Poor Stevie

July 2007 archive

When I was little I used to like twiddling my umbrella around like I was in Mary Poppins or some shit, but I’m well aware they can be freakin’ lethal weapons in Sydney.

I’m not giant tall, but lots of people walking along George Street seem to be teeny tiny and I have been semi-beheaded on several occasions.

The worst umbrella assault I have seen was when I was lining up for a bus in the rain recently.

This trendy little spiky haired teenager was in front of me, and a red-haired-toupee-wearing old dude was next to me holding a metal-tipped umby. What the old guy didn’t realise was that every time he stepped closer to the bus, while he was fiddling around trying to find his Travel Ten (I bet it was brown) he was ramming his umbrella up this poor kid’s rectum.

The kid didn’t know what to do, but the look on his face suggested that he was seriously considering reporting the old guy to the police.

And rightly so.

Right now, I would like to report Joel to the police.

About two weeks ago, Joel took me out on a hot date.

We were eating Thai in this incredibly romantic little place. Chatting and laughing away like our house was made of gold, probably angering fellow single diners. It was one of those dates where you maybe suck on the same piece of spaghetti, entwine your arms and drink wine, Joel might have pulled a rose out of his sleeve or put a diamond ring in my ice cream. One of those dates.

After consuming a whole bottle of wine – and feeling warm and tipsy, Joel looks deep into my eyes and says:

Nice wine?
Steph: Yeah, it was great. Where does it come from?
Joel: It was left over from an event the other night.
Steph: Oh, that’s nice.
Joel: Yeah, we went around and emptied left over cups into the bottles

And he doesn’t understand my concern that I may now be pregnant to an unknown man. Or at least caught a bad case of herpes.

My lyric of the day: So my label would change my image, I’m a pink lipstick chick called dipstick, This ain’t on my wish list, Oh shit I’m in FHM posing in a bikini,Next to a Lamborghini. Lady Sov 9 to 5

The best joke of Mary’s wedding day was what the mother of the bride showed up wearing made by Joel.

After the ceremony my aunt Jenny says: Well that all went off without a hitch!
Joel: Yeah, except one big one!

In his handsome manner he managed to sum it up well. Everything was freaking fantastic. The bride was beautiful, the groom’s tie matched the bride’s dress perfectly, the sun was shining, the reception had free wine and beer, the food was amazing and I got semi-sloshed.

But in truth, Mary and Andrew make an amazing couple, they had an amazing wedding and I’m happy to call Drew my broseph

After the deed was done. I thought it was cute that the celebrant had to tell them a few times to move closer because they’d “better get used to it”. See that semi-old dude growing out of Andrew’s head? That’s mah Pa watching every moment – clearly he’s already making sure Andrew’s making good use of  the dowry  we all had to save up  and pay. I think he spent it on a Wii.

This is my mum’s side of the family. Check out my sexy legs. Man, I’m in good shape.

This is my Dave’s side. Note: Julia isn’t there because this side of the family don’t like her.  In fact the reason they’re all laughing is because I just pushed her into the water. My legs look slightly more like a side ofpork here.

Isn’t my mum cute? She made these herself and filled them with sweet sweet candy. It was my idea but do you think I had my name on some kind of gold plaque or anything? Nup, not even a mention in the vows. God!

My mum and dad got all caught up in the moment and mistook the reception for their second honeymoon. The staff at the Woolwich Pier Hotel will never be the same. Neither will the nice set of white platters someone bought the newlyweds as a gift.  Seriously Pops, get a room.

I did have other pictures that had more wedding action than the above few. But I am not uploading them in fear of Photobucket cracking under the pressure of …. uploading photos. And if you don’t don’t like it, Dave’s got something to tell you:

And that was the very first wedding in the Gardiner clan (as in cousins, sisters ‘n’ shit, my parents claim to be married).