I’m long overdue for an update on my darling Lila Belle, and I apologize for it taking so long – you see, I’ve been a bit preoccupied. And so we begin…

Lila is a very, very smart dog. She knows the difference between her doting Mom sitting on the couch and playing with her and her toys as opposed to her Mom sitting on the floor and playing with her. She prefers the latter. The former evokes a Jekyll-and-Hyde transformation to cute, docile, pleasantly-chewing-on-her-proper-toy into crazed mini-wolf with teeth of small razors.

The efforts with housetraining are going swimmingly as well. While Lila is very astute to her inner digestive & excretory systems, so much that she knows to start whining at 2am, 4am, 6am, and 7am (while in her crate) so that I will wake up and let her out, she also takes much glee from taking two bites of food, one sip of water and performing her second-best trick; namely, peeing on the floor. She really is quite talented.

Another recently-developed trick by my brilliant puppy is her ability to bark. If there was a MENSA for barking dogs, my little Lila Belle would be elected president straight-off. She has learned not only to bark at the chair, the couch, the fireplace, the bookcase, but now also her toys! The cats! Her uncle Mike! And ME! She has perfected the ‘run-lunge-bark’ trick commonly performed only by older dogs. Lila is an overachiever – she’s gifted in the ways of the bark.

We mentioned toys – as to be expected, my sweet puppy is somewhat spoiled. (Not a shock to any of you, I’m sure.) Not only does she play with her toys, specially designed to help her during this “teething” period that I commonly refer to as “painful, dangerous puppy hell”, but she has taken advantage of the multitude of cat toys that were long ago abandoned by my darling felines who prefer to play with items like milk caps, beer boxes and luggage. (They, too, are creative.) Apparently not afraid to buck stereotypes, Lila has enjoyed a pink dangling feather and green sparkly mouse to the extent that her, ahem, excrement often sparkles. Nobody doubted my dog would be effervescent, just not that much.

Thankfully, the weather has been nice, so we’ve been able to traverse to the nearby parks to exert some of this fantastic puppy-energy outside instead of the preferred method; i.e., chasing the cats and running around the coffee table until she slips and slides on the hardwood floors head-first into the entertainment center. (Undaunted, she does it again and again, despite the sure-to-be-growing knots on her head.) The park involves Lila overestimating her size and ferociousness…she has a predilection for barking at dogs a wee bit bigger than she is, such as a Great Dane or a Mastiff. She is also very proficient in the chewing of grass, leaves, and sticks. And digging – this puppy can dig a hole in anything (including our park blanket. A new one is on the shopping list.)

Lila’s best trick, however, involves biting. While I don’t think she INTENDS to go for my fleshy little hand (or arm, or tow, or leg, or ankle, or – a new one from today – my boob), she does it with such gusto that I’m starting to wonder if she’s part-Vampire. The scratches and bite marks on my body likely make others think I’m an avid fan of ‘cutting’. Nothing like a puppy to make you look like a disturbed, self-masochistic girl from super-crazy-land.

And yet I rush home after work, anxious to hear what the dog walkers have reported (yes, I have them. Yes, they’re ridiculously expensive. Yes, I know how obnoxious that sounds, but I work really, really far away and gas would probably cost the same. No heckling.) and ready to receive the tail-wagging face-kisses that can only be given by a sweet, darling, VERY talented dog. I mean, really – despite the sleepless nights, despite the barking, despite the peeing and pooping and biting and craziness that comes with owning a new puppy, it’s worth it. After all – how can you resist this face?

A writer is always looking for the magic. The words that describe exactly what we’re trying to say, and too often, we end up spending so much type obsessing over the syntax or stringing together the sentences as an attempt to be profound that we lose sight of what we’re trying to express at all. Sometimes it’s best to just put it out there, bluntly, without the excessive flourish that so commonly distracts us from our goal – to let you, to let the world, know what we’re trying to say.

And then you hear it – a song on the radio or on iTunes or even on a television show, a song whose lyrics take the jumbled words right out of your heart and string them together in a way you had been trying to for days. It happens unexpectedly, you may have just put in an unlabeled mix CD that you made a few months back, and while the song previously didn’t mean anything to you, at this very moment, it’s perfect. It’s what you’ve been trying to say, but didn’t really know how to. It’s what I’ve been trying to say.

