ALWAYS talk to strangers

I can clearly remember learning all about 'Stranger Danger' when I was about 6 or 7. A stranger was any adult I didn't know. Strangers were scary people who were always coming up with clever and cunning plans to steal me on my walk home from school. Never mind that I didn't ever walk home from school, I was taught that's when they were going to strike! I was so paranoid about strangers - even women, because I was that weird 6 year old who read newspapers and knew all about Myra Hindley and Ian Brady. The first word I remember looking up in a dictionary is 'garotte'.

With this in mind, it's taken me a long time to unlearn the paranoid lesson here and replace it with a sensible approach to life. You see, after moving to the other side of the world, I've learned you should ALWAYS talk to strangers! I don't mean it exactly like it sounds and we should all be running around shouting at each other and trying to engage in conversation with every person we should meet (but Jesus, London! A friendly smile every now and then wouldn't go astray!) But I think the lesson we all need to learn is that (with common sense) we should absolutely not be afraid to talk to strangers!

Just since I have been in London, I have had some amazing adventures with complete strangers!

When I was on my way to Berlin to meet friends from high school, I was travelling alone. My flight left so early that I was actually forced to catch the last bus to the airport and wait until 6.25am when my flight departed. As I arrived at the bus stop, I saw some others with suitcases and asked them if I was at the right stop. A lone girl and a lone guy said I was. When the bus arrived, I started chatting to the girl behind me in line - asking where she was off to. We sat next to each other on the bus and chatted for over an hour. We were both waiting for early morning flights so I asked her if she'd like to set up a camp with me on the floor of the airport. I said I had chocolate and Red Bull and she offered some chips (crisps for my UK friends). As we got off the bus, I stood beside the lone guy from the bus stop. So I told him of our plans and invited him to join us. He eagerly agreed and when we were settled, he bought us all hot chocolates. It was a fun six hours. The girl was able to get some sleep knowing her stuff wouldn't get stolen and the guy and I chatted about Italy and travel. We had breakfast together when the airport shops opened and at 6.25am, I caught my flight leaving behind Roxy and Francesco, my new friends!

Roxy, me and Francesco in Stansted airport

When I arrived in Berlin, I had over 24 hours to spend on my own. I made my way to my hostel and steadfastly refused to sleep and risk wasting a second in this new, amazing city. So I took a bus tour and saw some incredible sights. I had already decided I would be pushing myself so had bought a ticket to the Fun. concert. Stupidly, I misread 2100 as 7pm and arrived two hours early for the show. I joined the queue of excited Fun. fans and kept my ear out for a chance to talk to someone. Sadly, I was thwarted by my lack of a second language as everyone around me spoke German or French so I just waited. And waited.

Finally the gates opened but all people with online tickets had to present their tickets at a booth behind us in the line. The group of girls behind me gathered all their tickets into one pile and passed it to the closest girl who went to hand the whole stack over in one go. On a whim, I tapped one girl on the shoulder and pushed my ticket towards her. "Could you do mine too, please?" I begged. She handed my ticket on to her friend and turned back to me. In very good English she asked me why I was by myself!! Turns out of the three girls, two spoke very good English! The other spoke both French and German. The girls asked if I'd like to watch the concert with them. They shared their Pepsi, held my place while I bought my tour shirt and took photos to pass the time. We had a blast!

They stayed behind to hunt autographs from the band. I was forced to drag my poor body that had been awake for near on 42 hours by then back to the hostel leaving behind Carole-Ann, Lea and Celine, my new friends!

Carole-Ann, me, Lea and Celine at the Fun. concert

In my hostel, Simon, one of my high school friends had finally arrived and after a big day, we were in our bunks resting. A nice guy who was staying in our room started chatting to us and ended up inviting us out for drinks. Well, Simon was too tired but I was determined to have fun. After all...

So we wondered down the road from our hotel chatting. He was Brazilian and had seen quite a few European countries. We traded stories of our adventures and compared notes on our home countries. He bought a round of drinks and I bought the next round. The next day, Andrew, my other friend from high school arrived. Simon and I waved to him from the hostel room window as we saw him approach. Then we decided to hide in the bathroom while the Brazilian pretended to have booked out the whole room for his birthday and convinced Andrew he was in the wrong room. He played the part perfectly and I still laugh thinking about poor, confused Andrew while Simon and I stifled giggles in the bathroom. Then the four of us went out for dinner! It was fantastic, but he had to leave to go to the next country that morning. But when Fred left, we waved goodbye to our new friend!

Andrew, me, Simon and Fred at the hostel bar

The next night everyone from room 505 at the hostel was having drinks. I went downstairs to get something from the room. On my way back up, I noticed the button for calling the down elevator was crooked so I tried to straighten it - accidentally pressing it. When the doors opened for no reason, a  girl was standing there by herself. I apologised for pressing the button. She said it was ok and she was trying to decide if she should go to the bar or the lobby. I said 'the bar! Come on! Come back up with me!' So she did. I have never got along with a girl so quickly and so well. We were chatting about everything and sharing stories. She was American, travelling Europe. I sadly learned she wouldn't be going through London but we swapped Facebook details and hung out all night! I know she will gladly host me in New Jersey and she knows she is welcome in London anytime! My biggest regret of the whole Berlin trip (which will one day be rectified) is I didn't get a photo with Jennifer, my new friend.

Jennifer

Then there is the pinnacle of these stories. The absolute epitome of why you should always welcome a friendly stranger in to your life. Matt, my best friend in all of Europe! All of the Northern hemisphere in fact!

