Well I guess this is growing up.

So at some point in the past couple of months it has become apparent that I am fast moving into the world of becoming an adult.

..Don’t you have a 3 year old child?

You may ask.

Why yes. I do.
But extensive research indicates that having a child does not cause you to grow up but to very much divert the other way and clutch onto your childhood that little bit longer.
Spending summer jumping around in paddling pools, eating ice blocks at the park, having biscuits and and juice for dinner just because (actually I think the minute you turn into an adult you do this, purely because no one can tell you not to).

I don’t feel like a grown up at all.
I have this little game I like to play.
It’s called Shower Skittles.

I stand in a hot shower and eat skittles.

But a few thinks have happened in my life that would push me a little further into the category of ‘Being an Adult’

My boyfriend Jesse proposed to me.

Without delving into the depths of my personal life, I’ll give you the short story version.
Jesse was my bestfriend for years. He watched me go through boyfriend after boyfriend trying to find the ‘perfect man’.
He used to tell me “You should just marry me so I can look after you and Penny”
Queue Julia Roberts movie story line.
Something changed and SUDDEN REALISATION.
Perfect man.
In front of me.
The whole time.

In my considerably short life, I have made some shockingly bad decisions.

Jesse is not one of them.

He may actually be the single greatest decision I’ve ever made in my life.

So now that Jesse and I are on the verge of becoming one of them married types, we’re also on our way to being pushed even further into the “Being an Adult” category. We’re about to buy a house together.

Wonders never cease.

I don’t know how much I like doing THAT type of adult carry on. The whole mortgage thing.
I love being engaged and I’m frothing at the mouth to marry this amazing man and claim him as my own. Legally.
But the concept of signing my life over to the bank is a little less than love worthy.

At this point of the blog I’ve hit a wall.

The overall theme for this was growing up.

But I kind of just want to gush and brag about my fiancé.

Which I can imagine would be terribly boring for you, dear reader.

Just let it be known that although I am being dragged, kicking and screaming, into the “Being an Adult” category, it’s kind of not so scary, because I am going there with my soul mate.

This is for Jesse, to avoid a public declaration of love, I lesbians you.


We will grow old together but we will never grow up.



A life lesson in itself.

Learning to Fly

I am in the midst of learning a life lesson.

I have a new job and thus far it is scaring the bajeezus out of me.
Somewhere along the lines of the interview process, everyone involved forgot to mention that my new role is highly maths based.

Small fact to leave out.

I failed maths all through high school and was, in the end, placed in the 'remedial' class (that's Cabbage Maths for all you youngin's)
I have the maths skillz of a 6 year old and that's probably insulting the 6 year olds intelligence.

So I was conflicted after the first few days.
Do I hitail it outta here? (shout out to my buddy Benji)
I have NEVER been good at this type of thing. What's to say I'll ever get any better?

But then I realised.

...I'm not an idiot.

I'm really, really not an idiot.
Should you compare me to a common Ursus arctos horribilis...I think you would find I have an intellectual advantage.

I never paid attention in high school.
I remember writing pages and pages of notes in my 4th form maths class.
Looking back now, I had an excellent teacher.
I remember I would write all these notes down, but it was in vain.
I wouldn't process a single thing.
And then I would wonder why the hell I couldn't understand anything.
One day whilst sitting in detention (rebel without a cause, you know it) I had to pretend to look busy, so I read some maths notes I had written.
I suddenly understood how Pythagoras Theorem worked. (Don't ask me now, I don't think I've used it since then)
All because I had actually read my notes.
But then as if I was being disloyal to my rebellious, devil-may-care self, I shut the book and refused to read the other notes.
Hindsight is a big, huge, laughing bitch.

So today, I sit here, with little knowledge in basic math skills.
A self inflicted downfall.
So I have 2 options.
I either choose to make a change or I don't.

In the words of Obama and Bob the Builder.
Yes. We. Can.

In this case, yes I can.
I can do this.
Just takes a little bit of brains, a lot of paying attention and even more perseverance.
There a few people in my life I want to make proud, my Mum, Jesse, and Penny.
They are the most important people in the world to me, and I keep living every day for these people. I could give up, but because of those three lovely people, I keep going.
But I think above and beyond that, I want to make myself proud.
I don't believe I have achieved much in my life... If anything.
Some will argue that my super rad daughter is a fairly great achievement, but I have to be honest, thus far that has been easy, I haven't had to do much to add to the radicity of that child.
She came out awesome and has yet to let up.

