JustAnne.

Boy Radar.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that when one is eagerly wishing one boy to return her correspondence, she will be contacted only by those she has previously cast aside.

Seriously, what is up with that? The issue of boy radar is something that I have been pondering for some time. It's like all of a sudden a little light bulb goes off in their heads - *bing* "Hmmm. That awesome woman I encountered recently but spurned because she seemed too complicated. She might have other men interested in her. I do not think I can allow this. Better try hooking up with her again".

How do they know?? It's absolutely uncanny. Do any of my three, maybe four male readers have any insight? I remain befuddled. 

My Lady Things.

Earlier this week, as I cleansed, toned, moisturised, applied medicated ointment (to my face (!!)), deodourised, scented, curled and straightened I came to a sort of realisation. I own a lot of products. Products that are specifically marketed towards women for the purposes of face, body and hair care. I often comment to people that this amazing fabulous package of hotness "doesn't just happen". And boy, that is no understatement. And since I have recently declared war on my skin and gotten a spunky new haircut (which my hairdresser craftily derived from the vague description of "spunky, sassy and a little bit rock'n'roll"), the number of products in my 'beauty arsenal' has gotten a little disturbing. 

Let me set the scene. It's Saturday and I am getting ready to hit the town. From bathing to final hotness I will use, approximately, sixteen different products. And that does not include my make-up, the quantity and quality of which varies according to my mood/self-esteem levels. Or make-up removal products. Sixteen! 

I cannot help but think back to my adolescence, when I spurned make-up, did not even moisturise and kept my hair in a pony-tail. I didn't even use perfume and only wore cargo pants and baggy t-shirts (hey, it was the 90s). I actually used to tell my mother off for spending so much time (and money) on make-up, telling her whole-heartedly she was beautiful just as she was and didn't need any of "that shit". My how things change in ten years. 

Adolescent Anne would have been mortified at thought of what Mid-Twenties Anne has become. It's a damn good thing I am totally hot right now and can confidently construct this transformation as a journey of increasing confidence and comfort in myself both physically and emotionally. Otherwise I might be worried that I had fallen prey to all of the marketing targeting women around images of health and beauty. Thank goodness I can make this about self-development and growth and not about my vulnerability to marketing and the mass media. Phew! That's a relief. 

I was recently discussing my new and incredibly complicated beauty routine with good lady friend Cara, and she mentioned that I absolutely had to let her know how the new products went. You see, like many of us ladies, Cara likes to try new things (and by things I mean products). Goodness knows I am constantly consulting the glossies, the interweb and my friends about what new and exciting products out there to try. So I have decided that as a way of 'giving back' to the body of beauty knowledge I am going to start posting weekly pieces on the various products in my 'beauty arsenal'. 

It is really important to point out that I do not get anything for free. I pay through the nose for my products and any information I can give to help other ladies decide what to spend their hard earned money on I am more than happy to provide. Also, it makes me feel a little bit better about the sheer quantity of products I have no doubt spent hundreds, if not thousands of dollars on. 

I will also be sharing information from the Personal Care section of my newly purchased Guide to Ethical Supermarket Shopping. Upsettingly, it turns out that most of my beauty products are produced by multinational corporations who are the spawn of Satan. But if I am doing this so that other ladies may make more informed choices, I probably need expose some of my less-than-ethical product purchases. So stay tuned for my first little review.

 
(this . . . is just the tip of the iceberg, baby)  

Boys and Blogs - A Disclaimer

I have had a number of conversations lately with various people in my life about this blog and its perceived ability to intimidate the hell out of any man that may actually desire to venture into a relationship with me. This topic has made for some interesting discussions and I think it is probably time to make a note on the issue. 

Believe it or not, I actually have some boundaries around what I choose to publish here and I do not post about men that I actually have feelings for, during the courtship phase. I may from time to time post about my 'frustrations' in a general way, and occasionally Tweet around the stupidity of men. I should note that these are never directed at all men, usually just one or two in particular. Indeed, I feel that my capacity to be entirely frustrated by men merely serves as an indication of my love of them. Bastards that they are. 