Zombie Marilyn Monroe and Tony Stark

I met Matt in a pub when I was with my brother. The series of little coincidences that lead to our actual meeting is astounding considering how much he has affected my life here in London. As much as falling off my scooter sucked, if I hadn't of I would not have met Matt as I would have been at work that day instead of testing out my recovery with a small day out before returning to work the very next day. We met when he called my brother out for making fun of the way Americans write the date backwards. We started chatting and nearly two hours later, swapped Twitter details. Matt came to visit me after my shift the next day and we went out to London Dungeon the week after. We've pretty much seen each other every week since. I introduced him to football and made him a Liverpool fan and he in turn taught me about baseball and made me a St. Louis Cardinals fan. For Christmas I bought him a Liverpool jersey and he bought me a Cardinals one. I took him to his first EPL game and one day, he will take me to my first MLB game.

Me and Matt at Anfield

When I went to LA last year, he arranged for his sister (who is an incredible girl who I am lucky to call a friend!) to play tour guide for me on my first night alone. We got on so well that I left Disneyland early to spend my last day with her before heading back to London.

Me and Matt's sister Boo in LA

When his sister visited recently, we spent heaps of time together taking in the sights of London.

Matt, me and Boo on the River Thames

Matt asked me to join a co-ed softball team with him and now we play every week. I have in turn made some more amazing friends on the team who I hang out with outside of softball.

Evan, Matt, me, Kieran, Krista, Aneil and Sam
Just some of the Basejumpers softball team!

I've also met Matt's other sister and even his Mum. Matt has hung out with my dad and was even with us when he visited his childhood home for the first time in 50 years. One day soon I am going to go to America and Matt will show me around his parts. I hope he comes to Australia so I can teach him how to throw a boomerang and wrestle his first croc.

I was talking to a friend from my softball team and he seemed shocked to find out how Matt and I met. But without that friendly act nine months ago, I wouldn't have even been having that conversation with a softball teammate. I have had some amazing adventures and these are only some of them. I love my life in London and the people I have met are a huge part of that.

And it's all because I ALWAYS talk to strangers.

Miss SAMawdsley xx

Questions:

• Have you had some amazing adventures with strangers?
• Have you ever made friends with a stranger?
• Has talking to a stranger ever gone wrong for you?

Sassy's Dating Dictionary

I'm currently sitting on my bed, wearing ugg boots & a hoodie, eating my third donut & watching Dawson's Creek - so maybe I'm the last person who should be writing about dating, but here I am anyway.

I'm not the most experienced dater. I was in a long term relationship that had its beginnings in high school. I rebounded from that into a relationship in university that ended violently. Physically violently. Back to the high school boyfriend and, other than a few hiccups, off periods and frogs along the way, I was with him until 2010. We even bought a house together. Since that long term relationship ended, I've only called one other person my boyfriend.

Now that I am dating, I have found myself stumbling through a veritable minefield of mistakes that a single girl can make. These vary from making assumptions about the guy's intentions, failing to define things and not knowing how to extricate myself from situations that are probably my own unwitting doing. And boy, have I had some adventures! The simple truth is, I have no idea what I'm doing!

Have you heard the saying "You don't know what you don't know"? That's very true. I didn't know that I didn't know how to date until I tried to do it. But the thing is, I'm not sure anyone actually does! Because there are certain words that apply when you are dating - terms that you will use throughout the course of your budding relationship - and nobody knows what the hell they actually mean! The meanings people can apply to the same words is so ambiguous. Two people can mutually agree on a term, and that's fine, but more often than not, their interpretation of that term is not even in the same sport, let alone ballpark. So I am going to define them, here and now. And this will be the universal truth that these terms actually mean.

From single to boyfriend / girlfriend

Single: This means you do not have a boyfriend or girlfriend. You may or may not be open to the idea of potentially having one, but you will be upfront about this. Every person who may be interested in having you as a boyfriend / girlfriend will be aware of your feelings on this subject as you will have been clear with them. But if you are not content to be in this state, do not proceed to the next one! This is very important!

A date: 'A first date' shall be defined as the initial scheduled meeting of two people who are basically auditioning each other to be a steady sexual partner with emotional investments; and a view to carry out said arrangement on a permanent basis and potentially co-habit and maybe even procreate while sharing a surname.

There will be certain indicators that you are on a date. Most, if not all, of these will apply.

• You will have paid careful attention to what you are wearing, what you smell like, how smooth your legs are / face is and will specifically avoid talking about topics such as exes, crazy penchants and weird medical histories.
• You will be nervous about who pays for what on this occasion and it will inevitably lead to a bit of a debate. You will judge the other person based on the viewpoints shared and eventual outcome of this debate.
• You will make a huge effort to be engaging, witty and delightful in the presence of the other person.
• You will be hoping the other person kisses you.
• You will be eager to tell someone (probably a member of the same sex) about whatever transpires. Depending on your gender, there will probably be either giggling or high fives. Maybe even both. Who am I to judge?
• If it goes well, you will want to do it all over again. Note: If you do repeat this with the same person, it will be called 'a second date'.

If you find yourself scheduling something that looks like this, stop looking like a tool or a complete try-hard and call it by its correct name! It's a date. Suck it up. If it's not a date, do not expect anything that even remotely resembles sex to ever eventuate. You lost that privilege when you refused the term 'date'.

Dating: After going on more than three 'dates', you will be deemed to be dating. Counting the dates out loud after this point is a bit weird, but note that you still need to mentally keep a tally of the dates.

