You are currently browsing the monthly archive for May 2009.
It’s been nearly a week since I woke up with a stinking cold and instead of getting better it has come back around for the sequel. And like a movie sequel, the second time around is worse. Saying that, my sinuses are feeling pretty clear after a homemade chilli con carne with extra chilli on top. Today I’ve relaxed around the house and worked on my laptop, on the sofa, under a blanket to the background sounds of Comedy Central channel, and I took a quick trip to McCafe with Kiwi when the caffeine jitters kicked in. Tomorrow I’ll relax around the cinema; not working but watching Knowing and Paul Blart: Mall Cop. A couple of days of R&R, spicy food and hot lemon and honey drinks and I’ll be back on form before a schpiel of shifts at Ascot. Today and tomorrow are two days off before I’m on five days in a row. I think they’re under the impression I have nothing else to do with my time… And they’d be right; for now. Not for long though as Kiwi and I have been talking about my working for him (or should I say with him? He says ‘for’, I say ‘with’) on websites which he designs. If a client needs web content, I’ll be in charge of creating it. It’s ideal while I’m still waiting for my own website to be finished – I won’t have to look for clients because he’ll bring them to me. Although I did get a sneaky peek at my website earlier and it’s looking so good I’m dying of excitement for it to be finished! Plus I have been asked to quote for another project for the company I’m still working for in the UK, so bringing in my own work should be hassle free (or maybe I’m too optimistic).
Hmmm, I’ve just sat here for five minutes and pondered what else to say. Life must be really exciting… I’ve forgotten the past few days since my last post; I have no idea what I’ve been doing. I would guess at a whole lot of nothing much. The most excitement I’ve had today was looking through the rental properties on Trade Me with Kiwi, dreaming dreams of moving into Wellington. We’re still months and months and more months away from even thinking about it; but some of the properties available are sooo gorgeous that it’s inspiring us to just push on with finding work so we’ll be in a position to move into one. It’s reminding me I have so much to look forward to; I’ve just got to keep my eyes on the prize.
Oooh, I have had a flashback to Tuesday and remembered I have done something remotely blog-worthy this week; I took the train into Wellington! I had no plans other than to go walkabout and see where it took me; I didn’t get far, I simply walked up to Willis Street and around Lambton Quay and into a couple of shopping malls which I can’t remember the names of; one was in an old bank building (Old Bank Arcade??) and one was called Grand Arcade; or maybe that was the same one? Sheesh I have the memory capacity of a senior citizen. I found some funky little shops and just window-browsed, then settled into Emporio on Chews Lane for a coffee. I also took a little wander up some steps; P-something steps? Can somebody fill in the gaps here, please, I’m like a geographical episode of Blankety Blank. I spent only a couple of hours in the city, but it was enough just to get rid of the got-to-get-out-of-Upper-Hutt itch that I was feeling.
And I think that really is it; that’s this week. Perhaps I should start making up things which I have done, spice this blog up a bit…? I did some extreme skydiving; I skydived in tandem with a cow, whilst milking it? I reverse bungee-jumped, I’m the first person in the Universe to have achieved such a feat? Anyone with me on this?
Today is a write off. A non-day. It might as well not have happened; we could have skipped today and moved on to tomorrow and nothing would be missing. It’s grey and drizzly and although it’s just gone midday it’s too dark to be light outside but too light to be dark. It’s the kind of cloudy sky that you see in an epic disaster film before the alien spaceship/tornado/armageddon darkens the sky and everyone screams and runs for cover.
It’s 1:15pm and I am still in my pyjamas. I got out of bed 15 minutes ago and migrated to the sofa, back under some blankets. I have my fourth cold since I arrived in New Zealand four months ago. My immune system is obviously actually a non-immune system and right now I am up to my earholes in mucus. I have to work later too, which is fun. But for now I have another couple of hours before I have to get showered, dressed and out the door.
