Author: hollzknees

What’s in a name?

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My name is Holly. 

So why then, do people insist on calling me Colleen? Colleen? Are you serious? I don’t even look like a Colleen.

Polly, Molly or on occasion Dolly I get – it rhymes, but Colleen? Jesus. 

Last week I was at a book launch, I agreed to go along as a guest of the author thinking ‘perfect, we will be best friends all night, I’ll pick her brains about France and we will drink champagne until the tab runs out. Yeah, NO.

I rocked up only to realise I had not thought the whole situation through. I didn’t know anyone else there and the author was busy welcoming everyone in. It suddenly dawned on me I would be forced to either spend the night alone with my phone or attempt to make friends.

I made my way to the bar, grabbed a champers and stood in the middle of the room, willing someone to look at me. An older gentleman caught my eye and I gave him a smile he simply couldn’t refuse. He said hello and I launched into a story about how the venue was actually a nightclub, did he know. Stellar conversation starter on my part I must say. Well, that started what turned out to be a very valuable friendship for the evening, or so I thought. He introduced himself as Peter and I told him my name was Holly.

“Colleen, lovely to meet you”. “Oh no”, I replied, “It’s actually Holly”. “Yes, yes, Colleen, so what do you do?” 

Well what does it matter now, Peter. You’ve just ruined everything. 

Unfortunately, the situation got worse. Peter was one of those people who knew everyone there, and I mean everyone. Being the friendly and helpful gentleman he was, he proceeded to introduce me to everyone he knew . . . as Colleen. So in the end, after attempting to pull every other person aside and correct them, I just embraced it.

So I put to you the question, what is your name and what do people decide they want to call you? 

The aftermath

This is us in out usual attire, getting ready to double bounce some kids.
This is us in our usual attire, getting ready to double bounce some kids
White chocolate mudcake goodness with special silver balls - THAT'S how much I'm loved
White chocolate mudcake goodness with special silver balls – THAT’S how much I’m loved

I’ve put on two kilos. TWO KILOS PEOPLE.

While this is immensely upsetting, it also provides me, and you, the evidence needed to prove my birthday weekend was a success. Friday, the day of birth, was brilliant. It started with Lindt balls in bed followed by a number of presents opened, all of which were to my liking.

I had no issues with my chosen outfit and my hair played ball – so all in all by the time I arrived at work I was feeling good. Now, I’m not sure if the workmates read the blog or just happened to be in a good mood because it was the last day of the working week, but everyone seemed pumped it was my special day. Come to think of it, they were probably just excited about the impending cake.

We went out for lunch, followed by an assortment of cakes by my very talented work girls, and I received a steady flow of phone calls.

BUT, all day I couldn’t stop thinking about the evenings surprise. I was certain Mr Knees was going to take me ice-skating. Oh how wrong I was.

About 14 of us twenty somethings rocked up to Bounce Inc – a giant indoor trampoline park in Glen Iris.

I have almost never had so much fun in my life. Adulthood was abruptly thrown out the door as we raced around playing dodge-ball, basketball, attempting flips and just ‘free jumping’. We had a handful of injuries within the first ten minutes, but we proved age doesn’t matter and battled on. The evening was finished at the pub, a great end to what was truly a great day.

But reality’s a bitch and now I have to somehow attempt to drop this excess weight before one of the girlfriends weddings in two weeks. I do not want to be the chubster in the photos. So, I am going to eat the ice-cream Mr Knees just bought because I hate waste, and then its upwards and onwards into a world of eating air.

A day never to be repeated, sadly

Never to be repeated Yo-Chi tasted extra delish tonight. The next time I eat it I will be old...er.
Never to be repeated Yo-Chi tasted extra delish tonight. The next time I eat it I will be old…er.

Tonight I had Yo-Chi for the last time at age 26.

Tomorrow is my birthday. So, from 8.32am (the time I popped out all those years ago) and for the next 12 months every time I do anything I will be 27. But I feel ok about this.

I’m pretty big on birthdays, that’s probably an understatement. I feel that the week prior to a birthday is the lead up, and so a count down to the day must ensue, and the weekend after your birthday is classified as your birthday weekend. Anyone who disputes this should probably just drop off my presents and then stay away from my life.

My parents have both provided me with said countdown, and the mother-in-law has jumped in on the action the past two days – so it’s really started heating up.

I’m also a firm believer that you must not, under any circumstances, open birthday presents or cards before the actual day. I have spent the past week and a half scanning the post to ensure all non-identifiable mail has been put aside in the ‘birthday pile’. It’s just not worth the risk.

