Category Archives: All Grown Up

Home.

Posted on by
2

As I start to settle into that feeling of being in-between-homes, I cannot help but spend a bit of time reflecting on what home actually means. This particular train of thought all began when I was recently house sitting for my parents. And as those of you who follow me on Facebook and Twitter will know, it was quite the drama. A drama that resulted in quite high levels of cranky-pantedness. 

Still, despite getting woken up early by painters every morning, not being able to access the laundry where my clothes were, wearing my 15 year old brothers clothes back to my own house to find something to wear for work and then accidentally locking myself out of the house at 10pm and having to shimmy along the side of the house in a short skirt and then finding a giant dump in the toilet courtesy of one of the aforementioned painters – I somehow managed to indulge in some pleasant nostalgia. 

The nostalgia hit me when I least expected it, when I was baking some goodies for a work morning tea in my parents kitchen. When I used the old set of scales that required a creative combination of weight measures to balance my butter against. BAM! When I dug out the old and battered aluminum cake tins, which had once housed the core components of many creations from theAustralian Women's Weekly Children's Birthday Cake Cookbook. BAM! When I measured ingredients in the 80s brown cup measures and used porcelain mixing bowls to prepare the icing. BAM! It was all exceedingly wonderful and filled me with that extraordinary tingle – that feeling of being home.

And then I began to realise just how many elements of my mother's kitchen had now become a part of my own. We had the same can opener and vegetable peeler – and an eerily similar collection of mixing spoons and nested mixing bowls. In both our kitchens the third drawer from the top is the province of cling wrap, baking paper, brown paper bags and freezer bags. I hardly ever use brown paper bags or freezer bags! But by golly, I keep them in that third drawer from the top. 

And then I began to notice some of the 'innovations' I had introduced into my mother's kitchen. Namely, the detergent dispensing dishwand and the silicon bakeware. And I also noticed the subtleties that indicated my parents are significantly more affluent than I am. They have real vanilla essence, not imitation.

I guess there are many things about the homes we grow up in that make their way into our own lives and homes. And it's not just our little behaviour quirks (like using different coloured chopping mats for different kinds of foods) – somehow the spaces are physically connected. My mother's kitchen was no doubt inspired by her own mother and the Christmas cake mixing bowl that once belonged to my grandmothers kitchen,now living in my mother's kitchen will now doubt make its way to mine someday.

How strange is that, to think of your kitchen as a physical link to your maternal line!?

I wonder if men feel the same way about traditionally 'male' spaces?

I guess it's all just a reminder that that essence of 'home-ness' is really just something that follows us around. Hidden in the guise of our habits and the way like to organise things and create a safe space around us.

A comforting thought for those of us who are about to move their life from one place to another, even if it's not moving very far.

A July That Will Be Dry. Well, except for this Saturday.

Posted on by
3

"Dry July is for the social drinker who would benefit both mentally and physically from taking a break from alcohol"

I like drinking. It's fun. I don't always like how I feel the next day, and it certainly chews up a fair bit of my income and time for chores on the weekend. But you know, it's kind of a part of the way we do things – celebrate, commiserate, unwind, etc. The first six months of this year have been fairly big drinking wise. Huge in fact. Actually, it's been a pretty big twelve months. So I'm doing it. Dry July**. Well, except for this Saturday.

Let me explain the exception. It's a good one – trust me, even my mother agrees and she's the ultimate moral compass for this issue because she believes I should do a 'Dry Forever'. I was recently invited to an "end of the world" themed party and jokingly commented that I should go as a meteorite. The idea took hold and it has spread. Next thing I know I've spent a weekend doing papier mache and have scratches from chicken wire covering my hands and stomach. Even my mother said there was no way I could go to a party dressed as a meteorite and not drink. And don't worry, there will be photos.

So I'm buying myself a Golden Ticket. But it will be my only one.

I think it's going to be a good month for me. Time to refocus on the year, indulge my creative interests and commence a drastic culling of my belongings in anticipation of a move to an inner-city apartment. 

