My week of butterflies started the very night that we had spent getting to know each other. After we had said our goodbyes that night, I wandered up the stairs and couldn't help but feel anything but happy. Gleefully happy. By the following morning though, my insecurities had got the better of me and all I could think about was whether anything would develop out of our meeting. We kept up our regular emails and chats, added in a few text messages and eventually the topic came back to seeing each other again.

I don't remember whether it was him or I that suggested we go out again the coming Saturday, but I suppose when it's been five years you're allowed to forget a few minor details, right? I agonised over what to wear, we went and saw a movie (Lilo & Stitch, guess whose choice that was) and afterwards drove to a local club to grab a drink and chat some more.

We talked for ages. If my memory serves me well, we swapped wallets to peer through each other's things and ask each other questions. Random, eh? We drove back to my house, parked ourselves on the couch and watched made fun of the late night music videos that were playing on the television, talking and laughing for hours. One of us happened to look at the time, and we realised it was pretty late early, so he decided to call it a night and start his drive back home.

I walked him outside and we had another round of goodbyes. There was a brief moment where we awkwardly wondered what to do next, and we ended up leaning in for a hug. But after a few seconds the hug had ended, and we were still so close to one another . . . One thing let to another and we ended up sharing our first kiss while standing on my driveway, under the stars.

If I had happily wandered up the stairs after our first meeting, I floated up them on this night. I sent him a text message later, saying "What a perfect ending to a perfect night". And it was, you know. It was absolutely perfect.

To be continued . . .

Five years ago today, I felt real butterflies in my stomach for the first time.

After a bizarre twist of fate, I had finally met a certain gorgeous boy two nights earlier. The first time we'd gone out went fairly smoothly; we grabbed dinner, chatted, saw a movie, chatted some more. I was completely smitten.

Yet a few days later there I was, feeling as though I was in a bit of a conundrum; just because I'd had a great time and had spent countless moments replaying it over and over in my head, didn't mean that he felt the same way. I was worried. What if he didn't enjoy himself? Would he be interested in me at all? And what if he wasn't? It would be a shame, because he was so cute. And he wore nice shoes. What to do? Argh. Needless to say, I was full of nervous anticipation.

It is with fondness that I look back on those moments of confusion, giddiness and pure hope. The feeling that maybe, just maybe I had met that someone special was exhilerating, exciting and a little scary. I don't think I've ever wanted something quite so badly before, as I did at this very point in time, five years ago. What did I want? I wanted the highly important second date, of course.

To be continued . . .

Either that, or I'm just a freak who enjoys toilet humour, plain and simple.

Ha. Geddit? Toilet humour? Ah, you'll see for yourself soon enough.

Watch the following avertisement. You'll find yourself singing along to the jingle at inappropriate times, and randomly giggling. It's guaranteed to bring a smile to your face. Or a cringe. Or both. I love Captain Picard's voice-over at the end, too. Hee.

I did promise to bring this one up on the blog at some point, and I simply couldn't bear to disappoint. However instead of whinging about it, I'll take a different approach and pose it as a question instead. Clever, eh?

So, here are the questions - please feel free to help a girl out with answering them.

1. If you had, say, a 23 year old daughter who was leaving home for the first time (EVER) and was moving to a different continent (which you have never stepped foot in before) and was far, far away from you, would you make the (horribly) long trip to visit?


2. Why is it so cold this morning when it's supposed to be Spring?


3. If you had, say, a set of parents who weren't keen on travelling to Europe in the slightest (and prefer road trips across the middle of America), what qualities about England would you talk up to make it sound more appealing?


4. Why do Monday's suck?


5. Yeah, that's all I got.

Answer away, my friends! I'll come back and hear out your thoughts at the end of the day . . . which is sadly a good few hours away yet. Blargh.

. . . If the world was Cadbury?

(Does anyone get that? Anyone? Anyone at all? No? Didn't think so. I'm lame.)

But it doesn't matter, because not only am I lame - I'm nice!

This is a little delayed because I've been a worried chook lately, but seeing how Lucy is currently living it up downstairs (shredding newspaper and peeing everywhere) I suppose I can talk about something else. Like the fact that I'm nice!

(I wonder if there is going to be an exclamation point after every 'nice'.)

!!!!

The lovely Kristabella who is very, very wise, has nominated me for the Nice Matters award.

Since I'm thoroughly chuffed to have a nice, er, pink badge for my blog, I'm going to do the nice(!) thing and pass it along.

Thanks, Kris!

1. Katie @ A Byootaful Life - She's an Aussie who is most definitely nice! (Ha! Exclamation mark!) She always replies to your comments, and she seems like someone I would love to catch a movie with and hang out.

