Call Me Maybe

Call me maybe is possibly one of my favourite songs. It makes me go from being a smooth operator in a sophisticated classy conversation with someone when I am out to, when I hear I threw a wish in the well, being the girl that drops everything and runs to the centre of the dancefloor screaming like a banshee OMG I love this song!!(Note: loving a song is never exclusive- every second song I pretty much declare my intense one off love for)

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However in reality, the thought of people actually calling me makes me cringe. Don't call me. Ever. 

Call me old fashioned but I really carry some serious resentment for my cellular phone. When I am at home, I usually always leave it upstairs or in my hand bag and check it at interval times that suit me. I like to disconnect, I hate being so available all the time. I hate that we now live in a world that is phone dependent.

I do love a texty text. The sound of the beep symbolising someone has sent me the written word. The initial guessing mind game I play with myself of who will it be, and the consideration that I can respond when it suits me.

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A phone call on the other hand, gets you at any given moment. Caught between the moral mind field of ergh should I answer now or miss it and then have to call back later? You can guarantee that if I have a missed call, I will generally reply with a texty text saying 'whats up?'

Why?
Because I hate being stuck on the phone, making small talk with someone. I hate being on the phone with someone then an hour later seeing them and its like well yep, we've already said all this. I like to use my phone for business only. I will call and say on my way/where are you/mum where can I find this... and I expect a quick and efficient ok see you soon/in your driveway/aisle 2... in response. I think this comes down to the fact that I am a natural calm planner/soothing organiser/facilitator of madwomen anal characteristics- so when I am getting ready to go somewhere, or I am sitting enjoying some zen time to myself, it really annoys me when the phone rings and all of a sudden I am at someone else's beck and call.

It could be worse. I could have to deal with the old can and string logistics I suppose. Then I'd have something to really be annoyed about.

Phones are rudeness at its worst. I look around the train carriage daily and nearly everyone is always connected to their phone- what happened to being mindful and just being in the environment around you? People watching. Window gazing. Nose picking? We used to do it OK, it's not like this needs to be a joint effort of by our powers combined we must be on phones at all time! 

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My blood boils when I am in someones REAL LIFE company and they are sitting head down, checking/playing/browsing on their phone- why the feck am I here with you if you are going to be on your phone? I think that is one of the rudest things IN THE WORLD!
(That, and acting like you don't enjoy Backstreet Boys/One Direction and Gangnam Style- come on pleaasseeee). I take great offense to this.

I just think that a texty text is so much more discreet. It allows you to initiate your point of contact and it gives the recipient the time to reply when it suits best. Phone calls are impersonal; sitting talking on a rectangle object looking around me, leads the way to high distraction levels- I would much more prefer to meet up in person and really let me engage and listen to you. (If you promise to leave your goddamn electronics in your bag).

Disclaimer: obviously friends and family are encouraged to call me maybe when you need a good ear, or want to spontaneously share something funny via vocal tones. Call me if you need to lock in plans or confirm details to ensure efficient social activity planning (that's my favourite kind of call!)

Just please don't call me 'just because'. It makes me awkward. Message me 'just because' and that's just as special.

Disclaimer two: Ryan Gosling - you can call me definitely. Always. Annnyyytttimmmeee....

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Not So Happy Ending

I adore Chrissie Swan. So I guess it could be a compliment slash difference-between-being-a-profesh-writer-vs-little-old-me that the exact blog post I had stored away in my  to do list head actually became almost word for word the article she published in this weekends Sunday Life lift out.

Chrissie's Article

My turn:

Not to be deterred, I too would like to support her article with my take of massage time (the ending was not happy). Now I am a bandit for a yental massage (note: yental as in my funny way of saying oriental, not to be confused with my mothers interpretation of Jew)*

After a very intense two weeks comprising of one week working long hours and a second week eating, living, sleeping (not really), breathing, drinking (oh there was drinking), being onsite for my event ('my' as in an internationally successful company at large that I am a blip on the radar of) I was TIRED.

Majority of my workplace wonderful soul sistahs got to then have a long weekend to relax. I however was the lucky recipient to have to then drop roll into my 5 day study cave (its so lonely in here, not the nicest of caves) in order to learn a semester's worth of work for an upcoming exam (this post may or may not also be an excellent procrastination result).
I thought, being such a bandit for the yental massage, on my first day of hell I would start it with a trip to ye olde Westfield town to get a good knot releasing rub down.

Wrong.

I was first in to the shop, a sweet little lady (smiling assassin)  ushered me in and offered me the oil option, to which I replied happily, why not, this is such a treat! (wrong). I lay ready, she scuffs in and places two hands on my back and ahhh i instantly relaxed (instant defined here as no one will ever invent noodles as instant as that moment), she then began to pummel her superhuman strength down into my back. Initially, it was like slight-cringe-but-I-can-see-how-this-will-feel-good-after feeling (wrong), then as she pinched nerves in my neck I didn't know I had, she softly giggles and asks yoh okkahhyy? To which a normal human might say no mother f**ker I am not. To which I replied, ooh yes, bit sore but fine thanks.
The knuckle sandwich came next and again, the body weight of a sumo expelling out of this tiny woman and into my tiny back (insert start of tears and sniffles here), again so softly, yoh okkkahhyy? (giggles)
Me: mmmhpphh *sniff sniff* mmphfiiinnnneee, bit sore but you're fine.