Husbo has something planned, he’s been nattering to a few friends and they have a wee surprise for me. I probably won’t sleep tonight due to too much excitement.

Tonight, I have cleaned the house, been for a walk and begun beauty preparations for the big day. I was in the car earlier coming back from Yo-Chi and Mr Knees said ‘why are you in a hurry?’ and I said ‘because I need to get home and wash my hair, shave my legs and paint my nails’. He then asked me why and I said ‘because tomorrow everyone will be looking at me’, then he just stared at me with his mouth open a bit and said “you are mental” and stopped talking to me. I don’t think I am.

Tomorrow I will eat cake for breakfast, cake for morning tea and I’ll go out for lunch. I’ll probably have cake for afternoon tea, a gin and tonic with the work girls and then my surprise will start. But it’s ok, because calories don’t count on your birthday. I’m also pumped about opening presents in the morning, Mr Knees will have to wake up five minutes earlier to collect them all and bring them into me while I open them one by one without tearing the paper. I can’t wait.

Also, I have a confession. I lied earlier about shaving my legs. I decided to do it in the morning because they’ll be fresher.

Hello world it’s me and my gang of cats

This is Libby, and also the reason I am no longer allowed a furry friend. She loved me more than Mr Knees and he simply couldn't handle it. It came down to him or the cat and I had to decide. Just kidding, we fostered her for two years until she found a forever home. She was a real creep.
This is Libby, and also the reason I am no longer allowed a furry friend. She loved me more than Mr Knees and he simply couldn’t handle it. It came down to him or the cat and I had to decide. Just kidding, we fostered her for two years until she found a forever home. She was a real creep.

I recently got married and have since changed my name and started a blog. I guess this is what people do when they take on the responsibility of another person for the REST OF THEIR LIFE.

Ha, just kidding – I’m pumped to have to look after someone else, cook for them, do their washing, nag – it’s ideal.

This first post is really just to say hi and welcome you into my world.

I’m a full-time journalist, though none of these ramblings are associated with my employer. I am a Kiwi living in a foreign country, where I have to speak two different languages so my Straya friends can understand me and my NZ friends think I haven’t gone to the dark side or just started magically speaking from my nose.

Have fun reading my tales I know I will enjoy recounting some of the crazy shite that seems to happen to me and those around me.

Firstly, I decided to let everyone in on my secret. I have a gang of cats.

Mr Knees won’t let me have a furry friend so this is what it has come to. I’ve adopted all the cats in the immediate vicinity of the house and they all have names. Some are their real names and some are names I have simply had to give them because I haven’t been able to locate their owners to ask. Mr Knees seems to get embarrassed when this happens but I found out the hard way it’s better to check than to just start talking to people’s cats and calling them names you decided they should have.

My favourite is Lolly (real name). She lives down the road and I only see her when I’m walking home from my day job, but she’s great. She’s super friendly and lets me pat her tummy, which I think totally makes me her best human friend. She’s a Siamese and has a sister called Coco – although Coco can be a bit of a bitch. One wears a blue collar and the other has a red one and I always seem to get them mixed up, but thanks to the lady on the corner I’ve now got it sorted. Blue is Lolly and red is Coco – I can remember this because in real life I like blue better than red.

Then there’s Spence (real name) he’s a ginger and proud of it. He’s mostly a night creature but every now and then I catch a glimpse of him on his outside chair. I’ve only touched him once but it was awesome. Before I spoke to his owner about him I’d called him Gary. Sometimes I still like to call him that but I have to make sure people aren’t around. He has a brother called Nisbit (real name) who only comes out once in a blue moon and mainly hides under cars. I don’t really like him but he’s still part of the gang.

And then there’s Gamy, or Gam Gam (not a real name). He’s (at least I think it’s a boy) a long-haired tabby cat and is super friendly. He got the name because when we first met him he had a gamy eye and unfortunately it was a case of not having a big enough imagination to name him something cool. Anyway, he’s a pretty big fan of getting in-between your legs when you’re carrying the groceries or washing basket and is just generally an all round GC . . . good cat – ha gotcha.

I called them all for a meeting earlier but when they heard it was for a photo-shoot they all panicked and went west, so I’ll have to catch them when they’re least expecting it.

Sometimes I wonder if the neighbours think I’m mental. But then I don’t really care because I’m the one with all the cat friends and not them.