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…