I think its interesting to note that when under the weight of an elephant, most of us tend to take that moment to compliment the work of said gigantor elephant, rather than express our actual feeling of death, (it was death, I saw a light) don't we?

This is preeettttyyy much what she did to me #creativelicense

I literally cried the entire time, bit my lip and wriggled around as much as I could chanting to myself no pain no gain. Ahhhh the serenity. 1 minute left to go and the small house is now pressing into some gold almighty nugget of knot in my sidal tookus region (aka side butt cheek), now breaking out in a sweat and having to do I'm-in-labour breathing techniques, she giggles and checks if another 5 minutes is okkahhyy so she can do my other sidal tookus region (left butt cheek).
Me: (nervous laugh) oh sure, ha ha you better get to it then, ooh bit sore but you're fine.
Did I mention that the sidal tookus segment of my massage was being performed with the SUV straddled over me on the table, while my leg was bent back up resting playfully next to my ear?

Massage concluded and an extra $5 for the 5 minutes in left sidal tookus region heaven, I stood up to get dressed to find a fellow topless participant in the form of hairy old man lying no less than .5 meters away from me- little Titantic cruise ship forgot to close curtain as she exited so it was almost a boozies ahoy moment for me there. I left sweaty, bruised, tear stained face and with a complimentary unnaturally voluminous 'do.

Oddly enough, its 5 days later and I could semi go back again, just feeling a little bit sore... 


*casual racism disclaimer goes here.

Work Hard. Be Humble

I sometimes feel like two sides of a coin. One half of me is quite mellow, calm and easily able to get over things (the tail). The other half is very easily agitated and annoyed by small things (the head). One of my pet peeves is boastful people.

I am love to feel someone's happiness, when someone deserves lightness in their world I am the number one cheerleader wishing and hoping nothing but the best happens to them. But when someone does nothing but rant and rave about the awesomeness of themselves, they immediately lose me in translation. Is it not hard to listen to someone speak when all you hear is la la la how good is my life?? Or even then being cut off by someone who says la la la la did I tell you how fricken good my life is yet! That annoys me.

Share your goods and your bads but get off the mountain top and speak on a grounded level. Not everything will be good all the time, so being boastful and lost in your own world will come back and hit you right in your noisy  gloaty face. Likewise, the bad luck I currently see one of my friends constantly being the unlucky recipient of will not last forever and sure enough the reason to be happy once more will come knocking on her door. It is in seeing people down on luck that frustrates me when I am stuck in a conversation with someone praising them self that makes me think gah if you can't at least be down to earth about your luck, are you responsible enough to really have it?

I used to go out with a guy who genuinely thought he was awesome. I knew this because he would often finish a text message with 'I'm awesome'. Heck, he'd even finish a live sentence with 'because I'm awesome' with no hint of humour about it. Hearing someone think this about themselves makes me think, actually you, not so much. Be awesome, but if you are then the people around you will already know this-they don't need you to remind them of the fact.

My message is this. Be happy, acknowledge, live and breathe in your good moments. Be mindful you are feeling light and elated with life. Share them with your loved ones. FEEL on top of the world. But share this as an endearing quality of conversation, a story of where you are at right now and what makes you happy. Not a dictatory soapbox tribute to yourself. People cant be happy for you when you are busy being too happy for yourself. Cause you know, what goes around comes around...

Love is in the air

Just when I was beginning to panic about my very quiet mind, along comes Valentines Day and the light bulb obligatory single lady post is generated.

Now before eyes roll, this is not a woe is me I hate love and happiness and I could go out to dinner alone tonight if I wanted to kind of post. This is the first big day of hearts and Hallmark in years that I have probably NOT spent the day trying to be "strong and happy" and 'thats fine I don't really need a man anyway mmhmm Sharnay..' I actually woke up light and excited, except unlike any other day, in the sense of really strongly, I could feel the love in the air. And that was kinda nice. AND no I don't even remotely have a man that could explain this sway of feelings. It was nice to see woman with cheeky smiles on their faces, and the floral efforts from boyfriends of Facebook captured in a snapshot.

I DO (no pun intended) think it is ironic how all the statuses come out to play with the declarations of love. Not attracted to mush myself I admit, that shall the loved up day come for me one time, I will be partial to a bit of flower and choccy treatment (mainly choccy, can't eat flowers). I just think it is funny to be suddenly flooded with one of two takes on good ol Cupids Day.

