iPhone love.

Alright, so I should probs start this off with some type of apology about my lack of blogging but let's just make it clear what's been happening...

#epicblogfail

You peeps tweet right? Since I update my Twitter about seven billion times per day, that's a good way of keeping in touch. Wanna follow? Just email me and I'll let you know my user name. It has my full name and it's public, so I figure if you want it you have to actually ask, I won't just show anybody.

What's been happening? I am still silently stalking all of your blogs. I do apologise for not commenting, it's because I am a giant fat mole bitch. Sorry about that. I've been working and having Organic Boy come back from holiday (tanned and bearing gifts!) and being sick and mourning my football team losing the grand final and having terribly invasive medical procedures and watching Mad Men and hating the new Dave Eggers book and working and loving my new book The Tall Man by Chloe Hooper (go! buy! amazing!) and avoiding the internet because it.is.all.i.do.all.day.

SO! I thought rather than really telling you something interesting and amazing about the weeks I've been gone, some profound comment on the world and relationships and breakups and love and fun runs and sex... I thought I would just show you the contents of my iPhone photo album from the last few months.

I got an iPhone! A pretty one! With pretty buttons and applications and colours! You will understand my joy when you see my old phone...

Gotta love that this was take on MY NEW IPHONE. (noticing a theme?)

This is my life in smudgy, slightly out of focus photos. I know. I take photos of the most trivial shit ever. It's fucking ridiculous. But hilarious to look back and be like "umm...WHY did I think this was worthy of a photo?"

Like.... drying my sheets by forming a type of homemade cubby.

Home made lemon meringue pie at mum's.

Pretending I suddenly had a smoking habit while coffeeing with a friend (mmm lolly cigerettes!)

Remembering my beautiful Marc Jacobs high heels I bought in Paris three years ago. So cheap. So beautiful. Need to wear heels more often. Need a taller boyfriend.

Getting really excited by my bookshelf, pictures, photos, pretty things spot. It's definitely my favourite corner of my bedroom. Note the Peonies photos! Extra note, don't compare my photos to Flora's. I lose.

Making San Pellegrino bottles into vases.

Making olive oil containers into vases. Thanks OB for the flowers.

Presents from Paris.

Do I even need to explain any more? I'll let you figure out the rest...

And I'm going to give you all a present. Remember the fun run? I finished. Even if afterwards it was announced that it was measured incorrectly and was 9.25km not 10km. Fuck you measurement people.

Now I will share with you perhaps the most embarrassing photos ever taken of me. This is love.

Me in the final lap of the fun run. I am not joking or pretending in this photo. I had a huge stitch.

I'll just give you a minute to calm yourselves down from the hysterical laughing and move you along to hysterical jealously.

I leave for New York in less than one week. We're staying in Williamsburg. Hoping to catch up for a drink with Miss Julia (aka my mini travel agent).

And... drumroll please...

I managed to book tickets for me and Smudge to go to the next Sunday Suppers. So excited I might pee myself.

So what tips you got New Yorker people? I've been there before so don't need to do the big tourist thing. I want your own personal ideas. I'm hoping to drop by Saipua. Any other suggestions?

Wow. So I just did a quick look over this post. Apparently my life has become about flowers, sunshine, food and flowers. And dogs. Wtf? You turn around for just a second and suddenly you're living in a god damn rom com.

Damsel in Distress

Mmmmkay, so yesterday I had a whole blog post planned. I was going to gloat and feel totally morally superior, because yesterday I made my FIRST attempt at jogging in preparation for my not actually fun run. I got home from work, I put on my sneakers and sexy (ahem) leggings and baggy t-shirt, pumped up my ipod and got running.

Actually, I spent the first 20 mins walking to the oval, but I was walking quick! And it was a warm up! Got to the oval, got myself some Girl Talk lined up and started jogging. And I didn't stop! I set myself the goal of running the whole lap of the 3.8km oval. It may not seem much, but I never run. And I usually have no self discipline. So I was determined to do it without stopping.

I've already learnt two things about myself by jogging:

1. I need really loud music pumping so I can't think or hear myself gasping for breath. I'm surprised at how effective this is at making me not realise how exhausted I am.
2. I'm really, really slow. Everyone overtook me. With no difficulty at all. At first it was tall fit young guys and I was like 'well derrrr, this guys are like fucking Nate'. You know, Nate Archibald, Gossip Girl. But more season 1 Nate, where he is all moody and jogs lots.

