The Break-through

So you had something that fairytales were made of and you honestly thought it was going to last forever (or at least a really, really long time). You had introduced him to your friends, he was the first thing on your mind when you woke up and a little text message from him would send you sky-high and you felt as if you were floating on air. Lovely wasn't it? And then just as things were going oh so smoothly he hits you with the bombshell; it's over.


It's a shock to the system as you try to comprehend the how and why and the what now? You skim over the past few weeks to try to discover what went wrong and at which moment. You pore over little details and things you could have done differently as you (in a rather unglamorous fashion) choke on your tears and sob your little heart out. Well girlfriend, have your little hour of pain, agony, suffering and what have you but for goodness sake do not let it drag on past the next day.

A breakup; when seen in a positive light, can be a 'break-through.' Turn off your emotions and think with your head and see the situation in an objective light. Look at all the reasons of why it couldn't work whether it be age, you were both headed in different directions or he was just so politically incorrect about everything. Because when someone dumps your ass it's your chance to get out and re-invent yourself. And it's also time to take all the things he didn't like about your lifestyle and live it up! Maybe he hated you spending time with your girlfriends, going shopping or he was absolutely horrified by how much you partied; well it's time to slip on those skyscraper heels, slam back those tequilas and hit every single dance floor around town. Because when you can revel in the very things he detested, it can be extremely liberating and it shows you that you can't be with someone who holds you back in life. You need someone who will encourage you.

An absolute must is to change that playlist on your iPod. By all means please delete all those sappy love songs and fill it up with tracks that send you on a natural high. You want music that inspires and gives you the energy to move on with you life and that will allow you to let go of someone you never really wanted anyway.

And don't leave a couple of 'your' songs in there for the sake of being sentimental; all it takes is one little song to lull you into a false sense of melancholy that will make you think you actually want this guy back; trust me you don't. That's just hormones playing you. We women are emotional creatures and are always willing to make a relationship work because we actually care about the person in question and are absolutely committed (even when it's a lost cause) where guys are more the hump them and dump them type. You catch my drift? So when your thoughts start drifting back to how he sang that mix 106.5 worthy tune to you and you really thought things would work out; stop, switch off and throw on some Livin' Joy/Don't Stop Moving, you will instantly be snapped out of your trance.

Now the best thing about being newly single and back on the market? Well we all know the expression that when it rains it pours and all those bachelors that you turned down while you were seeing someone else are now looking incredibly good. Often when someone hits us up with the 'it's not you, it's me' it's life's code for 'there's something right around the corner that's looking a whole lot better for you and you need to be single so that you can take advantage of it!'

Last but not least make sure you are looking smoking hot. I don't care what you need to do; manicure, hair extensions, gym, and solarium; just go out there and give yourself a make over. But if you already look hot (some of these guys are actually blind and don't realise your worth- they'll be kicking themself once you're gone) then go work it and find someone who can't wait to see you, can't wait to call you, can't wait to introduce you to his friends and feels lucky to have you. Men are curious creatures and so many times, love to come crawling back claiming they have made one huge mistake and want you back, but that's when you realise that all the things you compromised for this jerk are not worth it and you are better off without him.

By all means have your grieving and mourning period but please for the love of God, do not dwell! As soon as you start thinking about him switch off, get busy, take your mind elsewhere or chuck on some music. You need to re-program your thought patterns so they don't immediately meander off to your ex and instead are now focused on you, what you want out of life, your goals and your newfound freedom. It's the time to finally get your driver's license, go for that promotion or take that holiday. This was not a break-up; it's a break-through!

Home Away From Home

I'm a lady of leisure in constant pursuit of hedonism so when it comes to holidays, I always say; yes please! Nothing feels as good as having money in your pocket and visiting the other side of the globe with a mission to soak up the sun and have yourself an amazing adventure.


My last little trip away was to the gorgeous Phuket, to escape the Sydney winter. It was there that I learned that when it comes to planning your getaway, there is one vital thing that needs to be taken into consideration; where you are staying.

After suffering with a horrible viral infection days before I was due to leave, I had not been able to get a wink of sleep and I boarded my flight in exhaustion but still too congested to get any shut-eye. For the duration of the flight I entertained myself with in-flight movies and created a playlist for myself and annoyed the passengers behind me no end by constantly readjusting my seat. At first I would try to sneakily look behind me to see if anyone was watching then I would try to recline bit by bit, cringeing the whole time and trying to do it as carefully as possible. My theory was that if it was a gradual thing my mate behind me wouldn't notice or care. That soon became boring and before long I was cockily holding down the button, sending my seat flying up and down at a moment's notice so the poor guy behind me had to suffer.

Then delirium set in... I was travelling with my sister and we decided to watch a movie together but wanted to sync it at the exactly the same second so we could follow it at precisely the same moment. Much to my dismay my headphones weren't working. Now after 40 hours of no sleep and maybe something to do with cabin pressure, I was so disappointed and desperate to watch the movie that I grabbed at my sister's headphones. We then continued to fight each other over a pair of headphones and ended up bashing the seats in front and behind causing a bit of chaos and weird looks as we pulled each others hair in between hysterical laugher. You get the idea- we went a little crazy. The whole flight I felt restless and loony and by the time we landed in Thailand in 35 degree muggy heat I just wanted my hotel room.

As we arrived into the airport, I immediately regretted wearing thick black jeans. We hadn't even been outside for five minutes and already they were sticking to me. The black shirt I chose to wear did nothing for my pale almost translucent skin and you could spot my pores from a mile away. There were other travellers with lovely tans and beautiful summer dresses and next to them I just looked the ugly, white, pudgy tourist. I felt a mess and was dying to get to our luxurious hotel room. My sister and I looked at each other and telepathically communicated that we were to go straight to our room to relax and there would be no scenic routes or pit stops to sample the Thai cuisine. The whole hour we just kept repeating to each other reassuringly, 'Okay let's just get to our hotel, have a shower, order room service and relax.'

The place we had booked was absolutely beautiful. We had our own private spa and pool access as our balcony sat right on the pool area. It was absolutely luxurious inside and I couldn't wait to relax and fall asleep on my lovely hotel sheets as I envisioned what I had seen on the internet on the hotel's website. As the cab driver dropped us off in front of the resort, two bell boys took our luggage and we strode in, eager to relax. But as we walked through and had a quick peek of the pool area, I couldn't help but notice all the families. And not just families; (because I'm cool with families) but trailer-trash families. Shaven head men with tattoos, holding beer cans and drunkenly yelling out. Mothers with mullets and midriff baring tops yelling at their kids, 'stop runnin' you effin little shit!' I looked at my sister in disbelief. How on Earth were we going to tan and relax in the midst of this!? We agreed to go straight to our room and in regards to the tanning; if worst came to worst we could tan at the beach across the road to escape these hooligans.

After finally being ushered to our deluxe suite we opened the door and the shock could not have been greater. The tiled floor was stained and dirty and a cheap, plastic bowl of fruit mockingly welcomed us. The decor screamed shabby not chic and when my sister went to try inspect the wardrobe, the door fell off its hinges. The bathroom though, was by far the worst. It actually looked so nasty that it crossed the borders of creepy and eerie. And as I peered into the toilet bowel I noticed that it was blocked. Charming... How on Earth were we meant to relax here? Isn't the hotel meant to be the 'safe haven' and how could these people have charged us so much for staying at this dump? (Nevermind the fact that you couldn't even take a dump in this hell-hole) We were that incredulous we took photos as proof of what we were dealing with here. Then we started shoving everything back into our luggage and without showering we put on some summer attire and headed straight back out the door to find another place to stay.

An hour later we were finally settled in the divine Holiday Inn, in a luxurious hotel resort complete with two massive separate wings, pool area with pool bar, restaurants, spa and NORMAL looking families. The staff were lovely, mocktails free-flowing and our bathroom was actually a piece of heaven! I would have been happy to just simply stay in the whole time and order room service.

Now it doesn't matter whether you stay in a five-star resort or a charming little bungalow, the important thing that needs to be taken into account is that it fits the criteria you are after whether it be comfort or adventure. And all in all it needs to feel safe, homely and put you at ease so you can truly relax and put that title of 'lady of leisure' to good use!