So this probably sounds a lot like the previous entry where I was like FUCK YEAH I'MA GET SKINNY.
(which I failed miserably at I'll have you know)
But I think it's a bit beyond dieting.
I even voluntarily went to a meeting this morning to potentially become part of a mentoring program.
I'm taking the steps...
I'm currently standing at the bottom of the ladder, not even touching it.
But I want to start climbing it.

I have an amazing family and partner to support me.
Better yet I have an awesome training buddy who teaches me odd calculations and tells me of years gone by when he used to be a rock star and his cherry docs weren't the shoes of lesbians.
Here's to you training buddy.

And here's to me making something of myself.

So I'm asking for your support on this one party people.

Give me your rags to metaphorical (or real...) riches stories.

Tell me a time when you or someone else questioned your ability and how you proved that wrong.

Scientia est potentia.

Nil By Mouth

I am not a fatty.

Denial is the first step I believe...

But seriously. By the mainstream standard, I doubt I would be considered fat.
Out of shape? Definitely.
But in the fine words of Dr Suess:
I'm in great shape for the shape I'm in!(sic)

So I know I'm not fat, but I know I'm out of shape.
I would be happier in myself should I lose weight and shape up.

I rarely do anything to myself to please anyone else.
I get tattoos because I think they're pretty.
I stretch my ear lobes because I like the look.
I wear make up, straighten my hair and wear nice clothes because it makes me feel good.

I don't believe you should ever do anything to yourself because you think it will please someone else.
But I am a firm believer in self pride.
I think girls should tidy themselves up and make an effort to look pretty, for themselves.
Because having respect for oneself is a virtue.
You don't have to paint on your face or wear a cocktail dress every morning.
But for gods sake.
Put on some mascara, brush your hair, wear a skirt.
You owe it to yourself to show others that you have pride in your appearance.
People will look at your differently.
People will treat you differently.
In a good way!
Because if you don't show respect for yourself then surely you can't have much respect of any one or thing else?
And it's the same for guys.
Pull up your pants, have a shave and put on some fucken deodorant.
You male lot don't try hard enough.
Due to perpetual gender discrimination it's usually not as influential in your day to day life.
But a lot of you smell gross and are no fun to look at. (A lot, not all, my boyfriend for example, he smells and looks delightful and shout out to some of the boys in the office for having fantastic cologne. And some of you aren't not good looking also.)

Self pride is a big thing to me.
It comes from working as a makeup artist.
I would watch people transform in front of my eyes.
In all senses of the word.
I put make up on them and they would leave that shop a different person.
They would be ecstatic about their new look.
How is that a bad thing!
Think about how much happier you'd be in life if you looked in the mirror in the morning and went
"I look gooood... Hey everybody... Come see how good I look today!" (name that movie)
I mean, your job might be shit but at least you look good! ...Story of my life.

Ok so obviously life isn't so superficial, and to be aesthetically pleasing does not result in inner happiness.
But I'm just saying... It's one less thing to worry about if you're happy with the outside.
And that just about brings me back to my starting note.
My life is pretty amazing.
But there are minor adjustments I could make to make it even better.

When it comes to weight, I believe that unless you are going to do something about it, then you have no right to whinge about being a fat ass.
So rarely do I say anything about my weight.
I have the odd girl moment and once in a while will have a pout about feeling fat.
And my family take great pleasure in calling me fat (I give as good as I get).
But generally speaking, I know I have nothing to complain about.

I don't eat terribly, but I'm not overly healthy and when it comes to exercise, well, that's non existent.
But just this weekend my cousin has informed me of this "diet" she's gone on.
She's lost 5kg in a WEEK!

(I'm not a spam bot I swear. You want happy pills to make you junk bigger? I send you, you give me back account and pin number!)

This appeals to me.

So I'm going to give it a go.
I'll take measurements and weigh myself and then I'll let you know how it goes.

So join me, fatties!

We can get awesome together.

We'll eat celery sticks and take too many laxatives!
It'll be fun!

So here's to feeling pretty and confident!


Life lesson number whatever:

Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels.

The Weather Outside is Weather

I've started wearing my 'it's really fucken cold' coat.
I don't like it much but.. It's really fucken cold.
I'm very much a female in the aspect that I'm always cold.
(I'm also always late and couldn't find my way out of a paper bag should you give me directions...
I enjoy adhering to stereo types, less room for disappointment)
Ask the guys at work, most days I'll sit at my desk wrapped up in my jacket and scarf.
Looking like a weirdo.
I have yet to bring a heater and/or a hot water bottle to work, but believe you me, the thought is not far from my mind...