Which he's not doing here, I thought I'd just throw it in. He's one of those guys that is half extremely good looking, half way too gay face for me. I think I'd just want to have him next to me so I could pat him and look at him up close. Or something.

Anywayyyyyy.
So all these young Naters were running past, which I didn't give a shit about, and then TWO FAT 50 YEAR OLDS ran past me and they were HAVING A CONVERSATION. While running! Motherfuckers. That made me realises I was realz slow. Ergh.

But I did it! The whole lap! Without stopping! And walked home and felt pretty good and superior about life, had a shower, started cooking dinner with me housemate and then... things got a bit messy.

I'm fragile. Both my mum and my best mate often like to wonder out loud how the fuck I've managed to last 23 years on this planet and travel around and function normally because I can be quite delicate. I feel faint easily. I am not physically strong. I can never open jars or hit things with hammers or any kind of labor. I shy away from dangerous or scary activities. Whenever I walk up our two flights of stairs (which I do about 10 times per day) I get dizzy and need to hold onto something for a few seconds. You get my drift...

So, I walked up to the kitchen, started cooking and then realised I needed to eat. Cause, I hadn't eaten for hours. And hours. And all I'd eaten most of the day was lollies and sugar, since they are in constant supply at my work. I started feeling faint. Sat down, had some OJ and some tomatoes and cheese (leftover pizza making bits). Got really dizzy and dopey. Had to lie down on the couch for 15 mins. Smudge started looking very concerned and got me some dinner. I sat hunched over like an old man, while my brain was just jelly mush. Couldn't think. Thought I was gonna vomit. Quite horrendous.

"You've drunk a bunch of water since you've come home, right?" Smudge asks...

Ahem... No?

Ergh.

All feelings of superiority disappeared when I realised that actually I had forgotten to drink water and I never exercise and therefore my body was freaking the fuck out. I had to go straight to bed, convinced the whole time I was going to have one of those "oh, but she was so young and healthy and then she went for a run and DROPPED DEAD. Out of nowhere!" moments happen to me. Don't tell me that doesn't happen. I know it does.

So, maybe I'll have to avoid the Pacman outfit. It'll make drinking difficult.

Train and lady from here, Nate photo from here, Damsel in Distress from here, Pacman from here

City of Lurve

Organic Boy flew to Paris today for a two week holiday.

What a stinking bastard.

He's gone by himself, a good mate of his from high school lives there and they are just going to hang out, go to the markets, drink wine, ride bikes, eat cheese, look at beautiful art and women and chill the fuck out.

He booked this trip when we had been together for about a week. He's not coming on my New York trip and I don't think we are at the going overseas together stage yet. Well, not for months and months at a time. But two weeks in Paris? Jeez. I could do that.

In fact, I'm already ready and waiting with my bike!

(this isn't me or my bike, instead it's a German babe by the Sartorialist. Of course. But I could totes look like that at short notice if I was riding a bike in Paris. I'm all about looking Frenchie.)

Ergh. I love Paris. Love love love Paris.

And he gets to be the one eating macaroons and looking at rooftops and enjoying the gorgeousness of that beautiful city.

Having said that... I've been to Paris three times. And this is his first trip overseas. And his first holiday in nearly four years. So I guess I'll just let him enjoy it...

(even if I am bored and have nothing to do now and can't watch Mad Men until he returns and will now get cold in bed and he gets to eat lots of cheese and I don't. NO BITTERNESS HERE PEOPLE.)

I probs should just buy that freaking beautiful Paris rooftops print by Tim Irving, nibble some macaroons from the cafe near my work and just be glad that my job is awesome and I wouldn't/couldn't actually take off two weeks atm. grrrr.

Ahhh. Deep breath and relax. Let's make it a classy start to the week eh? It is Paris after all...

Macaroons *drool* from here

Not so fun run

I’m a sweet tooth. Hardcore. No pansy, pussy footing, ‘oh no, no dessert for me!’, ‘oh, I’m more of a savoury person’ kinda bull. I like it sweet. I like it sugary. I have constant sugar cravings that if I don’t fulfil then I can’t get through the day.

Hey! I’m not actually looking for your judgement on this. I KNOW sugar isn’t that good for me. But it’s good for my soul, and um, if you just have a wee little look there at the blog title, yep that one, cheers, thanks, yep maybe you now understand that I am all about soul goodness, not so much about the body goodness. But yes, my grandmother did suffer from diabetes and I will take note of that in the future maybe one day perhaps.

