Just another blog post about being last…

Ok so this year, I turn 35. I am officially mid-thirties, and on the last rung before the slippery slide to forty. 

And friend #6 announced her pregnancy today. 

That’s 6 friends, all pregnant, all due about the same time. (Ok today’s announcement was more of an acquaintance but as all but one of my closest friends is indeed, up the duff, I figure I could include her in my tally).

And I, am officially the last single gal.

I’m not sure how I feel about that. First of all, why am I always last? I’m like Gretl freakin’ Von Trapp.  That line where she asks “why am I always last?” always used to get me, even as a child- because I did always seem to be last, and I totally understood how she felt. Move over morose middle child, being the youngest isn’t all kittens and sunshine either!

Growing up I experienced a lot of lasts.  I was the last one to be picked on sporting teams (thanks, lack of hand-eye-coordination!).  I was the last to know about any birthday parties (and I suppose it should be noted, I never had one myself).  I always came second to my elder sister in hacking and showjumping (heck, I was usually plain last in showjumping anyway!). I was the last of my friends to kiss a boy.  I was the last of my friends to become a woman (urgh I hate that phrase). So far as I know, I was the last to have sex.  I was the last to finish my studies. I was the last to travel overseas. 

However, I was the first to get my pen license in grade 3, but then I moved schools and upon showing up to my first day with a pen (not thinking anything untoward, I had after all, been writing with it for 6 months by then), my new teacher swiftly removed it from my possession.  That I had the audacity to assume I could continue to write with INK before she herself had decreed it so, clearly convinced her that her new pupil was of a rebellious nature and needed to be taught a lesson  She then proceeded to make me earn my license back all over again with the rest of the class, and just to make sure I got the point-  you guessed it…I was last!

So, in the last few years my friends have slowly, one by one, met, fallen in love with, and (in all but a couple of cases) eventually married their lifelong partners. That didn’t really change much by way of our friendships, I must admit.  Sure, sometimes I felt a bit like the odd one out when I’m the only one at dinner without a partner, but I was always thankful that I never seemed to be seated at the end of the table like some kind of outcast. 

But this is different.  First of all, in one fell swoop, I have lost my social life. No more pub/wine bar action, no more girly soirees over red wine and chocolate (ok I guess the chocolate is still on the list).  Two weeks ago I was on my way home after finishing my Saturday activities and I suddenly had the urge to go out somewhere.  After two very long work weeks, I was in the mood for maybe a vino and some dancing, some live music and perhaps a flirt with a bartender, but a quick scroll through my phone revealed that in fact…there was no one to call. I had no wing[wo]man.

It’s not unreasonable for this to have happened of course.  We are, after all, in our mid-thirties, but naive as it may have been of me to not forsee this, I just didnt expect ALL of my friends to drop out of my social life at the same time. 

And I am sad.  I am sad that all of my friendships have now changed forever.  I am sad -and a little annoyed- that I wasn’t more prepared.  In About a Boy, Marcus, even at the age of (12?) recognised that you need backup, and sure enough, here I find myself, devoid of such.

I realise this does make me sound like an immensely selfish individual.  Yes, I realise that my friends lives and families are not about me, but this blog is, so please, do try to keep up.

Dont misunderstand me, I am extremely happy for all of my friends who are about to embark on a very exciting new chapter in their lives. I’m super excited about being ‘cool aunty Serene’ again, and I genuinely cannot wait to meet all of the new arrivals.  For those who simply refuse to divulge gender (you know who you are) I am simply DYING to know so I can go crazy with the online shopping (my credit card is newly paid off and ready for action!). 

And those feelings are entirely separate from the fear that suddenly has its vice-like grip on my stomach and heart. 

Furthermore, it turns out that with the intgration of online dating into modern society, it turns out that it is actually much easier to get a date, than it is to make a new friend to hang out with on a Saturday night.

But I don’t want a date.  I want someone(s) who I can laugh with, cry with, share my fears with, and dance like a lunatic with and share stupid stories with and whinge to…all without the pressure of having to decide if I want a “relationship” with that person when the evening is over, or having to spend the entire evening thinking up the best way to let them down gently.