Kiwi too is having a non-day. We both went to Kiwi Girl’s husband’s birthday party last night; to which I drove, spent the night drinking tea and taking panadol while others drank gin, bourbon, vodka and rum and took turns to mock me for my granny antics. I said it then and I’ll say it again; tea is the drink of the party people – I am setting a trend, just wait and see… I left around midnight, leaving Kiwi who was already well on his way to alcohol-related-misbehaviour. When I woke up this morning, there was still no Kiwi in my bed. After a few unanswered calls and a text which said ‘you are in the doghouse for not letting me know you weren’t coming home. You could be lying in a ditch on the streets of Upper Hutt for all I know,’ I finally got hold of him when he picked up my call and grunted ‘pick me up’ down the phone. He was still at Kiwi Girl’s house. I drove around the corner to pick him up and found him asleep on the sofa, surrounded by gladwrap (cling film). Someone had gladwrapped him from top to toe when he passed out last night. I didn’t want to know anything else; I’m sure he made a complete goon of himself and as he can’t remember the night we’ll just leave it at that. He’s been sick, taken some painkillers and gone back to bed where I’m sure we won’t see him move from until tomorrow.
Catching up on the week just gone, I spent some of my spare time this week spectating sports. I watched Kiwi Girl play darts; she used to play in the Nationals and has taken it up again. Her team won too so I must be a lucky mascot or something (or maybe they did it on their own merit, but I like to think it was me). I had a quick go myself and threw my first dart – it landed in the red circle outside the bullseye! It was pure fluke though because the next two darts landed in the carpet box around the dartboard… I also spectated a game of indoor netball. I’ve said I’ll be a casual player if I’m not working during their Friday night matches. I have no idea about the rules and my hand/eye coordination doesn’t bode well for throwing or catching, but it’ll be fun… I think.
I have had to have a rethink about getting a skin consultation just yet; I’d completely forgotten about my residency application which will cost around $1700 and make a nice dent in my bank account. With expenses like that I don’t really have anything left for unnecessary luxuries. I’ll be back to square one with my savings. Kiwi and I opened a joint bank account at the beginning of the week and decided we need $10,000 in it before we can move into a place of our own – money to keep us afloat if ever we have a quiet month or three with work. This money malarky is getting to be the bane of my life. I can’t afford to do anything. Most people come to New Zealand and travel for months, go sky-diving, bungee-jumping, zorbing and all kinds of other exciting ‘ings’ whereas I arrive and start knitting and aqua-jogging and spectating games of darts. Can someone remind me I am 25 and not 85?
Saying that, things are looking up in the financial department; I have been asked to quote for another copywriting project and Kiwi has something like 6 clients he’s currently working with and some potential for future projects too. I’m feeling so much more positive about the possibilities of working for myself; I can do it – the work is out there. I’m getting a business card printed in the next couple of weeks and Kiwi has designed my holding page so I have a starting point for finding clients. I can’t wait much longer for my website to be properly finished, but paying clients are Kiwi’s number one priority so that’s the way it has to be for now! As for chances to do something a bit more exciting, we have tickets for Cirque du Soleil in Auckland sometime in July or August (Kiwi booked the tickets, I have no idea when for) so that will mean a drive up North. Maybe we could take some time to drive further North than Auckland and see some places I’ve not been. Although it will be mid-winter and 90 mile beach won’t be as inviting as it would mid-summer… Even just a drive up North and seeing the circus will be amazing in itself, plus we can stay with Kiwi’s Nana and Auntie on the way up/way back down, which I’ll look forward to. Their house is gorgeous, has a great view and it’ll feel like a luxury holiday which beats staying in a Motel.
Lastly, I haven’t called my family or friends properly in a while. The clocks have gone back/forwards (which way again?!) and it’s now a 13 hour difference instead of 11 or 12, so it’s either too early in the morning for me or too late at night for them; or vice versa. I’m sorry I’m so useless, but I’ve been working late nights which means sleeping in the mornings. Doesn’t mean I’m not thinking about you all though; always! xx
Today I learnt something about myself. Technically it was something I already knew, but the extent of it was surprising. I’ve not seen Kiwi Girl for a week or so and we finally caught up today. We spent a few hours chatting over coffees and biscuits and along the way we got all deep and meaningful and the subject of ‘me’ came up. Now ‘I’ am my favourite subject; I think every one loves to talk about themselves but not many people will admit it – I am not in the ego closet, so to speak, I am an ‘out’ extrovert.
