JustAnne.

The Games We Play.

It is a habit of mine to frequently lament things on Twitter and it is probably a habit I should consider breaking, particularly when the consumption of alcohol is involved. But hey, at least it's better than drunk dialling inappropriate people (yet another reason why I have developed a worse habit of deleting men from my phonebook as soon as they annoy me). Although Twitter is more public than a 3am Booty Call. But surely there is some level of privacy in the anonymity of the public, right? (Oh. God.)

In any case, one of my more recent laments was the following statement:

I hate playing games, so why is it that when it comes to men, I feel like I have to? Grumble.

This off the cuff expression of frustration turned out to be quite the conversation starter. Nothing too scary, but it gave me a moment's pause. Especially seeing as upon second glance, I realised I actually sounded like a bit of a bitch. 

The context behind this particular Tweet was that I was trying to line up a booty call and it wasn't panning out for me. In short, I felt like I was being toyed with. And you know what that means - 'he's just not that into me'. Which is fine, I just wish he'd had the decency to let me know. Of course, I am able to recognise this behaviour immediately because I, like many others, have perpetrated it myself. 

And no, I don't really like that I have. I actually really despise playing games with people. It's totally not how I roll, but what I hate even more is how easily I seem to fall into them. All of a sudden you have all of these feelings about someone (okay, in my case they're usually lusty feelings), and you want them to contact you, you want the fun, cute, witty banter, you want the rush. That buzz that zings through you when your phone beeps or you get a Facebook notification. But all too often this fun little courtship phase is warped by one, or both of you trying to get the upper hand. Or by someone stringing someone else on just to keep the buzz going. It's fun for awhile, and I suppose it gives us plenty to talk about, not too mention offering us a nice little distraction from the daily grind. But after a while, I dunno, it feels a little soul destroying.

It's scary to be honest with people. I get that. That's why I try and make myself do it as often as possible. Also I am a terrible liar. Just terrible. It's when I truly feel my very lapsed Irish Catholic roots - oh, the guilt! This is probably why I dislike playing games so much. I guess the best I can do is keep practicing my honesty. It's hard you know, opening up and making yourself vulnerable to another person. It's not something I have developed a particular knack for (Reason #12 as to Why I'm Still Single). I always figured that for the right person it would be easy. I guess the problem (or the joy, depending on your viewpoint) is that I am currently dealing with Mr Right Now(s), and not Mr Right. And when it comes to Mr Right Now(s), it's all about The Games. 

Although, I should note that I have been told I am decidedly too subtle. That I should just name times and places for shags and be done with it. But I don't know, is it really such a bad thing to want to be taken out to the pub first? You know, to have the illusion of romance? I know it's not really romance... 

Grah. Love, lust and dating - you vex me so! But give me so much to blog about .... 

Remembering Why I Choose Australia

I have had a lot of conversations lately about Australia Day, racism, 'boganism', flags, southern cross tattoos and the genocide of our Indigenous peoples. These conversations have all been incredibly interesting and often provide valid criticisms of our culture and history. They are also a bit of a downer and have the habit of making me feel a bit ashamed of my country. 

Unlike a lot of people my age and generation, I have not chosen to live and work overseas for any extended period. I have fallen in love with other countries and cities, but I only holiday there. Australia is my home, and I love it here. So this Australia Day, I am going to take a couple of minutes to reflect on what I think makes Australia pretty fabulous. Not perfect!! Just pretty fabulous. These are the things that keep me here, and that keep me committed to changing the things I don't particularly like. 

• I was born into a country with 50,000 years of cultural heritage. 50,000 years!
• This country granted my mother's family access when they were escaping famine and poverty in Ireland, and it still grants people access who are escaping war, oppression and genocide. (Okay, so they're pretty particular - but 13,500 per year is better than 0)**.
• If I get sick, I can easily see a doctor and get medicine to treat my illness.
• If I go to hospital, I do not have to provide my own linen, food and family members to attend to me.
• I can find myself sitting in someone's backyard, having a beer, watching my friends and classmates perform dances from Bollywood films and eat delicious food we have all made to share. 
• That I can always find someone interesting to talk to. What makes people interesting is that their experiences and cultures are different to my own. Because there is so much diversity here, there will always be new stories to hear!
• That our collective laid back Aussie attitude (as reported by many visitors and people who choose to live in here) is so complementary to my own personality.
• That there are so many people committed to creating change for the most vulnerable and powerless in our society.
• We have a welfare system!
• That Australians are so generous. Not just with our money, but with our time. In the year 2006, one third of Australian adults volunteered their time for their community. The grand total of hours worked in the year was around 713 million!***
• That I can sit and have open and frank discussions about why I disagree with many elements of my country's politics and culture and nobody punishes or ridicules me. Well, not to my face. 
• Our wit and our humour.
• That I am free to choose how I would like to live my life (provided of course, it does not encroach upon the rights of others).
• That there is still so much of this country I haven't seen.

