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.

An Evening of Beverage Consumption

This past weekend we finally had our flatwarming to celebrate the fact that we had triumphed over the evil that is the Auckland renting market...two months after we moved in. The reason why it took so long? Coordinating four, twenty something's schedules.

Turns out that finding a night in the weekend when we were all, a) in town, b) free of plans or, c) not on an alcohol free stint (an excuse I can't claim unfortunately) is bloody difficult. When you're a student this isn't so much of an issue. For one, parties/drinking/debauchery are not limited to the weekend. Oh how I miss every day being a Saturday...

Anyway we had chosen a date and were all attending. Well most of us. One of the flatmates was still a “Maybe” on Facebook right up to the date of (just incase something better came along ofcourse). She's only twenty so her sense of spontaneity is more fine tuned than us older specimens.

Speaking of, that happens to be one of the reasons I love Facebook – it's brought back the good ole RSVP system. A few years back, asking people to RSVP to a party would render memories of primary school where you hand out the invites on My Little Pony paper. Actually BFB (before Facebook), invitations were only given for twenty first's , engagements and other 'milestone' events. A group text more than sufficed for your usual get together.

Now you can give your event an appropriate google image, ridiculous title and (the useful bit) see who's attending, not attending and maybe attending. You can even spam the entire guest list to remind them of their attendance status at the click of a button. Genius.

But I digress. This blog is about how as a twenty something, I (and my flatties) have matured when it comes to hosting a party. For one thing, it would hardly be deemed as 'hosting' in your teens. It's either a secret gathering while the parents are away or a group of students doing keg stands in a flat that has less chance at passing a hygiene test than the KFC in Masterton.

I think we can call ourselves hosts because the event was actually planned. We thought about the date, the guest list, even the menu. Well I guess sausy rolls, garlic bread, chips and dip hardly constitues a menu but still, we were responsible enough to provide food that would sort out any guests that had had one drink too many.

We also cleaned. Before and after. Infact our flat has never been as clean as it was by the time Sunday afternoon rolled around. Sunday morning...well it doesn't bear thinking about really. Let's just say I regretted the garlic bread decision.

The moral of the story is that the party was actually a success and now at least I can safely say that I'm on the road to being a responsible host. If only I could have remembered to turn off the oven before leaving for town at 4am...just one step away from a five star dinner party right? Well, if the fantastic British reality show Come Dine With Me is anything to go by then yes, yes I am.

So as the long weekend is upon us and we get ready to do it all again, here's a toast to flatwarmings, sausy rolls and clean toilets.

  PS: If you have MySky- Come Dine With Me screens daily at 1.30pm on One. 

Series link and get amongst.

The Tweet Life

For fear of sounding like a complete wanker I was going to wait a while after my iPhone post before I admitted to my recent aquisition of a Twitter account but in the interest of staying topical I thought, what the hell.  

I'm not entirely sure why I feel like such a tosser when most twenty somethings seem to own both of these social tools. I guess the question that plays on my mind though, is whether Twitter is actually a tool or does it simply just make you one? 

The main criticism that Twitter faces is the fact that it is based on the assumption that people actually care what you are up to. What movie you're about to see, what baking you've just put in the oven, hell even such benign topics as laundry are acceptable in a tweet (I may have tweeted about doing three loads yesterday). 

Now this is all well and good for people like Charlie Sheen who could go to the dairy for milk and still leave a truckload of scandal and psychotic outbursts in his wake. For your average joe however, the everyday comings and goings aren't so intriguing and yet, we still tweet. To be honest I thought you had to be 'someone' in order to get a Twitter account but it turns out that unlike MySpace you can get away with it even if you're not a celeb or rockstar.
 

The cool thing about Twitter is that even us ordinary folk can message the biggest names in the world. Whether they reply is another matter entirely but it's still pretty amazing that if you feel like it, you can tell Britney just what you thought of that outfit she wore on Letterman. 

