Pyjama Party

Ooh, I love a good pyjama party. At least, I think I do. It's been a good twenty years since I went to, or had one, but I am breaking that dry spell with one tonight. Yes I, Kristy Berridge, thirty and fabulous (just roll with it) is going to a friend's house for a sleep over birthday party.
Okay boys, pipe down. I know what you're thinking - lingerie, pillow fights, and whipped cream.
As if. 
Although I do expect whipped cream - on something totally calorie laden and cellulite inducing.
Oh yes, there will be junk food, movies, boy talk, alcohol, and dare I say it ... Nintendo Wii. It sounds like fun, doesn't it?
Admittedly, when I was kid and slumber parties came up, things were a lot simpler. Diving face first into a pile of cushions and squealing in delight with my friends as we jumped up and down on beds was about all I internalized. Now, as an adult, I'm wondering if there will be enough mattresses to sleep on? Will I have a bad back in the morning? What happens if I fart in my sleep and kill all my friends? Will I be laughed at for my seriously bad bed hair?
And then of course we come to the main dilema - dress code "Pyjamas".
I'd like to say I was cool enough that I normally sleep naked, hence my lack super-cute attire. But alas, I do not let the flesh fly free. One, I'm worried my own boobs might slap me in the face. Two, hubby tends to get what I call a little 'grabby' with it all hanging out there. And three, I'm terrified of random bugs stumbling upon my bed, crawling under my sheets and setting up camp somewhere warm and dark. So, to that end, the great expanse of my nighttime wardrobe is granny undies (for keeping out bugs and hubby), and a random, over-sized night shirt. Naturally this is sexy as hell!
*Cups ears to hear the disgruntled booing coming from the male readers not certain why they continue to read this fantasy blowing blog*
*snickers*
So, tonight I head out in deplorable style - granny undies, boxer shorts, random night shirt, and my infamous pink slippers (see here for the last time these babies went out on the town). I will rock this mis-matched outfit. I will eat until I form a second ass. I will scream like a baby if someone whips out The Exorcist to watch. But I will have fun despite myself and the inevitable midnight gas.


Kristy :)

Follow Friday #35

Happy Friday everyone!

Yes, it’s that time of week again where bloggers unite to participate in the Follow Friday venture. The idea behind #FF is to promote traffic to your own blog, make new friends with other like-minded bloggers and discuss new and interesting topics each week.

Participating is simple. First you need to follow my blog because I’m totally awesome, then you can follow me on Twitter @kristyberridge (actually you don’t have to do this, it’s wishful thinking), but do follow my blog or assassins will get you …

Then you must follow our illustrious hosts Rachel of http://www.parajunkee.com/ and Alison of http://www.alisoncanread.com/ If you want more details on how to enter your own blog in the follow and hop, all directions are on their webpages

Now, once you’ve followed, check out my answer to this week’s questions and don’t forget to leave a comment so I can do the right thing and follow you back!


This week's question: Birthday Wishes - Blow out the candles and imagine what character could pop out of your cake .. who is it, and what book are they from?


My answer: (Beware of the goo factor) ... is Asher from Laurell. K .Hamilton's Anita Blake Vampire Hunter series. I'd like to say he would come bearing world peace in one hand and more chocolate frosting for my birthday cake in the other. Alas, I am shallow and craving more than cocoa and philanthropy. 
I want me a few century old, sexy, French vampire who is an absolute pro between the sheets. (cover your eyes parentals) I say, yes please to a non stop ... shall we say ... happy moment teamed with zero chance of procreation.
Anyway, my Friday just got a hell of a lot better. Now where's my damn cake?


Kristy :)

A Plan of Action

I wanted to write a 'Warring with my Waistline Part 3', but alas I couldn't. For one, the battle of the bulge still continues, my thighs are still trying to take over the world, and I can't seem to keep my sticky fingers off chocolate. However, there has been some developments.

I got my ass into the gym!
Yes, I bit the bullet after watching my twin brothers chowing down on boiled chicken and broccoli, throwing in some weights and squats, and returning home from the gym looking extremely buff and a darn sight happier, despite the fact that they are now so built their arms don't touch their sides. But you know what? I wanted a piece of that action (minus boiled chicken and Arnie arms). So I took my husband and father - moral support, and made them sign up with me.
Now I thought I was getting pretty fit. I run for half an hour every day on the treadmill, whip out the sporadic lunge, and always try to watch what I eat even when I see a titanic sized piece of cake heading for my gob. I thought I could handle a personal training session basically aimed at smashing me to pieces until I'm reassembled about fifteen kilos lighter (I want to wear a sequinned bikini and see the bottom half unobstructed as I look down). I thought I could do about a gazillion squats while froggy jumping across the room, fist pump four kilogram hand weights into the air like I had a point to prove, and walk down a set of stairs afterwards without face-planting other patrons or equipment.
You know what? I damn well did it.
Yes, I may have been crying on the inside. I may have split my pants just a little bit. I may have had to grip the handrail on the staircase on descent, and I may have had to swallow back a few mouthfuls of bile, but by God I bloody did it. The crazy thing is I'm going back for more.
However, this state of 'more' may have to wait a few days since I'm practically a cripple right now, but I will go back and I will conquer. I will post a 'Warring with my Waistline Part 3' and there will be photos that don't make you want to gag.
Hell yes I'm doing this.
I may just have to buy new pants first ... and a walking stick.