'Dating' means you have an unspoken agreement that you will go on another 'date' and usually comes into play after the third date is mutually agreed to have been pleasant for both parties. Spending time together is becoming less nerve-wracking and you are starting to settle into being yourself but you are still considering your options. You may be dating more than one person at this time - but this is the last chance to do so if you are to progress further with this person.

Seeing someone: That mental tally of dates you have been keeping but not really talking about anymore? When that number has reached eight, you stop saying 'dating' and now refer to 'seeing someone'. If you have lost count, use this cheat: If your first date was over two months ago but you have seen each other regularly in the interim, you should now be using the term 'seeing someone'.

The term 'seeing someone' can be broken down rather simply. You are 'seeing', as in regularly viewing (perhaps in varying states of undress), one person. Note the 'one'? As in singular? You should only reach this benchmark with one person at a time. Note: If you do not wish to proceed to the 'seeing someone' stage, stop the 'seeing' part. This will avoid confusion for both parties.

Relationship: There will come a point during the period of 'seeing someone' that you decide that you have been exponentially satisfied with the previous months. This one person has started to spend time at your house and vice versa, rather than always on neutral ground such as a cinema or a restaurant. It's not awkward if they stay overnight. You've met some of their friends. There are starting to be expectations born from precedents set out over the last few months. If you don't have specific plans on a Saturday night, it is assumed you will spend it together. If they come over yours in the evening, you now expect that they will stay the night. And things would probably be easier if you could leave a spare toothbrush on their bathroom sink.

You are now about to be in a 'relationship' and should soon start using this term. If more than four months have passed since that 'first date', you need to immediately have a discussion with the other person. Especially if you are the guy. This is like the probationary period at a new job. You were expected to carry out your duties and showed up to work on time. But an evaluation still needs to be conducted with a manager before you become a fully-fledged employee. Your individual reviews and expectations will be laid out and a decision whether or not the arrangement is mutually beneficial will be agreed upon. If the outcome is in the affirmative, you have reached the level of 'relationship'.

Anecdote: I haven't had many official boyfriends - and hardly any in my adult life - but my favourite beginning of an official would have to be my most recent ex. I was driving to his house from his friend's. He was in the passenger seat and suddenly said, "If we were officially in a relationship, other than our relationship status on Facebook, would anything really change?" I thought for a moment before replying, "No, not really." "Cool," he said. "Let's do that then." See? It doesn't have to be a giant stress.

Boyfriend / girlfriend: Now that you are in a relationship, you can finally use the terms 'boyfriend and / or girlfriend'. You may only have one of these at a time! I cannot stress this enough. This is the holy grail of the dating experience. By this point, if you both aren't happy to use these terms, get out now! You are wasting the time of the other person and that is absolutely not fair. Other than that, it is like playing Monopoly but all the properties have been bought. Everything else is either by negotiation or just runs its course. And who knows how or when it will end?

Miscellaneous terms

Going out: This means you are 15. And in high school. You have never actually gone out anywhere at all but you are free to use the term boyfriend and girlfriend. You will also have written their name all over your student diary surrounded by love-hearts. And this will be in whiteout since it's the only way to see anything written over the permanent marker you used to scribble out the name of the last person you were 'going out' with.

Catch up: I use the term 'catch up' a lot. I live overseas and with a huge time difference, it is so hard to keep up to date with the people I love the most. I'll text my girlfriend, "OMG! haven't chatted to you in ages! We need to catch up!" Because 'catch up' means to run over everything that has happened since I last saw / spoke to someone. So why have guys (And I definitively use the plural) texted me suggesting we should catch up?

This outburst was prompted by an arrangement of what should have been called "a first date": 

Well 15 hours later he texted me and we arranged to "catch up" tonight - my first available night thanks to working all the time. But what does that even mean, "Catch up"? Catch up on what? Everything that happened since last Wednesday? Or maybe the last 27 years when we hadn't known the other existed? "I was born in 1985, on a warm Spring morning..." What a stupid thing to say.

From now on, if a guy asks to "catch up" I'm going to assume he has gossip for me and subsequently has no interest in me as a female.

So there you have my no-nonsense dating dictionary. Now if we can all agree to stick to these definitions, it would make life easier for everybody involved!

Miss SAMawdsley xx

Questions:

• Do you agree with my definitions?
• What dating terms do you need defined?
• Has the ambiguity of dating terms ever caused you confusion or heartache?

Disneyland & this semi-charmed kind of life... Part 1

"Ok, kids. What do you want to do tomorrow?" Dad would ask.

"Go to Disneyland!" I'd shout.

Everyone laughed, knowing that it would never happen. But it was always fun to dream. And we'd end up going to the pool, or a car event. But as the self-proclaimed "Happiest place on Earth", it was my dream (and the dream of every kid on the planet, I imagine) to go to Disneyland.

My younger cousins have been going on almost annual trips to America for years. Of course, this always includes Disneyland in California (or Disney World in Florida). I love them to pieces but words cannot adequately express my jealousy. It ached deep inside of me. It highlighted everything that sucked about growing up in a financially poor, single parent family.

My Dad worked hard and my brother and I never went without. In fact, we were discussing last weekend how Dad did everything he could for us, including paying for flying lessons for my brother to help him achieve his dream of joining the Air Force. He also saved up for me to have SCUBA diving lessons to achieve my (never realised) dream of becoming a marine biologist, even though the plan never eventuated when I instead failed the dive medical and ended up enduring months of hospital visits. All this when, in all actuality, anything beyond food on the table, a roof above our heads, clothes on our backs and fuel in the car, were pretty much luxuries.

