June.

Posted on 17 June, 2012 by Anne

June 2012 started with a planetary alignment that bought much joy, excitement and astrological juju into the lives of those around me. For me, it just bought on my period.

I have a strange relationship with the month of June. Maybe it’s a touch of seasonal affective disorder, maybe it’s because I’m a Capricorn. I don’t know. But historically, June hasn’t been my month.

This year June has me stumped. It’s only half over and somehow I’ve managed to experience the effects of two things that pretty much sum up my year thus far: heinous hook-ups and good dates that don’t really go anywhere.

And somewhere in the middle of all of that angst, I’ve had a faith restoring, 80s inspired, romantic moment. Complete with indie pop, dancefloor twirling and non-sleazy kissing. The experience was so ‘prom’, I can’t even begin to describe it.

While I may never see my dance partner again, he left me with an amazing memory and a very timely reminder of what chemistry without sleaze feels like. Turns out it’s pretty nice.

This year June has shown me exactly what I don’t want, and exactly what I do want, all in the space of a week. And now, I must begin the work of figuring out how one hammers that final nail into the coffin of casual sex. Metaphorically speaking.

Surely it can’t be that hard …

Metaphorically speaking.

My Unrequited Loves

Posted on 20 February, 2012 by Anne

Unrequited love could easily be described as my forte. When I look back over the years there really have been an impressive number of men that I’ve managed to lose my head over and have it all come to nothing. You could almost say I was somewhat of an expert.

My first unrequited love was Isaac Hanson. He was perhaps the least good looking and most decidedly dorky of the pop trio, and I knew, in that way only a 14 year old girl can know, that we were destined to be together.

Alas, he never returned my letters and ultimately married some other Hanson fan.

Since then my list of unrequited loves has grown longer, and still clearly reflects my taste for rather dorky men. Actually, when I look back, they all bear a eerie similarity to Isaac, in one way or another. And much like Isaac, they have all followed a pattern of falling for women slightly more conventional than myself. All of whom, have been brunettes.

For the most part though, this has been for the best. When the broken heart heals and you can finally relate to those former ‘loves’ as friends, you usually realise that you never would have suited each other anyway. It’s a strange feeling to spend time with someone you used to adore, and feel totally confident that you would have made them completely miserable. It’s a sense of closure that I have become quite accustomed to. That is until my latest, and perhaps most ridiculous unrequited love (apart from dear Isaac, of course) was revealed to be engaged. To my clone.

I can handle the inherent but intentionally ignored incompatibility that accompanies the vast majority of my Unrequiteds, but circumstance and timing? That is so much harder to deal with. While she is not physically my clone, by all accounts there are degrees of similarity in temper, humour and rampant inappropriateness that are difficult to ignore. Now I can only take solace in knowing that my instincts were right. Albeit ill-timed.

That, and having the knowledge that nice, dorkish men do fall for outspoken, vaguely inappropriate women such as myself. We just need to be really, really patient. Like, until our mid-thirties patient.

The trick remains not to get too distracted or put off by all the jerks along the way.

If any of you figure out that trick, please let me know. I need to share it with the world.

Dear June, You suck. Love, Anne.

Posted on 23 June, 2011 by Anne

**I wasn't going to publish this, but since drafting it I've had to clean cat poo out of a kitchen sink, deal with a rat said cat slaughtered and presented to me, and slept in, missing a plane for the first time in my life. June. You're a total, utter troll.**

Recently, while wallowing in an all encompasing pool of inconsable sorrow at the injustice of life, I reflected on just how much this month has sucked. There have of course been moments of fabulousness – visiting friends, career awesomeness, study radness, shopping for my new unit, buying a onesie – but there have also been a couple of things that have really kicked me in the guts.

Then I realised – this happens every, flippin' June. Last year there were certain revelations that lead me to a counsellor's couch for the first time in my life – the benefits of which I'm still undecided about. Although, there's something to be said for paying someone to be your personal cheerleader and tell you that despite what you think – you're actually pretty awesome and you should just CTFO.

The June before that I was on a shopping detox because my spending habits had gotten out of control and the June before that I was the fattest I'd ever been and was quite miserable.

Basically, June sucks.

