Social media fail 

I missed an opportunity for social media greatness thanks to technology. (And a drunk guy.) It hurts. 

Recently I went to an Awards Ceremony.  It was a fun night, a great chance to celebrate awesomeness and all the great people I work with – and catch up with old friends.  Oh and drink a bit of wine.  Just a little bit.

My day started early with a ladies networking brunch, a lovely morning enjoying delicious food, champagne and inspirational conversation with a stack of awesome chicks.  Although I feel slightly ripped off having to get up at 7am on a weekend (the men get to sleep in), it’s always such a pleasure to spend time with other like minded women.  I took photos of champagne and flowers to share on social media … and remind everyone at how early I’d had to get up.  #martyr

I then headed to Skinny Bitch’s fancy apartment, stopping off for cheese. bread and dips on the way.  GFM had popped in to hang out with us and drink wine while we had our hair and make up done.  He was witness to the magic of fake eyelashes and expensive concealer.  #Luckyhim.  

Our make up artist was lovely, laughing at our stories on dating and work gossip, as she meticulously turned me into a slightly glammed up version of myself.  Actually, that’s undervaluing her skills and experience.  She took me and my underslept slightly stressed post hiking in the wind and rain face and turned me into a glamour queen.  As she primped and curled and teased my hair, I was nervous as to what I’d end up with.  When I finally got to look in the mirror I was relieved (and excited) to find that she’d turned me into a super glamorous version of myself.  I didn’t even look tired anymore.  What a miracle worker.  The best $225 I’ve spent in ages.  #investment

I raced home and slipped into my expensive dress, a creation from Nicola Fenetti (who I was surprised to find is a man, not a woman, showing my lack of fashion cred). Confession: I’d worn it once before in May, however it cost me so much I need to wear it at least 97 more times to get value out of it.  It’s also a fun party dress, so perfect for the night ahead.  #shortfordancing

As I plugged my phone into its charger I had a quick look at the power bar.  42%.  Crap. How did it get so flat so fast?  I looked at the clock.  Just 14 minutes to finish getting ready before calling a cab.  Not enough time to recharge my phone to full capacity.  I threw the charger into my clutch and ran out the door.

Collecting Chillax Amanda on my way through, she suggested I switch my phone to low power usage. #Smartgirl.

The Awards Ceremony was lots of fun.  We clapped and cheered for each award our team won (around 15 I think) drinking wine and catching up in between.  Thankfully there were no boring speeches and the night went quickly … giving me the chance to head to the Ladies and charge my phone briefly.  The power signal barely increased.  I was starting to feel a little stressed as it hovered at 20% for most of the night.   I avoided my usual uploading to social media of all the fun I was having (eg; pictures of my food).  That could wait.  #FoodFOMO

Skinny Bitch and I took photos against the media wall.  People commented on how hot I looked.  I felt great.  It’s so nice to feel confident – even if it is just under a mask of good make up, a spray tan and smoky sexy eyes.  GFM joined us and we took some fun shots together.  Not enough though as I saw my phone power slowly slipping away. #eek

The Awards Night ended (I left empty handed, ripped off for my nomination) and we waited for a bus to take us to the next venue.  I found a powerpoint and plugged in while we stood around, wishing I’d packed my flat shoes.  My powerage barely moved, sitting dangerously on 16%.  I’ll be fine, I thought, I’m not checking anything online (also uncommon for me), just taking a few photos. 

Our After Party throbbed with cool dance music and free drinks for everyone – as we all crammed into the cool bar. I chatted to people I hadn’t yet caught up with and sipped slowly on vodka and soda (I’m fighting  bronchitis so trying to take it easy).  It was fun.  I nervously checked my phone.  Still alive.  Just.  8%.

I’d come to the realization that there would be no more photos of me in my moment of hotness.   That’s okay.  I had a few shots - better than nothing.  Just enough for an updated Facebook profile and not much else.  #Damn. 