 

The couples, all instantly realise they are couples with the very public 'I have the best boyfriend in the world, love you baybe mwah mwah mwah' vs the 'trying to ignore the happy couples, love my ladies, who needs boys, where's a cliff?'' ones- why is it that one day can make us so black and white about love? If you are in a relationship, is he not obviously the best person in the entire world every other day as well?

And THEN, the single sisters like myself skirt the edges of being too self righteous and feminist when we declare- that we are actually really single and happy! The loved up lass's nod sympathetically whilst the smug voice in their head (we all have a voice in our heads, mine is called Babette) says just you wait, a man WILL make you feel rainbows and butterflies and ohh the flowers you will see! And the fellow single ready to mingles will be like whatever boy germs are gross, we are all the woman who independent (throw your hands up at meehh).

You can't win. I personally had a cracker of a day. I went to work early, had some laughs, shared the love, received a card from a secret admirer (who was not so secret and actually was just following my earlier instructions to get me a card), learnt some wisdom about men, giggled at Facebook "why did I wake up today" vs "I'm so blessed I am with an everyday hero, and don't forget he is the only amazing person in the WORLD" updates, I ate chocolate and worked back late. And I'm happy.

Why can't we love everyone everyday? Can we wake up tomorrow and still feel magical about everyone in our lives? Or do we wait another year to stop and remind ourselves how lucky love is whether we are single or taken? And when can we eat chocolate next?!

Touch Base

I have to be honest with you all. Lately I have been having a creative blank. Life is getting the better of me, caught up with social activities, a busy time and new promotion at work and the general feeling of not being able to type anything worth putting out there.

Fear not my friends, I promise I shall be back soon, I am just working on getting back that wordy gift I enjoy giving!

In the meantime how about this week you try the following:

• Stop yourself from saying something negative about someone
• Look for a positive in a moment of despair or frustration
• Smile at a stranger
• Sing like you're Beyonce at Superbowl in the shower or the car
• Exercise three times
• Give a compliment a day
• Over eat at least once
• Get a good nights sleep
• Laugh as much as you can
• Write down a dream you wish to achieve
• Admire the Braxton brothers at least twice

Will be back in your inbox soon peeps ex oh

Tales of Elizabeth Bay

My Uncle gets to live here. Hello Sydney!

Write Me Some Words

Let's talk about inspiration. I have a couple Australian female role models that I am a true fan of. Not in the crazed One Direction like manner that I subject toward Harry Styles, but in the way that after reading a piece of their work (these role models write words and stuff) I literally am overcome with awe at the talent and articulate(nessness) these women possess. I sit and just ponder how I could emulate more of their style in my work.

Recently I discovered a new blog, Life and other Crises by Kerri Sackville and if you are not yet familiar with this blog- get on over to her page now! These blog posts are delivered by the sweet internet postal gods (I imagine them to look alot like flying Postman Pat's) direct to my inbox and are 1 out of a daily 50 emails that I purposefully scroll through my inbox to read before anything else.

Last week I enrolled in a short course from the Australian Writers Centre, called from Blog to Book. I signed up to the class with the intent to see if I could inspire some confidence toward my bucket list ambition to write a book one day. Baby steps, as at this newborn blogger stage of life, I am still in the early days of delivery and discovery and enjoying the creative outlet that is Small Things Quirky. That was my 'intent'. However I also (fully tabouli) signed up because after only a mere month of reading Kerri's blog, I HAD to meet this woman and drink in every single word she had to say.

Similar to my other wordy idols Chrissie Swan, Zoe Foster and Jessica Rudd; I love the wit, the dry sense of humour, and self deprecating way of looking at life that Kerri includes in her writing. I was that student sitting upright, gazing admiringly and getting annoyed when fellow classmates interrupted her speaking as it took away precious minutes of my idol's wisdom for me to furiously write down (six pages of notes in total)!

Now initially I was tempted to jot down some of her advice here, but then I thought, pfft that shit cray (Kanye), keep it to yourself and let the people flock to Kerri to find out for themselves! One point I want to illustrate however, is that for a best selling Australian writer to be successful, they must sell around anything over 10 000 copies of their book- is that not insane and so tiny of a number! Why are we not reading more?

Another point I loved was Keep It Witty, Be Interesting and Be Newsworthy- or as I like to call it KIWBIBN (pronounced kee-wib-bib-ben).

Without sounding like a tribute to Kerri (it is), she also has two books that I ordered the day after her class because I NEED to read more of her! You can find When My Husband Does the Dishes and The Little Book of Anxiety over here or here (or anywhere else that sells books and stocks her books).

What she taught me was priceless and I can see myself doing the course again just to get round two of knowledge I may have missed, and in my future blog-reer (I'm pioneering a new word for blog career, like it) I can only hope that through practice, interest and content that engages, I can deliver to the standard and witty quality that is like my fabulous fearless role models. THAT, or else I will just maybe try my luck at finger painting- its like the internet except less interactive.