My Aussie-versary | One Year in Melbourne

So this week, my Australian life turns one. I’ve survived as an Aussie for one whole year. Yay me! I’ve tolerated temperatures of 46 degrees, cooked on barbecues more than I ever thought possible, developed a weird awkward mini Aussie accent and even eaten wallaby. Oh, and the word heaps is legit part of my daily vocabulary. For this I will be eternally sorry.

So yeah, this time one year ago I touched down in Melbourne with nothing but 27kgs worth of my old life, a working holiday visa and a heart full of hope that I’d done the right thing. If I’m honest, moving to the other side of the world for a BOY wasn’t exactly something I EVER saw myself doing. And by that I mean I was probably more likely to become a Jehovah’s Witness than succumb to that thing people call lurve. 

But somehow, here I am, one year on. And in terms of how the relationship is going, last night I chugged in excess of 6 glasses of champagne at a wedding and sang Horses by Daryl Braithwaite at the top of my lungs with my boyfriend’s entire family into my Snapchat camera, before preceding to adopt a ‘no sitting’ policy and physically DRAG said boyfriend’s dad and sister onto the dance floor because an Australian song I’d never heard had come on and I wanted moral support. So yeah, I think it’s going pretty well.

In all seriousness, yes, I completely did the right thing. Do I miss home? Of course. Did I cry when the song ‘Home’ by Michael Buble was played at the aforementioned wedding? PERHAPS. (No, you’re pathetic.) Do I have weird emotional days near-ish to my period when I get all freaked out at the future and picture us getting deported from every country and wind up living in a tipi in Utah on a ranch with nothing but tumbleweed to amuse us? Sometimes. But really, none of that matters because I know it’ll work out somehow, and even if we do end up in Utah, we’ll totally get an online Kmart order delivered and make it homely with some Pinterest-worthy photo frames and maybe a marble soap dispenser or twelve.

In no way is this meant to come across totally narcissistic, but if you’re ever found asking yourself, ‘do long distance relationships work’?, take a step back. Long distance relationships have such a bad rep, and I really don’t get why. For one, it’s totally outdated. Okay yes, if this was the 1920s and I had had to spend 2014 waiting for a telegram to clarify whether Jess was dead, alive or sleeping with a ho-bag from Uni, yes that would’ve been hard. But nobody has taken the chance to factor in Skype, FaceTime, WhatsApp, Viber and the retained eternal magic of snail mail (hand sent Valentines cards are the best Valentines cards. Just sayin’).

If you really, really want something to work, it can. Sure, you have to live in this weird limbo life that’s just one amalgamation of the loneliness of being single without actually any of the fun parts, with a bit of tiredness from late night phone calls across time zones and a big phone bill thrown in for lols. Oh, and you’ll spend a fortune on postage. Did somebody say £55 to send some Christmas pressies? Oh yeah, those hot figures were part of a sweet December serenade I received from Royal Mail. Thanks for nada!

If you’re willing to commit 100%, your long distance relationship CAN work. And it can even be better than any other relationship you’ve ever been in. That’s right kids, you too could see the look on your friends and relatives faces when you tell them you’re dropping everything to move 11,000 miles for a boy (banter) and YOU TOO could spend $7000 on a visa just to be together. Oh it’s such a magical ride. Soz.

FYI, right before you plonk the $7000 on your MasterCard, it is also 100% okay to flick through all the hot clothes you could buy instead in your head, and all the hot islands you could prance around on, and consider sacking the whole lot in for about a nanosecond (sorry, Jess love you).

But the best feeling, really, is knowing you wouldn’t take any of that. The reality is, that person marks a start in your life, rendering everything prior a distant memory.

Sure, you might have to drop everything and move thousands of miles, you might put flight after flight on your credit card, you might spend money that was earmarked for a house deposit on trips just to be together.

Would I want it any other way? Of course not.

Never ditch someone or something because it seems too hard, or because someone somewhere once told you that they knew someone who knew someone who’s long distance relationship went down the shitter. For every LDR down the pan, there’s a thousand ‘normal’ relationships down there, too. Don’t blame distance for a decision you’ve made yourself, and don’t make distance question anything.

Get yourself a hot chocolate, watch Going The Distance with Drew Barrymore and everyones favourite weirdly-ugly-yet-somehow-still-hot dork, Justin Long, and repeat after me. Fuck. The. Miles.

I’m off to eat vegemite, watch Seinfeld and practice verse two of Advance Australia Fare and pray The Queen and the corgis can one day forgive me.

Toodles xxx

 

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9 reasons why it doesn’t matter if you haven’t got your shit together yet

