Why Cant You Look Hot and Run?

Its day 3 of detox. No cigarettes, no illicit drugs, no alcohol, no coffee, no fun.

It all started with a pair of fluro pink and leopard skin black running shoes.

Well…. Actually, it all started with a boy…. Which led to the shoes…. Which lead to now…. Wait a second… let me just tell you the story…..

I’ve always been indulgent, a yes kinds girl. More coffee? Yes. More chocolate? Why not. Another smoke? Definitely…. Never had I said no to myself.

My Papa would always encourage me to read books on the topic of willpower, and discuss with me the importance of such things…. being able to control your mind over body…..

I would preach to people whilst happily chowing down my 3rd-morning coffee accompanied by my 3rd organic cigarette, that I could if I wanted to, but darling, its organic, and besides it makes me sing better…..Tom Waits??

Anyway, I met this boy, he’s an extremist. Yin to the Yang, black to white, yes or no. He runs when he’s not chain-smoking…He drinks power smoothies in the morning, strange “Heath Concoctions” kale, acai, chia, you name it… It’s in there…. I don’t think it actually tastes that pleasant, but honey it’s 2018, you’re in your thirties, and its the thing to do.

My friends are all getting to that age of discovering exercise… they tell me it actually feels good when those endorphins kick in…. gets you high in fact. I’ve always found those lycra clad, bad taste in shoes, hair ponytail slicked with sweat, iPod donning, brand emblazing, exercise iron man people rather freaky. But with a little encouragement of my friends, and fear of the middle-aged spread I decided to purchase my first pair of running shoes.

So…. My bestie and I, determined to get fit went from store to store, shop to shop, shoe to shoe… it was like Cinderella all over again…. Now you see this ain’t no easy task for two fickle ladies, especially from ladies that are both used to buying sequin heels, or Portuguese leather boots.

And let me tell you they were horrid…. these shoes…. I mean I don’t know who designs them or nothing, but Jesus Christ almighty… I mean the colour scheme…. What were they inspired by? The primary school highlighter collection….??? Every single fluro colour on one shoe….. strange lines, and detailing….

Why can’t you look hot and run? All I wanted was to look hot and run….

I mean already this was a step down in the hipster, bohemian queen identity I had going on…. But this selection? Atrocious.

Somehow I settled on a shoe that looked the best out of all of them, but honey, let me tell you, that ain’t saying much. There still ugly as all hell, fluro pink, lime and leopard skin.

I hate to say it, but way more comfortable than my Portuguese leather handcrafted shoes and way more comfortable than my Italian red wedges. Hmm goddamn! I understand why people wear them now, wear them casually, wear them when they’re not even running around, wear them to the local café, sipping on skinny lattes. I dunno maybe just wearing them makes you fitter you know, some kinda positive reinforcement manifestation.

In fact, I’m wearing them right now and I’m not even jogging… and as fugly as they are, they feel great, they caress my feet like a knowing lover, I feel fit just sitting here, typing like a mad woman, and burning calories like nobodies business. I get it. Maybe this is it……maybe this is the future.

Dirty Thirties

Welcome to your dirty thirties- Your skin starts sagging a bit. You start looking your age. No more ID checks, unless you’re queuing up for a gold coast club on a Saturday night, searching for paradise. Those cigarettes actually show up on your skin. You get bags under your eyes if you drink coffee and have a bad night sleep. Hairs start growing in peculiar places. You friends that had jumped the gun in there twenties are all getting divorced and now dating millennials. Your friend’s kids are starting to hit puberty. Everyone you know around is breeding and playing house. Your friend’s friends are buying their second investment property, planning their second baby. And you are still 19 at heart living with your folks, smoking dope and trying to start your life afresh for the 100th time this year.

 

“Quit it tiger, you need to make your body clean so you can make good babies”

“Aren’t you to old for that now???”

“Your over the hill, should have had babies in your twenties, your much to old and fussy now”

“Your still so young, you can have babies at 40 now, and that’s fine”

 

All these unwarranted and conflicting opinions, these rants and raves about what people think I should do and when I should do it.

I was told I was over the hill the other day. I’m 32 years old. But I guess in some cultures that is a spinster age if you haven’t found “Mister Right”, or “Mister You’ll Do For Now”. All my Sisters friends have ended up worth Aussie Bogans. Part gentleman, part golf, part beer coaster. I wonder if it’s because of the diminishing selection of eligible bachelors in there 30’s and early 40’s. Or is that Mamas and Papas are bringing up uncouth, ill-mannered, sloppy men, and part bogan is better than full bogan so you settle, pettle.

Or is it this country.

I don’t get approached by men anymore, although to be honest I never really have, unless they’re drunk, desperate, ancient or stupid.

My Sisters tell me I’m attractive, my Mama tells me I’m special, my Papa says I’m alright, but men don’t say shit.

My Brazilian friend tells me to go to Latin America. She tells me it’s different there. My other bestie, who is now divorced from a Latin man, tells me to stay the hell away from there.

I was discussing this last year when I was told the problem is….I’m too attractive… which makes me intimidating, therefore unapproachable. Right…..

Or is that maybe as we get older, we have higher standards, are more stuck in our ways, have more barriers up, less reluctant to dive in deep and let it all go for love like we did in our free wheeling 20’s.

Last week I put up a sign on my community notice board.

 

SEARCHING FOR A HUSBAND

-MUST CLEAN- COOK- SAIL- GIVE GOOD ORGASMS-

I’m still waiting for a response…..

I used to be a sponge. My first few boyfriends had it relatively easy… I would shapeshift for them, chameleon into what was needed, desired…. But now. What? Can I no longer chameleon for love. Or is easier to live a single and sometimes lonesome life rather than cash it all in on some kind of crazy, forget me not guaranteed love….

Disney really fucked me up. I blame Disney 100 % on all my false hopes, fantasy rides and semi unrealistic dreams. From a young baby, I was brainwashed to think prince charming was going to come riding up on his donkey to take me away to a palace someplace… but I’m still waiting, and no donkey in sight…

But Disney and Bogans aside…. On a positive note….

Since I’ve turned 30…..

I have started living more of my truth, becoming more in my power, saying no to things that no longer serve me. Owning my worth and dancing like no ones watching. I’m more assertive, more focused and more alert. No longer do I have the endless soul-searching of youth, the “Who am I?, Why am I? Questions. I just am.

And although I sleep alone at night, am childless, ticking like a time bomb, with black rings under my eyes, I am happy and getting better at life one tiny step at a time.