Off My Chest

I spent most of last Friday afternoon with my top off. No, it’s not a new day job or a new boyfriend, I was at the breast clinic. I got prodded, poked, groped, injected and questioned all in the name of medical discovery. I left with my dignity intact but my chest a little worse for wear.

Since then I’ve been thinking about breasts a lot. I have such a love/hate relationship with mine: I can have cleavage/I think cleavage looks slutty, I don’t need push up bras/I always have to wear a bra, they’ve got the attentions of some nice boys/they’ve got the attention of some not so nice boys. And then there’s just the bad things (for all of you who think bigger is better): no backless dresses, they hurt if you get hit, few pretty bras because they don’t make them that cute in my size and ditto (I found out this morning) for bikinis.

I don’t need to give any references to the blatant fact that, like the rest of the female body today, boobs are over-photographed, over-sexualised and over-scandalised for the benefit of a heterosexual male audience, but we still use them to our advantage. On the radio the other day women who used their cleavage to their advantage were asked to phone in and there were all sorts of stories: getting out of speeding tickets, getting service at bars, discounts at electronics stores. But us girls are also very attached to them, I’m a bit worried about getting mine hacked into because I’ll have a scar. I love my other scars, they’re reminders of good stories (and stupid mistakes) but I feel like it will be so… what’s the female version of emasculating?

As Julia Roberts said in Notting Hill (is that not the most quotable movie of all time?) “What is it about men and nudity? Particularly breasts? How can you be so interested in them?… What’s all the fuss about?” I don’t know but despite the awkardness of my pre-teen years and the trauma of bra shopping, I’m suddenly very protective of mine.



What do we think of this? In another blog I look at (for men) this image was posted in reference to a partner. I usually hate these sort of criteria but I’m really struggling to think of exclusions to there being just two of those three things. Can you have it all? And are these three things the foundations to relationships? If we girls were making one up about the men in our lives, or women (we are not hetro-normative around here) would it be the same? Or would we have other attributes? And where does fun-ness and funniness come in? Because that’s vitally important, right? Or is that just me?

Life Story

There’s a man who lives in my suburb, he’s multi-millionaire, has had three wives, multiple children and lives in a beautiful house in an amazing location. He’s old now, going blind and is, as far as I know, living alone. No more wives, no more kids, with his health slipping away.

First day back at work I had to wrap up all his Christmas presents. He’d made a list of 25 people and to 23 of them he is giving the same book. What makes it even more curious is that he’s written personal messages inside each of them, no cards, just scrawling black ink on typed cover pages.

In my infinite curiosity, I read the messages and they made me indescribably sad.

Things such as (names changed):

“Dear Margaret, I had hoped we would be spending Xmas together this year…”

“Dear Frank, thank you so much for all you help during the year, you’ve been so kind…”

“Dear Joe, I hope you the house will be finished in time for Xmas, you and Sarah are always welcome at my place, whenever you are able to visit…”

“Dear Harry, I miss you terribly, now that your mother and I have got a divorce I hope that we can reestablish our relationship..”

That last one is the saddest one of all, what a heart laid bare, and how out of place it looked, on the cover page of a book where one usually writes such simple, banal and sentimental messages.

I think of all the people in my life now, when I’m 90 will there only be 25 and will some of them not want to see me? Or is it a representation of money not buying happiness etc? Or is this simply what happens when you get old, that people leave you and then leave you alone?

Hunters & Collectors

I used to collect stickers, you know, when sticker books were the fad of the nineties, I mean, for goodness’ sake, could you imagine giving someone stickers these days?? What did we do with them?

At the end of my sticker phase inherited a stamp collection which sits in a wooden box on my bookcase and looks accusingly at me for not doing anything with it – I haven’t added to the collection but I also haven’t sold it to a true stamp fan so that they may enjoy it. I don’t even look at it, it’s just there.

