The Story Continues (Continued)

My mum thought it was very impressive that I booked for us to stay at QT Sydney on the opening night of Sydney Film Festival. 

"You know how much I love Guy Pearce!" She squealed like a groupie trying to catch a glimpse of the action from our suite window.

It would have been very PR girl of me to book this hotel purely to get amongst the action, unfortunately I'm not that smooth. 

Once I realised I was in the direct firing line of a dozen photographers and about to be arrested by a big brawny policeman (who was obviously more on the ball than everyone else), I made a dash in the direction I came from. I did however get to see the back of Edward's head - It was nice.

(The photo below was taken by a Maple girl on her break, Rob is directly below the S on the State Theatre sign that I should have seen when I checked in - on arrival I assumed that the barricades were there merely to stop dickheads like myself from falling into the street).

After my little trip down the red carpet I decided that I'd had enough excitement and the only thing I would be doing for the rest of the weekend was bathing and ordering room service.  

Naturally I went for the sweetest most expensive thing on the menu (Affogato with crispy hazelnut pieces and another shot of Cafe Patron).

What? I was upset.

Mum decided to take a break from her regular Paleo regime as well and got the same thing sans espresso and tequila. Boring!

In no time at all we were living it up like R Pat. Complimentary Vogue? Don't mind if I do.

Mum and I talked into the night about everything that was going on in our lives. I promised her that once I made it big I'd buy her a holiday home in Vaucluse with a hot pool boy who looked like Usher circa 2000 to keep her company.

The next morning we woke up ravenous from all of the shit talking. Although we were meant to meet friends for breakfast, I begged her to stay in the hotel so that I could soak up as much of the cleanliness and admire the solid ceilings before returning to The Dirthouse. The beauty of holidaying in your own city is that you know where to get exactly what you want!

Coco Noir in the Westfield serves The Grounds coffee and gives fab discounts to those who work in the centre. My time as a Maple boutique girl certainly paid off! As they were preparing my order I ducked into the lavish David Jones food court to get fresh pastries and a handful of juicy grapes as well as some date logs and a couple of bottles of mineral water.

Ta Da! Breakfast in bed...

The rest of the weekend was spent reclined watching movies (free with most of the rooms at the QT Sydney) having long baths and...

Thinking about that all important question - what next? 

Guess I better find me some new housemates, why not a new lover while I'm at it?

The Story Continues

What do you do when you're fighting with your housemates who also happen to be your best mates over a house that is about to be deemed unliveable?

A: You call your mumma and get her to fly down from Noosa so that you can stay in a nice hotel and get some good old fashioned life advice.

I've been wanting to stay at QT boutique hotel for some time so I was excited when a friend gave me a great deal on a deluxe king suite.

I love that it's not like most hotels in fact it's the Mick Jagger of hotels with more personality than you can poke a stick at...

A pick-up stick that is.

"Look they have pick-up sticks in the mini bar and DIY espresso martins!" says mum holding a bag of multi-coloured sticks.

"You can have those and I'll have the martinis." I say grabbing both glasses.

"Sweetie" she purrs – the woman is like an exact clone of Eddy from Ab Fab but with jet black hair and a sun tan.

She sits on the bed and gives me that look.

"Tell mummy what's wrong" She says.

I explain to her in detail the situation with The Queens and how heartbroken I am about everything that has happened. During the long winded recount of unfortunate events I  pour the two mini bottles of Patron into the glass and begin to sip the alcohol straight. It tastes like shit but I know that mum will insist on covering any extra charges to the room and getting drunk for free sounds like a really good idea right about now.

"It’s fucked because I feel like I’m not only losing my best friends but the blog too, what will I write about when they’re not around?" I ask her flatly.

"It is fucked" mum says - I've always loved her candidness.

 "But it’s going to be ok. You know that you can’t go to Europe with them anyway - you’ve got this fantastic job now"

This is true however I don't know how fantastic I'll feel when I see pictures of them soaking up the Tuscan sun while I'm back here working a 50 hour week.

"And they will always be your friends you just have to accept that it is what it is and be happy for them.”

I know she is right but I don't want to accept anything let alone be happy for them. Ms L and Ms B are my best bitches, my main partners in crime I don't know what I'll do without them.

"Yeah but what about the blog?" I say sprawling myself out beside her on the white linen sheets.

"Heaven on Bourke was your idea, it's something that began long before they came along… sure you may have to live with other people or move somewhere else but the essence of your blog will never change."

 I must not look convinced because she continues in that soothing maternal voice...

