Bride. Groom. Wedding. Soon.

So, I’m sure you’ve heard the news … Mr W. and I are getting hitched!!  Our whirlwind romance (and I use that term very loosely) continues … who would have thought that when I met Mr W. on 9th March 2010 that we would be engaged on 22nd October … wow!!  Now when I look down at my scungy nails, minus the beautifully manicured acrylics that used to be there … I see a beautifully sparkly rock (well come on, I moved to Newman, I deserved more that the average engagement ring!!).  So you ask, how did all of this come to be?

Well, I started dropping hints back in August that perhaps for my birthday Mr W. might like to buy me some jewellery … of the super sparkly variety.  This was followed by a few discussions about how our wedding would be, how I would envisage my perfect proposal etc etc … But like most women, I had to take it just a little bit too far.  By the time September came I was dropping hints left right and centre, leaving Mr W. wondering what the hell was happening.  I made sure that he watched the final episdoe of Farmer Wants A Wife and ensured that he watched Farmer Nathan popose … I even got my finger sized when I flew down to Perth … and started educating Mr W. about carats (and how these were different from the bugs bunny variety) … and the fact that I was expecting more than 1.

But alas, my excitement was to be short lived!  Upon arriving back in Newman after a short trip to Perth for said finger sizing, Mr W. sat me down and calmly explained that it was just too soon to be thinking about marriage, after all, we had only been together for 6 months.  Devastated, I bawled my eyes out for 2 days (yes, in the interest of entertainment, I will admit this) … well that would serve me right for bragging to all and sundry while I was in Perth that there would be a proposal before Santa came down the chimney.  You see, I thought that Mr W. would propose with my more than 1 carat ring when we flew to Perth together for my birthday …

And so, we flew down to Perth for my birthday … staying in 5 star luxury and loving every minute.  And so sitting in the hotel room on the day of my birthday, Mr W. told me to close my eyes.  He placed a little box in front of me … my heart started pounding … I ripped off the paper and discovered a Pandora Box … still very exciting … but not what I was hoping for!!!  I was totally spoiled for my birthday … treated like an absolute Princess.  And then Mr W. said to me … “wait, there’s one more … and I was going to wait until dinner, but I’m going to give it to you now so that you can brag about it to everyone”.  Again, my little heart started beating … I closed my eyes and Mr W. placed yet another beautifully wrapped box in my hands.  Ooooh this is it … I thought!  But again, Mr W. had fooled me.  However, what was inside was nothing to sneeze about … a pair of the most divine white gold earring you’ve ever seen … I decided to just forget becoming Mrs W. … well this year anyway …

Bring on the next day … Friday, 22nd October.  Mr W. was being a grumpy so and so all day.  To the point where I was ready to go and book myself into a separate hotel room and drown my sorrows in my own personal collection of Moet.  Ho hum.  Now, that night was the Metallica Concert (the real reason Mr W. had brought me to Perth … see what I mean about that romance thing!!).  And so, later in the afternoon, I set about making myself look bogan enough to attend such an event.  Dark denim, check.  Black T shirt, check.  Bridget Jones Underwear (can’t be a chunky bogan), check.  While I was attempting to straighten my locks, my little ears pricked up.  Was that the safe I had just heard?  No it’s just your imagination playing tricks on you.  “Kate”, Mr W. called me from the other side of our hotel room.  “Babe, there’s a letter here for you, I wrote it the other day and forgot to give it to you”.  Annoyed that I was interrupted while trying to put the finishing touches on my hair and makeup, I stormed out to the desk and picked up said letter.  Hmmmm.  Interesting.  The letter was absolutely beautiful … a declaration of outback love at it’s finest.  But by the time I got to the end I was confused …
“2 months ago I made a life changing decision, 6 weeks ago I made a very expensive purchase and a week ago I made a phone call to which the answer came back YES”.

Confused, I moved the letter to ask what in God’s name he was on about … and that’s when I saw Mr W. on one knee holding a perfect little box … with a more than 1 carat ring inside … OMG!!!!  Did it just snow in Newman because Mr W. just proposed!!!!!!  And it was way better than Farm Nathan’s proposal – he was actually down on one knee!!  And that my darlings, is how Mr W. and the Pilbara Princess became engaged.  This also meant that the ring had been in the house for like 6 weeks and I hadn’t sniffed it out!!!  Hmmm my bling bling radar must need recalibrating!!!!