Gentleman vs Boy Next Door

My pre-requisites for what I wanted from a guy used to consist of a long list of 'gentleman-like' qualities. He should pull out my chair when I sit down, stand up when I go to leave the table, put his jacket over a puddle etc. Basically I wanted someone to put me up on a pedestal and offer me the kind of attention you now only see in those old fifties movies.


But sometimes it takes meeting someone completely different, to shake up your perspective and show you the difference between what you want and what you actually need. This epiphany came about when I accepted a date, unaware of the little revelation that was about to stir up my world.

The night started off seemingly innocent and unassuming. Cocktails in hand, we were deep in conversation as we explored each others lives and slowly let our guard down as we got to know each other better. We broke all the so-called first date rules by speaking about our ex's, drinking far too much and engaging in more than just a goodnight kiss on the cheek...

The next morning (feeling suitably hung-over) I lay in bed reminiscing about the previous night and felt something different. I felt alive and free! Free from the usual constraints that are involved in those first few outings when meeting someone new. How so? Let me explain. When you date a man who is the very essence of a gentleman, you in turn must behave like a lady. It's only fair right? Now I for one am definitely not a prim and proper kind of woman and it's evident when you look at the kind of nicknames I've had, one being 'what-a-mess' in reference to that cartoon dog that always got itself into some sort of trouble. I'm sure a dapper, well-groomed, posh gentleman would expect more from partner than a (euphemistically speaking) happy-go-lucky, free spirit that isn't likely to censor anything travelling from mind to mouth. And to be quite honest; although the whole concept of having a man at my every beck and call seems appealing; nothing is more attractive than someone who can make you laugh until you cry and completely puts you at ease resulting in things to just flow so effortlessly.

That was when I started to re-think what I actually looked for in a guy. Did I want someone who I had to put on airs and graces with, with the benefit that he held a door open for me? Or was I after someone who would be more like a best friend to me and would tell me to grow up if I threw a tantrum. I thought back to a date I had gone on a few months ago that hadn't really worked out the way I had thought it would. We were having dinner at a lovely restaurant and the guy in question had just ordered my main for me when I realised I had forgotten my house keys. I expressed my annoyance by using the F word which did not go down too well with my date. His face kind of tightened and his jaw clenched as he calmly said, 'That's no language for a lady.' I felt like replying with, 'So I guess the C word is out of the question?' but I sensed that my little joke would not have gone down very well. Needless to say, dinner was strained and the mood was tense.

Partnering up with someone is less about manners and more about doing things for each other, enjoying each other's company and sharing experiences without feeling you need to behave or act in a certain way. That's when you find an undeniable connection, when you are completely on the same wave length with someone and there's no need to put on a show to try to impress one another. It's the little things that count such as him letting you choose the movie even if it's When Harry Met Sally or him taking the time to get to know you and understand you better rather than talking over you to brag about his fabulous promotion or brand new sports car... Yawn. I prefer a guy that's not going to look down on my secret obsession with Playstation and rather someone who is willing to play along-side me.

Because when it comes down to it, a guy racing around the other side of the car to open my door isn't the thing that's going to cheer me up on a bad day, you want someone fun who will put a smile on your face and who truly makes you feel understood and loved.

Battle Mode

I strode to work this morning with a sense of purpose, my heavy military style jacket keeping me warm and my eyes watering from the chilly wind. For just a moment, I had chosen to forget that I was making my way to George Street but instead found myself travelling through a war-torn city overrun by guerrillas. I held my duffel bag tightly pretending that it was packed with rations and not my gym trainers and day diary. I ran up a set of stairs as fast as I could, imagining a spray of bullets roaring out from behind, and almost had to restrain myself from dramatically ducking for cover behind a trash can.

You see the last two books I have read focus on battle-weary lands and the struggle to survive. One is Love in a Torn Land which focuses on the true story of Joanna of Kurdistan and the other is one I am still reading; John Marsden's Tomorrow When the War Began. The books are quite thought-provoking; how would I fare in these situations? Would I crumble under the pressure or would I battle on and become a hero?

Something like this would truly put your character to the test and those around you as well. I could already imagine some of my friends who were definitely not cut out for life in the wild. Some were just too precious and would be too uncomfortable at the thought of just perspiring let alone being stuck out in dangerous territory, deprived of a fresh shower for days on end.

So if a war was being waged on Australia (God forbid) what kind of warrior would I be? Let's explore this exciting but very fictional concept...

Ask any of my friends and they will all tell you that I keep my wits about me when I'm travelling from point A to point B. Some may call it paranoia but I like to refer to it as 'street smart.' If it's after dark and I'm walking home, I will always ensure that I'm not talking into my phone or listening to music; you can never allow yourself to become distracted when in an unsafe area. I will also routinely check who's behind me and depending on their physical appearance I will either continue walking or let them pass in front of me so they don't have the element of surprise should they wish to attack me. This would come in handy if I were going into battle. Alert, sensitive to my surroundings and on the defence, I would be ready for anything.

To-do lists, planning and strategy are things I do for fun. Usually my talents are wasted on things such as coordinating a night out where I plan on how to avoid an ex-boyfriend and devise a back up plan should my girlfriends and I want to bail from a club. My friends find this tedious, unnecessary and time-consuming but it's always great to have options that can propel you forward when the night loses momentum.

Another thing that could work to my advantage are my leadership qualities. Okay so that's just a euphemism for bossy but hey it works whichever way you like to look at it. I love commanding a group of people, delegating and taking control. I'm not afraid to be blunt and unemotional when it comes to getting the job done. 'You there, you have no physical strength whatsoever but your nervous energy could come in handy. Your job will be to keep watch during the night for any enemies approaching!' I could see it happening now... I would turn my little group of misfits into brave freedom fighters!

And amongst all the strife and misery I would remain the eternal optimist. I am already very positive and upbeat in my personal life; if faced with tragedy I would do everything to keep up the morale of the group. I can be very perceptive when it comes to the way others feel and I would use it to my advantage, encouraging those who needed some kind words and offering a joke to another who just wanted to smile.

I could see it all happening, me dressed in my camouflage attire with two black stripes racing down either cheeks, Rambo style. Outfit consisting of something Lara Croft would wear and the physique to match. My time at the gym spent on cardio and weights would pay off as I would glide along the chaotic streets escaping gun-fire.

Now food wise; I'm the kind of person that will eat anything and everything, I would not complain if all I had to survive on was bread and butter. I'd eat food regarding it as fuel for my body that I was using in order to fight a war for democracy and for the safety of my people. Oh I mean 'the' people. Easy to get carried away...

And as I write this blog entry I can't help but chuckle to myself, for all day I have complained about the lack of heating in my building (any temperature that requires a cardigan or more is too cold) I keep thinking of skipping the gym and instead going for a luscious dinner and I'm looking forward to going home so I can curl up in bed and finish reading my book!

Maybe I'm not cut out for the life of a solider? Maybe had this little fantasy I created turned into a reality I would be the one with a blanket over my head willing everything to go away? Well I guess I'll never know, but what I do know is that I'm more than happy to live vicariously through these brave young characters in the pages of my book and only enter their world in the safe realm of my imagination.

Sisters Doing it for Themselves

For so long, I have daydreamed of being rescued by my prince charming. Now when I say 'rescued' I'm not implying that my life is inundated with tragedy and misfortune but rather it is just missing that special something. I have longed for someone who is fun and exciting, who has a car to drive me around town and the cash to take me on lovely holidays. Someone who will spoil me, pamper me and place me on a pedestal.

So after waiting quite some time (more than a few years) I have come to a shocking revelation; this guy is running late; very late. So late in fact that I fear he may never come at all. And that was when I had my epiphany. It was time to take control of my life and snap my future into action. Why wait for some guy to fulfil my needs? I could do it myself and I could do a much better job at that.