Anyway, back to talking about me. Kiwi Girl told me how when we first met (when I joined the company she worked at in August 2006) she found me really difficult to talk to at times, because I seemed to disagree with a lot of what she’d say. I’d have an opinion about everything and usually it was the opposite to hers. Even if it was the same opinion as hers I’d vocalise it in such a way that it would sound like I was disagreeing with her when I was simply agreeing with her in a round-about way. It took a while for Kiwi Girl to see the way I spoke to everyone before she realised that I was like that with everybody; I wasn’t just trying to be annoying – I was just being myself. Apparently ‘myself’ is not always breezy and easy to be around. That was what came as a surprise.
I know I will verbalise when I disagree with people on subjects I have an opinion about. But I also know I dislike confrontation so I’ll keep quiet even when someone irritates or upsets me. That along with the fact I don’t like to be rude and I’m a fence-sitter when it comes to awkward subjects made it very disconcerting to find out that I am actually very argumentative. I thought the only people I argue with are those closest to me – namely Kiwi. Turns out that the way I come across to other people could be seen as argumentative too. I’d always viewed ‘arguments’ to be angry shouting matches which are heated; anything else is friendly debate and to be taken lightly. But because I always have to voice my opinion during conversations, and although I listen to other people’s opinions I will ultimately stick by my own (I am stubborn as a mule and I ALWAYS think I’m right); because of these traits I tend to have A LOT of ‘friendly debates’ with anyone I come into contact with regularly. But other people don’t always view it as lightly as I do.
It’s shining a light into why I am a difficult person to get close to; I get on with people easily but it takes a while for me to make close friends. A lot of this is because I don’t open up to people that I don’t feel comfortable around – they have to be warm and open themselves to encourage me to be the same. But the other side of this is how I come across to people. At university I lived in a house with 11 different girls across the space of 2 years; and out of them although I got along okay with all of them, I only became close friends with 2, one of which is still one of my best friends. I remember one of them saying to me that I always seem to disagree with everything the rest of the girls in the house would say when having conversations; just for the sake of disagreeing. It was silly things like which celebrities they found attractive, which television shows they like to watch and which magazines they like to read. I’m wondering if perhaps subconciously I do disagree with what the majority thinks because I like to be different and independently minded. I didn’t feel I had much in common with the girls I lived with. A lot of the things they did represented everything I didn’t want for myself. They spent a lot of time going out, getting drunk, reminiscing drunken nights out. And because I didn’t go out with them I was automatically isolated from the conversation, and thus from having any common ground. But that was okay for me; I like to do my own thing and be my own person, without the influence of anyone else. So perhaps I did disagree with the girls because I so strongly needed to be different. And those girls needed friends who agreed with their ideals and thoughts.
The friends I have are all very strong-minded and independent themselves. They don’t need me to agree with them to qualify myself as a good friend and vice versa. I assume they’re either OK with how I am and don’t take offence to it; or they don’t see me as ‘argumentative’. Either way, Kiwi Girl included, they’re used to me, however I am and accept me as I am. Saying that, you learn lessons in order to make changes if needed, so I’ve learnt I need to be more aware of the company I’m in, and to be more open to not always being right; and to know when to stop being so stubborn. Kiwi has been telling me this since we met, but I’m so stubborn I needed to hear it from somebody else.
It’s not as tantalising as it sounds. I simply forgot it was mine and Kiwi’s two year anniversary on Tuesday. A three day memory deficit. But don’t worry, he didn’t think to remind me about it so I assume he forgot as well. We’ve made it past the first two years, I think it’s uphill from now on. We have pushed each other to our limits, we’ve gone through major upheaval and change, we’ve come a long way together.
