Adrenalin Junkie

This blog is proudly brought to you from Clare’s NEW HOUSE!!! That’s right dear readers, Clare has officially spread her wings and flown the coop. For the first time in the history of me, I am living with a person who is not a member of my immediate family. HUZZAH!

As it turns out, all my worldly possessions can fit into Marley’s car (affectionately called the Tardis because it’s bigger on the inside) which is both alarming and kinda cool all at the same time. We managed to pack and stack my world from one house into another in the space of one afternoon. Kudos to us.

Along with a new house comes a new bus route. Because she is lovely, Big Brother’s Girlfriend has kindly agreed to give me a lift home everyday, but the morning commute to work is going to be via bus. The first bus ride along a particular route is always a little stressful for me. I usually have a general idea about where the bus is going and where I need to get on and off but there is always that nagging feeling that I am going to miss a stop and end up somewhere where I would rather not be.

This morning was no different. After successfully negotiating the first bus and catching the connecting bus I was sitting there feeling rather smug when I happened to glance out my window. Or at least that was the plan until I saw it. It being a stick insect the size of my head perched to the glass on the outside of my window.

photographic evidence

Hell’s Angels don’t got nothin’ on this bad boy. Here it is, clinging for dear life to a glass window while crazy Bus-Driver-Dude careens down the Mount Lindesay Highway. Facing death with every low-hanging tree on the kerb while its antennae are flapping about in the gale force winds. Oh, did I mention it was raining?

It was INSANE!!! I was so stunned by this that I filmed it and posted it for you all to see. Happy viewings:) Sorry the video is sideways… Turns out my phone was upside down…

“When I grow up, I wanna be a stick bug” ~A Bug’s Life


Like Mother Like Daughter

Sister Dear’s Husband and I are currently engaged in a battle of wills. He claims that I am turning into my mother and I claim that my weirdness is totally unique to me. If I am turning batty it is on my own merit and has nothing to do with Mumsy, thank you very much. Coincidence, dear readers, is what it all boils down to. Just because Mumsy and I share a hat fetish, a book fetish, and the tendency to burst into tears at any given moment for no apparent reason is no reason to assume that I am morphing into a Mumsy replica. Pish posh I say.

 Yes I will admit (albeit begrudgingly) that Mumsy and I do have similarities. We are splashing about in the same gene pool so some traits were bound to be passed along. I just don’t see how two people who are supposedly so similar can repel each other as forcefully as Mumsy and I tend to do. I can’t spend an afternoon with the woman without day dreaming about stuffing her into a sardine can. No-one can rub me up the wrong way quite like Mumsy and if I was stuck on a desert island with her I would try my luck with sharks, and I’m not even kidding.

 Maybe it’s because we don’t really know each other very well. Between the ages 12 and 18 I didn’t see Mumsy more than 3 or 4 times. I went to live with Dad and his wife and for those teenage years Dad’s wife was my Mum. There are people who are not going to like hearing this but in many ways, my step mother is more a Mum to me than the woman who gave birth to me. I may be living closer to Mumsy now and spending time with her, but as far as the Mother/Daughter relationship goes, we will always be missing some key… something.

It’s not like we can even really talk about it because every time I try to bring it up in conversation she looks at me like I broke her heart. We’re stuck in this hurting guilty vortex that neither one of us can get out of. I refuse to take the blame in the situation. We didn’t have a functional relationship to start with. Those last months with Mumsy before I left were hell. She was so caught up in her own issues, real and imagined, that she couldn’t or wouldn’t see her children falling apart around her. While her older children got into all kinds of activities of questionable legality Little Brother and I were left to fend for ourselves.

 Well this isn’t where I imagined this post going at all. I am going to hit publish before I think better of it and promise to be jolly next time.

Thank you Captain Obvious

Most of you are probably thinking something along the lines of, “Who are you and what have you done with Gypsy Heart?” Well Dear Readers, keep reading and all will soon be revealed.

Yesterday I let you all know that there was a short list of blog titles that I have been sending to all and sundry to get them to help me choose a new identity. I’ve been dancing about the maypole for weeks trying to think of another name, asking everyone for their thoughts and ideas and generally getting more and more confused and frustrated as the process went on. It is fairly common knowledge that I am rather indecisive. Everyone knows that I am indecisive. I never get asked what we should have for dinner, what movie to hire or where we should go on Sunday afternoon, because you’ll be waiting till Jesus comes back for an answer.