I quickly dashed over to my MacBook, and in a bid to retain my newfound inspiration I blasted Destiny's Child/Independent Woman from itunes. Listening to those deep and meaningful lyrics, I reflected on my own life and what I could do for myself. The first thing that sprung to mind was my career. It was time to put a halt to the wishy-washy ideas of 'Oh I wouldn't mind living in Brazil for a year.' Those fantasies didn't factor in with my lucrative new plans. It was then that I decided to finally set my feet in concrete, firmly planting myself in the corporate world where there was money to be made and cash to flash. This would give me the opportunity to start working hard for that lovely new pad I had envisioned. A chic apartment stocked with gourmet delights, ready to host a dinner party a moment's notice.

Then there was my next hurdle, my driver's license. I've never experienced the freedom of being able to grab my keys, get in a car and just drive myself wherever I please. Of course I've been a backseat driver before, but that can only take you so far until you're told to buckle up and shoosh up. I imagined myself cruising around in a lovely little jeep, wind blowing in my hair with Flock Of Seagulls/I ran pumping through the speakers with me singing along, 'I never thought, I'd meet a girl like you, meet a girl like youuuuu!'
Yes, I could definitely see this happening, I thought excitedly as I decided it was time to prep my vocal chords, go for those P plates and mark my legacy on the roads of Sydney.

So with careers and cars down pat, the next thing to consider was a lovely, luscious holiday in the sun. Thailand it was. This would be my metamorphosis holiday. I would leave Sydney feeling full of hope and looking a little pasty and return bronzed, confident and full of direction. A week of cocktails, leisure and pleasure was just the thing I needed before I embarked on my new journey as a driven, successful, young woman, who was not afraid to look life in the eye and command the respect and attention I deserved.

Everything was going to change; I could feel it in my bones. I would be taking myself on shopping sprees without some guy looking over my shoulder and commenting on the price tags. I would go out for dinners at The Shangri-La without having to fend off the advances of some expectant moron who I mistook for a gentleman. I would drive myself and my girlfriends to wherever we needed to go and once we were out; we didn't need to pay any attention to the table of men trying to catch our eye; drinks would be on me! Hell, I'll even send a few to the poor buggers who were so puzzled as to why we wouldn't even glance in their direction.

And then if I were to meet anyone special, my question would be; what can you do for me? Because you see, I'm buying my own diamonds (although secretly I prefer my colourful, plastic, novelty accessories.) No more sitting around and willing dreams to appear out of thin air, I'm going to be on such a high that they will all wonder whether or not I'm secretly sniffing glue under my desk.

So armed with my big, black A4 diary, filled with to-do lists that are swiftly ticked off each day; I brace myself for my wonderful and unstoppable future as an independent woman! The world truly is, my oyster.

The Sneak Preview

Back when I was fourteen there was no MySpace or text messaging to flirt away to your heart's content whenever you had your eye on someone. The only thing you could do is look your boy up in the phone book and pray that his parents wouldn't answer the phone when you finally summoned up the courage to call; or hang-up immediately if they did.

Fast forward a few years later and it seems that technology has greased up the wheels of those first few awkward moments of infatuation and young love. Last weekend I was out dancing the night away when I accepted a drink from a rather gorgeous man. Now this guy was definitely ticking my boxes... He was tall, well-mannered, very cute and über confident, yet without a hint of arrogance. I knew that sooner or later he would ask for my number but I was reluctant to give it to him. The previous week I had given my digits away to a seemingly nice guy, emphasis on the word seemingly... He turned out to be a complete disaster. After three unsuccessful weeks of trying to arrange one simple date I decided to rename him in my phone as 'don't answer.'

So you can see why I was hesitant to give out my number so freely. Yet here was this striking man, standing before me, handing me my cranberry vodka (complete with the most adorable cocktail parasol might I add) and he seemed so lovely and pleasant that I couldn't help but be tempted to cave in. Then came my light bulb moment! Why not just ask him for his Facebook? Then I could do my background check on this guy and suss out whether he was the real deal. I relayed my plan to my friend only to be met with a horrified expression. She wasn't buying it. But was my plan so bad? I didn't think so at all...

Provided he actually uses the thing; Facebook allows you to get to know someone without having to ask those probing questions that might be deemed inappropriate or too nosey. Relationship status is one of them. And even if he has chosen not to disclose this information on his profile then just by looking at his photo albums you can decipher whether he is currently single and ready to mingle or still holding onto a significant other.

Interests and hobbies are great for deciding on whether this guy could float your boat. You can gain insight into the way his mind works and whether he looks after himself and enjoys fitness or shares your fabulous sense of humour because he also loves Seinfeld. You can also find out if this guy is an unmotivated no-hoper. Nothing is more off-putting than seeing the response 'don't read em' when asked which books he likes to read.

Then there are his status updates and what his wall is made up of. If Mafia Wars and Cafe World seem to take up most of the space then this guy has way too much time on his hands or just has a tendency to procrastinate. You need someone who has a nice balance of work and play with status updates that show creativity and humour. Also take heed of men that have endless comments from girls with the phrase 'babe' in every second sentence. This guy's a sweet talker and enjoys lots of female attention. Nothing wrong with that, unless you prefer monogamy. Another way to suss out if he's a bit of a sleaze is his friend's list. It doesn't usually give too much away but if it is primarily made up of girls; all scantily clad, with dried up, ratty extensions and over the top make-up then that's a little red flag right there.

Now before you go thinking that this sounds horribly stalker-ish. You need to see it for what it really is; information that is readily available and there to help you decide if you want to pursue things. It's a waste of both your time if you finally arrange to meet each other only to find out you have absolutely nothing in common except a strong dislike for one another’s hobbies. Plus, two Leo's are hard pressed to get along and how on Earth are you meant to find this out without having access to information such as his birthday?

So the next time you meet a guy and you're reluctant to swing him your number; don't panic. Grab his name or business card and look him up. Then you can decide if it was simply case of 'good from far but far from good' or whether he's intriguing enough to visit outside of cyber world.

You Make Me Sick

I like to think of myself as a calm and patient person, who has a gentle and easygoing nature. But the truth is; I'm not. There are many things that irritate me and get on my nerves, one being lateness. I am one of those people who will be sitting in the café ready to order, checking my watch and getting extremely angry at the mere anticipation of someone being even a couple of minutes late. There are other things that drive me mad such as people who scuttle ahead of me once they've gotten off the train to 'try' and walk up the Martin Place escalator and then struggle the whole way, causing a build up of human traffic behind them. But the one thing that I dislike most is sleazy men. The kind of guys that make you wish you chose your knee-length wrap dress instead of your mini skirt with stiletto boots. The ones that can make you want to hurl up your dinner just by they way they look you up and down with their beady little eyes.

To me, these breed of men are either incredibly stupid or just don't care. Because you see, nothing is sexier than a gentleman. Someone who can still maintain eye contact even though you're wearing a dress that drapes down to your naval. I once wore such a dress and was accosted by an absolute pig whilst innocently making my way to the bar. He blatantly stared at my chest and when I gave him a disapproving look he responded by yelling, 'If you didn't want me to look then you should've worn something else.' It's no wonder that the only thing these guys pick up at the end of the night is the bar tab.

Guys like this are everywhere. Out in the clubs, in the work place or sometimes just sitting across from you on the train. I remember one time while commuting home from work; I had a guy stare at me for a good fifteen minutes with this creepy smile on his face. My rage was seething below the surface as I struggled to contain myself. I kept thinking to myself; who the hell does this guy think he is? He thinks he can intimidate me and I'm going to do nothing? I couldn't hold it any longer and even though I tried to keep a cool and even tone it came out as a deafening roar when I finally yelled at him. 'Excuse me can I help you with something? Or do you just have a staring problem?!?!' The other travellers all turned to look at this man, intrigued by who had offended me. The women gave him death stares and then men looked amused. The guy proceeded to get off at the next stop, making a swift exit before anymore abuse ensued.

It's all well and good when you are in a safe environment and you feel safe enough to confront these dregs of society. But it can be downright unsettling when you're walking home and you have some freak whistling at you and calling you over. It's then that I wish I had an array of weapons tucked into the pockets of my trench coat so that I could calmly walk over, open my coat, and display my ammo inviting this idiot to just try and mess with me. But instead all I can do is clutch my umbrella tighter, ready to use it as a weapon if necessary and power walk my ass all the way home.

