If the shoe fits.....

Firstly, i'll just state for the record that this blog has really turned into my own therapeutic self indulgent whinge-fest for you all who so generously give up your precious time (thank you <3) to read it can cringe vicariously through me. And laugh at me in the process and think "thank fuck I'm not you..... But I like your gifs."

So, to reiterate my self-indulgent nature, I recently bonded with a friend of mine over our incessant interest in potential date candidates shoes. A rule of mine (and many of my friends) has always been if I like your shoes then you've won the first battle. If I don't like them, step awaaaay from the boobs. Until I get to know you. I will now count down the scale of shoes 10 to 1. 10 being you-have-no-hope, to 1 being excuse-me-while-I-undress.

Now, this is just one girls opinion. And I'm open for discussion (And hey, at this point in my life beggars cannot necessarily be choosers...). Like Lois Griffin's meatloaf, you may find me shallow and pedantic. But I'm pretty sure most of you would disagree if I was to say a southern cross tattoo, Bommadore and fashionable mullet (I like to pronounce those ones mullay) was a must have in a potential mate. So it's all relative.

On that note let's begin the count down!

10. New balance sneakers - I fear that as an appearance slash sub-cultural whore this will not work out because you lack interests that I find substantial to life....soz.

9. Pointy leather/snake skin shoes - BAHAHAHAHAHA

8. Deck shoes/loafers - first date: pick me up in your dad's (shudder) Audi to go to a Queensland Reds game and proceed call all of your grammar friends "chode". No.

7. Nike sneakers - now, this one could definitely go either way. Toby Morse of H2O has the largest collection of Nike sneakers on the west coast of the US according to their "nothing to lose" LP. So that is a big argument in the pro category (just TRY and argue with me that those guys aren't amazing). But those silly slip-on ones with no laces that are whiter than Hilary duff's teeth? Gtf away from me. 

6. Skate shoes - ahhhh the high school memories. Back in the day when the Dickies were low, tube socks were high and the slide belt was the height of skater punk fashion (we all did it in the 90s). I am concerned that you are still stuck in 1998 and think lagwagon are freakin sweet (errrrr i was just never a fan.... This is uncomfortable.....)

5. Kung-fu shoes - very popular among the crusty punks at one point, Paired with cut offs and a Fucked Up (the band, not the drug use) shirt, you had me at hello. However, the cleaner they are the more likely I am to assume you "squat" in at parent's. Have I used the crustfund joke yet?

4. Dr Martens - now, number 4, 3, and 2 were a tough pick for supremacy. However Dr Martens can also mean dirty hipster these days. Therefore unless paired with Fred Perry, then no, I do not like Mumford and Sons.

 <3

Scarf.... Wut?

3. Macbeths - a very VERY close third. I already guess that our musical tastes and interests will align in a cosmic way. Sigh.

2. Vans - a classic choice, a classic man. They have Warped Tour.  Nuff said.

Aaaaaand the NUMBER 1 shoe for a man (in my opinion)

 <insert obligatory drum roll comment here> 

CREEPERS (brothel or sneaker) -  excuse me while I undress.

Honourable mentions go to the classic Converse Chuck Taylor's, cowboys boots, and steel caps (tradies are hot).

Other failures include thongs, crocs, reef sandals (unless you're my dad, uncle or grandfather, then you are exempt) or no shoes at all (sorry, I don't have any change on me).

It is hard to say that I judge on appearance but when all is said and done we live in a material world and Robbie Hart is a material girl. It's more so a way for us girls to gauge the type of man you may or may not be. Self expression starts with your aesthetic persona and we are all guilty of judging the book by it's cover, so at least try and be cautious of the person you present to the world when you're in the mood to impress. But all hope is not lost! At the end of the day if your fun, interesting and treat us right we will eventually fall for the man and not the shoes. 

Your homework is to come up with your own list! It's fun when you're lifeless and have no cats.

Mr Psycho-Catalyst

In most day to day life I like to think of myself as a mature, logical human being. I am not the friend who people would describe as "you know, the crazy one?". I also think that the whole "it's cos I have my period" excuse is a bit of a cop out. I can be completely rational whilst falling to the communists. Alternatively, I can completely fly off the handle for no reason whatsoever (usually at home where no one can see me cry... tree falling in the woods etc)  I reluctantly admit though that I'm pretty sure there have been times when I have been described by an ex or two as bordering on crazy. Quite sure they may or may not have walked away going "Whaaaa thaaaa fuuuuuu dat bitch be cray cray!" I may also be shooting my gender in the foot by saying that unfortunately women do tend to come across as (NB: does not necessarily mean they are) crazy ho's. 