Two weeks away it feels like the world should’ve changed
But I’m home now
And things still look the same
I think I’ll leave it till tomorrow to unpack
Try to forget for one more night
That I’m back in my flat on the road
Where the cars never stop going through the night
To real life where I can’t watch sunset
I don’t have time
I don’t have time

I’ve still got sand in my shoes
And I can’t shake the thought of you
I should get on, forget you
Why, why would I want to
I know we said goodbye
Anything else would’ve been confused but I wanna see you again

Tomorrow’s back to work and down to sanity
should run a bath and then clear up the mess I made before I left here
Try to remind myself that I was happy here
Before I knew that I could get on the plane and fly away
From the road where the cars never stop going through the night
To a life where I can watch the sunset
And take my time,
Take all our time

I’ve still got sand in my shoes
And I can’t shake the thought of you
I should get on, forget you
Why, why would I want to
I know we said goodbye
Anything else would’ve been confused but I wanna see you again

I wanna see you again
Two weeks away, all it takes to change in time around by falling
I walked away and never said that I wanted to see again

I’ve still got sand in my shoes
And I can’t shake the thought of you
I should get on, forget you
Why, why would I want to
I know we said goodbye
Anything else would’ve been confused but I wanna see you again

I wanna see you again
I wanna see you again

As is often the case, Sarah Hatter has hit it on the head. NAILED it, in fact. Bravo, my friend, for so clearly illustrating the inherent differences between men & women. I wish I had written it myself.

The other article that I wish I had written, however, is THIS ONE. Seriously, seriously accurate, I can attest to just about every single one of those points. (Except for maybe #13 – I’m usually on time; and #10…hate to say it, but my closet actually reveals more about my Type-A organizational behaviour. But all the other ones – oh yeah.)

I’d probably also add:
#31: Before we go on our first date, I’ve already figured out what my new initials would be should we get married.
#32: I’ll always think I’m five pounds overweight, even at my skinniest.
#33: I’m scared I already like you too much.

It’s crazy – people always advise you to be yourself, but they really mean to be yourself, the #33 secrets notwithstanding. Because we all know that the first thing that sends a guy – any guy – heading to the hills is not feeling like you’re a challenge. It’s a hard-wired evolutionary behaviour that isn’t going anywhere soon, and so while we agree that playing hard to get is, well, hard, we also know that it works.

So, in case you already think I like you too much, are afraid that it’s a given, or any other reason that might prevent you from pursuing me the way I want you to, let’s set the record straight. I’m not going to come easy, but I promise you, I’m worth it.

So it’s Day Six of Project: Crazy Puppy and so far, so good. (If by that I mean “so far, no sleep, waking up every two hours, and becoming very, very close to the bodily functions and cycles of a 6 1/2 week old puppy.” I suppose that equals good, right?) I’d heard it was like having a baby, and without all the pushing, recovery, and weight gain, I’d say it’s an accurate comparison. Oh yeah, and without getting knocked up. But I digress.

Miss Lila Belle was officially welcomed home last Friday, a scared, quiet little thing who wasn’t overly good at walking, didn’t whimper, and certainly didn’t bark. She was perfectly content laying on my lap and sleeping…even food wasn’t that much of interest, and had to be wet since her teeth weren’t yet all in.

How things have changed.

In just six days, Lila has embraced the excitement of running! Of trying to jump! Of eating not only her food, but mulch! Business cards! Wires! My toes! She’s a master of the dog-language known as ‘whining’ (especially in the wee hours of the morning) and yesterday, discovered that she can bark. So, today, she has barked at every object imaginable, including all 22 lbs. of a very confused Sullivan and the fireplace screen. She gets these ridiculous spurts of energy, running around, tail wagging so fast you can barely see it, yelping and barking and generally amusing herself to no end with whatever she can find, and then – just as soon as it starts, it’s over. She’s exhausted herself and curls up into the cutest ball of darling fur, silent and pressed up against some part of my body to show me that she’s still there, even while asleep. It warms my heart (and, as I’m writing this, currently my left thigh.)

I’ve had a dog before, but I was young and had very little to do with the training. Now, I’m like a worried parent, reading everything I can on house training and crate training and researching dog walkers (the hour round-trip home from work every day is wreaking havoc on my mileage, not to mention the skyrocketing expense of gasoline.) I have a few friends who just recently also adopted a puppy, so they’re my lifeline. We even had a puppy play date on Sunday. It’s safe to say that this cat person has now become a equal opportunity cat and dog person.

Welcome to Le Menagerie Sabala, Lila Belle. I’m so glad you’re here to stay.

So yes, I’m back. I’m still in the throws of jet lag, which somewhat surprises me since I had little-to-no problems with it once I got to Sydney. I suppose I should get used to walking around like a zombie since Miss Lila (Middle Name) will likely be keeping me awake for some time to come. I figure it’s good practice for children.