But there was still a part of me that felt a sharp sting of jealousy whenever I saw photos of my cousins' trips to Disneyland. I think as a child, and then a teenager, it was only natural. There were so many framed photos on their walls and their faces, so happy, yet unaffected by the sheer fortune of their situation, smiled at me. The Disney characters all kids can name hugged them tightly. I asked them questions about Disneyland and they told me stories of breakfasts with Disney stars, wild rides with crazy special effects and breath-taking shows. They showed me their signature books and I read off the names of Disney royalty whose pens had scrawled so beautifully across the pages. They showed me their pin collections and I learned about Disney pin trading. To think people did this as a hobby was astounding. They brought me back my own souvenirs and I marvelled that they were from Disneyland - really from Disneyland! Funnily enough, they never got me my own pair of Mickey ears. As I got older, the sparkle and fantasy started to wear off. A new jealousy struck me. I would never... never... experience Disneyland through the eyes of a child like they had - like so many other children had. But as is my way, a childlike spark in me never gave up on the pure wonderment and magic that is Disneyland and I continued to view it as the "Happiest place on Earth" - not just for children, but for me too!

For me, Disneyland was a pair of personalised Mickey Mouse ears perched on your head. It was a half an hour wait to ride Pirates of the Caribbean. It was posing with Alice and asking her to sign your autograph book. It was eating cupcakes in the shape of Mickey Mouse. It was finding the hidden Mickey on every ride. It was staring up at Cinderella's Castle and imagining being a real princess. It was laughing at the ridiculous face you pulled when you looked at the photo taken somewhere in the darkness on Space Mountain. It was staring in wide-eyed amazement at thrilling stage shows, breath-taking light and water spectaculars and seemingly impromptu entertainment on every street corner. It was waving at every Disney princess as she passed by in the Disney parade. It was hugging Mickey Mouse. It was wondering through aisles of merchandise and picking the few items you simply could not live without. It was hugging the people near you because they were there, you were happy and one day, they might not be there. It was taking silly photos, candid photos, posed photos. It was days spent smiling - where nobody argued or bickered. It was... magical.

Sometimes it scares me how charmed my life is. There are moments that the cataclysmic scale of coincidence, luck and fortune collide to alter my world in such a way that it takes my breath away and has even, at times, reduced me to tears. I am blessed and I know it. The day in November last year when my Dad said "Can you get time off in early December?" was one of them. I asked why, as I was in London and had only recently started a new job. I was confused as I knew Dad would be in America with my uncle, aunty and cousins and couldn't understand what I could need time off for. His response floored me.

"I thought you might like to come meet us in California and come to Disneyland with us..?"

“Here is the world of imagination, hopes, and dreams. In this timeless land of enchantment, the age of chivalry, magic and make-believe are reborn - and fairy tales come true. Fantasyland is dedicated to the young-in-heart, to those who believe that when you wish upon a star, your dreams come true.”
-Walt Disney

To be continued...

Miss SAMawdsley xx

Why isn't my life a romantic comedy?

I was raised by my dad and my brother so I've not really done many girly girl things. As the only female in the family, I kind of felt I needed to assimilate or die. So I am more comfortable driving a manual car than baking a cake. I've changed my own oil in my car but I have never changed a baby's nappy. I'm deadly accurate with a gun but I fail miserably at make up. These masculine tendencies extend to my film habits. I've honestly never seen 'Dirty Dancing' but I did cry at the end of 'Terminator 2: Judgement Day'. That pretty much sums up what I'm saying here.

I've never been one for romantic comedies. But now I have a sister (in-law) and I'm starting to feel a bit more at peace with the fact that I am a girl and it's ok to hope a man will sweep me off my feet, despite my awkward, unlucky-in-love nature. I'm allowed to think Vivian Ward (Pretty Woman) is just as awesome as John McClane (Die Hard). (But I will never, ever accept the message that Sandy Olsen sells females! Honestly, do women actually watch 'Grease' and realise how she gets the man in the end? By stultifying herself and smoking!)

Tonight my sister and I watched a movie called 'New in Town' starring the super gorgeous chick flick staple, Renée Zellweger. She moves to a new town for some work and some guy who she seems to fight with more than she flirts with ends up being the love of her life. And it got me thinking, why doesn't that happen to me?

I'm a waitress just like Julia Sullivan (The Wedding Singer) but no oddly handsome singer who lacks self-confidence but makes up for it with a guitar has ever serenaded me on a plane. A guy did write a song for me once. But he recorded it onto CD, with a piano-keyboard backing track and him playing guitar... It was called 'Fire' but I didn't really get the lyrics. It wasn't on a plane. And Billy Idol wasn't there.

In high school, I may not have worn glasses and a ponytail and had *gasp* paint on my overalls, like Laney Boggs (She's All That) but I did wear pigtails every day for a year and weird cartoon character socks. I also made my own jewellery out of wool and beads, which is kind of like making my own prom dress, à la Andy Walsh in Pretty in Pink. The dreamy quarterback never realised I was actually quirky and pretty with a beautiful soul... Maybe it's because I went to school in Australia and there was no quarterback (and I'm not sure I'd describe any guy I went to school with as 'dreamy' anyway.) Or maybe it's because my life isn't a romantic comedy.

