Friday, May 20, 2011

Dun dun de dun

I just noticed how in writing, the wedding march kind of sounds like that ominous music in a movie where you know something bad is going to happen. Funny.

Marriage is a topic that's pretty much unavoidable when discussing the perils of a twenty something existence. It had to pop up in the blog sooner or later. I'm sure Tom is reading this and clutching at his chest wondering what those strange pains running down his left arm are but he needn't worry. This is purely a discussion. Blame the royal wedding for bringing it up...seriously, I watched it twice. You can blame that on the kiss taking so damn long that I fell asleep the first time round.

I didn't mention last week when I was blogging about what it means to turn twenty five, that being married was also an expectation of mine as a youngster. Twenty five seemed like a good age where I'd still look alright in a dress and have a few years ahead of me as a newlywed before the biological clock started to tick too loudly.

Man, I really should have been milking all the time I had for making huts in the lounge and indulging in guilt free sugar binges rather than thinking about where I'd be in years to come. I guess it's just who I am though. As much as I love spontaneity, I also love to make plans. Even if they don't happen it doesn't matter to me- I thrive in the planning. This makes me think that when I do decide to say 'I do' that there will be many a list, site map, MC script and schedule in tow. Whether any of it actually goes to plan is the real question.

When I think about it, my life plans don't usually come to fruition. I was supposed to have gone on my OE by now. I was also supposed to be carving out a career in news journalism as opposed to messing around in commercial radio. I may also have skipped out on the gym class I planned to attend earlier today. Oops.

I actually sabotaged one of my wedding related plans just last Saturday. Even if you're not a planner, if you're a female chances are you'll have pictured what you'll look like on your wedding day. For some reason I always imagined I'd have long hair. Alas, if I want that to become a reality I'm going to be a middle aged bride as my hair is now shorter than Justin Bieber’s.

I guess what I'm getting at is that as much as you think about it you just never know what your wedding will be like or whether you'll even get married for that matter. I'm sure Tom's sister didn't imagine that she would be getting married in a borrowed dress in her Dad's back yard just days after an Earthquake devastated her home town. In saying that though, it was just as beautiful as any of us had imagined, proving that as much as I love them, plans aren't everything.

Twitter is also to blame for getting me thinking about marriage. Spookily, the social networking tool seems to know me better than I know myself. Just days after turning twenty five, I was followed by a wedding planner company. Just days after that I discovered they had unfollowed me. Perhaps they sensed I would be one of those anal people that would never delegate responsibility to a company like them. Or maybe they could tell that I wouldn't follow through with their plans anyway...

Either way it stirred up those thoughts that I'm sure are sitting at the back of most twenty something's minds (or at least us girls). It reminds me of the song made famous by Doris Day- “Que Sera Sera”. You know the one- she asks her mother when she was young what she will be...“will I be pretty, will I be rich?” (the important questions) and her mother's answer? “Que sera sera, whatever will be will be.”

I like that. It applies itself nicely to marriage and whatever else the future has in store really. New life philosophy me thinks...although you'll have to prise my beloved To Do Lists from my cold dead hands before I give those up. A little forward thinking never hurt anyone.


 

Sunday, May 15, 2011

It's official

I'm now of age. Well, not really...I mean it's just a number right? Wrong. I've blogged about this before from a naive twenty four year old perspective but now I'm here. The Mid Twenties zone- twenty five years old.

I've mentioned before that twenty fifth parties are sort of becoming the new twenty firsts (minus the presence of grandparents and Jim from next door who knew you when you were just a wee dot). However, I organised nothing of the sort. In fact my choice of birthday celebration couldn't have made me feel more my age. I went on a mini break.

Before you judge, I just have to say that mini breaks rule. They're also a lot less stressful than a party. There's no pressure for numbers because I only invited Tom (could've got weird otherwise). There's also no mess to clean up. We stayed in a hotel where they do everything but wipe your bum for you- it was fantastic.

Don't get me wrong, I still love a good knees up (quite a dirty expression really) but I didn't feel comfortable celebrating publicly this year. Maybe it's because ever since I was little, that number has stuck in my head as the age when I would be a grown up and the prospect of that title scares me even more than 'mid twenties'.

I do have to confess though that I am starting to experience some symptoms of adulthood. For one thing, I seem to be a lot more aware of the consequences of my actions. I actually find myself thinking before I opt in for the round of shots, what I need to achieve the next day. This 'thinking before acting' business could very well be the reason why I haven't had a Double Down yet...a travesty in itself really.