A side effect of the removal of alcohol from my life for a month will be that 'No-Man-June' will probably extend itself. I'm not sure how I'm going to handle this. I used to be able to go for extended periods without the company of a gentleman, but these days I get what I like to call the 'six-week itch. And without alcohol, I'm not at all confident I'll find someone to scratch it. And it's even harder in winter, when another body in the boudoir is most desirous. It's times like these I think a relationship would be rather convenient. And even a bit lovely.  

Oh well, I'm sure I can keep myself otherwise engaged. I've got some awesome vintage patterns to try AND I need to write an itemised list of everything in my kitchen. See – who needs alcohol? Not me! I've got paint and papier mache paste splattered pyjamas and a head full of ideas! Woohooo!! ….

I'll let you know how it goes. :)

(PS – if you're overly interested you can sponsor my participation in Dry July here. It's for cancer, which is kinda a big deal in my family. But that's by-the-by)

**Dry July does not encourage people to increase their alcohol consumption immediately prior to 1st July 2010, nor will it promote excessive drinking from 1st August 2010. – DOH!!

Let’s Talk About Sex, Baby.

Posted on by
Reply

Along with several thousand of my peers, I recently had the honour seeing Salt'n'Pepper perform live at Good Vibes. And I realised, as I rocked it in my Hanson t-shirt, bumbag and tastefully accessorised Crocs, that 15 years after loving these tracks – I am finally living them.

As my friends and I rapped out the words to 'Shoop' I was struck by the following thought – could the lyrics I so faithfully sang aloud when I was 11 have somehow buried themselves in my psyche only to be revisited as old friends, and a core part of my identity at 27?

As a semi-regular reader of this blog, I think that after you watch the following, your answer will be yes.

That, is so my theme tune. Although for the purposes of generational adaptation I would like to change the line "I like you in your big jeans, you give me nice dreams, you make me wanna scream ooo oooo oooooo!" to "I like you in your tight jeans, you give me nice dreams, you make me wanna scream ooo oooo oooooo!" – it is more reflective of my tastes.

I am glad, however that my early exposure to this brand of sexually explicit hip-hop-pop has not lead me to wearing such short shorts. No, my bottom remains firmly secured inside a pant with a decent sized leg.

But then, after having this epiphany, I realised that their next, and final track was equally relevant to my life.

Now, I know what you're thinking. You're thinking Anne, are you just using 90s pop music as an excuse for being rude? And in a way, yes. Yes I am. And while I do not necessarily agree with the warning against promiscuity in the above track, I absolutely adore the way they just put it out there. 

And while you could argue that you just can't turn anywhere these days without images and messages of women talking loudly about sex, sometimes I am not sure if we really own it. When we encounter it in magazines and other elements of pop culture it is often under the guise of what we must do to catch and keep a man. We are certainly much more comfortable talking about penises, and semen, and blow job technique than our own clits and vaginas. Talking about these things still lies in the realm of 'outrageous' and as such, seem to belong to female comedians, artists and authors – none of whom are allowed to talk about it on telly at 7pm.

When I think about women whose sexual expression inspires me, there is only one name that springs to mind – Peaches. And any of you who have been fortunate enough to see her perform live will know that there is a big difference between Peaches and Carrie Bradshaw.

Peaches' unbridled sexuality is not something that translates easily to youtube, and in many ways must be seen to be believed. I mean, this was a woman who performed on stage wearing a penis suit and inspired me to wear full body lycra with a strobe light in the crotch. I will not forget standing in the crowd and hearing a man say to his girlfriend "She's kinda dirty" to which she replied awestruck "She's AMAZING". Women get Peaches – she is everything we never see, and we love it. 

So Spinderella, cut it up one time for me – I'm going to talk about sex. Because you know what? I like sex, and I like talking about it. Not because it is a bit shocking (although that that part is quite fun), but because it allows me to connect with women who are more often than not, rather excited about the opportunity to talk about it. And that, really is fun.