I think it must definitely be something cosmic. Certainly the statistics show that many people's moods drop during the winter, which makes sense. The days become shorter, the sun seems to shine less and the exhaustion of the first half of the year starts to set in. But! It's not all doom and gloom. From July things always start to pick up. And this year doesn't look to be any different.

The end of July/start of August will see me move into my very own, ready to rennovate and decorate apartment. Complete with 1960s kitchen, balconies, vast storage spaces and blank walls for me to paint and fill. July will also see me on holidays from uni after my first semester as a Masters student, and making the most of my assignment free weekends in antique stores hunting down 1950s and 60s furniture and decor.

June, as always you have been a stuck-up little cow who's been making my life hell. I'm glad you're nearly over. Bring on July, which will absolutely not be dry.

Love

Posted on 12 June, 2011 by Anne

I just stumbled upon the following words in the depths of my hard drive. The date stamp reads "1/10/2009 10:43pm" and the title "Typology of Love".

It's pretty dated, but they were exactly the right words I needed to stumble into tonight. So I thought I best publish them unedited for posterity.

————————————————————–

Sometimes, it feels like the whole love thing is just a party someone threw that I wasn’t invited to.

Love is so fundamental to the human experience that we are bombarded by it every day.

When you’ve never experienced a particular ‘type’ of love you always seem to feel like you’re missing out on something.

I suspect there are many different types of love, so many in fact that I wish the English language had a few more words to describe it.

There is that comforting and occasionally stifling love you receive from a parent. And the somewhat conflicted, duty-bound and adoring love you give back to them. Then of course there is that strange love between siblings, a mix of jealously, competition, irritation and unwavering loyalty.

There is love you feel towards your pets, full of caring, nurturing and occasional rage as you scrub their urine out of the carpet. There is the love for the Aunts, Uncles and Grandparents who are always ready to spend time with you, or give you lollies and chocolate. We love them in a way we could never love our parents, because they never discipline us.

The love you feel for your friends, without whom the world we be a much scarier place. A love born out of choice and constructed with a fierce loyalty and an ease of communication that provides a safe haven from a strange and confusing world.

The love you feel towards your vocation, your passion in life. This is the love that drives you. There is the love you feel towards places, cities, countries. A reflection of the complex interplay of sights, sounds, smells and memories of your time there.

Unrequited love is an old friend of mine. The words agony and ecstasy both come to mind when remembering my not too distant past experiences of this.

I have experienced all of the above at one point or another. That’s pretty impressive really, that’s a whole lotta love. But there a couple that are still missing. The love you feel for a child, and the shared love with a partner.

The former I am more than happy to wait for, but the latter. The latter is what keeps me up at night.

I wrote this to remind myself of all the other love I have in my life. To remember the sheer ridiculousness of my angst.

But it occurs to me that all of us pine for the love we do not have. Because we are missing something, maybe a parent, a sibling, a partner, a child, a friend, or a really rockin’ wardrobe. This perceived absence of love seems to really stuff us around. So maybe it is good to take a moment to think about all of the love we already have. Remember the strengths and anchors in our lives, rather than what we’re desperately trying to reach out for. It’s a fairly solid bet that most of us already have some pretty fabulous loves in our life, if we ever happen to glance at them.

The Big Wet aka #qldfloods

Posted on 12 January, 2011 by Anne

It's pretty rare for a Brisbane resident to go on holiday and have their home town become more exciting than their destination. And yet, as I write this my office is probably filling with water, as are my favorite picnic spots, walks, shops and even my late night fast food distributor.

I'm not a particularly anxious person, but from time to time I get little whiffs of it. You know, like when everyone I know and love in Brisbane is experiencing a disaster. People can say what they want about the evils of technology and social media, but when you're overseas without reliable telephone access and no understanding of how the television remote works, it's remarkable. It's the only way I've been able to keep track of my nearest and dearest, who are so far all okay, and pretty jovial considering.

What I hate most is being so far away. While everyone tells me it's the best time not to be in Brisbane, I feel an ache to be there with everyone. Sure, I'd be stuck at my parents place as the bottom of my apartment building may fill with water, but I could call people, help them pack and move their possessions, and help them laugh and be distracted. Even if it was just mixing cocktails and regaling folk with tales of my would be sex life.