A friend of mine recently told me a story about two friends she had introduced who preceded to go on a first date, initially because they did something to each other in their pants. From memory that's how that shit works. 

The first date went well and while speaking about their next plans, Boy dropped a slight bomb by telling Girl that the ex who cheated, broke his heart, left him for le Other Guy and then got dumped by le Other Guy wanted to "really see her cat" who still resided with Boy. Girl then went OFF..... HER..... ROCKER at Boy for saying yes. Now, lets break it down into for and against in regards to her reaction:

- THAT reaction after one date: against

- Reaction to him was seeing his ex: for

- She said she never wanted to see him again: against

- She was apprehensive about him seeing her as le Ex was trying to get back into Boy's pantaloons: for

So far pretty even. Her main argument that she didn't quite articulate throughout her emotional escapade was that she was not willing, being a woman in her thirties, to deal with someone bringing baggage to the table. My friend made a valid point that to a certain extent, once you have had X amount of relationship experience by a certain age EVERYONE has baggage. And let's face it, it ain't kids. Or my favourite: 

"Oh! You're married?" 

"No I'm separated." 

"........so you're married...." 

"......no I'm separated." 

"......but you're still married...." 

"......"

It is common knowledge that men use the more logical left side of the brain and women the more emotional right side of the brain (according to about.com: psychology that is). In man/woman relationships there seems to be a chrissie Amphlett fine line between guarding your heart from hurt and bat shit crazy. And yet they seem as though they should be oceans apart.... Theoretically one should be Sri Lanka and the other should be the Falklands. However, it seems when it comes to dealing with a man it's the calm nice old dude who resides in the quaint colonial with the grey roof at number 42 and the cat lady across the road who rocks back and forth on her weathered rocking chair drinking too much sherry and hurling abuse at school children walking by. They practically share a property line. 

So how does one ensure that their needs and wants are outlined from the get-go without being over bearing and just down right annoying, especially when these thoughts and feelings are inherently genetic? 

For me, I find that sitting at home and scouring 800 pages on eBay by using an unspecific key word eg studs, and clicking lowest price/lowest shipping alleviates this problem. If you decide to fix your life by purchasing ALLLLLL the pretty things means you are constantly happy, endlessly busy and immensely fulfilled. Drinking wine whilst doing this will also help. I also put on all my make up, false eyelashes inclusive, and walk around the house feeling awesome even though no one will see me. 

Concerns regarding relationships can be easily ignored and you can be as narcissistic as you want without anyone looking down on you negatively. You can also look at your fabulous self in the mirror and say all those amazing things you always wanted to say to those ex's/dates in that really confident way that you couldn't in person because you got tongue tied and probably had sex with them instead (which fucked you up even more). This is when the tree falling in the woods crying on your own where no one can see you comes in. Just make sure you take your fake eyelashes off.

I guess the goal here is once it has been established that you are both genuinely interested in taking your relationship merrily, organically as far as it is destined don't freak out after one date. Try not to at all. Maintain your calm but articulate your needs. If they don't understand or still find what your saying to be ridiculous then you obviously don't understand each other. So you can call it a day or get used to arguments you win in front of the mirror. He probably won't comprehend that occasionally he'll have to do things you like to do either which is a deal breaker. Beer and footy ain't for every girl. If you stay with him I hope you know the difference between league and union (I know one has rucks if that helps).

Irrelevant side note: a friend of mine recently informed me that "swagger" is not in reality what urban dictionary defines as to "walk or behave in a very confident and typically arrogant or aggressive way." Therefore I will from now on be using the term "confident gait". Try using it in a sentence "that young whipper snapper with the fancy trousers holding his codpiece has a confident gait." 
Fin.

No Mr Valentine

I’m pretty sure the longer I am on this earth, the more jaded I become. The general public give me the shits a lot more frequently, my core group of “good” friends is slowly becoming smaller, my appreciation for those friends still in that category is growing immensely and the tally of ex-boyfriends is becoming larger. Yet, for some obscure reason my mind automatically goes into goo-goo mode around Valentine’s Day.

 

Due to my abysmal track record of giving too much/freaking out and pushing away, I would be the first to nominate myself as an anti-valentine’s day advocate. I can actually imagine myself going the way of Bettie Page; but instead of screaming religious propaganda and getting arrested for public nuisance I’d be swigging my paper bagged bottle, eating my heart candy and screaming “VALENTINE’S DAY IS a consumerist PSEUDO-holiday at its finest created by Hallmark to exploit human emotion for its own corporate greed…..It’s FALlacYtine’s  FAUXLIDAY!!! …….I like cats….. ”

I will neither confirm nor deny (confirmed) that in recent times I have gained this innate ability to push potential love interests away thanks to a fantastic array of deadbeat boyfriends in the past, but my friends and family continue to find and maintain healthy, loving relationships with AMAZING people. And that to me shows that love isn’t dead. Romance exists, even in its simplest form. And if for me that means nothing but telling my friends how much they mean to me, and them expressing the same love back, then that’s all I need. That, a bottle of wine, lots of expensive chocolate and a Ryan Gosling film. And one day I may let myself be swept up in the commotion of romance and let my guard down once more, but right now, I’m alright. Mainly because the Walking Dead is back on…... Be my Valentine, Daryl?

