Punching above weight and getting KO'd.

Do you ever have those days where you are convinced that you are a really attractive person? No really.  Have you ever left the house and thought, damn, I look good.  I'm actually a really good looking person.  I've been underselling myself for years.  Actually, now that I review it, I might even go so far as to label myself sexy today. (Just go with it kids, I'll reality base in a paragraph or two).

So one leaves the house and enters the world with a newly found spring in one's step.  Eye contact is made with the devilishly handsome and maintained for just that second too long.  Outfits selected from the racks are just beyond one's normal safety zone of comfort and practicality.  One walks tall with shoulders back and breasts (yes I know I go on about them) heading in a forward direction.

And then, you see a mirror.

And there it is.  That "Ah shit" feeling.  Is that what I really look like??  And it's like you've just met yourself for the first time in thirty-something years and had actually no idea of your appearance.  It's actually a sad little sort of disappointment.  It's like your head is reminding you of the reality of your situation.  Um, yes, sorry to put it bluntly but you are indeed average looking.  Your head has many flaws and your body is slowly accepting the idea that an investment in cosmetic surgery is no longer something that one might mock.

So it was in one of these moments that my friend Rocket and I decided we were punching above weight.  And worse still, that we hadn't thrown a punch in ages.  We just seem to like men who are way more attractive than ourselves.  Perhaps we should carry a hand mirror next time we sit on the beach and giggle at the guy in the budgie smugglers.  Or perhaps I should ask him out.  :)

Dear Santa...here's what I need.

Dear Santa

Here is my list of stuff that I want. Fortunately for you and unfortunately for me I've not been naughty at all lately so you had better deliver.

1. I would like my hangovers to get better each time rather than worse. I would like to wake up after two or three wines and spring out of bed like the eighteen year old shop assistants do. You know the ones? They are irritating in their bubbly, effervescent and completely manufactured interest in your life. Yet you just know they were bouncing off the walls four hours ago on Jaeger Bombs.

2. I would like my arse crack to desist in its mission of world domination. Stupidly I have a mirror in front of my loo at home. When I stand up I often think, "It could be worse, things aren't too hideous, let me just check the behind view....Jesus WEPT!! How massive is my arse??!"

3. I would like the producers of modern porn to start hiring attractive men. It can't be a rule of nature that only ugly men have big penises. Why should women have to watch ugly men have sex? I mean, if Bambi or whatever her name is, is going to sigh and moan and scream about the guy she's with, it's going to be a lot more convincing if he doesn't look like the 50 year old roadie from a Guns and Roses concert.

4. I would like to be attracted to someone who is attracted to me. I know this is asking a lot Santa. And I know that there really aren't that many fish in the sea. But it seems to me a little cruel that I have no trouble getting the attention of the 65 year old guy with a limp and a missing tooth who takes the reading from my electricity meter, yet the men I (rarely) meet for whom I feel an instant spark are usually approaching me to ask me about whether my friend is single.

5. I would like someone to invent a decent umbrella. Raincoats are ridiculous. Umbrellas are annoying, inefficient, painful to carry and only protect your upper third from rain. How is it that we are now in 2010 and we still have inadequate protection from precipitation?!

6. I would like my blog post to reach 100000 hits. I want it viral. I want the world. I want the whole world. I want everyone to realise without me typing it, that I just stole the last two lines from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.

7. I want someone to invent small talk that isn't boring. They should write a book that becomes so universally accepted that it will one day be fine to start a conversation in the following manner:

"Hi nice to meet you. Did you mean for your hair to look like that when you left home?"

"Hi. No actually, a bird shat on it on the way and I had to find a public toilet and hand dryer. So are you aware that I only want to meet you because my mother is concerned that I don't put myself out there enough and I just want her to stop nagging?"

"Yeah, that's fine. I'm kind of hoping you'll introduce me to your friend anyway. She has great tits and I bet she goes like the clappers."

"People tell me she does although she doesn't really go for men who look like David Hasselhoff when he was in Knight Rider so I'm not sure how you'll do."

"Cool, well when I get bored talking to you, do you reckon you could introduce me anyway?"

"Sure, it'll be a laugh for both of us won't it?"

"Exactly"

8. I want a national DILF day. I'm not really sure how this would work but it would have something to do with there being an amnesty on approaching DILFs and saying the great unsaid. "Excuse me, but do you even realise how hot you are right now? I mean, there aren't many men who can carry a small child and a pool pony at the same time and look sexy, but you do."

