Magic vs. Mediocrity

Sometimes there are no fireworks, lightning bolt moments or sparks when you meet a potential partner. There aren’t any conversations till dawn and although there is definitely attraction, neither of you are bursting at the seams ready to express your undeniable passion for one another. In other words; life does not usually imitate art so what we often see in the movies does not often reflect reality.

You meet a guy, through mutual friends perhaps. You find each other on Facebook and it starts off as an innocent poke. Casual group drinks are organised, and after a beer or four he goes in for the snog.
You exchange numbers, go out on a few dates, watch a couple of movies. He seems nice enough and before long he is referring to you as his girlfriend.

Personally, I couldn’t think of anything worse.  I mean at least drink something more cosmopolitan than a beer! It’s hardly a story you could excitedly relay to your girlfriends about your new beau.

So let me tell you how it should be…

You catch eyes across the room. He saunters over drink in hand (a dirty martini in fact) and you feel compelled to introduce yourself as he gazes intently into your eyes. The next time you see each other you end up sitting on a wharf with a bottle of wine watching the sunrise and talking about absolutely everything and anything under the sun. He leaves notes under your pillow, you never worry about sending too many text messages or answering after the first ring or leaving voicemail messages ‘just because’. The feelings are overwhelmingly reciprocated and dopamine levels are soaring high.

So, is one reality and the other a far fetched fantasy that is drenched in idealism and not as substantial?  Or does every girl deserve her fairy tale romance and everything else is nothing but a cheap and unfulfilling imitation?

You may fall under the category of those that seek a relationship based on similarities, morals, comfort. You may want someone who you can slowly discover layer by layer and think that all the small talk is just business before pleasure.

Or maybe you’re like me? I seek passion, emotion and I’m more inclined to think; damn the morals! My significant other and I would revel in each others contrasting personalities, argue about the price of limes and become intoxicated with one another.

It’s definitely not for everyone, and in turn I am not the typical girl next door but rather an acquired taste.
So does this limit my ability to delve into the pond and go fishing? Maybe. But if it means avoiding beer drinking men whose idea of romance is watching a movie then so be it!

Snoozing When Commuting

The daily commute; there will always be one aspect of it that you just don’t like. Some get fired up about trains running on time, others dislike the set timetable or the air-con, but personally, the one thing I truly detest, are the commuters themselves- specifically those that travel on the country link trains.


Yesterday was the classic example of what I put up with almost every morning…

I stepped onto the platform, patiently waiting for the Sydney terminal service. As the train approached, I scurried along with everyone else, trying to second guess where the carriage doors would stop so I could be first on.

Upon stepping into the carriage, I scanned the area looking for a seat on its own, only to be disappointed (as usual).

On this particular occasion I was lucky enough to snag myself a rare window seat. I always choose this over the aisle so that I can lose myself in the scenery, momentarily escaping the hellish ride. That’s the upside. Down-side? I was stuck next to a peasant like traveller. As I stepped over the woman’s legs, she didn’t so much as bat an eyelid let alone budge an inch. The courteous thing to do, would be to give a polite half smile and move your feet out of the way, but this sloth-like creature had her legs splayed out and didn’t care whose way she was in. Rude much?

As I sat down, I tried to discreetly survey her from the corner of my eye. Wiry unkempt hair in dire need of a GHD, outdated jeans that were slightly frayed at bottom, paired with dirty sneakers and a woolly, pooh coloured skivvy covered in lint.

I inspected her ruddy complexion and red, crusty eyes wondering if she had washed her face this morning. Clearly no make up. And before I could go any further she gave an indulgent little yawn and stretch which made me want to throw up a little. I felt the need to have a shower just from sitting next to this mess.

After starting my morning with green tea, a morning run and a veggie egg-white omelette, the last thing I want to be met with is someone that couldn’t even manage to brush their hair, maybe even teeth?! Ugh.

Yes, I’m a morning person. I wake up feeling inspired, full of energy and ready for a great day. So when I hop on my morning train and am met with an army of zombies, I can’t help but be slightly repulsed, fighting the urge to yell, ‘Sort yourselves out!’

Can’t you wake up half an hour earlier and dab some concealer under those bags? Is it so hard to go to bed early so that the passenger next to you doesn’t have to put up with your bloody snoring? Clearly too hard.

So what stops me from saying something? What keeps me from trying to give these people a piece of my mind and smugly tell them how I start my morning?

Well I’ll tell you what; my afternoon commute.

I turn into one of them.

Come close of business, I am no longer a cheery, bursting ball of energy. I am the very thing I detest. A siesta deprived lady looking for her next snooze.

So there I am late afternoon wearily stepping onto the train. I look for a window seat, but this time for an altogether different reason. The scenery doesn’t interest me, it’s purely a comfort thing. I lean my head against the glass and place my hand bag in my lap using it as a makeshift arm rest. I flip through the MX issue, but before I can get past the first couple of pages, I’m out like a light.

Curled up by the window, loose strands gently framing my face – okay so more like my polished bun now a war zone and my eyeliner smeared across my face taking me from Cleopatra to Racoon, I look quite the sight.

But do I care? Hell No. I can see the smart business man, giving me a look of disdain, but all I can think is, ‘Bugger off, I’m trying to sleep here.’

I sleep through my entire hour-long journey somehow always waking up just a couple of stops before I’m due, feeling nicely rested after the little nap.

It is only then, that I can sympathise with the sleeping beauties I often encounter in the morning.