Playing House

It's Saturday night and I'm on the couch in my incredibly sexy pac man hoody and jeans special. To make the extent of my nana evening even clearer, it's 10.15 and I've already brushed my teeth. Yeah, pretty rock n roll. You see nowadays I really struggle to go out two nights in a row. From the moment I woke up dry mouthed and weary this morning (skipping dinner for office drinks on a Friday will do that to you) I haven't been able to stop thinking about the immense joy that a crap TV binge followed by a pizza induced coma would bring. Bliss.

Speaking of bliss, I have some news of the domestic bliss variety. Or at least I hope it will be bliss. Tom and I are moving into our own place. I'm calling it 'playing house' for a couple of reasons. The first being that we are both new to the concept and the second because our new apartment is about the size of a treehut. Oh wow, I just got excited about the prospect of being able to make huts in the lounge. FUN. That's why people move in together right? So no one else gets to see how lame you are?

Lucky none of my flatmates are home this evening (duh, because it's Saturday) to witness my sloth like movements. Also lucky for them that soon they won't have to put up with my incredibly loud movements after a big night. I've been told that for a rather small person I have a rare talent for sounding much like a herd of elephants upon entering the flat.

That's the beauty of shacking up isn't it? You find a person who is so blinded by love that they accept all your flaws and agree to put up with them on a daily basis. Tom is a brave man. I must admit I'm a little bit nervous but mainly just excited.

Flatting can be great but after almost eight years I feel like the time is right to move on. Our current flatmates are awesome but you never know who you could be living with in a year's time. I feel like I've had my fair share of duds. Once a guy gave me the silent treatment for a week for making toast loudly in the wee smalls of Sunday morning. I know, how do I live with myself? Then there was the girl who changed boyfriends as often as her undies. One fateful night a jilted lover broke into her room and proceeded to start a brawl with the newest flavour of the week. The cops were called and knew her by name. That was an eye opener.

I'm also really excited because Tom, a notorious hoarder, has agreed to cull some of his posessions in aid of the move. This is BIG for him. I'm very touched by his commitment to the cause and it's a sacrifice that shows me he is really into the idea of living with me and just me (insert “Awww” here).

So now we can look forward to packing up our lives and playing tetris with our furniture all while trying not to kill each other. I've been told by others who are doing it already that 'I won't know myself' once we're settled and that I won't look back. I just hope that Tom's ok with knowing myself, inside and out because let's face it, we're all a little bit annoying....especially in close proximity.

I guess life is about finding that person who will put up with your annoying bits and if you're lucky, they might even make huts in the lounge with you.

Could use one of these signs for the new place.

Hobby Horse

Sorry for the neglect, I've been off pursuing extracurricular activities. That’s something I haven't said before. Doing anything more than the status quo was never my strong point at school or uni, namely because I can't catch a ball to save my life and am about as musically talented as Rebecca Black.

Now though at the ripe ole age of twenty five, I find that having a hobby keeps me sane. Life is a little like Groundhog day at the moment (minus the comedic talents of Bill Murray) so having something to break the work, eat, gym (sometimes),sleep routine is essential. So what have I been doing? Um this is awkward…writing. It’s like I’ve been cheating on the blog but this writing is being assessed by a tutor and comes with a deadline so there’s a little more urgency to keep it up.

Last year I signed up for a magazine journalism course which I have been completing at a leisurely pace. I figure that this is a hobby so it shouldn’t feel like work, I write when I feel like it, so I also do the assignments when I feel like it. Long story short I’ve arsed around for a while but am now getting stuck in.

I’m in the midst of writing an article about blogging actually so when I said I felt like I was cheating at least I’m keeping it in the family…that’s probably worse when you think about it. Moving right along…

Today I am a bit chuffed with myself- I had my first proper interview for the article I’m writing. The subject was Jane Yee who is a fantastic blogger (she’s won awards and stuff) and a very cool lady. You can check out her work at www.picnicbythemotorway.com. She was also on the telly once upon a time (remember M2?) so I may have been a tad starstruck. Why is it that people you see on TV are so much tinier in person?

Despite the shaky hands and awkward fidgeting with the recording device- iVan the iPhone- I think it went pretty well. So tonight I’m going to get into some transcribing. I’m quietly terrified that the audio will somehow vanish into the ether. As trusty as iVan is, I’ve seen what autocorrect can do so I don’t have one hundred percent faith in him.

Hell, I’m so motivated at the moment that I even went to the library to do some research today- I know what you’re thinking and yes thankyou I did actually do some real work today. I guess I’ve just gotten a second wind on the project due to a lack of anything else exciting on the horizon.

I reckon having a hobby is the best way to crawl your way out of a life rut and let’s be honest, twenty somethings are quite prone to falling into those. I think in our twenties we all go through an adjustment period where we have to come to grips with the monotony of settling into full time work. This blog actually helped me out of a rut I was in last year and the journalism course is just another challenge to keep me occupied.

So if you have the Groundhog day feeling, I suggest taking up a hobby. Make sure it's something that will inspire, fulfil and challenge you to step out of your comfort zone- you might even discover your true calling in life.

And hey if that doesn’t work out, you can always fill the rut with angry cross stitch instead…

Going it alone

If there's one thing you can lose sight of when in a relationship it's appreciating your own company- that and whose black socks are whose. Seriously annoying when you realise you're wearing one of your socks and one baggy man sock. Back to the bit about doing stuff on your own though. I am all about spending quality time with nothing but the Kardashians and some calorific food for company, what I struggle with though is doing stuff on my own in public.

