Haters gonna HATE



Its the end of week 2 of my sugar free experiment.. and it’s probably the first week of my life where I havent gone home hating myself for all the poison crap I ate that week. I don’t think I am overweight, just want to get healthy.. and you would too if you ate a packet of tim tams every day. I’m not kidding. EVERY DAY.

I wrote a blog a while back about one of my colleagues that is extremely self conscious and tries to buy my friendship with food. I told him I was on this sugar free diet, and not to bring me any chocolate, but on Tuesday he bought me a Bueno bar and placed it on my desk. I said, no thanks.. but he left it there. Which I found super weird. When he came back out today and noticed it was still on my desk, unmoved and unnoticed, he said “I’m so dissapointed! I thought you would have cracked by now.”

That’s one thing I really hate about Australians. I would call this a very mild form of tall poppy syndrome.. something that pretty much every Aussie suffers from, myself included. It’s funny how when one person is trying to better themselves and improve their quality of life that others are so quick to jump at the chance to make them fail.

But unfortunately for all the pure bred Aussies out there.. I contracted a very contagious state from my Oma and Opa… Austrian/German stubbornness. Sometimes when I am being stubborn, my husband calls me Hitler.. which I actually find insanely offensive, stereotypical and racist- however I do see where he is coming from in some ways. This is why I don’t care that people are trying to pull me back down in to their obese-ridden nation .. high up from my sugar free little cloud. But I absolutely and completely, flat out REFUSE to give in.


Kitty bag



I distinctly remember the feeling of dread when my mother would turn to me in the car as she was driving and ask “could you get my sunglasses out of my bag for me?”. This seems like a normal request, but if you had ever experienced the endless abyss of crap that was the contents of my mums handbag, you would freak out too. I would be fumbling nervously through mounds of old lipglosses, mini sewing kits, hand creams, medications and old parking tickets while my mum was blinded by the sun as she was driving: “Hurry up! I can’t see anything” she would scream. And I often couldn’t handle the pressure.. my mind would drift to her funeral as my dad sullenly said “if only Amber had found her sunglasses sooner, Susi would still be here today”, and I would have a panic attack and my mum would have to pull over and find them herself.

So I vowed to myself then and there that one day, when I was grown up enough to have a handbag- that I would organise it so neatly that I would know instantly where everything was when I needed it.. so that I could find stuff blindly.. just knowing where it is. So that’s how the kitty bag came along. And many of my colleagues are forever grateful for the contents of it.

I have everything that you’ll ever need in this little bag. I’ll often here someone complaining of something from inside the office, and then another person saying “amber might have some in her kitty bag”. And I usually do. And I can find it in my handbag with my eyes closed, or reach for it from behind my chair. They call me Mary Poppins. But I just call it organisation.

For any of you that are interested, the key is to buy mini versions of things. You won’t ever need a whole tube of toothpaste- and my mini toothpaste has come in handy on exactly 4 occasions.. once, when I forgot to brush my teeth- and the other times when my boss had a tooth infection and needed to brush his teeth after every meal. My bag also contains a tube of handcream, mini pack of make up wipes (because I HATE to exercise with make up on), a fold up hair brush, mini roll on sunscreen, an array of medication to cure all of your hayfever, period pain and general pain needs, and of course.. a mini sewing kit that I believe is necessary after I split my pants all the way up the crotch a couple of weeks ago 10 minutes before an important meeting.

I stepped in wee



There’s this crew of homeless people near central station- they live inside this big walkway tunnel and every couple of weeks the police move them along, but they always come back. Their little group comprises of thieves, drug addicts, alcohol abusers and prostitutes. It’s funny, because begging is like their full time job. They go out to work the streets, and then they all come back to their little “home” at 5pm and sit around smoking the drugs and drinking the alcohol they bought with their donations. It’s an interesting cycle and I’m not 100% sure why anyone actually gives them money.. but that’s my opinion. I bought a homeless man cigarettes once so I can’t really talk.

