boy with not a second to spare.

As my friends came to visit me at the hospital and see cute little Cody, I couldn't stop talking about "the birth". I was in awe that anyone could live through such a thing. One friend in particular insinuated that it couldn't be that bad. So a year and half later with number two I made my husband tape record the "primal sounds" to prove to my kidless friends this was no knee injury. Even the thought of being tackled by the NY Jets defensive line sounded soothing.

Did I say the kids are cute?

2006-09-03T05:18:00.000+10:00

Dear Super Nanny

I think I need some serious help! Returning from a day long adventure with our two kids (6 1/2 and 5 years old), Grandma, in a serious voice, said the kids were not allowed to go for their evening swim. Her report, "They threw their Leapsters at each other as I was driving along the highway - I had no where to pull over, THEN they started arm farting the whole way home! They are unbelievable. Cody maneuvers himself around the system ... and Madison likes to cause drama at every moment."

I was so angry that our kids gave Grandma such a hard time on our recent visit to Arizona but at the same time it made me laugh seeing her in such a huff. The reality is that every waking day includes a number of dramas before we even get out the door in the morning. Most moms joke about the battles they've fought, mountains they've climbed, and emergencies they've endured all before 8am, but shouldn't our days be a little more heavenly?

After Grandma told me I need to get a grip with my kids, I caught up with one of my Arizona pals who has three kids ages 13, 7 and 5. We hit the pool and within minutes her 13-year-old boy was scratching and irritating her 7-year-old girl. Secretly, it was a beautiful moment. I was NOT alone. Our catch up got even better when she gave me the update on her sister and her kids. It turns out she qualified for the American Super Nanny show because her youngest was sooo bad. I couldn't believe it!

Our own kids' behavior was again highlighted when we visited friends who don't have any kids in Santa Monica. While they were relaxed and fancy free, I had Cody kicking me because I did something that irritated him, then I had my hair tugged by Madison - all while my friend was witnessing our kids for the first time. I was partly thinking I should say our kids aren't normally like this but then realized we were accumulating a lot of the good, bad and ugly on our holiday. So who was I fooling?

We had already endured a two- hour beach bike rental that lasted 10 minutes after tantrums, a pool episode which left our football between the breasts of a relaxed sunbaker, a babysitter who was bribed by our kids to give them presents, the "discovering" of poo in a bathing suit, and a breakfast in a very nice hotel with the kids eating pancakes and syrup with their hands.

Do you mind if I put you on speed dial?

xx Roxy

2006-08-31T05:17:00.000+10:00

The Brat Pack

It's been 17 years since I graduated from high school. I didn't even know that until I ran into a former high school crush at the mall.

There he was pushing a baby stroller with his wife and 2-year-old in tow. And there I was with my husband and two kids myself. When he mentioned how long it had been since he'd seen me (how the hell did he recognize me?), it made me realize that life really does pass before your eyes.

It's so interesting seeing where your friends end up and the path they follow. It is all happening at this age. Take relationships: I have friends getting divorced or already divorced, friends married to the love of their lives, friends still searching for love and those who are getting ready to embark on a family of their own. There isn't a stone left unturned in our demographic.

Regardless of where we are in so many different areas, we are ALL ready to start what I call chapter 2 in our lives. This is the chapter of life that completes us. It defines living to our absolute potential and what we seek to get out of life. It's about making sure that you focus on the things you want to achieve personally. If you took all my friends and combined our experiences we would have the most complete chapter 2 ever, but it doesn't work that way. We have to do our own thing. It's up to each one of us to figure out how to embark on this new chapter and what it's going to entail and how we're going to do it. How many times have we heard you only live once? Too many times, and that's why we must move into chapter 2: it's where we take control.

Our friends can actually be one of our greatest resources for this chapter. A friend of mine recently sent a form to her five healthiest friends to find out everything about their healthy lifestyles - from their top five snacks to the doctors they use etc... The idea was to give her healthy options to draw from outside of her own choices giving her more options. I think this is brilliant strategy.

It was funny last night when the brat pack got together after a few years. One friend just short of being on the pages of Newsweek for a major business breakthrough longs for a partner. While another friend knows practically everything about all 4 million people who live in town. So Miss Social was immediately able to come up with loads of options for Miss Business to get her ball rolling. For me just hanging out with my crew gives me this crazy energy that makes anything possible. Don't let yourself miss a thing!

2006-08-24T05:15:00.000+10:00

Chick Essentials

It only takes a missing suitcase with all of your cosmetics and skincare products to realize just how many items are essential in a woman's world.

