Hello Kitty Jelly Belly Jelly Beans, to be exact.

My sister, Day, is a very thoughtful person and we're forever buying each other little pressies... Some, however, are better than others:

Hair, There, Everywhere!

It’s common knowledge that when a woman leaves a relationship the first thing to go is her hair – no matter how long and glorious her haircape is, it will swiftly be left lying on the tiled floor of the hair salon whilst she grins maniacally at her own reflection.

Now, men assume that the reason women cut their hair off after a relationship is something along the lines of the woman recreating themselves, declaring their independence, etc etc.

 This simply isn’t true. There is a simple truth, though:

You like long hair. You like to run your hands through it, watch the sun sparkle off it, you like to see it spread upon the pillow as you make soft, sweet love to us.

 Yet, you may see smile of beatification on our faces, but they are truly grimaces of horror.

You see, in your admiration of our locks, you don’t see the other side of the coin – a coin we hide behind locked bathroom doors and the gilt façade of boutique salons.

We hate long hair.

  

Apart from making us look like yet another Addams, it’s annoying. It’s expensive to maintain, a pain in the arse to dry, straighten, curl or style in any way imaginable. It’s heavy and hot. It falls out and clogs drains and create tumble hairs (like tumble weed, but made of hair) that randomly tumble across the living room during awkward pauses in conversation.

  

Basically, it’s the reason we take hours to get ready to go anywhere – even the bottle-o. Long hair is hell incarnate on the heads of women everywhere.

Why do you think so few men (Metal Heads excluded, because seriously, you can’t headbang with short hair; you’d look silly.) have short hair?

Because it’s easy.

Because it’s simple.

Come on men, can’t we women enjoy the same simplicities that you enjoy without being hair-shamed?

After all, imagine all the things we can use our money on if we’re not spending it on our hair…

Things such as Lingerie…

  

(or shoes…)

Whether it’s the long or the preferably short of it - Long hair sucks, so please men, please! Please be a little bit more understanding and appreciate our shorter hair styles. Either that or learn how to wield a GHD.

Total Eclipse of the Blind

In case you’ve been hiding under a rock these past few days you will know that there was a total eclipse this morning. Maybe it only happened in Australia though, I don’t know, I am not an astrophysicist. Is it even an astrophysicist who knows about eclipses? Or do they worry about string theory and higgs bosons and the like? Maybe it’s a meteorologist but I think they’re more weather oriented. Or look at meteors or comets or something.

I JUST DON’T KNOW.

Anyway, I do know that here in Australia there was an eclipse.

And, as I am currently staying with family it means the following conversation was held:

  

Doesn’t staring at the sun cause severe damage to your eyesight anyway? I highly suspect staring at an eclipse won’t send you blind, but it’s a great way to prevent people from staring at the sun directly for a certain period of time as the moon moons the sun.

And how many people out there are actually blind due to watching an eclipse through non-brown-paper-methodology?

So, reader(s), did you watch the eclipse today (or at least the televised version of it?)

I did.

I peeked out of the corner of my eye.

Yeah, that's how I roll. 

Single is as Single Does.

Throughout our lives we are constantly searching, seeking, yearning for our other half, our soul mate. We long for the ying to our yang. The black to our white. The Mars to our Venus. The screw to our bolt. The corndog to our donut.  The 1 to our 0. The sausage to our bun. The So On to our So Forth.

And as we search for this person we suffer horrifically, horrendously, and hyperbolically.

Yes, being single means the loneliness of an empty bed, the cold on a winter’s night when there’s no one there to hold you, having no one to hold your hair whilst you praise the porcelain goddess, having no one drive you to McDonald’s when you have a hang over, no one to buy you a bottle of wine on their way home because you’ve had a shit day and need booze, and no one to laugh at your jokes, because come on – you’re just not that funny.

But somehow, during all our suffering, we seem to forget…

Just how awesome it is to be single.

Money.

When in a relationship you no longer have “My Money” but “Our Money”. The Ex and I had a great arrangement – both our wages went into the one account, however one would then be transferred into a high interest savings account and the other would be considered “spending money”. From this “spending money” we would each get a weekly allowance which we could spend on whatever we wanted, whenever we wanted. However, other purchases made with the joint “spending money” had to be mutually beneficial - bills, groceries, booze.

Apparently, Cabernet Sauvignon is not food.

So, now that I am single my money is now My Money – no allowance, no savings (ok, I lie. There’s still savings) and no one to ask “Do you really need another pair of shoes?”

I can spend what I like as I like without having to justify all those parcels waiting to be collected from the post office in suspiciously shoe sized boxes.

That’s right.

My Money is My Shoes.

Make Up!

Men all agree that they prefer the natural beauty of a woman as opposed to the caked on layers of slap that metamorphose us from normal young women to Oompa Loompas. In all honesty, the majority of compliments I have received since the beginning of my adulthood were all declared during those first moments in the morning when I was completely make-up free.

(Yes, the men providing those compliments were likely horny, but if any man can see through a messy mass of hair, John Howard eyebrows, and crustings of drool at the corners of my mouth to tell me I’m beautiful? Well, they deserve to get laid.)

In a relationship a woman is not allowed to wear lipstick in case her partner wants to kiss her. She can’t wear foundation in case he wants to hug her (and is wearing a white shirt). Quite frankly, Makeup will get you the relationship, but then it has to go; they simply don’t work together.

But now? Now I can wear eyeliner and mascara so thick it looks like small black caterpillars have suffered a cardiac arrest on my eyelids. My cheeks a can be the colours of roses, or peaches or prunes. And most importantly, I can once again wear lip stick, balm, gloss, laquer, tint or stain – as long as they are a shade of red varying between firetruck and sated vampire.

My face is artificially flawless.

Shoes.

Whenever I have been in a relationship I have always had to hide or justify my shoe purchases.

Now, I don’t have to.

Being a Receptionist is So Much Fun!!!!!111one

They say that the largest desk in the office belongs to the most important person. Using this logic one can easily say that the Receptionist is vitally important – after all, she (or he) technically has not only the largest desk, but also the largest office space. Sure it is regularly invaded by random strangers who linger around for no other reason than to visit less important people in the company, but she is ultimately the first and last face, the first and last impression, and probably the most bored person in the world.

 Answering the phones and greeting clients, I must muse, is not a task for the intellectual giants of the world (which is why I currently find myself in the Big Chair, so to speak), and there are only so many shoes, makeup items, or Louis Vuitton replicas you can Google during the day.

However, although I fail to find myself mentally taxed in this current assignment of mine, I am finding myself rather amused.

It’s not the countless people mispronouncing my name.

Nor the more "mature" clients on the phone who have already forgotten the purpose of their call by the time I answer it.

Oh no, there is much more fun to be had at reception.

Like the man who just walked into the glass door.

Thank you sir.

Thank you for keeping me entertained and keeping my brain firmly between my ears (and not a messy little puddle on the floor by my feet).