If I ever manage to haphazardly stumble into a something that could possibly resemble or be perceived as a relationship, I will blog about it. But I will respectfully ask permission/inform the man in question, and allow him to create his own pseudonym. This is a courtesy I extend my friends, so why not a man? 

However, random hook-ups with men who are flat out remembering my name, let alone my URL, are open slather. 

(An Aside: while we're on the subject of random hook-ups, I have been noticing a disturbing trend. If I kiss a boy who tastes minty or fruity, I am much less likely to pull an immediate dash. This is all well and good, except that it occurs to me that the 'sweet-tasting' boys are usually smokers attempting to cover-up the foul cancer-causing stench of tobacco. Curse this sweet tooth of mine!)

I think this is where my friends and critics get a little stuck. It seems the whole 'putting your life out on public display' thing still baffles some of my circle, particularly those who lean more towards the gen-X/boomer populous. For me, when I write about my life the process is about self-expression, self-reflection, a genuine amusement at myself and this life, and a need to share it with others. This does not mean that I consider myself a joke to be told at my own expense. The mere existence of this blog comes down to what I would hope is a relatively healthy sense of self-worth. A belief that my thoughts and feelings hold some degree of value and a confidence in my ability to share them with others in a way that will elicit a knowing smile, and even the occasional guffaw. And at the end of the day, myself and my life is the one thing I know something about and that is why I write about it. Also it is a lot more interesting than writing case notes, project evaluations and funding submissions, which is where my writing energy is directed to professionally.

But enough of all this philosophising. Stay tuned for an exciting post revealing the shocking quantity of beauty and self-care products I now own, thanks to the war on my skin and my spunky new hair cut. Prepare to be disturbed . . . . 

My Buderim Ginger Factory Experience.

If you are looking for a place to meet young, attractive and attentive members of the opposite (or same) sex, then I would not recommend going to the Buderim Ginger factory. However, if you really, really like ginger, learning new and interesting facts and getting cooking tips from women in their 60s and 70s, then this is place for you.

I have been anticipating my trip to the Buderim Ginger Factory for a few weeks now, and on Friday I found myself embarking on the Taste of Ginger Tour.

We began our journey by transmogrifying into earthworms and entering a corridor. How did this amazing transformation take place? Through the sheer power of our imagination. In fact, come to think of it, I never changed back. Who knew one little earthworm could get up to so much mischief?

We were treated to a delightful tour of the Ginger Factory and learnt many interesting facts about ginger and the processing of ginger. Did you know that the Buderim Ginger Factory produces 60% of processed ginger, worldwide? Imagine that. Did you also know that ginger is incredibly easy to grow? You just put a chunk of it in a pot and give it about six months. The longer you leave it in the ground the hotter it gets. But it is not a good idea to leave it in longer than twelve months. It will get fibrous. And perhaps the most exciting ginger tip - keep fresh ginger in the freezer. It lasts ages, and the skin will rub off when you take it out saving you tedious peeling minutes. 

All in all I was quite satisfied with my Buderim Ginger Factory Experience. I was a little a time poor, so was unable to see the bee show. But I can always go back. There is something so wonderful about being a tourist so close to home. Sure, I was the youngest in my tour group by about 10 - 40 years, and was possibly the only visitor 'flying solo', but it really was a lovely little jaunt. Although, I did have to censor myself during a lunchtime phone conversation for fear of inducing angina amongst my fellow ginger lovers. I would definitely recommend a visit should you experience an old-lady-style-love for ginger and an appreciation for kitschy tours. Although, I hear the train ride is a bit disappointing. 

Oh, and apart from all of its various health benefits and applications, apparently ginger is also an aphrodisiac, which would explain a few things.

Midweek Boozy Musings #372

(I thought about not posting this, but it was just too typical a boozy Anne moment not to. Good times.)

Tiddly. At the Sunshine Coast. – 10.26pm – 22 July 2009.

You know, I have this whole big wonderful list of things that I need to write about for my blog. But right now, I’m just a bit too boozy on a Wednesday night at a Sunshine Coast hotel to even begin thinking about it.

So what do I want to do you with your valuable reading time? Where do I want to take you?

…..

Not quite sure yet, but I have just made the most incredible mad-crazy playlist for my iPhone. As a consequence I would once again like to take a moment to re-visit what is perhaps my ultimate boozy dance time/stupidly descriptive of ‘me’ song . .