I mentioned in my last entry that my room resembles a chilly bin in the mornings (And during the day, and at night... All the time).
It get's below 5degrees.
It is not a good start to the day.
So last night I decided to follow through with the experiment of lower body temp whilst trying to sleep.
So I shut off my blankie and turned on the oil heater in my room.
And wonders never cease, I was out like a light.
It may have had something to do with the fact that I was off my face exhausted from not sleeping the night before.
But shut up, let me bask in my moment of science.

So I decided I like having the oil heater in my room, thus not waking up with frost coating my duvet.
I promptly decided I didn't like having it on when I checked my email and saw a power bill for NEARLY $400.

Ow ow ow ow my bank balance.

You bastard power company, charging me so much to stop from me developing pneumonia.
May as well just take my chances because the doctors bills will be cheaper.
Should probably start just buying new clothes instead of drying them as well.
Oh! That's another piss off! We HAVE to use the dryer to dry our clothes.
We can't hang it on the line because the weather is all bi-polar bear, we can't hang it inside because it's colder in than out and nothing ever dries just gets cold and stinky.
There's just no winning!

So my remedy is to fill up the gas bottle.
Good plan!
BUT
Only temporary.
Because I can't keep that on over night.
And I'm still going to wake up and freeze my metaphorical balls off.
And obviously I can't keep it on during the day, so chances of drying washing are again slim.
I am, my friends, stumped.

Unless you're awesome enough to own one of those god-incarnate-in-a-robot devices we like to call heat pumps, there is small chance that you're able to keep your home comfortably heated at all times.

So once again.

I'll just deal with it.

We'll dry our clothes in the dryer, the kids will have their oil heater (because I'm cruel, but I'm not that cruel), I'll have my electric blanket and I will continue to wake up to icicles hanging from my ceiling.

Life Lesson number Three:

Harden up.

Sleepyhead

I can't remember a time when I wasn't at least a little bit tired.

It's taken me this long to write another entry because I have been too tired to come up with something interesting to write about.

I am in a constant state of tired.
It makes me wonder...

How incredibly awesome would I be at life if I was even slightly well rested...

The 199 Exxon Valdez oil spill off Alaska, the Challenger Space Shuttle disaster and the Chernobyl nuclear accident have all be attributed to human error in which sleep-deprivation played a role.

Fuck.

I think there is a serious market for Sleep Banking. Don't ask me how it would work, I'm not so good at science...Mr Yung kicked me out of science in 4th form and I was never allowed to go back.
I imagine it would be as revolutionary as inward singing.

When I was pregnant people would say to me with great knowledge;
"You should sleep while you can!"

I'm sorry what?
Is that going to have any positive result in a month when I have a newborn baby?
Am I going to be walking around and around in circles at 3am for the 3rd night in a row with my newborn trying to soothe her and think
"Well shit, I'm glad I slept until 10 that one time last month, I am so much better off for it!"

(that never happened by the way, my spawn was epic awesome sleeper)

I am undecided on which is more accurate,
Sleep gets in the way of my life.
Life gets in the way of my sleep.

At the moment I am leaning towards the latter.
I am trying my best to make this blog interesting and the like, but I am so tired that it is seriously lacking.

Whilst doing some research to make my blog full of fucking fun facts, I discovered this piece of information:

To drop off we must cool off; body temperature and the brain's sleep-wake cycle are closely linked. That's why hot summer nights can cause a restless sleep. The blood flow mechanism that transfers core body heat to the skin works best between 18 and 30 degrees. But later in life, the comfort zone shrinks to between 23 and 25 degrees - one reason why older people have more sleep disorders.


Well fuck.
Contributing factor to last nights terrible attempt at sleeping?
My electric blanket was cranked up to three.
This little factoid leaves me greatly conflicted.
My electric blanket is the one I love. I keep it on high for most of the night. Because when I wake up in the morning, my breathe comes out in big white clouds of frost. When I wake up in the morning I turn on my GHD and it starts beeping frantically, exclaiming NO NO NO NO!! I'M NOT WORKING UNDER THESE CONDITIONS.
GHDs will not turn on in temperatures under 5 degrees.
I need my achingly hot blankey because it's the only heat I get in my house (...in the bedroom?).
Sleep and warmth go together hand and hand.
I'll risk hypothermia though and do some research.
I'll get back to you on this one.

So how do you remedy this irritating state that we all get in?
We could sleep more...
But that's too easy.
More sleep means less time to do things we want to do and/or need to do.
Like watching the whole first season of How I Met Your Mother. (SUIT UP!)
You have the obvious remedy of coffee.
This doesn't work for me. I mostly just get a stomach ache.
Then I'm in pain and tired... Excellent.
There's energy drinks.
Those don't work for me.
And they're expensive.
There's the remedy of what we should all be doing anyway, eating healthy and exercising.
Don't even get me started on why I don't do that.