We left Australia with two firmly packed suitcases that had two empty bags inside ready for our US purchases. However when we hit our first domestic flight we were over the weight limit per bag. Simple. We broke out one of the empty bags and started to redistribute. My husband immediately grabbed my triple-decker toiletry bag - almost a suitcase on its own - his jeans, three of my single shoes (why didn't he grab a pair or two?), some of his shoes and so forth for the third bag.

When the bag didn't turn up at the baggage carousel at our destination we took immediate action. I called our travel insurance company to find out what and how much we were covered for. They said $1000 for basic needs for the first 12 hours. I got the pad of paper out and started itemizing my toiletry bag. Jack too was keen to replace his shoes and jeans as we only had a limited time frame to cover these items.

My list was no quick fix at the local WalMart either. As I wrote everything down I realized I could easily break the $1000 mark with my toiletry bag alone. I had quite a collection which included a Prive hair texture spray and gloss serum, Clinique moisturizers, Kiehls moisturizers, eye creams, skin serums of all sorts, clay packs, hydrating packs, shimmering lotions, special hand creams, exfoliation cream, toner, Elizabeth Arden eight hour lip cream, StriVectin-SD, four tubes of lip gloss, blush, mascara, Booty Parlor dust up, perfume, a US blow dryer and a brush. I usually consider myself natural and fancy free but with a list like this... it confirms it takes an army of products to pull off the "natural I don't do anything look."

The moment I finished my list and felt a bit guilty that I was long over the claim limit, a FEDEX man pulls up to my dad's house to deliver my husband a package. It was a traveler guitar to go with the other seven guitars he owns. I couldn't believe he was this sneaky and had the balls to buy even more guitars. He claims that anything a man truly has a passion for will always require N+1 as the number he wants to own (where N equals the number he currently owns). He has no idea how this will haunt him for life. Imagine if girls used this one all the time? Well, I'm on the loose in the US with N+1 firmly on my mind.

To kick off my shopping, I had to focus first on my replacement items which were half exciting but as I went along it was actually a harder exercise than I realized. After only a few purchases, thankfully I received the call from the airlines saying they located our bag. The drama had ended. Jack could no longer get his hands on a new pair of jeans and shoes but nor did he deserve it with a prearranged traveler guitar delivery! Let's get serious!

2006-08-10T05:14:00.000+10:00

Face Value

May I start by saying I'm the last person anyone would expect to be lining up for Botox. I've always been into natural health and I guess beauty - but that only goes so far... right?!

It began last year when a few of my older friends had it on firm rotation. Even though they looked fab it didn't get me jumping straight away. It was the combination of feeling like a rebel and the reality that my frown lines were coming in for a permanent stay. Who wants to look angry, anyway? Not me, so I booked. It was such a surreal experience when I look back on my first time. The numerous needles and quick jabs in such a short space of time was like grabbing a very expensive cup of coffee to go, but way more satisfying. Within a few hours of the treatment I could no longer frown. I was amazed that my body responded so quickly considering they say it normally takes 2-4 days.

I didn't tell my husband the first time, just two friends. It was sort of naughty considering my husband knows everything about me, but he didn't even notice so I left it as secret women's business. He compliments me constantly anyway so it was part of the "your skin is looking good". I'm sure he put it down to the mask mania that was going on in our house for days before and after the treatment. It makes me laugh just thinking about it. However, for my second time I thought I better fess up and tell my husband what I had done in the past and what I was about to do in 5 minutes. By prefacing the conversation with "I have a confession..." I was able to make botox sound like I was going to the convenience store if you know what I mean.

By the third time I thought I was such a pro that I'd slip it into my schedule without telling anyone. As a self-confessed botoxer I didn't feel it was really necessary to highlight my every move. It was all too easy until I went to pay. My wallet was no where to be found so I was forced to do the dreaded. I called my HUSBAND to use his credit card. Shall we say caught in action! Pretending I was at the grocery without the normal sounds in the background wasn't going to cut it so I fessed up.

My confessions are pale in comparison to the response I got after telling a really good friend that I had gotten botox. She paused and said, "I've got a confession too. I've been getting it for the past two years." How could I not know this? Then I realized as much as we talk about botox being the new coffee, it's still underground even in the tightest of circles. Do you tell?

2006-08-03T05:13:00.000+10:00

eBay Confessions

I should have known something fishy was going on in our house. My husband has been eBaying all his old music gadgets for the past two weeks.