Instead I find myself sitting in a lovely studio apartment in snowy Japan glued to my twitter and facebook feeds. Knowing the worst is yet to come and feeling about as helpless as I've ever felt. Suddenly, how fat I look in my ski pants, my blotchy skin and my inability to get a boyfriend feels shockingly irrelevant and I just want to be home.

My fathers advice to "just go skiing and forget about it" feels absolutely ridiculous. The advice alone represents a spoilt-brattedness I've walked the line of my whole life. But what else can I do? Wallowing hopelessly just seems a bit silly, and if my erratic dreams of accidents, water and death last night are anything to go by, no distraction will be good enough.

So while I attempt to distract myself in the most bourgeois way possible, rest assured my friends and family in Brissy will barely leave my thoughts. I will be home in time to help with the clean up and will most likely parade you all in front of me to assure me of your well being. My hopes, well wishes and hugs go out to you all. Whatever you do, stay safe – it's a strange and scary place out there today.

Resolved.

Posted on 1 January, 2011 by Anne

Well, my new years eve/day celebrations had just about everything – good food, good friends, good booze, amazing hot tubs, sausage dogs, Bailey's, obligatory 3am tears, bad movies, more beer and more great friends. Still, as I morosley expressed in last night's hot tub, I've been struggling to get excited about 2011.

I was really pumped for 2010. It was going to be my year – totally. awesome. But I've walked away feeling a bit meh. And while in many ways I have totally kicked butt this year, there have been some rather unfun and unsavoury moments that have removed some of life's gloss.

I suppose you could probably just consider these knocks and scrapes the stuff of 'growing up', but my gosh – don't they just suck balls? I mean, seriously? Why must life keep twisting and turning and requiring me to friggin' learn things about myself?? All of this 'self reflection' and 'growing as a person' malarkey is really very taxing on my mood, my body and yes, I'm going to say it – my bank balance.

And yet, in typical Anne fashion I have an enormous list of things to achieve in the coming year. So in keeping with tradition, here is my list of resolutions for 2011, in no particular order:

Learn how to ride a bike
Drink less, sew more
Pay off credit debt in order to consider new and more bountiful debt aka 'a mortgage'
Seek professional supervision/mentoring
Consider studying again
Start up dance/dance-fitness again – rediscover the joy of movement!
Go back to Weight Watchers – things have gotten out of hand. It's time.
Be kinder to myself – recognise and value the diversity within.
Start accepting set-ups and blind dates. Seriously, what is there left to lose?
And when it comes to romance – just chill. the. fuck. out. And be brave.

I have extremely mixed feelings about the year ahead. But at the same time I feel quite determined to work on the above list. So what do you reackon peeps? Do you think I can do it all?

I think that maybe I can.

Soulmates.

Posted on 22 December, 2010 by Anne

There's something about December. Somewhere between the insane levels of crafting, cooking and socialising, one cannot help but become reflective. My recent ruminations have lead me to believe that in 2010 I have spent a bit too much time in the land of 'glass-half-empty'.

For some utterly bizarre reason, when I look back on the year I somehow feel unfulfilled. Despite the great new job, amazing career opportunities, fabulous new friends, moving to a great flat in a suburb I adore, holidays and countless other fantastic moments the year has given me.

Clearly, I am a total idiot.

Well no more!! Instead of pining over the absence of my so-called-soul-mate (a.k.a. "a man"), I am taking a moment to do something different and celebrate my real soulmates. I am going to name names, and they are the names of some of the most remarkable women I know.

They all contribute to my life, making me stronger, happier and somehow lighter. They are my sisters of the heart and I just don't talk about them enough.

This list is not, and cannot be exhaustive. There are countless amazing, awe-inspiring women in my life. But these ladies are very much my glue. So here goes …

There is the remarkable Sarah – my oldest friend and someone I can always laugh and be myself with. Even when that self is just a giant blob on the couch or a hungry and cranky-panted co-traveller.

There is Lindsay, whose understated kindness is only enhanced by her deliciously evil wit, which I absolutely adore. Especially when she is dragging sausage dogs into hot-tubs.

My twin, the lovely Lisa. Not only are our lives disturbingly parallel, we complement each other entirely. She'll always tell me like it is and is a force of sheer awesome that I am lucky enough to bask in.