As I was contemplating calling it a night, someone that I have admired for a long time came into my view.  I really want a photo with them!  I handed my phone to a colleague and asked him to take of shot of us.  No flash, he said pressing random buttons, clearly 17 beers over the legal limit. Try again, I pleaded.  Nothing.  He smiled at me, in a hazy, I’ve had too much to drink zen.  I looked at the photo.  Just a block of fuzzy dark nothingness.  I had missed my opportunity for social media joy.  #fangirlmomentlost

If you see the shot of me from that night, please make sure you like it.  A lot of effort went into that one photo – and I’m not sure I’ll be looking that good again for quite a while.  #maybenever 


Holiday rip off

I’m sick.  Nothing new there, except that I’m on holidays.  The only other thing worse than being sick on holidays is when it rains on holidays.

I’ve had both.  Which is why I’m feeling ripped off.

Its been a tough few months with lots of changes – especially at work – so I was looking forward to a long break, heading back to sunny Perth to catch up with friends.  Natty Nat and I had also booked to do Cape to Cape – a tiny 135km walk over seven days.  A great way to get some exercise, clear my head and soak up the beautiful scenery of Margaret River.

The week started off well.  Natty Nat and I embarked on the first few days of our trek with excitement – and a little trepidation – could we do it?  Would we get through the long 22km days?  Could we finish without stacking it?  (A common occurrence for us both.)

By day four I was feeling elated, proud of what we’d done so far – hiking up and down hills, scaling rocks, walking four hours through scrubland - and looking forward to the next few harder, longer days.   Sure, the red wine and cheese we had that night helped a little, but I was finally relaxing into my holiday.

Then the rain kicked in.   And cold wind.   Walking for 22kms on a beach in freezing gale force winds while being pummeled with hail and rain isn’t a great way to spend six hours.  Suddenly my little adventure wasn’t as much fun as I’d hoped.  Thank God I’d made a last minute purchase for a rain jacket.  $200 and a wet weather policy was never part of my plan. 

Two days later I woke up with a headcold and cough.  Bang, just like that.  What a surprise.

I popped some Codral and packed a stack of tissues and soldiered on.  The rain and wind got worse, but I was determined to finish.  When we finally reached the Cape Leeuwin Lighthouse, I was tired but happy.  That night I lost my voice.  

We headed back to Perth and I bunkered down in a friend’s apartment spending quality time alone on her couch with a doona.  The cold weather and rain continued.  My strappy tops and short skirts stayed packed away in my suitcase.  My usual black cardigan with thick stockings and boots I frequented in chilly Melbourne became my holiday wardrobe.  Not a ray of sun in sight.

Now I’m back home and the weather still hasn’t realised it’s Spring yet.  I’ve spent more time in bed sleeping than catching up with friends and frankly, I’m a little depressed about it.  Tomorrow I go back to work – and as much as I love my job, going back with a slight chest infection and white pasty skin isn’t exciting me that much.  I’m meant to look happy, healthy and glowing.  I’m not. 

My holiday expectations were way under par – where can I apply for a refund?    


One foot in front of the other 

I hiked 135kms last week.  I’ve never hiked before, but Natty Nat suggested that walking Cape to Cape in Perth would be a good practice run for me as I want to do the 800km Camino trail in Spain.  Smart woman.  So off we went.

Hiking is so much more than just walking through bushland and admiring the scenery.  I thought I was going to wander along pathways seeing birds and wildflowers, soaking up the sun and fresh air.  Get a bit of exercise.  I was wrong.

Our first few days were relatively easy.  17kms covered on walking paths trodden by previous hikers.  The other hikers in our group were friendly and supportive, and we chatted and laughed as we walked up and down low hills, through bushes and trees – pointing out wildflowers and orchids.  As we got closer to the ocean, we spotted pools of dolphins playing in the waves.   Breaks for morning and afternoon tea were spent munching on muesli bars and fruit (hiking makes you hungry) before setting off again.  My feet were sore but I felt good.  I like this hiking thing. 

Day four and shit got real.  We increased our distance to 22kms.  The hills got steeper and longer.  Up AND Down.   The terrain intensified.  We hiked on dirt, sand, sandy dirt …  with tiny rocks jutting out of the ground, ready to trip you up.   In the dense bush, the pathways diminished to almost nothing, so we pushed through the foliage, getting scraped by the spikey leaves as we walked past.  I prayed I wasn’t allergic to anything I brushed past. Totally left my epi-pen at home.

