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Sunday
Aug212016

Rolling with the punches (and ankles)

In a few weeks Natty Nat and I are going hiking.  135kms of coastal joy in sunny Perth.  I can’t wait.  It’s going to be my favourite type of holiday – exercise, adventure and wine. 

The only issue – just a tiny one – is that a few days ago I rolled my ankle.  

I was walking to dinner with T Girl in the hipster part of town.  The area where you can’t get a park unless you own a scooter or a council permit.  After a long search, I found a space down a long sidestreet.  Fine.  I can use the walk to get the steps on my Fitbit up.  Hurrying along the dark street, I didn’t see the pothole  – in my ankle went – rolling onto the cold concrete.  Bang. 

Ouch.  I hobbled for a bit and shook it off.  By the time I sat down at the uber cool Vegan restaurant with T Girl, it felt better.  I’ve done this before.  I’ll be fine. 

After a dinner of Vegan Mac’n’Cheese (a bit powdery), weird potato tortilla (my choice, my bad) and the world’s best bean dip, I headed home to finish some work.  Changing into my PJs and ugg boots (don’t judge me), I sat down and turned on my laptop.

Boom.  An intense pain shot up my leg from my ankle.  I actually yelped.  Moving my foot around I tried to shake off the pain but the throbbing increased.   Holy shit, that really hurts.

I attempted to stand up and nearly fell over.  There was a lot of therapeutic swearing repeated over and over … including F*CK, that hurts, F*ck, that HURTS!   The shooting pain took over my whole foot and most of my leg.  Excruciating.  It felt like someone had taken a carving knife and was stabbing me in the ankle.  I wanted to cry – I was a little girl who wants her Mummy. 

Ice it, my Sports Doctor’s voice told me.  I grabbed my well worn ice pack and raised my ankle covering it in the blue semi frozen liquid.  The pain barely subsided.  It just made my foot cold.   I tried to move it around.  More pain shot up my leg.  F*ck, this is really killing me.

After 20 minutes of icing – and me trying not to cry – nothing seemed to work.  I abandoned my inbox of emails (I’m committed to my job, what can I say?).  All I could think about was my throbbing ankle – and the anxiety of knowing I had a plane to catch the next day.

I popped two pain killers and prayed that my ankle would heal. Hopping up and down trying to get into my PJs was, I’m sure, quite a funny sight, but my sense of humour had long disappeared.  Sliding into the sheets, the fabric felt like sandpaper on my leg.  Wow, this is really bad.  I might have to get it amputated.  No more marathons for me. 

My flatmate Twin Kat came home.  I heard her moving around in the hallway and feebly called out her name.  She didn’t respond.  I tried again but nothing.  My Mum is right.  I will die alone and my cat will eat me.

Throughout the night I tossed and turned, checking on my ankle.  The swelling seemed to be reducing but I was still in a bit of pain.  Come on God, I need to see my kinesiologist tomorrow.  Then catch a plane.  Then do some hiking practice.  PLEASE fix my ankle. 

In the morning I tentatively slid out of bed and put my feet on the floor.  I stood up slowly and only a tiny bit of pain pulsed through my bad ankle.  I took a few steps forward and it felt tender, but okay to walk on.  Hallelujah, it’s a miracle!  I showered – on one leg like an ungraceful flamingo – and felt nervous, but fine.  

An old ankle strap / bandage provided additional support and I jammed my foot into my flat slipper shoes.  No heels for me this weekend.  I was off …

Jess my Kinesiologist did reiki on my leg, warming her hands to move the energy around.  It felt better.  She gave me a bottle of Warrior essence (yes, I’m not joking) and some other exercises which I won’t talk about or you’ll think we’re both insane.  Which we may be, but she fixed my ankle so who cares.    

The flight was fine – I somehow managed to get three seats to myself on a packed plane.   I did consider stretching out and putting my foot on the spare seats, but was worried about being attacked by other passengers.    My foot swelled up a little more but the pain has subsided, now only a dull ache. 

My ankle is still a little tender.  I don’t think I’ve done any permanent damage, but I guess time will tell.  (Or my Osteo when I see her later in the week).  I think the hike is still on.   Going to try out my new boots this weekend.  Wish me luck.   