And for the first time in five years of living in the same place convinces me he should have the mail key on his key ring since he walks past the box every day. I went along with it and didn't think twice about it until the other night.

Jack arrived home from work and sort of cornered me in the bedroom away from the front door to confess a rather large shop and hide item sitting in the hallway. Before I could make my way to "the box" he made sure I knew it was completely paid for by all his sold items on eBay. The guilt was immense. Possibly because it was a brand new Fender bass guitar to go with the other six we have hanging on the walls. What is up with men and their toys? Jack recycles them just as fast as they arrive.

Apparently the new bass has different pick ups. Must be a sound thing? And the neck is made out of maple instead of rosewood so not only does it feel nice the sound is a little different. Jack tried to speak my language and compare it to fashion. "Sometimes you feel like a bold designer piece instead of the little black dress," said with confidence. It sort of made sense when he was talking about it. But these guitars could practically buy us a Range Rover. My clothes are a far cry from being compared to a guitar. It's like saying I should have a rotation of serious Tiffany rings on hand for the moments I feel like that subtle change.

Well actually I do have a rotation of my own that stems from an ebay confession and it's no ring. Last year I sold all the kid's old toys on ebay because they have new toys coming in faster than you can say the word. I just happen to use the money for myself and not the family in order to sneak a certain purchase past husband patrol. It was for my first Botox experience. Yep. I eBayed my kid's OLD toys for a youthful appearance. Best darn thing I've ever done. Now that's the power of eBay! (and a whole other story that we'll talk about later!)

2006-07-27T05:11:00.000+10:00

Chicks Mean Business

Normally at 6:30am I go through the same cycle of getting the kids to eat breakfast, finish homework, put their clothes on, brush teeth and referee fights all while I pack their lunches and get dressed for work.

However this morning I had to be in full dress and makeup and out the door by 6:30am to attend a Business Chicks breakfast, leaving my husband in charge of the morning army drill. As I rushed out the door of my building I saw another girl in full work clothes rushing out of the building. I just assumed she was a high powered executive on her way to mergers and acquisitions. Instead we both found ourselves hailing a cab to attend Business Chicks - along with the rest of Sydney.

At what felt like the crack of dawn there were hundreds of women mingling in the hotel lobby before the big breakfast doing the network thing. With my new high powered exec friend by my side we did just that, then planted ourselves at a table of fabulous women.

The purpose of the breakfast is to create a fun environment where women can connect, be entertained and feel good about contributing to the kids' helpline. Our grand entertainment for the morning was a speaker by the name of Dr. Clio Cresswell who wrote a book called Mathematics and Sex. She was a gorgeous woman and it was fascinating seeing things through her eyes. Everything, she said, has a pattern or a formula. Like the number of partners you should have before you settle down, to the likelihood of a successful relationship, all the way to the numbers behind orgasms. For a fleeting moment I was thinking about my single friends and if they should know the theory that sleeping with more and more men doesn't increase their chances of finding Mr. Right but actually decreases. Hmm.

She showed us a few examples of what these formulas looked like and a general sense of why a pattern can be determined. After about three slides, up went the Women's Hormone Equation. As you can imagine it was one line of pure complicated hell. All the women were thinking, how can anyone work out such a thing. After recovering, Clio showed us what the Men's Hormone Equation looked like. It was no one liner. This equation was an entire page. I had to stop myself from ripping it straight off the screen.

Speed dial wasn't even fast enough to get this info to my husband - the man who calls my PMS "permanent menstrual syndrome". He thinks the only time I'm actually normal is during my cycle which is about five days a month. This is a scary thought when you do the math. It means that I'm so called normal for 60 days a year and the other 305 days is completely up in the air. Now I can blame this fact on the Men's Hormone Equation and conclude that it's the blend of the ever changing needs of a woman and the basicness of a man that is so darn complicated.

Orange juice has never tasted so good.

2006-07-13T05:09:00.000+10:00

I Married A Chick

As I lie in bed with cramps, hot flushes and a sense that my period is coming in for a crash landing, my husband says he feels "sick and hot."

This is no coinicidence either. Every single month this happens minutes before I get my period. It's like he puts the stake in the ground and claims the land before me. As if he's going to get sympathy. There isn't a man in the world that can overrule a women's period. I can't believe my husband thinks he's got a chance. Then I realize he is more of a chick than me.

He is the one who actually has the ironing board on full daily operation while I iron four times a year. He can operate a sewing machine and sews all his own buttons. If I needed an outfit he could stitch one up. I don't even know where the "on" button is. He cooks. I use speed dial. He cleans the house and never leaves a mess. He calls my side of the bed a rats' nest. He loves the blockbuster chick flick as much as me. When sport takes a back seat he can embrace E news and Entertainment TV all the same.