But yes. Here I am. And though so many fun things are happening here (the house will sell, it really, really will) and so many new additions are coming (Miss Lila, I can’t wait) and so many things are still good (yay job! yay new house! yay st. patty’s fest!) I still feel like Atlanta has lost its lustre. It’s as if, after being gone just two weeks, coming home was a letdown.

I suppose it was to be expected – any time you head off to the wild blue yonder in all its fantasticness, the novelty of the situation makes the status quo seem less than desirable. It was like this the first time I visited Atlanta.

Five years ago almost to the month, I came down to visit my friends Brandy & Allison. At that time, I was in my post-grad school funk, sick of DC, sick of walking everywhere, sick of the cold weather and the same people and the same job and basically being in the first of a few of my quarterlife crises. So, when I came down to the Dirty South (ha, that term still cracks me up), I found it to be refreshing. New! Novel! Much like its native beverage, Coca-Cola, Atlanta offered me the effervescentness that a tired, old, boring DC didn’t. In comparison, DC was a two-day old flat Pepsi.

So I came back, energetic, and applied for three jobs that Sunday evening. Being that we were still in the midst of the dot.com boom, I had three new emails waiting for me Monday morning – all three companies were requesting an interview. In just three months, I had quit my DC job, moved my stuff, found an apartment, a roommate (though I didn’t know how crazy psycho he would be), a job and was here to stay. Oh Atlanta, I was home.

Fast forward until today. I’m in no hurry to move – in fact, the commitment to buy a new home here is one attempt to quell my insatiable impetuous nature. Before I started at Google, I looked for jobs in various places – Chicago, New York, Minneapolis, even Cleveland! Nothing was holding me here, nothing was taking me away. But then my house, Google, and a few other things came around (not the least of which were significant others who I thought would last longer than they did, optimistic as ever) and I stayed. And stayed. And here I am, four apartments, one owned house and one newly-contracted house later, still in Atlanta. So of course something different seems new & better – the grass is always greener, or so they say.

So, like I said, here I am. Things are good – status quo. And yet the goofy smile and darling accent of one Australian reminds me how far away I am from a place where I would love to live. The normalcy of the city – the unseasonably cold temps, the day-to-day work tasks, the routine I’m so accustomed to – only reminds me that I’m so far away from someone who the very thought of makes me fall asleep smiling.

Hello. My name is Lila. I’m just 5 weeks old, and already the cutest thing you’ve ever seen. I can’t wait to join “Le Menagerie Sabala”, a lovely house with three unruly cats, one poker-obsessed uncle and a very, very excited Mom, Aubrey.

My Mom needs your help – while I have a fantastic first name (fitting, right?) I’m still without a middle name. And as any self-respecting lady knows, I can’t very well enter society without a middle name. My Mom says you can help – send her middle name suggestions or leave them in a comment, because I’m coming home in less than a week and need to have a great name by then.

Thanks everyone – can’t wait to meet you.

Perhaps it’s a sign of something more, something unseen, something I don’t know about myself. I’d certainly hope not, the very thought seems not only unfortunate, but sad. Really sad. If I’m somehow behind this, doing something unknowingly to cause this – again and again – I only wish I knew what it was so I could change.

Not that I’m big on changing for the sake of change, or for others. I am who I am, and – for the most part – I’m pretty happy with it. But this, this keeps happening. People keep leaving, people I like and I lust and I could love, they keep leaving. Not just leaving, but leaving me. With no explanation.

Just one day, they were there; the next, they vanish. As if what came before didn’t really happen, that we weren’t really dating, that all those times we talked about the future – be it a trip in months to come or even a dinner one night next week – never happened.

It makes me think I’m crazy – how do people know if they’re crazy? What if I just made it all up in my head, altered my pictures of us together but blocked that out, and altered my journal to show that they were in my life when really it was just me, wishing and hoping and making myself believe it? Deep down, I know that’s not the case – I know it did happen, they did exist, we did exist – but it’s almost easier to think that perhaps I’m going crazy instead of the fact that these people who I once so highly respected, once had the ability to make me feel giddy and excited and all nervous in my stomach by something as little as an email, can value me, value us, so little that they can leave it without so much as an explanation. How could it mean something if they, again and again, leave?

Anytime you’re faced with a hard decision – and I’m not talking about Coors Light vs. Miller Lite here, these decisions are the life changing ones, the ‘should I stay or should I go’ type of decisions – there’s the easy way out and the right way. Very, very rarely the two are one and the same, and when faced with that choice, the only decision is to step up to the proverbial plate and do it the right way. Because, though you think you may be making it easier on everyone, (your excuse for really just making it easier on you and avoiding the harsh reality of life and emotion), what you’re really doing is making the other person wonder if they’re losing their mind, wonder if the relationship existed at all, wonder what was wrong with them that they didn’t even warrant a real goodbye.

