Birthday Weekend Part One - Sailors

I used to get emails from people saying that they loved being able to come home from work and switch off with a delicious cup of tea and some tales from The Dirthouse. 

Now that I'm a full-time working girl I know exactly what they mean. I know what hard working people expect when they come home and unleash their boobies from their bras. They're thinking Come on HOB I've been taking messages and changing bin liners all day, entertain me! 

Well all you demanding bastards be entertained by this! I've slipped from Bourke St to struggle street in recent weeks after entering the world of 'the salary' aka full-time work. 

I've had absolutely no time lately to think about my problems and compile them into humorous, whimsical sentences.

As a matter of fact Mr R called me at the airport last week just as he got back from Costa Rica and my response to his seductive "Hey gorgeous, long time no speak" was a very unromantic "Oi yeah do u know a number for a good, cheap...its got to be cheap office cleaner in the Surry Hills area? about 100 square meters."

It's official these days I can't tell the difference between a customer service representative and my mother. If you can make me money we can have coffee. More on my new job as PR girl for a fabulous lingerie company later!

For now lets entertain us both with photos from my birthday last weekend! 

*Warning the following captions may be short, crude and sound as though they have been written by a 11 year old boy with no comprehension of the English language. My eighth cup of coffee for the day is beginning to wear off.

Yay special balloons, good. roses.

Ms P made my entire b-day week with this incredible drawing of my room! Isn't she a cutie for including the Bourke St sign and making me look really skinny!

For my birthday I also got one, two, three...four, five...

....six, seven, eight...nine, ten...one hundred and eighty two seamen...

And one creepy yet unbelievably lovably high school friend...

Friday night the Noosa Queens collaborated with the Dirthouse Queens to go fishing for sailors. But this was not before we took some super hot selfies.

Cute!

Pretty!

Hmmm?

To be honest the night wasn't the same after a woman in the bottle shop told us that sailors had the highest rate of STI in the world.

But you can't catch herpes from talking right?

Or rubbing each others inner thighs?

I remained relatively sober throughout the night because there was no way I was going to be hung over for my birthday party.

Now thats a night I won't be forgetting any time soon!

TBC...

FANCY

Birthday Surprise

You know you're sick when you tie your hair up with a rubber band. You feel that corse, nastily thin little circle of latex rip strands of hair out of your scalp and cause untangle-able knots but you don't care because it keeps stray splashes of vomit from penetrating your locks. 

I had a rubber band embedded permanently in my hair for an entire day after I ate that slimy, salmonella infested little fucker. A large chunk of hair is not all that I lost, three kilos also slipped down the toilet at my parents house. This seems like a positive ramification of food poisoning, but after experiencing some of the worst cramps/nausea/lack of appetite during two of the biggest events of the year I was convinced that there is nothing good about being sick. 

The two big events that just happened to coincide with one another was Easter (the only day of the year where it's actually acceptable to binge on chocolate) and my birthday which in terms of birthdays was actually a massive milestone. 

I kid you not there was actually a point when my head was in the toilet bowl and my eyes glued shut as to not come face to face with last nights dinner that I thought baby jesus, is this some kind of sick joke? Is this a challenge? A test of endurance, stamina and my mums new fragrant toilet spray? 

In my delirious state I took it as exactly that and persisted through over a dozen bouts of vomiting, to somehow come out the other side... 

On April 20th I emerged from my bedroom, hair finally untied to an abundance of beautiful gifts. It was my birthday and I hadn't spewed for exactly 6 1/2 hours, it was official I was now a woman. 

Although I received many beautiful presents, many of them designer (lucky me!) the most amazing gift had absolutely no label but my own. 

Dad had a letter box made with the Heaven On Bourke logo. He told me that for now it's purpose would be to contain all of my paper work, forms etc pertaining to this blog and eventually one day it would be the letter box out the front of my real heavenly Bourke Street house. Naw thanks daddy for keeping the dream alive!

That night I was all smiles at an intimate dinner I shared with family and close friends. The only time I broke my composure was after the two photos below, where I dry retched into the laundry sink after inhaling some champagne.

It wasn't the wild night that I was expecting but It was wonderful. Everyone ate and drank and enjoyed themselves and I watched from the sidelines with my champagne glass of chemist brand electrolytes. 

The next day I was faced with the unimaginable. Not only did I have left over Easter eggs but I also had left over birthday cake and bubbly. As my appetite still hadn't returned I ate none of it! 

So there it remains in my fridge untouched by me, the amount slowly depleting as my 17 year old brother rampages the kitchen after school and my dad looks for a snack to go with his afternoon coffee. But I guess thats what being an adult is all about its about having parties for other people to enjoy and seeking fulfilment from the satisfaction of others as they take bite after bite of your delicious chocolately  rich, with the perfect amount of creamy buttery icing milestone birthday cake.