Our chick highlight has to be when he bought me the box set of Sex And the City. We lived weeks of bunkering down together like two lovebirds. The pillows were properly positioned with big cosy blankets, the wine was cracked with a nightly cheers and we laid in full spoon position ready to absorb a night after night of sexiness and laughs.

But rest assured he's got the male thing going on like every other guy. He can't multitask to save his life. I know it's no surprises but I don't get this. How can someone so successful and well rounded be incapable of answering a reasonable question while cooking without getting flustered? Or drive across town and hold a steady conversion? His right hand turn is so focused it's like a golf putt for the championship title. There was one time I even put my hand "down there" to distract him... and that it did - we almost landed in a ditch. But I think the worst of the worst is when he catches up with a mutual friend for lunch and all I get are two words that sum it up, "He's great." Peyton wrote an entire blog on the subject and I stand by every word of it. And this is the man who loves chick flicks, E News and Access Hollywood. Hasn't he learned anything about the art of expansion and important details? Nope. Cause he's a man. Albeit a very gorgeous one so I'll take the good with the bad.

2006-07-11T18:18:00.000+10:00

Where's that Lovely Feeling?

There is nothing like catching up with a friend who radiates health to get you motivated. Especially when she describes her 30 minute morning ritual on the elliptical trainer as just like brushing her teeth. The words TIME TO EXERCISE stare you in the face.

It was all coming back to me: the feeling of being strong, vibrant and capable. I could almost smell it. I was opening the door in my mind that I closed so long ago. After injuring my hip in yoga three years ago and having surgery, I have only exercised five times. It's been the start, hurt, stop, frustration of my life. I have been living a new identity which is so strange when I think about it. How can fitness become so foreign to someone who walked, talked and dreamt it? I'm on the other side for the first time in my life. And I'm getting out of here. I have been unmotivated, unhealthy and lacking in drive to do something about it for long enough.

The funny part is you'd never know this. I'm thin. People automatically associate thin with fit and healthy. Or even worse they think you have an eating disorder or you over exercise and count every calorie. What a misconception. They don't get the frustration. It's all about scale to them. I often get people saying to me that I'm so lucky that I don't need to exercise. Shouldn't everyone exercise to be fit regardless of weight?

A few months back I had a shocking experience when a friend asked me to join her for a high intensity fitness test at a sports testing academy. I usually blow those things out of the water. Instead, the fitness facade that I seem to exude came to a crashing halt when I couldn't do ONE ab crunch for the test. Not even one. I failed.

What a wake up call. It was pure shell shock. I know in my mind I can pull through any fitness task no matter what but this confirmed I've never been further from it. Obviously I need to start at the ground up after I pull myself out of this rut. I think originally the anger I had over my injury made it easy to close fitness off from my life completely. I went into denial. I didn't want to see a health magazine, a gym or anything fitness. I wasn't inspired. I couldn't feel it or see it.

During my so called fitness hiatus, I learned the true meaning of "stuck in the mud". It is so much harder to exercise when you don't have the rhythm and lifestyle ingrained. To get it back you need a bigger reason than you had before. And I mean BIG! A rocket needs to blast me out this place. I think I finally get this de-motivation thing. It's because you're so far from being where you want to be that it doesn't even seem possible - or you know how hard it's going to be - so you don't bother.

As of now, I'm going to stick with my Oprah ah-ha moment from lunch and let the flood gate open. There is no turning back. My gym clothes are ready for dawn patrols to the gym and my husband is fully trained up on making school lunches to buy me some time. Yes, that's right. There is a god!

2006-07-02T09:18:00.000+10:00

Technorati Profile

When an iPod Needs a Prenup
Source: www.three2seven.com

I know everyone has different taste in music but I can't believe my husband isn't even in the same ballpark. The minute he hits play I "eject" myself right out of the house. How can something so powerful to one mean absolutely nothing to another? Okay, maybe that's a bit harsh. I may not groove to his tunes but I can appreciate that his passion for music runs sooo very deep. With six guitars hanging on our walls and a million accessories that do this that and the other there really is no escape. Not to mention the band he plays for on the side, which is a bunch of 40-somethings who wish they were touring the world.