It really makes me wonder; what on Earth are these men trying to accomplish? Do they honestly believe that the way they appreciatively tap my behind is going to make me feel really special? It just makes my skin crawl. These poor excuses for human beings need to be schooled on how to treat a lady, because according to their knowledge they must have been taught at the butchers in a crash course on how to treat a piece of meat. So fellas, the next time you're out, try to have a bit of respect and take pointers from the gentleman that opens the door for us and lights our cigarette. Otherwise I hope you one day get a nasty surprise when you ask what's underneath a woman's trench coat.

The Perfect Match

The 'boyfriend checklist' is something that every girl has in the back of her mind. It's a list that describes the qualities a man must possess in order for him to pass that crucial test that allows him to even entertain the idea of courting her.

Last Sunday I was lazing in bed with my friend Brittany by my side, nursing the worst part of a hangover. She was clutching her throbbing head and I was trying to avoid any sudden movements that might propel my nausea into a full-blown vomiting session. Being my usual chatty self I babbled away about anything and everything until we came across one particular topic that got both of our attention. And it was indeed the age-old, 'What do you look for in a guy?'

I immediately commanded the conversation and began to describe a list of attributes that would make a man worthy of my affections. I definitely wanted someone tall, athletic and I preferred a nice olive shade to the skin, especially one that stayed all year round.

A couple of years older than me would be nice and someone who was settled and looking for a relationship; none of those flimsy, flaky 'I'm still trying to find myself' types. Definitely needed to be generous. He doesn't have to have millions at his disposal but instead be comfortable enough to spoil me with gifts as I too would do the same for him. Nothing chases me away quicker than those guys who count how many drinks they've bought you and then put away their wallets because they've reached their budget for the night. Yuk.

For some reason I've always wanted a guy that is able to pick me up and carry me. I think my fixation with this is due to an unfortunate situation that occurred a while back when I asked my then-crush to carry me on his shoulders at a music festival. After five short seconds he proclaimed I was way too heavy and then proceeded to avoid me all day. My guess is that his biceps were all for show and not much else.

Good manners are imperative. Opening doors, standing when I enter a room, pulling my chair out for me; all of these requests do not deem me as high maintenance; they are the true qualities of a gentleman and score major brownie points. Also being kind to others is essential. No cold-hearted, too cool for school types. I detest nothing more than an arrogant, cruel, power tripping asshole who tries to impress a girl by ordering around bartenders and waitresses.

Last but not least, someone who is tolerant and has an easygoing demeanour. I say 'tolerant' because sometimes I can be a teeny tiny bit bossy. I don't need a hot-headed drama queen for a boyfriend, that's my job thank you very much. Oh also someone who's romantic! I think I’m the most idealistic, sentimental person I know. I used to (actually still do) live and breathe mix 106.5 love songs dedications with the love God Richard Mercer. Someone who isn't afraid to admit to a penchant for love ballads and who wears his heart on his sleeve would compliment me well.

So after gathering all my data, I investigated this information and compared it to a certain someone that caught my eye last night before our vodka binge session ensued. Tall and athletic? Perhaps not. Lean at best and whether he could carry me is definitely debatable. Age appropriate? Well let's just say that when I was his age I was still dotting my i's with love hearts. As for his tolerance level? the waters are yet to be tested...

It was then that I realised that these checklists (although helpful) mean nothing when it comes to finding a guy you want to get physical with. The most important factor is chemistry. It's that little magic ingredient that turns the quirky looking cutie into the hottest thing you have ever laid eyes on. That's when all the superficial little must-haves fly out the window.

Without chemistry you may have the perfect man on paper but the passion between the two of you will be the equivalent of that with you and your gay best friend: non-existent or scoring slightly lower than the latter.

So next time you are creating the perfect guy in your mind's eye, conjuring up a businessman with a chiselled jaw line who's sporting a Rolex is all well and good if that floats your boat; but don't discount the endearing arty type, leaning up against the bar counting his coins for another drink. He may just have that X factor that you've been looking for.

A Little Less Conversation

Being an incredibly social person, I can't be left alone for too long without striking up a conversation with someone beside me or wandering off from my group of friends in search of new acquaintances. Although I also really value my alone time, I feel most at home when in the company of many people. Usually this involves unintentionally dominating the discussion with my various impersonations and recounts of amusing stories.

But there is one place that puts a stop to all the unnecessary chatter and catapults me straight into business mode. That one place that can instigate such a drastic transformation is the gym. And my lack of polite chit-chat is not due to an inner arrogance or a feeling of superiority. Hardly the case at all!

You see the gym for me is foreign territory. It's an unexplored world full of men and machines ready to mock my girly run and inability to operate the treadmill. Needless to say, it's not a place I can call home. It's not too bad when I've gone for a few weeks and I have found my groove but that very first day I stick out like a sore thumb and am constantly red in the face, not from pumping iron but from sheer embarrassment.

Yesterday was that day in question. I got off to a shaky start as I tried to forcefully push the little boom gates by the entrance before being politely informed by a smirking staff member that I needed to present my customer card first. As I presented my card, he swiped me through and I made my way through to the change rooms.

Stepping out into the training area with uncertainty and wearing a worried expression, I went over to the treadmill. I couldn't help but secretly survey the time and the speed on the gym junkie's treadmill beside me and pray that they weren't looking at mine. After ten minutes of a light jog, I felt my heart pounding in my chest and although I wasn't working up a sweat I felt as if I was going to faint from exhaustion. I was racing away faster than my legs could carry me and it was only a matter of time before my body gave way and I collapsed. I immediately pressed the stop button so forcefully that the Cathy Freeman wannabe next to me gave me a weird look as I staggered away, defeated and shaking from overexertion.

Next was the weights room. I shuffled over to the machines avoiding eye contact and sussing out the equipment with nervous apprehension. The monster of a man next to me, gave me the once over and continued to grunt louder and louder each time he lifted his weights. Trying to ignore him I sat down on my apparatus but then realised that I had no idea what to do next. He looked at me expectantly and I was left with no choice but to abandon ship, absolutely mortified. I couldn't help but wonder what on earth I was doing in this place; clearly I had no idea what to do or how to do it. It was then that I retired to the stretching area, a safe haven where I could embrace surrender and be glad that it was all over.

My body language throughout this ordeal screamed 'don't look at me, don't observe me and don’t talk to me' and people usually got the picture. I just can't build my confidence until I have also built some muscle and feel like I've earned my place there. It's only when I can bang out forty minutes on the treadmill that I can finally relax a little and start to greet fellow members with a small smile.

So for those of you who encourage your friends to join the gym with the angle that it is the new hot spot for getting flirty with the fitness fanatics; please don't. It's not a nice feeling to be approached when you're not wearing a scrap of makeup and the only thing adorning your body is unforgiving lycra. You're hardly going to allure someone with your sweat patches. The gym is similar to jail. You do your time and then you get out as fast as you can. Mind your own business and no one gets hurt and more importantly no one notices your huge ass which is exactly what has brought you to the gym in the first place!

Crushing on Nothing

The other day I was lying in bed contemplating sleep when iPod shuffle directed me to The Carpenters/Close to you. The soft, romantic melody enveloped me in a blanket of bliss as I envisioned a balmy summer night, wearing a pretty summer dress and walking along the harbour hand in hand with... Well with who? I racked my brain trying to come up with someone who I was currently crushing on but then realised the God awful truth; that I didn't like anyone.

Now for some people this would be of little interest or matter, but for me nothing is as refreshing as starting the day with the name of a certain someone on my lips. I can't deny that when there's a Romeo on my radar I simply exude excitement. Every message, call, Facebook notification or email may just be from him! Perhaps he might send flattery in the form of a photo comment or write me a dreamy message suggesting coffee or more realistically just 'like' my current status.