This is not an unusual circumstance, a quick Google of something along the lines of “last single girl” or “all of my friends are married with children”, raised countless results of blogs, forum posts and Yahoo questions all uploaded by people in the midst of a massive panic attack, upon realising that they are the last one, who are suddenly desperate to seek verification that they aren’t freaks, and that this doesn’t mean they are destined to be alone forever. 

If I wasn’t so goddamned petrified myself, I would be reading these hastily typed queries and marvelling at how desperate they sound.

These people have been left behind- through no fault of their own, or their peers - with no hope of even some good natured girly backup on a night out to blow off some steam and share a few glasses of bubbly, laugh off their fears of turning 40 with a collection of cats, whilst pretending not to entertain a heavily repressed hope that a chance meeting at the bar, or in the taxi queue, might be the critical turning point to set them on the right track to blissful coupledom.

A few months ago, I would have confidently reassured myself that I had plenty of friends and that this would simply never happen to me.  There would always be someone still sufficiently childfree to call upon.

But as luck would have it, I find myself experiencing that well worn path of being last….again.

Only, I don’t have an Uncle Max to reassure me that it’s just because I am the most important.

And even if I did, I don’t think that explanation would really fly at my age.  I mean realistically, nothing makes you more aware of your relative insignificance, than being left behind.

So, in honour of my beautiful friendships, which are now altered forever, I apologise in advance if my behaviour in the next 6 months resembles some of this:   http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G_Z3lmidmrY

I am hoping that I will have worked my way through most of the stages before the bundles of joy arrive!

Reblog- The Good Girl

For the Good girls…

http://thelasthappysinglegirl.blogspot.com.au/2011/04/ode-to-good-girl.html?m=1

A Woman’s Right

(NB: Not Worth)

S 06 E 09

“A Woman’s Right to Shoes”

’nuff said.

Stylin’ Saturday

I am exhausted.  It’s not because I was out last night until 1 am, and it’s not because I was up again at 6 cleaning my house.  No, it might have something to do with the massive cleansing that just occurred in my bedroom!  And I wasn’t alone.

I did something I thought I would never do – I HIRED someone to help me audit my wardrobe.

Yes, I parted ways with a couple of big ones and in return I got space, and peace of mind, and some very good advice about what works on me and what doesn’t.

WHY DIDN’T I DO THIS YEARS AGO?!

When Jo, my lovely stylist arrived at my house I had already sorted my wardrobe into “Definitely Keep”, “??”, and “Toss” piles.  In my “DK” pile I’d say I had about 2/3 of my wardrobe, in my “??” pile I had about 99% of the remaining third, and in my “T” pile I had….2 items.  Yep, hours of sorting through my wardrobe on my own had effectively gotten me nowhere. Yay me.

We began with the work gear, suits, pants, skirts.  She passed a critical eye over me and decided that skirts and dresses are definitely more my thing.  Which is true, and I am lazy time poor so, anything I can hand wash and not iron or lug to and from the drycleaners is also a plus.  Then we moved onto tops to combine with said skirts (and the few pairs of pants that I own).  Boy was this an eye-opener.  Let’s just say that I had a lot to learn about what colours and styles work well on me.

I learned that I do actually look good in skinny jeans (without having to balance my hips out with boots).

I learned the ideal skirt length and cut that works best on me.

I learned totally new combinations of styles and colours that I would never have thought of.

I learned that I have a shockingly poor accessory stash (note to self when shopping: pendants, pendants, pendants!!)

My shoe collection is STILL not complete!

I now have a license to purchase blingy belts.

Source: http://www.irishtimes.com

A very short hour later and we had been through the entire wardrobe (excluding my drawers of t-shirts and camis) and my “DK” pile is now manageable, “??” disappeared (mostly into “T”) and my “T” pile had become a mountain.

WOW!

Where I previously had multiple items hanging from one hanger and no space to flick through, I now have 20 free hangers and only one item per hanger and I can SEE what’s there!