Now, for those of you who are disheartened by my hopeless romantic attitude, expecting rather a rant on how the proverbial love is in fact deader than Soviet Russia, FEAR NOT! Following are 10 reasons why being single is better, love is crap, and all you really need in life is a cat and a rather fine merlot:    

1.  Cats are always moody and nonplussed upon your return home. So, no need to counteract tension through brown-nosing/blaming your period.

2. Both cats and merlot are always meticulously dressed in outfits that suit them.

3. A bottle of merlot will never have any qualms about being spooned to sleep.

4. Merlot and cat food combined are cheaper than a three course meal, flowers, heart shaped present, petrol and loss of dignity.

5. Both a cat and a bottle of merlot allow you to express your true feelings without judgement. You are also at less risk of being misunderstood as you drunkenly slur incomprehensibly in what sounds like a form of Zulu dialect.

6. Once you’re over it, can’t stand the sight of it and it makes you feel physically sick just thinking about it being there, you can rid your life of the merlot without the division of assets.

7. All you have to do with a cat is clean its litter tray and feed it to ensure a healthy, happy, stress free relationship.

8. A cat doesn’t care what colour collar you make it wear. You’re a boy? YOU WILL WEAR PINK AND LIKE IT etc. You can also dress merlot bottles up in cabbage patch clothes without argument if you so choose. DIY crafternoon!

9. Cats are innocent creatures you can trust wholeheartedly as they are without past regrets, future fears or chlamydia.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand

10. There is no confusing a cats purr from happiness. And a glass bottle can’t talk. (Dating tip: If this is something that appeals to you, maybe opt for dating someone with no voice box, a foreigner with no knowledge of the English language or a blow-up doll!)

After all is said and done and you’re still feeling a little lonely on Feb 14, never fear. You’re not actually alone. Millions around the globe are single too. And you won’t always be alone. As Amy Winehouse so poignantly wrote, “I’ll be some next man’s other woman soon.”

Your friends and family (and cat) are what really matters after all is said and done. They will be there no matter what. A relationship doesn't complete you. I believe we complete ourselves, and if you’re not happy alone then you’ll never be happy. Remember what life has given you already. Chin up and do something that makes you happy this Valentine’s Day. And if you’re still feeling down about singledom I just have one more piece of advice: Take a shot of cement and harden the fuck up.

Other than that, HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY Y’ALL!

Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeah.

Mr Metalcore

They say the best way to get over someone is under someone else. I don’t know if that was proven in my subsequent experiment, but it certainly changed my perception on the situation. After the dreaded Mr Below-Potential I thought it fitting to have an amazing night with the incomparable Ms JDub and PollyManiac. Still to this day that evening goes down as one of the best nights in history. And unsurprisingly, one of the drunkest.

It began with wine and dinner at our favourite haunt Cyber City. Wine being $2 bottles of Bowlers Hat Run and dinner being 4 vegetarian spring rolls *Side note: We would spend about $4 each the whole night. They soon stipulated that it had to be a minimum of $10 per person. PollyManiac’s husband made a point of blaming us for that. Probs true.

After 5 bottles of wine we had the brilliant idea of heading to Fat Louis’s for dancing. With a half-finished bottle in my oversized Fluff tote bag, we ordered three glasses of white and hit the dance floor. Whitney had just OD’d into pop star heaven, so we obliged to her request from beyond the grave to “Dance with somebody”. Nobody is musically picky after consuming the alcoholic equivalent of a lobotomy. After all, I had just survived a break up. I was allowed to let loose. I did not think that meant losing my clothes later on in the evening.

Mr Metalcore was visiting our fair city from the coast. He was with some mates and as friendly strangers we exchanged nightclub contraband; he, his hipflask of gin; me, my 750ml bottle of sauv blanc. I noticed he had every band logo he had tattooed on him were bands I had not listened to since my brief foray into the world of melodic hardcore in 2004. Converge, Norma Jean, ummm something else…. They all sound the same to me now. Needless to say, if I was 19 I would have been in crush heaven. But I’m not. However he seemed to take quite a liking to me.