(Although, I still cannot quite bring myself to talk about men begging me for anal whilst I am dining with friends in family-friendly cafes at 10am on a Saturday morning. Some boundaries, I cannot break. Yet.)

Things That Stick.

Posted on by
Reply

(NO! I am not talking about semen. Just because this is a Sunday night blog post, does not mean I am speaking in sexual metaphors. It hasn't been that sort of weekend.)

I have been feeling a little introspective this week, probably because I have been premenstrual and my usual level of randiness has decreased. But I've been thinking about things and they have mostly been those 'sticking' moments. You know, those moments in your life that just seem to stay with you no matter what and somehow end up forming the patchwork of who you are. 

Things like the first time you looked in the mirror and realised you were a woman and not a girl anymore. You never quite remember when this happened, but you always remember it as a distinct moment in time. Or the moment you realised that other people's lives are different to yours, that we don't all have the same start in life and that you are perhaps very lucky (or unlucky). And the first time as an adult you hurt yourself or are particularly ill, and in that instant before calling your parents, partners, friends, siblings, whoever, you realise you are totally and utterly alone. 

Or that first moment of wretched heartache – feeling absolutely gutted that something you wanted or needed so greatly cannot be yours. That something so potentially amazing has been denied to you.

But of course there are happier (or at least less depressing) moments than these. Lots and lots of them. For myself there was that moment when, after years of actively telling myself I was hot and amazing, I actually believed it. That all of the work that goes into building a positive sense of self actually paid off. Although, it turns out that it continues to be hard work to maintain.

Or that moment when I realised I was a sexual being and embraced it. It was a bit of a shame I didn't have someone special around to share that particular moment with. It is certainly much harder when you keep having to go out and find 'new' men to share yourself with. But hey, that's just how the cookie crumbles. And besides, I waited a really, really long time, and a girl can't wait forever. 

Then there are those lessons learned, those realisations that can only be had from the input of another. Like a friend telling you that you are playing 'dating games' when really you just want is a shag (she was so right, I totally don't do that anymore – God help me when I start dating though). 

Or a friend telling you that if they were a guy and they read your blog, they'd be terrified of dating you. 

Or someone who hasn't seen me in years telling me that I seem to be enjoying being single, and realising that yes, yes I am. 

Or that moment when you bump into a guy, who you are not necessarily interested in and you know you will never have, but they somehow completely restore your faith in men, and in love. 

There are so many moments in life that seem to stick around, but perhaps my most recent was experienced as I wandered down the street on my way to the bus listening to the song I have been obsessing over for a month. As I strolled up the hill I realised that perhaps 'the lion' being referred to in the song is not actually the elusive male, it might actually be me.

And I stopped briefly in my tracks, looked up at the sky, sighed and then continued on.

Valentine, who?

Posted on by
2

Having never been in a relationship, Valentine's Day has historically meant just about nothing to me. I usually blink and miss it. Although I have noticed that there are always lots of very lovely flowers at very reasonable prices available for foxy young misses to buy themselves on February 15. 

While I normally let the day pass by without much public comment, I couldn't quite stop myself this year. And okay, yes, writing about how much you 'don't care' about something does come across as a little bit 'lady-doth-protest-too-much'. But I can't help it. This year, I care.

I care that every time either myself or another single friend makes any kind of disparaging comment re: V Day, someone, somewhere, rolls their eyes and labels me/them 'bitter'. 

I care that I have to watch footage of people romancing, kissing and proposing on the news. It's not news!

And I care that some of the most fabulous people I know have moments of utter despair because for some reason, just being themselves isn't enough.

I hate to say it, but not only do I think that this day is just an excuse for companies to sell us things in new and interesting ways, it also feels like it is an excuse for couples to be a bit smug.  

So what's the antidote? Why a good solid dose of Smug Singleton, of course! 

I had a great weekend. 

