Friday, October 19, 2012

Thursday, October 18, 2012

Train Etiquette

I always wonder what is considered inappropriate for me to do on a train. I don't want to be that annoying person with their music too loud, virtually shouting into their phone or loudly chewing an extremely crunchy breakfast food. There are so many things that have people's noses up these days... eyebrows raise, eyes going to and from the scene of the crime, judgement levels increasing by the second. Tough crowd. Anyway, so the other day I was in a bit of a rush (nothing out of the ordinary I must admit) and I had decided the night before that I wanted to paint my nails - they were pretty grotty, chipped, uneven in length and just not looking too fabulous. Back to the point. So I slept through my alarm (classic) and then slept through my second alarm.. and on the third I finally arose from my bed to find I was in quite a serious rush - train coming in 11 minutes, 7 minute walk to the station... eeeek. I threw my things in my bag, scrapped on some makeup, ran to the fridge to grab an Up & Go (flavour? chocolate, duh) and I was out the door. Did I mention I also grabbed my nail polish bottle from the kitchen bench? Well I did. By the time I was on the train, fully intending to paint my nails - I stopped and realised, am I THAT person? It was a crowded train, North Shore peak hour into the city, my carriage filled with stitched up looking business people... people I stereotype to be the people that easily judge. It's quiet, nobody's chewing, nobody's talking, just the periodic turning of a newspaper. Peace and quiet on a peak hour train. Unheard of, right? Usually there's at least one naive sod going against the grain and participating in some sort of disruptive activity. I was about to become that person. I scanned the carriage again and saw two women sitting next to each other staring at me straight in the eyeball. Sprung. The nail polish went back into my bag, and the suit next to me finally stopped his staring. I'm a chicken. I wasn't game. My nails look horrid. And really - we need a rule book.

Sunday, September 9, 2012

The Empire State Building

You know what sucks? Being tall. I've been pretty tall all of my life, I mean.. disregarding when I was a toddler and two feet small. It's been awkward growing up. In the junior school, my girlfriends and I were friends with a big group of boys from a school up the road. We're all still friends now but you know how it is, people grow apart.. boys find girls with bigger assets, and girls find boys with brains. But anyway, this one friend of mine used to have really big parties, in her really big backyard next to her really big house. Looking over photos, I'm horrified. Particularly as all of the boys go up to my shoulders. I was the Empire State Building - braces and all, towering over everybody as though I was fully grown but really, I had a good few more years of growth after that photo was taken (and as an added bonus, my braces were taken off). All in all, I was pretty much a shoe-in for one of the most unattractive young teens; a prime example of 'Don't worry darling, boys grow up a bit later.. but soon they'll all be taller than you!' aka, 'Please God may it be sooner rather than later, my daughter's a giant'. No, I shouldn't say that, it wasn't that bad.. fortunately I wasn't that aware of it at the time, and with two older brother's I didn't emotionally bruise like a peach. As time went on the boys eventually sprouted and we all met somewhere in between, but that's not to say there weren't some really awkward moments. For example, that sickening memory of being that ring-in date for the-boy-who-doesn't-know-girls at my first formal, showing up to his house all excited in my new pretty dress with my first pair of heels, only to find I stood a good foot taller than him. Comforting, huh? Quite the opposite. I was still taller than a lot of the boys actually, somehow I hadn't factored into my brain that wearing high shoes would make me taller than I already was... Anyway, I'll have you know these days I never wear high shoes for that very purpose. That in itself is a real shame, because so many high heeled shoes are so incredibly cool, and I miss out on wearing them each and every time. I walk past window displays and stare longingly at those six-inch platform ankle boots, knowing we'll never belong together. And then trawl online, coming across pair after pair of insanely weird but a little bit intriguing pair of platform sneakers. (I'd personally never go for them anyway, but it'd be nice knowing I had the option). Of course I could just go out and buy them, but then they would permanently live under my bed as I'd be in constant fear of miraculously transforming into that that ten year old giant I once was, as soon as I wore them outside. Kind of like Spiderman transforming whenever he puts on his little outfit. But for now, I'll just have to cop the fact that high heels and I will never be one. I will never be a ballet dancer, just as I will never own a wardrobe of shoes as impressive as Carrie Bradshaw. But there is one positive - I'll never have to get a pair of jeans taken up.