Then comes the anticipation where I find myself endlessly wondering, 'Does he like me?' and wondering if there's something on his end that he is feeling too. But whether my intoxication with the fine specimen in question is reciprocated isn't really the be all end all. You see, I tend to indulge in a bit of drama, so going through all the emotions of being infatuated with someone is as every bit about the highs as it is about the lows.

All of a sudden those songs I once listened to really speak to me! Haddaway's What is Love inspires a tortured anguish instead of making me want to bust some moves on the dance floor. Sure I'm met with smirks when I try to discuss how deep that song is with my friends but inside I know that I can completely relate to the dude who wrote that track. Then there's Mariah Carey's Emotions which requires a lot of self-restraint from turning Martin Place Square into a Broadway musical as I jive my way to work. You see, most songs are about some sort of love and when you have an object of your desire in mind it is then that you can completely connect to the music which in turn can make you really feel alive!

Another thing is hitting the town. When you're getting dolled up with your girlfriends and fighting over the mirror it is so much more fun when there's the possibility that you might see the guy who has the power to make your heart to go into full-blown cardiac arrest just by looking at you. Suddenly hair, makeup and clothes has never been so important and even choice of nail polish must be chosen with careful precision. He's bound to notice your extra effort as you meet each others gaze from across the room and tensions will run so high that it will feel like there's an electrical storm brewing. Ooh la la... my favourite part! It is then that I understand that Des’ree was referring to love and not drugs when she sung, 'Cause I feel so high.'

You can understand how it's a little less inspiring to walk into a bar and have an obnoxious drunk try to grind up beside you as opposed to being greeted with a tender kiss on the cheek by your gentleman in question, who politely guides you through the room with his hand resting on the small of your back.

In times like these when I have no one to swoon over and I have no text messages to analyse I can't help but yearn for someone, anyone to put me out of my monotonous misery. Well that's not entirely true... I won't just settle for anyone. It has to be someone who ignites a fire in my heart, someone charming, kind and dazzling. Looks don't really matter that much. Most of the men I've fallen for certainly didn't make me look twice when I first met them but they definitely had substance, and that was what caught my attention.

So until I stumble across my next prince charming it's back to daydreaming about other things such as winning the lottery and relaxing on a secluded island cocktail in hand and who knows perhaps the gorgeous Taylor Lautner by my side? Well there you go! There are always celebrities to fall back on when you're going through a dry spell. Now; back to that daydream of mine...

Waking up to the Weather

Waking up in summer is divine. I seem to effortlessly stir from my slumber as I feel the sun's warmth radiating through my window and on to my bare skin. The sun rise creates the most beautiful fusion of yellows, pinks and oranges in the sky, inspiring an iPod playlist full of feel-good songs such as The Temptations/My Girl and those wonderful chill-out Ibiza tunes. Gone is my winter wardrobe and instead every morning I have lots of pretty, feminine, colourful little numbers to slip on, that compliment my glowing, bronzed skin perfectly.

A light cardigan slung over my bag is all I need for the day as I almost skip into the office. I order my morning green tea and place a jug of water at my desk to get my daily two litre intake. Lunches consist mainly of chicken and salads and an array of delicious fruit and I'm always in the mood for some banter and after-work drinks.

So you might say that in summer I am in my prime and am almost floating on air with a Cheshire cat grin plastered across my face. Yes it's all true! I definitely enjoy the warmer seasons. So what about winter then? Well let me fill you in on those kind of mornings...

I hit snooze at least three times before I finally open my eyes only to be welcomed with complete darkness. At five in the morning it is still pitch black not to mention horribly cold. I reluctantly part with my precious blanket and am met with a rude shock that comes in the form of an icy coolness. I almost always step on some foreign and obscure death trap spread across the floor, usually a stiletto that's perched in the air waiting for my unsuspecting foot. I fumble for the light switch and greet the day with an exasperated sigh.

My journey to work involves braving the elements and is something akin to a scene out of Braveheart. I start off with determination gripping my sturdy umbrella with my scarf wrapped a little too tightly around my neck. But it's not long before I am caught up in the strong and unforgiving wind, clutching onto my umbrella that has flipped inside out attracting amused looks from passing cars. My hair seems to work against me, wrapping itself around my poor head much like my scarf which has now unravelled and is dragging in the mud. I desperately try to seek shelter from the rain but the situation is futile... The mini hurricane proceeds to direct the rain towards me and drench my smart office attire as I squelch my way to work carrying half the country's water supply in the soles of my shoes.

Having finally made my way to work looking like a drowned rat I then proceed to gorge myself on hot chocolates, endless coffees, hot chips and delicious pastries trying to erase my horrible morning and avoid thinking about how I'm going to make my way home armed only with a broken umbrella, half the spokes dangerously dangling ready to take out my eyes. By the end of the day I'm so tired from all the crap I've eaten I am ready to go straight home and curl up in bed with a good movie - preferable something like Blue Crush so I can momentarily lose myself in the Hawaiian weather over there.

After days like these I almost wish I could erase winter completely and be gone with it. Sure summer isn't perfect, it does have a few minor weak points such as how the trains smell each afternoon, it literally makes me gag and want to bury my face in my handbag. Sometimes I'm tempted to just stalk each carriage with a can of deodorant and randomly spray the unsuspecting offenders. But if I were to choose I'd definitely choose a waft of body odour over being massacred by a storm! In my eyes, there is nothing better than a beautiful, warm summer's day to greet you each morning.

If I were a Rich Girl

I love to splash my cash. I'm definitely not a penny pincher but rather the type of woman who likes to live life to the full by spending the dough like there's no tomorrow. Whether its hitting the town and insisting on paying for my girlfriend's cocktails or heading out for dinner and ordering a dozen oysters even though I know I'll probably only eat six; nothing feels better than emptying my wallet and having a good time.

But I can also assure you that nothing feels worse when you're in the queue at the supermarket and have stocked up your trolley with lots of gourmet goodies only to be faced with that one word that can send a shiver down any girl's spine; declined. And it's no use asking the check out girl to swipe your card again; it's only going to cause further looks of amusement from the other shoppers that have already classified you as another Gen Y, carelessly spending beyond your means.

It's just too depressing having to sit home on a weekend while my friends go out and have the time of their life while I mope around and watch re-runs of Come Dine With Me because I've spent the majority of my pay cheque on, well... things I can't even recall! Magazines I never read, taxis when I could have walked, tipping the girl at McDonald's and slipping a homeless man a twenty. It all adds up and it all disappears way too quickly.

Times like these I look to the skies and send a silent little prayer of winning the lottery. Although I'm pretty sure you actually have to play in order to win. I have played the lotto before but I just find it too disappointing and quite frankly embarrassing when I go to collect. I am always convinced that I have won and that this time it's really going to be it. And when the cashier expresses her sympathies and tells me that I haven't won I literally feel my heart drop while acting oh so blaze and nonchalant as if I couldn't care less and didn't even need the money. I automatically pick up a chocolate bar to purchase in order to comfort myself and distract the lady from my disappointment/embarrassment.

So after another day of losing millions in the lottery I began to wonder if the answer to all my problems would indeed be in the form of an unlimited spendings account! At first I thought that this was definitely the solution, more money would equal less hassle, stress, pressure and more pampering, preening and tequila times. But it was only when I really delved into the issue that I realised that money ain't all it's cracked up to be.

Once upon a time a couple of years ago I used to live in London. I shared a bedroom and a well also a bed with my dear friend Mia where we were forced to survive on potatoes and complimentary chocolate chip muffins from the local beautician. Low on funds and without work we never had any money to go out yet we always managed to swing ourselves some free drinks and blag our way on to the guest list. Our bus ride home was always filled with amazingly funny characters that would have us laughing in stitches for days and we always came home with great stories we still think back on and smile.

Yet if you threw money into this equation I guarantee you we wouldn't have had as much fun or made as many friends as we did and we most definitely would have gotten a cab home completely missing out on watching the old homeless lady step onto the bus and count her impossible amount of hundred pound notes on the bus that were encased in a plastic sleeve while creepily staring at us and laughing! (I still wonder where on earth she got that money from!?)