The reason why I started Tweeting though had nothing to do with this ability to have (often one sided) conversations with big stars. No, this blog is in fact the reason behind my account. Tom brought it to my attention as a way to create more of a following- yes he is slowly but surely dragging me into the 21^st century. Unfortunately I haven't accumulated the largest fanbase, but like the Mainland cheese dudes say, good things take time...

It's actually become so dire that in the wee smalls of a Sunday morning I have been caught shamelessly attempting to rustle up followers out of people that I have just met. To be fair this happened just the once and I wasn't really thinking straight at the time but still, looking back, I officially surrendered whatever coolness I had in that single moment.

Best not to dwell on one's social blunders though. I also want to talk about what Twitter has done for Facebook. I've only really noticed it since opening my account, that tweeting has elevated the quality of Facebook status updates. Tweets are literally a statement of what you're doing, whereas Facebook status updates are less frequent and generally more thought provoking observations (all except for that token FB friend that posts on the hour).    

 

 

I'm sure we've all posted a status and then scrutinised it for a minute or two wondering if it's witty enough to generate any likes or comments before removing it and rewording. The worst bit is when it you accidentally post both so the effort and thought behind said status is revealed to everyone, making you look like a right twat. With Twitter though, there's less pressure to be clever.  You just tell it like it is.

 

I suppose the reasoning behind tweeting about what you are doing is just the same as posting photos on your Facebook. You're essentially letting people know that yes, you do have a life and look how much fun it is, aren't you jealous?!

No wonder Twitter is such a hit with us twenty somethings because it provides us with a socially acceptable way to boast about our social lives. And lets face it, twenty somethings are most competitive when it comes to being out and about. Sure we compete in other arenas- who has the best job or relationship for example, but the real competition is who has the most fun. To be honest this is a competition that I'm more than happy to compete in...even if only a handful of people will appreciate my efforts.   

So have you jumped on board the Twitter train? If so you're welcome to follow me @Amanda_Bidwell (I promise to limit the amount of laundry related tweets).

The iPhonomenon

Just over a week ago I made a purchase that changed my life. This purchase saw me congratulated on countless occasions and high fived left right and centre. Anyone would have thought that I'd announced an engagement or some fabulous job promotion but no, this response was purely because I had gone to the mall and handed a wee man called Donny some cash.

Ok now it's sounding like a dodgy, illegal type transaction so I better make it clear that what I actually purchased was an iPhone.

I never expected it to generate so much hype. Especially amongst a workplace where the majority of people own one themselves...well to be fair the only people really impressed with me were in fact the iPhone owners. Maybe because owning an iPhone has become a kind of religion; the Doctrine of Apple...in Apps we trust. 

All I can say is I was converted.

Tom bought an iPhone 3 over a year ago and I thought it was the most frivolous waste of money. I was fine trucking along with my wee Samsung that could survive the apocalypse judging by the amount of times I dropped it. I couldn't see the point in shelling out more than my standard $10 a month on PrePay (yeah I was one of those people that refused to check their voicemail for fear of cutting into my 500 text deal).  

But time passed and the much sexier looking iPhone 4 came out. Then I discovered Scramble (best waste of time ever). And somehow the reasons why I should buy one outweighed the fact that it would drain my bank account.

His name is iVan and I love him. Never again will my terrible sense of direction see me lost on my way to...well anywhere that isn't within a radius of 10km from our house. Nor will I have to pretend to text when I'm awkwardly waiting somewhere and avoiding small talk with others- now I can Scramble, Facebook or check my work emails (ha). 

Plus the bonus is that, as I mentioned, Tom has an inferior model so I can taunt him with iVan's  front camera, longer battery life and other such mega pixels and stuff. It pains him I'm sure, although he's still clinging to the old excuse that 3's mean you're cooler because you knew how awesome they were first (but he can't check in on Facebook can he? In his face!).

Wow. How did I become such a geek in less than a fortnight?

When I think about it though it's a wonder I hadn't already. It seems that iPhones are the new children for twenty somethings. Not just iPhones but all whiz bang techno gadgets really. We replace the satisfaction of reproducing with purchasing.

