Self Love

As much as we sometimes expect to receive criticism from others, whether it be work colleagues, friends or family, I think at the end of the day we are our own worst critics.

Well I am anyways…

The other weekend I went out to a bar with friends. I was feeling hot in what I was wearing, spent lots of time getting ready, picked the ‘perfect’ outfit and danced the night away. Then on Monday morning, came the dreaded ‘you have been tagged in 2 x photos from Longroom’ notification. Panic struck. As I went online to check the photos that were taken, I wasn’t impressed. I hated the way I looked in it and immediately started nit picking everything: my hair looked greasy and unkempt, I looked chubby and my outfit wasn’t flattering, my make up did not look on fleek, the list continued. Next to me in the photos were two of my best friends, who of course, looked amazing, as they always did.

I was with a friend when I was looking through these photos and at first I wouldn’t even let him see them. He told me that I was being ridiculous and as I showed him he laughed and told me how dramatic I was. It wasn’t until the day after that it hit me how hard I am on myself. The negative thoughts I have about myself, how I look, how I act, how I think I can always be better, these thoughts take over sometimes, as I’m sure it does to many others. I’ve always been self depreciating in humour and love poking fun at myself and others, a true form of good banter in my opinion, but I hadn’t realised how much I truly believed these negative thoughts.

My best friend hates her freckles, she actually despises them. This always baffles me because she’s the type of person that could wear a potato sack and still look drop dead gorgeous. Her freckles just add to her beauty and I’m forever telling her that I wished she saw herself through my eyes. And that goes for so many people I know, they’re constantly calling themselves fat and chubby, criticising their appearance or the way they talk or behave. But like my best friend, I always tell them that they’re beautiful and if only they saw themselves through my eyes! So maybe it’s a case of taking your own advice? We should really be waving our own flags, appreciating ourselves and what makes us each unique and beautiful. I think a tough lesson of self love is in order.

Quarter Life Crisis

I have just turned 25.

I had always liked telling people I was 24, I felt like it was a ‘cool’ age, an age where you’re old enough to be taken seriously, but young enough to still be bar hopping and binge drinking in the weekend. But 25? Bleh yuck off. Don’t even get me started on being 26, 27 or OMG 30.

I’m the oldest of all my friends so I have the greatest displeasure in having the dreaded quarter life crisis first.  Symptoms of such a crisis include but are not limited to:

1 – Feeling ‘stuck’ in what you’re currently doing
2 – Feeling anxious about the future
3 – Wanting to do outlandish things and not caring about the consequences

I remember when I was younger, I had already mapped my life out. I was going to be married at 24 and have kids at 26 – two of them in fact, a boy and a girl. I had planned out my bridesmaid’s dresses, my baby’s names, everything, to a T. But here I am, in the middle of my 20’s and I have to think to myself – what have I really accomplished? What good have I done?

In a constant state of limbo, I find myself often underwhelmed, feeling like time has sped up and forgotten to take me with it. I see people on my Facebook feed getting engaged, having babies or starting up their own businesses. Each is successful in their own right. But me? I’m in a job that I’m not sure is right for me, perpetually single and not really sure what’s in store for the future. I’ve done the typical quarter life crisis ‘thing’ and booked a one way ticket to London where I leave early August – only 34 days away. I’ll be touring across Europe and finding my way in London, searching for a new job. Of course people who are having a quarter life crisis often seek this sort of adventure as a way out or escapism.

Noticeable signs I’ve noticed of my crisis:

1.  I don’t feel like an adult, but I don’t feel like a child either

2. I’m super emotional all the time always – anything from a Sam Smith song on the radio to a sad scene in an episode of Gossip Girl will leave me in a puddle of tears.

3. I think about wanderlust…often

4. I procrastinate, a lot. I know I have shit to do, shit to organize, doesn’t mean I won’t be leaving it till the last minute though.

5. I am basically a peasant. Living like a poor university student even though I have a full time job. Woohoo 2 minute noodles for lunch, again.

6. I find ‘grown up’ things like taxes and insurance really overwhelming and wish I had a personal assistant to do it for me. But because of reason 5 I can’t.

7. I cannot, for the life of me, make decisions. I’m indecisive about everything from the movie I want to watch, to the alcohol I’ll drink.

