I’ve been behaving badly again…

Well, I am recovering from one of the best weekends of my life to date – my hen’s weekend. It was the mother of all hen’s weekends, so it’s a slow and painful recovery, but I don’t regret it.

I think I may have brain damage, but I suspect that is a good thing – it is assisting with blocking out parts of the weekend that are best forgotten. Like the lap dance I did for the policeman from Hamilton. I was dressed as a cheerleader. Ouch.

The costume was partly my fault. I made it clear in no uncertain terms that I was not going to wear a veil into town. There was no veil. There was a plastic glittery cowboy hat.

We had a hotel suite in town. There was a dodgy moment when I got stuck in the ceiling cavity. I found one of Shaun’s shirts and an ironing board in the bathroom. I am not good at ironing. I figured that the best way to avoid the task was to hide everything up in the ceiling. I have had better ideas.

There are photos, but none of them are fit for the web. My skirt was too short and my top was too flimsy. It was lucky they primed me with more alcohol than any one person should drink in a lifetime before they showed it to me.

It is also lucky that I have already found someone to marry, because I suspect that after that performance, my chances of finding anyone else would be pretty slim!! Guess I could always get a job as a stripper…


What’s in a name?

I’ve been thinking about my name a lot lately. Hawk. This has been brought on by the fact that I’m about to lose it. As a child, you either love or hate your name based solely on whether it is something that you can be teased about. I didn’t much like mine. Every time there was a hawk in a book that we were reading, everyone would laugh. And then there’s the fact that it rhymes with dork.

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve grown to love my name. No one else other than my family (in this country anyway) have the name Hawk without an ‘e’ on the end. It is definitive of us. It is who we are.

Part of getting married these days is deciding whether you want to change your name. Not just for women either. There are men (few and far between) that actually take their wive’s names. I knew better than to even suggest it… It was not a hard decision for me. Although I am not particularly traditional, I have always said that I’d take my husband’s name unless it was a bad one.

I know women who use their maiden name at work and their married name at home. That just seems like hard work to me. I also know people who think that a husband and wife should have the same last name for the sake of their children. I think that is rubbish – many parents aren’t even married these days! I can’t even say what my reasoning for changing is, I just always said I would.

I’ll be Sarah Taylor.

But the thing is, there is a part of me that doesn’t want to let go of Hawk, so after some thought, I have come up with a compromise. I don’t like the idea of a hyphenated name, so I am going to change my middle name. Currently it is Ann. I have never liked Ann. I am not named for anyone in particular and my parents don’t mind if I change it. Any future children that Shaun and I have are going to have the middle name Hawk as well. That way they will identify with both our families.

Sarah Hawk Taylor.

It’s just as well really – I’d have to change the name of my blog otherwise!

I’m not worthy.

I am spoiled. Yesterday I had one of the best surprises! Things are crazy at work. I am desperately trying to finish writing an application that should have been done last year. On top of that, a huge and very important server that I am responsible for keeps losing the guts. It wasn’t an incredibly stressful day, but I didn’t get much time to stop and breath.

Anyway… yesterday my manager booked a meeting into my diary for the last hour of the day. When the reminder popped up in our calendars yesterday he came to see me, saying he knew I was snowed under, so did I have time for the meeting still? Luckily, I told him I’d make time. He asked me to switch off my PC. That made me very nervous. He then handed me a plastic bag. That did nothing to allay my fears…

I opened the bag and inside was a certificate for an aromatherapy massage at a place over the road. 4 girlfriends from work had colluded with my manager to get me the time off, and I was packed off over the road to be massaged into a state of blissful relaxation.

It was one of the coolest, most thoughtful things. I floated through my Youthline shift last night smelling of essential oils.

Everyone needs friends like that. I’m eternally grateful and incredibly fortunate.

It makes me wet…

What is it about rain that makes people crazy in this country? After one of the driest Dec/Jans I remember, yesterday it started BUCKETING down. While I know that it’s all good for the gardens (and if you’ve been reading my blog for a while you’ll know that I need all the gardening assistance I can get), it certainly seems to have adverse effects on people once they get behind the wheel.