Jessie, my former flatmate and Victorian-era life-partner – the Howard to my Vince. Always delighted in life and always a joy to be around. And ever so nonchalant when finding my naked gentlemen callers in the bathroom.

Eli, Eli, Eli. My current flat mate who makes me laugh with my whole body and who has graciously created space for me (and my vast quantity of stuff) in her life. And while I am still waiting to see the evidence base, she may indeed prove to be a Doctor of Life.

Ange – not only is she introducing me to jazz, she is introducing me to her kind, and generous spirit. A woman I can be totally open with, and share my lust for Tupperware with. Amongst other things.

Tania, a most amazing woman who has an uncanny knack for always making me feel positive about myself, even when I am quite determined not to. A big heart and a passion for recycling and sewing that I can only hope to emulate.

And of course, there is my mum Cathy. She shared with me her values, her kindness and her wit. I am who I am because of her. She is a rock star and I am lucky to have her.

So it is with these amazing women that I look towards 2011. There will be some interesting times ahead that I am sure I will need them for. But I shall save that for another post. :)

Home.

Posted on 26 July, 2010 by Anne

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.

The Floods of Brisbane

Posted on 21 May, 2009 by Anne

Alright, I get that most of this went down yesterday, but I was clearly too busy ogling Captain Kirk to notice. However, today reality sunk in and I kinda freaked out. It all began when I woke up this morning and began to flick through all of the traffic and news reports. I looked at the long, long list of road closures and had a moment. Flooding had affected pretty much everywhere I drive on a regular basis.

There was a landslide around the corner from my local coffee club, the tunnel I drive down every day had been flooded and so had the shopping complex down the road from my place of work. I was doing almost okay until I stumbled upon this picture . . . .

That, is the oval complex located a mere two blocks away from my house. I jog there. Regularly. And I blithely drove past it late last night and didn't see a thing. And this, is a picture of my local park that sits nearby this oval, taken after lunchtime today.

So things got a little bit real for me. My response? Froze solid to my bed. Had to actually seek my delightful Team Leader's advice around what I should do. They were forecasting more rain, and they were telling motorists to stay away. From everywhere. I eventually compromised and went to town for some work stuff, and then went home again to do some computer-based work and bunker down for the next round of rain.

It never came. And I feel a little bit foolish. I know I probably made the right call, but I think this was the first time that I've ever been scared about a freakish disaster type thing. And nothing happened. All of a sudden I have a lot more understanding around the freaked out phone calls I got from my mother last night, asking how I was and where I was.

I don't think I was particularly scared about being washed away. I think it was more the idea of being stuck in traffic for hours and possibly not being able to get home. Being stuck in traffic upsets me deeply, there have been tears in the past. I can tolerate it for an hour, max. Yesterday, one of my brother's friends spent two and half hours stuck in traffic, on a bus, for a journey that normally takes about fifteen – twenty minutes. And my lovely little brother (who is now taller than me!) walked at least 5kms home in the pouring rain because the buses were all stuck in traffic and he knew no one would be able to get to him.

As I drove through the town earlier in the day, there was only one word to describe my beloved Brisbane – bedraggled. And the Brisbane River! It was so engorged!! There were a couple of spots where the water was very, very close to the banks. Thank goodness it's just about over, although it looks like New South Wales is about to get it. How can this much water fall out of the sky? Us Brisbanites are just not used to this kind of thing.

I suppose there are a couple of upsides to all of this. I didn't have to cancel my Pilates session tonight, that was pretty cool. And I can now have my ridiculously long showers without feeling any guilt. The 7 year drought is over, and we have 240 billion litres to burn!

The Simple Truth

Posted on 18 May, 2009 by Anne

Apparently, celebrating your fabulous post-weight-loss body and newly found confidence with lots of partying (and shopping) is not that good for you. Urgh.

I have been slowly confronting my growing waistline, but after a rather shocking moment with the scales and measuring tape this morning – it's time. I am taking the power back. No more late night binging on chocolate and bagels. No more unreserved eating of cake and biscuits in the workplace. And no more rice crackers as snacks – they last about 3 seconds and I am hungry again. If I don't make myself accountable again, I will never be in control. Watch out world – I am back in the game.

In other news, plans for the Great Shopping Detox of 2009 are underway. I think I may even fundraise.

For Cancer, not shoes!