So I have lack-of-money to thank for some seriously good times that otherwise would not have happened. Hardship really gets your creative juices flowing especially when it comes to bartering at festivals and sharing your picnic blanket with grateful festival goers who do not wish to sit in the mud and in turn reward your kindness with cups of hot tea and snacks back at their campervan. Being broke can definitely push you out of your comfort zone and make you grateful for all the little things.

When you don't have money it creates desire and hope. Not a day went by where I wouldn't be entertaining Mia with my elaborate fantasies where we would be rich, living in luxurious penthouses and relaxing in St Tropez on a beautiful yacht. We would save our money in order to recreate a fraction of my fantasies and be so happy to be finally exploring another country that we wouldn't dare whinge about anything.

I'm sure that if we were in fact lottery winners we would be sulking about room service and spending the night in VIP sections of clubs surveying everyone up and down instead of raving away in the middle of the dance floor soaked up in all the atmosphere as well as everybody else’s sweat.

So I really appreciate the fact I'm not living it large like Paris Hilton as it does add a certain sparkle of uncertainty and chaos to my life. But although I can really see the bright side to all of this; if I were to somehow stumble across a bag of unclaimed cash filled with big bucks I would be hesitant to hand it over to the police and be more inclined to think- show me the money!!!

Sunshine after the Rain

We all have our days where we just can't seem to lift ourselves from those sombre moods. Whether it's a breakup and we are mourning the remnants of an expired relationship, or perhaps just having a fat day after watching too much FTV, it's important not to mope around for too long.

Personally my lovely little situation is my health. I've been in and out of GP's, specialists and hospitals so many times that I have lost any amount of dignity that I once had. My body parts have become just that; bits of anatomy. I think the turning point was when I had to use the bedpan after an operation. I had two nurses assisting me to wipe myself and then had to hand them back my used toilet paper. Just so classy. And I thought me baring all would happen on a crazy weekend away skinny-dipping. Oh how wrong I was...

So after more than two months of illness after illness I was beginning to lose my marbles. When was this going to end? Was I going to end up on that program 'Spa of embarrassing illnesses?' or was this an ongoing thing that I just had to accept? It was then that I realised that it wasn't just about getting answers and deliberating over what my next move would be but it was about the journey and the way I was going to deal with it.

So it was then that I took a step back and gained some perspective. It was time to start doing the things I loved again and indulging in a little bit of rest and relaxation. Because when we put a smile on our dial it is then that we can chill out a little and deal with life a little more rationally. It's easy to get overwhelmed by the little things and sometimes you just want to dive under the covers and hide from the world. But If everyone did that then who would deliver me my morning green tea? We would all be avoiding reality safely tucked away leading a very boring existence indeed. That's no kind of life, so here are a few of my pick-me-ups, maybe you'll find some of them are yours too!

Surround yourselves with your loveliest friends. Those that are hippies at heart and ooze love. They're the ones that you could confide to about your secret career aspirations of being a pet squid breeder and you know that they would just greet your ideas with smiles, hugs and enthusiasm. These kinds of peeps can put you back on top of the world again, where you belong.

Soak up that vitamin D. I know that when I've been basking in the rays of the sun and I see that rich brown colour adorning my body, I am automatically left feeling slimmer, healthier and much more gorgeous. My cheeks are always left a little pink leaving me with a healthy little glow and an inner sparkle. Never stay in the sun so long that you looking more lobster than luscious. Peeling skin is just horrible and when someone tells you that your back looks like french toast, trust me it's not a compliment secretly letting you know that they want to eat you up.

Some pampering never goes astray. Manicure, pedicure, massage, facials; this kind of stuff can leave you feeling brand new especially after your body has been meticulously and clinically (not sensuously) explored for uncomfortable hours on end. 

Getting your hair done and buying a killer outfit also helps. Because it's hard to feel like a decrepit corpse when you look in the mirror and you're thinking, damn I look fabulous! The five-inch heels together with Pantene Pro V worthy hair can catapult you back to happiness because when you've got the aesthetics down pat then your inner beauty can really shine.

To-do-lists are one of my most favourite things in the entire world. And when you're puffing away on a cigarette for some comfort thinking to yourself (quite dramatically) 'I've lost control of my life' there is only one thing you can do, and that is to regain control. Because you see these little lists let you re-assess your situation and take back the power. And even if it's only little things that your ticking off at first such as 'get out of bed' and 'brush teeth' that's okay, soon you'll be ticking off 'credit card paid off' and 'merge all superannuation funds.' Because when you're having a bad hair day, being reminded that your rent is two weeks overdue can bring about the snowball effect. It's best to bring some organisation into your life so you can stay afloat.

Never underestimate the powers of pumping iron. If I weren't so ill I would have pounded down that treadmill a long time ago because nothing feels as healthy or re-energising as sweating it out and lifting weights. It's the best way to get that natural endorphin rush and it always puts you into such a positive mindset afterwards. Exercise gives you the chance to release tension while you envision your ex boyfriends head making contact with your boxing glove. Far more productive than bitching about him to your girlfriends who have heard it all before.

Last but not least is; be kind to others. Life is most rewarding when you are helping your fellow human beings and I'm not talking about giving your mate a hand with moving because you plan on asking him for a ride up to the central coast. More like just smiling at strangers, helping your friend with their resumé and volunteering to babysit your nephew. Besides all the lovely karma you will attract, being in a good positive head space, has the ability to let you deal with life's little conundrums with ease and open your heart a little to the good of the world.

So next time life throws you a curve ball then by all means have your little sulk, tantrum and indulge in a screaming match or two but remind yourself to get back on track and shake your magic 8 ball once again to look for a different answer. Life is too short to sweat the small stuff and its way too precious to get swept up in the drama. Each and every person's happiness is individual, it's up to you to discover what makes your heart smile because nothing feels better than some sunshine after a rainy day!

Something Old, something New...

Men, they're like a fine wine. The older they get, the better they get. Or so I thought... You see, last year I was all about older men. No more young boys in their early 20's, still sorting out their lives and renting studio apartments in the city. I wanted an established, refined gentleman. Someone who had already had a long-term relationship and a man who could afford to pick up the cheque. Not a miserly UNI student who scrutinized the cocktail prices before I was allowed to order my White Russian.

Well I certainly got what I wanted in those regards. What I wasn't counting on, was what came along with these 'older' men. The first being that the majority of these guys aren't interested in hitting the gym. They were probably arrogant enough to think that their salaries would suffice for that minor detail. Well they were wrong. Needless to say it was kind of a worry when I noticed that my man had more curves than me - and in all the wrong places.

Curves aside, the other thing is monogamy. I automatically assumed that because these guys were older and had played the field for quite some time, they were now ready to settle down into something serious and throw away their casual liaisons. I couldn't have been more wrong! In fact I'm pretty sure that if a guy is past his thirties and still hasn't found the right girl then there is obviously something not quite right. The term 'eternal bachelor' comes to mind, and so far I haven't been wrong.

Another surprise was their mentality; set in stone. These guys weren't very flexible when it came to compromising anything. They had been around the block and if I wanted them to stick around then I had to bend to their rules. I found this out when I asked my then-boyfriend to try a caramel cappuccino instead of a regular one. The shock on my face was evident after he snapped, 'I know how I like my coffee thank you very much.' Well that was the last time I tried to inject a bit of variety in this guys life, what's that saying; can't teach an old dog new tricks?

After being romanced by a few of these dinosaurs I began to miss the young, athletic, impressionable men I once dated. I missed their youthful skin, sentimental gifts, optimism, and bronzed six packs. Suddenly these power tripping older types weren't so appealing. This became clear when I was watching the movie 'Valentine's Day.' Upon seeing a very buff and vibrant Taylor Lautner perform a front flip, I marvelled at his athleticism and thought back to my ex. If he tried that he'd probably need a hip replacement.

So once again I enter the single world, ready to cast my rod, this time using different bait, one that will lure in those fresh young things. Or at least someone who's the same age as me. Maybe that's the solution? Leave behind the senior citizens as well as the toy boys and go for someone that shares my Chinese horoscope. If that's the plan then my next mission will be hunting down a sensitive new age 'rat'! Oh dear...