Being the proud owner of an iPhone has let me into a club, much the same as a new mother being welcomed into a coffee group...and to be fair I worry about its welfare like it's a child. Sad really but the bottom line is I'd rather spend my pay cheque right now on a calling plan I don't use half of than nappies.  

Plus gadgets are fun and as we get older it becomes much harder to justify buying them- “Hey honey, I skipped our mortgage repayment and the kids are eating mince for the next month but check out the resolution on this thing!”

So really its rude not to embrace the twenty something urge to splurge. I know I'm not the only one and would be interested to know what purchase has made the biggest impact on you lately? Maybe you too bought an iPhone- if so, has it changed your life? Or do you think (as I did before I saw the light) that they are simply overhyped, overpriced tools for procrastination?

Either way, I recommend you give Scramble a go. 

Teenage Dream

Last Tuesday I was lucky enough to score myself a ticket to the Foo Fighters charity gig for Christchurch. I say lucky because it was a rather small venue. This naturally angered some people but I'm sure everyone who was there would agree the exclusivity just added to the intimate, special feel of the gig.

Since moving to Auckland I've taken advantage of the fact that most big acts- unless you're Elton John- play here first and foremost when touring New Zealand. As a result I've seen some amazing artists in the past eighteen months (Cat Stevens, Metallica, U2 and Jay Z to name a few) but I have to make a massive call and say that in my opinion the Foos blew all of them out of the water. Their energy was unfathomable, they played all the hits as well as their new album in it's entirety and gave off the vibe of being real, caring, nice guys...sigh.

But this isn't a concert review. I know that if you didn't make it to the gig you're probably wanting to punch me right now so I promise I'll stop rubbing salt in the wound. Instead, I want to talk about the real reason why I was so desperate to get tickets.

Sure the Foo Fighters are still a great band and the money was going to a very deserving cause but I had a much more selfish reason for going. Basically I couldn't afford not to go for fear of pissing off the fifteen year old me. As a teen, I worshipped Dave Grohl and the boys with the kind of obsessive passion that only teenagers possess. Unfortunately I never got the chance to see them live (mainly due to my teenage wage).

I've got to admit though that as I've aged my music tastes have changed and I haven't bought a Foos album for many a year. Don't get me wrong, they are definitely still cool but I felt like I'd fallen off the bandwagon so to speak. It was only when I heard they were coming to New Zealand that all those memories of my teenage self cranking 'My Hero' on repeat in my bedroom came surging back. I had to go.

Now for a confession. This wasn't the first time I went to a concert to satisfy a younger version of myself. No, ahem, that would be the Backstreet Boys gig at Vector Arena last year. Before you judge me I'd just like to say that I did get the tickets for free (thanks More FM) and I definitely wasn't the only twenty something there. Infact I would say that the average age on the night ranged from 20 to 25. Seriously.

The nostalgia factor had obviously got the better of more than just me...even if Kevin the creepy vampiresque one wasn't there. Naturally it was tragic. Think sitting on seats turned the wrong way round, matching glow in the dark shoes, countless costume changes and movie montage scenes of the boys superimposing themselves into such films as The Matrix.I don't think I've ever laughed so much, it was so much fun! The rest of the crowd seemed to think so too.

It seems that going to as many concerts as possible is top of mind with a lot of twenty somethings. It's often a resolution as it was for Tom and I. Sure you may be more fanatic about bands in your teens (and tweens) but seeing them live is a harder task. Plus when you're younger you know that you have the rest of your life to see these musicians but as a twenty something you realise that time is of the essence. Particularly with so many legendary bands calling it quits recently- I'm still crying into my cup of tea over The White Stripes.

Now that we have the funds and live in the area where most major international artists gig, it seems rude not to see all those bands we adored once- even if we're not as devoted fans these days. The Foo Fighters gig made me realise that it's definitely the best way to relive your youth. After spending years idolising Dave Grohl I couldn't imagine what I would do if I saw him in the flesh. It turns out I would squeal like a little girl.

Somewhat ironically, I was certainly feeling my age with various moshing injuries the following morning. It was a teenage dream come true, if only for a night.