I have been a journalist just like Rebecca Bloomwood (Confessions of a Shopaholic), Andie Anderson (How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days), Bridget Jones (Bridget Jones's Diary), Jenna Rink (Suddenly 30), Josie Geller (Never Been Kissed) and the poster girl for journalism and love, Carrie Bradshaw (Sex & The City). But I have not had even one date thanks to my journalism. Not one. Let alone met the love of my life in hilariously unlikely circumstances.

I currently have blue hair like Ramona Flowers (Scott Pilgrim vs. The World). It's not a stretch to compare my scooter to Ramona's rollerblades. I could probably even muster up seven exes, if I included high school and despite the fact that I did break up with most (if not all) of them, I don't think they'd fight some guy so he could prove his love for me. They've moved on. And in the interim, no adorably dorky geek has had a prophetic dream about the awesomeness that is me. Though honestly, I'd prefer if Young Neil fell in love with me anyway.

I'm comically accident-prone, just like Cam Wexler in 'Good Luck Chuck' but no gorgeous Dane Cook look-alike has ever suddenly declared me his one true love. Remember my most recent first non-date? If you've not read this post, you can't possibly understand just how unlucky and clumsy I really am. But rather than being endearingly cute and charming, I fear I am seen as a hazard and threat to life and limb.

Why, oh why can't my life be like a romantic comedy? My life can and does often resemble a comedy. Perhaps a comedy slash tragedy. But it's not romantic. There's no romantic comedy that my life mirrors or holds parallels with.

Oh, wait. Yes there is. 'He's Just Not That Into You'. And I'm Gigi.

"Girls are taught a lot of stuff growing up. If a guy punches you he likes you. Never try to trim your own bangs and someday you will meet a wonderful guy and get your very own happy ending. Every movie we see, Every story we're told implores us to wait for it, the third act twist, the unexpected declaration of love, the exception to the rule. 

But sometimes we're so focused on finding our happy ending we don't learn how to read the signs. How to tell from the ones who want us and the ones who don't, the ones who will stay and the ones who will leave. And maybe a happy ending doesn't include a guy, maybe... it's you, on your own, picking up the pieces and starting over, freeing yourself up for something better in the future. Maybe the happy ending is... just... moving on. 

Or maybe the happy ending is this, knowing after all the unreturned phone calls, broken-hearts, through the blunders and misread signals, through all the pain and embarrassment you never gave up hope."

Miss SAMawdsley xx

Questions:

• Does your life, or the life of someone you know, resemble a romantic comedy?
• If you're life was a movie, which one would it be?

I Heart My Body 2012

It's that time of the year again. Time for the "I Heart My Body" campaign & beautiful women everywhere, of every shape and size, to tell the word not only that they heart their bodies, but also why.

I participated in the "I Heart My Body" campaign last year and for the most part, received nothing but positive feedback. But I dedicate this post to the haters from last year. Why? Because I'm doing it again. Because I do heart my body and in the spirit of the campaign, I am shouting it from the highest mountain top I have: My blog.

I love that my body puts up with the beating I give it - football and scootering down huge hills... It may not always serve me so well. It's terrifically unco. But it keeps on going and keeps on being beautiful! This year, I am highlighting my favourite parts of my body.

I heart my body!

I heart my stomach. It may not be perfect but it's the part of my body that makes me feel sexiest

I heart my stupid little middle toe on my right foot. I don't know what its deal is but like the rest of me, it's not perfect and a little bit quirky for no good reason.

I heart my freckles. It's taken me a loooooong time to get to this point after years of teasing, but I do. Especially the three freckles on my right knee that spell out VIP. Can you see them?

I heart my smile. This is another thing that has taken me years to love. My smile has always been my most complimented feature, with the words "Your smile just lights up a room" being the most common compliment I receive. But after 13 months of braces, I finally see what everyone else has always seen and I heart my smile.

Miss SAMawdsley xx

Questions:

• Name three things you heart about your body!
• If you have a blog, join the I Heart My Body campaign here!

Adventures on first non-dates

One of the joys of being an Australian working in an English pub, especially one that isn't on the tourist trail, is I am a bit of a novelty. I say joy, but sometimes it gets tiring. I get asked a lot where I'm from & I have the same conversation with customers three or four times a day.

It's also a conversation starter with guys which can be a good thing. It can also be a bad thing.

Well last week it was a good thing when a guy decided to try his luck chatting me up. I hadn't noticed him to be honest as I was in work mode where all customers are equal. But he had noticed me & despite having no interaction, stayed behind to talk to me while his friends went to their table. I now know it's because he thought I looked "interesting", whatever that means.

So when I turned to help him, he didn't want a drink or anything, just to talk to me. He heard my Australian accent & said he wanted to guess where I was from based on said accent. I don't believe you can do that so to prove it, I let him try. For the record, I am from Brisbane. So the following conversation then took place.

"I think you're from Perth."
"No."
"Well then you're from Sydney."
"Look, you can't tell where an Australian is from based on their accent."
"Yes, you can. I mean,  I know you're not from Brisbane!"

So even after that cringe-worthy opening, he persisted in talking to me. Turned out we were both from Brisbane - about 15 mins drive apart. He's a vet & we chatted easily. Obviously I had to get back to work soon after & he said it was nice chatting to me & we should "catch up" sometime. I thought nothing more of it.

As his party was leaving, however, he came to the bar to say goodbye.

"It was great to meet you, Samantha."

"Thanks, you too."

"Like I said, we should catch up sometime!"

"Sure."

"So... can I have your number?"

"Oh... ok!"

So I turned to grab a bit of paper to write my number on.

