Home, sweet home. There is no place on Earth that feels as warm and wonderful as home does, and I am sure that'd be the case regardless of the climate. We could be in the dead middle of the Arctic, and I am sure I couldn't be any happier, so long as my Mummy, Daddy Feathersword (don't ask), and endless barrage of brothers and sisters were along. Well, I could do without Abram hanging about, but for the sake of kindness, lets leave that be.

As previously stated, I've crashed Alfie's room. He and his dog Boo are not bad roomates, but they sure aren't as snuggly as Jayda. He also doesn't smell as yummy, he always leaves his dirty socks laying about, and has taken to stealing my scarves when he thinks I am not looking. I'd lodge a formal complaint with the Court of Mum, but I'm sure she'd turn around and make me give back these awesome pants I snagged last night while he was out in the paddocks with August, likely working on some new music. Speaking of my dearest big brother, he's a genuis - for once I was not misquoted, and someday I will make a long list of reasons why I believe August William Laine is actually the second coming of Jesus. Or first, if you're Jewish like my Grandmum and don't believe Jesus came in the first place. How did this turn into a religious blabber? Back to what matters: my family, and how this ridiculous group of relations is so attractive, and mostly all pretty fantastical and uberbrainy too. Mark my words; one of us is going to be Prime Minister one day. I vote Alyse, or Mum - she's used to wrangling a rowdy bunch of brats and laying down the law like nobody's business. And boy, does she look fine in a power suit. Vanessa Laine for PM!

I'm happily settled at home, though it isn't going to last much longer - after the weekend I'm heading to Port Augusta to get back into training, and there I will stay until mid-March, when I relocate to Sydney for the lead up to the national competition. Yup, I am in the flyers and billboards, and seeing my own face on the side of the highway as August and I were driving away from Adelaide was slightly odd - especially since I had no idea I was featured in the campaign. He didn't forget to tease me the entire way home for it, and was sure to share with the rest of the family what he say - wondering if we could buy one of them for the backyard, then send the real me back to LA. It'd be a lot quieter round home that way. He's hilarious, really. Leave the comedy to Asher (who is the next Will Farrell, watch for it).


And now its time for photos. I've had a busy past week, am pretty exhausted, and will quickly summarize in photographic terms. Enjoy.

WEDNESDAY: This is me at the airport around 5am, hanging out in some mad gangster chair while we were waiting to board the airplane for New Jersey....

...and this is the love of my life, doing the same. She is totally checking up on her WOW stats, I swear it. My nerd.

Ryan Neely is ridiculous. He is almost as drunk as me, and I love him for it. Probably a little too much. Oh well.

Babygirl at soundcheck, being her awesome cranky perfectionist self. I love her so hard.

I am so in love with this woman, holy crap on a stick. The show. Perfect.

THURSDAY: This is the face I saw bright and early, rolling off the plane from Newark to Boston. I am the first to admit to being an early riser and all, but I am so not a happy morning person - how is he so Goddamned perky at 9am? It's unnatural - therefore it must have been the sight of me that was making him so giddy ;)

After spending the day wandering around Boston and the evening at a fancy V-Day wedding, my favorite band in the world had a show....

And they let me sing with them. Holy crap.

The rest of my weekend was packing, crying, clinging to Jayda's legs and hanging out on airplanes. I didn't take any more photos until I arrived in the Adelaide airport and was greeted with this beautiful poster and slightly creepy yet still perfect face:

Shortly after that wonderful greeting, I threw a razor at my hero and made him remove that dead animal on his face before driving the three hours straight home to see this adorably perfect little face anxiously awaiting my arrival:

And then Alfie went all scenester photographer... and August went Blood. I hope The Game sees this and recruits him. He's so hot. I'd hit it. The Game I mean, not my amazing genuis brother.

And that is that. Now I'm going to feed Sal (my emu), then will sit back and watch Night at the Roxbury, then The Anchorman with my baby brothers. XOXO!

Airplanes. I hate them. I'm spending the next 22 hours on one and it's going to be a rotten time. I'd typically pop a few Gravols and pass out on Jayda's lap and it wouldn't be quite so bad, however, I am going home all by myself. Like a big girl. A panicky big girl, who's too scared of being robbed or photographed to allow herself to sleep on a plane. I don't worry about crashing, I worry about there being no place to hide up there.

Provided I make it off the plane alive, I'm spending an evening in Sydney then heading home to my Mummy and everyone else. I'll be crashing Alfie's room, and probably post pictures of my dearest in his underpants by the weeks end. He loves me best, I can get away with these things. Also, any nice girls out there? Please show yourselves, I need to hook my brother up. Sluts need not apply - and don't think I won't know if you're a slut, I can sense sluts from a mile away. My baby Buggy is too good for sluts. Too precious. Don't repost this on the Soundwave boards, please.

I'm currently in weird emotional distress. Please get me a drink, I am an Olympic athlete and not allowed to smoke a bowl to ease my nerves. Drinking myself into stupidity will have to do.

This is my best friend, who, after tomorrow, I will likely not see for weeks on end due to obnoxious schedules (not because we are feuding, not because she is batshit crazy and not because I am screwing any/all of her bandmates). She is the light of my life, and even if I post nasty 5am photos of her on my blog, it's because I think she is beautiful when the rest of us aren't, and am just jealous that she looks so fucking good without makeup and a flat iron.

Since I will not see her at all after tomorrow, I am going to crawl into her bed now, until we have to get up at waytooearly AM to go to the airport. I will take a gravol and spend the flight to New Jersey slumped over on her lap, but she will play with my hair and watch a movie on her MacBook, and not mind it one bit. We will spend the day attached at the hip, except when she is on stage and I will be standing just out of sight, in total awe of this little thing bouncing all over the stage, and when it comes time for my flight to Boston and hers back to LA, I know I will cry - but not until I am out of sight. She won't cry, but she might sleep in my room for a night or two when she gets back and I'm not there.

Anyway, I just had to login and say I love this kid more than life. Goodnight.

And now I've got a blog.

Peer pressure has won out, and after a few pints of Cooper's and whatever it was I actually ate for lunch, Cody Marcelli has convinced me that blogging is the wave of the future. Prior to this live-changing revelation, we were mid-conversation as I rolled out to his car, a heated discussion of Porn of the Dead vs. The Sexorcist, when the paps arrived and started snapping. Expect photos later on, and rumors to start flying, that I'm fucking him as well. He wishes. Maybe if he shaved, and grew a pair (I say this with love, Cody, I swear) I'd think about it.

Anyway, here I am. Maybe I'll write more about myself later, for now I will leave you with my deep thought of the morning; what exactly is in those Cadbury Creme Eggs? The ideas running through my mind.... scary.

Oh, and the final verdict? The Sexorcist, for sure. Sorry, Marcelli.