  1. Nobody ever truly has their shit together. You could be riding your unicorn down Old Brompton Road with ten trillian quid in the bank and you’d probably still be having a meltdown about what kind of brie to buy at Waitrose.
  1. Just like your tastes change with age and status, so do your worries. Just because you think you’ll have your job, finances and relationship ducks in a row one day doesn’t mean you won’t have other (likely more important) things to worry about. Can I get a ‘fuck no’ for mammograms, menopause and the three yearly treat from mr postman that is your smear test reminder? I think we all thought once we get that first one at 25 out the way it gets easier, but I’ll bet ya it doesn’t!
  1. It turns out your twenties aren’t what we thought they were in our teens. If you’re thinking SHIT I thought I’d have kids by 27 at the latest, you ain’t alone. But next time you start to think you and your aging ovaries will die alone, eggless and childless, toss on your heels and go have an espresso martini and ask yourself if you really think you’re ready to be at home playing with megablocks and arguing over who’s meant to be on pooey nappy duty.
  1. Even when you do start to get your shit together, you probably won’t even realise it. Tbh I’m not entirely sure when I stopped spending nights in clubs with my head over the toilet before rocking back out like a wounded donkey for one last chorus of I Wanna Dance With Somebody, and when I started working freelance and living in a beautiful apartment with my boyfriend that has a marble bathroom and an infinity pool (soz and that)…. And I’m still all over the place.
  1. There’s always somebody worse off than you. Whether it’s through fault of their own or not. Okay sure, so you’re actually considering paying for Tinder now instead of spending weekends at farmers markets in matching tweed like you dreamed it. So what? At least you’ve got a job and you’re earning a living. You’re not on the streets, and you’re lucky enough to have your health. That’s some metaphorical shit, metaphorically together, right there.
  1. The news isn’t necessarily true. Now this is a bold statement for me, as I am one to immediately vow never to touch something like blue tac ever again if there’s the slightest possibility that it’s been proven to be carcinogenic. But in my clear mind, the news really is scaremongering us about having kids. “Women who wait until they’re over 30 for kids are at risk”. YEAH YEAH okay but when am I like, meant to travel the world and find myself or spend all my money on Asos or pay a small fortune to live in London only to end up moving further out to commute on a stinky train every day. WHEN WILL I HAVE TIME FOR THAT? Now. Do it all now. My mum had me at 33, I’m an only child and I turned out just about okay – and she’s still kickin’ too. Having kids later in life might be more risky, but so was that 80th tequila at Freshers week, and you survived that.
  1. You just might be on the path to something you’re meant to do. You might be sitting at your desk at a job you hate, waiting for this ‘shit’ to be ‘together’. Trust me, just wait it out. I always say the worst paths lead to the best people – and the best things. If I hadn’t made some of the stupid mistakes I’ve made in my time, some of the amazing stuff wouldn’t have happened to me. I once turned town an amazing marketing job in London where I basically would’ve schmoozed with One Direction on an average Thursday, based on a gut feeling I shouldn’t do it. For a while I wondered if I’d made the worst mistake of my entire career, but I found my way and I’ve never been more sure I did the right thing.
  1. Other people probably haven’t got their shit together either. Much like my previous post on social image, we only really know the very best of other people – because that’s all they tell you. Everybody worries they’re not where they’re meant to be, even if they’re already there. That mate who’s up at the crack of dawn for spinning before high tailing it off wearing a Zara pant suit and power bun to her managerial role could be neck deep in Big Mac’s by 9pm and swiping right to anyone who’ll have her, for all we know.
  1. At the end of the day, things’ll probably never work out exactly how you thought they would. Stop wasting time trying to press the fast forward button. Just enjoy life on pause for a second. Unforch, Netflix don’t yet stream reruns of your twenties, so you’ll have to enjoy them live instead. Live? Imagine that. Chances are, wherever you’re at right now, is exactly where you need to be right at this very moment in time. One day, you’ll realise.

Until next time,

Coco x

 

Here’s why you actually CAN get good at running.

Think you can’t run? I feel ya, believe me. For years I chunked about thinking my size 14 curves were just part of who I was, and that my thunder thighs were incapable of transporting my body at a fast enough pace to call it a run.

I was the slowest runner known to man (and my PE teachers enjoyed pointing it out to me), and I seemed to get left behind even doing simple things like trotting across the road (true story).

I’d see people out running on Saturday mornings and literally feel the jealousy penetrating my bones. I’d always wanted to be a runner, but for some reason my wobbly legs said it wasn’t too be. I truly believe some people just have the ability to run and some don’t. For all my trying, I’d never been able to break the barrier, yet there I’d be, cowering in the corner of the gym sulking on the cross trainer when some newbie would hop onto a treadmill on her induction and casually jog for 15 minutes straight declaring she hadn’t run since before her kids were born. Like seriously wtf.

I’d been flumping around the school track for years and nada. I remember one year, year six to be exact, I thought I’d made a sublime escape when somehow my teacher managed to assign a sports day event to everyone but me. There I was fist pumping to myself in the assembly hall thinking HELL YEAH I can just sit on the sidelines like an untameable badass scoffing mini rolls and dairylee dunkers and nobody gon’ tel me no.

Nah.

Somehow she realised and plonked me on the 400m sprint. SPRINT. Ummmmm what? My poor Mum. The poor little lamb had to leave work early to come and endure sports day with all the other Mums cheering on their little Olympians while I was incessantly lapped by my fellow competitors. When I finally flopped across the finish line the entire event had practically been packed up and everyone sent home. No sticker for Emma. No trophy for Emma. No participation award for Emma. No, niente, nish.

I actually have a vague memory of being told I ‘just had to try a little harder’. TRY A LITTLE HARDER? Are you kidding? I can assure you I was trying so flippin’ hard I honestly felt like my thighs were going to pop out of my pelvis and continue running off on their own. Try a little harder. PLEASE.