8. I’ll often look back to my college days in fondness, thinking of them as ‘simpler times’

9. I constantly think about the destined crazy cat lady life I’ll be leading, you know the one that you invite to family holidays because you feel sorry for them. But they bring their cats who are wearing holiday-appropriate clothing. See projected image of myself in a mere 8-10 years below for reference:

So basically…Peter Pan on the money.

A series of misfortunate events

Over the past month my dating life can only be defined as a ‘series of misfortunate events’…

Example One: The Catfish 

Having visited Christchurch to see one of my best friends last year I was scrolling my way through potential suitors on Tinder. I matched with someone I’ll call catfish for all intent and purposes. Catfish looked cute on his profile and had terrific banter but we didn’t end up meeting. I went back to Auckland and we continued chatting on a weekly basis. So when I had planned another trip to Christchurch just a month ago I was obviously excited to potentially meet up with this intriguing catfish (I had actually been referring to him as a catfish to which he repeatedly said he wasn’t) we had still been talking lots and he said he was excited to finally meet me! He’d even made specific plans to take me to dinner. So I get to Christchurch and I don’t hear from catfish. I message him asking where he’s at and got no response?  I decided not to let it ruin my trip because after all I was there to see my friend, but the whole time I was there I hadn’t heard a whisper. The night I get back to Auckland I receive a video apology (wasn’t sure this was even a thing?) saying he had been ‘caught up’ with family issues and that he was really sorry….

Example Two: The Methven Cyclist

Whilst I was pretending not to care about catfish blatantly ignoring me I decided to get on the wines and go to a BYO where I met potentially the rowdiest group of males I’d ever had the pleasure(?) of meeting. One of said males was someone I’ll refer to as Brent. Brent was the life of the party – on par with how drunk I was we clicked immediately. He was tall dark and handsome. We got to talking and found out a little bit about each other – he was a primary school teacher (swoon) from Methven. Where the fuck is Methven? Oh that’s right it’s a teeny tiny city with a population of about 1000. He tells me that Methven’s so small he doesn’t have a car, and cycles to work (swoon x 2) This country boy was gorgeous so I couldn’t resist giving him a cheeky pash. That was until the lady told us to get out of the pokey room at the casino. Yes I’m a true romantic. So back to Auckland I went and said goodbye to the Methven cyclist who I’ll probably never see again.

Example Three: The Lizard

Jumping back on Tinder I didn’t have high hopes but matched with someone who we’ll call Dan. Dan had a lot of pictures on his profile and in each of them looked cute. He had just moved to New Zealand for work from Australia and because I love a guy with an accent we planned to meet up. I met him in town for a drink and while the banter was good and he was cute in real life, there was no ‘spark’, no instant connection or day dreams about him being my future husband.. My realization of the no ‘spark’ was potentially because of a few reasons…
a) – He joked that he was going to push me off the balcony – jokes about killing me on first date? Woah save it for the second date buddy!
b) – I became a bit tiddly and when he went in for a kiss I thought why not. But I wasn’t prepared for him to morph into a lizard who would dart his tongue in and out of my mouth like he was trying to find something? Sorry Dan had my tonsils taken out years ago. On second thought, maybe this has worked for him in the past?
c) – He asked me if I had an ‘inside voice’ – NO I CLEARLY DON’T DAN.

So, all in all my dating life is going swimmingly…..

‘That’ Girl at the Clurrrrb

So this weekend I headed out to a BYO with a group of girlfriends. Ready for some banter, drinks and a boogie I was a bottle of wine deep in no time. But of course it didn’t stop there, not realising my limits (when will I learn) I was bought drinks, bought some myself, and turned into a thirsty, wild animal who couldn’t get enough of the demon juice we know as alcohol.

Now we all know ‘that’ girl at the club. That one who’s just the drunkest person there, not making sense, probably falling over, crying or hitting on everyone insight. We all have those nights and on Saturday, it was my turn. I became a sloppy menace to my friends….and society. Ok ok I wasn’t that bad but what tipped me off was seeing (or what I thought was) my ex’s friend. Yelling out to them they ignored me which seemed to turn me into a bawling mess of self pity. Crying in the toilet cubicles to my poor best friend about how much I missed my ex was the tipping point and when I was taken home by another caring friend.