2. Heidi @ Heidikins - Most of you would know of Heidi, and if you don't, you should! She's a beautiful girl with a beautiful heart and I adore her.

3. KerriAnn @ Kerrianne.org - A really lovely girl, with cute tattoos, an art for photography and a way with words. My gardening hero!

4. Michelle @ Michelle & The City - I've only recently discovered her, but I think she's great already. Definitely a recipient of the award.

5. Erin @ The State That I Am In - I imagine her as being the perfect teacher for littlies who need some quality attention. Very sweet and very NICE.

And of course, everyone who stopped by to wish Lucy best wishes are nice - and heck, everyone needs a little pink on their blog, right?

Yes, the Lucy-bun saga just keeps on going . . .

The vet who was scheduled to perform Lucy's operation today was the rabbit specialist - he looked after Bella when she was sick, and helped give me options when I was at a loss of what to do next. I felt comfortable that I was leaving Lucy in good hands, so I signed her in for surgery and took off to go to the doctors myself. The parting words I received from the vet clinic were that I could call at 4pm to check-up on how the surgery went, or they had my number. I was preferring this not to happen, seeing as they generally only ring you if there is bad news.

But I digress. I ended up back at home and about two hours later, my telephone rang. [You can imagine the panic I went into when I recognised the caller ID.] The vet had rang to chat with me about Lucy; he had been doing another examination on her wounds before putting her under anaesthetic, and wanted to run an idea past me. He recited the risks of rabbit surgery I'd heard a dozen times before, and then came out and stated that the chance of the anaesthetic being fatal far outweighed the option of letting her wounds heal without surgery.

Of course, I was completely confused; what do I do? I'm not an expert by any means, so I asked bluntly what he thought I should do. His response was to try and stay as unintrusive as possible. In plain language, avoid the surgery. He told me that he had observed Lucy in the consultation hours and noted that she was a happy, jumpy bunny who didn't seem to experience any discomfort from the bite marks. I agreed with his decision, so once again my grumpy wee bunny is home with me.

She's doing okay, she's surgery-free and she's her usual head butting self. Over the next week, I'm to keep a close eye on her wounds, make sure no abscesses appear, keep her foods up and take her back for a visit next week. All well and good, I just have to squirt her antibiotic medicine into her mouth twice a day as well as putting ointment on the wounds. Let me just pause here for effect. Yes, I have the wonderful job of giving her medicine by mouth. Does this procedure sound familiar?

Anyone who has read my ramblings for a while now, will remember that I have done this before. Here's what I had to say back when I was treating Bella;

"She is hilarious when she has her meds; she makes it hard for me (but has never bitten, but eventually gives in. When the liquid goes in, out comes her tongue, and she sits up on her hind legs and swipes at her tongue with her paws.

If I spoke bunny, I’m sure she’d be saying "What the FUCK was that? Get it off!"

Ever tried giving a rabbit medicine before? Ever actually gone near a rabbit's mouth before? Ever seen the size of their chompers before? You'd think after administering medicine to one rabbit that I'd be an expert at the job.

Yeah, er, no. I'm apparently not.

When I played nurse for Bella, I wedged her in close to my body with one arm and got her mouth open for the medicine fairly uneventfully. Heck, I made it look like a fine art after a few weeks of practice. I figured I'd use the same maneuvere on Lucy, except that I was forgetting one small factor; she has pretty horrible open wounds. On her back. On her side. And she hates people going near her head, even to pat her. Yours truly is no exception to the rule.

It took me about fifteen minutes to eventually wrangle the medicine into her mouth this afternoon. Fifteen minutes! It's going to be a fun couple of weeks!

But honestly, I'm just happy that the vet is positive, that I'm doing what I can to make her well, and that she won't have the risk of anaesthetic hovering over her head. Hopefully with her medicines, some TLC and a little tmie, Lucy'll be good as new soon, give or take a few bald spots. And I can rest a little easier too; the price for today ended up being $80, plus another $80 for the new hutch I've purchased for her. There will be no more Ricky & Lucy snuggling from now on, unless they are in their outdoor enclosure with their momma supervising.

Oh, and as for my very own diagnosis? I;m the proud owner of a charming gastro intestinal bug. Except the vet didn't diagnose me. I went to a real doctor. Honest.

It's not over yet folks, but thanks for the well wishes so far. I have one more favour though; can you keep them going for today too?

Mum dropped Lucy off at the vet this morning as I had to head into the city for some professional learning, and called me at lunchtime - apparently the vet bill was looking at around $400 because of the severity of the injuries, and they wanted to check that I could afford to pay it before they operated. Of course being in meetings all day meant that I didn't get to respond in time, so Mum picked her up again this evening and brought her home tonight.