Friday: Most spectacular birthday dinner party with friends. Food and Sangria was plentiful whilst I 'wowed' the table with the kind of conversation that only someone with a limited sense of propriety can bring. 

Saturday: I slept in, cleaned the house (I can see my floor!!), went shopping (handbags!), got take away Mexican, a six pack of cider and watched 30 Rock.

Sunday: Spent the morning in bed, alternating between snoozing and reading a cheesy self-help book I bought at the Lifeline Bookfest. Picked up my new outdoor setting from Super A-Mart, met with the lovely LuLu and embarked on a delightful lady date to Ikea. It was here that I turned scarlet after making eye contact with one of the few, potentially single, good looking men around my age while I was bouncing up and down in an armchair trying to decide if it would stand up to a good shag. The lady date then moved onto grocery shopping, where I also turned scarlet when I found myself holding a cucumber amidst some very dirty thoughts. After groceries, we barbecued some heart shaped meat patties on my 'Lady Q'. What an amazing day! And!! She gave me a balloon flower. 

So what have I got to be smug about? Well, my weekend was one of those delightful single lady weekends with a good balance of 'me time' and time with treasured friends. The beauty of it? I don't have to wait for one day a year to have these sorts of weekends. I have them all the time. 

Snap.

(I should point out that I do really love people in relationships, some of my best friends are in relationships. But if I don't get cranky on behalf of my fellow singletons, who will?)

Truelove

 (One of the few e-cards it would've been appropriate to send me)

Belatedly Resolved.

Posted on by
1

I have a little problem. Because I haven't 'officially' blogged my new years resolutions, I keep adding to them when other people tell me theirs. The list is getting too long, and judging by my complete inability to complete last year's list, I thought I had better post them quick smart.

This year I have gone for a combination of achievable tasks and broader attitudinal/behavioural shifts (Geez, that sounds fancy doesn't it!). So here we are . . .

  • Up my Pilates regime to twice a week – this may require me to decrease spending on clothes or alcohol. *gulp*
  • Find a new and fabulous job – it has to be fabulous to lure me away from my current position.
  • Write something, anything, once a day.
  • Finally sew a friggin' dress.
  • Take back the reins on my 'healthy living'. I dropped them for a while there.
  • Rock the U. S. of A.
  • Make peace with my Lady Bits
  • Be more conscious of my waste – food, garbage, the lot.
  • Find an off switch for my brain.

The last item was particularly inspired by an affirmation card I encountered last year (yes, I know it's dorky, but that affirmation card set was the best $20 I spent last month). In fact, it was this card that prompted me to buy the set in the first place. This is definitely something I need to keep reminding myself to do this year . . .

Expectations

So there you have it. My goals for 2010. I have a feeling it is going to be a very good year.

Bah. Humbug.

Posted on by
1

Traditionally Christmas is an exciting, even joyous time for me. Historically Christmas meant visiting relatives, lots of swimming, lots of video games, ice blocks, more swimming, and presents. Glorious presents! As I got older and did my time in retail, it became more about work, but extra money. And I did still love it. I loved buying Christmas cards, buying decorations, listening to carols, selecting just the right gift for all of my nearest and dearest. All of it. Loved it. Then over the last few years I began making things as gifts, and Christmas became a time where I could learn new skills, like sewing and making extreme amounts of Truffles in a v small kitchen. You can imagine my joy as I realised people liked the handmade gifts even more. Sure, they were an investment of time, but a worthy investment in the spirit of celebration and giving. 

But Christmas 2009? This Christmas I am so cranky, I cannot even begin to express it in a coherent manner.

If I am completely honest with myself, I should recognise that my mood has been in the toilet for at least a month and a half. The cause? The inevitably soul-destroying process of job hunting. It just goes on and on. Can people not see how truly fabulous I am? Really?? Officially, for the record, job-hunting is much worse than dating. Being rejected by men pales in comparison to being rejected from positions your perfect for based on a cold evaluation of your skills and abilities. So I have been harbouring some unkind, and exceedingly uncharitable thoughts around certain organisations of late. Because when I feel hurt, I turn it into anger. Then I cry. Then I feel angry. And so on and so forth.

