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!!!