Tuesday
Aug022016

Get Dr Pinot on the phone 

I’ve been sick for weeks.  It’s really annoying.  Nothing too serious, just a headcold that won’t go away.  I’m not sick enough to take more than a day off from work – but just sick enough to feel like crap. Constantly.  I’m not alone as several people have also been whining about the fact they’ve been ill this Winter.   I feel your pain, co-whinger.

Last weekend, in an effort to finally shake this bug I cancelled everything I had planned to do.  I didn’t go to my charity board meeting as my head was pounding and I partially lost my voice.  I managed to get to salt therapy but avoided leaving the house on Saturday.   That night was spent on the couch drinking herbal tea, green juices and consuming healthy salads.  Kale is my friend.

The next day I stayed in bed and slept until 10.30am, forfeiting the opportunity to take part in Run Melbourne’s 5km run.   I shopped and bought a stack of fresh vegetables and made super food salads and a plethora of healthy meals.  I went to bed early, crossing my fingers that I’d punched my headcold in the face.

Monday morning rolled around and I felt just as crap as ever.  I was so tired I could barely drag myself out of bed. This is bullshit I said to myself as I popped a Codral and took my quinoa based salad off to work.  I sacrificed my whole weekend just so I could get better and feel like shit in an office.  Life is not fair people.

I struggled through the week as best as I could.  Rain and cold days didn’t do much to help my spirits but I tried hard to be positive.  No drinking.  Early nights.  No events.  Salt Therapy.  Lots of healthy salads and vegetables.  Herbal tea and green juices.  I did everything I could to feel better.   None of it seemed to help.

I needed a new strategy.

On Saturday I met with the awesome twosome chicks for brunch.  We sat outside in the cold and I ate my way through corn fritters, eggs and soy lattes.  We laughed and told stories about the shit things that had been happening in our lives.  It was perfect therapy.

That afternoon I rugged up and walked 3kms to the MCG, meeting GFM and his family for a day of footy.  Five glasses (plastic cups) of red wine, water and seeing my Pies win did wonders for my spirits.  I barely felt the cold with three layers of clothing, thermals, a beanie, gloves and a coat.  The 40 minute walk back to our hood was peppered with laughter and funny stories.  I was wrapped in my red wine blanket.  I didn’t feel a thing. 

GFM and I fell back into our local pub habits easily.  Order a bottle of red.  Curl up in a booth near the open fire.  Indulge in burgers, hot chips and way too many sides.  Talk about how cool the hipsters are.  Order another bottle of red.  Remind each other how we’re not hipsters, but still cool.  Drink red. Talk about how much we love and miss each other.  Confess to being drunk and tired.  Walk home. Pass out. 

When I woke up the next day – post five glasses and a whole bottle of red – I felt great.  My headcold was a distant memory.  I didn’t feel tired.  I felt energized.  A little dehydrated but pretty much okay.

I did personal training in the sun.  APT told me he was impressed that I had my boxing strength back.  I felt good.  Like the way I am meant to feel.  Happy.  Content.  Positive about life.

Got a cold?  Feeling shit?  Put away your kale salads and green juice. They’re of no use to you. Grab a bottle of Pinot Noir and drink away your illness. In fact, even if you’re not sick, start drinking anyway.  Why jinx getting sick this Winter?  Cheers.

Sunday
Jul242016

Wanting the elusive 

They say that you always want what you can’t have.  I’ve been thinking about this a bit lately, and I’m starting to wonder if it’s true.

I had lunch with a good friend last week and he asked about my recent dating experiences.  I quickly ran through details on the world’s fastest and most boring date (coffee and 1/10 of cronut) … abusive messages from a douchebag (read my Granny Puss blog) … meeting a really nice guy but not quite clicking ... trying out a new app (and failing miserably) … and my ongoing stupidity / bravery at my quest to find a partner.