It’s comforting to know that everything that remains in my wardrobe has had the tick of approval from a person who knows- and the items I loved and hated and loved-to-hate, which just didn’t flatter my shape or complexion, have been banished.

Was it work $250 for the hour? Well, I wish I had taken a photo of the before piles and the after piles, because I would say definitely YES.

It’s much easier to be ruthless when someone who has no emotional attachment to specific items can just say “it’s dated”, “it’s too young/old for you”,”it doesn’t flatter your shape” and the fact that you have never worn it, or you know you had to eat tinned soup for a month just so you could buy it? Irrelevant.

Of course I could have chosen to keep things if I had really wanted to, but at the end of the day, I trust her professional opinion and why was I forking out $200+ if I wasn’t going to take it seriously?

I’m not going to lie, it stung a couple of times to part with some items but really, I should have been more discerning in the first place.

My money had already been wasted.

My focus now is to make sure that the money I spent today was not spent in vain.

So, on that note, I asked Jo to kindly take the “T” pile with her so that I wouldn’t be tempted to sift through it again later and retrieve things I shouldn’t.

Where to now? Well, in a couple of months the real fun starts – I will get Jo to take me SHOPPING!  In the meantime I will practice what I have learned, and just enjoy not having anxiety attacks when faced with the task of choosing an outfit to wear in the mornings.

Source: http://www.luuux.com

Hello 2013!!

The Lure of Labels

This Christmas/New Year season I had two glorious weeks of enforced leave.  To begin with I was rather unhappy about having to take annual leave that I didn’t actually have (thanks to a side trip to Paris after a recent business trip- more on that later…).  However, I’ll concede that by the time December 21 rolled around I was more than ready to shut my laptop, switch off my blackberry and just enjoy some sleep, sun and surf, and catch up on some iconic television viewing…SATC.

That’s right people, this cyber shopping, shoe loving, 30-er-something, single (well…until recently anyway) woman was never a Sex lover.  I don’t know how it slipped me by really, but perhaps it had something to do with sharing a house with 3 men when this program was being aired, so, needless to say I was never going to win the toss of SATC over “The Footy Show” [eyeroll].

Today, after a lazy Sunday afternoon on the couch, I devoured the second half of season 4 and, to quote the famed CB, “It got me thinking…”

Why it always the case that in fiction – the Bad Boys are romanticised to the hilt?

[expletive warning]

Seriously…that’s fucked up.

Don’t you think?

Ok, so I realise: It’s fiction.  It’s a fantasy, and therefore why would one want to reflect the real world in a fantasy…I get that.  But my real query is, why would we find that type of fantasy even remotely desirable in the first place? Are women just complete masochists?

I myself have not been immune to the Bad Boy scenario.  I have found myself involved with your stereotypical Bad Boy a number of times before, and I too, have turned down a perfectly good offer (OK – not in the form of a 2+ carat asscher cut diamond attached to a marriage proposal -but certainly a very generous offer of ‘lets move in together and have a baby’) from the Aidan of my past.

I tell ya, season 4 really ticked me off.  From an outsider looking in, I spent the afternoon judging the Carrie character for her decision to let the Good Guy walk away (breaking both his heart, and hers, in the process), but then I realised…who am I to judge?  I did exactly the same thing…and for the same reasons: I was still hung up on the Bad Boy, I did love the Good Guy, but I just couldn’t commit myself to it, at that time.  Something was just not allowing me to make that next step.

I regretted it a year later of course, and then two years later when the news of his new love rolled in, I regretted it all over again…but only briefly.  Somewhere through the haze of hurt I found confidence in my ability to make the right choices for me, and allow myself to believe that plenty of good things were yet to come in my future, and still are.  I realised I was free of the Bad Boy, and happy for the Good Guy…and then I met… the New Guy.  And he’s really nothing like either of them.  He’s still infuriating and sometimes evasive, like a Bad Boy, but he’s honest and open and tear-jerkginly gentle, like the Good Guy.  Which of course has rendered me…completely flummoxed.  This New Guy just doesn’t compute.  I have been dropped back into Wonderland expecting my head to be chopped off any second by some crazy homicidal card.