So it would seem that this hurt and anger is killing Christmas. And how has this presented itself? Well, I knew I was in trouble last week when I found myself shooting Hate Rays, out of my eyeballs, at any couple that looked even remotely happy. Last Friday I was inches away from issuing a public declaration on Facebook that any person who happened to speak to me of how happy they were in their relationship/job was at serious risk of harm. But I restrained myself, because I felt that these thoughts were predominantly influenced by hormones. And this week, as I welcomed my lady time, I felt better. I felt like my crankypants were gone. Like I could finally get back into the spirit of things. 

And then, THEN! I came down with Tonsillitis. What. The Fuck.

Yesterday, as I dragged myself out of bed at 4 in the afternoon and went to the shops in the quest for some kind of food, I suddenly realised something. The Hate Rays were back. The couples, did they have to hold hands and look so smug? And the carollers? Do they have to wander around the shops singing? They only make people uneasy. And today? Still there. I tried listening to Christmas carols to buoy my spirit, and as I heard the opening lines to "It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year" the only thought that went through my head was "Fuck you". I will say however, that some of Hanson's Christmas carols did bring a smile to my lips, proving once again that you can always rely on something you loved when you were 14. 

Yes. Well. As you can see my headspace has not been in the best place for awhile, which I will wholeheartedly use as my excuse for not blogging for a while. I do try not to be a Negative Nancy all of the time. But alas, today I could not hold it in. 

The sooner Christmas comes and I can go on holidays to the Philippines, the better. My batteries are in desperate need of recharging.

Transitions.

Posted on by
1

That shopping problem thing that I had. I haven't spoken about it for a while. Months in fact. So it is probably time for me to make a few notes. Now, if Friday night's booze fuelled impulse purchase of tickets to Good Vibrations (on my iPhone!) is anything to go by, I am not 'cured'. But come on, how could I say no to Salt'n'Pepper? And besides, The Universe clearly wanted my friend and I to have those tickets. I know this because It later saw fit to play Shoop at the pub. *cough* 

But seriously, I think I have been doing fairly well. And now that I am living out of home and am forced to budget for things like food, I am shopping remarkably less. Although, I did just spend $80 on materials to make my costume for my housewarming. But lycra bodysuits need a lot of fabric, you know? And I am sure I will wear it again . . . 

Actually if moving did anything for me it once again highlighted just how much crap I already have. Particularly clothes and accessories. I have a lot of those. Okay, so I have made more than one summer frock purchase, but these were not made in the same frenzied way that purchases were made prior to the GSD. And I am slowly taking on board the message of thrift – many of these frocks were purchased at Op Shops. It's hard not to shop when each season takes you on a journey to a new look. Last summer was all about the denim mini. This summer is all about the frocks. With an occasional denim mini, worn in a nautical way. So yes, I have shopped. But responsibly. 

Indeed, I keep having all sorts of mini-victories where I look at and lust after things, and then put them back and walk away. It makes me feel so virtuous. Like when I find a fantastic frock at Lifeline and it costs $12. And do you know what? I even restrained myself when purchasing Tupperware. I DID NOT order the $50 Christmas Cookie containers. It was an agonising decision let me assure you.

So I am definitely not 'cured', but I think I am transitioning into a new phase where I've reintegrated responsible shopping into my life. Certainly it feels much less manic when I shop now. But I still love it . . . 

Moving Up.

Posted on by
Reply

For the past three or four months I have been playing a game
of “wait and see”. It is a game that has left me feeling low spirited and
stagnate. So when three weeks ago my friend Cara rented a house and mentioned
she was looking for a ‘Lady Lodger’, I raised my hand.