I really cannot overemphasise how ‘me’ that clip is. I’m not going to lie to you Interweb, not too long ago I was dancing down the street to that very song. In the rain. Whilst stupidly text messaging a boy.

And once again, I would like to re-state that the cute boy that eventually does chase me down the street is very likely to become the boy that chases me dancing down the street. Retrospectively, I probably should have added that to my selection criteria. But then again, selection criteria for a potential mate should always be an evolving document. Especially since knowing myself the way I do, I suspect the selection criteria could easily be thrown out the window provided the right combination of hormonal cycle and sexual chemistry should suddenly arise. 

Urgh. I hate being such a slave to my carnal desires. But at the same time, it is kind of liberating to give into them. I really do think too much about life, relationships and everything. It’s nice to take a break from over-analysis sometimes. But then I begin to enter a new and incredibly ikky world of socially constructed guilt, which makes me even more grumpy.

Hrm, not sure what the answer is there. What I do know is that I am starting to see double and I am kinda hoping that I am in a well enough to attend the training I am here for tomorrow. And facilitate the activities I agreed to as part of the training. Ooofh. 

The Morning After

Having not too long ago publicly declared that I am 'not that into' the random thing, I am now discovering that I might actually be 'a bit partial' to the random thing. And as I enter this new phase, which may or may not be influenced by the combination of increased physical fitness and hormones, I am discovering a whole new world of social awkwardness.  

Usually when I wake up after a rather boozy night I roll over and come to face-to-face with an illuminated lamp, an open laptop and some kind of food item sitting next to the laptop. Imagine my surprise when on Sunday morning I rolled over and realised that the boy I had half-heartedly bought home with me was a Ranga. I was quite taken aback. I know, I know, technically I too am a Ranga - but it is artificial . . . and different for girls. 

Yes, I discovered the hard way that it is quite tricky to spot a Ranga in a darkened night club and while I had had my suspicions in the taxi line, I was too busy trying to decide if I actually wanted to take him home to pay proper attention to the colour of his hair. What was I thinking? I'll be learning from that mistake let me tell you. It is one thing to make an informed decision to get a little somethin' somethin' from a red headed man, but it is a completely different experience to be surprised by one the next morning.

And look, to be completely honest I think I ended up taking this one home because I was still feeling frustrated and hateful towards men after my previous Saturday night's debacle (and another slight during the week). I suspect that this may have been an instance of me using my 'womanly ways' to take my power back and get what I needed. I haven't yet decided if this was an okay thing to do. There is a part of me that feels bad for using someone, and then another part of me that feels grumpy at myself for feeling guilty for enjoying myself. Ack, the inner turmoil!

The bright side? Well, I think I've gotten it out of my system for a while and can now go back to another prolonged period of waking up alone with hangover-paranoia, reading my previous nights Tweets to ensure nothing too embarrassing popped up (particularly when confronted with an open laptop), while desperately sms-ing my friends to ensure that good times were had by all and I was not overly selfish or rude whilst intoxicated. You know, my standard Singly Lady Sunday routine. 

Yay!

Exciting New Career Opportunity - Apply Within.

I have been accused of many things, and "high standards" is certainly one of them. Not too long ago I wondered if maybe, maaaaybe, my high standards were nothing more than an effective way of avoiding letting someone in. So I dropped them, well, I became more open to new things. And since then I have been disappointed. Sure, I got some excitement, action and damn fine stories out of it, but ultimately it was balls. That's right, I said it. Balls. So, I've been rethinking my stance on standards. A few months ago a man-friend of mine gave me some dating advice. The advice itself was not really my style, but he did tell me the following . . . 

    Remember, you are interviewing for the best job in the world Annie's boyfriend!

And gosh darnnit. He's right. So, here they are - the selection criteria for being my man.

SC1 - Demonstrated ability to empathise with others, and respect difference. 

SC2 - Demonstrated ability to maintain a non-judgmental attitude towards others.

SC3 - Demonstrated capacity to return multi-media correspondence in a timely fashion, in line with position responsibilities.

SC4 - Demonstrated commitment to seeing the evening through to the following day.