When I turned back around, he had his phone out. That's how often I do this, I completely forgot people have phones.

He was a bit shocked but covered with, "Oh! Old school! I like it!"

I scribbled my number down and gave it to him. As he left I realised two things.

1) He probably thinks I gave him a fake number so he couldn't do the creepy "Ring and check" thing. (Guys, don't do that. Ever!)

2) I've not given my UK number out before and what are the chances I gave him the wrong number by accident?

Well 15 hours later he texted me and we arranged to "catch up" tonight - my first available night thanks to working all the time. But what does that even mean, "Catch up"? Catch up on what? Everything that happened since last Wednesday? Or maybe the last 27 years when we hadn't known the other existed? "I was born in 1985, on a warm Spring morning..." What a stupid thing to say. But what he didn't say was the D word - date. At no point did he mention going on "a date". And nobody ever does.

When did the date die out? I don't think I have ever been on a date. I've been on things that looked like dates and very well might have been, but they were never called that. I've also been on things that looked like dates and were not. That's the worst. It's painful and you can feel your heart being ripped out of your chest when you come to the sickening realisation that the person opposite you has absolutely zero interest in you as a member of the opposite sex - and you'd done your hair and carefully chosen an outfit to impress them and still you were rendered a genitalia free Mattel product. That ****ing sucks.

So I never assume anything is a date. This jaded cynicism has served me well so I do not apologise for it at all. Tonight was no exception. I acted as if it might be, but never assumed, lest I be disappointed.

If you've ever wondered what I'm like on "a date", this is it. I'm awkward. I talk about a million things and randomly interject with useless facts. The guy mentioned December 8 tonight. I interrupted to tell him that was the date John Lennon was shot. I don't know why. I just blurted it out. Then I was eating dinner and I dropped my knife. It just plumb fell out of my hand. It clattered off my plate and headed towards the floor. The guy gallantly tried to catch it, but so did I. I got there first, bumping him away, knocking him off balance so he threw lettuce all over himself. So I end up bright red, clutching a greasy fork with lasagne all over me and he ends up looking shocked covered in lettuce. That's what I am like on a date.

But it can't have been too bad because he invited me back to his place to meet his housemates. He lived across the road from the pub. I accepted, happy to meet more people. Plus there was a puppy! Well we all sat in the lounge room talking, listening to music and watching YouTube videos. Then his housemates discovered it was his birthday - I know, right? So one of the girls offered us some berry liqueur she had made. She poured it into six shot glasses. We all said cheers and clinked glasses. I then threw the shot into my mouth... mere milliseconds later, my eyes began to water and I nearly choked. It wasn't a shot. Everyone but me knew this. They'd all sipped delicately. I was stuck with a mouthful of burning alcohol and big juicy berries, unable to chew or swallow from pain and humiliation as everyone laughed their asses off at me. The guy, once he realised what had happened and that I clearly was not coping, gallantly went to get me a glass of water. Everyone else told me I could spit it out, but by then, I'd managed to choke the liquid down. The berries were still there, so I couldn't talk. But I couldn't chew either. It was horrible.

I eventually got it down and once again, found myself bright red and looking decidedly inelegant.

I was having so much fun, I missed the last train home. Here in London, the trains stop at midnight or something stupid like that. The guy offered to let me sleep on the couch, or his bed. We were talking later when he asked me if I understood that he wasn't looking for anything serious. And that this wasn't "a date" because there's so much pressure when you put labels on things. So... yeah. I understood. I had my jaded, cynical guard up anyway, but I'd be lying if I said it didn't wound me. Each time I feel that disappointment, no matter how much of a defence I have put up, my armour is still chinked. And I felt used. Why bother talking to me at all if you don't want "anything serious"? And if you don't have "anything serious", what do you have? He'd told me he was leaving for Australia for a few months already and he moves around a lot doing temp / contract work in his profession. So I had my suspicions. But still...

But as a grand finale to the spectacle that is me, this happened. I called myself a cab. It arrived and I said my goodnights on the back step. I turned to make my graceful exit, leaving with my head held high and dignity in tact - when I slipped on the wet stairs, shrieked, fell on my ass and bounced halfway down the stairs.

Lucky it wasn't a date or I might have been embarrassed.

Miss SAMawdsley xx

Questions:

• When was the last time you went on "a date"?
• Was it specified as "a date" or not?
• Have you ever been a victim of the "non-date" or "the event that looks like a date but is not, actually a date at all"?

I "haven't known love". Or so I'm told...

Please note: I absolutely do not intend to offend anyone with this post - just like I know nobody who made or posted the photo in this blog intended to offend anyone.

Please read this post in the spirit it was intended.

This image came up in my timeline. Just read it over.

How did that make you feel? Did you feel all warm & fuzzy, nodding your head enthusiastically? You either have a child or want children rather badly. Am I right? I don't know... Well for me, it makes me rather angry. I don't have children. I have no real desire to have children. And because I don't meet the criteria marked out by this Facebook picture then I haven't known love. I'm not exaggerating. That's what it says. Right there, "You haven't known love." Direct quote.

Well I don't know who originally wrote this (and for that matter, why they even felt the need) but I beg to differ!

I have counted the perfect little fingers and toes of my friend's baby - a baby I watched enter the world and who I shared in the grief with his parents as we held him as he died two days later. That's love.

I held the hand of my high school boyfriend and felt my heart beat so fast it nearly exploded out of my chest. That's love.

I kissed the nose of my puppy and felt her lick my cheek back. That's love.