So I have learnt to deal with it.
I have accepted that I'm pretty much going to be at least kind of tired for majority of the time.
I have learnt to function on minimal sleep.
This is a fine art that can be related to by mothers around the world.
Us Mummy sorts are generally used to being woken by bad dreams and the need to pee (..that's both me and the kid) and spiders in the bed (it wasn't a spider, it was a hair tie).
So you just cope with it.
You get what sleep you can and you do what you have to do.
The world doesn't stop turning just because you spent last night on stumbleupon.



But I think the best solution would be to just follow suit of the Mexicans and all partake in midday siestas.


Life lesson number two:

You can sleep when you're dead.
But it's preferable you have some now, or you might accidentally blow up a space ship.


Experts say one of the most alluring sleep distractions is the 24-hour accessibility of the internet.

Developing a bad habit.

I used to be able to tell people
"oh no, I don't really drink"

And it was true.

But in recent times I would be lying should I say such things.

My ex flatmate and I used to joke about how we wished we could be cool enough to come home at the end of the day and say "Ooohh I'm dying for a Sav"
Kath and Kim-esque accent inclusive.
We weren't classy or cultured enough to enjoy wine.

This inhibition has now be swiftly drop kicked out the window.

Last night a good friend and myself demo'd 2 bottles of Sav.
Don't ask me what kind, I'm not yet cultured enough to take note of such details.
And let me tell you it was a brilliant night with some excellent D and M's.
I got in approximately 5.5 hours of sleep, woke up late but managed to clothe myself and my child, put on my face, feed the child and even got to work 15 minutes early.

I don't think this has ever happened.

So what is the universe trying to tell me?

May it also be noted that every second weekend my daughter goes to her fathers.
This is usually Mummy's "Quiet Time", a time for sleeping in, watching Glee and Americas Next Top Model and indulging (I say it like I don't do it all the time anyway) in fast food.

Well it used to be.
In recent times I look forward to my weekends off with great anticipation.
Then proceed to gaily fling myself into a weekend full of vodka, narcotics and dance parties in Mikey's living room.

I don't do this every weekend.
My bills are paid, my car is full of petrol, the cupboards are stocked.
My daughter is safe and disconnected from my extracurricular activities...
I never go to an extreme with my substances...
I have a good time, I look after myself and my friends and no damage is done.

I think I'm finally giving myself a break.
The weekends I don't have to be a single Mum, I'm being a regular 22 year old.
I work hard.
The guys at work may beg to differ, but don't listen to them, they're just jealous that I'm allowed to wear skirts to work.
I have in the past, turned my nose up at folk my age who spend their weekends drinking and doing drugs and going to town.
I think, to be honest, it was mostly jealousy.
I didn't have the freedom or the money to do that.
I've been raising my daughter on my own for the passed 2 years (of course I have heaps of support for my super awesome family, but generally speaking, I've been doing it myself)
And only now have I decide, fuck it, I deserve to have a go time, to "let my hair down" if you please.
And I've been having a fucken ball.

I think I might just embrace this bad habit.

It's not that terrible if I may say so.

So I think, my friends, we have come to life lesson number 1:


It's ok to be dying for a sav.

Roll up, roll up...

I don't think this blogging thing is fashionable anymore.
Back in my day (that was way back in early the 2000's) blogging was all the rage.
But in the form of emo teenagers using excess amounts of HTML to express their deep inner angst.
Guilty as charged.

I'll admit I've had at least 5 blogs in the past.
All of them I have deleted due to deep embarrassment of my petty pathetic problems that I wrote about.

So this one I'm going to attempt to make a little less painful.

I've named it 'Life Lessons From the Cheap Seats'.
Self explanatory?
No?
Let me give you an overview.

I'm 22
I'm single
I have a three year old daughter
I live in a rubbish little icebox with my sister and her son
I work 40 hours a week
I don't have a fancy car
I don't have designer clothes
I did just tick up a computer (but don't tell my mum... sorry mum, it was necessary, I swear)
I lead a fairly tame life
I occasionally partake in what the young folk call 'partying'

I am learning
I am growing
I am living

These are life lessons from the cheap seats.

May contain violence, foul language, gore, nudity, drug use, sex scenes, internet memes and sensitive subjects not appropriate for Mum.

Read at your own risk.


Let us go forth together in this journey of curing boredom....