A quick recap through the relationship: met on a Saturday night in Newcastle, UK, where I lived and he was visiting. Spent the weekend together going ‘oooh you’re pretty’ and ‘wow you’re New Zealandish that’s so exotic’. He returned to his rented room in London and immediately booked a flight back to Newcastle in two weekends time (rendering me all smitten because he wasn’t shy about wanting to see me). We spent three weekends together at two week intervals. He then moved out of his house in London and returned to New Zealand for a 5 week holiday (whilst deciding whether to stay there). We spoke everyday for hours on the phone and he ended up returning after just 4 weeks and moving in with me in Newcastle while he looked for a room for rent. Once he found a house, I spent every night with him, so we decided to officially move in together and stop the silliness of me being in one postcode and my clothes being in another. Six months after meeting we moved in together. All was grand and fun, but Kiwi missed home. He said although he’d wait until I was ready to leave the UK, he couldn’t wait forever. So just 7 or 8 months after meeting, we decided to move to New Zealand – I just had to pay off my debts and save enough money. In April, 11 months after meeting, we bought our flight tickets and the move became reality. My friends and family who were convinced I was dreaming when I told them I wanted to move to New Zealand, suddenly realised it wasn’t just talk anymore. Fast forward another 8 months and we landed on the other side of the world, where we remain.
Although we’ve been together for two years, I feel we have been through so much change that we’ve had to get to know each other’s limits all over again, to new extents. In times of homesickness I have blamed Kiwi for taking me away from my beloved England, my amazing job and the only friends who’ll ever love me. Obviously I know that I made the decision, it was in fact an unreal opportunity to do something I have always dreamed of. My ‘amazing’ job was already running out of time as I needed to move on and broaden my horizons. I remain correct that my beloved England still kicks New Zealand’s green and free ass in many areas which I’ll miss – I have some very British sensibilities and you can take the girl out of England but I’ll always think of it as the best place in the world. As for my friends, I will see them again – they’ll still love me, and I’ll make more friends here too.
Together Kiwi and I have gone from being fiercely independent and not wanting to give up our personal space, to being at one in each other’s space, to just being one. (Well, almost). He’s not my boyfriend, he’s my partner. We work as one; we compliment and contrast in all the right and wrong ways. Our current lives are built around each other and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I know the modern independent woman shouldn’t rely on a man for her happiness; and I’m not saying I do; but I know that with Kiwi when we have ups they are the best ups in the world. He’s the first relationship which hasn’t caused me extreme lows along with the highs. Yes he has frustrated, irritated and annoyed me, but Kiwi has never hurt, genuinely upset or angered me. He’s protective of my heart and that’s what makes me know it’s safe in his hands.
It’s official; I’m having a crisis. I got my hair highlighted today, as pondered over previously, and it’s still just not blonde enough for me. I think next time I’ll ask for a 3/4 head of foils and make sure I get lots through my fringe – I find blonde brightens my face, at the moment I feel too dark. For some reason blonde hair represents sunshine and all things bright; it’s ridiculous but it seems I am blonde through and through and I need light hair for a happy me.
Having had my hair highlighted I also made an appointment with my beauty therapist who does my waxing; the amazing Naomi at Diva in Upper Hutt. I recommend her to everyone, she makes a Brazilian a breeze, it’s unbelievable, she’s so quick and practically painless. And even better, last time I was in she also tweezed my eyebrows for me to get rid of strays, plus every time I see her she calls me ‘beautiful’, ‘gorgeous’, compliments my outfits, hair and makeup and tells me I’m such a fashionista. Way to feel glamourous, just visit Naomi. Anyway, I made an appointment not just for a wax, but also for a skin consultation. She works with a product called Nimue, which is a skincare range first developed for after-surgery skincare. It’s all scientific and technological and I’ll find out more about it when I see Naomi next week. However, I’m bought into it because she was explaining to me how your skin is a garden and a sponge, and if you don’t water the garden then it will dry up and won’t blossom; or some such metaphor. I’m concious that I don’t use skincare and the make-up I use (if I bother to wear it) is cheap and looks cheap when applied. I have roseacea (red pigmentation in my cheeks) which can be made worse by bad foundation, so I need to start looking after my face.