(Personally I think this is bullshit because if I’d gone into the dumbo class and told the kids they weren’t trying hard enough at maths I’d probably have become very acquainted with a scraper and the underside of a gum-ridden table. But yeah sure I’m just not TRYING hard enough in PE. Okay.)

So yeah. That pretty much scarred me for life and I had a fear of running ever since. I sort of accepted that it wasn’t for me, and that my poor body just couldn’t haul weight around for longer than a few minutes.

Turns out, people like me actually CAN run. And so can YOU. I actually regularly get told ‘I wish I could go running too’. BABES YOU TOTALLY CAN. If anyone knows the feeling of not being able to run it is me. Need I tell you another of the school stories? I’ll save you the pity. But let’s just say when we went to high school and met the infamous 3500m part of the athletics term, well, I pretty much had to be called in from the depths of the track as I’d ‘miss my next class if I didn’t keep up with everyone else’. PE teachers, hey. WANKERS.

I’d actually love to rock up to my old school head to toe in Nike waving a giant flag (perhaps with a marching band behind me for emphasis) and say through a giant megaphone “To all my PE teachers that taught me here between 2002 and 2009, FUCK YOU. I just ran 10k.”

Yep, it’s true. I can run now. Some days it’s 3k, some days it’s 10k. But I can run. Like the effin’ wind (ish).

The key, I think, is to let go of all the reasons you think you can’t run. Whether you’re like me and you’ve been scarred by a lifetime of jibes about your sporting abilities, or perhaps an injury or weight loss/gain, let it all go. Forget the bad memories. It’s just you and the track now.

Start small. You can only run within your means. If you can run 1k, run 1k. If it’s 500m, run 500m. When you feel like you need to walk, walk. But always keep going back to running. Some of my favourite ways to get started are these intervals:

  • 30 seconds run, 1 minute walk
  • 30 seconds run, 30 seconds walk
  • 1 song of running, 1 song of walking (if listening to music)
  • run until lungs feel ready to burst, walk for 1 minute
  • 30 seconds comfortable jog, 20 seconds harder, 10 seconds RUN LIKE MO FARRAH (repeat 10 times)
  • 30 seconds easy, 30 seconds hard

It sounds lame but these little intervals actually build you up really really quickly. Run at least 2-3 times a week and you’ll see a difference so fast I promise. Oh, and get decent running shoes. I’ve learned the hard way that Nike Roshe’s (while totally babetown with a pair of ripped jeans and a striped tee) ain’t a runner’s friend. I’m now rocking the ugliest, chunkiest New Balance kicks (New Balance 1260 V5 Stability to be exact), but they give me the support and shock absorbance I need to not, well, shatter my knee caps.

The Nike + Running app is also my best pal. It shouts out when you reach a certain distance and tells you your pace at the same time, so you can monitor whether to kick it up a gear or slow it down to preserve energy while you’re training your endurance. Oh, and when you’re passing a group of onlookers scoffing a Nandos in the park and it shouts out that you’ve just nailed your 4th kilometre, it sorta feels like you’ve just won gold at Rio16. Just sayin’.

If you like to run to music, go for it, but I’ve actually learned I prefer silence. I can nosey into other people’s conversations in the park, let the wind catch my hair and sort of pretend I’m Delta Goodrem in a music video, or day dream about a load of fantastical shit that’ll never happen like winning American Idol or bumping into Richie off The Bachelor and having an impromptu coffee while gabbing about life. It’s a great mind cleanser, especially for the uptight like me for whom meditation and other relaxation techniques are pretty much useless. Haven’t heard about my meditation experience? Have a read here.

Trust me, you CAN do it. And it feels really awesome when you do. Let go of everything that’d ever stopped you, lace up your hawttt running shoes and stick your middle finger up to everyone that ever told you to TRY harder, BE faster or that you’re anything less than totally rad. RUN THE WORLD, GIRLS.

Peace,

Coco xoxo

 

The Juan and Only Mexican for Me

Okay so let’s get this straight. I effin’ love Mexican food. Partly because it’s all carbs and cheese and spices and more cheese and allll the avo and sour cream I could dream of, and partly because of the plethora of puns that come hand in hand with Mexican chat.

So today I’m gonna taco ’bout some rad Mexican food I scoffed last week. See what I did there? Dw, I’ll stop now.

So last week Jess and I went to the Gold Coast, and somewhere between acting out all the scenes from the Inbetweener’s movie we managed to squeeze in a dinner at Beach Burrito Co. in Coolangatta.

Coolangatta by the way is well worth a visit. When people think of Gold Coast they think of Surfer’s Paradise. Take it from me. It ain’t paradise. Paradise to any self respecting female is chilling on a hammock in Bora Bora while staff fan you with palm tree leaves while sipping mojitos. Surfer’s Paradise is basically the Southern Hemisphere’s answer to Magaluf. Coolangatta is way more up my rapidly aging twenty-something’s alley. Plenty of pensioners, not a nightclub in sight, and a dessert bar IN THE APARTMENT BUILDING. Yup, Max Brenner. You dawg.

Anyway Beach Burrito. With an insane view of the clear blue ocean, the European style white decking and Corona laden interior, it was the ideal place to refuel after a mental day basically having Wet ‘n’ Wild to ourselves (and me nearly peeing my pants after having to be launched backwards down a vertical drop in a shared dinghy with Jess on one of the slides).

