Thursday, January 10, 2013

What do vomit, Downton Abbey and insanity have in common? Me, apparently...

Not Brendan Coyle pondering how to get vomit out of taupe linen.
Image from here.

Well I hope you've all had a rip-roaring start to the New Year. I've slowly dragged my reluctant froggy arse into the first working week of my year and it's PAINFUL.


So it was with real delight that I read some snort-inducing, cringe-worthy, HOLY SHITBALLS HOW DID SHE SURVIVE THAT moments while reading Alison's post about embarrassing situations here.  Her blog and my blog were separated at birth. (You get to guess which was the evil twin). Get her blog in your eyeballs, people.

Once I'd wiped my (thank DOG that didn't happen to me) tears of laughter away, I realised that I owed you all some more from my Top Ten Dumb-Arse Moments list. Thank you Alison for your inspiration.

Five - How to cure yourself of a crush (and ensure you're never allowed near expensive furniture again)

About 11 years ago, I was living the exciting life of a 30-something recently-divorced chick working in independent film in London. Which is to say I was working 16 hours a day, 6 days a week, going to the pub a lot, emotionally unstable and generally insane.

The makeup artist on the film had just moved to a new flat, teaming up with an actress. This actress was in a television show at the time with someone who bore a remarkable resemblance to Brendan Coyle. Look him up ladies, he's now in Downton Abbey. At the time, I was rather partial to a bit of Brendan Coyle. 

Imagine my excitement when I was invited to their housewarming party.

Imagine the utter squee-inducing delight when I heard that the-actor-who-resembles-Brendan-Coyle-but-is-not-Brendan-Coyle* (let's refer to him as Not Brendan Coyle) might be there.

Imagine the pee-producing combination of joy and terror as I walk in and there is Not Brendan Coyle, in the loungeroom.

Imagine the copious amounts of alcohol I consumed in my nervous/emotional unstable/insane state in order to hide the fact that I was nervous/emotionally unstable and insane.

Now imagine the disappointment when I woke up the next morning, amid a pile of sleeping bodies, to discover that I had drunk so much/something/whatever and then vomited. All. Over. Myself. And a brand new taupe linen couch, apparently.

Imagine the horror when the first words I heard that morning were Not Brendan Coyle saying "Way to throw up all over yourself, Aussie".

This is why I can never watch costume drama again, and flinch at the site of taupe furniture.

6 - Waiter, there's a funeral in my soup

Yes I did go to a fancy cafe in the hills near Melbourne.

Yes I did ask the nice lady all in black for some more coffee.

Yes she was a mourner from the wake that was happening in the private section of the cafe.

Yes I am going to hell.

7 - PT Barnum is still an arsehole

If you've been following the PT Barnum story here and here, you'll know that we've been hosting a slightly unwelcome roof visitor lately. As a result we bought a possum box and my partner kindly nailed it to a tree in our back yard.

Apparently trees and ladders aren't designed for people shaped like me.**

"I know," I thought optimistically, "I'll pop up the ladder and add the leaves and some banana to the box to entice PT in and make him so comfy he never wants to hang out in our lumpy old ceiling ever again!"

"I know," I thought, again with remarkable positivity, "I'll just go a bit higher and climb into the tree so I can reach".

"I know," I thought with mild annoyance, "I'll just waggle myself around a bit; I'm sure I can un-wedge myself from this position and get further into this tree".

"I know," I thought with admirable calm, "I'll just wait for my partner to notice that I'm firmly wedged via boob and hips between the ladder and this branch, and then he'll send for the fire brigade to cut me free."

"I know," I thought as I finally climbed down from the tree, "I'll just gas that little fucker out of the ceiling and he can go find a possum box in feckin' possum heaven."***

And so the list of my misadventures is growing. Think of it as a community service - humiliating me so you don't have to.

* It was Brendan Coyle.
** For the record, NOTHING in life is designed for people shaped like me.
*** Updated: I am now DEFINITELY going to hell. Three weeks after publishing this, I had to publish this

What have you done that was deeply embarrassing in front of a famous person?


  1. Replies
    1. ERMAHGERD! I was so happy to see that you'd commented that I may have squeed. Just a little.


  2. Most embarrassing moment...driving to a costume party as Wonder Woman getting lost and having to ask for directions at a petrol station :)

    1. Really? YOU NEED TO GET OUT MORE ;-)


  3. Just superb. Oh, I wish there was a way to type laughter without looking desperate and dimwitted.

    What terrible luck for you that you bump into a kindred spirit and it's me, of all people!

    Partial to a bit of the man himself, myself. Never actually vomited on him though, so there's that.

    My children were just asking me what the snorting noises were :) And thank you, most kindly, for the ahoy :)

    1. You are so welcome - for the record I didn't vomit on anyone but myself. Unless furniture counts but it was taupe so totally asking for it. xxx

  4. I was just thinking this morning - my mind should not be left to wander on its own, it frequently gets lost - I wonder if Brendan Coyle has a blog, or is writing a memoir? I wonder if he will have a paragraph entitled, The Day an Aussie puked on me at a party...

    1. I've tagged him on Twitter next to the post so maybe we'll soon know... ;-) x

  5. Never done anything embarrassing in front of anyone famous but I did tell a blind person to watch where they were going once - I didn't see his stick & just thought he had dark sunglasses on. I'll join you in hell will I? ;)

  6. I had an embarrassing moment today...not in front of a famous person but still a little mortifying (I have a three year old, not much phases me these days). I was walking out of the bathroom today and into the lounge room, which is via the front door. Imagine my horror when the mail delivery guy was standing at the front door and all I had on was a shirt. No pants, no underwear nothing but a shirt. Thankfully it covered my vjay-jay but sadly not my but. So I had to collect the parcel from him then stand there like an idiot until he left so I didn't flash him my lily white arse. It's all fun and games until someone gets blinded by a lily white arse.

    P.s welcome to the club of people who make Alison snort ;)

  7. Hilarious.... keep them coming!

  8. Such posts should have a warning attached "Do not read if sleeping child is next to you".

    LOL My gosh woman you cacked me up!

    1. :-)

      Always makes me happy when my readers cack!