The walk through Boranup Forest was amazing, as we wandered under hundreds of tall trees which provided a canapé from the intermittent sun.  I considered running off into the forest to escape, but knew that I could have another dark chocolate muesli bar in 4kms so I kept going. 

The real hell came two days later when we did long walks along the beach.  Not a romantic, let’s take our shoes off and hold hands as we saunter along the sand, walk.  This was 7kms of trudging in deep sand … often in wind and rain.  Long kilometres where it felt like our end destination would never arrive.   You’d become dizzy trying to keep up with the person ahead of you, placing your feet into their footprints to make it a little easier. It wasn’t. 

Then there was the rock climbing – and descending.  I’ve never been comfortable jumping around on rocks or scaling cliff faces.   On this hike, we did both.  After a long walk up sandy hills, we’d be faced with an expanse of large rocks to climb over.  Slow step by slow step we’d ease ourselves over them, then continue to push ourselves up and down the trails, before we’d hit another patch of rocks. It felt like a tuff mudder course, working my way through the various challenges.  I really hoped there wasn’t an electric fence section coming up.

On day six, I hit a wall.   A headcold took over my body and I felt like death.  Yes, I wanted to stay in bed with my electric blanket on, but the wannabe warrior (stupid, stubborn girl) inside of me dragged my sorry ass off for another 22km day on the sand.   I sniffed and coughed my way through the wind and rain, popping Codral and Nurofen and trying to soak up the views.  Thankfully endless kms of greenery and long blue oceans kept my spirits high, with new panoramas every time I reached the top of yet another hill.

My hands and ears got sunburnt.  I’ve never spent this much time outdoors so I had no thought whatsoever to slip, slop, slap these parts of my body.  They’re now a lovely matching pink colour.

Our final day provided the biggest challenge.  Within 25 minutes of starting out, we were pelted with hail.  Giant frozen raindrops that stung against my new rainproof jacket.  I laughed.  It was all I could do as I contemplated the next six hours of walking.

We scaled more rocks.  Slipping and skidding along plates of slimy moss.  We hiked another long 7kms of beach, smacked in the face with rain and a cold headwind.  As our final destination approached, the track turned into a narrow winding path about 30cm wide.  I tried hard to quell my fear of heights (and dying from falling off a cliff) as I slowly inched along the mud.  Thank God for the hiking pole in my hand – it gave me the confidence I needed to get through every step of that hike.

135kms (and more I’m sure) later and we finally arrived at Cape Leeuwin Lighthouse.  It had started out as a tiny dot on the horizon at the start of the day – and now we stood in front of this giant white landmark, exhausted but super proud of our achievements.   Hiking is so much more than I expected – every part of my body hurts, but I loved this amazing adventure.   As for doing Camino, I might just think about that for a while.  At least until my ears stop peeling. 


Getting down to business 

I’m writing this from the comfort of my seat at the front of the plane.  That’s me in 4K.  The girl with the smile on her face, grinning at anyone who walks past.  I’m super snug in my little pod, shut out from the world (or at least the passengers in Economy).  Did I pay for this indulgence?  Nope.  My company?  Don’t think so.  My friends at Qantas upgraded me on my flight to Perth, thanks to a whole lot of shopping and Frequent Flyer Points.  Loyalty pays.  I’m at the pointy end of the ship and loving it.

I don’t get to fly Business class very often so I still get a huge kick out of it.   It’s the little things that make a difference.  The cabin crew use my name when they talk to me.  It’s quieter and more private.   Shorter lines for the toilet.  Headphones that ‘cancel’ all the noise around you. The flight just feels more relaxing because I’m in a super comfy seat and not squished in between other people.

Did I mention the food? 

Lunch was amazing.  My chatty hostess (we had a lovely conversation about how awesome my hair is) set up my tray table with a white table cloth, REAL STEEL cutlery and an array of food.   Salad with dressing.  Sourdough bread with proper butter.  Fresh cut fruit.  Then she placed a small plate of chargrilled vegetables in front of me.   It was a good size, but not what I’d call a main meal.  Never mind, I’ll just get a cheese plate later, I thought, as I worked my through the fresh eggplant, zucchini and peppers.