Sighing, I went into a rant about how disappointed I am that, after so much hard work, slogging it out in the dating world, I still couldn’t meet a decent guy.   Reeling off all the things I do / have tried, I lamented that (on a bad day) it didn’t seem fair that some people met their plus one with little or no effort, however I continue to ‘put myself out there’ with no luck.  I’m not just sitting around waiting for a hot pizza guy to ring my doorbell, I’m putting in the hard yards with zilch results.

He looked at me and smiled.  “I’m the same”, he said, “in finding a job, but what can you do?”

Ah, lightbulb moment.   This amazing guy has been looking for a job for almost two years with no luck.  He’s smart, funny, passionate and a good person.   Any company would be lucky to have him, but he can’t find a suitable role.  

Like me, he’s not sitting around doing nothing.   He volunteers with a charity, teaches at a Uni (sharing his skills and experience) and has taken on other roles to keep busy and pay his bills.  He exercises and stays positive, trying not to feel sorry for himself (unlike me and my occasional pity party).  No matter how many interviews he attends, he never lands the gig.  More disappointment, more self analysis, more wondering “Why can’t I make this happen?”

I have friends who are desperate to have children.   They look after themselves, take vitamins, follow orders from doctors and natural therapists.  Some of them have even been through IVF (Hell, I’ve heard) with no result.   Countless injections, invasive tests, procedures and cash, and still they can’t have children.  These people would be great parents, but for whatever reason, it’s not happening.   To make matters worse, they see young Mums ‘accidentally’ get pregnant and produce healthy, happy babies – whether they want them or not.  Heartbreaking. 

Why does this happen?  Is it to teach us that what we think we want, isn’t actually that good for us?  Sure, I can concede that I’m great alone / solo, but for people who want jobs and babies and good health … how does that work?

Is it that when we finally get what we’ve been asking for, there’s less chance we will take it for granted?  That the harder you have to work for something, the more you really appreciate it?   A lesson to count your blessings for all the good things we do have? 

Maybe it’s all of these … and also the fact that sometimes, life just isn’t fair.  Bad shit happens to good people and no matter how hard you work, some things just aren’t meant to be.   I’d like to think it’s also a reminder to stay strong, be positive and always follow your dreams, because you never know what’s around the corner.   Then when we do all get what we’ve been searching for, we’ll look back and be thankful that we never gave up. 

(And no, I am not going back to online dating …. Yet).

Sunday
Jul172016

The What If Girl 

I’ve had an epiphany.  A realisation about myself.  More self awareness.  I’ve been spending time looking at my habits and patterns (good and bad), trying to work out what I want next in life.  I blame a stack of Facebook and Instagram posts encouraging me to Follow My Dreams and not settle for less.  Dammit. 

Part of this came about after another hilarious (read hideous) dating experience.  I wondered why I keep torturing myself, talking to men who are either damaged, f*ckwits or both.  Why could I not just give up dating for good?  Was I a sucker for punishment?  Did I have a hidden issue from my childhood?  Am I afraid to be alone? 

Thankfully the answer is No to all of those questions.  The answer is that I’m a What If Girl. 

My head is constantly poking me with the statement “What If?” It happens in lots of areas of my life, particularly dating.  What If this guy that I talk to / text / go on a date with is the love of my life?  (I say next as I’ve been lucky enough to have had a few loves in my life.)   What If he’s just awkward online but when we meet, we have an amazing connection and it’s on?  What If I’m being too fussy?  What If I give up dating and my next big love passes me by.  What If?

I have the same issue when it comes to stuff.  I have a lot of stuff.  Some people call it clutter.  I call it memories.   I have a hard time throwing things out.  You never know when you will need something, right?  What If I get invited to a fancy dress party and the theme is double denim with a Brazilian dancer head-dress?  What If someone asks to borrow a book I’ve read?  What If I forget that I finished the New York marathon because I threw my runners out?  What If?

Then there are the quirky little habits I have that I’m not prepared to drop in case I jinx myself or something bad happens.  What If I don’t say Drive Safely to someone when they leave and they have a crash?  What If I don’t call people when they pop into my head and something happens to them?  (This has actually happened to me so I’m going to let this one go).  What If I don’t tell the checkout boy that he gave me too much change and I get bad karma?   What If?