It really came to a head on our last trip to the US when I was forced to take extreme measures. After my iPod died I did the unthinkable: I asked my husband if I could borrow his. I knew it was dangerous, but how bad could it be? Come on, music can grow on people right. I tried, I really did. But my thumb wouldn't let go of the fast forward button. I gave each song about five seconds to make an impression and if it didn't it was GONE. Finally, after about 50 songs, I stumbled across a song/singer I knew. Lenny Kravitz saved me. Then, another 300 songs of hitting the gong, I decided it was me and Lenny and the replay button all the way to NYC. Never want to hear that song again!

This has got me thinking about the singers I really like and who I "should" like? I happen to like Kelly Clarkson but if I dare mention her name my husband goes into lockdown. Should I feel embarrassed because I like her music? Okay don't answer that. But really is it such a crime that I like singers like The Veronicas and Pink? They're so cool. In my rock star fantasy moments I think I'd be The Veronicas, Pink and The Rogue Traders - with a splash of J Lo - rolled into one with a Madonna front. Are you scared?

When I ask the head of music in our house who I "should" like, he responds (knowing that I have a thing for female acts) with artists like Joss Stone, Alicia Keys, Missy Higgins and the Black Eyed Peas. I can certainly say I love all of them, they're just not on the top of my hot list.

There's no question I'm a top 40 girl through and through (as if you haven't already figured that out), and it looks like our 5-year-old daughter is following suit. She can't get enough of J Lo, Kylie Minogue, Kelly Clarkson and Madonna. Last night she gave us a Kelly Clarkson "show". My husband almost died with the girl power we've got going on in our house. She had her 6-year-old brother introduce her performance (all 100 times!) while she stood on chair and sang her guts out into her "Barbie" microphone. With Kelly Clarkson blaring from her little boom box, her body shaking like a little Hilary Duff, and singing like Bruce Springsteen meets J Lo, it was a performance we won't forget!

2006-06-23T18:18:00.000+10:00

Please Find Me A Stylist
Source: www.three2seven.com

Fashion is definitely more complicated for some than fashion editors think. I try to compare it to cooking - god only knows why because I'm a failure in the kitchen - where you have a specific recipe or a formula for success.

I know fashion has formulas all over the place - fashion magazines are always talking about body types and the clothes that work best. But it's not like you walk into a store and there is a label on the shirt that says "for women with a flat chest, long torso and matches with pants x or pants y". Okay, so that's where sales assistants come in. But more often than not if you get a shirt from one store you need to find a skirt or pants from another. That isn't even the bad part. It's the accessories. I can't think of anything worse: bangles with different colors and various shapes/edges, necklaces long or short with one thing dangling or with several, beads or no beads - big or little, belts with sparkles, wide belts, narrow belts, woven and unwoven, curved belts or straight, silk scarves long and short, pink scarves alone come in twenty different shades and that doesn't even include the patterns.

Maybe some girls just get it, while I find shopping near impossible without my fashion friends right by my side. Don't get me wrong, I absolutely love fashion. I love to see people looking great: funky, classic, glamorized, the works, but to do it myself is another story.

Having said that, there's one place where all those formulas are thrown out the window. New York City. The place drips with fashion and I love it. I can't help but want to be funky and fashionable when I'm lucky enough to be there. Anything goes so you would think that I feel liberated. On one hand I do. I feel quite safe purchasing bright green pumas, a white handbag and super tall wedges part blue and pink. What the heck, it's NYC.

But at the same time not having any rules is a complete nightmare for my brain. I see a woman walking down the street with a big beaded necklace, a tank top and sweatpants. How did she do that! If you asked me I would have put that necklace with a dress but she looked pretty darn good.

Walking into the department stores in NYC make shopping at David Jones Sydney in peak season look like a corner store. I have never seen so many people let alone the selection of clothes. Where do you start? For a fleeting moment I almost appreciate Sydney for its small selection - unfortunately I don't appreciate the price tags which are double that of NYC. Those designer jeans that everyone dies over for $150-250 in the US see us paying $300-500.

Keep that in mind and drop an Australian into the US shopping stores and she turns into a dog in heat - matching becomes an afterthought!

2006-06-16T18:19:00.000+10:00

Size Does Matter
Source: www.three2seven.com

A women standing in line at a Sydney grocery store was holding some American Tampax Tampons when the box suddenly burst open. My head was saying, "Oh my goodness, not the big Tampax. She must be American. How embarrassing. People don't use those in this country. What is she thinking?" When I realized it was only a box of candles it was too late. The memories of checking my Tampax at the door had already come flooding back.

