Crazy Love

The photo above, my friends, is one taken by the ever-awesome The Other Renae, while standing mere metres (two at the most!) from Mr Michael Buble. I was standing right next to her uttering something along the lines of 'Oh my GOD! he's like right there! He's so close I can see the wrinkles in his pants! These are the best seats EVER!' Of course, it was less of an utter and more of an ever-rising scream of delight and excitement.
I'm still excited. See, two weekends ago now, we had front row tickets to Buble's Brisbane concert. Ok, so not just front row, front row....centre. It was, without doubt, the best concert I've ever been to - it even overshadows John Mayer...but only just. And purely because every second of the show was exactly that - a show, an event for the pure entertainment of the audience.
From the moment he stepped on the stage, Michael Buble had every person in the audience either wanting him, or wanting to be him - even the guys shuffling in, clearly dragged there by gaga girlfriends, were pretty quick to start tapping their feet and grooving along.
He took photos with the audience, introduced every member of his band (including the 16-strong brass section), and walked through the audience, performing a number of songs from as stage closer to the back so everone got to see him up-close-ish.
And then the finale. Oh my! During the last song - Song for You - the lights fell and a trumpet solo in the crowd cut back to a dark stage with a single spotlight. Buble stepped forward, hushing the crowd, and then...acapella into the 10,000 strong crowd. WOW! Seriously, WOW!
His band as well was amazing, especially the sax section - although I must admit a soft spot for a good sax solo. Oh, and did I mention the sloped stage which allowed him to walk all smoothly back to the drummer and then turn and slide - rock-star style - down towards the audience? So sexy...
So, enough gushing - pictures (all snapped by The Other Renae)!

So that date I was supposed to go on tonight, I didn't go. I cancelled it. Well...actually I had a panic attack, then threw up, then cancelled it. Then I cried until my eyes were red raw and burning.
I didn't used to be like this. I used it be what I would consider a very confident person. I mean, I wasn't about to win any Ego of the Year awards, but in the same situation a year ago I would have thrown on a cute dress, slapped on some make-up and got there early enough to throw down some dutch courage before I needed to be all cool and calm...
Now I have panic attacks. I don't know where my confidence has gone...I think I lost it somewhere.

Lost on the Midway by The Black Apple

Unfamiliar terror-tory

I have a date tomorrow night. To say it's been a long time since I went on a date (or even a pseudo-date) would be an understatement. Even just in the realm of male attention we're talking nigh on four years. That's a little embarrassing to admit. Ok, a lot embarrassing. Were that the end of it, I probably wouldn't be overcome with such a immense feeling of trepidation and desire to run in the exact opposite direction.
But it's not.
After spending eight months of last year recovering from a knee injury, unable to exercise much and living with my mother's need to constantly feed me, I've put on quite a substantial amount of weight. Coupled with countless hundreds of job rejections - yes, that's how unemployable I apparantly am - I'm feeling very much unlike a person anyone could ever get to like, let alone find attractive.
Nothing fits, nothing looks good, and nothing makes me want to cry more than trying to find an outfit to make me seem attractive in the eyes of the opposite sex. And I hate myself for being so damn reliant on the opinion of a complete stranger to make me feel ok about myself. But I'm so damn scared of that rejection I honestly feel like throwing up every time I think of 7pm tomorrow night.
So I'm begging for some advice. What do you do to pep yourself up when you're not feeling grand? How do you overcome the nerves before a date/interview/big-deal event? What's your sure-fire trick for impressing the pants off someone?

Sweetest sixteen

"Birthday cake" by Hitana via Deviant Art

Today was my cousin's birthday. Chica was sweet sixteen and, despite all evidence to the contrary, has already been kissed. I found her a beautiful amethyst ring and Princess Mononoke DVD, because she loves Anime.
Chica being sixteen is...well, kinda crazy for me. See, I was there when my aunt went into the marathon 18hours of labour. I sat on the floor in the hospital waiting room for so long, and got such bad pins and needles that when I got up I sprained my ankle because my whole foot and leg were dead. And I got first nurse becuase I was injured.
I was there when Chica took her first steps, said her first words, and got her first tooth. I was there for the trips to the emergency room when she ate a poisonous plant, missed the trampoline when jumping off the roof, and skittled herself (not once, but five times) on her scooter. And I was there last year when a boy asked her out and she needed advice - she said no because it was in the middle of exams and she didn't feel that way about him (so proud!).
We've grown up together more as sisters than cousins, and if I ever need reminding of that I only need to look in her wardrobe, where half my shoes and clothes have taken up residence. I've taught her about theatre and music, boys and fashion, history and art. She's taught me about humility, strength and generosity.
Over the last few years she's reached an age where she no longer seems light years away from me in maturity, and we've started to chat about cute boys, shoes and clothes, and other more grown-up things. It's great, but every now and then - like tonight- my heart stops because I realise that the sweet little kid who put MY stocking out so I wouldn't miss Santa, is now completely over Santa herself.
Chica is almost all grown up - which I think also scares me becuase it means I'm getting older too fast. But no matter how old she gets, she'll always be my little cuz. So tonight I'm sending a shoutout to her and wishing her a very happy Sweet Sixteen - or half-thirty-two as she's dubbed it. May the next half be as sweet as your ever-increasing sweet tooth, and full of all the best things you can imagine!