My point is… I’m not an overly fit person. I’m not overweight, I’m fairly slim and I have, thank fuck, never had any major issues. Cept whenever I go to Spain, in which case I gain like 3 dress sizes, get a shitload of cellulite and stuff my face with cheese to bring my happiness. I usually eat whatever the fuck I want and be done with it.

I don’t do much exercise. Walk Club was going AMAZING, until winter hit and half the occupants moved to Berlin to fuck hot German babes, and we all just got a dose of the couldn’t be bothereds and it’s a topic we barely mention.

So… it may seem odd that I’ve signed up for a 10km fun run in a month and a bit. Fun run. Right? It’ll be fun. With all the running and the fun being had. WALK/RUN/JOG/CANTER OF PAIN is probably a more accurate title. It is sponsored by ‘Coffee Club’, my logic being no coffee café would sponsor something that involved actual serious exercise. Plus, the final lap of the fun run is a lap of Melbourne Cricket Ground , which I’m imagining will be something like this:

My friend Matt and I decided to do it together. Except, the man is like a gazelle. 6 foot something, legs up to my boobs, all skinny and striding. In our first and only training session, after two laps of the oval (it’s more of a park. A park the size of a city block. A small, residential block.) I had to stop because I was convinced I had got a sudden case of late onset asthma. I’ve never suffered it in my life, but DEAR GOD MY LUNGS.

At my work, one of my workmates (who kinda fits into the fat, funny dad vibe…you know? I’d guess 40s…wears novelty t-shirts…loves when we get cake in the office) is ALSO doing the fun run. I was like ‘he’s my competition!? EASYYYYYYYY!’. What a fool I was. Today he tells me he has been in training for months, has a personal trainer, attends boot camp at 6am a few mornings a week and last week ran over 9km nonstop. Oh…

I was thinking about going for a jog tonight. I thought about it. Just for a minute. I did walk home from work though. That’s like 40 mins! That’s exercise! It doesn’t matter that I was meandering and listening to This American Life and having a teary at the man who made the old lady feel like a princess and then ended up chatting to my dad on my mobile for 10 mins, it was still technically exercise. But instead of coming home, having a light meal, going for a jog…I came home, cooked myself a creamy pumpkin pasta dish, bought a pack of Allen’s party mix and have hopped into bed. Woo hoo! Oh dear. Sweet tooth fail. Fun run fail.

I’m thinking PERHAPS the only way I can cope with it, is to run in a novelty costume. THEN how fast I run won’t actually matter, cause everyone will be like ‘But she’s a Rubix cube! You can’t expect her to be able to RUN TEN WHOLE KILOMETRES, what kind of ANIMAL are you?’ Right? Maybe? Ergh.

Rubix cube from here, Pacman from here, chicken from here, Stewie from here, penguin from here, 2nd chicken from here

Perfect Sunday.

If I was gonna plan my perfect lazy Sunday, it would go something like this.*

Wake up earlier than you planned to (but not too early). This means you can laze in bed longer without being too hungry. Have sex three times before getting out of bed.

Have the boyfriend cook you breakfast. Something kinda hearty. Like sausages, poached eggs and mushrooms with spinach and dukkah. Read the paper while he cooks, cause you hate cooking. Feel totally smug that you cleaned the house AND did three loads of washing yesterday, so you don't have to do any bullshit like that today.

Plan to go for a bike ride or a walk and be active. But since it's kinda cold outside, instead decide fuck it, let's read and maybe nap. Read, have sex again, fall asleep for an hour.

Decide that baklava for afternoon tea would be a fucking awesome idea. Go buy lots, drink tea, shove face with sugary delights.

Watch Mad Men. Have sex again. Cook a super easy lazy dinner involving pastry and cheese.

Remember that maybe you should organise shit for the week, like look at iPhone contracts, cause you really should get one or read the international papers online, so you'll be ready for work or... just decide to fuck all those things and not worry about them.

Hop into bed early to catch up on blogs, keep reading your awesome new book and go to sleep.

So that's mine. What would yours be?

*this may or may not have been my Sunday. does it matter?

photo from weheartit. Obviously I don't entirely agree with it, but the sentiment is fucking genius.

sozzle

Um... hi.