Jess had bribed me with the Mexican feast to get me on every ride he could at Wet ‘n’ Wild to relive his childhood (while I almost burst a tonsil screaming at every twist and turn), so I’d already earmarked the chorizo and halloumi plate for starter.

Beach Burrito Co Chorizo and Halloumi Plate
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While not what I expected, it was delicious. It was sort of like an open wrap. I even ate some of the corn which was inconveniently hidden in every crevice of the halloumi goodness – and for those who know how much I hate corn, this is a milestone. FYI I really hate corn. The cheese was as springy and salty and omg so good – as I’d want halloumi to be, so I was happy.

For main we had burritos. Big, foil wrapped, juicy, can’t fit my chops round it burritos. There are few words. I couldn’t get a decent Instagram worthy snap of it unfortunately, though if I’m honest I only gave it a few trys before I sunk my orthodontically offensive gnashers into the mighty diameter of my Tofu and Bean babe. I had tofu because I’ve sort of given up some meat because I don’t really know why but yeah. Lol yes I know, I had chorizo for starter, but whether or not meat causes cancer, soz life but chorizo is where I draw the line.

I washed this down with a larger, cos, ya know, when in Rome and all that. Aside from the burps that followed my lad style pint was a delight (might I add, Jess had a lemonade, so I did fully embrace the butch beer drinker image). I woulda had a Corona but frankly I find it weird when I sip it and the lemon touches my lip so yeah, went for the Cooly beer on tap (Cooly being the irritating abbreviation of Coolangatta).

All in all, a top place for a Mexican chow down. The tacos looked incred as well and I kinda wish I’d had a few of those instead as they were little tapas-y ones, but… next time! The nachos and loaded fries were all too tempting, but they’ll need to go on the wishlist, too. Even my appetite couldn’t stretch *crys*. I hear there’s one in Fitzroy so yeah, you’ll find me there (this time, taking better pictures!).

Beach Burrito Company
Image via http://www.beachburritocompany.com

Adios amigos

Coco x

Of Course Social Media Isn’t Real – But Social Image Never Has Been

In this day and age (hey grandma), social media and online personalities are constantly coming under scrutiny for presenting a dangerous, unrealistic image to the entire world.

Instagram accounts of skinny girls with perfect hair and perfect eyes encapsulating everything we think we want to be – none of it’s real, and recently, more and more people are piping up looking to be given credit for announcing that oh my effing gee, they used a filter on their Instagram photos. Shock.

The internet is packed with ‘inspirational’ declarations from those coming clean about how their life isn’t as perfect as it seems on social media, how much they were paid to post something to their multitude of followers, and the plethora of deep seated problems behind each and every inch of that golden glowing skin that’s splashed across their Facebook page.

What I want to know is, why did we ever think any of the bullshit that we present to those who judge us ever was real?

Think about it.

Before social media, generation Z and the likes, loves, follows, OMGs and every other public reaction we’re now surrounded by, we were never honest about who we really are.

Take cars. One of the most expensive things most of us will ever buy in our lifetime, yet not a single penny of return on investment. Your white Mercedes plummets thousands of pounds/dollars/yen/monopoly money the second you drive it off the lot, so why do we buy them?

They are an expression of our wealth. And yes, nowadays we display that on social media.

So shoot us.

Before social media, we still would’ve told our friends about it incessantly, snapped pictures on our (albeit dodgy) camera phones or disposables, and showcased our gleaming beacon of glory and success in any way possible.

Because that’s how humans work.

Nobody buys an expensive car purely to get from A to B. We have an inherent need to evoke envy in others.

Hey, for all anyone knows you could’ve landed a killer job with a six figure salary and bought the car with your hard earned cash. You could also have scraped together a down payment and be paying the car off monthly and barely making rent.

If you’re in the latter boat, you’re hardly going to surrender the truth to the world and drive around in a clapped out blue Nova with three wheels just so you’re being honest with the world, are you?

Let’s look at birthday presents, just in case I’m losing you.

Sure, birthday hauls are hella annoying on social media. But we’ve always been doing it. Just because it’s not scrollable, doesn’t mean it never happened.

At school when your mates asked you what you got for your birthday, of course you’d lead with the sassy Miss Sixty jeans and Hooch hoodie, and not with the Blue Tac you needed for your room or the boring old socks from ya Nan.

We’ve always wanted people to think the best of who we are.

That pretty girl you see on the street. That guy who’s just purchased the cool TV. Those friends who go on three holidays a year. Social media or no social media, these things are the very best of who we are. We don’t stand in the street with a sandwich board on shamelessly declaring the bad things about ourselves.

“I ate three doughnuts not one”.

“I got dumped last night”.

“I’m a size 14, not a 12.”

“I’m broke. I’m barely making rent because I earn minimum wage.”

“I have anxiety.”

“I didn’t make many friends at Uni.”

“I miss my ex.”

We’ve always wanted the outside world to think the best of us. It’s how we’re programmed. There’s actually nothing wrong with wacking a bit of Rise or Amaro on our Instagram pics, upping the saturation on our selfies and waiting for the weather to be perfect before uploading that on-point holiday snap.

Really, how is that any different to getting our eyebrows done before a party, wearing makeup and omitting that rainy day from your account of your beach vacay?

Sure, some people on social media take things too far. Some people in real life take things too far, too.

