i feel pretty. oh so pretty.

When I see people wearing clothes that don't fit on really important days - weddings, 21st birthdays, fridays - I always ask myself one question:   


don't you have anyone in your life who loves you?  

 My mother would never let me leave the house in half the atrocities I see violating the town strip at 3am on a Sunday morning and yet for some reason, you in your ten-sizes-too-small excuse for a town dress looking akin to 'champagne-strangled ham' and your similarly clad chronies are bumping and grinding on the dancefloor, sneering down your nose at me like I'm the weird one.

To be fair though, it's possible that in my judging, maybe I missed something.  Perhaps you are the only person in your family gifted with sight?  Or perhaps you belong to that culture that believes mirrors steal a part of your soul?  Or perhaps you wear a giant onesie over your ensemble and then change on the way to the nightclub?

Whatever it is I hope one day we find a cure for these avoidable crimes & stop allowing the ones we love to fool themselves into making fools of themselves.  Because it really isn't about being size zero with legs for days and a million dollar wardrobe.  I think it's just about realising not every trend is for everyone - that how you feel is not synonymous with what they think is cool - that it's okay to just be you.

My loved ones never hesitate to let me know when I'm making a real dick of myself and though it is sometimes hard to hear, I'm always thankful in hindsight. I hope you have someone who loves you just as much.

Lesson Eleven: Real love means telling the truth.
 

"up to?": unravelling centuries of courting tradition in two words or less.

I am not a fan of mass texts. Similarly, I am not a fan of email forwards.
In fact, I am not a fan of any type of communication that isn't personally addressed to me for a specific and succinct purpose.

I, for example, would never text someone - let alone my entire cellphone contacts list - "up to?" motivated by boredom, in a bid to start conversation. I would also never initiate this conversation at 3am (unless I'm drunk, then obviously all bets are off) and expect a reply that doesn't start with a swear word and end in 'off'.

It's not that I think I'm too cool - I do not suffer from delusions that I am above the basic social practices of wider society. I just don't get it. Why do you care what I'm doing when I never see you, we rarely talk and to be honest, I really don't care what you're doing? It's completely beyond me that this is how you would choose to spend your free time (as opposed to anonymously ranting to your imaginary fanbase via blogger - point taken).

So you can imagine how disgruntled I am at the prospect of text messages being used as invites for something less than innocent. Talk about eliminating all remnants of chivalry and common decency. Not too long ago, before cellphone use was socially mandatory, the humble 'up to' text could have a breadth of meanings: What are you doing? Wanna hang out? Wanna get some food? Let's do something.

Social evolution however has seen it translated in many cases into meaning "Let's do something I'm too lazy to make an effort to have a relationship with you for" or in plain English as the booty call of the 00's - "Let's have sex". But how did we get from there to here? How did something so completely innocent become something so completely...not?

I mean I realise that this new tech era has encouraged communication that is all about efficacy and minimum effort but quite frankly I'm offended by it. As any girl who's ever known a boy with a cellphone knows, "Up to?" does not just mean "Hi what are you doing?" Nor does it mean "This is a sign that I'm thinking about you" as so many girls like to tell themselves. It's not even really a conversation starter anymore. As we've found (through extensive research) this phrase has now become synonymous with "I'm bored and probably drunk, if you're alone want to come over?"

Even less flattering is the mass 'up to' commonly received in the early hours of Sunday morning in the dying embers of a boys drink up at so-and-so's house and directed to any and all female members of their cellular phone book.

I'm not sure what kind of girl is dumb enough to respond to these messages but I know for a fact there are those who do. And while I'm all for the power of free choice, you can't answer an 'up to?' and then act surprised that all he wants from you is exactly what you just gave him. I dunno, I guess I'm just more for boys showing at least a little effort when it comes to the romantic sector of my life. I know it's going a little far to expect you to send a letter to my father (by horse, naturally) asking permission to call on me but surely a phone call at a decent hour or a trip to the movies hasn't become completely obsolete yet?  
If it has I'm joining the convent tomorrow.

Lesson Ten:  Show some pride.

Happy Sunday x

femme fatale.