SC5 - Demonstrated capacity to maintain witty and articulate communications with immediate supervisor and key stakeholders.

SC6 - Knowledge of and/or experience with basic social media. Whilst Facebook or Twitter accounts are not essential, their presence will be looked upon favourably.

SC7 - Knowledge of basic acronyms, including 'lol' and 'omg'. 

SC8 - Good oral and written communication skills.

SC9 - An inability to play the guitar. Whilst guitar players may not be excluded on musical talent alone, any attempts to serenade the supervisor will be frowned upon.

*****APPLICANTS ARE ENCOURAGED TO APPLY ONLINE TO ANNE(AT)JUSTANNE(DOT)NET*****

So there you have it. I don't think any of this is too much to ask. Surely not. Although I wish I could come up with a better metaphor than 'supervisor' for myself. Perhaps 'business partner" is more appropriate?

Anyhoots, if any of my 3, maybe even 4, male readers would like to apply, please do so. Any applications received will be gleefully posted, with feedback. For your reference of course.

I Am Declaring War!

On my skin!!

Look, my recent gripes about my Second Adolescence and my Zit Attacks are not an over-exaggeration. I know you all see photographs of me on the Internet looking effortlessly glamourous and sassy, but I got news for you Internet. This hot little package is not effortless, in fact it is very high maintenance. 

And I am worried, I am worried about what is going to happen to it when I (gulp) do not start taking the Pill again this weekend. The doctor has won. I do not see the point. I am v irritated by my attempts to change Pill types so I am going to 'take a break'. The whole thing makes me nervous. Those of you who were around the last time I went off the pill will know why. To enlighten the rest of you here are a few tidbits dredged up from the LiveJournal I kept between 2002 & 2004 (a harrowing task in itself, you'll have to forgive the immaturity of the prose. I was, well, immature).

"you know things are getting a little bit desperate when the vibrations of the bus become a little too enjoyable.

i blame the pill of course. if i wasnt off the bastard thing i wouldnt notice my lack of, action, so acutely. because according to mother, being on the pill makes me more rational and able to see through the opposite sex." (08/08/2002)

"things i have noticed since going off the pill [Edited]
THINGS THAT HAVE CHANGED

- have found myself going to straight clubs.
- been checking out more boys than usual
- i think my niples look different.
- keep having hot med student fantasies.
- been having waves of intense sexual frustration.
- BUT i think im getting over the 'big crush' WOOHOOO!!!! about bloody time.
- my parents are now concerned about me 'having nights of drunken revealry now that im off the pill' OH HOW I LAUGHED." (13/08/2002)

And Lastly - A Brilliant Conversational Tidbit I Unearthed.

me: then father made a harsh comment about me not doing any work at uni

Fab Friend who's name has been changed for the sake of his annonymity: honestly. who storms the frickin BASTILLE

me: so i changed the subject

FF: though it's now an opera house

FF: bastard. you should've slapped him.

me: oooooo

FF: or have a no-pill female hormonal tantrum

me: oh he wants me to go back on the pill

me: he revealed to me that they put me on the pill in high school to keep my libido under wraps.

FF: that is perhaps the funniest thing I have ever heard

me: apparently the hormone in that pill is what they give pedophiles to lower their libido.

me: suddenly its allllll making sense ..... 

FF: ANNE IS A PEDO

me: IM NOT A PEDO!

me: GOD DAMMIT!

FF: I would have been really offended quite frankly

FF: I would have had a tantrum

me: i was quite taken aback

FF: you're right. I'm the one who's had sex with [censored!!] :D

me: then i got all ancy at them and they begged me to take the pill again 'you werent like this when u were on the pill' (28/08/2002).

Clearly 19 year old Anne was way too cool to capitalise her words or use apostrophes.

But back to the topic at hand - my skin. You see, it is not the intense randiness I am worried about (actually, I'm kind of looking forward to that), it's the pimples. So I have put together a new arsenal of products to make a preemptive strike on what is to come. It's war. And I do not care that my new Garnier Pure Daily Purifying Pads make me a little giddy. Nor do I care that they sting a little. This is a war of principle, a war to protect my vanity. And there will be causalities (most of them to my wallet). But when it comes to looking hot, there is no price too great.