I guess what I’m trying to say is, we need to stop blaming social media for demonstrating an unrealistic expectation of who we are.

It’s not social media’s fault. It’s our own. We were naïve to think the world was ever an honest, upfront place. All social media has done is magnify the audience for our rose tinted reflection of our actions.

The only thing unrealistic is expecting ourselves to be completely honest about who we are 100% of the time.

So let’s wake up. Stop dreaming of the ‘honest’ world before social media, because frankly, there never was one.

Literally a Blog About a Soap Dispenser and Life

This baby does exactly what it says on the tin. This is a blog about a soap dispenser. Literally.

This is quite a fitting post for today, as I’ve literally been through all the feels a twenty-something working from home can possible feel on a Friday.

I woke up feeling good. I made myself a grapefruit and a jasmine green tea and sat in a state of motivated calm on my yoga mat, before concluding I should probably wait until the Foxtel man has been before I start downward dogging my ass off. (For my UK readers, Foxtel is basically Sky TV but it’s not called Sky because, ya know, Straya)

Before the guy arrived with all his installation wires and ting, he called me to host the most awkward conversation that I totally wasn’t prepared for at 9.30am. He called to tell me he couldn’t find a parking space.

Ummmmm. Ok? What do you say to that? “Oh okay bro no worries don’t sweat about installing the box we’ll just live without it so you don’t have to go through the struggs of finding a parking space kay, bye.”.

Obvs not. So it was a pretty silent phone call with a very awkward hang up at the end when we both realised we had truly reached a stalemate.

He eventually rocked in after an equally awkward encounter on the video intercom. (Our building has an entrance gate and then each tower has it’s own set of doors, so people have to buzz us twice to get let through both doors. Fine for pals, not so fine for pizza delivery guys/Foxtel men/any other category of stranger ‘cos you end up having the awkward ‘second hello’ dilemma when you don’t know whether to be super familiar because you feel like you know them so well after the first buzz, or whether to act surprised when they buzz again. Legit.)

He was wearing a San Francisco 49ers SnapBack and I was totally torn between pretending I hadn’t noticed it, and running to put my New Orleans one on and asking him if he wanted sack off his Foxtel career to chill here and fist bump and talk about the SuperBowl.

Spoiler: I stuck with the former option.

Anyway, post Foxtel, my motivation for a day of yoga and work subsided, and I sunk into the couch to explore the jazzy features and catch up and box sets and omfg unlimited movies and sports and HELLO Sex and the City box set lemme just cancel allllll ma plans and fester here for all eternity.

So I watched some SATC and THEN mustered the energy for yoga. By this point it’s noon, just FYI.

15 minutes in I got all shaky and weird and hot and flustered and oh wow my 2 weeks off running is really taking it’s toll on me. I think my iron levels are low at the mo too because I’ve been focused on loosing some kgs before holiday lately and my stores of all kinds of stuff tend to take a hit when I’m doing that. So yeah.

So I got all scared and toddled back off to bed and lobbed a big red iron pill down my neck and messaged Jess for comfort and sympathy.

He suggested I ate something and my growling belly did concur with that notion, so I had this wild idea of allowing myself bread as a treat. But nah I ended up making a one pan bake thing with tomatoes and bean mix and tuna.

I then realised I’d had no coffee yet so scuttled downstairs to caff-up. I felt like I regained my colour on the first sip, so I’ve learned my lesson never to skip coffee and jump straight to green tea. Always coffee first. Always always always.

Because I’m guilty of Googling allllll the health woes, I Googled how I was feeling and turns out feeling sicky after drinking green tea on an empty stomach is TOTALLY A THING.

Anyway this soap dispenser. You can tell how all over the place I am by the structure of this blog. This is hardly an advert for my copywriting credentials. Soz and that.

This week I got my hands on a marble and copper soap dispenser that I have honestly wanted for about 2 months because ummm, rose gold is everything. It kept selling out from Kmart (for UK readers, basically a shitter version of Primark. Homeware is on point, clothes look like Tesco before they got swaggy) and when it was online it wasn’t letting me order it for pick up and the delivery cost three times the cost of the soap dispenser. So I was avoiding that option until I was sure it was my only option.

I had to schlep deep out into the ‘burbs this week for an appointment, which meant a whole new realm of Kmart branches that may in fact have it in stock – and OMFG THEY DID. $5 for the best soap dispenser ever. It matches the little plant, candle and random geometric copper basket thing that really has no purpose but is so totally Pinterest that it just HAD to take pride of place in our kitchen in our new apartment.

Here she is in all her glory (feat. the aforementioned plant and geometric piece of weirdness) – though the marble effect is more subtle than I expected and is hardly captured when you take photos of it but STILL. It’s still so beautiful.

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All bow down in her glory. You’re probably thinking wtf that’s so average but I’ve wanted it forever and it’s taken over my thoughts and dreams so just be happy yeah?!

Anyway it’s now 3pm and I’ve made no dent I wanted to achieve today sooo yeah.

Toodles xxx

 

 

 

24 Things All Girlfriends Hear When a Game of Fifa is Being Played

This post comes to you live from my den of procrastination, aka my entire life. I’m still high fiving myself after executing a sublime swerve on a fatty subway breakfast this morning after ducking in for a bottle of water and allowing the sweet sweet smell of all the meatball subs set up camp right inside my nostrils.

