With under two weeks to go until the Big Day Out, I had to go and get 20% of my body massively sunburnt.   Yup.  Somehow, defying all odds, I managed to quite possibly be the only person in this part of the Southern Hemisphere who stumbled upon and soaked up enough UV rays on the weekend to cause parked cars, gas stations and small kittens to combust whenever I get within 50 metres of them.  (I know, I’m sounding more illiterate than usual…)

I had all the intentions of staying out of the sun this summer and maintaining my pasty-white glow, but then I developed driver’s arm and the mental image of me being all pale white except for one tanned arm was worse than that of me being tanned. So I figured, blow it, I’ll saute the rest of my flesh. It’s just rather unfortunate that I sunbathe in the same manner that I cook dinner. I’m sure you get the picture…

Nicky will probably be inclined to say “I told you so”, being that she was the one who took a sheltered position in my backyard during my three hour vigil under the sun, and wisely suggested I “put some sunblock on at least”.  Little gemstones of wisdom to which of course, I paid absolutely no attention.  Snotty-faced little know-it-all that I am.

Three days on, and I’m still being informed of my radioactive condition by customers who seem to think they’re doing me a favour by declaring “well! That’s a bit of sunburn you’ve got there! You’ve cooked like a lobster!”
Really? I’m sunburnt? Holy shit, so I am! You know, if you hadn’t have told me, I’d never’ve known…

On what may be an entirely unrelated matter, through the course of the day my throat and lower right side of my face has broken out into some kind of heat rash. I slathered myself in antiseptic goop, but with the way things stand at the moment between me and old Murphy, I’ll probably wake up tomorrow morning to discover Necrotising fasciitis fighting sunburn for landrights.Regardless of whether or not I loose my facial muscles to a flesh eating disease, in a few more days when the sunburn has settled, I’m going to begin shedding skin like an alien out of V. I’m going to be a leper.

But at least this solves the problem of what to wear to the Big Day Out. I will be dressing myself like a Muslim suicide bomber.

I suppose I’m glad we’re living in the digital age, otherwise Nicky and I would have gone through half a roll of film in effort to capture a half-okay pic of us on Sunday.

It started when the gal slung an arm around me, held up her camera and said something upon the lines of “say cheese”.  Somehow, that pic didn’t turn out right, so we took another snap. Still didn’t look right.  Another snap.  What’s wrong with this camera? Damn thing’s broken or something. Another snap.

We finally figured out the problem.  And it was so much worse than a malfunctioning camera.  It was us.  We no longer look the way we think we should inside our heads.  We’re aging.

Deteriorating.

Well, I can’t speak for Nicky, she’s three years younger than me. She can still pull off the whole young thing. Bitch. (Yeah yeah, I meant that affectionately.)

For me personally, I preview a pic of myself and think “wait that’s not right, I must’ve been holding my face funny. Let’s try that again”, and take another shot.  Again with the “wait, that’s not right…” And on and on it goes.

…Until at last I realise; No, the camera’s not simply catching me at a bad moment, this is in fact what I look like.

Okay I know, I was never much of a catch in the first place.  But that’s not the point. The point is; holy crap, I’ve aged.  More than that - I’ve lost several years of my life!  On the eve of my 25th, I took a pause in breath and didn’t exhale again for another four years.  No wonder I can’t remember what I did last week.  I still think I’m 24!  That is, until I see a photo of myself and discover I’m actually closing in on 30.  Then, in denial, I figure there must be something wrong with the bloody camera! Stupid girl.  *facepalm*

Sometimes when a person is drunk enough, you can shave off their eyebrows while they’re sleeping and stick cigerette butts up their nostrils.  In my case, someone glued eye-wrinkles to my face, then put a lipo machine on ‘blower’ and fed an extra 10 kilos into my body.  Much of which appears to have gone into my face.

When did my face get so fat? Was it always this fat? Did I just never notice before? Am I already developing the sagging jowls of the elderly?

Oh dear gods.  Ten billion photos later, and that was the only one that was part-way viewable. I wasn’t trying to smile. I was cringing.  And that was before I realised the great doom of my lost youth.

I think I’ll go to bed now, and hope to wake in an alternative universe where a more fortunate Callie Taylor has made a successful career choice and earnt enough money for cosmetic surgery. Goodnight!

In attempt to capture this so-called “Christmas spirit” I hear so much about, I allowed myself to be dragged kicking and screaming to Christmas in the Park on the weekend.

Once upon a time, only copious amounts of alcohol could get me there (actually, I’ve never been before, but in theory, had I been before, it would have taken a lot of grog. You know?). These days, it was the repeatitive, weekly, monthly chant of “so, are we going to Christmas in the Park this year mum? You said we would remember? Don’t forget you said…”

Ah, for the love of…

YES ALREADY!

Yes. For crying out loud we will go, yes. If only to subdue my conscience which is feeling guilty for falling through on my promise to go the previous year. And quite possibly, the year before that.

So, Jarrod suggests we get there early so we can get a good place to park our butts up close to the stage. I suggest we roll on in at the last minute because who needs to be that close to crappy NZ celebs attempting a slightly grander version of kareoke anyway? And of course I won, because I’m the one driving the car. Bah!

I am a terrible, terrible person.

So, this is the outcome of our fun family day at the Domain. It’s photographic evidence that we did go. And as you’ll see, we had a ROLLOCKING great time.

Here’s Char and her cousin Matt…

They’re happy, smiling, laughing, waving…

And here’s Jarrod:

(He’d rather be at speedway)

And then there’s me. Unforunately.

Behold my wide beaming happy smile! (I wore it on the inside.)

Oh, and half an hour later…

Yes yes, I cut and pasted Matt and Char into the same pic because I couldn’t be naffed posting them individually.

But the point is, half an hour after arriving, it started RAINING. And, despite my naggings of “DON’T FORGET A JACKET CHARLOTTE”, she FORGOT HER JACKET. Therefore, if you’re observant enough to have noted the picture above this one, she’s now WEARING MINE.

An hour later when I’m shivering my ass off and insisting “okay, we’re a bunch of miserable drowned rats, let’s call it a night and go home”. She declares, “I’m quite snug actually.”

Of course you are, you little toe-rag! (And I mean that quite affectionately) YOU’RE WEARING MY JACKET!

Being that I’m the one driving the car, I won. Maybe we’ll try this again next year. And we’ll remember umbrellas. Or um, copious amounts of alcohol?