This has a lot to do with turning 25 and realising that it’s downhill from here in terms of ageing – I don’t think I’m getting old in any sense; in fact my mum at the grand young age of 55 looks gorgeous – she could pass for being in her 40s for sure, plus she’s fit and healthy as ever so I have a healthy view that you’re not old until you’re dead. But it’s from here that the skin starts to lose elasticity and to dry out slowly over time. Mum still looks fab because she has looked after herself; she hasn’t overexposed herself to the sun, she doesn’t smoke or drink excessively, she always moisturises and uses quality products on her face. Now I don’t smoke or drink much but I don’t treat my skin the way it deserves. If I am to still look 25 when I’m 35, I need to get with the age-defying lotions and potions. I need to water my skin garden and keep the wrinkles at bay. You only get one skin in life, I don’t want to get to 55 and look in the mirror and think ‘why didn’t I look after my face?’ I want my own daughter/son to think ‘wow my mum still looks great, I hope I look like her when I’m 55′.
And that, my friends, are the thoughts of a girl in the midst of a quarter life crisis.
My week started not so good as on Saturday I decided it was a good idea to try and lift our heavy double bed in order to put a tent bag underneath it. And even though it was painful and a struggle, I kept pushing and shoving and dragging and heaving the bed anyway, because I was determined to do it without Kiwi’s help. Because he always mocks me for being pathetically weak with the arms of kittens; he thinks I’m just lazy. I’m not, I geniunely have no muscle mass. After I had finished I tried to stand up straight and ended up crippled up squealing. And so began a week of pain and discomfort when sitting up, laying down, propped up half sitting/half laying, bending over, lifting, standing, walking, moving in general. It’s now Thursday and I still have a dull ache in the bottom of my back but it’s a vast improvement on before.
Amongst all the pain and milking it for all it’s worth (“purrrrrlease can you get me a cup of tea, it takes me five minutes just to get up and it’s oh-so-painful” *tears*) I have been working 3 days at the cinema, as well as fitting in some copywriting work from the UK – meaning late nights so I can ring people who are in GMT. It’s been busy fitting writing around the cinema and procrastination on Facebook, Twitter and blogging; but I reached my Wednesday proof deadline at 9pm last night (10am UK time) and celebrated by cooking some low fat scones, which I was planning to do today (Thursday) but for some reason felt that I’d kick my deadline’s butt by proving I still had time for leisures like baking…
Lately I haven’t really been eating lunch. I’ve been having good breakfasts like poached eggs on toast or sardines on toast or cereal, fruit and yoghurt. And because my bodyclock doesn’t get me out of bed until 8.30am – 9am, and I don’t get around to eating breakfast until 9.30 or 10am, I’m not hungry until 2pm or later. And then it’s closer to teatime so lunch doesn’t seem necessary. So instead I have been going out and having a coffee and a muffin or a scone. Which is just enough to tide me over til dinner, but I know that neither muffins nor scones from a bakery/cafe are particularly nutritious (but are oh so tasty from all the cream and butter) plus they cost around $3, and so I have made my own. They are virtually fat free, I have flavoured them with dates and when I was kneading the dough on the bench I sprinkled it with a little sugar and powdered ginger along with the flour, to add a bit of sweetness. I accidentally added some baking parchment too however, as I didn’t grease the paper before putting the scones in the oven so they stuck to it and I couldn’t peel it all off, but it’s like eating rice paper so it’s not too bad… right?