But so far, I’ve managed to keep my cool.  Two months in we have started to have some big conversations about past loves, heartbreak…and what we each want for our futures.

What do I want?

I’m not sure really.  Do I have to know???
I trust that I am capable of recognising it when I feel it because in the past whenever I have attempted to shove my idea of perfection into a box and tie it up with a bow, it inevitably self-destructs like a billion dollar sport’s car in a Mission Impossible movie: with maximum destruction.

And so, perhaps that is my next step on my journey: to avoid labeling everything. Perhaps there really aren’t any Bad Boys- only boys that are bad for me.

Happiness is: the Rainbow Wedge

I have blue nail polish.  BLUE.

The Serene of two years ago, or even one year ago would never have worn blue nail polish.  She didn’t think she was cool enough.  She didn’t think she could pull it off.

She also didn’t think she could “pull off”:

• skinny jeans
• above-the-knee hemline
• purple lipstick
• curly hair
• flirting with strangers with no expectations
• tangerine

But Serene has pulled all of these off in recent times, and more!

What a world of difference a little bit of time makes.  I have found my happiness, finally.

I cant explain how, or why, or what I am particularly happy about, but I am.  I’ve opened my eyes and looked around, I’ve observed how lucky I am, and accepted that whether or not I feel I deserve my blessings, I have them and I should appreciate and cherish them. There could be no greater compliment to the bestower of a gift than to have the recipient show true appreciation.

This single gal is just living her life and enjoying it.

I am sucking up all the goodness that this world has to offer, until the gooey warmth oozes down to the pit of my belly to comfort me from the inside-out.

It hasn’t been an easy journey, and I’m sure there are more ebbs and flows to experience in the future.

But I’m ready.

….and in the meantime, I’ll express my contentment with spectacular shoes, courtesy of Carmen Steffens.

of

Hello Morning!

Image credit: efired / 123RF Stock Photo

There is something to be said about the briskness of a cold, clear winter morning…  The way the icy air catches in your throat when you first step outside…  The way it instantly jolts you awake and stings your eyes just that little bit… The way the quick under your fingernails tingles….

Ok, so, technically it’s only Autumn and this of course, is coming from a woman who lives in Australia so, this “icy” air is probably closer to a balmy spring day for those who live in much colder climates- hey, it was definitely below 10 degrees (Celsius), OK?!]

I woke up early this morning, having used a new alarm system.  I downloaded the “Sleep Cycle” App on my iPhone.  I’m sure it’s a load of rubbish but I really like the sound of the alarm (I’m currently on “Forest Glade”) and how it oh-so-gently brings me to consciousness.  It’s just less of a shock to the system if you ask me, and a much more pleasant way to wake up.  I’m sure there are other alarms that I could have downloaded for free and saved myself $0.99 but I was curious about what the App was supposed to do.

Nevertheless, my eyes still felt just as grainy as they always do, and I was still tempted to put my head back to pillow after turning off the alarm, like I always do.

But I didn’t. 

I had promised the dog an early morning walk, having spent too much time in the kitchen last night after my gym workout, and not wanting to venture out at 9pm by which time my quads were definitely protesting.  She didn’t seem to mind, we played with a tennis ball in the hallway for 15 minutes and I have some lovely scratches on my arms today to show for it.

A couple of years ago I was an enthusiastic morning person.  I LOVED getting outside before the sun was up and getting the blood pumping. In recent times, I have simply fallen out of the habit, I got lazy. I had forgotten how lovely it is to be outside so early in the mornings.  To see the sun rise and the world slowly wake up. It is dark in the mornings now until after 6:30am, but I have missed that early morning outdoor silence, the comfort and freedom that comes with knowing that you are unlikely to have to pass too many strangers who awkwardly look ahead or at their feet as they approach-rather than simply smiling and saying ‘hello’, the feeling of already being wide awake- before you switch on the coffee grinder (or step into the shower), that secret smugness you carry with you until well into the day knowing you’ve had a “great start”.

I know it seems strange to reacquaint myself with early morning during the colder, darker months of the year but that appears to be what I’m doing this year.

…And I’m loving it.

Hello Mornings!