Kristy :)

What's it for?

A silly blog today, though I honestly suspect that most of my blogs are. I am literally compelled to talk about every stupid subject that comes to mind, and today is honestly no different.
So the story starts when my husband and I were sitting on the couch together the other night, watching mindless sitcoms after a long day at work. We hadn't spoken for hours, not because we were arguing, but because after twelve years together you're more than comfortable sitting in silence. Plus, after an eight to ten hour workday having to talk non-stop to a lot of stupid people, it's nice just to shut up for a little.
Anyway, I'd say about two hours had passed. We'd watched the Biggest Loser and ate a shitload of chocolate - moral support and all that. We'd also taken on My Kitchen Rules and naturally scoffed at every meal concocted, knowing we were hardcore master chefs at heart.
In the next instant a commercial rolls around. I hit the mute button - I'm sick of wanting a Whopper with cheese and caramel Sundays at nine o'clock at night because the voice over says I'm hungry ... bastard.
Anyway, hubby then turns to face me, and naturally I'm curious. He takes a breath, straightens up like he has something very important to say, and then, overly animated he says, 'Why do we have hair?' He pats the top of his head and then pulls at a few of the strands. 'I mean really, what the hell do I need all this for?'
I lost it.
Two hours, no talking, a full day of stupid questions from idiotic patrons at work, and my husband asks me why he has head hair. I don't think I've laughed that hard in ages. But, pressing for an answer, I told him that even head lice needs somewhere to live.
So, naturally this has stirred up a whole bunch of questions I really don't have answers for;

1. Why is the sky blue?
2. Why does only when sock come out of the dryer when I put two in there?
3. Why do you get fined if you don't wear a seat belt in your car, but there aren't any in public transport?
4. Why do we teach children to talk when parents spend their teenage years begging them to shut the hell up?
5. Why do we have to make the bed when we're only going to sleep in it again?
6. Why does everything taste like chicken?
7. Why does February get short changed a few days?
8. Why do we have a mother's day and father's day but not an 'everybody else' day?

Anyway, these are just a few. I'd be curious to see what boggles your mind. Leave me a comment, I promise, no judgment! After all, my husband is suss on the whole head-hair thing, and I have no idea why there are only twenty-eight days in February with the occasional sneaky one thrown in.
Have a good one,

Kristy :)

Suddenly 30 ... Take 2

I last posted about this tragic event a little over six weeks ago (Suddenly 30). With two weeks to go now until the big three-o, I've started to get a little worried about the strength of my resolve. For one, six weeks ago I was dead set determined to loose ten kilograms and kick Zumba's ass. And two, I was going to get a swimming pool to show off my new bikini body.
Well ...
I haven't lost ten kilograms , I've gained two and half. I haven't been to Zumba because for some reason, every Friday night in Cairns for the last six weeks it has rained! And, as for the swimming pool - no need. It has been raining so much that my backyard is now an Olympic size swimming pool.
I guess you have to be careful what you wish for.
So, in light of the fact that my thighs are still clearly plotting against me and my lazy ass is too afraid to catch the sniffles because of a bit of rain, I've decided to make more achievable goals for the next fortnight.
1. I will not cry my eyes out on April 2nd. I still have ten years before I'm forty anything.
2. I will go back on my diet and stop folding to supermarket pressure and eating hot cross buns three weeks before Easter.
3. I will not buy chocolate. I will not let my husband buy me chocolate even when it's PMS time and I'm screaming at him for it.
4. I will get a tattoo, or at the very least, design one with good intentions of it someday marking my pasty white flesh.
5. I will drink less soda. It is not part of the healthy food groups no matter how much I keep trying to convince myself that 'sugar free' means 'good for you'.
6. I will get a haircut. I am not Rapunzel.
7. I will stop biting my fingernails ... for real this time.
8. I will try to read at least one book per week.
9. I will stop getting pissy about my lack of time. After all, I've had thirty years of scheduling practice, you'd think I'd have the time management thing licked by now.
10. I will probably forget about all these goals but nevertheless will honor the intent behind them.

So that's my round up for turning thirty. I should probably have thrown in world peace, kindness towards others and my favourite - perform a miracle. But, since I already have my minions working on all three of the above, I can concentrate on the baby steps and a side order of world domination.
Alas, I will let you know if the world ends on April 2nd. I will tell you if the wrinkles take over and devour my face, or if my weak knees deiced to make me bust any unnecessary moves. I will cry out in anguish if I end up with a fringe after my haircut, and I will pray for absolution if the chocolate fetish wins out.
Have a good one,

Kristy :)