I was discussing my options with my good pal over at The Thoughts of Seven who said this:

you can do it.
it’ll be easy
you just THINK that it’s going to be hard, so your brain is MAKING it hard.
If I’m correct, you probably spend just as much time sitting there thinking “this is hard” as you do thinking about what to actually name it…or any other decision you have to make, or task to do.
The problem is that you’re hobbling YOURSELF. You convince yourself that things are hard, and you do THAT because you’re scared of putting yourself out there and failing. You doubt yourself, and you use this screen of false difficulty to shield yourself from facing that doubt.
You just need to realise that you are a smart, capable young woman. You’re not an awkward teenager, or a kid tiptoeing through a world of adults anymore. It IS your world, and you are in every way capable enough to walk in it.
You CAN go out and choose a name for your blog. That’s chump change compared to what you’re going to do. Because you’re ALSO going to pack your bags and move out on Saturday, even though sometimes it seems more scary than exciting, and then, when you’re living with Marley, you’re ALSO going to write a book.
And if you can’t get it done in a month, whatever. You’ll still have nearly 50,000 words of prose behind you, and from there you can go out and finish it.
Doubt is nothing to be ashamed of.
Most people are plagued by doubt, and those that aren’t are insufferable jerks.
It’s just learning when to listen (which is rare), and when to ignore it and press on anyway.
You can do ANYTHING.
It comes with being smart.
That’s also why you’re not going to be a secretary all your life, no matter what you fear sometimes.
One day you’re going to be able to wake up and go “you know what, world? Screw this. I DO rock”, and you’ll be able to say it not just as a little pep talk to yourself, but because you actually KNOW it.
And then you’ll go out into the world and do whatever the hell you want. Uni? Easy. Don’t want to do anything at uni? TAFE it up, it’s got nothing you can’t handle. Heck, maybe you don’t want any of that. Maybe you want to be a writer, or an artist, or WHATEVER, it doesn’t matter, because you’re capable of that too.
Once you let go of your doubts, and recognise them as what they are — feeble remnants of a time when you were a child and world was strange and incomprehensible — you can achieve all the things you secretly want to do, but doubt you ever will.

I was left sitting in front of my computer, mouth gaping like a codfish wondering where this sprouted from and trying to process all of these ideas that challenged the way that I perceived myself.

So brace yourself readers, I am stepping out into the great unknown, and making a decision all by myself and devil-may-care what happens.

Welcome to The Art of Flying and thank you all my beloved readers for your thoughts:) You are all my favorites

Over to our judges

Welcome to a dismal October afternoon in the world of Clare. My hair is frizzy and all I want to do is mosey on home and curl up in bed with a good book.

That however, Dear Readers, is beside the point. You are all no doubt aware that I am in the long and drawn out process of changing my blog title. Ever since I decided that I needed a change, poor Marley has been subject to my text messages at all hours asking her opinion on my various ‘bad ideas’ on the subject.

Fear not readers, for I have come up with a short list that will end all short lists. I am now doing the rounds asking people which name they think I should adopt as an alternative to Gypsy heart. If any of you, my most beloved readers would like to put in your five cents worth I would be more than happy to email the list for your perusal.

I am infamous for my indecision so it will be less painful for everyone involved if the matter is taken out of my hands.

Sister 2

Good morning dear readers and can I just say a very happy Monday to you all. I hope your weekend was very enjoyable and if it wasn’t my very deepest sympathies. moving on.

Yesterday was my Father’s birthday. He turned 58, which means that he is still a spring chicken. So I did my daughterly duty and called him up last night to do the HAPPY BIRTHDAY routine and before I hung up he said he had a favour to ask of me. Seeming as it was his birthday I couldnt’ exactly refuse but the nature of the favour is a little unsettling.

Father Bear asked me to be the Power of Attorney on his will, which is an honor seeming as I am second youngest in a brood of five, not to mention his vast collection of step children. I must say though that the thought of him making preparations for his death is not what I was expecting on the day which is supposed to be a celebration of his birth.

As my brain was tripping around all these melancholy thoughts, I got to thinking of my sister. Not Sister Dear who we all know and love, but my other sister who I’ve never seen fit to introduce you to because of a slight that I am not big enough to put behind me. My big sister whose room I shared for years on end and who taught me the finer arts of escaping the strap when our cunning plans backfired and roused Dad’s wrath. I idolised my big sister in that way that only little sisters can, and now, because of various circumstances I can’t even add her on my list of family members on a blog that she will probably never read.

Needless to say I am feeling a little ashamed of myself. So, I am going to swallow my pride and a huge slice of humble pie and introduce to you all another branch of my family tree.