Being a What If girl isn’t all bad.  It actually has a really positive upside.  It means I also wonder What If for good stuff.  What If we created this amazing event at work and everyone loved it?  What If I started a blog as a way to feed my creative juices?  What If I trained really hard to run the New York marathon (and three others)?  What If I chose to see the best in people and do what I could to have a happy life?  What If? 

I’ve decided to wear my What If Girl badge with pride.  To not use it as an excuse to torture myself with clutter and crappy experiences, but to embrace it as a girl who sees the world full of endless possibilities.   To use the term What If as a challenge to do more, be better and embrace that Follow my Dreams meme I saw.  What If I never saw those inspirational quotes on Facebook?  What If indeed.   

Sunday
Jul102016

What the Hell just Happ'nd?

There are some sad nasty people in the world.  This week, I met one of them.  We didn’t actually meet (thank God) but he did invade my world for 48 hours.  48 hours of confusion, intrigue, bizarre conversation and abuse.  It was my first experience of cyber shit. At the time it was foul.  Right now it’s kinda funny.

You need to try a dating app, a friend told me. I protested. I don’t want to date.  I’m not sure I want a relationship right now.  I just finished seeing a really great guy for a few weeks, realizing that a commitment is not where I’m at.   How could this be any different to what I’ve already done in the dating world? 

Curiosity killed the cat.  And my self esteem.  Briefly.  Off I went to check out this so called love machine.  I have friends who are now happy and in love after meeting that way, what if it did the same for me?  I just wanted to have a look around and see what it was about.

Within days a guy sent me a Charm.  That means he likes me and wants to get to know me.  According to the FAQ page.  I read his profile.  He looks interesting.  Photographer.  Builder.  Avid traveller.  Speaks three languages.  Likes good conversation, great coffee and nice wine.  This sounds like a guy that might be good to get to know.  I accept his request.

Hello Tanya.  Nice to meet your acquaintance. 

Hello A.  Thanks for your note. What are you up to on this balmy evening?

Him:  Watching ABC2, scoffing at the current political landscape and eating Belgian chocolate icecream.  What are you doing right now?

Me:  That icecream sounds way more fun than watching political quagmire.

Him:  We should meet up and have a drink.

Does he mean now or at some point in the future?  I’m new to this app so not sure if it’s only for instant hookups, or you can chat and go on a proper date down the track.   Let me suss him out with a bit of humour.

That could be awkward as I’m currently in my PJ’s replying to work emails.

Three days of back to back meetings are killing me.  I have about 450 emails to go through.  30 more minutes and I think I’m done.  So tired. 

Oh you’re one of those girls.  Not interested Granny Puss.  Go find someone else to talk to in your roulette of men.  By the way, you’ll never find anyone as good as me.  

Sorry?  What the f*ck?  Granny Puss?   Is he for real?  What did I say?   Wow, now I’m feeling really good. 

Me:  WTF?

Him:  You’re obviously talking to a lot of guys at once.  Not interested in anyone with combo conversations going on.  I only want to talk to someone one on one.

Me:  Not talking to anyone else.  You asked me what I was doing.  Apologies for a bit of light Sunday night banter. I’m new to this app and was finding my feet.  Thought you were an interesting guy with beautiful photos.  Don’t worry about it.

Okay, getting off this app.  What a jerk.

Oh LOL, Tanya.  All good.  People on here talk to lists of others at once. I’m not that guy. It’s a numbers game.  More hits.  More dates.  More opportunities. Granny Puss = unique cat.  I head off to my apartment n London next week but perhaps we can chat further once you get your PhD in men.  :)

Me: I don’t need a PhD on men.  I need a manual for Happn!  Also this site doesn’t show off my outstanding sense of humour.  So how many people are you talking to?

Him:  So you’re not new to dating?  I think I should ask you out for a drink.

I’m intrigued about this guy. What’s he really like?  I want to find out.  I think.

Me:  Go on then.  Ask me out for a drink.

Him:  Tanya, would you like to go out for a drink with me sometime this week?

Me:  Thank you for asking.  I’d love to go out with you for a drink.  I’ll check my diary and come back to you tomorrow with date options.  I have an early start in the morning so will say goodnight. Thank you for an interesting conversation.