So the other day I was wearing these sandals when I looked up and realised I was steadily approaching the homeless people in their little tunnel that I have to walk through to get to the station. I mean, I could take another route but that would add at least 5 minutes to my journey.. and I am not willing to compromise on that.

I’ve always been someone that crazy people and homeless people are drawn to. I don’t know what it is about me, maybe I look like an easy target to rob or something. Maybe I look gullible enough to give someone drug money. I remember when I was a kid, I was at a playground with about 50 other kids, playing happily by myself as I always did, when this disabled boy came right up to me, knocked my happy meal from my lap and gave me an Indian burn on my arm so hard that it almost bled. I ran over to my mum, and I could tell she felt a little uncomfortable because what can you say to a parent of a disabled child? And she just said “you’re ok- sometimes you have to remember that people have problems in their brain that can’t be fixed. He didn’t mean to hurt you, he was probably just trying to play, but doesn’t know how yet”.

My best friend in primary school was a girl with a disability also… everybody hated us and threw their lunch at us. Once, in year 1, these big kids on the bus were bullying her and calling her a dick head, so I yelled at them and told them to stop being so mean. Then, the next day at school I told the principle and they got in so much trouble, even though they INSISTED that they actually called her “dickie from playschool”. Lying sons of bitches. So then they gave me crap for the rest of my time at that school, bullying me because I was a “dibber dobber”. But I didn’t care because I was defending my friend who couldn’t defend herself.

In New York, I tried to give this homeless guy some of my spare change and he clung to me for about 45 minutes while he explained to me the cycle of life as believed by Buddhists or something. He gave me a Catholic Prayer Book and then I quickly made up an excuse to leave. I walked for about 5 minutes before I looked back and saw him chasing me, screaming “AMBER! AMBER! CAN I HAVE THAT MONEY?”. So I gave him my cup of money and then he went scrambling back in to the bushes of Central Park.

So anyway. The people in the tunnel. I was walking through when I accidently made eye contact with one of the older guys. I instantly knew that I was going to be a target.. so I just went with it. I started to form an awkward jog-walk-run-trot, when he yelled out “Why you gonna run away? I’d tap that!”, and then, mid trot-run-walk, I felt a splash on my legs and was engorged with the sounds of tremendous laughter around me. “I wouldn’t do her now! She just stepped in my PISS!” he said. And then they all laughed for about 40 minutes while I skulked away, sullenly, feeling like I had just contracted herpes in my feet from his drug urine.

Better late



I walked in to my house tonight after a day of what felt like single-parenthood… caring for two high energy dogs and providing stability for my husband who is working 14 hour days is hard work. I know I sound like a whinger- but I leave my house at 7.30 to go to work and get home at 6.30. My dogs require two walks a day AND I have to have a healthy meal ready for my hubby when he gets home after a long day at his job and doing renovations. I have to make sure all the washing is done, make sure the house is clean, and most of all- I have to make my husband and my dogs feel loved and supported.

I had woken up at 5.45, taken the dogs for a walk around the neighbourhood, came home to get ready for work, put away the clean dishes, ate breakfast, put a load of washing on, hung it out, tidied the house, organised dinner (Made the I Quit Sugar Meat Muffins.. they were interesting and they went down well, so ten points to that. 0 points to the fact that there was so much prep required…eg. Home made cream cheese and pumpkin puree), fed the dogs, filled up their water bowls, set them up outside with stuff to play with- then I left and caught the train. And after a long day of invoicing and doing everyone elses crap for them, I jumped out of my car, grabbed my dogs and took them down the beach for a run. There was an insanely fast kelpie down there that literally gave my girls a run for their money and they were absolutely knackered, which was amazing. I came back up the hill, checked in on the new house to see what the boys had done.. then I drove home, put dinner in the oven, made the avocado and cream cheese topping, had a shower, fed the dogs and then collapsed on the lounge. It was almost 8.30 and I was stuffed.