*sneaks in with head down*

I'm sorry. Real sorry. Cause I begged you all for help for getting my new job -- WHICH WORKED (more on that to come...) -- then, I just had a whole 'mwahaha my life is awesome' rant and then I just um, disappeared.

Never to be heard of again. I ignored emails from lovely bloggers telling me hilarious stories about people inappropriately cracking onto them. I basically stopped commenting completely. Even when people wrote lovely comments on my blog -- new people! friendly people! people who asked me to come back and keep writing! -- and I just kinda scurried away and ignored them all.

Therefore, I hereby give myself the suckiest blogger person award....

(no joke, I google image searched 'suckiest person ever award' and that came up. Pretty lol).

Okay, now we have the formalities over, we can get down to business. It may seeeeeem like I'd disappeared completely from the blogosphere, again, except I've actually been secretly spying on you all the whole time.

Favourite stalker blogger things of other people's lives:
Miz November: the secret yoga leader.
Color Me Green: world's most painful house moving
EliandMe: the amazing smoking bride
Sarah: awkward first days of school
Peonies: Paris and le cute garcon
Elise: the story of Fletch
Cate: wonderful first dances
Meg: finally got MARRIED
Brokeass: talks why the US needs health care
Darjeeling dreams: coming back to blog land
Flora: singing and dancing cupcakes
West Aussie: couture bridal gear
P: in ICELAND, god damn

and if I've forgotten someone critical, it's cause I am a fucking idiot, so forgive me.

One of the main reasons I stopped blogging, apart from that whole 'no fucking idea what to write about, cause I'm no longer broken hearted and now just boring' thing, is that I got my new dream job!

And it's glorious and fun and exciting and stressful and tiring and intense and great. Meaning, that after staring at a computer for 9 hours, searching the internet for the most interesting, inspiring, insightful commentary on politics/business/media/the world, my brain is all jelly like and I avoid my lap top.

Plus, since Organic Boy -- yep, he's still in the picture. And still wonderful. In fact, let me distract you with some photos of flowers that he has bought me this week.

His new 'thing' is to buy me flowers every single week. See, NOW do you understand why I can't blog this shit? Anyway, as I was saying... since Organic Boy is completely computer illiterate, the man can't tell the difference between email and Facebook, it means that there is no interest in turning on my laptop with him around. And he is around all the god damn time. Like four or five nights a week.

So laptop stays off at nighttime, my sanity remains in place and instead we became obsessed with watching Mad Men (I've only just started Season Two, so GIVE NOTHING AWAY, but damn every time Betty is on screen, I am mesmerized by her babeness. The whole letting the man cheat thing, not so much, but the babeness?! Oh dear.)

Plus, I've realised that when working full time in a semi stressful environment, you become a boring lame-o who does nothing exciting or fun apart from snuggling with the boy, drinking wine and watching Mad Men. Don't get me wrong, I'm fucking loving it, but there's also a sense of...I dunno, maybe missing out? Two of my best mates just moved to Berlin, and they are doing all sorts of crazy wild things, and I am working working working and sleeping or not sleeping enough.

But, I'm wanting to bring back the blog. My concern is, in what form? My original blog intention was some type of ode to Rado, dealing with heartbreak and analysing love and focusing on the nice things. Back to basics, helping the soul etc. I think. Was that even the plan?

Oh. apparently this was the plan:

This is going to be a blog focused on me musing about my quarter life crisis, trying to figure out my life, gazing at beautiful high heels I can't afford and planning my future wedding (note, I am a wedding tragic. The fact that I am not engaged or even have a boyfriend are minor details. I don't need your judgment. Thanks.)

Hmmmm.... the wedding planning thing hasn't happened. Thank fuck. My wedding blog stalking is down too, now it's just people I actually like as bloggers not just their wedding colour schemes.

So what SHOULD I be blogging about? What do you guys like to read from me? Any favourite posts of mine you would nominate as in the style I should continue? I'm not saying I will, I prob just write whatever the fuck I want, but I'm interested to know why anyone reads my ramblings. Cause I commented on yours and now you just feel guilty?

I've been thinking of posting more about clothes, music, my city, my adventures, etc.

On that note... I got my hair cut off on Friday. Channeling my inner garçon as one friend told me.

I'm a big fan of hair cuts reflecting big life changes. I graduate uni formally yesterday, in the big gown and everything. I'm working full time. Nerding it up with the boyfriend. Spending lots of Saturday nights in. I'm even going to sign a two year mobile phone contract. Meaning, I'm not expecting to leave the country for months on end in the next two years. It's a weird feeling.

