Hey panda bears,

I adore writing you the way I do.

I love writing you those long, tear-soaked vulnerable posts about life + spirit.

I adore writing you advice posts about what it takes to step up into your biggest, brightest self in life and in business.

This bloggityblog of mine has been my creative dream + obsession + best friend generator + sacred business platform for almost eight years now.

I heart business. I heart soul. I heart life. I heart writing.

And I also very very very much heart SILLY.

Random shit is my very favourite poo in all the world.

It makes me gigglesnort like nothing else.

It’s the inspiration behind this:

Behold, the Greatest Random Taxi Cab Confessions Known To Womankind:

The place where I tell you previously ridunkulous unheard stories from my teenage years, tiny bits of practical wisdom + oddball chunks of factoids. All in all: hilarimo + odd. Just the way I love it.

Let the shenanigans begin:

Most of the time, I don’t have a cover over my doona/duvet. And my bed NEVER gets made. Never. The moment I left boarding school was the moment I stopped.

I will eat the same dinner for weeks on end, then never eat it again.

There is no such thing in my world as too many prayer flags.

I think going to India is like having a baby. Do it only if you really, really want to. It’s not easy.

When I was in my final year of school, I was all stressed out about exams and I fantasised about taking up smoking. I got worried that I would start smoking, so I wore a fairy dress and bought myself a small packet of menthol cigarettes and chain smoked them until I felt sick.  Once I was well and truly over smoking them, I threw the rest of the packet in the bin, and never smoked again. I felt sad that my fairy dress smelt like menthol cigarettes… but I CURED MYSELF.

I crack myself up. Best quit smoking even when you don’t smoke initiative ever. Menthol cigarettes and a fairy dress.

People assume I’ve smoked pot because I’m a total woo-woo tie-dye loving crystal-clutching hippy. But the 100% bonafide truth is that I haven’t even seen any kind of drug in my life. I’ve always felt like my brain was wacky and wonderful enough with being psychic, intuitive and creative. I didn’t want to mess with its chemistry lest I bugger it up.

And the most I’ve ever drunk was rum in a creek bed at a friend’s cattle property when I was 17. At some point before dawn, I woke up and became completely terrified that I’d broken too many brain cells from rum, so I got up and decided to do some history study. There’s nothing like Hitler’s totalitarianism and Gorbachev’s perestroika to resuscitate flagging brain cells.  And that’s where my friend’s dad saw me sometime just as dawn broke: studying on the verandah, head in textbooks. “Wow, Leonie. You are SUCH a dedicated student,” he said. I didn’t reply, because I was afraid I’d slur my words. If only he knew I was just trying to reclaim last night’s brain cells, I thought. I never drunk that much again. I am very protective over my brain cells.

I triply amuse myself: Leonie’s Quit Smoking Before You Become A Smoker By Using A Fairy Dress Program & the Don’t Take Drugs Incase It Makes You Too Nutty To Make Art Campaign & the Too Much Rum Makes You Dumb public service announcement.

I should write books for teen kids on this stuff.

Which brings me to Leonie’s Don’t Shag Anyone Unless You Want To Bring A Soul Into The World With Them Thereom.

And why I was very, very grateful that I found my love at the tender age of 18. I looked at his sparkling blue eyes and thought:

Yup. I could have his baby. LET THE SHENANIGANS BEGIN.

Gosh I must have been an interesting teenager.

I totaalllly don’t ascribe to the belief that my way is the right way for everybody. Find what works for you.

I rarely return phone messages. I am not a phone call person.

I really, really like making tacky photoshop pictures. See above. That made me giggle hysterically for ages.

I have an addictive personality – most Scorpios do – they have the highest propensity to drug addiction + alcohol of all star signs. And since I’m not huge keen on the drug addiction front… I get addicted to superfoods. Which really is NOT a bad addiction to have. Currently it is bee pollen. I can go through a jar a day easily if I let myself. I’ve also had amusing encounters with chocolate dipped goji berries and peanut protein bounce balls. My health shop owner calls herself my “drug dealer.”

I’m a swear bear, through and through. I don’t always blog in swear-bear-ese though because I think it sounds funnier than it looks.

This was the best meal of my life.

It’s a dessert burger. You read that correctly.

Let me describe for you, to fuel your impending mouthgasm:

Fried custard “chips” with raspberry “tomato sauce”.

Donut “burger buns”. Lime jelly masquerading as cheese.

Strawberries pretending to be tomatoes.

And the beef patty? Made from a thick chocolate fudgey truffle.


I still dream about it. (You can find it at Mr Bones in Airlie Beach if you ever find yourself there!)

While we are at it, I have a confession about my dog Charlie, too:

And that about wraps it up.

Was that not the BEST FUN EVER???

I know, me too.

Thanks for playing, kittens.

And thanks for getting me – random kooks + all.

Let’s do this again soon, yeah??

High fives forever + love like a giant blue balloon,