Thats it where's my goddamn cake!

Don't be disappointed by the lack of celebratory event coverage, you will never guess what I have planned for this weekend when I get back to Sydney and reunite with the Queens.

The best is most definitely yet to come.

Xx

A Not-So-Good Friday

Ok, I admit it I've been spending a lot of time by the sea lately. Although I reside in Sydney I've had three trips to Noosa in the last four months. 

I didn't think it was an issue until yesterday when I was at the Noosa farmers market and ran into a boy I went to school with. 

"Look who can't stay away." He said strolling towards me, his earthy tan and scruffy blonde hair evidence that he had never strayed more than 100 meters from the beach.

"Ha, what do you mean?" I asked giving him a kiss on the cheek whilst juggling my groceries. 

"Jane (his younger sister) reads your blog thing, she tells me you're always coming back for visits." He looked at me as though he had caught me out, which made me feel slightly furious. 

"Look, there's nothing wrong with admitting that you love reading my girly period blog." I said jokingly.

He smirked and looked at me for a moment.

"And theres nothing wrong with admitting that you love Noosa." he said finally before we both made up an awkward excuse to part ways.

Ok, for as long as I'm here I shall keep my head down.

I can't ever remember hating Noosa, I just loved the city more and being the high school drama queen everyone knew about my aspirations to move away from this town. Now I'm realising that although I love Sydney and can't imagine living anywhere else sometimes it's nice to go a week without watching a homeless man take a wee on the side walk or having to pretend I love cold showers when the water runs out in The Dirthouse.

There's also one other thing that Noosa has that Sydney doesn't...

A calm place to find ones spiritual and emotional equilibrium. Duh. 

As soon as I got home mum and I headed to Sunshine Beach equipped with a bag of goodies for a cleansing walk/swim. There is so much hype around coconut water at the moment and these days there are so many brands on the market to choose from. Personally most of the commercial brands I've tried are way too sweet, especially the coconut water cans - cool concept, seriously overpowering taste.

King Coconut Water is by far the best fit for a Queen. No too sweet and it goes down a dream.

After several failed bikini shot attempts "ew mum stop zooming in" "is that actually what I look like?" "shit I need to dig out that 30 Day Shred DVD". I decided to start using my incredibly good looking mother as a model...

Originally a Sydneysider herself, mum is proof that an extended vacation to Noosa (25 years to be exact) isn't the worst thing for your health and not to mention your physique. 

After 30 minutes in the sun I was already starting to feel better. 

The beach was beautiful, the water perfectly cool and translucent... 

And that little bit of sun and salt water meant that later that evening my eyes sparkled and my foundation blended perfectly into my neck opposed to the dirty brown line I was getting back in the city as a result of my sun tan fading away.

The best part was that I was back with my sister from another mister, Rita...sipping wines and taking selfies by the pool.

All was swell in Noosa, in fact I felt like screaming from the palm trees NOOSA I LOVE YOU that was until we decided to try a new Japanese restaurant in Noosa Junction for dinner. 

"That was not good." I turned to Rita, my face screwed up from the raw slightly warm scallop I had just ingested. 

"How so?" She asked sipping a Kirin cider.

"Whatever I just ate tasted like a slippery clump of snot". I exclaimed pushing the rest of my platter away. 

20 minutes later I went to the counter and paid for the meal. The older fair skinned lady at the register processed my order.

"Where are you from?" She asked as she typed the amount into the Eftpos machine.

"Here, but I live in Sydney" I replied

"Oh fantastic" she said.

"Where's the best Japanese place there?"

"Hmm probably Toko on Crown Street" I said starting to feel slightly clammy. 

"I will have to try it next time I'm there, you see this is mine and my husbands place...we're always on the hunt for inspiration." She handed me back my card but I was momentarily distracted by a loud noise coming from the pitt of my stomach and a mental checklist taking place loud and clear in my head.

Sushi tasting of clumpy snot - not good

Hot flushes 20/25 minutes after ingestion - not good

Loud noises erupting from the depths of my gut - not good

Japanese restaurant owned and run by two non Japanese people - really, really NOT GOOD

Noosa, I hate you!!!

The Happiest Idiot on Bourke Street - My First Designer Handbag

What the fuck were you thinking?

That was the first question that popped into my head when I received my latest bank statement. You could say that for me buying a designer handbag was a temporary lapse of judgement, a fleeting moment of insanity or one of the best decisions I've ever made.

For the purpose of the strict no returns policy I'd like to say it was the latter. 