Now what?

puppy eyes from here, sucky award from here

Things are too good?

I've become a shit house blogger lately.

Mainly because I have absolutely nothing to blog about.

Nothing.

Why nothing?

Because I am happy. Things are awesome. Life is great.

I am unsure how I feel about this. I'm knocking on wood all the god damn time at the moment because things are good and it seems all a little too good for my liking. I consider myself a fairly positive person but I am highly cynical of my new found giggle to myself in the bathroom happiness. It's creepy and weird and probably unhealthy.

Nothing kills creativity like happiness.

Why am I happy? Obviously Organic Boy is a huge part of it, we just spend all our time snuggling and making gooey eyes at each other. It's rather horrendous for anyone who has to see it or deal with me directly after it, when I'm pining in some pathetic lovesick way. Apologies to all my friends. Especially my housemates as they get me when I'm sitting watching TV, talking to them and breaking out into giant sighs when I remember him.

It's lovely. He is lovely. He is sweet, an adjective I've never used to describe a boy I'm crazy about before.

I usually go for smart arsed, argumentative, witty, passionate, intelligent, political, obnoxious, hilarious boys. Rado was exactly like that. Wild intense love affair mixed with wild intense fighting.

Organic Boy is sweet, kind, sensitive, thoughtful, friendly, calming, smart, caring. More sweet slow burning love and deep conversations.

Usually I laugh in the face of boys like that. And maybe crush their hearts.

Last night Organic Boy cooked a wonderful dinner for Smudge and I. Steak with a pumpkin/carrot/spinach/pinenut risotto. All organic, all fresh from scratch of course. I sat on the couch and watched Masterchef.

He then stayed over even though he had to get up at 2:30am to go to the markets to buy vegies. He stayed mainly because I guilt tripped him because I wanted to cuddle him all night. So after about 2 hours sleep, he got up, apologised profusely for waking me, then headed off into the freezing winter morning. I woke up around 8am, had a shower and then heard a key in the door. Thinking it was Smudge heading off to work, I poked my head out to say good morning.

It was Organic Boy. Holding a coffee that he'd bought for me and the morning paper.

"Just thought we could have breakfast together and read the paper before work!" he said.

Oh jesus. He brought me a coffee after two hours sleep? Just so we could hang out for like 15 mins before work?

He is too good for me. Waaaay too good for me. Not in a 'I don't deserve a good guy!' kinda thing, cause fuck that I am awesome and deserve someone awesome, but he is a good person. Nice. Kind. Caring. Not words I use to describe myself ever. The other day I got out of bed and made him some TOAST because he couldn't sleep and hadn't eaten enough dinner and had to work in 3 hours and I had the day off and was wide awake. He was completely flabbergasted and amazed by this pathetic action. Despite the fact that he is making me some of the best meals I've ever eaten in my life around 3-4 times per week.

So this is why I haven't blogged. What, I blog about how too awesome my boyfriend is? Exactly. I can see how lame that is. I agree whole heartedly with Elise from Without Rhyme or Reason who wrote about judging blogs and hating the "YAY unicorns and cupcakes and happiness' type blogs.

So what do I do?

Well... the times they are a-changing.

Brand new job! No, not this job. I have a second interview next week for that which I'm very excited about and am hopeful it will come off. Thanks as well by the way for those delightful kind words. The web editor commented, which both pleased and mortified me. Can't pretend she's never read it but will pretend she only read that post?

I got a job at the ABC, our national broadcaster, working in admin. So a great organisation and should be wonderful long term, but it may take a long time to get to where I want to be. So pipeqlines GOODBYE. Final day there tomorrow. I'm glad.

The new job actually made me feel much better, because although I was thrilled to get it, I also got super anxious about whether I made the right decision. My stomach kept twisting. It felt wonderful to have something going wrong, it made it feel less likely that I was about to be struck by a car or diagnosed with a terrible disease.

Big things are happening. Uni is over. Work is starting - though am still unsure where I'll be. New relationship. About to get a new house mate. About to have a two week holiday before new job starts. New York on the horizon.

That whole broken hearted and sobbing thing seems like a long time ago huh?

Don't worry though. Surely this delirously happy thing will be over soon and I'll have something worth typing about.

Photo via What Possessed Me. Between jobs finishing, new jobs starting, a wedding, growing beautiful flowers and cuddling baby animals that girl is never boring.