“Sweetie you’ll find other things to write about, after all it’s your adventure and your story will continue with or without them – didn’t you see that quote mummy tagged you in on Facebook?"

I roll my eyes and get up to give her a hug. She is right, my life has never been short of things to write about so why would it change now?

And then much like that classic scene in any children's Chirstmas movie when you first see Santa's slay come into sight, something weird, wonderful and magical happened right before my eyes.

The Story Continues

The QT hotel has a great central location, especially if you LOVE shopping. Although I wasn’t in the mood for shopping I told mum that I wanted to pop out quickly before dinner to check on the girls in our Maple Flagship store. While she ran a bath I grabbed my coat and headed down the elevator (which was playing some seriously cool beats) and out towards the main entrance.

By this time the double shot martini had begun to work it's magic and I decided it would be a great idea  to send a cheeky text message to Mr R.

I wanted to write "hey big boy can I move into your swanky new Bondi apartment?"

Instead I wrote "hey big boy,c  ;)?"

Maybe I should have eaten lunch.

The entire time I was writing the message I could feel a bunch of people buzzing around me. Preoccupied by the battle that was taking place between myself and autocorrect I kept my head down, blocked out the noise and pushed forward heading in the direction of the boutique.

"Excuse me..." I heard a man say at one point

"Nope, sorry" I murmured still looking at my phone pushing through the crowd at a steady pace. Those damn homeless guys are always trying to unnerve me.

Well it ain't gonna happen. I'm unnervable, I'm an unnervable city chick with the world at my feet.

Feet. I stopped suddenly and glanced past my phone at my Tony Bianco's. The black leather looked even richer against the red. Red. Why is the ground red?

I looked up and my heart stopped. For some reason I was in the middle of a red carpet. I tried to move forward but 10 or so meters ahead I saw the exit blocked off by a dozen police men and countless members of the press.

I peered to my right, a gorgeous young journalist gave me a confused slightly irritated look. I broke eye contact with the woman and swung around to my left. Instantly I felt an overwhelming wave of nausea wash over me as I glanced across the street. 100 or so people were squished behind a long blue barricade all staring at me. Except they weren't staring at me they were staring at something else next to me.

"Are you ready?" said the journalist

"Here he comes." she positioned her microphone in front of her mouth and the camera crew took their stance.

Here who comes?

The crowd across the road suddenly erupted, female voices filled the air. Girls screamed and whistled wildly. In the drone of cries I made out two very distinct words.

ROBERTTTTTTT! ROBERTT PATTERSONNN!!!!!!

Fuck me dead.

TBC...

Farewell Queens - Part 2

I am sitting in my room with my laptop on my lap trying to write when I hear a knock on the door.

Two hour has past since the roof fell in and I am beginning to forget about the argument that took place downstairs.

"Hey can I come in?"

 It's Ms L.

"Sure." I say remaining fixated on the computer screen.

"Writing for the blog?" She asks taking a seat on the end of my bed.

"Yeah" I say looking over at her, her face seems lighter more content. The storm is over.

"I've been thinking..." I continue placing my computer beside me and sitting up in my bed.

"I want to move too, we can start looking now and find a nice place up the street for all four of us. I think there's a new place just opening up on the corner of Devonshire." I smile and she looks down.

Something is wrong. I must admit in the last couple of months Ms L and I haven't been as close as we used to be. She is seeing Mr H Hanson again and has been staying at his house.

"I don't think I can live in Randwick again" I sigh trying to give her more.

"It's ok, you don't have to" she says finally, I feel instant relief.

"Ms B and I have just had a big chat about something we've been considering for a while."

I don't even know what she's going to say but a wave of sickness quickly consumes me.

There is a long sunken pause.

"We are going to Europe Paige."

 I don't understand what she's saying.

"We are quitting our jobs and moving overseas for a bit. We both have dual passports so we can live there and just travel around."

For some reason I laugh.

"Ok, but this isn't for a while right?" I ask and now she's the one looking down.

"We leave in eight weeks."

Bang.

"But in the mean time Ms B and I are going to move out to our friends place around the corner. She has two spare rooms for really cheap so we can save money before we go."

Bang, Bang.

I begin to feel really fucking angry. A million thoughts are racing through my head. Where is Ms B? why is she too much of a coward to say this to me? Who am I going to live with? I don't want to live with anyone but the Queens. Why wasn't I invited to go to Europe? Why do they want to move out without me? Who are my friends? Who is this horrible person sitting in front of me?