Two months after moving to Australia from America, a co-worker who forgot to bring tampons to work asked to borrow one from me. Her face was full of shock and horror when I whipped out the good ol' Tampax. She had no handbag to take it to the bathroom and made a song and dance about the fact that it was the size of a missile - she didn't even know what to do with it! I was so shocked that she was so shocked, and from that moment I never bought another Tampax in Australia again. I conformed to the Australian way and decided to buy what I call "teenage plugs".

Who knows why it's taken me 11 years of living in Australia to discuss the tampon situation with friends. But last night when my friend Carrie called I was off and running. I was telling her that Americans only use those little non-applicator tampons when they first get their period. It's so we know how to drive it. It's like getting a permit but the permit might only last a day. Then you graduate to Tampax with an applicator - which is like having your license.

Carrie couldn't believe I felt the need to use a tampon with a gigantic cardboard tube attached to it. She insisted, "There is no way a piece of cardboard is going anywhere near that area and besides, when I insert I know exactly where it's going!"

My American friends on the other hand think it's so unhygienic. Who wants to stick their finger up there when they have their period. Well I don't ... but funnily enough I do because I'm buying these little tampons like every other Australian.

It's obviously comes down to a cultural thing but I'm still sticking to the zones. In Australia I'm using the teenage plugs and when I go back to America, it's all about the pipeline!

2006-06-09T18:21:00.000+10:00

Manhattan Fitness
Source: www.three2seven.com

No one told me to put bricks in a backpack while standing on a treadmill before I hit Manhattan. It's simply not possible to shop for four days straight in Manhattan without severe consequences. My feet have never experienced anything like it. It wasn't as if I chose my wedges, killer stilettos or even a mild pump. We're talking about pure and simple Havaianas thongs. One would never think that a comfortable thong would be a problem, but if you were doing the mileage that a typical New York shopper does it requires severe preparation called Manhattan Fitness. It's specific to the pounding that your feet take and requires you to walk constantly as if there was no end.

While visiting the city, I found myself in two positions for four straight days, vertical or horizontal and nothing else. I wondered why my hip injury felt so great, then I realized it was because I never actually sat down. Even on the subway I stood in the sandwiched packed carriages. When I got back to the hotel with my husband we both collapsed. I can understand my man being quite damaged after four days of straight shopping in Manhattan let alone a few hours in Sydney, but me? I'm a woman with reasonable fitness and a serious need to get my fashion sorted.

I can now see the need for personal trainers all over the world to develop the "Get in Manhattan Shape" for summer plan. I didn't see a fat person in site. People move, and when they move they do more than the so called 10,000 steps a day. I would love to strap pedometers to these people and see what the results come back with. It would no doubt confirm that New Yorkers have a specific kind of fitness.

While there, I was living every bit of the saying "women suffer for fashion". I didn't care that my blisters were so open that my shoes felt like they were touching bone. The jeans, the handbag, the shoes were all coming home with me regardless of my bleeding, swollen and throbbing feet - nothing stops a woman from purchasing!

Outside from my suffering, I made a serious observation: Manhattan women wear flats. I walked up and down the streets in Uptown, Midtown, Soho and everywhere in between and I'm telling you they wear flats. There were all kinds of flats ranging from a dressy sandal to a closed toe to a basic thong. Everyone thinks New Yorkers are all walking around like they're straight off the set of Sex In The City. I'm here to tell you they wear flats! Of course there are women in stilettos but there are very few of them walking around - these women are the type that get chauffeured from their home to the office door and again to the charity gala. But there is no way a woman in her right mind would be travelling from her five-story walk-up in stilettos to walk two blocks to a subway and then another few blocks to her office building. If you see stilettos in the workplace, they most likely stay in the workplace, living in an office drawer.

It took three days for my husband and I to realize that giving our feet an ice bath might be a good idea. It turned out to be the best damn idea of all time. Our feet were numb for at least five minutes after the bath - I experienced my first foot orgasm! And in New York there is such a thing.

2006-06-02T18:21:00.000+10:00

Information: Too Much or Barely Enough?
Source: www.three2seven.com

Everyone has information that has passed them by. I'm talking about the things that you really should know but somewhere along the way it never reached you. It's the stuff that is even too embarrassing to admit. My most recent evidence of this was a thing I found in the shower at my parent's house on our last trip to the US. It looked like an exfoliation device. I figured since I hadn't exfoliated my body in such a long time that I'd really give my legs and body a good scrub. But hours after, my legs were covered in a rash that was so bad they were bleeding. I couldn't work out why an exfoliation device could do so much damage.