Somehow the rain seems to affect people’s ability to think. Apparently it breaks their indicators and affects their judgement of distance. What it doesn’t seem to break is their horns. What astounds me is people who drive around with their air conditioning off, so that their windows end up looking like they are frosted. How do they justify the safety of that? My patience was tried at lunchtime yesterday when I spent 45 minutes getting from Newmarket to Ponsonby – normally a 5 minute drive. When I finally got there, I discovered that my skirt was shut in my door. Bugger.

The rain also seems to turn our normally lovable cats into absolute pains in the neck. They go outside for just long enough to get their coats really wet, and then they come in and sit on the furniture. It is because they love being dried with a towel. So I dry them just in time to watch them head back out for another dousing.

It was during one of these wetting sessions this morning that Julio caught a bird. That in itself is pretty unusual – he is not the bird catcher of the two – but what was really ridiculous was that he didn’t kill it. He brought it inside and let it go in the house while he sat around on all the furniture, wetting it. The bird did it’s fair share of wetting as well. Actually – more than wetting. It proceeded to empty the entire contents of itself all around the spare bedroom. Nice.

Anyway, enough moaning. The sun’ll come out tomorrow.

Drowning in blood.

A strange thing has been happening to me this year… it involves blood. Lots of it. And my nose.

I used to get blood noses when I was younger. My nose has taken a bashing over the course of my life. It has been broken numerous times. Sometimes as a result of sporting accidents, sometimes due to drunken antics, and occasionally caused by freak accidents (like when I was hit in the face by a roofing tile that was caught by a gust of wind while being thrown from a building site). It’s all true.

Anyway, after more of these accidents than I remember (it was getting pretty easy to break), I had my nose reset. This involved one of the most disgusting procedures I have been forced to endure – your nose is rebroken, and you can hear it all inside your head. As a result of this, I have a super-strong nose that has caused me no problems for the last 10 years.

Until January 2nd.

I woke up early in the morning and someone else’s beach house. I thought my nose was running. I hadn’t woken up properly, so I ignored it for a while. That was a mistake. When I finally decided to get up, I noticed that the entire top half of the bed was covered in blood. OK – slight exaggeration, but there was a lot of blood. It is never a good look when you have to carry blood soaked sheets out of your room at someone else’s place.

I didn’t think much more about it until the following week, when I was sitting on the deck at work and history repeated itself. Ironically, for about the first time ever, I was dressed entirely in pink. Luckily, (probably due to the fact that I was awake this time), I was onto the problem pretty quickly.

Annoyingly, when it happened yesterday, I was again in bed. It was first thing in the morning again and I was sleeping on my back. I was having this dream that I was drowning. It really felt like I was suffocating. That’s because I was. In blood. When I realised, I ran to the bathroom dripping everywhere. It looked like something had been slaughtered in the house when we turned the lights on.

I don’t know what’s happening, but I hope it stops soon. It would be just my luck to have the nose bleed of all nose bleeds while I’m walking down the aisle in white!!

It just keeps getting Suite-r

OK, here are some pictures of the bar (upon Mike’s request). The quality is terrible – I took them in a hurry with my phone, plus – they were taken during the day so the light is mixed, but they give the general idea. If you’re ever in Auckland city, make sure you head down to Suite.

It’s the place to be I tell ya!

Red wall Red booth

First booth DJ booth

It’s looking pretty Suite…

My brother is the proud (part) owner of a new bar. It’s very exciting. He has been managing bars ever since he graduated with his law degree (go figure), but now he finally has his own.

It is called Suite. I have done the rebranding. I am looking forward to seeing my work up in lights (so to speak). This is what I’ve created.


It is at the bottom of Hobson Street in the city. It is a multi tasking venture. They will sell coffee to the corporate crowd in the morning, serve soup and salads at lunchtime, and then they become a full blown cocktail club and lounge in the evening. The place doesn’t close until 5am each morning. It’s a big call… but it’s going to be fantastic.

We spent the weekend repainting. Dave wants a “rich, opulent” look – in keeping with a flash hotel suite. I put my long redundant interior architecture skills to use and worked out a new colour scheme. It’s full of red and aubergine now. It looks amazing when the lights are down.

The best thing about Suite is that it is within walking distance from my office. I envisage a lot of Friday nights down there in the near future.

Can’t wait.