9. I want Johanna Griggs removed from my television screen. Is there a show that that woman hasn't done?? She's a massive cheese ball with seriously wide shoulders and boring hair.

10. I want re-gifting to become an accepted past-time. So instead of lame office organised Kris Kringle, you have to re-gift something of your own. This is me doing my bit for the environment. It's also my way of getting rid of the hideous stuff I've been given over the years. I've never been good at faking excitement so I'm not sure why people insist on giving me ugly and stupid things for Christmas. I'm sorry I made you cry but don't wrap things in duck-egg blue boxes and expect anything but scorn if it isn't a gift from Tiffany's.

11. I'd like something from Tiffany's. It ain't gonna happen.

I've Cracked It.

My bum-crack is higher than most. I've investigated the biology behind this and most medical practitioners have responded with something close to eye rolling and evasion. But it seems to me a phenomenon shared by women (and sadly a few lady-arsed men as well) the world over.

Where most women might show a little bit of crackage if crouched over a small child or dropped coin, I need only lean across a table and my arse is practically leaping out of my jeans wanting to introduce itself.

And before you start, no. My jeans are no lower than anyone else's. I'm as fond of a hipster as the next kid but given the height of my crack, I'm always conscious of this when purchasing pants.

So I've developed my own theory. It's twofold.

1. I have more junk in my trunk therefore making it harder to close the boot. My arse cheeks are fuller than most and go some way to creating crack merely by deepening the canyon. It is logical no? My only worry about this is if I keep adding arse, will my crack end up around the base of my neck? That might rule out low-backed tops as well and I've always been fond of those.

2. If humans evolved from apes, and nobody has been specific about which type of primate in particular, then perhaps some of us have descended from particular types of monkey. If this is the case, I'm not chimpanzee, gibbon or gorilla. Methinks I have the arse of a baboon type creature. Pronounced. High-riding.

I recently took a facebook poll for suggestions of blog topics. A dear friend mentioned I should write about the high-riding g string and why they should be banned. Well I'm the first to jump on the banning of the g string bandwagon. I've always believed them to be the ugliest of underpant and flattering to none. (Subclause 1A: when wearing formal wear of the hugging variety the g banger is advisable).

But I must jump to defend those whose g strings occasionally rise into visibility. It's not planned. It's just that our bum-cracks are very high. The g has a lot to traverse in this situation. It will fall where it lands and if the only flat place is just below the rib cage then physics is the winner on the day.

Look, I know it's not pretty. But I'd like to quote from one of my old favourite films:

"I like a woman with a bottom you can park your bike in."

I AM success.

Lately I haven't been in love, had a baby, been promoted or won any sort of prize. Other than these things, good stuff happens to me all the time. I aim to celebrate the small stuff.

So in no particular order I am proud to report the following:

I found two lovely leather handbags at Vinnies for $6 each. The old lady complained that I had messed up her display. Have almost got rid of the mothball smell.

There have been almost 800 hits on my blog since I started. Only about 300 of these have been me checking to see if I've had any new hits.

I borrowed several books from a public library and none of the pages had dried boogers on them.

My pet bird seems to hate my flatmate slightly more than me.

One of my students wrote a cinquain poem about me. The second line of the poem calls for the poet to use two adjectives to describe the subject. Loud and crazy were selected.

My upstairs neighbours are fighting less. They are having giggly, repetitive sex more often.

The cold sore forming on the end of my nose doesn't look like a booger according to a close friend. Apparently it would be better to have a booger permanently hanging from the end of one's nose rather than a cold sore.

Okay okay, I'll stop bragging. Nothing worse than someone who is constantly reminding you of how amazing they are.

Shocked, appalled and yes, flattered.

I'm not the kind of girl that has men's tongues dragging on the footpath. Apart from my height there's nothing remarkable about my overall appearance. I'm not a dog. But I'm no model either. I can look pretty good when I put a bit of effort in and thanks to my hair stylist I've got nice hair. So it's not every day that I get random compliments from strangers on my looks.

I did today.