I soothed the tummy of my uni boyfriend as he was very ill and I wished I could do something to take away his pain. That's love.

I have read my blog posts out to my dad while he sits quietly and we talk about all sorts of things - things that one day, I may never get to talk to him about anymore. That's love.

I have wiped the tears of my best friend as she dealt with pain, heartache and sorrow. That's love.

And I'm sorry but "powdering a little booty" is not high on my list of things to do.

So how dare the creator of this photo insinuate that I have not "known love" because I haven't spawned my own offspring? I have not experienced the love a parent feels for their child, it's true. But I have known love. I have loved deeply and I have loved passionately. But I don't feel the need to jam this down everybody's throat. Why do some parents?

Most of the girls on my Facebook have children. I get that. We're mostly around 26 so yeah, child bearing age. But I don't. And it's by choice. (Imagine how I would feel looking at this photo if it was not by choice? What if I desperately longed for a child but could not conceive?) I could have had a child if I wanted to. Once upon a time I had a long term boyfriend or a "partner" as you start calling your boyfriend when you want to be taken more seriously but aren't engaged or married. I even owned a house and bought Better Homes and Gardens magazines. We discussed it but I have never really felt the need to procreate.

Anyway, now I love my life. For me, it is damn near perfect just the way it is. In fact, to be totally honest, I am wary of talking too much about how much I love my life and about all the wonderful things that happen for fear of upsetting people who have lives that are different to mine (if that makes sense?) It's not that I think my life is the ultimate in perfection, but for me, it really is. And I am concious that I may have things others covet and I am not about to start gloating about that. I have a job that I love and am about to become a published author. I have the time to chill out and write my blog, play video games and was easily able to make the commitment to join an amazing football team. I sleep in every weekend. Sometimes I don't get out of bed until midday because I'm just laying around all cozy-like playing around on my iPad. And it's not a treat. It's just a Saturday. I drive a brand new car and yes, I am about to pack up and move to England for around four months because I have nothing tying me down. Now I didn't pick and choose what I mentioned then, I just listed the things in my life that make me happiest. But in all actuality, I couldn't really do any of them if I had a child. I just couldn't. And one of my favourite things about my life is I have no idea where I will be in a year's time. My future could bring anything and I have so much to look forward to! But does that mean I have not known love? Maternal love, no. I have not known that. But love is different to every person and every situation.

You know, I tried to find a photo to counter the one in this post. I actually tried really hard. I couldn't find one. (Unless you count Breeder Bingo!) Nobody has bothered to make an "I love my life as a single, childless woman" picture thing. I hope that's because they're too busy actually living the life they love and not because there aren't any happy, single, childless women. So I really have to wonder, why do these "I love being a mummy" pictures even exist? And in all different shapes and forms! Who is making them and why? And really, when people announce time and time again how much they love their life and their children it gets old and I'm sorry if this seems rude but I start to wonder, who are they trying to convince? Me? Or themselves?

I get that people love their children and in their words, they love them more than anything else in the world. And that's great. I am honestly happy for them. I truly hope they feel the same satisfaction and happiness with their lives as I do with mine. But how dare someone tell me I do not "know love" and insinuate that my life is anything less than perfect because I don't have children?

Miss SAMawdsley xx

Questions

• Do you have children or not? Are you happy with this decision?
• What would your ideal life be?
• Have I missed the point with these kinds of images?

"I believe anything less than mad, passionate, extraordinary love is a waste of time. There are too many mediocre things in life. Love shouldn't be one of them."

I know what boys like! (Actually that's not true)

When I started this blog, I promised to blog honestly. So here's an honest story.

This post focuses on my own insecurities as a person.

It may contain personal opinions, jaded points of view and self-deprecating humour.

I have a lot of guy friends. In order to maintain this status quo without causing trouble, I make decisions when I meet guys as to whether they are friends or potential boyfriends. A guy can move from potential boyfriend to friend but once a guy is in the friend zone, I see him like a brother and a Ken doll. It is damn near impossible to move then.

I hung out with my friend Tony for the first time in years today. I was invited wakeboarding but thanks to my latest 'Sassy's accident of the week', I wasn't able to risk reinjuring my barely stable knee. But I agreed to go along with what I thought was a group of people. Now I met Tony in university. We were working on a group assignment with another girl, Victoria. Tony had a thing for Victoria so I'm very confident he is ok with being categorised as a Ken doll. Tony & I got along great & the first time I was ever in a plane, Tony was flying me around. He even let me have a go flying too! And he's moving to Perth soon so, yeah.

As I was pulling into the carpark where I was meeting Tony, I saw a hot guy. As I drove around I figured out that the hot guy was the friend Tony mentioned was with him. Ah, yes. Sufficiently awkward. I quickly figured it was just us three. Now this guy, Adam, is that kind of hot that you just know every other girl on the planet also thinks he's hot. I'm not saying he's the best looking guy ever, just that he looks friendly, approachable and like, cool guy next door kind of hot. But in my typically judgemental and compartmentalising way (stemmed from years as the victim of bullying), I labelled him someone who was going to have nothing in common with me and was probably going to be pretty pissed off at Tony for inviting this weird girl along.

But Adam was instantly joking with me, very funny and a pretty nice guy. I had a great time with them both, taking photos of them wakeboarding. I actually had a really awesome afternoon. Then we went to the pub for beer & pool. In order to carry on the fun hanging out, we made arrangements to drive my car back home so we would have one car & one DD. But as I parked my car, Adam got or made a phone call. I'm not sure how but the girl he likes told him she was free tonight & if he wanted to see her, it had to be that night. Cue, my little heart sinking just a little. It's not as if I liked him or anything, I'd only just met him but I was still a tiny bit disappointed. Which brings me to my point.