It was a near miss, to say the least.

It’s moments like this that remind me that I really need to get my head out of my arse and stop telling people I’ve ‘changed my relationship with food’. I clearly have not.

Anyway, Fifa.

This post has been a long time coming, but I’ve realised enough is enough. Women of the world need to share the mutual despair of that feeling you get when your sweet, loving, (in my case quite shy) boyfriend turns into what appears to be a raging maniac on bail for GBH. The victim to such: the Playstation controllers. Poor bastards. Thrown across the garden, slammed on floors, cursed at the world over.

If I’m honest, I never thought my boyfriend playing Fifa would bother me. I’m not a football hater, far from it. I support Liverpool *bows head in shame and sheds a tear for what could have been* – I was even hella good at Pro Evo, but I’ve now learned that those two words are utter blasphemy, because somewhere along the line Pro Evo got shit and Fifa got good. Well I must’ve had my head firmly wedged in a jar of peanut butter because nobody told me.

Anyway, here’s a bunch of shit my boyfriend does when playing Fifa.

  1. “I’m going to play Fifa for a while”. Translate: I’m about to become as aggressive as Grant Mitchell off Eastenders and make you wonder why we’re together.
  2. *Plays Bayern Munich against Bayern Munich*. Wtf?
  3. “ARGHHHHHHHH.”
  4. “FUCKS SAKE.” U ok hun?
  5. *throws Playstation controller*. “I should never have bought this Playstation. You read my mind.
  6. “WHAT A WASTE OF FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS.” Cost per hour you’ve played it is about 1p so not really.
  7. *punches couch* Mind my upholstery god dammit.
  8. “GET INNNNNN.”
  9. “FUCK YEAH IM FOUR NIL UP”. Good for you huni.
  10. “Great tackle”. Modesty is key, I see. 
  11. “Arrrgh the other player quit the game because I’m winning.” WHO DOES THAT. You. You do that.
  12. FUCKS SAKE I’M FOUR NIL DOWN IM QUITTING. See.
  13. Me: “I am dying/bleeding/am in labour/will have sex with you/am making you dinner/am crying”. Response: “Huh? I can’t pause I don’t have the ball.” Ok kl I’ll just die then.
  14. “I’ve just got Wimbledon FC into the Champions League”. Expect a call from the FA any day now baby.
  15. “ERRRR THAT’S A FOUL!” Was it though?
  16. “FUCKING REF.” Yep defo his fault.
  17. “Ooh yay free kick.”
  18. “FUCKING LAG.” Wtf is lag?
  19. “Fucks sake stupid Playstation.” Oooooor you’re just shit.
  20. “World Class is too hard. I’m going down a level but don’t tell my friends.” I will definitely tell all your friends.
  21. “Woooooo I’m so good at Fifa.”
  22. “Oh WHAT.”
  23. “NOT THERE.” I’ve learned that this is shouted when the console goes on a mad one and apparently doesn’t read your mind and switch you to the player you wanted. 
  24. Me: “Because I’m so totally awesome I spent $80 on a second controller so you can play when Tom comes over.” *Has Tom over to take it in turns to stare at each other playing online on ONE controller.” All the clothes I coulda had with that $80. Sigh.

Gals, the struggle is real. I feel ya.

Ciao x

jay

 

58 Thoughts I Had While at Meditation Class

So recently I went to a four-part meditation course with a friend. We both suffer from a bit of anxiety and stress so thought it might be a way to release the fears. Thing is, I’m in no way ‘woo-woo’. Or particularly capable of being something I’m not. What I learned on my Introduction to Meditation is that I don’t wish to read chapter two. I’m a runner. I relax by going for a run. That clears my mind. Sitting does not. I appreciate meditation is a great release for some people. The analogy of the water and soil in a glass, I get that (basically the soil cant settle until the water is completely still). But maybe I like a bit of soil in my life. Perhaps that’s what keeps me on my toes, maybe that’s how I thrive. I have always worked quite well under pressure. Basically, stillness is not for me. I like to move. I like to shake out the dirt, rather than let it settle. If you’re in any way like me – that is, somewhat uptight (though I like to call it energetic and passionate) – you might relate to some of these thoughts I had while meditating. And by meditating I mean being my usual cynical self while sat in a Buddah-like stature.