Now I have my copy deadline out the way, I still have some odds and ends and amends to do but I have two free days until I receive further instructions, so the plan is to watch as many movies as I can fit in – this week I’ll be watching Star Trek, Angels and Demons and Topp Twins: Untouchable Girls; plus I’m having lunch with Kiwi and his Nanny today. I also have a wax appointment on Friday and I might try and stretch my back out at the pool. I know the house needs cleaning too now the builder had finished the bathroom and there’s a film of plaster dust on everything; but I’ll see how my back holds out by cleaning our bedroom first. Kiwi has written “I’m soooo dirty” on top of the television in dust. Why he doesn’t just clean the room himself I don’t know, but we seem to be falling into stereotypical housewife/bread winner roles at the moment. I want my Kiwi back that used to do all the cooking, cleaning, washing up, while I just did the occasional deep clean of the toilet and some vacuuming and dusting. I’m sure he’ll return when he hasn’t got his mum around to do it all for him 
I missed my old job today. Like really missed it. I found myself daydreaming I was back there and everything was all blue skies and me and my work friends were holding hands and skipping into the sunset. Yes, there are blue skies at sunset. Anyway, it was just a daydream so don’t get all technical on me.
However much work used to grate on me, however bored and unfulfilled I felt, there was always some fun just around the corner in the form of office banter. I’ve said it before, I felt like I had a family there and it truly was the best place to work, in the world (I can say that too, since I’ve travelled across the world ‘n all). But missing interaction wasn’t what the daydream was really about. Today I missed the simple notion of walking to and from work. I used to walk down cobbled streets, like a Hovis advert without the bread van. Kiwi would walk with me and we’d get to hold hands and talk about our day and it was ten minutes to clear my head and enjoy Kiwi’s company and have a time out. Now we’re working under the same roof, but in different rooms as I’ve moved away from the office into the lounge, he’ll come in to see me and we’ll have a tea break together or some “hugs time”; but I’ll get crabby because he’s chosen an inopportune moment to disturb the me for a break – I’ll have my mind on what I’m doing. When we walked home from work together, work was over and it was time to wind down and I could concentrate my attention on Kiwi. Now I’m taking his daily presence for granted to the extent that I don’t appreciate him interrupting me; and I need to have a word with myself about that.
I miss the structure to my working day, the routine which we’d blissfully fallen into that revolved around when Kiwi and I said goodbye in the morning, to when we met up after work at the crossroads, ready to walk home. It was a coming together again; naturally you want to see someone after a whole day without them. Sometimes we’d text or email each other, but I never felt the need to – it was simply a nice bonus if I heard from him, but I knew that at 5:30pm I’d see him again.
Now we can see each other every minute if we wanted to, the novelty has worn off. I should appreciate that Kiwi comes into the lounge to say hello and spend time with me, I should love that we’ve got all this time together in which we can go out for coffee, share lunch, go for a walk in between work commitments. But I’m not appreciating it because I’m taking for granted that he’s always here whenever I feel like any of the above, so I’m not being as receptive as I should be when Kiwi takes the time to make time for us.
I forget that some couples are like ships passing in the night because they’re so overworked. That some couples don’t engage in ‘real’ conversation and simply go through the motions of ‘how was your day, dear?’ and don’t really listen to the answer. I have a Kiwi who comes in to see me and ask my advice about work, because he respects my opinion. But sometimes I’m too busy in my own little world to do anything but get flustered and cross with Kiwi for interrupting me. I’m worried that over time I’ll habitually send him away so many times that he’ll eventually stop coming in to see me, and we will become like the couple that has no time for one another. My negative reactions will turn Kiwi into the kind of partner that I have split up with in the past for not being there. Oh the irony in that.
And so, I need to remember what I sometimes forget; that some men simply aren’t as awesome as my Kiwi and wouldn’t think to take time out of their day to say ‘I love you’ or ‘I want a hug’ or simply show that they genuinely want to spend quality time with their partner, even for five minutes. I have all this, and so much more, because he does it for himself and not because I have to have one of those heart to hearts that he doesn’t pay me enough attention, or doesn’t show me he loves me, or doesn’t listen to me, or any number of complaints I read other women say about their partners (and where I’ve been before). And still I complain that my life isn’t how I’d like it to be right now.
Let me just clarify; It is. Life with Kiwi is all sweetness and light. Obviously more work and money would be grand; but as long as I have Kiwi then everything is just peachy.