"So you're leaving me in this house, a house that is falling down, what am I meant to do?"

"I will put up an ad tomorrow and we will find someone really great to take our rooms, you know I wouldn't make you live with anyone you didn't like."

I want to be sick, I want to run away.

"Ok" I say my throat begins to crack and I feel a river of tears threatening to spill out from my eyes.

"You need to fuck off now" I manage before my whole body starts shaking.

She leaves and I curl into a ball and cry until i'm too exhausted to cry anymore, I fall into a deep sleep riddled with bad dreams.

Nearly 13 hours later and I feel defeated. There's nothing I can do. I can't force "The Queens" to stay especially not when our house is falling down around us.

But I also didn't expect them to leave me high and dry for their own European adventure.

Right now I'm worried about a lot of things, losing my house, losing my place on Bourke Street, losing my friends but there is one thought that plauges me most of all...

Losing my main inspiration for this blog.

What is The Dirthouse without it's Queens and who am I with out my best friends in the city?

Farewell Queens - Part 1

You know that horrible feeling you get when you wake up the morning after something really bad has  happened?

Your face is still numb and swollen after shedding what feels like an ocean of tears, time has past but nothing has changed and then there's the question that one question that rings violently in your mind 

What am I going to do next?

I look at the sign blocking off my balcony DANGER DO NOT ENTER, I hear laughter outside my bedroom door and alarm bells ring in my mind danger do not enter. My only choice is to stay here, stay in the room I always wanted, in the house I always dreamed of and if I never leave nothing will change.  Right?

12 hours earlier.

We are all hanging out in the living room watching SATC re-runs when we hear something smash hard down onto the floor. After a few brief moments of confusion, Ms L stands up and cautiously peaks around the corner. 

"Oh my fucking god" she gasps 

My stomach drops, what is it? 

"A massive piece of the roof has fallen in" she exclaims

"You've got to be fucking kidding me" says Ms B walking into the scene of the crime to see for herself

"What do you mean fallen down?" Ms P, the relative new comer questions looking intently at me for answers.

I'm shocked but not completely surprised, I'm sure I heard a noise coming from there this morning.

We all go in to check it out. It appears that the roof below the upstairs bathroom has rotten away and caved in. Soot and stray pieces of timber continue to fall from the hole to the ground where our yoga mats and running shoes used to be.

"Thats fucking it!" Ms L snaps

"Call him" She looks at me and by him she means our landlord. 

I spend 20 minutes on the phone with our landlord but to no avail. I get the same response that I get every time. He tells me that its all fine and he will send someone over Monday (It's Thursday). The girls all glare at me intensely as I talk to him on the phone, you can see that all of them, especially Ms L are hungry for answers.

I finally end the conversation and shake my head.

"Well what did he say?" Ms L ask still standing in front of me.

"He says if it's just damp it will dry out, he'll come around Monday and check it out but for now just close the door."

"Just close the fucking door?" she erupts.

"Just close the fucking door and pretend as though this house isn't a piece of shit thats falling down around us."

We are all silent and for some reason I begin to feel ashamed. 

"It's an old house" I manage to say focusing on a piece of fluff on the ground. 

"It's a piece of shit Paige" 

"She's right" Ms B chimes in and all of a sudden I feel like it's a personal attack on me.

"We need to move" Ms B continues 

"There are plenty of other brand new places out there that are cheaper, like that one I saw in Randwick the other day for $890 or something a week."

The thought of moving back to Randwick makes me instantly want to punch a wall.

"I don't want to live in Randwick, I want to live on Bourke Street." I say looking at Ms P who is sitting silently in the corner merely observing the conversation. I suppose as the newest member of the Dirthouse she doesn't quite understand what's gone on in this house. 

"Come onnnn Paige" Ms L laughs 

"You can't live on this fucking street forever." 

Just when I think she's about to strangle me her voice softens dramatically.

"I know that you love this house, but we need to leave." She says finally taking a seat on the wooden stool. 

"I know," I say quietly.

"I know we will eventually have to leave but I can't just yet ok?"

In my head I'm thinking that we will move out but only to move up, up the street like I had always planned since I first came to this house three years ago.

This is clearly not what Ms L wants to hear as she storms off to her room. Ms B shakes her head then follows. I hate it when they pair off like that.

Ms P and I sit in silence, both pretending to be immersed with whatever is on the television screen.

"I'm sorry about this" I say finally before retreating up to the Queens Quarters.

Who am I kidding? I'm not a Queen. This is not a mansion. It is a piece of shit terrace house that is falling down and with it, slowly crushing everything.