meditation

  1. This is going to be awesome. Maybe I’ll stop being a stressed, uptight bitch all the time.
  2. Maybe I’ll be able to get a headache without assuming it’s a brain tumour. Or have an itchy finger without Googling ‘finger cancer’.
  3. Wow. I just paid $20 to sit.
  4. We’re all sitting cross legged on carpet. This feels like school.
  5. Ah school.
  6. Seriously, remember school. I feel like a huge giant overhead projector needs to be wheeled in.
  7. Wow I totally zoned out then. Am I nailing this meditation thing?
  8. “Don’t let your mind wander”. Oh shit. I’m not
  9. Wow, I don’t think I’m thinking about anything. Oh wait. I’m thinking about that.
  10. “Let your attention fall towards your jaw. Your ears. Your forehead.” Can anyone feel their forehead?
  11. God I feel like I’m swaying.
  12. I wonder if he’s looking at me swaying.
  13. Ok I’m actually not swaying.
  14. Maybe this is meditating?
  15. Nah don’t think so.
  16. “Walk yourself back through everything you did today”. Seriously? I can’t remember what happened ten minutes ago let alone the entire day backwards.
  17. WHAT DID I DO AT WORK TODAY.
  18. WHAT THE HELL DID I HAVE FOR LUNCH.
  19. Oh yeah salad. Fucking salad. Why am I reliving this again?
  20. God my posture is shit.
  21. I think I can hear someone hoovering.
  22. Gosh I must hoover the apartment.
  23. Focus.
  24. Well, focus on not focusing.
  25. Ommmmmmmmmm.
  26. God I need to sneeze.
  27. *sneeze*. This instructor now thinks I am an idiot. Zen people don’t sneeze.
  28. My nose has never been more itchy in my life.
  29. I wonder how long we’ve been sitting here.
  30. My leg is numb.
  31. Yep, and my foot.
  32. Yay pins and needles.
  33. I wonder if I’m meditating yet.
  34. “So you should now be reaching mid-morning in your journey back through the day”. Oh, really? Everyone else’s day was clearly more eventful than mine then. Reliving sitting in my desk chair chomping on a lettuce leaf didn’t take me long.
  35. “Think about how to be relaxed instead of stressed. For example, when you lose your keys. Just calmly walk your mind back through the day to when you last had them.” Seriously? If I can’t find my keys and Nando’s is about to close I’m gonna tear the house apart like a crazy ass freak of nature until I find them, okay?
  36. I’m definitely too uptight for this.
  37. I think I’m falling asleep.
  38. Wow I’ve never felt my vertebral discs before. But there they are. Individually burning one at a time.
  39. I’m definitely slouching.
  40. I’d do anything to open my eyes right now.
  41. Shit I’m meant to be meditating.
  42. Why am I out of breath?
  43. Oh my god we’re chanting. I’ll just mime along.
  44. How does everyone else know the chant and I don’t?
  45. This is nothing like Les Mills Body Balance.
  46. Please stop talking about my past life.
  47. “Just 2 more minutes”. FUCK YEAH nailed it.
  48. Though all I’ve done is think.
  49. Idiot.
  50. I’m hungry. I wonder if everyone can hear my stomach rumbling.
  51. WHY DO I SWALLOW SO LOUDLY? Nobody else is swallowing.
  52. He’s going to know I’m not in a state of zen.
  53. Why can’t I do this shit lying down.
  54. My bum is more numb than after a RyanAir flight.
  55. God this is a long two minutes.
  56. “Okay, open your eyes slowly”. How do you feel?”
  57. The same. Just with pins in needles in limbs I didn’t know could get pins and needles.
  58. I’m definitely not zen enough for meditation. I’ll just stick to swearing and crying every now and again.

 

Anyone else felt like this?! Tell me I’m not alone, would ya?! Until then, I’ll be, most likely, in a frenzy somewhere – though I truly believe that frenzy will set me on the path to the greatness to follow. It’s called being driven.

Over and out,

Coco x

The stages of jet lag: a dazed and confused guide to the weirdest week of your life

Having racked up almost 100,000 miles in air travel over the past two years, I’ve become no stranger to a little jet lag. I thought I had experienced the full throttle after flying back from New York and landing at what felt like 11pm, when it was actually only lunchtime. I foolishly took a nap that afternoon and my body clock was off for about 2 days. Unfortunately, I was naive enough to believe that would have in some way prepared me for what was to come. But sadly not. It hits you in the face the second you step off the plane at your destination, and leaves you waking at varying times of the night wondering where and who you are. For all you know, you could be Michael Jackson’s ghost (which wouldn’t be completely impossible given that I have many a time crashed around the bedroom in the dark trying to get my bearings in a Thriller like fashion).

Anyway, like pretty much everything else, I figured there was probably a funny side to this madness, so I attempted to translate that exact feeling into a progrressional timeline of jet lag, so that, maybe – just maybe, I can help at least one of you realise that making any elaborate plans for the immediate few days following your arrival is a sincere mistake.

Walk the walk. You’re fresh off the plane, you’ve slept, you’ve even mopped your poor economy class brow on a hot cloth handed to you by an air stewardess with bizzare tongs that you assume were manufactured solely for that moment in life, and you think you can nail this. It’s midday local time, and you’re totally ready to chug a skinny capp and stay up until an appropriate bedtime.

 

The slump.

 

The coffee starts to wear off and your body starts preparing for bedtime. Glancing at the clock, you see it strike 5pm and it dawns on you that you’ve got another 5 hours to get through.

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People are talking but you’re completely zoned out. Smile and nod, smile and nod.

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IT’S BED TIME. HURRAHHHHHHH.

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You wake from the deepest sleep, your mouth drier than a quinoa cracker.

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It must be morning, wow, I’ve slept through! NOPE, 3am.

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Time ticks on.

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Morning comes. You rise, despite it feeling like the middle of the afternoon given that you started your day 6 hours ago – yet did nothing but lay in bed angry. You try to eat – as they say, eating breakfast helps set your body clock. Before long, you face plant your toast.

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All around you is reassurance. Stories of those who have battled through. How you’ll “be back to normal in a few days”. You look on in disbelief.

