My favourite neuroscientist/life coach Josien was in town this weekend, house sitting at one of my dream houses in Wentworth Falls in the Blue Mountains. She invited me up for the weekend, and I was all HELL YAS. And after a 1.5 hour train ride on Friday night, I was there.

And once I stepped off the train, it was SO COLD I could see my breath.

Fuck. Yes. 

So, it was pretty much the best weekend ever. The house was incredible: one of those houses owned by successful, rich people who have very trendy taste and love to host. There were TWO linen closets filled with linen. Everything was immaculately organised and super modern. There were heaps of pillows and loungey blankets and a fire place. And the view from the deck was so peaceful. I fell in L-O-V-E.

On Friday night, we ordered pizza, wore face masks, gossiped about boys (if you don’t talk about boys while wearing a face mask at a slumber party, the mask won’t work), watched Pauly Shore, wore onesies, and made dick jokes.

On Saturday, we were dangerously close to getting fresh air and exercise on the nature trail, but instead we hung out with Dr. Candace, threw the frisbee to the dog, drank lots of wine, ate lots of cheese, threw the frisbee to the dog, put together most of a puzzle, ate more cheese, threw the ball to the dog, watched the sun set, made a badass dinner, almost set the house on fire, watched This is Spinal Tap, threw the ball to the dog, drank good whiskey, threw the fris–DOG JUST STOP ASKING US TO PLAY OK, pointed out constellations (I can’t find the Big Dipper anymore because it’s in the wrong spot), had lots of deep and meaningful talks about family and illness… and made more dick jokes.

The weekend was mucho bueno, and over way, way too soon.

And here’s what it looked like in pictures:

Failing with Bonny:

So, I’ve never flambèd meat before. And Josien made me flambè the lamb pops. I was 3 glasses of wine deep and terrified. But Josien is a champion of pushing me into doing what I’m terrified of (asking for a deserved pay raise and driving, just to name a few things), so after a few minutes of coaching and hemming and hawing on my part, I poured the booze in the pan. I was about to ignite the booze when something sparked and the PAN LIT UP IN FLAMES. My resulting shriek was 100% genuine and was heard all way into the mountains and in the Outback.

I’m kinda glad the pan ignited on its own – I was wearing polyester and full of booze. I probably would have gone up in flames. Which may or may not be a good look for me.

On Sunday, my hangover and I rode the bus home because there was track work, but I luckily left early enough to bypass all the tourist traffic. I got to fade in and out of mindfulness (I know, I’m very put together. But if it helps, I really suck at mindfulness) as I watched the mountains pass. It was a lovely time and I got some solid decompression.

And by the time I got home, someone let me know she missed me real bad:

Until next time, Blue Mountains!

Why are weekends so fucking short?