Belated happy birthday to The Bed & Breakfast Man! The lucky bastard got to sneak a holiday to Queensland with Mrs A, he brought back a tattoo, but didn't bother bringing me back Brisbane. So inconsiderate!

So. I've been rotten, I know. A part of me is avoiding blogging because of the Alvarez bungle, and another part of me is just TIRED.

Charlotte's really working hard at keeping true to that 'terrible twos' myth, and it's incredibly taxing. I guess it's rough because I've been so used to her being an angel of a daughter all this time... now I'm starting the day dressing her because she keeps getting naked through the night, and I'm changing her sheets pretty much every morning since she waits until she's completely starkers to pee. She also loves getting into everything she's not supposed to, like the TOILET and the BALCONY and the KITCHEN. I thought I'd babyproofed everything, but it seems she's not only a good climber, but a bloody great door-opener. And she's great at throwing bathroom product into the toilet and flushing. Ack, and that quiver of the lip and a crack of a smile when she's sussing out my mood... who am I to resist?

Not much going on here other than that. I'm set to meet Adrian the Cabbie, who I consider to be one of the best Aussie bloggers out there, for pizza, booze, and good times this Friday night. I'm really looking forward to that, since I've been a fan of his for a fair spell now, it'll be great to finally put a face to the blog and the voice.

Then next Friday night, I'll be joined by Misha in celebrating my ex-husband's birthday with him in town. I'm wondering if the place we're hitting has a jukebox, and I wonder if it has Peter Andre on it? Ponderous.

It's been busy, and I'm sorry I've not churned out any clumsy BourbonBird-childhood stories lately, but I've got a lot of good stuff going on offline. I need a break from this futurebox, anyway.