D-day - The First Date

First dates, for some they're the highly anticipated step into the beginnings of something wonderful but for most; they're torture. And although I breeze through things like public speaking and job interviews; when it comes to that first outing, I find myself a nervous mess. The more I like a guy, the more hellish the experience generally is.

Now it all starts out okay with the tentative phone call when he initiates some one on one time. This usually prompts me to excitedly call all of my girlfriends and gay friends to deliver the heart-stopping news and analyse everything from the restaurant he has chosen to the tone of voice he used.

But when I finally calm down enough to see the situation for what it actually is; that's when reality hits. Gulp. A first date. Suddenly the questions start firing away in my mind, starting with 'What to wear?' and ending with 'Can I go through with this?'

What if there's nothing to talk about? Should I go in for the kiss at the end? Should I offer to pay at the end of the date? All of these are valid and important things to think about but unfortunately there is no black and white when it comes to date etiquette, it's a very murky grey area and some don't make it through to the other side...

Even transport to and from the date is a dilemma. If this gorgeous specimen is a gentleman worthy of my affections he will pick me up and drop me home. If he doesn't have a car then he hasn't entered the real world yet. Either that or he's just not my type. I think that a guy should be able to take care of a girl and that usually includes picking me up from various parts of the city at 3am when I'm drunk and I've lost a shoe. If a boyfriend can't do that then honestly how am I supposed to rely on him for anything?

So while I'm waiting around for him to arrive, it's usually make or break time. I say this because it's when I have my phone out, ready to text and say that I've fallen ill and will have to cancel. Technically this isn't a lie. Why? Well I'm hyperventilating and these so-called 'butterflies' romance novels talk about are not butterflies but more a herd of stampeding wild animals. My stomach is twisted into a knot and I'm starting to regret I ever agreed to the bloody date. Taking a deep breath I call a couple of numbers on my speed dial to calm down and talk me back into this seemingly innocent rendezvous, getting me back on track and ready to go through with it.

Now moving on to the small talk. I have no trouble in building rapport and melting an ice queen if need be, but when on a date, this little trick up my sleeve is nowhere to be seen. I say the most random, weird and nonsensical things, leaving my date bewildered and me mouthing expletives to myself the minute his back is turned.

Conversation aside, another thing to worry about is food. Not the quality or quantity, but they way it enters your mouth and the possibility of a few morsels clinging to your chompers. You don't want to eat something that proves to be too messy.

A perfect example of this is bruschetta. So delicious yet so deadly. You can't take one mouthful of this dangerously alluring entrée without half the contents piled up on the bread dripping down your hand and the rest splattered across your face. A recipe for disaster; literally.

I like to stick to simple things like chicken with veggies- hold the salad. I had a bad experience once... The likelihood of finding a green foreign object wedged between your teeth is not just an old wives tale; it actually happens. There I was smiling away and yet every time I flashed my pearly whites he would almost gag. A trip to the ladies and I too, gagged when I glanced at my reflection in the mirror. Trying to return to the table and act as if nothing had happened was mortifying. Needless to say, there was no date number two...

But food and conversation aside the most awkward thing is the first kiss. I find it hard to be serious in most situations, so when a man tries to seductively lean over and get physical, I have to all but pinch my leg to stop myself from erupting into a fit of laughter. Most guys think it's an endearingly cute thing and that perhaps I'm shy. Maybe I am, but mostly it's just awkward. It gets even more awkward when he realises that this giggling is not going to stop unless he does. Way to go me.

So there you have it, a date full of uncomfortable silences, strange behaviour, a battle with the menu and trying to act calm and collected yet failing abysmally. At the end of it all I can't help but kick off my heels, pour a glass of red and get ready to call my girlfriend for an in depth chat to laugh and cringe over the details. And although it's been another disaster and my nerves are frazzled, nothing beats the feeling when I go to get my phone and see a little text message pop up from my boy 'had a great time, sweet dreams and c u soon :)' oh dear, get ready for round two!

Your Life Checklist

When I was seventeen, not a month would go by where I didn't have the very latest issue of both Cosmo and Cleo. I would always go over all the feature articles mentioning women in their mid-20's and be in awe of their lives that were portrayed in the glossy pages. These were career women who were in long-term relationships, who had clients, money in the bank and a mortgage as well.

I automatically assumed that when 25 would knock on my door, I'd have it sorted as well. Well here I am just before my 26th birthday and can't help but feeling a little ripped off... Let's take a closer look.

Relationship status is currently single. The only time I've ever been able to change it to 'in a relationship' on Facebook was, well never. Sure it's been 'it's complicated' a couple of times but that was just to add some drama into my already theatrical kind of life. So when I pore over these mags and all I see are by-lines screaming 'Where to holiday with your man' and 'when your friends become his friends' I can't help but think, I can't relate to any of this. Sure these features have enabled me to dish out incredibly wise words of wisdom to my gal pals, but I have been reading the same thing for the last nine or so years and if this is what the ideal reader embodies then I am definitely out of the loop on this one.

Career; undecided. I've delved into the world of PR, dabbled in the airline industry and have even thought about becoming a pro athlete. But PR was like selling my soul, working for Richard Branson meant being abused daily by passengers- oh I mean 'guests' and quite frankly I have a very deep and meaningful relationship with McDonald's which would have only hindered my shot to stardom as a tennis player.

Currently I am still trying to find what exactly floats my boat. I'm not working hard for 'those promotions' or asking my boss for a raise (I think you have to be in a position for longer than a few months to demand more money).

Mortgage; non-existent. How on Earth can I commit to buying a house when I am still entertaining the idea of moving to Paris for a couple of years? (Sure the only thing I know is 'voulez vous coucher avec moi ce soir?' but you've got to start somewhere right?) Plus, I don't want to come across as old-fashioned but shouldn't my husband be able to provide things like a house for me!? Although this does go back to the conflicting issue that you actually need a husband for this to work and considering that I am yet to snag a long-term relationship it could prove quite tricky...

So I find myself in a very odd situation. Everything I thought I would live up to; I, well didn't... But does this make me a failure? Or rather a modern-day woman who refuses to fit the mould that society has cast and instead has led a life of travel, romance and diversity. A free spirit who cannot be bound by what a magazine deems as the ideal life of young woman. Well that's how I prefer to look at it. I am finding that the older I get the older 'old' actually is and what I once thought would be the pinnacle of my life is now quite obviously only the beginning.

Finally Friday

Friday... You thought the weekend would never come. It's been one hell of a week and your body has been inundated with cortisone which is evident from the burst blood vessels occupying your eyes. Okay so maybe the whites of your eyes are just looking a little red but it definitely feels as if you are approaching meltdown.


You gulp down your last double macchiato as the clock strikes home o'clock and get ready to switch the drinks from caffeine to tequila. Ready to rip off your corporate attire consisting of black on black on black with white; your well-mannered, polished, office façade has well and truly gone out the window as you welcome the weekend with a hearty 'Thank fuck it's Friday!'

First foot out the building and already you're on your mobile excitedly planning where you'll be making an appearance later that night. Now deciding between a nice swanky cocktail bar or a dark and dirty, grimy club is easy peasy but it's the age-old what-to-wear dilemma, that has the potential to destroy your plans of dancing on tables and keep you at home, sulking in bed over your non-existent wardrobe.

Yes; it's happened to me before. One minute you are singing into your hairspray can with excitement, the next your clothes that once hung in your now empty wardrobe, are in one massive pile on the floor all deemed as 'not fabulous enough' for tonight.

There are only two things that can save you at this point, the first being hair and make up. If you aren't already dolled up, chances are everything will look crap anyway. Failing that, you need a good girlfriend's perspective to hunt down the hidden treasures and unlikely combinations that will get you back in party spirits.

Once you've conquered your Mount Everest it's time to skol the obligatory 'before drinks' (most likely consisting of some kind of vile wine) before heading out and causing some chaos. So girlfriends in tow and feeling slightly tipsy, you step out on the town awaiting what's to come in anticipation.