Little Big Sister – My five foot nothing ‘big sister’ (24)
Big Foot – Little Big Sister’s husband who’s close to seven-foot tall (28)
Pippin – Little Big Sister’s eldest boy who is about to start prep (5)
Bub – The newest addition to the family, Little Big Sister’s baby girl (almost 1)

And there you have it.

Not Happy Jan

It is Friday morning and the last thing I want to do is drag myself to work. After a less-than-fabulous day yesterday, all I want to do is curl up in a ball and lick my wounds but retirement is still a fair way away so it’s off to work we go.

For those of you not in the know, I had a Jan moment and am consequently in quite a few different kinds of bad juju with Mr Boss Man. In my defense it was an accident and not entirely my fault but as the only one who can be ‘blamed’, I guess the buck stops with me.

Also I think it is going to rain. Excuse me while I go cry in a corner.

Nappies as far as the eye can see

I wrote this while Sister Dear and Sister Dear’s husband were still on their cross cultural journey. I thought I would let you see what I went through while my sweet sibling was off getting a fabulous tan.


 Sister Dear and Sister Dear’s Husband are on the last leg of their journey, sailing somewhere around Hawaii and as such I have been getting my Maternal freak on for the past few days. Nappies to be changed, noses to wipe, jammed fingers to kiss better and food to shovel into unwilling mouths when least expected.

Rhyno who is well and truly into his terrible twos thinks he is both indestructible and beyond reproach because he is forever finding things to jump off of and usually lands on either myself or Chubbling. Chubbling who is rapidly approaching his first birthday seems to have mistaken me for his mother and now has a meltdown every time I move out of his direct line of sight, which sets off Rhyno  who then throws himself crying inconsolably into my arms for no particular reason and leaving me with two crying toddlers to content with.

Added to this us Chubbling’s new-found walking abilities, and in a house with a sunken lounge and split levels this is really no laughing matter. In an attempt to stop him from cracking his head open I’ve started putting piles of cushions at the bottom of every step so at least if he does fall he will have a soft landing. The last thing I want is for Sister Dear to arrive home to a child in a coma.

I have lost count of the number of nappies I’ve changed. Rhyno, who seems to have forgotten that he was toilet trained has re-discovered the joys having a portable toilet firmly secured to his rear end. I am sorry but as much as I love my nephews, I draw the line at scrubbing ‘little accidents’ out of the living room rug while Rhyno skips merrily about his business doing his business on whichever surface tickles his fancy.

She'd outpester any pest

All single mothers out there, I heartily take my hat off to you all. After one week with two children I’m just about ready to give up on the whole institution of parenthood. I’m sure I will change my mind eventually but right now I am almost decided to join a convent at the next available opportunity. I’m sure I would look rather dashing in a Maria-esk get up. Captain Von Trapp eat your heart out.

“Get thee to a Nunnery”

To infinity and beyond

Righto readers. Under pain of death I have been told to let you all know what is going on in the world according to Clare. Sorry about my lack of blogging, I have been pre-occupied *snicker*.

The time has come it would seem for one Miss Clare to spread her wings and sally forth into the great unknown (aka the real world). While I love living with Sister Dear and her family, it has been decided that the time has come to move on. Now officially a member of the twenty-something crew, and still living more or less at home is nothing to gloat over and so without further ado, I’M MOVING OUT!!

Someone warn my new neighbors; they are about to be assailed with the joint bonkersness of not only the current occupant but by my own fabulous self as well. Cherrytree lane will have nothing on the residence that I am soon to share with my lovely chumly Marley. Separate we are dazzling enough but with our forces combined we are nothing short of epic fabulousness in human form.

So gird your loins readers for stories, tales and frightful renditions of the adventures that are soon to be had. You should all be very excited.

In other news, I am back at work this week after a 2 week break. As much as I enjoyed the time off I am starting to regret it. The next time someone comes to me asking where something is at or whether something or other has arrived in the mail I am going to beat them repeatedly over the head with a steel re-inforced pool noodle. What part of ‘I haven’t been here for the past 2 weeks’ is so hard for people to comprehend. They have been here and I have not so maybe try looking where you last had it instead of asking someone who already has a pile of things to do as tall as herself in 5 inch heels.

Lastly and then I will leave you alone to enjoy your lives. Can you please all ask your respective deities to please withhold rain in Brisbane for a weekend so that I can get some washing done. I am down to my last pair of everything.


For all of you who are not reading my posts on The Fellowship of the Pen, I thought it only fair to keep you up to speed on what is happening in the world of Clare right at this very moment. As of about 5 minutes ago I am an official entrant to the 2010 National Novel Writing Month competition thing which happens every year in the month of November.