After it was apparent that  Polly was becoming way too friendly with the porcelain bowl we decided it was time to leave, and because my friends are so coercive  conniving  manipulative supportive, before I knew it they had pushed me in a cab with my admirer and sent me on my way. To be perfectly honest I do not remember much. I do however remember the 800 phone calls and messages from PollyManiac and JDub I woke up to the next morning after the triumphant discovery that PollyManiac’s wallet was in my bag. I suddenly felt like Steve McQueen in the Great Escape, “Ohhhhhh I have to go! She needs her wallet! Soz, bye!” It was over. I had successfully lived through my first sexual encounter since le break up.

It was not however the end of Metalcore boy. Flash forward a few months later, I received a message on Facebook and a new follower on Instagram. I had been successfully stalked. Buggers me how. Some people have too much time on their hands. And need to impress. And at the risk of sounding ungrateful I must admit that his lovely gestures and recent trips from the coast to the city to visit me are turning out to be, well, for nothing. When I meet someone of the opposite sex there needs to be that spark. I need the butterflies, the excitement in my stomach that lets me know that there is chemistry afoot. Otherwise I am blasé and disinterested. I may not ever meet the rockabilly god of my dreams, I may never meet that one with the style and class of Brian Setzer, Mike Ness, hell, Nick 13. But I want chills creeping up my spine. And metalcore just ain’t my thing no more.

  

Mr Below-Potential

And so begins another year. Another year of feeling lost. Lost amongst the endless possibilities of jobs, study, boys and sauvignon blancs. How can you choose one when there are too many, which are seemingly unattainable? What do you do when you find yourself closer to 30, still acting like a 21 year old? This appeared to be questions that many of my friends asked themselves this New Year. Luckily for us, we had wine as a buffer from reality.

The reality for me was saying goodbye to the most recent 'big one'. Not the love of my life, not the man of my dreams, definitely not my soulmate, just a guy who had what I wanted at this point in my life. The one who made me laugh, who had good taste in music, clothes, movies, the one I didn't feel inadequate with. And the one who was great in the sack.

We ended because of every Fifty Shades of Grey fan's nightmare. The girl couldn't turn the enigmatic commitment-phobe into the man who's there for you at the end of the day (unlike what that terrible waste of paper would make you think). To be honest though, when it comes to my happiness I want it my way, on my terms; not on theirs. And let's face it, Fifty Shades of Grey is a steaming pile of literary mummy porn cow shit. Good riddance to bad rubbish. The book, I mean. Burn the book. And yeah, HE moved interstate. 

There was a glimmer of hope about a week before he left where I thought I could get my beautiful moment of understanding and a bittersweet farewell ala 'The Way We Were'.... And maybe get laid once more. However, one fateful night of finally getting to say my piece, a night where there were tears, hugs and understanding, two days later Mr Below-Potential turned into the same old cunt we all came to know and hate.

We had been sleeping together for a few months. It had begun about 6 months after we had initially broken up. Aww hai conflicting emotions! Certainly missed you mother fuckers. Subsequently, a week before he left I got my night of significant emotional release when I told him everything I thought since the problems coinciding with our break up had occurred. I will break it down in dot point for you all with subtitles: 

- he made me feel like his personal whore and emotional punching bag (undefined "friends with benefits" is a bullshit definition)

- he spends his life never living up to his potential (lazy is the new black)

- commitment terrifies him (to the point where deciding on whether he would prefer pizza or burritos for dinner is a life altering decision)

- he feels that a relationship means his personal identity disappears (and you are then condemned to a life of picking Egyptian cotton sheets, sensible drinking and nagging "<INSERT NAME HERE> <INSERT NAME HERE> <INSERT NAME HERE> ! CAN YOU TAKE THE RUBBISH OUT ALREADY???"..............

Ok, so the last one may be true (and terrifying) but I'm OCD, it's not my fault) Needless to say, that dude can run away from commitment faster than a fat kid after the last ice cream van on earth.

So if he has an innate fear of reaching his potential, thus pushing anything he may want away before it potentially blows up in his face, I began pondering my own fears. Have I not been reaching my own potential deliberately? Have I been dating, working, acting, dressing the way I perceive myself out of fear of success? In today's cynical society it is becoming more and more prevalent that we should stop looking for Mr Perfect and settle for Mr Just-Fine. So what's a girl to do when Mr Just-Fine treats you like the emotional equivalent of a date with Jeffrey Dahmer? Do I in fact from now on actually aim higher and potentially have more success with being treated the way I deserve? Seems like such an oxymoron....

For now, I will just accept that I never got my fairy tale goodbye, no lingering hold before he left my life forever. The lesson to be learnt is there is no Disney happy ending, no happily ever after, and you know why? Walt Disney was an anti-Semite. And anti-semites are bad. I also like the word shvitzing.