Bling Bling!

Stay tuned for the next instalment … our wedding plans are sure to be nothing short of hilarious.

Love you Mr W.

pp (aka, the future Mrs. W.) xx


Am I Losing the Princess Factor?

Losing the keys to the work car made me realise just how much my life has changed in the past few months.  In fact it had me worried that I might have been losing the princess factor … however, getting a flat tyre today has made me realise that actually, the princess factor is holding on strong … maybe I need to start from the beginning …

Last night, I dropped Mr W. off at work and then went and did the shopping.  Nothing unusual about that.  Except that I was wearing steel caps and a high vis orange shirt … and driving a mine site vehicle.  Oh how life has changed.  When I got home, I realised that I had locked myself out.   Luckily my gorgeous man is smart enough to have hidden a spare key for times like this.   And so, after getting into the house, I then realised that I had lost the car keys.  Ho hum.  I grabbed a torch and back tracked, I turned the car upside down, checked the shopping bags, the bin … but the keys were no where to be found!  Hmmm, looks like I would be pushing that car with the flashing beacon to work.

Searching through my handbag trying to find the keys to the work car (a far cry from my little city astra … a manual Nissan Patrol with a roll cage, flashing beacon, 2 way radio, flag and canvas seats … noice) … I found some unfamiliar objects amongst the myriad of lipglosses and perfumes … a “Take 5” notebook from a mine site induction, a glove clip, a pair of safety glasses … hmmmm.  Then I looked at what I was wearing … orange high vis shirt, daggy nanna jeans and clunky steel caps.  What happened to little Miss Glamazon?

Oh and back to the keys, well Mr W. found them near the herb garden (just like I knew he would).  Thank you honey xx

But if I was worried that the princess tiara was slipping,  I was reminded today, that in fact it is well and truly still sitting firmly in my freshly dyed locks …

Driving to work this morning (now that Mr W. had found the keys), I stopped in to get coffee at the only place in town with a decent brew.  When I got out, I heard a hissing noise … hmmmm smart enough to know I was soon going to have a flat tyre, I decided to forgoe my coffee and hot foot it back to the office … if it was going to die, at least it could do so in the comfort of the office carpark.

Sure enough, a few hours later the tyre was flat.  Hmmmm, what was I going to do?  I have seriously never changed a tyre in my life and this certainly wasn’t part of my job description.  I mean I have to wear PPE, but I don’t have to get dirty.  I phoned my boss to ask for the number for Roadside Assistance … I mean surely there is someone whose job it is to change my flat tyre.  He told me that I’d have to do it myself … or use my eyelashes to get someone else to do it for me.  I mean come on, this is a girl who can’t even get the bonnet of that silly car open … I’m serious, I can’t find the lever.

For a fleeting moment, I considered trying to change the tyre myeslf, but feeling the familiar grip of my princess tiara digging into my scalp I quickly decided against it.  Surely there was another way.  I mean, I may not have my acrylic nails anymore, but there was no way I was getting grease under the little fingernails I do have.

Just when I thought I would have to unbutton my orange high vis shirt, my gorgeous knight in shining armour (aka Mr W.)  phoned me … he had read my status on facebook (who said this social media tool had no standing?), having just woken up from night shift.  He was there within the hour, jacking up the Patrol and had that tyre changed in next to no time.  Thank you honey … you have proved yet again that you are best boyfriend in the world!

Well … I’m off to clean out my handbag … it’s high time my lip glosses and perfume resumed their previously highly held positions.

pp xx

It’s Princess Poopa Scoopa to you …

Last week I did something I never, ever thought that I would do … well, not without someone nagging me about it for a few hours first.  Last week, I picked up dog poo.  And not just one or two, but about 20 (yes, I know it’s absolutely atrocious that there were that many on the lawn to begin with, but it’s been a bit of a stand off between Mr W. and I).

One day last week, I was hanging out the washing and I was overcome by the stench of dog poo.  Looking over to our small lawn I noticed that no one (and by no one I mean Mr W.) had picked up after the furry kids for a while.  Poor things, they were running out of room and fast.

And so, I decided there was only one thing for it.  I was going to have to do it.  Mr W. watched me walk into our bedroom and when I came out he nearly wet himself from laughing.  I had found a scarf and tied it around my face, covering my nose.  I looked like the New Housewife of Abu Dahbi gone wrong lol.