Now, I’ve realised, I collect words or phrases that we don’t have an English equivalent for, apparently they’re called ‘loan words’. You know, words that we’ve had to borrow from other languages because silly old English just isn’t proficient enough to provide us with simply the right, concise way to express what we mean. German does it well with compound words like zeitgeist and my personal favourite, schadenfreude and my study of French has given me an intense liking for déjà vu, ennui and l’esprit d’escalier (when you think of the perfect response/comeback after the conversation is over).

Here’s my latest, it’s Welsh and like it’s homeland, it’s a real beauty:

That’s exactly the word I’ve been looking for.

Have We Seen This?

Oh dear. Oh dear oh dear oh dear.

First there was this for Cruise 12/13:

The makeup, stunning, the hair, oh the hair! But I let it slide, you know, it’s Karl Largerfeld, it’s Chanel, it was at Versailles, maybe they should be avant-garde every once in a while.

But I have finally remembered to track down the long-awaited, much talked about ad of Brad Pitt for Chanel No. 5. I was expecting something as stunning, thrilling and sexy as Audrey Tatou or Nicole Kidman’s but it is not to be:

This is part one and part two is no different as far as the script goes.

Oh dear. I’m worried.

No Connection

It’s been a week of no blogging, no having fun, no lying in the recently emerged summer sun and no internet. Could my life possibly have been more disastrous??

That’s my brilliant excuse for not posting. No internet. I could’ve gone to uni and used the computers there but I felt that the oppressive halls of such a soul-sucking institution would do nothing for my creativity and besides, my head was so full of torts, trials and tribes that I couldn’t fit much in (limited capacity up there, ya hear?)

I thought I’d find it all refreshing, you know how they’re always saying that we need breaks from technology and people are always whinging about how they wish they could just “turn everything off”? In the summer, at the bach, great! internet, stay away. In my flat, all alone, abandoned by friends and flatmates alike as everyone was either studying or gone home already, I didn’t feel righteous or like I was doing something good for my soul or whatever, I just felt lonely.

I couldn’t see what my friends were up to on Facebook, I couldn’t go onto the page my friends and I have to send funny newsbites or pictures to each other, I couldn’t check my Viber, I couldn’t watch Suits online, I couldn’t even listen to the Downton Abbey soundtrack on Spotify. That was exponentially made worse by the fact that I was studying.

In short, I was forced by sheer boredom to entertain myself on my study breaks by watching Farmer Wants a Wife. Now I genuinely don’t feel that either the extent of my emotions nor the crux of that TV show need anymore elaborating on than that sentence.

Concert #1 The Black Keys

I rocked (haha) up in a backwards cap and red lippie feeling like someone from 1994 and looking more than a little lost while screeds of indie kids with their leather backpacks and girls wearing denim shorts hanging onto skinny boys with slugs across their upper lips who looked far too sexually confused to be into them (the girls that is, not their mo’s), skulked about.

The opening act, were saved by their good looks and Aussie charms, clearly off their faces and I had that sad feeling like when you watch spazzy kids at ballet concerts that this really isn’t their life calling and they should go and get proper jobs. It was like they’d heard The Checks and were trying to be an Australian version. Not so good.

Then promptly (a sure fire way to get brownie points) at 9.30pm, The Black Keys took to the stage. It was a magical hour and a half. Because I haven’t actually heard their new album I was a bit apprehensive but they probably showed off more oldies (to my liking) than newies. For two guys they sure can make a lot of noise and when they had back up it only got better. The Black Keys were so genuine about the whole thing and focused on the music with just a wee bit of banter. The crowd was super responsive, which always makes me proud and the whole stage setting was well-designed and a bit different. They even played my favourite song (Ten Cent Pistol) that I thought was a bit too obscure for a big gig like this.

I couldn’t hear properly for the next two days but that’s ok because the sound of tracks like Everlasting Light and Howlin’ For You were ringing in my ears.

Coldplay tonight…

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