Later that day I said to my husband, "I think the exfoliation thing in the shower is too strong for my skin." He replied, "You mean the pumice stone? That is for your feet not your body!"

Then there is information you hear so often that it goes in one ear and out the other. Like when my girlfriends talk about the latest bikini waxes. I've been amongst these conversations for years now and not once has the information really sunk in.

I have one friend in particular who seems to be fresh from her Brazilian - all off - almost every time I see her. I sort of laugh at the thought! Then one day it finally registered that maybe I ought to see for myself what was so fabulous about such a wax. Also it sort of appealed to have everything off and start again.

It had been so long since I had a wax that I couldn't even remember the drill. But ready to put down my Gillette, I decided to make an appointment. I was under strict instructions from my friend to NOT make the appointment with my eyebrow waxer. She said to me, "Do you really want the lady who shapes your eyebrows to shape your pubic hairs." I took that as a very good point and booked it so far from my eyebrow lady there wasn't even a remote possibility of her knowing I did such a thing.

I found it quite funny when I booked the appointment because I didn't know what to call it. Was it a bikini wax or just a Brazilian or was all off like the Brazilian Maxi? I started by telling the woman that I'd like to book a bikini wax but when the lady asked if that was all, I responded with, " Yes, just a Brazilian". Then she said, "Oh, a Brazilian!" I didn't realize a Brazilian was in a league of its own.

When I arrived for my appointment, a young Irish girl showed me to my room and left me to get ready. I'm standing in this room thinking does she mean lie down on the table with pubic hairs face up or does she mean grab a towel and place it over first to ease into the process. I went for the open air pubes. Luckily she wasn't shocked by my decision.

She began the procedure as we were having a nice chat about stuff. The powder was being applied, the wax was going on... then she pulled the first strip! I almost died right then and there. Then the second strip... I was just short of screaming! By the third strip I was asking this girl about her upbringing in Ireland, her goals, her travels and absolutely anything I could think of to get mind anywhere but down there. I couldn't stand it for another second. But somehow I survived the blood, sweat and tears of my first Brazilian!!

2006-05-26T18:22:00.000+10:00

Kitchen Boot Camp
Source: www.three2seven.com

I know I'm not a great cook; in fact, I may be the worst ever. But I really thought I'd be fine with baked risotto. The recipe called for leeks. I may have managed to find them at the store but I'd never used them in cooking. The cookbook said, "two leeks, sliced". Does that mean the green end or the white? I had to call the hotline - the friend I call whenever I'm on the verge of a cooking disaster. She was in the middle of work, but hey, this was a cooking emergency that needed urgent attention. I correctly guessed the stringy end needed to be cut off (my friend confirmed that it was indeed the bulb - after she'd got over the shock that I was actually slicing a leek rather than dealing with a packet of "risotto mix") but that was the extent of my expertise. Now I know; that it's a little part of the green and most of the white cylinder - excluding the bulb - that gets sliced up.

I should add that my "hotline helper" is the same friend who felt so bad for the survival of my family when I had my second child that she was bringing home-cooked meals to our house by the dozen. Thanks to her I realized it was possible to freeze rice in those little Glad containers. It has been my savour with kids - an instant serve and reheats nicely in a matter of minutes. My expertise stops there.

The risotto called for chopped-up bacon, leeks and thyme to be cooked on high heat as the first step. What I want to know is why practically all the bacon managed to jump out of the pan like popcorn? This wasn't the bad part though: it was the slightly crunchy rice at the end. This is typical! I never fail to put recipes into a spin with my execution. This is a great example of how we eat in our house. My family expects my meals to be either burned or undercooked. When I showed my 5-year-old boy the delicious risotto it sent him dry heaving in the bathroom. Okay, so he has the flu today, but how is this supposed to encourage the expansion of my cooking skills? My poor husband somehow deals with my inability to make the most basic recipes all the time (even managing to regularly call them the "best ever!"... I know love can be blind, but no taste buds either!?). Even the kids struggle to eat my food.

This is it. I have come to the realization that I'm in need of more than just a cookbook. I need the most intensive cooking lessons of all time. This is a case for Martha Stewart and Donna Hay combined. I need to be thrown into a one-week intensive cooking camp so I can lift my game. If I can't make a simple recipe for my family, how on earth can I expect to throw a three-course dinner party?

