Kristy Berridge ... Just ... Gone

Christina & Me

Hello all, long time no post!

I've been wrapped up in author interviews, book releases and book reviews lately, so you haven't really had a chance to take a stroll in the whacky world of me.

Well, a lot has happened since we chatted last. My younger brother claims that I have finally become a woman since breaking the virginal status and claiming my first tattoo. And can I just say ... never again!

Aman & Christina

Don't get me wrong, I adore the design and can't praise my tattooist highly enough, but bloody hell, whoever says it doesn't hurt really is full of s@#$t.

Christina, Me & Chantelle

Okay, so besides getting inked up, something I took thirty-one years to carefully consider, I didn't exactly sit back and plan last Saturday night. I mean, you know me. I'm the girl that sits in front of her laptop, eats peanut butter and goes to the gym for fun.

Apparently not anymore.

Can someone say Vodka Soda?

Oh yeah. Mix calorie reduced alcohol with the infectious desire to have fun emanating from my single female friends  and all of a sudden I'm throwing on a black mini, tousling my hair, slapping on lipstick and heading out to a nightclub.

Pick your chins up off the floor! I know it's a foreign concept but I swear it happened and have no idea why I haven't let my hair down sooner. I honestly had so much fun it's ridiculous. The pleasant hum of too much spirits robbed me of inhibition and blighted the otherwise unsightly blisters formed from hours of dancing. I inhaled the cheap aftershave of men far too young for me and attempted to sing along to a band I'd never heard of until that night. Naturally I was insanely humourous and managed to avoid a hang over. All in all the night was a massive success  thanks in massive part to best girlfriends who refused to leave the Hobbit behind when it came to experiencing any and all illicit activity.

Next Saturday? I'll keep you posted.

Have a good one,

Kristy :)

Pocahontas - Part II

So I promised I would regale you all with my tale of becoming Pocahontas. If you haven't read my post about two weeks ago then you can check it out here, but if you have then you might be wondering how my night went.

A quick recap - I, Kristy Berridge, was invited to an eighteenth birthday party filled with bar hopping Disney characters. Minnie Mouse, Esmeralda, Cruella and Tinkerbell were along for the ride - my friends dressed in their most favoured of the Disney bunch, the aim - to party on into the wee hours of the morning.

Mission accomplished for some.

First off, you may recall that the dress code was 'slutty Disney'. I had no idea how to make Pocahontas slutty, I mean she already wears next to nothing, I was already doing the character a favour by adding a bra and a pair of shoes to the ensemble. Team that with a pair of Spanx and a much longer dress and Pocahontas was practically running the convent, so I guess I blew it in that regard.

Moving onto the initial stages of the night and I find myself arguing with a bouncer outside when of my cities busiest nightclubs. The big guy won't let me in, not because I look like a super tool but because he wanted to card me. Naturally at thirty I don't even bother carrying ID since it's been about ten years since someone, anyone mistook me for a teen. Perplexed, I stood there adamant that he take a closer look at me, observe my wrinkles and the credit card in my wallet otherwise unobtainable unless age appropriate.

Ten minutes later and I'm standing on the curb outside by myself, angrily dialing hubby to fetch me my driver's licence. Twenty minutes after that and I'm shoving it under the big guy's nose with a, 'Ha! Told you I was over eighteen!'. He didn't especially give a crap and waved me on in.

The rest of the night passed by in a blur, drinking out of tea pots, riding the party bus, watching other people dance, frowning at the too loud music, getting groped by unknowns and of course, exiting the scene by no later than 11.00pm. That's right, I carried my tired feet and grandma-eye-baggies back to my hotel room, sent a quick text to John Smith (hubby) and was fast asleep by midnight.

All in all, a great night was had by all, even if I once again proved why this thirty year old usually stays home on a Saturday night.

Have a great weekend everyone,

Kristy :)

The Week to Date ...

Well, another week down, and what an interesting one it has been! First off, after my Jazz session last Friday night (a blog I'm sure you've already read, but if not, click this link), I had a nice dinner with my parents on Sunday. Nothing especially unusual about that - dinner at the night markets, Baskin Robbins for dessert, but I must admit I wasn't prepared for the late night entertainment - getting shit on by a bat!
Yes, you heard me. Of all the air space in existence, one lowly, flea infested bat had to fly overhead and poop on my recently washed hair. Some say that's good luck, usually the people laughing and passing you a tissue, but I suspect it might have been karma for chickening out on getting a tattoo about a half hour earlier.
Enter Wednesday's events and it was shaping up to be, pardon the pun - a shitty week. I went for an endoscopy - a small scope feeding through my esophagus to look for aliens.
Kidding.
The doctor said I was a pain in the ass, of course delivered with a few more medical terms thrown in and without the word 'ass' in the sentence.  My throat apparently closed over and they had to force it through, taking three biopsies while they were at it. And despite my colourful and very vivid dream of Gerard Butler's abdominals, I woke up feeling like someone had shoved the garden hose down my throat and punched me in the guts.

