AS YOU are reading this, I will be in Noosa sipping colourful cocktails by the pool in my hot new bikini (thank you boot camp).
No, I have not managed to seduce a rich, older man into marrying me (although I am keeping a sharp eye on the likely talent while I am here).
I am actually here with my family for the holidays.
Christmas holidays with the Jensens is epic.
Most people know how loud and excited I can get.
Well, picture two more of me (my sisters), the two people who made us and five little half-Jensens coming together after months apart.
It’s a vocal volcano of funny, impatient, opinionated, demanding, highly-stressed, sensitive and brash individuals all trying to talk at once.
If it wasn’t for the fact we’re related by blood, I’m not quite sure we’d love each other as much.
Anyhoo, after the initial hugs and screams of excitement, we spend the next hour talking as fast as we can about every little thing that has happened since we last saw each other.
My parents usually tune out after the first minute (because they can’t understand a bloody thing we’re saying).
Mum offers us all a coffee and we all collapse in tears of laughter — she sighs and gets the bubbly.
As much as I love my coffee, you just can’t do hot drinks in Noosa.
The 200 per cent humidity means I drown in my own sweat as soon as I climb the stairs to the living area.
My dad has learnt the hard way to turn the refrigerated air-conditioner on at least an hour before I arrive.
Otherwise their lovely daughter immediately morphs into psycho daughter.
I pretty much go au-naturel during my Queensland trips, because as soon as I step out of that plane my make-up slides off, my hair joins the land of frizz and the sweat seems to find every crevice of my body.
Thankfully some of my best friends – Moet and Chandon – know how to make everything okay.
After a cool-down swim in the resort-stye pool, complete with big-screen TV, it’s time for games.
Unfortunately, my win-by-any-means-possible attitude means no-one wants me on their team anymore so Pictionary is out of the question.
Why you wouldn’t want to be on the winning team is beyond me.
Our go-to games are Celebrity Head, Pass the Bomb, Black Jack and our all-time favourite, Billionaire.
Basically, it’s seven of us shouting ‘‘two, four, five, one!’’ as we trade commodity cards before one of us screams Billionaire at the top of our lungs once we’ve collected a complete set.
It usually ends up with shattered wine glasses, a polka-dot carpet from all the red wine stains, hoarse voices and crying babies (because we accidentally woke them up).
Occasionally a neighbour will pop their head outside to make sure no-one has been murdered in the street.
Best game ever!
Afterwards, at least one of us will have to pop a couple of Nurofen Plus to keep the pounding headache at bay.
And that’s just the first two hours.
The rest of the week is spent at the beach, losing a curious child at the beach, finding a panicked child at the beach, bribing said child with Gelatissimo ice-cream to stop the crying, drinking champagne, eating, smashing my sisters at SingStar, eating, visiting a theme park, losing another child at theme park, finding a traumatised child at theme park, buying more ice-cream, attempting to exercise before mum comes with pastries and croissants, reminiscing about old times, arguing about who is right when talking about old times, trying to watch movies while my sisters talk over the top and inadvertently ruin the ending, fighting with one of my sisters (and then the other), drinking and making up and then crying hysterically when we have to leave.
Yes, it’s exhausting.
But it’s lots of fun and gives us good memories to recap on next time we collide.