I watched the movie 'Obsessed' the other night. If you don't know it I wouldn't bother looking it up. It was pretty intense to say the very least. The basic storyline is that a slutty little office temp falls for a handsome married guy and because he's happily married (let's take note that it is in this case to Beyonce which I personally think makes a difference here) and when he's not having a bar of it she creates an affair in her head and goes all Fatal Attraction stalker on him, breaking into his home, wearing his clothes, sending herself flowers and casually cradling his young child while he's out etc.

Though I admired her unwavering commitment to the cause, she really started to annoy me after awhile. I hate to sound perverted but I got a sick kind of satisfaction when she ended up smooshed between the glass table and the chandelier.

It's all a little far fetched for everyday life but I did feel kinda sorry for the poor guy. Somehow I don't think it's because he has two gorgeous women throwing themselves at him. I think it might just be that he was too good looking to be in such a predicament. Between the crazy death threats and kidnappings and suicide attempts it got me thinking about relationships.

I enjoyed the fact that he remained completely faithful to his wife the entire time (because the temptress was mass pretty - played by actress Ali Larter) despite the obvious and somewhat aggressive temptation. These days, where 1 in 4 marriages ends in divorce and over 40% of these are due to infidelity, I liked the fact that his marriage vows still meant something to him - that he was willing to do whatever it took to protect them.

I think every girl wants a love like that. Maybe not to have it tested by a suicidal maniac with homicidal tendencies but the general idea of forever meaning forever with no lame excuses about temptation or mistakes.

It also made me wonder a little about the power of women. Now I am not, nor will I ever be a staunch bra-burning, man-hating feminist type but I really do believe being a woman is a very powerful thing Complicated? Yes. Heavy burdened? Yes.  But there is something - grace? power? humility? determination? pride? - bubbling under the surface of every woman that makes you think, her smile has a thousand meanings and that maybe this one means "If you keep doing that, I know where I'm going to hide your body".

Lesson Nine: Never assume.  Especially where women are concerned.

[Now go and say thank you to all the special women you love and hope never to get on the wrong side of. xx]

selling your soul to the book of face.

Sometimes I wish I'd never asked.

Sometimes knowing a little, is knowing too much.
And once you know something, there is no going back.

I think that's why I have such an antipathy to sites like Facebook - because they tell me all the things I never wanted to know before I even knew I didn't want to know them.

They tell me she had a baby - he's got a new girlfriend- they finally got married - things that don't necessarily impact my life anymore in any way whatsoever and yet here I am, clicking my way through your family holiday album learning all these things we'll never actually talk about in person - things I'll shelve away in the dark corners of my sub-conscious until I see you next when we'll both ask "how are you?" like we don't already know.

I must admit some of the things I learn are amusing. Some of the tidbits are often just day-makers and re-appear in text messages to my friends who I know will also appreciate the giggle. But mostly? I just want to click undo in my mind and go back to wondrous oblivion. It's much safer there; it's not filled with reminders that tell me to regret that I let you into my life, that I walked into yours, or that there are still even remnants of our paths colliding embedded forever in my conscience or alternatively, your facebook.

But as I've learnt, there are no erasers - no 'delete all' option - no way to get back the innocence that you offered up so freely for a taste of curiosity. Nothing to undo the new pain that comes with knowing too much.

I think the answer is simple. Maybe I should take five minutes before the next time to assess the consequences this decision might bring - big, bad or otherwise.

I should just say to myself - "Self, ten years - three months - hell; a week from now: Am I going to regret this?"

Lesson Eight: Make better choices.

Better living everyone. xx

growing pains.

Recently I turned 22. I always thought that was still pretty young.

Apparently not.

I used to think "So what are you up to these days?" was a genuine inquiry into how I'm doing. Again - I missed the day they explained it's actually a test.

I dread any conversation that begins with the above phrase because I never have anything remotely interesting to tell them and more often then not, it's a trick. It's a way for whatshername's mum to harass me in the supermarket so she can feel that little bit more smug about her angel offspring who has life plans and job offers and grown up stuff galore.

More and more I notice "Oh I'm still at uni" never really gets more than a polite "Oh I see..." and a swift but none-too-subtle subject change.

I always feel like they expect me to say something impressive and even I'm slightly disappointed when I give my answer and it's not.