So this Australia Day I am going to celebrate why I like living here in the way I normally do - listening to the Hottest 100, and chilling out. Although this year I will also be making Beetroot Hommus, which is pretty exciting.

Belatedly Resolved.

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 . . .

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

In Transit, Part One.

To the casual observer I would have appeared rather blase and disorganised around my trip to the Philippines. And the casual observer would have been right. Although I am not convinced that any amount of proactive planning would have prepared me for the epicness of our journey to Calapan for the wedding of our good friends, Julz and Roxy.

The journey didn't start particularly well. It started with myself and my ever plucky travel companion waking up at 3.45am to drive to South Brisbane to catch a train and then two buses to get to Coolangatta airport by 7am to check in for our 9am flight. We flew AirAsia and at about 6am there was some discussion about whether or not it would've been worthwhile springing the extra $300 for tickets with an airline that left from Brisbane. Our answer to that is now an unequivocal YES! You see it happens that AirAsia only stops in smaller, out of the way airports where it is no doubt cheaper to lease terminal access. This is all well and good when a) you speak the language at your destination; and b) you have the good sense to look at a map and realise that where you land in 'Manilla' is actually 100km North of Manilla, which is a further 200km away from the boat terminal you need to get to. 

Not too mention the EIGHT AND A HALF HOUR wait at Coolangatta airport due to bad weather and our plane not being able to land (apparently it is a short run way and the visibility was quite low). Once you've been through customs at this airport, you are stuck in a small section of the terminal with three shops, only one of them selling vaguely edible food. The most frustrating thing was that our plane was diverted back to Brisbane. Twice. The Cranky was in our collective pants that day. When the plane finally landed there was an almighty cheer from the crowd and a wave of euphoria that swept through us all. All of a sudden it felt like we were going somewhere. To sit on a plane for another eight hours.

 

(this is where we sat for eight and a half hours)

 

(as you can see, we're not that impressed)

When we finally landed in Kuala Lumpur, at their rural and remote terminal, we took in the scenic vista of a Malaysian car park and swamp as we hiked through to get to our motel room for four hours sleep. When we woke up and returned to the airport it was as if no time had passed at all. All we had was the loving memory of a bed with pillows and a sense that we had lost something very special. That, and damp luggage from sitting in the rain at the Coolangatta terminal for EIGHT AND A HALF HOURS. There was a tarp, but it was ineffective.

Upon arriving in "Manilla" we were greeted with the sights and sounds of South-East Asia, lots of men hassling us to catch their taxis. And seeing as we were unsure of where we were and had no real conception of where we were going, a taxi we did catch. My sassy travelling companion did a stellar job at bargaining with the taxi 'concierge', while I stood around like the naive white giant I am, no doubt adding thousands of Pesos to the price by my mere presence. But the exorbitant price tag was worth it, as we got to meet Jerome.

The Year That Was.

If there was one song that could have been considered the theme tune for my year it was Single Ladies by Beyonce. Not because I was trying to get back at someone for not marrying me, but because I think that for the first time, I actually enjoyed being a single lady. 

Yes, despite my current level of crotchety-ness I really have to admit that 2009 has been a very good year. Lots of fun, crazy things have happened and lots of lessons have been learnt amidst the ups and downs. So, in the spirit of annual reflections, I present you with my list of happenings and learnings:

• My Mojo Explosion. It had to happen sooner or later, and this year saw the introduction of The Huntress into society. And I am slowly beginning to manage her.
• I walk/jogged the flippin' Bridge to Brisbane! 10km!! Madness.
• I didn't go shopping for a whole month. EPIC achievement!
• I found my 'blog groove'. After eight years of recording cringeworthy thoughts and moments, I have finally found my voice and a deep enjoyment in the expression of it. I have even begun to think of myself as a person who writes.
• I learnt that it is much, much easier to get laid than it is to get a date. This may sound depressing, but it's not that bad. Sometimes it is better to have one rather than neither. 
• I moved out into the rather delightful bachelorette pad, Lady M. 
• I learnt that sometimes, my head lets me down. Especially when it comes to would be relationships. In the future I need to practice a bit of calm.
• I fell in love with Japan.
• I thought I liked someone, but at least 85% of it was in my head.
• I went speed dating and found it to be an amusing endeavour that I am keen to repeat in 2010.
• 2009 could also be known as The Year of the Hickey, which has resulted in a general ban from the neck area. I find this to be incredibly lame.
• I bonded with my hairdresser when he tried to wipe a hickey off my neck, thinking it was hair dye. My mother was sitting in the chair next to me.
• I shamefacedly bailed on spending time with my parents because I did not want them to see my dirty hickeys. On more than one occasion.
• I got boozed and bought tickets to see Salt'n'Pepper at Good Vibrations in 2010. On my iPhone.
• My relationship with my vagina has entered a new and not entirely positive sphere. We are slowly beginning to speak again, although I am not sure it will ever be the same . . . 
• I am slowly beginning to conceptualise what it is I would actually like to do with my life. Slowly.
• I have become very adept at writing selection criteria. 
• I have been reminded, yet again, that I am by no means perfect and shall continue to try and hold myself accountable for my actions whilst not punishing myself too severely.
• Getting to help my amazing employing organisation celebrate their 20th Anniversary in a way that honoured the work they have done and the sheer joy of the place that has kept me there for nearly four years. Flippin'. Awesome. Oh and! I got to be in a musical and wear bunny ears. For my job!
• Turns out my skin is quite sensitive.
• I Tweeted. Lots.

As you can see, it has been a rather fun and interesting year. Certainly there is plenty to inspire my forthcoming Resolutions for 2010. There are a couple of items I am tossing and turning over, so I may need a bit of help. You have been warned.

Bah. Humbug.

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.

The Erect-A-Meter

The oddities of the relationship between my father and I has been well documented. Although I think we reached a milestone recently when he casually asked me if I would like an 'Erection Meter'. My eyes lit up like Christmas and I replied with a fervent "Yes!". Now, for some strange reason when I tell people how the Erection Meter came to be in my possession they look somewhat horrified. "Your father gave it to you?", "Yeah, of course!" I reply, like it is the most natural thing in the world for a twenty-something woman to be gifted an Erection Meter from her father.

You see, what makes this a milestone moment is that I was the only person in my father's life that he felt comfortable sharing the hilarity of this 'clinical aide' with. And I think that's awesome. It highlights our shared understanding, sense of humour and a level of comfort that only a lifetime of medical conversations over the dinner table can lend. So with that said, let me tell you about the Erection Meter, or, as my father likes to call it the "Erect-A-Meter".

Firstly, I should comment that it was significantly less offensive than anticipated, which perhaps reveals more about me than the company that produced it. That company of course, is Pfizer, the big-pharma that bought us Viagra. My father is GP by trade, and for years has consequently been courted by drug companies attempting to harness his prescribing power. Dinners, lunches, conferences, free pens, medical charts, umbrellas and post-it notes have all been gifted to him in an effort to buy his prescription preference. And like most doctors, my father has taken the freebies and prescribed what he felt was the most effective medications regardless of what is printed on the pens and post-it notes. 

Sadly, this gravy-train of freebies is coming to an end as the Australian government seeks to wipe out this sort of bribery. As a social worker I believe this to be a positive thing, but as the daughter of doctors I feel completely devastated. Some of the best biros and notepads I have ever owned were branded with Zyprexa and Stilnox. So not only is the Erect-A-Meter an amusing party-favour, it also represents the end of an era of drug company freebies in the life of one Miss Anne.

From what I can gather, the Erect-A-Meter presents the patient with four 'panels' of varying 'rigidities' which are each assigned a type from 1 to 4. The types are:

1. Larger, but not hard.
2. Hard, but not hard enough for penetration.
3. Hard enough for penetration, but not completely hard.
4. Completely hard and fully rigid.

My father made the following comment when he gave it to me - "It's completely useless clinically. What Australian male is going to admit to anything but a 4?"

(The Erect-A-Meter, as modelled by myself in the guise of Vince Noir)

I must confess that now I own an Erect-A-Meter I am a little unsure of what to do with it. As if I wasn't already a scary prospect to the male species, I now own something I could conceivably use to judge them where they're most vulnerable. I like to think that I would never use this object to judge a man, but the phrase "he was definitely a 4" has already found its way into conversations with some of the female friends I have shown it to. I have also had more than one female friend comment that they could "definitely work with a 2" and that they felt Pfizer's assumption that it was 'not hard enough' to be unfair. To add to my confusion, my most recent presentation of the Erect-A-Meter to the public (my housewarming), the men were equally, if not more fascinated by it than the women were.