But out to the lawn I went, poopa scoopa in hand (a very thoughtful present from my dear mum).  I reckon I got through about half when I came to a particularly fresh one.  I normally have a pretty strong stomach, but that really got me, even through my stylish pooper scooping attire.  I started to dry reach … and that my friends, is where my poopa scooping adventure ended.

I politely told Mr W. that I just couldn’t do it.  It would have to officially be his job from now on.  Afterall, I feed and water the dogs, as well as take them for walks (ocassionally) it’s only fitting that he should perform such an important role in their upbringing.

Princess Poopa Scoopa xx

It’s black … it’s white …

I’ve never been much of a dog lover … in fact I hate most dogs … mainly due to a number of traumatic dog related experiences as a child.  Firstly there was my Uncle’s dog that bit me when I stepped on his foot to reach out for a bowl of ice cream (come on I was only 6) … and then when I was 15 our next door neighbour’s dog ate my Tokinese kitten.  And then there’s the fact that when I left home at 17 to go to uni my parents bought a Jack Russell crossed with a poodle (no I’m not giving that breed a capital letter) and named it Ben after a certain West Coast Eagles player.  I still hate that dog … call it sibling rivalry, he’s like the grandchild they never had!

So, knowing all this, you can imagine the laughs I got when everyone found out that I was moving to Newman with Mr W. … and his two dogs … rendering me “step mum”.

These two dogs, let’s call them “Black Dog” and “White Dog” to protect their identites (lol) are both Staffies … Black Dog is a girl and White Dog is a boy.  Sounds like it could be romantic.  It’s not.

those who shall remain nameless ...

My mother in particular thought it hillarious that upon meeting the dogs for the first time I bought them Schmakos and rolled around on the floor and played with them.  Awwhhhh the things you do for love.   It was my mother who also stated she would love to see me pick up after the little poppets, but, you know that a girl will do anything to impress a good looking man.  Well, that and my mother bought me a pooper scooper.  God bless her and her wacky sense of humour.

Well, after a good month, me and the dogs have developed quite a good relationship.  If they don’t annoy me too much I take them for a walk.  I even remember to feed them most nights.  Actually, I have to admit … they really have worked their way into my heart.  I actually look forward to being woken up with White Dogs tongue all over my face (I’m sure you noticed it in the photo).  Sometimes I even let them sleep on the end of the bed if Mr W. goes to work early and I haven’t quite gotten up.  And I can’t help but cuddle up with them on the couch while I’m watching telly … that is if they’re not all snuggled up with Mr W … and this bring us to a real bone of contention with me at the moment.  I just can’t get used to the fact that the dogs get more cuddles than me.

Mr W. says to me that he is just not a cuddly, touchy feely kind of guy … he likes his own space.  Meanwhile he is curled up on the couch with black dog on one side and white dog on the other.  Seriously, sometimes I wish I could grow fur.  Especially when he tells black dog what a beautiful girl she is.  Come on, my coat is shiny too!!!  I really thought Black Dog and I would be, well you know, best girlfriends … but gee whiz … she gets more compliments than I do.  Maybe White Dog and I have more in common that I first realised.  He is a very jealous dog … if Black Dog is getting attention then he wants in on it … perhaps we really aren’t that different.

Actually, Mr W. has even admitted that there are 3 spots in his world … and I’m second*.  The dogs are equal first.  And due to the fact that I was so dumbfounded about coming second, I can’t for the life of me remember what or who came third … beer perhaps?

pp xx

* Upon showing this piece to Mr W. he has moved me to Number 1.  The dogs are number 2 and 3 … depending on who has dug up the garden on said day (yesterday they both dug a hole … tough choice).  Hmmmm does he think this makes up for his Tuesday night near death experience?  Honey, if you’re reading … it doesn’t.  You’ll have to go just that little bit further.

Who Said Romance Was Dead?

Imagine getting home from work mid week to discover that your partner is intoxicated.  And not just a bit tipsy either.  Well, I’m slowly learning that this is just a normal occurrence when you live with a shift worker.  You see, up here in the red dirt, weekends and public holidays really don’t mean anything.  Half the time no one knows what day it is due to the roster they work.  And so, Mr W.’s “weekend” often occurs mid week … totally opposite to my mon to fri grind.