Waking up in the morning was painful and not just because of my thrashing headache (you know the ones where it feels like you’re brain is flipping…just me? ok…) but also because I instantly felt embarrassed and regretful. Embarrassed that I had totally waaa’d on to my friends and embarrassed that I had actually admitted out loud that I missed him. I was getting really good at ignoring these types of thoughts.

They say it takes half the time that you’re with someone to get over them and I just don’t know if that’s true. Maybe you carry around a little bit of hurt from each relationship you have? Maybe that hurt never truly goes away? I think your heart and your head are always fighting with each other. My head is always (usually) reasonable, logical and full of wisdom while my heart makes me feel quite the opposite. While I know ex’s are ex’s for a reason and that they end for a reason, meaning there’s something bigger and better just round the corner, my heart has a harder time of letting go, of memories we shared, laughs we had and what could have been.  But maybe this isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Having relationships past and present is all about memories, remembering the times you shared and realising that not all friendships or relationships are forever. Remembering that its OK to miss someone and that it’s never something I should be embarrassed or regretful about. People in relationships don’t have it perfect all the time, so of course it’s the same for all the single ladies.

Dates

Date

noun

“A social or romantic appointment or engagement. I’ve got a hot date tonight.”

After getting far too caught up on a blog site that recounts traumatic dating experiences I thought I should share my own. Although not amusing at the time, I can now appreciate the ridiculousness of this said date and love sharing the story to make single-tins feel a bit better about their quest for romance.

I had known Daniel since I was 16 after I was introduced to him by my ex boyfriend. I once had a crush on him but it had quickly fizzled as I never saw him out. I was drawn to his matter-of-fact persona and cheeky attitude towards life and when I saw him at the local pub one thirsty Thursday night we got chatting. We exchanged numbers and a couple days after he asked me out. Winning!

Looking back I was far too optimistic. We had planned to go to the movies and go back to his house afterwards where his and my friends were meeting for a BBQ. He texted me the Friday night at said pick up time that he was outside my house, “Yo I’m outside”.

Strike One – boys, always, always go to the door, I don’t care how awkward it is for you. Side note – don’t greet me with ‘Yo’

Strike Two – I hadn’t actually given him my address. creepy? yes.

So ignoring the above I hugged him hello and jumped in his car. I saw a half-empty box of woody’s at the passenger seat’s footing as well as an open can in the cup holder of the car.Assuming this was from the weekend’s antics I carried on conversation with him about each other’s days. This was when he took a swig from the open woody’s can, to my absolute horror. I laughed awkwardly and asked him what he was doing when he replied, “well coke is just so expensive at the movie’s these days I thought I may as well have something else in there!” I wasn’t even able to justify this as a ‘fair enough’ circumstance. I just continued to laugh awkwardly, even more so when we got on the subject of tattoos and he was planning on getting a tattoo of two kiwis fornicating on his ass cheek. This was one classy gentleman. Strike three – tattoos are sexy as hell, but two kiwi’s fucking on your ass? dat aint cute.

When we got to the cinemas Daniel spotted I had a handbag with me and coerced me into smuggling in his woody’s cans. As if this wasn’t bad enough we get to the counter only to be served by a girl Daniel knew. So he starts flirting with her in front of me whilst attempting to hustle children’s tickets, then senior citizen tickets for us. He knows how to treat me like a queen!  Strike four – don’t flirt with other women in front of me – just plain rude. We eventually get tickets and get seated inside. The movie begins and Daniel cracks open a woody. I’m fairly certain that Daniel won’t be able to recount the plot of the movie seeing as he spent most of the movie in the toilet…because he had drunk to much…and telling me to shush when I responded to his multiple questions of ‘what was going on.’

My prince charming

Me – completely and utterly astounded

After what felt like nine hours had passed it was time to go back to Daniel’s house to meet my friends. I spent the car ride there processing an escape plan in my head – I would meet my friends and make an excuse, any excuse, to leave. So imagine my surprise when I receive a texts from my friends saying they wouldn’t be coming after all. I rang my friend immediately and told her that she has to come, no excuses and that it was a do-or-die type of situation I was in.

We walked to the front door where Daniel told me that he heard his dog coming. I love dogs – great! Perhaps this would be his saving grace? Well unless I was into horse-sized dogs that vomit on strangers coming into his home, I was not in luck. Not to worry though my prince charming had my back – he handed me a paper towel and told me to “clean yourself up love.” aww. I was also lucky enough to meet his father – who was too busy playing play station and having his own ‘no pants party’ to even look up at me.