Clearly I must keep it as a party piece. But where do I keep it? On a shelf? On public display? Under my bed? In my goodie drawer?? I feel as if a sacred object has been trusted to me and I am overwhelmed by my responsibility to protect the world from its potential evils. Or perhaps I am overreacting and should just put it in a cupboard. Either way, can you believe that such a thing even exists?? That, is the funniest thing of all.

Oh, Britney.

If you were an adolescent between 1997 and 2003, love her or hate her, Britney was a part of your life. So when you're in your mid-twenties and she comes to Australia for the first and possibly last time, you buy a ticket. You ignore the bad reviews and you hope for the best, because, well, it's Britney! (Bitch)

Oh Britney. 

We were all ready and willing to forgive the lip synching because we all knew she would put on a good show. And don't get me wrong, it was a jolly good show - a very impressive piece of theatre. There was fire and everything. But even the best shows fall a bit flat when their lead doesn't really do anything. Britney skipped, she strutted, she shook her hips from time to time, she clicked her fingers, she was pushed around in a cage while she writhed around a bit. She looked fantastic and had absolutely awe inspiring thighs. They were dancer's thighs but the thing is, she really didn't do much dancing. At all. Something was missing. 

It struck me quite suddenly when I was reminded of a dance recital I attended recently to support a friend. In this particular recital there was a young girl who was clearly the best in the class. You know, the one that remembered all the steps and that the teacher absolutely adored. The one in the front row all the time with the special costumes with everyone looking to her to see what step was next. Thing was, she was absolutely terrified on stage and looked like she would rather be anywhere else. Britney was that girl. There was no joy in her performance, no heart. She did not look like she was having a very good time and the whole thing fell over on that alone.

I also realised during one of Britney's many 'downtimes' that for most of us, she is a brand more than anything else. So successfully packaged and marketed to be the late nineties and early naughties ideal of innocent-sexy that we have all adopted a bit of Britney-style sexy into our lives. Be it an occasional school-girl outfit, long blonde hair, the flicking of the hair, or the appropriate hip moves on the dance floor. But in 2009, in the flesh, the Britney Brand didn't quite fit her anymore. She was in all these little outfits with all of these enormous heels and she just looked uncomfortable. She's just not that girl anymore, and I felt kind of bad for contributing to the force that keeps her there. 

Although, as my friend pointed out, you kind of have to respect her. She sells out arena shows and she really doesn't have to do very much. At all. There aren't too many women out there who have been afforded that kind of "success".

When discussing the show afterwards, there was a general consensus that while it was a bit blah, all would have been forgiven if we had just seen a hint of red pleather and heard a few notes of Oops!...I did it again!!. But we didn't, and we had to rock out to it in the car whilst waiting 30 minutes to exit the car park. And I'll tell you one thing, we did it with a lot more joy and enthusiasm than Britney could've mustered.

Transitions.

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 . . . 

Taking a Moment.

Last night I suggested to my housemate that we should consider transmitting a live video feed from within our house. I felt this was important because our lives are so gosh darn exciting. I was refilling a dishwand at the time. True to form, my housemate one upped me by dropping fetta down her bra. However, for some strange reason she was not open to the notion of putting our lives on display. 

I have to confess I am often struck by how comfortably dull my life can be. Last night I crafted for three hours. Lost in the task, my mind considered nothing but the precise measurement and placement of fabric. I love sewing. It is all about basic maths, measurement and design. It is like doing a series of increasingly challenging puzzles. AND! You get to look at something pretty in the end. Alright, sure, I sometimes have to spend a considerable amount of time unpicking stitches and sure, I sometimes cry and bleed. But it is ultimately a very satisfying process. It is completely removed from the world of social work, where things come together in a neat and functional way considerably less often. 

So what's my point? My point, dear Interwebs, is that more often than not my life is considerably less exciting and glamourous than is portrayed on this weblog. Indeed, any hint of excitement and glamour is perhaps more reflective of my ability to tell a story five different ways. And you know me, I love spinnin' a good yarn. But this morning I find myself embracing and luxuriating in the dull. And you know, it is a luxury, being able to briefly stop your busy life and enjoy the moments of boring domesticity and time spent absorbed in interests and hobbies. I think it's actually pretty cool. So my dearest, loveliest readers, I urge you to spend a few minutes today appreciating some wonderfully dull aspect of your life. It may be filling out a form, photocopying, folding sheets and towels, staring blankly out a window on the train, anything! For these are the moments we never record, but they give us much needed respite from our lives. 

(Personal Insight: it just occurred to me that perhaps this is why I love doing my laundry so, so much?)