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Hours of confusion, a touch of anger and a dash of hallucination later, you decide you can take on the world, and you power through. When you eventually adjust, you half expect a monument to have been erected in your honour, and perhaps a letter from the Queen, but take it from me; HRH must be a little busy tending to the corgis to have mailed my letter, but, you know, I never give up hope.

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For those of you who have read  this thinking, ‘what’s this girl on about? Jet lag isn’t that bad’, count yourselves lucky. Apparently you’re meant to get used to the effects of changing time zones, but 100,000 miles later, I’m yet to see any progression!

 

 

 

So no one told you life was gonna be this way: things that happen when you realise you’re in your mid twenties

Okay, so I’m 24 now. Yep. Twenty bloody four. Half of my friends are 25, the other half are 26 – and I even went to a 30th birthday this month. That’s it, folks, life ain’t no Wacky Warehouse anymore. It’s all rent, promotions, soda water, appropriate skirt lengths and running for the last train home – with the most desirable asset in our sights being a mortgage. Picture this: Ooh gosh, Martin and Amy have bought a house. They’re going to owe ten times their annual salary for the rest of their lives. I’M SO JEALOUS. Legit.

It’s that time of our lives when everybody is at a different point along the timeline, and every time someone else moves their counter one step forward or one step back, you start evaluating exactly what’s going on with your counter. But that’s not all that happens when you hit your mid twenties, now is it?

  1. When ticking age specific boxes, you’re often closer to 30 than you are 18.
  2. The TV screen reads, “Jenna, 18, Student”. Ooh wow she’s only my age. NO SHE IS NOT.
  3. One day it dawns on you that people out in clubs were born in 1997.
  4. You start to realise you actually don’t understand what younger people are talking about. Seriously, wtf is Yik Yak?
  5. You realise that you’ve had to start evaluating whether trends are “too young” for you. Yeah, lace up tops, I’m talking about YOU.
  6. On that note, you also have to decide whether a skirt length is “appropriate”.
  7. You’ve likely become as bitter and grumpy as an 80 year old man who fought in the war battling with his teenage neighbours.
  8. You’ve said the phrase “kids these days”. Usually in reference to witnessing a newborn baby fully competent in the usage of an iPad, which is basically considered the next stage after breast feeding.
  9. In conversation with a younger friend or colleague, you’ve had to consider whether or not they’ll know what you’re talking about when referencing the past. Sadly, there are actual walking, talking humans out there who were barely out of nappies on that fateful day when Gareth Gates didn’t win Pop Idol in 2002. So sadly, no, they don’t remember how many days they cried for.
  10. You rush to the Boxing Day sales to look at sofas. Or kitchenware. Or bed sheets.
  11. You wish Tupperware parties were still a thing.
  12. You’re coming to the realisation that your rail card discount is ending.
  13. You then start to strategically plan your final application so that your last card is granted the day before your 26th birthday.
  14. People area getting pregnant and are happy about it.
  15. People have started calling their boyfriends/girlfriends their “partner”.
  16. You give yourself a mini high five when you manage to stay out past 2.
  17. You feel the need to present your case with evidence in Zip Loc bags when telling someone about the shit you used to pull when you were 18 or 19, purely because you’re such a relic now, there’s a genuine risk they won’t believe you.
  18. When describing something that happened, you have to add in that there aren’t any photos on Facebook because, wait for it…….FACEBOOK WASN’T INVENTED THEN.
  19. Similarly, you’ve ended a conversation with “I just wish there had been camera phones back then”.
  20. You gaze from afar at young kids drawing on their tablets and wonder if they’ll ever know the true joy of drawing a fake road on the pavement with a piece of chalk.
  21. You realise you’ve been driving for seven years. So yep, you can hire a car, test drive a car, AND BE FULLY COMP ON SOMEONE ELSE’S. Our driving capabilities know no bounds.
  22. When people’s kids bump into you in shops, the parent says “mind the lady” and you’re like “umm soz but I’m actually a hot, young predator who just so happens to be shopping for anti ageing cream and Bio Oil.”
  23. You can often quite easily drift through the checkout at supermarkets with a bottle of wine without having to present ID. That’s because the shop assistant knows that you’re actually using it for your Coq Au Vin dish for your own version of Come Dine With Me – and not for the King Cup in Ring of Fire.
  24. The shop assistant probably knows this because your accompanying items are more along the lines of portobello mushrooms, soy milk and blueberries, rather than pot noodles, Glen’s vodka and a bag of basics pre-grated cheddar (because come on, you had wayyyyyy to much on your plate at Uni to even THINK about grating your own cheese).
  25. You now do grate your own cheese because “you just don’t know what preservatives are in the pre-grated stuff”.
  26. You’ve had the heartbreaking task of removing your Saturday job from your CV to make space for your exec role.
  27. You’ve also thought “but I want employers to know I was a hard working individual from the fresh young age of 15”.
  28. You’ve started booking holidays based on reviews that say “not many clubs nearby”. Sorry, Aimee from the West Midlands, but your sad face rating on Trivago has given me the green light to get this shit booked.
  29. One day you’re eating white bread as a one off, the next day your jeans don’t fit. That’s just life now.
  30. Your idea of chic interior decor is more along the lines of neutral photo frames and candles than a messy photo montage with a multitude of wristbands and a penis keyring pinned to it.

I’ve probably missed a million things, but, you know. There’s always room for a part 2.

Over and out,

Coco x

tupperware