Yay for Wednesday!
Thursday and Friday proved relatively uneventful, but I had Saturday night to look forward to - dinner at this hippie place my friend swore would be a good time. You know me, despite my hobbit tendencies, I'll always try something new.
Alas, despite warning that I would undoubtedly have front row seats to an abundance of breastfeeding, dreadlocks and the smell of unwashed armpit, I wanted to go. I was curious about the challenge my friend had issued to one and all - eating the 'Wicked Wings of Death'! Oh yes, I'm talking seriously spicy chicken that will literally make you curl up in a ball, cry and beg for your mama!
So clearly I'm a pussy. I have a reflux issue so I wasn't going near those spicy bastards with a ten foot pole after my Wednesday abuse, but I kinda expected my talk-it-up brother who once ate one of the hottest Mexican Chilli's for a dare to undertake the challenge. I suspect lingering memories of mouth ulcers and belly bloat bloat from over consumption of milk inspired him to pike out and order a counter meal instead.
Needless to say, I'm disappointed that I saw no crying, no bleeding gums, and by nine o'clock had to listen to some woman think she was 'crazy', though I suspected this was merely a bad rendition of Gnarls Barkley's greatest hit. I'm still not sure, maybe it was the watered down drinks or resonance in the microphone.
Anyway, can't wait to see what happens next weekend.
Have a good one,

Kristy :)

Jazz Bar

Okay so I've done it again, I missed Follow Friday. But don't I always justify my missing of this venture with some weird and wonderful exploration of strange terrain in my otherwise relatively dull existence?
Recently my Follow Friday desertion was due to a pyjama party - thirty year old women sipping wine, singing bad karaoke and scaring the shit out of me with a late night viewing of The Exorcist. This time my absence was due to visitation to a jazz bar.
I don't personally listen to jazz. Don't get me wrong, I've got absolutely nothing against it, it's actually quite soothing but not exactly the kind of beat that gets you bouncing to your feet and head banging until the wee hours of the morning (not that I head bang). It was pleasant, unexpected and something I've never tried in the past. Though admittedly it did feel like happy hour at the retirement home.
There I was in my skinny jeans, up-do, and impressively cruel high heels sipping cocktails with my friends, only to be surrounded by a sea of geriatrics. Just about all of us were carded, though I suspected it was mostly because of the bartender's cataracts and our ability to walk around the bar without a walking frame. We probably looked like toddlers to the regulars.
To top it off, our hostess was clinging desperately to her youth, forcing the sagging flesh of her once ample cleavage into a barely there triangle bikini. I especially loved how she topped the outfit off with a see-through leopard print camisole and a side of slick perspiration to highlight every groove and line of disapproval on her craggy face.
Enter a photographer. Whether intentional or not, he snapped away like a Japanese tourist with endless film, possibly shocked to the core that anyone under thirty crossed the threshold and stayed longer than a pit-stop at the restroom.
All in all the drinks were good, the food was good and the company (my mates) was excellent. The band put on a good show despite the fifteen minute intervals for bathroom breaks, and I even appreciated the fact that I could hear the person next to me at all times. But hopefully my Follow Friday will be back on board by next week. I don't expect another romp with the senior citizens anytime soon, though I look forward to the next adventure my friends will undoubtedly talk me into.
Happy weekend everyone,

Kristy :)

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 :)

What Follow Friday?

Okay ... my bad. I usually do the Follow Friday meme hosted by Parajunkee and Alison Can Read every Friday, mostly because it's fun to see what everyone is reading, and then because it promotes the blog - a massive priority as an author.
This week I didn't do it. The day just got away from me, mostly because I was buried under a mountain of edits for my second book, The Damned. (awesome read BTW, you so don't want to miss buying this :P)
So why did I miss the weekly ritual that I have participated in for over thirty weeks?
Okay, pipe down to those of you that are saying 'who gives a crap?'. There has to be someone out there that thinks me blowing off 'Follow Friday' for a two hour session at the gym was more important so that I could finally pour myself into my slim fit jeans and then head out for a girls night?
*clasps a hand to my ear* Yes, I'm hearing the 'Amen, sister'.
So, needless to say I went to my girls night out. I looked great in my jeans, and we listened to music of yesteryear, and sang (badly) and laughed about it until late. Naturally I ducked home and crawled into bed while everyone else took it to the next level at the clubs but everyone knows I'm a virtual hobbit and boogying on the dance floor is not really my thing (I just embarrass myself and everyone else with my Saturday Night Fever moves)
Anyway, so being that music was the main topic of conversation for most of the evening, we started laughing like mad when we all realised there were about a million songs we 'thought' we knew the words to. But have you actually sung a song, have your buddy turn to you and say, 'Mate, that's not how the song goes'.
Answer ... we all have. So with this in mind, here are some of the little gems we came up with;

1. Cold Chisel - "Cheap Wine"
Our version - Cheap wine and a three-legged goat (Who the hell has ever seen a three-legged goat?)
Real version - Cheap wine and a three-day growth

2. Elton John - "Island Girl"
Our version - I like girls (I totally thought this was an affirmation)
Real version - Island girl (you think the title of the song might have spelled it out for me)

3. Bill Medley & Jennifer Warnes - "Time of my Life"
Our Version - We saw the writing on the wall, I've never felt this mad before, it's a specialty.
Real version - We saw the writing on the wall, as we felt this magical, fantasy (go figure)

4. Madonna - "Ray of Light"
Our version - And I feel, like a disco gnome, and I feel. (Truth be told, we were laughing at someone else for this one)
Real version - And I feel, like I just got home, and I feel.

5. Snow - "Informer"
Our version - Informer, you know fhshgsgkhsfgkskskgsklfhdhdhdrs to blame, a licky boom boom down.
Real version - Informer, ya' no say dadda me Snow me I'll go blame, a licky boom boom down
(Yeah, Snow, no one has ever understood what the f@#%k you are saying)

Anyway, these are just a few. There were so many more it's crazy. My face still hurts from laughing so hard. My friend even told me that she'd had an ongoing argument with her brother for over ten years because he swears Charles and Eddie's "Would I lie to You" was "Ooh la la to you".
You gotta love a girls night out.
Have a great weekend everyone, let me know if there are some songs out there that throw a spanner in your lyrical genius. I'd love to hear if you're a disco gnome or that you like girls.

Kristy :)