I know a few people who frequent the movies on their own which isn't so bad because it's dark (not that I've EVER tried it mind you) but what about having a couple drinks or even a whole dinner on your own? I just don't know if I could do it. Although, I did come close the other night. Work had a spare ticket to the show Walking with Dinosaurs. Free food, free booze and mint seats. There was just one thing missing- a second ticket. I was offered the pass after a few other more important (and like minded people it seems) had already declined. It took some thinking but the little girl inside me who was mildly obsessed with Jurassic Park in the nineties told me to suck it up for a change.

So suck it up I did...after emailing the girl who gave me the ticket several times to see if anyone had backed out at the last minute. I've been to a few client functions and usually the turn out rate is 80% at best. It seems Dinosaurs really get people off their asses though. Everyone came. So there I was, out on my own, at a family show about reptiles. Awesome.

You know what though, it actually was awesome. I made an effort to speak to every client and their family. Ofcourse it helped that I had a cheeky Pinot on hand to dull the usual pain that small talk incurs but still, this was a big step for me! Dinner was a tad awkward as I couldn't decide which table to sit at. Instead I pulled up a bar stool and sat by myself. Cue constant fiddling on phone and avoiding eye contact with everyone else. This was followed by another big moment where I volunteered to be seated first. I figured one of the ten or so people coming with me would be sitting on either side of me but no. I had to endure a few excruciating minutes of sitting in a seat surrounded by empties.

At this point, you're probably in one of two camps. You're either thinking I should grow the hell up or that you too would be rummaging in your bag or pretending to text. I really do have a lot of respect for those of you in the first group and don't worry, I am well aware of how pathetic this all sounds. I'm confident though that this is something that I'll grow out of. Surely this is simply a remnant from my teenage years spent worrying about what everyone else thinks of me.

Yeah, I'm pretty sure that one day I'll wake up and won't care anymore. Perhaps when my life is consumed by a family demanding every waking moment of my time then I won't think twice about a solo vino down the local. Or maybe I'll only be able to look back and wish that I'd spent more time actually enjoying 'Me time' when I had the chance. I'm thinking probably the latter.

So here's to indulging in guilty pleasures without the guilt because there's only yourself to judge. Yes, I'll have a large popcorn, boysenberry choc top and one ticket to The Smurfs in 3D please.





The one about cheese

After a few too many vinos topped off by a couple of brandies (correct plural use there? I'm not sure) at my parent's place over the weekend, I was struggling to come up with a blog topic. Hard to think twenty something thoughts when you're in the company of a middle aged couple watching music videos from the sixties*. Fortunately for me I could still operate iVan the iPhone so was able to pick the brains of my Facebook friends.

One of my real friends (as opposed to the vast majority who are actually just “Facebook” friends) suggested that I write about cheese. She declared that she loves cheese so much that she could write about it all day...and she doesn't even really like to write that much. Thinking of the prospect made me quite interested to see what she would write so bam! A blog topic was born. Thankyou Claire x.

Cheese is such a girl thing don't you think? Definitely up there with wine and chocolate. Personally (and I know this is going to shock many of you female cheese enthusiasts) I'm not a huge fan of the stuff. Don't get me wrong, if you offer me a bit of creamy blue on a Snax cracker I probably won't say no, it's just that I prefer to indulge my fat tooth in different forms. Namely by eating the cracker on its own...or smeared in peanut butter mmmm.

Does anyone else come home from a big night out and find themselves drawn to the jar of peanut butter in the cupboard? Then the following day you find a gaping hole in the jar and a sticky spoon in the sink? Just me? Damn.

I digress. Where were we? Oh yes, cheese is a female food. Sure a lot of men love their cheese but they're just not as passionate about it. I'm confident that I know at least a handful of women who would offer up their first born in exchange for a lifetime supply of double cream brie. If you mention cheese in a room full of women chances are their eyes will mist over and they'll let out a little sigh similar to if you'd asked them to picture Bradley Cooper without a shirt. 

It’s an obsession that seems to develop amongst twenty something females in particular (WARNING: lame attempt to make the topic relevant to the subject of the blog). Seriously though, how many teenagers do you know that would choose a cheese platter over a Big Mac? Plus cheese is freakin expensive. It’s a sign of being an almost-grown-up when you present guests with a range of cheese to snack on with their beverages. I’m partial to sausage rolls myself but cheese is more socially acceptable in your twenties.

Now I’m just getting hungry so here is a less appetizing digression. Apparently after research into the smell of male and female armpits (it was a slow news day at The Telegraph apparently) women smell like onions and men of cheese. There you go, scientific proof that women are programmed to desire cheese.  I suggest if you’re on a diet that you use this little fact as an excuse to indulge. Surely going with your natural instincts can’t be all that bad?

So there you have it. A blog about cheese. I should really include some witty and relevant picture relating to the stuff but I can't get this out of my head now...enjoy ladies.

*Did you notice this little asterisk? Well done you. I just wanted to have a rant and say how fantastic 'The Vinyl Monologues' feature on Alt TV was. Alas the channel is dead so the only way you can watch now is if you know someone clever enough to have saved a bunch of them via MySky. 

End of irrelevant aside.

As you were. 

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.

 

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.

 

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 25^th 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.