The first time I even thought of buying a insanely expensive tampon/lipstick carrying sack (which is essentially what a handbag is) was when Ms P introduced me to a little thing called My Net Sale.

"So basically you save a couple of grand if you do it this way" she said circling the stunning Givenchy handbag with the mouse.

"But even then you're still paying two k for a bag." I said not understanding how any rational human being could justify spending so much money on one item.

"Think of how much money you spend on stupid shit like going out, cab charges, coconut oil...and then think about how much you use your handbag." She reached over and grabbed her Mulberry tote off the chair and put it in my lap.

It was soft yet durable with gold hardware that looked like magnificent jewels and the smell...oh the smell was unbelievably divine.

"Coconut oil is a necessity" I mumbled carefully placing the bag to the side.

"And so is a fabulous handbag" she replied.

*

I went into David Jones about one hundred and eighty seven times before I actually bought a bag online. At first it was just to look, then it was to compare.

Michael Korrs - Structured, sophisticated overall not bad $

Marc Jacobs - Great leather, a little too slouchy, good $$

Gucci - Very nice, yet somehow not quite right $$$

And then there it was Yves Saint Laurent, structured yet soft, striking gold hardware, understated yet timeless. I was in love, little did I know that this would be the most taxing love affair I would ever have.

YSL - Perfection $$$$

The morning I purchased the bag I was meant to be at a university lecture. After 20 minutes and three full buses had driven straight past me I decided to throw in the towel, miss my class and go home. When I opened my laptop to email my tutor the My Net Sale site was up on my screen, I clicked refresh.  My heart stopped. At the very top of the screen "Bag of the Week: YSL". It was the bag I wanted. 

Convinced that it was some incredible sign that the bag was for sale the same day I also decided to miss my class (which in hindsight isn't much of a coincidence as I miss classes all the time) I came to the conclusion that this bag was destined to be mine. 

This was it, I was going to buy it but not before a quick pep talk from Ms P

She was right, by this stage I was well and truly out of control. I put the bag in my cart and ran upstairs to grab my credit card. 

(Time left: 10:15)

My hands trembled slightly as I typed in the details.

PAY NOW

Yes!

DECLINED

Shit, I need to transfer money.

(Time left: 05:22)

Taking a month and a half's rent out of my savings account and transferring it to my everyday account was anything but exhilarating. 

(Time Left: 02:01)

I was not only going through with purchasing this bag but I was against the clock with hundreds of other lunatics waiting to get their hands on my YSL if I was somehow not able to pay up in time. 

PAY NOW

I took one massive breath in, sucking back the fear, the doubt and the little bit of vomit that had now rose to the top of my throat.

YES!

Thank you for shopping with us.

Whether I liked it or not I was now the proud owner of an IT bag. Now I just had to wait 20-45 days for the bag to be shipped from Paris to The Dirthouse.

*

It had been so long that I had almost forgotten about it and then five days ago I heard a knock on the door. It can't be, It's early, Omg maybe it is...

I opened the front door to find a small man who appeared to be of European decent holding a box almost the same size as him. 

"You Paige?" He said unfazed by the incredible package he was holding.

"Yes!" I cried tearing the box out of his hands.

I signed for the package and ran upstairs to my bedroom calling out for each of the girls as I passed there rooms. We all stood around the box. My heart beating wildly in my chest.

As soon as I tore away the bubble wrap the glorious smell of leather escaped from the box...

I paused several times before carefully releasing my child from the cloth case.

The girls each had a go at holding it before I turned to them, an expression of mock seriousness on my face.

"Can I just have a moment with the bag please?"

They left and I sat there in silence looking at the bag perched on the end of my bed.

So now I'm just another blogger with another designer wardrobe. Well, not quite. I've had to make a few changes in order to survive financially after my big spend...

Bag: YSL
Coat Zara: $100
Top: Target $20
Skort: Borrowed off Ms B $0
Shoes: I can't believe I'm admitting this to you.
Shoes: Rivers $15 (Rip off Tony Bianco's)

Some people think I'm an idiot for placing so much emphasis on a material item. And well maybe I am. But as I walk to my new job, head held high clutching my new best friend proudly I don't care because right now I'm probably the happiest idiot on Bourke Street.

And I have a YSL handbag. 

;)

Reality vs Reality

So I woke up with tonsillitis today - you know the symptoms: swollen glands the size of your head, usually accompanied with a fever and inability to swallow.

I contacted about 10 people at my new work to make sure it was ok that I took the day off, the whole time thinking that I was going to be fired because to them my absence would most definitely signify lack of dedication and commitment to work.