More evidence, on Friday night Tom and I went to see Steve O (from Jackass) live. It seemed like I was the only one in the whole venue not laughing at his hundredth fart joke. Since when are farts not funny? I've changed.

At work I've managed to shrug off the title of 'coordinator' which is a bit exciting and also a bit grown up too. My new job title of Branded Content Manager at least makes me sound mature. No one needs to know it's just a fancy way of saying I spend my days coming up with new ways to give away free stuff on the radio.

Even my parents know it's time to move on from my childhood. My old room back home is officially getting the overhaul. Gone are the curtains with moons on them that I picked as a little girl, gone also is the shrine of junk which I've accumulated over the years and left at home in between flats. I got a call from Dad a couple weekends ago, not to have a nice chat with his only daughter but to ask what I wanted them to keep because the rest was going to the dump! I did better than my little brother though whose room was converted into a gym before he'd even hit his twenties #Imthefavourite.

I guess if you wanted an idea of how grown up I really am you could judge me by my birthday presents. My haul included an angry bird soft toy, teddy bear pendant, GHD, a jet plane necklace.....and a comfy robe. Basically a hint of adulthood mixed in with a whole lot of frivolent immaturity. That's how I'd like to keep it for now too.

It might pay to stick around and see whether I find myself in a quarter life crisis. Maybe you've experienced one yourself? Just yesterday I impulsively cut my hair into a pixie style shorter than my boyfriend's. Take that common sense! What's next I wonder? Time...or age will tell.
 



Monday, May 2, 2011

A Right Royal Snotfest

This past week I've been generating a decent amount more of phlegm and snot than usual. Ok that sounds gross so I'll use the euphemism- head cold. I have one and it sucks. What sucks more however is the fact that as a twenty something woman I actually don't have time to be sick.

I'm sure this is even more the case with working mums who don't want to infect wee kiddies, but in my case it's mainly due to FOMO ('fear of missing out' for those not up with the acronyms).

This weekend should have seen me glued to the bed drinking only Lemsip and smothering myself in Vicks but it didn't quite go down that way....

To be fair I had planned this weekend a long time ago for a couple of reasons. The first being that I had bought tickets to Mr BOB DYLAN on Saturday night! There was no way I was giving that up. Sure I could have refrained from drinking but after the opening song (which I'm still unsure as to what it was) I needed a drink.

I'm not denying that he still is and always will be a legend but after years of a two-pack-a-day habit, ole Bob's voice bears a strong resemblance to the Cookie Monster. Add to that the fact that the arrangements of classics like All Along the Watchtower and Like a Rolling Stone were even more estranged from the originals than an Americal Idol special and you get an idea of why we were a bit disappointed.

Still, I don't regret going, I would have kicked myself if I'd chosen the couch and Lemsip over Batman...oh I mean Bob.

Now for the reason why I didn't have a quiet Friday (oops). Blame the Royals and the fairytale story that is Wills and Kate. Sigh. How could any girl not want to watch the Royal Wedding on Friday?! Of course it seemed rude not to gorge on bubbly and scones with cream and jam in the process. I may have also brewed the first batch of mulled wine for the season...hey come on, it had oranges in it. Vitamin C intake- tick!

To be fair I haven't really helped my body heal all week. I'm going to sound like such a matyr but I have to admit that I didn't take a sick day for fear of getting behind on work. I feel a bit jipped because I was soldiering on so well (thanks to various pharmaceutical products) that I couldn't really milk any pity out of coworkers. I did however manage to spread it to a couple of the other girls in the office and it seems to have hit them much harder.

Note to self- isolate one's phlegm.

At home the story isn't any different. Despite the coughing, sneezing and general moping about the house, Tom hasn't so much as offered to make me a cup of herbal tea. He reckons he's just 'treating me how he thought he'd want to be treated'. I kindly reminded him of the fuss I make when he's suffering a bout of the man flu. After jogging his memory it turns out that he actually isn't averse to being waited on.

After chatting to another of the sickies from work, it turns out that she's in the same boat. Is it a twenty something male school of thought that if you don't indulge the sick girlfriend they'll make a miraculous recovery? Sadly I'm thinking it may just be a male thought, regardless of age.

Note number two to self- tell girlfriends or Mum about illness if wanting sympathy.

Enough of the cold talk. I don't want you to think I'm going on about it- it's not the Man Flu after all. In other news, I'm hitting the milestone that is my 25th birthday in a week's time. I'll be sure to update you if I experience any sudden urges to take up life insurance or start saving for a house.