TBC... 

Crown St Fish Shop

*Please keep in mind this post occurred before the creation of Paleo Prestige (although I kinda wish it didn't) after a week of clean eating I'm almost tempted to deep fry my hand and eat it. 

On that note...

I first came across Crown Street Fish Shop on my daily commute to work. Located where Rainford Street Social used to be at first I thought there was something fishy about this pop-up take away joint. 

It's not like your conventional fish and chip shop, it's well, kinda...chic.

The words 'chic new fish shop' were enough to pull the Queens away from their prior dinner arrangements to check out what all the commotion was about. Ms B and Ms L came straight from the Zimmerman sale, Ms P was dropped off my a handsome new character and I strolled up from Bourke Street to meet my ladies.

Scattered across the table we found two different menus. The main menu...

And the specials...

Compared to your typical fish & chip shop the menu is impressive and ultra-modern (Quinoa salad/Lobster Mac N' Cheese) as is the fit out. The eclectic decor gives this restaurant a cool beach side touch and an open kitchen allows for ultimate transparency so that you really work up that appetite. Feeling hungry? The only similarity between Crown St Fish Shop and your corner take away joint is that you still have to order at the bar.

I ordered the Grilled Salmon special w/ chips and salad $26. Salmon - amazing! Chips - delish! Salad - what salad? Lets divert for a second and have a little chat about salad. I'm a health conscious gen y female, I think I know what constitutes a salad. Should a handful of rocket be considered a salad? Ah no. I would probably call that a hand full of rocket or a side of leaves. However, overall this was a pretty tasty meal!

Ms B ordered the classic Fisherman's basket $24. Since we started The Surry Hills Breakfast Club she has become increasingly judgemental of her food. As you should be when you're fishing out 24 bucks for a plate of deep fried fish. The verdict? Delicious! And generous...I had to finish it for her  (the meal is bigger than it appears in the picture below).

As you can see from the above photo Ms P was starting to get very hungry by this time, so lucky for me just as she was about to take a fistful of my chips her selection of sides arrived. Ms P ordered the Popcorn Shrimp $14, the potato scallops $2.50 each and the coleslaw $5. The outcome? Tick, tick, tick and a sudden burst of intergestion. 

I love this twist on popcorn or popcorn chicken! Perfect with a slice of fresh lime.

Last but not least Ms L's dinner. As always she went for the burger, this was the wagu cheese burger that didn't come with fries? Ok so it's only $10 but I to be honest I could have gotten better at Maccas for $5 with fries and a heart attack absolutely free.

"So I got the dud meal" Ms L said not looking too satisfied as she took a bite of her burger which she later noted was stale and dry.

Well I guess we are at a fish & chip shop - but really how hard can a burger be to get right?

Overall our meal was great but I think the best thing about Crown Street Fish Shop is the relaxed social vibe. Being perched on the busy side walk of Crown St means that you're more than likely to spot your mates which is really what dining out in Surry Hills is all about - socialising while you eat!

We were all stuffed after our meals but for those of you with a sweet tooth, you need to try the deep fried mars bars - I've heard they're the shit. Look, there are a couple of "paleo friendly" meals however, 80% of what Crown St Fish Shop has is deep fried. You're probably better off going on your cheat day unless you want to have serious food envy. 

Life Is Like A...

I’m going to use that metaphor, I am, here it is I’m doing it I’m doing it…

For a girl in her 20s life is like a rollercoaster

There’s the magnificent highs –

•       Dating that incredible guy
•      Getting into exclusive parties
•     Scoring that awesome job
•    Doing whatever the hell you want, when you want...kind of.

Then come the unavoidable lows -

Like...

•       Finding out that incredible guy is a snap chatting cheating bastard
•       Getting kicked out of exclusive parties and giving yourself a bit of a bad rep because you        don’t know how to drink Patron responsibly 
•    Realising your first awesome job is as glamourous as changing bin liners and screening   phone calls

And then there is the grey area in between which many people fail to realise adds to the motion sickness (note: you are highly likely to ask yourself these questions at least once in your 20s).

•        I hooked up with a girl last night - maybe incredible guys aren’t even for me?
•         How the fuck does one even get into exclusive parties?
•         Where is this job taking me apart from the post office to buy stamps?

Life as a 20-something is the crème de la crème of rollercoasters but the beauty of that is for every drop in the path, there is usually a rise to the top on the other side.