Plus, if it gets really bad I can just start taking the Pill again. I know that works. And! If I stop taking the Pill, maybe I will actually start getting laid. Surely there has to be some kind of crazy universal force that makes that sort of thing happen . . . right?

The Kind of Thing That Gets a Boy Deleted.

I was meant to have a quiet weekend. I was meant to spend my Saturday pottering around, and then perhaps taking myself to see the new Bollywood flic at the Regent. I was meant to get all of my laundry done, and have a nice clean g-flat to call home. None of this happened. And my weekend became a strange rollercoaster ride of new hairdos, lots of dancing, booty calls, hungover indignation, sushi, soda water and, in an even stranger twist of fate, a sort of date thing.

It all began as I made my way through my strengths program at the gym on Saturday morning. Alright, it was 1pm, but I had only just gotten out of bed. As I rested between sets on the awful, awful chest press machine feeling slightly abashed by my gasps of exertion, I thought to myself - "Eff it. Tonight I am going to glam up, look smokin' hot and go out dancing to synth pop". And glam'n'dance I did. 

As I made my way to my friends place I knew I was in trouble. You see, I was on the cusp of my 'lady time', a mere twelve hours away from the arrival of my monthly visitor. This is generally an intense time for me hormonally and let's just say that when combined with alcohol, things start to get a little bit interesting.

I had a great night. I glammed up, got my hair-styled by my ever capable co-conspirator Lulu, and danced my socks off. I caught up with friends, made new friends, practically forced my number on some poor young man (who upon reflection, may have been gay) and got slapped in the arse by a young man in a truly hideous hat. All in all a spectacular evening. I was in that delightful booze-bubble-world called 'Anne-Land', and I was the hottest thing alive.

So at about 3.30am when the pub crowd had well and truly let me down (the talent was thin on the ground that night), I sent out an SMS. By 4.30am I was picked up by Boy and his truly awful designated driving friend (and I mean awful, not only was he unattractive but he was an arrogant unfriendly butt-head). We went back to my friend's place. Hung out for a bit. I waited patiently for Awful Friend to leave so that I could have some 'quality time' with Boy. Conversations about next day logistics were had. Boy went to see Awful Friend out. And. Never. Came. Back.

And THAT is how a boy gets himself deleted. De-let-ed.

And while my indignation is slowly fading (slowly), what really irks me is that the fabulousness of my evening was rather overshadowed by the state of frustration and shock I was left in. So under the advice of my friends I choose to look on the bright side - at least I did not have to pay for a cab ride home.

My Bits. Yes. You Heard Me.

I have recently decided that my Facebook, Twitter and justanne.net blog are just not enough outlets for my compulsive need to share my amusements with the world. Indeed, they are woefully inadequate. "How?" I hear you ask, "Aren't you self-important enough already?" I hear you say. Well, honestly, no. 

My frustrations stems from the following:

• Sometimes, I have thoughts that are larger than 140 characters, but smaller than 3-4 paragraphs (the size of my typical blog posts).
• I like to share web content with people and cannot use Twitter, because not enough of my friends have embraced it yet, and I cannot use Facebook as I already feel mildly guilty using it to inundate people with my blog updates.
• I also like to share photos of silly things I encounter when I am 'out and about'. And while I have used my blog for this in the past, it seems to be taking a new shape and form that 1-2 sentence witticisms and photographs do not quite fit into.

So, I have been toying with a couple of different things and finally settled on starting a second, 'micro-blog', attached to JustAnne. I was going to go with Tumblr, but it occurred to me that as I pay SixApart $100 a year for the honour of hosting my content, and have the capacity to create an additional two weblogs, I should probably just do that. So I give you . . . . 

My Bits (and bobs).

I will not be updating Facebook or Twitter when I update Bits, if there is something of drastic importance there I shall link to it from time to time. So for all of my Avid Readers, I recommend checking out the link in the sidebar on left of this page when you are procrastinating from work/study/facing reality. You could also try something drastic, like bookmarking it (so old school . . .) or subscribing to the RSS feed. I think you will find that most of the action on My Bits happens on the weekend. So maybe they can become part of your Monday morning routine. Or you could just ignore them. You wouldn't be the first.