I can't say I'm honestly surprised though. It doesn't sound all that interesting. I belong too a none-too-elite club of undecided twenty-somethings not old enough to command the workforce and not young enough to avoid it.

I never realised that my "figuring it out" phase had an expiry date and that sooner or later I would have to choose. It's more than that though - more than just being undecided - I feel disappointing. I'm just not sure who's expectations were bigger to start with - theirs or mine.

Though not a huge fan of the show, I did catch an episode of the ever vulgar Sex & the City the other day and in one of her ramblings, Carrie did actually make a point I identified with. She said -

“When you're young, your whole life is about the pursuit of fun. Then, you grow up and learn to be cautious. You could break a bone or a heart. You look before you leap and sometimes you don't leap at all because there's not always someone there to catch you. And in life, there's no safety net. When did it stop being fun and start being scary?”

I often wonder that.

It really does seem like at 18 the world is your oyster - all possibilities. All opportunities. All infinite hope.

Then at 21 it's a slightly smaller crustacean - not as tempting but still with a spark of determination that tomorrow you'll be amazing.

But after that? Most days you're not even the main event on the specials board. Even the #2 combo seems to have more on you. You're a disappointment because you're not completely decided on where you're going, how you're going to get there or why and in the end it seems like every decision you've made up til then has been the wrong one and no amount of justifying can take you back.

I just want to know where it's written that I was supposed to have it figured out by now? I mean, in some civilisations, going to university is the dream. Unfortunately not this one.

Okay the pity party stops here. I do realise that an undecided career path is hardly reason for a hunger strike but sometimes it really does feel all that hopeless.

I promise to be amazing somewhere along the line.
Just give me a minute more to figure it all out.

Lesson Seven: To be old and wise, you must first be young and stupid.

Let's enjoy it while it lasts. xx

it's raining.

"hold my heart, don't break it - it's yours."

I just got home from a much needed weekend away. When I spend a few days away from the city, I always return in a much better frame of mind: batteries recharged, soul replenished, sanity restored.

While I'm away (and often even when I'm at home), there's nothing I enjoy more than a bit of people-watching. I've lost count of the hours I have spent watching people; simply observing people as they go about their lives. My favourites are those I see in airports.

I like to imagine their life stories. The lonely cowboy catching a flight to New York to see the big city & maybe meet a lady. The pensioner knitting scarves while she waits for her flight to Sydney to see her youngest grandson graduate. The recent divorcee heading to Wellington to meet her internet lover, giggling like a schoolgirl full of nerves and untapped hope.

Of all the people I saw this weekend, two married couples on my flight stuck with me. The first was a young inter-racial couple. The other couple were in their early 70s at least. The younger couple were seated in front of the older couple and I sat directly across the aisle from them - watching, taking mental notes like a stalker, thinking things way too deep for so early on a Friday morning.

Both wives were obviously fraught with nerves at flying but what interested me was the way in which their respective husbands comforted them.

The younger man put his arm around his wife in an awkward side-hug as she drew her knees up to her chest and shook violently at takeoff. She spent the rest of the flight with her head in her hands, pale as a ghost while he patted her shoulder with one hand and continued to finish his crossword with the other.

The older man however, feeling his wife's discomfort as we began takeoff, held his wife’s hand tightly, looked directly into her eyes and smiled reassuringly. Almost immediately she visibly relaxed, returned his smile and gave his hand a squeeze.

After takeoff, the elderly woman opened her eyes and the couple shared a smile - one I was sure portrayed a lifetime of secrets - squeezed each other’s hands one last time and then went about their separate in-flight business.

She stared out the window peering through the fog at the mountainous landscape pointing out things that interested her along the way. He picked up a thick novel and read, silently nodding at his wife’s commentary in all the right places.

There was something comforting about the easy, unassuming silence they shared. Something about what they didn’t say that told me all I needed to know about their lives: that come what may they had found contentment with one another and themselves. That their life together had been built on solid foundations. That he could say "I'm here for you" by simply holding her hand. That she could reply "I'm thankful I have you" with a smile.

That their love had seen and endured many things and still passed freely in the spaces between them.

My grandparents had that. My parents have that.

I hope one day when I’m old and wrinkly, I have it too.

Lesson Six: Sometimes all you need is someone to hold your hand.

Enjoy your Sunday x