Quick update on my previous post since I know you’re all dying to know my current sanitary situation, and so I can close the subject and move on (it’s grating me):
I have found ‘U’ by Kotex, a sanitary towel which although still pales in comparison to the comfort of Always, is a vast improvement on other brands. So, if you’re new to NZ and looking for a pad then I wouldn’t go so far as to say I recommend ‘U’, but it’ll do. Making up for the poor quality products are the cheap prices though; I bought my pads for NZ$5.99. That’s about £2.50. I know I shouldn’t keep comparing prices like this, but it’s only natural; I’ve only been here for four months. And in reply to the girls who were all ‘eeeeeuwwww pads are sooooo grim’; I use a tampon/pantyliner combo by day but pads by night because I have a small fear of Toxic Shock Syndrome. It’s irrational but I figure worth the grimness of pads, just to be absolutely sure I’m safe…
Off the subject, whilst pondering pads I also got to thinking about other lady-related issues, like bra sizings and availability. In the UK I am a 32F. It’s not everyday I tell the world my bra size but it’s not like I’m pasting a photo of my mammeries online, is it? Anyway, 32F seems to be some kind of freak size. It’s hard enough finding bras above a D cup in regular retail stores; for E and above you have a limited choice in department stores and the choice is generally full cup, mammoth support granny bras for which back sizes start at 36 and above, so anyone with a small back like me isn’t widely catered for. I had taken to shopping at Bravissimo or online through Fig Leaves where there are an abundance of pretty bras for the buxom lady; the only down side is that where if I was a 32C I could happily buy a £7 bra from Primark, bras in a 32F are around the £30+ mark. That’s a hefty increase for a few centimetres extra material and some underwire.
Again, in New Zealand, I have rejigged my cup size to a 10E and discovered that the same problems apply to me here; it’s easy to find cups up to C or D, but E cups aren’t so available and back sizes are commonly around a 12 -14 in the larger cup sizes. So, it’s off to the slightly overpriced Kirkaldie and Stains or I can simply continue to shop online through Bravissimo and not pay attention to the currency conversion from £GBP to $NZ which renders the bras around $110+ (including postage) and should really be dimante or have a 14 carat gold underwire to justify such an expense.
Ok, lady-related-rant over. Men you can uncover your eyes/ears now.
At the moment I don’t have a decent photo of myself to put in the Custom Header above, which is why it keeps changing. I’m having an identity crisis; I’m not sure how anyone else feels about photos of themselves but I’m slightly neurotic about them – I am highly unphotogenic but when I do get a good photo it’s only relevant to me for as long as I have the same hairstyle as I do in the picture; and my hair changes like the wind. I haven’t taken a nice picture of myself since I had a mane of long blonde hair – said mane was chopped off in November 08 and since then I have gone from blonde to brown to ginger and slowly am getting around to blonde-ish again. The point is, I don’t look the same anymore and therefore I feel it’s a lie to display a picture of myself that doesn’t fit my current exterior. Or is it just me? Discuss.
The identity crisis is extending past my lack of decent photos too; I miss my long hair, I miss it being blonde, but I know neither is good for me. When my hair is long it becomes wild and unmanageable, and when it’s blonde I get roots and two tone hair which is expensive to maintain. Currently I’m growing the colour out of my hair both because of the aforementioned cost involved in keeping it blonde and because I’m unsure what my natural colour is anymore. I used to be blonde, but then I started dying it and all I’ve seen since I was about 12 or 13 are my roots; and they seem to get darker as the years go by. Maybe they only appear dark because my hair was so peroxide blonde, or maybe they’ve grown dark simply because the sun hasn’t bleached them because they’re usually hiding under chemical colour. Or maybe I’ve just gotten darker as I’ve gotten older.
This hair talk is getting tedious I’m sure but I need to remind myself why I shouldn’t take myself to the hairdressers right now and get bleached; and if you’re bored then stop reading, simple. Where was I? Oh yes, I think I’ll compromise and perhaps grow my hair long again, so I can at least tie it up when I feel like a change of hair-do, and perhaps get a half head of blonde foils to lighten it up a bit but not enough to cover my natural colour.