She'll be back in tomorrow, regardless of the cost. Oh my God, you should see the state of her bites/scratches - it's completely heartbreaking, and made me feel like the worst rabbit momma in the world all over again. The sores are much bigger than I'd imagined; the vet shaved and cleaned the wounds today, and without her fur hiding the wounds they are absolutely horrid. How she's even still walking, let alone acting like her normal self is beyond me.

The bottom line? She will be a pretty sore bunny tomorrow when all is said and done, and my two darlings will most likely have to be separated from here on in. As for me? Well, I'm still feeling terribly bad for poor Lucy, I'm feeling guilty about how bad the bites actually were, and I'm feeling a wee bit sorry for myself when I think of my financial situation. (I'm also feeling queasy, although that is probably from all the food I ate today.)

Bottom line is; Lucy is my baby. She is completely healthy and happy aside from her injuries, and I will do everything in my power to heal her and get her well again. My bank balance is just going to have to suffer for another few months. Keep the hoppy (ha! see what I did with that?) rabbit thoughts going for us, if you can!

Now it's late and I'm heading to bed, to see if I can kick the squick factor.

I got home from work yesterday and did the usual; threw down my bag and wandered outside to check on the bunnies, top up their water and give them some more veggies.

As I was leaning down to the hutch, I noticed Lucy had some fur missing on a patch on her back. I picked her up to look at it closer, and realised it was actually a sore - it looked like a bite or scratch that was a few days old. I checked her over, and discovered another big red patch near her leg - and promptly started to panic.

We took her to the vet, who checked her over and declared them 'open sores'. Apparently bunnies can get infections quite easily, so the scratch/bites have to be opened, cleaned out and sutured. Under anaesthetic, which is always questionable for such tiny animals.

The vet thinks that although Ricky and Lucy have been getting along well in their hutch together, Ricky is acting out as the 'dominant' female. It seems about right, as Lucy has always been a mellow wee rabbit. I just feel so sorry for her, the sores look horrible and painful - and if I hadn't picked her up today, I wouldn't have even spotted them. I feel like a bad rabbit momma, again.

Lucy's still perky, chipper and as grumpy looking as always, and is all booked in for surgery today. I know it's ridiculous, but I'm already insanely worried about how it will go; I suppose it's understandable, since the last rabbit surgery visit ended up with Bella being put to sleep. Please keep my beautiful Lucy-bun in your thoughts today, if you can.

Out of the nearly six weeks that Jase and I have been living on different continents, I think I'm doing fairly well with it all. I still get to stalk him via MSN, he calls occasionally, and except for weekends, the occasional mushy song that finds it's way onto my playlist, the sight of other couples together, the smell of . . .  but I digress. What I'm trying to say, is that I'm doing alright.

But the hardest thing not to be doing with him is setting myself up in London. The boy is currently in the process of searching for an apartment to rent, for him in the meantime and for us in a couple of (hopefully) short months. He's been pretty patient with me, because I'm a little disappointed that I don't get to be much of a partner in the choosing process - other than admiring pretty looking places through photographs and wanting to live in suburbs that you can find on the classic Monopoly boardgame. Or Notting Hill. Because wouldn't it be awesome to live there? But he has to do the hard work with finding suitably priced accomodation, visiting the places, and making the decisions.

I want to be going apartment hunting!
I want to visit houses and check out the rooms.
I want to imagine living there for two years.
I want, I want, I want . . .

Anyway, as I said before, this part completely stinks. But I'll have to trust Jase and his judgements, which I do of course. It's just, I feel like I'm missing out on something. And I hate missing out on things. It's hard enough missing out on his company for this time. Blargh. I am not whinging, I swear. I know it can't be helped, I know he's asking my opinions and trying to compromise with me, but deep down I'm still disappointed.

I suppose when we come back from this venture overseas, I can be as fussy as I like with finding an actual place to buy. That should make up for it, no?

[I do find it sort of appropriate that I've began to yawn after starting this post.]

I've always been pretty open with the fact that underneath my 23 year facade, I'm secretly a granny in disguise. Especially when it comes to my bedtime - generally it's around 8.30-9pm on a weeknight! But honestly, at the end of a long day at work, crawling into bed at night (even if it is with a book and a cuppa or some episodes of Melrose Place) is the perfect thing to do.

I find it incredible though, that even after going to bed so early and having a fairly long sleep, that I can still have the ability to wake up tired. How is that even possible? If it weren't for my trusty mobile phone alarm, I could happily keep right on snoozing until I woke up of my own accord. I'm guessing my extra tiredness factor lately is stemming from my recent habit of exercising in the afternoon . . . but it's anyone's guess. Ah well - I'm just going to enjoy being able to sleep diagonally for the next few months as much as I possibly can!

So tell me; how many hours of beauty sleep do you need a night?