My friend messaged me saying she was outside. Thank God. Seeing as Daniel was outside having a fag with his friends and that I at this point was seeing red, I didn’t bother saying goodbye and left the house quickly. I was in complete shock. Did this just happen? Is he serious? Am I being punk’d??

Daniel, always the trier, messaged me a few days after asking me out again. I couldn’t believe it, did he actually think the date went well?? Surely not! I messaged him saying that I was sorry but wasn’t interested and he asked me why. Being naive and not wanting to upset him, all I could muster was “well…getting drunk at the movies was a bit random” to which he replied that he had been nervous and needed liquid courage, but probably not that much liquid courage. To this day Daniel and I are still friends and we laugh about that date. But whenever I’m feeling lonely, sad about a guy or let down, I can always think back to this and remember that things can’t possibly get worse. It’s also refreshing to think that every date I go on from now is sure to be better…I hope.

White Girl Wasted

White girl wasted – to be extremely drunk, high or a mixture of both to the point where you can no longer control yourself physically or mentally. Term originally given to younger white girls after they consume way too much alcohol. This commonly results in overall incoherency and “skankyness” before a untimely emotional breakdown.

 

Knowing a lot of drunken binge-drinking ladies, and being one for that matter, I’ve compiled a list of the eight stages of being ‘white girl wasted’.

1. See you at the bottom phase – this is where the aim of the game is to get as drunk as possible, to challenge friends to skulling competitions, do secret shots and get ridiculously leathered from drinking games. This phase usually happens early on in the night in an effort to ‘save money’ later on when you head to town. However this is rarely the case.
2. Bathroom friends phase – After your binge drinking, you often need to go to the bathroom…a lot. This is where you meet the friendliest of drunks and often make ‘best friends forever’, swearing that each other looks fantastic, you’ll wingman each other and you’ll “see them on the dance floor later”. Even though you probably will never see these ladies again, the three minute interactions can sometimes be the highlight of the night.
3. That’s my jam phase –  This is where every song that’s played is “your jam”, your favourite all-time-ever song that you must drop it low too. You grab all your friends (and sometimes random’s) and force them to sing and dance to whatever song is playing because it’s “your favourite” and “is like your life song”. When the song ends and another begins, the cycle begins again.
4. Trippy phase – It happens all of a sudden, one minute you’re dancing on the bar and the next you’re on the floor.  This is usually when you realise how drunk you are, but chose to ignore it anyways. This is also the stage where you feel invincible, when you fall you’re not hurt (until those bruises come up in the morning), you can run like the wind on those ridiculously tall heels and can feel oh so sexy dancing on the tables at the club. This is however, how the white girl feels, not how she appears. To the outsider, she looks like a complete creature.
5. Reapplying of make-up phase – at the beginning of the night you spend hours on your appearance, carefully applying your make-up so you get that flawless, effortless look. However in the reapplying of make-up phase, the wasted white girl forgets all of this, she’ll take a casual trip to the bathroom, smear her foundation on her face and cake on the bronzer. Thinking she looks hotter than ever, she’ll be happy with this attempt and not realise she looks like a walking clown model.
6. Teary phase – this is where the night gets just a bit too much for the wasted white girl. She breaks down either alone where no one can find her, or in front of a group causing a scene. The reason for the tears can be anything from someone spilling something on her dress, feeling alone and wondering why you’re not getting any male attention (maybe because you’re crying on the street)  or creating completely false situations in her head.
7. Lippy phase – After the teary phase the wasted white girl either ralleys and carries on with her night or she gets lippy. Usually it’s the latter. Getting lippy means she creates arguments with friends or strangers, picks fights and generally just gets her sassy pants on.
8. Spewey phase – We’re getting to the end of the night and the toll of all that binge drinking is starting to take place, stomachs start churning and you get the ‘spits’. Before you know it you’re vomiting in a nearby bush or bathroom and hailing a taxi home where you either comer out or sleep with your head in the toilet.

Extra ninth phase is the life-reassessment phase. This happens the day after where you start to analyse your behaviour of the night before, why did you talk to that gross guy at the bar? why did you dance on the bar like a loser? why did you drunkenly text your ex? why did you get lippy with the bouncer? why do i have vomit all over my new dress? It’s also where they utter, “Oh god, I’m never drinking again…”