But then I noticed a surprise on my tv cabinet. My sister had snuck in during the day and put this amazing artwork that I’d asked her to do for me for christmas last year.

It made my day, week and life so much better.

And now I truley believe in the saying:

Better late than never.

Sad dogs and happy dogs



There’s this community social feed where you can sell stuff, buy stuff or get info etc, for the area I live in. Yesterday this woman posted a photo of a beautiful border collie that she’d found near her house. She wasn’t micro chipped and they cant find the owner.. A lady commented on it that she thinks its her neighbours dog… but she didnt have his number because she hates him. She said that they leave this dog chained up out the back for days at a time and never walk it or feed it properly.

I really hope that the owner got lost in the wilderness and died so it cant come back and claim the poor dog.

I don’t know why people buy dogs if they don’t have time for them or aren’t willing to provide for them and care about them. I mean, yeah, puppies are cute. But if you think that a living creature is going to look like a baby forever then you either have a serious mental problem or you are a murderer. Pick one. I don’t mind. There’s a perfect family for every dog. Sometimes they don’t fit… so you need to give another family the chance to find their forever pup.

My husband is busy with renos at the moment, so I have to take over walking the dogs every day. They are a breed that requires A LOT of exercise, so I have to take them for a 40 minute walk in the morning and then a nice long run in open fields or at the beach in the arvo. I was walking them around the neighborhood this morning, and they were so happy to be out and about.. smelling new things and curiously searching for nothing. I felt sad for the little lost dog from facebook.. and I wished I had enough room for her to live with us too.. because I think she would be so happy with a family like mine, where dogs are part of the family- NON NEGOTIABLE.




Ashton left super early this morning to go and work on the house. It’s Sunday and it’s his 6th day of hard work this week. I dont think humans are designed to work so much- and I know that Ash will crash and burn in about 1 month .. but nobody listens to me, so I just have to sit here and pick up all the pieces when it happens.

My sugar free diet is killing my life, and I’ve been drinking a lot of herbal tea to suppress my cravings. I like to remind myself of why I’m doing this, because there’s a packet of tim tams in the cupboard thats BEGGING to be eaten… but I refuse. So I lined up all my pretty tea pots so that when I walk in the house (with, no doubt, sugar cravings) I can see a clear alternative straight away.




It’s the first “official” day of renovating our new house.. and I am feeling very helpless. There’s really nothing that I can contribute as of yet, and I feel like I’m constantly letting my husband down because when I’m there, I feel like I’m just sitting round doing nothing while he is working his ass off. And I feel like my talents would be better served in our home at the moment, doing chores, cleaning… sorting out paperwork etc. But he thinks that it’s me showing that I’m not interested. But I am. I just don’t know how to prove it yet. I’ve never renovated a house before.

I know I will learn over time, but at the moment I just have to have thick skin and get used to my ideas and efforts being rejected. Like, today I went to the shops and bought lunch for everyone, cut it all up and set the table.. but then nobody showed up. “We’re too busy” they said. And let me just clarify that I had set this all up at my parents house, which is literally a ONE minute drive from the new house. I don’t understand where they are coming from, and they dont understand where Im coming from. Its a vicious cycle.

So anyway, I was just trying to contribute because I feel pretty useless at the moment- and it got thrown back in my face. I have to just get over it and get used to it though, because this is the life of a renovator. So my day got worse when my mum yelled at me because I left her dogs inside for 30 seconds while mine went for a swim in her pool.. and then someone else very close to me said something hurtful about my dogs… and that doesn’t sound like a big deal, but it was. My dogs are my babies, and they are my most valuable possession. And it hurts when people say mean things about them, because I know that they are such kind natured animals and have such wonderful hearts. It makes me mad when people call them names. It’s like, get over yourself and pick on someone your own size.

The annoying thing is, that my dogs will go back to this person and love them unconditionally.. even after the horrible things they said about them. I wish I could forgive and forget that easily. I hold grudges like they are going out of style.