Well, I came home from work last Tuesday (which was Mr W.’s Sunday) to discover Mr W. having a few quiet ones, or so I thought.  It wasn’t until everyone had left that I actually discovered just how pissed he really was.  Noticing that he was stumbling around like an emu on ice skates, I asked him if he was ok.  He replied … nope … and then he proceeded to cook me dinner (something he would never do while he was sober).  God bless my gorgeous Mr W., he had lovingly marinated some chicken breasts in Nandos sauce all day.  And so he got out the George Foreman and proceeded to char grill the chicken.  He was so obssessed with getting that criss cross pattern on the chook but he’s just lucky he didn’t end up with a nice little criss cross pattern on the side of his face.

Well, the fun didn’t stop there.  After watching me put the garlic bread in the oven, he asked me to cook him some garlic bread … no less than three times!  Now I must admit, despite the fact that his brain had clearly left the building, he did cook some very amazing chicken.  It’s a shame our dinner conversation wasn’t as juicy.

Now, it was about 7pm by this stage and Mr W. was well, shall we say, a little worse for ware so I told him that he needed to have a shower.  And it’s at this point that I secretly started wishing that we had a video camera permanently set up in our bedroom (no Mr W. we can’t do this, it’s just a blog honey).

Have you ever had to undress someone who’s quite inebriated?  It’s not easy at the best of times … especially when you know you’re not gonna get lucky.  Well, I managed to get his shirt off.  It was his socks that nearly landed him in the local hospital.  You see, we have one of those gorgeous wooden beds with a flat edge that you can sit on.  And so Mr W. managed to perch himself on here (after several attempts) and stuck his foot out … his way of “helping” to get his socks off.  Not realising that he was wearing 2 pairs, I pulled them … and a drunk Mr W. has gone from sitting on the edge of the bed to sitting on the floor quicker than he can stick a lemon wedge in a corona.

His head has then made contact with the chest of draw … oops.  I thought I’d killed him … but no such luck.  Before I knew it he was laughing uncontrollably … obviously no brain, no pain.  He’s just lucky he missed the edge the bed … or red dirt would be the least of my problems.  And so, after 10 minutes of watching him laugh until he cried, I managed to stand him up.  It took me another 10 minutes to get his pants off … longest that’s ever taken 😉

I decided that for his own health and safety (they’re big on that in these mining towns) that a shower was a bad idea and so just put him to bed.  Now you can imagine that I was really not impressed at this point.  I was expecting a romantic evening with my man …

Obviously Mr W. has no recollection of his near death experience, or the opinions he expressed about his mother in law whilst in this state … but he is starting to learn that the Pilbara Princess has a memory like an elephant and she never forgets.  I had great pleasure in reminding Mr W. of the events of the night before when he woke up at 1am with a thumping headache.  It’s funny that with such a great memory, I sometimes forgot where the panadol is in middle of the night.

Oh, and Mr W. … thank you for taking me out for a surprise lunch yesterday.  That was really lovely sweetie.  You’re half way there.

Love pp xx

The Big Move

Where do I start?  At the beginning is always a good place!  Well … I think perhaps some background information is needed to fully appreciate the gravity of the move that undertook 2 weeks ago.

The basics … 28 year old single city girl has lived in apartment block akin to Melrose Place for last 3 years.  2 best friends live on either side of my lovely little townhouse which means socialising, champange and coffee were always at my fingertips.  I also lived close to shopping centres … my homes away from home.  Always a sucker for a good cocktail, monthly visits to the hairdresser, fortnightly visits to my nail technician … the dalliances of a city chick.

However, as you can see … there was one catch … “single”.  After dabbling in internet dating for the past 3 years (it was not a complete failure) … I met lots of gorgeous friends through this medium, but never “the one”.

And so it was with great surprise when I met a gorgeous guy one fateful Tuesday morning over coffee … and as with anything there was one “catch” here too … he lived 1200km north … far far away in a mystical red dirt expanse … and this is where the story really begins … after a few weeks of spending time together … both in the city and in the red dirt we decided that there really was something special here and that it would be an option for me to move north and become … you guessed it … the Pilbara Princess!  And so my blog is all about my move north and the culture shock that has ensued … hopefully you will find it as amusing as I have!

The ultimate city girl!