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...