As I only discovered this venture a few months ago from my chum Joshua, I am going to jump to the conclusion that you are unaware of what this NaNoWriMo is. It is *drum roll please* National Novel Writing Month. For one month, authors of all ages, sizes, shapes and publishabilityness lock themselves away in deep dark corners of the world and for 30 days they attempt to write a 50,000 word novel. I’m still a little hazy on the exact details but I am fairly sure that the winner gets their book published and everyone else gets that warm fuzzy feeling of accomplishment and the ability to say that they have written a 50,000 word novel.

Now I have been beating myself about the head repeatedly with large chunks of heavy wood like items trying to nut out some sort of basic plot line. So trying to preserve whatever brain power I have left, in the last two weeks while I haven’t been subjecting you all to my drivel I have been faithfully sorting out a basic plotline and getting my main characters bio’s out-of-the-way. Three cheers for progress. I still have a LOT of things to get sorted before November so wish me luck. There is also a widget over in the rightish direction which will whizz you to my user for the official website. It is looking a little naked at the moment but I will be updating it as I go.

It is not too late to register so if you’re interested you will be able to do so if you follow this.

So happy novel-writing to you all and to all a good night.

I know I left my sanity somewhere

Firstly blogging world, I feel like I should apologise for my extended absence. I have been on holidays and as such have had nothing particularly to tell you… Well nothing that I want published on the interweb in any case for my enemies to use against me. Moving on.

Confined space + (Mumsy + Clare)= Pig

Now that’s out-of-the-way… HELLO!!! How are we all dear readers?I am curled up in a ball hiding under the linen in the laundry closet after spending an afternoon with Mumsy. Now I am aware that I may have painted the dear woman in a less than favorable light and feel that I should just point out that I do love her quite a lot. I do however break out in a rash, start hyperventilating and weep uncontrollably when left alone with her for extended periods of time.

Since I’ve been on holidays starting two weeks ago I had managed untill yesterday to avoid the ‘quality time’ thing with Mumsy. I had also managed to avoid the inevitable ‘I won’t be around forever’ talk which usually follows the ‘sorry Mumsy, can’t today I’m busy’ routine. So yesterday I caved and seeming as I’m back to work on Monday I figured that I would spend my last weekday of freedom with her. Now spending time with Mumsy is not as easy as you may be led to believe. Movies are usually out of the question because as soon as the male and female leads kiss she is up in arms. The bad guy swings at the good guy and she is up in arms, and someone slips an F-Bomb in and she has an aneurism and is carried out by ushers. So after browsing the Now Showing listings I gave up and went in search of something else to whittle away an afternoon. Then… EUREKA!! A trip to the Queensland Art Gallery followed by a romp in the Gallery of Modern Art. I danced a jig, called Mumsy, listened while she danced and jig and then we were on our way.

After a 30 minute train ride, Mumsy is still in high spirits and I am trying not to strangle her. Deep breaths, count to ten and we’re right to continue. A few close calls with road crossings and we amble into the gallery. We were browsing through the Victorian art when it started

This guy will eat your children

Mumsy for all of you not intimately acquainted with her, has a sight impediment. One of her eyes is long sighted and the other severely short-sighted. So half the time she was looking at paintings from half way across the room and the other half of the time she was so close you would think she was trying to lick it. Which is where Security Dude comes in, we shall call him Hank. While Mumsy has her nose all but pushed up against the picture trying to decipher how many bristles were on the brush at the time of the painting Hank runs over like he is about to do murder and asks her to kindly step away from the priceless antique artwork. My self-preservation instincts kick in and I turn away and try to look like the lunatic trying to get a whiff of ancient oil paint is not the donor of half my genes. Needless to say I was mortified.

Following this were a handful of other encounters with various other security guards who told her to not touch, to stand away from and one lady who confiscated Mumsy’s cappuccino. If I wasn’t being otherwise occupied blending into the walls I would have been rather impressed with her rebellion, whether it was intentional or not.

The train ride home was another adventure in itself. She seems to believe that being in close proximity to creativeness will make the creativeness rub off on her. This resulted in her trying to find art in everything she saw. The graffiti on the walls along the train line became works of art by misunderstood artists. The picture on the girl’s bag across the aisle was something to take apart and analyse. By the end of the trip I was sizing Mumsy up for the space in the boot of her car and praying to God to MAKE THE BAD WOMAN STOP!

Did I mention that I love my Mother?