Relationships aren’t easy. They bend you and stretch you and sometimes subtly break down who you are. Not all at once, of course, but little by little, your very self is being torn – just a small rip at first, just a little one here or there. But after a while, after a few relationships and a few broken hearts and a few hurts and a few tears, all of those little rips eventually break you.

Please. Remember that what to you seems like a small, meaningless rip could actually be the tear that rips someone else apart.

For the first time in months, I’ve just finished reading some of my favorite sites. I read Sarah. And Sarah. And HelenJane. And Dooce. And Josh. Just to name a few, because that’s all the time I had and that’s just HOW far behind I’ve been. Um, way behind.

Everyone always tells me how busy I am, and I only partially agree. I don’t think I do well being bored, not having a lot (or, as often is the case, too much) to do. Yesterday, in my afternoon “vacation” time (I’m working 5:30am – 1:30pm to coincide with the US hours) I wrote four (count ’em, FOUR!) of my freelancing articles. Boo-YA, Editor of mine. Today, I worked 13 hours, since I headed into the office this morning with Mindy, and she’s still on a call, and I’m still here. And yet, though I’ve got books next to me, here I am, still on the computer, still half-chugging away. I just gave myself a little break to catch up with some old blog friends via their posts.

I don’t really remember the time when I wasn’t busy. Not just in work, but in life too. When I had that job oh-so long ago which was oh-so boring and I had oh-so little to do (hi long breakfasts! hi three-hour lunch shopping sessions!) I still found a way to keep myself entertained, and a lot of it involved various blogs, especially the ones listed above. But now, two years into this great, not-boring, never-unbusy job with a great, fun freelancing job and a great, fun group of friends and in the midst of a great, fun vacation (can you say wineries! 20+ bottles? My soon-to-own wine fridge – already INSTALLED in my new counter – is soon-to-be full. Yum!) I was able to catch up. And that, my friends, is a great side effect of vacations, especially ones where most of your day doesn’t coincide with distractions or even anything taking you away from work.

Who knew you could be so productive when your IM is off!?!?!

It’s been a week now, and I feel like I’ve been on vacation for a month. We’ve had the perfect mix of active and lazy, work and play, meeting new people and catching up with old friends. It’s amazing what a little time away can do for the soul.

Last Friday, Google was nominated for an Australia-wide website award. They held the event at Luna Park, same place as the forthcoming MTV Music Awards here on Thursday. It was the perfect type of awards event – fast, fun, easy-going – minus the fact that they didn’t serve dinner. Which is where the story begins.

As often is the case, not eating enough while drinking sends the usually ebulliant Aubrey into Insanely Inebriated Aubrey™. Which – for those who’ve witnessed it firsthand – isn’t necessarily the best state for me to be in, though it does provide constant amusement for onlookers and friends alike. So, despite my lofty intentions to keep eating (the not at all “heavy” hors d’ourves included risotto balls served by a female server, and I believe my exact words were “Hey Ball Lady! I need to eat some more Balls!”), I’d estimate that I ate approximately 200 calories. Leaving my tummy very, very empty. Not a good starting point.

The other half of this devilish cocktail was what we were drinking – champagne. No, not a glass to toast with, not just a little to add some edge, but Champagne. The. Whole. Night. God Bless us all.

It started out just fine – just a glass or two…yum. Funny thing about those bubbles – you have a bit, you want a bit more. And so I did. And did. And did again. Next thing I know, the party is a ROARING success, I’m chatting with anyone and everyone, and – remarkably – my glass remains full. As it continues to all evening.

The party soon moved from the outside patio into the main venue when it got a bit chilly for my overly-red sunburn and flowy dress, and though the DJ was in full force, nobody was dancing. The pint glass full of champagne (they ran out of proper glasses) helped me take care of that REALLY quickly, showing those Ozzies a thing or two on how we do it in Atlanta. It probably would have been better if I wasn’t the only person dancing, but hey, beggars can’t be choosers. I was starting a trend, after all. I was getting this party started.

I also got it ended – no, I didn’t get thrown out, nothing that tawdry. Just the end of the party is a bit hazy, but not the next day – not for one bit. We headed out to Hunter Valley, the wine country about two hours north of Sydney, and while the ride was fine, I would offer one bit of advice:

Don’t drink two bottles of champagne the night before if you expect to be able to attend wine tastings without the aid of no less than FOURTEEN antacids.

I only wish I was kidding.