While I’m doing my best to relate to the rest of my peers may I also draw your attention to the 5 thoughts that go through a 20 something year old girls head on a daily, if not hourly basis:

1.       Am I going to make it?
2.       Why won’t he text me?
3.       How come skinny bitches get so many followers on Instagram?
4.       Why can’t I stop eating bad food?
5.       I’m hungry.

I'm thinking 4, 5 & 1 right now - Am I going to make it...to the fridge in time?

So in celebration of the all the 20-somethings out there here are some pictures from the week of which I have failed to blog due to malfunctions with my rollercoaster...I feel like that bitch has carked it at the bottom and I need a hot maintenance man to get my ride back up and running.

Speaking of hot men and fast rides...

Back to Black (Coffee) - Introducing Paleo Prestige

In the last two months I've had tonsillitis, food poisoning and now the cold from hell. As I lay here marinating in my own phlegm I can't help but wonder why my immune system hates me so.

I get that it tis the season to be fluey fa la la la la, blah blah blah. But. I'm starting to feel as though I'm fricken prone to sickness regardless of what month it is.

This time last year I was unemployed dating a PT/healthy chef, exercising daily and inhaling kale amongst other super foods. Although we all know I was being mentally raped by that relationship, physically I was in peak condition. I felt good, I looked good and above all things I was rarely sick.

Fast forward to the present and I laugh in the face of the lady of leisure I was 12 months ago. The most work I did back then was regularly maintain my bikini line which like isn't even a priority right now in comparison to the mountain of things I have to get done on a daily basis.

The truth is I have a real life now, a real job and with that comes some real prioritising that I have failed to do in these last few weeks.



We all know how much gen-y ladies love a good meal plan. You know the ones you see in the back of Who magazine where the features editor asks Gwyneth Paltrow to list her weekly food intake. It goes a little something like this...

...ol. Cool! so this is what my meal plan looks like at the moment (warning: it puts Paltrow's plan to shame).

Japanese extraordinaire Ms B tells me that it's spelt gyoza not goyoza, which doesn't surprise me because I'm the most horrific speller out, but lets be honest it took me that long to make this beautiful spread sheet and Excel doesn't agree with me so I'm going to leave it how it is. Okay. 

So this explains why my immune system not only hates me but is probably shutting down as we speak. I cannot believe that I have become one of those too busy office people who doesn't eat breakfast! And not only that but I can't believe I have also given in to office lollies! Hey Paige do you want a red frog? yes, yes I do - No, No, No!

Something has got to change otherwise I would have used up all my sick days on actual sickness which I am told is so not what you're meant to do.

So without any further ranting may I introduce to you a little thing called Paleo Prestige.

Ms P and I thought up the concept during a routine session of nail painting and shit talking...

I can't remember exactly how the conversation went but I know we were discussing the usual: ex boyfriends, being poor and healthy food.

Background info: Ms P used to date a stripper who made a massive amount of money dancing at hens nights in the city. She stopped seeing him when she found out out that he was injecting himself...with fake tan. (I feel like this story is too good to be true and will probably expand on it at a later date).

"We could be like really healthy hot high end strippers" said Ms P trying to decide between two different shades of beige.

"Yeah it would be a real niche market - everyone is healthy these days, we could... dance, and then cook them a healthy Paleo feast and charge three times the price." I said pouring nail polish remover onto a makeup pad.

"Yeah! Paleo Prestige - Paleo and a show" said Ms P having a real lightbulb moment.

"Paleo and a show"I repeated nodding my head in approval.

Like most of our vapid conversations these business plans unfortunately never eventuated however, the name stuck and Paleo Prestige was born.

For my birthday Ms P gave me custom eye masks and coffee mugs...all class...

Try drinking a fatty caramel latte out of a Paleo Prestige mug - you just can't do it. A green smoothie? worries you hot Paleo bitch. So as it is now the 1st of June and I have officially exhausted all of my sick days it's time to uphold the essence of what Paleo Prestige is all about...

What the f*ck is Paleo Prestige all about?

A: Eating delicious whole foods to not only look hot but feel well. Becoming a stripper - optional.

The Meal Plan below is a balance between Gwyneth Paltrow's extreme diet and my current lazy fat girl non diet and it is what Ms P and I will be following for the next 30 days. We'll shake up the main meals a bit and we're not cutting out all of our beloved fat girl foods. Quest bars are something that no career girl can live without (especially since they are quite healthy) and no one wants to be the dickhead co-worker who never accepts office lollies. 

How hard can it be? I'm sure you'll soon find out ;)