2006-05-19T18:23:00.000+10:00

Men Shop And Hide Too
three2seven.com

What is it about guys and toys? Take my husband. He doesn't believe in owning a single anything, whether it's for triathlon, his band, skateboarding or whatever. Two days later I check the mail and find a package slip from the post office. It turned out to be the deck part of the skateboard. He obviously found something he liked. It was some "Dogtown" thing that my husband described as the gods of skateboarding. Next day I check mail and find package slip. It's the wheels. Day after that it's the trucks - the part that the wheels go on. Isn't this a little much? Can't he buy a skateboard in one whole piece? It turns out there are hard wheels, soft wheels and different sizes so he needed to make sure he had the "performance" he wanted.

Next weekend we venture into a skate shop to add new wheels to our son's board. I can see my husband eyeing another Dogtown board. I was like, "Don't even think about it!" Apparently it was wider so it had different "uses" to the other one he purchased. Well, this board he was looking at suspiciously arrived to our house the next day. I know I buy clothes and shove them in the closet so fast that they become old the same day I buy them, but come on: this is in front of me!

Then later that week he comes home to tell me he has pitched a story to one of the magazines to run a piece on men skateboarding in their 40s... how convenient! He used this leverage to get three more boards interestingly shipped to his office instead of home. Unfortunately for him the boxes were so big I needed to pick him up from work with the evidence. That night he assumed the role of skateboard mechanic. Four hours later he had a row of five perfectly assembled skateboards. The product demonstration began with him saying, "This one is good for bowls and... this one is used for downhill cruising (as if!)... this is an old school board..."

Two weeks into it he managed to hurt his knee skating the bowls. Three weeks later he tried to resume. Four weeks later he played lawn bowls for a work function - done on a flat patch of grass - and rolled his knee. He now needs a knee reconstruction. Is this a good time to ask for that Tiffany's ring - or was that back when the fifth skateboard arrived??

2006-05-15T18:24:00.000+10:00

The Storm Before The Calm
Source: www.three2seven.com

Some days highlight who you really are more than others. It all started when a dear friend of mine asked me to join her for a launch on one particular evening. It required getting a little glammed up for the occasion.

But let me take you back to the very beginning of my day. Thinking I was all ready to drive Cody to school and Madison to gymnastics, I realize that I haven't even made Cody's lunch nor have I done his home reading. Then Madison tells me she hasn't eaten breakfast. How can that be? I know she had two bowls of cereal. Somewhere in the middle of doing all of my duties and trying to get out the door Madison dumped her toys in the hallway. Expecting a repairman for our dishwasher mid-morning, I had no choice but to leave him an obstacle path so I could get to school on time.

After dropping Cody off, we arrived minutes late for Madison's gymnastics, which led me to leave our car in the middle of the parking lot so I could get her into class. This is, of course, the first time she decides to cling to my leg for an extended period. Meanwhile I'm having visions of the car being towed away and at the same time I have a fleeting thought about what I'm going to wear that evening as if I was ready to escape the day already. Then my friend calls to discuss MY clothing selection. Once that was approved Madison's gymnastics finished and we headed off for more excitement. A few groceries, our regular Boost smoothie and on a whim I decided it was time our daughter, 4 years old, experienced a pedicure with mommy. Madison selected a beautiful pink, we sipped on our smoothies, chatted about life, waited for the toes to dry, put our shoes on and headed off.

By then it was time for a quick lunch before we hit the ballet scene and pick her brother up from school. Once we got to the school, both kids played on the playground equipment. Cody chased Madison, which ended up in tears after five minutes, with Madison running into a pole. Then a few moments later Cody was showing off his various tricks and fell on his head after hanging upside down. After we got through all the tears it was a relief to get in the car. We were all having a nice talk and then Cody asked the lethal question, "What is for dinner?" The answer being "pasta" led to a car war zone. Cody kicked Madison. Madison screamed with her piercing roar that vibrates across the globe turning me into a raging bull by this stage.

My husband was due home at 6:30pm so I could be ready for my friend at 6:50pm. With pots and pans on full boil, the kids up in arms over our dinner selection, I look down at my toes - they're smudged! How could this be? At the very moment when I need to feel some sort of remote togetherness, it is still falling apart. My hair is on top of my head at 6:00pm, no make-up, barely a clothes selection and kids to feed. By 6:15pm I get a phone call from my glamorous friend, "I've just been in hair and make-up... I'm on my way." Right then and there I realized I am the woman from Desperate Housewives. I am the one who has fleeting thoughts about leaving the kids on the street because I can't stand the screaming in the car. My clothes are barely turned right side up - I am her! But at the same time I have this newfound appreciation for what celebrity moms have to go through - balancing work, motherhood and the need to look like they have walked off the cover of a magazine every time they attend a launch - even with a nanny in toe!