Crossing the road this morning I almost walked out in front of a car waiting at the lights. The car started to move a little and then stopped. I jumped back on to the footpath, only to notice that the lights had just turned orange. The driver had had plenty of opportunity to go when they were green but was apparently waiting for me to cross. I smiled and nodded in thanks as I finally passed the bonnet of the car on foot. To my surprise came the confident and calm reply, "Nice tits".

I was shocked. I actually did a corny double take to check that the comment had been meant for me. Thanks to the guy's wry smile and an apparent lack of any other tits in the vicinity of the incident I was able to confirm that he had in fact been talking about my breasts.

I know I'm supposed to be offended by this blatant comment. Most modern women would probably roll their eyes in disgust at such an act. Some might even turn around and give a little lip service of their own.

But alas. I'll be honest. I loved it. The moment put a smug and ridiculous smile on my face. I walked along the shop front windows just catching glimpses of my boobs.

So I'm giving a little shout of thanks out to the universe. And a note of encouragement to a more tentative male. If you're thinking about sneaking in a cheeky and bold, perhaps slightly sexist and inappropriate comment, go ahead. She might roll her eyes at you but she'll be secretly checking out her tits in mirrors all day long.

"Brang" is not a word

Yeah. You heard me. "Brang" is not a word. I will fight this battle for many years to come and I don't care how stuffy and boring I become in the process. It's not that hard. I brought my book to school. I bought a new pair of earrings. Look, I can see the thinking (or lack of thinking) behind it..."I sing therefore I sang", "I ring therefore I rang", "I bring therefore I brought" just doesn't have the consistency one looks for in a language. But life wasn't meant to be easy and some things should be corrected.

While I'm on it I'm going to set a few youngsters straight on some other absolute pet hates in the language department:

Listen up kids....you can't "verse" anyone at sport. I can't tell you who you're "versing" this weekend at soccer because...."VERSING" IS NOT A WORD!!!!!!! I love it when you argue the point. "Verse is in the dictionary!". Yes it is you little moron - and it relates directly to the structure of correct English language.

Further to my rant, you never usen't to do anything, especially not in relation to articulation. What? You don't say this one? "I usen't to like chocolate but now I do."

A wise older teacher once reluctantly explained to me that these common errors eventually become an accepted part of speech. Well this is a battle I'm willing to fight. I'll verse anyone. I usen't to be so combative about it but now that I brang it up I mean business.

Ladies Who Get Nude and Stay Nude

Summer's almost here and what a long time it has been coming. With Summer comes swimming and I will be one of the first to jump on in. The beach is my preference but I may also try the pool. I'll convince myself this is an exercise focused endeavour but will probably be spending much of my time with the nannas in the slow lane.

But this post is not about swimming. It's about what goes on in the ladies dressing room, post-swim. Try and imagine feeling comfortable with the following:

1. You throw on the thongs and head into the communal showers.
2. You strip off in a nonchalant manner and stand buck-naked under the shower's warming heat. You take your time whilst others queue anxiously behind you.
3. You wonder why others avoid eye contact with you as you take care to wash well between your legs and remove all sand in all crevices.
4. After toweling off you hang your towel over a hook and decide to...
5. Blow-dry your hair. Heading for the basin area you plug in your hair drier and face yourself in the mirror for a better view.
6. Others awkwardly approach the basins to wash their hands having been to the toilet.
7. You smile and laugh lightly as someone is accidentally bumped into your buttocks. At first they don't realise they have knocked into a naked person but a shocked glance brings your lady garden into full view and they reel back in embarrassed horror.
8. You roll your eyes at the ridiculousness of the other, mortified, curious, offended patrons present. How could it be that women are so uncomfortable in the presence of something so familiar??

Sound like something you'd go for?

Me neither. Well I know I sound like a prude but those who know me well would probably defend me on that. My issue with the CBN (Communal Bathroom Nudist) is this: I know you have a vagina. I have one too. I know you have confidence in your body. I occasionally do too. I know you don't have hang-ups about your breasts. Neither do I. Here's the thing. Can't you be a bit more embarrassed please? Your level of comfort with your nakedness makes me feel....well...naked. I don't mind you being nude for a bit but do you have to look like you could be waiting for a bus while you're doing it? Your nudity just doesn't have the right sense of urgency about it. For most of us, when in public places, nudity is a transient, if albeit occasionally necessary, state of being. (Drunkenness is the only exception to this rule).

So put some clothes on for shit's sake. At least a pair of undies.