Righty, I’m glad that’s sorted. And now to something for the ladies; men get ready to cringe. There is something upsetting me lately; something I have taken for granted since I was 10 years old and had to start using them. And that something is sanitary products. After 15 years of ‘womanhood’ I had my sanitary towel brand loyalty to ‘Always’ and their Ultra pads, tampon brand loyalty to ‘lil-lets’ and panty liner brand loyalty to… errr, I can’t remember the name now but that’s besides the point. For the money you spend each month on keeping stocked up in ‘luxury’ sanitary products, as though it’s a privilege to have a period, you need products which work. I hadn’t realised just how luxurious we had it in the UK until now; fair enough I have found a decent tampon and pantyliner brand to replace my UK counterparts, but no such luck for sanitary towels. Those adverts which show the ‘flexi wings’, ‘core to lock in liquid’, ‘contours to fit your body’ etc. etc. seemed a bit far-fetched to me. I didn’t think it could feasibly be called ‘technology’ to have a towel which fits, is comfortable and doesn’t leak, until now. New Zealand seems to be 10 years behind in sanitary towel ‘technology’. I have the choice of what feels like wearing a nappy, a veritable mattress which only fits in the biggest, baggiest granny pants I own, or wearing a towel shaped like an A4 piece of paper – no contours, and best of all the glue on the back doesn’t stick to anything and the ‘wings’ are more like tabs.
So, ladies of New Zealand, for the love of God will someone tell me a decent brand of sanitary towel and where I can purchase them from?!
In 25 minutes, I turn 25 years old. 25 is a funny age. At 25 it’s acceptable to have already married and/or already sprung a sprog or two. You could have a mortgage, rent with housemates or still live with your parents. It’s acceptable to still be living the student life, taking a post graduate course by day and drinking away the nights, re-living your first student years over and over. Or you could own your own business, be on the career ladder or simply be wasting away in a dead-end job. 25 has no expectations, it’s old enough to be independent but young enough to shirk responsibilties.
But needless to say, we all have our own expectations of where our lives will be at 25. If you’d asked me when I was 18, where I’d be at 25, I would have said married to my then ‘fiancee’ (engaged very young, I don’t really count it), living in St Albans (near where I grew up), we’d probably have a mortgage and a dog. I’d probably be working in Hotel Management, and life wouldn’t be hugely different from where I was at age 18 – same friends, same home town, same pub every Friday night.
If you’d asked me at age 22 where I’d be at 25, I would have said living in Newcastle, taking a Hotel Management course for Hilton hotels. I remember even thinking about my 25th birthday back then; because it’s a ‘big’ number I would have had my parents down for a weekend and gone out for a special meal at McCoys at BALTIC (which isn’t there anymore) and stayed in the Malmaison.
If you’d asked me at age 23 what I’d be doing at 25, I would have said living and working in New Zealand. It’s something I’d talked to Kiwi Girl about – she said I could stay with her while I get on my feet. I thought I’d journey over via America, travel around then work over in NZ once my money had run out then travel back to the UK via Australia and Asia for further travel. It was a passing dream I seriously considered but never believed I could make happen since I felt my debts were never ending. I was only half wrong.
In my 24th year I achieved a lot, which I haven’t really credited myself for. I made a niche for myself as a copywriter and realised it as my dream job; I got myself out of £5000 of debt, saved up another £3000 for my NZ fund, paid £800 for plane tickets and another few hundred (maybe a thousand) on other New Zealand related costs. I quit the job I loved, but although I have looked back I realise I had nothing else to offer there and it was time to move on if I was to achieve the copywriting dream in full. And now I’m here, both in a new country and my 25th year, I feel I have even more to achieve. I’ll make or break my own business at which point I’ll either work on successfully or try and mould a career somewhere new; Kiwi and I will bust our butts to save up money and move into the city, into a place of our own. We’ll build a home for ourselves and create the life we want but are still waiting to find. It’s a prospect which feels daunting and unachievable right now, but to think how far I’ve come I’m sure I can do it all over again.
And as I finish this off, it’s 12:05 am and I have been 25 for 5 minutes. Happy Birthday me.
He said, then she said...