I know nothing about this girl Adam likes. Not one detail. But here's the thing. I've imagined this girl:

She has beautiful glossy chocolate brown hair that she straightens every day.

She is never caught without makeup.

She spends a lot of money on clothes and always looks great.

She wears heels no matter what.

Her cute little handbag has a phone, wallet, keys & liploss in it. That's it.

She has heaps of equally gorgeous friends who all look very similar. Their photos look like girl band promo shots.

Her Facebook shows her in clubs, with friends, on the beach & at holiday places like Bali & Thailand.

That's what guys want. Right?

I have dirty blonde hair that I rarely brush between washes. I only straighten if for a really special occassion.

My idea of make up is scratched on eyeliner, mascara & recently I bought a super invisible foundation. That's my going out makeup.

I do not buy anything that is not on sale. I also shop at op shops. Because I like them.

I wear heels if it's a special occassion & I won't actually need to stand up.

My handbag sling across my body & has everything including tablets, old receipts, lolly wrappers, half drunk water bottles and once, even swimming goggles.

My friends are gorgeous. I have a small handful of them. We don't go out much.

My Facebook shows me playing football, Kinect shots from my Xbox & taking stupid photos of myself, usually for comedic purposes.

That's NOT what guys want. Right?

I asked guys on Twitter what they value in a girl.

I got answers like funny, intelligent, shared interests, doesn't smoke, kind, generous... These are all qualities I like to think I possess. Now Twitter guys are smart guys. But I'm not sure they represent the typical red-blooded male. Given half a chance, I think most guys would take the hot chick over some weird, football & Xbox-loving quasi guy like me.

I can not stress enough, I am NOT fishing for compliments. This is my blog. These are my thoughts.

You see, on paper I know I sound like the ultimate girlfriend. I love sport. I love playing Xbox. I hate flick chicks & love action movies. I am more than willing to laugh at myself. I can fix most things around a house. I also am aware that I am no swamp donkey. But I don't think that is actually what guys wants.

I think they want the girl who oozes sex appeal in short skirts & gorgeous clothes, not the girl in the tartan skirt & Pink Floyd shirt. They want the girl who pouts into the camera with perfectly made up hair and faces, not the girl who couldn't really be bothered, as long as I don't look too bad, I'm OK.

Girl who oozes sex appeal

Girl who doesn't take herself seriously

I grew up the only girl in a house with two guys. I can use most power tools. I can fix almost anything in a house. I've tiled bathrooms, painted walls, built cupboards and laid concrete. Other girls won't get dirty because they will break a nail or they just plain don't know or care how to fix things. That's what girls are meant to do and what guy wants to be emasculated when his girlfriend can fix the broken door but he can't?

Girl who looks hot with power tools

Girl who can actually use power tools

I play football three times a week plus regularly just kick a ball around my yard. I play with men on a Monday night and I play hard. A few weeks ago, I was knocked out playing keeper. Other girls play netball. Once a week. Maybe. Or they go to they gym looking freakishly perfect, work up a gentle sweat & pat themselves down ready to starve themselves for another week.

Girl who is a gorgeous gym bunny

Girl who breaks herself playing sport

Guys also like the hot girl who gets together with her girlfriend on a Friday night & Saturday night. They wear heels for the entire time, they drink Cruisers or something and flirt outrageously. My Friday nights are more often than not spent playing Xbox or watching movies. That's if I don't have a football game. My Saturday nights are spent much the same way except I'll be watching football by the end of it because the EPL games start at about 10pm.

Girls and their Friday night shots

Girl and her Friday night shots

Girls always look gorgeous and "guy ready". Always. They're like ultimate fantasies and look just how they should, as girls, all the time.

Girl who looks gorgeous going to bed

Girl who wears dinosaur PJs to bed

This is just how I see it. I see these girls who always look perfect & I look down at my own dinosaur Tshirt & jeans. I know I'm different. I know who I am & I love who I am. I am confident and not fake at all. But I just can't be that girl. Not without being fake. And I can't do the hair and the makeup. I've tried. When I was hanging out with the guys today, I was talking about how I'm sure I can wakeboard because I can skate the ramps & bowls on rollerblades. I talked about how I want to go to a Red Hot Chili Peppers concert. I suggested beers and pool. And then I asked the barman to put the football on the bar TV.

I feel like guys are never going to take me seriously. The perfect girls are the ones who the boys want. I'm not saying guys don't like me. I know there are some that have. I'm not, as Cher would say, 'completely without' but I am not that girl.

On paper, I am the best girlfriend EVER. In reality, I guess I just don't take myself seriously enough as a girl.

Yes. This is me.
Yes, I'm a girl pretending to be a boy pretending to be a girl.
No, there wasn't a fancy dress party.
It was Friday night. We were bored.

Miss SAMawdsley xx

Questions:

• What do you think guys like?
• How do you imagine the perfect girl?

PS: I'm sorry if I offend any guys (or even girls). I know all guys aren't like this. Hell, maybe most guys aren't like this. Maybe no guy is like this. I may be jaded, cynical and a little bit unwilling to put myself out there. But this is my blog. This is how I feel. And these are my thoughts. If you are one of the girls I described, note that I am not dissing you. I am jealous of you. You seem perfect to me.