Felt mildy relived when I got off the phone with the fabulous CEO of my company (lingerie extraordinaire) until an hour later when she text me informing me that I had indeed booked her the wrong returning flight back to Sydney.

Now I was definitely going to be fired. I became absolutely delirious and cried on the phone to the airline because she couldn't understand what I was saying due to my inflamed and now pusy tonsils. Yuck. And then I decided to take some super fabulous drugs and lay numb on my bed all day watching a string of reality shows.

After watching nearly every real housewife and over tanned guido in the universe I started thinking about popular culture and the role 'reality' plays in our society.

From Big Brother to Made in Chelsea reality television is on everyones TV/laptop/ipad/smartphone at the moment.

But it's not really reality is it? A dozen people in a house surrounded by a hundred hidden cameras isn't reality neither is five little rich girls sitting around not eating and planning trips to Cabo.

To put it simply reality is:

• Laughing so hard that you accidentally fart in front of a boy you really like
• Getting to the check out at Coles and discovering you have insufficient funds 
• Having to put back that beautiful round hass avocado because you're dirt poor
• Starting a new diet every Monday and failing every Sunday because no damn fool should have to eat raw food all the time
• Reality is Lena Dunham's body
• But not Lena Denham's body confidence

While I'm on the topic of it Lena Dunham is a fucking pioneer.

Girls lovers out there - Do you ever notice how uplifted you feel after watching an episode (or more like an entire series at once)? 

You feel good, like someone has said has just come up to you and said, ok we're not going to talk about our body issues for a moment and just revel in how good our twenties are. 

Unfortunatly shows like Girls are a dime a dozen. But the message is not. Tones of independent movie makers and writers convey this message of realness all over the internet, it's just a shame that this material is rarely ever made mainstream.

Sometimes I wish I could be naturally skinny, wear fancy clothes and get paid to travel like Gary Pepper Girl but I know that I would be shit at it. That doesn't mean that occasionally I won't try to talk my life up but you know what's funny? I always end up being caught out.

Sometimes I catch myself writing something that isn't real and sometimes it takes someone close to me to ring me up and be like hey Paige your last post was good but it wasn't great because it was made up bullshit.

So from here on out I promise to be honest with you. Go to Gary Pepper Girl and Tuula Vintage for your fix of beautiful aesthetics, read the Wellness Warrior for great green smoothie ideas to keep you on track with your diet...

and come here when your tonsils are pusy, you look like shit and have just fallen off the clean eating wagon because here you're sure to get that much needed dose of reality, a version of reality that I hope soon takes over the world one snapshot of Lena Dunham's hilariously beautiful naked body at a time.

Please show your love for HOB by voting for Heaven on Bourke for the people's choice award in this years Australian Blogs Awards 2014

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Thanks guys, we love you!

Career Girl

I think it was Britney Spears who once said:

You wanna live fancy, live in a big mansion, party in France...You better work bitch.

Amen Britney! Although we love to party hard at the Dirthouse, during the week we work our tooshes off to climb that slippery ladder to success. 

You know us as Queen L the feisty redhead, Queen B the pocket rocket with fantastic eye brows, Queen P the style savvy party girl and me the crude cunning linguist. However in between the hours of 9-5 (more like 8-7:30) we take on very different roles.

Ms L is the executive assistant to a property developing tycoon

Ms B, beauty editor of a popular online magazine.

Ms P, paralegal at an esteemed corporate law firm

And then there's little old me who recently scored the gig as PR girl for one of Australia's biggest lingerie brands

We are by no means at the top of our game in fact like most twenty somethings we are at the bottom of the food chain, working long hours in stuffy office buildings for minimum wage. Ok so maybe my office (pictured below) isn't the worst working environment in the world.

Ew look at all that natural light! It actually dawned on me when I was taking this sneaky pic of my office while my superior was in the loo that our career lives are just as if not more news worthy than our personal lives. 

As you know there's more to it than just sex and the city, work and the city is an important factor in any chic urban girl's life, not to mention it's crucial for financing expensive paleo ingredients and cheeky Mynetsale purchases. 

So from now on I'm going to feature more career related posts on the blog, but thats not to say that our professional lives are all work and no play...

Ms B drinking & schmoozing at a totes excluse media event in Feb

Since we're already quoting highly credible and awe-inspiring pop stars i'd like to conclude this post with a quote from Gaga:

I must admit following your dreams is really nerve racking shit, especially when you've just deferred university to take on a super demanding job. However, I know that turning my work life up a notch (or five) is exactly what I need right now to distract me from the man related problems that usually take up my mental capacity. 

Good bye Mr A, B, C & D hello Ms Full-time Boss Lady ;)