Little Miss Chatty took away my empty plates and I settled back to watch Sing Street – a gorgeous movie that filled me with joy.  It’s about a boy growing up in the 80s in a rough part of Dublin and forming his own band with a bunch of misfit friends.  You really should see it – it’s awesome.

As I was sipping my sparkling cranberry juice (non alcoholic due to feeling a little queasy), Ms Chatty placed a large plate of marinated stir fried tofu, spicy chick peas and basmati rice in front of me.  Unbelievably good.   So much food.  So must deliciousness.  I ate with gusto, making sure I got every piece of that cold silver cutlery dirty.  It was divine.  I was full to the brim with business class joy.

My film ended and as I contemplated what to do next, Ms Chatty offered me a Maggie Beers fancy salted nine year caramel with dusted koala icecream … or a cheese plate.  I was still full from my tofu and chickpea extravaganza but what the hell, I’m on holidays so let’s do it!  I’m planning (hoping) to walk 135kms in the next few days, I’ll work it off.

A cheese plate like the one I demolished would cost you about $35 in a restaurant … In business class, they’re part of the deal.  It even had the right amount of crackers.  In fact, I had too many so I had to also eat the blue cheese to use them all up.  I don’t really like blue cheese, but at the front of the plane everything tastes better.  Honest.

I still have two hours of the flight to go.   What to do?  I could watch another movie.  Start reading my new book.   Do some writing.   Or maybe, I’ll turn my seat into a flat bed and have a nap.  It’s been a crazy, stressful few weeks so I could do with some extra sleep. 

I wonder if Ms Chatty will bring me a pair of Qantas pyjamas to change into.  And another cheese plate for when I wake up.  Too much? 

Please God, let me get upgraded on the flight home too.  I’m not sure I’ll be able to cope moving back to the hood and using plastic cutlery.  


Unfinished business 

I started writing a book about my dating adventures over two years ago.  I still haven’t finished it.

I started writing a screenplay three years ago.   I’ve done about 30 pages.  It’s still not finished.

In my spare room, I have 23 old frames which I had planned to put photos of friends and family in, and line my hallway with memories of people I love.  I haven’t done one single frame yet.  Not finished. 

I’ve realised recently that there are a few (!) projects that I started and am yet to finish.   I read somewhere that it’s a classic trait of my personality.  I get all excited and start something …. I work on it with gusto for a few weeks or months … then I get bored and drop it.  It happens a lot for me.

Is this something that I’m proud of?  Not really, but it’s also not a trait I’m ashamed of either.  I think it merely highlights that I have a lot of really good ideas … I’m just not good at sticking to stuff.   (Ironic if you look at how long I’ve stuck it out in shitty relationships.)

A few years ago I was bored in my job and looking for some inspiration, so I did a short course with a creative coach.  She was great and put me back on track encouraging me to just write for 30 minutes a week.  I can do that, I thought, and sure enough, I found my writing zen and the pages flowed out of me.  For about two days.

When I explained to my creative coach how I lost my mojo over just one weekend she asked me a tough question, “Why do you need to be the one to write it?  Could you just come up with the idea and delegate the writing to someone else?”

What?!  Was she mental?  Of course I couldn’t get someone else to write MY book.  It’s MY book.  MY creative project.  I don’t want another person to do that.  That’s my job.  My role.

Then I thought about it.  Maybe I can just be the ideas person, and I can surround myself with other creative types and get them to do the heavy lifting.   I can pitch ideas, give directions and let them write according to my brief … and then I proof read, correct and make it my own.  How brilliant is that?  Why had I never considered this before?  I pay people to do stuff for me all the time that I’m not good at – like fix broken toilets, service my car and cut my hair.  Why can’t I pay someone to write my book for me? 

Anyone know a great ghost writer who can channel a single girl who went on a dating rampage for three years and is in the middle of writing her memoirs about 13 of the men she went out with?  Give them my number.  I might have a job for them.   

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