And here I sit, amidst unpacking chaos in the front room of
the lovely post-war abode affectionately referred to as ‘Lady M’. When I first
met Lady M I was slightly overwhelmed by her scruffy appearance, but after 20
minutes and some imaginative visioning, I fell in love. Lady M has many
exciting features like her ample storage space and her proximity to my
childhood (AND adolescent AND early adulthood) shopping mall. But what really
won me over was sitting in the living room and being transported back to
childhood visits to my grandparents place in Maroochydore. Complete with the
scenic vista of a shopping mall.

My sudden decision to move out has left my mother somewhat
bereft. Consequently, I was extremely worried that she would hate Lady M,
unable to see past her shabbiness to the soul within. I am her Princess you
see, and should only have the best. For example, when proudly telling my mother
that we had proudly obtained a washing machine at Lifeline for $149 (along with
a $17 piano and an impulse sofa set), she immediately panicked and offered to
buy me a brand new one. Her reasoning? The death of a woman by electrocution
from a second hand washing machine in the 70s.

I needn’t have worried. My mother loves Lady M. For the
exact same reasons I do, her ample storage, proximity to the shops and her
likeness to my grandmother’s house. I forget that we are quite similar
sometimes.

To be completely honest I think one of the most exciting
things about my move to Lady M is the prospect of bringing a man home and not
having to sneak him out shamefacedly the next day. And I must say I am already
impressed by the higher proportion of young men around me. Instead of DILFs, my
local supermarket is now filled with reasonably attractive, slightly nerdy
young men – shopping for one! AND there is a share house of semi-attractive
young men across the road. Okay, they have a band. And okay, some the singing
is so awful I cannot help but laugh. But the point is that for the first time
in years I feel like there are prospects about the place, which is good.

Lady M, I am looking forward to spending the summer with
you. 

My Mum Read My Blog, and Thinks I Need Therapy.

Posted on by
1

It may sound like a clever way of grabbing your attention, but no, it is true. Based on the content of my blog my mother is convinced I need therapy. She thinks I have issues with men. She also thinks, and this is a direct quote, I have "daddy issues".

I suppose it is my own fault really. You see I was getting into the swing of this blog, I was having fun telling my tales and I was receiving positive feedback. I was excited. So I gave my mother permission to read it, with the strong disclaimer that there may be a few things that she may not want to know about. Well, she read it. I think she may have read at least a years worth of entries. And her feedback? That I sound unhappy. 

Ouch.

This prompted a rather lengthy conversation wherein I sat feeling shocked and dismayed whilst trying to reassure her that I was generally quite happy with my life. The thing is, when a veteran psychiatrist offers to find you (and pay for) a counsellor, a certain amount of self-reflection is required. Thanks mum. 

And that is why it has taken about a month for me to write this up. It was a little bit raw. I thought mental health wise I was doing pretty good. I generally feel happy, and I have a great bunch of co-workers and friends in my life who I absolutely adore. Sure, I have an overwhelming craving for dramatic change in my life, but I think that is a factor of my life-stage and not a general sense of unhappiness. And yes, okay, I have my crap days, but they are usually hormonal and they usually pass. But am I just living in denial? Is there a 'black dog' with 'daddy issues' lurking underneath this veil of happiness and confidence?? I didn't think there was.

I sought the support and feedback of my friends, co-workrs and Tweeps. They have been very lovely in assuring me that I am generally okay. And I believe them, seeing as I talk to them more regularly than I talk to my mother. It was also pointed out to me that my blog is already therapy, which is a very good point seeing as I often use it to process out some of confusion and angst in my head. Albeit in a vaguely amusing way fit for general consumption.

My mother did eventually confess that when she read my blog she read it specifically looking for pathology. She also commented that it was quite well written in comparison to the english pieces she used to proof read for me in year 8. So I guess that's something, but frankly she needs to do a bit of work reassuring me after this whole 'therapy thing'. It's a good thing she gave birth to me and is extremely lovely, otherwise she would be in big trouble.

And as for the "daddy issues", well, what woman doesn't have some kind of strange and somewhat complicated relationship with her father? Especially seeing as we always seem to end up with men just like them. 

*shudders*