It’s  nearly 1am.   I am tired and delirious.  Does this guy have a weird sense of humour or is he a jerk?  I really can’t tell yet.   But I’m definitely intrigued.

At around 11am the next day, he wrote to me again, asking when I was free.   At least he’s keen and following up.  Some guys take three days to return messages.

I tell him that I’m free Thursday. 

Great.  Meet me at Joey’s Bar.  Around 8pm.  See you then.

Me:  Done.  Now tell me a little bit about yourself so I have something to look forward to when I meet you.

Him:  I travel a lot.  Have lived in London, NY and Spain. Age 39. Speak Spanish, Japanese and Greek.  Close to family, happily married sister. Live around the corner from the house I grew up in. Creative, photography.  Was understudy to a Japanese Sensei. Hopefully that will make me an interesting date not just on paper. 

Me:  That sounds like a very full life.  Does it make you happy and thankful for it?  Also, you didn’t answer my question about how many people you’re talking to …

Him:  Send me your number and I’ll send you a screen shot.  

A screen shot?  Of what?  Is this going to be a dickpic?  Surely not.  I text him my mobile number to say hi.  Much easier than this stupid system.  Might help to work out what sort of guy he is. 

He sends me a shot of his Happn profile.  It shows a photo of me, another girl (aged 36) and Charlotte, the admin on the site.  

Him:  See?  Not the megalist of a player.  Doubt anyone else on this site is the same.  

Me:  Charlotte is two timing me!   (See I can be hilarious).

Him:  No she isn’t.  So.  Let’s have a look at your inbox.

I screen grab my notifications page which shows four guys – him, Barry (a seemingly nice guy) and two weirdos who have sent me charms.  

Didn’t even reply to the bottom two, I tell him.

Him:  Can I have a look at your message inbox?

I screenshot the inbox with two guys – him and Barry (seemingly nice guy).  

Are you paranoid or don’t trust me? I ask.

I don’t trust 47 year olds.  No.

Who the f*ck is this guy?  Is he serious?  Massive douchebag.  Shutting him down.  

Me:  Wow.  Remember how we started our conversation?  You’re doing that again. 

Him:  Semantics.  We may now proceed to courtship. 

This guy is weird. I don’t have the energy for this.  I have a stack of meetings and work to do.  Deleting him later tonight.

A few hours later, I log onto the site and he’s disappeared.   Great.  

I text him.  Not sure why.  Think I just wanted closure on the situation.  Confirmation we were done.  My bad. 

You deleted me?  Good idea.  We’re obviously not on the same page.  Best of luck!

Him:  Of course.  I have your number?  No need to chat on there.  What’s wrong with you?  We don’t need online dating.  Happy to put you back on?  But what for?   Thanks for the best wishes.  J

This is what I was afraid of.  Him not understanding that I’m not interested.  

A, you’ve now insulted me twice.  I’m hoping by mistake but I don’t know you so really not sure.  Perhaps our senses of humour are different but I don’t think we’re on the same page. Thank you for an interesting few days of conversation.  Hope your London trip goes well. 

I add a smiley face as a ‘no hard feelings’ offer.  Dating is hard.  I think you need to be nice to people.  He obviously doesn’t feel the same way.

Miss whatever your name is.  Because I forgot.  You are clearly insecure.  I measured this with this action and it is obvious that control is an essential hallmark to your solitary existence.  No fear.  I’m sure you will find something other than me to enact what you’ve clearly got going on.  All the best Granny Puss.  I guess the youngins are cheaper than Botox … (maybe not for you).

He also added a kiss three minutes later.  Obviously to say ‘no hard feelings’.  It made me laugh.  A lot.  What a poor, sad man.  Someone smashed his heart. Bad. 

If you are searching for love, keep your eyes open for a charming (?!) creative guy who loves good conversation (abuse) and travel (hopefully leaving the country for good).  Also, if he tells you he’s 39, check out his Facebook profile.  I’m not that great with maths but I’m pretty sure someone who finished school in 1985 is 48. (Yes, older than me, the Granny Puss).  A liar, and a f*ckwit.  What a catch.  Happn, you can jam it.