Starting with some shots is the smartest thing to do before hitting the dance floor. No one wants to be the rigid, straight-laced hunchback that is still stuck in office mode and struggling to bust a move. Some vodka should get your wheels in motion and have you and your posse dancing like superstars (read: absolute fools) in no time.

Then comes sussing out the crowd i.e. keeping your eyes peeled for cute boys. Careful not to let your eyes linger too long on the smarmy, greasy-haired Fabio wannabe, he'll mistake it as a green light to strut over and buy you a cock-sucking cowboy. And once he's over he'll be hard to get rid of and proceed to order more shots while making repulsive innuendos about the drinks in question.

Once you do catch the attention of someone who takes your fancy, promptly order some more alcohol and promise yourself you'll approach later in the night if he fails to notice you. Hey, the lighting is dark, so you'll give him the benefit of the doubt. Either that or he must be gay.

Although the boys-who-like-boys are usually easy to spot, sometimes looks are deceiving. If the guy you flirtatiously asked to take a photo of you and your friend is focusing his lens on the hottie at the bar instead of his targets then cut your losses and don't try to drunkenly convert him. This is probably an indication that tequila time is over and you should try sipping on lemonade instead.

Another sign is one you will find in the mirror. If you're looking more dishevelled then delicious, then freshen up and put away your camera. Your photos that will be posted on Facebook the next day are meant to make your exes jealous and show your 687 friends how fun you are not how low you can go referring to your boob tube top now around your waist. So classy.

So when Fabio look-alike is beginning to look quite attractive, you’re on your second packet of ciggies despite the fact that you don't smoke and the bar staff have told you numerous times they won't serve you; it is well and truly time to go home.

Along will come Saturday and Sunday bringing forth repeat sessions of Friday's shenanigans until it is Monday again. And although you are loathing your early morning start you can't help but be relieved at the routine and normality it brings. For it is time to start the working week again before Friday beckons once more, dragging you into another welcome episode of downright debauchery.

Tainted Love

The honeymoon stage of a blossoming romance is always the most exciting. You're just getting to know one another, you find yourself singing to yourself, smiling at strangers and looking at the world through a pair of rose-coloured glasses. His faults are endearing and you actually find it cute when he asks to borrow your car and returns it in a complete mess.

Fast forward a few weeks later and yet again he has borrowed your car and returned it with an empty tank of petrol with old newspapers and cheeseburger wrappers strewn across the back seat. You find it very hard to believe that not long ago this would've been something you would have smiled at. All you can seem to feel is seriously pissed off. Next thing you know he is not returning your calls when he says he will, taking a hell of a long time to reply to texts and feeding you the excuse, 'babe I'm just so busy with work right now' when you can clearly see him socialising to his heart's content on facebook.

You reminisce back to when things were great, you were planning trips together and he couldn't go to sleep without wishing you pleasant dreams first. He would look you in the eye with conviction and tell you he had never felt this way before. And you lapped it all up...

But of course, after a certain amount of wining and dining there comes a time when you are going to realise whether this guy really wants to be with you or everything has just been bullshit and he was probably just a little bored when you came along. And that's when you're left high and dry; always disastrous. The quote 'hell hath no fury like a woman scorned' comes to mind- and that's putting it lightly.

You see, we women are emotional creatures; we aren't the type to sulk and silently sook. We are more inclined to get vocal. Real vocal. We aren't afraid of confrontation and it's pretty damn frustrating when you just want answers and the guy is just leaving you with more bloody questions! Grrrrrr... So after shit has well and truly hit the fan and you've both had a nasty swipe at one another, things often cool down and you both go your separate ways swearing never to cross paths ever again.

But chemistry is a funny thing, and sometimes there is just enough to make you want to give things a second chance. You may find yourselves drawn to one other with a magnetism you just haven't found in anyone else and frankly you don't want to find in the arms of another. You think back to all the good times (conveniently forgetting all the rest in between) and wonder if there could be a way to salvage all that has happened.

But no matter how much he says he wants you back and that he finally has his priorities sorted, you can't just put your rose-tinted lenses back on and go back to where things left off. First of all, things ended in a war zone so picking up where you left off just means going back into battle and secondly the love is tainted and you've probably said some really hurtful things to one another that can't be taken back, some that may stay etched in your memories forever.

And even if you are willing to overlook all of that, your friends are undoubtedly convinced that this guy is a complete bastard who doesn't deserve you in the slightest. And they're not far from wrong. Say you do end up together, with the 2.5 kids and a white picket fence. Will you really be happy to divulge the details of how you met to your little ones? 'Oh daddy ended up sleeping with half the town before he realised I was good enough for him' hardly the words of a fairytale romance.

And let's take a look at dinners and group dates. Do you really want others whispering about the tumultuous beginnings of your relationship? 'Ooh when they first got together he changed his girls as often as he changed his Facebook status.' Let's face it, is this leopard really going to change his spots for you? If your history includes more drama than The Bold and the Beautiful then it's not going to be the ideal basis for a strong healthy relationship. And if a guy has the ability to send your stress levels soaring then you must be careful not to mistake this as passion. It's just downright destructive.

 So once you've started to ignore your Lothario and he has inevitably begun skulking back, head bowed and shoulders hunched over with a certain air of humbleness (I prefer pathetic-ness) just walk away. This guy’s past is less appealing than a face full of puberty induced acne. And that's saying something. As Soft Cell once sung 'Once I ran to you, now I'll run from you.' So get out while you can ladies! This love is tainted!

Lock Down

Recovery... It's so overrated. You would think that the most painful part of an operation is all the agony you endure in order to realise that you need to be opened up and examined. When I went under the knife, my surgeon informed me that he would be performing keyhole surgery. When I heard that term being used I immediately relaxed and was not fazed in the slightest.
Only when I was wheeled out of recovery and back into my room I realised they had mispronounced the surgery for it was not keyhole but rather a complete excavation by the way I felt.

A few dissolvable stitches felt like five big fish hooks ripping and dragging through my stomach every time I tried to sit up. Morphine, Endone, Tramadol, Dia-Gesic, Coda pane Forte, Voltaren... Nothing worked. The nurse marvelled at me with suspicion as she politely informed me that she could not administer any more drugs as I had already had twice the amount that is usually used to knock out a large man.

I then met with my surgeon who added to the nurse’s good news by letting me know that I had an extremely low pain threshhold and I shouldn't be experiencing so much pain. In conclusion I was to avoid all the painkillers as they weren't working for me anyway and to 'tough it out' over the next few days and get lots and lots of rest.

I didn't realise that in doing so I would be relinquishing my independence. Sure it was pretty fun having everything done for me as I couldn't walk, sit up, bend or reach. But soon after, I got over it. Even sleeping was the pits! For the first time ever I was being forced to lie on my back! Oh how I missed laying on my side, my hand neatly tucked under my pillow and legs stretched out as if I was mimicking the movements of a marathon runner. Now my nights were tainted with moments of insomnia.

I'd start my mornings feeling grumpy from my lack of sleep and hobble over to the loungeroom. Usually when I'm curled up on the couch and not feeling the best I can find comfort in an array of delicious treats to ease my boredom and alleviate my pain. Well something I forgot to mention was the tube that was put down my throat during the operation. I shudder to think of how rough they were because when I woke up my esophageus had been scraped to an inch of its life and I could not swallow a thing. My appetite had packed its bags and left me.

Pre-surgery I had envisioned my recovery to be one of great serenity. Completely commitment free and relaxed I would use the time to paint a bowl of fruit  on canvas while serenely sipping on herbal tea. Ha! Fat chance, I could barely focus on reading a book let alone recreate a Monet. Then came the realisation that I had practically committed social suicide. As Murphy’s Law would have it; parties that I had looked forward to for weeks coincided with my precious healing period. I had no choice but to reluctantly hit decline on every invitation that came my way but I couldn’t help clicking a tentative and a disillusioned ‘maybe attending’ when it came to the soirees I really, really wanted to attend. All the painkillers had zapped my energy, leaving me to sink further and further into the realm of reality TV. And so began the recovery of my body and in turn the hindrance of my social life and sanity…